TWENTY-THREE
Kunti went back the way she had come eighteen years ago, toward distant, by now alien Hastinapura. She went back with five sons and escorted by an entourage of sages. They set out from Satasringa and Kunti wept to leave the asrama in the forest where she had been so happy. They crossed the mountains that guarded the hidden valley and came to the lake Indrayamuna, shimmering in the setting sun.
They spent a night on the banks of the lake and went on again the next morning toward Gandhamadana, the fragrant mountain, said to be the gatekeeper to the realms of the Gods. Skirting that massif, they came to the lands of Chitraratha the gandharva. But they met no Elves, who range heaven and earth and are as old, some say, as the world itself.
Coming down from that enchanted country, Kunti, her sons and the rishis finally came to the plains of Bharatavarsha, the young Pandavas for the first time. The princes were overwhelmed and prostrated to worship the sacred land of their ancestors. On they pressed and came to the Ganga. They bathed in her ritually and offered tarpana to their dead father and Madri. After another three days' journey, the party arrived on the banks of the Yamuna. In the distance they saw the ramparts of Hastinapura reaching for the sun.
They forded the river in some ferries, whose boatmen stared at the strangers. Seventeen days after setting out from Satasringa, the Pandavas and their mother arrived at the gates of Hastinapura.
For a while the princes stood there, gazing, their hearts full of their father's legends of this noble city. Then with a deep sense of destiny, which the five brothers shared at that moment, Yudhishtira nodded to Bheema. Bheema stepped forward and rattled the city-gates and their guards came running. Those soldiers saw that no army threatened them. It was only some rishis, with a regal woman, wearing widow's white and five young men in foresters' garb. Their curiosity aroused, the guardsmen opened the gates of the city of elephants.
The soldiers bowed to the seers who accompanied the gracious woman. The young men had to be princes of a great kingdom; they were so splendid, though they were dressed like hunters.
The eldest rishi said to the guards, "Send word to Bheeshma and Dhritarashtra that they have visitors whom they must come out to receive."
The soldiers stared for a moment. Was the old man serious that the king and the regent of Hastinapura should come out to meet these travelers? But they received such a glare from the holy ones that they were afraid lest they were cursed to be born as dogs, or worse, in their next lives. The guards of the gates went to Bheeshma and gave him the sages' message. The patriarch gave a shout that echoed in the sabha. He rushed to Dhritarashtra in his apartment with Gandhari and cried, "Kunti has come home with her sons!"
Meanwhile, word spread like light through the city. The people came flocking out from their homes to see the princes and hear their news. Soon Bheeshma and the king, Vidura, Satyavati, Ambika, Ambalika, Gandhari, the sons of Dhritarashtra, in their finery and a royal retinue with them, arrived at the city-gates. They saw Kunti in white and untold grief upon her. Yet she glowed like an arani with five flames around her. Her sons were clad in deerskin, but, unlike Dhritarashtra's pampered princes, they were radiant.
Bheeshma bent to touch the munis' feet and the rest of the retinue after him. The eldest rishi said loudly, so everyone heard him, "You all know that Pandu renounced the world because of a rishi's curse. He was living among us in Satasringa, with his wives Kunti and Madri. Five sons were born to this kshatriya family in the wilderness."
He beckoned and Yudhishtira stood forward and after him, as each one was introduced by that sage, the other Pandavas. The holy one said, "This is Yudhishtira, Pandu's eldest son and the natural son of Dharma Deva."
Yudhishtira bowed, as a sigh went up from the crowd. Bheema stepped forward. The rishi said, "This is Bheemasena, Kunti and Pandu's second son, whose natural father is Vayu Deva. And this is Arjuna, who is the son of the king of the Devas, Lord Indra himself."
As each Pandava prince came forward, a wave of cheering rose from the people. It swept over Duryodhana like a tide of venom. His face grew darker and darker, with a rage he could only force deep down into his envious heart, where it lay ever after as cold murder. The old rishi said, "Here are the youngest Pandavas, Nakula and Sahadeva. They are twins and their fathers are the Aswins of heaven."
