TWENTY-ONE
In the court of Hastinapura, Duryodhana, his brothers, Shakuni and Karna waited. The dice had been laid out, the same ones. Heralded by the king's messenger, the Pandavas arrived in their uncle's sabha.
Dhritarashtra said, "I knew you would come, Yudhishtira. After you left, Duryodhana said I had no right to give back what you had lost. He said it was like stealing from him. I told him I could not ask for what I had returned. He asked for one more game of dice. I thought it was only dharma."
Duryodhana said, "One game and our kingdoms the stake. Shakuni plays for me. He who loses goes into the jungle with his brothers, for twelve years and the winner shall have his kingdom and everything in it. The losers must spend one more year in ajnatavasa, in disguise. If any of the exiles is recognized during the thirteenth year, they must all spend another twelve years in the forest."
Here were high stakes. Duryodhana paused, his eyes boring into Yudhishtira's. The Kaurava said, "Shall we play?"
Yudhishtira's mind churned within him, but he showed no sign of his anxiety. He bowed his head, more to fate than his malevolent cousin and replied quietly, "Let us play."
He was as calm as a lake on which not a breath of air stirs. Like a tiger that had secured the deer that escaped him once, Shakuni faced Yudhishtira again, twirling the dice in his soft hands.
"Is the wager agreed upon?" he asked suavely.
Yudhishtira nodded. Shakuni said, "You roll first, O Emperor."
Yudhishtira knew the price, but he felt queerly light-hearted. At least, this time his brothers and Draupadi were not put up. What was a kingdom or a thirteen years' exile compared with losing them? He had lived through that; these were small stakes for him now.
Calmly Yudhishtira threw the dice and had a fair score. But he had no doubt Shakuni would beat it; and that evil one did, smoothly. Duryodhana jumped up in triumph and embraced his sleek uncle.
"Won!" they cried in one voice.
The Pandavas hung their heads, but now there was no dissent among them. This loss was negligible compared to the last time. The brothers may have even felt the wilderness would do them good, they had grown soft with all the luxury they lived amidst in Indraprastha. They had been raised in a jungle and part of them always longed for the freedom of the wilds. Most of all, they were together and Panchali with them. They were unafraid and quite unattached to comfort or wealth. Fate called them; they were all certain of that now, especially after the visions they saw in the Kuru sabha. They would answer her call.
The Pandavas prepared themselves for exile. They put on garments of tree-bark and deerskin, as the banished must. As they emerged from their apartment, Dusasana and some of his brothers saw them in the passage and burst out laughing.
Dusasana cried, "What is this? Has the palace of Hastinapura become a jungle or a manger that animals roam here? Do my eyes deceive me or is that a fat cow I see waddling toward me?"
Bheema breathed, "You preen and mock today, but you will not laugh during the war. Enjoy our exile, cousin. Because one day I will cut the hand, with which you dragged Draupadi, from your wrist. I will tear your heart out of your chest and drink your blood."
The son of the wind spoke so menacingly Dusasana drew back from him in fear.
The Pandavas came to see Dhritarashtra, Bheeshma, Kripa and Drona. They took leave of the Kuru elders. Other than formal farewells, no word passed between them. Dhritarashtra's face was a mask again and the others blessed the sons of Pandu quickly, hardly daring to look at them.
But when they came to their uncle Vidura, in private, he embraced them with tears in his eyes. "May God protect you and help you keep your oaths. Dhritarashtra's sons must pay with their lives for this. Bide your time in patience, Yudhishtira. Fate always tests those whom she would exalt; she tries them in the wilderness. The years of exile will flit by and you will come home in glory."
He paused, overwhelmed. Then, Vidura remembered, "Your mother is too old to go with you. Leave her with me."
Yudhishtira nodded. Vidura drew a deep breath and said, "Ah, my sons, cultivate patience and serenity. It is to acquire these that fate sends you into the jungle. Learn from nature, she has many lessons to teach. Learn to be as calm and generous as water, as forgiving as the earth, as brilliant as the sun, as powerful as the tameless air and keep compassion for all the living."
