skilled and single-minded. We have vast armies,
kept in a state of battle-readiness.
“‘We do not want war. But that does not mean
we will opt for peace on despicable terms.
Duryodhana should ponder hard and well
before he decides to break the covenant
made thirteen years ago in the gaming hall.
We have spent those years on a bed of sorrow.
If he defaults, Duryodhana will spend
an eternity of nights in Yama’s realm,
pinned to a far more painful bed than ours.
“‘When he sees our millions of men deployed,
their tread shaking the earth, our massed elephants
of war, their tusks filed to points, spear-sharp,
Duryodhana will regret this war.
“‘When he hears Bhima, the strongest man on earth,
each sinew burning with long-pent-up rage,
roaring with the lust to avenge Draupadi,
Duryodhana will regret this war.
“‘When Bhima, deadly club swinging, advances
on the previously complacent enemy
like a lion savaging a herd of cows,
Duryodhana will regret this war.
“‘When he sees his huge forces scattered
and consumed like straw by a summer fire,
or a stand of saplings ravaged by lightning,
Duryodhana will regret this war.
“‘When he catches sight of all our valiant sons
standing, bows raised, in their chariots
like rearing serpents ready to spit poison,
Duryodhana will regret this war.
“‘And when he sees my gold, gem-studded chariot
drawn by white horses, flying the monkey banner,
driven by Krishna, inspired charioteer;
when the dim-witted man picks up the thrum
of Gandiva, as the string strikes my wristband;
when, like driving rain, my arrows thresh
the ranks of his infantry, as if they were
ripe corn, severing men’s heads from their shoulders;
when he sees his elephants stampede
in terror, blinded by their bloody wounds;
when he sees his valiant horses stumbling,
falling, heaped up, their bright-armored riders
mortally pierced by my searching arrows; then,
then Duryodhana will regret this war.
“‘My bow flexes without my holding it;
my arrows in their inexhaustible quivers
yearn to fly. My steeds strain at their yokes.
My dagger springs from its sheath, like a serpent
impatient to escape its outworn skin.
The omens are in place, our learned brahmins
have spelled out the conjunctions of the planets
and find the time auspicious for our purpose.
But we do not want war. We can live content,
with no ambition to extend our power.
Sanjaya, you should show Dhritarashtra
the utter folly of quarreling with those
who made his kingdom what it is today
through their past conquests of his neighbors’ lands.
Remind him, we have always fought his foes—
show him how insane Duryodhana is!’
“Those were Arjuna’s words,” said Sanjaya.
Bhishma stood up, addressing Duryodhana,
“Those words are true. Thanks to the advice you take
from Shakuni, from base Duhshasana
and from Karna, your lowborn companion,
you have veered away from the path of dharma.”
“Venerable Bhishma!” Karna cried,
“do not speak of me like that. All I do
is designed to serve the king and his great son,
my friend. You cannot name a single time
when I have acted in any other way.”
“This fellow is an evil influence,”
said Bhishma, turning now to Dhritarashtra.
“He boasts that he will beat the Pandavas
and Duryodhana places trust in him,
but where was he when the fine Matsya cattle
were lost? Where was he when the gandharvas
routed your son’s retinue and captured him?
Nowhere. It was great-hearted Bhima
who came to the rescue. O king, choose peace,
don’t be misled by Karna’s puffed-up plans.
You should know—Arjuna and Krishna
are not mere mortal men, but part divine
incarnations of invincible
Nara and Narayana, who take birth
in epochs when dharma needs defending.”
will be flouted if you refuse to cede
to Yudhishthira his half of the kingdom.
We should negotiate with the Pandavas.”
But Dhritarashtra was not listening. Restless,
he was plying Sanjaya with questions
at a tangent. And if there was one moment
when the cause of peace was lost; when it was clear
that Dhritarashtra would not oppose his son;
when the Kauravas were condemned to die;
it was that moment, when King Dhritarashtra
turned away from Bhishma and from Drona,
ignoring their views.
“Sanjaya, what forces
have the Pandavas arrayed against us?
How strong are the Panchalas? And the rest?”
Sanjaya sighed deeply, then he sank,
fainting, to the floor. “He must have seen,
in his mind, my nephews and their forces,
and been overcome,” said Dhritarashtra.
Sanjaya revived, and dutifully
listed the allies of the Pandavas,
and which Kauravas had been nominated
as dueling partners of named Pandavas,
to fight with them in duels to the death.
Bhishma had been allotted to Shikhandin,
Shalya marked out for Yudhishthira,
Karna for Arjuna, as also were
Jayadratha and envious Ashvatthaman;
Duryodhana, together with his brothers,
would be the share of Bhima, great mace-warrior.
