Loe raamatut: «Studies in the Mahabharata»

Introduction

The Mahabharata, although neither the greatest nor the richest masterpiece of the secular literature of India, is at the same time its most considerable and important body of poetry. Being so, it is the pivot on which the history of Sanskrit literature and incidentally the history of Aryan civilisation in India, must perforce turn.2

Sri Aurobindo

Whether we realize it nor not, it remains a fact that we in India still stand under the spell of the Mahābhārata. There is many a different strand that is woven in the thread of our civilization, reaching back into hoary antiquity. Amidst the deepest of them there is more than one that is drawn originally from the ancient Bhāratavarṣa and the Sanskrit literature. And well in the centre of this vast pile of Sanskrit literature stands this monumental book of divine inspiration, unapproachable and far removed from possibilities of human competition.3

V.S. Sukthankar

Vyasa’s epic is a mirror in which the Indian sees himself undeceived.4

P. Lal

With the Greeks the dominant passion was the conscious quest of ideal beauty: with the Indians it has invariably been the quest of ideal life.5

V.S. Sukthankar

The Mahābhārata is one of the most impressive creations of the Indian mind. If it cannot compare with the Upaniṣads in philosophic depth, with Kālidāsa’s poetry in refinement and splendour, it yet has a quality of its own and is unequalled in its comprehensiveness, the mass of material offered and the variety of subjects discussed – ranging from history, philosophy and law to yoga, spirituality and psychology.

Indeed, the volume of knowledge expounded in this epic is so immense that most critics have rightly assumed that it can hardly be the product of a single brain howsoever gifted. Some great scholars of the Mahābhārata such as a modern translator of the text, J.A.B. van Buitenen, and India’s great yogi-poet Sri Aurobindo, agree that the Mahābhārata was originally a smaller epic of about 24,000 verses, and that this nucleus was subsequently enhanced by an endless series of later additions made by authors who deemed Vyāsa’s genial creation a fit vehicle for their own less inspired poetic expressions, philosophic ideas, dogmatic teachings and religious beliefs.

If this nucleus has had the power to attract such a mass of material which exceeds three to four times the volume of its original body, then this fact speaks for itself. Whilst some popular editions of the epic contain up to 100,000 stanzas, the Critical Edition prepared by the Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute, Pune, confines itself to about 73,900 couplets, presented by the editors as the “constituted text” which does not claim to be the nucleus, but the most authentic text established on the basis of a comparison of all important recensions and manuscripts.

Even while the Critical Edition, which has been used for this study, presents an excellent tool for any scholar of the epic, we are still faced with the difficulty of separating – like the mythical swans of Indian poets – Vyāsa’s milk from the water of the plagiators. Only a poetic genius like Sri Aurobindo could confidently propose to disengage the nucleus on the basis of an analysis of the poetic quality of the verses.6 Unfortunately, he could not find time to work out this idea and provide the complete text as he believed it to be the original.

As for ourselves, we choose a different approach, focussing on texts which appear to have a high quality from the point of view of content. Approaching the epic with an open mind, we try to learn as much as possible about traditional Indian culture and spirituality, great personalities and important principles governing the life of those days. In fact, the Mahābhārata with its boundless wealth and manifold content is an ideal field for such an approach. “Whatever is here on dharma, artha, kāma and mokṣa, is also found elsewhere. But what is not here, is found nowhere else,” says the epic on itself.7 Anyone who has gone through its complete text, will probably agree that this claim, though slightly exaggerated, has some truth in it.

1.

Arjuna’s Marriages

Arjuna is well-known as an excellent archer, champion fighter and close confidant of Kṛṣṇa, but a little less known as lover. Epic heroes are as a rule not subject to very strict moral laws, and so Arjuna too has some escapades, though of an innocent nature and not without discrimination. We perceive here even in seeming licence an element of culture, of high-mindedness. It is for this reason that a special chapter is devoted to this subject.

