THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (51 page)

“What does it mean, Vidura? Does it mean anything?”

Vidura laughed. His every word the twist of a knife, he said, “Do you doubt that it all has deep meaning? You and your son have left the truth behind you today. But not Yudhishtira; he remembers dharma well.”

“Don’t speak in riddles, tell me plainly what you mean. What has dharma to do with the way Yudhishtira and his brothers left Hastinapura?”

Vidura said softly, “If Yudhishtira had raised his eyes to look at your city, his wrath would have made ashes of it. Bheema stared at his hands, because he will take revenge on your sons one day with those hands. Arjuna scattered the dust at his feet, as he will the Kauravas. Sahadeva blackened his face for shame and Nakula, who is the most handsome of the five,” now Vidura laughed, “did not want the women of Hastina to be smitten by the sight of his bare body!”

“Why did Draupadi go with her hair undone?” breathed Dhritarashtra, fear taking him completely.

“She showed how the Kaurava widows will walk through the streets of Hastinapura, after the Pandavas kill their husbands and their sons: for what she suffered today in your sabha. Dhaumya walked behind them plucking kusa grasses and chanting the Sama Veda, to say that many funerals shall soon be held in Hastinapura.”

The king moaned. Hurtfully, Vidura said, “Remember, these are no empty threats but the oaths of the greatest kshatriyas on earth. What they have sworn, they will do. The omens all foretell just one thing: the end of the Kuru vamsa.”

Without offering a word of solace to his brother, whom he had served so loyally and lovingly since they were boys, Vidura walked out of Dhritarashtra’s apartment. But when he reached the door, there was a flash of light in the room and Narada, his body luminous and his face grave, stood between Dhritarashtra and Vidura. The rishi said in a voice like doom, “In thirteen years, Dhritarashtra, all your sons will die for what you have done today.”

Dhritarashtra was frantic, “Hah! Who speaks? I heard no one enter the room. Who is it, Vidura?”

“It is Narada Muni.”

Narada said, “Till then, enjoy the fruits of evil as best you can. There will be no forgiveness for your sin: it must be washed in blood and the sacral waters of death. In thirteen years, the House of Kuru will be destroyed. Enjoy yourself until then, blind king, if your conscience allows you.”

Dhritarashtra jumped up with a cry and groped before him to try to find the speaker. As suddenly as he had come, the rishi vanished. Dhritarashtra staggered into his brother’s arms, his lips working feverishly, though no words came from them.

Vidura said, “He has gone.”

Gently as he could, he led the stricken king back to his throne. Now Vidura was moved to pity and he sat a while holding his terrified brother’s hand. When he recovered some composure, Dhritarashtra said quietly, “Leave me now, Vidura. I want to be alone.”

The blind king sat plunged in silence and anxiety plucked remorselessly at his heart. For a week he did not come out from his apartment and neglected the affairs of the kingdom. One day, his sarathy Sanjaya came to see him. Sanjaya was more than just his charioteer; the king confided in him.

“What ails you, Dhritarashtra? Now you are the undisputed lord of all the Kurus.”

The king sobbed. He told the sarathy about the Pandavas’ departure and how Vidura interpreted it. He told him of Narada’s brief visitation and his dire prophecy.

Sanjaya said, “Dhritarashtra, your sin was worse than your son’s. How much Vidura begged you that day, speaking in God’s very voice to see justice done by the Pandavas. You sat unmoved even when Dusasana tried to strip Panchali naked. Then you seemed to relent and I rejoiced when you gave the Panadavs back their freedom and their kingdom. I thought, my king’s eyes might be blind but not his heart.

My lord, what possessed you to call them back for another game of dice? What madness seized you again?

You have sown the wind, Dhritarashtra; no one can do anything for you now. You must live in terror, dreading the day your nephews return to have revenge on you and your sons.”

Sanjaya left his master’s presence, sadly, knowing there was no help for that fallen king. And peace left Dhritarashtra; he was tormented by fear for the rest of his days.

BOOK THREE VANA PARVA
 

AUM, I bow down to Narayana, the most exalted Nara and to the Devi Saraswathi and say
Jaya
!

