YUGANTA

THE END OF AN EPOCH

IRAVATI KARVE

Preface
The idea of writing my Mahabharata studies in English occurred to me first when
friends and pupils in the U.S.A. showed an interest in the subject. This venture
has at last been completed, thanks mostly to my American and Indian
daughters, Maxine, Jai and Gauri. Thanks also to Prof. Brown for the consistent
interest he took in the work and for his foreword. Prof. Bender of the University
of Pennsylvania made many valuable suggestions. Sincere thanks to my
colleague Prof. Kalelkar for providing a scheme of pronunciation of the Sanskrit
names and going through the manuscript. I am thankful to Mr. R. B. Sapre for
preparing the line drawings from the photographs of the sculptures.
As usual my husband has been very helpful in insisting on some order in my
haphazard writing. I hope these few sketches rouse enough curiosity among
people to make them want to read the magnificent poem called the
‘Mahabharata.’ ​Iravati Karve
Poona,
August 1968

Foreword
Anyone reading this book might well conclude that Iravati Karve’s favourite
Sanskrit work is the Mahabharata. If he had known her before reading the book
he might already have reached that conclusion. For when she talks, she may
recite long passages of the Mahabharata, launch upon analysis and discussion
of personalities and deeds described in it, while her mind, which is constantly
bursting with original and interesting ideas, often finds the stimulus for them in
that gigantic work.
The Mahabharata has often been characterized by students of Indian
civilization as the most informative work in all that country’s ancient literature. It
is a growth over many centuries, which incorporates material of many varieties
drawn from many sources — possibly a little history, certainly much myth,
legend, fairy tale, fable, anecdote, religious and philosophical writing, legal
material, even anthropological items, and miscellaneous data of other kinds. It is
a genuine folk epic in basic character, which has been enlarged to a kind of
Indian — at least Hindu — cultural encyclopaedia.
But it is not this quality of the Mahabharata that has made it so absorbing to
Dr. Karve. She is attracted to it because it depicts a long roster of characters
with all their virtues and their equally numerous faults, openly, objectively,
even more, mercilessly
displayed, especially when sought out by an inquirer like her, whose view of life
is secular, scientific, anthropological in the widest sense, yet also appreciative
of literary values, social problems of the past and present alike, and human
needs and responses in her own time and in antiquity as she identifies them.
The Mahabharata stands in contrast to the other great Sanskrit epic, the
Ramayana. The latter the Hindus characterize as elegant poetry, high literary art
(kavya), a court epic wherein the personalities are types illustrative of virtues and
vices rather than emotionally
complicated beings. To Hindu tradition however, the Mahabharata is history
(itihasa, a word which means literally “thus it was”), and its character is like
that of the Iliad and other great folk epics.
Irawati Karve studies the humanity of the Mahabharata's great figures and no
one of them ​ ​emerges for her as wholly good or wholly bad, few as even
prevailingly good or prevailingly ​ ​bad. Duryodhana, the arch villain of the work,
had been humiliated by the Pandava heroes ​ ​and had cause for resentment.
Arjuna, the great and noble warrior was vacillating in ​ ​purpose and also
merciless, as in the slaughter of the Nagas (primitive non-Aryan folk?) when ​ ​he
and Krishna and the god Agni burnt the Khandava forest — there was no Ahimsa
for ​ ​those three! Bhishma, the wisest and most respected character in the epic, a
peacemaker ​ ​who tried to heal the factional strife in his family which is the theme
of the work, nevertheless, ​ w​ hen under the influence .of his own sense of
mission, wrought great injustices and had a ​ ​large share in producing the fatal
series of events that finally made the strife incurable and ​ ​obliterated both the
warring branches. Gandhari, generally admired for wifely devotion, who ​ ​as a girl
was deceitfully betrothed to a blind prince, and in consequence, to share her
husband's ​ ​misfortune, wore a bandage over her eyes by day and night until
shortly before her death, is ​ s​ hown at the end of life to have inflicted the voluntary
blindness upon herself not so ​ ​much from an exaggerated sense of marital duty
as to give her husband and his family a ​ ​guilty feeling in retaliation for the
deception practised upon her. Draupadi, heroine of the ​ ​whole epic story, though
the model of a good wife, was also an arrogant, opionated, ​ ​selfish, untrustworthy
young woman, and an inveterate troublemaker throughout ​ ​her life. The
catalogue is endless. Even Krishna, reciter of the Bhagavadgita and god
incarnate, was a Machiavellian schemer, aiding his friends, the Pandavas, with
shrewd ​ ​counsel, though sometimes of dubious morality. All the great personages
in the ​ ​Mahabharata are cut down in her analysis to human size. Like the noble
figures in the ​ ​Greek epics and tragedies and in Shakespeare’s chronicle plays
they exhibited a wide ​ ​range of human feelings and passions — love, devotion,
bravery, chivalry, and also ​ ​hatred, envy, rage, violence, deceit, cowardice,
unchivalry, injustice, censurable conduct ​ ​even by the prevailing standards. This
fact is what makes them interesting to Dr. Karve ​ ​and makes her essays
interesting to us. Seen through her eyes the Mahabharata is more ​ ​than a work
which Hindus look upon as divinely inspired and venerate. It becomes a ​ ​record
of complex humanity and a mirror to all the faces which we ourselves wear.
The Mahabharata thus becomes for us a work of high tragedy with “the
strange power” as Edith Hamilton puts it in speaking of Aeschylus, “to exalt
and not depress”. The royal house of the Kauravas and the Pandavas, rent by
the violent passions of its
factions, which were too great to be subdued by the virtues it possessed, like the
house of Atreus came to inevitable, violent extinction. Though the Sanskrit
drama does not know tragedy, the epic Mahabharata does the most genuine and
deepest tragedy. This tragedy is what Irawati Karve has found and now shows
us in this volume.
W. Norman Brown

Introduction

1. What is Mahabharata?
Mahabharata is the name of a book in the Sanskrit language telling in very
simple verse form the story of a family quarrel ending in a fierce battle. According
to this author and to Indians in general this is not an imaginary, made-up story,
but represents a real event which took place about 1000 B.C. In the course of this
narration stories are given of the ancestors of the heroes who fought the battle.
These were princes who ruled at a city called Hastinapura situated somewhere
near modern Delhi. The most illustrious King among these ancestors was a King
Bharata (son of King Dushyanta or Dushmanta and Shakuntala). From the name
Bharata is derived the word ‘Bharata’ which might mean: (1) any descendant of
Bharata or (2) any other thing about Bharata, as for example a poem. ‘Maha’
means the big, the great. The word Mahabharata lets us recognize stages in the
making of this poem. Perhaps there was a simple and less extensive story called
Bharata and then by century-long accretion it became a maha (the big) Bharata
(book about the descendants of Bharata).
The present version of the book however lets one know that there was an
earlier time still when the narration had the much shorter and simpler name Jaya
(Victory). This means that in its first form the narration was a poem of triumph
and told of the victory of a particular king over his rival kinsmen. Very probably it
was sung by bards at the court of the King, and as the narration itself says, was
also sung by wandering minstrels and eagerly listened to by the people. In the
story as it is preserved the chief narrators are different named bards called suta.
A class of people called suta representing the illegitimate progeny of the
Kshatriyas performed various functions at the Court. They were counsellors and
friends of kings, charioteers, and also bards. Some of them moved from place to
place, wherever they knew that people were likely to assemble, and told their
stories which consisted mainly of exploits of loves and adventures of ancient and
ruling kings and princes. A book in many respects like the Mahabharata was the
Ramayana, a narrative sung from place to place. Out of these grew a later type
of literature called the Puranas (purana = the ancient = the story of the past).
These, besides the stories of various Kshatriya dynasties, contained
cosmogonies and cosmologies and a lot of didactic matter.
The narrators of the Puranas were also sutas. The Mahabharata, the Ramayana
and the Puranas have been given a special name by a scholar, Dr. S. V. Ketkar,
who called these the sauta literature, that is, literature belonging to the sutas,
preserved and sung by the
sutas and perhaps largely composed by the sutas. This literature embodies the
secular political tradition of the Sanskrit literature as against another branch
which he called ‘mantra’. Mantra in Sanskrit means a hymn or a magical formula.
Mantra literature embodied hymns to gods, magical verses (in Rigveda and
Atharvaveda), descriptions of ritual, and the uses of hymns in ritual, in addition to
minute details of the various sacrifices (as in Yajur-veda and the books called
Brahmanas). There were also philosophical and esoteric discourses (as in
Upanishads and Aranyakas). ‘This literature later branched into grammar,
semantics and philosophy. As against the sauta tradition, this branch
represented ritual and religious literature and later speculative literature. The
traditional keepers of this literature were the people of the priest class — the
Brahmins.
It has been convincingly shown by the late Dr. V. S. Sukhatankar that the
Mahabharata at one time went from the sutas into the keeping of a Brahmin clan
named Bhrigu. This clan took the opportunity to add the stories of its own clan
to the Mahabharata. Fortunately these additions are so crude and so out of
context of the original story that they can be detected easily. This author thinks
that not only the Mahabharata but almost all the literary tradition in Sanskrit
passed into the hands of the Brahmins, who henceforward became jealous
custodians of this literature to which they added from time to time whatever
came into their hands. What particular historical and social conditions made this
possible and what the time was when this occurred would be worth
investigating.
The edition of the Mahabharata used for the sketches which follow is called the
‘critical’ edition of the Mahabharata, published by the Bhandarkar Oriental
Research Institute of Poona. This edition represents the result of an international
undertaking supported by the Indian and foreign governments in which Indian
and foreign scholars worked for several years. Before this edition was brought
out there were in printed form different versions of the Mahabharata in Bengal,
Uttar Pradesh, Maharashtra, Andhra and Kerala based on manuscripts found in
each area. For the critical edition all the extant manuscripts were collected and
compared. The oldest manuscript dating to no earlier than the 10th century A.D.
was found in Kashmir, written on birch bark. After comparison of these, a short
Javanese version, and the commentaries on the Mahabharata, a text was
constituted in such a way that what appeared to be common to all manuscripts
was published as the oldest text and what appeared in other manuscript
traditions was relegated to appendices. A Kashmiri version in most cases
seemed to be the oldest but it was not extant for the whole of the Mahabharata
and in some rare cases the other manuscripts seemed to have preserved an
older tradition. The redundant parts contain hundreds of verses and so the text of
the critical edition is smaller in almost all cases than any of the individual
manuscripts. In this endeavour much extraneous matter goes out and in the
process a text has emerged which seems to be more consistent than any
previous text. The narrative also has gained in force and speed.
This edition however constitutes only the very first attempt at a critical survey
based entirely on the scrutiny of manuscripts of an old text. It still contains
within its body obvious redundancies and contradictions which are discernible
even to a lay reader like the present author. To give only a few examples: (1)
The critical text has two distinct beginnings of the story of which one is
obviously a later addition. (2) All or most of the episodes of the Bhrigu family
need to be dropped. (3) All passages in praise of Krishna (one of the
characters of the story) as god, and his miraculous exploits are obvious later
additions. Some of these have dropped out in the critical edition but many still
remain. (4) The present composition of the story into eighteen books (parvans)
and the Bhagavadgita into eighteen chapters (adhyayas) seems to be an
artificial arrangement of a late date when the number eighteen somehow gained
a religious significance. The Puranas are said to be eighteen, the books called
Upanishads are supposed to be eighteen but in actuality there are more.
If this mystic number eighteen is given up, the whole book may be reduced
again by dropping wholly or partly some of the inflated later additions like the
part called “Shanti parvan”. The extremely small parts given the names of
parvans which follow the battle might originally have been only one or two
parvans.
These tasks are however for later endeavours of Sanskrit scholars. These are
mentioned here because of occasional references made by this author in the
following sketches to what she considers to be redundant. It U may, however, be
borne in mind that all such reflections are the author’s own.
The present critical text on which all of the following sketches are based
contains the following:—
It has eighteen divisions each called parva or parvan. These eighteen main
divisions contain smaller divisions also called parva. These are called by the
editors ‘sub-parvans’. The names of the main parvans, the content and the
number of couplets contained in each are as follows:—
1. Adiparva.
Adi means the beginning. It contains a narration of the creation of the world,
the stories of gods, demi-gods, sacred birds, snakes etc. This also gives us the
genealogy of the Kings of Hastinapura and relates legends connected with the
more famous ones. ‘Finally it tells of the princes who are the main concern of
the story, and of the rivalry between cousins — the Pandavas and the
Dhartarashtras (sons of Dhritarashtra also called Kauravas).
2. Sabbaparva.
Sabha means the assembly hall. It describes the great halls of gods; the
miraculous hall built by the Pandavas; the glorious sacrifice (Rajasuya, performed
by the Pandavas); the jealousy of the Dhartarashtras who invited the Pandavas
to a game of dice in which Pandavas lost everything and according to the
conditions of the bet were sent into exile for twelve years and incognito life for
one more year.
3. Vana—or Aranyaparva.
Vana or Aranya means forest. This tells about the life of the Pandavas in the
forest. It contains many stories of ancient kings and queens like the stories of
Nala and Damayanti, Rama and Sita, Satyavan and Savitri and many others. It is
also padded by many discourses and a description of a pilgrimage which the
Pandavas were supposed to have undertaken.
4. Virata-parva.
Virata is the family name of the kings at whose court the Pandavas lived
incognito for one year. It tells of the hardships which the wife of the Pandavas
(Draupadi) had to
endure, the killing of her tormentor, the cattle raid of the Dhartarashtras and
their defeat at the hands of the Pandavas.
5. Udyoga-parva.
Udyoga means work or activity. It contains diplomatic talks following the
demand of part of the kingdom by the Pandavas and on the refusal by the
Kauravas, preparation of war by both the parties.
The word Kaurava means the descendants of the King Kuru; (see Bharata and
Bharata discussed above), a famous ancestor of the kings of Hastinapura. Both
the parties in the Mahabharata story are descendants of Kuru and hence
Kauravas. They are called so indiscriminately in the Sanskrit texts, but in
modern India the tongue-twister “Dhritarashtra” (sons of Dhritarashtra) has fallen
into disuse. One party, the Pandavas (sons of Pandu) have retained their name
perhaps because it is easy, while the name common to both cousins, namely
Kauravas, is now applied to the rivals of Pandavas namely to the sons of
Dhritarashtra. In the sketches according to the modern practice, the word
Kaurava is sometimes used for Dhar-tarashtra. In the following note also the
word Kaurava will be used, being the simpler word.]
From here onwards Parva 6 to 10 both inclusive are known as
battle-parvas. They describe the eighteen (! ?) -day battle under the chiefs
on the Kaurava side who were killed one after another.
6. Rhishma-parva.
Bhishma was the name of the first commander, the oldest living man of the
Kuru or Bharata clan. His headship lasted for ten days until he was wounded
by Arjuna, one of the Pandava brothers.
7. Drona-parva.
Drona the Brahmin teacher of arms became the commander and was killed
after three days.
8. Karna-parva.
Karna became the commander and was killed within a day and
a half. ​9. Shalya-parva.
King Shalya became the commander and was killed within a day. During
these days all the rival cousins were killed. In Shalya-parva the chief rival, the
eldest of the cousins, King Duryodhana was killed.
10. Sauptika-parva.
Sauptika = about the sleepers. In this parva the last commander
Ashvatthama, son of Drona above, killed by treachery at night the sleeping
warriors of the Pandava camp, though the Pandavas themselves were saved.
Ashvatthama was pursued and disgraced and cursed.
11. Stri-parva.
Stri = a woman; describes the lament of the widows of the fallen
heroes. ​12. Shanti-parva.
Shanti means peace. In this parva the eldest Pandava prince was grieving at
the loss of kin in the great war. Peace was brought by Bhishma, the grandfather,
who had led the enemies’ armies for the first ten days.
13. Anushasana-parva,
Anu = after, Shasana = rule. Bhishma died and the victorious Pandava prince
ruled as King. In this parva he received advice as to what to do after coming on
the throne. ​14. Ashvamedhika-parva.
Ashvamedhika = all about the horse-sacrifice. For this sacrifice a horse of a
particular type is let loose to wander at its will. The horse is followed by armed
warriors. A challenging king can tie up the horse and then a battle ensues. If the
king is defeated, the horse is rescued and wanders further. The horse is
supposed to wander all over the earth and heroes guarding it are supposed to
fight every challenger and make a triumphal return after “conquering the earth”.
The horse is then sacrificed.
15. Asbramavasika-parva.
Ashrama = a shelter, a stage in life; Vasika = about living. This parva is
about the retirement of the old people (the uncles, the aunt and the mother
of the king) into the forest and their death there.
16. Mausala-parva.
Mausala = about a pestle (musala). In this parva is described the destruction
of the clan of Krishna, (the Yadava clan), in a drunken quarrel and the rescuing
of the survivors by Arjuna.
17. Maha-prasthanika-parva.
Maha = great; Prasthanika = pertaining to departure. The great departure or
the last journey of the Pandavas and their wife is described. Four of the
brothers and the wife died on the way and Dharma alone went ahead.
18. Svargarobana-parva.
Svarga = heaven; arohana = stepping up. Tells about the going into
heaven of the warriors.
The Extent of the Parvas.
How unequal the parvas are can be seen from the number of couplets in each
:—Adi — 7982, Sabha — 2511, Vana —11664, Virata — 2500, Udyoga —
6698, Bhishma — 5864, Drona — 8909, Karna — 4900, Shalya — 3220,
Sauptika — 870, Stri — 775, Shanti — 14525, Anu-shasana — 6700,
Ashvamedhika — 3320, Ashramavasika — 1506, Mausala — 300,
Mahaprasthanika — 120, and Svargarohana — 200.

2. The Mode of Narration

The mode of narration of this book became the standard for some kinds of
story literature in Sanskrit, in Ardha-magadhi Jain literature and in Prakrit stories
like the Brihat-Katha. There are stories within stories and the thread of the main
story is taken up after many such narrations. Sometimes the main story seems
almost forgotten or lost but then it is taken up again. Readers of “Arabian Nights”
know this form, which was appa rently borrowed from the Indian model. Another
feature of this narration is that it is told by many narrators, wherever such
opportunities arose, in the words of the actual actors. The story is told as
follows—”In the forest of Naimisha, the Brahmin Shaunaka was engaged in
performing a ritual which would go on for twelve years involving many kinds of
sacrifices and performances of rites in the mornings and the evenings. The
afternoons were free. Such a performance needed the help of many priests and
also attracted many people who helped to perform it.” It also attracted, among
others, story-tellers. Very famous was the suta story-teller “Lomaharshana” (The
Hair-raiser). His son Ugrashrava (The Loud-voiced) Lomaharshani came along
one day and was greeted with cries of joy and implored to tell about his
wanderings and also a story. He told how he had visited many sacred places and
how king Janamejaya of Hastinapura had performed a sacrifice in which all the
Nagas were to be sacrificed. This sacrifice was undertaken to avenge his father,
king Parikshita, who was killed by a Naga. The terrible slaughter of the Nagas
was cleverly stopped by a man named Astika. The sage Vyasa appeared before
Janamejaya and persuaded him to give up ideas of revenge. Then Janamejaya
expressed a wish to hear the exploits of his ancestors. Yyasa deputed one of his
disciples, named Vaishampayana, to tell the story. From this point onwards the
story is told as narrated by Vaishampayana to king Janamejaya. When the battle
in the Mahabharata started (Bhishmaparva, see above) the blind king
Dhritarashtra wanted to know what was happening on the battle-field. The
eye-witness account of the battle-field was given to the king by a suta called
Sanjaya. This portion is told in the words of Sanjaya. So that, we have the first
narrator Ugrashrava who tells the story upto a point, and then tells it as told by
the second narrator Vaishampayana who in his turn is the chief narrator upto a
point and then tells it as told by the third narrator Sanjaya and after the battle
portion resumes it. Besides these three, there are a number of people recounting
occasional stories of lesser importance.
3. About the Composer of the work
The Mahabharata is supposed to have been composed by the sage Vyasa,
who played a part in the events and who was an eye-witness of many of them.
He is supposed to have told his stories to his disciples. Of these one was
Vaishampayana and the other was Jaimini. It is thought that the Vaishampayana
version, which is the one before us, differed from another version given by
Jaimini. Of this latter only a fragment apparently remains. As already mentioned
above the original Mahabharata was called Jaya and for centuries people have
been adding to it so that we have our present Mahabharata. Vyasa is supposed
to be chiranjiva a word which can be translated to mean either ever-alive, an
immortal (which is what he is generally supposed to be) or “one who lived long
(chira = ​long, ever; jiva = live)” which apparently he was.​1
4. What Mahabharata has meant to Indians.
The Mahabharata has had a peculiar history. The early Buddhist literature which
followed within a few centuries of the Mahabharata has very few references to
this story
though it talks of the country of the Kurus and the excellent moral code of the
land. The Jains made the Krishna story a part of their tradition and wrote on the
Mahabharata incidents and stories. Apart from the peculiar sectarian bias in the
Jain version of the Krishna story and the Mahabharata, it appears that there is
also preserved in them some older stuff which, if systematically compared, may
yield some older material on certain beliefs. In the Jain literature Vasudeva, the
father of Krishna becomes a hero of an early book called Vasttdeva-hindi (the
wanderings of Vasudeva). The Bhagavadgita which forms part of the Sanskrit
Mahabharata became the most read of religious books of the Hindus.
Shankaracharya wrote the first commentary on it. It is being commented on and
translated even in this century.
1 Indian tradition credits Vyasa with editing and putting into order the hymns of
Rigveda, Athavaveda and Yajurveda. The word Vyasa it a title which means “arranger,
a man who throws together or orders”. From the Mahabharata story we know that his
own name was Krishna (the black) Dvaipayana (born on an island). If we take into
consideration this tradition then perhaps Vyasa was not the original composer of the
story but the man who might have taken it as told by the sulai (bards) and arranged it.
In Maharashtra almost the first important Marathi book was a commentary on
the Gita written in the year 1290 A.D. The stories connected with Krishna were
narrated by the poets belonging to the Mahanubhava sect. The first Marathi
version of the Mahabharata was written by Mukteshwar in the 16th Century. A
second version was composed by Shridhar and called Pandava-pratapa (the
exploits of Pandavas) in the 18th Century and a third by Moropant called
Arya-bharata (The Bharata in the Arya meter), in the 18th Century. The
Mukteshwar version was known only in fragments. The Moropant version was in
an extremely learned and sanskritised form of Marathi and was not too widely
read. Shridhar was read widely in many households and also in temples by
Brahmin narrators called Puraniks. The story of Bhima, one of the Pandava
brothers, had reached the forest tribes also or perhaps Bhima the hero had
taken in his stories many of the features of the Powerful Man of the folklore. The
heroes of the Mahabharata were household words and people made daily
reference to the peoples and the incidents in the story. The first Marathi book
read by the author was the Pandava-pratapa of Shridhar. Her parents knew both
the story and the religious teachings and philosophy embodied in it. For us the
Mahabharata was a tragedy— the tragedy of human life where hopes, ambitions
and even victories are futile. For the author the story embodies— 1. A historical
core—something which really happened,
2. An exquisite narration where one becomes aware of the full strength,
brevity and beauty of the Sanskrit language,
3. An aesthetic experience,
4. A representative and fascinating picture of an epoch, and
5. An ever-present reminder of what life means. I had no idea that it could
mean anything less to anybody else. But I was shocked out of my complaisance
by the question of a young Indian friend who asked me who Gandhari was. After
the first impulse of anger, I acknowledged that the difference was between
generations—between a person who has grown up when many of the old
traditions were still living, and a person who has had all his education at a
Western-oriented school and whose aspirations lie in an industrial India, mostly
shaped by young technicians like him. I think the future
of India lies in the hands of this generation. I also think that they are right in giving
up many of the ideas and beliefs with which I was born, but still I wish to
communicate with them. I would like them to know how some of their ancestors
had grappled with problems which face all human beings at one time or other.
Besides giving a glimpse into that which is eternally human, old literature of this
type makes one aware of cultural alternatives in human choice, and also of the
surprising fact that some of the newest literary and philosophical trends are but a
new form of an old nagging. The Mahabharata has been to me almost a life’s
companion since my early childhood. The story, the thought, the philosophy
revealed by its characters or expressly told in the Bhagvadgita have haunted me,
sometimes even with deep I aversion. Nevertheless it holds a never failing
attraction I for me. I cannot expect the more forward looking and I outward
looking new generation to have that attitude.But I am sure that once introduced
to it, they will come under its spell.
Another set of people with whom I wish to communicate through these studies
are my friends across the seas. To many of them the Mahabharata is nothing but
a pretty story. They also are not aware of the close connection of this story with
the life of many an Indian. They also do not realize that even as a story it is a
vivid depiction of the life and ethos of a whole era and a whole class. I hope that I
communicate to them both these facts. The Mahabharata is an extensive record
of the intimate life and thought of scores of people. Each character and each of
its actions lend themselves to different interpretations. Mine is only one possible
interpretation. I do not claim this to be the only legitimate or possible one. A
literary interpretation is as much a reflection of the person who interprets as of
the matter he interprets. My only claim is that I have presented the data faithfully
adhering to the text as presented in the critical edition. Wherever I have gone
beyond the text I have mentioned the fact. I do not wish so much that people
agree with me in what I have said as that people’s interest is roused enough for
them to read the old texts to find out what they are about.
The principal theme of the Mahabharata is one familiar to most Indians: the
struggle for property in a joint family. In the Mahabharata the quarrel is between
princes, the sons of Dhritarashtra and Pandu, for the throne of Hastinapura. To
understand their story, however we must go back for several generations, ‘atipa
was a king of Hastinapura. He had three sons, Devapi, Balhika and Shantanu.
Devapi, the eldest, did not succeed because he was diseased. The second son
was given in adoption to his mother’s house Balhika or Madra, and Shantanu the
youngest succeeded to the throne.
One day while hunting in the forest near the river Ganga Shantanu saw a
beautiful maid and wooed her. She consented to marry him on condition that she
would be allowed to behave as she liked, and that she would leave him if he
remonstrated. The king agreed and they married. This maid was Ganga, the
divine spirit of the river, who had to be born
in order to expiate an offence she had committed in heaven. On her way to the
earth she had met eight divine beings, called Vasus, who were similarly cursed.
At their request she had agreed to help them attain release as soon as they
were born.
Ganga was a good wife and lover but as soon as a child was born she would
drown it in the river and kill it. At last, on the occasion of the birth of her eighth
son, Shantanu protested. She did not drown the child but left the king and took
away the infant whom she brought up and handed over later to the king as a
fine boy, versed in all weapons and
lore. This boy was called Devavrata and was declared to be the heir to the
throne. After parting from Ganga, Shantanu again indulged in his passion for
hunting. In the forest he met Matsya-gandha, the beautiful daughter of
Dasharaja, a fisherman chief. The chief put two conditions for the marriage of
Matsyagandha (also called Satyavati or Kali) to Shantanu. The sons born of her
should have the right to the throne, and prince Devavrata must never marry. The
King was reluctant to grant the wishes but Devavrata consented to them,
enabling his father to marry Matsya-gandha. For this difficult feat Devavrata was
called Bhishma (the doer of difficult deeds), the name he carried throughout his
life.
Satyavati gave birth to two sons Chitrangada and Vichitravirya. Aged Shantanu
died. Chitrangada also died in a fight. Vichitravirya, the surviving son, was
proclaimed King. Bhishma in order to insure succession sought brides for
Vichitravirya, the very young king. The king of Kashi was holding a svayamvara,
groom-choosing festival, for his three daughters Amba, Ambika and Ambalika,
and many princes were invited for the ceremony. Sometimes, a princess could
choose the man she wanted. Sometimes, the invited guests were supposed to
win in some special feat of arms. Besides svayamvara, a king could always give
his daughter to whom he chose, and a young prince could also abduct a princess
if he dared to. In this instance, Bhishma, with his followers, entered the
svayamvara pavilion, lifted the three princesses on his chariot and drove away
with them to Hastinapura. On coming to Hastinapura the eldest girl Amba told
Bhishma that she loved king Shalva and had already promised herself to him.
Bhishma sent her with an escort to Shalva. Ambika and Ambalika were married
to the boy Vichitravirya.
When Amba reached Shalva he refused to marry her, saying that he could not
1
accept a ​girl who had been abducted​ and had lived at another’s house for some
days. Poor Amba was sent back to Hastinapura. She insisted that since Bhishma
had abducted her, he ought to marry her. Bhishma however, because of his vow
of celibacy, refused to do so. Amba,
vowing to take vengeance on Bhishma in her next birth, burned herself. Later on,
she was born as Drupada’s son Shikhandi, destined to kill Bhishma.
Young Vichitravirya died without issue soon after marriage. Poor Satyavati’s
dreams of making her sons kings of Hastinapura were shattered. The throne of
Hastinapura was left without an heir. She called Bhishma, absolved him from
his vow and begged him to marry and take the throne. He refused. Then in
consultation with Bhishma, Satyavati
decided to get heirs for the throne by having her widowed daughters-in-law
conceive children through the Brahmin Vyasa, the son born to her before
marriage. (This same Vyasa is the writer of the Mahabharata).
When the unkempt Vyasa visited her the princess Ambika shut her eyes.
Dhritarashtra, the son born of this union, was blind. Vyasa was used again, and
sent to the other princess. Ambalika turned white at his appearance. The son she
bore was an albino and was called Pandu, the white one. Vyasa was sent again.
This time, the princesses sent their maidservant who received him with
equanimity. A fine son was born and was called Vidura. The three boys grew up
to manhood. Blind Dhritarashtra, the eldest, was set aside. Vidura was rejected
because he was lowborn. And Pandu was crowned king.
Gandhari, the princess of Gandhara, was brought as a bride for Dhritarashtra.
With her came her brother Shakuni, who established himself at Hastinapura. On
discovering that her future husband was a blind man, Gandhari bound her eyes
with a piece of cloth and remained in voluntary blindness throughout her life.
Pandu was married to Kunti, the adopted daughter of King Kuntibhoja. Her real
father was King Sura of the Yadava clan. Kuntibhoja had adopted her and used
her to serve a Brahmin visiting his court. This Brahmin was known both for his
irascibility and his great magical powers. Kunti served him so well that he
blessed the king and gave Kunti several mantras with which she could call any
god tp father her child. In her childish curiosity, Kunti used one mantra and called
Surya, the sun-god. He appeared immediately and begot a son on her.
Frightened, Kunti put the child in a box, with gold and jewelery, and set it in the
river. The boy was found and adopted by the suta Adhiratha, and became known
as Karna.
Bhishma got the princess Madri, daughter of the king of Madra, as the second
wife for Pandu by paying a large amount of money to the king of Madra.
After the coronation Pandu is said to have conquered all the kings of the earth,
and brought great sums in tribute. He handed over all the tribute to Bhishma and
Dhritarashtra and went with his two queens to the Himalayan forests where he
amused himself with hunting. The kingdom was apparently looked after by
Bhishma and Dhritarashtra. By some misfortune Pandu received a curse from a
Brahmin that he would die if he had intercourse with a woman. Because of this
he wanted to appoint a man to get a son for him on Kunti. But she told him about
the mantras the Brahmin had given her. With PanduVconsent she called three
gods to father his sons. Dharma, or Yudhisthira, was born of god Yama, also
called Dharma, the god of death and regulation. A year later the second son
Bhima was born of the wind god. He was a giant in stature and powers. The next
year, the third son Arjuna was born of Indra, the king of gods. These three sons
are called Kaunteya (sons of Kunti) in the Mahabharata. Kunti’s co-wife Madri
begged Pandu to ask Kunti to give her a mantra too. Kunti did so. Madri called
the twin gods Ashvini and gave birth to twins called Nakula and Sahadeva. They
were called Madreya, sons of Madri. All the five children were collectively called
Pandavas, the sons of Pandu.
Sons were being born to Gandhari also. Duryodhana, the eldest son of
Gandhari, though conceived before Kunti’s sons, was born six months later.
Gandhari gave birth to a hundred sons and one daughter. Pandu lived happily in
the forest with his five sons until, one day, unable to resist the beauty of Madri,
he approached her by force and died in the act. Madri burned herself on the
funeral pyre of her husband. Kunti returned to Hastinapura, along with the five
infants, the half-charred bodies of Pandu and Madri, and many Brahmins. Pandu
and Madri were cremated again with ceremonial rites. Kunti lived on at the
Hastinapura court, and her five sons, together with the sons of Gandhari, were
1​
brought up under the tutelage of Bhishma.​ At Hastinapura a keen rivalry soon
developed between these five and their cousins.
1 The sons of Pandu are called Pan-davas. The sons of Dhritarashtra art
Dhanarashtras. The bouse of Hastinapura is called variously Kaurava (The
descendants of King Kuru), Bharata (descendants of King Bharata), Faurava
(descendants of Puru). These names are applied to both Pandavas and Dhartarashtras.
In modern Indian languages Kaurava is many times used exclusively for Dhartarashtra
as the opponents of the Pandavas. I have also often used it in that sense in this book.

