CRITICAL ANALYSIS OF PROFESSOR B.N.PATNAIK'S POST "KRISHNA'S LAST DECEIT"

 

Dr. Babuli Naik
Associate Professor
Department of English
Motilal Nehru College
University of Delhi
Email: bnaik@mln.du.ac.in

1. Introduction: The Problem of Deceit in Sarala’s Krishna

The blog offers a bold and provocative reading of Krishna in Sarala Mahabharata. It does not present Krishna merely as the divine guide, the protector of dharma, or the compassionate friend of Arjuna. Instead, it places deceit at the centre of Krishna’s character and asks us to think seriously about the ethical unease surrounding his actions. The discussion begins by reminding us that Krishna often uses deceit in Sarala’s epic. He helps bring about the Kurukshetra war by making demands that Duryodhana cannot accept. He advises the use of unfair methods in the killing of Drona, Karna, Duryodhana, and Jayadratha. He also causes the destruction of Jujutsu, the last surviving son of Dhritarashtra, despite the Pandavas’ moral duty to protect him. The blog, therefore, refuses to soften Krishna’s conduct into easy piety. It asks a difficult question: if deceit appears repeatedly in Krishna’s actions, how should we understand his final deceit at the moment of death?

2. Krishna’s Last Deceit: Why the Final Act Matters

The phrase “last deceit” is crucial because the blog treats Krishna’s final act not as a casual episode but as a deeply meaningful moment. A last act carries symbolic weight. It gathers a character’s whole life into one final gesture. In this case, Krishna’s last deceit is special for several reasons. It leads directly to his own death. Its victim is Arjuna, the person closest to him. It also differs from his earlier acts of deception because, this time, Krishna seems to act primarily for himself. Earlier, his deceit could be defended as necessary for the Pandavas, for dharma, or for the cosmic purpose of alleviating the earth's burden. But here, the immediate concern appears to be Krishna’s own departure from the mortal world.

This makes the episode morally unsettling. Wounded by Jara’s arrow, Krishna asks Arjuna to come near him. Arjuna refuses to touch him because Sahadeva has warned him not to. Krishna then appeals to emotion, memory, friendship, obligation, and gratitude. When Arjuna still resists, Krishna asks him at least to extend his bow. Arjuna agrees. Krishna touches the bow and dies. On the surface, the scene appears tender and tragic. Beneath the surface, however, the blog detects manipulation. Krishna knows why Arjuna is refusing. He also knows how to overcome that refusal. The final touch is therefore secured through persuasion that borders on deceit.

 

 

3. Arjuna as Friend, Victim, and Instrument

The most painful aspect of this episode is that the deceived person is Arjuna. Krishna and Arjuna share one of the most intimate relationships in the Mahabharata tradition. They are friends and guides, charioteers and warriors, divine speakers and human listeners. The Bhagavad Gita itself arises from this relationship. In Sarala’s version, however, this sacred friendship becomes morally complicated at the end. Arjuna does not realise that Krishna is deceiving him. He hears the voice of a dying friend seeking comfort and cannot easily suspect manipulation in such a situation.

The blog rightly notes that deceit is hard to detect because it does not always leave visible marks. A false appeal may sound exactly like a sincere one. Krishna’s words sound natural because a dying person may genuinely ask for the touch of a beloved friend. His reminder of what he has done for Arjuna also sounds emotionally plausible. This is what makes the scene disturbing. Arjuna is not foolish. He has seen Krishna deceive others before. Yet he cannot imagine that he himself would be the target of such deceit. The episode, therefore, exposes a painful truth about intimacy. We are often most vulnerable to those we trust most deeply.

4. The Ethics of Divine Manipulation

A major strength of the blog is its willingness to examine the ethical ambiguity of Krishna’s conduct. It does not quickly excuse him in the name of divinity. It first allows the discomfort to stand. If Krishna has repeatedly used deceit, the moral question cannot be avoided. Can divine purpose justify unethical means? Does the protection of dharma permit the violation of ordinary moral rules? If Krishna deceives to serve a cosmic order, does that make his deceit righteous, or does it render dharma itself morally problematic?

The blog’s argument becomes especially interesting because Krishna’s final deceit does not clearly serve a public cause. It does not save the Pandavas. It does not defeat evil. It does not prevent a greater disaster. It enables Krishna’s own departure. This is why the episode feels different from earlier battlefield strategies. The earlier deceits can be defended as tragic necessities in a violent world. The final deceit seems more private, more intimate, and more self-directed. The blog uses this difference to bring Krishna down from the easy pedestal of devotional certainty and to place him within the complex moral world of Sarala’s epic.

5. Violence, Karma, and the Irony of Krishna’s Death

The blog also reads Krishna’s death as an ironic return of violence. Krishna, who has caused and enabled so much violence, finally dies violently. He is struck by an arrow shot by Jara, though the killing is unintended. This does not imply a simple moral equivalence, because Krishna’s violence was often deliberate, whereas Jara’s act is accidental. Yet the irony remains powerful. The one who shaped the violence of Kurukshetra is not exempt from it.

This is one of the blog’s most philosophically suggestive insights. Krishna seems surprised by his suffering. He wonders whether this is what Prajapati had ordained for him. The moment reveals the avatar’s vulnerability in human form. He is divine, yet he suffers. He guides history, yet he is caught within it. He directs violence, yet he is touched by it. In this sense, Sarala’s Krishna is not a distant, untouchable deity. He is a divine being who accepts the consequences of embodiment. The blog could have developed this further through the concept of lila, but it already points to the paradox of divine vulnerability.

6. Sahadeva’s Warning and the Knowledge of the End

Sahadeva’s role is brief yet significant. He tells Arjuna not to touch Krishna, though he does not explain why. This silence is characteristic of Sahadeva across many epic traditions, where knowledge does not always become speech. He knows, or at least senses, that contact with Krishna will have a decisive consequence. Yet his warning is incomplete, offering Arjuna a rule without its rationale.