Arjuna had won Draupadī, the common wife of the five Pāṇḍavas, in a special competition of archery, which was arranged by king Drupada with the very purpose of attracting Arjuna whom he considered the ideal partner of his daughter. The Pāṇḍavas had come in disguise (they were still in hiding after the burning of the lacquer palace) and Arjuna won Draupadī as an unknown Brāhmin. The beautiful princess did not hesitate to give herself to the powerful competitor, but this unexpected turn of events provoked the kings and princes present at the svayaṁvara to attack king Drupada and the Pāṇḍavas – giving away this precious prize to an unidentified Brāhmin was too big a shame for the assembled kṣatriya-chieftains.

Arjuna and Bhīma repelled the attack in a quick battle, making sure that Draupadī was theirs for good. However, some intricate problem came up when the Pāṇḍavas returned ‘home’ to the potter’s hut in which they were staying with Kuntī. The Pāṇḍavas said joyfully to their mother, “look what we found!”, and she answered spontaneously, “now you share that together.”8 Yudhiṣṭhira as the eldest brother was asked to resolve the problem. His decision was as noble as Arjuna’s reaction: he ruled that Arjuna should marry Draupadī since he had won her in the contest. But Arjuna considered this adharma. He proposed that Yudhiṣṭhira as the eldest brother should marry first, taking Draupadī for himself. Thus Arjuna shows considerable strength of character in this scene by surrendering to the family law. Draupadī is a very attractive woman and his proposal is a real sacrifice.

But Yudhiṣṭhira does not want to claim her for himself alone, because it did not escape him that all of the brothers were deeply enchanted with Draupadī’s beauty. He therefore makes a very wise decision that she would be their common wife. This is in fact the only way to save the unity of the family and at the same time a gesture of obedience to Kuntī’s word. Even while one problem has been solved now, another has been created, because the father of the bride objects with persistence against this uncommon polyandrous alliance.

Finally, Vyāsa himself enters the scene, talking to Drupada in private and giving him some mythological background which justifies this whole development. Thus, he wins over the king for the marriage of his daughter to the five Pāṇḍavas. We are not concerned here with those mythological stories of the five Indras etc. nor do we consider it purposeful to examine various speculations on polyandrous precedents in the ancient Indian society. It appears more fruitful in the context of the Mahābhārata to draw attention to the spirit of sacrifice and brotherly love and unity which becomes evident in this scene. The epic is often setting examples, even some rare examples which ordinary humans will not be able to follow and are not expected to follow. If five well-built men can share one highly attractive woman, then it is certainly a psychological miracle, a great conquest of envy and jealousy.

Soon after the wedding Nārada, the messenger of the Gods, came to give the Pāṇḍavas the clue for the perfect functioning of the marriage. In this way the poet also assures the audience that everything is all right with the unusual marriage, as evidently it is sanctioned by the Gods. Nārada advises the brothers to lay down a rule so that there is no strife over Draupadī. He tells them the story of Sunda and Upasunda, two immensely powerful asuras who lived together in perfect harmony until Brahmā sent the apsarā Tilottamā on earth to estrange them. Promptly they fell into the trap, killing each other in their desire for Tilottamā.

To prevent a similar disaster among themselves, Nārada advises the Pāṇḍavas not to disturb each other when anyone of them is intimate with Draupadī. If anyone should enter the room and break this rule, the offender would have to stay in the forest like a hermit for twelve months. In this way the Pāṇḍavas were able to live happily with Draupadī:

And Kṛṣṇā9 attended to the wishes of all the five lion-like men of immeasurable energy, the sons of Pṛthā. As they took great delight in her, so she took great delight in her five heroic husbands, as does the river Sarasvatī in her elephants. 10

The poet adds that they lived in accordance with the dharma and that all the Kurus prospered. In fact, nobody objected to the special type of marriage any more after Vyāsa’s intervention except Karṇa, much later in a scene after the dice game, where he argues that a polyandrous liaison is unlawful and that Draupadī therefore does not deserve respectful treatment.11 This will be discussed in another chapter.

