novelraw Arc 1 - Aranyaka and Kirmirabadha Parva - Chapter 3 - Maitreya’s Curse
Arc 1 - Aranyaka and Kirmirabadha Parva - Chapter 3 - Maitreya’s Curse
Vaiśampāyana said:
O king, when Vidura had gone to the abode of the Pāṇḍavas, Dhṛtarāṣṭra, son of Ambikā and possessed of deep wisdom, began to repent of his deed. Thinking upon Vidura’s great intelligence in matters of war and peace, and upon the growing strength of the Pāṇḍavas, the old monarch was struck with grief.
Approaching the door of the hall of state, he sank to the ground in the presence of the assembled kings. Regaining consciousness, he rose, and turning to Sanjaya, spoke with a voice heavy with remorse:
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:
My brother and my friend is as Dharma’s god himself;
Remembering him today, my heart is scorched in grief.
Go, bring him to me without delay—
My soul will find no rest without him.
The king wept bitterly, burning with repentance and overcome by fraternal affection. Again he spoke:
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:
Go, O Sanjaya, and see if my brother lives,
Whom I—wretched in anger—drove away.
He has never wronged me, even in the smallest thing,
Yet I have done him grievous harm.
Bring him back, O wise one,
Else I shall give up my very life.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Hearing these words, Sanjaya assented, saying “So be it,” and set out swiftly toward the forest of Kāmyaka.
Reaching the grove where the Pāṇḍavas dwelt, he saw Yudhiṣṭhira in deer-skin attire, seated with Vidura in the midst of thousands of Brāhmaṇas, guarded by his brothers—like Purandara among the celestials.
Approaching, Sanjaya bowed to Yudhiṣṭhira and was honoured by Bhīma, Arjuna, and the twins. When he had been seated and questioned on his welfare, he delivered his message:
Sanjaya said:
O Kṣatta, King Dhṛtarāṣṭra remembers thee!
Return to him without delay,
And revive his failing heart.
With the leave of these noble sons of Kuru,
It behoveth thee to go back at the bidding of that lion among kings.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus urged, Vidura, ever devoted to his kin, obtained Yudhiṣṭhira’s permission and returned to Hastināpura, the city of the elephant.
When he came before Dhṛtarāṣṭra, the son of Ambikā, full of energy, the king spoke:
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:
By my good fortune, O sinless one,
Conversant with the laws of righteousness,
Thou hast come, remembering me!
In thy absence I was as one lost on the earth,
Sleepless through day and night.
The king drew Vidura onto his lap, smelled his head in affection, and said:
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:
Forgive me, O faultless one,
The harsh words I spoke to thee.
Vidura said:
O king, I have forgiven thee—
Thou art my elder, worthy of the highest reverence.
I have returned, eager to behold thee again.
All virtuous men, O tiger among men,
Are drawn to those who are in distress.
This is not born of calculation—
My heart turns toward the Pāṇḍavas
Because they are now afflicted.
Yet thy sons are as dear to me as they are.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus exchanging words of apology, the two illustrious brothers—Vidura and Dhṛtarāṣṭra—were gladdened in each other’s company.
When it was heard that Vidura had returned and the king had reconciled with him, Duryodhana, the evil-minded son of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, burned with inward grief. His understanding clouded by envy, he summoned Śakuni, son of Suvala, along with Karṇa and Duḥśāsana, and spoke with bitterness:
Duryodhana said:
Vidura, friend to the sons of Pāṇḍu,
Has returned to the king’s good grace;
While he persuades our father’s mind,
You must devise what shields my place!
He went on:
“So long as Vidura fails to bring them back, think on what may benefit me. But if ever I behold the sons of Pṛthā return to the city, I will waste away again, renouncing food and drink, though no obstacle lies in my path. I shall either take poison, hang myself, enter the pyre, or fall upon my own weapons—but I will never behold the sons of Pāṇḍu in prosperity.”
Śakuni replied with a sly smile:
“O king, what folly clouds you? The Pāṇḍavas have gone to the forest under a vow. What you fear cannot happen. They abide firmly in truth; they will not violate their pledge to your father. If, however, they return, breaking their word, we shall feign obedience to the king, keep watch upon them, and bide our time.”
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Duḥśāsana nodded eagerly:
“Uncle, your words are always wise—your counsel is mine as well.”
Karṇa then said:
“All of us seek to serve your will, O Duryodhana, and I see we are of one mind. The Pāṇḍavas, with passions under control, will not return until their term is done. Yet if they come back, unthinking, defeat them once more at dice.”
But then Karṇa’s eyes flashed; his voice rose in pride and wrath:
Karṇa said:
Why wait for time to wear them down?
Why yield the forest to their breath?
