Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling

Arc 4 - Kṛṣṇa-yāna Parva Chapter 17 - The Triumph of Counsel

Vaiśampāyana said:

Then that noble lady Viduḷā, the lion-hearted mother, spoke once more unto her son, her words filled with wisdom and resolve. Her tone, though stern, was steady as a river that bears both weight and grace.

“Whatever calamity may seize a king,

Let not his fear to others show;

For when his face is pale with dread,

His people’s hearts to weakness go.

When kings grow faint, the state decays—

The army breaks, the friends depart;

The timid join the hostile ranks,

And faith is shaken in each heart.

Some, who once humbled, seize their hour,

To strike their lord now fallen low;

The faithful few stand by in grief,

Yet powerless their aid to show.”

Then, softening her voice, she counselled him with affection and foresight:

“O Sanjaya, thou hast still many friends who once shared thy glory and still desire thy welfare. Do not terrify them by thy despondency, nor let them abandon thee in fear. My words, O son, are spoken not in wrath but to prove thy courage and awaken thy might. If thou comprehendest their meaning, then rise, gather patience, and gird thy loins for victory.

We possess hidden treasures, vast and unknown. I alone know their places. These I shall place at thy command. And there are allies who will stand beside thee—men steadfast in joy and sorrow, faithful in counsel, and fearless in war. Such friends, O grinder of foes, are jewels greater than gold to him who seeks his own welfare.”

Kuntī said to Bhīma:

“Hearing those words of his mother, filled with reason and fire, Sanjaya’s despair melted like frost before the sun. Though not wise by nature, he was moved by her strength of purpose, and spoke with newfound courage.”

“When I have thee, O mother wise,

Whose heart foresees my destined way,

I’ll win again my father’s realm,

Or perish striving in the fray.

Thy words are nectar to my soul,

I drink them yet unsatisfied;

Inspired, I rise with heart made whole,

My loins are girt, my will is tied.”

Vaiśampāyana continued:

Thus pierced by the fiery speech of his mother, the prince rose like a charger roused by the trumpet’s call and achieved all that Viduḷā had counselled. Her words became his armour, her faith his banner.

“When kings by fear or sorrow chained,

Sink faint beneath misfortune’s hand,

Let ministers with wisdom trained,

Recall this tale and bid them stand.

For this is Jaya — tale of might,

Of mother’s word and hero’s flame;

Its sound bestows the will to fight,

And hearts that hear it rise to fame.”

Kuntī then said to Bhīma, her eyes deep with meaning:

“This, O son, is the story that strengthens kings and restores courage. When a ruler is overcome with fear, his counsellor should recite this sacred history — for it kindleth energy and awakens might. This tale is Jaya, the Victory, and should be heard by all who seek triumph.

The woman with child who heareth it oft,

Bringeth forth a hero of peerless form;

Of fiery valour and godlike thought,

Resplendent as lightning in the storm.

Her son shall be righteous, strong in hand,

A guardian of truth, a lord of war;

Learned, generous, ever grand,

Shining like Indra’s radiant star.”

Vaiśampāyana concluded:

“Thus did Kuntī speak to rouse her sons from despair. And as the breeze revives a dying flame, so her words rekindled in them the fire of dharma and the power of their lineage. The story of Viduḷā and her son is therefore called Jaya—for through counsel, courage, and truth, it leads every heart from darkness unto victory.”

Vaiśampāyana said:

Then the noble Kuntī, mother of heroes and sustainer of dharma, addressed Vāsudeva, whose radiance filled her chamber like a second sun. Her eyes glowed with both tenderness and fire, and her words, uttered with steady grace, carried the weight of destiny.

“Say unto Arjuna these words of mine, O Kṛṣṇa,” said she,

“When he was born in the hermitage, as I sat surrounded by women,

A voice divine descended from the heavens,

Celestial and clear, proclaiming fate:

‘O Kuntī, this thy son shall rival the thousand-eyed;

He shall subdue the assembled Kurus in battle.

With Bhīma’s strength and Vāsudeva’s aid,

He shall conquer the earth and reclaim the throne of his fathers.

Prosperous shall he be, O lady of fame,

And with his brothers shall perform three mighty sacrifices.’

