After Yudhishthira had established himself as the king of Indraprastha, his ministers and counsellors urged him to perform the Rajasuya sacrifice to claim the title of emperor of Bharatavarsha. But being a man of humility, this suggestion did not excite him. He would prefer, he said, to serve his own people and offer them peace and stability rather than claim supremacy over other kingdoms. Vanity and false glory were failings that a king must overcome. But when his well-wishers pressed him to reconsider their plea, he decided to seek Krishna’s advice. Krishna was forthright in his advice: ‘You certainly deserve the title of emperor in view of the esteem and love you command from all other kingdoms. But your position would become untenable if any ruler chose to challenge your authority. I say this because I know that Jarasandha, the king of Magadha, would never accept your supremacy, conceited ruler that he is. So powerful is he that several kings are presently languishing away in his prisons. No ruler has so far dared to challenge him.’
‘Then there is all the more reason for me to stay away from bloodshed,’ said Yudhishthira. ‘Why should I risk the lives of my soldiers for satisfying my vanity? You know, I would much rather retreat into some forest to live in peace than wade through a pool of blood. My brothers are urging me to perform the Rajasuya sacrifice, but I must not succumb to this temptation.’
Bheema, who was standing close by, called his elder brother a visionary who was always up in the clouds. Turning to Krishna, he said, ‘Little does he realize that a king without ambition is likely to be a weak ruler who may not be able to protect his subjects. Valour and ambition are the stuff of heroism. Self-abnegation and humility are for sages, not for Kshatriyas. Please advise him to take on Jarasandha, who is after all a mortal, not a celestial being.’
Impressed by Bheema’s glorification of heroism, Krishna said, ‘I am for action too. Every man must do his duty and not seek refuge in inane idealism. Jarasandha must be eliminated, if only to liberate all those kings who are smarting under his tyranny. If we don’t come to their rescue, who will?’
Then Krishna said that if Bheema and Arjuna agreed to take on Jarasandha, he would be willing to accompany them.
‘I would hesitate to send Bheema and Arjuna to fight the king of Magadha,’ said Yudhishthira to Krishna, ‘especially after what I have heard about him from you. Let me tell you that both Bheema and Arjuna are my eyes and hands. What if I lose them?’
Krishna flashed a benign smile. ‘Sometimes, I see in you a man of little faith,’ he said. ‘If I have offered to accompany them, it is because I have in my mind a strategy to kill him. Unlike you, I always keep my eyes and ears open and prepare for the worst. So let us get into action.’
‘That is the spirit,’ interposed Arjuna. ‘A coward dies many times before he is killed. If Jarasandha is strong, we are not made of straw. If my Gandiva can twang any enemy into surrender, Bheema’s mace can strike terror even in the hearts of demons. Youth is for engagement, while withdrawal and inaction are for old age. Yes, there will be a time to retire into some forest and do tapas, but that time is not now. And if Krishna comes along with us, success is bound to follow.’
Yudhishthira now smiled. ‘I give in, cheerfully.’
Krishna had hinted at a strategy that took into account the secret of Jarasandha’s birth.
Jarasandha was born under very strange circumstances. His father Brihadratha, the king of Magadha, had been known for his valour. Most kings in those days used to have more than one wife to ensure that at least one of them would bear a male child to inherit the throne. So Brihadratha had married two daughters of the king of Kasi, promising their father that he would give them equal love and care. But destiny had willed otherwise. He had grown old without being able to sire a child. Utterly frustrated, he handed over his kingdom to his ministers and withdrew into a forest with his two wives to do tapas. Day and night, he remained engaged in prayer and meditation.
Then, one day, he saw a sage immersed in deep meditation under a mango tree. He placed some flowers at his feet and waited for him to open his eyes. When the sage emerged from his trance, he saw a man lying prostrate at his feet.
‘Who are you?’ asked the sage.
‘O Lord, I am Brihadratha, the king of Magadha. I have renounced the world because destiny seems to have cursed me with childlessness.’
The sage closed his eyes again, as if he were pondering over something. Opening his eyes, he looked compassionately at the king and said, ‘Your days of waiting are now over.’
Just as he spoke these words, a mango dropped on the lap of Brihadratha.
‘There,’ said the sage, pointing to the fruit, ‘Here is a boon for you. Let your wife eat this mango, and she will give birth to a son.’
