The Great Golden Sacrifice of the Mahabharata

by Maggi Lidchi Grassi

  This sacrifice is the navel of the world.

  “All power to our life through sacrifice!

  All power to our lungs through sacrifice!

  All power to our eyes through sacrifice!

  All power to our ears through sacrifice!

  All power to our backs through sacrifice!

  All power to Sacrifice through sacrifice!

  14

  The day that he received Eldest’s consent, Uncle Dhritarashtra set about his works of merit. With the help of Aunt Gandhari and our mother he chose projects of charity. Tanks were to be constructed, an act which the Brahmins confirmed, bestows great punya. The poor, the lame, and especially the sightless were to receive gifts to ease their burdens, and large pavilions from which food was distributed were set up for the needy. Many sacred groves were to be planted. He chose the day of the full moon of Kartika to distribute generously to the Brahmins. He became preoccupied with how to reward the best of them for, as he said to Eldest, the advancement of his sons in heaven depended upon the correct distribution of all his wealth. Eldest sought to assist him in his every concern but also begged him to reconsider his departure.

  I heard him answer in broken tones,“Yudhishthira, I know that I have wronged you. No one was as deserving as you. The sins are mine. I must go into the forest to expiate them, if expiation is indeed possible for sins of such a magnitude as mine. If I had reined in Duryodhana and Duhshasana as one reins in wild horses, the world would not have been destroyed. I know, Yudhishthira. Do not think I do not know. I let myself be guided by such as Kanika. I know now that evil starts with little things. You love your sons and that is natural, and then you love your own sons better than your brother’s and people say that is natural, and your heart begins to pain a little if your brother’s sons are loved more by others. Then your heart is pierced when your child comes to you in tears, so you tell a little lie to console him. And next time you say to him, ‘Do not be upset. You are the king. One day no one will dare to taunt you.’ So a little lie and a little cheating lead to greater lies and greater cheating. Life is like a great cauldron. Each lie and each bad action that fall into it, raise the level till the pot is full and overflowing. My son’s life became a pot of evil for I never checked him, and so his sin is mine. He offered sacrifices, yes, but did not know the true meaning of sacrifice. They were offered with pride and ambition but without the right intention, without Dharma. Now he can never make amends. Only I can do something according to the shastras.” He turned his sightless eyes towards the ceiling as though in desperate search of something. “This is what it is to live in hell. There is no greater hell.”

  He fell silent, for some moments, with his chin upon his breast and then continued. “I have never told you the things your father did for me. When we were children and I wept because I could not learn to ride or swim, it was he who took me out in secret and taught me. When he went into the forest, it was he who made my younger brother promise to sustain me. He took your Uncle Vidura’s hand and placed it on his head and made him swear to give me full allegiance. He took the same oath from Sanjaya. They have observed that vow. Would that they had not!” Tears streaked his cheek and suddenly he banged both fists upon his chair and raised his head like a dog about to howl. “Would that lightning had struck me and split my rotten heart in two before I did what I have done to Pandu’s children. How shall I meet him? What shall I say to him? How shall I hide my face? Oh, what a thing is man when he falls from the path of Dharma!”

  Throughout the preparations for the last giving of gifts, Uncle Dhritarashtra was unable to contain his grief. In a moment of calm one day he said,“You see, if my first-born had been alive he would have shown his gratitude to Jayadratha. In order to keep Jayadratha from running from Arjuna, he had taken an oath to protect him and save his life before Arjuna killed him. Duryodhana could not keep his promise and that is a great sin.”

  In the name of Jayadratha Eldest agreed to give whole villages away to Brahmins. We said nothing of it to Bheema, but Jayadratha’s name would have to be publicly declared when the time came, so perhaps it was just as well that he found out before the day of gift-giving. There was no restraining Bheema.

  He stormed into the private council chamber and slapped his armpits at Eldest. In the strange silence that followed, I went and hooked my arm into Bheema’s and tried to draw him away but he shook me off as though I were a leaf. I came back and whispered Dronacharya’s mantra in Bheema’s ear. He stopped shouting in the middle of a word like a toy whose mechanism has broken down. I had uttered the mantra meant to stop men who are deranged. Dazed, he let himself be led off and I sat him down beside a lotus pool. I did not know whether to talk to him or even what to say until a formation of geese flew above us, their necks and legs outstretched in the wind.

