Satyaki stroked the horses with soft hands, but his words were: “Krishna, do you not remember your anger in the forest when we saw our cousins dressed in rags and deerskin? Do you not remember your promise to Draupadi? My feelings will be appeased by Duryodhana’s death and nothing else.”
Draupadi wept. She still felt Duhshasana’s hand in her hair.
And I? The words of Sahadeva and Satyaki quickened my blood, but if we could have peace with honour I wanted peace.
And this was Krishna’s final promise to Draupadi: “If through me, your ambassador, they honour you, the Pandavas, and grant what we demand, they will escape. Otherwise they will be annihilated. The Kshatriya race will be annihilated.”
Krishna set off with Satyaki. No sooner was he out of sight than rain fell out of the clear sky and thunder like kettledrums rolled incessantly. Sahadeva said that these omens meant the death of the Kurus, but made no mention of the many on our side who would die with them.
Hearing of the approach of Krishna as our ambassador, Uncle Dhritarashtra eagerly instructed Duryodhana to prepare the most sumptuous pavilions for the entertainment of Krishna and his retinue. He himself selected thrones by passing his hand over the gem-encrusted seats. Uncle Vidura sent reports of Dhritarashtra’s pathetic plans to bribe Krishna with gifts such as he had never offered anyone, to honour him with a gem of an extraordinary serene light that shone by night and with great mansions, elephants, and many golden chariots drawn by Bablika horses.
Uncle Vidura was merciless: “All that is required, Dhritarashtra, is five cities for the Pandavas, which would be cheaper and simpler. Do you really think that by wealth, flattery, and worship you can win Krishna away from Arjuna? Unless I am greatly mistaken, Krishna will accept nothing from you but the usual courtesies: your inquiries regarding the welfare of himself and those dear to him. Out of compassion, he might perhaps accept a vessel of water and the washing of his feet.”
Duryodhana replied that he had no intention of sharing his prosperity with us and that he planned to take Krishna prisoner and even asked Greatfather to advise him on how best to do it. I can still hear the stunned silence and see Uncle Dhritarashtra rolling his eyes this way and that in anguish. Greatfather walked out. Uncle Dhritarashtra protested that the Kauravas had no quarrel with Krishna and that he was only an ambassador.
Greatfather, our Acharyas, Ashwatthama, and all the sons of Uncle Dhritarashtra save Duryodhana, and citizens by the thousands came out to receive Krishna. Surrounded by them all, he entered the city which was hung with flowers and jewels. The crowds were so dense that Krishna and his retinue made slow progress; and balconies were so packed with highborn ladies leaning down through flowers that it seemed as though the mansions would topple. People had come from all over Bharatavarsha and the houses were full of not only devotees but of ministers and spies sent to report on the fate of the country.
When Krishna entered Uncle Dhritarashtra’s hall the old king and all his retinue stood up. Greatfather and Ashwatthama and the Acharyas and Somadatta and Bablika remained standing. Krishna observed all the rites and worshipped Greatfather, Uncle Dhritarashtra, and the other kings in order of age. Then Uncle Dhritarashtra’s priests offered Krishna the traditional cow, honey, curds, and water, after which Krishna remained, laughing and jesting with the Kurus and lightened the sinister situation as only he could. Messengers on Sindhu horses brought us this news and carried it to all other kingdoms. Afterwards, Krishna refused Uncle Dhritarashtra’s hospitality. He went to Uncle Vidura’s house where our mother awaited news of us.
As ambassador, Krishna still had to pay a courtesy visit to Duryodhana. In Virata’s capital of Upaplavya we were remorseful. I dared not look into Eldest’s eyes lest he read my fears. But what were my fears? Krishna was no Uncle Shalya to be seduced and tricked into changing sides. But the dice game was a lifelong reminder of the mad treachery of which Duryodhana was capable and now there was more, much much more at stake. Some said that Duryodhana had matured and become reasonable during our exile. Yet I could not believe that reason would prevail where Bheema or any of the Pandava brothers were concerned, and then there was mad dog of a brother of his, Duhshasana, to prompt him, to say nothing of Karna. Krishna must have read our hearts. He sent us a second messenger hard on the heels of the first. Krishna had refused to eat at Duryodhana’s palace, saying that envoys should accept food only after the success of their mission. He had told Duryodhana that his soul was one with the Pandavas and that he could not eat the salt of somebody who hated us. It was as though Krishna had put his arms around me. But my fears on Krishna’s account remained.
