BOOK TEN
AUM, I bow down to Narayana, the most exalted Nara and to the Devi Saraswathi and say Jaya!
ONE
The war is over: eighteen days that have been like eighteen years, longer. The Pandavas ride back to Kurukshetra. Custom demands they should enter the vanquished enemy’s camp; and they do now, blasting on their conches. The Panchajanya and the Devadatta resound above the rest. Krishna is the most cheerful one in the company. More than anything, he does not want the sons of Pandu dejected at what happened in Samantapanchaka. He does not want their moment of victory dimmed by remorse.
They find the Kaurava camp, which had once teemed with eleven aksauhinis, deserted. Nothing stirs save a twilight breeze, which murmurs endlessly about all the killing and dying on yawning Kurukshetra. The last shafts of the sun light that desolation with scarlet and gold. As soon as they arrive, Krishna turns to Arjuna and says, “Climb down from the chariot, bring the Gandiva and your quivers with you.”
Arjuna is puzzled, but does as Krishna asks. Krishna puts down his whip and reins and he, too, alights from the white ratha that Agni once gave Arjuna in the Khandava vana. The Pandavas stand watching curiously. The moment Krishna climbs down there is a flash of light above the chariot, on the flag with Hanuman’s form. They see the immortal vanara fly out and vanish into the sky! The banner is empty of its emblem. That is not all: the white chariot bursts into flames; it burns like tinder. The gandharva horses are ablaze and in a few moments, all that remains of chariot and steeds is a mound of ashes.
Arjuna cries to Krishna, “My Lord! What is this? Krishna, I don’t understand.”
Krishna’s face is stern, as he says, “Their purpose in the world is served. Arjuna, your chariot was struck by the brahmastras of Drona and Karna, by Aswatthama’s agneyastra. The truth is that both chariot and horses were consumed long ago; but as long as I sat at your chariot-head and drove your horses, they did not perish. Now we have no further use for them and they are ashes. All things in this world exist for a purpose; when their purpose is served, they cease to be.”
Krishna’s face softens. More gently now, he says, “And so it is with men, Arjuna. Each man is sent out on this mysterious journey called life and he comes into the world to achieve a purpose. Once his mission is over, the earth has no more need of him. It is so with all of us: even me. I have come into the world for a mission and as soon my mission is complete, I will leave.” He sees the look of alarm on Arjuna’s face. “My tasks are not yet over and neither are yours or your brothers’. We have much to do still. But don’t grieve for your chariot and horses: they accomplished what they were created for and now they have gone.”
Krishna turns to Yudhishtira. He takes his hand and says, “You have won the war and I am proud of you. It is the custom for the victors to spend the night outside their defeated enemies’ camp. Let us spend the night somewhere in these woods.”
Yudhishtira is deeply moved by the miracle of the chariot. He says fervently to Krishna, “My Lord, we have won the war only because of you. Now I understand what Vyasa Muni once said to me, ‘Where there is dharma, Krishna is. And where Krishna is, there is victory.’“
Krishna says, “You and your brothers fought heroically. You deserve to have victory.”
They ride a short way and decide to stay beside the river flowing nearby. They have just settled under some trees, when Krishna sees a shadow on Yudhishtira’s face. He asks, “Why are you distraught?”
Yudhishtira has turned pale. He says slowly, “By your grace we have won the war and the earth is ours now. But, Krishna, I fear the wrath of Gandhari. She is a bhakta and a righteous queen and she is a mother who has lost all her sons. She could burn the world with her grief and she may curse us, when she hears how Duryodhana died. I beg you, go to Hastinapura and pacify Gandhari.”
Krishna is thoughtful. He says softly, “You are right. Gandhari must not curse you: there are others to bear her wrath. I will go at once.”
Krishna has his own chariot fetched and sets out for the Kuru capital.
Meanwhile, hiding among the trees in Samantapanchaka, Sanjaya saw Duryodhana fall. Shocked and weeping, he flew back to Hastinapura. His arms raised above his head, he came wailing into the palace and Dhritarashtra’s presence. Dhritarashtra sat with Gandhari and his daughters-in-law around him. Vidura was there, as well.
Sanjaya ran in and cried, “My lord! Fate has robbed us of everything we had.” Then he could not go on, but sobbed like a child. Water was fetched for him and when he drank, he grew calmer. He managed to say, “The war is over and we have lost. Shalya and Shakuni were killed, Uluka is dead and…” he broke down again.
