THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (46 page)

THIRTEEN THE GREEN MONSTER
 

The Rajasuya yagna was completed and, one by one, the visiting kings went home. Krishna came to Yudhishtira and said, “I have been here longer than I should. I must return to Dwaraka.”

Reluctantly, Yudhishtira drove him to the gates of Indraprastha. Embracing his cousins, Krishna cast a final, lingering look at the city. He had a sure premonition of the evil turn of events that would force the Pandavas out of Indraprastha. In fact, the next time he met them would be in the Kamyaka vana and they would be without a kingdom.

Forlorn as they always became when Krishna left them, the sons of Pandu returned to their palace. All the other kshatriyas had gone as well, except Duryodhana, Dusasana, Shakuni and Karna, who stayed on to have a look around the fabulous Mayaa sabha. Yudhishtira was pleased; he naively imagined the Kauravas had put their envy behind them.

But first, Vyasa came and said that he, too, must leave. Yudhishtira prostrated himself at his feet. Laying his hand on his grandson’s head, the muni said, “This has been a time of joy for me and your father’s spirit will soon rise into Indra’s kingdom. The Rajasuya is hardly performed once in a yuga and I am glad I could be here to see it.”

Yudhishtira was troubled. “What did the omens mean, which we saw when Krishna killed Sishupala? Narada says they portend some catastrophe for the world. I am anxious, grandfather, tell me what will happen.”

Vyasa looked at his grandson, who was lord of all Bharatavarsha now. The rishi said compassionately, “The ways of fate are inscrutable, my child. The omens can mean only one thing: misfortune and as I read it, misfortune for fourteen years. But the misfortune is only a part of a deeper destiny that springs in dark Krishna and uses your brothers and you as its agents. This destiny’s ends are beyond my understanding, for it means to destroy the very race of kshatriyas.

Draupadi shall also be fate’s intsrument, as prophesied when she came into the world.

Tonight you will dream of blue-throated Siva, wearing a tiger-skin, carrying his trisula. You will see him astride his great bull, gazing south in the direction ruled by the lord of the manes and drinking blood out of a human skull.”

Yudhishtira looked so stricken that Vyasa put his arm around him and said with a smile, “But don’t perplex yourself over fate. There is nothing to be done about what is written in the stars. Yet, Yudhishtira, tell no one, not even your brothers, what I have said to you. Not every man has the serenity to bear the knowledge of what the future contains.

Misfortune comes only to make stronger souls of those that suffer. In the end, my son, whatever happens in this or any world is for the good of every creature; yet, that is hard to remember when one suffers. As it is hard to imagine how the world will prosper by the death of its kshatriyas.

But that is what is written for the land of Bharata and that is what must happen, inevitably. Yudhishtira, when misfortune actually comes, with it come the will and the strength to survive and mold the difficult time to one’s advantage. Be forewarned, my son, but not disheartened; I can tell you even now that, finally, all will be well with you and yours. You shall indeed rule the world with your brothers and fulfil your great destiny.”

With these strange revelations, Vyasa left Indraprastha. Yudhishtira was deeply disturbed as he saw his grandfather off. But he was a man of spiritual strength and, sighing a little to himself, he returned to the Mayaa sabha where Bheema and the other Pandavas were showing Duryodhana, Dusasana, Shakuni and Karna that edifice.

Though outwardly he made every show of being pleased for the Pandavas, Duryodhana was suffocating with envy. He could not bear to see his cousins’ glory; every marvel he saw in Mayaa’s superb sabha tormented him with a physical pain. Duryodhana kept an admiring look on his face, words of praise on his lips and showed nothing of what he really felt.

Mayaa himself had told the Pandavas of a magical quality with which he had imbued his sabha. “If any man comes in here with enmity or jealousy in his heart, the sabha will know him at once.”

As Duryodhana mounted the steps, he saw what seemed to be a pool of water at the entrance to the sabha. He remarked to Shakuni, “What a strange place for a pool, as if there are no grounds to set it in. The Asura Mayaa has some vulgar notions of beauty.”

But as they climbed the gleaming steps and came nearer, they saw the pool was only an illusion of water. Bheema said, “Look carefully, cousin, is it really a pool?”