ONE THE SUN’S GIFT
 

The Pandavas left the city of their shame and went north. As if to leave its very memory far behind, they rode hard and came to the banks of the Ganga, flowing deep and serene. There was an immense banyan tree growing at the water’s edge, with a hundred aerial roots, each one thick as a small trunk, spreading down from great branches. It was a copse by itself and they decided to spend the night under it. They were exhausted, in body and in spirit. They had nothing to eat and felt they could not cross the river until they had slept. That place where they first stopped was known as Pramanavata, after the tree.

Pangs of hunger clutched at them, but they were in no mood to hunt. They drank the river’s sweet water and it refreshed them. The brahmanas, who had insisted on coming with them, lit a fire and chanted hymns from the Vedas late into the night. This comforted Yudhishtira no end. One by one, all the party fell asleep.

They woke with the sun, the next morning, as bird-song trilled in the banyan’s canopy. They rose feeling dull and famished. There was nothing to eat, unless they pulled up the stalks of the lotuses floating on the Ganga; and these would hardly satisfy their ravening hunger.

Yudhishtira turned sadly to his brahmanas, “My friends, already you see what exile is like. The forest is worse, infested with danger of every kind, wild beasts and rakshasas, serpents and scorpions. How will we look after you, when we are hard-pressed ourselves to keep body and soul together?

I am touched that you chose to come into exile with us. But you have made a mistake and you must go back. Last night I knew you were hungry, but I could not feed you. We will have to hunt game and when we find none, subsist on roots and fruit.”

The brahmanas received this in silence. Then, one of them said quietly, “We did not follow you without knowing you were going into hardship. How could we live with ourselves if we deserted you in your time of trial? We will make ourselves useful. Even in the wilderness, you need someone to perform your pujas. As for food, it will not be the first time a brahmana has survived in a forest!”

Yudhishtira began to protest, but another brahmana said, “Don’t turn us away, Pandava. We are devoted to you and even God does not turn away a good brahmana. We will watch over you in the jungle with prayers and lighten your spirits with stories from the Puranas. You need us, Yudhishtira, don’t send us away.”

Yudhishtira said, “How can your company not be a source of joy to my brothers and me? But, friends, how will I feed you? That worries me more than anything else.”

Dhaumya had been silent during this exchange. Now he said, “Surya Deva is lord of all the foods of this earth. If you worship him, he will help you feed the brahmanas.”

Yudhishtira saw his priest was perfectly serious1. So, for two days and nights the Pandava neither ate nor slept, while the others made do with such fruit and roots as they could find. At dawn of the third morning, his body purified by his fast and his mind calmed by it, Yudhishtira entered the whispering Ganga as the birds on the riverbank sang the rising sun.

Standing waist-deep in the water, his hands folded, Yudhishtira performed Suryanamaskara.

“You are the eye of the universe,” he chanted, gazing at the burning star, “you are the soul of all the living.” He offered the lotuses his brothers had gathered to the first orange-gold light that spilled over the horizon.

“The Devas follow your chariot across the sky for your blessing. And I worship you today, immortal one who saw the world begin, who sustain us. I beg you, incendiary Lord, bless me: that these loving brahmanas and we ourselves do not starve in the wilderness.”

Dharma’s son Yudhishtira stood with his eyes shut in the Ganga. The sun rose higher and the world was full of light. Yudhishtira stood motionless.

Then, the light behind his eyelids dazzled him. He sensed another presence in that quiet place, a blazing, awesome presence. He began to tremble and felt impelled to open his eyes. With a soft cry, Yudhishtira looked: not ten feet from him, poised above the water, was an irradiant Deva. He was the same God who had once appeared to a young Kunti.

Surya, the Sun God, stood before Yudhishtira. His body and his face were light; his eyes shone like other stars and his locks were tongues of flame that pulsed to some cosmic rhythm, or a transcendent

1. Dhaumya names the 108 names of Surya Deva for Yudhishtira. See Appendix.

music. Though the Sun’s light was cool so the Pandava could bear his presence, Yudhishtira’s hair

stood on end and he was speechless.

The apparition said, “Dharmaputra, I have something for you.”

The Deva held an incandescent disk in his hands. He gave it to Yudhishtira.