“O Kṛṣṇa of the Vṛṣṇis, thou knowest well

The steadfast truth and force of Pārtha’s arm,

His bow-string hums like the hymn of creation,

His heart is firm, his will divine.

Let it all be as that heavenly voice declared!

For if righteousness (dharma) is truth,

Then thou, O Keśava, shalt thyself fulfil it.”

Then she bowed her head in reverence, saying:

“I bow to dharma, which upholds all beings,

The unseen order that binds the worlds.

Say this unto my son Dhanañjaya—

That the mother’s vow rests upon the son.”

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Then she spoke of Bhīma, the wrathful son of the wind-god, saying:

“Unto Vṛkodara, ever ready for exertion, speak these words,

‘The hour has come, O mighty one,

For which a Kṣatriya mother brings forth a son!

Those foremost among men rejoice in battle,

They do not shrink when hostilities arise.

Thou knowest, O Keśava, the fire of Bhīma’s heart;

He is not still until his foes are ground to dust.’”

Kuntī’s voice softened, touched with the grace of affection:

“Say also, O Mādhava, unto Kṛṣṇā—Draupadī of the Pāñcālas—

That noble daughter-in-law of mine, adorned with virtue and fame:

‘O auspicious one, thou art worthy indeed;

Thy patience, thy wisdom, and thy purity

Shine as ornaments greater than jewels,

And thy conduct toward my sons is worthy of thee.’”

Then she turned her words toward the sons of Mādrī, radiant Nakula and Sahadeva:

“Say unto them, O Keśava,

‘Covet ye more than life itself those joys that arise from prowess.

For what is dearer to a Kṣatriya

Than the victory won by the strength of his own arm?

Before your eyes, O sons of Mādrī, the princess of Pāñcāla was insulted—

She who deserved worship was mocked with cruel words.

Who among the high-born can forgive that shame?

Not the loss of kingdom, not the dice,

But the weeping of Draupadī in the assembly

Is the wound that pierces my heart most deeply.’”

“That lady, fair as the morning,

Wept amid kings and heroes, yet none arose.

Though wedded to protectors mighty as Yama himself,

She stood unshielded before her foes.

Tell Arjuna, that tiger among men,

To walk ever in the path Draupadī shows.

For she is the voice of dharma in their midst.”

Then Kuntī spoke in solemn wrath:

“Thou knowest well, O Keśava,

The fury of Bhīma and the fire of Arjuna—

They are the twin Yamas, destroyers of the worlds.

Is it not an insult that Kṛṣṇā was dragged before them,

Her hair dishevelled, her heart unguarded?

Recall to them, O Vāsudeva,

The cruel words of Duḥśāsana spoken to Bhīma

In the presence of all the Kurus.

Tell them this, and tell them that their mother liveth still,

And remembereth all.”

Her voice trembled, yet her faith stood unbroken:

“Say unto my sons, with their children and Kṛṣṇā,

That I am well, and that my heart abides with them.

Go now, O Janārdana, protector of dharma—

Go upon thy blessed way, and guard my sons!”

Vaiśampāyana said:

When Kuntī, the revered mother of the Pāṇḍavas, had thus spoken, Vāsudeva—mighty-armed and lion-gaited—bowed to her, circumambulated her thrice, and departed. Bhīṣma, Droṇa, and the elders of the Kuru house followed him a little way in reverence, but he dismissed them courteously.

Karna too accompanied him for a time; and after long discourse between them, that chastiser of foes turned back. Then Keśava, urged by Dāruka, mounted his golden chariot. The steeds, fleet as thought and radiant as the dawn, flew across the sky, devouring the horizon like hawks in flight.

“The wind bowed before their speed,

The clouds were cleft asunder wide;

Bearing the wielder of Śārṅga’s bow,

They reached Upaplavya’s sacred side.”

Thus did Kṛṣṇa, the son of Devakī, return unto the sons of Pāṇḍu—his mind set upon peace, yet knowing that destiny already moved toward war.

Vaiśampāyana said:

When the words of Kuntī, spoken before Keśava, reached the ears of the elders, Bhīṣma, the grandsire of the Kurus, and Droṇa, the preceptor of princes, were filled with anxiety. Their hearts trembled like leaves in a storm, for they foresaw the ruin that pride was weaving.

