Chapter II: The Story of the Great War (1)

Amongst the long line of kings descended from Chandra, the Moon, who reigned in Northern India, was Shantanu, with whom our narrative may conveniently commence. This king was, like most of the sovereigns of his house, a pious man and an able administrator, whose sway, we are told, was owned _by the whole world_. He had two wives in succession, first the goddess Ganga, afterwards Satyavati, and the story of his loves is worth recording.

Strange as it may seem, his marriage with the lovely Ganga, the divinity of the sacred river Ganges, resulted from a curse uttered by one of those terrible saints, so common in Indian poetry, whose irritability of temper seems to have been in direct proportion to the importance of their austerities. The saint in question, Vasishta by name, was once engaged in his devotions when a party of celestial beings, known as Vasus, unwittingly passed between him and the rising or setting sun. “Be born among men!” exclaimed the irate Rishi to the unwelcome intruders, and his malediction, once uttered was, of course, irrevocable.[56] Expelled from Heaven, these unfortunate Vasus were met by the goddess Ganga to whom they explained their sad destiny, imploring of her to become a woman, so that they might be born of her and not of a mere mortal. The goddess who, on account of a slight indiscretion on her part, was herself under the obligation of assuming the human form, agreed to their proposal, and made choice of Shantanu to be their father. The goddess promised the Vasus that as each one of them was born of her, he should be thrown, as a mere infant, into the water and destroyed, so that all might regain their celestial home as speedily as possible. But Ganga stipulated that each one of the Vasus should contribute an eighth part of his energy for the production of a son who should be allowed to live his life on earth, but should himself die childless. These preliminaries being settled amongst the gods, behind the scenes as it were, the play had to be played out on the terrestrial stage with men as the puppets. To this end Ganga took an opportunity of presenting herself before Shantanu for the purpose of captivating his heart,--no difficult task for the goddess. So, one day as he was wandering along the banks of the Ganges, “he saw a lovely maiden of blazing beauty and like unto another _Sree_ herself. Of faultless and pearly teeth and decked with celestial ornaments, she was attired in garments of fine texture, and resembled in splendour the filaments of the lotus. And the monarch beholding that damsel became surprised. With steadfast gaze he seemed to be drinking her charms, but repeated draughts failed to quench his thirst. The damsel also beholding the monarch of blazing splendour moving about in great agitation, was moved herself, and experienced an affection for him. She gazed and gazed and longed to gaze at him evermore. The monarch then in soft words addressed her and said: ‘O thou slender-waisted one, beest thou a goddess or the daughter of a Danava, beest thou of the race of the Gandharvas, or Apsaras, beest thou of the Yakshas or of the Nagas or beest thou of human origin, O thou of celestial beauty, I solicit thee to be my wife.’”

This wooing, simple enough in form and very much to the point, was, we need not say, entirely successful; the goddess without revealing her identity, consenting at once to become the king’s wife, on condition that she should be free to leave him the moment he interfered with her actions or addressed an unkind word to her. The enamoured prince readily agreed to these terms, and Ganga became his wife. Seven beautiful children born of this union were, to the king’s intense horror, thrown by their mother, each in its turn, into the waters of the Ganges with the words “This is for thy good.” Shantanu’s dread of losing the companionship of his lovely wife, of whom he was dotingly fond, kept him tongue-tied even in presence of such enormities; but when the eighth child was about to be destroyed like the others, his paternal feelings could not be controlled, and he broke out in remonstrance and upbraidings which saved his son’s life, but lost him his wife’s society for ever. Ganga, with much dignity, revealed herself to the king, explained to him the real circumstances of the case, and the motives which had influenced her actions and, reminding him of the stipulations of the contract between them, took a kind but final farewell of the husband of so many years. She thereupon disappeared, carrying the child away with her.

Later on, the river-goddess appeared once more to King Shantanu, and made over to him his half-celestial son, a youth of the most wonderful intellect, learning, strength and daring. This son, indifferently named Ganga-datta and Deva-bratta, was eventually best-known as _Bhisma_, or the _terrible_, for a reason to be explained immediately.

In the foregoing legend about the incarnations of the Vasus, we have an instructive and interesting illustration of the ideas of the Hindus with respect to the soul in man, which, as in this case, might be a spirit from the celestial regions. We also learn how the poor mortal’s destiny on earth is but the fulfilment of predestined events.

Shantanu, deserted by the goddess-queen, seems to have had a heart ready for the reception of another love, and, as his romantic fortune would have it, he was one day rambling on the banks of the Jumna when his attention was attracted by a delicious perfume. To trace this fragrance to its source the king roamed hither and thither through the woods, “and, in the course of his rambles, he beheld a black-eyed maiden of celestial beauty, the daughter of a fisherman.” In those primitive times, when men carried their hearts on their sleeves and the forms of social life were simple and natural, no tedious courtship was necessary; so, “the king addressing her said: ‘Who art thou, and whose daughter? What dost thou do here, O timid one?’ She answered, ‘Blest be thou, I am the daughter of the chief of the fishermen. At his command for religious merit I am engaged in rowing the passengers across this river in my boat.’ And Shantanu beholding that maiden of celestial form endued with beauty, amiableness and such fragrance, desired her for wife. And repairing unto her father the king solicited his consent to the proposed match.”

