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The thirty-sixth year after the war arrived, and in the sky over Hastinapura the signs that Yudhishthira had learned to read began to gather. Dry, violent winds swept in from every quarter, showering gravel as they came. Birds wheeled in circles that ran from right to left. The great rivers turned and flowed backward. The horizon on every side stayed wrapped in a fog that never lifted. Meteors dropped out of the sky and scattered blazing coals across the earth. The disc of the sun stood covered in dust, and at its rising the great light of day was stripped of its splendor and seemed cut across by the headless trunks of men. Around both the sun and the moon, fierce rings of light appeared each day, showing three hues, their edges black and rough and the ashy red of old embers. These omens, and many like them, all of them warnings of fear and danger, filled the hearts of men with dread. A little while later the Kuru king Yudhishthira heard that the whole of the Vrishni race had been cut down by an iron club, and that only Vasudeva Krishna and Rama had come out of it alive. He called his brothers together and took counsel with them about what they should do now. To hear that the Vrishnis had perished under the rod of chastisement of the Brahmanas broke them. The death of Vasudeva was as unthinkable to them as the drying up of the ocean, and the fall of the wielder of the Sharnga bow was a thing they could not make themselves believe. Word of the iron club filled the Pandavas with grief and left them sitting there, cheerless, sunk in a blank despair.
Samba’s deception and the sages’ curse
Janamejaya asked, “Holy one, how did it come about that the Andhakas, together with the Vrishnis, and those great car-warriors the Bhojas, were destroyed in the very sight of Vasudeva?”
Vaisampayana continued, “When the thirty-sixth year after the great battle arrived, a vast calamity overtook the Vrishnis. Driven on by Time, they all met their end because of an iron club.”
Janamejaya asked, “By whose curse did they perish, those heroes, the Vrishnis, the Andhakas, and the Bhojas? Best of the twice-born, tell me this in full.”
Vaisampayana went on, “One day the Vrishni heroes, Sarana among them, saw that Vishvamitra, Kanva, and Narada had come to Dwaraka. Struck already by the rod of chastisement of the deities, those men dressed Samba as a woman and brought him before the ascetics and said, ‘This is the wife of Vabhru, whose energy is beyond measure, and she longs for a son. Rishis, do you know for certain what she will bring forth?’
“Hear now, O king, what those ascetics said, when the attempt was made to deceive them in this way. They said, ‘This heir of Vasudeva, Samba by name, will bring forth a fierce iron club for the destruction of the Vrishnis and the Andhakas. You wicked and cruel men, drunk on your own pride, through that iron club you will become the exterminators of your own race, all except Rama and Janardana. The blessed hero who bears the plough will cast off his body and enter the ocean, and a hunter by the name of Jara will pierce the high-souled Krishna while he lies upon the ground.’
“When the wicked men tried to trick them, those ascetics, their eyes red with anger, looked at one another and spoke those words, and then they went to see Keshava. Told of what had happened, the slayer of Madhu summoned all the Vrishnis and repeated it to them. He had great intelligence, and he knew fully what the end of his race would be, so he said only that what was destined would surely come to pass. Having said so much, Hrishikesa went into his mansion. The Lord of the universe had no wish to ordain it otherwise. When the next day came, Samba did indeed bring forth an iron club, and through it every last member of the Vrishni and Andhaka race would be burned to ashes. For the destruction of his people, Samba brought forth, through that curse, a fierce iron club that looked like a giant messenger of death. The thing was reported to the king in due form. In deep distress of mind, King Ugrasena had the iron club ground down into fine powder, and men were set, O king, to cast that powder into the sea. At the command of Ahuka, of Janardana, of Rama, and of the high-souled Vabhru, it was then proclaimed throughout the city that from that day forward no one among the Vrishnis and the Andhakas should make wine or any intoxicating spirit, and that anyone who secretly brewed wine or spirit would be impaled alive together with all his kin. In fear of the king, and knowing that this was also the command of Rama, whose deeds were beyond reproach, all the citizens bound themselves by the rule and stopped making wine and spirits.”
A key to reading this (the lineage): The Vrishnis, Andhakas, Bhojas, Kukuras, and Shaineyas (Satyaki’s line) are interlinked branches of the Yadavas, all descended from Yadu. Dwaraka is their capital. Ahuka is another name for Ugrasena, king of the Yadavas; Krishna and Balarama are the sons of Vasudeva.
A key to reading this (the moral tangle): The seed of the ruin here is the Vrishni heroes’ own deceit. To trick the sages, they parade Samba dressed as a woman. The curse is the fruit of that pride and cunning. Krishna does not stop it, because he knows that what is destined will happen; his silence is the first moral knot of the story.
The gist: In the thirty-sixth year the omens appear. The Vrishni heroes deceive the sages by passing Samba off as a woman; the sages curse that Samba will bring forth an iron club that will destroy the race, with only Rama and Krishna surviving. The club is born, the king has it ground down and cast into the sea, and wine is forbidden.
