The Mahābhārata
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 Fight with the Gandharvas
Early in the Pāṇḍavas’ twelfth year of exile, a Brahmin who was journeying to Hastināpura stopped to see them. He spent a few days with them before continuing to the city, where Dhṛtarāṣṭra then received him. The old king was always anxious about the Pāṇḍavas and he wanted to hear about them from the Brahmin. When he heard how their bodies were emaciated by their spare diet and constant exposure to the elements, he felt pain. Dhṛtarāṣṭra was especially distressed to hear how Draupadī was now pale and thin. He lamented openly in the presence of his ministers.
Knowing himself to be the cause of the Pāṇḍavas’ suffering, Dhṛtarāṣṭra cried, “Alas, how is it that Yudhiṣṭhira, who has no enemy on earth, now lives in a lonely forest and sleeps on the bare ground? How is the ever-wrathful Bhīma able to tolerate the sight of Draupadī clad in barks and lying upon the earth? Surely he restrains himself only out of devotion to his elder brother. Arjuna, seeing Draupadī and the twins in such misery, must be breathing the hot sighs of an angry serpent. All those heroes and their wife should not be suffering such pain. Duryodhana’s cruel words at the dice game must burn them day and night, and I can imagine Bhīma’s anger increasing day by day like fire fed by ghee.”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s anguish echoed around the assembly hall. Vidura and Bhīṣma both sat nearby, but they remained silent. The king continued, “Alas my sons, along with Śakuni and Karṇa, saw only the honey at the top of the tree but not the fall. By robbing the Pāṇḍavas they have acted sin-fully. I am also sinful for having allowed it. Surely the Kurus will soon be destroyed. Perhaps all these events have been ordained by all-powerful destiny. Nothing can overpower fate. Driven by his own unseen destiny, a man acts in ways he later regrets. Hence I am now left lamenting for the inevitable. After hearing that Arjuna has gone in his own body to heaven and received the celestial weapons, what can I expect for my sons?”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s voice trailed off into sobs. He raised his hand and dismissed the assembly. Śakuni left the hall and went immediately to speak to Duryodhana. He found him sitting with Karṇa. The three friends had enjoyed the past twelve years, free finally of the Pāṇḍavas. Although his father occupied the throne, Duryodhana was actually the ruler. He tended to all affairs of state. Dhṛtarāṣṭra spent most of his time alone, regretting his actions toward the Pāṇḍavas. Duryodhana had steadily increased his strength by forming diplomatic alliances all around the world. He was ready for the Pāṇḍavas to return from exile. That was, of course, if they ever came back.
The Kaurava prince folded his palms and bowed slightly as his uncle entered the room. After taking his seat, Śakuni said, “O ruler of men, having exiled the Pāṇḍavas by your own prowess you now enjoy this earth. Indeed, you have no rivals. The prosperity Yudhiṣṭhira once possessed is now yours. That great wealth which was formerly the cause of your grief is now your happiness. You have achieved everything by the force of intellect alone. All the world’s kings are subservient to you, and you are adored by countless Brahmins.”
Śakuni smiled slightly as he saw Duryodhana listening to his own praises with relish. Pressing his fingertips together he went on, “Why not pay a visit to the Pāṇḍavas, who have never accepted your rule? Surrounded by the Kurus even as Yamarāja is surrounded by the Rudras, go and scorch the Pāṇḍavas with the sight of your splendor. That prosperity which is seen by both friend and foe is real prosperity. Let the wives of the Kurus accompany you in their finest dress and look upon Draupadī clad in barks. What greater happiness could you experience?”
Karṇa voiced his approval with a laugh, but Duryodhana appeared pensive. “I am not sure. I don’t think Father will allow me to go to the Dwaitavana. My motives would be too obvious to him. Indeed, the old man is grieving for what we have accomplished, and he considers that they have become more powerful by their ascetic practices.”
As he thought of the Pāṇḍavas in the forest, Duryodhana smiled. It would certainly be enjoyable to see their poverty and suffering while displaying his own wealth. Gradually, his malice overshadowed his doubts.
“Nevertheless, your suggestion finds favor with me, O hero. What could be a greater delight than to see the Pāṇḍavas sunk in misery? Perhaps we can devise some means by which the king can be convinced to let us go. If Dharmarāja, Arjuna, and especially Bhīma, were to see me graced with their wealth, then the goal of my life would be attained.”
The three Kurus agreed that some feasible reason for their going had to be found. Pondering the problem, they each left for their own abodes. The next morning, Karṇa said to Duryodhana, “O King, I think I have found a plan that will work. I have learned that our cattle herds are now in the Dwaitavana. They need to be checked and counted, and it is always proper for this to be overseen by the kṣatriyas. If you tell your father that you wish to do this service, he will surely give his permission.”
As they were speaking, Śakuni arrived and said the same thought had occurred to him. They felt certain that this was the perfect pretext and they laughed together and shook each other’s hands. They decided to go that day to see the king.
Coming before Dhṛtarāṣṭra, they inquired about his welfare and in return he blessed them with affectionate words. As they sat together a cowherd, whom Duryodhana had instructed beforehand, came into the room and spoke to Dhṛtarāṣṭra about his cows. Taking the opportunity, Karṇa then said, “O King, the cattle are now in a charming woodland and the time for marking the calves has come. This is also an excellent season for your son to go hunting. Why not have him go to the Dwaitavana to check the cattle? Śakuni and I will accompany him there.”
The king looked doubtful. “O child, although hunting and seeing the cattle are both proper acts for rulers, I have a concern. The Pāṇḍavas are reported to be living somewhere in that region and thus I feel you should not go there. You have defeated them by deceitful means, and thus they are living exiled in the forest. Although Dharmarāja will never become angry, the same cannot be said for Bhīma. And Draupadī is effulgence herself; she is endowed with great ascetic merit and capable of consuming you by her curse. Full of pride and folly as you are, you will surely offend her and thus be reduced to ashes.”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra continued, his heart burning as he again remembered Pāṇḍu’s sons and their chaste wife. “Perhaps the Pāṇḍavas themselves will consume you with the fire of their weapons. Or if from the force of numbers you seek to injure them, then that would be improper--and I know you can never succeed. The mighty-armed Arjuna has returned from heaven and now possesses all the celestial weapons. Even without those weapons he was capable of conquering the earth. Why then will he not now kill you all? I suggest that you order some trusted men to go there in your place. Leave well enough alone and do not disturb the Pāṇḍavas, who are like sleeping lions.”
Śakuni rubbed his chin. “O descendent of Bharata, the eldest Pāṇḍava is dedicated to virtue and cannot possibly harm us while he is fulfilling his vow in the forest. His brothers are obedient to him and will do likewise. Nor do we wish to see the Pāṇḍavas; we shall not even approach them. You need not fear any misconduct on our part.”
Although the king was hardly convinced by Śakuni’s words, being repeatedly requested he finally agreed to let Duryodhana go. The prince quickly assembled a large force of men. With all his brothers and thousands of women, they soon set off for the forest. Eight thousand chariots, thirty thousand elephants, nine thousand horses, and many thousands of infantry accompanied them. Carriages, shops, pavilions, traders, bards, and men trained in hunting followed them. As the procession moved off, it resounded like the deep roar of the winds during the monsoon season.
Arriving at the Dwaitavana, Duryodhana camped about four miles from the lake. His many attendants built him a house surrounded by fruit trees near a good water supply. Separate houses were constructed for Karṇa, Śakuni, and Duryodhana’s brothers.
Duryodhana then went to see the large herd of cattle. He examined their limbs and supervised their counting and marking by the herdsmen. When all the work was done, the Kuru prince wandered cheerfully throughout the region, enjoying himself with his friends and the women. His entourage roamed about the woodlands at pleasure, like the celestials enjoying themselves in the Nandana groves. The herdsmen, who were expert at singing and dancing, entertained their royal guests, who in turn distributed first-class food and drinks to the herdsmen.
After the entertainment, Duryodhana decided to go hunting. Attended by his followers he went about the forest killing hundreds of bison, buffaloes, boar, deer, bears and gavayas. The hunting afforded him the opportunity to see the delightful regions in the forest, which resounded with the sweet notes of peacocks and swarmed with bees intoxicated by the honey of fragrant flowers. As the prince went through the forest like Indra amid the gods, he gradually came to the Dwaitavana lake.
On the opposite shore of the lake Yudhiṣṭhira was performing the sacrifice known as Rajaṛṣi. Guided by the Brahmins he sat with Draupadī making offerings into the sacred fire. Duryodhana, desiring to display his opulence before the Pāṇḍavas, instructed his men to build pleasure houses along the lakeshore. They immediately went toward the lake and looked for a suitable site, but as they came close to the lakeside they heard a voice calling, “Stop! Who are you and why have you come to this place? Know me to be Citrasena, the Gandharva king. This lake and its surrounding woodlands belong to me.”
Duryodhana’s soldiers looked around and saw the Gandharva surrounded by other celestials and Apsarās. He was sporting in the lake and he told the soldiers to go back to wherever they had come from.
The soldiers returned to Duryodhana and gave their report. Duryodhana then detailed a number of his most powerful generals to drive the Gandharva and his followers away. The generals went before Citrasena and said, “The powerful son of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, King Duryodhana, has come here to sport. Therefore, you should leave this place immediately.”
But the Gandharvas simply laughed. Citrasena’s reply was harsh: “Your wicked-minded Duryodhana has little sense, or how could he command we who dwell in heaven? We are not his servants. You are fools to bring us such a message and to thus meet your own deaths. Go back to where you came from or find yourselves in Yamarāja’s abode today.”
The soldiers again returned to Duryodhana and told him that if he wished to use the lake, he would have to fight with the Gandharvas. Duryodhana’s anger rose. How dare anyone oppose him. He was the ruler of the earth. He would teach these Gandharvas a lesson. He barked out orders to his men. “Go and chastise these wretches who have so displeased me. Even if it were Indra sporting with the celestials I would not tolerate it.”
Knowing the Gandharvas to be formidable fighters, Duryodhana’s generals took thousands of heavily armed soldiers and returned to the lake. They filled the woods with their loud roars and crushed everything as they advanced.
The Gandharvas again forbade their approach, but the soldiers disregarded them and came onto the shores, their weapons uplifted. Enraged, Citrasena ordered his followers, “Punish these wicked wretches.”
Thousands of Gandharvas rushed at Duryodhana’s men. The soldiers panicked and fled. Karṇa alone stood his ground. He checked the Gandharvas with his arrows. Displaying his lightness of hand, he struck down the enemy by the hundreds, lopping off their heads and limbs. Gradually, he forced the Gandharva army back.
But they regrouped and came again in even larger numbers. The Suta’s son fought furiously and the earth was quickly covered with the bodies of slain Gandharvas.
Hearing the clamour of battle, Duryodhana, Dushashana and their other brothers raced to assist Karṇa. The clatter of their chariot wheels as they charged into battle resembled Garuḍa’s roars. A fearful fight ensued, and gradually the Gandharva warriors were overpowered. They retreated to Citrasena and the Kurus sent up a loud victory shout.
Seeing his army so afflicted, the Gandharva king mounted his chariot and rushed toward the Kurus. He knew all the methods of warfare and he fought with mystical weapons. The Kuru heroes were rendered senseless by Citrasena’s illusions. It appeared that every one of them was surrounded and attacked by Gandharvas. They cried in fear and fled panic-stricken from the fight. Only Duryodhana, Karṇa, Dushashana and Śakuni remained fighting, although they were all severely wounded.
The Gandharvas concentrated on Karṇa, surrounding him and raining down showers of weapons. With swords and axes they cut down his chariot and slew his horses and charioteer. Karṇa leapt down with a sword and shield in his hands and mounted Vikarṇa’s chariot. Urged on by Karṇa, Vikarṇa immediately fled from the battlefield in fear for his life.
Then only Duryodhana and his brothers remained. They hurled their weapons at the Gandharvas, but the celestials closed in on them. They smashed Duryodhana’s chariot and he fell stunned to the ground. Citrasena immediately jumped down and seized the prince with such force that it seemed as if he would kill him. The other Gandharvas took Duryodhana’s brothers prisoner, and others ran into their camp and seized their wives. Hundreds of Kurus were taken prisoner by the Gandharvas, who bound them with chains and herded them together.
Some of the Kuru soldiers had escaped. They ran around to the other side of the lake and approached Yudhiṣṭhira. Falling before him they implored him to help. “The Gandharvas have captured Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s mighty-armed son. His brothers and women are also being held prisoner. O son of Kuntī, please save them.”
Bhīma looked at his cousin Duryodhana’s crying followers and laughed. “What we would have had to achieve with great effort on the battlefield the Gandharvas have easily done for us. It is fortunate for us that there are still those in the world who would do us good. Plainly Duryodhana came here with evil intentions, but he has been overtaken by unforseen consequences. This is surely what he deserves for his sinful motivations. No doubt the evil-minded one wanted to gloat over us in our misery. Well, he deserves to suffer.”
Yudhiṣṭhira stopped Bhīma’s sarcastic words. “This is not the time for cruelty. O child, why do you speak so harshly to these Kurus who are frightened and have come seeking our protection? Can we let our family disputes come in the way of honor? Among ourselves we are five and they are a hundred, but when an enemy of the Kurus has come, we are a hundred and five brothers. The wretched-minded Gandharva knows we are living here, but disregarding us, he has insulted the ladies of our family.”
Yudhiṣṭhira looked around at his other brothers. “O foremost of men, arm yourselves for battle. Go at once and rescue Duryodhana and his brothers and wives.”
The Kuru soldiers had arrived in great war chariots. Yudhiṣṭhira pointed to the chariots and said, “Mount these golden chariots and rush upon the Gandharvas. Even an ordinary kṣatriya would try his best to protect one who seeks protection. What then shall I say to you, O Vṛkodara? Indeed, what could give us more happiness? The bestowal of a boon, the birth of a son and sovereignty are sources of joy, but the happiness of saving an enemy in distress is equal to all three. Dear Bhīma, your sworn enemy Duryodhana now depends upon you for his life. Could anything give you more pleasure than to protect him?”
