FAKE PEOPLE (IN THE WORLD OF SARALA MAHABHARATA)

Made of the three gunas, namely, satwa, raja and tama, and destined to live enveloped in maya, humans lack the necessary clarity of vision to make sense of the world and even one’s own small world. If this view of the human predicament is unpalatable to someone, he (or she or they), might like to turn to some modern theory of the essential human nature (say, a theory of knowledge as biological endowment) together with some theory of the humans’ failure to make good sense of the social world he lives in (“Orwell’s Problem”, for instance, a rather poetical conception of the real human problem, one might say). Humans, with their sense of insecurity, fear and desire for acquisition and the world being partially intelligible at most, it has never been an easy place to live in for anyone and has been particularly hard for the marginalized at all times. Now, as for fakery, unless one is a compulsive imposter or finds fun in pretending, one wears a mask to serve one’s own interest or to protect oneself. If one is clever, the others fail to see the mask, at least during their interaction. These hold for our world and for the world of Sarala Mahabharata as well.

One might be inclined to say that in Sarala Mahabharata, Sakuni is the very name of faking. Sakuni is unfortunate because there were others who faked at one time or the other, but one would hardly mention them: the Pandavas, Kunti, Dhritarashtra, Vidura and Sanjaya and that doesn’t close the list. Weren’t the Pandavas and Draupadi imposters in the kingdom of king Virata? She was generosity incarnate when Kunti dressed her husband’s co-wife, Madri, for her meeting with a god she would invoke to get a child. But she could not sleep, anxious to know about who she was going to invoke, and unknown to her, kept peeping into her room. Her fear was that if Madri got a child from a god, mightier than the three gods from whom she had got her children, then her child would be more powerful than hers and her wish to see her son, Yudhisthira, as the king of Hastinapura, would surely not be fulfilled. Now, wasn’t her generosity towards Madri fake, strictly speaking? As for Vidura and Sanjaya, both highly trusted by Dhritarashtra, did they not fake when they did not tell the Kuru elders that the Pandavas had not perished in the fire at the lac house, and thereby made it possible for him to anoint Duryodhana as the king of Hastinapura? This would certainly not have happened if the Kuru elders knew the truth.

Think of Sahadeva. In the second game of dice, he rolled the dice for both Yudhisthira and Duryodhana and made sure that the eldest Pandava lost. Both Yudhisthira and Duryodhana believed that he, who knew the past, the present and the future, was playing honestly for them. He betrayed both. But neither they nor anyone else ever got to know that he had a definite purpose in mind when he was rolling the stick-dice. During the Great War at Kurukshetra, he had a role in the killing of Abhimanyu; he had told Krishna how Arjuna could be separated from Abhimanyu that day so that the young warrior would lose his most powerful defence and become extremely vulnerable. No one ever knew about it. When the fighting stopped for the day and Abhimanyu’s body arrived, he was among the mourners. Wasn’t there some fakery somewhere? Years ago, when Duryodhana, who had orchestrated the lac house fire, saw the charred bodies in the house and was certain that those were the remains of the Pandavas’ and their mother Kunti’s, he had wept bitterly and those tears were fake, as Sakuni, Vidura and Sanjaya knew. There was another among the mourners who knew, but he was shedding fake tears himself!  In Sarala Mahabharata, there is nothing that this mourner didn’t know and there was nothing that happened without his will.

Think of Nakul. In the Mango of Truth episode, he declared, among other things, in the presence of his brothers, Draupadi, Vyasa, the fake sage Gauramukha and Krishna, that his loyalty to Yudhisthira was total. There was nothing that he had done till then and nothing that he did later that could be used to charge him of disloyalty with respect to the eldest Pandava. Now, when Krishna told him, when they were alone, that he was going to Duryodhana as Yudhisthira’s emissary for peace, he requested him to ask the Kaurava king for two villages, one for himself and the other for his brother, Sahadeva. After all, they were Madri’s children and Yudhisthira, Bhima and Arjuna were Kunti’s. In trying times, they were all together but in better times, after the war, Kunti’s children might not share the prosperity with them. In view of that, he thought that they would have those two villages to sustain themselves. Now, is it unreasonable to ask whether there wasn’t some fakeness in his relationship with his elder brothers, no matter that it was never translated into words or deeds?

Think of Karna, the commander-in-chief of the Kaurava army on the 16^th and the 17^th day of the Great War Kurukshetra, and the eldest child of Kunti, a fact known to everyone, right from his childhood days, in Sarala Mahabharata. He found himself in a situation where he promised Kunti that he would spare all the Pandavas barring Arjuna in the battlefield. This had happened before the war started and no one in the Kaurava army knew about it. Vidura knew but he wasn’t fighting; in any case, he wasn’t going to betray Kunti.

During his command of the Kaurava army, he could have killed the four Pandavas but he did not. The killing of Yudhisthira or Bhima would not have been sufficient to win the war, but the consequences of their killing would have been momentous. Considering that he was the friend on whom Duryodhana had absolute trust, he turned out to be a fake, as a friend. He was also a fake as the commander-in-chief of the Kaurava army.

Is there anything that might persuade one to reconsider his betrayal and see if it could be condoned? One would then have to ask why he didn’t tell Duryodhana about his word to Kunti. Maybe he believed that he could kill Arjuna and that once that was achieved, it would not be long before the Pandavas lost. He had the infallible weapon of god Indra and he also had the powerful snake arrow. Had Krishna not saved him, Arjuna would have been killed. But Krishna had not been part of his plan. He knew who Krishna was and he knew the powers of the Avatara, but does take into consideration destiny as one makes one’s plans?

This is perhaps the best that could be said for him, but questions would remain. We need not pursue this matter here; his fakeness might not invite censor, considering his circumstances, but the fact would remain that he was a fake friend and a fake leader of the Kaurava army.

Think of Bhishma and Drona. Bhishma tried to kill Arjuna but failed because Krishna intervened and unknown to everyone in the battlefield, including Bhishma and Arjuna, he destroyed Bhishma’s infallible arrow with his Sudarshana chakra. As for Drona, he could not take Yudhisthira as prisoner, despite Arjuna’s absence in the battlefield, because of Abhimanyu. But both Bhishma and Dona had told the Pandavas what would bring their fall. Duryodhana was aware of it. Even so, wasn’t that their betrayal of the Kaurava army?

Think of Gandhari. The war over, Yudhisthira along with his brothers went to meet Dhritarashtra. The man of virtue, victory in the fratricidal war had given whom no happiness, was seeking a reconciliation with the head of the Kuru clan. With him were Vidura and Krishna. Gandhari expressed her wish to see Yudhisthira and his brothers and wanted the eldest Pandava to remove the cover from her eyes. Krishna suspected trickery and took Sahadeva aside and sought his opinion. He told him that she wanted to destroy Yudhisthhira with her yogic fire. The moment he would remove her cover, she would open her eyes and destroy him. Krishna asked Durdasa to take off the cover from his mother’s eyes and sent him to his death. For just once in her life, in Sarala Mahabharata, Gandhari had resorted to fakery.

Let us pause awhile to shed a quiet tear for Durdasa. Responding to Yudhisthira’s call in the Kurukshetra battlefield, this brother of Duryodhana had changed sides and joined him. The eldest Pandava had promised him protection. When he was alone and weaponless in the Kaurava side of the battlefield, Durdasa had fought the Kaurava army and protected him. He had fought valiantly in the war. Now, right in front of his eyes, Durdasa had been reduced to ashes. True, he could not have saved him; things happened far too fast for any kind of intervention from him. But shouldn’t the son of Dharma have protested later when he knew how deception had killed the one who he had promised protection? Not a murmur of protest ever came from his lips.  But whatever one might say about him, one cannot perhaps charge him of being fake.

Now think of Dhritarashtra. He knew, as the others did, that he had become king by his younger brother, Pandu’s generosity. When Pandu got to know how miserable his elder brother was for not becoming the king of Hastinapura, he readily abdicated the throne for him and retired to the forest with his wife, Kunti, telling him that he would protect the kingdom on his behalf from the forest. This act of exemplary brotherliness did not endear him to Dhritarashtra. He knew that the kingship that he had obtained through his brother’s magnanimity would never be his, in either his or anyone else’s, eyes. He desperately wanted his eldest son to be the king as early as possible. That way he could have, although only emotionally, what he did not have, except technically. It is not so much for what he did for which he could be called fake; he could be called so, for what he had become within. He had found meaning in life in terms of the throne and the throne had become his obsession and it is this that had corroded his genuineness. So, what Gandhari intended to do with respect to Yudhisthira was surprising but what Dhritarashtra intended to do with Bhima, namely, crush him to death, by inviting him for an embrace, was not. Pretence had long become part of his personality.

