29.
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.
I have no hope that I will change the mind
either of the king or of your cousin.
But everything that can be done must be done.
Tomorrow, I will go to Hastinapura.
I will not beg on your behalf—a kshatriya
should beg only for victory or death
on the battlefield. I remember hearing
how Duryodhana crowed in the gambling hall,
‘The Pandavas are well and truly broken,
they’ve nothing to call their own, even their names
will disappear in time, leaving no trace!’
Such a man deserves death, there’s no question.”
Bhima said, “Don’t threaten him with war.
Give him every chance, talk gently to him.
His nature is so violent, he’ll flare up
at the slightest hint of anger from our side,
and close the door on peace once and for all.”
Krishna laughed, “Can this be Bhima speaking?
All these long years, you have never ceased
to seethe in rage against the Kauravas.
How often have you conjured in your mind
acts of violence against Duryodhana?
Now it comes to it, are you gripped by panic?
What you’ve said is as unnatural to you
as human speech would be to a buffalo!
Have you become a eunuch? Has a torrent
become a docile brook?”
Bhima was hurt.
“Slayer of demons, you have misunderstood.
You know me, Krishna. Faced with the need to fight,
when have you ever seen me hesitate?
On the contrary, if heaven and earth
were to collide, I would prize them apart
with these strong arms. It is only compassion
that leads me to want peace, if possible.”
“I was teasing you,” said Krishna, smiling.
“I see you as much greater, a thousand times
greater, than you see yourself, Wolf-belly.
Your strength and courage are beyond question.
I assure you, I shall make every effort.
But human action, however well designed,
may be opposed by the gods. Conversely,
the gods’ intentions may be overridden
by the effort of a virtuous individual.
Therefore, we have to act. For even though
we may not succeed, or only partially,
we have to do our best, then accept calmly
whatever happens. That is true wisdom.”
Arjuna urged Krishna to do whatever
he thought helpful at Hastinapura,
knowing that both sides were dear to him—
but then to let the Pandava warriors
plunge into battle and do what they did best.
Sahadeva, thinking of Draupadi,
and of the way she had been violated,
wanted to fight at once. But Nakula
believed that Krishna, with his tact and skill,
might yet make the Kauravas see sense.
So the discussion swung this way and that.
Some were driven by revenge, while others
thought more strategically, with the sole aim
of recovering Yudhishthira’s kingdom.
There was no doubt what Draupadi was feeling.
Thinking that even Bhima was wavering,
she leapt to her feet, trembling with rage.
“All this talk is driving me mad with grief!
We know everything we need to know.
My five strong husbands, my enemy-burners,
and my brave sons, led by Abhimanyu,
can trounce the Kaurava. But if they hanker
pitifully after peace, then my father,
Drupada, will fight, old as he is,
and my brother, Dhrishtadyumna, will fight too!
I’ve waited years for this precious moment—
I want to see Duryodhana chewing dust.
I want Karna, that contemptuous man
who told me I should choose another husband,
to be dragged through the mud, a mangled corpse.
I want to see Duhshasana’s evil arms
torn from his trunk for what he did to me—
pulling me by this hair of mine, attempting
to strip me, reduce me to a naked slave.”
Draupadi gathered up her long black hair,
a shining cascade, clutched in both her fists.
“I conjured you in my heart then, Govinda,
and you helped me—help me again now!”
In her fury, Draupadi’s hot tears
showered like liquid fire over her breasts.
Krishna promised her that if his mission
proved as fruitless as he thought it would,
the Kauravas would be gobbled up by Death.
“How was the journey of the blessed lord,
and who did he meet along the way?”
asked Janamejaya. Vaishampayana
described in detail Krishna’s undertaking.
Next day, Krishna rose in the early morning.
It was the harvest season, and the fields
stood rich in crops, bathed in gentle sunlight.
After he had performed his morning rites,
he asked Daruka to prepare his chariot,
and to load onto it his well-made weapons—
his bow, discus, mace and javelins—
as well as hoisting his fine flag, adorned
with moons, and animals and lovely flowers,
and the divine standard of Garuda.
Daruka harnessed the four noble horses,
freshly washed and groomed, and well rested.