Bhishma put the princes under the Brahmin Drona, a new teacher who had
arrived at Hastinapura. Drona had come to Hastinapura in order to find shelter
with Kripa, his
wife’s brother, who was the hereditary teacher of the Kurus. As a boy Drona had
studied in an ashrama where the prince of Drupada was also studying. Years
later, when the prince had become king, Drona went to his court, claiming
boyhood friendship. Drupada spurned him, saying that friendship could be only
between equals and a poor Brahmin could never claim friendship but only
patronage. Drona, in his turn, rejected patronage and left Drupada’s court
vowing vengeance. He found employment at the Hastinapura court.
Under Drona, all the princes became adept at arms but Pandu’s sons,
especially Arjuna and Bhima, proved themselves better than the others. Arjuna
excelled in archery, Bhima in wielding the mace.
When the boys’ education was finished Drona asked his pupils to march on
Drupada. Drupada was defeated and Arjuna brought him bound to Drona. Drona
took away half Drupada’s kingdom and released him, saying “Now we are
equals.” Drupada in turn performed a great sacrifice and got from the god of fire
a girl, Krishna — Draupadi, and a boy Dhrishtadyumna, born to kill Drona
To show off the skill of his pupils Drona arranged a tournament.
Dhritarashtra, Bhishma, Vidura, Gandhari, Kunti and the whole court were
present. All were surprised and satisfied at the skills of the princes. At this time,
Karna suddenly came uninvited, showed his skill before the assembled
company, and challenged Arjuna to a fight. This fight did not take place as
Karna was discovered to be base born, being the son of Adhiratha, the suta.
Duryodhana, eager to secure a strong ally against the Pandavas, vowed
eternal friendship to Karna. On this occasion for the first time Kunti saw and re
cognised the son she had abandoned.
After this exhibition, the Pandavas’ name was on everybody’s lips, and there
was a talk of Dharma’s being crowned king. Duryodhana was alarmed at this
and in consultation with his father, contrived to send the Pandavas to
Varanavata, a distant town on the border of the kingdom. He had Purochana
build a combustible palace at the city, where the Pandavas were to live for one
year. The Pandavas got wise to the plot and turned the tables by escaping
through a tunnel and burning the house with Purochana and six other people in
it. Everybody thought that Pandavas with their mother had been burned to death
and there was much mourning at the Kaurava court. In the meanwhile Pandavas
escaped, kept themselves incognito for fear of the Kauravas, and reached
Drupada’s capital on the day when he was holding a svayamvara for princess
Draupadi.
Among the kings invited for the svayamvara were Duryodhana, with his
brothers and Karna, also Krishna, his elder brother Balarama and other
Yadavas who belonged to Kunti’s father’s house. The Pandavas, disguised as
Brahmins, sat among the Brahmins. The condition of marriage was a difficult
feat of archery. Nobody could accomplish it. Then Arjuna rose, performed it and
obtained Draupadi. Draupadi was married to all the five Pandava princes. The
powerful Yadavas came in large numbers with rich gifts to attend the marriage.
The Pandavas had returned from death, and had gained strong allies. Bhishma
advised Dhritarashtra to invite the Pandavas to Hastinapura to give them half
the kingdom. Dhritarashtra agreed to give them a half share of the kingdom, the
distant town of Indraprastha with the land around it, while he kept Hastinapura,
the hereditary capital, for himself and his sons.
At Indraprastha the Pandavas attracted merchants and craftsmen to this new
city, and augmented their land by burning the forest and killing its inhabitants.
They built a fabulous palace called Mayasabha and then started on a “world
conquest.” As culmination of their conquest, they performed the great rajasuya
sacrifice, where Dharma was acknowledged as first among all the kings.
Dharma in his turn had to honour the kings invited for the sacrifice. At this
ceremony Dharma offered the first seat of honour to Krishna who had been his
closest ally and adviser. When Shishupala protested against honouring Krishna,
thus threatening to break up the assembly, he was killed by Krishna. Among the
chief guests at the sacrifice were Bhishma, Dhritarashtra, his sons and Vidura.
The Kauravas were dismayed at witnessing the glory of the Pandavas. To win
back what they had conceded to the Pandavas, they planned a dice game with
the kingdom as stakes. Dharma loved to play dice but was not very skilled.
Duryodhana’s uncle Shakuni, playing with loaded dice, defeated him and the
Pandavas lost everything they possessed. According to the conditions set, they
had to go out into the forest for twelve years and remain incognito for another
year. The Pandavas could only comply.
They lived the final year in disguise as servants at the court of King Virata.
When Kichaka, Virata’s brother-in-law and army commander, threatened to
seduce Draupadi, he and his brothers were killed by Bhima.
The Pandavas had lived a year in Virata’s capital when the Hastinapura
cousins together with Trigarta, a neighbouring king, planned to raid the cattle of
Virata. Trigarta marched first from one direction. King Virata and Bhima went
against him and routed him. Meanwhile Duryodhana and his warriors attacked
from another side. Virata’s young son Uttara with Arjuna as his charioteer went
to fight the invaders. When the prince took the reins, he went to the place where
he and his brothers had secreted their weapons, took his great bow and
defeated the enemy. On the Pandavas’ revealing themselves Virata gave his
daughter to Arjuna’s son Abhimanyu.
Now all the related clans of Yadava, Drupada, Pandava, along with Virata
gathered in Virata’s capital for consultation. Krishna was sent to Hastinapura on
behalf of the Pandavas to demand a share of the kingdom, but Duryodhana
refused to give anything and preparations for war were made by both sides.
The war lasted eighteen days. Bhishma who commanded the army of
Duryodhana was wounded by Arjuna on the twefth day. Drona took over
command. He was killed on the fifteenth day. Then Karna took over. He was
killed on the seventeenth day. Shalya and Duryodhana were killed before the
evening of the eighteenth. The Pandavas were victorious. The same night
Drona’s son Ashvatthama attacked the Pandava camp and killed drunk and
sleeping warriors among whom were Draupadi’s brothers and sons. Through
Krishna’s foresight, the Pandavas with Draupadi were saved. The Pandavas
gave shelter to the father and mother of Duryodhana and ruled in the ancestral
capital of Hastina-pura. After some years, Dhritarashtra, Gandhari, Vidura and
Kunti retired to the forest where they all died. A few years after this, most of the
Yadavas, including Krishna and his brother Balarama, were killed in a quarrel
among themselves. Arjuna brought to Hastinapura the remaining Yadavas and
settled the descendants of each line as kings of small townships. The Pandavas
could not live after the horrible end of the Yadavas. They crowned Parikshit, the
posthumous son of Abhimanyu, as king at Hastinapur, and started
on their last journey deep into the Himalayas. After crossing the ranges on this
side of the watershed, they entered a vast plain. All except Dharma died of
exhaustion. Dharma alone went to heaven where he was reunited with all his
brothers, his wife and his kinsmen. So ends the main Maha-bharata story.

2. The Final Effort

The war in the Mahabharata starts in the Bhishmaparva. As we read the

book, however, we become convinced that this is not so much the beginning of
the war as Bhishma’s last great effort to stop it. Bhishma’s whole life had been a
fruitless sacrifice, but these last ten days of his life are the climax of futility and
sacrifice. Why should he, who had given up everything that was his by right,
have in his extreme old age accepted the generalship of the Kaurava army?
This question keeps nagging. But as we consider his whole life we must
conclude that these last actions were not only in consonance with his life but
were inevitable.
All human efforts are fruitless, all human life ends in frustration — was the
Mahabharata written to drive home this lesson? Human toil, expectations, hates,
friendships all seem puny and without substance, like withered leaves eddying in
the summer wind. But the people who toiled and dreamed and loved and hated
remain unforgettable, their memory constantly searing the heart. While reading
the Mahabharata we see each person going inexorably to a definite end. We
become acutely aware that each person knows his end, and his agony and
dread become our own. And through the agony of each we experience the
agony of the whole world.
Bhishma’s life was full of apparent contradictions, but beneath these there was
a logic in his actions and thought. Bhishma was born as a cursed being. His
comrades had been freed from the curse by Ganga, but he remained trapped in
this world. For some reason Ganga had been forced to live for a time on the
earth. At about the same time Vasishtha had cursed the eight Vasus to be born
as mortals. The Vasus came to Ganga and begged her, “Let us be born in your
womb. Kill us the moment we are born and release us from the world of mortals.”
Ganga promised to do so, and the celestial beings set out for the earth. Ganga
was a goddess, she had eternal youth; the ordinary rules of earth did not apply
to her. This woman came to earth, went straight to King Pratipa, sat on his lap
and said, “I want to marry you.” The king replied, “Lady, if you wanted to marry
me you should have sat on my left thigh and not on my right. The right thigh
belongs to the son or the daughter-in-law. Let a son be born to me. I will ask him
to marry you.” Ganga agreed to this. Pratipa had a son Shantanu. When this son
Shantanu came of age Pratipa retired to the forest, leaving the kingdom to him.
Shantanu, like other Kshatriyas of his time, was fond of hunting. Once while
hunting on the bank of the Ganges he saw a beautiful woman. The hunter was
caught! This woman was Ganga. She agreed to marry him, but like other
celestial woman she laid down peculiar conditions: “O king, I shall do what I like.
I may do things you consider improper but you must neither prevent nor blame
me. The day you do that I will leave you.” The infatuated king agreed to
everything and Ganga became his wife. According to the Mahabharata Ganga
gave him every pleasure. But every time a child was born Ganga would take him
to the river and
drown him. Shantanu was so much in her power that he could not say anything,
but when she started to drown the eighth child he could no longer restrain
himself. “At least don’t kill this one. What a horrible woman you are!” he
exclaimed. That was all the excuse Ganga needed. “I will spare this child, but
according to our agreement I am leaving you.” She vanished and took the child
with her.
Both wife and child gone, Shantanu again took to hunting. One day Ganga
reappeared to give Shantanu back his son Devavrata, now a youth trained in the
arts of the Kshatriyas. Shantanu took him to the capital and made him the crown
prince. Devavrata’s fine qualities soon endeared him to the people. This being,
eager to escape the world, had been trapped as the prince of an ancient house.
Four years passed. Shantanu was as fond of hunting as ever. At this advanced
age he once again became the prey of a beautiful woman. This woman was
Satyavati, the daughter of Dasharaja, the chieftain of the fisherfolk time not she
but her father laid down a condition marriage. This condition was entirely
this-worldly practical, but because of it Devavrata’s life again was given a new
direction. “I will give you my daughter if you promise that her son will inherit the
kingdom.” To this Shantanu could not agree. Dejected, he returned to the capital.
Devavrata tried to find out what was troubling his father. Shantanu’s answer was
ambiguous, “Son, what have I to worry about, with a fine son like you to look after
my kingdom? The only thing that concerns me is that you are my only son. If
something happens to you what will become of the kingdom?” The prince went to
his father’s attendants and found out the whole story. Without telling Shantanu he
went, along with the minister and other courtiers, to Dasharaja and asked for the
hand of Satyavati on behalf of his father. When Dasharaja stated his conditions,
Devavrata declared before all the assembled people, “I will not claim the
kingdom.” Dasharaja, however, was not satisfied with this. “That is flight. But your
children may fight with my daughter’s children for the throne.” The prince then
took a second vow more difficult than the first, “I will remain unmarried for the
whole of my life.” Because of this terrible vow Devavrata was from then on known
as Bhishma, “the Terrible”. Dasharaja was satisfied. He handed his daughter
over to Bhishma. “Mother, come,” with these words Bhishma seated her in a
chariot, brought her to the capital, and married her to his father. Pleased at this
extraordinary sacrifice, Shantanu gave Bhishma the power to die when he
wished. Long ago Puru, a prince of the same line, had exchanged his youth for
his father’s old age, but Puru’s sacrifice was only temporary and he was amply
rewarded for it. Though Puru was the youngest son, his father disinherited the
elder brothers and gave the kingdom to Puru. What did Bhishma get in return for
his sacrifice? Death at will! Bhishma’s sacrifice had been made with no thought of
a return. He himself did not know that he was a cursed being, but Ganga had
revealed this secret to Shantanu. Shantanu’s gift acquires new significance if we
assume that though Bhishma had no memory of his former life he was
unconsciously influenced by it. Had this being, trapped in the world he had hoped
to escape at birth, taken this opportunity to find release? Unburdened by kingdom
and marriage, endowed with the power to die at will, Bhishma was free to leave
the world. The caged bird had at last found an escape. But the destiny born with
Bhishma once again cast him back into fetters.
Satyavati gave birth to two sons. While they were yet children, Shantanu died.
Bhishma could not leave his young step-mother and her young sons; once
again he was
entangled in the demands of life. Though he was not the king, for over two
generations — more than forty years — he took care of the kingdom and
wielded authority. Unmarried himself, he had all the troubles of finding brides for
two generations. The day he brought Satyavati and married her to his father was
like a prologue to his later life. In the marriages of Vichitravirya, Dhritarashtra,
Pandu and Vidura it was he who took the initiative. The bachelor who had no
children of his own spent his whole life in caring for other people’s children.
Right up to the last he remained entangled.
Satyavati’s elder son was put on the throne, but he died soon after in a
quarrel. The second son Vichitra- virya became king while still very young.
Thinking that it would be better to get him married as soon as possible, Bhishma
went to the svayamvara of the three princesses of Kashi and abducted all three.
When Amba the eldest told him that she had already given her love to Shalva he
sent her to Shalva and had her two younger sisters married to Vichitravirya.
The girls had been brought from Kashi to Hastinapura. There Amba
announced her intention to marry Shalva and was sent to him. From the time she
had left Kashi until her arrival at Shalva’s some weeks had elapsed. Saying he
could not marry a girl who had been so long in the company of another, Shalva
sent her back. Amba went to Bhishma and said, “Since you have abducted me
you must marry me.” Because of his oath of celibacy Bhishma refused, and
finally the slighted, dishonoured, shelterless Amba committed suicide by burning
herself. Up to this time Bhishma’s life had been blameless, no one had to die
cursing him. Amba was the first person he had ever injured. Later there were to
be many others. Vichitravirya died soon after his marriage without leaving any
issue. Not only were Satyavati’s hopes for her sons ruined, the whole Kuru line
was threatened with extinction. Pitifully she begged Bhishma to give up his vows,
accept the throne, and re-establish the line or, if not that, at least to beget
children by his brother’s wives. Bhishma flatly refused. There was one other way.
Satya-vati had a son, Vyasa, born to her through a Brahmin before her marriage
to Shantanu. As the half-brother of Vichitravirya he was also the brother-in-law of
the queens. Satyavati decided with Bhishma’s consent to ask him to father sons
on behalf of the dead king. She went to the eldest daughter-in-law and said,
“Daughter, tonight prepare to receive your brother-in law.” Hearing these vague
words, the woman waited eagerly, wondering if it was Bhishma or some other
Kuru warrior who was coming. Suddenly she was approached by a black,
red-eyed man with unkempt hair. She fell unconscious. When the son of that
union — Dhritarashtra — was born blind, Satyavati sent Vyasa to the second
queen. This woman, seeing his wild appearance, turned white with fear and later
gave birth to an albino child. The child was Pandu, “the White”. These high born
princesses were utterly revolted by the wild ascetic. The third time they heard he
was being sent they substituted a maidservant in the bed. The child born to her
was Vidura.
For the blind Dhritarashtra Bhishma brought a princess from a far-away land. As
soon as she heard that her husband was blind she bandaged her eyes for life.
Kunti, stout and no longer young, and the lovely Madri were married to the
impotent Pandu. Poor Madri when still very young burned herself on the funeral
pyre of her husband. How all these women must have suffered! How they must
have cursed Bhishma! He alone was responsible for their humiliation. Bhishma
was the active leader of the Kuru clan, the one who wielded authority. In his
zeal to perpetuate his house he had humiliated: and disgraced these royal
women. There is no mention of what people felt about Kunti,
Madri, or Gandhari, but for his treatment of the princesses of Kashi Bhishma was
strongly denounced by Shishupala. The occasion was a yajna (sacrifice) held by
Dharma. A discussion arose as to Mio should be honoured as the chief guest. All
the great Kings had been invited. Each one had to be ritually welcomed. With
Bhishma’s consent the Pandavas decided to give the first honour to Krishna.
When they started to do so, Shishupala raised an objection: “Rather than an
outsider, you should first honour Bhishma, the eldest in your own family”. This
was an unanswerable point, and even Krishna had nothing to say against it. But
Bhishma himself rose and tried to show how Krishna was the right choice from
all points of view. Then Shishupala lost his temper. “Bhishma, your whole life is a
blot on the name of the Kshatriyas. Though it was known to all that Amba had
been promised to Shalva, you abducted her. Your brother, being a saintly king
did not marry her, so she naturally came to you; but you rejected her. After your
brother died his queens were yours by right. Instead you had a Brahmin secretly
father their children. You are not celibate, you are just impotent! And now when it
is proper that you should receive the first honour you stand there singing
Krishna’s praises!”
Fortunately Bhishma did not have to find brides for Duryodhana and Dharma.
In that generation no woman suffered because of his doing. But in the court
where he sat as the eldest he did not lift a finger to halt the indignity to a
woman. When Draupadi was dragged into the court of Dhritarashtra Vidura was
the one to intervene. Vidura had no power. He was the younger brother of
Dhritarashtra besides he was the son of a slave. Bhishma, on the other hand,
had the authority to stop the shameful spectacle. Instead, he sat there futilely
discussing what was dharma and what was not dharma.
The Mahabharata does not show that there was any attitude of chivalry
towards women. But no man had shown the utter callousness that Bhishma had.
Still, we cannot say that Bhishma committed all this cruelty deliberately. It seems
that he was indifferent to it. Did this indifference arise out of his obsession with
one goal — the perpetuation of the Kuru line? He had sacrificed himself
completely. He no longer lived for himself. Could that excuse his almost
inhuman treatment of these women? Is a person justified in doing things for
others which would be condemned if he did them for himself? Or does the
Mahabharata want to emphasize that human life, whether lived for oneself or
spent in unselfish endeavor must inevitably result in wrong to others?
Or, in this life of self-sacrifice, was the self still lurking somewhere? Why did
Bhishma consent to having Vyasa beget the children? From the Mahabharata’s
own account it would appear that there were enough young men at the court of
the Kurus. If such a man had been chosen to father the children he might have
gained some position at the Kuru court. Was Bhishma afraid that this might
jeopardize his authority? In Bhishma’s horoscope there were no stars for
kingship, but certainly there were many for great authority over a long period.
Choosing Vyasa helped Bhishma to retain his authority and at the same time to
remain true to his vow. However justifiable his actions may have been in the
realm of politics, they are certainly blameworthy from the human point of view.
In his tirade against Bhishma, Shishupala had called him prajnamanin —
considering himself wise. It was true. Bhishma was famed as a man completely
unselfish, wise, true to his word — as a man who lived for the good of his clan,
not himself. And Bhishma
was trying his utmost to live up to this role. When a man does something for
himself his actions are within certain limits —limits set by the jealous scrutiny of
others. But let a man set out to sacrifice himself and do good to others, the
normal limits vanish. He can become completely ruthless in carrying out his
objectives. The injustices done by idealists, patriots, saints and crusaders are far
greater than those done by the worst tyrants. Had Bhishma too been intoxicated
by his own public image? No, we cannot say that he ever got so carried away
that he forgot what he was. But having publicly assumed his difficult role and
unnecessarily undertaken great responsibilities he had to play his part to the
end.
After Duryodhana grew up Bhishma no longer wielded power. He was an
honoured old man at the court of the Kurus. But even in the matter of honour he
had to step back. At the time of Dharma’s yajna Shishupala was right; the honour
of the first place belonged to Bhishma. It was however, conferred on Krishna. His
authority gone, his status dimnished, Bhishma could well have retired. Before the
Great War Vyasa came to the Kuru court and said to his mother Satyavati, “I see
great destruction. Take your two daughters-in-law and retire to the forest.”
Satyavati and the women went to the forest to die. Bhishma was older than his
stepmother. He could also have taken this way out. Why did he remain at the
court? Why did he later accept the general ship of the Kaurava army?
One can hardly say he was a great warrior. He had the reputation of being
one, he also considered himself one. But he never fought a great battle during
his own long life. The abduction of the Kashi princesses showed audacity and
planning, but as far as we can see from the Mahabharata it involved no fighting.
The one incident on which his reputation as a warrior rests, and which is referred
to again and again in the Mahabharata is his three weeks’ combat with
Parashurama. An analysis of the incident, however, shows that it could not have
been true. Parashurama, the killer of the Haihayas, is supposed to have lived in
the first epoch (yuga) of the world. After him came Rama of Ayodhya, years after
whose death the Mahabharata story is supposed to have taken place. So
Parashurama as a hero belongs to an epoch long past. Moreover, this story
belongs to a whole series of stories about people of the Bhrigu clan which
scholars agree are later interpolations.
After Pandu became king he is reported to have gone on a tour of conquest.
Bhishma never accompanied him; he stayed back in Hastinapura. In his old
age he joined a party raiding the cattle of Virata. The Mahabharata describes
vividly how Arjuna completely routed all the Kaurava raiders, including
Bhishma.
Bhishma obviously was no great warrior. Besides, at the time he took up the
generalship he was an extremely old man. At the very least he must have been
between ninety and one hundred years old. We can calculate his age in the
following way : When Bhishma’s father married Satyavati, Bhishma was the
crown prince. He had already been trained in archery, so he must have been at
least sixteen. After his first step-brother was killed in a fight, his younger brother
came to the throne and married. If we take it for granted that Vichitravirya was at
least sixteen at that time and that he was born to Satyavati two years after her
marriage, then Bhishma must have been thirty-four. Immediately after his
marriage Vichitravirya died. Then on the widows and the maidservant of
Vichitravirya Vyasa fathered three sons:
Dhritarashtra, Pandu and Vidura. From the death of Vichitravirya to the birth of
Pandu at least two years must have elapsed, so at that time Bhishma must have
been thirty-six. Assuming that Pandu also ascended the throne and married at
sixteen, then at the time of Pandu’s coronation Bhishma was fifty-two. Without
taking into account the stories of Pandu’s tour of conquest if we assume that
Dharma, Bhima and Arjuna were born one after the other soon after Pandu’s
marriage, Bhishma’s age would be fifty-five at the birth of Arjuna.
From all the exploits Arjuna performed before his marriage, it would appear
that he was more than sixteen. But even granting that he was only sixteen,
Bhishma must have been seventy-one at the time of Draupadi’s svayamvara.
After the svayamvara the Pandavas went to Indraprastha and shortly after their
arrival there Arjuna was sent into exile. Near the end of his exile he went to
Dvaraka, married Subhadra and returned to Indraprastha where his son
Abhimanyu was born. According to the Mahabharata this exile lasted for twelve
years. Taking for granted that this is an exaggeration and the exile lasted only
twelve months, Arjuna was eighteen at the time of his son’s birth. From this time
on a large number of events took place before the Pandavas went into exile: the
burning of the Khandava forest, the building of the Mayasabha palace, Dharma’s
great yajna, the disastrous dice game. These events must have taken at least
three years. The next thirteen years were spent in exile, at the close of which
Abhimanyu was married. That means that at this time Abhimanyu was sixteen,
Arjuna was thirty-four and Bhishma was eighty-nine. If we allow just one year
between this time and the beginning of the battle, then Bhishma was ninety years
old when the battle was fought. The Mahabharata calls him “the grandfather” and
“the oldest among the Kurus”. His acceptance of the generalship in his extreme
old age seems to be entirely incongruous with everything we know about him.
At the very beginning of his life Bhishma had sacrificed whatever was for
himself. But at the same time the great responsibilities of protecting the clan had
fallen on his shoulders. He did not have to fight battles, but he had to order the
lives of two generations. He brought up other people’s children, found brides for
all, including the blind and the impotent. His labour bore fruit in that for the first
time in three generations healthy young children filled the palace of Hastinapura.
It was Bhishma who looked after their welfare, who had them educated and
trained in the arts of Kshatriyahood. As the princes grew older, however, his hold
on authority loosened. He had no hand in their marriages, nor could he stop their
quarrels. He had discharged his duties and at this point he could have retired
honourably to the forest. That is what a Kshatriya was supposed to do. A man
was severely criticized if he refused to relinquish power after his children were
married and had children of their own. But this rule applied to ordinary family-men
immersed in their own affairs. Did Bhishma think that he was immune because he
belonged to that category of men who sacrifice self and live only for others? Did
he feel, as such people do that he could never give up his responsibilities but
must die in harness? All duties ended, with a boon allowing him to die at will in
his possession, he could have escaped the world. But he would not.
He would not. During the first part of his life circumstances had forced him into
deeper and deeper involvements with the affairs of his family. He had no choice;
he had to fulfil the duties thrust upon him. But in this last chapter of his life it
looks as if he had deliberately sought out responsibilities that were not even his.
But did he have a choice
after all? Having taken up a life-long burden he could not lay it down at any time.
He had tried again and again to bring peace among the warring cousins whose
rivalries were to ruin the clan once again. His decision was inevitable. And the
pains he might have suffered in keeping his vows were nothing in comparison to
the humiliation and agony of his last ten days.
Duryodhana came to Bhishma and said to him, “Sir, you are the eldest among
us, you are a famous warrior. Be our general and lead us.” Duryodhana’s offer
was a formality, paying Bhishma the honor which had been denied to him by the
Pandavas at the sacrifice. Duryodhana fully expected Bhishma to refuse. But to
the astonishment of all Bhishma promptly accepted. He went further. He
deliberately insulted Karna, the chief warrior on the Kaurava side and an arch
enemy of the Pandavas. Karna vowed to keep away from the battle as long as
Bhishma lived.
Bhishma had thus set aside the person he thought was the chief obstacle to
his efforts at peace. Not only that; by his acceptance of the post Bhishma had
deliberaely created a dilemma for both parties. Duryodhana could not pursue the
war with the vigour he wanted. On the other side, since Bhishma was the eldest
of the clan and the grandfather of the fighting warriors, it was impossible for the
Pandavas to kill him. The greatest warrior of the Pandavas was Arjuna and he
was the very one for whom the killing of Bhishma was an impossibility. The
Bhagavadgita opens with Arjuna’s “How can I in battle send arrows against
Bhishma, against Drona, at whose feet I must ever bow in respect?” That was
the anguish of Arjuna’s heart. Later Arjuna again recalled how as a small boy he
had sat in Bhishma’s lap and called him father, and how Bhishma had told him,
“Little one, I am your grandfather, not your father.” Bhishma was absolutely right
in his calculations. He was invulnerable, not because he was immortal nor
because he was a great warrior, but because he was the Pandavas’ grandfather.
The whole of the Gita in which Krishna tried to persuade Arjuna to stand up and
fight proved fruitless as far as killing of Bhishma was concerned.
But Bhishma forgot to take into consideration the families related by marriage.
His body was inviolate to the Pandavas, but certainly not to Draupadi’s
brothers. Amba had been reborn as Shikhandi, the eldest brother of Draupadi,
for the sole purpose of killing Bhishma. Draupadi’s brother Dhrishtadyumna,
emerged with her out of the fire, and had been born to kill Drona. Both fulfilled
their appointed tasks.
Krishna tried his utmost to get Arjuna to kill Bhishma, but when he saw that
Arjuna’s heart was not in the fight against the old man, he himself threw down
the reins, jumped out of the chariot, and rushed toward Bhishma. The
Mahabharata recounts this incident twice — on the third day and on the ninth.
The incident on the third day is an obvious later interpolation. On the ninth day
Krishna rushed on Bhishma with the whip in his hand.
Arjuna ran after Krishna, held him tightly by the feet, and beseeched him to
come back to the chariot. Arjuna still refused to kill Bhishma, but at last with
extreme reluctance he promised to knock him out of his chariot. As the general
of a great army, and reputedly a great warrior, Bhishma wanted the glory of
being killed by the greatest warrior of his day, namely Arjuna. And this was
exactly what Arjuna did not want. At last after a monotonous ding-dong battle
of nine days, Arjuna had to confer that honour on Bhishma. He had to stand
with Shikhandi and shower arrows on the old general. He
had to give an opportunity for Bhishma to say, “Those horrible sharp arrows
cutting at my heart cannot be Shikhandi’s, they were Arjuna’s.”
The whole of the Mahabharata battle is said to have lasted for eighteen days,
but the real carnage came only after Bhishma’s fall. The first ten days, when
Bhishma was general, were only a make-believe war. Bhishma was making his
last despate attempt to stop the fratricidal conflict. Almost every day Bhishma
tried to persuade Duryodhana to stop the war. But even at the price of his life
he could not. Bhishma’s intentions become very clear in the Mahabharata’s
day-to-day account of the fighting.
First day: Seeing the vast army of the Kauravas, Dharma becomes
discouraged. Arjuna urges him to take heart but he himself, when facing
Bhishma and Drona, has no spirit for the fight. Krishna pours out the whole Gita
in an effort to give him courage. Dharma goes into the Kaurava camp to pay his
respects to Bhishma and Drona. Yuyutsu, a step-brother of Duryodhana, joins
the Pandavas. There is a great fight. Uttara, the prince of Virata, is killed. The
first day’s victory goes to the Kauravas.
Second day: Fights between Bhishma and Arjuna, Drona and Dhrishtadyumna,
etc. On the Kaurava side the king of Kalinga and his son are killed. The day goes
well for the Pandavas.
Third day: Duryodhana is knocked unconsious by Bhima and is taken away
from the battlefield by his charioteer. The Kaurava army is in disarray.
Meanwhile Duryodhana recovers and regroups his forces. He censures
Bhishma for his conduct of the war. Bhishma answers that the Pandavas are
invincible but he promises to do his best. Bhishma fights bravely. Krishna leaps
from his chariot, his discus in hand, and rushes on Bhishma. Arjuna brings him
back. On the whole, the day is the Pandavas’.
Fourth day: Great fights. Day’s honours to the Pandavas. At night Duryodhana
again berates Bhishma for his slackness. Bhishma contends that Arjuna and
Krishna are godlike and cannot be defeated. He advises Duryodhana to stop the
war.
Fifth day: Fights as usual. No great victory to either side.
Sixth day: Like the fifth.
Seventh day: At the very beginning of the day Duryodhana upbraids Bhishma.
Bhishma gives his fixed answer, “The Pandavas are invincible, but I will try my
best.” A great fight. Dharma assails Shikhandi, “Why have you not killed
Bhishma?”
Eighth day: On the Kaurava side the sons of Shakuni are killed. A dozen of
Duryodhana’s brothers are also killed. On the Pandava side Iravata dies. The
fight goes on right up to sundown. That night a council of war is held by
Duryodhana, Duhshasana, Shakuni and Karna. Karna advises Duryodhana to
remove Bhishma from the generalship. Duryodhana goes with his brother to
Bhishma and gives him an ultimatum. Once again Bhishma reiterates his plea
about the Pandavas’ invincibility, but promises to do his best.
Ninth day: Bhishma fights valiantly. Seeing that Arjuna is powerless against
the old man, Krishna leaps from his chariot and rushes toward Bhishma with his
whip in his hand. Arjuna brings him back. The battle stops. The day goes well for
the Kauravas. At night the Pandavas go to Bhishma and ask how he can be
killed. He advises them to have Shikhandi fight him. Meanwhile Krishna
beseeches Arjuna, “If you will not kill Bhishma, at least make him fall from the
chariot.” Arjuna agrees with great reluctance and shame.
Tenth day: Shikhandi showers arrows on Bhishma. Behind him stands Arjuna,
also shooting arrows at the old general. Arjuna’s arrows pierce Bhishma’s
armour. One arrow hits Bhishma on the head. The blow throws Bhishma out of
his chariot and he falls on a thick layer of arrows without his body touching the
earth. The whole time Bhishma is accompanied by Duhshasana to whom he is
speaking right up to the last.
The battle stops temporarily after the fall of Bhishma. The warriors on both sides
come to pay their respects to the wounded hero. Bhishma requests Duryodhana,
“Let your feud with the Pandavas end with my death. Make a treaty with them.”
Karna comes alone to pay his respects. Bhishma advises him to join the
Pandavas but Karna refuses.
In this account of the ten day’s fighting there are some striking inconsistencies.
The story of Shikhandi’s birth must have been known to Dharma. Everyone had
noticed that Bhishma would not fight Shikhandi. On the seventh day Dharma had
abused Shikhandi for not killing Bhishma. Under the circumstances it seems
ridiculous that Dharma felt the necessity to ask Bhishma how he could be killed.
Apparently this last incident is invented to perpetuate the myth of Bhishma’s
invulnerability.
Krishna’s leaping from the chariot; discus in hand, on the third day also does
not fit. The whole incident is described in a very poetic and exaggerated fashion,
with a lengthy description of Krishna’s divinity. Krishna with the discus in his
hand is the traditional picture of the divine Krishna. It is queer that this divine
manifestation of Krishna had no effect on Arjuna. On the other hand, the incident
of the ninth day, in which Krishna leaped down with a whip in his hand, has all
the stamp of authenticity. Krishna was driving the chariot of Arjuna. That he
should leap with his whip in his hand seems natural. The whole description of the
incident is in the usual style of the Mahabharata, concise and unexaggerated.
Moreover, it fits in the chain of events which lead to the climax of the tenth day.
The third incongruity is in the description of Bhishma’s fight. When a charioteer
fought another charioteer it was not just two people shooting at one another. It
was a very elaborate fight. For example, we are told that Yudhamanyu was
protecting Arjuna’s left wheel, Utta-mauja was guarding the right wheel, and
Arjuna himself was guarding Shikhandi from the back. In the same way
Duryodhana had ordered that all should endeavour to protect Bhishma. He had
told his brother Duhshasana, “Have chariots on all sides to protect him. You
should have but two objectives: the protection of Bhishma and the killing of
Shikhandi.” We are told that Duryodhana’s own sons were guarding Bhishma
from behind and that kings of different countries were protecting him on both
sides. It was not as if Shikhandi and Arjuna were shooting arrows at an
unprotected Bhishma.
But in the last day’s description we are not told who was protecting Bhishma.
We only hear Bhishma describing to Duhshasana how he is being hurt by
Arjuna’s arrows. Duhshasana had been especially appointed to guard Bhishma.
What was he doing at that time? Was everyone so exasperated that they wanted
Bhishma out of the way?
Even at the last Bhishma’s fate pursued him. He did not die by Arjuna’s
arrows. He only fell down wounded. Now he could have used his father’s gift and
found release. But the sun was in the south; dying souls could find no rest.
Bhishma had to use his blessing to prolong his death for six more months. For
six months Bhishma’s body lay immobilized, but his eyes could see, and with
them he had to watch the carnage of the
Kuru clan. He could hear and with his ears he had to hear the laments of the
widowed Kuru women. He could talk. And with his lips later authors made
him speak the banalities of the Shantiparva.
Had Bhishma accomplished anything in keeping his vows? The question
remains.
The critical edition does not have most things said in this sketch. It has only the
following about Gandhari, (1) she bound her eyes with cloth \vhen she heard that her
husband to be was born blind. (2) Gandhari gave birth to many children. All the sons
died at the hands of the Pandavaa in the battle. (3) Dhritarashtra, Gandhari and Kunti
died in a forest fire. Vidnra had died before them.