When the cheering had died down, the muni resumed, "When Yudhishtira was fifteen, Pandu performed all the kshatriya rituals for his sons. The princes are versed in the Vedas and the arts of war and statecraft. They now need masters of the royal way to teach them further."
There was such power in that sage's voice nobody dared interrupt him; but everyone was impatient to know where Pandu was. When the old man paused for a moment, Bheeshma said, "Lord, where are my nephew Pandu and Madri?"
"Seventeen days ago, Pandu was gathered to his fathers and Madri committed sati on his pyre."
He pointed to the covered litter they had carried with them from Satasringa. "We have brought the mortal remains of Pandu and Madri, so you can honor them with a proper funeral."
A shocked silence fell. Then a wail went up from the crowd and Kunti began to sob. The people scrambled forward to pay homage to that simple litter in which Pandu's ashes lay. Only Dhritarashtra's sons stood apart, snickering among themselves.
Bheeshma wept. Pandu's mother Ambalika had fainted to hear her son was dead. Dhritarashtra stood stricken as a wave of memories swept over him: memories of a tender childhood and of an endlessly patient and loving brother, through whose eyes, he, blind Dhritarashtra, had learned to see the forms and colors of the dark world. Dhritarashtra turned to Vidura, who cried like a boy and told him to arrange for a royal funeral.
The eldest rishi said, "Don't mourn a kshatriya who has left you five sons like these princes. Take them into your palace and into your hearts. They are your charge from now; this is where they belong."
When that muni saw the expression in the prince Duryodhana's hooded eyes he felt a pang of fear. But he knew fate must take her course, inevitably, whatever it was. Those rishis raised their hands in blessing over Kunti and the princes and next moment, vanished like a dream at waking.
With solemn rites, Pandu was laid to rest in the city of his fathers. Vidura called Vyasa to conduct the funeral. Through the chanting of Vedic hymns, the rishi sat plunged in thought. Finally, Pandu and Madri's remains were taken to the Ganga and consigned to her golden waters. They would flow to the ocean and their souls would find peace. When Pandu's sons had performed tarpana for their father and mother, a feast was held to mark the end of the fast and announce that the mourning was concluded.
After the feast, Vyasa went to see his mother Satyavati. He made her sit beside him and took her hand. He said grimly, "Mother, the days of joy are over; now begins the darkness that heralds the kali yuga. Sinister times are in store for the House of Kuru. Every day will be heavy with sin and the next day worse than the last one. The earth has outgrown her youth and evil is at hand, evil that men have never known before.
And right here, in your own family, evil will take root among your grandsons." He leaned forward to whisper to her, "Most of all in the hearts of Dhritarashtra and his son Duryodhana, who is a devil. With births like his into the world, the very earth loses her innocence. She is defiled and the days of corruption have arrived. Look into the eyes of your great-grandchildren, Dhritarashtra's sons. There is enough rapacity there to drag the earth down into hell.
The sons of Pandu and the sons of Dhritarashtra will have enmity between them, which will end in a war like the world has never seen; a war that will destroy the power of the kshatriyas on earth and usher in the end of an age. I had a vision of it as I sat upon the Himalaya: a war between dharma and adharma, light and darkness. Millions will fight and die, most without knowing the reason for their being born, or being slaughtered like beasts on a hunt."
Vyasa paused; he sighed and shook his head. Gently, he said, "Mother, you will not be able to bear what the future holds for your children. I think it is time you left the city and went into the forest to seek your peace. So far, only noble spirits have been born into this august House as its scions. But Duryodhana and his brothers are not princes of dharma. They are creatures of evil come to destroy the world. Satyavati, go far away from this city. You belong to a quickly vanishing time and your eyes mustn't see all that will come to pass here as surely as night follows day."
Satyavati was wise enough to know he spoke the truth. She had already watched with alarm what louts Dhritarashtra's sons, the young Kauravas, were growing into. Duryodhana had given his brothers and himself that name, which meant the sons of Kuru, to underline his future claim to the throne.
Satyavati called Ambika and Ambalika and asked Vyasa to repeat whatever he had told her. Then she said, "I have decided to go away to the forest. If you both want, you may come with me."
