novelraw Arc 5- Jalapradānika Parva - Chapter 1 - Vidhura Comes to meet Dhṛtarāṣṭra
Arc 5- Jalapradānika Parva - Chapter 1 - Vidhura Comes to meet Dhṛtarāṣṭra
Vaiśampāyana said:
When Duryodhana had fallen, and all the kings and warriors of earth lay stretched upon the field like uprooted trees, Janamejaya spoke once more to the sage:
“O holy one,” said he, “after that great slaughter, what did the blind monarch Dhṛtarāṣṭra do when he heard of the death of his sons? And what of Yudhiṣṭhira, the son of Dharma, after victory was his? What became of the survivors—Kṛpa, Kṛtavarmā, and Aśvatthāman—after the curses had been uttered between them? Tell me all that Sañjaya said unto the king.”
Then Vaiśampāyana, the sage, spoke:
When the tidings reached Dhṛtarāṣṭra that his hundred sons were no more, the old monarch, overwhelmed by grief, sank into silence. His heart trembled like a leaf in the storm, his frame seemed shorn of life. He sat unmoving, like a tree stripped of its branches.
Then Sañjaya, ever wise and faithful, approached him and said softly:
“O king, why grievest thou thus? Grief serves no end. The earth, once teeming with armies, now lies desolate—eight and ten akṣauhiṇīs of warriors have fallen! The kings of every realm who had come to serve thy son are slain. Perform now, O lord, the sacred rites for thy sons and kinsmen, for thy grandsires, thy friends, and thy teachers. Let the lamps of the dead be kindled.”
So spoke Sañjaya; and Dhṛtarāṣṭra, bereft of sons, of counsellors, and all who once upheld his strength, fell senseless to the ground, like a mighty tree rent from its roots by the wind.
When life returned to him, the king said in a trembling voice:
“Bereft of sons and kinsmen, what need have I now of life? Like a bird with broken wings, how shall I wander the world in this old and sightless frame? My kingdom is lost, my children slain—what brightness can remain to me?
I heeded not the words of Bhīṣma, nor of the seer Nārada, nor of Jamadagni’s son, nor of the island-born Kṛṣṇa Dvaipāyana, though they warned me with wisdom. Even Keśava himself said before all: ‘Let there be peace, O King. Grant but five villages to the sons of Pāṇḍu, and let thy son rule the rest!’
Fool that I was, I turned from those words. Now do I reap the fruit of that folly. For the death of Duryodhana—roaring like a lion in battle—the fall of Duḥśāsana, the setting of Karṇa’s sun, the end of Droṇa’s might—all these I have heard, yet my heart does not break. Surely I must have sinned in lives gone by, that fate should lay this ruin upon me now. All my race destroyed, all my hopes extinguished—what man on earth is more accursed than I?
Let the sons of Pāṇḍu see me no longer! This very day will I depart upon that path which leads to the eternal Brahman.”
Then Sañjaya, devoted to his king, spoke again with deep compassion:
“Cast off this grief, O monarch. Thou hast heard the wisdom of the Vedas and the sayings of the seers. Remember what the sages told me when I wept for my son—they taught that grief blinds the heart and destroys understanding.
When thy son was proud in youth, thou didst not heed the counsel of those who loved thee. Covetousness drove thee to thy ruin. Thy own understanding has wounded thee as a sharp sword wounds the hand that wields it.
Thy son was guided by evil men—Duḥśāsana, the deceitful Śakuni, the rash Karṇa, and foolish Citrāsena. Even Śalya, drawn by affection, became an instrument of doom. Ignoring the words of Bhīṣma, Vidura, Droṇa, and Kṛpa, of Kṛṣṇa himself, of Nārada and Vyāsa, thy son became an enemy of the world.
Thus has the Kṣatriya order been consumed, and the fame of thy foes increased. Thou wert placed as the judge between both houses, yet uttered no word of justice. Now the fruits of partiality have ripened, and thou beholdest the ruin of thy line.
Be not as one who seeks honey and sees not the fall beneath his feet. The man who gazes only at the sweetness of gain and not at its peril, perishes through his own greed.
Wealth does not come to him who grieves; the fruit of desire is lost in sorrow. Grief is a fire that consumes virtue and blinds the path to heaven. The wise call him foolish who hides burning coals within his garment and laments when they scorch him.
Thou and thy son together fanned the fire that was Pārtha’s wrath. Thy covetousness was the ghee poured upon its flames, and into that blaze thy sons have fallen, like moths drawn to fire. Grieve not now, O King, for what is consumed cannot be restored.
Tears shed in excess burn the dead for whom they fall, even as sparks scorch dry grass. Therefore, master thy sorrow with thy wisdom, and rise once more in the strength of thy own spirit.”
Thus, O King, did the wise Sañjaya console the stricken monarch. Then Vidura, of great insight, seeing the grief that yet lay heavy upon Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s heart, spoke once more, with the calmness born of truth.
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Vaiśampāyana said:
“Hear now, O Janamejaya, the words of nectar that flowed from Vidura’s lips—words that soothed the wounded heart of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, as cool rain calms the smouldering earth after fire.”
Vidura spoke:
“Rise, O King of the Kurus,
Why sink into the dust below?
Stand firm upon thy fleeting world—
Such is the law of all, to go.
What’s born must die, what’s joined must part,
What climbs must one day fall again;
The wise behold this moving wheel
And do not weep for loss or gain.