Then, heartened by prayers and fervent wishes,
Krishna started toward Hastinapura
along with Satyaki and other Vrishnis.
He took a thousand foot soldiers, servants,
and plentiful provisions for the journey.
On the way, he encountered Narada
and other seers, bound for the same city
intent on witnessing this crucial mission.
The Kauravas were afraid of Krishna.
Knowing he was coming, Dhritarashtra
had arranged elaborate hospitality.
Along the way, lavish rest pavilions
had been prepared. But he made his own camp.
Arriving in the city, he was received
with every show of pomp and ceremony.
The king urged many gifts upon him, offering
palatial accommodation. He declined,
preferring to be lodged with Vidura.
Vidura understood the king’s motives.
“You are hoping that, by your generous gifts,
you will estrange him from the Pandavas,”
he said to Dhritarashtra. “If your gesture
were sincere, you would be offering him
what he has come for—the settlement he seeks.
Yudhishthira has asked for five villages,
and you refuse to give him even those.”
Kunti was overjoyed to see Krishna,
to receive news of each son in turn,
and of Draupadi, whom she dearly loved;
yet sorrowful, to hear of their sufferings.
“My life has been a river of misfortune
ever since my father gave me away
—a little girl, playing with her ball—
to his cousin. A few short happy years,
and then Pandu took us to the forest.
There my sons were born, and I was content
for a brief time, watching them grow in strength.
But then he died, to cast us on the mercy
of this blind king—with all the misery
that’s happened since. I’ve always been a good aunt
to my nephews, but their wickedness
has made me hope and pray they’ll meet their end,
killed by my heroic sons. Only then
can we be reunited, and Draupadi—
abused as no woman ever should be,
no matter what her birth—will be avenged.”
Krishna told her the day was not far off
when she would be united with her loved ones.
Next, he went to see Duryodhana
in his large and ostentatious palace.
Surrounded by his friends, the Kaurava
pressed Krishna to eat with them. He refused.
“Why won’t you accept my hospitality,
offered in friendship?” asked Duryodhana.
“Food,” said Krishna, “is to be accepted
either from affection or from need.
I do not feel affection for you, neither
am I in need. Envoys do not accept
homage or hospitality until
their mission has succeeded. Only then
will I eat with you, son of Dhritarashtra.
He who hates the Pandavas hates me.
This food, offered with venom in your heart,
is therefore spoiled for me, inedible.
I prefer to take my meal with Vidura.”
That night, after dinner, when the servants
had retired to their beds, and the starry sky
was radiant overhead, Vidura said,
“It was useless for you to come, Krishna.
I fear for you in the assembly hall—
that the prince and his perverse supporters
will insult you. Duryodhana’s mind is stone,
nothing will move him. He has complete faith
in his advisers—he really does believe
Karna can kill the Pandavas by himself
just because he says so! He is befogged,
the poor fool. But don’t underestimate him.
He has gathered a formidable army;
it will not be easy for the Pandavas.”
“My friend, I know all this,” said Krishna gently,
“and I appreciate your concern for me.
But because the rewards of a peace treaty
would be so great, I have to strive for it.
If the Pandavas and the Kauravas
could live in harmony, it would be a blessing
for all of them, and I would avoid blame
if I could bring that state of affairs about.”
The evening passed in profound conversation.
In the morning, Krishna rose, bathed,
performed his morning puja, and dispensed
gifts to the many brahmins in attendance.
He made sure Daruka had fed the horses,
groomed them and harnessed them, ready to leave.
Then Duryodhana and Shakuni came
to escort him to the assembly hall.
Krishna greeted them with courtesy.
In their chariots, flanked by foot soldiers,
they traveled in procession through the streets
of Hastinapura, past crowds thronging,
jostling to catch a glimpse of Krishna,
cheering in ecstasy. Dark-skinned Krishna,
swathed in a robe of yellow silk, resembled
a sapphire in a setting of bright gold.
The council was assembled. Also present
were kings and generals of the allied armies,
splendid in their sumptuous robes and jewels.
As Krishna entered, all rose to their feet,
and he noticed, hovering in the sky,
several seers, headed by Narada.
