Mahabharata · Krishna’s Mission for Peace, and the Cosmic Form

About 103 min read · 17,477 words

Sanjaya had come back to Hastinapura, and in the camp at Upaplavya the Pandavas sat heavy with doubt. Then Yudhishthira turned to that first among the Dasarha line, the son of Vasudeva, and said, “Friend to all who love their friends, the hour has come when a friend shows what his friendship is worth. In this hour of danger I can see no one but you who might save us. Trusting in you, Madhava, we asked Duryodhana, swollen with pride, and his counselors, to give us our share. You have guarded the Vrishnis through every peril; guard the Pandavas now from this great fear, for we are worthy of your grace.” And Krishna answered, “Here I am, mighty one. Tell me what you want, and whatever you say, I will do it.” From those few words began the story that carried Krishna himself, as envoy of peace, into the court of the Kurus, where a stubborn Duryodhana schemed to bind him, and where Krishna let his vast universal form break open before them all.

Yudhishthira’s Anguish, and the Demand for Five Villages

Yudhishthira opened his whole heart. Everything Sanjaya had said, he told Krishna, had carried Dhritarashtra’s full agreement behind it. Sanjaya was like the old king’s own soul, and in speaking he had spoken only the king’s mind. An envoy says what he is taught to say, for a messenger only carries his instructions, and if he strays from them he makes himself fit to be killed. Dhritarashtra, without an equal eye toward himself and toward us, driven by greed and a sinful heart, wanted peace on his own terms, without returning our kingdom.

“Janardana,” Yudhishthira said, “it was by Dhritarashtra’s own command that we spent twelve years in the forest and a thirteenth in hiding, holding firm to the belief that he too would stand by that pledge. We did not swerve from our word by even a hair, and the Brahmanas who were with us know it. Now that same grasping king will not follow the code of the Kshatriya. Bound by love of his son, he listens to the counsel of the wicked.” Then Yudhishthira set down again the demand he had already sent through Sanjaya. With Kasi, Panchala, Chedi, and the Matsyas for his allies, and Krishna himself for his protector, he had asked for only five villages: Avishthala, Vrikasthala, Makandi, Varanavata, and for the fifth any other Duryodhana pleased. “Give us only five villages or towns, lord, where the five of us may gather and settle, for we do not wish the ruin of the house of Bharata.” That was his message. Yet Dhritarashtra’s evil-minded son, who thinks himself master of the whole world, will not grant even this.

A key to reading this (the five villages): Avishthala, Vrikasthala, Makandi, Varanavata, and a fifth of Duryodhana’s choosing. This is the Pandavas’ minimum demand. Measured against a whole kingdom, it is a handful of settlements, so small that its whole gravity lies in what a refusal of it would mean. Yudhishthira had deliberately lowered his claim so far that only the one who rejected it would stand guilty.

After this Yudhishthira drifted into a long lament. He spoke of wealth and of poverty with the grief of a king stripped of everything. Poverty, he said, is sadder for a man than death, for wealth is the root of both duty and joy. The man born poor does not suffer as much as the man reared in splendor and then robbed of it. Such a man, fallen into misfortune through his own fault, curses the gods along with Indra, and curses himself as well; his reason is struck down, his shame departs, and with the loss of shame his dharma dwindles. And yet, he said, if the eye of reason returns, a man is saved; shame is his loveliest ornament, and the one who keeps his shame is a true man.

“You have seen all of this in me with your own eyes, Madhusudana,” Yudhishthira said. “We cannot in good conscience abandon the splendor that was ours. Our first effort will be for this: that we and the Kauravas, joined in peace, enjoy our fortune together. Failing that, we will take those lands back by killing the worst of the Kauravas; and yet to win success through the blood of one’s own kin, however low they may be, is the cruelest of all cruel deeds. We have many kinsmen, and many revered elders who have taken one side or the other. To kill them would be a great sin. What good, then, is there in war?” And then came the sentence that lays bare the whole irony of the Kshatriya’s code, out of Yudhishthira’s own mouth: “Such sinful deeds are the very duties of the Kshatriya order. We were born into that unlucky order. The Shudra serves, the Vaishya lives by trade, the Brahmana has chosen the wooden begging bowl, and we are to live by killing. The Kshatriya kills the Kshatriya, fish lives upon fish, dog devours dog. Look, Dasarha, how each creature follows its own dharma.”

He spoke deep things about the emptiness of war. Sometimes one man kills many, sometimes many together kill one; a coward may cut down a hero, an unknown man may cut down the famous. Neither side can win outright, nor do both simply lose, yet the loss falls equally on both. The one who flees loses both his life and his name; the one who wins loses no less than the loser, for the enemy is sure to kill someone he holds dear. Enmity is never ended by enmity; like a fire fed with clarified butter, it only grows. The man who is at peace sleeps in comfort; the man who has set his heart on a feud sleeps with a troubled heart, as though a snake shared his room. And yet, he admitted, a peace bought by surrendering the kingdom amid insults is no different from death, so where every effort at reconciliation fails, war becomes unavoidable. “Madhava, how are both our interest and our dharma to be kept safe? Whom greater than you can we ask for such hard counsel?”

The gist: Yudhishthira set his lowest price, five villages. Beneath it he also laid open the whole tangle of war and dharma, that the Kshatriya’s duty itself drives him toward killing, and that the one sure way to end an enmity is the ruin of one side. Here the moral complexity of the Mahabharata comes to the surface, where the very king of dharma calls his own order’s duty unlucky.

Krishna’s Resolve, and Bhima’s Unexpected Gentleness

Krishna answered Yudhishthira, “I will go to the court of the Kurus for the good of both sides. If I can win peace there without sacrificing your interests, king, I will earn great merit in dharma, and I will save the Kurus, the Srinjayas, the Pandavas, the sons of Dhritarashtra, this whole earth, from the noose of death.” Yudhishthira feared that Suyodhana would never listen, and that some harm might come to Krishna; but Krishna said, “I know the wickedness of Dhritarashtra’s son, yet by going we free ourselves from the blame of every king on earth. As beasts before a lion, so all the kings together cannot stand before me when I am roused. If they try to harm me, I will burn every Kaurava to ash. My going will not be wasted, for even if the errand fails, we will at least be clear of blame.” Yudhishthira gave his leave and prayed that Krishna might bring about a peace under which the sons of Bharata could live together with glad hearts.

Then Krishna told Yudhishthira that his own heart leaned toward dharma while the Kauravas’ leaned toward the feud. A long vow of restraint is not the Kshatriya’s dharma; for him victory in battle or death is the ordinance laid down. Duryodhana, by dwelling among many kings in affection and friendship, had gathered great strength, and so there was no hope of any pact with him. As long as Yudhishthira dealt gently, they would hold the kingdom back. Then Krishna counted out the old humiliations: the loss at dice through trickery, Draupadi dragged by the hair, Dussasana calling her a beast again and again, Duryodhana boasting without shame. “Show no pity to a man of such base nature. He deserves death at everyone’s hands, and all the more at yours. But by going there I will clear the minds of all those still uncertain, who are yet unsure about Duryodhana’s wickedness.” Krishna added that ill omens pointed to the certainty of war; beasts and birds shrieked terribly in the twilight hours, elephants and horses took on dreadful shapes, and even fire burned in ghastly colors.

Then Bhima spoke, and what he spoke was as unexpected as mountains losing their weight, as fire turning cold. That ever-battle-loving Bhima said, “Madhusudana, speak so that there is peace with the Kurus. Do not threaten them with war. Do not address Duryodhana with harsh words; deal gently with him.” He drew a dark portrait of Duryodhana’s nature, greedy, wrathful, in love with falsehood, one who pierces the hearts of his own counselors, a snake hidden in the reeds. Even so, Bhima said, let him be spoken to with sweet and righteous words, so that his heart may be drawn. “All of us, Krishna, will follow Duryodhana humbly, even swallowing insult, so long as the house of Bharata is not destroyed. Yudhishthira approves of this too, and even Arjuna shrinks from war, for there is a great tenderness in him.”

A sub-tale: These mild words of Bhima made Krishna laugh. As wind fans a fire, Krishna teased him: “Why, Bhimasena, at other times you praise nothing but war, you lie awake all night with your face turned down, drawing long breaths in your anger, smoldering like a flame mixed with smoke. You walk with the earth shaking under your feet, you sit alone and suddenly burst out laughing, or you hide your head between your knees and keep your eyes shut for hours. You raised your mace and swore an oath, that as surely as the sun rises in the east, so surely would you kill that arrogant Duryodhana with this very mace. How is it that the same heart now counsels peace? It seems fear has crept into you.” At that Bhima started up like a horse of the finest breed and said, “Achyuta, I spoke with one intention, and you took me for another. You needled me as though you swam the lake yet did not know its depth.” Then Bhima boasted of his strength, that if his anger rose he could hold back sky and earth with his arms. Krishna calmed him: “I said all this only out of love, to know your mind, not to belittle you. I know the greatness of your soul, your strength, and your deeds. A man’s works are accomplished by the meeting of both fate and human effort. The one who has understood this is neither crushed by failure nor drunk on success.”

Arjuna said that peace, if it were rightly presented, might yet be possible; one should hold nothing to be impossible. But he added that ever since Duryodhana had robbed them of their kingdom with loaded dice, he had counted him fit to die by his own hand; like seed sown in salt ground, wise counsel would fall on him in vain. Nakula said that first the enemy’s wish should be heard, and then, as the moment allowed, whatever was fitting should be done; let gentle words come first and fearsome words after, so that Suyodhana’s mind might waver with fear. Sahadeva and Satyaki, both leaning toward war, said that after seeing Draupadi hauled into the court in that state their anger would not be quenched without Suyodhana’s death; and all the warriors gathered there roared like lions in approval of Satyaki’s words.

The gist: Krishna accepted the role of envoy, but with no naive dream, he would try for peace so as to escape blame, even though the omens pointed to war. The Pandava camp is divided, Bhima unexpectedly mild, Sahadeva and Satyaki hot for war. Krishna’s difficulty is that even a peace must not be bought by pawning the Pandavas’ interests.

Draupadi’s Hair, and Krishna’s Vow

Then Drupada’s daughter Draupadi, whose long hair fell in dark curls, sick at heart with grief, spoke to Madhava seated near her. She had watched Bhima lean toward peace, and with eyes brimming she recalled the whole treachery by which the son of Dhritarashtra had taken the Pandavas’ happiness. “Krishna,” she said, “if Suyodhana wants peace without returning the kingdom, then there is no need to go there at all. The Pandavas and the Srinjayas are strong enough to face that fierce army of Dhritarashtra. Enemies who cannot be won by conciliation or by gifts do not deserve mercy.” She reminded herself, with full pride, of who she was: “What woman on this earth is like me? I am Drupada’s daughter, born of the sacrificial altar, sister of Dhrishtadyumna, daughter-in-law of the house of Ajamidha, queen of these five heroes each the equal of Indra, mother of five sons who are great warriors. And even so I was seized by the hair, dragged into the court, and, while the Pandavas lived, while you lived, humiliated like a slave woman.”

