Verse 2

In plain words

9. The Conclusion of Śrī Kṛṣṇa's Avatāra Like a pestle-blow falling on a whitlow, as the saying goes: upon Dharmaja, already smouldering in grief at his separation from his aunt and uncle, Gāndhārī and Dhṛtarāṣṭra, nothing but inauspicious tidings began to reach his ears from every quarter of the kingdom. Whatever he looked upon was an ill omen; whatever he undertook, only things contrary to Dharma kept rising up to obstruct him. Because of all this, yet another anguish, new and nameless, went on kindling in Dharmaja's heart. His brothers noticed that his face had lost its lustre and that grief was dancing its wild tāṇḍava upon it. One day Bhīma, Nakula and Sahadeva came to Dharmaja's side, wishing to learn the cause of his grief, and with joined palms they entreated him: "O King! Day by day your radiance is dwindling. You seem ceaselessly sunk in some sorrow, wasting away. Please — if any lapse has occurred on our part, tell us, and we shall see to it that no such lapse ever arises or takes place again. Or, if the cause is of some other kind, then without fail, staking even our very lives, we can bring about your happiness. With brothers such as these — heroes above heroes, bound to your command, standing ready with heads bowed — it is not fitting that you should grieve so much. Tell us the cause, and graciously grant us leave for whatever must be done."

Ill Omens Appear to Dharmaja To this Dharmaja replied: "Brothers! What am I to say? Wherever I look, only inauspicious things appear to me. From ordinary homes to the hermitages of great souls and ṛṣis, every sight looks stripped of its grace and void of joy. Telling myself that these are merely the wavering fancies of my own Manas, I try with ever so much courage to restrain them — yet they will not be seized, they do not yield to my effort, and they bind me ever more tightly. "Matching these, I have also seen sights contrary to Dharma. And not only have I seen them: I have heard, too, that ever so many unheard-of, unseemly disputes of injustice, wrongdoing and misconduct have come before our own court of justice for trial. "I have seen still stranger sights. Yesterday evening, as I was going out for a stroll and coming back, I saw a cow that had just calved, and that troubled me still more. A little while after calving, it is natural for the calf to drink the cow's milk; but that did not happen — I saw the cow itself drinking the calf's milk. As I was returning along our royal street, I saw some women roaming unrestrained about the bazaar. Well, I thought, at least on seeing me they will perhaps go indoors; but even that did not happen. Without even any fear of me, never turning from their way, they were talking freely with the men — I saw it with my own eyes. Even so, I walked on some distance further. "Right beside our royal palace I saw a Brahmin selling milk and curds. And I saw that on some houses the doors had been fitted with some strange lump of iron fastened on for security. (That is,

putting locks on the houses.) All these lodged in my mind and troubled me in many ways. Intending to put the worry of them away, in the evening, at the hour of sandhyāvandana, I laid samidhs for the fire-rite — yet however many I laid on and fanned, the fire would not kindle. "The misgiving that such perverse sights point to some destruction grows stronger in me moment by moment, and so my grief too is growing. However much I try, I cannot check it. On seeing these sights, it seems as though Kali has entered, or is about to enter. Otherwise, in a kingdom of Dharma, how strange it is that a woman should stand in the court of justice and argue that, having quarrelled with her husband, she will leave him and go back to her parents' home! Only yesterday I heard that such a dispute had come before the court. "To hear such unhearable things and yet not worry is an impossible thing. Why say more? Yesterday, it is said, all the horses in the stables were shedding tears! The servants who saw it reported it in utter astonishment to Sahadeva; our younger brother went and inquired in every way he could, yet the cause of their grief could not be found, and Sahadeva himself was left astonished. It grows certain that all these are the marks of the time of destruction, and not mere fancies of the Manas." So Dharmaja spoke, and sat in grief with his hand under his chin, as though sunk in thought. Seeing this, Bhīma gave a wry laugh and said: "O King, the ill omens you speak of — the wrongdoing, misconduct and adharma — may well be true. But what harm can come to us? If we institute some firm regulations in the administration as safeguards, these can be checked.

