Yudhishtra walked to the stricken Brahmin and reached out a hand to touch him, but Aswathama turned and fled into the forest. His words and mocking laughter would echo over time.
*****
78 TASTE OF DHARMA
BHANUMATI LEFT THE HASTINAPURA PALACE for her childhood home immediately, once the funeral rites for her husband were over. Gandhari and Kunti’s repeated pleas to remain had no effect on her.
Bhishma died on the day Uttarayana began. He remained conscious to the end and tried to warn Yudhishtra about Dhritarashtra. He also advised him how to rule without fear or favour. On the day of Sankranti, Gangadutta Devavrata Bhishma departed his earthly body. Yudhishtra performed the last rites for the Pitamaha of the Kurus.
On the night of the funeral, Kripa came to pay his respects, risking capture. Yudhishtra asked his forgiveness for the war, surprising the maverick Guru. The usually cynical Kripa broke down at this gesture from a man whose son he had helped murder. Yudhishtra requested Kripa to accept the position of Rajaguru, to guide him in the days ahead. Kripa bowed his head in acquiescence, humbled at last.
They found Vidhura sitting heartbroken near Bhishma’s funeral pyre. Yudhishtra lifted up his uncle and took him to live in the palace.
While immersing the ashes of Pitamaha in the Ganga on the third day after his death, Yudhishtra was overcome by grief and guilt. In his despair he attempted suicide, but Bhima and Arjuna restrained him. It took Krishna the better part of the day to focus his mind on the nuances of dharma and rule according to the tenets of the smritis. But the next day dawned with the shocking news that Yudhishtra would not assume the kingship. Instead, he went to see Vrishali, Karna’s grieving widow. Yudhishtra asked her for Karna’s eight-year-old son, Vrishaketu, the only survivor in the next generation of Kurus, as the next successor. But the priests decreed that Vrishaketu was ineligible as the son of a Suta mother. Heartbroken, Yudhishtra brought Vrishaketu to live with him, instructing Arjuna to turn him into a great warrior, as befitted the son of Karna. By evening, Yudhishtra had announced that Dhritarashtra would remain King.
Later that night, an anguished Gandhari asked Dhritarashtra why he had accepted his nephew’s generous offer. How could he rule in peace when Suyodhana was dead? The old King gave a bitter laugh that frightened Gandhari. The nobility he had displayed at their sons’ cremation had vanished, in its place stood an angry old man with Shakuni’s cunning and Suyodhana’s determination.
The next day he called for Dhaumya, to discuss matters of state. The Guru was sceptical when he arrived to see the King. Everything had gone wrong for the Guru after the war. Instead of a furious rebel-like Suyodhana, whom it was easy to accuse of adharma, he found Yudhishtra, the man he had nurtured and announced as the epitome of dharma.
“Guru Dhaumya, I wish to make amends for the conduct of my dead sons. I do not wish their souls to reside in the netherworld because they have been cursed by Brahmins. I wish to give gifts to one lakh Brahmins and would like your advice, Guru.”
Dhaumya could not believe what he heard. Why was the King behaving in such an uncharacteristic fashion? Was this the same man who had insisted that all the dead be cremated together, irrespective of caste? Since he was offering gifts, it would be prudent not to refuse. “The light of dharma has shone on you, my King. May Sakra and the other Gods in heaven bless you.”
The King bent to touch the Brahmin’s feet. Then he summoned Yudhishtra and announced his decision, saying it was required to ensure the peace of the departed souls. Yudhishtra merely bowed and walked back to his chamber, depression clouding his mind.
When Dhritarashtra returned to his own chambers, he laughed aloud and told Gandhari, “I will empty the treasury. They have taken me for a fool but I will defeat Krishna and the others at their own game. Only my son will rule this land! Your brother Shakuni was a genius, Gandhari. I sometimes hear him speaking to me.”
“You will bring disaster again to the Kuru race,” Gandhari said grimly. Her husband laughed mirthlessly in answer.