Then with her left hand she lifted those beautiful, curling, deep-blue, fragrant tresses, which even bound into a braid were soft and glossy as a great serpent, and said, “Lotus-eyed one, however set on peace you are, in every act of yours remember these locks of mine that Dussasana’s rough hands seized. If Bhima and Arjuna have sunk so low as to want peace, then my aged father, with his war-skilled sons, will take my revenge. My five sons, led by Abhimanyu, will fight the Kauravas. Until I see Dussasana’s dark arm severed from his trunk and ground to dust, what peace can there be for this heart?” For thirteen years she had hidden a smoldering, fire-like anger in her heart, waiting for a better time, and now, pierced by the arrows of Bhima’s words, her heart was near to breaking. Choked with tears, she wept aloud.

The mighty-armed Krishna comforted her: “Krishna, soon you will see the women of the house of Bharata weeping in just this way. Those with whom you are angry, count their kinsmen and their warriors already as good as dead. With Bhima, Arjuna, and the two twins, at Yudhishthira’s command, and as fate has ordained it, I will bring all this to pass. Their hour has come; if the sons of Dhritarashtra will not hear me, they will lie on the earth as food for dogs and jackals. Let Himavat shift from its place, let the earth split into a hundred pieces, let the star-filled sky come crashing down, still my words will never prove false. Wipe your tears. I swear to you, Krishna, soon you will see your husbands, their enemies slaughtered, crowned again with splendor.”

The gist: Draupadi’s scene falls exactly on the hinge of the peace mission. She sets her humiliation before Krishna and speaks against leaning toward a pact and for turning toward justice. Krishna does not stop her; instead he gives a terrible vow, that her enemies are already as good as dead. This is the double nature of the embassy, Krishna goes to ask for peace, yet carries in his heart the certainty of another outcome.

A Departure Full of Omens, and the Halt at Vrikasthala

The night passed, and in the east the bright sun rose. The hour called Maitra came, and its rays were still soft. It was the moon-white month of Kartika, the star was Revati, autumn was giving way to the dew season of early winter, and the earth on every side lay covered with ripe crops. At such a time Janardana, in fine health, hearing the holy blessings of the Brahmanas, completed his morning rites, purified himself with a bath, adorned himself with unguents and ornaments, and worshiped the sun and the fire. Having touched the tail of a bull, bowed to the Brahmanas, and walked around the fire in reverence, he called Satyaki and said, “Have my chariot made ready; set upon it my conch, my discus, my mace, my quiver, and every kind of weapon for attack and defense, for Duryodhana, Karna, and the son of Suvala are all of wicked souls, and even a weak enemy is not to be neglected by the strong.”

His chariot blazed like the fire at the end of an age, and was as swift in motion. Its two wheels shone with the light of sun and moon; on it were set the marks of the crescent and the full moon, of fish, beasts, and birds, and pearls and gems of every kind. The finest horses, named Saivya, Sugriva, Meghapushpa, and Balahaka, were bathed, harnessed in beautiful gear. Garuda, lord of birds, came and took his place upon the flagstaff of that chariot, roaring terribly. Taking Satyaki with him, Sauri mounted that chariot as high as the peak of Meru, and set out, filling earth and sky with the thunder of its wheels. The sky turned cloudless, an auspicious wind began to blow, the dust settled and the air grew pure. Auspicious beasts and birds circled to his right and followed behind him, and the great sages, Vasishtha, Vamadeva, Bhrigu and the rest, stood on his right to see him off.

Yudhishthira followed him a little way, embraced him, and entrusted him with Kunti’s message, the message of that mother who had reared them from childhood, who was ever given to austerity and to the service of gods and guests, and who had again and again lifted them out of Suyodhana’s snares. “Ask after her welfare, embrace her, and comfort her again and again,” Yudhishthira said, and then sent his greetings through Krishna to Dhritarashtra, Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, Vahlika, Drona’s son, Somadatta, and Vidura, to all the Kurus. Then Arjuna stepped forward a few paces and said, “All the kings know that in our council this was decided, that we would ask for our kingdom back. If they give what we ask without insulting us, honoring you, they will please me and save themselves from terrible danger. But if the sons of Dhritarashtra do otherwise, then I will surely destroy the whole line of the Kshatriyas.” At these words Bhima was filled with joy and let out a terrible lion’s roar, at which the bowmen trembled and the horses and elephants voided themselves.

Krishna went on. On the road he met sages blazing with the light of the sacred word. Stepping down from the chariot, he saluted them and asked after their welfare. The son of Jamadagni, Parashurama, embraced him and told him that all these celestial sages and royal sages were going to witness the great scene where Krishna, in the crowded assembly of all the kings and their counselors, would speak words rooted in dharma and in gain. “We wish to see you in that court, seated on the highest seat, gathering all your strength and splendor into one,” they said.

With Janardana went ten mighty warriors, a thousand foot soldiers, a thousand horsemen, and hundreds of attendants carrying abundant provisions. At his setting out came strange portents: thunder and lightning in a cloudless sky; behind him a shower of clouds like cotton; the seven great rivers, the Sindhu among them, that flowed east now flowing backward. The directions seemed reversed, fire blazed up on every side, the earth shook again and again, water surged up out of wells and vessels and ran over, and a southwesterly wind, roaring harshly, tore up thousands of trees and crushed down upon the city of Hastinapura. Yet wherever Krishna of the Vrishni line passed, a pleasant wind blew, lotuses and fragrant flowers rained down, and the road cleared of thorns and grew lovely.

At last Krishna reached Vrikasthala, as the sinking rays of the sun reddened the sky. Stepping down from the chariot, he performed his evening rites, had the horses unyoked, and sat to the twilight worship. Daruka rested the horses in the proper way. “For Yudhishthira’s sake we must pass the night here,” Krishna said. The noble, humble, Veda-fast Brahmanas of the village came to him with blessings and offered their wealthy homes for his service. Krishna, saying “This much is enough,” honored each of them as was fitting, satisfied the Brahmanas with sweet food, and, dining together with them, passed that night there in comfort.

A key to reading this (a place): Vrikasthala is the halt near Hastinapura where Krishna stopped one night before entering the city. Think of it as the last resting place on the outer edge of the capital, from which he was to enter next morning for the royal visit. Duryodhana had pavilions of welcome built here and along the road, at which Krishna did not cast even a single glance.

Dhritarashtra’s Welcome, and Vidura’s Warning

In Hastinapura, hearing from his spies that Madhusudana had set out, Dhritarashtra thrilled with feeling and, addressing Bhishma, Drona, Sanjaya, and Vidura with respect, said to Duryodhana and his counselors, “It is wondrous news. Men, women, and children all speak of nothing else. The greatly mighty Dasarha is coming here for the Pandavas. Madhusudana is worthy of our every honor and worship. He is lord of all creatures, and the whole order of creation rests upon him. If he is pleased by our welcome, then by his grace all our wishes among the kings may be fulfilled.” He gave orders that pavilions be raised along the road, furnished with every comfort.

Dhritarashtra counted out to Vidura the gifts he meant to offer: sixteen chariots of gold, each yoked with four fine horses; eight elephants dripping with rut; a hundred golden-hued slave girls and as many male slaves; eighteen thousand soft blankets; a thousand deer-skins brought from China; a divine gem that shines by day and night; and his own mule-drawn car that travels fourteen yojanas a day. He said too that all his sons and grandsons, except Duryodhana, should ride out in their chariots to meet Krishna, and that Dussasana’s fine mansion should be cleaned and made ready.

Vidura read the king’s mind. He said with respect, “King, you are honored in all three worlds. But all this that you wish to give Keshava is neither for the sake of dharma nor to please him. From your outward acts I know your hidden aim. The five Pandavas want only five villages, and you will not give even that. So you do not want peace. You want to make the Vrishni hero yours with wealth, and by this to part Keshava from the Pandavas. But I tell you, you cannot part Krishna from Dhananjaya with wealth or with worship. Janardana will accept nothing but a water-vessel, water to wash his feet, and a question after his welfare. Give him what he comes to the Kurus for, peace between the two sides. You are their father, and the Pandavas your sons; behave toward those children as a father should.”

Duryodhana Digs In, and the First Sign of the Plot

Duryodhana granted the first half of Vidura’s words, that Janardana was inseparable from the Pandavas and would not be split off by gifts, but drew the opposite conclusion. “Keshava is not unworthy of our worship,” he said, “but the time and the place are against it, for he will think we worship him out of fear. A wise Kshatriya does not do what brings him dishonor. And war is settled; it cannot be turned aside by hospitality.”

Bhishma told the king that whether or not Keshava was worshiped he would not grow angry, but that no one could show him disrespect. “What Krishna wishes to do, no one can stop by any means. Do without hesitation whatever the mighty-armed Krishna says, and through Vasudeva make peace with the Pandavas.” Then Duryodhana laid open his terrible resolve: “Grandfather, I cannot live in any way by sharing this growing prosperity of mine with the Pandavas. Here is my great decision, I will make Janardana a captive, he who is the refuge of the Pandavas. He will come here tomorrow morning; and when he is imprisoned, the Vrishnis, the Pandavas, the whole earth, will fall under me. Tell me by what means this may be done so that Janardana does not read our aim and no danger falls on us.”

Hearing these dreadful words of his son, Dhritarashtra sank into deep grief along with all his counselors. He said, “King, never speak so again. This is not the eternal custom. Hrishikesha comes here as an envoy. He is our kinsman and dear to us. He has done us no wrong, so how can he deserve to be seized?” Then Bhishma said, “Dhritarashtra, the last hour of this wicked son of yours has come. He chooses evil over good, even when those who wish him well try to reason with him. This wretch, the moment he lays hands on Krishna of stainless deeds, will perish in an instant along with all his counselors. I have not the heart to listen to this sinful abandoner of dharma.” And with that the grandsire of invincible glory rose in anger and left the assembly.

The gist: Behind the outward show of welcome lie two opposed readings. Dhritarashtra wants to buy Krishna with wealth and split him off from the Pandavas; Vidura strips the trick bare; and Duryodhana leaps past them all to the scheme of seizing Krishna himself. Bhishma’s walking out of the court is the first visible sign of the breaking-apart of the house of Kuru.

Krishna Enters Hastinapura, and Refuses Duryodhana’s Food

At dawn Krishna finished his morning rites and set out for the city. All the sons of Dhritarashtra except Duryodhana came out to meet him, along with Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, and the rest. Thousands of citizens poured out, in chariots and on foot, to see Hrishikesha. The city was decked out, the main roads adorned with gems, and not a man, woman, or child stayed at home. The upper windows of the tall houses seemed about to give way under the weight of the highborn women. Though Krishna’s horses were swift, they could push only slowly through that sea of people.