Despite himself, Duryodhana gasped. What had seemed like a shimmering pool of water, with lotuses growing in it, was obviously just the polished floor inlaid with marble lotuses. Duryodhana gave a laugh and, with the Pandavas watching him, he stepped forward and fell into that cunning marble pool full of the clearest water and white lotuses. With a cry, he plunged in up to his chest and Bheema, Arjuna, the twins and Draupadi burst out laughing. Even the guards laughed; they all knew that envy raged in the Kaurava’s heart.

Only Yudhishtira was dismayed. Quickly, he ordered fresh clothes fetched for his cousin; but it was not the end of Duryodhana’s shame. He passed off his fall into the crystal pool in apparent good humor. He changed his wet clothes and bravely declared he wanted to see more of the sabha’s wonders. But it seemed Mayaa’s curse followed Dhritarashtra’s son. At the next atrium, he was seen walking gingerly across a section of the floor that may just have been water, but was not. Draupadi barely restrained her laughter.

Inside the sabha itself, Duryodhana managed to walk straight into a solid glass wall that he thought was an open door onto a terrace. He struck his head painfully and staggered back. Draupadi lost control and her laughter rang out in golden peals. She sat down on a chair and, holding her sides, laughed helplessly; while four of her husbands joined her and the fifth, Yudhishtira, did his best to quieten them. But it was too late; Draupadi’s laughter entered Duryodhana’s ears like smoking oil.

Somehow, the Kaurava managed to keep a straight face and his eyes turned from Panchali and the younger Pandavas, who by now were convulsed with mirth, tears streaming down their faces. It was sweet revenge for everything he had tried to do to them and they couldn’t resist. Only Yudhishtira suspected it, but this was also destiny at work through a woman’s terrible laughter.

Red in the face, but keeping his voice level, Duryodhana managed to bid Yudhistira a stiff farewell and he stalked out of the Mayaa sabha with Shakuni, Dusasana and Karna. All the way to Hastinapura, Duryodhana did not speak a word. Not a word did he say when they arrived, not to his father, to his brothers or wives, not to Shakuni, or even to Karna, who was closer to him than anyone else. He locked himself in his apartment for a week and when he asked for a woman to come to him, he would send her out later, bruised, shocked by his dark brutality.

Duryodhana’s thoughts burned, round and round, in his mind: ‘The Gods are with the Pandavas. When Kunti’s bastards went to Varanasi, I was sure I had seen the end of them. But Purochana bungled and they became stronger than ever. They married Drupada’s black daughter, that slut. Then we sent them into the wilderness again, to a desert of thorns. But no sooner did my cousins arrive there, than the desert bloomed.

And now, they are masters of the world. Spineless, simpering Yudhishtira is the emperor of Bharatavarsha!’

Visions of Yudhishtira’s coffers haunted the Kaurava. Hastinapura’s wealth seemed like the riches of some small tribal kingdom, compared to the treasures of Indraprastha. Duryodhana could not bear it. Again and again, he heard the Pandavas’ laughter, most of all, Draupadi’s scathing peals. He lay in bed, drunk, trying to drown his pain in wine. It seared him more fiercely; and he lay in a swoon, not knowing sleep from waking, day from night, reality from a nightmare of envy.

Perhaps unfortunately for that prince, unlike his father, Duryodhana was not a coward. Dhritarashtra was as avaricious and as envious as his son was; but fear and caution were his mastering impulses. He would weave a cloak of excuses for not taking the bold course in any matter. He was a chronic coward, adept at deceiving himself. Not Duryodhana: he was always a direct man and a brave one. No one could hope for a truer and more generous friend than him, as Karna had discovered. And neither a worse enemy.

He was a kshatriya. He was strong, he was bold and he was dashing. He was usually open and exceptionally kind to those he considered his own. Above all, Duryodhana had irresistible charisma. For this quality, eleven teeming aksauhinis would fight for him at the war of Kurukshetra: despite their knowing the Pandavas’ cause was just and Duryodhana’s anything but that.

Yet, that prince of charm had one fatal flaw in his character: he was a jealous man past all reason. He could not contain his envy of the Pandavas. It obsessed him, mastered him and at last, inevitably, it destroyed him. Perhaps, if Duryodhana had not allowed the emerald monster to enslave him, not Yudhishtira but he would have become the Kuru emperor.

