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Krishnavatara VII: The Book of Yudhishthira Page 2
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As soon as Krishna stepped out from the palace door, the crowd burst into vociferous shouts of "Jaya Sri Krishna". Krishna, with his winning smile, responded with folded hands.
He was dressed in an immaculate yellow-coloured, silk pitamber; his scarf thrown over his shoulders was gold-embroidered; his rich, gem-studded necklace of gold glistened in the sunshine; his diadem was topped by a peacock feather.
He was younger than Yudhishthira and Bhima, and older than Arjuna by a year, but age had refused to leave its mark on his ever-youthful face.
Acharya Dhaumya approached and told him that the auspicious time for him to leave had arrived. Krishna fell at the feet of Kunti, his father's sister; exchanged affectionate glances with Draupadi; lifted the little chin of Subhadra, his younger sister, now the wife of Arjuna, and tapped her mischievously; and pressed the cheeks of the infant sons of the Five Brothers.
'Can I have my chariot back which you stole from me to kidnap Arjuna?' asked Krishna.
Subhadra blushed and looked down, and with lowered eye-lids, lashed an upward glance at her brother, whom she had loved-adored, since her infancy.
Bhima and Arjuna were walking on either side of Krishna; the twins, Nakula and Sahadeva, and Satyaki brought up the rear.
When they reached the chariot, Yudhishthira held Krishna's hand: 'Wait. There is a surprise for you', he said.
'What is it?' asked Krishna.
'You will soon know', replied Yudhishthira, with a smile.
Yudhishthira then asked Daruka, the charioieer, to leave his place for a little and he took the driver's seat. 'I am going to drive your chariot', he said.
'What is this? asked Krishna, surprised.
'Don't ask any questions. You will just see for yourself, replied Yudhishthira.
Yudhishthira made a sign to Bhima, who stepped in front of Krishna, climbed into the chariot and took the chamar in his hand; Arjuna opened the umbrella and held it over Krishna.
'Now get into the chariot,' requested Yudhishthira.
'But, what is this?' asked Krishna. 'I am overwhelmed by your affection, but I don't deserve these marks of respect. I am not a king, much less a Chakravarti'.
'Now, get in, Krishna, otherwise I will have to lift you into the chariot,' said Bhima.
Krishna looked at the Five Brothers with eyes filled with love. He climbed into the chariot and took his seat between Bhima and Arjuna.
Yudhishthira then took the reins in his hand. The horses sprang into action.
"Jaya Sri Krishna", roared the crowd. Krishna responded to the affectionate greeting with folded hands.
The chariot sped fast. When they reached the outskirts of the city, Yudhishthira reined the horses and gave the reins to Daruka.
He then climbed out of the chariot; so did the other brothers. Krishna also climbed out of the chariot and touched the feet of Yudhishthira, who raised him and embraced him.
'May you ever be victorious,' the Eldest gave his blessing.
Krishna then touched the feet of Bhima. Bhima embraced him, and in doing so, lifted him off the ground; smiling broadly, he drew in the scent of Krishna's hair. The other brothers, Arjuna, Nakula and Sahadeva, touched the feet of Krishna, who gave them an affectionate hug. The last to touch Krishna's feet was Satyaki, his friend.
'Why am I treated like a Chakravarti?' asked Krishna. These formalities are reserved for a conqueror. And I am neither a conqueror, nor a Chakravarti.'
'Who says you are not?' asked Bhima with mock indignation. 'I will break the head of anyone who says you are not'.
Yudhishthira, smiling, said: 'You are our Chakravarti; that is enough for us.'
Krishna climbed into the chariot. Daruka took the reins in his hand. The four horses neighed merrily and took the road.
The Five Brothers continued to look at the disappearing chariot till it was out of sight.
• • •
Yudhishthira, the eldest of the Five Brothers, felt a void in his heart, now that Krishna Vaasudeva had just left for Dwaraka.
They owed everything to him-Yudhishthira thought-their life; their status; their marriage with Drupad's daughter: their securing part of their heritage to be enjoyed by them without interference from their hate-filled cousins; the burning of Khandava, giving them large areas near Indraprastha for settling people; why, even their very existence.
