SIX
Six years went by. One warm evening, only the Pandavas were in the asrama. No rishis or brahmanas were visiting them today and Draupadi saw her chance to air her grievance against Yudhishtira. Yudhishtira and the twins sat on the steps of the asrama. Bheema sat a short way off, under a tree, in grim silence. Even Arjuna, who usually kept occupied, seemed lethargic this evening. He sat beyond Bheema and skimmed flat stones across the placid lake.
Suddenly, Draupadi buried her face in her hands and began to sob loudly. Yudhishtira turned to her in concern, "What is it, Panchali? Why are you crying?"
"How long must I bear seeing you like this, Yudhishtira? The lord of the earth living in the forest like a hermit. It breaks my heart, every day, each moment it breaks my heart! And I marvel that you can be so calm. Have you forgotten who you are? Or perhaps you think no misfortune has befallen us? Oh, how do you deceive yourself like this? I cannot stand it any more."
Yudhishtira began to speak; but she was beside herself and was going to have her say.
"Every day I see our palace in Indraprastha before my eyes. Look where we are living now. I think of the beds of swans-down we slept on; and here we lie on the floor, on mats of straw that bruise the skin if you turn on them.
In the Mayaa sabha, you were like Indra with the Devas around him. Look at you here, a common hermit surrounded by other munis. At home, I would anoint you with sandal-paste; now, dust and ashes are your liniments. I saw you wearing white silks every morning; now I see you in tree-bark and deerskin. What sort of woman would I be, if I did not cry? Oh, Yudhishtira, I am crying for you!
And when I see your brothers, I feel my heart will shatter in a thousand pieces. Look at Bheema. He hardly eats or sleeps anymore and doesn't say a word to any of us. All day, he sits with that hopeless look on his face. His listlessness is despair wearing a mask; bit by bit, it consumes your brother. I fear he will die if he goes on like this.
Bheema longs to ride into Hastinapura and have revenge on those monsters. And isn't it right, what he feels? Weren't we horribly abused there? But you deny him the revenge that he dreams about, asleep and awake. Every moment he is just waiting, he thinks of nothing else. That is his nature; can you change it?"
Her slender form trembled. Yudhishtira knew it was best for her to vent her sorrow, rather than keep it all darkly within her, choking her life. He did not interrupt.
"Look at Arjuna, my lord. The kshatriya who has no equal in the world sits skimming stones across the lake. For hours, he sits like that. Perhaps you haven't noticed, since you are so busy gleaning wisdom from the rishis.
Look at our fruit-pickers and water-carriers, Nakula and Sahadeva. Would their mother have wished this for them, when she climbed onto Pandu's pyre? Ah, Madri is lucky she did not live to see her sons today. But not I. I am the most unfortunate woman on earth. Day after day, I see my husbands, who should be masters of the earth, living like beggars in the forest. And for what? For Duryodhana's envy and his malice.
Yet, Yudhishtira you go about wearing a smile, as if none of this affects you: not the loss of your kingdom, your brothers' sorrow or mine. You are quite content in the jungle, why, you seem happier here than you were in Indraprastha. No thought of revenge moves you, or even of taking back what they stole from us. You are a kshatriya, but this isn't how a kshatriya behaves.
My body and my soul cry out for revenge. But you are so calm, so patient, even after what we suffered at the hands of those beasts. Is patience a virtue at a time like this? Are tolerance and forgiveness what we need now? No, my lord, a thousand times no!"
Her eyes blazed as if they would dry up the lake.
"It is true, patience and forgiveness are both balm to the spirit. But there is a time for anger as well. Especially for a kshatriya. This is the time for revenge, a time for wrath. A kshatriya must have both rage and mercy in his nature. Even a servant would lose respect for a master who is always forgiving, always patient.
Perhaps, you have decided to be a brahmana, since you enjoy the company of priests and hermits so much? Is this your true dharma? Is patience alone the need of this desperate hour? Oh, my husband, if not for my sake, at least for your brothers' sakes rouse yourself! A kshatriya does not allow himself and his family to be abused, as we have been, without response. A kshatriya isn't a coward, he is a warrior."
