Pradip Bhattacharya

Indologist, Mahabharata scholar

admin

A Malay Version of the Mahabharata

By

Fascinating variations of the Ramayana and the Mahabharata are found in South-East Asian countries. A compendious study of these is yet to be made. Most Ramayana variations were summarised by Fr. Camille Bulcke in his encyclopaedic study of the Rama story in Hindi (cf. English translation by Pradip Bhattacharya, The Rama Story—Origin and Growth, Sahitya Akademi, 2022). Nothing similar exists for the Mahabharata. Now Professor Harry Aveling  of Monash University has complemented his translation of Hikayat Seri Rama, the Malay Ramayana (2020) by rendering into English a Malay Pandava Chronicle (Hikayat Pandava Lima, Writers Workshop, Kolkata, 2024, pp. 309, hardback Rs.1200). This is but one of the many versions of the Mahabharata in South East Asia, drawing upon the old Javanese Bharatayuddha (1157-59 CE), Ghatokachasraya and Hariwangsa. Dated vaguely (1350-1700?), the anonymous Hikayat Pandava Lima (HPL) was meant for recitation in the royal court. HPL, Aveling suggests, is a collection of scripts for staging with actors or puppets. The heroic episodes are peppered with erotica and clowning, e.g. Rajuna (Arjuna) having fun at the expense of his attendants Semar and Chemura.

Claiming to relate in Malay the Javanese story of their ancestors, the Indian source is obvious. Mantras are in Javanese. The Islamic influence is apparent in Darmawangsa’s (Yudhishthira) infallible supreme-weapon named kalima sada (kalima shahadah, declaration of faith) and in scribal notes that resurrection and rebirth are false. Pandawas have talismanic weapons: Rajuna’s pasupati arrow (not the Gandiva bow) and Bima’s (Bhima) panchanaka, his long sharp nail that pierces fatally, besides a massive mace. The influence of Telegu, Tamil and Malayalam folk-tales is clear in several episodes. Replete with adventures and romance, the flavour is much like that of the Kathasaritsagara (c.11th century) and Dashakumaracharita (c.8th century). The publisher Ananda Lal’s list of original Sanskrit names of major characters is extremely helpful in navigating through the plethora of persona peopling the chronicle. Strangely enough, Dhritarashtra, Gandhari, Ulupi, Chitrangada do not feature.

Eveling seeks to convey the Malayan syntax by replacing the word maka, which acts as a bridge between sentences, by the double forward slash (//) hoping “to show the self-contained lines of prose that the word marks off…allow the reader the progress of the text in a slow and aesthetic manner.” Otherwise, it would become a series of staccato sentences.

Eveling splits HPL into three parts: (1) Games of Love and Chance; (2) The Great War and (3) After the War. Beginning in media res with the dice game (as Satyajit Ray had planned to begin his film on the Mahabharata), the chronicle’s last part is the most novel, dealing with Rajuna’s (Arjuna) obsession with Duryudana’s (Duryodhana) widow Banuwati (Bhanumati) and his duel with his thousand-handed namesake Rajuna Sarabahu. Part One draws heavily upon the highly popular Telegu tale of Abhimanyu’s (Bimanyu) love for Sasirekha (Satya Sundari) depicted in shadow puppetry (Tholu bommalata), Yakshagana and Kuchipudi.

There are significant departures from the Mahabharata. Rajuna has two wives: Draupadi and Serikandi (Shikhandi) who swears to fight for the Pandavas. Rajuna turns into an inveterate philanderer. On Duryudana’s command Sangkuni (Shakuni) transforms into dice and Arya Manggala becomes the gambling table. After losing the dice-game, Darmawangsa sends Draupadi back to Inderpasta (Indraprastha) where she remains till the Pandavas return from exile. Darmawangsa has to groom horses. Bima is the gatekeeper who never opens the gate so that people unable to access the river relieve themselves inside filling Duryudana’s palace with stink. Rajuna is the gardener seducing all Duryudana’s concubines and his wife Banuwati. Duryudana, furious, turns to Drona who advises that the Pandavas be ordered to dive into the river to recover an arrow. A dragon living there swallows them but Bima rips open its belly and they proceed to the city of Merchunegara ruled by Wurgadewa. The entire forest-exile is omitted. Draupadi and Kichaka are absent. The Pandavas are disguised as the king’s priest, chief butcher, female dress-maker and grooms. The cross-dressing Rajuna seduces the queens as well as wives and daughters of all ministers, ignoring Darmawangsa’s disapproval. None of the queens are willing to be with Wurgadewa thereafter! The sharing of betel quid is a major step in seduction. Elaborate descriptions of beautiful heroines compared to a variety of flowers abound.

Bimanyu’s love-sickness for Krishna’s daughter Satya Sundari is an elaborate episode filled with romantic descriptions of nature and of both protagonists. While following the Telegu tale, it introduces a horrific gigantic goddess Durga seated on a golden throne surrounded by goblins, skulls and blood, recalling the Bheel Bharata. She who appoints Gatotkacha to fulfil Bimanyu’s desire. Later, Bimanyu falls madly in love with Dewi Utari (Uttara) daughter of Maharaja Mangaspati of Wirata, enraging Satya Sundari, which reminds us of Draupadi’s anger when Subhadra arrives as Arjuna’s new bride. She gets reconciled after Bimanyu recites an obscene spell taught by Rajuna. Krishna has no objection, as he himself has twenty wives!

After thirteen years, ordered by Indera (Indra) to return to Inderapasta, the Pandavas arrive and find Karna has taken Kunti to Astinapura (Hastinapura). Setyaki (Satyaki) is Kunti’s brother. The Korawas are 107 brothers. Kunti bids Duryudana give Astinapura to the Pandavas as it is their inheritance, but he refuses.

The Great War is preceded by another that is unique to this chronicle. Wurgadeva demands that Darmawangsa hand over Utari and Satya Sundari to him as they are reincarnations of his late wife. A battle occurs in which Krishna, Baladewa and Gatotkacha join the Pandavas. Rajuna kills Wurgadeva. Commanded by Betara Guru (the supreme deity), the Pandavas agree to the slain being resurrected by the sprinkling of Sempayang Merta Jiwa water (mritasanjivani). Similar innovations occur in the apocryphal Dandi Parva  where Pandavas and Kauravas jointly fight Krishna over Urvashi transformed into a mare; in Kavi Sanjay’s 15th century Bengali Mahabharata  in which Draupadi and the Yadava women rout the Kauravas after the killing of Abhimanyu; and in Tamil tales of Arjuna’s philandering helped by Krishna.

