On this page
In the deep woods of Dwaitavana, where the ground lay thick with sweet fruit and wild roots, the Pandavas were living out the last days of the twelfth year of their exile. The wound of Draupadi’s abduction was still raw. Having beaten Jayadratha and won Krishna back, and having listened to the ancient stories of gods and seers from the mouth of Markandeya, they had grown somewhat calmer, yet the ache of banishment sat inside them. They had left the woods of Kamyaka and returned once more to lovely Dwaitavana, with its lakes and its shade of trees, and there their days passed on fruit and root under the rule of hard vows. It was in those days that a trouble came upon these best of the Kurus for the sake of a Brahmana, a trouble that wore the face of misfortune and turned in the end into the door of their good fortune. This is the tale by which the Vana Parva reaches its end, and in which the dharma-sense of Yudhishthira shows itself to its deepest ground.
The deer and the Brahmana’s fire-sticks
It happened one day that a deer went butting about with its horns. As it did so, the two fire-sticks of an ascetic Brahmana, his arani, and his churning-staff, which had been set leaning against a large tree, caught fast in the animal’s antlers. That powerful deer, exceedingly swift, went off in long bounds and carried the articles clean out of the hermitage.
Seeing his things carried away like this, the Brahmana grew frantic with worry over his Agnihotra, since without the fire-sticks his daily fire-worship would stop. He lost no time in coming to the Pandavas, who were seated in that forest with their brothers. Reaching Yudhishthira, whose enemy is not yet born, and in great distress, the Brahmana spoke these words. “O king, a deer was butting about with its horns, and in that very moment my fire-sticks and my churning-staff, which I had leaned against a large tree, caught fast in its antlers. That powerful deer, O king, exceedingly swift, has bounded off out of my hermitage with those articles. O sons of Pandu, track that strong deer by its footprints and bring back my things, so that my Agnihotra may not be broken.”
A key to reading this (the arani): the arani were two special pieces of wood rubbed against each other to bring forth the sacred fire of the Agnihotra. The Brahmana’s Agnihotra, his daily fire-worship, in which oblations of clarified butter are poured into the flame, was the very ground of his dharma, and without the arani it was left undone. That is why he was so distressed.
Hearing the Brahmana’s words, Yudhishthira grew deeply concerned. The son of Kunti took up his bow at once and set out with his brothers. Putting on their armor and taking up their bows, ready to serve the Brahmana, those best of men ran swiftly after the deer. At no great distance they caught sight of it, and those great warriors let fly at it a rain of arrows and javelins and darts. Yet by no means could the Pandavas pierce it. And even as they pressed the chase and tried to bring it down, the powerful deer became suddenly invisible.
Having lost the deer from their sight, those noble-minded sons of Pandu, weary, disappointed, and stung by hunger and thirst, came upon a banyan tree in that deep forest and sat down to rest in its cool shade. When they had settled, Nakula, gripped by sorrow and driven by impatience, said to his eldest brother of the Kuru line, “In our house, O king, dharma has never been thrown aside, nor has wealth ever been wasted through arrogance. Asked for anything, we have never said No to any living creature. Why then, this time, has such a disaster fallen on us?”
The gist: a Brahmana’s fire-sticks are lost when they catch in the antlers of a deer that turns out to be an illusion. The Pandavas give chase, but the deer wears them down and vanishes. Faint with hunger and thirst, the five brothers sit under a banyan, and Nakula, recalling the spotless dharma of their line, asks why this sudden trouble has come. This whole scene is the setting for a hidden test whose secret is still concealed.
The fall of the four brothers at the lake
Yudhishthira answered, “There is no limit to calamities. Nor is it possible to know for certain either their final or their working cause. It is the Lord of justice alone who apportions the fruits of both virtue and vice.” At this Bhima said, “Surely this trouble has come upon us because I did not slay the Pratikamin on the very spot when he dragged Krishna like a slave into the assembly.” Arjuna said, “Surely this trouble has come upon us because I did not answer, on the instant, those bone-piercing words spoken by the Suta’s son.” And Sahadeva said, “Surely, O Bharata, this trouble has come upon us because I did not slay Sakuni when he beat you at the dice.”
Then King Yudhishthira said to Nakula, “Son of Madri, climb this tree and look around the ten points of the horizon. See whether there is water near us, or such trees as grow on watery ground. These brothers of yours are all weary and thirsty.” Saying, “So be it,” Nakula quickly climbed a tree, looked about, and said to his eldest brother, “O king, I see many trees that grow by the waterside, and I hear the cries of cranes as well. Without doubt, then, there must be water somewhere here.” At this Yudhishthira, the son of Kunti, firm in truth, said, “Gentle one, go and fetch water in these quivers.”
Saying, “So be it,” Nakula set off at his elder brother’s command toward the place where the water lay, and soon reached it. He came upon a lake as clear as crystal, with cranes living upon it. As he bent to drink, these words fell on him from the sky. “Child, do not do this rash thing. This lake is already mine. First answer my questions, son of Madri, and then drink of this water and carry away as much as you wish.” But Nakula, who was parched with thirst, ignored the words, drank the cool water, and, the moment he had drunk, fell to the ground and lay lifeless.
Seeing Nakula slow to return, Yudhishthira, the son of Kunti, said to Sahadeva, the brave brother born with Nakula, “Sahadeva, our brother who was born just before you left long ago. Go and bring your own brother back, and the water with him.” Saying, “So be it,” Sahadeva went off in that direction, and reaching the spot found his brother lying dead upon the ground. Grieved at his brother’s death and tormented by thirst, he moved toward the water, and again the same words came to him. “Child, do not do this rash thing. This lake is already mine. First answer my questions, and then drink of the water and take away as much as you need.” But Sahadeva too, in his great thirst, ignored the words, drank, and the moment he had drunk, fell down lifeless.
Then Yudhishthira, the son of Kunti, said to Vijaya, “It is long, Vibhatsu, since your two brothers went, O tamer of foes. Blessings on you, bring them back with water. You are the refuge of us all when we are sunk in trouble, dear one.” Hearing this, the wise Gudakesa took up his bow and arrows and his naked sword and set out toward the lake. Reaching it, that tiger among men whose horses were white saw his two younger brothers, who had come for water, lying dead. Seeing them as if asleep, that lion among men was struck with grief. He raised his bow and looked all around the wood, but in that vast forest he found no one.
Weary as he was, the one who could draw the bow with his left hand as well rushed toward the water. As he came near it, these words fell on him from the sky. “Why do you approach this water? You will not be able to drink it by force. If you can answer the question I put to you, Kaunteya, then drink of this water and carry away as much as you wish, O Bharata.” Forbidden in this way, the son of Pritha said, “Show yourself before me and forbid me. When you are pierced through with my arrows, you will not speak this way again.” Then Partha covered every quarter with arrows charged by mantras. He showed his skill at striking an unseen mark by sound alone. Tormented by thirst, O Bharata, he loosed sharp darts and javelins and iron shafts, and poured on the sky countless arrows that never miss their mark. Then the unseen yaksha said, “What need of all this labor, son of Pritha? Drink only after answering my questions. If you drink without answering, you will die at once.” Ignoring these words, Dhananjaya, who could draw the bow with his left hand too, drank of the water, and the moment he had drunk, fell down lifeless.
Seeing Dhananjaya slow to return, Yudhishthira, the son of Kunti, said to Bhimasena, “O tamer of foes, it is long since Nakula and Sahadeva and Vibhatsu went to fetch water, and still they have not come back, O Bharata. Blessings on you, bring them back with water.” Saying, “So be it,” Bhimasena set out toward the place where his brothers, tigers among men, lay dead. Seeing them, Bhima, thirsty though he was, was deeply distressed. That mighty-armed hero judged the whole thing to be the work of some yaksha or rakshasa. Vrikodara, the son of Pritha, thought to himself, “Today I will surely have to fight. So let me first slake my thirst.” Then that best of the Bharata line went forward, meaning to drink. At once the yaksha said, “Child, do not do this rash thing. This lake is already mine. First answer my questions, and then drink and take away as much water as you wish.” Yet, for all the words of that yaksha of measureless power, Bhima drank the water without answering his questions, and the moment he had drunk, fell down lifeless on that very spot.
A sub-tale: there is a telling order in the fall of the four brothers. Yudhishthira sends them one after another, hoping each will be more careful than the last. Nakula and Sahadeva simply give way to thirst. Arjuna, first among archers, in the pride of his prowess showers arrows at an unseen voice, and that same pride sinks him. Bhima, trusting his strength, thinks he will slake his thirst first and fight afterward. All four brush aside the unseen warning. Only Yudhishthira, who comes last, is willing to stop and listen. That pause is what sets him apart.
The gist: the four brothers search for the cause of this trouble in their own moment of failing to answer injustice. Then, one by one, Nakula, Sahadeva, Arjuna, and Bhima go to the lake, brush aside the unseen yaksha’s warning, and fall lifeless the instant they drink. Thirst, impatience, the pride of prowess, and reliance on strength are what sink the four.
Yudhishthira comes to the lake, and grieves
Then, thinking his brothers had left him long ago, Yudhishthira waited a while. Again and again the king said to himself, “Why are the two sons of Madri taking so long? Why does the wielder of the Gandiva delay? Why does mighty Bhima delay? I will go and search for them.” Resolved on this, the mighty-armed Yudhishthira rose up, his heart burning with grief. That best of men, the royal son of Kunti, turned it over in his mind. “Is this forest under some evil influence? Or is it home to some cruel and savage beasts? Or have they all fallen because they slighted some mighty being? Or, finding no water where those heroes first went, have they spent all this time hunting for it through the forest? For what reason do those best of men not come back?”
Thinking in this way, that finest of kings, the shining Yudhishthira, entered that vast forest where no human voice was heard, where deer and bears and birds lived, which was graced with bright green trees, and which rang with the hum of the black bee and the song of winged birds. Going forward, he saw a beautiful lake that looked as though the celestial artificer himself had made it. It was graced with flowers of a golden hue, with lotuses, and with sindhuvara blossoms. It was full of cane and ketaka and karavira and pippala. Worn out with toil, Yudhishthira looked at that lake and was struck with wonder.
Yudhishthira saw his brothers, each one as glorious as Indra himself, lying dead, like the Regents of the world fallen from their stations at the ending of a Yuga. Seeing Arjuna dead with his bow and arrows dropped on the ground, and Bhimasena and the twins motionless and lifeless, the king drew a long, hot breath and was drowned in tears of grief. Beholding his brothers dead, that son of Dharma, his heart wrung with anguish, lamented at length. “You had vowed, mighty-armed Vrikodara, that in battle you would smash the thighs of Duryodhana with your mace. O enhancer of the fame of the Kurus, mighty-armed and great of soul, in your death all of that has come to nothing today. The promises of men may fail, but why have the words the gods spoke about you come to nothing this way?
