The Great Golden Sacrifice of the Mahabharata

by Maggi Lidchi Grassi

  The ladies had a terror of the desert and many would have chosen to stay behind. Many who had earlier attended our sacrifices were now dead, and besides, at Kurukshetra thousands of Kshatriyas had been wiped out and with them, people’s sense of safety and security. Tales of lawlessness were rife. Daruka said that the very splendour of our assembly might attract plunderers. I called for a meeting. The Brahmins began with a hymn to Pushan the Lord of Pathways to guide us safely to our destination. When I looked about me and saw the expectation on their faces, I called on Krishna to shape my words. The people looked to me; if I failed them we would have trouble on our hands. If you are without faith it is as contagious as some summer fevers. When you lead armies you learn that your own courageous stand will stiffen your soldiers’ will. It is no different with women and civilians. So I called my courage to me, which was Krishna. He must have spoken through me. Once I saw I had rallied them, I bent the other way. “And yet no blame attaches on those who will decide to stay here. We will give you all support and help establish you before we continue on our way.” I went on for a while like this until they interrupted me.

  “No, no, Prince!”

  “No, my Lord. We will come with you. We will follow you.” There was a murmur of approval and cries of “Sadhu” filled the air. Then everyone broke into loud cheers.

  It was nearly three moons since we had escaped from Dwaraka and some of our Kshatriya maidens had been courted by the officers of the garrison; three of the widows elected to stay behind with their daughters. Two others asked for funeral pyres to commit sati. The rest came with me. Daruka had ably supported all that I had said, and in the saying of it I felt somewhat restored in my own eyes, for Kshatriyahood lies in upholding Aryan Dharma. Even if our world lay smothered in dust and sunk beneath the sea, we could not change or bend such things as the protection of women, that had been bred in us.

  So it was in the bright half of the moon that I made offerings with a fire we had carried from Krishna’s palace Homa. Some of the Brahmins who were too old to travel further stayed back with the ladies. Then on the day of our departure those priests with tear-bright eyes saw us off with the hymn to Dawn.

  Dawn has risen for us.

  Our welfare is assured.

  The Dawns advance like

  Clans arrayed for battle,

  Their bright rays tinging

  The sky’s distant bounds.

  The sun extends his arms;

  The rose-coloured dawn clouds

  Beam forth their lustre.

  Prevail on each God to give us his bounty,

  Now at your appearing impart to us

  The charm of pleasant voices

  And thoughts for our uplift.

  Preserve us evermore, O God,

  With your blessing.

  We threaded our way through crowds mourning to see us go and Brahmins sprinkled rice, vermillion, and flowers as we passed and sang a last hymn to Pushan for us.

  He knows and traverses each heavenly realm.

  May he guide us in ways that are wholly secure.

  Undertaking our welfare, shielding from all harm,

  May he who knows lead the way with vigilance.

  It was the season Vasanta, the time of koels and mango blossoms, when we set off again. Banks of flowers, purple and magenta, next to stretches of sapphire, yellow, and amethyst were cradled in the green of spring. The dragonflies’ multicolored wings were as fine as the finest ladies’ raiments and the grasshoppers were like vivid emeralds. A golden deer appeared out of nowhere to drink at the river. If anything could have brought me some measure of serenity it was this renewal of the earth.

  We moved and rested to the chant of hymns. They were our strength in an ever-changing world, the rhythm of our hope.

  May the wind blow sweetness,

  Rivers flow sweetness,

  Herbs grow sweetness

  For the Man of Truth!

  Sweet be the night,

  Sweet the dawn,

  Sweet be earth’s fragrance,

  Sweet Father Heaven!

  I felt the sap rising slowly in my body but my soul still stood back. Along the way there were villages all friendly and hospitable. From one of them two craftsmen joined us, a wood worker and a goldsmith. They could no longer take their best work to Dwaraka and they had heard of Indraprastha and the Maya Sabha. These two drew other skilled artisans to us. Denied a chance to take their work to Dwaraka, this place would be a backwater for them. I got to know these men and saw to it that they got to know their Prince Vajra. I bound them to him with stories of Krishna and Kurukshetra. When you are on the march, conventions of the city fall away. As the evenings became longer, others from the lower castes would gather round to hear my stories and listen to certain of the Brahmins’ hymns for the first time.