Krishna entered Dhritarashtra’s vast ash-gray palace. Passing through three halls, he came before the son of Vichitravirya. That blind and glorious king, with Drona, Bhishma, Kripa, Somadatta, and Vahlika, rose in honor of Janardana and welcomed him. Krishna paid his respects to Dhritarashtra and Bhishma with fitting words, and greeted the other kings in the order of their age. At Dhritarashtra’s request Achyuta sat on a seat inlaid with gold and gems; the priests honored him with cow-gift, honey, curds, and water. For a while he sat trading pleasantries among the Kurus, and then, with the king’s leave, went out.

Then he went to Vidura’s house, where Vidura welcomed him with every auspicious gift and asked after the Pandavas. Krishna, who knew Vidura as a lover of the Pandavas and firm in dharma, told him the whole account of the Pandavas in full. In the afternoon he went to his aunt Kunti. Kunti caught his neck in her arms and wept in memory of her sons. She grieved long over Yudhishthira’s sense of shame, Bhima’s strength, Arjuna’s prowess, the gentleness of Nakula and Sahadeva, and above all the humiliation of Draupadi. Through Krishna she reminded her sons of the Kshatriya’s dharma: “The one who does nothing even when the time has come deserves contempt. Madhava, tell Yudhishthira that his dharma is dwindling; and tell Arjuna and Bhima that the hour has come for which a Kshatriya woman bears sons.” Krishna comforted her: “Aunt, who in this world is like you? Soon you will see your sons, their enemies slaughtered, crowned with splendor.”

Then Krishna went to Duryodhana’s palace, which was like the mansion of Indra. Unhindered by the doorkeepers, he crossed three courtyards and came into the hall where Duryodhana sat enthroned among a thousand kings, with Dussasana, Karna, and Shakuni beside him. Duryodhana rose in honor of Madhusudana, welcomed him with cow-gift, honey, curds, and water, offered him his mansion and his whole kingdom in service, and invited him to dine at his house. But Krishna did not accept. Glancing at Karna, in a voice that hid its cunning, Duryodhana asked, “Janardana, why will you not accept this food, these robes, this bed? You wish both sides well, you are Dhritarashtra’s kinsman and dear to him. What is the true reason for this refusal?”

Krishna raised his great right arm and, in a voice deep as thunder, sounding each syllable clear, said, “King, envoys accept food and honor only when their errand is fulfilled. So honor me and my followers only when my work has succeeded.” When Duryodhana pressed him, he said again, “Not from desire, not from anger, not from spite, not for gain, not for the sake of argument, not from temptation will I abandon dharma. A man eats another’s food when he is in distress, or when he loves him. You have neither kindled love in me, nor am I in distress. Without any cause, king, you have hated your own gentle brothers, the Pandavas, from their very birth, though they are graced with every virtue. Whoever hates them hates me; whoever loves them loves me. Know that the soul of the righteous Pandavas and my soul are one. All this food is tainted with wickedness, and so unfit for me to eat. I will eat only the food that Vidura gives.” And with that he walked out of Duryodhana’s blazing palace and returned to Vidura’s house. There Vidura and Kunti served him clean and savory food, which Krishna first shared out among the Brahmanas and then took together with his followers.

A sub-tale: That night Vidura warned Krishna in private: “Keshava, this coming of yours is not well considered. The son of Dhritarashtra tramples the bounds of both dharma and gain, insults others yet demands honor for himself, and will not obey his elders. He has staked so much trust on Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, Karna, and Jayadratha that he will never set his heart on peace. He is firmly convinced that Karna alone can conquer his enemies. Like a song before the deaf, like the words of a Brahmana among outcastes, whatever you say there will be wasted. To go among those wicked-minded men, strong in numbers, does not seem right to me.” Krishna answered that a true friend is one who steps in as mediator when kinsmen fall out; and that the man who tries, to the best of his power, at a work of dharma, keeps its merit as his own even if he fails. “If they seek to harm me,” Krishna said, “then all the kings together are as helpless before me as a herd of deer before an angry lion.”

Krishna’s Words for Peace in the Kuru Court

The next morning Duryodhana and Shakuni came in person to bring Krishna. Daruka brought the white chariot, adorned with rows of bells and golden ornaments. Wearing the Kaustubha gem, Krishna mounted; Vidura followed on his own chariot, and Duryodhana and Shakuni rode together on one. Satyaki, Kritavarman, and the other Vrishni warriors came behind on chariots, elephants, and horses. Five hundred elephants and thousands of chariots went along. Conches and trumpets sounded, the city folk crowded the roads, and the windows sagged again under the weight of the women.

At the gate of the Kuru court Krishna’s followers blew conches and trumpets and filled the sky with their sound. The thousands of kings seated in the assembly thrilled with hope of seeing Krishna. Stepping down from his chariot high as the peak of Kailasa, taking Vidura on one arm and Satyaki on the other, Krishna entered that assembly bright as a mass of clouds, and covered the splendor of all the Kurus with his own radiance as the sun covers the little stars. Dhritarashtra, Drona, Bhishma, and all the kings rose in his honor. Krishna greeted each as was fitting, and then, seeing the sages hovering in the sky, told Bhishma to have seats brought for them, for until they were seated no one else could sit. After the sages had received their welcome-offering and taken their seats, Krishna sat; in a robe the pale color of flax flowers, he shone like a sapphire set in gold. A complete silence fell.

Then in a voice deep as thunder, and though his words were addressed to Dhritarashtra yet meant for the whole court to hear, Krishna spoke: “Bharata, I have come here so that peace may be made between the Kurus and the Pandavas without the slaughter of heroes. King, your house is the most honored of all royal lines for its learning, its conduct, and its every virtue. Joy in others’ happiness, pain at others’ grief, the wish to lift away distress, harmlessness, truth, forgiveness, these virtues dwell in the Kurus. In such a house, if anyone does an unworthy deed, it is a matter for shame; and if you do it, more so still. Your wicked sons, led by Duryodhana, having abandoned both dharma and gain, having lost all judgment to greed, are working wrong against their own best kinsmen.”

Krishna said that this terrible danger had sprung from the conduct of the Kurus themselves, and that if Dhritarashtra let it be, it would become a universal slaughter. “The making of peace rests on you and on me. Set your own sons straight, and I will set the Pandavas straight. Take the Pandavas for your helpers and seek both dharma and gain; where will you find better helpers? Guarded by the Pandavas, not even Indra with the gods could conquer you.” Then he showed the other face of war: “In war I see nothing but utter ruin. If the Pandavas are killed, or your strong sons fall, what happiness will you find? All are heroes, all skilled in arms. After the war you will see neither all the Kurus nor all the Pandavas. Save the peoples of the earth; do not let them be destroyed.”

He conveyed the Pandavas’ message, that at Dhritarashtra’s command they had borne twelve years of forest and a thirteenth of hiding, had not swerved from their word, and now asked for their share; deal with them as a father or a brother would. And the Pandavas had said to the court as well: “Where dharma is crushed by wrong and truth by falsehood before righteous members of a court, there the members themselves are pierced and defeated. When dharma, pierced by wrong, comes for refuge to the court, and the arrow is not drawn out, that arrow pierces the members. As a river eats away its banks, so dharma there devours the very roots of the members of the court.”

Krishna recalled Yudhishthira’s conduct, that even after the attempt to burn them at Varanavata and the exile from Indraprastha, they had come back and gone on trusting Dhritarashtra; that though they had brought all kings under their sway, they had never disrespected the king; and that even when they saw Draupadi dragged into the court, they had not swerved from the Kshatriya’s dharma. “I wish the good of both you and them. Make peace for the sake of dharma, of gain, and of joy, and do not, mistaking evil for good and good for evil, cast the peoples of the earth into destruction. Restrain those sons of yours who have run far ahead into greed. The Pandavas are equally ready to serve you and to fight you.” All the kings praised these words in their hearts, but before Duryodhana no one could say a thing.

The gist: Krishna’s plea for peace stands on two footings, the memory of the bright tradition of the Kuru house, and the picture of the pure loss of war. He lays half the burden on Dhritarashtra, restrain your sons, and I will restrain the Pandavas. But the silence of the whole court says plainly that the real power sits with Duryodhana, and the words will not reach him.

The Sages’ Parables, and the Elders’ Appeal

Then the son of Jamadagni, Parashurama, told the story of Dambhodbhava. There was a king named Dambhodbhava who asked the Brahmanas and Kshatriyas every day, “Is there anyone equal to me in battle, or greater than I?” Drunk with pride, he wandered about. Then some ascetic Brahmanas told him that two sages named Nara and Narayana, lost in austerity on Gandhamadana, were forever unconquered. The king marched against them with his army. Nara took up a handful of blades of grass and turned aside the king’s arrows, and with those same blades, by the power of illusion, cut off the eyes, ears, and noses of the enemy warriors. The king fell at his feet. Nara forgave him and taught him to give up pride and, seeing none as high or low, to protect his people. Parashurama said plainly, “Those who were once Nara and Narayana are now Arjuna and Keshava. King, give up your pride and make peace with the sons of Pandu.”

Then the sage Kanva told the story of Matali, the charioteer of Indra, who roamed the three worlds seeking a husband for his beautiful daughter Gunakesi. With Narada he went down to the world of the Nagas in the netherworld, wandered through Varuna’s city, Hiranyapura, Rasatala, and the city of Bhogavati, and at last chose the Naga Sumukha of Airavata’s line for the bridegroom. But Sumukha lived under the shadow of Garuda, for Garuda had devoured his father and vowed to devour him too within a month. Matali, Narada, and Sumukha went to Indra, where the four-armed Vishnu was also present. At Vishnu’s word Indra granted Sumukha long life, and Sumukha married Gunakesi. Garuda came to Indra in anger, demanding to know why his food had been taken from him. This long tale was told in the court so that no one should think himself all-powerful, for beyond any strong one there are always stronger.

Then Drona and Vidura too reasoned with Duryodhana. Drona said that those who were inciting him would in the time of war shift the burden of the feud onto others’ shoulders; the army in which Vasudeva and Arjuna stood was invincible. Vidura said he did not grieve for Duryodhana; his grief was for that aged pair, Gandhari and Dhritarashtra, who, losing such a family-wrecking son, would wander begging like wingless birds. Dhritarashtra too told Duryodhana that with Krishna’s help they could gain everything; let him not lose the moment. Then Bhishma and Drona said with one voice, “While the two Krishnas do not yet put on their armor, while Gandiva is still, while Bhima does not yet stride the field with his mace, hold back the feud. Let Yudhishthira embrace you, let Bhima speak sweet words of peace with you, and let the news of this reconciliation be proclaimed in every city.”

Not So Much as a Needle’s Point, and Duryodhana Leaves the Court

Hearing all these words, which were unwelcome to him, Duryodhana answered Keshava, “Keshava, one should speak only after weighing all the circumstances. Without cause you find fault with me alone. Have you weighed the strength and weakness of both sides and then judged me guilty? At the game of dice, which the Pandavas themselves accepted with pleasure, Shakuni won from them. What fault is that of mine? On the contrary, the wealth that was won was returned by my order. Then a second time they lost at dice and went to the forest, and in that too there is no fault of ours. For what offense, then, do they count us their enemies?”

