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)
The Mahabharata
1.47: Duryodhana’s Obstinacy
In the hall, the assembled Kuru elders waited with anticipation. As they heard Kṛṣṇa’s chariot approach, the hall buzzed, and as Kṛṣṇa dismounted from His chariot, shouts of “Hail to Govinda!” and “All glories to Kṛṣṇa, lord of the Yādavas!” rang out.
Kṛṣṇa caught hold of both Vidura’s and Sātyaki’s hands on either side of Him and walked into the hall. Dhṛtarāṣṭra rose, along with Bhīṣma, Droṇa, Kṛpa and others. Crossing the floor, Kṛṣṇa greeted Dhṛtarāṣṭra respectfully. The king offered Him a beautiful throne encrusted with jewels. With His divine vision Kṛṣṇa saw numerous celestial ṛṣis approaching the assembly from the sky. He said, “Many ṛṣis, hoping to witness what will happen here today, have assembled. See, there is Nārada Muni. Offer them suitable seats, for how can any of us sit down while they remain standing?”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra ordered his servants to fetch golden seats. The ṛṣis entered the hall like glowing planets descended from the heavens and accepted the seats. After they had been worshipped with all respect, Kṛṣṇa accepted His own seat and was in turn worshipped by the Kurus. Vidura sat next to Kṛṣṇa on a seat covered with white deerskin and decked with gems. Opposite Kṛṣṇa, Duryodhana and Karṇa sat together on a single throne. As the monarchs took their places, Brahmins recited Vedic hymns to invoke an auspicious atmosphere. Gradually everyone fell silent and gazed at Kṛṣṇa. Seated on His throne, He looked like a dark gem set in gold. There was perfect stillness in the hall as everyone waited for Him to speak.
Kṛṣṇa looked toward Dhṛtarāṣṭra and said, “May there be peace between the Kurus and Pāṇḍavas, O Bharata. May no heroes be slain on either side. Only for this have I come. O King, I have nothing more to say.”
Hearing Kṛṣṇa speak reminded the assembly of the soft thunder of autumnal rain clouds. All eyes remained fixed upon Him. “O King, you know as well as I do the cause for the present situation. Peace lies in your hands. You have a great responsibility. Your dynasty is famed for its virtue and nobility. The Kurus are especially known for their knowledge of scripture, good behavior, kindness, compassion, forgiveness and truthfulness. Do not allow your fine heritage to be sullied. You are the Kurus’ leader and must bear the reaction to any sinful acts they perform. A calamity now faces your race, caused by the Kurus’ behavior. If you do not check it, O monarch, it will destroy the world.”
Kṛṣṇa looked over at Duryodhana. The prince appeared distracted, looking away from Kṛṣṇa and rubbing his face with a hand covered in gleaming gems.
Kṛṣṇa went on, “O King, your sons are not considering morality or even profit. They are wicked and overcome by avarice. They are being unfair toward their own friends. I do not think peace would be so difficult to achieve. It depends upon you and Me. You should give an order and your sons should follow it. The Pāṇḍavas never ignore My advice. Set your sons on the path of peace and I will do the same with the Pāṇḍavas. Consider everything carefully, O King. Even if you desire to rule this world, it is still better to establish peace with the Pāṇḍavas than to make them your enemies. At present, they see you as a worshipable elder. They will wait upon you and protect you and even the gods will not be able to assail you. You will not find better allies than the Pāṇḍavas. With them at your side, you would lead troops headed by Bhīṣma, Droṇa, Kṛpa, Karṇa, Aśvatthāmā, Yudhiṣṭhira, Bhīma, Arjuna, and so many other great heroes. Where is that fool who would fight such warriors?”
The blind king sat with his head bowed. Kṛṣṇa’s speech was as he had expected--cutting and painfully true. His throat was parched and he called for water as Kṛṣṇa continued.
“On the other hand, O King, what profit will there be in fighting with the Pāṇḍavas? What merit do you see in arranging for so many men to die? O best of the Bharatas, just imagine what you will feel when you hear of the deaths on either side. There is no question that both parties will not survive the war. The kings you see here and the kings at Virata will slay each other mercilessly, influenced by anger. O Emperor, rescue them from death. Save this world from disaster. Let the feelings of affection you once bore for the Pāṇḍavas again flood your heart. Bring them here as your children. According to worldly virtue, such fatherless boys deserve your protection, especially in their distress. Now hear their message to you, which they asked Me to repeat in the assembly.”
Kṛṣṇa repeated what Yudhiṣṭhira had said just before Kṛṣṇa departed. “‘At your command, O King, we have spent thirteen years in exile expecting that you would keep your word. As we have carefully kept our pledge, so we ask you to keep yours. We have suffered greatly and now desire to return to our kingdom. O Bharata, you know the principles of virtue. Act toward us as a father should act toward his sons. We will act as your sons. You are our worshipable elder. If you find us remiss in our duties, do not hesitate to correct us, O King. Set us on the proper course and yourself follow the excellent path of virtue.’”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra shifted uncomfortably. His guilt at having mistreated Pāṇḍu’s sons bothered him more than anything else. They had been brought to him as young children after their father, his brother, had died. It was true that he should treat them no differently than his own sons. This was surely his greatest sin, that he had neglected and even inflicted suffering on those deserving his protection. Tears fell from his blind eyes as Kṛṣṇa continued.
“In an assembly where virtue is overcome by vice, it is the duty of the members of that assembly to remove it by all means. If vice is not removed, then it will kill all those who have participated in it. If vice prevails over virtue, falsehood over truth, then those who allow it will be ruined.
“What else could you do but return the Pāṇḍavas’ kingdom? I desire both your good and what is best for the Pāṇḍavas. If My words are true, then let the Kurus confirm them and release the kṣatriya race from the shackles of death. Make the large-souled, virtuous Yudhiṣṭhira your ally. Do not destroy these kings for the sake of vice, nor morality for the sake of so-called happiness. Do not mistake good for evil and evil for good. O lord of the earth, restrain your sons, who are too attached to avarice. Kuntī’s sons are ready to serve you and to fight for you. This is My advice. Choose now that course which appears best to you, O King.”
Everyone remained silent. Having listened carefully to Kṛṣṇa, the kings were speechless. No one could argue with anything He said. Only Duryodhana found fault with Him, and he looked at Kṛṣṇa with a sly smile.
Paraśurāma was among the ṛṣis, and when Kṛṣṇa finished speaking, he stood to address the assembly. All eyes rested upon him as his voice rang out around the hall. He wore a black deerskin and had matted hair. His dark eyes glowed, and his body shone with a mystical luminosity. He told the assembly a story about the ancient king Dambhodbhava. That king had possessed incomparable power but had become excessively proud and arrogant. He searched continuously for opponents to defeat in battle. One day, he heard that the two ṛṣis, Nara and Nārāyaṇa, were the most powerful men on earth. He went at once to Gandhamādana where they were practicing asceticism and challenged them. Although they declined, the king insisted. Finally Nara said, “Fight, then, if you must, O kṣatriya. Bring your entire army and all your weapons. I will soon destroy your thirst for war.”
The king attacked the ṛṣi with all his power. Nara pulled up a handful of grass and, imbuing it with mystic power, hurled it at the king and his army. The grass transformed into razor-sharp steel shafts that sliced off the ears and noses of all the soldiers. So many shafts rained down upon them that they were unable to move. Dambhodbhava fell at Nara’s feet and begged for mercy. The ṛṣi forgave him his insolence and instructed him to never again insult someone without first establishing his opponent’s power.
Paraśurāma looked around the assembly. “Nara’s feat was wonderful. Nārāyaṇa is capable of still greater deeds. Those two high-souled ṛṣis are now present as Arjuna and Kṛṣṇa. Do not, like the vain Dambhodbhava, try to face them in battle. Men suffer from eight vices that steal their life duration: desire, anger, greed, vanity, insolence, pride, malice, and selfishness. Influenced by these evils, men are bewildered and act like fools. O heroes, do not fall victim to these vices and lose your lives. No one can defeat Arjuna within the three worlds, and Janārdana exceeds him. Make peace with them and do what is good for yourselves and the whole world.”
Then another ṛṣi, Kanwa, spoke. Confirming what Paraśurāma had said about Nara and Nārāyaṇa, he added, “One should not consider he who possesses great physical strength powerful. Real strength lies in virtue. The Pāṇḍavas are virtuous. Furthermore, Kṛṣṇa, the reservoir of all virtue, is on their side. Those five heroes combined with Kṛṣṇa are no less than Dharma, Vāyu, Indra, and the twin Aśvinī gods united with Viṣṇu. O Duryodhana, how will you even look at them? Effect peace at once or be annihilated.”
Duryodhana was breathing heavily, his brow contracted. He gazed at Karṇa and laughed aloud when Kanwa stopped speaking. Slapping his thigh he said defiantly, “I am whatever God has made me. It is He who created me and He who decides my fate. I will do exactly as He has determined and nothing else. What use is this discussion?”
The prince had little faith in any supreme power and his voice dripped with sarcasm. He looked at Karṇa, and both of them smiled. They were not interested in the ṛṣi’s words. Then Nārada spoke. Like Paraśurāma, he narrated an ancient history about a king who had suffered as a result of his own obstinacy and ignorance. In conclusion he said, “O ruler of the earth, listen to your well-wishers’ advice. Obstinacy leads to ruin. Abandon your anger and vanity and make peace with the Pāṇḍavas. Reflect carefully on this story I have just told, which is full of profound instructions and is approved by learned men. By understanding these instructions and by curbing desire and anger, a man may attain sovereignty over the world. By acting otherwise, one achieves only destruction.”
Duryodhana said nothing. Dhṛtarāṣṭra lifted his hand and replied, “O Nārada, what you have said is true. I too wish for peace, but I am not the master in this case.”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra turned toward Kṛṣṇa, who sat easily on His throne, one foot on the seat and the other resting on the cushion at His feet. “O Keśava, I accept what You have said as the truth. What You have said is for our benefit and the benefit of the world. By following Your words we can attain heaven.
“But I am not my own master. O best of men, try to persuade my wicked son Duryodhana, who disregards all scriptural injunctions and never does what pleases me. He will not listen to me, and neither will he hear from Vidura, Bhīṣma, or any of his elders. Please instruct him Yourself, O Kṛṣṇa. If You can correct my son of crooked intellect and sinful heart, then You will have performed Your duty as a friend.”
Kṛṣṇa turned towards Duryodhana. “I will speak only for your good, O best of the Bharatas. I desire your prosperity and happiness as much as you do. What you are contemplating will make you suffer. Wise men in this world act only for virtue and profit. Thus they fulfill their desires. What you are proposing will not fulfill your desires. Your obstinacy is vicious, frightful and destructive. It will hurt you, and there is no reason for it. Give it up. Pursue instead a course that will benefit you, your brothers, your followers, your friends. O chastiser of foes, make peace with your cousins. This will please your father and all the Kuru elders. Your father has commanded you to seek peace. A good man never neglects his father’s order. Nor does he ignore the advice of friends who know what is good. One who disregards the orders of seniors and the advice of well-wishers will be consumed as one who eats poisonous fruit dies. He never achieves his goal and is ultimately left sunk in remorse.”
Kṛṣṇa paused. He looked steadily at Duryodhana, who remained silent. The prince looked downward and rubbed the floor with his sandaled foot. All eyes in the hall were on him.
Kṛṣṇa continued to speak in measured tones. “He who prefers the advice of inferior men to that of learned elders meets dangers. Nothing can rescue him. Who but you would abandon kinsmen who are equal in battle to Indra in favor of incompetent and dishonest strangers? Peace with the Pāṇḍavas is more in your interests than union with wicked men. Even though you treated them with deceit and harshness since they were born, they are prepared to forgive everything and live with you as friends. O best of the Bharatas, do not show anger toward your own relatives. Live for virtue and not only for pleasure. Only then will you be able to achieve what you desire. Living in peace with the Pāṇḍavas, all your aims will be achieved, and your fame will spread far and wide. How can you prefer the shelter of Karṇa, Śakuni and Dushashana to that of your noble cousins?”
Karṇa felt insulted by Kṛṣṇa’s words. He glanced at Duryodhana, who kept his head lowered. Both men were finding Kṛṣṇa’s speech hard to stomach. Both were convinced that their cause was no less righteous than that of the Pāṇḍavas. How was Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s claim to the throne any less than Pāṇḍu’s, his younger brother? Duryodhana’s right to the kingdom was at least equal to, if not greater than, the Pāṇḍavas’ claim. They would not be able to live together in peace. That was clear. Then why should Duryodhana be the one to make concessions? The Pāṇḍavas left Hastināpura long ago. Things were going on well enough without them. It seemed that Kṛṣṇa favored them, perhaps because they were close friends. How could He say that He had Duryodhana’s interest at heart?
Karṇa turned his angry eyes toward Kṛṣṇa, who, seeing both his and Duryodhana’s defiance, said, “O hero, show me the man who is capable of standing against the enraged Bhīmasena.”
Having first cajoled, then cited the benefits of peace, Kṛṣṇa ended by explaining the likely results of a war with the Pāṇḍavas. He hoped to instill fear and dissension among the Kurus.
“Again, who can go into battle against Arjuna and return home alive? Why do you seek war? What benefit do you see in slaughtering all these men? At Khāṇḍava, Arjuna vanquished the gods and the Gandharvas, Asuras and Nāgas. What chance do you have? Will it be any different from what you experienced when you came to attack the Matsya kingdom? Look at your kinsmen and friends. Do not let them be killed for your own stupidity. Let not the prosperous Kuru race be destroyed for your sake. Bring the Pāṇḍavas here in peace. They will surely install your father as the emperor and you as his viceroy. That is your only chance to achieve lasting prosperity and happiness. Do not ignore it. After making peace with the Pāṇḍavas, you will attain a blessed state.”
Duryodhana showed no sign of agreeing with Kṛṣṇa’s words. He sat as if on fire, resembling a heap of hot coals.
Seeing the prince unmoved, Bhīṣma said, “Kṛṣṇa’s words are those of a friend, dear son. Follow his advice and do not be vindictive. If you ignore what Kṛṣṇa is saying, you will achieve neither prosperity nor happiness. He has told you what will lead to virtue and profit; any other course will result in ruin. O King, do not destroy the Kuru’s prosperity. Do not cause the death of all these kṣatriyas. Do not destroy your brothers. Do not destroy yourself. Do not drown your parents in a sea of grief. Accept Keśava’s advice.”
When Bhīṣma was finished, Droṇa stood. “I too accept what Kṛṣṇa has advised. His advice is pregnant with virtue and will profit all of us. Duryodhana, follow that advice. Do not insult Madhava with your perverted understanding. Those who now encourage you to fight will do little when the time comes. Rather, like you, they will have to depend on others. Know from me that none of us are capable of withstanding Arjuna and Kṛṣṇa in battle. If you reject my words, you will be left to grieve before long. You have heard all this again and again. What point is there in repeating it? Do as you wish. I do not wish to address you any more.”
The Kuru elders had lost patience with Duryodhana. It seemed that nothing could make him see sense. That all these kṣatriyas were soon to die seemed inevitable. There could be no outcome other than what Kṛṣṇa and so many others had described.
After Droṇa, Vidura spoke. He knew Duryodhana would not hear him, but he wanted to show his solidarity with Kṛṣṇa’s speech, as Kṛṣṇa had requested. “I do not grieve for you, Duryodhana. Rather I grieve for your old parents. With only you to protect them, they will soon wander about without anyone. All their friends and ministers will be slain like birds shorn of their wings. Because they begot such a vicious son, they are destined to become beggars in this world.”
Having heard his three chief ministers concurring with Kṛṣṇa, Dhṛtarāṣṭra leaned forward on his throne. “The time has come to make peace, Duryodhana. The great-souled Keśava has spoken the truth for our benefit and ultimate salvation. With his help, we can attain our goals. Go with him in peace to Virata and arrange to bring the Pāṇḍavas here. Let the hostilities cease. Let the virtuous Yudhiṣṭhira place his red-palmed hand on your back with affection. Let the broad-shouldered Vṛkodara embrace you with goodwill. Let Arjuna and the twins offer you respects while you offer them blessings. You and they may enjoy sovereignty over the world together. I think that time has arrived, dear son. Do not disobey me. Choose peace, for you cannot be victorious in battle.”
Duryodhana was furious. Why was everyone afraid of the Pāṇḍavas? Perhaps he had been unfortunate when he had encountered them in the past, but that would soon change. Now, aided by the Dānavas’ mystic power and the combined might of the Kuru heroes, he was invincible. The prince looked at his father. How could the old man order him in this way? Accept Bhīma’s embrace? Bhīma was his mortal foe! Duryodhana shuddered at the thought. And, having ruled over the entire earth, how could he be expected to now offer his respects to Yudhiṣṭhira?
Duryodhana felt it was time he spoke his mind. Calming himself, he rose from his seat and looked at Kṛṣṇa. “Although You speak out of concern for me, O Madhusudana, You nevertheless criticize me alone. Why, O Keśava, do You praise the Pāṇḍavas and accuse me without properly understanding the situation? You, Vidura, Bhīṣma, Droṇa, and my father have all found fault with me, but not with any other. Yet in this matter, I do not find I have acted in any way unworthy. I have not committed the slightest fault. Even after much introspection, I see nothing wrong.
“The Pāṇḍavas lost their kingdom at dice. They were not forced to play that game. Even when their wealth was returned, they agreed to play a final game and were thus exiled. Was that my fault? Why do they regard me as an enemy? Even now, although they are weak and incapable, they threaten the Kurus.”
Duryodhana looked at Karṇa, who clenched his fist in support. The Kaurava prince continued. “We are powerful kṣatriyas and will not bow down to any man out of fear. I do not see anyone who can face the Kuru army in battle, O Keśava. Why should I give anything to the Pāṇḍavas under threat of war? Rather, it is my duty to fight. If I lay down my body in battle, then I will achieve a glorious destination in my next life. What kṣatriya born in a noble family would avoid battle out of fear of the enemy? No self-respecting ruler would bow to one who threatened him with harsh words. I am not afraid of the Pāṇḍavas. O Madhava, I will never give them any part of this kingdom. It now belongs to Dhṛtarāṣṭra and so it will remain. We are simply his servants. Although he once gave away that which should not have been given, we have rectified his error. When I was a child and dependent on others, the Pāṇḍavas were mistakenly given the kingdom. We will not make the same mistake again.”
Duryodhana paused and glanced at his audience. He rested one hand on his hip and the other on his sword hilt. He concluded, “O Keśava, this is my reply: as long as I rule this kingdom on my father’s behalf, I will not give the Pāṇḍavas even that much land which can be pierced by the point of a needle.”
Duryodhana sat down, his eyes fixed on Kṛṣṇa. Karṇa lifted his huge arm, smeared with red sandalwood paste, and placed it over Duryodhana’s shoulders. Vidura looked at the two men and shook his head sadly. Dhṛtarāṣṭra was the only one who could prevent the impending calamity, but the old monarch remained silent--hearing everything, seeing nothing. If the king desired peace as he said he did, he would have to restrain his son forcibly. Duryodhana was not going to listen to him unless he was prepared to back his words with action. He would have to have the prince arrested. Otherwise, his words were empty.
Reflecting a moment, Kṛṣṇa said, “You obviously desire the endless sleep of the hero, and so you shall have it. Wait just a little longer. Then there will be the massacre you desire.
“O fool! You think you have no blame, but everyone here knows the truth. You were jealous of the Pāṇḍavas’ prosperity, and you plotted with Śakuni to defeat Yudhiṣṭhira at dice. Who else could have treated his brother’s wife as you treated Draupadī? Draupadī is chaste, of noble birth, and is well-behaved. She is dearer to the Pāṇḍavas than their own lives. Still you insulted her before all the Kurus.”
Kṛṣṇa reminded Duryodhana how Dushashana had addressed the Pāṇḍavas as they left Hastināpura, and how even before the dice game the Kurus had antagonized them. To plead innocence was simply evidence of his arrogance.
Kṛṣṇa was stern as He continued. “If you do not return their kingdom to them willingly, you will have to return it to them when they defeat you in battle. You have committed so many evil deeds toward the Pāṇḍavas and now you try to appear innocent. You have been repeatedly ordered by your elders to make peace, but you ignore them. Only by peace will everyone be benefited, including yourself. That it appears otherwise to you is a sign of your lack of intelligence.”
Kṛṣṇa’s speech had convinced even some of Duryodhana’s brothers. Dushashana in particular had begun to favor peace. Remembering Bhīma’s vow to tear out his heart, he addressed his elder brother. “If you are so foolish that you will not willingly make peace, then the Kauravas will bind you hand and foot and offer you to Yudhiṣṭhira.”
Duryodhana stormed out of the hall. Then Duryodhana’s one hundred brothers and all of his ministers followed him.
After they had gone Bhīṣma said, “One who abandons virtue and profit out of wrath will soon be sunk in a sea of troubles. This prince lacks wisdom and knowledge. He is influenced only by anger and greed. O Janārdana, I think the kṣatriya race is about to be annihilated, for his brothers and ministers follow him out of folly.”
Kṛṣṇa turned His lotus-like eyes toward Dhṛtarāṣṭra. “This is the fault of all the Kuru leaders. You should have restrained Duryodhana by force. O sinless men, it is time for you to act. Listen as I describe what is in your best interests.
“You all know how Kaṁsa, king of the Bhojas and Ugrasena’s wicked son, was rejected by his kinsmen. In the end, I killed him. By this one act, the Yādavas, Andhakas and Vrishnis all became happy. One man should be sacrificed for the sake of a race, the race for the good of a town, the town for the benefit of the country, and the earth for the sake of the soul. O Bharatas, after binding Duryodhana, Karṇa, Śakuni and Dushashana, make peace with the Pāṇḍavas. In this way the kṣatriyas may be saved.”
