THIRTY-THREE
The Kamyaka forest abounded in game and here, in their by now familiar asrama, the Pandavas spent the twelfth year of their exile. Again, Vyasa appeared unexpectedly and spent some days with his grandsons. The muni was full of old lore and wisdom and Yudhishtira would always press him to share some of what he knew.
Once, when they sat together under the nyagrodha tree, Vyasa said with a sigh, "Life is never purely dark or bright, but always a mixture of both. When good fortune comes, one must know how to enjoy it without losing one's wits. And when misfortune is one's lot, one must know how to bear it with fortitude, to survive and, yes, to learn wisdom from it. For suffering is a greater teacher than any other in the world."
They sat in silence for a while and the silence of the rishi Vyasa was an eloquent thing. Of all his ancestors, Yudhishtira was happiest to trace his lineage back to this seer; as frequently happens with eldest grandsons and their grandfathers.
That day, Yudhishtira asked, "Which gives a man more punya, charity or asceticism?"
Vyasa said with no hesitation, "Charity is hard, my son. At the best of times, it is difficult to give away what one has earned with toil. Always give charity to those that are needy. One may deceive oneself that asceticism is more difficult than charity, but this is not true."
Thus the twelfth year of their exile passed. Many illustrious sages came and went from the asrama. Some were contemplative men, of resonant quietness, who spoke more with silence than words; others were flamboyant munis full of brilliant conversation and fabulous stories. And it was never a problem to feed the visitors: Draupadi depended on the copper plate of the Sun, which never let her down. Of course, she always ate last, after the others had finished, since once she had eaten the platter became empty.
Inevitably, word of the Sun's platter traveled to Hastinapura and to Duryodhana, whose vanity had swollen considerably after the Vaishnava yagna, now that he was a king himself. But the Kaurava knew, in some niggling way, that his Vaishnava yagna had not been equal to Yudhishtira's Rajasuya. This knowledge lay in his heart like a live ember.
More than ever, Duryodhana was obsessed by the thought of his cousins in the vana and their return, which drew nearer each day. When he heard how they entertained the munis of the wide world, how the humble asrama in the forest had become as much a focus of wisdom as Indraprastha had been, Duryodhana was livid with envy.
He dare not attack the Pandavas in the forest, but he spent all his days thinking of how to harm them. Then, as if in response to his wishes, one day Durvasa arrived in Hastinapura with a hundred followers.
Duryodhana rushed out to meet the rishi, who was as much a legend for his swift temper as his spiritual power. Why, Durvasa once cursed the Devas to become mortal: and the amrita was churned up from the Kshirasagara. That was in the earliest days of the first krita yuga. No one knew how old Durvasa muni was. Many believed him to be an incarnation of Rudra and this accounted for his temper.
Sensing a heavensent opportunity, Duryodhana came to the gates of Hastinapura to welcome Durvasa, as he had never been welcomed to any city before. The Kaurava himself washed the rishi's feet, then, with every show of honor, showed him to an opulent apartment in his palace. One could see at a glance why people feared Durvasa so much. He was full of a restless energy, as if he was already on his way to another place, when he had barely been received in this one. He was a towering figure, with a leonine head: a sage from a nobler time; his flashing eyes missed nothing around him.
The moment he was seated, Durvasa cried imperiously, "Fetch me food, quickly! Have my munis eaten? We don't have all day to waste here."
His tone would have been intolerable in another guest. Wherever he went, it was his way of provoking his hosts; and heaven help them if they dared answer him back in similar vein. It was said Durvasa always had a curse ready on the tip of his tongue. Discretion was invariably the wiser course when one dealt with this muni and Duryodhana was the very soul of that virtue now. The usually arrogant Kaurava fawned over his guest.
At last, Durvasa finished eating and he had only nibbled at the delicacies set before him. He sat back and suddenly his face softened into a smile that creased his face in kindly wrinkles.
The muni said, "Duryodhana, you are not at all like what the world says you are. You are kind and considerate. You have honored me, as I have not been for a long time. Why, you served me with your own hands like a kitchen boy. I don't care what the world says; I judge you as I find you myself. Noble king, I want to grant you a boon. Ask me for anything and you shall have it."
Duryodhana said at once, "My cousin Yudhishtira lives in the Kamyaka vana. Let it please my lord to visit him in the forest and seek his legendary hospitality. Only, holy one, arrive in his asrama when Panchali has finished eating."
Durvasa was a little startled at the strange boon the Kaurava wanted; but he was bound to grant Duryodhana whatever he asked. So it was that, when he left Hastinapura, Durvasa and his party of a hundred made straight for the Kamyaka aranya and Yudhishtira's asrama. They arrived late in the afternoon when Durvasa knew, clairvoyantly, that Draupadi had finished eating.
Yudhishtira came out to welcome the sage and his party. Reverently, the eldest Pandava washed Durvasa's feet. The rishi cried, "We are starving, Yudhishtira. And we have heard about the unworldly fare Draupadi serves in this asrama."
Behind the door of the wooden hut, Draupadi gave a groan. Innocent of her plight, Yudhishtira said, "My lord, there is a river nearby where you can wash. I will show you the way and we will have a meal served for you when you return."
Yudhishtira called Draupadi, "Panchali, we are going to the river. Have food ready for our guests when we return."
