Pradip Bhattacharya

Indologist, Mahabharata scholar

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Two Studies in Social Injustice

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I – GHENA MRIDANGA

1. Pekepara is a small village forming part of Baganchara Anchal in Shantipur Police Station of Nadia District in West Bengal.  Ghrina—better known as ‘Ghena’—Mridanga was a resident of this village from his childhood. He had been working as a servant and day-labourer in the household and fields of Sagar Santra, a well-to-do farmer of Pekepara. The Santras had come to look upon him as part and parcel of their household and had even got him married.

2. Though working as a day-labourer, Ghena had dreams of standing on his own feet some day. Since 1969 he had been cultivating 0.7 acres in plot numbers 976 and 977 in Mouza Baganchara, Jurisdiction List 12, on behalf of Sagar Santra, handing over to him the entire produce. These lands originally belonged to the Maharaja of Krishnagar. During the last Settlement Operations Sagar Santra had managed to get himself recorded as a ‘jabar-dakhalkar’ (forcible occupier) of the plots since 1950.

3. When the Revisional Settlement Operations were announced, Sagar’s son Bhiku released that as these lands had since vested in the State he would have to manipulate matters in order to maintain his illegal possession of the plots. Bhiku’s initial plan was to enter into a ‘benami’ transaction by setting Ghena up as a landless agricultural labourer cultivating Government lands on his own. This would lead to the plots being settled with him formally, as Government policy was to hand over ownership rights to landless cultivators of vested lands. Thus while Ghena remained the formal owner and patta (land deed)-holder, the Santras would continue as the real beneficiaries with Ghena working as their day labourer and household servant.

4. Unfortunately for Bhiku Santra, Ghena Mridnga had matured and was beginning to use his mother-wit. Ghena had heard that the actual possessor of vested land would be eligible for getting right and title over it. He also got wind of Bhiku’s plan. Suddenly one morning he left the Santras, set up his own little hut and started living as a separate entity in order to uphold his individual claim, and not as a ‘front’ for the Santra vested interests. Finding his initial plan gone up in smoke, Bhiku quickly shifted to clever propaganda. He had it put he had it put about assiduously that these vested plots had been purchased by his father from the zamindar, the Nadia Raj Estate, decades back and that he was, therefore, the legal owner. When this news reached Ghena’s ears, he saw all his fond hopes dissipate and quietly handed back the plots to the Santras. Sagar Santra promptly obtained an agricultural loan from the BDO and in 1973 sank a shallow tubewell on plot No. 977—a tubewell which did not function for a single day but served as convenient proof of Santra’s occupation of vested land.

5. Only one thing was lacking to complete Santra’s triumph: legal right and title to the lands, which could be obtained only by  having the Government allot the plots in his favour. On the other hand, Ghena had not given up although he was now nothing but a landless agricultural labourer thrown out by his erstwhile employer. With the advice of some local villagers, Ghena applied to the Junior Land Reforms Officer (JLRO) of Shantipur Land Reforms Circle for allotment of these two vested plots. The Circle Inspector (Land Reforms) of this circle was sent by the JLRO on inspection to the area. He prepared a ‘math-khasra’ (record of field-possession) showing that Ghrina Mridanga, Bhiku and Krishnapada Santra (Sagar’s nephew) were in possession of both plots 976 and 977 since 1951 but that at present, i.e. in 1973, Bhiku alone was in possession of both plots. On the basis of this report, the Block Level Land Reforms Advisory Committee in its meeting held on 23-6-73 recommended settlement of the land as follows:

Plot 976 area 0.51  to Ghena Mridanga s/o Khedu. Own Land:  nil
Plot 977 area 0.18  to                   -do-
-do-     area 0.70  to Bhiku   Santra s/o  Sagar. Own land:  1.00
-do-     area 0.70  to Krishnapada Santra s/o Nakul. Own land:  0.99

6. This recommendation was duly approved by the SDO Ranaghat in Settlement Case No. 11-XII/SP/73-74 of Mouza Baganchara, J.L. No. 12. However, the pattas (title-deeds) were not distributed till 1975 and it was only on 10-2-75 that the local Tehsildar (a commission agent for collecting land revenue who keeps the local land records) handed over the pattas to the two Santras after physical possession had been formally made over to them by the Circle Amin on 7-2-75. Curiously enough, the Amin (Group D staff who measures the land) had signed the possession certificate on 6-2-75 but this was over-written to 7-2-75 and signed by the JLRO without giving any date. No patta was handed over to Ghrina Mridanga. During the subsequent enquiry, the JLRO claimed that these pattas had been distributed to the Santras without his knowledge. He failed to explain how, in that case, he had signed the possession certificate. In the Register of Patta Distribution the column pertaining to the date of distribution was blank. According to the Amin, Ghrina’s patta could not be handed over because Bhiku Santra would not allow him to do so. He claimed that he had informed the JLRO of this verbally.

7. After the state government had issued instructions for undertaking a crash programme for distributing all pending pattas, it was on 29-4-76—more than a year later—that the Circle Amin and the Assistant Revenue Officer of the Land Reforms Circle went to deliver Ghrina’s patta. Once again Bhiku objected and successfully confused the ARO (whose function is purely to recover government loans and who has nothing to do with land records) by producing a copy of the Record of Rights wherein Sagar Santra’s name appeared as forcible occupier of the lands retained by the Zamindar. The ARO quickly left the spot after perfunctorily issuing Santra a notice under Section 49(A) of the West Bengal Land Reforms Act, asking him to vacate possession of the vested lands not allotted to him. He also ‘allowed’ Santra and Ghena three days time to settle the matter amicably.

8. However, on 2-5-76 Ghena took the law into his own hands and tried, ineffectually, to gain possession of the lands allotted to him three years back. Sagar Santra immediately sent off a complaint to the Land Revenue Minister who asked the Additional District Magistrate (Land Reforms) [ADM(LR)], Nadia to report. Santra claimed, in his complaint, that the plots had been vested in the State wrongly and that they rightfully belonged to him and were being cultivated by him and his forefathers for generations without break. He alleged that Ghena had ruined the vegetable crop he had grown on these plots with the help of a band of dangerous criminals, and that he apprehended danger to his life and property from this ‘terrible marauder’ Ghena.

9. On enquiry it was found that after the notice had been issued to Bhiku Santra by the ARO asking him to vacate the lands allotted to Ghena, no action was taken to lodge a complaint with a judicial magistrate, as provided in the WBLR Act, when Bhiku did not take any steps to comply with the order. Ghena, in turn, applied to the SDO Ranaghat—an IAS officer on his first posting—on 12-6-76 complaining that he had approached the JLRO for being given possession of the lands, and had been rebuked for attempting to take possession without having a patta. On subsequent occasions Ghena had been told by the JLRO that he had better approach the Block Development Officer and the ADM (LR) for getting patta since he had ‘dared’ to send petitions to them. He was also told that a case had been instituted against him in the Ranaghat Court and until this was decided, no patta could be given to him. The SDO Ranaghat passed on Ghena’s petition to the JLRO on 25-6-76 for ‘taking necessary action’. The JLRO noted on the petition on 1-7-76, “The patta cannot be handed over to the allottee at the present stage of the situation growing in the locality” and did not send any intimation to the SDO, who did not pursue the matter.

10. On 22-6-76 copy of a notice to the Collector, Nadia, under Section 80 of the Civil Procedure Code was received by the JLRO from one Gyanadabala Dasi, wife of late Rajendra Manna, stating that Sagar Santra was her caretaker appointed for 0.51 acres in plot 976 and 1.58 acres in plot 977, i.e. precisely the portions allotted to Ghrina and the Santras, and that it was she who had taken settlement of these lands from the Nadia Raj Estate. The notice warned the Collector to desist from distributing the said lands since the Records of Right were wrong and Gyanadabala Dasi intended to file a suit for declaring her title to the lands. The JLRO duly forwarded on 2-7-76 a skeletal statement of facts to the Revenue Munsikhana Section of the Collectorate which deals with civil cases involving government. The section took no action in the matter, as it was only a notice and no suit had yet been field. In the meantime, Bhiku Santra had lodged a number of complaints in the form of General Diary entries in the local Police Station against Ghena, alleging various types of intimidation on his part.

11. At this point the ADM (LR) decided to investigate the case in person. He had, in succession, sent two officers to look in to the case: one was a WBCS probationer who had been a Kanungo in the Settlement Directorate for over a year with field experience to his credit; the other a very senior WBCS officer who was a veteran of the Settlement Directorate. None of these reports could satisfactorily explain the mysterious appearance of Gyanadabala Dasi on the scene and the JLRO’s reluctance to hand over the patta to Ghrina. The SDO, who had then been asked to look into the matter, did not visit the spot but endorsed his JLRO’s report that the danger of breach of peace precluded handing over the patta. The SDO firmly expressed his view that subordinate officers should be backed up instead of being disbelieved.

12. Thereupon the ADM went straight to the village in question, visited the plots in dispute, the house of the Santras, the hut of Ghena and spoke to the villagers. He discovered that Gyanadabala Dasi was the masi (maternal aunt) of Bhiku and was the termagant ruling the Santra household with an iron hand. He found that the JLRO was in the habit of visiting the house of the Santras (a large pukka building) and that on his last visit, after the SDO had passed on Ghrina’s complaint to him for necessary action, he had first gone to see Gyanadabala Dasi, asked her why she had not sown anything on those plots yet. Then he had told Ghena that until the shallow tubewell was lifted from the plot, possession could not be given to him and also that this would have to wait till the case against him in the court was decided. The Santras had promptly sown both the plots with kalai (a type of pulse) in defiance of the notice under Section 49-A of the Land Reforms Act asking them to vacate vested land on penalty of eviction and payment of damages. As for the shallow tubewell, the only sign of its existence the ADM found was the pipe.

13. The ADM also found that both the reports sent by the JLRO on the complaint made by Sagar Santra to the Land Revenue Minister had been drafted by the JLRO himself, which was extremely unusual, and that the fair copies had been made out not by the assistant dealing with such matters but by the Issue Clerk and the Amin. Moreover, the details of the land records supplied in these reports were wrong. The correct RORs (Record of Rights) had been copied from the local Settlement Office later, but were sent to the ADM in original by the JLRO without keeping copies or correcting his own records. The JLRO’s style of functioning was an important clue which led to the ADM’s discovery of a mass of irregularities and serious lacunae in the land distribution carried out by this JLRO.

14. The ADM then took the SDO Ranaghat with him to the spot along with Amins, demarcated the area allotted to Ghena Mridanga and formally handed over both the patta and the land to this allottee in the presence of the villagers and the Santras on 28-9-76. He explained to Ghena that since Bhiku had already sown kalai in the plots, he should be allowed to harvest the produce without interference. The office copy of the patta was handed over to the JLRO who, by then, was at his wit’s and fell all over himself promising to protect the rights of Ghena.

15. On 5-11-76 the ADM was surprised to find Ghena in his office with a complaint of having been driven off his land by the Santras assisted by the Gram-Adhyaksha (village headman) of the village. The SDO Ranaghat was immediately informed. On 9-11-76 the SDO wrote to the Circle Inspector of Police, Shantipur, asking him to ensure peaceful possession of the lands by Ghena and wanting a report by 15-11-76. On 17-11-76 the SDO informed the ADM that the allegation made by Ghena was false, since the CI had reported that he was very much in possession of the land and (extremely significant) “he has harvested kalai on the land”.

II – NANDA DALUI

1. Nanda Dalui owns 3.56 acres of land at Assannagar in the police station of Krishnagar in West Bengal. He supports his mother, wife and 4 minor children. He inherited this land from his father the late Sudhanya Dalui and his uncle the late Surya Dalui. Both his father and uncle had taken a loan of Rs.3,600 jointly from the Nadia District Cooperative Land Development Bank Limited (NDCLDB) for sinking a shallow tubewell. They were also indebted to the tune of Rs.700 to Jitendra Nath Saha, a fertilizer and pesticide licensee who had no money-lending licence. Saha realised the debt in kind at about Rs.10 less than the prevailing market price. The money-lending transactions were entered by him in a hath-chita, a small account book bound in red cloth.

2. In March 1974 Sudhanya Dalui  received a notice from the NDCLDB for re-paying Rs.2,100.  He approached Jitendra Saha for advancing a further loan to meet the demand of the Bank. This was perhaps the opportunity Jiten Saha was waiting for.  He informed Sudhanya Dalui that he would not be able to advance this loan without security since Dalui had not repaid the earlier loan. Sudhanya was compelled to execute a registered sale deed for two bighas of his land for a loan of Rs.1,000,  whereas the market value of the land was around Rs.2,000 at that time. Sudhanya was also pressurised into executing a bainanama (sale-agreement) that he would sell his remaining land for Rs.3,000 should he fail to repay Rs.3,622 by Chaitra 1382 B.S. (April 1976) on payment of Rs.500 by Saha. The market value of this portion of land being irrigated with a shallow tubewell was not less than Rs.20,000. Dalui, however, did not hand over possession of any portion of his land to Saha. He went on repaying his loan to Jiten Saha by giving him a share of his produce. It is not possible to assess the fairness of the price determined by Saha for the crop since there was no entry in the hath chita about the quantity of crop received. At one place only, where an entry had been made, it was found that Dalui had given Saha 176 kg of paddy for Rs.220, but in the next page the balance brought forward omitted the amount wholly.

3. Sudhanya Dalui and his brother Surya Dalui both died soon thereafter. Nanda Dalui was faced with a nightmarish situation and had to approach Jiten Saha again to repay the outstanding dues of the Bank. Saha showed Nanda Dalui the bainanama and asked him to hand over two bighas of irrigated land. Nanda Dalui did not agree to the suggestion and was served with a pleader’s notice informing him that the bainanama would be converted into a registered sale deed unless the debt was repaid by Chaitra 1382 B.S.

4. Nanda Dalui submitted a petition to the Additional District Magistrate (Land Reforms), Nadia, on 10 March 1976 stating his problem and praying for succour. The Assistant Magistrate & Collector (a newly recruited Indian Administrative Service probationer) was entrusted with the enquiry into the case. He summoned the parties to the office of the Anchal Pradhan (elected head of the community development block-level panchayat samiti) on 13 March 1976 but the parties were not present at the appointed place. The Anchal Pradhan informed the Assistant Magistrate that the matter had been amicably settled. Sri Harinarayan Mallick, who had sponsored the petition of Nanda Dalui, also denied the facts stated therein. The Assistant Magistrate had, however, noticed Nanda Dalui hovering about in a hesitant manner near the office. On making enquiries about the antecedents of the Anchal Pradhan the Assistant Magistrate found that he had lands and properties in Assannagar, Krishnagar and Calcutta and was an unofficial agent of the local Marketing Cooperative Society for purchasing jute. It was found that local farmers did not get a fair price for their jute and the Anchal Pradhan had appropriated the money as middleman.

5. The Assistant Magistrate asked the Anchal Pradhan to produce the parties immediately as he suspected that the alleged settlement between Nanda Dalui and Jiten Sahu was spurious. Nanda Dalu and his witness confirmed his suspicions. On interrogation Jiten Saha became extremely nervous and made contradictory statements about the loan due to him from Nanda Dalui. He was informed of the moratorium on realisation of rural debts imposed by the West Bengal Rural Indebtedness Relief Act 1975 and was asked to settle the matter with Nanda Dalui forthwith. Saha asked for seven days’ time for the purpose.

6.  A week later Nanda Dalui reported to the Assistant Magistrate that Jiten Saha had given him hints that he should sell two bighas of his land and repay his debts with the sale proceeds. Saha also did not turn up before the Assistant Magistrate at the appointed time. The ADM (LR), along with the Additional Superintendent of Police and the Assistant Magistrate, thereupon visited Assannagar on 23 March 1976 but could not find Saha although prior intimation had been sent. The Anchal Pradhan and Jiten Saha’s elder brother Subodh Saha were asked to ensure that both the parties appeared before the ADM on the next day along with the sale deed and the bainanama.

7. On the following day, Jiten and Subodh Saha appeared, but without those documents which, they pleaded, were lying with their lawyer and were not easily available. Nanda Dalui was also present and recounted the entire history. It was pointed out to Saha that he was guilty of evading stamp duty and that action under Section 64 of the Indian Stamp Act could be taken against him, involving a penalty of Rs.5,000. Further, it was found that his fertiliser and pesticide licences had expired and had not been renewed so far. Moreover, he was lending money to many people. On all these facts being pointed out and on being reminded about moratorium on rural indebtedness, the elder brother, Subodh Saha gave a written undertaking that he was taking the responsibility to cancel the bainanama and retransfer the lands to Nanda Dalui by a registered sale deed. He also undertook not to press Nanda for repayment of the debt amounting to Rs.3,622.45 and agreed that it could be repaid by Nanda at his convenience. Accordingly, he was asked to execute the sale deed on the same day and arrangements were made for handing over it to Nanda Dalui. The bainanama was also cancelled the same day.

8. The Nadia Land Development Bank which had, in the meanwhile, taken steps to auction the lands for realization of its loan, was informed of the developments and it agreed to allow time till the next year when it was hoped that Nanda Dalui, freed from the burden of usurious demands, would be able to achieve a certain amount of financial solvency.

9. The local BDO was instructed to allot the wheat minikit and summer paddy seed package to Dalui under the agricultural extension programme for enabling him to start cultivating his land free from the crippling problem of obtaining basic inputs.

10. At the same time the ADM succeeding in persuading the U.B.I. (the Lead Bank) to finance Nanda Dalui. The first step they took was to pay off Dalui’s loan to the Land Development Bank. Then they deputed their field officer for supervising Dalui’s wheat and paddy cultivation on the field along with an agricultural input loan of Rs. 700 for the wheat and Rs. 1,000 for the summer paddy.

The Date of the Mahabharata War

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In Vyasa and Valmiki Sri Aurobindo refers to a “recent article of the Indian Review” on the date of the Mahabharata war praising it as “an unusually able and searching (or almost conclusive) paper”.  It was Velandai Gopala Aiyer’s “The Date of the Mahabharata War” published in Vol. II, January-December 1901 of this monthly journal (Indian Review) edited by G.A.Natesan. Sri Aurobindo was obviously fully convinced by Aiyer’s arguments, because elsewhere he writes, “It is now known beyond reasonable doubt that the Mahabharata war was fought out in or about 1190 B.C.”

Aiyer had published a previous paper in the same journal fixing the date of the beginning of the Kaliyuga from four different sources:

  1. Vedanga Jyotisha — 1173 B.C.
  2. Gargacharya — a few years prior to 1165 B.C.
  3. Classical historians — 851 years before Alexander’s stay in India, viz. 1177-76 B.C.
  4. which is confirmed by the Malabar Kollam Andu commencing in August/September 1176 B.C.

Aiyer concluded that the Kaliyuga began with the winter solstice immediately preceding the commencement of the Kollam Andu, or at the end of 1177 B.C. The Mahabharata War, he proposes, was fought a few years before the beginning of the Kaliyuga.

One would like to know if any reactions to Aiyar’s research were published in the “Indian Review”. Libraries in Chennai might yield the information. An abridgement is presented in Aiyer’s own words as far as possible.] – Pradip Bhattacharya

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According to the Mahaprasthanika Parva and the Vishnu Purana, the Kali age would not affect the earth so long as it was touched by Sri Krishna’s holy feet. When the Pandavas abdicated, Parikshit must have been about 16 years old (the age of majority according to Hindu lawyers). If Kali began in 1177 B.C., Parikshit would have probably been born in 1193 B.C. and the war should have occurred towards the end of 1194 B.C.