But after he returned from the Rajasuya yagna, the Kaurava stayed locked away in his apartment in a long fit of manic dejection. Until Dhritarashtra, who adored his son, sent Shakuni to see if the crafty uncle could talk his suffering nephew out of his black mood.

FOURTEEN SHAKUNI’S PLAN
 

Shakuni was startled when Duryodhana opened his door to him. His nephew was red-eyed and reeked of wine and it was not yet noon. He had not bathed in days and his hair was wild and unkempt, his face unwashed and blotchy and his clothes the same ones he had worn in Indraprastha. He looked and smelled more like a drunken beggar than a prince. Quickly, Shakuni drew him back into his apartment and locked the door. It would never do to have anyone see the future king like this.

Shakuni sat down and saw Duryodhana’s swollen eyes full of tears. Abruptly, the Kaurava fell at his uncle’s feet and cried, “I can’t bear it anymore, Shakuni! You must help me, or I will die of the dreadful thing burning in me. Help me, ah, please help me.”

And he sobbed. Shakuni stroked Duryodhana’s head and, more to hear it from the Kaurava’s lips than because he did not know, he asked, “Are you ill, Duryodhana? Or is it some other sorrow?”

Duryodhana howled, “I am ill with sorrow! Sorrow eats my heart. Shakuni, you say you love me; I beg you, help me.” He was fevered and panting. “I will never be well again until I see my cousins destroyed. If you really care for me, Shakuni, make me emperor of the world. Or this ravening envy will devour my life.”

Shakuni took Duryodhana’s hand and seemed to be lost in thought. Duryodhana hissed, “No kshatriya worth his name can bear to see his enemies prosper. It is my dharma to fight them, to tear them down. Say you will go with me, Shakuni and I will take an army to Indraprastha and bring them to my feet.”

Shakuni shook his head in alarm. His plump body quivering, he cried, “Oh no, Duryodhana! Didn’t you see their legions? And they have Krishna and Drupada with them. They have conquered the earth; they are invincible. Even the Devas would think twice before they attacked the sons of Pandu.”

Duryodhana began to pace the room tensely. He gnashed his teeth and balled his hands into fists. “I would rather die fighting them, than let them be. You don’t understand what this means to me: fate has conspired with my cousins to humiliate me.”

But now, Shakuni was saying in his silken voice, “I only said it would be foolish to take an army against your cousins. I didn’t say there was no way they can be destroyed.”

Duryodhana stopped pacing. He saw the smile on his uncle’s face and cried, “You have an idea! I can see you have thought of something.” He was at Shakuni’s side, grasping his hand. “Tell me what you have thought!”

“The Pandavas are invincible warriors; but there is another weapon we can use against them. They are men of honor: that is their strength; it is also their weakness. We must use their own nobility against them.”

“Don’t speak in riddles, my heart will stop!”

Shakuni went on dreamily, as if he was talking to himself, “I can make all their wealth and even their kingdom yours, Duryodhana. I can make you emperor of the world. And not an arrow shall be loosed, or a sword drawn, or a drop of blood spilt.”

“What is your plan? Some atharva vidya? Black magic?”

“No, Duryodhana, it will be easier than that. Your cousin, the emperor, has a weakness for gambling. And like all men of a noble disposition, he is an execrable gambler. I played him once, for a pittance and a worse gambler you will not find on earth.”

“How does that help us? Stop driveling and tell me your plan.”

“Duryodhana, in this world there is no dice-player like your uncle Shakuni. I have played against the best and I have always won. No one throws the ivory dice as I do and, of course, my dice are loaded.” He leaned forward, his snake’s eyes gleaming in the folds of his face. “You must invite Yudhishtira to a game of dice and I will play for you. Your cousin will lose everything to you: his wealth, his army, his kingdom, everything.” A feminine hand made the gesture of slitting a throat.

Duryodhana had grown very still. “At dice?” he asked.

Shakuni nodded. “You must convince your father to invite Yudhishtira to Hastinapura for a game. Once the Pandava comes, the rest will be as easy as taking a toy from a child.”