This made Dhṛtarāṣṭra even more uncomfortable. From Duryodhana’s birth his advisors had insisted he reject his son. He had refused. Now he was tasting the bitter fruit of his mistaken judgment. He was too attached to his son, and that attachment had not weakened over the years. Duryodhana took advantage of his weakness and ignored him. It seemed Duryodhana could be checked only if he were executed, or at least imprisoned. Now Kṛṣṇa was suggesting that they carry this through. How could he contemplate such an option? He thought of Gāndhārī. Maybe the prince would listen to his mother.
He decided to ask her to enter the assembly. “O Vidura, please go and bring the queen here. Then order my son to return to the assembly. Perhaps the wise Gāndhārī will be able to persuade him.”
Vidura left the hall and soon Gāndhārī entered, maidservants leading the blindfolded queen to her place next to the king. After being seated and informed of the situation, she addressed Dhṛtarāṣṭra.
“Your son is full of lust and greed. Only by your blessings has he obtained this kingdom, which he in no way deserves. O King, although you know he is sinful, you support him out of fondness. For this you are as much to blame for the present situation as he is. It will be difficult now to check Duryodhana.”
As Gāndhārī finished, Duryodhana returned, strode angrily across the hall, bowed slightly to his parents, and sat down. He was still breathing heavily, his eyes red.
Gāndhārī spoke gently. “My dear son, listen as I offer advice meant only for your benefit. It is my most earnest wish that you make peace with the Pāṇḍavas. Follow your elders’ guidance, my son, and reap the fruits of virtue. You want to control the earth only because you are full of sense desire and anger. You do not know that only by overcoming those two impulses can a man attain success in life. One who is controlled by his senses cannot control a kingdom. Only after conquering ourselves can we conquer the earth. Otherwise, it is not possible. The uncontrolled senses are powerful enough to kill a man, just as untrained horses can kill an incompetent driver. Prosperity always attends the king who has mastered his passions and who stands ready to chastise offenders, acting only after careful consideration. He who gives in to desire and wrath will lose everything in the end. Such a man cannot even attain heaven. Therefore, strive to control your senses, for in this lies your greatest good.”
Gāndhārī spoke from her own realization. Since the Pāṇḍavas’ exile, she had begun to practice asceticism. Feeling guilty for the way the Kurus had insulted Draupadī, she fasted and performed constant sacrifices. She practiced penance, praying that her licentious son might somehow be brought to his senses. But that seemed impossible. His heart was steeped in greed and envy, but he could not recognize these qualities in himself.
Imploring, the queen continued. “By joining with the virtuous and self-controlled Pāṇḍavas, you can enjoy this earth for a long time. What will you gain by fighting with them? Here is Kṛṣṇa, who performs powerful acts with little exertion. He is able to destroy all the kings alone. What then will happen when He unites with Arjuna? You have heard this advice again and again. One who ignores his well-wishers will only lament. But his enemies will rejoice.
“O child, your father gave the Pāṇḍavas their due share afraid of a dispute. Now you are enjoying the fruits of that gift. It was those heroes who subjugated the world. Surely half the kingdom can satisfy your needs. Do not invite destruction by igniting a dispute with the Pāṇḍavas. They have suffered enough these last thirteen years. Give them back what is theirs and save the world from disaster. When Bhīṣma, Droṇa, Kṛpa, Karṇa, Bhīmasena, Dhanañjaya and Dṛṣṭadyumna come together in anger, all creatures will be destroyed. Therefore, quench your greed and act with wisdom. This is my advice to you, dear child.”
Duryodhana snorted. He had heard it all before. Everyone praised the Pāṇḍavas and criticized him. There didn’t seem to be anything he could say to convince them otherwise. Seeing that his mother had finished, he again left the hall. It was time to act.
He went straight to Dushashana’s palace. His brother was sitting with Karṇa and Śakuni. Slapping his thigh in anger he said to them, “It seems that Kṛṣṇa is swaying everyone’s minds toward the Pāṇḍavas. He is urging the king to have us arrested. I am worrying about this. Kṛṣṇa is very persuasive.”
Duryodhana looked at Dushashana. “Kṛṣṇa even turned your mind in the hall.” Dushashana looked ashamed as his elder brother went on. “We must quickly execute our plan to capture Kṛṣṇa. Even as Viṣṇu seized Bali we will grab Kṛṣṇa and bind Him. When the Pāṇḍavas hear of His capture, they will lose both heart and energy for the fight, just like serpents whose fangs are broken. Let us do it swiftly before the old man gives everything away again.”
Dushashana and Śakuni agreed, but Karṇa was uncertain. “I do not believe we will be able to capture Keśava, O King. If you wish to try, I will do what I can to help, but I doubt we can overcome Him.”
Unlike Duryodhana, Karṇa felt no anger toward Kṛṣṇa, whom he respected as a great warrior. Kṛṣṇa had killed many powerful fighters. According to the ṛṣis He was an incarnation of the original Supreme Person. Karṇa thought it likely. He only joined in the plot to capture Kṛṣṇa out of friendship for Duryodhana. But he had little faith it would succeed.
Duryodhana laughed away his friend’s doubts. “Kṛṣṇa will be unprepared for our move. He has come without weapons and not expecting to fight. We can catch Him off guard and have Him bound and taken away before He even realizes what is happening.”
The prince had no doubts about his plan. Perhaps it may fail, but there was nothing to lose. He had already declared open hostility against the Pāṇḍavas. The fight may as well start immediately; and if Kṛṣṇa could be captured, then the odds would shift dramatically in his favor. With the still uncertain Karṇa, he left to make the arrangements.
* * *
In the hall Sātyaki had watched Duryodhana closely. He noted that as the prince left, certain key Kuru leaders had also departed. It was obvious that Duryodhana was about to try something. Sātyaki knew that he had already stated his intention to capture Kṛṣṇa. It seemed he was about to try.
Leaning across to Kṛṣṇa, Sātyaki whispered, “I think Duryodhana will now try to seize You. He has taken a contingent of warriors out of the hall with him. I am sure he will try to take Your life. O Keśava, this wicked man has lost all sense of propriety.”
Kṛṣṇa smiled and reassured Sātyaki. “Do not fear, My friend. All the kings on earth together could not capture Me. Speak to Dhṛtarāṣṭra and see what he decides should be done.”
Sātyaki addressed the old king. “It seems your foolish son intends to make good his threat to capture Madhava. O leader of men, he and his evil counselors, overpowered by desire and anger, seek to do something exceedingly mean. Yet they cannot possibly succeed any more than children can take hold of blazing fire.”
Vidura had also noted Duryodhana’s intentions. Rising from his seat he said, “O King, your sons’ time has come. They are preparing to do something which cannot be done. Even so, it is sinful beyond all limits to even contemplate it. Standing against Kṛṣṇa, they will die like worms falling into a fire. He will send them all to Yamarāja’s abode as a lion destroys a flock of sheep.”
Kṛṣṇa laughed. “Let them try! Maybe this is how this problem will be solved. But do not worry. I will not do anything for which I can be censured. Although I could slay them all outright, I will not do so. In any event, they have already been killed by their own sinful desires. By coveting Yudhiṣṭhira’s wealth they have weakened themselves and will soon be ruined. O King, let Duryodhana do as he likes.”
When Kṛṣṇa stopped speaking, Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s voice boomed through the court. “Bring my wicked son here at once and bring his ministers with him. I will again try to bring him to the path of righteousness.”
Once again Duryodhana was brought back into the hall. He entered with Karṇa and Dushashana just behind him. Again he strode across the hall and took his place.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra was angry. “O you of inhuman conduct and extreme sinfulness, having as your support only men of small deeds, you want to perpetrate an act which is too difficult to accomplish and which is heinous beyond limit. Like a child wanting to hold the moon, you desire to capture the lotus-eyed Kṛṣṇa. All virtuous men would condemn you. Anyway, it is not possible for you to carry this through. Even the gods could not take Keśava prisoner. O fool, give up your absurd notions and come to your senses immediately.”
Duryodhana was seething with anger. He said nothing. He had already ordered his men to come into the hall as soon as Kṛṣṇa rose to leave. Everyone else may be afraid of the Yādava, but he was not. The prince glanced across at Kṛṣṇa, who sat smiling and at ease. Soon everyone would see just how strong He was.
Vidura, clearly remembering how the Kurus had violated Draupadī, could not stand the thought of Kṛṣṇa receiving similar treatment in the same hall. He spoke again, trying one last time to influence Duryodhana.
“O Bharata, listen as I remind you once more of the many demons who have tried and failed to overpower Kṛṣṇa. The hugely powerful Naraka, who was son of the Earth goddess herself, lived for thousands of years surrounded by his vast forces. Kṛṣṇa killed him easily. He also destroyed the five-headed Mura, who struck fear into the hearts of the gods. When He was a child He killed Putana and the evil wizards Arishta and Dhenuka. When He was seven years old He held Govardhana Hill aloft with one hand.”
Vidura named various other Asuras and kings whom Kṛṣṇa had defeated. Finally, he said, “Kṛṣṇa is the doer of everything. He is the cause of all causes. From Him comes all power and opulence. He can do anything without the least effort. O Duryodhana, you do not understand Govinda. His prowess is incomparable and it will reduce you and your followers to ashes. Attempting to take Him prisoner is ludicrous.”
Kṛṣṇa looked at Duryodhana. “O Kaurava, out of folly you think Me to be alone and vulnerable. O one of small intellect, see now as I show you the truth. Here are all the Pāṇḍavas, the Vrishnis, and the Andhakas. Here too are the gods, the Adityas, Rudras, Vasus, and great ṛṣis.”
Duryodhana could take no more. He jumped up and pointed at Kṛṣṇa. “Seize Him now!” At once his soldiers began running into the hall from all its entrances. With swords and bows at the ready they closed in on Kṛṣṇa.
Kṛṣṇa laughed and as He did, His body suddenly flashed like lightning. He began to grow in size and various gods issued from Him. Brahmā sprang from His forehead and Śiva from His chest. The Lokapālas sat on His arms and Agni appeared from His mouth. Then Indra and the Maruts appeared along with hosts of Gandharvas, Yakṣas and Rākṣasas. From His two eyes came Balarāma and Arjuna, who stood on His left and right sides. Behind Him stood Yudhiṣṭhira, Bhīma, and the twins, and behind them were the Vrishnis and Andhakas, headed by Pradyumna. Kṛṣṇa’s mace, discus and club weapons appeared, blazing brilliantly. His pores emanated light, sparks and clouds of smoke.
The sight was too frightening. Almost everyone in the assembly closed their eyes. Only Bhīṣma, Droṇa, Vidura and Sañjaya were able to look upon Kṛṣṇa as He manifested His universal form. The ṛṣis also gazed upon Him, folding their palms and offering prayers. The sky resounded with celestial drums and flowers showered from the heavens into the hall.
Sañjaya described the event to Dhṛtarāṣṭra, who said, “O Kṛṣṇa, You are ever doing good for the world. Therefore, it is right that You should bless me with the eyes to see Your form. O best of the Yādavas, I pray for the sight to see You.”
“O Kuru leader, let your eyes have sight,” Kṛṣṇa replied, and immediately Dhṛtarāṣṭra could see Him standing within the great hall. He also saw numerous gods approaching Kṛṣṇa and worshipping Him with Vedic mantras.
Outside the hall a fierce wind blew. Huge waves moved over the ocean and thunderclaps reverberated in the sky. The earth trembled.
The hall was in a tumult. Kṛṣṇa withdrew His mystical form and again assumed a two-armed form. Taking permission from the ṛṣis, He left the hall, holding the hands of Sātyaki and Kṛtavarmā. The ṛṣis, headed by Nārada, rose from their seats and vanished--their minds astonished. Dhṛtarāṣṭra again became blind and he sat in silent amazement.
As Kṛṣṇa left, the Kurus followed Him with folded hands, like the gods following Indra. Only Duryodhana and his ministers remained seated. They were struck with wonder and unable to do or say anything. Their plan to capture Kṛṣṇa was obviously futile.
Outside the hall all the natural disturbances had stopped and a gentle breeze was blowing. Kṛṣṇa mounted His chariot and prepared to leave. As He sat upon His golden car, spread with white tiger skins, Dhṛtarāṣṭra came out of the hall. Led by Vidura, he went up to Kṛṣṇa and said, “You have seen the influence I wield over my sons, O Janārdana. You have seen everything. Nothing has been hidden from You. It is not proper to blame me, O Keśava, for I desire only peace. I have no wicked intentions against the Pāṇḍavas. You have heard me speak to Duryodhana and seen his response. I have done my best.”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra was surrounded by the Kuru elders. Kṛṣṇa looked at all of them and said, “You have also witnessed everything, how that uncultured man walked out, even as he was receiving instructions meant for his good. You have also heard the ruler of the earth state that he is powerless. With your permission, I will now return to Yudhiṣṭhira.”
Kṛṣṇa sat down with Sātyaki and Kṛtavarmā on either side of Him. Dāruka urged on the horses and the chariot moved off. The Kurus watched it move along the broad highway, cheered on all sides by crowds of citizens. Kṛṣṇa ordered Dāruka to take Him back to Vidura’s house. He wanted to speak once more to Kuntī before He left for Virata.
Going before His aunt with Sātyaki, Kṛṣṇa touched her feet and told her what had transpired in the assembly. Kuntī was not surprised. She had not expected Duryodhana to listen. Fearing that Yudhiṣṭhira might be too forgiving, she asked Kṛṣṇa to exhort him to fight. She knew he would be loathe to fight with his kinsmen and elders only to win a kingdom. As a kṣatriya princess, Kuntī had been educated in the rules of conduct for warriors. She spoke for some time with Kṛṣṇa, citing the rules and making it clear that the proper course for Yudhiṣṭhira was war. Her sons should harbor no doubt about it.
Again reminding Kṛṣṇa of the prophetic voices which had foretold great things for her sons at their births, Kuntī said, “Let it be as the divine oracles predicted. O Kṛṣṇa, my sons must now fulfill their destiny and take control of this earth. They will not achieve it through peaceful means. Nor can Draupadī’s honor be restored unless my sons fight. For me this is the most compelling reason for war. They must avenge their wife. They have not freed themselves of that obligation. They failed to protect her in the vicious assembly at the dice game. They must now rectify this wrong.”
Kuntī bowed down and touched Kṛṣṇa’s feet with her hands. Standing again she concluded, “O Keśava, tell my sons that I am well. Go now on Your auspicious way.”
Kṛṣṇa stood up to leave. After walking respectfully around His aunt He bid her farewell and left the room. Outside, He found Bhīṣma and the other Kuru leaders waiting to see Him off. Kṛṣṇa bowed before them, exchanged farewells, and mounted His chariot with Sātyaki. Then He headed out of Hastināpura.
The Kurus watched as the chariot sped toward the city’s southern gate. Urged on by Dāruka, Kṛṣṇa’s horses seemed to leap into the sky again and again. In a short time He was out of sight. The Kuru chiefs turned and headed toward the king’s palace. Kṛṣṇa’s peace mission had failed. War was certain.
1.48: To Kurukṣetra
Early on the morning of Kṛṣṇa’s departure, Karṇa rose to perform his usual worship of the sun-god. Since childhood he had been attracted to the sun-god and had never missed his rituals and prayers. An hour before sunrise he mounted his chariot and went to the Ganges, accompanied by numerous Brahmins. Wearing only a loin cloth he waded into the shallows and faced east, chanting Vedic hymns. On the river bank the Brahmins lit a sacred fire and made offerings to Sūrya on his behalf.
It was well known that Karṇa would offer charity to anyone who approached him after his worship. His vow to give anything to any petitioner was famous. Indra had already taken advantage of the vow and divested him of his natural armor.
Now Kuntī approached him. The first time she saw the youthful Karṇa enter the arena of Droṇa’s martial exhibition she knew he was her son. She also knew he was ignorant of the fact. It was painful to see him rivaling constantly with his brothers. She was mortified at the thought that they would soon try to kill each other in battle. It was time to tell Karṇa the truth. Perhaps he could be convinced to join his brothers’ side.
Just as the sun rose, Kuntī made her way alone to the Ganges. As she approached the riverside she heard Karṇa reciting prayers aloud. She looked at him as a mother looks at her son. He stood facing the sun, his arms held over his head and his hands joined together in prayer, a position he would maintain until the sun had risen high into the sky. Kuntī sat on the river bank and waited for Karṇa to finish. It was summer and the thin silk cloth covering her head provided little protection from the heat. After she had waited for more than two hours, Karṇa finally completed his worship and turned around. He was surprised to see Kuntī before him, but he said, “You are most welcome, noble lady. I am Karṇa, the son of Adhiratha and Radha. I salute you with all respect. Tell me what I can do for you today?”
Kuntī rose and went toward Karṇa with faltering steps. He had now stepped from the river and stood dripping. As the Kuru queen approached him he saw that her beautiful features appeared drawn. Her eyes darted nervously from him to the ground. Clasping her hands together, she softly addressed him. “O my child, you are not the son of Radha and Adhiratha.”
Her voice quavered and she paused to gain her composure. “Dear child, you were not born a suta. Know that you are my son, conceived by the powerful Sūrya. When you were born, you blazed like your father, and you wore a natural coat of armor and shining earrings. Out of fear for my reputation, and my father’s, since I was still considered a maiden, I cast you away, stricken with grief.”
Tears flooded Kuntī’s eyes. It always cut her heart to think of how she had abandoned Karṇa at birth, but there had been no question of telling anyone about it, even when he arrived at the arena that day. She had been gratified to know that Adhiratha and his wife had at least cared for her son, and she thought there would be no need to reveal the truth. Now he was about to die. She had to try to save him. If he did not die, he would kill Arjuna, and Kuntī could not bear losing either son.
She looked into Karṇa’s wide unbelieving eyes. “Not knowing of your birth, you have not realized that the Pāṇḍavas are actually your brothers. You now serve Duryodhana. This is not proper, my son. You are being led by avaricious and deceitful men who have stolen Yudhiṣṭhira’s kingdom. You will be ruined if you continue to follow them. Instead, follow the virtuous path and join your brothers.”
Karṇa pressed his two strong hands to the sides of his head, as if to contain the raging confusion that Kuntī’s words had created. How could it be true? If she had always known that he was the Pāṇḍavas’ brother, then why had she not said so sooner? Was this just some ploy to discourage him from fighting with the Pāṇḍavas? That seemed unlikely. Kuntī was famous for her virtue and truth. Her words must be true. As they sank in, Karṇa felt rooted to the spot where he stood. He was too amazed to speak
Kuntī wiped her eyes and glanced up at the sun. Why had that blazing deity put her through such pain? It had been an extremely difficult decision for her to reveal the truth to her first-born son. She loved Karṇa, but he would surely find that impossible to accept. Whenever she had contemplated telling him, the fear of his reaction had stopped her. Would he reject her out of hand, just as she had rejected him? Now it no longer mattered. She was willing to risk his rejection and anger if it meant saving his life.
“Let the Kurus see you join with Arjuna. When brotherly feelings are established between you, the Kauravas will bow before you in fear and respect. You and Arjuna, united like Balarāma and Janārdana--what will you not achieve? O Karṇa, surrounded by your five brothers you will shine like Brahmā amid the gods. You are my eldest son. Child, do not call yourself a suta again.” When Kuntī had finished, Karṇa heard a voice coming from the sun: “O Karṇa, Kuntī speaks the truth. Follow her advice, for that will be in your best interests.”
Karṇa was convinced. He was Kuntī’s son and Yudhiṣṭhira’s elder brother. Suddenly it all made sense. Adhiratha had told him how many years ago he had found him floating in a basket in the Ganges. Adhiratha said that he had shone like a celestial, and he had thought the gods had sent him a child to fulfill some divine purpose. He had brought the child home and raised him with love. Later, when Karṇa learned from the sun-god that his natural armor was celestial, he had realized that Adhiratha was probably right--he must have been conceived by some powerful deity. But he had never guessed the truth.
Karṇa’s voice rose above the rushing sound of the river. “I do not doubt your words, lady, but I cannot respect them. I do not see what virtue would lie in my joining with the Pāṇḍavas, nor do I feel that you were virtuous to have abandoned me at birth. By doing so, you have destroyed my fame and renown. I have been labeled a suta and denied the rites of a kṣatriya, which were rightfully mine. What enemy could possibly have done me greater harm?”
Karṇa dropped to his knees, clenching his eyes and fists. He threw his head back toward the sun. Hot tears wetted his face, contorted with grief and anger. He had often wondered about the identity of his real mother, longing to one day meet her. Now here she stood. Kuntī. The Kuru queen and mother of his hated enemies. But his own mother nevertheless. Feelings of love welled up in Karṇa’s heart, but he fought to deny them. Even in spite of Sūrya’s words, it was hard to accept that she had his interests in mind. Nor did he like the idea of leaving Duryodhana at his most dire hour of need. Unlike Kuntī, the Kaurava prince had shown him real love and friendship from the very beginning. How could he now suddenly abandon him and switch his affections to the Pāṇḍavas?
Karṇa’s words grew sharper. “I cannot accept that you are my well-wisher. You did not show me mercy at the proper time, and have come to me now only to fulfill your own needs. I cannot do as you suggest. If on the eve of battle I leave Duryodhana to join with the Pāṇḍavas, then who will not call me a coward? The Kauravas have granted all my desires. They have worshipped me. What kind of man would I be to leave them now? They depend on me as men on the sea depend on their boat. Now I must show my gratitude to Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s sons.”
Karṇa remembered his impulsive vow to Bhīṣma in the Kuru assembly. He felt guilty that he had abandoned Duryodhana even that much. Now he could not fight until Bhīṣma was slain. It was prophesied that Shikhandi would kill Bhīṣma. Then Duryodhana would need Karṇa more than ever. There was no question of leaving him now.
