Mahabharata · The Seizing of Draupadi, and the Tales of Markandeya

About 281 min read · 47,619 words

This is the Vana Parva episode in which Arjuna, after five years in Indra’s heaven learning the celestial weapons of Agni, Varuna, Soma, Vayu, Vishnu, Indra, Pashupati, Brahma, Yama, and Kubera, comes back to his brothers on Mount Gandhamadana. From here the story runs on: to the slaughter of the Nivatakavacha asuras and the asuras of Hiranyapura, then the Pandavas’ long stay in the mountains, the binding of Bhima by Nahusha in serpent form and the riddles Yudhishthira answers to free him, and at last, in the Kamyaka forest, the coming of the great rishi Markandeya, the story he tells of Manu and the fish, and the vision of the world’s dissolution. This is a direct, close rendering of Vyasa’s narrative, taking the tradition of Gita Press, Gorakhpur, as its ground of authority. Keep in mind that through these events run the hard questions of man and god, curse and release, dharma and fate, questions the Mahabharata never makes easy.

Kubera’s Farewell and Dhaumya’s Survey of the Quarters

On Mount Gandhamadana, Kubera, lord of wealth and master of the Guhyakas, turned to Yudhishthira and told him this: just as Arjuna (Jishnu) is entitled to Mahendra’s protection, Bhima (Vrikodara) to that of the Wind-god, Yudhishthira himself to that of Dharma, and the twins Nakula and Sahadeva to that of the Ashvins, so all of them are worthy of Kubera’s protection as well. Kubera said that the brother born next after Bhima, Phalguna, master of statecraft and of every law that governs mortals, was safe in heaven. Whatever qualities the world holds to lead a man to heaven are set in Dhananjaya from his very birth. Self-restraint, charity, strength, intelligence, modesty, fortitude, and surpassing energy, all of these live in that great soul. Arjuna, Kubera said, had never done a shameful thing out of weakness of spirit, and no one in the world would say that Partha had ever spoken a lie. Kubera told him too that Yudhishthira’s great-grandfather, his father’s grandsire, the emperor Santanu, who on the banks of the Yamuna had honored the gods, the ancestors, and the Brahmins by celebrating seven grand Ashvamedha yajnas, the horse-sacrifices, and who has attained heaven, was now, dwelling in Indra’s realm, asking after Yudhishthira’s welfare.

Hearing Kubera’s words, the Pandavas were glad. Yudhishthira set down his mace, his heavy club, his sword, and his bow, and bowed to Kubera. Seeing him bent low, Kubera told him to become the destroyer of his enemies’ pride and the increaser of his friends’ joy. He gave his assurance that the Yakshas would never cross their wishes, and that Arjuna (Gudakesha), once he had won mastery over the weapons, would soon take his leave of Indra (Maghavat) and return to them. With that, Kubera, lord of the Guhyakas, vanished from that great mountain. Thousands of Yakshas and Rakshasas followed him in vehicles spread with figured cushions and set with jewels. At Kubera’s command the corpses of the Rakshasas were cleared from the mountain summit, for the term Agastya’s curse had fixed was now complete: slain in battle, the Rakshasas were released from it.

A key to reading this (place): Gandhamadana is a celestial mountain, graced with Kubera’s pleasure-gardens. The Pandavas have halted here to wait for Arjuna. Mandara, Meru (Mahameru), and Kailasa all belong to this same divine Himalayan geography, and they will return again and again through the story.

At sunrise Dhaumya, the Pandavas’ family priest, came to them with Arshtishena. Bowing at the feet of Arshtishena and Dhaumya, the Pandavas pressed their palms together and saluted all the Brahmins. Then Dhaumya took Yudhishthira’s right hand and, looking toward the east, surveyed the quarters for him. He said that Mandara, this king of mountains, covers the earth as far as the ocean, and that this land, rich with forests and peaks, belongs to Indra and Vaishravana (Kubera). From the east the sun rises, and the twice-born, the Siddhas, the Sadhyas, and the gods worship it as it climbs. The southern quarter belongs to Yama, the king who knows dharma, where the spirits of the dead travel; this is Samyamana, Yama’s sacred dwelling, and the wise call that mountain Asta, for on reaching it the sun takes its refuge in truth. In the west, king Varuna, dwelling in this mountain and in the fathomless sea, guards all living beings.

Dhaumya went on: to the north stands the luminous Mahameru, the refuge of those who know Brahman, where the court of Brahma lies and where, seated there, Prajapati fashioned all that moves and all that does not. Mahameru is also home to Brahma’s seven mind-born sons, of whom the seventh was Daksha. There the seven Brahmarshis, Vasishtha and the rest, rise and set. On Meru’s shining summit sits the grandsire Brahma among the gods. And close to Brahma’s abode lies the seat of that first cause, Narayana, who has neither beginning nor end, whose region of pure radiance not even the gods can look upon. The realm of that exalted Vishnu blazes brighter than the sun or fire, and neither gods nor danavas can behold it. Not the Maharshis, not even the Brahmarshis reach that place; only the yatis reach it, ascetics of strict self-control who by faith and severe tapas (austerity) attain Narayana Hari and never return to this world.

Dhaumya described the sun’s course as well: the sun and the moon circle Meru each day, but in opposite directions. The sun marks off the month by its parvas. When the sun turns south, winter comes, and it draws the energy out of living things, so that men feel toil, drowsiness, and languor. Then that same sun brings the rains and revives them. So the sun wheels on without pause around the circle of time, never resting, drawing energy from all beings and giving it back, and, dividing time into day and night, into kala and kashtha, it grants life and motion to the whole of creation.

The gist: Kubera and his Yakshas withdrew from Gandhamadana, and the Rakshasas were freed from Agastya’s curse. Dhaumya laid out for Yudhishthira the gods who rule the four quarters, the supreme seats of Brahma and Narayana on Meru, and the sun’s motion around the wheel of time. Waiting for Arjuna, the Pandavas pass a hard month on the mountain.

Arjuna’s Return to Gandhamadana and His Tale of Heaven

One day, while the Pandavas were thinking of Arjuna, Mahendra’s chariot, driven by Matali and yoked with horses swift as lightning, arrived all at once, lighting up the sky. Seated in it was Arjuna (Kiriti), decked in garlands and new ornaments. Dhananjaya, majestic as the wielder of the thunderbolt, alighted on that mountain and bowed first at the feet of Dhaumya, then at those of Yudhishthira (Ajatashatru). He touched Bhima’s feet too, and the twins bowed to him. Then, after comforting Draupadi (Krishna), he stood in humble bearing before his elder brother. The joy of all of them knew no limit. The Pandavas walked around that chariot, the one from which Indra had annihilated seven armies of the sons of Diti, and honored Matali as they would the king of the gods himself. Matali, greeting them and instructing them as a father instructs his sons, mounted the chariot and returned to Indra.

Once Matali had gone, Arjuna gave to his beloved, the mother of Sutasoma (Draupadi), the gems and ornaments bright as the sun that Indra had given him. Then, seated among the foremost of the Kurus and the Brahmins, he told them briefly that he had learned weapons from Indra, from Vayu, and from Shiva made manifest, and that by his good conduct and steady focus all the gods, Indra among them, had been pleased with him. That night Arjuna slept content beside the two sons of Madri.

The next day, out of the world of the gods rose a fierce clamor of instruments, the rattle of chariot wheels, and the pealing of bells. From every quarter troops of Gandharvas and Apsaras followed the king of the gods, and on a chariot bright as the sun Indra (Purandara) himself came to the Pandavas. Yudhishthira with his brothers worshipped him in due form. Arjuna, in matted locks and the look of an ascetic, stood before Indra in the humble bearing of a servant. Seeing this, Yudhishthira breathed in the scent of Arjuna’s head and felt a deep joy. Then Indra told Yudhishthira that he would rule the earth, and that they should now return to the Kamyaka forest. Saying this, Indra went back to his own abode.

A key to reading this (a note): Matali is Indra’s charioteer. Kiriti, Phalguna, Dhananjaya, Jishnu, and Savyasachi are all names for Arjuna. Indra too goes by many names in the story: Purandara, Maghavat, Shakra, Vasava, Marutvat. Giving one character many names is the Mahabharata’s habit.

After Indra had left, Yudhishthira asked Arjuna to tell the whole account of his time in heaven, in full. Arjuna said that at Yudhishthira’s command he had gone into the forest for tapas. From Kamyaka he traveled to Bhrigutunga and kept austerities there for a night. A Brahmin he met there counseled him on his tapas and told him he would soon look upon Indra. As the Brahmin directed, Arjuna climbed Himavan and began his austerities: through the first month he ate only fruit, and only once every three nights; through the second, once every six nights; through the third, once every fortnight; and when the fourth month came he lived on air alone, his arms raised, leaning on nothing and balanced on the tips of his toes, and still his strength did not fail.

The Fight with Shiva in the Kirata’s Guise and the Winning of the Pashupata

On the first day of the fifth month a creature appeared before Arjuna in the shape of a boar, tearing at the earth with its snout, pounding the ground with its feet, and wheeling about in a terrible fury. Behind it came, carrying bow, arrows, and sword, ringed by women, a great being in the form of a Kirata, a mountain hunter. Arjuna took up his two inexhaustible quivers and his bow and struck the boar with an arrow, and in that same instant the Kirata too drew his bow with force and let fly a shaft. The Kirata said that Arjuna had broken the rules of the hunt: why had he struck first at an animal the Kirata had already marked for his own? Saying this, he began to rain arrows down on Arjuna.

A savage fight followed. Arjuna loosed sharp arrows charged with mantras, but the Kirata began to multiply his body a hundredfold and a thousandfold. When Arjuna pierced every one of the forms, they merged again into one. Arjuna readied the Vayavya weapon, yet could not discharge it; then he loosed the Sthunakarna, the Varuna, the Salava, and the Asmavarsha weapons, but the Kirata swallowed them all. At the last Arjuna released the Brahmastra, and it too came to nothing. Then the two grappled hand to hand, and in the end Arjuna sank to the ground, senseless. That wondrous being, laughing, vanished together with the woman and took on his divine form.

Then before Arjuna appeared, with Uma at his side, that divine being whose emblem was the bull, bearing the Pinaka, adorned with serpents, and able to take on many forms. He was Mahadeva himself. Well pleased, Shiva returned to Arjuna his bow and his inexhaustible quivers and told him to ask for any boon he wished, save immortality alone. Arjuna asked only for the knowledge of weapons. Then Tryambaka granted him his own dread weapon, the Pashupata, and warned him that it must never be loosed on men of little energy, or it would burn the whole universe to ash; he should release it only when every other weapon had failed. Saying this, Shiva vanished.

A sub-tale: What the Kirata disguise means. Mahadeva came in the form of a hunter, a Kirata, to put Arjuna to the test. The boar was in truth a Danava named Muka. Using the quarrel over who had shot first as his pretext, Shiva weighed the full measure of Arjuna’s mastery of weapons and his endurance, and in the end, well pleased, gave him the Pashupata. Here a god comes to test a man, and the man’s very defeat becomes the doorway to his reward.

Arjuna rested there that night. In the morning the same Brahmin came to him again, and Arjuna told him of his sight of Mahadeva. Pleased, the Brahmin said that Arjuna would soon meet Vaivasvata (Yama) and the other guardians of the worlds, and Indra, and that Indra would give him weapons. That very evening a cool wind rose, fragrant flowers opened along the foot of the Himalaya, and sweet hymns to Indra began to sound. Then Yama appeared in the south, Varuna and Kubera each in his own quarter, and Indra as well. The guardians of the worlds told Arjuna that he had won the sight of Shankara for the sake of the gods’ work, and that he should now receive weapons from them all. With reverence, Arjuna accepted every one of those celestial weapons.

The Journey to Indra’s World and the Burden of the Guru-Fee

When the Lokapalas had gone back to their own regions, Indra told Arjuna that he would journey to heaven, and that at Indra’s command Matali would carry him there. Arjuna begged Indra to become his teacher and to instruct him in the celestial weapons. Indra first tested him: armed with such weapons, he warned, Arjuna would be capable of terrible deeds. Arjuna gave his word that he would loose these divine weapons upon mortal men only when every other weapon had failed him. The answer pleased Indra, who said the warning had been a test and nothing more, and summoned Arjuna to his own abode to learn all the weapons of Vayu, Agni, the Vasus, Varuna, the Maruts, the Siddhas, Brahma, the Gandharvas, the Uragas, the Rakshasas, Vishnu, and the Nairritas, along with every weapon that Indra himself held.

Matali seated Arjuna on the chariot and drove off. As it lifted, Matali marveled aloud that even Indra himself was jolted at the first pull of these horses, yet Arjuna had not swayed a hair’s breadth, a steadiness beyond even Shakra’s power. Flying through the sky, Matali showed him the pleasure-gardens of the gods, Nandana and the rest, and Indra’s city Amaravati, where there is no heat, no cold, no toil, no grief, no want; where the trees stay forever green and heavy with fruit and flower, and the ground is studded with gems. Arjuna paid homage to the Vasus, the Rudras, the Sadhyas, the Maruts, the Adityas, and the twin Ashvins, and they blessed him with strength, valor, energy, fame, mastery of weapons, and victory in battle.

Indra gave Arjuna half of his own seat. Arjuna took up residence in heaven among the Gandharvas. Chitrasena, son of Vishvavasu, became his friend and taught him the whole Gandharva art of dance and music. Arjuna gained skill in the science of weapons and learned song and instrument as well, though his mind stayed fixed above all on the weapons. When he had become an adept, Indra laid a hand on his head and told him that now not even the gods could defeat him, let alone mortal men. Then Indra asked for his teacher’s fee.

Arjuna promised that whatever lay within his power Indra should count as already done. Indra then named his enemies: the demons called Nivatakavachas, who dwell in the womb of the ocean, thirty million strong, all alike in form, strength, and splendor; their slaughter would be the fee. Indra gave Arjuna the divine chariot driven by Matali, an excellent diadem for his head, ornaments for his body, an impenetrable coat of mail, and an inexhaustible bowstring for the Gandiva. This was the very chariot from which Indra had once conquered Bali, son of Virochana. The gods gave Arjuna the conch called Devadatta as well, and praised him as he set out to destroy the Nivatakavachas.

A key to reading this (the number in modern terms): The source puts the Nivatakavachas at three crore, that is, roughly thirty million, a vast demon host. These were asuras settled in the ocean’s depths, made unslayable even by the gods through a boon from Brahma. The Gandiva is Arjuna’s bow; Devadatta is his conch.

The Slaughter of the Nivatakavachas

Arjuna reached the ocean, where waves rose and fell like mountains and timingilas, tortoises, and makaras swam in the water. A short way off he saw the asura city crowded with demons. Matali drove the chariot down beneath the earth and pressed it forward by force. Hearing the thunder of the wheels, the demons took Arjuna for Indra and, seized with fear, shut the gates of their city. Then Arjuna blew the Devadatta conch again and again, and its sound set the whole sky ringing. The Nivatakavachas poured out by the thousand, gripping every kind of weapon: iron javelins, maces, clubs, battle-axes, swords, discs, sataghnis, and bhushundis.

A terrible battle followed. Devarshis, Danavarshis, Brahmarshis, and Siddhas came to watch, and the sages praised Arjuna as they had once praised Indra in the war fought for the sake of Tara. The Nivatakavachas buried Arjuna under arrows, spears, and maces, but he pierced each of them with ten shafts from the Gandiva. Under Matali’s skilled hand the hundreds of horses seemed only a few as they trampled the demons. Arjuna loosed Indra’s favorite weapon, the one named Maghavan, and cut the asuras’ lances, swords, and tridents into a thousand pieces. His arrows flew like ranks of black bees, and Matali watched in wonder.

Then the Nivatakavachas turned to illusion. First came a rain of boulders the size of trees, which Arjuna ground to dust with Mahendra’s weapon. Then a fierce downpour of water in torrents thick as axles, which he dried up with the Vishoshana weapon he had learned from Indra. Then illusions of fire and wind spread over the field, and he quelled them with the Varuna and rock weapons. At last a dense darkness fell; the horses lost their footing, and the golden lash slipped from Matali’s hand. Frightened, Matali cried out again and again, asking where Arjuna was. He said that in all his fearful battles, in the wars against Samvara, Vritra, and Prahlada, he had never been so shaken, and that the Grandfather Brahma must have resolved to destroy creation itself.

Arjuna steadied Matali, telling him not to fear: by the strength of his arms and of the Gandiva he would break this sorcery. He wove the illusion of a weapon that could bewilder every living thing and tore the demons’ magic apart. Even so the asuras fought on unseen. At Matali’s signal Arjuna loosed the Vajra weapon, whose mantra-charged iron arrows drove through the rocks and the hidden Nivatakavachas and sent them all to the realm of Yama. In that quarter the corpses of the Nivatakavachas lay scattered like boulders, yet no harm came to the horses, the chariot, Matali, or Arjuna.

As the demons fell, their women wailed like autumn cranes and fled into their golden palaces. Gazing at that wondrous city, Arjuna asked Matali why the gods did not live in so fine a place. Matali told him that in ancient times this had been Indra’s own city, until the Nivatakavachas, having won a boon from Brahma, drove the gods out of it. Their boon was that they would dwell here and stand fearless in war against the gods. For that reason Brahma had promised Indra that in another body, in the form of Arjuna, he would destroy them. Having conquered the city, Arjuna set out with Matali toward Indra’s world.

The gist: Indra asked, as his teacher’s fee, for the death of the Nivatakavachas. Arjuna attacked the asura city in the ocean’s depths, defeated every art of illusion (rock, water, fire, and darkness) in the sorcery-battle, and destroyed thirty million Nivatakavachas with the Vajra weapon. This city had once been Indra’s own, seized by the asuras on the strength of a boon.

The Destruction of Hiranyapura and the Raudra Weapon

On the way back, Arjuna saw a wondrous city drifting freely through the sky, blazing like fire or the sun, with trees of jewels and sweet-voiced birds. Impregnable, ringed by four gates, archways, and towers, it was thronged with the asuras called Paulomas and Kalakanjas. When Arjuna asked about it, Matali explained: a Daitya’s daughter named Puloma and an asura woman named Kalaka had once performed harsh austerities for a thousand celestial years and won boons from Brahma, that their offspring would never meet misfortune, that neither gods nor Rakshasas nor Pannagas could kill them, and that they would receive an invincible, golden, sky-roving city. This was Hiranyapura, which Brahma had made for the Kalakeyas. But Brahma had appointed its ruin at the hands of mortals, so Matali urged Arjuna to destroy the Kalakanjas with the Vajra weapon.

Arjuna gladly asked Matali to bring him near the city. The sons of Diti, armored and bearing every kind of weapon, fell upon him. Arjuna held them off with a storm of arrows and wheeled his chariot until they were so confused that they shoved and struck at one another. He cut off the heads of demons by the hundred. The demons then rose into the sky, city and all, now sinking into the earth, now into the water. Arjuna blocked their path with arrows and brought the city crashing down with celestial weapons.

Then sixty thousand chariots surrounded Arjuna. The warriors were so skilled and so many that in that grim battle something like fear touched him. So Arjuna bowed to Rudra, the god of gods, and with the words “May all beings prosper,” set the great Raudra weapon to the Gandiva. At once there appeared a being with three heads, nine eyes, three faces, and six arms, its hair blazing like fire, wearing in place of garments great serpents with flickering tongues. Bowing to the three-eyed Shiva, Arjuna released the weapon. The moment it flew, thousands of shapes sprang forth, deer, lions, tigers, bears, serpents, elephants, apes, boars, and countless fearful forms, and they tore the demons apart. In a single moment Arjuna finished the slaughter with arrows hard as stone and bright as fire and sun.

Seeing Hiranyapura destroyed, Matali bowed to Arjuna and said that not even the gods, not even Indra himself, could have done this. The demons’ women, wailing like ospreys, hair loose, streamed out of the city, and the city dissolved like a city built of cloud. Arjuna returned with Matali to Indra. Matali told Indra the whole account. Hearing of the destruction of Hiranyapura and the slaughter of the Nivatakavachas, Indra was overjoyed and cried, “Well done, well done.” He said that now no god, demon, Rakshasa, Yaksha, asura, Gandharva, bird, or serpent could stand before Arjuna in battle, and that by the strength of his arms Yudhishthira would rule the earth.

A key to reading this (a note): The Raudra weapon is the same Pashupata that Shiva had given him, and its manifest form is that terrible being with three heads, nine eyes, and six arms. Note that Arjuna uses it only in the work of the gods, against the asuras, and as a last resort, never against men: that was Shiva’s condition.

Indra gave Arjuna a golden garland, the Devadatta conch, divine mail, and a diadem. Honored in this way, Arjuna spent five years in Indra’s world, and then, remembering the strife born of the dice game, returned to his brothers on the lower slopes of Gandhamadana. Yudhishthira said that by good fortune Arjuna had won the weapons, by good fortune he had seen Shiva and the Lokapalas, and by good fortune he had come back, as though the whole earth were already won. Yudhishthira asked to see the divine weapons, and Arjuna promised to show them in the morning.

The Display of the Weapons and Narada’s Prohibition

At dawn Arjuna, in strict purity, began to display the divine weapons one by one. The instant the weapons were fixed, the earth shook with its trees under the weight of Arjuna’s feet; the rivers and the sea churned; rocks split; the wind died; the sun’s light dimmed; and the flame of the fire guttered low. The creatures that live beneath the earth came up in torment, hands folded, and stood before Arjuna begging for their lives. Brahmarshis, Siddhas, Maharshis, gods, Yakshas, Rakshasas, and Gandharvas all arrived. The Grandfather Brahma, all the Lokapalas, and Mahadeva himself came with their followers. Vayu rained down divine blossoms on Arjuna, the Gandharvas sang, and the Apsaras danced.

At that very moment Narada, sent by the gods, arrived and told Arjuna not to loose the divine weapons without cause. They were not to be released even when a worthy target presented itself, unless he was pressed to the very edge, for using them without occasion brought great ruin. Kept properly, Narada said, these weapons would be the means of Arjuna’s strength and happiness; kept improperly, they would become the cause of the destruction of the three worlds. Yudhishthira, he said, would see these weapons on the day Arjuna used them in battle to destroy his enemies. With that the gods returned to their own places, and the Pandavas, together with Draupadi, went on living happily in that forest.

The gist: The mere display of Arjuna’s weapons made the earth tremble and every creature cower. Narada came and explained that divine weapons, loosed without cause or handled wrongly, could destroy the three worlds. This is the Mahabharata’s deep hint that the worth of great power lies in the restraint that holds it.

The Mountain Journey and the Serpent’s Grip

After Arjuna came back, the Pandavas resolved, on Bhima’s counsel, to leave the sweet comforts of Gandhamadana and return to the plains, for a place as pleasant as heaven could make them forget their grief and their vow. Bhima reminded Yudhishthira that this was the eleventh year of their exile, and that it was time to bend their minds toward the punishment of their enemies. Yudhishthira walked in reverence around Kubera’s abode, prayed to the mountain that he might one day return to it, and set out with his brothers and the Brahmins by the very road they had come. Ghatotkacha and his followers carried them over the mountain cascades, and after taking leave of the great rishi Lomasa and of Arshtishena, the Pandavas pressed on.

Passing near Kailasa, they reached the hermitage of King Vrishaparva and spent a night there. Then they came to the jujube tree called Visala, and to the hermitage of Narayana beside Kubera’s beloved lake, where they lived free of sorrow. After a month at Badari they turned toward the realm of Subahu, king of the Kiratas, and crossing the lands of China, Tukhara, Darada, and Kulinda, rich in heaps of jewels, they arrived at Subahu’s capital. There their charioteer Visoka, along with Indrasena and the other attendants, came to join them again. They rested one night, took all the chariots and drivers with them, dismissed Ghatotkacha, and reached the mountain near the Yamuna. In the forest of Visakhayupa, its summits sheeted with snow and its beauty rivaling the forest of Chitraratha, they made their home and lived for a year, hunting.

In a cave of that mountain Bhima came upon an enormous serpent, wild with hunger and dreadful as death itself. Bhima, who carried the strength of ten thousand elephants, went slack and half-senseless the instant the serpent had hold of him, and could not work himself free. When Janamejaya asked how this had happened, Vaishampayana told the tale in full. Bhima had been roaming the forest in the hunt, killing many boars and deer, ranging the peaks and roaring like a lion. Then he saw the great goat-devouring snake, its body draped across the mouth of a cave, with four teeth, glaring eyes, and a copper-colored maw. The moment Bhima drew near, the serpent locked him in its coils. By the boon the serpent had received, all of Bhima’s strength drained out of him, and he lay helpless.

A key to reading this (lineage): This serpent was no ordinary creature but the ancestral royal sage Nahusha, son of Ayu and fifth in the lunar line. Having become lord of the three worlds, he grew arrogant, insulted the Brahmins, and by Agastya’s curse was turned into a snake. The Pandavas are his descendants, so to the serpent, Bhima was a kinsman of his own house, like a younger elder of the line.

Nahusha’s Curse and the Questions Put to Yudhishthira

Bhima asked the serpent who he was and how he had mastered a man with the strength of ten thousand elephants. The serpent freed only Bhima’s arms and said that by good fortune he, hungry, had found food that day, for life is dear to every creature. Then he told his story: he was the royal sage Nahusha, made a serpent by Agastya’s curse. As he fell, he had begged Agastya to lift the curse, and the compassionate rishi had told him that whoever understood the bond between the soul and the Supreme, and could answer his questions, would be the one to free him; and that whoever came into his grip, however strong, would lose his strength.

Bhima said he was not angry, nor did he blame himself, for joy and sorrow are not always in a man’s control. He grieved, he said, not so much for his own death as for his brothers, robbed of their kingdom and driven into the forest, who would search for him and be torn with worry. Meanwhile Yudhishthira had grown uneasy at a run of evil omens. The horizons seemed to burn, jackals cried their unlucky cries on the right, and hideous birds with one wing, one eye, and one leg were seen vomiting blood as they faced the sun. Yudhishthira asked Draupadi about Bhima, learned that he had gone out long before, and set off with Dhaumya along Bhima’s tracks. At last, in a mountain cave, he found Bhima clamped in the serpent’s coils.

Yudhishthira begged the serpent to release Bhima, offering other food in his place. The serpent answered that this prince had come to his very mouth of his own accord, so he would not let him go, and that if Yudhishthira stayed, he too would be tomorrow’s meal; but if Yudhishthira could answer his questions, he would set Bhima free. Yudhishthira told him to ask.

The serpent asked who is a Brahmin and what is worth knowing. Yudhishthira answered that the man in whom truth, charity, forgiveness, good conduct, harmlessness, tapas (austerity), and compassion are seen is a Brahmin; and that what is worth knowing is the supreme Brahman, in which there is neither joy nor sorrow, and by attaining which beings remain untouched by grief. The serpent objected that such qualities may be found in a Shudra as well, and that nothing exists that is free of both joy and sorrow. Yudhishthira replied that the marks of a Brahmin and a Shudra are not the same, and that a Shudra is not a Shudra by birth alone, nor is a Brahmin a Brahmin by birth alone; the wise name him a Brahmin in whom these virtues show. Because the four orders mix freely with one another, he said, caste is hard to fix by birth, and so the wise have held conduct to be the chief thing; whoever lives a pure and virtuous life is a Brahmin.

A key to reading this (a note): This dialogue is one of the passages in the Mahabharata that bind caste to conduct and character rather than to birth. Yudhishthira holds that qualities such as truth, charity, forgiveness, and tapas are the true marks of Brahminhood, and not lineage alone.

Then the serpent asked the way to liberation. Yudhishthira said that the man who gives to worthy recipients, speaks kind and true words, and harms no creature goes to heaven. The serpent asked which stood higher among truth and charity, kind speech and harmlessness, and Yudhishthira answered that their worth is measured by their effect and their use: sometimes truth is the greatest, sometimes charity, sometimes harmlessness, sometimes a gentle word. Then came a deep exchange on the rebirth of the embodied soul, on sense-perception, and on the fruit of action. The serpent said that a man reaches human, divine, or lower birth by his own deeds; one steeped in anger, greed, and malice falls into the wombs of beasts, and beasts in turn may rise to the human or the divine state. The man of knowledge fixes his soul in the eternal Supreme.

On how the soul perceives through the senses, the serpent said that the soul takes the body as its dwelling and comes to know its objects through the senses. Mind, intellect, and the senses are called the soul’s instruments, its Karanas. The mind can know only one thing at a time, and the yogi, from the soul seated between the brows, sends the higher and lower intellect out to their several objects. On the difference between mind and intellect, the serpent said that intellect is brought into play by action while mind is self-existent; intellect does not give rise to sensation, whether of joy or sorrow, but mind does, and in this lies the difference between the two.

Yudhishthira asked in wonder how the serpent, knowing so much, had fallen into delusion, when he had once dwelt in heaven. The serpent answered that prosperity intoxicates even the wise and the brave, and those who live in luxury lose their judgment; it was the pride of that splendor that had brought him low. He told how, riding his chariot in heaven, he had exacted tribute from Brahmarshis, gods, Yakshas, and Gandharvas, and how thousands of Brahmarshis had drawn his car. One day Agastya was drawing it, and Nahusha’s foot brushed against the sage’s body; in his anger Agastya cursed him to become a serpent. Then Agastya himself had foretold that the righteous Yudhishthira would free him from the curse, and that when the sin born of his pride was spent he would attain liberation. With this in mind he had put to Yudhishthira the questions about the Supreme and about Brahminhood.

