novelraw Arc 2 - Dushahan Karna-Vadha Parva - Chapter 6 - Keśava Counsels Yudhiṣṭhira
Arc 2 - Dushahan Karna-Vadha Parva - Chapter 6 - Keśava Counsels Yudhiṣṭhira
Sañjaya said:
When Arjuna finished speaking of the battle, and Yudhiṣṭhira, son of Dharma, learned that Karṇa still lived, his face darkened with wrath and despair. The wounds upon his body bled anew, but sharper yet were the wounds of his pride. His heart, consumed by humiliation and burning grief, overflowed with bitter words against his brother.
Yudhiṣṭhira said in fierce reproach:
“O Dhanañjaya, breaker of vows,
Thy host is fled, thy fame undone!
Thou camest hither leaving Bhīma
Because thou couldst not face the son of Rādhā!
Where now is that proud word of thine,
Uttered in the Dvaita woods of old—
‘Alone I’ll slay the Sūta’s child,
And lay him low before thy feet’?
Hast thou, O Partha, turned from strife
And stained the name thy father bore?
Thou hast made vain thy mother’s womb—
Unworthy son of Kuntī’s line!”
The king’s voice trembled as he went on, the force of long years of hope collapsing into bitterness.
“O Partha,” he said, “hadst thou but spoken truth in Dvaita’s forest—hadst thou said ‘I cannot fight Karṇa’—we would have shaped our course otherwise, trusting not in dreams. But thou gavest us the hope of kingdom and victory, only to cast us down upon the dust. We placed our faith in thee, like men sowing seed in drought, waiting year after year for clouds that never came.
From the day of thy birth, the gods themselves spoke of thy glory. On the seventh day, a voice was heard in the sky above Sataśṛṅga:
‘This child shall rival Indra’s might,
His arms shall shatter kings and hosts;
In beauty like the moon he’ll shine,
In strength surpass the storm itself!
The Kurus he shall overthrow,
The Madras, Kalingas, he shall tame.
The world shall bow before his fame,
None shall be found to equal him.’
But alas, O son of Pāṇḍu,” said the king bitterly, “that prophecy is false! The heavens themselves, it seems, can lie. For today thou standest trembling before one man while Karṇa triumphs on the field!”
Yudhiṣṭhira’s anger grew. His words fell like iron upon Arjuna’s heart.
“Thou ridest,” he said, “on a car forged by the gods, its axles silent, its standard bearing Hanumān. Keśava himself is thy charioteer, thy sword is bound with gold, and Gāṇḍīva, of six cubits’ span, hums with celestial might. Yet thou comest fleeing from Karṇa!
If thou art unable to fight the Sūta’s son, then give thy bow to Kṛṣṇa, who could, by now, have slain him as Indra slew Vṛtra with his thunderbolt! Nay, if thou art too faint of heart, give thy bow to any king who hath the courage thou lackest. Why should we die for the weakness of one man?”
Then, unable to restrain his fury, the king’s voice rose again in a storm of verse:
“Better unborn than born to shame,
Better still the womb unfruitful be,
Than that a son of Pāṇḍu’s line
Should flee the field in fear of Karṇa!
Fie on thy bow and banner bright,
Fie on that ape that guards thy crest,
Fie on thy arms that once were vowed
To cleanse the earth of Kuru’s pride!
Fie on the fire-born car thou drivest,
Fie on thy shafts that never end!
For what are they but toys of heaven
When courage faints and duty bends?”
Thus spoke Yudhiṣṭhira, his reason darkened by wrath and despair, forgetting for a moment the law of compassion that had ever guided his heart. The words struck Arjuna like arrows to the chest, heavy with injustice yet burning with truth. For a breathless instant the sons of Pāṇḍu stood opposed—one blinded by grief, the other seared by shame.
The silence between them grew tense as drawn steel, and the fate of brothers trembled on the edge of a vow.
Sañjaya said:
Hearing those words of fierce reproach, Kuntī’s son, whose white steeds yet breathed from battle, was seized with burning wrath. His heart blazed like the midday sun, and shame mingled with fury in his blood. In sudden passion, Arjuna drew forth his sword, flashing like lightning in a storm, meaning to strike down that bull among men—his own brother, Yudhiṣṭhira.
Seeing the flame that rose in Pārtha’s eyes, Keśava, who knew the hearts of men as clearly as the ocean knows its tides, stepped forward and spoke softly, restraining him with words of reason.
