15.
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;
rice, ghee, as oblations for the gods;
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 Yudhishthira’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
that grabs some choice tidbit from the oblation
intended for the gods, and gobbles it!”
Shishupala stalked toward the exit,
followed by several disgruntled kings.
Yudhishthira called after him, “My lord,
what you have said is neither kind nor fair,
and insults Bhishma’s judgment—you suggest
he doesn’t understand what virtue is.
You do not know Krishna as Bhishma does.
Krishna is our guide; his inspiration
lies behind everything we have achieved.
Through us, he has conquered every king
who sits in the hall today, by force of arms
or by capitulation. For this alone
the highest accolade is due to him.”
Bhishma added, “We behold in Krishna
the source of everything that’s valuable.
As Mount Meru is the greatest mountain,
as the eagle is the lord of birds,
as the ocean is deepest among waters,
so is Krishna foremost among beings
in all the worlds, past, present and to come.
Good people everywhere pay tribute to him.
Contained within him is the universe,
its origins, its being and its end.
“The King of Chedi wallows in ignorance
and sees only the surfaces of things.
As for those kings he thinks deserve more praise
than Krishna—they are mere straw effigies.”
Sahadeva rose to his feet, eyes flashing.
“If there is any person in this place
who still disputes Krishna’s entitlement,
let him speak. I place this foot of mine
on his dimwitted and unworthy head!
And if any man desires an early death,
let him challenge Krishna to a duel.”
There was a furious muttering in the hall,
a stirring and billowing, like an angry sea.
Many present felt themselves entitled
to the honor of the first guest-offering.
The tide was turning against Yudhishthira,
whose consecration was not yet complete.
Even now, those present might refuse
to acquiesce to his imperial rule.
Shishupala’s copper-red eyes flashed
in anger. “Bhishma, you’re a senile fool.
How can the Bharatas respect your views
when you have shied away from a man’s life?
Celibate, whether it’s from impotence
or poor judgment, you have done great harm.
By abducting Amba and refusing
to marry her, you ruined that girl’s chances.
You caused the blighted lives of your own kin
when you would not sire sons by your brothers’ wives.
“Old, unworthy wretch—you only remember
what’s convenient. This Krishna here,
this crook, has grossly violated dharma.
What about my friend Jarasandha,
who never wanted war, yet Krishna killed him?
What about my intended bride, Rukmini,
whom Krishna stole?”
Bhishma exclaimed, “For sure
this foolish man has been marked out by fate
for destruction!” Bhima, incandescent
with rage, was about to fall on Shishupala
but Bhishma held him back. Shishupala
laughed, “Let him go, Bhishma, let these kings
see him destroyed by the fire of my majesty,
like a foolish moth flying into flame.”
All this time, Krishna had sat serenely,
saying nothing, paying great attention.
But now he spoke, and not to Shishupala
but to the assembled kings. He told the story
quietly, simply, of how the Pandavas
had freed imprisoned kings from the dank dungeons
of Jarasandha. He told them of the times
Shishupala had offended him, and how,
on each occasion, he had spared his life
to honor a promise given long ago
to Shishupala’s mother, Krishna’s aunt.
The listening kings started to change allegiance.
Krishna described Shishupala’s many acts
of cruelty. “And as for Rukmini—
she spurned him. This man could no more hope
to win her than a shudra can aspire
to hear a recitation of the Vedas.
Today, he has insulted me in public,
before you all. Today, there will be no pardon.”
Shishupala jeered, “Do as you like—
pardon me, or not. What harm can you do?”
With that, the glimmering and deadly discus
given by Varuna, the god of waters,
appeared in Krishna’s fingers. Instantly,
the Bull of Chedi’s massive, angry head
was sliced clean from his shoulders, and he fell
like a great tree struck by a thunderbolt.
A radiance arose from the dead king,
enveloped Krishna and entered his body.
All were awestruck. The sky which, up to then,
had been blue and cloudless grew menacing,
black clouds massed overhead, and violent rain
pelted the awnings over the kings’ heads.
Not everybody present, by any means,
was convinced that justice had been done
but they kept silent. Funerary rites
were solemnly performed for Shishupala.
The sacrificial fires were still blazing
and now, at last, the imperial consecration
could be completed. As the lustral water
was poured in a silver stream over his head
Yudhishthira became the king of kings.
Soon afterward, the guests began to leave
to go back to their kingdoms. Krishna, too,
to the sorrow of the Pandavas, prepared
to set off on the road to Dvaraka.
But as he left he said to Yudhishthira,
“Lord of the earth, you should protect your people.
They depend on you as everything that lives
depends on rain, as the immortal gods
rely on Indra of the thousand eyes.”
The cousins solemnly embraced each other.
The seers presented themselves at the palace
to take their leave. Yudhishthira was worried;
the strange weather that had accompanied
Shishupala’s death—what did it mean?
Had it been a blessing, or a warning?
And if it was a warning, had the danger
been dispelled by the king of Chedi’s death?
Vyasa said, “The freakish sky and downpour
were portents of enormous consequences.
For thirteen years, O king, life will be hard,
and when that time is up, a cataclysm
—a war the like of which was never seen—
will bring destruction to the kshatriyas.
Duryodhana’s sins will generate this war
with you, Yudhishthira, as the occasion.
It is ordained. No action on your part
can divert the steady flow of time.
You can only bear it.” And Vyasa
said farewell, and set out with his disciples
for his hermitage.
King Yudhishthira
was overcome with horror. His first impulse,
if he was to be the harbinger of death
to the kshatriya order, was to kill himself.
But Arjuna dissuaded him, advising
fortitude. “Then,” said Yudhishthira,
“since dissension is the cause of war,
I vow that, for the next thirteen years,
I shall practice virtue, ruling impartially,
so there can be no dispute, in word or deed,
between myself and any other person.”
The guests had left. Only Duryodhana
and his uncle, Shakuni, stayed longer,
so they could examine the many marvels
of Maya’s great hall, now that the crowds were gone.
Their cousins showed them round, and what amazing
craftsmanship and beauty met their eyes
at every turn. But it seemed Duryodhana
was half blinded by his passionate envy,
seeing what was not there, not seeing what was.
He bumped his head on walls he thought were doors,
lifted his robes to pass over a rill
that turned out to be crystal paving, plunged
into a deep pool he took for crystal,
tumbled through arches, thinking them painted walls.
The servants were beside themselves with laughter,
nor could the Pandavas suppress their mirth—
except Yudhishthira, who had the servants
bring fine, dry clothes for Duryodhana.
Sick with humiliation, the Kaurava
managed to conceal his misery,
but could not bear to stay another hour.
He and Shakuni climbed into their chariot
and fled from hated Indraprastha.