Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling

Arc 4 - Kṛṣṇa-yāna Parva Chapter 5 - Kṛṣṇa’s Quiet Teaching: Destiny, Exertion, and the Embassage

Vaiśampāyana said:

Then spake Kṛṣṇa, the blessed one, in tones that were neither sharp rebuke nor idle praise, but the gentle speech of a friend who would quicken a noble heart. He declared that his former words had sprung from affection and purpose, not from pride, wrath, or the wish to wound. He knew Bhīma’s magnanimity and might; he knew, also, the greatness that Bhīma might bestow upon the Pandava cause—far greater than Bhīma himself imagined.

Kṛṣṇa then taught the measure of action in the world. He showed how the fruits of human deeds are mixed with doubt: what seems the cause of victory may become the seed of ruin; well-laid counsel may, by Providence, be baffled; and conversely, happenings unforeseen by human artifice may be altered by human exertion. Thus the wise say that some events are preordained by the past, while others yield to present striving. A man therefore should act, holding fast to the balance of destiny and effort, and doing his duty without being ravished by either success or failure.

It was this temper of mind that Kṛṣṇa sought to restore in Bhīma: a steadfast heart that neither exults nor desponds, that neither clings to outcome nor shirks duty. He explained that his chiding was meant to rouse courage and composure, not to assert certainty of victory. Action in the world is proper; inaction born of despair is not.

Thus Kṛṣṇa taught, that rang like the counsel of a rishi:

“Not for rebuke, but for thy good my words were cast,

Like seed in furrowed soil, to rise when needed most;

Know that the loom of fate and thy own hands at last

Weave what shall be—so act, nor count thyself lost.”

Then Kṛṣṇa declared his resolve: on the morrow he would go to Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s court and strive for peace, preserving the Pandavas’ rights. If peace came by his speech, infinite fame and fruit would follow, and both houses would be spared the net of death. But if obstinacy refused counsel, war would be inevitable—and in that dire hour the burden of battle would chiefly fall upon Bhīma and Arjuna. Other warriors would be led by those two; and Kṛṣṇa himself, though not indifferent to fight, would take his place as charioteer of Vibhatsu, that the warrior’s wish might be fulfilled and duty performed. He had, therefore, spoken to rekindle Bhīma’s energy and to make readiness of heart.

“I go as envoy, bearing words, not sword, to break

The chain of hate—yet if the chain be bound,

Then shall the seer of battle take the reins and wake

The warlike song; with thee the field shall sound.”

And Vaiśampāyana added:

So spoke Kesava—clear in purpose, gentle in rebuke, firm in resolve. Bhīma’s spirit, thus quickened, stood once more like iron tempered; Arjuna’s heart, and all the brethren, took fresh counsel from that divine resolve. Kṛṣṇa made ready in mind to set forth at dawn, bearing in his breast the double weight of peace and of fate.

Vaiśampāyana said:

Then Arjuna, peerless archer and steady of mind, who measured action as one measures the flight of an arrow, spoke to Kṛṣṇa with temperate resolve. He acknowledged Yudhiṣṭhira’s words and Kṛṣṇa’s counsel alike, yet in his breast both duty and hope contended.

“O Janārdana,” said he, “Yudhiṣṭhira has uttered what must be said. But hearing thy speech, it seemeth to me that thou too dost not deem peace readily compassed—both because of Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s covetousness and our present weakness. Thou knowest that human prowess alone is not the sole arbiter of fate, and yet without exertion no aim is achieved. What thou hast said is true, and yet truth oft wears many faces; nothing therefore should be called impracticable beforehand.

“Even in our distress the Kauravas prosper by crafty deeds and gain no lasting good. If pleaded aright, peace may yet be won. O Kṛṣṇa, be thou the messenger for peace. Thou art friend to both houses, as Prajāpati is friend to gods and asuras; work then for the common good. I do not doubt thy power to accomplish it swiftly—go forth, and thus may peace be brought about.