“O Dhananjaya, while you still lay in your mother’s birth-chamber, the gods said, O Kunti, this son of yours will be no less than the god of the thousand eyes. And on the northern slopes of the Paripatra mountains all beings had sung, this line’s fortune, plundered by its foes, will be won back by this one without delay. In battle none will be able to defeat him, and there will be none whom he cannot defeat. How then has that Jishnu, endowed with such great strength, come under the power of death? Why does that Dhananjaya, on whom we leaned through all this trouble, lie on the ground and grind every hope of mine to dust? Those mighty sons of Kunti, Bhimasena and Dhananjaya, who always cut down their foes and whom no weapon could stop, how have they come under the power of an enemy?
“Surely this base heart of mine must be made of adamant, since even now, seeing these twins lying on the ground, it does not split. O best of men, versed in the holy texts, knowing the worth of place and time, rich in the fruit of austerity, you who performed every sacred rite in due form, why do you lie here without doing the deeds worthy of you? Alas, unconquered heroes, with your bodies unwounded and your vows untouched, why do you lie senseless on the earth?” Seeing his brothers there sleeping sweetly, as they used to sleep on mountain slopes, that noble king, overcome by grief and bathed in sweat, sank into deep distress.
“It is even so,” he said, and that righteous lord of men, sunk in an ocean of grief, set himself to find the cause of what had happened. Great-souled and learned in the divisions of place and time, he could not settle on his course of action. Having lamented long in this strain, the righteous Yudhishthira, son of Dharma, held his mind in check and began to think who could have slain these heroes. “There are no marks of weapons on them, nor is there anyone’s footprint here. The being who has slain my brothers must be mighty indeed. I will ponder this carefully. Or let me first drink of the water, and then learn all. It may be that the ever-crooked Duryodhana had this water set here in secret by the king of the gandharvas. What sensible man would trust a wicked wretch of evil passions, for whom good and evil are all one? Or perhaps this is the work of that vile soul, carried out through secret agents of his.”
So that most intelligent man gave way to many reflections. He did not believe the water was tainted with poison, for though the brothers were dead, no corpse-like pallor lay on them. “The color on the faces of these brothers of mine has not faded,” thought Yudhishthira. And the king thought further, “Each of these best of men was like a mighty torrent. Who then, save Yama himself, who in due time brings the end of all things, could have overcome them like this?” Having settled this for certain, he stepped down into the lake to perform his ablutions.
The gist: when the four brothers do not return, Yudhishthira sets out himself in search of water. On the shore of that lovely lake, which looks as though a celestial artificer had shaped it, he finds his four brothers lying still. He grieves over Bhima’s vow to kill Duryodhana and over the gods’ prophecy at Arjuna’s birth, then reasons with a judge’s mind: with no wounds, no footprints, and no signs of poison, this can only be the work of a Yama-like being. That discernment readies him for the test to come.
The Yaksha appears
The moment he stepped into the lake, these words spoken by the yaksha fell on him from the sky. “I am a crane, living on tiny fish. It is by me that these younger brothers of yours have been brought under the sway of the lord of departed spirits. If you do not answer the questions I put to you, prince, you too will be the fifth corpse. Do not, child, do this rash thing. This lake is already mine. First answer my questions, son of Kunti, and then drink and carry away as much as you need.”
Hearing these words, Yudhishthira said, “Are you the foremost of the Rudras, or of the Vasus, or of the Maruts? I ask you, what god are you? This could not be the work of a bird. Who is it that has overthrown the four great mountains, the Himavat, the Paripatra, the Vindhya, and the Malaya? Great is the deed you have done, O best of the strong. Those whom neither gods, nor gandharvas, nor asuras, nor rakshasas could withstand in fierce battle, you have slain. Your deed is a great wonder. I do not know your purpose, nor do I know your aim, and so great curiosity has come over me, and fear as well. My mind is deeply shaken, and my head aches too. And so, worshipful one, I ask, who are you that dwell here?”
Hearing this, the yaksha said, “Blessings on you. I am a yaksha, not any water bird. It is by me that all these mighty brothers of yours have been slain.” Hearing these harsh, unwelcome words spoken in cutting syllables, O king, Yudhishthira drew near to the yaksha who had spoken and stood before him. Then that best of the Bharatas saw the yaksha, whose eyes were strange, whose body was huge and tall as a palm tree, who looked like fire or the sun, who was unconquerable and vast as a mountain, who sat upon a tree and roared deep as the clouds.
The yaksha said, “O king, these brothers of yours, though I forbade them again and again, would take the water by force. That is why I slew them. One who wishes to live, O king, should not drink this water. Son of Pritha, do not do this rash thing. This lake is already mine. Son of Kunti, first answer my questions, and then take away as much as you wish.” Yudhishthira said, “O yaksha, I do not covet what is already yours. Good men, O best of beings, never approve of a man praising himself. So, without boasting, I will answer your questions as well as my understanding allows. Ask me.”
A key to reading this (the yaksha): the yakshas were held to be divine beings in the retinue of Kubera, guardians of waters and hidden treasures. At first the voice calls itself a crane, then names itself a yaksha. Yet, as the end of the tale will reveal, this disguise belongs to Dharmaraja himself, the divine father of Yudhishthira, come to test his son. The four mountains, Himavat (the Himalaya), Paripatra, Vindhya, and Malaya, hint at the measureless power of that being.
The gist: the master of the lake first calls itself a crane that lives on tiny fish, then appears as a yaksha, and warns that if Yudhishthira drinks without answering he will become the fifth corpse. Yudhishthira agrees to answer as far as his understanding reaches, without pride and without greed. Here begins the most famous dialogue on dharma in all of the epic.
The Yaksha’s questions on dharma, and Yudhishthira’s answers
The yaksha asked, “What makes the sun rise? Who keeps him company? Who makes him set? And in what is he established?” Yudhishthira answered, “Brahma makes the sun rise; the gods keep him company; Dharma makes him set; and he is established in truth.”
The yaksha asked, “By what does a man become learned? By what does he attain what is very great? How can one come by a second, a helper? And how, O king, does one gain understanding?” Yudhishthira answered, “It is by the study of the Srutis that a man becomes learned; it is by austerity that he attains what is very great; it is by understanding that he comes by a helper; and it is by serving the old that a man grows wise.”
The yaksha asked, “What is the divinity of the Brahmanas? What practice of theirs is like that of the pious? What is their human attribute? And what practice of theirs is like that of the impious?” Yudhishthira answered, “The study of the Vedas is their divinity; their austerity is the practice that is like that of the pious; their liability to death is their human attribute; and slander is their impiety.”
The yaksha asked, “What is the divinity of the Kshatriyas? What practice of theirs is like that of the pious? What is their human attribute? And what practice of theirs is like that of the impious?” Yudhishthira answered, “Arrows and weapons are their divinity; the offering of sacrifices is the act that is like that of the pious; liability to fear is their human attribute; and the refusal of protection is the act of theirs that is like that of the impious.”
The yaksha asked, “What is the Sama of the sacrifice? What is the Yajus of the sacrifice? What is the refuge of a sacrifice? And what is that which a sacrifice cannot do without?” Yudhishthira answered, “Life is the Sama of the sacrifice; the mind is its Yajus; the Rik is the refuge of the sacrifice; and it is the Rik alone that a sacrifice cannot do without.”
The yaksha asked, “What is of the foremost value to those who plow? What is of the foremost value to those who sow? What is of the foremost value to those who seek prosperity in this world? And what is of the foremost value to those who bring forth young?” Yudhishthira answered, “For those who plow, rain is of the foremost value; for those who sow, seed; and for those who bring forth young, their offspring.”
The yaksha asked, “Who is he that, enjoying all the objects of the senses, gifted with intelligence, honored by the world and dear to all beings, yet, though he breathes, is not alive?” Yudhishthira answered, “He who offers nothing to these five, the gods, guests, servants, the Pitris, and himself, though he draws breath, is not alive.”
The yaksha asked, “What is heavier than the earth itself? What is higher than the heavens? What is swifter than the wind? And what is more numerous than the blades of grass?” Yudhishthira answered, “The mother is heavier than the earth; the father is higher than the heavens; the mind is swifter than the wind; and our thoughts are more numerous than the grass.”
The yaksha asked, “What is it that does not close its eyes while it sleeps? What is it that does not stir after it is born? What is it that has no heart? And what is it that swells with its own rushing?” Yudhishthira answered, “A fish does not close its eyes while it sleeps; an egg does not stir after it is born; a stone has no heart; and a river swells with its own rushing.”
The yaksha asked, “Who is the friend of one in exile? Who is the friend of the householder? Who is the friend of the one who ails? And who is the friend of the one about to die?” Yudhishthira answered, “The friend of one in exile in a far land is his companion; the friend of the householder is his wife; the friend of the one who ails is the physician; and the friend of the one about to die is charity.”
The yaksha asked, “Who is the guest of all creatures? What is the eternal duty? What, O best of kings, is Amrita? And what is this whole universe?” Yudhishthira answered, “Agni is the guest of all creatures; the milk of the cow is Amrita; the Homa made with it is the eternal duty; and this universe is made of air alone.”
The yaksha asked, “What is it that travels alone? What is it that is born again after its birth? What is the remedy against cold? And what is the largest field?” Yudhishthira answered, “The sun travels alone; the moon is born anew again and again; fire is the remedy against cold; and the earth is the largest field.”
The yaksha asked, “What is the highest refuge of virtue? What is the highest refuge of fame? What is the highest refuge of heaven? And what is the highest refuge of happiness?” Yudhishthira answered, “Liberality is the highest refuge of virtue; gift is the refuge of fame; truth, of heaven; and good conduct, the highest refuge of happiness.”
The yaksha asked, “What is the soul of a man? Who is the friend the gods have given to a man? What is a man’s chief support? And what is his chief refuge?” Yudhishthira answered, “The son is a man’s soul; the wife is the friend the gods have given to a man; the clouds are his chief support; and the gift is his chief refuge.”
The yaksha asked, “What is the best of all things worthy of praise? What is the most valuable of all possessions? What is the best of all gains? And what is the best of all kinds of happiness?” Yudhishthira answered, “The best of all things worthy of praise is skill; the most valuable of all possessions is knowledge; the best of all gains is health; and contentment is the best of all kinds of happiness.”
