THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (50 page)

Shakuni blanched; his hands, which still held the fateful dice, were clammy. Nakula, too, was subtly invaded by the vision and he was saying to Shakuni, “And I will kill your son Uluka for bearing your blood in his veins. Your venomous spawn must not survive you. I, also, see the war upon the edge of the ages. I see all these mocking sons of Dhritarashtra lying dead, with vultures and jackals tearing at their flesh. I see the end of the glory of the House of Kuru, for the crime committed against Panchali today.”

Was it a hallucination, or did fine petals, which seemed made of fireflies’ lights, rain down on the Pandavas out of the air? An unearthly fragrance blew through that sabha, as if heaven endorsed their ferocious oaths.

Encouraged by the omens, Arjuna breathed, “I can hardly wait for the war, to kill these cowards.” His hand gripped the Gandiva that lay beside him. “But for Yudhishtira, I would have revenge now!”

Arjuna half raised his bow and the earth shuddered at his fury; but Yudhishtira grasped his brother’s hand. The older Pandava said a strange thing then, softly, so only his brother heard him. “Arjuna, be calm, don’t forget dharma. Anger took me also when I heard what Karna said; but I looked down in my misery and I saw his feet. Suddenly my wrath ebbed from me, because Karna’s feet reminded me of our mother Kunti’s! His feet are so much like hers and I felt she came to comfort me and I grew calm again.”

Arjuna stared at his brother. This was the queerest thing he had yet heard. But somehow, what Yudhishtira said quieted Arjuna. Silence had fallen again in the sabha of Hastinapura. A jackal howled on the palace-steps; in unnerving cacophony, its weird cry was answered by harsh-throated birds of carrion: vultures, crows and kites. All round the city, wolves and hyenas added their voices to the infernal din.

When his dead brother Pandu’s sons swore their fierce oaths in his sabha, Dhritarashtra shivered on his throne. Now, at the macabre chorus from the creatures of earth and air, the blind king panicked. “Duryodhana,” he said, “you have called your death to you. Ah, Draupadi, where are you, my child?”

She stood before him.

Held firm by terror now, Dhritarashtra said, “Panchali, my foolish son has done an unforgivable thing today. To atone for it, I grant you any boon you want. Just ask and it shall be yours.”

Duryodhana froze in shock. Karna, Dusasana and the other Kauravas turned to their king and father, hardly believing what they heard. Draupadi also stared incredulously at Dhritarashtra for a moment. Then, realizing he meant what he said, she grew calmer.

She stopped trembling and asked, “Let Yudhishtira be free.”

“I grant you Yudhishtira’s freedom. You deserve another boon, chaste queen.”

Draupadi said at once, “Let Bheema, Arjuna, Sahadeva and Nakula be free and their chariots and weapons restored to them.”

“So be it,” said the king. “But two boons are not enough for a daughter-in-law as virtuous as you. Ask me for another.”

With a swift glance at Yudhishtira, Draupadi said, “My lord, it is greed that destroys dharma. I will ask for just two boons. It already means more than the world to me, that my husbands are free men again.”

Karna sneered, “These Pandavas are lucky to escape so lightly. Such great kshatriyas can only be saved by a woman!”

Furious that the day was wasted, after all, he stalked out of the sabha and Duryodhana went with him. Most of the Kauravas followed them in disgust.

Yudhishtira and his brothers gathered their silks from the pile on the floor and covered themselves: even as if they were born again at that moment. Yudhishtira came and prostrated himself before Dhritarashtra, “My lord, you have always commanded us and we have obeyed you without question. Tell us what to do now.”

Dhritarashtra said shrewdly, “Yudhishtira, noblest kshatriya, sovereign without an enemy, listen to an old man today. The wise never harbor hostility. The good man forgets the faults of others; the best man forgives them, even when he himself has borne their brunt. In the purity of his heart, the virtuous man only sees the virtue in everyone else.

Yudhishtira, forgive my son his sins today against you and yours. Return to your city in the forest and rule as before from Khandavaprastha. Try to banish every memory of this day from your mind; think of it all as no more than a bad dream. My son, go home with peace in your heart. This is my fervent wish and I shall be the happiest man alive if you accede to it.

Duryodhana and you are cousins; you are older than he is. You are selfless and mature, while he is spoilt and rash. Oh Yudhishtira, forgive my foolish son, or he will perish! I beg this of you as a boon to an old man.”

