THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (47 page)

FIFTEEN AN ANXIOUS MESSENGER
 

In Indraprastha, Yudhishtira welcomed Vidura warmly. When Vidura’s feet had been washed and madhurparka offered him, they sat together in a private chamber: the good uncle and his nephews he loved.

Yudhishtira said, “We are delighted to have you here with us, my lord. But you seem anxious. Is the king not in good health? Is there any other cause for concern in Hastinapura? Can we be of help?”

Vidura said, “Your uncle Dhritarashtra is in excellent health and so are his sons. There is no other cause for concern in Hastinapura and I have come as a messenger. The king says to you, ‘Come home to Hastinapura, Yudhishtira my son and spend some time with me. We have built a new sabha at Jayantapura and I want you to come and play dice in it. Don’t refuse me.’”

Vidura fell silent and kept his eyes turned from his nephew’s face. Yudhishtira frowned. He knew Dhritarashtra well enough to suspect some treachery.

Slowly, the Pandava said, “Surely, the game of dice is the crux of this invitation. And I fear it will tear the sons of Dhritarashtra and the sons of Pandu further apart.”

Vidura said, “I told Dhritarashtra the game of dice will ruin us all. But he would not listen.”

Yudhishtira asked shrewdly, “Tell me, who is to play against me?”

“Shakuni.”

“The best player! And I am such a poor one. Shakuni is a wizard at dice and I hear, a cheat as well. No one can beat him. But what can I do? Dhritarashtra knows I can never refuse my elders anything they ask. Whatever God wills must happen in this world and all that happens is for the best. Who am I to resist destiny?”

He fell thoughtful. “I am not obliged to come to Hastinapura. I am no vassal of Dhritarashtra’s and a son need obey his father only if the father treats him as he should. Dhritarashtra has not treated us like his sons. Yet, my blind uncle is canny and knows my nature well. He knows I will not refuse what he asks, though I know how envious he is of me. He knows I will come, because it is my dharma to obey my elders, however dangerous they are.

I am also terribly anxious, but I will go with you. I will come to Hastinapura.”

Vidura had tears in his eyes.

Thus, Yudhishtira, king in Indraprastha, emperor of all Bharatavarsha, went back to his father’s city. He went with his brothers and Draupadi and other companions besides. The Pandava came bravely to whatever fate held in store for him. But in his mind was the ghastly image from the Rajasuya yagna: of Sishupala’s head being struck off by Krishna’s Chakra; and the sinister omens that followed the killing.

He heard Vyasa’s voice. “The omens portend fourteen years of misfortune; and beyond that, the destruction of the race of kshatriyas.”

SIXTEEN THE GAME OF DICE
 

The reception the Pandavas had in Hastinapura was surprisingly warm, not to say effusive. They were welcomed like sons of the city and every arrangement made for their comfort. Their father’s old palace had been prepared for them to stay in and a host of servants detailed to look after them. Everyone was so cordial, even Duryodhana, the Pandavas were lulled into thinking that this was, after all, just a friendly invitation to spend a few days with their kinsmen.

Most heart-warming was the manner in which the people of Hastinapura flocked into the streets to welcome them. Bheeshma and Drona received them, Kripa and the others and Dhritarashtra was the fondest, embracing his nephews, kissing each one, saying how proud their Rajasuya yagna had made him. The Pandavas forgot all about the game of dice and no one else mentioned it.

The first night in Hastinapura was a memorable one and there was a banquet to mark the homecoming. The finest wine flowed, the food was exceptional and there was not an unfriendly word from any of the Kauravas. Instead, they seemed delighted their cousins had come and anxious to please them. Duryodhana sat next to Bheema and insisted on filling his glass and heaping his plate with food. But Bheema remembered the day at the river. He only ate when Duryodhana served himself from the same dishes.

It was a grand feast. The singers were in superb voice and the dancers inspired. Yudhishtira thought his prayers were answered and, surely, this was the beginning of a warm new alliance. He slept contentedly that night in the luxurious apartments in Pandu’s old palace.

The next day dawned: a golden morning, with no sign that this was to be the most terrible day in the lives of Pandu’s sons. They rose early and were served a sumptuous meal. Then Duryodhana and his brothers arrived to take them to the sabha at Jayanta. The Kaurava put up such a pretense of cordiality his cousins did not suspect his real motives any more.

The Pandavas were shown round the sabha at Jayantapura. It was a crude monument, simplistic and garishly ornate. It strove, quite obviously, to imitate the Mayaa sabha. But the artisans of Hastinapura were inferior spirits and the result of their labors was an edifice of little originality. The Panda-vas, however, wandered through that building making polite noises of approval. They were not to know the Kauravas didn’t care a whit about the sabha, but were impatient to get down to the game of dice. They had decided in the night they would play not at Jayanta, as they had first planned, but in the palace in Hastinapura.

Duryodhana brought his cousins back to Dhritarashtra’s court. When they all sat, the Pandavas on one side and the Kauravas across from them and the king, Bheeshma, Drona, Kripa and Vidura on their thrones above, Shakuni produced the long dice and said smoothly, “Shall we play, Yudhishtira? Let us see the stakes.”