The yaksha asked, “What is the highest duty in the world? What is that virtue which always bears fruit? What is that which, once held in check, leads to no regret? And who are they with whom an alliance never breaks?” Yudhishthira answered, “The highest of duties is to refrain from injury; the rites ordained in the Three Vedas always bear fruit; the mind, once held in check, leads to no regret; and an alliance with the good never breaks.”
The yaksha asked, “What is it that, once given up, makes a man loved? What is it that, once given up, leads to no regret? What is it that, once given up, makes a man rich? And what is it that, once given up, makes a man happy?” Yudhishthira answered, “Pride, once given up, makes a man loved; anger, once given up, leads to no regret; desire, once given up, makes a man rich; and greed, once given up, makes a man happy.”
A key to reading this (the design): the yaksha’s questions are built as riddles. Each answer names some outward thing on its surface, while it hides a moral or spiritual truth within. Answers such as “the mother is heavier than the earth, the father higher than the heavens” set worldly reverence for one’s parents in the highest place; answers such as “refraining from injury is the highest dharma” are the axis of the whole dialogue, and they will prove decisive later, in the boon that revives Nakula.
The yaksha asked, “For what does a man give to Brahmanas? For what to mimes and dancers? For what to servants? And for what to the king?” Yudhishthira answered, “It is for religious merit that a man gives to Brahmanas; for fame that he gives to mimes and dancers; for their support that he gives to servants; and for relief from fear that he gives to kings.”
The yaksha asked, “With what is the world wrapped? What is it because of which a thing cannot show itself? For what are friends forsaken? And for what does a man fail to reach heaven?” Yudhishthira answered, “The world is wrapped in darkness; it is darkness that keeps a thing from showing itself; it is out of greed that friends are forsaken; and it is out of attachment to the world that a man fails to reach heaven.”
The yaksha asked, “For what may a man be counted dead? For what may a kingdom be counted dead? For what may a Sraddha be counted dead? And for what a sacrifice?” Yudhishthira answered, “For want of wealth a man may be counted dead; for want of a king a kingdom may be counted dead; a Sraddha performed with the help of a priest without learning may be counted dead; and a sacrifice in which there are no gifts to Brahmanas is dead.”
The yaksha asked, “What is the way? What has been spoken of as water? What as food? And what as poison? Tell us also the proper time of a Sraddha, and then drink and take away as much as you wish.” Yudhishthira answered, “They that are good are the way; space has been spoken of as water; the cow is food; a request is poison; and a Brahmana is held to be the proper time of a Sraddha. I do not know, O yaksha, in what sense you take all this.”
The yaksha asked, “What has been called the mark of asceticism? What is true restraint? In what does forgiveness lie? And what is shame?” Yudhishthira answered, “To stay within one’s own dharma is asceticism; the restraint of the mind is, of all restraints, the true one; forgiveness lies in enduring enmity; and shame lies in withdrawing from every unworthy act.”
The yaksha asked, “What, O king, is called knowledge? What, tranquillity? In what does mercy lie? And what has been called simplicity?” Yudhishthira answered, “True knowledge is the knowledge of the Divine; true tranquillity is the tranquillity of the heart; mercy lies in wishing all beings happy; and simplicity is evenness of heart.”
The yaksha asked, “What enemy is unconquerable? What is an incurable disease for a man? What sort of man is called honest, and what sort dishonest?” Yudhishthira answered, “Anger is the unconquerable enemy; greed is the incurable disease; he is honest who wishes the welfare of all beings, and he is dishonest who is without mercy.”
The yaksha asked, “What, O king, is ignorance? What is pride? What is to be understood by idleness? And what has been called grief?” Yudhishthira answered, “True ignorance is not knowing one’s duties; pride is the sense of being oneself the doer or the enjoyer in life; idleness is the failure to carry out one’s duties; and ignorance itself is grief.”
The yaksha asked, “What have the seers called steadiness? And what, patience? What is a true ablution? And what is charity?” Yudhishthira answered, “Steadiness lies in staying within one’s own dharma; true patience lies in the mastery of the senses; a true ablution is the washing of the mind clean of all its stains; and charity is the protecting of all creatures.”
The yaksha asked, “What man should be counted learned, and who should be called an atheist? Who should be called ignorant? What is desire, and what are the sources of desire? And what is envy?” Yudhishthira answered, “He should be counted learned who knows his duties. The atheist is the ignorant man, and the ignorant man is the atheist. Desire is born of the objects of enjoyment, and envy is nothing other than grief of the heart.”
The yaksha asked, “What is pride, and what is hypocrisy? What is the grace of the gods, and what is wickedness?” Yudhishthira answered, “Dull ignorance is pride. The setting up of a show of religion is hypocrisy. The grace of the gods is the fruit of our gifts, and wickedness lies in speaking ill of others.”
The yaksha asked, “Virtue, profit, and desire are at odds with one another. How can things so opposed exist together?” Yudhishthira answered, “When a wife and virtue agree with each other, then these three you have named can exist together.”
The yaksha asked, “O bull of the Bharata line, who is he that is condemned to everlasting hell? Answer at once the question that I put to you.” Yudhishthira answered, “He who summons a poor Brahmana with the promise of a gift and then tells him that he has nothing to give goes to everlasting hell. He too goes to everlasting hell who charges the Vedas, the scriptures, the Brahmanas, the gods, and the rites in honor of the Pitris with falsehood. He too goes to everlasting hell who, though he has wealth, out of greed neither gives it away nor enjoys it himself, and says that he has none.”
The yaksha asked, “O king, by what does a man become a Brahmana, by birth, by conduct, by study, or by learning? Tell us with certainty.” Yudhishthira answered, “Hear me, O yaksha. It is conduct that makes a Brahmana. Birth does not, nor study, nor learning; beyond doubt, it is conduct that is the cause. Conduct should always be well guarded, and above all by a Brahmana. He who keeps his conduct unbroken is himself never broken. Teachers and pupils, and indeed all who study the scriptures, if they are given to wicked habits, are to be counted as unlettered wretches. He alone is learned who performs his religious duties. One who has read the four Vedas, yet whose conduct is not right, is to be counted a wicked wretch barely to be told apart from a Sudra. He alone is called a Brahmana who performs the Agnihotra and has his senses under control.”
The gist: the yaksha pours out one question after another, from the cause of sunrise to the very root of Brahmanahood. Yudhishthira meets each with an answer that is short, exact, and deep. In these answers the whole moral teaching of the Mahabharata stands concentrated: the honor owed to a mother and father, the primacy of refraining from injury, the censure of anger and greed, and the far-reaching claim that Brahmanahood is made by conduct and not by birth.
Who is happy, and the greatest wonder
The yaksha asked, “What does a man gain who speaks pleasing words? What does he gain who always acts with judgment? What does he gain who has many friends? And what does he gain who is devoted to virtue?” Yudhishthira answered, “He who speaks pleasing words becomes pleasing to all. He who acts with judgment gains whatever he seeks. He who has many friends lives happily. And he who is devoted to virtue reaches a happy state in the world to come.”
The yaksha asked, “Who is truly happy? What is the greatest wonder? What is the path? And what is the news? Answer these four questions of mine, and let your dead brothers live again.” Yudhishthira answered, “O dweller in the water, the man who cooks in his own house, in the fifth or the sixth part of the day, with a little plain fare, who is not in debt and who does not wander far from home, he is the one who is truly happy. Day after day countless creatures go to the abode of Yama, and yet those who remain behind believe themselves to be immortal. What can be a greater wonder than this? Argument leads to no sure conclusion; the Srutis differ from one another; there is not one seer whose opinion all will accept; the truth of dharma lies hidden in a cave; and so the path is the one the great have walked. This world, filled with ignorance, is like a cooking pan. The sun is the fire, the days and nights are the fuel. The months and the seasons are the wooden ladle. Time is the cook, cooking all creatures with these. This is the news.”
A sub-tale: Yudhishthira’s answer to “what is the greatest wonder” is the most quoted saying in the Mahabharata. Day after day, countless beings pass through the door of death, and those who are left behind, seeing and knowing it, still take themselves for immortals. This paradox, the constant presence of death and the human illusion of deathlessness, is the deepest wonder of life. And this answer is spoken at the very moment when Yudhishthira’s own four brothers lie dead.
The yaksha asked, “O tamer of foes, you have answered all my questions truly. Now tell me who is truly a man, and what man possesses every kind of wealth.” Yudhishthira answered, “The report of a man’s good deeds reaches heaven and spreads over the earth. As long as that report lasts, so long is he called a man. And that man possesses every kind of wealth to whom the pleasant and the unpleasant, happiness and sorrow, the past and the future, are all the same.”
The yaksha said, “O king, you have answered truly who a man is, and what man possesses every kind of wealth. Therefore let one of your brothers, whichever you wish, rise up with life.”
The gist: in the last four questions the yaksha asks who is truly happy and what is the greatest wonder. Yudhishthira’s answers, that a debt-free, contented, plain life is happiness, and that clinging to the illusion of immortality while death stands in plain view is the greatest wonder, become the essence of the whole Mahabharata. Pleased, the yaksha grants him the boon of reviving one brother.
Nakula’s boon, and Yudhishthira’s evenhandedness
Yudhishthira answered, “This one of dark complexion, whose eyes are red, who is tall as a great sala tree, whose chest is broad and whose arms are long, this Nakula, O yaksha, let him rise up with life.” The yaksha said, “This Bhimasena is dear to you, and this Arjuna is the one on whom all of you depend. Why then, O king, do you wish a half-brother to rise with life? Passing over Bhima, whose strength is that of ten thousand elephants, why do you wish Nakula to live? People used to say that Bhima was dear to you. From what motive, then, do you wish a half-brother to live? Passing over Arjuna, the might of whose arm is honored by all the sons of Pandu, why do you wish Nakula to revive?”
Yudhishthira said, “If dharma is thrown aside, the one who throws it aside is himself destroyed. In the same way dharma protects the one who protects it. So, taking care that dharma, once thrown aside, may not throw us aside, I never abandon dharma. To refrain from injury is the highest dharma, and, as I see it, it stands higher even than the highest object of attainment. It is that dharma I strive to practice. Therefore, O yaksha, let Nakula rise with life. Let people know that the king is always faithful to dharma. I will never turn away from my duty. Therefore let Nakula rise with life. My father had two wives, Kunti and Madri. Let the children of both survive; that is my wish. As Kunti is to me, so also is Madri. In my eyes there is no difference between them. I wish to hold my two mothers equal. Therefore let Nakula rise with life.”