The Kurukshetra war mostly follows the Mahabharata, omitting the Gita and Krishna’s cosmic form. That occurs only when Duryudana tries to capture him during his peace embassy. On the battlefield when Rajuna does not wish to fight, Krishna is amazed. Thereupon Darmawangsa goes afoot to Bisma (Bhishma) and obtains his blessings for victory. The fallen Bisma bids Rajuna provide a mat, rejecting Duryudana’s golden five-layered mat. Rajuna spreads out arrows on which Bisma gladly lies. When Bahgadata (Bhagadatta) kills Rajuna, Krishna resurrects him with his wijaya kusama (victory flower). Karna breaks Bimanyu’s bow and weeps over his corpse. After Gatotkacha’s death his mother Arimbi (Hidimba) weeps with Kunti and Draupadi and then plunges into his pyre.

Moving romantic interludes are introduced featuring Karna and his wife Sinta Kunti, Salya and his queen Satyavati before their deaths. Karna’s chariot is destroyed instead of getting bogged down. Salya tells Sakula (Nakula) how Darmawangsa can kill him. Battle-descriptions are formulaic and become tedious, with elaborate accounts of chariots, horses, flags, weapons, blood and gore and heroes running amok. Those victorious are invariably presented a full set of clothes and ornaments by the king. The mass-mourning of the Stri Parva is replaced by Satyavati’s lament. She commits suicide over Salya’s corpse, followed by her maid Skanda. Unable to bear the pain of his shattered thighs, Duryudana begs the Pandavas to kill him but Bima’s club-blows fail because the deities decree that death will come only after the Pandavas have been beheaded. This occurs after Bambang Sutomo (Ashvatthama) brings him the head of Panji Kumara, son of Darmawangsa. Bima skins Sutomo alive.

Sangkuni (Shakuni) resurrects after Bima kills him by virtue of his magical panji suata. With the remaining Korawa troops he builds a fortress in Inderaguna forest. Krishna bids his son Parjaman to kill Sangkuni but he is afraid, whereupon the Pandawas give him their talismans. Sangkuni transforms into a second Mount Imaguna, is attacked by the Pandawas and mortally wounds Darmawangsa by piercing his shadow (in a Malayalam tale Duryodhana does this to the Pandavas). Sadewa kills Sangkuni and drops his ashes into the sea so that he cannot resurrect.

The post-war portion is filled with unique tales. Bima kills Dursana, Bahgadatta and Karna’s widows but Rajuna saves Banumati and marries her. The Pandavas return to Mertawangsa while Rajuna settles in Astinapura with Banumati. Here Duryudana’s spirit possesses him and he fights against his brothers. Darmawangsa exorcises the spirit whereupon reconciliation occurs, but he curses Rajuna with leprosy. With Banumati he lives in a hut in Inderaguna forest. Krishna seeks him out but Rajuna refuses to return as he is grieving for his wife Serikandi. Krishna advises him to take Ratnawati, wife of hundred-headed Rajuna Sasrabahu (Arjuna Sahasrabahu), who is like Serikandi. In an elaborate battle Sasrabahu is killed only when Rajuna severs a tiny head hidden behind his left ear. This has a parallel in the folk tradition of one of Ravana’s heads being a donkey’s. Ratnawati kills Rajuna but Krishna resurrects him with a wijayamala flower. To stop the fleeing Ratnawati, Rajuna shoots off her garments and captures her. Sasrabahu is resurrected by Narada on orders of Begawan Guru so that he can complete worshipping him. Krishna takes Rajuna and Banumati back to Mertawangsa where Darmawangsa forgives and cures him.

The massacre of Yadavas is changed into a celebration on the sea-beach by them and the Pandawas during which Krishna and Rajuna dry up the sea-bed to provide a playfield for wives. Enraged, Singabiraja, king of ghosts and rakshasas living in mid-ocean, kidnaps Parkasti (Parikshit). Rajuna beheads him and rescues his grandson. After crowning Parikasti, the Pandawas are told by Narada that Begawan Guru and Indera have summoned them to heaven. So, Darmawangsa stabs himself with the weapon bajrima. Bima tells Narada to kill him by hitting under his ear. Instead, he breaks Bima limbs with his club as punishment because he had caused pain to so many and only then kills him. Rajuna is stabbed by the pasupati; Sakula and Sadewa stab themselves. Draupadi, Subadra, Banuwati and Ratnawati plunge into the pyre. Parikasti places the urns containing the ashes in a temple.

The chronicle concludes with the exhortation to omit whatever offends and expand whatever pleases. “I have done what I could” says the chronicler.

Rajadharma: The Rules of Governance

By

P. Lal: The Mahabharata of Vyasa, Book XII, the Complete Shanti Parva Part 1 (“Raja-Dharma”), pp.1011, Rs.2000 (hardback), Rs. 1500 (flexiback), Writers Workshop, Calcutta.

The last part of the great epic of Bharata that Professor Lal, Padma Shri and Jawaharlal Nehru Fellow, succeeded in completing is now published. Devoted to the principles of governance (raja-dharma), it appears at a time most opportune when all principles have been cast to the winds and the polity of India is falling to pieces. Kiran Bedi’s tweet of 10th June 2012 on “Coalgate” shows how alive India’s great epic still is in our consciousness after millennia: “PMO clears Prime Minister. Did Dhritarashtra in Mahabharata not support Kauravas even after they attempted to disrobe Draupadi? Indian genes/culture? Or?” Soon after the Gujarat riots, Prime Minister Vajpayee’s only response to the public outrage had been to urge chief minister Modi to be mindful of “raja-dharma”. Unfortunately, today neither the legislature nor the executive is aware of what this phrase means. The availability of this transcreation should bridge that hiatus.

The holocaust of Kurukshetra is over; eighteen armies have been decimated. The cosmic design to rid over-burdened Prithivi of power-hungry warriors has been accomplished. Surely, for Yudhishthira, son of Dharma and the righteous king (Dharma-Raja), it is a time to celebrate the fulfillment of his mother Kunti’s dream to see her sons win back their inheritance. Instead, he is tormented by loss and guilt, confessing to the celestial sage Narada,

“motivated by greed
I committed this maha-murder
of my kith and kin…
what is it but defeat…?”