"That you should grieve this much over so little is astonishing. Well then — as for any suspicion that great wars might break out again and wipe out the kingdom, there is no room for it whatever. For the enemies we had, and our kinsmen too, have all been slain. Now, whether as enemies, as friends or as brothers, there are only the five of us! Well! And if one asks whether some quarrel might arise among ourselves — that will not happen even in a dream; it will not come to pass. So I cannot make out what cause or ground you have to grieve. To sink so deep in thought over such trivial sights will only make you an object of ridicule." So, shifting his mace from one hand to the other, Bhīma wryly ended his words. For the Pāṇḍavas, the Five Prāṇas Are Kṛṣṇa Himself! Then Dharmaja said: "Brother! It is not that I lack the powers of discrimination and reflection you have. As you said, I have no fear of enemies at all, nor will any come. We conquered even Bhīṣma, Droṇa and the rest — men who possessed the power and capability to reduce the three worlds to ashes with a single astra; what can other enemies do to us? There is no room at all for fear of enemies. And we, whose minds did not waver even in the very hour of unbearable humiliations — how could enmity or differences of opinion arise among us? Perhaps you thought I was worrying that some misfortune might befall me? Fie! Such a petty delusion has never been mine. This body, made of the five elements, like a bubble on water, must one day or other come loose, drop away, collapse and burn away. Over it I do not worry. The whole of the worry I have is one thing only! That too I will tell you without concealing it — listen. It is this: it is now nearly seven months since our brother Arjuna went to Dvārakā. To this day nothing whatever is known of the welfare of Vāsudeva in Dvārakā. Nor has Arjuna himself sent even word by a messenger that he reached Dvārakā. Yet the worry over this too

does not trouble me so much. For I know there is no one else who can stand against Arjuna. Moreover, had anything adverse or inauspicious befallen Arjuna, Vāsudeva would have let us know. So I am confident that no calamity has befallen Arjuna. But as to Vāsudeva's welfare alone, my misgiving grows moment by moment. My heart is smouldering with an unbearable anguish. Why hide it any longer? The misgiving that Vāsudeva has left this very world has, beyond doubt, enveloped me. Is there any worry greater than this? If anything of the sort has happened, I cannot remain for even a single moment in this widowed land that has lost the Lord of the three worlds. I cannot look upon a world that has put on widowhood. For these Pāṇḍavas, the five prāṇas are that Vāsudeva Himself! Bodies without Him are nothing but corpses. Had Vāsudeva not left the world, these ill omens would not be roaming about so freely. For injustice, wrongdoing, misconduct and adharma to gain so much licence in the world, He must have left this world. This is beyond doubt. My own heart is witness to it." As soon as Dharmaja emphatically declared this firm conviction to his brothers, all their faces withered somewhat, and their courage collapsed. Bhīma, hearing these words, though grief was troubling him too on the one hand, on the other summoned his courage and said: "Brother! Merely because Arjuna has not come, merely because no news of his welfare is known, it is not proper for you to give room to such great misapprehensions and grieve. For some reason or other the news may simply not have reached us. One must patiently learn the truth and only then give room to grief; but to delude yourself within yourself and think that that very thing must be true is perhaps not so wise — it is this confidence that makes me speak this way."

For Men the Left Side, for Women the Right: Its Twitching Is Inauspicious To this Dharmaja replied again: "Bhīma! Whatever you may say, however much you may do, my feeling will prove to be the truth. Otherwise such a thought would not come to me! My left side is twitching. For men the left side, for women the right side — its twitching is an inauspicious sign. Along with my body, my Buddhi, my Manas and all my senses are quivering. My eyes are clouding over. The world seems to have parted from its Lord. My ears do not hear. My legs are trembling — why say more? Whatever work each limb ought to do, those limbs fail to do it and have stiffened, paralysed. What further proof is needed beyond this? Whether you believe my words or not, the truth does not change. The earth is quaking again and again. From within it some strange and terrible sounds are heard. Stars are falling. The water in the lake is tossing in turmoil like the waves of the ocean. The five elements of Nature appear sunk in lamentation at having lost their Lord. How many more proofs are needed? Even before this, news reached us through messengers that in some places in the country a rain of drops of blood had fallen." As Dharmaja declared this with firm certainty, tears began to flow from the eyes of Nakula, Sahadeva and Bhīma without their knowing it. Their hearts lurched. Their legs began to quiver.