“Those you have named are great fighters,” said the king,
“yet, to my mind, all of them together
are not more strong than Bhima by himself.
I wake at night, thinking of Wolf-belly.
He is the one I dread—and it is his fault
that there’s this breach between my sons and nephews.
Bhima would torment Duryodhana
when they were children, and it used to grieve me
when my son suffered at that bully’s hands.
Then, there was the disastrous dice game.
But even so—war is a dreadful thing.
Think of the prowess of the Pandavas—
the Kauravas don’t stand a chance; they’ll be
like moths attracted to a blazing furnace.
There should be every effort to make peace.”
“I do not understand you,” said Sanjaya.
“You know the strength of the Left-handed Archer,
you know the might of Bhima the destroyer,
you can foresee your hundred sons all slaughtered,
and yet you submit to Duryodhana.
All these laments are pointless—you are the king,
what happens is your responsibility,
yet you act as though you were powerless.
As for the dicing—I remember well
how you exulted like a little boy
when you heard Shakuni had won the game.”
“Father, don’t fear for us,” said Duryodhana.
“Our allies would find you ridiculous
for entert
aining such cowardly thoughts.
The Pandavas are only mortal men,
born from human mothers, as we are.
Don’t be afraid the gods will take their side.
I have heard Vyasa tell you that the gods
became immortal by being indifferent
to love or hatred, greed or sympathy.
They won’t be propping up the Pandavas.
If they were so minded, they would have rescued
my cousins from their miserable exile—
at that time, they might have defeated us.
“But now our strength is unsurpassable.
I have incantations of my own.
I can conjure gales, cause avalanches,
or stop them, as I like. I can freeze rivers
so that heavy chariots can pass over.
You harp on about my cousins’ skills
but we have our own strength—think about it:
Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, Ashvatthaman
are formidable warriors. No one on earth
is a stronger fighter with the mace
than I am. And valiant Karna—don’t forget
how he shamed Arjuna at the tournament.
We should have some pride! Negotiate?
There’s nothing to negotiate. Make peace?
I won’t cede even a pinprick of land to them.
“Karna and I have talked about this war
and how we should see it as a sacrifice.
We will consecrate ourselves; Yudhishthira,
bull of the Bharatas, is the ritual victim.
My chariot will be the altar, my sword
the spoon, my club the ladle. My horses
will be the four sacrificial priests.
Having dedicated ourselves in this way,
we shall surely win. I’ll kill the Pandavas
and rule the earth. Even the gods could not
deflect my passionate hatred from its path!”
“Sanjaya,” said the king, “tell us what happened
when you visited Arjuna and Krishna?”
“I went to see them in their private chamber.
They were sitting together, with their wives,
and were reclining on a golden couch.
Both men were drinking mead. Krishna’s feet
rested on Arjuna’s lap, and Arjuna’s
were supported by Draupadi. When I saw
those two imposing heroes, I was awestruck.
It was as if I were in the presence
of Indra and Vishnu. I could not see then,
nor can I now, how they could fail to conquer
the whole world, if they had the mind for it.
“Arjuna nudged Krishna to speak to me
and he spoke gently, but with such seriousness
that I was terrified on your behalf.
‘I owe a debt,’ he said, ‘to Draupadi.
I was far away when she needed me.
For this alone, I would support Arjuna,
though, as he showed outside Virata’s city,
he can crush an enemy single-handed.’”
Sanjaya’s account was dismal news
for Dhritarashtra. “My poor deluded son!
Complete destruction looms for the Kauravas.
Let it be known—I reject your crackpot plan.
I don’t believe that, without bad advice,
you would have had the appetite for war.
It is Karna and Duhshasana
who spur you onward. But what can I do?
Inscrutable time propels us where it will.”
Karna stood up, addressing Duryodhana:
“I propose to conquer the Pandavas
single-handed, and after them, the Matsyas,
Panchalas and Karushas. This I will do
with the divine weapon I was awarded
by my great teacher. He withdrew the weapon
when he was angry with me, but I believe
I placated him. You can stay at home
with Bhishma and Drona. I shall take a force
of the best fighting men—the task is mine!”
Bhishma laughed. “You vain and boastful fool,
how can you dream of killing even Arjuna—
the warrior who has never been defeated,
the man who destroyed the Khandava Forest—
let alone the rest, weapon or no weapon.
The spear which you obtained from the god Indra
will be reduced to ash by Krishna’s discus.
You and your weapons will be impotent.”
Karna flushed at that insult: “Very well!
