THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 2 (36 page)

I cannot have any more deaths on my conscience. I do not want the kingdom for which we are fighting. The only way I see for us is to abandon this mad war and go back to the peace of the jungle. As long as Bheeshma lives we will find only death and defeat on Kurukshetra; and Bheeshma is impossible to kill. Let us not deceive ourselves. Arjuna’s best efforts have been in vain and Shikhandi can go nowhere near our Pitama. A king must care for his men. When defeat is certain, he must not sacrifice them for his vanity, but retreat.

Krishna, I have caused my brothers so much misery. I had hoped that, because dharma and you are on our side, I could give them at least victory. They suffered fourteen years of exile for my foolishness. And now they must endure shameful defeat and, perhaps, death on this vile field.”

Just then, the howling of some sated jackals floats in on the night breeze and Yudhishtira shivers. “Only you can save us, Krishna! You must find a way, or I will leave this war and go back to the forest. Bheeshma must die, or everything is lost.”

He falls as quiet as the vast graveyard outside. After a moment’s silence—and none of the others has a word to say—Krishna says, “Your brothers are full of love for their Pitama and will not kill Bheeshma. Not I: tomorrow, under Duryodhana’s eyes, I will finish the patriarch and victory will be yours. Your enemies are mine, Yudhishtira and this war is mine as well. And this brother of yours, this Arjuna: for him I would cut my body in pieces to feed the jackals outside, if he asks me to. And I know that he, too, would die for me.

If you remember, before the war began Arjuna sent a brave message with Uluka to his Pitama. He swore before all the kings who are with us that he would kill Bheeshma. I love Arjuna more than he understands and I will not let him abjure himself. I will kill Bheeshma for him and it won’t be hard for me.”

All eyes turn to Arjuna. Krishna continues, “Of course, I do not say that Arjuna cannot kill Bheeshma himself. Far from it; for we are speaking of Indra’s son, who humbled his father in battle. For such a man killing Bheeshma cannot be very hard. But a kshatriya must die to pity and kindness before he can find perfection; and perfection is a hard thing to find. It isn’t that Arjuna is not archer enough to kill Bheeshma, but his heart is soft; not that he cannot kill his Pitama, but he will not. He cannot find the detachment within himself, the pure spirit of vairagya.

Indeed, all of you are too kind, too good, to be killers cold enough to cut down your grandfather. But not I, Yudhishtira; such goodness doesn’t bind me. I am the warrior for you. I will do what your kind hearts don’t permit you to. The bonds of this earth, its thongs of attachment, do not hold me. I am indifferent to joy and grief, good and evil, pain and pleasure. I make no difference between one enemy and another. Why, I make no difference, if you knew it, between my friend and my enemy. The world seems alike and one to me. Only my dharma matters, for what I have been born. Blame and praise are nothing to me; I am beyond the taint of these earthly things. No sin clings to me, Yudhishtira, I am the warrior for you. Leave Bheeshma to me; I will kill him tomorrow. Sleep in peace, you shall win this war.”

Yudhishtira takes the Dark One’s hand and says, “Do you have to tell me you can kill Bheeshma? Krishna, you speak as if I don’t know who you are. You are the beginning and the end of this world; you are the seed of the universe. Without you, there would be no darkness or light, no sun, moon or stars. What is Bheeshma, what are a thousand Bheeshmas, before you? Krishna, you are not just Arjuna’s sarathy, but the sarathy of us all: the one who shows our spirits the way to light. I have no words to tell you how grateful I am that you have taken our cause for your own. But I will not allow you to perjure yourself and have the world say ever after that Krishna was a liar.

You swore to Duryodhana that you would take no part in the fighting, that you would bear no arms, shed no blood by your own hand. I will not allow you to break your sacred word; not if it costs us this war, not if it costs us our lives. Why, the very earth will crumble into dust if Krishna breaks his word. No, we must find another way to kill Bheeshma.”

Krishna smiles to hear the new determination in Yudhishtira’s voice. After a moment, the Pandava says, “I have a thought. On the first day of the war, when I went to Pitama for his blessing, he said to me that he was fighting only because he was obliged to. He said his heart lay with us; somehow, even after these nine days, I still believe him. I know of only one way in which we can kill Bheeshma. I will go to him tonight and ask him how he can be killed.” He turns to Krishna, “If you think it is the right thing to do, I will go now.”