3. Gandhari

The hilly country had ended. They had reached the vast, monotonous plain of
northern India. Now obstructing their progress were only rivers or occasional
forests. Most of the time the princess rode in a chariot, or was carried in a
palanquin; sometimes she walked. Her companion was a maid slightly older than
herself. When they were leaving, it was she who had consoled the princess. By
pointing out beautiful spots on the way and telling amusing stories she tried to
keep Gandhari’s spirits up. From her father’s house only Gandhari’s brother
Shakuni accompanied her. He, too, looked after the comfort of his sister.
Gradually thoughts of the land of Gandhara receded and Gandhari’s mind
became absorbed in painting pictures of the unseen Hastinapura. When the
people from Hastinapura had come to ask for her hand their gifts had dazzled
everyone. Their chariots, their clothing, their ornaments were rich and splendid.
The behaviour and speech were urbane. Already her retinue was made up
almost entirely of these people; there was almost no one from Gandhara. Their
journey was so long and so fast that the princess was fatigued both in mind and
body. Finally she longed only for the journey to end.
At last it was over. Bhishma came out of the city to greet the Gandhara
princess. As her retinue rode through the city, people stood on both sides to
welcome her. But Gandhari was too tired to pay any attention to them. She went
immediately to the chambers reserved for her. For two days she remained there,
exhausted and listless. But every day her companion would go about the palace
and return with new descriptions of the splendour of the Kurus. Gandhari was
astounded to hear that her brother Shakuni, the prince of Gandhara, had decided
to stay permanently in Hastinapura. Still, she knew of many cases where a man
whose elder brother was on the throne had gone to another kingdom to obtain
wealth and fortune. It was good to think that although she had come so far, she
was not completely cut off from her home. When her companion described
Shakuni’s palace, she felt proud of the wealth of her husband’s people. In the
evening she ceased to think of her own home and became absorbed crowded
capital below and the broad forests beyond, along the banks of the Yamuna. In
Gandhara she had never seen such a vast expanse of level land. This palace too
was much bigger than that of her parents. Gradually she ceased to think of her
own home and became absorbed in the
thoughts of being queen in this splendid house. Just then her friend came in.
“Today what will she tell me about their grandeur?” Gandhari looked at her
expectantly. But today the girl looked different. She did not come in as usual,
animated and gay. Her face was white, her steps faltered. Thinking her friend
must be sick, she stepped toward her. Her friend came up to her with great
effort, gripped the princess’ hands, and burst out, “You are betrayed, poor
darling, we are betrayed. The prince you are going to marry is blind from birth.”
For a moment Gandhari didn’t comprehend her friend’s words. The next
moment she fell to the floor unconscious.
Gandhari was seated in her palace. Her companion was standing behind her,
gently stroking Gandhari’s hair. “Take courage, princess.” Though Gandhari was
now not only a mother but a grandmother, her friend still used her childhood title,
“Princess”. As soon as
she had said these words her friend thought to herself, “How foolishly do I talk!
What hope has this poor woman left? Though the rest of her sons were gone, as
long as Duryodhana was alive, she still had a son. She could master her grief
and hold her head up. What can she do now?” Aloud she said, “Calm yourself,
Gandhari.” Gandhari sighed and answered, “There is nothing that can upset me
now. After I had many children you thought that your Gandhari would at last be
happy. But it was never so. If they were hurt, my heart would start to pound; if I
heard them crying, I used to get grieved, flurried. If I heard that they didn’t win in
the chariot race, I would get dejected. The day they came back humiliated from
the ill-fated trip for inspecting the royal herds I felt sadder than they themselves.
When the Pandavas were being sent to a small town on the border, those
helpless children came to say farewell. Outwardly I gave them my blessing, but in
my heart I was thinking, ‘Good, now my children’s way is clear.’ Before the war it
was only at your urging that I went into the assembly and advised them not to
fight. Inwardly I was telling myself that if they fought the kingship of Hastinapura
would remain with my sons. Later after the war started, I faced each new day
with the dread, ‘What will be the news today?’ Then as the battle went against
them I would ask myself. Today how many are left?’ Each child was a new
sorrow. I had no life of my own. All my life, their moments of happiness were my
moments of happiness; their moments of sorrow were mine.” As she spoke,
Gandhari’s voice grew louder and louder. Her friend looked at her with
consternation and pity, “Be calm, be calm, my sweet.” Immediately Gandhari
answered, “That is what I am telling you. Today I have become completely calm.
Now no one’s success can make my heart blossom in happiness; no one’s
defeat can wither it with sorrow. Now there is nobody for whom I can be anxious.
My mind is now permanently at peace. There is nothing to hope for, nothing to
fear.”
Meanwhile, controlling his own grief, Dhritarashtra had taken the hand of an
attendant and come to console Gandhari. From the door he called, “Gandhari,
Gandhari.” Just as she finished her last sentence, Gandhari heard his call.
Immediately she realized how false her words were. As long as her blind
husband was alive, she could not escape being subjected to happiness and
grief. Agitated, she got to her feet. “But he—”, she managed to utter. For the
second time in her life she fell over in a faint. Seeing that the queen had fallen,
all the servants hurried towards her. Dhritarashtra’s attendant too released the
king’s hand and rushed towards Gandhari. Dhritarashtra stood alone just inside
the door way. He could hear the confusion around him, but he could not
understand what had happened. He stood looking everywhere with his sightless
eyes, and asking piteously, “What has happened, what has happened?”
Today everyone left the foot of the Himalaya and started up the mountain. In
this lower hut there had been servants to wait on them. There were huts of
ascetics nearby. Dharma and the other princes had come to visit them twice. On
the whole, the tempo of their life was even and quiet. One after another, the days
passed for Dhritarashtra and Gandhari, Vidura and Kunti. Vidura, Dhritarashtra
and the ascetics would spend their time discussing one subject or another.
Gandhari and Kunti would sit listening. Every time visitors came the outwardly
calm stream of their life was disturbed. The whole place became crowded with
the retinue of ‘the princes — now kings. As the sons put their heads on the feet
of the elders, each one’s heart filled with different emotions. After they left,
outwardly, all became peaceful, but it took a longer time to quiet the inner turmoil.
Today, too, the princes and their wives had come from Hastinapura. Dhritarashtra
had made up his mind about something and said to Dharma, “Yudhishthira, this
is not truly the last ashrama. Now let the four of us build a hut and live by
ourselves. It has taken many months for us to get used to living out here, away
from the palace. But now it would be better if we went higher and lived in the
forest.” Yudhishthira and the others tried to dissuade him, but Dhritarashtra
would not listen. Dharma looked at Vidura. But today Vidura too was supporting
Dhritarashtra. “Dharma, what Dhritarashtra is saying is right. You must now bid
us farewell. You, who know dharma so well, why are you trying to tempt us back
into this world? You should also not cling to us.” Kunti’s eyes were filled, but she
too announced her decision to leave the present hut. Nobody asked Gandhari
her opinion. Everyone assumed that her husband’s wish was hers.
The party walked all day. Not only the young men and their wives but the
ascetics accompanied the old people. As they went up, the valley had become
narrow; the river now was far below them. Finally Vidura selected an open, quiet,
shaded place. There the servants erected a hut and left enough provisions for ten
or fifteen days. That night the whole party slept there and in the morning all but
the four departed with heavy hearts. Dhritarashtra would not allow a single
servant to remain. Vidura promised to take care of Dhritarashtra’s needs and
Kunti said if her sister-in-law consented, she would be happy to look after
Gandhari. Gandhari gave her heartfelt consent. “I do not want a servant,” she
said emphatically. Finally the farewells were said. As they were going, Dharma
called Vidura aside and told him, “I am having four or five trusted servants put up
a hut and stay about a half mile below. Every few days they will come and look to
your needs. Don’t refuse them. I am telling them that at other times they should
not come near you.”
Vidura accompanied the children a short distance and then turned back. Now
only the four remained in that lonely place.
After the morning’s tasks were completed in the hut, Vidura took
Dhritarashtra’s hand, and Kunti led Gandhari to a cool, shaded spot. They
seated the blind couple, and then sat down themselves a little behind. Gandhari
was sitting quietly. She let out a deep sigh. Dhritarashtra turned his face toward
her and said a little scornfully, “What’s the use of sighing now? Our life has been
just what two blind people could expect.” His words and his tone startled
Gandhari. She would not normally have replied back but the scorn in his words
pricked her. She answered a little drily, “I wasn’t sighing for my sorrow, Your
Majesty. Since we came here, the mountain breeze, the thick carpet of needles
underfoot, the light smell of the pines, the sighing of the forest in the breeze, and
the constant murmuring of the river all have reminded me of Gandhara; and
without realizing it, I sighed. That is all.” At her words Dhritarashtra lost all desire
to hurt her. He said with
pity, “Really, Gandhari, your life was ruined by being bound to a blind man, wasn’t
it? All your life you must have yearned for your parents’ home.” Gandhari
answered, “Not at all. The day I married you I supressed all thoughts of my
parents’ home. Today I was recalling the country of Gandhara, not the people.
Your Majesty knows that though I lived in the same courtyard as my brother, I
never spoke to him.” Several moments went by in silence. Vidura and Kunti sat
with astonished expressions. Kunti looked as if she was worrying about the trend
of the couple’s conversation. It was now Dhritarashtra’s turn to speak. The scorn
was gone from his voice. Almost pleadingly he said, “You were deceived. Without
being told of my blindness you were married to me. We did you a thousand
wrongs, Gandhari. But you have paid them back. Can’t you ever forgive and
forget?”
Thinking that such a conversation should not be overheard by a third party,
Vidura and Kunti rose silently and started to leave. But the blind Dhritarashtra’s
ear was quicker than the ordinary man’s eye. Turning towards Vidura and Kunti,
he said, “Wait, and don’t go. Sit here. So far in our relationship as husband and
wife nothing has taken place in private. There is no reason for any privacy
henceforward. As your elder I order you to stay.” As soon as he heard the two sit
down he turned again to Gandhari and said in a choked but excited voice,
“Really, you have punished me severely, Gandhari. I didn’t think so at first; at the
wedding ritual when you stood with your eyes bound, I did not take it too
seriously. I thought that I would plead with you and be able to extinguish your
anger with my love. But that was not to be. At night when you came to the
bedchamber, your eyes were still bound, and you came stumbling, clutching
someone’s hand. I was born blind. I had become used to moving about without
seeing. But you had deliberately covered your eyes. Your body was not used to
blindness. What a horrible night! I don’t know why I didn’t kill you right then.”
Gandhari too retorted bitterly, “I wish you had. At least we would have avoided
this horrible future.” “Don’t talk like that, Gandhari,” Dhritarashtra said
passionately. “No matter how weak we Kuru men have become we are still
Kshatriyas. We don’t show our manhood by killing women.”
Then he went on as if he had not been interrupted, “I was king. I could have
torn off that blindfold. But I thought that instead of forcing you with my authority, I
would persuade you in time. But your first day’s resentment became permanent.
When you had children I thought of saying, ‘Gandhari, if not for me, at least to
see the face of your child unbind your eyes.’ But by that time my heart too had
hardened. Perhaps you would have done it for the children, but I was not ready
to give you the chance. I had a kind of revengeful pleasure in knowing you would
never see the face of your son. Going around with your eyes bound you were
playing the part of a devoted wife. You were chained by the results of your own
actions. Never again could you open your eyes of your own accord. You could
only have done it by my order. And that I would not give.
“Through love for our children — blind love though it was — we came close.
Until that time you never felt that I belonged to you. We Kuru men have done
great injustices to women. And we have paid in full for them too. In Amba’s wrath
Bhishma was burned. I am still burning in yours. My children too have been
destroyed in it. Kunti also was married to a deficient man. But at least she
fulfilled the role of a faithful, if not a very beloved wife during her husband’s life.
After his death she constantly guarded the welfare of her children. Every person
gets entangled in a mesh of injustices. I wronged you. Pandu wronged Kunti.
And whose wrongdoing was it that Pandu and I should lead
such fruitless lives? Can we say that the wrongs done to our mothers, the
misery they suffered, brought this curse on us? Poor Vidura was the only one
completely sound in mind and body. He was the son of the same father as we
were. But because his mother
was a servant, he could not become king. He did not try to take revenge on
anyone for his life’s disappointment. Kunti and Vidura were the only two people in
our whole clan who were consciously watchful. You feel, Gandhari, that you have
been cheated and deceived,
but think for a moment: in the three generations of our family every person has
been cheated and deceived. I am pleading with you not merely to ask for
forgiveness, but to persuade you to give up your fight against life. Give up your
anger, not only against me, but against life itself. My injustice to you does not
give you the right to do an injustice to your children, to your whole life. How can
one wrong compensate another, Gandhari? At least now take off that blindfold.
Learn to look at the world, at human beings, and at your own past life objectively.
Our life is nearly over. At least do not die with your eyes bound.” Dhritarashtra
could not speak any more. The others too were immersed in the ​thoughts he had
1​
stirred​ . After a long while Gandhari said softly, “Your Majesty, I have uncovered
my eyes, but I still can’t see clearly.” For the first time in his life Dhritarashtra
gripped her hand hard and cried like a child. In the Kuru clan Dhritarashtra and
Gandhari were the participants of joys and sorrows; Vidura and Kunti were
merely witnesses. But today the witnesses also became involved and their eyes
were filled with tears. After his emotion had subsided, Dhritarashtra said gently,
“Gandhari, in a day or so, with Kunti’s help, you will learn to see. The day you
can see clearly, take me by the hand and seat me here.” No one could speak
any more. After returning to the hut too, each one was absorbed in his own
thoughts.
Two days went by. Gandhari had learned to get about using her eyes. Taking
the king’s hand, she led him to his usual seat. Again everyone sat down, and as
if the two days had not intervened, their conversation continued. Dhritarashtra
kept Gandhari’s hand in his. He began to speak, “Gandhari, you are younger
than I am. When I am gone you will be able to manage by yourself now.”
Hearing these words, Gandhari put her hand on his lips. “Never, Your Majesty,
that will never happen. I did not hold your hand in order to let it go again. I have
opened my eyes not merely for myself but for both of us.” Again Dhritarashtra
could not speak. After a long time he quieted his mind and said, “Gandhari, I can
smell and hear what you cannot see. Look, there is a forest fire somewhere.
Since morning I have been smelling smoke. I have been hearing the cries of
frightened animals. I think that somewhere on this side of the river, behind us,
the forest is on fire. It is not yet close enough to feel the heat. Look and see.”
Vidura, Kunti, and Gandhari rose and looked. Yes, in the distance they began to
see smoke. They saw reddish, yellowish tongues of flame moving. All three sat
down again. Gandhari said softly but clearly, “Your Majesty is right. The fire is
not even a half mile away.” Dhritarashtra said, “It will be harder than you thought
to hold my hand till the end. I am tired of living here waiting for death, of having
the children visit us every five or six months, stirring up old griefs, so that I have
to quiet my mind all over again. You can cross the river and escape from the
fire.” Gandhari gripped Dhritarashtra’s hand more ​firmly, “Your Majesty, now I
1​
am not going to leave you. Come,instead​ of waiting for the fire, let us walk
towards it.” “You are right, Gandhari.” Dhritarashtra stood up. He and Gandhari
started forward. Hearing Vidura and Kunti coming behind them, he stopped,
“You too—” That was all he said. Again he turned and started forward.
An extraordinary thing was happening. A sati was holding her living
husband’s hand and walking to the pyre. Instead of lifting his dead brother’s
widow from the flames, a brother-in-law (Vidura) was walking to the fire with
her.

4. Kunti
It is on extremely rare occasions that one feels one has been able to shape
one’s life even to a small extent. Most often the feeling is that of floating
directionless like a sere leaf in the wind. The making of some lives is entirely in
the hands of others. That was the case of women in the times of the
Mahabharata. Their happiness, their sorrows were decreed by men to whom
they belonged. Men acted, men directed and women suffered, Gandhari,
Draupadi, Subhadra, were all such women but they were given at least a few
years of wealth and well-being. Married to a blind man, Gandhari was virtually a
queen in Hastinapura, though her husband was never crowned king; and when
her son ruled she was the queen-mother. Draupadi drank deep of sorrow but
lived long as the queen and wife of the conquering heroes. Subhadra never
became the chief queen, but lived in wealth, saw her son’s son crowned king and
became the guardian of the two young kings her own grandson and the
grandson of her brother Krishna. Kunti alone among them seems to have been
born to endure only sorrow. A dozen years of happiness were too few to
compensate her for her long life of sorrow and humiliations. Every man in her life
contributed to her unhappiness. She never said anything directly blaming her
husband but she did reproach her father bitterly. “As a spendthrift squanders his
1
money ​unthinking, so did my father give me away when yet a girl to his friend.”​
Though one feels pity for her, in her own estimate her condition, sometimes full
of sorrow, was never lowly or pitiable. She did not think that ease or richess were
necessary for the happiness of a Kshatriya woman. She has again and again
given expression to what she thought was the glory of a Kshatriya woman. She
felt that she had behaved according to the Kshatriya more and had won the
consequent rewards.
Kunti’s father was a Yadava prince called Shurasena. He had a very dear
2​
friend and ​cousin called Kuntibhoja.​ This friend was childless. It was customary
in those times for heirless kings to seek the favour and blessings oi a Brahmin in
order to get a son. The chosen Brahmin would be a guest in the palace, fed and
waited upon by the daughter of the house. Since Kuntibhoja hadn’t even a
daughter, he asked his friend Shurasena for the gift of Kunti, and Shurasena
gave her away. Kunti’s own name was Pritha. It shows that she was apparently a
large, big-boned girl. She was better known as Kunti, which means ‘a princess of
the kingdom of Kunti.’
1 This passage might be a later interpolation because the relative ages of Kunti and
Krishna, implied in that speech, go counter to the other evidences in the story.
2 Kunti was the name of the country. Bhoja denoted the king of a dependent
position as a chieftain who paid tribute to a bigger king.
The adoptive father employed Kunti to serve and win the favour of a
Brahmin sage called Durvasa, who was famous for his magical powers as
well as his bad temper.
Service in this context meant personal service: being at the beck and call of the
sage, doing all his bidding, even sharing his bed if he so desired. The sage was
so well served by her that he went away pleased. He promised progeny to the
king and gave Kunti some mantras (magic formulae) by which she could compel
any god to beget sons upon her. She was full of curiosity and recited one mantra
to see what happened. It was the mantra calling the Sun-god, who came and she
conceived a son from him. Kunti’s old nurse kept the whole affair a secret and
when the baby was born, she put him in a box along with a ​lot of gold and floated
1​
the box on a small river. This child of Kunti’s was supposed​ to be born with
(saha-ja) ear ornaments (kundalas) and armour. The Mahabharata records many
miraculous events, some of which seem to be later additions made to explain
away the human weaknesses displayed by those heroic people. There are others
which cannot be so easily accounted for. A son being born to Kunti from the
Sun-god falls in the first category. Kunti was serving a Brahmin for a year and
1
that she should bear him a son was ​not such an extraordinary occurrence.​
1 There is a record in the Mahabharata itself of another woman, Satyavati,
Kunti’s grandmother-in-law, having had a child before marriage by a Brahmin.
The fact that Kunti’s old nurse helped to dispose of the boy and that a lot of
gold was kept with him lends support to the supposition that this eventuality was
foreseen and provided for by her adoptive father when he gave her to the
Brahmin. What one cannot understand is why the Sun-god was said to have
fathered the boy. This god plays throughout the later narrative .a very
subordinate and sorry part. (See ‘​KARNA​’). The kundalas and the armour belong
to the second category of miracles. They are easy neither to explain nor to
understand. Another story in the Mahabharata suggests that they might have
been the signs of Kshatriyahood. They are called saha-ja (‘born with’ a person),
maybe Tjecause a Kshatriya is born with the right to wear them. This boy was
found by a man of the suta caste. Because he was found with a lot of wealth he
was named Vasusena, the wealthy one. The name-ending ‘sena’ was definitely
that of a Kshatriya. This strengthens the view that the wealth, the kundalas and
the armour, all convinced the finder that the child was well-born. Kunti did not
know his fate till years later, when she was not in a position to acknowledge him
as her son. The son, on his part, never forgave the mother for having abandoned
him. From the minute of his birth to well after his death this child was a constant
source of dread and sorrow to the mother.
Her own father gave her away to a friend. One lifelong sorrow was born of this
action. Her adoptive father gave her in marriage to an impotent man; and all the
rest of her sorrows were a result of this union.
Pandu, her husband was the king of Hastinapura. Kunti, therefore, was the
queen. What kind of privileges she enjoyed as queen are not known. She
herself mentions just once at the very end what she had when a queen. Pandu,
as became a king, went on a conquering expedition, defeated many a king and
brought immense wealth as tribute. He presented it all to his blind elder brother
Dhritarashtra and went himself to live in the Himalayan forest with his two
queens Kunti and Madri.
The Mahabharata says that there he incurred the wrath of a sage and was
cursed that union with a woman would prove fatal to him. This whole narrative
seems to be a later addition which tried to hide some congenital defect in the
father of the heroes. Pandu must have known this lack in himself. There does^
not seem otherwise to be any reason
for his retiring to a forest with his two queens in the prime of life. All the Kuru
kings were addicted to hunting but that could not have been his reason, for, they
did not take their queens along with them to the hunts. Pandu had gone to the
forest with the intention of living there. Did he intend that some other man should
beget children on his queens? Did he wish to carry out this plan away from the
capital so that nobody should know the identity of the fathers of the children?
This appears to be the case because he did get his five sons in this manner.
Why did he remain there after getting the sons? Possibly in the hope of getting
some more.
Pandu begged Kunti (the senior queen) to conceive sons from some Brahmin.
At this request Kunti told him about the gift given her by the sage Durvasa. This
was also an opportunity for her to reveal the existence of Karna. According to the
custom of those days, such a child could have become a legitimate son of
Pandu, but Kunti at that time had no idea what had happened to her son or
whether he lived, at all. She therefore never said anything about this child. Kunti
got three sons from three gods—Yama, the lawgiver and god of death, Marut,
the god of winds and storms, and Indra, the king of gcds. Kunti’s eldest son,
Yudhishthira (called Dharma) was born before Duryodhana the son of
Dhritarashtra. After three sons were born to Kunti, the younger queen Madri
begged Pandu to get a magic formula for her from Kunti as she did not want the
1​
stigma of ​barrenness. Kunti agreed and gave a mantra to Madri.​ Madri is
supposed to have called the heavenly twins, handsomest among gods, and gave
birth to twm sons. When the King asked Kunti for another magic formula for his
younger queen, Kunti gave a characteristic reply, “I was a simpleton to give a
mantra to this scheming woman. She was clever enough to get two sons with the
use of just one. If I give her another, god knows how many sons she will have.
For all I know she might establish her superiority and gain the upper hand. Now
we will, neither of us, have any more children.”
1 Does this mean that permission was needed from the senior wife to allow the
younger wife to practise Niyoga (cohabit with somebody else for procreation of
chidren)? ​This speech makes one feel that if Madri had not had twins, Pandu
might have got more sons. After Kunti’s refusal to have any more children, the
whole family might have returned to Hastinapura. Pandu was the king and Kunti
could have taken her position as the queen and the sons would have been the
heirs to the throne. This was what Kunti had striven and hoped for. But this was
not to be.....
One day while wandering in the forest Pandu saw Madri unaccompanied by any
children or servants. Madri was in the bloom of youth and famous for her beauty.
In fact Bhishma had paid an enormous bride-price to secure her as a wife for
Pandu. Pandu could not resist the temptation and in spite of her remonstrances
possessed her and died according to the curse in the moment of his fulfilment.
Just then Madri heard Kunti coming with the children and cried out, “Kunti, hurry
and come alone. Keep the children away.” Kunti at once guessed what had
happened and came rushing, wringing her hands.
“All is lost, all is lost,” she wailed. She saw the dead king lying by the side of
Madri who was hastily getting up. She could not contain her jealousy. “I
protected him all these days. How could you tempt him? Indeed, you are to be
congratulated that you looked upon the fulfilment in the face of the king in your
arms.” Poor Madri could just murmur, “I tried my best to dissuade him but he
would not listen.” Kunti went on unheeding, “I
am the senior wife, it is my duty to follow the dead husband. Get up, take
charge of the children.”
Madri was standing stunned and trembling but these words brought her out of
her stupor. In one moment of horrible clarity she saw her futile life stretching
before her in unending misery and chose the only way out. She said in a firm
but pleading voice, “Kunti, he died because of me. Let me follow him. Let me
give him in heaven what he desired here. I could never be impartial between
your children and mine. On the other hand I am sure you will look after mine as
your own. Take them in your care. Allow me to follow the king.”
[Rivalry and intrigues among cowives in Kshatriya households have been an
important part of the history of India for the last 3000 years. Without Kaikeyi and
Kausalya there would have been no Ramayana. Drau-padi, who was the
foundation of the Pandavas’ greatness, had to acquiesce, though none too
graciously, in Arjuna’s bringing Subhadra as the younger cowife. A thousand
years later Kalidasa depicted his political drama round the rivalry of Dharini,
Iravati and Malavika. Still more recently the whole course of Maratha history was
shaped by the competition for power among Shivaji’s wives and their sons. ]
Madri burnt herself on the king’s funeral pyre. Madri’s lot in choosing death
was indeed hard but the life which Kunti was left to drudge alone was equally
hard, if not harder.
Kunti comes out as a hard and unjust woman on this occasion. Hard she
always was. She was rarely unjust. In a patriarchal, polygynous society a
woman’s status depended entirely on the position of the man who was either
her father or husband or son. The highest that a Kshatriya woman could hope
for was to be the eldest wife of a crowned king and to give birth to his eldest
son. To have more sons than the co-wives was also a means of securing, if not
the love of a husband, at least the position of the chief queen.
Kunti did not want the stigma of barrenness to attach to Madri but she was
certainly not going to allow the junior and more beautiful queen to have more
children than herself. She knew the preference of the king for the beautiful Madri
and her first outburst was due to spite and jealousy. But her claim that she had
guarded the king’s life so jealously was just. On the life of the king depended the
security of her sons, who would have in due time succeeded their father to the
throne. Pandu was the fourth man in her life to contribute to her miseries: Her
two fathers, the illegitimate son and now her husband. When everything had
seemed within reach his one rash act dashed Kunti’s hopes. Pandu and Madri
escaped, perhaps to enjoy companionship and bliss in heaven, as poor Madri
had said. But Kunti had to travel the hard stony path of her life alone.
Kunti returned to Hastinapura with the five children, the two half-charred
bodies and a retinue of Brahmins and servants. The citizens of Hastinapura
watched the sad procession and talked among themselves.
“Are they all his children?”
“How can they be?”
“Whose else could they be?”
Kunti heard these remarks with fear in her heart but all her doubts were laid at
rest by the manner in which Bhishma received her. The king and Madri were
given a State
cremation. The whole court went into mourning. The five children were
received as princes and given into the care of the family tutors for
instruction along with their cousins, the Kauravas.
These years of Kunti’s life were comparatively peaceful. Hardly had Kunti
heaved a sigh of relief when fresh troubles arose. Though the Pandavas were
received as princes, they were not acknowledged as sole heirs to the throne.
Dhritarashtra continued to rule though uncrowned and quarrels broke out
among the cousins. Kunti’s Bhima, a hefty fellow, delighted in frightening his
cousins. Apparently they in their turn tried to poison him. Kunti’s children
proved themselves to be quick in learning the art
of weaponry. Her eldest son Yudhishthir was well liked because of his good
looks, learning, wisdom and deportment. People already pointed to him as the
heir to the throne. It was against this background that Dhritarashtra planned to
remove the Pandavas from the public eye by sending them to Varanavata.
Duryodhana used this opportunity and ordered his spy Purochana to build a
palace with combustible material to house them and in which later on he planned
to burn them alive. Purochana received the princes with great pomp and took
them to the palace where he too lived along with them. Though fully aware of the
plot, Kunti and the Pandavas kept Purochana off his guard by pretending to lead
normal lives. Kunti, as befitted the mother of the princes, kept an open house.
Every day Brahmins and hundrends oi poor people enjoyed their hospitality. One
such was a tribal woman, who with her five sons came to the palace and slept
there that night. The Pandavas took this opportunity to make their escape. In the
middle of the night they set fire to the house and escaped through an already
prepared underground tunnel.
In the narrative of this incident one sees the superiority of the critical text of the
Mahabharata. It says that “a tribal woman, as though invited by death, came to
Kunti’s house that day, ate, drank liquor and slept there.” Two later editions have
the following versions. One says that “the tribal woman was cruel and an
accomplice of Purochana.” The other says that “She was cruel and pretended to
be friendly to Kunti.” For the sake of the plot and counterplot, the tribal woman
and her sons had to die. In fact her opportune arrival must have induced the
Pandavas to decide to escape on the very night that they did. This natural
sequence of events was distorted by later narrators because they wanted their
heroes to be above the reproach of having killed six innocent persons.
The next day in the remains of the burnt house the charred bodies of the tribal
woman and her children were found along with another body, that of Purochana.
Everyone was convinced that the Pandavas had died in the fire and they could,
therefore, spend a whole year free from harassment.
Bhima could not understand why it was necessary to walk into this fire trap at
all. But Dharma had understood the situation fully. He took pains to explain to
Bhima that if Purochana had suspected that they had an inkling of the Kauravas’
plot, he would have forcibly imprisoned them in the house and set it on fire. If
they had run away, ​Duryodhana could have got them assassinated. Duryodhana
1​
had​ a status because of his father; the Pandavas had none. He had money,
they were penniless. They therefore had to remain where they were. They had
familiarized themselves with routes of escape while pretending to hunt. By
studying the stars they knew the directions, meanwhile digging the tunnel. These
words of Dharma tell, more than anything else, the plight to which the Pandavas
were reduced at this time of their life.
The night they escaped, Kunti had to walk for miles. After some time they all
reached a deep forest where even the guidance of the stars failed. All rested
under a tree and sent Bhima to bring some water. When Bhima came back and
saw his mother sleeping on the ground he lamented the fact that a woman of
her status had to leave the palace and sleep
on the bare earth. Kunti, however, would not have judged herself to be badly
off at all. She had foiled the plot of her son’s rivals. As a Kshatriya woman that
was enough for her.
During the period she it was who encouraged Bhima to become the lover of
and to marry a Rakshasa (demon) woman. This woman was very useful to the
Pandavas, and her son later on gave his life for them in the Maha-bharata war.
Kunti got Bhima to kill the demon Baka and it was she who determined that
Draupadi was to be the wife of all her five sons. By this move the sons of Madri
and the sons of Kunti were welded into an unbreakable whole. This later proved
an effective bar to all plans of Duryodhana to set them against one another. Kunti
had always given to Madri’s sons not only her impartial care but also her heart.
Towards her own sons she was stern and dutiful, while there was a bond of
genuine affection between her and Madri’s sons.
On the day of the wedding Kunti entrusted the care of the sons to Draupadi.
She felt that she could now look forward to a quiet life, but as usual, her hope
was in vain. Her eldest son gambled away his kingdom. This time, being old
and frail, she could not accompany her sons into exile and had to remain in
Vidura’s house. This position of dependence was harder for her to take than
all the other privations she had suffered during her lifetime.
In this crisis she thought Pandu and Madri had been more fortunate than she.
Pandu had seen the sons he had wanted, but had not lived long enough to see
their downfall, and Madri in her short life had gained all that is worth having for a
woman. She had the love of her husband, she had the wisdom to choose the
moment of her death and in doing so she had attained heaven.
Kunti’s suffering and hope during the years of her sons’ exile is very well
described in Udyogaparva. Draupadi chose to go into exile with her husbands,
leaving her children behind. Kunti, though not in exile, suffered greater agonies
because she had to live among the enemies and witness their prowess and
prosperity. When Krishna went to negotiate a treaty with the Kauravas he called
on her. The moment she saw him she fell upon his neck and burst into tears,
recalling all the calamities that had befallen her since childhood.
When he left Hastinapura after the negotiations had fallen through, she sent a
message with him for her sons. Her words clearly reveal her mortifications, her
hopes for the future and her unbending will.
In this message she uses a phrase to describe herself which shows that in
spite of her laments she had thought her own life worthwhile. She talks of
1​
herself as going from one ​deep pool into another.​ She was the daughter of a
king, she became the eldest wife of another king. When her son became the
king of Indraprastha, she became the queen mother. She was deprived of her
right to the queenship by a rash act of her husband. She was deprived of her
right to the queen-mother’s position by a rash act of her son. And now this
eldest son, followed by his obedient brothers, was about to propose a disastrous
truce which would bring nothing but contempt from the contemporary Kshatriyas.
1 In India, where rivers run dry in the summer, there are a few deep pools (hrada)
which retain water all the year round. In this context such a pool can be understood
to mean a good place to be.
She sent messages with Krishna to all her sons. She admonished Bhima
and Arjuna not to forget their humiliation. Her main appeal however was to
Dharma. This was her eldest son, the heir to the throne. But he desired
neither war nor conquest.
She said, “Yudhishthira is the very soul of dharma. Tell him, ‘by your
behaviour you are destroying dharma. You are aware only of one dharma, the
dharma of the sluggish unlearned Brahmins who are caught in a mesh’ of words.
But Brahmadeva created the Kshatriyas from his powerful chest so that they live
by the force of their arms and protect their subjects. A king who forgets his
dharma goes to hell and drags with him all his subjects. What was yours by the
right of inheritance from your father has been lost. Recover it. Make it your own.
Your behaviour pleases the enemy. No shame is greater than that I should live
on other people’s charity while you are still alive. Remember the dharma of the
Kshatriyas. Do not throw your ancestors, younger brothers and yourself into
hell.”
She further reminded her son of an old legend — Vidura (or Vidula) -putra
sanvada (Conversation between Vidula and her son). The word vidura means a
wise woman. Her description fits both Kunti and Drau-padi. She was born to
success (yashasvini), quick to take offence (manyumati), born in a high family
(kulejatd), a follower of the Kshatriya dharma (kshatradharmaratd), a woman of
foresight (dirghadarshini), well known among the assembly of kings (vishruta
rajasamsatsu), learned (bahushruta, literally, one who has heard much). Her son
has been described in the following words: defeated at the hands of Sindhuraja,
prostrate, weak-minded, joyless, ignorant of dharma, one who gave pleasure to
his enemies. Vidula’s castigation of her son which takes up five chapters of
Udyogaparva was narrated in its entirety by Kunti for Dharma’s benefit. Only a
small part of it is given below:
“How can you lie prone like a corpse? Do not take defeat lying down. Show
your valour even if you die in the effort. You are worthy neither of a name in this
world nor of a place in heaven. I have given birth to infamy in the guise of a son.
No ruling house should have a son who brays loudly like an ass but is slow to
act. Live up to the name you were given — Sanjaya, the conqueror. Your wife
and I should be shelter-givers to others. Today we are receiving shelter from
others.”
To this the son replied, “All the iron in the world has been collected to
mould your angry, pitiless and revengeful heart. Is it the dharma of the
Kshatriyas that you should talk in this manner to an only son? Do you think
you can enjoy the kingdom and the riches of the earth or even your own life if
I am dead and gone forever?”.
The mother said, “This is the time to goad you to action with harsh words. A
love which is weak and undemanding is like the love of a female donkey. You are
a Kshatriya. You must either defeat your enemies or be killed.”
The son gave a last desperate excuse. “How can I fight, mother? How
can I get soldiers together? I have no money.”
The mother had won her point. “Well spoken,” she said, “I have hidden
wealth. I’ll give it to you if you are ready to fight.”
The son fought and won back his kingdom. “Krishna,” Kunti said, “Tell this
legend to Dharma. Tell Arjuna, “It is now time to fulfil the hopes of a Kshatriya
mother. Fight and crown your eldest brother as king.” Her message to her
daughter-in-law admonished her not to forget the high rank to which she was
born.
Her words were like the lash of a whip. Their aim was only one — to spur her
eldest son to fight. Doubtless, Kunti’s heart too was made of steel.
The words in which Karna later spurned her were even harsher than these. She
need not have gone to Karna. But the idea that weaning Karna away from
Duryodhana would foil Duryodhana’s plans effectively made her undertake this
humiliating task. She told Karna who he was and asked him to join forces with his
five brothers. She tried to tempt him by saying that in joining her other sons as
their brother he would gain Kshatriyahood.
With bitter irony Karna said, “Oh high-born Kshatriya lady, I believe what you
say. You have committed the sin of destroying the foundation of my name and
fame. Even though born a Kshatriya, I did not receive the sacrament of a
Kshatriya. What enemy could do me a greater wrong? At the time you showed
me no mercy, and now you challenge me to acknowledge myself a Kshatriya.
The mother in you was dead then. Now you have come to me for your own
selfish reasons. I have never had a brother until now. If one suddenly crops up
now, what will people say to me? Whatever I have in this world I owe to the sons
of Dhritarashtra. How can I leave them now?” He added further, “I pro mise you
this, however. You will always have five sons, whether I die, or I succeed in
killing Arjuna”.
Kunti replied sadly, “Son, all the Kauravas will be destroyed in this battle. Let it
be as you say. Who can fight fate?”
These words of hers make us wonder whether she had gone to him for selfish
reasons, or whether she had really wanted to save Karna from certain death.
Throughout Kunti’s life we get alternate glimpses of meanness and nobility.
One is repulsed by the Kunti who blamed Madri for her husband’s death; but the
same Kunti showered her love on Madri’s orphaned children all her life. Draupadi
could have been the wife of her own three sons, but Kunti did not exclude the
other two. It does not appear that in doing this the unity of the five was her only
motive. Once she called Madri’s sons her own they did become her own.
Her behaviour in the case of Karna was similar. It was impossible for her to
care for the child born to her while still an unmarried young girl in her father’s
house. When she discovered him she could not call him her own. Karna could
not forget this injustice. Nor could she.
The war was over and the sad and difficult task of identifying the dead bodies
and giving them the proper last rites was being performed. Kunti chose this
time to reveal to Dharma the fact that Karna was her first son and as such his
elder brother.
One wonders how Kunti could undo the wrong she had done to Karna after
his death. From her point of view the reason for what she did was obvious. “You
let me grow up without a Kshatriya’s sacrament”, was Karna’s lament at their
last meeting. It was Kunti’s firm belief that a man could attain heaven if he was
cremated according to the rites due to his status. She must have felt that it was
the least she could do for Karna. During the first part of her life she had felt the
need to acknowledge Karna. Just before
the great war both she and Krishna had felt the necessity of getting Karna to join
the Pandavas. For this a public acknowledgment of her relationship with Karna
was necessary. Kunti was prepared to undergo this ordeal. But now after the
war was won, such a necessity no longer existed. It was only because her
sense of justice would not let her rest that she made a public confession at this
time.
Whatever the others might have said, Dhanna’s condemnation of her was
sweeping and merciless. Dharma is said to have mourned the loss of his
brother bitterly. He even blamed Kunti for the entire Mahabharata war.
“Your secret has destroyed all of us — the Kurus and the Panchalas are
no more. Draupadi’s sons and Abhi-manyu are dead. If you had told us at
that time that Karna belonged to us, there would have been no war.”
He even went so far as to curse all of womankind by saying, “Henceforth they
shall be ​incapable of keeping a secret.”​1
1 This incident may very well be a later interpolation.
Just before the end Kunti once again showed her unbending will. After living
for fifteen years with Dharma, Dhritarashtra and Gandhari decided to spend the
remainder of their lives in the forest. Dharma, Arjuna, Kunti and all her
daughters-in-law showed the old couple the proper respect. But Bhima could not
forget the wrong done by this uncle. He, followed by Nakula and Sahadeva, took
every opportunity to insult Dhritarashtra. Under the circumstances Dhritarashtra
could not complain about his nephews’ behaviour. He decided to leave the
palace. Vidura and Sanjaya decided to accompany him. Kunti also made up her
mind to go with him. “I have never served the older people in my ​family. Let me

do so now by waiting upon my old father-in-law.”​1

So saying she started out with them. At this the Pandavas broke out into a loud
lament. ​Hearing the lament, Dhritarashtra said to Gandhari, “Tell the
2​
daughter-in-law​ , ‘You have suffered much. You should spend your remaining
life in comfort with the children’”.
1 Husband’s elder brother and his wife can be so addressed and the respect due to
parents-in law is given to them.
2 A younger brother’s wife.
Kunti would not listen to anyone. With tears in his eyes Dharma reminded
her, “You made Vasudeva tell us the story of Vidula. To honour your word, we
fought the war and won our kingdom back. Where is your Kshatriya dharma
now that you are leaving your sons, your daughters-in-law and the hard-won
kingdom?”
Kunti could not stop her tears, but she continued walking. Then Bhima said,
“How can you go away without enjoying the kingdom your sons have won for
you? If this is what you intended to do, why did you make us fight this terrible
destructive war? Why did you take the trouble of bringing us and Madri’s two
infants from the forest into Hastinapura at all?”
The children talked on. Draupadi, weeping, followed Kunti. Kunti walked on for
a while in silence. When she saw that they would not stop following her, she
dried her tears and addressed Bhima, using his patronym.
“Pandava, all you said is true. When you lay down in despair, I had to whip
you into action. You had gambled away the kingdom. Happiness had fled from
you. Your kin despised you. You were sinking and I pulled you up. I prodded you
so that Pandu’s house should not become infamous. I had to wake you out of
your lethargy so that this daughter-in-law of mine may not be insulted again.
Children, as Pandu’s wife and queen I enjoyed my kingdom fully. I performed
religious sacrifices; I gave large gifts to Brahmins. I drank the sacred soma juice.
I sent the message with Vasudeva not because I lacked anything. I have no
longer any wish for enjoyments of this life. This is the time for me to practise
austerity, serve my parents-in-law and thus attain heaven so as to meet my
husband. Don’t follow me. Go back.”
The Pandavas, shamed into silence, returned with Draupadi.
Kunti was leading Gandhari by the hand. Dhrita-rashtra had put his hand on
Gandhari’s shoulder. Thus in a row they walked through the streets of
Hastinapura. In the forest Ku-nti waited on them faithfully. Every day she led
them to the river Ganges for their bath and brought them back. The children
came once to see them. They all wept again.
Vidura died first. Some time later there was a great forest fire. Sanjaya, with
the three older people, wanted to run to safety. The old people refused to move.
They bade Sanjaya to save himself.
Kunti, with her two companions, sat down in a yoga pose, calmly awaiting
the fire. She died, as she had lived, without bending.