Time walks the city, and the road to Prabhasa
Vaisampayana said, “While the Vrishnis and the Andhakas were trying in this way to head off the coming calamity, the embodied form of Time, which is death, walked about their houses every day. He had a terrible and fierce shape, a bald head, and skin that was black and tawny. Now and then the Vrishnis caught him peering into their homes. Their strongest bowmen shot hundreds and thousands of shafts at him, and not one of them could pierce him, for the figure was the Destroyer of all creatures himself. Day after day strong winds blew, and evil omens rose one after another, dreadful, foretelling the end of the Vrishnis and the Andhakas. The streets swarmed with rats and mice. Earthen pots cracked or shattered with no cause anyone could see. At night the rats and mice gnawed away the hair and nails of sleeping men. Sarikas chirped inside the houses, and the noise those birds made did not stop for even a moment, by day or by night. The cranes learned to hoot like owls, and the goats cried out like jackals. Pale birds appeared, driven on by Death, with legs the color of blood. Pigeons flocked and settled in the houses. Cows gave birth to asses, mules to elephants, bitches to cats, and the mongoose to mice. The Vrishnis committed sinful acts and felt no shame in them. They showed contempt for the Brahmanas, the Pitris, and the gods, and they insulted their teachers and their elders. Only Rama and Janardana lived otherwise. Wives deceived their husbands and husbands their wives. Fires, when lit, threw their flames toward the left, and at times cast out flames of blue and red. Over the city the sun, rising or setting, seemed ringed by headless human trunks. In the kitchens, food that was clean and well cooked was found, when it was served, to be full of countless worms of every kind. When the Brahmanas took their gifts and blessed the day or the hour, or when high-souled men sat at their silent recitations, the heavy tread was heard of a great crowd of running men, and no one could be seen to whom the sound belonged. The constellations were struck again and again by the planets, and yet no Yadava could catch sight of the star of his own birth. And when the Panchajanya, Krishna’s conch, was sounded in the houses, asses of harsh and dreadful voice brayed back from every direction. Reading these signs of the crooked course of Time, and seeing that the day of the new moon had fallen together with the thirteenth and fourteenth lunations, Hrishikesa gathered the Yadavas and said to them, ‘Rahu has once again turned the fourteenth into the fifteenth. Such a day fell at the time of the great battle of the Bharatas. It has come round again, it seems, for our own destruction.’ The slayer of Keshi, Janardana, weighing the omens that Time was showing, understood that the thirty-sixth year had come, and that what Gandhari, burning with grief over the death of her sons and stripped of all her kin, had spoken was about to happen. This hour was the very likeness of that other, when Yudhishthira had marked such fearful signs as the two armies were being drawn up for battle. Having said this, Vasudeva set himself to bring about the very events that would make Gandhari’s words come true. That subduer of foes ordered the Vrishnis to make a pilgrimage to some holy water, and the heralds at once proclaimed, at Keshava’s command, that the Vrishnis should journey to the sea-coast and bathe in the sacred waters of the ocean.”
A key to reading this (the idea): “Kala” here means more than time. It is death made flesh, the same figure who walks the Vrishni city as a bald, dark man. This is the central note of the closing books of the Mahabharata: every splendor, every act of valor is fleeting before Time. Gandhari’s curse, pronounced over the death of her hundred sons, for which she held Krishna to blame, is now bearing fruit.
The gist: Time made flesh walks the city, and the archers cannot pierce it. A flood of dreadful omens follows, and the conduct of the Vrishnis grows corrupt as well, with only Rama and Krishna set apart from it. Krishna sees that Gandhari’s curse is about to bear fruit, and orders everyone on a pilgrimage to the sacred ford of Prabhasa, so that fate may run its course.
The dreams of Dwaraka, and Uddhava’s departure
Vaisampayana said, “In those days the Vrishni women dreamed every night of a woman with black skin and white teeth who came into their houses, laughed aloud, and ran through Dwaraka, snatching the auspicious threads from their wrists. The men dreamed that terrible vultures came into their houses and their fire-chambers and gorged upon their bodies. In their dreams their ornaments, their umbrellas, their standards, and their armor were carried off by dreadful Rakshasas. In the plain sight of the Vrishnis, the discus of Krishna, the gift of Agni, forged of iron and set with a nave of the hardest adamant, rose up into the sky. In the plain sight of Daruka, Vasudeva’s fine chariot, bright as the sun and fully equipped, was carried away by the very horses yoked to it. Those four splendid steeds, Saivya, Sugriva, Meghapushpa, and Balahaka, swift as thought, broke free and fled across the surface of the ocean, dragging the chariot behind them. The two great standards of the chariots of Krishna and Baladeva, the one that bore the device of Garuda and the one that bore the device of the palm, which those two heroes worshipped with reverence, were carried off by Apsaras who, day and night, called upon the Vrishnis and the Andhakas to set out on a pilgrimage to some holy water.
“When these omens had been seen and heard, those foremost of men, the mighty car-warriors of the Vrishnis and the Andhakas, grew eager to set out, their whole families with them, on a pilgrimage to some holy water. They made ready every kind of dish and food, and every kind of wine and meat. Then the hosts of the Vrishnis and the Andhakas, blazing with beauty and fierce with energy, rode out from the city on chariots and horses and elephants. With their wives beside them, the Yadavas reached Prabhasa and settled there, each in the lodging assigned to him, and all with plenty of food and drink at hand.
“Hearing that they had settled on the sea-coast, Uddhava, the wisest of men and deeply schooled in Yoga, came to them and asked their leave to depart. Krishna joined his hands and saluted Uddhava, and seeing him bent on leaving the world, and knowing that the destruction of the Vrishnis was near, he had no wish to hold him back. The mighty car-warriors of the Vrishnis and the Andhakas, whose hour had come, watched Uddhava set out on his great journey, filling the whole vault of the sky with his splendor.
A sub-tale: Uddhava is Krishna’s supreme devotee and friend, of this same clan, yet perfected in knowledge and in Yoga. At the threshold of the ruin he comes to take his leave, and Krishna does not stop him. This is a sign that Uddhava stands outside the ring of the curse; he sets out on his “great journey,” filling the sky with splendor, while the rest of the clan stays bound to its fate. The one who is settled in knowledge slips free of Time’s noose before it closes.
The gist: The women and the men dream of the coming ruin; Krishna’s Sudarshana discus climbs back into the sky, his chariot and horses run off across the sea, and Apsaras carry away the standards. The Yadavas reach Prabhasa with their families and lay in wine and meat. Uddhava takes his leave of Krishna and sets out on his great journey.
The drinking at Prabhasa, and the spark of a word
Vaisampayana said, “The Vrishnis took the food that had been cooked for the high-souled Brahmanas, mixed it with wine, and gave it away to monkeys and apes. Then those heroes of fierce energy began their wild revels at Prabhasa, and the heart of it was drink. The whole field rang with the blare of hundreds of trumpets, and actors and dancers plied their trades. In the very sight of Krishna, Rama began to drink, with Kritavarma, Yuyudhana, and Gada; and Vabhru did the same. Then Yuyudhana, drunk on wine, laughing at Kritavarma and insulting him in the middle of that assembly, said, ‘What Kshatriya, weapon in hand, would strike down men caught in the arms of sleep, men already as good as dead? For this, son of Hridika, the Yadavas will never forgive what you did.’ When Yuyudhana had spoken, Pradyumna, that foremost of car-warriors, cheered him on and made plain his own contempt for the son of Hridika.
