49.
At this point of impasse, the great ascetic
Devasthana entered the discussion.
“Arjuna is right to defend wealth,
but one must understand its use correctly.
You know that a man’s life should have four stages:
first a student, then a householder,
next a forest hermit, and finally
a renunciant, wandering the world.
A life is like a ladder to be climbed
step by step, in the correct manner.
You should not try to leap to the top rung
before you have attained the previous three
with due regard to the conduct right for each.
You have won the earth, Yudhishthira,
and won it lawfully. You should not now
simply renounce it—that would be misguided.
“As a king, you are a householder.
Your task is the support of your dependents
and providing wealth for sacrifices
to sustain the gods. Wealth was created
to support such ritual sacrifice,
and by making offerings in this way
people acquire merit. With wealth, also,
they make donations to those who deserve them,
especially priests—and true wisdom resides
in judging who is worthy and who is not.
By this means, through sacrifice and gifts,
a man at the householder stage of life,
living without anger, fear or greed,
may be content. So you, Yudhishthira,
should cast aside your grief, and do your duty
as a king and householder, devoted
to the protection of your subjects, free
of negative emotions.”
“Only listen,”
said Arjuna, “to this excellent advice
and shed your misery. All those we killed
died as warriors, and are in heaven now;
knowing this, why should you grieve for them?
Think of Indra—he killed his wicked kinsmen
and is honored for it throughout the three worlds.”
Vyasa agreed: “What if all and sundry
took to the forest just as they felt inclined
before they reached the proper stage in life?
You must exercise authority
as King Sudyumna did in ancient times.”
“Tell me about that king,” said Yudhishthira.
“TWO BRAHMIN BROTHERS, Shankha and Likhita, were living a life of abstinence, each in his own hermitage beside the lovely river Bahuda, down in Panchala country. One day, Likhita went to visit Shankha but found he was not at home. While he waited, Likhita idly picked a ripe fruit and was eating it when his brother returned.
“‘Where did you get that fruit?’ asked Shankha angrily. ‘Who gave you permission to pick it? You have committed theft. You should denounce yourself to the king, and ask him to punish you.’
“Likhita went to King Sudyumna, who knew him well, and told him what he had done.
“‘If I am the agent of punishment,’ said the king, ‘I also have it in my power to pardon you—which I hereby do, knowing you to be a man of scrupulous conduct.’
“Likhita was pleased, but he insisted on his punishment, so the king had his two hands cut off.
“In great pain, Likhita went back to his brother. ‘Blessed one,’ he said, ‘I have borne my punishment. Now, please forgive me.’
“‘I am not angry with you, brother,’ said Shankha. ‘You have atoned for what you did. Now go quickly to the river and pour libations to the gods and the ancestors.’
“Likhita waded into the water and, as he tried to pour water in the prescribed manner, his two hands reappeared, whole and perfect. He was amazed.
“Shankha said, ‘I performed this miracle with my ascetic power.’
“‘But if you could do this,’ exclaimed Likhita, ‘why did you not purify me of my sin before?’
“‘It was not my dharma to inflict punishment on you. That is the king’s task and, through performing it, he has gained merit, and so have his ancestors. You, too, have been purified by it.’
“You should follow the ancient king’s example,
Yudhishthira. Listen to Arjuna.
Wielding the rod is right for a kshatriya;
shaving the head is not. And, furthermore,
you owe it to your brothers and Draupadi,
after so many years of deprivation,
that they should enjoy life as they did before.”
“To rule can bring me only misery,”
said Yudhishthira. “I am tormented
by the terrible laments of those poor women
whose main purpose in life is now denied them—
to be loving mothers, sisters, wives.”
Vyasa said, “You feel responsible,
but to think that these events were your doing
is arrogant, my son. Nothing occurs
unless the time has come around for it;
those of perfect understanding know this.
