Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling (52 page)

He sat in his tent, weeping bitter tears,

blaming himself entirely. “Oh, Abhimanyu!

It was for me that you risked everything.

For me you battled with such bravery.

Eager for victory, I urged you on.

How shall I face Arjuna? How will Subhadra

bear to live without her precious son?

And Krishna—how will he find consolation

now that his nephew, little more than a child,

has left the earth?”

At this point, Vyasa

appeared, to give comfort. For Yudhishthira

in the face of this catastrophe,

it was as if the fact of death had struck him

for the first time. “What does it mean,” he said,

that men are born, are nourished by their mothers,

nurtured with care, have rich experience,

learn the ways of human intercourse,

love, create, take pleasure in the world,

acquire a warrior’s skills, respect dharma—

what does it mean that such men can ride out

in the morning, courageous, full of hope,

and by evening are mere carrion

for crows to feast on? Why? What is death?”

“Death takes everything that lives,” said Vyasa,

“there is no exception.” And he told

the story of the lady Death herself,

and how Brahma, creator of the worlds,

sent her out to achieve his purposes,

so his created worlds would not become

overburdened. “For creatures—even for gods—

death is part of life, that is the law,

and everything that lives carries the germ

of its own destruction. Understanding this,

a wise person does not grieve, Yudhishthira.”

Yudhishthira took comfort from this story,

and Vyasa told him many other tales

of kings whose sons were taken away by Death.

Vyasa said to him, “Abhimanyu

lived his life fully, although he was so young.

He will be in heaven; and those who taste heaven

never prefer this world to that bliss.”

Arjuna had won a splendid victory

over the forces that had sworn to kill him,

but at nightfall, riding back with Krishna,

he was seized with a dreadful premonition.

The camp was silent; no one greeted them.

He had heard of Drona’s wheel deployment

and, knowing that Abhimanyu had not learned

how to exit it, he hoped and prayed

that his brave son had not been entrapped.

On every side, he noticed ashen faces.

Hearing the truth, he thought he would die of grief.

He sank down, sighing, face awash with tears.

“Krishna, Subhadra will not survive this news.

Oh, my beloved boy, I remember

how I and your mother held you in our arms.

My glorious son, the joy of all who knew you,

witty, courageous, generous and kind—

if I will never see your face again

how can I live? In that dreadful wheel,

standing alone, you must have thought that soon

your father would arrive to rescue you.

But no, you would have focused on the fight

and nothing else—a hero to the end.”

Arjuna was gripped by deep despair.

Krishna gently spoke to him. “My friend,

bear this with fortitude. You are not the first,

nor will you be the last to lose a loved one.

Abhimanyu has gone to the realm for those

who meet death courageously in battle,

with a cheerful heart. We are warriors;

for us, this is how it has always been.”

“How did it happen?” asked Arjuna, grim-faced.

“Tell me exactly. How could Abhimanyu

die with my great brothers to protect him?

Sons of Pandu, sons of Drupada,

what were you doing!? Do you carry weapons

merely as ornaments? Did you cowards watch

while my brave boy fought overwhelming odds?”

When he heard the facts, grief turned to rage

at wicked Jayadratha. He swore an oath:

“Before darkness falls tomorrow night,

I will cut off Jayadratha’s head,

unless he comes and begs on his knees for mercy.

If I do not, may I never enter heaven,

but may I meet the hideous fate of those

who kill their parents, who cuckold their teachers,

defile women, betray the innocent trust

of those who depend on them. If I do not,

if, tomorrow night, Jayadratha

still struts the earth, breathing our common air,

I shall enter a blazing fire and die!”

In the opposing camp, the Kauravas

picked up a chilling sound on the night breeze,

faint at first, then swelling ever louder,

a sound to shake the world to its foundations:

Devadatta
, Arjuna’s great conch,

sounding out a challenge and a threat,

followed by furious shouts from the Pandavas.

Jayadratha knew it was meant for him.

Gripped by fear, he had a sense that death

was rushing to meet him. “Ah! What can I do?

Shall I escape at once, fly home to Sindhu?”

“Take heart, calm your fear,” said Duryodhana.

“Who could harm you, when you will be surrounded

by our bravest, most accomplished warriors?

And you yourself are a tiger among fighters.”

His spies had told him about Arjuna’s oath

and, craftily, he thought if Jayadratha

could be protected until the sun went down

Arjuna would fail and, bound by honor,

he would have to immolate himself.

Slightly reassured, Jayadratha

went to Drona’s tent, and knelt before him.