“But if, O hero, thou choosest another path and wilt strike at the evil of Duryodhana, we will accept thy counsel. Duryodhana and his kin indeed merit destruction for their deed of dice and the shame of Draupadī. What Kṣatriya invited to fight would turn away, even at the cost of his life? Having been driven from our throne by deceit, I too thought then that Suyodhana deserved death by my hand.

“Yet whether by gentleness or by the sword, I put my will behind thine. If annihilation of the wicked is the fit remedy, let it be done without delay. If peace is thy aim, then strive to win it—do quickly whatever thou deemest fit and beneficial for the Pandavas; we shall follow thee in both purpose and deed.”

Arjuna’s speech then fell into a short quatrain, clear as a battle-cry tempered by wisdom:

“If peace may stand by counsel’s art, let counsel move the day;

If sword alone can cut the knot, then let the sword have way;

For duty asks no timid heart, nor shuns the field of fray—

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Be this our choice, O Krishna, and so be this our stay.”

And Vaiśampāyana added:

Thus spoke Arjuna—resolute, compassionate, and bound to dharma—placing his bow of duty into the hands of Kṛṣṇa’s wisdom. The council stood hushed; each brother’s face was set as a shield, awaiting the envoy’s going and the verdict of destiny.

Vaiśampāyana said:

Then Kṛṣṇa, the holy one, spoke once more to the sons of Pāṇḍu, his words steady as a river in flood and cool as rain upon parched soil. With clear resolve he unfolded the measure of what he would do.

“O sons of Kuntī,” said he, “it shall be as you have spoken. I will strive to bring about that which is good for both the Pāṇḍavas and the Kurus. Between war and peace, peace is the path perhaps within my power. Yet know this, Vibhatsu: as soil must be tilled and freed from weeds by human hands but yields no grain without rain, so also human effort without providence bears no fruit. Men may contrive channels of water, yet if heaven withholds its grace, even that is dried away.

Therefore have the wise declared that destiny and exertion must act together; alone neither sufficeth. I will do all that human exertion can, but I cannot bind what is woven by heaven.

“Duryodhana, wicked of soul, acts defying dharma and the world, and feels no remorse. His sin is fed by Śakuni, Karṇa, and Dussāsana. Without tasting destruction with his kinsmen, he will never surrender the kingdom. Yudhiṣṭhira will not give it up submissively; Duryodhana will not yield it at our solicitation. I therefore doubt the propriety of even delivering Yudhiṣṭhira’s message.

He deserves death at the hands of all—even mine—for from your childhood he persecuted you, robbed you of your kingdom, and could not bear your prosperity. Many times he sought to sunder me from you, but I counted his wickedness for nothing. You know his heart as I know it; you know also that my heart seeks only Yudhiṣṭhira’s welfare. Why then, O Arjuna, dost thou suspect me as one ignorant of all? That grave act ordained in heaven is known to thee also—how then can peace be concluded with the foe?

Yet whatever can be done by word or act shall be done by me. Only do not expect peace from the wicked. Did not Bhīṣma himself, on the day of Virāṭa’s kine, entreat Duryodhana for peace? Did he not refuse? He will not part with even a span of the kingdom for a single day. I am obedient to Yudhiṣṭhira’s command, and therefore must turn these sinful deeds over in my heart once more.”

Then Kṛṣṇa summed his resolve as calm as thundercloud before rain:

“I go to speak where pride has shut the gate,

To sow good seed though stony be the ground;

If speech bear fruit, the world shall bless its fate—

If not, then wrath and dharma both resound.”

And Vaiśampāyana added:

Thus spoke Kṛṣṇa, lord of the Vṛṣṇis, steady in purpose and ready for the journey. His words fell like a two-edged sword—one side peace, the other war—and in the silence that followed, the sons of Pāṇḍu understood that the wheel of destiny had begun to turn.

Vaiśampāyana said:

Then Nākula of the twin-born line, fair as the moon in aspect and keen in counsel, rose and spoke to Kṛṣṇa with the cool clarity of a man who weighs season and circumstance. He praised Yudhiṣṭhira’s rectitude and approved what Bhīma and Arjuna had said, yet offered his own counsel shaped by change and prudence.