5. Father and Son?

Bhishma had made arrangements for the education and training of the sons of
Dhritarashtra and Pandu. He had, however, made no special attempts to protect
the Pandavas. Perhaps he was unaware of the rivalry between the cousins? May
be he was helpless to do anything about it? Or was he merely indifferent? The
house threatened with extinction had survived; where there had been no heir,
two were born, and from these two had come 105. Did he feel that it made no
difference if some perished, as long as a Kuru occupied the throne? We cannot
say that, but nevertheless it is true that up to the time of Draupadi’s svayamvara
he was careless enough not to have noticed the ill will of the sons of
Dhritarashtra towards the Pandavas, their cousins.
Vidura was the one who strove like a father for the good of the Pandavas. But
Vidura’s own position was so subordinate that until Dhritarashtra’s cunning and
Duryodhana’s jealousy became known to all, he had to be very circumspect in
whatever help he gave to the Pandavas. Duryodhana, Shakuni, and others were
constantly looking for an opportunity to kill the Pandavas, especially Bhima, the
strongest among them. All their plots-to drown him, to have him bitten by a
snake, to poison his food-were revealed to the Pandavas by Yuyutsu, who was
the son of Dhritarashtra by a concubine. The Mahabharata says that the
Pandavas always behaved according to the advice of Vidura, never revealing
their knowledge of this enmity or the plots against them. Vidura was not only
concerned for the Pandavas but also for their mother Kunti. Once in their youth
when a fight seemed imminent between Karna — Kunti’s illegitimate son — and
Arjuna, Kunti was about to faint in fright. Vidura calmed her and skilfully
intervened to prevent the fight. During the Pandavas’ thirteen years of exile it
was Vidura who gave shelter to Kunti.
Vidura’s partiality to the Pandavas did not remain completely unknown. When
Duryodhana was plotting to send the Pandavas to a distant town to kill them, he
showed he was well aware of Vidura’s attitude. Summing up the position at the
Kuru court, he said, “Bhishma is completely neutral; he shows no preference
either for us or for the Pandavas. Drona’s son is with us, and the father will go
along with the son. Kripa also will follow these two. Vidura outwardly gives no
sign of it, but he really is on the side of the Pandavas. However, all by himself
he cannot do anything much against us.”
Dhritarashtra had plotted skilfully to send the Pandavas to Varanavata, and
Dharma was forced to comply, even though he knew certain death awaited them
all. The Pandavas bade farewell to everyone. In a speech before all, Vidura used
phrases with double meaning to warn them of the likely dangers and to suggest a
way of escape. After they had left he secretly sent a trusted servant to dig a
tunnel beneath the house where the Pandavas were living. When the house was
set on fire they escaped through this tunnel. Vidura’s foresight had saved them.
After their marriage to Draupadi, Vidura openly sided with the Pandavas. The
reason is obvious. His position at the court of the Kurus remained what it was. He
could render help to no one. But the Pandavas were now independent, with the
might of the Yadavas and the Drupadas behind them. There was no longer any
need of secretly foiling the plots of their enemies. This difference is shown with
great acuteness in the Adiparva. The Pandavas had won Draupadi. Duryodhana
and his friends came home, humiliated and empty-handed. As soon as Vidura
heard the news he went to Dhritarashtra and exclaimed, “Congratulations to the
Kauravas!” The Pandavas as well as Duryodhana and his brothers were
descendants of Kuru and thus Kauravas, but the Pandavas were supposed to
have perished in Varanavata, so Dhritarashtra naturally thought it was his own
son who had won Draupadi. In great joy he said, “Fine, fine, bring Draupadi in;
Duryodhana, go and fetch ornaments for your bride.” Then Vidura told him what
had actually happened. Vidura had had his revenge for all the harassment and
plotting against the Pandavas. Dhritarashtra was clever enough to answer quickly,
“Aren’t my brother’s children my own, Vidura? They also are dear to me.” Vidura
answered warmly, “For those sweet words may your mouth be filled with sugar. I
hope your feelings always remain so.” After Vidura went away Duryodhana and
others came to Dhritarashtra and started their old game of plotting against the
Pandavas. But Dhritarashtra, realizing that secret plots would be of no avail now,
called Bhishma, Drona, and Vidura. All advised him to be friends with the
Pandavas, but Vidura’s plea was made with the greatest emotion. Vidura himself
then went to bring Kunti, Draupadi, and the Pandavas to Hastinapura, where they
were given a share of the kingdom. It was after this that Vidura became the open
champion of the Pandavas.
As an individual Vidura has a special function and position in the Mahabharata.
In addition, he belonged to the Kshattas or Sutas, a class which plays a peculiar
role in the story. This class had the burden of its own. sorrows and so Vidura
carried that as well as
his own. Karna, abandoned by his unmarried mother Kunti and adopted by the
suta Adhiratha, was a suta. A brother of Karna is mentioned, who was the son
of Adhiratha. Karna was a suta through adoption; his brother, a suta by birth.
Karna contracted
marriage alliance with other suta families, giving his daughters to sutas and
bringing suta brides for his sons. Sanjaya, who described the progress of the war
to Dhritarashtra, was also a suta. Yuyutsu, born of a Vaishya woman and
publicly acknowledged as Dhritarashtra’s son, was a Kshatta or suta; so was
Vidura. His wife, the daughter of the king of Devaka, is called Parshavi, meaning
she was a suta. Ugrashrava, the son of Lomaharshana, and teller of the
Mahabharata story, was also a suta, as were the Kichakas one of whom was the
general of the Virata army and the brother of Sudeshna, the queen of Virata.
The sutas were charioteers, warriors, and repositories of the lore and
genealogies of the kingly families. In this last capacity they were also
1​
story-tellers and were greatly in ​demand at all social gatherings.​ The
Ksha-triyas had a feeling of closeness and kinship with the sutas. Within the
enclosure of the palace the sutas lived in their own houses. From the
Mahabharata’s description it seems that they never lived in the palace itself. In
many cases the Kshatriyas and sutas were actually stepbrothers, like
Dhritarashtra and Vidura, Duryodhana and Yuyutsu. Not only were the sutas
near equals of the Kshatriyas, some, like the Kichakas were actually a threat to
the power of the king. Though completely dependent on the Kshatriyas for their
maintenance, they could assume the role of advisers, as Vidura and Sanjaya
did. Sanjaya even took an active part in Duryodhana’s war councils. Beautiful
suta women, like Sudeshna, could become Kshatriya queens, but the Kshatriyas
never gave their daughters to the sutas. Duryodhana gave a kingdom to Karna
but never married into Karna’s family. He called Karna his friend, but their
relationship was never one of complete equality; to the end it was that of patron
and retainer. Such was the position of the other sutas, and of Vidura himself.
Vidura and his brothers (Dhritarashtra and Pandu) were sons of the same father
(Vyasa). But the mothers of the first two were Kshatriya princesses and wives of
the dead king, whereas Vidura’s mother was a servant of the dead king. The
Mahabharata clearly says that if this had not been the case, Vidura would have
become the king. Even at the end, Krishna’s grandson Vajra got Indraprastha;
Arjuna’s grandson Parikshita got Hastinapura; Yuyutsu the suta —
Dhrita-rashtra’s own son — got nothing.
1 The sutas are mentioned together with another class, the Magadhas, in the
compound sutamagadha, but the Magadhas had much lower status. The only duty of
the Magadhas was to sing the praises of the king when he entered the court.
​This was the whole sorrow of the sutas. Extremely near to the Kshatriyas, of
the same blood as the Kshatriyas, in a position to advise them without fear,
they could never become the Kshatriyas’ equals. Neither they nor their
offspring could sit on the throne. Because he was blind, Dhritarashtra could not
sit on the throne; but Pandu, though not without defect, was made king. Vidura,
physically and mentally the fittest, was left empty-handed.
Dhritarashtra loved Vidura dearly, but even that love was authoritarian. At any
time of the day or night he would send a messenger to call Vidura. If he wanted
to send a messenger to the Pandavas he would always send Vidura. The
Mahabharata describes how once in a fit of anger he ordered Vidura out of the
palace; then he repeated and called him back, seating him on his lap and
begging his forgiveness. Vidura was a brother indeed, but a brother who could
claim no right except that of bare maintenance. Was it this position that made
him sympathetic to the cause of the Pandavas? Bhishma, the
eldest of the dan, took no sides in the rivalry between the Pandavas and
Kauravas. He did make attempts to stop their quarrels, but it was Vidura who
was drawn to the Pandavas. Bhishma kept warning that the Pandavas were
mighty warriors who would bring about the destruction of the Kauravas. Vidura
also knew this, but he kept emphasizing the question of justice, not of power. Did
he feel, perhaps, that he had no right to the kingdom, but the ones who did have
should no be deprived of it?
The very meaning of vidura is “knowing much.” Throughout the Mahabharata,
we see that this knowledge was not primarily of this-worldly affairs, but
knowledge of ultimate values. Time and time again in his advice to Dhritarashtra,
Vidura stressed the folly of greed, the need for justice, and the eternity of the
soul. All this knowledge, however, was poured out before a man who neither
listened nor profited from it. Dhritarashtra had been denied the kingdom because
he was blind. Still wounded at his loss, obsessed with the idea of getting for his
children what he could not for himself, he had lost the ability to discriminate
between right and wrong. While the Pandavas were children he paid no attention
at all to Vidura’s advice. Later he would listen, but make excuses, “What can I do
? I can’t control my sons. Now they are too big to listen to me.” Only once did
Vidura retaliate. That was, as we have seen, after Draupadi’s svayamvara, when
the Pandavas brought Draupadi. As the end, when the war was over and all of
Dhritarashtra’s sons had died, Vidura said, “King, what is the use of weeping
now? When you were dancing with joy at the Pandavas’ loss in the dice game, I
had warned you, this is no occasion for triumph and jubiliation; it presages
nothing but destruction.’ You paid no heed then. Now behave like a Kshatriya.
Don’t weep.” There is no gloating in these words. All Vidura meant was that what
happens to a man is the fruit of his own action and must be endured with
courage.
We never see Vidura bewailing his sorrows or loss. In fact, in comparison
with the other characters in the Mahabharata it might be said that his life was a
happy one. He lived in his own house, spending his time in reflection, in
meditation, and worship. He had children, he had achieved fame. But still it
seems as if an inde-fineable sadness and melancholy filled his life.
In the Mahabharata every person — man or woman, high or low — is plunged
into one activity or another. Dhritarashtra and Pandu, Gandhari and Kunti,
Duryo-dhana and the Pandavas, Draupadi and Subhadra, Uttara and Uttara,
Drupada and his children, Krishna and all the Yadavas — all these Kshatriyas
lived restless, intense lives. Their lives had heights and depths, loves and hates.
Whatever real peace they had came only after death. In old age, beaten by life,
they finally achieved with great effort a resignation which was not so much
peace as a desperate attempt to impose calm. Dhritarashtra, Gandhari, and
Kunti’s last days in the forest and the last journey of the Pandavas give no sense
of peace. What was true of the Kshatriyas was true of the sutas. Sanjaya, whose
task was merely to tell Dhritarashtra what was happening in the war, could not
remain uninvolved. Even the Brahmins Drona and Ashvat-thama were not
spared from the tormenting activity of mind and body.
In a sense, Vidura’s calm life stands out in relief against all these. In another
sense, it remains almost unnoticed. If he felt the stigma of his birth and the loss
of his right to the kingdom, very early in life he must have swallowed his
frustration and marked out his future path. The Mahabharata reveals the
innermost thoughts of all the other characters,
but is completely silent about Vidura. Was it because he was a sage, as his
name suggested, or was it because he was an incarnation of Yama, the god of
death, that life’s restlessness did not touch him ? No, we cannot say that he was
indifferent to everything. He was the champion of the Pandavas. He detested
cruelty and injustice. Still he did not forget his status or duty. On the day of the
battle, while the two armies faced each other, Dhritarashtra’s son Yuyutsu
openly joined the Pandavas. But Vidura, who had constantly argued with
Dhritarashtra on behalf of the Pandavas, never left Dritarashtra’s side. When
necessary he censured Dhritarashtra, but in Dhritarashtra’s sorrow he was there
to comfort him.
Bhishma and Vidura sat in the same court. On some occasions we find their
speeches given one after the other. But perhaps because Bhishma belonged to
the older generation, there were no conversations between them. The beginning
of chapter 103, where such a conversation occurs, is clearly an interpolation.
Bhishma says to Vidura, “I have decided to bring Subala’s daughter Gandhari,
the Madra princess Madri, and the Yadava princess Kunti as brides to our
house. What do you think of this, Vidura?” Vidura answers, “You are our father
and mother. Do what you think right.” Following this exchange is a long account
of each girl, ending with her marriage. This means that the eight stanzas at the
beginning of the chapter are meaningless. Moreover, the question was about the
marriage of Vidura’s two elder brothers, and Vidura himself was unmarried. All
the brothers must have been below the age of twenty, and Vidura was the
youngest of the three. It is impossible that Bhishma should have asked his
advice at such a time.
After the marriage of his two elder nephews, Bhishma secured a bride — a
daughter of King Devaka and a maidservant — for Vidura. Good children were
born of this marriage. The three or four stanzas about his marriage and children
are all we know about Vidura’s domestic life.
Vidura kept both himself and his family removed from the intense mental and
physical conflicts described in the Mahabharata. But somehow one suspects that
he had a deep hidden involvement in those events. Was there some secret
buried in this outwardly serene life?
Though Vidura was the champion of the Pandavas he had a closer relationship
with Dhanna than with the others. When the Pandavas were going to
Varanavata, Dhanna was the one he warned about the dangers ahead. Every
time he came from the court of the Kauravas, he would have a long talk with
Dhanna. The friendship of Vidura and Dhanna was not like that between
Duryo-dhana and Karna, or Krishna and Arjuna, a friendship known to the whole
world. Nor was it a friendship between equals. Dharma himself said that Vidura
was like a father to the Pandavas. But still beyond that there seems to be a
special intimacy between Vidura and Dharma. There is an extraordinary similarity
between the two. If Vidura was famed for his knowledge of dharma and right
conduct, so Dhanna was known in his own generation as learned, reflective, and
knowing the principles of dharma. We get a measure of his wisdom in the story
of the riddles of the Yaksha and again in the last journey.
Dharma was the son of Pandu, a crowned king. He had the right to the kingdom
after his father’s death, but complications and wranglings barred his path. As a
child he was forced to live meekly in the house of his enemies. He could not
afford to forget even for a moment that the kingdom was rightfully his. Nor would
his mother and brothers have let
him forget it. Gathering Brahmins and having them perform sacrifices, giving
generous fees and receiving the blessings of grateful people, holding discussions
on dharma, listening to the stories of old kings, playing dice now and then —
these were the things he liked to do. But the role that fell to his lot demanded a
man of action. Dharma could never play the part. Whatever he got was through
the valour of others. His beautiful wife, his powerful father-in-law he owed to
Arjuna. For protection in both exiles he was indebted to Bhima. Indraprastha and
the incomparable Maya-sabha were secured by Arjuna and Krishna. The war
itself was won through the valour of his brothers and the statesmanship of
Krishna. To add to Dharma’s humilia tion, he had to plead with Arjuna and
threaten to renounce the kingdom altogether if Arjuna did not fight. And finally,
when he got what he was fighting for he had to pay so heavily that instead of his
face shining with victory his mouth was filled with ashes. From beginning to end
Dharma’s life was filled with sadness. In this respect too, his life was like
Vidura’s. Not getting what he fully merited was Vidura’s sorrow. Having to pay an
awful price for what was his by right — that was the sorrow of Dhanna.
Throughout the Mahabharata Vidura’s frustration is never expressed. But
Dharma himself revealed his own frustration. On their last journey when Draupadi
fell down, he said she had fallen because she had loved Arjuna the most. In
these words the usually reticent Dhanna bared his life-long wound. Again in the
dice game, when he wildly staked his kingdom, his brothers, and his wife, we feel
that he once more revealed the pain in his heart. Did he think it a manly deed to
throw to the winds all that others had won for him? Was it a gesture to show he
had nothing but contempt for what he possessed?
All these things taken together suggest a question: were Vidura and Dharma
father and son? There is much in the Mahabharata to support this suspicion.
The Mahabharata does not hide anybody’s secrets. It even reveals that Karna
is the illegitimate son of Kunti. If Dharma was born from Kunti and Vidura, then,
why should this fact be kept a secret? All the sons of Kunti are alleged to have
been born from gods who were invited at Pandu’s wish. The children were born
while Pandu was still living and were acknowledged by him as his sons.
According to the legal conceptions of those times, they were Pandu’s sons and
were thus called Pandavas. Supposing that one of the children had been born
from Vidura, would he in any way have been inferior to the others? Dharma’s
right to the throne rested on two things: he was older than Duryodhana, and he
was the son of Pandu. His rival Duryodhana was indeed younger by a few
months. But he was the son of Dhritarashtra, a prince of the royal house, and
Gandhari, a princess. One wonders if Dharma’s claim would have been
considered inferior if he were known to be the son of Vidura, a suta.
When they were planning to call gods to father the children, it is very curious
that the first god Kunti called was Yamadharma, the god of death. Vidura was
said to be an incarnation of Yamadharma, so we can surmise that she did not
call the god but her husband’s brother Vidura. Moreover, as the younger brother
of Pandu, Vidura was, from the point of view of law and dharma, suited to father
Pandu’s children. The child born from this union with an incarnation of
Yamadharma or the gcd himself was Yudhishthira, but because of the serious
nature he early displayed he was called Dharma. Thus, for many reasons,
Dharma seems to be the son of Vidura. There are two more incidents which lend
support to this contention. After Dhritarashtra and Gandhari, Kunti and Vidura,
had gone to live in the forest, the Pandavas would go occasionally to visit them.
On one such visit Dharma did not see Vidura and he asked about him.
Dhritarashtra answered, “He is practising terrible penance, he doesn’t eat or drink
anything. Sometimes people see him wandering in the forest.” Just then
someone came to say that Vidura had been seen naked, dust-covered, nothing
but skin and bones. Dharma ran after Vidura, crying, “Vidura, stop, I am your
dear Yudhishthira.” They both continued running until Vidura stopped under a
tree deep in the forest. He leaned against the tree. Dharma once again reminded
him, “I am Yudhishthira.” Vidura fixed his unblinking eyes on Dharma, and with
his yogic power he entered Dharma’s body limb by limb. Vidura gave Dharma
everything — his life, his organs, his brilliance. This behaviour at the time of death
is like that of father and son. In the Upanishad there is a description of what a
man nearing death is to do: he should lie on the bare ground, and make his son
lie on top of him, saying “Son, I give you my organs.” The son should reply, “I
accept.” In this way the dying man transfers all his power, wealth, and
intelligence to his son. This last visit of Dharma and Vidura seems to describe
this same kind of transfer. Two chapters later we are told that Vyasa came to
Dhritarashtra and said, “Vidura was Yama incarnate born to Vichitravirya’s
maidservant and me through my yogic powers; and he in his turn, through yogic
powers, gave birth to Yudhishthira, the king of the Kurus. He who is Dharma is
Vidura; he who is Vidura is Pandava. And Dhritarashtra, just as your younger
brother Vidura has served you, so will Yudhishthira-Dharma continue to serve
you.” Thus the fact that Kunti had a son by her brother-in-law Vidura was kept
secret up to the end of the war. When at last it was revealed it was done in such
a way that it remains unclear whether the oneness of Dharma and Vidura was
that of father and son, or of their both being the incarnation of Yamadharma.
If Vidura was the father of Dharma, why wasn’t he also called to father the
other sons of Kunti? It is said in the later Shastras that a man should sleep with
his brother’s wife only when necessity arises to create a son in his brother’s
name. The prevailing opinion was that this should happen only once, so it is
understandable that Vidura did not approach Kunti again. One thing at least is
clear: the Mahabharata, which is outspoken about all relationships, has not
made a single unambiguous statement about the affection of Vidura and
Dharma, or about their relationship. As soon as we consider the possibility that
these two might be father and son, the whole Mahabharata takes on a new light.
If Dharma is the natural son of Vidura and the legal son of Pandu, the whole
Mahabharata conflict is no longer between the sons of Dhritarashtra and Pandu,
but among the sons of all three brothers. The triangular fight does not
materialize because Vidura and Pandu have a common son. To prevent
anyone’s finding out who were the fathers of his children, Pandu went and lived
far away in the Himalayas and apparently the natural fathers of his sons
remained unknown and unacknowledged. Vidura, on his part, does not seem to
have indulged in any intrigue. Even after his son was crowned he could not
become the father of the king. Vidura remained uninvolved, detached. Dharma
got all that was his by right, but he got it at such cost that to the end he too
remained not only detached but unfulfilled.

6. Draupadi
Draupadi and Sita are heroines of the two Indian epic poems the
Mahabharata and Ramayana respectively. Both are daughters of the earth: Sita
because she was found during the ploughing for a yajna (sacrifice) and
Draupadi because she came out of the yajna fire itself. Both were wed in a
svayamvara and each was given to a man who proved himself the best archer
of his time. One was exiled for fourteen years, the other for thirteen, and the
lives of both, for one reason or another, were frustrated. But despite these
similarities, the overall impact of the two is one of immense contrast, because
the entire content and style of the two books are diametrically opposed.
According to English literary usage both the Mahabharata and the Ramayana
are called epics. Indian tradition however distinguishes between the two by
calling the Mahabharata a history and the Ramayana a poem. Unlike the
Ramayana, the main purpose of the Mahabharata is to record events. In doing so
it describes incidentally many things like capital cities, forests, and rivers, but
these are of secondary importance and are always in the context of the main
story. The scope of the Ramayana is narrower. That of the Mahabharata is
wide-ranging in time, in space, and in its cast of characters. Heroes and cowards,
villains and good men, impulsive fools and wise men, ugly men and fair ones are
all depicted in the course of its narrative. Almost no person is portrayed as all
good or all bad.
The Mahabharata is a record of human beings with human weaknesses. The
entire Ramayana, on the other hand, is in praise of an ideal man. Whatever was
good in the world was embodied in Rama, and it was to present this ideal to the
world that Valmiki wrote the Ramayana. As Rama is the ideal man, so is Sita the
ideal woman. In fact, the whole Ramayana is filled with idealized characters —
the ideal brother, the ideal servant, ideal subjects, even ideal villains. It is not
that the Mahabharata has no extraordinary characters. But even while depicting
the extraordinary person, the poet does not let us forget the ordinary in him.
The Ramayana is principally the story of one man, with the other characters
serving as a background to set the hero in relief. Beside Rama stands Sita. She
has parents as well as in-laws, but her parents’ home is a home in name only. Of
her relations with her in-laws we hear a little more, but in this context too the
characters remain sketchy. Sita goes into the forest with Rama, returns, is later
cast off during pregnancy by Rama, and is finally swallowed up by the earth, but
we do not hear a single protest from her father or mother. It is as if Sita were an
orphan. There is a description of the greatness of her father, a ruler of the
Janakas, but this greatness of his is of no help to Sita in her times of need.
Entirely different is the story of Draupadi. Her father had performed a yajna to get
a child, and out of the yajna had sprung two full-grown children, a boy and a girl.
The girl was Draupadi. How beloved she was in her father’s house can be seen
from some of her names. According to custom in those days a person might be
known by various names. Even in this respect Draupadi is different from Sita.
Both had given names: Sita, “the furrow”; Krishna, “the dark one”; Janaki, “a
female child of the kingly clan of Janaka”; Draupadi, “a female child of the kingly
dan of Drupada”; Vaidehi, “princess of Videha”; and Panchali, “princess of
Panchala”. But in addition Draupadi had two other names. We do not know the
personal name of the particular Janaka who adopted Sita after she was found in
the furrow. The personal name of the Drupada who adopted Draupadi after she
came out of the fire was Yajnasena. From him Draupadi has a name used often
in the Mahabharata — Yajnaseni, “the daughter of Yajnasena”. Sita’s mother,
the Janaka’s wife, is not mentioned at all. Draupadi’s mother i.e. to say
Yajnasena’s wife, Prishati, is mentioned. Draupadi and her brother had come
from the fire as grown-up children. These children were wished for and loved,
not just found like Sita. Fearing that they would not feel towards her as towards a
true mother, Draupada’s wife prayed to the god of fire, “Oh, Agni, let the children
forget that they have sprung from you and let them feel that they are my
children”. This prayer was answered. Another name by which the boy
Dhrishtadyumna, is known is Parshata, and Draupadi is known as Parshati
through the mother. Prishata is the name of Drupada, Yajnasena’s father.
Parshata and Parshati are thus names derived from the grandfather.
In the Mahabharata story we have an account of over three generations of
people tied together with the whole web of kinship. Gandhari, who on her
marriage to a blind man (Dhritarashtra) had bound her eyes with a strip of cloth,
had her brother Shakuni stay at the Kuru court intriguing on behalf of his sister’s
children. Kunti, the widow of Pandu, was guarding her five children with the help
of her father’s people. Draupadi’s parents and brothers were very important allies
of the five brothers Dharma, Bhima, Arjuna, Nakula and Sahadeva. Arjuna’s
daughter-in-law Uttara and her brother Uttara form a lovely sub-story. The great
grandfather Shantanu and his son Bhishma have an important role in the
development of the story. Thus the background of many individual lives: brothers
and step-brothers, older and younger generations, wives of brothers, uncles and
nephews, relations by marriage, and many others with their intricate rivalries and
alliances give Draupadi her many dimensions. As background to the family
relationships we are given a glimpse of the larger rivalries and alliances in the
political field of the then ruling kings from Jarasandha of Magadha in the east to
Shalva on the banks of the Indus in the west. Behind the tangled rivalries of kin
are portrayed those of politics; the family and personal clashes gain a sharpness
of outline against the background of the reigning houses of Yadavas, Kauravas,
and Drupadas. Finally, there is the war itself, a culmination ​of the struggle for
1​
power in the family and​ in the state.
In contrast to this, the Ramayana barely mentions the in-laws of the
Ikshvaku (Ayodhya) house, the Janakas and Kekayas. Havana with whom the
battle was fought belonged to a different world, beyond the pale of the
Kshatriya houses of the Gangetic valley. Like a modern love story the whole
narration is about two people; we get no glimpse of the familial and social
forces which shape their mental processes and personalities.
Till the day they married Draupadi the Pandavas were moving incognito from
town to town. They had escaped from a horrible death planned for them by the
Kauravas, and were afraid of letting their enemies know that they were alive. In
the court of Drupada they sat, under assumed identities, among a group of poor
Brahmins. Arjuna’s sucess in the contest won for the Pandavas not only a
beautiful wife but also powerful allies. With these and the Yadavas to back them
they could ask for their share of the Hastinapura kingdom. Through their
marriage to Draupadi they got a wife, status, and a kingdom.
In the Ramayana Rama had sat among the Brahmins in the court of Janaka.
But he was not sitting incognito. It was mere chance that he happened to be with
a Brahmin at that
time. Their marriage brought status to Sita and gave Rama a beautiful and
devoted wife. From the point of view of the Ramayana Rama needed nothing
more. As the daughter of a powerful and noble family, Draupadi was the living
symbol of the Pandavas’ new position; but more than that, as the wife of all five
she was the source of their unity and solidarity. The day Arjuna won her and
brought her home his mother unwittingly said, “Whatever you have brought
today, share equally with your brothers as always.” Then she saw the lovely
young girl! How could she be divided among the five? Dharma told Arjuna,
“Brother, you won her; you marry her.” Arjuna answered, “How can I commit the
sin of marrying before you and Bhima, my elder brothers? You are the eldest;
you marry her.”
Arjuna was right. From the Vedas and the Brahmanas onward it was
considered not only contrary to good etiquette but sinful for the younger brother
to marry before the elder. If he did so, the guilt not only fell on both brothers, but
also on the parents who had consented to the marriage. The reasons for this are
clear. In ancient times the eldest had the right of succession and inheritance. To
be able to perform the shraddha (offering to the dead) of his parents and the
duties of a householder he had to be married. Moreover, the younger brothers
had access to an elder brother’s wife, but over the younger brother’s wife an
elder had no right. Thus the marriage of the younger brother before the elder
deprived the elder of his social, familial, and religious rights and for this reason
such a marriage was considered a sin. Had Arjuna married Draupadi first his
elder brother could not have married her. On the other hand, Dharma as the
elder had the right to marry her though she had been won by Arjuna. In his
grandfather’s generation Bhishma had won a girl and given her to his brother. If
Dharma alone had married Draupadi all five would have had the right to her, but
the text suggests the following reason this alternative was rejected and she was
solemnly married to each. As the discussion about what to do with Draupadi went
on, the eyes of the five brothers were fastened on her with unconcealed desire
which did not escape the shrewd observation of Kunti. Finally, through her
wisdom and a stratagem of Vyasa the dilemma was resolved so that Draupadi
became the wife of all five and her marriage to all five thus destroyed any
possible seeds of dissension. This very thing Karna later pointed out to
Duryodhana. After the Pandavas had got married and come out into the open,
Duryodhana was planning again to destroy them. He told Karna, “Divide Kunti’s
three sons from their two step-brothers, the sons of Madri; or offer Drupada
money for turning the Pandavas over to us. Or if nothing else, let us at least
destroy Bhima, for he is a constant thorn in my side.” Karna pointed out the
futility of all such measures: “If we couldn’t destroy the Pandavas when they were
friendless, we certainly cannot do so today. Now they have allies, and, what is
more, they live in a different country. Besides, Drupada is a man of principle, not
a greedy king. Drupada’s son is devoted to Arjuna. Now that Draupadi has
become the wife of the five it will never be possible to separate the brothers.”
And as long as Draupadi lived they never were separated. Kunti had watched
over the Pandavas until the day of their marriage after which Draupadi assumed
the responsibility. The five were brave, but poorly suited to the responsibilities of
kingship. One was addicted to dice, another mighty but brash, the third valiant
but unskilled in statecraft. The two younger sons merely copied the example of
their elder brothers. Affairs of state were never handled independently by the
Pandavas; they were managed by Krishna, Kunti’s brother’s son. Very soon after
her marriage Draupadi saved her husbands from utter ruin. In the dice
game Dharma had not only lost his entire kingdom but had staked his own wife.
Dragged into the assembly of the Kauravas she was shamefully dishonoured.
Finally, fearing that the indecency had gone too far and would have terrible
consequences, Dhritarashtra intervened. To Draupadi he granted three favours.
With the first she freed Dharma as the crowned king; with the second she freed
the remaining four. Then saying, “If my husbands are free and armed, that is
enough for me,” she refused the third favour. Skilfully asking the favours, without
making any demand for herself, she had saved the Pandavas from degradation.
Karna again summed it up: “Up till now we have heard of many beautiful women
in the world, but no woman has done anything equal to what Draupadi has done
here today. The Pandavas and Kauravas were burning with anger, and in that
conflagration no one can say what might have happened, but Draupadi has re
established peace. Like a boat she has saved the Pandavas when they were
about to drown in a sea of disgrace.” The taunt that they had been saved by a
woman infuriated Bhima. But though Karna had said it maliciously it was true.
The word used for the period spent in the forest is the same in the case of
Draupadi and Sita — vanavasa (leading a forest life) —but there the
comparison ends. Draupadi was driven to the forest by her husband’s addiction
to gambling and the consequent loss of his kingdom. Sita’s forest life, on the
other hand, was the result of her husband’s idealism and sense of duty. Kaikeyi,
the stepmother of Rama, had plotted to secure succession to the throne for her
own son Bharata. She extracted a promise from her husband to send Rama into
exile for fourteen years, and to give the kingdom to her own son. From this
intrigue the king died of grief. Rama, as the eldest prince, could have become
king immediately, but he chose instead to fulfil his father’s promise. Rama left
the capital, but Bharata refused to accept the kingdom, and returned it to Rama.
Therefore, from a practical point of view, there was no reason for Rama to go at
all. Rama went into exile only because he had assumed the burden of his
father’s promise. It was a self-imposed ordeal.
The Pandavas, however, were forced into exile. In the capital of their enemies
the Kauravas, the stakes had been announced openly before the elders. There
was no alter native except to abide by their word. When they came to see the
Pandavas at the beginning of their exile, Draupadi’s brother and Krishna could
do nothing more than express their dismay at what had happened. Going to war
at that time would have meant a permanent blot on their name; and under the
circumstances even their friends might have refused to back them. Keeping true
to their word was for the time being the only defence against their enemies.
Their behaviour, in other words, was not only moral; it was one hundred percent
expedient as well.
As Draupadi had had the right to share in the splendour and greatness of her
husbands, so now she had the responsibility of sharing their suffering and
disgrace. The Pandavas’ other wives had taken their children and gone to their
parents’ homes. Draupadi sent her children to her parents — they had to be
educated so it would not do to keep them in the forest — but she herself stayed
with her husbands. She was not one to suffer in silence however. She clenched
her fists and cursed; she burned with anger when her brother Dhrishtadyumna
visited her in the forest she wept continuously and cried with bitter rage, “I have
neither husbands, nor brothers, nor father. If I had, do you think they would have
stood for ray being insulted like this?”
When everyone had left she again brought up the subject, trying in vain to
persuade Dharma to take revenge against the Kauravas.
Fortunately, however, Draupadi was not free to brood on the past. Even in the
forest she could not escape the responsibility of being a daughter,
daughter-in-law and wife of great kings. From morning to night she was busy.
She had to make preparations for the vitally important rites conducted by
Dharma and the family priest. Despite the Pandavas’ limited means, they could
not stint in the performance of the ceremonies. Nor did the Pandavas escape
the obligations of hospitality, obligations prescribed by the Kshatriya code and
by political considerations as well. Hundreds of guests -Brahmins and others
—were continually coming and going, giving Draupadi even less solitude and
leisure than she had in the palace. When she was not working she had to sit and
listen to the long-winded tales of the guest rishis. All this time she was
irreconciled to her fate and dwelt continually on her hope for revenge. Krishna
with his wife Satyabhama visited the Pandavas towards the end of the exile. At
parting he consoled, her, “My dear, I promise you that all these insults will be
‘paid for.” His wife Satyabhama embraced her and d, “Draupadi, don’t cry; you
have seen the Kaurava wives laugh at you; one day you will see them weep.”
Sita’s exile was unshadowed by hatred and suffering. For more than twelve
years she lived in a continual honeymoon. As the wife of the crown prince in
Ayodhya she had been surrounded by the bustle of servants, by her father-in-law
and three mothers-in-law. There had been no chance to give herself completely
to love. Now she was free. Her forest was like the forest in the romantic dreams
of young city girls; there were deer and swans, and the delightful Godavari River
with its long stretches of sandy shore. Dotting the landscape here and there
were the ashramas of the rishis, offering hospitality and human companionship.
Occasionally there were just enough cruel beasts to give one a few delightful
shivers. Of the burden of the real world there was nothing — no smart of
remembered insult, no yearning for absent children, no crowds of guests. The
poet Valmiki has poured into Ramayana all of his powers. Using the forest as
background, he has told the story of the gradual transformation of Sita from a
young girl into a mature woman deeply in love. To Sita herself the memory of her
exile was so idyllic that during her pregnancy she craved only one thing — to go
back to the forest.
After Havana the demon king had carried Sita off to Lanka, she faced sorrows
and dangers, but they were those of a romantic, unreal world. Though she had
been abducted there was no fear of her captor’s raping her. She was surrounded
by demonesses threatening to devour her. That the wealthy and learned Ravana
should have a retinue of man-eating demons is rather peculiar. The story of
Rama and Ravana with their armies of monkeys, bears, and demons is more
fantasy than fact. Indeed the whole story is fantastic, romantic and other-worldly.
Rama was an ideal man, Sita an ideal woman. Rama was devoted to his father,
to truth, and to his wife. To show he was brave, there had to be a war. The
heroine had to get into difficulties from which the hero could save her. A
courageous hero, a virtuous heroine — all the stuff of the Sanskrit kavya (literary)
tradition. And following the kavya tradition, category for category, there is a
description of each kind of love: first love, mature love, then separation and its
agonies. Even the war is but a literary device and-is unreal. A great war is
fought, but Ayodhya, the capital of Rama, remains untouched, waiting for Rama
to return and take over the kingdom. When the time comes he does go back.
Brothers meet brothers, sons meet mothers;
daughters-in-law their mothers-in-iaw. The flames of war have not reached
Ayodhya; they have remained in the realm of romance.
Draupadi’s troubles were human, brought on by people of this world and
particularly by her own husbands. Her experiences are described realistically,
unembellished by flowery language or poetic conventions. In almost every
episode, insult is piled upon insult, constantly adding fuel to the hatred in her
heart. Two words keep recurring in reference to Draupadi — nathavati anathavat,
“having husbands, but like a widow.” She was the wife of the five but bereft the
daughter of a rich house but like an orphan, she had brave allies but she was
alone. This was the pity of her situation. Every time she was dishonoured her
husbands and fathers-in-law stood watching in silence. They had to; they were
powerless. Only twice was she saved; once by a divine miracle, another time
secretly by Bhima.
Furthermore, the war in the Mahabharata was a real war, bringing grief to
victor and vanquished alike. Draupadi’s full-grown children were dead, her
father’s dan nearly destroyed. As the dying Duryodhana had said, she and
Dharma would reign over a kingdom of widows. Formerly the palace at
Hastinapura had been alive with a host of kin: elderly princes, and young,
vigorous ones, little children, grandchildren, grandmothers, mothers-in-law and
young women. When Dharma succeeded to the throne they had all been wiped
out. Since the youngest men had died unmarried there were not even widows to
burn themselves on their husband’s pyres. The widowed Uttara and her son
born after his father’s death were the only young people left. Within the clan there
was peace, but the enmities created in consolidating the kingdom had not
ceased. The embittered Takshaka sat waiting for the chance to take revenge on
Arjuna for the burning of Khandava forest. For the Pandavas there was no joy in
victory. Shortly after the war Krishna, who had been their support all their lives,
died a tragic death and with his death his whole clan was destroyed. The end of
the Mahabharata is not merely the end of Draupadi or the end of the Pandavas
or of their clan. It is the end of a yuga (epoch). Each agony of that dying yuga
Draupadi suffered in her own person. When her sons were treacherously killed
she wept and complained for the last time. From then on we hear her voice no
more.
There is an unfounded opinion, particularly popular after the Jain Puranas,
that Draupadi was the cause of the war in the Mahabharata. One Purana has
the following verse:
“In the Kritayuga Renuka was Kritya,
In the Satyayuga Sita was Kritya,
In the Dvaparayuga Draupadi was Kritya,
And in the Kaliyuga there are Krityas in every house.”