Yudhishtira glanced up at the elders. Dhritarashtra’s face showed no emotion, only the blind man’s smile that hid everything. Bheeshma, Drona and Kripa seemed aloof. Vidura alone sat tensely in his place.

Yudhishtira said slowly, “Dice is a poisonous game; it breeds discord and destroys friendships. It is not a game for kshatriyas, Shakuni and I would rather not play.”

Duryodhana was alarmed; this would defeat the purpose of fetching them here. Shakuni laughed at Yudhishtira. “It’s just a game, not war! Dice is as good a way as any to pass the time.”

Yudhishtira said earnestly, “A man becomes a fool when he lays his hands on the ivory dice. Gambling is like wine. Worse, it is a fever of the soul; and once the fever seizes a man, nothing can cure him. Let us not play this evil game. It begins lightly enough, but it ruins men.”

Shakuni laughed again. He said to the sabha, “I think our Pandava emperor, who performed a Rajasuya yagna, is afraid of losing his wealth. After all, it is new wealth. Let him keep it. If you are afraid to play, we will not insist. After all, fate decides the outcome of a game of dice and kings are notoriously wary of fate.”

Noble, naïve Yudhishtira cried, “I am not afraid, Shakuni! Not of you, or anyone else. Fate is all-powerful, subtler than the wisdom of men: for, the ends of fate are inscrutable. If you challenge me, I will play. Say who will play against me and what the stakes are.”

Smiling in the friendliest way, Duryodhana said, “I will wager whatever you do. Shakuni will play for me.”

“But that is unheard of. The one who wagers must play himself.”

Shakuni said, “I see nothing wrong with the arrangement. It does seem you are afraid of playing, Yudhishtira. Why not admit it and let us find some other way to pass the time.”

Meanwhile, the sabha was filling. Every kshatriya in Hastinapura had heard about the game of dice and no one would miss it. The blind king sat attentive and Vidura was full of anxiety.

Yudhishtira produced a pearl necklace, set in gold. It was an heirloom and the jewels on it shone like small moons. The emperor of Bharatavarsha said, “Let us play and Shakuni can play for you if you insist, Duryodhana. I wager this necklace. Will you match it?”

Duryodhana heaved a sigh. Yudhishtira would play, after all; the rest he could leave to Shakuni. Powerful stars had moved into baleful aspects around the earth. The Pandavas all felt an ominous disturbance in their hearts, a dread. It was to be a more fateful hour than they could have dreamt. But there was no turning it away.

Yudhishtira sat grimly across from Shakuni, who twirled his ivory dice1 in manicured hands. Yudhishtira, also, had dice to throw: innocent dice that rolled true to chance, unlike the loaded ones Shakuni fondled.

It was all Duryodhana could do to remain calm. Unfastening a priceless bracelet from his wrist, he said, “I match your wager.”

The Pandava cast his dice first and scored well. But his eyes bland, Shakuni out-threw him. That first throw was critical; if Yudhishtira had won, he may not have lost control of himself as he did. But then, that is how fate arranged it and the Pandava’s kshatriya blood was roused, when there was little use for it in a game of dice. He was seized by an hour’s madness, which would cost him dearly.

“I wager my chariot and horses!” he cried.

His brothers looked at him in alarm. He did not even glance at them any more. He only spun his dice and threw them; and after him, Shakuni, his pale eyes mocking, his plump fingers full of deceit. Again, Shakuni won. A hush fell on the sabha.

Yudhishtira grew more defiant. “I wager my elephants of war.”

Duryodhana replied in deadly calm, “I match the wager. Roll.”

Yudhishtira threw a fine score. Only a perfect throw by Shakuni, one chance in a hundred, could win. Shakuni spun his dice and produced that throw. The elephants were lost and so it seemed was Yudhishtira. He had grown very still, his face set taut. Arjuna laid a hand on his arm and whispered, “Stop this madness before you lose everything we have.”

Shakuni tittered, “Had enough already, O Chakravarti? Lost your nerve so soon?”

1. See Appendix.

Like a man in a dream, Yudhishtira shook off Arjuna’s hand and, leaning forward, said hoarsely, “I wager all the gold in my treasury, Shakuni. Who speaks of stopping? We have just begun.”

Duryodhana looked at Shakuni; this was a strong wager. His uncle nodded imperceptibly and Duryodhana said, “I match your wager, cousin.”

The dice rolled and Shakuni’s voice rang again through the sabha, “We have won all your gold!”

His eyes glazed, Yudhishtira was in the grip of the gambling demon. Grown stiff as a corpse, he cried, “I wager my treasury and all the jewels in it.”

His brothers sat rooted, nothing they could do any more. It was as if fate had taken Yudhishtira in relentless hands and played him like a puppet, for fathomless reasons.

Shakuni murmured, “An emperor’s stakes, surely.”

The dice rolled and again. Shakuni cried, “All the jewels of Indraprastha won, Duryodhana!”

The Kaurava prince sat as still as his cousin across the chasm in which the dice rolled, so facilely, transforming lives. But his was a very different stillness from poor Yudhishtira’s. Every cell in the Kaurava’s body sang; his eyes shone like malignant stars. If this was Yudhishtira’s most wretched moment, it was Duryodhana’s most triumphant one.

