XVII & XVIII
60.
Janamejaya said:
“Now Krishna was no more, now he had returned
to his heavenly realm, what did my ancestors
do then, deprived of their most cherished friend?”
“I will tell you,” said Vaishampayana,
“and we are nearly coming to the end
of great Vyasa’s monumental poem.”
Having heard Arjuna’s tale, Yudhishthira
proposed to all his brothers and Draupadi
that they renounce the kingdom and the world.
“Time,” he said, “cooks all things in its cauldron.
We have achieved all that was preordained;
now there is nothing for us to do on earth.”
They all agreed. The king sent for Yuyutsu.
He consented to be the guide and helper
of Parikshit, who would be the new king.
With Vajra as the ruler of Indraprastha,
Yudhishthira felt confident of peace
and prosperity throughout the kingdom.
Indeed, in future times, it would be told
how, under Parikshit, the kingdom prospered.
Lavish shraddha rites were undertaken
for Krishna, Balarama, Vasudeva
and all dead kinsmen of the Bharatas.
Brahmins were fed, and given generous gifts.
Kripa was installed as revered guru
to Parikshit, who would be his disciple.
When the people heard of the king’s decision
they were distressed and tried to change his mind,
but he was firm, and managed to convince them
that it was for the best. Then he turned his thoughts
to departure. On the appointed day,
the five Pandavas and Draupadi,
clothed in garments of bark, and having fasted,
left Hastinapura. They were reminded
of the time so many years before
when they had left the city in bark clothing
after the defeat in the gambling hall.
Then, they were entering miserable exile;
now, quitting Hastinapura for ever,
they were at peace, feeling only joy.
Some citizens escorted them on their way,
still hoping to persuade them to return.
But failing, and bidding them a last farewell,
they turned back to the city, and their new king.
Only a stray dog stayed with the Pandavas,
trotting along behind them, keeping pace.
Traveling on foot, for many months
they circumambulated the whole land
of Bharatavarsha, through varied terrain.
Living austerely, they first turned eastward
toward the rising sun and the eastern mountains,
following the course of the mighty Ganga
to where its waters flow into the sea.
Arjuna still carried his bow Gandiva,
and his quivers, once inexhaustible.
They were useless to him now, but still
he was attached to them, as to old friends.
As they approached the coast, a tall figure
appeared in front of them. “I am the fire god,
Agni,” he said. “It was I who burned
the Khandava Forest all those years ago.
Arjuna, I gave you Gandiva then,
procured from Varuna, the god of waters,
and now it is time to give it back to him.
It will return to earth in another era.
Like Krishna’s discus, it will be taken up
to benefit the world.” Then Arjuna,
standing on a rock, threw his weapons
out into the ocean, where they sank.
The Pandavas went on toward the south
following the shore by the Eastern Ghats.
Next, they went west and north through many kingdoms
that once had owed them fealty, unnoticed
and unrecognized. Eventually,
they reached the coast where Dvaraka once stood,
radiant jewel of the western sea
now submerged beneath its crashing surf.
The travelers turned inland, heading northeast,
and still the scruffy dog was at their heels.
At last, they sighted the majestic outline
of snowy Himavat, the king of mountains
dazzling in the sun, known as the source
of the sacred Sarasvati. They climbed upward,
ever higher, through the sparkling air.
In the distance, they could hear the roar
of rivers tumbling down over the rocks
through deep ravines. During their twelve-year exile,
when they had spent time in the high mountains
consoled by the peace and beauty of the place,
Yudhishthira had promised to return
at his life’s end, as a penitent.
Now, as they walked in a state of meditation
they passed through groves of flowering plants, surrounded
by the singing of innumerable birds.
But they did not stay. Steadfastly they journeyed
onward toward the pure land of Mount Meru,
greatest of mountains, home to the mightiest gods.
Then, as they walked in single file, Draupadi
fell down, lifeless. “Brother,” exclaimed Bhima,
“why has she died now, she who was blameless,
who never did a sinful act?” Yudhishthira
thought, then said, “She was wife to all of us,
but she has always favored Arjuna.
Perhaps that was her sin.”
They traveled on
and, after some time, Sahadeva fell.
“Why?” asked Bhima.
“Perhaps he was too proud
of his wisdom,” said Yudhishthira.
Nakula fell next. “He was righteous
and intelligent,” said Yudhishthira,
“but he thought that none could rival him
in beauty. I suppose that is the reason
why he has fallen now.”