“Stung to fury by this, Kritavarma pointed at Satyaki with his left hand, to show his scorn, and said these words: ‘You who call yourself a hero, how could you so cruelly kill the unarmed Bhurishrava, who on the field of battle had laid down every hostile intention and sat in praya, the fast unto death?’
“Hearing these words, Keshava, that slayer of hostile heroes, let his anger rise and threw an angry glance at Kritavarma. Then Satyaki told the slayer of Madhu how Kritavarma had dealt with Satrajit in order to take from him the famous gem Syamantaka. Hearing the tale, Satyabhama gave way to anger and to tears, came to Keshava, sat in his lap, and stirred his anger against Kritavarma higher still. Then Satyaki rose in a rage and said, ‘I swear to you by Truth that I will soon send this man after the five sons of Draupadi, and after Dhrishtadyumna and Shikhandi, whom he cut down in their sleep, this vile wretch, with the help of the son of Drona. Slender-waisted one, the days of Kritavarma’s life and fame have run out.’
“With these words Satyaki flung himself at Kritavarma and struck his head from his shoulders with a sword, in the very sight of Keshava. That deed done, Yuyudhana set about killing others there present, and Hrishikesa ran forward to keep him from further harm. At that moment, O monarch, the Bhojas and the Andhakas, driven by the crookedness of the hour that had come upon them, became as one man and surrounded the son of Sini. Janardana of mighty energy, who knew the character of the hour, stood unmoved and gave no way to anger as he watched those heroes rush at Satyaki in fury from every side. Urged by fate and drunk on wine, they fell to striking Yuyudhana with the very pots they had been eating from. As the son of Sini was set upon in this way, the son of Rukmini flew into a rage and rushed forward to rescue Satyaki, who was caught among the Bhojas and the Andhakas. Rich in strength of arm and in energy, those two heroes fought with great courage, but the numbers against them were overwhelming, and both were killed in the very sight of Krishna.
A key to reading this (the moral tangle): This quarrel rises out of old sins of war. Satyaki killed Bhurishrava while Bhurishrava sat unarmed in praya, the fast unto death; Kritavarma carries the guilt of the killing of sleeping men, his part in Ashvatthama’s night raid on the sons of Draupadi, Dhrishtadyumna, and Shikhandi. Neither side is clean; the unsettled sins of Kurukshetra flare up again in the fog of drink. And note this: it is Krishna himself who first throws an angry glance at Kritavarma, and Satyabhama who feeds his wrath. What sowed the seed of the slaughter was their own old violence and the heat of this one moment. The gods did not sow it.
The gist: At the drinking festival at Prabhasa, Satyaki, maddened with wine, taunts Kritavarma with the old sins of Kurukshetra and strikes off his head in front of Krishna. The Bhojas and the Andhakas surround Satyaki and beat him with their eating-pots; Pradyumna comes to save him, and both are killed. Krishna, knowing the character of the hour, stands unmoved.
The eraka grass turns to iron, and the Yadavas cut one another down
Vaisampayana said, “The delighter of the Yadus, seeing his own son and the son of Sini both cut down, took up in anger a handful of the eraka grass that grew there. That handful of grass became a terrible club of iron charged with the force of the thunderbolt, and with it Krishna killed all who came before him. Then the Andhakas and the Bhojas, the Shaineyas and the Vrishnis, driven on by Time, began to strike one another in that fearful press. Whoever among them, O king, snatched up in anger even a few blades of the eraka grass, those blades turned at once to thunderbolts in his hands. Every blade of grass there was seen to become a terrible iron club. All of this, know well, O king, was the fruit of the curse the Brahmanas had pronounced. Whoever hurled a blade of grass saw it pierce even things that no weapon could pierce. In truth, every blade became a terrible club with the force of thunder behind it. Son killed father, and father killed son, O Bharata. Drunk on wine, they threw themselves at one another and fell. The Kukuras and the Andhakas perished like moths flying into a blazing fire. As they were cut down, not one of them thought of fleeing to save his life.
“Knowing that the hour of destruction had come, the mighty-armed Keshava stood there and watched it all, holding the iron club that a blade of grass had become. When he saw that Samba had been killed, and Charudeshna, and Pradyumna, and Aniruddha, Madhava filled with rage. When he saw Gada lying dead on the ground, his rage grew hotter still. Then the wielder of the Sharnga bow, the discus, and the mace made an end of the Vrishnis and the Andhakas. Hear now, O king, what Vabhru of mighty energy and Daruka, conquerors of hostile towns, then said to Krishna. They said, ‘Holy one, a very great number of men has been slain by you. Turn now to where Rama has gone. We wish to go there where he has gone.’”
A key to reading this (the idea): “Eraka” is a grass that grows along the shore at Prabhasa; by the power of the curse this grass turns to an iron club in every hand. This is the return of the very club that Samba brought forth and the king had ground down and thrown into the sea: the powder mixed into the water and came back in the grass of the shore. Every measure taken to escape the ruin becomes the instrument of the ruin. This is the mercilessness of Time.
A key to reading this (the moral tangle): Take note: Krishna does not stay only a witness. Seeing his sons Pradyumna, Samba, Charudeshna, and Aniruddha, and his brother Gada, cut down, he himself takes up the eraka club and makes an end of the Vrishnis and the Andhakas. The one who is Lord of the universe, who could have turned the curse aside, cuts down his own clan with his own hands. The story does not hide this contradiction.
The gist: Krishna takes up a handful of eraka grass, and by the curse it becomes a thunderbolt. In every hand, every blade turns to an iron club; son kills father, father kills son. Seeing his own sons and his brother Gada killed, Krishna himself makes an end of the Vrishnis and the Andhakas. Only Vabhru and Daruka are left, and they ask Krishna to go to where Balarama has gone.
The search for Balarama, the end of Vabhru, and the care of the women
Vaisampayana said, “Then Daruka, Keshava, and Vabhru left that place and went after Rama, to find where he had gone. They came upon the hero of boundless energy sitting deep in thought, his back against a tree, in a lonely stretch of ground. Having found Rama of the great soul, Krishna gave Daruka this command: ‘Go to the Kurus and tell Partha of this great slaughter of the Yadus. Let Arjuna come here quickly, when he hears of the destruction of the Yadavas through the curse of the Brahmanas.’