Duryodhana thought about this for a moment, then, said, “It will be easier for you to convince the king. He is always afraid. He fears Bheeshma and Drona and, most of all, Vidura, who loves the Pandavas so dearly. You must do this for me, Shakuni, or count me dead. I hear Draupadi laughing at me in my dreams. I cannot live with this shame; I must have revenge.”

Shakuni went to the king. Sighing, he said, “Dhritarashtra, if your eyes could see, you would not be able to endure the state your son is in today. He neither eats nor sleeps, but has become like a ghost, pale and worn, as if some terrible anguish consumes him. I fear for his life, my lord. Send for him and comfort him, or I can’t say what he may do.”

Dhritarashtra doted on his son. Duryodhana was like his very life to him. Showing some emotion, for once, he cried, “Take me to my child, Shakuni!”

In Duryodhana’s apartment, the blind king clasped his son in his arms. He stroked his face and felt his hot tears. Dhritarashtra said, “What have you done to yourself, my prince? You are lean and wasted. There is wine on your breath at this hour and you weep. Tell me what saddens you and I will remove the cause of your sorrow, whatever it may be.”

Duryodhana breathed, “I am burning, father! How can I have any peace after what I saw in the treasury of Indraprastha? Gold beyond calculation, beyond imagination! Wealth that Indra would envy. The earth has submitted to Yudhishtira, all its kings bring him tribute: from Kashmir and the Sindhu, from Souvira, Chedi, Avanti, Kerala, Pandya, Chola, Kalinga, even Pragjyotishapura. How can I bear it? Envy devours me; it feeds on my entrails!

What shall I do? Rejoice in the glory of Yudhishtira, that noble boy, as you call him so dotingly, so hypocritically? When the grandeur of Indraprastha puts Hastinapura to shame, many times over and makes us seem like an insignificant vassal kingdom! As for the Mayaa sabha, it is even more wonderful than we heard; it is beyond compare. One can hardly believe such a sabha exists in this world of

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men.

No, father, I cannot stand it any longer: not now, that I have seen Indraprastha with my eyes. Do you expect me to be a serf to my cousins, who came out of the jungle one day and have become the bane of my life ever since? No, Dhritarashtra, I cannot be the hypocrite you are. You are also envious, my lord, but you are too frightened to do anything about it. But not I. I cannot suffer it any more, not after the way that whore laughed at me.”

His voice was low and he was trembling. Slowly, clearly, Duryodhana said, “Father, I want their kingdom and all their wealth for myself and I want to see the light of Indraprastha extinguished forever. I hate them, do you understand? I hate them so much that I will have no peace until they are destroyed.”

And Duryodhana sobbed, while his father stroked his son’s head. Dhritarashtra said nothing, though his mind was a whirl.

1. In the original text, there is a bitter, envious and detailed 10 page description of the conquests and wealth of the Pandavas.

Smoothly into that silence, Shakuni spoke, “The Pandavas are invincible and Krishna and Drupada support them. Yet, my lord, there is one way to end this poor child’s misery, which neither you nor I can bear to see. Desperate illnesses need desperate cures.”

“What do you say we should do, Shakuni?” asked Dhritarashtra cautiously.

“You must invite Yudhishtira for a game of dice in Hastinapura and allow me to play against him. Yudhishtira is addicted to dice. But like all noble men, he has no skill at the game. I swear he will lose his kingdom and all the gold in it; and Duryodhana will have his peace.”

Duryodhana cried, “You must do this for me! It is not much for a son to ask his father.”

Dhritarashtra hesitated. “I must consult my ministers and the elders of our court.”

“You know Vidura will never agree. And if you don’t arrange the game, I swear I will kill myself. Then you can be happy with your nephew Yudhishtira, who is one face of dharma and your brother Vidura, who is another. You can forget you ever had a son called Duryodhana.”

Dhritarashtra sighed. He weighed the balance of advantage briefly and had to decide in his son’s favor. If there was anyone on earth for whose sake the king would forsake even his caution, it was Duryodhana.

Dhritarashtra said, “Don’t torture yourself any more, my child. We will invite Yudhishtira to Hastinapura to play dice. When your cousin comes, take what you can from him at the game.”