“Bhishma, Kripa, Drona, and Karna cannot be conquered in war even by the gods,” Duryodhana thundered. “If, following our own dharma, we are cut down in battle by weapons, that itself will carry us to heaven. To lie on a bed of arrows is the highest dharma of the Kshatriya. Sleeping on a bed of arrows rather than bowing before enemies will never grieve us. What highborn Kshatriya would bow from fear, only to save his life? Matanga has said, let the Kshatriya stand ever upright and never bend; let him break at the joint, but not bow.” And then the words that make war unbreakable: “The share my father once gave them, in ignorance or from fear, while I was a child, that, Janardana, they will not get again so long as I live. At this moment, Keshava, we will not give the Pandavas so much land as could be covered by the sharp point of a needle.”

With eyes red with anger, after some moments’ thought, Krishna said, “You want the hero’s bed? Surely you will get it, you and your counselors. Wait a little; a great slaughter is at hand.” Then he counted out all Duryodhana’s crimes one by one, the plot of the dice, the humiliation of Draupadi, the house of lac at Varanavata, the repeated attempts on the Pandavas’ lives by poison, snakes, and ropes. “After all these wrongs, do you now wish to appear in another guise? Though your mother and father, Bhishma, Drona, and Vidura reason with you again and again, you will not make peace. Sinful and shameful is the deed you are about to do.”

Just then Dussasana said to his hostile brother, “King, if you will not of your own will make peace with the Pandavas, then surely the Kurus will bind you hand and foot and hand you over to the son of Kunti. Bhishma, Drona, and our own father will hand the three of us, Karna, you, and me, over to the Pandavas!” At this the shameless and defiant Suyodhana, hissing like a great serpent in his anger, disregarding Vidura, Dhritarashtra, Vahlika, Kripa, Somadatta, Bhishma, Drona, and Janardana, rose from the assembly and walked out. His brothers, his counselors, and all the kings rose and followed him. Bhishma said that the one who abandons dharma and gain and follows only anger soon gives his enemies the joy of seeing him in ruin; the last hour of all these kings had come.

The Plot to Bind Him, and Gandhari’s Call

Then the lotus-eyed Krishna, addressing Bhishma, Drona, and the rest, said a startling thing: “It is the great fault of all the elders of the Kuru house that they do not seize this wicked king, drunk on the kingdom, and bind him by force. I think the time has come to do it, and if it is done it will be for the good.” He gave the example of Kamsa, that son of Ugrasena who had snatched away his living father’s rule and, cast off by his kinsmen, was killed by Krishna’s own hand; and by his death all the Yadavas, Andhakas, and Vrishnis were made happy. As at the beginning of creation, by the command of the Supreme, Dharma bound the Daityas and Danavas and handed them over to Varuna, so, Krishna said, “Bind Duryodhana, Karna, Shakuni, and Dussasana and hand them over to the Pandavas. One man may be given up for a family, one family for a village, one village for a province, and the whole earth for oneself. King, bind Duryodhana and make peace with the Pandavas; do not, for his sake, let the whole line of the Kshatriyas be destroyed.”

Dhritarashtra sent Vidura to summon Gandhari into the assembly. Gandhari reasoned sternly with Duryodhana: “Son, heed the beneficial words of your father, of Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, and Vidura. The one whose senses are not mastered cannot enjoy a kingdom for long. Greed and anger carry a man away from his own enjoyments. Only by first conquering himself does a king conquer his counselors and his enemies. Half the earth is more than enough for the keep of you and your counselors; give the Pandavas their share. Thirteen years of persecution is enough. You are not fit to stand against the Pandavas, nor is this son of a charioteer, Karna, nor your brother Dussasana.” But Duryodhana, disregarding these grave words, rose in anger and went back to the wicked men.

A sub-tale: Vidura tried to stop Duryodhana by telling the history of Krishna’s unconquerable strength: “At the gate of Saubha the ape Dvivida rained down boulders and still could not seize Krishna. In Pragjyotisha, Naraka and all the Danavas, at Nirmochana six thousand Asuras, none of these could bind Krishna. As a child he killed Putana and two bird-shaped Asuras, and lifted Govardhana on his finger to shield the cows; Arishta, Dhenuka, Chanura, the horse-demon, Kamsa, Jarasandha, Vakra, Shishupala, Vana, all were killed by his hand. He is the maker of all, made by no one. Trying to seize such a Govinda by force, you will perish with your followers like insects falling into fire.”

Krishna’s Laughter, and the Vision of the Universal Form

After Vidura’s words, the mighty Keshava addressed Duryodhana himself: “Suyodhana, out of delusion you think me alone, and so, you of little understanding, you wish to defeat me by force and make me captive. But here are all the Pandavas, all the Vrishnis and Andhakas. Here are all the Adityas, the Rudras, and the Vasus, with all the great sages.”

Saying this, Keshava, slayer of enemies, burst into a loud laugh. And as that great-souled Sauri laughed, from his body, blazing like fire, there issued thousands of gods, each with the brightness of lightning and no bigger than a thumb. On his forehead appeared Brahma, and on his breast Rudra. On his arms appeared the guardians of the worlds, and from his mouth came Agni, the Adityas, the Sadhyas, the Vasus, the Ashvins, the Maruts with Indra, and the Vishvedevas. Thousands of Yakshas, Gandharvas, and Rakshasas of that same size and form appeared as well. From his two arms issued Sankarshana and Dhananjaya, Arjuna standing on his right with his bow, and Rama, the plough-bearer, on his left. Behind him stood Bhima, Yudhishthira, and the two sons of Madri; before him stood Pradyumna and the other Andhaka and Vrishni heroes with their weapons raised. On his many arms the conch, the discus, the mace, the Saranga bow, the plough, the spear, the Nandaka sword, and every weapon shone brilliant and lifted to strike. From his eyes, nose, ears, and every limb of his body burst fierce sparks mixed with smoke, and from the pores of his skin issued flames like the rays of the sun.

Seeing that fierce form, all the kings shut their eyes in fear, all but Drona, Bhishma, Vidura, the glorious Sanjaya, and the sages rich in austerity, for Janardana had granted them divine sight for that occasion. At that most wonderful sight in the Kuru court, celestial drums sounded in the sky and flowers rained down. The whole earth trembled and the oceans were stirred. All the creatures of the earth were filled with great wonder. Then that tiger among men, that queller of foes, withdrew his divine, marvelous, auspicious form.

A key to reading this (a concept, the universal form): the universal form, Vishvarupa, is that form of Krishna in which all the gods, worlds, and creatures appear at once within his body, to show that he is never “alone”; the whole of creation is his ground-form. It is worth noting that this vision is a separate occasion from the Vishvarupa of the Gita; here it is a direct refutation of Duryodhana’s delusion that he could seize a lone man. It could be seen only by those to whom Krishna granted divine sight, Drona, Bhishma, Vidura, Sanjaya, and the sages.

The gist: Duryodhana’s “not so much as a needle’s point” stubbornness kills the last chance of peace. Krishna goes so far as to propose plainly that Duryodhana be bound, a move well beyond the measured language of the king of dharma, and one that keeps the moral edge of the Mahabharata intact. Then comes the plot to seize Krishna, and in answer the universal form, showing that the very idea of binding Krishna is folly. The envoy’s work fails, but Krishna returns free of blame, and war is now unavoidable.

The Night That Passed Against Vidura’s Wish

That night’s talk was still ringing in our ears. Krishna was staying at Vidura’s house, and the two of them spoke long into the night of dharma, of gain, and of desire. That star-filled night passed in such a way that the great-souled Vidura wished in his heart it would never end. Krishna’s speech was full of sweet syllables and pleasing meanings, and Vidura wanted only to go on listening to it. But the night wears on by its own law, and no one’s wish or unwillingness can hold it back.

As soon as dawn broke, sweet-voiced singers and bards woke Keshava with the melodious sound of conch and cymbal. Janardana of the Dasarha line rose from his bed and completed all the prescribed morning rites. Purified by his bath, he recited the sacred mantras (mantras, the ritual formulas of the Veda spoken at the fire-rite), poured clarified butter into the sacrificial fire, adorned his body, and began to worship the rising sun.

Krishna was still at his morning worship when Duryodhana and Shakuni, the son of Suvala, came there. They said, “Govinda, Dhritarashtra with Bhishma and all the Kurus and all the kings of the earth are seated in the assembly. They are all waiting for you to arrive, as the gods in heaven wait for Indra.” Govinda greeted them both with sweet and courteous words.

When the sun had climbed a little, Janardana called many Brahmanas and gave them gold, robes, cows, and horses. Having given such wealth, he had just seated himself when his charioteer Daruka came, bowed, and at once brought up his great, shining chariot, adorned with rows of bells and yoked with the finest horses. The rumble of the chariot was like the deep thunder of clouds. Janardana walked around the sacred fire and the Brahmanas in reverence, put on the gem called Kaustubha (Kaustubha, the divine jewel of Vishnu that rose from the churning of the ocean), and, glowing with beauty, ringed by the Kurus and guarded by the Vrishnis, mounted his chariot.

Vidura, knower of all the ordinances of dharma, followed behind him on his own chariot. Duryodhana and Shakuni rode side by side on one chariot. Satyaki, Kritavarman, and the other great warriors of the Vrishni line came after Krishna on chariots, horses, and elephants (a maharatha, a warrior able to fight many at once). The royal road had already been swept and sprinkled with water. As soon as Keshava set out, cymbals rang, conches were blown, and other instruments spread their sound. Five hundred elephants and thousands of chariots came behind him. The men and women of the city, the young and the old, all came out onto the road in their longing to see Janardana. The roofs and windows filled so thickly with women that the houses seemed about to fall under the weight.

A key to reading this (the sequence): This chapter belongs to that part of the Udyoga Parva called the Bhagavat-yana Parva, that is, Krishna going to Hastinapura as the envoy of peace in his own person. The Pandavas wanted war averted and their half of the kingdom returned, or at the least five villages. Krishna has come to perform the embassy as a last attempt.

Keshava Enters the Court, and the Sages Arrive

Crossing the royal road, Krishna heard the sweet words of all and returned each greeting as was fitting. At last, when he reached the gate of the Kuru court, his followers blew conch and trumpet hard and filled the sky with that sound. The whole vast assembly shook with joy, in the hope of soon seeing Krishna with their own eyes. Hearing the rumble of the chariot like the deep thunder of clouds, the kings knew Krishna was near, and their hair stood on end with joy.

Reaching the gate, Krishna, best of the Satvatas, stepped down from his chariot high as the peak of Kailasa and entered the court, which was like a mass of newly risen clouds and lovely as the mansion of Indra. Holding the hand of Vidura on one side and Satyaki on the other, he came in and covered the splendor of all the Kurus with his own, as the sun covers the lesser lights of the sky. Before Vasudeva sat Karna and Duryodhana, and behind them the Vrishnis with Kritavarman.