The yaksha said, “O bull of the Bharata line, since you hold refraining from injury higher than both profit and pleasure, therefore let all your brothers live.”
A sub-tale: the yaksha set before Yudhishthira a hard trial of dharma on purpose. Only one brother could be revived. Self-interest urged him to choose the strongest, Bhima, or the greatest fighter, Arjuna, both indispensable in the coming war. Yudhishthira chose Nakula, the son of the step-mother Madri, reasoning that Kunti already keeps one living son in himself, so that Madri too should keep a living son, and evenhandedness between the two mothers be preserved. Here he sets fair dharma above practical advantage, and this answer was the yaksha’s final test. Pleased, the being gave all four brothers back.
The gist: given the boon of reviving only one brother, Yudhishthira makes evenhandedness and refraining from injury his ground, above strength and strategy. He chooses Nakula, the son of the step-mother Madri, so that both Kunti and Madri keep a living child. The yaksha is so pleased by this fairness that he restores all four brothers to life.
The dead brothers revive, and Dharma reveals himself
At the yaksha’s words the Pandavas rose up, and in a moment their hunger and thirst left them. Then Yudhishthira said, “O unconquerable one, standing on one leg in this lake, I ask you, what god are you, for I cannot take you for a yaksha. Are you the foremost of the Vasus, or of the Rudras, or the chief of the Maruts? Or are you the lord of the gods himself, the wielder of the thunderbolt? Each of these brothers of mine can fight a hundred thousand warriors, and I see no warrior who could slay them all. I see that their senses have been refreshed, as if they had woken sweetly from sleep. Are you a friend of ours, or our very father?”
Then the yaksha answered, “O child, I am your own father, Dharmaraja, the Lord of justice, endowed with great might. Know, O bull of the Bharata line, that I came here out of a wish to see you. Fame, truth, self-restraint, purity, candor, modesty, steadiness, charity, austerity, and Brahmacharya, these are my body. And refraining from injury, evenhandedness, peace, austerity, purity, and freedom from malice are the doors through which I am reached. You are always dear to me. By good fortune you are devoted to the five, and by good fortune you have conquered the six. Of the six, two show themselves in the first part of life, two in the middle, and the last two at the end, to drive men toward the next world. Blessings on you, I am the Lord of justice. I came here to test your worth. Seeing your harmlessness, I am well pleased, and, O sinless one, I will grant you boons. Ask of me, O best of kings, and I will surely grant them, O sinless one. Those who honor me never come to grief.”
A key to reading this (the five and the six): the “five” to which Dharmaraja says Yudhishthira is devoted are the virtues such as truth, charity, forgiveness, good conduct, and mercy in which Yudhishthira lives. The “six” enemies he has conquered are the shad-ripu: lust, anger, greed, delusion, arrogance, and envy. Some of these grow strong in youth, some in middle age, and some in old age, and drive a man toward ruin. Yudhishthira’s victory over them is what proves him the true son of Dharmaraja.
Yudhishthira said, “A deer carried off a Brahmana’s fire-sticks. So the first boon I ask is that the Brahmana’s worship of Agni not be broken.” The yaksha said, “O son of Kunti, full of splendor, it was I who, to test you, carried off that Brahmana’s fire-sticks in the form of a deer.” Then that worshipful one said, “I grant you this boon. Blessings on you. O you who are like an immortal, now ask another boon.”
Yudhishthira said, “We have spent these twelve years in the forest, and the thirteenth year has come. Wherever we spend this year, let no one recognize us.” Then that worshipful one answered, “I grant you this boon.” And reassuring the son of Kunti, whose prowess is truth itself, he said, “O Bharata, even if you range this whole earth in your own true forms, no one in the three worlds will recognize you. O preservers of the Kuru line, by my grace you will spend this thirteenth year hidden and unknown in the kingdom of Virata. And each of you will be able to take on any form he wishes at will. Now give the Brahmana back his fire-sticks. I carried them off in the form of a deer only to test you. O dear Yudhishthira, ask now for another boon, whatever you wish, and I will grant it. O best of men, I am not yet satisfied with the boons I have granted you. O my son, accept a third boon, one that is great and beyond compare. O king, you are born of me, and Vidura also of a portion of me.”
Then Yudhishthira said, “It is enough that I have seen you with my own senses, O eternal god of gods. O father, whatever boon you grant me I will accept with joy. O lord, may I always conquer greed and delusion and anger, and may my mind always rest in charity, truth, and austerity.” The Lord of justice said, “O Pandava, by your very nature you are endowed with these qualities, for you are the Lord of justice himself. May what you have asked for be yours once more.”
Having said this, the worshipful Lord of justice, on whom all the worlds meditate, vanished from that place, and those great-souled Pandavas, after sleeping sweetly, came together with one another. Their weariness gone, those heroes returned to their hermitage and gave the Brahmana back his fire-sticks. The one who follows this glorious, fame-enhancing story of the reviving of the Pandavas and the meeting of father and son, Dharma and Yudhishthira, gains perfect peace of mind, sons and grandsons, and a life of a hundred years. And the mind of the one who takes this story to heart never delights in unrighteousness, nor in discord among friends, nor in seizing the wealth of others, nor in the touch of another man’s wife, nor in foul thoughts.
A key to reading this (the kingdom of Virata): the thirteenth year was the year of concealment, in which, if the Pandavas were recognized, they would have to suffer another twelve years of exile. Dharmaraja’s boon, that they would stay unknown in the kingdom of Virata and could take on any form at will, sets up the next book, the Virata Parva, directly, where the Pandavas will serve in disguise at the court of King Virata.
The gist: the Pandavas rise with life, and their hunger and thirst are gone. The yaksha reveals his true form. He is Dharmaraja himself, the divine father of Yudhishthira, who came in the disguise of a deer and a yaksha to test his son. He grants three boons: that the Brahmana’s fire-worship go unbroken, that the Pandavas remain unknown in the thirteenth year of concealment, in the kingdom of Virata, and the inward boon of victory over greed, delusion, and anger. Then he vanishes, and the Pandavas return the fire-sticks to the Brahmana.
The resolve of concealment, and the close of the Vana Parva
Having resolved, at the command of the Lord of justice, to spend the thirteenth year in disguise, the great-souled Pandavas, keepers of vows, whose prowess was truth, sat before those learned, vow-keeping ascetics who out of love had shared their banishment in the forest. With joined hands, meaning to gain their leave to spend the thirteenth year as they should, they spoke these words. “You know well that the sons of Dhritarashtra by deceit robbed us of our kingdom, and did us many other wrongs besides. We have passed twelve years of great hardship in the forest. Only the thirteenth year is left, which we must spend unknown. Grant us leave now to spend it in concealment. Should our bitter enemies, Suyodhana, the wicked-minded Karna, and the son of Subala, find us out, they would do great wrong to our citizens and our friends. Shall we all, together with the Brahmanas, be established once more in our own kingdom?”
Having said this, that pure-hearted son of Dharma, King Yudhishthira, overcome by grief, his voice choked with tears, fainted away. Then the Brahmanas, together with his brothers, began to comfort him. And Dhaumya spoke to the king these words heavy with meaning. “O king, you are learned and able to bear hardship, firm in your word and master of your senses. Men of such a stamp are not overcome by any calamity. The great-souled gods themselves have wandered through many places in disguise, in order to overcome their foes. Indra, to overcome his enemies, dwelt in disguise in the hermitage of Giriprastha in Nishadha, and so gained his end.
“Before he took birth in the womb of Aditi, Vishnu, to destroy the daityas, took on the form of Hayagriva, the horse-necked one, and passed a long time unknown. And you have heard how, taking on the form of a dwarf, he by his prowess stripped Vali of his kingdom. And you have heard how Hutasana, the fire god, entering the water and staying hidden, achieved the purpose of the gods. O you who know duty, you have heard how Hari, to overcome his foes, entered the thunderbolt of Sakra and lay hidden there. And, O sinless one, you have heard of the service the revered seer Aurva once did for the gods while hidden in his mother’s womb. And, O child, hidden in every part of the earth, Vivaswat, endowed with surpassing energy, in the end burned up all his foes. And living in disguise in the house of Dasaratha, Vishnu of dreadful deeds slew the ten-necked one in battle. In this way, staying in disguise in various places, great-souled ones before now have conquered their enemies in battle.”
Comforted by these words of Dhaumya, the righteous Yudhishthira, leaning on his own wisdom and on the wisdom drawn from the scriptures, regained his balance. Then Bhimasena, best of the strong, mighty-armed and full of strength, spoke words to hearten the king greatly. “O king, looking to your face for leave, the wielder of the Gandiva, acting by his sense of duty, has shown no rashness so far. And though fully able to destroy the foe, Nakula and Sahadeva of dreadful prowess I have always held back. In whatever task you set us, we will never turn away. Tell us what is to be done. We shall soon conquer our enemies.”
When Bhimasena had spoken, the Brahmanas pronounced their blessings on the Bharatas, and then, with their leave, went to their several places. All those best of ascetics and sages, learned in the Vedas, longing to see the Pandavas again, went home to their houses. And, with Dhaumya, those five learned Pandavas, hero brothers armed with their vows, set out with Draupadi. Each skilled in a separate science, all expert in the mantras, and knowing when to make peace and when to make war, those tigers among men, ready to enter a life of concealment, walked a kos the next day and then sat down to take counsel with one another.
The gist: with the resolve to spend the thirteenth year hidden, the Pandavas ask leave of their fellow ascetics. Yudhishthira faints from grief, and the priest Dhaumya comforts him with the examples of Indra, of Vishnu in his Hayagriva, Vamana, and Rama forms, of Agni, and of the seer Aurva, all of whom lived in disguise to defeat their foes. Bhima heartens the king. With the Brahmanas’ blessings the five brothers and Draupadi set out toward concealment, walk a kos, and sit down to confer. Here the Vana Parva comes to its close, and the tale stands at the threshold of the Virata Parva.
The return to Dwaitavana, and a Brahmana’s calamity
Janamejaya asked, “O holy one, having borne the deep grief of his wife’s abduction, and having then won Draupadi back, what did the Pandavas do next?” Vaisampayana said, “O king, having lived through the hardship of Draupadi’s abduction, King Yudhishthira of undying fame, with his brothers, left the woods of Kamyaka and returned to that lovely and charming Dwaitavana, thick with trees and strewn with sweet fruit and root. The Pandavas dwelt there with their wife Krishna, another name of Draupadi, living on fruit alone and holding to their hard vows.”