The fisherman was willing to bestow his daughter on the king, but only on condition that the son born to her should occupy the throne to the exclusion of all others. This was a difficulty that staggered the king, for he could not find it in his heart to set aside Deva-bratta, the glorious son of Ganga. The matter accordingly dropped, but his disappointment was very great, and he could not conceal from the world that there was something preying upon his mind. Deva-bratta, being much concerned about Shantanu’s unhappiness, found out the cause of it, and going to the father of the sweet-scented maiden, Satyavati, he formally renounced his own right to the succession, and recorded a vow of perpetual celibacy.

Upon this “the Apsaras and the gods with the tribes of the Rishis began to rain down flowers from the firmament upon the head of Deva-bratta, and exclaimed ‘This one is Bhisma’ (the terrible).”

Everything was now arranged to the satisfaction of the contracting parties, and Satyavati, the ferry-girl, became the proud queen of Bharatvarsha. But this beauteous and odoriferous damsel had already a history, which, though unknown to the king her husband, may be unfolded here.

In the discharge of her pious office of ferrying across the Jumna those who desired it, the maiden on one occasion had as her companion in the boat “the great and wise Rishi Parashara, foremost of all virtuous men.” This illustrious saint, who seems to have had an eye for a pretty wench, immediately made advances to the boat-girl. Dread of her father, and a natural disinclination of being seen from the shore, made Satyavati coy; but, on the other hand, she was also in terror of the Rishi’s curse, in case she disobliged him. The sage Parashara was not to be denied. He enveloped the boat in a mist, and, promising the boat-girl that her virginity should be restored, and that a certain fishy smell which emanated from her person should be changed into a sweet perfume, had his way with her. The offspring of this union was no other than the renowned Vyasa, who arranged the Vedas and wrote the “Mahabharata,” and of whom we shall hear more very soon.

Satyavati by her union with King Shantanu became the mother of two sons, Chitrangada and Vichitra-virya. The former was after a short reign killed, _in a three years’ combat_, by the King of the Gandharvas, and Vichitra-virya was placed on the throne; but being a minor the kingdom was ruled by Bhisma, in subordination to Queen Satyavati. When the king was old enough to be married Bhisma set about finding a wife for him. Learning that the three lovely daughters of the King of Kasi would elect husbands in a public _swayamvara_, or maiden’s choice, he repaired thither and, acting in accordance with the lawless customs of the times, carried the fair princesses off in his chariot, challenging anyone and everyone to fight him for the coveted prize. A desperate battle ensued, of the kind familiar to the reader of the previous portion of this volume. Bhisma, alone and unaided, assailed by ten thousand arrows at the same time, was able to check these missiles in mid-air by showers of innumerable darts from his own bow, and after prodigious slaughter effected the object he had in view.[57] Of the three captured princesses one, named Amba, was allowed to go back to her people, as she explained that she had fully made up her mind to elect the King of Sanva for her husband, that he had given her his heart, and that her father was willing. The Rajah, however, coldly rejected Amba, on the ground that she had been in another man’s house; so, after undergoing painful austerities, with the object of being avenged for the humiliations she had suffered, the unhappy princess immolated herself on the funeral pile. In her case the swayamvara was, _it would appear, only intended to be a formal ceremony_. The other two princesses became the wives of Vichitra-virya; but, after a short reign, he died, leaving behind him no heirs of his body.

This failure of issue threatened the extinction of the Lunar dynasty. But, according to the ideas of those primitive times, the deficiency of heirs might still be supplied, for Vichitra-virya’s two widows, Amvika and Amvalika, still survived, and some kinsman might raise up seed to the dead man. Queen Satyavati pressed Bhisma to undertake the duty, but he, unwittingly fulfilling his destiny, held his vow of celibacy too sacred to be broken even in such a dynastic emergency. On his refusal Satyavati thought of her son Vyasa as perpetuator of the Lunar race, and the sage, nothing loth, undertook the family duty and visited the widows in turn. Now this celebrated sage had, by reason of his austerities, a terrible and repulsive appearance. The elder widow, Amvika, shut her eyes when she saw him, as he approached in the lamplight, and the son born of her was, in consequence, blind. The other widow was so blanched with fear at the sight of the sage, that the son she gave birth to was of quite a pale complexion. The blind son was named Dhritarashtra, and the white one Pandu.[58]

Neither of these sons being perfect, Satyavati desired Vyasa to beget yet another son. For this purpose he was to visit Amvika again; but she, poor soul, had had enough of the wild-looking anchorite, whose grim visage and strong odour had made a deep and disagreeable impression upon her, so she sent a beautiful slave-girl to him in her stead. The Sudra maiden made herself agreeable to the sage who was, of course, too wise to be taken in by the attempted deception. “And when he rose up to go away he addressed her and said ‘Amiable one, thou shalt no longer be a slave. Thy child also shall be greatly fortunate and virtuous and the foremost of all intelligent men on earth.’” This third son of Vyasa was named Vidura, and, although the offspring of a Sudra wench was, it seems, no other than the god of justice himself, incarnate in human form, owing, as we might well guess, to the _potent curse of a holy ascetic_. This is how it came about. The ascetic was performing his penances under a vow of silence, when there came to his asylum a band of robbers fleeing from the officers of justice. They hid their booty and themselves in the asylum. The police officers who were on their track came to the asylum and requested the hermit to point out where the thieves had hidden themselves. The ascetic vouchsafed no answer, but the officers themselves soon found both the thieves and the stolen property. As an accomplice in the crime that had been committed, the ascetic was apprehended and sentenced to death. He was in due course impaled, but, even on the cruel stake which was rending his body, he serenely devoted himself to contemplation. For days he lived quietly upon the stake, a fact which was brought to the king’s knowledge, and greatly alarmed him. He came in person to the ascetic, addressed him with great humility, begged his forgiveness, and ordered his immediate removal from the stake. All attempts to extract the stake having failed, it was cut off at the surface of the body, and the ascetic, apparently none the worse for this addition to his internal economy, went about as usual, but he was by no means content. Of the god of justice he demanded what crime he had committed which entailed so heavy a punishment. The god explained that the ascetic had once in his childhood pierced a little insect with a blade of grass, hence his impalement. In the Rishi’s opinion the punishment was out of all proportion to the offence, particularly as the Shastras exempted children from responsibility for their actions, and, waxing wroth, he uttered the following imprecation: “Thou shalt, therefore, O god of justice, have to be born among men even in the Sudra order.”[59]