“I cannot prove untrue to my lord now. I will not abandon him. Yet your appeal will not go in vain. With the exception of Arjuna, I will not kill any of your sons in battle, even if I overpower them. When I kill Arjuna I will become famous for my prowess. Even if he kills me, I will still earn world renown. Thus you will always have five sons, O princess. Either Arjuna or I will survive, but not both.”
Kuntī stepped toward him and held out her arms with tears streaming down her face. Despite himself, Karṇa felt his powerful arms reach out to envelop Kuntī as if of their own accord. As mother and son stood embracing for the first time in their lives, Kuntī sorrowfully said, “O child, destiny is most powerful. What you say will surely happen. The Kurus will be destroyed and I will lose either you or Arjuna, if not more of my sons. When it is time to hurl weapons, do not forget your promise. May you be blessed and may all be well with you. I am leaving.”
Kuntī stood back and looked at her first-born son one last time. Then she hurried back toward the city. Karṇa climbed onto his chariot and sat there unmoving for some time. Kuntī’s words repeated themselves in his mind again and again. How different things might have been if she had kept him as her son. But destiny had decreed a different path for him. His fate now lay with Duryodhana and the Kauravas. There was no use lamenting for what might have been. Karṇa resolved not to reveal to anyone what had transpired between himself and Kuntī. It would only confuse the issue, and make his own vows impossible to follow. With a troubled heart he set off toward the city.
* * *
Before leaving, Kṛṣṇa asked to speak privately with Karṇa. As He reached Hastināpura’s southern gate at around noon, He saw Karṇa waiting for Him. Kṛṣṇa stopped and asked Karṇa to mount His chariot with Him. He took Karṇa out of the city, speaking as they rode in the direction of Virata. Kṛṣṇa considered Karṇa the most serious threat to the Pāṇḍavas in the coming war. Karṇa’s charioteer drove his car behind Kṛṣṇa with Sātyaki, who had dismounted from Kṛṣṇa’s chariot to give Him the privacy He desired with Karṇa.
Placing His hand on Karṇa’s shoulder, Kṛṣṇa said, “According to scripture the child born of a mother before her marriage becomes her husband’s son. You were born before your mother’s marriage, Karṇa, and are therefore Pāṇḍu’s son. The Pāṇḍavas are on your father’s side, and the Vrishni’s on your mother’s. You are related to both these races, O best of men. O hero, come with Me and become the king. The Pāṇḍavas will worship you as their elder brother, as I will, and all their followers. You will be anointed by the wives and daughters of kings with water from golden pots. At the proper time, Draupadī will approach you as a wife does her husband. Your five brothers will follow behind you, even as the gods follow Indra. I too shall follow you, accompanied by the Andhakas and the Vrishnis. Rule over this earth, O Karṇa. Let the bards and chanters sing your praises. Delight Kuntī’s heart and take your rightful place at the head of her sons.”
Karṇa looked into Kṛṣṇa’s smiling face. Surely He knew everything, as the sages said, but it was difficult to accept His advice.
Karṇa shook his head. “Undoubtedly Your words are meant for my good, O Keśava. I now know that I am Pāṇḍu’s son. Kuntī has told me everything. But she abandoned me and I was raised by Adhiratha and his wife. They have loved me as parents, and have always seen me as their son. So too have I seen them as my parents. They performed all the necessary rituals in my life. After adopting me they later had more children, to whom I have become an elder brother. They even selected my wives, and I have conceived sons and daughters with those wives. I cannot break those relationships even to gain both heaven and earth. Nor, O Madhava, shall I break them out of fear.”
Karṇa felt righteous. Following Kṛṣṇa’s advice would mean transgressing proper behavior. He gazed ahead at the rolling countryside as he continued. “For thirteen years I have enjoyed sovereignty only due to Duryodhana’s favor. I owe him a lot. Depending on me, he has formed an enmity with the Pāṇḍavas. I have been chosen to face Arjuna in combat. If I back down now, then I will become infamous. O Keśava, I cannot let myself be labeled as a coward, nor can I prove myself disloyal to Duryodhana. If I were given the world to rule, I would immediately give it to Duryodhana. How could I live with the Pāṇḍavas after all that he has done for me?”
Karṇa reflected on his feelings towards the Pāṇḍavas. He respected Yudhiṣṭhira, Bhīma, and even the twins. His hatred for Arjuna owed its origins to the day he had been refused entry into Droṇa’s school. When he came again to Hastināpura to compete in the exhibition, Droṇa had not recognized him as the boy he had turned away years earlier. He had told him then that he only accepted royal princes in his school. Karṇa was a charioteer’s son. Burning with shame, he had gone away, vowing vengeance. Defeating Droṇa’s best student, Arjuna, would be the best way to exact that revenge. As soon as he had seen Arjuna in the arena his heart had filled with envy. That envy had not waned. Soon it would explode in a fight to the death. There was no other course for him now.
“O Kṛṣṇa, I do not hold much hope for our victory, but I shall not change sides now. I know Yudhiṣṭhira is virtuous and pure-minded. He will preside over the coming battle sacrifice in which Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s sons will be the sacrificial animals. The Pāṇḍavas are pious men who deserve to rule the earth. The harsh words I spoke to them and their wife previously were only for Duryodhana’s pleasure. Remembering them now I am filled with remorse.
“Still, I will fight Arjuna, O Keśava; that is my duty as a moral man and a kṣatriya. It is likely that I will die, because I do not see the Kauravas winning. This dispute will end when Arjuna kills me and Bhīma kills Duryodhana. This battle will be so great that it will be remembered as long as the mountains stand. It cannot be stopped.”
Kṛṣṇa laughed. “Do you not then desire to rule the earth, O hero? Will you not peacefully accept the kingdom in the way I have indicated? Without doubt, the Pāṇḍavas’ victory will soon follow. When you see the five brothers coming out for battle, know that the terrible Kali age is approaching. Many men will be destroyed. Go back to Hastināpura and tell Droṇa and Kṛpa to make ready. It will be the full moon in seven days. Let the battle begin on that day. The kings under Duryodhana’s leadership will soon meet an excellent death at the edge of weapons.”
Karṇa could not understand Kṛṣṇa’s purpose. Why was He asking him to defect now? He knew that ultimately it would make little difference to the outcome of the battle. Destiny had, it seemed, already determined everything.
Karṇa looked at Kṛṣṇa, who sat with His long, black hair flowing in the wind. “Why do You confound me, O Keśava? Why would You lead me to folly? You know everything. The destruction of the world is at hand, with Duryodhana, Śakuni, Dushashana, and myself as its root cause. It will be as You say and no other way. O Kṛṣṇa, we have already seen the omens which portend Duryodhana’s defeat. I even saw the Pāṇḍavas in a dream coming out of the fight successful. I saw Yudhiṣṭhira, clad in white silks, swallowing the earth. He and his brothers ascended a palace of a thousand pillars. You were also there, O Madhava, by Arjuna’s side. On the other hand, the Kauravas and all their followers, wearing blood-colored robes, were going south toward Yamarāja’s abode. I and countless other warriors will soon enter the Gāṇḍīva fire. I know it for certain.”
Kṛṣṇa looked sadly toward Karṇa. “This will surely come to pass, Karṇa, since you do not seem prepared to accept My advice. When destruction is at hand, My dear friend, wrong appears as right and remains in the heart. What more can I say?”
Karṇa bowed his head slightly. “If I somehow survive the battle, I will see You again, O Kṛṣṇa. Otherwise, we will meet in heaven. It now seems to me that I will see You only there, O sinless one.”
Kṛṣṇa had Dāruka pull up His chariot. He embraced Karṇa, who then jumped down and mounted his own chariot. Kṛṣṇa, joined again by Sātyaki, urged on His charioteer and sped away. Karṇa headed sorrowfully back toward Hastināpura. Soon he would have to wage war against his own brothers. And against Kṛṣṇa, who was clearly his well-wisher, even if His advice was hard to follow. Thinking still of Kuntī’s words, and of his conversation with Kṛṣṇa, Karṇa’s mind felt heavy. It seemed he was not destined to enjoy happiness and prosperity in this life.
* * *
Soon after Kṛṣṇa left Hastināpura, Dhṛtarāṣṭra decided to call one last council to discuss strategy. War was now unavoidable, but the blind king was anxious. Having seen Kṛṣṇa’s universal form, he was filled with apprehension. Surely no human could contend with such power. Perhaps there was still a possibility to make a last-minute agreement. The king looked at his counselors. “O learned men, we have all heard Kṛṣṇa’s speech, and we have seen His superhuman power. The Lord of all the worlds will now ride into battle with the Pāṇḍavas, whom we have made our enemies. My son has insulted them. Now He has left us in anger. Surely we now face the greatest danger. Tell me what can be done to avert disaster.”
Bhīṣma shook his head. “Our fate is sealed, O King. We have abused Keśava, who is worthy of even the gods’ worship. There is no more fortune for us. We will have to take up arms in a contest that will divest the earth of innumerable heroes. What need is there for further discussion? It only remains for us to make arrangements for the war.”
Droṇa and Kṛpa agreed with Bhīṣma, and Duryodhana smiled. The moment he had been waiting for was near. Now there would be no more moralizing and useless talk. It should have been obvious to everyone from the start that the only way to deal with the Pāṇḍavas was on a battlefield. Kṛṣṇa had shown supernatural power. So what? He was not even going to fight. In any event, there were many heroes on the Kaurava side who were masters of mystical weapons. He was not afraid.
Vidura saw Duryodhana’s smirk and felt unable to constrain himself. He leapt to his feet and glared at the prince. He could not forgive him for insulting Kṛṣṇa. “You must now return Yudhiṣṭhira’s legitimate share of the kingdom. Yudhiṣṭhira has no enemies and he has been more than forbearing. He is waiting with his younger brothers, among whom is the revengeful Bhīma, breathing like a snake. Surely you are afraid of him.”
Duryodhana looked angrily at his uncle. Vidura continued, “Lord Kṛṣṇa, the Supreme Lord, has accepted Kuntī’s sons as kinsmen. He lives in Dwārakā with the Yadu kings and princes, who have conquered unlimited rulers, and He is their Lord. Surely you fear Him.”
Vidura turned to the king. “O ruler of the earth, by your inaction you are supporting offense personified, Duryodhana, as your cherished son. But he is envious of Kṛṣṇa. Because of this, you are devoid of all auspicious qualities. Relieve yourself of this ill fortune as soon as possible by punishing him and thus do your whole family good! Otherwise, we are all doomed.”
Duryodhana could take no more. From his childhood he had seen his uncle favor the Pāṇḍavas. It seemed he had no affection for him and his brothers. Now he had gone too far. Duryodhana leapt up, his body swelling with rage, his lips trembling.
“Who asked him to come here, this son of a maidservant? The deceitful Khattwa is no friend of the Kurus. He is so crooked that he works secretly in the interest of the enemy, plotting against those who have supported him. Toss him out of the palace and leave him with only his breath!”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra was shocked at his son’s outburst. He raised a hand to silence him, but Vidura smiled and rose to his feet. Without saying anything, he lifted his bow, which he had never drawn in anger, and walked toward the door. He had been wondering how he would avoid having to fight against the Pāṇḍavas. Here was his opportunity. Leaning his bow against the door to signify that he would not fight for the Kurus, he walked out of the hall and headed toward the city’s northern gate and the ṛṣis’ ashrams. His mind was fixed on holy pilgrimage.
The other Kuru elders censured Duryodhana, who merely laughed. Dhṛtarāṣṭra then ended the assembly. It was time to prepare for war.
* * *
When Kṛṣṇa returned to Virata, Yudhiṣṭhira and his brothers greeted Him warmly. Kṛṣṇa then described everything that had transpired in Hastināpura, except for the private discussion with Karṇa. Kṛṣṇa knew that if Yudhiṣṭhira were informed of Karṇa’s actual identity, he would not fight with him. It had to remain a secret for the time being.
The Pāṇḍavas were not surprised at the description of Duryodhana’s refusal to accept good advice. They were not even surprised to hear how he had repeatedly stormed out of the court like an angry child.
Sitting amid the Pāṇḍavas and surrounded by other monarchs, Kṛṣṇa said, “I employed every means of diplomacy, from conciliation to the creation of disunion. I told them that you would abandon pride and become Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s servants if the Kurus made peace with you. They could keep the kingdom and give you but five villages. When they still refused, I resorted to threats and displaying My superhuman powers. I tried to frighten Duryodhana, but he remained fixed in his foolishness. He would not offer you any part of the kingdom. Therefore, there is only the fourth means of diplomacy left. You must punish them. That is all they will understand. You will not regain your kingdom without war, O great heroes. Already Duryodhana’s forces are making their way to Kurukṣetra, for they have selected that place for the battle. The kings will all be massacred. They are all within the pale of death.”
Yudhiṣṭhira was grave. He looked around at his brothers and the assembled kings. “O heroes, you have heard Kṛṣṇa’s words. All that is left is to prepare our armies for war. The time has come to select a general to command our forces. We have already made seven warriors leaders of our divisions: Drupada, Virata, Dṛṣṭadyumna, Śikhaṇḍī, Sātyaki, Chekitana and Bhīmasena. Which of these should take overall command? Sahadeva, what is your opinion?”
Yudhiṣṭhira looked at his younger brother. As was the custom, he wanted to hear individual opinions, starting with the youngest and ending with the eldest among them. Sahadeva replied, “I think we should select Virata. He is bound to us by family ties; he is a ruler endowed with prowess and conversant with virtue. The mighty Matsya king is difficult to vanquish in battle. We have long depended upon him and can do so again in the upcoming battle.”
Yudhiṣṭhira turned toward Nakula, who said, “That one who in maturity, knowledge of scripture, patience, nobility of birth, and respectability is the best of all; he who is ever devoted to truth; who has learned the science of weapons from Bharadvāja; who challenges Droṇa and who has performed austerities to bring about his destruction; that monarch who stands surrounded by his sons and grandsons like a tree with a hundred branches--the mighty Drupada should stand at the head of our army.”
Then it was Arjuna’s turn. His voice rang out. “He who by virtue of his austerities and his gratification of the ṛṣis came out of the blazing fire armed with weapons and adorned with golden armor; he who himself resembled the fire and who then ascended a celestial chariot and went about roaring like a cloud; he who possesses the strength of lions and is capable of slaying a lion because he has the heart, chest and shoulders of a lion; he who shines like the sun and is beautiful to behold; he who speaks the truth and has controlled his senses; he who was born for Droṇa’s death--Dṛṣṭadyumna should lead our forces. No one can pierce him with weapons and he will be able to withstand Bhīṣma, whose arrows fall like thunderbolts or like Yamarāja’s messengers. I do not see another who can stand against Bhīṣma except Dṛṣṭadyumna. Therefore, let him be our commander!”
Bhīma said, “We should be led by Śikhaṇḍī. He was born for Bhīṣma’s destruction, as the ṛṣis have told us. When he stands ready for battle, displaying his celestial missiles, he resembles the great Paraśurāma. In my view, the man has not been born who can overcome him when he mounts his chariot, clad in mail and lifting his weapons. Only he will be able to slay Bhīṣma.”
Having heard from all his brothers, Yudhiṣṭhira said, “Keśava alone knows the truth and untruth of all things, and their strength, weakness and other inherent qualities. He whom Kṛṣṇa, lord of the Dasarha race, names will be our commander and no other. Kṛṣṇa is the root of our victory or defeat. On Him depend our lives, kingdom, success, happiness and misery. My dear brothers, Keśava is the Lord and ordainer of all things. Let Him speak and let us abide by His decision. It is almost night. When He has named our commander, let us rest. In the morning, after worshipping our weapons and the Brahmins, we will march to Kurukṣetra.”
Kṛṣṇa said, “Any of the heroes named are capable of leading our army. All of them are competent and can inspire fear even in Indra--what to speak of Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s sons. Although weak due to their sinfulness, Duryodhana and his brothers consider themselves strong. Duryodhana’s attitude will soon change when he sees the mood of Arjuna, Bhīma, and the twins. When Abhimanyu and Draupadī’s sons, along with Drupada, Virata, and all the other chiefs come out for battle, Duryodhana and his brothers will repent their folly. I have endeavored to secure peace, and thus we have paid our debt to virtue. We cannot be blamed for what is about to happen. It is time for war. As far as leading our army is concerned, I agree with Dhanañjaya. Let the mighty Dṛṣṭadyumna become the general.”
When Kṛṣṇa was finished speaking, the assembled kings and kṣatriyas shouted their agreement. They were enlivened at the prospect of a fight. None of them hesitated to accept Kṛṣṇa’s choice of a general. Then they all retired for the night. The next day they would march toward Kurukṣetra, a journey of six or seven days.
* * *
As the sun rose over Virata, the air was filled with the clamor of men and animals. Warriors rushed about in all directions, and shouts of “Yoke up!” and “Load the weapons!” were heard everywhere. Numerous conches were sounded, firing the men with enthusiasm, and Brahmins chanted auspicious hymns to invoke good fortune for the army. Elephants trumpeted and chariot wheels rattled. Drummers beat drums as the huge army began the trek to Kurukṣetra. In front of the army marched Bhīma and Mādrī’s two sons, clad in shining mail. Behind them came Dṛṣṭadyumna, surrounded by Draupadī’s sons and Abhimanyu.
The soldiers were cheerful, and they shouted with joy. Yudhiṣṭhira rode in their midst. He was mounted on a golden chariot and dressed in golden armor. He held his great spear. By his side rode Arjuna, with Kṛṣṇa as his charioteer. On numerous chariots around Yudhiṣṭhira, his treasury was carried, along with the servants and attendants of the army. Behind the army came a long line of supply chariots holding provisions, spare weapons, and other goods. Thousands of physicians and surgeons were also in attendance.
As the army traveled, the Pāṇḍavas arranged for charity to be distributed to Brahmins along the way. They passed near many villages and colonies, but they carefully avoided temples and hermitages so as not to defile any holy places and thus bring misfortune upon the army. Brahmins continuously recited Vedic mantras along the length of the procession of millions of men.
Stopping each night at sunset and camping wherever they were, they went by slow marches. On the sixth night they reached Kurukṣetra, where they camped around lake Hiranvati. In the center of the encampment servants erected a large tent for the Pāṇḍavas. This tent would also serve as the battle headquarters. Surrounding it, Kṛṣṇa, Dṛṣṭadyumna, Drupada, Virata, and the other army chiefs had tents erected. The provisions were also placed in well-guarded tents near the center. The armor, weapons and chariot parts placed in piles resembled large hills, as did the heaps of grains, ghee, honey and other foodstuffs.
Many thousands of elephants had been assembled, looking like moving mountains and wearing coats of steel covered with spikes. There were also fighting machines of all types which were capable of throwing rocks, iron pellets, burning oil, lances, and red-hot iron shot.
After conferring with Kṛṣṇa, Dṛṣṭadyumna, and his own brothers, Yudhiṣṭhira had the army settle to await the commencement of battle. Some miles away they could hear the Kaurava forces rumbling like thunder in the distance. All that was required now was a meeting between the leaders of both armies in order to agree on a day for the fighting to begin.
* * *
When Kṛṣṇa had left Hastināpura, Duryodhana went to his counselors and said, “Having thwarted our attempts to capture Him, Kṛṣṇa has gone back to the Pāṇḍavas. Without doubt, He will be angry with us and will incite the Pāṇḍavas to fight to their full power. There will be a battle which will make our hair stand on end. We should not lose time in arranging our forces. Have them proceed at once to Kurukṣetra. Let the road between here and there be leveled and cleared. We ourselves should prepare to depart.”
The ministers, headed by Karṇa, Śakuni and Dushashana, got up from their seats and put on fine headdresses. Happy at the prospect of a battle, they slapped their arms and laughed. They brought out their weapons and had them loaded onto their chariots. The entire city of Hastināpura was filled with the commotion of men preparing for battle. The city resembled an ocean with cars, elephants and horses for its waves, and gleaming weapons for its foam. Drum beats and conch blasts were the ocean’s roar, and the city’s palaces were the mountains along its shore.
Duryodhana rejoiced at the sights and sounds coming from his army. He personally oversaw the loading of weapons onto thousands of chariots. As well as bows, arrows, axes, spears, clubs, maces and spiked bludgeons, there were massive pots of molasses and sand, which would be heated and then hurled at the enemy. There were large baskets full of poisonous snakes. Devices for throwing every kind of missile were loaded by the thousands. Chariots were filled with bullets, bombs and other explosive weapons. The sight of all the weapons and missiles cheered the heroes and frightened the weak-hearted.
The warriors gathered, wearing glittering robes embroidered with gold and adorned with gems. Powerful men clad in mail and masters in the use of weapons were appointed charioteers for more powerful fighters. The chariots were equipped with every kind of weapon, as well as drugs and herbs for curing wounds. Each chariot was drawn by four horses with bells and pearls strung around their necks. Tall standards had flags attached to them, and on the chariot turrets were ornaments, shields and swords, their blades pointing outwards. They looked like moving fortresses and were difficult to approach.
The great war elephants were decked in armor decorated with jewels and wreaths of pearls. Seven men rode on the back of each--two who were expert bowmen, two swordsmen, two bearing hooks and one armed with lance and trident. The elephants rocked as they moved. Following them were thousands of horsemen, clad in mail and ornaments and holding up flags. The horses were the best of their species, all under full control and free from the habit of scratching the ground with their forefeet. Behind the horsemen came even more infantry, their polished armor shining in the sunlight. For every chariot there were ten elephants; for every elephant, ten horsemen; and for every horseman, ten foot soldiers.
