“‘I fell asleep and dreamed—or was it real? I found myself in terrible darkness, and I remember a majestic figure who dragged me away . . .’
“‘Later, I will tell you what happened,’ said Savitri, ‘but night is falling—we should hurry home.’ Soon it was pitch dark and they could hear wild animals rustling menacingly in the undergrowth. But Satyavat knew the forest well, and they safely reached the hermitage.
“They found the whole community in a fever of anxiety at their absence. Search parties had been sent out for them. But King Dyumatsena had regained his sight, to everyone’s great joy. The next day, Savitri recounted the whole story—how the seer, Narada, had foretold Satyavat’s death, and how, through persistence and eloquence, she had won back his life, as well as other boons.
“Soon afterward, the king regained his kingdom. And, in time, Savitri gave birth to a hundred sons, and so did her mother.
“So you see,” said the sage to Yudhishthira,
“Savitri, through her virtue and good sense,
rescued those she loved; and in the same way
Draupadi sustains the Pandavas!”
As the end of the twelfth year approached,
Karna’s father, Surya, the sun god,
appeared to Karna in a dream, to warn him.
“Most truthful of men, the mighty Indra,
anticipating war, and keen to favor
the Pandavas, will try to take the earrings
and the golden armor you were born with.
The whole world knows how generous you are,
how you never refuse to give to brahmins
when they ask. So he will come to you
in brahminical disguise, and beg from you
your earrings and your shining gold cuirass.
Offer him something else—give him anything
except those things, for they are your protection.
Wearing them, you cannot be killed in battle;
without them, you are open, vulnerable.”
“Lord of light, I know you say this to me
for my own good. I am devoted to you
as to no other deity. I love you
more than my wife, my sons, my friends, myself.
But I do not fear death as I fear untruth;
I would rather die than be dishonored.
Giving to brahmins is my avowed practice
and if I die as a result, so be it;
I shall gain fame thereby.”
“Posthumous fame,”
said Surya, “is a rather poor reward
if you are reduced to a pile of ashes
and scattered to the winds. A dead man’s fame
is as useless as adorning him with jewels.
There is a reason, known only to the gods,
why you should keep the armor you were born with.”
“I have my arms, my strength, my hard-won skill,”
said Karna. “I can defeat Arjuna
with those alone.”
“Then at least,” said Surya,
“if your mind is so set on your vow,
ask the wielder of the thunderbolt
for a celestial weapon in exchange.”
The dream ended, and Karna remembered it.
Not long afterward, as he was praying
to the lord Surya, standing in the river
with hands joined in devotion, a tall brahmin
approached him begging alms. “What shall I give you?”
asked Karna. “Your earrings and your golden armor,”
replied the holy man. “Respected brahmin,
please ask for something else,” said Karna, “wealth,
women, cattle, land . . . I need my armor
to protect me from my enemies.”
But the brahmin, as Karna knew he would,
refused all other gifts. “O chief of gods,”
said Karna, laughing, “I know who you are.
Is it not the business of the gods
to give gifts to mortals? That being so,
if I am to mutilate my body
you should give me something in exchange.”
“Very well,” said Indra, “choose a gift—
Surya must have told you I was coming.
Take anything except my thunderbolt.”
Karna chose Indra’s javelin, which always
found its mark and flew back to his hand.
Indra said, “You shall have it but, for you,
it will only hit a single target
and then return to me.”
“A single target
is enough,” said Karna: “that mighty hero
I fear above all others.”
“Be aware,”
said Indra, “that the hero you have in mind
is protected by Narayana himself.”
“No matter,” Karna said, “give me the spear.
But grant that I will not appear disfigured
when I have cut the armor from my body.”
“Karna, because you are a man of truth
your body will be unscarred. You will retain
the radiance you inherit from your father.”
Then, having accepted the tall spear,
Karna took a sharp knife, and he cut
and cut until the golden armor peeled
slowly away, and he presented it,
wet with blood, to Indra. As he did so
he did not show the smallest sign of pain.
The heavens echoed with admiring shouts
and flowers rained down on the hero’s head.
When the news of Karna’s renunciation
reached the Kauravas, they were dismayed.
But the Pandavas rejoiced when they heard.
Now the Pandavas began to talk
about the final period of their exile:
how and where could they live unrecognized?
One day, an old brahmin approached them, shouting—
a stag had run off with his kindling sticks,
he could not do his daily rites without them.