  He who is called Divine Friend

  Brings men together.

  The Divine Friend supports both

  Earth and heaven,

  Watching over the peoples, never

  Closing an eye.

  To the Divine Friend offer an

  Oblation of fat!

  For me too some of the hymns were new. Even the old ones I had never heard with so keen an ear. The yearning for prosperity, peace, and happiness with which we are born had receded from me and I wondered if this was the equanimity that Eldest and the sages always spoke about. I marvelled that I could pursue my tasks, it seemed effectively, while in this state. Yet when I looked at Vajra, or thought of Subhadra and Parikshita, I knew that love and attachment were not burnt out of me. Still, something would not spring to life. The old Arjuna had been like an eagle soaring. This Arjuna was like a shadow that a bird cast while flying over hills and plains. All I knew really was that I was no longer he who had set out for Dwaraka. Perhaps the change was something that comes about when all certainties have been wiped out and you know that your one hope lies in surrender, not only when the Narayana astra is approaching, but in your day-to-day life. My prayers were now addressed to Pushan too. We are always pilgrims on an unknown road.

  Daruka who saw everything, saw the change in me. With the weather turning warmer, the children had begun swimming. Sitting on a rock I watched them splash water and laugh under the watchful eye of Girika, one of my captains. Vajra and Satyaki’s son were adventurous and sometimes looked as though they might strike out for the other shore, but Girika knew what he was doing, though it was Daruka who came to me.

  “Prince Arjuna, the young princes are too reckless. They do not like the shore and there are crocodiles in the river.” There was sense in what he said.

  “See that some bowmen are posted when they swim.” I could not stop myself from adding, “But it is not bowmen that protect them, or any of us.” I saw Daruka gazing at me while a koel called his rising notes repeatedly. At last I said, “What is it, Daruka?” He gazed on thoughtfully, then said, “Prince Arjuna would not have said that before…”

  “Before Dwaraka?” I completed his sentence. He nodded. I nodded too. “Perhaps I have entered my Vanaprastha, Daruka.”

  “The season is not yet ready for you, Prince Arjuna.”

  “Perhaps two seasons overlap. It is the Kali Yuga and the times have gone awry. Did Lord Krishna never tell you that?”

  “Oh, many times. Many, many times. He said that good will come of evil.”

  “I believe that too. But believing is one thing; sitting here upon this rock waiting for what we do not understand is something else.” We were silent while I scraped at some moss with an arrowhead. The koels called again and now a rainbird sang in counterpoint, soon joined by a twittering of sparrows; the flowers bloomed. Daruka like all charioteers knew how to bring your thoughts to the surface. Ashwatthama had once told me that Greatfather Bheeshma learnt of his father’s passion for Mother Satyavati from his charioteer. They know your thoughts and needs as they do those of their horse teams.

  The children were scrambling out of the water which lapped the shore. Their lips
were blue and the skin of their fingers all wrinkled. We sat in companionable silence. A boy was sneezing and we heard a woman scolding and a servant saying that it was not yet warm enough for swimming. The sun had walked far towards the west. The Homa fire, carried in our metal stove, our link between this earth and heaven, slowly gathered strength. It was quiet now. The hymns would soon be rising.

  Many of the old people who had left Dwaraka with us had died along the way. In the night two more women had succumbed from weakness and grief. They were senior members of my uncle’s family. I had not known them well and yet felt that I had lost people close to me. Several kinsmen whom I had not known at all before were with us and I looked to their needs as though they were my mothers and fathers. Every day I did the rounds of the tents to encourage and sustain those who were too weak or sick or sad to come out for the worship.

  Once more we performed rites, offered libations, and listened to the Brahmins’ hymns for death.

  Daruka told me that he remembered one of these ladies in her youth even before Krishna had led the Yadavas from Mathura down to Dwaraka. She had been one of the great beauties at Kamsa’s palace and was courted by many of the leading warriors, but had chosen one of her cousins against the tyrant’s wish. Kamsa had had him killed and installed her as a serving maid to his wife. He wanted her for himself. Krishna and Balarama had entered the palace disguised as dhobimen and rescued her.