Sakuni’s is a case in contrast. Sakuni’s fakeness lay in what he did, not in what he was within. He was chosen by his father and his relatives to avenge their merciless killing through systematic starvation by Duryodhana. He was duty-bound to his loved dead to destroy Duryodhana, who had used treachery to have them all imprisoned. With no material resources, Sakuni had to use treachery to deal with the might of the Kauravas. Although the Kuru elders, including Dhritarashtra, knew that his advice to Duryodhana would lead to the destruction of the Kauravas, none ever suspected that he was fake. Duryodhana died without knowing that he was fake. 

But in his heart of hearts, Sakuni was a genuine person. Notwithstanding that he was doing his duty to his ancestors, to whom he owed his life, he knew that what he was doing was wrong, both as Duryodhana’s uncle and his most trusted advisor. He wanted to atone for his doings by getting killed in the battlefield. This was what he told the Avatara in Udyoga Parva: hari sateka bhanajanta maraibi muhin…apara hatya dosa hoibaka mote…hari tohara mukha cahin bharata juddhare padile/ nana pataka khandiba rana jagyan kale (Hari, I will get a hundred nephews killed…sins of killing will accrue to me. Hari, looking at your face when one will fall in the Bharata War/ numerous sins of his will be destroyed in that yajna). This was his response to what the Avatara had told him: gobinde boile sakuni tu thibu na samaye/ ambhara tule tu pache jibu na swarga jaen (Govinda said, Sakuni, you live/ later with me you will go to the abode of the gods). Apart from Sahadeva, Sanjaya and Vidura, no one knew that he was a great devotee of Krishna and was aware of his avataric purpose.

As we close, we draw attention to the fact that we have not mentioned Krishna in the context of the present discussion. From a laukika point of view, he faked in much of what he said and did. Forget about the ordinary mortals, he dealt with Balarama, his doting elder brother and the other incarnation of Narayana, in virtually the same way. He shed false tears in the house of lac on seeing the charred bodies and Balarama did not know that he was pretending. He broke his promise to his brother about his not participating in the Great War at Kurukshetra, when he saved Arjuna from the infallible, divine arrow of Bhishma and when Balarama confronted him on that matter, he flatly lied to him. 

 

But Krishna’s doings cannot be viewed from the laukika perspective in Sarala Mahabharata. He was the purna avatara of Narayana. He was born a human but unlike the rest of Brahma’s creation, he wasn’t born to experience the fruit of his karma. He was born with a cosmic purpose, namely, to reduce the burden of the goddess Earth. His doings were his lila. And lila cannot be judged from the moral code of any loka, the one of the mortals or of the divines.   

FAKE VIEWS

“Fake views” are views one advocates but does not really subscribe to them. The expression is used in this broad sense here. One could express fake views for a number of reasons: from enlivening a boring conversation, to protecting oneself in a situation where telling what one really believes or knows for certain would most likely put one into trouble, to getting one’s work done. In an ordinary conversation, if a fake view is presented cleverly and with sophistication, the listener would not be able to figure out whether or not it is fake, going by its content. One can only guess. Sometimes the lack of fit between the body language and the content may give the speaker’s secret away but if the speaker is an accomplished manipulator, as Sarala’s – in fact, every Mahabharata poet’s - Sakuni was, one would never know the truth. His Duryodhana never knew that Sakuni had actually worked relentlessly against him all along and was the orchestrator of his and his brothers’ destruction. Only four knew about it: Vidura, Sanjaya, Sahadeva and the Avatara. Duryodhana died without any doubt that Sakuni had not been his greatest well-wisher.

Sakuni used the fake views strategy with great effectiveness when Krishna was in the Kaurava court as Yudhisthira’s emissary for peace. When Krishna arrived, Sakuni advised King Duryodhana not to offer him a seat in his court. He argued with Bhishma and Drona and prevailed upon Duryodhana not to give anything to Krishna, when submitting to his father’s and grandfather’s advice, the Kaurava king was inclined to give him two villages. Krishna was asking for five villages for the Pandavas but Sakuni made it appear as though he was asking the same for himself. He then advised Duryodhana to attack Krishna in the court, saying that he was there all alone and could be overcome.

When Krishna arrived at Duryodhana’ court, Sakuni told King Duryodhana that Krishna, born to Yashoda and Nanda, was a mere cowherd and for that reason could not be invited to the assembly of royals. That apart, he was a great sinner, having killed, in his childhood, a woman (he had in mind, the demoness Putana) and a bull (Sandhasura). Bhishma got very angry and told him that sins committed, knowingly or unknowingly, in numerous births would disappear on seeing Krishna. Such was he. Sakuni disagreed. When the great god Shiva beheaded the cow, Kapila, the severed head got stuck to his hand, He went on pilgrimage and performed tapas but could not get rid of the head. He assumed the terrible form of Vairabha, but the severed head still remained stuck to his hand. He was deemed by the gods to be unworthy of worship. Was the cowherd Krishna greater than the great god, he asked. The low born was guilty of yet another heinous act; he had illicit relations with many cowherd women in Brindavan. On account of his caste and sinful deeds, he did not deserve a seat among the royals. Responding to Sakuni, Dussasana and many warriors of the Kaurava army tried to block Krishna’s way to the court. 

It was late in the morning and Krishna was still waiting to be offered a seat. Drona told Duryodhana that he must offer Krishna a seat forthwith. An assembly where Narayana is unwelcome, is an assembly of ghouls, said Drona: jebana sabhare hade narayane na bari / nichaye janiba se sabha pichasa sabha sari (a court which does not welcome Narayana / that court is like a court of the ghouls).

“Listen, guru Drona”, said Sakuni and then he told the court the story of how king Jarasandha had not allowed Krishna and Balarama to sit in the assembly of kings once. King Bhishma of Kundi, who owed allegiance to the mighty Jarasandha, had arranged a swayambara for his daughter, Rukmini. Krishna and Balarama wanted to join the assembly but the moment Jarasandha saw them, he thundered that they must not be allowed to join the kings. They were lowly cowards and had committed many sins, he said, and on those accounts were unworthy of sitting in the company of kings. Humiliated, the brothers left. “Listen, O king,” said Sakuni to Duryodhana, “this is what had happened. You must respect the dignity of the court and not offer Krishna a seat with the royals.” “If there is such a precedent”, said Duryodhana, “how can we invite Srivatsa to the court?”

Bhishma told Duryodhana that Sakuni hadn’t told him the whole story. As Jarasandha was ranting against Krishna and Balarama, they left the place. Krishna invoked Garuda. He arrived at once. Krishna told him to break up king Bhishma’s swayambara. As Garuda flapped his mighty wings, a ferocious storm arose and so great was its impact that the kings who had assembled were all blown away. “Think, O Duryodhana,” said Bhishma, “if his vahana (carrier) could accomplish this in an instant, what Krishna himself could do.” He then reminded him of the fate of Jarasandha. Such a powerful king he was; he became Krishna’s enemy and perished untimely. He advised Duryodhana to invite Krishna respectfully to the court.  Although the Kaurava king did not say anything, the venerable Bhishma’s advice was not lost on him.

Sakuni couldn’t afford to let Duryodhana be influenced by the eldest Kuru’s advice. He had no answer to Bhishma.  So he resorted to abuse. “That one is the son of a lowly cowherd and you are childless”, Sakuni told Bhishma. “You have no wife, no son, no daughter and if one sees your face in the morning, one will face only trouble in the day. You have no right to be in the royal court. It is only out of consideration for your age, that we have tolerated your presence here”, said Sakuni. Embarrassed and humiliated, Bhishma kept quiet.

Then Drona spoke. He told Duryodhana that he must desist from dishonouring the One in whom resides the entire universe. The same One in His human Form was standing before the assembly waiting to be invited to his court. “You are the incarnation of Pannaga Narayana yourself. Does it behove of you to treat the Supreme god Narayana like this?”, the guru asked. He advised him to offer him a seat and allow them to worship him, each in his own way.

Sakuni did not argue with him; he started abusing him right away. “You are just one who lives on alms. You couldn’t maintain your wife. Although she was only seven months pregnant, you tore into her womb to extract her son. She died an untimely death because of your wicked act. You are the killer of a woman. You are a heinous sinner. We have been ignoring all this and have not objected to your presence in the court because you are the preceptor of the Kuru princes”, Sakuni told the virtuous guru.