Now, while they hunger, while they grieve,
Strike—
and seal their fates in death!
“Let us, in armour, armed with weapons, mount our cars and slay the Pāṇḍavas where they now dwell. Once they are quieted forever, we shall have peace, and so shall the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra. While they are in distress, sorrow, and without aid, they are our equals; in fortune restored, they are our masters. Therefore, strike now—this is my mind!”
Hearing the son of the charioteer, they applauded him again and again, crying, “Very well!” Each mounted his car, and, hearts eager for slaughter, they set out in a body to kill the sons of Pāṇḍu.
But the holy Kṛṣṇa-Dvaipāyana, Vyāsa of pure soul, knowing their purpose by spiritual vision, appeared before them and forbade their advance. Sending them away, the revered sage—worshipped by the worlds—proceeded swiftly to the king whose wisdom served him as eyes, and who sat in his hall at ease.
And the holy one addressed Dhṛtarāṣṭra, saying—
O Dhṛtarāṣṭra, hearken well,
I speak for Kuru’s lasting weal;
The path your son now treads in pride
Leads only where the doomed ones ride.
“O mighty-armed king, it has not pleased me that the Pāṇḍavas have been driven into the forest, dishonestly defeated at dice by Duryodhana and his allies. When the thirteenth year ends, recalling their sorrows, they may rain death-dealing weapons upon the Kurus like venom poured into the veins.
Why does your sinful son, wicked of heart and ever inflamed with anger, seek the destruction of the sons of Pāṇḍu for the sake of their kingdom? Restrain that fool! Let him remain still. If he attempts to slay the Pāṇḍavas during exile, he will only bring about his own death.
You, O king, are as honest as Vidura, as steadfast as Bhīṣma, as wise as we ourselves, as disciplined as Kṛpa, as learned as Droṇa. Dissension with one’s own kin is forbidden by dharma—sinful and ruinous. Therefore desist from such acts before they ripen into disaster.
Duryodhana’s jealousy burns like a hidden fire; if left unchecked, it will consume the Kuru race. If you must, send that wicked son of yours alone to the forest, to dwell with the sons of Pāṇḍu. Perhaps, through shared hardship, they may come to cherish him—and thus fortune may yet return to you.
But,” Vyāsa’s voice grew grave, “it is said—
Vyāsa said:
Nature clings to a man till death,
As scent to flower, as flame to breath;
A heart born crooked, bent in guile,
Will not grow straight, though nursed awhile.
“Tell me then—what do Bhīṣma, Droṇa, and Vidura think? What do you yourself think, O king? That which is truly beneficial should be done while there is still time, else your purposes will dissolve like mist in the morning sun.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Then Dhṛtarāṣṭra, hearing Vyāsa’s words, spoke with the heaviness of a man torn between wisdom and blind affection.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:
“O holy one, I did not approve of that game of dice. Yet, O muni, it seems I was drawn into it by the hand of fate. Neither Bhīṣma, nor Droṇa, nor Vidura, nor even Gāndhārī approved of it. Surely it was born of folly.
But, O you who delight in vows, though I know what is right, though I see the peril, my heart, chained by the love of a father, cannot cast away my senseless son Duryodhana.”
Vyāsa replied:
“O son of Vicitravīrya, your words are true. A son is indeed the highest of all treasures; none equals him in worth. Even Indra, the lord of the gods, learned this truth from the tears of Surabhi, mother of cows. Listen, O king, and I shall tell you that ancient and noble tale.”
In the days of old, Surabhi once wept in the celestial realms. Indra, seeing her tears, approached with compassion.
Indra said:
O auspicious one, why do you weep?
Are the worlds of gods in peril deep?
Has harm befallen men or snake,
That such a cry of grief you make?
Surabhi answered:
“No evil has touched the gods, O Vāsava. I weep for my son. Look there—upon the earth—see that cruel ploughman! He strikes my frail child with his stick, and presses upon him the heavy yoke. The stronger of the pair bears his burden with ease; but my son—thin, trembling, his body but a net of veins—staggers under the weight.
Beaten with the whip, harried without mercy, he falters, O wielder of the thunderbolt, and is near to death. For him I grieve.
Yes, I have a thousand offspring, O Śakra, yet my love flows equally toward them all. But compassion burns brightest for the one who is weakest and most in need.”
Vyāsa said:
“Then Indra, hearing Surabhi’s words, was moved to wonder. He understood that a child—any child—is dearer than one’s own life, and that the weak deserve the greater share of care. To shield her son, he poured down a sudden, heavy rain, halting the ploughman’s work.
And so, O king, as Surabhi’s love for her frail calf, so should your affection flow towards those among your sons who are oppressed and in distress.
