EIGHT
But not everyone at Samantapanchaka celebrates Duryodhana’s fall. Balarama jumps up in a rage. His lips throbbing, his great body shaking, he roars, “Bheema, you coward! You have disgraced us all. You struck him below the waist. I will avenge Duryodhana, I will kill you myself!”
He seizes up his Halayudha, uncanny plough-weapon of a hundred fires and blades and rushes at Bheema who stands nonplussed. In a flash, Krishna seizes Balarama and restrains him powerfully. Only he can; and how beautiful they both look at that moment, one dark and his brother fair.
Krishna cries, “Stop! There is no crime in what Bheema did. It was for the bigger cause that he struck Duryodhana down. How does this one thing Bheema did move you to such anger that you want to kill him? You found no fault in everything Duryodhana made the Pandavas suffer. I did not see you rush to kill the Kaurava, when Draupadi was dragged into the Kuru sabha. This man bared his thigh and called the Pandavas’ wife to sit in his lap. His thigh should have been smashed that same day; but when Bheema sprang at Duryodhana, Yudhishtira stopped him. Which kshatriya can bear such an insult to his wife? That day, Bheema swore he would break Duryodhana’s thigh and today he has kept his oath. A warrior must keep his word at any cost. That is what Bheema has done.”
Balarama struggles against Krishna, but he cannot get free. “Balarama, you can’t bear this one injustice against Duryodhana, if it is even that. But you will forget all the sins of this evil one, all the provocation he has given the sons of Pandu, why, the very earth. You choose to take Bheema’s slight fault by itself, as if it were a worse crime than all Duryodhana’s crimes! Since this is how you feel, listen to what I have to say.” Krishna’s voice takes on an edge. “Even on the day Panchali was humiliated I could have killed Duryodhana and his brothers and set Yudhishtira on the Kuru throne. But I did not interfere. Why, until the last moment, I did my best to avert the war. When I could not, I did not bear any arms but only drove Arjuna’s horses.
You swore you would take no part in the war. You must keep your word. If you did not fight against evil, at least you must not fight for it. Let this sinner lie where he has fallen; it is not for you to avenge him. Your love for Duryodhana prevents you from seeing with clear eyes. The Pandavas are our cousins. They have suffered a great deal and they have every right to some happiness. You must not harm them.”
The threat to Bheema’s life is very real. Now, Balarama seems to calm down a little. He does not struggle to free himself from Krishna any more. But he still stands glowering at Bheema and Krishna continues, “The kali yuga has come to the world. Nowhere on earth shall pure dharma be found any more, but only mixed with adharma. The first nine days of the war were fought nobly. From the tenth day, the shadow of the kali fell over the battle. Day by day, the shadow grew and monstrous sins were committed on Kurukshetra. The fault is only time’s. Evil and violence are the signs of the kali. Destiny fulfils herself darkly in the fourth yuga and this is only its beginning.” Krishna’s eyes are shining, “I, for one, am convinced that the end justifies the means.”
But Balarama is not; he says, “Keep your sophistry, Krishna: nothing will persuade me that what Bheema did today was dharma. Duryodhana was as much a mace-fighter as I am and he has been killed treacherously. Let the world always speak of Bheema as a cheat and of Duryodhana as a ksha-triya. I am proud of my sishya Duryodhana and ashamed of Bheema. I say that Duryodhana has fulfilled the yagna of war that he undertook nobly. He will find Devaloka for himself and live there forever!”
Krishna smiles to hear his brother, but he is relieved that he has thought better of killing Bheema. When he is certain Balarama will not attack the Pandava, he releases him. Balarama goes up to Duryodhana and kneels beside him with a sob. He takes his pupil’s hand tenderly and bids him farewell. He cannot bear to watch his torment and mounts his chariot and rides away from Samantapanchaka, without even looking at the Pandavas. Yudhishtira has tears in his eyes and Bheema seems dazed.