“So commanded, Daruka, out of his senses with grief, mounted his chariot and set out for the capital of the Kurus. After Daruka had gone, Keshava saw Vabhru waiting on him and said, ‘Go quickly and protect the women. Do not let robbers do them harm, tempted by the wealth they carry.’ At this command from Keshava, Vabhru, still helpless with wine yet cheerless at the slaughter of his kinsmen, set off. He had rested a while at Keshava’s side, but the moment he had gone a little way, the iron club fastened itself to the mallet in the hand of a hunter and sprang of its own accord upon that last survivor of the Yadava race and killed him, for he too had been caught in the curse of the Brahmanas. Seeing Vabhru dead, Keshava of great energy turned to his elder brother and said, ‘Wait for me here, Rama, until I have placed the women in the care of kinsmen.’
“Entering the city of Dwaravati, Janardana said to his father, ‘Guard all the women of our house until Dhananjaya comes. Rama is waiting for me at the skirts of the forest. I will meet him today. I have looked upon this great carnage of the Yadus as I once looked upon the carnage of those Kshatriyas who were the foremost of the Kuru race. I cannot bear to see this city of the Yadavas without the Yadus in it. Know that I will go to the woods and practice austerities with Rama beside me.’ Having said this, Krishna touched his father’s feet with his head and quickly left his presence. Then a loud wail of sorrow rose from the women and children of his house. Hearing that loud sound of weeping, Keshava turned back and said to them, ‘Arjuna will come here. That foremost of men will lift your grief from you.’
A key to reading this (place and name): Dwaraka (Dwaravati) is the Yadava city on the western sea-coast; Prabhasa is the sacred ford near that same shore. Vasudeva is Krishna’s father, called Anakadundubhi here. Daruka is Krishna’s charioteer. Hastinapura is spoken of as “the city named after the elephant.”
The gist: Krishna and the survivors search out Balarama, who sits deep in thought against a tree. Krishna sends Daruka to summon Arjuna, and Vabhru to guard the women; but the last fragment of the club fastens to a hunter’s mallet and kills Vabhru as well. Krishna goes to Dwaraka, entrusts the women to his father Vasudeva, touches his feet, and assures the women that Arjuna will come.
Balarama gives up his body, and Krishna departs by Jara’s arrow
Vaisampayana said, “Going into the forest, Keshava saw Rama sitting in a lonely spot. He saw too that Rama had set himself in Yoga, and that out of his mouth a mighty snake was issuing. The snake was white. Leaving the human body in which it had dwelt so long, that high-souled naga of a thousand hoods, huge as a mountain and red of eye, moved off along the road that led to the ocean. Ocean himself, and many celestial snakes, and many sacred rivers were there to receive him with honor. There were Karkotaka and Vasuki and Takshaka and Prithushravas and Varuna and Kunjara, and Misri and Sankha and Kumuda and Pundarika, and the high-souled Dhritarashtra, and Hrada and Kratha and Sitikantha of fierce energy, and Chakramanda and Atishanda, and Durmukha, foremost of nagas, and Ambarisha, and king Varuna himself, O monarch. Coming forward and offering him the arghya and water to wash his feet, and honoring him with many other rites, they all worshipped the great naga and greeted him with the usual questions of welfare.
“After his brother had left the world of men in this way, Vasudeva of celestial vision, who knew fully the end of all things, wandered a while in that empty forest, deep in thought. Then, in his great energy, he sat down on the bare earth. He had already turned over everything that Gandhari had foretold in her words in the old days. He remembered too the words that Durvasa had spoken at the time the sage smeared his body with the remnant of the payasa he had eaten as a guest in Krishna’s house. Turning over the destruction of the Vrishnis and the Andhakas, and the earlier slaughter of the Kurus, the high-souled one concluded that the hour of his own departure from the world had come. He then held his senses in check through Yoga. Vasudeva, who knew the truth of every matter, though he was the Supreme Deity, wished to die, to lay all doubts to rest and to fix a certainty in the matter of human existence, only to uphold the three worlds and to make true the words of the son of Atri. Holding in check all his senses, his speech, and his mind, Krishna lay down in deep Yoga.
“Then a fierce hunter named Jara came there in search of deer. Taking Keshava, stretched out on the earth in deep Yoga, for a deer, he pierced him at the heel with an arrow and hurried to the spot to seize his prey. Coming up, Jara saw a man dressed in yellow robes, rapt in Yoga, with many arms. Knowing himself for an offender, and filled with fear, he touched the feet of Keshava. The high-souled one comforted him and then rose upward, filling the whole sky with his splendor. When he reached Heaven, Vasava and the twin Ashvins and Rudra and the Adityas and the Vasus and the Vishvedevas, and the Munis and the Siddhas and many of the foremost Gandharvas, together with the Apsaras, came forward to receive him. Then, O king, the illustrious Narayana of fierce energy, Creator and Destroyer of all, that master of Yoga, filling Heaven with his splendor, reached his own inconceivable region. Krishna met the gods and the celestial Rishis and the Charanas, O king, and the foremost of the Gandharvas and many lovely Apsaras and the Siddhas and the Sadhyas. All of them bowed in humility and worshipped him. The gods saluted him, O monarch, and many of the foremost Munis and Rishis worshipped the Lord of all. The Gandharvas waited on him, singing his praises, and Indra too praised him with joy.”
A sub-tale: The episode of Durvasa is the seed of Krishna’s departure here. As the story has it, Durvasa was a guest in Krishna’s house and asked Krishna to smear the remnant of his payasa, a rice pudding, over his whole body. Krishna smeared it over his entire body except the soles of his feet. Durvasa said that wherever the payasa had touched, no weapon would work; but the heel of the foot was left unguarded. That very heel becomes the target of Jara’s arrow. Krishna knew this, and even so he left that one weak point open, in order to make the words of Durvasa, the son of Atri, come true.
A key to reading this (the moral tangle): Krishna’s departure is no chance accident. He “wished to die,” held his senses in check and lay down in Yoga, knowing that the hunter would come and that the heel was his one weak point. Though he is the Supreme Deity, he gives up his body to a hunter’s arrow like an ordinary man, so that the words of Gandhari and the sages would not prove false. To hold power, and to hold back from using it: this is the riddle of Krishna.