As my son Pāṇḍu is to me, so are you, and so is Vidura of deep wisdom. I speak to you in love. You have a hundred and one sons, but Pāṇḍu had only five—and they now pass their days in hardship and sorrow.
Let your mind dwell on how their lives may be preserved, how they may prosper. If you desire all the Kauravas to live, let Duryodhana make peace with the sons of Pṛthā.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
When Vyāsa had finished speaking, Dhṛtarāṣṭra, heavy with remorse, turned to the sage with folded hands.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:
“O muni of deep wisdom, it is as you have said. I know it well, as do all these assembled kings. What you hold to be good for the Kurus has been told to me before by Vidura, by Bhīṣma, by Droṇa. If I am worthy of your favour, and if your heart still holds kindness for the Kuru race, then exhort my wayward son Duryodhana!”
Vyāsa replied:
“O king, here comes the great ṛṣi Maitreya, who has lately seen the sons of Pāṇḍu in the forest. He will speak to your son for the good of this race. Hear him well, and let his words be followed without doubt—for if your son disobeys, the sage’s anger will fall upon him.”
So saying, Vyāsa departed, and Maitreya entered the court. The king, with Duryodhana beside him, rose to greet the dust-covered sage, offering the arghya and other rites of welcome.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:
“O holy one, was your journey from Kuru-jāṅgala pleasant? Are the five sons of Pāṇḍu safe and well? Do they intend to remain their full term in exile? Shall the love between the Kauravas endure?”
Maitreya said:
“On my pilgrimage I came to Kuru-jāṅgala and there, in the woods of Kāmyaka, I saw Yudhiṣṭhira the just. Around him were many sages, drawn by his virtue, dwelling with him in the hermitage—his matted locks bound, his body clothed in deer-skin.
There I learned of the grave wrong done in your court—the deceit at dice and the danger it has brought upon the Kuru house. Therefore I have come to you, for my affection is great and my regard for your welfare deep.
O king, it is unfit that your sons should quarrel among themselves while you and Bhīṣma still live. You are the central post to which the bulls are tied—you hold the power to restrain or to release. Why, then, do you overlook the peril rising before you? Among the ascetics your name is spoken ill for the injustices that passed unpunished in your hall—acts fit only for the lowest of men.”
Turning then to Duryodhana, Maitreya’s voice softened but carried weight.
Maitreya said:
O mighty-armed prince, hear me well,
For I speak what is for your good.
Seek not strife with the sons of Pṛthā—
Let peace, not wrath, be your inheritance.
“These men you would oppose are lions in the field—each the equal of ten thousand elephants in strength, their bodies hard as the thunderbolt, their word unbroken, their pride rooted in manly deed. They have slain foes that the gods themselves dreaded—Rākṣasas who could take any form, Hidimva and Kirmira among them.
Think, too, how Bhīma, on his path of conquest, slew Jarāsandha, that warrior of vast might and iron will.
They are kin to Vāsudeva, and their brothers-in-law are the sons of king Drupada. Who, bound by age and death, would seek to match such men in battle?
O bull among the Bharatas, make peace with them. Take my counsel to heart. Do not surrender yourself to anger.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
When Maitreya had spoken thus, Duryodhana, in the pride of youth, struck his thigh—thick and strong like the trunk of an elephant—and smiled, scratching the earth with the tip of his foot.
He uttered not a word.
He did not lift his gaze.
His silence, laden with arrogance, was insult enough.
Beholding this studied slight, the sage’s eyes flared red. The air in the court grew heavy; even the whisper of the silks seemed to still. Maitreya, the best of munis, filled with the fire of wrath, touched water in solemn rite and spoke the words that fate itself seemed to place upon his tongue.
Maitreya said:
Since thou, slighting my counsel,
Refusest the path of peace,
Know, O son of Dhṛtarāṣṭra—
Thy thigh shall be shattered.
“In the great war born of the wrongs you have sown, Bhīma—lion among men—shall strike you down. With his mace he shall crush that arrogant limb, and your fall shall be as swift as it is certain.”
The king, stricken with fear, sought to soothe the sage, that the doom might be withdrawn. But Maitreya’s voice was unyielding:
“If your son makes peace with the sons of Pāṇḍu, my curse shall not take effect. Otherwise, it shall be as I have spoken.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Yet Duryodhana’s heart was unmoved, and Dhṛtarāṣṭra—desiring to gauge Bhīma’s strength—asked Maitreya how Kirmira, the man-eating rākṣasa, had been slain. But the sage, unwilling to speak further, replied:
“My words find no place in the heart of your son. When I have departed, Vidura will tell you all.”
So saying, Maitreya departed from the court, returning to the place from which he had come. And Duryodhana too withdrew, his mind uneasy at the news of Kirmira’s fate at the hands of Bhīma.