So, the chink in his armour of righteousness is the passion that has doomed the lunar dynasty down the ages: greed. He is particularly anguished over the killing of Karna, who knew he was the eldest Kaunteya while fighting his brothers who did not. We learn that his anger against Karna would dissipate when he looked at his feet which strangely resembled Kunti’s. What an inimitable Vyasan vignette! Hence Yudhishthira’s curse that women will never be able to keep a secret. Narada informs him of a great secret: it was in order to engender the war that “a friction-fostering foetus/was placed in a virgin womb”. So Karna’s role from the very beginning was that of the resentful bastard, like Edmund in King Lear, backing up Duryodhana against the Pandavas. Narada narrates key incidents in Karna’s life bringing out the multiple handicaps he suffered: disowned at birth, cursed by Parashurama and a Brahmin, the boon he gave Kunti, his gift of the armour and earrings that made him invulnerable, being branded half-a-chariot-hero by Bhishma, constant belittling by Shalya, Krishna ensuring that Arjuna never faced a fresh Karna. Narada mentions Karna defeated Jarasandha who gifted him Champa town in Anga which begs a question: if he were truly king of Anga, as Duryodhana had crowned him, how could Champa be Jarasandha’s to gift? We always find Karna in Hastinapura, never ruling in Anga. Was the investiture merely symbolic?

We find here interesting revelations regarding the society of those times. For instance, what was the status of atheism? Charvaka (after whom the doctrine of atheism is named) takes advantage of Yudhishthira’s guilt to berate him publicly. The Brahmins kill him, branding him a demon and friend of Duryodhana disguised as a mendicant. Again, Narada informs that king Rantideva killed over 20,000 cows to feed guests. So, the Vedic practise of slaughtering a cow for a special guest (who was therefore called “goghna”) continued into epic society. Vyasa tells that Uddalaka’s famous son Shvetaketu was actually begotten by a disciple on his wife on his guru’s orders. Uddalaka later renounced his son for having lied to Brahmins. Yajnas (sacrifices) are prescribed as essential for all four classes with the saving that the Shudra will not chant mantras. The three other classes are responsible for maintaining the Shudra. A Brahmin of ill character is equivalent to a Shudra and should be ostracized. It is one’s karma that makes dharma. The ruler must have a group of ministers taken from all sections of society: 4 Brahmins, 8 Kshatriyas, 21 Vaishyas, 3 Shudras, 1 bard expert in Puranas. Their qualifications are given in detail. Of them the ruler has a cabinet of eight, whose decisions must be announced to the public. Section 108 contains the famous verses, extolling them as the highest teaching:

“One’s father excels ten teachers, one’s mother surpasses ten fathers, indeed surpasses the world itself. There is no guru anywhere to equal a mother…you will gain this world by serving your father, the next world by serving your mother properly, and the world of Brahma by serving your guru…When a legitimate adult son fails to support his father and mother, his crime equals that of killing a foetus—that which is no greater wickedness.”

There is an uncompromising condemnation of those who discarding the three Vedas, their professions and families, don saffron robes and go begging with a three-pronged staff:

“but they are tied to the world,
because to them
begging is a profession…
Pure selfishness.
These shaven dunderheads,
flaunting the flag of dharma,
are hypocrites.”

It is also admitted that “the shastras are full of contradictions”, and that “The Vedas do not cover everything” (Section 109). Ascesis, tapasya, is extolled above sacrifices and it is clarified that this does not mean mortifying the flesh but is non-violence, truthfulness, self-control, compassion. Incidentally, there is never any mention of the Vedas as numbering more than three, which shows that the Atharva Veda was a post-Mahabharata composition. We are also told that originally the three Vedas were one. It is Vyasa who arranged them under separate names, as he did with the original Purana.

As with the secret cause of Karna’s birth, another fascinating sidelight comes in the tale of demon Damsha that takes forward the rape of Bhrigu’s wife Puloman related in the Adi Parva. We learn that the rapist was cursed by Bhrigu to be reborn as a vicious insect, and in that form he bored through Karna’s thigh, resulting in Parashurama’s curse.

To dissuade Yudhishthira from becoming a sannyasi, by turn arguments are presented by the brothers and Draupadi extolling earning of wealth (artha), the householder’s life, desire (kama) and punishment and justice (danda) as the principle preserving a polity. In the process, they even call Yudhishthira a fool! To console Yudhishthira for the loss of his progeny, Krishna narrates the account of 16 past kings of far greater stature who all died. This account, occurring also in the Drona Parva, is similar to the Old English “Deor’s Lament” in intention.

Once Yudhishthira has reconciled to kingship, Krishna sends him to Bhishma, lying on his bed of arrows, for instruction on governance, for with his death “you will see the setting of all knowledge.” Bhishma begins with a paean to Krishna in which he mentions the ten avatars, interestingly saluting Balarama as “the soul of Bhoga, enjoyment” and Krishna as “the soul of sport”, and mentioning Buddha as disciplining the anti-gods. The crucial importance of the ruler is repeatedly stressed:

“First find a raja.
Then get a wife.
Then wealth…
Without a raja
Your wife and wealth,
What good are they?”

The ruler’s cardinal duty is to ensure his subjects’ welfare first and last. Unless he conquers his own senses, he cannot conquer his foes. It is because he delights (ranjita) them that he is called “raja” and all dharmas depend on him. It is the ruler who shapes the nature of the age—Krita, Treta, Dvapara or Kali.

Much of what we know later as the Arthashastra is given here. Originally it was called “Danda-niti”, the principles of punishment. Composed of one lakh sections by Brahma, it was condensed by Shiva under the name “Vishalaksha” in ten thousand sections which Indra abridged in five thousand calling it “Bahudantaka”. Brihaspati reduced it to three thousand and that was further edited to one thousand sections by Shukra because of the decreasing life-span of humans.

Beginning with quotations from past savants and 8 stories on the origin and duties of the ruler, Bhishma narrates 19 tales on the core issues of ruling (repeatedly stressing impersonal administration of punishment, careful selection of advisers through fivefold tests and not trusting anyone completely), following up with 8 on what is to be done in extremity, and ending with 9 on expiating sins and the results of harming friends. The methodology adopted is Upanishadic question-and-answer between pupil and teacher. These make up the 173 sections of this tome in which sections 98 to 173 are in prose—the longest prose section in Vyasa’s narrative.

Vyasa narrates to Yudhishthira the “Ashma Gita” narrated to Janaka by the sage Ashma where the root causes of mental anguish are specified as either confused thinking or unexpected calamity, with attachment to material things as a related cause. We also find here the philosophy that is repeated in the Upanishads by Yajnavalkya:

“No one is anyone’s, no one
belongs to anyone but oneself.
Wife, and relative,
And friend—
All travelers, all passers-by
On the road of life…
Whoever you love, will leave you.”

