20.
Lake Dvaitavana was indeed delightful,
bordered with bright flowers and graceful trees
pendulous with many types of mango
and other fruits. Birds sang among the leaves
of the tall palm, arrac and shala trees—
flocks of doves, linnets and forest cuckoos.
Deer and game were plentiful.
The Pandavas
made their home there, together with the brahmins,
who had brought their sacrificial fires,
and all the ritual objects necessary
for pious observance.
The sage Markandeya,
passing on his way to the Himalaya,
smiled to see Yudhishthira and his brothers
living as forest dwellers, like Prince Rama,
his wife, Sita, and his brother, Lakshmana.
He knew inaction could be hard to bear
and counseled patience. “Wait, Yudhishthira,
do not be tempted to depart from dharma
and wage war on the Kauravas too soon.
Keep your promise, tolerate your exile
and you will retrieve your fortune in the end.”
Time passed by. Yudhishthira was content.
A life stripped of pomp and ceremony,
of luxury, of complex affairs of state,
was the life his introspective nature
welcomed. He had been an excellent ruler—
firm, judicious, capable and fair—
and would be again, but these were years
when he delighted in simplicity,
practiced meditation, learned all he could
from the rishis whose ashrams in the forest
were a haven for him. He took refuge
in the Vedas, and in their wider vision
that lifted his attention from the sorrow
of his current plight.
But not everyone
was at peace. Draupadi was restless.
Rage and grief gnawed at her constantly
until, one evening, she could not keep silent.
“Oh, Yudhishthira, it breaks my heart
to see you like this, living a hermit’s life
when you should be the all-powerful ruler
of Bharatavarsha. I remember you
on your jeweled throne, dressed in rich silk;
now you are wearing garments made of bark.
Once, your skin was fragrant with sandalwood,
and now it is rough, crusty with mud and ash.
“Now no bard sings of your accomplishments.
Have you forgotten who you are? How can you
happily spend time examining
the finer points of scripture with the brahmins,
performing pujas morning, noon and night?
You’re a kshatriya! So are your brave brothers.
Bhima, whose every sinew longs for battle,
who used to be so vigorous and playful,
now droops, despondent. Why, Yudhishthira,
does that not make you angry? Arjuna,
outstanding archer, who could conquer worlds
with his two arms, now sits in idle thought.
Why does the sight of him not rouse your rage?
Tall Nakula, spirited Sahadeva,
accomplished sons of Madri, waste their talents
on chasing birds and shooting animals.
You see me, daughter of a distinguished line,
living like a peasant! Best of Bharatas,
why does all this grief not make you furious?
“Patience may come easily to you
but not to them, and certainly not to me.
We all crave revenge. Have you forgotten
how you were led into a trap, and tricked
so easily? How, then, can you be patient?
“You may be sure that wicked Duryodhana
and his friends take pleasure every day
in contemplating our humiliation.
Do they not deserve harsh punishment?
Don’t you remember how Duryodhana
and his vile brother grossly insulted me?
Only Shakuni and cruel Karna
in that whole assembly did not weep
for shame and pity! Why are you not enraged?
It is said there is no kshatriya
who lacks anger. You are the exception!
You seem to have banished anger from your heart,
but the whole world despises a kshatriya
who buckles under insults such as these
without wrath, lacking determination
to strike with the rod of punishment
those who behave wrongfully toward him—
as is required by kshatriya dharma.
“A kshatriya who allows his enemies
to rejoice in the fruits of their wickedness
is reviled throughout the earth, and rightly so.
Every day, I relive those abuses
and boil to think of how the Kauravas
are reveling in luxury and joy
while we, for want of proper fighting spirit,
live out our days wandering among the trees!
“There is a time for patience in this life
and a time for wrath—surely, if ever
anger should guide your actions, it is now!”
Yudhishthira replied, “Oh, Draupadi,
best of wives, I understand your fury.
But do not think there’s nothing on my mind
but prayer and philosophy. Yes, it is true
I love to sit with the rishis—they can see
beyond this forest, beyond this life, even.
They have their gaze fixed on eternity
and that helps me achieve a kind of peace
when otherwise I would be overwhelmed
by grief and guilt. I too relive those hours
when I lost everything. I’m keenly aware
of how you suffer now, and how my brothers
waste their manhood here.
“But, Draupadi,
as the wise know, sinful acts arise
from overhasty rushing to revenge.
One who is wronged and who responds with anger
is prone to bad judgment, liable to act
impulsively. Good rarely comes of it.
If every person with a sense of grievance
struck back immediately, where would it end?
Unceasing death inflicted, death returned.
An endless round of blow and counter-blow
allows for no reflection or repentance
and only leads to sorrow upon sorrow.
A peaceful world is founded upon patience
and only when a kingdom is at peace
can children flourish, cows grow fat, and farmers
plant seeds with confidence, watch their crops grow,
and gather a rich harvest.