With that, Nahusha shed his serpent form, took on his divine shape, and returned to heaven. Bhima was free. Yudhishthira went back to the hermitage with Dhaumya and Bhima and told the whole account to the Brahmins gathered there. Hearing it, the three brothers, the Brahmins, and Draupadi were filled with shame, and the Brahmins counseled Bhima to keep clear of such reckless daring. Glad that Bhima had come back unharmed, they all lived on there in peace.

The gist: The ancestral Nahusha, in serpent form, had seized Bhima, because Agastya’s curse drained the strength from anyone who fell into his hold, however mighty. The price of release was answering questions on the soul and the Supreme. Yudhishthira’s discerning replies freed Nahusha, who returned to heaven, and Bhima was saved. Beneath the story lies a quiet lesson: the fall that pride brings, and the rescue that knowledge offers.

The Rainy Season and the Return to the Kamyaka Forest

While they stayed in that place the rainy season set in, the season that ends the summer heat and gladdens every living thing. Black clouds rumbled and rained day and night; the clean brilliance of the lightning took the place of the sun’s light; the earth filled with grass, with insects, and with reptiles in their joy. When the water had covered everything, there was no telling level ground from broken, nor river from tree from hill. Rivers running swift as hissing serpents deepened the beauty of the woods, and chatakas, peacocks, kokilas, and delighted frogs ran about in their happiness. Then came autumn, thronged with swans and cranes, free of dust, cool beneath its clouds, adorned with planets, stars, and the moon. On the bank of the Saraswati, whose water was as clear as the blue sky, the Pandavas passed the autumn full moon, the holy night of the month of Kartika, in the company of righteous and virtuous saints.

As soon as the dark fortnight began, the Pandavas returned to the Kamyaka forest along with Arjuna, the charioteers, and the cooks. The saints there received them with honor, and they settled down happily with Draupadi. A Brahmin said that Arjuna’s dear friend, the high-minded Krishna of the Sura line, would soon come, for Hari always longed for the sight of them and worked for their good; and that the great rishi Markandeya, sunk for many years in tapas and study, would also soon arrive.

At that very moment, on a chariot yoked with the horses named Saibya and Sugriva, and accompanied by Satyabhama, Krishna the son of Devaki arrived. Stepping down from the car, he bowed to Yudhishthira and Bhima, paid his respects to Dhaumya, and received the salutations of the twins. He embraced the curly-haired Arjuna again and again, and spoke words of comfort to Draupadi. Satyabhama, too, embraced Draupadi. Krishna at Arjuna’s side had the splendor of Shiva beside Kartikeya. Arjuna told Krishna the whole account of the forest and asked after the welfare of Subhadra and Abhimanyu.

Praising Yudhishthira, Krishna said that dharma stands higher than the winning of a kingdom, and that Yudhishthira had conquered both this world and the next by his truth and his steadfastness. He said that when the people of Kuru-jangala saw Draupadi humiliated in the assembly, who but Yudhishthira could have borne such a wrong. Krishna promised that as soon as the term of the vow was fulfilled, the heroes of the Dasarha, the Kukura, and the Andhaka would, at Yudhishthira’s command, crush Duryodhana and his followers, and Hastinapura would be made ready for them. He told Draupadi that her sons were learning the science of arms in the land of Anarta, among the Vrishnis, under the care and instruction of Rukmini’s son Pradyumna, and that Subhadra was raising them with great care. Yudhishthira, with folded hands, replied that Krishna was the refuge of the Pandavas, and that when the time came they would do what he had said, or even more.

A key to reading this (lineage): Krishna is the foremost of the Dasarha, the Yadu line. Draupadi’s five sons are at this time in Dwaraka with Subhadra and Abhimanyu, and Rukmini’s son Pradyumna is their master of arms. Satyabhama is Krishna’s beloved wife.

Markandeya Arrives and the Teaching on the Fruit of Action

Meanwhile the great rishi Markandeya arrived. Austerity had worn him thin, and though he had already lived through thousands of years, he still looked like a youth of twenty-five, deathless and without a fault. The Brahmins, Krishna, and the Pandavas all rose to honor him, and the celestial sage Narada came in with him. With Narada’s leave, Markandeya settled down to tell his stories, and Yudhishthira set a hard question before him. He himself sat here broken by grief while the wicked sons of Dhritarashtra throve on every side, so was a man truly the doer and the taker of the fruit of his own good and evil deeds? What was God’s hand in any of it? And did a deed pay out its fruit here in this world, or only in the world to come?

Markandeya answered that in the beginning the Prajapati had shaped clean, holy bodies for every creature, bodies turned by nature toward dharma. The men of that first age were truthful and pure and almost divine. They came and went through the sky at will, held their own life and death in their hands, and lived for thousands of years. In time they fell under desire and anger, took to lies and cunning, and shrank until they could do no more than walk the earth, and their evil acts began to drag them down into hell and into the lower wombs. Every creature’s road after death, he said, is laid by nothing but its own deeds. A man carries the whole store of his merit and sin along with his subtle body; when he drops the gross body he is born at once into another womb, never for an instant nonexistent, and his deeds follow him like his own shadow.

Those who hold to high austerity (tapas), truth, yoga, forgiveness, and self-command, Markandeya went on, are freed from disease and fear and grief, and even in the womb or at the moment of birth they recognize the soul’s kinship with the Supreme; they cross the field of action and return to the world of the gods. Some men find happiness in this world but not the next, some in the next but not this one, some in both, and some in neither. Those who earn their wealth by dharma and then marry and offer their yajnas (fire-rites) are happy in both worlds. To Yudhishthira he gave his assurance: the Pandavas had been born into this world only to destroy the wicked and to carry out the work of the gods, and by their own deeds they would in the end reach the highest abode. Let him not doubt because of these hardships, for the pain itself was working toward their good.

A key to reading this (a note): Markandeya is a deathless rishi who has watched many dissolutions and many new creations turn over. The heart of his teaching is plain: the residue of a man’s actions travels with the subtle body into the next birth, and where a creature goes is fixed by its own deeds, not by some blind, causeless fate.

Tales of the Greatness of Brahmins

At the Pandavas’ asking, Markandeya told stories of the greatness of Brahmins. A young prince of the Haihaya line, out hunting, saw a sage wrapped in a black antelope skin, took him for a deer, and killed him. Sick with remorse, the prince went to the chiefs of the Haihayas, and together they set out to find the dead man’s family, coming at last to the hermitage of Arishtanemi, the son of Kashyapa, who was also called Tarkshya. They confessed their crime, that they had killed a Brahmin. But when they turned to show the body, it was gone. Tarkshya told them that the Brahmin they thought they had slain was his own son, and there he stood, alive. When the astonished princes asked how this could be, Tarkshya said that death had no claim on his house, because its men kept their own dharma, never wished a Brahmin harm, fed their guests and dependents and ate only what was left, and lived as men of peace, austerity, open-handed giving, and pilgrimage. Hearing this, the princes let go of their worldly grief and went home.

Then Markandeya told of Atri and Vainya. The royal sage Vainya was performing a horse-sacrifice, and the great rishi Atri went there to ask for alms. In the assembly Atri praised Vainya, calling him the first of all kings and without an equal in the knowledge of dharma. At this the rishi Gautama grew angry and said that Indra alone was lord of every creature. Atri and Gautama fell into dispute, and the sages carried the question to Sanatkumara for judgment. He answered that just as fire, helped by the wind, burns down a whole forest, so the fire of the Brahmin and the fire of the Kshatriya together destroy their enemies; and a king, who guards his people and sets dharma in motion, may rightly be called the shaper of men’s destinies. Pleased with this ruling, Vainya gave Atri a hundred million gold coins and ten bharas of gold; Atri divided the wealth among his sons and left for the forest.

After that Markandeya recounted the exchange between Sarasvati and Tarkshya, in which Tarkshya asked what the best course of action is for a man, and how one may act without ever slipping from dharma. Sarasvati spoke of the study of the Vedas, of purity, and of the even mind that lets a man behold the Supreme; and she told the great worth of the gift of a cow, that by giving a cow a man wins the highest worlds and carries seven generations of his line across with him. She named the merit of the gift of land as well, and of the gift of a daughter in marriage.

A sub-tale: Why death has no claim on the line of Arishtanemi. The reasons Tarkshya counted out, keeping one’s own dharma, goodwill toward Brahmins, care for guests, a peaceful temper, open-handed giving, dwelling at holy fords and among good men, are the very things that keep his house free of the fear of death. The story says that living by dharma is the root of victory over life and death alike.

Vaivasvata Manu and the Fish

At Yudhishthira’s asking, Markandeya told the story of Vaivasvata Manu. Manu, son of Vivasvat the Sun, blazed with a glory like Brahma’s own. On the bank of the Chirini, in a jujube forest called Vishala, he stood on one leg with his head bent low and his eyes fixed, and held a fierce austerity for ten thousand years. One day a small fish begged him for protection, since the larger fish were devouring it, and promised to repay the kindness. Moved to pity, Manu lifted it from the water and set it in an earthen jar. The fish kept growing, so he moved it to a pond, then to the Ganga, and at last to the sea.

Once it was in the sea, the fish smiled and told Manu that because he had guarded it with such care, it would now tell him what lay ahead: the dissolution of this whole world of moving and unmoving things was near. It ordered him to build a strong, massive ark and fasten a long rope to it, to climb aboard with the seven rishis, and to gather and keep with care every kind of seed named by the Brahmins of old; and when it came to him in the shape of a horned creature, he was to know it. Manu agreed. When the time came, water stood everywhere, and Manu tied the ark’s rope in a noose around the horn of that vast horned fish.

The fish dragged the ark at speed across the salt water. In the storm the vessel reeled like a drunken thing, and neither land nor the four quarters could be made out; there was water everywhere, water that had climbed over the heavens and the sky. In all the world only Manu, the seven rishis, and the fish could be seen. For many long years the fish towed the ark, until it brought them to the highest peak of Himavat, and there it told them to tie the vessel fast. To this day that peak is called Naubandhana, the mooring of the ark. Then the fish told the rishis that it was itself Brahma, lord of all creatures, who had taken the shape of a fish to carry them through this dissolution; now Manu, by the strength of his austerity, would make anew the whole creation of gods, Asuras, and men, and all that moves and stands still. With that the fish vanished, and Manu, through his penance, shaped the world again.

A key to reading this (place): Naubandhana is the peak of Himavat where Manu’s ark was tied fast in the time of the flood, the mooring place of the boat. This is the same ancient story of the fish-incarnation and the great deluge that Markandeya is telling here.

The Cycle of the Yugas and the Signs of the Kali Age

Yudhishthira marveled at the sheer length of Markandeya’s life, that he had seen so many dissolutions, and that at the great dissolution, when sky and gods and demons are all wiped away, he alone remains to worship Brahma and to watch creation begin again. Markandeya bowed to that first, eternal, undying Being, at once holding every attribute and free of them all, and said that Janardana in his yellow robes is the maker, the soul, and the master of everything, without beginning or end, present in all things, unchanging, and the cause of all.

Then Markandeya gave the measure of the ages. The Krita yuga runs four thousand years, with a dawn and a dusk of four hundred years each. The Treta runs three thousand, its dawn and dusk three hundred each; the Dvapara two thousand, its dawn and dusk two hundred each; and the Kali one thousand, its dawn and dusk a hundred each. One turn of these four ages together makes twelve thousand years, and a thousand such turns make a single day of Brahma. When the whole universe is drawn back and folded into Brahma himself, the learned call that the dissolution.

As the end of the Kali age draws near, men give themselves over to falsehood. Sacrifices and gifts are handed off to stand-ins; Brahmins take up the work meant for Sudras, and Sudras pile up wealth. Brahmins abandon the Vedas and the fire-rites, turn omnivorous, while Sudras take up austerity and meditation. Mleccha kings rule the earth, and the Andhras, Sakas, Pulindas, Yavanas, Kambojas, Bahlikas, and Abhiras come into power. Men grow short-lived, weak, and small of body, and drift far from truth. Girls of seven or eight conceive, boys of ten or twelve father children, and by his sixteenth year a man is old. Merchants cheat with false weights and measures, the righteous are poor and die young while the wicked prosper and live long, Indra sends no rain in its season, and the sown seed will not sprout. These are the forerunning signs of the great dissolution.

A key to reading this (the numbers): One turn of the four ages runs twelve thousand divine years, and a thousand such turns make one day of Brahma, at whose close the dissolution comes. The Kali age is drawn here through the signs of moral collapse and natural disorder, the marks that point toward the unmaking of the world.

The Vision of the Deluge and the Boy on the Banyan Leaf

Markandeya described the dissolution. At the close of the thousands of years that make the four ages, a terrible drought sets in for many years, and the weaker creatures die of hunger by the thousand. Then seven blazing suns rise in the sky and drink up every river and sea to the last drop, and burn to ash all wood and grass, wet and dry alike. Next the fire called Samvartaka, driven by the winds, breaks out and drives down even into the nether world, filling the hearts of gods, demons, and Yakshas with dread, and in a single moment it burns to ash this universe stretching across thousands of yojanas.

Then deep clouds rise in the sky, huge as herds of elephants and hung with garlands of lightning, some blue as the water-lily, some pale as the white lily, some like lotus fibers, some purple, some yellow as turmeric. Roaring terribly, they cover the whole sky and drown the earth to its last mountain, forest, and mine, and they quench that dreadful Samvartaka fire. For twelve years these clouds pour down without a pause. The ocean climbs past its shores, the mountains break apart and scatter, and the earth sinks under the water. Then the wind’s force scatters even those clouds into the sky. And now the Self-born Lord, the first cause, who has his seat on the lotus, drinks in those terrible winds and sinks into sleep.

Markandeya told what he himself had lived through. When the whole universe becomes one bottomless waste of water, when everything that moves and stands still, gods and demons, Yakshas and Rakshasas, men, trees, and the sky itself have all been destroyed, he alone wanders that dreadful expanse in misery, worn out at finding no other creature, and nowhere a place to rest. After a time he sees in that water a vast, wide-spreading banyan tree. On one far-reaching branch of it, on a couch spread with a divine bed, sits a boy with a face like a lotus or the moon and eyes as wide as the petals of a full-blown lotus.

Markandeya wondered how, when the world itself had been destroyed, this boy could be sitting here alone. Knower of past, future, and present though he was, not even his austerity and meditation could unlock the riddle. The boy shone with the color of the atasi flower and bore the mark of Srivatsa, and he seemed the very dwelling of Lakshmi. In a sweet voice the boy said, “Markandeya, I know you are weary and long to rest. Rest here as long as you wish. Best of sages, enter my body and rest within it; that is the place I have set aside for you, for I am pleased with you.”

At these words a strange indifference toward his own long life and his very manhood rose up in Markandeya. Then the boy suddenly opened his mouth, and Markandeya, powerless to resist, passed inside it. In the boy’s belly he saw the whole earth crowded with cities and kingdoms. There he found the Ganga, the Yamuna, the Sarasvati, the Sindhu, the Godavari, the Narmada, the Kaveri, and many rivers besides; the sea, a mine of gems, thick with crocodiles and sharks; the sky graced with sun and moon; the earth dressed in woods and gardens; Brahmins deep in their sacrifices, Kshatriyas doing good to all, Vaisyas at the plow, and Sudras in service. He saw Himavat, Hemakuta, Nishada, Sveta, Gandhamadana, Mandara, Nila, Meru, Mahendra, Vindhya, Malaya, and Paripatra; and lions, tigers, boars, and every beast. He saw the gods with Indra, the Sadhyas, Rudras, Adityas, Guhyakas, the fathers, the Nagas, the Vasus, the Asvins, the Gandharvas, the Apsaras, the Yakshas, the rishis, and the hordes of Daityas and Danavas, all inside that boy’s belly.

Living on fruit, Markandeya roamed that body for many centuries and never found its bounds. At last, uneasy, he took refuge in the boon-giving god and owned his supremacy. Then a gust of wind flung him out through the boy’s open mouth, and once more he saw, seated on that same branch of the banyan, the same boy of measureless splendor who had swallowed the whole universe, marked with Srivatsa and clad in yellow. The boy smiled and said that Markandeya had grown weary of dwelling in his body. In that instant a new sight came to the sage, and he found himself filled with true knowledge and freed from the illusion of the world.

Markandeya set the god’s feet, with their soles bright as burnished copper, on his own head, and with folded hands he prayed to know this being and his wondrous maya, why the whole universe stood within his body, why he lingered here in a child’s shape after swallowing the world, and how long he would stay. Here the tale of this stretch reaches the door of the deepest mystery, where the deathless rishi stands before Narayana himself and asks to be told who he is.

The gist: Markandeya gave an eyewitness account of the dissolution: seven suns, the Samvartaka fire, twelve years of drowning rain, and water everywhere. In that single expanse of water he found, on a banyan leaf, a boy marked with Srivatsa, Narayana himself, in whose belly he saw all the rivers, mountains, gods, and creatures. This is the highest vision of all, where even in the midst of destruction the seed of creation lies safe within that first child.

The Flood-Water and the Child Seated on the Banyan

The sage Markandeya, a deathless rishi alive through many kalpas, sat among the Pandavas and spoke, while King Yudhishthira and his brothers, and Draupadi with them, listened. “Lord of the earth,” the sage said, “when all this world becomes one dead expanse of water, when every creature that moves and stands still has been destroyed, when gods and demons are no more, when Yakshas and Rakshasas have vanished, when there is no man left, when even the trees and the beasts of prey are wiped out, when the sky itself is gone, then, O king, I alone drift over that water, and grief fills me. Wandering that dreadful expanse and seeing no living thing, my heart breaks. Roaming without pause through the flood, I grow weary, and nowhere do I find a place to rest.”

“Then, after a time, in that gathered waste of water I saw a great banyan tree, wide-spreading and far-reaching. On one of its far-going branches, seated on a conch and covered by a divine bed, I saw a boy whose face was lovely as a lotus or the moon and whose eyes were wide as the petals of a full-blown lotus. The sight filled my heart with wonder. I asked myself, ‘When the world itself has been destroyed, how does this boy sit here alone?’ Full as my knowledge is of past, present, and future, not even my austerity and meditation could tell me anything about him. Shining like the flower of the atasi, a plant that bears a small blue blossom, and marked with the Srivatsa, the sign on Vishnu’s breast, the boy seemed to me the very dwelling of Lakshmi.”

“Then the boy spoke to me in words most pleasant to the ear. ‘Sir, I know you are weary and long to rest. Markandeya of Bhrigu’s line, rest here as long as you wish. Best of sages, enter my body and rest within it. That is the place I have set aside for you. I am pleased with you.’ As the boy said this, a complete indifference came over me toward both my long life and my manhood. In that moment the boy suddenly opened his mouth, and, stripped of the power to move, I passed inside it.”

A key to reading this (a note): This is the vision of the dissolution, the folding-away of creation at the close of a kalpa. The boy seated on the banyan is Narayana himself, who abides in a child’s form on the waters of the flood. The rishi’s passage into his mouth is the Vishvarupa, the cosmic form in which the whole universe lives inside the belly of the Lord.

The Whole Universe Inside the Boy’s Belly

Markandeya said, “O king, once I had suddenly entered that boy’s belly, I saw there the whole earth crowded with cities and kingdoms. Wandering through it I saw the Ganga, the Satadru (Sutlej), the Sita, the Yamuna, and the Kausiki; the Charmanvati (Chambal) and the Vetravati; the Chandrabhaga (Chenab), the Sarasvati, the Sindhu, the Vipasa (Beas), and the Godavari; the Vasvokasara, the Nalini, and the Narmada; the Tamra, and the Venna of lovely current; the Suvenna, the Krishnavenna, the Irama, and the Mahanadi; the Vitasta (Jhelum), and that great river the Kaveri; and the Vishalya and the Kimpuna too. These and many other of the earth’s rivers I saw. And there, O slayer of foes, I saw the sea, a mine of gems, thick with crocodiles and sharks. I saw the sky as well, graced with sun and moon, and the earth dressed in woods and forests.”

“And in his belly, O king, I saw many Brahmins bent over their many sacrifices; Kshatriyas laboring for the good of all the orders; Vaisyas at their farming; and Sudras devoted to the service of the twice-born. Roaming that same belly I saw the mountains Himavat and Hemakuta; Nishada, and Sveta rich in silver; Gandhamadana, Mandara, and the great Nila; golden Meru, Mahendra, and the Vindhya; Malaya and Paripatra too. These and many of the earth’s mountains, all studded with jewels, I saw within his belly, and lions, tigers, boars, and every beast of the earth.”

“Wandering that belly I saw the whole company of the gods with Indra; the Sadhyas, the Rudras, the Adityas, the Guhyakas, the fathers, the serpents and the Nagas, the winged tribes, the Vasus, the Asvins, the Gandharvas, the Apsaras, the Yakshas, the rishis, the hordes of Daityas and Danavas, the sons of Simhika, and the other enemies of the gods. Whatever moves or stands still that may be seen on earth, I saw it all inside that great being’s belly. Lord, living on fruit I stayed within his body for many centuries, roaming the whole world that was there, and never once did I reach the limit of that body.”

“When I could not measure the bounds of that great being’s body, however anxious my mind grew, I took refuge, in thought, word, and deed, in that boon-giving supreme god, owning his supremacy. And the moment I did so, O king, a gust of wind cast me out through that great being’s open mouth. Then, on that same branch of the banyan, I saw once more, in a child’s form, the same being of measureless splendor who had swallowed the whole world.”

A key to reading this (the numbers and place): This roll of rivers, mountains, and worlds stands for the whole geography of India and the entire universe, all held within a single divine body. The “many centuries” mean that a rishi’s time and human time no longer run together; inside the Lord, time stretches out on its own.

Narayana’s Self-Declaration in His Own Voice

Markandeya said, “The boy, clad in yellow, marked with Srivatsa, burning with splendor, smiled and said to me, ‘Markandeya, best of sages, you have grown weary of staying in my body a while. Now I will speak to you.’ As he said this, a new sight came to me in that very moment, and I felt myself filled with true knowledge and freed from the world’s illusion. Then I placed his revered feet, their soles copper-red, on my head, folded my hands, and asked, ‘Divine one, I long to know you and this wondrous maya of yours. In your belly I have seen the whole universe. Why do you stay here in a child’s form, having swallowed the entire world? How long will you remain? Lotus-eyed god, tell me all of it in full, for everything I have seen is a wonder past thought.’”

“Then the god of gods comforted me and said, ‘Brahmin, the gods themselves do not truly know me. But since I am pleased with you, I will tell you how I made this world. In ancient times I gave the waters the name Nara, and because the waters have always been my ayana, my home, I am called Narayana, the one who dwells in the waters. I am Narayana, the source of all things, eternal and unchanging. I alone create all, and I alone destroy all. I am Vishnu, I am Brahma, I am Indra the king of the gods. I am Vaisravana, the lord of wealth, and I am Yama, the lord of the world of the dead. I am Shiva, I am Soma, and I am Kasyapa, the lord of created things. Fire is my mouth, the earth my feet, the sun and moon my eyes; heaven is the crown of my head, the quarters my ears, and the waters are born of my sweat.’”

“‘Taking the form of Sesha, I bear on my head this earth ringed by the four seas and decked with Meru and Mandara. Taking the form of a boar, it was I who raised this earth when it had sunk beneath the water. Becoming the fire that burns at the Mare’s Mouth in the deep, I drink up the ocean’s water and make it again. From my energy, from my mouth, my arms, my thighs, and my feet, sprang in turn the Brahmins, the Kshatriyas, the Vaisyas, and the Sudras. From me came the Rik, the Sama, the Yajus, and the Atharva Vedas, and when the time comes they all sink back into me.’”

“‘Brahmin, when dharma and right conduct wane and sin and wrong grow strong, I make myself anew in new forms. When cruel, malicious Daityas and Rakshasas, whom even the foremost of the gods cannot kill, are born on earth, I take birth in the families of good men, put on a human body, and set the world at peace by rooting out every evil. By my own maya I make gods, men, Gandharvas, Rakshasas, and all unmoving things, and when the time comes I destroy them all myself. In the Krita age I turn white, in the Treta yellow, in the Dvapara red, and in the Kali dark of hue.’”

“‘With three steps I measure out the whole universe; I am the soul of the world, the spring of all happiness, the humbler of every pride; I am everywhere, endless, the lord of the senses. Brahmin, I alone set the wheel of Time turning; I am formless, the destroyer of all creatures, the cause of every effort. My soul runs through all beings, yet no one knows me. Whatever pain you felt within my belly, sinless one, was for your own good. I who am called Narayana am the bearer of the conch, the discus, and the mace. Rishi, for a span a thousand times the length of the ages, I, the soul of the universe, sleep, drowning all creatures in a swoon. Until Brahma wakes I stay here, old and yet in this child’s form.’”

A sub-tale: “Measuring the universe with three steps” points here to the Vamana avatar. In that story Vishnu took the form of Vamana, a dwarf Brahmin, and begged three steps of ground from Bali, then swelled to a cosmic size and covered earth, sky, and the nether world in those three steps, freeing the gods from the demons’ rule.

Markandeya said, “With those words that wondrous god vanished from my sight, and I watched this varied, strange creation come back to life. Best of the Bharatas, all this I saw at the end of the age. And that lotus-eyed god whom I saw in the far past is this very Janardana, first among men, who has now become your kinsman. It is by his boon that my memory never fades, that my life is so long, and that death waits on my command. He is that ancient supreme Lord Hari who has taken birth in the Vrishni line as Krishna. Best of the Kurus, take refuge, all of you, in this protector.” At this the sons of Pandu, with Draupadi, bowed to Janardana, and Krishna comforted them all with sweet words.

The gist: The boy seated on the banyan branch above the flood-water is Narayana, in whose belly all the rivers, mountains, worlds, and creatures are held. He told Markandeya his own true nature, that he is the maker, the keeper, and the destroyer, and that in every age he comes down in new forms. From this Markandeya knows that the Krishna seated among them is that same supreme Lord.

The Prophecy of the Kali Age

Yudhishthira asked the sage again, “First among speakers, what you have told of the destruction and rebirth of everything at the end of the age is full of wonder. But I want to know about the Kali age. When dharma and right conduct come to an end, what will be left? What strength will men have in that age, what food, what amusements? How long will a life run at the age’s end? And at what limit will the Krita age begin anew? Tell me all of it in full.”

Markandeya said, “O king, hear what I have seen and heard and known by the god’s grace through inner sight. In the Krita age dharma stood, like a bull, on all four of its legs. In the Treta sin took one leg, and dharma stood on three. In the Dvapara sin and dharma were mixed half and half, and dharma stood on two legs. In the dark age of Kali, best of the Bharatas, dharma keeps company with three parts of sin, so only a fourth of it is left. Know this, Yudhishthira: in every age the life span, the energy, the intellect, and the bodily strength of men fall away.”

“In the Kali age Brahmins, Kshatriyas, Vaisyas, and Sudras will practice dharma by fraud, and men will cheat one another by spreading the net of virtue. Those puffed up with false learning will, by their acts, shrink truth and hide it away. Their short lives will keep them from gaining much knowledge, and their scant knowledge will leave them without wisdom, so greed will settle over them all. Sunk in greed, anger, ignorance, and lust, men will thirst for one another’s lives. Brahmins, Kshatriyas, and Vaisyas, stripped of their dharma and austerity, will sink to the level of Sudras. The low orders will climb to the middle place, and the middle will come down to the lowest.”

“In that age robes of flax will be thought the best, and of grains the kodo the best. Men will take their own wives to be their only friends. Cows will die out, and people will live on fish, goats and sheep, and milk. Even men under vows will turn greedy. People will become atheists and thieves. A father will feed on his son’s wealth, and a son on his father’s. Things forbidden to be enjoyed by the scriptures will be enjoyed. Brahmins will slander the Vedas, keep no vows, foul their minds with false reasoning, and give up the fire-rites.”

“A son will kill his father and a father his son and feel no shame; they will boast of it instead. The whole world will fill with mleccha ways and mleccha feeling; sacrifices will stop, and joy will be gone everywhere. Cowards will pass for heroes, and heroes will be brought low like cowards. No one will trust anyone. Sin will swell and dharma waste away. Brahmins, Kshatriyas, and Vaisyas will disappear, and all men will become one undivided mass. Sons and fathers will not forgive each other, and wives will not serve their husbands.”

“A darkness of the mind will close over the whole earth, and a man’s life will shrink to sixteen years, and then death will take him. Girls of five or six will bear children, and boys of seven or eight will become fathers. Husband and wife will never be content with each other. People will wear the false badges of dharma, and envy and spite will fill the world. Famine and drought will torment the earth, and the highways will be crowded with men and women of bad character. Taking up mleccha ways, men will eat anything without distinction and turn cruel in every act.”

“Men will destroy trees and gardens without a qualm. Overcome by greed, they will kill Brahmins and take their wealth. The twice-born, harried by Sudras, will roam the earth in terror, crying out, with no one to shield them. Hounded by bandits, they will fly like frightened crows to rivers, mountains, and hard, unreachable places for refuge. Crushed under the weight of taxes, Brahmins will lose all patience and become the servants of Sudras. Sudras will expound the scriptures, and Brahmins will listen and take their readings as authority. The low will rise high, and everything will seem turned upside down.”