In those very days, O king, a trouble came upon them that wore the face of hardship on the outside while it carried within it the seed of their future happiness. It happened that a deer went butting about with its horns. The two fire-sticks, the arani, and the churning-staff of an ascetic Brahmana caught fast in its antlers. Those pieces of wood had been leaning against a large tree. With the articles caught in its horns, the swift deer bounded off out of the hermitage.
Frantic with worry over his Agnihotra, his daily worship of the sacred fire, the Brahmana quickly came to the Pandavas. Reaching Ajatasatru, a name of Yudhishthira meaning the one whose enemy is not born, seated in the forest with his brothers, the Brahmana in great distress spoke these words. “O king, a deer was butting about with its horns, and my fire-sticks and churning-staff, which had been leaning against a large tree, caught fast in its antlers. That swift deer bounded off with them out of the hermitage. O sons of Pandu, track it by its footprints and bring my things back, so that my Agnihotra may not be broken.”
Hearing the Brahmana’s words, Yudhishthira grew deeply concerned. The son of Kunti took up his bow and set out with his brothers. Putting on their armor and taking up their bows, those best of men, resolved to serve the Brahmana, ran swiftly after the deer. Catching sight of it at no great distance, those great heroes let fly a rain of arrows and javelins and darts, yet by no means could the Pandavas pierce it. And as they pressed the chase and struggled to bring it down, the powerful deer became suddenly invisible.
Having lost the deer from sight, the noble-hearted Pandavas, weary, disappointed, and stung by hunger and thirst, came upon a banyan tree in that deep forest and sat down in its cool shade. When they had settled, Nakula, gripped by sorrow and driven by impatience, said to his eldest brother, “In our house, O king, dharma has never been thrown aside, nor has wealth ever been wasted through arrogance. Asked for anything, we have never said No to any creature. Why then, this time, has such a disaster fallen on us?”
A key to reading this (the fire-sticks and the Agnihotra): the arani are the two pieces of wood rubbed together to bring forth the fire of the sacrifice. The Agnihotra is the Brahmana’s daily duty, in which oblations are poured into the fire at dawn and dusk. The loss of these pieces of wood means the halting of the Brahmana’s daily dharma, which is why he was so distressed, and why the dharma-minded Yudhishthira ran at once to help him.
The gist: in the last stretch of the twelve-year exile, with the wound of Draupadi’s abduction still fresh, the duty of returning a Brahmana’s lost sacrificial gear draws the Pandavas after that illusory deer. The deer vanishes, and the tired, thirsty five stand at the threshold of an unknown trouble.
The brothers reflect on the cause of the calamity
Yudhishthira said, “There is no limit to calamities. Neither their root cause nor their final cause can be known for certain. It is Dharmaraja alone who apportions the fruits of both virtue and vice.” Hearing this, Bhima said, “Surely this trouble has come upon us because, when the Pratikamin, the servant of Duryodhana who had dragged Draupadi into the assembly, dragged Krishna in like a slave, I did not kill him then and there.”
Arjuna said, “Surely this trouble has come upon us because I endured those bone-piercing words from the mouth of the Suta’s son, Karna, and gave him no answer.” And Sahadeva said, “O Bharata, surely this trouble has come upon us because I did not slay Sakuni when he beat you at the dice.”
Then King Yudhishthira said to Nakula, “Son of Madri, climb this tree and look around the ten points of the horizon. See whether there is water near, or such trees as grow on watery ground. These brothers of yours are all weary and thirsty.” Then Nakula, saying, “So be it,” quickly climbed the tree, looked about, and told his eldest brother, “O king, I see many trees that grow by the water’s edge, and I hear the cries of cranes as well. Without doubt, then, there must be water here.”
Hearing this, Yudhishthira, the son of Kunti, firm in truth, said, “Gentle one, go and fill these quivers with water.” Saying, “So be it,” and at his elder brother’s command, Nakula set off toward the place where the water lay and soon reached it.
The gist: amid their weariness and thirst, the same old sense of guilt woke in the four younger brothers, as though this trouble were the punishment for some act of vengeance left undone. Yudhishthira alone left it to the unknowable working of karma. Then Nakula was sent ahead in search of water.
The unseen voice at the lake, and the fall of the four brothers
Seeing a lake as clear as crystal, with cranes upon it, Nakula went to drink of its water, when these words fell on him from the sky. “Child, do not do this rash thing. This lake is already mine. Son of Madri, first answer my questions, and only then drink of this water and carry off as much as you need.” But Nakula, parched with thirst, ignored the words and drank the cool water, and the moment he had drunk he fell to the ground and lay lifeless.
Seeing Nakula slow to return, Yudhishthira, the son of Kunti, said to Nakula’s own brother Sahadeva, “The brother born just before you left long ago. Go and bring your own brother back, and the water with him.” Then Sahadeva, saying, “So be it,” went off in that direction, and reaching the spot found his brother lying dead on the ground. Grieved at his brother’s death and tormented by thirst, he moved toward the water, and the same voice came to him. “Child, do not do this rash thing. This lake is already mine. First answer my questions, and only then drink of the water and carry off as much as you need.” But Sahadeva too, parched with thirst, ignored the words and drank, and the moment he had drunk he fell to the ground and lay lifeless.
Then Yudhishthira, the son of Kunti, said to Vijaya, a name of Arjuna, “Your two brothers went long ago, Vibhatsu, O tamer of foes. Blessings on you. Bring them back with water. You are the refuge of us all when we are sunk in trouble, dear one.” Hearing this, the wise Gudakesa, a name of Arjuna, meaning the conqueror of sleep, took up his bow and arrows and his naked sword and set out toward the lake. Reaching the spot, Arjuna of the white horses saw his two younger brothers, who had come for water, lying dead. Seeing them as if asleep, that lion among men was deeply grieved. He raised his bow and looked all around the wood, but in that vast forest he found no one.
Weary as he was, the one who could draw the bow with his left hand too moved toward the water. As he rushed toward it, these words fell on him from the sky. “Why do you approach this water? You will not be able to drink it by force. If you can answer the question I put to you, Kaunteya, then drink of this water and carry off as much as you need, O Bharata.” Forbidden this way, the son of Pritha said, “Show yourself before me and forbid me. When you are pierced through with my arrows, you will not speak this way again.” Then Partha covered every quarter with arrows charged by mantras. He showed his skill at striking an unseen mark by sound alone. Tormented by thirst, he poured on the sky a rain of javelins, darts, and iron shafts that never go in vain.
Then the unseen yaksha said, “What use is all this labor, son of Pritha? Drink only after answering my questions. If you drink without answering, you will die at once.” Even so, Dhananjaya ignored the words and drank of the water, and the moment he had drunk he fell to the ground and lay lifeless.
Seeing Dhananjaya slow to return, Yudhishthira, the son of Kunti, said to Bhimasena, “O tamer of foes, it is long since Nakula, Sahadeva, and Vibhatsu went to fetch water, and still they have not come back, O Bharata. Blessings on you. Bring them back with water.” Then, saying, “So be it,” Bhimasena set out toward the place where his brothers, best of men, lay dead. Seeing them, Bhima, thirsty though he was, was deeply distressed. That mighty-armed hero judged the whole thing to be the work of some yaksha or rakshasa. Vrikodara, a name of Bhima, thought to himself, “Today I will surely have to fight. So let me first slake my thirst.” Then that man of the Bharata line went forward, meaning to drink.
At once the yaksha said, “Child, do not do this rash thing. This lake is already mine. First answer my questions, and only then drink and carry off as much water as you need.” For all the words of that yaksha of measureless power, Bhima drank the water without answering his questions, and the moment he had drunk he fell to the ground on that very spot and lay lifeless.
A sub-tale: mark this: all four brothers got the same warning, and all four turned a deaf ear to it in the same way. Nakula and Sahadeva gave way to thirst; Arjuna took the voice for an enemy and loosed his arrows, then drank all the same; Bhima sensed the yaksha yet wanted to slake his thirst before the fight. This order is no accident. The Mahabharata is signaling here that strength, impatience, and reasoning all fall short before the discipline that halts before an unseen power of dharma and listens to it first.
The gist: one after another, Nakula, Sahadeva, Arjuna, and Bhima brushed aside the unseen yaksha’s warning, drank, and gave up their lives. Even Arjuna’s unfailing arrows and Bhima’s arm-strength could not break the one condition: answer, and only then may you have the water.
Yudhishthira reaches the lake, and grieves
Then, turning over his brothers’ delay in his mind, Yudhishthira waited a while. Again and again the king said to himself, “Why do the two sons of Madri delay? Why does the wielder of the Gandiva delay? Why do the mighty Bhima not return? I will go and search for them myself.” Resolved on this, the mighty-armed Yudhishthira rose up, his heart burning with grief. That best of men, the royal seer, son of Kunti, thought within himself, “Is this forest under some evil influence? Or is it full of some cruel beasts? Or have they all fallen after slighting some mighty being? Or, finding no water where they first went, have they spent all this time searching through the forest? For what reason do those best of men not return?”
Thinking in this way, that finest of kings, the glorious Yudhishthira, entered that vast forest where no human voice was heard, which was full of deer and bears and birds, which was graced with trees that were bright and green, and which rang with the hum of the black bee and the song of birds. Going forward, he saw a beautiful lake that looked as though the celestial artificer himself had made it. It was graced with flowers of a golden hue, with lotuses, and with sindhuvara blossoms. It held cane and ketaka and karavira and pippala. Worn out with toil, Yudhishthira looked at that lake and stood amazed.
Yudhishthira saw his brothers lying dead, each one as glorious as Indra himself. They lay as though the Regents of the world had fallen from their stations at the ending of a Yuga. Seeing Arjuna dead with his bow and arrows dropped on the ground, and Bhimasena and the twins motionless and lifeless, the king drew a long, hot breath and was drowned in tears of grief.
Beholding his brothers dead, that mighty-armed son of Dharma, his heart wrung with anguish, lamented. “You had vowed, mighty-armed Vrikodara, that in battle you would smash the thighs of Duryodhana with your mace. O enhancer of the fame of the Kurus, mighty-armed and great of soul, in your death all of that has now come to nothing. The words of men may fail, but why have the words the gods spoke about you failed this way? O Dhananjaya, while you lay on your mother’s birth-bed, the gods said, O Kunti, this son of yours will be in no way less than Indra of the thousand eyes. And on the northern Paripatra mountains all beings had sung, this line’s fortune, seized by its foes, will be won back by this one at once. In battle none will be able to defeat him, and there will be none whom he cannot defeat. How then has that mighty Jishnu come under the power of death? Alas, that Dhananjaya, on whose strength we bore all this hardship, now lies on the ground and makes all my hopes come to nothing.”