“I believe
that forbearance is the strength of the strong.
One who is forbearing retains power.
Anger is not strength but, rather, weakness;
it is not the same as authority.
True, I was entrapped, but it was my madness
that lost us every precious thing we owned.
I knew the terms. I played. I lost the game
and agreed to these years of banishment.
If now I were to go back on my word,
I would be as sinful as the Kauravas.”
“I think the Almighty has addled you!”
retorted Draupadi. “Rather than follow
the path blazed by your ancestors, your mind
has veered off on a different tack entirely.
There is no justice if a man like you—
the very soul of dharma—can encounter
such misfortune. Until the dreadful day
when the passion for gambling possessed you,
no one was more virtuous than you,
Yudhishthira. You have always served the gods,
the brahmins, the ancestors—and yet
grief is your reward. It makes no sense.
The Almighty is not like a loving parent
but, like a child playing with its toys,
manipulates our limbs, controls the strings
as though we were wooden puppets. I believe
there’s no such thing as freedom, no mastery
over ourselves or anybody else.
Well, I utterly condemn a God
who can allow such vile injustices
as have afflicted us! What can he gain
by giving fortune to such wicked wretches
as the Kauravas? If it is true
that acts pursue the actor, the Almighty
must be besmirched by the evil he has done.
And if it is not true—well then, mere might
governs everything; big fish devour
little fish. Oh, I grieve for the powerless!”
“Beloved wife,” replied Yudhishthira,
“what you say is blasphemous and wrong.
I choose to follow dharma, and I do it
because it is right, not to obtain rewards.
I follow the example of the wise.
We are human beings, not animals
tussling over a piece of carrion.
I firmly believe that if we follow dharma
it does bear fruit, that every single act
has consequences, though we may not see them.
Do not revile the Almighty, Draupadi.”
Draupadi said, “It’s misery that makes me
talk in this way. I don’t despise dharma.
But one who does nothing in the face of evil
is an unfired pot, worn away by water.
You preach forbearance above everything,
but every living human being must act.
From the infant, sucking its mother’s nipple,
to the dying person’s final labored breath,
we fight to stay alive. What we achieve
is not just fate, nor is it mere chance
but the fruit of all we try to do.
We have to strive with what strength we possess,
using reason and determination,
to convert our actions to achievement.
That way, we need not reproach ourselves.
A peasant turns the soil and plants the seed.
Then he waits for rain. If the monsoon
fails, and the seedlings wither in the ground,
he will, at least, have acted as he should.
Without fate and chance he cannot prosper.
But without his action, best of husbands,
fate and chance have nothing to work upon.
I learned this from a brahmin long ago
while I still lived in my father’s house.”
Bhima had been listening. Now he burst out,
impatient with his brother’s arguments.
“Yudhishthira, you talk about your word.
But slavishly to cling to an agreement
made under duress? Forgiving wrongdoers
who exult in evil and who themselves
have never sought forgiveness? That is madness
and feebleness of the most craven kind!
“It was respect for you, our eldest brother,
that kept us silent when, in some kind of trance,
you made stake after stake. From loyalty
we sat on our hands while Duryodhana,
like a jackal gobbling another’s kill,
snaffled the fruit of Shakuni’s sleight of hand—
our kingdom! It is for you that we’ve endured,
for long months now, this wilderness, this exile,
lacking virtue, pleasure, lacking the glory
our limbs and hearts are made for, ridiculed—
and rightly—by those who should respect us.
This is a pitiful life for kshatriyas;
living like this, you emasculate yourself.
Arjuna and I possess between us
all the skill and strength we need to crush
Duryodhana—and we have our allies.
We should declare war on the Kaurava.
And what if we are slaughtered? Better that
than live like eunuchs, vegetating here!
“You insist on dharma—but for kshatriyas
dharma is threefold—pursuit of virtue, wealth
and pleasure. It requires sacrifices
and gifts to brahmins. For that, one must have wealth.
The Vedas are not enough for men like us.
And, though wealth or pleasure by themselves
will lead to tyranny or slothfulness,
all three are needed in a well-lived life.
Each by itself will lead a man astray—
including virtue.
“A king should be strong, bold,
a vigilant protector of his people.
By losing your kingdom, you abandoned them.
Our lives are finite; time flows on and on.
If you keep to your word so stubbornly,
we could be dead before our exile ends.
Besides, it may never end! What chance is there
that Draupadi, most beautiful of women,
or I, built like an elephant, can live
unrecognized, when Duryodhana’s spies
will be searching for us up and down the land,
and when there’ll always be some weasel, anxious
to earn a fat reward from Dhritarashtra?
And if, or when, we’re recognized, then starts
another thirteen years! Unbearable!
“Even if our suffering fails to move you
consider your dharma as a kshatriya
and as our king. Rouse up your warrior’s heart
and earn the world’s respect. Fight, best of Bharatas!