In plain words

10. The Sūtradhāri of the Līlā Drama Bhīma somehow summoned his courage and said: "Brother! If you give me leave, I will make everything ready for the journey this very moment, go to Dvārakā, learn all the tidings, and within a short time alight again in your presence." Even as Bhīma was asking leave for the journey, the sun set. Throughout the palace, the lamps were lit, each in its place. Meanwhile the attendant keeping guard at the door came in very swiftly and announced that His Highness was arriving. As though their departed life had come back to them, they all rose in great eagerness; and even as they were setting out to go and meet their brother and hear the news from Dvārakā, Arjuna entered — utterly spent, lustreless, joyless — and, without showing his face, fell at Dharmaja's feet. News of Kṛṣṇa's Departure Then Dharmaja, seeing in Arjuna signs that lent strength to his misgiving, inquired with grief and anxiety after the welfare of his kin and friends in Dvārakā. Arjuna, fallen at his feet, could not rise. Seeing him bathing the feet with streams of tears, the hearts of the remaining brothers filled with dread, and where they stood they turned to water and froze.

Dharmaja's mind gave way. Seizing Arjuna by the shoulders, he said: "Brother, what is it? Our hearts are being worn away. Tell us news of the Yādavas' welfare and deliver us from this torment." But though he asked, Arjuna not only could not rise — not even a word would come from his mouth. Meanwhile Dharmaja rains down all sorts of questions like a shower. Name by name he asks after each one's welfare. To none of it is there any answer; Arjuna does not even lift his head to look up. "Well then — what did Vāsudeva say when He sent you off? How is He?" When Dharmaja asked this anxiously, Arjuna could not bear the question; the grief within him welled up and overflowed, and he burst into loud sobbing: "Brother! Is it still Vāsudeva you ask after? How wretched we are! Have we not become such unfortunates that we could not keep Him with us?" Meanwhile Sahadeva, understanding the matter, shut fast all the doors of the room, came to the side of his elder brother, who was smouldering away in grief, and began to console him. When it became known to all that Vāsudeva had left the world, all at once they cried, "Ah! O Fate! How greatly you have deceived the Pāṇḍavas! With what contempt you have looked upon the world! The fruit of the sins of how many births is this, who knows, that the Pāṇḍavas should today have to hear such news!" — and each of them, one and all, collapsed in grief. "In the Time of Destruction, the Buddhi Turns Perverse" For some time the room was filled with silence. Then Dharmaja, wiping his tears, looked towards Arjuna and said: "Brother! Vasudeva, Nanda and Yaśodā, and all the other Yādavas — what state are they in now? They must be sunk in great grief. Why speak of one or another? All Dvārakā must be sunk in an ocean of grief. If our own state is like this, need theirs be spelled out? Parted from Kṛṣṇa, how can they go on living! Alas, poor souls," he said,

holding back the grief that welled up, shedding tears, heaving sighs within himself over something; and, looking at Dharmaja, Arjuna said: "Brother! How very fortunate are the dwellers of Dvārakā! In every respect it is we who are the unfortunate ones! The only creatures stubborn enough to hear the news that Vāsudeva has left the world and still live are the Pāṇḍavas alone! The rest left the world before they could hear such ill news." Even as Arjuna was speaking, Dharmaja cried: "Hari, Hari! What horror is this? I cannot make out what really happened. Did the sea somehow rise and swallow Dvārakā? Or did some other wicked kings fall upon Dvārakā and slay everyone? Arjuna! Tell us clearly what happened, and bring some relief to our grief, my dear!" — so Dharmaja asks, holding Arjuna's hands and stroking his head. Then Arjuna said: "Brother! No sea surged up and swallowed Dvārakā. No kings came to war against Dvārakā. Among the Yādavas themselves, evil Buddhis flared up against one another. It was the time of destruction itself that bred perverse Buddhis in them. Even abhimāna and mamakāra became void in them, and they killed one another. All the Yādavas have perished." As soon as Arjuna said this, Dharmaja said: "For such Buddhis to arise in them — Buddhis that would sacrifice even the children and the aged — some mightier power must have taken on the form of the cause of all this, Arjuna." And, wishing to hear the matter, swallowing his grief, he bade Arjuna tell clearly the account of what had happened. Then Arjuna too, composing his grief somewhat, began to tell the whole account of what had happened. The three brothers drew close in anxiety and began to listen with utmost attention. "Brother! Only today have I come to know fully that without Vāsudeva's saṅkalpa not even the smallest act can take place on this earth. He Himself, as the Sūtradhāri, sitting among the spectators,