Yudhiṣṭhira said that he would have gone himself, but he was bound by the vow of the sacrifice he was performing. Therefore, he was asking his brothers to go in his place and then to liberate the prisoners. Hearing Yudhiṣṭhira’s command, Arjuna vowed, “If the Gandharvas do not release the Kauravas, then the earth shall drink their blood.”
When they heard Arjuna’s vow, the Kuru soldiers were encouraged. They handed over their chariots; and the four brothers, after donning armor, mounted them. Headed by Bhīma they raced to the other side of the lake, appearing like four blazing fires. When the other Kurus saw them arrive ready for battle, they shouted in joy. Hearing their shouts, the Gandharvas, who were preparing to depart with their prisoners, turned and saw the Pāṇḍavas approaching.
The Gandharva warriors immediately took up their battle formation. A skirmish ensued as they released arrows at the Pāṇḍavas and the Pāṇḍavas countered the attack. Arjuna, hoping that they may be able to convince the Gandharvas without bloodshed, raised his bow and called out, “O Gandharvas, let go of my brother, the king Duryodhana.”
The Gandharvas laughed. “We obey only one person’s order. Under his rule we pass our days free from misery. O descendent of Bharata, we are always obedient to his command alone.”
Angered by their disregard, Arjuna answered, “Contact with others’ wives and fighting with ordinary men are not proper behaviors for celestials. At Dharmarāja’s command you should release the Kauravas and their women. Otherwise, I will have to rescue them by force.”
Arjuna could see that the Gandharvas were ignoring him. He immediately fired fierce arrows at them. The Gandharvas turned and swiftly responded with their own blazing shafts. They quickly surrounded the Pāṇḍavas, sending arrows, axes, maces and swords at them by the thousands. The brothers, facing the four directions, countered the weapons while simultaneously attacking the Gandharvas. An extraordinary battle took place, with thousands of Gandharvas fighting against the four humans. The Gandharvas tried to destroy the Pāṇḍavas’ chariots as they had destroyed the chariots of Karṇa and Duryodhana, but they were checked by the Pāṇḍavas arrows and could not get close enough to do any harm.
Arjuna was enraged. He began to invoke celestial weapons. He threw the Āgneyastra which slew thousands of Gandharvas. Bhīma’s forceful arrows killed innumerable other Gandharvas, while the sons of Mādrī, fighting with prowess, attacked and killed hundreds of others.
The Gandharvas rose up to the sky, taking with them their prisoners, but Arjuna released arrows by the tens of thousands and created a net over the Gandharvas. They then angrily attacked Arjuna by throwing down maces, darts and swords. Checking their weapons, Arjuna fired crescent-headed shafts which tore off the Gandharvas’ heads and limbs. They tried overcoming him with a fearful shower of celestial weapons, but Arjuna held off all those missiles with his arrows. By invoking various mystical weapons, Arjuna created havoc among his foes and they screamed in terror.
Citrasena could see that his followers were being routed by the Pāṇḍavas. He rushed at Arjuna with his mace held aloft. With swift arrows Arjuna cut his iron mace into seven pieces. The Gandharva king resorted to illusion and appeared to attack the Pāṇḍavas from all sides. Arjuna invoked the Shabdavedi weapon, which destroys illusion. Citrasena disappeared from sight, continuously raining down weapons of every description, but Arjuna attacked him with arrows capable of striking an unseen enemy.
Citrasena, who had fought the Pāṇḍavas only to protect his honor, then appeared in front of Arjuna and said, “Behold, it is only your friend fighting with you.”
Seeing Citrasena approaching in peace, Arjuna withdrew his weapons and his brothers did the same. The Gandharva king and Arjuna inquired after each other’s welfare, and Arjuna said, “O hero, what purpose do you serve by punishing the Kurus? Why do you persecute Duryodhana and his followers?”
Citrasena smiled. “O Dhanañjaya, I knew long ago the real purpose for Duryodhana’s coming here. He wanted to mock you in your adversity and flaunt his own wealth. Understanding this, Indra ordered me to capture the wretch and his followers and to bring them before him in chains. Allow us to carry them away.”
Arjuna shook his head. “If you want to please me, then let them go. Dharmarāja has commanded it. They are our kinsfolk.”
“The sinful Duryodhana is full of vanity. He does not deserve to be freed. He has deceived and wronged your brother and grievously offended your wife. O Arjuna, he came here to add insult to injury. Yudhiṣṭhira did not know his reason for coming. Therefore, let us explain it to him and see what he decides after that.”
Arjuna agreed and they all went to Yudhiṣṭhira to inform him of what had transpired. Yudhiṣṭhira said, “Dear sir, it is fortunate for us that although you possess great prowess you did not slay Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s wicked sons. Our family honor has thus been saved and it will be further saved if you release them. I am pleased to see you. Please tell me if there is anything I can do for you and then return in peace to your own abode.”
Citrasena was delighted at Yudhiṣṭhira’s words. “I am satisfied simply to see you, great one. We shall free the Kurus.”
The Gandharva brought his captives into the Pāṇḍavas’ presence. Indra then appeared and sprinkled celestial nectar on the Gandharvas who had been slain. They all regained their lives. Headed by Citrasena, they rose up to the skies and vanished.
In an affectionate voice, the ever-compassionate Yudhiṣṭhira said to Duryodhana, “O child, never again commit such a rash act. A rash man never becomes happy. O Kuru prince, be blessed with all your brothers. Go home now and do not be despondent.”
But Duryodhana was devastated. His heart was splitting in two. He had achieved the opposite of what he had intended. Instead of humiliating his enemies, he had himself been shamed. As he made his way back to the city, he moved as if he were unconscious and without will. He said nothing to anyone. Leaving the Pāṇḍavas to worship the sacred fire and the Brahmins, he hung his head.
The Kaurava prince could not stop thinking of his defeat. After he had gone about ten miles back through the forest, evening fell and he ordered his party to stop for the night. They set up camp on a grassy bank of a nearby river. Duryodhana entered his tent. Sitting on a bedstead as bright as fire, he looked like an eclipsed moon. Unable to sleep, he remained lost in painful thoughts.
Just before sunrise, Karṇa came to see him. Having fled far from the battlefield when defeated by the Gandharvas, he had not witnessed the Kauravas’ capture. When he returned no one had been able to tell him how his friend had been humiliated. He had therefore assumed that the prince had overpowered the Gandharvas by his own might.
Praising Duryodhana’s strength and prowess, Karṇa said, “O descendent of Kuru, it is indeed fortunate that you are alive and we have met again. By good luck you have defeated the Gandharvas, who possess great might as well as the powers of illusion. I was forced to flee for my life, my body mangled by arrows. It is a great wonder that I see you and your brothers and wives here safe after that superhuman battle. What man could have done what you did today?”
Karṇa’s words only increased Duryodhana’s grief. He replied in a choked voice, “O Radheya, you do not know what happened, so I am not angry with you. Although you think I overcame the Gandharvas, in fact my brothers and I were all defeated. After a furious battle we were taken prisoner and carried through the skies.”
Karṇa was amazed. Duryodhana related to him how the four Pāṇḍavas had come to rescue them on Yudhiṣṭhira’s order, and how the Gandharva king had revealed to Yudhiṣṭhira the Kurus’ real purpose in coming to Dwaitavana. “When I heard Citrasena speaking in the Pāṇḍavas’ presence, I felt like entering the earth. Alas what greater sorrow could be mine than to be bound by chains and offered as tribute to Yudhiṣṭhira in the sight of all our women? I have always persecuted those brothers. They are my enemies and will always be so. Yet it was they who released me from captivity. I am indebted to them for my life. I would have preferred to die in the battle than to suffer such a fate.”
Duryodhana began to cry and Karṇa tried to console him. After some time the prince managed to regain his composure. His voice was grave. “Listen, friend. I will now remain here and fast until death. Let all my brothers and other relatives return to the city. I have been insulted by my enemy. I can never return to Hastināpura. I, who was respected and feared by my enemies and who enhanced the respect of my friends, have now become a source of joy to my enemies and of grief to my friends. If I return to the city, what could I say to my father? What could I say to Bhīṣma, Droṇa, Kṛpa, Aśvatthāmā, Vidura, and the other Kuru chiefs?”
In his suffering Duryodhana realized his foolishness. What madness had driven him to come out to this forest? He recalled the many times Vidura had tried to counsel him. He had never paid even the slightest regard. Surely he was now reaping the results of his own stupidity. It was unbearable. Death was the only recourse.
Looking at Karṇa, his eyes filled with tears, he said, “Men like me, puffed up with vanity and insolence, are never blessed for any length of time even if they obtain prosperity and knowledge. Alas I have been wicked. Now I suffer. Leave me here to die. I can no longer continue to live. What man could be rescued by his enemies and then drag on in his miserable existence? Proud as I am, the enemy has laughed at me, finding me deprived of my prowess.”
Duryodhana asked Karṇa to bring Dushashana to him. When the prince arrived, Duryodhana said, “O descendent of Bharata, hear my words. I order you to be installed in my place as the earth’s ruler. Become the refuge of your friends and relatives and the terror of your enemies. Always bestow charity upon the Brahmins and cherish your gurus. As Viṣṇu protects the celestials, so you should protect your dependents.”
Duryodhana clasped his brother’s shoulders. “Go, dear brother, and rule this wide earth. I shall end my life here.”
Dushashana was grief-stricken. He lowered his face and said, “O brother, please give up your determination to die. It can never be. Do not accept such a path. How can I become king in your place? The earth may split, the heavens may fall, and the sun may lose its heat, but I can never rule the earth without you.”
Crying out, “Relent, relent,” again and again, Dushashana fell at his brother’s feet. “You alone shall be the king for one hundred years and I shall be your servant.”
Then Karṇa said, “O heroes, what will all this achieve? Weeping does not drive away grief. Summon your patience. Do not grieve and thus give more joy to your enemies.”
Resting his hand on Duryodhana’s shoulder, Karṇa continued, “The Pāṇḍavas only did their duty when they rescued you, for it is always the duty of subjects to do what is good for their king. Under your protection, the Pāṇḍavas happily reside in your dominion. They are dependent upon you, O King. It is not otherwise. Do not indulge in sorrow like an ordinary man. O Duryodhana, we are all suffering to hear you speak of dying. Be blessed. Rise up and return to your city! Console your relatives.”
Karṇa tried his best to convince his friend to change his mind. He pointed out that although he had subjugated and even enslaved the Pāṇḍavas, they had not resolved to die. It was not wonderful that they had rescued him. There were many instances where a mighty king had somehow been overpowered by his enemies and been rescued by his troops. The fortunes of war were unpredictable. Sometimes one gained victory and at other times he was defeated. A warrior had to learn how to tolerate life’s reverses if he wanted to ultimately gain success.
Karṇa, who was covered in wounds from the battle, laughed as he continued. “Therefore, O King, rise up. Do not become the butt of jokes for other kings by dying like this. Go forth and earn everlasting fame. Put this setback behind you. Victory will surely attend you.”
Although he was repeatedly beseeched by both Dushashana and Karṇa, Duryodhana did not rise up. He had decided to die.
Śakuni had entered the tent and heard Karṇa and Dushashana’s attempts to encourage Duryodhana. Seeing Duryodhana’s resolution, and knowing that he was incapable of tolerating any insult, he said, “O descendent of Kuru, you have heard Karṇa’s speech. It is full of wisdom. Why then are you foolishly throwing away the wealth which I won for you? This is childish and unnecessary. It seems you have never waited upon your elders and learned self-control. As an unfired earthen pot leaks when it is filled with water, so one without self-control is lost when grief or joy arises. This is no occasion for grief. The Pāṇḍavas have helped you. Now you should not indulge in grief--reward them instead.”
Śakuni had always recognized that the Pāṇḍavas were superior in strength. Thus he had advised Duryodhana to defeat them at dice rather than to face them in battle. He also recognized that the five heroes were devoted to virtue and truth. They posed no threat to the Kauravas at all. Whatever enmity and antagonism there was between the two families came only from the Kauravas. But it seemed as if there was no way to overcome the Pāṇḍavas. Perhaps it would be better to accept that fact with good grace rather than to be annihilated in some final confrontation.
Thinking in this way, Śakuni continued. “Your behavior makes no sense, O King. You owe it to the Pāṇḍavas to repay them for their favor. Do not undermine what they have done for you by lamenting. Rather, go to them with a cheerful heart and return their kingdom. You will thereby win both virtue and renown. Establish brotherly relations with the Pāṇḍavas and then you will be happy.”
Śakuni thought that now would be an opportunity for Duryodhana to display his nobility. By going to the Pāṇḍavas and offering them their kingdom in return for being saved, he would reverse the situation. Instead of appearing foolish, he would appear generous and upright. The Pāṇḍavas would also appear the recipients of his mercy.
Duryodhana bent down and lifted the weeping Dushashana. After hearing Karṇa and Śakuni speak, he was overwhelmed by shame. Despair overtook him completely. “I have nothing more to do with virtue, friendship, wealth, renown, sovereignty or enjoyment. Do not oppose me. Leave me--all of you. I am resolved to abandon my life! Go back to the city and, on my behalf, worship my gurus with respect.”
Karṇa said, “O king of kings, how can we leave you here? Your way is our way. We are all united in happiness and distress. Give up this resolve or we too shall die.”
Still, Duryodhana did not waver in his determination. He spread kusha grass on the ground, took off his royal garments and put on rags, purified himself by touching water, and sat down in a yogic posture. With a desire to attain heaven, he began to observe the Praya vow of fasting until death. He stopped speaking, and ceasing all other external activities, half-closed his eyes. Soon he was meditating.