Yudhishtira said, “I will do as you ask, my lord. Bitter as it has been, I will forget what happened here today. But with your leave now, I must return to Indraprastha.”

And with Draupadi beside him and his brothers following him, Yudhishtira set out for home. He was perfectly prepared to put all the shame of the day behind him. But he wondered how Duryodhana would accept having everything he schemed for, all that he had won today—a kingdom, his cousins’ shame, their very freedom—snatched from him in a moment, by his father’s terrified generosity.

TWENTY DHRITARASHTRA’S FICKLENESS
 

Duryodhana had followed Karna and Shakuni out of the sabha; he did not hear what Dhritarashtra finally said to the Pandavas. He thought his father had restored only their liberty to the sons of Pandu. But when the Pandavas left Hastinapura, Dusasana came running to his brother.

“What is the matter, Dusasana?”

“The king has given back everything you won from them,” cried Dusasana.

“The coward!” his brother hissed and stalked back into the sabha where Dhritarashtra sat with Gandhari beside him.

“Father! What have you done? You swore you would not interfere and now you have given back everything: their kingdom, their wealth, their freedom, everything. Do you prefer your brother’s sons to your own? Perhaps you want me to kill myself!”

Dhritarashtra grew increasingly distressed. Duryodhana was the only one who could tear the blind man’s mask away from his father’s face; for, the king loved his prince.

“How foolish could you be?” raged Duryodhana. “The Pandavas were more powerful than us and we decided to ruin them at dice. When that was done, it was safe to humiliate them and their woman. You have given them back their power. They were already dangerous; now they are like cobras spitting venom!

What madness possessed you, father? Already Arjuna, Bheema and the twins stroke their weapons in anticipation of revenge. Didn’t you hear the oaths they swore? Yet, you set them free and gave them back their kingdom, their wealth, their army. Why, my lord? So they can come and kill us?

Once they reach Indraprastha, do you think they will forget what we did to them today? Even if they do, will Drupada stay quiet when he hears what happened to his precious daughter in Hastinapura? Do you think her brother Dhrishtadyumna will, when he hears how Dusasana dragged her into this sabha and tried to strip her naked?

Oh Dhritarashtra, you have been so rash. We must fetch them here at once and take it all back again. Otherwise we are as good as dead.”

He grew thoughtful, while his father trembled on his throne. In a moment, Duryodhana cried, “I have it! Call them back and tell them that in fairness we must play another game of dice. The two kingdoms shall be the stakes. He who loses must go into exile in the forest for twelve years with his brothers; then spend the thirteenth year disguised, so no one knows them. If any of the exiles is discovered, they must spend another twelve years in the forest. Just one roll of the dice to decide this.”

A cold smile touched his lips. “It is only fair: after all, anyone can win. Call them back. We know the blemishless Yudhishtira can never refuse his elders anything.” Then, softly he added, “In thirteen years, I shall be strong indeed, while they roam the forest wearing deerskin. When they return they will be easy to kill.”

A vision of the untold wealth of the Pandavas rose like a dream before that prince’s eyes. But now, his mother Gandhari cried to her husband, “My lord, it is perilous to breach a dam built across a great lake. Don’t listen to Duryodhana. You must not become the cause of the destruction of the House of Kuru.”

Duryodhana gasped. “Mother!”

She continued, “I feel ashamed that you are my son, evil prince. I wish we had listened to Vidura and done away with you when you were born. How the wolves and jackals bayed that night; I can still hear them in my mind. Oh, you are the root of every sin that will bring ruin to this land. You only envied the Pandavas, never tried to understand or know them, or discover what they have suffered. Listen to me today: abandon this monstrous plan. The Gods themselves have given you another chance to save yourself. Seize it with both hands, Duryodhana, not all is lost yet.

If you relent, the Pandavas may even forget what you did to them. I beg you, my son and you, my lord: don’t invite doom back into this sabha. It has just left us by some miracle of grace. Duryodhana, you know how much your father loves you and how weak he is because of his blindness. Don’t lead him to his death and yourself with him.”

Duryodhana ignored his mother and said again to the king, “Father, you know the danger. The Pandavas will never forget today’s shame. Even now, they must be plotting against us. Before it is too late, call them back for one last game.”

