I looked around and saw all the things I had always heard about, the heavenly trees, the golden court, and the Apsaras who I knew must be Menaka, Rambha, Urvashi the mother of our race, and Tilottama.
That evening we watched them dancing to the celestial music of Chitrasena and my eyes were drawn to the loveliest of them, Urvashi. It was easy to see why she was Indra’s favourite. She outshone the other three in skill as well as in grace and beauty. There was a deep and natural reverence in me for this exquisite being. I had always been proud of being the son of Pandu and the descendent of the great Emperor Shantanu and of Puru who once reigned in Indraprastha. I had not given much thought to this mother of our line. Here before my eyes was the source of all we had of grace and charm. Had it not been for this filial emotion I would most certainly have fallen in love with her.
As it was, when she came to me in the middle of that moonlit night, her hair streaming down her back, her arms and neck wreathed with flowers, and her perfect body clad in a transparent cloud, I saw immediately what it was that had happened to her, but I fell at her feet, her devotee.
“Give me a mother’s blessing,” I said. Her image as mother had crystallized in me, and I was glad, for I did not want to anger Indra.
“Arjuna,” moaned Urvashi, “you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. Love has compelled me from my bed. My love will burn me until you take me.”
Instead of inflaming me her words fell on me like icy drops. It was of course my duty as a Kshatriya to accept a woman who came to me with such longing—but I could not.
Since I continued crouching she said in a caressing voice, “What is the matter, Arjuna?”
I sat back on my heels and looked up at her. I supplicated with hands joined, but she refused to understand. “When we were dancing you had eyes for me alone. So I have come to you.”
She took a single step back, the better to see me, and in that single movement of her wide graceful hips was a whole dance. Her anklets jingled; her necklace swung. Her hair and her flower garlands emanated perfumes. Her skin glowed like molten gold and there were little beads of sweat on her upper lip. But it was like being in front of my own mother. “O Mother.”
I broke out in a sweat. Never before had I felt embarrassed or shocked by an honest request from a woman for love.
“Indeed, I had eyes for you alone, Urvashi. You are the most beautiful creature in the three worlds. Nor have I ever seen or dreamed of such dancing. I love dancing…” I was still sitting back on my heels and looking at Urvashi. Her eyes were wide open with the beginning of disbelief. It was obvious that this was a new situation for her too. “But, above all, I thought of you as the mother of our race. We are so proud to be your descendants.” Her flashing eyes told me how lame this excuse was. “Forgive me, Urvashi.”
“I thought you were a Kshatriya, but apparently you have not the chivalry to understand my longing. You are not man enough to respond…” Before I could protest she put her hands on her beautiful hips and with her bare round breasts heaving, she said, “Refuse my love but not my curse. Since you are so mean with your virility, you will lose it: you are doomed by my curse to spend your time as a dance teacher to women.” Weeping hot tears, she turned on her beautiful heel and swayed away, leaving the scent of jasmine and of her own warm skin. At the door she turned to complete her curse, “As a eunuch!” The last word came like a stone from a catapult.
This was the most terrible thing that had ever happened to me in my life and, when the chariot wheels of my mind started turning again, I realized that I dare not even tell Lord Indra in case he suspected me of courting his favourite. My heart turned to ice. Draupadi…Subhadra. For life, for life… I went straight to my friend Chitrasena with whom I shared an affinity through music and dance, and moaning shamelessly I asked him how I could avert the curse. I saw a smile take the corner of his mouth and it made me hide my face in my hands so that I did not even notice when he left. He returned with Lord Indra who, instead of laying blame on me, praised me.
“You are the first man who has ever been able to resist Urvashi. I cannot entirely remove the curse, for she is much upset, poor thing. If I ask to take it away she would stop dancing and I could not bear that. But in my domain, even curses can be made to serve. I will reduce the curse to one year—and remember that during the thirteenth year of your exile you will have to find a way of making yourself unrecognizable. Who would ever think that the dancing teacher Brihannala, the eunuch with a plait down his back, or her back, is really Arjuna?” He and Chitrasena laughed heartily at this and I pretended to join in. “Now, learn all that you can about singing and dancing. Chitrasena will make you master of these arts. You will become as proficient as any celestial dancer,” he said, overcome by mirth again.