remains hidden, as though known to no one at all. Whatever role He has directed to be acted in whatever manner, the actor cannot but act it in that manner — can he? The wonders and marvels of this drama bring change only to the hearts of the spectators; but no such alteration whatever comes to the Sūtradhāri, does it? When He intends to have something done or said, and through whom, He then engenders in them just such a Buddhi. The Destruction of the Yādava Clan To that, the karma of other births too cannot but contribute its share. Otherwise — you know well that our own people, all the Yādavas, are by their very svabhāva devotees of God and of the Brahmins. But whether from the curse of some great soul on some day long past, or the sin of some karma the Yādavas did on some day — who knows — this is what happened: they went to Prabhāsa-kṣetra to perform a kratu; for those seven days the kratu was carried on joyfully, without hindrance and with great splendour; on the last day the pūrṇāhuti too was completed in Kṛṣṇa's presence; that day, after the auspicious concluding baths, all the Brahmins received the prasāda of the yajña and distributed it to all the Yādavas — all of it took place in due order, peacefully and joyfully. Thereafter, at midday, after the brāhmaṇa-samārādhana had taken place, while the Brahmins, having seated all the Yādavas in rows, were serving them the prasāda — "in the time of destruction, the Buddhi turns perverse" — in the meantime some of them drank vāruṇī and, maddened with intoxication, bereft of the power to discern who were their own and who were strangers, began to trade taunts with one another. At last these grew until they were hurling obscenities at one another. The quarrel intensified, and at last they came to blows with one another. They set about beating one another most fiercely. Brother! Truly, one cannot but say that all this is Bhagavān's saṅkalpa. Otherwise, however

ignorant, arrogant or wicked they might be — would they slay their own children, their own parents, with their own hands? Strange as it is: father struck son and son father, younger brother elder and elder younger, fathers-in-law their sons-in-law, brothers-in-law one another — in this way they beat one another, and all of them died. Ah! That horror I cannot tell." So saying, Arjuna clutched his head tightly with both hands and sat slumped against the wall. Then Dharmaja, who had been listening, with anguish, astonishment and grief, wishing to learn the matter fully, laid his hands on Arjuna's shoulders and said: "Brother! What words are these! They are things impossible to believe, are they not? How am I to believe them? Brother, because untruth never comes from your mouth, I have to believe them; but otherwise, what a wonder this is! The mutual friendship there was among the Yādavas — I have never seen or heard of the like in any other clan. Not only that: the Yādavas are not ones to overstep Kṛṣṇa's command. Even in a moment of the greatest passion, if Kṛṣṇa spoke, they would fall silent without a word in reply. How such people, in Kṛṣṇa's very presence, with no regard for any distinction between one another, could beat one another to death! Truly, as you said, such Buddhis arise only for destruction. Without God's Command, Nothing Happens "Well then, Arjuna! Could Vāsudeva not have given the quarrellers fitting counsel and turned them from it? Or could He not at least have made peace between them and sent each one back to where he belonged? In grace and in restraint alike He is supremely capable, is He not? This astonishes me still more." So saying, Dharmaja rested his chin on his hand, his elbow propped on his knee, shaking his head in grief; and seeing the tears welling in his eyes, Arjuna said: "Mahārāja! When you, who know everything, ask like this, what am I able to tell you? As it was with us, so it is with the Yādavas too! Were not we and the Kauravas brothers, after all?"

For us, on both sides, all were kinsmen; and even so — even with Śyāmasundara standing between us — did not the great Bhārata war take place? If we ourselves reflect on it a little, would the war have taken place had it not been His wish? Would an army of forty lakhs have been destroyed? Did we ever intend to kill all of them and rule this kingdom? "Without His command, not a single thing happens. And even if one wished to transgress His command and go one's own way, that is not possible. The acting He Himself has taught, in the time He has appointed, on this stage of Prakṛti — one cannot but act it out as He says. One cannot but do it. It cannot but happen, can it? These are our own notions; but for everything, His saṅkalpa is the root cause, and it brings the deed to pass." As soon as Arjuna finished, Dharmaja said: "Arjuna! For the Bhārata war there were many causes. For the kingdom, and for each of our rightful places of authority, we conducted embassies of many kinds, by the way that justice binds. How many kinds of humiliation we endured! We were cast into the forests. Though they tried to kill us, we were protected as vessels of His grace. They dishonoured Draupadī. They set fire to the house of lac; they fed us poisoned food. With so many kinds of causes our hearts were shattered and we were roused to passion. "But for fighting, the principal causes are, after all, only three: wealth, land, and one's lawful wife. That the Yādavas gave up their lives fighting among themselves when none of these causes existed — one can only call it the writing of Fate. The Yādavas are prosperous by nature; they have no lack at all of wealth or grain. As for their lawful wives, they are great jewels among virtuous women. They are not ones to transgress their husbands' command, and never at all ones to give room to thoughts of other men. That being so, why should a quarrel great enough to make them come to blows have arisen?" — so said Dharmaja.

