quietly to Yudhishthira’s concerns.
“My brothers, friends, all my best advisers
tell me I should perform the Rajasuya,
but I’m still hesitant; I doubt my motives—
and theirs. Why would I make this bold attempt?
To release my father? To give Arjuna
and Bhima a chance to fully test themselves
in the clash of battle? Or would it be
just for the sake of personal ambition?
Krishna, you are my wisest counsellor;
your view will be untainted by self-interest.
Help me to clear my mind of turbulence
so I can act.”
Krishna embraced his cousin.
“Yudhishthira, to become supreme sovereign
of Bharatavarsha is the highest calling
for any kshatriya. One who attempts it
must have powerful allies to depend on,
and must have many qualities of heart
and mind, as well as military strength.
You have those qualities and, like your brothers,
I would be overjoyed to see you, one day,
undertake the Rajasuya rite.
“But there are obstacles. Another king
aspires to be the universal sovereign.
He is my old enemy, Jarasandha
of Magadha. He will never bow to you—
he’s proud, he is ambitious; above all,
he knows I am your friend. Furthermore
he has many mighty allies. While he lives
your path to the imperial throne is blocked.
“He has conquered strong and prosperous kingdoms
and captured many royal warriors.
My informants tell me he has imprisoned
eighty-six kshatriya princes in his dungeons.
When he has one hundred, he intends
to bring them out, bind them and slaughter them
offering them as sacrifice to Shiva.
If you free them, you will have their loyalty.
But to do that, you must kill Jarasandha,
otherwise, he will mobilize his allies,
including Duryodhana, to attack you.
Without him, they won’t dare, however bitter
their hatred for the Pandavas.”
Yudhishthira
was still enmeshed in doubt. But Arjuna cried,
“We are kshatriyas! It is our dharma
to win glory on the field of battle,
and it is equally kshatriya dharma
to offer our protection to the oppressed.
I have the peerless bow Gandiva, the quivers
that never empty, the wind-swift chariot.
And right is on our side—surely Shiva
does not sanction human sacrifice.
Besides, in Krishna’s view, Yudhishthira
should perform the Rajasuya. I propose
that we set out for Magadha at once!”
Then Bhima said, “The three of us should go—
Arjuna, whose skill is without equal,
Krishna, whose judgment is that of God himself,
and I, whose strength is second to no man’s.”
“Ah!” cried Yudhishthira, “you two are my eyes
and Krishna my mind—what if I should lose you?”
“Yudhishthira,” said Krishna with a smile,
“time flows on, day by day, and waits for no one.
We do not know when we will meet our death.
To hesitate, to turn away from dharma,
never prolongs life. But it costs a man
his honor—and that loss is worse than death.
Do not divide your mind against itself
through doubt and paralyzing cogitation.
The great man acts, as time demands of him.”
It was agreed that Bhima, Arjuna
and Krishna would go at once to Magadha
and challenge Jarasandha to single combat.
“The man is full of pride in his own strength,”
said Krishna, “so he will choose to pit himself
against Bhima—who is easily his match.”
However, Krishna knew how difficult
it would be to kill him. Jarasandha
had been born in two halves, from two mothers.
The female demon Jara had made him whole,
hence his name, and Shiva had blessed him,
given him superhuman strength, and foretold
that he would only die when an opponent
tore him apart again.
The Pandavas
and Krishna traveled light, disguised as brahmins,
and arrived at Jarasandha’s city.
It was large and beautifully laid out
with wide streets, lovely parks and watercourses.
All around it stretched lush pastureland
well stocked with plump and healthy herds of cattle.
They made their way into the king’s palace,
entering unannounced, by a back-door route
for, in view of their murderous intentions,
it would not be right to receive the welcome
due to brahmins. Then they sought an audience
with Jarasandha. The king was astonished
when he realized who these “brahmins” were.
“Understand,” said Krishna, “we are here
to rescue all those blameless kshatriyas
whom you have wickedly incarcerated
in your dungeons. Either you let them go
or we will force you.”
“What are you thinking of,”
said Jarasandha, “talking such brainless nonsense?
I have never offended you. I have done
nothing wrong—those kings I have imprisoned
were all captured fairly by me, in battle.
Therefore, their lives are now at my disposal.
That is kshatriya dharma—how could I now
quietly let them go when I have vowed
to sacrifice them, in honor of the god?”
“Your view of kshatriya dharma is perverted,”
replied Krishna. “How can you propose
to slaughter brave men as though they were beasts?
It is obscene. We therefore challenge you.