Again, the Mausala Parva says that the Yadava race was destroyed 36 years after the war and the Pandavas left soon thereafter at the beginning of Kaliyuga. On the other hand, the Bhagavatayana Parva states that Kali began at the time of the war itself. The Ashramavasika Parva states that when 15 years had expired after the war, Dhritarashtra, Gandhari and Kunti left for the forest. In the 16th year after the war, the Pandavas visited them along with Uttara who had recently become a mother and had her child in her lap. Now, Parikshit was in the womb during the war (Sauptika Parva), hence he could not have been an infant in the 16th year after the war. Therefore, this statement in the Ashramavasika is incorrect. Rather, in the 16th year after the war the Pandavas started not on a visit to the old people, but on their last journey. There is no mention of Parikshit’s marriage, which would have occurred later. If Parikshit were really 36 years of age when the Pandavas left, why should he be placed under the tutelage of Kripacharya as stated in Mausala Parva? It would be more consistent if Parikshit was about 16 when he was crowned, and the war took place 16 years before the beginning of the Kaliyuga. This conclusion is supported by other evidence.

Kalhana Pandit’s Rajatarangini, the well-known history of Kashmir written in 1148 A.D., is the only indigenous work in India that can pass for history. Verses 48-49 of the first Taranga state:

“Misled by the tradition that the Bharata war took place at the end of the Dwapara, some have considered as wrong the sum of years (contained in the statement that) in the Kaliyuga the kings beginning with Gonanda I (and ending with Andha Yudhishthira) ruled of the Kasmiras for 2268 years.”

This Gonanda I was, says Kalhana, the contemporary of the Pandavas. The 52nd in descent from him was Abhimanyu, son of Kanishka, whose successor Gonanda III was the first of a new dynasty “which came to power 2330 years before Kalhana’s time” (1st Taranga, verses 52 and 49). In the Rajatarangini the total for the reigns from the end of Andha Yudhishthira—the last of Gonanda III’s dynasty—to Kalhana’s own time is 1329 years, 3 months, 28 days, say roughly 1330 years. Kalhana would have presumed that the interval between the end of Abhimanyu’s reign and that of Andha Yudhishthira was 2330-1330 = 1000 years.

Clearly, in Kalhana’s time it was believed that 2268 years had elapsed from the time of Pandava Yudhishthira to that of Andha Yudhishthira. Hence, Kalhana gives 2268-1000 or 1268 years for the reigns of the first 52 kings from Gonanda I to Abhimanyu and 1000 years for the 21 kings of the dynasty of Gonanda III. This was the “tradition” Kalhana refers to in the excerpt above. The latter portion may well be a later addition because Kalhana himself says it is “thought” that the 52 kings down to Abhimanyu reigned in all “for 1266 years” (verse 54, Taranga I—obviously an error for 1268 years).

However, Kalhana accepts only part of the old “tradition”, namely that 2268 years elapsed from the time of Pandava Yudhishthira to that of Andha Yudhishthira. He does not accept the part that Pandava Yudhishthira lived at the end of the Dwapara Yuga because in Kalhana’s time, as now, the Dwapara was supposed to have ended and the Kali to have begun in 3102 B.C. Kalhana relied on Garga’s verse (quoted in Varahamihira’s Brihatsamhita, XIII. 3-4) which he erroneously interpreted as meaning that Yudhishthira commenced to reign 2526 years before the era of Salivahana, in 2428 B.C. As Abhimanyu lived 1268 years after Pandava Yudhishthira, Kalhana placed him in 2448-1268 = 1180 B.C. Since Kanishka and his successor Abhimanyu lived in the 1st century after Christ, the false figures given by Kalhana for Abhimanyu and all the subsequent kings down to the 6th century A.D. can be traced to his mistaken interpretation of Garga’s verse.

Almost all Sanskrit scholars agree that Kanishka lived in the 1st century A.D., though Cunningham thought that the Vikrama era from 57 B.C. began with Kanishka, and the Saka era beginning on 3rd March 78 A.D. dates from him. Coins show that Kanishka reigned down to 40 A.D. Irrespective of whether the era of Salivahana dates from Kanishka, clearly Abhimanyu must have been reigning about the commencement of this era in 78 A.D. If so, Yudhishthira, who lived 1268 years earlier, must have begun to reign about 1268-78 = 1190 B.C. Since his coronation took place soon after the war, it must also have been fought around 1190 B.C.

Aryabhatta — whose fame spread to Arabia as Arjabahr and Constantinople’s vast empire as Andubarius or Ardubarius — was born in 476 A.D. and the first to promulgate the theory that the earth revolved round the sun, calculate the circumference of the earth and explain the eclipses. According to him, “the line of the Saptarshis intersected the middle of Magha Nakshatra in the year of Kaliyuga 1910”, i.e. 1192 B.C. According to the Vishnu Purana, the Sapatarshis were in that very same position at the birth of Parikshit who was, therefore, born about 1192 B.C. Since the war occurred at the most a few months earlier than his birth, it might have taken place about 1193 B.C.

The same result is arrived at if we consider the number of kings who occupied the throne of Magadha from the time of the war to the accession of Chandragupta. According to the Vishnu Purana — which is mostly agreed to by the other Puranas — the 9 Nandas reigned for 100 years; the 10 Saisunagas of the next previous dynasty for 362 years; the 5 kings of the still previous Pradyota dynasty for 138 years succeeding the famous Barhadratha dynasty whose 22 kings sat on the throne since the date of the war. Thus, we get 100 years for the Nanda and 500 years for the 2 previous dynasties. Very probably the same number was reported to Megasthenes. However, what strikes one most is the large average for each reign. The same Vishnu Purana gives 137 years for the 10 kings of the later Maurya dynasty, 112 years for the 10 kings of the Sunga dynasty and 45 years for the 4 kings of the Kanwa line, i.e. an average of about 12 years against 28 for the Pradyota dynasty and 36 for the Saisunaga! For the Nandas, it is scarcely probable that a father and his sons could have reigned for 100 years, especially when the last sons did not die naturally but were extirpated by Chandragupta with the help of Chanakya. The Puranas may have left out insignificant reigns, or these ancient kings may have been longer-lived than those of the post-Chandragupta period, but even then the averages are too large. It would be unsafe to deduce therefrom the probable date of the war.

In England, from the Norman invasion to the 20th century, 35 monarchs had ruled for 835 years, the average being about 23 years. From Hugh Capet to the execution of Louis XVI, France was ruled by 33 kings for 1793-987 = 806 years, yielding an average of about 24 years. 8 kings ruled Prussia from Ivan III @ 23 years. In Russia 22 monarchs up to the present Emperor Nicholas II for 1894-1462 = 432 years giving an average of about 19 years. In Japan, the present Emperor Musu Hito is the 123rd, his ancestor Jimmu Tenno having established the dynasty lasting unbroken for 2500 years, which gives an average of 21 years for this long-lived dynasty. Thus, the averages for each of the 5 foremost powers of our hemisphere are 23 for England, 24 for France, 23 for Germany, 19 for Russia and 21 for Japan. The average of these, about 22 years, may be taken as the probable duration of each reign of the pre-Chandragupta dynasties. There were 22 Barhadrathas, 5 Pradyotas and 10 Saisunagas = 37 in all from the time of the war to the Nandas, and they might therefore have reigned for 37 x 22 = 814 years.

Moreover, according to the Buddhist Mahavamso, composed by Mahanama around 460 A.D., Mahapadma Nanda, called Kalasoka in the chronicle, reigned for 20 years and had 10 sons who conjointly ruled for 22 years. Then there were 9 brothers who reigned for 22 years. Thus, the Nandas reigned in all for 20+22+22 = 64 years, a figure more likely to be correct than the Puranic round figure of 100 years. Thus, the war must have happened about 814+64 = 878 years before Chandragupta, at 878+315 = 1193 B.C.

Against our reckoning of 814 years between the war and Mahapadma Nanda’s accession, the Vishnu Purana (IV.24) gives 1015 years. This seems based on supposing a round period of 100 years from the start of the Kaliyuga to the time of Nanda’s accession and presuming that the Kali began 15 years after the war. If so, the genuineness of an interval of a round period of 1000 years between the beginning of the Kali and the coronation of Nanda is suspect. The Purana period of 1015 years for the 37 kings between the war and the coronation of Nanda yields an improbable average of over 27 years. The author of the Vishnu Purana deals vaguely in round figures, giving 100 for the Nandas, 500 for the Pradyotas and Saisunagas and 1000 years (IV.23) for the Barhadrathas, the last figure directly conflicting with the statement about 1015 years intervening between the war and the end of the Saisunaga dynasty.

This Purana also states that the Saptarshis, which are supposed to move @ one Nakshatra for every 100 years (IV.24) had moved 10 Nakshatras from Magha to Purvashada during this interval, which therefore comes to 10×100 = 1000 years. Obviously, this supposed movement was arrived at by the author not by actual observation, for such a movement is astronomically impossible, but by his deducing it from the other statement in the preceding verse that 1015 years had elapsed during this interval. The author seems first to have had in mind that the Kali began 15 years after the war and that 1000 year elapsed from the beginning of the Kali era to the accession of Nanda, and then to havae deduced therefrom the proposition that the Saptarshis which were in Magha at the time of the war had moved on to Purvashada at the coronation of Mahapadma Nanda.

In Chapter XIII of the Brihatsamhita, Varahamihira, born in 505 A.D., deals with the Saptarshi cycles and quotes Vriddha Garga: “When king Yudhishthira ruled the earth, the seven seers were in Magha; the Saka era is 2526 years after the commencement of his reign.” The translator, Dr. Hultzsch (Indian Antiquary VIII, p.66) comments, “The coronation of Yudhishthira took place 2526 years before the commencement of the Saka era, or at the expiration of the Kaliyuga-Samvat 653 and in B.C. 2448.” This agrees with Kalhana in thinking that the Yudhishthira era is different from the Kali era.

On the other hand, Jyotirvidabharana, an astronomical work attributed to Kalidasa, but which scholars place in the 16th century A.D., states that in the Kaliyuga six different eras will flourish one after another: the Yudhishthira to last 3044 years from the beginning of Kali; the Vikrama to last for 135 years afterwards; the Salivahana for 1800 years thereafter; and the Vijaya, Nagarjuna and Bali ears to be current in the rest of the Kaliyuga. The three last are fictitious. This shows that Hindus have all along thought that the Yudhishthira era commenced with the Kali. So also Aryabhatta computes by the era of Yudhishthira, which corresponds to the Kaliyuga. Therefore, it is not possible to concur with Kalhana and Dr. Hultzsch in placing the beginning of the Yudhishthira era “at the expiration of the Kaliyuga-samvat 653 and in B.C. 2448.”

What does “Sakakala” really mean? It has been proved that Garga, the author of the shloka, lived about 165 B.C. Even granting Dr.Kern’s contention that Garga lived in the 1st century B.C., it is not possible that Garga could have meant by “Sakakala” either the Vikrama samvat, which began later in 57 B.C., or the Salivahana Sakabda, which commenced still later in 78 A.D. It has not yet been proven that the Vikramasamvat era had been in use ever since 57 B.C. Fergusson, Max Muller and Weber opine otherwise. Besides the Kali or the Saptarshi era, there was in the days of Garga only one other prominent era in existence, namely, the era of Nirvana, “which,” says Fergusson (in History of Indian and Eastern Architecture, p. 46), “was the only one that had existed previously in India.” The era of Mahavira beginning in 527 B.C. might have been then in existence, but the Jain religion was only confined comparatively to a few and its era was not much in evidence before the public. The era of Buddha’s Nirvana was, on the other hand, very widely known (being the State Religion during Asoka’s time). A Tibetan work records a schism having occurred under a “Thera Nagasena” 137 years after the Nirvana’ Chandragupta is recorded to have ascended the throne 162 years after the Nirvana; the inauguration of Asoka is stated to have taken place 218 years after the Nirvana; and the Dipawanso, a history of Ceylon written in Pali verse about the 4th century A.D., makes use of the era of Nirvana in its computations. Therefore, the era of Buddha’s Nirvana, which was in current use in the time of Garga, might have been probably referred to by him.

Gautama Buddha was known by the name of “Sakya Muni” and his paternal grandfather was also known by the name of “Sakya”. The race to which Gautama belonged was often called by the name of Sakyas. R.C. Dutt says, “A little to the east of the Kosala kingdom, two kindred clans, the Sakyas and the Koliyans, lived on the opposite banks of the small stream Rohini …Kapilavastu was the capital of the Sakyas.” The followers of Gautama Buddha were often spoken of as “Sakyaputriya Sramanas” in contradistinction possibly to the Sramanas of other sects. We may therefore infer that the era of Gautama Buddha was probably known as “Sakya Kala” in those times. The era could not have been called “Nirvana Kala” as the term might equally apply to the Nirvana of Mahavira.

The shloka is written in the usual Arya metre. Similarly, the first 2 slokas of the chapter are in faultless rhythm, but the third shloka under discussion satisfies the rhythmic requirements in only the first three quarters. The last quarter, shakakalastasya… is short by one “matra”. It is inexplicable how Kalhana and other scholars could overlook such a glaring slip. As the Rajatarangini also makes this mistake, we may infer that the error might have been in existence from a very long time. The only way of correcting the error is by insertion of the letter “Y” which has been somehow omitted, between the letter “K” and “A” in the word “Saka”, correcting “Sakakala” to “Sakyakala” which makes the shloka perfect and then we have the best of reasons to suppose that Garga refers to the era of Nirvana, the epoch of the Sakyas, or of the Sakya prince Gautama, or of the Buddha called Sakya Muni. Some early copyist, better acquainted with “Sakakala” than with “Sakyakala” changed the latter into the former, which he might have thought to be the corrector form. Even without such a correction, “Sakakala” may be considered a corruption of “Sakyakala”. Thus, in any case, the era of Buddha’s Nirvana is the one most undoubtedly referred to.

The expression shadadvikpancadvi means “twenty-six times twenty-five” or 650 and not “six two five two” denoting 2526 as Dr. Hultzsch interprets. The termination “ka” denotes “so many times”, and is not an expletive that a precise mathematician like Garga may be expected to use unnecessarily. Garga computed here by the Saptarshi cycle, which denoted the lapse of every 100 years by a new Nakshatra and gave 25 years for each Nakshatrapada, into four of which a Nakshatra was then usually divided. If the Saptarshis had moved 6 ½ Nakshatras from the time of Yudhishthira’s coronation to the Nirvana of Buddha, that would be more appropriately expressed as the movement of the Rishis through 26 padas and the period denoted thereby would be put down as twenty-six times twenty-five years.

Though Max Muller offers very fair reasons for fixing the date of the Nirvana in 477 B.C., yet as Bigandet points out in his life of Buddha, both the chronicles of Ceylon and Further India unanimously agree that Buddha attained Nirvana at the age of 80 in 543 B.C. The Dipawanso computes by the era of Nirvana beginning in 544-3 B.C. Burma, Siam and Ceylon are all unanimous in giving this date and such widespread unanimity of opinion cannot be expected unless the era of 544-3 B.C. had existed from a very long time.

Garga’s statement now indicates to us that the coronation of Yudhishthira, and therefore the Mahabharata War, took place in the year 544 or 543 + 650 = 1194-3 B.C.

Almost in all parts of India the Brihaspati 60 year cycle prevails from a very long time. In commenting on Taittiriya Brahmana, I.4.10, Sayana says that this cycle comprised 12 of the ancient 5 cycles, which are so often referred to in the Vedic works and in the Vedanga Jyotisha. The sun and the moon take about 5 years to return to the same position at the beginning of a year, which gave rise to the cycle of the 5 years known as Samvatsara, Parivatsara, Idavatsara, Anuvatsara and Idvatsara respectively. As Brihaspati makes a complete circuit of the heavens in about 12 years, all the 3 heavenly bodies were expected to return to the same celestial region on the expiry of every 60 years. Because of a corrector knowledge of Brihaspati’s motions, Northern India has been expunging 1 year of the cycle in every 85-and-65/211 years so that after one such period the name of the next year is left out and the name of the one following the next year is taken to be the next year’s name. As no such practice prevails in Southern India, the current year (April 1901 to April 1902) which is the year “Pramadicha” in the North, is the year “Plava” in the South.

When the names were invented, the year of the Mahabharata War, the only famous epoch in the history of Ancient India, was named “Prabhava”, the name of the 1st year of the cycle. But the dates given by the orthodox for the war or for the beginning of the Kaliyuga do not correspond to the 1st year of the cycle. But, if we adopt the date given by Garga for the epoch of Yudhishthira, i.e. 1194-3 B.C., we find that the corresponding year of the Brihaspati cycle for that date is “Prabhava”, the name of its very 1st year.

We have suggested that the Kaliyuga began at the winter solstice of 1177 B.C. We have also seen that, barring the argument based on Rajatarangini, which gives us about 1190 B.C. for the war, our other lines of discussion point to 1194-3 B.C. as the probable date of the war. This date is further confirmed by the application of the principles of the Vedanga Jyotisha to certain statements contained in the Mahabharata itself. We may here observe that these statements are not to be explained by the astronomical calculations of modern times, for these were unknown in the days of the War, but rather by the calculations of the Vedanga Jyotisha, which, though cruder, are better applicable to them, inasmuch as it is the oldest Hindu astronomical treatise known to us and its astronomical details, as we have seen, relate to the beginning of Kaliyuga.

In the Swargarohanika Parva of the Mahabharata, we are told that Yudhishthira having observed “that the sun ceasing to go southwards had begun to proceed in his northward course” set out to where Bhishma lay on his bed of arrows. After telling Yudhishthira that the winter solstice had set in, Bhishma said, “Yudhishthira, the lunar month of Magha has come. This is again the lighted fortnight and a fourth part of it ought by this be over.” Whatever historical weight may be attached to these statements, they may be at least taken to mean that the winter solstice then occurred on the expiry of the fourth part of the bright fortnight in the month of Magha, that is, on the fourth or the fifth day after new moon. Nilakantha, the commentator, thinks that the expression tribhagashesha pakshah denotes ‘Magha Sukla Panchami’ or the fifth lunar day in the month of Magha after Amavasya, the new moon.

As according to the Vedanga the winter solstice always occurred with the sun in Dhanishtha the Amavasya referred to by the Mahabharata must have occurred with the sun and the moon in Sravana Nakshatra; and as the winter solstice occurred on the fifth day after this, the moon must have been, on the solstitial day, in or near Revati Nakshatra. According to the Jyotisha, this position could have occurred only at the beginning of the fourth year of a five-year cycle, for it was then that the moon was in Aswayuja, next to Revati Nakshatra. The difference of this one Nakshatra is due to the imperfections of the elements of the Jyotisha. Thus we may infer that the winter solstice following the Mahabharata war, and just preceding Bhishma’s death, was the fourth of the five winter solstices of a five-year cycle. The particular five-year cycle in which the Mahabharata war took place appears to have been the fourth cycle previous to the beginning of the Kaliyuga in 1177 inasmuch as we have found that the Rajatarangini points to1190 B.C., and that all other lines of discussion lead to 1194-3 B.C. as the probable date of the War. Consequently, the winter solstice shortly following the War was the fourth of the fourth five-year cycle preceding the commencement of the Kaliyuga, which began, like the five-year cycle, with a winter solstice and with the sun and the moon in Dhanishtha Nakshatra. In other words, the Mahabharata war took place a little before the seventeenth winter solstice preceding the commencement of the Kaliyuga or towards the end of1194 B.C.

