dharme cārthe ca kāme ca mokṣe ca bharatarṣabha
yad ihāsti tad anyatra yan nehāsti na tat kva cit
yad ihāsti tad anyatra yan nehāsti na tat kva cit
"In the realm of dharma, artha, kama, and moksha, (ethics, economic development, pleasure, and liberation), whatever is found in this epic may be found elsewhere, but what is not found here will be impossible to find anywhere else."
Mahābhārata, Adi Parva 56.33)
2.27: Bhīma Fights Duryodhana
The Pāṇḍavas returned to their camp after their unsuccessful search for Duryodhana. After entering Yudhiṣṭhira’s tent, they dispatched soldiers to search every part of the battlefield. As they sat awaiting news, guards ushered the hunters in. Falling at Yudhiṣṭhira’s feet the hunters told him everything they had seen and heard. Yudhiṣṭhira rose with a smile. He immediately gave the hunters much wealth. After dismissing them, he went with his brothers to the lake, which was called Dwaipayana. All the Pāṇḍava warriors went with them, roaring out, “We have found Duryodhana. Let us finish him once and for all.”
The three surviving Kauravas, still trying to convince Duryodhana to come out, heard the approaching Pāṇḍavas and called to Duryodhana, “Proud and victorious, the Pāṇḍavas are coming this way. We must leave.”
The three men mounted their horses and rode into the forest just before the Pāṇḍavas reached the lake. They saw that the lake’s waters were perfectly still, charmed by Duryodhana’s mystical powers. Seeing that unusual sight, they realized Duryodhana was hiding like a coward within the lake. Yudhiṣṭhira said to Kṛṣṇa, “Just see how this deceitful man has used his powers of deception to avoid defeat, but he will not escape me now. Even if Indra himself comes to his side, he will die today.”
Kṛṣṇa agreed. “With your own mystic powers, O King, destroy Duryodhana’s illusion. One conversant with illusion should be destroyed by illusion. This is truth. So many Daityas and Dānavas, all masters of mystic power, have been killed by the gods by means of illusion. Therefore, act swiftly so that this wicked man meets his just end.”
Yudhiṣṭhira called to Duryodhana. “Why, O best of men, have you charmed this lake and hidden beneath its waters? How is that you now desire to save your own life, having brought about the destruction of your family and friends and, indeed, millions of kṣatriyas? Arise and fight! Where is your honor? You have been described as a hero in all assemblies, but I think those descriptions have been false. You are nothing but a coward. Just see how you now hide from us to protect your life. O wicked fool, come out and face the consequences of all your evil acts. Do not cower here like a eunuch. Heroes never fly from battle. Rather, they prefer death to dishonor. Do not destroy your honor. Stand for battle. Either govern this earth after gaining victory or sleep on the naked earth, killed by us.”
Standing at the edge of the lake with his brothers and Kṛṣṇa, with all the other Pāṇḍava warriors standing behind him, Yudhiṣṭhira waited for Duryodhana’s reply. He looked around at his surroundings. The large lake gave respite from the heat and dust of the battlefield. Situated in a cool glade, it was shaded by tall trees with many colored blossoms hanging down to its surface. Varieties of water fowl sat in the trees, mystified by the lake’s sudden transformation. A gentle breeze fanned the leaves, filling the air with a soothing rustle that was punctuated by the melodic cries of birds. The Pāṇḍavas felt refreshed simply by seeing the picturesque region, which was the resort of numerous yogīs and ascetics.
After a wait of some moments, Duryodhana called out, “O King, it is no wonder that fear seizes all living beings, but I have not entered this lake out of fear. Bereft of my army and standing alone in the fight, I am tired. Therefore, I sought refuge in this lake to rest. O son of Kuntī, you should also rest. In due course, I will surely fight with you all.”
Yudhiṣṭhira laughed. “O Duryodhana, we have rested sufficiently. The time has arrived for our final battle. Come out and conclude the war either by slaying us or by dying a hero’s death.”
Duryodhana, still saddened by the deaths of Karṇa, Śakuni and all his brothers, spoke with anguish in his voice. “O scion of Kuru’s race, I no longer desire to rule this world, deprived as I am of my kinsmen and friends. All those for whose sake I desired sovereignty now lie dead. I give you this empty earth. Although I wish to defeat you and humble your pride, even my desire for battle is gone when I think of Droṇa and Karṇa and our grandsire, Bhīṣma. I think I will enter the forest, clad in deerskin and bent on a life of asceticism. Go, O King, and rule the earth destitute of monarchs, warriors and wealth. I will remain here.”
Duryodhana’s words held a note of sarcasm that was not lost on Yudhiṣṭhira. Becoming impatient, Yudhiṣṭhira replied, “Do not rave so, O Duryodhana. I feel no pity for you. It was by your greed that everyone has died. I will not accept this earth as a gift, for that is not my duty as a kṣatriya. Nor are you in a position to make such a gift. You have already lost everything.”
Yudhiṣṭhira smiled at his brothers as he continued. “Why, O hero, did you not make the offer when Kṛṣṇa requested you to? How is it that you, who once denied me even as much land as could be pierced by a needle, now wish to give me the earth? It is not yours to give. Nor was it ever yours. Come out and win the world or go to the celestial regions after we kill you. For all your sins against us and against the chaste Draupadī, you deserve to die at our hands. I shall not spare you.”
The other Pāṇḍavas then shouted at Duryodhana to come out of the lake. Angry, they rebuked him again and again. All the other warriors roared out their battle cries and waved their weapons.
Hearing the tumult and reflecting on Yudhiṣṭhira’s words, Duryodhana became enraged. He decided to fight but was apprehensive. “O Pṇḍavas, you have friends, chariots and animals. I am alone and without a chariot. How can I stand against all of you? I do not feel this to be fair or in keeping with kṣatriya codes. Allow me to fight with you one at a time and I will come out. I am not afraid of any of you. Like the rising sun destroying starlight, I will rise up and destroy you all. Today I will release myself from the debt I owe to all the slain warriors.”
The Pāṇḍavas cheered when they heard his valorous words. Yudhiṣṭhira replied, “By good fortune you have remembered your duty, O mighty-armed one. By good fortune have you inclined your mind toward battle. Choose any one of us and any weapon. I grant you that if you gain victory with any of us, you may become king. Otherwise, killed by us, go to heaven.”
Duryodhana smiled within the lake. He fingered the mace by his side and said, “Brave as you are, O mighty ones, if you allow me the option of choosing my weapon, then I select the mace I have in my hands. Let any one of you who feels he is a match for me stand against me in battle. I will fight alone and on foot, armed only with a mace. Without doubt I will slay you all, one at a time. Not even Indra can face me when I stand armed with my mace.”
“We will see. Come out and be a man. Death awaits you. Fight in any way you like. You will not escape.”
Unable to tolerate Yudhiṣṭhira’s goading, Duryodhana rose up from the waters. The Pāṇḍavas saw the surface ripple as he came up from the bottom. Emerging from the waters with his mace on his shoulders, he appeared like a mountain crest rising out of the ocean.
The Pāṇḍavas and their followers embraced one other and shouted joyously to see Duryodhana emerge. Now the war could be concluded. The warriors waved their weapons and blew their conches.
Duryodhana glowered at his enemies, insulted by their exclamations of happiness. He bit his lips and breathed heavily. Standing on the shore of the lake with water running from his body, he looked around and thundered, “You will have to bear the consequences of all these insults. I will kill you all and send you to Yamarāja’s abode.”
As he spoke he brought his mace down from his shoulder and struck the earth, making the ground tremble. He stared angrily at Yudhiṣṭhira and said, “Here I am, O descendant of Kuru. Abide by your word and let me fight any one of you. I have only my mace. Send forward my opponent to fight on equal terms. You should referee our contest, because you are well qualified to judge what is right and what is wrong.”
Duryodhana glanced at Bhīma, who stared back at him with unbridled hatred. Both men knew the final contest would be between them. Bhīma stood with his mace by his side, thinking of his vow to kill the Kaurava. He longed to leap forward at once, bringing his death-dealing mace down upon Duryodhana’s head with all his power, but he checked himself, awaiting Yudhiṣṭhira’s order.
Yudhiṣṭhira smiled wryly upon hearing Duryodhana’s request that he judge the fight. The intelligent Pāṇḍava knew what he meant. Bhīma’s promise had been that he would smash his thighs, and in mace fighting blows beneath the belt were forbidden. Well, the Kaurava had been given ample warning. Bhīma had made his intentions clear. He wanted to punish Duryodhana for his long-past crime against Draupadī--he would smash the thigh the prince had shamelessly exposed before her in the assembly hall. There would be no sin in meting out such a punishment.
Yudhiṣṭhira, moved to anger by his recollection of the dice game, replied sternly, “How is it, O Duryodhana, that you did not consider right or wrong when you and your followers killed Abhimanyu? Without doubt the duties of a kṣatriya are harsh and merciless. Otherwise, how could you have slaughtered that child in such an unfair way? Why do you now ask that we fight you one by one? In difficulties, men are ever prone to forget virtue, caring nothing for the consequences of their deeds. However, O hero, I will give you a fair chance. Select any of us as your opponent. If you can defeat any one of us, then you will be king. Otherwise, proceed to heaven.”
Kṛṣṇa looked questioningly at Yudhiṣṭhira. What had come over him? Duryodhana was famous throughout the world for his skill with a mace. Balarāma himself, the unrivalled master of the mace, had said that Duryodhana was his best student. Perhaps Bhīma could defeat him, but it would be a close contest. And if Duryodhana selected another opponent, then who knew what the outcome would be? It seemed that Yudhiṣṭhira had once again staked everything on a single throw.
Duryodhana laughed and stepped forward. The Pāṇḍava soldiers fetched him a suit of armor, which he quickly donned. Resplendent, he said, “O Yudhiṣṭhira, I will fight with any one of you brothers. What difference does it make? Who can match my strength? I will kill you one after another. There are none among you who can face me in a fair fight. It is not right for me to vaunt my own prowess, but I speak the truth. Within an hour you will see my words proven true. Let he among you who will fight me take up his mace.”
Duryodhana’s pride prevented him from selecting an easy opponent. He felt sure he would not be defeated, no matter who fought with him. He was not even afraid of Bhīma, and his intense hatred for that particular Pāṇḍava made him hope Bhīma would be selected to fight. It was likely. Who else could the Pāṇḍavas choose? Anticipating this day even while still in Hastināpura, Duryodhana had spent countless hours practicing beating an iron image of Bhīma. Now he could exercise his skills against Bhīma himself.
As Duryodhana spoke, Kṛṣṇa went over to Yudhiṣṭhira and said quietly, “O King, you have made a rash promise. What will happen if Duryodhana decides to fight with you, Arjuna, or the twins? Only Bhīma can face him with the mace, but even then the outcome is not certain. Although Bhīma’s strength is greater, Duryodhana’s skills are better, and skill usually wins over strength. I think you have made a grave mistake. Who but you would relinquish a kingdom after winning such a great war and having only a single enemy left? It seems, O King, that Kuntī’s sons are not meant to enjoy sovereignty.”
Bhīma, standing by Yudhiṣṭhira’s side, heard Kṛṣṇa’s words and said, “O Madhava, do not grieve. I will end this war. Yudhiṣṭhira’s victory is certain because the wretched Duryodhana stands before me for battle. Allow me to fight with him. My mace is more powerful than his, and my skills are not lacking. What to speak of Duryodhana, armed with my mace I could fight with the celestials headed by Indra.”
Kṛṣṇa applauded Bhīma and said, “Depending on you, O mighty-armed one, surely Yudhiṣṭhira will regain his prosperity. You have slain all of Duryodhana’s brothers and uncountable numbers of his troops. Go forward and slay this wretch himself. Fulfill your promise, but fight with care. He is a formidable opponent with the mace.”
Bhīma laughed in derision and stepped toward Duryodhana with his mace resting on his shoulder. His brothers cheered him, and he thundered, “I dare to fight with this most arrogant and sinful one. He will not be able to defeat me. Today I will vomit forth the anger which has rankled in my bosom for many years. Today, dear brother, I will pluck out the dart which has long stuck in your heart. O virtuous one, today I will recover your garland of glory. Today Duryodhana will renounce his life, prosperity and kingdom. Today, hearing of his son’s death, Dhṛtarāṣṭra will remember all his sins against us.”
Bhīma roared and whirled his mace, bringing it down with such force that the earth shook. Duryodhana could not brook the challenge and he stepped toward Bhīma raising his fist. He glared at Bhīma, who returned his venomous look. They appeared like a lion and a king of elephants facing one another in the forest.
Staring into Duryodhana’s smoldering eyes, Bhīma went on, “Do you recall how you insulted Draupadī, O sinful man, and how you deceived the pious king Yudhiṣṭhira. Receive now the consequences of those acts and of the other wrongs you inflicted upon us. It is by your fault that Bhīṣma now lies prostrate on the field, that Droṇa has been killed, and that so many other valiant heroes are slain. All your brothers are dead, including the despicable one who seized Draupadī’s sanctified hair. Now you will follow them. Today your pride will be crushed along with your hope for sovereignty. Prepare to pay for your misdeeds.”
Duryodhana sneered. “What is the use of your bold words? I will quell your desire for battle. Why do you disregard me? See my mace, like the summit of Mount Himavat. Not even Purandara, lord of the heavens, could defeat me in a fair fight. Who cares for all my so-called misdeeds? What can you or anyone else do about them? By my might you have already had to suffer so much, even becoming a cook in Virata’s house while Arjuna became a eunuch. I have killed most of your allies and you will be the next to die.”
Bhīma was ready. He seemed to be on fire as he glared at Duryodhana. The Kaurava, remembering Bhīma’s vow, said, “Do not gain victory by unfair means, O Vṛkodara, for that will deprive you of your reputation. Fight honestly with all your strength. Then, defeated by me, you will gain everlasting fame.”
Kṛṣṇa suggested that the fight to death take place near Lake Samantapanchaka, a sacred place created by Paraśurāma. The warriors agreed and made their way to that site. As they moved across the battlefield, Balarāma arrived, just returned from His pilgrimage to the holy places. He was greeted with affection by Yudhiṣṭhira and his brothers. Kṛṣṇa bowed before Him and touched His feet, saying, “Witness the skill of Your two disciples, O Rāma. Just now they are proceeding to Samantapanchaka for battle.”
The white-complexioned Balarāma looked like the full moon risen on the battlefield. Clad in blue silks and adorned with gold ornaments, a garland of red lotuses on His chest, He shone as He embraced both Bhīma and Duryodhana, who each offered Him their obeisances.
After inquiring about the welfare of all the kings and kṣatriyas, and hearing how almost all of them had been slain, Balarāma said, “I have already received news of the war from Nārada, who told Me that the fight between these two heroes was about to take place. Thus I have come. Some weeks ago I left for My tour, deciding to side with neither party. I have not changed My decision. I will watch the fight with a neutral heart.”
Balarāma joined the warriors as they went on foot the short distance to Samantapanchaka. Bhīma and Duryodhana, both breathing heavily, strode angrily next to each other, staring ahead with their maces resting on their shoulders.
Reaching Samantapanchaka, where Paraśurāma had excavated a lake and filled it with the blood of slain warriors, they formed a circle around a large expanse of flat, sandy ground. Bhīma and Duryodhana stood facing each other in the center. They challenged one another in harsh tones and roared in anger. Both were joyful at the prospect of the fight, each expecting a quick victory. They looked like an eastern and western cloud, coming together in the heavens and thundering terribly. They hurled insults at each other, circling with maces held at the ready.
As the fight was about to commence, awful omens were seen. Fierce winds blew up and a shower of dust fell from the sky. Claps of thunder resounded in the cloudless sky. Meteors fell and a dark circle surrounded the sun. Jackals howled and the vultures and crows cried. Loud voices seemed to boom out, suddenly rising and falling in a fearful cacophony.
Disregarding the omens, the two enraged fighters rushed at one another with their maces raised high. They met like two furious bulls fighting with their horns. The two maces collided with a deafening crash, sending up a shower of sparks. Cheered by the watching warriors, they exhibited graceful maneuvers, whirling their weapons and spinning around as they fought.