Yudhishtira remained composed. What Draupadi said was nothing new to him; he lived with it, day after day, though more privately than the others. But it was true that Yudhishtira suffered less than his brothers did. He was a master of his emotions and mainly indifferent to joy or sorrow, a palace or the forest. He was a sannyasin at heart and full of renunciation. However, Yudhishtira knew his brothers and his wife were not like him and they suffered in exile.
Yet, he could not abandon dharma. It was his dharma, as the eldest, to keep them all on the narrow path of truth, however painful it was. He may have been tempted to attack Hastinapura, especially when Krishna urged him to, perhaps testing him subtly, the Dark One. But Yudhishtira always knew which way the path of dharma led. While circumstances had their way with the others, he remained calm. He saw clearly and far ahead.
But how hard it was to reconcile such opposite temperaments: the son of Dharma and Agni's daughter! Serene as ever, Yudhishtira took his wife's hands. He wiped her warm tears and said gently, "Precious Panchali, do you really think I don't see how you suffer and how my brothers suffer? Is that what you think of me: that I am insensitive to your pain, when you are dearer to me than life itself? Do you think I feel no anguish at what happened in Hastinapura? That I feel no anger, no shame. Then, surely, you feel I am heartless: worse than our enemies.
How you little you understand me. But listen to me now, what I have to say is quite simple. You speak of patience and anger and there being a time for each. My queen, this is not the time for anger; it is the time for patience. It is natural to feel rage at what happened. I feel it, too, as much as any of you. I am not a stone that I am unmoved by what they did to us. But anger blinds the soul and I will never allow anger to rule me. When the time is ripe, I will use my anger against my enemies; not now, when it is likely to delude me.
Anger is useful only when the man is master of his rage; and not his rage his master, hurrying him to his death. Patience is much harder for us now than anger; but patient we must be, if we want to achieve our ends. I see from your face what I say does not please you. Yet, I speak for dharma. I gave my word in Hastinapura: for better or for worse, whether I was cheated at dice or not. Draupadi, to break my word is against my dharma. I will suffer if I do and those dear to me, no one else.
Let us both renounce our anger for the time being. I, my wrath against the Kauravas for what they did to us and you, yours against me for what I am saying to you now."
She was not consoled; instead, she blazed up fiercer than before. She struck her brow with her hand and cried, "Oh, fate is more powerful than anything in the world! Here I am, trying to show you how wretched your wife and brothers are in the jungle and all you can talk of is dharma.
Your dharma, my husband, is sitting with the rishis and listening to their stories of the next world, how glorious it is. But we are in this miserable world still! It is true, isn't it, Yudhishtira? I have understood you, haven't I? You are happier with the munis than you are with your family. And you will sacrifice anything for your dharma: yes, your wife, your brothers, anything. No matter whether the dharma is real, or in your imagination.
Was there dharma in Shakuni's hands when he cast his loaded dice? Or dharma in Dusasana's, when he tried to strip me naked? Or dharma in Duryodhana's heart when he called me to sit in his lap! And for this dharma that rewards you with exile, you will gladly sacrifice Bheema, Arjuna, Sahadeva, Nakula and me. Yes, I know it, Yudhishtira. Your obsession with dharma is stronger than your love for us.
What is this patience you go on about, my lord? I know nothing of it!" cried Draupadi.
Yudhishtira smiled indulgently. He said with no rancor, "Patience is a Goddess who bestows her favors selectively. You, dearest Panchali, are not one of her chosen. Why, among us all, perhaps patience favors only me. She did not choose Duryodhana to be one of her own, nor Karna or Dusasana; and it seems she hasn't chosen any of my brothers or my wife." He sighed, "Only me. But do you know, I am not disappointed that she has chosen me. I am honored and I will do everything in my power to prove worthy of her."
Here was a king speaking, softly yet entirely firmly, as he told his queen what he intended to do, despite her tirade. Draupadi was silenced for the moment. Perhaps she had never wanted to push the argument to a conclusion, but only vent her anguish. She grew quiet.
Suddenly, Bheema, who had sat silently under his tree, rose and came near. Speaking to Yudhishtira directly for the first time since they left Hastinapura, he cried, "Of what use is your great dharma? Where has it brought us? We never strayed from the path and look where we are today. While those that lie, cheat and would kill to get what they want, live in a palace, without a care in the world.