To summarize the arguments above set forth:

  1. We were first enabled by the Vedanga Jyotisha to place the beginning the Kali era approximately at about 1173 B.C.
  2. After enquiring into the date of Garga and of the Yavana invasion he spoke of, we noted that he fixed “the end of the Yuga” for the retirement of the Greeks from Hindustan. From this statement we inferred that the Yuga, which ended sometime before 165 B.C, must have begun a few years before 1165 B.C.
  3. In explaining the figures given by the classical historians, we concluded that the Kaliyuga must have begun in 1177-6 B.C.
  4. The Malabar era furnished us with another authority for fixing the commencement of the Kali era in1176 B.C.
  5. We found that if the Kali commenced at the winter solstice immediately preceding the year 1176 B.C., the details of the Mahabharata would lead us to place the war at the end of the year 1194 B.C.
  6. The Tradition recorded in the Rajatarangini, enabled us to fix the date of the war about 1190 B.C.
  7. From a statement made by Aryabhatta that the Rishis were in Magha in 1192 B.C., we inferred that the war might have taken place at about1195 B.C.
  8. The average duration of the reigns of the monarchs of the five foremost powers of our hemisphere served to assist us in fixing the date of the war at about1198 B.C.
  9. From a shloka of Garga quoted in the Brihatsamhita, we inferred that the war occurred in1194-3 B.C.
  10. We also found that the first year of the Brihaspati cycle of 60 years actually corresponds, as might naturally be expected, to the date of the war as given by Garga, i.e. 1194-3 B.C.
  11. We applied the elements of the Vedanga Jyotisha to a shloka contained in the Mahabharata, which fixes the day of the winter solstice occurring soon after the war, and concluded that the war should have taken place in the latter part of 1194 B.C.

Thus we find all this cumulative evidence derived from different sources converging to the result that the Kali era began at the winter solstice occurring at the end of 1177 B.C., and that the Mahabharata war took place at about the end of 1194 B.C. In arriving at these conclusions, we had the testimony of the only historian that India can boast of who lived in the twelfth century A.D., of the greatest of the astronomers of India who flourished at the end of the fifth century A.D., of another brilliant astronomer who shone in the second century B.C., and of a versatile Greek historian who was also an ambassador at the court of the first great historic Emperor of India who reigned in the fourth century B.C. We had also the authority of the oldest astronomical work of India which claims to be a supplement to the Vedas, of an ancient era which “forms such a “splendid bridge from the old world to the new”, and of the famous sixty-year cycle. We tested these conclusions by what we may call the common-sense process based on the lists of kings contained in the Puranas. We have met and disposed of the arguments of those that give an earlier date.

So far we have been treading on more or less firm ground. But if we attempt to fix the actual days of the year 1194 B.C. when the War may be supposed to have been fought, our authority will have to be the epic itself, by itself an unsafe guide. The Mahabharata is unfortunately neither the work of one author, nor of one age. It has been recently proposed to start an Indian Epic Society mainly for sifting out the older portions of our incomparable epic. But the labors of such a Society, when brought to a successful termination, will not militate against the authenticity of the texts we are presently to discuss. Most of these belong to the war portion of the Mahabharata, which, according to Weber, is recognizable as the original basis of the epic.

We have already referred to a shloka of the epic, which states that the winter solstice, which took place soon after the war, happened on the fifth day after new moon in the month of Magha. In the very next preceding shloka, Bhishma tells Yudhishthira that he has been lying on his ‘spiky’ bed for the previous fifty-eight nights. Among Hindus it has for long been considered good for one’s future state, for death to occur in the period between the winter and summer solstices. The grand old Bhishma did not allow the arrows sticking into his body to be removed lest he might die before the commencement of the auspicious period, but rather preferred to suffer the excruciating pain, to which one with a less magnificent physique would have speedily succumbed.

The war is expressly stated in the epic (Ashramavasika Parva X.30) to have lasted for eighteen consecutive days. Moreover, in the Dronabhisheka Parva (Sections II and V), Karna is said to have refrained from taking part in the war for the ten days during which Bhishma was the generalissimo of the Kaurava army. In the last chapter of Drona Parva it is stated that Drona, who was the next Commander-in- chief, was slain after having fought dreadfully for five days. Karna led the army for the succeeding two days (Karna Parva I.15), and on the night of the next day (Shalya Parva I.10-13) after Karna’s death, the war was brought to an end. When Yudhishthira was lamenting the death of Ghatotkacha on the fourteenth night of the war, Vyasa told him that in five days the earth would fall under his sway (Drona Parva CLXXXIV.65). From these references also it is clear that the war continued for eighteen consecutive days. As Bhishma was mortally wounded on the tenth day of the war, as the war lasted for eight days more, and as Bhishma is reported to have stated (Anushasana Parva CLXVII.26-27) on the day of the winter solstice that he remained on his bed of arrows for fully fifty-eight nights, the interval between the end of the war and the solstitial day was fifty days. As a matter of fact, this very number of days (ibid. 6) is stated as the period of the stay of the Pandavas in the city of Hastinapura which they entered on the next day after the war (Stri Parva XXVII, Shanti Parva XLI and XLV. Though the Pandavas desired to pass the period of mourning which extended for a month outside Hastinapura vide Shanti Parva I.2, their intention seems not to have been carried out) until they set out on their last visit to Bhishma on the day of the winter solstice. The epic says:

“The blessed monarch (Yudhishthira) having passed fifty nights in Hastinapura recollected the time indicated by his grandsire (Bhishma) as the hour of his departure from this world. Accompanied by a number of priests, he then set out of the city, having seen that the sun ceasing to go southwards had begun to proceed in his northward course” (Anushasanika Parva CLXVII. 5-6).

After Yudhishthira reached Bhishma, the latter addressed him in these words, “The thousand-rayed maker of the day has begun his northward course. I have been lying on my bed here for eight and fifty nights” (ibid. 26-27). We may therefore conclude that the winter solstice took place on the fifty-first day from the close of the war.

On the next day after the close of war, Sri Krishna and the Pandavas paid a visit to the dying Bhishma, whom Sri Krishna addressed in the following words: “Fifty-six days more, 0 Kuru Warrior, art thou going to live” (Stri Parva XXVII; Shanti ParvaXLI, XLV and LII). One need not be misled by the prophetic nature of this expression and declare it to be of no historic value. It might well have been a fact and put in the form of a prophecy by the compiler of the epic. But it may be asked how Bhishma could have lived fifty-six days after the close of the war, if only fifty days had elapsed from that time to the winter solstice when Bhishma hoped to give up his life-breath. But the explanation appears to me to be simple enough; though the winter solstice occurred fifty days after the close of the war, Bhishma does not seem to have died on the solstitial day, when the arrows were extracted from his body but appears rather to have lingered on till the sixth day after the winter solstice. We have seen that the solstice took place then on the fifth lunar day after new moon in the month of Magha. It was on the sixth day from this, that is, on Magha Sukla Ekadasi, that Bhishma, “that pillar of Bharata’s race,” seems to have “united himself with eternity.” Tradition asserts that Bhishma died on this very day, and our almanacs even now make note of the fact and call the day by name of “Bhishma Ekadasi.” To this day, death on the eleventh lunar day of the bright fortnight of the month of Magha is held in great esteem, and next to that, death on such a day of any other month. Possibly the supposed religious efficacy rests on the memory of the day of the royal sage’s death.

As the fifty-ninth day after Bhishma’s fall corresponded to Magha Sukla Panchami, Revati or Aswini Nakshatra, the day of Bhishma’s overthrow, which took place on the tenth day of the war, happened, in accordance with the 84 principles of the Vedanga, on Margasirsha Sukla Panchami, in Dhanishtha Nakshatra; and the Amavasya preceding it happened on the fifth day of the war in Jyeshtha Nakshatra. As a matter of fact, Dr. G. Thibaut gives this very Nakshatra for the last Amavasya but two of the third year of a five-year cycle, which particular new moon our Amavasya actually is. We may therefore conclude that the war began on the fourth Nakshatra preceding Jyeshtha or in Chitra of the month of Kartica and ended in Rohini Nakshatra in Margasirsa-month.

The Pandavas tried many milder means before they at last resorted to the arbitratement of war; they even proposed to sacrifice their interests to some extent, if war could thereby be averted. Shri Krishna was the last to be sent on a mission of mediation and he started for Hastinapura (Udyoga Parva, LXXXIII.7) “in the month of Kaumuda, under the constellation Revati at the end of the Sarad (autumn) season and at the approach of the Hemanta (dewy season).” According to the commentator and also to the translator, Kaumuda is the Kartica month. As the latter half of autumn corresponds to the month of Kartica, we may be certain that the statement means that Sri Krishna left for Hastinapura in the Revati Nakshatra of the month of Kartica. His efforts at reconciliation having been of no avail, he seems to have returned to the Pandava camp in Pushya Nakshatra for, as soon as he left Hastinapura, Duryodhana asked his warriors immediately to march the army to Kurukshetra (Udyoga Parva CXLII.18), “For to-day the moon is in the constellation of Pushya”. A little before Sri Krishna’s departure from Hastinapura, he proposed to Karna, “In seven days will there be new moon; let the war be begun on that day which, they say, is presided over by Indra.” As the commentator says, “Sakradevatam” denotes the Jyeshtha Nakshatra, which is presided over by Indra. The verse, therefore, indicates that the approaching Amavasya was to happen in Jyeshtha Nakshatra. This serves to confirm our inference drawn from other texts that the Amavasya, which occurred on the fifth day of the war, took place in Jyeshtha Nakshatra. But, to say that the new moon would occur on the seventh day seems to be certainly wrong, for Krishna was speaking to Karna in Pushya Nakshatra and the Amavasya was said to occur in Jyeshtha, the tenth Nakshatra from Pushya. Probably saptamat is an error for dashamat.

The war, however, did not begin in Amavasya as suggested by Sri Krishna for, Duryodhana moved out his army to Kurukshetra on Pushya Nakshatra. The Pandavas too seem to have marched out of Upaplavya on the very same Pushya. Both the contending parties were in such a hurry to march their armies to the battlefield, because Pushya Nakshatra was considered auspicious for such purposes. Yet, it was not possible to begin the actual fighting on the very same day. Much remained to be done before the armies could meet each other in battle array. If Sri Krishna returned from Hastinapura with the answer of Duryodhana on Pushya Nakshatra it is reasonable to allow some time for the marching of troops, for the ground to be cleared, for the pitching of tents, for the divisions of the armies to be properly effected, and most of all, for the allied princes to bring on their respective divisions to the field of battle. It appears to me that all these preliminary arrangements were gone through during the interval of the five days between Pushya and Chitra, in which Nakshatra the fighting actually began. But our epic says that both the parties were prepared for battle on the day when the moon had gone to the region of Magha (Bhishma Parva XVII). The natural interpretation of the expression is that on that day the moon was in Magha Nakshatra. In that case we have to suppose that though the armies were almost ready for war in Magha Nakshatra, the first shot was not fired till after the lapse of three more days. The armies began their march to Kurukshetra in Pusha, were organized in effective divisions in Magha, and actually engaged in battle in Chitra. Or, it may be that ‘Magha’ is an error for ‘Maghava’. The expression then would mean that the moon had entered the region of Indra, that is the star Chitra presided over by Indra. If the emendation proves to be correct we have here another testimony to the correctness of our conclusion that the war began in Chitra Nakshatra.

It must be borne in mind that the epic was cast into its present form more than a thousand years after the date of the war. There are many statements in the epic which conflict with one another, a circumstance which can be accounted for only on this historic basis. One such conflicting statement occurs in the Gadayudha Parva. On the last day of the war Balarama returned to Kurukshetra from his pilgrimage to the banks of the Sarasvati, whither he had gone on the eve of the war in utter disgust with this horrible fratricidal war. He said (Shalya Parva XXXIV.6), “Forty-two days have elapsed since I proceeded forth; I left on Pushya, I have returned in Sravana.” The Epic states expressly that the Pushya Nakshatra on which Balarama went away on pilgrimage was the one (Shalya Parva XXXV.10-15; Udyoga Parva CLVII.16-35) on which the Pandavas set out of Upaplavya to the field of battle. It also certainly implies that the Sravana Nakshatra on which Balarama returned happened on the last day of the war (Shalya Parva LIV.32). If these statements are to be taken as authentic, the obvious inference is that the war, which began with the marching of armies to Kurukshetra on Pushya, came to an end in Shravana forty-two days later.

This conflicts directly with the natural inferences we have drawn from the other statements,namely, that the winter solstice occurred on Magha Shukla Panchami fifty days after the close of the war, that the war lasted for eighteen consecutive days, that the Amavasya which occurred on the fifth day of the war took place in Jyeshtha Nakshatra, and that Sri Krishna left for Hastinapura on his errand of peace on Revati Nakshatra of Kartica month and returned to Upaplavya on the next following Pushya. To avoid such a contingency two explanations of this manifestly corrupt text are possible. We have either to suppose that the statements about Balarama’s departure on the eve of the war and about his return on the last day thereof are spurious as being opposed to the united testimony of other texts, or that the verse under discussion requires a little emendation. In the former case the inference to be drawn from the shloka is that Balarama left for the Sarasvati in Pushya Nakshatra twenty-seven days before the march of troops on the next Pushya Nakshatra to the battle field and that he returned to Kurukshetra in Sravana some days before the close of the war. If, however, the shloka is incorrect, we may best correct it by changing ‘forty-two’ into ‘twenty-four’. If Balarama had left on pilgrimage in Pushya and returned on the last day of the war, that being the twenty-fourth from the day of his departure, the last day of the war would happen in Rohini, a result which is identical with the one we have already deduced from other texts.

There is one other conflicting verse which we shall briefly discuss. On the fourteenth night of the war there was a tremendous battle between the contending parties. It is hinted in the epic (Salya Parva LIV.32) that the moon rose up on that night after three-fourths part of it had expired. This is certainly a mistake; for the new moon having taken place on the fifth day of the war, the moon should have disappeared below the western horizon about an hour and a half before three-fourths of the night was over. On the evening of the fourteenth day of the war, Arjuna’s vow to kill Jayadratha having been fulfilled, the Kurus, burning with revengeful thoughts, continued the strife far into the night. The epic would have us believe that during the first half of the night a tremendous battle raged in total darkness resulting in the death of Ghatotkacha, that both the armies therefore lay down to sleep for some time, and that on the rise of the moon at about three o’clock in the morning, both the sides recommenced their fighting. It is more probable that the war continued for as long as the moon was shining and that the armies rested when the moon had set. The poet was perhaps led to make this mistake by his anxiety to render the night sufficiently horrible for Rakshasa heroes to fight with their powers of illusion.

But, barring these two conflicting statements which too may be explained away, all other texts serve to support our conclusion. We are told that:-

  1. the winter solstice happened on Magha Shukla Panchami;
  2. the tenth day battle happened fifty-eight days before it;
  3. Bhishma, who died on Magha Shukla Ekadasi, gave up the ghost fifty-six days after the close of the war;
  4. a period of fifty days intervened between the end of the war and the winter solstice;
  5. the war lasted for eighteen consecutive days;
  6. the Amavasya, which occurred soon after the commencement of the war, happened in Jyeshtha Nakshatra;
  7. the armies began their departure to the field of battle in Pushya Nakshatra; and
  8. Krishna had proceeded to Hastinapura on his mission of mediation on the preceding Revati Nakshatra in the month of Kartica.

All these point but to one conclusion, namely, that the war, which lasted for eighteen consecutive days, concluded on the fifty-first night before the winter solstice.

At present the winter solstice falls on the 21st of December. The Gregorian system, which is the basis of the calendars of all Europe except Russia, Greece and Turkey, involves an error of less than a day in 3524 years. As the war took place in 1194 B.C., or 3094 years ago or 2776 years before the calendar was last corrected by Pope Gregory XIII, we may be certain that the winter solstice which occurred on the fifty-first day after the close of the war, would have happened, as now on the 21st of December (New Style). We may, therefore, conclude that the War commenced on the 14th of October, and was brought to a close on the night of the 31st of October, 1194 B.C. Whether or not this precise date, based as it is on data furnished by the Mahabharata alone, proves to be acceptable to the critical eye of a historian, we may at least be sure that the war took place in the latter part of the year 1194 B.C.

The Doomsday Epic Condensed

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The Condensed Mahabharata of Vyasa by P. Lal, First published 1980, 3rd edn 2010 (Revised and Corrected) Price: HB Rs 600, FB Rs 400

We have in hand a gorgeously produced reprint of the 1980 Vikas edition of Padma Shri Dr. P.Lal’s condensed transcreation of Vyasa’s epic. R.C. Dutt, the first ‘condenser’ of the Mahabharata’s one lakh shlokas, chose to spare the Western reader the “unending morass’ and “monstrous chaos” of episodical matter by leaving out whatever he felt to be super-incumbent.

The result was a Tennysonian Vyasa rhythmically relating in Locksley-Hall metre his knightly tale of barons at war in two thousand English couplets.  

In the process Dutt sacrificed much that is integral to the Vyasan ethos: most of the Book of Beginnings and the Book of the Forest, and all of the Club, the Great Departure and the Ascent to Heaven books.

Here Prof. Lal has condensed the hard-core narrative of the Pandava-Dhartarashtran conflict, around which a vast collection of myths, legends, folklore, philosophy and homilies was woven to make up the great epic of Bharata. A complementary project, Mahabharata Katha, is underway, the first of which, The Ramayana in the Mahabharata, is out. Successive volumes will make available to the English-speaking world those peripheral episodes which are, nevertheless, integral parts of the Vyasan universe articulating leitmotifs that run as unifying themes linking the apparently chaotic medley of episodes.

To the modern reader who has neither the time, nor perhaps the inclination, to seek out the iridescent Ariadne’s thread to follow through the epic labyrinth, the Lalian approach is richly rewarding. Besides a valuable 67 page introduction, a family tree, a map showing India at the time of the Mahabharata, an annotated bibliography and an index to proper names, his condensation differs markedly from those of Dutt, Rajagopalachari, R.K. Narayan, Kamala Subramanyam, Meera Uberoi and Ramesh Menon in that he neither re-tells nor adds. Dr. Lal is the only condenser who also transcreates, giving the story ‘always in Vyasa’s own words, without simplifying, interpreting, or elaborating’ preferred Vyasan dialogue to straight narration and report.’

It is not his intention to narrate merely the essential story of the fratricidal war but also to communicate the ‘feel’ of the epic; that ineffable flavour which transforms a sordid account of a bloody clan-war into the Mahabharata. With this end in view, he incorporates a number of incidents which do not appear, at first glance, to have any link with the central story, e.g. the Arjunaka-serpent-Gautami episode in the 13th Book, the memorable parable of the Drop of Honey related by Vidura to Dhritarashtra in Book 11, and the repeated exhortation regarding ahimsa in this violent epic – so violent that, traditionally, it is prohibited reading for nubile women.