Who can withstand the might of Arjuna?
Who can survive the force of my great club?
With Krishna on our side, how can we fail?”
“Bhima,” said Yudhishthira, “listen to me—
I cannot blame you for your impatient wrath.
Nothing you and Draupadi can say
can be as harsh as my own self-reproach.
I took the challenge hoping I could win
Duryodhana’s possessions. When I saw
Shakuni’s dexterity, and knew
I could never match it, I should have withdrawn.
But I was proud and angry—and obsessed
with winning back what I had lost. I think
I lost my reason; it was preordained.
“I know that my insistence upon patience
seems perverse to you. But, I repeat,
I gave my word. You saw that I agreed
in front of all the elders of the court
to stand by the conditions of the wager.
And my word is more important to me
than any kingdom, even than life itself.
The time for you to intervene was when
you saw how I was gripped by gambling madness.
But you said nothing, I can only think
it was the gods’ will. Now it is too late.
Our task is patience.”
“Oh!” cried Draupadi,
her fresh tears flowing, “your mind’s unbendable!
Son of Kunti, you would sacrifice
my life, and the lives of all your brothers,
before you would give up your precious ‘word’!”
“Brother, consider it like this,” said Bhima,
“I have heard the wise expound the view
that months may be substituted for years.
We have been here thirteen months already.
Think of them as years—rally your forces!
If that’s wrongdoing, you can atone later
by paying for a costly sacrifice.”
Yudhishthira reflected. Then he said,
“Wolf-belly, that may be. But think about it—
while we have been away, Duryodhana
has not been idle. I cannot imagine
that our cousin and his friends are comfortable
in their possession of our kingdom. I know
he must be consumed by ever-mounting fear
as the time for his enjoyment shortens daily.
He has done wrong and, once a man does that,
he wanders in an inner wilderness
of terror and suspicion. I have learned
that he has assembled enormous forces.
Think—his wealth is almost without limit.
Many kings who bowed to us before
are now rallying to Duryodhana.
Our cousin has distributed such wealth
and privileges that he is surrounded
by strong allies. Bhishma, Drona and Kripa,
although they love us equally, are conscious
of whose food they are eating. In the end,
their skill and their celestial weapons will be
deployed in the service of Duryodhana.
Altogether, we’re in no position
to fight against such formidable forces—
and that is without reckoning on Karna,
whose prowess with a bow is unsurpassed.
All these multitudinous factors stand
between us and victory, Wolf-belly.”
Bhima was silent. Furious though he was,
he saw the sense in what his brother said.
“Brother, I promise you,” said Yudhishthira,
“that if our exile ends successfully,
without our being found in the thirteenth year,
and if Duryodhana then refuses
to give us back our kingdom, then, my Bhima,
we shall fight with all the ferocity,
all the skill and courage, we can muster.
Then you will shatter Duryodhana’s thigh,
and rip open his evil brother’s breast;
then Arjuna can kill the mighty Karna;
then, Draupadi, you can drench your streaming hair
in the heart’s blood of wicked Duhshasana.
And I will fight beside you. Then my wrath
will be as resolute as yours is now.”
Presently, Vyasa was seen approaching.
He had sensed discord among the Pandavas
and had come to speak to Yudhishthira.
He took the eldest Pandava aside
and told him the time would come when Arjuna
would overcome the Kauravas in battle.
“For this, he will have need of secret knowledge
in order to obtain celestial weapons—
secret knowledge which I shall teach you now.
After you have passed it on to him,
he should undertake a pilgrimage
to the Himalaya, scaling the snowy peaks
where Shiva may be found. There he must embark
on the most rigorous austerities
in order to become a fit possessor
of Shiva’s dreadful weapon, Pashupata.
Believe me, he will need it. He will succeed,
for he is Nara, the eternal seer,
companion of Narayana. Meanwhile,
you should move away from here; this place
no longer has enough food to sustain you
and your companions.” Then Vyasa imparted
secret wisdom to Yudhishthira
and disappeared.
Later, the Pandavas
moved to their original encampment,
the Kamyaka woods by the Sarasvati.
Some time after that, Yudhishthira
spoke to Arjuna in private, telling him
what Vyasa had said: his crucial task.
Placing his hands gently on Arjuna,
he conveyed Vyasa’s secret knowledge,
and Arjuna was fired with new resolve
and energy to carry out his mission.
The family parted from Arjuna
with many blessings, and with fervent hopes.
For the weapon above all other weapons
would bring them victory in the war to come.
Draupadi expressed her ardent wish:
“May your mission be successful, Arjuna.
May whatever Kunti wished for you
at your birth come true. But, in the next life,
may we not be born as kshatriyas,
yoked to war! Go well, beloved husband.
Be safe from every threat and enemy.
May the gods protect you. We shall know no joy
until your safe return.”