The Pandavas set off in swift pursuit,
they spread out separately, but none of them
hit the animal. Then they lost sight of it.
Nakula, parched with thirst, came to a lake
and, crouching to drink, he heard a booming voice:
“You may not drink until you give the answers
to the questions I wish to put to you.”
Nakula looked around and, seeing no one,
and desperate with thirst, drank anyway.
Instantly, he fell dead on the bank.
One by one, his other brothers came,
heard the voice, drank, and also fell lifeless.
Last came Yudhishthira, horrified to find
his brothers dead and, though he was as thirsty
as they had been, when he heard the voice
he reflected, drew back, and, speaking humbly,
called, “Who are you, mysterious being?
Ask your questions, but please let me see you.”
A monstrous figure immediately appeared,
towering over the surrounding landscape.
“I am a yaksha, and this lake is mine;
your brothers foolishly disobeyed me.”
Then the yaksha fired riddles at him
and, just as quickly, Yudhishthira replied:
“What is it that makes the sun rise?”
“Brahman.”
“Who are the sun’s companions?”
“The gods.”
“How does a person achieve greatness?”
“Greatness is achieved through austerity.”
“What is one’s most constant friend?”
“Insight.”
“By what means does one acquire insight?”
“Through devotedly serving one’s elders.”
“What is swifter than the wind?”
“The mind.”
“What is the high
est gift of heaven?”
“The truth.”
“What is the most valuable possession?”
“Knowledge.”
“What is the highest dharma?”
“Non-cruelty.”
“What can be renounced without regret?”
“Anger.”
“What disease is a bar to happiness?”
“Greed.”
“What is ignorance?”
“Not knowing one’s dharma.”
“How does one find bliss in the next world?”
“By acting virtuously in this one.”
“What sleeps with its eyes open?”
“A fish.”
“What does not move when it is born?”
“An egg.”
“What has no heart?”
“A rock has no heart.”
“What grows as it rushes on its way?”
“A river grows as it rushes on its way.”
“What is the greatest wonder in the world?”
“That, every single day, people die,
yet the living think they are immortal.”
The huge being asked many more questions
and smiled with pleasure when Yudhishthira
gave the answers. At last, it was satisfied.
“You have answered well. Now you may choose
one of your brothers to be restored to life.”
“I choose Nakula,” said Yudhishthira.
The yaksha was surprised, “But surely Bhima
is dearest to you. And you need Arjuna
to fight for you in the war that is to come.”
“Yes,” said Yudhishthira, “but my father
had two wives—and it is only right
that one of Madri’s sons should also live.”
There was a searing flash over the lake.
The yaksha disappeared and became Dharma,
god of righteousness, Yudhishthira’s father.
He was delighted with his son’s replies,
and brought all four brothers back to life.
“I was the stag that took the brahmin’s sticks—
here they are. Now ask a favour of me.”
“My lord, grant that in our thirteenth year
of exile we will not be recognized.”
“It shall happen as you wish,” said Dharma.
“And, Father, if I may ask one thing more:
may my mind always lead me toward the truth.”
“You ask for what you already have, my son.”
And the god Dharma blessed the Pandavas.
IV
THE BOOK OF VIRATA
25.
VIRATA’S COURT
Twelve years were over. Now the Pandavas
must think how best to live unrecognized
during their final year—though, thanks to Dharma,
their success was certain. Where should they go?
After the interminable seclusion
of the forest, they welcomed the prospect
of life in a city—somewhere not too close,
and not too famous, a pleasant backwater.
Arjuna, well-traveled, named a number
of delightful kingdoms with hospitable
rulers who reigned from well-appointed cities,
and of these Yudhishthira chose Matsya,
a wealthy kingdom ruled by King Virata.
He discussed the prospect with his brothers.
“We will take employment with the king.
Now, sons of Kunti, say what kind of work
you are best fitted for. What disguises,
what false identities can you sustain
plausibly until our exile ends?
“I myself will be a brahmin, ‘Kanka.’
I have become quite learned in the Vedas;
and I can offer the king my mastery
at dice! Remember, the sage Brihadashva
taught me how to win without cheating.
I shall enjoy rolling my fine dice
made of beryl, ivory, gold, ebony . . .
And if the king asks where I learned my skill
I’ll say I was once Yudhishthira’s close friend.
“But, Wolf-belly, you’ll find disguise a problem.
How many men are there as tall and strong
as you, or with so fiery a temper?”