Dhritarashtra summoned a court messenger. He said to the man, “Have the Pandavas called back. Tell Yudhishtira I said that in fairness one final game of dice must be played. For, if my son had lost today he would have given up his kingdom.”

The messenger rode on the swiftest horse in the king’s stables and soon overtook the Pandavas on their way home. Yudhishtira reined his chariot in and fear laid its hand on his heart. He had been expecting this rider and he felt immutable destiny approach him again.

The messenger said, “The king asks you to return to Hastinapura. He says you must play one last game of dice.”

Yudhishtira bowed his head briefly. Then, to his brothers’ amazement, he turned his chariot around.

Bheema cried, “What are you doing?”

Yudhishtira replied evenly, “God has ordained the fate of every man; there is no escape from what he has written. Good fortune and evil are both beyond our control. We are helpless to resist destiny. We can only remain calm in the face of whatever happens to us. I must obey Dhritarashtra; it is my dharma. He is my uncle and he gave us our freedom. I must go back,” he sighed, “though I am certain the dice will take everything from me again. But I will not be able to live with myself, if I don’t return.”

His brothers knew, even Bheema, that Yudhishtira was right and they said nothing. The Pandavas returned to Hastinapura to play another game of dice.

TWENTY-ONE THE SECOND GAME OF DICE
 

In the court of Hastinapura, Duryodhana, his brothers, Shakuni and Karna waited. The dice had been laid out, the same ones. Heralded by the king’s messenger, the Pandavas arrived in their uncle’s sabha.

Dhritarashtra said, “I knew you would come, Yudhishtira. After you left, Duryodhana said I had no right to give back what you had lost. He said it was like stealing from him. I told him I could not ask for what I had returned. He asked for one more game of dice. I thought it was only dharma.”

Duryodhana said, “One game and our kingdoms the stake. Shakuni plays for me. He who loses goes into the jungle with his brothers, for twelve years and the winner shall have his kingdom and everything in it. The losers must spend one more year in ajnatavasa, in disguise. If any of the exiles is recognized during the thirteenth year, they must all spend another twelve years in the forest.”

Here were high stakes. Duryodhana paused, his eyes boring into Yudhishtira’s. The Kaurava said, “Shall we play?”

Yudhishtira’s mind churned within him, but he showed no sign of his anxiety. He bowed his head, more to fate than his malevolent cousin and replied quietly, “Let us play.”

He was as calm as a lake on which not a breath of air stirs. Like a tiger that had secured the deer that escaped him once, Shakuni faced Yudhishtira again, twirling the dice in his soft hands.

“Is the wager agreed upon?” he asked suavely.

Yudhishtira nodded. Shakuni said, “You roll first, O Emperor.”

Yudhishtira knew the price, but he felt queerly light-hearted. At least, this time his brothers and Draupadi were not put up. What was a kingdom or a thirteen years’ exile compared with losing them? He had lived through that; these were small stakes for him now.

Calmly Yudhishtira threw the dice and had a fair score. But he had no doubt Shakuni would beat it; and that evil one did, smoothly. Duryodhana jumped up in triumph and embraced his sleek uncle.

“Won!” they cried in one voice.

The Pandavas hung their heads, but now there was no dissent among them. This loss was negligible compared to the last time. The brothers may have even felt the wilderness would do them good, they had grown soft with all the luxury they lived amidst in Indraprastha. They had been raised in a jungle and part of them always longed for the freedom of the wilds. Most of all, they were together and Panchali with them. They were unafraid and quite unattached to comfort or wealth. Fate called them; they were all certain of that now, especially after the visions they saw in the Kuru sabha. They would answer her call.

The Pandavas prepared themselves for exile. They put on garments of tree-bark and deerskin, as the banished must. As they emerged from their apartment, Dusasana and some of his brothers saw them in the passage and burst out laughing.

Dusasana cried, “What is this? Has the palace of Hastinapura become a jungle or a manger that animals roam here? Do my eyes deceive me or is that a fat cow I see waddling toward me?”

Bheema breathed, “You preen and mock today, but you will not laugh during the war. Enjoy our exile, cousin. Because one day I will cut the hand, with which you dragged Draupadi, from your wrist. I will tear your heart out of your chest and drink your blood.”

The son of the wind spoke so menacingly Dusasana drew back from him in fear.

The Pandavas came to see Dhritarashtra, Bheeshma, Kripa and Drona. They took leave of the Kuru elders. Other than formal farewells, no word passed between them. Dhritarashtra’s face was a mask again and the others blessed the sons of Pandu quickly, hardly daring to look at them.

