Mahabharata: The Greatest Spiritual Epic of All Time

I expect that most people taking the time to read this introduction are newcomers to the text. For those already familiar with the story, no introduction is needed. They will want to immediately enter the deep waters of Mahabharata, waters that are at once soothing and stimulating to both heart and mind. If this is your first reading, however, although it is a cliché, I have to say, "Welcome to the wonderful world of the Mahabharata."

Welcome to a world where gods and heroes walk the earth, where virtuous kings lead the people, where our lifetimes are seen as simply one step along an eternal path leading to worlds of unending bliss. Here is a story that will enthrall you and at the same time deliver profound lessons about every aspect of life. It was first composed in Sanskrit some five thousand years ago by Vyasadeva, a mystic residing in the Himalayas. Its central theme is the true story of the lives of five powerful rulers, the Pandavas. Woven throughout the story are other tales. We meet sages, warrior kings, and a host of other colorful personalities. Among them is Krishna, a divine incarnation and, as you will discover, the pivotal character in the book. It is due to Krishna's presence that the work is revered as a sacred text. It does, in fact, contain the Bhagavad-gita, which Krishna spoke and which has become a spiritual treatise still read daily by millions of people (as indeed is the Mahabharata itself).

My rendition is not an academic one, nor is it unabridged. Rather, I have written it in a dramatic style in an attempt to bring my readers into the action and to help them experience the majestic mood of ancient Vedic times. In my experience, even readers who strongly desire to read the Mahabharata find themselves unable to go through the lengthy texts of unabridged scholarly translations that are available. I have therefore attempted to make the text as accessible as possible to all kinds of readers, but without sacrificing any of the essential details of the story. I have remained faithful to the translations to which I had access, and I believe my book is as authentic a rendition as you are likely to find.

I will not delay your reading further. I have written a note at the end giving more background information, and you will also find glossaries and appendices delineating the Mahabharata’s many characters. Now I will leave you to immerse yourself in the great ocean of the Mahabharata. All I can add is that the book has captivated me with its sublime message, making my life richer and fuller. I pray that it may give you as much pleasure as it has given me in my many readings.

dharme charthe cha kame cha

mokshe cha bharatarshabha

yad ihasti tad anyatrayan

nehasti na tat kvachit

"In the realm of dharma, artha, kama, and moksha, (ethics, economic development, pleasure, and liberation), whatever is found in this epic may be found elsewhere, but what is not found here will be impossible to find anywhere else." Mahabharata, Adi Parva 56.33)

Krishna Dharma September, 1998 and December 2005

Part One: The Die is Cast

Chapter One. Birth of the Kuru Elders

Ambika peered curiously into the mirror as her maidservants finished adorning her in preparation for the nuptial bed. She had lost none of her beauty despite months of mourning. Her skin was flawless and as white as milk. Curling jet-black hair framed her oval face and bow-like eyebrows arched over her black eyes, which resembled two lotus petals. No wonder Vichitravirya had been so enamored of her, rarely leaving her side. While he was alive her maidservants had adorned her each evening, in case her lord had desired to approach her. As Ambika again put on her ornaments and fine dress her mind drifted sadly back to the days with her husband. After having lain in that great hero's powerful arms, how strange to now be preparing to meet another man!

Ambika balked at the prospect and grew increasingly restless. She dismissed the maidservants as they fussed around her. She needed to be alone to think. When her husband had died so untimely she had wanted to ascend his funeral pyre and follow him to the heavens. She could not imagine living without him. But Satyavati, the queen mother, had restrained her––she still had a duty to perform. Despite the fact that they had enjoyed so much pleasure together, after seven years of marriage they had not produced a child. Without leaving an heir the king was guilty of neglecting a prime duty. How then would he be able to reach the higher regions?

Satyavati had convinced Ambika and her co-wife Ambalika to stay and fulfill their husband's duty and thereby secure the welfare of his soul. The scriptures allowed that in times of emergency a man's elder brother could conceive children in his wife if he was unable. This was such an emergency. Ambika felt more peaceful. Her union with Bhishma would not be a betrayal of the love she felt for her husband, but a service to him and to the kingdom. She stopped her restless pacing and lay down on the ivory bed in bashful anticipation. Bhishma was a powerful and righteous man. Who better to sire the future king? She should ensure that he felt completely honored by her.

There was a knock at the door. Ambika looked up shyly. The door opened and a tall man entered. Ambika's blood turned cold. This was not Bhishma. There in her bedchamber stood a wizened, ugly and filthy ascetic. His matted locks hung about his gaunt face and he stared at her with fierce eyes. His teeth were only slightly less black than his complexion. Around his waist was a soiled loin cloth, his only garment. His hairy body was encrusted with dirt. Without any delay he came toward her and sat by her side. She recoiled from the foul stench emanating from his body. Who was he? She knew of no brother-in-law other than Bhishma. She prayed to the gods that she might lose consciousness, for how could she endure this fearful man's touch? As he put his hands on her dress she closed her eyes, barely able to repress her urge to scream.

* * *

Satyavati blamed herself. If it had not been for her father's greed, Hastinapura would not be in such a precarious situation now. Here sat the powerful Bhishma, son of the goddess Ganga. There was no greater hero on earth. As the eldest son of the righteous King Shantanu, he was the natural heir to Hastinapura's throne, but the kingdom's good fortune had been thwarted by her foolish father on her behalf.

She could still vividly picture the fateful events. It had seemed like any other day. She was sitting by the river's edge, waiting to ferry travelers across. Her father, leader of the fishermen, had given her that duty so she would gain the religious merits born of service to travelers. On this particular day the emperor of the world, the mighty Shantanu, had been hunting in the nearby forests and was seduced by the alluring fragrance that emanated from her body. Having sought out the source of that celestial scent, he had become bewitched by her beauty. From his gaze it was obvious he desired to marry her. Upon hearing that she was still unmarried, he had hurried to her father's house to ask for her hand.