Dhritarashtra was set aside on account of his blindness, and Vidura on account of his servile birth, so the _raj_ fell to Pandu, during whose minority the country was governed by his uncle, Bhisma.[60]

Pandu became a great and celebrated rajah. He had two wives, Kunti and Madri. The former, although very beautiful, had no suitors in her maidenhood; so the king, her father, invited to his court the princes and monarchs of the neighbouring countries, and desired Kunti to choose her husband from amongst his guests. The princess attracted by the appearance of Pandu who was there, approached him modestly, and “quivering with emotion,” as the poet tells us, placed the nuptial garland round his neck. In this romantic fashion Pandu got his first wife. For the second, Madri, who was selected for him by Bhisma, he had to pay a very considerable price in gold and precious stones, elephants, horses and other things; for, it seems, it was the custom in her family for the daughters to be disposed of for such price as could be got for them.

After he had reigned a while, Pandu retired with his two wives into the forests on the slopes of the Himalaya Mountains to indulge his love of freedom and the chase.

One day while out hunting he discharged his arrows at two deer sporting together. Now these, as ill luck would have it, were, in reality, a Brahman sage and his wife. In the agonies of death the Brahman assumed his proper form and, as we might expect, _cursed_ the unfortunate Pandu, saying that he would assuredly die in the embrace of one of his wives.

Up to this time Pandu had had no children, and owing to his dread of the Brahman’s curse was cut off from any further hope of offspring. Deeming it a most indispensable religious duty to have heirs, he consulted the ascetics in the woods on the subject, saying: “Ye ascetics I am not yet freed from the debt I owe to my (deceased) ancestors! The best of men are born in this world to beget children for discharging that debt. I would ask ye, should children be begotten in my soil (upon my wives) as I myself was begotten in the soil of my father by the eminent Rishi?”

The ascetics having given the king an answer in the affirmative, he desired his wife, Kunti, “to raise up offspring from the seed of some Brahman of high ascetic merit.” But Kunti had another resource to fall back upon. It seems that in her maiden days she had pleased a Rishi by her attentions, and he had taught her, as a reward, a _mantra_, or spell, by the repetition of which she could cause any celestial being she thought of to present himself to her and be obedient to her will, whether he liked it or not. Of the efficacy of this spell Kunti had already had practical experience, for in her early days she had, just to test the value of the spell, compelled the attendance of Surya, the sun-god, and had a son by him, named Karna, of whom we shall hear again. Prudently omitting any mention of Surya and Karna, Kunti told her husband of the _mantra_ she possessed, and, with his consent, had three sons _for him_ by three different gods, viz., Yudhisthira by Dharma,[61] Bhisma by Vayu, and Arjuna by Indra.

But Pandu wanted more sons, and persuaded Kunti to communicate the spell to Madri who, greedy of offspring, summoned the twins Açwins to her bed, and gave birth in due course to two sons, Nakula and Sahadeva. These five sons, known as the five Pandavas, are the real heroes of the great war which forms the main incident of the “Mahabharata.”

Pandu himself met with a tragic end. One day in lovely spring weather, when wandering with his younger wife, Madri, through the pleasant woodlands he, in a weak moment, yielded to his passions and, in fulfilment of the Brahman’s curse, died in the arms of his wife, who, in testimony of her affection for her husband, and on the ground that she was his favourite wife, had herself burnt with his remains.[62]

The party opposed to the Pandavas, known as the Kauravas, consisted primarily of the one hundred sons of Dhritarashtra, by his wife Gandhari. Of course it was necessary that persons who had to play a leading part in the poet’s story should come into the world in some extraordinary manner, and equally necessary that a Rishi should have a prominent share in the event. Gandhari appears to have been lucky enough to please by her hospitalities the great ascetic Dwaipayana, and he granted her the boon she asked, viz., one hundred sons, each equal to her lord in strength and accomplishments. Instead of sons, however, the queen gave birth to a shapeless mass of flesh and, in despair, was about to throw it away, when the sage who, in his hermitage, knew exactly what was transpiring at the palace, appeared unexpectedly on the scene and, cutting the piece of flesh into one hundred and one pieces, placed each separately in a pot full of clarified butter; whence, in due time, one hundred sons and one daughter were taken out. Of these hundred sons, four--Duryodhana, Dhusashana, Vikarna, and Chittrasena--afterwards became prominent characters in the story of this epic.