It is to correct the general impression that the Mahabharata is off limits to women that Kavita Sharma, principal of Hindu College, Delhi, has written her study of the royal epic women, pairing Satyavati and Amba (though the parallels are far more between the former and her grand daughter-in-law Kunti and between the latter and her daughter-in-law Draupadi), Gandhari and Kunti, Draupadi by herself and Arjuna’s wives whom she groups as ‘warrior queens’. In the last group her coverage of Alli, Pavazhakkodi, Minnoliyal and Pulandaran from the Tamil ballads is extremely valuable. One wishes that she had included the insights provided by Bhasa and Bhatta Narayana.

There are some glaring errors such as ‘Rishi Gavala’ instead of ‘Galava’ (p.4) and Vibhruvahana instead of ‘Babhruvahana’ (p.113). While discussing Draupadi, she fails to note (despite listing Hiltebeitel’s research on Rajasthani ballads in the bibliography) how the popular imagination reincarnated her in medieval times as Bela in the Alha. Puzzled by Draupadi’s silence when married off to five husbands, she proffers haphazard explanations, completely missing out that her appearance Kritya-like during a sacrifice is followed by a declaration that she will be the agent of the gods for the destruction of the warrior clans and she is called a puppet, ‘Panchali’ (her behaviour often suits that appellative). Her marriage to Yudhishthira, son of Yama-Dharma is ominously appropriate. She is the mysterious femme fatale who inveigles five Indras into being sentenced by Shiva to be reborn as the Pandavas with her as their wife to ensure that the intended holocaust occurs. The course of the epic is determined by the dark four and Kunti: Kali-Satyavati, Krishna Dvaipayana Vyasa, Vasudeva Krishna, Draupadi-Krishnaa, and Kunti. While Yamuna’s black waters link the first three, Satyavati, Kunti and Draupadi are prototypes of one another.

Superficial study of the epic is indicated when Sharma recounts Krishna saving Draupadi from being stripped where Vyasa refers to Dharma (another name for Vidura) having clothed her, the passage regarding Krishna being an interpolation consigned to an appendix in the Critical Edition.

While summarising Draupadi’s advice to Satyabhama, Sharma diligently lists all the chores of the dutiful wife, failing to note two interesting points: the complete account of income and expenditure of her husbands was in her grasp and she alone knew the extent of their wealth; she kept track of what each of the many maids attending on Yudhishthira was doing; and she took particular care never to surpass her mother-in-law in ornaments, dress and even the food taken, besides avoiding all criticism of Kunti (III.233. 38, 41).

Surprisingly, Sharma does not notice how skillfully Draupadi uses her charms to get her way time and again, particularly with Bhima and Krishna.

While her book is a sorely needed corrective and provides a popular overview of the role women play in the epic, it would have benefited considerably by reference to Sr. M.A. Hughes’ study, Epic Women: East and West (Journal of the Asiatic Society), Saoli Mitra’s Nathavati Anathavat and Katha Amrita Saman, Chitra Chaturvedi’s Mahabharat, Tanaya and Amba nahin mein Bhishmaa, the 2003 national conference on Pancha Kanya – the five virgins of India’s Epics and the 2005 MANUSHI-ICCR international panel on it in New Delhi. The bibliography contains references that have nothing to do with the subject (E.A.Johnson, Sheetan) and though dated 2006, is innocent of the most important work on the epic, Hiltebeitel’s 2001 ‘Rethinking the Mahabharata’.

The Lal condensation is distinguished by the inimitable choice of passages from the original which no other abridgement has incorporated. Thus, in the beginning of Book 12 is Yudhishthira’s lament over Karna’s death:

‘Even when Karna spoke harshly to us in the palace assembly room, my anger cooled when my eyes fell by chance on his feet. They were our mother Kunti’s feet’ And he goes on to utter words that sum up the existential angst at the root of the epic: ‘We have squabbled like a pack of dogs over a piece of meat, and we have won – and the meat has lost its savour. The meat is thrown aside, the dogs have forgotten it.’

This is precisely what the epic is about – or, at least, one of the many things it is about. This theme of a pyrrhic victory, in which the victors ‘instead of gust chew bitter ashes,’ is stressed again and again in passages omitted in other condensations: ‘Enjoy the barren world – it is now yours’, says Duryodhana at bay, bear-like at the stake surrounded by snarling, slavering Pandavas. ‘You have a world to yourself, a world without friends, horses, chariots, elephants, forts. Enjoy her.’

Yudhishthira shouts, ‘You rave like a madman’ – a desperate attempt to drown the grinning skull and the rattle of bones in lung-power. But truth will out, and it comes at the very end in Yudhishthira’s apocalyptic vision of his kinsmen in hell while his enemies loll on celestial couches.

This is the climactic episode of the theme stated un-compromisingly just before the holocaust begins when Arjuna states blandly that the war is being fought neither for avenging Draupadi, nor for ‘dharma’, but for an extremely mundane and selfish objective: land.

If, then, the epic is such a sordid affair, what lends it memorability and relevance today? It is those situations where characters are shorn of all their trappings and face the ultimate test, forced to play chess with death. Such is the dramatic moment when time stands still as Yudhishthira answers the Yaksha of the lake over the corpses of his brothers. Such is the incident where Yudhishthira, again, replies to his ancestor Nahusha crushing the invincible Bhima in his adamantine coils. Such, yet again, is that tremendous scene where Yudhishthira faces Indra and refuses to give up his canine companion for heaven.

Then there are those other intensely human episodes true for all time: the confrontation between Kunti begging Karna to join her other sons; Draupadi putting the entire peerage to shame with an unanswerable question; Draupadi’s upalambha to Bhima after Kichaka has kicked her; Arjuna facing his brothers finding Abhimanyu slain; Amba, rejected by Salva, facing Bhishma. It is woman and man in all their passionate intensity – all the blood, toil and tears that makes up this short and brutish life. And yet it is man who questions the Divine, wrestling with him, as Arjuna with Shiva physically, or intellectually as Arjuna with Krishna, till God has replies to logic with magic to stun him into submission, as Jehovah to Job out of the whirlwind. It is all this which lends this sometime-ballad of the Bharata clan its epic dimensions and eternal appeal.

The selection of incidents from the original for inclusion in this condensation is itself a feature which distinguishes it from other condensations. The choice is carefully guided by Dr. Lal’s overview of recurring themes or patterns. Take, for instance, the Gita itself, which is missing from most of the other abridgements. Lal carefully incorporates a dialogue between Draupadi and Yudhishthira in the forest which looks forward to the philosophy of nishkama karma and of following one’s dharma.

This is a passage providing rare insights into the respective speakers which readers of other condensations have missed.

The episode of the sage Brihadashva’s visit to the exiled princes appears unnecessary but on closer examination the links with the plot become clear. This sage imparts to Yudhishthira mastery in casting the dice, which is of crucial importance for maintaining his disguise in Virata’s court. It is also skillfully placed immediately after Urvashi cursing Arjuna with eunuch-hood, another boon for the period of ‘exile-in-disguise’. A valuable inclusion is Karna’s retelling of a dream to Krishna which all other condensers miss, completely in consonance with Prof. Lal’s awareness of the underlying theme of pyrrhic victory: ‘I saw you (Krishna) in that dream, busy scattering weapons of war on the blood-red earth. Then I saw Yudhishthira standing on a heap of bones, gladly licking thick sweet curd from a golden plate’.

A remarkable quality of the Lal condensation is the effortless shifting from prose to verse according to the demands of the original. The use of verse in describing Hidimba’s honeymoon, the Pandavas’ stay in the Dvaita forest, Bhima’s obtaining the golden lotus and the description of the rains, help to create and communicate the other-worldly and idyllic flavour of the original. On another unforgettable occasion Lal changes with a sure touch from prose to verse to describe Urvashi approaching Arjuna as abhisarika whose delicate nuances can hardly be communicated in prose. Vyasa also uses verse for rendering solemn ritualistic passages such as Sanjaya consoling the blind monarch, the women wailing over the corpse-strewn field, Gandhari upbraiding Krishna, and the tremendous calling-up of ghosts of the departed from the waters of the Bhagirathi in a translation redolent of the Odyssey.

Prof. Lal’s faithfulness to the original affords valuable insights into characters which other condensations miss. In the svayamvara of Draupadi, her joy at the Brahmin-Arjuna’s success vis-‘-vis her disgust at the Suta-Karna’s entering the contest reveals certain caste-snobbery. Lal carefully brings out Yudhishthira’s cussed mule-headedness in his sparing the rapist Jayadratha and in offering to surrender the kingdom if any of the Pandavas are worsted by Duryodhana in a duel. Krishna’s furious berating of such woolly-thinking is often missing in condensations: ‘It was foolish of you to gamble away our advantage now, just as you gambled everything away to Shakuni.’ Most interesting is Krishna’s inability to recreate the Gita experience when requested by Arjuna before he leaves for Dvaraka after the war: ‘I could not now recall what I said then, even if I wished. How will I get all the details right?’

There is the bland statement of Bhishma and Drona, omitted in other abridgements, explaining why they fight for Duryodhana: ‘A man is the slave of wealth though wealth is no one’s slave. The wealth of the Kauravas binds me to them.’ Then there is that solitary glimpse into Draupadi’s heart as she wails to Bhima in Virata’s court: ‘Any woman married to Yudhishthira would be afflicted with many griefs….What does Yudhishthira do? He plays dice…Look at Arjuna… A hero with earrings!

…You saved me from Jayadratha … and from Jatasura … I shall take poison and die in your arms Bhima.’

This is the source of Iravati Karve’s brilliant exposition of Draupadi’s thoughts as she lies dying and murmurs to Bhima, ‘Aryaputra, in the next birth, be born the eldest!’

It is the inclusion of such incidents and rendering them with careful exactitude which make the Lal version uniquely valuable. In addition there is the sheer readability of the transcreation.

There are, however, a number of omissions that detract from the plot interest. We are not told why the Vasus were cursed to be born as Shantanu’s sons, nor how the fish-odorous Satyavati acquires the lotus-scent which draws the king to her. There is a contradiction between pages 102 and 106 between who was born first and who was conceived first – Yudhishthira or Duryodhana. The Ekalavya episode does not mention how this rejected pupil used to practise archery before a statue of Drona. Drona’s birth is omitted though it provides insight into why he is virtually caste-less and spurned by Drupada. Page 120 conveys a mistranslation: the Pandavas do not flee to Varanavata on Vidura’s advice; they go there on Dhritarashtra’s insistence and flee from there with Vidura’s help. The killing of Baka is omitted with its remorseless scrutiny of family relationships and Kunti’s remarkable decisions as a leader. An unfortunate omission is Krishna’s Machiavellian strategy in deliberately throwing Ghatotkacha as bait to attract Karna’s infallible weapon. The atrocious killing of Bhurishravas by Arjuna and Satyaki, referred to on page 409, is another uncalled for omission.

The most critical lapse occurs on page 393 where at the end of Yudhishthira’s horse-sacrifice Prof. Lal unaccountably omits the story that the half-golden mongoose relates, making the ending of Book 14 trite and inexplicable. There is a cryptic reference on page 101 to Gandhari having once sheltered Vyasa when he was dying from hunger which is neither expanded nor found in the original. The story of Shikhandin-Amba’s birth is left out though it is one of the threads that link the Adi to the Bhishma Parva: Amba is the hamartia in Bhishma’s tragedy. The Arjuna-Shiva encounter is yet another memorable incident which has been omitted.

What is the final impression with which this condensation-cum-transcreation leaves us? It is the anguished cry of a man who has witnessed his progeny slaughter one another in insane strife:

I raise my arms and I shout- but no one listens!
From dharma come wealth and pleasure:
Why is dharma not practised?

This is the story of Vyasa and his descendants, all corrupted by that single consuming weakness – lust. With unerring instinct Lal has incorporated in his condensation a speech by Pandu which touches the core of this tragic flaw – a speech which most condensers drop – ‘Addiction to lust killed my mother’s husband, though the virtuous Shantanu gave him birth. And though truth-speaking Vyasa is my father, lust consumes me too’. The seed of lust runs through both sides of the family. It consumes Shantanu who marries a fisherwoman in his dotage, depriving his kingdom of its rightful and able heir, Devavrata. Mahabhisha is reborn as Shantanu for having looked lustfully on Ganga in Brahma’s court when the wind uplifted her dress. Vichitravirya, child of his old age, carries the same weakness and dies of sexual over-indulgence. Satyavati is a product of Uparichara’s lust. Vyasa is born of Parashara forcing himself on Satyavati mid-stream in a boat. Satyavati refuses to put her daughters-in-law through the year-long purificatory penance which Vyasa advises. They await their brother-in-law Bhishma lust-fully and, shocked at the advent of Vyasa, the union inevitably produces flawed progeny. The curse, like the Erinyes, pursues the entire family. It is the supreme irony of the epic that ultimately the Puru lineage and the dynasty Satyavati sought to found through Vyasa are extinct. No wonder Vyasa finally cries out in despair at man’s deliberate rejection of salvation and the remorseless working out of the tragic flaw ingrained deep within, driving him to destruction.

THE CURIOUS TALE OF BARBAREEK

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Other than the sons of Bhima, Arjuna and the Draupadeyas Vyasa does not mention names of Pandava progeny. In Jaimini’s Ashvamedha parva a new character is introduced: Bhima’s grandson Meghavarna, the son of Ghatotkacha. But there is yet another son of Ghatotkacha whose story is told in the Skanda Purana, Kumarika Khanda, chapters 59-66 by Suta Ugrashrava to Shaunaka and other sages performing a great sacrificial ritual in the forest of Naimisha. Suta narrates what he had heard from Dvaipayana (island-born) Vyasa.

When the Pandavas were dwelling in Indraprastha under Vasudeva’s protection, one day Ghatotkacha arrived in the court and was welcomed with warm embraces and blessings. He informed them that since the death of his wicked maternal uncle Hidimb he was ruling the kingdom righteously and that his mother was engaged in austerities. At her urging, he had left the foothills and come to offer his respects, requesting them to engage him in some noble cause. Yudhishthira was delighted and praised Hidimba for rejecting the splendour of her husband’s royal palace for ascesis and having overcome all desire. 

Turning to Krishna, Yudhishthira expressed his anxiety over finding a proper bride for Ghatotkacha. Krishna thought a little and stated that the proper spouse was waiting for him in the city of Praagjyotisha. She was the daughter of the Daitya Mura of amazing feats, intimate friend of the Daitya Naraka, both of whom Krishna had slain. After Mura fell, his valiant daughter Kamakatankata  attacked Krishna and, cutting through his shower of arrows, struck Garuda’s head with her sword, felling him unconscious. When Krishna lifted the discus to slay her, the goddess Kamakhya  appeared and announced that she had granted Mura’s daughter the boon of invincibility in battle and gifted her the sword, shield, spear and incomparable intelligence. Therefore, honouring her boon, Krishna ought not to fight the daanavi. The goddess made peace between Kamakatankata and Krishna. She directed the Daitya amazon that as she was to become the daughter-in-law of Krishna’s cousin Bhima, she ought to touch her future father-in-law’s feet. Krishna blessed her and asked her to continue living there, looked after honourably by Naraka’s son Bhagadatta. 

Kamakatankata vowed to wed only that man who could baffle her with a riddle and defeat her in a duel. Everyone who attempted lost his life. Yudhishthira refused to permit their grandson to undertake such an enterprise, howsoever wonderful the prospective bride’s talents might be and preferred to search elsewhere. Bhima, however, insisted that the valiant must attempt the impossible, otherwise how would fame be theirs? He advised that his son proceed alone immediately to win Mura’s daughter. Arjuna supported him, pointing out that success had already been foretold by the goddess Kamakhya. Krishna approved but asked Ghatotkacha what was his own wish.  He responded, “I do not boast, but I wish to assure my elders that you will not have to be ashamed of me.” With their blessings, he left. As he left Krishna told him, “When you speak to her, think of me. I will ensure your victory by making your intelligence and your prowess invincible.”

Ghatotkacha reached the outskirts of Praagjyotisha city and approached the gates of a huge palace with a thousand golden spires. From within it arose the music of flutes and veenas and thousands of maidservants could be seen scurrying about. Bhagadatta’s retainers were rushing back and forth enquiring, “What is the sister’s wish?” Approaching a maid named Karnapravarna  he spoke softly to her, “Lady, where is Mura’s daughter? I come from afar to meet her.” “Mighty-armed one,” she responded, “Why do you seek the daughter of Mura? Crores of lusting men like you have met with death at her hands. Your appearance I find most amusing, like a pot and all the hair sticking up. Valiant one, I touch your feet and am at your disposal. Lusty one, stay here with me and enjoy yourself. I shall provide you three attendants with wives.” Ghatotkacha replied, “Auspicious lady, you have only proved what I have heard about all of you. But my heart does not accept your words. Once desire fastens upon a goal it is not diverted elsewhere—so what can I do? Today I shall either defeat your mistress and sport with her or, being defeated, follow the path of the other suitors. Hence, O Karnapravarna, swiftly carry my words to your mistress. May she grant audience immediately and welcome the guest.”

The night-foraging maiden ran at once to where Kamakatankata sat within the palace and said, “Devi, a youth of appearance unique in the three worlds is at your door wishing to meet you. Command what is to be done.” Kamakatankata said, “Let him come in at once! Why the delay? Perhaps finally, after so long, through divine intervention my time has come.” Hearing this, Karnapravarna returned to Ghatotkacha and said, “Lust-crazed one, without delay rush to that death-incarnate.” 

Thereupon Bhima’s son entered the city like a lion striding into a mountain cave. He saw Kamakatankata reclining on a swing surrounded by doves, parrots and beautiful maids. In beauty and youth she seemed like the goddess of love Rati. Decked in ornaments, she flashed like lightning. Ghatotkacha thought, “Uncle Krishna has truly chosen the right partner for me. So what if previous suitors have been destroyed? The body, after all, is subject to decay. If the bodies of lusting men get destroyed because of such women, let it be so.” He said, “Adamantine-hearted one, I come to you as a guest. Therefore, greet me appropriately.” Kamakatankata was surprised to hear this and noticing Ghatotkacha’s appearance cursed herself, “Alas! If I had not sworn such a vow already, he would certainly have been my husband.” She said, “Sir, you have come in vain. Depart with your life. And should you desire me, put forward some proposition immediately. If you can throw me in doubt, I shall be yours to command. Otherwise you shall die at my hands.”

Ghatotkacha called on Krishna, lord of all, and began to tell a story.

“The wife of a man who had no control over his senses died after giving birth to a daughter. When she bloomed into a woman, that lustful man was crazed with desire and one day embracing her said, ‘Dearest, you are the daughter of one of my neighbours. I have looked after you so long to make you my wife. Therefore, now fulfil my desire.’ The daughter thought it was the truth and accepted him as her husband. Thereafter, she gave birth to a daughter. Now tell me, is that girl that lustful man’s granddaughter or daughter? Answer me if you can.”

Kamakatankata thought over the riddle for a long time but could not arrive at an answer. Then she rang the golden shackles of the swing and immediately crores of Rakshasas, lions, tigers, boars, buffalos and leopards appeared and rushed to devour Ghatotkacha. Seeing this, he laughed and from his nails produced double the number who ate up those Rakshasas and others in an instant. 