When she herself had arrived home, she saw Shantanu leaving their humble hut in dismay. Her father had stipulated that he could only marry her if he promised the throne to her son. But the emperor already had a qualified son in Devavrata, who he had already consecrated as the prince regent. The king was not prepared, simply for his own pleasure, to wrong his worthy and beloved son. Thus he left, struggling to contain his heart’s aching desire.

Satyavati too had pined for many days, praying to the gods to arrange her union with the king. Then one day, unknown to Shantanu, Devavrata appeared at their hut to solicit her hand on the emperor's behalf. Her father repeated his condition and Devavrata agreed. He would never ascend Hastinapura's throne; the crown could go to Satyavati's children. Still her father hesitated. He had heard enough about court intrigues to know that if Devavrata relinquished the throne still his children might feel cheated and oppose Satyavati's son. The fisher-king voiced his doubts. Hearing them, Devavrata uttered a terrible vow. He would never accept a wife but would maintain life-long celibacy. In order to secure his father's happiness, he said, he was ready to renounce all personal enjoyment. Satyavati recalled how when Devavrata made that vow, flowers had rained from the sky and a thunderous voice had sounded from the heavens: From this day his name shall be Bhishma, one of a great vow.

Satyavati looked at Bhishma now as he sat respectfully before her. She spoke his name and he looked up, ready to execute her command. Maybe she could yet convince him. He had always been obedient to her, even more so since Shantanu's death.

My dear Bhishma, please think again, the queen said as she pulled her fine silk sari over her plaited hair. You made your vow simply to secure the interests of your father and me. I now absolve you of that vow. You have always been fixed in virtue. Please consider our present situation. Just as you made your vow to serve your elders, you should now serve them by acting for the welfare of our line. Surely this is your duty. Ascend Hastinapura's throne and beget powerful sons to secure this ancient kingdom's future.

Bhishma shook his head in exasperation. Mother, please do not ask me to stray from the path of truth. It can never be as you suggest. The sun may renounce its splendor, water its wetness and the sky its sound, but I will never renounce truth.

Bhishma asked Satyavati to consider the deeper cause of the unexpected emergency facing the kingdom. It was due to all-powerful destiny. How else could it have come to pass that although she had borne two powerful sons, both had died without producing an heir to the throne? All the kings on earth had paid tribute to Satyavati's eldest son, Chitrangada. His reputation for prowess in battle and unwavering virtue had reached the heavens. It was thus that the mighty king of the Gandharvas, who bore the same name, became envious upon hearing his glories. The jealous Gandharva could not tolerate another famous and powerful Chitrangada. He came to earth and challenged his rival to battle. The battle raged for years but in the end the valorous son of Satyavati was slain and the proud Gandharva returned triumphant to the heavens.

Then the powerful Vichitravirya ascended the throne, but died from an illness after only seven years of ruling. Neither he nor his brother left a child.

Bhishma rose and looked out of the latticed window. A full moon illumined the palace gardens, casting a silver light across the broad sandstone paths where Vichitravirya had loved to walk with his queens. He turned back to Satyavati and continued, Mother, we cannot thwart Providence by acting immorally. In all circumstances a virtuous man acts in obedience to God’s will. Auspiciousness and victory always attend virtue, while grief is the sure result of unrighteousness. Therefore, I cannot abandon my vow.

Satyavati sat silently. Bhishma's adherence to truth and virtue was unshakeable. He had spoken well. She bowed her head as he went on, In any event, Mother, it seems destiny has provided us with a solution quite in keeping with religion. If the great sage Vyasadeva produces offspring upon the queens, we shall be saved. Let us pray that everything goes well.

Satyavati nodded. It was she who had summoned the powerful rishi Vyasadeva, her first-born son. It had taken some courage for her to reveal how she had given birth to that sage even in her maidenhood. Out of fear of public censure she had hidden this fact for years, but she still remembered how the celestial rishi Parasara had one day come onto her boat and begotten the great Vyasadeva in her womb. Parasara had told her that Providence had destined her for greatness. He was giving her an illustrious son who would play an important part in that great destiny. Parasara had then granted her the boon of keeping her maidenhood even after union with him––and it was he who had blessed her with the celestial fragrance which had captivated Shantanu.

Satyavati crossed the mosaic floor to the golden water pitcher on a nearby table. Her throat was dry with anxiety. She poured herself a cup of the cool water and then returned to her silk covered seat. Hundreds of bright oil lamps lit up the great hall where she sat. Along the high walls hung fine paintings of her ancestors, going back to the mighty King Kuru. All of them had been powerful emperors of the globe. Surely the Kuru dynasty would not end now. The queen said, I have been praying for the kingdom ever since my sons' demise. I have faith that Vyasadeva will prove a shelter to us all. But seeing the adverse fate afflicting us, I still cannot help but be fearful.

Satyavati felt deeply for the kingdom and for Shantanu’s line. She still acted out of her love for the departed monarch. It was certainly providential that Parasara had given her Vyasadeva as her son. Vyasadeva had grown to maturity immediately upon his birth and had left her, saying, Dear Mother, should you ever be in difficulty simply think of me. I shall come to you at once from wherever I may be.

As Bhishma and Satyavati spoke, Ambika's door opened and Vyasadeva emerged. Bhishma bowed at his feet and Satyavati quickly asked, Will the princess bear an accomplished son?

Raising his hand in blessing as Bhishma stood up, the sage replied to Satyavati, The queen will bear a son who will be as strong as ten thousand elephants. He will be vastly intelligent, wise and prosperous. He will have a hundred sons. But, pious lady, for the fault of his mother he will be born blind.

Satyavati was shocked. How can one who is blind become a king of the Kuru race? she asked.

Vyasadeva explained that he had gone to Ambika prepared to beget a son worthy in every way, but the queen had closed her eyes in fear when she saw him. When agreeing to produce an heir to the throne, the sage had stipulated that the queen must accept him in his unpleasant condition. Satyavati had summoned him from the Himalayas and he had come to her directly from his practice of harsh asceticism. He kept himself unwashed and unkempt as a part of his ascetic vows. He said, I would have come to the queen in a handsome form decked with jewels if she had first accepted a religious vow for one full year. But you asked that she conceive immediately. Therefore I stated my conditions in place of the religious vow.