In the nether regions, the Dānavas and Daityas became aware of Duryodhana’s resolve. The celestial beings, who had been defeated in a war with the gods, were depending upon Duryodhana to oppose the gods’ purpose on earth. Many of the demons had even incarnated upon earth as kings and warriors with the hope of overthrowing the pious kings who made sacrifices to the gods. Fearing that their party would not succeed without Duryodhana, the celestial demons began a fire sacrifice. They employed Brahmins to chant mantras which had the power to summon to their presence a man from another planet.
As the Brahmins offered ghee into the fire while reciting hymns from the Atharva Veda and the Upanishads, a strange, effulgent goddess rose from the fire and asked, “What shall I do?”
Pleased, the demons commanded her, “Bring Duryodhana, the son of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, here. He is engaged in a vow of fasting.”
“So be it,” she said, and vanished. She went immediately to the place where Duryodhana sat. Unseen, she took him in his subtle body and brought him before the demons in the nether region.
As if in a dream, Duryodhana found himself standing in an assembly of Dānavas. Their leader, his eyes wide with delight, said, “O king of kings, O perpetuator of the Bharata race, you are always surrounded by heroes and illustrious men. Why then have you undertaken such a rash vow? Suicide always leads to hell. One who kills himself is reviled on earth and he attains no auspicious destination. Intelligent men like you never engage in acts that go against their best interest. O King, give up your resolve to die! Such a resolve is destructive to morality, profit, happiness, fame, prowess and energy. If you commit suicide, you will enhance your enemy’s joy. Listen now as we tell you the truth of your position, your celestial origins, and your power. Then you may decide what you wish to do.”
The Dānava then described how Duryodhana had been born as a result of the demons’ austerities. They had obtained him as a boon from Śiva. His body was made of thunder and was virtually invincible. He was being supported by the kings who were themselves powerful Dānavas incarnated on earth. United in battle, he would doubtlessly destroy his enemies. Other great demons would, at the time of the battle, possess the hearts of Bhīṣma, Droṇa, Kṛpa, and others. Thus the Kuru chiefs would cast aside restraint and compassion and kill anyone who opposed them, even their brothers, sons, friends, fathers, disciples--even children and old men. Blinded by ignorance and wrath, they would show no mercy and would slay hundreds of thousands on the battlefield.
As Duryodhana listened in amazement, the Dānava continued, “O hero, you should not fear Arjuna. We have already decided how he will die. The soul of the powerful Naraka, who Viṣṇu himself slew, has taken birth as Karṇa. Remembering his former enmity, he will kill both Kṛṣṇa and Arjuna. Knowing this, the wielder of thunder, Indra, will try to divest Karṇa of his natural armor and earrings--both of which render him invincible. We have therefore also arranged that hundreds of thousands of mighty Daitya warriors, now present on earth in the form of the Samsaptakas, will fight Arjuna. If Karṇa does not slay Arjuna, these warriors will. Therefore, do not grieve. You will rule the earth without a rival. Go back and give up your vow. You are our refuge and we are there to assist you in every way.”
The Dānavas and Daityas came forward and embraced Duryodhana. They all spoke encouragingly and cheered his mind. Finally, they said, “Go and attain victory!” Then they commanded the goddess to return him to his body.
After being returned to his seat on the kusha grass, Duryodhana opened his eyes. He recalled his meeting with the Daityas as if it had been a dream. The prince was not certain if it had actually occurred, but it had changed his mind. Whether or not he had met the celestial beings was unimportant. He took their predictions seriously. Surely their words would come to pass and he would defeat the Pāṇḍavas. Karṇa and the Samsaptakas would kill Arjuna, and thousands of other kṣatriyas would assist him in the war to come.
While Duryodhana sat ruminating on the Dānavas’ words, Karṇa came before him. Duryodhana immediately decided not to tell anyone what had happened. Seeing that he had stopped his meditation, Karṇa said, “It is good to see that you are restored to your senses, O King. A dead man can never conquer his enemies. This is not the time to grieve. Why do you wish to die so ignominiously? O hero, rise up and kill your foes. Go out and attain victory and immortal fame. I swear that when the Pāṇḍavas emerge from exile, I will conquer them and bring them under your subjugation.”
To the delight of his brothers and Karṇa, Duryodhana replied, “So be it.” He stood up, still reflecting on the Dānavas’ speech. He then took his place at the head of his army and started back for Hastināpura, his mind set upon amassing his army for war.
1.32: Sage Durvāsā
When Bhīṣma heard of the events at Dwaitavana he decided to speak to Duryodhana. Finding the prince seated with Śakuni in his majestic palace, Bhīṣma approached him and said, “O child, I have repeatedly requested you not to maintain enmity with the Pāṇḍavas. You were advised not to go to the forest, but still you went. Now you have clearly seen the Pāṇḍavas’ prowess, and also that of Karṇa. In your presence he fled the battlefield. It was then left to the Pāṇḍavas to rescue you. O King, in either martial skills, heroism or morality, Karṇa is not even a fourth of any one of Pāṇḍu’s sons. Make peace with the brothers--for your good and for the good of our race.”
Bhīṣma knew that most of Duryodhana’s hopes of defeating the Pāṇḍavas rested on Karṇa. Ever since Karṇa had appeared at the martial arts demonstration and challenged Arjuna, Duryodhana had seen him as the only way to conquer Arjuna. Now it should be obvious that Karṇa was no match for Arjuna.
Bhīṣma looked hopefully at the prince, but Duryodhana, remembering the Dānavas’ words, laughed. What did this old man know? The Pāṇḍavas were in for a surprise. Bhīṣma himself would be a part of that surprise when the demons took hold of him.
Duryodhana did not bother to reply. He stood up suddenly and walked out of the room. Bhīṣma could only shake his head sadly. He was not surprised to see Duryodhana’s arrogance. It now seemed that the Kurus’ destruction was imminent. Bhīṣma returned slowly and sadly to his own chambers.
After he left Bhīṣma, Duryodhana was joined by Karṇa, Śakuni and Dushashana. The prince looked around at his counselors and asked, “What remains to be done? How can I secure my good fortune? Let us fix on some plan.”
Duryodhana told them what Bhīṣma had said and Karṇa became uncomfortable. The Kuru grandfather was always berating him. He did not seem to like him. Karṇa felt he was as much a well-wisher of the Kurus as was Bhīṣma himself. Maybe it was time to prove Bhīṣma’s assessment of him wrong. Wringing his hands he said, “O mighty king, Bhīṣma blames us and praises the Pāṇḍavas. It is clear that he favors them over you. Because he bears you ill will, he abuses me too. I cannot bear to hear his words any longer. O King, give me an army and I shall single-handedly conquer the world for the Kauravas, just as the Pāṇḍavas did before the Rājasūya sacrifice. Let the wicked-minded wretch of the Kurus, the senile Bhīṣma, see it and regret how he has treated me. Simply command me and I shall leave at once.”
Duryodhana slapped his friend on the back in delight. “I am blessed because you have favored me, O hero. What more could I want than to see your mighty self-interest in my welfare? Surely my life has borne fruit today. Go out, dear friend, and vanquish my foes. May good come to you! Just ask and I shall do whatever I can to help.”
Karṇa at once began to make arrangements for his expedition. Duryodhana amassed a vast army with a year’s supplies. After consulting with Brahmins and gaining Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s permission, he selected a favorable day to depart. Bhīṣma and Vidura, however, did not approve of Karṇa’s plan, but they chose to remain silent. Perhaps the fool would be defeated somewhere and his pride would be curbed. At least while he was gone, he would not be influencing Duryodhana toward yet another rash scheme.
Blessed by the court Brahmins, who uttered prayers for his victory, Karṇa went out of the city followed by thousands of troops. He first attacked King Drupada’s beautiful city. Drupada did not pay allegiance to the Kauravas. Like many of the kings who had accepted Yudhiṣṭhira’s rule, Drupada was not inclined toward Dhṛtarāṣṭra. In the end, however, Drupada was overpowered by the superior force brought from Hastināpura and obliged to offer Dhṛtarāṣṭra tribute.
Karṇa then moved north, subjugating all the kings in that region. He vanquished Bhagadatta as well as all the Himālayan mountain kings. Traveling east, he overcame many tribes. None were able to defeat him in battle as he rained down fierce arrows. Sūrya’s son was a peerless fighter whom few on earth could face, especially when he was joined by the Kuru army. He soon defeated all the kings in the south and made his way west, conquering and subjugating all in his path.
Well within a year Karṇa had accumulated a huge amount of wealth from his conquests. He carried it back to Hastināpura in a long line of chariots and oxen. Duryodhana and his father and brothers greeted him as he entered the city. They congratulated Karṇa and embraced him. Duryodhana said, “What I have not received even from Bhīṣma, Droṇa, Kṛpa, or any other, I have received from Karṇa. O mighty-armed hero, in you I have my protector. All the Pāṇḍavas and other kings are nothing compared to you.
Seeing Karṇa successful, some of the citizens were pleased while others, favorable to the Pāṇḍavas, lamented or remained silent. Dhṛtarāṣṭra was overjoyed and embraced Karṇa with affection, considering him his own son.
From that day on, Duryodhana, seeing Karṇa’s prowess, considered the Pāṇḍavas defeated. The prince was encouraged and began to think about performing the Rājasūya sacrifice. Now that the world had been brought under his control, he wanted to equal the Pāṇḍavas in every way. If he could preside over the Rājasūya, then all his desires would be fulfilled.
But when the prince approached his chief priest and requested him to perform the sacrifice, he was told it was not possible. “As long as Yudhiṣṭhira lives,” the priest said, “no man on earth can perform the Rājasūya. It is only possible for one monarch to perform that sacrifice at any one time. Nor can a man perform the sacrifice in his father’s presence.”
Then the priest explained that there was another sacrifice, resembling the Rājasūya, which Duryodhana could perform. It was called the Vaiṣṇava sacrifice. No person other than the immortal Viṇu had ever performed it, and it was equal to the Rājasūya in every way. “O King, using the gold offered as tribute by the kings of the world, make a golden plow. With this plow you should prepare the ground, and upon that spot I shall begin the sacrifice.”
Duryodhana immediately discussed the sacrifice with his father and counselors, who all expressed approval. He then appointed people to the various posts required for the sacrifice and instructed artisans to make a golden plow. All the Kuru elders were delighted to see Duryodhana performing a sacrifice, an act which they hoped would increase his piety and the glory of the Kuru race. Swift messengers were dispatched to invite the kings of the world.
Dushashana asked messengers to go to the Dwaitavana and invite the Pāṇḍavas so they could see the Kurus’ power. When Yudhiṣṭhira heard the invitation he replied, “It is indeed fortunate that Duryodhana is perfuming such a great sacrifice. I should very much like to attend, but it will not be possible. I cannot leave the forest until my vow is completed. Duryodhana will see me in Hastināpura only when the thirteen years of exile are over.”
Bhīma, however, glared at the messenger. “King Yudhiṣṭhira will go when we are ready to put Duryodhana into the fire kindled by weapons. Repeat this message to Duryodhana: ‘When thirteen years are complete, Dharmarāja, the lord of men, in the sacrifice of battle, will pour onto the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra the ghee of his anger.’ That is when we shall come.” The other brothers said nothing.
When Duryodhana heard the messages, he simply smiled.
Thousands of Brahmins and kṣatriyas arrived in Hastināpura. They were warmly greeted and offered food and drink and appropriate accommodation. Vidura took charge of receiving the guests, ensuring that they were satisfied in every way. Once they had been properly refreshed, he showed them to the sacrificial compound outside the city. The visiting kings brought tribute and Duryodhana and his brothers offered the Brahmins charity.
At the end of the sacrifice, Duryodhana re-entered his city surrounded by his brothers and eulogized by bards and singers. His friends and relatives glorified him, saying that this sacrifice had surpassed all those performed by his ancestors, all of whom had gone to heaven.
However, some fearless citizens said that the sacrifice did not compare with Yudhiṣṭhira’s Rājasūya. Although Duryodhana heard what was being said, he did not respond. He knew it was true. The Rājasūya had been the most opulent and splendid ceremony he had ever witnessed. His had come nowhere near its magnificence.
Karṇa saw his friend becoming pensive. Placing his arm around the prince he said, “O foremost of the Bharatas, by good fortune your sacrifice has been successful. This is only the beginning. When the Pāṇḍavas are slain in battle, you will then complete the Rājasūya. I look forward to again glorifying you at that time.”
Duryodhana embraced Karṇa and thought of the Rājasūya. “O Kurus,” he said, “when shall I celebrate that best of sacrifices, the Rājasūya, after killing the wicked-minded Pāṇḍavas?”
Karṇa stopped walking and spoke gravely. “Hear my words, O King. As long as I have not killed Arjuna, I will not taste meat or accept luxuries. I will give to anyone anything they ask of me. When asked for something in charity, I will never say, ‘I cannot give it.’”
Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s sons cheered to hear Karṇa’s vow. They considered the Pāṇḍavas already slain. As the handsome Karṇa strode powerfully into his palace, even as Kuvera enters his abode, the Kauravas all praised him.
* * *
The Pāṇḍavas also heard about Karṇa’s vow. Bhīma and Arjuna sneered, but Yudhiṣṭhira was alarmed. Thinking of Karṇa’s impenetrable natural armor, he knew Karṇa could not be slain. Yudhiṣṭhira brooded on the situation. He had brought on all their hardships and dangers. Out of their devotion for him his brothers now accepted miseries they did not deserve. Soon they would face great danger in the battle with the Kuru heroes, who would be assisted by Karṇa and the other powerful warriors.
Yudhiṣṭhira fell into anxiety day and night. Remembering the gambling match and the harsh words of Karṇa and Duryodhana, he felt as if his heart had been pierced by a lance. His brothers and Draupadī, seeing his condition, also felt pained. Enraged at the Kauravas, they longed for the time when they could at last confront them in battle. Each day the brothers practiced rigorous physical exercises, keeping themselves fit for fighting and giving vent to their wrath.
In the final months of their stay in the forest, Vyāsadeva again came to see them. Yudhiṣṭhira worshipped him with devotion and then sat before him to hear his words.