A Kritya is a bloodthirsty, demonic female. Some misogynist has written these

lines without any regard for facts. This man obviously thinks that women start a
quarrel and the men fight it out; and that all the wars where much blood has
been shed were due to women. In the case of Renuka, her son Parashurama
went to war because King Haihaya had stolen Renuka and a cow — both
property of his father — not simply because of Renuka. In Rama’s war against
Ravana it is true that Sita was the one and only cause.
But that Draupadi was the cause of the war in the Mahabharata — at least the
main cause — is definitely not true. The seeds of war had been planted on the
day Dhritarashtra was denied the throne because of his blindness and Pandu
was made king.
From their earliest childhood there was enmity between the sons of
Dhritarashtra and the sons of Pandu, even before the Pandavas’ marriage to
Draupadi. The Pandavas were more concerned with getting a share of the
kingdom and in keeping peace than in revenging the insults to their wife. If the
Pandavas had insisted on having their full share of the kingdom or, if to provoke,
the Kauravas they had demanded even more than their due, we might have
been able to say that they wanted revenge for the humiliation of Draupadi and
intended to wage war no matter what happened. But in reading the speeches of
Dharma and others, we can see clearly that everything they say is directed
towards avoiding war and obtaining a portion of the kingdom. Even Bhima, who is
continually burning because of Draupadi’s humiliation, says to Krishna, “Tell
them, ‘Brothers, don’t destroy everything; give the little bit that Dharma is asking
for’.” Hearing this, Krishna had to laugh, “What! Is this the Bhima we’ve always
known?” Draupadi alone keeps saying, “Krishna, he dragged me by the hair.
Have no mercy on the man who put his filthy hands on my hair.”
The Pandavas, with Krishna as their spokesman, tried to avoid war. Pitifully,
like beggars, they asked only for five towns, but Duryodhana answered, “We are
not going to give you even one pin-point of land.” Then they had to fight. As the
war went on a host of old wrongs were avenged. Draupadi’s wrongs were
avenged only by Bhima. For the rest, there were personal rivalries, like that of
Arjuna and Karna, and, most importantly, the struggle for inheritance which from
ancient times has been part of the history of the joint family in India. Draupadi
did not cause the war. She wanted it, but as the true inheritors of India’s
patrilineal society that they were, the Pandavas were hardly men to bow to the
wishes of their wives.
How little Draupadi mattered can be seen in Krishna’s offer to give her and a
share of the kingdom to Karna if he would join the Pandavas. Fortunately,
Draupadi had no inkling of this contemptible bargain. In the opinion of some, it is
true; such an arrangement would have been to Draupadi’s liking; for they claim
she loved Karna. However, this opinion too is entirely unwarranted. The
Mahabharata makes no attempt to idealize its characters; in every character it
brings out the good and the bad. If the thought of anyone other than the
Pandavas ever entered Draupadi’s mind, we can be sure that the Mahabharata
would have mentioned it. She had never so much as looked at Karna. According
to the critical edition, Karna didn’t even attempt to win her in the svayamvara. In
the whole of the Mahabharata Draupadi and Karna had nothing to do with one
another. The notion that she loved him came in a later Jain Purana, not in the
Mahabharata itself. The Draupadi of the Mahabharata stormed and raged, but to
the last moment she remained a faithful wife. There is not a single incident in her
life that casts the slightest suspicion on her.
That Sita should be suspected of transgressions was her great sorrow, a sorrow
intensified by the fact that circumstances gave ground for such suspicions.
Curiously enough, the testing of Sita and her subsequent abandonment by
Rama are not mentioned in the Mahabharata version of the Rama story. Since
the story of Sita, along with those of Savitri and Damayanti, was told in the
Mahabharata to show how other women also
suffered like Draupadi, her abandonment should certainly have been mentioned.
The fact that it was not makes us suspect that in the original Ramayana there
was no question raised about Sita’s chastity.
Let us consider, however, the incident as it occurs in the present Ramayana.
The account of Sita’s suffering should have been in the kavya tradition: suspicion
of the heroine, the clearing of her name, and finally, reconciliation — the
structure exemplified in Kalidasa’s Shaktmtala. The story of Sita begins in the
approved fashion but departs from the classic formula in its end, which is the
self-destruction of Sita. She could have undergone some other ordeal to
convince the people of her innocence but she chose not to, and her tragic end
has remained an un-healed wound in the hearts of Indians. Why did the, poet
allow Sita to be abandoned? The Ramayana, as we have said, is intended to
show Rama as a completely ideal man in every respect. He had been tested in all
kinds of adversities and had come out as the ideal son, the ideal brother, the
ideal husband. But still one test remained: would he, in a conflict between his
own selfish love and the wishes of the people, be able to sacrifice his “selfish
interest”. Rama passed this last test too, choosing to give up Sita in deference to
the opinion of his subjects. Unfortunately, however, Rama’s choice has not been
accepted without question. Is the sacrifice of an entirely defenceless person
justifiable just for the sake of public pressure? Couldn’t Rama have given up the
kingdom instead? Kalidasa, Bhavabhuti, and other great poets have felt that the
abandonment of Sita was unjust. In short, that one event is a blot on the ideal
portrait of Rama; but in that very event Sita was transformed from being a shadow
of her husband to a person in her own right, with her own sorrows, her own
humiliation, and the opportunity to face them entirely on her own.
Draupadi’s life has nothing comparable to this event. Her sorrows, her
humiliations are realistic; they are not merely brought in to embellish the poetry;
and their resolution takes place on the level of the real world. Sita was a
daughter of the earth because she came out of the earth; Draupadi was a true
daughter of the earth because her feet were firmly planted on the ground, her
heart was in the world defined by her marriage and family within the boundaries
of her father’s house, father-in-law’s house, her own palace. Her sensitive pride,
her willingness to sacrifice herself, and her faithfulness to her husbands were the
qualities appropriate to her country, time, and clan. She was extraordinary, but
this very extraordinariness was born out of the ordinary values of her time. She
burst out in anger against Arjuna when he married Subhadra. Sita never had to
face the problem of having a rival wife. Draupadi’s situation in being a co-wife
was common, her outburst was natural, but in her daily behaviour with the
Pandavas’ other wives she showed uncommon restraint never exhibiting her
jealousy.
Both Draupadi and Sita committed grave mistakes and received full
punishment for them. When Rama went after the golden deer he told his brother
Lakshmana to stay behind with Sita. Hearing Rama’s shout, Sita told Lakshmana
to go to Rama’s aid, but Lakshmana refused to go. Thinking the worst of his
intentions, she rebuked him and sent him away and as a result, Ravana was
able to carry her off. The entire golden deer episode was designed to give an
opportunity for Sita’s abduction. If we go further back in the story we can also
say that Ravana abducted Sita to take revenge for her having laughed at his
sister. Draupadi also laughted at a person she should have treated with respect.
In front of everyone she had laughed when Duryodhana got confused in the
Pandavas’ marvellous palace Mayasabha, mistaking water for dry land, and dry
land for water. Her rude laughter was the worst insult Duryodhana had to bear.
Then, too, after Bhima had secretly killed the Kichaka, a wicked brother of the
queen of Virata, Draupadi gloatingly announced the news to the guards. She
should have remained unseen somewhere, but still not satisfied with her
revenge she watched the funeral procession. Discovered by his brothers, she
was taken away to be burned on his funeral pyre. Bhima had to rescue her
again. The woman who could think, “My enemy is dead, -now let me feast my
eyes on his corpse”, was truly a daughter of the earth. But what was Draupadi’s
biggest mistake?
When Dharma lost the dice game and Duryodhana sent a slave to bring her
into the assembly, she sent the slave back, saying, “Go into the assembly and
ask if Dharma-raja had become a slave before he staked me.” Duryodhana
replied, “Come into the assembly, you will get your answer.” When she refused to
come, Duhshasana dragged her into the hall. There she stood weeping, but with
fury she asked the question again. With shouts that talking was useless, the
Kaurava men started pulling off Draupadi’s sari. As each sari was pulled off
another appeared in its place. Meanwhile the discussion continued.
The question Draupadi asked rested on a difficult and complicated legal point.
Even Bhishma, who had often taken the part of the Pandavas in quarrels with
Dhrita-rashtra and Duryodhana, was unable to give an answer, perhaps for fear
of compromising Draupadi. What Draupadi was contending was that once
Dharma had become a slave he had lost his freedom and had no right to claim
anything as his own; a slave has nothing he can stake. Then how could Dharma
stake her freedom? Although her argument seems plausible from one point of
view, even a slave has a wife, and the fact of his slavery does not destroy his
authority over her. Moreover, from the most ancient times a slave had the right to
accumulate certain property that was entirely his own. The question was thus a
tangled one, involving the rights of a master over a slave and a slave over his
wife.
Draupadi’s question was not only foolish; it was terrible No matter what answer
was given her position was desperate. If Bhishma told her that her husband’s
rights over her did not cease, that even though he became a slave, she was in
his power and he had the right to stake her, her slavery would have been
confirmed. If Bhishma had argued that because of his slavery her husband had
no more rights over her, then her plight would have been truly pitiable. Draupadi
was described as nathavati anathavat — “with husbands, but like a widow”, and if
her relation with her husband was destroyed she would have been truly widowed.
From Rigvedic times there are references to abandoned wives living wretchedly
in the house of their father. But there is not a single case in which a woman, of
her own accord, had denied her husband. For such a woman, getting even a
lowly position in her father’s house would have been impossible, to say nothing of
an honorable one.
Draupadi’s question had put all of them in a dilemma. Bhishma hung his head.
Dharma was ready to die of shame. Draupadi was standing there arguing about
legal technicalities like a lady pundit when what was happening to her was so
hideous that she should only have cried out for decency and pity in the name of
the Kshatriya code. Had she done so perhaps things would not have gone so
far. Allowing their own daughter-in law to be dragged before a full assembly,
dishonouring a bride of their own clan in the
hall of the men, was so against all human, unwritten law that quibbling
about legal distinctions at that point was the height of pretension.
Draupadi at that moment called on neither man nor god, but from the way
garment after garment kept appearing to replace the ones Duhshasana tore
away, it seemed as if the power of the universe itself had awakened to protect
her. Still she kept insisting on the question of Dharma’s right to stake her. Finally
Duryodhana said, “Ask your husband this question. We trust Dharmaraja’s
wisdom and judgment so much that we will abide by his decision”. Draupadi’s
question and Duryodhana’s cunning answer cut Dharma to the quick. It was
impossible to reply. But he was spared. The hall filled with ominous, threatening
noises, the evil had reached its climax. Duhshasana, exhausted and ashamed,
turned away. Vidura arose, greatly troubled, and said to Dhritarashtra, “These
deeds will bear terrible consequences; intervene now and save the clan.”
Frightened at all that had happened, Dhritarashtra freed Draupadi and granted
her three favours and with them she obtained the freedom of her husbands.
Nevertheless no one had liked her pretensions to wisdom and Dharma never
forgot it for the rest of his life. In the forest, too, Draupadi sometimes tried to
show off her learning before him, but defeating Dharma in learning was
impossible; each time he quickly silenced her. She had made many mistakes in
her life that were forgiveable but by putting on airs in front of the whole
assembly, she had put Dharma into a dilemma and unwittingly insulted him. The
fact that the insult was unintentional did not make it forgiveable. Though she was
only a young bride of the house she had spoken in the assembly of the men,
something she should have known she must not do. Beyond that, to pretend that
she could understand questions that baffled her elders — that was inexcusable
arrogance. These two things wounded Dharma and did nothing to add to her
good name. In the Aranyakaparva Dharma called her a “lady pundit”, hardly a
complimentary epithet in the eyes of the Kshatriyas of the Mahabharata.
Gandhari and Kunti could give advice to their sons because they were older,
experienced women. For a young bride to show off her intelligence in the
presence of her elders was a grave mistake. This mistake Draupadi apparently
never understood and Dharma never made her aware of it. What she had done
was the result of her earthy, violent, but basically simple nature.
There was, however, another mistake that Dharma revealed so openly that
even Draupadi could not fail to understand it. After the death of the Yadavas —
especially of Krishna — the Pandavas could no longer remain on earth. They
settled their affairs and set out on the last pilgrimage. Draupadi, of course, was
with them. They crossed the Ganges, then the Himalayas, and finally reached a
treeless plateau. Here and there were a few rocks scattered about. Otherwise it
was completely barren. Month after month the six walked in single file. Then one
day Draupadi suddenly fell down. Bhima stopped. Idiotically he asked, “Why did
she fall?” After walking so far, why shouldn’t she fall? Where were the six going?
Did Bhima think that as usual all of them were going to reach their destination
together? But the ties of life had been cut. She fell, and five, ten feet in front of
her the others fell. Dharma alone went forward with his dog. “Look, won’t you —
she’s fallen!” Bhima said. “Why did she fall?” “Bhima, keep going. She fell
because she loved Arjuna the most.” Dharma answered without looking back.
Draupadi fell down. Nakula, Sahadeva, Arjuna and, last of all, ​Bhima fell one