Satyavati cursed herself for her impatience. She had not wanted to wait. Without an heir to the throne the kingdom was in constant danger. In a land without a monarch even the rains would not fall regularly and the gods would not be propitious. Therefore she had begged Vyasadeva to approach the queen at once. Now this! A blind son. How could he ever become the king?

You must give another child to the Kuru race, she implored. Please approach the other queen, Ambalika.

Vyasadeva looked upon his worried mother with compassion. He soothed her fears. He promised he would soon return again to beget another child. She need only summon him when Ambalika was prepared to receive him. Vyasadeva then disappeared from the spot. Satyavati turned and spoke to Bhishma. This is what I feared. I must now ask Ambalika to receive the sage. I pray that she will be more successful than her sister.

* * *

Within a month, Vyasadeva was called back. Once again he came from his austerities and appeared in a repulsive condition. Satyavati led him to Ambalika's bedchamber and the sage at once entered. Even though she had been warned by her sister what to expect, the princess was still struck with horror when the grim ascetic approached her. She turned pale with fright, although she kept her eyes open as she conceived. Vyasadeva then said to her, As you have turned pale upon seeing me, so your son shall also be pale. He will therefore be named Pandu, the ‘pale one'. The rishi then left the room. He met his mother outside and she asked about the child. Vyasadeva replied to her that a greatly powerful boy would be born but he would be pale.

Satyavati looked querulously at the sage. The child would be pale? What did that mean? Something was still not right. And in any event, even if everything was fine with this child, with only one qualified prince the kingdom would still be in a precarious position. Vyasadeva should try once more. She asked him to again approach Ambika. This time the princess, knowing what to expect, would keep her eyes open. Vyasadeva smiled and replied, Be it so. I shall return again shortly after she has delivered her first child.

In due course of time Ambika gave birth to a blind child who was named Dhritarastra. Ambalika delivered a pale child who was nevertheless effulgent and endowed with many auspicious marks on his body, and who was named Pandu in accord with Vyasadeva's words. Soon after, the sage again came to the palace in order to approach Ambika for a second time.

The queen was alarmed at the prospect of meeting again with the terrible-looking rishi. The thought was unbearable. She went to a maidservant who was an intimate friend and asked that she take her place. Giving the servant her own ornaments and adorning her with the finest robes, she had her wait in the bedchamber for the sage.

Although he knew everything, the rishi entered the chamber as before. As soon as she saw the exalted sage the maidservant rose up respectfully. She bowed at his feet and had him sit down comfortably. After washing his feet, the girl offered him varieties of delicious food. Vyasadeva was pleased. After laying with the girl, he said, Dear child, you shall be a maidservant no longer. Your son from our union will be wise, fortunate and the foremost of all intelligent men upon this earth.

Again Satyavati was waiting outside the bedchamber. Vyasadeva told her, The queen deceived me and sent instead her servant. That simple girl received me with all respect. She will therefore bear an auspicious child. I shall now go and continue my asceticism. I will return when you need me again, but, my dear mother, I will not beget any more children. Vyasadeva vanished, leaving Bhishma and Satyavati reflecting on his words.

In due course the maidservant gave birth to a child named Vidura, who later became the chief minister and advisor of the Kuru house. He was raised alongside his two brothers, and the three boys grew up like resplendent gods. Everyone was satisfied that the kingdom was secure. Happiness and prosperity were everywhere as the gods showered their blessings. Bhishma ruled as regent while the boys grew up.

Although Dhritarastra was the eldest, his blindness disqualified him from becoming the king. Nor could Vidura assume the throne, as he was born of a servant girl. But Pandu was a worthy monarch in every way; and when he came of age, he was installed on the Kuru throne. Pandu excelled all men in martial arts, and he soon became skilled in the Vedic science of leadership and diplomacy.

All three brothers were given the best education and were raised with affection by Bhishma. As predicted by Vyasadeva, Dhritarastra displayed immense bodily strength and Vidura was naturally wise even from childhood. His devotion to religion and morality could not be matched by anyone. When he reached maturity, even the learned Bhishma would seek his counsel. It was thus that one day Bhishma approached Vidura and said, O wise one, we should take steps to ensure that our noble line does not again face extinction. The two princes are ready for marriage. I have heard that there are three princesses worthy of being allied to our house. Tell me your thoughts on this, gentle Vidura.

Bhishma said that there was a princess in the Yadu kingdom named Kunti, another named Gandhari, who was a daughter of the mountain king Suvala, and a third princess named Madri, in the southern land of Madra. He suggested that two of these girls could be sought for Pandu and the other for Dhritarastra.

Vidura folded his hands and replied, My lord, you are our father, protector and preceptor. You should do whatever you feel is proper for the welfare of our dynasty.

Bhishma sat in thought. He had heard that Gandhari had received a boon from Shiva, who had said she would have one hundred sons. Surely she would make a good wife for Dhritarastra, who had also been blessed in a similar way by Vyasadeva. A hundred sons from that powerful prince would be a great asset to the kingdom and would ensure the perpetuation of the Kuru dynasty. Bhishma at once arranged for messengers to go to Suvala and ask for the hand of Gandhari.

When King Suvala heard Bhishma's request, he was hesitant. How could his daughter marry a blind prince? But Suvala reflected on the possibility. Dhritarastra belonged to the glorious Kuru house. They had ruled the world for thousands of years. Considering the fame, nobility and virtue of the Kurus, Suvala assented to the marriage. He had his son Shakuni bring Gandhari to Hastinapura. When the princess heard that she was to marry the blind Dhritarastra, she took a cloth and bound her own eyes, not wanting to be in any way superior to her lord.

Shakuni gave away his beautiful sister to Dhritarastra along with many gifts sent by Suvala. After being duly respected by Bhishma, he then mounted his golden chariot and returned to his kingdom. Gandhari became immediately devoted to her husband. She pleased him in every way by her attentions, she never even referred to other men in her speech, and a silk cloth always covered her eyes.