Seeing the Pāṇḍavas lean and anxious, the sage was moved to compassion. In a voice choked with tears he said, “O foremost of men, no man can ever experience unmixed happiness. Everyone experiences happiness and distress in due course. A wise man therefore becomes neither joyful or grief-stricken. He does not indulge in happiness or give way to sorrow when each arrive. Rather, he practices asceticism to attain the eternal happiness born of spiritual realization. From asceticism comes the greatest happiness, not from improving our material circumstances. Foolish persons, seeking material enjoyments by any means, obtain births as beasts in their next lives. They never enjoy happiness. O King, your practice of asceticism, although difficult, will lead to your ultimate welfare.”
After describing the many qualities a man would develop from asceticism--truthfulness, freedom from anger, self-control, non-violence--Vyāsadeva went on to speak of charity, which Yudhiṣṭhira always practiced when he had wealth.
When Vyāsadeva fell silent, Yudhiṣṭhira asked, “O great Ṛṣi, which is better: asceticism or charity? Which produces a better result and which is more difficult to practice?”
Vyāsadeva replied, “O child, there is nothing more difficult to practice than charity. Men thirst for wealth and obtain it only after great effort. Risking their lives, they enter the depths of the sea and the forest in their search of wealth. There is nothing they will not do to become rich. Therefore, it is extremely difficult to part with hard-earned wealth.
“But, O hero, properly earned wealth should be given away with an open heart to worthy persons. Ill-gotten wealth, however, even if given away, will not free its owner from degradation in the next life.”
Yudhiṣṭhira asked Vyāsadeva to speak more about the benefits of giving charity and the sage told him an old history. There had been a poor man named Mudgala who had attained the supreme spiritual abode simply by his practice of giving charity to Brahmins. The Pāṇḍavas were fascinated. Finally the sage said, “O son of Kuntī, do not grieve. Happiness and distress revolve around a man one after the other as if on a wheel. You will surely recover your father’s kingdom at the end of your exile. By your asceticism and charity you will attain all auspiciousness. Be at peace. I am going.”
The Pāṇḍavas offered their obeisances as the ṛṣi rose to leave and felt comforted by his words.
* * *
Duryodhana thought continuously of ways by which he might harm the Pāṇḍavas. He consulted with his brothers and Karṇa, trying to devise a means to overcome the brothers before they returned from the forest. While he was considering different plans, the ascetic Durvāsā happened to visit the city. He had with him ten thousand disciples and he came to the royal palace asking for food for all of them. The sage was famous for his anger; if he were not served properly, he would quickly curse the offender. He would also test his hosts to the limits of their patience, wanting to see if they adhered to their religious obligations under all circumstances. Fearing that his curse would be brought upon them by some incompetent servant, Duryodhana served Durvāsā personally. With all the humility and gentleness he could muster, he carefully ministered to the sage’s every request, acting just like a menial servant.
Durvāsā was unpredictable. Sometimes he would demand that a meal be prepared immediately, but when it was fetched he would go away to bathe. He would then return after a long time and say, “I will not eat now. I am no longer hungry.” He would rise at midnight and call for food and other attentions, often criticizing the food and service he received. Duryodhana served him without complaint and remained attentive to the ṛṣi’s every wish. Durvāsā was pleased with the prince. Just before leaving he said, “You have served me well. I will grant you a boon. Ask from me whatever you desire. If it is not opposed to religion, I will satisfy you at once.”
Duryodhana felt as if he had received new life. He had already conferred with his counselors as to what boon he should request if Durvāsā should ask him. Thus he replied, “O Brahmin, just as you have been my guest, so you become the guest of Yudhiṣṭhira in the forest. He is accomplished and well-behaved and he is a great king, the best and eldest of our family. He therefore deserves to receive your blessings. You should go to him when his entire family has finished eating and are preparing to rest. You will then be well-received by those pious men.”
Durvāsā replied, “I will do as you ask.” He then left with his disciples, heading for the Kāmyaka.
Duryodhana punched the air in joy. The Pāṇḍavas would never be able to receive Durvāsā and his many disciples properly after Draupadī had eaten. They would have no way to feed ten thousand Brahmins without the magic plate they had received from Sūrya. Surely they would be cursed by Durvāsā, and a ṛṣi’s curse could never fail.
Duryodhana ran to his friends. “Our plan has succeeded!” he cried. “The Pāṇḍavas are doomed.” He embraced Karṇa, who said, “By good fortune you have fared well and fulfilled your desire. By good fortune your enemies are cast into an ocean of misery, difficult to cross. Through their own fault they now face great danger.” Laughing and clasping each others’ hands, Duryodhana and his counselors rejoiced.
* * *
Some days later, Durvāsā arrived at the Pāṇḍava camp just after Draupadī had eaten. Leaving his disciples on the outskirts of the camp, he walked in alone and appeared before the brothers. They all immediately stood with joined palms. Seeing the famous ṛṣi standing before them, they fell to the ground in respectful obeisance. Yudhiṣṭhira offered Durvāsā an excellent seat and worshipped him with all attention. Durvāsā then said, “I am here with my ten thousand disciples and we need to eat. We have been walking all day and are hungry. O King, please arrange for our food. We shall first take our bath and then return for the meal.”
Yudhiṣṭhira said, “So be it,” and Durvāsā left for the river with his disciples. After he had gone, Yudhiṣṭhira expressed his alarm. How could he possibly feed that many people? Draupadī had already eaten and the mystical plate would not yield more until morning. Yudhiṣṭhira asked his wife if she could do anything. Draupadī, who always thought of her husbands’ welfare, began to contemplate the problem. Her only hope was prayer. The princess thought of Kṛṣṇa and prayed, “O Kṛṣṇa, Lord of the universe, O destroyer of Your devotees’ difficulties, O unlimited and all-powerful one, please hear my prayer. You are the refuge of the helpless, the giver of endless boons to all beings, the unknowable and all-knowing Supreme Person. Kindly protect me. I seek Your shelter. O Lord, as You formerly saved me from Dushashana in the assembly, so please save me now from this difficulty.”
Kṛṣṇa was in His palace at that time, lying on His bed with Rukmīṇī. That mysterious person, whose movements are unknown to all, heard Draupadī’s prayers. He immediately rose from His bed and, leaving His wife, ran from the palace. Within a few moments He was standing before Draupadī, who fell at His feet with tears in her eyes. “O Kṛṣṇa, we face a great danger from Durvāsā’s curse. What can be done?”
Kṛṣṇa smiled. “I will do whatever can be done, but I too am hungry. Please feed Me first and after that I shall do whatever is required.”
Ashamed, Draupadī replied, “My lord, the vessel given by the sun remains full until I have eaten. I recently took my meal and now it will not give more food.”
“This is no time for joking,” said Kṛṣṇa. “Quickly fetch the vessel and show Me.”
Draupadī brought the dish before Kṛṣṇa and He examined it closely. In one corner He found a particle of rice and vegetable stuck together, and He ate it at once, saying, “May Lord Hari, the soul of the universe, be satisfied with this food and may the Lord of all sacrifices be pleased.”
Kṛṣṇa then turned to Sahadeva and said, “Go quickly and bring the ascetics here and feed them.”
The Pāṇḍavas looked around fearfully. There was no sign of food. But they had faith that Kṛṣṇa would not let them down. Sahadeva left for the river to find Durvāsā and his disciples.
At the river the innocent Durvāsā was expecting Yudhiṣṭhira to have prepared a meal for him and all his followers, but suddenly he felt as if he had just consumed a large meal. He looked at his disciples. They too appeared full and were rubbing their stomachs and belching. Looking at each other, the ascetics realized that none of them felt like eating at all!
Durvāsā said to his disciples, “We have uselessly made Yudhiṣṭhira prepare a meal for ten thousand men and done him a great wrong. Will not the Pāṇḍavas destroy us by looking upon us with angry eyes? O Brahmins, I know Yudhiṣṭhira to be possessed of great powers. He is devoted to the feet of Lord Hari and I fear such men. They can consume us with their anger as fire can consume a bale of cotton. Let us therefore depart quickly from this place before they see us again.”
Although he was a powerful mystic yogī, Durvāsā knew that his power was nothing compared to that of those devoted to the Supreme Lord. He recalled a previous incident when he had upset another devotee of the Lord. At that time he had been placed in great difficulty and had almost lost his life.
Without another word Durvāsā came out of the river and walked swiftly away from the Pāṇḍavas’ camp. His disciples fled away in all directions, keeping well clear of the Pāṇḍavas.
When Sahadeva arrived at the river he found no one there. A few water pots and pieces of cloth were lying around, but there was no sign of the ascetics. He searched around and came across other Brahmins who informed him that Durvāsā and his followers had left suddenly. Sahadeva went back to his brothers and gave them his report. Yudhiṣṭhira was worried. “The ascetics will come back in the dead of night and demand their meal,” he said fearfully. “How can we escape from this great danger created by destiny?”
Kṛṣṇa smiled. “O Yudhiṣṭhira, you need not fear. Durvāsā and his disciples have fled, afraid of your ascetic power. Those who are always virtuous need never fear danger. With your permission I shall now return to My home.”
Yudhiṣṭhira replied, “O Kṛṣṇa, as persons drowning in a vast ocean are saved by a boat, so we have been saved by You. Be pleased to go now as You desire.”
Kṛṣṇa left and the Pāṇḍavas surrounded their chaste wife, thanking her for her presence of mind in praying to Kṛṣṇa. They discussed the incident among themselves. The incident seemed to have been arranged by the Kauravas. Fortunately, Kṛṣṇa was always there to save them no matter what danger they faced. Thinking of their friend from Dwārakā, the brothers entered their thatched cottages and rested for the night.
1.33: Jayadratha Kidnaps Draupadī
About a month after the incident with Durvāsā, the Pāṇḍavas were out hunting together. They had left Draupadī at the hermitage under Dhaumya’s care. While they were gone, the king of Sindhu, Jayadratha, passed that way while traveling to Salva’s kingdom. Seated upon a royal chariot, he came to the outskirts of the Pāṇḍavas’ ashram and saw Draupadī gathering flowers. The king at once fell in love. The beautiful Draupadī, her dark complexion framed by bluish curls, shed luster on the woodlands. As she bent over to gather the wild forest flowers, Jayadratha was captivated. He said to his son Kotika, “Go and ask this lady her name. Find out if she is an Apsarā or a daughter of some god.”
Jayadratha was on his way to marry King Salva’s daughter, but upon seeing Draupadī he lost all interest in that other princess. No other woman could ever match the beauty of this forest lady.
“Go, Kotika, and find out why this lady loiters in the forest full of wild beasts and thorns. If she will have me as her lord, then I will consider my life successful.”
The prince jumped down from the chariot. As a jackal approaches a tigress, he went up to Draupadī and asked, “O fair one, who are you who stands here leaning on the branch of a kadamba tree, looking like a brilliant flame? Why do you feel no fear in this forest? Are you a goddess or the daughter of a celestial? Perhaps you are the wife of a Lokapāla. Tell me, gentle lady, who and whose you are, what is your race and why are you here?”
The prince introduced himself and then, pointing to his father, said, “That one there, shining like a sacrificial fire, is the king of Sindhu. Surrounded by powerful kings he is traveling at the head of six thousand chariots and many elephants, horsemen and infantry. Like Indra amid the Maruts, he is journeying amid his friends. He is gazing upon you, O thin-waisted one.”
Draupadī stepped back and pulled her cloth over her head. “O prince, it is not proper for me to speak to you here. The ordinance dictates that a woman should never be alone with any man other than her husband. Under the circumstances, however, I will tell you who I am. I am the daughter of King Drupada and the wife of the five heroic Pāṇḍava brothers. My husbands are now out hunting, but they will return soon. You should tell your father to dismount from his chariot and wait for them. Yudhiṣṭhira is fond of guests and will doubtlessly offer you a fitting reception.”
Draupadī turned and walked back toward her cottage, leaving Kokita standing by the kadamba tree. Kokita then returned to his father and told him what she had said. The king replied, “Why have you returned unsuccessful? I must have that woman. Now that I have seen her, all other women seem to me like monkeys. My mind was entranced the moment I saw that princess.”
“You will have to take her by force, dear father. She will surely not come willingly.”
Jayadratha got down from his chariot and went with his son and several other kings toward the Pāṇḍavas’ hermitage. Like a pack of wolves entering a lion’s den they went into the ashram and saw Draupadī standing there. In a silky voice Jayadratha said, “Is all well with you and your husbands, O queen?”
Draupadī answered that everything was well, then said, “Is all well with your kingdom, treasury and armies? Are you justly ruling the prosperous countries of Sindhu, Sauvīra, and all others brought under your sway? Yudhiṣṭhira will soon return and offer you refreshments. For now, please accept this water to wash your feet and be pleased to wait for my husbands.”
Draupadī pointed toward several large pitchers of water standing by her cottage. Jayadratha smiled. “All is well with us, O fair-faced one, but we have no interest in food and water.” He stared at Draupadī as he continued to speak. “I wish to take you with us. Why do you remain attached to Kuntī’s wretched sons? They have lost all their prosperity and are forced to dwell in the forest. A woman of good sense does not devote herself to a fallen husband. Your husbands have fallen from their dignity and have lost everything. You need not share the Pāṇḍavas’ miseries. O you of beautiful hips, renouncing them, become my wife and share with me the kingdoms of Sindhu and Sauvīra.”
Draupadī frowned and retreated a few steps. She felt pained to hear Jayadratha’s speech. “Are you not ashamed to speak in this way?” she retorted. “How dare you address me thus!”
Draupadī’s face flushed and her eyes turned crimson. Her voice rose to an angry shout. “O fool, how dare you insult the illustrious Pāṇḍavas, each of whom is like Indra himself. They all abide by their duties and never waver in battle even with the celestials. The wise never criticize men who practice devout penances, even if they are impoverished. Only dogs speak like that. I do not see anyone here who can save you from the pit you have dug under your own feet. By expecting to defeat the pious Yudhiṣṭhira you hope to separate with a stick a Himālayan elephant from his herd. Out of childishness you are rousing a sleeping mountain lion to pluck a hair from his face. You will have to flee with all speed when you see the furious Bhīma. When Arjuna returns you will not know which way to turn. Your inviting these two heroes to an encounter is like a fool trampling on the tails of two enraged and venomous cobras. As a bamboo bears fruit only to perish, or as a crab conceives only to die, so shall you meet your end when you lay your hands upon me.”