Excited over the boon, the king ran to the cottage where his two wives were waiting for him. Since he had pledged to love both of them equally, he sliced the mango into two equal halves and let them share it. But destiny intervened once again. He was horrified to see that while both of his wives became pregnant, each gave birth to a grotesque male child, with only half the body – one eye, one arm and one leg.
Unable to bear this abhorrent sight, he ordered a servant to wrap up the two half-bodies in a cloth and throw them away. A female rakshasa, Jara, who happened to pass by, sniffed some fresh flesh in the rubbish. But as she undid the cloth, the two halves at once conjoined into one male child, like two bars of a magnet joining to form a single unit.
Since the rakshasa had heard about the king’s childlessness, she went to him straight away. ‘Here is my gift for you, O King,’ she said. ‘This child will be heir to your throne.’
The king took this as a boon. Absolutely thrilled, he ordered jubilation in Magadha and distributed alms and gifts to every Brahmin.
The child, named Jarasandha, grew into a man of superhuman strength, who took over the reins of Magadha after his father’s death. But so tyrannical was his rule that he came to be known as the most dreaded king in the country. He conquered all the neighbouring states and held their kings captive in his prisons.
No wonder, Krishna told Yudhishthira, Bheema and Arjuna, that until this dreadful creature was eliminated, any Rajasuya ceremony would be futile.
‘You already know,’ Krishna said to the Pandavas, ‘that being a Kshatriya, Jarasandha would have to accept anybody’s challenge to a duel, with or without weapons. So if he is challenged to a wrestling match, he would have to agree to it.’
Krishna then told Bheema and Arjuna to leave the rest of the operation to him.
Dressed as Brahmins in deerskin, and carrying sacred darbha grass in their hands, they arrived in Magadha.
Coincidentally, this was also the day when the royal priests had cautioned Jarasandha against some possible mishap. So he was deeply engaged in several propitiatory rites.
When Krishna and the two Pandavas walked into the palace, unarmed, the king received them reverentially, especially because he hoped to secure blessings from every holy man. Krishna then introduced Bheema and Arjuna as Brahmins of extraordinary spiritual bower who had come to bless him and ensure his safety and well-being. But since they were on a mauna vrata, he said, they would break their silence only at midnight. Jarasandha bowed to the two Pandavas with folded hands.
‘You are a godsend to me,’ said the king, ‘for today my royal priests are also performing some special rites to guard me against any evil.’
Then he made arrangements for their rest and refreshments in the central hall. At the stroke of midnight, Jarasandha came to the hall to receive the Brahmins’ blessings. But as he looked closely at them in the glaring lights, he noticed some scars on their hands. Also, as they stood face-to-face with him, they looked like two warriors. His suspicion now aroused, he shouted: ‘Who are you? Are you Brahmins or Kshatriyas?’
Bheema then spoke up. ‘We are two Pandava princes. I am Bheema, this is Arjuna, and there stands Krishna.’ He paused. ‘We are here to challenge you to a fight. Since you are also a Kshatriya, you may choose either me or Arjuna for a single combat.’
Incensed, Jarasandha’s eyes burnt like coals.
‘You impostors,’ he shouted. ‘I accept your challenge. Since you are unarmed, I invite you to a wrestling bout.’ Then, looking at both Bheema and Arjuna, he said that since Arjuna was a mere youth, he would take on Bheema, who looked like a hefty adult.
Then began a fierce fight between Bheema and Jarasandha, two evenly matched giants. During the initial few rounds, Bheema let his adversary show his skill at wrestling, but later he came into his element. He now began to punch Jarasandha right and left. For thirteen days, they fought like two lions in a forest, snarling and pouncing upon each other. On the fourteenth day, Bheema threw him on the ground with a fierce punch, jumped on his body and tore his legs apart. But to his great amazement, the two sundered parts at once conjoined and Jarasandha rose again as one powerful body to fight Bheema.
As Bheema got him down again and was tearing apart his legs, Krishna coughed to attract his attention. He was holding a dry twig, which he sliced into two pieces and then threw them away in opposite directions. Bheema fathomed Krishna’s hint and, after pulling apart Jarasandha’s legs, he threw them in opposite directions. Thus was slain Jarasandha, who was a scourge to all his neighbouring states.
Krishna, Bheema and Arjuna then released all the kings who had been languishing in the royal prisons. There was jubilation all over Magadha.
When they returned to Indraprastha, Yudhishthira and Kunti received them with great joy.
‘Now, you may proceed with your Rajasuya sacrifice,’ said Krishna to Yudhishthira, ‘and claim supremacy over all the kings of Bharatavarsha.’