The gods, Gandharvas and ṛṣis came to witness the battle. The celestial beings marveled at the speed and skill of the two fighters as they sought out each other’s weaknesses. For some time, neither could penetrate the other’s defenses and their maces clashed again and again, sounding like thunderclaps.
As the fight wore on, however, they began to strike each other great blows on the arms and shoulders. Hit hard by his opponent, each would reel back, then quickly recover, returning swift blows to his unguarded foe. Both knew every move and displayed the full range of their skills, to the onlookers’ wonder. Everyone who watched the fight gasped and cheered as the two warriors fought.
Bhīma’s flying mace resembled Yamarāja’s rod of death raised for the destruction of all creatures. It fell upon Duryodhana with a sound like the rushing wind. The Kaurava moved about with astonishing dexterity, evading Bhīma’s strokes and countering with terrific speed. His own mace moved with such velocity that it created flames of fire in the air. By his superior skill, Duryodhana began to prevail over Bhīma, repeatedly smashing him with forceful blows.
Although struck again and again, Bhīma stood his ground and appeared unshaken. Brought to the pitch of wrath, he tried to strike back at his opponent with his iron mace, swinging it around with such speed that it could hardly be seen. But Duryodhana expertly baffled Bhīma by leaping high and dodging those blows. He spun around in the air and turned in somersaults as he eluded Bhīma’s wheeling mace. Laughing as he dropped back to the earth, he brought his own mace down on Bhīma’s head with great force. Although struck with such violence, Bhīma did not move, making all the spectators cry out in amazement.
Duryodhana seemed to dance on the field, his mace continuously circling around him and protecting him on every side. Bhīma found all his attacks thwarted and immediately answered by heavy counter-blows from Duryodhana. Balarāma applauded his skill, but the Pāṇḍavas and their followers felt dispirited. They watched in apprehension as Bhīma took a beating from the Kaurava prince.
Bhīma was infuriated by Duryodhana’s evasive tactics. After being struck again by the Kaurava’s mace, he took several steps backwards and then suddenly spun round whirling his mace at waist height. Letting go of the mace, he swung it by its long sling and it rushed through the air with a roaring sound. Duryodhana was caught on his side and he dropped to his knees in pain. A great cheer went up from the Pāṇḍavas, but Duryodhana, unable to tolerate the shouting and empowered by his mother’s glance, immediately got to his feet, shaking off his pain. Screaming in fury he ran at Bhīma and, with a sudden maneuver, struck the Pāṇḍava on the forehead.
Bhīma stood unmoved. Blood flowed from his forehead like temporal fluid trickling from the head of an elephant. Duryodhana was stunned to see his opponent still standing. He took a step backward and Bhīma, seizing his opportunity, struck him powerfully on the shoulder. Duryodhana fell to the earth like an uprooted oak tree. He lay there for a moment in a swoon as the Pāṇḍavas cheered and waved their weapons.
Bhīma waited for his dazed foe to regain his senses. He was amazed that his blow, which could have smashed down a mountain peak, had not killed him outright. Within a minute, Duryodhana leapt to his feet. He was uninjured. His eyes gloated as he saw Bhīma’s astonishment. The queen’s ascetic power was something indeed. Duryodhana laughed loudly, then suddenly darted forward. Dodging Bhīma’s whirling mace, the Kaurava spun around in a complete circle and struck him full on the chest. Bhīma’s armor burst open and he flew backwards, falling to the earth with a thud. Awed, the celestials shouted and rained fragrant flowers on the fighters.
Fear possessed the Pāṇḍavas’ hearts as they saw Bhīma lying on the ground, but in a few moments he sprang to his feet. Wiping the blood from his face, he gazed at Duryodhana with bloodshot eyes. The two men paced, regarding each other with cautious respect and looking for an opportunity to strike.
As they circled, Arjuna said quietly to Kṛṣṇa, “Who do You think is superior in this contest, O Janārdana? What is their respective merit?”
Arjuna, himself an accomplished mace fighter, felt anxious for Bhīma. He had also noticed Duryodhana’s apparent invulnerability and could not see how Bhīma would overpower him. It seemed as if the Kaurava had the upper hand. But Kṛṣṇa, who had saved Arjuna from many such situations, would surely know what to do.
Kṛṣṇa replied with a slight smile, “These two have received equal training. Bhīma is stronger, but Duryodhana’s skill is greater and he has practiced much more. He has also been blessed by his mother’s ascetic power, making the contest uneven. Bhīma will not win a fair fight; but if he resorts to unfair tactics, he will be victorious. Deceit in battle is acceptable against a deceitful foe. Even Indra used deceit to overcome the mighty asuras Virocanā and Vṛtra.”
Watching as the two combatants rushed again at one another, Kṛṣṇa reminded Arjuna of Bhīma’s promise to break Duryodhana’s thigh, a promise which was later reinforced by Maitreya’s curse. He made it clear that this was the only way Bhīma could gain victory.
“The Pāṇḍavas have again been placed in a perilous position due to Yudhiṣṭhira’s fault,” Kṛṣṇa continued. “The learned Shukra has stated that the remnant of a defeated army, rallied and returned to the fight, are always to be feared, being desperate and fixed in their determination. Duryodhana had lost everything and was ready to enter the forest. Yudhiṣṭhira should not have challenged him. Now Bhīma must surely use unfair means to end this fight, otherwise the kingdom will again be lost, O hero.”
Kṛṣṇa knew that Bhīma was endeavoring to defeat Duryodhana by fair means before fulfilling his vow of breaking the prince’s thigh. Arjuna understood his meaning and, catching Bhīma’s eye, he slapped his thigh. Bhīma nodded slightly in understanding. This must be a message from Kṛṣṇa. He had not wanted to strike Duryodhana below the belt until he was overpowered, but perhaps there was no alternative. The Kaurava was fighting with demonic fury, exhibiting every skill and showing no sign of fatigue. Nor did it seem possible to make any impression on him no matter how hard he was struck. Kṛṣṇa’s advice was his only chance.
Bhīma moved about rapidly in front of Duryodhana, displaying his maneuvers and baffling his foe. Duryodhana in turn showed the full range of moves described in the ancient martial scriptures. The two men met savagely, their maces colliding with showers of sparks and huge cracks that momentarily deafened the observers. They fought like a pair of maddened tigers, sweat pouring from their faces and blood running down their bodies.
Again separating, they stood for some moments to lean on their maces and regain their breath. Then they flew at one another with great yells. Both had smashed the other’s armor and now fought only in their loin cloths. Their well-muscled frames gleamed in the late afternoon sun as they swung and lunged and parried.
Taking a step backwards as if to avoid Duryodhana’s mace, Bhīma suddenly hurled his weapon at the Kaurava, keeping hold of its sling. Duryodhana anticipated the blow and sidestepped it. Catching Bhīma with his arms outstretched, he struck him a powerful blow on his side. Bhīma was winded but showed no sign, summoning his patience as he pulled back his mace. Duryodhana did not realize that his opponent was disadvantaged. Exercising caution, he did not aim a second stroke at him.
Bhīma, recovering, narrowed his eyes and rushed forward. He swung his mace and, as he expected, Duryodhana leapt upwards in the maneuver known as avasthana. Bhīma suddenly stopped in front of Duryodhana and swung his mace chest-high in a rapid arc. As the Kaurava dropped back to the ground he was struck across the thighs. The blow carried the momentum of Bhīma’s forward dash, as well as the full power of his two arms. Bhīma’s mace, which could only be lifted by three strong men, smashed Duryodhana’s thighs like a thunderbolt breaking a pair of huge trees.
The ground shook as Duryodhana fell flat, screaming. He lay there writhing in pain. It was obvious that the fight was over. All the Pāṇḍava forces roared in joy. Yudhiṣṭhira embraced his brothers and Kṛṣṇa applauded Bhīma.
The air was again filled with strange omens. Showers of dust and bones fell from the sky. Fierce winds gusted, and a terrific noise issued from the bowels of the earth. The sky was filled with the frightful roaring of Rākṣasas, Yakṣas and Dānavas. Darkness enveloped the four quarters and fierce beasts yelled on all sides.
Bhīma, still seething, approached his fallen foe. “O wretch, recall now how you insulted Draupadī and how you committed so many sins against the sinless Yudhiṣṭhira. Accept the fruits of your actions.”
Bhīma lifted his left foot and kicked Duryodhana. With his foot placed on the Kaurava’s head, he continued, his voice harsh. “By the ascetic penance of Drupada’s daughter you lie here and your army is crushed. Let all those who saw her dragged into the assembly hall witness your defeat. All those who insulted and disregarded the Pāṇḍavas are slain.”
Seeing Bhīma standing with his foot on Duryodhana’s head, many of the Pāṇḍava warriors were shocked and cried out, “Shame!”
Balarāma, witnessing Bhīma’s abuse, was filled with rage. Already aghast at the way Bhīma had struck the Kaurava down, He called out, “Fie on Bhīma! How has he struck such a blow in a fair fight? No stroke should ever be aimed beneath the belt. This is the ancient rule, but this wretch has broken it. Such an act cannot go unpunished.”
Balarāma raised His plow weapon and ran at Bhīma, appearing like Mount Kailāsa rushing toward the Himavat. Kṛṣṇa quickly pursued Him and caught hold of Him. Encircling His elder brother with His powerful arms, Kṛṣṇa stopped Him before He could reach Bhīma. The two Yadu heroes shone beautifully and looked like the sun and moon conjoining in the evening sky.
As Balarāma struggled against His brother’s grasp, Kṛṣṇa said, “O hero, You should not act in this way. Bhīma has served even Our interests. The Pāṇḍavas are Our friends. Indeed, they are the children of Our father’s sister. Duryodhana was their sworn enemy and thus Our enemy as well. His death was to be sought by Us by any means. Furthermore, it was Bhīma’s solemn vow that he would break Duryodhana’s thighs and slay him. The keeping of vows is always a sacred duty, and Bhīma’s vow was confirmed by the words of the infallible Ṛṣi Maitreya. For all this, O slayer of Pralamba, I do not see any fault in Bhīma. Give up Your anger and be peaceful, O foremost of men.”
Balarāma laughed dryly. Kṛṣṇa was always expert in providing arguments. But He was not convinced. Still held by Kṛṣṇa He replied, “In my view, Bhīma has sacrificed religion for the sake of material gain. This can never lead to success and happiness.”
“Surely You are famous for Your devotion to righteousness,” Kṛṣṇa answered, “but there is no unrighteousness in Bhīma. He has carried out his promise and requited the debt he owed his enemy. Know, O powerful brother, that the terrible age of Kali is at hand, marked by fierce acts and the loss of religion.”
Balarāma slackened and Kṛṣṇa released His grip on Him. Still angry, He said in a resounding voice, “For this dishonest act, Bhīma will henceforward be known as a cunning warrior. The righteous Duryodhana, on the other hand, will be known as a fair fighter. The Kaurava king has performed sacrifice and given much charity to the Brahmins. Having at last offered his life as a libation into the fire of his foes, he will attain the regions of lasting happiness.”
With that, Balarāma strode away from Kṛṣṇa and mounted His chariot. His charioteer urged on His horses and He sped away, like a white cloud speeding through the heavens.
Bhīma folded his palms and bowed his head as his martial teacher left. He had stood passively as Balarāma had rushed toward him. Death at His hands would have been glorious. After watching Him ride swiftly away, Bhīma turned again to Duryodhana, who was almost fainting from the pain. He raised his foot to kick him one more time. But Yudhiṣṭhira caught hold of Bhīma and said, “Desist, O mighty hero. You have wreaked your vengeance and gained your ends either by fair or foul means. Let him be. Do not act sinfully. Duryodhana is a king, he is your kinsman, and lord of the Kurus. He is ruined--his brothers are slain, his kingdom is lost, his troops are destroyed, and he is reduced to a pitiable condition. How can you offer him more insult? People always say that Bhīma is righteous. Do not act in a way that is not becoming, dear brother.”
Restraining Bhīma and kneeling by Duryodhana’s side, Yudhiṣṭhira said to the Kaurava, “O brother, you should not grieve. Truly you are suffering now the terrible consequences of your own deeds. This, O King, is the universal law. None can avoid the results of their acts, either in this life or the next. Surely everything has been ordained by the Creator, responding to our own desires. Through your avarice, pride and folly, you have suffered this calamity. Having caused the death of all your brothers, sons, companions and followers, you must now meet death yourself. Millions of heroes have gone to death’s abode. You must follow them, O hero. Such is the course of destiny.”
Yudhiṣṭhira felt genuine compassion for Duryodhana, seeing him as a foolish younger brother. Wanting to comfort and console him, he went on, “You are not to be pitied, O Kaurava, for you have met an enviable death in righteous battle. It is we who should be pitied. We will have to drag on a miserable existence devoid of our friends and kinsmen. Alas, how will I see my relatives’ widows overwhelmed with grief? You, O King, are departing from this world and going to regions of bliss. On the other hand, we will have to remain in this world of pain and suffering.”
Yudhiṣṭhira sighed and tears rolled down his cheeks. He stood up and walked away from Duryodhana, who said nothing. Yudhiṣṭhira’s sentiments were noble, but they only gave the Kaurava more pain. He did not want to be pitied. Screwing up his eyes, he lay gasping.
Kṛṣṇa, who had also disapproved of Bhīma’s abuse of the fallen Duryodhana, went to Yudhiṣṭhira’s side and spoke consolingly. Placing His arm round his shoulder, he said, “O King, you have won a great victory. Do not grieve. All this has come about ordained by Time. Duryodhana has been consumed by the fire of Bhīma’s anger. The war is over.”
Bhīma, his anger subsiding, moved away from Duryodhana and stood before Yudhiṣṭhira, addressing him with folded hands. “O King, the earth is now yours with all its thorns removed. He who was the root of these hostilities, that wretched and deceitful being, now lies on the bare ground. All those sinful men who supported him and uttered cruel words toward us are slain. The earth, filled with riches, today approaches you as her lord.”
Yudhiṣṭhira embraced his brother and replied, “The war is now over. Duryodhana is overcome and we have conquered the entire earth through Kṛṣṇa’s instructions. By good luck you have paid off your debt to your mother and to your anger. By good luck you are victorious and your enemy is killed.”
All the Pāṇḍava warriors roared and waved their upper garments. Some twanged their bowstrings and others blew their conches. Others beat drums and laughed loudly. Jumping about and sporting, they praised Bhīma, applauding him for striking down Duryodhana and even for placing his foot on his head.
Kṛṣṇa held up His hand disapprovingly. “O kings, it is not right to kill an already slain enemy with such words. This sinful, shameless and covetous wretch has received the results of his own folly. Now he is no more. He has become like a piece of wood. We should regard him as neither friend nor foe. No further energy or thought should be expended on him. Let us leave this place at once. By good luck the wicked and cruel-hearted Duryodhana is killed, with all his ministers and counselors.”
Duryodhana heard Kṛṣṇa’s words from where he lay and hauled himself onto his elbows. Supporting himself with difficulty, he contracted his eyebrows and looked angrily at Kṛṣṇa. Like a snake spitting out venom, he said, “O son of Kaṁsa’s slave, it seems You have no shame. Have You forgotten the sinful way by which I was defeated? How could You? It was on Your instigation that Bhīma struck his sinful blow. Do You think I did not notice? It has been by Your deceitful machinations that so many heroes have been unfairly killed. Bhīṣma, Droṇa, Karṇa and Bhurisrava were all killed thanks to Your cunning. Without Your wily advice, the Pāṇḍavas would have stood no chance in the war.”
Duryodhana gasped in pain and dropped back to the ground, his face covered in perspiration. As he lay there panting, Kṛṣṇa replied, “You, O son of Gāndhārī, have been killed with your brothers, sons and kinsmen only because of your own sinful deeds. O fool, it was I who requested you to return the Pāṇḍavas’ share of the kingdom, but out of sheer avarice you refused. You have committed so many wicked acts against your cousins. When you insulted the sinless Draupadī in the assembly hall, you should have been slain then and there. For that crime you are now killed. O sinful wretch, for the crime of assailing Abhimanyu in an unfair encounter you are slain. You have never respected your elders and heeded their advice. Thus do you now lie here on the bare earth. Do not rail uselessly. You are suffering nothing but the consequences of your own evil acts.”