But when they came to their uncle Vidura, in private, he embraced them with tears in his eyes. “May God protect you and help you keep your oaths. Dhritarashtra’s sons must pay with their lives for this. Bide your time in patience, Yudhishtira. Fate always tests those whom she would exalt; she tries them in the wilderness. The years of exile will flit by and you will come home in glory.”

He paused, overwhelmed. Then, Vidura remembered, “Your mother is too old to go with you. Leave her with me.”

Yudhishtira nodded. Vidura drew a deep breath and said, “Ah, my sons, cultivate patience and serenity. It is to acquire these that fate sends you into the jungle. Learn from nature, she has many lessons to teach. Learn to be as calm and generous as water, as forgiving as the earth, as brilliant as the sun, as powerful as the tameless air and keep compassion for all the living.”

He hugged them and they wept when he finally bid them farewell. Once more, Yudhishtira came to Bheeshma and touched his feet. Bheeshma blessed him distantly, his craggy face inscrutable.

At last, the Pandavas came to their mother from whom they had never yet parted. They stood before her, their hearts too full to speak. Draupadi also stood distrait beside her husbands, her eyes bleary and her hair hanging loose below her waist. She had sworn she would not tie it until Bheema kept his oath and tore Dusasana’s heart from his chest, so she could wash her hair in his blood. Now, like a wild vetali’s, her black tresses streamed over her face and her shoulders and her eyes were red with crying.

Kunti, who had just yesterday seen her sons as rulers of the earth, now saw them wearing deerskin and tree-bark and their ornaments discarded. At first, she was brave; but when she saw Draupadi, she clasped the young queen to her and began to sob.

“My precious child! Forgive my sons. Be kind to them, Panchali, now they have only you to care for them. You could have made them ashes with a look from your eye and all the Kauravas too. Yet, after all that happened, the only boon you asked for was your husbands’ freedom. I know most queens would have chosen another path, especially after none of my sons spoke for you. You are a woman of great purity. I bless you, my daughter and I thank the Gods you are my sons’ wife!”

Both women wept and Draupadi wiped Kunti’s tears, saying, “Don’t worry, mother, I will look after them.”

Kunti said to her, “I leave my Sahadeva, who is still like a child, in your care. Be not only a wife, but a mother to him.”

She hugged Sahadeva and her other sons, crying, “Look after one another and this jewel of a woman the Gods have blessed you with.”

As they touched her feet, Kunti became hysterical. She cried out their names, calling to her husband in heaven to watch over them, calling on God to protect them. How would she live without them for thirteen years? She clasped them to her, one after the other and would not release them.

Finally, Vidura took her hands and said, “You will have plenty of time to cry when they have gone. Come away now: the sooner you let them go, the sooner they will return to you.”

Kunti allowed Vidura to lead her inside. Before she lost control of herself again, her sons left the palace. They walked through the streets, out of the city of their ancestors and their misfortune. The people of Hastinapura thronged those streets and followed the Pandavas to the city-gates. They wanted to follow them into exile, even as, an age ago, the people of Ayodhya had wanted to follow Rama when he was banished.

The people always see clearly into the hearts of those who rule them. They said to one another, “Duryodhana wants to be king, with Shakuni, Dusasana and Karna beside him.”

“And then not our homes or families shall be safe.”

“When demons rule how can anything be safe? Not our heritage, our faith, or our happiness will be secure.”

“The world will perish if Duryodhana rules the Kurus.”

“Let us leave this accursed city and follow Pandu’s sons wherever they go.”

“Let us follow Yudhishtira to the forest!”

The people of Hastinapura cried to the Pandavas, “Princes, you have been banished by treachery. We, the people, are with you. Don’t desert us, Yudhishtira; we will be ruined if Duryodhana rules us.”

“He will corrupt our children and plunge us all into darkness.”

“But if we stay with you, Pandavas, we will be happy. Your nobility will make our lives fragrant, as lotuses do the water on which they rest.”

“We see all the virtues of dharma in you. We are the people; we know what we see. Duryodhana does not deceive us, nor does Shakuni. It is not from pity, but for our own welfare that we want to go with you. We want to save ourselves from these devils.”

“We will follow you into exile!”

