“Grandsire! You are the most noble,” said Yudhishthira. “You gave up your kingdom. You gave up everything for the sake of the kingdom and of peace. Nobody has walked in the ways of Dharma as you have.”
Greatfather subtly re-interpreting the situation said: “Yes, well then, so be it. I choose Krishna. Krishna shall be worshipped. Our house is honoured by his presence. It is lightened by it as night by the sun, as the void filled by a breeze. Will you honour us, Krishna?” Krishna gave the slightest of nods and raised his folded hands.
Shishupala’s voice rang out. “Krishna!” His contempt was a lash. “How does he merit this?” And he started shouting, “Bheeshma! Are you in your dotage? Do you, Pandavas, know so little of Dharma that you choose the youngest, bypassing even his father Vasudeva? If you want to honour a great ally, why not King Drupada?” He meant of course, “Why not King Shishupala?” “Why not an Acharya? Dronacharya? Or if you all want to honour a great ancestor, you yourself, Bheeshma, should be honoured. Or Vyasa who is both Guru and ancestor, or if you are thinking of the future, why not a great warrior like Ashwatthama, the son of Dronacharya? Or there is Duryodhana, your kinsman.”
After a pause Greatfather Bheeshma answered calmly, “Yudhishthira and his brothers owe everything to Krishna. Had he not led in the killing of the evil that was Jarasandha, the Aryan world would have become a butcher’s block.” Now everybody was staring at our venerable old Grandsire. “To Krishna, son of Vasudeva, shall be offered the Agrapuja,” he said with that little emphasis at the end of a sentence which I remembered so well from his reprimands to us as children, but which now ran on into a tremor. He was ageing as well as angry and he was moved at seeing the selfless Yudhishthira, his spiritual heir, offer the Rajasuya sacrifice. It gave meaning to his own renunciation. All these things were felt more than understood by the assembly.
There were shouts of “Sadhu, Sadhu”. Sahadeva was already moving towards Krishna with a tray of offerings. He bathed his feet. Then, carefully, with the fourth finger of his right hand he placed the kumkum between Krishna’s eyes and swayed the sacred flame before him. The adoration in his eyes was unmistakable and at the end he placed his forehead in the dust at Krishna’s feet. Then Draupadi, now empress, pressed kumkum and rice to his forehead and gave him a spoonful of curd and honey that had been blessed by the priests. We all took turns in garlanding him. Vyasa led the chanters in the hymn which invokes the blessings of the gods. Vyasa waited for the cries of “Victory to Lord Krishna!”, “Jai Shri Krishna” to die down in order to give his blessing. With his hands on Krishna’s head he said, “May the gods be your helpers as the saviour of eternal Dharma.” Then he led the invocation to Peace.
The heaven is at peace, so is the sky.
May that peace be mine.
The earth is at peace, the waters and the grasses are at peace;
May that peace be mine.
The word is Peace; all the gods are peace
May that peace be mine, and with that peace
I will give peace to man and beasts.
May that peace be mine.
Shanti! Shanti! Shantih!
“Krishna,” shouted Shishupala, “look at you licking up this flattery like a dog in the corner with butter. This homage is actually an insult to you. It is like giving a beautiful wife to an impotent man or a show for a blind one.” In his rage Shishupala did not stop to think of whom he might be offending. He went on ranting against the son of a cowherd. Everybody knew that Krishna was the son of Vasudeva, Lord of the Yadavas, but this cowherd business always came up in the season of insults, like Karna’s being the son of a Suta.
Sage Narada was smiling in his trance. What was he seeing?
Now Greatfather Bheeshma got up and explained that no insult was intended to the other kings. Krishna was being worshipped for himself as well as for his great exploits. This argument left Shishupala unmoved. Narada suddenly came out of his trance.
“He who does not worship Krishna is dead though alive.” The Rajasuya had unexpectedly sprouted controversies over Krishna’s identity. In order to prove he was very much alive, Shishupala turned to Greatfather and started raving.
“They say that Ganga was your mother. They are right, for you are inconstant as water who gives herself to everyone. You gave Amba, promised to another, to your half-brother who did not want her. What an old bungler you have become! No wise words can turn a cheating cowherd into a god.” Bheema jumped up. Shishupala is dead, I thought, but Greatfather pulled Bheema back.