“Renouncing the gods, men will worship the bones and relics set in their walls. The hermitages of rishis, the schools of Brahmins, the places of the gods, and the holy fords will stand disfigured with tombs and pillars full of bony relics instead of temples. When men have become cruel, without dharma, eaters of flesh and drinkers of wine, then the age will end. Fire will break out in the quarters, the stars will lose their light, the planets will turn ill-omened, the wind will blow wild, and countless meteors will fall foreboding disaster. The sun will rise with six other suns, and Rahu will swallow it out of season. Women will grow sharp, pitiless, and fond of weeping, and will not obey their husbands.”

“When the age’s end comes, sons will kill their fathers and mothers, and women, gone lawless, will kill their husbands and sons. Rahu will swallow the sun out of its time, and fires will blaze on every side. Travelers will find no food, water, or shelter. Crows, snakes, vultures, and kites will cry out in dreadful voices. People will leave their lands and cities and wander in search of new homes, calling out, ‘O father, O son.’”

A key to reading this (in modern terms): The “four legs of the bull of dharma” is a figure: in the Krita age dharma stands whole on four legs, in the Treta on three-quarters, in the Dvapara on half, in the Kali on only a quarter. “Mleccha” means conduct outside the Vedic way, coarse and untrained, and stands for no particular people. This whole account is a portrait of moral and social collapse, in which the order of the varnas, the family, and trust itself is shown breaking apart.

The Advent of Kalki and the Renewal of the Krita Age

Markandeya said, “When those terrible times have passed, creation will begin fresh. Men will be made again and divided into the four orders, from the Brahmins down. To let the people increase, the Ordainer will once more turn favorable. When the sun, the moon, and Brihaspati enter one sign together with the constellation Pushya, the Krita age will begin anew. The clouds will pour their rain in season, the stars and planets will turn auspicious, and there will be plenty, health, and peace on every side.”

“At that time, driven by Time itself, a Brahmin named Kalki will be born. He will magnify the glory of Vishnu and be endowed with great energy, intellect, and prowess. He will be born in a town called Sambhala, into a blessed Brahmin family. The moment he thinks of them, vehicles, weapons, warriors, and armor will come to his hand. He will be the king of kings, ever victorious by the strength of dharma. He will restore order and peace to this world gone out of joint. That blazing Brahmin, of mighty mind, will destroy all things and open a new age, and, ringed by Brahmins, he will wipe out the mlecchas wherever they take refuge.”

“Having killed the thieves and robbers, Kalki will give this earth away to the Brahmins at a great horse-sacrifice, and, having set up again the bounds of dharma ordained by the Self-born, he will withdraw into a lovely forest. The people of the earth will follow his example. When the Brahmins have rooted out the thieves and robbers, there will be plenty everywhere. Subduing one country after another, that first of Brahmins, Kalki, will range over the earth carrying deer skins, lances, and tridents, honored by the foremost Brahmins, and cutting down thieves and robbers.”

“When sin has thus been torn out by the root and dharma flowers with the coming of the Krita age, men will turn again to religious acts. Well-kept gardens, sacrificial grounds, great tanks, seats of learning, and temples will appear everywhere once more, and the rites of sacrifice will begin again. Brahmins will grow good and truthful, and, given to austerity, will become sages, and the hermitages that had been crowded with the wicked will become the homes of men devoted to truth. Every seed that is sown will grow, and every crop will come in every season. Brahmins will keep to their six duties, study, teaching, offering sacrifice, officiating at the sacrifices of others, giving, and receiving gifts; Kshatriyas to feats of prowess, Vaisyas to their own work, and Sudras to the service of the three orders. This, Yudhishthira, is the round of the Krita, Treta, Dvapara, and Kali ages.”

A key to reading this (lineage and place): Kalki is held to be the tenth and last avatar of Vishnu, born at the village of Sambhala at the close of the Kali age to destroy adharma and set up the age of truth again. This account is drawn from the tradition of the Vayu Purana, which Markandeya recites to Yudhishthira.

Markandeya said, “Sinless one, keep your mind fixed always on dharma, for the man of dharma finds happiness both here and in the world to come. Never insult a Brahmin, for an angry Brahmin can, by the strength of his vow, destroy the three worlds.” Yudhishthira asked, “If I am to protect my people, what conduct should I follow so that I do not fall from the dharma of my order?” The sage said, “Be merciful to all creatures and devoted to their good. Hate no one; be truthful, humble, and master of your senses. Practice dharma, renounce sin, honor the fathers and the gods, and wash away with charity whatever sins you commit through ignorance or carelessness. Let go of pride and take up humility. This is conduct in keeping with dharma. My son, do not take your present distress to heart. Men of discernment are never shaken when Time bears down on them. Even the gods of heaven cannot rise above Time.”

Yudhishthira answered, “Best of the twice-born, at your word I will follow all your teachings. There is no greed in me, no lust, no fear, no pride. I will do just as you have said.” Hearing the sage’s words, the Pandavas and all the Brahmins gathered there were filled with joy, and their hearts were full of wonder.

The gist: After the ruin of the Kali age, Kalki will destroy adharma and set the Krita age up again, and the wheel of the ages will turn once more. Markandeya gives Yudhishthira the heart of a king’s dharma: mercy, truth, humility, the protection of his people, and patience in the face of Time.

The Greatness of Brahmins: King Parikshit and the Frog-Princess

Janamejaya asked, “Tell me in full, as Markandeya told the Pandavas, of the greatness of the Brahmins.” Vaishampayana said, “Yudhishthira had asked Markandeya to speak of that greatness, and the sage answered with an ancient story.”

“In Ayodhya there ruled a king of the Ikshvaku line named Parikshit. One day he rode out to hunt. Chasing a deer alone on his horse, he strayed far beyond any human settlement. Faint with hunger and thirst, he pushed on into a dense forest, where he and his horse bathed in a lovely lake. Setting lotus stalks before the horse, the king sat down on the bank. Then he caught strains of sweet music and wondered, ‘There is not so much as a footprint of any man here. Whose voice is this, and from where?’ A moment later he saw a girl of surpassing beauty gathering flowers as she sang. The king asked, ‘Who are you, gracious one, and whose are you?’ She answered, ‘I am a maiden.’ The king said, ‘I ask you to be my wife.’ The girl said, ‘Give me one promise, and then I can be yours.’ When he asked what it was, she said, ‘You will never show me water.’ The king said, ‘So be it,’ and married her.”

“Parikshit lived with her in delight. Meanwhile his army caught up with him, and the king, seating his new bride beside him on a beautiful chariot, returned to his capital. There he kept to her company in such privacy that even those closest to him could not gain an audience. The chief minister questioned the king’s serving-women about what was going on. They told him, ‘There is a peerless beauty here with whom the king takes his pleasure, on the pledge that he will never show her water.’ Hearing this, the minister had an artificial forest laid out, full of trees heavy with flowers and fruit, and in one hidden corner of it he had a great tank dug, its water sweet as nectar, roofed over with a net of pearls.”

“One day, in private, the minister said to the king, ‘This lovely garden has no water; go and enjoy yourself there in ease.’ The king went into the garden with his beloved. Wandering about, worn down by hunger and thirst, he came to a bower of madhavi creepers, and there he saw the tank with its clear, nectar-sweet water. Sitting on its edge, the king said to his wife, ‘Step down happily into this water.’ The moment she heard it she went down into the water, and once down she never rose to the surface again. The king searched, but found no trace of her. He had the tank baled dry, and saw a frog sitting at the mouth of a burrow. In his fury the king gave the order, ‘Let frogs be killed everywhere in my realm! Whoever wishes to see me must come bearing a tribute of dead frogs.’”

“The terrified frogs told their king everything. The king of the frogs put on an ascetic’s garb, came before Parikshit, and said, ‘King, do not give way to anger; be gracious. It is not right to slaughter these innocent frogs.’ Filled with grief, Parikshit answered, ‘I will not spare them. These wretches have swallowed my beloved. Do not take their side.’ Then the frog-king, his heart in pain, said, ‘Be gracious, king. I am Ayu, king of the frogs. She who was your wife is my daughter Sushobhana. This is her own misconduct; before this she has deceived many kings.’ The king said, ‘I want her still; grant her to me.’”

“The frog-king gave his daughter to Parikshit and said to her, ‘Wait upon the king and serve him.’ Then, in anger, he told the girl, ‘Since you have deceived so many kings by this false conduct of yours, your offspring will hold Brahmins in contempt.’ But Parikshit was so taken with her qualities that it was as if he had won the kingdom of all three worlds. He bowed to the frog-king and, his throat choked with joyful tears, said, ‘I am blessed indeed.’ The frog-king, with his daughter’s leave, returned to the place he had come from. In time the king had three sons by her, named Sala, Dala, and Vala. When the hour came, the king set the eldest on the throne and left for the forest to practice austerities.”

A key to reading this (lineage): This Parikshit is the Ayodhya king of the Ikshvaku line, a different man from the Parikshit who was Abhimanyu’s son and Arjuna’s grandson. The warning given by Ayu, king of the frogs, that Sushobhana’s children would slight the Brahmins, is the seed of the tale that follows, for her sons Sala and Dala go on to treat the sage Vamadeva with contempt.

Greed for the Vami Horses and Vamadeva’s Curse

Markandeya said, “One day, while Sala was chasing a deer in the hunt, he said to his charioteer, ‘Drive faster.’ The charioteer said, ‘Do not set your heart on it; this deer cannot be taken by you. Only if the Vami horses were yoked to your chariot could you catch it.’ The king asked what the Vami horses were, or else he would strike the man down. The charioteer, afraid both of Vamadeva’s curse and of the king, spoke only when the king raised his sword: ‘The Vami horses belong to the sage Vamadeva; they are swift as thought.’ The king ordered him to drive to Vamadeva’s hermitage.”

“Reaching the hermitage, the king said to the sage, ‘Revered one, my wounded deer is getting away. Lend me your pair of Vami horses so I may run it down.’ The sage said, ‘I give you my Vami horses; but once your work is done, return them to me at once.’ The king took the horses and set off after the deer. The moment he left the hermitage he told his charioteer, ‘Horses like these, worth their weight in jewels, are wasted on Brahmins; do not give them back to Vamadeva.’ He caught the deer, returned to his capital, and kept the horses in his inner apartments.”

“A month later the sage thought, ‘The prince is young; having come by such fine horses in his delight, he does not send them back. What a pity.’ He sent his disciple Atreya to the king, to say that if the work was done he should return the horses. The king answered, ‘This pair is fit for kings; a Brahmin does not deserve such a treasure. What need have Brahmins of horses? Go back content.’ Atreya returned and repeated it all. Hearing this bitter news, Vamadeva filled with anger and went himself to the king to ask for the horses.”

“The king refused to give the horses up. Vamadeva said, ‘Lord of the earth, return my Vami horses to me. It was by them that you accomplished what was all but impossible for you. Do not break the bounds set between Brahmins and Kshatriyas and call down death upon yourself out of Varuna’s terrible noose.’ The king answered, ‘Vamadeva, here are two fine, well-broken, docile oxen, beasts fit for Brahmins; take them and go where you please. The Vedas, after all, are what carry men like you.’ Vamadeva said, ‘The Vedas carry us in the world to come; but in this world, king, it is such beasts that carry us and everyone else.’”

“The king said, ‘Let four asses, or four good mules, or four horses swift as the wind carry you; go with these. This Vami pair belongs to the Kshatriyas; they are not yours.’ At that Vamadeva said, ‘King, terrible vows are laid down for Brahmins. If I have kept them, then at my command let four dreadful Rakshasas hunt you down, cut your body into four pieces, and lift them upon their sharp spears.’ The king answered, ‘Any who know you for such a Brahmin, one bent in thought, word, and deed on taking my life, let them at my command take up gleaming spears and swords and strike you and your disciples down before me.’”

“Vamadeva said, ‘King, when you took my Vami horses you promised to return them. Return them now, then, so you may save your life.’ The king said, ‘Hunting deer is not for Brahmins. But your falsehood I do punish.’ As he spoke he cried out, ‘If every descendant of the Ikshvaku line, my brother Dala, and all these Vaishyas acknowledge my rule, then I will not give Vamadeva the Vami horses, for these men can never be righteous.’ He was still speaking when the Rakshasas killed him with their spears, and the lord of the earth fell to the ground.”

“When the Ikshvakus learned of the king’s death, they set Dala on the throne. Then Vamadeva went to Dala and said, ‘King, every scripture says that gifts must be given to Brahmins. If you fear sin, give me the Vami horses without delay.’ In fury Dala told his charioteer to bring a fine arrow steeped in poison, so that Vamadeva, torn by dogs, might fall in agony. Vamadeva said, ‘I know, king, that your queen has borne you a son ten years old, Senajita. By the power of my word, strike that beloved son dead now with your own dreadful arrows.’”

“At these words of Vamadeva, the arrow the king had loosed struck the prince dead in the inner apartments. Hearing it, Dala said, ‘Men of Ikshvaku, today I will crush this Brahmin to death with my own strength. Bring another arrow; watch my prowess.’ Vamadeva said, ‘This poisoned arrow you level at me you will be able neither to shoot nor even to aim.’ The king said, ‘Look, I cannot even loose the arrow I have raised; I cannot kill this Brahmin. Let long-lived Vamadeva live.’ Vamadeva said, ‘Touch your own queen with this same arrow and you may be cleansed of the sin of attempting a Brahmin’s murder.’”

“King Dala did as he was told. Then the queen said to the sage, ‘Vamadeva, let me counsel this unlucky husband of mine every day with words meant for his good; let me serve the Brahmins always and win the world of merit.’ Hearing this, Vamadeva said, ‘Fair-eyed lady, you have preserved this royal house. Ask some matchless boon.’ The queen said, ‘This is the boon I ask: that my husband be freed of this sin, and that you keep watch over the welfare of his son and his kinsmen.’ The sage said, ‘So be it.’ Then King Dala, glad at heart, bowed low and gave the sage back his Vami horses.”

The gist: Parikshit won the frog-princess Sushobhana, but his sons Sala and Dala refused to return Vamadeva’s Vami horses. Under the fire of the sage’s curse, Sala was killed by Rakshasas, and Dala suffered the loss of his own son by his own arrow. In the end the queen’s good sense and Vamadeva’s mercy saved the line. The point of the tale is that the fire of an angry Brahmin stands above even the strength of a Kshatriya, and that keeping a given word is the root of dharma.

The Sage Vaka and Indra: The Sorrows and Joys of Immortality

Vaishampayana said, “The rishis and Yudhishthira asked Markandeya how the sage Vaka had come to live so long. Markandeya said that the royal sage Vaka was a great ascetic and long of life, and he told the story of Vaka’s meeting with Indra, a story filled with both joy and sorrow.”

“When the war between the gods and the Asuras was over, Indra became lord of the three worlds. The clouds poured down in plenty, the people grew happy and upright, and they lived in peace, devoted to dharma. Indra, the slayer of Bala, mounted his elephant Airavata and looked out over his contented subjects: the hermitages of the rishis, rivers full of blessing, thriving cities, green villages, righteous kings, and tanks and wells brimming with water. Then he went eastward, to the shore of the sea, to a sacred hermitage rich with greenery where the sage Vaka lived.”

“Vaka was glad to see Indra and honored him with water for his feet, a seat, the guest-offering, and fruit and roots. Seated comfortably, Indra asked, ‘Sinless sage, you have already lived a hundred years. Tell me, what are the sorrows of those who cannot die?’ Vaka said, ‘To live among people one dislikes, to be parted from those one loves, to keep the company of the wicked, these an immortal must endure. The deaths of sons and wives, of kinsmen and friends, and the pain of leaning upon others rank among the sharpest griefs. There is no more pitiful sight on earth than a man without wealth slighted by others. To watch those born without family honor rise to it, and those who had it lose it, to see union and separation both, all this an immortal must witness.’”

“‘The foolish and the ignorant live in ease and good cheer, while the learned and the wise bear suffering. The world holds countless such crooked arrangements. Men of good birth fall under the power of the base and are made to suffer, and the poor are humiliated by the rich. What could be more pitiful than that? Those who live undying are set to this very task, to see it all and to carry the grief of it.’”

“Indra asked, ‘Now tell me the joys of the immortals, the joys that are dear even to gods and to rishis.’ Vaka said, ‘If, with no bad friend beside him, a man cooks a few greens in his own house at the eighth or the twelfth hour of the day, there is none happier than he. The man who does not eat by counting the days is never called a glutton. He who, by his own effort and dependent on no one, eats even fruit and herbs in his own home deserves respect. He who eats food handed to him with contempt in another’s house, however tasty, does a shameful thing.’”

“‘The learned hold that the base man’s food deserves scorn, the man who eats in another’s house like a dog or a demon. But if a true Brahmin eats only what is left after he has fed his guests, his servants, and the Pitris, none is happier than he. When a Brahmin gives the first share to a guest and only then eats, every mouthful he takes yields merit equal to the gift of a thousand cows, and the sins of his youth are surely washed away.’ Having said these things and many more to Vaka, Indra returned to heaven.”

The gist: Vaka teaches that the sorrow of immortality lies in watching loved ones torn away again and again and in bearing the world’s injustices, while its joy lies in a self-reliant, simple life bound up with the service of one’s guests. Long life is sweet only when it is joined to independence and to giving.

The Greatness of Kshatriyas: Suhotra, Shibi, Yayati, Vrishadarbha

The Pandavas asked to hear the glory of the royal sages. Markandeya said, “Suhotra, a king of the Kuru line, was returning from an audience with the great rishis. On the road he saw Shibi, son of Usinara, seated on his chariot. Each saluted the other according to his years, and each, holding himself the other’s equal, refused to give way. Just then Narada arrived and asked, ‘Why do you two stand here blocking each other’s road?’ Both answered, ‘Revered one, do not put it so. The ancient rishis have said that the road should be yielded to the greater or the more capable. But we two are equal in every respect; looked at fairly, neither of us is the greater.’”

“Narada spoke three verses: ‘Prince of the Kurus, the wicked man wrongs even the humble; the humble man deals even with the wicked in humility and truth. The good man keeps faith even with the bad; why then not with the good? A kindness done before a good man shows a hundred times larger in his eyes. Beyond doubt the virtue of Shibi, son of Usinara, is greater than yours. Win the base by giving, the liar by truth, the wrongdoer by forgiveness, and the dishonest by honesty. You are both large of heart; let the counsel of these verses decide, and let one of you step aside.’ Hearing this, the Kuru king walked around Shibi in honor, praised him, gave him the road, and went on his way.”

Markandeya said, “Hear another story. One day Yayati, son of Nahusha, sat on his throne ringed by his citizens. A Brahmin came seeking wealth for his teacher and said, ‘King, by the pledge you have taken, I ask you for wealth for my preceptor.’ The king asked what his pledge was. The Brahmin said, ‘King, in this world, when men beg, the one who begs is looked down upon. I ask you: in what spirit will you give me what I seek?’ The king answered, ‘I never boast of a gift I make. What cannot be given, I will not so much as hear a request for; but what can be given, once I have heard the prayer, I give, and I am always glad to give it. I will give you a thousand cows. A Brahmin who asks is always dear to me; I am never angry with one who begs of me, and I never regret a thing once given.’ The Brahmin took his thousand cows and went away.”

A sub-tale: There were two kings named Vrishadarbha and Seduka, both accomplished in statecraft and in the science of arms. Seduka knew that Vrishadarbha had held from boyhood an unspoken vow: that he gave the Brahmins no metal but gold and silver. A Brahmin who had finished his study of the Vedas came to Seduka and begged a thousand horses for his teacher. Seduka said, ‘That is beyond me; go to the righteous Vrishadarbha, and he will grant your prayer.’ The Brahmin went to Vrishadarbha and asked for a thousand horses. The king had him struck with a whip. The blameless Brahmin, in his anger, made ready to lay a curse, but the king said, ‘You would curse a man for a gift he has not yet refused you? Does that befit a Brahmin?’ The Brahmin explained that Seduka had sent him. Then the king said, ‘How can I send away empty-handed a Brahmin I have whipped? Whatever revenue reaches me by morning, I will give it all to you.’ And he handed the Brahmin the whole of that day’s takings, far more than the worth of a thousand horses.

The gist: The greatness of the royal sages lies in their giving, their humility, and their keeping of their word. Suhotra yielded the road to Shibi, the worthier man; Yayati gave a thousand cows without a trace of pride; and Vrishadarbha, even after striking a Brahmin, handed him his entire day’s revenue and so kept his vow.

The Pigeon and the Hawk: The Testing of King Shibi

Markandeya said, “One day the gods resolved to come down to earth and test the virtue of Shibi, son of Usinara. Agni and Indra came to earth. Agni became a pigeon, and Indra, becoming a hawk, gave chase. The pigeon dropped into the lap of King Shibi as he sat upon his high throne. The priest said, ‘Fleeing the hawk and seeking to save itself, this pigeon has come to you for refuge. The lore of omens holds that a pigeon falling upon a man’s body foretells great peril. If the king knows the omens, let him give gifts to turn the danger aside.’”

“The pigeon too spoke: ‘Fleeing the hawk, to save my life, I have come to you for refuge. I am a sage who has put on the shape of a pigeon. Know me as a man learned in the Vedas, a celibate, a master of my senses, an ascetic; never once did I speak a harsh word to my teacher. I am no pigeon. Do not give me up to the hawk. To surrender a learned and blameless Brahmin can never be a worthy gift.’ Then the hawk said, ‘King, living creatures are not born in one fixed order. It may be that in some earlier life you were born of this very pigeon. But to shield this pigeon and so cut off my food does not become you.’”

“The king said, ‘Has anyone ever before seen birds speak the clear speech of men like this? Knowing what this pigeon says and what this hawk says, how are we to act today in keeping with dharma? The man who gives up a frightened suppliant to his enemy finds no shelter himself in his own hour of need. For him the clouds do not rain in season, the seeds he sows do not sprout, and his children die while still small. His forefathers do not dwell in heaven; the gods will not take his offerings. Hawk, let the men of Shibi’s line carry to your dwelling, in place of this pigeon, an ox dressed with rice and meat in plenty.’”

“The hawk said, ‘King, I ask for no ox, nor any other meat, nor anything beyond this pigeon. The gods have given it to me. Its death is fixed; so this is my food today. Give it to me.’ The king said, ‘Let my people bring you an ox whole in every limb; let that be the ransom of this frightened creature. Only do not kill this pigeon. I will give my life sooner than give up this pigeon. If you wish, name me some task I can perform for you.’ The hawk said, ‘King, if you cut from your own right thigh flesh equal to the pigeon’s weight and give it to me, then the pigeon may be saved, and the people of Shibi will sing your praise.’”

“The king agreed. He cut a piece from his right thigh and weighed it against the pigeon, but the pigeon came out heavier. He cut a second piece, and still the pigeon weighed more. Then he cut flesh from every limb of his body and heaped it on the scale, and the pigeon was heavier yet. In the end the king climbed onto the scale himself, and in doing so he felt not the least regret. Seeing this, the hawk cried, ‘He is saved,’ and vanished.”

“The king asked the pigeon, ‘Let the men of Shibi know who this hawk was. Who but the lord of the universe could do such a thing? Answer me, revered one.’ The pigeon said, ‘I am Agni, the smoke-bannered, whom men also call Vaishvanara. The hawk is Indra, the wielder of the thunderbolt, husband of Shachi. Son of Suratha, you are the foremost of men. We came to put you to the test. The wounds that the flesh you cut from your own body has left upon your limbs I will make blessed and lovely; they will shine like gold and give off a sweet fragrance. Winning great renown, honored by gods and rishis, you will rule this people for a long age, and from your loins will spring a son named Kapataroman.’”

The gist: The gods tested Shibi in the forms of Agni (the pigeon) and Indra (the hawk). To protect the one who had sought his shelter, the king weighed out the flesh of his own body, and at the last offered himself. He held the protection of a suppliant above his own life. This is the highest bound of a Kshatriya’s dharma.

Narada’s Test: Ashtaka, Pratardana, Vasumanas, and Shibi

Markandeya said, “To the horse-sacrifice of King Ashtaka, of Vishvamitra’s line, came many kings. His three brothers came as well: Pratardana, Vasumanas, and Shibi, son of Usinara. When the rite was over and Ashtaka was riding off on his chariot with his brothers, they saw Narada approaching. They saluted him and asked him to ride along with them. Narada said, ‘So be it,’ and mounted the chariot. One of the kings, having won Narada’s goodwill, said, ‘Revered one, I would ask you something.’ Narada gave him leave. The king said, ‘We four are long of life and rich in every virtue. We shall dwell long in some heaven. But which of us will fall from it first?’ Narada said, ‘Ashtaka here will fall first.’”

“‘On what account?’ the king asked. Narada said, ‘I stayed some days at Ashtaka’s house. One day he took me out beyond the city on his chariot and showed me thousands of cows of every color. When I asked whose they were, he said, ‘These cows I have given away.’ In that answer he praised his own charity. It is for this that Ashtaka falls first.’”

“Then they asked which of the remaining three would fall first. Narada said, ‘Pratardana.’ Asked why, he said, ‘I stayed some days at Pratardana’s house as well. One day he was taking me out on his chariot when a Brahmin asked him for a horse. The king said he would give it on the way back, but the Brahmin pressed for it at once, so the king gave him the horse yoked to the right wheel. Then to a second Brahmin he gave the horse of the left wheel, and to a third he unhitched and gave the left front horse. When a fourth Brahmin asked, he gave up the last horse that remained and took hold of the chariot’s yoke himself to drag it along. Then he said, ‘Now there is nothing left for the Brahmins.’ He gave, but he gave with a slight. For that one word he will fall from heaven.’”

“Of the remaining two, one asked which of them would fall. Narada said, ‘Vasumanas.’ Asked why, he said, ‘In my wanderings I came to the house of Vasumanas. Brahmins were chanting benedictions over a flower-chariot. When the ceremony was complete, the flower-chariot appeared. I praised it, and the king said, ‘Revered one, you have praised it; so the chariot is yours.’ Later I had need of a chariot again; I praised it, and the king said, ‘It is yours.’ A third time I praised it, but this time the king, showing the chariot to some Brahmins, looked at me and said, ‘Revered one, you have praised the chariot enough.’ He said only that, and did not give the chariot. For this he will fall.’”

“Then they asked, of the two who would remain with him, who would go up and who would fall. Narada said, ‘Shibi will go up, but I will fall.’ Asked why, he said, ‘I am not Shibi’s equal. One day a Brahmin came to Shibi and said he had come for a meal. Shibi asked what he should do and bade the Brahmin command him. The Brahmin said, ‘Let this son of yours named Vrihadgarbha be killed, and cook him for my food.’”

“‘Hearing this, I waited to see what would come of it. Shibi killed his son, cooked him according to the rites, set the food in a vessel, took it upon his head, and went out in search of the Brahmin. Then someone told him that the Brahmin had gone into the city in a rage and was setting fire to his palace, his treasury, his arsenal, his inner apartments, and his stables of horses and elephants. Shibi heard it, yet not even his color changed. Going into the city, he said to the Brahmin, ‘Revered one, the food is ready.’ The Brahmin stood silent, ashamed, his eyes on the ground. Shibi said, ‘Revered one, eat.’ The Brahmin looked at him and said, ‘Eat it yourself.’ Shibi said, ‘So be it,’ and gladly lifted the vessel from his head and made ready to eat. Then the Brahmin caught his hand and said, ‘You have conquered anger. There is nothing fit to give a Brahmin that you would not give.’ With these words the Brahmin honored Shibi, and when Shibi looked in front of him his son stood there, adorned like a child of the gods, sweet with fragrance. That Brahmin was the Creator himself, come to test the royal sage.’”

“‘When the Creator had vanished, the ministers asked Shibi, ‘You knew all of this; why then did you do it?’ Shibi answered, ‘Not for fame, not for wealth, not for pleasure did I do this. There is no sin in this path. The road the good men have walked is worthy of praise; my heart always turns toward it.’ Markandeya said, ‘This lofty virtue of Shibi I know well, and that is why I have told it to you.’”

A key to reading this (a note): Narada’s point is that the merit of a gift is undone by self-praise or by a grudging word. Ashtaka’s boast, Pratardana’s slight, and Vasumanas’s stinginess all cut down their merit, while Shibi’s selfless gift, won over his own anger, stood highest of all. That is why he alone will hold his place in heaven.

Indradyumna and the Chain of the Long-Lived

The Pandavas and the rishis asked Markandeya whether anyone was longer-lived than he. Markandeya said, “Without doubt there is. A royal sage named Indradyumna, his store of merit run out, fell from heaven crying, ‘My deeds are undone.’ He came to me and asked, ‘Do you know me?’ I said, ‘We do not stay fixed in one place to gather merit; we halt for only a single night in any village or town. So one like me cannot know your deeds.’ He asked whether anyone was longer-lived than I. I said, ‘On Himavat there lives an owl named Pravarakarna, older than I; he may know you.’”

“Indradyumna turned himself into a horse and carried me to that owl. The king asked, ‘Do you know me?’ The owl thought for a few moments and said, ‘I do not know you.’ Then the owl told us that in a lake named Indradyumna there lived a crane named Nadijangha, older than them both. The three of us went to that lake. The crane too said, ‘I do not know Indradyumna,’ and told us that in the same lake lived a tortoise named Akupara, the oldest of them all.”

“At the crane’s call the tortoise came up onto the bank. It was asked whether it knew Indradyumna. The tortoise thought for a while, and then its eyes filled with tears, its heart melted, and it began to tremble. Folding its hands, it said, ‘How could I not know him? A thousand times over he set up the posts for his yajna (fire-rite) as he kindled the sacred fires. This very lake was hollowed out by the hooves of the cows he gave the Brahmins when his yajna was done. Ever since, I have made my home here.’”