Duryodhana’s voice, wracked with pain, croaked in response. “What do I care for Your words? Having studied the Vedas, performed sacrifice, given charity and governed the earth, I am now dying a glorious death. That end which is always sought by virtuous kṣatriyas is mine. I have enjoyed pleasures worthy of the gods and attained the highest prosperity. Who is as fortunate as me? With all my brothers I will ascend to heaven, while you Pāṇḍavas will remain here, torn by grief and continuing to suffer.”
As Duryodhana spoke, a shower of fragrant blossoms dropped from the sky. The Gandharvas and Apsarās played musical instruments and sang, while the Siddhas cried out, “Praise be to King Duryodhana.”
The celestials looked with wonder at the scene below. Duryodhana’s fall before Kṛṣṇa was all-auspicious. Although the Kaurava remained envious toward Kṛṣṇa, the mere fact of his contact with that eternal Supreme Deity conferred upon him the greatest possible blessing. Everyone killed in Kṛṣṇa’s presence doubtlessly reached regions of everlasting happiness.
As celestial music filled the sky, a disembodied voice called out that Duryodhana had been unfairly killed, as had Bhīṣma, Droṇa, Karṇa and Bhurisrava. Hearing the invisible voice, the Pāṇḍavas felt ashamed. Remorseful for the way the five heroes had been slain, they looked at Kṛṣṇa. Seeing their affliction, Kṛṣṇa reassured them, speaking in a grave voice as deep as the rumbling of clouds. “Do not grieve, O best of men. There was no other way these men could have been slain. For doing you good, as well as for lifting the burden of the earth, I applied My illusory powers so that victory would be yours. In a fair fight it would have been impossible to slay those atirathas. Even the guardians of the universe would not have succeeded. Do not feel guilty for the deceitful way they were killed. Such means are acceptable when one faces a powerful enemy, and especially when that enemy is himself deceitful. Ultimately, all the Kauravas were Duryodhana’s followers and thus were as sinful as he was. For this reason they have been defeated and you, O virtuous men, have been crowned with success.”
Kṛṣṇa’s heartening words were met with roars of approval from the Pāṇḍava warriors. All five brothers, who were ever acquiescent to Kṛṣṇa, felt consoled by His arguments. Seeing that the sun had set, Kṛṣṇa suggested that they return to camp. Headed by Yudhiṣṭhira and Kṛṣṇa, the Pāṇḍavas slowly departed, leaving Duryodhana where he lay. With both thighs shattered, he would not live much longer. Awaiting death, the prince lay back, moaning in pain.
2.28: Massacre by Night
After leaving the battlefield the Pāṇḍavas went to Duryodhana’s camp, as was the custom, to seek the spoils of war; but they found it deserted, except for a few servants. They rode in their chariots up to Duryodhana’s royal tent and dismounted. As Arjuna was about to climb down from his chariot, Kṛṣṇa said, “Take the Gāṇḍīva and your two quivers, O Pārtha. I will get down after you.”
Arjuna looked curiously at Kṛṣṇa, but he did as he was requested. After he had got down, Kṛṣṇa jumped clear of the chariot. At that moment, Hanumān left the banner and vanished. As he did so, the chariot suddenly caught fire without any apparent cause. In moments it was a pile of ashes.
The Pāṇḍavas gazed in amazement at the charred and smoldering remains. Arjuna asked Kṛṣṇa what had happened and He replied, “The chariot was struck by the most powerful celestial weapons. Only because of My presence was it not previously incinerated.”
Kṛṣṇa went over to Yudhiṣṭhira and embraced him with a smile. “O King, by good fortune you have gained victory. By good fortune you and all your brothers are well. Now do what should be done to rule the earth.”
Placing an arm around Arjuna’s shoulder, Kṛṣṇa continued, “Previously, this Dhanañjaya greeted Me when I came to Virata, offering Me worship and love. He said, ‘O Keśava, You are my brother and friend. Indeed, You are the Lord of my life. Therefore, You should always protect me.’ I responded, ‘So be it!’ and have kept My word.”
Tears fell from the Pāṇḍavas’ eyes as Kṛṣṇa spoke. In a choked voice Yudhiṣṭhira replied, “Surely we owe our lives, wealth and kingdom to You, O Janārdana. Everything is due only to Your favor. Who but You could have withstood the weapons of Bhīṣma, Droṇa and Karṇa. Only because of Your protection was Arjuna able to defeat so many invincible heroes. The great Ṛṣi Vyāsadeva told me that wherever You are, there will always be righteousness and victory.”
Kṛṣṇa smiled. With an arm around both Yudhiṣṭhira and Arjuna He entered Duryodhana’s tent, followed by the other Pāṇḍavas. The empty tent resembled a city devoid of festivities. Duryodhana’s golden throne looked desolate. It was surrounded by his counselors’ seats. Those fine seats had formerly been occupied by the Kuru chiefs in their silk robes and golden ornaments. Now they looked like abandoned mansions. As the Pāṇḍavas moved through the tent they came upon Yuyutsu. He was Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s only surviving son. Filled with sorrow and realizing that the responsibility of leadership had fallen to him, he sat pondering what he should do.
Seeing that the Pāṇḍavas had arrived, he stood and offered them respects. Yudhiṣṭhira embraced him and spoke gentle words of consolation. He told him to return to Hastināpura and to comfort his father and Gāndhārī, who would surely be overpowered by unbearable grief. Yuyutsu bowed to Yudhiṣṭhira and left the tent. Mounting his chariot he left at once, making his way to Hastināpura along the moonlit forest paths.
In one huge section of the royal tent the Pāṇḍavas found the immense wealth Duryodhana had brought from Hastināpura. Gold, silver, jewels, pearls, rich ornaments, blankets and skins lay in heaps on the rugged floor. After loading the wealth onto their chariots, the Pāṇḍavas rested for a while on the many silk-covered couches in the tent.
As the evening wore on, Kṛṣṇa said to Yudhiṣṭhira, “O King, in accord with sacred tradition, you and your brothers should remain here for the first night of victory. The rest of the army may return to our camp.”
Agreeing, Yudhiṣṭhira told his men to return to camp and take rest, while he and his brothers remained. After the warriors had left, the Pāṇḍava spoke again with Kṛṣṇa. He wanted Kṛṣṇa to be the first among his party to meet Gāndhārī in Hastināpura. Yudhiṣṭhira feared her ascetic powers. Revealing his anxiety, he said, “When the pious queen hears how Bhīma slew her son, she will surely release the fire of her anger. She could destroy the three worlds with her accumulated ascetic powers. That blessed lady is always engaged in severe austerities. I fear she will reduce us to ashes when she learns what has happened. O Keśava, I think only You will be capable of pacifying her. Eternal and possessed of unfading glories, You are the creator and destroyer of everything. With reasonable arguments, O Madhava, You should remove her anger.”
Hearing his anxious request, Kṛṣṇa turned to Dāruka and said, “Prepare My chariot.” Then He left for the city. Arriving at sunrise, Kṛṣṇa went straight to Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s palace, where He first saw Vyāsadeva. He immediately offered His prostrated obeisances, clasping the ṛṣi’s feet, and then went with him into Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s chamber. The blind king sat silent with Gāndhārī by his side. Having been announced by Vyāsadeva, Kṛṣṇa went over and took Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s hand. Kṛṣṇa wept openly for some time without saying anything.
Then Kṛṣṇa washed His eyes and face with cool water fetched by a servant. Still holding onto Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s hand, He said gently, “O Bharata monarch, you know everything past and future. You are well aware of the course of time. All that is brought into being will again be destroyed in due course. This no man can change. O King, out of respect for you the Pāṇḍavas tried repeatedly to make peace in order to prevent this destruction. The virtuous Yudhiṣṭhira tolerated all kinds of suffering, even going into exile and living in concealment. He and his brothers endured all kinds of miseries, as if helpless, hoping that peace would be maintained.”
Kṛṣṇa looked around Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s chamber. The first rays of the sun were shining through the lattices, picking out the numerous empty seats around the hall. Curls of frankincense smoke were caught in the bright beams of light. From outside in the palace gardens the sounds of various birds could be heard. The sweet sounds contrasted with the rising and falling cries of women in the palace’s inner apartments, wailing for their slain husbands and sons.
Seated at the king’s side, Kṛṣṇa continued. “Remembering all this and how you caused it, O mighty one, do not harbor ill feelings toward the Pāṇḍavas. You know of Yudhiṣṭhira’s devotion for you. He is consumed by grief, feeling himself responsible for the death of all his kinsmen. Out of shame he does not want to appear before you now, although he shares your sorrow.”
Kṛṣṇa looked across at the blindfolded Gāndhārī, addressing her softly. “O daughter of Suvala, O lady of excellent vows, hear what I say. There is no woman like you in the world. Do you recall how you reprimanded your sinful son when you told him that victory follows righteousness? He did not heed you. Now it has come to pass, exactly as you said. Knowing all this, O auspicious queen, you should not grieve. Do not curse the Pāṇḍavas. Let not your heart be bent toward their destruction. Surely with your angry eyes you could annihilate the entire world, if you so desired.”
Tears flowed from under the silk wrapper around Gāndhārī’s eyes. She remained silent, unable to find her voice. Finally, she said, “What You have said is true, O Keśava. My mind is unhinged by grief, but on hearing Your words I am pacified. O Janārdana, this old monarch has no more sons. You and the sons of Pāṇḍu are now his only refuge.”
Gāndhārī buried her face in a cloth and wept aloud. Kṛṣṇa consoled her and her husband, speaking wisdom from the Vedas. After spending some time with them, He rose and said, “I will come to see you again. Pray grant Me leave now to return to the Pāṇḍavas.”
Both Dhṛtarāṣṭra and the queen offered Him their respects and gave Him permission to leave. Kṛṣṇa then left the chamber and met Dāruka, ordering him to carry Him back to the Pāṇḍavas’ camp. Watched by thousands of cheering citizens who had heard of His arrival, Kṛṣṇa went swiftly out of the northern gate and back to Kurukṣetra.
* * *
After the Pāṇḍavas had left Duryodhana, the three surviving Kauravas came out of hiding and went to see the fallen prince. He looked like a gigantic sal tree felled by a storm. Covered in blood and breathing heavily, he was obviously in pain. All around him carnivorous beasts ranged like men seeking wealth from a king. His brow was contracted by furrows of rage, and his eyes were red with anger.
Finding their king in that condition, the three warriors got down quickly from their chariots and ran over to him. They cried out and fell to the ground by his side. Leaning on his elbows, Duryodhana half raised a hand in greeting.
Aśvatthāmā knelt in front of him with tears streaming down his face. “Truly there is nothing permanent in this world, O King, since we see you lying here on the cold earth, covered with dust. You who issued commands to all the earth’s rulers are now reduced to this pitiable plight. Alas, where are Dushashana, Śakuni and Karṇa? What has happened? Surely it is difficult to know the ways of Yamarāja, the lord of karma, since you, O mighty emperor, have been brought to such a state.”
All three men cried and rolled on the ground. The war had taken a terrible toll on the world’s kṣatriyas. Now the great Kuru leader was himself destroyed. Clearly he was close to death. The war was over. As the detachment and callousness born of battle left them, the awful consequences of the long conflict struck home. They were the only survivors of the Kuru army. Most of their relatives and friends had been slain. How could they continue to live? What would they say to their women?
Aśvatthāmā continued. “Alas, this great king who would trample on the heads of all other kings now eats dust. Witness the reverses time brings. Where is your pure white umbrella, O King? Where are the yak-tail whisks and the countless servants? Where is your immense army? Without doubt the prosperity of all mortals is unstable, since you, who were equal to Indra, are now in this miserable condition.”
Grimacing in pain, Duryodhana rolled onto his side. Lifting his head from the ground he replied in a strained voice, “All living beings are subject to death. The Creator has ordained it. Death has now come to me, before all of you. By good fortune I have been killed in battle while I fought without showing my back. Struck down by a low blow from Bhīma’s mace, I was finally killed by deceit. By good luck you three have survived. Do not grieve for me. If the Vedas are at all authoritative, then I have attained the blissful regions. Destiny is all-powerful. In accordance with my fate I lie here, deprived of opulence. Leave me be. Soon I will embrace death and rise up to the heavens.”
Duryodhana’s head fell back and he sighed heavily. He thought of Kṛṣṇa. There could be no doubt that He was a powerful personality of some sort. Only by His power and contrivances had the Pāṇḍavas been successful. Duryodhana wondered again if He might actually be the Supreme Lord. If that were true, then His partiality toward the Pāṇḍavas surely seemed unbecoming. It was hard to understand.
A spasm of pain wracked his body and he cried out. Tears flowed down his face as he slumped to the ground.
Aśvatthāmā ground his teeth and stared into the distance. Still furious about the way his father had been killed, he was even further incensed to hear that Bhīma had slain Duryodhana with an unfair blow. Breathing heavily, his eyes red with anger, he declared, “Listen to my words, O King, which I swear by truth itself and by all my acts of religion. Today, in Kṛṣṇa’s presence, I will dispatch the Pāṇḍavas to Yamarāja’s abode. Grant me your permission, O lord.”
Smiling through his pain, Duryodhana said, “O Kṛpa, quickly fetch me a pot of water. O preceptor, appoint Droṇa’s son commander-in-chief of our army. Let the hostilities end with the death of our enemies.”
Saying, “So be it,” Kṛpa went to the lake and brought a pot of water. After a short ceremony, Duryodhana installed Aśvatthāmā as the Kaurava commander. He roared and mounted his chariot.
Kṛpa and Kṛtavarmā blew their conches and climbed onto their chariots. They knew that victory against the Pāṇḍavas was unlikely, but death at their hands would be preferable to living after the annihilation of the other warriors.
Leaving the dying Duryodhana where he lay, the three warriors rode south through the darkness, their hearts aching with sorrow. They soon reached a spot close to the Pāṇḍavas’ camp. Entering a copse of trees, they dismounted and discussed their strategy. All three were exhausted and they slumped beneath the spreading boughs of a banyan tree. They could hear the sounds of the Pāṇḍava army’s celebrations. Deciding to challenge the warriors after sunrise, they said their evening prayers and lay down to sleep under the tree.
Kṛpa and Kṛtavarmā soon feel asleep, but Aśvatthāmā was too angry to sleep. He stared up at the branches of the banyan silhouetted against the moon. The sounds of bats and owls filled the air. Aśvatthāmā tossed and turned, his mind filled with thoughts of revenge. As he looked up he could see the dark bodies of thousands of crows sleeping on the tree. Suddenly, a great owl swooped down from the sky, its green eyes flashing and its talons extended. It descended onto the branches of the tree and began silently killing the crows. In minutes it had slain many of the birds, which fell to the earth near Aśvatthāmā. In fear the other crows rose up, squawking and beating their wings as they fled.
Aśvatthāmā began to reflect. Surely this was a sign from destiny. What better way to deal with a large number of foes than to catch them asleep? Although keen to fight, there was little chance he and his two companions would overpower the Pāṇḍavas. But he had promised to kill them. Although it was sinful to kill sleeping men, it would nevertheless be an appropriate end for them since they themselves had resorted to so much deceit and trickery during the war. If there was to be any chance of success, there was no alternative but to attack them while they slept, their weapons put aside and believing their enemies defeated.
Determining to go at once into the Pāṇḍavas’ camp, Aśvatthāmā woke up the other two men. They sat up and shook off their sleep, listening as Aśvatthāmā explained his intentions. When he had finished speaking, they sat silently, filled with shame and unable to reply.
Seeing this, Aśvatthāmā defended his plan. “We should not hesitate. Duryodhana has been slain unfairly, as was my father and the Kuru grandsire. The Pāṇḍavas have not hesitated to use unfair or wicked tactics. What need have we to discuss this further? We are now the only survivors among the Kauravas. If we do not adopt cunning, then we too will follow our comrades to Death’s abode. Roaring in joy and beating their victory drums, the Pāṇḍavas have fallen into the embrace of sleep. This is our only chance to defeat them. What do you say, O heroic men?”