***
Soon, the treasury was empty as thousands of cows, horses and gold coins were gifted to the Brahmins who came from far and wide to accept the hospitality and generosity of the Kurus. When Yudhishtra spoke to the King about the reports of starvation, deaths and rioting in the distant parts of the country, Dhritarashtra called the astrologers and showed great concern when they predicted grim times for Bharatavarsha. He ordered more gifting of cows and wealth to the Brahmins, basking in their praise and secretly laughing at the men he was making fools of. The priests and astrologers advised a Aswamedha Yagna. Sacrificing a horse was the only way to ensure prosperity. Dhritarashtra called his son, the merchant Yuyutsu, and asked him to fund the yagna as his patriotic duty. Yuyutsu replied that he was ever on the side of dharma and advanced a huge sum, accepting the assets of the country as collateral.
The horse ran through the war-ravaged vassal states of Bharatavarsha. The imperial army followed, crushing those who refused to surrender, and taking huge ransoms from the rest. Arjuna led the war of conquest, bringing death and destruction once again to an already devastated country. Vrishaketu accompanied his uncle in this journey of plunder. The King ensured that whatever was brought back was immediately distributed among the Brahmins, so that the treasury remained empty. Hastinapura fell into greater and greater debt to his son Yuyutsu.
Vidhura left for the forest, disgusted. Kripa, the pragmatist, bided his time, amused at the turn of events. His sister, Kripi, Drona’s sorrowing wife, died. It was left to him to perform the rituals, as his nephew Aswathama had long vanished. No one knew where the accursed Brahmin had gone.
Events took a turn for the worse when the sacrificial horse entered the borders of Sindh. Sushala had been grooming her son, Surutha, to take revenge for Jayadratha’s death. Despite the best efforts of the many Gurus who came from every corner of Bharata, Surutha had remained a weakling. The relentless pressure from his mother turned him into a nervous boy who worried perpetually about failure. When Arjuna’s imperial army entered Sindh, the Pandava wished for a truce. He had no wish to plunder his cousin’s land, and Arjuna hoped to convince Sushala to return to Hastinapura with him.
But disaster awaited the great warrior. As the Hastinapura army entered the city gates, Sushala chided the cowering boy for hiding in his room and not fighting Arjuna like a Kshatriya. Surutha reluctantly left his chamber and mounted his horse. He made a dash towards the imperial army as Sushala watched with pride from the palace. Arjuna blew his conch to welcome his nephew. The horse carrying Surutha panicked and the boy was thrown from his saddle. He broke his neck as soon as his body hit the ground, dying instantly. Arjuna had unintentionally brought disaster to his cousin’s family again. The warrior retreated with a heavy heart, more confused than ever about the Great War, when he had killed so many of his kin. The Gita made less and less sense to him as life unfolded.
Gandhari’s words came true. Dhritarashtra’s wily manoeuvring had brought disaster to the Kuru clan. Finally, shattering his last dream of only his son sitting on the throne of Hastinapura, a son was born to Uttara, Abhimanyu’s young widow. Bitter and angry, he pined for Suyodhana, locked in his chamber. He emerged to create more havoc by emptying the treasury, giving away more and more gifts and performing rituals with pomp. Uttara and Abhimanyu’s son, Parikshat, grew up not knowing what the future held.
When Dhritarashtra finally decided to relinquish the throne, he ensured Yudhishtra would not succeed him by naming Parikshat as his heir. He spoke to Yudhishtra at length on the merits of going to the Himalayas in search of inner peace. He also discussed with Dhaumya the virtues of taking Kunti with them when he and Gandhari left for vanaprastha. Dhaumya was delighted. He was getting a boy of barely sixteen as King, who could be easily manipulated. He could then impose his rules without check. The priest listened to Dhritarashtra, well aware of the King’s inner motivations, and said unctuously that he would attempt to prevail upon Yudhishtra to unde
rtake a pilgrimage for peace and on Kunti Devi to relinquish court life.
When Dhaumya left, Dhritarashtra sat alone for a long time, contemplating the final blow he had dealt Pandu’s sons. The revenge he was taking in the name of his slain sons could not have tasted sweeter. Not all battles were fought on the battlefield with swords and maces. When Gandhari tried to talk to him that night, he turned away and feigned sleep.
*****
79 VANAPRASTHA
KUNTI COULD NOT BELIEVE IT. After all the years of struggle, this was the last thing she had expected. True, the scriptures said that after the birth of a great-grandson, one should proceed to the forest for vanaprastha, yet she had lingered. Parikshat was just sixteen. Could her sons not wait till Abhimanyu’s son was married?