Bhishma spoke again. He spoke of the supreme glory of Krishna and advised Sakuni not to speak of him in degrading terms. Sakuni said that if someone was guilty of killing, no matter who he was, human or god, he was not worthy of sitting in the company of the distinguished members of the Kaurava court. Finally, it was Vidura, the wise and virtuous minister, who spoke to the king. He pleaded with him to invite Krishna to the court and listen to what he had come to say and they should then decide what they should do in that regard. King Duryodhana agreed and invited Krishna to the court and offered him a seat.

   

Krishna told Duryodhana that he had come to him at Yudhisthira’s behest. The eldest Pandava had told him to plead with him for five villages in all for him and his brothers. They had suffered hardships for thirteen long years. It was his duty now to look after his cousins, he told them. He then reminded him of how the Pandavas had helped him on many occasions. The time had come for him to do things for them in return. And all he had to do was give them only five villages.

Krishna was Vidura’s guest that night. Vidura told him that Duryodhana would never agree to give five villages to the Pandavas and asked Krishna whether they would be satisfied with just one village. Krishna told him that he could not ask for fewer villages because each of the Pandavas had requested him to ask for a village for himself. He couldn’t disregard anyone’s request. So let it be nothing, he told Vidura, if not five villages, and let the Pandavas return to the forests, if their request was not granted.

Now, the same night, Bhishma and Drona went to Duryodhana and pleaded with him to show respect to Krishna, who had come as Yudhisthira’s emissary, and was asking for five villages for the Pandavas. Duryodhana said that he would give two villages to please Sri Hari. No one, neither Duryodhana nor Bhishma and Drona mentioned the Pandavas. When it came to giving, Krishna was in their mind. Krishna had come to ask; that was all that mattered for them. 

Likewise, he alone figured in Sakuni’s response to Duryodhana. He told Bhishma and Drona that he did not agree with them. Krishna would be displeased, he told them, if he was denied five villages. At the same time, if they gave him one, in that one village, he would take away from them everything they had. In fact, there would be nothing left in the world that would not belong to him: yeka gramake hari se sacharachara pruthibi gheniba (in that one village, he will take away the entire world). “Listen, O king,”, said Sakuni to Duryodhana, “the doings of Narayana” and he went on to tell him about the doings of His avatara, Vamana”. In the form of a vamana, a dwarf, he had asked the noble and virtuous king Bali to give him as dana (ritual gift) only that much land that his three steps could cover. With two steps he covered the earth and the heaven and Bali had nothing to give him. He offered his head for his third step and Vamana put his third foot on his head. Thus, Sakuni told Duryodhana, the great king perished. Krishna, he told the king, was Vamana in the aeon of Truth. Like his guru, Sukracharya, who had counselled Bali not to give anything to Vamana, in the aeon of Dwapara, Sakuni was asking the Kaurava king to do likewise to Krishna. “Bali could not give Vamana land to cover his three feet”, said Sakuni to Duryodhana,” how can you even think of giving him five villages? You will have nowhere to stay if you give him just one village!”

But what is fake with these views, one would ask. Bhishma and Drona said what they believed to be the case.  The text gives no reason for scepticism. As for Sakuni, in Sarala’s retelling, he did not have to be told by anyone that Krishna was no sinner but the giver of moksa and that seeing him freed one from sins of numerous births. Yet he told Duryodhana that he was a sinner and could not be offered a place among the venerable in his court.

In the case of king Bhishma’s swayambara, he deliberately concealed facts, for which there is evidence in the text. Bhishma had charged him of not telling Duryodhana the entire story and Sakuni did not contest him. Now, what can we say about his views of Bali’s fate? From the laukika perspective, Bali perished.  

From the cosmic perspective, he was blessed. He had felt immensely gratified that the Supreme god had come to him for dana; he had said this to guru Sukracharya : ehaun ana kisa mu paibi sulabha / samasta sampada mora pache ghenu padmanabha (What better fortune can I ever have than this. / Let Padmanabha take all my wealth). Sakuni had mentioned this when he was telling Duryodhana the story of Vamana. Taking the narrative to the cosmic level, Bhishma said that Bali’s story did not end with his disappearance from the earth.  The dana made him immortal. Narayana made him the lord of the patala loka and assured him of the lordship of the swarga loka in due course.  Sakuni brought the narrative back to the laukika level.  After Bali’s departure from the mortal world, his queen offered worship to Vamana and reprimanded him severely for having killed her husband, who had most devoutly given him all he had. Sakuni was surely not unaware of what Narayana had given Bali for what He had taken from him but he chose to ignore it when he advised Duryodhana not to give anything to Krishna. It is this selectivity that shows that his views were insincere – fake.

But let us not judge him harshly. He doesn’t deserve it; he deserves our understanding. No character in Sarala Mahabharata is more unfortunate than him. He was condemned to live a life of deception. Now, he desperately wanted war for the fulfilment of his own objective of avenging his father’s and relatives’ treacherous killing by Duryodhana. He had to say what he knew was false.

      

NARAYANA AND HIS GRACE

Deeply offended by Krishna’s plain speaking, Duryodhana lost his temper and started abusing him. To be fair, his feeling humiliated and even being angry at what Krishna had told him is not un-understandable, although one could hardly deny that he had asked for it. But his being abusive was certainly inappropriate, at least in view of the fact that Krishna was a messenger, no matter how badly he might have conducted himself, in his view. Losing his cool, he held his mace and moved menacingly towards Krishna. He shouted to his brothers Dussasana, Durvinda, Durjaya, and in no time they were ready to attack the Avatara with their maces, swords, spears and the like. The sages who were with Krishna withdrew in fear, as did the courtiers.

Krishna did not want to harm them; he was there in Duryodhana’s court as Yudhisthira’s messenger for peace; it was another matter that his own agenda was very different, about which the eldest Pandava had no knowledge. But hurting the Kauravas, he knew, would be unacceptable to both dharma and the son of Dharma. So he decided to frighten them. He knew that they were looking upon him as a low-born and arrogant cowherd and he thought he would let them know who he really was. He presumed that once they knew the truth about him, they would refrain from attacking him.

So he transformed himself into a huge Fish. The Kauravas were surprised. “Look at what the mean cowherd has done – look at how he has changed himself into a fish!”, they shouted. Now, killing snakes, tigers and fish was permitted by the shastras, they told one another; so Dussasana raised his huge mace to hit the fish. Then suddenly the Fish disappeared and, in Its place, appeared a big Tortoise. Dussasana’s mace broke into pieces as it hit its back. The same happened to the swords, maces, spears and all other weapons of his brothers as they struck the tortoise. “Look at this miserable coward”, said the Kauravas, “see, how, for fear of being hurt, he has turned himself into a tortoise!”

Krishna was wondering how very ignorant the Kauravas were - they were not able to make sense of what they had seen: kebana murkha ye kaurabe na jananti kichhi (how unlearned, how ignoramus these Kauravas are; they know nothing.). Hoping to help them, he became a gigantic Boar. “Look at the lowly cowherd”, said the Kauravas,” he has now become a boar, of all creatures!” Then the Boar became a Dwarf. This was extremely hilarious for the Kauravas and they made fun of the dwarf. “Look, how in fear the coward cowherd has changed into a dwarf!”, they said, and promptly rushed to hit him. 

“How very ignorant are these Kauavas!”, thought Krishna, “they see, yet they do not see.” In a flash, the Dwarf vanished and manifest in His place was the Dazzling, Magnificent and Terrifying Man-Lion. The Kauravas fled in fear.  

Later, at night fall, in the assembly of sages, in the august presence of the great Markandya, Kashyapa and their like, sage Vyasa said that the Kauravas were truly great sages, who, by their enmity, had pleased Narayana. They had seen Five Avataras of Him, one after the other - an experience that one, who has done tapas across a thousand births, would not have. None among the mortals and immortals, in any aeon, had ever had that profoundly blissful experience. In the context of navadha bhakti (nine forms of devotion), droha (enmity) can be said to be the tenth bhakti. Or, was the end of the Kauravas near, because of which, the Supreme god Narayana in His boundless grace, had revealed Himself to them in His many incarnations, mulled the celebrated Vyasa.