  “Look at those birds up there,” I said. They were moving into clouds. “Look how quickly they pass over. Do you not see that you torture Eldest for nothing? Today it is Uncle Dhritarashtra leaving for the forest. Tomorrow, as quickly as a flight of geese it will be our time. What is the use of fretting? We have fought our wars, we have won and lost, and won again our kingdoms. Our mother too will be leaving us. Let her go in peace.” Whether it was the mantra or my words, Bheema sat in silence. His brow was furrowed, but in thought and not in anger. He gazed at where the geese had been. “Today the world is ours,” I went on. “What does it matter if villages and gold are given in the name of Jayadratha? We have no enemies that can harm us, outside of our ourselves.” As a younger brother does not give his elders counsel, I said no more.

  “No enemies outside of ourselves,” he echoed slowly. “I know that is true. I used to tease Duryodhana. Do you know, Arjuna, that inside I think I knew that it would lead to killing? But still I could not stop myself. What is it that makes us act against what we know? Even now, with all that I remember of the war and our exile. With my servant plucking grey hair out of my head I think, if we were small again, I would do the same things. We are as we were made.” His gaze settled on my face. There was a quiet bewilderment in it. “But you are right, Arjuna, and I shall trouble them no more. I shall apologize.”

  There was a hush as we walked into the room again. Bheema had a lion’s walk that he could do nothing to change, but when he put his head on Uncle Dhritarashtra’s feet, he was as mild as a tame deer. When Uncle Vidura whispered in his elder brother’s ear, the old blind king leaned down to raise Bheema, who put his head on Uncle’s lap to be stroked. He went next to Aunt Gandhari. Then without a word, to Eldest and our mother. At last he let Uncle Vidura embrace him.

  Bheema kept his word. He no longer complained about the expenditure. He even joined the planning for the last gift-giving.

  Our mother would be leaving for the forest. What did the likes of her and Uncle Vidura have to atone for? Since childhood she had bravely faced pain and served an ill-tempered sage, only to find herself in the predicament feared by all maidens. Yet what we feel we must expiate is, as often as not, quite unlike what others might see as our sin. Ashwatthama thought his sin was that he had asked for milk, and no matter who explained to me that Dronacharya would have had Ekalavya’s thumb no matter what, I knew what had been in my heart. Now just when we could have served our mother with due honour, we must resign ourselves to losing her.

  It was the last public occasion for the old blind king, and with so many standing to benefit from it and so many others simply wishing to see him, the thrones were taken out into the public square. People had only heard in stories of kings who left their thrones to go into the forest. For generations it had not happened in our Vamsha, except for my father who had slipped away as a young man. Only our widowed queen grandmothers had gone to the forest.

  The people were in awe, and so they talked and jostled less than they normally would have done. They sighed when my mother was handed down from her chariot, and when she turned to help Aunt Gandhari who knew exactly where to place her hand; it rested on my mother’s
shoulders so securely that I thought it must have worn a hollow there. They watched while Uncle Dhritarashtra was helped from his chariot by Uncle Vidura, his hand then placed upon Aunt’s shoulder. They then ascended the royal platform which faced the sacred fire. Eldest followed them and then came Draupadi. Then Bheema, myself, Nakula, and Sahadeva. A priest came from the palace carrying before him a long-handled ladle in which curled the palace’s sacred fire.

  In the centre was a large glittering mound of gold and gems. To one side were tethered kine, gifts to Brahmins who have little use for horses. It would have been impossible to dedicate each gift separately with mantras and sprinkle each with water. So the great heap was circumambulated and sprinkled, while the mantras rose upon the air. The offering bearers kept coming with loads upon their heads.