Kṛṣṇa said:
“Why, O Pārtha, dost thou draw thy sword?
I see no foe before thee here.
The Dhārtarāṣṭras are even now
Struck down by Bhīma’s dreadful spear.
Thou camest hither seeking the king;
The king is seen, unharmed, alive.
Why then this folly in thine heart?
Why should thy hand to frenzy drive?
No enemy stands within this hall,
No danger dares approach thy name.
Why then, O Pārtha, wielder of Gāṇḍīva,
Dost thou take up that sword in shame?”
At these words, Arjuna, breathing like an angry serpent, turned his gaze from Keśava to the king, his eyes blazing red with pain and pride.
“Govinda,” he said, “hear me well. It is my secret vow—my dharma bound to truth—that if any man should say to me, ‘Give thy Gāṇḍīva to another,’ I would cut off his head where he stands.
Those words—spoken just now by this king in thy very presence—have entered my ears. How can I forgive them? The vow I made must be fulfilled. Therefore will I slay Yudhiṣṭhira, the king who fears even the shadow of sin. By slaying him, I shall hold fast to truth, and the fever of my heart shall be cooled.”
He turned to Kṛṣṇa, his hand still trembling on the hilt of his sword. “Tell me, O master of time, O all-knowing one, what should now be done? Thou knowest the law beyond all laws. Speak, and I shall obey.”
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Then Govinda, smiling faintly yet grave as dharma itself, said:
“Fie, fie upon thee, O Pārtha,
Thou who hast forgotten age and lore!
Hast thou not heard what sages teach—
That wrath consumes the soul’s own core?
Thou, in thy blindness, seek’st to strike
The righteous king, thy elder born!
What folly clouds thy noble mind,
What storm of pride and anger torn?
No righteous man would thus arise
Against his senior, calm and just;
To slay the sinless in his peace
Is to slay dharma’s self in dust!”
Kṛṣṇa’s voice softened, yet carried the weight of eternity.
“Thou knowest not, O son of Pāṇḍu, the subtle boundaries between right and wrong. The learned declare that truth itself must bend where life or virtue is endangered. There are moments, O Pārtha, when falsehood becomes truth, and truth becomes falsehood.
‘In peril of life, or loss of all,
In the bond of marriage or the Brahman’s call,
When woman’s honour or dharma’s weal
Stand trembling—falsehood turns to zeal.’
He who speaks truth blindly, without knowing when and where, brings ruin upon all beings. Listen, and I shall tell thee of two men of old—one who won heaven through slaying, and one who fell to hell through truth.”
“There was once a hunter, Vālaka by name,
Who slew the beasts for his family’s bread.
He harmed none wantonly, spoke no lie,
And honoured his parents till they were fed.
One day he found no prey in the wood,
Till a blind beast of fierce intent
Came drinking by the stream in peace.
Though he had never seen its kind before,
He slew it swiftly with his dart.
At once from heaven fell flowers of praise, And a car descended from the clouds above— For that blind beast, cursed by the Self-born, Had sought to destroy all living things. By slaying it, Vālaka was freed— Thus, by killing, he found the gates of heaven.”
“Now hear of another, Kauśika the ascetic, Who dwelt among the meeting rivers. He took a vow to speak only truth And grew proud of his righteousness.
Once, men fled past his hermitage,
Hunted by robbers in thirst of blood.
When asked by the brigands where they went,
He spoke the truth—‘They entered the wood.’
The robbers found and slew them there.
And Kauśika, though guiltless in hand,
Fell into hell for truth misplaced—
For truth, when untimely, becomes sin’s brand.”
Kṛṣṇa’s gaze deepened as he concluded:
“Thus, O Pārtha, dharma is subtle beyond sight.
One who kills for the world’s good may rise,
And one who tells truth in ignorance may fall.
Judge not by word alone, but by the soul’s intent.”
Then Arjuna, his anger cooled by the Lord’s wisdom, bowed slightly and said:
“O Keśava, thy words are filled with truth and mercy. Yet thou knowest my vow: whoever bids me give away Gāṇḍīva, I must slay him. Bhīma too has sworn that whoever calls him weak shall die by his hand. Today, the king uttered those words to both of us. If I kill him, I become sinful; if I break my vow, I lose honour. Tell me how to keep my word, yet save my brother’s life.”
Then Vāsudeva, smiling gently, replied:
“Listen, O Arjuna, and resolve thy doubt. The king was weary, his flesh torn by Karṇa’s arrows, his heart heavy with grief. His harsh words sprang from anguish, not intent. He sought to rouse thy fury that thou might slay Karṇa, for he knew none other could.