Thus, in Sarala Mahabharata, no one is excluded from His grace; the virtuous and the sinner, the wise and the fool, the believer and the sceptic, the devotee and the enemy. When Krishna killed with his Sudarshana Chakra, that was an act of grace for the “victim” – he attained moksa. What the severed head of Belalsena saw with the purity of vision, in the battlefields of dharma kshetra, that was Kurukshetra, rendered divinely blessed by the Avatara’s presence, was that it was Sudarshana that killed warriors on both sides – not just one side. Among those who fell thus were the virtuous and the sinners both (see “Divya Chaksu” posted in this blog on 24.2.18). But Sudarshana was only the instrument; the agent was Krishna. This was how Sarala expressed the vision of Srimad Bhagavad Gita: he had already killed all who were to be killed, Krishna told Arjuna, asking him to be only a nimitta. 

Because of ignorance, the ordinary, unevolved mortals, do not realize that they too are the blessed receivers of His grace. Later that day, Duryodhana told his father Dhritarashtra and mother Gandhari how deeply disappointed he had been with Krishna. His conduct in the court had been disgraceful, he told his parents. He had behaved like an actor in an opera, who changed his appearance many times for the stage. He assumed the illusory forms of fish, tortoise, boar, dwarf and man-lion, one after the other, he told them. Dhritarashtra knew what that meant. He was deeply concerned and pleaded with his son not to go to war against the Pandavas. Disgusted and angry with his advice, Duryodhana left.

The following day, before the court started, Sakuni met him and advised him not to yield to the magic that Krishna had shown the day before. He was like an opera actor, changing appearances, he told him: aho natakara lokankara yesaneka gati / ksane ksane dharanti se anu ana murati (listen, this is how actors behave/ they assume one appearance now, another the next moment). Sarala’s Sakuni knew the truth but misguiding the king was necessary for the accomplishment of his mission.

 In this very short sub-episode of just thirty-five couplets, Sarala deals, in his remarkable story-telling mode, with the classic question of how one acquires the knowledge that makes one see the real nature of things. One thing is certain: from direct, perceptual experience one cannot arrive at the truth. Intervention of pure jnana is needed that would remove the layers of illusion that conceal the truth. But how does one acquire that? The Upanishads and the Puranas would give different answers: the realization of the Brahman is not attainable through grace in the puranic sense. One answer in Sarala Mahabharata is this: one does, when one receives Narayana’s grace. Thus, Belalsena saw things that the Pandavas did not.  Thus, the Kauravas saw Krishna transforming himself into a fish, a tortoise, a boar, a dwarf and a man-lion. Sage Vyasa saw something else.  

SARALA'S SAHADEVA AND HIS BOON!

As god Ashwini Kumara shared his life with the dead child, life returned to him. He was born and had died as Pandu’s (and Madri’s) son but now he became the god’s son as well. His divine father gave him a name: “Sahadeva” – literally, a companion(saha) god (deba), but perhaps best understood as a celestial like his father. Ashwini Kumara also gave him a boon: he would only have to look at his palms and the entire universe would be visible to him. Not merely that, he would be the knower of the past, the present and the future, which would make him the wisest advisor. If anyone asked him, he would certainly tell him (or her) what would happen to him or what had happened to him, depending on the question, one should think: je tote pachariba gata agata katha / abasya tu kahibu bhuta bhabishya barata (whoever would ask you about the past or the future / you would certainly tell him about the past and the future).  The word “abasya” (must/certainly) suggests that once asked, he would be obliged to tell the truth but there is nothing about the boon that tells us how it would affect Sahadeva if he chose not to tell. There is nothing in it also that tells us that he had to tell the truth in a direct and straightforward manner - without having recourse to ambiguity or metaphor or circumlocution, maybe in difficult circumstances, leaving it to the asker to apply his mind to get at the intended message. Sahadeva knew about his special powers; so did everyone in the world of Sarala Mahabharata.

   When, in the “Mango of Truth” episode, Krishna asked the Pandavas and Draupadi to tell some truth about themselves, Sahadeva said that he knew the past, the present and the future but he would not tell anyone things on his own. He would tell only when asked and the asker then would never be in difficulty. In Swargarohana Parva, when Sahadeva fell to his death on the icy and windy Himalayas, Yudhisthira told Bhima, who had drawn his attention to his fall, to abandon him and not to grieve for him. He was a sinner and grievous was his sin. His sin, said the son of Dharma, who in this episode the very Voice of Dharma, was that he knew the past, the present and the future but would keep mum. Had he said what would happen, what all happened would not have happened (see, in this blog, “The Death of Arjuna, Nakula and Sahadeva”, posted on 23.2.14). Unlike in Vyasa Mahabharata where Sahadeva’s sin was his arrogance for his knowledge, here it was his failure to keeping what he knew to himself when saying what he knew would have helped everyone. The Mahabharata world would not have suffered that destruction of colossal proportions.

   But why didn’t Yudhisthira ask? He knew, once asked, Sahadeva would speak the truth. Actually, he had asked him, as they were preparing for the war, in the presence of everyone including the Avatara. Sahadeva had told him that he knew what would happen but wouldn’t tell. He was afraid of bother Bhima, he told the eldest Pandava.  During a war, one side would not win every day; some days the enemy would win. Even Bhagawan Rama did not win everyday during his war with Ravana. The war between the Kauravas and the Pandavas would not be different. Sahadeva was afraid that if he said that on a certain day the Pandavas would lose, brother Bhima would bash him up badly.  Truth cannot be told to everyone; only those who had the composure to receive it, can be told the truth.

   But was Sahadeva’s fear justified? Was Bhima incapable of accepting the truth? He was, as the Belalsen episode shows. Shortly after the war, on one lazy day, the Pandavas, Kunti, Draupadi and Subhadra were sitting with Krishna and they soon started talking about who really had won the war. Each was claiming that the victory was solely due to him or her. It didn’t take long for their exchange to degrade into an unpleasant faceoff. Krishna told them that if they wanted to know the truth, they should ask the severed head of Belasena who had seen the war from the beginning to the end. When they asked him, what he said was entirely unexpected; he said that he hadn’t seen anyone killing anyone else. All he had seen was a resplendent, dazzling chakra (discus), shining brighter than myriad suns, moving to and fro in the war fields, killing warriors on both sides (see “The Story of Belalsena” in this blog, posted on 15.8.17). His father, Bhima, was so upset with his son’s not supporting his assertion that he slapped the head hard. It fell from the top of the post, from where he had witnessed the war and died. The Avatara absorbed his essence and freed him from the cycle of karma. This shows that Sahadeva’s apprehensions about Bhima were not unfounded. Bhima was not the one who was evolved enough to accept truth.

   But why didn’t Yudhisthira ask him about the result when he was going to play the second game of dice, which led to the exile of the Pandavas for long thirteen years, including the year when they had to spend incognito? It didn’t occur to him to ask. He had been obsessed with defeat in the first game of dice and was desperate to play again and win. Winning the game of dice had become a fixation with him. So he went to Hastinapura with his brothers and Draupadi to play another game with Duryodhana, rather Sakuni. No one had asked him to play again (see “The Second Game of Dice”, posted in this blog on 7.5.2010).

   But when the fateful time came, which was the time of reckoning, Yudhisthira condemned Sahadeva as a sinner.

   To close, let us return to the second game of dice, it was Sahadeva, not Sakuni, who rolled the dice cubes that day for both Yudhisthira and Duryodhana. Sahadeva ensured that Yudhisthira lost. That was what the gods wanted.  Sahadeva knew that; he knew more than the past, the present and the future. Carrying god Ashwini Kumara’s life in him, Sahadeva was a deva, as mentioned earlier.

   No one ever knew what Sahadeva had done that day. If anyone did, it was Krishna and he didn’t have to be told. In Sarala Mahabharata, there was nothing that he did not know and there was nothing that took place without his will.  

WHEREFORE "THE MANGO OF TRUTH"?

I am rephrasing a question a young researcher-participant at a Sarala Mahabharata conference asked me the other day: what purpose – narrative, philosophical, aesthetic, etc. – does the episode of “The Mango of Truth” serve in Sarala’s Mahabharata? It was heartening that he was thinking beyond the familiar enumeration of the differences between Vyasa’s Mahabharata and Sarala’s Mahabharata that broadly describes most of Sarala Mahabharata scholarship so far. The following is a reconstruction of a meandering conversation we had that afternoon.

The episode of “The Mango of Truth” does not occur in Vyasa Mahabharata. It is not unique to Sarala Mahabharata, although sometimes it has been claimed to be so by some Sarala scholars of Odisha; a marginally different version of this episode occurs in the Bengali Kashidasi Mahabharata, for example. The poet Kashiram Das was influenced by Sarala’s retelling of Vyasa Mahabharata and it is possible that the source of his story of the fruit of truth was Sarala’s story of the mango of truth. This story occurs in this blog: saralamahabharat.blogspot.com; it was posted on 9.6.2008. I feel there is no need to summarize it here.