“It is for Krishna to kill Shishupala,” he said curtly, and turned to the assembly again. There was a moment in which nothing happened. Everyone had been insulted. To insult Greatfather Bheeshma was to shame all those present, and the insult to Krishna who stood, at his ease, amidst the offerings, apparently as unmoved by insult as by worship, was as bad. For me it was worse.
It was proper that Bheeshma, as the Greatfather of all, speaks to Shishupala, whether or not he had been insulted. It was for him, not us, to decide whether Shishupala was to be rebuked by a peace-loving elder or challenged by a warrior.
“Shishupala, you judge from your own small viewpoint. You and your friends are motivated by personal grudges. You say that Krishna killed his kinsman, that he was a coward, that he ran away from Jarasandha and entered his city in disguise.” There was a long silence. We had not expected Greatfather to remind us of the sins of which Krishna was accused. Silence added itself to silence and hovered above us in layers. Greatfather’s head had sunk on his chest. Would he leave us hanging like this? He is getting old, I thought, and something like pity stirred in me. I prayed that if he had gone to sleep he would not start snoring.
I was staring at Shishupala to see how he was taking it when a voice said: “Krishna will not be judged by such as you.” It made me shiver. It came from all sides and echoed off the walls. It was Greatfather speaking, but as though his soul had left his body in order to address us. “It is you who will be judged. Krishna will be seen as the light that overcame injustice, as the one who slew tyrants, as the one who defeated false Dharma to re-establish it, as the saviour of the oppressed, as the one who could have claimed any kingdom but who never set a crown upon his own head. Krishna has true knowledge, culture. He has all the virtues. See how he is unmoved by your ranting and your accusations.” I looked at Krishna.
Indeed, he sat unmoved by the commotion and it was I who felt my heart pierced by the accusations against him. I wanted to get up and shout that Krishna was the only selfless being I had known, that when Agni had asked him to name a boon, he had asked to be Arjuna’s friend through the ages. Of Maya he had asked a Sabha for Yudhishthira. I yearned to break protocol and run and wash his feet before everybody, but Greatfather was still speaking—about Dwaraka, prophesying:
“When Krishna leaves Dwaraka the ocean will claim her,” his voice resounded. “The Andhakas and Vrishnis will perish too.” I could see from Greatfather’s upturned eyes that he saw the future and I shivered. Greatfather returned to himself. His eyes flashed fire and his voice, now clear and controlled, came rolling out, “Now you know why Shishupala is a fool and does not see with the eyes of true Dharma. Now you know why Krishna’s feet must be worshipped. Shishupala may do as he wishes.” Greatfather turned his head away as though withdrawing himself from any further action.
Shishupala jumped up. “Enough of your ranting,” he roared and threw a challenging look around the assembly. “How is it that we have sat here listening to this fond old man? Krishna is not even a king. Do you worship him for his lotus-petal eyes, O Sons of Pandu? If so, you hardly know what true morality is, and Bheeshma, that son of Ganga, even less. And what to say of Krishna who accepted the worship? Our people came not out of fear or for gain.” Again he looked to the kings for support and they moved their heads in agreement and a murmur arose from them which he held back with his hand. “We came to acknowledge the imperial dignity of Yudhishthira because we thought him a man of virtue. But apparen
tly his reputation is unfounded. Now you, Yudhishthira, and you, old Bheeshma, and you, Krishna, have all been seen in your true light.”
Several kings got up to follow Shishupala out of the assembly. Yudhishthira immediately rose from the highest seat and hurried after Shishupala. Folding his hands he insisted in his gentle way that there had been no intention of insulting anybody, that they had merely followed the instructions of an Elder who had proved his virtue and who knew Krishna truly. Yudhishthira’s tone was so sweet and conciliating that Shishupala stopped in his tracks, but Greatfather called out:
“Yudhishthira, he does not deserve soft words. This Shishupala is a child. If he regards the worship as undeserved, let him do what he thinks fit.”
Before Shishupala could even open his mouth, Sahadeva stepped forward and said in the same deliberate tone that Greatfather had used, “If there is any king here who objects to my worship of Krishna, I place my foot upon his head.” Many of the kings had never heard Sahadeva’s voice and they stared at our youngest brother, who stood with the gold tray still in his hands, left foot raised to show the sole. He stood beautiful and calm. Not a single king stirred.