“The moment the tortoise spoke, a celestial car came down from heaven, and a voice out of the sky said, ‘Indradyumna, come and take your rightful place in heaven! Your deeds are great!’ And these verses were heard as well: ‘The fame of a good deed spreads over the earth and rises to heaven; as long as that fame endures, the doer dwells in heaven. And the man whose evil deed is spoken of sinks into the lower world and stays there for just as long. So a man should be a doer of good, to win heaven.’ The king said, ‘Until I have carried these elders back to their own places, let this car wait here.’ Having brought me and the owl back to where we belonged, he rode the car to the world that was his by right. Because I am long-lived, I see all of this.”

The Pandavas said, “Blessed are you, who won back for the fallen Indradyumna the world that was his.” Markandeya said, “In the same way Krishna, son of Devaki, once lifted the royal sage Nriga out of hell and gave him heaven.”

The gist: This chain of long-lived beings, Markandeya himself, the owl Pravarakarna, the crane Nadijangha, and the oldest of them all, the tortoise Akupara, shows that it is the fame of one’s merit that keeps a man in heaven. Indradyumna’s deed had gone so deep that even an ancient tortoise still remembered it, and by that remembered fame he returned to heaven.

The Dharma of Giving and the Road to Yama’s World

Yudhishthira asked, “At what stage of life should a man give in order to win the world of Indra: in his householder years, in childhood, in youth, or in old age?” Markandeya said, “A wasted life is of four kinds, and a wasted gift of sixteen. His life is wasted who has no sons; who lives outside dharma; who lives on the food of others; and who cooks only for himself and eats alone, giving nothing to the Pitris, the gods, and his guests.”

“A gift to one who has fallen from his vows, and a gift of wealth earned by injustice, are both wasted. A gift to a fallen Brahmin, to a thief, and to a false teacher is wasted. A gift to a liar, to a sinner, to an ingrate, to one who performs rites for every caste alike, to one who sells the Vedas, to one who cooks for a Shudra, and to a man who is a Brahmin by birth but empty of a Brahmin’s works is wasted. A gift to a man who has taken a bride only after she came of age, to women, to a keeper of performing snakes, and to a man who lives by base work is wasted as well. These sixteen kinds of gift bear no fruit.”

“He who gives out of fear or anger, his mind clouded with ignorance, reaps the fruit of it while still in his mother’s womb. He who gives to Brahmins at the other stages of life reaps the fruit of it in old age. So the man who longs for heaven should give everything to Brahmins at every stage of his life.” Yudhishthira asked how the Brahmins, who take gifts from all four castes, protect others and themselves alike. Markandeya said, “By their prayer, their mantras, their oblations, and their study of the Vedas, the Brahmins build a boat out of the Veda, and with it they carry across both themselves and others.”

“The man who gives a guest water to wash his feet, ghee to rub on his weary feet, a lamp against the dark, food, and shelter never has to stand before Yama. At a shraddha (the offering for the ancestors) one should feed only a worthy Brahmin, and pass over those who are cursed or fallen, too fair or too dark, sick, leprous, deceitful, or living by the sword. One cow should be given to a single Brahmin; one cow should not be given to many, for when it is shared and thus sold off, the giver’s line is destroyed for three generations. The gift of land, of cows, and of gold is the highest of gifts, for gold was born of fire, land of Vishnu, and the cow of the sun. Yet the gift of food runs deepest of all, for food itself is Prajapati, Prajapati is the year, and the year is the yajna; and it is from yajna that all creatures come into being.”

“The giver of food walks ahead; behind him comes the speaker of truth, and behind him the man who gives without being asked; yet the three reach the same place.” Yudhishthira asked how far Yama’s world lay from the world of men, and how men crossed to it. Markandeya said, “Yama’s world is eighty-six thousand yojanas from the world of men. The road is waterless, without shade, without any resting place, and terrible. Yama’s messengers drag all creatures along that road by force.”

“Those who gave Brahmins horses and conveyances cross this road on those very conveyances. Givers of umbrellas go warding off the sun with an umbrella; givers of food go without hunger, while those who gave none are wracked by it. Givers of clothes go clothed, those who gave none go naked. Givers of gold go adorned and at ease; givers of land go with every desire fulfilled; givers of houses ride on chariots; givers of water go without thirst, glad at heart. Givers of lamps go lighting the way before them; givers of cows go freed of all their sins. He who fasted a whole month goes on a car drawn by swans; he who fasted six nights, on a car drawn by peacocks. Givers of water find there a river named Pushpodaka, from which they drink cool water sweet as nectar, while for the doers of evil it runs with pus.”

A key to reading this (the number in modern terms): A yojana is usually reckoned at about eight or nine miles; so ‘eighty-six thousand yojanas’ is a symbolic, unimaginably vast measure of the distance to Yama’s world, its point being that the journey is unbearable for anyone without a store of merit. The ‘Pushpodaka’ river, the one whose water is of flowers, is the reward of giving water.

Purity, Tapas, and the Secret of Knowledge

Markandeya said, “The man who at dawn and dusk worships with a steady mind the goddess Sandhya and Gayatri, the mother of the Vedas, is made pure by her and freed of all his sins. Purity is of three kinds: of speech, of deed, and the purity that comes from water. A Brahmin, whether learned in the Vedas or unlettered, whether clean or unclean, is like fire; he must never be slighted. As a fire burning in a cremation ground is not counted unclean, so a Brahmin is always pure.”

“Carrying the triple staff, keeping the vow of silence, wearing matted locks, shaving the head and the topknot, dressing in bark and deerskin, taking vows, bathing, tending the fire, living in the forest, drying up the body, all of this is useless if the heart is not pure. Of the six senses, the mind alone, restless by its very nature, is the most fearful. Those who commit no sin in word, deed, heart, or soul are the true ascetics, and not those who wither their bodies with fasting. The man in whose heart there is no pity for his kinsmen is not freed of sin though his body be clean; his hardness is the enemy of his tapas (austerity). He who is always pure and full of virtue, who lives a life of compassion to its end, is a sage even while he remains a householder.”

“Fasting and tapas do not burn away sin, however far they dry up the body of its blood and flesh. The man whose heart is without purity gains only torment from the tapas he performs in ignorance. It is by purity and by dharma that men reach the world of blessing, and only then do their vows and fasts bear fruit. As seeds scorched by fire will not sprout, so pain burnt away by knowledge cannot touch the soul. This dull body, wood-like without the soul within it, is as short-lived as the foam of the sea. He who wins the sight of the soul from even a single verse of the Veda, or half a one, has need of nothing more. The certain mark of liberation is the knowledge that one is not separate from the Supreme Soul. Tapas can win heaven, giving can win enjoyment, and bathing at the sacred fords can wash away sin, but complete release comes to no one without knowledge.”

The gist: Outward tapas, vows, and ritual bear fruit only when the heart is pure and kind. Tapas wins heaven and giving wins enjoyment, but complete release comes only from the knowledge that the soul and the Supreme Soul are one. This is the deepest of all Markandeya’s teachings.

The Story of Dhundhumara: The Killing of Madhu and Kaitabha

Yudhishthira asked, “Sage, why did the unconquered king Kuvalashva of the Ikshvaku line come to be famed under the name Dhundhumara?” Markandeya said, “Hear this tale, for there is a lesson in it. In a lovely forest stood the hermitage of a renowned rishi named Utanka. For countless years Utanka practiced the harshest tapas to win the favor of Vishnu. Pleased with him, Vishnu appeared, and Utanka worshipped him with many hymns of praise: ‘Lord of splendor, all beings, the gods, the Asuras, men, all that moves and all that is still, Brahma, the Vedas, and everything that can be known, are of your making. The sky is your head, the sun and moon your eyes, the wind your breath, fire your energy, the quarters of space your arms, and the great ocean your belly. The mountains are your thighs, the sky your waist, the earth your feet, and the plants the hairs upon your body.’”

“Vishnu bade him ask a boon. Utanka said, ‘To see Hari, the eternal being, the maker of this universe, is boon enough for me.’ Vishnu, glad at this freedom from desire and this devotion, pressed him to take a boon. Then Utanka, with folded hands, asked, ‘Let my heart rest always on dharma, on truth, and on contentment, and let it stay always absorbed in devotion to you.’ Vishnu said, ‘So it shall be. And a power of yoga will awaken in you, by which you will accomplish a great work for heaven and for the three worlds. At this hour an Asura named Dhundhu is performing fierce tapas to destroy the three worlds. Hear who will kill him. In the Ikshvaku line there will be a king named Vrihadashva, whose son Kuvalashva will be a man of great holiness, self-command, and renown. Filled with the power of yoga I give him, and moved by your urging, that king will kill the Asura Dhundhu.’ With these words Vishnu vanished.”

“Markandeya set out the line of descent: after Ikshvaku came Sasada, then Kakutstha, Anenas, Prithu, Vishvagashva, Adri, Yuvanashva, Sravasta (who founded the city of Sravasti), Vrihadashva, and then Kuvalashva. Kuvalashva had twenty-one thousand sons, all of them fierce, strong, and skilled in learning. When the time came, Vrihadashva placed the brave and righteous Kuvalashva on the throne and made ready to leave for the forest for tapas.”

“Hearing this, Utanka came to Vrihadashva and, holding him back from his tapas, said, ‘King, the protection of your people is your dharma; do not go to the forest. Near my hermitage lies a sea of sand named Ujjalaka, waterless and spread over many yojanas. There, beneath the ground, dwells a chief of the Danavas named Dhundhu. He is the son of Madhu and Kaitabha, terrible and mighty. Having won a boon from Brahma, he has become impossible to kill for gods, Daityas, Rakshasas, serpents, and Gandharvas. At the end of every year, when he breathes as he sleeps in the sand, the whole earth with its mountains and forests shakes, his breath raises clouds of sand that blot out the sun, and for seven days sparks of fire mixed with smoke spread all around. Because of this I cannot perform my tapas in peace. Kill him, and then go to the forest. Vishnu has already granted a boon that whoever kills this Asura, Vishnu will fill with his own invincible energy.’”

“Vrihadashva, with folded hands, said, ‘Brahmin, this errand of yours will not be wasted. My son Kuvalashva has no equal in steadiness or in valor. With his brave sons he will bring all of this to pass. Grant me leave, for I have laid down my weapons.’ Utanka said, ‘So be it,’ and Vrihadashva, having charged his son to obey Utanka’s word, went away to the forest.”

A sub-tale: At Yudhishthira’s asking, Markandeya told where Dhundhu had come from. When the world was one stretch of water, the eternal Vishnu lay in yogic sleep on the vast hoods of the serpent Shesha. From his navel rose a lotus bright as the sun, and out of it appeared the four-faced Brahma. Then two mighty Danavas named Madhu and Kaitabha set upon Brahma and terrified him. Brahma’s trembling shook the stalk of the lotus, and Keshava woke. He greeted the Danavas with a word of welcome and bade them ask a boon. The Danavas laughed and said that it was they who would grant Vishnu a boon. Vishnu said, ‘Then this is the boon I ask: that you both accept death at my hands, for the good of the world.’ Madhu and Kaitabha said, ‘We have never spoken a falsehood, not even in jest. No one wins a victory over Time. But we have one wish: that you kill us in a place wholly uncovered, and that we be born again as your sons.’ Vishnu turned it over in his mind, but found no uncovered place in earth or sky; then he saw that his own thighs were uncovered, and there, with his sharp discus, he cut off the heads of Madhu and Kaitabha. This Dhundhu was the son of those same Madhu and Kaitabha.

“Dhundhu, standing on a single foot and wasting his body to a bare net of nerves and veins, performed fierce tapas, and won from Brahma the boon that no god, Danava, Rakshasa, serpent, or Gandharva could kill him. Remembering his father’s death, he fell upon Vishnu, defeated the gods along with the Gandharvas, and in the end began to torment Utanka’s hermitage in the sandy sea of Ujjalaka. There he lay beneath the ground, hidden in the sand, sunk in fierce tapas, set on the destruction of the three worlds.”

Kuvalashva’s Victory and the Name Dhundhumara

Markandeya said, “With Utanka beside him, Kuvalashva set out toward that country with his twenty-one thousand sons and his army. At Utanka’s request, Vishnu, for the good of the three worlds, filled Kuvalashva with his energy. On the way a voice from the sky said, ‘This blessed and unslayable hero will this day become the destroyer of Dhundhu.’ The gods rained down heavenly flowers, drums sounded without being struck, a cool wind blew, and Indra sent a light shower to lay the dust of the road. Gods, Gandharvas, and great rishis gathered in the sky to watch the battle of Kuvalashva and Dhundhu.”

“Filled with Narayana’s energy, Kuvalashva with his sons surrounded that sea of sand and set them to digging it out. After seven days’ digging, the sons saw the huge body of Dhundhu, bright as the sun, lying in the sand and covering the western part of the desert. Ringed on every side, the Danava was assailed by the sons with sharp arrows, maces, mallets, axes, iron spears, and swords. Wounded, the Danava rose up in fury. He swallowed all those weapons and spewed from his mouth flames like the Samvartaka fire at the end of a yuga. With those flames, as the ancient Kapila once burned the sons of Sagara, the Asura burned every one of Kuvalashva’s sons to ashes in a moment.”

“When all his sons had been burned to ash, the mighty Kuvalashva came face to face with the Danava, who was like a second Kumbhakarna roused from sleep. From the king’s body a great stream of water began to flow, and it put out those flames. Then Kuvalashva, filled with the power of yoga, burned the vile Danava to ash with the famed weapon called the Brahma-astra, freed the three worlds from their fear, and became himself a kind of second lord of the three worlds.”

“By the killing of Dhundhu, Kuvalashva was famed from that day under the name Dhundhumara, the destroyer of Dhundhu, and was held unconquerable in battle. The gods and the great rishis, well pleased, bade him ask a boon. With folded hands the king asked, ‘Let me always be able to give wealth to worthy Brahmins; let me be unconquerable by all my foes; let there be friendship between me and Vishnu; let me bear ill will toward no living creature; let my heart turn always toward dharma; and let me dwell at the last forever in heaven.’ The gods said, ‘So be it.’ Though all of Kuvalashva’s sons had been burned, three still remained: Dridhashva, Kapilashva, and Chandrashva; and it was from them that the glorious line of the Ikshvaku kings ran on.”

The gist: Dhundhu, son of Madhu and Kaitabha, terrorized the three worlds on the strength of Brahma’s boon. Filled with the energy of Vishnu, Kuvalashva gave up his twenty-one thousand sons as an offering, quenched the fire with the stream that flowed from his own body, and killed the Asura with the Brahma-astra. By that victory he was called Dhundhumara, a name that meant exactly what it said.

The Dharma of the Faithful Wife, and Kaushika’s Mistake

Yudhishthira asked Markandeya about the dharma of women and the high virtue of faithful wives, saying that serving one’s parents and honoring one’s husband struck him as the hardest duties of all. Markandeya said, “Some hold the mother higher, some the father. But the mother, who bears a child and rears it, carries the harder burden. For women no yajna (fire-rite), no rite for the ancestors, no fast bears as much fruit as service to a husband; by that alone they win heaven.”

“Listen. There was an ascetic Brahmin named Kaushika, steeped in the Vedas and rich in tapas (austerity). One day he sat reciting the Vedas beneath a tree, and a she-crane perched above fouled his body. The Brahmin looked up at her in fury, and under that angry glare the crane dropped dead to the ground. Seeing her dead, pity overcame him and he began to grieve: ‘What have I done? Anger and spite drove me to a wicked act.’”

“For alms he went into a village, to a house he knew, and called out, ‘Alms.’ A woman inside answered, ‘Wait.’ She was still scouring the alms-vessel when her husband, faint with hunger, came home. The devoted wife set the Brahmin aside and first gave her husband water for his feet, a seat, and good food and drink, and busied herself with his every need. Only then did she recall that she had told the Brahmin to wait; ashamed, she took alms and came out to him.”

“The Brahmin said in anger, ‘Woman, you told me to wait, kept me standing, and did not send me off!’ She tried to calm him. ‘Forgive me, learned one. My husband is my highest god. He came home hungry and worn, so I served him first.’ The Brahmin said, ‘You set your husband above Brahmins? A householder, and you slight Brahmins? Indra himself bows to them. Do you not know that a Brahmin is like fire and can burn the whole earth to ash?’ She answered, ‘Rishi, I am no she-crane. Put this anger down. What will these blazing looks do to me? I do not slight Brahmins; they are like the gods. But forgive me this one fault.’”

“She went on. ‘I know the fire in Brahmins. Their wrath turned the ocean’s water salt and undrinkable. In the Dandaka forest the fire of their anger burns to this day. It was for slighting Brahmins that the cruel Asura Vatapi was digested inside Agastya. But as Brahmins are great in wrath, so they are great in forgiveness. My heart leans toward the merit of serving my husband, for I hold him the highest of all gods. I know you burned a she-crane with your anger. But anger is a man’s greatest enemy. The gods count him a true Brahmin who has cast off anger and desire, who speaks the truth, who keeps his teacher content, and who, wounded, does not wound in return.’”

“‘Brahmin, if my words sting, forgive me, for those who seek dharma do not harm women. If you truly do not know what dharma is, go to the city of Mithila. A righteous fowler lives there, truthful, master of his senses, devoted to his mother and father. He will teach you dharma.’ At this the Brahmin softened. ‘You have pleased me. Your rebuke will do me great good. Now I will do what is for my own welfare.’ Taking his leave, Kaushika went back to his hermitage, reproaching himself.”

“Turning the woman’s strange counsel over and over, Kaushika thought, ‘I should honor what she said and go to Mithila.’ Her knowledge of the crane’s death and her words on dharma had won his faith. He crossed many forests, villages, and towns and reached Mithila, ruled by Janaka. He saw a lovely city hung with the flags of many creeds, ringing with the sounds of sacrifices and festivals, full of grand gateways, mansions, chariots, and healthy, cheerful citizens. Asking directions from the twice-born, he came to the righteous fowler, who sat in a butcher’s yard.”

The gist: Kaushika, rich in tapas, burned a she-crane in a flash of anger, yet an ordinary housewife taught him that a wife’s dharma lies in serving her husband and doing her duty, and that no enemy is greater than anger. She sends him to the righteous fowler of Mithila. The point: the truth of dharma shows itself through conduct and the keeping of one’s duty, whatever one’s birth or caste, even in a trade the world calls low.

A Woman Alone in Kamyaka, and a King’s Evil Gaze

Those great warriors of Bharata’s line ranged the Kamyaka forest (a chief dwelling of the Pandavas through their years of exile) like gods, given over to the hunt and glad at the sight of woodland heaped with flowers that opened season by season. The five sons of Pandu, each the equal of Indra and a terror to his foes, lived there a while. One day they all set out in every direction after deer and other game, to feed the Brahmins who lived with them. With the leave of the great ascetic Trinavindu, blazing with the power of his austerities, and of their family priest Dhaumya, they left Draupadi alone at the hermitage.

At that very time Jayadratha, the famed king of Sindhu and son of Vriddhakshatra, was on his way toward the land of Salwa with marriage in mind. He was dressed in his finest royal robes, and many princes rode with him. On the road he halted in the Kamyaka forest. In that lonely place he saw Draupadi, the beloved and everywhere-renowned wife of the Pandavas, standing at the door of the hermitage. She shone in the high beauty of her form as if lightning, splitting a bank of black clouds, had lit up the woods. Those who saw her asked themselves, “Is she an Apsara, or a daughter of the gods, or some divine illusion?” At the thought their hands folded of their own accord. They stood staring at that flawless beauty.

Jayadratha, king of Sindhu, was struck dumb by that spotless beauty, and an evil purpose woke in him. Burning with desire, he said to a prince named Kotika, “Whose is this woman of flawless form? Is she even of human kind? If I could win this matchless beauty I would have no need to marry at all. I would take her with me and turn for home. But go first and find out who she is, where she comes from, and why a woman of such delicate body has strayed into this forest of thorns. Go, Kotika, and ask who her husband is.”

So bidden, Kotika, an earring swinging at his ear, stepped down from his chariot and went to her as a jackal goes to a tigress, and spoke.

A key to reading this (who Jayadratha is): Jayadratha is king of Sindhu, Sauvira, Shibi, and other lands, son of Vriddhakshatra. This is the same Jayadratha who later marries Duhshala, Dhritarashtra’s daughter, and so becomes brother-in-law to the Kauravas. The famous episode of Abhimanyu’s death in the great war belongs to this Jayadratha too. Here, in the forest years, his seizing of Draupadi plants one more seed of the enmity to come.

The gist: The Pandavas went out to hunt and Draupadi was left alone at the hermitage. Jayadratha, king of Sindhu, halting on the road, let his gaze fall on her with evil intent and sent Kotika to ask who she was.

Kotika’s Question, and Draupadi Names Herself

Kotika said, “Fine lady, who are you, standing alone at this hermitage with a hand on a branch of the kadamba tree, radiant as a flame fanned bright by the wind at night? Matchless as your beauty is, how is it you feel no fear in these forests? I think you must be a goddess, or a Yakshi, or a Danavi, or some high Apsara, or the wife of a Daitya, or a daughter of the Naga king, or a Rakshasi, or the wife of Varuna, Yama, Soma, or Kubera, come in human shape to wander these woods. You do not even ask who we are, nor do we know who guards you here. With respect we ask you, gracious lady: tell us truly who your father is, the names of your husband, your kinsmen, and your line, and what you are doing here.”

Then he named himself and his companions. “I am Kotika, son of King Suratha. That man on the chariot of gold, his eyes wide as lotus petals, is Kshemankara, king of Trigarta. Behind him is the famed son of the king of Pulinda. And if you have ever heard, fine-haired lady, the name of Jayadratha, king of Sauvira, there he stands with six thousand chariots, with horse, elephant, and foot, and twelve Sauvira princes carry his standards.”

At this question from the prince who was an ornament of the house of Shibi, Draupadi turned her eyes slowly aside, let go the kadamba branch, drew her silk close, and said, “Prince, I know it is not proper for a woman like me to speak with you so. But there is no other woman or man here to talk to, and I am alone just now, so I will speak. I know, Saivya, that you are Kotika, son of Suratha. Now I will tell you of my kin and my famous line. I am the daughter of King Drupada; people call me Krishna. I have taken five men as my husbands, whom you may have heard of when they lived at Khandavaprastha. Those five, Yudhishthira, Bhimasena, Arjuna, and the two sons of Madri, have left me here and gone hunting in the four directions. The king went east, Bhimasena south, Arjuna west, and the twins north. So step down now and halt your chariots, that they may welcome you fittingly before you go. The high-souled son of Dharma loves guests and will be glad to see you.”

Having said this to the son of Saivya, the daughter of Drupada, her face like the moon, went into her broad hut, mindful of her husband’s rule of hospitality.

A thread worth following: Draupadi’s offer of hospitality is deeply moving here. She treats even a man with ill will in his eyes as a guest and offers him food and rest. This is the dharma of the Pandava household, and it is the very ideal Jayadratha will break in the next moment. The tale sets good and evil side by side and lets the reader feel the difference.

The gist: When Kotika asked, Draupadi named herself as Krishna, daughter of Drupada and wife of the five Pandavas, and, keeping the law of hospitality, invited them to be received before returning to her hut.

Jayadratha Enters the Hut, and His Insulting Proposal

Kotika went back to the waiting princes and told them everything that had passed between him and Krishna. Hearing it, Jayadratha said, “Her voice alone has pulled my heart toward that jewel of a woman. Why then have you come back empty-handed? I tell you truly, once I have seen her, every other woman looks to me like a she-monkey. She has stolen my heart. Tell me, is that splendid woman of human kind?” Kotika answered, “She is the famous princess Krishna, daughter of Drupada and renowned wife of the five sons of Pandu. She is the honored, beloved, and faithful wife of the sons of Pritha.”

Even so, the witless Jayadratha said, “I will see Draupadi all the same.” And with six other men he pushed into that lonely hermitage like a wolf into a lion’s den. He said to Krishna, “Good fortune to you, fine lady. Are your husbands well, and all those whose prosperity you always wish?” Draupadi answered, “King Yudhishthira, Kunti’s son of the line of Kuru, his brothers, myself, and all those you ask after, are well. And your realm, your rule, your treasury, and your army, are they all sound? Do you govern the rich lands of Saivya, Shibi, Sindhu, and the rest with justice? Accept this water for washing your feet, and take this seat. I offer fifty animals for your followers’ meal, and Yudhishthira, Kunti’s son, will himself give you deer and game of many kinds.”

Jayadratha replied, “All is well with me. By arranging our meal you have as good as given it. But come now, mount my chariot and be wholly happy. It does not become you to honor those wretched sons of Pritha, who live in forests, whose fire has gone dim, whose kingdom is torn away, whose fortune has sunk to nothing. A woman of your sense does not cling to a beggared husband. A wife should stand with her lord in his prosperity and leave him in his ruin. The sons of Pandu have fallen from their high place for good. So leave them, become my wife, be happy, and share the kingdoms of Sindhu and Sauvira with me.”

At these outrageous words from the king of Sindhu, Krishna’s face twisted with the knitting of her brows. With deep contempt she brushed his words aside and said, “Do not say such a thing again. Have you no shame? Be careful.” And that woman of blameless character, waiting eagerly for her husbands to return, kept him tangled in long talk.

The gist: Jayadratha forced his way into the hut and made Draupadi the insulting offer to leave the Pandavas and go with him; she rebuked him and kept him talking to pass the time until her husbands returned.

Draupadi’s Warning, and Jayadratha’s Forcible Seizure

The daughter of Drupada, beautiful by nature, flushed red with anger. Her eyes burned, her brows drew tight. She turned on the king of Sauvira. “Fool, have you no shame, to speak such insults of those famed and terrible warriors, each of them the very image of Indra, each true to his duty, who never falter even when they fight the armies of Yakshas and Rakshasas? You hope to beat Yudhishthira the way a man might try to snatch the leader from a herd of rut-maddened bull elephants roaming the Himalayan valleys, each huge as a mountain peak. In a child’s folly you are prodding a sleeping lion to pull the hairs of its face. See Bhimasena in his rage and you will run. To crave a fight with Jishnu, with Arjuna, is to poke a lion in full youth and fury asleep in a mountain cave.”

Jayadratha answered, “Krishna, I know all this well; I know the might of those princes. But your threats can no longer frighten us. We too are born of seventeen high houses and possessed of the six kingly powers. We count the Pandavas beneath us. So, daughter of Drupada, climb onto this elephant or this chariot at once, for you cannot put us off with mere words; or speak with less pride and beg the favor of the king of Sauvira.”

Draupadi answered, “Strong as he is, why does the king of Sauvira think me so helpless? Famous as I am, I will not, for fear of violence, make myself small before any prince. When Krishna and Arjuna ride the same chariot in her defense, not even Indra can carry her off, let alone some weakling of a man. When Kiriti, Arjuna, enters your army for my sake, he will burn everything around him like fire in a heap of summer grass. The dreadful arrows of Dhananjaya, loosed from the string of Gandiva, will come splitting the wind and roaring like thunderclouds. When Bhima charges with his mace, and the two sons of Madri wheel about spitting the venom of their wrath, you will have all eternity to repent. As surely as I have never in my heart wronged my noble husbands, by that merit I will see you beaten and dragged along by the sons of Pritha. You cannot frighten me by seizing me by force, cruel man, for the moment those Kuru warriors see me, they will bring me back to the Kamyaka forest.”

Then, seeing him ready to lay hands on her, the wide-eyed woman rebuked him. “Do not defile me with your touch.” In great fear she called on her spiritual teacher Dhaumya. Jayadratha caught at her upper garment, but she shoved him with all her strength. Under that push the wretch fell to the ground like a tree cut off at the root. He seized her again, hard, and Krishna was left gasping. Dragged by that villain, she at last bowed at Dhaumya’s feet and mounted his chariot.

Then Dhaumya spoke to Jayadratha. “Jayadratha, keep to the ancient usage of the Kshatriyas. You cannot carry her off without first defeating those great warriors. Beyond doubt you will taste the bitter fruit of this vile act when you face the heroic sons of Pandu with Yudhishthira at their head.” Saying this, Dhaumya pushed in among Jayadratha’s foot-soldiers and followed close behind the princess as she was carried away.

A key to reading this (the six kingly powers and seventeen houses): Jayadratha, proud of his lineage, counts off “seventeen high houses” and “the six kingly powers.” In old statecraft a king was said to hold six powers: sandhi, vigraha, yana, asana, dvaidha, and ashraya (that is, making peace, making war, marching, halting, dividing forces, and seeking shelter). It is worth noting that pride of birth and of quality does not hold him back from wrongdoing; the tale shows here that noble blood and virtue are separate things.

The gist: Draupadi warned him of the Pandavas’ might, but Jayadratha forced her onto his chariot; the teacher Dhaumya, still trying to stop him, followed close behind the army.

The Bad Omens, the Maid’s Weeping, and the Pandavas’ Pursuit

Meanwhile the finest archers on earth, after ranging in different directions and bringing down many deer and buffalo, at last came together. They saw that the great forest, which had been full of herds of deer and wild beasts and loud with the cries of birds, was now filled with harsh, frightened screeching. Yudhishthira said to his brothers, “These birds flying toward the sunlit quarter and these fleeing beasts are crying out in terror and deeply disturbed. It all tells me some enemy has broken into this forest. Let us drop the hunt this very moment. My heart is burning and feels as if it will split. This Kamyaka forest seems to me as empty as a lake emptied by Garuda of the snakes within it, or a pot drained by thirsty men, or a kingdom stripped of its king and its wealth.”