Vyasa also repeats insights from the Gita regarding Time being the real slayer of the armies, and that

“Times are when dharma
starts looking like adharma,
and adharma like dharma.…
In special cases,
even stealing, lying and killing
can be dharma.”

As a telling example, the story of Vishvamitra justifying stealing dog-meat from an untouchable is told: “What is important is to stay alive” because only then can dharma be practiced! If problems arise regarding dharma, a committee of ten experts in the scriptures is to resolve them, or three teachers of dharma.

Vyasa declares that since Yudhishthira got involved in fratricide because of the wicked deeds of others, he is not at fault. There is no sin in killing even gurus who flout their calling because of greed (as with Drona). He advises Yudhishthira to enthrone the surviving kin of the rulers, including daughters if there are no sons, showing compassion to establish peace in the land. This is where the famous verse on when it is permissible to lie occurs which is repeated at least thrice in this parva: to save one’s life or another’s; for one’s guru’s sake; to win over a woman; to arrange a marriage. “Women, diamond and rain-water—these three are always pure.” Even an unfaithful woman becomes pure after her period.

From the standpoint of narrative art, a fresh frame has been introduced in this parva. The Mahabharata’s outermost frame is Sauti narrating it to Shaunaka and his sages in the forest of Naimisha. The next layer is the snake-sacrifice in Takshashila during which Vaishampayana narrates the epic to king Janamejaya in the presence of the author Vyasa, which is what Sauti heard. Now we have a series of concentric layers where several narrators tell Yudhishthira stories, of which the largest is Bhishma’s portion. Nested within Bhishma’s layer are so many tales, and tales-within-tales! The entire narrative structure reminds us of a Chinese Box or a Matroyshka.

Among these akhyanas (tales) are some that stand out. Such a one is Janaka’s queen quite unexpectedly berating him for wishing to abdicate, much as Draupadi does Yudhishthira. Others are animal fables that recur in Panchatantra.

Possibly the most fascinating of Bhishma’s many accounts is the conversation Krishna has with Narada. It is the only passage giving vent to the frustration Krishna experiences—something none of us would imagine, and which remains unknown to most of us who have not read the Shanti Parva fully. The mellifluous free verse transcreation communicates the emotions beautifully. Balarama, Gada, Pradyumna—all are engrossed with themselves, none helps Krishna. Among his quarrelling clansmen he is,

“like a mother of two gamblers:
I want one side to win
I do not want the other to lose.
And the result is that
I am at the receiving end of both.”

The bitter words of relatives “stir fire in my heart.” Narada, after pointing out that this is his own doing because they are all his own relatives, tells him of a weapon “not made of iron, a gentle but heart-piercing weapon” to wash clean their bitter tongues. Those of us who are interested can read section 81 to find out what it is.

The genocide of the warrior-class perpetrated by Parashurama is a significant story Bhishma tells to explain how the “kshatriya varna” had to be restored by Brahmins to protect the polity. The divine right of kings is not just a European and far-Eastern concept. Bhishma equates the ruler with the preserver Vishnu, explaining the sacred nature of his duties. The ruler is the god of fire when he scorches liars; the sun-god when he observes the people and ensures welfare; death when he kills criminals; Yama the judge when he punishes and rewards; the god of wealth Vaishravana when he collects taxes and remunerates. Bhishma also tells the tale of Vena to show that an unrighteous ruler is even killed or removed by the people. There is more than enough guidance available here for our own times—provided we are interested!

A bonus for the reader is the superlative introduction provided by the transcreator, packing into just two pages an amazing amount of profound insight, bringing home to 21st century society the lessons of the ancient past that never cease to be relevant. “Artha”, wealth, is indeed a basic goal of life, but it is not money but the meaning of money—trusteeship—that makes it worthwhile. Without benefiting others, how do I benefit myself? “Kama”, desire or pleasure is an essential ingredient of life, but what is important is to transform lust into love: “both are four-letter words; it’s our disciplined choice that changes one into the other.” Dharma is not just ritualistic religion but spiritual vision where differences of creed vanish. “Moksha” is not only escape from life, but transforming that into liberation for humanity at large. What a world of meaning has been concentrated into these few printed words!

At the end are detailed reviews of the Shalya Parva transcreation and the set of ten DVDs of readings by Prof. Lal from the Adi Parva telecast on Tara TV. Prof. Lal’s rebuttal of Dr. Amartya Sen’s misconception regarding what Krishna says in the Gita is also printed. This volume leaves the discourse on Moksha and the Anushasana Parva untranslated.

Thus ends the massive enterprise a single poet and transcreator of remarkable genius embarked upon in 1968, making transcreating Vyasa the major work of his life, having also covered, before his departure, the lovely ninth and tenth books of the Bhagavata Purana.

FOUR PARABLES

By

The parable of the Kalpataru, the wish-fulfilling tree, narrated by Sri Ramakrishna.[1]

আয়ে মন বেড়াতে যাবি

কালী কল্পতরুতলে গিয়া

চারি ফল কুড়ায়ে খাবি—রামপ্রসাদ সেন

“Come my mind to go a-roaming.

Going to Kālī the Wish-Fulfilling-Tree

Pick up and eat four fruits.”—Ramaprasad Sen (mid-18th century, West Bengal)

The Spiritual Meaning of the Upside Down Tree

Into a room full of children at play walks the proverbial uncle, back from the city, who, of course, knows better. Laughing at their preoccupation with make-believe games, he asks them to lift up their eyes and go out to the massive banyan tree, which will grant them whatever they wish—the real stuff! The children do not believe him and remain busy with their toys. The uncle shrugs and leaves. And then they rush out, stand under the branches of this huge tree that cover the sky and ask for what all children crave: toys and sweets. In a flash they get what they want, but along with an unexpected bonus: the built-in opposite of what they wished for. With toys they get boredom; with sweets tummy-ache. Sure that something has gone wrong with their wishing, the children ask for bigger toys and sweeter sweets. The tree grants them their wishes and along with them bigger boredom and bigger tummy-ache. Time passes. They are now young men and women and their wishes change, for they know more. They ask for wealth, power, fame, sexual pleasure—and they get these, but also cupidity, insomnia, anxiety, and frustration/disease. Time passes. The wishers are now old and gather in three groups under the all-encompassing branches. The first group exclaims, “All this is an illusion!” Fools, they have learnt nothing. The second group says, “We are wiser and will wish better next time.” Greater fools, they have learnt less than nothing. The third group, disgusted with everything, decides to cop out and asks for death. They are the most foolish of all. The tree grants them their desire and, with it, its opposite: rebirth, under the same tree. For, where can one be born, or reborn, but within this cosmos!