They set up a great noise and Yudhishtira spoke gently to them, “My friends, only your affection and loyalty make you see such qualities in us, where they hardly exist.”

“You are too modest, Yudhishtira!” someone shouted. The surging crowd took up that cry.

“The Pandavas are too pure!” they said.

“They could kill the Kauravas and rule both Hastinapura and Indraprastha. If only they weren’t so noble.”

“We want Yudhishtira for our king, even if it is in the jungle!”

Yudhishtira raised both his hands to quieten them and when they fell silent, he said, “You must stay behind, my friends. You must think of Bheeshma and Dhritarashtra, Vidura and my mother Kunti. Bheeshma has served you long and devotedly and so have the king and Vidura. They also share your grief at our exile. You must be of solace to them.”

“Dhritarashtra feels no remorse, or he would not have called you back to play a second time!”

“Even if that is true, what about the others? Will you abandon Bheeshma, Vidura and my mother, in their grief?” They were amazed; any other man would have encouraged them to go with him, at least to teach Duryodhana a lesson. But with tears in his eyes, Yudhishtira pleaded, “You must return to your homes, where you belong. Make it easier for us to leave you. In thirteen years, we will come back to claim what is ours.”

He folded his hands and begged them not to follow him any further. At last, the crowd was mollified. The people said, “We must not make their sorrow sharper than it is. Come, we will do as he asks. After all, he is our king. We will be patient and wait for you to return, Yudhishtira.”

“Let them go quickly. So they will come back quickly.”

Convinced by the justice of what Yudhishtira said, they cried, “Go in peace. We will wait for your return.”

Thus, the Pandavas climbed into their chariots and rode away from the city of their defeat. The crowd stayed where it was, gazing after them. The people hardly saw clearly, for the tears in their eyes. Even when the chariots had driven out of sight, they stood on mutely. Perhaps they hoped the princes would change their minds and come back.

At last, sadly, they did turn back into the city and their homes; dark foreboding for the future lay heavily upon them.

Meanwhile, fear of another kind gripped Dhritarashtra. As he always did, at such times, he sent for Vidura. By the time his brother came, the king was in a panic. When they were alone, he whispered anxiously, “Have they gone, Vidura? What did the people say? And what did the Pandavas say to them? Tell me everything.”

For a moment, Vidura stood silent, feeling both pity and revulsion. Then, with a sigh, he said, “Yes, they have gone. They went in their chariots.”

“And the people?”

“The people came out of their homes; not a man, woman or child stayed in. They followed the Pandavas like a river, reaching out their hands to comfort them and there was no one in the crowd who did not cry. They came to the gates and the leaders of the people approached Yudhishtira and swore they would follow him into the wilderness, because they do not trust your son. They said the kingdom would perish if Duryodhana ruled from Hastinapura.”

The king’s mask was impenetrable once more. But his brother knew how frightened he was and today Vidura did not spare Dhritarashtra. The more he could hurt him the better.

“Like Rama of Ayodhya, Yudhishtira left his people and he had to beg them to stay behind, saying who would look after Dhritarashtra and Bheeshma, Vidura and Kunti, if they went with him. Finally, he convinced them not to follow him. Just as people of Ayodhya wept when Rama went into exile, the people of Hastinapura cried when the Pandavas rode away in their chariots. Some wiped their tears with their cloths, some with their hands; but they all sobbed like children and stood gazing after the princes long after they were out of sight. Such love can’t be bought, not with money and surely not with fear.”

“And how did the Pandavas look when they left? Tell me everything, Vidura, each detail.”

“Yudhishtira covered his face with a cloth, leaving only space for him to see ahead and he kept his eyes turned down to the earth.” He paused while the king considered this. “Bheema went grimly and in silence, like a great lion. But he stared at his hands all the time and his eyes seemed to be on fire.”

“And Arjuna?”

“Arjuna followed Bheema, his eyes also turned down. I saw he scattered the dust at his feet, kicking it repeatedly. Sahadeva went, his face darkened with ashes and his twin Nakula had smeared his whole body with dust and ashes.”

“And Draupadi?”

“She had undone her hair, so it covered her face and her shoulders. She wore a single cloth, stained with blood. She went like a vetali, sobbing. Behind the six of them walked their guru Dhaumya: to share their misfortune as he has their glory. As he went, he plucked blades of kusa grass, wherever he saw them growing and chanted hymns from the Sama Veda, to Rudra and Yama.”