novelraw Arc 2 – Arjunabhigamana Parva - Chapter 6 - Bhīmasena’s Argument
Arc 2 – Arjunabhigamana Parva - Chapter 6 - Bhīmasena’s Argument
Vaiśampāyana said:
Hearing the impassioned words of Kṛṣṇā, Bhīmasena, his chest heaving and his breath hissing with wrath, strode to Yudhiṣṭhira. His eyes burned like embers in a storm, and his voice was the deep rumble of a war-drum.
“Walk, O monarch,” he said, “in the path once trodden by kings of might, who did not yield their realms to insult. What profit have we in dwelling among ascetics, stripped alike of virtue, pleasure, and profit? It was not by righteousness, nor by strength of arms, but by the crooked throw of dice that our kingdom was stolen by Duryodhana—
As a vile jackal steals the prey from a lion’s jaws,
So hath he snatched our sovereignty from us.
Why, O king, in devotion to the hollow merit of keeping a pledge, dost thou embrace this misery, letting slip the wealth that is the root of both virtue and delight? In thy carelessness, that kingdom—guarded by the wielder of the bow and beyond the reach even of Śakra—was wrested from us before our eyes. For thy sake, while we yet lived, our fortune was torn away, as fruit from the hands of one without arms, or cattle from a herdsman without legs.
We bore the burden of this calamity to please thee, O bull of the Bharatas, though in doing so we have riven the hearts of our friends and given joy to our foes. That we did not, even then, slay the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra is a folly that gnaws my soul. This dwelling in the forest, like a beast in its lair, is the lot of the weak; no man of might would choose it.
Neither Kṛṣṇa, nor Vijaya, nor Abhimanyu, nor the Śṛñjayas, nor I, nor the sons of Mādrī approve this course. Clad in the bark of vows, thou criest ‘Religion! Religion!’—but is it not despair that hath stilled thy manliness?
Cowards who cannot win back their wealth cling to despair;
It is fruitless—destructive of every aim.
Because thou hast chosen the life of peace, thou feelest not this burning grief. The sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra take our forgiveness for impotence. This weighs heavier on me than death in battle. Better to fall in fair fight, facing the foe, and win the warrior’s heaven; or, having slain them all, to grasp the whole earth—such would be a prosperity worth the cost.
We are bound to the customs of our order, to noble deeds, and to vengeance for our wrongs. If, despoiled of our realm, we rise in battle, the world will know our acts and grant us fame, not censure. That ‘virtue’ which torments oneself and one’s kin is no virtue—it is vice, and it breeds calamity. Virtue can be the weakness of men; and though a man live in virtue alone, both virtue and profit forsake him, as pleasure and pain forsake the dead.
Wealth that serves only its possessor’s hoard is barren—such a man is like a servant tending kine in a distant forest. He who chases wealth alone without virtue and joy earns the world’s censure, even death. He who hunts only pleasure, neglecting virtue and wealth, loses all three.
Pleasure without root is like a fish in a dried pond—
Its end is certain and swift.
Thus the wise guard both virtue and wealth, for their union is the source of true enjoyment, as fuel feeds the flame. Pleasure springs from virtue, and virtue flourishes with pleasure; they depend on one another like ocean and cloud. A man seeking wealth must root himself in virtue; a man seeking joy must first seek wealth. But pleasure yields no further fruit—it is its own end, as ashes yield nothing more from fire.
Sin slays men as a fowler slays birds. He who, blinded by pleasure or greed, cannot see the face of virtue deserves death and misery in both worlds. You know well, O king, the delights that wealth brings, and the changes they suffer. At their loss—by age, decay, or death—comes distress, and that distress has now seized us.
The joy that springs when senses, mind, and heart find their proper objects—that is pleasure, and it is among the best fruits of action. Therefore, O Yudhiṣṭhira, let us act, for in action lie the roots of both virtue and the end of our grief.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Hearing the impassioned words of Kṛṣṇā, Bhīmasena, his chest heaving and his breath hissing with wrath, strode to Yudhiṣṭhira. His eyes burned like embers in a storm, and his voice was the deep rumble of a war-drum.
