“A lotus bud?” I asked.
“No.” He laughed. “I am a warrior still and yet it is somewhat like this. It is tucked away inside but if you force it open you spoil the shape of it and its whole mystery.”
“What is it?”
“Love.”
We gazed at it for a while. Then carefully he slipped it back into the water.
For a lifetime I had been saying love, but Eldest had said Dharma. Now what he said to me with words and without words was that he cherished me and did not want to lose me, even if it was high Dharma for me to set out by myself. Yet he was the king, he was Eldest, if he insisted that I take the troops with me I must obey and must turn the army out. My own doubts fled, I knew that I must go alone. In his faltering he became my signpost.
“Eldest, we are still mourning the men that fell at Kurukshetra. Enough. If Krishna says that I should go alone what does it matter whether I come back or no? If he says I shall, I will. Yet if I did not, what would it matter? We have staked our lives on lesser things. What matters is the quality we bring to life. It is no longer war. Whatever happened then was justified and I was wrong to criticize your lie to Dronacharya. We had to win the war by every means to set our Dharmaraj upon the throne. But as soon as we had won it, you know what Krishna said when we had Kanika in tow, ‘No more killing.’ If we lose our Dharma now, it will make a mockery of the war we fought. This is the time to stake our all on Providence, and Krishna is our Providence. Do you not remember how he protected Draupadi from disrobement in the Sabha? Do you not remember how he saved us from the astra…? “Do not protect yourselves,” he said. Now let us not protect ourselves too much. If I am to return, a hundred enemy armies cannot stop me. Life is something we have never treasured above our Dharma and that is because you taught us how. Imagine how dreary life would be if we began to hide from Yama?” I felt disburdened, for the truth was that with all the tending of Uncle Dhritarashtra and Aunt Gandhari in their growing needs and infirmities, we were beginning to lose something that had never deserted us in forest exile and in war…a sense of living on a sword edge and behind the suffering savouring the keenness of existence. “Surely, Eldest, we have not come back to be householders.” He regarded me and pondered the situation. At last he said. “One epithet Krishna has failed to give you: Wanderer.”
What Greatfather said to Eldest we would never know in its entirety, but he instructed him in statecraft and how one should treat wives, and spoke to him of how shoes first came to be made. He spoke to him of banners and umbrellas, of horses, camels, elephants, and their various harnesses, and all detailed knowledge that you cannot but accumulate if you live long enough. Eldest heard from him the legends from the length and breadth of Bharatavarsha, and as though those were not incomprehensible enough, he threw some from the land of Cina into the mix, and some others that the flaxen-haired Yavanas brought to us. Eldest returned each day loaded with thoughts and stories though without zest for kingship. And without that, I sometimes thought, he might as well go to the forest and enjoy himself. There is nothing worse than seeing someone do what he has lost his taste for. I said to Krishna: “Can you not show him your Vishwarupa as you did to me? Can you not make him know the universe?”
To which Krishna replied in a way that raised my body hair. “What you saw, you saw…because you are Arjuna.” He looked at me with fierce tenderness. “The Lord cannot manifest at will. Just as a man needs gods to manifest, the Divine waits upon his need. Not anybody’s need. Do you not understand, Arjuna, it must be something that touches the Lord’s imagination? There are each moment crores of men in the most dire straits who call for him. Their need is as great as a drowning man’s for air, but what they ask for is not the Lord, it is only a surcease of pain. Your anguish was the direct cry from man to his Divine Companion.”
The day before the sun paused in the Northern Solstice almost at noon, Greatfather’s parting gift to Eldest and to us was the story of the King, the pigeon and the hawk. We did not hear it from Greatfather and I tell it as Eldest recounted it to us:
Long long ago a pigeon took refuge from a hawk upon the lap of King Vrishadarbha.
“What a lovely thing you are,” exclaimed the king, “the colour of a blue and newly budded lotus. Your eyes are pink as pomegranates. There is no need to tremble. I will guard you with my life and kingdom.” But the hawk argued that the pigeon was by right his own. He had pursued it through the sky and was now desperate from thirst and hunger.
