But he must help the brahmin; royal dharma
required it. He rushed into the apartment,
grabbed the bow and arrows and rode off
in pursuit of the thieves. He scattered them
with a stream of well-aimed arrows, and returned
the stolen cattle to the grateful brahmin.
Then he presented himself before the king.
“Brother, I shall now go into exile,
in accordance with our covenant.”
Yudhishthira protested—Draupadi
and he had not been offended in the least.
It was no sin for a younger brother
to invade the privacy of the older.
Exile was unnecessary.
But Arjuna
insisted. “Dharma has to be respected;
you yourself have taught me that one should not
try shiftily to dodge round its requirements.
We all agreed on what should happen now.
I shall embrace exile for a time.”
12.
ARJUNA’S EXILE
Never, in all his life, had Arjuna
been separated from his family.
He would return to them in time. But meanwhile
the world was large, and offered new encounters.
He traveled widely, seeking holy places
on sacred rivers. From time to time, he stayed
in forest ashrams, learning all he could
from wise teachers. He was accompanied
by an entourage of learned brahmins
and they journeyed north to where the Ganga,
taking birth in the snow-peaked Himalaya,
leaps over rocks and tumbles to the plain.
There, he settled for a while.
One day,
as Arjuna was bathing in the river,
offering oblations to his ancestors,
he was seized, and pulled beneath the water
by Ulupi, beautiful snake princess.
She whisked him off to the kingdom underground
where snakes live amid sacrificial fires.
She wound herself around him tenderly.
“As soon as I caught sight of you, the love god
churned me with desire. Ah, make me happy,
handsome hero of the Bharatas!”
Arjuna hesitated. “Enchanting one,
I am committed to a celibate life
during my exile; I cannot break my vow.
Believe me—I would truly like to please you . . .
But how can I, without transgressing dharma?”
“Surely your vow,” said sensuous Ulupi,
“relates to Draupadi, not other women.
Remember too—the highest form of duty
is to preserve life. And, rest assured,
I shall die unless you slake my thirst.”
His course was clear. Arjuna passed the night
in pleasure with the sinuous snake princess,
and returned at sunrise to his lodging.
Soon after this, Arjuna left the mountains
and traveled southeast toward Manalura.
There, he called on King Chitravahana,
an ally of the Bharatas. The king
had a nubile daughter, Chitrangadaa,
plump and graceful. Arjuna desired her.
He spoke to the girl’s father. The king said,
“You need to understand: in our line,
in each generation, just one child is born.
Mine is a girl, but I am treating her
as a son for purposes of descent.
You may marry her on one condition:
father a son on her, who will belong
not to you, but to our lineage.”
Arjuna acquiesced. Then, after staying
with Chitrangadaa for the next three months,
he continued touring the sacred fords.
Most holy sites thronged with devout pilgrims
bathing, praying, offering oblations,
but he was told of one that was deserted
although it was quite beautiful, with trees,
graceful as dancers, shading the riverbank.
Ascetics told him: lurking in the water
were five huge crocodiles, who were inclined
to make a meal of bathers. Undeterred,
Arjuna dived in and, straight away,
was clamped between the jaws of a great beast.
He wrestled with it, thrashing, twisting, churning,
then managed to stand, holding it in the air.
That instant, it became a lovely woman.
Arjuna was astonished. “Beautiful one,
attacking innocent and pious bathers?”
She explained she was an apsaras,
one of five, as alluring as each other,
who had been cursed by a virtuous brahmin
for trying to seduce him. “Narada
told me you would be traveling nearby
and would help us.” The Pandava released
the other nymphs from their curse in the same way.
Then Arjuna returned to Chitrangadaa
to see Babhruvahana, his newborn son.
Despite his energetic pilgrimage,
Arjuna knew that his true destiny
would not be one of wandering the world.
A kshatriya was meant to live a life
as a man of action, and in time
he would rejoin his brothers. But for now
he was free to travel as he wished.
He headed southward, to Cape Comorin,
the tip of the subcontinent, the place
where Hanuman once leaped across the sea
to Lanka. There, he immersed himself at dawn
and at sunset, standing with folded hands,
bowing in homage to the god of light.
Eventually, he turned his footsteps north.
He followed the line of the Western Ghats,
along deserted beaches. As he traveled
the season was changing: the time of monsoon
had arrived. The air was still and heavy
with expectation, earth begging for rain
as though the whole of life were in suspense.
Then the weather broke. First came the wind
whipping the sea to frothy peaks and troughs,
bullying the trees to bow before it.