Still, you rave about dharma. Did we fight a war of dharma with the Kauravas, that we are banished for thirteen years? Did they vanquish us at a battle or arms? No, Yudhishtira, it was a game of dice and everyone on earth knows the dice Shakuni throws are loaded. Everyone except my brother. And my brother gambles away a kingdom at a game of loaded dice. Then he talks of dharma!"
After months, Bheema showed some animation. He raged, "When we stood wretchedly in the sabha in Hastinapura, when Draupadi was dragged in like an animal, did Arjuna not have his Gandiva with him? Had Bheema lost the strength of his arms? No! But Arjuna and Bheema forced themselves to remain quiet and not lift a finger to defend Panchali. Because it was their dharma to obey their older brother, do whatever he decided, go after him on whatever path he chose to tread, even if it led them straight to hell. Yes, for dharma Arjuna and Bheema kept quiet. So later Draupadi would tell Krishna all her five husbands did nothing when Dusasana tried to strip her, when Duryodhana dared call her to sit in his lap.
And all this for what? For dharma! And where does your dharma get us, but into the jungle for thirteen years? Now think of Duryodhana for a moment. He has lied, he has cheated and often enough, he has tried to kill us. And what has all that got him? Well, my brother, while your dharma has fetched you exile, our cousin's sins have rewarded him. He has another kingdom to show for his daring, a kingdom with all its wealth and subjects."
Bheema's chest heaved, his eyes burned in the dying light of the day. Calming himself a little, he went on. "Listen to me for once, Yudhishtira. I beg you, open your heart to what I am saying. It concerns not just you but all of us; not only your life, but ours.
What happened in Hastinapura was not dharma. It was a game of dice. You talk of patience and not breaking your word and, indeed, that would be just if we were dealing with noble enemies. But they are not noble; they are laughing at what they have done. You had no chance whatever of winning any of the throws of dice: you know as well I that Shakuni cheated. How can you expect your brothers and your wife to give up everything and live like beasts in the jungle, over a game of loaded dice? Is this really dharma? Aren't you carrying things to an insane extreme? Aren't you being negligent toward the rest of us, who hate this forest life as much as you seem to adore it? Aren't you, quite simply, being selfish?
Yudhishtira, come to your senses. Let your mind be moved to anger to see Draupadi wearing valkala. Let it be moved to seek revenge by the memory of what those devils did to her. Take up your weapons like a kshatriya. You speak of dharma; then, bring dharma back to the House of Kuru. We are five fires, let us go and burn our enemies!"
Bheema stood shaking, his hands clenched as if around Dusasana's throat. Yudhishtira gazed out across the lake on which the last streaks of crimson and gold were dying, after the sun had set. For a long time, he said nothing to answer Bheema, but sat very still.
Bheema and Draupadi exchanged a glance. They thought, for a moment, they had prevailed. The only sound in the asrama was of the water birds roosting on the lake. Arjuna, Nakula and Sahadeva had also turned toward their eldest brother, waiting for him to answer Bheema. Then Yudhishtira spoke and he spoke with no resentment, but sadness in his voice.
"Bheema, I deserve to have you say all this to me, my brother. Your words are like livid needles in my heart; and for what I did, I deserve worse. It is my fault we are here. It is not as if I did not know I would lose my reason, once I sat at the dice-board. Shakuni knew this and how to goad me on; but I knew it too. It wasn't the first time I had played dice."
He sighed and his eyes were moist. "What is done is done and nothing I can say or do will fetch back time. I am guilty and I must learn to live with my guilt, finding solace where I may for making all of you suffer. Nothing you say can be worse than my own memories of that day. Over and over again, I see the dice rolling ruin out of Shakuni's smooth hands. I hear myself losing my kingdom, my brothers, myself, Panchali, everything. And it is like dying, worse than dying, for these memories are fraught with such terrible shame. But I must learn to be brave: to accept what I did, to live with it and to overcome it.
Draupadi, Bheema, whatever you say to me, your harshest accusations can only be less than my crime deserves."
He fell silent. Bheema was certain he had convinced Yudhishtira. All that remained was for his brother to give the word and they would swoop down on Hastinapura and set everything right again. Then, lowering his voice, Yudhishtira spoke so softly that he was almost speaking to himself. But the others heard him clearly and there was no mistaking what he said.