All of It Is the Puppet-Show of the Sūtradhāri of the Līlā Drama Then Arjuna replied: "Brother! For us to seize on external causes and draw out our moods and melodies of lament — that too is a kind of ajñāna! All these are mere nimitta. As soon as the time draws near, people take these as their pretext and go on fighting one another; Bhagavān, who in His svarūpa is Time itself, comes Himself in the form of Kāla, shows some cause or other, and brings the drama to its close. Whatever the cause for bringing to birth, for killing too He makes that same cause the basis. We do not look for causes for being born, do we? Just so, for dying too a cause is unnecessary. Through jīvas He brings jīvas to birth; and again, through jīvas alone, He puts jīvas to death. Has not Vāsudeva taught us ever so many times that what is born and what dies are only bodies? That you, knowing this, should again give room to such doubts is very astonishing. You may also think that it is not Dharma for the very one who brought to birth to kill. But between these two, the responsibility for the fruits of puṇya and pāpa also adds its share to this. On this account Bhagavān plays His game with the balls called birth and death. Between these two mountains called birth and death there runs the stream of life. To cross it He has built a bridge called Ātma-śakti. Those who make their journey relying upon it suffer no distress at all from this stream of life. Relying on the Ātma-śakti, they — even fallen into the stream, buffeted about, holding out — reach the shore. O King! All of this is nothing but the puppet-show of Him who is the Sūtradhāri of the līlā drama. In this there is not the least fault of the Yādavas, nor, in those days, of the Kauravas — there is not, it is not so; this lump of the five elements can do nothing at all without the prompting of that Lord. If bringing one to birth from another, and making them die through yet another, is not His sport — then snakes lay eggs,

hatch their young, and then eat their own young themselves — do we not see this in the world? Yet it devours only those whose time has come; it does not devour them all. Do not even fish, creatures that move about in the water, get caught by fishermen when their time has come, and lose their lives? Why go so far? Do not big fish swallow small fish, and still bigger fish the big ones? The snake eats the frog, and the peacock the snake. In the world ever so many common examples of this are to be seen. Who is able to tell the causes of all these? If one inquires into the truth, all of it is the saṅkalpa of that Gopāla who is Bhagavān! We were unable to understand His līlās. What use is it to worry today? All the while that He, having taken a human form of Māyā, moved among us, mingled with us, ate with us, kept a bond with us like an ordinary kinsman, protected us from many calamities, showed us compassion, and resolved hard problems with the greatest ease — all that time we went about with the pride of having such a One's backing and support; but we did not plunge into the stream of His grace and rise from it, did we? Though He cherished us with so much Prema, we — worthless ones, unable to understand it — asked of Him merely external conveniences, merely physical desires, but never truly inquired into His real state, did we? Regarding the Pāṇḍavas as His own five prāṇas, for every little task of the Pāṇḍavas He Himself stood in the fore, carried the resolve through to fulfilment and handed it to us. Brother! What shall I say? However many births we may take, we will never find such a dear and trusted kinsman. A compassion not to be found even in one's own mother — how many times have I experienced it in Him! Regarding the Pāṇḍavas' worries as His own worries, He would devise in a moment fitting stratagems to resolve them. If the Pāṇḍavas are in this world, as they are, to this day, the one cause is the alms of His compassion.