This incomplete knowledge creates the scene’s dramatic tension. Arjuna obeys the warning at first, but he does not fully grasp what he is resisting. Krishna understands more than Arjuna. He sees through Sahadeva’s warning and Arjuna’s hesitation. The episode, therefore, becomes a contest between partial and complete knowledge. Arjuna knows enough to refuse touch, but not enough to understand Krishna’s need. Krishna knows both the warning and the hidden necessity behind it. This difference in knowledge allows Krishna to deceive Arjuna.

7. The Mystery of Contact: Krishna and Arjuna as Incomplete Selves

The blog finally offers a deeper explanation that moves beyond ordinary morality. Krishna must touch Arjuna because a part of Krishna resides in Arjuna and must be withdrawn before Krishna can leave his mortal form. This is the blog's most profound interpretive move. It suggests that the Krishna-Arjuna relationship is not merely emotional, political, or pedagogical. It is ontological. Their bond touches the very structure of being.

If Krishna cannot depart without contact with Arjuna, his deceit is more than manipulation. It becomes a necessary act of completion. Krishna must gather himself back into himself. Arjuna is not merely his friend. He carries a part of Krishna’s force, presence, or divine energy. This reading gives the episode a metaphysical depth that the earlier moral reading alone cannot provide. It also explains why Krishna wants Arjuna alone, not Yudhisthira, Bhima, Nakula, or Sahadeva. The final contact is not social comfort. It is cosmic withdrawal.

8. Krishna as Man and God

The blog’s final insight is that Krishna must be seen as both man and God. Seeing him only as a man misses his divinity, and seeing him only as God misses the drama of his human life. This is the most balanced and academically valuable part of the analysis. Sarala’s Krishna cannot be reduced to either a moral trickster or an untouched divine absolute. He is both. His humanity makes his actions ethically troubling, while his divinity gives them metaphysical meaning.

This double vision is essential to understanding Krishna in Sarala Mahabharata. As a man, he deceives, suffers, persuades, manipulates, and dies. As a god, he operates within a cosmic design beyond human grasp. The blog asks us to hold both truths together. This is not easy, yet precisely that difficulty makes Sarala’s Krishna so compelling. He does not fit into simple categories of good and evil, pure and impure, or honest and deceptive. He belongs to a world where divine purpose moves through human ambiguity.

 

 

9. Strengths of the Blog

The blog's greatest strength is its courage in confronting Krishna’s moral ambiguity. It does not hide behind devotional simplification, nor does it turn every questionable act into an immediate act of divine wisdom. Instead, it allows discomfort to be the starting point for interpretation. This gives the piece intellectual seriousness.

Another strength is its close attention to narrative detail. The blog notices the small but significant movements in the episode: Jara’s grief, Yudhisthira’s permission, Sahadeva’s warning, Arjuna’s hesitation, Krishna’s emotional appeal, the extension of the bow, and the final touch. These details are not treated as decorative. They form the basis for philosophical interpretation.

The blog is also strong in its treatment of deception as a mode of communication. It recognises that deceit is not always loud or obvious. It may appear as tenderness, memory, emotional appeal, or even friendship. This makes the analysis psychologically astute and humanly convincing.

10. Areas That Could Be Developed Further

A more extended academic version of the blog could develop several points further. First, it could distinguish more clearly between Vyasa’s Krishna and Sarala’s Krishna. The blog is clearly concerned with the Sarala Mahabharata, but a comparative frame would make the distinctiveness of Sarala’s version more evident. Second, the concept of deceit could be examined more philosophically. Is deceit always unethical, or can it be a tool of divine necessity? Is Krishna’s deception a moral flaw, a strategic instrument, or part of avataric play?

Third, the blog could explore the relationship between deceit and lila. If Krishna is the divine actor, his actions may belong to a larger theatre of cosmic play. Yet this should not erase the pain of those deceived. A strong academic reading would hold both together: the cosmic scale of Krishna’s actions and the human cost of his methods. Fourth, Arjuna’s loss of power after Krishna’s death deserves fuller treatment. It suggests that Arjuna’s heroism was never entirely his own. His strength was sustained by Krishna’s presence. This has major implications for understanding agency in the epic.

11. Humanising the Reading: The Pain of the Last Moment

What makes the episode deeply moving is that it is not only about theology or deceit. It is also about the final moment between two friends. Krishna is dying. Arjuna is grieving. Both are caught between love, obedience, fear, and destiny. Krishna wants contact. Arjuna wants to obey the warning. Neither is emotionally free. The scene is painful because it turns friendship into a site of uncertainty. Arjuna cannot know whether he is being faithful or cruel. Krishna cannot depart without drawing Arjuna into the final act.

This human dimension is essential. Without it, the episode would be nothing more than a theological puzzle. With it, the episode takes a tragic turn. The divine friend must deceive the human friend to complete his own departure. The human friend becomes the medium of that departure, unaware of his role. Sarala’s genius lies in crafting a scene where affection and manipulation, divinity and helplessness, and intimacy and cosmic necessity coexist.

12. Conclusion: Deceit, Divinity, and the Mystery of Krishna

The blog offers a powerful reading of Krishna’s final act in Sarala Mahabharata. Its central achievement is showing that Krishna’s deceit cannot be dismissed as a minor narrative device. It is integral to the very structure of his character in Sarala’s epic. He is the divine strategist whose actions disturb ordinary morality. He is the friend who deceives the friend he loves most. He is the avatar who suffers a violent death. He is the ultimate knower who cannot be deceived by Arjuna’s excuses. He is also the dying figure who needs contact to become complete.