“Master, will you tell me Arjuna’s secret,

how his arrows fly so fast, so far, so deep?”

“Son,” said Drona, “Arjuna’s skill has been

honed in the crucible of suffering.

No one can defeat him. But take heart,

I will protect you. You should fight tomorrow;

be true, follow your kshatriya dharma.”

Through spies, the Pandavas were given news

of the elaborate arrangments planned

to guard the Sindhu king. Krishna, concerned,

wished that Arjuna had been less hasty

in uttering his vow. But the Terrifier

was scornful. “I assure you, Jayadratha

is already on his way to Yama’s realm.

Tomorrow, he and his ill-fated friends

will have cause bitterly to regret the day

they wallowed in the sin of child murder!”

At Arjuna’s request, Krishna visited

Abhimanyu’s mother, Krishna’s sister,

who was with Draupadi and Uttaraa,

the young hero’s even younger wife.

Krishna told them of Abhimanyu’s feats,

assuring them he was certainly in heaven.

“Alas!” cried Subhadra, “O my child,

my beautiful one, deserving of the best

this earth can give, how can you be sleeping

now on the cold ground, your lovely body

punctured by arrows! O son, O sinless one,

this world is desolate without you in it!

My little boy, my arms ache to hold you,

I long for the smell of your skin, your hair.

Oh, I am hungry for the sight of you.

That you could die with Krishna to protect you

is proof of fate’s unfathomable ways.”

Uttaraa and Draupadi, Abhimanyu’s

second mother, paced wildly in their grief,

weeping without cease, inconsolable.

Krishna told them of Arjuna’s vow, and how

Abhimanyu’s death would be avenged,

but still they wept; the most extreme vengeance

could not restore to them their beloved boy.

Krishna returned to camp in sorrow. That night

no one slept well. They thought of tomorrow

and what had to be done to bring success.

What if Arjuna should fail? What then?

What if he were killed? How could Yudhishthira

pursue this war without him? What would he do?

Throughout the Pandava army, every man

prayed that Arjuna’s mission would succeed.

Before he retired to rest, long-haired Krishna

walked out onto a small rise in the land

and sprinkled it with water. Immediately

lush grass covered it, and fresh-sprung flowers.

He laid out objects for the night offering

to the gods, and Arjuna came to join him.

Learned priests consecrated the Pandava

and Arjuna felt his heart become lighter.

He hung fragrant garlands round Krishna’s neck

and gave him the ritual night-offering.

At the darkest hour, Krishna left his tent

and sought out Daruka, his charioteer.

“Tomorrow, we have the greatest challenge yet.

Arjuna swore this oath impulsively

without consulting me. I fear the worst.

Even the son of Kunti cannot kill

a man whom Drona has promised to protect.

Duryodhana will summon every means

to thwart Arjuna’s intentions. I want you

to bring my chariot and all my weapons

and follow us, so I can support him

if things go wrong. Oh, Daruka, Arjuna

is more dear to me than all the world.

I could not bear this life if he were dead.”

Restless on his bed, Arjuna wondered

how he would be able to keep his vow

if Jayadratha skulked behind a stockade

of chariots assembled by the Kauravas.

He slept at last, a sleep riven by nightmares.

Then he dreamed Krishna came to comfort him

and told him not to despair. “All that exists

rests in the lap of time. Despair is the foe

that robs you of the energy to act.

You must obtain the weapon,
Pashupata
,

from Lord Shiva. Fasten your mind’s eye

on him. When you have found him, be silent.

Then honor him, devote yourself to him

and, by his grace, he will give you
Pashupata.
”

Arjuna sat down in meditation

and it seemed he was traveling through the sky

with Krishna, over beautiful terrain,

over the snowy slopes of Himavat,

over the remotest mountain regions,

over the pleasure gardens of Kubera,

over groves where apsarases played.

They paused on a mountain peak to view the earth

shimmering gold beneath them, with its cities

and lakes scattered like the loveliest flowers.

At last, they reached the home of Lord Shiva.

The god was sitting, huge and awe-inspiring,

glowing with his own fire, trident in hand.

Parvati, his wife, was by his side.

Arjuna and Krishna bowed before him

and sang a hymn of praise, “O Lord Shiva,

to you who are the soul of the universe;

to you the unconquered, the all-merciful;

to you who have a thousand thousand eyes;

to you whose name is Death, lord of creatures,

all-powerful, and all-compassionate,

we join our hands in homage and devotion.”

“Welcome, Nara and Narayana,”

said the god, smiling. “Tell me what you desire

and I will grant it.” Arjuna looked deeply