The others seem a little bewildered by the extraordinary idea. But Krishna says at once, “Bheeshma loves you and, if you ask him earnestly, how will he not answer you? Who better than the one you hunt to tell you how he can be hunted? Come, let us go at once.”

It is past midnight and Kurukshetra is perfectly still. The wolves and jackals, hyenas and vultures, all the scavengers have finished feeding and returned to the woods. The bones they have cleaned glisten in the setting moon, as the Pandavas and Krishna thread their cautious way past skeletons, slicks of blood and lengths of intestine the carrion-eaters have disdained; they come to the sleeping Kaurava camp. No guards stir, none are posted. Only a sea of breathing ruffles the silence of the night. Quietly, the Pandavas steal into Bheeshma’s tent.

He has not slept. He says in the dark, “Duryodhana, is that you?”

Yudhishtira answers, “No, Pitama. It is I, Yudhishtira, my brothers and Krishna.”

With a cry, Bheeshma rises and lights a lamp. When the Pandavas prostrate themselves before him, he raises them up and embraces them. He takes Krishna’s hand, “Welcome, my Lord! Come, there are places for all of you to sit, for Yudhishtira, Bheema and you, Arjuna and my handsome Nakula. Wise boy Sahadeva, come sit beside me on the bed. How are you, my children? How happy you have made an old man by coming to see him.”

His eyes shine with tears. There is no trace here, any more, of the dauntless enemy they have faced the past nine days on the field; but just their doting grandfather, again, stroking their faces in love, overjoyed that they have come to see him. A pang of guilt clutches at Yudhishtira and, seeing it on his face, Krishna smiles: how hard it will be to ask the question that has brought them here!

Bheeshma says, “Arjuna, you don’t know how proud you have made me. There is no archer like you on earth and perhaps even in heaven. And Abhimanyu: what a revelation that child has been! There are times when I think he is greater than you are, or soon will be. You are a fortunate father, my child.”

Then he stops himself. He sees how they fidget and do not look at him. He says, “But tell me, what brings you here at this hour? You have come unarmed. Is there anything I can do for you?”

A lump in his throat, Yudhishtira says, “We have come to you for advice. We have come not to the Senapati of the Kaurava legions, but to our Pitama, to whom we have always turned in a crisis.”

“Tell me, child.”

“Before the war began, you said to me that victory would certainly be ours: because ours was the cause of dharma and Krishna was with us. But there is one kshatriya among our enemy whom we cannot face. As long as he fights us, we can never hope to win this war. Each morning, he rides out in his silver chariot and, bending his bow in a circle, spills our soldiers’ blood in scarlet streams. In two days more, three at most, he will have killed all our men. Yet, he is the very one who swore to me I would win the war: Pitama, that kshatriya is you.”

Bheeshma says with a smile, “And what have you come to ask me, child? Not to abandon the war, I hope, this war I am so sick of.”

“I have come to ask you something that fills me with shame.”

“Between a grandfather and his grandson there should be nothing like that. You can ask me anything and I will answer truthfully. What else am I here for? Don’t feel ashamed; ask me and if it is in my power to satisfy you, I will.”

Bheeshma strokes Yudhishtira’s head with a gnarled hand. Yudhishtira braces himself and says, “My lord, unless you die we cannot win our war. I have come to ask how we can kill you.” Then, his heart breaking, “Oh, Pitama, I must see you dead, because I must win this monstrous dharma yud-dha. Tell me how we can kill you!”

Yudhishtira covers his face with his hands and piteous sobbing shakes him. Bheeshma still strokes his head, tenderly. He says, “I fear you are right, my son. If you do not kill me, you cannot win the war. So kill me you must and quickly.”

Yudhishtira sobs, “I can’t bear to think of you dead! Is there no other way? Pitama, we love you as part of ourselves.”

Bheeshma says serenely, “There is no other way. I wish I could tell you the war would claim me in its course; that one day, soon, I will die. Alas, a lifetime of celibacy confers invincibility or something near it. Not Indra could kill me. Krishna here, yes; he can kill me, but he will have to break his vow. That he must never do; or the sun, the moon, all the stars and this earth would cease to be.”

Yudhishtira says wonderingly, “You sound as if you want to die.”