As Duryodhana presided over his eleven akshauhinis, each containing over twenty thousand elephants, his heart swelled with pride. Seeing the endless procession of men he wondered how the Pāṇḍavas would be able to even look upon them. He selected first-class warriors to lead each subdivision, and as leaders of the akshauhinis he appointed Kṛpa, Droṇa, Śalya, Jayadratha, Sudakṣiṇa, Kambhoja, Kṛtavarmā, Aśvatthāmā, Bhūriśravas, Śakuni and Bāhlika.
When all the arrangements were under way, Duryodhana approached Bhīṣma and asked humbly, “Without a commander-in-chief, even a large army is broken in battle like a swarm of ants. Division leaders seldom agree and are usually jealous of one another. You surely know the story of how the kṣatriyas of the Haihaya race, although they were few, were able to defeat in battle the Brahmins united with the vaiśyās and śūdras. When the Brahmins asked the kṣatriyas why they were successful, they replied, ‘In battle we listen to the commands of only the wisest person, but you were separated and followed your individual whims.’ When they heard this, the Brahmins selected a suitable leader and were victorious over the kṣatriyas.
“We too need a leader. O Grandfather, you are equal to Shukra himself. You always wish me well and always follow the path of righteousness. Therefore, become my general. To the Kurus you are like the sun among luminous bodies, Kuvera among the Yakṣas, Indra among the gods, Meru among mountains, and Garuḍa among birds. If you protect us, not even the gods in heaven can assail us. March at our front like Kārttikeya leading the celestials and we will follow you like calves following a cow.”
The noble Bhīṣma looked down at Duryodhana, who stood with his hands clasped tightly. “It may be as you say, O ruler of men, but as you are to me, so are the Pāṇḍavas. It is equally my duty to look after them. Still, I will fight on your behalf as I have promised.”
Bhīṣma remembered long ago a vow he had made to his father to always protect the king in Hastināpura, even though he himself would never be monarch. How could he have known it would come to this? Thus when Duryodhana had approached him some months ago to secure his assistance in the war, he had felt obliged to agree.
Looking across to the great throne in the hall, where his own father had once sat, Bhīṣma continued, “I do not see the warrior who can match my strength--except Arjuna. He is possessed of wisdom and he knows the mantras for all the celestial weapons. But he will not encounter me in an open fight. I can quickly strip this world of men, gods and Asuras by the strength of my weapons. I will slay ten thousand warriors a day. However, O King, I will not slay any of the Pāṇḍavas.”
Bhīṣma added, “There is one other condition to my accepting leadership of the army: either Karṇa fights or I fight. The suta’s son and I cannot fight together.”
Karṇa retorted, “I have already vowed that I will not fight while you are fighting. When you have been slain, O son of Gaṅgā, then I will fight with the wielder of the Gāṇḍīva bow.”
Duryodhana gathered Brahmins and had them perform the rituals to install Bhīṣma as commander-in-chief. Hundreds of drums and conches were sounded as his head was anointed with sacred water. The assembled warriors roared in delight. With Bhīṣma as commander, who could defeat them? He was capable of annihilating armies single-handedly, and he could not be killed unless he chose to die.
Outside the hall, however, frightful omens were seen as Bhīṣma was installed. Showers of blood fell from the sky and the earth shook. Fierce whirlwinds blew and trees toppled to the ground. Incorporeal voices cried out, meteors shot across the sky, and jackals howled. Afraid, Hastināpura’s citizens made offerings to the gods.
Bhīṣma came out of the hall looking like the full moon. Worshipped by Brahmins, he mounted his chariot and set off for Kurukṣetra at the head of a large division of soldiers.
The Kuru army encamped on the western side of Kurukṣetra. They resembled a vast sea, the soldiers in flashing armor looking like water sparkling in the sunlight. Warriors roared and conch blasts continuously sounded. At last the time for which a kṣatriya always longs had arrived. They would either be victorious in battle or die and attain the heavens.
End of Part One
Part Two
2.1: The Armies Prepare
After installing Dṛṣṭadyumna as his commander-in-chief, Yudhiṣṭhira and his generals consulted Kṛṣṇa. They had heard that Duryodhana had requested Bhīṣma to be the Kurus’ commander-in-chief and that he had accepted. Yudhiṣṭhira then asked Arjuna to be his army’s chief general, working immediately under Dṛṣṭadyumna. He wanted to ensure that Arjuna’s incomparable expertise was utilized fully in the battle. The seven divisions of the Pāṇḍava army were then placed under their seven commanders.
As the Pāṇḍavas were speaking about the arrangements, Balarāma arrived. He entered Yudhiṣṭhira’s tent in the company of Akrūra, Uddhava, Sāmba, Pradyumna, and other leading personalities from Dwārakā. In his blue garments and garlanded by golden flowers, Balarāma looked as majestic as Mount Kailāsa. Kṛṣṇa stood to greet Him, and all the kings did the same. They worshipped Him with affection. Yudhiṣṭhira took Balarāma’s hands and greeted Him warmly, showing Him to a fine seat.
After Balarāma had saluted elders such as Drupada and Virata, He took His seat and said, “Many men are about to be slaughtered. Surely fate has ordained it and it cannot be avoided. It is the hour of death for all these kṣatriyas. The earth is about to become a mass of clay thickened with flesh and blood. I hope you heroes will emerge alive and well. Repeatedly did I request Kṛṣṇa to act equally toward both Kauravas and Pāṇḍavas, but He chose to favor you.”
Kṛṣṇa looked at His elder brother and smiled. Balarāma glanced across at Him as He continued. “Keśava has set His heart upon your interests, and especially the interests of Dhanañjaya. Your victory is assured because Kṛṣṇa desires it. I cannot at any time act separately from Him. Therefore I will play no part in the war. Both Duryodhana and Bhīma are My pupils at mace fighting, and both are equally dear to Me. I cannot bear to fight against either. Therefore I have decided to leave the area and go on a pilgrimage to the holy places because I know I would not be able to sit by and indifferently watch the massacre.”
Balarāma stood up and placed His helmet on His head. Taking leave of Kṛṣṇa and the Pāṇḍavas, He left, followed by the Yādavas who had come with Him.
Soon, the Pāṇḍavas received another visitor. It was Rukmī, King Bhīṣmaka’s son and Kṛṣṇa’s brother-in-law. He arrived with a full akshauhini division of warriors. To please his sister he had decided to offer his assistance to her husband’s side. Twanging his bow he strode into Yudhiṣṭhira’s tent where the Pāṇḍavas received him respectfully. He said, “O great ruler, if you are afraid at the prospect of war with the Kurus, then I am here to help you. There are none who can match my prowess. Your enemies will not be able to bear my might. Whatever part of their army you allot to me as my share will be ground into the earth. Even Bhīṣma, Droṇa and Kṛpa cannot face me. I will defeat the Kurus and deliver you the earth.”
Arjuna could not tolerate Rukmī’s proud speech. He laughed. “I was born in the Kuru race, I am Pāṇḍu’s son and Droṇa’s pupil, and I have Keśava’s assistance. How can I be afraid of the enemy? O hero, when I faced the Gandharvas, who was my friend then? When I fought the furious Dānavas in the nether worlds, who came to my aid? Then again in the battle with the Kurus in the Matsya kingdom, who was my helper? I am not afraid, Rukmī. We have no need of your help. Go wherever you please, or stay here if you like. Either way we will fight with the Kurus and win.”
Seeing the other warriors agreeing with Arjuna, Rukmī scowled. Taking up his bow he marched out of the tent without a word. He then took his soldiers to Duryodhana. If the Pāṇḍavas did not want him, then he would fight with the Kauravas. At least he had offered his help to Yudhiṣṭhira first. Actually, he was just as happy to fight for Duryodhana. Rukmī still remembered his sister’s svayaṁvara in which he had wanted her to select Śiśupāla. Kṛṣṇa had come and kidnapped Rukmīṇī. Rukmī had then chased Kṛṣṇa and fought with Him, only to be defeated and humiliated. Maybe now he could exact his revenge.
Going before Duryodhana, he repeated the words he had used when speaking to Yudhiṣṭhira. “Do not be afraid of the Pāṇḍavas, O King, for I am here to help you.”
Duryodhana also rejected him. “I have no need of your help,” he laughed. “What fear do I have of the Pāṇḍavas, surrounded as I am by the world’s greatest heroes, and being a mighty warrior myself?”
Rukmī left the Kauravas and returned home, deciding to play no part in the war. If no one wanted his help, then he would not fight. Let them annihilate one another without him.
* * *
After Rukmī left, Duryodhana summoned his counselors. He had Śakuni’s son Uluka come as a messenger to the Pāṇḍavas. Assured of his superior position, the prince wanted to mock his enemies and to show his contempt for their so-called army.
Duryodhana said, “O Uluka, go to the Pāṇḍavas and speak these words in Kṛṣṇa’s hearing: ‘The time has now come for action. What we have expected for a long time is finally come to pass. We are about to fight a frightful war between ourselves, and you have caused it. Prove now the truth of all the boastful words you sent through Sañjaya. Let us see your actual power.’”
Duryodhana’s black eyes narrowed. Standing up as he spoke, he pointed at Uluka. “Say this to Yudhiṣṭhira: How do you pose as a virtuous man, O descendent of Bharata? You now desire to destroy the world for the sake of wealth. One who presents himself as pious while secretly concealing wicked intentions is said to be like the cat in the famous story of old. Listen to the story my father heard from Nārada Ṛṣi.
“Once there was a cat who went to the Ganges. Standing on the bank with upraised paws he said, ‘I shall practice virtue.’ After some time, the birds began to trust him and even praise him for his devotions.
“That cat continued with his austerities, and in due course the mice also saw the cat’s peaceful demeanor and long-time pious practices. They decided to take shelter of him, although he was naturally their enemy. They said, ‘We seek your protection. You are our refuge and our best friend. Be like an uncle to us and save us from our antagonists. You are virtuously inclined and have adopted a pious course.’
“The cat reluctantly agreed. ‘I will do what I can for you, but I also need your help. My austerities have made me so weak I cannot move. Therefore, some of you must assist me to reach the riverside each day so that I can bathe.’
“The mice agreed to this and began to live around the cat. Every day a number of them would go to the river with him and the cat would eat them. Thus the cat grew fatter and stronger, while the mice diminished in number. Soon they realized what was happening. One wise mouse among them pointed out that an animal living on fruits and roots cannot have hairs in its feces. He concluded, ‘This cat only makes a show of devotion. His real business is eating mice.’
“The mice fled in all directions and the wicked cat also went back to where he had come from. O Yudhiṣṭhira, you are behaving in the same way toward your kinsmen. Your words mean one thing while your acts are quite different. Give up your disguise as a gentle and harmless man. Come out and fight like a true kṣatriya. Dry your mother’s tears by winning victory in battle--if you can. Remember our former antagonism--the poison, the lac house, the insult to Draupadī. Show us your real strength.”
Duryodhana laughed. He derided the Pāṇḍavas in various ways, mocking their power and praising his own. He reminded them of all the vows they had taken. Now they should fulfill them.
Duryodhana remembered Kṛṣṇa’s universal form, which He had exhibited in Hastināpura. “Tell Vāsudeva that His display of illusion does not scare me. I too can show many forms, but what is the use of such things? O Keśava, come in that mystical form to the battlefield and we will see what difference it will make. I know Your power and I know Arjuna’s. I know the Gāṇḍīva bow and the inexhaustible quivers he holds, as well as about the fiery chariot Agni gave him with its celestial banners. Still I challenge You. Indeed, I could face a thousand Kṛṣṇas and a hundred Arjunas and still have them flee in all directions. Even knowing everything about Your power, I shall deprive You of Your kingdom without fear.”
Duryodhana began to pace as he delivered his arrogant message. Karṇa, Dushashana and Śakuni cheered his brave speech and encouraged him to say more. Duryodhana reminded the Pāṇḍavas of the dice game and their exile at his hands. “Is this not sufficient proof of my superiority? Bhīma must have been tired as he cleaned pots in Virata’s kitchen; Arjuna wore bangles and braided hair; Yudhiṣṭhira became Virata’s servant--these are the ways a kṣatriya punishes others weaker than himself. I have no fear of the Pāṇḍavas, nor of Kṛṣṇa, nor of any of the fools who have chosen to fight beside you. I will not return even the smallest part of your kingdom.”
Uluka memorized every word in the mood with which it was spoken, although Duryodhana spoke for almost an hour. He concluded, “Let the battle begin tomorrow. Then you will see your folly. Like a frog in a well who cannot know the ocean, you cannot know how vast are my forces. One who wishes to defeat Bhīṣma, Droṇa, and Kṛpa would be able to rend a mountain with his head or swim across an ocean. When you see the Kuru forces assembled like a great sea, then will your desire for the kingdom disappear. All thoughts of ruling this world will vanish. Like a man who has never practiced devotion yet desires heaven, so is your hope for winning this kingdom. Tomorrow we will see who should be the earth’s rightful ruler.”
Duryodhana then told Uluka to deliver the message at once. Uluka mounted his chariot and rode over to the Pāṇḍavas’ camp, with Duryodhana’s words ringing in his head. He knew his message would incite the Pāṇḍavas’ fury, and he approached Yudhiṣṭhira with apprehension. “Please see me only as an envoy. Knowing the law in relation to messengers, do not become angry when you hear my words. I will only speak what Duryodhana has told me to say and nothing more.”
Yudhiṣṭhira smiled and showed Uluka to a seat in his tent. “Do not fear. You may speak freely here. Tell us what the small-minded Duryodhana, driven by greed and lacking in foresight, has said.”
Uluka looked around the tent. All the Pāṇḍava chiefs were present. With their bright armor and colorful silks they resembled glowing planets decorating the firmament. They were all watching him and waiting for the message.
When Uluka had finished, the Pāṇḍavas leapt from their seats. Speechless with rage, they stared at each other and ground their teeth. Their breath came in hot blasts and they seemed like infuriated serpents. Bhīma’s eyes turned red and he looked across at Kṛṣṇa, who laughed and said, “O Uluka, go back to your master and tell him we have heard his message and understood its meaning. Let it be as he says. The battle will begin tomorrow.”
Having heard Duryodhana’s abusive words, the assembly of kings resembled the storm-tossed ocean. They rose up roaring and slapped their arms.
Rubbing his hands together, Bhīma roared, “O fool, we have heard your words, intended to rouse us to action as if we were weak and inactive. Uluka, carry my reply back to your master.
“O Duryodhana, only due to respect for our elder brother have we tolerated you for so long. The virtuous Yudhiṣṭhira has offered peace. You have refused. Pushed by your own fate, you now desire to meet Yamarāja. The battle will certainly begin tomorrow. I have vowed to slay you and all your brothers. Do not doubt my power to carry out this vow. The ocean may transgress its banks, the mountains may split asunder, but my words will not prove false. O you of little sense, not even the gods and demons combined can save you now. I will drink Dushashana’s blood and grind the rest of the Kauravas into the earth. Any kṣatriya approaching me in anger will go at once to Death’s abode. I swear by my soul that I speak the truth.”
Sahadeva then stepped forward. “Tell this to the fool who gives you orders: ‘Only because of you has this dispute arisen. You were born for the destruction of your own race, and indeed of the world. Goaded on by Śakuni, you have always acted with evil intentions toward us. You will soon be slain by me before all your warriors.’”
Duryodhana’s message was creating a tumult in the Pāṇḍavas’ tent. The kings and warriors shouted and waved their weapons at Uluka. Arjuna calmed them. Then he turned to Bhīma and said, “O Bhīmasena, be patient. Those who have made you their enemy will soon be destroyed. Nothing can save them. There is no need to rebuke Uluka. He is only an envoy. What fault can an envoy commit? The words he spoke were not his own.”
Arjuna looked at the assembled kings. “You have all heard Duryodhana’s foul speech directed even toward Kṛṣṇa. With your leave I will give my response.”
By now, Uluka was trembling. Arjuna said, “Tell Duryodhana: ‘Tomorrow you will have my reply delivered by the Gāṇḍīva. Only eunuchs use words.’”
Arjuna took his seat by Yudhiṣṭhira’s side, who then said, “I have heard your master’s words, Uluka. Tell him this in reply: ‘O fool, you have ever adopted an evil course with us. Although you lack power, you now challenge us to war. Depending on others’ prowess you utter threats. A real kṣatriya fights his enemies depending upon his own power. Since you are unable to do so, why do you roar so much?’”
Seeing that Yudhiṣṭhira had finished, Uluka rose from his seat to depart. Kṛṣṇa checked him. “Also say this to Duryodhana: ‘O sinful one, you think that I shall be of no consequence in this war as I will not fight. Do not make such a miscalculation. I will act as Arjuna’s charioteer and you will see him everywhere, destroying your forces as fire burns dry grass. Even if you go beyond the three worlds or enter the nether regions, you will see Arjuna’s chariot there tomorrow. You also think Bhīma has indulged in idle threats, but you can consider that he has already drunk Dushashana’s blood. Neither Yudhiṣṭhira nor his brothers are in the least afraid of you. You are strong only in speech.’”
As Kṛṣṇa stopped speaking, Arjuna leapt to his feet. He was not satisfied with the curt response he had given to Duryodhana. He spoke again. “Tell this to your master: ‘O worst of men, having installed Bhīṣma as your commander, you are boasting that Arjuna and his brothers will never attack him. But I will make him my first target.’”
Arjuna’s voice seethed with restrained rage as he went on. “Although the worshipful grandfather’s senses are under control and he possesses great wisdom, he has taken your side and chosen to die. I will not hesitate to direct my arrows toward him. O Duryodhana, your hopes are in vain. You are arrogant, harsh, inhuman, addicted to vice, partial, and you hate virtue. You will soon receive the consequences of your nature. When I am angry and have Kṛṣṇa as my second, what hope can you have for success? Your relatives will soon lament your death. When you are struck down by Bhīma, you will recall your foolishness.”
When Arjuna sat down, Uluka bowed before Yudhiṣṭhira, anxious to depart. Reassuring him, Yudhiṣṭhira said, “Say this to Duryodhana also: ‘You have judged me improperly. I do not desire to harm even worms or ants--what to speak of my relatives. Thus I was prepared to accept only five villages to avoid this war. It is only due to you that this calamity has arisen, O man of meager understanding. Overpowered by lust you could not accept Kṛṣṇa’s advice, and for that reason you rant like one deprived of his senses. What is the use of your words? Come out and fight along with all your friends. Death awaits you.’”
Bhīma wrung his hands together and breathed heavily. Although he would have accepted a peaceful solution to the conflict, he could not deny his joy at the prospect of finally confronting the sinful Kauravas. Uluka’s message had stoked his long-cherished anger to the point of distraction. But he would have to wait until morning. It would be a long night. Suppressing his rage, Bhīma spoke again to Uluka even more harshly. “This is my final word to Duryodhana: ‘O sinful one, either remain in Hastināpura or lie in the belly of a vulture. Those are the only choices left for you now. I swear by truth that my words made in the council hall will come to pass. I will drink Dushashana’s blood and I will smash your thighs. Know me as the death of all Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s sons.”
As Uluka turned and bowed to the assembled kings, Dṛṣṭadyumna’s voice rang out: “O Uluka, tell Duryodhana that I was born to kill Droṇa. He and all his followers will die at my hands. There is no doubt. What more need I say?”
Uluka went out of the tent backwards, bowing from the waist with his palms folded. He ran over to his chariot and leapt aboard, urging his horses back to the Kaurava camp.
Yudhiṣṭhira began to move his army into position on the battlefield. Dṛṣṭadyumna appointed specific tasks to the principal warriors. Each chariot fighter was to protect the divisions of foot soldiers from the enemy charioteers. Equals should fight equals. The chiefs of the army were allotted chiefs on the opposing side. Bhīma would fight with Duryodhana, Sahadeva with Śakuni, Nakula with Aśvatthāmā, Śikhaṇḍī with Bhīṣma, Uttamauja with Kṛpa, and Dṛṣṭadyumna would engage with Droṇa. Abhimanyu, whom he considered as powerful as Arjuna, was ordered to engage with all the kings supporting Duryodhana, while Arjuna had the task of protecting the entire army.
Gradually the Pāṇḍava forces arrayed themselves. By evening, everyone was in position, ready to march into battle the next morning.
* * *
Duryodhana was sitting amid all his generals when Uluka returned and delivered the Pāṇḍavas’ replies. The prince sneered and turned to Bhīṣma. “The war begins tomorrow, O Grandfather. What should be done now?”
Bhīṣma, having surrendered himself to the certainty of war and the hopelessness of making Duryodhana see sense, replied, “After bowing before Kumāra, the god of war, I will act as your general. I am as capable of organizing armies as Bṛhaspati. Conversant with every means of attack and defense employed by men, gods and demons, I will confound the Pāṇḍavas. I will fight according to the rules laid down in holy books, all of which I know. Let your fears be gone.”
Duryodhana did not like hearing that he might be afraid. “I am not afraid even of the gods and Asuras united. O you of long arms, I tell you this truly. How much less afraid am I when I have you as my commander and Droṇa by my side? O best of men, with you fighting for me, I think kingship of the gods would not be hard to attain.”
Duryodhana paused reflectively. Surely his army was invincible, especially under Bhīṣma and Droṇa’s leadership; but the Pāṇḍavas had so far proved difficult to overpower, even without the support of an army. Now they had amassed seven divisions of warriors ready for war, and the brothers, protected by the wily Kṛṣṇa, would fight filled with rage. He had made sure of that. The Kaurava looked inquisitively at Bhīṣma. “I desire to hear from you about the strengths and weaknesses of the enemy and also of ourselves. Please tell me everything you know.”
Sitting before a large number of warriors in Duryodhana’s tent, Bhīṣma said, “O King, listen as I describe who are the rathas, maharathas, and atirathas in your army. There are thousands of rathas on your side, each capable of contending with a thousand warriors at once. There are also numerous maharathas, who can stand against ten thousand, and many atirathas, who can face an almost unlimited number of opponents. You, O son of Gāndhārī, are an atiratha, and your brothers are all maharathas. All of you are skillful elephant and chariot drivers, and expert with weapons. You will slay Pāṇḍava forces in large numbers.”
