The Great Golden Sacrifice of the Mahabharata

by Maggi Lidchi Grassi

  My father’s death, the hatred of Duryodhana and Karna towards us, the palace of lac and wax, the swayamvara and my abduction of Subhadra were all part of one thing: this thing I had to do with Krishna. I was trying to find words for my feelings when I became aware of a tall Brahmin standing before us. He was dressed in rags, but his complexion was like molten gold and while I was still gaping at his strangely greentinged yellow beard, Krishna was already respectfully on his feet, for if he sometimes had his own way of doing things, he was always courteous to Brahmins. I hastily arose with head bowed to receive the blessing and we asked him in what way we could serve him. Even for a Brahmin his demand for food was forthright.

  “I need to eat a lot. I always eat a lot. If you would gratify me, give me food.”

  “What kind of food would please you?” I stuttered, staring at the blinding splendour that shone through his rags.

  “I am Agni, the Lord of Fire. I have endlessly been trying to devour this forest, but it is protected by Indra, the Lord of Heaven, because the serpent, Takshaka, an inhabitant of the forest, is Indra’s special friend. The Lord of Heaven and of Rain simply drenches me each time.” I looked to Krishna for my cue, but he was smiling as though he had been waiting for just this. He nodded and I wondered if he was really going to allow this magnificent forest with all its wildlife to be consumed. Had I entered Krishna’s mysterious world? I could not prevent myself from blurting out my question.

  “Why must you eat this forest?”

  The Brahmin looked as though he would blaze forth and devour me instead of the forest. But as I took a step back, he dimmed and we all sat down.

  “Son of Pandu, I will tell you, but quickly, for my need is great. Once there was a king celebrated for his sacrifices, King Swetaki. Never was there such a one for sacrifices and making presents to Brahmins. For many long years it went on and on until his sacrificial priests were almost blind from the smoke of the fires into which they had to pour the clarified butter. They left him before he had finished the number of sacrifices he had set himself. He was forced to get new officiants to finish the sacrifice. No sooner was this one over than he decided to start another hundredyear-long sacrifice. Not a single officiant would serve him inspite of his courting and pleading and presents and speeches. He became angry with them and they with him, saying that he had worn them out. At last, King Swetaki decided to practise asceticism on Mount Kailasa. He ate next to nothing and for six months stood like a rooted tree in meditation with arms raised like branches so that Shankara Shiva granted him a boon: if Swetaki could incessantly for twelve years, pour libations of clarified butter into the fire while leading the life of a Brahmachari he, Shiva himself, would assist in the sacrifice. When King Swetaki had fulfilled all this, Shankara Shiva sent a part of himself, the sage Durvasa, to assist in the sacrifice.

  “The trouble was that I had drunk clarified butter for twelve years. Can you imagine, son of Pandu, what it is like to have butter poured into your mouth in an endless stream? I grew pale and belched continuously. I approached the All-Creator, who in his mercy promised me the following cure: I should devour the Khandava forest, the dwelling of the enemies of the gods. When I had consumed these creatures, I would devour myself again. But seven times did I try and always Indra, who is also the god of rain, extinguished me so I went back to the Grandsire, Brahma himself, who promised me that with the help of Nara and Narayana, the deities now incarnate and called Arjuna and Krishna, I would consume the forest.”

  For the second time that day the hair of my limbs and body stood on end. Nara and Narayana! But as I turned my gaze towards Krishna for his confirmation, he gave me a hard and practical look which I immediately understood, and I asked Agni for weapons worthy of myself and of Krishna. It was thus that I acquired my Gandiva bow, my two inexhaustible quivers and my chariot with the silver-white steeds with golden harnesses. When I first beheld it I could only gaze and gaze at its golden flag-pole from which flew the ape banner. The chariot was like an evening fire in the setting sun and not meant for mortals. At last, I brought myself to do a pradakshina around it and then ascended, with the feel of a mortal about to be borne to heaven. And when I first twanged the bow I felt the floor of the forest tremble with the fear of its creatures and my own heart missed a beat. And then Lord Varuna, from whom the weapons had come, presented Krishna with his own serrated discus, with an iron pole at its centre, and a mace which roared like thunder when thrown.

