Returned in triumph to his happy city
after his victory over the Trigartas,
Virata was rejoicing with his court
when he heard that Uttara had ridden out
to fight the Kauravas—with just the eunuch
as charioteer. The king was horrified.
Full of dread, he ordered a pursuit,
but then messengers arrived, announcing
that Uttara was safe, the cattle captured,
the enemy reduced to a shame-faced rout.
Virata was relieved and overjoyed,
full of paternal pride in Uttara.
“Let the whole city be decked out with bunting.
Let my ministers and other notables,
together with drummers, singers, dancing girls,
go out to meet my valiant Uttara!
And let his sister, with her handmaidens,
go to welcome home the dancing master.”
While he waited, the king played Yudhishthira
at dice. “Just imagine,” said Virata,
“my son has defeated the mighty Kauravas!”
“How could he lose, driven by Brihannada?”
replied the gaming master. Furious,
the king shouted, “How dare you praise the eunuch
in the same breath as my son!”
“I merely know
that only Brihannada could have taken on
the powerful Kauravas, and beaten them.”
Virata, enraged, hurled the heavy dice
which struck Yudhishthira so that his nose
began to bleed. He caught the blood in his hand
and Draupadi, reading his intentions,
brought a bowl, to catch the falling drops
before they reached the ground.
Soon, Uttara
made his triumphal entry to the city.
Seeing the gaming master dripping blood,
and knowing who he really was, he asked
what had happened. “I struck him,” said his father.
“When I was praising you, he praised the eunuch.”
Uttara was aghast. “You have done wrong!
Please ask his forgiveness, lest the brahmin
exact a terrible revenge.” Virata
did so. “I’m not angry,” said Yudhishthira.
“Cruelty is easy for the powerful.
But if my blood had fallen on the ground
you and your kingdom would have been destroyed.”
“Now, my brave son,” said the king, “I wish to hear
everything about your great achievement.
How was your fight with Duryodhana?
How did you conquer Drona? And great Bhishma?
Tell me every single blow, in detail.”
Arjuna and the prince had planned beforehand
how the victory would be explained.
“Father,” said Uttara, “it was not I
who won back our fine cattle from those thieves.
It was not I who beat the Kauravas.
All this was done by the son of a god.
I was fleeing in terror when that god’s son
stopped me, and took my place on the chariot
while I drove him. He did everything.
He sowed panic among the Kauravas.
It was that hero who won victory
and crushed our enemies. It was not I.”
“Where is that glorious warrior,” asked Virata,
“that god’s son who has saved for me my own son
and my cattle?”
“He has disappeared,
but he will be here in a day or two.”
With the king’s permission, Brihannada
presented his daughter, Princess Uttaraa,
with the clothes captured on the battlefield—
beautiful and valuable fabrics.
The princess and her friends laughed in delight.
Three days later, to the king’s amazement,
the Pandavas appeared in splendid robes
and revealed their true identities.
Draupadi was with them, far outshining
all the beautiful women of the court.
Virata could not have been more delighted
and was most contrite for any insults
they had received while living at his court.
He offered Arjuna his daughter’s hand
in marriage. Arjuna declined with tact.
“All this year, I’ve lived in close proximity
to the princess. She has placed her trust in me
as her teacher, and I have looked on her
as a daughter. But, to protect her honor,
may she instead be married to my son,
strong-armed Abhimanyu, beloved nephew
The Pandavas stayed in Virata’s city,
Upaplavya, and elaborate plans
for a joyful wedding were set in train.
Abhimanyu was brought from Dvaraka
together with his mother, Subhadra.
Drupada and valiant Dhrishtadyumna,
Draupadi’s kin, journeyed from Panchala
with Draupadi’s now tall and stalwart sons.
Krishna came, of course, with Balarama
and a great retinue of Yadavas.
Many allies came from far and near
to celebrate the Pandavas’ survival,
and to attend the splendid royal wedding.
It can be imagined what rejoicing,
what tears, what laughter, what exchange of news
were witnessed at the long-delayed reunion
of all these friends and kinsfolk of the Pandavas.
For many days, there was no thought of anything
but happiness, and heartfelt thanks were offered
to the gods, for their longed-for deliverance.
V
THE BOOK OF PERSEVERENCE
27.
SUING FOR PEACE, PREPARING FOR WAR
After the joyful wedding, the Pandavas
called a council in Virata’s hall.