“Rajamata, the decision is final. I will leave everything to Parikshat and take asylum in the Himalayas. You, too, must leave with Uncle Dhritarashtra and Aunt Gandhari,” Yudhishtra stated in a flat tone.
Even if Dhaumya had said so, why did her son have to listen to such talk? Yudhishtra had behaved irrationally ever since he had learnt about Karna. He kept saying they could have avoided the war, that she was responsible for it. Would it really have solved all problems? Would Suyodhana have abdicated in favour of Karna? No, it was Draupadi who was responsible for the war, not her. Kunti pulled her sari pallu over her head and turned her face away. She did not want her sons to see her tears. Without a word of blessing or farewell, she walked out of the palace, pausing just for a second in the vain hope that one of her sons would call her back.
“Kunti!”
The dowager’s heart skipped a beat when she heard the familiar voice. Once it had filled her with hatred and anger, but there was nothing left to like or dislike any more in life. “Gandhari...” Kunti said, turning her head. She hated herself for the tears that sprang to her eyes when she heard the proud Gandhari sobbing. Kunti took Gandhari’s hands in her own.
Dhritarashtra stood gazing at the sky with unseeing eyes. He was content. He, whom they considered blind and incompetent, had outlived and outwitted them all. He heard the two women crying and shook his head contemptuously. They had fought so bitterly over so many years, and now stood together weeping over their lost youth, their lost sons and grandsons, and for the life they had forgotten to live in their pursuit for power. They were old and weary now; burdens to the family. In a palace where hundreds lived comfortably, they were three people too many.
“If Suyodhana was alive, would this have happened?” Dhritarashtra asked softly.
The words pierced Kunti’s heart like a knife. She felt angered by the insensitive comment of her brother-in-law but she knew it to be true. Without a word she began walking, holding Gandhari’s arm. The sound of Dhritarashtra’s stick tapping the ground kept rhythm with her own pace. Kunti walked with her head held high. She could hear people commenting on their plight. She could bear that. But the odd words of sympathy from the very people she had always ignored, pierced her heart. She did not raise her eyes to look at the shabby figures that lined the road. They had come to bid farewell to the royals or to gawk, each as their nature dictated. The war had long been over, but the ravages were still apparent to all.
“Maharaja Dhritarashtra!”
“Vidhura, my brother...” Dhritarashtra ’s voice was a shadow of itself.
Kunti watched Vidhura touch his brother and sister-in-law’s feet respectfully. When he came to her, she turned away saying, “Why have you come, Vidhura? We are beggars now. We have nothing to give and no place to go.”
“Devi, have you forgotten that you have my hut in the forest?”
“We will be a burden to you, Vidhura. I am both old and blind,” Dhritarashtra sighed.
“Your Highness, it will be an honour. Of course, it does not have the luxuries of the palace, for it is a Shudra home.”
“Brother, I see your words have not lost their barb.”
“We cannot change the truth, Your Highness. I may be your brother-in-law, but I am still a Shudra. If a Shudra’s hut is not beneath your dignity, I would be honoured to have you all come and live with me.”
“There is nothing beneath us, Vidhura,” Kunti replied wearily. “We are walking on the street as you can see.” And this was her reward for a lifetime spent fighting shadow wars, time wasted on intrigue and strategy, just so that her son could ascend the throne of Hastinapura.
“The war of dharma has made most of us beggars. Please come and light up my lonely life.”
Kunti did not resist when Vidhura led the way. Together, they walked to his forest home – the hut he had taken almost a lifetime to build. The rest of their lives to be spent in the contemplation of truth, immersed in spiritual matters. That was what they thought.
But the wheel of Kunti’s karma kept turning. Takshaka and his revolutionary army returned to set the forest ablaze. The fire consumed them all. There was no escaping the bitter fruits of karma.
*****
80 LONG LIVE THE
REVOLUTION
“LONG LIVE THE REVOLUTION!” Takshaka yelled. He and a few followers had set fire to Vidhura’s hut early that morning. They had watched Kunti, Dhritarashtra, Gandhari and Vidhura die in agony. The four old people sat huddled together crying for mercy as the fire engulfed them.