Bhīṣma then described the strength of every principal warrior on the Kauravas’ side. He described Kṛtavarmā, Śalya, Kṛpa, Droṇa, Aśvatthāmā, and Bāhlika as atirathas. When he came to Karṇa, usually considered an atiratha and upon whom Duryodhana pinned his hopes, Bhīṣma said, “Because of Paraśurāma’s curse and the loss of his celestial armor, he is no longer powerful. Although he brags of his prowess and you have elevated him to a higher station than he deserves, he is of little consequence. In battle he becomes confounded and is too soft on the enemy. In my opinion, he is only half a ratha. When he comes before Arjuna, he will not escape with his life.”
Droṇa agreed. “It is so. What you say is never false.”
Karṇa started up from his seat, his eyes angry. “O Grandfather, you are ever given to piercing me with your sharp words. What sin have I committed that you derive such pleasure from insulting me? I tolerate it only for Duryodhana’s sake. In my opinion, you too are only half a ratha. I do not speak an untruth when I say that you are the enemy of the entire universe. You are the Kurus’ enemy in the guise of a friend. Who else would seek to create disunion among our forces and sap their energy by mean descriptions of their power? By saying that one is greater than another, based upon your own estimation, you simply discourage the fighters. You are moved only by desire and hatred.”
Karṇa’s voice filled the tent. He could no longer tolerate Bhīṣma’s stinging words. Clenching his fists, he turned toward Duryodhana. “O King, abandon this wicked man at once! If you do not, he will soon destroy your army by sowing the seeds of discord. What use are his estimations? Let me go out to meet the Pāṇḍava armies. They will soon be routed like bulls meeting a tiger. Bhīṣma boasts of being able to fight the universe, but his words are vain and empty. He is old and senile. His intelligence has become like a boy’s. Reject him at once and choose me. Alone I can slay the Pāṇḍavas and all their followers.
“But I will not do it while Bhīṣma is still on the battlefield. The glory and fame of a victory goes to the commander and not to the individual fighters. I will do nothing to increase Bhīṣma’s fame. When he is killed, I will come out and display my prowess.”
Bhīṣma looked contemptuously at Karṇa. “The time for battle has arrived. Long have I known this calamity would come. Now the burden of this battle, vast like the ocean, rests upon my shoulders. I have no desire to create dispute among our men. For this reason only do you still live, O son of a suta. Although I am now old and you are young, I would still immediately destroy your desire for battle and take your life.”
The Kuru commander felt his anger rising. “Good men do not approve of self-praise, but I will say something now because I have lost my temper. When I attended the svayaṁvara at Kashi, I single-handedly overpowered all the kings on earth. What have you done? You are an ill-starred man, and since your arrival the Kurus have met with disaster. Prove your words in battle. I will see your actual strength when I see you escape from Arjuna, O man of wicked intelligence.”
Duryodhana leapt up. “Be peaceful, O son of Gaṅgā. I need both you and Karṇa in this fight. No doubt you will both perform heroic deeds. Leave aside this petty squabbling and tell me more of the strengths and weaknesses of the two sides. The fight will soon begin.”
Still glaring at Karṇa, Bhīṣma began to describe the Pāṇḍavas’ strength. “The pious king Yudhiṣṭhira is himself a mighty maharatha. He will roam about in battle like fire itself. His brother Bhīmasena is powerful beyond measure. His strength is not human, and in a fight with either mace or arrows he is without equal. The two sons of Mādrī are peerless fighters. Remembering their hard suffering in the forest, they will release the poison of their anger on your men. O King, all five Pāṇḍavas are great-souled devotees of the Supreme Lord. They are invincible. They have all practiced asceticism and are devoted to virtue. Their prowess is incomparable, as you saw at the Rājasūya when they conquered the earth. Even as children you saw their extraordinary strength, and that is when you first became envious of them. In my view, you should avoid them in battle.”
Bhīṣma looked intently at Duryodhana as he spoke. “Regarding the copper-eyed Arjuna, who has Nārāyaṇa as his ally, I say this: No brave warrior in either army can match him in any way. Even among the gods, Gandharvas, Nāgas, Rākṣasas and Yakṣas he has no equal, what to speak of among men. He has the Gāṇḍīva bow, a divine chariot drawn by horses that can fly at the speed of the wind, impenetrable celestial armor, and two inexhaustible quivers. He knows every celestial weapon. He will wreak havoc in your army, O King. Only myself or the preceptor can advance against him. There is no third warrior capable of standing before him when he pours forth his showers of arrows. But he is young and fit, while both Droṇa and I are old and worn out. He now waits for battle with Keśava at his side.”
All the kings in Duryodhana’s tent heard Bhīṣma’s description of Arjuna and felt shorn of power. Bhīṣma described the other fighters on the Pāṇḍavas’ side. Having named many of them as atirathas and maharathas, he spoke about Śikhaṇḍī. “You have all heard that he is destined to kill me. But he was born a woman and I will not, therefore, face him in battle. Listen now as I tell you his history, which I have heard from Nārada Ṛṣi.”
2.2: Śikhaṇḍī’s Destiny
(as told by Bhīṣma)
As you know, I long ago accepted a vow neither to occupy the throne nor to have children who could lay claim to it. My father, Śantanu, then married the beautiful Satyavatī and had two sons, Citrāṅgadā and Vicitravīrya. He died before his sons were grown and I was left as their protector. Citrāṅgadā was killed in a battle with the Gandharva king, and Vicitravīrya was left sole heir to the throne.
As he came of age, I thought it time to find him a wife. I heard that the king of Kashi had arranged a svayamvara for his three daughters, Amba, Ambikā and Ambālikā. I decided to ride into Kashi on my chariot, prepared for battle. Kings and princes had assembled at the svayamvara from all over the world, all hoping one of the girls would choose to marry them.
Upon seeing this, I remembered that the wise approve of many kinds of marriage, but for a kṣatriya the best is when the bride is snatched from an assembly of warriors after defeating them in a fight. I then announced to the kings that I had decided to carry away all three princesses for my younger brother, and challenged them to prevent me if they could.
Then I took all three maidens onto my chariot and sped away. The kings were at first surprised, then furious. They pulled on their armor and mounted their chariots. Soon hundreds of them were in pursuit. Thousands of arrows showered down upon my chariot, but I dexterously avoided them all. As the princesses trembled in fear, I took up my own bow and turned to face the kings. I countered the shower of their shafts with my own. At the same time, I pierced every one of my antagonists. So swiftly did I shoot my arrows that my foes were completely confounded and could only applaud my prowess. Some were killed and others had their weapons smashed and their armor torn off. They retreated and fled in various directions.
Shalva, however, continued to chase me. He was determined to win the hand of one of the maidens, and he rushed after me shouting, “Stay, stay!”
Provoked, I faced him. A furious but short-lived battle ensued. I soon overpowered Shalva and destroyed his chariot, although I decided not to kill him. I then returned to Hastināpura with the three maidens.
When I arrived in Hastināpura, the eldest princess, Amba, approached me and said, “I had already chosen Shalva as my husband. He too accepted me in his heart and my father agreed to the match. I would have chosen him in the svayaṁvara, but you kidnapped me and I did not have the opportunity. O knower of virtue, tell me what I should now do.”
I asked her to wait while I discussed the matter with the Brahmins. It was concluded that Amba should be allowed to go to Shalva’s city and offer herself to him. We gave her an escort of priests and maidservants, and sent her to Shalva. When he saw her, however, he said, “O lady of fair complexion, I no longer desire to accept you as my wife, for you have already been taken by another. You were led away cheerfully by Bhīṣma before all the other kings. How can I, who must lay down the law for others, now accept you? You have been touched by another. According to holy books, I cannot now accept you as my wife.”
Amba tried to change Shalva’s mind, pleading that she had not been happy to be kidnapped. She had gone to Shalva at the first opportunity. The king was adamant. He would not accept her. He told the disappointed princess to return to Hastināpura. Weeping like a she-osprey she thought, “What woman in the world could fall into greater trouble than the predicament I now face? I have been robbed of my friends, Shalva has wronged me, neither can I now return to Hastināpura, and neither can I go home in such shame and rejected by everyone.”
Reflecting on the cause of her troubles, Amba decided that I was to blame. She wanted revenge. Rather than return to Hastināpura, she chose to go to a hermitage and stayed the night. In the morning, the ṛṣis saw her weeping and inquired about her sorrow. The lady told them everything and asked them to help her, but the ṛṣis replied, “We have renounced all worldly action. What can we possibly do to help your cause?”
Amba asked that they allow her to remain with them and to engage in asceticism. She had decided that the calamity that had befallen her was the result of her past sins, and that by practicing penance, she could become freed of them.
The ṛṣis consulted among themselves. Some thought Shalva should have accepted her, while others proposed that I should marry her. Eventually they decided that she should return to her father, for a woman must always be under the shelter of a husband, son or father. But Amba refused to go. She said she would never return to her father’s city and suffer disgrace.
While the ṛṣis thus sat pondering about what to do, the royal sage Hotravahana arrived at the hermitage. He took special pity on Amba because he happened to be her maternal grandfather. He became enraged that I had stolen her and thus ruined her life. With his lips trembling in anger he said, “O Amba, you have grieved enough. Do not go to your father’s house, for that will only increase your grief. You should place your case before the great Paraśurāma. He is my good friend and well-wisher. For my sake he will surely remove your grief. Either he will convince Bhīṣma to accept you, or he will slay him in battle. Only this sage is powerful enough to do either.”
It so happened that Paraśurāma was due to arrive at the hermitage the next day. He arrived early in the morning, clad in black deerskins and surrounded by his disciples. With an axe over his shoulder and a bow in his hand, he was a frightening sight. Long matted locks hung down to his shoulders, and his eyes blazed like fire. After he had been properly received and worshipped by the other sages, he sat down with Hotravahana and was told of Amba’s plight. He called for her and said, “You are as dear to me as you are to Hotravahana. Tell me what I should do for you. If you like, I can order Bhīṣma to accept you. If he will not, then I will consume him and all his ministers in battle. Or, if you prefer, I will order Shalva. Tell me your decision, O princess.”
Amba replied, “It seems that Bhīṣma is the cause of my present calamity. I think you should slay him. I have become so vengeful that I now wish only to bring about his death. O great sage, kill that covetous and mean-spirited man for my sake.”
Paraśurāma was reluctant to take up arms against me and said, “I will only use my weapons if the Brahmins request it. This is my vow. I can, however, make either Bhīṣma or Shalva accept my order. Therefore, select one of them as your husband, fair maiden, and I will do the rest.”
Amba had already concluded that all she wanted was for me to die. She asked Paraśurāma again and again to challenge me to a fight. At that time another ṛṣi, Akritavana, feeling compassion for Amba, also requested him to fight. Because a Brahmin requested him, Paraśurāma finally said, “All right, I will go to Bhīṣma to seek a solution by peaceful means. If he will not accept my words, then I will certainly slay him.”
The following day he made his way to Hastināpura with Amba. I worshipped him with all respect, and then he said with anger in his voice, “O Bhīṣma, in what consciousness did you kidnap Amba? Although you took her by force, you then sent her away. You have robbed her of her virtue, for no other man will now accept her. Therefore, you should accept her either for your brother or for yourself.”
I replied, “I cannot by any means take back this maiden, for she has given her heart to another. It is always wrong for a virtuous man to accept such a woman. I cannot renounce my duty out of fear, greed, attachment or pity. This is my vow, O Rāma.”
The sage blazed. “If you do not act according to my instructions, then I shall slay you and all your ministers.”
He said this repeatedly, and I tried in many ways to calm him with gentle words. Realizing that he was bent upon fighting, I asked, “Why do you wish to fight with me, O best of your race? In my childhood I was your pupil, and you taught me the military arts.”
Paraśurāma replied, “Although I am your preceptor, you have not obeyed my command. There is only one way to gratify me: either accept this maiden and perpetuate your race, or prepare yourself for death.”
But my guru’s words found no place in my heart. I replied, “O lord, what you are commanding me to do I cannot do. What is the use of laboring for it? What foolish man would accept into his house a woman sighing for another? Furthermore, I have made a solemn vow never to marry. I see no virtue in your order. The god Vāyu has stated that a preceptor may be abandoned if he is vain, has swerved from the right path, or does not know his proper duties. I see no sin in fighting with you on this occasion rather than accepting your order. You are asking me to engage in an unrighteous act only for your profit. Witness now the strength of my arms and my superhuman prowess. Let us go to Kurukṣetra. Slain by my arrows, you will attain the glorious regions you have earned by asceticism, O you whose only wealth is devotion.”
By then, I was myself infuriated. I added, “You boast that you have conquered the entire kṣatriya race, but today I will prove that boast false. When you defeated the kṣatriyas, I had not yet been born, nor anyone like me. You consumed straw. He who will end your boasts and your desire for battle has now been born. I will destroy your pride. Do not doubt it.”
The sage smiled. “It is fortunate, O Bhīṣma, that you wish to fight. I will thus curb your arrogance. We will fight at Kurukṣetra. There your mother Gaṅgā will see you thrown down and turned into food for vultures. O ruler of the earth, your mother does not deserve to see such a sight, but it must be so, for you are foolish and overly proud.”
I bowed before the sage and said, “Be it so.” After performing propitiatory rites to invoke the Brahmins’ blessings, I mounted my chariot and headed out of the city. Equipped with all my weapons, I shielded my chariot with a white umbrella and yoked my white horses, which can move with the speed of the wind. As I moved off, bards and singers eulogized me. I arrived at Kurukṣetra and saw Rāma waiting there, grasping his huge bow. Thousands of his followers were present, and around the battlefield stood numerous ṛṣis. In the sky I saw the gods, headed by Indra. Celestial music sounded and flowers fell from the heavens.
My own mother, assuming her divine human form, came before me and asked, “What do you wish to do, my dear son?”
When I told her, she reproved me. “You should not fight with a Brahmin. Do not fight Jamadagni’s son. His strength is equal to that of Śiva. He exterminated the kṣatriya race. You know all this. Why, then, have you come to fight with him?”
I explained to my mother all that had happened and made it clear that I would not now turn back. She then implored the sage not to fight with me. I was, after all, his disciple, which is nondifferent than his son.
The sage said he was determined to teach me a lesson. Helpless to stop either side, my mother retired from the battlefield, feeling anxious for my sake.
I looked across at Paraśurāma and saw that he had no chariot or coat of mail. I called out, “How can I fight you while you stand upon the earth, O Rāma? Mount a chariot and put on your armor, for I will now release my weapons.”
Rāma laughed back, “The earth is my chariot, the Vedas are my horses, and the wind is my driver. The mothers of the Vedas--Gayatri, Savitri, and Sarasvatī--are my armor. Well protected by all of them I shall fight, O delighter of the Kurus.”
The sage immediately covered me on all sides with a thick shower of arrows. Repelling his shafts, I saw him mount a blazing chariot that resembled a city. Celestial horses were yoked to it and it was protected and ornamented by golden armor and decorations. The chariot was wonderful to behold and had been created by his will. Clad in brilliant armor, he stood upon it looking like Yamarāja surrounded by the personified astras. His disciple, Akritavana, who had requested him to fight, had become his charioteer, and he dexterously wheeled the chariot about as Rāma now called out, “Come! Come!”
I repelled another two showers of arrows. Then I dismounted my chariot. Putting down my weapons, I went over to the sage and prostrated myself on the ground. “Whether you are my equal in battle or my superior, I will fight with you, my lord, even though you are my preceptor. Bless me that I may obtain victory.”
Rāma smiled. “O best of the Kurus, your behavior is proper and I am pleased by it. If you had not come to me in this way, I would have cursed you. I cannot bless you to gain victory since I myself want to vanquish you. Go and fight fairly and with patience, O hero.”
I returned to my chariot and blew my conch, signaling the start of the battle. Both of us hurled every kind of weapon at each other. Each desiring victory, we fought furiously. Laughing, I released broad-headed shafts which chopped his bow into fragments again and again. Other arrows passed clean through his body and came out dripping blood, entering the earth like hissing serpents, but by his spiritual power the sage maintained his life and fought back with fearsome energy.
Covered with blood, Rāma stood in his chariot like a mountain pouring forth lava. He responded with well-sharpened arrows that struck me like thunderbolts. Pierced in my vital organs, I trembled and held onto my flagstaff for support. I summoned all my patience and, regaining my composure, released a hundred deadly shafts at Rāma. Struck by my arrows, Rāma fell senseless to the floor of his chariot.
I was immediately seized by remorse. “What have I done! I have slain my own preceptor, a virtuous Brahmin.” I dropped my weapons and held my head in anguish, but Rāma soon rose again, his charioteer having expertly removed the arrows and tended him. The sun set and we retired for the day, coming together in the evening as friends.
The next day at sunrise we faced each other again on the battlefield. Rāma shot blazing arrows with serpent-like mouths. I cut them down with my own arrows even as they sped through the air. The sage then resorted to celestial weapons, which I countered with my own. During the violent exchange of weapons, I was suddenly caught on the chest by a dart that rendered me unconscious. My charioteer quickly removed me from the battle and all of Rāma’s followers, along with Amba, sent up a cheer.
After some time I regained consciousness and ordered my charioteer to take me back into battle. He urged on my horses, which seemed to dance as they bore us toward Rāma. As soon as I saw him I fired hundreds of straight-flying arrows that screamed through the air, but Rāma cut every one of them into pieces with his own arrows and they fell uselessly to the ground. Then I sent hundreds more shafts at Rāma, even as he was countering my last assault. He was caught off guard and knocked unconscious. As he fell from his chariot a loud cry of “Alas” went up from his followers.
Seeing him dropped to the earth like the sun fallen from the sky, the Kashi princess, along with his many disciples, ran over and comforted him. They sprinkled his face with cool water and uttered benedictory hymns. Rāma slowly rose and looked across at me, seated on my chariot. Enraged, he shouted, “Stay, Bhīṣma. You are already killed!”
Even before remounting his chariot, he shot an arrow which seemed like the rod of death. It hit my right side and sent me spinning. As I reeled Rāma killed my horses. He simultaneously covered me with a thousand more arrows. Without becoming confounded, I countered his attack with lightness of hand. As I struck down his arrows my charioteer quickly fetched fresh horses for my chariot. A terrible exchange went on between us. Our celestial arrows met in mid-air and stayed there without falling. The sky became covered with a network of arrows that screened the sun. Rāma shot thousands, then tens of thousands, then millions of arrows at me, which I duly countered with divine weapons. A great fire appeared in the sky, reducing the surrounding forests to ashes. As we fought on in this way, the sun set and the battle subsided.
We fought for many days, utilizing every celestial weapon and all forms of combat the Vedas describe. Rāma released missiles which can hardly be described. They assumed diverse forms and came from every direction. I was continuously whirling in my chariot, repelling his weapons and trying to counterattack with my own. Both of us sought gaps in our opponent’s defenses, and we both defended ourselves closely. The battle raged through the day, and at night we rested. We were both extremely exhausted from the fighting.
On the twenty-third day of the battle, Rāma fought with redoubled strength. All of a sudden he fired a number of arrows which fell upon my horses and charioteer like venomous serpents. They were all slain and I was left standing on an immobile chariot as Rāma shot arrows charged with death at me. As I fought off his shafts, Rāma fired a powerful missile that came at me like a streak of lightning. It caught me on the chest and threw me backwards off the chariot. I fell on the ground a full fifty paces away.
Thinking me dead, Rāma roared like a thundercloud and all his followers cheered. The Kurus who had accompanied me were overwhelmed with sorrow. As I lay there stupefied, I saw eight brilliant Brahmins with celestial forms surrounding me. They raised me off the ground and gently supported me. Sprinkling my face with cool water, they said, “Do not be afraid. You will soon be successful.”
Revived and comforted, I stood up and saw my chariot yoked to fresh horses that my mother was tending. I touched her feet and worshipped the memory of my ancestors. Then I ascended the chariot and sent her away. I took the reins and continued fighting. I managed to catch him with an arrow of great power that pierced him deeply. He dropped to his knees and his bow slipped from his grasp as he fell down senseless.
I then saw many inauspicious omens. The sky rained blood and meteors fell. The sun was eclipsed, high winds blew, and the earth trembled. But Rāma was only stunned. In a short while, he got back to his feet and continued the fight. Both of us threw our fiercest weapons at each other until the sun set, when we again retired for the night.
That night, as I lay on my bed, my mangled body being tended by physicians, I thought that the battle would never end. I prayed to the gods that they would show me some way to overcome Rāma. Then, while I was sleeping, I again saw the eight Brahmins who had visited me on the battlefield. Comforting me again, they said, “Fear not, O son of Gaṅgā. You are our own body and we will give you all protection. You will surely vanquish Rāma. Here is a weapon which was known to you in your previous birth. Manufactured by Viśvakarmā, it is called the Prashwapa, and no one on earth knows it--not even Rāma. Call it to mind in the battle tomorrow and it will come to you. Rāma will be thrown down by that weapon, but not killed. He cannot be slain, but he will be defeated and rendered unconscious by the Prashwapa. You will then be able to revive him with the Samvodhana weapon.”
The luminous Brahmins vanished and I awoke with joy. The sun rose and the battle began again. Encouraged by the celestial Brahmins, I was enlivened and fought with renewed energy. After a furious exchange of weapons I thought of the Prashwapa. The mantras suddenly appeared in my mind, but as they did I heard a tumultuous uproar of heavenly voices: “O Bhīṣma, do not release the Prashwapa missile.”