During the practical abdication of the throne by Pandu, Dhritarashtra seems to have ruled the country; but Pandu’s _sons_, as the Pandavas were considered to be, had a claim to the throne, and the surviving widow of the ill-fated king proceeded at once to Hastinapur with the five boys. A great number of ascetics accompanied them and, having testified before Dhritarashtra and his court to the celestial parentage of these sons of Kunti and Madri, vanished into thin air before the eyes of all present. The young sons of Pandu were, after this, well received by the blind old king, and took up their abode with his wife, Gandhari, and his sons. But the cousins, if such they can be called, could not live amicably together, and many feuds arose between them. To such a pass did the bitterness of feeling between the kinsmen come, that the eldest son of the blind king, jealous of the strength of Bhima, cunningly drugged him, bound him hand and foot, and then flung him into the Ganges. But Bhima did not perish. As he sank through the water snakes attacked him, and the venom of their bites, counteracting the effects of the drug he had swallowed, restored him to consciousness. He immediately burst his bonds, and found that he had descended to the city of the Serpent-king in the interior of the earth, where he was hospitably entertained, and given a draught of nectar which endowed him with the strength of _ten thousand elephants_. After that he was carried by the Nagas from under the waters and restored to the place whence he had been thrown into the river. On his return to Hastinapur, Bhima related his adventures to his brothers, but was cautioned to say nothing about the matter in the presence of his cousins, so as not to awaken their suspicions.

In accordance with the warlike tastes of the times, all the young princes, Dhritarashtra’s sons and nephews alike, were trained to arms and instructed in the science of warfare by a famous Brahman preceptor, named Drona, on condition that they would fight for him against Draupada, Rajah of Panchala, with whom he had a feud of long standing. This Drona, it is needless to say, was of extraordinary origin, otherwise he would not have been preceptor to the princes. He was the son of a Rishi, named Bharadvaja, but was not born of woman. The Pandavas and their cousins had also another famous tutor, named Kripa, who had sprung into existence from a clump of heather.

When the scions of the royal house of Pandu had been sufficiently trained in the use of arms, their preceptor, Drona, arranged for an exhibition of their skill before the chiefs and people of the Raj. An auspicious day was fixed upon, and the people informed by proclamation of the important function. It was a day of excitement and bustle in the land of the Kurus; spectators flocked from far and near to witness the royal assault-at-arms. The wealthier part of the visitors pitched their tents near the arena, and others put up convenient stages from which to view the events of the day. For the king and his courtiers a theatre was erected “according to the rules laid down in the scriptures.” It was constructed of gold, and adorned with strings of pearls and lapiz lazuli. The ladies had a separate gallery to themselves, and came to the fête gorgeously attired.

Amidst the blare of trumpets and the sound of drums, Drona, all in white, his Brahmanical cord conspicuously displayed, entered the arena attended by his son. The young princes followed in the order of their ages. After some preliminary displays of dexterity in archery and fencing, and of skill in horsemanship and the management of war-chariots, a contest with maces came off between Duryodhana and Bhima. They _roared_ at each other “like two mad elephants contending for a female one,” and what was meant to be a sham fight soon changed into a real combat. The princely competitors, actuated by mutual animosity, charged each other “like infuriated elephants,” and battered each other most vindictively with their ponderous maces. This single combat caused great excitement amongst the spectators, who took sides, and applauded their favourites. Drona had to interpose between the heated combatants. He commanded the music to cease and, to make a diversion, quickly brought forward Arjuna, clad in golden mail, to display his inimitable skill in bowmanship. In this art, the most important of the warlike arts in the India of those times, Arjuna hopelessly surpassed all his rivals and, indeed, besides the extraordinary skill he displayed, there was much to wonder at in his performances, for “by the _Agneya_ weapon he created fire, and by the _Varuna_ weapon he created water, and by the _Vayavya_ weapon he created air, and by the _Paryanya_ weapon he created clouds, and by the _Bhanma_ weapon he created land, and by the _Parvatya_ weapon mountains came into being. And by the _Antardhyana_ weapon these were all made to disappear.”

When the exhibition was nearly over a formidable champion thundered at the gates of the arena. It was Karna, son of Kunti, already mentioned, and, as became the offspring of the sun-god, an archer of most wonderful skill. On being admitted, the tall and handsome Karna, proudly arrayed in the glittering coat of mail in which he was born, and the ear-rings which had similarly come into the world with him, presented a dazzling and most striking appearance. He haughtily assured Arjuna that he would perform before the multitude there assembled feats that would excel all that had been exhibited that day. He even expressed his eagerness for a single combat with the hero. The two glorious sons of Kunti, unconscious of their relationship, appeared in the lists; their respective fathers, Indra and Surya, anxiously watched events from their positions in the welkin, and Kunti, as became a fond mother, fainted away. At this juncture Kripa interposed, inquiring the race and lineage of the newcomer. This action on Kripa’s part was, apparently, only a device to avert the threatened fight. Duryodhana was furious at this interruption, and, to remove any objection on the score of difference of rank between the contending parties, raised Karna on the spot to the Rajahship of Anga not, however, without the indispensable aid of the Brahmans, their _mantras_ and ceremonies. All this took time; and more time was wasted in altercations in which Bhima took a prominent part, insulting Karna in an outrageous fashion, to the great indignation of Duryodhana. Presently the sun went down over the scene, and the royal tournament with its exciting incidents was necessarily brought to an end.

