Four days after they celebrated the marriage of Uttara and Abhimanyu, the Pandava brothers and their allies gathered in Virata’s sabha for a council. They all wanted Krishna to speak first, and he obliged them.
“It is known to all of us,” said Devaki’s son, sitting like a piece of the night on a jeweled rosewood chair, “how Shakuni of Gandhara deceitfully won Yudhisthira’s kingdom in a game of dice. These dear friends of mine, the sons of Kunti and Madri, spent thirteen years enduring the hardships of exile, though they are entirely without fault. They could have risen up and taken their lands back by force but they stuck true to their pledge. Now the exile is over, and we have to decide what to do next. What will benefit the Pandavas and the Kauravas, in accord with dharma? I know Yudhisthira—he would not crave Indra’s heaven were it against dharma, and if dharma required, he would be king of a single village, though he is fit to rule all the Earth. If Duryodhana refuses to return a rightful portion of Kuru to Yudhisthira, then war against him will be thoroughly justified. Yet at present we do not know Duryodhana’s mind. Therefore let us send a messenger to Hastinapura, someone who speaks tactful words and understands dharma, to ascertain the mind of the prince.”
“Well said, brother,” said Balaram. The enormous Vrishni stood and continued: “Krishna’s words are well chosen and conform with dharma and profit. In all ways we should act so as to assure peace and wealth for both parties, the sons of Pandu and of Dhritarashtra. If Duryodhana and Yudhisthira will both content themselves with half the kingdom, that will be the best solution for us all. Let whoever serves as messenger meet with Duryodhana and his brothers, and the elders of House Kuru, and speak conciliatory words, seeking never to anger them. Yudhisthira was challenged to the game and accepted, and willingly staked his wealth and family. No crime should attach to Duryodhana for having fairly won a kingdom. The messenger should make clear our respect for the Kauravas, and our desire for mutual goodwill.”
Balaram sat, looking pleased with himself. But no sooner had he finished his speech then Satyaki stood up and stamped his foot. The enemy-butcher’s round, youthful face was twisted with anger, and his yellow-gold falcon eyes wide with fury.
“I cannot believe that I am hearing these words from you, Balaram,” he seethed. “And I can even less believe that all of us here, who call ourselves King Dharma’s allies, can sit here and allow these slanders to be spoken in our presence. The world knows that Shakuni’s dice are crooked! Duryodhana challenged Yudhisthira to the game through his father, knowing that it would be impossible for Yudhisthira to refuse an invitation from his own uncle. We have all heard by now how the Kaurava and his cronies treated Draupadi in the hall, how they insulted Yudhisthira of stainless dharma. Now the Pandavas have upheld their covenant, despite all its manifest unfairness, despite Duryodhana’s duplicity—why should Yudhisthira’s messenger grovel and abase himself and butter up the Kauravas with humble messages? Let him stake King Dharma’s claim with pride, and if Duryodhana refuses, then he will quickly find himself going to meet his ancestors. Look at the warriors gathered here today! We have Arjuna, Bhima, Nakula, and Sahadeva—those four alone could destroy any army! And we have Dhrishtadyumna, Pradyumna, Akrura, and all the champions of the Yadava houses. Even young Abhimanyu is capable of burning up Duryodhana’s allies with all their horses and chariots like a fire eats a dry forest! Even if no one else stands with Pandu’s sons I myself will slaughter all their enemies! Duryodhana may return the kingdom at once, pressing his face into the dust of Yudhisthira’s feet, or else he will return it soaked with his own blood.”
Satyaki glared around the hall, his fists clenched.
Drupada said, “Satyaki, there is no doubt that what you have spoken will come to pass. Anyone here who thinks Duryodhana will willingly return even a shred of land is deluding himself. We all know the Kaurava’s nature—he is grasping, greedy, arrogant, and stubborn. Dhritarashtra, who should control his son, is too weak to do so. Bhishma and Drona will side with him out of duty, since they have eaten Dhritarashtra’s food and slept beneath his roof these many years.