All this while one child has been unable to move out of the room. Being lame, he was pushed down in the scramble and when he dragged himself to the window, he was transfixed watching his friends make their wishes, get them with their built-in opposites and suffer, yet compulsively continue to make more wishes. Riveted by this utterly engrossing lila of desire and its fruits, a profound swell of compassion welled up in the heart of this lame child, reaching out to his companions. In that process, he forgot to wish for anything for himself. In that moment of spontaneous compassion for others, he sliced through the roots of the cosmic tree with the sword of non-attachment, of nishkama karma. He is the liberated one, the mukta purusha.

In Anti-Memoirs Andre Malraux writes that in Varanasi an Indian suddenly came up to him and said, “Mr. Malraux Sahib, would you like to listen to a story?” Taken aback, Malraux muttered that he was going to an official meeting. “But this is a very good story,” was the insistent reply. Malraux, perforce, agreed and here is the story he heard:

Narada, the itinerant divine sage roaming the three worlds, sowing seeds of discord and inveterate experimenter, goes up to Vishnu and demands that Maya be explained to him. Vishnu is silent. Narada is not one to be denied. He insists so persistently that the god has to answer him. “Maya cannot be explained, it has to be experienced,” he says. “If you can’t explain what you create, then I won’t believe in you,” retorts the never-say-die sage. Quickly deserting his serpent couch—for the fate of gods in whom humans do not believe is shrouded in uncertainty–Vishnu beckons him to follow. Walking together, they reach a desert where Vishnu sits down under a tree and exclaims, “I am so tired, Narada! Take this lota and get me some water from that oasis. When you return I will explain Maya to you.” Eager to plumb the mystery, Narada speeds off to the oasis and finds a well there beside a hut. He calls out, and a lovely girl opens the door. Looking into her eyes, Narada is reminded of the compelling eyes of Vishnu. She invites him in and disappears indoors. Her parents come out and greet the guest, requesting him to rest and eat after his journey through the burning sands before he returns with the lota of water. Thinking of the lovely girl, Narada agrees. Night falls, and they urge him to leave in the cool morning. Awakening in the morning, Narada looks out and sees the girl bathing beside the well. He forgets about the lota of water. He stays on. The parents offer him their daughter’s hand in marriage. Narada accepts, and settles down here. Children arrive; the parents-in-law die; Narada inherits the property. 12 years go by. Suddenly the floods arrive–floods in the desert! —His house is washed away. His wife is swept away. Reaching out to clutch her, he loses hold of his children who disappear in the waters. Narada is submerged in the floods and loses consciousness. Narada awakens, his head pillowed in someone’s lap. Opening his eyes he gazes into the eyes of Vishnu, seated at the desert’s edge under that same tree, those eyes that remind him of his wife’s. “Narada,” asks Vishnu, “where is the lota of water?” Narada asked, “You mean, all that happened to me did not happen to me?” Vishnu smiled his enigmatic smile. [2]

The Drop of Honey

After the Kurukshetra holocaust, when the blind Dhritarashtra bewails the unjustified misery thrust upon him and turns to Vidura for consolation, this son of Vyasa and a maidservant narrates a gripping parable that provides yet another clue to understanding our existential situation[3]:

Take a certain Brahmin who loses himself in a dense jungle filled with wild beasts. Lions and tigers, elephants and bears…Yelling and trumpeting and roaring…a dismal scene to frighten even the god of death, Yama. The Brahmin is terror-stricken. He horripilates. His mind is a bundle of fears. He begins to run, helter-skelter; he looks right and left, hoping to find someone who will save him. But the fierce beasts—they are everywhere—the jungle echoes with their weird roaring—wherever he goes, they are there, ahead of him.

Suddenly he notices that the fearful forest is swathed in a massive net. In front of him, with open arms, is a horrendous-looking female. Also, five-headed snakes hiss at him—tall snakes, their hill-huge bodies slithering up to the sky.

In the middle of the forest is a well covered with grass and intertwining creepers. He falls in that well and dangles there, clutched by a creeper, like a jackfruit ripe for plucking. He hangs there, feet up, head down.

Horror upon horror! In the bottom of the well he sees a monstrous snake. On the edge of the well is a huge black elephant with six heads and twelve feet hovering at the well’s mouth. And, buzzing in and out of the clutch of creepers, are giant, repulsive bees surrounding a honeycomb. They are trying to sip the deliciously sweet honey, the honey all creatures love, the honey whose real taste only children know.

The honey drips out of the comb, and the honey drops fall on the hanging Brahmin’s tongue. Helpless he dangles, relishing the honey drops. The more the drops fall, the greater his pleasure. But his thirst is not quenched. More! Still more! ‘I am alive!’ he says, ‘I am enjoying life!’

Even as he says this, black and white rats are gnawing the roots of the creeper. Fears encircle him. Fear of the carnivores, fear of the fierce female, fear of the monstrous snake, fear of the giant elephant, fear of the rat-devoured creeper about to snap, fear of the large buzzing bees…In that flux and flow of fear he dangles, hanging on to hope, craving the honey, surviving in the jungle of samsara.

The jungle is the universe; the dark area around the well is an individual life span. The wild beasts are diseases. The fierce female is decay. The well is the material world. The huge snake at the bottom of the well is Kala, all-consuming time, the ultimate and unquestioned annihilator. The clutch of the creeper from which the man dangles is the self-preserving life-instinct found in all creatures. The six-headed elephant trampling the tree at the well’s mouth is the Year—six faces, six seasons; twelve feet, twelve months. The rats nibbling at the creeper are day and night gnawing at the life span of all creatures. The bees are desires. The drops of honey are pleasures that come from desires indulged. They are the rasa of Kama, the juice of the senses in which all men drown.

This is the way the wise interpret the wheel of life; this is way they escape the chakra of life.

Dhritarashtra, of course, misses the point Vidura is making: man, literally hanging on to life by a thread and enveloped in multitudinous fears, is yet engrossed in the drops of honey, exclaiming, “More! Still more! I am alive! I am enjoying life!” And, like the blind king, we tend to miss the point too. Ignoring the law of karma, taking that other road, we fall into the pit and rale; but inveterately, compulsively, perversely, strain every sinew to lick the honey.