Which of us three do you choose to fight?
Which of us will send you to Yama’s realm?”
“Deluded Yadava!” growled Jarasandha.
“I’ll take on Bhima—let him fight with me.”
Then each warrior put on his battle garments
and, shouting insults, the two massive men
set to, seizing each other with bare hands.
Sweat poured off them as they roared and grunted,
each pounding the other with rock-like fists.
Their cries struck dread into all who heard them.
They grappled, clutched, pulled out each other’s hair,
strangled, twisted, kicked. But they were matched
exactly, so the fight went on for day
after day, night after night, until
on the fourteenth day, Jarasandha
was exhausted. The chivalrous way forward
would have been to allow him time to rest
and then resume the fight. But Krishna said
meaningfully to Bhima, “Son of the Wind,
a tired opponent should not be attacked
or he may even die.” Bhima resolved
to muster every effort there and then
to finish Jarasandha. He grabbed his ankles
and whirled him in the air a hundred times.
Then he placed the helpless king across his knee
and broke him in two. Jarasandha was dead.
His son succeeded him, and pledged loyalty
to King Yudhishthira. The royal captives
were released from their prison underground;
all swore allegiance to the Dharma K
ing.
Krishna commandeered the dead king’s chariot
fast as the wind, drawn by celestial horses—
the very one in which Indra and Vishnu
had once slaughtered ninety-nine danavas.
It shone with dazzling gold, and upon it
was mounted a tall flagpole. With a thought,
Krishna summoned Garuda, terrifying
celestial eagle, scourge of snakes, to be
the living banner for his chariot.
Henceforth, hearing the bird’s unearthly cries,
Krishna’s enemies would be struck witless,
the blood freezing instantly in their veins.
With Jarasandha dead, Yudhishthira
had to secure tribute and allegiance
from the remaining kings of Bharatavarsha.
Then he could perform the Rajasuya,
becoming emperor, the lord of lords,
freeing his father from the realm of Death.
15.
KING OF KINGS
Northward, eastward, to the south and west
rode Yudhishthira’s four younger brothers
with their armies. Their mission: to secure
the acknowledgment of every ruler
in Bharatavarsha that Yudhishthira
was their sovereign lord; and to obtain
wealth from them, in kind, gold or jewels,
by way of loyal tribute. Here and there
they met with opposition. Some with grudges,
and some too proud to bear subordination,
took up arms against the Pandavas.
Arjuna rode north, with a huge army.
The ground shook with the thunder of the drums,
the rumbling chariot wheels, the marching tread
of well-trained infantry. At his approach
many kings gave in without a fight,
and came to meet Arjuna, bringing tribute
and swearing fealty to Yudhishthira.
Others resisted, but were quickly smashed,
often with devastating loss of life.
In this manner, Arjuna pressed on,
then, after subduing the snowy regions
of the Himalaya, slowly traveled back
to Indraprastha.
Bhima journeyed east,
conquering as he went. The king of Chedi,
Shishupala, hearing of his approach,
rode out to meet him and made him most welcome.
He was a cousin both of the Pandavas
and of Krishna. He agreed to honor
Yudhishthira as supreme ruler. Bhima
stayed a month with him as his honored guest.
Then he went on to subjugate the Kashis,
the Vatsas, and many other kingdoms
before arriving back in Indraprastha
laden with tribute.
Sahadeva went south.
The dark-skinned peoples of the peninsula
resisted domination by the north;
so did the tribal peoples of the forests
around the coast. Sahadeva conquered
all those kingdoms, systematically.
Some kings surrendered, knowing their own weakness.
They paid their dues, and promised to attend
the coming consecration at Indraprastha.
Sahadeva came at last to the shore
where two oceans meet, and stared across
to where he knew the isle of Lanka lay
beyond the hazy sweep of the horizon.
He sent a message to King Vibhishana
requiring tribute, and inviting him
to travel to the coming Rajasuya.
Nakula too returned to Indraprastha
with trains of elephants and lumbering oxen
and ten thousand camels heaped with treasure.
He had subdued kingdoms to the west,
and received the formal acknowledgment
of Krishna, on behalf of the Yadavas.
No obstacle remained. Yudhishthira
could now be consecrated king of kings,
all-powerful emperor, lord of the earth.