With Dhritarastra married, Bhishma turned his mind to Pandu's marriage. He had heard that the princess Kunti would soon select a husband at a special ceremony known as a swayam-vara. That princess was famous for her beauty and womanly qualifications, and she belonged to the noble Yadu race, from whom had come many great heroes. Bhishma told Pandu to leave at once for the swayam-vara and try to win Kunti's hand.

The king mounted a great dark stallion and rode swiftly to the kingdom of Kuntibhoja, the father of Kunti. Like a proud lion, he strode into the swayam-vara arena. When the many other kings assembled there saw Pandu, broad-chested and with eyes like a furious bull, they considered him to be a second Indra. He outshone all the other monarchs like the sun rising in the morning and obscuring the stars. When Kunti saw the powerful Hastinapura monarch gazing at her, her mind became agitated. There could be no one else for her. Trembling with emotion, she walked slowly toward him and shyly placed the nuptial garland around his neck.

Although many kings and princes desired Kunti's hand, and even though a swayam-vara would almost always end in a fight, everyone abandoned any thought of competing with the mighty Pandu for the princess. Mounting upon their steeds and chariots, they simply returned the way they had come. King Kuntibhoja came down from the royal platform into the arena, his face bright with delight. What better match was there for his daughter? The king immediately arranged for the wedding ceremony, and he presented Pandu with gifts of great wealth.

After a few days the couple left for Hastinapura, accompanied by a large retinue bearing many colorful pennants that waved in the breeze. The soldiers beat drums and blew loudly upon their conchshells as they proceeded toward Pandu's capital. Seated with Kunti upon a shining golden chariot and surrounded by brahmins offering benedictions, Pandu entered Hastinapura in state.

Bhishma was overjoyed to see Pandu married to the gentle and beautiful princess, but he also felt that the king needed another queen. Although Gandhari had received the benediction that she would bear a hundred sons, Kunti had no such boon. Bhishma wanted to ensure that the virtuous monarch was blessed with powerful sons. He went personally to the kingdom of Madra to seek the hand of Madri for Pandu. She was under her brother's, King Shalya's, protection.

Shalya received with all honor Bhishma and his retinue of ministers, brahmins and rishis. He brought Ganga's son into his palace and offered him a seat of white ivory studded with precious gems. Then the king bathed his feet and offered him respectful worship. His reception completed, Bhishma said to King Shalya, Mighty monarch, you should know that I am here to seek a maiden. I have heard that you have an illustrious and chaste sister and I would choose her for King Pandu. Please tell me if you approve of this arrangement.

King Shalya replied that he would be greatly honoured to be allied with the Kurus. There was, however, an ancient custom in his family that no girl could be given in marriage unless the suitor offered a tribute.

Bhishma had already heard of this custom, which dated back to the great Brahma himself. He had come prepared and replied to Shalya, There is no fault in this custom as it has the approval of the self-born creator, Lord Brahma. Therefore, please accept the gifts I have brought in exchange for the princess.

Bhishma's men then carried in heaps of gold coins, pearls, corals and gems of various colors, and set them before Shalya. Bhishma also presented the king with hundreds of elephants, horses and chariots.

Shalya received all the wealth with a delighted heart. He gave Madri to Bhishma, who soon returned to Hastinapura and performed the wedding ceremony.

Pandu established each of his wives in their own splendid palaces and gave himself up to enjoyment with them both. He sported in the palace groves and gardens, appearing like a celestial with two beautiful consorts.

Chapter Two. Pandu Cursed And Blessed

Although he possessed all material opulence, Pandu was by nature disinterested in sensual pleasure. After enjoying with his two wives for only a short while, his mind turned to more important matters. Although the Kuru dynasty had for many thousands of years been emperors of the globe and had upheld religious codes, their hold over other kings had begun to slip with the death of Shantanu and his two sons. Some of the kings had become arrogant, exceeding their own boundaries and antagonizing weaker kings.

Pandu felt impelled to take action. Going before Bhishma, he said, My lord, our dynasty's greatness has suffered diminution. The world is straying from the path of righteousness established by our ancestors. Irreligion is rising. It is my duty to our noble house, and indeed to the Supreme Lord himself, to go out and check the offenders.

Bhishma smiled. Here indeed was a worthy descendent of the great Bharata, after whom the very earth had been named. He replied, Your desire befits our line and is praiseworthy in every way. Take blessings from the brahmins and leave with an army. May victory attend you!

Pandu quickly assembled a vast force consisting of infantry, horsemen, elephants and chariots. As he left Hastinapura he looked like the king of the gods surrounded by his celestial army. Pandu marched to the east and defeated the king of the Dasarhas, who was becoming averse to Hastinapura's rule. Moving south toward Maghada, where the powerful King Dirgha was assailing many surrounding countries, Pandu attacked the proud king at his capital, Rajgriha, and killed him.

After that Pandu subjugated several other warlike kings. He ranged across the globe like a fire, his far-reaching arrows and the splendor of his weapons resembling brilliant flames. As his fame spread, monarchs submitted without resistance. Soon all the world's kings recognized him as the most powerful ruler on earth. They bowed to him with joined palms and offered tribute of various kinds.

After this one-year campaign, Pandu returned to his capital with the wealth he had obtained. All the Kurus, with Bhishma at their head, came out to greet him. They viewed with delight the train of elephants, oxen, camels, horses and chariots, all laden with riches and stretching farther than the eye could see. Pandu presented to the Kuru elders precious stones, pearls, coral, gold and silver piled in heaps, along with millions of cows, horses and other animals. He showed them innumerable costly blankets, rugs and skins from the rare black renku deer.

Pandu bowed at Bhishma's feet as he presented all this wealth, and Bhishma tearfully embraced the young king. Surrounded by brahmins uttering prayers and benedictions, the two men then mounted a golden chariot and proceeded to the royal palace, heralded by a fanfare of trumpets, conches and kettledrums.