Jayadratha laughed, enchanted by the sight of the furious Draupadī. “I know all this, O Pāñcālī,” he replied derisively. “You cannot frighten me with your threats. I am born in a royal line endowed with opulences and qualities. I consider the Pāṇḍavas inferior. Therefore mount my chariot and come with me. Do not speak so boastfully.”
Draupadī was horrified. “Why does this fool take me to be powerless?” she cried. “Even Indra could not abduct me. Even if he tried, Arjuna and Kṛṣṇa, riding upon the same chariot, would follow and destroy him. What then of a weak human? O King, when Arjuna releases his deadly arrows, you will see your entire force destroyed as dry grass is consumed by fire. Beholding Bhīma rushing at you with his upraised mace, and the twins ranging on all sides vomiting forth their anger, you will then be sorry. As I have never proven false to my husbands even in my thoughts, so those men will destroy you. I do not fear you, wretch.”
Draupadī looked away from Jayadratha. She knew that by her own ascetic powers she could reduce him to ashes, but she did not want to be drawn to violence by Jayadratha. Her husbands would deal with him soon enough.
Jayadratha stepped forward and seized the princess by her arm. She cried, “Do not pollute me by your touch!” and called out for Dhaumya. Jayadratha took hold of her upper garment, but she pushed him back with such force that he fell to the ground. Then Jayadratha was angry. He grabbed Draupadī and dragged her to his chariot.
Dhaumya suddenly appeared and rebuked Jayadratha. “You cannot seize this lady without defeating the Pāṇḍavas, O King. You should observe the kṣatriyas’ ancient custom. Truly you will reap the results of this wicked act when the heroic Pāṇḍavas return.”
Jayadratha ignored Dhaumya. He placed Draupadī on his chariot and sped away, followed by his army. Dhaumya entered among the king’s troops and stayed close behind, continuously reprimanding him with strong words.
The Pāṇḍavas were some distance from the ashram. As they went through the dense forest, Yudhiṣṭhira began noticing inauspicious signs. He said, “Do you see how these birds and animals flee toward the sun and pass excrement? This indicates that the forest has been invaded by enemies. Let us return to the ashram. My heart seems to be aching for some reason, and my mind is clouded. I feel as if I were about to fly out of my body.”
The five brothers immediately started back. As they raced through the trees and bushes with their weapons flying behind them, they saw a jackal yelling hideously. Yudhiṣṭhira became still more concerned and urged them on.
Suddenly they burst into the clearing where they were camped. There on the ground they saw Dhātreyikā, Draupadī’s maid, weeping loudly. The Pāṇḍavas’ ever-present servant and charioteer, Indrasena, dismounted and went over to her. “Why do you weep? I hope no ill has befallen the princess Draupadī. Could anyone have been fool enough to snatch away that incomparably beautiful lady? Dharma’s son has become so anxious that he is ready to go after her even if she has entered the earth, soared to the heavens, or gone to the bottom of the sea. Who today will fall to the earth with his body pierced and torn by arrows? Do not weep, gentle girl, for Pāñcālī will come back this day and be reunited with her lords.”
Rubbing her face, the maid said, “Disregarding her five Indra-like husbands, Jayadratha has carried Draupadī away by force. See there the trail left by that wretch and his followers. It happened not long ago. He cannot have gotten very far.”
Dhātreyikā looked up at the Pāṇḍavas and said, “Quickly give chase, my lords, lest Draupadī be violently overpowered and, being beside herself, gives up her person to an unworthy man, even as the sacrificial oblation might be thrown onto ashes. Do not let the ghee be poured onto an unigniting fire of chaff, or the sacred garland thrown into a crematorium. Let no mean man touch with his lips your wife’s brilliant face, as the Soma juice might be licked up by a dog through the priest’s inattentiveness.”
Yudhiṣṭhira said, “Go to your hut, gentle woman, and govern your tongue. Kings and princes who are puffed up with their power soon come to grief.”
The brothers immediately went after Jayadratha. They twanged their bows and breathed the hot sighs of furious serpents. Soon they saw the dust raised by Jayadratha’s army. Coming near the soldiers they saw Dhaumya wailing. Urging Bhīma to go after Jayadratha, Yudhiṣṭhira consoled the ṛṣi and said, “Go back now, O priest. This low-minded one will soon be punished.”
Like hawks swooping on prey, the Pāṇḍavas rushed upon Jayadratha’s army with fierce cries. Seeing the Sindhu king in the distance with Draupadī on his chariot, their anger increased like a fire fed with ghee. They called out to him to stop and fight. Upon hearing their thunderous shouts, Jayadratha’s soldiers lost their senses and were seized by terror.
Jayadratha looked back and saw the Pāṇḍavas’ five chariots racing toward him. He said to Draupadī, “Five great heroes approach, O princess. I think they are your husbands. Tell me which of them rides which chariot?”
Draupadī snorted angrily. “After committing an act which will end your life, fool, why do you ask such a question? Still, as you are on the point of death, it behooves me to answer. Seeing Dharmarāja here with his brothers, I have not the slightest fear.”
Draupadī pointed to the foremost of the five chariots. “Do you see that car upon which there is a staff with two celestial drums that are always being beaten? There you can see a lean man the color of pure gold, with large eyes and a high nose. That is Yudhiṣṭhira. He is merciful even to an enemy who seeks his shelter. Therefore, put down your weapons and fall at his feet if you wish for your own safety.”
The princess then indicated the chariot to Yudhiṣṭhira’s right. “The one seated on that car, who has long arms and is as tall as a sal tree, who is biting his lips and contracting his brow--that is Vṛkodara. His strength is superhuman and the earth knows him as Bhīma. Those who offend him cannot live. He does not forget an enemy but always takes revenge, and even then he is not pacified.”
Draupadī went on to point out Arjuna, who rode by Yudhiṣṭhira’s left. “He who blazes like fire, who is always firm in battle, who never commits a cruel deed, who never relinquishes virtue out of fear, lust or anger, and who can face any enemy--that is my husband Dhanañjaya.
“Behind Yudhiṣṭhira you see the twins on golden chariots. Here comes the religious Nakula who is loved by his brothers as if he were their own life. He is an expert swordsman and today you will see him cut your troops down like wheat. By his side is Sahadeva, the youngest and favorite of all the Pāṇḍavas. His wisdom and eloquence are without comparison. That intelligent hero, so dear to Kuntī, would rather enter fire than say anything against religion or morality.”
Jayadratha looked alarmed. Draupadī laughed. “Now you will see your army like a ship with its cargo of jewels wrecked on rocks. If you escape unharmed from the Pāṇḍavas, you will have a new lease on life.”
Jayadratha shouted commands to his generals, quickly arraying his forces for battle. The Pāṇḍavas left off the infantry soldiers, who were begging for mercy, and made straight for the chariot fighters surrounding Jayadratha. As they charged into battle, they darkened the sky with a thick shower of arrows. Seeing them advance like dreadful tigers, the fighters in Jayadratha’s army lost heart.
Raising his mace, Bhīma flew toward Jayadratha with a roar. Kotika and the other charioteers came quickly to protect their king. They rained down arrows, darts and clubs upon Bhīma, but he careered on without flinching. With a single blow from his mace he slew a great elephant with its driver that was fighting in front of Jayadratha. With a few more blows he mowed down fourteen foot soldiers. At the same time he fended off all the weapons hurled at him.
As Bhīma moved closer to the Sindhu king, Arjuna killed five hundred warriors who stood before him. Yudhiṣṭhira himself slew hundreds more and Nakula went about with a sword, scattering the heads of the soldiers fighting in the rear of the army like a cultivator sowing seeds. From his chariot Sahadeva released fierce iron arrows which cut down many warriors fighting on the backs of elephants; they fell like birds dropping from a tree.
A powerful king named Trigarta, fighting against Yudhiṣṭhira, suddenly descended from his chariot and slew the Pāṇḍava king’s four horses with his mace. Yudhiṣṭhira pierced Trigarta’s breast with a sharp-pointed arrow and he fell to the earth vomiting blood. Yudhiṣṭhira, with his charioteer Indrasena, then leapt onto Sahadeva’s chariot.
Nakula was assailed by Suratha, a mighty elephant fighter. The elephant crushed his chariot and dragged it across the battlefield. Nakula jumped down with his sword and shield and fearlessly faced his foe. Suratha goaded his elephant toward him and the infuriated beast rushed at Nakula with a scream. Nakula swung his sword and severed the elephant’s trunk and tusks. The beast, which was clad in golden mail, fell headlong to the earth, crushing its rider. Nakula quickly jumped onto Bhīma’s chariot.
Bhīma released arrows with deadly accuracy. With a crescent-headed shaft he slew Kokita’s charioteer and his chariot flew about pell-mell on the battlefield. As the confused Kokita tried to restrain his horses, Bhīma shot a beautifully plumed arrow and severed the prince’s head. At the same time, Arjuna killed twelve other princes fighting by Kokita’s side. Thousands of other warriors were slain by the Pāṇḍavas. The battlefield was now strewn with the bodies of men and animals. Many chariots with tall standards lay smashed on the ground, along with armor, helmets, swords and severed limbs. What was left of Jayadratha’s army fled. Many ravens, crows, falcons and jackals--all crying out in joy--came to feast on the flesh of the dead warriors.
Jayadratha was now terrified. He quickly put Draupadī down from his chariot and fled into the woods. Yudhiṣṭhira had Sahadeva take Draupadī up onto his chariot, while Bhīma continued to slay fleeing soldiers. Arjuna, however, checked his brother. “What will you gain by killing these poor soldiers? They are afraid for their lives and running here and there. Leave off and chase Jayadratha.”
Bhīma agreed. Turning to Yudhiṣṭhira he said, “O King, the army has been routed and its leader has fled. If you wish, go with the twins and take Draupadī back to the hermitage. Arjuna and I will deal with Jayadratha. He will not survive even if he goes to Indra for protection.”
Yudhiṣṭhira replied, “O mighty-armed one, you should remember that he is the husband of our sister Dusshala, Gāndhārī’s daughter. Therefore, do not kill him.”
Draupadī became agitated to hear Yudhiṣṭhira’s words, and she said to Bhīma, “If you wish to please me, then do not spare that infamous and despicable Sindhu king. An enemy who carries away one’s wife or who wrests his kingdom from him should never be forgiven in battle, even if he begs for mercy.”
Yudhiṣṭhira consoled Draupadī and returned with her to the hermitage. Bhīma and Arjuna at once headed into the forest after Jayadratha.
The Sindhu king had already gone about two miles. Arjuna took out four arrows and began uttering mantras as he placed them on his bow. Pulling back the Gāṇḍīva into a full circle, he fired the arrows. They sped through the air over the tops of the trees, covering the full two miles and killing Jayadratha’s four horses. The king fell from his chariot in fear. Getting to his feet he stumbled through the undergrowth deeper into the forest.
Quickly catching up to him, Arjuna shouted, “O Sindhu king, with what prowess did you dare take away our wife? Stand and fight. It does not become you to flee, leaving your followers to face the enemy.”
Jayadratha did not look back. Bhīma jumped down from his chariot and bounded after him, his eyes red with fury. He quickly caught the terrified king and seized him violently by the hair. Arjuna called out, “Don’t kill him,” and Bhīma, who was about to deliver a powerful blow, pulled back his fist. He dashed Jayadratha to the ground and kicked him in the head. As the dazed king staggered to his feet, Bhīma knocked him about, striking his head and chest with his fists and knees. Jayadratha fell unconscious to the ground and Bhīma dragged him to Arjuna.
Through clenched teeth Bhīma said, “This one committed a heinous crime and does not deserve to live, but because Yudhiṣṭhira has commanded us, what can we do? The king is always merciful and forgiving.”
Bhīma looked contemptuously at Jayadratha, who was returning to consciousness. The Pāṇḍava considered how best to punish him. He took from his quiver a razor-headed arrow and shaved off Jayadratha’s hair, leaving only five tufts. For a kṣatriya, such treatment was tantamount to being killed. It meant that he had been defeated and humiliated at the hands of a more powerful enemy, but left with his life. It was better to die in battle than to suffer such humiliation, and Jayadratha was consumed by shame. Bhīma threw him to the ground and said, “Fool, if you wish to live then listen to my words. From now on, wherever you go you must announce yourself as the Pāṇḍavas’ slave. This is the accepted custom.”
Jayadratha sat on the ground with his head bowed. “So be it,” he replied, trembling.
Bhīma pulled the king up and pushed him toward Arjuna’s chariot. “Get aboard,” he ordered. “We will take you to Yudhiṣṭhira to receive his command.”
They rode back to the hermitage and found Yudhiṣṭhira seated amid the Brahmins. Bhīma dragged Jayadratha down from the chariot and had him bow before Yudhiṣṭhira. Here is the wretch who offended Draupadī. You may tell the princess that this vile man has now become our slave.”
“Let him go,” Yudhiṣṭhira said with a smile.
Draupadī came out of her hut and saw the bedraggled Jayadratha on the ground in front of Yudhiṣṭhira. The soft-hearted princess, thinking of her cousin Dusshala, said, “Yes, we should spare him. Bhīma has punished him sufficiently and he has now become our slave. Set him free.”
Bhīma told Jayadratha to go. The Sindhu king, beside himself with anguish and shame, bowed before Yudhiṣṭhira and the Brahmins and then stood up to leave. Yudhiṣṭhira said, “You are a free man. I will release you this time, but do not commit such a vile act again. Although weak and powerless, you tried to abduct another’s wife by force.”