Kṛpa shook his head slowly. “Two factors influence the outcome of all acts: endeavor and destiny. Without both there is no success. A man who does not work but who depends on destiny alone will be ruined. Sometimes, however, despite one’s best endeavor, destiny delivers only adverse results. O Brahmin, we have tried our best and we have not been successful. It is therefore clear that we are under the influence of adverse destiny. The foolish Duryodhana, moved only by covetousness, acted without regard for virtue or the advice of his elders. Thus he has met with calamity and we, his followers, have sunk into sorrow. In my view, our best course now is to seek the shelter and advice of others. Let us go to Hastināpura and speak to Dhṛtarāṣṭra and Vidura. They will offer us wise counsel.”
Aśvatthāmā slapped his leg. He looked down at the slain crows littering the ground. Overcome by anger and grief, he could not accept Kṛpa’s advice. He stood and paced back and forth, his hand clenching his sword hilt. His voice was cold and emotionless. “The understandings of different men inevitably differ. Everyone believes his own opinion to be right and that of others who differ to be mistaken. Even then the understanding of a man changes with changing circumstances. It is always difficult to ascertain one’s best course. Therefore, by listening to wisdom and then acting in accord with one’s own understanding of virtue, one should make his determination. I am of the firm opinion that my plan is compatible with our duty as kṣatriyas. We should show our enemies no mercy. We must destroy them by any means.”
Aśvatthāmā made it clear that he would carry out his plan, with or without the assistance of his colleagues. His voice rose. “Like Indra killing the Dānavas, I will range among the Pañchālas and Pāṇḍavas. Ruthlessly cutting them down, I will pay the debt I owe my father. Today the Pāṇḍavas will follow the path he has taken and the path of all the other heroes they so treacherously killed. I will then be happy, considering myself to have done my duty.”
Seeing Aśvatthāmā’s determination, Kṛpa replied, “By good luck do we see you resolute. Clearly you cannot be dissuaded. With your heart bent on vengeance I do not think even Indra could withstand you in battle. Therefore, let us await the dawn and then ride out for an encounter with the Pāṇḍavas. Kṛtavarmā and I will accompany you. For now, though, take off your armor and rest. Refreshed and renewed, you will surely conquer the enemy in honest warfare. There is no need to adopt mean tactics which will only incur the censure of all men.”
Aśvatthāmā dismissed Kṛpa’s suggestion. His mind was fixed on his dark plan. There was no question of waiting until morning. Rousing his sleeping horses, he said, “My heart is afflicted with desire and my mind with thoughts of vengeance. How can I sleep? Thinking of my father’s death, I cannot find peace. Indeed, I will not rest until Dṛṣṭadyumna has paid the full price for his heinous act. O twice-born one, how can a person like me even live while that Pañchāla prince still breathes? How can any of us rest while the king cries in agony, his thighs broken by the wicked Bhīma? We will not be able to gain victory on the battlefield against the Pāṇḍavas, protected as they are by Kṛṣṇa. Let us kill them as they sleep. This is the only way we will achieve our cherished end.”
Kṛpa watched with dismay as Aśvatthāmā yoked his horses to his chariot. His face was set in hard lines, picked out by the dancing rays of moonlight coming through the banyan’s branches. Kṛpa tried again to dissuade Droṇa’s son.
“Dear nephew, think hard before you do this. Only a sinful person would even contemplate what you propose. Have you lost sight of righteousness? Surely one who does not control his senses cannot understand morality, even if he serves learned superiors, just as a wooden spoon cannot taste the soup. A humble man, however, with his senses in check, can immediately understand his duties when he serves his elders, just like the tongue tasting the soup. As your well-wisher, I am trying to restrain you from something that will result only in your condemnation and which will leave you repenting afterwards. You are celebrated in this world as a great warrior. Do not destroy your good reputation. Do not sink into a limitless hell by killing sleeping men, who are as good as dead already. Fight fairly and win everlasting fame. We will help you without doubt. This is my opinion, O mighty-armed one.”
Aśvatthāmā mounted his chariot and looked down at Kṛpa. “What you say is true, O uncle, but in my view it is fitting that the Pāṇḍavas meet such an end. They have acted heinously themselves and now deserve no mercy. I cannot stand the thought of Duryodhana lying in agony, nor of the wicked Pañchālas sleeping in peace after the sinful slaughter of my father. Having killed those vile men, I do not care if I am born as a worm or an insect in my next birth. You cannot frustrate my resolution. I am going--with or without you.”
Kṛpa and Kṛtavarmā looked at each other and shook their heads. They could not stop him. It seemed as if destiny had ordained that the final act of the war would be played out that night. They were the only surviving Kauravas and Aśvatthāmā was their commander. Considering this, both men finally decided to accompany him. If there was to be a fight, then it was their duty to assist him. They had already committed themselves to Duryodhana’s cause, killing countless warriors on the enemy’s side. There was no point now in abandoning the fight when the Kauravas’ last hope depended upon them. Resigned, they yoked their chariots and followed Aśvatthāmā, who had by this time already driven away.
* * *
As he approached the camp’s northern gate, Aśvatthāmā saw before him a strange being with a blood-soaked tiger skin wrapped around his loins. His upper garment was a black deerskin, and he had a large snake draped around his shoulders as a sacred thread. Around his biceps he wore two snakes as armlets, and in his hands he held fierce-looking weapons. His mouth seemed ablaze, and in his fearful face he had a hundred eyes.
Seeing the terrible being, Aśvatthāmā, who was beyond fear, raised his bow and shot numerous celestial weapons at him; but the being absorbed them all and stood unaffected. Aśvatthāmā released a long steel dart that flew like a blazing comet toward the being, only to shatter into pieces when it struck him. Droṇa’s son then hurled his scimitar and then his mace, but those weapons were also absorbed into the being’s body.
Having exhausted his weapons, Aśvatthāmā saw that the being was still standing before him. He sensed it was Śiva, whom he had worshipped throughout his life. Only that unlimited deity could have withstood his most powerful attack. Aśvatthāmā threw down his weapons and jumped from his chariot. Trembling, he knelt before the god. Surely he should have heeded Kṛpa’s admonition. Now the powerful Mahadeva, no doubt protecting the Pāṇḍavas on Kṛṣṇa’s order, would kill him for his sinful intentions.
Bowing his head to the ground, Aśvatthāmā offered numerous prayers to the powerful divinity. After praying and supplicating Śiva for some time, Śiva spoke in a thunderous voice. “O child, all through the war I have protected Pāṇḍu’s sons. Out of my love for Kṛṣṇa, I am always inclined to His worshippers. Now the Pāṇḍava warriors are being assailed by Time. They have carried out the desires and plan of supreme Providence, freeing the world of its great burden. Now their own destined end is near. O son of Droṇa, it is ordained that you will be the instrument of their destruction. I will empower you. Take this sword and use it to slay the remaining Pāṇḍava troops.”
Śiva held out a great sword, which shone brilliantly and had a handle set with bright gems. After handing the sword to Aśvatthāmā, he vanished from the spot.
Suddenly, Aśvatthāmā felt himself infused with tremendous energy. His body seemed to burn with power and his eyes glowed. As he remounted his chariot and moved toward the entrance of the Pāṇḍavas’ camp, both Kṛpa and Kṛtavarmā caught up with him. Aśvatthāmā was overjoyed to see them joining him. Without telling them of the episode with Śiva, which had almost seemed to be a dream, he said, “O heroes, it is good that you have remembered your duties. We will now end the conflict by slaying the wicked Pāṇḍavas. I will enter the camp and range about like Yamarāja himself. You two should remain outside. If anyone tries to escape, slay them.”
After the plan had been agreed upon, Aśvatthāmā went quietly toward the camp. Clutching Śiva’s effulgent sword, he got down from his chariot and leapt over the surrounding wall. Guided by signs, he stealthily made his way to Dṛṣṭadyumna’s tent. The whole camp was silent and still, the exhausted warriors sunk in sleep.
Aśvatthāmā carefully entered Dṛṣṭadyumna’s tent and saw him lying in sleep on a rich silken bed. Moving swiftly, Aśvatthāmā kicked him. Dṛṣṭadyumna awoke and sat up. Aśvatthāmā caught him by the hair and dragged him from the bed, still kicking his head and chest.
Dṛṣṭadyumna, surprised and still half-asleep, was unable to overpower his aggressor. Aśvatthāmā threw him to the ground and stamped on his neck. Dṛṣṭadyumna tore at his attacker with his nails and cried out, “O Aśvatthāmā, kill me with a weapon. Let me thus, through you, reach the blessed regions reserved for those who die in battle.”
Aśvatthāmā laughed hideously. “O wretch, there is no bliss for those who kill their preceptors. Nor do you deserve a warrior’s death. I will slay you like the animal you are.”
Aśvatthāmā repeatedly stamped on Dṛṣṭadyumna with his heel, killing him mercilessly. Hearing the Pañchāla prince’s cries, the guards and women who were in the tent came running.
Aśvatthāmā left the tent quickly, looking for the Pāṇḍavas themselves. Coming next to a large tent close to Dṛṣṭadyumna’s, he guessed he had found them. The tent was decorated with numerous flags and garlands and had the finest of golden chariots standing nearby. Aśvatthāmā entered and, going into the inner section of the tent, saw five warriors asleep next to one another.
Aśvatthāmā felt a surge of joy. Here were the brothers! Raising his sword, he brought it down on the first of the five men and killed him with one stroke. He then similarly killed the other four before anyone awoke.
Outside the tent he could hear the clamor of the warriors looking for him. He rushed out with his fearful sword raised high, roaring like an infuriated lion. Seeing him advance like Death personified with his sword dripping blood, the warriors fell back in fear. Aśvatthāmā ran at them and slaughtered them as a lion kills deer in the forest.
Quickly putting on their armor, other kṣatriyas came out of their tents and surrounded Aśvatthāmā. Charged with Śiva’s power, however, and filled with his own wrath, Aśvatthāmā quickly slew them. He rushed into the next tent and found Uttamaujas just rising from bed in surprise at the clamor outside. Aśvatthāmā ran over and kicked him, killing him in the same way as he had killed Dṛṣṭadyumna.
Aśvatthāmā then encountered Yudhamanyu, who rushed at him whirling a mace. Yudhamanyu struck Aśvatthāmā full on the chest, but Droṇa’s son was not affected. Seizing his assailant, he threw him to the ground and killed him with powerful kicks and punches.
Numerous other warriors attacked Aśvatthāmā, but they were all savagely slain. Relentlessly hacking at the Pāṇḍava troops with his celestial sword, he slew many while they lay on their beds and hundreds of others who tried to resist him with weapons. Possessed by a frenzy of anger and bloodlust, he moved through the camp killing every warrior he would encounter.
As the piteous cries of the women filled the air, Aśvatthāmā went swiftly through the encampment, leaving a trail of death behind him. Caught unawares and shocked by his intensity and power, none among the Pāṇḍava forces could resist him. Covered in blood and screaming out his battle cry, he seemed like the mighty Yamarāja bent on killing all creatures.
Aśvatthāmā slew all of the surviving warriors. Like an elephant crushing lotuses in a lake, he moved about with his flashing sword, resisting all attempts to check him. Many invisible Rākṣasas flew around the camp, filled with joy to see so many corpses pouring forth fresh blood. Their terrible cries resounded and mixed with the frightful howls of thousands of jackals.
Horses and elephants, terror-stricken, ran about wildly. Confused warriors came out of their quarters and looked around in the darkness to see what was happening. Seeing Aśvatthāmā whirling his bloodied sword, many of them mounted horses and sped toward the camp’s gates. Others ran on foot, trying to escape. As the men left the camp, Kṛpa and Kṛtavarmā met them and killed them. Having no weapons, with dishevelled hair and garments and crying in fear, they were cruelly butchered even as they fled crying for mercy.
Kṛpa and Kṛtavarmā, abandoning their shame, killed every last man they found. They then set fire to the tents. Men dashed about in confusion and terror and were cut down ruthlessly by the three Kaurava warriors. Calling out for the Pāṇḍavas, they fell to the earth, cut to pieces by the Kauravas’ weapons.
As twilight approached, Aśvatthāmā, seeing that no warriors had survived his rampage, decided to leave. Drenched in blood, and with his sword seeming like a grotesque extension of his arm, he appeared dreadful. Having slaughtered all the Pañchāla and Pāṇḍava troops, he felt he had avenged his father’s death.
Again the camp was silent. The women and the few servants who had not been killed were struck dumb with grief and terror. They hid themselves as Droṇa’s son left again by the northern gate. His two companions were waiting for him. When they informed him that no one had escaped, he praised them.
After mounting his chariot, Aśvatthāmā considered how best to inform Duryodhana. He wanted to cheer the defeated prince before he died, but Duryodhana would hardly be able to believe that the Pāṇḍavas and all their troops had been slain. Aśvatthāmā thought he should show him the Pāṇḍavas’ heads. That would convince him. He rode swiftly back into the camp. Going quickly into the tent where the five dead brothers lay, he took out his sword to sever their heads. The first light of dawn was entering the tent and, as he approached the bodies, he realized with dismay that they were not the Pāṇḍavas at all. These were Draupadī’s five sons. The Pāṇḍavas must not even have been present, since no warrior in the camp had escaped.
Aśvatthāmā’s sword dropped to his side. Deeply disappointed, he wondered what to do. After some thought he decided to take the five heads anyway and convince Duryodhana that they were in fact the Pāṇḍavas. At least he could bring some happiness to the fallen Kuru leader before he died. He took the five heads and placed them on his chariot, then drove out of the camp toward Duryodhana. The sun had just risen as his party reached him.
The three men saw Duryodhana lying surrounded by carnivorous beasts. He was pale and clearly on the verge of death. With difficulty he scared away the wolves and hyenas that kept coming up to him. Aśvatthāmā leapt down from his chariot. After chasing the beasts away, he knelt before Duryodhana. Kṛpa also got down and stood by the dying prince’s side. He addressed him in a sorrowful voice.
“Surely nothing is difficult for destiny to achieve. See how this once great king now lies here. He who would walk on the heads of all other kings now lies in the dust, struck down by the foe and bathed in blood. His golden mace, so dear to him, lies by his side like a faithful wife by the side of her husband. He who was formerly attended by Brahmins seeking wealth is now attended by vicious beasts and birds, seeking to eat his flesh. Witness the reverses brought about by time.”
Aśvatthāmā spoke more joyfully, telling Duryodhana how he had slaughtered the Pāṇḍavas and their warriors. “I have killed them all. See here the heads of the five brothers, O King.”
As Aśvatthāmā climbed onto his chariot to fetch the heads, Duryodhana opened his eyes and sat up, leaning on his elbows. “O son of Droṇa, you have accomplished what not even Bhīṣma, Karṇa, or even your own father could achieve.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “This has filled me with happiness. I will go now to the heavens where we will all meet again.”
Aśvatthāmā came down from his chariot, holding the five heads by the hair. He placed them by Duryodhana’s side and said, “Here are your sworn enemies, O King.”
Duryodhana reached over and felt the heads. He found it hard to believe that they could be the Pāṇḍavas. They looked like them, but perhaps they were their sons. Duryodhana knew how to tell the difference. He squeezed the skulls with his powerful hands, exerting the last of his strength. As he did so, the heads collapsed. He could understand that these were the heads of the Pāṇḍavas’ teenage sons.
Duryodhana fell to the ground with a sigh. “These are Draupadī’s sons, O Brahmin, and not the Pāṇḍavas. The heads of those five heroes are as hard as iron, but I have easily crushed these heads even in my weakened condition. Alas, what a terrible act you have performed! These boys were the future hope of the Kuru house. Now everything is lost.”
Duryodhana lay lamenting, his eyes closed in pain. Although he hated the Pāṇḍavas, he was not pleased to see their sons murdered. Who now would carry on what was, after all, his own family line? All his own brothers were dead. Now by killing Draupadī’s sons, Aśvatthāmā had practically ended the Kuru dynasty.
Gasping, “Alas, alas,” Duryodhana gave up his life. His head slumped to the side as his last breath came out. The three Kauravas cried out in distress. Seeing that he had died in acute disappointment rather than the joy for which he had hoped, Aśvatthāmā immediately felt remorse.
After gazing with tear-filled eyes at the king, the three men built a large funeral pyre. Placing Duryodhana’s body on it, they recited prayers and carried out his last rites, sprinkling his body with sacred water fetched from the Ganges. They then set light to the pyre and wailed in grief as the fire consumed him. When the flames expired, Kṛpa gathered up the last remains of the body and carried them to the river, placing them in the water while chanting Vedic mantras.