I was happy as Chitrasena’s pupil and I forgot about the curse except when I met Urvashi. Chitrasena developed my voice until I could have charmed a kokila into believing I was her mate, and he taught me how to play the veena and the other stringed instruments as well as some of the wind instruments. When I had finished my course on the flute, he said my only rival was Krishna himself.
So sweet was it to be back in the favour of Indra and share his throne that I was not anxious to remember the bestiality of the dice game and the quarrelling and frustrations of our exile. Yet, from time to time I would remember the unhappiness of my brothers and Draupadi, much increased by my absence. Indra would soothe me and remind me that Eldest himself had sent me to obtain the heavenly weapons.
One day the sage Narada arrived. Narada tried to hide his astonishment at my sharing the heavenly throne but failed. He raised his eyebrows.
“Narada,” said my father proudly, “this is no ordinary Kshatriya. He is my son born of Kunti and is learning all the divine astras from me. As you know, the earth complained to Vishnu that she could no longer bear the weight of sinfulness. So Vishnu incarnated as Nara and Narayana, my son Arjuna and his cousin Krishna. That is why they love each other so dearly. They will be involved in a blood-letting which will cleanse the earth of her poison. Narada, I want you to tell Draupadi and Yudhishthira and his brothers that Arjuna has received my astras and that he can dance as well as shoot. Comfort them. Tell them that he will return and that in the meantime they should distract themselves by going on a pilgrimage.” I had earned Indra’s praise: “You have learned about the celestial weapons, how to shoot and recover while fitting the next arrow swifter than thought. Now you must leave me, but first I want my guru-dakshina.”
I was delighted with the chance to show my gratitude to Indra and the gods and, in an ebullient mood, I set out to battle with demons on behalf of the King of Heaven. My pride was replaced by humility when it became obvious to me that I was dependent upon Indra’s charioteer Matali for success.
The horses leapt forward with a jangle of bells which was soon drowned in the cacophony of the underworld so that Matali had to shout, “I’ve never seen anyone keep his balance like that when we take off. Even Lord Indra has to hold on.”
As we appeared, there was great confusion among the demons who took up arms and began running around, arranging themselves into battle order; I blew Devadatta and its notes soared above the devilish din, touched heaven and returned with such force that I myself was on the verge of fear. The Nivatakavacas were formidable in battle. For a long time they had occupied these reaches of heaven and no one had been able to dislodge them. They had waxed boastful and rich, but unfortunately without getting soft. When it came to a fight for their lives and their territory, they would call upon the demonic powers which gave them life. Their arrows pelted my armour like a rain of razors. I stood in the chariot facing death at their hands instead of in a Kshatriya war. The bite of their arrows was cold but soon left a smouldering burn in my flesh.
Had it not been for Matali’s manoeuvering of the horses, I should not have been able to pay my debt to Indra nor to return to my brothers. As I chopped them into pieces, they came at us with renewed st
rength. Defeat only encouraged them. The air was crowded with the stones they threw, and now a creeping darkness came from their illusion and plunged us into blindness. Even my ability to shoot in the dark could not have helped me in that broiling inferno without the skill of Matali.
We were reduced to shouting to one another. “Where are you, son of Pandu?” “Matali, charioteer of Indra, where are you?” All this time I was reciting the mantras of power given to me by the gods. By dint of massive concentration, I was able to disperse the darkness a little; instantly, it fell again and the demons slipped back into the endless night. It seemed to me, as I struggled with them, never letting go of the sacred recitation, that I was struggling with darkness itself and that if I failed, the world would forever be separated from light. Finally, it was Matali who turned the tide with the right word. “Vajra, Vajra,” he yelled and, without thought, I unleashed the fury of the thunderbolt and that was the end. Slowly the darkness lifted, showing us the carnage, and amongst the cries of the wounded could be heard the wails of the demon wives mourning like cranes over the lake.
In the sudden light I was astonished at the splendour of the mansions and the richness of the ornaments and jewelled faces. I questioned Matali, who stood calm and unmoved:
“Why don’t the gods live here?”
“They were driven out by the will of these demons of iron and that is why we have had to vanquish them.”
There are a few things in my life that I am unable to speak about. We never discussed the erosion of our intimacy with Ashwatthama, nor did we remember Ekalavya out loud. Folded even deeper in my heart is the tenderness of my reunion with Draupadi and my brothers.