At Krishna’s prompting, Bhishma welcomed them,
offering them fine seats and worthy guest gifts.
Now, in this assembly of the powerful,
after the usual formalities,
addressing Dhritrashtra, Krishna spoke.
His voice was like a deep and resonant drum,
reaching the furthest corners of the chamber.
“Sir, I bring greetings from Yudhishthira.
He sends respects, and prays for your good health.
He wishes me to say he bears no grudge
for what he and his family have suffered
up to now.
“But you know why I stand here.
The house of Bharata has been renowned,
always, for its honor and probity,
for its courageous following of dharma,
which has brought it riches and acclaim.
But now your sons, led by Duryodhana,
have brought your great house into disrepute
by straying into greed, and cruelly
stripping your nephews of their patrimony.
This is shameful, king. If you do not check
your wayward son, catastrophe will follow—
a war so terrible, the entire clan
together with their allies on both sides
will be strewn, lifeless, on the field of battle,
with no one left to light their funeral pyres.
I have come here wishing to benefit
both the Kauravas and the Pandavas.
If you now follow the righteous course
it will be for your good as well as theirs.”
After Krishna had finished his address,
the eminent seers—Rama Jamadagnya,
Narada and Kanva—also spoke,
making the same point through parables,
stories of pride punished by the gods,
designed to change Duryodhana’s resolve.
He sat, stony-faced, quite unmoved.
Dhritarashtra murmured, “You are right,
all of you, but I cannot act alone.
I am powerless—speak to my son.”
Krishna turned to Duryodhana,
sitting at his ease, next to Karna,
and spoke kindly to him. “Best of Bharatas,
listen to the wisdom of your father,
and of the elders, not to your misguided
and malevolent advisers. They may say
that you can win a glorious victory.
It is not so. What man on earth but you
would make enemies of your virtuous cousins—
and for what? For slaughter and destruction.
Look at your brothers here, your sons, your allies—
don’t make them die for you. For die they will.
You could live in peace with the Pandavas,
each in your own domain, each enhancing
the power and prosperity of the other.
Together, you could be invincible.”
The king and all the elders lent their voices
to Krishna’s plea. They summoned up a prospect
of peaceful times, certain that Yudhishthira
was sincere in his expressed intention
to put past cruelties out of his mind.
“When Krishna returns to Upaplavya,
why not go with him, son,” suggested Bhishma.
“Let Yudhishthira take you by the hands,
and his brothers welcome you with affection.”
But when Duryodhana stood up to speak,
his angry breath hissing between his teeth,
it was clear that nothing he had heard
had had the least effect. “Long-haired Krishna,
you are reviling me because you favor
the Pandavas. You always have. These elders
are also hostile to me. The fact is
I have done nothing wrong. Yudhishthira
came freely to the gambling hall, and lost.
He paid; and now he wants us to return
Indraprastha to him.
“But I maintain
that the hasty carve-up of the kingdom,
long ago, was an ill-judged mistake.
It never should have happened. I was young
and could not prevent it. In recent years
I have ruled the entire kingdom as proxy
for my father here. He is the king.
I am his eldest son, his heir apparent.
That is how it will stay. The Pandavas
will not receive a speck of Bharata land,
not while I’m alive! I’m ready to fight.
Manliness consists in making efforts—
striving, never giving in to pressure.
A kshatriya can have no greater honor
than to die in the glorious heat of battle.
If it comes to death, then heaven awaits me.”
Krishna’s dark eyes shone with mockery.
“You shall have your wish. You’ll find a hero’s bed
for certain! There is not a single warrior
who will see his home again once he rides out
to battle with the mighty Arjuna,
unvanquishable even by the gods!
‘Nothing wrong’? Don’t think it is forgotten
how you tried to burn the Pandavas alive,
how you entrapped them in the gambling hall,
how you subjected virtuous Draupadi
to utter humiliation. And you claim
that you’ve done nothing wrong? Shame, Duryodhana!
“You say I am partial to the Pandavas
but I seek what is best for them and you.
Not one of the wise elders in this hall—
not Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, Vidura,
not even your own father—takes your part
in your intransigent malevolence.