Yudhishtira was trapped in a nightmare, overwhelmed by evil. He must chase his losses, though he knew he would only lose what he still had. He could not help himself.

“I wager my granary and all the grain in Indraprastha.”

The dice rolled and, inevitably, Shakuni won. Dhritarashtra sat in his throne, knowing everything. Not a muscle moved on his face, but his heart was as alight as his son’s was, or Shakuni’s.

Dully, Yudhishtira said, “I wager my army.”

Shakuni won the army of Indraprastha for his nephew, who sat in unearthly quiet. Duryodhana could hardly believe his fortune; he felt his heart might burst for joy. But when Shakuni, whose fingers were subtle deceivers, won the Pandava army, Vidura came to Dhritarashtra and said, “My lord, you must stop this game before fate takes us farther down the path to doom than we can return from.

We saw evil omens on the night Duryodhana was born: wolves that howled in our streets, bats that covered the face of the moon, a dreadful storm, its rain flecked with blood. You asked me what the omens meant and I told you they foretold the end of the world.” His voice was low, but in the silence which had fallen in that sabha everyone heard what Vidura said. “And that night I said to you, my brother, that you should sacrifice your eldest son to save the world, because he was a monster born to destroy it.”

Duryodhana’s eyes were terrible, but Vidura continued, “My lord, greed and envy destroy the world. And it is from these that your son uses his uncle’s vile skills to cheat his cousins out of everything they own. But you are not young or foolish, Dhritarashtra. Stop this game before it is too late and the omens come true.

What you countenance today is robbery and Shakuni is a prince of cheats. I beg you, stop the game and return what this serpent has won from the Pandavas with his loaded dice.”

Not a twitch from Dhritarashtra, nothing. But Duryodhana, who had been growling in his throat like some beast, sprang up and roared, “You ingrate! My father kept you, fed you and gave you authority in Hastinapura. But you always hated me and favored Pandu’s sons. You wanted Yudhishtira on the throne, though he is not the king’s son. And now you dare malign me in this sabha, with some imaginary omens you saw when I was born? Why, you wanted to have me killed, when I was a baby.

You are the monster, that you tried to make a father murder his son. We do not need you here anymore, Vidura. Shakuni is also my uncle and he loves me.”

Duryodhana was so angry he would have torn Vidura limb from limb. “As for my character, God created me. He decides what will happen in this world and he has set me sail on this voyage of life. Do you flatter yourself that you can change what God has written, with your moralizing? I have not said this to you before, because you are my uncle and my father loves you. But I will say it today: one must never harbor a man who wishes one harm. Since you dislike us so much, Vidura, why don’t you leave Hastinapura? Today!”

That prince stalked back to the game, where Yudhishtira was losing everything he owned. Vidura sighed, “I have always been a well-wisher of Dhritarashtra and his sons,” and he sat down. He saw fate must indeed have her way and nothing he could say would change her course.

Shakuni was mocking Yudhishtira. “You have nothing left to wager, Pandava.”

An ashen-faced Yudhishtira sat frozen over the dice. Shakuni made an offer. “Just to show you I am generous, I will wager everything you have lost so far. But do you have anything left, which you can lay down against my stake? I think not, O Emperor.”

Yudhishtira did not speak for an age. Then, suddenly, as if he was inspired and had found his way out of staggering misfortune, he cried, “I wager my brother Nakula, who is dark and handsome and as strong as ten of your best men!”

The court gasped. Yudhishtira’s brothers sat motionless and, to his everlasting credit, Nakula showed no flicker of any emotion, let alone protest. Shakuni looked at Duryodhana; his face lit with a fiend’s smile, the Kaurava nodded.

The dice rolled and Shakuni cried, “I’ve won your little brother for our slave, Yudhishtira. What will you wager to win him back?” His restless eyes swept across to Sahadeva.

“I wager Sahadeva. There is no man as intelligent as him.”

The dice rolled and Shakuni murmured, “Today isn’t your lucky day.”

A dreadful cold gripped Yudhishtira. How swiftly ruin had come to him, in a few rolls of the ivory dice. He hardly knew what he did anymore; someone else, who was determined to destroy him, ruled his head and heart and spoke from his lips. Yudhishtira, son of Pandu, son of Dharma Deva, would never wager his brothers at a game of dice. But he had done just that.

It was not over yet. Shakuni was saying in his sly lisp, “And now what will you wager, O Emperor? You still have two brothers left, but you do not put them up. Perhaps you don’t think your own brothers are as precious as Madri’s sons. Or, maybe, they are less dispensable?”

“I wager Arjuna, who has no equal on earth,” Yudhishtira choked, “and does not deserve this.”

His hands shook as he flung the dice down. It was a perfect score and Shakuni sat staring at it for a moment. Then he twirled his own dice and matched the Pandava’s throw. Yudhishtira threw again and now his score was low. Leering at his opponent, who was like an innocent child before him, who knew nothing of the sleight of hand and the ruthlessness that make the true gambler, Shakuni asked, “Perhaps you think I will not beat that?”