Then the rain: a few large drops at first
followed by blue forked lightning, which lit up
the lashing sea; and then the deafening crash,
the cannonades of thunder so explosive
it was as if immortal gods were battling
for supremacy. The black clouds burst,
the long-awaited rain swept down in sheets
pounding, sluicing over the thirsty land.
Everything that lived opened itself
to the reviving torrent.
Krishna learned
that Arjuna was close to Dvaraka
and went to meet him. The two friends rejoiced
to see each other, and Arjuna agreed
to spend time at Dvaraka as Krishna’s guest.
Entering the city with his friend,
Arjuna was welcomed by a throng
of citizens, all eager to set eyes
on the handsome and illustrious Pandava.
One day, the cousins went to a festival
and, strolling among the crowds, Arjuna
caught sight of a fair-skinned and graceful girl
in the company of her maids. Krishna
looked at Arjuna, smiling his mocking smile.
“Dressed as you are, in a simple robe,
you look the image of a pious pilgrim.
But are your thoughts really a pilgrim’s thoughts?”
He always knew what Arjuna was thinking.
“That is my sister, the gentle Subhadra,
favorite daughter of the king, my father.”
Arjuna was desperate to marry her.
How could it be achieved? In Krishna’s view
a svayamvara would be too uncertain
in its outcome. Instead, Krishna proposed
that his friend should carry the girl away.
Messengers were sent to Yudhishthira
who consented to the cousins’ plan.
So it happened. On a favorable day,
Arjuna seized the beautiful Subhadra
and galloped off with her in Krishna’s chariot.
Balarama, Krishna’s older brother,
was outraged. “The man has insulted us,
grossly abused our hospitality
after we received him with every honor!”
“My dear brother,” said Krishna, “think about it.
There’s no sign that Subhadra was unwilling
and, after all, she’s gone off with the noblest
kshatriya in the land. To seize her by force
accords well with our warrior tradition.
There’s great advantage for us in this match.
Who would not be proud of an alliance
with that hero? The pair should be followed
and brought back for a ceremonial wedding.
Diplomacy is all—we would lose face
if it looked as though he had defeated us.”
Once he had calmed himself, Balarama
saw the force of Krishna’s argument.
Next day, the couple was escorted back
and, with the blessing of her family,
Subhadra, lovely Yadava princess,
was married to the Bharata prince, Arjuna.
The people of Dvaraka were delighted
to have their princess joined in matrimony
to such a legendary kshatriya.
The time of exile was almost at an end.
Family feeling, strongest of all ties,
was tugging at the heart of Arjuna,
and soon the wedded couple said goodbye
to Dvaraka and, with their retinue,
made their way northeast to Indraprastha.
No doubt there would be great celebrations
at Arjuna’s return. But how would Draupadi—
Draupadi, adored princess of Panchala,
called the most beautiful woman in the world—
how would the fiery queen of the Pandavas
receive Subhadra? Though she had five husbands
Arjuna was the brother who had won her.
A great deal would depend on the first meeting.
In proper order, Arjuna paid reverence
to Yudhishthira his king, to the brahmins
and to his other brothers. He presented
Subhadra to his mother, who was pleased
that Arjuna had married her young niece.
Then, he went to Draupadi’s apartments.
Haughty, she turned away: “Go to that woman!
Things are changed between us. I’m well aware
that the first knot tied loosens most easily.”
Arjuna tried to soothe and reassure her
but after angry looks and proud reproaches,
she swept off into an inner room.
Arjuna, dismayed, spoke to Subhadra.
“Go to Draupadi alone, dressed simply,
not like a queen. Just be your natural self
and I’m sure her heart will warm to you.”
Subhadra put on simple peasant clothes
and presented herself with her head bowed
at Draupadi’s apartments. “I am Subhadra,
I will be your servant.” Draupadi,
softened by the girl’s sincerity,
embraced her, appreciating her beauty—
as different from the way she looked herself
as is the moon compared to the velvet dark.
She took Subhadra’s hand. “At least,” she said,
“may your husband never have a rival.”
And Subhadra replied, “Let it be so.”
Shortly after Arjuna’s homecoming
a party arrived from sea-set Dvaraka:
Krishna, Balarama and companions,
come to mark the auspicious alliance
between their clan and that of the Pandavas.