Then Kamakatankata sprang up from her swing to take up her sword. Bhima’s son at once seized her hair with his left hand and threw her on the ground. Pressing his foot on her throat he threatened to slice off her nose with the knife in his right hand. Mura’s daughter was unable to move and said, “Lord, in riddle, prowess and physical strength—in all three you have defeated me. I salute you as your servant. Free me and command me what you will, I shall obey.” Ghatotkacha said, “If that be so, then you are free. You are welcome to try again.” Kamakatankata replied, “O mighty warrior, I know who you are. You are the first among the powerful, lord of all night-roamers, the lord of guhyakas Kalanaabha and have taken birth on earth to protect the Yakshas. Goddess Kamakhya has revealed this to me. I surrender myself, my attendants, this palace, everything to you. O Lord of my life, command me, what I should do.” Ghatotkacha said, “Daughter of Mura, one whose parents are alive ought not to marry in secret. Therefore, take me now to Indraprastha. It is our custom that the bride carries the groom. There, with my elders’ permission, I shall marry you.”

Mura’s daughter then informed her guardian Bhagadatta of everything and with a host of gifts from him carried Ghatotkacha on her back to Indraprastha where they were married to the great delight of Kunti and Draupadi. The Pandavas were glad to receive all the wealth. Thereafter the couple returned to Hidimba forest where the Rakshasas held great celebrations to the clash of cymbals. In due course a son was born who achieved youth immediately after birth, as Rakshasas do. Dark of complexion like blue clouds, his face was like a pot, eyes large, hair all standing up. Touching his parents’ feet he requested them to name him and advise him about what he ought to do. Embracing him Ghatotkacha said, “Son, since your hair is curled, I name you Barbareek. About your future course of action, I shall enquire of Vasudeva after reaching Dvaraka.”

Leaving his wife there, Ghatotkacha took to the skies with his son and reached Dvaraka where the guards raised an uproar warning everyone about the arrival of two Rakshasas. Ghatotkacha announced their identity and requested audience with Krishna who immediately had them admitted into the court. Barbareek then enquired of Krishna how to achieve excellence in keeping with his birth. Krishna said, “Maurveya, you are born in a Kshatriya family, hence acquire immense prowess whereby you may punish the wicked and protect the virtuous. Thereby you shall win heaven. It is by the grace of goddesses that illimitable strength can be obtained. Hence, go the secret spot located at Mahisagara on the seashore where sage Narada has brought together all the goddesses. Worship the four goddesses of the directions and the nine Durgas. Finding them all in one place is a unique opportunity. If they are pleased, there is nothing—power, wealth, fame, sons, wife, heaven, even liberation—that you cannot obtain.” Turning to Ghatotkacha, Krishna said, “Your son is extremely righteous, therefore I name him ‘Suhridaya’, the good-hearted one.” 

Ghatotkacha returned to his forest, while his son departed for the secret teertha Guptakshetra. For three years he lived in the place named Dagdhasthali, worshiping the goddesses who appeared before him and blessed him with incomparable prowess. They advised him to wait there for some more time to meet Vijaya, which would be to his advantage. A Brahmin of Magadha named Vijaya arrived there after some time having learned in Kaashi a special kind of worship by which for a long time he had worshipped the seven lingas and the goddesses to gain knowledge. In a dream the goddesses told him to continue the ritual with the help of Barbareek. On the fourteenth night of the dark fortnight Vijaya and Barbareek, having fasted, created a devi-mandala in front of the Siddhaambikaa temple, fixing a mantra-sanctified sword in its midst and eight wooden posts bound with thread around the mandala. Vijaya asked Barbareek to keep awake praying to Devi and to guard him from all harm. He proceeded first to pray to Ganesha, then the Kshetrapalas, then the Yakshi Sunanda who was in the form of a banyan tree on the shore, and began to repeat the Aparajita Mantra from “Om namo bhagavate” till “namohastu te svaha”. 

In the first hour of the night a woman manifested there, clad in a single bloody cloth, hair flying wildly, terrifying eyes, gleaming white teeth—an image that would terrify terror itself. She was weeping loudly. Vijaya was frightened but Barbareek went up to her and embracing her neck began to weep even more loudly. Surprised, that woman tried to smite him with a sword, but Barbareek seized her by the throat and immobilised her. After roaring in pain for some time, she begged to be released and, when he let go, fell at his feet. “I am the shape-shifting rakshasi Mahaajihvaa and live in the cremation grounds of Kaashi. If you spare me, I shall engage in austerities that will benefit all creatures. If I do not do so, may I be reduced to ashes.” Barbareek then let her go and continued to stand guard. 

At midnight a terrible roaring was heard and a huge hill became visible from which trees and rocks began to rain along with hail and blood. Not at all fearful, Barbareek took up a hill twice that size and jumped upon that hill so hard that it shattered to pieces. Repalendra then assumed a hundred-headed form, spitting fire from its many mouths. Barbareek did the like and attacked it with bow and arrows, then with sword and, when both got broken, they fought with fists. Finally, Barbareek suddenly lifted up the demon and spinning him round, flung him on the ground, killing him and threw his body afar. The place where he fell became a village named Repalendra. This terror of sadhus was the lord of the cremation ground of Avanti.

After the next hour again from the west a thunderous sound was heard and the earth quaked. Then, like lightning falling from the clouds, a she-mule arrived. Bhima’s grandson laughed, jumped upon that mule and tried to stop it by hitting it on its snout repeatedly. Instead it grew furious and with a mighty neigh leaped threw Barbareek on the ground. He then seized its legs and threw it on the ground. As it rose up, he again hit it so hard that its teeth fell out. He began wringing its neck and throttled it to death. Thus that demoness leader of Shaakinis met her end. The village at the place where Barbareek threw her became known as Duhadruha.

At the fourth hour a peculiar shaven headed naked mendicant wearing peacock feathers appeared, exclaiming, “Alas, non-violence is the supreme dharma. So how can fire be lit? For to light fire many tiny creatures have to be slain.” Hearing this Barbareek laughed and said, “Agni is the mouth of all gods, therefore the proper ritual is to place offerings in it. You speak falsely, therefore, wicked one, you need to be taught a lesson.” With a leap, Barbareek seized him and with a blow on his mouth that broke his teeth threw him on the ground unconscious. On regaining consciousness, he assumed a terrifying demon’s form and fled into a cave within which a city named Bahuprabhaa existed. Barbareek followed him and was attacked by many Palaashi Daityas with arms. Like a musth elephant entering a forest of reeds he trampled them all to death. Then Vasuki and other Nagas came and soothed him with sweet praise for killing the demons who used to torment them. They asked him to choose a boon. Barbareek requested that Vijaya should obtain what he was praying for. “So be it,” they said gladly.

On his way back through the tunnel Barbareek saw at the foot of a banyan tree a bejewelled linga being worshipped by many Naga maidens. Surprised he enquired of them who had established this dazzling linga and where the paths seen around it led. One of the heavy hipped, large breasted women shyly glanced at him and smilingly said that lord of the Nagas, noble Shesha had established this linga and to the east the path led to the Shri mountain on earth. The path had been made by Elapatra Naga. The path to the south led to Shurparaka teertha and was made by Karkotaka Naga. To the west the path led to the glorious pilgrimage spot of Prabhasa and was made by Airavata Naga. The path Barbareek was taking was to the north and led to the secret spot where the Siddha linga existed. That tunnel was known as Shakti cave and was made by Takshaka. Saying this the maidens all wished to know who he was and begged him to wed them and stay there. Barbareek announced his identity and refused their offer as he had opted for celibacy. Prostrating before the linga in salutation, he came out of the cave to find dawn breaking. Vijaya greeted him happily having completed the entire worship. Soon he began to rise upwards, greeted by showers of flowers by gods, music and dance by gandharvas and apsaras. Vijaya blessed Barbareek with victory, joy and immortality, advising him to take the crimson ashes from the sacred fire he had lit and to fling it against the enemy in war. It would destroy all foes and ensure his victory. Barbareek, however, refused the gift because the virtuous man performs service without selfish motives. The gods then told him that should the Kauravas obtain these ashes, it would lead to great evil for the Pandavas. Therefore, he ought to collect them. He complied and continued to live there worshipping the goddesses.

Thereafter when the Pandavas went into exile, they arrived at this spot while touring the sacred teerthas. Entering the temple of Chandikaa in the north for resting, they met Barbareek there. Neither knew one another because since his birth they had not met. Parched, Bhima was about to enter the pond when Yudhishthira cautioned him to wash his feet first outside it and then drink, otherwise he would be committing a serious fault. Bhima, unsettled with thirst, paid no heed, walked into the pond and washed himself there. Seeing this Barbareek shouted, “Sinful wretch, you washed yourself in the goddess’ pond! Daily I bathe her with this water and you have dirtied it. Even human beings will not touch such water, what of deities! Come out at once and then drink. If you are such an imbecile how are you visiting sacred teerthas?” 

Bhima: “Brutal Rakshasa! Why are you abusing me? All water is for the enjoyment of all creatures. Sages have prescribed bathing in teerthas, which means cleaning the body. So why are you blaming me?”
Suhridaya: “True, bathing in teerthas is one’s duty, but its procedure is to bathe entering a flowing stream and in still waters from the outside unless its waters are not used to bathe deities. Violating this is sinful. Therefore, wicked fool, come out at once. If you are such a slave of your senses, why are you on a pilgrimage at all?”
Bhima: “Whether it be dharma or adharma I cannot step out. Never have I been able to bear hunger and thirst.”
Suhridaya: “Have you not heard king Shibi’s saying that it is better to live but for a moment doing a pure act than to live for an eon committing sins.”
Bhima: “Your cawing is deafening. Lament as much as you wish and die, but I am definitely going to quench my thirst here.”
Suhridaya: “Born in a dharma-protecting Kshatriya family I will not permit you to do evil. Either you come out now, or I will shatter your head with this stone.” Saying this, he threw a stone at Bhima’s head. Avoiding it, Bhima jumped out of the pond and engaged Barbareek. 

After fighting for some time Bhima weakened and Barbareek began to throttle him, throwing him to the ground. Bhima fell unconscious and Barbareek began to drag him to the sea to throw him into it. Lord Rudra addressed Barbareek from the sky and asked him to release Bhima for he was his grandfather, whatever he might have done. Hearing this, Barbareek released Bhima and cursed himself repeatedly. Throwing himself at Bhima’s feet he begged forgiveness repeatedly, beating his head on the ground and weeping. Bhima embraced him and said, “Son, we have never met you, nor have you seen us since birth. We heard from Krishna and Ghatotkacha that you live here but our sorrows had made us oblivious of that. Do not grieve, for you are not at fault. The Kshatriya must punish all wrong-doers. I am very pleased and we and our ancestors are blessed that we have so virtuous a grandson.” Barbareek said, “No penance has been prescribed for progeny who do not respect parents. Therefore I shall drown this sinful body that has pained my grandfather in the sea.” Saying this, Barbareek gave a mighty leap and reached the sea shore. Siddhaambikaa and the fourteen goddesses then manifested there with Rudra and embracing Barbareek said, “Valiant one, what is done in ignorance is not sinful. Look, your grandfather is running this way shouting your name. If you give up your body now, so will Bhima and that will lead to your incurring great sin. And if you are bent upon dying, then listen to my words: soon your death is fated at Krishna’s hands. Wait until then. For, being killed by Vishnu brings great fortune.” Barbareek refrained from suicide but complained, “Devi, you know well that Shri Krishna always protects the Pandavas in the interest of getting his work done on earth. You too came to save this Vrikodara.” Devi said, “I shall surely protect my devotee from Krishna. To accomplish my work, Barbareek will undertake a mighty battle and be renowned throughout the world as Chandil.” Saying this, all the deities vanished. Bhima took Barbareek to the Pandavas and narrated everything. Bhima established a linga named Bhimeshvara at the spot where he had been rescued by Rudra. Worshipping it at night after fasting on the fourteenth day of the dark fortnight of Jaishtha liberates one from all sins.  

After halting for seven nights there the Pandavas decided to leave. In the morning after bathing in the sacred waters and worshipping the goddesses and the seven lingas, Yudhishthira recited the hymn to the Devi composed by Krishna that must be recited before commencing a journey: “O dear sister of Krishna, Mahashakti Devi, I take refuge in you with body, mind, heart and spirit. You have gifted Sankarshana freedom from fear. You dazzle like Krishna. O Mahadevi Ekanamsha , Shivey, nurture me as your son. You are formless, it is you who create this world. Knowing this I take shelter with you. Auspicious One, rescue me. Before starting all work I with my followers surrender our souls in you. Knowing this, shower your grace on me.”

As Yudhishthira said all this with folded hands Bhima, irritated, said, “O king, I see that people are wrong in pointing you out as ‘Yudhishthira the all-knowing’. For, you know nothing at all. Despite being the first among the wise and expert in all branches of knowledge will a person ever take shelter with a foolish female? You know very well, and it is so stated in all scriptures, that Prakriti who shrouds the world in illusion is inanimate and stupid. The wise call Prakriti ignorant and Purusha conscious. Prakriti is Purusha’s wife. Vain is your learning, Partha, for despite being yourself a purusha you are bowing down to that Prakriti. It makes me laugh. Sandals are not fit to cover the head. Rather, the foolish person who worships a goddess is like the man who places sandals on his head. If you needs must endlessly chant paeans like bards, then why not do so in honour of triple-city destroyer Mahadeva? Or, if you cannot praise him as he cannot be seen, why not chant a paean to the perfect purusha Dasharha  Krishna by whose grace we have obtained Draupadi, you have ruled in Indraprastha and conducted the Rajasuya, Arjuna has obtained the Gandiva bow, I have slain Jarasandha and even now we wish to recover our lost kingdom from the Kauravas? Instead of that Krishna a god-like one like you is singing another’s praises! How terrible! And if you feel that being born in the superior Kuru dynasty you cannot chant the praises of the lower in status Yadava, then why don’t you praise Arjuna who has pierced the target in Draupadi’s svayamvara, defeated heroes like Karna, burnt Khandava forest, defeated kings for the Rajasuya sacrifice, by his prowess won over Mahesha and even lived in heaven? Or, if you are unwilling to praise him because you feel that despite being able to do so Arjuna did not win back the kingdom for you, then why not sing my praises, who rescued you from the flaming house of lac, felled the Madra king with a log and threw him into a dry river bed, killed the king-of-kings Jarasandha, conquered the East, killed the mighty Rakshasas Hidimb and Baka earlier and recently Kirmira. All the time it is I who constantly protect you, so why not chant my praises? Never have I seen her, whom you were praising, protect you. And should you not wish to praise me, considering me a glutton, cruel and reckless, then proceed uttering the Pranava ‘Om’ punctiliously. Wasteful speech is a fault and invites evil spirits into the body because of which that person is repeatedly prompted to talk irrelevantly. Whatever such a person eats or does goes to satisfy evil spirits, so say the scriptures. He cannot gain comfort in this world, let alone the next. I am reminding you that the wise always avoid unnecessary speech. Should you still continue talking irrelevantly, it will be our duty to treat you with various medicines.”

Having listened to Bhima’s huge speech—spread out like a bale of cloth—Yudhishthira laughed and said, “Definitely you are without intelligence and have studied the Vedas in vain, for you are not respecting Ambikaa the mother of all creatures. Why are you slighting her for being a woman? Our mother Kunti is a woman too. In what way does she not deserve respect? If Mahamaya, worshipped even by Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva, were not there, how could this body of yours be formed? Even the Supreme Lord cannot do without her, for even he depends on her. Vasudeva too worships that transcendent Shakti daily. If I need medical treatment, then so does he. Out of stupidity, do not repeat such words about Maheshvari. If you have any desire at all for happiness, then fall supine on the ground and take refuge in her.”

Bhima said, “Flatterers use every means to bring men under their influence and in such cases not to converse with them is the best medicine. Everyone strives to achieve his own goal. Therefore we too will do only what we wish. With the strength of a thousand elephants, son of Pavana, this Bhimasena will never take refuge with any woman.” Saying this, he began to follow Yudhishthira who went ahead muttering, “This is not good, this is not good.”

After a while Bhima began to stagger and called out, “O best of kings, most wise Dharmaraja! See, I cannot see anymore. What has happened to me?” The king replied, “Bhima, definitely the goddess Maheshvari is angry with you and that is why your sight is destroyed. Therefore, mentally take refuge in her at once. Then, being pleased, she might restore your sight.” Bhima said, “O great king, I know that none can compare to the Devi, but it is to obtain sight of her that I abuse her constantly. Therefore I am now witnessing her power and lying supine, with heart, mind, speech I take refuge in that mother and sing her praises.”

Pleased by the paean he chanted, the goddess who was as dark as Krishna and lovely, appeared before Bhima holding sword, shield, pike and cup in her four hands. Bhima regained his sight and worshipped her, begging her to be pleased with him. The goddess placed Yudhishthira and Bhima in her lap and said, “Do not abuse me again. I know why you did it and although Krishna does not like my expressing anger, I did so because it was necessary. Whenever dharma declines, Hari manifests on earth and so do I to help him. At present he has taken birth as Vasudeva’s son and I have appeared as Nandagopa’s daughter Ekanamsha. Since you brothers represent Krishna’s spirit, you are also my brothers and I shall be known as “Bhima-bhagini,” Bhima’s sister. When you fight in the great war, I will dwell in your arms to destroy the Dhartarashtras. After ruling for thirty-six years you shall leave the world. Then at this pilgrimage spot a mighty demon named Loha will try to kill you, noticing that you are unarmed. I will then blind him while you will proceed to cross the snows and finally sink into the sands. Yudhishthira alone will reach heaven with his body. Where Loha falls a city named Lohana  will come up and a portion of me shall dwell there restoring sight to the blind if they worship me on the seventh day of the bright fortnight. In Kali Yuga a devotee of mine named Kela will be born and I shall be called Keleshvari after him. Another excellent devotee of mine named Bailaaka will appear and because of him I shall be renowned in that era in particular. It is here that I shall destroy the demon Durgama and therefore be known as Durgaa. To protect you all I shall dwell in the eastern side of Dharmaaranya. In Kali Yuga one of your descendants, the king of Vatsa shall please me and I shall be known after him as Vatseshvari. By my grace that king shall slay a demoness named Attalaya  and a village named Attaalaja shall come up at that spot. There an image of Vatseshvari shall be established. Later Loha shall be reborn and be invincible. Then Vishnu shall incarnate as Budha and destroy him. At that spot a village named Lohaati shall be founded. Another demon named Gaya will be made into a eunuch by me and a village named Gayataada will come up with an image of mine so named worshipped there by eunuchs. Remember me as your sister whenever you face danger. You are as dear to me as Krishna Now proceed to visit all the sacred pilgrimage spots.” Saying this, the goddess vanished. Telling Barbareek to meet them after the exile was over, the Pandavas left to visit the teerthas.

After the exile was over and the armies assembled at Kurukshetra, Arjuna was boasting to apprehensive Yudhishthira that by himself he could rout the enemies in a single day when Barbareek spoke. He said, “One who has performed ascesis and pleased the goddesses in their secret abode Guptakshetra, hear of that person’s incomparable prowess. O kings, not out of mere arrogance, but speaking the truth about my valour, I say that I am not satisfied with the time-span that worshipful Arjuna has mentioned, for it is an unnecessary waste of time. All of you stay here with Arjuna and Keshava while I alone will despatch Bhishma and all the Kauravas in a moment to Yama’s abode. When I am present, no other warrior need take up arms. Should I die, then let others fight. Look upon the might I have obtained by worshipping the goddess and realise the greatness of Guptakshetra and my devotion towards the Pandavas. See, here are my terrible bow, inexhaustible twin quivers and sword gifted by the goddess, because of which I have spoken thus.”