He hugged them and they wept when he finally bid them farewell. Once more, Yudhishtira came to Bheeshma and touched his feet. Bheeshma blessed him distantly, his craggy face inscrutable.
At last, the Pandavas came to their mother from whom they had never yet parted. They stood before her, their hearts too full to speak. Draupadi also stood distrait beside her husbands, her eyes bleary and her hair hanging loose below her waist. She had sworn she would not tie it until Bheema kept his oath and tore Dusasana's heart from his chest, so she could wash her hair in his blood. Now, like a wild vetali's, her black tresses streamed over her face and her shoulders and her eyes were red with crying.
Kunti, who had just yesterday seen her sons as rulers of the earth, now saw them wearing deerskin and tree-bark and their ornaments discarded. At first, she was brave; but when she saw Draupadi, she clasped the young queen to her and began to sob.
"My precious child! Forgive my sons. Be kind to them, Panchali, now they have only you to care for them. You could have made them ashes with a look from your eye and all the Kauravas too. Yet, after all that happened, the only boon you asked for was your husbands' freedom. I know most queens would have chosen another path, especially after none of my sons spoke for you. You are a woman of great purity. I bless you, my daughter and I thank the Gods you are my sons' wife!"
Both women wept and Draupadi wiped Kunti's tears, saying, "Don't worry, mother, I will look after them."
Kunti said to her, "I leave my Sahadeva, who is still like a child, in your care. Be not only a wife, but a mother to him."
She hugged Sahadeva and her other sons, crying, "Look after one another and this jewel of a woman the Gods have blessed you with."
As they touched her feet, Kunti became hysterical. She cried out their names, calling to her husband in heaven to watch over them, calling on God to protect them. How would she live without them for thirteen years? She clasped them to her, one after the other and would not release them.
Finally, Vidura took her hands and said, "You will have plenty of time to cry when they have gone. Come away now: the sooner you let them go, the sooner they will return to you."
Kunti allowed Vidura to lead her inside. Before she lost control of herself again, her sons left the palace. They walked through the streets, out of the city of their ancestors and their misfortune. The people of Hastinapura thronged those streets and followed the Pandavas to the city-gates. They wanted to follow them into exile, even as, an age ago, the people of Ayodhya had wanted to follow Rama when he was banished.
The people always see clearly into the hearts of those who rule them. They said to one another, "Duryodhana wants to be king, with Shakuni, Dusasana and Karna beside him."
"And then not our homes or families shall be safe."
"When demons rule how can anything be safe? Not our heritage, our faith, or our happiness will be secure."
"The world will perish if Duryodhana rules the Kurus."
"Let us leave this accursed city and follow Pandu's sons wherever they go."
"Let us follow Yudhishtira to the forest!"
The people of Hastinapura cried to the Pandavas, "Princes, you have been banished by treachery. We, the people, are with you. Don't desert us, Yudhishtira; we will be ruined if Duryodhana rules us."
"He will corrupt our children and plunge us all into darkness."
"But if we stay with you, Pandavas, we will be happy. Your nobility will make our lives fragrant, as lotuses do the water on which they rest."
"We see all the virtues of dharma in you. We are the people; we know what we see. Duryodhana does not deceive us, nor does Shakuni. It is not from pity, but for our own welfare that we want to go with you. We want to save ourselves from these devils."
"We will follow you into exile!"
They set up a great noise and Yudhishtira spoke gently to them, "My friends, only your affection and loyalty make you see such qualities in us, where they hardly exist."
"You are too modest, Yudhishtira!" someone shouted. The surging crowd took up that cry.
"The Pandavas are too pure!" they said.
"They could kill the Kauravas and rule both Hastinapura and Indraprastha. If only they weren't so noble."
"We want Yudhishtira for our king, even if it is in the jungle!"