“Walk, O monarch,” he said, “in the path once trodden by kings of might, who did not yield their realms to insult. What profit have we in dwelling among ascetics, stripped alike of virtue, pleasure, and profit? It was not by righteousness, nor by strength of arms, but by the crooked throw of dice that our kingdom was stolen by Duryodhana—
As a vile jackal steals the prey from a lion’s jaws,
So hath he snatched our sovereignty from us.
Why, O king, in devotion to the hollow merit of keeping a pledge, dost thou embrace this misery, letting slip the wealth that is the root of both virtue and delight? In thy carelessness, that kingdom—guarded by the wielder of the bow and beyond the reach even of Śakra—was wrested from us before our eyes. For thy sake, while we yet lived, our fortune was torn away, as fruit from the hands of one without arms, or cattle from a herdsman without legs.
We bore the burden of this calamity to please thee, O bull of the Bharatas, though in doing so we have riven the hearts of our friends and given joy to our foes. That we did not, even then, slay the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra is a folly that gnaws my soul. This dwelling in the forest, like a beast in its lair, is the lot of the weak; no man of might would choose it.
Neither Kṛṣṇa, nor Vijaya, nor Abhimanyu, nor the Śṛñjayas, nor I, nor the sons of Mādrī approve this course. Clad in the bark of vows, thou criest ‘Religion! Religion!’—but is it not despair that hath stilled thy manliness?
Cowards who cannot win back their wealth cling to despair;
It is fruitless—destructive of every aim.
Because thou hast chosen the life of peace, thou feelest not this burning grief. The sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra take our forgiveness for impotence. This weighs heavier on me than death in battle. Better to fall in fair fight, facing the foe, and win the warrior’s heaven; or, having slain them all, to grasp the whole earth—such would be a prosperity worth the cost.
We are bound to the customs of our order, to noble deeds, and to vengeance for our wrongs. If, despoiled of our realm, we rise in battle, the world will know our acts and grant us fame, not censure. That ‘virtue’ which torments oneself and one’s kin is no virtue—it is vice, and it breeds calamity. Virtue can be the weakness of men; and though a man live in virtue alone, both virtue and profit forsake him, as pleasure and pain forsake the dead.
Wealth that serves only its possessor’s hoard is barren—such a man is like a servant tending kine in a distant forest. He who chases wealth alone without virtue and joy earns the world’s censure, even death. He who hunts only pleasure, neglecting virtue and wealth, loses all three.
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Pleasure without root is like a fish in a dried pond—
Its end is certain and swift.
Thus the wise guard both virtue and wealth, for their union is the source of true enjoyment, as fuel feeds the flame. Pleasure springs from virtue, and virtue flourishes with pleasure; they depend on one another like ocean and cloud. A man seeking wealth must root himself in virtue; a man seeking joy must first seek wealth. But pleasure yields no further fruit—it is its own end, as ashes yield nothing more from fire.
Sin slays men as a fowler slays birds. He who, blinded by pleasure or greed, cannot see the face of virtue deserves death and misery in both worlds. You know well, O king, the delights that wealth brings, and the changes they suffer. At their loss—by age, decay, or death—comes distress, and that distress has now seized us.
The joy that springs when senses, mind, and heart find their proper objects—that is pleasure, and it is among the best fruits of action. Therefore, O Yudhiṣṭhira, let us act, for in action lie the roots of both virtue and the end of our grief.”
Bhīmasena’s voice did not soften; it deepened, flowing with the urgency of a river in spate.
“Thus, O monarch,” he said, “a man should hold virtue, wealth, and pleasure in due order—each pursued in its time, none abandoned entirely, none raised above all others. Let not virtue alone be thy aim, nor wealth thy highest longing, nor pleasure thy only pursuit; rather, seek all three together, for each sustains the other.
In the morning, seek the path of virtue;
At noon, strive for wealth;
In the evening, taste the sweetness of pleasure.