  The ceremony took all day and when the sun went down, we were still at it. The food-giving went on for ten days more. Immediately after that Uncle Dhritarashtra announced the day and hour of their departure. Eldest dropped at his feet and begged him to consider what would be our desolate situation, deprived of all our elders. Some of us were not entirely sure that Uncle Dhritarashtra would not be dissuaded, but as the moon waxed in the month of Kartika, deer skins and clothes of bark were brought to the palace for Sanjaya and Uncle Vidura, as well as the three royal personages. I knew then that they would not be held back, and while we mourned as though they were about to leave their bodies, a part of us exulted. For in their casting off of duties and obligations I had a foretaste of my own future freedom, a thing I could explain to Subhadra and to no one else. But when I said to her that we too would leave it all behind one day, she said nothing but closed her eyes and gave her gentlest smile. In truth I only half believed that I would end my days in the forest. The idea of frequent visits to Krishna, once Parikshita was securely on the throne, was much more appealing to me. We would visit Indraprastha again, this time with Subhadra I told myself, yet only half believed it.

  15

  Within the shadows of the palace entry hall, we saw figures moving in a ritual of departure. In front of us was a fire pit in which fire kindled from the palace homa already burned. I looked upon its leaping flames as though from another shore. A figure clad in skins approached the door. It was my mother. Behind her, hand upon her shoulder, was our aunt and then between Sanjaya and Uncle Vidura came our uncle. It was the first time that I had seen our Uncle Dhritarashtra’s brow without a diadem, and its absence both lessened and made him seem greater. The brow was noble, but only made the chin look weaker by contrast.

  He paused upon the threshold to offer prayers. Deer skin over one shoulder, he could have been a hunter frail and worn with age. Then slowly they all came down the steps. I saw then that in the forest, Uncle Vidura would be king. When kings are stripped of rank and riches, merit and virtue take their place. Already you could see it. Uncle deferred to him. He posed to him a question or a suggestion. Uncle Vidura shook his head. His lips moved in a ‘No’.

  Eldest stood beside me, weeping quietly. He was once again losing a father in Uncle Vidura. Sahadeva, to my left, could not stifle his sobs. He made to move towards our mother. I had to put my hand upon his arm. Bheema was crying like a little boy, with his knuckles in his eyes. I had determined to be calm, but their emotions engulfed me and I felt tears well up. Perhaps it was not so much they in particular, as man’s condition, that moved me. I loved them all, but having known the love of Krishna I understood as I never had before the truth of what Krishna had said. These men and women, who had been kings and queens, now moved towards their last days which could not be far off. Yet there would never be a time when they were not.Though there were tears in my eyes, I felt as if Krishna stood beside me smiling.

  They had now reached the lowest step. Sanjaya and Uncle Vidura supported Uncle Dhritarashtra who stumbled, whether from weakness— for he had been fasting—or from grief, we could not know. They stopped now. Then they all turned to look back towards the palace he had lived in all his life, but never seen. Even the priests wept as they pressed into his hands the rice with which he was to bless his home. Guided by Sanjaya he cast the rice towards the entrance. My mother helped Aunt Gandhari do the same. Then we all took handfuls of rice and blessed their undertaking. Suddenly the pattering of rice ended and Uncle Dhritarashtra knelt before the threshold alone. There was a great wailing from the servants above which the mantras tried to rise, but even the voices of the priests were broken. We could hear the murmur of a crowd that had been gathering at the palace gates. When these were opened, the crowd surged forward and servants and palace guards had to form a chain of arms to restrain them. My mother led Aunt Gandhari and Uncle Dhritarashtra. I walked behind Eldest between Dhaumya and Yuyutsu. Subhadra walked supporting Uttaraa. Draupadi was on her other side. Along the way the Kaurava ladies joined us from their palaces, their wailing the sound of ospreys. As we moved towards the public squares, people of all castes came hurrying out to join those who had been waiting since dawn. Some high-bred ladies who never walked out in the sun now joined the throng, heedless of the maids who tried to protect them with fringed parasols. Voices begged the royal couple not to leave. The press of people was so great as we approached the market square that once again Sanjaya and Uncle Vidura had to hold on to Uncle Dhritarashtra, whose joined hands rose above his head to acknowledge the wishes of long life. Until the very city gates, Kripacharya was begging to be allowed to go into the forest with them, but both our uncles made him see that no one else could take his place as royal tutor. Likewise Yuyutsu had to be reminded repeatedly that he, and no one else, was regent in our absence. Driven by a tide of great longing, all now yearned to follow our elders. Eldest, forgetting all decorum, held onto Uncle’s hand.