He and his brothers walked away into the forest with their visitors. Draupadi felt faint. She had just eaten and had washed the platter clean. Where would she find food for Durvasa and his disciples? Like everyone else, Draupadi had heard of the rishi's temper.
She sat on the floor with her head in her hands and whispered in despair, "Krishna, help me!"
Hardly had she said this, when a bright voice hailed her from the door. "I am starving, Panchali! Give me something to eat, quickly."
She jumped up with a cry. There he was, the Dark One, wearing a pitambara robe, the peacock-feather gleaming above his head. Draupadi wailed, "Krishna, there is nothing to eat here! I have just eaten myself and washed the Sun's platter clean. Durvasa and a hundred of his munis have arrived and they are hungry. Yudhishtira took them to the river and they will return any moment. When Durvasa finds there is nothing to eat, he will curse us. Oh Krishna, I am terrified. I don't know what to do."
"Is there nothing in the copper plate, Draupadi?" asked the Dark One. "Come, let us take a look at your wonderful platter."
"I just washed it, Krishna. There is nothing in it."
"But show me, just in case you left something. Anything you serve will do for me, even a grain of rice."
"There's nothing in the platter. I'll fetch it, look for yourself."
Krishna took the platter from Draupadi. As he looked at it, a smile touched his lips. He said, "You say there is nothing in this plate? I tell you, Draupadi, if you have faith there is enough here to feed every creature in the world!"
Draupadi came near and stared at the plate she had just washed. Krishna pointed with his finger: nestling at the very rim of the platter was a particle of vegetable, barely visible. Despite her anxiety, Draupadi giggled, "You are going to satisfy your hunger with that?"
Krishna said serenely, "Not only mine, Panchali, but the hunger of your untimely guests."
With his finger, Krishna scraped the green shred from the plate. He said softly, "Let the hunger of every creature on earth be sated with what I eat," and licked the bit of green off his finger. "Aaah!" cried Krishna, as Draupadi stood watching him in disbelief. "That was the best meal I've had in years. You must invite me to eat with you more often!"
Just then, Sahadeva called from outside, "Panchali, is the food ready? You know what a temper Durvasa has, you mustn't keep him waiting."
But it was Krishna who strode out of the kutila. Sahadeva gasped to see him. Before Draupadi could say anything, Krishna cried, "Yes! Food is served and I have just finished eating. And a curse on anyone who does not do justice to such a meal. Go to the river, Sahadeva and tell them to hurry back. Say Draupadi has laid on a feast, but it will get cold if they don't come quickly."
Yudhishtira, Bheema, Arjuna and Nakula appeared.
"Krishna!" cried Yudhishtira. "How are you here?"
"I will tell you. But first, Sahadeva, go and call your guests for lunch. And mind you don't tell Durvasa I am here."
Sahadeva went off down the path. Yudhishtira had not let go of Krishna's hand. He said again, "How are you here, Krishna?"
The Dark One smiled quizzically, "You should ask your wife that, cousin. I heard her calling me and here I am."
Yudhishtira knew nothing of Draupadi's panic. "What happened, Panchali?"
"I had eaten," she said. "How were we going to feed Durvasa and his munis?"
Yudhishtira cried, "How are we going to feed them now?"
Krishna said softly, "Somehow, I don't think they are as hungry as they were. In fact, I don't think they want to eat any more."
The Pandavas stared at him. Meanwhile, Sahadeva had run back to the river. To his surprise, he found its bank deserted. He saw the munis' footprints on wet sand, leading not toward the asrama but away from it.
Earlier, even as the Pandavas were on their way back to the asrama to see if lunch was served—this was when Krishna ate the green scrap he found in Draupadi's plate—Durvasa and his party, bathing luxuriantly in the river, abruptly felt as if they had eaten three feasts. In a moment, they found their bellies bloated and even belched helplessly.
One of them cried, "I feel gorged, though no food has passed my lips!"
Another said, "So do I. How will we eat Draupadi's meal?"
Durvasa himself looked worried. "I couldn't eat another grain of rice, if my life depended on it. I feel as if I have eaten all the food in the world."
"But how can we not eat, when we go back?"
Because it is in every man's nature to think that other men share his traits, Durvasa said anxiously, "What if the Pandavas curse us? We told Draupadi to serve us food and if we go back and say we are not hungry, it will seem we mocked them in the most arrogant way. If anyone did that to me I wouldn't spare him."
"A fine mess we are in. What shall we do?"
Durvasa thought for no more than a moment. "There is only one sensible thing to do. We must not go back to the asrama."
"Then let us leave before one of them comes to call us!"
They beat a hasty retreat through the forest, some of them without even drying themselves. When Sahadeva arrived at the river, he found Durvasa and his munis gone.
Back at the asrama, Krishna smiled, "I think your guests have been called away suddenly. I don't think they were hungry, after all."
Sahadeva came and announced, "Yudhishtira, they left without eating."
Krishna said quietly, "Durvasa was sent here by someone who knew the platter would be empty after Draupadi ate. That person wanted him to curse you."
Bheema breathed, "Duryodhana!"
Krishna rose from under the tree and stretched languidly. "Well, I must go back to Dwaraka now. I came in a hurry to hear Draupadi call."
Yudhishtira said, "How did you come, Krishna?"
The Dark One smiled. "Perhaps I never left at all, Yudhishtira."
Then, with a wave, he walked off into the forest and was gone.