Krishna heaves a sigh and says cheerfully, “He has been away from Dwaraka for a long time. He will forget his anger when Revati gives him his first bowl of wine.”
But Bheema stands crestfallen. After Balarama’s tirade, even Arjuna, who reminded him of his oath during the duel, stands away from his brother. Krishna goes up and embraces Bheema fervently. He cries, “I am proud of you! Only the rare man fulfils even some of his oaths. You, Bheemasena, have kept all yours. I am so proud of you!”
Then, from a way off, Yudhishtira smiles at Bheema. With a cry, Bheema rushes to his brother and prostrates himself at his feet. “Bless me, my lord! All your enemies are dead. The long story of hatred has ended and I lay the world at your feet. Panchali will not sleep on the floor any more. Bless me, my brother!”
Yudhishtira raises him up and embraces him. All the Pandavas and all those with them break into loud cries, of’Jaya’! Now everyone rushes to Bheema to hug him. Conches are blown, drums beaten; the name of Vayu’s son resounds in that place.
With an inscrutrable look in his eye, Krishna turns to Duryodhana. He says slowly, “We need not bother to kill this man, he is as good as dead. He was the worst sinner and retribution has found him. He had many wise men to tell him what the way of dharma was. Time and again, he spurned their wisdom.
How much poor Vidura begged him to mend his ways. Duryodhana would only listen to that serpent Shakuni. The time to pay has come and he must pay alone. Look where he lies now, broken on the ground, yes, even he who was the greatest king, the most powerful man on earth. Let us leave him here to pay in full. He is just a dry log of wood now, not worth bothering with.”
Duryodhana lies gasping in unbearable pain. But at what Krishna says he rears up on his palms like a cobra and hisses, “Stop, you son of a sudra! You are not even a kshatriya or a king, that you dare speak to me like this. Wretched cowherd, you have been the death of me. You remembered Bheema’s vow. He fought fairly, until you whispered in Arjuna’s ear and he slapped his thighs.”
There is untold hatred in his voice, “Black cowherd, son of Kamsa’s slave, you caused this war by poisoning my cousins’ hearts. And you dare call me a sinner? Who brought Shikhandi before Bheeshma and made him lay down his bow? Who told Yudhishtira to lie to Drona that Aswatthama was dead? And the Acharya put down his weapon. You think I did not watch you, cowherd? I saw everything you did. Who turned day into night and the unsuspecting Jayadratha was murdered? Who sacrificed the monster Ghatotkacha, so your precious Arjuna would not have to face Karna’s Shakti? And who told Arjuna to shoot Karna down when he knelt to lift his chariot-wheel? You did, evil one, always you. It is your cunning and not their valor that won this war for the sons of Pandu. Without your plotting, Bheeshma, Drona and Karna could never have been killed. You may deceive the world, Krishna, but I know you. Of us all, you are the worst sinner!”
Krishna laughs in his face. “So now you would blame it all on me! But the truth, Duryodhana, is that your greed cost these millions their lives. The truth is that all your brothers and friends died because of you. Bheeshma, Drona, Karna and all the rest died because they fought for you and for evil. Bheeshma should never have agreed to fight. Drona could have left Hastinapura and gone away. Karna knew you were in the wrong; he knew you would lose this war. But he loved you too much to abandon you.”
His eyes are hard as diamonds and Krishna continues, “You blame this war on me, Duryodhana? Have you perhaps forgotten how I came to Hastinapura before the war began? Have you forgotten how I begged you to make peace? Then you would not listen. Your greed held you firm. You would not part with five towns, why, you said you wouldn’t give the Pandavas enough land to set on a needle’s point. What you taste now is the fruit of the bitter tree of envy, which your father and your uncle Shakuni planted in your heart when you were a boy. The tree has matured, its fruit are ripe.