“What Balaram said would be quite true, were we dealing with a man of good faith and strict dharma, but Duryodhana has neither. No amount of sweet words will sway him. One behaves sweetly toward a cow, but a donkey must be beaten if he is to learn. All conciliation will accomplish will be to make Duryodhana think Yudhisthira weak and desperate. My friends, we must take the initiative. Even as we send a messenger to Hastinapura we must also send riders to Shalya of Madra, Drishtaketu of Chedi, and all the other kings who may still remember their loyalty to King Dharma. Surely Duryodhana is already gathering his allies. My lords, we do not desire war—no one does—but we must prepare ourselves for it should it prove inevitable. Our position must be secure. Duryodhana has had thirteen years to cement his sovereignty. Karna has exacted tribute from all kingdoms in his name. If we delay in calling in our allies, they may well turn to Duryodhana.
“As for a messenger, I offer my own house priest. He is a brahmana of impeccable lineage, skilled in every form of speech, insightful, wise, trustworthy, and wholly aware of all the etiquette. Let him carry Yudhisthira’s message to Hastinapura, and let swift riders go out at once to gather in our allies.”
Krishna clapped his hands and said, “What you have said is all quite right, King Drupada. You are the eldest in this hall and we are all your students! Whatever message you send will surely be agreeable to all of us. As for me, I love both the Kauravas and the Pandavas. I am impartial! I came here only to celebrate my nephew’s wedding. Balaram and I will return to Dwaraka with our kinsmen and enjoy our lives, as we always do. But if Duryodhana refuses to part with a fair portion of the kingdom then send word to us at once.”
Krishna laughed and leapt to his feet. Any residual tension in the hall was immediately dispersed by that laugh. Yudhisthira, who had listened intently to everything but never opened his mouth, rose and went to Krishna and embraced him.
“We will miss you,” he said.
“And I will miss all of you,” said the dark prince, “until our next meeting.”
The nobles all said their farewells. That afternoon the Yadavas rode Westward for Dwaraka. Only Subhadra remained in Virata, to be close to Arjuna and her son and her new daughter-in-law.
In the evening Drupada summoned his priest and gave him instructions.
“You know my mind, brahmana,” he said. “It is my belief that among intelligent beings humans are superior, among humans brahmanas are foremost, among brahmanas those who know the Vedas are superior to all others, and amongst them the few who understand the Vedas are highest of all. You are of the last category. You are wise, perceptive, and have served my house well for many years. I wish to send you as an emissary to Hastinapura.”
The house priest was a slender old man with long arms and slightly stooped shoulders. He was entirely bald and beardless, and never wore anything besides a simple white dhoti and his sacred thread.
“What message shall I carry, my lord?” he asked.
“You will make the case for Yudhisthira and his family,” said Drupada. “Duryodhana must return their portion of the kingdom. But, knowing the mind of Dhritarashtra’s son as I do, I know that he will never agree to do so. Therefore, I believe your primary objective should be to sow dissent in the court of House Kuru. Dhritarashtra, for all he is at his son’s mercy, is not completely unrighteous. Appeal to his sense of dharma. Describe how Yudhisthira was unfairly beaten at dice, by a player far more skillful and cunning than he. Remind them all how strictly the Pandavas and Draupadi kept to their side of the covenant, how they remained in exile without even a sight of their children for thirteen years. By talking in this way you will sway the elders against Duryodhana. Bhishma and Drona love the Pandavas and they will be very receptive to you if you praise Yudhisthira. Wake up their compassion for all the struggles Pandu’s sons have endured. At the same time, you should remind them of Arjuna’s invincibility. Retell the stories of how he rescued Duryodhana from the gandharvas, and how he single handedly defeated the best chariot warriors during the cattle raid. By constantly reminding them of Arjuna’s power you will water the seeds of dissension with fear. Duryodhana’s brothers are not all as greedy as he, and many of them will not be keen to throw their lives away. Then, while you are in Hastinapura undermining Duryodhana’s support, Yudhisthira will gather his allies.”
The brahmana bowed his head.
“I will do as you request,” he said, “to the best of my ability.”
“Then I consider it all already accomplished,” said Drupad. “Soon the Moon will enter the auspicious house of Pushya. Leave then for Hastinapura.”
The old priest set out as instructed, accompanied by guards and guides appointed by Drupada. As soon as he left Drupada went to Yudhisthira and took his son-in-law’s hands.
“The time is now, my son,” he said. “Call your armies. You are King Dharma, and the Earth herself desires your victory.”