“Your majesty,” he said, “your duty is to guard your subjects, not to interfere with hungry hawks. This pigeon is my rightful prey. Look at the marks on him made by my talons. You may have power over your subjects and your servants and all the creeping, crawling creatures of your kingdom. But birds belong to nobody. They are creatures of the sky and know no boundaries. It is not your Dharma to protect them, nor to deprive me.” The king held fast and so the hawk insisted that he feed his hunger. The king gave orders to kill a bull, a boar, a deer, a buffalo, or anything the hawk might choose as meat.
“But you shall not have the pigeon. I made a vow to protect all creatures who take refuge in me.”
“My meat is pigeon. But if you love this pigeon, feed me with the flesh from your own body equal to this bird’s weight.” The scales were brought and King Vrishadarbha, without a murmur, began to cut flesh from his body to cast into the golden pan. From the women’s quarters of the palace came loud lamentations. Courtiers and servants turned away to weep. Clouds obscured the sun and thunder shook the earth to honour King Vrishadarbha’s act. The king continued to cut flesh from arms and legs and thighs but could not make his pan dip. When nothing but his skeleton and heart and brain were left, he climbed into the pan himself.
The god of heaven came to see this deed. Celestial flowers showered down and a heavenly chariot ascended the king to heaven.
Satyaki said it for us: “Eldest, you are king Vrishadarbha.”
The sun was on its northern journey now. The time had come to bid Greatfather farewell. We set out on foot accompanied by priests with the garlands, silken cloths, perfumes, wood, and ghee prescribed for funeral pyres. Uncle Dhritarashtra and Aunt Gandhari were taken in a bullock cart, while Uncle Vidura and our mother kept pace beside us. The poets and the minstrels followed. Little streams of people joined in along the way and our procession eventually swelled into an ocean.
This was the last time we saw Greatfather in his body. The court ladies had come with us and drew their breaths on seeing him emaciated. His voice was clear and resonant: “It is true these arrows once tormented me. I had to master them. I spoke to each and every one and they have become my subjects. Now they obey me.” He turned his eyes to Krishna. “My Lord, permit me now to leave this body. My faithful servant waits and I must summon him.” Krishna lifted his hand in blessing as I had seen in my dream. We sat around Greatfather while he gathered his remaining life force and controlled his breathing. Beside me Eldest closed his eyes and I did the same. The twins looked like celestial steeds ready to carry him across. I too began to breathe with Greatfather and felt my life rise into my head. The priests were chanting. And as I looked, some wounds upon his chest closed up and healed. The life force in his head began to press against the vertex and, just as in my dream, I saw his body made of light, with hands joined high in salutation to the sun, pierce through the crown and shoot up through it. It paused to gaze upon us, then came to Krishna and made pranam. Shooting like a meteor, the figure left us and the light began to fade. With it came the release of Mother Earth from the weight of ancient Dharma.
The next day as in my dream, we helped Uncle Vidura to stack the bier. He and Eldest wrapped the body in silk and the sages of the forest scattered flowers on it. Uncle had Yuyutsu hold the royal white umbrella over Greatfather’s head. Bheema and I stood at either shoulder with chamaras. Nakula and Sahadeva stood ready with head coverings while Uncle Dhritarashtra and Eldest waved palm leaves above him. Priests raised their voices in the
Sama Veda hymns. Then the moment came for Uncle Dhritarashtra to set fire to the bier. Krishna guided his hand. We had all feared he might break down but when we helped him up, he stood with strength and dignity. All night the fire burned. And when dawn came, we went to fetch the ashes. The arrows that had served him as a bed still stood amongst fragments of bone. Some bones were white and bleached under the ashes, some charred and faintly smouldering. Bheema and I sprinkled what remained of the sacred water from Mother Ganga. Bheema, close beside me, wept like a child.
Greatfather had borne this burden for close to four generations, although he had not ruled. The world renewed itself after Greatfather Bheeshma’s death.
34
“Brihanalla,” said Uttaraa. She sometimes called me that when we were alone. “Why did everybody have to die? And if they had to, why do we make more children?” She looked so very much like a child herself against the big white pillows.
“You speak like that because you have not seen your child.”
“I thought Death was Greatfather’s servant and he would live forever.”