The blog’s lasting value lies in refusing to simplify Krishna. It does not reduce him to a mere villain of deceit or a mere god beyond judgment. It asks us to see him in his full paradox. Krishna’s final deceit is morally troubling, emotionally painful, and metaphysically necessary. In that complexity lies the greatness of Sarala’s vision. The episode reminds us that the divine, when it enters human history, does not remain untouched by ambiguity. It acts, suffers, deceives, loves, and departs. Krishna’s final act is therefore not merely an act of deceit. It is also an act of withdrawal, completion, and mystery.

 

CRITICAL ANALYSIS OF PROFESSOR B. N. PATNAIK'S BLOG POST ON "YUDHISTHIRA IN SARALA MAHABHARATA"

 

Dr. Babuli Naik
Associate Professor
Department of English
Motilal Nehru College
University of Delhi
Email: bnaik@mln.du.ac.in

1. Introduction: Yudhisthira and the Moral Centre of the Epic

The blog offers a thoughtful, morally sensitive reading of Yudhisthira in Sarala Mahabharata. Its central concern is not merely to retell an episode from the epic but to understand why Yudhisthira holds an exceptional place in Sarala’s moral imagination. The discussion opens with a striking episode from the Karna Parva, in which Draupadi appears in a terrifying form after Dussasana’s killing. She is no longer merely the humiliated queen seeking justice. She becomes an embodiment of death, rage, and cosmic destruction. Her declaration that she would destroy almost everyone, sparing only Yudhisthira, becomes the blog's central interpretive moment. This exception is not accidental. It suggests that Yudhisthira is protected not by physical strength, political authority, or divine favour alone, but by his deep identification with dharma. The blog, therefore, shifts the focus from heroic violence to ethical endurance and from the spectacle of war to the silent survival of moral truth.

2. Draupadi as the Goddess of Death and Destruction

One of the blog's most powerful aspects is its treatment of Draupadi. In this episode, she appears in a form that disrupts the familiar image of Draupadi as wife, queen, and victim of injustice. Her licking of Dussasana’s blood and her desire to devour the Pandavas and Krishna’s clan push her beyond ordinary human emotion. She becomes a symbolic figure of destructive energy. Her anger is not merely personal. It is the accumulated force of humiliation, violation, and moral disorder. Sarala’s imagination transforms Draupadi’s wounded dignity into a terrifying metaphysical presence.

This reading is important because it allows us to see Draupadi not merely as an angry woman, but as the embodiment of a moral wound that has become cosmic. Her rage is the rage of violated justice. Her destructive desire reveals what happens when dharma is wounded beyond repair. Yet even in this terrifying form, she spares Yudhisthira. This act gives the blog its philosophical depth. If Draupadi represents death, her refusal to touch Yudhisthira means that death itself recognises something deathless in him. That deathless principle is dharma.

 

 

3. Why Yudhisthira Is Spared

The question at the heart of the blog is simple yet profound: why does Draupadi spare Yudhisthira? The answer lies in the blog’s understanding of Yudhisthira as the earthly embodiment of dharma. He is not spared because he is the eldest Pandava. He is not spared because he is a king. He is not spared because he is protected by Krishna. He is spared because his life, despite its failures and sufferings, is dedicated to dharma in thought, word, and deed.

The blog’s argument gains philosophical depth when it asks how dharma can die. Yudhisthira is mortal, yet the principle he represents is not. In Sarala’s vision, he becomes more than a character, a moral principle in human form. His survival is therefore symbolic, suggesting dharma’s victory over death. It also suggests that true dharma is not merely ritual, law, kingship, or social duty. Rather, it is compassion, truthfulness, restraint, empathy, and responsibility toward others.

4. Yudhisthira’s Compassion as True Dharma

The blog is particularly strong in showing that Yudhisthira’s greatness lies in compassion. He is often misunderstood as weak because he does not fit the conventional model of heroic masculinity. He does not rejoice in war. He does not celebrate the humiliation of his enemies. He does not treat victory as a mark of moral innocence. Even after all the suffering Duryodhana has caused, he continues to see him not only as an enemy but also as a relative. When Bhima insults and kicks the dying Duryodhana, Yudhisthira is deeply disturbed. He speaks to Duryodhana with the tenderness of an elder brother addressing a younger one who has gone astray.

This is where the blog offers a significant reinterpretation of Yudhisthira. His compassion is not a political weakness but an ethical strength. He knows the cost of violence and understands that victory won through destruction cannot erase grief. His refusal to become king after the war shows that he cannot separate political success from moral responsibility. For him, kingship is not glory but a burden. This makes his character deeply tragic and human.

5. The Loneliness of Dharma

A major insight of the blog is its emphasis on Yudhisthira’s loneliness. This loneliness is not merely emotional. It is ethical and philosophical. He is surrounded by brothers, a wife, allies, and divine support, yet he remains alone in his deepest moral convictions. His mother does not fully understand his compassion. His brothers often find his generosity toward the Kauravas impractical. Draupadi desires war when he seeks peace. Krishna reveres him but does not always follow his wishes.

This creates a painful irony. Yudhisthira is honoured as the embodiment of dharma, yet he is seldom obeyed. He is respected, but not always trusted. He is morally central, yet practically isolated. The blog captures this condition with sensitivity. It suggests that a person committed to dharma may often find himself alone, especially in a world governed by ambition, revenge, and power. Yudhisthira’s loneliness, therefore, becomes the loneliness of moral consciousness itself.

6. Krishna, Divine Strategy, and Moral Ambiguity

The blog’s treatment of Krishna is intellectually provocative. Krishna bows to Yudhisthira and shows him reverence, yet he also acts in ways that contradict Yudhisthira’s deepest wish for peace. When Yudhisthira sends Krishna as his emissary to avert war, Krishna’s actions ultimately make war unavoidable. From a worldly point of view, this may appear to be betrayal. From a divine perspective, it may be part of a larger cosmic design.