This episode is only loosely connected, in my view, with Sarala’s narrative of the Kurus and it does not contribute to the development of the plot. Nor does it throw any new light on the characters or contribute to their development. For some, the main objective of the episode is to punish Draupadi for her arrogance. From their point of view, she was punished when she belittled herself by declaring, in front of her husbands, sage Vyasa and the Avatara himself, a flaw on her part in her dealing with her husbands. In one version of Sarala Mahabharata, she said that although she had five husbands, she cherished Arjuna the most. In another version of the same text (contained in some palm leaf manuscripts or pothis), she said that despite her having five husbands, she felt inclined towards Karna. In yet another, the reason for her attraction is given: it is in women’s nature, she observed, to be attracted towards handsome males and Karna’s handsomeness was the reason for her attraction towards him.

In Sarala’s retelling, Draupadi could be harsh and unforgiving, but boastful and arrogant? That she certainly was not. There is no clear evidence in the text for this. She said that she was fonder of Arjuna than she was of her other four husbands but that was only in her mind; her action did not show her partiality toward Arjuna at all. None of her husbands ever even mentioned this, let alone complained about it. On her part, she too had not complained against any of her husbands with regard to the way each of them had treated her. It is not in Sarala Mahabharata that she expressed a wish while dying that in their next life, Bhima be born as the eldest brother.  

It is in the Swargarohana Parva of the canonical version in Sanskrit that Yudhisthira said that Draupadi had fallen because she had been partial towards Arjuna in terms of affection. Not in Sarala Mahabharata; here he blamed her for being unforgiving. True, the ignoramus Kauravas had humiliated her, but for the embodiment of Dharma, there was no humiliation that could not be forgiven.

Now, what Draupadi said was her secret. The narrative, till then, had provided not even the slightest hint about her special feelings for Arjuna (or Karna, as in some other versions of Sarala Mahabharata). But then it did not exploit it for the development of the plot or for a deeper exploration of Draupadi’s character. It just left it as it was.  

By the way, this episode is not to be taken as confessional; such a reading is not in tune with the text. The Avatara told the Pandavas and Draupadi that each of them must pronounce something that was true about him or her: nirutanta satya kahiba chhadiba je mithya prakruti (roughly, “you will speak the truth and not tell anything that is untrue”). He did not ask them to reveal some dark secret of theirs - some serious indiscretion or sin, in thought or in action. That was not necessary for the ripe mango of truth to materialize. Yudhisthira said that he was committed to a virtuous life, that he spoke the truth and did not hurt the living, but would fight for his share of the kingdom. That is, his commitment to non-violence was not total. Should this be taken as an admission of his moral weakness, he being the very embodiment of virtue in the world of the mortals? Or merely as the statement of a fact? Given that the Avatara hadn’t asked him to confess but only say some truth about himself, it is entirely appropriate to interpret it as a “statement of fact”.  

Let’s see what Sahadeva said. He said that he knew the past, the present and the future but would not volunteer to tell anyone about what was awaiting him (or her) or what had happened to him in an earlier existence: janikari na kahai muhin… (roughly, “I know but do not tell…”). He would tell only when asked and no one who asked him would suffer, he said. Incidentally, in Sarala Mahabharata, he was not constrained not to tell anyone on his own what would happen or to tell someone what would happen, even when asked, although that was what he almost always did. This is no place for a detailed discussion of this matter so; let us leave it here.

In Swargarohana Parva, Yudhisthira called him a great sinner who knew the future but would not tell. Had he told him what were going to happen, what all happened would not have happened. But when Sahadeva told Krishna about it, was he confessing, did he have a sense of guilt about it? Neither his words nor the tone of his declaration even remotely suggests this.  What he told the Avatara is best interpreted as a statement of fact. The same would hold for what Bhima, Arjuna, Nakula and Draupadi had pronounced about themselves.  

However, the episode, undoubtedly, has great interest value and it would be no exaggeration to say that it has appealed to the imagination of generations of Odias including those not really familiar with Sarala Mahabharata and has almost become part of Odia cultural consciousness, almost like Jayadeva’s Gita Govinda or Salabega’s bhajans (devotional songs). One might suggest that this itself must count as justification enough for its occurrence in the narrative. This apart, aren’t loosely connected episodes a characteristic feature of epics and puranas? So, wherefore the fuss?

Let’s linger a while on this episode and rethink it, taking a clue from Sarala’s repeated assertions throughout his Mahabharata that it is Vishnu Purana. As he used the story of the Kurus to expatiate on the lila of Krishna, it became almost “krishna charita bhagavata (“Bhagavata, the story of Krishna”, to quote the words of Jagannath Das, the author of Srimad Bhagabata in Odia); at least in spirit. As he narrated the lila of Krishna, he created stories of the Avatara’s doings, which were not there in the Sanskrit puranic texts on the subject. The story of the mango of truth is one such. It is not really the Pandavas’ story or Draupadi’s. It is Krishna’s story. With the power of the Pandavas’ and Draupadi’s truth, he had made the impossible possible, and with the power of his own lies, which, he told the fake sage, were all true, he destroyed what truth had created and thereby restored normalcy in Brahma’s creation. There is no point asking whether the mango that truth had created was real or only appeared to be real and what Krishna destroyed by uttering falsehood in the name of truth was unreal or real.

Viewed thus, as the narration of a lila of Krishna in what Sarala called “Vishnu Purana”, the episode is not loosely connected with the narrative but is indeed an integral part of it.

A thought just to close: Sarala’s audience might or might not have been troubled over whether the mango was real or only an appearance but I imagine they must have returned home that day feeling divinely happy, which is the real phla shruti of listening to the lila of Krishna.

THE KILLING OF THE GURU (IN TWO PARTS)

PART I

The only father, who had entered the battlefields of Kurukshetra, making a promise onto himself that he would give up weapons on knowing that his son had been killed, was Drona, the venerable guru of the Pandavas and the Kauravas. It would not matter to him at all if someone took advantage of his situation and killed him. He not merely made that decision; he made it known to his enemies on the battlefield. It was a strange condition to give up weapons, to say the least, for a warrior of his stature, who was a wise person with a keen sense of discrimination. And then, by letting his enemy know, didn’t he increase the threats on his life manifold? Not really, because he knew his son.

In any case, for the present, let us content ourselves with this: the story of Drona’s killing begins in the Kurukshetra battlefield - with guru Drona’s blessing of Yudhisthira, when he sought his blessings before the start of the Great War. “May you live long! May my years of life be added on to yours! May your enemies be destroyed and may you rule the kingdom!” was what the guru had said. “We are what we are because of your teaching, O venerable guru,” said the eldest Pandava,” how can we ever hope to win, when you are fighting for the Kauravas?” Yudhisthira was right; the guru knew what they knew, since what they knew was what the guru had taught them. In Sarala Mahabharata, the Kuru princes, Karna, Aswasthama, Dhristadyumna, Shikhandi- all were Drona’s shishyas. None but Duryodhana had been the shishya of another teacher – he had learnt gada vidya (wielding of the mace) from the incomparable Balarama as well. Arjuna and Karna had received weapons from others, as Karna had from god Indra and Arjuna, from Bhagawan Shiva, but they were not their teachers.

 The preceptor told Yudhisthira that he could not be defeated by anyone – mortal or immortal, including Bhagawan Shiva or Brahma, so long as he had weapon in hand. He was without weapon only during sex act, bath and eating. And he would give up weapons on hearing that his son Aswasthama was dead: se putra hata boli sunile shastra mu chhadai. It was during any of those four occasions that he could be killed. But of what use, all that! he told Yudhisthira, “The code of Dharma does not allow killing someone, engaged in sex act, bathing and eating; the gravest of sins would accrue to the one violated the injunction”. As for Aswasthama’s death, he was immortal, the guru told the shishya, which was no news, of course, to Yudhisthira because everyone in the world of Sarala Mahabharata knew that at his father’s instance, Aswasthama had performed tapas and had received the boon of immortality from the Creator god, Brahma. And if his son was immortal, so was he, as a consequence; this was what Drona wanted Yudhisthira to understand.

But the virtuous Pandava was happy; the guru had told him how to eliminate him – once Aswasthama was killed, the guru would be in trouble: yudhisthra harasa paina mrutyubheda / asasthama hate dronanku padiba pramada (Yudhisthira was happy, knowing the (guru’s) secret of death / Drona would be in trouble when Aswasthama is killed). But why did he think that his guru had told him the secret of his death – didn’t he tell him also that his son was immortal? The great preceptor had blessed him for victory and that would not go in vain, Yudhisthira knew. So, despite what he had said explicitly, the guru must have implied that Ashwasthama was vulnerable. That was sufficient for the eldest Pandava. He wasn’t thinking of details then.