Disregarding them, I placed the weapon on my bow and aimed it at Rāma. Suddenly, Nārada Ṛṣi appeared before me. “The gods are stationed in the sky and they forbid you to use this weapon. Rāma is an ascetic, a Brahmin, and your preceptor. O son of Kuru, do not humiliate him by any means.”
As Nārada spoke I again saw the eight Brahmins in the heavens. They smiled and said, “O best among the Bharatas, obey Nārada. This will benefit all creatures.”
Paraśurāma, seeing the irresistible Prashwapa upon my bow and not realizing that I had been forbidden to release it, shouted, “Alas, O Bhīṣma, I am vanquished!” and he dropped his bow. His father, Jamadagni, along with other heavenly ṛṣis, then came to him and ordered him to stop fighting. They told him that I was one of the eight Vasus and that he could not slay me in battle. Jamadagni said, “Arjuna, the powerful son of Indra, will later cause Bhīṣma’s death. Brahmā has ordained this.”
So the battle ended. Severely wounded, I went before my preceptor and prostrated myself at his feet. After this he said to Amba, “O princess, you have seen me exert myself to defeat Bhīṣma. Still I have not been able to overpower him. Therefore, you may go where you please. There is nothing more I can do.”
The maiden replied mournfully, “Be it so, O holy one. You have done your best on my behalf and I am grateful. Still, my heart burns with revenge. I will practice asceticism. In this way I will gain the power to personally bring about Bhīṣma’s death.”
My preceptor was highly pleased with my prowess and he blessed me that I would be without any equal in battle. After Amba had bowed before him, he left with all his followers.
Amba then entered the forest. She went to the Yamunā and performed severe penance. I knew everything because when I returned to Hastināpura I appointed men to watch over her constantly. They gave me regular reports. For one year she stood on the river bank without eating. Emaciated and rough-skinned, bronzed by the sun, her hair matted--she stood with hands upraised.
After one year she broke her fast by eating a single dry leaf. Then she remained waist-deep in the water for another year, standing on one foot, fired with indignation.
For twelve years she went on in this way. Neither her relatives nor anyone else could convince her to desist. Then she left the Yamunā and wandered at will, visiting the sacred hermitages of many ṛṣis. All the while she continued her austerities, bathing three times daily, meditating silently, and fasting. Her appearance changed from gentle to fierce, and she began to glow with ascetic power.
One day as she was bathing in the Ganges, my mother said, “Why do you perform such terrible penance, O maiden?”
Amba replied, “I desire to destroy Bhīṣma, who is so powerful that not even Paraśurāma could defeat him. Thus I am set upon achieving insuperable power by my austerities.”
My ocean-going mother became angry upon hearing her words. “O lady, you act crookedly. You will not be able to attain your object because you are so weak. O daughter of Kashi, if you hold to your determination, I will curse you to become a terrible river in which water flows in you only during the rainy season. May you be full of crocodiles and other fierce aquatics.”
After saying this and pretending to smile, my mother vanished, leaving Amba in her waters. Still, the princess did not desist. She performed even more severe austerities, abstaining from all food and water and controlling even her breathing. She wandered on, and when she arrived at Vatsabhumi, she fell down and began to run as a river. It is recorded that the river in Vatsabhumi runs only during the rainy season and is unapproachable due to its many crocodiles and dangerous fish.
By merit of her austerities, however, only half of her body became a river while the other half continued as before. She went on with her asceticism, and after some time the ṛṣis at Vatsabhumi approached her. They asked her what she desired and when she had explained they said, “You should seek Mahadeva’s favor, for that deity can fulfill any desire.”
Amba supplicated Śiva and he soon appeared before her asking to know her desire. When she asked the god for the power to kill me, he replied, “You will slay him.” Amba then asked how it would be possible, since she was a woman. Śiva replied, “My words can never be false. O blessed one, you will become a man and kill Bhīṣma in battle. You will remember all this in your next life. Born in Drupada’s line, you will become a maharatha, quick in the use of weapons and highly skilled and fierce in battle. This will come to pass soon.”
When Śiva vanished, Amba gathered wood and built herself a funeral pyre in the sight of all the ṛṣis. Setting fire to it, her mind burning with wrath, she hurled herself onto the pyre, crying, “For the destruction of Bhīṣma!”
So, Śikhaṇḍī was Amba in his last life. He was born first as a woman and then attained his present form. Listen as I tell you how this occurred.
Drupada’s queen was childless for a long time. Together, she and her husband worshipped Śiva for a child. He prayed for a powerful son, but Śiva told him that his wife would give birth to a daughter who would later be transformed into a man. Although Drupada beseeched the god for only a son, Śiva replied, “It shall be as I have said, for it has been decreed by destiny.”
Soon after, Drupada’s queen conceived. In due course she gave birth to a daughter. Remembering Śiva’s words, Drupada announced that a son had been born. He had all the rituals performed for a boy. No one saw the baby; only a few trusted palace staff knew the truth.
Drupada raised his child with love, teaching her writing and all the arts. He also had her instructed in bowmanship and other martial skills. When she became a youth, the queen asked Drupada to find her a suitable wife. Drupada was anxious. The child had not been transformed into a son. Were Śiva’s words false? But his wife was fixed. Mahadeva’s promise cannot fail. Śikhaṇḍī will become a male, and therefore should marry a woman.
Drupada was convinced by the queen’s faith and arranged for a marriage. He chose the daughter of Hiranyavarman, king of the Dasharnakas. That king was unconquerable, and he was happy to give his daughter to Drupada’s son. No one suspected anything when the wedding ceremony was performed. The youthful Śikhaṇḍī, beautiful like a god, appeared dressed as a boy in fine armor. She remembered the events of her previous life and Śiva’s words, so even though she had been born a woman, she conducted herself as if she were a man.
But it was only a matter of time before Hiranyavarma’s daughter discovered the truth. She sent messengers to her father to inform him that Drupada’s son was actually a woman. Her father was furious. He sent an emissary to Drupada saying, “I am insulted by your wickedness. How could you have accepted my daughter in marriage for your own daughter? I am preparing now to come and punish you for this act. Soon I will slay you and all your ministers.”
Drupada was caught like a thief. There was nothing he could say. He tried to convince Śikhaṇḍī’s wife that her “husband” would in fact soon become a male, but all to no avail. The girl’s father amassed a large army and marched on Kāmpilya. Drupada was alarmed. He said to his wife, “Fools that we are, we have brought a great calamity onto our heads. We are in danger. What should we do now, in your opinion?”
Drupada and his wife concluded that their only recourse was to worship the gods. Drupada supplicated the deities, while Hiranyavarma advanced on his country.
Meanwhile, Śikhaṇḍī, in sorrow at the danger she felt she had brought on them all, left the city. Resolved to take her own life, she entered the forest in an area that was home to a powerful Yakṣa named Sthuna. Finding his abode, a white palace washed with lime, she entered it and sat down to practice austerities. A few days later, Sthuna returned and saw her sitting there, her body reduced from fasting. Kind by nature, he asked her why she was performing asceticism. The Yakṣa said, “Tell me if I can do anything to help you.”
Śikhaṇḍī replied, “No one can give me what I desire.”
But Sthuna didn’t agree. “I can surely give you whatever you wish, O princess. I am Kuvera’s attendant and can grant boons. I will bestow even the unbestowable. Tell me then what you desire.”
Śikhaṇḍī related the whole story in detail, concluding, “The only way to save the present situation is that I attain my manhood, O faultless one.”
The Yakṣa, saddened by her story and feeling afflicted by destiny, considered her request carefully. Finally he replied, “Truly this must be so. I will, however, make a condition. I am able to grant your wish only by changing my sex with yours, but you must return my manhood after a short time.”
Śikhaṇḍī agreed to return to Sthuna as soon as Hiranyavarma left Kāmpilya. The two then exchanged sexes and Śikhaṇḍī went back to her father’s palace.
When Hiranyavarma’s army arrived at Kāmpilya, he dispatched his priest to Drupada, saying, “Come out and give me battle, vile one. You have cheated me.” But by then Śikhaṇḍī had returned in a male form. Drupada said, “There has been a mistake, O holy one. The king has been misinformed. See for yourself my son’s gender.”
The surprised Hiranyavarma had a number of beautiful maidens sent to examine Śikhaṇḍī. When they informed him that Drupada’s son was indeed male, he entered Kāmpilya with a glad heart. He stayed with Drupada for some time and finally returned to his own country, happy in his newfound alliance with Drupada.
Sthuna had concealed himself in his palace, waiting for Śikhaṇḍī’s return. As he waited, Kuvera happened to pass by, coursing through the skies in his heavenly chariot. He saw Sthuna’s palace, shining beautifully and adorned with colorful banners, gems, and garlands. Descending, he approached the palace, but when no one came out to greet him he angrily asked his attendants, “What fool lives here? Why does he not greet me?”
Some Yakṣas then informed Kuvera what had transpired. They told him that Sthuna was hiding in shame in his palace. Kuvera replied, “Bring that foolish one here. I will punish him.”
Sthuna came out. In his woman’s form he stood bashfully before his master, Kuvera. “Why have you acted in this way?” Kuvera asked. “You have humiliated the Yakṣas by giving away your sex. Therefore I curse you not to regain your masculinity. Śikhaṇḍī too will not regain her female form.”
The other Yakṣas felt compassion for Sthuna. After all, he had acted only out of kindness. They asked Kuvera to set a limit on his curse so that Sthuna would not be always punished.
Kuvera said, “When Śikhaṇḍī dies, Sthuna will regain his male form. Let him be free of anxiety.”
The powerful Kuvera, who can travel long distances in a moment, then left with his followers. Shortly afterwards, Śikhaṇḍī returned. “O Sthuna, as we have agreed I will now return your manhood.”
Sthuna replied, “It has been ordained that manhood shall be yours for this life, O noble one. Be pleased to return to your abode.” Hearing this, Śikhaṇḍī returned in joy to Kāmpilya.
* * *
When Bhīṣma finished telling the story, he added, “Thus Śikhaṇḍī, formerly Amba, hates me, but because he was first born a woman, I will never raise weapons against him. I have vowed this: I will not fight with weapons against women, or those who bear women’s names, or even those who appear like women. O Duryodhana, I will not fight with Śikhaṇḍī even if he attacks me, desiring my death.”
Duryodhana nodded. He looked at Bhīṣma with respect. Even though the grandfather was often cutting and harsh toward him, the prince could not deny his nobility. Placing his hand on the royal scepter, Duryodhana said, “O son of Gaṅgā, we will now have to fight the mighty Pāṇḍava army. Abounding in heroes equal to the universal protectors, the army will be as difficult to cross as the ocean. Tell me, O Grandsire, how long you feel it will take you to annihilate them.”
Bhīṣma’s old leathery face, adorned with a flowing white beard, broke into a smile. “It is fitting that you should ask, Duryodhana. A leader must know both the strengths and weaknesses of both the enemy and himself before beginning to fight. Hear then of the utmost power I will display in this war. Using ordinary weapons on ordinary soldiers, and celestial weapons on those versed in them, I can slay ten thousand foot soldiers and one thousand charioteers a day. Or it may be more. If I become fired with anger when I release my weapons, I can destroy many more men than that. However, you should know that I will only fight fairly.”
Bhīṣma reminded Duryodhana of the rules of battle, which he would not break. For example, heroes should never use divine weapons to kill lesser warriors. The fight should always be equal. Even if one possessed celestial weapons, he should contend only hand-to-hand with a weaponless enemy if such became necessary.
Bhīṣma’s hand touched his bow. “In this way, O King, by fighting ceaselessly throughout the day, I can slay the enemy army in one month.”
Cheering Bhīṣma, Duryodhana turned toward Droṇa. “O preceptor, what about you? How long do you think it would take you to overcome the enemy?”
Like Bhīṣma, Droṇa smiled at Duryodhana. “I am old and have lost some of my strength. Still, I will exert myself fully and consume the Pāṇḍava army by the fire of my weapons. I also think I can annihilate all the warriors in about a month.”
Kṛpa said it would take him two months, and Aśvatthāmā, bolder, said he could do it in ten days. Karṇa said he could annihilate the enemy in five days, at which Bhīṣma laughed and said, “You may speak in such strains only so long as you do not encounter Arjuna with his weapons and his conch, guided by Vāsudeva. Say whatever you will, son of Radha, for talk is cheap.”
Karṇa frowned, but remained silent. Duryodhana continued questioning his generals and commanders, ascertaining their power and determination to fight. The Kauravas discussed their battle plans well into the night. Soon after sunrise the fight would begin.
2.3: Into Position
Early the next morning, Yudhiṣṭhira made his final preparations. His spies had reported to him everything that had taken place in Duryodhana’s tent the previous evening. Anxiously he said to Arjuna, “You have heard how Bhīṣma claims he can slay our army in one month. Droṇa has said the same. All the Kaurava heroes have stated their determination. Karṇa even suggested that he could defeat the armies in five days. Tell me, O Phālgunī, how long you think it would take you to kill them.”
Arjuna glanced across at Kṛṣṇa. “The Kuru warriors are all high-minded heroes who are expert in wielding weapons, but do not be anxious, dear brother. Our enemies will not have the chance to slay us. I say truly that, with Kṛṣṇa’s aid, I can uproot the three worlds in a moment. I possess Śiva’s personal weapon, which alone is capable of annihilating the creation. None of the Kauravas know this weapon. Of course, it would not be proper for me to use it against them, but there will be no need. We shall gain victory by the mere strength of our arms.”
Arjuna indicated the many kings present with a sweep of his hand. “Besides me, you have numerous heroes on your side. By ranging among the enemy ranks in our chariots we will soon cause great destruction. Of course, we also have you, O King. Surely whoever you cast your angry glance upon will immediately be consumed like dry leaves in a fire. I do not see how the Kauravas can win this war.”
Comforted, Yudhiṣṭhira continued to arrange for the first day’s battle. His commanders surrounded him, clad in armor. All had been purified by sacred rituals and had bestowed wealth upon the Brahmins. With their ornamented swords swinging by their sides, they left the tent one by one to lead their respective divisions into position. The early morning sun rose to reveal the vast Kurukṣetra field covered by the two armies. They seemed like two great oceans drawn against one another. The sound of the armies filled the heavens like the low rumbling of clouds in autumn.
When everything had been finalized, Yudhiṣṭhira himself left the tent, followed by his brothers and Kṛṣṇa. On all sides they saw cheerful troops preparing their weapons and chariots. As the Pāṇḍavas and Kṛṣṇa mounted their cars, crowds of Brahmins praised Yudhiṣṭhira and offered prayers to Kṛṣṇa.
According to their battle plan, the Pāṇḍava army arranged and rearranged itself in different formations, moving their leading warriors about the field and confounding the Kauravas. In response, the Kauravas also moved their divisions about in various ways, so that the Pāṇḍavas would not easily see their plan of attack. As the two immense armies maneuvered around the field, a huge dust cloud rose into the sky, screening the morning sun. The thousands of elephants made the earth vibrate as they moved across the field, resembling dark clouds. The formations of chariot fighters, with their polished golden cars, seemed in contrast to the elephant divisions like clusters of brilliant luminaries in the night sky.
Behind both armies their encampments stretched for miles, looking with their rows of tents and shops like two large towns. They were bustling with cooks, servants and tradespeople going about their business. All the warriors had left for the battle, which would last until sunset.
Gradually the two armies closed on each other. Hundreds of thousands of conches filled the air with their blasts. The beating of drums and blowing of trumpets created a cacophony of sound which mixed with the elephants’ majestic cries. Countless banners fluttered from chariots, appearing like waves of bright colors amid the assembled troops.
The commanders of the two sides met to agree on the rules of battle. Warriors should only fight with equals and with equal weapons. None should strike another without warning, but should first challenge him. One who surrendered or one fleeing from the fight should never be struck down. The many servants on the battlefield, carrying weapons and other paraphernalia, were not to be killed.
The commanders spoke for some time. When all the rules had been established, Dṛṣṭadyumna became thoughtful. Duryodhana and his henchmen had never shown much regard for righteousness. Why would they now observe rules, especially if the battle was not going their way? As Bhīṣma and his generals were about to leave, Dṛṣṭadyumna voiced his doubts. “We will respect these stipulations, but I make one provision. If the Kauravas forget our agreement and fight without respect for the rules, then we too shall adopt whatever tactics we deem appropriate. We will not, however, be the first to break the conditions.”
“So be it,” Bhīṣma replied. He took his leave from Dṛṣṭadyumna and the warriors returned to their positions to prepare for the start of the battle, which would be signaled by both commanders-in-chief blowing their conchshells.
* * *
Dhṛtarāṣṭra sat anxiously in his palace. There was nothing he could do now but wait. Wanting to share his feelings with someone, and missing the association of Vidura, the old king called for Sañjaya and said, “Tell me what is now happening, O Sañjaya? Have the two armies reached Kurukṣetra? Destiny is more powerful than all of a man’s endeavors. Even though I tried to restrain my son, aware as I am of the horrors of war, I was unsuccessful. Why was that, O wise Sañjaya? Although I can see Duryodhana’s folly, still I have not been able to stop him. Surely this war has been divinely ordained. Besides, it is always honorable for a kṣatriya to die in battle.”
Sañjaya felt he did not have much more to say. He had tried many times to point out how the blame for the disaster facing the Kurus rested not only with Duryodhana but with the king himself, yet the king seemed unable to admit it. “O King, surely a man who meets with calamities as a result of his own acts should not blame either the gods, destiny or others. Each of us receives the just results of our own actions. O leader of the Kurus, you have failed to act virtuously. The Pāṇḍavas have borne your sons’ persecution, always hoping that you would deliver justice in the end. But you have not done so. Now all that is left is for you to hear of the Kuru heroes being slaughtered.”
As Sañjaya spoke, Vyāsadeva suddenly entered the chamber. The ṛṣi, who could see past, present and future, said, “O great king, your sons and all the other kings have now arrived at the end of their lives. They have assembled for battle and will all kill one another. Remembering the changes that are inevitably brought about by time, do not grieve. O child, if you wish to see the battle, I will give you the ability.”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra sighed. “I do not desire to see my sons die, O great sage. Simply let me hear of the battle.”
“Then I shall bestow the ability to see upon Sañjaya,” Vyāsadeva replied. “By my grace, he will be able to see everything that takes place at Kurukṣetra. With celestial vision he will see even things that are concealed and all that happens at night. He will feel no exhaustion for the duration of the war. As for victory, that will occur wherever there is righteousness. Regardless of who wins, however, you should know that almost all the warriors on both sides will be slain. This is what the omens say.”
Vyāsadeva described the portents, earthly and celestial, which predicted destruction. Thousands of carnivorous birds were alighting on treetops, crying in glee. Herons, uttering harsh cries, were flying toward the south. The sun was screened by tri-colored clouds at both twilights. In temples the images of gods perspired and trembled, and sometimes dropped from their positions. “All this indicates a great slaughter. Many heroic kings will sleep forever, embracing the earth as if she were a lover.”
Vyāsadeva also described how the planets were aligned in malefic formations. After speaking for some time he concluded, “Know that these signs point toward an annihilation of the kṣatriyas. There can be no doubt.”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra lifted his face toward the ṛṣi. “Surely this war has been divinely ordained. O sage, will not all the kṣatriyas attain the regions reserved for heroes, thereby experiencing unending happiness? By giving up their lives in battle certainly they will achieve fame in this life and joy in the next.”
Vyāsadeva did not answer immediately. He concentrated his mind in meditation, then replied, “Time destroys the universe and all its creatures. Nothing in this world lasts forever. Only virtue lasts along with the soul when all else has been destroyed. Therefore, point your sons to the right path. All of you should follow Kṛṣṇa’s will. That eternal being has personally shown virtue’s proper course, but you did not accept it. The slaughter of men, especially kinsmen, can never produce good. The Vedas always condemn it. You are still able to prevent what is about to transpire, my son, but you do not because you are attached to the kingdom. Your virtue is quickly fading. You have allowed your son, who has been born as Death personified for your family, to lead the Kurus to ruin.”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra hung his head as his father continued to criticize him in strong words, his voice breaking the still silence of the empty chamber. “What is the value of a kingdom gained through sin and earning only sin, O King? Protect your good name and your virtue. You will then be able to attain heaven. Let the Pāṇḍavas have their kingdom and let the Kurus have peace.”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra was embarrassed before the sage. His pathetic voice pleaded in reply. “O Ṛṣi of immeasurable power, your words are without fault. I also know what you know. Please believe that I am not inclined toward sin. My sons will not obey me. I have tried my best. Do not forsake me. You are able to protect my fame and virtue. See me as an ordinary man whose intentions are good but whose power is limited. O great one, you are the respected grandfather of all the Kurus. Be gracious to me.”
Vyāsadeva could understand that there was nothing more he could do to help the Kurus. He stood up to leave. “O King, I am leaving. Is there any last thing you desire to hear from me?”
“Yes, there is one thing. What signs portend victory for an army?”
The king still hoped that somehow his sons might emerge victorious. He wanted to know if there were any indications of it. After all, the Kaurava forces were almost twice the Pāṇḍavas’.
Vyāsadeva told him which omens indicate victory. Understanding Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s mind he said, “The size of an army is of little consequence. Indeed, a large army which is broken and routed is difficult to regroup. More important is the courage and camaraderie of the soldiers. Even fifty well-trained men, who do not retreat and who know each other well, can defeat an entire army. Victory in any battle is always uncertain. Therefore, it is always superior to negotiate for peace. The result obtained by negotiation is best, that obtained by disunion is indifferent, and that obtained by war is the worst. Even the victors suffer heavy losses.”
The ṛṣi then took his leave, the sound of his wooden sandals on the marble floor echoing through the chamber. Dhṛtarāṣṭra sighed repeatedly as Sañjaya began to describe what was happening at Kurukṣetra.