So saying, the heroes raced back toward their hermitage on fine chariots yoked with Sindhu-bred horses swift as the wind. On the way home they saw a jackal on their left, howling in a grim manner. Yudhishthira studied it and said to Bhima and Dhananjaya, “This jackal crying on our left says plainly that the sinful Kauravas have scorned us and set out to harm us by force.”

Reaching the hermitage, they found Draupadi’s maid Dhatreyika lying on the ground, sobbing. The charioteer Indrasena leaped down at once and asked her, troubled, “Why do you lie here weeping, your face so pale and downcast? Has some brute done harm to the peerless princess Draupadi, who is a second soul to each of those first among the Kurus? What fool would carry off this priceless jewel of the ever-victorious sons of Pandu, dear to them as their own lives?”

At this the maid wiped her fair face and said to the charioteer Indrasena, “Scorning the five sons of Pandu, each the equal of Indra, Jayadratha has carried Krishna off by force. The trail he made is not yet gone; the broken branches have not yet withered. Turn your chariots and follow him at once, for the princess cannot be far. Do not let her, cowed by fear or force, fall into the hands of some unworthy man, like a sacred offering from the fire-rite poured out upon a heap of ashes.”

Yudhishthira said, “Stand aside, good woman, and hold your tongue. Do not speak this way before us. Kings and princes drunk on their own power come surely to a bad end.” With that they set off along the trail she had shown, breathing deep as hissing snakes and twanging the strings of their great bows. Soon they saw the dust thrown up by the hooves of Jayadratha’s cavalry, and Dhaumya in the midst of the abductor’s foot-soldiers, urging Bhima on. The princes steadied Dhaumya. “Turn back with an easy mind,” they told him, and then, swooping like hawks, they fell upon the army.

A key to reading this (omens): In the Mahabharata, nature and its creatures often carry warnings of what is coming. The harsh clamor of birds, the jackal howling on the left, the forest gone strangely empty, all of it warns Yudhishthira within of some evil at hand. This craft builds tension in the reader before the maid’s weeping lays the truth bare.

The gist: Alert to the omens, the Pandavas returned to the hermitage, learned of the abduction from the weeping maid, and, tracking Jayadratha’s army by the broken branches, fell upon it.

From the Chariot, Draupadi Names Her Husbands

At the sight of Bhimasena and Arjuna, the enemy Kshatriyas raised a great uproar in the forest. And when the wicked Jayadratha saw the standards of those first among the Kurus, his heart sank. He said to Yajnaseni, seated on his chariot, “Those five great warriors coming toward us are surely your husbands, Krishna. You know the sons of Pandu well, so tell me one by one, fine-haired lady, which of them rides which chariot.”

Draupadi answered, “You have done a violent thing that will shorten your life. What good will it do you now, fool, to learn the names of these great warriors? Now that my heroes have come, not one of you will leave this battle alive. Still, since you stand in the jaws of death and ask, I will tell you all, as is fitting. That warrior on whose flagstaff two handsome, resounding kettledrums called Nanda and Upananda are forever beaten, king of Sauvira, knows the true measure of his own conduct. My husband of the color of pure gold, with a high nose, wide eyes, and a well-made frame, is known as Yudhishthira, son of Dharma and foremost of the Kuru line. That righteous man grants life even to a foe who yields and seeks his shelter. So, fool, throw down your weapons, fold your hands, and run to him for refuge; that is your best course.

“And that other, whom you see long-armed and tall as a full-grown sala tree, seated on his chariot, biting his lip and drawing his brows together, is my husband Vrikodara, Bhima. His deeds are beyond human, and for that the earth knows him as Bhima, the terrible. Those who wound him never live; he never forgets an enemy. And that first among archers, rich in wisdom and fame, his senses wholly in hand, brother and pupil of Yudhishthira, is my husband Dhananjaya, Arjuna. Never does he forsake dharma out of lust, fear, or anger, nor ever does a cruel deed.

“And that young man, skilled in every question of dharma and gain, who lifts the fear of the frightened and is held the handsomest man in all the world, is my husband Nakula, of great valor. And that hero, deft with weapons, wise and discerning, eager to please the son of Dharma, youngest of the Pandavas, is my husband Sahadeva. Brave, clever, and shrewd, none is his equal in judgment or in speech. When the sons of Pandu have cut down your warriors in battle, you will see your army wrecked like a ship laden with jewels broken upon the back of a great fish.”

Then the five sons of Pritha, each like Indra, filled with wrath, left the terrified foot-soldiers who were begging for mercy and fell on the chariot-warriors from every side, darkening the sky itself with a thick rain of arrows.

The gist: At the frightened Jayadratha’s asking, Draupadi, still on his chariot, named her five husbands one by one and told him to take shelter; but the Pandavas fell on the enemy army in fury, raining down arrows.

The Battle, the Slaughter of the Army, and Jayadratha’s Flight

The king of Sindhu kept barking orders at his princes: “Halt, strike, advance, be quick.” But at the sight of Bhima, Arjuna, the twins, and Yudhishthira, the warriors of the Shibi, Sauvira, and Sindhu tribes lost heart before those fierce, tiger-like heroes. Bhimasena, gripping a mace of pure Saikya iron chased with gold, rushed at the doomed king of Sindhu. But Kotikakhya threw a wall of chariot-warriors around Vrikodara and cut him off. Though struck with countless spears, clubs, and iron arrows, Bhima did not waver for an instant; with his mace he brought down an elephant fighting before Jayadratha’s chariot, along with its driver and fourteen foot-soldiers.

Arjuna, meaning to seize the king of Sauvira, killed five hundred brave mountaineers fighting at the front of the Sindhu host. In that fight King Yudhishthira, in the blink of an eye, slew a hundred of the finest Sauvira warriors. Nakula, sword in hand, sprang from his chariot and, like a farmer scattering seed, sent the heads of the soldiers fighting in the rear flying in every direction. And Sahadeva, from his chariot, felled with iron arrows many who fought from elephants, like birds dropping from the branches of a tree.

Then the king of Trigarta, bow in hand, stepped down from his great chariot and with his mace killed all four of Yudhishthira’s horses. But seeing the enemy so close and fighting on foot, Kunti’s son Yudhishthira pierced his chest with a crescent-headed arrow. The man vomited blood and fell like an uprooted tree. His horses slain, Yudhishthira climbed down with Indrasena and mounted Sahadeva’s chariot.

Two warriors named Kshemankara and Mahamuksha surrounded Nakula and poured keen arrows on him from both sides, but the son of Madri brought them both down with two long shafts. Suratha, king of the Trigartas, skilled in elephant-warfare, came before Nakula’s chariot and had it dragged aside by his elephant; but Nakula, undaunted, leaped down, took up shield and sword, and stood immovable as a hill. When Suratha’s rut-maddened elephant lumbered up with trunk raised, Nakula sheared off its trunk and tusks with a single stroke. The armored beast crashed down with a fearful trumpeting, crushing its riders. This daring feat done, the son of Madri climbed onto Bhimasena’s chariot and rested a while.

Bhima, seeing Kotikakhya rush into the fight, cut off his charioteer’s head with a horseshoe arrow. With no driver, the prince’s chariot bolted in every direction; Bhima came up and killed him with a bearded dart. And Dhananjaya, with his sharp crescent-headed arrows, cut off the heads and the bows of all twelve Sauvira heroes and destroyed the leaders of the Ikshwakus, the Shibis, the Trigartas, and the Saindhavas. Many elephants fell with their banners and chariots with their standards under Arjuna’s hand. Headless trunks and trunkless heads littered the whole field, and dogs, vultures, crows, and jackals fell upon the flesh and blood of the slain.

When Jayadratha saw his warriors cut down, fear seized him and he grew desperate to abandon Krishna and flee. In the confusion the wretch set Draupadi down where she was and fled for his life along the forest path he had come by. King Yudhishthira, seeing Draupadi with Dhaumya walking before her, had the son of Madri, Sahadeva, take her up on his chariot. With Jayadratha in flight, Bhima began to bring down the fleeing followers with iron arrows, naming each as he struck. But Arjuna, seeing that Jayadratha had slipped away, stopped his brother from cutting down the last of the Saindhava host. “I cannot find Jayadratha on the field,” he said, “whose crime alone brought this trouble on us. Find him first; what is gained by killing these soldiers?”

The gist: The Pandavas cut the Sindhu-Sauvira army to pieces; Bhima, Arjuna, Yudhishthira, Nakula, and Sahadeva each felled his own opponent; and the terrified Jayadratha abandoned Draupadi and fled alone.

Draupadi’s Outrage, and Bhima and Arjuna’s Pursuit of Jayadratha

Bhimasena said to Arjuna, “King, many of the enemy’s warriors are dead and the rest are scattering. Take Draupadi, the twins, and the high-souled Dhaumya back to the hermitage and comfort the princess. That fool of a Sindhu king I will not spare while he lives, though he hide in the underworld or Indra himself stand at his back.” Yudhishthira answered, “Mighty-armed one, for the sake of our sister Duhshala and the honored Gandhari, do not kill the king of Sindhu, wicked as he is.”

At this Draupadi was stirred to fury. Wise as she was, in a mix of anger and shame she said to her two husbands, Bhima and Arjuna, “If you would do what pleases me, then kill that base, sinful, foolish, and contemptible chief of the Saindhavas. A foe who carries off a man’s wife by force, or seizes his kingdom, must never be forgiven on the field, though he beg for mercy.” Fired by her words, the two heroes set out after the Saindhava chief, while the king took Krishna and the teacher Dhaumya and returned to the hermitage.

At the hermitage Yudhishthira found Markandeya and the other Brahmins grieving over Draupadi’s misfortune. When they saw the king returned, Draupadi recovered, and the Sindhu and Sauvira host beaten, they were filled with joy, and Krishna went into the hermitage with the two brothers.

Meanwhile Bhima and Arjuna learned that the enemy was a full two yojanas ahead (roughly sixteen to twenty-four kilometers, an old unit of distance). They drove their horses harder. Then Arjuna did a wonderful thing: from two yojanas off he killed Jayadratha’s horses with arrows charged by mantra. Seeing his horses dead, Jayadratha was stricken and kept running along the forest path. Arjuna overtook him. “How, with so little manhood in you, did you dare to seize a woman by force? Turn, prince; flight does not become you.” But the king of Sindhu did not turn once. Then Bhima ran him down in a moment, though the merciful Arjuna held him back from killing the wretch.

A key to reading this (the moral knot): Here the moral tangle of the tale opens up. Yudhishthira wants Jayadratha kept alive because of the tie to their sister Duhshala and to Gandhari; Draupadi demands his death in the name of justice; and Arjuna keeps reining in Bhima’s rage. Three dharmas collide over one event: the dharma of kinship, the dharma of punishment, and the dharma of mercy. The Mahabharata never simply declares one of them right.

The gist: Yudhishthira urged that Jayadratha be spared for Duhshala’s sake, Draupadi demanded his death; Bhima and Arjuna ran him down over two yojanas and caught him, but Arjuna held Bhima back from the kill.

Bhima’s Punishment: Five Tufts and a Vow of Servitude

Seeing the two brothers with arms raised, Jayadratha, in terror, fled at full speed. But the enraged Bhimasena sprang from his chariot, ran after the fleeing king, and caught him by the hair. He lifted him high in the air and dashed him to the ground, then gripped his head and ground it back and forth. When the wretch came to and rose groaning, Bhima kicked him in the head and pressed his knees and fists into his chest until he fainted.

Then Arjuna, reminding him of Yudhishthira’s words about Duhshala, held the furious Bhima back from further punishment. But Bhima said, “This sinner has grossly insulted Krishna, who cannot bear such treatment. He deserves to die at my hands. But what am I to do? The king overflows with mercy, and you too, with your childish sense of virtue, are forever standing in my way.” With that Vrikodara took his crescent-headed arrow and shaved the hair from Jayadratha’s head, leaving five tufts in five places. Jayadratha did not say a single word.

Then Vrikodara said to his enemy, “If you want to live, listen. In crowded assemblies and open courts you must say, ‘I am the slave of the Pandavas.’ On that condition alone I grant you your life. This is the accepted rule of victory on the field.” So commanded and so punished, Jayadratha, trembling, half-conscious, and caked with dust, said, “Let it be so.” Then Arjuna and Bhima bound him with chains and threw him onto the chariot, and Bhima climbed up himself and, with Arjuna, drove toward the hermitage.

Bhima set Jayadratha before Yudhishthira in that state. The king, smiling, told him to set the Sindhu prince free. Bhima said, “Tell Draupadi that this wretch has become the Pandavas’ slave.” Then his elder brother said gently, “If you have any regard for us, let this wretch go.” Draupadi too, reading the king’s mind, said, “Let him off. He is the king’s slave already, and you have marked him besides by leaving five tufts on his head.”

Then the shamed prince, set free, came before Yudhishthira and bowed his head. He saluted the sages seated there as well. The kind Yudhishthira said to him, “You are a free man now; I release you. Go, and never do such a thing again; shame on you. Mean and weak as you are, you still thought to seize a woman by force. May your heart grow in dharma; never again set your mind on a wicked deed. Now depart in peace with your chariots, horses, and men.” At these words the prince, overcome with shame, bowed his head and went off in silence and sorrow toward the place where the Ganga comes down from the mountains onto the plains.

A key to reading this (the five tufts and servitude): Bhima leaves Jayadratha alive and hands him a lifelong humiliation. To leave only five tufts on the head was, in that age, a mark of disgrace close to a full shaving, and to be made to call himself “the Pandavas’ slave” before a full assembly struck a permanent wound to his royal pride. Even in sparing his life, they stripped him of his Kshatriya honor, a punishment reckoned harsher than death.

The gist: Bhima beat Jayadratha, left five tufts on his head, and made him say “I am the Pandavas’ slave”; Yudhishthira spared his life and released him, and the humiliated Jayadratha went off toward the gate of the Ganga.

Jayadratha’s Austerity, and Shiva’s Boon

At the gate of the Ganga, Jayadratha took refuge with the three-eyed Mahadeva, Uma’s lord, and did severe tapas there. Pleased with his austerity, Mahadeva appeared before him in person, accepted his worship, and offered him a boon. Jayadratha asked, “Let me defeat all five sons of Pandu in battle, chariots and all!” But Mahadeva said, “That cannot be. No one can kill or conquer them in battle. Save Arjuna, you will be able to hold the other four back on the field only once, for a single day.

“The mighty-armed Arjuna is the incarnation of the god called Nara. In an earlier age he did austerities in the Badari forest. Narayana is his friend, and for that he is unconquerable even by the gods. I myself gave him the celestial weapon called Pashupata. From the guardians of all ten directions he has won the thunderbolt and other great weapons. And Lord Vishnu, the infinite Spirit, supreme teacher of all the gods, the attributeless Supreme Being who fills the whole of creation, that same Vishnu is Arjuna’s protector.”

A key to reading this (the seed of a boon): This boon is the seed of one decisive day in the great war. Shiva’s word that Jayadratha will be able to hold back every Pandava except Arjuna for “a single day” comes true on the very day Abhimanyu is trapped alone inside the chakravyuha, because Jayadratha holds the remaining Pandavas at the entrance. In this way a small episode from the forest years ties itself to the most heartbreaking event of the war.

The gist: The humiliated Jayadratha performed austerity to Shiva at the gate of the Ganga and won the boon that, save Arjuna, he could hold back the other Pandavas on the field for one day, since Arjuna is Nara incarnate and guarded by Narayana.

Shiva Tells of Narayana’s Glory: The Deluge and the Avatars

Mahadeva went on to tell Jayadratha of the wondrous glory of Vishnu. “At the end of the cycle of ages that same Lord takes the form of the all-consuming fire and burns up the whole world, mountains, seas, islands, and forests alike. When the Naga realm of the underworld has been destroyed in the same way, huge many-colored clouds, roaring terribly and shot through with lightning, spread across the entire sky and pour down water in streams as thick as the axles of chariots, until they quench that all-consuming fire.

“At the close of four thousand yugas, when the earth is flooded with water like one vast sea, when all moving creatures are gathered into death, when sun, moon, and wind are undone and the universe is stripped of planets and stars, then Narayana, the supreme Being beyond the senses, with a thousand heads, a thousand eyes, and a thousand feet, desires his rest. The serpent Shesha, with a thousand hoods, blazing like ten thousand suns, white as the kunda flower, the moon, a string of pearls, or the white lotus, becomes his couch. In the lap of that deep water the almighty one sleeps, wrapping all space in the darkness of night.

“When his creative power stirs, he wakes and finds the world empty. Here the name Narayana is explained: water was born from the Rishi Nara and became his body, so it is called nara; and that water became his ayana, his resting-place, so he is called Narayana. Then, as that eternal Being turns his thought to creating anew, a lotus springs from his navel, and from the navel-lotus comes the four-faced Brahma. Seated on that lotus and seeing the world a blank, Brahma, grandsire of all, by his own will creates the great Rishis in his own likeness, Marichi and the rest, and those Rishis complete the work, bringing forth Yakshas, Rakshasas, Pishachas, reptiles, men, and all creatures moving and still.

“The Supreme Spirit has three states: as Brahma he creates, as Vishnu he preserves, and as Rudra he destroys. When the world had been turned to water in this way, the Lord, searching for solid ground, moved here and there like a firefly on a rainy night. ‘How shall I lift this earth sunk in the water?’ Thinking so, he took in the water the form of a boar fond of sport, ten yojanas long, with pointed tusks, dark as a cloud and huge as a mountain; and plunging in, he raised the earth on one of his tusks and set it back in its place.

“At another time he took the strange form of half lion, half man, the Nrisimha. The Daitya king Hiranyakashipu, seeing that uncanny shape, blazed with rage and rushed at him with a trident. But the man-lion leaped into the air and tore the Daitya apart with his sharp claws. Then that same lotus-eyed Lord was born of Aditi from the seed of Kashyapa; a thousand years later he appeared as Vamana, in the guise of a dwarf Brahmin boy, staff and water-pot in hand, the mark of Srivatsa on his breast. With the help of Brihaspati he came to the sacrifice of Bali, king of the Danavas. Pleased, Bali said, ‘Ask, Brahmin, what do you want?’ Vamana smiled and said, ‘Only three paces of ground.’ Bali agreed, and then Hari measured this whole boundless world in just three steps and gave it to Indra. This is the tale famous as the Vamana avatar.

“And to destroy the wicked and guard dharma, that same Vishnu has been born among men in the line of the Yadus, and is called Krishna. King of Sindhu, it is that unconquerable Krishna, bearer of conch, discus, and mace, clad in yellow, marked with Srivatsa, who protects Arjuna. Seated on one chariot with that lotus-eyed slayer of foes, whose power has no end, the son of Pritha cannot be beaten. Even the gods cannot stand against him, much less a man. So, king, leave him be. The other four Pandavas you will be able to hold back for a single day.”

With that the three-eyed Hara, Uma’s lord, ringed by his dwarfish, hunchbacked attendants with their fearsome eyes and ears, vanished from that place along with Uma. And the wicked Jayadratha went home, while the Pandavas went on living in the Kamyaka forest.

A key to reading this (the yuga-count in modern terms): “Four thousand yugas” points to the great deluge at the end of a kalpa. In the traditional reckoning, a thousand chaturyugas (one cycle of Satya, Treta, Dvapara, and Kali) together make a single day of Brahma, at the end of which this flood comes. The figure marks a vast span of many hundreds of millions of years, in which creation and destruction repeat in an endless rhythm.

The gist: Shiva told Jayadratha of Narayana’s glory: the all-consuming fire and the great flood at the deluge, Narayana asleep on the couch of Shesha, Brahma born from the navel-lotus, and the avatars of the boar, the man-lion, the dwarf, and Krishna; then Shiva and Jayadratha each went their way.

Yudhishthira’s question: has anyone ever been more unfortunate than I am?

Janamejaya asked, “After bearing such pain from Draupadi’s abduction, what did the Pandavas, those best of men, do next?” Vaishampayana answered, “Having defeated Jayadratha and rescued Draupadi, the righteous king Yudhishthira took his seat beside Markandeya, the foremost of sages. Among those ascetics grieving over Draupadi’s ordeal, Yudhishthira, son of Pandu, said to Markandeya, ‘Revered one, among gods and ascetics you are held to know both the past and the future in full. A doubt sits in my mind, and I ask you to clear it.

“‘This daughter of Drupada rose from the sacrificial altar; she was not born of flesh. She is deeply blessed, and she is the daughter-in-law of the great Pandu. It seems to me that Time, the human destiny that rides on our own deeds, and the fate no one escapes are beyond overcoming where living beings are concerned. Were it otherwise, how could such a calamity fall on our wife, so chaste and devoted, like a false charge of theft laid against an honest man? The daughter of Drupada never did a sinful thing, never an act that could be faulted; on the contrary she has practiced the highest dharma toward the Brahmins. And still the foolish Jayadratha dragged her off by force.

“‘True, we cut down the army of Sindhu and won her back, and we shaved the tufts from that sinner’s head and beat him and his allies in battle. Yet in a careless hour the stain of our wife’s abduction has fallen on us all the same. This forest life is heavy with sorrows. We live by the hunt, and even dwelling in the woods we must kill the very creatures who share them with us. This exile too is the fruit of scheming kinsmen’s deceit. Is there anyone more unfortunate than I am? Have you ever seen or heard of such a one before?’”

A sub-tale: When Yudhishthira says Draupadi was born “from the sacrificial altar and not of the flesh,” he is stating a literal fact about her origin. King Drupada, to press his feud with Drona, held a yajna (a fire-rite), and from its flames rose both Dhrishtadyumna and Draupadi (Krishnaa). This is why she is called Yajnaseni, “born of the sacrifice.” Recalling that divine birth, Yudhishthira asks why misfortune should strike even one so holy.

The gist: Even with Draupadi restored to him, the wounded Yudhishthira asks Markandeya whether anyone has ever been more unfortunate than he is, and he voices his doubt about the unbeatable grip of Time, karma, and fate.

Markandeya’s answer: Rama too fell into sorrow like this

Markandeya said, “Best of the Bharatas, Rama too endured sorrow beyond measure. The wicked-minded Ravana, king of the Rakshasas, used deceit and overpowered the vulture Jatayu, then carried Rama’s wife Sita away by force from their forest hermitage. Even so, with Sugriva’s help Rama threw a bridge across the sea, burned Lanka to ash with his keen arrows, and won her back.”

Yudhishthira said, “In what line was Rama born, and how far did his strength and valor reach? Whose son was Ravana, and what set him against Rama? Tell me all of it in full, wise one; I long to hear the story of Rama and his great deeds.”

Markandeya said, “Listen, son of Bharata, to this old history just as it happened. In the line of Ikshvaku there was a great king named Aja. His son was Dasaratha, devoted to the study of the Vedas and always pure. Dasaratha had four sons, all versed in dharma and worldly aim: Rama, Lakshmana, Shatrughna, and the mighty Bharata. Rama’s mother was Kausalya, Bharata’s was Kaikeyi, and Lakshmana and Shatrughna, punishers of their enemies, were the sons of Sumitra. Janaka was king of Videha, and Sita was his daughter. Twashtri, the celestial artificer, fashioned her himself, wanting her to become Rama’s beloved wife.

“Now I will tell you how Ravana came to be born. The lord of all creatures and maker of the universe, the self-born Prajapati of vast austerity, is the Grandsire of Ravana. Pulastya had a mighty son, Vaisravana, born of a cow. But the son left his father and went to his grandfather instead. Angered by this, Pulastya brought forth a second form from half of his own being, one called Visrava, so that he might take his revenge on Vaisravana. Yet the Grandsire, pleased with Vaisravana, had already granted him immortality, lordship over all the wealth of the universe, the guardianship of one quarter of the sky, the friendship of Ishana, and a son named Nalakuvera; and with these, the city of Lanka guarded by hosts of Rakshasas, and the chariot Pushpaka that flies anywhere at its rider’s wish.

A key to reading this (the Rama-tale within the tale): In the Mahabharata this story of Rama is called the “Ramopakhyana,” the compact Ramayana that Markandeya tells Yudhishthira. It is Vyasa’s own telling inside the Mahabharata, independent of Valmiki’s Ramayana, so a few details run differently (here, for instance, Sita is said to be fashioned by Twashtri). Its purpose is comfort: Rama is Yudhishthira’s mirror, a man who bore an even greater grief, the theft of his wife, and in the end won her back.

The gist: To console Yudhishthira, Markandeya opens the story of Rama: the birth of Dasaratha’s four sons in the line of Ikshvaku, the making of Sita, and the descent of Vaisravana and Visrava from Pulastya, Ravana’s grandfather.

The birth of Ravana and his brothers, their fierce tapas, and Brahma’s boons

Markandeya went on, “The sage Visrava, born from half of Pulastya’s being, began to look on Vaisravana with an angry, wrathful eye. Kubera (Vaisravana), king of the Rakshasas, knowing his father was displeased with him, kept trying to win him over. From Lanka that king of kings sent three Rakshasa women, Pushpotkata, Raka, and Malini, to wait upon his father. They were skilled in song and dance and stayed always ready in the great rishi’s service. Pleased with them, Visrava granted all three the boon of princely sons, as each desired.

“From Pushpotkata came two sons, the best of Rakshasas: Kumbhakarna and the ten-headed Ravana, both without equal in prowess. Malini’s son was Vibhishana, and Raka bore twins, Khara and Surpanakha. Vibhishana was the most beautiful of them, deeply devout, and steadfast in every rite of dharma. The ten-headed Ravana was the eldest, blazing with energy and immense in strength. Kumbhakarna was supreme in battle, fierce and terrible and a master of the arts of illusion. Khara was skilled with the bow, but hostile to Brahmins and a flesh-eater, and Surpanakha was a constant source of danger to the ascetics.

“Seeing Vaisravana rich and borne on the shoulders of men, these brothers burned with envy and resolved to undertake tapas (austerity). The ten-headed Ravana lived on air alone, stood on one leg amid five sacred fires, and held to his meditation for a thousand years. Kumbhakarna kept his head bent down, ate little, and sank deep into austerity. The wise Vibhishana fasted, ate nothing but dry leaves, and practiced harsh tapas for a long stretch of time. Khara and Surpanakha guarded and served the three of them with glad hearts.

“At the end of a thousand years the ten-headed Ravana cut off his own heads one by one and offered them into the fire. Pleased by this act, Brahma appeared before them in person and told them to end their austerities and ask for boons. ‘I am pleased, my sons,’ Brahma said. ‘Ask whatever you wish, save only immortality. Ravana, the heads you gave to the fire will grow back and adorn you as before, at your will; your body will not be marred, you will take any form you choose, and you will conquer your enemies in battle.’

“Ravana said, ‘Let me never be beaten by Gandharvas, gods, Kinnaras, Asuras, Yakshas, Rakshasas, Nagas, or any other beings!’ Brahma answered, ‘From those you have named you will never have anything to fear. Only against men must you keep watch.’ In his twisted judgment the man-eating Ravana thought humans beneath notice and let this warning pass. Kumbhakarna, his mind clouded by darkness, asked for long, unbroken sleep, and Brahma granted it with a word: ‘So be it.’ Vibhishana asked, ‘Even in the greatest danger, let me never stray from the path of dharma, and, ignorant though I am, let me be lit by the light of divine knowledge.’ Pleased, Brahma said, ‘Though you were born in the Rakshasa race, your soul does not bend toward wrong; and so I grant you immortality.’

“With his boon in hand, the ten-headed Ravana defeated Kubera in battle and seized the kingdom of Lanka from him. Kubera left Lanka and went to settle on Mount Gandhamadana with his Gandharvas, Yakshas, and Kinnaras. Ravana wrested the Pushpaka chariot from him by force as well, and Kubera cursed him: ‘This chariot will never bear you; it will carry the one who kills you in battle. And because you have insulted me, your elder brother, you will die soon.’ Vibhishana, meanwhile, walked the path of the good and went with Kubera, who was pleased and made him commander of the Yaksha and Rakshasa hosts. On the other side, the Rakshasas and Pisachas gathered and crowned the ten-headed Ravana their emperor. Able to take any form, moving through the sky, terrible in prowess, Ravana attacked the gods and the Daityas and stripped them of all their precious wealth. Because he made every creature cry out (ravayati), he was called Ravana, and he struck fear even into the gods.”

A key to reading this (the loophole in the boon): Ravana asked to be unslayable by gods, danavas, yakshas, rakshasas, and every other kind of being, but in his pride he left out “men,” because he thought humans beneath contempt. That omission became the door to his ruin, and it is why Vishnu had to take birth as a man, as Rama. Here the Mahabharata shows that arrogance carries the seed of its own downfall hidden inside it.

The gist: Pleased by the fierce tapas of Ravana, Kumbhakarna, and Vibhishana, Brahma granted them boons; Ravana won unslayability from every kind of being except men, took Lanka and the Pushpaka from Kubera, and terrorized the three worlds, earning the name Ravana.