The brave and timid, both are seized
When Time, the Hunter, takes his prey;
Who flees or fights is all the same
When Death has marked his chosen day.
The unborn were unseen before,
They shine awhile, then fade once more;
Between two silences they stand—
A breath, a sigh—then close the door.”
Thus spoke Vidura, and his tone was like the murmur of the Vedas. Then he said in prose:
“Grief cannot restore the dead, O monarch. It consumes only the living. What comes must go; what flowers must fade. Death has no friend nor foe, for Time devours all alike—kings and beggars, gods and men. All beings are travellers bound for the same end. What matters it who arrives first?
Grieve not for the warriors fallen in battle. The scriptures declare their destiny to be heaven itself. Facing the foe, armed with vows, they met their fate in glory. From the unseen they came, and to the unseen they have returned. Thou art not their possessor, nor were they ever thine.
If slain, they win the world of Indra; if they slay, they earn unfading fame. Both paths are luminous for a Kṣatriya. Indra has surely opened for them the celestial gates, for none reach heaven swifter than those who die in righteous war.”
“Their arrows were libations poured,
Their foes the altar, red and vast;
Their hearts were fire, their vows the smoke,
Till all was ended—battle’s last.
No higher road for warriors lies
Than death in arms, beneath the sun;
For them the gods prepare a throne,
Their mortal toils and triumphs done.
Mourn not, O King, their noble fate,
For they have reached the deathless state.”
Vidura continued:
“Cease then, O King, to waste thyself in grief. Perform thy duties as befits thy race. Thousands of fathers, sons, and wives are born and lost each day. Who belongs to whom? Time binds all in its unseen snare.
Time grants and Time destroys. When all else sleeps, Time alone is awake. None may conquer it—neither power nor piety avails. Beauty fades, youth declines, wealth melts away, and friends depart. The wise cling not to these fleeting joys.
Grief grows by indulgence, as fire by ghee. The cure for sorrow lies in restraint; if thou wouldst lighten it, feed it not. To brood upon misfortune is to deepen its roots. Grief leads not to dharma, nor to profit, nor to joy. It is a fire that consumes all three.”
“The fool who nurses grief shall find
No fruit of faith, no peace of mind;
But he who conquers tears with thought
Wins rest from pain and fear unkind.
Be calm, O King, and seek the way
That wisdom lights in night’s decay;
For all that lives must fade and fall—
The Self alone survives always.”
Vidura then said gently:
“The wise slay mental anguish by wisdom, as bodily pain is cured by medicine. The foolish find no rest, for they war against themselves. The deeds of former lives follow a man as his shadow—resting when he rests, moving when he moves. In every form he reaps what he has sown.
The self is both witness and judge, both friend and foe. From righteous acts springs joy, from unrighteous acts, sorrow. None suffers for another’s deed, nor rejoices for another’s virtue. Therefore, O King, be steadfast. Let wisdom guide thy sightless eyes and make of sorrow a teacher, not a chain.”
Thus, O descendant of Bharata, Vidura spoke with deep compassion, and his words shone in that darkened court like steady lamps before dawn.
Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:
“O thou of lofty wisdom, thy words have cooled the fire of my grief and given peace to my heart. Yet tell me once more, O Vidura—how do the wise free themselves from sorrow born of misfortune, and from the anguish that comes when beloved things are lost?”
Vidura replied:
“He who is truly wise, O King, finds tranquillity by mastering both joy and sorrow. He learns to walk the middle path, unmoved by gain or loss. All that men strive for, O descendant of Bharata, is fleeting. The world itself is as frail as a plantain trunk—fair to the eye, but hollow within.
The mighty and the meek, the learned and the ignorant, the wealthy and the poor—all alike lie at last upon the funeral ground, their flesh consumed, their bones laid bare, their forms forgotten. Who then can tell in that equality of dust which was prince and which was beggar?
Why then, O King, do mortals, deluded by ignorance, envy one another’s rank and splendor, when all must share the same earth and the same end?”
“The body is but a fragile house
That time will shatter, wall by wall;
But One within abides unchanged,
The Self that dwells beyond our fall.
As garments old are cast aside
For robes anew, untorn, untied,
So souls put on fresh forms again,
And wear them till their work has died.”
Vidura continued:
“O son of Vicitravīrya, every creature reaps the fruit of its own acts—joy or sorrow, heaven or hell. None may bear the burden of another. Whether strong or weak, each must carry the weight his deeds have laid upon him.
Consider, O King, how the potter’s vessels meet their fate:
some break upon the wheel, some as they take their shape, some after they are dried, some as they are baked, and some while they are used. Even so, the bodies of living beings perish at different times—some in the womb, some at birth, some in infancy, others in youth, and others again in age. All are shaped, broken, and re-shaped by the unseen law of Karma.
When such is the nature of the world, why dost thou, O monarch, sink again into grief?”
“Like swimmers sporting in the stream,
They dive and rise, they fall and gleam;
Some sink through sin, some upward climb—
Thus rolls the ceaseless wave of Time.
The dull of heart, through folly blind,
Reap ruin from the deeds they bind;
But those who walk with virtue’s flame
Rise upward to the deathless aim.”
Vidura concluded:
“They who possess knowledge and compassion, who act for the good of all beings, and who see this world as a passing shadow, attain the highest end. Knowing that all creatures appear and disappear like waves upon the ocean, the wise grieve not for what must change, but seek instead that eternal shore where change can never come.”