The princes having thus publicly proved that they were capable of bearing arms, Drona called upon them to fulfil their part of the terms upon which he had educated them. Joint or common action amongst the cousins being out of the question, the Kauravas and their friends went forth alone and attacked the Rajah of Panchala. They were defeated and compelled to retreat. Then the Pandavas marched out against their tutor’s enemy, and after a bloody conflict of the usual kind,--in which arrows fly from each single bow like flights of locusts; in which thousands of elephants, horses and men are slain; in which the principal combatants, although pierced with scores of shafts, seem none the worse for them--the Pandavas met with complete success, bringing the defeated Rajah along with them as a prisoner. He was afterwards liberated at the expense of half his kingdom, which was appropriated by the successful Drona.

Fresh causes of jealousy arose between the cousins. Yudhisthira’s claim to the succession could not be set aside, as the people were all in favour of him; so he was appointed by the blind king, very reluctantly, we may presume, to the office of Yuva-Rajah, or heir-apparent. The Pandavas, elated by their success against the King of Panchala, and confident in themselves, commenced a series of unprovoked attacks upon the neighbouring princes. Of course the Pandavas performed prodigies of valour in these invasions. For example, two of them with a single chariot, “subjugated all the kings of the East backed by ten thousand chariots.”

These great achievements inflamed the jealousy of even the blind king to such a pitch that he disclosed his feelings to Kanika, his Brahman counsellor, “well skilled in the science of politics.” As became a sage politician, Kanika advised his master to put the obnoxious Pandavas out of the way as soon as possible. He explained to Dhritarashtra his obvious duty in such a case, and impressed upon his sovereign such important maxims of state policy as the following: “When thy foe is in thy power destroy him by every means, open or secret: Do not show him any mercy although he seeketh thy protection.... If thy son, friend, brother, father or even spiritual preceptor, becometh thy foe, thou shouldst, if desirous of prosperity, slay him without scruples. By curses and incantations, by gift of wealth, by poison, or by deception the foe should be slain. He should never be neglected from disdain.”

His counsels fell on only too willing ears. Dhritarashtra was ready to do his _duty_ as thus explained to him, but thought it best to act warily. Duryodhana suggested that the Pandavas should be induced to go to Varanavartha,[63] and there be disposed of.

Praises of this place were cunningly circulated in Dhritarashtra’s court, and the king suggested to the Pandavas that they might go there for a holiday. Suspicions naturally arose in the minds of the sons of Pandu; but there seemed to be no way of eluding the king’s proposal. Their departure was a day of public mourning in Hastinapur, and, before they went, Vidura found an opportunity to warn them of a plot which had been formed to burn them to death in a house made of combustible materials, which would be erected for their reception at Varanavartha. To be forewarned was to be forearmed, and the Pandavas determined to be even with their enemies. Purochana, a confidential agent of Duryodhana’s, preceded them on their journey, and began in all haste to construct for their reception at Varanavartha and for their ultimate destruction by fire, the famous _house of lac_. What sort of mansion this was we may judge from Yudhisthira’s opinion of it, expressed confidentially to Bhima, after a critical inspection of the edifice, on their arrival at their destination. “The enemy, it is evident, by the aid of trusted artists, well skilled in the construction of houses, have finely built this mansion, after procuring hemp, resin, heath, straw and bamboos, all soaked in clarified butter.”

To escape destruction should their house be set on fire, the Pandavas secretly caused a subterranean passage to be made leading out of the dwelling. The work was executed by a trusty messenger, well skilled in mining, who had been sent to their assistance by Vidura. One evening Kunti fed a large number of Brahmans at this combustible house of hers. After the guests were gone, the Pandavas, assuring themselves that their enemy, Purochana, was fast asleep, quietly fastened the doors of the house, and themselves set fire to it in several places. As if impelled by _Fate_, a Nishada woman with her five sons had come, uninvited guests, to Kunti’s feast, and, becoming intoxicated with the wine of which they had partaken too freely, lay drunk upon the premises. These six drunk and incapable persons perished with Purochana, and their remains, found by the citizens after the conflagration had been extinguished, left no doubt in men’s minds that Kunti and her sons had all been miserably burnt to death.[64]

The five Pandava brothers _disguised as Brahmans_, accompanied by their mother, Kunti, made their escape into the forests and commenced a long course of wanderings, in which they experienced much hardship and many adventures. Often were they wearied out by their long marches, all except the giant Bhima who, on such occasions, would carry the whole family on his back and shoulders or under his arms. Of this episode Bhima is indisputably the hero. It is he who forces his way by giant strength through the almost impenetrable forests, treading down trees and creepers to make a passage for himself and his burden. It is he who kills the terrible Rakshasa bent upon devouring Kunti and her sons. It is Bhima with whom the cannibal’s sister falls ardently in love and whom, after strange adventurous journeys through the air, she eventually makes the happy father of a son, Ghatotkacha, afterwards a famous champion in the final struggles between the rival parties. It is Bhima again who, when they sojourned in Ekachakra (the inhabitants of which town had to pay a daily toll of a live human being for the table of a fierce Rakshasa), killed the monster single-handed, and delivered the trembling citizens from the gloomy horror under which they had been living.[65]

During their residence at Ekachakra, where they lived disguised as Brahmans, the Pandavas were visited by the famous Rishi Vyasa, who, it will be remembered, was really their grandfather, and also the compiler of the “Mahabharata” itself. By him they were informed that the lovely princess, Krishná, or Draupadi, the daughter of the King of the Panchalas, was about to hold a swayamvara, or “self choice,” at which she would select a husband. Vyasa also told them the wonderful history of this Draupadi, and thereby greatly excited their interest and curiosity in the handsome maiden, who was no ordinary girl, but had sprung into existence, mature and beautiful, in the midst of a great sacrifice for offspring, offered by Draupada, King of the Panchalas.