after the other. Dharma alone went ahead with his dog.​1
True, Draupadi had fallen, but she had not toppled over dead. A terrible
fatigue had overwhelmed her. She could not take a single step more. Lying
there she heard Bhima’s question and Dharma’s answer. This was the Great
Journey in which no one waited for anyone else. Putting her hand on her head
she lay waiting for death. But she was conscious. Dharma’s words stirred
memories, and in her last moment’s scene after scene came before her eyes.
1 Author’s note: The part up to this point is based on the critical edition of the
Mahabharata. What follows is my naroti (Naroti = a dry coconut shell, i.e. a worthless
thing. The word nafoti was first used in this sense by the poet Eknath.)
She recognised the hurt in Dharma’s words, the contempt too. For the first
time in her life she pitied the king from her heart. Often in the forest she had
commiserated with him about his position, but each time she took the opportunity
of starting a new discussion, pointing at his wretched condition to awaken the
warrior in him. So even her pity was a kind of goading. The king never gave in to
her. As mildly as he could, he would try to gloss over what she said. He never
told her what he was feeling. Only today in a single sentence he had told what
he thought was her one defect, and in so doing had laid bare the life-long wound
in his heart. Draupadi understood Dharma’s frustration, and for a moment she
felt regret. But only for a moment. Realizing his contempt she was startled, but
that too only for a moment. She smiled to herself and remembered the day of the
svayamvara. After Arjuna had won her she had married all five of them, one after
the other. Didn’t the king realize a little of the pain she had experienced then?
She had had to kill her own mind. At least in her actions she had treated all five
alike. Perhaps the mind couldn’t be killed completely. Actions could be made
equal, but could the same amount of love be measured out of the heart for each
of the five? If she had loved Arjuna most was there anything astonishing about
that?
Her mind stopped a moment.. .what does it mean to have loved? Ulupi,
Ohitrangada, Subhadra — Arjuna had loved so many women!.. Or had he? Had
Arjuna given his heart to any woman? Women had loved him but he had given
his heart to Krishna. She knew how from the beginning, from the settling of
Indraprastha, Arjuna and Krishna would sit talking by the hour. In their talk there
was always some new idea — perhaps about building a city; but they talked as
friends, each one speaking from his heart and listening to the other. No woman
could win Arjuna’s heart. .. Is love always like that? Is it always one-sided? I pine
for someone who doesn’t return my love; someone else yearns for me...
Suddenly, as if shocked, she stopped. The realization pierced like lightning; there
was one who had given his whole life for her. She sighed with her new
understanding. Again pictures came before her eyes; Bhima along with Arjuna,
fighting the enemies outside the svayamvara pavilion; Bhima ready to burn his
brother’s dice-playing hands when she was dragged into the assembly; Bhima,
so angry he had to be held down by Arjuna; Bhima, comforting her when she
was tired; Bhima, bringing her fragrant lotuses; Bhima, drinking the blood of
Duhsha-sana; Bhima, plaiting her hair with gory hands. Arjuna could have killed
the Kichaka, but it was Bhima who did. How many things she remembered —
greedy Bhima, rough, tempestuous Bhima, always railing at Dhritarashtra and
Gandhari. In the same sense that Draupadi was earthy, so was he. She was a
daughter of the earth, he was a son.
Draupadi heard a dragging sound, then a great sigh. Her whole body
quivered with fear. She had been waiting quietly for the moment of her death.
Was a wild animal
coming? A hyena? In all the days of walking on the plateau they had seen no
animals. Better that it fastened on her throat at once, without mauling her. She
closed her eyes hard. As she lay waiting for the unnamed danger to strike,
suddenly a shadow fell over her eyes. A curtain had dropped between her and
the sun. A low deep voice called, “Draupadi.” It was Bhima’s voice. It was he who
had dragged himself, gasping with effort, over the ten, fifteen feet that separated
them. On the way he had seen Arjuna, Nakula, and Sahadeva lying dead, and
had thought Draupadi must be dead too. When Draupadi, frightened at his
approach, had quiversed, he had caught with joy this sign of life. “What can I do
for you?” The words came out with difficulty. It was the same question he had
asked all his life, but in this situation it was utterly meaningless and incongruous.
Draupadi smiled. Bringing Bhima’s face close to hers, she said with her last
breath, “In our next birth be the eldest, Bhima; under your shelter we can all live
in safety and joy.”
The Palace of May
In the heart of the city of Poona there stand four enormous walls of what was
once the palace of the Peshwas. Built by Bajirao I at the height of Peshv/a
power, it brought happiness neither to him nor to his descendants. However,
over five generations lived there and it was the seat of Maratha power for over
100 years. The Mahabharata tells of another building that was even more
splendid, short-lived, and ill-omened. This was the Mayasabha in Indraprastha,
the town which also shared the momentary splendour of the palace. Here the
Pandavas paraded their wealth, but the show lasted for only a little while. They
lived there hardly ten years after the palace was built. Mayasabha was born in
cruelty and had its end in the frenzy of dice.
The story of Mayasabha illustrates again how large a canvas the Mahabharata
presents. In the stories of Draupadi and Krishna, we have seen how the family
quarrel was intimately bound up with the political rivalries of the day. The story of
Mayasabha gives us a glimpse of a larger struggle in which the newly arrived
Aryans and the Nagas, the older inhabitants of the land, were locked for
generations. The main motive for this struggle was the possession of land. The
attempts to gain land seemed to follow the usual historical pattern of marriage
alliances and fighting. Many alliances between Nagas and Kshatriyas are
recorded. In the Kuru genealogy itself two Naga princesses are shown as
mothers of reigning monarchs. The events leading to the building of Mayasabha
show what was perhaps another method of gaining land.
This is how Mayasabha came to be built. After their marriage to Draupadi the
Pandavas were in a position of power. The plan to kill them had failed and they
had reappeared flanked with strong allies. Dhritarashtra was forced to give them
a share of the kingdom. Keeping Hastinapura, the hereditary capital, for himself
and his sons, he gave Khandavaprastha to the Pandavas. Khandavaprastha
was a little-known town on the border of the kingdom surrounded by great
forests and not far from the banks of the river Yamuna. After going to
Khandavaprastha Dharmaraja began the task of transforming the small town into
a capital city. He brought to live there artisans, rich merchants, and tradesmen,
and settled them in the town. In spite of all his efforts, however, the new capital
was smaller and less grand than the capital at Hastinapura.
Khandavaprastha means “a town near the Khandava forest.” The same
town is also called by the grandiloquent name Indraprastha — “the city of the
gods.” Did the
Pandavas give it this name to say that their capital was more splendid than
Hastinapura? The Mahabharata says so explicitly.
Shortly after their arrival in Indraprastha, Arjuna had to go into exile for a year.
Towards the end of this exile he went to Dvaraka where he married Subhadra.
Arjuna then returned to Indraprastha. Soon after, the Yadavas came with his
bride, carrying rich gifts for the Pandavas. The Yadavas stayed in the capital for
many days of festivities. It was a hot summer. Arjuna took it into his mind that
they should go for a day’s outing to the forest near the city. They took Dharma’s
permission for the plan, but neither Dharma nor Bhima nor any of the older
people were included. Apparently only younger people went. In the party were
Krishna, Arjuna, their wives and servants. They ate, they drank, they sang and
danced. All the time the shade of the great trees protected them from the sun.
Krishna and Arjuna sat a little apart from the others, talking on all possible
subjects, telling each other of their conquests in war and love. While they were
seated there a Brahmin approached them and said, “I am hungry. I have a great
appetite which has no bounds. Satisfy my hunger.”’ When they started to offer
him food he appeared in his true form as Agni, the god of fire, and said, “Give
me the Khandava forest as food. Let me burn it. Every time I start to burn it Indra
sends rain and defeats my purpose.” Krishna arid Arjuna consented to help him
provided that Agni supplied them with superb chariots and weapons. To Arjuna
he gave a divine chariot, white horses with the speed of wind, and the great bow
Gandiva.
To Krishna he gave the discus and other weapons. Then Agni started
devouring the forest. As it burned Krishna and Arjuna guarded all sides so tightly
that the creatures fleeing from the blaze found not a single chink to escape
through. Furiously driving their chariots, the two slaughtered everything in sight.
The creatures driven back into the forest were burned alive. Those who ran out
fell under their weapons. Indra came with a host of gods to save the forest but
was quickly routed by the two heroes. Enraged, Indra wanted to fight further, but
the gods pointed out that his friend Takshaka a resident of the forest was safe
because he went away and urged him to retire. The forest continued to burn for a
week. All this time Krishna and Arjuna were constantly circling it, butchering the
escaping creatures. Finally having consumed the flesh and fat of every last
creature in the forest, Agni went away satisfied.
From this holocaust only seven creatures (were they humans?) escaped.
Takshaka’s son was saved by his mother’s quick wit and courage, but the
mother herself died in the effort. Maya, an asura (demon) living in the house of
Takshaka, was spared when he came running out of the forest srying, “Arjuna,
save me.” The four children born of a Brahmin and Sharngi, a bird-woman, were
also shown mercy. The other Nagas of Takshaka’s house were killed along with
the birds and animals. In gratitude for having been saved, the asura, Maya, built
a great palace at Indraprastha for the Pandavas. For the building of the palace
— Mayasabha — he brought artisans and materials from many lands.
After the Mayasabha was completed, the Pandavas decided, on Krishna’s advice,
to set out on a conquest of the four quarters of the world. This task was
accomplished by the four brothers of Dharmaraja. Dharma was thus in a position
to perform the great rajasuya
sacrifice, the celebration of a world-conqueror. Allies, relatives, and conquered
kings were invited to attend the sacrifice and enjoy the hospitality of the
Pandavas. A special
invitation was sent to the relatives at Hastinapura. The yajna was a lavish
exhibition to all of the might, splendour and munificence of the Pandavas. The
cousins from Hastinapura were dazzled and burned with envy. Mayasabha was
built very cunningly. Birds, animals, and trees were made of precious stones so
artfully that they seemed real. Flowing water was made to look like dry land and
dry land almost rippled like water. What seemed like doors were solid walls while
what was apparently a solid wall would turn out to be a door. Poor Duryodhana
was thoroughly confused. He bumped his head against walls, tucked up his
garments only to find that he was walking on dry land. Finally, stepping on to
what he thought was solid ground, he fell into a pool. Dharma helped him out of
the water and ordered the servants to give him dry clothing. But Draupadi and
Bhima laughed loudly and derisively at this discomfiture of Duryodhana. The
Pandavas had not only flaunted their new splendour, they had deliberately
insulted Duryodhana as well. Duryodhana was not likely to forget this humiliation
in a hurry.
Soon afterwards the Pandavas lost everything in gambling and had to go to
the forest for thirteen years. After coming back and winning the war they went
to live in their hereditary capital at Hastinapura. They did not return to
Indraprastha. The only mention made of Indraprastha is at the very end, when
the city is given to Vajra, the grandson of Krishna. The fabulous Maya-cabha is
never mentioned again.
Thus Mayasabha came out of the burning of the Khandava forest. Why were
all its birds, animals, and Nagas destroyed? How could Arjuna, who prided
himself on his name Bibhatsu — “one who does not do anything repulsive” —
indulge in this cruel hunt? When they had merely gone for an outing on the
Yamuna, what made them think of burning the forest? The Mahabharata says
that Agni himself had appeared in the form of a Brahmin and made a demand.
Granting that they could not refuse a Brahmin; can we explain the ruthless way in
which they carried out their task? Not only did they burn the timber, they drove
back into the forest all they could and killed the rest. Only a few were allowed to
escape.
There are two possible explanations of the burning of the forest: either the fire
was a natural catastrophe and somehow Krishna and Arjuna were credited with
it, or the two did actually and deliberately burn the forest. Even if the first were
true it is obvious that burning a forest was considered a brave and praiseworthy
feat. But there is no reason to question the Mahabharata’s account that they did
do it themselves, with great effort and persistence, perhaps kindling it again and
again because of rain. Then why did they do it?
The pastoral Aryan people kept large herds of cattle and practised agriculture
with the help of animal-drawn ploughs. Their history records many instances of
either burning or cutting down forests. All the way across India stretched thick
forests which have been described in the Vedas and the Mahabharata. Several
famous forests have also been described in Buddhist literature. Not only that,
even historical inscriptions mention great forests. The kingdoms mentioned in
the Mahabharata were all small. In the area of present-day Punjab and Delhi
there were five: Kuru, North and South Panchala, Trigarta and Virata. Their
boundaries did not touch. Each kingdom was but a small capital surrounded by a
few score villages with their fields. Beyond were the forests. The part of the
forest nearest to the villages was used by the king for hunting and for grazing his
cattle. Some of the big forests had names: Kamyaka, Dvarta, Khandava, etc.
These were all western forests. Later the eastern forests apparently smaller than
the above—like Velu
and Jeta — are associated with Buddha. Now the forests have vanished, and
from the Indus to the Bay of Bengal is one vast ploughed field.
Khandava was a great forest on the banks of the Yamuna and its small
tributary, the Ikshumati. The name Khandava means “made of rock candy.”
Ikshumati means “full of sugar cane.” The Madhu forest which was also
supposed to be on the banks of the Yamuna and described in a later Purana also
means “a sweet forest” or “a honeyed forest.” From all these names it is clear
that the forests contained something sweet. Was it honey (madhu)? Was it cane
(ikshu)? Was it something else? At present the central Indian forests contain a
large beautiful tree called mahuva. This tree, called madhuka in Sanskrit, is a
source of bounty for the tribal people. From its leaves they make plates; from its
fragrant honey-filled flowers they make wine. The dried blossoms are eaten as a
delicacy, and from the sticky juice of the flowers all kinds of sweetmeats are
made. Perhaps it was because it was filled with such trees that the Khandava
forest was called “sweet”. The sweetness of the forest, however, could be valued
only by the people living in it and not by the Aryans.
Like others, the Pandavas’ kingdom was a capital surrounded by villages and
fields, but it was comparatively small and the brothers were trying to expand it.
Dharmaraja was making the small town into a great capital. Perhaps Krishna
and Arjuna burned the forest
to provide more land for cultivation. This was the duty of a ruling king. In this
way he could expand his realm without encoaching upon other Kshatriyas —
something forbidden by the Kshatriya code.
Krishna and Arjuna were great warriors. They had fought and won many
battles. But in none of tfyese battles did they gain any land by conquest. The
Kshatriya life as presented in the Mahabharata had a certain definite pattern.
Each known house had its small territory which passed from father to son. Wars
were fought, tribute was demanded, but no Kshatriya house was deprived of its
kingdom. An enemy was spared if he asked for mercy. If he fought and was killed
his son was put on the throne. A Kshatriya never killed women and children. Nor
was he supposed to put to the sword any defenceless person. His most sacred
duty was to defend the helpless. The charge that he had not done so was the
worst that could be made against him.
The need for expansion explains the burning of the forest, but the question still
remains: why was it burned so mercilessly? There is a very curious contradiction
in the narration. When Agni first appeared he said he wanted to burn the forest.
No specific mention is made of his wanting to feed on the creatures in it. But
when we come to the end of the narration we are told that Agni went away
satisfied with all the flesh and fat he had devoured.
Moreover, this forest was not merely a forest with birds and animals in it. We
are told that Takshaka, the king of the Nagas, lived there. But who were the
1​
Nagas? The ​word naga is generally used for serpents.​ However, in the
Mahabharata the Nagas seem to be human beings. The Mahabharata also
mentions a bird-woman, who had children from a Brahmin, living in the same
forest. The bird might be the clan name of certain people living there. In the
same way, many of the animals may not have been ​animals at all but people
2​
belonging to clans having animal names.​ But only regarding Nagas is the word
raja (king) used. Apparently the Nagas represented the ruling class. The
Mahabharata has given the names of the various Naga rajas belonging to
different
regions. From the western Himalayas up to the middle reaches of the Ganga and
to the south of the Narmada, the country was shared by the Aryans and the
Nagas. The Nagas apparently lived along the rivers in the forests while the
Aryans preferred a more open country. The house of the Nagaraja Airavata was
on the banks of the river Iravati. The house of Takshaka was apparently in the
Khandava forest on the banks of the Yamuna. Many an Aryan kings must have
acquired new lands by burning or cutting parts of a virgin forest not owned by
anyone. However, in the Khandava fire it appears that Krishna and Arjuna had a
more audacious plan to possess an entire forest in a part of which happened to
be the kingdom of the Takshakas.
1 The werd is also sometimes used for elephants.
2 The Mahabharata has many stories of children bora to Brahmins through ‘animal’
females. ​This plan, it seems, did not go counter to the Kshatriya code. The code
applied only to the Aryan Kshatriyas and not to outsiders. At least part of the
forest was Takshaka’s domain and obviously the Pandavas wanted to possess it
to distribute it to their own subjects. The land was usurped after a massacre, a
massacre which is praised as a valorous deed. This was because the victims
were not Kshatriyas or their Aryan subjects. All the high-sounding morality of the
Kshatriya code was limited to their own group. Here again Krishna and Arjuna
played the familiar role of the conquering settler. The Spaniards and Portuguese
in South America, the English in North America and Australia are but the latest
historical examples of the same process. Did Krishna and Arjuna feel that they
had to kill every creature in order to establish unchallenged ownership over the
land?
The Mahabharata narration is very curious in that the human qualities of the
Nagas are played down and the other inhabitants of the forest are described
purely as birds and animals. The whole story sounds like a week-long hunt of
animals. Even granting that there were only animals, this type of killing still went
contrary to the Kshatriya code. There were explicit rules of hunting. Mating
animals, females carrying their young and very young animals could not be
killed. Pandu was supposed to have been cursed with impotence because while
hunting he had killed a mating animal. The Ramayana opens with the curse of
Valmiki on a hunter who had killed one of a pair of mating birds. Nor could the
animals be killed in such measure that they would become extinct. We can see
this clearly in the following story: During their exile the Pandavas were living in a
forest. To feed their retinue they hunted and killed many animals every day. One
night a stag appeared to Dharmaraja in a dream and said, “King, you are killing
so many of us that we are on the way to extinction. Go into some other forest;
give us respite. When we have multiplied enough you may come back.” The next
day Dharmaraja went to another forest with his brothers.
There were rules which applied to all animals but apparently no rules which
applied to all human beings. If you spared an animal today you could always kill
it tomorrow. But if you spared a human being — even to make a slave out of him
— he would in the course of time acquire certain rights. There was indeed great
danger in sparing the lives of those who owned the land. Krishna and Arjuna,
therefore, must have felt the necessity of completely wiping out the enemy.
The people who were killed in the Khandava forest belonged to the clan of
Takshaka Naga. Not all the Takshakas, however, were eliminated. Nor could
they forget the wrong
done to them by the Pandavas. Takshaka himself is said to have taken the shape
of an arrow or ridden on the tip of an arrow in order to kill Arjuna. He was cleverly
foiled in the attempt by Krishna. Either the same Takshaka or his son succeeded
in killing Parikshita, Arjuna’s grandson, who ruled Hastinapura after the
Pandavas. Janamejaya, the son of Parikshita, in turn massacred half the Nagas.
The Mahabharata starts with this Janamejaya who is told the story of his
forefathers. We thus see that the main Mahabharata story has woven into it a
subsidiary theme — the feud between the Pandavas and the Takshakas — which
incidentally tells us of the colonization of the land by the Aryans. Apparently
during this period the country around the river Yamuna was made free of Nagas.
This conjecture is supported by an incident of Krishna’s life described in the
Harivamsha. Krishna is supposed to have subdued a Naga chieftain in a
particular area of the Yamuna. In return for his life the chieftain promised that he
would leave the area.
The burning of Khandava starts with the request of Agni who had come in the
form of a Brahmin. It is implied that being Kshatriyas Krishna and Arjuna could
not refuse. Even this excuse is flimsy. Not every request of a Brahmin was
fulfilled by the Kshatriyas. The Brahmin Parashurama had ordered Bhishma to
marry Amba; Bhishma had refused. In the burning of Khandava no rules of
conduct seem to have been observed. The sole aim was
the acquisition of land and the liquidation of the Nagas. But the cruel objective
was defeated. Just as Hitler found it impossible to wipe out a whole people, so
did the Pandavas. All they gained through this cruelty were the curses of
hundreds of victims and three generations of enmity.
The only man deliberately spared was Maya, the asura. In gratitude he built the
famous palace. No other Kshatriya had a palace comparable to this. The Aryans
built their palaces of wood, but there were people before the Aryans who knew
how to build with brick. These builders were the asuras. They knew how to make
ceramic tiles of different colours. Maya must have used bluish-green tiles to
create the illusion of water and lined shallow pools with reddish-brown tiles to
create the illusion of land. Many visitors must have been confounded by the
builder’s tricks. But the Mahabharata records only the humiliation of Duryodhana
and the loud laughter of Draupadi and Bhima. Duryodhana was already burning
with jealousy at the splendour of the Pandavas. It is no wonder that their derisive
laughter cut him to the quick. Dharma’s very act of helping him up from the water
and ordering dry clothes seemed part of the plot to humiliate him. Duryodhana
was so incensed and insulted that he declared that if he could not bring down the
Pandavas’ pride he would rather die. He was quieted only when his mother’s
brother Shakuni hatched the plot of inviting Dharma for a game of dice. The
Pandavas lost everything they possessed, and went into exile with nothing but
their weapons and the clothes on their backs. For hardly ten years they had
enjoyed the fabulous palace they had obtained by burning a great forest and
butchering its inhabitants.
We do not hear that Indraprastha or Mayasabha had fallen into ruin during the
thirteen years of the Pandavas’ exile. But when the Pandavas came back and
defeated their cousins they occupied the capital of Hastinapura. They did not go
back to Indraprastha. How long Vajra ruled Indraprastha we do not know.
Neither do we know if Vajra’s successors ruled there. New people were coming
into India, wave after wave. The Kshatriyas, weakened after the Mahabharata
battle, apparently could not fight the invaders. The Puranic record says that soon
after Janamejaya the Kurus had to leave
Hastinapura and found a new capital further south of Kosambi. None of the
kingdoms mentioned in the Mahabharata are heard of again. Both Indraprastha
and Hastinapur vanished. Hastinapur, however, left a long tradition behind it.
The Kurus had ruled there for centuries. Its name is associated with the
hundreds of legends about its kings. In the Mahabharata we have descriptions
of the roads of Hastinapura; we are told what the citizens talked about. The
house of Vidura, Kunti’s protector, was there; Dhritarashtra’s court was there,
and the apartment from which Draupadi was dragged. The Kaurava women
whose lament is recorded at the end of the Mahabharata lived there.
No great ruling house is associated with Indraprastha. Except for the burning
of Khandava no other story in Sanskrit literature is set in it. Indraprastha had no
substance; it never took a definite form. Mayasabha was not only ill-omened; it
was even more insubstantial than the city in which it was built. Born in violence,
its dazzling demonic splendor turned out to be a fleeting dream.
Paradharmo Bhayavahah
Taking over another’s dharma is dangerous.
Bhagavadgita, XVIII.
In the Mahabharata, the role of Brahmins, though not central, is certainly a
vital one, even when we can dismiss some of the Brahmin figures and their
stories as entirely extraneous. Parashurama and all the references to him fall
into this category. This man fought a weeks’-long battle with Bhishma and was
defeated. Also he trained Karna in weaponry and then cursed him that he would
forget his knowledge in the time of need. Parashurama was supposed to have
lived before even the incarnation of Rama. After finishing the terrible task of
annihilating the Kshatriyas, he retired to do severe panance. Once in the Rama
story he is brought back to show the greatness of Prince Rama. He has nothing
to do with the plot of the Ramayana. Similarly, Parashurama has been thrust into
the Mahabharata in order to demonstrate the moral and physical superiority of
Bhishma the Kshatriya over this Brahmin. In the second instance, his
interference was in order to save Karna’s face. Karna was reputed to be a great
hero, but he was defeated and killed by Arjuna. Parashurama was brought into
the story to give an excuse for this defeat. In this story too the Kshatriya hero
came out better than Parashurama. Without complaint Karna accepted the
curse, as he had accepted the training of his teacher. This story does not
deserve much attention. At the time of the cattle raid on the Viratas, Arjuna had
completely routed Karna in an open battle. It was, therefore, hardly extraordinary
that he should have defeated him again in the last fight. The object of the story is
obviously to show that Karna was a great warrior and he would not have been
defeated except for the curse of Parashurama. According to legend, each of the
four disciples of Vyasa has given a slightly different version of the Mahabharata
story. The present version is supposed to have been told by Vaisham-payana.
The same story is also said to have been told by Jaimini. The Kauravas and the
Pandavas quarreled, they fought a war, the Pandavas won, and their
descendants ruled Hastinapura—these were facts that Jaimini could not deny.
But his version of the story is said to be partial to the Kauravas. Of this version
only the Ashvamedha chapter is extant. In it he shown that Arjuna was defeated
many times, and each time had to be rescued by Krishna and others. The fact
that Karna was killed by Arjuna was indisputable. The story of the curse is
obviously an invention to avoid the
conclusion that Arjuna was the greater hero. In this whole episode there is
nothing that contributes to the main story of the Mahabharata.
Into the story of Takshaka’s curse too is woven a long, monotonous narrative
about Brahmins. Parikshita, when out hunting, came across a Brahmin in deep
penance. As a joke, he hung a dead snake around the Brahmin’s neck. A little
later, the Brahmin’s son came there and got very angry at this practical joke. He
cursed the king that in a few weeks’ time he would die of snake bite. When the
Brahmin woke from his deep meditation, the son told him what had happened.
The Brahmin scolded him for thus going in to anger, and, as he knew an antidote
to snake bite, he hurried to Hastinapura to save the king. On the way, Takshaka
met him and cunningly turned him back, thus preventing him from saving
Parikshita. Actually Arjuna, the grandfather of Parikshita, had without provocation
burned the Khandava forest and massacred the Takshakas, a Naga clan. A
Takshaka later killed Parikshita. Janamejaya, the son of Parikshita, in turn
wrought great destruction among the Nagas. It is a straighforward story of a three
generations’ feud. The lengthy rigmarole about Brahmins seems to be a later
interpolation.
The late Professor V. S. Sukthankar has pointed out that the Mahabharata
saga came into the hands of the Bhrigus, a Brahmin family. These Brahmins
inserted the stories of their own family into the narration of the Mahabharata. All
of the Brahmin stories referred to above are part of these later interpolations.
They have no relationship whatsoever with the original story of the Mahabharata.
We can therefore dismiss them. If all these accretions are dropped, the
Mahabharata gains in beauty, economy, and movement.
Even the great sage Vyasa, who wrote or told the Mahabharata and who is the
ancestor of the Pandavas and Kauravas, has no important part to play in the
story. He makes an occasional appearance: tells the Pandavas to go to
Panchala, gives advice to Duryodhana, and quiets the angry Gandhari. He
censures Ashvatthama, and he consoles Arjuna after the destruction of the
Yadavas. But after begetting children upon the queen of the dead Vichitravirya,
his role has little importance in the Mahabharata.
The two Brahmins who have an important function in the story and are an
integral part of it are the father and son, Drona and Ashvatthama. Drona entered
the Mahabharata when the Pandavas and Kauravas were young boys. This
Brahmin, skilled in the use of all weapons, was the brother-in-law of Kripa, the
hereditary teacher of the Kuru clan at Hastinapura. Unable to find a good position
at any court, he had been driven to desperation by poverty. In addition, he was
smarting from an insult he had suffered at king Drupada’s hands. In his need he
had gone to King Drupada and appealed to him in the name of their friendship of
student days. Drupada had laughed derisively at the word friendship and had
said that friendship could not exist between people of such unequal status.
Drupada might have given him a post at his court, as a deserving Brahmin, but he
could not tolerate Drona’s claim to equality on the basis of their companionship of
the student days. Wounded at this slight, Drona left the court of Drupada and
went to Kripa. Bhishma appointed him as a teacher of weapons to the young
princes. After their training was over, Drona demanded as a last token of respect
that his pupils defeat King Drupada. Arjuna did so, and brought Drupada prisoner
before Drona. Drona spared the life of the king in return for half his kingdom,
saying, “King, we are equals now.” To deprive a defeated king of his kingdom
was against the Kshatriya code. It was especially improper
for a Brahmin to do so. Drona had had Drupada defeated and brought before him
as a prisoner. If he had just reminded the king of his insult and let him go, he
would have achieved his revenge, and would have demonstrated the Brahmin
virtues of forgiveness and greatness of mind. Instead of that, Drona kept North
Panchala, with Ahichhatra as the capital, for himself. Drupada remained the king
of South Panchala. In spite of his having usurped North Panchala, Drona seems
to have remained at the court of the Kurus. Whatever Bhishma said was
seconded by Drona. But the earnestness with which Bhishma tried to settle the
quarrels and save the clan is not evident in Drona’s behaviour. This attitude
became especially clear during the last days of the war when he fought heart and
soul on the side of the Kauravas.
Ashvatthama was the son of Drona. Like his father, instead of learning the
Brahmanical lore, he became an expert in the use of arms. Arjuna always
suspected that Drona was keeping the knowledge of certain magical weapons
from him, and was teaching them to Ashvatthama. Perhaps because of this,
there was a covert rivalry between Ashvatthama and Arjuna. Drona tried to
reassure Arjuna that he had taught him everything he knew. We do not know if
Arjuna was satisfied. We only know that both father and son fought against the
Pandavas.
The chief reason for Arjuna’s reluctance to do battle was his unwillingness to
fight Bhishma and Drona. At the time of the war Bhishma’s age must have been
between ninety and a hundred. Drona was a contemporary of Drupada, and thus
must have been as old as Arjuna’s own father would have been. Arjuna was
thirty-five, and Drona must have been at least twenty years older—that is fifty-five
or sixty. The Mahabharata says he was eighty five. At the time of the cattle raid
on the Viratas, Arjuna had trounced both Bhishma and Drona. In a war Arjuna
could have again easily defeated both of them, but they were inviolate, the one
because he was his grandfather, the other because he was his teacher.
Bhishma had fought a mock battle for ten days in a last effort to dissuade both
sides from pursuing the war. The three days of Drona’s generalship, however,
were days of fierce fighting. The way in which Drona got the generalship is worth
noting. At the news of Bhishma’s fall the army was in disarray, and shouts of “We
want Karna, we want Karna” were heard from all sides. Karna, set aside for so
many days, came riding up in his chariot in great style. While reading this
description one doesn’t have the slightest doubt that now Karna is going to
become the general. But suddenly everything changed. Karna of his own accord
advised Duryodhana, “It is best to choose a general acceptable to all, one whose
choice will not offend anybody. Make Drona the general.” Duryodhana complied.
The reason Karna gave for choosing Drona is significant. Clearly, some people
must have been opposed to Karna’s becoming the general. From the very
beginning of the war, the question of the generalship had plagued Duryodhana.
Apparently, the Pandavas were never troubled by considerations of who was
young, who was old, who was a Kshatriya, who was not a Kshatriya. From the
first day to the last Dhrishtadyumna was the general of the Pandavas.
Duryodhana, on the other hand, had to waste the first ten days under the
generalship of Bhishma. Then, instead of Karna he had to make Drona the head
of the army. Arter the death of Drona, Karna was at last made general, but it
seems that his appointment hurt Shalya. Duryodhana had the greater army, but
he was harassed by conflicting claims for precedence from his Kshatriya allies
and his own kinsmen. Drona was apparently a compromise choice.
While Bhishma was living and active Drona had enthusiastically echoed
whatever he said. But after Bhishma’s fall quite a different Drona appeared.
Bhishma had been his employer. Duryodhana was both his pupil and employer.
Drona felt it was now his duty to show his loyalty to his new master. Moreover,
as we have seen, he was a compromise choice for the generalship, and must
have felt anxious to prove he was worthy of the position. He told Duryodhana,
“You keep Arjuna away, and I will wipe out the rest of the Pandavas.” Though he
was unable to destroy the Pandavas, he did fight vehemently. The three days of
his generalship were days of great slaughter. Important people on both sides
died. Chief among these were Arjuna’s son Abhimanyu and Dhritarashtra’s
son-in-law Jayadratha. Perhaps because of the tactics to divert Arjuna from the
main battle, Drona and Arjuna never came face to face. Because of the absence
of Arjuna it was possible for Drona to kill Abhimanyu. Drona showed no mercy in
killing him. One cannot help thinking that Bhishma would not have killed Arjuna’s
son and his own great grandson so ruthlessly.
The account of Drona’s death is very interesting, Bhima killed an elephant
named Ashvatthama, and everywhere the rumour went that Ashvatthama had
been killed. Thinking that the rumour must be false, Drona went to ask Dharma
about it. Dharma muttered to himself, “who knows, maybe a man, maybe an
elephant.” Drona did nofrhear Dharma clearly, and concluded that his son had
been killed. However, instead of sitting stunned as the Pandavas had hoped,
Drona went on fighting savagely, Dhrishtadyumna rushed fiercely on Drona but
received a terrible wound from Drona’s arrow. Bhima came running to help
Dhrishtadyumna. He tightly held Drona’s chariot and shouted at him: “We
Kshatriyas would have a chance to survive if you Brahmins minded your own
profession and did not take up arms. Non-violence to all creatures is the duty of
Brahmins, and you are supposed to be a great Brahmin. For the sake of your
own son you have killed many men of the warrior tribe of Mlechh. They were
following their own dharma. But you abandoned yours and butchered them.
Have you no shame? The son you did all this for is already dead. Don’t you
believe what Dharma told you?” At these words Drona’s spirit sank. In this short
respite Dhrishtadyumna regained his strength. Bringing his chariot alongside
Drona’s, he leaped into the Brahmin’s chariot. From the Pandavas’ side Arjuna
saw what was happening and cried, “Stop, Dhrishtadyumna, don’t kill our
teacher. Bring his chariot here.” While Arjuna was still speaking, Dhrishtadyumna
took his sword and cut off Drona’s head. Even if Dhrishtadyumna had not killed
him at that instant, there was no question that Drona was trapped and could
have been driven to the Pandavas’ side. Drona died in a helplessness and
anger, shouting, “Karna, Kripa, Duryodhana, fight on, I am gone.” Even his last
outburst was not that of a resigned, dispirited’ man.
Drupada had lost half his hereditary kingdom to an enemy who had not even
fought, but had defeated him through a third party. After his defeat Drupada
had performed a sacrifice to ask for a son who would take revenge.
Dhrishtadyumna, the child born from that sacrifice had fulfilled his mission.
Forgiveness, serenity, self-control—not one of the Brahmin virtues described in
the Gita seems to apply to Drona. Drona, however, is nowhere depicted as
altogether contemptible. He was at the most being true to the master whose
bread he had eaten. The same cannot be said of his son. Ashvatthama had
completely discarded all the qualities of Brahminhood. Not only that, he was
utterly debased. Caught in an endless chain of injury
and retaliation, his deeds had no equal in horror and cruelty. Ashvatthama
entered the Kuru court as the son of a desperately poor Brahmin. After his father
was established at the court, he along with the young princes learned the art of
weapons from Drona. In the use of astras (magical weapons) Ashvatthama was
supposed to be the equal of Arjuna. However, not satisfied with what Arjuna had
learned from one guru, Dharma had sent him elsewhere to learn more weapons.
Ashvatthama apparently never did that. In the eyes of the younger generation,
Arjuna was the ideal warrior, a reputation Ashvatthama never had. In the court of
the Kauravas his behaviour was arrogant. While his father sided with Bhishma,
he championed Duryodhana. But Duryodhana never counted him as a warrior.
Nobody ever suggested Ashvatthama’s name for the generalship; indeed, there
was no chance that anyone would ever have thought of him. After the death of
Shalya and Shakuni, the Pandavaa began wiping out the rest of the Kaurava
army. Seeing that it would be impossible to gather his fleeing soldiers,
Duryodhana also slipped away. On his way he sent Sanjaya with a message to
his father, “I am hiding in a pool. All have been killed. I am the - only survivor.” He
reached the hiding place and, exhausted and sad, lay in a stone shelter within
the pool. On the way to Hastinapura, Sanjaya met Kripa, Kritavarma and
Ashvat-thama. They too had fled from the battlefield. They asked for news of
Duryodhana and Sanjaya told them everything.
Ignoring the rest of the fleeing Kaurava army, the Pandavas and Panchalas
were bent on finding Duryodhana and killing him. Though they searched
everywhere, they could not find him. They returned disappointed. If they didn’t
find him today, they must to morrow. Until Duryodhana was killed, they were
convinced, they could not say the war was over.
While the Pandavas’ chariots were searching everywhere, Ashvatthama and
his two companions stayed hidden. After the Pandavas returned to their camp
and everything was quiet, the three came out and went to the pool where
Duryodhana was hiding. Ashvatthama called to Duryodhana. A conversation
ensued, with the three standing on the bank and Duryodhana sitting inside the
pool. While the other two merely listened in silence, Ashvatthama kept insisting,
“Come out and fight the Pandavas”. Duryodhana was not at all willing to fight.
Ashvatthama on his part kept saying, “Now that so many have died on both
sides, it will be easy to fight. We are with you.” Perhaps to avoid further
argument, Duryodhana said, “Let me rest for a day. Tomorrow we can decide
whot to do.”
This last day of the war is very important. Duryo-dhana’s actions show that he
was mainly trying to save his life. He was hiding in a pool in a distant wood, and
had sent a message to his father telling what had happened. His whole army
was in shambles. If Dhrita-rashtra had sent word to the Pandavas—especially to
Dharma—”Take the kingdom, but spare the only son remaining to me,” Dharma
could not have refused. He probably would have had to give Duryodhana a
small portion of the kingdom as well. As long as both father and son were alive,
the Pandavas’ claim to the kingdom would never be undisputed. Duryodhana
was trying to gain time. The Pandavas on their side were trying to find
Duryodhana and kill him before any message could come from Dhritarashtra.
While Ashvatthama and Duryodhana were talking loudly, some hunters had
come into the vicinity. These people were under Bhima’s patronage. Because
Bhima was fond of
meat and paid well for it, they hunted and sent fresh meat to the camp every day.
They had seen the Pandavas and Panchalas returning from their unsuccessful
attempt to find Duryodhana, and had overheard the Pandavas asking each other,
“Where could he be hiding?” Later when they heard the conversation going on
near the pool, they realized that Duryodhana was hiding there. “Bhima will pay us
far more for this news than for any meat”, they told each other. They ran to the
Pandavas’ camp and revealed the hiding place of Duryodhana. With great shouts
the Pandavas remounted their chariots and started towards the pool. Hearing
their shouts and the noise of their chariots, Duryodhana went back into the pool,
and the three warriors ran deep into the forest. Ashvatthama, who a few
moments before had been boasting of how he would kill the Pandavas, had run
away at the very sound of their approach.
Since his father’s death Ashvatthama had been talking of revenge. He had
been fuming for three days, but had not been able to kill Dhrishtadyumna.
Obviously, he could not face him in a direct combat. Ashvatthama had caused
the death of Duryodhana, for whom he professed such concern. Impatient and
thoughtless, as soon as he had found out Duryodhana’s whereabouts, he had
rushed to the pool and stood outside, arguing loudly in broad daylight. Thus he
had betrayed the hiding place to the Pandavas. When the Pandavas came,
instead of standing by the side of his king, he had run away.
Duryodhana had to come out of the pool against his wish. Flinging insults at
him, and prodding him like a snake in a hole, the Pandavas forced him out.
Swinging his mace Bhima felled him with a blow on the thigh. He kicked him on
the head. Dharma intervened to save Duryodhana from further indignities. In
great haste, Dharma sent Krishna to console Dhritarashtra and tell him, “Do not
be angry with us, forgive us. We also are yours.” While Krishna was talking with
the two old people, more messengers arrived. From their talk Krishna suspected
that some treachery was afoot. He cut short his visit and hurried back. Taking the
Pandavas, Draupadi, and Satyaki out of the crowded camp of the Pandavas, he
brought them for the night to the deserted Kaurava camp. The sun went down
and it was a dark night.
Krishna had suspected some treachery, but he did not know quite what. That
treachery was Ashvatthama’s. After leaving Duryodhana, the three warriors were
constantly taking note of what was happening. They saw the Pandavas and
Panchalas going away and heard the shouts of victory in the Pandava camp.
They slipped back to where Duryodhana was. On the bank of the pool
Duryodhana lay mortally wounded. Seeing the great king lying in the dust,
brought down by Bhima’s unfair blow, their hearts were wrung with pity.
Ashavatthama swore he would avenge the king as well as his father; and even in
Duryodhana’s extremity, he had him anoint him a general. If one remembers the
pomp and dignity with which the other generals were anointed, this last
ceremony seems contemptible. One feels that the poor dying king must have
performed the ritual just to free himself of the importunities of Ashvatthama. As
soon as he was anointed, Ashvatthama left the king and went away.
After leaving Duryodhana, Ashvatthama and his companions went far into the
forest to avoid being found by the Pandava soldiers. Kripa and Kritavarma slept,
but Ashvatthama could not sleep. Drona’s death had deprived him not only of a
father, but of a kingdom. He was grieving for Duryodhana, but much more for his
own bereavement and loss. Just then he saw a big’bat pounce on and kill some
sleeping crows. This scene
gave him the idea of attacking the Pandavas in their sleep. He woke up Kripa and
Kritavarma and told them of his inspiration. Kripa tried his best to dissuade him
from this base plan. In this talk one sentence of Ashvatthama is especially
significant. He told his uncle, “You tell me to act like a Brahmin, but I have never
learned the Brahmin code. From childhood onward, all I have learned is
weaponry. I was born in a high Brahmin family, but unlucky that I am, I have lived
as a Kshatriya. Now let me follow that dharma.” Paying no attention to Kripa’s
objections, he yoked his horse to the chariot and set off at full gallop for the
Pandavas’ camp. Wondering what would happen, Kripa and Kritavarma followed
him. While Ashvatthama entered the camp, they stood outside. Ashvatthama first
went to the sleeping Dhrishtadyumna, woke him and killed him. Then he killed
the five sleeping sons of Draupadi. Not knowing who or how many were
attacking, everyone in the camp was running helter-skelter.In the meantime Kripa
and Kritavarma set fire to the camp, redoubling the confusion. After he had killed
as many as he could, Ashvatthama came out. He hurried with the news to
Duryodhana, who rejoiced at it before he died. Then, knowing that the Pandavas
and Krishna would be after him for revenge, he ran away again and went to the
hut of Vyasa on the banks of the Ganga. The Pandavas followed him.
Ashvatthama hurled a terrible magical weapon at Arjuna. Arjuna countered with
an equally powerful weapon. The weapons met and as their dual powers were
released, the world was about to be destroyed. Vyasa stood at the point of
impact and appealed to both of them to recall their weapons. Arjuna, being a true
Kshatriya, could call his back, but Ashvatthama was unable to do so. The story
says that the weapon did not kill the Pandavas, but it did destroy the child in
Uttara’s womb. The Pandavas allowed Ashavatthama to live. Krishna said he
would revive Uttara’s dead child, and then he cursed Ashvatthama, “You will live
for thousands of years. You will wander ceaselessly through forests and deserts.
No living man will shelter you.” All the other generals had died as warriors.
Ashvatthama alone was doomed to a life more terrible than death.
In our philosophy, smriti (memory, consciousness) and moha (confusion) have
a great importance and a special meaning. The Gita’s description of the chain of
causality ending in a man’s destruction is well-known: “Anger leads to loss of
consciousness, loss of consciousness brings about confusion in memory, which
leads in its turn to the loss of thinking power. And the loss of thinking power
destroys a person.” From childhood to death the one thread that creates the
oneness in a man’s ever-changing life is smriti. Smriti is the power which enables
a man to have the ever-present consciousness of who he is and the knowledge
that he is the same person from moment to moment. It is because of smriti that a
man understands what his duties are, and where he is going. In the Mahabharata
the question “Who am I?” is bound up with the question, “What is my place?”
Thus the answer to the question of a man’s duty too is dependent on the place he
holds. Extraordinary people like Krishna and Buddha remember all their former
births, and thus reach a oneness not possible for ordinary beings. The ordinary
man must try to keep the thread of smriti unbroken at least for this one life. The
stress on remaining conscious up to the moment of death is based on this
conviction. This is the reason the Gita says one should die in full consciousness,
in broad daylight, when the sun is in the north and the moon is waxing. The great
effort was not to give in to darkness, not to lose smriti on any account. Bhishma’s
smriti remained unimpaired all his life. Arjuna was confused as to his duty, but
Krishna reminded him of what he was. Waking to the cruel
necessity of his duty, Arjuna said, “Now my confusion is gone, I have regained my
smriti” Drona never had that burning consciousness of his own dkarma. As for
Ashvatthama, he had completely forgotten himself. He had given up his own
dharma and could never understand the dharma of others. He was born a
Brahmin. He would have become a king because his father had acquired a
kingdom. He had learned the use of terrible weapons, but he did not use them to
bring victory to Duryodhana; after everything had been lost, he used them only
for his own revenge and safety. He had rejected his Brahminhood, and could
never manage to become a Kshatriya. He is the unforgettable example of the
loss of smriti.

7
The Palace of Mayat
In the heart of the city of Pune there stand four enormous walls of what was once the palace of
the Peshwas. Built by Bajirao I at the height of Peshwa power, it brought
happiness neither to him nor to his descendants. However, over five generations
lived there and it was the seat of Maratha power for over a hundred years. The
Mahabharata tells of another building that was even more splendid, short-lived,
and ill-omened. This was the Mayasabha in Indraprastha, the town which also
shared the momentary splendour of the palace. Here the Pandavas paraded their
wealth, but the show lasted for only a little while. They lived there hardly ten years
after the palace was built. Mayasabha was born in cruelty and had its end in the
frenzy of dice.
The story of Mayasabha illustrates again how large a canvas the Mahabharata presents.
In the stories of Draupadi and Krishna, we have seen how the family quarrel was
intimately bound up with the political rivalries of the day. The story of
Mayasabha gives us a

* Maya was the name of the architect who built the palace, known after him as
Mayasabha.

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glimpse of a larger struggle in which the newly arrived Aryans and the
Nagas, the older inhabitants of the land, were locked f​o​r generations. The
main motive for this struggle was the possession of land. The attempts to gain
land seemed to follow the usual historical pattern of marriage alliances and
fighting. Many alliances between Nagas and Kshatriyas are recorded. In the
Kuru genealogy itself two Naga princesses are shown as mothers of reigning
monarchs. The events leading to the building of Mayasabha show what was
perhaps another method of gaining land.
This is how the Mayasabha came to be built. After their marriage to
Draupadi, the Pandavas were in a position of power. The plan to kill them had
failed and they had reappeared flanked with strong allies. Dhritarashtra was
forced to give them a share of the kingdom. Keeping Hastinapura, the
hereditary capital, for himself and his sons, he gave Khandavaprastha to the
Pandavas. Khandavaprastha was a little-known town on the border of the
kingdom, surrounded by great forests and not far from the banks of the river
Yamuna. After going to Khandavaprastha, Yudhishthira began the task of
transforming the small town into a capital city. He brought artisans, rich
merchants and tradesmen, and settled them in the town. In spite of all his
efforts, however, the new capital was smaller and less grand than the capital at
Hastinapura.
Khandavaprastha means “a town near the Khandava forest'. The same
town is also called by the grandiloquent name, Indraprastha, 'the city of the
gods'. Did ihe Pandavas give it this name to say that their

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capital was more splendid than Hastinapura? The Mahabharata says so explicity.
Shortly after their arrival in Indraprastha, Arjuna had to go into exile for a year.
Towards the end of this exile he went to Dvaraka, where he married Subhadra.
Arjuna then returned to Indraprastha. Soon after, the Yadavas came with his
bride, carrying rich gifts for the Pandavas. The Yadavas stayed in the capital for
many days of festivities. It was a hot summer. Arjuna took it into his mind that
they should go for a day's outing to the forest near the city. They took Dharma's
permission for the plan. But neither Dharma nor Bhima nor any of the older
people were included. Apparently, only the younger people went. In the party
were Krishna, Arjuna, their wives and servants. They ate, they drank, they sang
and danced. All the time the shade of the great trees protected them from the
sun. Krishna and Arjuna sat a little apart from the others, discussing all possible
subjects, telling each other of their conquests in war and love. While they were
seated there, a Brahman approached them and said, 'I am hungry. I have a great
appetite which has no bounds. Satisfy my hunger.' When they started to offer him
food he appeared in his true form as Agni, the god of fire, and said, 'Give me the
Khandava forest as food. Let me burn it. Every time I start to burn it Indra sends
rain and defeats my purpose.' Krishna and Arjuna consented to help him provided
that Agni supplied them with superb chariots and weapons. To Arjuna he gave a
divine chariot, white horses with the speed of wind, and the great bow Gandiva.
To Krishna he gave the

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discus and other weapons. Then Agni started devouring the forest. As it
burned, Krishna and Arjuna guarded all sides so tightly that the creatures fleeing
from the blaze found not a single chink to escape thrsugh. Furiously driving their
chariots, the two slaughtered everything in sight. The creatures driven back into
the forest were burned alive. Those who ran out fell under their weapons. Indra
came with a host of gods to save the forest, but was quickly routed by the two
heroes. Enraged, Indra wanted to fight further, but the gods pointed ​ou​ t that his
friend Takshaka, a resident of the forest, was safe because he had gone away,
and urged Indra to retire. The forest continued to burn for a week. All this time
Krishna and Arjuna constantly circled it, butchering the escaping creatures.
Finally, having consumed the flesh and fat of every last creature in the forest,
Agni went away satisfied.
From this holocaust only seven creatures (were they humans?) escaped.
Takshaka's son was saved by his mother's quick wit and courage, but the mother
​ emon), living in the house of Takshaka,
herself died in the effort. Maya an ​asur (d
was spared when he came running out of the forest crying, “Arjuna, save me'.
The four children born of a Brahman and Sharngi, a bird woman, were also
shown mercy. The other Nagas of Takshaka's house were killed along with the
birds and animals. In gratitude for having been saved, the asura, Maya, built a
great palace at Indraprastha for the Pandavas. For the building of the palace –
Mayasabha - he brought artisans and materials from many lands.
After Mayasabha was completed, the Pandavas

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decided, on Krishna's advice, to set out on a conquest of the four quarters of the
world. This task was accomplished by the four brothers of Dharmaraja. Dharma
was thus in a position to perform the great ​Rajasuya vajna,​ the celebration of a
world-conqueror. Allies, relatives and conquered kings were invited to attend the
sacrifice and enjoy the hospitality of the Pandavas. A special invitation was sent
to the relatives at Hastinapura. The yajna was a lavish exhibition of the might,
splendour and munificence of the Pandavas. The cousins from Hastinapura
were dazzled, and burned with envy. Mayasabha was built very cunningly.
Birds, animals, and trees were made of precious stones so artfully that they
seemed real. Flowing water was made to look like dry land, and dry land almost
rippled like water. What seemed like doors were solid walls, while what was
apparently a solid wall would turn out to be a door. Poor Duryodhana was
thoroughly confused. He bumped his head against the walls, tucked up his
garments only to find that he was walking on dry land. Finally, stepping on to
what he thought was solid ground, he fell into a pool. Dharma helped him out of
the water and ordered the servants to give him dry clothing. But Draupadi and
Bhima laughed loudly and derisively at Duryodhana's discomfiture. The
Pandavas had not only flaunted their new splendour, but they had also
deliberately insulted Duryodhana. Duryodhana was not likely to forget this
humiliation in a hurry.
Soon afterwards, the Pandavas lost everything in gambling and had to go to the forest for
thirteen years.