While the Pāṇḍavas were thus living in harmony together with Draupadī, a certain Brāhmin approached them one night with a problem. His cattle were being stolen by robbers and he pleaded for help. Arjuna was present to receive the visitor and was facing a great dharma conflict now: under the kṣatriya code he was obliged to help the Brāhmin, but his weapons happened to be in the chamber where Yudhiṣṭhira was alone with Draupadī. Under the special family rule he was not allowed to enter it. So whatever he would do now, he would break a rule and become guilty. He quickly ponders over this dilemma, weighing the respective consequences of his decision. Finally he concludes:

Either a great breach of dharma [by not helping the Brāhmin], or death in the forest [due to the dangers of exile]. But dharma has the greater priority, even if the body dies.12

Arjuna is somewhat dramatizing the situation in his inner arguments. Breaking the family rule would indeed result in a twelve months’ exile in the forest, but we know from many other stories that there were good chances to survive such an exile. Anyhow, Arjuna decides that neglecting his kṣatriya-dharma would be the greater sin, as he had also to protect the reputation of Yudhiṣṭhira as king and head of the family. Thus, from his viewpoint, he makes an unselfish decision, accepting the possibility of his loss of life in the forest. He enters the chamber, collects the weapons and defeats the robbers. The thought that this action too might be dangerous, does not enter his mind, his superiority as a professionally trained champion fighter is beyond doubt.

When returning to his family, he finds Yudhiṣṭhira entirely undisturbed by the intrusion into the chamber. But Arjuna insists on being ‘punished’ according to the rule. Therefore, with his brother’s consent he goes to the forest where he is supposed to live as a hermit for twelve months. As it is, he was to fulfil only one part of the vow, namely to stay in exile, but his life was not that of a hermit. This can be easily excused, for when the rule of conduct was made between the Pāṇḍavas, it was understood that any interference of one of the brothers with another brother would be actuated by a lack of self-discipline and not by an urge to protect the dharma as was the case with Arjuna, an occurrence that could not be foreseen.

So we observe Arjuna now spending his life happily in exile and having many experiences with women. Perhaps they provide an outlet for feelings which may not always have found full satisfaction under the special marriage-contract with Draupadī.

Ulūpī

The first woman whom he meets on his way is Ulūpī, a Nāga-princess of great sensuous beauty. While Arjuna is bathing in the Gaṅgā, she approaches him and pulls him deep into the river, into the palace of her snake father Kauravya. It is significant and noteworthy that before their union Arjuna makes offerings into the sacrificial fire in the palace. Even in this most spontaneous of his loves, the profane is preceded by the sacred. Ulūpī then asks him for his love. Once more Arjuna faces a dharma conflict: on the one hand he was supposed to live like a hermit; on the other hand there was a general social rule of ancient times which said that a woman approaching a man with sincere love was to be satisfied.

Ulūpī resolves this intricate problem for Arjuna in a twofold way, displaying her high female intelligence: the status as a hermit, she points out, is to be understood only as renouncing all contact with Draupadī. Secondly, she herself, Ulūpī, would not be able to live without having tasted Arjuna’s love, so he has to save her:

Love me who love you, Pārtha, for this is the doctrine of the wise. If you don’t do so, I would certainly die. By giving life, o strong-armed man, observe the highest dharma. I am seeking refuge in you, best of men!13

Ulūpī appeals to Arjuna with all her heart to fulfil her as a woman by responding to her love, and he complies with her wishes, “looking to dharma as his cause.”14 But their meeting was only for one night, it was a very brief marriage. A son named Iravān was born of it. He became a valiant fighter and killed six of Śakuni’s brothers in the Great War.

To return to the story itself: it is interesting to note that here we have a love affair which is developed entirely on the background of dharma. Only when Ulūpī found the right arguments, bringing the meeting to a level where Arjuna could function in accordance with dharma, did she get what she wanted. It is the meeting of two lovers who in spite of strong emotions do not act hastily on impulse but first create an atmosphere in which their love can legitimately unfold itself.