Thanks to Krishna's leadership, the help of the Yadavas and the Panchalas had been mobilized speedily.
It was he who had rescued Asur Maya from the burning Khandava and secured a promise to build for them a unique Sabha which nobody had ever seen before.
A fratricidal conflict, may be a war, would surely have followed if Krishna had not intervened; his brothers were ready to fight for their patrimony, as was Duryodhana to deny it.
But for him, Bhima and Arjuna would never have accepted the decision that the best course to avoid bloodshed was for them to leave Hastinapura and rebuild Indraprastha.
Now things were happily settled Indraprastha was becoming a centre of dharma, attracting men and women from Hasttnapura as well as other parts of the country.
With Krishna's departure, so thought Yudhishthira, personal relations would fall into a proper perspective. That was not possible so long as he lived with them; in his presence everything took its colour from his vivid personality and the atmosphere was charged with high aspirations. That atmosphere would disappear, now that he had left them.
Yudhishthira thought of the strange sequence of events which had placed them-the Five Brothers in a series of difficult situations, without any initiative on their part. The only unique thing about them was the bond which kept them together.
This was due to the wisdom of their mother Kunti. When they were brought to Hastinapura in their childhood, she had taken a promise from them that they would share everything equally; that he, as the eldest brother, should be respected as a father and, for his part, should treat the others with fatherly solicitude; and that they should defend Yudhishthira's life at any cost whenever danger threatened him.
Up to now they had scrupulously observed this vow; so long as his life lasted, he would not, whatever the cost, break it. Where would they have been but for the high-spirited courage of Bhima or the noble heroism of Arjuna or the silent service which the Twins rendered to him; above all, but for their faith of their mother, Kunti, that they would keep the bond inviolate?
Draupadi, married to all the Five Brothers, had a strange way of keeping them united. She lived for all the Five Brothers, and they lived for her. She was proud of her father, proud of her husbands; by her faith in them, she kept them unfalteringly on their heroic path of high endeavour, the way of kshaatra-dharma. If she ever discovered that he, Yudhishthira, had fallen from the high pedestal of a dedicated kshatriya, her heart would break. She lived in high tension all the time; she might even court the fire.
Arjuna and the Twins, if they ever learned of his feelings, would never respect him again.
He knew that his brothers lusted for battle. Like true kshatriyas, they were quick to take offence, ever ready to right a wrong, unforgiving in their attitude towards Duryodhana and his brothers. He felt like a thief, concealing his sentiments, but what oppressed him most was what would happen if his brothers knew of his weakness.
Bhima, brave and good-natured and headstrong, had a keen protective attitude towards all his brothers. On more than one occasion, he had risked his life to help them to tide over difficulties. On the slightest indication that he, Yudhishthira, wanted to betray kshaatra-dharma, Bhima would have fallen into an explosive fury; he would have stormed, he would have cursed; he would have withdrawn his affection from Yudhishthira. Possibly, in a sudden outburst of rage, he might have departed.
Above all, Bhima hated Duryodhana who reciprocated his hate with malice and venom. Bhima was bold and generous, inclined to forget a wrong. However, he could never forget Duryodhana trying to drown him in his boyhood; and having sent him and his brothers to Varanavata to be
burnt alive in the palace of lac. To escape his murderous intentions, they had had to live in Rakshasavarta.
After they were married to Draupadi, Duryodhana, by Karna's advice, was ready to lead an army against them. He desisted from this course only out of fear of Grandfather Bhishma.
Most of the Kuru leaders were anxious to avoid a fratricidal conflict, which would certainly develop into a war. Yudhishthira was unhappy at that prospect, and was glad that Krishna had induced his brothers, particularly Bhima, to support the partition of the realm, Duryodhana getting Hastinapura and the Five Brothers getting the wilderness named Indraprastha.
Yudhishthira was happy that now Duryodhana's claim could also be satisfied, as he would be the uncontested master of Hastinapura. The Brothers cheerfully accepted Indraprastha, according to Krishna's advice.