”What—on his bed of arrows?” Was it a childish fancy or was she feverish? I felt her forehead but it was cool. “You would not have wanted him to suffer.”
“I do not know; but after the war I felt that no one else would die, not for a long time at least. If it were not for you and Abhimanyu’s mother, I would not care to live.”
“Your father would not want to hear that, nor would your brother. You must be at least as brave as they were. Uttarakumara had become so brave that the enemy was terrified of him. When he charged towards them on the battlefield, half the warriors fled to save their lives while all the others tried to kill him. He was the first to die for us and he died a hero’s death. He went happily, while protecting Abhimanyu. He always said he owed me gurudakshina. Do not waste his life by saying things like this or I shall make you dance some complicated steps!”
She smiled and made me tell her once again of the time her brother drove my chariot and overcame his fear. “Where shall I begin?”
“Begin at the beginning,” she said, “when he boasted how he would kill our enemies.”
“That surely is the right place. It is always best to begin at the beginning,” I said and smiled above her head at Subhadra who stood inside the door. She warned me into silence by furrowing her eyebrows. Your brother said, “I am so brave and such a warrior as you have never seen, Brihanalla. It is a shame that they have left me at the gate to guard the women and the cattle. Of course without the cattle we would lose our riches. My father prized cattle above everything. In a way this is the most strategic place to be. But as you can imagine, staying behind bores me terribly. However, I will say this for my father: he is no coward. Usually he likes to know that I am by his side.” Uttaraa’s eyes began to twinkle and she put her hand to her mouth.
“What happened when Duryodhana and the Kauravas attacked us from the north?”
“When the cowherds brought the news everybody said to your youngest brother, “Here is your chance, Uttarakumara.” The prince was in the music room with me. You know how he could play the veena, to make Gandharvas stop in their heavenly tracks. He went on playing softly while he said: “What utter, utter misfortune that I have no charioteer to drive my horses. More than half the battle, as you know, is in the hands of a trusty and skillful charioteer. If I had that, I could kill all the Kauravas in half a moment. Ashwatthama himself, and Karna who they say is equal to Arjuna, would flee before me. Ladies of the Court, I would fight as Great God Indra fought the demon. But without a charioteer, as you well know, nothing is possible.” And here I hummed a tune to Uttaraa and mimed Uttarakumara plucking the veena strings with careless grace. Closing my eyes I said, “There was in this palace of the great and good Virata the sweetest princess in the world. Her father loved her even more than he did his cattle or his chess. Her brothers loved her above everything.” Here Uttaraa began to weep. I thought it good for her to do so, the pain would come out with the tears. “And I do mean that her brothers loved her above everything, so did her dancing master, I mean mistress. Well, let us say dancing teacher.” She gave a little spurt of laughter through her tears. “Queen Draupadi went to this little princess and said to her: ‘Princess, you may believe this, and then again you may not, but Brihanalla is the most skillful charioteer who often charioteered the great Arjuna.’ The little princess who was valiant as a lioness and believed anything good spoken of her teacher, rushed to the prince, who nearly fainted. Pulling himself together, he protested: ‘Would you insult me? A woman charioteer for me? For Uttarakumara?’”
“She pleaded Brihanalla’s cause. Nobody else could have persuaded him but this Princess. And so Brihanalla entered with shy and hesitating steps. Uttarakumara looked up at her.
“Tell me, my good woman, is this some joke? I never saw a charioteer that looked like you. Have you held a whip and do you even know the feel of horses’ reins?”
“Oh yes, my Lord,” said Brihanalla, folding her hands and bowing. Well, there they were, the prince and Brihanalla looking at each other, not knowing what to say. The princess brought some armour for her dancing teacher. He placed it on the floor and tried to step into it while everybody laughed, but not the princess. He tried to wear it like a jacket and everybody laughed again. But not the princess. She told her brother to help his charioteer. “This charioteer has never worn armour,” said the princess and hastily pushed Brihanalla into it.
“Was he really so frightened? My poor brother,” asked Uttaraa, speaking up on cue.
“Never was there a prince so frightened as your brother. But then you see, he taught me something: someone who is very frightened has within him, exactly the amount of courage needed to overcome his fear. Yes, he was the most terrified boy in the whole world.” I waited for my words to sink in. “You understand, my Little Princess?”