  We turned to Agni to tell him we were ready and saw that from seven sides seven flames were moving in towards the Khandava forest. Krishna shouted above the crackling of the branches that I should race to the opposite side from him and even as I did so I saw the first tigers leaping through the flames and the birds rising with scorched wings and my heart failed at the thought that there might be mating deer within.

  “Shoot, shoot!” commanded Krishna, dispelling my thoughts, and so I averted my eyes from the tortoises even now cooking in the forest’s boiling ponds and the birds falling back into the flames. The clamour of trumpeting elephants and screaming monkeys and screeching parrots reached the gods themselves, who hurried to Indra to find out why Agni was burning all creatures. They wanted to know whether the end of the world had arrived. It was then that Indra must have roused himself because regiment upon regiment of clouds began to mass and pour down in showers as thick as the flagstaffs of the whole army. But the heat of the fire dried them before they could reach us. And then another huge downpour combined with the fire in a horrible curtain of smoke which only lightning could pierce— and, coughing and blinded by tears, I knew what the officiants of King Swetaki had suffered. I directed my arrows at this thick curtain. As soon at I had pierced a hole in it I saw the son of Takshaka, Indra’s serpent friend, trying to escape. His mother tried to save him by swallowing him. I severed her head, but Indra, intent on saving his friend’s son, raised a wind which knocked me unconscious. I recovered, much enraged by this trick, and began to fight in earnest. Whereas I had shot more to please Krishna and in gratitude for my weapons than through conviction, now, furious with the deceit of the snake, I sliced every animal escaping through the air into three or more pieces with my arrows. My anger attracted Indra’s lightning and the winds whipped up the oceans, but I knew the mantras to dispel the terrible masses of clouds that vomited thunder and the lightning which caused the great thunder claps. In a moment the sky was clear of dust and darkness and the flames burst forth once more with a universal roar, feeding on the fat of the forest creatures, the flames spread and rose. From the upper skies descended clouds of eagles to attack us—and poisonspitting snakes. My arrows, dipped in my own ire, cut them to bits which fell into the flames. And then the Asuras and Yakshas and Rakshasas and Nagas attacked us. We destroyed them all. And I saw Indra take up his thunderbolt to strike us down, and all the celestials behind him to protect the forest. I thought my hour had come but with Krishna fearless beside me, I fought on and at last, when I no longer knew who I was or what I was, I heard a voice addressing Indra.

  “Your friend Takshaka, chief of the snakes, has escaped to Kurukshetra. Know that Arjuna and Krishna are unconquerable Nara and Narayana.”

  For the second time since the sun had risen I heard these words, but all I knew was to go on shooting until elephants and deer and wolves were all driven back into the blaze, which now rose to a mountainous height without a single curl of smoke. Suddenly, I saw a figure with streaming hair, grinning with fear, running towards me. Agni pursued him, roaring, and Krishna prepared to sling his discus.

  “Protect me, Arjuna,” screamed the Rakshasa. At the sound of my name my battle fury fell from me and I ran to him. Krishna smiled and let me have my way and Agni, a ragged Brahmin once again, sat on a log delicately picking at a charred bone. With a satisfied groan he licked his fingers.

  The survivors of the forest were Takshaka’s son, Ashwasena, the four birds and my protege, the demon Maya.

  Now that it was over my senses reel
ed. I had defied Indra and, had not Krishna been beside me, I might have lost my reason. Would my celestial father strike me down? But even as I stared at Agni, full of fat and marrow, above him in his gracious aspect Indra appeared and said:

  “Your impossible feat is worthy of a boon.”