This tension is one of the blog's most complex aspects. It shows that the epic world does not offer simple moral answers. Krishna embodies divine purpose, yet that purpose does not always seem gentle from a human perspective. Yudhisthira embodies moral transparency, while Krishna embodies strategic necessity. The blog could have developed this contrast further, but its insight is valuable. It shows that dharma in the epic does not operate in a pure, uncomplicated world. It must pass through strategy, violence, sorrow, and ambiguity.

 

7. Draupadi’s Rage and the Question of Gender

While the blog offers a powerful account of Draupadi as the goddess of destruction, it could have explored more deeply the gendered meaning of her rage. Draupadi’s anger does not arise in a vacuum. It stems from humiliation, public violation, and the failure of male authority to protect her dignity. Her destructive form can therefore be read not only as death but also as a fierce indictment of patriarchal violence.

If Yudhisthira represents compassion as dharma, Draupadi may embody wounded justice as another form of dharma. The blog privileges Yudhisthira’s compassionate ethics, but a fuller academic reading may ask whether righteous anger also has a place in restoring moral order. Is dharma only forgiveness and empathy, or can it also include fierce resistance to injustice? This question does not weaken the blog. Rather, it opens a broader field of interpretation.

8. Yudhisthira and the Ethics of Power

The blog makes an important point that dharma needs the support of power. Without power, dharma may remain ineffective. Yudhisthira needs Krishna and his brothers. Yet power also brings danger. It can protect dharma, but it can also distort it. The war is fought in the name of justice, yet it leaves behind enormous destruction. This creates one of the epic's deepest paradoxes.

Yudhisthira stands at the centre of this paradox. He needs power to restore moral order, yet he is wounded by the violence required to achieve it. His discomfort after victory shows he does not mistake success for righteousness. In this sense, he is not a triumphant king but a tragic ethical figure. He wins the kingdom, yet he loses the ease of the soul. The blog captures this tragic dimension with considerable maturity.

 

 

 

9. Sarala’s Vernacular Reimagining of Yudhisthira

The blog also suggests, even if indirectly, that Sarala Mahabharata is not merely a retelling of Vyasa’s epic. It is a creative Odia reimagining of the Mahabharata tradition. Sarala gives familiar characters new emotional, theological, and cultural meanings. In this version, Yudhisthira assumes particular importance as a figure through whom dharma is humanised. He is not presented only as a king or a son of Dharma. He is shown as a man who suffers because he feels too deeply.

This is where the blog fits into the broader study of vernacular Mahabharatas. Regional epics do not merely translate Sanskrit narratives. They reinterpret them within local ethical worlds. In Sarala’s imagination, Yudhisthira becomes the bearer of a deeply compassionate dharma. This dharma is not abstract. It is lived through personal relationships, grief, responsibility, and moral self-questioning.

10. Strengths of the Blog

The blog’s main strength lies in its moral clarity and interpretive sensitivity. It does not reduce Yudhisthira to a weak or passive figure. Instead, it portrays him as a difficult, lonely embodiment of dharma. It also treats the episode of Draupadi’s destructive form with symbolic seriousness. The blog is strongest when it links narrative details to broader philosophical questions. Why does death spare Yudhisthira? What does it mean for dharma to survive after war? Can compassion be stronger than violence? These questions lend the blog academic value.

Another strength is its human tone. The blog does not glorify war. It does not present victory as uncomplicated. It recognises sorrow, guilt, loneliness, and moral burden. This makes the reading emotionally compelling. It helps us see Yudhisthira not as a remote epic figure but as a deeply human character who bears the unbearable weight of dharma in a violent world.

11. Areas That Need Further Development

For a more rigorous academic analysis, the blog could further develop certain areas. First, it could distinguish more clearly between Vyasa’s Mahabharata and Sarala’s Odia retelling. This would clarify what is unique about Sarala’s portrayal of Yudhisthira. Second, the blog could engage more deeply with the concept of dharma. Dharma is treated mainly as compassion, truth, and moral responsibility, but it also encompasses duty, social order, kingship, and cosmic balance. A fuller analysis would examine these multiple layers.

Third, the blog could expand its treatment of Draupadi. Her rage deserves a more sustained, gender-sensitive reading. She is not only destructive; she is also a voice for justice. Finally, the blog could examine the tension between Krishna’s divine strategy and Yudhisthira’s ethical innocence in greater depth. This would sharpen the analysis philosophically.

 

 

 

12. Conclusion: Dharma, Compassion, and the Victory Over Death

The blog offers a compelling reading of Yudhisthira as the figure through whom Sarala’s epic imagines dharma’s victory over death. Its finest insight is that Yudhisthira’s greatness lies not in kingship, warfare, or masculine aggression, but in compassion. He is great because he feels others’ suffering, including that of his enemies. He is great because he cannot celebrate a victory bought with death. He is great because he understands that dharma without compassion becomes empty.

In Sarala’s moral universe, death may claim warriors, clans, heroes, and even divine protectors, but it cannot claim Yudhisthira. This is not because Yudhisthira escapes human suffering. On the contrary, he suffers more deeply because he sees more clearly. He survives because the dharma he embodies must endure. Through him, Sarala seems to suggest that compassion is not a decorative virtue added to dharma. It is the very heart of dharma. The blog’s lasting value lies in bringing this truth to the fore with sensitivity, seriousness, and moral force.

 

REVIEW OF "BHIMA AND KRISHNA: A RELOOK"

Professor B. N. Patnaik’s blog “Bhima and Krishna: A Relook” offers a brief yet intellectually suggestive reading of Sarala Mahābhārata. On the surface, the blog compares Bhīma and Krishna on a single shared trait: their inability to be “contented.” But the essay’s deeper force lies elsewhere. Professor Patnaik is not simply comparing two characters. He uses Bhīma as a foil to illuminate Krishna’s theological, ethical, and narrative distinctiveness in Sarala Das’s Odia retelling of the Mahābhārata. The blog, therefore, becomes a compact meditation on desire, violence, divine excess, avatāra, and the difference between Vyasa’s Sanskrit epic and Sarala’s Odia epic imagination.