So do the scriptures teach, and likewise that in youth a man should seek pleasure, in the vigor of middle age wealth, and in the calm of age virtue. The wise, who understand the rhythm of time, divide their days and their lives thus, and so attain completeness.
Consider, O son of the Kurus, whether the possession of these three, or their renunciation, best leads to happiness. When thy judgment is firm, act without wavering. For the man who hesitates between two courses lives wretchedly, neither here nor there. Thy conduct has ever been shaped by virtue; knowing this, thy friends urge thee to act.
Gift, sacrifice, honor to the wise, study of the Vedas, and truth—these are the highest virtues, fruitful both here and hereafter. Yet these virtues cannot be reached by the man without wealth, though he be rich in every other accomplishment. The universe itself is founded upon virtue, and virtue upon wealth.
Wealth cannot be earned by the begging bowl,
Nor by the weakness of the slothful.
It is gained by intelligence, guided by virtue,
And strengthened by the arm of might.
Begging is the lot of the Brāhmaṇa, and in thy case is forbidden. Therefore, O bull among men, strive for wealth by thy own prowess. Neither the mendicant’s lot nor the life of a Śūdra becomes thee. Might and energy are the virtue of the Kṣatriya—adopt them, and with Arjuna and me at thy side, break the power of Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s sons.
The learned say that sovereignty itself is virtue. Win that sovereignty; it is not for thee to live in subjection. Awake, O king, to the eternal duties of thy order. Thou art born into a race whose deeds are stern and hard, yet ordained by God for the protection of subjects. To cherish thy people and guard their welfare is no reproach—it is thy sacred duty.
Deviation from the path of one’s own order
Brings only mockery and shame.
Cast aside this softness of heart. Stand as a king should stand, bearing the weight of the earth with manly strength. No ruler has ever gained sovereignty, prosperity, or affluence by virtue alone. As a fowler lures birds with grain, so must the intelligent ruler lure covetous foes with bait, and then seize his aim.
Consider the gods themselves—though the Asuras were their elder brethren and rich in power, the gods conquered them by stratagem. In this world, all belongs to the mighty. Let thy might, therefore, be armed with cunning, and thy cunning with might.
None can match Arjuna in the bow’s deadly art,
None can equal me with the mace in hand.
Let us lean on strength, not on the chatter of spies
Or the counting of numbers.
Might is the root of wealth; all else said to be its root is shadow without substance, as the winter sun casts a shadow that warms no one. Spend wealth as the farmer scatters seed—so shall it return multiplied. But where no greater gain can be won, spend not at all, for waste is like the scratching of an ass—pleasant in the moment, painful thereafter.”
Bhīmasena’s counsel grew more urgent, his voice weighted with the force of a warrior’s certainty.
“Thus, O king of men,” he said, “the wise man is he who, like the careful sower, casts away a little of his virtue to reap a far greater harvest of virtue in return. This, without doubt, is truth. The prudent weaken an enemy by severing him from his allies, causing those friends to abandon him, and then bring him under their yoke. Even the strong go to battle resting upon their courage, for neither unending toil without spirit nor the soft arts of conciliation alone can win a kingdom. Sometimes the weak, uniting in numbers, fell the mighty—like bees swarming to sting the plunderer of their honey to death.
Like the sun, O king, that nourishes with light yet destroys with heat,
Be at once the sustainer and the slayer.
Guard thy realm, cherish thy people—
This is the asceticism of kings, praised even in the Vedas.
By asceticism, a Kṣatriya wins not such blessed realms as he does by battle, whether that battle end in triumph or in death. Yet now, seeing thee in such straits, men whisper that light may desert the sun and grace the moon instead. Still, the good—whether speaking alone or in council—praise thee and condemn the other side. Both Kurus and Brāhmaṇas speak with joy of thy steadfast truth: that never from ignorance, meanness, greed, or fear hast thou uttered falsehood.
The sins of conquest are washed away
By sacrifice rich in gifts, by kine given in thousands,
As the moon emerges pure from clouded skies.