Their sons were there, impressive as their fathers,
as were the kings, Virata and Drupada,
Krishna and his brother Balarama,
and many other heroes. The hall glittered
with their dazzling jewels and fine silk robes.
No longer was Yudhishthira the quiet,
patient ascetic of the forest days,
or even the gaming brahmin of the court.
Now, his natural authority
was obvious to all as he sat erect,
attentive to what Krishna had to say:
“You all know the history. You remember
how Shakuni, a skilled and artful player,
took advantage of Yudhishthira
and stripped him of his kingdom. You know the terms—
how the Pandavas had to endure
thirteen years of exile, now completed.
Yudhishthira would not claim an inch of land,
if he thought that claim at all unlawful.
It’s clear for all to see—he is entitled,
as Pandu’s heir, and as first-born Bharata,
to the whole kingdom of the Bharatas.
Nevertheless, he asks for only half—
his beautiful domain of Indraprastha.
Nor does he seek revenge for all the times
the Kauravas conspired to do him harm.
“We do not yet know what Duryodhana
intends. So I propose an ambassador
be sent from here, someone wise and calm,
to persuade the Kaurava of the merit
of Yudhishthira’s claim. He must approach this
in the most tactful way, not hectoring
but calmly, clearly laying out the case.”
Balarama said, “That is important.
After all, Yudhishthira, in gambling
all he possessed, took on Shakuni
whose skill at dice he knew was unsurpassed,
and he did so of his own free will.
He lost his wits, and that was his undoing.
Shakuni was not to blame for that.”
Krishna’s kinsman Satyaki burst out,
“How is Yudhishthira responsible
when he was entrapped? And now Duryodhana
is pretending that the Pandavas were found
before their agreed exile had expired.
Bhishma has told him it is not the case,
but that’s his bluff, his pretext for retaining
what rightfully belongs to Yudhishthira.
He should be taught a lesson! Let sharp arrows
and spears present the arguments for us
rather than soft diplomacy.”
“Quite right.
Gentleness and tact won’t work with that one!”
said Drupada. “It’s like trying to reason
with a balky mule who understands nothing
except force. We should be drumming up
as many powerful allies as we can
before they’re recruited by the Kauravas.
But there’s no harm in doing things decently—
I propose that we send my household priest,
a learned, stately man, to Hastinapura
as ambassador of King Yudhishthira.”
Krishna agreed. He emphasized that he
and Balarama were loyal to both sides,
related to both as they were, by kinship.
Then the Yadavas set off for their home.
Yudhishthira sent out well-chosen envoys
to the lords of many neighboring kingdoms,
canvassing their support. And Duryodhana
did the same. In the weeks that followed
the whole land was astir with the mustering
of men—the practiced tread of professionals,
the bustle of recruiting agents, fanning
out into the countryside, to snatch
and cajole men from their fields and herds.
Animals of war were being assembled—
beasts of burden, horses, fighting elephants
trained to charge, trample, wheel in formation.
As they gathered, the armies—fighting forces
hundreds of thousands strong—marched to the base camps
of the protagonists, where they stayed, waiting.
The earth held its breath, anticipating
the feast of blood to come.
Duryodhana,
hearing that Krishna had gone to Dvaraka,
hurried there, to ask for his allegiance
in the coming war. With the same idea,
Arjuna also went there. They arrived
at a time of day when Krishna was asleep.
They waited quietly, Duryodhana
at his head, and Arjuna at his feet.
When Krishna woke up, each began to speak.
“I was here first,” argued Duryodhana.
“But Arjuna was the first one I saw,”
said Krishna. “You are both close to me
and I will give both of you my support
if it should come to war. I have an army
of a million men. And I have myself.
I shall be present on the battlefield
but I will not fight. You can choose.
Arjuna, choose first, as you are the younger.”
Without hesitation, Arjuna
chose Krishna, by himself, non-combatant.
“I choose to have you as my charioteer.”
Duryodhana was exultant. He visited
Balarama. “Do not ask me to fight,”
said Krishna’s brother, “I will not take sides
in a war between noble Bharatas.
Go, and behave like true kshatriyas.”
Duryodhana visited Krishna’s kinsman
Kritavarman, and gained his support.
Then the Kaurava traveled home, rejoicing.
With Krishna and Balarama out of action,
and with Krishna’s army on his side—
how could he lose!
“What did you have in mind
when you chose me, rather than my army?”
Krishna asked Arjuna when they were alone.
“I know you could win this war single-handed,”
said Arjuna, “and so could I. With you
steering my chariot, we shall gain great glory
together. Best of men, may we prevail!”