Only time governs our lives’ events,
whether they be tiny or momentous;
the shallowest breath, the greatest massacre—
both are produced by time. What happens happens.
To resist, or to recriminate
and wish it had been otherwise, to yearn
for another chance, another life, is fruitless;
craving is the source of suffering.
Happiness and sorrow, pain and pleasure—
both pairs of opposites bring suffering
if one engages with them. Better by far
to accept what time delivers, knowing
that there is nothing changeless but change itself.”
But Yudhishthira was still unconvinced.
He hardly took in what Vyasa said,
so gripped was he by grief. “Abhimanyu,
just a child! And all Draupadi’s sons!
Bhishma—that dear man who was so kind to us
when we came as boys to Hastinapura.
My mind is haunted by the memory
of how he staggered as if struck by lightning
under the onslaught of Arjuna’s arrows.
And the lie I told to our great teacher,
Drona, making him lose his will to fight,
causing him such grief! And most of all
our brother Karna, who always fought fairly—
all those great men would be among us still
but for my hunger to possess the kingdom.
Knowing this, I cannot live. Farewell.
I will sit in this place, and fast to death.”
“This is very wrong,” said Vyasa sternly.
“Your grief is self-indulgent and excessive.
You have not heard what I have been telling you
so I will repeat it, in another way.
Please pay attention.” And Vyasa spoke again
about the wheel of time, and how it brings
both pleasure and pain to everyone on earth.
“We are born; we die. And in between
we briefly act. We are like transient bubbles
arising on the surface of a stream:
not here, then here, and then again not here.
All that happens, everything we do,
is conditioned by unfolding time.
We make plans, choices, we act well or badly,
and think the outcomes are of our own making.
But it is time, working through our actions,
that shapes events. This war, Yudhishthira,
that gives you so much pain, was predetermined;
every death was unavoidable,
no matter how it seems.”
The Pandava
was silent. Then Arjuna asked Krishna
to speak to the downcast king. Yudhishthira
had loved his cousin since they had first met,
more deeply, even, than he loved his brothers.
Krishna held his hand and, speaking gently,
told him he should not grieve, emphasizing
everything that Vyasa had said before him.
As he spoke, he glowed with a gentle light.
“Those who were killed on the field of battle
are like figures in our dreams. We have awoken;
they are no more. You should not weep for them.
They all died fighting bravely, as true heroes.”
Vyasa spoke again. “Any kingdom
needs a ruler to enforce the law,
to punish those who act improperly.
That is what you did by waging war
against Duryodhana and his supporters.
You set out to protect the social order;
you acted righteously.”
“But it was greed
that motivated me,” groaned Yudhishthira,
“and, but for that, millions of brave men,
prematurely swept to Yama’s realm,
would be here now.”
Vyasa shook his head.
“Your cousin sinned against morality.
To have refrained from punishing transgression
would have made you complicit in that sin.
Therefore, the war you fought was justified.
You did your duty as the Dharma King.
As for responsibility—consider
who is the doer. It may be human beings,
it may be the gods, it may be chance, it may
be karma, the consequence of previous actions.
Where the gods act through a human instrument
they are accountable—just as, if a man
chops down a lovely tree, we blame the man
and not the ax he uses. You may object
that even if the gods determine deeds,
the people who perform them are responsible
if they intend them for their own purposes
and desire their fruits. But this is not correct.
The gods are still finally accountable.
No one can escape what is ordained.
“But even when someone commits wrongdoing
on their own initiative, it can be
expiated by subsequent good acts.
If you believe that acts arise randomly
by chance, then good and bad do not exist;
the world is mere chaos. But that will not do.
People want to distinguish good from bad
and the most perfect guide to that is dharma.
Furthermore, actions have consequences
for the one who performs them—that is karma.
“So you should be confident, Yudhishthira,
that you have rightly followed kshatriya dharma.
But in atonement for the suffering
the war has brought, you can ensure your conduct
is exemplary from this time onward.”