The next day Krishna entered the court arm in arm with Satyaki and Uncle Vidura. As soon as he came into the hall Ashwatthama, Greatfather, and the Acharyas rose to their feet and Uncle Dhritarashtra and all the monarchs stood up in his honour. My heart nearly burst with pride and love when we were told that after our envoy took his seat nobody could utter a word and the whole assembly sat gazing at him. Krishna said his mission was peace, but he did not make it easy for the Kauravas.
We posted men along the road and before the gates of the city to guide messengers straight to us. We learnt that Satyaki and Krishna had talked with my mother and Uncle Vidura until the early hours of the morning. The message from my mother was that she did not want peace. Her words were that death would shock her less than that Draupadi had been dragged into the Sabha. Draupadi wept quietly when she heard these words, and as I watched the tears flow and her eyes grew soft and luminous, I felt great shame, for if all of us had raged and vowed revenge it was because our queen had been insulted. Only our mother had known what it was to be Draupadi dragged before the Sabha by her hair, in her period. She knew and Draupadi and Krishna knew that we should have killed Duryodhana and Duhshasana. I understood at last that it was not Duhshasana’s blood Draupadi wanted as much as this. She had raved and sobbed because not for a moment had any of us understood. Our mother had known instinctively, and now for a moment so did I, and tears welled up in me. Draupadi looked up.
I had thought that I loved Draupadi from the first moment I had seen her when, sitting in the Brahmins’ gallery, I saw the intelligence in her proud and glowing eyes. Draupadi had loved me even before she hung the garland round my neck. But it was at this moment, as our eyes met, with the messenger still rattling off my mother’s exhortations to Yudhishthira, that I knew that it was not so much blood she wanted as an understanding of the heart, such as my unshed tears now offered. She was appeased and so was I. It had taken thirteen years to know how Draupadi wanted to be loved and how I wanted to love her. What a strange thing marriage is. You can lie with your wife as close as a sword in a velvet sheath, your heart pounding with love, and not know at all what love or marriage is. And one day, in the time it takes to exchange a glance halfway across a hall in the midst of dozens of people, a marriage is made and something is sealed. The messenger had finished: my mother wanted us to strike.
We learnt that Uncle Vidura had told Krishna he was a fool to have come on such a mission, that Duryodhana and Karna had already made up their minds not to cede an atom of their kingdom. It was unwise of Krishna to try to deal with such childishly reckless people. The messenger was silent from exhaustion and the servants were made to ply him with honeyed drinks. My heart fluttered with anxiety like a bird and Draupadi too leaned forward. We looked at each other, sharing now our dread lest anything happen to Krishna. Servants were massaging the messenger’s feet.
I went to sit beside the man and took his hand.
“Did Uncle Vidura tell Krishna Vasudeva to come back here to us?” I prompted gently so that the messenger opened his eyes and nodded. What power love gives a man. I felt it go out from me and when the man spoke some strength had entered his voice again.
“Krishna Vasudeva said, ‘The earth awaits destruction, Vidura. It is the highest Dharma to free her from such a noose. Even if we fail, the effort must be made.’” As always, it moved me to the dep
ths of my being when Krishna spoke of the earth as though she were his to protect. We were all, even Yudhishthira, squabbling about five towns. Krishna, even when thinking of us, had the whole earth in mind.
“What else?”
“Vidura and Satyaki told me to ride swiftly. This morning Uncle Vidura was to accompany your cousin Krishna Vasudeva to the sabha. The Kurus love him, Arjuna. As I rode here along the immaculately swept main road, musicians were already playing on cymbals and veenas along the road. It was lined with thousands of people waiting to catch a glimpse of him. By the time Daruka drives him and Satyaki and your uncle out, the road will be swarming with those who wish to offer homage. No harm will come to him.”
The next messenger was brought in half-fainting and weeping, for his horse had dropped dead from exhaustion and he had had to walk. Duryodhana and Shakuni and Karna and Duhshasana were planning to capture Krishna. They would stop at nothing. They would kill him. How had we let Krishna out of our sight? Why had Uncle Vidura not sent for us the moment Krishna arrived? We had sent an embassy to a pack of wild dogs. And it was Krishna we had sent.