When, as has already been narrated, Draupada was defeated by Drona, and deprived by him of half his kingdom, a spirit of revenge took complete possession of the discomfited monarch, and his one thought was to find a means of compassing the overthrow of his successful foe, the redoubtable son of Bharadvaja. How could this object be attained when there was not a single one amongst the heroes of Panchala to cope with Drona, that mightiest of bowmen and possessor of the terrible _Brahma-weapon_? In such a difficulty the Indian chieftain naturally built his hopes upon those great national resources--the assistance of potent Brahmans, and the efficacy of properly conducted sacrifices. For the handsome fee of ten thousand kine the king succeeded in inducing a couple of learned Brahmans, who had long been engaged in austerities, to undertake a sacrifice for the express purpose of obtaining a son who should be invincible in war and capable of slaying Drona. The result of the ceremonies and sacrifices conducted by the learned and not too scrupulous Brahmans was completely successful, for out of the sacrificial flames which they had kindled emerged a stately youth, encased in full armour, with a crown on his head, and bearing a bow and arrows in his hands. He was wonderful to behold, and appeared upon the scene uttering loud roars. This was Dhrista-dyumna. After him appeared a beautiful maiden. “Her eyes were black, and large as lotus leaves, her complexion was dark, and her locks were blue and curly. Her nails were beautifully convex and bright as burnished copper, her eyebrows were fair, and her bosom was deep.... Her body emitted a fragrance as that of a blue lotus, perceivable from a distance of full two miles.” This damsel, because she was so dark complexioned, received the name of Krishná (the dark), but is more commonly known as Draupadi. Being the most lovely woman in the world at that time, her swayamvara would naturally attract the chiefs and princes of all nations, and not chiefs and princes only, but also Brahmans in crowds, ready to graciously accept the presents which the liberality or ostentation of the high-born suitors might prompt them to distribute on the occasion.

The young Pandavas were much excited about the coming event, and set off without delay to witness and, if possible, to take part in the proceedings of lovely Draupadi’s swayamvara. When they arrived at Panchala they took up their abode in the house of a humble potter, and, still disguised as Brahmans, supported themselves by begging alms of the people.

A great amphitheatre covered with a canopy was prepared for the important occasion. It was erected on a level plain, surrounded by lofty seven-storeyed palaces covered with gold, set with diamonds and adorned with garlands of fragrant flowers. In these costly mansions, “perfectly white and resembling the cloud-kissing peaks of Kailasa,” were lodged the kings and princes who had been invited to the swayamvara by the father of Draupadi. Commodious platforms were constructed all round the amphitheatre for the convenience of less august visitors, and on one of these platforms the Pandavas found places for themselves in the company of a number of Brahmans. Public rejoicings, music, dancing, and performances of various kinds, extending over sixteen days, served as a prelude to the business of the great assembly. At one end of the plain a tall pole was erected, and on the top of this pole was fixed a golden fish, and below the golden fish a _chakra_, or wheel, kept whirling round and round. The condition of the swayamvara was that each competitor should be provided with a particular bow and five selected arrows. If he succeeded with these in discharging an arrow through the _chakra_, and in striking the eye of the golden fish behind it, he should be the husband of the dark beauty of Panchala.

On the sixteenth day, when the meeting-place was quite full, Draupadi entered the amphitheatre richly attired and adorned with ornaments. In her hands she carried a golden dish with the usual offerings to Agni, the god of fire, and a garland of flowers for the neck of the happy man who should win her in the competition. After the offerings had been cast into the sacrificial fire and the appropriate _mantras_ recited by the Brahmans appointed to perform the duty, Dhrista-dyumna led his sister before the assembly and, in a loud voice, proclaimed the conditions of the competition.

Amongst the innumerable suitors present there, we need only mention Duryodhana and Karna, who are already known to the reader.

The sight of the beautiful Draupadi fired the ardour of the assembled princes. One after the other they came forward to essay the feat but, though they tugged and strained and sweated till their faces were distorted and their clothes disordered, they were not even able to string the mighty bow. Karna at length stepped up and stringing the bow with ease placed an arrow for the trial. But seeing Karna, Draupadi loudly exclaimed: “I will not elect a Suta for my lord.”[66] “Then Karna, laughing in vexation and casting a glance on the sun, threw aside the bow already drawn to a circle.” Other competitors, princes of great renown, still pressed forward to try what they could do, but met with no success. When all the Kshatriya lords had retired discomfited, Arjuna advanced from his place amongst the Brahmans and, amidst a great deal of clamour, strung the bow and, with unerring skill, shot the mark. A tumultuous shout arose from the assembled multitude; there was a great uproar in the firmament, and the gods showered down flowers upon the happy hero. “And Krishná beholding the mark shot and beholding Partha (Arjuna) also like unto Indra himself, who had shot the mark, was filled with joy, and approached the son of Kunti with a white robe and a garland of flowers.” The Kshatriya Rajahs and chiefs were wild at their defeat by a Brahman, and although they were prepared to admit that their kingdoms, and they themselves also, existed solely for the benefit of the Brahmans, they demurred to such a conclusion of the swayamvara of a Kshatriya princess, and made a fierce attack upon King Draupada, who was willing to hand Draupadi over to the victor. Arjuna rushed at once to the king’s rescue, accompanied by the redoubtable Bhima, armed with nothing less than an uprooted tree and, though a desperate fight ensued, the Pandava brothers succeeded, partly through the mediation of Krishna--whom we here meet for the first time--in leaving the amphitheatre, closely followed by beautiful Draupadi.