“My guilt is too appalling to be expunged
by mere good deeds. Only the most severe
ascetic discipline will do. Please tell me
of hermitages that will meet my need.”
Vyasa said, “Sometimes, Yudhishthira,
right looks like wrong. That’s how it is with you.
You have acted rightly, as was ordained,
yet, blind to this, you burn with wrongheaded guilt.
“The solution I prescribe for you
is to perform a great horse sacrifice.
That sacrifice will require huge resources
of energy and wealth. It will be hard.
Start by going in turn to all the kingdoms
whose kings you killed in battle. Make peace with them
with soothing words. Appoint their sons or brothers
as successors, and have them consecrated.
If there is no one left in the male line,
have queens or princesses appointed ruler.
After encouraging those territories
in this way, return to Hastinapura
and prepare for the horse sacrifice.
In that manner, even though the war
was ordained by the gods, you will atone
for any shameful motive you may have had.”
For the first time, Yudhishthira was hopeful.
He began to see a way to conquer grief.
He asked Vyasa to explain more fully
right and wrong action. Vyasa answered him,
then suggested that Yudhishthira
should go to Bhishma for more profound teaching
before the patriarch gave up his life.
“I am not worthy,” said Yudhishthira,
“to approach Bhishma, guilty as I am
of his great suffering on his bed of arrows.”
“Nonsense!” said Krishna. “Stiffen your resolve
and do what Vyasa tells you. He knows best.
The whole kingdom is waiting for you—please
make us all happy.”
Yudhishthira stood up.
He had put aside his spiritual torment
and found some peace of mind. The time had come
for the Pandavas to enter the city.
After worshiping the gods, Yudhishthira,
radiant as the moon in the firmament,
mounted a gleaming chariot, draped with the skins
of antelopes. It was drawn by sixteen
auspicious white cattle, driven by Bhima.
Arjuna grasped the dazzling white parasol;
the twins held ceremonial yak-tail whisks.
The rest of the royal party followed—
a line of chariots, carts and palanquins
scattered with fragrant flowers and perfumed powders,
escorted by huge elephants, foot soldiers,
horses, and musicians blowing trumpets.
The streets of Hastinapura were close-packed
with joyful citizens. The royal cortège
processed through the decorated entrance
and up the King’s Way hung with welcoming flags
and swagged with fragrant garlands. On each side
of the broad thoroughfare stood splendid mansions,
and women leaned from every balcony,
waving and singing praises. At the far end,
in the vast and well-proportioned square
stood the royal palace, festooned with flowers.
Yudhishthira descended from his chariot
and paid reverence to the effigies
of the gods, scattering them with petals.
After he had honored Dhritarashtra
and Dhaumya, the household priest, Yudhishthira
bestowed many lavish gifts on brahmins—
sweets, gold, jewels, cattle, clothing—
and they loudly blessed him and sang his praises.
When the noise died down, one Charvaka
approached Yudhishthira, to speak with him.
Disguised as a brahmin, he was in fact
a rakshasa, a friend of Duryodhana.
“All these brahmins,” he said, “have entrusted me
to speak for them. They wish me to say this:
‘May evil come to the Pandavas. Curses
be upon you for slaughtering your kin!’”
The brahmins howled him down. “You wicked monster,
you do not speak for us. We bless the king!”
Then, simply by chanting “hum,” the brahmins
burned up the rakshasa. All were relieved.
After the brahmins left, Krishna said,
“I always honor brahmins. They can kill
through their ascetic power, but at the same time
they are easy to please. Now, Yudhishthira,
be cheerful! Be glad of your good fortune,
kill your enemies, protect your subjects,
honor brahmins—and do not be weak!”
“Tell me what Yudhishthira did then,”
said Janamejaya, “once he regained
the kingdom.” Vaishampayana continued.
The royal son of Kunti shed his grief.