She had guessed shrewdly at those women's sorrow in Hastinapura. Ambalika, of course, was shattered by Pandu's death and there was never any question of her not going. But strangely, Ambika, whose son was the king, was so saddened by what she had seen recently in the palace that she said she would go to the vana as well. Dhritarashtra hardly had time for his mother any more; he was so absorbed in his wife and his princes. And Ambika's grandsons, the Kauravas, treated her with less than contempt.
It had been a trying life for those sisters, since the day Bheeshma swept them up in his chariot on the morning of their swayamvara. They had never been able to forget what had happened to Amba. It had been an evil omen. Vichitraveerya, with whom they had spent the few happy years they had known, had died. Then came the nights with Vyasa, the thought of which made them tremble even now; and Satyavati's anger that both her grandsons, except Vidura, were born less than whole. The old woman had never stopped taunting them for that. Ambika and Ambalika were relieved to leave this city of their sorrows. Peace was all they craved and they were eager to set out in pursuit of it.
When everything was ready and all their possessions had been given away as alms, Satyavati called Bheeshma and said to him, "My son, today we say farewell in this world, you and I. I have decided to leave this unhappy city."
Recently, Bheeshma looked more anxious and drawn than she had ever seen him. He breathed, "Why, mother? Why do you want to do this now? Won't you stay and help me bear the burden?"
But Satyavati shook her head. "No Devavrata, I will not stay. Vyasa said to me there is nothing but doom in store for the House of Kuru and I shan't be able to bear what must come to pass here." She lowered her voice, "All the evil.
I am an old woman now and of no use to anyone. And I am not brave anymore. I am like a fruit that is so ripe it is ready to drop from the tree and be received by the earth. Let me go and seek my peace, before it is too late."
Bheeshma had grown thoughtful, absent. He said slowly, "Doom. Is that what Vyasa said? Tell me what exactly he said; I must know, mother."
Word for word, she repeated what her son, the seer, had said. She saw Bheeshma's strong face grow pale; his lips twitched in anguish to hear the fate that awaited the royal House he had nurtured all his life.
When Satyavati finished, Bheeshma fetched a sigh. He rose stiffly and paced the room. Suddenly, he stopped and cried, "I too am willing to play the coward, for my courage deserts me when I hear what you say. I have never told you this, but the day you came into this house my father was so pleased that he granted me a boon. I can summon my own death at any time I choose. I think the time has come."
"No!"
He turned to her, puzzled and saw her eyes flash as of old. Those two were closer than they perhaps cared to admit. Through the long, hard years the two of them had, quietly and bravely, shared the tragedies fate had chosen to visit them with. Theirs was a bond of two strong people. In moments of crisis they had felt free enough to say to each other what they could not tell anyone else, to speak their inmost thoughts.
But now, Satyavati had reached the end of her strength. And when she said she was leaving Hastinapura, Bheeshma realized what her being in the city had meant to him and the loneliness she was consigning him to by going away. This would be the final trial, time's hardest test of his endurance. He did not think he could bear it; but her eyes glittering, she brought him up as sharply as ever.
"I forbid it!" she cried. "You shall not even think of taking your life. Hastinapura has more need of you than ever and you want to play the coward now?"
She came near and took his hand. "Listen to me, Devavrata. You are forgetting Pandu's sons. Who do they have in this godforsaken palace except you? I leave them in your care. From what my heart knows of the evil growing here and from what Vyasa has foretold, the Pandavas are the only hope for this kingdom. Nurture them, Bheeshma. Don't dream of dying until dharma is firmly established in the House of Kuru and Yudhishtira rules from its throne."
She paused and smiled, "Once, I asked you to do something for me. You refused saying it was against your dharma because of the oath you had sworn. This time, it is surely your dharma that I am begging you to keep. Everything depends on you; Devavrata, don't derelict on your duty."
Bheeshma grew very still and then he also smiled wanly. He nodded that he would do as she asked. At last he bowed and left her and his eyes were moist with thoughts too deep for words. And so a chapter of fate's tale in Hastinapura ended, when Satyavati, Ambika and Ambalika left that city and went away to a distant forest, from where they never returned. And in course of time in that vana, after a long tapasya, they found their peace.