Yudhishtira raised both his hands to quieten them and when they fell silent, he said, "You must stay behind, my friends. You must think of Bheeshma and Dhritarashtra, Vidura and my mother Kunti. Bheeshma has served you long and devotedly and so have the king and Vidura. They also share your grief at our exile. You must be of solace to them."
"Dhritarashtra feels no remorse, or he would not have called you back to play a second time!"
"Even if that is true, what about the others? Will you abandon Bheeshma, Vidura and my mother, in their grief?" They were amazed; any other man would have encouraged them to go with him, at least to teach Duryodhana a lesson. But with tears in his eyes, Yudhishtira pleaded, "You must return to your homes, where you belong. Make it easier for us to leave you. In thirteen years, we will come back to claim what is ours."
He folded his hands and begged them not to follow him any further. At last, the crowd was mollified. The people said, "We must not make their sorrow sharper than it is. Come, we will do as he asks. After all, he is our king. We will be patient and wait for you to return, Yudhishtira."
"Let them go quickly. So they will come back quickly."
Convinced by the justice of what Yudhishtira said, they cried, "Go in peace. We will wait for your return."
Thus, the Pandavas climbed into their chariots and rode away from the city of their defeat. The crowd stayed where it was, gazing after them. The people hardly saw clearly, for the tears in their eyes. Even when the chariots had driven out of sight, they stood on mutely. Perhaps they hoped the princes would change their minds and come back.
At last, sadly, they did turn back into the city and their homes; dark foreboding for the future lay heavily upon them.
Meanwhile, fear of another kind gripped Dhritarashtra. As he always did, at such times, he sent for Vidura. By the time his brother came, the king was in a panic. When they were alone, he whispered anxiously, "Have they gone, Vidura? What did the people say? And what did the Pandavas say to them? Tell me everything."
For a moment, Vidura stood silent, feeling both pity and revulsion. Then, with a sigh, he said, "Yes, they have gone. They went in their chariots."
"And the people?"
"The people came out of their homes; not a man, woman or child stayed in. They followed the Pandavas like a river, reaching out their hands to comfort them and there was no one in the crowd who did not cry. They came to the gates and the leaders of the people approached Yudhishtira and swore they would follow him into the wilderness, because they do not trust your son. They said the kingdom would perish if Duryodhana ruled from Hastinapura."
The king's mask was impenetrable once more. But his brother knew how frightened he was and today Vidura did not spare Dhritarashtra. The more he could hurt him the better.
"Like Rama of Ayodhya, Yudhishtira left his people and he had to beg them to stay behind, saying who would look after Dhritarashtra and Bheeshma, Vidura and Kunti, if they went with him. Finally, he convinced them not to follow him. Just as people of Ayodhya wept when Rama went into exile, the people of Hastinapura cried when the Pandavas rode away in their chariots. Some wiped their tears with their cloths, some with their hands; but they all sobbed like children and stood gazing after the princes long after they were out of sight. Such love can't be bought, not with money and surely not with fear."
"And how did the Pandavas look when they left? Tell me everything, Vidura, each detail."
"Yudhishtira covered his face with a cloth, leaving only space for him to see ahead and he kept his eyes turned down to the earth." He paused while the king considered this. "Bheema went grimly and in silence, like a great lion. But he stared at his hands all the time and his eyes seemed to be on fire."
"And Arjuna?"
"Arjuna followed Bheema, his eyes also turned down. I saw he scattered the dust at his feet, kicking it repeatedly. Sahadeva went, his face darkened with ashes and his twin Nakula had smeared his whole body with dust and ashes."
"And Draupadi?"
"She had undone her hair, so it covered her face and her shoulders. She wore a single cloth, stained with blood. She went like a vetali, sobbing. Behind the six of them walked their guru Dhaumya: to share their misfortune as he has their glory. As he went, he plucked blades of kusa grass, wherever he saw them growing and chanted hymns from the Sama Veda, to Rudra and Yama."