Dear old Dhaumya helped me down from Indra’s chariot and after I had taken the dust from his feet, Eldest sat me on his lap as though I were a child. Draupadi stood speechless, the lively flame of her eyes deepened to a glow.Bheema, who would strike fear into the heart of any enemy, made mine melt with his tenderness. He could not trust himself to speak, but his brow-wrinkles were deeper than when he was angry and he kept thumping me on the shoulders and back. There stood Sahadeva and Nakula, smiling; how beautiful they were. Perfection did not reside only in Indraloka. It was also here on the Gandhamadana mountain where they had come to await my arrival.
Once we had gazed our fill, and smiled our big tremulous smiles at each other, we all began to speak at the same moment. A seasoned traveller knows better than to begin at once upon his story. He knows that those who waited for him have their own adventures to recount—and by now my brothers had been all around Bharatavarsha on their way to meet me. Between them, they had visited each holy place and ashram, meeting with great souls on the way.
“We acquired so much merit,” said Bheema.
When they had all finished their stories they were ready to hear mine, and above all Eldest wanted me to demonstrate the celestial weapons. How fine it was going to be, after the five years of our separation, to celebrate with a demonstration of my heavenly weapons. So I went to take my bath of purification, thinking of the order in which I would show the weapons and how I would heft the Vajra and send my arrows from one end of the world to the other. I heard Dhaumya’s voice rising in a hymn and felt a stab of doubt. But it was Eldest who wanted the demonstration. I could not disappoint him.
Where I stood I felt the earth pressing into the soles of my feet, immobilizing me. Dhaumya and the Brahmins could no longer chant the Vedas. The sacred fire went out.
In the silence a voice spoke to me, “These weapons are to be used only against evil. They are capable of destroying the world.”
That was all. It was enough. With reverence I put away the shining weapons till the time should come for them to be used and I gave myself up to the joy of waiting once more with Draupadi and my brothers for the rains.
With the weapons won, we began to feel the approach of war. Soon we would have to spend a year incognito in some town. Duryodhana was counting on tracing us and keeping our kingdom. We decided to live what remained of this year in the forest in as peaceful a manner as possible. But I knew that I would not have spent five years away from my brothers and wife learning how to fight like a god if there was to be no war.
We were in our old retreat in the Dwaitavana forest when the monsoons came. They were particularly heavy and the Saraswati river swelled with fast-moving water. But this time there was nothing of the despondency which had reigned before I left to seek the weapons. In Hastinapura and Indraprastha the monsoons come as a relief and a distraction, but when rains come in the forest there is nothing else. The whole world is filled with thundering and drumming. When the rain is particularly heavy the river rushes past, threatening you with its power to sweep all away and you with it. Rain pelts out of a quiet sky, or elephant-coloured clouds suddenly rip open. When the rain stops, there is the sound of water dripping from the trees bounded by silence. All the grasses and flowers spring back, and the birds begin singing. The monsoon renews the world and, in this twelfth year, we ourselves emerged renewed from the forest.
Immediately afterwards we had word that Krishna was coming to the Kamyaka forest with Satyabhama to meet us.
22
The gods are gods, and to be embraced by Indra is to know heaven, but when Krishna and I embraced over and over again, my heart and every fibre of my being was touched, and I wondered, as I always did when we met, how I had lived without seeing him for so long. Then we all drank in the news of our sons. How proud I was when Krishna told me that Abhimanyu was as good a bowman as I was. The news that Draupadi’s sons, still with Dhrishtadyumna, were strong archers with each one resembling his father, made us laugh in amazement and then ponder in silence. Draupadi did not join us in our merriment. For her it was no laughing matter to have been deprived of her sons for all these years. Her proud face, set in lines of pain, revealed that there were some sufferings that she had remained silent about. I caught her eye for a fraction of a second, and she saw that I had understood. The moment sufficed.
Krishna’s long journey apart from again proving his love for us, also had a purpose.
“Why wait?”
“Why wait?” We felt our blood quicken.
Yudhishthira’s answer was predictable. “It is less than another two years,” he said. “Why break a promise?”
“Yes, but why wait two years? Our army is ready. Dhrishtadyumna, Shikhandin, and their other brothers are ready.”