If he had any doubts, Yudhisthira did not share them.
Riders went out from the gates of Virata in all directions carrying the message: King Dharma is in need. Remember your vows of old. Remember the Royal Sacrifice. Word went to the sunrise and the sunset, to the lands where winter never ends and the lands of always summer.
After the messengers had been dispatched, the sons of Kunti and Madri shifted to the city of Upaplavya on the Eastern marches of the Matsya kingdom, there to wait and gather their strength. Upaplavya was a fortress city well-situated on a high hill that overlooked the border between the ancestral lands of House Matsya and House Kuru. It had been built during a period of active warfare, and was well fortified with thick walls and barracks inside and outside the main fortress. It would be the ideal place, Virata assured them, from which to plan an attack.
“I thank you,” said Yudhisthira. “But I still hope for peace.”
“Yes yes,” said the Matsya king mildly, “we all hope for peace. All the same—hope for rain, plan for a drought, as the farmers of my kingdom say.”
Yudhisthira looked out from the wall of the fort at Upaplavya, toward the far forested hills of Kuru swathed with blue mists.
“I only hope,” he said, after a long silence, “that our planning does not bring about the very thing we wish to avoid.”
But fate, or the will of the gods, or the conglomerate karmas of humanity, rolls on like a great stone wheel grinding hopes and wishes beneath its weight.
Armies began to march toward Upaplavya. Those kings who still remembered their loyalty to Yudhisthira, or feared the legendary Arjuna and Bhima, or thought, for reasons of their own, that the Pandava side would triumph, raised their armies and set out from all corners of the world. Long before the old brahmana messenger reached Hastinapura, Duryodhana's eyes and ears brought him news of the riders the Pandavas had sent out and the messages they carried. Duryodhana sent his own riders streaming out of Hastinapura like the rivers flowing from a mountain, summoning his own allies with demands that they honor their covenants and promises of rich rewards.
Why was it that so many men from so many lands came to shed their blood for Yudhisthira or Duryodhana? What did they have to gain by throwing their bodies into the fire of one family’s feud? The world was very different then. In this eon of chaos, we have forgotten the shape of our Earth in those days. There was much more at stake than a stretch of fertile land between Ganga and Yamuna.
Back then, Bharatavarsha was the heart of the world, the holy land from which lifeblood flowed to all others. Her soil was sacred, and the matter of who ruled her concerned all. Her kings were the wealthiest, the readiest to reward their supporters. Her jewels shone with the light of stars, her rivers were pure as milk.
There were many powers at play. The gods had their own plan, and the asuras had theirs. The planets seized the minds of men.
So they came by their millions. From the mountains the Sun first touches, at the world’s Eastmost edge, they came. From the dark places across the Western waters they came. From Himalaya, from Dravida, from the high deserts and the humid snake-seething jungles they came. From the kingdoms of Kalinga and Kirata, Mahishmati and Kambhoja, they came swarming, with chariots and horses, foot soldiers and elephants, kshatriyas and conscripts. The Earth trembled beneath those millions of marching feet. The armies felled whole forests for their cookfires and the birds, scattered into the sky, found no place to land, for the trees had been replaced by forests of spears.
Arjuna himself rode for Dwaraka to formally request Krishna’s support. He had no doubt that Krishna would side with Yudhisthira. For all his protests to impartiality, Arjuna could not imagine the Vrishni ever turning against his family. Their ties of blood were strong, and their ties of love stronger still. Yet he felt doubt stir in his belly when he reached the hills above the coast and saw the vast city and the Sun-glinting sea beyond.
He did not know where the uncertainty came from. The day was bright, the salt-breeze warm and fresh, and he had seen no evil omen on his journey. All the same a shadow crept over his mind as he rode down the slopes of the land’s last hills toward sparkling Dwaraka.
When he passed through the great gate the guards on duty nodded coldly to him, saying nothing. Troubled, he urged his horse on through the wide avenues, between the palaces hung with flowering vines. He came to the doors of Krishna’s palace, which stood always open, and saw the gardens within, full of sauntering peacocks and bright fountains. But a chariot stood outside the doors. It was a simple chariot, made for speedy travel, though its owner had not been able to resist a few flourishes of ostentation: gold filigrees on the banister of the car, gold tassels dangling from the white parasol. The banner hanging from the flagpole showed a black snake on a gold field.