Thy name, O Bharata, is upon the lips of young and old alike. And the people say among themselves: “As milk in the hide of a dog, as the Veda in the mouth of a Śūdra, as truth in a thief, as strength in a woman, so is sovereignty in Duryodhana.” Women and children repeat it as though it were a chant learned by heart.
“Yet we, O king, share thy fall, and are lost with thee in this calamity. Therefore—ascend thy chariot, equipped with every implement of war. Let the foremost Brāhmaṇas bless thee, and ride at once toward Hastināpura. Bring back spoils for the Brāhmaṇas, as is the way of the victorious.
Surrounded by thy brothers—bowmen of unfaltering hand—
By warriors whose skill is as deadly as serpents with venom-fanged mouths—
Go forth like the slayer of Vṛtra, attended by the Maruts.
And thou, O son of Kuntī, crush the weak-hearted enemy with thy strength, as Indra grinds the Asuras to dust. Seize from Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s son the wealth and power he now enjoys. None can withstand the arrows, feathered with the vulture’s plume and venomous as serpents, that speed from the Gāṇḍīva. None—warrior, elephant, or steed—can endure the fury of my mace when wrath fills my heart.
Why should we not take back our realm, aided by the Śṛñjayas and the Kaikeyas,
And by the mighty bull of the Vṛṣṇis?
Why should the earth remain in the grip of the foe,
When by force of arms and loyal hosts we may win it again?”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus addressed by Bhīmasena, the high-souled king Ajātaśatru—ever steadfast in truth—mastered the rising tide of emotion within him. After a pause, he spoke, his words tempered by patience.
“No doubt, O Bhārata, all that thou hast said is true. I cannot reproach thee for wounding me with these sharp, arrow-like words, for they spring from love and loyalty. This misfortune is of my own making.
It was I who sought the game of dice, dreaming to wrest Duryodhana’s kingdom from his grasp. It was then that the cunning son of Suvala, playing on behalf of Suyodhana, challenged me. Skilled in every deceit, born in the hill-country, Śakuni cast the dice before the whole assembly. I, untutored in such artifices, was ensnared.
The dice fell in his favour—odd or even as he wished—
And though I might have reined my mind, anger clouded my reason.
Pride blinds the eye, vanity deafens the ear, and hauteur drives away patience.
So it was, O Bhīma, that we were undone. When Duryodhana—coveting our realm—plunged us into misery and near-slavery, it was Draupadī who saved us from utter ruin. When we were summoned again, thou knowest well, as doth Arjuna, what Duryodhana declared before all the Bhāratas:
“If thou art vanquished, O Ajātaśatru, thou and thy brothers shall dwell for twelve years in the forest, and in the thirteenth remain hidden from my spies. If discovered, thou must begin anew. Shouldst thou pass unseen, this kingdom shall be thine again. If we are beaten, we too shall abide by the same vow.”
In the midst of the Kurus, I pledged my word: So be it. We lost—and were exiled. Now we wander these forests, enduring hardship. Still, Duryodhana, unsated, gave himself to malice and urged his followers to rejoice at our fall.
Tell me, O Bhīma—having sworn such an oath before honourable men, who can break it for the sake of an earthly kingdom? For the man of honour, even death is lighter than sovereignty won by treachery.
At the time of the play, thou didst wish to burn my hands in wrath; Arjuna restrained thee, and thou didst only crush thine own hands. Hadst thou acted then, perhaps this disaster would not have come. But now the pledge is given, the time set—what use in scourging me with these harsh words?
I grieve most that we did nothing as Draupadī was shamed.
My heart burns as if poisoned.
Yet a promise made before heroes cannot be broken by a Kuru.
Wait, O Bhīma, as the sower waits for the harvest. For the man wronged who strikes only when the fruit of his enemy’s malice is ripe, wins glory beyond measure. Such a one gains prosperity, compels the bowing of foes, and draws friends as the gods rally to Indra.
But this know well: my word cannot be false. To me, virtue is greater than life itself, and more blessed than heaven. Kingdom, sons, wealth, and fame—none of these equals even the sixteenth part of truth.”