As the one of the Dasarha line came in, the sightless king Dhritarashtra, Drona, and Bhishma all rose from their seats. When Dhritarashtra rose, the thousands of kings seated around him rose too. By Dhritarashtra’s order a beautiful seat inlaid with gold had already been set out for Krishna. Sitting on it, Madhava smiled and greeted the king, Bhishma, Drona, and all the rulers, each according to his age.

Having taken his seat, Krishna saw hovering in the sky the same sages he had seen on his way to Hastinapura. Seeing Narada and the others, he said quietly to Bhishma, son of Shantanu, “King, these sages have come to watch this earthly court of ours. Invite them with seats and fitting honor, for until they are seated no one else here is fit to sit.” Bhishma at once ordered the servants and had gold seats studded with gems brought. The sages took their seats and accepted the welcome-offering (arghya, the water and other gifts offered in the honoring of a guest), and then Krishna and all the kings sat.

Dussasana gave Satyaki a fine seat, and Vivinsati gave Kritavarman a golden one. Right beside Krishna that angry pair, Karna and Duryodhana, sat together on one seat. Shakuni, king of Gandhara, sat with the chiefs of his land and his son. The great-souled Vidura sat on a gem-studded seat covered with white deer-skin, so close it almost touched Krishna’s own. The kings gazed on Janardana a long while and were not satisfied, as those who drink nectar are never satisfied though they drink again and again. In his flax-flower-colored yellow robe Janardana shone in the midst of that court like a sapphire set in gold. The moment Govinda took his seat such a silence fell that no one spoke a single word.

A key to reading this (the lineage names): Dasarha, Vrishni, Satvata, Yadava, Andhaka, Madhava, these are all names of the branches and by-names of Krishna’s Yadu house. “Janardana,” “Keshava,” “Govinda,” “Madhava,” “Sauri,” “Hrishikesha,” “Achyuta,” are all names of Krishna himself. The text uses them by turns.

Krishna’s Plea for Peace to Dhritarashtra

After all the kings had taken their seats and a full silence had fallen, Krishna, with his fine teeth and a voice deep as a war-drum, began to speak. Though he addressed Dhritarashtra, his voice was deep as the rumble of the rain-season clouds, so that the whole court could hear.

He said, “Bharata, I have come here with this one aim, that peace be made between the Kurus and the Pandavas without the slaughter of heroes. Beyond this, king, I have no other beneficial words. Whatever in this world is worth knowing, you already know. Your house, for its learning and its conduct, and graced with every virtue, is most distinguished among all royal lines. Joy at the happiness of others, grief at the sight of their pain, the wish to lift away sorrow, harmlessness, sincerity, forgiveness, and truth, Bharata, these virtues are current among the Kurus. In so noble a house, that anyone should do an unworthy thing would be a matter for regret, and that you should do it, a still greater one.

“Best of the Kurus, if the Kurus should practice deceit against their own or against strangers, you should be the first to restrain them. Know that your wicked sons, led by Duryodhana, having abandoned both dharma and gain, given over to greed and the rule of their senses, are working the deepest wrong against their best kinsmen. This terrible danger has sprung from the conduct of the Kurus alone. If you remain indifferent to it, it will bring a universal slaughter. But Bharata, if you wish, you can quiet this danger even now, for peace is not hard to reach. The making of peace rests on you and on me. Set your own sons straight, and I will set the Pandavas straight.

“Let these sons of Pandu be your helpers. Under their protection you will gain both dharma and wealth. You will find no such helpers anywhere else. Guarded by the Pandavas, Indra himself with the gods could not defeat you, let alone the kings of the earth. If Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, Karna, Vivinsati, Ashvatthaman, Vikarna, Somadatta, Vahlika, the king of the Sindhus, the king of the Kalingas, and Sudakshina the king of the Kambojas were to stand together with Yudhishthira, Bhimasena, Arjuna, the two twins, the mighty Satyaki, and the great warrior Yuyutsu, what fool would dare to fight them? If both the Kurus and the Pandavas stand behind you, the lordship of the whole earth, and invincibility before all enemies, will be yours.

“In war, great king, I see nothing but utter ruin. What gain do you see in the destruction of both sides? If the Pandavas are killed in war, or your strong sons fall, tell me, what happiness will you find? All are heroes, skilled in arms, all eager for battle, both the Pandavas and your sons. Save them from this terrible danger. After the war you will see neither all the Kurus nor all the Pandavas. You will find the heroes of both sides thinned in number and strength. All the rulers of the earth are gathered here. Filled with anger, they will surely uproot the peoples of the earth. King, save the world. Do not let the peoples of the earth be destroyed.

“The Pandavas, saluting you and seeking to please you, have said to you, ‘At your command we suffered great hardship with our followers. Twelve years we lived in the forest, and in the thirteenth year we lived unknown in some empty land. We did not break our vow, in the belief that you, who are as a father to us, would keep yours. We kept our word; now you keep yours. Give us our share in the kingdom. We are ready to conduct ourselves toward you as a pupil, so conduct yourself toward us as a teacher. If we stray, it is a father’s duty to lead us back to the path. Walk yourself too on the high road of dharma.’

“Bharata, consider now. The Pandavas wait quietly with their gaze fixed on dharma, and what they have said is in keeping with truth, dharma, and justice. What can you say to them but to return their kingdom? Know that Yudhishthira always walks the road of the good. You sought to burn them to death, you banished them from the dwellings of men, and still they came back and went on trusting you. Living at Indraprastha, they brought all the kings under their sway, and yet did not disregard you. Even then the son of Suvala, by the powerful means of the dice, sought to strip them of their kingdom and their wealth (dice, the gambling match). In that state, even seeing Draupadi dragged into the court, the great-souled Yudhishthira did not swerve from the Kshatriya’s dharma.

“King, make peace for the sake of dharma, of gain, and of joy. Do not, mistaking evil for good and good for evil, let the peoples of the earth be destroyed. Restrain your sons, who have run far ahead into greed. As for the Pandavas, they are equally ready to remain in your service and to make war. Chastiser of foes, take up whatever seems beneficial to you.”

All the kings gathered there praised these words of Keshava deep in their hearts, but in Duryodhana’s presence none dared to speak.

The gist: Krishna told Dhritarashtra plainly that the burden of peace rests on the two of them, and that peace is not hard. He repeated the Pandavas’ message, the thirteen years of exile and hiding are over, now they want their share of the kingdom. The one fruit of war is total ruin, so let the king restrain his sons. The court praises him, but for fear of Duryodhana no one can speak.

Parashurama’s Tale of Dambhodbhava: Pride Broken Before Nara and Narayana

Hearing Keshava’s words, all stayed silent, the hair standing on their bodies. Every king thought in his heart that no one had the courage to answer that speech. Seeing all the kings silent, Parashurama, son of Jamadagni, addressed Duryodhana and spoke in the court.

“Hear my words with faith, along with an example. In ancient times there was a king named Dambhodbhava, lord of all the earth. That great warrior would call the Brahmanas and Kshatriyas every morning and ask, ‘Is there anyone, be he Shudra, Vaishya, Kshatriya, or Brahmana, who is superior to me in battle, or even my equal?’ Mad with pride, he wandered the earth repeating this. Some Brahmanas restrained his pride again and again, but he would not listen. At last some ascetic Brahmanas said in anger, ‘There are two men who are the best of all men and forever victorious in battle. Meeting even one of them, you will not be his equal. They are the ascetics named Nara and Narayana, who at this moment are practicing severe austerity in some solitude on the mountain of Gandhamadana.’

“Hearing this, the king took his vast six-limbed army (six-limbed army, the six kinds of forces) and reached the difficult peaks of Gandhamadana. He found those sages in the forest, thin with hunger and thirst, their veins standing out, worn by the cold wind and the burning rays of the sun. The king touched their feet and asked after their welfare. The sages honored him with fruits, roots, a seat, and water. Then he said the thing that was his habit: ‘I have conquered the whole earth by the strength of my arms and killed all my enemies. Now I have come to fight the two of you. Grant me this hospitality.’

“Nara and Narayana said, ‘King, there is no place for anger or greed in this hermitage. How can there be war here? Here are no weapons, no wrong, no spite. Seek war elsewhere; there are many Kshatriyas on the earth.’ But the king insisted again and again on war. Then Nara took a handful of blades of grass and said, ‘If you are set on war, come, take up all your weapons, array your army. I will quiet your thirst for war at once.’ Dambhodbhava covered all four directions with a rain of arrows from his whole army. But the sage turned aside all the king’s terrible arrows with those same blades, and then loosed his unfailing weapon made of grass. The wonder of it was that the blades themselves cut off the eyes, ears, and noses of the enemy warriors. The whole sky turned white with grass. Then the king fell at the sage’s feet: ‘Have mercy on me.’

“Nara, tender to those who seek refuge, said, ‘Become obedient to the Brahmanas, become firm in dharma, and never do such a thing again. A Kshatriya should not be even in his mind as you have been. Filled with pride, never insult anyone, whether lower than you or higher. Give up greed and pride, master your soul, and, practicing forgiveness and humility, protect your people.’ The king worshiped the feet of the two sages, returned to his city, and from then on lived by dharma.

“King, upon the string of that best of bows called Gandiva rest weapons such as Kakudika, Suka, Naka, Akshisantarjana, Santana, Nartana, Ghora, and Asyamodaka. Struck by these, men give up their lives, or, seized by the eight vices of lust, anger, greed, arrogance, insolence, pride, spite, and selfishness, wander about deranged. That Arjuna is irresistible in war whose friend is Narayana. Who in the three worlds can conquer him? Those who were long ago Nara and Narayana are now Arjuna and Keshava. Great king, know them. If you do not distrust me, make peace with the Pandavas. Do not let a rift open in your house, and do not set your heart on war.”

A sub-tale, the gist: Parashurama’s tale of Dambhodbhava carries one plain message, that even the strong man blinded by pride is nothing before Nara and Narayana. And Krishna and Arjuna are that very Nara and Narayana. This is the warning to Duryodhana’s pride in his own strength.

Kanva’s Tale of Matali, and the Humbling of Garuda

After the son of Jamadagni, the sage Kanva too said to Duryodhana, “Brahman is imperishable and eternal. Nara and Narayana are of that same nature. Among the sons of Aditi, Vishnu alone is eternal, unconquerable and undying. The sun, the moon, the earth, water, wind, fire, sky, the planets and the stars, all are perishable, created and destroyed again and again. Suyodhana, one should not think ‘I am strong,’ for beyond the strong there are stronger still. On this there is an old tale told of Matali.

“Matali was the beloved charioteer of Indra. He had a most beautiful daughter, Gunakesi. Searching for a worthy husband, Matali found none suitable among the gods, the Daityas, the Gandharvas, men, or sages. Then he resolved to go to the world of the Nagas. On the way he met Narada, who was going to visit Varuna. The two went on together. Down in the netherworld Narada gave Matali a full account of the dwellers in the Naga world and of its many wonders, Varuna’s son Pushkara, the moon’s daughter Jyotsnakali, the golden mansion full of the wine called Varuni, the unfailing weapons of the Daityas, and that world-ending bow, bearing the name Gandiva, from which Arjuna’s Gandiva took its name.