This is my response to your contempt—
I will lay down my weapons. I will saunter
around the court until the Kauravas’
generals fall in combat, until you, Bhishma,
lie dead on the field of battle. Only then
will I fight, and the world will see my prowess!”
With that, he strode out of the assembly hall.
Bhishma shrugged. “That all-powerful weapon
the driver’s son so loves to boast about
is flawed. The holy sage who gave it to him
put conditions on it, because Karna
had lied to him. That is the man he is.”
As discussion continued in the hall,
Vidura told the king an instructive story:
“
THIS IS SOMETHING I witnessed once, when I was traveling in the Himalaya. We were visiting Mount Gandhamadana, a beautiful place, with groves of fragrant flowers. There we saw a jar of honey, lying on a rock on the edge of a ravine swarming with poisonous snakes. The honey belonged to Kubera, god of wealth, and it had wonderful properties. If a mortal tasted it, he would live for ever. If a blind man tasted it, he would see again.
“Some mountain men in our party were desperate to get hold of the jar, but, in reaching for it, they toppled into the ravine and were killed.
“In the same way, this stupid son of yours
wishes to seize the earth. He turns his mind
away from the ravine.”
Now, the council
started to disperse. The king, in an aside,
said to Sanjaya, “Is there something
further that you can tell me? Can you foresee
a certain outcome of this dreadful war?”
“Let Vyasa come here, and Gandhari,”
said Sanjaya, “to witness what I learned
at Upaplavya.” By the power of thought
Sanjaya brought Vyasa, and Gandhari
came from her apartments. Duryodhana
turned his back.
“It has been revealed to me,”
said Sanjaya, “that Krishna is the Lord,
the blessed Vishnu, he who alone governs
time and death, he who turns the world.
Where there is law, where there is truth, there
Krishna is. He has taken human form,
with human attributes. But make no mistake,
his power is such that he could destroy the world—
reduce it to ash instantly.”
“How is it,”
asked Dhritarashtra, “that you recognize
the Lord, while I perceive only Krishna,
prince of Dvaraka?” Sanjaya answered,
“Though I am not highborn, simple devotion
and mastery of the senses have revealed
the Lord to me—Vishnu, the uncreated.”
“Duryodhana,” said Dhritarashtra, “hurry!
Go and seek the mercy of the Lord!”
“Nothing in earth or heaven would make me seek
the mercy of that crony of Arjuna.”
“You see?” said the king to Gandhari.
“Your son is a lost cause with his wicked soul,
his envy, his contempt for his elders.”
“You power-crazy fool!” said Gandhari,
“evil-minded wretch! What inte
rminable
sorrow you inflict upon your parents.
You will remember your father’s words too late,
when Bhima crushes you.”
Vyasa turned
to Dhritarashtra, “Be guided by Sanjaya.
He can set you free from mortal danger
if you listen to him attentively.
People blunder through the wilderness
bewildered by their lusts. The wise know better.”
“Tell me, Sanjaya,” said Dhritarashtra,
“how may one reach the path to ultimate peace?”
“Steadfast mastery of all one’s senses
is the way to peace. Through relinquishment
of irritable longings and attachments
a person may come to know the blessed Lord.”
Dhritarashtra sighed. “Ah, how I envy
those who have eyes to see the divine being
in his wonderful, immortal form!”
29.
KRISHNA’S MISSION
After Sanjaya left, disconsolate,
knowing the Pandavas were in the right,
equally sure the king would support his son,
Yudhishthira sat underneath a tree
talking quietly to his cousin Krishna.
His brothers were there too, with Draupadi,
and Satyaki, Krishna’s close companion.
“This is a time when we truly need our friends,”
said Yudhishthira. “You heard Sanjaya;
he conveyed Dhritarashtra’s views exactly,
as an envoy should. There seems little hope
of any peaceful settlement. It pains me
that I’m unable to take care of Kunti.
Even with five villages . . . but it’s useless
to dwell on that. We are dealing with a man
who has lost all sense of what is right, blinded
by his own ungoverned greed and envy.
I know that dharma for a kshatriya
is to fight. That is our law. And yet
where does killing stop? Killers are themselves
killed in return. Thus a feud develops,
vendetta never ends. No one rests easy.
And does any man, even the worst,
deserve to die? Should we conduct ourselves
like dogs, wrangling over a piece of meat?
Heroism’s a malady; the heart
can never know serenity that way.
“And yet, we must act. We are kshatriyas.
We welcome neither war nor surrender—
even capitulation would bring no end
to hatred. Duryodhana will never rest
until he has removed us from the earth.
Krishna, wisest of friends, far-seeing one,
what do you think?”
“I think the time has come,”
said Krishna, “for me to be ambassador.
All the portents are pointing toward war.