All the warriors present were amazed. Somewhat embarrassed, Arjuna glanced at Krishna who supported Barbareek, “He has spoken justly. In the past, one hears that he had destroyed innumerable demons along with the danava Palaashi in but a moment. But tell us, grandson of Bhima, exactly how do you propose to demolish the Kauravas in a moment, protected as they are by Bhishma, Drona, Kripa, Ashvatthama, Karna, Duryodhana and others, so that we can repose faith in your words.” 

“O heroes, if you wish to witness the means, I shall show you. Let Keshava and all present watch.” Saying this, Barbareek swiftly placed one of the vermillion-tinted arrows on his bowstring and shot it. From the arrow-tip crimson ash fell on the fatal spots of both armies—Bhishma’s hair-follicles, Drona, Karna, Shakuni, Dhrishtadyumna and Bhagadatta’s necks, Duryodhana’s thighs, Shalya’s chest, the soles of Krishna’s feet, Shikhandi’s waist, and so on. Only Ashvatthama and the five Pandavas were left untouched. “Now,” said Barbareek, “you have all seen that I have marked the mortal spot of everyone. Next I shall shoot sharp arrows at those spots and by those infallible goddess-gifted arrows they shall fall into the maw of death in a trice. None of you should take up arms. In but a moment I shall demolish all these enemies.” 

Amazed, Yudhishthira and all the kings present loudly applauded. But Vasudeva was angered and forthwith beheaded Barbareek with his razor-sharp discuss, to the horror of all present. The Pandavas lamented. Ghatotkacha, crying out, “Alas my son!” collapsed unconscious on the corpse. Meanwhile fourteen goddesses manifested there: Siddhaambikaa, Krodamaataa, Kapaalee, Taaraa, Suvarnaa, Trailokyavijayaa, Bhaaneshvaree, Charchikaa, Ekaveeraa, Yogeshvaree, Chandikaa, Tripuraa, Bhutaambikaa and Harasiddhi. Consoling Ghatotkacha, Chandikaa said, “O Kings! Hear why omniscient Krishna has slain Barbareek. In the past, the earth had approached the gods on Mount Meru complaining of being unbearably burdened. Then at Brahma’s request Vishnu agreed to descend on earth along with the gods to remove Prithvi’s burden. At that time the Yaksha chief Suryavarchaa had lifted up his arms and said, ‘Listen, O gods, I am the storehouse of many flaws, hence when I exist, why should any of you descend on earth? Remain here with Vishnu while I by myself relieve the earth of its burden. I swear in the name of Dharma that there is no need for any of you to incarnate on earth.’ At this, Brahma said in anger, ‘Wicked Yaksha chieftain! What is difficult even for the gods you have boasted arrogantly as achievable by you alone. Fool, because of this you deserve to be cursed. He who boasts of his prowess before his superiors without judging his own and others’ strength and weakness deserves punishment. Therefore, at the time of the commencement of the war to relieve the earth’s burden, Krishna will kill you.’ Thus cursed by Brahma, that Yaksha chief prayed to Vishnu that from birth his mind be set on ascesis for achieving salvation. Keshava granted this and said, ‘Worshippers of the goddess will adore your head as well.’ That Suryavarchaa is this slain Barbareek, you all are the gods, and Krishna is that Hari who has merely fructified Brahma’s curse. Therefore, Krishna should not be held guilty by you for this act.” Krishna confirmed the goddess’ words, adding that he had advised Barbareek in Guptakshetra to worship the goddess because that is the boon he had been given in the presence of the gods. 

Chandikaa then poured the nectar of immortality on her devotee’s skull, whereby it became unaging and immortal for all time. That Rahu-like head then saluted everyone and said, “I wish to witness this war. Kindly permit that.” In a thunderous voice Krishna roared, “So long as this earth, the constellations, the sun and the moon exist, you, dear one, will be worshipped in the three worlds. In all the realms of the goddesses you shall be honoured like them. The illnesses suffered by children will disappear on worshipping you. Now be placed atop this hill and witness the war.”

Barbareek’s body was cremated, but his head remained on top of the hill. After the war was over, Yudhishthira praised Krishna for having enabled them to be victorious. This irritated Bhima who said, “It is I, Bhima, who has destroyed the Dhartarashtras. Ignoring me, like a fool why you are singing paeans to Krishna calling him ‘Purushottama’. O Pandava, Dhrishtadyumna, Arjuna, Satyaki, myself—ignoring us you are praising a charioteer. Shame on you!” Arjuna replied, “No, Bhima, do not say this. You do not know Janardana. Neither you, nor I nor anyone else has slain the enemy. During battle I always noticed that before me some person was advancing slaying the enemy. I do not know who that man was.” Bhima said, “There was no other enemy-killer, Partha. Surely you are hallucinating. However, if you do not believe me, let us ask my grandson on the hill who killed the enemy.” Bhima put this question to Barbareek who answered, “I saw but one man fight. On his left he had five faces and on his right only one. The left side of his body had ten hands holding weapons and the right side had four with the discus etc. The heads on the left were crowned with matted hair; that on the right had a glowing crown. The left body was covered in ashes; the right was smeared with sandal paste. The left had a crescent moon, the right the Kaustabha gem. I was terrified. I have never seen such a man.” A shower of flowers fell from the sky with shouts of “Excellent, excellent!” Astounded, the Pandavas touched Krishna’s feet. Bhima hung his head in embarrassment. Krishna said to Barbareek, “O Suhridaya, roam the worlds, fulfilling the prayers of all. Everyone shall worship you. Never abandon this Guptakshetra for it is the best among all sacred places. And also stay in Dehasthali, freeing your worshippers from sin.”

Ashamed, Bhima drew deep painful sighs. Krishna seized his hand and saying, “O Kuru-tiger, come!” took him up on Garuda’s back and flew southwards. Crossing the southern sea and Suvela (Trikuta) mountain, they reached Lanka. Pointing out a lake there, Krishna said to Bhima, “O Kuru-tiger, see this twelve yojanas span of water. If you are a hero, bring up earth from its bottom.” Valiant Bhima immediately jumped from Garuda’s back into the lake and with wind-like speed dove beyond a yojana but failed to find its bottom. Rising from the lake frustrated, he said, “O Krishna, this vast lake is bottomless. Several mighty beasts in it tried to devour me and I have escaped somehow with great difficulty.” Hearing this, Krishna laughed and with his toe upturned that huge lake and told the astonished Bhima, “In the past there was a rakshasa named Kumbhakarna whose head was sliced off by Rama’s arrow. It is the palate of that skull that has taken the form of a lake. Being ancient, it has broken into pieces on my overturning it. Those who attacked you were the Sarogeya gods who are enemies of this world and it was necessary to destroy them cunningly thus. Now they have been shattered against the rocks of Trikuta mountain. Now let us return to the Pandavas who are being threatened by Drona’s son.” Bhima begged Krishna’s pardon for his rude words, which was granted.

Barbareek is worshipped on the new moon day of Shravana and the thirteenth day of the dark fortnight of Vaishakha by lighting a hundred lamps, chanting a hymn in his honour and offering purika cakes.  

Khaatu Shyam

(claims to be based upon canto185, sections 1-2 of the Udyoga Parva of the Mahabharata)

Khaatu village is located 16 kilometres from Reengas railway station. King Khatvaanga ruled on the banks of the river Rupaavati and bathed in it daily with his queen. A temple of Shiva was located in the centre of the town where he worshipped daily with river water and grain grown by himself. Ever concerned about the welfare of his subjects, he was just and virtuous. One day his queen complained that she had no jewels to wear. The king told her that only what he grew himself was theirs, but the queen would not be pacified without ornaments.

Finally, the king sent a messenger to Kubera, the lord of wealth, who sent back chests filled with ornaments. Decked in these, the queen accompanied the king to the river on a Monday to bring water to pour on the Shivalinga in the temple. As they dipped the earthen pots in the river, the king’s turned golden but the queen’s melted away. She realised the fruit of her karma.

This river Rupaavati used to flow originally by Hastinapura. Any creature bathing in it was lifted bodily to the other world. The Dharma-king approached Vishnu that as the Kali Yuga was approaching, should all sinful creatures bathe in Rupaavati they would cause mayhem in heaven. Hari smiled and said in that epoch this river would disappear into the earth and be visible only to the virtuous. Further, Krishna would manifest as Shyamdeva at Rupaavati. What was sacred Kaashi in the Satya Yuga would be Khaatu in Kali Yuga.

250 years ago a Kshatriya maiden named Narbadaa used to serve the deity faithfully with water from the pond and bathing with the water daily. One day the deity appeared before her and granted her the boon of appearing at her call and granting her desire. Since then that Kshatriya clan serves the deity and Brahmins of Gauda perform the worship.

Bhima had two beloved sons. His first queen was Ahilyavati, the second Hidimbaa. Ahila’s son was Barbareek who had gifted his head and obtained a boon from Krishna. Hidimbaa’s son Ghatotkacha died fighting heroically for the Pandavas. He had a son named Suhridaya, blessed by Devi Shakti. As he had curly ringlets, he was also called Barbareek. Arriving at the battlefield he boasted of his prowess before Krishna who beheaded him.

Ahilyavati was Naga princess, daughter of the king Vasuki, who used to accompany her father while he worshipped Shiva and Parvati. She was born when Parvati blessed Vasuki that Devaki would be born as his daughter.

Once in a storm all the flowers in the garden were blown away. The next morning Ahilyavati, finding not a single flower on any plant, gathered some fallen on the ground and offered them to the deities. Bhavani was infuriated at this insult to her husband and cursed her to have a dead husband. The maiden begged forgiveness and Vasuki rushed to Mahadeva who assured him that his daughter’s fortune would remain unimpaired. When Bhima was poisoned by Duryodhana and thrown into the river, he floated into the realm of the Nagas. Ahilyavati fainted on seeing his body, saying that this was her husband. Vasuki poured amrita into Bhima’s mouth, reviving him. Ahilyavati told him how he had reached her abode and narrated Bhavani’s curse. Bhima, beset by hunger-pangs, demanded food first and gulped down all the amrita. Vasuki had the remnants fed to cows and since then their urine is counted as pure. Vasuki now begged Bhima to respond to Ahilyavati’s plea—for he was indeed a dead person now alive, as Bhavani had stated her husband would be. Bhima said he would act as directed by his mother and elder brother and wanted to leave, refusing the repeated pleas of Vasuki and his daughter to at least give his word, pledging marriage. Tired out, he fell asleep, in a lovely bungalow in the midst of a garden. Vasuki set guards all around, directing that none should be allowed entry. At midnight the sage Narada arrived and enquired of the guards whether a fair complexioned man had entered the abode of the Nagas, for he had come in search of him. The guard took him to Vasuki who narrated everything. When Bhima met them in the morning, Narada advised him to fulfil Bhavani’s prophecy on the pain of suffering her wrath, and that he would ensure that Kunti and Yudhishthira did not take offence at their permission not having been taken. Bhima agreed to the marriage, which was conducted by Narada. On his way to Hastinapura Narada came across Krishna who told him that for succouring creatures in Kali Yuga Ahilyavati would give birth to his four-armed form.

Bhima and Ahilyavati proceeded to Hastinapura with four mighty escorts provided by Vasuki. On the way they stopped at Panchavati to offer worship to Shiva in his temple. At night a terrible Rakshasi named Ghori appeared, roaring and throwing rocks and trees about. Ahilyavati urged Bhima not to hit a woman, and herself jumped on the ogress, whirled her about by her hair, threw her on the ground, kicked her on the chest and dragged her by the hair to her husband’s feet. Bhima pardoned the terrified demoness who was begging for her life. With a parting kick Ahilyavati bade her leave. The next day Bhima announced his departure for Hastinapura, assuring that he would come whenever she called. Ahilyavati smiled sadly and said she knew he would never come back. She asked him to stay on at least till their son or daughter was born so that the child knew the father. Bhima assured her that it would be a mighty son and that he would definitely return on call. He left for Hastinapura. Vasuki came to visit his daughter and left after putting the guards on alert.

The demoness Ghori told her spouse, the rakshasa Doondaa, about this couple living in the forest. Doondaa assumed the appearance of Bhima and sat down where Ahilyavati was lost in meditation, worshipping Shiva and said, “I have arrived, my queen.” As he sought to hold her hand, she opened her eyes, stood up and stepped back. Flames erupted enveloping the demon and burnt him to ashes. As Ghori came running, she too was burnt up. 

Ahilyavati gave birth to a son who waxed mighty immediately after birth, with mighty arms, red eyes, shining curly black hair. Narada came from heaven, named him “Barbareek” and informed Ahilyavati that the Pandavas had been exiled deceitfully for thirteen years. As advised by him, she taught her son to worship Shiva and taught him to perform “japa” since he wanted to meet him.

Once, hearing a lion roar, Barbareek sought it out and rode on its back to his mother. He used to play with the entire pride. One day Ahilyavati showed Barbareek a lion fleeing from a hunter. Barbareek ran after them and challenged him. As the hunter shot arrow after arrow at him, Barbareek caught them all and snapped them. When the hunter was exhausted, Barbareek hit him once with his fist and he fell dead. Barbareek dragged the corpse to his mother who rebuked him for killing a defeated opponent. She taught him the code of Kshatriyas—never to trouble the weak, to protect the defeated, never to let a mendicant leave empty-handed and ever to obey parents.

From the god of fire, Agni, she obtained an indestructible bow that would never miss its target. Agni told Barbareek that the matching arrows he would have to obtain himself from Shiva. Daily this bow and the arrows were to be garlanded in the Shiva temple. Ahilyavati took her son to the realm of the Nagas where Vasuki, her father, gave him Amrita, the draught of immortality, to drink. Daily Ahilyavati would sit on the branch of a tree and teach her son archery. Barbareek faithfully followed every instruction of hers. One day she pointed out to him the top of a mountain as the target and challenged him to hit it. Barbareek shot his arrow with such force that the mountain peak shattered, the wild beasts fled in all directions, and the arrow flew back into Barbareek’s hand. His mother leapt down from the tree and hugged him in joy.

On this mountain lived many demons who were injured when the peak was shattered. Roaring aloud, they ran at mother and son. Ahilyavati alerted her son, who shot a single arrow at them and then watched while she started catching them and throwing them on the ground. Barbareek noticed that she thrashed only those who attacked her, but did not touch the fleeing demons. Returning to her son she asked him to explain why he had shot the arrow without her permission when she had only asked him to be ready. She explained that the opponent must be given the opportunity to make the first move. The Kshatriya never hits first. Touching his head to her feet, Barbareek begged forgiveness and promised never to repeat this mistake.

Koshaasur was the leader of the demons and on hearing of what had happened he was enraged. He proceeded to where Ahilyavati was and insulted her. She gestured to Barbareek who hit him with his fist. The demon attacked him with a sword, whereupon Barbareek kicked him on his chest so hard that he fell far away. Barbareek then caught hold of his legs and tore him into two. Similar was the fate of his general Khadgasur whom Barbareek throttled. The hermits living in dread of the demons were now free of all fear. Delighted, Ahilyavati blessed and embraced her son.

Mother and son worshipped Shiva and Barbareek got immersed in invoking the deity, totally oblivious of the passage of time. Ahilyavati deputed guards around him and sat down, invoking Parvati to grant her son the darshan of Shiva. At this time Vasuki arrived and understood what was happening. He proceeded immediately to Shiva’s abode and bowing at his feet begged him to grant his grandson and his daughter the divine darshan. Manifesting before the meditating mother and son, the divine couple awakened them. Falling at their feet, when Shiva bade Barbareek to ask for a boon, he begged for arrows to match the bow given by the god Agni. Shiva then gave him three arrows and told him that a single arrow would pierce through an entire army, killing all creatures and return to the quiver. Together, the three could destroy the entire creation and none could withstand them. Shiva prescribed a condition, that Barbareek should assist the side which was likely to lose in a war. Shiva blessed Barbareek that no one, not even the lord of creation, would be able to oppose him.
Barbareek used this arrow to destroy Bhil bandits who stole the cows of Phattaa Gujar, with whose milk Ahilyavati used to worship Shiva, and Somasur with his army who tried to ruin the sacred sacrifice performed by sage Harit.

One day the sage Narada arrived and told Barbareek that the great war between Kauravas and Pandavas was to begin in which the former had the larger army while the latter had only Krishna with them. Barbareek then decided that according to his vow he would fight on the side of the weaker side. Narada left, eager to see what Krishna would do now because the side that had Krishna with it was actually the stronger and therefore Barbareek ought to be supporting the Kauravas. That would lead to a fascinating god-versus-devotee encounter that Narada gleefully awaited.

Taking his mother’s permission, Barbareek set out for Kurukshetra. On the way he rested beside a lake at night and sang a paean to Shiva. Hearing this a demoness approached him, disguised as a nymph, and begged him to be her husband. When he refused, she caught hold of his hand. Barbareek invoked his mother for protection as he would not raise his hand against a woman. Flames issued from the saffron mark Ahilyavati had put on his forehead, and consumed the demoness.

The next morning Krishna, disguised as a Brahmin, met Barbareek on the road and asked where he was going. Barbareek proudly announced that he was going to fight in a war and that a single arrow of his would decide its fate. He urged Barbareek to return home, asking how with just three arrows he expected to do anything. Barbareek replied that with one arrow he would win the war as it would slay all soldiers, howsoever numerous. The Brahmin asked him to demonstrate the power of that arrow by shooting down every leaf of an ashvattha tree before them. Barbareek did so, but Krishna had kept one leaf hidden under his foot. When the arrow reached his foot, Krishna became grave understanding that in an instant this youth was capable of making the impossible possible and changing everyone’s destiny. He removed his foot and the arrow, piercing that leaf, returned to Barbareek’s quiver. Krishna revealed his four-armed form, to which Barbareek bowed his head. When asked to beg a boon, Barbareek prayed that this enchanting Shyam form, clad in yellow, be his and the world extol him by that name. That was day of Ekadashi, the eleventh day following the new moon.

The next day Barbareek reached the camped armies and sought for the flautist. He noticed the huge army of the Kauravas and was sure they could not lose the war. A soldier pointed out to him the chariot flying the monkey pennant on which Krishna would be found. Approaching the chariot, Barbareek asked its driver his name and was told it was Muralidhar, the flautist. Saluting him, Barbareek declared that he was Ahilyavati’s son, was of Pandava descent and had come to fight on the weaker side. The Pandavas ran up and embraced Bhima’s son. Krishna now told him that before the battle began it was necessary to perform a ritual to removed all obstacles to Pandava victory and that for this the head of either Arjuna or Krishna or Barbareek—the mightiest three among them—was necessary.

Barbareek laughed and said this was a unique opportunity where Krishna himself was asking for alms, but his innermost desire was to witness the war and this should be granted. Krishna gave his word that Barbareek’s head would be immortal and would be worshipped by the world in Kali Yuga. Catching his hair on one hand, with the other he sliced off his head and placed it in Krishna’s hands. Krishna transformed it into his own likeness and placed the head atop a pole on a hill from where it watched the entire battle. Krishna explained to Arjuna that for the salvation of people in the coming Kali Yuga he had invested that head with a fourth of his sixteen qualities, participating in the battle with the remaining twelve.
After the war in the Pandava camp Arjuna and Yudhishthira ascribed their victory to Krishna. This enraged Bhima who asserted that it was his mace and Arjuna’s arrows that had won the victory. Yudhishthira then told him that to resolve the dispute it was best the enquire of one who had witnessed the entire war. Bhima agreed. Krishna brought down the head from the pole. Everyone was enchanted, finding it was virtually Krishna’s reflection. Krishna bade him to relate to his father whether it was Bhima’s mace and Arjuna’s arrows that had won the war.