1. The Central Argument

The blog’s central argument is that Bhīma and Krishna share insatiability, yet their insatiability belongs to two entirely different orders of being. Bhīma’s lack of contentment is bodily, instinctive, and sensuous. By contrast, Krishna’s lack of contentment is metaphysical and theological. Bhīma is never satisfied with food, fight, sleep, or sex. Krishna cannot be satisfied with gifts, honour, devotion, or knowledge. The comparison is therefore deliberately paradoxical. Patnaik begins with similarity but ends with radical difference.

This is the blog’s intellectual strength. It does not reduce Bhīma and Krishna to flat opposites. Instead, it creates a critical bridge between them through the concept of “atripti,” or non-satisfaction. Once that bridge is in place, the essay shows that the same term carries different meanings when applied to a human hero and to the divine avatāra. For Bhīma, insatiability is appetite. For Krishna, it is transcendence.

2. Bhīma as the Figure of Embodied Excess

Professor Patnaik’s Bhīma is a being of immense physicality. He is “simple and guileless,” yet also violent, impulsive, sensuous, and dangerous. The blog repeatedly emphasises Bhīma’s bodily immediacy. He eats with intensity, fights brutally, loves possessively, and acts before reflecting. He belongs to the world of force rather than subtlety.

This reading is persuasive because Bhīma has a complex role in the Mahābhārata tradition. He is crucial to the victory of dharma, yet he is not always morally refined. He defends Draupadi, defeats villains, and shows loyalty to the Pāṇḍavas, but he also transgresses the bounds of civilised conduct. Patnaik effectively highlights this ambiguity. Bhīma is more than a hero; he is a challenging figure. His energetic pursuit of justice often manifests as violence.

Professor Patnaik's examples are compelling: Kīchaka's death, Duḥśāsana's killing, Bhīma's failure in Drona’s archery test, his anger towards Kunti, and the death of Belālasena’s living head all portray Bhīma as someone whose strength outweighs his reflective thinking. His actions are driven by instinct rather than careful judgment. His main ethical struggle isn't cowardice or disloyalty, but an overabundance of force.

At a deeper level, Bhīma becomes a study in the instability of heroic masculinity. He is virile, powerful, and fearless, yet morally vulnerable because he cannot control himself. His violence is not merely external. It is constitutive of his personality. Patnaik’s repeated emphasis on hunger, blood, mace, food, sleep, and sexual craving gives Bhīma a strongly corporeal identity. He is almost elemental, fittingly the son of Pavana, the Wind. Like the wind, he is forceful, restless, and difficult to contain.

3. The Question of Violence

One of the most interesting aspects of the blog is its treatment of Bhīma’s violence. Professor Patnaik does not romanticise it. He draws a clear distinction between necessary and excessive violence. For instance, Bhīma’s oath to kill Duḥśāsana may be understood within the moral economy of revenge following Draupadi’s humiliation, but the brutality with which he carries it out goes beyond the demands of the oath.

This distinction is important for Mahābhārata studies because the epic often asks us to consider the difference between justice and revenge, dharma and cruelty, and punishment and sadistic pleasure. Bhīma stands precisely at this troubled border. He fights on the Pāṇḍavas’ side, yet his methods often disturb the moral comfort of that side. In this sense, Patnaik’s reading prevents a simplistic glorification of Bhīma as a hero.

However, one may also critically extend Patnaik’s argument. Bhīma’s violence should not be reduced to a mere character flaw. It is also structurally produced by the world of the Mahābhārata. The epic world repeatedly fails Draupadi, justice, and the possibility of a peaceful settlement. In such a world, Bhīma becomes the terrible instrument of deferred justice. His violence is excessive, but the social and political order that creates the need for such violence is equally excessive in its injustice. A fuller reading may therefore ask whether Bhīma is simply “dusta” or whether he is the epic’s uncomfortable answer to a broken moral order.

4. Bhīma and the Limits of Dharma

Professor Patnaik notes that both Kunti and Yudhiṣṭhira call Bhīma “dusta,” an important observation. Yudhiṣṭhira embodies dharma, restraint, deliberation, and moral anxiety, whereas Bhīma embodies action, retaliation, appetite, and embodied justice. The tension between the two brothers is therefore not merely temperamental but philosophical.

Yudhiṣṭhira’s dharma is reflective yet often ineffective. Bhīma’s action is effective yet morally troubling. As Patnaik understands it, Sarala’s narrative preserves this tension rather than resolving it. Bhīma is needed, but he cannot be fully approved. He is indispensable to the restoration of order, yet he cannot serve as a model of order.

This gives the blog a subtle ethical dimension. Patnaik is not merely condemning Bhīma. He shows that Bhīma belongs to a sphere where dharma must employ forces that are not fully dharmic. This is one of the enduring tragic complexities of the Mahābhārata tradition.

5. Draupadi and the Question of Sexuality

Professor Patnaik’s discussion of Bhīma’s sexuality is bold and deserves attention. He argues that Bhīma’s sexual conduct is “above reproach” in one sense, as he never casts a lustful eye on any woman who is not his wife. Yet his craving for Draupadi is described as excessive and difficult for her to bear. This raises an important ethical complication.

 

The blog does not sentimentalise Bhīma’s love for Draupadi. In many popular readings, Bhīma is often portrayed as Draupadi’s most devoted husband, the one who responds most fiercely to her humiliation. Patnaik does not reject that image, but he complicates it by introducing the problem of desire within marriage. His point is significant: the legitimacy of a marital relationship does not automatically resolve the ethical questions of consent, comfort, and reciprocity.

