THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 2 (8 page)

Sanjaya heaved a sigh. “Yudhishtira prostrates himself before you and asks after your health.” Now he paused, as if hesitating to say what was on his mind.

“Is that all, Sanjaya? I can feel you have more to tell me.”

“How I hated being your messenger on this vile mission! I felt at peace in Upaplavya. I felt I was in a pure and unsullied land again. Hastinapura rots at its very soul and though you are such an intelligent king, you choose to do nothing about it. I have known you for many years, my lord and this is not the time for me to lie to you, or say only what you want to hear.

How could you have been so cruel to your brother’s sons? And having been so creul, how can you dream you will escape retribution? Have you lost your reason, Dhritarashtra? You stand at the edge of a precipice and insist you must walk forward, you and your arrogant son. Listen to me, my lord, this is your last chance to turn back from the chasm. Everything you have done so far is adharma. You abandoned wisdom and encouraged your son to walk an evil path; and now you want to convince the Pandavas to give up the kingdom you yourself gave them. But Yudhishtira says you must return Indraprastha to him, or there will be war.”

Dhritarashtra released his messenger’s hand. Sanjaya said, “I have traveled a long way and I am tired. I want to rest now. I will deliver Yudhishtira’s message in your sabha tomorrow.”

Without waiting for his king’s leave, Sanjaya rose and walked out. Dhritarashtra was left alone in the darkness. The blind king knew there would be no escape now. Slowly, he rose and crossed to his bed. He curled up on it, his arms raised above his head, as if to ward off the punishment that must fall on him. Sleep would not come to Dhritarashtra, only visions of nemesis. In terror, he called his guard.

“Send for Vidura, I must see him at once.”

Woken from sleep, Vidura came immediately. Dhritarashtra was shaking. The king clasped his brother’s hand tightly and led him to a couch. He said in a voice full of fear, “Sanjaya has come back from Upaplavya. He spoke roughly to me, Vidura and went away without giving me Yudhishtira’s message. But he said the Pandavas will have war with us if their kingdom is not returned. Sanjaya was harsher than I have ever known him to be.

I cannot sleep Vidura. Stay with me, I am afraid. I have no one except you. You are the only one who loves me as I am, with all my faults. Help me sleep my brother. I must sleep, I must.”

Vidura withdrew his hand. He said, “I have heard there are five kinds of men who cannot sleep. A man who lusts after another man’s wife, a thief, a man who has lost his wealth, a failure and a weak man threatened by a strong one. I hope you are none of these men, my lord. You are not a greedy man are you, Dhritarashtra?”

The king repeated dully, “Help me find sleep, Vidura, I must sleep.”

Vidura looked at his half-brother pityingly. “It is nothing new, my lord. You haven’t been able to sleep for years now. Why, you have not slept since the rishis of Satasringa brought Pandu’s sons to Hastinapura. Perhaps you could not sleep even before that, though you told no one of it. I remember the night Duryodhana was born. You called me and said, ‘I hear Pandu already has a son. Which of them shall sit on the throne, my boy or his?’

No, Dhritarashtra, your insomnia and your jealousy are not new. Your heart is full of evil and your nephews have suffered because of you. The root of the sin that will destroy your own sons lies in you. There is no escaping that. You tell me you cannot sleep; how can someone like you sleep? Yudhishtira loved and honored you. He obeyed you as if you were his father and you repaid his love with treachery. And now, you want me to tell you how you can sleep.”

Vidura paused. He rose and paced the room while his brother followed his movements with his unseeing face. Taking his time, Vidura came back and said more softly than ever, “Do you want to sleep, my lord? I will tell you the only way you can sleep.”

The king grasped his brother’s hand again. He whispered, “Tell me, Vidura! You still love me.”

“If only you were a wise king and a master of your greed, my lord! You would know yourself what you should do, just as you would have known what you should not do. Do you want to sleep my brother? Give Yudhishtira’s kingdom back to him and you will sleep like a baby.”

Dhritarashtra stiffened, he let go Vidura’s hand. His face worked in anguish, then, he said, “Vidura, tell me about a wise man and a foolish one. What are their qualities?”