“Of course I want to die! Who in my place would not? I have seen the ruin of the house I have loved and nurtured all my life. I have seen so many generations perish and now I have seen the House of Kuru divided in war against itself, cousin against cousin. The kali yuga is upon the world. I feel its hot breath and I am still alive. I hate my life, every moment of it is poison to me. My heart is broken, many times over and I long for nothing except death. Don’t you see, Yudhishtira, my life is an endless torment and has been for a long time? The world as I knew it, the world of honor and faith, the earth of dharma, has long since passed away. Twice Krishna stood before me with his Sudarshana Chakra and I begged him to kill me. Both times, he turned away.

But tonight, I am so glad you have come to ask how you can kill me. My son, you feel ashamed you have come and guilty. But death will be sweet release for me, from a tortured life I am deeply tired of.”

They listen to him, amazed; only Krishna smiles slightly. Bheeshma sighs and goes on, “I curse my celibacy and the strength it gives me! How I loathe the very thing for which other kshatriyas envy me. But listen, children, besides Krishna there is someone else who has the power to kill me. Arjuna.”

Tears start in Arjuna’s eyes. Bheeshma wipes them with his fingers. “Why do you cry, child? You say you love me. If you truly love me, you should be glad to set me free me from the dark bondage of this life. Mortal life is cruel; a punishment for old sins we have committed and forgotten. Death is a joyful liberation. I beg you, Arjuna, kill me tomorrow and deliver me to peace. I have carried life’s burden for too long. I cannot bear it any more.”

Arjuna comes into his grandfather’s arms and sobs like a child. Bheeshma takes the Pandava onto his lap, as he used to when Arjuna was a boy! He says, “Even you cannot kill me while I am fighting, Arjuna; but if I lay down my weapons, then, yes, you can end my miserable life. In dharma, I cannot allow you to kill me, unresisting, which I would do except for the solemn word I have given Duryodhana. Yet, there is a way to make me put down my bow on the field. In your army, is a kshatriya born just to kill me. He has crossed two lives to come as my death. Set Shikhandi before you and I will not fight him: because he was once a woman.”

Dim mists fill his old eyes, sad memories. A wistful smile touches Bheeshma’s lips. “Amba was the daughter of the king of Kasi. I abducted her sisters and her on the day of their swayamvara. Ambika and Ambalika became your grandmothers, but Amba wanted me to marry her. And that could never be, because of my vow.”

Bheeshma tells them about Amba’s trials. He tells them about Siva’s boon: and how she burnt herself alive to be born as Drupada’s son. Like the rest of the world, the Pandavas have heard something of Shikhandi’s vow. Only now do they learn the whole truth. Bheeshma says, “Shikhandi remembers his last birth perfectly; so strong was Amba’s love and, when it was thwarted, her thirst for revenge. Now, she will come before me on Kurukshetra to be my deliverer. Only she has ever plumbed my heart and seen all that I have kept locked away in it.”

Yudhishtira and his brothers cannot take their eyes from Bheeshma’s crevassed face, for the change they see there when he speaks of Amba. Soft light is in his eyes and the great Kuru goes on, slowly, “Yes, Amba hates me and she loves me; after all these years, the two are hardly apart. Only the passion remains. Love and hate are different faces of the same obsession. I know beyond doubt, that without her I shall be chained to this unbearable life forever. Is it her hatred or her love that brings her inexorably to me?” He smiles again. “I could not tell.”

He pauses, then says briskly once more, “Yes, Arjuna, that is the only way you can kill me. Set Shikhandi before you, when you attack me. I will not see Drupada’s son before me, but Kasi Raja’s daughter, who once touched my spirit as no one else ever has. She has survived every test of time, to become my death. How will I shoot arrows at a woman who has spent two lives thinking of me? How will I raise my bow against any woman? When I put down my weapon, Arjuna, you can kill me. You must!”

He squeezes Arjuna’s hand, insisting. He turns to Krishna and says, “My Lord, at that moment you must not allow him to hesitate.” There can be no doubt he longs to die. Bheeshma smiles at them again, “And when I am dead, victory will not elude you. Tonight, you have made an old man happy. I will sleep tonight, as I have not done for many years. My precious, noble children, your Pitama thanks you with all his heart.”