Having completed the rituals, the three warriors mounted their chariots and set off in silence toward Hastināpura.
2.29: Aśvatthāmā Punished
In the Kaurava camp, the Pāṇḍavas had risen before sunrise to say their prayers and perform their morning rites. As Yudhiṣṭhira completed his ablutions, Dṛṣṭadyumna’s panicked chariot driver ran into his tent. After he had been calmed, he described the night’s events.
“O King, Draupadī’s sons as well as those of Drupada have all been slain. Aśvatthmā, Kṛpa and Kṛtavarmā have committed a most cruel act. Even as our men slept, they were killed without mercy. Aśvatthāmā came like Death himself and slashed at everyone with his sword. Anyone who tried to flee was cut down by the arrows of the other two. I think I am the only survivor. Somehow I managed to escape from the camp and have come here to tell you.”
Yudhiṣṭhira dropped to the ground and cried out. Upon hearing their brother’s distress cry, the other Pāṇḍava brothers ran in to him and he informed them of what had happened. They too began to cry and fell to the earth. Yudhiṣṭhira’s voice rose above the others. “Alas, after defeating our enemies we are now defeated. An already bitter victory, gained at the cost of the lives of so many kinsmen, has become still more bitter. What happiness can we now enjoy with all our sons, friends and followers slain? Alas, they have died like merchants in a boat, who, having crossed the ocean, are wrecked in a shallow river. What will become of Draupadī? How will she live after hearing that her sons were so brutally slaughtered?”
Yudhiṣṭhira turned to Nakula and asked him to bring Draupadī to the Pāṇḍava camp so that he could break the terrible news to her. After Nakula left, the other brothers comforted Yudhiṣṭhira, who then left the tent and mounted his chariot. Accompanied by his brothers and Sātyaki, who had stayed with them in the Kaurava camp, he made his way to his own camp.
As Yudhiṣṭhira entered the camp he saw the ground littered by bodies. Severed heads and limbs lay strewn about, birds picking at them and beasts tearing them apart. Seeing how the men had been slain without armor or weapons, the Pāṇḍavas seized their weapons and looked about wildly for signs of the killers. Upon not finding Aśvatthāmā or his party, they tearfully entered their sons’ tent and found the five headless corpses still lying on their beds. Horrified, they wailed in sorrow. Yudhiṣṭhira, feeling responsible for all the deaths, fell trembling to the ground.
As Yudhiṣṭhira’s brothers tried to comfort him, Nakula entered the tent with Draupadī. As soon as she saw her sons’ bodies she dropped senseless to the earth. Sprinkling her face with cool water, Bhīma raised her and held onto her as she stood shaking uncontrollably. Her delicate face was darkened with grief, resembling the sun covered by storm clouds.
Supported by Bhīma, the Pañchāla princess said, “By good luck, O King, you have regained the earth after conquering your enemies. By good luck your thoughts do not dwell on Subhadrā’s son, that mighty-armed hero who was so cruelly killed by the Kauravas. Now it is my own sons who have been slain through sin. Seeing how they have been killed by Droṇa’s vicious son even while they slept, I burn with unbearable grief. If that wretch does not pay for this crime, then I will die. I promise to observe the Praya vow and fast until death.”
Draupadī sat down and assumed a yogic posture, her legs folded by her side and her arms outstretched. “I will not move from this spot until you bring me the shining jewel from Aśvatthāmā’s head, having slain him like a beast.”
Yudhiṣṭhira consoled the weeping princess. Draupadī looked up at Bhīma and implored, “Mindful of a kṣatriya’s duties, O Bhīma, kill that wretch like Indra killed Shambara. There is no man in the world who can equal your prowess. Again and again you have been my refuge, and indeed the refuge of all your brothers. Remembering those deeds, kill Droṇa’s son and be happy.”
Draupadī’s voice was a wail. She covered her tear-streaked face with her hands. Her head fell to her breast and she wailed piteously. She could not get the sight of her five headless sons out of her mind. Repeatedly beating her chest, she filled the tent with her loud sobs.
Bhīma looked around at the carnage caused by Aśvatthāmā. His eyes blazed and his huge chest rose and fell rapidly. He lifted his mace, still bloodstained from his battle with Duryodhana. Asking Nakula to become his charioteer, he ran out of the tent and leapt aboard his chariot. Within moments he was speeding out of the camp. He knew Aśvatthāmā would have first gone to see the dying Duryodhana and would then head for Hastināpura. Nakula drove his chariot like the wind toward the road to Hastināpura.
Soon after, Kṛṣṇa arrived and discovered the grisly scene. After being informed that Bhīma had set off in pursuit of Aśvatthāmā, he said, “O Yudhiṣṭhira, Bhīma is dearer to you than life. Why do you stand here without acting? Surely you know that Droṇa gave Aśvatthāmā the Brahmashira, capable of consuming all three worlds. Although his father ordered him to never use that weapon against men, I am sure that in his desperation he will release it against Bhīma. Only Arjuna, who also received the weapon from Droṇa, can check it. Do not delay. Order him to go after his brother. I will go with him.”
Kṛṣṇa reminded Yudhiṣṭhira of an incident which had occurred many years ago in Dwārakā, which indicated Aśvatthāmā’s shameless and brazen nature. Knowing that there was no weapon more powerful than Kṛṣṇa’s Sudarśanaa discus, he had gone to Dwārakā and asked Kṛṣṇa to exchange it for the Brahmashira. Kṛṣṇa had said, smiling, “The discus is here by My side, O hero. You may take it freely. I do not wish to have your weapon in exchange.” But even after exerting all his strength, Aśvatthāmā could not move the discus. When he gave up, Kṛṣṇa asked why he desired the discus. Aśvatthāmā replied, “If I had managed to take it, I would have challenged You to battle, O Yadu hero. After defeating You, and holding Your discus, I would then have been the most powerful man on earth.”
“You must stop him at once,” Kṛṣṇa concluded. “He is wrathful, wicked and cruel. Let us leave immediately.”
Yudhiṣṭhira agreed. Kṛṣṇa spoke consoling words to Draupadī and, after bowing to Yudhiṣṭhira, headed out of the tent. Preparing to follow him, Arjuna said to Draupadī, “O gentle lady, when I behead that Brahmin, I will present you with his head. Then I will wipe the tears from your eyes and pacify you. After burning your sons’ bodies, you can then take your bath standing on his head.”
Arjuna spat out the words “that Brahmin.” He knew it was forbidden to kill a Brahmin, but by his behavior Aśvatthāmā had shown himself to have fallen far from the path of Brahminical life.
Kṛṣṇa’s charioteer, Dāruka, still ready, stood just outside the tent. The chariot was yoked to His four horses: Śaibya, Sugrīva, Meghapushpa and Balahaka. They stood still as Kṛṣṇa and Arjuna climbed onto the chariot. Dāruka gave the command and the chariot moved off, quickly and smoothly picking up speed. The celestial standard, bearing the emblem of Garuḍa and decked with gold and gems, fluttered in the breeze as the chariot traveled rapidly toward Aśvatthāmā.
Within a short time they caught up with Bhīma, who could not be deterred from pursuing Aśvatthāmā. Thinking only of the grieving Draupadī, he raced on with his mace held aloft.
The two chariots sped toward the Ganges. When they reached its banks they saw Aśvatthāmā amid the ṛṣis. Droṇa’s son had sought their shelter in hopes of being protected from the Pāṇḍavas. He knew there was nowhere within the world--indeed the three worlds--where he could hide from Arjuna and Kṛṣṇa. He had thus entered among the Brahmins, knowing of the Pāṇḍavas’ respect for them. He sat in their midst, clad in only a deerskin.
Bhīma leapt from his chariot and ran toward him with a roar. Aśvatthāmā looked up and saw the furious Pāṇḍava charging, as well as Arjuna and Kṛṣṇa standing on their chariot nearby. Śiva’s terrible power had left him as soon as he had emerged from the Pāṇḍavas’ camp, and he was terror-stricken when he saw the two mighty Pāṇḍavas and Kṛṣṇa. He thought of the Brahmashira. That irresistible weapon was his only hope.
Taking up a reed of kusha grass, Aśvatthāmā recited the incantations to invoke the Brahmashira. Seeing this, Kṛṣṇa shouted to Bhīma to stop. The Pāṇḍava obediently halted in his tracks.
As Aśvatthāmā invoked his weapon, a glaring light spread in all directions. Witnessing the blinding force of the most powerful of all the Brahmā missiles, which even he had never seen before, Arjuna offered prayers to Kṛṣṇa. “My dear Lord Kṛṣṇa, You are the almighty Personality of Godhead. There is no limit to Your different energies. Therefore, only You are capable of instilling fearlessness in the hearts of Your devotees. Everyone in the flames of material miseries can find the path of liberation in You only. You are beyond the illusion of this world and nothing is unknown to You. Therefore kindly tell me, what is this blazing light which threatens to consume everything?”
“Know from Me that this is the all-powerful Brahmashira. This wicked man, afraid of imminent death, has thrown the weapon. But, O Pārtha, he has no knowledge of how to withdraw it.”
Kṛṣṇa knew that Droṇa had not fully instructed his son on how to use the weapon, realizing that he would likely abuse its power. Now he had desperately released it, not caring that it could destroy the world even with himself in it.
Kṛṣṇa urged Arjuna to counter the weapon. “Release your own Brahmā missile, O Pārtha, which will combine with Aśvatthāmā’s. Then you may withdraw both.”
Arjuna immediately touched Kṛṣṇa’s feet and thought of the mantras to invoke the weapon. He released the missile and it met with Aśvatthāmā’s in the sky. A great circle of blazing light filled the heavens. It appeared as if a second brilliant sun had risen and was about to burn the universe to ashes.
Vyāsadeva was sitting among the ṛṣis on the bank of the river. Witnessing the combined power of the two Brahmā weapons, he became alarmed. He ran over to Aśvatthāmā and said, “O Brahmin, what are you doing? Why have you thrown this weapon? It will destroy the world. Withdraw it at once.”
Aśvatthāmā looked at the ṛṣi but made no reply. He was unable to withdraw the weapon, but he could redirect it to another target. Aśvatthāmā saw that his attempt to kill Arjuna and Kṛṣṇa was being thwarted. His own powers were no match for Arjuna’s superior military skills.
Aśvatthāmā realized that death now stared him in the face. Surely the Pāṇḍavas would show him no mercy. Frustrated and filled with despair, he remembered that Uttarā, Abhimanyu’s wife, was pregnant with the child conceived before the prince’s death. She was carrying the last of the Kuru line. Aśvatthāmā’s mind raced. It was the proud Kurus who had killed his father, and who were about to kill him too. Deciding that if he was to die he would take the last hopes of the Kuru house with him, Aśvatthāmā concentrated on Uttarā--and, in particular, on the child in her womb. He uttered mantras to redirect the Brahmashira and it flew toward the Pāṇḍavas’ camp, where Uttarā had gone with Draupadī.
Unaware of Aśvatthāmā’s evil desire, Arjuna chanted the mantras to withdraw his own weapon and the brilliant glare in the sky gradually subsided. Seeing that the danger had passed, Vyāsadeva returned to his place amid the sages, who were in the midst of performing a sacrifice to Viṣṇu.
In the Pāṇḍavas’ camp, Uttarā suddenly felt herself in danger. She was not sure of the cause, but could sense the approach of something. The beautiful princess, still only a young girl, fell to the ground. Her limbs trembled and she felt apprehensive. Terrified, she offered prayers to Kṛṣṇa, whom she saw as her only shelter. Folding her palms and bowing her head, she said, “O Lord of lords, Lord of the universe! You are the greatest of mystics. Please protect me, for there is no one else who can save me from the clutches of death in this world of duality.”
Hearing her heartfelt prayer even as He sat on the chariot with Arjuna, Kṛṣṇa, who understood Aśvatthāmā’s intentions, at once expanded His personal energy to protect Uttarā. He entered her womb in a mystical form and covered the child. As the Brahmashira approached, it was neutralized by Kṛṣṇa and sent harmlessly into the sky. Uttarā and the other Pāṇḍava ladies looked with wonder at the missile as it rose upwards like a blazing comet. Surely Kṛṣṇa had saved them all from certain death.
After withdrawing his celestial Brahmā weapon, Arjuna fired another weapon at Aśvatthāmā which immediately bound him with strong cords. Leaping from Kṛṣṇa’s chariot, he ran over to Aśvatthāmā and seized him by the hair, dragging him up onto the chariot. Although capable, Arjuna was reluctant to kill the son of his teacher.
Seeing Arjuna sparing Aśvatthāmā’s life, Kṛṣṇa said, “O Pārtha, you should not show mercy to him. He is no Brahmin--he has killed innocent boys in their sleep. This is always against religious codes. His sins have been great. You should kill him for his own good. Otherwise, he will descend into hell. Furthermore, you have promised Draupadī that you will bring her the head of her sons’ killer. Do not hesitate. He has brutally murdered your family members and deserves death at your hands without doubt. Having blighted his own family name, he is but the burnt remnants of his dynasty. Kill him at once!”
Throwing Aśvatthāmā to the chariot floor, Arjuna replied, “I do not feel able to kill him, O Kṛṣṇa. How could I perpetrate an act so painful to my own guru’s heart? If it is Your order, then it will be done; but for myself, I would rather take him to Yudhiṣṭhira to hear his judgment. Draupadī, too, may decide what should be done with this wretch.”
Kṛṣṇa nodded. Dāruka urged on his horses and in a short while they arrived at the camp, Bhīma following just behind.
Arjuna dragged Aśvatthāmā before Yudhiṣṭhira and Draupadī, saying, “Here is the killer of our sons. What should be done with him now?”
The soft-hearted Draupadī felt compassion for Aśvatthāmā, who sat with his head down. As he was a Brahmin she folded her palms in respect and said, “Release him, Arjuna, for he is the son of your martial teacher. It is said that the son is one with his father, and thus it is as if Droṇa himself were here. Indeed, Droṇa’s wife did not ascend his funeral pyre because she had a son. Killing Aśvatthāmā will cause her, our worshipful superior, grief and cannot be in accord with religious principles. My lord, do not make her cry like me. Nor should we, the kingly order, become guilty of the sin of needlessly slaying Brahmins. Such a sin can burn the whole body of a royal family to ashes.”
Yudhiṣṭhira, approving Draupadī’s words, said, “Excellent, excellent. O gentle lady, your words are quite in accord with the sacred teachings of the Vedas.”
Arjuna and the twins also expressed their agreement--but not Bhīma. “We need show this man no mercy. He has mercilessly killed sleeping men for no purpose other than his own interests. Killing him is the only fitting punishment.”
Bhīma advanced menacingly toward Aśvatthāmā with his fists clenched. His eyes were wide with fury and he ground his teeth. Draupadī quickly came between him and Aśvatthāmā, who still said nothing and stared at the ground.
Seeing the conflict, Kṛṣṇa moved forward and placed a hand on Bhīma’s shoulder, telling him to be peaceful. Turning to Arjuna, He said, “A Brahmin, even when guilty of sin, is not to be killed; but if he is an aggressor, he must be killed. All these rulings are in the scriptures. You should act accordingly. You have to fulfill your promise to your wife, and you must also act to Bhīmasena’s satisfaction—and Mine. We both want you to kill this culprit.”
Arjuna looked at Kṛṣṇa, who appeared to have four arms as He stood holding Bhīma at bay and comforting Draupadī. He could understand Kṛṣṇa’s equivocal instructions. Aśvatthāmā should both be killed and not killed. Taking out his razor-edged sword, he grabbed hold of Aśvatthāmā’s top-knot and severed the hair along with the shining jewel that bound it. The jewel was the repository of Aśvatthāmā’s mystic power, and as it was removed, he shriveled and collapsed.
Presenting the jewel to Draupadī, Arjuna said, “Here is the gem you desired, O beautiful lady. Aśvatthāmā is now as good as dead, for to cut off the hair of a powerful warrior is equal to killing him. Indeed, the Vedas also prescribe such punishment for fallen Brahmins, but they never sanction killing the body.”