  After the dice game I had come this very way with Draupadi and my brothers with people thronging around us. We had lost our kingdom. The crowds had mourned us then and once again the breath of time blew in my face. The yearning in Eldest’s eyes as he pleaded at the gates with Uncle showed that it would not be long before his time too came.

  We had never seen Eldest under the sway of such emotion. He had lived through all manner of hell without showing it. But now I understood how tight he held the reins. Kings are bred to do that, but in this moment we were bereft of the cloaks of rank as well as parents.

  Uncle Dhritarashtra had stopped acknowledging the shouts of the crowd. He trudged on, heeding no one, fixed only on his destined path. By the time we reached the wood’s edge the crowd had thinned. Uncle Dhritarashtra turned around and joined his hands in supplication. “Thus far you have come, but come no further. To go into the forest is a king’s right. It is our destiny.” It was the last time he would be using the royal “we”. “We must not be delayed,” he said.

  Dhaumya and the priests, Uncle Vidura and Sanjaya gently urged the crowd back to go and prepare their dinners, for the sun was setting in the west. We went on and coming to a knot of Banyan trees, we spread out Kusha grass. Uncle Vidura wandered off with Eldest. I watched them from a distance, sitting side by side, Eldest listening. When he returned, mother bade him once again look after Sahadeva. Eldest joined his hands before her. He pleaded, “What will our sovereignty be without you?” She smiled and put a finger to her lips, but he continued. “When we were in Virata before the war, you sent us Krishna with a message that we must behave like Kshatriyas and fight, or we were not your sons and you were not our mother. We did our duty, but where is yours if you abandon us?”

  Nakula offered a more tempting bait. “Return and help us offer Karna’s oblations.”

  “Yes, mother. We shall be offering them again for Karna. You should be with us for that. Why should you live on roots and water? You who have abstained from harming any living soul have no need of penance,” Bheema said.

  She merely nodded. “Yes, make offerings for your Eldest, but I shall not be there. I wanted Draupadi avenged. That has been done. Now let me go in peace, my sons.” She went down to the river with Subhadra
and Yuyutsu and they carried water back to us in gourds. As the sun went down, the priests chanted the evening prayer; it had the comfort of known things.

  At last we all lay down to sleep. For a long time I stared at branches that hung over me and listened to the crackling sounds of Bheema’s pacing steps—then I fell asleep. At dawn we all went to the river and after our ablutions, worshipped Maker of Day together for the last time and did pradakshina to those we left behind.

  My mother’s last words to us were, “Stay together. That has always been your strength. The hand needs all its fingers.” She looked at me and smiled. Then she lifted up her right hand and pushing at the middle finger she made a fist. I was that middle finger. By the time we got back to Hastina, the bards were singing Mother Kunti’s devotion to the sightless king and his blindfolded queen of great austerity. The next day brought news: They had spent the night with some learned Brahmanas who advised Uncle Dhritarashtra to take up his abode on the banks of the Bhagirati which was cold enough to satisfy any ascetic’s wish. After that, we heard they had come down again to Kurukshetra to the retreat of the royal sage Satyayupa, former King of the Kekayas. With him, they had gone to the ashram of Island-born Greatfather and formally received initiation into the forest mode of life after which they all repaired to the retreat of Satyayupa. There they began to practise severe austerities, and the next news of them told of them being much reduced in body, their flesh dried and wasted. Eldest listened to these reports with undisguised longing. Then we heard nothing for a time. Passing pilgrims said that they had moved on deeper into the forest. It tormented Eldest and Yuyutsu, and all of us to think that they might drop like birds or withered leaves with no one to sprinkle and burn their bodies or to observe the rites.

  16

  Kripacharya was completely devoted to Parikshita. It was through Parikshita that I began to know him. He had taught me all the Vedangas except Jyotisha which he gave to Sahadeva only, but I had then had thought only for Dronacharya. I could hardly wait for Kripacharya’s lessons to be over to run for my archery class, arriving like a flung spear at Dronacharya’s feet. He would check me, trying not to show his pleasure, with a reminder that this was not decorum.