The Buddha figured it forth in a characteristically pungent image:

Craving is like a creeper,

it strangles the fool.

He bounds like a monkey, from one birth to another,

looking for fruit.[4]

If heeded, the doctrine of karma becomes a powerful instrument for building character, maintaining integrity and establishing a society that functions not on matsya nyaya [the big devouring the small] that celebrates individualism, but on dharma that upholds society and the world itself.

Determination & Free will

The whole point of comprehending this doctrine lies in perceiving that the much-vexed controversy over determination and free will is resolved if seen in perspective. Let us, once again, take recourse to a story to understand this complicated issue.[5]

Two friends, Shyam and Yadu, lived in a village. Shyam was an ambitious go-getter, and Yadu a happy-go-lucky, ne’er do well. Keen to know the future, they approached a hermit who lived apart in the forest. After much persuasion, he agreed to look into the future and tell them their fates. After a year, he said, Shyam would become a king, while Yadu would die. Returning to the village, the shocked Yadu turned to prayer and began leading an exemplary life. Shyam, immediately on reaching the village, started throwing his weight about, grabbing whatever he fancied from others, threatening anyone who dared to protest, vociferously announcing that soon he would be their king.

A year passed by. Shyam sought out his friend and asked him to help pick the site for his palace. As they walked along the river bank, Shyam stumbled over something and fell. Picking himself up, he found the mouth of a jar protruding from the sand. Digging it up, he found it full of golden coins. Hearing his shouts of celebration at finding such treasure, a robber ran up and tried to snatch the jar. Yadu rushed to Shyam’s help and clutched on desperately to the robber’s leg. Unable to tackle the joint resistance of both friends, the infuriated robber stabbed Yadu on his arm and ran off.

Days passed. Yadu did not die; Shyam found himself still no king. So, they went off to the forest and hunted out the hermit. Confronting him, they demanded an explanation for the failure of his prophecy. The hermit went into meditation and then explained: the conduct of each of them had altered what was fated. Yadu’s austerity and prayers had reduced the mortal blow into a stab injury. Shyam’s tyrannical conduct had reduced the king’s crown to a jar of gold coins.

Fate, therefore, is altered by the individual’s choice of the path. Those that have eyes can see; those that have ears can hear. To develop this intuitive sense one has to dive deep, beyond the superficial sensory perception to the manas and cultivate living in that peace within, that pearl beyond price.

[1] Pradip Bhattacharya: “Desire under the Kalpataru,” Jl. of South Asian Literature, XXVIII, 1 & 2, 1993, pp.315-35 & cf. P. Lal’s Introduction to Barbara Harrison’s Learning About India (1977).

[2] P.Lal: Valedictory Address in Mahabharata Revisited (Sahitya Akademi, 1990, p.291-302–papers presented at the international seminar on the Mahabharata organized by the Sahitya Akademi in New Delhi in February 1987).

[3] P. Lal: The Mahabharata (condensed & transcreated, Vikas Publishing House, New Delhi, 1980, p. 286-7)

[4] P. Lal: The Dhammapada, op.cit. p.157.

[5] Related by Prof. Manoj Das in an address at Sri Aurobindo Bhavan, Calcutta, in 2000

Review of the Anushasana Parva

By

Yudhishthira’s Questions and Bhishma’s Answers
Suganthy Krishnamachari
The Book Review, Feb. 2024

THE MAHABHARATA OF VYASA: THE ANUSĀSANA PARVA | (VOLUME 13) By Veda Vyasa.

Translated from the original Sanskrit by Pradip Bhattacharya. Writers Workshop, 2023, pp. 1256, Rs. 3000.00

The Mahabharata of Vyasa: The Anusāsana Parva, translated by Pradip Bhattacharya deals with Yudhishthira’s questions to Bhishma and the latter’s answers. It also has Uma’s questions to Shiva and his answers to her.

Bhishma is not perfect, is a flawed character himself. When Chitrangada, son of Shantanu by Satyavati died, his brother Vichitravirya ascends the throne. Bhishma does not want the family line to end. He could well have approached a royal family for a bride for the young king. But instead, he abducts three princesses as brides for his brother. It is ironic, therefore, that in the Anusāsana Parva, he tells Yudhishthira that swayamvara is an excellent form of marriage for Kshatriyas, and condemns marriage following abduction (rakshasa type of marriage) as adharma. And yet, he stopped the swayamvara of the three princesses and abducted them. In the Anusāsana Parva, he talks of the respect that we must show to wife, mother, elder sister and so on. How then does one explain his inaction when Draupadi was being disrobed? The Anusāsana Parva shows us what a bundle of contradictions Bhishma was.

These are among the many verses Bhattacharya quotes, before translating them. The reader will find this highlighting of important shlokas in Bhishma’s discourse useful. It makes the book a ready reckoner for those looking for specific topics in the Anusāsana Parva.

In Section 122, Verse 28, Bhishma says that if someone grants freedom from fear to all beings, then he is granted freedom from fear of all beings. Here Bhattacharya quotes the verse:
abhayam sarvabhutebhyo yo dadati dayapara
abhayam tasya bhutani dadatity anushushruma.
It was Bhattacharya’s reproduction of the original verse that caught this reviewer’s eye and helped make the connection to Vibhishana Saranagati. In Valmiki Ramayana, when Vibhishana arrives at Rama’s camp, Rama says:
sakrd eva prapannaya tavasmi iti ca yacate
abhayam sarva bhutebhyo dadami etad vratam mama
If a person surrenders to Rama just once, then he will ensure protection from all beings for that person, promises Rama. This Ramayana verse is often quoted in Visishtadvaita as proof of the efficacy of surrender. The idea is expanded
in the Anusāsana Parva, where all beings grant freedom from fear to a practitioner of ahimsa. The verbatim quoting of verses, even while providing translations, makes Bhattacharya’s book useful for researchers, looking for cross-references.
Bhishma has some practical advice for Yudhishthira about the need to care for tanks, which present-day rulers and administrators would do well to read, for in the modern world water bodies are being increasingly lost to urbanization.
Apart from Bhishma’s talk on dharmic practices, there is also some science in the Anusāsana Parva. In Section 110, verse 17, Bhishma warns against seeing the rising or setting sun or the midday sun directly. Never look at the sun in an eclipse or its reflection in water, he warns. Science tells us that looking at the sun directly harms the eyes. And even during an eclipse, one has to view the sun only through eclipse glasses or a telescope fitted with a special purpose solar filter. Seeing the sun’s reflection in water or snow can cause photokeratitis, when reflective UV rays result in
blindness.