Then Arjuna
fell to the ground and gave up the breath of life.
“Why Arjuna?” asked Bhima. “I cannot think
of any time when he spoke untruthfully,
even as a joke.”
“He was too proud,”
replied Yudhishthira. “You remember—
he boasted that he would defeat our foes
in a single day. He was contemptuous
of other archers. That is why he has fallen.”
Then Bhima fell to the ground. “Why me?” he cried,
“I want to know.” Yudhishthira replied,
“You were a glutton; you failed to attend
to the wants of others. And you were a boaster,
proud of your mighty arms. But for all of us,
our death is preordained.” And he walked on
without looking back, accompanied
only by the dog.
After Yudhishthira
had trudged on through the snow for many days,
his gaze fixed steadily upon Mount Meru,
he was exhausted. There was a rushing wind
and Indra appeared to him on a fine chariot.
“Climb on,” he said, “and come with me to heaven.”
But Yudhishthira stayed where he stood,
looking back down the mountain. “My brothers
and Draupadi must go with me,” he said.
“I do not want to be in heaven without them.”
“Do not grieve for them, Bharata,” said Indra.
“They have all reached heaven ahead of you,
having cast off their bodies. It is ordained
that you should reach heaven in bodily form.”
“This dog must come with me,” said Yudhishthira.
“Through our entire journey, he has walked
beside me loyally, sharing all hardships.”
“Impossible. Heaven is no place for dogs,”
said Indra. “You have won the supreme reward
by your virtuous life—there is no sin
in abandoning the dog.”
“I cannot do it,”
said Yudhishthira. “It would be wicked
to cast aside one who is so devoted
from a selfish desire for the joys of heaven.”
“But you have renounced all other ties,”
said the god. “You left your wife and brothers
lying on the ground. Why is this dog different?”
“They were already dead. There was nothing more
I could do for them. This dog is alive.
To abandon him would be equivalent
to the worst sins—slaughtering a woman,
theft from a brahmin, injuring a friend.
I have never done such a sinful deed,
and I never will, so long as I have breath.
Indra, I cannot, and I will not do it.”
Suddenly, the animal was transformed
into the god of righteousness himself:
Dharma, father of Yudhishthira.
He was delighted with his virtuous son.
“This compassion is a supreme example
of your righteous mode of life. There is no one
in all the worlds more virtuous than you.”
Yudhishthira was taken up to heaven
by Indra, accompanied by other gods
and celestial beings. The seer Narada
was one of many there who welcomed him.
He told Yudhishthira that no one else
had ever had the privilege of earning
heaven while they were in their earthly body.
Yudhishthira thanked the gods. “But now,” he said,
“I wish to go to that realm where my brothers
and Draupadi have gone. I want to join them.”
“You have earned a special place,” said Indra.
“Why do you still cling to your old attachments?
Your four brothers and Draupadi have reached
happiness. You should stay here with us—
enjoy your great success.”
But Yudhishthira
insisted that he wanted to be only
where his brothers and his wife had gone.
“Open your eyes, Yudhishthira,” said Indra.
Yudhishthira looked around—and what he saw
was Duryodhana! The Kaurava
was seated on a splendid throne, surrounded
by gods and many heavenly attendants,
together with the other Kauravas.
Yudhishthira, shocked and outraged, turned his back.
“How can this be! This wicked cousin of ours,
this man, driven by greed and bitter envy,
was responsible for the deaths of millions
and the desolation of millions more.
It was due to him that the blameless Draupadi
was humiliated; due to him
that we endured those thirteen years of exile,
suffering privation—yet here he sits
enjoying the rewards of Indra’s heaven!
I do not even want to look at him.
Let me go to where my brothers are.”
“This response is wrong, Yudhishthira,”
said Narada. “Heaven knows no enmity.
You should put all these concerns behind you.
I know Duryodhana behaved wrongly
to the Pandavas, but by the sacrifice
of his body on the field of battle,
and by his courage, he has pleased the gods.
He never ceased to follow kshatriya dharma.
He never fought unfairly. You should approach him
in a spirit of goodwill.”
Yudhishthira
looked away. “I do not see my brothers,
or any of the heroes who fought with us;
nor do I see Karna. Ever since
my mother told me that he was our brother
I have longed for him, both night and day.
When I noticed, in the gaming hall,
that Karna’s feet so much resembled Kunti’s,
I should have realized. I should have spoken.
I wish to go to him, and to the others,
my other brothers and faithful Draupadi.
Where my loved ones are—that is heaven.
