The Mahabharata (6 page)

When they emerged at the other end on a river's edge, a boat awaited them with ready sails. The boatman had been engaged by Vidura and established his credentials by repeating the message, “Remember that the jackal emerges from many outlets underground.” Then he carried them safely across the river. On the other side, they entered a thick forest, where they wandered aimlessly, wishing only to get far away from Hastinapura.

There was much public mourning and private rejoicing at the news that the Pandavas had perished in a fire. In the mansion named the House of Joy, the charred remains of a woman and her five sons had been discovered. Dhritarashtra had not expected his security measures to be carried so far, and was now conscience stricken. He ordered elaborate obsequies to be performed for the dear departed and country-wide public mourning.

I
N THE FOREST
, Bhima maintained a watch, while his mother and brothers, overcome with fatigue, slumped down and fell asleep. His heart bled to see them lying on the bare ground. At the thought of their travails, he ground his teeth and swore vengeance on his kinsmen. But through his physical might and courage he was able to mitigate their suffering. He even carried them on his shoulder when one or the other was footsore or tired.

Once he encountered a rakshasa, hiding himself in a mountain cave, who waylaid and ate up any human being passing through the forest. Bhima destroyed him and made the forest safe for others coming after him. The rakshasa's sister, Hidimba, fell in love with Bhima, assumed a beautiful human form, and bore him a son named Ghatotkacha, who always came to his father's aid in any crisis and played a great part in the battle later.

The path ahead seemed endless as the one behind. The exiles had lost all sense of direction or goal. They ate roots and berries or hunted game. They had passed many forests, mountains, and lakes, with nothing clear except that they were going in the right direction, away from Hastinapura. Kunthi asked now and then, “Do you have any idea when and where we shall stop?”

“No,” replied Yudhistira, “but I have no doubt that we will have guidance at the right moment.” He proceeded along, and the others followed.

One day at dusk, when they were resting beside a lake after the evening ablutions and prayers, they had a venerable visitor. It was their great-grandfather Vyasa, the Island-Born, and composer of
The Mahabharata
. It was a welcome change from the monotony of trudging along in the same company.

Vyasa said, “You see those two paths? Follow the one to your left, and you will arrive at a town called Ekavrata. There you will be quite safe from observation. You will have to behave like brahmins and live quietly and bide your time. Your fortunes will change and circumstances will change. But be patient. Ahead I see victory for your principles. Have no doubt that you will again live in your palace, rule the country, distribute gifts and alms to the needy, and perform grand sacrifices such as the rajasuya and aswametha.”

At Ekavrata, Vyasa introduced the Pandavas to a hospitable family who gave them shelter. They were at peace with themselves now, but for the gnawing memory of their cousins' vileness. Yudhistira always calmed them with his philosophy of resignation and hope. Their daily life soon fell into a routine. As became brahmins, they went round the town begging for alms, returned with their collection, and placed it before their mother, who divided it among them. Bhima's needs being greater than those of others, he was given the
largest share of food. Thus life went on uneventfully until one day they found their hosts in great grief, arguing among themselves. There was much gloom and lamentation through all their quiet arguments, which were overheard by their guests. There came a stage when the Pandavas could not help asking for an explanation.

Their host said, “On the edge of this town lives a rakshasa who leaves us alone only on condition that every home send up, by turn, a cartload of rice and two buffaloes, to be delivered by a member of the house. He is always so hungry that he consumes the food, the buffaloes, and finally also the person who has brought him the food. We dare not complain, since he threatens to destroy this town if there is any form of resistance. Every home gets its turn; today it is ours. I want to be the one to go and save the younger members of my family, but each one of them wants to be the victim to save the rest. I don't know. I think the best course would be for all of us to be consumed by that demon so that no one will be left to grieve for another….”

After pondering the situation, Kunthi turned to Bhima and said, “You take the food for that rakshasa today.”

But when Bhima readily agreed, Yudhistira tried to stop him. “We cannot risk Bhima, nor Arjuna, nor the twins, who are very tender…. Let me carry the food for the rakshasa. Even if I perish, Bhima and Arjuna will be able to see you all through your difficult days.”

He was overruled by Kunthi. “Let Bhima go; he will come back.”

Pushing along a cartload of food and two buffaloes, Bhima arrived on the edge of the town. He drove off the animals before entering the forest, and let out a big shout, calling the demon by his name. “Baka, come out,” he called repeatedly, and started eating the food himself. “Hey, you wretch,” he dared, “come on and watch me eat….”

The demon came thundering out. “Who are you to call me by name?” He was fierce and immense.

Bhima calmly continued to eat without even turning to look, as the demon came up behind him with all that uproar. Noticing his indifference, the rakshasa hit him from behind, but Bhima went on eating.

“Who are you, eating the food meant for me? Where are the animals?”

Bhima said, “Animals? The buffaloes? They are grazing peacefully somewhere. I drove them off. You will not have them or anything else to eat today. You are on a fast today.” He was unconcerned even when the rakshasa belaboured him from behind. “I don't like this disturbance while eating. You must learn to wait.”

The rakshasa felt rather bewildered at first, and gave him a few more knocks, but Bhima with his mouth full just flicked him off as if he were a bug on his nape. The rakshasa now tried to pull him away from the heap of food and grab it himself. He could hardly move Bhima from his seat, and when he tried to reach for his food, Bhima warded off his hand indifferently.

“I am hungry, how dare you?” screamed the rakshasa till the forests echoed with his voice. “I will eat you.”

“Oh, yes,” said Bhima, “I know you will do it, you devil, treating those who bring you food as if they were a side dish. Know that you can't do it any more….”