“They wandered through the netherworld, Hiranyapura, the world of Garuda’s line of birds, Rasatala where Surabhi, mother of all cows, dwells, and the city of Bhogavati, where the Naga king Vasuki and the thousand-hooded Shesha live. At last Matali’s eye fell on a bright youth named Sumukha, born in Airavata’s line, the beloved grandson of Aryaka. Matali chose him for Gunakesi. But Aryaka said in grief, ‘My son, Garuda has devoured this Sumukha’s father, and as he left he said that in a month he would devour this Sumukha too. How can I make this match?’

“Matali made a plan. He took Sumukha and, with Narada, went to Indra, where the four-armed Vishnu was also seated. Narada told the whole story. Vishnu told Indra that Sumukha should be given nectar and made immortal. But considering Garuda’s power, Indra granted Sumukha, instead of nectar, the boon of long life. Sumukha married Matali’s daughter and returned home glad.

“Hearing this, Garuda filled with anger and came to Indra: ‘Indra, disregarding me, why have you cut off my food? Having granted a boon yourself, why do you now take it away? I can bear the burden of the three worlds; I am irresistible. Vishnu, you are the best of the sons of Aditi, yet I could lift you easily with a single wing. Tell me, which of us is the stronger?’

“Hearing the bird’s arrogant words, the discus-bearing Vishnu said, ‘Garuda, being so weak, do you think yourself strong? The three worlds together cannot bear the weight of my body. Come, bear the weight of this one arm of mine.’ Saying this, the Lord laid his arm on Garuda’s shoulder. Garuda sank under the weight and fell as if in a swoon, as though the weight of the earth with all its mountains had come down on him. Vishnu gave him no more pain and did not take his life. His feathers began to fall, his limbs went slack. Then Garuda bowed his head and said, ‘Lord, the strength to hold up this universe is yours alone. Forgive this pride of mine.’ Vishnu was pleased and said, ‘Do not behave so again.’ And he set Sumukha on Garuda’s breast with the toe of his foot. From that day Garuda lived in friendship with that Naga.

“Son of Gandhari, in the same way you live only as long as you do not go near the Pandavas in battle. Who can stand before Bhima and Arjuna? Vishnu, Vayu, Dharma, and the Ashvins, these gods are your enemies. Far from fighting them, you are not fit even to look their way. So make peace through Vasudeva. Narada has seen this with his own eyes, and this Krishna is that very bearer of the discus and mace.”

Hearing these words of the sage, Duryodhana raised his brows and drew heavy breaths. Then, looking at Karna, son of Radha, he laughed loudly. Holding the sage’s words as worthless, that wicked man slapped his thigh, thick as an elephant’s trunk, and said, “Great sage, the Creator made me as I am, and I am exactly that. Whatever is to be will be. Whatever is ordained for me will come to pass, and I can do nothing otherwise. What use, then, are these idle sermons?”

The gist: Kanva, under cover of Matali’s search for a son-in-law, told the tale in which the mighty Garuda’s pride was crushed by the weight of a single arm of Vishnu. The meaning is the same, Duryodhana cannot reckon the strength of Krishna and Arjuna. But Duryodhana laughs and takes shelter in fate: “The Creator made me as I am.”

Narada’s Tale of Yayati: The Price of Obstinacy and Pride

Janamejaya asked, “Why did his friends not restrain a man so wicked and blind with greed as Duryodhana? Why did that great friend Krishna, or the grandsire Bhishma, not speak to him out of love?” Vaishampayana said, “They did. Krishna spoke, Bhishma too said what was good for him, and Narada too said much. Listen.”

Narada said, “Rare are those who listen to a friend’s counsel, and rare too are the friends who give beneficial counsel. Son of the Kurus, one should listen to one’s friends and give up obstinacy, for obstinacy is the root of great harm. On this an old tale is told of Galava, who came to grief through obstinacy.” Then Narada told that long story.

To test Vishvamitra, Dharma himself came in the form of Vasishtha, a hungry guest. Vishvamitra was cooking a dish of milk and rice, but with such care that he could not serve his guest in time. Dharma said, “I have eaten; wait here,” and went away. Vishvamitra held that food on his head and, living on air, stood like a post for a hundred years. His pupil Galava served him all the while. After a hundred years Dharma returned, ate that same warm, fresh food, and was pleased, and Vishvamitra passed from Kshatriyahood to Brahminhood.

Pleased, Vishvamitra wished to send Galava away, but Galava kept insisting on giving a teacher’s fee: “What shall I give?” When, told “Go, go” again and again, Galava would not relent, Vishvamitra said, somewhat angered, “Bring me eight hundred horses white as the rays of the moon, each with one ear black.”

This obstinacy threw Galava into deep distress. No food, no sleep. Then his friend Garuda came and carried him off. Garuda described the four directions, east, south, west, and north, in detail. Galava chose the east. Mounted on Garuda’s back, Galava grew dizzy with his vast speed; from the storm of his wings trees seemed to break and the ocean to surge. They stopped on the Rishabha mountain, where they ate the food of an ascetic woman named Shandili and slept. Garuda had thought in his mind of carrying that ascetic woman elsewhere, and for this offense his feathers fell out. When he begged forgiveness, the ascetic woman returned his feathers and told him the glory of good conduct.

Still the horses were not found. On the road Vishvamitra met them again and reminded Galava. Then Garuda took Galava to the royal sage Yayati, who was rich as Kubera. Yayati said, “I am not so rich now, but your coming will not be in vain. Take this daughter of mine, Madhavi, for whose beauty gods, Asuras, and men all long. Kings will give even their kingdoms as her bride-price. My one wish is that I be given a grandson through her.”

Madhavi had a rare boon, that after every childbirth she became a maiden again. So Galava gave her in turn to three kings. Haryashva begot Vasumana on her, Divodasa begot Pratardana, and Ushinara begot Shibi, and each time gave two hundred horses. In this way six hundred horses were gathered. The remaining two hundred horses did not exist anywhere, for those fine horses had originally belonged to Richika and had been divided up. So Galava, counting Madhavi herself as worth two hundred horses, took her along with the six hundred to Vishvamitra. Vishvamitra begot a son named Ashtaka on Madhavi, accepted the six hundred horses, and freed Galava of his debt.

Later Yayati held a bridegroom-choosing for Madhavi, but the maiden gave up all the suitors and chose the forest itself for her husband and gave herself to austerity. Time passed. Yayati, after enjoying the pleasures of heaven for thousands of years, one day in his pride disregarded gods, sages, and men alike. In that instant his splendor waned, no one could recognize him, and by Indra’s order he was cast down from heaven. As he fell, Yayati said, “If I must fall, let me fall among the good.” He fell in the Naimisha forest, in the midst of his own four grandsons, Pratardana, Vasumana, Shibi, and Ashtaka, who were performing a Vajapeya sacrifice. Those four, and Madhavi, gave a share of their own merit and lifted Yayati back to heaven.

Narada closed the tale: “Son of Gandhari, through pride Yayati and through obstinacy Galava had to bear such suffering. Those who wish themselves well should listen to friends who wish them well. Never be obstinate; obstinacy is the very root of ruin. So give up pride and anger and make peace with the Pandavas.”

A key to reading this (why these tales): Narada’s long tale of Galava, Yayati, and Madhavi is not mere length; it carries two lessons: Galava’s “obstinacy” (stubborn insistence) and Yayati’s “pride.” Duryodhana has both faults. Narada’s message: give up obstinacy and pride, and listen to your friends.

Dhritarashtra’s Helplessness, and Krishna’s Direct Counsel to Duryodhana

Dhritarashtra said, “Narada, it is exactly as you say. This is my wish too, but, great one, I have not the power to do it.” Then he said to Krishna, “Keshava, the words you have spoken, that lead to heaven, that serve the world’s good, that accord with dharma and with reason, are true. But Krishna, I am not free. Duryodhana never acts to please me. He listens neither to Gandhari, nor to the wise Vidura, nor to Bhishma and his other friends. So you yourself reason with that crooked, foolish, wicked son. In doing so you will do the finest work of a friend.”

Then Krishna of the Vrishni line went up to the ever-wrathful Duryodhana and spoke sweet words: “Duryodhana, best of the Kurus, hear these words of mine, meant especially for the good of you and your followers. You are born into a house of great intelligence, endowed with learning and fine conduct, adorned with every noble virtue. Those born in low families, the wicked, the cruel, and the shameless, are the ones who do as you are inclined to do. Bharata, the nature you keep showing again and again is of that crooked kind. To persist in such conduct is sinful, terrible, and leads to death.

“Best of men, give up this painful road, do yourself good, and make peace with the greatly wise, greatly heroic Pandavas, whose souls are wholly mastered. This peace will bring happiness to Dhritarashtra, to the grandsire Bhishma, to Drona, Kripa, Somadatta, Vahlika, Ashvatthaman, Vikarna, Sanjaya, and to your many kinsmen and friends. Son, obey the command of your father and mother. Good sons hold to what their fathers command. Your father wishes peace with the Pandavas. So it should be pleasing to you as well.

“The man who hears a friend’s beneficial counsel and yet does not follow it perishes in the end from the fruit of his own disregard, like the one who eats the Kimpaka fruit (Kimpaka, a fruit lovely to look at but deadly to eat). You have tormented the Pandavas from their very birth, yet they have not turned angry against you, for the Pandavas are righteous. You practiced deceit against them from birth, and still those generous souls dealt generously with you. So show that same generosity toward those noble kinsmen. Do not fall under the sway of anger.

“Bharata, who on this earth, like you, would neglect his own mighty warrior-kinsmen and seek protection and aid from strangers? Laying the burden of the kingdom on Dussasana, Durvishaha, Karna, and Shakuni, you hope for prosperity, but in knowledge, dharma, the winning of wealth, and prowess they stand far below the Pandavas. All of them together cannot so much as look upon the face of the angry Bhima. Bhishma, Drona, Karna, Kripa, Bhurishrava, Somadatta, Ashvatthaman, and Jayadratha, all of them together cannot fight Dhananjaya. Arjuna is unconquerable even by gods, Asuras, men, and Gandharvas. Do not set your heart on war. Who will defeat that Arjuna who at Khandavaprastha conquered all the gods with the Gandharvas, Yakshas, and Nagas, who at the city of Virata alone routed so many? And when I myself am his helper, who will challenge him? Indra himself?

“Look at your sons, your brothers, your kinsmen. Let these chiefs of the house of Bharata not perish because of you. Let it not be said that you are the destroyer of your own house. If there is peace, the great warrior Pandavas will make you crown prince and your father Dhritarashtra emperor of this vast realm. Giving the sons of Pritha half the kingdom, win great prosperity. Making peace with the Pandavas, walking by the counsel of your friends, taking joy in their company, you will surely gain welfare for all time to come.”