  “You must remember, Prince Arjuna, that though Lord Krishna had grown up as a country boy, his courage and love of justice were so fierce that he never cared for danger.”

  “And his sense of freedom.” I added. “What happened to her?”

  “Later she married a Bhoja Prince of her choice. She bore him many children, but secretly she was in love with Krishna.”

  “All the ladies were in love with Krishna, Daruka.”

  “It was because he had kindness for them, and respect. He loved them too. You have heard how long after, when he had come to power, he crossed the country to free great numbers of Aryan ladies who had been taken by Narakasura. When Lord Krishna told them that they had nothing more to fear and would be escorted home, they refused, saying that they would no longer be accepted. Lord Krishna brought them all back to Dwaraka. Who else would have given refuge to so many who were as good as widows or worse, and of so little use to the community?” We were silent for a while.

  “They had been treated cruelly and many succumbed along the way. I was there. Lord Krishna used to tend the sick and dying ladies with his own hands, lifting their heads to let them drink. Soothing them with his words and charms, I learnt from him…I learnt so many things.”

  “And I, Daruka, and I?”

  After that conversation we sought each other out more often than before. Day after day, I called him to my tent and had him sit with me and share my wine. Krishna had never cared for strict observance of caste. Like a child I would ask Daruka to tell me of events that I had only heard about. It made me see that the things I knew and shared with Krishna were not the whole of him. He had done so many things in one life, righted so many wrongs, punished so many tyrants, protected animals from sacrifice, rescued and loved so many women, borne the insults and taunts of so many lesser men.

  One late afternoon Daruka began to tell of how, after Kamsa’s death, Jarasandha of the human sacrifice, whose two daughters Kamsa had married, laid siege to Mathura. Everybody had heard of those sieges but Daruka had been there. “Lord Krishna was noble, Prince Arjuna.” After he killed Kamsa the people wanted to tear the tyrant limb from limb, but Lord Krishna protected the body and presided over the funeral. King Kamsa was very much hated. It was not only Krishna’s brothers that he had killed, but any child who might have become a threat to him. Not only was Kamsa much hated, but the Yadava chiefs hated themselves for having let him get away with his atrocities. They refused to attend the funeral, but do you know what Krishna said?”

  I shook my head. “After death there is no enmity.” Neither of us could speak. Then I told Daruka how, after we had killed Jarasandha of the human sacrifice, Krishna had installed his son with great kindness on the throne. The moment was intense and had within it the voice of the young Krishna, a lad fresh from the country with a flute at his waist. “He could have had the crown. Kamsa’s father, Lord Ugrasena, from whom Kamsa had snatched the throne proposed it himself. But Lord Krishna took the crown and placed it on Lord Ugrasena’s head. Those are the moments that have made my life. He never wanted power for himself. People forgot this and did not understand. He wanted freedom for the people and an end to tyranny so that Bharatavarsha would come under one law of Dharma.” He told me even then that his Aunt Kunti’s first-born, Prince Yudhishthira, was the dharmic king who must sit upon the throne.

  “Yes, Daruka. Yes, Daruka, I know. Even before we met him, when Lord Balarama came to Hastina to teach us wrestling, he told us of Krishna’s vision.”

  But Daruka was still reliving the death of Kamsa and began to speak of Kamsa’s widowed queens, Asti and Prapti, and how Krishna had honoured them, consoled them.

  Maker of Day was drawing in his fingers and would soon be going down to rest. It was my custom to join the people for evening prayers, but now I sent for the children. I wanted Vajra to hear about this greatest scion of his family. The bards of Indraprastha would soon be waking him each morning with the songs of the brave deeds of his forebearers, but nobody could kindle the lamp of Krishna’s spirit like Daruka.

  The children, their hair still wet and plastered to their cheeks after their swim, came into the tent. They sat down and listened intently to Daruka’s tales of Krishna: “Kamsa’s brother, descended on Mathura with an army. I drove Lord Krishna out to meet them. Everybody volunteered to join us. Under Lord Krishna our spirit was like a mighty rushing wind.”