Incidentally, at this point of time, the following is not out of place: the guru had said that he would give up weapons if he heard that Aswasthma was dead – the poet’s word is “sunile”.  Did he want Yudhisthira to take his word literally – that the word was enough for him, whatever be the fact about his son’s death? If the answer is “yes”, then there is no explanation for why he talked, then, about his son’s immortality at all! Now, did Yudhisthira take his word – sunile - literally? The answer is “no”, because had he done so, he wouldn’t have thought in terms of Aswasthama’s death - “aswasthama hate”, as quoted above.

 The guru had blessed Yudhisthira for victory but he could not be killed, protected by the ethical code and his son’s immortality. What, then, made Drona bestow that particular blessing on his virtuous shishya and what made the shishya feel reassured?

Did any of them had Krishna in mind? The text says nothing about this.

PART II

When Ghatotkacha was killed, it was almost mid night. Ordinarily, the code of war prepared by the Pandavas and the Kauravas before the war, in the presence of the Avatara did not allow fight after sunset. But that had not been an ordinary day. Jayadratha had been killed close to sunset. The safety ring around him was so infallible that no one in the Kaurava camp would have thought that Arjuna would reach him. But what happened was completely out of the ordinary. Apart from Sakuni and maybe Duryodhana, no one in the battlefield could make sense of how after the darkness of the evening, the sun appeared. This story, let us keep for another day.

Jayadratha’s killing and the way it happened greatly frustrated and enraged the Kauravas. They didn’t listen to their commander-in-chief, Drona, when he suggested that fighting must stop since it was night already. They abused him. The armies lit torches and they fought. Many perished. Among them was Drupada, who Drona killed. Ghatotkacha was unstoppable. He killed Alambusha and caused havoc in the Kaurava army. Karna used the infallible divine weapon he had received from Indra, targeting Arjuna and Krishna but it hit Ghatotkacha instead. No matter what one wanted to happen, in the world of Sarala Mahabharata, it was Krishna’s will that happened. Let us keep the details for another day.

Bhima became wild when his son died. He attacked the Kaurava army and devastated it. Whoever tried to stop him, was crushed. Aswasthama, who was with Karna, left him and faced Bhima. He destroyed his chariot and his arrows pierced Bhima’s body all over and drew blood. Bhima lifted Aswasthama’s chariot, with Aswasthama on it and flung it away with great force and it fell miles away. The chariot broke into fragments and an unconscious Aswasthama was bleeding all over.

Kritavarma, the king of Malava, challenged Bhima. He was raining arrows on Bhima, sitting on the back of his huge and powerful elephant named Aswasthama. It was no ordinary elephant; its lineage could be traced to the elephant Airavata, who had emerged from the ocean during its churning in the aeon of Truth. The fierce Aswasthama attacked Bhima but Bhima broke his neck and the elephant fell on the ground and crushed to death those on whom it fell. The divines who were watching the fight from above, called in one voice “aswasthama hata (Aswasthama is dead)”. Soon fighters in the battlefield also started yelling “aswasthama hata”.

Drona was unaware of all this; he was fighting at a distance, at another battlefield. Many kings, princes, celebrated warriors and far too many ordinary soldiers lost their lives that night. Nakul was in the grips of Karna when Durdasa hit Karna from behind with his mace and saved the Pandava. Soon Dhristadyumna challenged Karna. “You are challenging me; where is your father?” asked Karna. “My father would be with Yudhisthira”, said Dhristadyumna. “He is dead”, Karna told him,” He died quite some time back, killed by the great Drona, the son of Varadwadasha”. A furious Dhristadyumna attacked Karna and destroyed his chariot in no time.

At that time, a thick fog arrived and soon enveloped the entire battlefield. The dim light of the torches was of no use. In that last hour of the night, it became extremely cold. The fighters started shivering. To bring them relief, Arjuna shot arrows of fire at Shalya and it became warm on the battlefield. Much relieved, said the fighters from both sides, “Glory be to you, O Falguni (one of Arjuna’s names)! May you live long. May you vanquish your enemies”.

The battle resumed. Dristadyumna and Shikhandi sought Drona and found him. They told him what Karna had told them. How could he kill his friend, they asked him. He surely was not unaware that killing a friend was a grievous sin, they told him. Knowing that he was his father’s friend, Dhritadyumna told him, he had not harmed him till then, but now, he was not going to spare him. He would not return to his kingdom without killing him, thundered the grief-stricken son of Drupada. The engagement between them was fierce but Dhristadyumna couldn’t harm his great adversary.

Everybody was exhausted in the extreme – those who fought on foot, those who fought on horseback, on the back of the elephants and on chariots - everyone. They fell asleep wherever they were – on horseback, elephant, chariots and the ground. Those who were awake, killed their enemies who were half-asleep or asleep. Those who were half asleep tried to kill those who were asleep. Arjuna told Krishna that the fight should stop. The morning stars had appeared and birds had already started chirping and the auspicious sound of the conchs could be heard from a distance. Dawn would not take long to arrive.

It was then that Drona heard that Aswasthama was dead. No one told him; those who were still awake were telling each other that Aswasthama was dead. In great anxiety and grief, he went from here to there in the battlefields, hoping to find his son. He was nowhere to be seen. He recalled that he hadn’t seen him since midnight. The words aswasthama hata reverberated in his ears. But he was in disbelief – he was certain that killing his son was absolutely impossible for anyone fighting in the Kurukshetra War. Then it occurred to him: did Krishna do something: se putra baddha karibaku ke bharata juddhe sama / charakute nasa kaleka aba sri purusottama (Of all those fighting in the War, none was capable of killing that (i.e., my) son / Did Shri Purusottama (i.e., Krishna) play some trick to kill him)? He knew the Avatara; he was his devotee. He knew that nothing was beyond him. He could make things happen which would demand redefining truth and illusion and mortality and immortality.

Then he started looking for his son’s body from among the heaps of bodies lying everywhere. He couldn’t find his body and then he heard the voice from the sky – aswasthma hata. He went to Karna. He remembered that the last he had seen Aswasthama was when he was fighting the enemy together with Karna. Karna said, “O venerable guru, Aswasthama was killed soon after midnight, but I didn’t tell you because the fight was going on”.  Unconvinced, the guru asked Salya. He told him that he had nothing good to tell him about his son. The guru kept asking about his son whoever he met. When he asked Sakuni, he said his son was dead, leaving him a miserable, forlorn man. “With a son like Aswasthama dead, how have you survived? said Sakuni.

The Pandavas had returned to their camp. Sahadeva told Yudhisthira that Aswasthama had fallen that night. “Who could do the impossible?” asked the eldest Pandava. The knower of the past and the future said that it was Bhima. And he did not have the great elephant in mind. When Bhima flung Aswasthama in his chariot, it fell miles away from the battlefield and the chariot broke to pieces and Aswasthama perished: ratha gheni udi padila aswasthama / yete dure padina se nasa galaka mahatma (Aswasthama fell from on the ground along with his chariot /  that noble soul perished in that distant place from that fall), he told Yudhisthira.  

This was the only time in Sarala Mahabharata when the all-knower said something that was not a fact. How does one understand this? The text offers no clue. Now, did he tell a lie? He knew that Yudhisthira, who knew that he was the knower of the past and the future, would believe him. So, if it would so happen, which was very likely, that Drona would ask him about his son, he would tell him that he was no more. There is, however, no support for this view in the text.

Krishna told the virtuous man that the guru would come to him and ask him about his son. “O son of Dharma”, said Krishna, “you must tell him that Aswasthama is dead. The guru would die on hearing that from you”.  The son of Dharma flatly refused. He was not going to tell his guru that his son was dead. Seeing, chakshusa  pramana, constituted the best proof and he hadn’t seen Aswasthama dead. So to tell the guru that his son was dead would amount to telling him a lie. “O Keshava (a name of Krishna)”, said Yudhisthira, “one who tells his guru a lie suffers in this world and in the other world”. Whatever be the consequences, whether he won or lost the war, he was not going to tell his guru a lie. “You must have heard that the elephant named Aswasthama is dead”, said Krishna, “just say the man or the elephant Aswasthama is dead and when you utter, ‘elephant’, keep your voice low: nara ki gunjara aswasthamara marana / karibe dhire gunjara sabda uchharana (The man or the elephant Aswasthama is dead / When you say ‘elephant’, say it in a low voice)”.