He asked Dhaumya to appoint the day
most auspicious for the ceremony
and issued invitations to the kings
who owed him fealty. With great forethought,
he made a point of asking Nakula,
tactful and modest as his brother was,
to go to Hastinapura, conveying
his brother’s deep respect and to request
each member of his uncle’s house by name
to attend the royal consecration—
“Not as ordinary guests,” said Nakula,
“but as beloved members of the family
sharing in the sacrifice. Yudhishthira
wanted me to say to you that his wealth
is the wealth of all the Bharatas.”
Meanwhile,
hectic preparations were in train.
A beautiful enclosure was erected
with a high altar at one end of it.
The sacred fire was burning night and day.
Priests especially expert in the Vedas
were brought in by Vyasa, and appointed
to carry out the several distinct stages
of the ceremony. Ritual implements
were assembled. A wooden jar stood ready
in which waters from many holy rivers
and lakes were blended. The jar had been exposed
to the direct rays of both sun and moon;
the precious liquid would be called upon
at the climax of the great event.
Every arrangement for the well-being
and comfort of the guests was put in place;
not the slightest detail was forgotten.
Splendid pavilions, splendidly equipped,
were built, with sumptuous furnishings, cool gardens.
Each room was made sweet with the scent of flowers.
The scale of the provision was stupendous—
immense amounts of food of every kind;
gifts and meals for the thousands of brahmins
who would assist at the ceremony
over many days; costly new garments
for every phase of the consecration;
feasts for the citizens of Indraprastha;
gifts for the kings; and much, much more besides.
The day approached. Guests started to arrive
bringing tribute on an enormous scale
to convey their respect for Yudhishthira,
the Dharma King, he who governed justly,
Ajatashatru, he without enemies,
he whose kingdom prospered, whose people loved him.
Each guest thought of his own gift as crucial
to the success of the great sacrifice.
Duryodhana, his brothers and the elders
arrived, and were warmly welcomed by the king.
What were Duryodhana’s thoughts as he surveyed
the city he had heard so widely praised:
the splendid palaces, broad avenues
and lovely parkland—even more impressive
than he had imagined? Whatever they were,
he wore a smile, all affability,
as if delighted by everything he saw.
Yudhishthira invited all his kinsmen
to take posts of responsibility
for different aspects of the huge occasion.
Bhishma and Drona were his chief advisers.
Vidura was paymaster. Duryodhana
was given charge of the receipt of gifts,
and had to witness the cascades of wealth,
the gold and jewels like a glittering stream
pouring and tumbling into the royal coffers.
The ceremony took its stately course.
Narada, observing with contentment
the seal set on Yudhishthir
a’s achievement,
remembered hearing, in the realm of Brahma,
the story of the partial incarnation:
of how the gods would take on human form
to counteract the overweening power
of the kshatriyas. He looked at Krishna,
knowing him to be the embodiment
of great Narayana, the self-created.
He glanced at the Pandavas, each brother
the offspring of a god. He was aware
of what had been ordained for all of them.
It was the last day of the sacrifice.
Yudhishthira would become emperor
at the moment when the sacred water
was poured over his head. But before that,
gifts should be given to the assembled kings.
It was his task to choose and call upon
the most illustrious and worthy guest
to be named formally as guest of honor.
His would be the first guest-offering.
At Bhishma’s instigation, he chose Krishna,
friend, blood relative, wise counsellor.
“This man,” said Bhishma, “is to other men
what the sun is to other heavenly bodies,
outshining them by far in energy,
wisdom and prowess as a kshatriya.”
Then Sahadeva solemnly presented
Krishna with the finest guest-offering.
At once, the massive King Shishupala,
the Bull of Chedi, with a face like thunder,
leapt to his feet bellowing in protest,
glaring in fury at Yudhishthira.
“What an outrage! Look around this hall,
just cast your eyes on these illustrious monarchs
sitting here, all slighted by your choice.
Here are the greatest warriors in the land,
the most distinguished elders, wisest gurus.
Here are Drona, Kripa, Vyasa, Vidura—
here is Krishna’s father, Vasudeva,
yet you choose to bypass him, to honor
his unworthy son! By any standard
dozens of men sitting beneath your roof
deserve the honor more. Krishna here
is not even a king. By choosing him
you have insulted every one of us,
forfeiting the esteem that brought us here.
Perhaps you see him as your priest, or teacher.
Even so—how can you prefer this man
when Drona and Dvaipayana are present?
“What has he done that’s so remarkable?
Killed a vulture when he was a child!
Lifted a mountain no bigger than an anthill!
How does this sinful killer of cows and women
deserve the choicest gift? It’s favoritism!
In praising him, you are devaluing dharma.
“And you, Krishna—you should be ashamed
to take the token offered. You’re like a dog