Bhīma praised Arjuna for his intelligent act which had satisfied everyone. He led Draupadī to a nearby couch and sat her down as Kṛṣṇa spoke to Aśvatthāmā. “O son of Droṇa, all wise men will know you as a coward and a wretch from now on. You will have to endure the fruits of your sinful acts. For three thousand years you will wander the earth, afflicted by disease and completely alone, unable to speak to anyone. Wretched and foul-smelling, you will dwell in deep forests and dreary wastelands. At the end of this period, purified at last of your sins, you will ascend to the higher regions. Go now, O wicked man.”
Arjuna and Bhīma dragged Aśvatthāmā to his feet and, unbinding him, drove him from the camp. Deprived of his jewel and cursed by Kṛṣṇa, his power was gone and he disappeared into the woods to begin his lonely exile.
After his departure, Yudhiṣṭhira sorrowfully asked Kṛṣṇa how Droṇa’s son had been able to kill the warriors in their camp. “I cannot see how it was possible that the sinful Aśvatthāmā could slay Dṛṣṭadyumna and so many other powerful fighters. Tell me, O Kṛṣṇa, what power possessed him?”
Kṛṣṇa explained how Aśvatthāmā had worshipped Śiva and obtained from him the power to kill the warriors. “But know from Me that their time had come. Having carried out My will, they have now reached everlasting regions of bliss. Therefore, O King, you need not lament for them.” Kṛṣṇa consoled Yudhiṣṭhira with Vedic wisdom, while the other Pāṇḍavas and their women listened to His words. The sun was approaching the meridian and Yudhiṣṭhira, feeling comforted, told his brothers that they should go to the Ganges to perform the last rites of their sons and other relatives. Wrapped in simple cotton cloths, the bodies of all the slain men were carried to the river bank, followed by the mournful procession of the Pāṇḍavas. The women walked at the head of the procession, followed by hundreds of Brahmins who were reciting Vedic mantras and throwing kusha grass on the ground.
Gradually they approached the river and began the funeral ceremonies. The many servants who had been brought from the city placed the thousands of corpses on large pyres built along the river bank. As the women’s piteous wails carried into the breeze, the Brahmins performed the rituals and the pyres were ignited. Everyone then entered the water and offered prayers for the departed souls.
After the funerals were complete, the Pāṇḍavas and Kṛṣṇa slowly began the journey to Hastināpura.
* * *
Dhṛtarāṣṭra and Gāndhārī sat alone in their chamber. After Kṛṣṇa had left them, they were once again overcome by grief. The blind king sat with his head fallen to his chest, his breath coming in tearful sighs. He looked like a once-great tree shorn of its branches. Sañjaya entered the chamber. As he announced himself, Dhṛtarāṣṭra stood to greet him, then collapsed.
Sañjaya lifted the old king gently and said, “Why do you grieve, O Monarch? Grief is useless. Eighteen akshauhinis have been killed and the earth divested of hundreds of kings. All your sons have been slain, along with so many of their kinsmen, friends and counselors. You should now perform their funeral rites. What is the use of lying here shedding tears?”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra cried out and dropped back onto the silk rug spread over the floor of his darkened chamber. Sañjaya pulled back the heavy drapes from the nearby window and sunshine poured into the room. The king and queen both appeared disheveled and withered by grief. Neither had slept for days.
Sañjaya again helped Dhṛtarāṣṭra to his feet and the old king fell back onto his throne. In a choked voice he said, “Bereft as I am of sons, friends and counselors, I will have to wander the earth in a wretched state. What is the use of living? Alas, I did not heed my advisors’ words and now I lament. Kṛṣṇa told me to make peace with the Pāṇḍavas and rule the earth without a rival. Bhīṣma and Vidura agreed. I chose to follow my wicked son. Now he is dead and I am experiencing an ocean of grief. Surely my sins in previous lives have been great and thus I suffer now. Who on earth is more afflicted than me? Destiny has dealt me unbearable blows. I will end my life. Let the Pāṇḍavas come here and see me bent upon taking that final great journey toward the eternal Brahman.”
Sañjaya shook his head. He had heard Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s empty lamentations so many times. Taking hold of the king’s hand, he replied, “Cast off your grief, O King. You are well acquainted with Vedic instructions regarding the certainty of death and the eternality of the soul. Everything happens as it should. All men receive the proper results of their own acts. For your fault your sons have been destroyed. Only out of covetousness did you follow your son, who was ever guided by wicked men. Thus has your own perverted intelligence cut you, exactly like a sharp sword. So many people tried to redirect you to the path of virtue, but you would not listen. Although learned and intelligent, you were not qualified to be emperor of the earth, for you lacked discrimination.”
As he had done on previous occasions, Sañjaya made it clear to Dhṛtarāṣṭra that he had only himself to blame. Now he was forced to repent. “A man who keeps a burning coal in the folds of his cloth and then is burned by the fire is simply a fool if he laments. You and your son kept that Pāṇḍava fire in your midst and fanned it with your words and deeds. Now your sons have fallen into the blaze like insects. Why do you weep?”
Since Vidura had left the palace to go on pilgrimage, Sañjaya had more and more assumed the role of the king’s advisor. As Vidura had always done, he spoke frankly and without fear. “Rise up, O Monarch, and attend your duties. Why do you cry for that which can no longer be avoided? All created beings will be destroyed, everything high will eventually fall, union always ends in separation, and life always ends in death. All creatures are like members of a caravan bound for the same country. Death will meet each of them in turn; none will escape. Thus it is immaterial who goes first. Your sons, meeting a glorious death in the thick of battle, have surely gone to higher places. The scriptures clearly state this. For a kṣatriya, there is no better death than to die in battle. Your grief for your sons is unwarranted and meaningless. It will only increase if you indulge it. Only the less intelligent allow themselves to be overcome by grief. It does not bestow any benefit upon the grief-stricken; rather, it deviates him from his duty and thwarts his aims in life.”
Sañjaya had never stopped advising Dhṛtarāṣṭra for his own good, despite the fact that his advice was ignored. Now that the king had lost everything, he would be far more likely to take good counsel seriously. Sañjaya spoke for some time, repeating the wisdom he had heard from the ṛṣis. Dhṛtarāṣṭra listened attentively, encouraging him to continue and feeling a sense of relief from his words.
“O King, all men receive the results of their own actions alone. By acting with a desire for profit, one attains only repeated births in this world along with their concomitant sufferings. Those who are wise act only to achieve liberation. By surrendering their acts unto the Supreme, they free themselves from the bondage of work. One who does his duty only as a sacrifice for the pleasure of Viṣṇu will surely rise to regions of deathlessness where eternal happiness is enjoyed. Those whose hearts are possessed by lust and greed for material enjoyment, however, will continue to suffer.”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra felt Sañjaya’s reprimand. Repenting his foolishness, he rose from his throne and again fell to the floor. Gāndhārī wept silently as Sañjaya attended to him by sprinkling cool, perfumed water on his face.
While the old charioteer consoled Dhṛtarāṣṭra, Vyāsadeva entered the chamber. He shone with spiritual effulgence, seeming to glide across the chamber as he approached the king.
Hearing that the sage was present, Dhṛtarāṣṭra got up to welcome him and said, “Alas, O lord, I am undone. Fie on this world and fie on humanity. All our pains have their root in the state of human existence. How can one tolerate the pain of losing one’s wealth and all one’s loved ones? The calamity that has befallen me will only end with life itself. Therefore, I shall end my miserable existence today.”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra again fell sobbing to the ground. Seeing him in that state, Vyāsadeva said, “O mighty monarch, hear my words. You are learned and intelligent. You know everything, so take recourse in that wisdom now. When everything in this world is temporary, why do you grieve for that which is lost? Time itself, making your son the cause, has brought about this destruction. No one can change destiny. I have known destiny’s course, settled by the celestials, and I will explain it to you now so that you may find peace of mind.”
Vyāsadeva explained how he had attended an assembly in Indra’s court some time ago. There he had seen many great ṛṣis, headed by Nārada, and also the Goddess Earth herself. The all-powerful Viṣṇu had come to the assembly, where Earth had beseeched him: “My dear lord, you have promised to relieve my burden. Let that come to pass soon.”
Viṣṇu had replied, “The eldest of Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s one hundred sons will accomplish your desire. Through that king, your object will be achieved. Fighting for his cause, all the kings who are exploiting your resources will meet in a fierce battle and slay one another. O beautiful damsel, return and continue to bear the weight of all creatures. Your burden will soon be lightened by the battle.”
Vyāsadeva went on to explain that Duryodhana was an incarnation of Kali, the deity presiding over the impending age of quarrel and suffering. It was by his dark influence that the slaughter had been brought about. Dhṛtarāṣṭra should not blame the Pāṇḍavas. They too had been told by Nārada of the arrangement made by the celestials. Filled with grief to hear that they would be involved in such carnage, they had endeavored to avoid it--but Duryodhana would not be swayed.
Vyāsadeva concluded, “I have thus revealed to you the gods’ secret, O King. You should not grieve. All the warriors who died are now living in the higher planets in joy. The earth is no longer feeling the burden of them, and a righteous monarch has assumed rulership in the form of Yudhiṣṭhira. Thus the world will now be led on the path of virtue. Cast off your sorrow. If the compassionate Yudhiṣṭhira sees you in this state, he will give up his life. Take hold of yourself. Spend your remaining days in asceticism and attain the goal of life.”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra sighed. Getting to his feet with Sañjaya’s assistance, he replied, “O best of ṛṣis, thinking of my sons I am sunk in grief and almost losing consciousness, but your words have convinced me to continue living. Understanding that everything has been ordained by the gods, I will endeavor to put aside my sorrow. Thus will I live.”
Vyāsadeva then disappeared. Feeling comforted, Dhṛtarāṣṭra and Gāndhārī retired to their private quarters to rest, having spent the night grieving.
2.30: Yudhiṣṭhira’s Sorrow
Just before noon, Dhṛtarāṣṭra called for his servants and asked to be taken to the Ganges to perform the funeral rites for his departed relatives. He also asked that the Kuru ladies attend, and the servants went out to fetch them and arrange for their journey.
The ladies left their quarter wailing. Crying and beating their breasts, they mounted chariots that would transport them to the river. With their hair disheveled and their ornaments abandoned, they had left their houses like deer leaving a mountain cave after their leader’s fall. Calling out the names of their husbands and sons, they proceeded toward the river. Upon hearing their anguished cries, people felt that the hour of universal destruction was at hand.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra and Sañjaya rode just behind the ladies, followed by many servants. Two miles later they encountered Kṛpa and Kṛtavarmā. With choked voices they told the king how Duryodhana had been killed by Bhīma. They then informed Dhṛtarāṣṭra of Aśvatthāmā’s night massacre. Both warriors looked ashamed.
Finally, Kṛpa said, “We are now fleeing. Aśvatthāmā has been captured and released by Arjuna. Kṛṣṇa cursed him to wander the earth for three thousand years in exile, and he has left for the forest. Grant us your permission, O King, and we will return to our homes.”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra felt his heart sink even further. He told the two men to return to their abodes and ordered the procession to continue. They soon reached the Ganges.
Word that they were on their way to the Ganges had reached Yudhiṣṭhira, so the Pāṇḍavas and Kṛṣṇa decided to meet them at the river. Draupadī and the Pañchāla ladies, their hearts heavy, also went.
As the Pāṇḍavas approached the Ganges they saw thousands of Kuru ladies mourning. Yudhiṣṭhira walked toward them and they surrounded him, crying out. Some of them censured him. “Where is your righteousness, O King? Where is your truth and compassion? You have mercilessly slain sires, brothers, preceptors, sons and friends. What is the use of sovereignty now that even your own sons and allies are dead? Alas, the war has brought nothing but grief to everyone.”
Passing silently among the ladies, Yudhiṣṭhira made his way to Dhṛtarāṣṭra and bowed at his feet. Each of his brothers followed suit, announcing their names as they offered obeisances. With difficulty, Dhṛtarāṣṭra embraced Yudhiṣṭhira and blessed his brothers. When he heard Bhīma’s name, however, his heart blazed with anger. Concealing his feelings, he called Bhīma forward so that he could embrace him as he had Yudhiṣṭhira.
Kṛṣṇa understood Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s intentions. He touched Bhīma on the shoulder to indicate that he should wait. Exercising the mystic prapti power, He brought the iron image of Bhīma from Duryodhana’s gymnasium in Hastināpura. He pushed the statue forward into Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s open arms. The blind king, possessed of the strength of ten thousand elephants and burning with fury, squeezed the statue with all his power. Taking it to be Bhīma himself, the king shattered the iron form into many pieces.
As the statue fell apart, Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s chest was severely bruised and he vomited blood. Exhausted from his effort and soaked in blood, he dropped to the ground like a blossoming pārijāta tree. Sañjaya knelt by his side and lifted him, saying, “Do not act like this, O King.”
Having released his anger, Dhṛtarāṣṭra was instantly remorseful. He thought he had killed Bhīma.
Seeing that the king’s anger had abated, Kṛṣṇa said, “Do not grieve, O Bharata. Knowing you were angry, I dragged Bhīma from certain destruction. You have only broken his statue form. Who could escape from your angry embrace, which is as tight as the embrace of Death? In any case, how would killing Bhīma do you any good? It will not revive your sons, O King. Give up your spite and be peaceful.”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra hung his head in shame. He was helped to his feet by his servants and they took him to the river to change his clothes and wash him. After this, when the blind king was seated on a fine rug by the riverside, Kṛṣṇa said, “You are learned in all the scriptures and aware of morality. Why do you harbor anger against the Pāṇḍavas? Everything that has happened has been caused by your folly. I Myself tried to warn you before the battle, but to no avail. You have repeatedly ignored the advice of Vidura, Bhīṣma, Droṇa, and Sañjaya. Only a king who sees his own shortcomings can enjoy prosperity, but he who acts by his own judgment alone and who does not follow well-wishing advisors has to suffer. Bhīma has rightfully slain your crooked son, that mean wretch who dragged Pāñcālī into the assembly. Remembering both his and your antagonism toward the Pāṇḍavas, govern your anger.”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra was subdued. “It is just as you say, O Madhava. I have been deviated from virtue by a father’s affection. I am no longer angry. Let me embrace both Bhīma and Arjuna in love. With all my sons dead, my happiness now depends on the Pāṇḍavas, who are no less to me than my own sons. Alas, I have acted like an enemy to those whom I should have nurtured and protected.”
After embracing them all, Dhṛtarāṣṭra asked the Pāṇḍavas to go and see Gāndhārī. Before they came before her, Vyāsadeva went to the queen. The ṛṣi could see into the hearts and minds of all beings and, understanding that she was intending to curse Yudhiṣṭhira, he said, “Do not harm the Pāṇḍavas, O Gāndhārī. Take this opportunity instead to exercise forgiveness. Remember, O Queen, that it was you who blessed Duryodhana with the statement, ‘Victory always attends righteousness.’ Your words have not proven false. Certainly the Pāṇḍavas are endowed with all virtuous qualities. Cast away your evil desire.”
As Vyāsadeva spoke, the Pāṇḍavas arrived before Gāndhārī and offered their respects, touching her feet one by one.
Shedding tears, Gāndhārī said to Vyāsadeva, “I do not entertain any ill feelings for the Pāṇḍavas, O sage, but grief has shaken my heart. Surely the Kauravas, puffed up with pride and arrogance, have perished due to Duryodhana’s folly and the foolishness of his advisors. I do not blame the Pāṇḍavas, but they have done something I cannot accept. Bhīma struck my son down with an unfair blow. Surely this was not consistent with virtue.”
Bhīma, having learned from Kṛṣṇa of Gāndhārī’s empowering glance over her son, replied to her. “Whether or not the blow was fair, it was the only way your son could be killed. Surely you know this, O Queen. The sinful prince acted so treacherously toward us and without thought of virtue on many occasions. Thus he deserved to be slain by whatever means were possible. Without killing him, Yudhiṣṭhira could not have established a righteous rule. Therefore I did what was in my power and felled him in battle, exactly as I had promised. Were I not restrained by Yudhiṣṭhira I would have done that long ago--on the day he insulted Drupada’s daughter.”
Bhīma felt that the real reason his killing of Duryodhana with a low blow was not sinful was because Kṛṣṇa had ordered it. After all, virtue had its root in Kṛṣṇa and was meant only for His pleasure. Knowing that Gāndhārī’s faith in Kṛṣṇa was not the same as his own, Bhīma did not present her with this reason. It would only diminish whatever respect she had for Kṛṣṇa.