“You heard Narada. He who will not worship Krishna may be regarded as dead though he still lives and he should be ignored thereafter.” Sahadeva waited, slowly scanned the assembly, and then with devotion he washed Krishna’s feet again. It was not until he had half-finished that Shishupala began to stir up his allies once more—no difficult task, for they had come all this way to acknowledge a new emperor and had met with insult. The monarchs were confabulating; Yudhishthira turned to Greatfather, fearful that the sacrifice would be invalidated and that the blood of Krishna might be shed, but Greatfather sat on.
“Fear not, Tiger of the Kurus. Can a dog slay a lion? Krishna is as though asleep, but watch him. This King of the Chedis is moving towards his destruction and in his compassion Krishna will slay him and take him unto himself.” Greatfather’s voice echoed from afar.
“Infamous old wretch!” Shishupala was on his feet and shouting again. “You surely do not think these monarchs can be frightened by an old man like you? And you are supposed to be the wisest of the Kurus? Is this your morality? With you as guide these princes are like a boat towed by a drifting boat, or the blind following the blind. We came for a Rajasuya, but on this last day of the sacrifice we have had to sit through your interminable nonsense about Krishna. What if Krishna as a child killed a vulture? And what if Putana dropped dead as she gave him suck? And what if Krishna as a baby kicked over a cart? And as for the mountain he is supposed to have supported, it must have been an ant-hill. While on top of the mountain he ate a hearty meal. We do not doubt that. But must I give you a lesson in Dharma, great Bheeshma? Krishna killed Kamsa after eating his food. And had you not heard that death should not be dealt to women? Are these the qualities you prize? If ever you were virtuous then you have fallen from the path of virtue.” This was cunning of Shishupala, for, while no one would doubt Bheeshma’s selflessness, the possibility of the virtuous man falling from the path could more easily be entertained. “Your celibacy is fruitless and probably screens impotence and you are childless and old and no number of sacrifices or gifts to Brahmins can equal the possession of a single son.” We were pierced in our entrails by this cruelty and even while I was thinking that he could have thought of no more gross taunt, he did. He compared Greatfather Bheeshma to the old swan who ate up the eggs of the birds who entrusted them to him. Even amongst Shishupala’s friends few applauded this speech, but he was beyond noticing, and raved on.
“As for Jarasandha, he has earned my eternal admiration for refusing to fight with Krishna, for Krishna did run away from him. But what surprises me, Bheeshma, is that though you lead the Pandavas astray, they cannot see through you.” He turned to the kings and pointed at Greatfather, “This fool would have us believe Krishna Lord of the Universe. And perhaps it follows that they should go wrong who have for counsellor one who is womanish and without virility.” I could hear Bheema grinding his teeth and the triple wrinkle bit deeply into his brow. He looked like the Lord of Death. Even as Bheema jumped up a second time, Greatfather caught him by the arms. It must be said that Shishupala was no coward; he laughed and told Greatfather to release Bheema.
“Bheeshma, you live at the pleasure of these kings.”
“That may be, but I care not a straw for these kings.” Upon which these kings sprang to their feet.
Greatfather continued, “Whether I be slain like an animal or burnt in fire, thus do I raise my foot and place it firmly on your heads. Here is the incorruptible Krishna and it is he we have worshipped. Anyone wishing for death may challenge Krishna.”
“So be it: come, cowherd!”
At last Krishna rose. “Cousin, I have kept my promise to my aunt, your mother, Queen of the Chedis. A hundred times have I pardoned her son.”
“Forgive me or not, what can you do to her son? Your time has come, cowherd.” Shishupala drew his great sword. Bheema and Sahadeva jumped forward to screen Krishna. There was a golden flash and a whisper. Krishna’s chakra had sliced through Shishupala’s neck and had already returned to Krishna’s hand. Shishupala’s severed head still sat on its stem; a thin red beaved line appeared around its neck. He tottered. The head fell off the body and rolled on to the floor. The body took one step forward and crashed down.
When Shishupala fell, a fierce light left his body and I saw it lose itself in Krishna.