  Without thinking, with the instinct of a Kshatriya, a dim memory of my new mission, I asked for the impossible: all of Indra’s weapons. Indra promised that I would have them when the time came.

  Krishna asked for a boon which under other circumstances would have put me to shame, he asked that our friendship be eternal. I was in a dream. We walked towards the Yamuna and plunged our ash-covered bodies in. Its waters soothed our aching muscles. The sun was on the western hill and the clouds were lit like lamps at a feast. Soon night would fall. We hurried back to the others. They were still dancing to the sound of the veena and flute and tabor. Bheema was the first to see us. He waved and called, “Where have you been?” And then with a smile wrinkling his brow, “And who is that?” For the Rakshasa I had let escape had followed me.

  Before we could answer, Bheema had lifted his arms and was dancing again and the Rakshasa called me aside into a thicket. He was enormous. I signed to Krishna to follow.

  “Arjuna.” The demon’s voice was so sweet and gentle that I almost looked around to see where it came from. His panther-like fangs hung over his lips in a smile. “Arjuna,” and indeed the voice did issue from that mouth. He fell at my feet. “I am Maya, the architect of the Asuras.” I felt his wet cheek on my foot. “What good thing can I do for you, Arjuna?” I felt his friendship and his love. I bent to raise him, mingling my tears with his.

  “Your debt is paid by love. Only friendship can repay friendship,” I said.

  “Angry Krishna or hungry fire would have killed me. Your word is noble like yourself,” he said, stumbling over speech he was unused to. “But yet I would build something for the sake of love for I am the demon architect, the great artificer. Grant me another boon. My life is making things. Give me something to make.” He could not know how thankful I was that someone had escaped from the forest. I tried to ponder his wish. Still stunned by the echoes of crackling and wailing and the smell of charred flesh, I said, “I cannot think I deserve any reward, but I would like to please you in my turn. Do something for my friend and cousin Krishna and it will be as though for me. Then any debt you feel you have to us is cancelled.” Maya turned his face to Krishna who gazed beyond us.

  Pondering, he said, “Build for Yudhishthira an assembly hall the like of which has never been seen, such as will never be seen again on the ephemeral earth. Let it be at once human for human comfort and divine by divine inspiration. Let your Asuric talent be inspired by the Divine to blend all in single harmony.”

  We returned to Indraprastha in silence.

  When we had got used to his fierce appearance, we found Maya an entertaining friend, poet, as well as architect. He enthralled us with the tale of dethroning the Asuras by Indra. Between listening to him and seeing new wonders appear in gem settings and gold inlays and illusory pools, we lived in a world of marvel. Krishna was here, there, and everywhere, always bringing lightness and ease. Just when it seemed that this might go on forever, getting better and better, Krishna begged us to release him for a time. He had his own affairs as monarch of Dwaraka to attend to and his family awaited him.

  I was no less reluctant to be parted from Krishna than on the other occasions, but nothing on earth binds a Kshatriya to another the way fighting together does. This time the heavenly assurance that we were part of each other and our first battle together had sealed our friendship. Yet I took his departure hard.

  We all knew what it would be like without Krishna—drab and empty; none of us could bear the thought of his going, but we knew that he must go. Even selfless Yudhishthira could not help pleading for a postponement. Subhadra was happy in her pregnancy but tearful as she gave messages to Krishna for their family. We had to choose an auspicious day and perform all the rites for a safe journey.

  We gave Krishna the ritual bath, garlanded him, and offered our best presents. Krishna observed all the rituals, worshipped the gods and Brahma with garlands, recited the mantras, and offered perfumes. He came out of the inner apartments and made presents to the Brahmins and with bowed head accepted their benedictions.

  I listened to the Brahmins. I listened to the hymn to Pushan who presides over roads and journeys:

  Traverse the ways, Pushan, and keep away anguish,

  O Child of the Unharnessing. Stay with us, O God, going before us.

  The evil, vicious wolf who threatens us, Pushan, chase him away from

  the path.