Gāndhārī’s voice wavered. “You have been most inhumane, Bhīma. How could you drink Dushashana’s blood. Surely only a Rākṣasa would do such a thing.”
Bhīma felt no remorse, but he reassured the queen. “O chaste lady, you should know that I did not allow his blood to pass my teeth. When Dushashana committed his sins against Draupadī, I made a terrible vow under anger’s influence. Without fulfilling that vow, my reputation would have been sullied and my truthfulness compromised. You should not attribute any fault to me, O Gāndhārī. Without having checked your sons previously, you should not now blame we who are innocent.”
Gāndhārī wept silently, thinking of her sons. Her frail body shook and maidservants came up to support her. After some time she regained her composure and said, “Why, O Bhīma, could you not have spared even a single one of our sons? How will we survive without support in this world?”
Her anger rising again, the queen asked, “Where is Yudhiṣṭhira? I wish to address Pāṇḍu’s eldest son.”
Trembling, with his palms folded, Yudhiṣṭhira stood before Gāndhārī and said, “Here he is, O Queen, the cruel destroyer of your sons. I deserve your curse, for I am the root of this great destruction. Curse me at once, O Queen. I care not for kingdom, wealth, nor even life itself. By bringing about the slaughter of kinsmen and friends, I have proved myself a fool and as one who hates his own family.”
Gāndhārī fought to control her anger. Aware of her husband’s weakness and her sons’ sinfulness, and thinking of Vyāsadeva’s words, she restrained herself from uttering a curse. It was obvious that Yudhiṣṭhira felt more than enough remorse and pain. Still, he should not have allowed Bhīma to have perpetrated his vicious acts against her two eldest sons. Behind the blindfold around her head, Gāndhārī felt her eyes burn with anger. Although she had used much of her ascetic power when she had blessed Duryodhana, it had not been exhausted. She lifted the blindfold slightly and looked down at Yudhiṣṭhira’s feet. As she glanced down, Yudhiṣṭhira’s toes, with their perfectly manicured nails, were singed and his nails turned brown.
Seeing this, Arjuna stepped back behind Kṛṣṇa. Yudhiṣṭhira, however, did not react. Gāndhārī, gaining control of herself, spoke reassuringly to the brothers. She told them to go to Kuntī, who was longing to see them again.
The brothers then presented themselves before their mother. Seeing them for the first time since their exile, Kuntī cried, covering her face with a cloth. After weeping for some time, she repeatedly embraced and patted her sons, lamenting as she saw the wounds and scars on their bodies.
Draupadī fell before Kuntī, her tears wetting Kuntī’s feet. “O venerable lady, where have all your grandsons gone? Seeing you in such distress, why are they not coming before you? O Mother, how can I live and what do I care now for any kingdom? Alas my sons are no more.”
Kuntī raised Draupadī and consoled her. As she spoke to the Pāṇḍavas’ grieving wife, Dhṛtarāṣṭra and Gāndhārī were led up to them. Hearing Draupadī weep, Gāndhārī said, “Do not grieve so, dear daughter. This terrible slaughter has been brought about by the irresistible course of time. Everything was foretold by Vidura and Kṛṣṇa, both of whom tried in vain to sue for peace.”
As she thought of Kṛṣṇa, Gāndhārī felt her anger rise once more. Although He had tried unsuccessfully to bring about peace, He could have forced the issue if He had desired. He had at His command a vast army containing many of the most powerful warriors on earth. But more than that, He was said to be an incarnation of the Supreme Lord. Surely nothing was beyond His capabilities. Gāndhārī felt that, ultimately, everything was Kṛṣṇa’s fault. The ṛṣis had even said that the destruction of the warriors had been His divine arrangement.
Asking for Kṛṣṇa to come before her, Gāndhārī said, “The Pāṇḍavas and Kauravas have been rooted out, O Kṛṣṇa, even before Your eyes. Why were You indifferent to them? You could have prevented the slaughter. O Madhava, since You deliberately allowed this universal destruction, You should now feel the consequences. By whatever little merit I have acquired by serving my husband, I curse You, O holder of the discus. Since You callously allowed the Kurus and Pāṇḍavas to kill one another, so You will be the destroyer of Your own kinsmen. O Govinda, on the thirty-sixth year from now You will kill Your own family members in a fratricidal fight, finally dying Yourself by foul means. The ladies of Your family will thus weep even as the Kuru ladies are now doing.”
Kṛṣṇa bowed His head and folded His palms. “Your words will be true, O chaste lady. There are none in this world who can exterminate the Vrishnis and Yādavas. In delivering this curse you have assisted Me, for I have been wondering how to take My kinsmen back out of this world. Neither gods, Gandharvas, nor Asuras can kill them. They will therefore slay each other.”
The Pāṇḍavas, upon hearing Gāndhārī’s curse and Kṛṣṇa’s reply, gazed mutely at one another. They were stupefied. The thought of Kṛṣṇa’s departure, even though thirty-six years away, was unbearable. How would they live in His absence? They looked at Him with tears in their eyes.
Glancing affectionately at the Pāṇḍavas, Kṛṣṇa said, “Arise, O Gāndhārī, and shake off your grief. Your son Duryodhana, whom neither you nor your husband stopped, was malicious, envious and arrogant. Why do you blame others for your own fault? From the beginning you should not have allowed your son to live. He was the embodiment of hostility and disobedient to his elders. Thus he has met a fitting end. Give up your useless grief, for by indulging it, it simply increases. As a Brahmin woman brings forth children to practice austerity and a vaiśyā bears offspring for keeping cows, so a kṣatriya woman brings forth sons to be killed in battle and for no other reason.”
When Kṛṣṇa was finished, Gāndhārī remained silent. Dhṛtarāṣṭra then asked Yudhiṣṭhira where he felt the fallen warriors went after dying in battle. Yudhiṣṭhira replied, “By the grace of Lomaśa Ṛṣi I have been granted the vision to see where the heroes have gone. All of them have attained the gods’ celestial abodes. Even those who fell while fleeing or turning their faces from the fight have gone upwards to regions of enduring pleasure. Indeed, having died in Kṛṣṇa’s presence, the dead warriors have doubtlessly all reached auspicious destinations.”
Comforted by Yudhiṣṭhira’s assurance, Dhṛtarāṣṭra gave orders that the funeral rites be performed for his sons and their followers. Thousands of Brahmins chanted hymns from the Sāma and Ṛg Vedas, while funeral pyres blazed all along the river bank. The Kurus entered the river and stood waist deep to offer oblations of sacred water to their departed relatives. Women’s cries filled the air, drowning out the Brahmins’ mantras.
As the Pāṇḍavas were about to enter the river to make their funeral offerings, Kuntī came to them and said quietly, “O heroes, offer an oblation for Karṇa. That effulgent fighter, the ornament of battle who ever delighted in fight, was Sūrya’s son and my own firstborn child. He was your eldest brother.”
The five brothers were shocked. Yudhiṣṭhira and Arjuna glanced at one another. They had long suspected that Karṇa was of divine origin. It was hardly possible that such a warrior could have sprung from a śūdra. But the son of their own mother? How had they never discovered it? Why had Kuntī not told them?
Yudhiṣṭhira cried aloud. It was certain that his mother had, as always, spoken the truth. The Pāṇḍava spoke in surprise. “O noble lady, were you the mother of that Karṇa who was like a sea having arrows for its billows, mighty arms for its sharks, and the sounds of his bowstring for its roar? Were you the mother of that one who swore constant enmity with Arjuna and whom no one but Arjuna could resist? How did you conceal this fact, like a man hiding fire in the folds of his cloth? Tell us how he became your son and why you hid this from us? Alas, I am undone with an even greater grief upon hearing this news than I was upon hearing of Abhimanyu’s death.”
Yudhiṣṭhira cried out again. Along with all the other respectable personalities killed in the war, he had also brought about the death of his elder brother. Had he known of Karṇa’s identity, then the war could have been averted. Duryodhana would not have even considered fighting without him. United with Karṇa, the Pāṇḍavas would have been invincible.
Trembling, Kuntī said, “Alas, dear son, I have long kept this secret, unable from fear to speak it to anyone. Even while a maiden did I bring forth that mighty warrior. Sometimes I thought of telling you, but something always made me hesitate. Now seeing that he has died along with his sons and has none to offer his last rites, I cannot conceal the truth any longer.”
Kuntī’s mind returned to the fateful day when Sūrya had entered her chamber. She looked at the Ganges, flowing gently now as it had the day she pushed the basket containing Karṇa into her waters. She fell sobbing to the ground. Yudhiṣṭhira lifted her up, running his cool hand across her forehead. “O Mother, how much pain you must have suffered. O Karṇa! Where have you gone without greeting us as your younger brothers?”
Yudhiṣṭhira looked at Kṛṣṇa, who stood waist-deep in the river making offerings to the departed souls. Surely it was for His own inscrutable reasons that He had not told them the truth about Karṇa. But Kuntī should have trusted them. She could have revealed Karṇa’s identity long ago and saved so much bloodshed. In a trembling voice, his mind clouded by grief, Yudhiṣṭhira said, “O Mother, tell me how Karṇa took birth and why he was cast away. Surely the gods must have executed some plan through you, O gentle lady.”
Kuntī told her sons the story. They listened in amazement. It was a strange destiny that had caused him, the eldest Pāṇḍava and the son of the most powerful sun-god, to be separated at birth from his heritage and cast in the role of enemy to his own brothers. The brothers all looked at Kṛṣṇa, who was coming out of the water. With water running down His body, He shone in the bright afternoon sunshine. As He came over to Kuntī and the Pāṇḍavas, Yudhiṣṭhira told Him what Kuntī had just said. Folding his palms he asked, “O Lord, why were we never informed?”
Kṛṣṇa replied, “It was out of My love for My aunt that I did not reveal her secret. But, O King, Karṇa knew the truth. Still, he could not be swayed from his loyalty to Duryodhana although he understood the consequences. With your brothers you should now offer him his due rites.”
Kuntī and her sons entered the river and stood there for some time, silently making their offerings to Karṇa and all their other dead relatives. When they were finished, Yudhiṣṭhira made arrangements for them to stay on the river bank for the coming month. In accordance with scriptural injunctions, he ordered that everyone live there for thirty days to make daily offerings for the dead.
As evening fell, the Pāṇḍavas sat with Kṛṣṇa. They were surrounded by numerous ṛṣis, headed by Nārada. Yudhiṣṭhira questioned Nārada about Karṇa. He wanted to know every detail of his life. Nārada narrated the story in full. He told him how Karṇa had been raised by Adhiratha and Radha. Due to his powerful nature, he had sought the best training in martial arts. His enmity for Arjuna had been born when Droṇa refused to teach him, seeing him as the son of a charioteer. Karṇa had left Droṇa, resolved to return and humiliate him by defeating his best student. It was then that he had gone to Paraśurāma and been taught, only to be later cursed for his deceit.
After hearing about Karṇa, including his promise to Kuntī not to kill any of his brothers but Arjuna, Yudhiṣṭhira cried. He turned to Kuntī and said, “If only Karṇa had come to me as a brother. Surely I would have given him the earth and averted this calamity. Becoming the leader of the Pāṇḍavas, he would have shone in this world like Indra shines in the heavens.”
Kuntī pulled her white sari over her head. Tears ran freely from her eyes as she replied. “O child, O great hero, you should not think in this way. I tried my best to convince Karṇa of what was in his best interests, but he would not listen. Even his father, the mighty Sūrya, came to him in a dream and tried, without success, to persuade him. Neither Sūrya nor myself could sway him from his enmity against the Pāṇḍavas. Seeing him firmly under the influence of destiny and bent upon doing you harm, I gave up my attempt to change his mind and left him. It would only have made matters worse if I had then informed you of his identity.”
Yudhiṣṭhira covered his face with his hands and sighed. “O Mother, I do not blame you for your silence. Surely you were moved by supreme destiny. Still, I feel you should have confided in me. I therefore say that from this day on no woman will be able to hold a secret.”
Seeing Yudhiṣṭhira mournful, Nārada said, “O King, do not give way to sorrow. You have righteously acquired the earth by the strength of your arms. Ever abiding by your duties, you have escaped with life from the battle and now stand as the undisputed ruler of the world. Why do you not rejoice? I hope everything is well with you. Rise up and take your rightful position. Give joy to your friends and lead this world to the path of virtue.”
But Yudhiṣṭhira was downcast. The ṛṣi’s words did not cheer him. His mother’s revelation about Karṇa had only compounded his remorse. Certainly the slain warriors had reached higher regions, but what of their widows and orphans who numbered in the millions? Yudhiṣṭhira cared for the people like a loving father. The world was now full of grief-stricken women and children who had no protectors.
Soberly, he said, “O best of sages, I have conquered the world by relying on Kṛṣṇa, by the Brahmin’s favor, and by the might of Bhīma and Arjuna. Still, a heavy sorrow preys on my mind. I have killed all my kinsmen only because I wanted the kingdom. Having caused the death of Subhadrā’s darling son and of Draupadī’s sons, my victory, O holy one, seems little better than defeat. Those gentle ladies’ grief cuts my heart. Thanks to me, there are now so many women in the same state. How can I possibly enjoy the earth?”
Yudhiṣṭhira vented his anguish. Praising forgiveness and self-control, he censured the kṣatriya’s life, which was always violent and angry. Although he had scrupulously executed his duties, his nature was more that of a Brahmin than of a warrior. Before Kṛṣṇa and his brothers he stated his intentions to spend the rest of his life in penance.
“We have waged war like dogs fighting for a piece of meat. Now we no longer desire that meat. I will throw it aside. The endeavor was useless. We have not gained our object and our enemies have not gained theirs. The evil Kauravas, indulged by the foolish king Dhṛtarāṣṭra, have met with destruction and we are left with the burnt remnants. I will go to the forest, abandoning my attachment for this world. With my mind fixed on renunciation, I will attain to the goal ever sought by ascetics and sages. Let Bhīma become king. Or you, Arjuna, with Kṛṣṇa as your dear friend, may rule the earth. I do not wish to be king any longer.”
Yudhiṣṭhira fell silent. Arjuna looked at Kṛṣṇa and then back at Yudhiṣṭhira. He licked the corners of his lips and frowned. Night had fallen, and the flames of the sacred fire by which they were sitting cast an orange glow on his handsome face, which flushed as he replied.
“How, O lord, have you spoken such words? Having conquered your enemies, you are now the world’s rightful ruler. You are a kṣatriya. It is your duty to protect the people. Poverty befits ṛṣis, but not kings. Rather, kings must perform sacrifices and then distribute wealth to those in need. Indeed, by using wealth properly, pious kings increase their virtue and fame. The world stands in need of a leader. It is your religious obligation to fulfill that role. Following in the footsteps of Dilīpa, Nahusha, Ambarīṣa, and so many other great monarchs in our line, you should become emperor of the earth. How could any like you accept any other path?”
Yudhiṣṭhira remained silent. He was not convinced. Finally, he said, “I cannot accept your praise of wealth and worldly attachment. Focus your mind on your inner self and you will understand what I am saying. My only desire is to give up materialistic life and to take the path trodden by mendicants. This world is an illusion only foolish men desire. From now on I will take only what is absolutely necessary to survive, passing my time in austerity and meditation. Even as I contemplate such a life, I feel the happiness born of detachment. Let me go to the forest and aim for the eternal abode of the Supreme Spirit.”
Then Bhīma spoke. Like Arjuna, he was frustrated by Yudhiṣṭhira’s reluctance to rule after endeavoring so hard to regain the kingdom. His voice rang out into the still night.
“Surely, O King, your understanding of truth in this case is like one who foolishly recites the Vedas but knows nothing of their meaning. Censuring the duties of kings, you wish to lead an idle life. Had we known that this was your intention, we would not have fought. But we did fight. If you now abandon your duty, then killing Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s sons was a senseless act.
“Yet the wise have said that killing our enemies and leading a righteous government is our proper course. Kshatriyas possess forgiveness and self-control, and they exercise those qualities by doing their own duties and not those of others. Your withdrawal now would be like one who, having slain his many foes, finally dies by his own hand, or like a person who has climbed a tree to get the honey but falls before tasting it, or like a starving man who obtains food but then refuses to eat.”