Yuyutsu had driven thousands of Nagas and other low-castes out of their miserable farms and slums. These disenfranchised people had nothing more to lose and they swelled the ranks of Takshaka’s army. Then why were they so silent when their Great Leader announced such a victory?
“This is a great day for the revolution!” Takshaka shouted again. The people stared silently at the ageing Naga leader. “Long live the revolution!” he cried in a hoarse voice, punching the air. “This is just the beginning...” Takshaka scowled at the people who had started drifting away. “We will seize power from our enemies; we will lynch men like Yuyutsu.” No one was listening. “Long live the revolution!” Takshaka screamed again. Silence was the only response. The people had turned away from him as from a leper. ‘An entire lifetime spent uplifting these thankless people and this is how they treat me,’ thought Takshaka bitterly as he trudged out of the village.
Finally he arrived at the place where Vidhura’s hut had stood. Rain had washed away much of the debris, leaving only a few charred bones in the rubble. He had to do something grand to change the history of Bharatavarsha, thought Takshaka. When he had found Vasuki lying dead at the feet of the idol of Shiva in the forest years before, he had thought the last challenge to his leadership of the Nagas had ended. There was some poetic justice in Vasuki being killed by cobra bite. However, until now, the revolution he had dreamed of had not taken place. He had thought that killing Dhritarashtra, the old King of Hastinapura, would trigger events but not even his own people considered it worth mentioning. He was desperate for something big to happen. He was getting older and time was running out.
An idea started forming in Takshaka’s mind. Parikshat! He had heard the Pandavas would soon be leaving for the Himalayas and the boy would be crowned as the new King. A smile spread across his face as he thought about Parikshat. He would not need an army of idiots with him to do what he planned. He could do it alone. He would kill Parikshat and start the ball of revolution rolling again.
***
A messenger dashed through the dry bed of the river Sarswati to reach Hastinapura. He carried terrifying news. In Dwaraka, a civil war had broken out between the followers of Kritavarma and those of Krishna’s son, Samba. The entire city was aflame. Hearing the news, the Pandavas rushed to save the city of their dear friend, who had helped them win the great war. They were shocked to find Krishna’s wives, protected only by a handful of guards, walking through the desert in a forlorn procession. Krishna was nowhere to be seen. An old Yadava soldier gave Arjuna the message that the Lord had left the safety of his wives and servants in his hands. Yudhishtra, Nakula and Sahadeva rushed towards Dwaraka while Arjuna started his journey back to Hastinapu
ra with the wives of his beloved friend. His heart was heavy with dread.
On the way, they were attacked by the Durjayas and Nagas. Arjuna found he was no match for the combined attack. Durjaya jumped into Arjuna’s chariot, grabbed the Gandiva and hit Arjuna on the head with the great bow. It broke into two and Arjuna lost consciousness. When he awoke, he was all alone in the desert. His chariot, his horses and all the valuable ornaments he had been wearing had vanished. More shockingly, Krishna’s wives were nowhere to be seen. He, the famed warrior, the greatest archer in the world, the man who had vanquished Karna, Drona, Bhishma and countless others in the war, had lost to a minor dacoit and failed to save his friend’s wives.
Arjuna began walking towards Dwaraka, not knowing how to break the news to Krishna and his brothers. On the outskirts of Prabhasa, he met Sage Vyasa. Arjuna fell at the seer’s feet, sobbing, “Swami, a dacoit defeated me and took away Krishna’s wives. If he is an avatar, why could he not save his wives? Why was I unable to defeat Durjaya? I have done my duty and lived according to the scriptures. My mind no longer knows what is right and what is wrong.”
The sage lifted Arjuna up and said, “Arjuna, time is God, time is dharma. Fame, victory, wealth, infamy, defeat, poverty – all are but manifestations of time. Kalapurusha acts with prakruti, nature, to set the rhythm of life. Just as seasons come and go, like winter follows the rainy season, which follows summer, which follows spring, time brings different stages. Your time as a warrior has ended. Your karma will catch up with you. Krishna’s time will end soon; even he is not free of his karma. Prakruti and Kalapurusha, the God of Time, together bring change.”
AJAYA - RISE OF KALI (Book 2) Page 44