If you act against the best advice
you will put yourself in the gravest danger.”
Duhshasana spoke to Duryodhana:
“Brother, if you don’t agree to peace
it seems to me that Bhishma and Drona here
will capture you—and me and Karna too—
and hand you over to Yudhishthira.”
Duryodhana, black with rage, sprang to his feet
and disrespectfully strode from the hall,
followed by his friends.
Krishna turned toward
Bhishma, Drona and the other elders.
“I call on you now to act—it is your duty.
Act now, while there is time. A while ago,
in the prosperous kingdom of the Bhojas,
I removed an upstart prince, Kamsa,
who had usurped the throne while his father lived.
There was civil war. By eliminating
that one prince, the kingdom was returned
to peace, prosperity and lawfulness.
I urge you, revered elders—do the same.
Bind the perverse prince and his friends, before
they bring disaster on an unknown scale.
Sacrifice the few to save the many.”
Silence. Dhritarashtra, as though deaf,
made no answer, but sent for Gandhari
hoping his son would listen to his mother.
“Dhritarashtra, you are much to blame,”
said Gandhari. “Out of misplaced love
you have allowed your son to have his way,
and now he is past control. I’ll speak to him.”
Flanked by his friends, his face dark with resentment,
Duryodhana was brought back to the hall
and stood, shifting sulkily, barely listening
while his mother made familiar arguments.
“This kingdom has always been ruled according
to the law of succession. Yudhishthira,
as the eldest of the Bharata princes,
is generally acknowledged heir apparent.
We all know about the obsessive hatred
you have always harbored for your cousins
and, because you have your father’s ear—
a father incapable of saying no—
you have engaged in all kinds of deceit
and trickery to seize the throne yourself.
“But the fact remains—the true succession
rests with Yudhishthira. He is generous,
only claiming that half of the kingdom
he ruled before he was tricked out of it.
Yet, gripped by greed, you stubbornly refuse
to give up even this. I blame your father.
If Dhritarashtra had performed his duty,
and restrained you years ago, would you, my son,
be the stubborn fool who stands here now,
bringing ruin on the Bharatas?”
Again, the prince swept out of the assembly,
followed by loyal Karna and Shakuni.
Together they devised a daring plot:
seeing that Krishna could not be appeased,
and perceiving him as unprotected,
Duryodhana proposed to take him hostage,
keep him prisoner until the Pandavas
agreed to give up all claim to the kingdom.
But observant Satyaki got wind of it
and went to tell Krishna and the elders
in the assembly. Once more, Duryodhana
was forced to listen to their reprimands:
Dhritarashtra said, “You must be deranged!
Do you not grasp the measure of Krishna’s power?
If you attempted such a hare-brained scheme,
that would be your final act on earth;
you would be like a moth attacking fire.
Just as no human hand can stop the wind,
or reach the moon, as no man can lift the earth,
so there is no force that can capture Krishna.”
Krishna turned his gaze on Duryodhana.
“Half-witted prince, just try to use force on me
and Yudhishthira’s problem will be over.
I will capture you and your crass friends
and hand you over to the Pandavas.
You think I am just one man, easy prey,
but with me, on this spot, stand the great seers,
the Pandavas, and all our mighty allies.”
He laughed a thunderous laugh and, instantly,
he was surrounded by a blinding light.
His body blazed fire, and from his many arms
sprang thumb-sized Pandavas and countless warriors,
Narada and the other holy seers,
Indra, the Ashvins, and many other gods.
From his mouth and nostrils flickered flames.
Conches, discuses and other weapons
shone around him, held in his many hands.
Dazzled, those assembled shrank away
and covered up their eyes in utter terror.
Only the wisest—Bhishma, Vidura,
Drona, Sanjaya—looked on in wonder.
Krishna resumed his human shape, and walked
out of the hall. The king called after him,
“You’ve seen what power I hold over my son!
Make sure my nephews know I wish them well.
If Duryodhana stays on this wicked path
there’s nothing I can do.”
“You are indeed
powerless,” said Krishna ironically.
He left the hall, bound for Upaplavya.
But before setting out, there were two more
people he must see, to complete his mission.