The gist: Dhritarashtra admitted his helplessness, the will is there, but not the power; so let Krishna reason with Duryodhana himself. Krishna gently told Duryodhana not to become the destroyer of his house, since even in strength the Pandava side is superior, and that with peace he could become crown prince and Dhritarashtra emperor.

The Joint Appeal of Bhishma, Drona, Vidura, and Dhritarashtra

Hearing Keshava’s words, Bhishma, son of Shantanu, said to the vengeful Duryodhana, “Krishna has spoken to you out of a wish to bring peace among kinsmen. Son, act on these words; do not fall under the sway of anger. If you do not walk by the words of the great-souled Keshava, you will find neither prosperity nor happiness. In Dhritarashtra’s own lifetime you will destroy this shining prosperity of the Bharatas by your wickedness, and you will be robbed of your life along with all your counselors, sons, brothers, and kinsmen, if you defy the truthful words of Keshava, of your father, and of the wise Vidura. Do not become the destroyer of your house, do not walk the road of wrong. Do not drown your mother and father in a sea of grief.”

After Bhishma, Drona too said to Duryodhana, who was drawing heavy breaths in his anger, “Son, what Keshava has said accords with dharma and gain, and Bhishma has said the same. Accept these words. Those who are always inciting you cannot bring you victory. In the time of war they will lay the burden of the feud on others’ shoulders. Know that army invincible in whose midst stand Vasudeva and Arjuna. If you do not heed the true words of your friends, Krishna and Bhishma, you will surely repent. I have nothing more to say. Do as you will.”

After Drona, Vidura the steward cast his eye on Duryodhana and said, “Duryodhana, I do not grieve for you, I grieve for this aged pair, Gandhari and your father, who, having gotten such a wicked-souled protector, will soon be robbed of him and forced to wander like birds with clipped wings.”

Then king Dhritarashtra said to Duryodhana, ringed by his brothers and the kings, “Duryodhana, hear what the high-souled Sauri has said. Accept those eternal, wholly beneficial words. With the help of this Krishna of blameless deeds, we shall surely gain all our chosen ends. Through Keshava make peace with Yudhishthira. I think the time for it has come. Do not lose this chance. If you disregard Keshava as he begs for peace, victory will never be yours.”

Sympathizing with Dhritarashtra, Bhishma and Drona said again to Duryodhana, “While the two Krishnas do not yet put on their armor, while Gandiva lies idle, while Dhaumya does not yet destroy the enemy’s strength with offerings into the fire of war, while the bowman Yudhishthira does not yet cast an angry glance on your army, while Bhimasena does not yet stride the field with his mace, grinding down the ranks, end the enmity now. Make peace with the Pandavas. Let king Yudhishthira of dharma take you in his embrace when you bow your head; let the mighty-armed Vrikodara clasp you; let Arjuna and the two twins salute you, and do you smell their heads. Let the news of this brotherly love be proclaimed in the cities of all the kings. Rule the earth in brotherly affection, and let your heart be freed of the fever of envy and anger.”

The gist: One by one all the elders of the court, Bhishma, Drona, Vidura, Dhritarashtra himself, and then Bhishma and Drona together, beg Duryodhana for peace. Bhishma and Drona even picture the tender scene in which Yudhishthira and Bhima take him in their arms. But all of it strikes against the wall of one stubborn mind.

Duryodhana’s Answer: Not Even a Needle’s Point of Land

Hearing these unwelcome words in the court of the Kurus, Duryodhana answered the glorious Keshava, “Keshava, it becomes you to speak only after weighing all the circumstances. Without any cause you lay the blame on me alone. Have you inspected the strength and weakness of both sides and then judged me at fault? You, the steward, the king, the teacher, and the grandsire, all of you curse me alone, and no other king. But even after reflection I find not the least fault in myself.

“The Pandavas lost at dice and Shakuni won their kingdom. What fault is that of mine? On the contrary, that winning was returned to them by my order. Then they lost again at dice and went to the forest, and in that too what is our fault? For what offense do they count us their enemies? We will not bow before them out of fear of any terrible deed or word. We do not bow even before Indra himself, let alone the Pandavas.

“Madhusudana, Bhishma, Kripa, Drona, and Karna cannot be conquered in war even by the gods. If, following our own dharma, we are cut down on the field by weapons, that too will carry us to heaven. This is the Kshatriya’s highest dharma, that he sleep on a bed of arrows on the field. If we win a bed of arrows without bowing before enemies, it will never grieve us. What man born in a noble house and living by the Kshatriya’s code would bow before an enemy merely to save his life? Matanga has said that a Kshatriya should stand ever upright and never bow, breaking at the joint but never bending.

“One such as I should bow only before Brahmanas, for the sake of dharma, and before no one else. The share of the kingdom my father once gave them, he will not get again in my lifetime. That kingdom was given then in ignorance or from fear, when I was a child and not my own master. Now, Keshava, so long as I live, not so much land as could be covered by the sharp point of a needle will be given to the Pandavas.”

A key to reading this (the moral complexity): This answer of Duryodhana’s does not make him a mere villain. He leans on the Kshatriya’s code, on self-respect, and on Matanga’s saying that it is better to die than to bend. His argument is that the Pandavas accepted the dice themselves. Here the Mahabharata refuses simple good and evil: Duryodhana’s obstinacy is wrong, yet his own logic of Kshatriya honor sounds in his words. This is the famous line, “not even a needle’s point of land.”

Krishna Counts Duryodhana’s Crimes, and Dussasana’s Threat

After a moment’s thought, the Dasarha with eyes red from anger said to Duryodhana in the court, “You want the hero’s bed? Surely you will get it, you and your counselors. Wait a little; a great slaughter is at hand. You of little understanding, do you think you have done the Pandavas no wrong? Let the kings of the court decide.

“Jealous of the Pandavas’ prosperity, you plotted the dice with the son of Suvala. How would those truthful, noble brothers of yours ever fall into such a foul deed with the cheat Shakuni? Dice steals away the judgment even of the good. This dreadful root of ruin was set up by you with your wicked counselors, without asking the good. Who but you could so humiliate a brother’s wife, drag her into the court, and use such language toward Draupadi? Karna, Dussasana, and you repeated again and again the words that suit only the pitiless and the vile. You tried to burn the Pandavas along with their mother, while they were still children, at Varanavata. Then they had to live hidden in a Brahmana’s house at Ekachakra. By poison, by snakes, by ropes, by every means, you sought the ruin of the Pandavas. How then can you say you have done no wrong? You will not give them their father’s share, though they ask for it. You will have to give it when they lie defeated, stripped of their prosperity.”

The moment Krishna said this, Dussasana said to the vengeful Duryodhana in the midst of the Kurus, “King, if you will not of your own will make peace with the Pandavas, then surely the Kauravas will bind you hand and foot and hand you over to the son of Kunti. Bhishma, Drona, and your own father will hand the three of us, Karna, you, and me, over to the Pandavas.”

Hearing his brother’s words, that wicked, shameless, defiant, arrogant Suyodhana, drawing heavy breaths like a great serpent, rose from his seat in anger, and disregarding Vidura, Dhritarashtra, Vahlika, Kripa, Somadatta, Bhishma, Drona, and Janardana, walked out of the court. Seeing that chief of men leave, his brothers, all his counselors, and all the kings rose and followed him.

The gist: Krishna now counted Duryodhana’s crimes one by one, the plot of the dice, the humiliation of Draupadi, the house of lac at Varanavata, the repeated attempts on their lives by poison, snakes, and ropes. Dussasana went so far as to say that the Kaurava elders might bind the three of them, Duryodhana, Karna, and Dussasana, and hand them over to the Pandavas. In anger Duryodhana walks out of the court, and his following goes out behind him.

Gandhari Is Summoned, and Duryodhana Defies Her Again

Seeing Duryodhana leave in anger with his brothers, Bhishma said, “The one who abandons both dharma and gain and follows only the rush of his anger soon gives his enemies the joy of seeing him in ruin. This fool obeys only anger and greed. Janardana, I think the hour of all these Kshatriyas has come, for all the kings have followed Duryodhana out of delusion.”

Then Dhritarashtra said to Vidura, “Son, bring Gandhari, of great wisdom and foresight. With her help I will reason with this wicked-hearted son. If she can quiet this fool, we may yet walk by the words of our friend Krishna.” Vidura brought Gandhari. Dhritarashtra set his son’s wickedness before her.

Gandhari said, “Summon that greedy, sick-minded son at once. One who abandons both dharma and gain is not fit for a kingdom. Dhritarashtra, you too are much at fault here, for knowing his wickedness you went on acting by his counsel.” Duryodhana was brought back into the court, his eyes copper-red with anger, drawing heavy breaths like a serpent.

Gandhari reasoned with him sternly: “Son, heed the words of your father, of Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, and the steward. If you make peace you will honor them all. Greatly wise one, no one wins a kingdom, or keeps it, or enjoys it, by his own will alone. The one whose senses are not mastered cannot enjoy a kingdom for long. Greed and anger drag a man away from his wealth. Only by first conquering these enemies does a king bring the earth under his sway. The one who first conquers himself conquers his counselors and his enemies too.

“Joined with the greatly wise Pandavas, you can enjoy the earth in happiness. Bhishma and Drona spoke the truth, Krishna and Dhananjaya are unconquerable. Take refuge in that mighty-armed one, by whose grace both sides will be happy. Son, there is no good in war, no dharma, no gain. Victory too is uncertain. Give the sons of Pandu their share. If they wish to enjoy even half with their counselors, give them their share. Half the earth is enough for the keep of you and your counselors. Thirteen years of persecution is more than enough. Give up greed, son; stop. You are not the equal of the Pandavas, nor is this son of a charioteer, Karna, nor this brother of yours Dussasana. Do not imagine that Bhishma, Drona, and Kripa will fight for you with all their strength; their love is equal toward the Pandavas and toward you.”

But disregarding these grave words of his mother, Duryodhana rose in anger and went out from there to the wicked men.

The gist: As a last resort Dhritarashtra summons Gandhari. Gandhari faults her husband too, and teaches Duryodhana the king’s dharma of self-mastery, the giving-up of greed, and the sharing of half the kingdom. She even says the plain truth, that the love of Bhishma and Drona is equal toward both sides. But Duryodhana defies even his mother and walks out.

The Plot to Seize Him, and Satyaki’s Vigilance

Leaving the court, Duryodhana took counsel with Shakuni, skilled at dice. Duryodhana, Karna, Shakuni, and Dussasana as their fourth arrived at this resolve: “This Janardana, quick to act, together with king Dhritarashtra and Bhishma, means first to seize us. Let us seize this tiger among men, Hrishikesha, by force first, as Indra seized the son of Virochana (Bali). Hearing that the Vrishni is taken, the Pandavas will grow as weak as snakes with their fangs broken, for this mighty-armed one is the refuge of them all. So disregarding Dhritarashtra’s cry, let us seize Keshava right here, and then fight the enemy.”