Bhīma continued to cite similes and denounce Yudhiṣṭhira’s planned renunciation. He pointed out that a king’s duties were ordained by the Supreme Lord Himself and were therefore not reproachable. Renunciation was only approved for kings when they became old or defeated. As long as he had strength and ability, a virtuous kṣatriya should exert himself to rule and protect the people.
Bhīma concluded, “If, O King, one could attain perfection simply by renunciation, then the mountains and trees would be perfected beings. They all lead lives of abstention; they do not harm anyone and they practice celibacy. Real renunciation means performing one’s duty as the Supreme Lord desires. The world moves with all beings acting according to their God-given natures. One who abstains from action can never achieve success.”
Yudhiṣṭhira did not break his silence. Arjuna said, “O King, there is an ancient history mentioned in the Vedas regarding the relative merits of renunciation and action. Listen as I repeat it now.”
Arjuna told a story about some young Brahmins who had gone to the forest, having abandoned their duties and resolving to live a renounced life. Indra came to them in the form of a bird and asked what they were doing. When they told him, he replied, “This course of action is not approved by scripture. The Vedas define the Brahmin’s duty. A man who gives up his duty is condemned and defeated. On the other hand, one who performs his duty only because it ought to be done, and who lives on the remnants of sacrifice after he has made offerings to the Supreme and to kinsmen, ancestors, gods and guests--that man attains to goals which are normally difficult to achieve. Indeed, there is nothing more difficult than the life of a dutiful householder, which in the end leads to genuine detachment from all worldliness. This is the surest path of righteousness.”
Arjuna explained how the Brahmins then gave up their lives of premature renunciation and returned to their duty and achieved success.
Yudhiṣṭhira still said nothing. Nakula then also tried to encourage his elder brother to accept his duty of kingship. Citing Vedic injunctions, he described the sacrifices meant for kṣatriyas. Kings were enjoined to renounce their wealth by distributing it in charity to the Brahmins and the people in general at great sacrifices. Leaving everything behind and going to the forest was simply not in accord with Vedic principles for a king. He must perform sacrifices for the good of the people and act as their protector. If he gave up such duties in the name of renunciation, it would simply result in disaster for himself and his subjects. Real renunciation was something internal, not external. One who did his duty in a mood of detachment was the true renunciant, not the man who gave up his duty.
Then Sahadeva spoke, concurring with his brothers. As Yudhiṣṭhira sat in silence amid the ṛṣis tending their sacrificial fire, Sahadeva said, “O King, it is difficult to renounce material attachments by stopping work. May our enemies have the merit that goes to one who renounces work but whose mind still covets material things. On the other hand, may our friends have the merit earned by he who rules the world having shaken off internal attachments. The word mama, mine, is death; while its opposite, nama, is eternal Brahman. It is Death and Brahman which impel all men to action. The wise man, free from false conceptions of the self and realizing himself to be eternal spirit, works without being attached to the results. Thus his work is spiritual and he attains the Brahman. That man who still desires the fruits of his action, however, even if he lives in the forest, lives within the jaws of Death. In truth, O King, even inaction is considered action if one desires a result. Therefore, do your duty in a detached mood and earn everlasting virtue.”
Even after his brothers had spoken, Yudhiṣṭhira said nothing. He already knew what they were saying and could not deny the truth of it. Still, his heart was not inclined toward ruling the world. He sat staring at the ground. The compassionate Pāṇḍava thought of Bhīṣma, still lying on the battlefield on his bed of arrows; of Droṇa, whom they had ruthlessly killed; and of Karṇa, his own brother whom he had killed before he even knew his identity. Yudhiṣṭhira thought of Abhimanyu and Draupadī’s sons, of their young wives, all grieving for their husbands. If he had given up his desire for half the kingdom, none of them would have died. Duryodhana, for all his faults, was an efficient administrator. What need was there to destroy so many lives?
Seeing her husband’s melancholy, Draupadī said soothingly, “O King, your brothers are crying themselves hoarse trying to do you good, but you do not reply. O lord, when we were dwelling in the forest, suffering from cold and wind and sun, you said to your brothers, ‘Soon we shall slay Duryodhana in battle and win back our kingdom.’ O best of the virtuous, that has now come to pass and yet you are depressing our hearts by your reluctance. All of you brothers are like celestials. Each of you is capable of ruling the universe with all its moving and nonmoving beings. If I had married only one of you, my happiness would have been complete. Surely it is a kind of madness which now possesses you. Why else would you be prepared to renounce your prescribed duties? Do not give way to folly. Take up the scepter and the rod of chastisement! Rule Goddess Earth with righteousness. Worship the gods with sacrifices. Give charity and subdue the wicked. In this way, my lord, become happy and give joy to your brothers.”
Yudhiṣṭhira still showed no signs of having heard. Crickets could be heard from the nearby forest as the Pāṇḍavas sat in silence. In the sacrificial compound, Brahmins murmured Vedic mantras and chanted the holy names of the Supreme. Kṛṣṇa looked at Yudhiṣṭhira with compassion, but said nothing. Bhīma, growing impatient with his elder brother, spoke again, trying to change his mind.
“Please forgive me, O King, but I cannot silently tolerate your weakness. Everything we have worked so hard to achieve is now being threatened by your bewilderment. You seem to have lost your good sense. Surely you know right from wrong. Why are you hesitating to do your duty? You have never displayed such faintness of heart before, allowing yourself to be overpowered by sentiment. Have you forgotten the Kauravas’ sins? Have you forgotten the ills inflicted upon us and Draupadī? Do you not recall the miseries we endured in exile, awaiting this day? You have won one war, O King. Now you face an even greater battle--the battle with your mind. If you expire before gaining victory in that fight, then you will have to take another birth and resume the battle until you win.”
Yudhiṣṭhira stiffened. Bhīma’s suggestion that he was not able to control his mind was painful. Taking a deep breath, he replied, “O Bhīma, I think it is you who is overcome by his mind. Surely you are afflicted by the sins of discontent, worldly attachment, greed, vanity and ignorance. You urge me to accept the earth and abandon my desire for renunciation, but how will that satisfy my soul or even my senses? Desires for enjoyment can never be satisfied, and they stand as impediments on the spiritual path. Only those able to give up all such desires can attain life’s perfection. One free from all desire becomes eligible to enter eternal regions of bliss, but those who remain entangled in the vain quest for worldly pleasure are most certainly obliged to remain in this world of suffering.”
Feeling reprimanded, Bhīma made no reply. Arjuna spoke again, reciting an ancient history from the Vedas concerning the famous king Janaka. He too had once decided to abandon his kingdom and wealth, adopting a life of asceticism in the forest. At that time his wife had spoken to him strongly, bringing him back to the path of duty. She argued that, although he wanted to leave the kingdom in a mood of detachment, if he were actually detached, then it would not matter to him whether he was a mendicant or a king. If he still coveted material things, then even his mendicant’s waterpot and staff would become objects of attachment.
Yudhiṣṭhira listened as his brother narrated the story. He enjoyed hearing the narration, even though he had heard it many times--but it did not change his mind. There were many different instructions in the Vedas, each meant for a different time or circumstance. Considering the present situation, Yudhiṣṭhira remained convinced that renunciation was the only course possible for him. He looked at Arjuna with affection. “I know you are speaking with a desire to do me good, dear brother, but your words do not touch my heart. Although you are expert in martial sciences, you are not conversant with the subtler spiritual subjects. Unless you serve a self-realized soul, you cannot understand the true path of religion. Like Bhīma, you see wealth and worldliness as superior to asceticism. But while the path of worldly duties has its place, it serves only as a means to attain the higher path of renunciation. It is the soul which must be sought, and ultimately the Supreme Soul, both of whom are quite separate from matter. Thus must all materialism be utterly renounced.”
Fascinated by the arguments between Yudhiṣṭhira and his brothers, the ṛṣis smiled and nodded in approval as each one spoke. They looked at Kṛṣṇa, who was also enjoying the discussion but who chose to remain silent. One of the ṛṣis, Devasthana, spoke to Yudhiṣṭhira, describing the ascetic life. He explained that even a life of asceticism was not devoid of action. Indeed, the ascetics in the forest worked hard in order to perform sacrifices and worship the deities. Nor was it certain that even they would achieve perfection by their work. Devasthana said that the life of a pious king, who performed sacrifice and carefully practiced his duty, was no less religious than that of the ascetic Brahmins, and no less likely to lead to life’s perfection.
Yudhiṣṭhira did not respond. Vyāsadeva also spoke at length about the duties and glories of the kṣatriyas. He condemned the kings who failed to discharge their duties. If a kingdom went unprotected and the people suffered, the king would be visited by sins. He would also be culpable for the crimes committed in the kingdom. The right course for a king was to carry out the function of ruler and protector, taking to renunciation only at the end of his life.
Yudhiṣṭhira did not like to disobey Vyāsadeva or the other ṛṣis, but he still had no heart for the ruler’s role. Folding his palms, he said to Vyāsadeva, “My lord, the thought of sovereignty, with all its objects of enjoyment, does not give me joy. I am still grieving. Hearing the lamentations of all the women who have lost their men, I cannot feel peace.”
The immortal sage smiled. “Do not be concerned with happiness or distress, for both are ephemeral. By the influence of time one meets with joy and suffering one after the other. Pleasure begets misery and from misery pleasure is again born. In this world there are only two kinds of permanently happy men: the complete fools and those who have mastered the mind and senses. Those between these two must suffer. Therefore, a wise man abandons attachment and aversion and simply does his duty to please the Supreme. Your duty is to rule this earth, O Bharata. By performing that duty you will gain undying fame and virtue, rising up in the end to the highest regions hereafter.”
Yudhiṣṭhira was torn. It was against his nature to deny the sages’ advice, but his doubts persisted. How could he take the throne after causing so much destruction? With tears running down his face he looked up at Vyāsadeva and said, “I am the most sinful man! Just see my heart, so full of ignorance! This body, which is meant for serving others, has killed many, many phalanxes of men. I have directly or indirectly killed boys, Brahmins, well-wishers, friends, parents, preceptors and brothers. Even if I live for millions of years, I will not be relieved from the hell that awaits me for these sins. Although there is no sin for a king who kills to maintain his citizens or some other righteous cause, this injunction does not apply to me in this case.”
Yudhiṣṭhira knew that for a king to kill while executing his duties was not sinful, but he was not a king when the war had been fought. All the killing had come about simply to make him the king instead of Duryodhana. Such selfishness was surely sinful.
“The path of sacrifice will not save me from the hell which now awaits me. As it is not possible to filter muddy water through mud or purify a wine-stained pot with wine, it is not possible to counteract the killing of men by sacrificing animals.”
Seeing Yudhiṣṭhira sunk in remorse, Kṛṣṇa moved closer to him. He took his hand, covered with sandal-paste and resembling marble, and smiled. “Do not grieve so, O best of men, for you will become ill. Those who have lost their lives cannot be brought back by grieving. All of them are like objects obtained in a dream that disappear when one awakens. Purified by the striking of weapons, they have thrown down their bodies and ascended to heaven. Who will lament for them? Their women should also rejoice that they have attained such exalted destinations. And now you should take your rightful position as king.”
Both Nārada and Vyāsadeva spoke next. They tried at length to convince the Pāṇḍava to shake off his grief and to assume the throne. But after everything was said, Yudhiṣṭhira still could not agree. He took up a handful of earth and let it run through his fingers. He wanted to please Kṛṣṇa and to satisfy the ṛṣis, but he felt stained by sin. He was not convinced that performing his duty would purify him.
He looked up at Vyāsadeva. “O great sage, surely it is true that one who performs his duties in accordance with scriptural injunctions does not accrue sin. This I understand, but it is the sins I have already committed that burn and consume me. How will I be freed from them? Having committed genocide, I will doubtlessly fall into hell. I think it best that I atone by abstaining from food and drink, and reduce my body until my life airs depart. Surely I can be released by no other means.”
Vyāsadeva said that there were many factors which had brought about the kṣatriyas’ death. Principally, their previous acts were the ultimate cause, but it had also been the influence of all-powerful time moving under God’s will which had decreed they must die. The Pāṇḍavas had been nothing more than instruments of Providence.
“Men like you do not go to hell. You have followed the path of the gods and will attain an exalted destination. Sometimes virtue appears like sin while at other times sin resembles virtue. Only the learned know the difference. In your case, you should not fear, dear child. Even if there were some irregularities on the battlefield, you should not fear. Only he who deliberately sins without compunction or regret is bound by the fetters of sin and falls into hell. This was not your mood. Only with reluctance did you fight, and now you are repentant. That repentance will purify you. Still, you may perform, if you desire, acts of atonement. Although your belief that you have been sinful is delusion, you may perform the expiatory rites meant for kings.”
Yudhiṣṭhira questioned Vyāsadeva about the rites of atonement and the sage described them. When he was finished, Yudhiṣṭhira said, “You have pleased me with your instructions, O sage. I understand that there are methods of atonement which will help me. I still have doubts about becoming king, however. How can I ensure that I am not touched by further sin? Please tell me in detail about a king’s duties. I need to be instructed how such duties can always be consistent with virtue. It seems to me that the acts a king must perform are often vicious and dangerous.”
After looking at Kṛṣṇa, who seemed to light up the night with His radiance, Vyāsadeva replied, “If, O King, you wish to hear of morality and the duties of kings at length, you should approach Bhīṣma. I do not think there is anyone who exceeds his knowledge in this regard. He has been instructed by Bṛhaspati in the heavens as well as by Vasiṣṭha and Cyavana Ṛṣis here on earth. He has also heard from Sanat Kumāra, Mārkaṇḍeya, Paraśurāma, and even Indra. Surely he will clear your doubts. Go to him where he lies on the battlefield, for his time of death has not yet come.”
Hearing Bhīṣma’s name, Yudhiṣṭhira only felt the more aggrieved. Tears again sprang from his eyes. “How will I approach the grandsire after I have killed him so deceitfully?”
Kṛṣṇa placed His hand on Yudhiṣṭhira’s shoulder. “Do not indulge in grief. O best of kings, you should do what the holy ṛṣi has said. Go to Bhīṣma and hear from him about your duties. With your doubts cleared by that great man, you should then satisfy the Brahmins and your brothers and become king.”
The discussions had gone all night. As the first light of dawn appeared on the horizon, Yudhiṣṭhira decided to accept Vyāsadeva’s advice and to go and see Bhīṣma. Rising up for the good of the world, he said, “So be it. After getting myself duly consecrated by the Brahmins, I will approach the wise Kuru grandfather.”
Yudhiṣṭhira was still reluctant, but he would not go against Kṛṣṇa’s desire. He was prepared to be coronated as emperor, but he would need to hear further instructions from Bhīṣma before he could give his heart to the task.
Seeing Yudhiṣṭhira standing at last, the other Pāṇḍavas looked at one another with relief. Arrangements were made to fetch everyone to the city so that the installation ceremony could take place. Like the moon conjoined with the sun and surrounded by stars, Yudhiṣṭhira accompanied by Kṛṣṇa and his brothers proceeded toward Hastināpura. Praised by bards and singers, he rode upon a white chariot covered with deerskins and yoked to sixteen white bullocks. Bhīma held the reins while Arjuna held a beautiful white umbrella over his head. On either side of Yudhiṣṭhira stood the twins, fanning him with gold-handled cāmaras.
Yudhiṣṭhira had Dhṛtarāṣṭra go at the head of the procession and the old Kuru monarch sat with Gāndhārī on a golden chariot. Immediately behind Yudhiṣṭhira came Kṛṣṇa on His own chariot driven by Dāruka and drawn by His four lustrous horses. Sātyaki sat by Kṛṣṇa’s side. A large number of elephants and chariots made up the rest of the procession. They left the forest region of the Ganges and moved slowly along the smooth road toward the city. As they entered Hastināpura they were met by the sound of drums and conchshells, as well as the cheers of thousands of joyous citizens.
(Continued ...)
(My humble salutations to the lotus feet of Brahmasree Krishna Dharma and Bramhasree Manmatha Dutt and I am most grateful to Swamyjis, Philosophic Scholars and Ascetic Org. for the collection of this great and wornderful Epic of the world. )
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