  I looked at Krishna. His features were composed and respectful, his hands joined. The Khandava forest had convinced me that Krishna had no need of the rites and prayers of Brahmins, but my mind followed them for I wanted him protected.

  The notorious highwayman, the robber who plots in ambush,

  Drive him far away from the track.

  Lead us past our pursuers:

  Make our paths pleasant and easy to travel.

  Find for us here, Pushan, the power of understanding.

  He mounted his golden chariot with its bird banner. His sword was at his side, his chakra in a soft leather pouch hung from his shoulder. It was the very chariot in which Subhadra and I had eloped. So he managed to make us smile by thanking us for lending it to him now. Yudhishthira took the place of Krishna’s charioteer, Daruka, as he always did when Krishna left. Bheema and I stood behind him with the royal yak-tail whisks in our hands and the twins held the silk umbrella over his head. When we reached the outskirts of the city beyond the gates we got down reluctantly, shading our eyes until the gold of Krishna’s chariot no longer glinted back at us.

  19

  It was a good thing that ever-working Maya was there to distract us. With his enormous energy and genius he had marked out ten thousand cubits in an area which was swept by sweet breezes in summer and was temperate in winter. Here would be the assembly hall. Having overseen the preliminaries on an auspicious day, the priests were fed and given cows and gold, silks and all things prized by Brahmins. Maya consulted us for this and that and when we were dizzy from the variety of his requests, he said he had to go to Mount Kailasa where he had buried jewels which he needed to express the brilliance that had struck his mind.

  I had forgotten how ugly and cheerful he was until I saw his fangs hanging over his lips again in a smile as, from his skirt, he poured on to the ground the most precious gems. We blinked and rubbed our eyes and blinked again. Behind him were thousands of hideous slaves carrying more gems and still others with marble from the northern peaks of Mount Kailasa where the demons once sacrificed. The river had wrought a jewel-like substance by pressing gems into the rock and polished it to a deep glow.

  Maya was able finally to satisfy his wish to reward me. He had brought the great conch Devadatta from the bottom of the mountain lake. I blew into it and felt my heart torn out. The sound was blood-curdling, an unutterable cry as though a monster from the deep was threatening all creation. It was a marvellous gift. To Bheema, for whom he had great friendship, he gave a jewelled mace.

  And then he set to work. We were not to go near the building again until it was finished. He wanted to surprise us.

  When we did go to see the building we were half-blinded by the dazzling white light that came off it, and when we shaded our eyes and stepped over the gem-set threshold into a penumbra cut by thin shafts of light intersecting each other, we were not so much surprised as utterly silenced. All weariness, all need left us. This was a hall for great events and the meeting place of immense forces.

  It was one thing to watch from a distance eight thousand of Maya’s followers lift the giant pile as his sentries appeared to tread air. It was another to be under the vaulted heaven of the roof and see it reflected in the lotus pool. The pool was itself a marvel, adorned with blooms and leaves of precious s
tones with gem-birds perched on them; golden turtles swam sedately in the perfumed water. The wave washing over the stairs of marble was wrinkled by a soft cool breeze. Pearl-drops of rain fell from a fountain and white swans sailed under flowering trees.

  There was a great feast for the opening of the assembly Sabha and people came from far and wide. Rishis came from the forest, from distant hills, even from the beaches of the south. All the kings came except Duryodhana and his brothers and of course Karna.

  It was inaugurated with pujas in the presence of great princes. After the ceremony several of the younger princes stayed to learn archery from me. My favourite was Satyaki who still reminded me very much of his cousin Krishna. With him I found myself, to my secret amusement, adopting some of Drona’s mannerisms. Satyaki was quick to fall into the role of first disciple and Bheema was quick to express his hilarity when he noticed this development. This was the beginning of our Yuddhashala, our own military academy; it behooved us as princes to develop in our own way the martial arts for the benefit of our peers and to pass on the teaching of our guru.