The king went on, “Those mighty sons of Kunti, Bhimasena and Dhananjaya, who always slew their foes and whom no weapon could stop, how have they come under the power of an enemy? Surely this base heart of mine must be made of adamant, since even now, seeing these twins lying on the ground, it does not split. O best of men, knowers of the scriptures, knowers of place and time, rich in austerity, you who performed every sacred rite in due form, why do you lie here without doing the deeds worthy of you? Alas, unconquered heroes, with your bodies unwounded and your vows untouched, why do you lie senseless on the earth?”
Seeing his brothers there, sleeping as sweetly as they used to sleep on mountain slopes, that noble king, overcome by grief and bathed in sweat, sank into deep distress. “It is even so,” he said, and that righteous lord of men, sunk in an ocean of grief, set himself to find the cause of what had happened. Great-souled and learned in the divisions of place and time, he could not settle on his course of action.
Having lamented much in this way, the righteous Yudhishthira, son of Dharma, held his mind in check and began to think who could have slain these heroes. “There are no marks of weapons on them, nor is there any footprint here. Surely the being who slew my brothers must be mighty. I will ponder this carefully. Or let me first drink of the water, and then learn all. It may be that the crooked-minded Duryodhana had this water set here in secret by the king of the gandharvas. What man of sense would trust some wicked wretch of ill will, for whom good and evil are all one? Or perhaps this is the work of that vile soul, carried out through secret agents.”
So that most intelligent man became lost in many thoughts. He did not believe the water had been fouled with poison, for though the brothers were dead, no corpse-like pallor lay on them. “The color on the faces of these brothers of mine has not faded,” thought Yudhishthira. The king thought further, “Each of these best of men was like a fierce torrent. Who then, save Yama himself, who brings the end of all when the time comes, could have overcome them like this?” Having settled this, he stepped down into the lake to bathe.
A key to reading this (the matter of corpse-pallor): Yudhishthira’s reasoning, that his brothers’ faces have not gone pale and so it cannot be poison, shows his judicial mind. Even drowned in grief, he seeks the cause through evidence and inference. This same discernment will serve him soon in the yaksha’s questions.
The gist: finding his four brothers lying dead on the shore of that seemingly celestially made lake, Yudhishthira sinks into grief. He sees the prophecies the gods spoke about Bhima and Arjuna come to nothing, yet keeps seeking the cause by reason, and at last judges this to be the work of a mighty being like Yama.
The Yaksha appears, and the condition
The moment he stepped into the lake, these words of the yaksha fell on him from the sky. “I am a crane, living on tiny fish. It is by me that these younger brothers of yours have been brought under the sway of the lord of the Pitris. Prince, if you do not answer the questions I put to you, you too will be the fifth corpse. Child, do not do this rash thing. This lake is already mine. First answer my questions, son of Kunti, and only then drink and carry off as much as you need.”
Hearing this, Yudhishthira said, “Are you the foremost of the Rudras, or of the Vasus, or of the Maruts? I ask, what god are you? This could be no work of a bird. Who has overthrown the four great mountains, the Himavat, the Paripatra, the Vindhya, and the Malaya? Great is the deed you have done, O best of the strong. Those whom neither gods, nor gandharvas, nor asuras, nor rakshasas could withstand in any fierce battle, you have slain. Your deed is a great wonder. I do not know your purpose, nor do I know your aim, and so great curiosity has come over me, and fear as well. My mind is deeply shaken, and my head aches. And so, worshipful one, I ask, who are you that dwell here?”
Hearing this, the yaksha said, “Blessings on you. I am a yaksha, not any water bird. It is by me that these mighty brothers of yours have been slain.” Hearing those harsh words spoken in cutting syllables, O king, Yudhishthira drew near to the yaksha who had just spoken and stood there. Then that best of the Bharatas saw the yaksha, whose eyes were strange, whose body was huge and tall as a palm tree, who looked like fire or the sun, who was unconquerable and vast as a mountain, who sat upon a tree, and who roared deep as the clouds.
The yaksha said, “O king, though I forbade them again and again, these brothers of yours would take the water by force. That is why I slew them. One who wishes to live, O king, should not drink this water. Son of Pritha, do not do this rash thing. This lake is already mine. Son of Kunti, first answer my questions, and only then take away as much as you wish.” Yudhishthira said, “O yaksha, I do not covet what is already yours. Good men, O best of beings, never approve of a man praising himself. So I will answer your questions as well as my understanding allows. Ask.”
A key to reading this (who the yaksha is): a yaksha is a divine race under Kubera, often the guardian of waters and hidden treasures. Yet this yaksha is no ordinary one. In the end it turns out to be Dharmaraja himself, come in disguise to test his son Yudhishthira. The crane form and the claim over the lake are part of that disguise.
The gist: first as a crane, then as a yaksha tall as a palm tree and bright as fire, the being admitted that it had slain the four brothers. Its condition stayed the same: answer, and only then have the water. With humility, Yudhishthira promised to answer as far as his understanding reached.
The questions begin: creation, the Vedas, and the varnas
Then the yaksha asked, “What makes the sun rise? Who keeps him company? Who makes him set? And in what is he established?” Yudhishthira answered, “Brahma makes the sun rise; the gods keep him company; Dharma makes him set; and he is established in truth.”
The yaksha asked, “By what does a man become learned? By what does he attain what is very great? How can one come by a second, a helper? And how, O king, does one gain understanding?” Yudhishthira answered, “It is by the study of the Srutis that a man becomes learned; it is by austerity that he attains what is very great; it is by understanding that he comes by a helper; and it is by serving the old that he grows wise.”
The yaksha asked, “What is the divinity of the Brahmanas? What practice of theirs is like that of the pious? What is their human attribute? And what practice of theirs is like that of the impious?” Yudhishthira answered, “The study of the Vedas is their divinity; their austerity is the practice that is like that of the pious; their liability to death is their human attribute; and slander is their impiety.”
The yaksha asked, “What is the divinity of the Kshatriyas? What practice of theirs is like that of the pious? What is their human attribute? And what practice of theirs is like that of the impious?” Yudhishthira answered, “Arrows and weapons are their divinity; the offering of sacrifices is the act that is like that of the pious; liability to fear is their human attribute; and the refusal of protection is the act that is like that of the impious.”
The yaksha asked, “What is the Sama of the sacrifice? What is the Yajus of the sacrifice? What is the refuge of a sacrifice? And what is that which a sacrifice cannot do without?” Yudhishthira answered, “Life is the Sama of the sacrifice; the mind is its Yajus; the Rik is the refuge of the sacrifice; and it is the Rik alone that a sacrifice cannot do without.”
A key to reading this (Sama, Yajus, Rik): these are the three utterances of the Veda. The Rik is the verse of praise, the Yajus is the prose formula of ritual action, and the Sama is the chanted verse. By tying them to the inner elements of sacrifice, life-breath and mind, Yudhishthira shows that a yajna is more than outward ritual; it is an offering of the inner breath and mind as well.
The yaksha asked, “What is of the foremost value to those who plow? What to those who sow? What to those who seek prosperity in this world? And what to those who bring forth young?” Yudhishthira answered, “For those who plow, rain is of the foremost value; for those who sow, seed; and for those who bring forth young, their offspring.”
The yaksha asked, “Who is he that, enjoying all the objects of the senses, gifted with intelligence, honored by the world and dear to all beings, yet, though he breathes, offers nothing to these five, the gods, guests, servants, the Pitris, and himself, and so, though he draws breath, is not alive?” It was a question aimed at those who fail in their duty toward these five.
The yaksha asked, “What is heavier than the earth? What is higher than the heavens? What is swifter than the wind? And what is more numerous than the grass?” Yudhishthira answered, “The mother is heavier than the earth; the father is higher than the heavens; the mind is swifter than the wind; and our thoughts are more numerous than the grass.”
The yaksha asked, “What is it that does not close its eyes while it sleeps? What is it that does not stir after it is born? What is it that has no heart? And what is it that swells with its own rushing?” Yudhishthira answered, “A fish does not close its eyes while it sleeps; an egg does not stir after it is born; a stone has no heart; and a river swells with its own rushing.”
The gist: this first round touches the order of creation, the essence of the Vedas, the sva-dharma of the four varnas, and the fivefold duty of the householder. Calling the mother heavier than the earth and the father higher than the heavens, Yudhishthira packs deep values into fine riddles.
Questions of friendship, nectar, dharma, and renunciation
The yaksha asked, “Who is the friend of one who lives in a far land? Who is the friend of the householder? Who is the friend of the one who ails? And who is the friend of the one about to die?” Yudhishthira answered, “The friend of one in a far land is his companion; the friend of the householder is his wife; the friend of the one who ails is the physician; and the friend of the one about to die is charity.”
The yaksha asked, “Who is the guest of all creatures? What is the eternal duty? What, O best of kings, is Amrita? And what is this whole universe?” Yudhishthira answered, “Agni is the guest of all creatures; the milk of the cow is Amrita; the Homa made with it is the eternal duty; and this universe is made of air alone.”
The yaksha asked, “What is it that travels alone? What is it that is born again after its birth? What is the remedy against cold? And what is the largest field?” Yudhishthira answered, “The sun travels alone; the moon is born anew again and again; fire is the remedy against cold; and the earth is the largest field.”
The yaksha asked, “What is the highest refuge of virtue? What of fame? What of heaven? And what of happiness?” Yudhishthira answered, “Liberality is the highest refuge of virtue; gift, of fame; truth, of heaven; and good conduct, of happiness.”
The yaksha asked, “What is the soul of a man? Who is the friend the gods have given to a man? What is a man’s chief support? And what is his chief refuge?” Yudhishthira answered, “The son is a man’s soul; the wife is the friend the gods have given to a man; the clouds are his chief support; and the gift is his chief refuge.”
The yaksha asked, “What is the best of all things worthy of praise? What is the most valuable of all possessions? What is the best of all gains? And what is the best of all kinds of happiness?” Yudhishthira answered, “The best of all things worthy of praise is skill; the most valuable of all possessions is knowledge; the best of all gains is health; and contentment is the best of all kinds of happiness.”
The yaksha asked, “What is the highest duty in the world? What is that virtue which always bears fruit? What is that which, once held in check, leads to no regret? And who are they with whom an alliance never breaks?” Yudhishthira answered, “The highest of duties is to refrain from injury; the rites ordained in the Three Vedas always bear fruit; the mind, once held in check, leads to no regret; and an alliance with the good never breaks.”
