Indraprastha was agog with excitement over the Rajasuya ceremony to be held on an auspicious day chosen by the priests. At sunrise, all men, women and children in the city came out into the streets, dressed in their festive clothes. At the palace gates was a long queue of Brahmins, waiting to receive food and clothes from the royal household.
Inside the palace, the assembly hall was decorated with flowers, and on the dais was placed a coronation chair under a silken canopy. In the centre of the hall, a puja was in progress, with priests chanting Vedic hymns on one side, while on the other side sat Yudhishthira, flanked by Kunti and Draupadi. Behind them were Yudhishthira’s four brothers. As the incense rose from the sacred fire, it spread through the hall.
When the puja was over, the high priest led Yudhishthira to the coronation chair, and placed on his head a jewelled crown. A thunderous applause now echoed in the hall. As Yudhishthira looked around, he was highly gratified to see his Kaurava cousins also seated in the hall, together with such other dignitaries as Bheeshma, Drona, Vidura, Kripacharya, Radheya, and even Duryodhana. He was happy to see that there was now amity between the two sides of the Kuru clan. As Yudhishthira raised his right hand, the musicians who were playing their instruments in a corner suddenly stopped and a hush fell all over the place. Then Yudhishthira rose from his coronation chair, bowed his head with folded hands and addressed the assembly: ‘Friends, I am beholden to you all for conferring upon me the title of emperor, an honour I humbly accept with gratitude. What has touched me deeply is the gracious presence of my Kaurava cousins, particularly Duryodhana, and such elders as Bheeshma, Dronacharya, Vidura and Kripacharya. I also welcome the kings and princes from all over the country. Even though we speak different dialects, wear diverse attires and follow various customs, we are all bound together by a common heritage. Our strength lies in this unity in diversity. Let us live together like equal members of the same family.’
Then, after a pause, he resumed: ‘And now, I wish to make an important announcement. I propose that we consider as our guest of honour today someone whose sagacity and spiritual eminence have led us along the path of truth and justice. To him I am also personally indebted for his counsel in all moments of crisis – Sri Krishna!’
As he announced the name, another loud cheer burst from the gathering. Krishna, who was seated in the front row near the dais, stood up to acknowledge the applause with folded hands. Resplendent in his silken robe, his curly hair falling to his shoulders, he looked like a god.
But as the cheer faded away, an abrasive voice rose from a corner of the hall. It was Sisupala, the king of Chedi, who was now up on his feet, his eyes shooting fire. Pointing his finger at Krishna, he shouted, ‘That cowherd! That manipulator, who would stoop to any level to achieve his ends! That is how he engineered King Jarasandha’s death. Isn’t he the son of Vasudeva, who was an attendant to King Ugrasena? And wasn’t he brought up by a foster-mother? All that he did in his youth was seduce innocent gopikas with his flute. If I had the time, I could spell out a hundred wickednesses of this man, but decency holds me back. So I am shocked and bewildered at your proposal, O Yudhishthira. Maybe you have abandoned your moral sense and lapsed into premature dotage. How could you single out this man for this honour when there are far worthier personages present in this hall? How about Bheeshma, your grandfather, although he is now senile? Then there is Drona, who taught you archery, and there is also your family guru Kripacharya. But I have already said that you have foresaken sagacity though you claim to be Dharmaraja, the lord of righteousness. Well, if you say that we are all equal members of the same family, I do have the right to protest.’
‘But not to insult and humiliate someone who is worthy of everyone’s reverence,’ interjected Yudhishthira, now finding it difficult to keep his composure. ‘The fact is that it is you who has lapsed into insanity. If you had not been my guest here today, I would have asked you to leave.’
‘Then let this insane man challenge your cowherd to a fight – his flute against my sword.’ As he hurled his threat at Krishna, he brandished his sword above his head.
A pall of horror now descended on the hall. Everyone gazed frozen in suspense at Sisupala and Krishna. But a wave of glee ran through that part of the hall where Duryodhana was seated with his brothers and Radheya.
At last, Krishna broke the silence. Turning to Sisupala, he said, ‘I wanted to let you run out of all your one hundred accusations against me. But now that you have chosen to speak the language of the sword, I must give you a taste of this cowherd’s power.’
