Soon after Sanjaya’s departure, a pall of gloom descended upon Yudhishthira. He imagined himself standing at the crossroad of life – between peace and war, being and nothingness, spring and autumn. He imagined himself trapped in a boiling cauldron, hurled from one side to the other. In his mind’s eye, he saw a river of blood in spate, carrying on its surface the dead bodies of innocent soldiers. He saw that there was now no alternative to war.
Suddenly, a thought pricked his conscience. Had he been too harsh on his uncle for calling him blind, both physically and morally? He had accused him of deviousness and avarice. Was it not too unkind of him to retaliate by suggesting that it was time for him to retreat to some forest and spend the rest of his life in penance? Surely there are thoughts that a man must keep to himself! Does righteousness not require one to exercise control over one’s thoughts and feelings? He felt he had forsaken his dharma when he had spoken too bluntly to Sanjaya.
Immersed in these thoughts, he decided to convene a meeting of his brothers and allies to seek their advice. But, above all, he was eager to seek Krishna’s guidance because he held him in great love and reverence. Only he could lead him from indecision to a clear course of action. He thought of Arjuna, who had wisely chosen Krishna and not his army of Narayanas. That was where Duryodhana had already lost the war. He found comfort in Arjuna’s words to Krishna that when divinity leads victory follows. But now Yudhishthira wanted to hear Krishna’s words of wisdom directly.
In the central hall of his palace in Upaplavya, Yudhishthira calls all his counsellors. But even before the deliberations began, he saw on Krishna’s face an enigmatic smile. It seemed as if he had already divined what the future held for the Pandavas. An awesome silence hung over the place. Then Yudhishthira spoke in a voice, deep and resonant. Briefly, he reminded the assembly of the message that Sanjaya had brought from Dhritarashtra – and his own response.
‘Now it is our turn,’ said Yudhishthira, ‘to send someone as our envoy to Hastinapur.’ Then, glancing at Krishna with a gracious smile, he added, ‘Of course, who else could represent us better than Krishna? Let him decide our future course of action – peace or war. As for myself, my judgement is too clouded. I see in front of me nothing but catastrophe. As you have heard, Sanjaya’s message from Dhritarashtra implies only devastation of the Kauravas. How I wish I was not born a Kshatriya, destined to cause bloodshed! How I wish I could be a wandering mendicant with a begging bowl! That way lies peace and happiness. If only my uncle had treated me and my brothers as his children! But he seems to have disowned us completely. My heart bleeds to think that even after subjecting us to thirteen years of agony, Dhritarashtra’s lust for power is still not satiated. As for myself, I still want peace, not war – love not hatred.’
Seeing Yudhishthira thus agonized, Krishna stood up to speak, his eyes flashing. ‘That kind of indecision does not befit a Kshatriya. You cannot expect peace to drop into your begging bowl. There comes a moment in one’s life when one must fight for justice. It is not my intention to provoke you into war. If I go as your envoy to Hastinapur, I will still plead for peace. But I also know that making Duryodhana and his father see reason would be like chasing a shadow. But even if I see a wall in front of me, I propose to ask for amity and justice. My real strategy, however, would be to make them perceive the truth about their wrongdoings, and provoke them into searching their souls. I would like all the citizens of Hastinapur to see how morally depraved the Kauravas are. But if, in spite of my best efforts, I fail, I will ask them to be ready for their annihilation, for victory will undoubtedly be ours.’
Although everyone listened to Krishna with rapt attention, Yudhishthira’s forehead still remained knitted. Looking frightened and despondent, he said, ‘I know you will choose your words wisely. But I am still troubled by a dark thought. What if Duryodhana ventures to harm you in some way? You will be there alone, surrounded by the blood-thirsty Kauravas. I feel fearful, O Vasudeva.’
A smile now flashed across Krishna’s face. ‘Fear not for me, dear Yudhishthira, for I am capable of taking care of myself. If Duryodhana or anybody else tries to harm me, I will eliminate them all. That would be an instant solution to all your problems – no war then, for there would be no enemies left for you to confront on the battlefield!’
A smile rippled across everyone’s face in the assembly hall. They knew that Krishna was invincible, endowed as he was with divine power. But just then, Bheema spoke, not with his customary roar, but in a voice that was gentle and compassionate.
‘Nobody dare touch you, O Vasudeva – this I know,’ said Bheema. ‘But I urge you not to threaten the Kauravas. War is not the only way to redress our wrongs. If King Dhritarashtra’s message sounded like a sword’s rattle, maybe it was because he had been momentarily provoked. We all know how very unpredictable he is. So, Krishna, I implore you to be compassionate, even towards our enemies. Go to Hastinapur as our emissary of peace. Let us build a bridge of friendship between Hastinapur and Upaplavya.’