Seeing Jayadratha’s piteous condition, Yudhiṣṭhira was moved to compassion. He held up his hand in blessing and said, “May your heart grow in virtue. Go now in peace with your followers. Never again contemplate such impiety.”
Jayadratha walked away from the hermitage sorrowfully. He thought only of how to avenge himself on the Pāṇḍavas. Realizing that he would never be able to overcome them in battle, he decided to accept a vow of asceticism to please Śiva. If he was empowered by that great deity, then surely he would be able to defeat any enemy, even the mighty Pāṇḍavas. The Sindhu king made his way to the bank of the Ganges and sat down in meditation.
For a long time Jayadratha practiced severe austerities, eating only leaves and remaining rapt in prayer to Śiva. Eventually, the god came before him and said, “What do you desire?”
The delighted king replied, “May I be able to vanquish in battle all five Pāṇḍavas, seated on their chariots.”
Śiva smiled. “This cannot be. The Pāṇḍavas are unconquerable because they are protected by Kṛṣṇa. Even I cannot slay them. Therefore, your desire is impossible to fulfill. But I will grant you this: with the exception of Arjuna, who is the invincible Nara incarnate, you will be able to check all of them in battle one time only.”
After granting this boon Śiva vanished, leaving Jayadratha to return to his own kingdom, wondering when the day would come when he would be able to use his boon.
1.34: The Lake of Death
As the Pāṇḍavas passed their twelfth year in the Kāmyaka, Indra thought of how he might do them good. The king of the gods knew that Yudhiṣṭhira was afraid of Karṇa, especially because his divine armor and earrings afforded him supernatural protection from weapons. Indra decided to disguise himself as a Brahmin and beg the armor from Karṇa.
Divining Indra’s intention, the sun-god appeared before Karṇa in a dream in the form of a handsome Brahmin. Gently, the day-maker said, “O mighty hero, my son, I have come to advise you for your everlasting good. Listen carefully. Indra will come before you disguised as a Brahmin in order to beg from you your armor. He is aware that you have vowed never to refuse charity. You must somehow resist his request. Offer him anything else in its place. If you part with your armor and earrings, which are made of the essence of celestial nectar, you will die in the battle. Possessed of your armor and earrings, however, not even the gods can slay you.”
In his dream Karṇa asked, “Who are you who cares so much for my welfare?”
“I am the god of limitless rays. I advise you out of affection. You should heed my words.”
Karṇa did not know that the sun-god was his father. He replied, “I am fortunate that the lord god of all splendor, whom I worship daily, desires my welfare. Out of my love for you I say this: please do not prevent me from observing my vow. Such dishonor would be worse for me than death. O Sūrya, all the world knows I will part with my life if a Brahmin begs for it. Should Indra come to me as a Brahmin, I shall not be able to refuse him whatever he may ask.”
Fame was everything to Karṇa. He would never do anything that would lead to infamy. He added, “If I give my armor to Indra, I shall win great fame in this world, while Indra will become infamous. Fame prolongs life and leads to heaven. A famous man lives even after his death, while those who are infamous are as good as dead even though they still breathe. O Sūrya, I will preserve my fame even at the cost of my life.”
Sūrya replied, “Dear child, a wise man does not do anything that will injure himself or his dependents. There is no doubt that the everlasting fame you desire will cost you your life. Therefore, what profit is there in sacrificing your body for fame? Only while you are alive can you use the fame you accrue. Fame is useless to a dead man. It is a garland around a corpse. Because you worship me, I speak for your good. If you use reason, you will be able to distract Indra from his purpose. If you wish to face Arjuna in battle, you must not give up your earrings and armor. You will not be able to stand against Arjuna without them.”
Karṇa was still not convinced. “O god of brilliant rays, you are dearer to me than my wife, sons, friends, and even my own self. Please cherish me as a devoted worshipper and allow me to do as I please. I cannot embrace falsehood; death would be preferable. With bowed head and repeated prayers I implore you to forgive me, for I cannot do as you say. I do not fear Arjuna. Paraśurāma has given me powerful weapons. I will defeat Arjuna in the battle when the time comes. Please permit me to observe my vow when Indra approaches me.”
Sūrya could see that Karṇa would not change his mind. It was as the god had expected and he had already considered an alternative. He continued to address his son in gentle tones.
“O powerful one, if you must give your armor and earrings to Indra, then you should ask him something in return. Worshipping him with pleasing words, you should offer him your armor only in exchange for the infallible dart he possesses. That weapon can destroy any enemy. If you possess that weapon, you will remain invincible. Ask him for it. It is called the Śakti.”
Suddenly, Sūrya vanished and Karṇa awoke, thinking about his dream. After bathing he went before the rising sun with folded palms. He told the sun everything that had occurred in his dream. From the heavens a voice echoed: “This is all true.” Amazed, Karṇa returned to his palace, expecting Indra’s arrival at any time.
A few days later, Karṇa entered the Ganges at noon to perform his daily worship of the sun-god. Each day at the end of his worship, the Brahmins would come to beg charity. He never refused anyone anything. Now Indra came to him, dressed as a Brahmin. Seeing the effulgent ascetic standing before him, Karṇa said, “You are most welcome. What can I offer you? If you like, I can bestow upon you villages, cows, and beautiful damsels adorned with gold.”
“I do not desire any of these things,” the Brahmin replied. “You may give these to others who beg for them. O sinless one, if you are true to your vow, then cut from your body your armor and earrings and give them to me. This is all I desire.”
Realizing that this was Indra, Karṇa replied, “I will gladly give you whatever you wish, but why ask only for my armor? Take from me instead enough wealth to maintain you and all your dependents for as long as you live.”
Karṇa tried in various ways to distract Indra from his goal, but the god made it clear that he wanted only the armor. Finally Karṇa said, “Divested of my natural armor and earrings, which were created from celestial nectar, I shall die in battle. That is why I am reluctant to part with them. Still, I know you are Indra and that you are here to help the Pāṇḍavas. As the lord of the gods, it is you who should be bestowing boons upon me. Therefore, O Deva, please consider offering me a boon in exchange for my armor.”
Indra replied, Before I came here, Sūrya divined my intentions. No doubt he has told you all. Let it be as you desire. With the exception of my thunderbolt weapon, ask from me what you wish.”
Karṇa asked for the Śakti dart Sūrya had mentioned. Indra reflected for a moment and replied, “I have invoked the weapon and will give it to you as soon as you give me your armor, but I do so under one condition. When I release this dart, it kills hundreds of my enemies and returns to my hand. However, you will be able to release it but once to kill one powerful enemy. When your enemy has been slain, it will return to my hand--not yours.”
Karṇa was grave. “I desire to kill only one mighty foe.”
“I know your desire. But the one you wish to kill is protected by a high-souled being. The great Lord Kṛṣṇa, who is the inconceivable Nārāyaṇa, protects him.”
“Be that as it may, give me your weapon, for it will surely be capable of slaying any human enemy. I shall then cut my armor from my body. But I ask that you prevent my body from becoming disfigured.”
“So be it. Because you desire to adhere to truth, you will not be scarred. You will be restored to your present handsome and shining complexion.”
With a sharp sword Karṇa immediately began to cut away his armor. Seeing Karṇa smiling through the pain, the gods and demons roared like lions and beat celestial drums. A shower of heavenly flowers fell upon Karṇa as he took off the armor and earrings and handed them, wet with blood, to Indra. Then Indra gave Karṇa his weapon, saying, “Do not use this unless you face the gravest danger. Otherwise it will fall upon you.” The god then soared into the sky, feeling he had accomplished the Pāṇḍavas’ purpose.
* * *
The Pāṇḍavas stayed in the Dwaitavana for the final part of their exile in the forest. Only a short while remained before they had to disguise themselves and hide for the thirteenth year. They wondered where they should go. One day, as they sat discussing in the company of ṛṣis, a Brahmin in obvious distress came before Yudhiṣṭhira. He explained that a deer had caught hold of the sticks he used to light his sacred fire and taken them into the forest. “The sticks, along with my ladle and other paraphernalia, were tied in a bundle. Somehow the deer caught them on his horns. O hero, I must have them back so that my sacrifice may not be stopped.”
Yudhiṣṭhira reassured the Brahmin and stood up at once with his brothers. Taking up their bows, they went in pursuit of the deer. Although they shot many arrows at it, however, they could not catch the animal. It bounded swiftly away and vanished into the woods. The brothers became tired and disappointed and, coming to a large banyan tree, they sat down in its shade. With a heavy heart Nakula said to Yudhiṣṭhira, “In our race, virtue has never been sacrificed and we have never been idle. Nor have we ever refused anything to any creature. How, then, has this calamity befallen us, O King?”
Yudhiṣṭhira placed his large bow on the ground. “There is no limit to misfortunes in this world, dear brother. We cannot always ascertain their causes because it is the great god Dharma who distributes the fruits of both virtue and sin.”
Bhīma frowned. “We have met with this disaster because I did not slay Dushashana when he dragged Draupadī into the assembly hall.”
“I too am to blame for our present misfortune in that I did not retaliate when Karṇa uttered his cruel words that day,” Arjuna added.
“And I too am to blame,” said Sahadeva. “I should have slain Śakuni at the dice game as soon as he cheated you, O King.”
Yudhiṣṭhira turned to Nakula. “It is certainly hot in this forest. Quickly climb a tall tree and look around for a lake. Your brothers are tired and thirsty. Having refreshed ourselves, we can then decide what to do next.”
Nakula climbed a nearby tree and gazed around. “There seems to be water not far away,” he called. “I see what appears to be a lake and can hear the cries of cranes.”
As Nakula slid down the trunk, Yudhiṣṭhira said, “O handsome brother, go and fetch water for us all.”
Nakula emptied the arrows from a couple of quivers and left his brothers. He soon arrived at a large, clear lake covered with lotuses and lilies. Kneeling down on the shore, he was about to drink when he heard a voice from the sky saying, “O child, do not drink this water. This lake is mine and no one may drink its water without first answering my questions.”
Nakula looked around. He could not see anyone. His thirst was intense. Not caring for the voice he cupped his hands and drank the water. As soon as it passed his lips he fell down dead.
After some time, Yudhiṣṭhira became anxious. Nakula had not returned. He asked Sahadeva to look for him. Sahadeva followed his brother’s path and also came to the lake. Seeing Nakula lying dead on its shore he was grief-stricken. He touched his brother, looking for signs of life. Nakula seemed to be buried in a deep slumber. He had not lost his bodily luster, but there was no pulse and he was not breathing. Sahadeva stood up, perplexed. Feeling an unbearable thirst he went to the water’s edge to drink. As he knelt down he heard the same voice from the sky. “Do not drink the water of my lake. First of all answer my questions and then you may drink.”
Sahadeva was unable to heed the words. His thirst was oppressive. He took a swallow of the cool water and, like his brother, fell dead.
Seeing that neither of the twins had returned after nearly an hour, Yudhiṣṭhira told Arjuna to go and see what had happened. With his bow at the ready and his sword unsheathed, Arjuna proceeded with caution. Finding the twins lying on the water’s edge, he was seized with pain. He ran over to them and knelt by their sides. There were no signs of life. Arjuna was amazed. Who could have killed them? There was no indication of a fight. Arjuna looked around but saw only the trees moving in the breeze and the water birds on the surface of the lake. He went down to the water’s edge to slake his thirst and again the voice resounded from the sky. “O Pārtha, do not attempt to drink this water by force. It is mine and you may only take it after answering my questions.”
Arjuna shouted up to the skies. “Come into my presence and prevent me. You will not speak in this way again when you are riven by my arrows.” He immediately released countless arrows which, empowered by mantras, were capable of hitting an unseen object. Arjuna filled the sky with arrows, darts and javelins. Again the voice spoke. “Your exertions are useless, Arjuna. Answer my questions--or, if you drink the water--you will die.”
Disregarding these words, Arjuna took a sip of water and fell dead alongside his brothers.
Almost another hour had passed. Yudhiṣṭhira felt increasing anxiety. He now sent Bhīma. “O tormentor of foes, we have been seated here for a long time awaiting our brothers. I think you should find them and bring them back. I shall wait here.”
Bhīma nodded and rose, running quickly along the path to the lake. When he saw his three brothers lying there he was astonished. Surely this was the work of a powerful Rākṣasa. It seemed hardly possible that any being could have slain Arjuna and the twins. Bhīma considered that he would soon have to face a formidable enemy. He had best drink some water and overcome his fatigue in preparation for the fight.
The Pāṇḍava ran down to the water and again the celestial voice resounded in the heavens. “O child, do not attempt to drink from my lake. First answer my questions.”
Bhīma thought that the voice must have come from whomever had killed his brothers. He looked around angrily. That wicked being would soon repent his vile act. Not caring for his warning, Bhīma plunged his face into the water and drank. Like his brothers, he fell to the ground, dead.
Alone, Yudhiṣṭhira waited; but when Bhīma didn’t return, his mind was filled with foreboding. He thought it impossible that Bhīma and Arjuna could be overcome in battle. Where were they? Perhaps they had found celestial delights by the lake and were enjoying them together. No, they would surely not neglect their duty. They had received his order and knew he was waiting. The Brahmin’s paraphernalia also still had to be recovered. Something must have happened to prevent them from returning. Apprehensively, Yudhiṣṭhira set off along the forest path.
Passing by trees covered in blue and red blossoms, Yudhiṣṭhira approached the lake. The warbling of birds and the hum of bees resounded in his ears as he moved quickly through the woods. Within a short time he came to the lake, which seemed to him as if it had been transported from Indra’s abode. It was covered with lotuses and surrounded by blossoming trees and varieties of wild forest flowers. By the side of the delightful lake, however, Yudhiṣṭhira saw his four brothers fallen to earth, resembling the four Lokapālas fallen from the heavens at the end of an age.