A moment ago, when the God plucked it from another realm, the copper platter had blazed as if it were on fire. Now it was cool to Yudhishtira’s touch, as he received it reverently. The Sun said, “My platter will feed you all. Whenever you want to eat, it will fill with food and remain full until Panchali has eaten. For thirteen years of your exile, my plate will feed you, Yudhishtira. In the fourteenth, you will have your kingdom back and you shall be lord of the earth again.”

Surya Deva vanished like a dream at waking and Yudhishtira was left holding his precious gift. The Pandava came ashore. He dried himself slowly, chanting mantras in praise of the Sun. He returned from the bend in the river, where he had come alone, to the banyan tree where the others waited.

Yudhishtira brought the gleaming platter to Dhaumya. “It is the Sun’s gift to us. The Lord Surya said the platter would never be empty until Draupadi has eaten from it. At least now, we will not starve.”

Dhaumya blessed him and Yudhishtira embraced his brothers. He brought the platter to Draupadi.

“Prepare some food, then serve us from the copper plate.”

A few wild roots, half a handful of the grain the brahmanas had brought for their worship: Draupadi cooked these over a fire that Arjuna and the twins kindled. Gingerly, she took what she had made, which was not enough to feed a child and set it, steaming still, on the Sun’s platter. She made the brahmanas sit facing each other, seven in a row, with freshly cut plantain leaves laid befoe them, to eat out of.

Yudhishtira and his brothers held their breath as she approached Dhaumya, first, to feed him with the morsel that lay on the platter. She had curved a natural ladle with a large, sturdy leaf. As Panchali scooped up the minuscule meal with it, suddenly, quicker than seeing, there was a heap of fragrant food on the magic plate. The brahmanas cried that they were very hungry indeed!

For the first time since Pratikami knocked at her door in Hastinapura with word of the gambling, Draupadi smiled. As she served the brahmanas, the heap of food on her platter never diminished, not by a rice-grain, not though she piled their leaves high.

Soon, Dhaumya said, “Yudhishtira, you were emperor of the world, but I never tasted food like this in your palace!”

The brahmanas agreed fervently and so did the Pandavas when they began to eat. Bheema was the most delighted of all and, of course, he ate as much as the rest of them together. When they had all finished, there was still some food left on the platter: just enough for herself, thought Draupadi, hungry as she was. She, too, sat down to her meal and relished what she had from the plate of the Sun.

When she finished, the platter was clean and bright of itself, without her having to wash it. From habit, she rinsed it with some water from the river.

Knowing their exile was a long one and feeling calmed by the murmurous Ganga, the Pandavas remained under the banyan Pramana for another day. The food from the Sun’s plate stroked their palates and filled their stomachs and they were at some ease. The princes practised with their weapons, whenever they felt inclined to. Otherwise, they sat with the brahmanas, who regaled them with legends of times when the world was full of miracles, its heroes magnificent, its women ineffable, its battles mythic: times when the Gods came freely among men, when there was a lot of heaven on earth.

The next day, they hardly missed palace life any more; their bodies and spirits grew accustomed to the freedom of nature. Yudhishtira said, “It is time we entered the deeper jungle, or the terms of our exile won’t be fulfilled.”

Leaving the shelter of the banyan, they forded the river in rough rafts the Pandavas lashed together and steered with stalks of elephant-bamboo. They went north, until they arrived on the banks of the midnight-blue Yamuna2. They found a ferryman to take them across and, when they had walked some way, they came to the Saraswati, her currents golden by the setting sun. On her banks, they saw a lush jungle that seemed to call out to them: its presence was so tranquil, deeply inviting.

Arjuna said, “It is the Kamyaka vana. I have hunted here once.”

Yudhishtira decided, “I have heard many rishis live in this forest. Let us build an asrama and spend part of our exile here.”

The Pandavas entered the vana and found a fine glade with an auspicious feeling about it and another patriarch of the wilds, a mighty nyagrodha tree, growing at its heart. Quickly, the brothers built thatched wooden huts for themselves and the brahmanas; those princes of destiny began living in the Kamyaka vana. Soon enough, the jungle became familiar, its primeval spaces, its wild denizens and the rishis who lived here in tapasya, praying for the world.

2. KMG says they went first to Kurukshetra, then bathed in the Saraswati, the Drisadwati and the Yamuna, before travelling west, from one forest to another, before reaching the Kamyaka vana.