* * *
On the battlefield, Yudhiṣṭhira spoke with Arjuna. “In comparison to the enemy, our troops are but few. In such cases, Bṛhaspati has recommended the needle formation. Quickly array our forces in this way, O Dhanañjaya, or in any other way you see fit.”
Arjuna stood before his brother clothed from head to foot in impenetrable armor. In his hands he held the Gāṇḍīva, which gave off an iridescent glow. Nearby stood his fire-colored chariot, with Kṛṣṇa holding the reins of his pure white horses. He looked at Yudhiṣṭhira, who shone in his own brilliant armor and jeweled helmet. “I will arrange our forces in the unassailable Vajra formation, which Indra designed. I will station Bhīma at the head. Simply upon seeing him, the enemy will flee like so many terrified animals seeing a lion. There is no man who can even cast his eye on Vṛkodara when he is enraged. He will be our shelter as Indra is the shelter of the celestials.”
Arjuna mounted his chariot and set out to make the arrangement. The leading chariot divisions moved quickly forward and formed themselves into a long point, with Bhīma, Dṛṣṭadyumna, Nakula, Sahadeva and Dhristaketu at its head. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers wielding swords, spears and axes accompanied those generals. Flanked by great elephants clad in steel armor, the army thundered forward. Behind the point they opened out into a larger group, filled with horsemen and infantry. The formation was protected in the rear by Virata and his entire akshauhini of troops.
Nakula and Sahadeva guarded Bhīma’s left and right sides, while Abhimanyu and Draupadī’s sons protected him from behind. Not far behind them came Śikhaṇḍī, protected by Arjuna and advancing with firm determination to kill Bhīṣma. Yudhiṣṭhira took up his position in the center of the army. He was protected all around by many chariot fighters, and he appeared like the sun surrounded by bright planets.
The warriors’ standards rose above the troops like palm trees decorated with gold and silver. Above them all was Arjuna’s huge banner, with Hanumān at its top shouting out his fearful battle cry. As the army advanced, Bhīma whirled his mace and roared. He seemed to scorch the Kauravas by his glance. Even his own troops were afraid of him.
Once the Pāṇḍava forces were arrayed, they stopped to await orders. The two commanders had yet to blow their conches before the fighting could begin. The Pāṇḍavas looked toward the eastern side of the battlefield, where the immense Kaurava army spread out across the entire horizon as far as the eye could see. A strong wind began to blow, carrying sharp stones and pebbles, and the sky thundered, although no clouds were visible. Meteors fell and the earth trembled. A thick cloud of dust rose and obscured the sun.
Seeing the Pāṇḍavas’ Vajra formation, Bhīṣma arrayed the Kaurava troops in a counter-formation. With his white headdress, white banner, white bow, and a white umbrella over his head, he looked like a white mountain. Duryodhana rode in the midst of the army, riding an elephant the color of a blue lotus. Above his seat a large white umbrella sheltered him. His great mace rested on his shoulder and his bow was by his side. He was eulogized by bards and singers, and was protected by hundreds of thousands of troops.
All of Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s sons were in the division under Bhīṣma’s command and personal protection. Countless kings and princes from every part of the globe, surrounded by their armies, advanced toward the Pāṇḍavas. Behind all the troops came Droṇa, riding on a golden chariot yoked with red horses.
Gazing across at the Kaurava army with Bhīṣma at their head, Yudhiṣṭhira again became apprehensive. He turned to Arjuna. “O mighty-armed hero, it seems to me that Bhīṣma has arranged his troops in an impenetrable formation. Nor do I see any possibility of overpowering the grandfather. He has limitless strength and unfading glory. Who can approach him in battle? How can victory be ours?”
Yudhiṣṭhira appeared disconsolate and dejected. Arjuna offered words of encouragement. “Listen, O King, as I tell you how only a few men can overpower a vast army. Bṛhaspati explained this in days of yore when the celestials fought the demons. Those who desire victory do not conquer by prowess but by truth, compassion, piety and virtue. Fight with assurance, dear brother, for victory is always where righteousness is found.”
Yudhiṣṭhira still seemed doubtful. Was his cause even righteous? It seemed to him that his desire for the kingdom was at the root of this war. Arjuna, sensing his misgivings, continued. “We have Kṛṣṇa on our side. He is righteousness and truth personified. Nārada said that victory is certain to go to Kṛṣṇa and whomever is on His side. Indeed, it is one of the Lord’s eternal attributes. His might is infinite. He is the original person, beyond and above this mundane world with all its politics and suffering. I do not see the cause for your sorrow when that Lord of the celestials is on your side and wishing you success.”
Thinking of Kṛṣṇa, Yudhiṣṭhira felt pacified. He looked at his troops. “It is exactly as you say, Arjuna. Kṛṣṇa desires this conflict and thus we should not hesitate. Tell our men to fight to the best of their power, with fairness and with the desire to attain heaven.”
Yudhiṣṭhira then distributed charity to the numerous Brahmins who had accompanied him onto the battlefield. He was surrounded by ṛṣis, who walked around him chanting hymns in his praise and invoking auspiciousness for the battle. Having been given gold, cows, fruits, flowers and cloth, they left the field, uttering prayers and Vedic mantras.
Arjuna’s chariot moved to the front of the army. Kṛṣṇa said, “There stands that mighty hero among men Bhīṣma, who has performed hundreds of sacrifices, who scorches his foes in battle, and who will soon attack our troops like a lion. Innumerable troops protect him as clouds cover the sun. Make him your target, Arjuna, for none other can face him.”
Kṛṣṇa told Arjuna to offer a prayer to the goddess Durgā so that she would empower him. Arjuna alighted from his chariot and knelt down with folded palms. With his face to the east he chanted hymns from the Vedas to supplicate the powerful goddess of the material energy. As he prayed, the goddess appeared above him in the sky. “O son of Pāṇḍu, you will surely attain victory. You have the invincible Nārāyaṇa to help you. No foe can defeat you, not even the mighty Indra.”
Durgā vanished and Arjuna rose to his feet. Considering himself blessed, he remounted his chariot with a joyful heart.
Seeing that both armies were in position and waiting for the battle to begin, Bhīṣma raised his conch and sounded a great blast. At once the sounds of hundreds of other conches reverberated around the battlefield as all the leading warriors joined with him. Drums, bugles, trumpets and horns were all suddenly sounded, creating a tumult.
Arjuna and Kṛṣṇa took out their conchshells. They blew long and mighty blasts that resounded across the battlefield. Bhīma, the twins, and all the other leading Pāṇḍava fighters also sounded their conchshells. Hearing the celestial sound, the Kauravas felt their hearts quake, but Bhīṣma was cheered. His eyes flooded with tears as he recognized the sound of Kṛṣṇa’s transcendental conch. Here was the eternal Lord of all the worlds prepared to protect His devoted servants by personally coming into battle with them. Bhīṣma gazed across at Arjuna’s chariot. It was a cruel destiny that had brought him into opposition with Kṛṣṇa and the Pāṇḍavas. Surely duty was all-powerful.
2.4: The Bhagavad-gītā
The first maneuvers of the battle began. Arjuna took up the Gāṇḍīva and said to Kṛṣṇa, “O infallible one, please draw my chariot between the two armies so that I may see the enemy and how they are positioned. Go forward, O Lord, so I can see who is desirous of fighting with us today. Let us see those fools who wish to please the evil-minded son of Dhṛtarāṣṭra.”
Kṛṣṇa drove the horses forward and the fine chariot moved into the center of the field. Kṛṣṇa smiled. “Just behold, O Arjuna, all the Kurus assembled here.” Arjuna looked across the field. Kṛṣṇa could understand Arjuna’s mind. The long-awaited time for war had arrived--a terrible fratricidal war. There was now no turning back. Suddenly seeing the horror of it before him, Arjuna gazed at his relatives and friends arrayed across from him--men who were like fathers, brothers, sons and grandsons, as well as teachers, uncles, friends, in-laws and well-wishers.
Arjuna was overwhelmed with compassion. How could he possibly have looked forward to killing his own kinsmen and friends? He felt weak, and addressed Kṛṣṇa in a trembling voice. “My dear Lord, seeing my friends and relatives before me in a fighting spirit, I feel my limbs quivering and my mouth drying up.”
Arjuna’s bow slipped from his hand and his body shook. His skin was burning and he felt his hair standing on end. “O Keśava, I do not think I can carry on in this fight. I am forgetting myself and my mind is reeling. It seems to me that only evil and misfortune will result from this battle. How can any good come from killing one’s own relatives? What value is victory if all our friends and loved ones are killed?”
Arjuna dropped to his knees. There was no question of fighting. It had been different when he faced the Kauravas on Virata’s field. At that time, he had no intention of killing them. He had only wanted to teach them a lesson. This time, however, either the Pāṇḍavas or the Kauravas would not be returning home. Tears streamed from his eyes as he revealed his mind to Kṛṣṇa. “O Govinda, I have no desire for a kingdom bereft of my kinsfolk. When I see my teachers, fathers, sons, and so many other near and dear ones standing before me, my thirst for the fight completely deserts me. Even though they may be desiring my death, I cannot possibly think of killing them. O Janārdana, I would not slay them even in exchange for the three worlds, let alone this earth. I can see no happiness arising from this battle.”
Sweat covered Arjuna’s brow. His breath came in heavy sighs. The sight of old and respected personalities such as Bhīṣma, Droṇa, Śalya and Bāhlika, all of whom he loved dearly, filled him with grief. The many young princes, sons of the Kauravas and their allies, were all like his own sons, and he felt compassion for them too. Even Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s sons were pitiable because they were so foolish. How could there be any virtue in killing them?
Arjuna implored Kṛṣṇa. “In my opinion we will be overcome by sin if we slay such aggressors. Our proper duty is surely to forgive them. Even if they have lost sight of virtue due to greed, we ourselves should not forget religious principles in the same way. If we kill the learned family elders, the traditional rituals will be forgotten, and they are essential for religious life. Without tradition, the whole of society will gradually become godless. By slaying the men, we will leave the women unprotected. They will then be prey to sinful men and unwanted children will be born. Who will train these children? O Kṛṣṇa, I will be responsible for all these social anomalies and will be worthy of a permanent residence in hell.”
Remembering his moral training, Arjuna based his arguments on Vedic statements. It seemed to him that killing his relatives was clearly immoral, particularly killing his elders, who were responsible for maintaining the religious traditions in his dynasty. Surely they should never be killed, especially for the dubious cause of winning wealth and kingdoms.
Arjuna wept. “I would rather the Kauravas killed me, unarmed and unresisting, than raise my weapons against them for the sake of my own happiness.” He threw down his weapons and slumped in his chariot.
Kṛṣṇa was still smiling mildly as He looked at His grief-stricken friend. This was an uncharacteristic display of timidity from such a fearsome warrior. He replied to Arjuna firmly. “How have these impurities come upon you at such a critical time, O Arjuna? This is not at all befitting a man who understands life’s true values. It leads not to higher planets but to degradation and infamy. O son of Kuntī, do not yield to such impotence. It is quite unbecoming. Give up this petty weakness of heart and arise, O chastiser of enemies.”
Arjuna looked with surprise at Kṛṣṇa. What could He mean? He had simply dismissed all his arguments. Kṛṣṇa had never given improper or disastrous advice at any time. He was the personification of all religious principles. Arjuna was perplexed. Why had Kṛṣṇa disregarded the religious considerations he had raised? Of course, for a kṣatriya it was always religious to fight and check miscreants, but these were not ordinary wrongdoers. Bhīṣma, Droṇa, Kṛpa, and so many others were highly respectable men who carefully followed their religious duties.
Still shaking, Arjuna asked, “My dear Kṛṣṇa, although it is right to kill sinful enemies, how can I fire arrows at men who are worthy of my worship? I would rather become a beggar than win this world at the cost of their lives. Even if they are afflicted with greed, they are still my superiors. What religious principle sanctions slaying them? If we win the war then all our ill-gotten gains will be tainted with their blood. It seems to me that winning will be no better than losing. Victory is in any event uncertain, but in this case it is not even desirable. How could I live after causing my relatives’ death? Yet they are standing before me with upraised weapons.”
Arjuna could see no way out of his situation. The Kauravas were clearly intent on killing him and his army. Still, he had no heart for the fight. Nor did it seem religious. At the same time, his religious arguments had no effect on Kṛṣṇa. What was his duty now? There was only one person who could help him. He looked up at Kṛṣṇa, who sat peacefully with the reins in His gloved hands. It was by Kṛṣṇa’s help that Arjuna and his brothers had survived so many difficulties. He was without doubt the wisest person. He would know what to do.
Deciding to surrender himself to whatever Kṛṣṇa advised, Arjuna said, “O Kṛṣṇa, I am confused about my duty and have lost all composure due to weakness of heart. Surely I am being consumed by miserly and selfish considerations, but I am not able to overcome them. In this condition I ask You to please tell me what is best for me. Now I am Your disciple and a soul surrendered unto You. Please instruct me. I can see no means to drive away this grief. Even winning a prosperous kingdom equal to that of the gods will not assuage my sorrow. O Govinda, I will not fight.”
Arjuna fell silent. Now it was up to Kṛṣṇa to convince him. On the other side of the field Bhīṣma looked with interest at Arjuna’s solitary chariot in the middle of the two armies. Why was Arjuna not in position? He seemed to have dropped down in his chariot. Something was going on between him and Kṛṣṇa. Bhīṣma raised his hand to hold back his forces. Was Kṛṣṇa considering a final peace effort, even on the battlefield? Surely not. The conches had already been blown to signal the beginning of the fight. Whatever Kṛṣṇa was doing, Bhīṣma wanted to respect it. Bhīṣma decided to wait until Arjuna’s chariot moved off again before giving the order to charge. Yudhiṣṭhira was also holding his forces in check, so there was no need for immediate action.
Kṛṣṇa now smiled more broadly. He was pleased that Arjuna, His dear friend, was ready to accept Him as teacher and guide. Holding up His hand in blessing, He said, “Although you are speaking learned words from the scriptures, you are still mourning for something unworthy of grief. A wise man laments neither for the living nor the dead. Both you, I, and all these assembled kṣatriyas have always existed and will always exist. We are eternal souls, passing from body to body. Even in this life we see how the body changes, even though we remain the same person. In the same way, when death comes, we are given a new body. A self-controlled person is not bewildered by such a change.”
Kneeling at Kṛṣṇa’s feet, Arjuna felt immediate relief. As usual, Kṛṣṇa had gone straight to the heart of the matter. Arjuna listened attentively as Kṛṣṇa continued. “O son of Kuntī, happiness and distress come and go constantly like winter and summer seasons. They arise from sense perception alone, O Bharata, and one should tolerate them without being disturbed. A person capable of such tolerance is eligible for liberation from all misery. The great seers who know the truth have concluded from a careful analysis that the soul and spiritual reality are unchanging, and that the temporary material body is ultimately without any basis in truth. The soul pervades the body and is indestructible. No one can destroy the immeasurable and eternal soul, but the body is sure to come to an end. Therefore, fight without any compunction for your relatives’ bodies, O Arjuna.”
Arjuna understood well enough what Kṛṣṇa was saying. The soul was surely eternal; but was that a good argument to use when he was about to kill? Death and subsequent rebirth were painful experiences for the soul.
Out of love for Arjuna, and understanding his doubts, Kṛṣṇa said, “Neither he who thinks the living entity the slayer nor he who thinks it slain is in knowledge, for the self slays not nor is slain. For the soul there is neither birth nor death at any time. He is never created. Unborn and ever-existing, he is not slain when the body is slain. Knowing this, how can you ever be the cause of anyone’s death? Indeed, the body’s death allows the soul to receive a new body, just as a person puts on new garments after discarding the old.”
Arjuna understood that Kṛṣṇa was reassuring him that his beloved relatives would not be the losers. By killing their bodies, Arjuna would free them from the pain and suffering brought on by their present karma, and they would then be given a new start in a better body, probably in the higher planets. But Arjuna worried about the celestial weapons he would use, fearing they might somehow hurt even the soul.
Kṛṣṇa answered that doubt. “There is no weapon, be it fire, wind or water, that can damage or cut the soul. The soul is unchanging and impervious to all material effects. The soul is described by the Vedas as invisible, inconceivable and immutable. The body is only the outward dress of the indestructible soul.”
Arjuna remained silent. Even knowing Bhīṣma and Droṇa to be eternal souls, he still grieved at the prospect of their death. Kṛṣṇa had already instructed him that such distresses were unavoidable and had to be tolerated, but it would not be easy.
Kṛṣṇa smiled affectionately at His friend. “Even if you believe the self to be the same as the body, you still have no reason to lament, O mighty-armed hero. The body is matter, and material objects are always being created and destroyed. What wise man laments for the inevitable changes to matter which are wrought by time? Whatever you believe, the effects of time cannot be checked. Death follows birth, and birth follows death in due course. Simply perform your duty without lamentation, for you cannot change the course of time, which is ultimately the cause of everyone’s death.”
Arjuna reflected on Kṛṣṇa’s words. It was difficult to comprehend the soul’s existence. That it was undying and indestructible had been made clear, but its actual nature remained a mystery.
Without pausing Kṛṣṇa concluded His instructions about the soul. “Those who know the soul consider him amazing. He is described in the Vedas as amazing. Even persons who have heard all the descriptions of the soul still fail to understand him at all. Nevertheless, O descendent of Bharata, he cannot be slain at any time. Therefore, give up your useless grief for your relatives.”
Kṛṣṇa changed tack and began to address Arjuna’s fear that he would be tainted by sin if he killed his elders. “You are a kṣatriya, Arjuna, and it is thus your foremost duty to fight according to religious principles. You should not hesitate. Rather, you should embrace this opportunity, for it opens the way to heaven for you. If you do not fight, you will incur sin for neglecting your duty. Thus you will lose your good reputation. You will become infamous, and for a respectable person dishonor is worse than death. No one will think you desisted from fighting out of compassion. They will think you fled in fear and will thus lose their respect for you. What could be more painful than that?”
Hearing his commitment to his warrior duties challenged, Arjuna shifted uncomfortably. The thought that he might be acting sinfully was painful, and the loss of his good reputation would be intolerable. Kṛṣṇa continued.
“O Pārtha, in this battle there are two possibilities: you will either be killed and thus attain heaven, or you will defeat your enemies and win the earth. Therefore, fight with determination. This too is My desire. O Pārtha, fight because it is your duty without thought for happiness or distress, loss or gain, victory or defeat. In this way you will never incur sin.”
Arjuna felt his heart opening as he absorbed Kṛṣṇa’s instructions. Kṛṣṇa had countered his fears that he would suffer and become sinful by fighting. Actually, it would be sinful not to fight.
“I have told you some existential truths about the soul, O son of Kuntī. Listen now as I speak about working without desire for the results, and thus without entangling yourself in karmic reactions. This is the path to liberation. Once you are on this path you will not fall back again into the abyss of material existence. Those on this path only desire to serve the Supreme and are resolute in performing their religious duties. Those who seek worldly happiness, however, are constantly overwhelmed by diverse temptations.
“Only unintelligent men are attracted to those sections of the Vedas that speak about material happiness. Desiring sensual pleasures, opulence and power, they think there is nothing more to life. They become bewildered by such desires and cannot fix their minds upon yoga practice. Do not let yourself be attracted by anything in this world, O Pārtha. Be free from all the dualities of happiness and distress. Established in the self, give up your anxiety for material gain and safety.”
Arjuna could understand that his earlier arguments were aimed only at material happiness. Although he had argued on the strength of Vedic morality, it was becoming clear that he had not fully understood the Vedas and their ultimate aim. There were higher principles and truths. Kṛṣṇa continued to explain them.
“The Vedas give directions for achieving material happiness, O Arjuna, but there is a deeper purpose behind all Vedic instructions. One who knows this purpose can satisfy all his desires without pursuing them all separately, just as one who has access to a great river has no need for small wells and ponds. The greatest aim of life is achieved by working without desire for the fruits of action, simply because it is one’s duty to do so. In this way you can be situated in yoga without attachment for success or failure in your work. Thus you will remain untouched by sin. Even your previous karmic reactions will be destroyed by such work. You will then be able to attain the highest destination, the supreme abode of God, and be freed forever from the cycle of birth and death. When you are no longer attracted by the promises of material happiness given in the Vedas, and remain satisfied by the self alone, you will then be fixed in the divine consciousness which leads to eternal liberation.”
Arjuna asked, “How can we recognize a man in divine consciousness, O Kṛṣṇa? What are his symptoms?”
“Such a person takes no delight in sensual pleasures, O Pārtha. He is ever satisfied within himself. No miseries can disturb him, nor any kind of material happiness. He is without attachment, fear and anger, and remains always aloof to the dualities of this world. His senses are under complete control, even though he may still experience sense desires. His mind is fixed upon the Supreme and he is always peaceful. He does not dwell upon the objects of sense pleasure, which can steal away even a practiced yogī’s mind, and thus he keeps himself free from all material entanglement. Due to such sense control, his intelligence is undisturbed and he is peaceful. O Arjuna, one whose senses are uncontrolled is not peaceful. How, then, can he ever be happy?”
Arjuna was bewildered. Kṛṣṇa was recommending yoga and sense control--keeping oneself peaceful--and at the same time telling him to fight. How were the two compatible? “O Keśava, why do You want me to engage in this ghastly warfare if you think that yoga and detachment are better? Surely fighting requires me to be motivated by a desire for victory. I am confused by Your instructions. Please tell me clearly what will be most beneficial for me.”
“O sinless Arjuna, there are two paths to liberation: one involves renunciation and the pursuit of knowledge, while the other involves working without material desires. One cannot achieve perfection by renunciation alone, for by simply stopping work one does not necessarily remain free from karmic reaction. Impelled by his nature a man is forced to act at every moment, even if the action is only in his mind. To withdraw the senses while allowing the mind to think of sense pleasures is useless, O Arjuna. It is simply a pretense of yoga. Far better is the man who uses his intelligence to control his senses and at the same times works without attachment.”