This is one area where the blog opens the possibility of a feminist reading, though it does not develop it fully. Draupadi appears not merely as a shared wife but as a woman who bears the burden of male desire. The moral code worked out by the husbands becomes necessary because Bhīma’s desire is too intense. A PhD-level extension of Patnaik’s argument would ask how Sarala Das represents Draupadi’s agency, discomfort, speech, and negotiation within a polyandrous household. Such a reading could connect the blog’s insight to broader questions of gender, the body, marriage, and power in vernacular Mahābhārata traditions.

6. Krishna as the Figure of Divine Inexhaustibility

The second half of the blog turns to Krishna. Here, Professor Patnaik’s argument becomes more theological. Krishna is described through Sakuni’s warning to Duryodhana: he cannot be satisfied by gifts, honour, devotion, or knowledge. The phrase “danena atriputi je manena atriputi / bhagate atriputi je jnanena atriputi” serves as the interpretive key.

This is a remarkable shift. In Bhīma, lack of contentment signals appetite. In Krishna, it signals the impossibility of confining the divine within human transactions. One cannot “satisfy” Krishna because he is not a needy recipient. He is not dependent on human offerings. Gifts, honour, devotion, and knowledge do not complete him. The divine cannot be placed under obligation by ritual or moral economy.

Professor Patnaik’s reading of the Vāmana-Bali episode within the Krishna-Duryodhana negotiation is especially powerful. Sakuni reads Vāmana as a dangerous figure of divine dispossession. Bhishma corrects him by completing the story, reminding Duryodhana that Bali was not merely deprived but also blessed. This contrast between Sakuni’s partial narrative and Bhishma’s fuller account is crucial. The divine act may appear as loss at one level yet become grace at another. The meaning of divine intervention depends on the completeness of vision.

7. Sakuni’s Narrative and the Politics of Partial Truth

One of the blog’s strongest critical strengths lies in its treatment of Sakuni. Sakuni is not portrayed as a simple liar. He tells a story that is not entirely false, but only partially so. His version of the Vāmana-Bali narrative is selective. He stops at dispossession and omits the moment of divine grace.

This is a profound insight into the politics of narration. Falsehood does not always operate by inventing facts. It often operates by withholding completion. Sakuni’s narrative becomes a political use of myth. He weaponises a sacred story to strengthen Duryodhana’s refusal. In this sense, Professor Patnaik’s blog quietly raises a major hermeneutic issue: who tells a story, where they stop, and what they omit can change the story's ethical meaning.

This point remains relevant today. Many political and cultural narratives rely on partial truths, selectively citing history, scripture, or tradition. Sakuni’s method is therefore not merely epic cunning. It is a general model of ideological narration.

8. Krishna, Leela, and the Limits of Human Transaction

Professor Patnaik’s conclusion is deeply philosophical. He writes that Krishna is neither pleased when one worships him nor displeased when one does not. He is neither pleased by praise nor displeased by abuse. What then remains? Perhaps only to witness his līlā.

This is one of the most suggestive moments in the blog. It moves Krishna beyond the economy of reward and punishment. Human beings often approach the divine through exchange: I worship, so bless me; I offer, so protect me; I praise, so be pleased with me. Patnaik’s Krishna transcends this transactional theology. Divine līlā cannot be controlled by devotion, ritual, knowledge, or honour.

This reading brings Sarala Mahābhārata close to a bhakti-metaphysical vision in which the divine is intimate yet not manageable, present yet not possessable, and responsive yet not reducible to human expectations. Krishna is not merely a character in the story. He is the hidden centre of meaning.

9. Vyasa and Sarala: Dharma and Moksha

The note at the end of the blog is highly important. Professor Patnaik states that Vyasa’s Mahābhārata is about Nara, the human, whereas Sarala’s Mahābhārata is about Nārāyaṇa, the Supreme God. Vyasa’s text focuses on dharma, whereas Sarala’s focuses primarily on moksha and secondarily on dharma.

This is perhaps the most thesis-like statement in the entire blog. It offers a broad comparative framework for distinguishing the Sanskrit epic from its Odia retelling. In this formulation, Sarala Das does not merely translate Vyasa. He reorients the epic. The movement is from ethical crisis to spiritual release, from human action to divine play, and from dharma as a social-moral order to moksha as ultimate liberation.

This is a valuable insight for vernacular epic studies. It recognises Sarala Mahābhārata as a creative, interpretive, and theological re-composition rather than a derivative regional version. Sarala’s originality lies not only in language or local colour but also in philosophical orientation. His Mahābhārata is not merely Odia in idiom. It is distinct in its metaphysical emphasis.

10. Critical Observations on Professor B.N. Patnaik’s Reading

While the blog is rich, some areas invite further inquiry.

First, Bhīma’s characterisation may seem slightly overdetermined by violence and appetite. While these are undoubtedly central to Sarala’s Bhīma, as the writer reads him, Bhīma’s tenderness, loyalty, and emotional vulnerability also merit exploration. His love for Draupadi, his devotion to his brothers, and his role as protector complicate any purely violent reading.

Second, the blog accords Krishna significant interpretive privilege, while Bhīma is largely cast as a foil. Professor Patnaik himself acknowledges this when he says that Sarala’s real concern is Krishna, not Bhīma. Yet one may ask whether Bhīma deserves a more independent reading. If Krishna represents divine transcendence, Bhīma may embody the tragic necessity of embodied action in a violent world.

Third, the claim that Vyasa’s Mahābhārata is about dharma while Sarala’s is about moksha is illuminating, though it may need further nuance. Vyasa’s Mahābhārata also contains powerful moksha-oriented passages, especially in the Śānti Parva and Anuśāsana Parva. Similarly, Sarala’s text cannot be entirely separated from dharma. Therefore, the distinction is useful as an interpretive emphasis, but perhaps not as an absolute division.