The Kauravas too had returned to their camp. Drona went to Duryodhana and asked him about Aswasthama. “I was in the battlefield then. Aswasthama perished in the hands of Bhima”, said the Kaurava king. The guru threw away his bow and arrows and with just his sword, he went to the Pandavas. The five Pandavas prostrated themselves at the guru’s feet. “May you be victorious. May you live long”, blessed the guru.

He then asked Yudhisthira about his son. He did not ask Bhima, who, he was told, had killed him and he did not ask his favourite shishya, Arjuna; neither did he ask the all-knowing Sahadeva. He asked the son of Dharma. The son of Dharma told him what he had been instructed to tell. Drona collapsed and the sword fell from his hand. Obeying Krishna’s indication, Dhristadyumna cut off his head. From his severed body, a bright, shining light rose into the sky.

There was no place in the war fields of Kurukshetra than the Pandavas’ camp, where Drona was more revered. The fight had stopped for the day and the Pandavas and the Kauravas had made it part of their war code to be cordial to each other from the time the fight stopped for the day till the following day when it would resume. During that time everyone was safe. It was during that period and of all places, in the Pandavas’ camp that the guru was killed. And that too when he was unconscious. His killing removed a huge obstacle from the Pandavas’ path to victory but it brought them no glory.

The only saving grace was that Drona’s killing did not go without a protest. With his sword raised and revenge in his eyes, a deeply hurt and angry Arjuna charged at Dhristadyumna. Intervention by the Avatara himself saved the commander-in-chief of the Pandava army from the wrath of Drona’s favourite shishya.

    

Aswasthama was on his way back to the battlefield when Kripacharya told him about his father’s death.    

WHAT MADE THE SON OF DHARMA CHOOSE WAR?

PART I 

He was a wise and compassionate man, a man of peace, who thought of no one as his enemy, and had no desire for kingship. Yet that very embodiment of virtue chose to go to a conclusive war against his cousins. Why, asked a young Odia writer and scholar, who does not want to be named? What does Sarala Mahabharata say in this regard? she asked. Let me begin by telling the relevant stories.

Life during their exile had been extremely difficult for the Pandavas. They had suffered much deprivation and humiliation. Yudhisthira had become bitter, but still had no ill-will towards Duryodhana. One day, soon after they had returned from the kingdom of Virata, where they had spent a year incognito, Dhaumya, arrived in Varunavanta. The Pandavas paid due respect to their kula guru (family priest). Dhaumya asked Yudhisthira when he was going to Hastinapura with his brothers to meet his Kaurava brothers, the same question Bhima had asked him before. The person who, before his exile, was going to Hastinapura whenever he felt like paying respects to Dhritarastra and Gandhari (which was quite often, in fact) as a devoted member of the family would do, now felt that he would not go there unless Duryodhana invited him and his brothers. Incidentally, this was what he had told Bhima. If Duryodhana did that, continued Yudhithira, that would be a true test of his brotherly feelings towards him. His brotherly feelings for the Kauravas had never been reciprocated by them but that had made no difference to his attitude to them before the exile. Now things had changed.  

Earlier, all that he and his brothers had suffered on account of Duryodhana, he had attributed to his own karma. He had never blamed Duryodhana for anything: be it his feeding Bhima poisonous food, be it his attempt to get them killed in the wax palace, be it Draupadi’s humiliation in the Kaurava court - whatever. But the long years of exile in the forest seemed to have had its impact on him. He recounted all that Duryodhana had done to him and is brothers. He was a prince, he told the kula guru, and still he had to undergo so much hardship and suffer so much ignominy. The Pandavas and the Kauravas would never become friendly again, he told him. As he spoke, he got excited. There would be war, he told the priest. This was the first time Yudhisthira spoke of war. Soon the man of virtue calmed himself and told the priest to convey his request to Duryodhana that he should give him just one pada (village): Indraprastha. He had a vast kingdom, he told him to tell Duryodhana; so he should not hesitate to give him just one pada.

When Dhaumya conveyed his message to Duryodhana and tried to persuade him to honour it in the name of dharma, the Kaurava king humiliated him in his court. Dhaumya returned to Yudisthira. He told him that the future of the Kuru family was in his hands. If he would choose to swallow the injustice that Duryodhana had meted out to him and his brothers, the family would survive, if he did not, the Kauravas would be destroyed. Yudhisthira recounted to him again all the wrongs he had suffered in the hands of Duryodhana. He was not going to condone them and was not going to put up with more deprivations and humiliations. “You are my witness,” said the son of Dharma to Dhaumya, “it is my resolve now to go to war against Duryodhana” (tumbhe mote saksi hoithibaka deba dhaumye / nichaya brata mora hoila sangrame : O venerable Dhaumya, you are my witness/ War is my firm resolve), in the poet’s words.

When Dritarashtra heard of the Pandavas’ return to Varunavanta, he was extremely worried for his sons. He knew that Duryodhana had been very wicked towards the Pandavas. He also knew that if a war took place between his sons and the Pandavas, his sons would be wiped out. His only hope was in the virtuous nature of Yudhisthira. So he decided to send the wise Vidura to Yudhisthira to plead with him on his behalf to save the Kuru family. Vidura told Yudhisthira that suffering had always been the lot of the virtuous but they bore it with fortitude. Since he was wise, considerate and virtuous, he should put up with unfairness, misery and humiliation with equanimity. That would be in accordance with dharma, Vidura told him. Yudhisthira said that he was not prepared to undergo deprivation again. “Do not talk like this”, he told his venerable uncle, “you are wise; work for a fair settlement between the Pandavas and the Kauravas”. All he wanted was five villages, he said. This time, making a big concession, he did not specify which villages; any five would do. But if Duryodhana would not give him even that, then there would be war, he told Vidura. In fact, he uttered an oath: mu jebe tahara tule samara nakarain / bho pita bidura tumbhara mu pada padme harai (If I do not go to war against him / O father Vidura, I commit a grave offence against you) Thirteen years of suffering had hardened the son of Dharma.  But in his heart of hearts he still did not wish Duryodhana ill.

“How would you fight the mighty Kauravas? asked a concerned Vidura. Bhishma, Drona, Ashwasthama, Kripacharya, Bhurishrava, Jayadratha, Somadatta and then his own brother Karna would fight for the Kauravas. Bhishma, Drona, Ashwasthama and Karna were invincible. Besides, they were protected in one way or the other: death would not come to Bhishma unless he sought it, if he had weapons in hand, no one could defeat Drona, Ashwasthama was immortal and Karna could not be killed because of his divine armour and his ear rings containing nectar. And Kripacharya, Bhurishrava and jayadratha, among others, were great warriors. What hopes he could have against the Kauravas if a war took place, asked Vidura. Yudhisthira was unfazed: he was aware of the might of the Kauravas but if he was not hopeful of defeating them, he would not have thought of fighting a war against them, he told Vidura. Besides, Dharma would always protect the defenceless, he told him. If, despite being strong, one gave up the hope to win, then that person was a living dead, he said.

One day, Yudhisthira poured his heart out before Krishna. He told him about his suffering in the forest. He was a prince; yet he had undergone such utter deprivation. Every moment, for years, he had felt miserable seeing his brothers suffer. Bhima’s suffering, in particular, had pained him the most. They had returned to Varunavanta but Duryodhana had ignored them. He was enjoying the vast kingdom of Hastinapura but was unwilling to give the Pandavas even five villages for their upkeep. Dhaumya and Vidura had carried his message to him but nothing had changed. So he had turned to him; no wonder, one might think, isn’t Narayana the ultimate recourse of nara?

He requested Krishna to go to Duryodhana on his behalf and plead with him for five villages for them. He would be content with that, he told Krishna to convey it to him. But what if Duryodhana was unwilling, Krishna asked. He would be content with four, he told Vasudeva. If not four, then three would do, if not three, two would be fine and if not that, then he would be content with just one village. But if he would not give him even that, then there would certainly be war, he told Krishna.

“O Hari, you are the creator of the universe and you are its lord and things happen in accordance with your wish”, Yudhisthira told the Avatara. With an attitude very different from what he had adopted in the cases of Dhaumya and Vidura, he begged him to ask Duryodhana, on his behalf, for a village for the Pandavas in an entreating manner. For him, the Avatara must plead, not ask, he implored. If a war took place, said the virtuous Pandava, it would be disastrous for both them and the Kauravas, and the world ridicule them. “Save both families, O Narayana”, Yudhisthira prayed to Krishna. Krishna told him that he was the servant of his servant and would do whatever he asked him to do. One who lives a life of dharma, says Sarala, Govinda is his servant: gobinda tara bhrutya.