“It’s true,” laughed Bhima, “that disguising me
is rather like trying to hide Mount Meru!
But I’ll be ‘Ballava,’ a master cook
experienced in every fine cuisine.
I’ll install myself in the royal kitchen
and curry favor with my toothsome curries!
I can give wrestling courses on the side.
I’m sure the king will love me when he samples
what I can do. And if he should ask questions
about my previous experience,
I’ll tell him that my expertise was honed
in the kitchens of King Yudhishthira
at Indraprastha—that should satisfy him!”
“And you, Arjuna?” asked Yudhishthira.
“The most distinguished warrior in the world,
eagle among men, brilliant as a god,
won’t find it easy to go unremarked.”
“These bowstring scars on my arms,” said Arjuna,
“may be a problem, but I’ll cover them
with bangles, braid my hair, wear women’s dress.
I’ll teach the ladies in the king’s seraglio
dancing, singing and all the female arts
I learned from the gandharvas in Indra’s realm.
I can play instruments, entertain the court
with beguiling tales as well as any bard.
I’ll pose as a eunuch, a transvestite,
woman with a flute, ‘Brihannada’!”
Nakula proposed to seek employment
with the horses in the royal stables.
He excelled at all equestrian skills,
and was a master tamer of wild horses,
no matter how intransigent or vicious.
He loved them; and he had acquired the art
He would go by the name of “Granthika.”
The region of the Matsyas was well known
for its plump and fertile cattle. Sahadeva
had never been happier than in the days
when he had supervised the royal herds
of Indraprastha. Now he would persuade
King Virata that the cattle stations
would flourish under his good management.
He would call himself “Tantipala.”
What of the virtuous Draupadi? Her husbands
hated the thought of their beloved wife
condemned to drudgery. But she was scornful
of their scruples. “Do you really think
I’m too weak for the life of a maidservant
after what I have gone through in the forest?
After what happened in the gambling hall?
I shall play the part of a chambermaid,
‘Sairandhri,’ a woman free to find her own
employment. But I shall say I have a husband—
five, in fact, gandharvas, strong celestials—
who will fight for my honor if required.
I shall enter the service of Queen Sudeshna,
arrange her hair, mix her creams and lotions,
help to dress her, advise her if required.
If I am questioned, I shall say that, once,
I was a handmaid to Queen Draupadi.”
They left their forest camp a few days early
so as to give Duryodhana’s spies the slip.
They said their heartfelt farewells to the brahmins
who had been with them for their whole exile,
consoling them and saying prayers for them.
Dhaumya gave them blessings for their j
ourney
and words of wise advice.
“You must remember
you have never known a life of servitude
and there are gestures, postures, ways of moving
that will come naturally to you, but which
may cause offense when noticed in a servant.
Be vigilant. Take care not to arouse
envy or resentment. Neither too merry
nor too glum, too eager, too reluctant—
rather, be of even temperament,
wearing a habitual gentle smile.
That is the best way to survive at court.
“Speak to the king only when spoken to.
If he should ask you, ‘What is your opinion?’
search your mind for what will give him pleasure
and bring him profit—profit first and foremost.
Pay him compliments judiciously
but never make any reference to his wealth.
Be discreet, never repeat to others
what the king may say to you in confidence.
That is the best way to survive at court.
“A wise courtier knows that the king’s favor
is uncertain, and always strives to earn it.
Do not spend time with those whom the king dislikes,
nor be too friendly with the courtiers’ wives,
arousing jealousy. If the king gives you
gifts—whether vehicles, clothes or jewels—
be grateful, and make sure he sees you use them.
“The successful courtier emulates the king
but never rivals him. Faced with some errand
he leaps to volunteer; the king’s interests
must come before those of his own family.
That is the best way to survive at court.”
So saying, Dhaumya blessed them yet again.
Yudhishthira expressed his gratitude
and the Pandavas set out on the long walk
to their new place of refuge. They followed
the winding course of the Kalindi River,
through Dasharna, then south of Panchala,
avoiding any towns or villages
and, after crossing miles of wilderness,
reached the outskirts of their destination,
the handsome capital of Virata’s realm.
Yudhishthira gave the brothers secret names,
for an emergency, auspicious names
invoking victory—Jaya, Jayatsena,
Jayanta, Vijaya and Jayadbala.
Before the Pandavas entered the city
they needed to discard their warriors’ weapons.
On a hill outside the city walls,