TWENTY-TWO
Fifteen idyllic years passed in the forest of Satasringa. The sons of Pandu grew swiftly and their brilliance with them. They hunted in those wilds, swam and fished in the rivers. They learnt the ways of the jungle-folk and about the deep motions of the stars in the sky. They studied the Vedas and the other Shastras from erudite rishis in the asramas. But one day, fate seemed to decide that the idyll had lasted long enough.
Yudhishtira was fifteen winters old, when spring arrived once more with a burst of flowers on the trees. Bird-song trilled from countless vivid throats and heady scents wafted through the airy passages of the forest. After the long cold, the season of love had arrived again: mating time. The wild creatures were all in rut. Serpents came out of their holes and entwined. Elephant and mountain-goat, panther and wolf, the eagle on his eyrie and the smaller birds in the lower reaches of the hills, butterflies in the air, fish in the frothy brooks and insects under mossy stones were all at love.
One morning, Kunti had taken the five young Pandavas to a nearby asrama. Pandu was alone that day; he had not seen Madri either. He decided to take a stroll in the scented woods and pluck some lotuses for his wives from the pools that brimmed with startling blooms. Humming to himself, he walked along the familiar cedar aisles. The air was crisp and clear, the spring morning perfect and, it seemed to that hermit prince, alive with a mystic loveliness. He strolled through the woods and arrived in a clearing where a stream flowed, from which they drew their drinking water and bathed in its sparkling currents.
Walking into that clearing, Pandu saw Madri at a bend in the stream. He stood still behind a large cedar and his senses throbbed with a fever he thought he had long since known the last of; which is why it took him so unawares. That morning, Pandu saw something he had not seen for eighteen years: a naked woman. Madri had just put away her clothes on a smooth stone beside the jungle stream. She stood for a moment, testing the water with her foot before she waded into it. The sight of her body, filled out lushly with the years, touched Pandu like wildfire.
He stood transfixed, his mind reeling at seeing her like that after so long. Suddenly, it did not matter to Pandu whether he lived or died. The sight of naked Madri as she waded into the stream, the sight of her hips and breasts, her long, smooth arms and, most of all, the darkness that nestled between her fair thighs was more than he could bear. It was more than he could tear himself away from and run from that place as if death was after him.
He saw her as a young man sees his first naked woman and all that mattered was to possess this dream at once. Like a hunter stalking his prey, he darted from one tree to another, his eyes never leaving the woman as she bathed in the warm water. Until, he stood behind a pine not five feet from the stone on which her clothes lay.
She finished bathing. When she came out and began to dry herself, he gave a strangled cry and darted out from hiding. At first she also cried out. But when she saw it was he, she smiled. She was full of languor from her bath and pleased that he had been watching her. Then she saw the state he was in and grew afraid.
"My lord, you mustn't. The curse!"
Without a word, breathing hard, he seized her in arms that were still so powerful and forced her down on the soft grass. She flailed about to get free. But he was too strong and then she herself was swept away by his urgency. Realizing that protest would be of no use, she prayed that after so many years the rishi's curse might not be potent. She shut her eyes and, with a moan, clasped him to her. He bared himself in a flash, thrust himself into her like fire and began to move on her convulsively, crying aloud in release.
But even as ecstasy swept over him and Madri found her sharp joy, that pale prince was borne right out of his body. As if he could not bear the intensity of what he felt, clutching his wife, Pandu went limp in her arms. She lay briefly in her own swoon. But when she tried to move him off her, where he lay heavy and inert, Madri saw that her husband was dead.
Kunti was on her way back home with the boys. Hearing Madri's screams they ran toward the stream. Cradling Pandu in her arms, Madri heard them calling anxiously to her from across the water. Quickly covering her nakedness, she cried, "Kunti, leave the children and come alone!"
The boys waited at a distance, while Kunti ran over and saw what had happened. Her cry rang among the trees. Kneeling beside her dead husband, she turned fiercely on Madri. "How could you?" she wailed. "How could you allow it, you wretched woman?"
Angrily, she took Pandu's body from Madri and laid his serene face in her own lap. Madri sobbed, "He took me by force, I couldn't stop him. Believe me, Kunti, I couldn't stop him though I tried."
Gradually, Kunti's fit of sobbing subsided. Setting Pandu's head down gently on the grass she said, "Ah Madri, your deepest wish has come true: he chose to die in your arms rather than mine." Jealousy flashed in her eyes, where Madri had never seen it before. Kunti whispered, "It was you who saw the bloom of love on his face, you who knew him as a man again."