The yaksha asked, “What is it that, once given up, makes a man loved? What, once given up, leads to no regret? What, once given up, makes a man rich? And what, once given up, makes a man happy?” Yudhishthira answered, “Pride, once given up, makes a man loved; anger, once given up, leads to no regret; desire, once given up, makes a man rich; and greed, once given up, makes a man happy.”
A sub-tale: mark how one axis returns again and again in Yudhishthira’s answers, the naming of refraining from injury as the highest dharma. Later, when the yaksha grants him the boon of reviving one brother, Yudhishthira holds fast to this same principle of harmlessness and evenhandedness. These riddles are the foundation of the character that is about to be tested, a little while from now, in a moment of hard choice.
The gist: this round brings questions of friendship, charity, nectar, harmlessness, and renunciation. Yudhishthira ties the giving up of pride, anger, desire, and greed to being loved, freedom from regret, wealth, and happiness, and names refraining from injury the highest dharma.
Questions of giving, death-in-life, and hell
The yaksha asked, “For what does a man give to Brahmanas? For what to mimes and dancers? For what to servants? And for what to the king?” Yudhishthira answered, “It is for religious merit that a man gives to Brahmanas; for fame that he gives to mimes and dancers; for their support that he gives to servants; and for relief from fear that he gives to kings.”
The yaksha asked, “With what is the world wrapped? What is it because of which a thing cannot show itself? For what are friends forsaken? And for what does a man fail to reach heaven?” Yudhishthira answered, “The world is wrapped in darkness; it is darkness that keeps a thing from showing itself; it is out of greed that friends are forsaken; and it is out of attachment to the world that a man fails to reach heaven.”
The yaksha asked, “For what may a man be counted dead? For what may a kingdom be counted dead? For what may a Sraddha be counted dead? And for what a sacrifice?” Yudhishthira answered, “For want of wealth a man may be counted dead; for want of a king a kingdom may be counted dead; a Sraddha performed with the help of a priest without learning may be counted dead; and a sacrifice in which there are no gifts to Brahmanas is dead.”
The yaksha asked, “What is the way? What has been called water? What, food? And what, poison? Tell us also the proper time of a Sraddha, and then drink and carry off as much as you wish.” Yudhishthira answered, “They that are good are the way; space has been called water; the cow is food; a request is poison; and a Brahmana is held to be the proper time of a Sraddha. I do not know, O yaksha, what you make of all this.”
A key to reading this (a dead kingdom, a dead sacrifice): here Yudhishthira speaks in metaphor. A kingdom without a king, a sacrifice without a gift, a Sraddha without a learned priest, all seem to go on from the outside while they are lifeless within. This vision is the moral depth of the Mahabharata: an act is alive only when its true essence is present in it.
The yaksha asked, “What has been called the mark of asceticism? What is true restraint? In what does forgiveness lie? And what is shame?” Yudhishthira answered, “To stay within one’s own dharma is asceticism; the restraint of the mind is, of all restraints, the true one; forgiveness lies in enduring enmity; and shame lies in withdrawing from every unworthy act.”
The yaksha asked, “What, O king, is called knowledge? What, tranquillity? In what does mercy lie? And what has been called simplicity?” Yudhishthira answered, “True knowledge is the knowledge of the Divine; true tranquillity is the tranquillity of the heart; mercy lies in wishing all beings happy; and simplicity is evenness of heart.”
The yaksha asked, “What enemy is unconquerable? What is an incurable disease for a man? What sort of man is called honest, and what sort dishonest?” Yudhishthira answered, “Anger is the unconquerable enemy; greed is the incurable disease; he is honest who wishes the welfare of all beings, and he is dishonest who is without mercy.”
The yaksha asked, “What, O king, is ignorance? And what is pride? What is to be understood by idleness? And what has been called grief?” Yudhishthira answered, “True ignorance is not knowing one’s duties; pride is the sense of being oneself the doer or the enjoyer in life; idleness is the failure to carry out one’s duties; and ignorance itself is grief.”
The yaksha asked, “What have the seers called steadiness? And what, patience? What is a true ablution? And what is charity?” Yudhishthira answered, “Steadiness lies in staying within one’s own dharma; true patience lies in the mastery of the senses; a true ablution is the washing of the mind clean of all its stains; and charity is the protecting of all creatures.”
The yaksha asked, “What man should be counted learned, and who should be called an atheist? Who should be called ignorant? What is desire, and what are its sources? And what is envy?” Yudhishthira answered, “He should be counted learned who knows his duties. The atheist is the ignorant man, and the ignorant man is the atheist. Desire is born of the objects of enjoyment, and envy is nothing other than grief of the heart.”
The yaksha asked, “What is pride, and what is hypocrisy? What is the grace of the gods, and what is wickedness?” Yudhishthira answered, “Dull ignorance is pride. The setting up of an outward show of religion is hypocrisy. The grace of the gods is the fruit of our gifts, and wickedness lies in speaking ill of others.”
The yaksha asked, “Virtue, profit, and desire are at odds with one another. How can these opposed things exist together?” Yudhishthira answered, “When a wife and virtue agree with each other, then the three you have named can exist together.”
The yaksha said, “O best of the Bharata line, who is he that is condemned to everlasting hell? Answer this question of mine at once.” Yudhishthira answered, “He who summons a poor Brahmana with the promise of a gift and then says he has nothing to give goes to everlasting hell. He too goes to everlasting hell who charges the Vedas, the scriptures, the Brahmanas, the gods, and the rites in honor of the Pitris with falsehood. He too goes to everlasting hell who, though he has wealth, out of greed neither gives it away nor enjoys it himself, saying that he has none.”
The gist: this round opens the purpose of giving, the death-in-life of a kingdom, a sacrifice, or a Sraddha, the marks of asceticism, restraint, forgiveness, and shame, of knowledge, tranquillity, and mercy, and the conduct that leads to hell. Calling anger the unconquerable enemy and greed the incurable disease is the essence of Yudhishthira’s inner sight.
The heart of Brahmanahood, and the four final questions
The yaksha asked, “O king, by which does a man become a Brahmana, by birth, by conduct, by study, or by learning? Tell us with certainty.” Yudhishthira answered, “Hear me, O yaksha. It is conduct that makes a Brahmana. Birth does not, nor study, nor learning; beyond doubt, conduct is the cause. A man’s conduct, and above all a Brahmana’s, should always be well guarded. He who keeps his conduct unbroken is himself never broken. Teachers and pupils, and indeed all who study the scriptures, if they are given to wicked habits, are to be counted as unlettered wretches. He alone is learned who performs his religious duties. One who has read the four Vedas, yet whose conduct is not right, is to be counted a wicked wretch barely to be told apart from a Sudra. He alone is called a Brahmana who performs the Agnihotra and has his senses under control.”
The yaksha asked, “What does a man gain who speaks pleasing words? What does he gain who always acts with judgment? What does he gain who has many friends? And what does he gain who is devoted to virtue?” Yudhishthira answered, “He who speaks pleasing words becomes pleasing to all. He who acts with judgment gains whatever he seeks. He who has many friends lives happily. And he who is devoted to virtue reaches a happy state in the world to come.”
The yaksha asked, “Who is truly happy? What is the greatest wonder? What is the path? And what is the news? Answer these four questions of mine, and let your dead brothers live again.” Yudhishthira answered, “O dweller in the water, the man who cooks in his own house, in the fifth or the sixth part of the day, with a little plain fare, who is not in debt and who does not wander far from home, he is truly happy. Day after day countless creatures go to the abode of Yama, and yet those who remain behind believe themselves immortal. What can be a greater wonder than this? Argument leads to no sure conclusion; the Srutis differ from one another; there is not one seer whose opinion all will accept; the truth of dharma and duty lies hidden in a cave; and so the path is the one the great have walked. This world, filled with ignorance, is like a cooking pan. The sun is the fire, the days and nights are the fuel. The months and the seasons are the wooden ladle. Time is the cook, cooking all creatures in that pan with these. This is the news.”
The yaksha said, “O tamer of foes, you have answered all my questions truly. Now tell me who is truly a man, and what man possesses every kind of wealth.” Yudhishthira answered, “The report of a man’s good deeds reaches heaven and spreads over the earth. As long as that report lasts, so long is he called a man. And that man possesses every kind of wealth to whom the pleasant and the unpleasant, happiness and sorrow, the past and the future, are all the same.”
A key to reading this (Time’s cauldron): this is the most famous metaphor in the Mahabharata. The world is a furnace, the sun its fire, the day and night the fuel, the months and seasons the ladle, and Time the cook cooking all creatures. With this image Yudhishthira says the greatest wonder is that a man, seeing death every day, still takes himself for an immortal.
A sub-tale: two of these four final answers still live on every tongue. The first: the truly happy man is the plain, debt-free householder content with little in his own home, no king and no rich man. The second: the greatest wonder is that a man, seeing death every day, still thinks himself deathless. Here, amid all the epic’s splendor and war, the Mahabharata pauses for a moment and points at the plain truth of life.
The gist: Yudhishthira ties Brahmanahood to conduct, above birth or learning, and in the four final questions answers on true happiness, the greatest wonder of the world, the path of the good, and Time’s cauldron. Pleased, the yaksha begins to signal the reviving of the brothers.
The boon of one brother, and Yudhishthira’s evenhandedness
The yaksha said, “O king, you have answered truly who a man is, and what man possesses every kind of wealth. So let one of your brothers, whichever you wish, rise up with life.” Yudhishthira answered, “This one of dark complexion, whose eyes are red, who is tall as a great sala tree, whose chest is broad and whose arms are long, this Nakula, O yaksha, let him rise up with life.”
The yaksha replied, “This Bhimasena is dear to you, and this Arjuna is the one on whom all of you depend. Why then, O king, do you wish a half-brother to rise with life? Passing over Bhima, whose strength is that of ten thousand elephants, how can you wish Nakula to live? People used to say that this Bhima was dear to you. From what feeling, then, do you wish a half-brother to live? Passing over Arjuna, the might of whose arm all the sons of Pandu honor, why do you wish Nakula to live?”
Yudhishthira said, “If dharma is thrown aside, the one who throws it aside is himself destroyed. In the same way dharma protects the one who protects it. So, taking care that dharma, once thrown aside, may not throw us aside, I never abandon dharma. To hold back from injury is the highest dharma, and, as I understand it, it stands higher even than the highest object of attainment. It is that dharma I strive to practice. Therefore, O yaksha, let Nakula rise with life. Let people know that the king is always faithful to dharma. I will never turn from my duty. Therefore let Nakula rise with life.”
