V
27.
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
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
and envious, and Karna spurs him on
with his streak of bitterness, and fixed hatred
for Arjuna. Yet they are both deluded
if they think that they can win this war—
against Arjuna, with his divine weapons,
against Krishna, ruler of the three worlds,
and Bhima, stronger than forty elephants!
That son of mine is dreaming! And yet . . . and yet
I want him to be great. Above all,
I want him to cast off this yoke of envy
he wears continually.
“Sanjaya,
go to the Pandavas, ask after their health,
say we want peace, say . . . whatever comes
into your mind that you think suitable,
anything likely to avert a war.”
After elaborate formalities,
inquiries after everybody’s health,
down to kitchen-women and household slaves,
Yudhishthira asked Sanjaya to tell him
the state of affairs at Hastinapura—
what was Dhritarashtra’s thinking now?
“The old king is grieving,” said Sanjaya.
“He has no appetite for war, and fears
the dire consequences. The brahmins tell him
that to seek to do harm to the harmless,
as his son is doing, is a dreadful sin.
You have assembled seven mighty armies
in your support. But Duryodhana
and his allies are also powerful—
there are eleven armies on his side.
In my view—that is to say, the king thinks—
if it comes to war, neither side could win
without enormous bloodshed.
Furthermore,
it is unlawful to kill one’s kith and kin
and you, Yudhishthira, and your brothers here,
are known to uphold the law in all respects.
For this reason, a sinful act of yours
would be like a dark stain on a pure white cloth.
Victory and defeat would be the same.”
And Sanjaya went on in the same vein.
There was a silence. “Friend,” said Yudhishthira,
“I know you mean well, but you miss the point.
Not even a fool could wish for war
if peace were to be had by any means.
Tell me—when have you ever heard me utter
warmongering words, in any circumstances?
Even when I was least myself, caught up
in gambling fever, even then, I prayed
that the Kauravas would not destroy themselves.
I knew then, and nothing has changed my view,
that Duryodhana is insatiable.
He wants for nothing, lives in great luxury,
all the pleasures of the earth are his,
yet only the complete elimination
of the Pandavas will satisfy him.
“Dhritarashtra knows all this. His brother,
Vidura, has given him wise advice.
So long as the king listened to Vidura
the Kauravas kept some check on wrongdoing.
But now that good man has been pushed aside,
and Dhritarashtra listens to no voice
except that of his son’s rapaciousness
which burns untamed, like a fire fed with butter.
“I honor Dhritarashtra; since Pandu’s death
I have venerated him as a father.
But, for him, the wishes of his wayward son
are always paramount. Three times at least
we Pandavas have been the blameless objects
of Duryodhana’s boundless enmity,
and have not answered back. He tried to kill us
in the lacquer house. Then, though as first-born prince
I was heir apparent, we were fobbed off
with half the kingdom, desolate scrubland
from which we made a paradise on earth.
“Now we have borne thirteen years of exile—
and, yes, my foolishness played a part in that.
But now they should return our kingdom to us
according to the covenant they made.
“Dhritarashtra and his greedy son
want us gone, and they to rule alone.
The two of them have dreams of a great realm,
unchallenged domination of the earth—
a superpower. That way lies misery.
Such a dream can only be sustained
if they don’t hear the thrum of Gandiva,
if they can forget the unrivaled strength
of Bhima and the heroic sons of Madri.
“Monstrous ambition breeds unreasoning fear.
The Kauravas need have no fear of me,
I wish them well—but please give them this message:
I must have my kingdom of Indraprastha.
On this point, I am immovable.”
“Our earthly life is transient,” said Sanjaya.
“If the Kauravas refuse to return
your former kingdom, then it would be better
to beg in the streets than to incur the sin
of killing your kinsfolk. And why did you
spend years in exile, if you meant to fight?
Scrupulously you followed the law, yet now
you propose to commit appalling wrong.
Even if you were ruler of the world
you would grow old and die, like everyone.
“Your every action follows you in death.
You are known for your devotion to dharma.
Why change now, to wage unlawful war?
What happiness could you enjoy, knowing
that you have killed your kinsmen and your teachers?
What happiness, as you approach old age,
in contemplating miserable rebirth?”
“You should tell that to my cousin, Sanjaya!
You judge me prematurely. What is dutiful
and what is sinful is not so straightforward.
In a time of grave emergency,
the ordinary rules may not apply.
If virtue is a victim, then the task
is to restore the world to harmony.
Krishna—advise me; be my guide in this.”
“Sanjaya,” said Krishna, “both the Kauravas
and the Pandavas are dear to me.
Yet clearly Dhritarashtra and his son
have stolen the kingdom of the Pandavas
by refusing to return it, as agreed.
Stealing is wrong no matter how it’s done.
Why should they escape responsibility?
“You speak of the sinfulness of war,
but in a land where everybody prospers
each group has its dharma, its proper duty
to society; and a king should govern
and protect his people. If someone seizes
the land of another out of avarice,
then a king’s duty is to go to war
to set things right. Action is the duty
of a kshatriya. You know this, Sanjaya.
Why do you, then, against your better judgment,
speak in favor of the Kauravas?
“You were present in the gambling hall
when Shakuni befuddled Yudhishthira,
when Karna jeered and insulted Draupadi,
when Duhshasana tried to strip her naked.
How, then, can you think that the right course
is simply to do nothing? Mere inertia
in the face of such flagrant wrongdoing
is not virtue. The whole cosmos turns
on action. Just as the sun rises daily,
the moon goes through its cycle, the wind blows,
so action is the law for gods and men—
for brahmins, kshatriyas and commoners.
Kshatriya dharma is to protect what’s right.
If Yudhishthira could regain his kingdom
by peaceful means, then he would certainly
make Bhima be as gentle as a brahmin!
But the fact is, Duryodhana thinks himself
above the law. And law must be defended.
I will go myself to Hastinapura
and try to broker a peaceful resolution.”
Sanjaya gave way. “O Dharma King,
in my loyalty to Dhritarashtra
I hope I did not offend you.”
“Sanjaya,”
said Yudhishthira, “there is no offense.
I know you speak as the king’s emissary.
Convey my heartfelt greetings to all who live
at Hastinapura, and wish them good health.
Say to Duryodhana that we Pandavas,
in the interests of peace, will overlook
our grievances. Instead of Indraprastha,
we will settle for five villages,
one for each of us.” Yudhishthira
named the settlements he had in mind.
“In this way we can live in peace. Our allies
can take their soldiers home to their own kingdoms,
back to the arms of their thankful wives.”
Sanjaya rode back to Hastinapura.
He thought deeply about all he had heard
and, on arriving, sought an audience
with Dhritarashtra. “Pandu’s sons are well.
Yudhishthira greets you fondly, and inquires
after your health. As he always has,
he pursues the law in all particulars.
He is renowned and honored everywhere
and desires nothing that is not rightly his.
They say a man reaps as he sows, but I say
the Pandavas have suffered more, far more
than they deserve. You, my king, have treated
your brother’s sons cruelly and unjustly.
Your reputation is soiled throughout the land,
your name a byword for unlawfulness
and greed. If Yudhishthira returned evil
for evil, the Kauravas would be destroyed
and you, as king, would bear the blame for it.
You have trusted your untrustworthy son
and cast off your nephew, rich in wisdom,
so now you are too enfeebled, foolish king,
to protect your vast and wealthy lands
from utter ruin.
“But that is enough for now.
The chariot has shaken up my bones
and I must rest. Tomorrow, in the council,
I will lay out Yudhishthira’s words in full.”