Pandu ensured that his two brothers were each given much wealth. He had little personal interest in wealth, being more attracted to forests and plains than luxurious palace life. He loved to mount his stallion and ride out on long hunting expeditions. A few months after returning to Hastinapura, he decided to make his permanent residence in a forest among the Himalayan Mountains. Taking his two wives with him, he left his magnificent palace and moved to a simple dwelling on the mountainside. The local people would see the monarch roaming the woods with his wives. Encased in beautiful blazing armor and armed with bows and swords, he resembled a god wandering on earth.

Dhritarastra officiated as the king in Hastinapura on behalf of his younger brother. At his command, the forest people would supply Pandu with every object of enjoyment. Pandu had mastered his senses, so although he gracefully accepted their gifts, he continued to live simply.

One day Pandu went out hunting. He saw a couple of large deer mating. They bolted when they saw the king, but he quickly fired five swift arrows after them. As the golden-feathered shafts pierced the male deer, it fell down crying. To the king's surprise the dying deer began to speak in a pained voice.

Oh, how shameful! Even degraded men who are slaves to their senses never act so cruelly. No man's judgment can ever prevail against scriptural ordinance. How then have you, the king and a descendent of the noble Bharata race, acted in this way, so in conflict with Vedic direction?

Pandu stood before the deer, which was weeping bitterly, and replied, As a king it is my duty to hunt. I must control the forest, making it safe for the rishis. At the same time, I am able to practice the kingly art of weaponry. Why, even great sages in the past have killed deer in the forest by offering them in sacrifice. O deer, why then do you reprove me?

The deer replied that it did not condemn Pandu for injuring it, but for not taking into consideration that it was mating. The animal then told Pandu that it was a rishi named Kindama. He had assumed the form of a deer to mate with his wife in the woods. The rishi had no dwelling and could not unite publicly with his wife in a human form. He had therefore transformed himself and his wife into deer. The king had killed him just as he was about to beget a child in his wife's womb.

Kindama continued, No creature should be attacked at the moment of intercourse. Your act was cruel and sinful, and is liable to lead you to hell. It is especially reproachful as you are a king and are meant to chastise the wicked and protect the tenets of religion.

Pandu gazed at Kindama in shocked silence. The sage had spoken correctly. It had certainly been sinful to shoot at the deer as it mated. How had he allowed himself to be so overcome with passion? And what would come from having killed a rishi? This was a calamity. The king gazed downward, sunk in shame and regret.

Seeing Pandu's crestfallen condition, Kindama said, You need not fear the sin of killing a brahmin, as you did not know my true identity. But as you killed me when I was indulging in pleasure, so too shall you meet your death at such a time.

The rishi wanted to free Pandu from his sin. By cuRishing the king, Kindama knew that Pandu would immediately receive the reaction for his misdeed and thus not have to suffer after death. Struggling to speak as his lifeblood ebbed away, Kindama uttered his fearful imprecation.

When next you approach your wife out of desire, you will immediately fall dead. O King, as I was plunged into grief when I was happy, you shall also meet with grief at such a time.

The deer then gave up its life. Pandu stood for some moments unable to move. As he gazed at the deer's dead body hot tears ran down his cheeks. Gathering his wits, he returned to his hut. He immediately told his wives what had happened. Afflicted by sorrow, the king cried aloud with his two queens. He condemned himself again and again. Holding his head and lamenting, Pandu spoke in an anguished voice: I have heard that my father, although born of a virtuous man, was himself a slave of lust and died as a result. Having been begotten in the wife of a lustful king, I too have become afflicted with lust. I have become devoted to sin. My life is simply spent in killing innocent creatures. The gods have forsaken me and I stand cursed.

Pandu resolved to live a life of austerity. He declared that from that moment he would accept a vow of celibacy, as Bhishma had done. He would seek salvation by renouncing all sexual pleasure, the great impediment to spiritual understanding. Pandu spoke to his horrified wives, I shall shave my head and cover my body with dust. Sorrow and joy will be equal to me. I will entirely renounce anger and I devote myself to the good of all creatures. I will accept no gifts and obtain my food by begging. In this way, I shall transcend the dualities of this world and rise to the highest regions, where the Lord himself resides.

The king asked his wives to return to the capital and inform his elders of the turn of events. They should gratify the brahmins on his behalf, giving them much wealth. For his part, he would immediately retire into the wilderness and leave society forever.

Kunti and Madri were torn by grief. They could not face the prospect of separation from their husband. In piteous voices they begged that he allow them to follow his path. Both queens were prepared to accept whatever austerities he accepted. On behalf of them both, Kunti said, Let us together accept the order of vanaprastha, retirement in the forest. We shall be happy practising asceticism with you. If you leave us today, we shall not bear our lives any longer.

Seeing their distressed condition Pandu relented, but he made it clear that he intended to perform the strictest austerities. His wives were not deterred. They wished only to be with him wherever he went.

Pandu resolved to embark on his ascetic life immediately. He would not return to the city. He removed all his royal ornaments and gave them, along with his riches, to the forest brahmins. Then he said to his attendants, Go back to Hastinapura and inform Bhishma of everything that has occurred.

The royal attendants, accompanied by the brahmins, left sorrowfully for Hastinapura. The citizens lamented loudly when they learned of Pandu's plight. Dhritarastra was especially afflicted. Thinking of Pandu living so austerely in the forest, he could no longer derive pleasure from the comforts of his beds, servants and royal opulence. He continually wept and brooded over Pandu.

* * *

After his attendants had left, Pandu made his way into the forest with his wives. They walked steadily north for many days and finally arrived at Saptasrota, the hundred-peaked mountain. There the king constructed a wooden hut and began to engage in severe penance. Many rishis, Siddhas and Charanas lived in that region and Pandu soon endeared himself to them by his qualities of humility, self-control and devotion to his elders and to God. They would frequently visit his hut to converse with him.

With his mind fixed only on salvation, Pandu lived simply at Saptasrota. He ate only fruits and roots and drank clear water from mountain springs. His two wives accepted the same vows he had taken, and thus all three lived joyfully on the mountain like celestials descended from the higher regions.