The gods’ cry and the descent of the divine as monkeys and bears

Markandeya said, “Then the Brahmarshis, the Siddhas, and the Devarshis went to Brahma for refuge, with Agni (the carrier of oblations) as their spokesman. Agni said, ‘That mighty ten-headed son of Visrava cannot be killed, because of your boon. In his great strength he torments the creatures of the earth in every way. Protect us, revered one; there is no other protector but you.’

“Brahma said, ‘Agni, neither gods nor Asuras can beat him in battle. I have already set in motion what is needed for this. His death is near. At my urging, a portion of the four-faced God, the very decree of destiny, has already descended for him, and Vishnu, destroyer of foes, will carry the work through.’

“Then, before them all, the Grandsire commanded Indra, ‘Be born on earth with all the gods, and beget on monkeys and bears heroic sons of great strength who can take any form at will, to stand as Vishnu’s allies.’ At this the gods, the Gandharvas, and the Danavas gathered to plan how they would be born on earth, each from his own portion. The boon-giving Brahma ordered a Gandharvi named Dundubhi, ‘Go there to bring this about.’ Hearing the Grandsire’s words, she was born into the world of men as the hunchbacked Manthara.

“Indra and all the chief gods begot children on the finest females among the monkeys and bears. Those sons matched their fathers in strength and fame. They could break off mountain peaks; their weapons were boulders and Sala and Tala trees; their bodies were hard as thunderbolts, and their strength was past measure. They were all skilled in war and could summon any degree of power at will, strong as a thousand elephants and swift as the wind. Some lived wherever they pleased, others in the forests. Having arranged all this, the maker of the universe told Manthara what she must do, and, grasping it all at a thought, Manthara went wandering here and there, spreading quarrels wherever she passed.”

A key to reading this (Manthara’s divine purpose): In the Ramayana it is the servant Manthara whose scheming brings about Rama’s exile; in this Mahabharata version she is said to be an incarnation of the Gandharvi Dundubhi, sent by Brahma himself to sow discord on purpose. The vision here runs deep: Rama’s exile, Sita’s abduction, and Ravana’s death, the whole sequence, was already part of a divine design, and Manthara was one small instrument of it.

The gist: Answering the cry of the gods tormented by Ravana, Brahma laid out the plan for Vishnu to descend in human form, told Indra and the other gods to father sons among the monkeys and bears, and sent the Gandharvi Dundubhi down as Manthara to spread discord.

Rama’s resolve to be crowned, and the seed of exile

Yudhishthira said, “Revered one, you have told me in full the story of the births of Rama and the others. Now I want to know the cause of their exile. Tell me, Brahmin, why Dasaratha’s sons, the brothers Rama and Lakshmana, went to the forest with the famous princess of Mithila.”

Markandeya said, “The righteous king Dasaratha, always attentive to his elders and diligent in his religious rites, was overjoyed when these sons were born. They grew in strength one after another and became masters of the Vedas with all their mysteries and of the science of arms. When the princes had completed their vows of Brahmacharya and were married, King Dasaratha was happy and deeply content. Rama, the eldest and the wisest, became his father’s favorite and won the people over with his charming ways.

“Then the wise king, judging himself grown old in years, took counsel with his good ministers and his family priest about making Rama the crown prince, the future master of the realm, and all those great ministers agreed the right time had come. Looking on his son, the joy of Kausalya, with red eyes and sinewy arms, the rolling gait of a rutting elephant, high shoulders, and dark curly hair, Dasaratha was filled with delight. Rama was a hero, radiant with splendor, no less than Indra in battle, learned in the Vedas, wise as Brihaspati, skilled in every branch of knowledge, dear to all; his mastery over his senses was so complete that even his enemies were glad to look on him. He was a terror to the wicked and a shield to the good.”

A key to reading this (why the tale pauses here): This section stops right at the threshold of Rama’s exile, where Dasaratha resolves to make Rama crown prince but the discord Manthara has sown is still about to bear fruit. The rest of the Ramopakhyana (Kaikeyi’s boons, Rama’s departure for the forest, the abduction of Sita, the building of the bridge, and the killing of Ravana) unfolds in the later sections of this chapter. Here Yudhishthira’s mirror comes clear: just as Rama bore the loss of his wife and in the end recovered everything, so there is hope still left for the Pandavas.

The gist: Markandeya carries the story up to Rama’s coming coronation: the education and marriages of Dasaratha’s four sons, Rama’s beloved character and gifts, and the aging Dasaratha’s decision to make Rama crown prince, with the exile still waiting just beyond.

Shakuni and Karna Talk, and the Grudge in Duryodhana’s Heart

Janamejaya, once Dhritarashtra had finished speaking, Shakuni the son of Suvala saw his opening. With Karna backing him, he said to Duryodhana, “Bharata, you have driven the brave Pandavas into exile by your own might. Now rule this earth without a thorn in your side, the way Indra, slayer of Shambara, rules heaven. Every king of the east, south, west, and north has become your tributary. That blazing fortune, the royal splendor we saw only days ago with heavy hearts beside Yudhishthira at Indraprastha, we now see with you. By the power of your mind alone you stripped it from King Yudhishthira.”

“This whole earth, ringed by its seas, with its mountains and forests, its cities and its mines, is yours now. Worshipped by the Brahmins and honored by kings, you shine through your own prowess like the sun among the gods of heaven. Come, let us go and look at the Pandavas, stripped now of all their grandeur, men who once bowed to no one’s command and stood under no one’s authority. They are living, we hear, on the bank of a lake called Dwaitavana, among a crowd of Brahmins, with the forest itself for a home. Go there in the fullness of your splendor, and scorch the sons of Pandu with the sight of your glory, the way the sun scorches everything with its burning rays.”

“Is there a sweeter pleasure than to stand in your own abundance and watch them stripped of theirs? A man on a mountain peak looks down on another crawling along the ground below, and that is how it feels to see yourself rich and your enemy in ruin. To stand in your grandeur and watch Dhananjaya (Arjuna) in bark and deerskin will give you a joy greater than the birth of a son, or wealth, or a kingdom won. Let your queens be dressed in priceless robes while the grieving Krishna (Draupadi) goes in bark and hides, and her sorrow will only deepen. Drupada’s daughter, seeing your queens decked in ornaments, will curse her own life, and the grief that takes her will run deeper than the grief of the day Duhshasana dragged her into the assembly hall.”

When they had said this, Janamejaya, both Karna and Shakuni fell silent.

Duryodhana was delighted by Karna’s words, but his face fell at once, and he answered, “Karna, what you say is always in my mind. But I will never be given leave to go where the Pandavas are living. King Dhritarashtra grieves for those heroes without pause. He believes their tapas (austerity) has made them stronger than before. And if the king reads our real purpose, he will look to the future and never grant it. In the forests of Dwaitavana we can have no business with the exiled Pandavas except their destruction.”

“You remember what the Kshatta, Vidura, said to me, to you, and to Suvala’s son at the time of the dice game. Remembering all those words and laments, I cannot decide whether to go or stay. If I could watch Bhima and Phalguna (Arjuna) suffering in the forest with Krishna, I would be overjoyed. Winning the kingdom of the whole earth would not bring the joy that seeing the Pandavas in bark and deerskin will bring. Karna, sit with Suvala’s son and Duhshasana and work out some clever plan that lets us reach those forests. Tomorrow I will go to the king. And while I sit with Bhishma, that best of the Kurus, you and Shakuni put forward some pretext.”

A key to reading this (place): Dwaitavana is the forest where the exiled Pandavas are living; the Kuru cattle-stations, where the royal herds are raised, stand close by. The whole “Ghosha-yatra,” the inspection of the cattle herds, will be staged as a pretext built on that nearness.

“Let it be so,” they said, and each went his own way. When the night had passed, Karna came to the king and said with a smile, “I have a plan, ruler of men. Our cattle are waiting for you right now in the forests of Dwaitavana. We can all go there on the pretext of inspecting our cattle-stations, since it is only right for kings to visit their herds from time to time. Give your father that reason, and he is certain to grant it.” As Duryodhana and Karna laughed and talked, Shakuni too spoke up: “The same flawless plan had come to me. The king will surely give leave, or send us there himself.” The three laughed together, clasped one another’s hands, settled it, and went to see the best of the Kurus, Dhritarashtra.

A sub-tale: A cowherd named Samanga had been coached beforehand. He went to King Dhritarashtra and raised the matter of the cattle, that the time had come to count and brand the calves. At that Karna and Shakuni added that it was also the perfect season for Duryodhana to hunt. In this way the pretext was dressed up as royal business.

Hearing this, Janamejaya, Dhritarashtra gave a warning. “Hunting and the inspection of the herds are proper enough, my son. But the Pandavas live close to those cattle-stations. Do not go there yourself. Beaten by fraud, they are living in deep hardship in the thick of the forest. They are men of great strength, and now they are given to austerity. Yudhishthira keeps his temper, though Bhima is fierce by nature. Yajnaseni (Draupadi) is fury given form. Full of pride and folly as you all are, you will surely commit some offense. With the power of her austerities she could burn you to ash, or those armed heroes could. And if you should try to harm them by weight of numbers, that would be deeply wrong, though to my mind you would not succeed. The mighty-armed Dhananjaya has come back from the forest more skilled in arms than ever. Could he not kill you all? So I think it wrong for you to go there in person.”

Then Shakuni spoke. “The eldest of the Pandavas knows dharma. He swore in the assembly to live twelve years in the forest. The other Pandavas all obey Yudhishthira, and Kunti’s son Yudhishthira will never turn his anger on us. We only want to hunt, and while we are there we will look over the count of the herds. We are not going to see the Pandavas, so no misconduct on our part is possible.” At these words Dhritarashtra, reluctantly, gave Duryodhana his leave.

A key to reading this (the numbers, in modern terms): Duryodhana’s traveling party was almost a city on the move: 8,000 chariots, 30,000 elephants, 9,000 horses, and thousands of foot-soldiers, along with shops, pavilions, traders, bards, and hunters. In modern terms it was like a vast royal tour convoy, its din as deep as the roar of monsoon storms. Duryodhana pitched camp about four miles from the Dwaitavana lake.

The gist: Shakuni and Karna goad Duryodhana into going to crush the forest-dwelling Pandavas in spirit with a display of his wealth. He agrees, but worries about his father’s permission. Together the three invent the pretext of a “cattle-station inspection.” Dhritarashtra warns against the Pandavas’ nearness and the power of their austerities and refuses, but on Shakuni’s assurance he reluctantly grants leave.

The Clash with the Gandharvas at Dwaitavana, and Duryodhana’s Capture

King Duryodhana wandered from forest to forest until he reached the cattle-stations and pitched his camp. His servants chose a fine spot rich in water and trees and built separate quarters for him and for Karna, Shakuni, and his brothers. The king inspected the marks and features of thousands of cattle and counted them, had the calves branded, and picked out those to be tamed. When the tally of every three-year-old calf was complete, the Kuru prince moved happily among his herdsmen. The townsfolk and thousands of soldiers played in those forests like gods. Herdsmen skilled in song, dance, and music, and girls decked in ornaments, kept the king entertained. Surrounded by the women of his household, he handed out wealth, food, and drink as he pleased.

With his attendants the king hunted hyenas, buffaloes, deer, gavayas, bears, and boars. Piercing thousands of animals with his arrows, drinking milk and enjoying many rich dishes, watching forests loud with wine-drunk bees and full of the cries of peacocks, he came at last near the holy lake of Dwaitavana. The place lay in the shade of saptaparna, punnaga, and bakula trees. The king reached it like Indra, wielder of the thunderbolt.

At that very time, Yudhishthira the Dharma-king was near that lake with his wife, Drupada’s daughter, performing the daily rite called Rajarshi, by the ordinance laid down for the gods and for those who live in the wild. Arriving there, Duryodhana ordered thousands of servants, “Build me a pleasure-house at once.” They answered “Let it be so” and went toward the shore of the lake. But as they were about to enter the gate of the woods, a host of Gandharvas held them back. For the Gandharva king had already come there from Kubera’s abode with his followers. He had come to play with many troops of apsaras and sons of the gods, and he had ringed the place off and closed it to everyone.

A key to reading this (a note): The Gandharvas are the half-divine beings of the god-world, masters of song and instrument and of maya (illusion, the divine power to conjure appearances). Their king is Chitrasena, who turns out later to be Arjuna’s friend and teacher. Their barring of the way is the opening move of a divine intervention, and more than a simple border dispute.

Duryodhana’s soldiers came back and reported that the lake was closed off by the Gandharva king. Duryodhana sent his warriors to drive the Gandharvas away. Returning to the lake, the warriors said, “Great King Duryodhana is coming here to enjoy himself. Stand aside.” The Gandharvas laughed and answered harshly, “Your wicked king Duryodhana has lost his wits. How does he give orders to us, dwellers of heaven, as though we were his servants? You are fools too, walking into the jaws of death by carrying his message. Turn back at once, or go to the realm of Yama this very day.”

Hearing this, Duryodhana filled with rage and said, “Punish these wretches, even if they have come with Indra of the hundred sacrifices himself.” Dhritarashtra’s sons and thousands of warriors charged into the forest with a lion’s roar. The Gandharvas kept holding them back gently, but they would not stop. So the Gandharvas went to their king Chitrasena and told him everything. Chitrasena, enraged, gave the order, “Punish these lawless wretches.” The Gandharvas took up their weapons and fell upon Dhritarashtra’s army. Seeing the Gandharvas coming with weapons raised, the Kuru soldiers fled in all directions, right before Duryodhana’s eyes.

But even seeing everyone turn and run, brave Radheya (Karna) did not flee. He held the Gandharvas off with a downpour of arrows. With the great quickness of his hands the charioteer’s son pierced hundreds of Gandharvas with razor-edged shafts, broad-heads, and many weapons of bone and steel, and in a short while had Chitrasena’s army screaming in pain. But the Gandharvas came back in their hundreds and thousands. Then Duryodhana, Shakuni, Duhshasana, Vikarna, and Dhritarashtra’s other sons, their chariots thundering like the cry of Garuda, returned under Karna’s lead and began to cut that army down.

Then the whole Gandharva army closed with the Kauravas. The fighting was savage. The Gandharvas, harried by the Kurus’ arrows, seemed to tire, and the Kauravas raised a great shout. But seeing his army frightened, the enraged Chitrasena sprang from his seat, set on destroying the Kuru host. Skilled in every art of war, he fought with weapons of maya (illusion). Under his illusions the Kaurava warriors began to lose their senses. It seemed that every Kuru fighter was hemmed in by ten Gandharvas at once. Battered and terrified by the assault, all who wished to live fled.

But though all of Dhritarashtra’s army broke and ran, Karna the son of Surya stood unmoved as a mountain. Duryodhana, Karna, and Shakuni, wounded and torn, kept fighting the Gandharvas. Then all the Gandharvas rushed at Karna from every side, in their hundreds and thousands, with swords, axes, and spears, to kill him. One cut the yoke of his chariot, another the flag-staff, another the axle, others the horses, the driver, the parasol. Thousands of Gandharvas together broke his chariot to pieces. Then Karna took up sword and shield, leaped down from the chariot, climbed onto Vikarna’s car, and saved himself by driving the horses hard away.

With Karna beaten, the whole Kuru army fled right before Duryodhana. But Duryodhana refused to run. He poured out a thick rain of arrows, yet the Gandharvas smashed his chariot to fragments and killed his driver and horses. When the chariotless Duryodhana fell to the ground, the powerful Chitrasena pounced on him and seized him as though taking his very life. With the king a prisoner, the Gandharvas also seized Duhshasana in his chariot, along with Vivinsati, Chitrasena (Duryodhana’s brother), Vinda and Anuvinda, and every woman of the royal household.

A key to reading this (names): Two men named Chitrasena appear in this episode: Chitrasena the Gandharva king (Arjuna’s friend) and Chitrasena the son of Dhritarashtra (Duryodhana’s brother). They are two different characters; do not let the shared name confuse you.

The gist: Duryodhana busies himself counting the herds and indulging in pleasure, but the Gandharva king Chitrasena has already ringed off the Dwaitavana lake. Duryodhana’s arrogance sparks a fight; Karna alone holds his ground but is beaten in the war of illusions and flees. Duryodhana, his brothers, and the household women are taken prisoner. Here, for the first time, the Kauravas’ pride is broken in public.

The Plea for Refuge with the Pandavas, and Yudhishthira’s Reasoning on Dharma

Duryodhana’s soldiers, beaten by the Gandharvas, joined those who had fled earlier and came to the Pandavas, who were living nearby. With Duryodhana taken captive, all the vehicles, shops, pavilions, carts, and animals were handed into the Pandavas’ keeping. The soldiers said, “The Gandharvas are carrying off the son of Dhritarashtra as their prisoner. Sons of Pritha, go after them! Duhshasana, Durvishaha, Durmukha, and Durjaya are all being led away in chains, and with them all the women of the royal household.”

Stricken with grief, Duryodhana’s men came to Yudhishthira longing for their king’s release. Then Bhima said to those old attendants in a mocking voice, “The work we would have done with great effort, mounted on our horses and elephants, the Gandharvas have done for us. Men who came here for another purpose have fallen into an end they never imagined. This is the fruit of that king’s wicked ways, that lover of crooked dice. There is a saying that a weak man’s enemy is brought down by another’s hand, and the Gandharvas have proved it true before our eyes. This wretch came here to gloat over us, himself in prosperity and us in ruin, worn thin by austerity, bearing cold and heat. Now the men who follow this sinful Kaurava are watching his disgrace.” Bhima was still speaking his bitter words when Yudhishthira said, “This is no time for harsh speech.”

Yudhishthira said, “My son, why such language toward the Kurus, who are frightened and in distress and have come to us for shelter? Vrikodara, quarrels and disputes break out among kinsmen, and enmity runs its course. But the honor of the family is never put to the fire. If some outsider tries to disgrace the honor of the house, good men do not endure it. The wicked Gandharva king knows we live here, and still he has slighted us and done this hateful thing. An outsider has carried Duryodhana off by force and dishonored the women of our house, and by this the honor of our family is being destroyed.”

“So rise, best of men, and take up your weapons to protect those who have sought our shelter and to guard the honor of our house. Arjuna, you and the twins (Nakula and Sahadeva), set Duryodhana free. Here stand ready the chariots of Dhritarashtra’s sons, with their golden banners and every kind of weapon. Mount them with Indrasena and the other skilled drivers and go. Even an ordinary Kshatriya protects a suppliant with all his strength, so what shall I say of you, Vrikodara? The man who helps even an enemy who comes with joined palms begging shelter, that man is truly high of soul.”

“The granting of a boon, the winning of a kingdom, and the birth of a son, these three are great sources of joy. But rescuing an enemy from ruin, Pandavas, is worth all three together. Duryodhana in distress is begging, resting his very life on the strength of your arms; what greater joy is there than that? If my vow were finished, I would run to his aid myself. First, Bharata, try to free Duryodhana by a settlement. If the Gandharva king will not agree to terms, free him with a light skirmish. And if he still will not let go, then crush them with full force and set Duryodhana free. My vow is under way and not yet complete, and so I cannot go myself.”

Hearing these words of Ajatashatru (Yudhishthira), Dhananjaya, out of respect for his elder brother’s command, vowed to set the Kauravas free. Arjuna said, “If the Gandharvas will not release Dhritarashtra’s sons peacefully, then today the earth will drink the blood of the Gandharva king.” Hearing this vow from the truthful Arjuna, the Kauravas recovered the courage they had lost.

The gist: Here the moral depth of the Mahabharata surfaces. Bhima’s sarcasm is natural: the enemy has fallen by his own pride. But Yudhishthira turns it into a question of the family’s honor, since an outsider’s insult to a blood relative cannot be borne. This goes beyond a simple contest of good and evil; it is a crisis of dharma, in which protecting the very man who wronged you becomes a duty. Yudhishthira lays out a three-tier strategy: first a settlement, then a light skirmish, then full force.

The Battle with the Gandharvas, and Arjuna’s Celestial Weapons

At Yudhishthira’s words, those best of men rose up with glad faces, led by Bhimasena. They put on impenetrable mail worked with pure gold and took up their many celestial weapons. Armored and mounted on chariots flying their banners, the Pandavas looked like blazing fire. Seeing them come on together, the Kuru army sent up a loud shout.

Following Yudhishthira’s wise instruction, there was a light skirmish first. But when Arjuna saw that the Gandharva king’s foolish soldiers would not see their own good in a light skirmish, he said in a gentle voice, “Release my brother, King Suyodhana (Duryodhana).” The Gandharvas laughed and answered, “Boy, there is only one in the world whose command we obey and under whom we live at ease. No one but that divine lord can give us orders.” Then Dhananjaya said, “Both these things, laying hands on other men’s women and this hostile conduct toward men, are shameful and improper for a Gandharva king. So, by the order of Yudhishthira the Dharma-king, release the sons of Dhritarashtra and these women. If you will not release them peacefully, I will free Suyodhana by my own might.” Saying this, Pritha’s son Dhananjaya loosed a downpour of sharp, sky-ranging arrows.

A key to reading this (a note): The divine weapons (divyastras) are missiles empowered by mantra and summoned by a set rite. Arjuna here uses the Agneya (Agni’s, the fire weapon), the Sthunakarna, the Indrajala (a maya-breaking weapon against illusion), the Saura, the Saumya, and the Shabdavedha (which strikes a target by sound alone). This last weapon matters because Chitrasena fights while hidden by illusion.

The battle between the four Pandavas and thousands of Gandharvas was extraordinary. Just as Karna’s and Duryodhana’s chariots had been broken earlier, the Gandharvas tried to break these heroes’ chariots too. But the brothers held thousands of Gandharvas off with their storms of arrows, and the Gandharvas could not get near them. Then the enraged Arjuna sent hundreds of thousands of Gandharvas to Yama’s realm with the fire weapon. Bhima, that mighty archer, also killed hundreds of Gandharvas. Madri’s sons (Nakula and Sahadeva) killed hundreds more.

The Gandharvas, cut down by the celestial weapons, rose into the sky carrying Dhritarashtra’s sons with them. But Dhananjaya hemmed them in on every side with a wide net of arrows, as though they were birds trapped in a cage. In their fury they hurled maces, lances, and swords at Arjuna, but he sheared off their limbs with crescent-headed arrows. Heads, legs, and arms rained down from above like a fall of stones. Arjuna loosed the Sthunakarna, the Indrajala, the Saura, the Agneya, and the Saumya. Under Kunti’s son’s fire weapons the Gandharvas burned as the Daityas burned under Indra’s thunderbolt.

Seeing the Gandharvas terrified of Kunti’s son, Chitrasena swept down on Dhananjaya from above with a mace. But Arjuna cut that iron mace into seven pieces with his arrows. Then Chitrasena used his art, his maya, to vanish from Arjuna’s sight and fought on unseen. Arjuna blocked all his weapons with his celestial ones. When the Gandharva king had disappeared completely, Arjuna used the sound-tracking Shabdavedha to end his hiding. Harried by those weapons, the Gandharva king appeared before his dear friend and said, “Look at me, I am your friend, and I have been fighting you!” Seeing his weary friend Chitrasena, Arjuna drew back his weapons. The other Pandavas held back their weapons and chariots as well. Chitrasena, Bhima, Arjuna, and the twins all asked after one another’s welfare and took their seats on their chariots.

The gist: When the Gandharvas will not yield to a light skirmish, Arjuna turns to his celestial weapons and crushes their army. The turning point comes when the Gandharva king fights invisibly and Arjuna forces him into the open with the sound-tracking weapon. Only then does it emerge that he is Chitrasena, Arjuna’s friend and teacher. The battle turns into friendship.

Chitrasena’s Secret, and Duryodhana’s Release

Then the radiant Arjuna smiled and asked Chitrasena, in the midst of the Gandharva host, “Hero, why are you punishing the Kauravas? Why has Suyodhana been punished like this, along with his women?” Chitrasena answered, “Dhananjaya, from my own abode I already knew why the wicked Duryodhana and the base Karna had come here. Their purpose was this: knowing you were suffering in exile in the forest while they lived in luxury, this man wanted to mock you and Drupada’s daughter in your distress. Indra the king of the gods, knowing their purpose too, said to me, ‘Go, bring Duryodhana here bound in chains with his counselors. And always protect Dhananjaya and his brother in battle, for he is your dear friend and pupil.’ At Indra’s words I came here. Now I will carry this wretch to the world of the gods on the order of Indra, the punisher of Paka.”

Arjuna said, “Chitrasena, if you wish to do me a kindness, release Suyodhana by the order of Yudhishthira the Dharma-king, for he is our brother.” Chitrasena said, “This sinner is forever swollen with pride and does not deserve release. He has cheated and tormented both Yudhishthira and Krishna (Draupadi). But Yudhishthira does not yet know why this man came here. So let the king hear it all and do as he wishes.”

Then they all went to Yudhishthira and told him the whole account of Duryodhana’s conduct. Ajatashatru heard it, set the Kauravas free, and praised the Gandharvas. The king said, “It is good fortune that, mighty as you are, you did not kill Dhritarashtra’s son along with his counselors and kinsmen. You have shown us great kindness. By releasing this wretch you have also preserved the honor of our house. I am glad to see you all. Tell me what I may do for you. Take what you wish and return quickly.”

The Gandharvas, well pleased, departed with the apsaras. Then Indra the king of the gods came there and sprinkled celestial nectar on the Gandharvas killed in the battle, bringing them back to life. The Pandavas freed their kinsmen and the women of the household and so accomplished that hard task. Then Yudhishthira spoke tenderly to the freed Duryodhana, in the midst of his brothers: “My son, never do such a reckless thing again. The reckless man finds no happiness, Bharata. Be content, son of the Kurus, with all your brothers. Return to your capital without grief or despair.”

Taking his leave of the son of Pandu, Duryodhana bowed to Yudhishthira and set out for his capital, overcome with shame, his heart torn, moving like something drained of life. When the Kaurava prince had gone, the Brahmins honored Yudhishthira, and, ringed by those Brahmins rich in austerity as Indra is ringed by the gods, he lived on in Dwaitavana in contentment.

A sub-tale: Chitrasena’s secret is a fine example of the Mahabharata’s moral complexity. Duryodhana’s abduction was no accident; it was Indra’s careful design, meant to break his pride. Yet that same Indra had also told Chitrasena to protect Arjuna. So the very Gandharva who bound Duryodhana turned out to be Arjuna’s guardian and friend. The lines between enemy and protector do not stay straight here.

The gist: Chitrasena reveals that all of this was Indra’s plan, meant to punish Duryodhana’s wicked purpose and at the same time protect Arjuna. Yudhishthira, with an eye to dharma, has Duryodhana released with forgiveness and sends him off without a trace of triumph. For Duryodhana this very rescue becomes a deep blow to his pride, since his enemy is the one who saved him.

The Shamed Duryodhana, and the Vow to Fast to Death

Janamejaya asked, “Beaten and captured by the enemy, then freed by the force of Pandava arms, that proud, wicked, boastful Duryodhana must have found it very hard to enter Hastinapura. Vaishampayana, describe in full the city-entry of that prince, sick with shame and grief.”

Vaishampayana said: taking his leave of Yudhishthira, Duryodhana went slowly, head bowed, sick with grief. On the way he made camp with his fourfold army in a lovely spot rich in grass and water. Bright with a fire’s heat, he sat on a high couch like the moon in eclipse. In the morning Karna came to him and said, “Son of Gandhari, it is good fortune that you are alive! Good fortune that we meet again! By luck you conquered the Gandharvas, who take any shape they please, and your brothers came back victorious. As for me, hemmed in by all the Gandharvas, my body torn with arrows, I could save myself only by fleeing before your eyes. It is a great wonder that you all came back safe from that inhuman battle with your women, your army, and your vehicles.”

Hearing Karna’s words, Duryodhana said to the king of Anga (Karna) in a voice choked with tears, “Radheya, you do not know what happened, and so I take no offense at your words. You think the Gandharvas were beaten by my strength. Mighty-armed one, my brothers and I fought the Gandharvas a long time. Many fell on both sides. But when those brave Gandharvas rose into the sky by their many illusions and fought from there, the battle stopped being equal. We were defeated, and taken prisoner. Then some of our soldiers and officers, sick with grief, went to the Pandavas, those heroes who never deny a suppliant their help.”

“The Pandavas asked for our release with gentle words, though they could have done it by force. When the Gandharvas would not agree, Arjuna, Bhima, and the twins loosed their storms of arrows. Then the Gandharvas fled into the sky, dragging us along. Arjuna spread a net of arrows and, loosing his celestial weapons, held them back. Then his friend the Gandharva king appeared, and the two embraced and asked after each other’s welfare. Karna, Arjuna went to Chitrasena and said in proud words, ‘Gandharva chief, release my brothers. While the Pandavas live, no one can disgrace them.’ Then the Gandharva king revealed to the Pandavas our whole purpose, that we had come to mock them and Drupada’s daughter in their distress.”

“And while that Gandharva was laying out our schemes, I was so overcome with shame that I wished the earth would split open and swallow me. The Gandharvas bound us and led us to Yudhishthira and revealed everything. What greater misery is there than this, that before my own women, bound in chains, wholly in the power of my enemies, I was handed over to Yudhishthira as a gift? The men I always tormented, who were always my enemies, are the ones who freed me from my bonds, and I, base as I am, owe them my very life. If I had died in that great battle, it would have been far better. Killed by the Gandharvas, my fame would have spread over the whole earth, and I would have won the blessed worlds of Indra’s heaven.”