Krishna had always had the capacity to achieve more valuable results by his statesmanship than by military conflicts. Yudhishthira thought that it was a very satisfactory solution.
Krishna's invaluable aid had helped them to put Indraprastha into shape. The Master, Muni Dvaipaayana, was satisfied. Mother Kunti was happy.
However, Yudhishthira was shrewd enough to see that Duryodhana's jealousy and malice were incurable.
Yudhishthira also knew that his brothers felt that they were wrongfully kept from their father's heritage.
Though appreciative of the motives and the grievances on each side, he did not want war.
2. THE FATHER’S MESSAGE
Yudhishthira was faced with a terrible choice.
He himself was a kshatriya, trained in the art of war; he was proud of the heroic achievements of his ancestors, the Bharatas.
To a kshatriya, war was a gigantic yajna—a sacrificial ritual, in which his blood had to be poured forth as a libation to win glory and secure a place in the Heavens.
The burden of keeping alive the flame of a kshaatra-dharma rested on him. If he departed from this epic tradition, his brothers, his wife and his mother, even Krishna, would disown him. No, he must maintain it at all costs.
Often, the Five Brothers and the women-folk in the family met together to talk about what concerned their welfare and the plans that they were making to make Indraprastha a great power. Then the conversation would range round the ways and means of winning glory and securing the triumph of dharma.
Bhima always took a lead in such discussions. Whatever happened, he said, Indraprastha must be stronger than Hastinapura; Duryodhana must not be a Chakravarti; he was evil, jealous, malicious and cunning, and bent on destroying them, the Five Brothers.
Arjuna incessantly practised dhanur-vidya—the science and art of archery—to discover ways to vanquish an adversary like Karna, Duryodhana’s friend, who was considered to be the supreme master in archery.
Even Nakula, whose main interest in life was rearing horses, was happy. The chariot races that he was holding were only rehearsals for the war to keep the horses in fit condition. War was a real thing and he wanted it. He often boasted that his finest horse was more powerful than Dadhikravas, the divine horse.
Sahadeva, as usual, did not speak; he never spoke unless a question was put to him. He sat quietly following the conversations, withholding all comment.
During such discussions, Yudhishthira, the Eldest, had to exercise great control over himself, so as not to make any comment which might be understood as betraying kshaatra-dharma (the pledge of righteous valour).
Again and again, they discussed the possibility of bringing the neighbouring chiefs under their hegemony to increase their power and influence in Aryavarta.
About three months after Krishna had departed for Dwaraka, while the Brothers were discussing the ways and means of securing glory, Bhima described the necessity of performing one of the principal sacrificial sessions—Vajpeya, Rajasuya or Aswamedha.
Even Mother Kunti, who generally disapproved of bloody conflicts, suddenly took an interest in Bhima’s words. Recalling the past, she described how her lord, Pandu, had wanted to perform the Rajasuya yajna. Though he had conquered far and wide, and secured the allegiance of many kings, she said, his wish had remained unfulfilled.
This chance recollection made a deep impression upon all those present. Yudhishthira felt like making a comment, but restrained himself.
‘We shall fulfil it, Mother,’ said Bhima. His eyes glowed with pride. There was a deep flush even on the cheek of his ebullient wife Jalandharaa, who in spite of the years of domestic life admired her husband as much as she had done on her wedding day.
Arjuna, all attention, said: ‘We will conquer, as our noble father did.’
Nakula nodded agreement. Now there would be an opportunity for his horses to take part in a real war. Sahadeva remained as inscrutable as ever.
Yudhishthira saw how his brothers were looking forward to the Rajasuya, but he shuddered at the prospect of performing it; it would involve them in military campaigns against neighbouring kings and securing hegemony over them by force or the show of it.
Now that his mother had told him what his father’s wish was, an insurmountable difficulty faced him. How could he, Yudhishthira, prevent that desire from growing into an irresistible demand?
That night, after retiring, Yudhishthira was uneasy. The Rajasuya occupied his mind completely.