  “Why did he not put the crown on his own head after he killed Kamsa and his brother?” asked Vajra. Daruka smiled and stroked his head and spoke of courage and of freedom from ambition.

  Then the boys listened wide-eyed to Daruka’s account of the sieges of Mathura:

  “Every year after the monsoon, Jarasandha sent his army to attack Mathura despite the resistance of its people who had now found freedom from tyranny. The Yadavas who had fled from Kamsa had returned and law was re-established. The wealth and estates that Kamsa had seized were returned to their rightful owners. To avoid fighting between the royal clans, a marriage was arranged between the Vrishni chief Akrura and the daughter of Ugrasena.” I had heard of some of these matters, and there were others I hadn’t heard of. But coming from Daruka, all of it sounded fresh and new. Now I asked Daruka something I had often wondered about; Would it have worked out differently if Krishna had accepted the crown? No one would have disputed it, that much we knew. Would it not have stopped the competition between the clans and welded them together? Ugrasena, Kamsa’s father, had been weak, or Kamsa could never have seized power from him in the first place.

  “Prince Arjuna, we all came down from Gokul village as boys. Krishna was our leader and full of heat and courage. Anyone could see that he was noble but strangely unambitious. He always said his work was of another nature. It was of course before the time that he and Balarama went to study with Guru Sandeepany and Ghora Angirasa. When they came back Lord Krishna began to organize the people and inspire them. When he spoke, we were all filled with the energy of the gods. That was when Jarasandha started attacking him. ‘That cowherd,’ as he always called Krishna, pretending not to know of his noble birth, ‘has to be taught a lesson.’ What ranked in him was that no Yadava had thought of punishing this upstart. Furthermore, the army was behind Krishna, and Kamsa, Jarasandha’s own son-in-law, had not even been killed in battle but in a wrestling pit.” Then I remembered, and saw the sense of Jarasandhas’s oft-quoted words to his son Sahadeva, who wanted to know why Shishupala of the Chedis and Rukmi of Vidarbha, as well as Dantavakra of Karush and the King of Paundra, all had to be invited to help defeat Mathura, whose army was fu
ll of cowherds. Jarasandha had answered that every Yadava would be fighting for his freedom, not for soldier’s wages.

  Here we spoke of freedom to the listening children.

  So it was that the attacks came every year, until the Yadava council begged Krishna and Balarama to leave Mathura so that it could live without fear of this annual aggression.

  “It was thus, Prince Arjuna, that so many years ago a whole population of eighteen clans moved from north to southwest. But like a tide we now return. When we left Mathura we burnt the town behind us. This time Lord Agni and Lord Varuna have done the work for us.” Dwaraka could not be invaded from without. Only men’s folly and the elements could have brought down Krishna’s city of lovely gates and stately buildings. Nothing remains now, but when we came, there was nothing much there either, only the ruined city of Kushasthali. But Mathura had been burnt behind us and even had it not been, who would have re-crossed this great desert to go back to it again? We were triumphant. There was a driving force with us. It was Lord Krishna.” Daruka turned to the children and said, “Faith and courage, you see, my young lords, is stronger than any weapon.

  “No more sieges could disrupt our lives. Guru Parashurama had chosen well when so many years before he had made it his fortress. To the great rock fort half built by nature we added our own constructions and repairs until it gave us such protection that our ladies by themselves could have held it against attack. We built so many gates with lovely arches that one day the Lady Subhadra, still a little girl, said that the place should be called Dwaraka, City of Gates.

  “Many of our cattle had died on the journey, but enough were left for the Gopas to start up herds again, and generous grazing land was given to each one. Others took to shipbuilding and trading. The city flourished. You yourself knew the wide roads and their vistas, the flowering trees and spreading gardens. Wherever Lord Krishna was, life and beauty quickened. The best of craftsmen and artists flocked to him.” I had seen it happen in Indraprastha. “Our gates were opened onto sea lanes, and farmers became traders hung with gold and jewels. I myself had riches.” He held his hands out to make his rings glimmer in the flame of the butter lamp and stretched his eyes wide in a grimace of grief as he sang in his sweet bardic voice,