“Now hear what I will do. I will sit here and give up food, and the rest of you go home. Let all my brothers return to Hastinapura. Let all my friends, Karna among them, and all my kinsmen, Duhshasana among them, return to the capital. Disgraced by my enemies, I will not go there. The man who once stripped his enemies of honor and raised the honor of his friends has become a source of grief to his friends and joy to his enemies. What would I say to the king if I went to Hastinapura? What would Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, Ashvatthama, Vidura, Sanjaya, Bahlika, Somadatta, and the other venerable elders say to me, and what would I answer them? I who once trod on my enemies’ heads and walked over their chests have fallen from my place. In my folly I did a deeply wrong and sinful thing, and it has brought me to this ruin. So I will give up my life by fasting. What man of self-respect can go on carrying his life after being rescued by his enemies?”

Then Duryodhana said to Duhshasana, “Hear my words, Duhshasana. Become king in my place. Rule this earth under the protection of Karna and Suvala’s son. Guard your brothers as Indra guards the Maruts, so that they all put their trust in you. Always provide for the Brahmins, and be a shelter to your friends and kinsmen. Always honor your elders. Go, rule the earth, giving joy to your friends and punishment to your enemies.” And clasping him by the neck, Duryodhana said, “Go!”

Hearing this, Duhshasana, sick with grief, his throat choked, his palms joined, his head bowed, said, “Do not do this!” and sank to the ground with a heavy heart. Weeping, at his elder brother’s feet, he said again and again, “This will never be! Let the earth split, let the sky of heaven break, let the sun cast off its light, the moon give up its coolness, the wind give up its motion, Himavat move from its place, the sea’s water dry up, and fire give up its heat, but even then, king, I will not rule the earth without you. Be calm, king! You alone will be king in our house for a hundred years.” So saying, Duhshasana clung to his elder brother’s feet and wept.

The gist: The shamed Duryodhana admits the truth to Karna: the Gandharvas were never beaten by his strength, and it was the Pandavas who freed him. That debt of gratitude is harder for him to bear than death. He resolves on a fast to death (prayopavesha) and wants to hand the kingdom to Duhshasana. Duhshasana’s loving lament shows the humanity of the Kaurava side.

Karna and Shakuni’s Counsel, and Duryodhana’s Unshaken Vow

Seeing them both weeping, Karna came to them in grief and said, “Kuru princes, why do you grieve like fools, like ordinary men? Weeping never lessens grief. Take heart, and do not gladden your enemies with conduct like this. King, the Pandavas only did their duty in freeing you. Those who live in a king’s realm always serve the king’s interest. The Pandavas, living under your protection, are happy in your kingdom. Do not grieve like a common man. Look how your own brothers suffer at the sight of you resolved to fast. Rise, return to your city, and comfort them.”

Karna went on, “King, this conduct of yours today looks childish. Scourge of your enemies, what is so strange in the Pandavas freeing you after you were beaten by a foe? Those who live in a king’s realm, above all those who bear arms, always serve the king’s interest, whether the king knows them or not. Often even great men who cut through enemy ranks are beaten by the enemy and freed by their own soldiers. The Pandavas live in your kingdom; they freed you, so where is the cause for grief? True, it was wrong of them not to come with you at the time of the battle. They had already become your subjects in the dice game, your slaves, and so they are bound to help you. You are enjoying all the Pandavas’ wealth, they are still alive, and they have not vowed to die by fasting. Rise, king! If you throw away your life by fasting, you will become nothing but an object of ridicule among the other kings.”

Even at these words of Karna, Duryodhana held firm in his resolve to leave the world and would not rise from where he sat. Then Suvala’s son Shakuni, comforting the shame-broken Duryodhana who sat resolved on death, said, “Son of the Kurus, you have heard Karna’s words. They are wise words indeed. Why throw away in folly the life, and the high fortune I won for you? I think you have never served your elders. The man who cannot master a sudden joy or grief is destroyed even in the midst of fortune, like an unbaked pot sunk in water.”

“A king who is without patience, without prowess, given to sloth, without judgment, and sunk in the pleasures of the senses wins no respect from his people. Why this needless grief when you have gained so much? Do not waste this fine deed of the sons of Pritha by giving way to grief. When you should be glad and rewarding the Pandavas, you are grieving, and this conduct makes no sense. Be glad, do not give up your life, and remember the good they did you with a grateful heart. Give the sons of Pritha back their kingdom, and by that act earn both dharma and fame. Make peace with the Pandavas, give them their ancestral kingdom, and then you will be happy.”

Hearing Shakuni’s words, and seeing Duhshasana fallen before him, overcome with a brother’s love, the king lifted Duhshasana up, gathered him in his round arms, and tenderly smelled his head. But the words of Karna and Shakuni left Duryodhana more crushed than before, and shame and despair closed over his soul. He answered in grief, “I have no use now for dharma, wealth, friendship, splendor, kingdom, or pleasures. Do not stand in the way of my resolve; leave me alone. I am firm in giving up my life by fasting. Go back to the city and honor my elders for me.” They said, “King, your road is our road too. How can we enter the city without you?”

For all the pleading of his friends, counselors, brothers, and kinsmen, the king did not waver from his resolve. He spread kusha grass on the ground, purified himself by touching water, and sat down there. Clad in bark and kusha, he took up the supreme vow. Silencing all speech, longing to reach heaven, he let go of all outward dealings and turned inward to prayer and meditation.

A key to reading this (a note): Prayopavesha, the fast to death, is the resolve to give up food and water and wait for death. In the old Kshatriya tradition it could become a means of revenge or of wiping out shame. Duryodhana treats it as a way to escape disgrace and reach heaven, a path he does not see as self-slaughter.

The gist: Karna and Shakuni offer practical arguments: the Pandavas only did a subject’s duty, so where is the shame? Shakuni goes so far as to say Duryodhana should give the Pandavas back their kingdom and make peace. But Duryodhana’s pride will not let him bend; he spreads kusha grass and sits down to fast to death.

The Summoning of the Danavas of Patala, and the Rousing of Duryodhana

Meanwhile, the Daityas and Danavas who in ancient times had been beaten by the gods and driven to live in Patala (the nether world) learned of Duryodhana’s resolve. Understanding that if the king died their side would grow weak, they began a fire rite to summon Duryodhana to them. Masters of mantra performed the rites laid down in the Atharva Veda and the Upanishads, following the formulas spoken by Brihaspati and Ushanas (Shukracharya). Brahmins under stern vows chanted the mantras and poured offerings of clarified butter and milk into the fire.

When the rite was complete, a strange goddess rose from the fire, her mouth gaping wide, asking, “What shall I do?” The pleased Danavas commanded her, “Bring us the son of Dhritarashtra, who has vowed to give up his life.” Saying “Let it be so,” she reached in the blink of an eye the place where Suyodhana was. She carried him down to Patala and told the Danavas. Finding the king among them in the night, the Danavas looked on him with delighted eyes and spoke to him in flattering words.

The Danavas said, “Suyodhana, great king, you who carry forward the line of Bharata! You are always surrounded by heroes and men of fire. Why then this reckless act of fasting? The suicide sinks into hell and becomes a target of blame. Men of intelligence like you never set their hands to acts that are sinful and against their own interest. So stop this resolve, which destroys dharma, wealth, happiness, fame, and energy. Great king, learn the truth of the divine origin of your soul and of the maker of your body, and then take courage.”

“In ancient times we obtained you from Maheshvara (Shiva) by our austerities. The upper part of your body is made of a mass of Vajras and is therefore invulnerable to weapons of every kind. The lower part, which can captivate a woman’s heart by its beauty, was made of flowers by the goddess herself, the wife of Mahadeva. Your body is thus the creation of Maheshvara and his goddess. So, best of men, you are of divine origin and not human. Many brave Kshatriyas, Bhagadatta and the rest, will kill your enemies, so let this grief go. There is nothing for you to fear. Many heroic Danavas have already been born on earth to aid you.”

“Other Asuras will enter heroes such as Bhishma, Drona, and Karna. Possessed by them, these heroes will cast off their compassion and fight your enemies. When the Danavas enter their hearts and take them wholly, they will fling every affection far away and, hard-hearted, spare no one in battle, not son, brother, father, friend, pupil, kinsman, child, or old man. Blinded by ignorance and wrath, driven by the destiny the Creator has ordained, these best of men, their hearts steeped in sin, will hurl every kind of weapon and empty the earth of people, boasting to one another, ‘You will not escape from me today with your life.’”

A key to reading this (a note, to be read with restraint): Here the Danavas reassure Duryodhana that heroes like Bhishma, Drona, and Karna will fight without mercy once possessed by Asuras. The Mahabharata does not dodge the moral crisis here; it hints that the coming great war will be a stage for the struggle of divine and demonic powers, running deeper than mere human spite. But these are the Danavas’ words, a single side’s claim rather than an all-knowing truth, and they are best read as one party’s interpretation.

The Danavas said, “And these five Pandavas too, king, will fight them, and with fate favoring them will destroy them. Many Daityas and Rakshasas born into the Kshatriya line will fight your enemies with maces, clubs, lances, and the finest weapons. Hero, as for the fear of Arjuna in your heart, we have already arranged the means of his death. The soul of the slain Narakasura has taken the form of Karna. Remembering his old hostility, he will clash with both Keshava (Krishna) and Arjuna. That great hero will conquer Arjuna in battle, and all your enemies with him.”

“Knowing all this, Indra, wielder of the thunderbolt, wishing to save Arjuna, will take from Karna his earrings and armor by a disguise. For that reason we have appointed hundreds of thousands of Daityas and Rakshasas, famous under the name of Samsaptakas. These renowned warriors will kill the hero Arjuna. So do not grieve. You will rule the whole earth without a rival. Do not give way to despair. Son of the Kurus, if you die our side grows weak. As the Pandavas are the refuge of the gods, so you are always our refuge.”

A key to reading this (names): The Samsaptakas are warriors who swear either to kill or to die: they will return only after killing, or perish in the attempt. In the war at Kurukshetra they will try to draw Arjuna away from the main battle and keep him engaged. Their mention here is the seed of a later part of the story.

With these words the Danavas embraced that best of kings and encouraged him like a son. Calming his mind with soft words, they gave him leave: “Go, and win victory!” Then that same goddess carried him back to the very place where he had sat resolved to die. She set the hero down, paid him homage, and, with the king’s leave, vanished.

When the goddess had gone, Duryodhana took all of this for a dream. He thought to himself, “I will defeat the Pandavas in battle.” He believed that Karna and the army of the Samsaptakas were both able and eager to destroy Partha (Arjuna). So the wicked-minded man’s hope of conquering the Pandavas hardened. Karna too, into whose soul a portion of Narakasura had entered, was now set on killing Arjuna. The Samsaptakas as well, possessed by Rakshasas and swayed by the qualities of passion and darkness, wanted Phalguna’s death. Even Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, and the rest, worked upon by the Danavas, no longer held their old affection for the Pandavas. But King Suyodhana told no one of this.

When the night had passed, Karna the son of Surya joined his palms and, smiling, said to Duryodhana, “A dead man does not conquer his enemies; only by living does he see his own good. Where is victory for the dead? So this is no time for grief, or fear, or death.” Embracing the king, he said, “Rise, king! Why do you lie here? Why do you grieve? Or do you fear Arjuna’s prowess? I swear a true vow that I will kill Arjuna in battle. I swear by my weapons that when thirteen years have passed I will bring the sons of Pritha under your power.”

Remembering these words of Karna, the words of the Danavas, and the pleas of his brothers, Suyodhana rose. With firm resolve he arrayed his army of horses, elephants, chariots, and foot. Bright with white parasols, banners, white yak-tail fans, chariots, elephants, and foot-soldiers, that vast host flowed on like the waters of the Ganga. Blessed by the Brahmins with wishes for victory, honored by countless joined palms, blazing with great splendor, he went ahead with Karna and Shakuni. Duhshasana and all the brothers, with Bhurishravas, Somadatta, and the great king Bahlika, followed that lion of a king with chariots, horses, and the finest elephants, and in a short while the sons of the Kurus entered their city.

The gist: The Danavas summon Duryodhana to Patala and tell him his body is Maheshvara’s creation, and that Bhishma, Drona, and Karna will fight without mercy once possessed by demonic powers; Karna carries a portion of Narakasura and will clash with Arjuna, and the Samsaptakas will kill him. This dreamlike encounter fills Duryodhana with fresh confidence. He gives up the vow and, with Karna’s oath to kill Arjuna, arrays his army and returns to Hastinapura.

Bhishma’s Counsel for Peace and Karna’s Conquest of the Directions

Janamejaya asked, “While the sons of Pritha were living in the forest, what did the sons of Dhritarashtra, and Karna, Shakuni, Bhishma, Drona, and Kripa do? Tell me this.”

Vaishampayana said: When Duryodhana, freed by the Pandavas, had returned to Hastinapura, Bhishma said to him, “My child, I told you before that going there did not please me, and yet you went. As a consequence you were taken captive by the enemy, and the Pandavas, who know what is right, set you free. Even so you feel no shame. In your own presence, son of Gandhari, and before your whole army, the Suta’s son [Karna] took fright and fled from the battle with the Gandharvas. You saw both things, O king: the prowess of the high-souled Pandavas and the weakness of the Suta’s son. In the science of arms, in valor, in dharma, Karna is not equal to even a fourth part of the Pandavas. Therefore, for the welfare of this house, my judgment is that peace with the high-souled Pandavas is the better course.”

Hearing these words of Bhishma, the king laughed loudly and abruptly walked out with the son of Suvala. When he had gone, Karna, Duhshasana, and the other great bowmen followed at his heels. Watching them leave, Bhishma, grandsire of the Kurus, bowed his head in shame and withdrew to his own quarters. Once Bhishma was gone, Duryodhana came back and began to take counsel with his ministers: “What is best for me? What still remains to be done? And how can I bring about whatever good is possible?”

Karna said, “Duryodhana, delight of the Kurus, take my words to heart. Bhishma is forever running us down and praising the Pandavas. Out of ill will toward you he despises me as well, and in your presence he never fails to belittle me. I will not endure such talk from him. Give me leave, with servants, troops, and chariots, and I alone will conquer this whole earth with its mountains and forests. The land that four mighty Pandavas once conquered, I will conquer single-handed for you. Let that wretched Bhishma see it and reproach himself. Give the command, and victory will surely be yours. By my own weapon I swear it.”

Overjoyed at these words, Duryodhana said, “I am blessed. You have shown me your favor, and today my life has borne fruit. Go, brave one, and may all good attend you.” On an auspicious lunar day, at an auspicious hour, and under a lucky star, honored by the twice-born and bathed with sacred and auspicious substances, that great bowman set out, filling the three worlds with the rattle of his chariot.

With a vast army Karna laid siege to the beautiful city of Drupada, and after a fierce fight brought him to heel, exacting silver, gold, gems, and tribute. Then he marched north, defeated Bhagadatta, and, fighting his foes all the way, climbed the great mountain Himavat and took tribute from all its kings. Descending, he swept east and subdued the Angas, the Bangas, the Kalingas, the Mandikas, the Magadhas, the Karkakhandas, the Avasiras, the Yodhyas, and the Ahikshatras. Then, taking Vatsa-bhumi, he forced Kevali, Mrittikavati, Mohana, Patrana, Tripura, and Kosala to pay tribute.

Going south, Karna vanquished the great charioteers of that quarter and, in the Deccan, closed with Rukmi. After a terrible fight Rukmi said, “Best of kings, I am pleased with your strength and prowess. I will do you no harm; I have only kept a Kshatriya’s vow. Take as much gold as you wish.” Leaving Rukmi, Karna went on to Pandya and to Mount Sri, and took tribute from Karala, king Nila, the son of Venudari, and other kings of the south. He then defeated the son of Shishupala and brought all the neighboring rulers under his sway. Having conquered the Avantis and made peace with them, and having met with the Vrishnis, he took the west. Turning to the quarter of Varuna, he exacted tribute from all the Yavana and Barbara kings.

So, having conquered east, west, north, and south, the whole earth, that hero, unaided and alone, subdued all the Mlechchhas, the mountaineers, the Bhadras, the Rohitakas, the Agneyas, and the Malavas. Defeating the great charioteers led by the Nagnajitas, he brought the Sasakas and the Yavanas under his sway. Having thus conquered the entire world, the mighty charioteer returned to Hastinapura. Duryodhana, with his father, his brothers, and his friends, came out to meet Karna and honored him with full ceremony, declaring, “What I never had from Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, or Bahlika, I have had from you. In you, Karna, lies my refuge. The Pandavas and all the other prosperous kings together do not come to a sixteenth part of you.”

An uproar broke out in Hastinapura: some kings praised Karna, some blamed him, some kept silent. Having brought the whole earth to heel and gained inexhaustible wealth, Karna presented himself before the king. Entering the palace, that knower of dharma touched the feet of Dhritarashtra and Gandhari as a son would. Dhritarashtra embraced him with affection and sent him on his way. From that day, Duryodhana and Shakuni were convinced that the sons of Pritha had already been beaten in battle by Karna.

The gist: Bhishma warns Duryodhana plainly: Karna fled from the battle with the Gandharvas and is not equal to even a fourth part of the Pandavas, so peace is the wiser course. Duryodhana only laughs and walks out. Stung by the insult, Karna sets out on a dig-vijaya, a conquest of all the directions, and returns having beaten the kings of every quarter. The pride of the Kaurava camp swells again.

The Vaishnava Yajna and the Invitation to the Pandavas

Karna said to Duryodhana, “O Kaurava, the earth is now cleared of enemies. Rule it like Indra with his foes destroyed.” The king replied, “Best of men, nothing is beyond the reach of one who has you for his refuge. Watching the splendid Rajasuya the Pandavas performed, a longing has risen in me to perform such a yajna (fire-rite) myself. Fulfill this wish of mine, son of the Suta.” Karna answered that, with all the kings subdued, the leading Brahmins should be summoned, the materials for the rite duly gathered, and Ritwijas learned in the Vedas should conduct the yajna by the ordinance.

The king summoned his priest and asked him to perform the Rajasuya. But the foremost Brahmins said, “Best of the Kurus, so long as Yudhishthira lives, this rite cannot be performed in your family. And your father Dhritarashtra, blessed with long life, still lives, so for this reason too you cannot undertake it. There is, however, another great yajna equal to the Rajasuya; perform that. All the kings who owe you tribute will pay in gold, pure and impure. Have a sacrificial plough made from that gold and plough the sacrificial ground with it. On that spot let the rite begin, undisturbed, sanctified with mantras and rich in food. This yajna is called the Vaishnava, and none but the ancient Vishnu has ever performed it. It rivals the Rajasuya and can be completed without any hindrance.”

Hearing the Brahmins’ words, the king consulted Karna, his brothers, and Shakuni. All said, “So be it.” Then the king assigned every man his task and ordered the artisans to make the golden plough. One by one the commands were carried out. So the Vaishnava yajna began, and the son of Gandhari was duly initiated. Dhritarashtra, Vidura, Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, Karna, and Gandhari were all delighted. Duryodhana sent out messengers to invite the kings and Brahmins.

To one messenger Duhshasana said, “Go to the Dwaita forest and invite its Brahmins, and those wretched Pandavas too.” The messenger went, bowed to the Pandavas, and said, “Having won boundless wealth by his own prowess, Duryodhana, foremost of the Kurus, is holding a great yajna. Kings and Brahmins are coming from every direction. The king invites you: come and witness the rite.”

Hearing the messenger’s words, Yudhishthira said, “It is good fortune that King Suyodhana, who adds to the fame of his forefathers, is performing this splendid yajna. We would surely come, but we cannot now, for until the thirteenth year ends we must keep our vow.” At this Bhima said, “King Yudhishthira will go there when, at the close of the thirteenth year, he offers Duryodhana as an oblation into the fire of weapons in the yajna of battle. Tell Suyodhana: when the Pandavas pour the clarified butter of their wrath upon the sons of Dhritarashtra in that yajna of war, then I will come.” The other Pandavas said nothing unkind. The messenger returned and reported everything.

Duryodhana’s yajna was completed without a hitch. Vidura saw to it that all the orders were satisfied with food and drink, garlands, and garments. The king dismissed thousands of kings and Brahmins with gifts of every kind.

A sub-tale: Bhima’s reply shows the edge of the Mahabharata’s dialogue. Duryodhana’s invitation is really a display of his own splendor. Bhima turns it into the figure of a “yajna of war,” in which the oblation will be Duryodhana and the Kauravas, and the clarified butter the Pandavas’ stored-up wrath. The line is a taunt and, beyond that, a prophecy of the Kurukshetra war to come.

The gist: Duryodhana wants to perform the Rajasuya, but the Brahmins explain that it is impossible while Yudhishthira and Dhritarashtra still live; so the “Vaishnava yajna,” its equal, is held instead. The Pandavas are invited, but Yudhishthira declines, citing his vow, and Bhima sends back a warning about the yajna of battle.

Karna’s Vow to Kill Arjuna and the Pandavas’ Distress

As Duryodhana entered the city, the bards sang his praises. The citizens sprinkled him with parched grain and sandal paste and said, “It is good fortune, O king, that your yajna was completed without obstruction.” But some, bolder of speech, said, “This yajna does not match Yudhishthira’s; it does not come to a sixteenth part of it.” His friends, however, said, “This yajna was supreme, greater than all others. Yayati, Nahusha, Mandhata, and Bharata went to heaven by performing such rites.” Pleased by his friends’ warm words, the king entered the city and his own palace. Having worshipped the feet of his father and mother, of Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, and Vidura, and honored in turn by his younger brothers, he took his seat on an excellent throne.

Then Karna rose and said, “Best of the Bharatas, it is good fortune that this great yajna is complete. But when the sons of Pritha have been killed in battle and you perform the Rajasuya, I will honor you again in just this way.” The king replied, “Well said. When the wicked Pandavas are dead and I perform the Rajasuya, then, brave one, you shall honor me again like this.” So saying, he embraced Karna and fell to thinking about the Rajasuya. He said to the Kurus, “When will I kill the Pandavas and perform that splendid Rajasuya yajna?”

Then Karna said, “Hear me, best of kings. Until I have killed Arjuna, I will let no one wash my feet, nor will I taste meat. And I will keep the Asura vow: to no one who asks me for anything will I ever say, ‘I have it not.’” At this vow the sons of Dhritarashtra raised a great shout and were sure the Pandavas were already beaten. Then Duryodhana withdrew to his palace like Kubera entering the garden of Chitraratha, and all the great bowmen went to their own quarters.

A key to reading this (a note): Karna’s “Asura vow” meant never turning away a suppliant and giving up all comfort until his oath was fulfilled. That same vow would later become the seed of his tragedy, for it was this very generosity that let Indra, in disguise, beg away his armor and earrings.

Meanwhile the Pandavas, troubled by the messenger’s words, found no ease at all. When spies brought news of Karna’s vow to kill Arjuna, Yudhishthira, the son of Dharma, grew deeply anxious. Reckoning Karna of the impenetrable mail a warrior of wonderful prowess, and calling to mind all his own sorrows, he could find no peace. Filled with worry, he resolved to leave the Dwaita forest with its many beasts of prey.

The son of Dhritarashtra, meanwhile, ruled the earth with his brave brothers and with Bhishma, Drona, and Kripa. With the help of Karna, crowned with the glory of war, Duryodhana stayed ever intent on the welfare of the kings, performed sacrifices with lavish gifts, and honored the Brahmins. Holding that giving and enjoying are the only uses of wealth, he went on doing good to his brothers.

The gist: After the yajna, Karna swears a fierce oath: no comfort and the Asura vow until Arjuna is dead. Hearing of it, Yudhishthira is thrown into distress and thinks of leaving the Dwaita forest. The Kaurava camp is sunk in pride, as though the Pandavas had already lost.

The Deer in the Dream and the Move Toward the Kamyaka Forest

Janamejaya asked, “After freeing Duryodhana, what did the Pandavas do in the forest?” Vaishampayana said: Once, as Yudhishthira slept at night in the Dwaita woods, some deer came to him in a dream, their voices choked with tears. Their bodies trembling, they stood with joined hands, and Yudhishthira asked them, “Who are you? What do you want?” Those survivors of the slaughtered deer replied, “O Bharata, we are what remains of the deer that have been killed. We will be wiped out entirely, so change your dwelling. All your brothers are heroes skilled with weapons; they have thinned the ranks of the forest-dwellers. We are only a few, like seed grain that is left. By your grace, O king of kings, let us grow again.”

Seeing those few surviving deer, like leftover seed, trembling with fear, Yudhishthira was filled with grief. Bent on the welfare of all creatures, the king said, “So be it. I will do as you ask.” Waking, moved to pity for the deer, he told his brothers, “The deer that survive the slaughter spoke to me in the night: ‘We are the seed that remains of our lines; have mercy on us.’ They spoke the truth. For a year and eight months now we have been living off them. Let us go on, then, to the lovely Kamyaka forest, at the edge of the desert near Lake Trinabindu, and pass the rest of our time there in peace.”

So the Pandavas set out at once with the Brahmins, all their companions, and their retainers led by Indrasena. Traveling roads well supplied with good grain and clear water, they reached the holy Kamyaka hermitage, rich in ascetic power. As the virtuous enter heaven, so they entered that forest, surrounded by the foremost of Brahmins.

The gist: In a dream the surviving deer beg Yudhishthira to move on, or their whole kind will be destroyed. Devoted to the welfare of every creature, Yudhishthira agrees at once and leads the Pandavas from the Dwaita forest to the Kamyaka. The episode shows the vision of ahimsa (non-harm) that extends mercy even to the creatures he might hunt.

Vyasa’s Arrival and His Teaching on Charity and Tapas

Eleven years of the Pandavas’ forest life passed in sorrow. Living on fruit and root, men worthy of ease spent their days in hardship. Remembering his own fault at the dice, Yudhishthira could not sleep in peace, as though a spear were lodged in his heart. Recalling Karna’s cutting words, he swallowed the venom of his anger and, in humble dress, sighed on. Arjuna, the twins, Draupadi, and mighty Bhima all felt sharp pain at the sight of Yudhishthira. Knowing that only a little of their exile remained, they filled with anger and hope and threw themselves into every kind of effort.

After a time the great ascetic Vyasa, son of Satyavati, came to see the Pandavas. Yudhishthira went forward to welcome him, bowed, and, when the rishi was seated, sat before him, eager to listen. Seeing his grandsons gaunt and living on the produce of the wild, Vyasa was moved to compassion and said, in a voice thick with feeling, “Yudhishthira, those who do not practice tapas (austerity) win no great happiness in this world. A man tastes joy and sorrow by turns; no one enjoys unbroken happiness. The wise man knows that life has its ups and downs, and so he neither exults nor grieves. When happiness comes, take it; when sorrow comes, bear it, as a farmer waits for his season.”

“Nothing is higher than tapas; from tapas comes great reward. There is nothing, O Bharata, that tapas cannot achieve. Truth, sincerity, freedom from anger, justice, self-control, mastery of the senses, freedom from malice, simplicity, purity, and restraint of the faculties: these purify a person of merit. The fruit of what is done in this world is reaped in the next. So a man should discipline his body with tapas and vows. With a guileless and cheerful heart, according to his means, he should go to a worthy recipient, bow to him, and give.”

Yudhishthira asked, “Great rishi, of charity and austerity, which bears greater fruit in the next world, and which is harder?” Vyasa said, “My son, nothing in this world is harder than charity. Men thirst greatly after wealth, and wealth is hard to come by. For its sake, brave men give up even their dear lives and plunge into the depths of the sea and the forest; some take to farming, some to herding cattle, some to servitude. To part with wealth won by such toil is very hard. So in my view charity stands supreme, above every other merit. Given in a pure spirit, at the right time and place, to worthy souls, charity yields inexhaustible fruit. But the giving of ill-gotten wealth does not save the giver from the sin of rebirth.” In this connection Vyasa told the old story of Mudgala, who won inexhaustible fruit by giving away only a single drona of grain.

A key to reading this (a measure): A drona was an old unit for measuring grain. One drona came to a few sers of grain, a few kilograms in modern terms. The point of the story is that inexhaustible fruit comes from the purity of the spirit behind the gift, whatever its size.

The Story of Mudgala and Durvasa’s Test

Vyasa said, “In Kurukshetra there lived a righteous sage named Mudgala, truthful, free of malice, master of his senses. He lived by the Shila and Unchha ways, gleaning the grain left and fallen in the fields for his livelihood. Though he lived like a pigeon, he still honored his guests and performed the Ishtikrita sacrifice and other rites. With his son and wife he ate for a fortnight, and for the other fortnight gathered a single drona of grain in the pigeon’s manner. He ate only what remained after the gods and guests had been fed.”

“On auspicious days Indra himself, with the gods, would partake of the food of his sacrifice. Mudgala gladly fed his guests as well. By the purity of his spirit, the moment a guest arrived that single drona of grain swelled so greatly that hundreds of learned Brahmins were satisfied from it.”

“Once, hearing of the vow-keeping Mudgala’s fame, the sage Durvasa came there, naked, with only the sky for his garment, dressed like a madman, his head shaved, hurling insults. He said, ‘Best of Brahmins, know that I have come seeking food.’ Mudgala said, ‘You are welcome.’ He gave the hungry, half-crazed sage water to wash his feet and mouth and set fine food before him. Durvasa ate it all. Mudgala served him again. He ate that too, smeared the leavings over his body, and went off as he had come.”