Shalya, uncle to the younger Pandavas
(he was their mother’s brother, King of Madra),
had been expected to weigh in on the side
of his relatives. And that was his intention.
But, traveling toward Upaplavya,
and finding splendid rest-houses on the way
which he thought Yudhishthira had built for him,
he declared that he would give a boon
to his host—but this turned out to be
Duryodhana, who asked for his allegiance.
So Shalya arrived at Upaplavya
seriously embarrassed and contrite.
“It can’t be helped,” said Yudhishthira calmly.
“Of course you must keep your word. But, listen,
when Arjuna and Karna face each other,
you’ll probably serve as Karna’s charioteer,
your skill being famous. As you join the fray
and are in conversation, talk to him
in such a way that he becomes discouraged;
try to undermine his fiery zeal.
I know this is not proper, but please do it
to protect the Left-handed Archer.”
Shalya agreed. “You deserve every help
after the sufferings you have endured—
though, as we know, even the gods suffer.”
Other kings were arriving with their armies,
gigantic forces which, vast as they were,
merged with the Pandava battalions
as a stream is swallowed by a mighty ocean—
Satyaki the Vrishni, Dhrishtaketu
king of Chedi, the powerful Jayatsena
of Magadha, and more. Altogether,
there were seven armies. With their weapons
primed and polished, glittering in the sun,
they resembled a threatening thundercloud
lit by lightning flashes.
At Hastinapura,
the city could not house the mass of men
—even the allied kings and their chief warriors—
who had arrived to join the Kaurava ranks.
There were eleven armies altogether.
The entire terrain between the two rivers
and beyond was covered with a sprawling
overspill of tents, a massive camp
that seethed with furious activity,
though not yet with a purpose or direction.
Their field commanders were fully aware
that they must keep the men well occupied
or else fighting, drunkenness, debauchery
and homesickness would start to dissipate
their fighting ardor.
For there was still no word
that war would really happen—the two sides
were still deliberating. Only the massed
armies, and the joyful gallimaufry
of war, were signs of serious intent.
It was this that Drupada’s priest saw
from miles away, as he approached the city.
The dignified, distinguished priest was welcomed
by Bhishma, and by his fellow brahmins
and, with due ceremony, he was ushered
into the presence of King Dhritarashtra
sitting in council with his ministers.
After the appropriate formalities,
he soon came to the point. He itemized
&n
bsp; the sufferings and wrongs the Pandavas
had undergone, caused by the Kauravas:
attempts on their lives, loss of their fine kingdom,
grave insults inflicted upon Draupadi,
the years of hardship in the wilderness.
“However,” he said, “the noble Pandavas
have set grievance aside. Yudhishthira
does not want war. He wishes above all things
to be reconciled with the Kauravas.
He does not lay claim to Hastinapura
even though his entitlement is clear.
If Indraprastha is restored to him,
he will rule over his half of the kingdom
in perfect happiness, wanting no more
than close, harmonious relationships
with you and your sons. If this is agreed
he will persuade the kings who are his allies
to demobilize their fighting forces
and send their well-armed men back to their homes.
Great king, I hope you will see the sense in this.
After all, Krishna is with the Pandavas.
Who, knowing that, would want to fight with them?”
“Sir,” said Bhishma. “What you say is welcome.
The way you put it is a bit too blunt,
but that can be forgiven in a brahmin.
You speak the truth and, furthermore, Arjuna
could subdue the three worlds single-handed.”
“Why keep on saying that?” said angry Karna.
“The fact is, there was a covenant
and the sly sons of Pandu have broken it.”
“No,” said Bhishma, “by my calculations,
the Pandavas had served their thirteen years
before they revealed themselves. I think the law
supports Yudhishthira’s claim.”
The arguments
went to and fro. Dhritarashtra said nothing,
gnawing his lips; then he said, “After due thought,
weighing the pros and cons, I have decided . . .”
the council held its breath, “. . . I have decided
to send my aide Sanjaya as my envoy.
You, sir,” he told the priest, “can now return
to Upaplavya. Tell them to expect him.”
“What’s to be done, Sanjaya?” said the king
when they were alone (for every ruler
needs a disinterested confidant
whose discretion can be relied upon).
“I can find no fault with the Pandavas.
Exemplary kshatriyas, they act
always in line with dharma and good sense.
It is only my foolish son and Karna
who, stubborn and self-interested as always,
insist that they themselves are in the right.
Duryodhana has always been resentful