Yudhiṣṭhira ran to his brothers and fell to the ground by their side. Breathing heavily he shed tears of grief. He lamented loudly, his voice echoing from the tall trees around the lake. “O mighty-armed Bhīma, you swore you would break Duryodhana’s thighs in battle. Of what value is that promise now? O Arjuna, how are you lying here today? Human promises may prove false, but how can those of the gods? We heard all the celestials proclaim your glories and declare that you would win back our lost kingdom. ‘None will be able to vanquish him in battle,’ was Indra’s prophesy. How has this come to pass? Surely my heart is made of stone because it does not shatter upon seeing such a sight.”
As he looked at his motionless brothers Yudhiṣṭhira was beside himself with grief. He cried for some time, his mind utterly confused. Gradually, he managed to control himself and ponder the situation. Who could have slain these great warriors? There were no signs of battle--their bodies were unmarked--and they seemed to have dropped to the earth in some deep, dreamless sleep.
Yudhiṣṭhira looked carefully at the lake. Perhaps Duryodhana had made it and filled it with poison. But no poison could kill Bhīma. Maybe the Kauravas had conspired with the Asuras to bring about the Pāṇḍavas’ death. But again, what Asura could face Arjuna, who had single-handedly overpowered the Nivātakavacas?
Yudhiṣṭhira looked around. He could see no footprints. Arjuna’s arrows were scattered here and there, but there was no blood. It was unimaginable that Arjuna would not have hit his enemy. He never discharged his arrows uselessly. Yudhiṣṭhira considered that some mighty being without a material body must have overpowered his brothers. He examined them closely. Although they appeared dead, they had not lost their color and their features were unchanged. Their souls were surely still present, although the symptoms of life were gone. It seemed that their life-force had been removed by the god of death himself, acting from within them. Convinced of this, Yudhiṣṭhira thought he would discover the truth if he entered the lake. It was because of this lake that his brothers had met their death.
Yudhiṣṭhira went down to the water and, throwing off his armor, plunged in. Immediately he heard the same voice that had spoken to his brothers: “O child, do not take this water. This lake belongs to me and if you want to drink, you must first answer my questions.”
Yudhiṣṭhira gazed around. “Who are you?” he shouted.
“I am a crane living on moss and fish. Your younger brothers, disregarding my warning, have been brought by me under the control of death. O King, if you do not answer my questions, then you shall become the fifth victim.”
Yudhiṣṭhira looked about in astonishment. He saw the crane on a tree bough near the lake. “Are you Śiva or the foremost of the Vasus? Or are you a Marut? It is not possible for a bird to have killed these four mountain-like heroes. O strongest of all those endowed with strength, you have achieved what even the gods, Gandharvas and Asuras could not do. I do not know who you are or what is your intention, but I am curious to know these things--and I am also terrified. My heart is troubled and my mind confused. Please tell me why you stay here and what you desire.”
Yudhiṣṭhira then saw the crane transform into a huge, fearful-looking being. His large red eyes were pointed and he blazed like the sun. Roaring like a thundercloud, he said, “I am a Yakṣa, not a bird. Hail to you! It was I who killed your energetic brothers for their own faults. Although forbidden to drink, they disregarded me. If one loves life, he should not attempt to take this water by force. The lake is mine and one may take its water only after answering my questions.”
“O Yakṣa, I do not wish to take what is yours. I shall try to answer your questions to the best of my ability. Please ask me what you will.”
The Yakṣa began to place questions before Yudhiṣṭhira:
“What makes the soul rise out of his entanglement in matter? Who keeps him company, who is his guide on that spiritual journey, and on what is he established?"
“It is knowledge of the Supreme Lord which makes the soul rise. Godly qualities are his companions, dharma is his guide, and he is established on truth.”
“What makes one learned? How does one attain to that which is most exalted? How does one acquire a second self, and by what, O King, does one become wise?”
“One becomes learned by studying the Vedas. By asceticism one attains what is most exalted. Intelligence is like a second self, and serving one’s elders makes one wise.”
The Yakṣa then asked about all kinds of subjects, ranging from worldly wisdom to knowledge of religion to spiritual matters. Yudhiṣṭhira answered them all without hesitation. Finally the Yakṣa said, “I am satisfied. Answer my last four questions and I will restore one of your brothers to life. Who in this world is happy? What is the most wonderful thing? What are the tidings of this world, and how can one find the eternal path of religion?”
With folded palms Yudhiṣṭhira replied, “He who is neither in debt nor exiled and who lives simply, eating simple food in his own home, is happy. The most wonderful thing is that although every day innumerable creatures go to the abode of death, still a man thinks he is immortal. The tidings are that in this world--which is like a cauldron with the sun as its fire, days and nights as its fuel, and months and seasons as its wooden ladle--all creatures are being cooked by time. The eternal religious path is found only in the heart of great mystics.”
The Yakṣa smiled. “You have rightly answered every question. Tell me which of your brothers you wish to have restored to life?”
“O Yakṣa, let Nakula, as tall as a sal tree and endowed with a broad chest and long arms, be brought to life.”
The Yakṣa was surprised. “Bhīmasena is surely more important to you than Nakula, O King, and Arjuna is your chief support. Why do you ask for Nakula to be revived?”
“He who sacrifices virtue is himself destroyed,” replied Yudhiṣṭhira, “and he who preserves virtue is in turn preserved by it. I am therefore careful to always observe virtue. For me, great virtue lies in refraining from cruelty; it is superior to all worldly gain. Thus I ask for Nakula. Both Kuntī and Mādrī are the same to me. In myself Kuntī still has one son, but Mādrī now has none. With a desire to behave equally toward my two mothers, I ask for the life of Nakula.”
“Since, O Pāṇḍava, you consider abstention from cruelty superior to both profit and desire, then let all your brothers be restored to life.” As the Yakṣa spoke, the four brothers rose from the ground as if from a sleep. They felt refreshed and free from hunger and thirst.
Yudhiṣṭhira then asked the Yakṣa, “Who are you, O great being, who assumes the form of a crane? Tell me in truth your identity. Are you a god? Perhaps you are my father himself.”
Yudhiṣṭhira had guessed correctly and the Yakṣa replied, “I am indeed your father, O best of the Bharatas. Know me to be Dharma. I have come here with the intention of meeting you. Fame, truth, self-control, purity, simplicity, charity, modesty, steadiness, asceticism and celibacy are my limbs. I am reached by abstention from cruelty, impartiality, peacefulness, asceticism, purity and humility. You possess all these qualities, dear son. By good fortune you have conquered your mind and senses and practice virtue. I wanted to test you and I am fully satisfied. Ask me for boons and I will bestow them. Those who are ever devoted to me need never experience misfortune.”
Yudhiṣṭhira bowed respectfully before his father and said, “My first desire is that the Agnihotra of the Brahmin whose fire-sticks were lost not be destroyed.”
“O son of Kuntī, it was I in the form of the deer who carried away those sticks. I shall return them to you. Ask for some other boon.”
Yudhiṣṭhira thought carefully and said, “The twelve years of our forest life are now complete. For the thirteenth year we must live incognito. Please grant that no man will recognize us during that time.”
“So be it. Even if you wander about in the world as your actual selves, you will not be recognized. Through my favor you will lead a secret, incognito life in the city of Virata. Now take these fire sticks and ask from me another boon. I am not satisfied with conferring only these two favors. O Yudhiṣṭhira, you should know that I begot you. Vidura, your friend and well-wisher, is also a part of myself.”
Dharma handed the sticks to Yudhiṣṭhira, who replied, “O god of gods, it is enough for me that I have seen you. To please you, however, I will accept one further boon. O lord, grant that I may always overcome avarice, folly and anger, and that my mind be always inclined toward charity, asceticism and truth.”
Dharma smiled and said, “By nature you are gifted with these qualities, O Pāṇḍava. You are already the embodiment of virtue. But I grant your desire.”
The god then disappeared, leaving the five Pāṇḍavas standing together on the shore of the lake. In wonder they returned to their hermitage with the Brahmin’s fire-sticks.
1.35: Into Virata
As the rainy season came and went, Dhaumya determined by astrological calculation that the thirteenth year of exile was about to commence. The brothers discussed their strategy. Encouraged by Dharma’s boon, they were hopeful. Although Duryodhana would undoubtedly send hundreds and thousands of spies all over the world to search for them, he would not find them. But they did not want to take any chances. Thus they considered how best to conceal themselves.
Yudhiṣṭhira spoke to Arjuna. “O ruler of men, what is your view? How shall we remain incognito?”
“By virtue of Dharma’s boon we shall be able to go about without being discovered. I have no doubt about that. But let us consider carefully the places where we could reside peacefully. I shall name them.”
Arjuna listed a number of countries where their allies lived and asked Yudhiṣṭhira which he felt was most suitable. Yudhiṣṭhira thanked his brother for his suggestions and replied, “Dear brother, what Dharma has said must come to pass. We shall reside in Matsya, the kingdom of Virata. That aged king is powerful, charitable, of a righteous disposition, and always favorably disposed toward us. Let us go there as his servants. Tell me, O sons of Kuntī, how we should each present ourselves to the king.”
Arjuna replied doubtfully, “O virtuous one, how will you become the servant of the king? You are like a god among men and have always been the lord of others. How will you submit yourself to a lesser man?”
Yudhiṣṭhira reassured Arjuna. “There will be no problem. I shall become the king’s dicing partner and friend. Presenting myself as Yudhiṣṭhira’s former personal servant and close friend Kaṅka, an expert at gaming, I will offer him and his ministers various kinds of pleasing service. Now, O Vṛkodara, tell me in what capacity you will enter Virata’s city?
Bhīma had already decided. “O Bharata, I will present myself as a cook named Vallabha. I will say that I formerly worked in Yudhiṣṭhira’s royal kitchens. I am an expert in the kitchen business and will prepare fine dishes for the king’s table. I will also please the king by feats of strength and by wrestling. I will overpower elephants and bulls, and throw down the best of Virata’s wrestlers without killing them. O King, do not fear for me. I will take care of myself.”
Yudhiṣṭhira nodded approvingly and turned to Arjuna, “What work will Dhanañjaya--who possesses invincible power, who is the joy of the Kurus, and before whom the god Agni appeared as a Brahmin begging a favor--accept? As the sun is the foremost of all planets, the Brahmin the best of all men, and the thunderbolt the best of all weapons, so Arjuna is the best of all archers. What humble office can he accept, having gone to heaven and obtained all celestial weapons after pleasing the god of gods, Maheśvara? I think Kṛṣṇa’s friend does not deserve to be reduced to such a plight.”
Arjuna then remembered Urvaśī’s curse and Indra’s subsequent instruction. “O ruler of the earth, I shall become a member of the third sex: a eunuch. In order to conceal the scars the bowstring has made on my arms, I will wear numerous bangles. With bright gold earrings and braided hair I will go before the king as Bṛhannala and offer to instruct his ladies in singing and dancing. I have acquired proficiency in these skills from the Gandharvas. Living in the king’s seraglio, I will act as a female and please the king and his women by my services and by reciting many stories. On being asked for my background, I will say that I was formerly a waiting maid in Yudhiṣṭhira’s palace. O King, hiding myself in this way, as fire is concealed by ashes, I will pass my days during this last year.”
Yudhiṣṭhira looked in wonder at Arjuna. A eunuch! How astonishing were the movements of destiny.
He turned to Nakula and asked him how he planned to appear before Virata. Nakula replied, “I shall be a keeper of horses known as Granthika. I am thoroughly acquainted with all aspects of horsemanship and enjoy that work. O King, horses are as dear to me as you are. I will tell Virata that I was previously in charge of Yudhiṣṭhira’s horses.”
Yudhiṣṭhira finally asked Sahadeva what disguise he would assume. The youngest Pāṇḍava replied that he would become a cowherd. “This work pleases me, O King. I possess the skills of taming, milking and breeding cattle. I can recognize all the signs and characteristics of different kinds of cows and bulls. Known as Tantripala, I shall thus render service to Virata, telling him that I used to work in that capacity for Yudhiṣṭhira.”
Yudhiṣṭhira looked across at Draupadī, who sat near the brothers. “Here is our beloved wife. She is dearer to us than life. Like a mother she is to be cherished and like an elder sister respected. How will she appear before Virata? She is not accustomed to the position of servant and has been accustomed from birth to royal opulence.”
Draupadī replied, “O Bharata, there is a class of maid known as Sairindhrī who serves others. It is understood that no respectable lady would accept such service, so I will conceal myself in that guise. Saying that I was formerly Draupadī’s waiting maid, I will serve Sudeṣṇa, the king’s esteemed wife. By my expert service of dressing hair and ornamenting the queen, I will please her. Do not be anxious for me, O King.”
Yudhiṣṭhira looked at his devoted wife. She was prepared to undergo any austerity to serve her husbands. Although she was energetic and accomplished, it would not be easy for her to accept the position of menial servant to someone inferior, and her stay in Virata would be fraught with danger from lusty men who thought she had no protector. “You have spoken well,” Yudhiṣṭhira said. “Devoted as you are to piety and chastity, O Queen, you are a stranger to sin. You should behave yourself in Virata in such a way that no wicked man might become attracted to you.”
The Pāṇḍavas had discussed their plans for the final year in a secluded place. They did not want to risk disclosing their whereabouts even to their friends and servants. When they had decided upon their disguises, they went back to the hermitage. Yudhiṣṭhira then said to Dhaumya, “O learned Brahmin, if it is agreeable to you, please go to Drupada’s city. There you may live in peace and preserve our Agnihotra fires.”
Yudhiṣṭhira ordered his servants, headed by Indrasena, to go to Dwārakā and live with the Yādavas. “Upon arriving there you should tell everyone that you were left alone by the Pāṇḍavas at Dwaitavana. You have no idea of their whereabouts or intentions.”
Dhaumya made all arrangements for the Pāṇḍavas’ journey. He lit the sacred fire and offered oblations on their behalf, invoking auspiciousness upon them and blessing them that they would achieve victory. The brothers and Draupadī then walked around the sacred fire and, after bowing before the Brahmins, left the hermitage.
Lean and bearded after their long stay in the forest, the five brothers, clad in deerskins and carrying their weapons, seemed like five powerful ṛṣis as they made their way on foot toward the river Kālindī. As they passed through various countries, staying sometimes in the wild and at other times in inhabited regions, they presented themselves as hunters.