“In this way, over the six seasons, Durvasa came six times and each time ate everything. Yet Mudgala, without eating himself, went back to gleaning grain in the Unchha way. Hunger could not spoil his composure; neither anger, nor deceit, nor any sense of insult, nor agitation could enter his heart. With his son and wife he stayed pure of heart throughout. Then, well pleased, Durvasa said, ‘There is no one on earth as guileless and generous as you. Hunger drives off the sense of dharma and strips away patience, yet you have done everything in a pure spirit. Self-control, patience, justice, mastery of the senses, mercy, and dharma all stand firm in you. You will go to heaven in your very body.’”

A sub-tale: This test by Durvasa falls across the Mahabharata twice: here upon Mudgala, and later (through Duryodhana’s scheme) upon the Pandavas. In both places Durvasa’s anger is a touchstone: whoever is pure of heart and steady in dharma comes through that fire unscathed. Mudgala’s gleaning life teaches that even with the barest means the purest giving is possible.

The Faults of Heaven and Mudgala’s Choice of the Supreme State

The moment Durvasa said this, a messenger of the gods came before Mudgala on a chariot yoked with swans and cranes, ringing with bells, filled with divine fragrance, richly painted, and able to go anywhere at will. He said, “Rishi, mount this chariot earned by your deeds. You have won the fruit of your austerity.” Mudgala said, “Messenger of the gods, tell me the character and nature of those who dwell there. What is the happiness of heaven, and what are its faults? Friendship with the good is formed by walking only seven steps together; in the name of that friendship, tell me the truth, so that I may settle my course.”

The messenger said, “Great rishi, you are of simple mind, that even after gaining this divine bliss you reason like one without discernment. The realm called heaven lies above, reached by lofty roads, forever ranged by celestial cars. Atheists, liars, those without austerity, and those who have performed no great sacrifices cannot go there. Only the virtuous, the disciplined, the masters of their senses, the free of malice, and the charitable and brave go there. There are thousands of shining realms of the gods, the Sadhyas, the Vishvedevas, the great rishis, the Yamas, the Dharmas, the Gandharvas, and the Apsaras. There stands the golden Meru, spread over thirty-three thousand yojanas, and the divine gardens with Nandana at their head. There is no hunger, no thirst, no weariness, no fear, and nothing loathsome.”

“Every fragrance there delights, every breeze is soft, every sound is sweet to the ear. There is no grief, no old age, no toil, no regret. That world is gained by the fruit of one’s own deeds. Above it are the shining realms of Brahma, and higher still dwell beings called the Ribhus, who are gods even to the gods. Lit by their own light, free of malice, sorrow, weariness, and ignorance, they do not change even at the end of a kalpa. For them there is no frenzy, no elation, no sorrow. Even the gods long for their supreme state.”

“Now hear the faults of heaven. There a man only reaps the fruit of deeds already done; he can do no new deed. And when his merit is fully spent, he falls. That fall is heaven’s flaw: to be cast down while sunk in pleasure, to drop to a lower place after enjoying the higher realms, is very hard to bear. The mind of the falling one grows dull, his garland begins to wither, and fear takes hold of his heart. These faults reach even to the realm of Brahma. The fallen, by their remaining merit, are born again among men and win high fortune. This world is called the world of action; the others are called the worlds of fruit.”

Hearing this, Mudgala reflected and said, “Messenger, I salute you; go back in peace. I have no use for a heaven or a happiness with such great faults. I will search for that imperishable region where those who reach it know no grief, no pain, no agitation. Tell me the region without fault.” The messenger said, “Above the realm of Brahma is the supreme seat of Vishnu, pure, eternal, radiant, known as the Para Brahma. There the sense-bound, the proud, the greedy, the ignorant, the angry, and the envious cannot go. Only those free of passion, free of pride, free of conflicting emotions, masters of their senses, and given to contemplation and yoga go there.”

Hearing this, the sage sent the messenger away and, still gleaning grain, came to perfect contentment. Praise and blame became one to him; a clod, a stone, and gold looked alike to his eyes. By the means of attaining Brahman he stayed always in meditation, and, gaining the highest understanding through knowledge, he reached that supreme and eternal state of liberation. Vyasa said, “So you too, son of Kunti, must not grieve. You have been robbed of a flourishing kingdom, but by tapas you will regain it. Sorrow after happiness, happiness after sorrow, come by turns, like the rim-point circling the axle of a wheel. When the thirteenth year has passed, you will win back the kingdom of your father and grandfather. So let the fever of your heart go.” With that, Vyasa returned to his hermitage to practice austerity.

The gist: The messenger describes for Mudgala the joys of heaven and even of Brahma’s realm, but tells him their root flaw as well: once merit is spent, the fall comes. The discerning Mudgala chooses Vishnu’s supreme seat, liberation, over perishable heaven, and attains it. With this story Vyasa steadies Yudhishthira: joy and sorrow are a turning wheel, and in the thirteenth year the kingdom will return.

Duryodhana’s Durvasa Trick and Draupadi’s Prayer to Krishna

Janamejaya asked what Duryodhana, on the wicked counsel of Karna, Duhshasana, and Shakuni, did against the Pandavas, who were living happily in the forest. Vaishampayana said: Learning that the Pandavas lived in the forest as contentedly as in a city, Duryodhana burned to do them harm. Just then the famous ascetic Durvasa arrived at the city of the Kurus with ten thousand disciples. Duryodhana and his brothers welcomed him with deep humility and courtesy, and the prince himself served the rishi like a menial.

Durvasa stayed some days, and, in fear of a curse, Duryodhana waited on him day and night. Sometimes the rishi would say, “I am hungry, bring food at once”; sometimes he would go to bathe and return late to say, “I have no appetite today, I will eat nothing,” and vanish. Sometimes he would appear suddenly and demand, “Feed me quickly.” Sometimes he would wake at midnight, have a meal cooked, then find fault with it and not eat. So he tried the prince; but seeing Duryodhana neither angered nor annoyed, he was pleased and said, “I can grant you a boon. Ask for whatever is nearest your heart, so long as it is not against dharma.”

Duryodhana had already settled with Karna and Duhshasana what to ask. Delighted, he said, “King Yudhishthira is the eldest and best of our house, and he now lives in the forest with his brothers. As you have been my guest, be once his guest too. And go at the hour when that delicate and excellent princess of Panchala [Draupadi], having fed the Brahmins, her husbands, and herself, has lain down to rest.” Durvasa said, “I will do just so,” and took his leave. Duryodhana counted himself successful and, gripping Karna’s hand, showed his joy. Karna too said, “By good luck your enemies have fallen into a sea of danger hard to cross. The Pandavas have now dropped into the fire of Durvasa’s wrath.” So Duryodhana and the rest went home well pleased.

One day, having learned that the Pandavas were at their ease and that Draupadi was resting after her meal, Durvasa reached that forest with his ten thousand disciples. The righteous Yudhishthira came forward with his mothers, joined his hands, showed the sages to fine seats, and received them with honor, saying, “Revered one, perform your daily bath and observances and return soon.” Not knowing how the king would feed so many, the sage went with his disciples to the river to bathe.

Draupadi, devoted to her husbands, was thrown into anxiety over the food. When no way of providing it appeared, however hard she thought, she prayed within her heart to Krishna, the slayer of Kansa. She said, “Krishna, son of Devaki, Vasudeva of inexhaustible power, lord of the universe! You lift the troubles of those who take refuge in you. You are the soul, the creator, and the destroyer. You are inexhaustible and the protector of the afflicted. You are the highest of the high, and the source of mental awareness. O supreme and infinite one, giver of every good, be the refuge of the helpless. O primordial being, ruler of all, I take shelter in you. O dark one, blue as the petal of the lily, red-eyed, robed in yellow, wearing the Kaustubha gem on your breast: as you once saved me from Duhshasana, save me now from this danger.”

Adored by Draupadi, the ever-gracious lord Keshava knew her plight, left Rukmini’s bed, and came at once. Seeing Vasudeva, Draupadi bowed in joy and told him all about the sages’ arrival. When he had heard it, Krishna said, “I am very hungry. Give me food first, then see to your task.” At this Draupadi said in distress, “The vessel the sun gave stays full until I have eaten, but I have already eaten today, so there is no food left in it.” Krishna said, “This is no time for jest, Draupadi. I am very hungry. Bring the vessel quickly and show it to me.”

At Draupadi’s urging the vessel was brought, and Krishna looked into it and saw a single grain of rice and vegetable clinging to the rim. Taking it, he said, “May Hari, the soul of the universe, who receives the oblations of sacrifices, be satisfied with this.” Then he told Bhimasena, “Go, and quickly call all those sages to the meal.” Bhima went to the river, where Durvasa and the others were bathing. But they were all feeling their stomachs filled to the throat. Coming out of the water, they stared at one another in wonder and said to Durvasa, “We had the king cook a meal, but now our bellies are full. The food has been made for nothing. What shall we do?”

Durvasa said, “By wasting the meal we have done a great wrong to the royal sage Yudhishthira. Will the Pandavas not burn us with an angry look? I know them to be great ascetics, firm in dharma, and devoted to Vasudeva. I fear the devotees of Hari. If they are angered they will burn us like a heap of cotton. So, disciples, let us flee at once, without seeing them again.” At that all the Brahmins, afraid of the Pandavas, scattered in every direction.

Bhima, not finding the sages, returned and told Yudhishthira everything. The Pandavas waited a while for them. Yudhishthira said, “The rishis will come at midnight to trap us. How are we to escape this danger?” Just then Krishna appeared and said, “Sons of Pritha, knowing your danger from that wrathful rishi, I came at once at Draupadi’s prayer. Now fear Durvasa not at all; afraid of your ascetic power, he has already fled. The righteous never come to grief. Now I will take my leave; may you always prosper.” The Pandavas and Draupadi, at ease again, said, “As drowning men reach the shore by a boat, so by your grace we have escaped this danger. Go now in peace, Govinda.” Krishna returned to his capital, and the Pandavas, with Draupadi, lived happily on in the forests.

A sub-tale (the sun-given vessel): At the start of the exile the sun had given Yudhishthira an inexhaustible vessel that kept yielding food each day until Draupadi had eaten. Duryodhana’s scheme turned on this: after Draupadi’s meal the vessel stood empty, and that was the moment to send Durvasa with his thousands of disciples, so that a poor reception would draw a curse. But Krishna, taking the single grain stuck in the vessel, satisfied the hunger of the whole universe, and the scheme rebounded.

The gist: Duryodhana plays his trick of sending Durvasa with thousands of disciples to the Pandavas at the moment the inexhaustible vessel is empty, so that a failed welcome will draw a curse. At Draupadi’s cry Krishna comes and, taking the one grain left in the vessel, satisfies the hunger of all the sages. Durvasa flees in fear, and the Kauravas’ scheme comes to nothing.

Jayadratha comes to the Kamyaka forest and casts an evil eye on Draupadi

Those great heroes of the Bharata line moved through the Kamyaka forest like immortals, hunting and taking their pleasure in woodland tracts bright with the flowers of the season. One day the brothers rode out in every direction to hunt game for the Brahmins in their company, and with the leave of the great ascetic Trinavindu and their guru Dhaumya, they left Draupadi alone at the hermitage. Just then the king of Sindhu, Jayadratha, son of Vriddhakshatra, on his way to the country of Salwa to seek a bride, halted in the Kamyaka woods in his finest royal dress, a train of princes riding with him.

In that secluded spot he saw the beautiful Draupadi standing at the door of the hermitage, lighting up the forest the way lightning kindles a mass of dark clouds. The sight of her flawless form struck them all still; they stood with hands joined, wondering, “Is she an Apsara, a daughter of the gods, some divine illusion?” Overcome with desire, Jayadratha said to the prince named Kotika, “Who is this woman of faultless beauty? Is she even human? If I could win one so lovely, I would need no other marriage. I would take her home with me. Go, Kotika, and find out who her husband is.”

Kotika, wearing his earrings, stepped down from his chariot and came up to her the way a jackal sidles up to a tigress, and said, “Fair lady, who are you, standing alone in this hermitage with your hand on a branch of the Kadamba tree, like a flame of fire fanned bright by the night wind? Beautiful as you are, do these forests hold no fear for you? I take you for a goddess, or a Yakshi, or a Danavi, or some high Apsara, or the wife of a Daitya, or a daughter of the Naga king, or the consort of Varuna, Yama, Soma, or Kubera, wandering here in human shape.”

“You do not ask us who we are. Fair lady, we ask you with respect: tell us the names of your husband, your kin, and your house. As for me, I am Kotika, son of king Suratha. The lotus-eyed man on the golden chariot is Kshemankara, king of Trigarta. Behind him stands the son of the king of the Pulindas. And there stands the son of Subala, of the line of Ikshvaku. And if you have ever heard the name of Jayadratha, that is the king of the Sauviras there, who rides at the head of six thousand chariots, with horses, elephants, and foot, and with twelve Sauvira princes for his standard-bearers: Angaraka, Kunjara, Guptaka, Satrunjaya, Srinjaya, Suprabiddha, Prabhankara, Bhramara, Ravi, Sura, Pratapa, and Kuhana.”

A key to reading this (lineage and place): Jayadratha, son of Vriddhakshatra, is king of the Sindhu and Sauvira countries (roughly modern Sindh and the lands around it). This same Jayadratha is the husband of Duhshala, the one sister of the Kauravas, which makes him brother-in-law to Pandavas and Kauravas alike. That family tie is what will save his life later.

At these questions Draupadi lowered her eyes, let go of the Kadamba branch, drew her silken garment about her, and said, “Prince, it is not proper for a woman like me to speak with you this way, but there is no other man or woman here and I am alone, so I will speak. I have gathered, Saivya, that you are Kotika, son of Suratha. I am the daughter of king Drupada, and people call me Krishna. I have taken five men as my husbands, of whom you must have heard while they lived at Khandavaprastha. Those five, Yudhishthira, Bhimasena, Arjuna, and the two sons of Madri, have left me here and gone out to hunt, dividing the four quarters among them. The king went east, Bhimasena south, Arjuna west, and the twins north. So step down now and dismiss your carriages, and go only after they have welcomed you. The son of Dharma loves his guests; he will be glad to see you.” And having said this, remembering her husbands’ hospitable ways, moon-faced Draupadi withdrew into her cottage.

Jayadratha’s vile proposal and Draupadi’s rebuke

Kotika told Jayadratha everything that had passed between him and Draupadi. When he heard it, Jayadratha said, “Just hearing her voice has left my heart besotted with her. Why then did you come back with nothing? I tell you the truth, mighty-armed one: once a man has seen her, every other woman looks like a monkey to him. Tell me, is that peerless lady of human birth?” Kotika answered, “She is the famous Krishna, Drupada’s daughter, wife of the five Pandavas, the honored, beloved, and faithful wife of Pritha’s sons. Take her, and make for Sauvira.”

At this the malignant Jayadratha, with six men, walked into that lonely hermitage the way a wolf walks into a lion’s den. He said to Krishna, “All good to you, fair lady. Are your husbands well, and those others whose welfare you always wish?” Draupadi answered, “Kunti’s son Yudhishthira of the Kuru line, his brothers, myself, and all those you have asked after are well. Is all right with your kingdom, your treasury, and your army? Take this water for your feet, prince, and this seat. I offer fifty animals for your company’s meal; and Yudhishthira himself will give you deer, antelope, boar, buffalo, and much other game.”

Jayadratha replied, “All is well with me. By arranging our meal you have as good as given it. Now come, mount my chariot and be perfectly happy. It does not become you to honor those wretched sons of Pritha, who live in the woods, stripped of power and kingdom, sunk to the very bottom of misfortune. A woman of sense does not cling to a beggared husband. The Pandavas have fallen from their high place for good; their kingdom is lost to them for all time. You have no need to share their sorrow. Beautiful one, leave the Pandavas, become my wife, and enjoy the kingdoms of Sindhu and Sauvira.”

Hearing these dreadful words from the king of Sindhu, Krishna knit her brows, and with utter contempt for what he said she stepped back and told him, “Say no such thing again. Have you no shame? Be on your guard.” And anxiously awaiting the return of her husbands, she kept him tangled up in long speeches.

Flushed crimson with anger, her eyes ablaze and her brows drawn tight, Draupadi lashed out at the Sauvira king. “Have you no shame, fool? Does it not give you pause, Sauvira, to speak such insults of those famous heroes, each the equal of Indra, each true to his duty, men who do not flinch before whole armies of Yakshas and Rakshasas? Good men never slander the learned or those given to austerity, whether they live in the wild or at home. Only a wretch as low as you does such a thing. You are digging a pit under your own feet, and there is no Kshatriya in this gathering to catch your hand and save you from the fall.”

“To hope to defeat king Yudhishthira is to try to wrest the leader from a herd of wild elephants roaming the Himalayan valleys, its chief huge as a mountain peak, temples streaming with rut. In your childish folly you would wake a sleeping lion to pluck the hair from its face. You will have to run the moment you see Bhimasena in his fury. To fight the two younger Pandavas is to set your foot on the tails of two venomous black cobras with forked tongues. Bamboo, reed, and plantain bear fruit only to die, never to grow; and just as the she-crab conceives for her own destruction, so you, by laying hands on me, who am guarded by these great heroes, are calling down your own ruin.”

Jayadratha said, “I know all this, Krishna, and I know the prowess of those princes too. But you cannot frighten us with these threats. We are born of seventeen high clans and endowed with the six kingly qualities, and so we count the Pandavas beneath us. Climb onto this elephant or this chariot at once, daughter of Drupada, for words alone will not hold us back; or humble yourself and beg the mercy of the Sauvira king.”

A key to reading this (a note): The “six kingly qualities” (shadgunya) are the six policies of a ruler in old statecraft: sandhi (making peace), vigraha (war), yana (marching to attack), asana (waiting and holding), dvaidhibhava (playing a double game), and samshraya (seeking shelter with a stronger power). Jayadratha’s swagger here shows the pride of his line, a pride that will break soon enough.

Draupadi said, “Powerful as I am, why does the Sauvira king think me so helpless? Well-known as I am, I will not cringe in fear before this prince. She for whose protection Krishna and Arjuna would ride together in a single chariot could not be carried off by Indra himself, let alone by a feeble mortal like you. When Kiriti, Arjuna, drives his chariot into your ranks for my sake, he will burn through everything like a fire eating a heap of dry grass in summer. When Arjuna sends his arrows swarming from the Gandiva like a flight of locusts, you will rue your folly.”

“When Bhima comes at you with his mace, and the two sons of Madri range in every direction spitting the venom of their anger, your remorse will be the kind that never leaves you. As surely as I have never been false to my worthy husbands even in thought, by that merit I will have the joy of seeing you beaten and dragged along by the sons of Pritha. You cannot frighten me by seizing me, cruel man, for the instant those Kuru heroes catch sight of me they will bring me back to the Kamyaka woods.”

Then, seeing them ready to lay hands on her, Draupadi rebuked them: “Do not defile me with your touch!” and in great fear she cried out to her guru Dhaumya. Jayadratha caught hold of her upper garment, but she shoved him off hard, and he fell to the ground like a tree torn up by the roots. He seized her again by force, and Draupadi began to gasp for breath. Dragged along by that wretch, Krishna bowed at Dhaumya’s feet and was at last hauled onto the chariot. Then Dhaumya said to Jayadratha, “Observe the ancient custom of the Kshatriyas, Jayadratha. You cannot carry her off without first defeating those great warriors. Beyond doubt you will taste the bitter fruit of this base deed when you meet the Pandavas with Yudhishthira at their head.” And so saying, Dhaumya pressed in among Jayadratha’s foot-soldiers and followed the princess as she was carried away.

The gist: In the Kamyaka forest Jayadratha casts an evil eye on Draupadi, alone at the hermitage, and makes her the vile offer of becoming his queen. Courteous but unafraid, Draupadi warns him of the Pandavas’ might, yet Jayadratha, in the pride of his line, forces her onto his chariot. Her guru Dhaumya follows the army, warning him as he goes.

The Pandavas return, and the news of the seizure

Meanwhile those foremost of archers, who had ranged apart killing deer and buffalo, at last came together again. Hearing the shrieks of birds and beasts and the wild uproar of the forest, Yudhishthira said to his brothers, “These birds and animals fleeing toward the sun are crying out harshly, in great alarm. It tells me some enemy has broken into this great wood. Leave the hunt at once. My heart burns; my very soul, crushing down my reason, seems ready to fly out of me. The Kamyaka forest feels to me like a lake stripped of its snake by Garuda, like a pot drained by thirsty men, like a kingdom robbed of its king and its fortune.”

They turned quickly toward their hermitage. On the way a jackal appeared on their left, shrieking horribly. Yudhishthira said, “This jackal crying on our left is a plain sign that the sinful Kurus have brushed us aside and begun to work their violence on us.” Reaching the hermitage, they found Draupadi’s maid Dhatreyika weeping and sobbing on the ground. Indrasena sprang from the chariot and asked in dismay, “Why do you writhe on the ground and weep? Why is your face pale and stricken with grief? Has some brute done harm to Draupadi, that peerless beauty, dear as life to these Kuru heroes?”

Dhatreyika wiped her face and said, “Brushing aside the five Pandavas, each the equal of Indra, Jayadratha has carried Krishna off by force. His track has not yet faded; the branches he broke have not yet wilted. Turn your chariots and give chase at once, for the princess cannot have gone far. You heroes with the might of Indra, take up your finest bows and quivers and go swiftly, before threat or force robs her of her senses and the bloom of her face. See that no ruin comes of this, like an oblation poured onto a heap of ashes, a garland flung on a grave, or the Soma of a yajna, a fire-rite, lapped up by a dog. Go, and let no time slip through your hands.”

Yudhishthira said, “Be calm, good woman, and hold your tongue. Do not speak like this before us. Any king or prince blinded by the intoxication of power is certain to fall.” And with that they set off along the track she had pointed out, drawing deep breaths that hissed like snakes and twanging the strings of their great bows. Soon they saw the dust thrown up by the hooves of Jayadratha’s cavalry, and in the midst of the army they saw Dhaumya, urging Bhima to hurry. The Pandavas steadied him and said, “Take heart and go back.” Then, like hawks stooping on their prey, they fell on that army in fury. But when they saw their beloved seated on Jayadratha’s chariot, their anger passed all bounds. They roared at Jayadratha to halt, and the enemy lost all sense of which way to turn.

Draupadi names the Pandavas, and the battle begins

At the sight of Bhima and Arjuna the enemy Kshatriyas raised a great shout in the forest. But when he saw the standards of the Kuru heroes, the wicked Jayadratha lost his nerve. He said to Yajnaseni, seated on his chariot, “Those five great warriors coming toward us are, I think, your husbands. You know the Pandavas well, so tell me which of them rides which chariot.” Draupadi answered, “You have done this brutal thing that will cut your own life short; what good will it do you now to learn the names of those great warriors? Now that my heroic husbands have come, not one of you will be left alive in the fighting. Still, since you stand in the jaws of death and have asked, I will tell you, as custom allows.”

“With Yudhishthira and his younger brothers in view, I feel not the slightest fear of you. The man on the crest of whose flagstaff two sweet-toned drums called Nanda and Upananda are always sounding, Sauvira king, is the one who truly knows the dharma of his own acts. With a complexion like pure gold, a high nose, large eyes, and a spare frame, that husband of mine is known through the world as Yudhishthira, son of Dharma, foremost of the Kurus. He grants life even to an enemy who surrenders. So throw down your weapons, fool, join your hands, and for your own good take refuge with him.”

“And the one you see with long arms, tall as a full-grown Sala tree, seated on his chariot, biting his lip, his brows drawn together, is my husband Vrikodara, Bhima. Strong, well-trained horses of the finest breed draw his chariot. His deeds are beyond what men can do, and so he is known on earth as Bhima. Those who wrong him do not live; he never forgets an enemy, takes his revenge on one pretext or another, and is not even calmed once he has taken it.”

“And that fine archer, wise and renowned, master of his senses, reverent toward his elders, brother and disciple of Yudhishthira, is my husband Dhananjaya, Arjuna. He never abandons dharma out of lust, fear, or anger, and never does a cruel deed. Charged with the energy of fire, a match for any enemy, he is the son of Kunti. And that other young man, skilled in every question of dharma and profit, who takes away the fear of the frightened, held the handsomest man in all the world, dear to all the Pandavas, is my husband Nakula. And that hero, skilled in arms, wise, devoted to pleasing the son of Dharma, youngest of the Pandavas, is my husband Sahadeva. No one equals him in wisdom or in ready speech; he keeps the dharma of the Kshatriya always in mind, and would sooner leap into fire or give up his life than say anything against dharma.”

“When the Pandavas cut down your warriors in battle, you will see your army in the plight of a ship going down with its cargo of jewels on the back of a whale. I have told you the prowess of the men you slighted in your folly. If you get away from them unhurt, count it a new lease on life.”

Then the five sons of Pritha, each like Indra and brimming with wrath, left the terrified foot-soldiers who were begging for mercy and crashed into the charioteers, darkening the very sky with the storm of arrows they loosed.

The slaughter of the Sauvira army and Jayadratha’s flight

Meanwhile the king of Sindhu was barking orders: “Halt, strike, forward, quick.” At the sight of Bhima, Arjuna, the twins, and Yudhishthira, his army sent up a great shout, but when they saw those heroes like tigers, the courage of the Sivi, Sauvira, and Sindhu troops broke. Bhimasena, gripping a mace of Saikya iron sheathed in gold, sprang toward the death-doomed king of Sindhu. But Kotikakhya threw a ring of chariots between them and cut the two apart. Pierced by many spears, maces, and arrows, Bhima did not waver, and with his mace he killed an elephant, its driver, and fourteen foot-soldiers stationed before Jayadratha’s chariot.

Arjuna, meaning to capture the Sauvira king, killed five hundred brave mountaineers fighting in the front of the Sindhu army. Yudhishthira, in the blink of an eye, cut down a hundred of the best Sauvira warriors. Nakula leaped from his chariot, sword in hand, and like a farmer scattering seed he sent the heads of the soldiers fighting in the rear flying every way. From his chariot Sahadeva, with iron shafts, dropped the many warriors fighting on elephants like birds knocked from the boughs of a tree.

Then the king of Trigarta, Suratha, got down from his chariot and killed Yudhishthira’s four horses with his mace. But Yudhishthira pierced his chest with a crescent-headed arrow, and he fell, vomiting blood, like an uprooted tree. Now horseless, Yudhishthira climbed with Indrasena onto Sahadeva’s chariot. Then two warriors, Kshemankara and Mahamuksha, poured arrows on Nakula from both sides, but the son of Madri killed them both with two long shafts. Suratha, the Trigarta king, a master of elephant warfare, drove up in front of Nakula’s chariot and had it dragged away by his elephant; but Nakula leaped clear and stood with shield and sword, unmoving as a mountain. Suratha urged his monstrous elephant at him, trunk raised, but as it closed in Nakula sheared off its trunk and tusks with his sword. The armored beast crashed down with a terrible scream, crushing its own riders. This feat done, Nakula climbed onto Bhima’s chariot and rested a while.

Seeing Kotikakhya coming, Bhima struck off his charioteer’s head with a horseshoe-shaped arrow. With no driver, the horses bolted every which way, and when Bhima saw the driverless prince turn his back, he closed in and killed him with a bearded dart, a naracha. With his sharp crescent-headed arrows Arjuna cut off the heads and bows of the twelve Sauvira heroes and brought down the leaders of the Ikshvaku, Sivi, Trigarta, and Sindhu forces. Many an elephant fell by Arjuna’s hand with its banners, and chariots with their standards. Headless trunks and trunkless heads began to cover the whole field, and dogs, herons, crows, hawks, jackals, and vultures fell upon the flesh and blood of the slain.

When Jayadratha saw his warriors falling, he took fright, abandoned Krishna where she stood, and fled to save his life down the same forest path he had come by. Yudhishthira had Sahadeva lift Draupadi, walking ahead with Dhaumya, onto a chariot. With Jayadratha gone, Bhima began mowing down the fleeing troops with iron shafts, naming each man as he cut him down, but Arjuna checked him: “I do not see Jayadratha on the field, the one man who brought this bitter trouble on us. Find him first, and may you succeed. What is gained by killing these soldiers? Why are you set on this useless work?”

Bhimasena turned to Yudhishthira and said, “Many of the enemy’s warriors are dead and the rest are scattering in all directions. Take Draupadi, the twins, and Dhaumya back to the hermitage now, king, and comfort the princess. That fool of a Sindhu king I will not leave alive, though he take shelter in the underworld or have Indra himself at his back.” Yudhishthira said, “Mighty-armed one, think of our sister Duhshala and of the venerable Gandhari, and do not kill this king of Sindhu, wicked as he is.”

A key to reading this (lineage): Duhshala is the only daughter of Dhritarashtra and Gandhari, sister to the hundred Kauravas, and Jayadratha’s wife. It is this tie that makes Yudhishthira order Bhima to spare Jayadratha, so that Gandhari need not grieve a widowed daughter. Here you see one of the Mahabharata’s moral knots, where a wrongdoer is saved by a family bond.

The gist: Returning, the Pandavas read disaster in the omens; the maid brings them word of Draupadi’s seizure. They run down Jayadratha’s army and tear it apart, Bhima, Arjuna, Nakula, and Sahadeva showing astonishing prowess. Jayadratha abandons Draupadi and flees. Bhima wants him dead, but Yudhishthira stops him by invoking their sister Duhshala and Gandhari, and it is this family mercy that will grant him his life.

Source: the Mahabharata of Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa, Vana Parva; in the Gita Press, Gorakhpur tradition.