The gist: Balarama, settled in Yoga, gives up his body; from his mouth a white, thousand-hooded serpent issues and moves toward the sea, where the nagas and the rivers welcome him. Krishna, remembering the words of Gandhari and Durvasa, lies down in Yoga; the hunter Jara, taking him for a deer, strikes his heel with an arrow. Krishna comforts him and, filling the sky with his splendor, returns to his inconceivable abode.
Arjuna comes to Dwaraka, and Vasudeva’s lament
Vaisampayana said, “Meanwhile Daruka reached the Kurus, and finding those mighty car-warriors, the sons of Pritha, told them how the Vrishnis had killed one another with iron clubs. Hearing that the Vrishnis, together with the Bhojas and the Andhakas and the Kukuras, had all been slain, the Pandavas, burning with grief, were shaken to their depths. Then Arjuna, the dear friend of Keshava, took his leave of them and set out to see his mother’s brother, saying that ruin would soon overtake everything. Coming to the city of the Vrishnis with Daruka beside him, O king, the hero saw that Dwaraka looked like a woman who had lost her husband. The women who had once had the very Lord of the universe for their protector were now without a lord. Seeing that Partha had come to protect them, they all set up a loud wail. Sixteen thousand women had been wedded to Vasudeva, and the moment they saw Arjuna arrive, they raised a loud cry of grief. As soon as the Kuru prince met those beautiful women, robbed of the protection of Krishna and of their sons as well, he could not look at them, for the tears blocked his sight.
“Dwaraka had once been a river: the Vrishnis and the Andhakas its water, the horses its fish, the chariots its rafts, the sound of instruments and the rattle of chariots its waves, the houses and mansions and public squares its lakes. Gems and precious stones were its thick moss, the walls of adamant the flower garlands floating on it, the streets and roads the strong currents running in eddies over its surface, and the great open squares the still, wide lakes along its course. Rama and Krishna were its two mighty alligators. Now that pleasant river seemed to Arjuna to be the dreadful Vaitarani caught in the net of Time. Stripped of the Vrishni heroes, the city was shorn of beauty and wholly joyless, like a lotus in the depth of winter. Seeing what Dwaraka had become, and seeing the countless wives of Krishna, Arjuna wailed aloud with eyes drowned in tears and fell to the ground. Then Satya, the daughter of Satrajit, and Rukmini too, O king, fell down beside Dhananjaya and wept aloud in their grief. Then they raised him up and seated him on a golden seat. The women sat around that high-souled one and poured out what was in their hearts. Praising Govinda and speaking with the women, the son of Pandu comforted them and then went on to see his uncle.”
Vaisampayana said, “The Kuru prince found the heroic and high-souled Anakadundubhi lying on the ground, burning with grief for his sons. The broad-chested, mighty-armed son of Pritha, more stricken even than his uncle, touched the old man’s feet with eyes drowned in tears, O Bharata. The mighty-armed Anakadundubhi wished to smell the head of his sister’s son but could not do it, O slayer of foes. Sunk in deep grief, the old man took Partha in his arms and wept aloud, remembering his sons, his brothers, his grandsons, his daughters’ sons, and his friends.
“Vasudeva said, ‘Without seeing again those heroes who had beaten every king of the earth and every Daitya a hundred times over, I am still alive, Arjuna. It seems to me that I have no death. Through the fault of those two heroes who were your dear pupils and whom you held in such regard, Partha, the Vrishnis have been destroyed. Those two, counted among the Atirathas, the foremost of the Vrishnis, of whom you used to speak with pride in your talk, and who were always dear to Krishna himself, those two, Dhananjaya, have been the chief cause of the destruction of the Vrishnis. I do not blame the son of Sini or the son of Hridika, Arjuna. I do not blame Akrura or the son of Rukmini. The curse of the Rishis is surely the one cause. How could the lord of the universe, the slayer of Madhu, who put forth his prowess to destroy Keshi and Kansa, and Chaidya swollen with pride, and Ekalavya, the son of the Nishada king, and the Kalingas and the Magadhas, and the Gandharas and the king of Kasi, and the many kings gathered in the midst of the desert, and many heroes of the East and the South, and many kings of the mountain lands, how could he stand by unmoved before such a calamity as the curse pronounced by the Rishis?
‘You, and Narada, and the Munis knew him to be the eternal and sinless Govinda, the God of unfading glory. And yet, being puissant Vishnu himself, he watched, without lifting a hand, the destruction of his own kin. My son must have allowed all of this to happen. He was the Lord of the universe. But he did not wish to make false the words of Gandhari and the Rishis, scorcher of foes. In your very sight, hero, your grandson, who had been killed by Ashvatthama, was brought back to life through his power. Yet that friend of yours would not save his own kin. Seeing his sons and his grandsons and his brothers and his friends lying dead, he said to me, “Chief of the Bharatas, the ruin of this race of ours has come at last. Vibhatsu will come to this city of Dwaravati. Tell him what has happened, this great carnage of the Vrishnis. I have no doubt that as soon as he hears of the destruction of the Yadus, that hero of mighty energy will come here without a moment’s delay. Know, father, that I am Arjuna and Arjuna is myself. Do what he tells you. The son of Pandu will do what is best for the women and the children. He will perform your funeral rites. This city of Dwaravati, after Arjuna’s departure, will be swallowed by the ocean, with its walls and its buildings, without any delay. As for me, I will withdraw to some sacred place and bide my hour, with the wise Rama beside me, keeping strict vows all the while.” Having said these words to me, Hrishikesa of unimaginable power left me with the children and has gone away to some place that I do not know. Thinking of those two high-souled brothers of yours, and of the terrible carnage of my kin, I have given up all food, and I am wasted with grief. I will neither eat nor live. By good fortune you have come to me, son of Pandu. Do all, Partha, that Krishna has said. This kingdom, and all these women, and all the wealth here, are yours now, son of Pritha. As for me, slayer of foes, I will give up my life-breaths, dear to me though they are.’”
A key to reading this (the moral tangle): Vasudeva’s lament turns straight toward Krishna: being Vishnu himself, he watched the ruin of his own kin without lifting a hand. The one who could bring Parikshit back from the dead womb would not raise a finger to save his own sons. Vasudeva will not even blame Satyaki and Kritavarma; in the end he lays the cause at the door of the curse, and of Krishna’s own consent to it. The story leaves this hard question open and gives no answer.