Duryodhana gave a sob and embraced his father. The king said, “Shakuni, arrange for a sabha to be built on the outskirts of our city, at Jayanta. When it is complete, call the Pandavas to come and play dice in it. The rest I leave to you.”

“The rest is easy, my lord,” murmured Shakuni and there was a smile on Duryodhana’s ashen face.

Work on the sabha at Jayanta got swiftly underway. Duryodhana supervised the construction himself. Inevitably, he had his artisans include various features of the Mayaa sabha in the edifice. Vidura heard a sabha was being built at Jayanta and learnt its purpose. He came to see his brother.

“I hear you mean to ask the Pandavas to come and play dice in Hastinapura. Dhritarashtra, you sent your nephews away into a wilderness; leave them in peace now. They do not interfere with you or threaten you in any way. I beg you, stop building the gambling-hall at Jayanta.”

“You exaggerate, Vidura. Since time immemorial, kshatriyas have played dice. It is a harmless pastime. Besides, the game will be played in my presence and Bheeshma’s. What can happen with us there? You are anxious for nothing.”

“Listen to me, Dhritarashtra, before it is too late. I am certain that only evil will come out of this game of dice. War, my brother, war with our own blood!”

But Dhritarashtra would not listen to him. “You are always imagining the worst. I tell you, the sabha at Jayanta and the game of dice both have my sanction.”

Vidura said, “You are bent on destroying yourself and your son. I beg you, reconsider this folly. It will be the ruin of us all.”

But Dhritarashtra was in no mood to listen. Vidura went away, sadly. When he was alone, the king was disturbed by what his brother said. He sent for Duryodhana.

“Vidura is a wise man and he loves us all. He is against the game of dice and, in my heart, I fear he is right. Empires have fallen when enmity broke out among their princes at the gambling table.

Oh, my son, it is perilous to covet the wealth of others. Only those who are contented with what they have and keep dharma, live at peace with themselves. Let us forget the sons of Pandu. They are far from us, as Vidura says and they mean us no harm. Duryodhana, let us abandon this rash plan.”

Duryodhana cried, “Father! You cannot betray me now. We have gone too far for that. It is our dharma to ruin our enemies, by fair means or foul. Arrows and swords are not the only weapons a kshatriya may use against an enemy. He may use deceit and anything that costs his enemy dearly and causes him anguish. Not only the flesh may be pierced, my lord, but the spirit. I seek my enemy’s discontent; for his sorrow shall be the root of my prosperity. The supreme statesman is he who achieves his own progress.”

But Vidura’s certainty that the game of dice boded evil had upset the king. Shaking his head, he said, “I am old enough to know what Vidura says is true. Gambling is a curse. It ends on the battlefield, with weapons flashing and lives lost.”

“No! The people of olden times, who began the custom of gambling, were not fools. They knew that gambling did not lead to war or bloodshed. Indeed, it replaced both and still allowed contention between adversaries. And who knows, the game of dice may open the door to heaven, either for us or the Pandavas. One thing is certain: not both will prevail.”

Good sense and sage counsel seldom deflect the progress of fate. Finally, Dhritarashtra was ruled by his love for his son. When the gambling-hall at Jayanta was complete, he called Vidura and said to his half-brother, “I want you to go to Khandavaprastha. Take Yudhishtira this message: ‘I have heard about the court that Mayaa built for you in your city. I, too, have built a sabha in Jayantapura and I want you to come and see it. Come home to Hastinapura and spend some time with me. We will entertain you with a game of dice.’

Yudhishtira will come. Bring him as soon as you can, Vidura, I long to have him here with me again.”

Vidura pleaded, “My lord, I fear the end of the House of Kuru, if you insist on doing this. I warn you of calamity you cannot dream of. It is not too late. Let us turn the sabha at Jayanta into a feed-ing-house for the poor: so heaven’s blessings fall on us, instead of heaven’s wrath. Dhritarashtra, draw back from the madness you have planned.”

His brother said, “I have already decided the Pandavas shall come here to play dice. I am aware of your views on the matter and have concluded that you exaggerate. Let us have no more argument, Vidura, but go to Yudhishtira. Tell him I wait for him eagerly.”

Full of foreboding, Vidura set out for Indraprastha.