Bheema’s words took the entire assembly by surprise. Krishna turned to him in utter amazement, his eyes probing the face of the mightiest of the Pandavas.
‘Is it Bheema’s voice that I just heard? I am bewildered. Is this the same Bheema who always roared like a lion, shook up pillars in his wrath and struck terror into the hearts of his enemies? Is it the same Bheema who killed the mighty Keechaka for attempting to molest Draupadi? Above all, is it the same Bheema who vowed to smash Duryodhana’s thighs and drink blood from Duhsasana’s chest? I cannot help feeling amused to see that Bheema now suddenly transformed from a giant breathing fire to a bleating lamb.’
‘No, Vasudeva,’ responded Bheema. ‘It is just that we should try our best to avoid war, if possible. But if you fail in your mission of peace, war would be the only alternative. You would then see your Bheema tearing through the enemy ranks like a whirlwind. Like Yama, I will put them all to eternal sleep. So call me not a coward.’
A gentle, playful smile now flitted across Krishna’s face. He walked up to Bheema and hugged him warmly.
‘That is the real Bheema! How dare anyone call you a coward when you are the glory of the Pandavas, the brightest jewel in their crown? I only wanted to rekindle your fire. And I see that my strategy has worked. So pardon me, dear Bheema, if I have hurt your feelings.’
Bheema touched Krishna’s feet in respect. Krishna’s eyes now sought Arjuna, who had been caressing his Gandiva all this time, his gaze focussed on some distant vision. As Krishna gazed at him, it seemed as if the two were communicating silently with each other.
‘What are you thinking?’ Krishna asked, interrupting Arjuna’s ruminations. ‘I am sure all of us would like you to say something.’
‘You have already spoken for me,’ Arjuna responded, now putting aside his bow. ‘If my Gandiva were to speak for me, it would like to challenge Duryodhana and his cohorts to a decisive battle. All of us seem to be talking when it is now time for action. You have rightly said that any further attempt at negotiations with the Kauravas would be an exercise in futility. So let us brace up for war, since peace is not the language that Dhritarashtra and Duryodhana will ever understand.’
‘You have spoken for me too, O Arjuna,’ interposed Draupadi. ‘I know that a woman has no place in such deliberations. But was I not the one who was humiliated in that assembly where our elders chose to remain callously indifferent to me? Did they conduct themselves as Kshatriyas or as weaklings – mute spectators of a gruesome spectacle?’
Draupadi paused. Then holding her hair in her right hand, she broke into tears. ‘Look at my hair, you warriors! Each strand of my hair is like the string of a bow. It is like Arjuna’s Gandiva that would twang on the battlefield, aching to wipe out every Kaurava. Let my tears speak to you, if not my words.’
Deeply touched by Drauapadi’s poignant words, Krishna said, ‘Rest assured, O Draupadi, that if I go to Hastinapur to ask for peace, it is only to give them one last chance. But no more. I do not want posterity to blame us for rashness. Let the cobra savour a drop of milk before it is laid low – hoodless and fangless.’
The last to speak was Satyaki, a Yadava warrior and a close friend of Krishna. ‘I speak only to affirm what has already been said by Krishna, Arjuna and Draupadi. We seem to have been drawn into an inevitable war with the Kauravas. So our only choice is to mobilize our forces as expeditiously as possible, before Dhritarashtra lets loose a brood of vipers to attack us. Let me remind you that Duryodhana is a poisonous tree that must be pulled out by its roots. There is no denying the fact that the citizens of Hastinapur know the ordeal the Pandavas have been through. But they are helpless under the tyrannical rule of Duryodhana, who has held even Bheeshma in acquiescence. Vidura, we all know, is the only one who has the courage to raise his voice in protest against injustice. But how can a lone dissenter stand up to Duryodhana? Let the Pandavas not delude themselves into thinking that Dhritarashtra would ever recognize any relationship with them. His universe revolves around one person only – his son. Let us, therefore, decide without any reservations to eliminate this fountainhead of evil. I offer our king, Yudhishthira, all support on behalf of his friends and allies. At this hour of crisis, let us close our ranks. I have no objection to Krishna going to Hastinapur as our envoy of peace. But what will eventually happen is clear. The Kauravas are itching for war, but little do they know that what awaits them is total destruction.’
A loud applause greeted Satyaki’s speech.
Yudhishthira then rose to conclude the deliberations. ‘The consensus of the assembly is that while we send Krishna to Hastinapur as our envoy, we should not remain idle. Let there be no slackening of our determination to fight. I suggest that Satyaki accompany Krishna on this journey to Hastinapur. A long and arduous journey it will be, and only God knows what awaits us at the other end. All that I wish to say now is that we will unreservedly accept whatever Krishna decides.’