Vidura sighed. This was an old ploy of his brother’s: to skirt round and round an issue, never facing it. Vidura said, “A wise man aspires not for riches or kingdom, but the higher things of life, for the evolution and Salvation of his soul. He knows himself. His virtue is steady; he is diligent and hard working, patient and understanding. Not anger, joy, pride or grief can distract him from his purpose. He acts and always thinks he serves not merely this world, but the next one as well. Desire does not taint what he does. Honest deeds delight him and he is indifferent to slight or acclaim. He is as serene as a lake along the Ganga.”

Vidura waited and Dhritarashtra whispered, “And the fool?”

“The scriptures are a book he never opens. He is vain, thinking himself the wisest of all, when truly he knows little. The fool must have what he wants and does not hesitate to use evil means to acquire it, though they destroy him. He is envious and covetous.”

Vidura paused again and his eyes glowed in the dimness of that chamber. Slowly, he continued, “And I will tell you a strange thing about sin, my lord. One man commits a sin and a hundred others enjoy its brief fruits. But in the end, when the time of reckoning comes, it is only the first man who pays.”

Perhaps Vidura still clutched at straws, hoping wildly that he could frighten his brother into giving back the Pandavas their kingdom. “A wise king should be discriminating, or he brings ruin not only upon himself and his family, but the earth. He must know right from wrong. He must constantly strive to walk the way of dharma. It is his daily struggle, from which he shall have no respite. How can he be a master of the world, if he cannot first master himself? A wise king must know who his friends are and who are his enemies.

Poison or an arrow will kill one man, but evil counsel will destroy a kingdom. Dharma is the highest good; the supreme peace is forgiveness. In the knowledge of truth lies the only stability and contentment and joy only in benevolence. It is not hard for a king to be great. He need but refrain from harsh speech and ignore those who give him evil counsel.

You know what the mortal sins are. Theft of another man’s property, lying with another man’s wife and disloyalty to friends. Lust, anger and greed destroy the soul. A wise king always gives sanctuary to those who come to him in need; equally, he avoids those who are of small sense and near-sighted. He avoids men who procrastinate, men who flatter him and those that are lazy.”

Vidura paused. “Would you hear more from me, my lord? Or do my words hurt you?”

Dhritarashtra said, “Don’t stop, Vidura. I grow strangely calm listening to you. Your words are like fire, yet they soothe me. Don’t stop, go on.”

“Five are those that a man must worship: his father, his mother, the fire, his guru and his soul. A king should cling to truth, charity, benevolence, forgiveness and patience, as if for his life. His high birth, his wisdom, restraint, learning, prowess, moderation, gifts and gratitude give glory to a king. The body is a house of nine doors, three pillars and five witnesses. The soul sits over them all.

The wise king knows there are ten kinds of men, who have no knowledge of what virtue is. The drunk, the inattentive man, the man who raves, the tired man, the angry one, the starving one, the despondent one, the covetous one, the frightened and the lustful one.

He who does not grieve when calamity strikes him, he who has controlled his senses: he is the best of all men, no other. He who bears no malice to anyone, who does not speak arrogantly, who is forgiving; he is the noblest man.

The good king does not tax his people more than they can bear. The bee that sips honey never takes so much that he destroys the flower. The gardener plucks flowers, but he does not uproot his plants. A wise man gleans goodness from whomever he can, from every side and the whole world is his school. He preserves his virtue by honesty, his learning by application and his beauty by purifying his body. He preserves his high lineage by living a life of faultless character. A well-born man, whose character is loose, can never command respect.

And a king who suffers from envy, whether it is envy of another’s wealth, beauty, power, lineage, joy, fortune or honor, suffers from an incurable disease. A man must know how to behave himself and the man who is drunk with wealth is more dangerously intoxicated than the one who is drunk with wine. He who is drunk with prosperity will only come to his senses after a fall.

Dhritarashtra, even as the moon waxes during the bright fortnight so do the calamities of the man who is a servant to his senses. The foolish king wants to subdue his court before subduing himself. He wants to subdue his enemy before his court; only failure and death await him. But the king who first conquers himself shall conquer the earth. For the hardest battle is against oneself and the finest victory.