She nodded and said, “He became the bravest.”
“The very bravest.” I became grave. “That is why he was the first to die. He and Abhimanyu were the bravest, your husband and your brother. You are a Kshatriya Queen. That is why you must never lose hold of your courage and your dignity.” Her fingers picked at the quilted cover.
“It is difficult to say this to a warrior who has never known what fear is, but I am frightened. Sometimes terror seizes me. I dream of death, sometimes of my unborn child’s death, and at times of my own.” I looked up at Subhadra in alarm. She lifted a reassuring palm and her eyes had the serenity of Krishna’s. They allowed me to go on… “You know what Uncle Krishna said to me before the battle? I had never spoken of my first day in the chariot before the war. Greatfather had once said to me, ‘Confess in front of good men. Guilt multiplies in secret.” I looked up at Subhadra as I spoke.
“Uncle Krishna said to me before the battle the same words I said to Uttarakumara when I drove his chariot: “You are behaving like a coward. Get up and fight.” Her big round eyes grew rounder in disbelief. “My Little Princess, you can believe me. My throat was dry. I could not hold Gandiva. My limbs were trembling. I had collapsed upon the tiger skins.” There was a sharp intake of breath from Uttaraa beside me, but I was looking at Subhadra. Her features did not move, only her eyes looked on with glowing love. “So Krishna said to me, ‘You are a coward, Arjuna. Get up and fight’.”
She scanned my face, “You are saying that to comfort me.” “Yes, I am saying it to comfort you, my Little Princess. But it is true.”
“What happened?”
“What happens when a coward finds the hero in himself? His cowardice turns inside out, his blood reverses. Well, when a hero cannot touch his courage, his heroism turns inside out and his confusion is much more gripping than anybody else’s.”
“What then?” she said. I looked above her head at Subhadra, standing at a distance.
“I asked Uncle Krishna to drive me to a place between the armies where I could see the enemy. I saw Greatfather and Dronacharya and Ashwattham
a, and that horrified me. It does not matter what it is that terrifies us. But it was terror with its beaded forehead and a tongue that stuck to my mouth’s roof, and trembling hands that had lost their skill. Gandiva lay abandoned at my feet. Had anybody taken it I could not have protested.” Her mouth opened wide. “Krishna was there to save me.”
After a while she put both hands up to her mouth and whispered, “How?”
“He frightened me even more. I’ll tell you how tomorrow as every storyteller knows or you may lose your audience.”
“No, Brihanalla! No story ever did me so much good. It was always like that in Virata whether you sang or played or told me stories. Now you are all that remains to me of my father’s kingdom.”
I wanted to remind her of her child, conceived in Virata. Everybody knows that nothing fattens curses like one’s belief in them. But was it right to feed Uttaraa’s hopes? I glanced at Subhadra by the door. She always knew my questions. She nodded encouragement.
“Little Princess,” I said, “you bear a child. He has the Vrishni blood, Krishna’s blood through Krishna’s aunt Kunti. Mother Kunti is Abhimanyu’s greatmother and through Abhimanyu’s mother who is Krishna’s sister, and through me who is Krishna’s cousin. The destiny of this child is to be emperor one day. You bear the world within your womb, Uttaraa.” Her childlike face became a woman’s as she listened and she rested her chin upon her shoulder. I used her name only in solemn moments and she was listening with her whole being. I spoke also to the unborn child to make him want to live. I stopped myself from saying, “If your son lives.” I said: “When your son reigns, Abhimanyu and Uttarakumara and your brothers and your father will have been the libation in the sacrifice.” I paused to see if this made sense to her. Her large eyes were enormous in her small face. A single tear glistened from her lashes. But she was Aryan through and through and understood. I felt the child’s life stirring and a power stirred in me. I let it work in silence. Urvashi’s curse had been a blessing and done more than protect me in the thirteenth year. I could no longer see the world with but a Ksatriya warrior’s eye. I had begun to learn how women felt and thought. I spoke to Abhimanyu’s wife, not only as her father, but as a voice without gender.
The Great Golden Sacrifice of the Mahabharata Page 65