Gradually over time Pandu thought more about his situation. One day he spoke to the rishis, revealing his fears. O greatly learned ones, I have heard that a sonless man cannot attain heaven. By having sons one pays his debts to his ancestors. If I die without issue, my forefathers will surely perish, as the sraddha offerings will cease. I am thus filled with apprehension because I cannot beget children.

Pandu sighed in anxiety. He would often perform the sraddha ceremony for the welfare of his departed ancestors. The Vedas state that such food offerings made to the gods on their behalf ensure their continued happiness in heaven. The monarch was concerned. What would happen when he died? Who would continue the offerings to his forefathers and, indeed, to himself? He folded his palms in supplication. Great sages, see my afflicted state and be merciful. I beg you to beget children in my wives, just as Vyasadeva begot myself and my brothers.

Smiling, one of the rishis replied, By our ascetic powers we have seen that you will undoubtedly have children like the gods themselves. Indeed, your progeny will fulfill the purpose of the celestials. All this we can clearly see. Therefore you should certainly act in such a way as to somehow produce children. Consult first with your wives and then decide what should be done.

Pandu reflected on the rishi's words. It seemed the sages were amenable to his suggestion. He went to Kunti and spoke with her in private. O lady of sweet smiles, I desire offspring, but due to my vicious behavior I have lost my power of procreation. In such instances the scriptures sanction that some other worthy man may beget children on my behalf. Please, therefore, accept another man and conceive a child for me.

Pandu pointed out that even he and his brothers had been conceived in this way. Kunti should thus accept a qualified brahmin, who was superior to him, in order to have a child.

The noble Kunti did not like Pandu's suggestion. She looked down and spoke softly in reply, O virtuous one, please do not request this of me. I am your lawful wife, ever devoted to you. I shall certainly not accept another's embrace, even in my imagination. O King, embrace me to beget offspring. I shall ascend to heaven with you. Who is superior to you?

Kunti recited to her husband an ancient history she had heard. There was once a powerful king who had died without issue. His lamenting wife had embraced his dead body and by the arrangement of the gods she conceived children. Three qualified sons were born of her union with her dead husband. Kunti asked Pandu to emulate that king.

Pandu shook his head. I do not possess such power. Our only recourse is the rishis. One of those great sages should conceive with you. I see no other way.

The king assured her that no sin was attached to such an act. It was his responsibility, as he was commanding her as her husband, and she should not hesitate to comply with his request. Pandu tried in many ways to convince his wife.

At last, Kunti, seeing her husband's determination, said to him, I shall tell you of a boon I received while in my maidenhood, which may yet prove to be our deliverance. When I was a girl in my father's house, he would engage me in serving guests. One day the powerful mystic Durvasa arrived. By my service and constant attention to all his needs I greatly pleased that rishi. As he was leaving he called me aside and said, ‘Gentle maiden, I shall confer upon you a boon. Listen as I recite a mantra. This mantra, uttered by you, will summon any of the celestials you desire. Whether agreeable or not they will then be obliged to do your bidding.'

Kunti already had experience of the mantra's power. As soon as she had uttered it once and thought of Surya, that blazing deity had appeared before her. He had then conceived a son. Kunti therefore knew that she could summon other gods to produce further children. She had not wanted to reveal this secret, being reluctant to unite even with the gods in place of her own husband. But this was an emergency. It seemed that the time to make good use of Durvasa's mantra had come.

Pandu, who had known nothing about the boon, was overjoyed upon hearing Kunti's words. This was surely the Lord's arrangement. Sons from the gods would be far superior to any born of earthly men.

Kunti asked her husband which of the deities she should call. Pandu thought for some moments and then said to his wife, O beautiful lady, you should call the great Dharma, god of justice. He will never pollute us with sin and his son will undoubtedly be qualified in every way.

Kunti assented to Pandu's request. She sat in meditation and thought of Dharma, reciting the mantra Durvasa had given her. Within moments the deity appeared, riding on a resplendent chariot. Shining like the sun, he smiled and said to Kunti, What should I do for you?

Awed by the god's splendor, Kunti replied in a trembling voice, I desire a child by your illustrious self.

Dharma at once united with her in his spiritual form and then disappeared. Kunti conceived and in due course gave birth. During the eighth month of the year, at noon on a full moon day, when the auspicious star Jyestha was in the ascendant, she brought forth a lustrous son. As soon as he was born a celestial voice was heard in the sky: This child will be the best and most virtuous of men. He will be devoted to truth, highly powerful and famous throughout the three worlds. Known as Yudhisthira, this boy will rule the earth.

Pandu was overjoyed. The gods had not forsaken him after all! Here was a child worthy of his great dynasty. He no longer had to be anxious.

Then he began to consider the situation. He saw that by Durvasa's boon Kunti could obtain more powerful sons, born of the gods themselves, who would ensure the Kuru's welfare and become great leaders in the world. Pandu approached Kunti again, a year after Yudhisthira's birth, and said, The wise have declared that a ruler should possess strength as well as righteousness. Therefore, please invoke the wind-god, Vayu, the strongest of the gods. By him we shall get a son who will be the most powerful man upon this earth.

Kunti folded her palms and bowed in assent. She again sat in meditation, this time calling for Vayu. In moments the god appeared, riding a huge deer. In a voice that sounded like thunderclouds, the effulgent god said with a smile, O Kunti, what do you desire from me?

Kunti was bashful as she replied, O best of the celestials, please give me a son who will possess immense bodily strength, and who will be capable of humbling the pride of all.

The god agreed, and by his yogic power he approached Kunti and conceived a child within her womb. When Vayu's child took his birth a voice was again heard from the sky, saying, This child will be the best of all those endowed with strength and power.

Pandu and Kunti were even more joyful to see their second son, whom they named Bhima. Along with Madri, and in the company of the rishis and Siddhas, they lovingly raised their children in the remote and beautiful woodlands on the mountainside.