He sat enthroned, surrounded by his household,
and held an audience for his subjects,
who brought him gifts according to their means.
Dhaumya lit a sacred fire on the altar
and assembled all the objects he would need.
Then, with Draupadi seated by his side,
Yudhishthira was duly consecrated
king of the Bharatas. And so it was
that the Pandava took back his kingdom
in the presence of those who wished him well.
Yudhishthira ordained that Dhritarashtra
should be treated by all with deep respect,
as he had been before. Vidura,
Sanjaya and Yuyutsu should attend
the aged king. Yudhishthira installed
Vidura as his own adviser. Bhima
was heir apparent, and worthy Sanjaya
was put in charge of records and revenues.
Nakula was made head of the army.
Arjuna was to ensure public order
and look out for subversion in the kingdom.
The king required sweet-natured Sahadeva
to be his personal bodyguard at all times.
The first shraddha rites were carried out
for the Pandavas’ kinsmen killed in battle.
Dhritarashtra made lavish donations
to brahmins, in memory of his sons.
No one was forgotten, and the king
was specially solicitous to women
who had lost all their male relatives,
guaranteeing them royal protection.
He made sure the poor were well provided for.
The next morning, Yudhishthira’s first act
was to design a system of rewards
appropriate to every class of person
who was dependent on him. In doing so
he laid down a ground plan for the way
the kingdom would be run. This calmed his mind.
Then he went to Krishna. The dark-skinned one
was sitting in deep meditation. Dressed
in yellow silk, seated on a fine couch,
he looked like a rare jewel set in gold.
The king greeted him; he did not reply.
Yudhishthira marveled at how still he was.
He bowed to Krishna as the blessed Lord
and gave voice to his devotion, speaking
his many names. “O origin of all things,
changing and unchanging, without beginning
and without end, ruler of all the worlds,
I worship you. I submit to your will.”
Krishna stretched his limbs and smiled at him.
“Bhishma is meditating on me—my mind
had gone to be with him. When he is no more,
the earth will become like a starry sky
without its moon. Yudhishthira, you should go
and seek teaching from him, otherwise
his profound wisdom will vanish with him.”
“I will,” said Yudhishthira, “and Bhishma needs
to see you.” Krishna’s chariot was made ready
and they set off for the field of Kurukshetra
together with a mounted retinue.
“Look there,” said Krishna, “over to the right
are the lakes that Rama Jamadagnya filled
with kshatriyas’ blood, when he destroyed them
twenty-one times over.”
“Then how was it,”
asked the king, “that kshatriyas survived
to perish in such numbers at Kurukshetra?”
As they traveled, Krishna told the story.
“LONG AGO, when people lived for thousands of years, the earth was tyrannized by violent kshatriyas, burning and looting, persecuting brahmins, causing mayhem everywhere. Some of them killed the seer Jamadagni, and in revenge, his son, the fiery-tempered Rama Jamadagnya, swore to rid the earth of kshatriyas. Twenty-one times he almost succeeded, slaughtering men and boys by the million. But each time, a few survived. Some were secretly protected by their mothers, or not yet born when the massacres took place. Others were hidden by seers, or by cows, monkeys, bears, or by the ocean.
“Eventually, Rama offered the earth to the seer and ancestor, Kashyapa, who banished Rama to a distant spot, in order to preserve the remnant of kshatriyas. The earth was in a state of anarchy because there were no kings to enforce order. The goddess Earth pleaded with Kashyapa to create kings, in order that she would not be continually ravaged, and she nominated kshatriyas who were particularly heroic. Kashyapa appointed kings from among them, and they founded lineages. The Pandavas and other royal kshatriyas who live today are their descendants. As for Rama, he devoted himself to becoming a great master of weaponry. He was the teacher of Bhishma, and of Karna—with the tragic results we know about. He has always retained his hatred of kshatriyas.”
Now they were getting close to where Bhishma lay.