Duryodhana was already there.
Arjuna quickly dismounted and almost ran through the gardens and up the flight of steps to Krishna’s house. That door was also open. Outside he saw a pair of exquisite shoes, black silk embroidered with red serpents and golden blossoms. Arjuna removed his own simple sandals and entered.
It was dim inside, and Arjuna’s eyes took a moment to adjust from the bright daylight that soaked the garden. He saw Krishna lying asleep on a long couch. Beside the slumbering Vrishni’s head Duryodhana sat on the only available chair. He smiled at Arjuna when he saw him, but did not rise or make any gesture of greeting.
Arjuna sat down on the floor near Krishna’s feet.
The two men kept silence, waiting. The only sound was Krishna’s slow, peaceful breathing, and the occasional raucous squalling of peacocks in the gardens outside.
Then Krishna murmured something neither man could make out and opened his eyes. He looked at Arjuna and smiled his enchanting smile.
“Hello cousin,” he said. “What an excellent sight to wake up to.”
Duryodhana cleared his throat.
Krishna stretched like a cat and sat up, a study in unhurried grace.
“And hello to you, son of Gandhari,” he said, turning his smile on Duryodhana. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long?”
Duryodhana twitched, then said, “Krishna, I need your help.”
His voice was laden with urgency.
Krishna blinked very slowly, his long eyelashes still weighty with the dust of sleep.
“My help?” he said, all innocence.
“Yudhisthira is gathering his armies,” said Duryodhana, “and I mine. I want you to fight with me, Krishna. I will win this war, be certain of that.”
“War?” said the dark prince, and yawned. “Has it come to that already? I must have taken a very long nap.”
Duryodhana chose to ignore those words and pressed on.
“Strict kshatriyas,” he said, “always follow dharma. And kshatriya dharma dictates that the one who asks for refuge first should receive first. Krishna, I’ve come for your refuge. With you and your armies on my side I cannot lose. I was here first.”
Krishna glanced at Arjuna, then back to Duryodhana.
“Yes, you may have come to me first,” he said, “but when I opened my eyes it was Arjuna I saw. So I will help both of you.”
Duryodhana looked ready to protest, but Krishna kept on talking breezily.
“I offer you a choice. On one side I place my army, the Narayana Sena. A hundred thousand men, all of them my equals in strength, bound to die for their leader if necessary. On the other side I place myself. Alone, unarmed, taking no part in the combat. Since Arjuna is younger, let him choose first. What will it be, son of Kunti?”
“I choose you,” said Arjuna.
“Me?” Krishna’s eyes widened. “You choose me? Unarmed? Unable to fight?”
Arjuna smiled at his friend.
“I could never fight against you,” he said, “even with all the armies of men and gods at my back.”
“Then,” said Duryodhana, “I have your army? The Narayana Sena is mine?”
“They are yours,” said Krishna. “To fight until death.”
“Praise all the gods!” Duryodhana exclaimed, jumping up and punching the air. Then he bowed to Krishna with palms pressed together and said, “Today you have assured my victory.”
Krishna only smiled.
“Go to my kinsman Kritavarman,” he said. “He is the commander of my army.”
Elated, Duryodhana left Krishna’s house.
The dark Vrishni rose up from his couch, still yawning.
“It looks like a fine afternoon out there,” he said. “Come, Arjuna, let’s walk in the garden.”
Arjuna stood up and followed his friend outside. The air smelled sweet, a mixed aroma of many flowers and fragrant trees.
On the steps outside Krishna stopped and looked at Arjuna. His large liquid eyes drew Arjuna in like the ocean draws a river.
“Why did you choose me?” he asked.
“I told you,” said Arjuna. “I could not fight the army with you on its side, even if we never had to exchange blows.”
“But what shall I do for you,” said Krishna, “when I am unarmed and unable to strike your enemies?”
Now it was Arjuna’s turn to smile. He had already thought of his answer to this question.
“Be my chariot driver,” he said. “That way we will always be together, even in the heat of battle.”
Krishna grinned and laughed like a child.
“I will!” he said. “It would be my joy to drive your chariot! Come, all is as it should be. Tomorrow let us return together to your brothers.”
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