The Palace of Maya ​111 After

coming back and winning the war, they went to live in their hereditary capital at
Hastinapura. They did not return to Indraprastha. The only mention made of
Indraprastha is at the very end, when the city is given to Vajra, the grandson of
Krishna. The fabulous Mayasabha is never mentioned again.
Thus Mayasabha came out of the burning of the Khandava ​f​or​e​st.
Why were all its birds, animals, and Nagas destroyed? How could Arjuna, who
prided himself on his name Bibhatsu — 'one who does not do anything
repulsive'— indulge in this cruel hunt? When they had merely gone for an outing
on the Yamuna, what made them think of burning the ​fo ​ rest? The Mahabharata
says that Agni himself had appeared in the form of a Brahman and made the
demand. Granting that they could not refuse a Brahman, can we explain the
ruthless way in which they carried out their task? Not only did they burn the
timber, but they also drove back into the forest all the creatures they could and
killed the rest. Only a few were allowed to escape.
There are two possible explanations of the burning of the forest:
either the fire was a natural catastrophe and somehow Krishna and Arjuna were
credited with it, or the two did actually and deliberately burn the forest. Even if
the first were true, it is obvious that burning a forest was considered a brave and
praiseworthy feat. But there is no reason to question the Mahabharata's account
that they did do it themselves, with great effort and persistence, perhaps having
to rekindle the fire because of rain. Then why did they do it?
U2 Y​uganta

The pastoral Aryan people kept large herds of cattle and practised agriculture
with the help of animal-drawn ploughs. Their history records many instances of
either burning or cutting down forests. All the way across India, stretched thick
forests which have been described in the Vedas and the Mahabharata. Several
famous forests have also been described in Buddhist literature. Not only that,
even historical inscriptions mention great forests. The kingdoms mentioned in
the Mahabharata were all small. In the area of present-day Punjab and Delhi
there were five: Kuru, North and South Panchala, Trigarta and Virata. Their
boundaries did not touch. Each kingdom was but a small capital surrounded by a
few score villages with their fields. Beyond were the forests. The part of the
forest nearest to the villages was used by the king for hunting and for grazing his
cattle. Some of the big forests had names: Kamyaka, Dvarta, Khandava, etc.
These were all western forests. Later, the eastern forests, apparently smaller
than the above – like Velu and Jeta—were associated with Buddha. Now the
forests have vanished, and from the Indus to the Bay of Bengal the land is one
vast ploughed field.
Khandava was a great forest on the banks of the Yamuna and its small tributary, the
Ikshuinati. The name 'Khandava' means “made of rock candy'. Ikshumati
means 'full of sugar cane'. The Madhu forest, which was also supposed to be
on the banks of the Yamuna and is described in a later Purana, also means 'a
sweet foresť or 'a honeyed foresť. From all these names it is clear that the
forests contained something sweet Was it ​madhu ​(honey)? Was it ​ikshu
(cane)? Was
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it something else? Today the central Indian forests contain a large beautiful
tree calle​d mahuva. ​This tree, called ​madlıuka ​in Sanskrit, is a source of
bounty for the tribal people. From its leaves they make plates; from its fragrant
honey-filled flowers they make wine. The dried blossoms are eaten as a
delicacy, and from the sticky juice of the flowers all kinds of sweetmeats are
made. Perhaps it was because it was filled with such trees that the Khandava
forest was called 'sweet'. The sweetness of the forest, however, could be
valued only by the people living in it, and not by the Aryans.
Like the other kingdoms, the Pandavas' kingdom was a capital
surrounded by villages and fields, but it was comparatively small and the
brothers were trying to expand it. Dharmaraja was making the small town into a
great capital. Perhaps Krishna and Arjuna burned the forest to provide more
land for cultivation. This was the duty of a ruling king. In this way he could
expand his realm without encroaching upon other Kshatriyas—something
forbidden by the Kshatriya code.
Krishna and Arjuna were great warriors. They had fought and won
many battles. But in none of these battles did they gain any land by conquest.
The Kshatriya life as presented in the Mahabharata had a certain definite
pattern. Each known house had its small territory which passed from father to
son. Wars were fought, tribute was demanded, but no Kshatriva house was
deprived of its kingdom. An enemy was spared if he asked for mercy. If he
fought and was killed, his son was put on the throne. A Kshatriya never

114 Y​uganta

killed women and children. Nor was he supposed to put to the sword any
defenceless person. His most sacred duty was to defend the helpless. The
charge that he had not done so was the worst that could be made against him.
The need for expansion explains the burning of the forest, but the question still remains:
why was it burned so mercilessly? There is a very curious contradiction in the
narration. When Agni first appeared, he said he wanted to burn the forest. No
specific mention is made of his wanting to feed on the creatures in it. But when
we come to the end of the narration, we are told that Agni went away satisfied
with all the flesh and fat he had devoured. Moreover, this forest was not merely a
forest with birds and animals in it. We are told that Takshaka, the king of the
Nagas, lived there. But who were the Nagas? The word nag​a ​is generally used
for serpents. However, in the Mahabharata, the Nagas seem to be human
beings. The Mahabharata also mentions a bird woman, who had children from a
Brahman, living in the same forest. The bird might be the clan name of certain
people living there. In the same way, many of the animals may not have been
animals at all but people belonging to clans having animal names.? But only
regarding the Nagas is the word ​raja ​(king) used. Apparently the Nagas
represented the ruling class. The Mahabharata

The word is also sometimes used for elephants. 2 The Mahabharata has many stories of
children born to Brahmans through 'animal' females.

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has given the names of the various Naga rajas belonging to different regions.
From the western Himalayas up to the middle reaches of the Ganga and to the
south of the Narmada, the country was shared by the Aryans and the Nagas.
The Nagas apparently lived along the rivers in the forests, while the Aryans
preferred a more open country. The house of the Nagaraja, Airavata, was on
the banks of the river Iravati. The house of Takshaka was apparently in the
Khandava forest on the banks of the Yamuna. Many an Aryan king must have
acquired new lands by burning or cutting parts of a virgin forest not owned by
anyone. However, in the Khandava fire it appears that Krishna and Arjuna had
a more audacious plan to possess an entire forest in a part of which happened
to be the kingdom of the Takshakas.
This plan, it seems, did not go counter to the Kshatriya code. The
code applied only to the Aryan Kshatriyas and not to outsiders. At least a part
of the forest was Takshaka's domain and obviously the Pandavas wanted to
possess it to distribute it to their own subjects. The land was usurped after a
massacre, a massacre which is praised as a valorous deed. This was because
the victims were not Kshatriyas or their Aryan subjects. All the high-sounding
morality of the Kshatriya code was limited to their own group. Here again
Krishna and Arjuna played the familiar role of the conquering settler. The
Spaniards and Portuguese in South America, English in North America and
Australia are but later historical examples of the same process. Did Krishna
and Arjuna feel that they had to kill every creature in

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116 Y​ug

order to establish unchallenged ownership over the land?

The Mahabharata narration is very curious in that the human qualities of the
Nagas are played down, and the other inhabitants of the forest are described
purely as birds and animals. The whole story sounds like a week-long hunt of
animals. Even granting that there were only animals, this type of killing still
went contrary to the Kshatriya code. There were explicit rules of hunting.
Mating animals, females carrying their young, and very young animals could
not be killed. Pandu was supposed to have been cursed with impotence
because while hunting he had killed a mating animal. The Ramayana opens
with the curse of Valmiki on a hunter who had killed one of a pair of mating
birds. Nor could the animals be killed in such measure that they would become
extinct. We can see this clearly in the following story: During their exile, the
Pandavas were living in a forest. To feed their retinue they hunted and killed
many animals every day. One night, a stag appeared to Dharmaraja in a
dream and said, 'King, you are killing so many of us that we are on the way to
extinction. Go into some other forest; give us respite. When we have multiplied
enough, you may come back.' The next day Dharmaraja went to another forest
with his brother.
There were rules which applied to all animals, but apparently no rules which applied
to all human beings. If you spared an animal today, you could always kill it
tomorrow. But if you spared a human being — ever to make a slave out of him
— he would in the course of

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time acquire certain rights. There was indeed great danger in sparing the lives of
those who ​own ​ ed the land. Krishna and Arjuna, therefore, must have felt the
necessity of completely wiping out the enemy.
The people who were killed in the Khandava f​o​rest belonged to the clan
of Takshaka Naga. Not all the Takshakas, however, were eliminated. Nor could
they forget the wrong done to them by the Pandavas, Takshaka himself is said to
have taken the shape of an arrow or ridden on the tip of an arrow in order to kill
Arjuna. He was cleverly foiled in the attempt by Krishna, Either the same
Takshaka or his son succeeded in killing Parikshita, Arjuna's grandson, who ruled
Hastinapura after the Pandavas. Janamejaya, the son of Parikshita, in turn
massacred half the Nagas. The Mahabharata starts with this Janamejaya who is
told the story of his f​o​refathers. We thus see that the main Mahabharata plot has
woven into it a subsidiary theme — the feud between the Pandavas and the
Takshakas – which incidentally tells us of the colonization of the land by the
Aryans. Apparently, during this period, the country around the river Yamuna was
made free of Nagas. This conjecture is supported by an incident of Krishna's life
described in th​e Harivamsha.​ Krishna is supposed to have subdued a Naga
chieftain in a particular area of the Yamuna. In return for his life the chieftain
promised that he would leave the area.
The burning of Khandava starts with the request of Agni who had come
in the form of a Brahman. It is implied that being Kshatriyas, Krishna and Arjuna
could not refuse. Even this excuse is flimsy. Not every

118 ​Yuganta

request of a Brahman was fulfilled by the Kshatriyas. The Brahman Parashurama had
ordered Bhishma to marry Amba; Bhishma had refused. In the burning of Khandava no
rules of conduct seem to have been observed. The sole aim was the acquisition of land
and the liquidation of the Nagas. But the cruel objective was defeated. Just as Hitler
found it impossible to wipe out a whole people, so did the Pandavas. All that they gained
through this cruelty were the curses of hundreds of victims, and three generations of
enmity.
The only man deliberately spared was Maya, the asura. In gratitude he built the famous
palace. No other Kshatriya had a palace comparable to this. The Aryans built their palaces
of wood, but there were people before the Aryans who knew how to build with brick. These
builders were the asuras. They knew how to make ceramic tiles of different colours. Maya
must have used bluish-green tiles to create the illusion of water and lined shallow pools
with reddish-brown tiles to create the illusion of land. Many visitors must have been
confounded by the builder's tricks. But the Mahabharata records only the humiliation of
Duryodhana and the loud laughter of Draupadi and Bhima. Duryodhana was already
burning with jealousy at the splendour of the Pandavas. It is no wonder that their derisive
laughter cut him to the quick. Dharma's very act of helping him up from the water and
ordering dry clothes seemed to be a part of the plot to humiliate him. Duryodhana was so
incensed and insulted that he declared that if he could not bring down the Pandava's pride
he would rather die. He was quieted only when
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his mother's brother Shakuni hatched the plot of inviting Dharma for a game of
dice. The Pandavas lost everything they possessed, and went into exile with
nothing but their weapons and the clothes on their backs. For hardly ten years
had they enjoyed the fabulous palace they had obtained by burning a great
forest and butchering its inhabitants.
We do not hear that Indraprastha or Mayashabha had fallen into ruin during the
thirteen years of the Pandavas' exile. But when the Pandavas came back and
defeated their cousins they occupied the capital of Hastinapura. They did not
go back to Indraprastha. How long Vajra ruled Indraprastha we do not know.
Neither do we know if Vajra's successors ruled there. New people were coming
into India, in wave after wave. The Kshatriyas, weakened after the
Mahabharata battle, apparently could not fight the invaders. The Puranic record
says that soon after Janamejaya, the Kurus had to leave Hastinapura and
found a new capital further south of Kosambi. None of the kingdoms mentioned
in the Mahabharata are heard of again. Both Indraprastha and Hastinapura
vanished. Hastinapura, however, left a long tradition behind it. The Kurus had
ruled there for centuries. Its name is associated with the hundreds of legends
about its kings. In the Mahabharata, we have descriptions of the roads of
Hastinapura, we are told what the citizens talked about. The house of Vidura,
Kunti's protector, was there; Dhritarashtra's court was there, and so was the
apartment from which Draupadi was dragged. The Kaurava women whose
lament is recorded at the end
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120 Y​uganta ​of the Mahabharata lived

there.
No great ruling house is associated with Indraprastha. Except for the burning of
Khandava, no other story in Sanskrit literature is set in it. Indraprastha had no
substance; it never took a definite form Mayasabha was not only ill-omened; it
was even more insubstantial than the city in which it was built. Born in violence,
its dazzling demonic splendour turned out to be a fleeting dream.
8
Paradharmo Bhayavahah

Taking over another's dharma is dangerous.

Bhagavadgita, XVIII

In the Mahabharata, the role of the Brahmans though not central, is certainly
a vital one, even when we can dismiss some of the Brahman figures and their
stories as entirely extraneous. Parashurama and all the references to him fall
into this category. This man fought a week-long battle with Bhishma and was
defeated. Also he trained Karna in weaponry, and then cursed him that he
would forget his knowledge in the time of need. Parashurama was supposed to
have lived before even the incarnation of Rama. After finishing the terrible task
of annihilating the Kshatriyas, he retired to do severe penance. In the Rama
story, he is brought back once to show the greatness of Prince Rama, though
he has nothing to do with the plot of the Ramayana. Similarly, Parashurama
has been thrust into the Mahabharata in order to demonstrate the moral and
physical superiority of Bhishma, the Kshatriya, over this Brahman. In the
second instance, his interference was in order to save Karna's face. Karna was
reputed to
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be a great hero, but he was defeated and killed by Arjuna. Parashurama

was brought into the story to give an excuse for this defeat. In this story,
too, the Kshatriya hero came out better than Parashurama. Without
complaint Karna accepted the curse, as he had accepted the training of
his teacher. This story does not deserve much attention. At the time of the
cattle raid on the Viratas, Arjuna had completely routed Karna in an open
battle. It was, therefore, hardly extraordinary that he should have defeated
him again in the last fight. The object of the story is obviously to show that
Karna was a great warrior and he would not have been defeated except
for the curse of Parashurama. According to legend, each of the four
disciples of Vyasa has given a slightly different version of the
Mahabharata story. The present version is supposed to have been told by
Vaishampayana. The same story is also said to have been told by Jaimini.
The Kauravas and the Pandavas quarrelled, they fought a war, the
Pandavas won, and their descendants ruled Hastinapura —these were
facts that Jaimini could not deny. But his version of the story is said to be
partial to the Kauravas. Of this version only the A​shvamedha ​chapter is
extant. In it he shows that Arjuna was defeated many times, and each time
had to be rescued by Krishna and others. The fact that Karna was killed by
Arjuna was indisputable. The story of the curse is obviously an invention to
avoid the ​con​ clusion that Arjuna was the greater hero. In this whole
episode there is nothing that contributes to the main story of the
Mahabharata.
Into the story of Takshaka's curse, too, is woven a
Paradharmo Bhayavahah
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long, m​on​ otonous narrative about Brahmans. Parikshita, when out hunting,
came across a Brahman in deep penance. As a joke, he hung a dead snake
around the Brahman's neck. A little later, the Brahman's son came there and
got very angry at this practical joke. He cursed the king that in a few weeks'
time he would die of snake bite. When the Brahman woke from his deep
meditation, the son told him what had happened. The Brahman scolded him for
thus giving in to anger, and, as he knew an antidote to snakebite, he hurried to
Hastinapura to save the king. On the way, Takshaka met him and cunningly
turned him back, thus preventing him from saving Parikshita. Actually Arjuna,
the grandfather of Parikshita, had, without provocation, burned the Khandava
​ rest and massacred the Takshakas, a Naga clan. A Takshaka later killed
fo
Parikshita. Janamejaya, the son of Parikshita, in turn, wrought great destruction
among the Nagas. It is a straightforward story of a three-generation feud. The
lengthy rigmarole about Brahmans seems to be a later interpolation.
The late Professor V.S. Sukthankar has pointed out that the
Mahabharata saga came into the hands of the Bhrigus, a Brahman clan.
These Brahmans inserted the stories of their own family into the narration of
the Mahabharata. All the Brahman stories referred to above are part of these
later interpolations. They have no relationship whatsoever with the original
story of the Mahabharata. We can, therefore, dismiss them. If all these
accretions are dropped, the Mahabharata gains in beauty, economy, and
movement.
TEENITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
1
2
4
Yugant
a

Even the great sage Vyasa, who wrote or told the Mahabharata and who is the
ancestor of the Pandavas and Kauravas, has no important part to play in the
story. He makes an occasional appearance: tells the Pandavas to go to
Panchala, gives advice to Duryodhana, quiets the angry Gandhari. He
censures Ashvatthama, and he consoles Arjuna after the destruction of the
Yadavas. But after begetting children upon the queens of the dead
Vichitravirya, his role has little importance in the Mahabharata.
The two Brahmans who have an important role in the story and are an
integral part of it are the father and son, Drona and Ashvatthama. Drona
enters the Mahabharata when the Pandavas and Kauravas are young boys.
This Brahman, skilled in the use of all weapons, was the brother-in-law of
Kripa, the hereditary teacher of the Kuru clan at Hastinapura. Unable to find
a good position at any court, he had been driven to desperation by poverty.
In addition, he was smarting from an insult he had suffered at King Drupada's
hands. In his need he had gone to King Drupada and appealed to him in the
name of their friendship of student days. Drupada had laughed derisively at
the word friendship and had said that friendship could not exist between
people of such unequal status. Drupada might have given him a post at his
court as a deserving Brahman, but he could not tolerate Drona's claim to
equality on the basis of their companionship of student days. Wounded at
this slight, Drona left the court of Drupada and went to Kripa. Bhishma
appointed him as a teacher of weapons to the
Paradharmo Bhayavahah
1
2
5

young princes. After their training was o​ve​r, Drona demanded as a last token
of respect that his pupils defeat King Drupada. Arjuna did so, and brought
Drupada prisoner before Drona. Drona spared the life of the king in return for
half his kingdom, saying, 'King, we are equals now'. To deprive a defeated
king of his kingdom was against the Kshatriya code. It was especially
improper for a Brahman to do so. Drona had had Drupada defeated and
brought before him as a prisoner. If he had just reminded the king of his insult
and let him go, he would have achieved his revenge, and would have
demonstrated the Brahman virtues of forgiveness and greatness of mind.
Instead of that Drona kept North Panchala, with Ahichhatra as the capital, for
himself. Drupada remained the king of South Panchala. In spite of his having
usurped North Panchala, Drona seems to have remained at the court of the
Kurus.
Whatever Bhishma said was seconded by Drona. But the
earnestness with which Bhishma tried to settle the quarrels and save the
clan is not evident in Drona's behaviour. This attitude became especially
clear during the last days of the war when he fought heart and soul on the
side of the Kauravas.
Ashvatthama was the son of Drona. Like his father, instead of
learning the Brahmanical lore, he became an expert in the use of arms.
Arjuna always suspected that Drona kept the knowledge of certain magical
weapons from him, and was teaching their use to Ashvatthama. Perhaps
because of this, there was a covert rivalry between Ashvatthama and Arjuna.
Drona tried to reassure Arjuna that he had taught him everything he
TITLULVMALUU UUUUUU
126 ​Yuganta

knew. We do not know if Arjuna was satisfied. We only know that both
father and son fought against the Pandavas.
The chief reason for Arjuna's reluctance to do battle was his unwillingness
to fight Bhishma and Drona. At the time of the war, Bhishma's age must
have been between ninety and a hundred. Drona was a contemporary of
Drupada, and thus must have been as old as Arjuna's own father would
have been. Arjuna was thirty-five, and Drona must have been at least
twenty years older — that is fifty-five or sixty. The Mahabharata says he
was eighty-five. At the time of the cattle raid on the Viratas, Arjuna had
trounced both Bhishma and Drona. In a war, Arjuna could have again
easily defeated both of them, but they were inviolate, one because he was
his grandfather, the other because he was his teacher.
Bhishma had fought a mock battle for ten days in a last effort to dissuade
both sides from pursuing the war. The three days of Drona's generalship,
however, were days of fierce fighting. The way in which Drona got the
generalship is worth noting. At the news of Bhishma's fall the army was in
disarray, and shouts of 'We want Karna, we want Karna' were heard from
all sides. Karna, set aside for so many days, came riding up in his chariot
in great style. While reading this description, one doesn't have the
slightest doubt that now Karna is going to become the general. But
suddenly everything changes. Karna of his own accord advises
Duryodhana, 'It is best to choose a general acceptable to all, one whose
choice will not offend anybody. Make
Paradharmo Bhayavahah
1
2
7

Drona the general.' Duryodhana complies. The reason Karna gives for
choosing Drona is significant. Clearly, some people must have been opposed
to Karna's becoming the general. ​Fr​ ​o​m the very beginning of the war, the
question of the generalship had plagued Duryodhana. Apparently, the
Pandavas were never troubled by considerations of who was young, who was
old, who was a Kshatriya, who was not a Kshatriya. From the first day to the
last, Dhrishtadyumna was the general of the Pandaves. Duryodhana, on the
other hand, had to waste the first ten days under the generalship of Bhishma.
Then, instead of Karna, he had to make Drona the head of the army. After the
death of Drona, Karna was at last made general, but it seems that his
appointment hurt Shalya. Duryodhana had the geater army, but he was
harassed by conflicting claims for precedence from his Kshatriya allies and
his own kinsmen. Drona was apparently a compromise choice.
While Bhishma was living and active Drona had enthusiastically
echoed whatever he said. But after Bhishma's fall quite a different Drona
appeared. Bhishma had been his employer. Duryodhana was both his pupil
and employer. Drona felt it was now his duty to show his loyalty to his new
master. Moreover, as we have seen, he was a compromise choice for the
generalship, and must have felt anxious to prove he was worthy of the
position. He told Duryodhana, ‘You keep Arjuna away, and I will wipe out the
rest of the Pandavas.' Though he was unable to destroy the Pandavas, he did
fight vehemently. The three days of his generalship were days of great
slaughter. Important

TULLI TUTTI
​ eople on both sides died. Chief among these were Arjuna's son,
128 ​Yuganta p
Abhimanyu, and Dhritarashtra's son-in law, Jayadratha. Perhaps because of
the tactics to divert Arjuna from the main battle, Drona and Arjuna never
came face to face. Because of the absence of Arjuna it was possible for
Drona to kill Abhimanyu. Drona showed no mercy in killing him. One cannot
help thinking that Bhishma would not have killed Arjuna's son — his own
great-grandson — so ruthlessly.
The account of Drona's death is very interesting. Bhima killed an elephant
named Ashvatthama, and everywhere the rumour spread that Ashvatthama
had been killed. Thinking that the rumour must be false, Drona went to ask
Dharma about it. Dharma muttered to himself, Who knows, maybe a man,
maybe an elephant. Drona did not hear Dharma clearly, and concluded that
his son had been killed. However, instead of sitting stunned as the Pandavas
had hoped, Drona continued fighting savagely. Dhrishtadyumna rushed
fiercely on Drona but received a terrible wound from Drona's arrow. Bhima
came running to help Dhrishtadyumna. He tightly held on to Drona's chariot
and shouted, 'We Kshatriyas would have a chance to survive if you
Brahmans minded your own profession and did not take up arms.
Non-violence to all creatures is the duty of the Brahmans, and you are
supposed to be a great Brahman. For the sake of your own son, you have
killed many men of the warrior tribe of Mlechh. They were following their own
dharma. But you abandoned yours and butchered them. Have you no
shame? The son you did all this for is already dead.

MYNTTILNIAU
Paradharmo Bhayavahah
1
2
9

Don't you believe what Dharma told you?' At these words Drona's spirit
sank. In this short respite Dhrishtadyumna regained his strength. Bringing
his chariot alongside Drona's, he leaped into the Brahman's chariot. Fr​o​m
the Pandavas' side Arjuna saw what was happening and cried, 'Stop,
Dhristadyumna, don't kill our teacher. Bring his chariot here.' While Arjuna
was still speaking, Dhristadyumna took his sword and cut off Drona's head.
Even if Dhrishtadyumna had not killed him at that instant, there was no
question that Drona was trapped and could have been driven to the
Pandavas' side. Drona died in helplessness and anger, shouting, ‘Karna,
Kripa, Duryodhana, fight on, I am gone.' Even his last outburst was not that
of a resigned, dispirited man.
Drupada had lost half his hereditary kingdom to an enemy who had
not even fought him, but had defeated him through a third party. After his
defeat, Drupada had performed a sacrifice to ask for a son who would take
revenge. Dhrishtadyumna, the child born from that sacrifice, had fulfilled his
mission.
Forgiveness, serenity, self-control - none of the Brahman virtues
described in the Gita seem to apply to Drona. Drona, however, is nowhere
depicted as altogether contemptible. He was at the most being true to the
master whose bread he had eaten. The same cannot be said of his son.
Ashvatthama had completely discarded all the qualities of Brahmanhood. Not
only that, he was utterly debased. Caught in an endless chain of injury and
retaliation, his deeds were unequalled in horror and cruelty. Ashvatthama
entered

130 Y​uganta

the Kuru court as the son of a desperately poor Brahman. After his father was established
at the court, he along with the younger princes learned the art of using
weapons from Drona. In the use of ​astras ​(magical weapons) Ashvatthama
was supposed to be the equal of Arjuna. However, not satisfied with what
Arjuna had learned from one guru, Dharma had sent him elsewhere to learn
how to use more weapons. Ashvatthama apparently never did that. In the
eyes of the younger generation, Arjuna was the ideal warrior, a reputation
Ashvatthama never had. In the court of the Kauravas his behaviour was
arrogant. While his father sided with Bhishma, he championed Duryodhana.
But Duryodhana never counted him as a warrior. Nobody ever suggested
Ashvatthama's name for the generalship; indeed, there was no chance that
anyone would ever have thought of him.
After the death of Shalya and Shakuni, the Pandavas began wiping out the
rest of the Kaurava army. Seeing that it would be impossible to gather his
fleeing soldiers, Duryodhana also slipped away. While escaping, he sent
Sanjaya with a message to his father, “I am hiding in a pool. All have been
killed. I am the only survivor.' He reached the hiding place and, exhausted
and sad, lay in a stone shelter within the pool. On the way to Hastinapura,
Sanjaya met Kripa, Kritavarma and Ashvatthama. The​y t​ oo had fled from
the battlefield. They asked for news of Duryodhana, and Sanjaya told them
everything.
Ignoring the rest of the fleeing Kaurava army, the Pandavas and Panchalas were
bent on finding

Peradharmo Bhayavahah
1
3
1

Duryodhana and killing him. Though they searched everywhere they could
not find him. They returned disappointed. If they didn't find him today, they
must tomorrow. Until Duryodhana was killed, they were convinced, they
could not say the war was over.
While the Pandavas' chariots searched everywhere, Ashvatthama and
his two companions stayed hidden. After the Pandavas returned to their
camp and everything was quiet, the three came out and went to the pool
where Duryodhana was hiding. Ashvatthama called to Duryodhana. A
conversation ensued, with the three standing on the bank and Duryodhana
sitting inside the pool. While the other two merely listened in silence,
Ashvatthama kept insisting, Come out and fight the Pandavas.' Duryodhana
was unwilling to fight. Ashvatthama on his part kept saying, Now that so
many have died on both sides, it will be easy to fight. We are with you.'
Perhaps to avoid further argument, Duryodhana said, “Let me rest for a day.
Tomorrow we can decide what to do.'
This last day of the war is very important. Duryodhana's actions show
that he was mainly trying to save his life. He was hiding in a pool in a distant
wood, and had sent a message to his father informing him of what had
happened. His whole army was in a shambles. If Dhritarashtra had sent
word to the Pandavas – especially to Dharma – "Take the kingdom, but
spare the only son remaining to me,' Dharma could not have refused. He
probably would have had to give Duryodhana a small portion of the kingdom
as well. As long as both father and son were

132 Y​uganta

alive, the Pandavas' claim to the kingdom would never be undisputed. Duryodhana was
trying to gain time. The Pandavas, on their side, were trying to find Durve
Whana and kill him before any message could come from witarashtra.
While Ashvatthania and Duryodhana were talking loudly, some hunters had
come inw, i!i2 ririnite, These people were under Bhima's patronage. Because
Bhima was fond of meat and paid well for it, they hunted and sent fresh meat
to the camp every day. They had seen the Pandavas and Panchalas
returning from their unsuccessful attempt to find Duryodhana, and had
overheard the Pandavas asking each other, “Where could he be hiding?'
Later, when they overheard the conversation near the pool, they realized that
Duryodhana was hiding there. ‘Bhima will pay us far more for this news than
for any meat, they told each other. They ran to the Pandavas' camp and
revealed the hiding place of Duryodhana. With great shouts, the Pandavas
remounted their chariots and started towards the pool. Hearing their shouts
and the noise of their chariots, Duryodhana went back into the pool, and the
​ rest. Ashvatthama, who a few moments
three warriors ran deep into the ​fo
before had been boasting of how he would kill the Pandavas, had run away
at the very sound of their approach.
Since his father's death Ashvatthama had been talking of revenge. He had been
fuming for three days, but had not been able to kill Dhrishtadyumna.
Obviously, he ​cou​ ld not face him in a direct combat. Ashvatthama had
caused the death of Duryodhana, for

Paradharmo Bhayavahah
1
3
3

whom he professed such concern. Impatient and thoughtless, as soon as he

had found out Duryodhana's whereabouts, he had rushed to the pool and stood
outside, arguing loudly in broad daylight. Thus he had betrayed the hiding
place to the Pandavas. When the Pandavas came, instead of standing by the
side of his king, he had run away.
Duryodhana had to come out of the pool against his wish. Flinging
insults at him, and prodding him
like a snake in a hole, the Pandavas forced him out. Swinging his mace Bhima
felled him with a blow on the thigh. He kicked him on the head. Dharma
intervened to save Duryodhana from further indignities. In great haste, Dharma
sent Krishna to console Dhritarashtra and tell him, 'Do not be angry with us,
forgive us. We also are yours'. While Krishna was talking with the two old
people, more messengers arrived. From their talk, Krishna suspected that
some treachery was afoot. He cut short his visit and hurried back. Taking the
Pandavas, Draupadi, and Satyaki out of the crowded camp of the Pandavas,
he brought them for the night to the deserted Kaurava camp. The sun went
down and it was a dark night.
Krishna had suspected some treachery, but he did not quite know
what. That treachery was Ashvatthama's. After leaving Duryodhana, the three
warriors were constantly taking note of what was happening. They saw the
Pandavas and Panchalas going away and heard the shouts of victory in the
Pandava camp. They slipped back to where Duryodhana was. Duryodhana lay
mortally wounded on the bank of the

134 Y​uganta p​ ool. Seeing the great king lying in the dust, brought down by Bhima's unfair
blow, their hearts were wrung with pity. Ashvatthama swore he would
avenge the king as well as his father; and even in Duryodhana's extremity,
he had him anoint him a general. If one remembers the pomp and dignity
with which the other generals were anointed, this last ceremony seems
contemptible. One feels that the poor dying king must have performed the
ritual just to free himself of the importunities of Ashvatthama. As soon as he
was anointed, Ashvatthama left the king and went away.
After leaving Duryodhana, Ashvatthama and his companions went far into the forest
to avoid being found by the Pandava soldiers. Kripa and Kritavarma slept,
but Ashvatthama could not sleep. Drona's death had deprived him not only
of a father, but of a kingdom. He grieved for Duryodhana, but much more for
his own bereavement and loss. Just then he saw a big bat pounce on and
kill some sleeping crows. This scene gave him the idea of attacking the
Pandavas in their sleep. He woke up Kripa and Kritavarma and told them of
his inspiration. Kripa tried his best to dissuade him from this base plan. In
this exchange, one sentence of Ashvatthama is especially significant. He
told his uncle, 'You tell me to act like a Brahman, but I have never learned
the Brahman code. From childhood onwards, all I have learned is weaponry.
I was born in a high Brahman family, but unlucky that I am, I have lived as a
Kshatriya. Now let me follow that dharma.' Paying no attention to Kripa's
objections, he yoked his horse to the chariot and set off at full gallop for the

​ 35 Pandavas'
Paradharmo Bhayavahah 1
camp. Wondering what would happen, Kripa and Kritavarma followed him.
While Ashvatthama entered the camp, they stood outside. Ashvatthama first
went to the sleeping Dhrishtadyumna, woke him and killed him. Then he killed
the five sleeping sons of Draupadi. Not knowing who or how many were
attacking, everyone in the camp ran helter-skelter. In the meantime, Kripa and
Kritavarma set fire to the camp, redoubling the confusion. After he had killed
as many as he could, Ashvatthama came out. He hurried with the news to
Duryodhana, who rejoiced at it before he died. Then, knowing that the
Pandavas and Krishna would be after him for revenge, he ran away again and
went to the hut of Vyasa on the banks of the Ganga. The Pandavas followed
him. Ashvatthama hurled a terrible magical weapon at Arjuna. Arjuna
countered with an equally powerful weapon. The weapons met and as their
dual powers were released, the world was about to be destroyed. Vyasa stood
at the point of impact and appealed to both of them to recall their weapons.
Arjuna, being a true Kshatriya, could call his weapon back but Ashvatthama
was unable to do so. The story says that the weapon did not kill the Pandavas,
but it did destroy the child in Uttara's womb. The Pandavas allowed
Ashvatthama to live. Krishna said he would revive Uttara's dead child, and
then he cursed Ashvatthama, 'You will live for thousands of years. You will
wander ceaselessly through forests and deserts. No living man will shelter
you.' All the other generals had died as warriors. Ashvatthama alone was
doomed to a life more terrible than death.