Vidura asked, “What of Duryodhana?”
Sanjaya cried as if he had lost his own son, “Bheema felled Duryodhana in a gada-yuddha! He lies dying at Samantapanchaka.”
Gandhari slumped to the floor from her throne. Dhritarashtra swayed where he sat and he swooned. The world spun before Vidura’s eyes and he clutched the arms of his chair. Duryodhana’s queens and his brothers’ wives set up a lament, many of them fell unconscious. The blind king revived in a short while and then fainted again; and thus, twice or thrice. The palace maids came to Gandhari. They sprinkled water on her face and held sharp salts under her nose. She lay as if she was dead.
After a while, Gandhari and Dhritarashtra revived and poor Vidura did his best to comfort them. Vyasa arrived, opportunely; even he could hardly quieten the surging tide of grief. Gandhari wailed hysterically, beating her breast and Dhritarashtra sobbed and sobbed.
It is now that Krishna appears in the Kuru palace and is shown into the sabha.
Tears well in his eyes when he sees Dhritarashtra and Gandhari in their sorrow. He comes forward to take their hands. The presence of the Avatara infuses their hearts with mysterious strength. Full of mercy, Krishna sits near that king and queen, speaking tenderly to them, stroking their hands, their faces, as if he was comforting two children. Gradually, their sobbing subsides; sorrow’s storm blows more quietly in their aged bodies. In their moment of crisis, they clearly feel the love of the Dark One, transcending their grief, transcending everything: a timeless, unshakeable love. Like children with a father, they let him console them with his gentle words, his healing touch.
When they are calmer, Krishna says to Gandhari, “Do you remember the day I last came to Hast-inapura? I came on a mission of peace and Duryodhana plotted to take me his hostage. I have not forgotten how you stopped him then, Gandhari. Do you remember what you said to your son? You said, ‘Where there is dharma, there is victory.’ So it has turned out, O queen.
Today, also, I have come on a mission of peace. I have come to beg you not to blame the Pandavas for what has happened. Yudhishtira grieves that he has caused you such sorrow. You know how much the sons of Pandu wanted to prevent this war. They implored you to give them just five towns and they would be content. But Duryodhana was adamant. I want you to recall clearly that it was not the Pandavas, but your son who was responsible for the war and all the tragedy it brought. You must not be tempted to blame Pandu’s sons for Duryodhana’s sins. They have suffered enough for a lifetime; you must welcome them home with love. Most of all, Gandhari, you must not turn your wrath on them. It will not be dharma if you curse them for a war they never wanted.”
He pauses to let what he says sink in, then, continues, “You don’t need me to tell you in what esteem Yudhishtira holds you both. Now, there is no Kuru prince left, save a son of Pandu, to sit upon the ancient throne of Hastinapura. I beg you again, Gandhari, do not hate Kunti’s sons. You are so pure that you can consume the very earth with your anger. All will truly be lost if you turn your fury on the Pandavas.”
Gandhari’s shoulders shake and she says in confession, “I am glad you came, Krishna. No one but you could have calmed me: for my reason had left me and I would have done some harm to Kunti’s sons. Truly, you know how to speak to the heart. Grief s rage has left me and I see clearly again. I will be just to the Pandavas. I will not harm them.”
Krishna takes her hands. Gandhari breaks down again and sobs piteously. The grief she has held behind the floodgates of anger flows from her and the Avatara’s compassion washes over the queen.
Gandhari composes herself and says, “With my sons all dead, I have only you to comfort me. Don’t abandon me, Krishna.”
The Dark One sits with them for a while longer, consoling them with his presence of grace. Suddenly, a premonition of evil seizes him. He divines a sinister plot that has taken root in the mind of a brahmana warrior. Krishna rises and says quickly, “The Pandavas are in danger. Give me your leave, I must go at once!”
Dhritarashtra whispers, “Hurry! You must protect my nephews at any cost, they are all this kingdom has left.”
Krishna flies back to Yudhishtira and his brothers in the Jaitra, his chariot of the air. He is relieved to find them safe beside the river, under the trees where he left them. They have Satyaki with them, but all the others have returned to the Pandava camp. Krishna tells them how Dhritarashtra and Gandhari were pacified; they were waiting for their nephews to return to Hastinapura. He also tells them of the danger he had sensed from Aswatthama.
“You are in mortal peril. We must be on our guard tonight.”