You speak so glibly of treachery. What about Abhimanyu, whom you cut down in the flower of his youth? Just for that crime you should die, again and again. Yudhishtira wastes his sympathy on you. I feel no pity for you; you have got what you deserve.”
Despite his agony, a familiar sneer curls Duryodhana’s lip and a thin brow is still arched in disdain. Though his breath comes torturedly from him, he wheezes defiantly, “I have lived a full life. I have studied the Vedas. I have always been generous to anyone who came to me in need. I have been king of all this earth and tasted her fruits to the full. I have trodden on my enemies’ heads. I am a fortunate man, cowherd. I have lived a joyful life and I look forward to a joyful after-life. Dying in this most sacred place, I will find the heaven where kshatriyas go who die in battle and there my brothers and my Karna are waiting for me. As for the rest of you, you have years still to spend in this world of sorrow, this earth that is just a shadow of what it was.”
His eyes are undimmed, glittering and fierce as ever. He pauses, his breath becomes more labored with every moment. Painfully, he resumes, “As for Bheema stamping my head, I am past caring for that. In a short while, crows and vultures will feed on this head and by what he did, his place shall be with the scavengers.” With a final effort, he manages to say again, “I have died like a kshatriya. I will find swarga for myself!”
He sinks back on the ground and lies writhing and gasping in savage pain. Then, out of the sky falls a shower of petals, like crystal fireflies on the dying Duryodhana! They fill Samantapanchaka with the fragrance of Devaloka, for the Gods themselves bless the Kaurava for his indomitable courage. Duryodhana’s body may be broken, but not his spirit. The sky has grown lambent to honor the fallen kshatriya and the Pandavas hang their heads to see that heaven seems to take their cousin’s side.
Krishna turns on them in rage. “Of course Bheeshma and Drona and Karna were killed with deceit! Did you imagine for a moment that they could have been killed otherwise? They were the very acme of the warrior’s prowess. You could never have beaten them fairly, let alone killed them. They lived upon the earth like Gods; not all your devastras, not Arjuna’s archery or Bheema’s strength could have brought those men down. Why, this serpent Duryodhana could never be killed in a fair battle.
Listen to me now and hear me well. Years ago in the Kamyaka vana, I wiped the tears from Draupadi’s eyes and I swore to her I would bring death to those that had tormented her. Yudhishtira, you did not seem to mind that your wife had been humiliated in the sabha of Hastinapura. You only spoke of the dharma or the adharma of what happened. You allowed these beasts to drag her into that court, to revile her, to try to strip her naked. And you would not let Bheema kill them, as they deserved, because you said it was not dharma.
It seems that to you there were other things more important than Panchali’s tears. But to me, Yudhishtira, there was nothing in the world more momentous than her tears. I swore I would kill those that had made her cry. Bheeshma and Drona never raised a hand, never spoke a word to help her; for that, they have died. I believe in only one thing: the tears of the oppressed must be wiped and justice given to them. Draupadi could hardly help herself against the men who abused her and not even her husbands were sure that they would redress what she had endured. But not I. I said I would kill the devils that made her cry and I have kept my word. I have no doubts, no regrets. I see clearly where dharma lay in this war and where adharma.
As for the sin of the deceit we used to kill our enemies, let it fall on my head! I care nothing for it. I will bear those crimes gladly for the sons of Pandu, because they are my very life to me. If we had not used some judicious deceit, this war would have been lost. You would all have died. Duryodhana would still sit upon the throne in Hastinapura and the earth would be plunged in a rule of hell. For me, nothing could be worse than that.”
At what he says, the Pandavas feel as if a burden has been taken from them. They breathe more easily and guilt lifts away quite magically from their hearts. Krishna says, “The sun has sunk to the western mountain and night is upon us. Come, let us go back.”
They turn and walk away from Sampantapanchaka. Duryodhana, lord of the earth, lies alone in the gathering dusk. His blood and seed have spilt together on to holy ground and pain sears through his every limb. He lies dying, with not a living soul at his side.