Before Bheema’s angry roar had subsided we were all shouting orders and running for our weapons. Within moments we were in our chariots, but at the gates of the city we saw coming towards us the gleaming white chariot drawn by the high-stepping Saibya, Sugreeva, Meghapushpa, and Balahaka. It was Daruka that held the reins. For a moment I feared he brought us Krishna’s body, but the eagle banner fluttered high on its mast and the golden pennants slapped the wind and behind Daruka sat Krishna and Satyaki. I ran out and flung myself at him like a madman, and clasping his feet, I buried my head in them, weeping.
“What happened? We were told they would kill you. What happened?”
Krishna smiled and said, “What happened, Satyaki?” But as Satyaki was about to speak, Krishna put his finger to his lips.
For a whole day Duryodhana had turned the Sabha into a madhouse. Here is the story as Satyaki told it.
It was Duryodhana and Shakuni who had come to escort Krishna and Satyaki, and the streets had indeed been lined with enthusiastic crowds. The enthusiasm was, of course, for Krishna, which was not lost on his cousin, so that Duryodhana arrived at the Sabha in a state of barely concealed frustration and rage.
That day in the Sabha, as narrated to me by Satyaki, made a deep impression in my mind, much like the day of the dice game. This time it was Krishna Duryodhana had insulted, and again the elders were powerless against Shakuni, Duryodhana, Karna, and Duhshasana. Krishna had saved himself, of course, but that did not change the fact that if we did not declare war, the world would remain in the hands of madmen. I saw now what Krishna must have known long ago when, as a lad, he had killed his uncle Kamsa. The world must be rid of her tyrants.
When Krishna and his followers stepped over the threshold of the Sabha, the air reverberated with the music of conches and cymbals. Krishna, holding Uncle Vidura by the right hand and Satyaki with the other, walked slowly towards Uncle Dhritarashtra. Kritavarman, Krishna’s kinsman, followed at a distance. Uncle Dhritarashtra stood up and Greatfather, Dronacharya, and Ashwatthama were on their feet with folded hands. All the kings stood up with respectfully folded hands. Everyone looked at Krishna with intense expectation. Krishna sat beside Uncle Vidura in the middle of the Sabha. On his left sat Kritavarman. Krishna remained absorbed in thought. For a long time no one spoke. At last, with sweet gravity, he addressed Uncle Dhritarashtra.
“I have come because it still seems to me that the shedding of the blood of the Kauravas and the Pandavas can be avoided. Uncle Dhritarashtra, you know all that I am about to say, yet I must say it. Your dynasty is old and noble and you bear the responsibility for your sons now acting in a way that violates Dharma completely. If they are not checked the Kauravas will be struck down. Our world will be annihilated. It all depends on you, and on me. It is for you to reason with your sons. I will answer for the Pandavas.”
There was a long silence.
“In peace, the Pandavas are your allies. Think. You already have Greatfather, Dronacharya, and Ashwatthama. You have Karna, Vikarna, Somadatta, and Bablika. If you have the five Pandavas and their sons and Satyaki and Drupada and his sons, and Virata and his sons as well, who would dare stand against the Kauravas and Pandavas united? You hold the whole earth in your hand for all time. The kingdom of Panchala will be with you. None will be superior to you. None will be equal to you. None will dare disturb your peace. There is peace, if you want it, surrounded by your sons and grandsons, acclaimed by all for your wisdom, and regarded with love and gratitude by the Pandavas.”
Krishna waited.
“Or do you want war?”
Here Krishna’s voice rang out. Still everyone sat transfixed.
“If so, every one of these kings will die.”
There was silence and Uncle Dhritarashtra sat with his head sunk on his chest.
“Save the world, King Dhritarashtra. You once treated your brother’s children with love when he died. You brought them up with your own children. They now send you their greetings and this message, ‘We have kept our word and spent thirteen years in exile. The time has come, Uncle, for you to keep your word as we trust that you will.’ Now I, Krishna, say to you: Uncle Dhritarashtra, let the Pandavas fight for you and protect you.”
Uncle Dhritarashtra continued sitting with his head sunk as though listening to the echoes of Krishna’s voice, putting off the moment when he would have to make the admission which shamed him.