After his return from Hastinapura, when they met, Krishna told Yudhisthira that he had not succeeded in persuading Duryodhana to give even a single village to the Pandavas. He also said that he had been insulted in Duryodhana’s court. Yudhisthira’s reaction was spontaneous and sharp:  he drew out his sword. “Rise O Bhima, O Arjuna, Nakula and Sahadeva”, thundered the one who was never known to have lost his cool, “of what use is our life if Krishna is insulted?” The brothers responded at once. Bhima held aloft his mace and his war cry shook the world. Arjuna was ready with his divine bow and divine arrows, Nakula, with his spear and Sahadeva, with his sword.  “This is my ritual start for the war, O Hari”, said Yudhisthira.

Priest Dhaumya asked him to control himself. The one who starts a war carries the enormous burden of all killings that take place on the battlefield, he told him. It was not for him, the embodiment of dharma to start the war. He must leave that to Managovinda (i.e., Duryodhana), advised the kula guru.

Soon, at Duryodhana’s behest, Sakuni arrived in Varunavanta. Duryodhana has sent him to ask the Pandavas and their friends to come to Kurukshetra so that the battlefield could be divided into two parts and the Pandavas and Kauravas could decide which part of the battle field they would each take. In his meeting with Yudhisthira, Sakuni went beyond his brief. He told Yudhisthira that unlike Duryodhana, who was an ignoramus, he was wise and virtuous. It was not for the man of dharma to fight a war. He must abjure war and let Duryodhana rule. He should return to the forest with his brothers and spend his time there in the august company of the sages and visit holy places, he told Yudhisthira. Following the path of virtue was never a waste, he said. The virtuous might suffer in their present life but they would be amply rewarded in their next birth. The wrong-doers might prosper in life but their next life would be one of suffering. The fruit of karma would have to be experienced, even beyond births, he told the man of dharma.

Yudhisthira was irritated. In a dismissive tone, very uncharacteristic of him, he told Sakuni that he had spent enough time with the sages and had gone to many holy places on pilgrimage; now it should be Duryodhana’s turn. He should leave the kingdom to him and spend time in the forest with the sages, he told Sakuni. And he, Sakuni, must make that arrangement.

Was Sakuni serious? Did he really want what he had told Yudhisthira to happen? Or was he merely testing him? Or by irritating him, was he trying to push him to the point of no return with respect to war? Sakuni had worked relentlessly ever since he emerged out of the prison for the destruction of the Kauravas, which he had been chosen to do by his father and other relatives. That was a task he had to perform for the dead of his family. Why should he then try and persuade Yudhithira to do something that would nullify all his efforts?

If one knows him, one may not think it odd. In Sarala Mahabharata, Sakuni is a virtuous character. He was condemned to ensure the elimination of his nephews. He knew that on his own he could not accomplish that task; so he worked for a war between the Pandavas and the Kauravas. Krishna, Sahadeva, Vidura and Sanjaya alone were aware of Sakuni’s situation. And Sakuni knew, as the Kuru kula guru did, that war is wrong.  He knew that no matter what the others might think, he was the causer of the war that was going to destroy not only the Kauravas but also indefinitely many more, and among them would be many, many innocents. On the one hand, he knew he had to do what the dead of his family had entrusted him to do. If he failed to do that, he would incur their anger. On the other hand, he was intensely aware that the huge burden of papa (sin) would accrue to him for doing that very thing. Given these two choices, what would a man of conscience do? It will not violate the spirit of Sarala Mahabharata if we suggest this: Sakuni thought that if Yudhisthira decided against war, it would save him from the far worse alternative, namely, be burdened with the extremely grave papa of the slaughter of the innocents.

Incidentally, what Sakuni told Yudhisthira was essentially no different from what Dhaumya and Vidura had told the eldest Pandava. But Yudhisthira found Sakuni offensive because he believed that his advice was utterly insincere. Now, messages of wisdom can come from any source and unexpectedly too, but controlled by bias, even the best of the humans read in them only what they want to read in them.

In the battlefield of Kurukshetra, having failed to persuade Arjuna to start the war, Krishna got off from his chariot and went to Yudhisthira. He told him that his brother was unwilling to start the war for reasons of dharma. Yudhisthira told Krishna that he agreed with Arjuna and he then went to Duryodhana to make one last attempt to avoid the war. When his pleadings for at least one village, if not five, and any village of his choice at that, were to no avail, he gave up and returned to the battlefield.

Vidura’s suggestion returned to the Pandavas in an unexpected way when Arjuna met Bhishma for the first time in the battlefield of Kurukshetra. When Arjuna blamed Duryodhana for the war that reduced the loving grandfather and the adoring grandson to enemies, the grandfather told him that the Pandavas were responsible too. Had they made the sacrifice that the situation demanded, namely, left the throne to Duryodhana and retired to the forest, the fratricidal war would not have taken place. Total commitment to virtuous living sometimes demanded great sacrifice. For Sarala, there is no war that had no alternatives, however difficult, however painful. But when a war is given the status of dharma yuddha on account of the cause, there remains no room for alternatives. In Sarala Mahabharata, the Kurukshetra war was dharma yuddha, not because of the cause, but because of Krishna’s presence in the war field.

PART II

The above is the background against which we must find an answer to our question. What options to war did Yudhisthira have? He could have followed Vidura’s suggestion. That was one option. But was that the only one? Sarala Mahabharata does not articulate any other but one might wonder if there wasn’t really another alternative. There does seem to be one more but for some reason, Sarala does not project this alternative – is it a case of the story going out of the control of the story-teller?

Why did Yudhisthira insist on a village for the Pandavas? They could have continued to stay in Varunavanta. No one was insisting that he left. Ever since Dhritarashtra had asked him to live in Varunavanta, he had been living there. He had left it after the wax palace incident. He returned to it from Panchala, the kingdom of Drupada, after their wedding. They performed the rajaswiya jajna there. They left that place after losing the second game of dice. They returned there from Virata’s kingdom after completing their exile and incognito living. True, Duryodhana did not invite them to Hastinapura, but in Sarala Mahabharata, it was nothing new; they had hardly been invited there before. Yudhisthira went there regularly to pay his respects to Dhritarastra, sometimes with his brothers, sometimes alone. At some places in the text, Indraprastha is mentioned where one would expect Varunavanta, but for our present discussion it does not matter at all, because Yudhisthira was not the king anywhere. He had performed the rajaswiya jajna, as his father, Pandu’s son, for the well-being of his father in the world above. He was treated as king during the jajna for the performance of the rituals and the conventions associated with this jajna. After all, kings alone performed rajaswiya jajna, not princes, even crown princes.   

Incidentally, Hastinapura was never divided. Yudhisthira was staying in Varunavanta but not as the king of Varunavanta. He did not lose his kingdom in the game of dice. In the first game of dice, Yudhisthira lost wealth in terms of the gifts he had received from Drupada at the time of wedding and from the royal guests who had attended the rajaswiya jajna. He had lost no kingdom of which he was the ruler when he went on exile. Thus there was no kingdom he was to get back from Duryodhana on his return.  

Duryodhana was the king when he returned to Varunavanta from Panchala. He had been crowned king after the wax fire happened and the Pandavas were believed to have perished in it. But Yudhisthira had never grumbled about Duryodhana’s prosperity. He was a changed person in this regard only after he returned from exile. He told Dhaumya, Vidura and Krishna in an accusing tone that Duryodhana enjoying a vast kingdom and immense wealth and he must not deny him the little that he was asking for.

What Yudhithira wanted was a share of the kingdom of Hastinapura. He believed that it was his right. He had never claimed his right before. He complained against Dritarashtra to Krishna that he had not shown him consideration. He had never said anything before which could have been interpreted as remotely disrespectful or even ungracious about his father’s elder brother. Now, he was disinclined to live in Varunavanta as a subject of Hastinapura. He told Dhaumya and Vidura that he was a prince - an identity he had never asserted before - and the way he and his brothers were living did not behove them.  

But Yudhisthira was no ordinary mortal; in the battlefield of Kurukshetra, until he told that half-truth to his guru, the wheels of his chariot had not touched the ground. It was nature’s respect for the man of dharma. So, when he asked for his share of the kingdom, he did not ask in the manner of a typical claimant to a throne; he asked like a supplicant, so that his brother, Duryodhana, would not feel offended. And he asked like a sage - for just the minimum for his and his brothers’ dignified survival.