Urvaśī

In contrast, it is very interesting to compare this episode with Arjuna’s meeting with Urvaśī in Indra’s heaven. This incident is not recorded in the established text of the Pune Critical Edition where she is merely mentioned as one of the dancers in the court.15 However, we will include the episode here, because it fits in well into this portrait of Arjuna as a lover of high standards and also forms part of the stock of popular tales in the Mahābhārata.16

Arjuna had watched Urvaśī dancing at Indra’s court with some other attractive apsarās and she had caught his eyes during her performance. Having spent sleepless hours, she resolves to approach Arjuna in his room for love, but only to find him unwilling. He explains to her that his interest in her was due to her being the wife of Purūravas, the ancient ancestor of the Kauravas. So for him she was like a mother, and that is what made him look at her. Urvaśī now tries the same tactics as Ulūpī, shifting the discussion to the level of dharma, reminding Arjuna that a man approached by a woman in love is supposed to oblige her. But this time Arjuna does not react. He cannot take her for pleasure, she remains a mother to him.

This prompts Urvaśī to curse him to become a eunuch. But Indra then modifies the curse in such a way that it will work only for the period of one year during the time when the Pāṇḍavas have to live in disguise. The curse thus turns out to be a hidden blessing. What is important in this episode is Arjuna’s refusal. His own sense of true dharma makes it impossible for him to yield to kāma, pleasure. This shows his strength of character and proves that he does use discrimination in his love affairs.

Citrāṅgadā

After his affectionate experience with Ulūpī Arjuna moves on to visit King Citravāhana of Maṇalūra. He quickly falls in love with his beautiful daughter Citrāṅgadā. There is no more question now of living the life of a hermit; perhaps Ulūpī had after all convinced him that this regulation meant only abstaining from contact with Draupadī.

Citrāṅgadā is the only child of her father, who made her a putrikā, that is to say the child from her would continue her father’s lineage, not her husband’s. Arjuna readily agrees to this condition and marries her. He stays on for a period of three months and later on becomes father of a boy named Babhruvāhana.

This brief episode has inspired Sri Aurobindo to write a poem titled Chitrangada, of which two passages will be rendered below because they bring out wonderfully Arjuna’s character, his mission, his high destiny guessed by a woman who was happy to share his close company, if only for a short while.

One morning Citrāṅgadā rises early before Arjuna; the premonition of his impending departure throws a shadow on her love-relationship with him. For the moment he is giving her all his love, but shortly he will leave her – leave her with a void whereas he can easily fill his own:

In Manipur upon her orient hills

Chitrangada beheld intending dawn

Gaze coldly in. She understood the call.

The silence and imperfect pallor passed

Into her heart and in herself she grew

Prescient of grey realities. Rising,

She gazed afraid into the opening world.

Then Urjoon felt his mighty clasp a void

Empty of her he loved and, through the grey

Unwilling darkness that disclosed her face,

Sought out Chitrangada. “Why doest thou stand

In the grey light, like one from joy cast down,

O thou whose bliss is sure? Leave that grey space,

Come hither.” So she came and leaning down,

With that strange sorrow in her eyes, replied:

“Great, doubtless, is thy love, thy very sleep

Impatient of this brief divorce. And yet

How easily that void will soon be filled:

For thou wilt run thy splendid fiery race

Through cities and through regions like a star.

Men’s worship, women’s hearts inevitably

Will turn to follow, as the planets move

Unbidden round the sun…17

Arjuna knows very well that it is quite true what Citrāṅgadā says in her mood of soul-stirring melancholy. No word of his can efface the truth dawning on her; he can only ask her not to yield to her unhappy thoughts and so he tries to cheer her up. But Citrāṅgadā cannot forget any more what she has seen in that silent moment of grey dawn. She has got a sense of his cosmic personality, his greater purposes, and knows that she is but one small link in the huge chain of events in his life. She realizes that she cannot hold him back, that she must not claim him for herself. Hers is a deep, true love which finds fulfilment in itself, not in the holding of its object:

… It helps me not

To bind thee for a moment to my joy.