Then those illustrious “sons of Pretha returning to the potter’s abode, approached their mother. And those first of men represented Yájnaseni (Draupadi) unto their mother as the _alms_ they had obtained that day. And Kunti who was there within the room and saw not her sons replied, saying, ‘Enjoy ye all (what ye have obtained).’” The moment after she beheld Krishná, and then she said, “O, what have I said?” However, Draupadi was fated to have five husbands for, in a previous existence on the earth, she had, on five different occasions, asked the gods for a good husband as the reward of the austerities she practised. Yudhisthira knew this. It had been revealed to him by Vyasa. So when the matter was referred to him, as head of the family, he said simply: “The auspicious Draupadi shall be the common wife of us all;” a decision which pleased his brothers considerably for, as the poet tells us, “The sons of Pandu then hearing those words of their eldest brother, began to revolve them in their minds in great cheerfulness.”

Their life in the potter’s house was simplicity itself. Krishná prepared the food for the family and served it out to the several members, taking only a little for herself and eating it last of all. At night all seven slept on a bed of _kusa_ grass covered with deerskins. The brothers lay side by side, their mother along the line of their heads, and Krishná “along the line of their feet as their nether pillow.”

When Draupadi, nothing loth, had gone away with the handsome victor, the King of Panchala was naturally very anxious to find out who the successful suitor really was. By a little artful eavesdropping on the part of Dhrista-dyumna, the secret became known to him, and he rejoiced to find what a good match Krishná had made. Arjuna caused great preparations to be undertaken for the wedding. He did not quite like the proposed fivefold arrangement; but was induced to consent to it, after Vyasa himself had explained to him how polyandry was not in itself sinful, and how this particular marriage had been pre-arranged by _Destiny_. It only remained for Draupadi to be led round the sacred fire on five successive days by the five brothers in turn. After the five weddings the King of the Panchalas made valuable presents to Draupadi’s husbands, including gold, chariots, horses and elephants, “and he also gave them a hundred female servants, all in the prime of youth and decked in costly robes and ornaments and floral wreaths.” Krishna also bestowed upon the happy Pandavas presents of various sorts,--costly robes, soft blankets, golden ornaments, and superb vessels set with gems and diamonds. And, in addition to these, “many elephants and horses, crores of gold coins, and thousands of young and beautiful female servants brought from various countries.”[67]

The alliance thus formed with the Rajah of Penchala made a great change in the fortunes of the Pandavas, and induced their cousins at Hastinapur to make overtures of friendship to them. The negotiations led, at length, to an amicable arrangement, by which the Kauravas continued to remain and rule at Hastinapur, while the Pandavas were assisted to settle themselves in Khandava-prasta on the banks of the Jumna. The portion of the country assigned to the sons of Pandu “was an unreclaimed desert,” but they soon built a gorgeous and wonderful city there, Indraprasta,[68] “surrounded by a trench as wide as the sea, and by walls reaching high into the heavens ... and the gateways that protected the town were high as the Mandara Mountain and massy as the clouds.”

At Indraprasta the brothers lived happily with their wife, having, upon the advice of a Rishi, arranged “that when one of them would be sitting with Draupadi, if any other of the four would see that one thus, he (the intruder) must retire into the forest for twelve years, passing his days as a Brahmachárin.” One day a Brahman, who had been robbed of his cattle, came in great haste to the king’s palace and, lamenting bitterly, accused the Pandavas of allowing him to be deprived of his property by contemptible thieves. Arjuna, recognizing his duty to afford the Brahman redress and protection, resolved to pursue the robbers; but his arms were in the room where Draupadi was sitting with Yudhisthira. Balancing against each other the sin of allowing the Brahman’s wrongs to go unavenged, and the breach of decorum involved in entering the chamber when his brother was engaged with Draupadi, he deliberately chose the latter, notwithstanding the consequences of their mutual agreement on that point. Once in possession of his arms he pursued the thieves, recovered the stolen property, and restored it to the Brahman; but on returning to the palace he voluntarily determined to go into exile in fulfilment of the terms of the compact about Draupadi.

Arjuna’s twelve years of exile were full of adventure. At the spot where the Ganges enters the plains (Hurdwar) he stepped into the sacred stream for a bath, was drawn down into the water by Ulupi, the daughter of the King of the Nagas, and taken by her to the beautiful mansion of her father. The love-sick Ulupi courted Arjuna so warmly that he could not find it in his heart to resist her solicitations. In return, Ulupi bestowed upon Arjuna the gift of invisibility in water.