Anusāsana Parva gives some interesting names of Vishnu, which one does not find in the Vishnu Sahasranamam. Here are a few: Yugantakaraa: Yuga-ender; Shiva pujya: adored by Shiva; Bhutabhavya bhavesha: past, present and future; Samkrta: piercer; Sambhava: source; Brihaduktha: loudly lauded; Jvaradipathi: lord of fever. The Anusāsana Parva also gives 1008 names of Shiva.

In Section 119 Bhishma lays down what we know as the golden rule: do unto others as you would want them to do unto you.

Bhattacharya’s translation is in verse form, and therein lies its appeal. As GK Chesterton said, ‘… The soul never speaks until it speaks in poetry…In our daily conversation, we do not speak; we only talk.’ Reading Bhattacharya’s translation is like listening to Vyasa speak to you through English verses, with Sanskrit verses interwoven into his narrative.
Bhattacharya often gives a Sanskrit name or epithet and then gives its meaning in English alongside. But the
flow of the translation is never impeded because of this bilingual presentation. This kind of presentation, in fact,
gives us an idea of the richness of Sanskrit. While agni means fire, it isn’t the only Sanskrit word for fire. And it helps when Bhattacharya writes—pavaka: bright agni; chitrabhanu: variedly radiant agni; vibhavasu: resplendent agni; hutashana: oblation eater agni. Had he just used fire instead, the translation would have been bland. In some cases, he retains original Sanskrit words like maha, for example, which finds a place in the Oxford dictionary. So, we have maha fortunate, maha energetic, maha souled, maha mighty (section 2, verse 9). No qualifying English adjective or modifying English adverb is used. And one must admit that ‘maha fortunate’ and ‘maha energetic’ read better than ‘very fortunate’ or ‘very energetic’. Sometimes the translator retains Sanskrit words and adds some suffixes as he does with puja, namaskar and pranam. In these cases he adds an ‘ed’ at the end of each word (example puja-ed, pranam-ed), and this sounds rather odd. And horribler than the horriblest (Section 148, Verse 49) can do with some rephrasing.

Bhattacharya’s is a monumental work, splendid and impressive, and would be a great addition to any library.

Suganthy Krishnamachari is a Chennai-based freelance journalist, and has written articles on history, temple architecture, literature, mathematics and music. Her English translation of RaKi Rangarajan’s Naan Krishnadevaraya, and Sujatha’s Nylon Kayiru were both published by Westland Publishers.

THE EPIC AND THE NATION

By

G.N. Devy: Mahabharata: The Epic And The Nation. Aleph, New Delhi, 2022, pp.142, Rs.499.

It is a testimony to the firm foundations upon which the Mahabharata (MB) rests in India that the traumatic Covid pandemic, which generated so many new phenomena, led Professor G.N. Devy to ruminate on the significance of Vyasa’s mahakavya for the country. His proposition: while the myths we live by lie in the Ramayana and the MB, the West draws upon religious texts, not epics. He asks, why has the caste-split land yet to become anation, “a substantially homogeneous people, despite its exposure to the epic for thousands of years?”

Devy covers an extensive expanse from genetics (David Reich’s Who We are and How We Got Here) to linguistics (David Anthony’s The Horse, The Wheel, and Language, Maheswar Neog’s Essays on Assamese Literatures) to literary theory. For him, Indo-Iranians entered the subcontinent with the horse-and-chariot and mingled with Out-of-Africa southerners to produce the MB culture, shifting from pastoral to agrarian, urban and feudal society. MB combined the mythic and historical pasts as a history marked by “assimilation, synthesis, combination, acceptance and moving forward without exclusions (p.72).” Its great success lies in “making alive two powerful symbols, the wheel and the horse…for future generations.” (p.93). “Its mesmerising appeal is its ability to use history to enliven myth…a veritable mine of ideals of courage, moral truth and liberation.”

Devy’s dissertation rises to several peaks. He is one of the few who realise that the MB was a watershed in socio-political thought. Wandering rhapsodes (sutas) brought to the general public, including the depressed classes and women, scriptural ideas, mystic insights and philosophical ruminations that had been the privilege of priesthood and royalty so that “It became the non-Brahmin’s book of religion (p.106).” To Devy the MB embodies our civilization’s “great negative capability” (p.109), comfortable with multiple beginnings, no definite end, many diverse strands of life and thought, no rigidity of caste structure. We meet bloody Brahmins (Parashurama, Drona, Kripa, Ashvatthama); Kshatriya Vishvamitra becomes a Brahmin, creates new celestial bodies, has Vasishtha’s son killed by turning a raja into a rakshasa, even steals a dog’s haunch from an untouchable for food. None of the protagonists are true-blooded Kshatriyas. After Parashurama’s massacres of Kshatriyas, the class was regenerated by Kshatriya women approaching Brahmins. The Lunar Dynasty itself progresses through Raja Yayati’s sons by Brahmin Devayani and Asura Sharmishtha. Vyasa, born of sage Parashara forcing himself on a fisher-girl, engenders Dhritarashtra and Pandu. The Pandavas’ fathers are unknown, as Duryodhana scoffs publicly. Therefore, Arjuna’s quandary over engaging in a war leading to miscegenation is entirely questionable and ought not to need elaborate philosophical discourse to be dispelled. Devy feels this concern was inserted later because the story brings together tribes, cultivators, herdsmen, “descendants of the society that had created Sindhu culture…a new language, better methods of warfare, and a different pastoral culture.” He refers to the Andhra “Vyasa community that has preserved its genetic identity through strict endogamy over the last 3000 years” as an example of the obsession with avoiding caste-intermixing. His claim about the Gita being “seamlessly woven into the epic-text” is questionable because at its end the Bhishma Parva continues seamlessly from where the text was interrupted by the Gita.

The MB did not avoid contemporary philosophical debates as Devy claims (p.78). Gleaning is explicitly extolled over Vedic yajna, a righteous meat-seller and a housewife over an ascetic Brahmin. Character, not birth, makes a Brahmin. Preservation of life and social order is preferred to blind adherence to truth. The eight-fold path of moderation is voiced and there are references to Jains and Charvakas too. Yudhishthira’s grand horse-sacrifice is shamed by a mongoose who glorifies a gleaner’s gift instead. To cap it all, in a supreme tour-de-force, Yudhishthira himself reviles the gods as well as Dharma itself in the final book.