Arjuna thought of his own case. Even if he tried to renounce the battle and remain aloof, his mind would still work. It was likely he would continue to think of Duryodhana and his evil deeds, and of how Yudhiṣṭhira had been robbed of his kingdom. Those thoughts would sooner or later impel him to act--to take up arms and fight. But how can one fight without attachment?
“Work must be done as a sacrifice for Viṣṇu, O son of Kuntī. This is detached work. Any other work causes bondage in this world. Therefore, work only for His satisfaction. By such sacrificial work a man can achieve all life’s necessities and at the same time make spiritual progress. Only a man who is completely self-satisfied need not perform such work.”
Arjuna wondered if he was able to remain self-satisfied. He already had some experience of yoga and meditation. Did he really need to work?
Kṛṣṇa smiled. “A genuinely detached man sees no need for work, but he also sees no need to give up work. He works simply as a matter of duty and without desire for the results. By this work he ultimately attains the Supreme. He also sets the right example for others, for whatever a great man does will always be followed by ordinary men.”
Kṛṣṇa was thinking of Arjuna’s position in society. He was highly esteemed as a leader and hero. If he gave up his duty, even assuming he was qualified to do so, then his example would be imitated by unqualified men. Kṛṣṇa reminded Arjuna of the famous king, Janaka. Although renowned as an advanced spiritualist and quite able to remain fixed in meditation on the Supreme, Janaka had nevertheless continued to do his duty as a king.
“Think of My own example, O Pārtha. You know My identity as the Supreme Lord of all the worlds. What duty is there for Me? Nevertheless, I execute all the duties incumbent on a man in My position very carefully. If I did not do so, then all the worlds would fall into ruination, for all men would follow My example.”
Arjuna knew that Kṛṣṇa, as a householder and a member of the royal order, was scrupulous in performing the duties prescribed in the Vedas for such men. It was a perfect example.
“One who knows the truth knows well the difference between material work, motivated only by sensual desires, and work done for the pleasure of the Supreme. O Arjuna, I am that Supreme. Therefore, fight for My pleasure, without desire for personal gain, with no claims to proprietorship, and without lethargy. Those who work only according to My instructions, with full faith in Me, attain complete liberation. Those who disregard My injunctions, however, are simply fools and will achieve neither perfection nor happiness.”
This made sense to Arjuna. He had always understood Kṛṣṇa’s divinity, and that knowledge had always stood him in good stead. He and his brothers had enjoyed Kṛṣṇa’s protection up to the present moment when He stood ready to go with them into battle against their enemies. Why, then, did not all men devote themselves to Kṛṣṇa’s instructions? Arjuna voiced his doubt. “Why, dear Lord, do men not do their religious duties?”
“They are overpowered by lust, the greatest enemy in this world. Due to excessive desire for material objects, men commit sinful activities, not seeing the suffering that will result. Lust is never satisfied. Rather, it burns like fire, and when it is frustrated, it turns to anger. A man is thus completely bewildered when he gives in to lust. O Arjuna, you should check lust by controlling your senses. Otherwise it will destroy your knowledge and self-realization. Listen now as I explain the science of sacrifice and self- control.”
Kṛṣṇa told Arjuna that the knowledge He was speaking was ancient. He had first told it to the sun-god millions of years ago. Hearing this, Arjuna asked, “How can I accept this, Kṛṣṇa? It appears that You were born in this world only recently.”
“Both of us have had countless births, O Arjuna. I can remember all of them, but you cannot. Actually, I am never born like ordinary men. My body is transcendental and neither changes nor deteriorates. Still, I appear to take birth in every age. I come only to establish religion and to curb irreligion, Pārtha. In this way, I deliver the pious and annihilate the demons. One who understands this truth about Me will not have to take another material body. Those who take refuge in Me will become free from attachment, fear and anger and will attain pure, transcendental love for Me. According to their faith in Me, I reciprocate with all men, O Arjuna. Anyone can attain Me.”
Kṛṣṇa explained that He had also arranged for the fulfillment of men’s material desires. He was prepared to give everyone whatever they wanted, whether it be sense enjoyment or love of God. He had no vested interests in the material world and simply acted in reciprocation with men’s desires, according to what they deserved. Kṛṣṇa Himself was always transcendental to the material world. Knowing this, all the liberated souls in the past had attained perfection. They acted only for Kṛṣṇa’s pleasure. Such work was without reaction, as He was the supreme transcendence.
But those who renounced work, if the renunciation was not done for His pleasure, were still subject to reaction. Anything done on one’s own account, whether motivated by attachment or repulsion, carried a karmic reaction.
After describing various kinds of sacrifice, Kṛṣṇa said, “All types of sacrifice are meant to culminate in transcendental knowledge, or realizing one’s identity as an eternal servitor of the Supreme. This is the mature fruit of all mysticism and it burns to ashes all of one’s accumulated karmic reactions. By working in this knowledge one is never again affected by the reactions of work. All of your doubts have arisen out of ignorance, O Arjuna. Kill them with the weapon of knowledge. Armed with yoga, O Bharata, stand and fight.”
As Kṛṣṇa went on to explain how to work in devotion, Arjuna began to understand that this was true renunciation. Only by dedicating all one’s work to the pleasure of the Supreme could one be genuinely detached. Kṛṣṇa explained that working in such consciousness gradually brought one to the point of always remembering the Supreme, or samadhi. This type of yoga was no less effective than the practice of asceticism and meditation; indeed, it was easier, for to give up everything and meditate in a solitary place would be difficult for a worldly man like Arjuna. To Arjuna’s relief, Kṛṣṇa made it clear that this was not necessary. He also assured Arjuna that the path of yoga, once begun, was never lost. Even if he did not achieve success in this life, in his next life he would be able to continue from whatever point he had left off.
Having established that constantly thinking of the Supreme was the highest goal of yoga, Kṛṣṇa made His own position clearer. “It is I who should always be remembered, O Pārtha. There is no truth superior to Me. Everything rests upon Me, as pearls are strung upon a thread. I am the creation and dissolution of all the worlds. People are bewildered by material desires. Thus they do not know Me, who am always above the material world. It is hard to fully overcome attraction to this material world and its allurements. Only by surrendering to Me is it possible. It may take many births and deaths of striving in yoga until one finally comes to understand Me. It is a rare soul who achieves such perfection. Due to their lack of intelligence, most men are content to worship lesser gods. Other foolish men think that beyond Me lies some impersonal supreme existence. Because of deep-seated material desires, such fools can never know Me, although I am the Lord and the knower of all living beings.”
Arjuna was feeling reassured by Kṛṣṇa’s instructions. All his life he had thought only of Kṛṣṇa as his protector and greatest friend. Now Kṛṣṇa was telling him that this was life’s perfection. The highest achievement in life was to remember Kṛṣṇa at the moment of death, and thus attain His eternal, spiritual abode.
But this required a lifetime of practice. Arjuna listened without question as Kṛṣṇa described the best process for always remembering Him.
“This is the king of knowledge, Arjuna, the most secret of secrets and the perfection of religion. It is I alone who am to be worshipped and served with love. Fools cannot understand how I am able to assume a human form and appear in this world. They do not know My transcendental nature as the Supreme Lord of everything. Intelligent men, however, are fully engaged in My devotional service. They are always chanting My glories, endeavoring to please Me with great determination, bowing down before Me, and worshipping Me with all their hearts. I always personally protect such persons. I am indebted to anyone who lovingly offers Me even a leaf, flower or fruit. Therefore, you should do everything as an offering to Me, O son of Kuntī. In this way, you will achieve perfection. This is the highest instruction. Engage your mind always in thinking of Me, become My devotee, offer obeisances to Me, and worship Me. By such full absorption in Me surely you will come to Me, life’s supreme goal.”
Arjuna was now looking at his friend with amazement and love. The Supreme Lord had become his charioteer. Surely this was a testament of His loving reciprocation with His devotees. Who could ever understand it? Kṛṣṇa seemed so human. How would people be able to accept His supreme divinity?
Again understanding Arjuna’s doubts, Kṛṣṇa went on. “Those who are devoted to Me are able to know of My position and opulence. Because you are My dear friend, I will explain further about Myself. Not even the demigods and great sages can know Me in full, for in every respect I am their source. I am the source of all things, material and spiritual. Everything emanates from Me. The wise who know this perfectly fully engage in My loving devotional service. Their thoughts always dwell in Me and they derive great pleasure from talking about Me. To one who constantly serves Me with love, I give the understanding by which he can come to Me. With the shining lamp of knowledge I destroy all their ignorance.”
Arjuna had no doubts about Kṛṣṇa’s position. He had already experienced Kṛṣṇa’s power and opulence, as well as having heard it described by so many ṛṣis. Now Kṛṣṇa was making it plain. Arjuna was awe-struck. Folding his palms he knelt before Kṛṣṇa and said, “You are the original Supreme Person, the ultimate abode, and the Absolute Truth. Unborn, eternal and transcendental, You are the greatest of the great and the possessor of all opulences. This is confirmed by those sages who can see the truth, such as Nārada, Asita, Devala and Vyāsadeva, and now You Yourself are declaring it to me. O Kṛṣṇa, I totally accept as truth all that You have told me. None can know You, not even the gods and Asuras. You alone can know Yourself by Your own potency, O Lord of all beings, God of gods, Lord of the universe!”
Feeling a surge of divine love, Arjuna asked Kṛṣṇa to describe Himself further. “Tell me how it is that You pervade all the worlds, O Lord. How should You be remembered and how can You be known? Please tell me in detail of Your mystic power and opulences. I never tire of hearing such descriptions and long to taste the nectar of Your words more and more.”
“My opulence is limitless, O Arjuna. I shall therefore tell you only of that which is most prominent.”
Kṛṣṇa explained that although everything was a manifestation of His energy and power, He would highlight for Arjuna some principal features by which He could be remembered. He told him that He was Viṣṇu among gods, the sun among planets, Śiva among Rudras, and Meru among mountains. He described Himself in many ways, revealing to Arjuna how He was present in everything Arjuna saw. Concluding His description, He said, “Know that all opulent, beautiful and glorious creations spring from but a spark of My splendor. Is there any need for so much detailed information about Me? With a tiny fragment of Myself I pervade and support this entire universe.”
Tears streamed from Arjuna’s eyes. Remembering how he would often sport with Kṛṣṇa as if he were an equal, he said in a choked voice, “Only out of illusion did I ever believe You to be a man like me. That illusion is now dispelled. I am convinced of Your supreme position. But, O greatest of all personalities, there are many who will not believe this truth. Please, therefore, show Yourself in all Your majesty. I too desire to see that great form which pervades and supports the worlds. If I am able to see it, O Lord, then please display it to me now.”
Kṛṣṇa assented to Arjuna’s request. “See now My mystic opulence, O son of Kuntī. Here are My hundreds and thousands of varied divine and multicolored forms. My dear Arjuna, I shall bestow upon you divine vision, for you cannot see Me with your present eyes. Behold, O best of the Bharatas, all that you desire to see and all that you will ever desire to see in the future. Everything moving and unmoving is here in one place.”
As Arjuna looked on in astonishment, Kṛṇa displayed His universal form. In Hastināpura He had shown a partial manifestation of this form, but this time He exhibited it in full. Arjuna became aware of a vast form possessing unlimited mouths and eyes. It was decorated with countless celestial ornaments and held many divine weapons. Decked with celestial garments and garlands, it was wondrous, brilliant, unlimited, and expanded everywhere. It seemed as if hundreds of thousands of suns had risen simultaneously in the sky.
Arjuna felt his hair standing on end. He bowed his head to the floor of his chariot and offered many prayers to Kṛṣṇa. In Kṛṣṇa’s divine form he could see all the gods headed by Brahmā and Śiva with all the ṛṣis, Siddhas and Nāgas. Every kind of created being appeared in that form, all the worlds were visible, and nothing was missing.
Finding it difficult to look at the universal form, Arjuna said, “O inexhaustible one, this unlimited body of Yours is wonderful and at the same time terrifying. I see all the gods and ṛṣis standing before You and offering prayers. As they are disturbed, so am I, dear Lord. Seeing this tremendous manifestation I am losing my peace of mind and my balance. I cannot look upon Your thousands of blazing, death-like faces. All the soldiers of both sides appear to be rushing into the fearful mouths of those faces. Indeed, You are destroying all men and everything else. Everything is entering Your mouths as moths fall into a fire. Covering all the universe, You are manifest with terrible, scorching rays.”
Arjuna was trembling. “O Lord of lords, so fierce of form, please tell me who You are and what is Your mission.”
Kṛṣṇa’s voice seemed to Arjuna to be resounding from all sides as He replied. “I am Time, O Pārtha, the great destroyer of all the worlds. With the exception of you, your brothers, and a few others, everyone will be slain. This will come to pass whether you fight or not, Arjuna. Therefore, do your duty as a warrior and you will become an instrument of My desire. Bhīṣma, Droṇa, and all the Kuru heroes are already dead. Fight without disturbance, Arjuna, and you will gain a glorious victory.”
* * *
Sitting before Dhṛtarāṣṭra, Sañjaya saw everything that was taking place between Arjuna and Kṛṣṇa. He described it in detail to the blind king, telling him the exact words spoken by them both. The king was amazed as he heard of Kṛṣṇa’s divine opulence. As Sañjaya tried to describe the universal form, Dhṛtarāṣṭra felt his heart tremble. How could his sons face such power and survive? Now Kṛṣṇa was saying that all the Kuru heroes had already been put to death by a divine arrangement. Could it be true? Was Kṛṣṇa really able to make such a prediction? It seemed that not everything was in His power. After all, He had come to Hastināpura seeking peace and had failed in His mission. Perhaps He would also fail to fulfill His desire to see the Pāṇḍavas victorious in the war.
Sañjaya told the king what Arjuna said to Kṛṣṇa after he heard that all the fighters would be killed. “Arjuna could understand Kṛṣṇa’s desire. He then replied, ‘All this is rightly done, O Lord. You are the protector of pious and perfected beings and the destroyer of atheists and demons. This is for the good of all, for even the demons will finally be brought to their senses by this treatment. O almighty one, everyone should simply offer their obeisances unto You. You are the ultimate sanctuary. Knowing everything, You are all that is knowable. I fall before You again and again. My obeisances from every side, O Lord! I have obviously disrespected You until now. Please forgive me. Not knowing Your glories I have lain with You on the same bed, jested with You, and surely dishonored You many times out of madness or love. O infallible one, please excuse me, even as a father would excuse his son, or a lover his beloved.’”
Sañjaya sat with his eyes closed, envisioning the scene. He saw Arjuna bowing at Kṛṣṇa’s feet. As Arjuna stood up he said, “O almighty one, having seen this form which I have never seen before, my mind is filled with fear. Please be gracious and allow me to see Your beautiful Viṣṇu form, with its four arms and divine decorations.”
Kṛṣṇa said, “Happily have I shown you, by My spiritual potency, this supreme universal form. No one else has seen this form. Not by any means can it ever be seen, O Arjuna. You have been disturbed and frightened by this horrible feature of Mine. Let it be finished. See now My Nārāyaṇa form and be peaceful again.”
Kṛṣṇa withdrew his universal form and Arjuna saw before him the graceful form of Nārāyaṇa, with His four arms holding a conch shell, disc, club, and lotus flower. After some moments, that form again changed to Kṛṣṇa’s original, two-armed form, from which all other forms emanate.
Arjuna regained his composure and felt encouraged. Kṛṣṇa said, “O Arjuna, although My universal form is difficult to see, it is even harder to know My original form. The gods are always seeking an opportunity to see Me as I now appear. This form is the most dear and it can only be known by undivided devotional service. Only in this way can one enter into the mysteries of My understanding.”
As Sañjaya repeated Kṛṣṇa’s words to Dhṛtarāṣṭra, the king heard about the science of bhakti-yoga, or devotional service. Kṛṣṇa first explained that there were two classes of transcendentalists: those who worshipped the unmanifested Supreme Brahman--the eternal, spiritual energy which is the basis of all existence--and those who worshipped Kṛṣṇa’s personal form.
“Of the two, he who fixes his mind on My personal form, worshipping Me with faith and love, is considered the most perfect. For the other class, advancement in spiritual life is difficult, although they too will finally come to the point of worshipping Me when their realization matures. Indeed, O Arjuna, I am the basis and origin of the impersonal Brahman. Therefore, worship Me alone. I swiftly deliver My devoted worshippers from the fearful ocean of birth and death. They then live with Me in perfect happiness eternally.”
Kṛṣṇa then explained how to approach the practice of bhakti-yoga by the gradual method. After describing the qualities found in a consummate practitioner of bhakti, He spoke about the material nature and consciousness. Through descriptions of the knower, knowledge, and the objects of knowledge, Kṛṣṇa explained in detail how He pervaded the material energy and how He was the Supersoul in every living being. He thus assured Arjuna of His complete ability to protect and deliver His worshippers.
From Kṛṣṇa’s instructions, Arjuna could understand that the living being is the cause of his own happiness and distress. By initially desiring to turn away from God, he is placed in the material energy. Then by associating with the various aspects of matter, he becomes more and more entangled, being attracted to various forms of material enjoyment. He is thus obliged to take birth in various species of life. All the while the Supersoul accompanies him as the witness of all his actions. The Lord is the overseer and sanctioner of the living being’s activities. If the living being turns again toward the Lord, he can at once become free of matter.
Kṛṣṇa continued. “Those who can see the difference between the body and the soul, and who can see the Supersoul, are eligible to approach the supreme spiritual abode. Such persons will not become degraded in this world, even though engaged in action.”
Arjuna was curious to know how the soul first came into the clutches of matter. Kṛṣṇa explained it in full. By this knowledge, one would be able to extract himself from the material energy. Arjuna inquired as to what were the qualities of a person who had achieved complete freedom from material bondage, and Kṛṣṇa gave a detailed description. He concluded by saying, “He who engages in full devotional service to Me, unfailing in all circumstances, is at once freed from the material energy and raised to the transcendental platform.”
Arjuna understood that freedom from matter did not mean leaving the material world altogether. It simply meant being freed from attraction and attachment to material things and working only for the pleasure of the Lord. In this mood Arjuna should fight. Kṛṣṇa had clearly elaborated on his initial instruction to Arjuna to fight without material attachment.
Having told Arjuna about the auspicious path of bhakti-yoga and the qualities of a person on that path, Kṛṣṇa went on to describe the atheistic persons who went further and further away from God. “Such persons are absorbed in the conceit of pride and false prestige. They are driven by lust and greed, and they believe that satisfying their senses is the prime necessity of life. Perplexed by various anxieties and bound by a network of illusions, they become strongly attached to material pleasures and fall down into hell. They then attain birth in all kinds of low and abominable species as a result of their own sinful desires.
“Those who disregard scriptural injunctions and act whimsically achieve, in the end, only misery.” Kṛṣṇa concluded His instructions to Arjuna by describing how a person could work in the spirit of renunciation. “In that mood, O Arjuna, fight. One who is not motivated by the false ego of thinking himself to be the body, whose intelligence is not entangled in material calculations of profit and loss, even though he kills men in this world, does not actually kill. Nor is he bound by his actions. On the other hand, he who chooses not to kill, based upon his material calculations is motivated only by false ego, and he becomes bound by sinful reactions.”
Arjuna nodded. He understood. His hesitation to fight was born of ignorance. All his considerations had been selfish. Seeing his beloved relatives before him, he had forgotten his true spiritual nature and allowed himself to be influenced by mundane sentiment. Now Kṛṣṇa had awakened his higher intelligence. He and all these kings on the battlefield were all eternal servants of God; their highest duty was to render loving service to the Lord. That very Lord was now standing before Arjuna and asking him to fight. By acting according to Kṛṣṇa’s instructions, he would achieve perfection, becoming free from material bondage, and attain the eternal spiritual abode.
Seeing that Arjuna had understood His instructions, Kṛṣṇa said, “Because you are My very dear friend, I have fully explained to you all spiritual knowledge. Deliberate on it fully and do what you wish to do. My final advice is that you simply surrender to Me and act for My pleasure. This is the supreme morality. There is no need to consider any other process of yoga or religion. If you act in this way, I will always protect you from sinful reactions. Do not fear.”
Kṛṣṇa looked at Arjuna, sitting at His feet. “Tell Me then, O son of Kuntī, have you heard everything attentively? Is your illusion dispelled?”
Arjuna stood up in the chariot and took hold of the Gāṇḍīva. “My dear Kṛṣṇa, my illusion is gone and by Your mercy I have regained my memory. I am now firm and free from doubt. I shall act according to Your divine instructions.”
Sitting before Dhṛtarāṣṭra, Sañjaya said, “Having heard this conversation between two great souls, I feel my hair standing on end, so profound and wonderful is its import. My heart is thrilled. Upon remembering Kṛṣṇa’s wondrous form, I rejoice again and again. Wherever there is Kṛṣṇa, the master of all mystics, and wherever there is Arjuna, the supreme archer, there will certainly be opulence, victory, extraordinary power and morality. That is my opinion.”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said nothing. Sañjaya’s prediction was certain to be fulfilled. The old king wondered how there could be any hope for his sons, but he still could not help wishing that somehow they would win the war. It was strange. Even though his intelligence accepted the obvious fact that Kṛṣṇa, and anyone who took His side, could not be defeated, his attachment to his sons rose up and overpowered his intelligence. The internal conflict he suffered was itself a war. He could neither rest nor sleep, although he felt emotionally and physically drained. Somehow, hearing Kṛṣṇa’s instructions to Arjuna had soothed him, although his sons’ position seemed even more hopeless. He sat holding his head as Sañjaya began to describe the beginning of the war.
(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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