Fourth, the blog’s theological conclusion that Krishna is neither pleased nor displeased by human acts raises a fascinating question: what, then, is the role of bhakti? If devotion cannot please Krishna in a transactional sense, does it still transform the devotee? Perhaps the purpose of bhakti is not to change God’s attitude but to transform the human self. This is a direction the blog hints at but does not fully develop.

11. Original Contribution of the Blog

The originality of Patnaik’s blog lies in its ability to draw a major philosophical insight from a concise character comparison. The blog does not merely say that Bhīma is physical and Krishna is divine. It shows that the same trait, non-contentment, operates at two levels: the bodily and the metaphysical. This yields a layered reading of Sarala Mahābhārata.

Its second contribution is to foreground the theological distinctiveness of Sarala’s epic. Sarala’s Krishna is not merely a strategist, diplomat, or divine helper. He is the avatāra whose presence transforms the epic’s meaning. In Patnaik’s reading, the story of the Pāṇḍavas and Kauravas becomes a field for understanding divine intervention.

Its third contribution is hermeneutic. Through the competing versions of the Vāmana-Bali story by Sakuni and Bhishma, the blog shows how narrative can mislead when incomplete. This is a subtle yet powerful insight into epic storytelling.

Conclusion

Professor B. N. Patnaik’s “Bhima and Krishna: A Relook” is a short essay with a wide interpretive reach. It begins with a simple observation that Bhīma and Krishna are both “not contented,” but gradually develops this into a philosophical distinction between bodily appetite and divine inexhaustibility. Bhīma embodies force, hunger, rage, and sensuous embodiment. Krishna embodies the inscrutable fullness of the avatāra, who cannot be satisfied because he lacks nothing.

The blog’s deeper achievement lies in its reading of Sarala Mahābhārata as a text centred on Nārāyaṇa and moksha. In this view, Sarala Das does not merely retell Vyasa’s epic. He reimagines it as a theological and liberative narrative. Professor Patnaik’s essay is therefore valuable not only as a character study of Bhīma and Krishna, but also as a critical entry point into the distinctiveness of the Odia Mahābhārata tradition.

A fuller academic paper could emerge from this blog by developing three lines of inquiry: Bhīma as embodied excess, Krishna as non-transactional divinity, and Sarala Mahābhārata as a vernacular reorientation of the epic from dharma to moksha. In that sense, the blog is not a finished scholarly argument. It is also a seed for a larger research project.

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Dr. Babuli Naik
Associate Professor
Department of English
Motilal Nehru College
University of Delhi
Email: bnaik@mln.du.ac.in

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REVIEW OF "TOWARDS UNDERSTANDING AN INNOVATION IN SARALA MAHABHARATA"

 

Prof. B. N.  Patnaik’s article is a thoughtful and original study of a small yet significant episode in Sarala Mahabharata. The article focuses on the story of Kiratasena, a forest king who does not appear in Vyasa’s Mahabharata. Professor Patnaik argues that this episode is Sarala Das’s own creative innovation. At first, the story may seem unnecessary because it does not directly affect the main movement of the Kurukshetra war. Yet, by the end of the article, Professor Patnaik shows that the episode holds deep religious and poetic significance within Sarala’s larger vision of the Mahabharata as a “Bishnu Purana”.

1. The central argument of the article

Prof. Patnaik’s main argument is clear. The Kiratasena episode is absent from Vyasa’s Mahabharata. It is Sarala Das’s own addition. This is important because it shows that Sarala was not merely translating or retelling Vyasa. He was interpreting the epic in his own creative and devotional way.

Professor Patnaik first admits that the Kiratasena episode does not advance the main plot. The war would have unfolded the same way even without Kiratasena. Neither the Pandavas nor the Kauravas depend on him. His entry and exit do not alter the course of the war. In that sense, the episode appears to be an interruption.

But Professor Patnaik does not stop there. He poses a deeper question. If the episode does not serve the war’s outer narrative, why did Sarala include it? His answer is that Sarala’s Mahabharata is not only about the Kuru family but also about the glory of Krishna. Therefore, any episode that showcases Krishna’s grace becomes meaningful.

This is the article's strength. Professor Patnaik shifts from a narrative reading to a theological one. He shows that the story is weak as a plot device but strong as a spiritual episode.

2. Kiratasena as a marginal but powerful figure

Kiratasena is a king among the forest dwellers. He comes to Kurukshetra with his son Jara, eager to fight in the war and gain glory. Secretly, he harbours an old desire for revenge because in a previous birth he was Bali, whom Rama had killed.

This makes Kiratasena a compelling character. He is not a simple warrior. He carries memories of an earlier yuga. His story connects the worlds of the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. Through him, Sarala builds a bridge between Rama and Krishna.

Kiratasena is rejected by both Duryodhana and Yudhisthira. Duryodhana rejects him because he distrusts forest dwellers and finds Kiratasena boastful. Yudhisthira also rejects him, viewing the war as a battle among kshatriyas and brothers. Both sides treat him as an outsider.

This rejection is significant. It reveals the social world of the epic. Kiratasena is powerful, yet he is not accepted. He has divine arrows, but he lacks social legitimacy. He is brave, yet caste and social location stand in his way.

Professor Patnaik does not develop the caste angle strongly, though it is present in the article. Ph.D.-level research can extend this point. Kiratasena’s rejection shows that power in the epic world is controlled by caste, lineage, and social recognition. The forest king may possess extraordinary strength, but he remains outside the political order of the war.

3. From revenge to devotion

One of the most beautiful moments in the story is Kiratasena’s sudden transformation. He arrives with a hidden desire to avenge Krishna, whom he believes killed him in the form of Rama. But when he sees Krishna, he is filled with devotion.

Professor Patnaik rightly observes that Sarala does not explain this change in detail. The article suggests that Krishna's darshan purified Kiratasena, which is a significant insight.