The days that followed the Rajasuya were shattered by terrifying earthquakes and unseasonable monsoons. It looked as though there might be a tidal wave. Many of the rishis interpreted all this to mean that the death of Shishupala had ushered in calamity. Indeed, though Yudhishthira had attained imperial dignity, a number of kings had walked out with Dantavaktra at the death of Shishupala. While the sacrifice had been completed and guarded by Krishna, and while due honour was paid to all the remaining monarchs, I could not but wish that we had not made enemies on this occasion. Greatfather had spoken truly. Future men would understand Krishna as a slayer of tyrants, but for the present he had killed another kinsman. We were born to challenge and be challenged; some higher plan of destiny was being worked out; it had indeed been Chedi’s fate to fall by Krishna’s discus.
There were still formalities to be observed right up to our departures. Each king was accompanied by one of us. Our brother-in-law, Dhrishtadyumna, was sent to escort the noble king Virata. Bheema accompanied Greatfather and Dhritarashtra, Sahadeva saw Dronacharya and Ashwatthama off, and Nakula was assigned to Shakuni’s father. I myself went part of the way to Panchala with our father-in-law. We refrained from discussing what might be the outcome of Shishupala’s death. Yudhishthira was Emperor of Bharatavarsha and we did not want to look beyond that for the present.
The only rite remaining was the ceremonial extinguishing of the sacrificial fire.
Shishupala’s son Dhrishtaketu, a nephew we all loved, was installed by Eldest as King of the Chedis. It was his first coronation as emperor and he performed it with kindness and grace, and a marriage was arranged between Dhrishtaketu’s sister Karenumati and Nakula. The Chedis were now allies.
Finally everyone had left except Duryodhana and Shakuni who stayed to see the Mayasabha, but it would have been better if Yudhishthira had not renewed this invitation. Up to now the beauty of the Sabha had given us only pleasure, but now Duryodhana’s visit released there some mischievous elements of Maya. There was an exquisite pool whose surface mimicked lapis lazuli: Duryodhana unsuspectingly stepped into it and was drenched. He had had to sit through Yudhishthira’s Rajasuya, and now he had to be helped out and dried and given fresh clothes by attendants who bit their cheeks in order not to smile. Pride did not allow Duryodhana to cut short his visit of inspection. He came to the edge of what looked like a decorative lake. He peered at it and saw that it was really an inlaid floor; with cautious grace he started across it, lifting his garment—and fell into the pool which was Maya’s
double bluff. Draupadi stifled a peal of merriment, but Bheema had never been able to hold his laughter. Immediately afterwards, when the servants were bringing dry clothes to Duryodhana for the second time, he pushed them away. Girding his loins he strode away across an expanse of marble only to bang his head against a crystal doorway. Draupadi was always at her gayest and most irresponsible with Bheema. She could not have meant to be heard when she said an unforgivable thing.
“Blind as that old bat of a father of his.” Duryodhana did hear her and never forgave her. Gandhari had been right about Draupadi.
By the time Duryodhana returned to Hastinapura, mortification had turned into hatred and back again. Finally, mortification so crystallized in his heart that he shut himself up in his room and spent days and nights without sleeping or eating or speaking to anyone.
In the uneasy lull following the Rajasuya Ghatotkacha’s innocent sincerity provided distraction. It was difficult for him to understand why Uncle Sahadeva had prevented him from jumping up and tearing out the heart of Shishupala. Ghatotkacha had decided that he would adopt Sahadeva and was trying to get us to agree to make a present of him to his Rakshasa clan. He wanted Nakula as well. The final arrangement was that Sahadeva was to accompany him, with a bodyguard of archers, back to his forest, pay his respects to Hidimbi, and return to us. We had all come to love Ghatotkacha. His Mlechha ways mirrored for us the oddity of some of our customs. Ghatotkacha could never be comfortable at seeing rivers of clarified butter poured into the pit of the sacrificial fire. It always made him scratch his bald head and suck his finger. When we took the perfume from each other’s heads he thought we were smelling each other for signs of friendship or enmity and wanted to know why we chose the head and not the navel.
We were relieved to see Yudhishthira playing dice with Ghatotkacha and his son, for Eldest more than any of us was burdened by Kshatriya laws. His ambition was not personal enough to make the constant killings and the incessant planning and calculating palatable. He was desolate at the departure of Ghatotkacha.
The Great Golden Sacrifice of the Mahabharata Page 20