Bhīma carried Draupadī and they moved quickly toward their destination. After many days of travel they finally arrived in the Matsya’s expansive country. They saw the well-laid roads and paths that led from the forest into the capital.
When the Pāṇḍavas reached the outskirts of the city, Yudhiṣṭhira sat them all down in a grassy clearing and said, “O best of men, although you are all acquainted with the science of diplomacy and policy, it still behooves me to advise you. We should conduct ourselves carefully in Virata’s presence. Kings are always to be feared as one fears a deadly snake. The protectors and cherishers of all beings, they are deities in human form and are like great fires equipped with all weapons. One should always act with the utmost caution when in a king’s presence. He who acts falsely with a king is killed by him--of this there is no doubt.”
Yudhiṣṭhira spoke for some time, giving detailed instructions about all aspects of behavior with kings. He did not want his brothers to make any mistakes now that they were so close to completing their vow. Just one more year and they would be able to reclaim their kingdom.
After finishing his instructions, Yudhiṣṭhira led them toward the city. As they walked on he said to Arjuna, “If we enter Virata with our weapons, we will frighten the citizens and be quite conspicuous. Indeed, your Gāṇḍīva is famous throughout the world. If we are discovered by anyone, then we will have to live a further thirteen years in exile.”
Yudhiṣṭhira had faith in Dharma’s boon, but he did not want to take unnecessary chances. The Pāṇḍavas decided to conceal their weapons near the city. After looking around they came upon a huge sami tree near a cremation ground. The area was dismal and deserted, far from the road and close to the forest. Arjuna suggested they wrap their weapons into a cloth bundle and place them high in the tree. Anyone seeing that bundle by the crematorium would assume it to be a corpse and leave it alone. Agreeing to the suggestion, the brothers unstrung their bows and placed them upon Bhīma’s large deerskin garment. They wrapped and tied the bows, swords, quivers and arrows. Nakula ascended the tree with the bundle and secured it to a high branch, which he felt offered sufficient shelter from the rain.
The Pāṇḍavas then made their way toward the city. They passed some cowherd men and told them that they had just placed their mother’s body on the tree. “This is our ancient custom,” Yudhiṣṭhira said. “We have placed our old mother’s body high in the tree. May she attain to the blessed heavenly regions.”
As they reached the city gate Yudhiṣṭhira prayed to Goddess Durgā. Seeing her as Kṛṣṇa’s divine energy whose service it was to conceal the Lord’s identity from the atheists, he asked for her protection. Pleased by his prayer the goddess appeared before the Pāṇḍavas. “O heroes, you will soon attain victory in battle. After slaying your enemies you will again enjoy the earth. Through my grace, neither the Kurus nor the inhabitants of Virata will recognize you until the final year has expired.”
The goddess disappeared and the Pāṇḍavas entered the capital, Virata. Yudhiṣṭhira went first, but before parting from his brothers he gave each of them a secret name by which they could call each other if the need arose. He was called Jaya, and the others were Jayanta, Vijaya, Jayatsena and Jayatbala. Yudhiṣṭhira then strode into the city like a mighty lion. He went directly to the king’s court. The king saw him enter like the moon emerging from clouds. Turning to his counselors he asked, “Who is this man who walks into my court as if he were a king? He cannot be a Brahmin. I think he is a lord of the earth, although he has neither a slave nor any other attendants with him. He shines like Indra and approaches me as fearlessly as an elephant might approach a lotus.”
Yudhiṣṭhira came up to Virata and said, “O sinless one, know me to be a Brahmin who has lost everything and now seeks your service. I wish to live with you and accept you as my master.” Joyful at having acquired such an obviously qualified man, Virata replied, “O worshipful one, I bow down to you. You are most welcome. I will give you the post you desire. Which country are you from and what is your name? Do you possess any particular skills?”
“I was formerly a friend of Yudhiṣṭhira and my name is Kaṅka. I am expert in casting dice and can entertain and please you in that way.”
The king smiled without thinking for a moment that the so-called Brahmin before him might actually be Yudhiṣṭhira himself. Although he felt the newcomer to be extraordinary, he accepted his explanation. He felt an immediate affinity for Kaṅka, whose expressions and bodily movements were gentle and pleasing. If he was Yudhiṣṭhira’s friend, then he was surely of the highest character and worthy of his respect.
“Live with me in peace,” Virata said cheerfully. “This kingdom is as much yours as it is mine. I am always pleased by expert dicers.”
Yudhiṣṭhira asked that he not be called to play with low-class people or involved in disputes or fights over the game. The king replied, “I will kill anyone who does you any wrong. If the wrongdoer is a Brahmin, I will banish him from the kingdom. Let all my subjects hear my proclamation: this Kaṅka is as much the lord of this dominion as myself.”
Turning to Yudhiṣṭhira the king continued, “You shall be my friend. You will ride on my chariot, wear the best clothes, and enjoy the finest dishes. My door will always be open to you, and you will become my closest advisor and counselor.”
Yudhiṣṭhira was then shown to his quarters in the king’s palace and he began to live there happily and undetected by anyone.
The following day Bhīma entered the city. He went down the main road toward the king’s palace, appearing like a powerful lord of elephants. In his hands he held a ladle and a cooking spoon, as well as a shining, unblemished sword, azure in color. Dressed as a cook he went before the king, illuminating the royal court with his bodily effulgence. Virata looked at him in amazement and asked his counselors, “Who is this young man, exceedingly handsome and with the shoulders of a lion? Although he is new here, I feel as if I have always known him. I cannot place him, but he surely must either be Purandara himself or perhaps the powerful Gandharva king. Whatever he wants, let him have it immediately.”
One of Virata’s counselors went to Bhīma and asked him what he desired. The Pāṇḍava looked up at the king and said, “O King, I am a cook named Vallabha. Pray appoint me to your kitchen, for I am expert in the culinary arts.”
Virata gazed at Bhīma’s massive arms and broad chest. “I cannot believe that you are a cook. You shine like the thousand-eyed deity, and from your grace, beauty and prowess you appear to be the best of men.”
“O King, I am your servant. Allow me to work in the royal kitchens.” As he addressed the king, Bhīma’s voice resounded in the royal court like a great drum. “In days gone by, my cooking was tasted by Yudhiṣṭhira, but I possess other abilities as well. I am a peerless wrestler and can entertain you by fighting lions and elephants.”
As with Kaṅka, the king felt an immediate affection for this unusual arrival. “You shall become the head of my kitchens. But I do not think this office worthy of you, who should rather be the ruler of the earth.”
Bhīma began to work in the kitchens, becoming a great favorite of the king and recognized by no one.
Draupadī was next to enter the city. With her glossy black hair twisted into one long braid thrown on her right hand side and dressed in a single, soiled cloth, she walked through the city streets as if in distress. Many people gathered around her and asked her who she was and what she wanted. “I am a Sairindhrī,” Draupadī replied. “I seek someone who will employ and maintain me.”
Hearing her sweet voice and observing her incomparable beauty, the people found it hard to believe that she could be a maidservant. They directed her to the royal palace, and as she was walking, Sudeṣṇa, Virata’s wife, saw her. The queen asked, “O gentle one, why do you wander about in this way?” Draupadī repeated her story and Sudeṣṇa replied, “This surely cannot be true. O most beautiful one, it seems to me that you yourself could appoint numerous servants. By your bodily appearance I take you to be of the highest and most noble lineage. Your countenance shines like the full moon, your body is shapely, your eyes are like lotus petals framed by curling lashes, your lips are red like the bimba fruit, and your skin is as smooth as silk. In beauty you resemble a goddess and must surely have descended from the heavens. Pray tell me who you are, for you cannot possibly be a maidservant.”
Draupadī straightened her disheveled cloth and turned her dark eyes toward the queen. “I am neither a goddess nor a celestial. I am a maid of the Sairindhrī class. I am skilled in dressing hair and preparing unguents. I can make variegated and beautiful garlands of jasmines, lotuses, and lilies. Previously I have served Satyabhāmā, Kṛṣṇa’s beloved queen, and Draupadī, the Pāṇḍavas’ wife. My name is Mālinī. Now I have no engagement. Please allow me to serve in your palace, O Queen.”
Sudeṣṇa gazed at Draupadī’s unparallelled beauty and obvious nobility. How could she be a serving maid? Still, she would make a valuable addition to the palace. But what effect would she have on the king and, indeed, any other man who saw her? The queen smiled at Draupadī, but spoke doubtfully. “I can place you on my head, never mind as my servant. I do not doubt it. Yet I fear that your beauty will captivate the king’s heart. Seeing how even the women here are staring at you, I feel there is no man alive who could resist your charms. It seems that even the trees are bending low to pay you homage. Surely upon seeing you the king will lose his heart and forsake me. O lady of sweet smiles, the person upon whom you cast a glance will certainly fall victim to the god of love. By engaging you I will bring upon myself my own destruction. Although I should love to have your company, this is my fear.”
Covering her long hair with her upper cloth, Draupadī reassured the queen. “Neither Virata nor any other man can win me, fair lady, for I have five Gandharva husbands. Those invincible heroes always protect me and I will not cast a single glance on another man. However, they stipulate certain conditions for those who would engage me. My husbands desire that I not eat any food which has already been taken by another and that I not be asked to wash another’s feet. Guarding me secretly, my husbands bring about the immediate destruction of any man who desires me. No one is able to sway me from the path of righteousness, O Queen. Indeed, I ask that you always keep me safe from other men. Therefore, allay your fears!”
Sudeṣṇa decided to employ Draupadī. She promised that her food would always be fresh and untouched by another and that she would not be called upon to wash anyone’s feet. Draupadī thanked her and was led by the queen into the inner chambers of the palace, where she began her life as a maidservant.
The
day after Draupadī’s entrance into Virata, Sahadeva made his way into the city dressed as a cowherd. He arrived at the cow pasture in the region of Virata’s palace. The king happened to be visiting his herd and was present when Sahadeva arrived. Virata sent for him and asked who he was and why he had come to the city. Sahadeva replied, “I am a vaiśyā named Tantripala. I used to work with the cows belonging to the Pāṇḍavas. I am expert in handling cattle and desire to render you that service.”
Virata observed Sahadeva’s broad shoulders and long arms. “You must surely be a Brahmin or a powerful kṣatriya,” he replied. “The office of a ruler would better suit you than that of a cowherd. Tell me, from where do you hail, O afflicter of enemies? What engagement do you desire and what payment?”
“I used to reside in Indraprastha and I took care of the innumerable cows there,” Sahadeva answered. “I know everything about caring for cows. O King, I desire only my residence and upkeep and will serve you to the best of my ability.”
The king accepted Sahadeva’s request. “I have one hundred thousand cows. These, along with their keepers, shall be placed under your care. Live here in peace and I shall ensure that you are provided with whatever you desire.”
The day after Sahadeva’s entry, another newcomer was seen making his way into the city. Of huge body and adorned with the clothes and ornaments of a woman, he went toward the king’s palace, shaking the earth with his steps even though he walked with the gait of a broad-hipped woman. He stood before the king with his body concealed by layers of colored silks. His arms were covered by numerous conch bracelets set with gold, and he seemed like a huge, gorgeously decorated elephant standing in the royal court.
Virata looked at him in surprise. He asked his courtiers, “Who is this person? I have never seen such a one.” When none of them could identify him, the king turned to Arjuna and said, “You appear endowed with the might of a celestial. Young and dark-complexioned, you look like a lord of elephants. Although you wear bracelets and fine gold earrings and have braided your hair, you still shine like a god decked with garlands and equipped with armor and weapons. Become like my son or even my self. I am old and worn out. Therefore, rule this kingdom in my place and let me retire. I cannot believe you are of the neuter sex.”
In a deep voice that echoed around the court, Arjuna replied, “I sing, dance and play musical instruments. I am skilled in all these arts. O god among men, assign me to your daughter Uttarā and I shall be her dancing master. Please do not ask me how I acquired this form, for that would only add to my pain. O King, know me to be Bṛhannala, a son or daughter without parents.”
Virata stared with astonishment at Bṛhannala. “After testing you I will happily place you as my daughter’s instructor. I feel, though, that you deserve to rule the earth rather than to accept such a humble office.”
The king had beautiful women examine Bṛhannala to ensure that he was free from lust. He also asked him to display his abilities of singing and dancing. The women reported that there was no problem; and the king, after seeing his celestial skills, happily appointed Bṛhannala as Princess Uttarā’s teacher.
In the guise of a eunuch Arjuna began living with the women in Virata’s palace, instructing them in singing and playing musical instruments as well as in the various modes of dancing he had learned from the Gandharvas. Due to Urvaśī’s curse, he felt no disturbance in the women’s presence and he soon became a great favorite in their chambers. No one suspected that he was in fact the world-renowned Pāṇḍava.
It only remained for Nakula to enter Virata. Then, on the day after Arjuna entered, he appeared in the city. The people saw him walking through the streets like the sun appearing from behind clouds. Going to the royal stables, he began to examine the horses. When the king saw him there, shining like a celestial, he had him summoned to the royal court. Nakula introduced himself. “O King, all victory to you. I am the keeper of horses known as Granthika. I was formerly employed by Yudhiṣṭhira and am versed in all the arts of horsemanship. I know the temper of horses and can break them completely. Under my care, hardly an animal falls ill and not even the mares are found to be wicked. Employ me as horse keeper, O King, and I shall serve you well.”
Virata looked at the tall, powerful person before him. He seemed to be born of aristocracy. There was no doubt that he had the abilities he claimed to have. The king agreed to employ him. “You shall take charge of my stables and all those who work in them, including my charioteers. You appear to me like a king yourself, and your sight is as pleasing to me as it must have been to Yudhiṣṭhira. I wonder how that faultless Pāṇḍava is faring in the deep forest without servants such as yourself.”
Having achieved the positions they desired, the five brothers and Draupadī began their final year in exile, unsuspected by anyone.
(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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