Then those mighty car-warriors, wise with the experience of age and rich with the fire of truth, spoke unto Duryodhana, who stood silent yet unyielding before them.

“O Duryodhana,” said they, “thou hast heard the words of Kuntī—

Fierce in import, virtuous in tone,

Words that pierce the heart with reason

And are approved by Vāsudeva’s mind.

Her sons will act upon them,

For their cause is sanctified by righteousness;

They will not rest, O prince of men,

Till they regain their rightful share.”

Then Bhīṣma, his voice like the low rumble of thunder, continued:

“O child, thou hast caused great pain to the sons of Pṛthā, and in thy folly didst afflict Draupadī before the assembled kings. Bound then by the vow of truth and reverence for elders, they bore that outrage in silence. But no longer are they bound.

Now they possess Arjuna—the wielder of divine weapons, Bhīma of the mighty arms, the Gāṇḍīva bow, and inexhaustible quivers. Nakula and Sahadeva stand beside them, and Vāsudeva himself is their charioteer and ally. Think, O king, what force opposes thee.”

“Didst thou not behold in Virāṭa’s hall,

The might of Arjuna’s single arm?

Alone he humbled all thy hosts,

And bound the hearts of kings with awe.

He who destroyed the Nivātakavacas,

Danavas fierce and void of fear;

He who redeemed thee once from shame,

When Gandharvas bound thy car and spear.

Such is the son of Pāṇḍu now—

Awake, O prince, before the flame!”

Then Droṇa spoke, calm yet resolute, his words heavy with destiny:

“O foremost of the Bharatas, make peace with thy brothers. Save the earth from ruin. Yudhiṣṭhira, thy elder, is gentle, wise, and affectionate; his speech is soft, his heart righteous. Abandon wrath and seek reconciliation.

If the sons of Kuntī behold thee with peace upon thy brow and thy bow unstrung, they will meet thee with open arms. Approach them with thy counsellors, O Duryodhana, and embrace Yudhiṣṭhira as a brother. Let Bhīma clasp thee with his lion arms; let Arjuna, lotus-eyed and conch-necked, bow to thee in reverence. Let the twins, Nakula and Sahadeva, attend thee with devotion, as pupils their master.

Let this be the sight, O king, that blesses the Kurus— The sons of one house reunited, the earth restored to peace, And all the kings shedding tears of joy.”

“Lay down thy pride, O Kaurava,

The time for peace is in thy hand;

Obey thy sire, obey thy guides,

And save thy race from ruin’s strand.

The stars are dim, the omens dire,

The beasts are restless in their lair;

The vultures wheel above thy tents,

The jackals howl in crimson air.

Meteors blaze across the night,

The winds are filled with funeral cries;

The city weeps with shadowed light,

And dread in every bosom lies.”

Then Bhīṣma said, his voice breaking under sorrow:

“O king of kings, heed the counsel of thy elders. Within thy hands lie war and peace alike. The signs are plain, O child—destruction hovers near. Blazing stars afflict our sky; the animals are cheerless and cry without cause; jackals shriek in the quarters; the heavens are veiled in blood-red flame.

If thou heedest not these words, thou shalt one day remember them amidst the cries of battle—when the roars of Bhīma and the twang of Gāṇḍīva resound like the death-drum of creation.”

“When arrows darken sun and sky,

And Kuru’s dust drinks Kuru’s gore,

Thou shalt recall our words and sigh—

Too late, O king, for peace once more.”

Vaiśampāyana continued:

Thus, O Janamejaya, the elders of the Kuru race, born of wisdom and compassion, counselled Duryodhana again and again. But fate had already laid its hand upon his heart. Like one who walks smiling into fire, he listened yet obeyed not, for his doom was bound by his own pride.

Vaiśampāyana said:

When Bhīṣma and Droṇa had thus spoken before him, Duryodhana stood silent. His brows drew together; his face, once proud, grew pale and cheerless. He bent his head, casting oblique glances upon the ground, and answered not a word.

Beholding him thus—mute, darkened by wrath and despair—the grandsire and the preceptor, those bulls among men, exchanged a look of grief and again addressed the obstinate prince.