“Or do you plan to eat me?” asked the rakshasa sneeringly.

“No, I wouldn't relish you, but I can tear you into morsels convenient for jackals and vultures to eat….”

Every attempt that the rakshasa made to seize the heap of rice was frustrated by Bhima, who began to enjoy the game immensely. All the rakshasa's attempts to choke him were equally frustrated. Bhima did not budge until he had polished off every scrap of food he had brought, and then he turned to settle the score with his adversary. A grand fight ensued—they tore up immense trees, hurled boulders and rocks, and hit each other with fists. Finally Bhima lifted the
rakshasa over his head, whirled him about, and dashed him on the ground. As he lay limp, Bhima placed his knee over him and broke his back.

The citizens of the town were filled with gratitude and asked in wonder how a brahmin came to possess such strength and valour, qualities which would have been appropriate only in a kshatriya. The Pandavas explained Bhima's talents away by saying that he had mastered certain esoteric mantras which enabled him to overcome even the deadliest adversary.

It soon became necessary for the Pandavas to move on from the hospitable home, where they were now in danger of being recognized. Moreover, a traveller had informed them that Drupada, the King of Panchala, had announced the swayamwara of his daughter, and that he had sent invitations far and wide for prospective bridegrooms to assemble in his palace on a certain day so that the bride might make her choice.

Drupada, smarting under the defeat inflicted on him by the disciples of Drona, had wandered far and wide and found a guru, who instructed him as to how to beget a son who could someday vanquish Drona.

Drupada had performed prayers and sacrifices, and from the sacrificial fire arose a son and a daughter. The son was born bearing arms and encased in armour, and had all the indications of becoming an outstanding warrior. He was named Dhrishtadyumna, meaning “one born with courage, arms, and ornaments.” The daughter was dark and beautiful and was called Draupadi and also Panchali.

Draupadi's swayamwara was not an occasion to be missed, so the Pandavas and their mother started for Panchala. There, they occupied an obscure house on the Potters' Street. At the start of each day they went round seeking alms, and brought home their collections to be divided among them by their mother.

On the day of the swayamwara, the Pandavas had left home early and joined the throng moving towards the palace. A vast ground had been cleared and built up with galleries to accommodate the visitors and the young men contending for the Princess's hand. Princelings wearing gaudy decorations and bearing imposing arms had arrived on horseback and chariots.

The day started with elaborate ceremonies performed by the royal priests. At the appointed hour, Draupadi entered the arena and looked around, sending all the young hearts racing. She was escorted by Dhrishtadyumna, her brother, the Prince of the house. He announced that those who would be eligible to be garlanded by the Princess must string a bow kept on a pedestal and shoot five arrows at a revolving target above by looking at its reflection on a pan of oil below.

The princes from the warrior class were the first to approach, but most of them withdrew after one look at the bow. One or two dropped it on their toes. Some could not even stretch the steel coil forming its bowstring.

Draupadi watched the process of elimination with relief. She saw the princes, in imposing battle dress, coming forward haughtily and retreating hastily, galloping away on their horses. Comments, jokes, and laughter filled the air.

The Kauravas were in a group at one corner of the hall contemptuously watching the arrivals and departures. Karna, the most gifted master of arms and archery, was there with Duryodhana. His brothers and henchmen occupied the seats of honour and jeered at the candidates who failed. A lull fell on the assembly when their turn came, and the girl
shivered instinctively and prayed to the gods to be saved from them.

She watched with apprehension as Karna approached the bow and lifted it as if it were a toy. He stood it on its end and stretched out the bowstring. But at the very moment when he took aim to shoot the mark, Draupadi was heard to remark, “I will not accept him….” At this, Karna dropped the bow and returned to his seat with a wry smile.

Duryodhana frowned and said in a whisper, “She had no right to talk. If you string the bow and hit the mark, she must accept you. That is the condition. Otherwise, you may seize her and fly off. Go back and take the bow. We will support you.”

“No,” said Karna, “I don't want her.”

In that assembly, unobserved, was a person who was to play a vital role in
The Mahabharata
later. It was Krishna, the King of Dwaraka, actually the eighth incarnation of the god Vishnu, who took his birth in the Yadava clan. He had incarnated as a human being as he had explained:

“For protecting the virtuous

For the destruction of evil, and

For establishing righteousness

I am born from age to age.”

He whispered to his brother, Balarama, at his side, “These brahmins are none other than the Pandavas, who were supposed to have perished in a fire. This was all predestined, we will see a great deal of them yet….”

Now there was a stir as Arjuna got up from the brahmin group. There were shouts of protest. “How dare a brahmin enter this contest, which is open only to the warrior class? Let brahmins stick to their scriptures.” But King Drupada ruled that he had mentioned no caste in his announcement. Anyone was free to try his luck at the swayamwara.

Draupadi watched anxiously as Arjuna approached the bow. He not only strung the bow, but hit the target again and again, five times. Draupadi approached him with the
garland of flowers and slipped it over his neck, and they became betrothed. Arjuna clasped her hand and led her off.

There was a commotion at once. “We have been cheated! How can a brahmin win a kshatriya bride? We will not tolerate it. We will kill King Drupada and carry away the girl.” Fighting broke out. Bhima, the strong brother among the Pandavas, armed with the trunks of two huge trees plucked out of the park, guarded the girl while she was taken away to their home in the Potters' Street.

Kunthi was in the kitchen when the brothers arrived. Bhima, wanting to sound lighthearted, cried from the doorstep, “Mother, come out, see what bhiksha we have brought today.”