“Krishna!” he said. “Krishna!” he called as though for help and looked blindly around the assembly. “Speak to him. Speak to my foolish son,” he pleaded. “I have no control over him. He turns away from my words. He ignores his uncle Vidura’s wisdom and that of Greatfather’s. I know he is foolish. My son, my firstborn, my Duryodhana, he is foolish. He does not listen.” Uncle Dhritarashtra put out his sinewy hands for Duryodhana. “My son Duryodhana, listen to this Lord of the Vrishnis; listen to Krishna, I beg you, my son.”
Duryodhana sat in sulky silence and turned his head away to look at Karna.
“Duryodhana,” said Krishna, “your father asks me to speak to you.”
He spoke gently as though to a child. Perhaps he remembered that sometimes when as a small boy Duryodhana had stubbornly held out in disobedience he had, when spoken to gently, burst into tears, and ceded. “You are of a wise and noble family. The responsibility lies with you. Why not act in such a way as to benefit your brothers and all those who depend on you? It will please your father and Greatfather, your uncles, your Acharyas, and Ashwatthama. Show yourself humble and humane and wise. Few men are given a chance to save the world.”
Krishna waited. But so did Duryodhana, and Krishna pretended to believe that Duryodhana was weighing his words.
“He who hesitates and fails to seize good advice will be stricken with remorse tomorrow. He who acts on it without thinking finds good fortune in his hands. Once you are friends with the Pandavas again, all good fortune will be yours. What more can I say, Duryodhana.”
“Nothing,” said Duryodhana, rudely, his face still averted. “Say nothing.”
At last Greatfather spoke. “Duryodhana, my child, Krishna speaks as your friend. If you make yourself responsible for wholesale slaughter, what chance of joy and prosperity have you? If in your father’s lifetime you cause this war you destroy his happiness, and you and your sons and your brothers and your friends will perish because of your obstinacy.”
Duryodhana was now sighing impatiently over and over again.
Greatfather desisted and Dronacharya took over. “When the time comes for war those who advise you so ill now may leave the fighting to others. Arjuna and Krishna are invincible together.” Duryodhana gripped the arms of his chair at the mention of my name. “Arjuna is stronger than any other warrior.” Duryodhana began shaking with rage and Uncle Vidura made a sign to Dronacharya to stop.
It looked as though Uncle Vidura might try to coax his nep
hew, but suddenly he burst out: “Duryodhana, I do not care what happens to you, but I do care for your father. My brother has been a fond and foolish father to you, yet I care for him. He has acted out of misguided love. And I care for that very fine queen whose heart you are breaking, your mother. Picture them desolate and unprotected, their sons and courtiers dead. See them like wretched beggars wondering at the fate that was theirs to produce a son who wiped out their race.”
Uncle Dhritarashtra was weeping. He pleaded amidst sobs that Duryodhana should go with Krishna to meet Eldest so that a conference could be held for the good of the whole of Bharatavarsha. “With the help and wisdom of Krishna, go. Go to Upaplavya and come to an agreement for peace. Just this once, Duryodhana, do not disobey me.”
“Come,” said Greatfather, “let there be peace, Duryodhana. Unless you are attacked, extend your hand to Yudhishthira. Know the pleasure of having his arm affectionately round your shoulders once more. Let Bheema embrace you in his bear hug. Once more, take the perfume from the heads of Arjuna and the twins. Let there be tears of joy and not of death. It is for you to grant all these blessings.”
Duryodhana turned to Krishna.
“Cousin,” he said, “why always pick on me? You, Uncle Vidura, Greatfather, Ashwatthama, and the Acharyas always pick on me. How is it that it is always my fault? I have closely examined my conscience and I cannot see it that way. The Pandavas gambled and lost. Is that wrong of me or of them? I wonder why nobody remembers that at that time I ordered the wealth of the Pandavas to be returned to them. You were not there, Krishna. I wonder why nobody remembers that they insisted on playing again, lost again, and were consequently exiled. Does that merit that they seek our deaths? I will not submit to all this, so there is no use in trying to frighten me. Does anybody believe that the Pandavas can defeat Karna, Greatfather, and the Acharyas? I am a Kshatriya and consider it glorious to achieve heaven by a warrior’s death. Would you think better of me for surrendering the moment I was threatened? It is better to break than to bow. I bow for the sake of Dharma and to Brahmins only. You have all taught me that the Dharma of a Kshatriya is never to submit, that it is to keep struggling.”
The Great Golden Sacrifice of the Mahabharata Page 36