The wise Satyaki, able to read hearts by their signs, sensed this sinful resolve at once. He went out of the court with Hridika’s son Kritavarman and told him, “Array the troops quickly. Put on your armor, array the army, and wait at the gate of the court until I inform Krishna, unwearied by exertion, of this.” Saying this, that hero re-entered the court like a lion entering a mountain cave and told Krishna, then Dhritarashtra, then Vidura, of the plot. Laughing, he said, “These wicked men wish to do here a deed that the good hold evil by all three measures, of dharma, gain, and desire. But they will never be able to do it. These fools of little understanding wish to seize the lotus-eyed Krishna, as though foolish children wished to seize a blazing fire with their garments.”

Vidura said to Dhritarashtra, “King, the hour of your sons has come. Together they mean to seize this younger brother of Vasava, this lotus-eyed one. But meeting this chief of men, unconquerable and irresistible, they will all perish like moths in a blazing fire. If Janardana wished it, he could send them all to the abode of Yama like an angry lion dispatching a herd of elephants. But he will never do so sinful a deed, for this best of men never swerves from dharma.”

After Vidura, Keshava cast his eye on Dhritarashtra and said among those good men, “King, if these men wish to bind me by force, let them try. As for my punishing them, I could chastise all these angry men together, but I will do no sinful deed. If they wish to try, then Yudhishthira’s purpose will be served easily, for this very day I could seize them with their followers and hand them over to the sons of Pritha. But, king, in your presence I will not do so shameful a deed, one that springs only from anger and a sinful mind. Let it be as this Duryodhana wishes. I give all your sons leave to try.”

Hearing this, Dhritarashtra said to Vidura, “Bring that greedy, sinful Duryodhana here quickly, with his friends, counselors, and brothers. Let me make one more effort to bring him to the right road.” Duryodhana was brought unwilling into the court again. Dhritarashtra rebuked him: “Heaper-up of sin, do you and your vile-deeded friends wish to do so base a thing? Do you wish to seize this unconquerable, irresistible one with eyes like lotus petals? Like a child craving the moon, do you wish to do what not even the gods with Indra can do? Do you not know that Keshava is unconquerable in war by gods, men, Gandharvas, Asuras, and Nagas? As it is impossible to catch the wind in the hand, to touch the moon with the hand, to hold the earth on one’s head, so it is impossible to seize Keshava by force.”

Vidura too counted out for Duryodhana Krishna’s many exploits: how the ape Dvivida, raining stones at the gate of Saubha, still could not seize him; how Naraka with all the Danavas in Pragjyotisha could not seize him; how six thousand Asuras at Nirmochana could not bind him with their nooses. In childhood the killing of Putana, the slaying of bird-shaped Asuras, the lifting of Govardhana to shield the cows, the killing of Arishta, Dhenuka, Chanura, and Kamsa, the slaying of Jarasandha, Shishupala, and Vana, the conquest of Varuna and of Agni, the defeat of Indra when he carried off the Parijata tree, the slaying of Madhu, Kaitabha, and Hayagriva. “He is the maker of all, made by no one. Duryodhana, trying to seize this fierce-armed, undying Govinda by force, you will perish with your followers like an insect falling into fire.”

The gist: Duryodhana, Karna, Shakuni, and Dussasana plot to take Krishna captive by force. Satyaki reads it from their signs, sends Kritavarman to array the army, and informs Krishna, Dhritarashtra, and Vidura. Krishna says with strange calm, “Let them try to bind me; I will not sin in return.” Vidura recites the long history of Krishna’s exploits to warn Duryodhana.

The Vision of the Universal Form

After Vidura had spoken, the mighty Keshava, that destroyer of enemy armies, said to Dhritarashtra’s son Duryodhana, “Suyodhana, out of delusion you think me alone, and so, you of little understanding, you wish to defeat me by force and make me captive. But here are all the Pandavas, all the Vrishnis and Andhakas, all the Adityas, Rudras, and Vasus, and the great sages too.”

Saying this, Keshava, slayer of enemy heroes, burst into a loud laugh. And as the high-souled Sauri laughed, from his body, blazing like fire, issued thousands of gods, each with the brightness of lightning and no bigger than a thumb. On his forehead appeared Brahma, and on his breast Rudra. On his arms appeared the guardians of the worlds, and from his mouth came Agni, the Adityas, the Sadhyas, the Vasus, the Ashvins, the Maruts with Indra, and the Vishvedevas. Thousands of Yakshas, Gandharvas, and Rakshasas of that same size and form issued from him as well.

From his two arms issued Sankarshana (Balarama) and Dhananjaya (Arjuna). Arjuna stood on his right with his bow, and Balarama on his left with his plough. Behind him stood Bhima, Yudhishthira, and the two sons of Madri, and before him stood all the Andhakas and Vrishnis, with Pradyumna and the other chiefs, their mighty weapons raised. On his many arms the conch, the discus, the mace, the Saranga bow, the plough, the spear, the Nandaka sword, and many more weapons shone, lifted to strike. From his eyes, nose, ears, and every limb of his body burst fierce sparks mixed with smoke, and from every pore of his skin flames sprang like the rays of the sun.

Seeing that terrible form of the great-souled Keshava, all the kings shut their eyes with frightened hearts, all but Drona, Bhishma, Vidura, the greatly blessed Sanjaya, and the sages rich in austerity, for the divine Janardana had granted them divine sight for that occasion. At that wondrous sight, celestial drums sounded in the sky and flowers rained down on Krishna. The whole earth trembled and the oceans were stirred. All the creatures of the earth were filled with great wonder.

Then that chief of men, that queller of foes, withdrew his divine, most marvelous, and auspicious form. With Satyaki on one side and Hridika’s son Kritavarman on the other, and with the leave of the sages, Madhusudana went out of the court. In that uproar the sages Narada and the rest returned to their own places, and this too was another wonder. Seeing that chief of men leave the court, the Kauravas and all the kings followed him as the gods follow Indra. But Sauri of immeasurable soul, without a thought for those who followed him, went out of the court like a blazing fire mixed with smoke.

At the gate his charioteer Daruka waited with his great white chariot, adorned with rows of bells, set with golden ornaments, very swift, covered with white tiger-skins, and yoked with the horses Saivya and the rest, the rumble of whose wheels sounded like the thunder of clouds. There too, mounted on his chariot, that beloved great warrior of the Vrishnis, Kritavarman, stood ready.

As Sauri was about to mount his chariot, king Dhritarashtra said to him once more, “Grinder of foes, Janardana, you have seen with your own eyes how much power I hold over my sons. Now nothing is hidden from you. Do not suspect me. Keshava, I have no sinful feeling toward the Pandavas. I made every effort to bring about peace between the Kurus and the Pandavas, and all these kings know it.”

Then the mighty-armed Janardana addressed Dhritarashtra, Drona, the grandsire Bhishma, the steward Vidura, Vahlika, and Kripa: “You have all seen for yourselves what happened in the court of the Kurus, how the wicked Duryodhana, like an ill-bred man, left the court in anger, and how king Dhritarashtra calls himself powerless. With the leave of you all, I now go back to Yudhishthira.” Saluting them, Sauri mounted his chariot and set out. Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, Vidura, Ashvatthaman, Vikarna, and the great warrior Yuyutsu followed after him. And Keshava, on his great white chariot, in the very sight of the Kurus, went on to the house of his aunt Kunti.

A key to reading this (a concept, the universal form): “Vishvarupa” means that form in which the whole cosmos, all the gods and all the worlds, are seen at once. Here in the Kuru court Krishna reveals it, just as he will later show it to Arjuna at Kurukshetra at the time of the Gita. The meaning is that Krishna is never “alone”; he is the whole. This is the refutation of Duryodhana’s delusion that he could seize a lone man.

Kunti’s Message, and the End of Krishna’s Embassy

Entering Kunti’s house and worshiping her feet, Keshava told her briefly the whole account of the Kuru court. Vasudeva said, “The sages and I spoke many reasonable words worthy of being accepted, but Duryodhana did not accept them. As for Suyodhana and his followers, their hour has come. Now with your leave I go back quickly to the Pandavas. What message shall I give the Pandavas from you? Tell me; I wish to hear your words.”

Kunti said, “Keshava, say to the righteous king Yudhishthira, ‘Son, your dharma is dwindling greatly. Do not act in vain. Like a reader of the Vedas who cannot grasp their true meaning, you are truly unlearned. Your mind, moved only by the words, sees only dharma. Look to the duty of your own order, as the Self-created ordained it. From the arm of Brahma the Kshatriya was created, for the cruelest of deeds and for the protection of the people, and he is to depend on the strength of his arms.’

“Say to Yudhishthira, ‘Begging is for the Brahmana, farming for the Vaishya, service for the Shudra, and protection for the Kshatriya. So begging is forbidden to you, and farming does not become you. You are a Kshatriya, protector of all the afflicted, and you must live by the strength of your arms. By conciliation, division, gift, or force, or by good policy, win back your lost ancestral kingdom. What greater grief could there be for me than that, having borne you, I should live friendless on the food others give? Fight in the way of kings. Do not sink your ancestors in dishonor. Do not, wearing away your merit, come with your younger brothers to a sinful end.’”

Then Kunti asked that the ancient dialogue of Vidula and her son be told. “Chastiser of foes, tell Yudhishthira this dialogue of Vidula and her son. Vidula was a highborn, farsighted lady, firm in the Kshatriya’s dharma. One day she scolded her son, who lay sunk in despair after his defeat by the king of the Sindhus: ‘You are no son of mine! Your marks are those of a eunuch. Will you lie in despair all your life after a defeat? Rise, coward! Do not lie thus, gladdening your enemies and grieving your friends. A coward is satisfied with a little. Better to die pulling the fangs of a snake than to die wretched as a dog. Put your very life at stake and show your prowess. Blaze up, even for a moment, like a torch of Tinduka wood, but do not smolder on and on like a fire of paddy chaff. To blaze up for a moment is better than to smoke for a lifetime. If you must fall, fall seizing the foe by the waist. Son, either show your prowess, or reach the end that is inescapable.’”

Kunti closed by saying, “Keshava, tell Yudhishthira whatever may be gathered from this dialogue, or whatever is more beneficial still.” With his aunt’s message thus in hand, Krishna completed this stage of the embassy and made ready to set out toward the Pandavas.

The gist: Kunti’s message runs against the very tone of the peace embassy; she urges Yudhishthira toward the Kshatriya’s dharma and toward war, even sending the harsh dialogue of Vidula, who scolds her own son for cowardice (“blaze up for a moment, but do not smolder into smoke”). Even the mother holds that now the Kshatriya’s dharma is the protection of the people and the war of justice, not begging or compromise. With this turn, Krishna’s mission of peace ends all but fruitless, and the ground of the great war is laid.

Source: the Mahabharata (Krishna Dvaipayana Vyasa), Udyoga Parva; in the Gita Press, Gorakhpur tradition.