136 ​Yuganta

In our philosophy, ​siriti ​(memory, consciousness) and ​moha (​confusion) have

a great importance and a special meaning. The Gita's description of the chain
of causality ending in man's destruction is well-known: 'Anger leads to loss of
consciousness, loss of consciousness brings about confusion in memory,
which leads, in its turn, to the loss of thinking power. And the loss of thinking
power destroys a person.' From childhood to death, the one thread that
creates the oneness in a man's ever-changing life is smriti. Smriti is the
power which enables a man to have the ever present consciousness of who
he is and the knowledge that he is the same person from moment to moment.
It is because of smriti that a man understands what his duties are, and where
he is going. In the Mahabharata, the question 'Who am I?' is bound up with
the question, 'What is my place?' Thus the answer to the question of a man's
duty too is dependent on the place he holds. Extraordinary people like
Krishna and Buddha remember all their former births, and thus reach a
oneness not possible for ordinary beings. The ordinary man must try to keep
the thread of smriti unbroken at least for this one life. The stress on remaining
conscious up to the moment of death is based on this conviction. This is the
reason the Gita says one should die in full consciousness, in broad daylight,
when the sun is in the north and the moon is waxing. The great effort was not
to give in to darkness, not to lose smriti on any account. Bhishma's smriti
remained unimpaired all his life. Arjuna was confused as to his duty, but
Krishna reminded him of what he was. Waking to the

​ 37
Paradharmo Bhayavahah 1

cruel necessity of his duty, Arjuna said, 'Now my confusion is gone, I have
regained my smriti.' Drona never had that burning consciousness of his own
dharma. As for Ashvatthama, he had completely forgotten himself. He had
given up his own dharma and could never understand the dharma of others.
He was born a Brahman. He could have become a king because his father
had acquired a kingdom. He had learned the use of terrible weapons, but he
did not use them to bring victory to Duryodhana; after everything had been
lost, he used them only for his own revenge and safety. He had rejected his
Brahmanhood, and could never manage to become a Kshatriya. He is the
unforgettable example of the loss of smriti.
9. Karna

No one achieves complete success in life; but even partial fulfilment is attained
by but a few. Unfulfilment, the Mahabharata tells us again and again, is the
normal condition of man. Dharma after defeating all his enemies said, “This
victory does not feel like victory at all.” To some extent each major figure in the
Mahabharata is defeated by life, but none so completely as Karna. Vidura’s life
resembled Karna’s in many respects, but the few
aspects in which it did not, made for all the difference in the two characters.
Dhritarashtra, Pandu and Vidura had a common father. But the mothers of the
first two were princesses and so they each in spite of some physical deformity,
could enjoy the throne. Vidura was sound in limb and mind and yet because he
was the son of a suta woman, he became a suta too and was deprived of a
kingdom. Evidence of his immense frustration and his constant efforts to master
it by deep contemplation is found everywhere in the Mahabharata. His birth
determined his position in society and so he could devote his energies to
transcending his humble earthly personality on another plane. Karna’s defeat
lay in just this one fact that he did not know who he was by birth; and when the
answer was given to him it was too late.
All through life one is constantly asking, and answering the question:’ who am
I?’ This ‘ I ‘remains dynamic and changeful; and so at no given moment is a
final answer possible. Small children, to start with, often refer to themselves in
the third person. The
awareness of’ me’ is linked with the awareness of ‘mine’. This is my mother, my
father, my toys, my house, and ultimately the ‘I’ emerges as the centre of all
these possessions. This awareness becomes sharpened through families and
social relationships. As the boundaries of the ‘I’broaden, the ‘I’ comes in contact
with the ‘not I’, the ‘you’ or the ‘he’, and also their expectations regarding the I.
And these are the expectations which shape the various manifestations of the I.
One plays different roles as a son, a husband, a father, a citizen, a member of a
caste and of a society. Social behaviour and ritual define and limit the identity of
the ‘I’ in his various roles. Vidura was a suta irom his very birth and had received
all the important life-rituals of a suta. His social position was fixed once and for
all. Dhritarashtra called him ‘brother’ seated him on his knee and embraced him
(3.720; also 3.74 and 3.84) but nobody offered him a princess in marriage, nor
was he honoured as a Kshatriya. In spite of his social inferiority he was never in
any doubt as to who he was. Karna was caught in the vicious grip of this
question. He had no definite position in society. He struggled all
his life to gain what he thought was his rightful status and his bitterness lay in not
having got it.
He had grown up in the house of a suta, Adhiratha. Though Adhiratha and his
wife Radha brought him up as their own son, they had not hidden it from him that
he was not born to them. He had heard how he had been found in a box with
gold and the ear-rings and the armour of a Kshatriya. Even the name Vasushena
given to him by Adhiratha, was one found only among Kshatriyas. He was ever
hopeful that being a Kshatriya by birth his real parents would some day
acknowledge him. Though he dearly loved his foster parents he was not prepared
to spend his life among them as a suta.
As a suta he was not allowed to train in weaponry. We are told that to be
accepted as a pupil he had to go disguised as a Brahmin. When it was
accidentally revealed that he was not a Brahmin his teacher cursed him, saying
that he would forget everything that he had learned. The story is obviously a later
interpolation, since his alleged teacher Parashurama had lived centuries before.
The story probably does indicate, however, that education in all the arts of war
was open only to Brahmins and Kshatriyas, and that despite this, Karna had
managed to attain some excellence in these arts. He took the chance to exhibit
his extraordinary skill in warlike arts, but the attempt ended in a disaster. The
Pandavas and the Kauravas had finished their studies with Drona. He had
arranged for them to exhibit their skills in front of the court. There was a big arena
in the middle and pavillions built around it for people to sit. Dhritrashtra,
Gandhari, Kunti, Vidura, Bhishma and all other elders of the family had come to
witness and admire the children’s skill. Arjuna excelled among all and astonished
everyone with his extraordinary archery. Just then there was some disturbance at
the entrance and a strongly built handsome youth entered and told the
assembled people, “I can do all that Arjuna has done,” and proceeded to
demonstrate this. After showing that he was Arjuna’s equal in archery, he
challenged Arjuna to a duel. This youth was Karna, who till then was unknown to
the court. Like all key-incidents in the Mahabharata, this too is small, fast moving
and dramatic. It ends before one is well aware of what is happening. Not a single
person there had any inkling of how this would devlop and yet what did happen
was of great importance from the point of view of the story. It adds an edge to the
conflict and gives new meaning to what follows.
Drona had planned to exhibit the skills of his pupils. No outsiders were invited.
And yet Karna entered uninvited. Adhiratha had no idea of this plan. Perhaps
Karna came with the hope that after seeing his prowess, his Kshatriya parents
might acknowledge him. This object he could have gained by showing that he
was as good as the best of them and he need not have challenged Arjuna to a
duel. This again brings up the question of the relative ages of the princes. If at
that time Dharma was about 16, Arjuna must have been only about 14. Even if
Dharma were to have been 18, that still makes Arjuna only 16. Karna was Kunti’s
son born before her marriage, that is, at least two years older than Dharma,
perhaps more; so he was 4 years older than Arjuna. At the ages of 16 and 20 the
physical differences are great. A 16-year old is a boy, whereas a 20-year old is
near adult. Therefore Karna should not have challenged a mere boy to a duel.
But Karna in the heat of anger would invariably do the things he ought not to.
This characteristic weakness of his can be seen again and again in the story. To
be rash was a Kshatriya’s char acteristic, but the unwritten rule that one must
never be small-minded, was broken often by Karna. This failure was due to the
peculiar turn his life had taken. He had acquired
the skills of the Kshatriyas but he could not master their value-frame. He was
obsessed by bitterness at the thought that he was an illegitimate son of a
Kshatriya. Under certain conditions according to the rules of those times in spite
of his illegitimacy he could have attained Kshatriya-hood, but in his case this door
was closed to him. He was not fighting on behalf of the suta class nor was he
fighting for the idea that Kshatriya-hood should be awarded to one who is a
valiant warrior. This was not a class-war; he was struggling on behalf of his own
individual self. In his attempt in the arena to gain recognition he failed. The secret
of his birth remained. This only added to his anger. When he issued the
challenge to Arjuna the princes in the arena split into two parties. Bhishma with
Dharma and his brothers stood behind Arjuna and Duryodhana with his brothers
stood behind Karna. Kripa, who was the hereditary teacher at the court of
Hastinapura, knew the code of duelling. He said according to custom, “This is
Arjuna, son of Pandu who accepts the challenge. Unknown challenger warrior,
tell us your name and family.” Karna stood mute with tears in his eyes.
Duryodhana spoke up and asked, “A warrior doesn’t need to pronounce his
ancestry. If Arjuna is unwilling to fight anyone who is not a king, I shall give the
kingdom of Anga to Karna.” And forthwith crowned him. All this seems to be a
later interpolation for the following reasons: Duryodhana at the time was a prince.
His father was on the throne while Bhishma administered the kingdom. That the
possibility of Dharma getting the kingdom had arisen is clear in the next chapter.
In these circumstances Duryodhana could never have given any kingdom to
Karna. And performing the elaborate ritual of crowning Karna on the spot was
quite impossible. Barring thia incident the things that happened later were
consistent and inevitable.} Kripa asked Karna to announce his name and family
and we have seen that he stood mute with tears in his eyes. Just then there was
again commotion at the door. Adhiratha who had heard where Karna had gone
entered in a great hurry, hardly able to walk in his agitation. On seeing him,
Karna went to him and bowing with respect called him ‘Father’ and Adhiratha
embraced him as his son. Thus was Kripa answered. Not only was Karna’s hope
of gaining Kshatriya-hood shattered, but his suta origin was publicly proclaimed.
Bhima took the opportunity to rub salt in the wound: “You should hold a whip to
suit your trade and not a sword.” Duryodhana embraced Karna and offered him
friendship which was accepted gratefully. By this time the sun went down. And
thus ended both the quarrels and the exhibition of prowess at arms.
Instead of getting an answer to the nagging question of ‘Who am I?’ Karna was
led into greater confusion. If not then, at some later date he did become the king
of Anga, and yet he seems always to have been at the court of the Kauravas. His
friendship with Duryodhana did not bring him a higher social rank nor did it
enable him to reach equality with the Kshatriyas. In spite of the declaration of
friendship, Duryodhana never offered a girl from the Kaurava family as a bride to
Karna. As Karna himself has said in the Udogaparva, not only he but his children
too had married into suta families. The very circumstances which led to this
friendship were such that a relationship of equality could never be established.
Karna always remained a trusted and close retainer. He was tied to Duryodhana
more out of gratitude than affection. The more firmly his low birth became
established in public the more certain he was inwardly of his Kshatriya origins.
This led only to a terrible mental agony. He did not know that he was in any way
related to the Pandavas. The hatred he acquired of them could have the
following reasons: Bhima as we saw had wounded and insulted him wantonly; he
was jealous of Arjuna’s reputation as
the greatest archer of his times; and, to add to this he had accepted the
friendship of Duryodhana who was a sworn enemy of the Pandavas.
Unfortunately he proved inferior in this first encounter, and the envy and the
hatred grew in his heart. Even later on whenever Karna and Arjuna met, Karna
could not prove himself to be either a better warrior or a better man.
At the time of Draupadi’s marriage, Arjuna alone among all the assembled
1​
people ​could perform the difficult feat which won her hand​ . Arjuna at that time
was in the guise of a Brahmin. All the Kshatriyas were incensed that a Kshatriya
princess should be won by a Brahmin and so they fell on him. A skirmish took
place with Bhima and Arjuna on one side and all the others including Karna on
the other. The two succeeded in fighting off the others. We are told that Karna
withdrew from battle after a while, saying that he would not fight Brahmins. As he
was having the worse of the encounter this sounds merely like an excuse to save
face.
1A later addition has it that Karna had risen to attempt the feat but was rejected by
Draupadi on the grounds that he was low-born. This passage has been deleted from
the new Critical Edition.
The incident of the dice-play tested everybody: The sightless Dhritarashtra avid
for news asking every minute, “What’s happening, what’s going on?”
Duhshasana, dancing with delight, crying ‘gow-gow’ at the moment of triumph;
Vidura striving to save Draupadi’s honour; all were tested. And so was Karna
who, though an outsider, took part in the family quarrel and proved himself the
meanest of them all. Dharma, after having lost everything else at dice, had
staked the liberty of himself, his brothers and his wife. He lost that too. Draupadi
was dragged to the court and a dispute arose as to whether she really was a
slave or not. A younger brother of Duryodhana, Vikarna, argued on her behalf,
saying that it was not seemly to put to shame a gentlewoman in this manner and
that she could not be made a slave. Karna stood up in anger and refuted Vikarna.
He said, “The wife of five husbands is no better than a strumpet. There’s nothing
wrong in dragging her to the men’s assembly. She and her husbands are all
nothing but slaves now. They do not own even the clothes they are standing in.
Strip them of their finery.” On hearing this the Pandavas immediately took off
their garments. And Duhshasana started to disrobe Draupadi at Karna’s
instigation. Karna alone induced the Kauravas to degrade Draupadi, for until he
spoke none had thought of it.
The quarrel over the division of the kingdom was between men. It could be
solved as they pleased by war or by dice. There was no occasion to thus
dishonour the wife of the defeated men. Here it was not a question of Karna’s
high or low birth. Nor was it a point of legal niceties. It was a simple question of
whether one should dishonour a well-born woman under any circumstances. He
had no cause to take part in the quarrel between the cousins. He not only
participated in it, but became so involved that he showed that under stress he
could forget all humane considerations.
At the time of the cattle-inspection (ghoshayatra) Karna was once again
found wanting; this time as a warrior. In those days kings had large herds of
cattle which were kept in pastures near the borders of the kingdom. These
pastures were generally surrounded by forests which was a no-man’s land
between two kingdoms. Once in a while the king would visit the herds and see
that the new calves were branded with his symbol. Soon after the dice game,
Duryodhana along with Duhshasana and Karna
planned to visit his herds. The Pandavas in their exile were living in the forest
near the pastures. Duryodhana went with great pomp accompanied by the
women of the family, slaves and retainers in a number of chariots, exhibiting the
newly acquired richess of the Kaurava court. The inspection of the herds was
only a pretence. The real object of the visit was to exhibit the ill-gotten gains of
the Kauravas before the Pandavas, living in the
forest in poverty. At this time a quarrel broke out between Duryodhana and a
people called Gandharvas who also had come there picnicking. The
Gandharvas gave a sound drubbing to the Kauravas and took Duryodhana
prisoner.
In this skirmish Karna had to run away and hide in a nearby village. Ultimately
the Pandavas came to the rescue of Duryodhana, freed him and sent him back to
Hastinapura. But before that the news of his imprisonment had reached
Hastinapura and Bhishma had started with an army to rescue the king. On the
way the news of the rescue also reached him. Just then Karna met him and
asked after the king. Bhishma answered angrily, “Those loyal to the king don’t
live to ask whether the king be alive. How could’ you think of your own hide with
the king in danger? Your much vaunted love of the king is nothing but pretence.”
Until then Karna had thought of himself as Duryodhana’s friend. But this incident
and Bhishma’s cruel comment set him in his place and did not allow him even the
illusion of friendship. Once again he was put to test and failed.
The next incident was of the Kauravas robbing the cattle of Virata. At that time
Arjuna was alone against all the Kaurava warriors. Even then Karna could not
withstand Arjuna. It is said that Arjuna not only defeated all but robbed them of
their clothes which he gave to Virata’s daughter for her doll. Even if this is an
exaggeration, there is no doubt that he did succeed in chasing them away and
rescuing the cattle that they were stealing. In this battle Arjuna had to make do
with a cowardly charioteer and still proved himself superior as a warrior from a
chariot against all the Kauravas.
Karna was said to be the son of the Sun-god who, however, plays no decisive
role in the story. Karna did not Ik-ftow who his father was for a long time; and yet
he worshipped the Sun, one does not know why. The armour and tfefe tear-rings
Which he is supposed to have received at birth from the Sun and which had
some magic power, he gave to Indra. The rings he tore from his ears. The
armour he is supposed to have peeled from his body like skin and hurt and
bloodied himself. One cannot understand this. In each battle which is described
Karna wore armour. This stripping away or ‘peeling’ of‘natural armour’ did not
prevent him from doing so. Nor did the ‘natural armour’ give him any extra
advantage as is seen in all the above incidents where he was defeated. Why had
Karna this urge to show such extreme generosity to Indra? Was this due to the
insecurity he felt about his own position? Did he want to show himself as better
than the Kshatriyas? As we have already seen he tended to go to extremes both
in his evil deeds as well as in his good ones.
There were, however, a few golden moments in his otherwise sad life. These
were not moments either of great joy, achievement or honour. Outwardly he
remained what he was. Those were the moments when he could have felt
fulfilled because then he came to know who he was. This knowledge posed a
dilemma from which he extricated himself nobly. All through his life he is a
confused person, but on these two occasions his thoughts and actions were
clear and decisive. He was never in doubt as to what to do. All turbidity had
vanished and his mind was crystal clear. The first of these incidents was
when Krishna asked him to join the Pandavas, and the second was when Kunti
told him that she was his mother. After telling him that he was Kunti’s eldest son
and as such the eldest brother of the Pandavas, Krishna promised Karna all that
Karna had ever desired in his life and more. By accepting Krishna’s offer, he
would have become at once a Kshatriya of the highest rank, and a king. The
Pandavas, his hated rivals, would have waited on him as their eldest. All this he
gave up, and easily, without saying one harsh word to Krishna. He said, “What
you ask is impossible. My whole life has been spent among the sutas. Myself and
my sons have married among them. I cannot now break away from them. Any
kingdom that I win I would present to Duryodhana. Do not try to persuade me.”
“So be it,” said Krishna and turned away. This shows Karna to be a noble person,
a true friend, a man tied to his foster family by love and duty, an incorruptible
vassal. The second incident was his conversation with Kunti. He spoke with
extreme bitterness but never showed smallness of mind. She met him on the
banks of the Ganges when he was worshipping the Sun-god. After finishing the
ritual he turned to her and asked her what she wanted. She told him the history
of his birth, and said, “So, you are the brother of the Pandavas. Come over to
their side. Let the world see the great powers of the brothers Karna and Arjuna.
You are not a suta. Become famous as a warrior.” Karna said, “If you expect my
troubles to be over simply because you have revealed to me the secret of my
birth, you are mistaken. Your story establishes me as a Kshatriya, but in name
only, because I have never received the rituals due to a Kshatriya. The first ritual
I should have received at birth, but then you abandoned me ruthlessly. You come
to me now only through selfish motives. Anyone would fear Arjuna helped by
Krishna. Now if I desert the Kauravas, it would be imputed to my fear of Arjuna.
Duryodhana has plunged into this battle on the strength of my support. I can
never do what you ask. I will not kill any other sons of yours but Arjuna. If Arjuna
kills me you have your five sons and if I kill him, you will still have five counting
me.” Kunti managed to say, “Keep your word then,” and went away.
There is no meanness in this answer, yet his offer to kill none but Arjuna would
not stand up to examination. On its face it looks like generosity. It seems like one
of the exaggerated gestures he was so fond of making. But it was not so. He had
neither love nor pity for Kunti. He was equally indifferent to his so-called brother.
When he said that he would not kill the others, it was not generosity or love
which prompted him, but extreme contempt. The meaning of his promise was
that he would engage with the one he thought his equal. He was not concerned
with the others. This contempt and over confidence was not misplaced in a
Kshatriya. But it was certainly not appropriate in this context. This was a real
war, not a tournament. It was his duty to help Duryodhana win the war and not
engage in an empty boast. He was hurting Duryodhana’s cause in promising not
to kill the others, especially Dharma. It has to be said that he ignored
Duryodhana’s need and was carried away by a false notion of his own greatness.
This incident revealed to him who he really was. However, since he could not
play the role befitting his new identity he rejected it. But at least in private he
should have felt free of the burden of uncertainty which he had carried all his life.
By spurning for the sake of his friend what he had coveted always, he reached
moral grandeur. This one moment should have brought fulfilment to him, but in
the remaining few weeks of life he fell into the old rut. His own actions brought
about his downfall and the others too did not spare him.
Just before the battle opened Bhishma enumerated the names of warriors who
were most highly accomplished fighters from chariots (maharathi) and those who
had only half the qualities. He put Karna in the second category because of his
impulsiveness. This evaluation had nothing to do with Karna’s social status; it
referred directly to his individual personal shortcoming. Though Karna was
annoyed by it the truth of Bhishma’s judgment of him was borne out by the
events in the Maha-bharata. A warrior (rathi) used to fight standing in a chariot
(rath). He also knew how to drive a chariot. Krishna, Arjuna and Bhishma knew
both, fighting and driving. Karna grew up among hereditary charioteers (suta) but
never seems to have driven a chariot. He only fought from a chariot. It was
apparently necessary to know the finer points of chariot driving in order to be
able to shoot arrows effectively from a moving chariot. The result of this quarrel
between Bhishma and Karna was that Karna refused to fight as long as Bhishma
was in command and thus was out of the battle for full nine days. There again we
1
see ​how he always put his own pride before the good of Duryodhana, his friend.​
Drona too fully agreed with Bhishma’s judgment of Karna as a chariot warrior.
“Karna is headstrong, shows misplaced kindness, runs away from battle and
makes mistakes in judgment. And so I would not give him full marks as a
warrior.” Drona was the best instructor in warfare in his day. This criticism should
have given Karna to think. If only he had thought, he would have realised that
though possessed of ability, he could not obtain good training. He would have
been forced to admit his limitations. But he was not given to self-examination.
1 The other version of this incident says that it was Bhishma who refused to fight if
Karna was allowed to take part in the battle. It seems very peculiar that Duryodhana
should have agreed to such a stipulation.
After Bhishma’s fall, Karna came out on the battlefield. The army demanded
that he be made the general. He, too, came there in a great chariot. But he
himself advised Duryodhana to offer the generalship to Drona, who would be
acceptable to all. Drona fought for three days and destroyed a great number of
enemy warriors. Karna did not get a chance to meet Arjuna face to face. On the
other hand, one of his best weapons had to be used against some other warrior.
It was during these three days that Arjuna’s sixteen year old son was surrounded
and killed by six or seven warriors all together, Karna amongst them. When the,
boy’s chariot broke he had jumped down and fought these renowned warriors
standing on the ground alone. After the death of Drona, Karna became the
general on the 16th day of the battle. By then, though both sides had lost heavily,
the Pandavas had a slight advantage. Ashvatthama, the son of Drona, advised
Duryodhana to make truce, but Duryodhana was depending on Karna. He felt
that Karna could do what none else did. Nothing remarkable took place on the
first day. The next day Karna asked that Shalya, King of Madra, become his
chariot driver. Shalya said that he was a great King and a Kshatriya, that he
would rather leave the battle and return to his kingdom than drive the chariot of a
low-born person. With great difficulty Duryodhana persuaded him to do the
service. Then Karna went to the battle-field with Shalya driving the chariot.
Before reaching the field a long conversation took place between these two. This
part seems to be an interpolation because there are in it sentiments completely
foreign to the Mahabharata. Shalya said, “Don’t boast now, for I know that you
shall lose heart on seeing Arjuna.” Though taunts of this sort were usually offered
1​
to warriors in order to ​rouse their anger​ , Karna misunderstood them, went off at
a tangent and started abusing
Shalya and his country. He said that the women of Madra, Shalya’s country,
were immoral, drank wine and ate beef. He threatened to kill Shalya and
accused him of moral turpitude. All this conversation, though finding a place in
the present critical edition, must be treated as a later addition. Shalya was the
crowned king of the Madras. The princesses of Madra (each called Madri) had
been married into the house of Hastinapura for generations. Besides Shalya
there was another prince of Madra, a cousin of Duryodhana, also fighting for the
Kauravas. No matter how impetuous Karna was, he could never have insulted in
such terms a close and exalted relative of Duryodhana. All the Kshatriya men
and women in the Mahabharata times drank freely; it is also probable that
beef-eating was common. The prohibition against drinking and beef-eating
belongs to a much later age and is out of place here.
1 Similar taunting was done by Krishna to Arjuna whose chariot he drove. This was
done not in order to discourage a warrior but to rouse him to greater anger and to make
him perform better in battle. The passages which suggest otherwise are, therefore,
thought by the author to be later additions.
After Karna’s outburst, Shalya stopped the conversation. Karna ordered white
horses to be yoked to his chariot perhaps to imitate Arjuna. This was foolish
because it is well known that one had one’s own trusted charioteer, well-trained
and familiar horses and a chariot to which one was accustomed. In a battle as
critical as the one he was about to face, he should have held by this principle.
He already had a strange charioteer in Shalya, and now he also ordered new
horses. One is forced to say that the very first step he took in an important battle
was a false one. He had, as was customary, another chariot accompanying him,
filled with arrows arid other weapons. He went through the Kauravas’ ranks
shouting loudly: “Show Arjuna to me. Where is he? I cannot see him. Hasn’t
anybody seen him?” And yet he did not immediately face Arjuna even though
Arjuna, Bhima and their brother-in-law Dhrishtadyumna were destroying the
Kaurava warriors in great number. After some time Shalya pointed out Arjuna’s
chariot. “Now is the time to repay all the kindness that Duryodhana has shown
you,” he said, and drove the chariot towards Arjuna. As Karna approached he
saw his son Vrishasena attacking Arjuna and Arjuna killed him before Karna
could do anything. Karna had fallen silent by now and it was Arjuna who was
shouting in the fury of battle. Karna’s eyes filled with tears to see his son killed
but he dashed them away and faced Arjuna. A battle ensued. Gradually Arjuna
gained, Karna was streaming with blood, his armour had broken. As a desperate
measure Karna brought out an arrow with a “cobra sitting on it.” (This may mean
that the arrow was poisoned with snake venom and would kill the victim even it if
succeeded in breaking the skin anywhere).
He aimed. Shalya said that the aim was wrong if he meant to pierce Arjuna’s
throat. But Karna would not listen and tightened the string. He missed by about
half a foot and struck Arjuna’s coronet instead. There is another conflicting
version which says that when Krishna saw the arrow coming he made the
horses bend their knees and brought Arjuna’s chariot twentyfour inches lower.
The editor thinks that this version is of a later origin when every incident was
twisted in order to bring out Krishna’s greatness. The author agrees with this
because if the chariot had been lowered by as much as twentyfour inches the
arrow would have sailed over the chariot and would not have hit Arjuna’s
coronet. It is more plausible that Karna missed his mark by a mere six inches. He
must have already lost nerve by witnessing the death of his son. On top of it he
missed his aim
which added to his confusion and then the last straw was that his chariot skidded
and the wheel got stuck into the earth. This was the seventeenth day of the
battle. The corpses of men, horses and elephants lay rotting there entangled in
the broken remains of chariots. The soft, water-logged earth of northern India
had become wet and slippery. It was but natural that his chariot should have
skidded and stuck. Every day of the battle chariots broke or the horses were
killed and the warriors transferred to other chariots. And yet Karna jumped down
and tried to free the heavy wheel from the mud. It was not possible for one man
to do it, and that too in the thick of the battle. One wonders why Karna did not
change chariots. As the day was drawing to a close the fighting was about to
slop for the night. Perhaps Karna had expected to gain a short respite by this
ruse. There is no doubt that by this time he was badly rattled. He begged of
Arjuna: “Do not fight me now while I am releasing the wheel. You know the code
of battle. A man from a chariot must not fight a man on foot. Fight according to
the dharma of battle”.
Krishna had no intention of letting him off. His use of the word “dharma” gave
Krishna the weapon for his destruction. It was not Karna now who asked
himself ‘who am I?’ Krishna’s questions posed the same problem. “Did you
remember this dharma
when you incited Duhshasana to strip Draupadi? Did you remember your dharma
when the six of you in your chariots killed the boy Abhimanyu standing alone on
the ground?” Krishna was the one who induced the unwilling Arjuna to fight by
reminding him of his duty. That very Krishna now at the time of Karna’s death
stripped him completely of self-esteem. What Krishna meant to say was: why
should Karna expect any mercy or ​justice when he had shown none either to
1​
Draupadi or to Abhimanyu.​ These questions showed that Karna had no right to
demand justice. On the other hand, they reminded Arjuna of two great wrongs he
had suffered at Karna’s hands. He thought: this is the man who shamed my wife.
This is the man who ruthlessly killed my boy. He started up with hatred and
putting an arrow to the string bellowed, “May this arrow take Karna’s life and
prove me to be a true Kshatriya.” Arjuna was famous for not missing him mark.
Neither did he this time.
1 In later editions there are additional questions which show that those who
made the additions did not understand the point of the situation at all.
Karna enters the Mahabharata first at the time of the tournaments. In a way
what happened then was re-enacted in this his last appearance. Then he was
asked by Kripa, “Who are you?” And he had to hang his head in shame without
an answer. The last scene was a real battle. The duel he had demanded at that
time, he now had the chance to fight. This was not make-belief. In this battle no
quarter was given by any party. There were no alternatives to killing or being
killed. Karna was facing his lifelong enemy whom he had envied and hated. He
should never have asked for any consideration from him. Once again Karna did
what he ought never to have done. He begged for fair play. And this time it was
Krishna who asked him, “What right have you to expect fair play?” And Karna
died without finding an answer to what he was and what his rights were.
Krishna comes into the story of the Mahabharata at the very end of the
Adiparva, the first part, at the time | of the marriage of Draupadi. Before this he
is in no way involved with either the Kauravas or the Pandavas. Pandu had
married Kunti, Vasudeva’s sister (Krishna’s aunt). Beyond this one mention
even the house of the Yadavas is not referred to. While the Pandavas were
growing up, they survived many attempts on their lives
mainly due to the ceaseless vigilance of Kunti and Vidura. But during all these
hard times Kunti never seems to have sought the help of her parental house, the
Yadavas. Gandhari’s brother, on the one hand, had established himself firmly at
the Kaurava court from the day of his sister’s marriage to Dhritarashtra. On the
other hand Kunti’s and Madri’s people are not even heard of. Perhaps they did
attend the weddings but returned immediately as is customary. Once her
husband had died and she herself was placed in the lowly position of a
dependant at the Kaurava court, Kunti could not expect anyone from her father’s
home to come and willingly share her own indignity. Certainly, she and her
fatherless children would have found a home with the Yadavas; but she feared
that their absence from Hastina-pura would have endangered their claim to the
throne. Even today a wise widow would thus live humbly in her brother-in-law’s
house so as not to jeopardise her son’s right to the ancestral property. Also the
Yadavas themselves were busy during this very period. Krishna had killed Kamsa
and as a result made an enemy of the powerful monarch Jarasandha, Kamsa’s
father-in-law. Jarasandha succeeded in driving the Yadavas out of their home on
the banks of the Jamuna. The Yadavas fled south to Gujarat and established the
new city of Dvaraka on the seashore and regained their former status. These
might have been the various reasons why the Yadavas were not heard of in the
story until the time of the Pandava’s marriage. Krishna and Balarama had come
there not to win Draupadi but to be present at an important Kshatriya gathering.
As soon as Krishna saw Arjuna getting up from among the Brahmins and perform
the difficult feat of archery that won the princess, he recognised all the five
brothers who, his spies had told him, had not died in the fire at Varanavata.
When he saw Dharma leave the assembly, he followed him home, greeted Kunti
and went back immediately to Dvaraka whence he returned with many Yadavas,
bearing rich presents for the marriage ceremony. After this first meeting most of
the major successes of the Pandavas were achieved with the help of Krishna.
The Pandavas had gained the alliance of the house of Drupada by their
marriage. The Yadavas too openly acknowledged them as kinsfolk and friends.
With two such powerful allies the Pandavas could not be denied their right to the
kingdom of Hastinapura. Dhritarashtra realising this, made over to them the town
of Khandavaprastha and the surrounding forest area. The Pandavas with
Krishna’s help burnt the forest, brought new land under the plough, and enlarged
the small town to become their capital, the city of Indraprastha. After settling
them there Krishna went back to Dvaraka. Many people and learned Brahmins
came to Dharma’s new capital and gave him the idea of performing the
“Rajasuya” (sacrifice done by kings). This sacrifice, if performed successfully,
establishes the superiority of the king over all his contemporaries. In order to
accomplish it a king has to have a core of strong kin-group, personal popularity
and some other friendly kings who are willing to agree to his suzerainty. There
still remain a few who have to be conquered in battle. The preparations for the
sacrifice began by “conquering expeditions” in all directions, East, West, North
and South. As usual Krishna was called for consultations. He showed his
knowledge and political acumen by telling Dharma the names of kings on whom
he could rely as allies and others whom he would have to defeat. He also
recalled the rout of the Yadavas at the hands of Jarasandha, king of Magadha,
and convinced Dharma that this powerful monarch would have to be subdued
before the Rajasuya could even be thought of. This is one of the few places
where we hear from Krishna himself some details of his early life. Apart from this
the Mahabharata says nothing at all of his childhood and
boyhood in Vrindavana and Mathura as do the later Puranas, Harivamsha and
Bhagavata. From the Mahabharata we know that many Yadava clans like
Vrishni, Andhaka, Bhoja and others had settled in Dvaraka, apparently under the
rule of Balarama, Krishna’s eldest half-brother. Many great Yadava warriors are
mentioned time and again. We know their clans and parentage, but even if every
scrap of information given there is gathered together, it is not possible to piece
their connected account and genealogy. It seems from their descriptions that
they were rich, strong, quick-tempered, ready to sport their weapons at the
smallest provocation, proud, and very skilful charioteers. They possessed
enormous riches. There were factions amongst them. One party wanted Krishna
to be their king, but he had many opponents too. So in order to avoid all internal
strife Krishna crowned Balarama, the eldest son of his father. There was never
any open quarrel between the two, yet they had many differences on important
matters. Balarama must have been aware that his position was due mainly to
Krishna and he had to agree to his wishes on some occasions. Arjuna abducted
and married Subhadra, their half-sister, with Krishna’s knowledge and help.
Balarama with other Yadava heroes was bent on pursuing Arjuna and bringing
her back, but Krishna succeeded in convincing them about the desirability of an
alliance with the Pandavas. Krishna was especially fond of the Panda vas. And
though Balaram wished them well, he was not partial to them as against the
Kauravas who, too, were the cousins of the Yadavas. In the war he remained
neutral. When Bhima hit Duryodhana on the thigh with his mace against the
rules, Balarama wanted to kill Bhima for the foul but once again Krishna stopped
him. The internal factions amongst the Yadavas became apparent at the time of
the war. Krishna and his supporters were on the Pandavas’ side, whereas many
other Yadavas went over to the Kauravas. Like all Kshatriyas of his times
Krishna had many wives of whom Satyabhama, the daughter of Satrajit was the
eldest and therefore the most important. She always accompanied Krishna on
his visits to the Pandavas. Rukmini, who in later books assumes more
importance, is mentioned but once or twice. The Krishna shown in the
Mahabharata has no resemblance at all to the flute-playing lover of milk-maids,
the divine child or the miracle-worker of later tradition. It is true that he did win
many women, as did his friend Arjuna. But this was not a sign of running after
women; it was more a symbol of valour. Marriages among the Kshatriyas were
contracted more out of political necessity than love. Of the Pandavas Arjuna was
the same age as Krishna. He always bowed to Dharma and Bhima as his elders,
and was in turn shown respect to by the twins, but he always embraced Arjuna
as an equal. These two picnicked together, drank together and were intimate
friends. At about this time the Yadavas had not been long in Dvaraka after very
troublous times. The Pandavas too for the first time in their life were enjoying
independence and safety. Krishna must have seen that for both the houses the
alliance would be very profitable. His personal friendship with Arjuna was
however a matter of pure affection and deep regard. Krishna’s relation with the
Pandavas cannot be understood without reference to his whole life. Though he
says in the Gita that he had no ambition or objective at all, yet he had in reality
many political and personal goals to attain.
Some of these goals concerned his clan, some the whole class of Kshatriyas and
some were entirely personal. His reason for killing Kamsa was in part personal,
in part it was freeing of his clan from a despot. He had to protect his people from
Jarasandha and also, after having given security to them, he had to keep them
together repressing their eternal
quarrels. Another of his objectives was to kill Jarasandha. This too involved the
dual purpose of personal revenge and the good of the Kshatriya class.
Jarasandha had imprisoned one hundred reigning kings whom he intended to
sacrifice to God. This was totally opposed to the Kshatriya code of those times
and had upset the internal order of the class. That is why his destruction was
essential for the good of the class. The Mahabharata is very explicit about the
structure of the Kshatriya society and the strict code of behaviour of the many
clans with respect to one another- who were all related and who ruled over the
whole of the Gangetic plain. From west to east the kingdoms of Sindhu, Saumira,
Madra, Gandhara, Matsya, Panchala, Hastinapura, Magadha, Chedi, Vidarbha,
were ruled by hereditary kings for generations. When the Yadavas left their
kingdom of Mathura and founded the new capital of Dvaraka they do not seem to
have wrested it from any reigning king. Many battles and conquests are
described but there is not a single mention of any king being deprived by any
other of his kingdom. After Dharma won the Mahabharata battle, Vyasa advised
him: “Send messengers to the kingdoms of all those who have died in battle.
Assure the widowed queens of personal safety and crown the young heirs and
guard them. If a widow be with child give her protection and when an heir is born,
make him the king and appoint reliable guardians (regents). (Shanti Parva 34.
31-33) All this shows that there was a code of war and conquering each other’s
kingdom was not a part of it. The advice that Krishna gave to Dharma at the time
of the Rajasuya sacrifice brings this out very vividly. When the four brothers
conquered many kings they took from them tribute and their consent to Dharma’s
suzerainty, invited them to be guests at the sacrifice and returned. Shishupala
too had meant this very thing when he told Dharma, in effect, that the Rajasuya
was made possible by the consent of all. Krishna again emphasised this while
talking about and to Jarasandha. He said, “It is against the Kshatriya code that
you should imprison kings and plan to sacrifice them. We have no quarrel with
you if you release them all”. When Jara sandha would not agree to this he had to
be killed. The performer of the Rajasuya had to prove not only his valour but also
his adhenence to the Kshatriya dharma. According to Krishna, Dharma, eldest of
the Pandavas, fulfilled both these conditions. Though the Rajasuya sacrifice gave
the performer the title of “Samrat” or “Suzeraine King”, this did not involve
upsetting the Kshatriya order in which kings of nearly equal rank and strength
ruled neighbouring kingdoms. Jarasandha’s defeating and imprisoning other kings
had shaken the very foundation of this order.
It is only from Buddhist times onward that we get descriptions of empires and
empire builders. Kings endeavoured to annex their neighbours’ kingdoms to their
own. Such empires were built by the king of Kosala, by Chandragupta Maurya,
Ashoka, Samudra Gupta, etc. Kalidasa, the great Sanskrit poet, who lived about
15 hundred years after the Mahabharata war, and belonged to the
empire-building era, referred nostalgically to the vanished Kshatriya code of
olden days. He wrote about the ancient kings of Ayodhya and said, “King Raghu
deprived the king of Kalinga of his glory but not of his land.” Thus in the
Mahabharata times, the so-called “world-conquest” was a game played by strict
rules. The objective was to gain fame, not territory. Another rule of the game was
to collect wealth in the form of tributes from the conquered kings and to spend it
all in giving gifts at the time of the sacrifice when all the invited kings were
feasted for days, honoured with suitable gifts and sent back to their kingdoms.
This very idea was mentioned by Kalidasa again when he described how Raghu
was reduced to poverty after his Rajasuya.