Then Bhīṣma, the son of Śāntanu, whose wisdom was like the shore restraining the ocean’s tide, spoke in accents heavy with anguish:

“Alas, what grief is ours, O king,

That we must lift our bows in strife

Against that Yudhiṣṭhira the Just,

Whose every breath is dharma’s life.

Devoted to the elders’ will,

Gentle in speech, devoid of pride,

He seeketh naught but truth and peace—

Yet by our hands must he abide!”

Then Droṇa, the sage of war and priest of arms, his voice trembling between love and duty, spoke like one lamenting before fate itself.

“O Duryodhana,” said he, “my love for Dhanañjaya is greater than that which I bear for my own son Aśvatthāman. In humility, in reverence, in conduct—Arjuna surpasses even my child. And yet, bound by the duty of a Kṣatriya, I must take up arms against that disciple who is dearer to me than my own blood.

“Fie upon this code of kings,

That maketh friend to fight with friend!

For love is slain by law’s command,

And dharma’s path to grief doth tend.

The bow that taught him mastery’s art

Must now unstring its fatal thread;

The hand that blessed must strike apart—

O curse of duty, stern and dread!”

Droṇa continued, his words flowing like fire hidden in ash:

“That Vibhatsu—none in the world can match him—owes his prowess to my teaching. Yet it is he who now must be faced in battle. The sinful and the deceitful win no honour among the righteous; they perish like the ignorant at sacrifice.

Thou hast acted in deceit toward the sons of Pāṇḍu; yet they, though wronged, still desire thy welfare. Thy faults, O prince, are thy own undoing. Thou hast been counselled by thy father, by me, by Vidura, and even by Vāsudeva himself, yet thou seest not the way to thy own good.

Thou trustest in the might of thy army, desiring to pierce the Pāṇḍava host like the Ganga flowing into the ocean filled with sharks and monsters. But know this, Duryodhana—Yudhiṣṭhira’s kingdom, even if thou holdest it as a castaway’s robe, will never be thine in truth.

If that son of Pṛthā dwells even in the forest with Draupadī and his armed brothers, none in this world can overcome him. For even when he stood before Kuvera, lord of the Yakṣas, Yudhiṣṭhira shone with the splendour of righteousness itself.”

“He who hath wealth from Kuvera’s gate,

He who hath Arjuna’s fire and fame,

He who hath Kṛṣṇa’s guiding fate—

Who dares, O king, oppose his name?

The very gods regard that line

As born of fire and wind and sun;

Seek not to break what stands divine—

The race of Pāṇḍu, joined as one.”

Droṇa’s voice deepened like the rumble of an oncoming storm:

“As for us, O king, our years are spent. We have offered gifts, poured oblations into fire, studied the Vedas, and honoured the Brāhmaṇas. Our allotted span is ending; our work on earth is done. But for thee—youth, kingdom, wealth, and joy—all yet remain.

Abandon pride and folly. Seek peace. If thou choosest war, thou shalt lose all—friends, sons, and sovereignty. For how canst thou vanquish the sons of Pāṇḍu when Draupadī, pure and steadfast, prays daily for their triumph?

“How can defeat be theirs who stand

With Kṛṣṇa’s counsel at their side,

With Arjuna’s arm, with Bhīma’s hand,

With Brāhmaṇa’s grace their strength to guide?

The son of Dharma holds their reign,

Their wife is chaste, their hearts are pure;

Against such fire thy wrath is vain—

Thy fall is near, thy loss is sure.”

Then Droṇa said with final, pleading words:

“O child, as one who sees a friend drowning in a sea of folly, I cry once more—make peace! Seek prosperity for the Kurus. Choose not the path that leads to ruin. For if thou marchest against the sons of Pāṇḍu, it will be destruction for all, and repentance shall come too late.”

“War is the forge where sorrow’s made,

Peace is the shore where hearts may rest;

Choose well, O prince, before the blade—

For fate obeys the righteous best.”

Vaiśampāyana said:

Thus spoke Bhīṣma and Droṇa, their hearts heavy with foreboding. But Duryodhana, blinded by envy and bound by fate, heard not their wisdom. Like a moth drawn to the lamp’s flame, he moved toward his doom—his silence more terrible than words.