Some months after Bhima's birth, Kunti was sitting near the edge of a mountain cliff with Bhima asleep on her lap. Suddenly a tiger roared nearby. She jumped up in fear and the baby rolled from her lap over the cliff edge. Struck with horror, Pandu quickly descended the cliff. When he reached the bottom he saw the child lying unharmed amid a pile of rocky fragments. The baby had landed upon a large rock and had smashed it to pieces. In amazement Pandu gently lifted his child and took him back to Kunti.

Even with two sons, Pandu continued to reflect on the future of his dynasty. He thought, Success in this world depends upon exertion, but exertion is always subordinate to destiny. Yet even destiny is controlled by the will of the Supreme Lord. How then can I obtain a son who will be the best of all those devoted to the Lord?

Pandu thought of Indra, the king of the gods and a famous devotee of the Lord. Indra had formerly performed a thousand sacrifices for Lord Vishnu's pleasure, and he possessed immeasurable might, prowess and glory. From him would surely come a son who would be superior to all.

Pandu consulted with the rishis and was advised that he and Kunti should practice an ascetic vow for one year to please Indra. At the end of that period Kunti should summon the god with her mantra.

The monarch and his wife then accepted a vow of standing on one leg from sunrise till sunset, taking neither food nor water. They kept their minds absorbed in meditation and prayer for one complete year, with an aim to please Indra. At the end of the year Indra spoke to Pandu in his meditation. I have become pleased with you, O King. I shall give you a son who will protect religion and chastise the wicked. He will delight his friends and relatives and slay his foes. Indeed, this boy will be the best of men.

Following Pandu's request, Kunti again chanted her mantra. Indra appeared immediately, his bodily luster lighting up the whole region. By the power of the thousand-eyed Indra, Kunti conceived, and in time a dark-complexioned child was born. For the third time the heavenly voice was heard, resounding over the mountainside: O Kunti, this child will be equal in strength to Indra and indeed Shiva himself. He shall be called Arjuna and he will spread your fame everywhere. He will subjugate many powerful kings and greatly increase the prosperity of your dynasty. Agni, Shiva and Indra will all be gratified by this boy's service. He shall have no equal in prowess and will be famous throughout the three worlds.

Overhearing this as well as other prophecies regarding Arjuna's future greatness, the rishis on that mountain were filled with joy. They uttered blessings while the celestial drums reverberated and showers of flowers fell from the sky. Many gods and heavenly sages appeared before Kunti and offered the child benediction. Only the ascetic rishis could see them as they appeared in their ethereal forms, standing in chariots and on mountain peaks. That wonderful sight astonished the rishis and they stood with folded palms.

Pandu was delighted. He now had three matchless sons. Seeing the wonderful result of Durvasa's boon, he decided to ask Kunti to use the mantra a fourth time and summon yet another powerful god. When he approached her again, however, Kunti refused. O learned man, even in times of emergency it is never sanctioned by scripture for a woman to have intercourse with more than three men. Have you forgotten the ordinance? I would become debased if I again conceived by another.

The king fell silent. Kunti was right. He decided not to ask for any more sons and continued to live peacefully in the forest with his two wives. Their three sons grew luxuriantly in their care.

Then one day Madri approached Pandu privately. My lord, I do not complain that you treat me less favorably than Kunti. Even though I am of a higher birth, I still have no complaint. My one grief is that you have no sons by me.

Madri found her position unbearable. No princesses in her line had ever gone without issue. Kunti had three sons. Madri had heard that Dhritarastra's wife, Gandhari, had given birth to a hundred sons in Hastinapura. Yet she, the lawful wife of a great hero, was childless. She asked Pandu to request Kunti to teach her the mantra. Madri explained that she was too shy to ask her directly, since Kunti was her rival.

Pandu looked with compassion at his younger wife. Dearest lady, I had already been considering this myself. I was reluctant to ask you because I was not sure how you might feel. Now that I know your mind, I shall certainly speak with Kunti. I do not think she will refuse.

The monarch approached Kunti immediately. He told her of Madri's sorrow and asked her to be gracious to her co-wife. Pandu made it clear that he also desired more sons to secure more fully the good of his race, including that of himself and indeed Kunti.

Kunti assented to her husband's request and told Madri, I shall recite the mantra for your benefit. Please think of some deity from whom you desire offspring.

Madri thought carefully. Most probably Kunti would allow her to use the mantra only once. If she summoned the inseparable twin Ashvini gods, she would get two sons at once. Even as she thought of the two gods they appeared before her, aglow with celestial splendor. Bashfully, she asked that they unite with her to conceive children and they immediately agreed. They begot upon Madri two boys of incomparable beauty who were named Nakula and Sahadeva. Upon their birth the divine voice said, These virtuous and accomplished sons will transcend in energy and beauty even their celestial fathers.

With five godly sons Pandu felt that the future success of his dynasty was assured. The rishis performed all the rites of passage for the boys and they grew up swiftly. After just one year they appeared as if they were five years old. Pandu was overwhelmed with happiness at seeing his sons' extraordinary strength, beauty, energy and wisdom. All the boys became favorites of the rishis and they sported like five Gandharvas descended to earth.

Pandu’s sons all became fearless bowmen who were capable, even in their early youth, of facing furious mountain lions. The rishis schooled them in every facet of Vedic knowledge. They were astonished to see the boys growing so rapidly, like lotuses blooming in a lake. Pandu and his wives offered prayers of thanks to Lord Vishnu for their great fortune, and they went on living in the Himalayan region, raising their children with affection.

Chapter Three. The Pandavas Come to Hastinapura

In Hastinapura, Dhritarastra had performed five sacrifices with the wealth Pandu had given him. He gave charity to hundreds of thousands of brahmins and satisfied the gods with his offerings. The kingdom flourished and the citizens had everything they desired. They were devoted to virtue, sacrifice and truth. Bearing love and affection for one another, they grew in prosperity. Hastinapura was filled with countless palaces and mansions. There were golden arches and crystal fountains everywhere. Between broad, paved highways lay beautiful gardens and the air was filled with the sweet fragrance of blossoming trees. The clatter of horses' hooves and chariot wheels resounded everywhere, mixing with the sound of trumpeting elephants and the blare of conchshells marking the beginning of sacrificial performances. Holy chants uttered by numerous brahmins emanated from tall and exquisitely constructed temple buildings, which graced the city in their thousands. Hastinapura appeared like Indra's celestial capital, and each day dozens of feudal kings would arrive bringing tribute.