This body is the vehicle, the chariot, the sarathy is the soul within and the senses are the horses yoked. When the senses are restrained, like horses well trained and obedient, the chariot goes safely and pleasantly through life. But if the horses are not properly broken and the charioteer is not skilled, you can imagine the fate of the chariot. Lust and greed have plunged many a king into ruin.

The sages say that for a man to control his own tongue is the hardest thing. Pure speech, full of meaning, can save the very world; just as evil talk can bring doom. They say that a forest cut down with axes can grow again. But the heart wounded with cruel words may never recover. Arrows you can pull out of the flesh, but a word that pierces the heart: who will ever fetch it out? The savage words a man speaks defile him. The wise man never causes injury by speaking harshly; he knows how grievous this is.

He whom the Gods want to destroy, they first make foolish. When the light of the intellect is dimmed, evil begins to seem like dharma and that man’s end is near.”

Dhritarashtra leaned back. His body swayed as he listened raptly to his brother. Vidura went on, “Bathing in the tirthas and compassion to all beings, these are said to be equal in punya. Many say that living compassion is the greater sacrament. For as long as a man’s kindness is extolled in this world, he has glory in heaven.

The Gods do not protect us with weapons. Those whom they wish success, they bless with intelligence. The intelligent man knows what dharma is; only he who is righteous is wise, for there is no other cleverness in this world. Reciting the Vedas does not save a deceitful man. As fire does gold, a man’s birth is tested by his character, his honesty by his conduct and his courage in a time of panic. Poverty tests a man’s self-control and his friends are tested in times of danger and adversity.

Eight are the paths of dharma: sacrifice, study, asceticism, charity, truth, mercy, forgiveness and contentment. The first four may exist from vanity; the last four are found only in the truly great man. When you act during the day, think of the night, which will surely come. Do nothing by the sun that will rob you of sleep or visit you with nightmares, when darkness falls. Let your youth be as the day; use it to make your old age calm and joyful. Let your whole life be as a bright day, live it so your hereafter is blessed.

Those dark knots in your heart, Dhritarashtra, undo them with serenity. Quiet your passions; observe true dharma. Look upon both the pleasant and the unpleasant as your own self. Be silent if someone slanders you. It is not the one who is slandered who is destroyed, but the slanderer himself. And if the slanderer has any virtues, they find a home in the man he sought to slander.

Never fall out with your true friends, O king, though they do not say what you want to hear. Avoid flatterers, they are cunning and base. Do not desert your nobility and never be arrogant; arrogance is what causes a man to fall. Let anger never master you so you speak harshly. Cruel words are the most terrible weapons. They scorch the very entrails, the bones and the marrow of men.

Silence is holier than speech. If you must speak, speak the truth and speak it agreeably.

Not just birth makes a noble man, but asceticism, restraint, knowledge, sacrifice, a pure marriage and charity. Men die and are born again; and again, they ripen and wither. Often, they stop their careen through endless time and ask, ‘Who am I, where am I going?’ Often grief strikes them along the long way. Joy comes, as well, in its turn, as do all the opposites of life: gain and loss, pleasure and pain, plenitude and penury. The wise man does not grieve when he is unfortunate, nor does he exult when fortune smiles on him. His equanimity is founded in his wisdom, his soul, in God his refuge and in dharma. He rises above the opposites; he is free.

Excess kills men: the excess of pride, of speech, in eating, anger and desire.

Kings, my lord, are meant to have strength of five sorts. Of these, the strength of arms is the least. The king who has good advisors is strong, as is he who has wealth and a noble birth, which confers the strength of his sires. But the primal strength, by which the rest are acquired, is of the intellect, of the spirit.

The man for whom the clod of earth and the bar of gold have the same value, who is above joy and sorrow, who is withdrawn from the world, he is the true yogi. If prosperity is a flame, its fuels are seven: intelligence, tranquillity, restraint, purity, sweet speech and kindness to friends. Pleasure and pain are evanescent, but virtue lasts forever. Birth, death and the phases of life are transitory, but beyond these is the truth, which never changes or fades. Yoke yourself to that truth; and you shall find peace.