For me, this place is not heaven at all.”
The gods ordered a celestial messenger
to escort Yudhishthira to his kinsfolk.
The messenger went first, to show the way
over rough terrain. It was treacherous,
mushy with flesh and blood, bones, hair,
and stinking of the cadavers that lay
all around, swarming with flies and maggots
gorging on the decomposing bodies.
The way was lined with fire, and it was jostling
with crows and other scavengers, their beaks
iron-hard and cruel. Dark spirits lurked there
with needle-sharp incisors and hideous claws.
They passed a river, boiling and foul-smelling,
and a stand of trees whose every leaf
cut like the keenest blade. Worst of all,
people on every side were enduring
the most dreadful torture imaginable.
“How much further?” asked Yudhishthira.
“What is this place? And where are my brothers?”
The messenger stopped. “My instructions are
that I should come this far only. If you wish,
you may return with me.” Yudhishthira
was suffocated by the dreadful stench
and stifling heat. His courage was failing him.
He turned round to follow the messenger.
But then he heard piteous voices, calling out,
“Son of Dharma! Royal sage! Great Bharata!
Pity us! As long as you are here
a fragrant breeze is bringing us relief.
Please stay, even for a little while.”
“Ah, how terrible!” exclaimed Yudhishthira.
The voices seemed familiar. “Who are you?”
he called to them. He heard the voices answer,
clamorous with pain—
“I am Karna!”
“I am Bhima!”
“I am Arjuna!”
“I am Nakula!”
“I am Sahadeva!”
“I am Draupadi!”
“I am Dhrishtadyumna!”
“We are the sons of Draupadi!”
Yudhishthira, horrified and bewildered,
could not understand. It seemed to him
that everything he knew, and had believed
throughout his life, had been turned upside down.
“What madness is this?” he asked himself.
“What have these beloved people done
that they should be consigned to hell like this?
It makes no sense at all that Duryodhana
should be enjoying every luxury
while these dear ones, who have been most scrupulous
in observing dharma—and all these months
have been steadfast in yoga—are suffering.
Am I dreaming, perhaps? Is this delusion?”
Yudhishthira began to blaze with anger.
“What kind of beings are the gods we worship
with such devotion? What is dharma worth
if these good souls can be so cruelly treated?”
He spoke to the messenger. “I shall stay here.
How could I enjoy gross privilege
in heaven, having seen what you have shown me?
My presence here seems to bring some relief
to these dear people. Therefore, I shall remain
to comfort them. This is where I belong.”
The messenger went away. But in no time
the gods appeared, with Indra at their head,
and, among them, the lord of righteousness.
Immediately, the scene changed completely.
Dark became light. The dreadful sights and smells
disappeared. A gentle, fragrant breeze
blew all around. There were no tortured beings,
no rotting corpses, no lacerating trees.
“Yudhishthira,” said Indra, “do not be angry.
You will suffer no more of these illusions.
Hell has to be witnessed by every king.
Whoever first encounters heaven will afterward
experience hell. He who endures hell first
will afterward see heaven. Sinful people
enjoy the fruits of their good actions first,
spending some time in heaven before hell.
For those whose lives were mainly virtuous
it is the opposite. Because you tricked Drona
by letting him believe his son was dead,
you, through a trick, had to spend time in hell.
It was the same for your brothers. Illusion
caused them to suffer, just for a short time.
Now that is at an end. Shed grief and anger.
Your brothers and your kinsfolk have now gone
to those realms where they enjoy happiness.”
Lord Dharma spoke. “My son, I am highly pleased.
You have passed all the tests I set for you.
By the Dvaita lake, you answered my riddles.
You showed loyalty even to a dog.
And here, out of compassion, you chose to share
the suffering of others. There is no one
in all the worlds more virtuous than you.
You must now bathe in the celestial Ganga
where you will cast off your human body.”
This Yudhishthira did. And, with his body,
all resentment, grief, hostility
also fell away. Then the gods took him
to the place where everyone he loved,
as well as all the sons of Dhritarashtra,
were enjoying bliss. There he saw Krishna
in his divine form; and each of his brothers
transformed by splendor, yet recognizable,
associating with the gods, their fathers.
He saw Karna, with Surya, the sun god.
He saw Draupadi, radiant with light,
accompanied by all her royal sons.
He saw Abhimanyu. He saw Pandu
reunited with Kunti and Madri.
He saw Bhishma, Drona . . . so many heroes
it would take an eon to name them all.