"Yes, Bheema, it is only true, what you say I have done. But there is one other thing. At the end of my folly, when our kingdom was lost at the second game of dice, I gave my word that I would spend twelve years in the jungle in exile and a thirteenth in disguise. And, hear me well, Bheema, Draupadi, all of you: my word is sacred and I will not break it."
He spoke calmly, but it was clear he meant what he said. It was Yudhishtira, their older brother and husband, who spoke and now it was Yudhishtira their king. He said, "At the end of thirteen years, if Duryodhana refuses to give us back our kingdom, then, Bheema, I shall indeed become as angry as you want me to. Then I will think of killing our enemies and, at that time, no one will stop me. Just as no one will persuade me today, because I know I have returned to the path of dharma and I will not leave it again.
At the end of thirteen years, if they do not give back what is ours, we shall have war with them. Then, Bheema, you can strew the field of battle with our enemies' corpses and you can do it with my blessing. You can dismember Dusasana and break Duryodhana's thigh. Arjuna, you can kill Karna and his men. Sahadeva can kill Shakuni and Nakula can kill his son Uluka. And, Panchali, you can feast your eyes on the dead and wash your hair in Dusasana's blood."
He paused and it was so strange for the others to hear their pacific brother speak like that of war and killing. They could almost see the jungle turn into a battlefield and the lake before them into blood. They sat bemused by the visions Yudhishtira conjured for them. He went on as in a dream, still speaking as softly as night fell.
"I will fight beside you then. I will also let my hands and my weapons speak for me. Ah, yes, I will also let loose the fiend, rage, whom I would have shackled for thirteen long years. And no one will say Yudhishtira is the same man who stood silently in the court of Hastinapura while his wife and brothers were humiliated, repeatedly. No one will believe it."
He spoke simply, from his heart and not Bheema or Draupadi dared talk back to Yudhishtira. It was as if he had been called on to prove he was worthy of being their king: that he could contain them. No one could have proved it so quietly, so effectively.
"Bheema, I swear everything I have said will come to pass if they don't keep their word at the end of thirteen years. But not a day before that. For, in the meanwhile, I must keep my own word. Otherwise, dharma will desert me and I shall be no better than they are."
Then he paused, before saying, "There is something else. You imagine the Kauravas are perfectly happy now, that they have sent us into exile. You think they are enjoying the fruits of their crime. Bheema, things are not what you imagine. I tell you, Dhritarashtra hasn't a moment of peace. His conscience savages him for what he has done to us and fear chokes every breath he draws. His life has turned into a hell and he is in constant dread of the day we return to claim what is ours. Your threats haunt him and he suffers anguish worse than death. Bheema, our uncle is already paying for what he did.
And so also, Duryodhana and the others. They are only human and guilt will not spare them its torments. No man who breaks dharma escapes the consequences. The seat of dharma is not somewhere far from a man, or in heaven, but in his own heart. With all the reasoning in the world, the one person he can never escape is himself. Our enemies already pay for their sin. So let us be masters of ourselves, in the knowledge that, even today, they are punished fiercely by guilt and fear. At the end of thirteen years, if they have not relented, then we shall become the instruments of a final retribution.
As for the reason I restrained you in the sabha of Hastinapura, it was because rashness never achieves anything. We must reflect before we act. We must act calmly, so we accomplish our purpose. Most often, men do not realize what they do, or why; and they gain nothing by their thoughtlessness."
"So, Bheema," finished Yudhishtira decisively, "we must wait these thirteen years out, patiently. When they are over, if our cousins are still adamant, we will face them in war. That I promise you."
Even as he spoke, it seemed to the others Yudhishtira grew old and wise beyond their understanding. Now Bheema was quiet. What his brother said about the Kauravas already suffering calmed him. Draupadi was quiet; though grudgingly, she, too, saw the sense of what Yudhishtira said. It was only he who saw clearly in this time of darkness and when he spoke to them like that, with such conviction, the others saw their own immaturity and rashness reflected clear against his quiet wisdom. They realized that he also wanted justice for what they had suffered; perhaps, he wanted it more fervently than they did. Yudhishtira was prepared to wait to see justice done: to be sure it was done properly.
Knowing they had mistaken his deeper concern for indifference, his wife and his brothers fell silent. Just then, a familiar voice hailed them and they saw their grandsire Vyasa walking up the woodland path.