I remembered Shikhandin from Draupadi’s swayamvara. They said he had been born a girl, that no one knew but his mother and father, and it had been given out that the child was a boy. It was said that he was a reincarnation of our great-aunt Amba who had plenty of reason to hate Greatfather Bheeshma and that she had sworn, even as she immolated herself, to return in another birth to kill Greatfather. In any case, Shikhandin had gone into the forest and suffered a change of sex. He was now one of Panchala’s great archers. Krishna reminded us of Shikhandin’s vow, but the thought of anyone killing Greatfather brought me no gladness. I saw myself stroking his white beard. The five Kekaya brothers too, Krishna told us, were champing at the bit. “If we attack now we have a better chance. The Kauravas are not preparing for war. They are confident of finding you in the thirteenth year. Yudhishthira, why do you want to make it easy for them to keep your kingdom?”
“I must keep my promise,” replied Yudhishthira. “My promise has made everyone suffer, I know. I beg you all now in the presence of Krishna, who is our conscience, to forgive me.” This was a long speech for Yudhishthira. In the forest his words became more sparse.
Krishna always attracted sages, storytellers, pundits, seekers and devotees. It was while he was with us that Markandeya, the sage and storyteller, came to the rain-washed forest. With Krishna and Markandeya in our midst we forgot our exile and the weariness went out of days. When Markandeya reached the end of his stories, Krishna urged me to tell of my battles against Indra’s enemies and how I had earned the pashupata from Lord Shankara Shiva.
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p; We welcomed all the Rishis who came to share the fire and to tell legends. We had lost the habit of scanning our guests for spying eyes. It did occur to me that I should not boast of the pashupata, but who can resist the wonder in the eyes of a good audience? As it turned out, it was only a tale-bearer of a silly old Brahmin who, wanting to gain entry into the court of Duryodhana, did not measure the consequence of recounting the story of the pashupata. The Brahmin must have wondered at the marvellous presents he received when he told of the rigours of our forest life.
It was Shakuni and Karna who thought of a way to humiliate us. We learnt that Karna had said to Duryodhana, “It must irk Arjuna to have his shining weapons and be unable to use them. He must long for glory and the sense of being in the thick of things. His itching skin must cry out for the silks and sweet perfumes of the court. No one to admire his beauty in the forest. Shall we go and admire him a little, Duryodhana? After all, to see an enemy in adversity is better than the birth of a first son.”
Uncle Dhritarashtra, having heard of our hardships from the same Brahmin, was in a repentant mood and went on, as he did every now and then, about his righteous and truthful and gentle nephews like gods in heaven, suffering undeservedly. So Shakuni and Karna cooked up a story for Duryodhana to take to his father: the time had come for them to go on a ghoshayatra, a cattle inspection, for the Kauravas had large herds on the edge of the Dwaitavana. They laughed and slapped each other’s hands in delight. A senior cowherd went to Uncle Dhritarashtra, saying that the warriors should be there to supervise the branding of the calves. Knowing our whereabouts, Uncle Dhritarashtra reluctantly gave the order. That was how Duryodhana arrived with the most extraordinary retinue including shops, pavilions, traders, minstrels, thousands of elephants, and horses and paraphernalia that would have sufficed to build a splendid new city. Duryodhana camped about four miles away from us and made a great show of having the cows branded. He had those that needed taming penned off, the unweaned calves were counted, and then the three-year olds were branded over. Their business complete, they were lords of the forest and asked the cowherds to display their rustic dancing and flute playing. In all fairness to Duryodhana, he was a good organizer and generously rewarded those who served and entertained him. It was the hunting season and we, who had grown close to the animals, saw with dismay how many elephants their arrows had killed. They set thousands of traps for the deer and, coming to the lake, asked the builders in the retinue to put up pleasure houses, but it so happened that Chitrasena, my dear friend and dancing teacher with his host of Gandharvas got there before them with their Apsaras and objected to the trespassing. So intent by now was Duryodhana on setting up his splendid pleasure houses in full view of our ashram that he sent his elite forces with a threatening message: Chitrasena must vacate the area. Chitrasena’s reply was that no one but a fool would treat the Gandharvas as though they were there to do his bidding unless anxious for a meeting with Lord Yama.
The Great Golden Sacrifice of the Mahabharata Page 27