The impulse of thy mighty life will come

Upon thee like a wind and drive thee forth

To toil and battle and disastrous deeds

And all the giant anguish that preserves

Our world. Thou as resistlessly wast born

To these things as the leopard’s leap to strength

And beauty and fierceness, as resistlessly

As women are to love, - even though they know

Pain for the end, yet, knowing, still must love.18

Citrāṅgadā knows that her spring is over. She has cherished every moment in Arjuna’s presence, drunk in his love, given herself with all her heart. Now she lets him go with gratitude, allowing him to follow his great destiny.

Subhadrā

Arjuna continues his pilgrimage and on his way releases five apsarās from a curse by which they had been transformed into dangerous crocodiles. He then returns to Maṇalūra for a brief visit to see Citrāṅgadā and his son, Babhruvāhana.19 Next he proceeds towards the Western ocean where he meets Kṛṣṇa in Prabhāsa. The two friends and cousins20 greet each other happily and spend all their time together. Soon Arjuna falls in love with Kṛṣṇa’s beautiful sister Subhadrā whom he sees in a procession at Mount Raivataka. He confides himself to Kṛṣṇa and seeks his advice as to how to marry Subhadrā.

Kṛṣṇa responds that basically a svayaṁvara would be the standard procedure, but as the outcome of a self-choice by Subhadrā would not be certain, he advises Arjuna to abduct his sister by force. This is the kṣatriya type of marriage “which is approved of for valiant warriors by the knowers of dharma.”21

As the abduction is a risky undertaking, Yudhiṣṭhira as the head of the family is consulted first by messengers. He gives his consent whereupon Arjuna abducts Subhadrā at an appropriate moment when she returns to Dvārakā from a pilgrimage. Taking her into his chariot par force, he speeds away while the armed escort looks on helplessly. The Vṛṣṇis and Andhakas are outraged at this unexpected move of Arjuna’s and want to pursue the offender. Kṛṣṇa, however, manages to convince his kinsmen of the futility of such action. Arjuna is a worthy partner after all; therefore he should be welcomed by everyone. Thus this third marriage of Arjuna in exile is finally accepted.

This time it is a lasting liaison: Arjuna takes Subhadrā with him back to his family, creating a considerable problem for Draupadī. The latter is angry at first, but she reconciles with Arjuna when he makes Subhadrā wear a cow maid’s dress, greeting Draupadī humbly, “I am Bhadrā, your handmaid!” What a psychological ruse to win over the heart of a rival woman! Draupadī answers humorously, “let your husband [at least] have no rival!”22 There was perfect harmony then, all the brothers as well as Kuntī were pleased and delighted.

Arjuna’s marriage with Subhadrā is the most important during the exile. Not only are close ties established to the Vṛṣṇi clan, but also a son, Abhimanyu, was born to the couple whose son Parikṣit (by Uttarā) survived the Great War and became the only male successor in the dynasty. Arjuna’s first meeting with Subhadrā has been further embellished in some editions of the epic. Thus Arjuna is reported to have come to see her in the disguise of an ascetic who is attended by Subhadrā etc., adding some more romantic moments to this well-known episode which has been rendered here according to the text of the Critical Edition.

The subject of this chapter was Arjuna in his private capacity, a hero attractive to women, himself a man readily responding with passion to longing, but always with an eye on dharma, on appropriate action. Properly speaking, he is the soul of the Pāṇḍavas, perhaps not as handsome as Nakula and Sahadeva but yet well-looking, not as ostentatiously strong as Bhīma and yet immensely powerful, not as sattvic in nature as Yudhisṭhira but well-balanced in his passion. Clearly, he was also the favourite lover of Draupadī, wife of the five Pāṇḍavas. Once when during the period of his family’s exile in the forest he had gone out for some purpose and stayed away for a long while, Draupadī became very unhappy:

Without Arjuna, best of the Pāṇḍavas, … this forest is joyless. This earth looks empty, the wood with its many marvels and flowering trees appears no longer lovely without the left-handed archer.23