A key to reading this (the numbers, a modern measure): “Sixteen thousand women” is the traditional count of Krishna’s queens and of the women he had rescued, a measure of both his grandeur and his burden of care. Further on, the story tells of the slaughter of “five lakh,” 500,000, Yadava warriors: an entire civilization gone in a single day, as many people as the whole population of a mid-sized modern city.
The gist: Hearing the news from Daruka, Arjuna comes to Dwaraka, which is stripped of its beauty like a widow; the sixteen thousand women, and Satyabhama and Rukmini, wail. Arjuna comforts them, then meets his uncle Vasudeva. Vasudeva speaks of Krishna’s silence, of the inaction of the one who had revived Parikshit, and of Krishna’s last message (that Arjuna should take charge of everything, that Dwaraka will sink, and that he himself will go to practice austerities with Rama), and he declares that he will give up food and give up his life.
Arjuna’s arrangements, and Vasudeva’s funeral
Vaisampayana said, “So addressed by his uncle, that scorcher of foes, Vibhatsu, answered Vasudeva, who was as cheerless as himself, with great heaviness of heart, and said, ‘Uncle, I cannot bear to look upon this earth when she is stripped of that hero of the Vrishni race and of my other kinsmen. The king, and Bhimasena, and Sahadeva, and Nakula, and Yajnaseni, the sixth of us, are of one mind with me in this. The time for the departure of the king too has come. Know that the hour of our own departure is also near. You are the foremost of those who understand the course of time. But first, subduer of foes, I will take the women of the Vrishni race, and the children and the aged, to Indraprastha.’
“Having said this to his uncle, Arjuna next turned to Daruka and said, ‘I wish to see the chief officers of the Vrishni heroes without delay.’ With these words the heroic Arjuna, grieving for those great car-warriors who had fallen, went into the great hall of the Yadavas, called Sudharma, where they used to hold their court. When he had taken his seat there, all the citizens, the Brahmanas among them, and all the ministers of state came and stood around him. Then Partha, more stricken than they were, spoke to those grieving officers and citizens, who were more dead than alive, words that suited the hour: ‘I will take away with me what is left of the Vrishnis and the Andhakas. The sea will soon swallow this city. Fit out all your chariots and load your wealth onto them. This Vajra, the grandson of Krishna, will be your king at Shakraprastha. On the seventh day from now, at sunrise, we set out. Make your preparations without delay.’
“So addressed by the son of Pritha, whose deeds were pure, they all hastened their preparations, eager for their own safety. Arjuna spent that night in the mansion of Keshava. He was suddenly overwhelmed with great grief and stupor. When morning broke, Vasudeva of great energy and prowess reached the highest goal through the power of Yoga. A loud and heart-rending sound of weeping rose in Vasudeva’s mansion from the wailing women. They were seen with hair unbound and stripped of their ornaments and floral wreaths. Beating their breasts with their hands, they broke into heart-rending laments. Those foremost of women, Devaki and Bhadra and Rohini and Madira, threw themselves upon the body of their lord. Then Partha had the body of his uncle carried out on a costly bier borne on the shoulders of men. It was followed by all the citizens of Dwaraka and the people of the provinces, all of them deep in grief, for they had held the dead hero dear. Before the bier were carried the umbrella that had been held over his head at the close of the horse-sacrifice he had performed while he lived, and the blazing fires he had worshipped each day, with the priests who used to tend them. The body of the hero was followed by his wives, decked in their ornaments, surrounded by thousands of women and thousands of their daughters-in-law. The last rites were then performed at the spot that had been dear to him while he lived. The four wives of that heroic son of Sura climbed the funeral pyre and were consumed with the body of their lord, and all of them reached the regions of joy that were his. The son of Pandu burned the body of his uncle together with those four wives, using every kind of scent and fragrant wood. As the pyre blazed up, a loud sound was heard of the burning wood and the other kindling, along with the clear chant of the Samans and the weeping of the citizens and the others who witnessed the rite. When it was all over, the boys of the Vrishni and Andhaka races, with Vajra at their head, and the women too, offered oblations of water to the high-souled hero.
A key to reading this (the lineage): Devaki, Rohini, Bhadra, and Madira are the wives of Vasudeva; Devaki is Krishna’s mother and Rohini is Balarama’s. Vajra is the son of Aniruddha and the great-grandson of Krishna, the one surviving shoot of the Yadu line, whom Arjuna makes king of Indraprastha (Shakraprastha). Sudharma is the famous assembly-hall of the Yadavas.
The gist: Arjuna tells Vasudeva that the time for the Pandavas’ own departure is near as well, but that first he will take the Yadava women, children, and aged to Indraprastha. In the Sudharma hall he makes his announcement: departure on the seventh day, the sea will swallow the city, Vajra will be king. That same night Vasudeva gives up his body through Yoga; his four wives ascend the pyre as satis, and Arjuna performs his funeral with the horse-sacrifice umbrella and the sacred fires.
Dwaraka sinks into the sea, and the Abhiras attack
“Phalguna, careful in the keeping of every duty, having seen this rite done, went next, chief of the Bharatas, to the place where the Vrishnis had been slaughtered. The Kuru prince, seeing them lying dead all around, was cast into deep gloom. Still, he did what had to be done in the face of what had happened. The last rites were performed, in order of seniority, over the bodies of those heroes slain by the iron clubs that the blades of eraka grass had become through the curse of the Brahmanas. Searching out the bodies of Rama and Vasudeva, Arjuna had them burned by men skilled in that work. Having then duly performed the shraddha rites for the dead, the son of Pandu set out quickly on the seventh day, mounting his chariot.
“The widows of the Vrishni heroes, wailing aloud, followed the high-souled son of Pandu, Dhananjaya, on carts drawn by bullocks and mules and camels. All were sunk in deep grief. The servants of the Vrishnis, their horsemen, and their car-warriors followed the procession too. At the command of the son of Pritha, the citizens and the people of the country set out at the same time and moved along, ringing that heroless column that held only women and the aged and the children. The warriors who fought from the backs of elephants rode elephants as huge as hills. The foot-soldiers set out as well, together with the reserves. The children of the Andhaka and the Vrishni races all followed Arjuna. Brahmanas, Kshatriyas, Vaisyas, and wealthy Sudras set out, keeping before them the sixteen thousand women who had been Vasudeva’s household, and Vajra, the grandson of the wise Krishna. The widows of the other heroes of the Bhoja, Vrishni, and Andhaka races, lordless now, who set out with Arjuna, numbered many hundreds of thousands. That foremost of car-warriors, that conqueror of hostile towns, the son of Pritha, escorted this vast procession of the Vrishnis, which was still heavy with wealth and looked like an ocean.