Her lips quivered, then she said quietly, "He died in your arms all right, but I will follow him to the land of the manes."
By now their sons came there and saw their father lying on the ground. They stood numb, until Kunti told them to carry Pandu back to asrama. Meanwhile, hearing the women scream, some rishis also arrived there. They went back to the asrama with the bereaved family. Kunti dressed her husband's body in his royal silks, which he had not put on for eighteen years. She laid him out in their garden, as if in state, on the rope-cot he had slept on.
There seemed to be a smile on Pandu's face. Her courage melting away at the sight of him lying there, Kunti knelt beside him again. Laying her cheek against his, she sobbed piteously. Yudhishtira stood near his mother, knowing their lives would never be the same again.
He said to his brothers, "We are orphans from today. It is fate's will and we must be brave."
But the younger children cried and the rishis tried to console them. And now the strangest tussle began between Kunti and Madri: both of them wanted to commit sati on Pandu's pyre. It seemed their argument would lead to an unseemly altercation, when the sages intervened.
The eldest rishi said, "You are not only wives, but mothers too. Your dharma lies not with your dead husband anymore, but with your sons who are still young and need you. We have decided to take you back to Hastinapura. You will find welcome from the people of the city, if not from blind Dhritarashtra. Your sons are born to rule the world and you must watch over them until the future is secure.
We have heard that evil has been born into Hastinapura, as Dhritarashtra's sons. He may be a good man himself; but will he choose your princes over his own? Don't speak of killing yourselves, when there is so much you both still have to do in this world."
Kunti was mollified and grew quiet. But Madri cried, "We cannot send our husband unattended into heaven. To be with him is our dharma, too. He died because of me, because he desired me more than his life. I cannot live without Pandu. I must follow him and make him happy."
With less conviction now, Kunti said, "I am his first wife, I must follow him. You look after the children."
But Madri took her aside. She clasped Kunti's hands and said, "These children will have to walk through hell together, for they are born to greatness. If you die and leave them to me, I will never be able to treat them equally. I will favor Sahadeva and Nakula over the others. And how long will the strength of a house divided against itself last?"
"Surely, knowing this, you can overcome it?"
"If I wanted to live or to deceive myself, I would say yes, I could. But you and I both know that isn't the truth. For once let me be the first one with Pandu. You make no difference between your sons and mine; it is as if you are the mother of all of them. And they, even my twins, prefer you to me. You must endure this world for a lifetime still and I must follow Pandu into the land of the ancestors."
She looked pleadingly at Kunti, "I beg you, give me this much. I will make a bad mother to these boys in the world. I will divide them and help their enemies. But I will be a good wife to Pandu in Devaloka. Don't stand on your being his first wife; your place is here with our children and mine with our husband."
Kunti raised Madri up and embraced her. "You be the fortunate one today," she said.
Madri kissed her fervently and broke into such a smile that Kunti realized for the first time how much she loved dead Pandu. Madri blessed her, "Your sons will be masters of the earth and you will live to see them rule."
Madri called Sahadeva and Nakula and said to them, "Kunti is your real mother, but I was childless and she let me adopt you both. Yudhishtira, Bheema and Arjuna are your brothers. All of you are Kaunteyas, Kunti's sons and Pandavas, Pandu's princes. From now on Yudhishtira will have your father's place. Obey him without question, never displease him."
She hugged the five of them, kissing them again and again. Clasping Yudhishtira tightly, for a second time, she said, "Look after the younger ones, my prince. You will be king of the earth one day. I will watch you from heaven and blow my blessings down on the wind, my noble child."
Pandu's funeral pyre was ready and the dead kshatriya was laid upon it. Madri took the rishis' blessings. She came to Kunti and now fell at her feet, crying, "If I have ever wronged you, forgive me, my sister!"
Kunti raised her up and she also wept, "I will miss you little Madri, because I have always loved you. But this is no time for tears. You are going to a happy place where you will be with Pandu. Go with my blessings and may your name be remembered for ever."
Touching Kunti's feet a last time, smiling radiantly at her, Madri turned and mounted the heaped sandalwood. Her eyes shut and her face calm, she sat at Pandu's feet in padmasana, the lotus posture. One of the rishis handed Yudhishtira a burning torch and, with tears streaming down his face, that prince lit his father's pyre. It caught swiftly and saffron flames rose, licking the air. Just once Madri cried out when they first touched her and she felt a stab of fear. But then those flames were cool and did not hurt her at all. They caressed her out of her body; and across the great threshold Pandu stood, his arms opened wide to her.