The enigmatic smile that had played on Krishna’s face so far now changed into intense wrath. His eyes burnt like flames. As he raised his index finger, his Sudarsan chakra, the divine discus, materialized on it as if out of the air. So dazzling was its glare that it almost eclipsed the sunlight that had filtered into the hall from the high windows all around. Then, suddenly, the hall was engulfed in total darkness, the only light now visible being the glare emanating from the discus which was circling over every head. It now closed in on Sisupala’s head, like a bird of prey swooping down upon its victim. He tried to dodge it by swerving his head, but he could not. With a sudden jerk, the chakra smote his neck and his severed head rolled to the ground.
‘O Narayana!’ rose a cry from the gathering. ‘Show us mercy!’ This was followed by another cry: ‘Justice has prevailed!’
With the slaying of Sisupala, the last obstacle was removed from Yudhishthira’s coronation, and Krishna was hailed as the guest of honour at the Rajasuya ceremony.
In utter bewilderment, everyone started to troop out of the hall. As Yudhishthira stepped down from the dais, he saw sage Vyasa walking towards him. At once he bowed to touch his feet.
‘You have come at a most opportune moment, O sage,’ Yudhishthira said. ‘I need your blessings.’
‘That is precisely why I am here,’ responded Vyasa, ‘to have a word with you. I feel sad to see this auspicious occasion marred by Sisupala’s outburst against Krishna, who amply deserves the honour accorded to him. But such is life – a blend of glory and ignominy, light and darkness.’ He paused. ‘I don’t wish to dampen your spirits, but I’m afraid I see dark, sinister clouds hovering over your head. They portend death and disaster in the years to come – revenge and betrayal. But don’t let these forebodings get you down. You must continue to adhere to the path of righteousness, for that is where your strength lies. Remember, the only way to counter anger is through compassion and love. You should try to subdue your enemies with forgiveness – even the Kauravas, who are consumed with jealousy and greed. Let Narayana be with you, O Yudhishthira!’
Saying these words, the illustrious sage walked away, leaving Yudhishthira immersed in introspection.
Acting upon Vyasa’s advice, Yudhishthira now decided to be as gracious as possible to his cousins, especially Duryodhana. He sent a special messenger to him to know if he would like to go sightseeing. But he learnt that his cousin had already visited all the interesting sites for which Indraprastha was now famous. He had spent most of the time surveying the city – its parks, gardens, lakes and marketplaces. He could not believe that, within the span of a couple of years, the Pandava brothers had transformed a barren land into a virtual heaven. Indeed, the city had been aptly named Indraprastha, the abode of god Indra. To Duryodhana, Hastinapur now looked drab by contrast.
The only part of the city Duryodhana had not yet seen was the palace itself, which, he had heard, was a magical structure built by an architect with superhuman skill and imagination. So, the next morning, he set out on his own to see every graceful arch and column of this architectural marvel.
The palace, he noticed, had revolving mirror doors, sliding walls and floors that looked like sheets of glass. So uncannily had the architect installed the concave and convex glasses that while one room looked magnified, the other seemed dwarfed.
But the most remarkable optical illusion created by the architect was the marble floor of the main drawing room, which gave the illusion of the surface of a pool. As Duryodhana came to this room, he almost banged his head against a wall, which was in fact only a revolving door. But before stepping into the room, he took off his shoes, thinking that it was a pool. Suddenly he fell flat on his face and lay spreadeagled on the floor. Right at this moment, he heard a giggle from the balcony of an adjoining room.
‘There falls the blind son of a blind father!’
In view of the special acoustics of the room, the giggle was magnified into a loud, derisive laugh.
As Duryodhana gathered himself up on his feet, he recognized the face on the balcony. It was Draupadi, the woman who had insulted his friend Radheya at her svayamvara.
Draupadi’s caustic words pierced him like a spear. Turning to her, he burst out: ‘Is this how you treat your guests, O arrogant lady? Even Krishna’s slaying of Sisupala was not as heinous a crime as the humiliation you have hurled at me. Some day, I will teach you a lesson you will never forget.’
‘That is the hollow threat of a windbag,’ Draupadi retorted. ‘Meanwhile, put on your shoes, O man, and walk back to your guest room, lest you stumble on another floor.’
When Duryodhana shared his humiliation with Radheya, the latter consoled him, saying, ‘The next round will be ours. This woman will have to pay dearly for her foul tongue.’
Soon thereafter, the entire party from Hastinapur left Indraprastha. Never before had Duryodhana felt more determined to avenge himself against the Pandavas.