Assisted by Bhishma, Dhritarastra ruled the kingdom on Pandu's behalf. After Pandu’s curse and his subsequent retirement, Dhritarastra, despite his blindness, was installed as monarch. He thought sadly of his brother and missed him greatly, but in his absence he competently managed all the affairs of state.

It once came to pass that Vyasadeva arrived hungry and thirsty at Dhritarastra's palace. Gandhari attended to him conscientiously. Vyasadeva was pleased with the girl and blessed her, You shall soon have one hundred sons as powerful as your husband. In due course of time Gandhari conceived. For two years she bore the embryo within her womb, becoming increasingly anxious. Then one day news reached her that Kunti had given birth in the forest to a boy as effulgent as the morning sun. Out of frustration and anger at her own excessively long gestation, she violently struck her womb. She then brought forth a hard mass of flesh that resembled an iron ball. As her nurses informed her of the stillbirth, she was afflicted by grief and thought of Vyasadeva and his boon.

At once the sage appeared before her and said, What have you done?

Gandhari told him how she had become overwhelmed with envy and frustration when she had heard of Kunti giving birth to Yudhisthira. With tears in her eyes she said, I struck my womb and this lump of flesh came out. What then was the meaning of your boon?

Vyasadeva replied that his words could never prove false. He asked the servants to bring one hundred one pots filled with ghee. He sprinkled cool water on the lump of flesh and it gradually divided into one hundred and one parts, each the size of a thumb. These were placed in the pots which were sealed and placed in a concealed spot. Vyasadeva instructed that the pots should be opened only after two more years had passed. He then departed for his lonely mountain ashram.

Exactly after the two years had elapsed the pots were opened one by one. From the first came a child who was named Duryodhana. At the moment he was brought out of the pot the sound of braying asses and screaming vultures was heard. Jackals howled and the wind blew fiercely. Without any apparent cause, fires sprang up all around the city and raged in all directions.

The frightened King Dhritarastra summoned the brahmins, as well as Bhishma, Vidura and other ministers and counselors. He asked them the meaning of the omens. The king said, The eldest of the princes is undoubtedly Yudhisthira and he should inherit the kingdom. I do not dispute that. But will my own son become the king after him? O wise ones, please tell me what is right and lawful.

As Dhritarastra spoke the terrible sounds began again from all sides. Hearing this, Vidura replied to the king, When these omens are seen at the birth of a child, it is evident that he will be the exterminator of his race. Our prosperity and future depend upon his being abandoned. Do not hesitate, O King. This child must be cast away at once.

Vidura told Dhritarastra that he would still have many other sons. There would be no sin in abandoning this child, as the scriptures clearly state that an individual can be abandoned for the sake of a family. Indeed, a family can be abandoned for the sake of a village, a village for the sake of a city and the world itself can be abandoned for the sake of the soul.

Dhritarastra was unable to accept Vidura's counsel. He looked away from Vidura and said nothing in reply. As the nurse stood by holding the baby, the king waved her toward Gandhari and the child was handed to her. Bhishma and Vidura looked at one another but said nothing. Dhritarastra was the monarch; his word was final.

Over the course of the next month, all the pots were opened and one hundred boys and one girl were brought out. All the boys bore the signs of being great warriors and rulers. The king and queen rejoiced in their good fortune. Dismissing the evil omens, they dwelt contentedly in Hastinapura, attended by Bhishma and Vidura.

* * *

On Saptasrota Mountain, spring had arrived. Surrounded by his five youthful sons, Pandu felt young again. He sported with the boys in the hills, scaling rock faces and challenging lions in their caves. They dived and played in mountain pools and climbed tall trees. Wrestling and laughing together, they rolled about the soft grassy slopes.

One evening Pandu went into the woods with Madri to fetch roots and fruits for their evening meal. As they strolled, they saw countless varieties of blossoming trees and bushes. The air was heavy with scent and the sounds of cuckoos and other birds filled the air. Black bees swarmed about the many-colored flowers that surrounded lakes overgrown with lotuses. The celestial atmosphere awoke romance in Pandu's heart. He gazed at the beautiful Madri, his mind influenced by Cupid. It was a hot day and Madri was clad in a long silk robe. In the bright sunshine, Pandu could see the outline of her exquisite form, which resembled that of a goddess. The soft breeze made her dress cling to her body, revealing her slender waist and firm, round breasts.

Pandu could not suppress his desire. He had kept himself in check for twelve years and had not dared to contemplate embracing his wives. Kindama's curse was always uppermost in his mind and he had resigned himself to practising celibacy with the determination of a rishi. It seemed ages ago when he had been able to enjoy conjugal love with his wives. Now Pandu again felt those stirrings moving his heart. His mind was confounded and he moved closer to Madri, gently placing his hand on her arm.

Madri at once understood what was in Pandu's heart. His amorous touch electrified her, but she was bewildered by conflicting feelings. How was he suddenly approaching her in this way? Out of fear of the curse he had carefully avoided any physical contact with either her or Kunti for a long time. Although she herself had longed for his embrace, she had scrupulously avoided any situation that might entice her husband. She did not even apply cosmetics or perfumes. But as the powerful Pandu embraced her, she felt her resolve weaken. Delight and fear seized her heart at once. As her emotions clashed, her mind was petrified. What about the curse! If Pandu did not stop, he would doubtlessly be destroyed. She had to prevent him.

Madri tried to push her husband away. Pandu smiled, incited further by her protests. His mighty arms, deeply tanned and marked with scars from his bowstring, closed around her like serpents. Overpowered by