The field was still a monument to death—
the ground a mess of bones and hair and hides;
millions of skulls gathered up in heaps
waiting to be dealt with. The remains
of funeral pyres were everywhere. Mountains
of arrows, axes, maces, swords lay rusting.
The patriarch lay with great seers in attendance—
Narada, Vyasa, Devasthana . . .
His eyes closed, he was engaged in praising
Krishna, the supreme deity.
“O Lord,
the unmanifest within the manifest;
the knower of the field, the supreme witness;
light of the world, lord of all creation;
whose fiery brilliance is greater than the sun;
lord of all that moves, and everything
that is still; the eternal irreducible;
who is the embodiment of perfect freedom;
whose hair is the rain clouds, in whose limbs
run the life-giving waters; who is time
and beyond time; who is the supreme Self;
who is the maker and who is the destroyer—
I devote myself to you. Help me to see
the path to blessedness in the world hereafter.”
So prayed Bhishma in his hymn of praise.
He was like the sun, and his many arrows
were its rays. Krishna greeted him gently.
He could see the patriarch’s strength was fading.
“I hope your mind is clear, O Bharata.
I hope you are not in unbearable pain.
Most excellent man, no one surpasses you
in wisdom and ascetic discipline.
Here is the virtuous King Yudhishthira.
The Pandava is struggling with searing grief
after the death of so many of his kin.
Please speak to him. Help him to understand
the dharma of kings; resolve his perplexity.”
Krishna conferred a blessing on the patriarch,
and Bhishma witnessed, with his inner eye,
the divine manifestation of Vishnu—
in the past, the present and in time to come—
a revelation granted to very few.
He raised his voice in wonder, joy and praise.
“Bhishma, in the days remaining to you,”
said Krishna, “please instruct Yudhishthira
in all he should know.” Bhishma joined his hands.
“My mind is foggy—pain from all my wounds
is sapping my energy. My speech is slurred.
And how can I lay claim to wisdom, Krishna,
when you are here? I would be ashamed—
it would be like a pupil holding forth
in the presence of his revered master.”
“Greatest mainstay of the Bharatas,
your wisdom is legendary,” replied Krishna.
“But I can ease your physical distress.
You will have no more pain or tiredness,
your mind will be clear, and you will remember
all you ever knew. With your celestial eye
you will see the truth of things entire,
as if watching fish in limpid water.”
The sun was dropping behind the western hills.
All took their leave and left Bhishma to rest.
The royal party rode back to the city.
In the morning, Yudhishthira decided
he would go back to Bhishma with no escort,
only Krishna and his family.
They found the seers around him, as before.
Yudhishthira could not bring himself to speak,
so Krishna approached. “How is it with you?
I hope you are comfortable.” Bhishma replied,
“Thanks to you, all my pain has left me,
my mind and understanding are diamond clear.
But why, tell me, do you not yourself
teach Yudhishthira?” Krishna answered him,
“I wish to do you good. What you teach the king
will become known throughout the three worlds,
bringing you great glory. The Pandavas
are here. Please speak to them like a father;
they trust you utterly.”
“Let Yudhishthira
question me,” said Bhishma. “That son of Pandu
is scrupulous in his respect for dharma,
self-controlled, truthful and devout.
He worships the gods and respects his elders,
is gracious to guests, and generous to brahmins—
Yudhishthira should say what he wants to hear.”
“He is too full of shame to approach you,
aware of having harmed you, and so many
other outstanding men. He fears a curse.”
“Krishna,” said Bhishma, “as you know, the scriptures
have laid down that warfare is to kshatriyas
what piety and study are to brahmins.
A kshatriya should always be prepared
to kill even his kin in a just cause.
Yudhishthira has acted honorably.”
Hearing this, Yudhishthira drew near
and clasped Bhishma’s feet. “Welcome, my son,”
said Bhishma. “Be seated, do not be afraid.
Whatever you desire to know—ask me.”