THIRTEEN
The Rajasuya yagna was completed and, one by one, the visiting kings went home. Krishna came to Yudhishtira and said, "I have been here longer than I should. I must return to Dwaraka."
Reluctantly, Yudhishtira drove him to the gates of Indraprastha. Embracing his cousins, Krishna cast a final, lingering look at the city. He had a sure premonition of the evil turn of events that would force the Pandavas out of Indraprastha. In fact, the next time he met them would be in the Kamyaka vana and they would be without a kingdom.
Forlorn as they always became when Krishna left them, the sons of Pandu returned to their palace. All the other kshatriyas had gone as well, except Duryodhana, Dusasana, Shakuni and Karna, who stayed on to have a look around the fabulous Mayaa sabha. Yudhishtira was pleased; he naively imagined the Kauravas had put their envy behind them.
But first, Vyasa came and said that he, too, must leave. Yudhishtira prostrated himself at his feet. Laying his hand on his grandson's head, the muni said, "This has been a time of joy for me and your father's spirit will soon rise into Indra's kingdom. The Rajasuya is hardly performed once in a yuga and I am glad I could be here to see it."
Yudhishtira was troubled. "What did the omens mean, which we saw when Krishna killed Sishupala? Narada says they portend some catastrophe for the world. I am anxious, grandfather, tell me what will happen."
Vyasa looked at his grandson, who was lord of all Bharatavarsha now. The rishi said compassionately, "The ways of fate are inscrutable, my child. The omens can mean only one thing: misfortune and as I read it, misfortune for fourteen years. But the misfortune is only a part of a deeper destiny that springs in dark Krishna and uses your brothers and you as its agents. This destiny's ends are beyond my understanding, for it means to destroy the very race of kshatriyas.
Draupadi shall also be fate's intsrument, as prophesied when she came into the world.
Tonight you will dream of blue-throated Siva, wearing a tiger-skin, carrying his trisula. You will see him astride his great bull, gazing south in the direction ruled by the lord of the manes and drinking blood out of a human skull."
Yudhishtira looked so stricken that Vyasa put his arm around him and said with a smile, "But don't perplex yourself over fate. There is nothing to be done about what is written in the stars. Yet, Yudhishtira, tell no one, not even your brothers, what I have said to you. Not every man has the serenity to bear the knowledge of what the future contains.
Misfortune comes only to make stronger souls of those that suffer. In the end, my son, whatever happens in this or any world is for the good of every creature; yet, that is hard to remember when one suffers. As it is hard to imagine how the world will prosper by the death of its kshatriyas.
But that is what is written for the land of Bharata and that is what must happen, inevitably. Yudhishtira, when misfortune actually comes, with it come the will and the strength to survive and mold the difficult time to one's advantage. Be forewarned, my son, but not disheartened; I can tell you even now that, finally, all will be well with you and yours. You shall indeed rule the world with your brothers and fulfil your great destiny."
With these strange revelations, Vyasa left Indraprastha. Yudhishtira was deeply disturbed as he saw his grandfather off. But he was a man of spiritual strength and, sighing a little to himself, he returned to the Mayaa sabha where Bheema and the other Pandavas were showing Duryodhana, Dusasana, Shakuni and Karna that edifice.
Though outwardly he made every show of being pleased for the Pandavas, Duryodhana was suffocating with envy. He could not bear to see his cousins' glory; every marvel he saw in Mayaa's superb sabha tormented him with a physical pain. Duryodhana kept an admiring look on his face, words of praise on his lips and showed nothing of what he really felt.
Mayaa himself had told the Pandavas of a magical quality with which he had imbued his sabha. "If any man comes in here with enmity or jealousy in his heart, the sabha will know him at once."
As Duryodhana mounted the steps, he saw what seemed to be a pool of water at the entrance to the sabha. He remarked to Shakuni, "What a strange place for a pool, as if there are no grounds to set it in. The Asura Mayaa has some vulgar notions of beauty."
But as they climbed the gleaming steps and came nearer, they saw the pool was only an illusion of water. Bheema said, "Look carefully, cousin, is it really a pool?"