Yudhishthira went on, “My father had two wives, Kunti and Madri. Let the children of both survive; that is my wish. As Kunti is to me, so also is Madri. In my eyes there is no difference between them. I wish to hold my two mothers equal. Therefore let Nakula rise with life.” The yaksha said, “Since you hold the refusal to injure higher than both profit and pleasure, therefore, O best of the Bharata line, let all your brothers live.”
A sub-tale: this moment is the heart of the yaksha’s questions. The yaksha put Yudhishthira to a hard choice on purpose, his own brother Bhima or Arjuna, on whom future victory rested. Yudhishthira chose Nakula, the son of the step-mother Madri, only so that each mother would keep one surviving child and evenhandedness be preserved. This is the very peak of the harmlessness and justice he had spoken of just now in hundreds of answers, chosen over self-interest and any calculation of arms. That unity of word and deed won the yaksha’s heart.
The gist: given a boon to revive only one brother, Yudhishthira chose Nakula, the step-mother Madri’s son, so that both Kunti and Madri would keep a child each and justice hold, above Bhima and Arjuna alike. Pleased with this selfless fidelity to dharma, the yaksha gave life to all four.
Dharmaraja reveals himself, and the three boons
Then, at the yaksha’s word, the Pandavas rose up, and in a moment their hunger and thirst were gone. Then Yudhishthira said, “You who cannot be conquered, standing on one leg in this lake, I ask you, what god are you, for I cannot take you for a yaksha. Are you the foremost of the Vasus, or of the Rudras, or the lord of the Maruts? Or are you the master of the gods himself, the thunderbolt-wielding Indra? Each of my brothers is able to fight a hundred thousand warriors, and I see no warrior who could slay them all. I see too that their senses have been made fresh, as if they had woken from a sweet sleep. Are you a friend of ours, or our very father?”
At this the yaksha answered, “O son, I am your own father, Dharmaraja, endowed with great might. Know, O best of the Bharata line, that I came here out of a wish to see you. Fame, truth, self-restraint, purity, candor, modesty, steadiness, charity, austerity, and Brahmacharya, these are my body. And harmlessness, evenhandedness, peace, austerity, purity, and freedom from malice are the doors through which I am reached. You are always dear to me. By good fortune you are devoted to the five, and by good fortune you have conquered the six. Of the six, two show themselves in the first part of life, two in the middle, and the last two at the end, to drive men toward the next world.”
Dharmaraja went on, “Blessings on you, I am the lord of justice. I came here to test you. Seeing your harmlessness, I am well pleased, and, O sinless one, I will grant you boons. Ask of me, O best of kings. I will surely grant them, O sinless one. Those who honor me never come to grief.” Yudhishthira said, “A deer carried off that Brahmana’s fire-sticks. So the first boon I ask is that the Brahmana’s worship of the fire not be broken.”
Dharmaraja said, “O son of Kunti, full of splendor, it was I who, to test you, carried off that Brahmana’s fire-sticks in the form of a deer.” Then that worshipful one said, “I grant you this boon. Blessings on you. O you who are like an immortal, ask another boon.” Yudhishthira said, “We have spent these twelve years in the forest, and the thirteenth year has come. Wherever we spend this year, let no one recognize us.”
That worshipful one answered, “I grant you this boon.” Then, reassuring the son of Kunti, whose prowess is truth itself, he said, “O Bharata, even if you range this whole earth in your own true forms, no one in the three worlds will recognize you. O preservers of the Kuru line, by my grace you will spend this thirteenth year hidden and unknown in the kingdom of Virata. And each of you will be able to take on any form he wishes at will. Now give the Brahmana back his fire-sticks. I carried them off in the form of a deer only to test you. O gentle Yudhishthira, ask for another boon, whatever pleases you, and I will grant it. O best of men, I am not yet satisfied with the boons I have granted you. O my son, accept a third boon, one that is great and beyond compare. O king, you are born of me, and Vidura of a portion of me.”
At this Yudhishthira said, “It is enough that I have seen you with my own senses, O eternal god of gods. O father, whatever boon you grant me I will accept with joy. O lord, may I always conquer greed and delusion and anger, and may my mind always rest in charity, truth, and austerity.” Dharmaraja said, “O Pandava, by your very nature you are endowed with these qualities, for you are Dharmaraja himself. Even so, may what you have asked for be yours once more.”
A key to reading this (the five and the six): Dharmaraja says that Yudhishthira is devoted to the five and has conquered the six. In the traditional reading, the five are the senses, or the five duties of sacrifice, and the six are the inner enemies, lust, anger, greed, delusion, arrogance, and envy. Two at a time these rise in the three stages of life and bind a man. Yudhishthira’s victory over them is what proves him the true son of Dharmaraja.
The gist: the yaksha reveals his true form. He was Dharmaraja himself, the father of Yudhishthira, come in the shape of deer and yaksha to test him. He grants three boons: that the Brahmana’s Agnihotra go unbroken, that the Pandavas remain unknown in the kingdom of Virata in the thirteenth year, and the power to take on any form at will. For himself, Yudhishthira asks only for victory over greed, delusion, and anger, and a mind fixed on truth, charity, and austerity.
The return of the fire-sticks, and the resolve of the thirteenth year
Having said this, that worshipful Dharmaraja, on whom all the worlds meditate, vanished from that place. And, waking from a sweet sleep, the great-souled Pandavas came together with one another. Their weariness gone, those heroes returned to the hermitage and gave the Brahmana back his fire-sticks.
The one who follows this glorious, fame-enhancing story of the reviving of the Pandavas and the meeting of father and son, Dharma and Yudhishthira, gains perfect peace of mind, sons and grandsons, and a life of a hundred years. And the mind of the one who takes this story to heart never delights in unrighteousness, nor in discord among friends, nor in seizing the wealth of others, nor in the touch of another man’s wife, nor in foul thoughts.
Commanded by Dharmaraja to spend the thirteenth year thus, in concealment, the great-souled Pandavas, keepers of vows, whose prowess was truth, sat before the learned, vow-keeping ascetics who out of love had dwelt with them in their exile. With joined hands, wishing to gain their leave to spend the thirteenth year, they spoke these words. “You know well that the sons of Dhritarashtra by deceit robbed us of our kingdom and did us many wrongs. We have passed twelve years of great hardship in the forest. Only the thirteenth year is left, which we must spend unknown. Grant us leave now to spend it in concealment. Should our bitter enemies, Suyodhana, the wicked-minded Karna, and the son of Subala, find us out, they would do great wrong to our citizens and our friends. Shall we all, together with the Brahmanas, be established once more in our own kingdom?”
Having said this, that pure-hearted son of Dharma, King Yudhishthira, overcome by grief, his voice choked with tears, fainted away. Then the Brahmanas, together with his brothers, began to comfort him. And Dhaumya spoke to the king these words heavy with meaning. “O king, you are learned and able to bear hardship, firm in your word and master of your senses. Men of such a stamp are not overcome by any calamity. The great-souled gods themselves have wandered through many places in disguise, in order to overcome their foes.”
Dhaumya went on, “Indra, to overcome his enemies, dwelt in disguise in the hermitage of Giriprastha in Nishadha, and so gained his end. Before he took birth in the womb of Aditi, Vishnu, to destroy the daityas, took the form of Hayagriva, the horse-necked one, and passed a long time unknown. Then, taking the form of a dwarf, by his prowess he stripped Vali of his kingdom, as you have heard. And you have heard how Hutasana, the fire god, entering the water and staying hidden, achieved the purpose of the gods. And, O you who know duty, you have heard how Hari, to overcome his foes, entered the thunderbolt of Sakra and lay hidden there. And, O sinless one, you have heard of the service the revered seer Aurva once did for the gods while hidden in his mother’s womb. And, O child, hidden in every part of the earth, Vivaswat, endowed with surpassing energy, in the end burned up all his foes. And living in disguise in the house of Dasaratha, Vishnu of dreadful deeds slew the ten-necked one in battle. In this way, staying in disguise in various places, great-souled ones before now have conquered their enemies in battle.”
Comforted by these words of Dhaumya, the righteous Yudhishthira, leaning on his own wisdom and on the wisdom drawn from the scriptures, regained his firmness. Then Bhimasena, best of the strong, mighty-armed and full of might, spoke words to hearten the king greatly. “O king, looking to your face for leave, the wielder of the Gandiva, acting by his sense of duty, has shown no rashness so far. And though fully able to destroy the foe, Nakula and Sahadeva of dreadful prowess I have always held back. In whatever task you set us, we will never turn away. Tell us what is to be done. We shall soon conquer our enemies.”
When Bhimasena had spoken, the Brahmanas pronounced their blessings on the Bharatas, and then, with their leave, went to their several places. All those best of ascetics and sages, learned in the Vedas, longing to see the Pandavas again, went home to their houses. And, with Dhaumya, those hero brothers, the five learned Pandavas, armed with their vows, set out with Krishna, that is Draupadi. Each skilled in a separate science, all expert in the mantras, and knowing when peace was to be made and when war was to be waged, those tigers among men, ready to enter a life of concealment, walked a kos the next day and then sat down to take counsel with one another. Here the Vana Parva comes to its close.
A sub-tale: Dhaumya’s examples are no accident. Indra, Vishnu in his Hayagriva and Vamana forms, Agni, the seer Aurva, Vivaswat, and Rama, each at some time took a disguised or hidden form to accomplish his aim. Setting these stories before Yudhishthira, the priest Dhaumya teaches that concealment carries no shame, and that it is a path the gods themselves have walked. This reassurance carries the Pandavas on toward the city of Virata, where the next book will begin.
The gist: when Dharmaraja vanishes, the brothers rise with life and the fire-sticks are returned to the Brahmana. Distraught at the resolve to spend the thirteenth year in concealment, Yudhishthira is comforted by Dhaumya with examples of the gods’ own disguises, and Bhima renews the resolve of war. Taking leave of the Brahmanas, the five brothers and Draupadi set out toward Virata, and with this the Vana Parva ends.
Source: The Mahabharata (Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa), Vana Parva; in the tradition of Gita Press, Gorakhpur.
Based on: The Mahabharata, Vyasa (Gita Press, Gorakhpur)
The same story, elsewhere
- The Questions of the Yaksha · Vana Parva
A detailed standalone page on the Questions of the Yaksha (Vana Parva)