“O Keśava,” he said, “much hath been well spoken by Yudhiṣṭhira, and Falguni’s words also are known. As for my thought, listen: first hear what the enemy propose; then, putting aside all bias, do what the season requires. Conclusions differ with occasion. That which suits one hour may be unfit in another. Men cannot cling to one judgement when the hour and the needs of action shift.

“While we wandered in the woods our hearts were set upon one course; during the year of concealment our wishes were of another sort. Now that exile is over and concealment needless, our desires have changed. Attachment to the kingdom grows when the right to it is freshly remembered. Moreover, by thy grace, O Janārdana, an army of seven Akṣauhinīs stand arrayed for us—tigers among men, each a mountain of might. Who then would not be struck with fear seeing such hosts?

“Go first with words of gentleness; then, if need be, let stern words follow. Let mildness seek to bind him, and menace to dismay him, so that the wicked Suyodhana may tremble. What mortal of flesh and blood would willingly meet in battle Yudhiṣṭhira and Bhīma, the invincible Vibhatsu, and Arjuna his peer—nay, ourselves, Rama, Satyaki of might, Virāta and his sons, Drupada with friends, and Dṛṣṭadyumna with the hordes of Kāśī and Chedi at his back?

“When thou speakest, O Keśava, verily thy speech, backed by such force, will bear the object of Yudhiṣṭhira to its end. Vidura, Bhīṣma, Droṇa, and Vāhlika—those wise men—will understand and will press Dhṛtarāṣṭra and the sinful Suyodhana to follow counsel. With thee to speak and Vidura to plead, what cause can remain tangled or hard to smooth?”

Then Nākula’s thought fell into a brief quatrain, bright as a polished gem:

“First hear the word the foe would utter; then,

Let mercy plead; if mercy fail, be stern;

Backing speech with strength, the heart shall bend,

And law and right like hidden seeds shall turn.”

And Vaiśampāyana added:

So counselled Nākula—balanced in judgment, mindful of season and strength—urging that wisdom be followed by force if need be, and that mildness be the first arrow loosed from the bow of diplomacy.

Vaiśampāyana said:

Then spake Saha‍deva, the youngest of the brothers, whose speech was calm yet keen—he who measured consequence as one weighs the turns of the seasons. Though he acknowledged the eternal virtue of Yudhiṣṭhira’s temperate words, he now declared plainly that events should be so ordered that war might certainly follow.

“O Keśava,” said he, “the king hath spoken truth in counsel and righteousness; yet thou must act so that if peace be but a veiled pretense, the issue be war. Even should the Kauravas feign a wish for concord, provoke the conflict if it be needed. For when I remember Draupadī dragged in shame into the assembly, I feel no appeasement short of Suyodhana’s slaughter. If Bhīma and Arjuna and king Yudhiṣṭhira choose the path of virtue, then for the sake of justice I am ready to cast off mildness and meet Duryodhana in the field.”

Satyaki, that fierce warrior of the Yadu line, then rose and spoke with burning voice:

“Sahadeva speaketh—plain as truth and steel;

No balm can heal the outrage done to Draupadī;

Only the sword that severs pride may seal

The wound; only death of vice may set men free.”

“High-souled Satyaki,” he cried, “and I, too, burn with wrath. Recall, O Kesava, how in the woods the Pandavas stood in rags and deer-skins—how my own heart was then aflame. Therefore all warriors here, if asked, will echo the son of Mādrī. Let no soft words hide the blade that is due.”

Vaiśampāyana continued:

At the stern utterance of Satyaki, like the breaking of a drum at dawn, a leonine shout rose from every warrior assembled. The halls rang with applause and the cry of ‘Excellent! Excellent!’ Their breasts heaved; their hands sought the haft and cord; eager for the fray, they scattered joy like sparks. The assembly, which a little while before had leaned toward peace, now felt the old warlike fire rekindled—an omen that destiny itself girded the sons of Bharata for the coming hour.