“After all the people had gone, the ocean, that home of sharks and alligators, flooded Dwaraka with its waters, though the city still teemed with wealth of every kind. Whatever portion of the ground was left behind, the ocean at once covered over with its waters. Seeing this wonder, the people of Dwaraka walked faster and faster, saying, ‘The course of fate is a marvel!’ After leaving Dwaraka, Dhananjaya moved on in slow stages, letting the Vrishni women rest in pleasant forests and among mountains and by the banks of lovely streams. Reaching the country of the five waters, the mighty Dhananjaya made a rich encampment in the middle of a land full of grain and cattle and other animals.
“Seeing those lordless widows escorted by the son of Pritha alone, O Bharata, the robbers were seized with a great longing for plunder. Then those sinful wretches, their hearts overrun with greed, those Abhiras of ill omen, gathered and held counsel. They said, ‘Here there is only one bowman, Arjuna. The column is made of children and old men. He is leading them away, holding us in contempt. The Vrishni warriors have no fight left in them.’ Then those robbers, in their thousands, armed with clubs, rushed at the procession of the Vrishnis, hungry for plunder. Driven by the crooked course of time, they fell upon that vast throng, terrifying it with loud lion-roars, bent on slaughter.
“The son of Kunti broke off his advance along the road and turned, with his followers, toward the place where the robbers had struck the procession. Smiling, that mighty-armed hero said to the attackers, ‘You sinful wretches, hold off, if you love your lives. You will be sorry for this when I pierce your bodies with my shafts and take your lives.’ Though he spoke so, they paid no heed to his words, and though he warned them again and again, they fell upon Arjuna. Then Arjuna set himself to string his great, indestructible, celestial bow, and found it took some effort. Only with great difficulty could he string it, and by then the battle had grown furious. He then tried to call his celestial weapons to mind, and they would not come. Seeing that furious battle, the loss of the strength of his arm, and the failure of his celestial weapons to appear, Arjuna was deeply ashamed.
“The Vrishni warriors, foot-soldiers and elephant-riders and charioteers alike, failed to rescue the Vrishni women who were being carried off by the robbers. The throng was very large, and the robbers struck it at many points at once. Arjuna did his best to protect it, and could not. In the very sight of all the warriors, many of the foremost women were dragged away, while others went off with the robbers of their own will. The mighty Arjuna, with the servants of the Vrishnis at his side, struck the robbers with shafts sped from Gandiva. But soon, O king, his shafts ran out. In the old days his shafts had been beyond exhausting; now it was otherwise. Finding his shafts gone, he was struck through with grief. Then the son of Indra began to strike the robbers with the horns of his bow. But those Mlecchas, O Janamejaya, in the very sight of Partha, drew off, carrying away with them many of the foremost women of the Vrishnis and the Andhakas.
“The mighty Dhananjaya took it all as the work of destiny. Full of sorrow, he breathed heavy sighs at the thought of the failure of his celestial weapons, the loss of the strength of his arms, the refusal of his bow to obey him, and the running out of his shafts. Taking it all as the work of destiny, he sank into deep gloom. Then he ceased, O king, to make any further effort, saying that he no longer had the power he once had. The high-souled one, taking with him what was left of the Vrishni women and the wealth they still had, reached Kurukshetra. Bringing the remnant of the Vrishnis with him in this way, he settled them in different places. The son of Kritavarma he settled in the city called Marttikavat, with the remnant of the women of the Bhoja king. The rest, with the children and the aged and the women, all of them heroless, the son of Pandu settled in the city of Indraprastha. The dear son of Yuyudhana, with a company of the aged and the children and the women, the righteous Arjuna settled on the banks of the Sarasvati. The rule of Indraprastha was given to Vajra.
“Then the widows of Akrura wished to withdraw into the woods. Vajra asked them again and again to hold back, and they would not listen to him. Rukmini, and the princess of Gandhara, and Saivya, and Haimavati, and queen Jambavati climbed the funeral pyre. Satyabhama and the other dear wives of Krishna went into the woods, O king, resolved on the practice of austerities. They took to living on fruits and roots and passing their time in the contemplation of Hari. Going beyond the Himavat, they made their home in a place called Kalpa. Those who had followed Arjuna from Dwaravati were divided into groups and given over to Vajra. Having done all these things as the hour required, Arjuna, his eyes drowned in tears, went to the hermitage of Vyasa. There he saw the Island-born Rishi seated at his ease.”
A key to reading this (the moral tangle): This is Arjuna’s most bitter hour. The same wielder of Gandiva, whose arrows never ran out and whose celestial weapons never failed, can now barely string his bow before common robbers, his arrows give out, his weapons will not come to mind, and the women are taken from under his eyes. The harsh truth of the Mahabharata lies bare here: prowess is subject to Time; the strength of the one who stood beside Krishna collapses the moment Krishna is gone.
A key to reading this (the places): “The country of the five waters” is Punjab, the land of five rivers; the Abhiras are a robber people of that region. Marttikavat, Indraprastha, and the bank of the Sarasvati are the places where Arjuna settles the remnant of the Yadavas. “Kalpa,” beyond the Himavat, is the place where Krishna’s widows go for their austerities.
The gist: Arjuna performs everyone’s funeral rites and on the seventh day sets out with the remnant of the Yadavas (the sixteen thousand women, Vajra, and widows in the hundreds of thousands); behind them, Dwaraka sinks into the sea. In Punjab the Abhira robbers attack; Arjuna’s bow can barely be strung, his arrows run out, his celestial weapons will not come, and the women are carried off. He settles the remnant at Marttikavat, Indraprastha, and the bank of the Sarasvati; some queens become satis, Satyabhama and others go for austerities; and Arjuna reaches the hermitage of Vyasa.