Despite himself, Duryodhana gasped. What had seemed like a shimmering pool of water, with lotuses growing in it, was obviously just the polished floor inlaid with marble lotuses. Duryodhana gave a laugh and, with the Pandavas watching him, he stepped forward and fell into that cunning marble pool full of the clearest water and white lotuses. With a cry, he plunged in up to his chest and Bheema, Arjuna, the twins and Draupadi burst out laughing. Even the guards laughed; they all knew that envy raged in the Kaurava's heart.
Only Yudhishtira was dismayed. Quickly, he ordered fresh clothes fetched for his cousin; but it was not the end of Duryodhana's shame. He passed off his fall into the crystal pool in apparent good humor. He changed his wet clothes and bravely declared he wanted to see more of the sabha's wonders. But it seemed Mayaa's curse followed Dhritarashtra's son. At the next atrium, he was seen walking gingerly across a section of the floor that may just have been water, but was not. Draupadi barely restrained her laughter.
Inside the sabha itself, Duryodhana managed to walk straight into a solid glass wall that he thought was an open door onto a terrace. He struck his head painfully and staggered back. Draupadi lost control and her laughter rang out in golden peals. She sat down on a chair and, holding her sides, laughed helplessly; while four of her husbands joined her and the fifth, Yudhishtira, did his best to quieten them. But it was too late; Draupadi's laughter entered Duryodhana's ears like smoking oil.
Somehow, the Kaurava managed to keep a straight face and his eyes turned from Panchali and the younger Pandavas, who by now were convulsed with mirth, tears streaming down their faces. It was sweet revenge for everything he had tried to do to them and they couldn't resist. Only Yudhishtira suspected it, but this was also destiny at work through a woman's terrible laughter.
Red in the face, but keeping his voice level, Duryodhana managed to bid Yudhistira a stiff farewell and he stalked out of the Mayaa sabha with Shakuni, Dusasana and Karna. All the way to Hastinapura, Duryodhana did not speak a word. Not a word did he say when they arrived, not to his father, to his brothers or wives, not to Shakuni, or even to Karna, who was closer to him than anyone else. He locked himself in his apartment for a week and when he asked for a woman to come to him, he would send her out later, bruised, shocked by his dark brutality.
Duryodhana's thoughts burned, round and round, in his mind: 'The Gods are with the Pandavas. When Kunti's bastards went to Varanasi, I was sure I had seen the end of them. But Purochana bungled and they became stronger than ever. They married Drupada's black daughter, that slut. Then we sent them into the wilderness again, to a desert of thorns. But no sooner did my cousins arrive there, than the desert bloomed.
And now, they are masters of the world. Spineless, simpering Yudhishtira is the emperor of Bharatavarsha!'
Visions of Yudhishtira's coffers haunted the Kaurava. Hastinapura's wealth seemed like the riches of some small tribal kingdom, compared to the treasures of Indraprastha. Duryodhana could not bear it. Again and again, he heard the Pandavas' laughter, most of all, Draupadi's scathing peals. He lay in bed, drunk, trying to drown his pain in wine. It seared him more fiercely; and he lay in a swoon, not knowing sleep from waking, day from night, reality from a nightmare of envy.
Perhaps unfortunately for that prince, unlike his father, Duryodhana was not a coward. Dhritarashtra was as avaricious and as envious as his son was; but fear and caution were his mastering impulses. He would weave a cloak of excuses for not taking the bold course in any matter. He was a chronic coward, adept at deceiving himself. Not Duryodhana: he was always a direct man and a brave one. No one could hope for a truer and more generous friend than him, as Karna had discovered. And neither a worse enemy.
He was a kshatriya. He was strong, he was bold and he was dashing. He was usually open and exceptionally kind to those he considered his own. Above all, Duryodhana had irresistible charisma. For this quality, eleven teeming aksauhinis would fight for him at the war of Kurukshetra: despite their knowing the Pandavas' cause was just and Duryodhana's anything but that.
Yet, that prince of charm had one fatal flaw in his character: he was a jealous man past all reason. He could not contain his envy of the Pandavas. It obsessed him, mastered him and at last, inevitably, it destroyed him. Perhaps, if Duryodhana had not allowed the emerald monster to enslave him, not Yudhishtira but he would have become the Kuru emperor.
But after he returned from the Rajasuya yagna, the Kaurava stayed locked away in his apartment in a long fit of manic dejection. Until Dhritarashtra, who adored his son, sent Shakuni to see if the crafty uncle could talk his suffering nephew out of his black mood.