Therefore, the son of Dharma deserves not death, but thy understanding. Yet thy vow must be fulfilled. Know this, O Pārtha: when a revered one is addressed without honour, he is said to die, though living still.
‘He dies not who loses breath alone,
But he who is robbed of reverence known.
For honour is life and pride its flame—
Take that, and death and life are the same.’
Go then to Yudhiṣṭhira, and in place of violence, address him as ‘thou’ instead of ‘O king.’ Thus shalt thou, without shedding blood, keep thy vow and yet preserve his life. When the deed is done, bow at his feet and seek his pardon, and he will forgive thee in love.
Freed from falsehood, guilt, and wrath, thou shalt then return to battle and slay the Sūta’s son.”
Hearing the words of Kṛṣṇa, the cloud of anger dissolved from Arjuna’s heart. The drawn sword quivered, then fell silent in its sheath. The hall brightened again with peace, though the air still trembled with the memory of wrath. Thus was dharma preserved, and the sons of Pāṇḍu saved from the shadow of fratricide.
Sañjaya said:
Arjuna, counseled by Janārdana, accepted Kṛṣṇa’s remedy and, for the sake of his vow, turned to Yudhiṣṭhira with a harshness he had never shown before.
Arjuna said:
O king, reproach me not from afar,
Two miles from battle’s roar;
If any man may chide me now,
It is Bhīma—none before.
He, lion-loud, lays princes low,
Fells steeds and tuskers mad;
Leaps down with mace and blade and bow,
And breaks what hosts have had.
The brahmin’s strength is speech alone,
A kṣatriya’s in his hands;
Thy words are darts—unfeeling, keen—
While I fulfill commands.
For thee I’ve faced the mightiest,
Yet thou—at dice’s call—
Brought ruin, loss, and exile long,
And now would sting us all.
Our woes began with gambling’s sin;
Our foes lie hewn in rain;
Provoke us not with cruel goads,
Nor wake a sleeping pain.
Sañjaya said:
Having uttered such bitter shafts at his elder, the ever scrupulous Savyasācin grew dark with remorse. Drawing his sword, he stood in torment. Kṛṣṇa stayed him with a question and a cure.
Kṛṣṇa said:
Why flash again that sky-blue blade?
What end wouldst thou pursue?
To strike thyself were blacker sin
Than striking kin anew.
Dharma is subtle, hard to grasp;
Attend my counsel now:
Declare aloud thy worth and deeds—
Thus keep, not break, thy vow.
Arjuna bowed to that guidance, put by his wrath, and spoke before Yudhiṣṭhira, head unhelmed of pride yet steady in his strength.
Arjuna said:
Hear, king: save Śiva’s pināka-lord,
No bowman equals me.
I bent the quarters to thy will,
Won sacrifice and sea.
These hands bear scars of string and shaft;
My soles wear chariot signs;
I’ve reaped the hosts in north and south,
Laid waste their royal lines.
With Kṛṣṇa on my thunder-car
I ride to end this feud:
Either the Sūta’s mother weeps,
Or Kuntī’s grief renewed.
Today, by all my warrior’s troth,
I cast not mail aside,
Till Karṇa falls beneath my shafts—
So let thy heart be wide.
Sañjaya said:
So speaking to that foremost of the righteous, Pārtha let his weapons fall, sheathed his sword, and, abashed, bowed to the king.
Arjuna said:
Be cheerful, lord; forgive my words—
Their fruit thou’lt shortly know.
I live for thee; I go to guard
Where Bhīma meets the foe.
Roused by those harsh truths, Yudhiṣṭhira rose in anguish, self-condemning, and would have cast away his crown and life.
Yudhiṣṭhira said:
O Pārtha, I have sinned and brought
This storm upon our line;
Strike off my head—what worth have I
In kingship’s seat to shine?
Let Bhīma rule; I’ll to the woods,
A coward, harsh, unwise;
Better the trees should shelter me
Than brothers hear my cries.
Then Vāsudeva bowed and gently set the scales aright, revealing the thread of vow and remedy.
Kṛṣṇa said:
Thou know’st Arjuna’s sacred word
Concerning Gāṇḍīva’s grace:
Who bids him give it up, that man
He swears to smite in place.
To keep that vow—at my behest—
He paid thee death in name:
For elders, scorn is death itself,
Though blood escape the shame.