Vyasa’s counsel: Time is the root of all
Vaisampayana said, “As Arjuna entered the hermitage of the truthful Rishi, he saw the son of Satyavati seated in a secluded spot. Coming up to that Rishi of high vows, who knew every duty, he said, ‘I am Arjuna,’ and then waited on his pleasure. The son of Satyavati, rich in penances, answered, ‘Welcome!’ Tranquil of soul, the great Muni went on, ‘Take your seat.’ Seeing that the son of Pritha was deeply cheerless, breathing heavy sighs one after another, filled with despair, Vyasa said to him, ‘Have you been sprinkled with water from anyone’s nails or hair, or from the end of anyone’s cloth, or from the mouth of a jar? Have you lain with a woman before the end of her season? Have you killed a Brahmana? Have you been beaten in battle? You look like a man stripped of good fortune. I do not know of anyone who has defeated you. Why then, chief of the Bharatas, this deeply dejected look? It is right, son of Pritha, that you should tell me everything, if there is no harm in the telling.’
“Arjuna said, ‘He whose color was like that of a fresh-risen cloud, whose eyes were like a pair of great lotus petals, Krishna, with Rama, has cast off his body and gone up to Heaven. At Prabhasa, through the iron clubs born of the curse the Brahmanas pronounced, the Vrishni heroes have been destroyed. Terrible was that carnage, and not a single hero came out of it alive. The heroes of the Bhoja, the Andhaka, and the Vrishni races, all high of soul, great in might, and lionlike in pride, cut one another down in battle. Men whose arms were like maces of iron, who could bear the blows of heavy clubs and darts, all of them were killed with blades of eraka grass. See the crooked course of Time. Five hundred thousand mighty-armed warriors were laid low in this way. Falling upon one another, they came to their end.
‘Turning this carnage of the Yadava warriors of measureless energy, and of the illustrious Krishna, over and over in my mind, I can find no peace. The death of the wielder of the Sharnga bow is as hard to believe as the drying up of the ocean, the moving of a mountain, the falling of the vault of heaven, or the cooling of fire. Robbed of the company of the Vrishni heroes, I have no wish to live in this world. And something more painful than this has happened, you who are rich in penances. Thinking of it again and again, my heart is breaking. In my very sight, Brahmana, thousands of Vrishni women were carried off by the Abhiras of the country of the five waters, who fell upon us. When I took up my bow, I found I could not even string it. The strength that had lived in my arms seemed to vanish in that hour. Great ascetic, my many weapons failed to appear. Soon my shafts too gave out. That being of measureless soul, of four arms, wielding the conch, the discus, and the mace, clad in yellow robes, dark of color, with eyes like lotus petals, is no longer to be seen by me. Robbed of Govinda, what is there for me to live for, dragging my life along in sorrow? He who used to move ahead of my chariot, that divine form of great splendor and unfading power, burning up all the hostile warriors as he went, can no longer be seen by me. No longer seeing him who first burned the hostile hosts with his energy, whom I then finished off with shafts sped from Gandiva, I am filled with grief and my head swims, best of men. Sunk in gloom and despair, I can find no peace of mind. I dare not live, robbed of the heroic Janardana. The moment I heard that Vishnu had left the earth, my eyes grew dim and everything vanished from my sight. Best of men, it is right that you tell me what is good for me now, for I am a wanderer with an empty heart, robbed of my kin and of all I had.’
“Vyasa said, ‘The mighty car-warriors of the Vrishni and Andhaka races have all been consumed by the curse of the Brahmanas. Chief of the Kurus, you should not grieve for their destruction. What has happened had been ordained. It was the destiny of those high-souled warriors. Krishna let it come to pass, though he was fully able to turn it aside. Govinda could have changed the very course of the universe with all its moving and unmoving creatures. What need then to speak of the curse even of high-souled Brahmanas? He who used to go ahead of your chariot, armed with discus and mace, out of love for you, was the four-armed Vasudeva, that ancient rishi. That high-souled one of wide eyes, Krishna, having lightened the burden of the earth and cast off his human body, has reached his own high seat.
‘You too, best of men, with Bhima for your helper and the twins beside you, mighty-armed hero, have finished the great work of the gods. Chief of the Kurus, I count you and your brothers as crowned with success, for you have carried out the great purpose of your lives. The time has come for your departure from the world. This, mighty one, is what is good for you now. Understanding and prowess and foresight arise while the days of prosperity have not yet run out; and these same gains vanish when the hour of adversity comes. The root of all this is Time. Time is the seed of the universe, Dhananjaya, and it is Time again that gathers everything back at its own pleasure. One man grows mighty, and then, losing that might, grows weak. One man becomes a master and rules others, and then, losing that place, becomes a servant who obeys the commands of others. Your weapons, having done their work, have gone back to the place they came from. When the time comes for their return, they will come into your hands again. The time has come, Bharata, for you all to reach the highest goal. This, chief of the Bharatas, is what I hold to be of the greatest good for you all.’”
Vaisampayana continued, “Having heard these words of Vyasa of measureless energy, the son of Pritha, with the Rishi’s leave, returned to the city named after the elephant. Entering it, the hero went to Yudhishthira and told him all that had happened with regard to the Vrishnis.”
A key to reading this (the idea): Vyasa meets Arjuna’s grief with truth and offers no easy comfort: Krishna could have stopped this, and he chose to let fate run its course. Govinda could have changed the very course of the cosmos, and still he let destiny flow, because he is Vasudeva himself, the eternal rishi Narayana who came down to lift the burden of the earth. Arjuna reads the loss of his weapons as a disgrace; Vyasa turns it into a signal: the work is finished, and the hour of departure has come.
The gist: Vyasa asks Arjuna the cause of his weakness; Arjuna tells the story of the departure of Krishna and Balarama, the slaughter of five lakh Yadavas, and his own failure at the hands of the Abhiras. Vyasa answers: all of this was ordained, Krishna could have stopped it and did not; that four-armed, eternal Vasudeva was the one who lifted the burden and returned. Time is the seed of the universe and its gatherer; the Pandavas’ work is done, and the hour of their departure has come. Arjuna returns and tells Yudhishthira everything.
Source: the Mahabharata (Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa), Mausala Parva; the Gita Press, Gorakhpur tradition.
Based on: the Mahabharata of Vedavyasa (Gita Press, Gorakhpur)