That head witnessed every fighter killed by the discus, followed by Bhavaani catching the blood in a skull and drinking it gleefully along with a band of dancing yoginis and Bhairav sword in hand. The Flautist had turned Annihilator. Bhima bowed his head in acknowledgement.

Krishna blessed Barbareek that his head would be a deity in the Kali Yuga granting his devotees their desires and would be invoked with the chanting of “Jai Shri Shyam!” His form would be four-armed and the scent of sandalwood would waft from it. Krishna then summoned Luhaagar, handed him the head, asking him to keep it in the sacred spot of Dagdhsthali. In Kali Yuga Sishupal would be born as an extremely arrogant king because he had lamented while dying that while Krishna had fled from Jarasandh he had never done so from him, thereby casting a slur on his fame. In Rupavati river Sishupal would discover the head where Luhaagar was asked to drop it.

Luhaagar complied and the head of Barbareek was carried down the river to Khaatu, the capital of king Khatvaang, where the river disappeared. The capital too was abandoned. Here a cow would daily pour its milk on the spot where the head lay buried. Hearing of this marvel, the people dug up the head and heard a celestial voice announce that this was an incarnation of divinity blessed by Krishna, the son of Ahilyavati, which should be worshipped in a temple. The people built a temple, kept the head on a throne and worshipped it. The spot where it was found became known as Shyam-kund, the pond of Shyam. 

The Dialectics of Dharma and Duhkha

By

Disorienting Dharma

Emily T. Hudson: Disorienting Dharma—Ethics and the Aesthetics of Suffering in the Mahabharata, Oxford University Press, New York, 2013, pp.268

In the religions in translation series of the American Academy of Religion, Hudson puts forward a challenging and radically new view of the Mahabharata (MBH), not as a great paean to Dharma, but as a carefully crafted investigation questioning the very efficacy of Dharma in resolving the existential problem of human suffering. Instead of concentrating on “disembowelling the text,” which was the earlier approach of Germanic scholarship, current Occidental scholarship on MBH treats it with respect, seeking to attend to what it has to say about itself. It is no longer considered a bewildering chaotic mass, but a literary masterpiece carrying a moral and religious message. In David Shulman’s telling words which Hudson quotes, “…it refuses to view itself as a bounded text; it is not a representation of the world; it is the world…wherever its story is told or heard becomes the Mahabharata. Thus the text never really ends nor does it begin; existence is the Mahabharata.”

What distinguishes MBH from the Ramayana is its riddling nature. Repeatedly it poses questions that are never fully resolved. Instead, they lead to new problems, right till the very end which poses the puzzle: whose is heaven and whose is hell? Most of the poseurs concern predestination vis-à-vis human effort, daiva vs. purushkara. Why is Draupadi, the heroine, referred to so often as Panchali, a puppet (of divine design)? Does following dharma lead to happiness? If not, why should it be followed? Who, or what, causes the devastation of the Kurukshetra war, which makes Sheldon Pollock call its story, “the most harrowing in world literature”? How is it a righteous war, dharma-yuddha, at all? No wonder Shulman describes it as “a coherence of doubt and ambiguous riddles.” Hudson asserts that there is an ongoing dialectic between Dharma and Duhkha (suffering), but in claiming that Vyasa brings the audience time and again “to the brink of meaninglessness and then, instead of receding from it, it toys with pushing them over the precipice,” she exaggerates.

Hudson finds that MBH stresses the necessity for passing beyond one’s individual agony to accepting the fact that suffering is a universal phenomenon. An example of this is the repetition of the account of sixteen great rulers of the past who, despite all their magnificence, died. In this, MBH is by no means alone. The same world-view is echoed in the Old English poems, “The Wanderer” and “Deor’s Lament,” with the recurring refrain, “That passed away; so will this.” Suffering stupefies the mind, which then takes wrong decisions, leading to further sorrow. The persuasion is in favour of distancing oneself from personal angst and moving on, if not to serenity, at least to stoicism. However, does this work for, say, the slaughter of Abhimanyu or of Dhritarashtra’s 100 sons? Nowhere, as Hudson asserts, does Sauti declare that having listened to MBH, one will not despair even in the worst circumstances. Actually, he celebrates the salvific nature of the work: one having faith and pursuing dharma will be freed of defects on reading MBH.

The social force behind this obsessive concern with the problem of dharma is the challenge posed to Vedic sacrifices as winning Swarga and bringing welfare in society by the renunciant doctrines emerging around the 5th century BCE (the Ajivikas, Buddhists and Jains). At the core of these were ahimsa and abandoning samsara to attain liberation. Even in these new doctrines there was a conflict between the Buddhist and Jain belief that suffering was the consequence of human acts (karma) and that of the Ajivikas who attributed it to fate (daiva). MBH engages with both issues, but provides no resolution. The central figure in this investigation into the conflict between dharma and duhkha, proposes Hudson, is Dhritarashtra, whose lament occupies the first chapter, beginning with Draupadi’s marriage and ending with Ashvatthama’s killing Parikshit in the womb.

Arguing that MBH deals with the aesthetics of suffering, Hudson necessarily deals at length with Anandavardhana’s assertion in Dhvanyaloka that the text’s predominant rasa is shanta, serenity. Underlying it is the emotion of vairagya, detachment from things of the world. He specifically cites the sad end of the Yadavas and the Pandavas. From the gambling match onwards, there is only suffering and more suffering for the Pandavas. Is Vyasa exposing the futility of human endeavour? It is this goal of attaining serenity by cultivating detachment that lends unity to the massive corpus of the text. Hudson argues that it is not the transience of material objects that is highlighted but, rather, the egotism that renders us vulnerable to grief over losses that are the inevitable result of kala, time. Hudson quotes Irish Murdoch who, in The Sovereignty of Good, ascribes our blindness to the truth of the human condition to “the fat relentless ego,” which daydreams and fantasises. For appreciating this shanta rasa, said the commentator Abhinavagupta, a sensitive audience (sahridaya) is essential that will focus not only on what the text is saying, but how it is being said. Thus, a dynamic ebb-and-flow is created between form and content. The expectations of the audience are aroused about certain characters, only to be brought up short later. This makes the audience stand back and think about the feelings that the text had aroused in them for “meta-reflection.” The model audience follows the text’s dhvani (suggestions) to fill in the gaps that it leaves, for it cannot say everything about the world.

Hudson focuses on two types of situations: where characters face dilemmas and make a bad decision owing to mental confusion; and the resultant calamity because of which they are earither incapacitated by grief from taking positive action, or take further bad decisions leading to more suffering. Dhritarashtra is the prime example of how one knows the right thing to do but repeatedly does not do it. Crises are what typify the MBH scenario, which strips away the mental constructs that prevent us from realising the truth of universal suffering. It does this by providing not positive role models, but noble characters who take bad decisions and suffer terribly. Here failures are the route to learn how to live. For instance, after Duryodhana’s humiliation in Maya’s hall, the description of his intense agony shows the Pandavas in the negative role, arousing sympathy for him as the victim. This also enables us to understand his future conduct, based upon mental confusion caused by envy of the Pandava wealth. That, in turn, leads to the wrong decision regarding the gambling match: victory at any cost becomes an obsession. Dhritarashtra’s speech at the end of the dice game focuses on the mind as the root of misfortune, for it makes the right act appear fruitless and the wrong one fruitful. Suffering breeds confusion worse confounded. Yudhishthira’s behaviour in this episode distances us from the dharma-raja. He cannot be our moral beacon through the confusion. Moreover, both Dhritarashtra and Yudhishthira state that the world is controlled by fate, which is why one sanctioned the gambling and the other accepted the summons to it.

As an instance of extreme suffering, Hudson takes up Draupadi’s predicament in the gambling match, which Nancy Falk has described as, “a sequence of the most intense insults to be found anywhere in the literature of the world.” The presuppositions underlying concepts such as “queen,” “wife,” “husband” and “daughter-in-law” no longer make sense as all the boundaries categorising them are smashed. The situation is exacerbated by the silence of the elders—learned Brahmins as well as eminent Kshatriyas—when Draupadi poses a question. This distances the audience from them as authorities on dharma. Is it the very subtlety of dharma that stands in the way? Does the silence of the elders indicate a state of serenity born of detachment, as Hudson’s thesis would propose? Or, is it the cowardice of courtiers, silent because the king does not censure Duryodhana? This silence is what creates dhvani, suggestion, in the perception of the sensitive audience. What protects a person from sudden oppression and how does one behave in such a world? If dharma does not, then why should one pursue it? Is that why Vyasa closes MBH with a despairing cry, “Why is dharma not practised?” Or, following Hudson’s suggestion, is dharma to be followed “for the sake of nothing,” analogous to the concept of doing karma for its own sake?

Hudson provides a fine analysis of blind Dhritarashtra’s paradoxical “eyesight of insight.” Indeed, as J.P. Sinha has said, Sanskrit literature does not depict the suffering of any other character at such length. Gandhari’s intense anguish is concentrated in the Stri Parva, but her husband’s extends all through the text. Further, the blind monarch is at once the agent and the victim of suffering. It is he who receives the most advice on how to overcome grief. How he responds, again, shapes the audience’s learning. Dhritarashtra states that the bewildered Duryodhana bewildered him, because of which he took wrong decisions. All along, he sees clearly what should be done, but never does. By making most of the advice about right action come to him from Vidura, who is dharma-incarnate, is Vyasa showing the futility of the dharmic way? Hudson does not comment if it climaxes in the manner of Vidura’s death, roaming naked in the forest, insane, starving to death? Or is that a slanted hit at the Jaina path?

On the other hand, Sanjaya, urges the blind king to remain calm and not despair while listening to his war-reports because one is not the agent of one’s good or evil acts, but is manipulated like a puppet by divinity, or by past karma. Here, Hudson replaces Sanjaya’s “according to others, man is free to choose his destiny,” by “some are assigned by chance,” which is tendentious, to say the least, and calls in question her assertion that Sanjaya is suggesting that human effort is “severely if not completely limited.” Sanjaya is merely putting forward the different opinions prevalent regarding human agency, one of which asserts free-will. In his reporting, Sanjaya’s responses to Dhritarashtra have a single aim, viz. to direct him away from wallowing in despair towards fortitude. Hudson commits another error on page 129 in stating that Bhishma’s fall is the source of Dhritarashtra’s grief in the Shalyaparva, whereas it is the death of Duryodhana that is the cause.

By using the narrative technique of flashback—each of Sanjaya’s war-books begins with the death of the general and then goes back to relate how it happened—all events are projected as leading inevitably to the hero’s death. The present, therefore, is rooted in the past as its future. This realisation is reinforced by the technique of switching between the result (war) and the cause (Dhritarashtra’s agency) repeatedly.

Three arguments are advanced against grieving. Sanjaya’s point is that as the king was the agent of the wrong decisions, he ought not to wallow in negative grief, but act. This fails to convince Dhritarashtra about his responsibility for the calamity. Then Vidura presents time’s destructive nature and the cycle of rebirth hinging on sensory desire. The way out is to control the mind and the self. That leads to Dhritarashtra fainting, unable to face the nature of existence. The audience can recognise themselves in these reactions to suffering. Now Vyasa steps in and tells him that since the devas had engineered this war in order to relieve the earth of its burden he should abandon despair and reconcile with the Pandavas. This is accepted by the blind monarch. Gandhari presents the contrast because her lament is not just for her sons, but also for all those who have been slain. That, Hudson suggests, is the proper response to calamity. Sorrow is a universal phenomenon, not an isolated, individual experience.

This realisation is reinforced by the doctrine of time, kalavada, which is a recurring theme in MBH, first enunciated in the very first chapter by Sanjaya. It is time that creates and destroys, sparing none. It is cyclical, implying inevitable rebirth and suffering, and brings about what is fated. It is juxtaposed with fate and the doctrine of karma vis-à-vis human effort and divinity. It causes grief and despair, which cloud discernment leading to wrong decisions. Wisdom that realises and accepts the transience of life ceases to be terrorised by the ravages of time. Hudson presents a very interesting discussion on four kinds of time: the doctrine; the sequential nature; how characters experience it and how the audience experiences it. For instance, stories merge into one another regardless of temporal boundaries. In the very first book, Pramati tells Ruru the story of the snake sacrifice which occurs three generations in the future! The narrative technique both collapses time and stretches it by reducing the tempo. These lead the audience through shock, horror and despair to cultivating distance and stoicism. Giving way to grief and rage at the ravages of time leads to acts that multiply similar situations which climax in destruction. Cultivating what Milton called “calm of mind, all passion spent,” appears to be the only solution. Otherwise, the predicament is that which overtook the serpents:

“They fondly thinking to allay
Their appetite with gust, instead of fruit
Chewed bitter ashes,”

Tasting the “bitter tastelessness of shadow fruit,” (T.S. Eliot). Hudson proposes that it is because of this that in the last book the text evinces no shock or grief at the sudden deaths of Draupadi and four Pandavas.

Where does dharma feature in this? Divinity (Krishna) appears to collaborate with time to restore dharma (the greater good), to relieve earth of its burden, to usher in the next yuga and, finally, being powerless to stop the war because of the intransigence of Duryodhana. Similarly, despite Balarama and Krishna’s joint efforts, they cannot prevent and actually participate in the fratricidal massacre of their clan. Strangely enough, Hudson does not discuss this. The question remains: how much suffering is acceptable for the triumph of dharma? MBH provides no answer. Hudson presents an excellent analysis of the final book showing how Yudhishthira’s experiences in “heaven” shatter all pre-conceptions about why dharma is practised, as he finds his virtuous wife and brothers in hell and the wicked Duryodhana in heaven! Then, the distinction between the two is revealed to be a trick. So, are we confident that, at the end, Yudhishthira is really in Swarga? We are distanced from the narrative as it ends, just as we were at the beginning when Yudhishthira, unmoved by the deaths of his wife and brothers, continued climbing up the mountain with a dog for company.

When Yudhishthira says, “This is not Swarga,” and Karna in despair exclaims, “dharma never protects,” they are referring to a paradigm in which dharma is practised for the sake of a positive result in this life and the next. Manusmriti (8.15) enshrines this succinctly: dharma eva hato hanti dharmo rakshati rakshitah (Indeed, dharma destroyed, destroys; dharma protected, protects). It is this concept that is questioned. According to Hudson, the text is suggesting that such a presumption prevents us from realising the reality that suffering is universal. From the violation of Draupadi onwards, everyone strives to find a world where dharma is meaningful despite the presence of unjustified suffering. Even divinity, in the form of Krishna, cannot stem the tide of suffering that swells to engulf his own clan and finally himself as an agent. Perhaps, Krishna is not a victim, being absorbed in yoga in his last moments?

The aesthetics of suffering reveals not what dharma is but what it is not. After all, the two key virtues that it extols, ahimsa (non-injury) and anrishamsya (non-cruelty) are both negative! Conventional ideas about dharma have to be cast aside for “a wider experience of dharma,” which “entails active participation in the presence of radical unmerited suffering.” One has to practise dharma not for any personal benefit, but for its own sake by cultivating detachment leading to serenity and liberation from the world of suffering.

Hudson’s thesis is that by creating expectations and delivering the opposite, the text creates a rupture that forces us to examine our hopes and fears, our desperation to reach a rationale for suffering so that we can avoid confronting it. Thereby a space for “meta-reflection” is created and the audience is steered towards the text’s goal, which Abhinavagupta stated is “knowledge of reality.” The greatness of MBH as a work of art inheres in it not providing a monolithic solution, but leaving the resolution open-ended in Vyasa’s closing outcry:-

I lift up my hands and I shout,

But no one listens!

From dharma come profit and pleasure;

Why is dharma not practised?

 

However, Hudson does not succeed in explaining why one should practise dharma for its own sake. If it leads to liberation from samsara, where is the validation for it in the MBH? On the other hand, does the MBH not present an existentialist view of the world where seeking a rationale for suffering is meaningless and the salvific paradigm of dharma absurd?

“Between the idea

And the reality…

Falls the shadow.”—T.S. Eliot

 

MAHABHARATA: AN EXISTENTIALIST TEXT

By

James Hegarty: Religion, Narrative and Public Imagination in South Asia—Past and Present in the Sanskrit Mahabharata. Routledge Hindu Studies Series, Oxford, 2012, 234 pages.

“The MBH presents a narrative solution to the ideological and social situation in which the Brahminical establishment found itself around the beginning of the Common Era.”

Here is a fascinating exploration of how the Mahabharata (MBH), the story-to-end-all-stories, re-constructed the significant past for the listeners and readers of its present and for its world which, James Hegarty of Cardiff University proposes, was South Asia. He explores what the MBH tried to do, how and with what success. He argues that it had a specific socio-religious and exegetical agenda, categorically placing itself above the Vedas and Upanishads as the sine qua non of learning. It constructs stories from Vedic rites (e.g. the churning of the ocean from soma pressing). In doing so it transforms ritual into itihasa (the Brihaddevata, composed by the epic’s immediate interlocutor Shaunaka, has similar features) and executes a narrative coup d’état. Just as Brahma’s Smriti, says the MBH, was abridged successively by Shiva, Indra, Brihaspati, Kavi and the seven rishis, so was the MBH from six million to successively briefer editions, the final being of one hundred thousand slokas. It also plucks Vedic figures like Indra, Atri, Surabhi, out of their context to expound new philosophical doctrines. In battle-descriptions it invariably likens the combatants to past heroes, creating an elaborate network of connections.

An obvious example of using the past to make sense of the present is the Book of the Forest, where moping Yudhishthira hears the tales of Rama and Nala. His coming to terms with his existential predicament is portrayed at the end of this book where—over the corpses of his brothers—he solves the riddles posed by Dharma-Yama disguised as a crane. It is this relevance for practical living draws the audience and readers to the MBH.

Another attraction is the repetitive debunking it indulges in. Thus, having extolled the emperor-making rajasuya sacrifice sky-high, it demolishes its empowering effect by the catastrophic dice-game that follows. Again, the potency of the much-vaunted ashvamedha is wholly undermined by the scoffing of a mongoose with a half-golden pelt (yet again Dharma). Even the merit of the much celebrated dharma-yuddha, righteous war, is questioned. The mongoose extols the poverty-stricken life of a Brahmin living by gleaning as the ideal and quotes Dharma on kings achieving salvation by selfless giving, while those holding showy sacrifices fall.

However, for this Hegarty need not have gone to the 14th book. The very first book prefaces Janamejaya’s holocaust of snakes with a harmless lizard telling the vengeful Ruru that ahimsa is the supreme dharma. The mongoose-Dharma being freed from his curse by denigrating the sacrifice does not imply restoration of the value of the ashvamedha, as Hegarty asserts. For, this book concludes with Vaishampayana telling Janamejaya that equal to sacrificial ritual are gleaning, ahimsa, contentment, good conduct, sincerity, self-restraint, truthfulness and charity. He further states that gleaning and charity are salvific for all four classes (even the Shudra who was prohibited the Vedas). The MBH was meant for all four classes as well as women to whom the Vedas were not available. Let us not overlook the significant fact that Yama-Dharma had to take birth as a Shudra maidservant’s son Vidura because of another curse, and that he is Vyasa’s mouthpiece of morality, never subject to the dilemmas plaguing Dharma’s son Yudhishthira, but whose advice is like straws in the wind (except for his alter-ego Yudhishthira). The importance of the mongoose story in social and religious contexts is seen in its recurrence in Kshemendra’s epitome of the MBH, Bharatamanjari (11th century) and Vyasa’s disciple Jaimini’s Ashvamedhaparva (c. 12th century).