"What does it mean, Vidura? Does it mean anything?"
Vidura laughed. His every word the twist of a knife, he said, "Do you doubt that it all has deep meaning? You and your son have left the truth behind you today. But not Yudhishtira; he remembers dharma well."
"Don't speak in riddles, tell me plainly what you mean. What has dharma to do with the way Yudhishtira and his brothers left Hastinapura?"
Vidura said softly, "If Yudhishtira had raised his eyes to look at your city, his wrath would have made ashes of it. Bheema stared at his hands, because he will take revenge on your sons one day with those hands. Arjuna scattered the dust at his feet, as he will the Kauravas. Sahadeva blackened his face for shame and Nakula, who is the most handsome of the five," now Vidura laughed, "did not want the women of Hastina to be smitten by the sight of his bare body!"
"Why did Draupadi go with her hair undone?" breathed Dhritarashtra, fear taking him completely.
"She showed how the Kaurava widows will walk through the streets of Hastinapura, after the Pandavas kill their husbands and their sons: for what she suffered today in your sabha. Dhaumya walked behind them plucking kusa grasses and chanting the Sama Veda, to say that many funerals shall soon be held in Hastinapura."
The king moaned. Hurtfully, Vidura said, "Remember, these are no empty threats but the oaths of the greatest kshatriyas on earth. What they have sworn, they will do. The omens all foretell just one thing: the end of the Kuru vamsa."
Without offering a word of solace to his brother, whom he had served so loyally and lovingly since they were boys, Vidura walked out of Dhritarashtra's apartment. But when he reached the door, there was a flash of light in the room and Narada, his body luminous and his face grave, stood between Dhritarashtra and Vidura. The rishi said in a voice like doom, "In thirteen years, Dhritarashtra, all your sons will die for what you have done today."
Dhritarashtra was frantic, "Hah! Who speaks? I heard no one enter the room. Who is it, Vidura?"
"It is Narada Muni."
Narada said, "Till then, enjoy the fruits of evil as best you can. There will be no forgiveness for your sin: it must be washed in blood and the sacral waters of death. In thirteen years, the House of Kuru will be destroyed. Enjoy yourself until then, blind king, if your conscience allows you."
Dhritarashtra jumped up with a cry and groped before him to try to find the speaker. As suddenly as he had come, the rishi vanished. Dhritarashtra staggered into his brother's arms, his lips working feverishly, though no words came from them.
Vidura said, "He has gone."
Gently as he could, he led the stricken king back to his throne. Now Vidura was moved to pity and he sat a while holding his terrified brother's hand. When he recovered some composure, Dhritarashtra said quietly, "Leave me now, Vidura. I want to be alone."
The blind king sat plunged in silence and anxiety plucked remorselessly at his heart. For a week he did not come out from his apartment and neglected the affairs of the kingdom. One day, his sarathy Sanjaya came to see him. Sanjaya was more than just his charioteer; the king confided in him.
"What ails you, Dhritarashtra? Now you are the undisputed lord of all the Kurus."
The king sobbed. He told the sarathy about the Pandavas' departure and how Vidura interpreted it. He told him of Narada's brief visitation and his dire prophecy.
Sanjaya said, "Dhritarashtra, your sin was worse than your son's. How much Vidura begged you that day, speaking in God's very voice to see justice done by the Pandavas. You sat unmoved even when Dusasana tried to strip Panchali naked. Then you seemed to relent and I rejoiced when you gave the Panadavs back their freedom and their kingdom. I thought, my king's eyes might be blind but not his heart.
My lord, what possessed you to call them back for another game of dice? What madness seized you again?
You have sown the wind, Dhritarashtra; no one can do anything for you now. You must live in terror, dreading the day your nephews return to have revenge on you and your sons."
Sanjaya left his master's presence, sadly, knowing there was no help for that fallen king. And peace left Dhritarashtra; he was tormented by fear for the rest of his days.