From one sacred stream to another, from one holy place to another, wandered the willing exile, giving away much wealth to the Brahmans. At length he travelled as far as Munipur. Now the King of Munipur had a beautiful daughter named Chitrángadá. Arjuna saw, and fell desperately in love with the fair maiden. He asked her hand in marriage and obtained it, on condition that the first son born of the union should be considered to belong to the King of Munipur, in order to succeed him on the throne of that country. Three years did Arjuna live at Munipur, but when a son was born to Chitrángadá he took an affectionate farewell of her, and set out again upon his wanderings. Visiting many lands and experiencing strange adventures, he at length arrived at Dwarka, on the shore of the Southern Sea, the capital of his kinsman, Krishna, King of the Yadhavas. A casual sight of Subhadrá, the handsome sister of Krishna, made a strong and visible impression upon the susceptible heart of Arjuna. Krishna perceived the effect produced by his sister’s charms, and was not indisposed to an alliance with the Pandava hero. Should Subhadrá, now of age, hold a swayamvara or maiden’s choice? Krishna thought the result of such a plan might be disappointing; for who could say what choice a capricious girl might make! So, he artfully suggested to Arjuna to carry off the maiden by force, since “in the case of Kshatriyas that are brave, a forcible abduction for purposes of marriage is applauded, as the learned have said.” Arjuna, who was ready to achieve anything achievable by man to obtain “that girl of sweet smiles,” soon put the suggestion into practice, to the great indignation of the Yadhava chiefs; but Krishna threw oil upon the troubled waters, and everything was amicably settled in the end, the wedding being celebrated on a magnificent scale. After the prescribed twelve years of exile were completed, Arjuna returned to Khandava-prasta with Subhadrá, and was loyally welcomed by all. But when he visited Draupadi she evinced very natural signs of jealousy, and recommended Arjuna to go to the daughter of the Satwata race. However he coaxed her over, and when Subhadrá, dressed in red silk, but in the simple fashion of a cow-keeper, approached and bowed down to Draupadi, saying, “I am thy maid,” her resentful feelings were disarmed; she rose hastily and embraced her young rival with the significant greeting: “Let thy husband be without a foe.”

Krishna, the Prince of Dwarka, now visited his brother-in-law in great state, and brought with him a vast store of valuable gifts, amongst which we need only notice “a thousand damsels well skilled in assisting at the operations of bathing and at drinking.” No light recommendations apparently, for it would seem that in those good old times the practice of drinking wine was quite common; as we are told by the poet, in connection with a great picnic, given by Arjuna and Krishna, that “the women of the party, all of full rotund hips and fine deep bosoms and handsome eyes, and gait unsteady with wine, began to sport there at the command of Krishna and Partha (Arjuna). And some amongst the women sported as they liked in the woods, and some in the waters, and some within the mansions as directed by Partha and Govinda (Krishna). And Draupadi and Subhadrá, exhilarated with wine, began to give away unto the women so sporting their costly robes and ornaments. And some amongst those women began to dance in joy, and some began to sing, and some amongst them began to laugh and jest, and some to drink excellent wines.”

The picnic referred to was succeeded by a terrible conflict, in which Krishna and Arjuna, in the interests of Agni, opposed Indra and his celestial hosts. Agni, the god of fire, having drunk a continuous stream of clarified butter for twelve years, during the sacrifice of King Swetaki, was satiated with his greasy fare, had become pale and could not shine as before. To recover his health a change of diet was necessary for the god, and he, therefore, wished to devour, with his flaming tongues, the forest of Khandava in that land; but whenever he attempted to do this, Indra opposed him, quenching the flames raised by the fire-god with torrents of rain from above. However, Arjuna, in his wonderful way, “covered the forest of Khandava with innumerable arrows, like the moon covering the atmosphere with a thick fog,” and in this manner protected the burning forest from Indra’s drenching showers. A fierce battle with Indra, backed by Asuras, Gandharvas, Yakshas, and a host of others, resulted in the complete victory of Arjuna and his kinsman, in the total consumption of the forest by fire, and the almost wholesale destruction of all its inhabitants of every kind.

Only six of the dwellers in the forest of Khandava were allowed to escape with their lives. Aswa-Sena, Maya, and four birds called _Sharugakos_. Now Maya was the chief architect of the Danavas and, in gratitude for his preservation, built a wonderful _Sabha_, or hall, for the Pandavas, the most beautiful structure of its kind in the whole world.

One day, while the Pandavas were holding their court in this hall, the celestial Rishi Narada visited them, and the subject of conversation having turned upon the splendours of Maya’s handiwork, the Rishi described the courts of Indra, Yama, Varuna, and Kuvera, as also “the assembly-house of the grandsire, that house which none can describe, saying, it is such, for within a moment it assumes a different form that language fails to paint.”

Within the narrow limits I have allowed myself, these highly interesting pictures of the different heavens of the Hindus cannot be reproduced; but their more salient features must not be passed over, since they are highly characteristic of the ideas of the people who conceived them. The hall of Brahma, the Supreme Being, the Creator of everything, is an indescribable mansion, peopled by a most august, if somewhat shadowy, assembly. Here, in the presence of the grandsire of all, attend, in their personified forms, the various forces and phenomena of nature, such as time and space, heat and air, day and night, the months and seasons, the years and _Yugas_. Here also are ever to be found religion, joy, tranquillity, aversion and asceticism; here wisdom, intelligence and fame; here the four Vedas, sacrifices and _mantras_. Here also perpetually attend hymns, dramas, songs and stories, together with all the sciences, in the company of countless celestial Rishis and all the deities.