He could not sleep. He stood on the terrace overhanging the river Yamuna. He looked at the Seven Primeval Rishis (Ursa Major), whirling in the sky, in mute appeal; he prayed to the Gods to show him the way. There was no response.
He stepped down from the terrace to the bank of the river. He was not quite sure whether he was awake or in a dream.
He took—or rather, followed—the path leading to the forest, which ran parallel to the river. He was going along, he did not know where. How far he went, he was not sure; he was equally unsure about the direction in which he was going. All he felt was that the Rajasuya had penetrated his mind.
The silence of the night was broken by a sweet melodious voice singing to the accompaniment of tumboor.
Without his being conscious of it, Yudhishthira’s steps followed the direction from which the music came.
He saw a rock on the bank of the river, glowing with a blue light.
As he gazed at the blue light intently, he saw the figure of the musician emerging from it. He was seated on the rock, absorbed in playing music. Evidently he was a Muni.
Yudhishthira stood with folded hands. When the musician stopped singing, a change came over him, as the light encircling him shrunk into a halo around his boyish face.
‘My salutations, Best of Munis,’ said Yudhishthira and offered him salutation. ‘Why do you sit here at this time of the night? I should feel thankful if you would come to my mansion.’
‘No. I love to live in open spaces,’ replied the youthful ascetic.
‘Where do you come from, Best of Munis?’ asked Yudhishthira.
‘My home is wherever I happen to be—in the Land of the Mortals, of the Ancestors and of the Gods, even in the Nether Regions,’ replied the youthful Muni with a smile. His voice was sweet. ‘For the moment I have come from the Land of the Ancestors to meet you,’ he added. His fingers flitted over the string of the tamboor lying on his lap, but strangely no sound came from it.
Yudhishthira was not sure whether he was awake or dreaming, but he would be wrong to enquire too much; if he did so, perhaps the Muni would disappear.
‘Best of Munis,’ he said, ‘now that you have come to our Land of the Mortals, let me know how I can serve you. I am the son of Pandu, the King of the Kurus.’
‘I know you well, Yudhishthira,’ the Muni said. ‘You can serve me better by listening to the message I bring.’
‘A message from whom?’ asked Yudhishthira.
‘From your noble father, King Pandu’.
‘My noble father! exclaimed Yudhishthira. He pressed his temples. Was he awake or asleep? He asked:
‘What is the message, venerable Muni?’
‘Your
noble father wants me to convey to you that he is unhappy’.
‘What makes my venerable father unhappy and what can I do to relieve him?’
‘The noble King Pandu has asked me to convey to you this message: “I conquered far and wide; commanded the allegiance of the Kings, but was unable to perform the Rajasuya yajna. You, Yudhishthira, are powerful, but you have not yet performed it, I can have no place in the company of the Chakravartis who have, or whose sons have, performed Rajasuya”’.
‘Rajasuya!’ exclaimed Yudhishthira mechanically.
‘It is the primary duty of a son to make his father happy in the Land of the Mortals and also in the Land of the Ancestors.’
The halo of blue light was floating away. The Muni spoke as if from a distance: ‘That is the message from your noble father: Perform Rajasuya.’
‘But, but, …..’, Yudhishthira could not complete the sentence. There were echoes of the word “Rajasuya” from all quarters. He shuddered.
Yudhishthira rubbed his eyes; they were so tightly closed that it was difficult for him to open them. He shook his head, opened his eyes with an effort and found himself sitting on the bank of the river, his mind in confusion.
There was no Muni, no music, no blue light. Only his father’s message “Perform Rajasuya” ran through the corridors of his mind. He rose and returned to the terrace and lay down to sleep, but could not close his eyes. Insistently his father’s message echoed in his ears.
At the usual hour, as dawn broke, all the Five Brothers took their bath in the river, offered libation to the God Surya, chanted the prescribed mantras and performed pranayam—the yogic discipline of controlling the breath. He, Yudhishthira did all these things mechanically, absent mindedly.
After the rituals, Bhima came to him, placed his hands on his shoulder and said: ‘Eldest, you appear to be unwell. What is the matter?’