They had brought most sumptuous wedding gifts—
priceless silks, sacks of gold and jewels,
a thousand chariots, hung with little bells,
four thousand horses, ten thousand fine cattle,
a thousand tame mules, speedy as the wind,
some with black manes, some with white, a thousand
choice-bred mares, a thousand fine elephants
trained for battle, their howdahs bright with gold.
Yudhishthira acknowledged the largesse
and gave gifts in return. The visitors
stayed on as guests for many days, and Bhima,
the world’s greatest host, arranged such feasts,
such lavish entertainment, such excursions
that the Yadavas, returned to Dvaraka,
probably felt life was rather dull!
But Krishna stayed behind at Indraprastha
and the Pandavas derived great joy
from having their cousin with them for a while.
There followed happy years at Indraprastha.
Many other rulers were defeated
by the Pandavas, and their lands annexed.
The population prospered and increased.
King Yudhishthira rejoiced in action
that served the people and his kinsmen too—
he saw no conflict. And his contented subjects
worshiped him as their kind and splendid king.
Subhadra bore a son by Arjuna,
Abhimanyu. From his infancy,
he was Krishna’s favorite, affectionate,
quick-witted, mettlesome as a young bull,
loved by all, as a bright star is loved.
Krishna oversaw his initiation.
He would be an exceptional warrior.
Draupadi too gave birth to five strong sons
a year apart, one son by each husband.
Like their fathers, these five boys grew up
devoted to each other. They excelled
to differing degrees, in Vedic knowledge,
and in the arts of war taught by Arjuna.
All seemed perfect in the Pandava kingdom.
Only Krishna, who was a frequent guest,
knew of the trials his beloved cousins
would have to undergo before too long.
13.
THE BURNING OF THE KHANDAVA FOREST
One day in high summer, when the air
seemed to scorch the skin, and every breath
was an effort, Arjuna proposed
that there should be a grand expedition
to the countryside. It would be cool
under the trees on the shady riverbank.
Arrangements were made. With family and friends,
together with a retinue of cooks,
maids and other servants, they left the city
in palanquins, in chariots, on horseback;
dozens of carts were piled with the provisions
Bhima thought essential for their needs.
Encamped beside the sparkling Yamuna,
some plunged into the refreshing water;
some played games, others brought out flutes,
drums and vinas, and there was dance and song.
Needless to say how plentiful and varied
the food was, how delectable the drink.
Krishna and Arjuna walked off by themselves
among the trees, talking, reminiscing.
They were enjoying each other’s company,
seated at their ease in a pleasant grove,
when they were approached by a strange brahmin.
He towered a
bove them, tall as a shala tree.
His hair and beard were red, his skin coppery,
and he was radiant as the morning sun,
blazing with glory. The two kshatriyas
stood up to honor him.
“I see,” he said,
“the world’s greatest heroes standing before me.
I beg you—give me enough to eat. I’m starving.”
Arjuna said, “We’ll fetch you food, enough
and more than you can possibly consume.”
“It is not food I want,” said the stranger.
“I am Agni. I am Fire itself.
This Khandava Forest is the feast I crave,
but every time I try to gobble it
with my fiery mouth, Indra sends bank on bank
of voluminous black thunderclouds,
dousing the flames with deluges of rain,
frustrating my voracious appetite.
He does it to protect his friend—the snake,
Takshaka, whose home is in this forest.
But now I have met you, I shall succeed.
I know your mastery of every weapon—
come to my aid! Fend off Indra’s rain clouds;
prevent the million creatures of the forest
from escaping death.”
The god of fire
was in poor health, suffering from a surfeit
of clarified butter, which had ceaselessly
been poured into him, in sacrifices
sponsored by an overzealous king.
He had been told that only by consuming
fat from the creatures of the Khandava
would he be cured.
“It’s true,” said Arjuna,
“that we know how to summon divine weapons,
but we have come here on a pleasure outing—
we have no bows, or quivers, and have only
ordinary chariots and horses.
If I am to help you as you wish
I need a bow commensurate with my strength,
an inexhaustible supply of arrows,
and a chariot that shakes the ground,
as dazzling as the sun. I want fine horses—
divine white horses, faster than the wind.
Krishna, too, needs weapons to suit his skill.
We’ll help you, willingly, but we must have
tools for the task.”
Agni summoned Varuna,
keeper of weapons, one of the world guardians,
lord of waters. Agni paid him homage,
then asked him to provide the two warriors
with the weapons they would need. First Arjuna
received with joy the marvelous bow Gandiva,
the indestructible, the shining arc,
a bow so mighty that the cording of it
caused the air to throb, the mind to shudder