In Sarala’s devotional world, Krishna’s presence alone transforms the human being. Revenge and ego disappear. The desire to fight becomes secondary. What remains is surrender.

This is where Kiratasena’s story becomes spiritually powerful. He does not win glory on the battlefield. He attains something higher than military victory. He offers his head to Krishna and, in return, receives moksha.

4. The meaning of dana in the episode

The most significant act in the Kiratasena story is not war but the gift. Kiratasena offers his head to Krishna as dana. This is a striking image. The warrior who came to fight becomes a devotee who gives himself completely to the divine.

This act redefines heroism. In ordinary epic terms, heroism means defeating enemies. In Sarala’s spiritual vision, it means surrendering the ego to Krishna.

Kiratasena’s head is severed by Krishna’s Sudarshana Chakra. Professor Patnaik explains that this is not merely a killing. It is an act of grace. Because Krishna uses the Sudarshana Chakra, Kiratasena attains liberation. He is not destroyed. He is redeemed.

This is a crucial theological point. In Sarala’s imagination, Krishna is not merely a strategist in the war. He is Narayana himself, the giver of moksha. Therefore, death at his hands is a form of spiritual release.

5. Kiratasena and moksha

Professor Patnaik’s discussion of moksha is among the article’s finest parts. Kiratasena’s severed head remains alive on Krishna’s chariot. Krishna grants him the wish to witness the war and, more than that, an eternal place on the chariot.

This means Kiratasena is freed from ordinary death and rebirth and remains connected to Krishna forever. Professor Patnaik suggests that Sarala understands moksha as eternal nearness to Narayana.

This is a simple yet profound idea. Here, moksha is not an abstract philosophy. It is not presented as a dry metaphysical state. Instead, it is shown as a living closeness to God. Kiratasena’s liberation lies in being placed on Krishna’s chariot and in being remembered by divine grace.

6. Comparison with Belalasena

Prof. Patnaik compares Kiratasena with Belalasena, another character created by Sarala. This comparison is useful because both characters come to fight in the war, are prevented from fighting, offer their heads to Krishna, wish to witness the war, and receive Krishna’s grace.

But Professor Patnaik draws a major distinction. Belalasena serves a clear narrative purpose. After the war, his severed head tells the Pandavas the truth. He reveals that no warrior won the war by personal power. It was Krishna’s divine discus that moved across the battlefield, destroying warriors. This revelation humbles the Pandavas and exposes the illusion of human pride.

Kiratasena, however, does not serve such a narrative function. He sees the war but does not tell anyone. No one asks him. His witnessing remains private.

This comparison helps Professor Patnaik make his point. If we judge Kiratasena solely on narrative grounds, the episode seems unnecessary. But if we judge it by Sarala’s devotional purpose, it becomes meaningful.

7. The real purpose of the Kiratasena episode

The episode’s true purpose is to reveal Krishna’s grace. This is Professor Patnaik’s final and strongest argument.

Sarala’s Mahabharata is not only a story of family conflict, kingdom, war, and revenge. It is a sacred retelling that celebrates Krishna’s leela. Sarala repeatedly calls his work “Bishnu Purana.” Professor Patnaik explains that Sarala does not refer to the Sanskrit Vishnu Purana as a specific text. He uses the phrase to describe his own work as a puranic account of Vishnu’s glory.

This changes how we read the entire text. The Kuru story becomes the narrative’s outer body, while Krishna’s leela becomes its inner soul.

Therefore, Kiratasena is not superfluous. His story may be unnecessary to the war plot, but it is essential to Sarala’s broader religious imagination. It shows that Krishna’s grace can reach even a forest king who enters the narrative from the margins.

8. Originality of Prof. Patnaik’s article

The originality of Professor Patnaik’s article lies in his choice of subject and his method of reading. He takes a small, neglected episode and shows its significance. He does not dismiss it as a loose addition. He patiently asks why Sarala might have included it.

His approach is balanced. He first acknowledges the problem. The Kiratasena episode does look like an intrusion. He then shifts the ground of interpretation. He argues that the episode becomes meaningful when we understand Sarala’s Mahabharata as a Krishna-centred text.

This is a strong scholarly move. It shows that a retelling should not always be judged by the source text’s standards. Sarala’s work has its own logic, theology, and poetic vision.

9. A critical observation

One limitation of the article is that it does not fully explore the social and caste significance of Kiratasena. The story clearly shows that Kiratasena is rejected for being a forest dweller and deemed low-born. This could have prompted a deeper discussion of caste, exclusion, and marginality in Sarala’s epic world.

Kiratasena is powerful yet unwanted. He is capable yet distrusted. He is spiritually worthy yet socially rejected. This tension warrants greater attention.

A Dalit or subaltern reading could pose an important question. Why does the forest king receive recognition only through divine grace, not through social acceptance? The human world rejects him, whereas Krishna redeems him. This contrast helps us understand Sarala’s complex vision of society and spirituality.

Yet this limitation does not weaken the article. Rather, it opens avenues for further research.

10. Conclusion

Prof. Patnaik’s article is a valuable contribution to the study of the Sarala Mahabharata. It shows that Sarala Das was not a passive reteller of Vyasa. He was a creative poet, interpreter, and theologian. Through the story of Kiratasena, Sarala expands the epic world and gives a marginal figure the space to attain liberation through Krishna’s grace.

The article teaches us that every addition to a regional epic should be read carefully. What seems unnecessary at the plot level may become deeply meaningful at the level of philosophy, devotion, and cultural imagination.

Kiratasena comes to Kurukshetra seeking glory and revenge. He leaves the ordinary human world for moksha. This movement from revenge to surrender, from exclusion to grace, and from death to eternal nearness to Krishna is the heart of the episode. Prof. Patnaik’s article helps us see this heart clearly and sympathetically.

 

Dr. Babuli Naik

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