Forgive, O king, this crafted slight
We wrought to guard the truth;
Today the earth shall drink the blood
Of Rādhā’s wretched youth.
Those words like cool rain quenched the king’s fever. He raised Hṛṣīkeśa with folded hands and joy returned to duty.
Yudhiṣṭhira said:
So be it, Mādhava; I erred—
Thy wisdom wakes my sight.
By thee we’ve crossed this grief-swollen sea,
Thy counsel is our light.
With thee to helm our battered bark,
We’re not by fate unled;
Go, conquer—bring our Bhīma aid—
And strike down Karṇa’s head.
Sañjaya said:
Thus reconciled, with vows kept whole and dharma unbroken, the diademed Arjuna bowed once more, mounted with Keśava, and turned his face toward the field where Karṇa’s banner burned like a cruel star.
Sañjaya said:
When the words of king Yudhiṣṭhira ended, joy returned to the hearts of men. Hearing them, Govinda, that virtuous soul, delight of the Yadus, turned to Pārtha, his companion of destiny. But Arjuna, though obedient to Kṛṣṇa’s counsel and having fulfilled the letter of his vow, was cast into sorrow again, grieving for the small sin of addressing his elder as thou.
Then Vāsudeva, smiling gently, spoke to him like one who knows the secret motions of the heart:
Kṛṣṇa said:
“If by virtue’s zeal thou grievest thus,
For a word that fell in haste,
What woe hadst thou endured, O friend,
If blood thy brother graced?
Thou didst but speak; thy heart repents—
Thy soul is pure and bright.
Hadst thou slain the son of Dharma’s line,
Thy spirit had lost its light.
Morality is a misted path
Where even the wise may stray;
But love and faith must guide the step,
Lest dharma fade away.
Go now, appease thy noble king,
Whose heart is pure and kind.
Make peace with him, then gird thy bow,
For battle waits behind.
When joy returns to Yudhiṣṭhira’s eyes,
When love dissolves the pain,
Then, O son of Pāṇḍu, drive with me—
And slay the Sūta’s bane.”
Hearing these words, Arjuna, weighed down by humility, fell at his brother’s feet, placing his crowned head upon the dust.
“Be pleased with me, O king,” he said,
“Forgive the words I spoke in fear.
Not pride but virtue’s shadow moved me,
Not anger but the dread of sin.”
Sañjaya said:
Seeing Dhanañjaya prostrate and weeping at his feet, the righteous king, Yudhiṣṭhira, that lion of the Kurus, raised his brother with trembling hands. Their eyes met—filled with tears, yet cleansed of grief. Embracing each other as they wept, they were as two clouds merging after storm.
At last, regaining calm, the king spoke softly, his heart full of affection:
“O mighty-armed one, in battle’s sight,
My bow, my steeds, my arms were shorn.
Karṇa’s shafts consumed my strength,
My soul grew weary, hope forlorn.
When I recall that storm of steel,
I tremble still in shame and pain.
If thou dost not destroy that foe,
My life shall end upon this plain.”
Then Vijaya, his spirit kindled, laid his hand upon his bow and spoke solemnly:
“By Truth I swear, by thee, O king,
By Bhīma’s might, the twins’ bright fame,
I’ll slay the Sūta’s wicked son
Or fall myself in battle’s flame.
I touch my weapons—hear my vow:
Before this day gives birth to night,
Karṇa shall lie upon the earth,
Pierced by the arrows of my might.”
Then turning to Mādhava, Arjuna said:
“Guide me now, O Kṛṣṇa wise;
For certain is Karṇa’s death today.
By thy insight, by thy power,
His life shall fade like light away.”
And Keśava, smiling with tranquil faith, replied:
“Thou alone, O Partha, art fit to slay
That mighty foe, that man of pride.
This thought hath long within me stayed—
That fate and justice walk at thy side.”
Then Vāsudeva turned to the son of Dharma and said:
“O king, comfort thy brother now;
Command him toward his destined fight.
When word from thee restores his heart,
His bow shall blaze with Heaven’s light.”
Yudhiṣṭhira said:
“Come, come, O Pārtha, O Vibhatsu mine,
Embrace me now, my noble kin.
Thy words were pure, thy soul is clear—
I forgive thee all, for none can sin
Who speaks for dharma’s sake alone.
Go forth, O Dhanañjaya great,
Slay Karṇa, child of Rādhā’s line,
And bring the dawn of righteous fate.”