Repeatedly, in the two massive tomes of Bhishma’s counsel, Vedic sacrifices of the past are critiqued. Even austerities and sannyasis are denigrated, while chaste domesticity, taking care of parents, honesty and non-attachment are held up as the paths to moksha. The MBH’s very setting is Shaunaka’s 12-year-long sacrifice against the background of Janamejaya’s snake-holocaust. Then, Yama’s 12-year-long sacrifice is the setting for the mortal birth of five Indras and Shri. Narada warns Yudhishthira that the rajasuya sacrifice heralds destructive war. In the Ramayana, Bharata prevents Rama from performing it because of this. At the end of the Udyoga Parva, Karna pictures the impending war in terms of a bloody sacrificial ritual. Then there is the over-arching image of Rudra presiding over it all, right from causing the descent of the five Indras and Shri to empowering Ashvatthama for the holocaust-at-night.

Hegarty argues that studying narrative against the background of early South Asian public imagination provides insight into the intellectual and social conditions underlying it. Modifying Marx’s description of the 18th Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte, he proposes that here every matter of concern is “transformed into narrative and debated as narrative” about both modes of governance and ways of moral living and reflect the processes of change in South Asia in late BC and early AD periods. The MBH was a deliberate intervention relating to issues of cultural power linked to current and past doctrines of belief and to processes of state formation against the Ashokan background of dharma-propagation (272-185 BC) and the Sunga campaign against it. Patanjali (of Pushyamitra Sunga’s time 185 BC?), has several references to the MBH, as does his predecessor Panini (possibly early Mauryan).

Prior to the 7th century BC (the Upanishads) and Buddhists and Jains (c. 500 BC) there is no mention of ahimsa or retiring to forest-life. In extolling these, the MBH is deliberately anachronistic, validating current ideologies by inserting them into the past, “Vedicizing” them. Other early texts and inscriptions testify to its success in this attempt. While legitimizing Brahmins, it also integrates new practices as “traditional.” For instance, instead of sacrifices, performing puja with lamps and incense, visiting tirthas, and, supremely, studying the MBH!

Hegarty makes a dubious suggestion that the tale of the Chedi king Vasu falling into a hole for having recommended animal sacrifice reveals a “regionalist agenda of denigrating the Cedis.” After all, it is with this Chedi king that Vaishampayana begins his narrative, who is favoured by Indra with a sky-roaming chariot, an unfading garland and a bamboo pole to protect the good. Further, the Queen Mother of the Kauravas, Satyavati, is said to be his daughter.

The book contains nuggets of information such as Sanskrit first appearing in inscriptions, replacing Prakrit, at the time of the Kanvas (c.73 BC); and the earliest MBH manuscript in Brahmi script being found in Kizil (Xinjiang, c.230 AD) listing the books Adi, Aranyaka, Udyoga (partly), Bhishma, Shanti, Ashvamedhika and the supplement (Harivansha), proving its circulation in Central Asia that early. The next evidence is from Kashmir in Kshemendra’s epitome in Sanskrit verse, Bharatamanjari c.11th century AD. Both lack the Anushasana Parva but include the Shanti Parva, showing that right from the 3rd century AD the epic was disseminated with considerable doctrinal material. This is evidence of deliberate composition, not compilation of disparate bardic narratives. The extensive spread of the MBH is seen in 6th century AD Cambodian inscriptions, the sculptures of Baphuon (11th century) and Angkor Wat (12th century). Eight parvas are found in Old Javanese (c. 10th century) and currently in shadow wayang puppetry. Stories from both epics and tales of Vikramaditya, Bhoja and Krishna are part of Mongolian folklore. A late 17th century Mongolian commentary, revising a Tibetan original, contains a summary of the MBH. The Japanese Kabuki play Narukami is the Rishyashringa tale. A 14th century Tibetan genealogy traces royal descent from Rupati a brother of Pandu who, after the war, went to Tibet where the people made him king. No evidence is cited, however, from Sri Lanka and Myanmar possibly because of the very strong Theravada influence. Thailand is heavily influenced by the Ramayana, not the MBH. Therefore, it seems South-East Asia, and Central Asia (Mongolia) instead of South Asia, which Hegarty proposes, was the world of the MBH.

In the Middle East, beyond Hegarty’s focus, the first Arabic summary of the MBH was by Abu Saleh (1026 AD), which was translated into Persian in 1125 AD by Abul-Hasan-Ali, keeper of the city library of Jurjan located near the Caspian seashore, for a chieftain of the Dilemites. Then there is Vidura’s parable of the man in the well that St. John of Damascus retold in the eighth century. It was Latinised in 1048-49 AD as Barlaam and Josephat, and became part of the Gesta Romanorum by the thirteenth century as Chapter 168, “On Eternal Damnation.”

Through his treatise on Sanskrit grammar, states Hegarty, Patanjali sought to codify the language and thereby restore social traditions. The same ideological agenda underlies the Manava Dharmashastra, Arthashastra, Ramayana and MBH, of which the last highlights the turbulent clashes of forces in contemporary times, i.e. the centuries following Ashoka’s passing (pace Witzel and Hiltebeitel). Bronkhorst has suggested the existence of a strong non-Brahminical culture in and around Magadha. In that context, the MBH could be “an attempt to impose, at least imaginatively, a pan-Indian Brahmanism,” writes Hegarty. He adopts Stientencron’s suggestion that the epic might have been composed in Vidisha, the last Sunga stronghold. Its nearness to Sanchi would explain the strong perception of Buddhist threat. Vidisha continued as a locus of political strife even during the Guptas. It could also have been the site for production of the dynastic histories incorporated in the Purana (vide Hans Bakker).

MBH’s open-ended narrative structure enables it to interweave commentaries and to focus on existential dilemmas for drawing audience attention and mould their thinking. Realising this helps us to comprehend its use of the past to resolve present confusion—as the Buddhist Dighnikaya does—and to appreciate its locale. The selection of Shaunaka, the Rig Vedic commentator, as the immediate audience shows that the MBH is interested in aggrandizing the Vedic past and applying it to daily knowledge. Frequently it engages Vedic figures like Indra in ideological discussions quite distant from the Vedic. Its three themes are: Brahminical triumphalism; integrating new ideologies and practices; and the existential problems of living.

Regarding “place,” Hegarty argues that the Sabhaparva accounts of the halls of gods and men reveals political and social concerns not of mythical antiquity but rather the scattered power-centres of the present. As a counterpoint, Sanjaya in the Bhishma Parva presents a detailed picture of the known world with legitimate rulers as the central authority.

Hegarty’s main argument is that the MBH transforms Vedic ritual structures into textual form, setting it deliberately in two sattras (Shaunaka’s and Janamejaya’s) and also in Yama’s sacrifice. These are rites that are repetitive and endlessly extendable. Each rite is embedded within one or many others—just like the Russian doll-like structure of the upakhyanas, complementary tales, of the MBH. The first narrative frame is provided by Sauti repeating Vaishampayana’s recital, which is the frame for subsequent tales-within-tales, of which the major ones are those of Markandeya, Lomasha and Balarama on tirthas and Sanjaya’s narration of the battle-books. Hegarty takes up the Drona Parva as a case-study of this technique of permutation-and-combination, representing it diagrammatically—a telling instance of the application of mathematical models to literature without making it unintelligible. Vidura’s recounting of the trial of Prahlada during the gambling match is analysed to demonstrate how a commentary is woven into the text.

The MBH repeatedly asserts that by reading and listening to it the audience is transformed—much as Greek Tragedy sought to do through catharsis. Indeed, that is why Anandavardhana stated that the overwhelming rasa of the MBH was shanta, quietude. This role of the MBH parallels that of Vedic rituals that sought to impose order and stability on the chaos of the first creation, manipulating the microcosm to re-form the macrocosm: “The MBH presents a parallel narrative tool for the ongoing creation and re-creation of a functional cosmos… (presenting) a narrative solution to the ideological and social situation in which the Brahminical establishment found itself around the beginning of the Common Era.” In the context of major social upheaval, it offers new options for a good life and escaping rebirth. The MBH sees itself as a rescue mission, an intervention by the gods to restore society that has become nasty, brutish and short, overrun by demonic overlords. While the MBH explicitly equates itself with the Vedas, as the fifth Veda, at the end it emphasizes the benefits it confers in daily life. Here Hegarty’s translation of the exhortation why dharma should not be abandoned, “nor on account of…ignorance” is an error as the original is “lobhad,” “on account of greed.”

Part of the narrative technique is the repetitive interjection of vocatives (“O Brahmin,” “O Raja”) which refer to the audience, not to anyone in the tale, thus indicating the context of the narration. In particular, the repetition of “O best of Bharatas” helps to stress the “overarching dynastic and narrative continuity.” These vocatives act as signals to the audience within and without the text to interpret the material being presented in the context of their own lives. Thus, each narration is a performance too and the speeches within each often pose ironic questions. For instance, Kanva forecasts perpetual imperial hegemony for Bharata’s dynasty, yet his speech is reported in Janamejaya’s sacrifice, long after that dynasty was almost wiped out. Both Janamejaya and Sauti’s audience would be wondering what went wrong. Moreover, the current Kali Yuga began soon after the Pandavas died. So, the same question becomes relevant for all audiences since Shaunaka and his companions. The picture Markandeya paints of Kali Yuga for Yudhishthira is that of post-Mauryan South Asia, current for the audience of the MBH: “much of the Mahabharata is intended to provide a space within which to articulate a new series of understandings of what it means to be human…The war is one way to clear the ground of this.” In contrast, the Ramayana never seeks to address the problematic present, and keeps to its recital of things past.

What is of great interest is the manner in which the MBH questions its greatest revelations. Thus, despite the Gita and the many upanishadic exhortations of Vidura, Krishna is cursed and dies an inglorious death, as does Vidura. It is not only the glory of dynastic history that is questioned, but even philosophical solace and the power of the Purushottama himself. The last four books of the MBH relentlessly focus on loss and grief, discounting the salvific messages of the Shanti and Anushasana Parvas. The cultivation of equanimity is urged, but how feasible is it in the context of all the suffering? The final book cites moral failings as the cause of the death of Draupadi and four Pandavas. The final reconciliation comes only after Yudhishthira reaches heaven, and there too with some difficulty.

The MBH narration proceeds both horizontally (developing in linear fashion) and vertically (emboxing stories within one another), thus offering the audience a variety of ways of interpreting the material in terms of the varying contexts of the narrations. For instance, while the story of Nala is aimed at consoling Yudhishthira, for Janamejaya and Shaunaka its happily-ever-after ending rings hollow, as they know what happened to the Pandavas. It is because of this ambiguity and irony in its narration that the MBH is very much “a modernist text”, very existential indeed.

Dharma, originally ritual activity, is portrayed in the context of social norms in the MBH, taken to a crisis in the gambling match. The MBH repeatedly situates ritual activity in social contexts to tease out the implications of human conduct vis-à-vis dharma. Rites were no longer meaningful only for preserving cosmic order, but had to be meaningful in terms of social conduct: “if the Dharmashastras are …a commentary on life as a special of ritual, then the MBH is the revelatory account of a past and a place conceived of in these terms.” Hobbes’ insight is so applicable to what happens in the MBH: “For the laws of nature (as justice, equity, modesty, mercy, and, in sum, doing to others as we would be done to) of themselves, without the terror of some power to cause them to be observed, are contrary to our natural passions, that carry us to partiality, pride, revenge and the like.”

Tales such as those of the Sadhyas and the swan stress self-restraint, serenity and, above all, the intention behind an act as salvific, which resonates with Buddhist doctrine. Hegarty provides several examples of such Buddhistic parallels from the Dighnikaya which sought to incorporate and supersede Vedic knowledge, as does the MBH. The emphasis on avoiding violence is a message for the ruler from an audience aware of the human cost of the imperial Mauryan impulse. There is emphasis on domestic puja and humble gifts in the post-war book of instructions, turning daily worship into a type of sacrificial rite. These are still practised in all Hindu communities. While innovating, the MBH carefully embeds these in a Vedic context, thus offering a Brahminical synthesis of new ideologies in the late BC and early AD period.

Hegarty analyses the Sabhaparva to show that here not only does Maya, instructed by Krishna, construct the hall to reflect the abhipraya, intention, of gods, demons and men, but the parva has a plan of its own. Yudhishthira’s very entrance “is a model of Brahmin-centred conservatism.” Further, there are references to yavana-Greeks and their kings pointing to political contexts relevant to audiences outside the text. Heterodox beliefs are condemned as a vice, and a mini-Arthashastra is presented on norms of governance. The description of divine halls contains the seed of the rajasuya rite, which is the imperial vision of conquest of the four quarters aimed at by this parva. The paradigm of Brahma’s hall being at the centre surrounded by those of the lords of the quarters (lokapalas) is mirrored by Yudhishthira in the Indraprastha hall at the centre of the conquest of the four directions (by his four brothers), whose peoples are enumerated at length, including Rome and Antioch! Interestingly, while rishis are found in all divine and human halls, only one king, Harishchandra, has a place in Brahma’s hall. Atheists and Greeks are absent from the divine halls, which contain only Vedic and post-Vedic figures. The conservative agenda becomes quite clear.

However, the destruction the rajasuya brings in its wake seems to wipe out the triumphant galactic picture of the Sabhaparva. We find that at the beginning of the war, in the Bhishmaparva, Sanjaya presents a geography of the earth concentrating on hare-shaped Jambudvipa, mentioning Romans, Greeks, Chinese and Huns, i.e., the world as known at the time of composition of the MBH, not when the Kurukshetra war had occurred. No foreigners exist in the other regions. The four yugas are said to pertain only to Bharatavarsha. Through the lists and descriptions, the war is focussed upon “as the cusp of the problematic present,” which is Janamejaya’s time. The region at the northern extremity ruled solely by Prajapati has only one dharma, contrasted with the many in Bharatavarsha, along with many disputing kings and foreigners. The assurance that listening to this account makes a ruler healthy, wealthy and wise is demolished by the war that follows.

Moreover, there is the intense personal tragedy of Vyasa himself. Not only does he witness the destruction of most of his grandchildren (Pandaveyas and Dhartarashtras), but also of all his four sons (Pandu, Dhritarashtra, Vidura, Shuka). The culminating irony is in Vidura, Dharma-incarnate, starving to death, wandering madly, filth-covered, in a forest. No wonder that Vyasa’s final outcry is the anguished query:

“With arms uplifted I shout, but no one listens!

From dharma flow profit and pleasure.

Why is dharma not practised?”

 

Consistently, the MBH appears to subvert the visions it creates. As T.S. Eliot wrote,

 

“Between the idea

And the reality…

Falls the shadow.”

 

Hegarty is the first to bring out what makes Kurukshetra such a significant place. It is Prajapati’s main altar; the dwelling of Takshaka, assassin of Janamejaya’s father; where Shantanu’s son Chitrangad was slain; the residence of the asuras Sunda and Upasunda; where Bhishma fought Parashurama; where Skanda was anointed general of the gods; where Sudarshana and Oghavati conquered death.

Similarly, of critical importance is the forest of Naimisha, featuring as a major tirtha created by the turning back of the river Sarasvati at the end of a twelve-year rite performed by ascetics. Here Yama held a rite during which the five Indras were cursed; here Yayati’s grandsons sacrificed; and here the MBH is narrated. Tirthas mark great past events, are sites of major rites and where Puranas are composed, many of which are narrated in Naimisha, Kurukshetra and other tirthas. Descendants of MBH characters become interlocutors in these. Both Kurukshetra and Naimisha are linked to the Sarasvati, which is one with Vedic knowledge and ritual. To this, the MBH adds the statement that gods visit tirthas while asuras do not. Visiting tirthas, even listening to their origin tales, earns merit manifold to that from sacrifices. The pilgrimage spots are also located in the four quarters, paralleling the rajasuya conquests. Superior to both tirthas and sacrifices, it is asserted emphatically, is studying the MBH, which contains tales of visiting tirthas. In this manne,r the MBH integrates religious ideas and activities preceding it, and establishes new paradigms in the current socio-cultural and political scenario.

For establishing the influence of the MBH on South Asia (actually, South-East Asia) over the first twelve centuries AD, Hegarty selects epigraphs of the Guptas and thereafter. These monarchs compared themselves to the epic heroes and the descriptions of their conquests use terms reflecting the world-conquest goal of the MBH. Land grants refer to Vyasa’s pronouncements and the samhita of one lakh verses. So, in the 5th century AD the size of the MBH was almost what it is today. They emulate the reciprocal relationship between king and Brahmins depicted in Yudhishthira’s gifts to them. Both epics are looked up to as models for kingly conduct. Some, like the Chalukyas, trace their descent to epic figures like Drona and Kartavirya Arjuna.

This influence is, of course, is more widespread in literature. Hegarty finds the richest engagement with the MBH in Kashmir. Retellings of the MBH begin with Kshemendra’s in the 11th century AD. Then come numerous adaptations of episodes, more from the MBH than the Ramayana. Elsewhere, Bhasa’s plays bring out not the triumphant imperialism of the epigraphs but the human tragedy of war, thus focussing on what makes the MBH “modern” in its appeal. Hegarty studies Kashmir’s Nilamata Purana (c. 6th to 8th century AD) to show how, beginning with a question from Janamejaya, it follows the MBH’s imperial agenda as also its integrative approach towards new ideologies by making Buddha an avatar of Vishnu in the 28th Kaliyuga. However, in doing this is it not following the centuries earlier Vishnu Purana?  Like the MBH, the Nilamata sacralizes new tirthas and makes an innovation by stressing the holiness of images of deities. The Nilamata is to Kashmir what the MBH is to Bharatavarsha. Imagining Kashmir’s past in ways similar to the MBH, the Rajatarangini (12th century AD) also projects an existential sense of transience and instability and explicitly states its aim to be the cultivation of serenity (shanta rasa). Kalhana makes explicit much that is implicit in the MBH with respect to present situations: “For Kalhana, the MBH captured something essential about the predicament of being human, be this in the exalted past or in the more mundane present.”

One wishes that sculptural representations from the MBH had also been touched upon to bring out what aspects were considered significant. The epilogue deals with fresh re-construction of the past in the MBH tele-serial—introducing ideas of democracy and nationhood—but loses out by being aware only of the Chopra version, not the different approaches seen in versions by Sanjay Khan (2001) and Siddharth Tewary (2013). Nor is he aware that the script for the Chopra serial was by a Muslim, Rahi Masoom Reza (available in English translation), which lends it a unique dimension, and that in the repeat telecast the government, for political reasons, excised the initial episode in which Bharata disinherits his unfit sons, thus proving the modernity of the MBH. One expected a comparison with Peter Brook’s interpretation. Hegarty surprisingly refers to Vajpayee as “Bihari Vajpayee.” His immersion in Sanskrit ought to have provided an awareness of Indian names.

All in all, the book is an extremely stimulating read, laying out a rich repast of new insights into the relevance the MBH had for the time of its composition and continues to have even today as an existential, modernist text.

Pradip Bhattacharya