A peak insight of Devy’s is that Kunti is an unparalleled heroine in the literary world. Kunti, her abandoned son Karna and her nephew Krishna occupy the heart of the story. She ushers Vedic gods into the Mbh (p.60). However, Devy overlooks how it is Kunti’s Yadava blood that rules after the Kurukshetra War, not the Kuru dynasty. Parikshit, grandson of Arjuna and his maternal Yadava cousin Subhadra, rules in the Kuru capital Hastinapura, not the elder Yudhishthira’s son Yaudheya or Bhima’s Sarvaga. Vajra, Krishna’s great-grandson, rules in Indraprastha of the Pandavas. Satyaki’s grandson Yugandhara rules near the Sarasvati and Kritavarma’s son in Martikavat, both Yadavas. So, was Krishna’s game-plan to replace Kuru by Yadava hegemony?

Devy points out that Arjuna alone, Rama-like, strings the Kindhura bow Shiva gave Drupada (vide the Southern recension). As Brihannada he parallels Shiva’s Ardhanarishvara (male-female) form as well as his dancer role. Not only does he become a eunuch, but he also hides behind trans-gender Shikhandi to kill Bhishma. Arjuna sees the trident-wielder preceding his arrows and felling the targets in Kurukshetra. Actually, Shiva’s presence is heralded early when Indra insults Shiva and Parvati playing dice and is condemned to take human birth along with four previous Indras.

Devy provides an important insight: the two towering figures on either side, Bhishma and Krishna, both 8th sons, do not fight for themselves but for the Dhartarashtras and the Pandavas respectively. Further, blessings, curses and supernatural interventions are used as devices (deus ex machina) to move the plot along. Even demons intervene to dissuade Duryodhana from committing suicide. Vyasa himself intervenes often in person to change the course of events.

Devy does sink into some troughs though. Ganesha snapping off a tusk to transcribe Vyasa’s dictation is not in the MB (p.10), nor is Gandhari making Duryodhana’s body invulnerable (p.68). What the MB does have is Shiva making Duryodhana’s torso adamantine and Parvati making his lower part lovely and delicate as flowers. Satyavati’s son by Shantanu was Chitrangad, not Chitravirya. Kunti is not chosen to wed Pandu but chooses him (p.59) and is not born because of any blessing (p.71). Jayadratha did not expose himself to Draupadi in the dice-game-hall (fn p.70); that was Duryodhana. Bhrigus are not Kshatriyas but Brahmins (p.61). Nowhere does the MB state that Varuna as Vayu became Bhima (p.60). How is Saranyu equated with Cerberus the three-headed dog guarding hell (p.35)? Saranyu is not the dark, as Devy writes in one place, but the dawn as he correctly states elsewhere. It is not that no attempts have been made to collect regional translations for comparison (p.21). In 1967 M.V. Subramanian ICS documented variations from Vyasa in the South Indian languages plus Bhasa, Bhatta Narayana, Magha and Bharavi. The IGNCAshould now cover all regional languages. The 11 pages long genealogy at the end fails to engender a sense of “a seamless combination of myth and history” as claimed.

Devy overlooks the remarkable motif of the Yadavas, descendants of the disinherited eldest son Yadu, ultimately regaining dominion. Nahusha’s eldest son Yati turns sanyasi, so the younger Yayati inherits Khandavaprastha. He disinherits four elder sons (Yadu etc.) in favour of the youngest Puru. In Hastinapura, Pratipa’s eldest son Devapi is disinherited because of a skin ailment.The younger Shantanu is enthroned. He bypasses his eldest son Bhishma for the younger stepbrothers. The elder Dhritarashtra being blind loses the throne to his step-brother Pandu. Yudhishthira, the eldest, is tricked into exile by his younger cousin Duryodhana who rules. Another key feature missed is the theme of parricide and fratricide is—a reason for the narrative’s continuing appeal through the ages.

Devy accepts Abhinavagupta’s assertion that the MB’s prevailing emotion is “shanta, empathetic detachment”. In World of Wonders (2022) Hiltebeitel argued convincingly that it is an epic of wonder, adbhuta being the rasa mentioned most frequently. Devy’s identification of Yama with Dharma is questionable. Kunti does not summon Yama for a son, as he claims (p.51), but Dharma as Pandu wants his first son to be beyond reproach. All of Yudhishthira’s interactions are with Dharma, not Yama. It is Dharma whom Animandavya curses to be born as a Shudra (Vidura). Yama as god of death first appears in section 199 of the Adi Parva as the butcher-priest in a yajna of the gods, because of which humans do not die. Only in section 9 is Dharma called the god of death who resurrects Ruru’s snake-bitten wife Pramadvara, raising the speculation that he got identified with Yama.

Devy misses the backdrop of the divine plan (as in the Trojan War) to rescue earth from proliferating demonic rulers. Gods take human birth to engineer a massively destructive war whereafter they merge into their original selves. There is no cycle of rebirth here, which distinguishes the MB from religious texts.The MB articulates the concept of four “yugas” (like the Hellenistic four ages) of which Vyasa calls Kali the best when bhakti fetches swift salvation, without the intensive ascesis and elaborate sacrificial rituals of earlier eras. Devy proposes that the MB war keeps the kala-chakra, wheel of time, in perpetual motion. It is not a war to preserve ritualistic dharma. Balarama’s strange aloofness from the fratricide at Kurukshetra and Prabhasa, despite being the avatar of Shesha and a white hair of Vishnu’s, goes unnoticed.

With the expanse and depth of Devy’s reading, not mentioning Sukthankar’s profound insights in On the Meaning of the Mahabharata is strange. Further, as Devy pinpoints Yudhishthira and Yama as the composition’s main focus, the omission of Buddhadeb Bose’s masterly portrayal of Yudhishthira as the true hero in The Book of Yudhishthira is puzzling.

Devy concludes that the MB “unites us as a nation through a similarly perceived past, not through a similarly perceived collective self…not in any imagined territorial national space…(but) in Time…the never-stopping kala chakra…a great spirit of acceptance of all that is.” Vishnu’s couch, the infinite coils of Shesha, and Krishna’s discus, both symbolise Cosmic Time and its endless revolutions.

The appeal of the MB, however, is not limited to India. Even when shells and bombs were exploding in the streets during the siege of Leningrad in 1941, Vladimir Kalyanov was translating the MB into Russian in the Academy of Sciences on the Neva River embankment by the dim light of wick lamps, with no light, no fuel and no bread in the city. Nehru admired that nothing interrupted the work even during the hardest of times.

[This was published in a slightly altered form in The Book Review issue of October 2023, pages 21 to 23