Why say more? Every drop of blood in this body is a drop of His grace! All these muscles are lumps of His Prema. All the bones in it are slivers of His tender affection! Unable to know this secret, we became the very embodiments of abhimāna, mamakāra and Ahaṅkāra, and went about with the pride of 'I accomplished it.' Now it becomes known that without Him we are nothing but empty leather bags. Perhaps the lot of all human beings in the world is just this. Forgetting the truth that Sarveśvara, the Protector of all, is making us dance in every way, how many ignorant ones like me are there in this world who think, 'I alone am the doer of everything, and the enjoyer'? If the state of us who thought, 'We are valiant, we are heroes, we are steadfast,' is like this, then there is no need to speak of the state of ordinary people, is there! The experience that befell me on the way is the direct witness to this." So saying, unable to bear his separation from Kṛṣṇa, thinking of Him and thinking again, like one who has lost consciousness, he sank slumped against the seat beside him.

In plain words

11. The Pāṇḍavas at Fault, Out of Grief Sunk deep in long reflection, recalling all that Kṛṣṇa had done for them — the deeds, the help He gave, the compassion and Prema He had shown — Dharmaja, who was brooding in sorrow, suddenly lifted his head. "Arjuna! What did you say? What was the mishap that befell you on the road? Tell me clearly, brother," he asked, taking Arjuna by the chin with deep affection. Looking at Dharmaja as he asked this, Arjuna said: "Brother! All my puruṣārtha has gone away with that Kṛṣṇa Himself. I am now a weakling, more powerless than a helpless woman, a lifeless thing." One Must Not Transgress the Command of Nanda's Son "This wretched Arjuna, though he was in Dvārakā itself, was not blessed with the good fortune of being beside that Vāsudeva at the time the Lord departed for His own abode. I could not even see that father. In the end Kṛṣṇa's charioteer, Dāruka, delivered the Lord's message to me. In it He Himself, in person, wrote and sent word in this manner" — so saying, he drew from his waist the letter in Kṛṣṇa's own handwriting, which he had kept hidden more carefully than his own life, and placed it in Dharmaja's hands. Dharmaja received that letter with both hands in utmost eagerness, pressed it to his eyes, and, shedding tears, with water-filled

eyes, he tried to read that letter. For some time he could not read it. At the very beginning Kṛṣṇa had set down these weighty words: "Brother-in-law! Arjuna! This is my command. You must bear it on your head without a word in reply. With courage you must accomplish this task." Then He set out the matter in detail as follows: "I have fulfilled the purpose for which I came. I will no longer remain in this world in bodily form. I am going to my own abode. On the seventh day from today the whole city of Dvārakā is to sink into the sea. Apart from the mansions in which I have been dwelling, the Ocean is taking all the rest into himself. Therefore you must take the queens, the remaining women of Dvārakā, the children, the infants, the aged and all the others, and go to Indraprastha. I go leaving upon you the charge of the women and children of the entire Yādava clan. Protect these as you would your own life, provide them in Indraprastha with accommodation fitting for them, and look after them. Thus — Gopāla, departing for His own abode." Having read this, Dharmaja finished the letter. Bhīma, Arjuna, Nakula, Sahadeva and the others, hearing all this, shed streams of tears, forgot their very bodies, and fell to the ground like stones. Then Arjuna said: "Brother! Not wishing to remain in this world even a single minute without that Lord, I thought to leap into the sea and take my own life; or else I thought to smash my head to pieces with this very Gāṇḍīva. But the command He gave did not let me do so. The firm resolve that the command of that son of Nanda must not be transgressed held me in this world. Since I had no time to give room to any other thoughts, I performed for all the departed, as the śāstras prescribe, the ancestral rites, the śrāddha, the tarpaṇa and the rest, and then, very

soon — with an urgency to leave Dvārakā, I had the women of Dvārakā, the children and the servants made ready for the journey, set out, and left Dvārakā — unable to leave it, unable to leave it, I left it. Taking on my back the responsibility for all of them, enduring separation from Kṛṣṇa, and bearing His command on my head, somehow we reached the vicinity of Pañcanada (the Punjab). By then the sun was setting. Since a river was flowing alongside with great force, we decided to rest for that night on the bank of that river itself; the wealth and jewels we had brought were secured in one place, all the queens were helped down from the palanquins, and the servants each went off wherever they would to attend to their bodily needs. I, with the heavy burden of separation from Kṛṣṇa, went to the river's water for the sandhyāvandana. Meanwhile pitch darkness closed in. From somewhere terrifying cries were heard. I raised my head and looked — and behold! Many forest-tribe cowherds, taking cudgels and staves, spears and daggers, fell upon our company. Arjuna Fails to Protect the Yādava Women They plundered the heaps of wealth. They began to torment the women. Then I said: "You there, you wicked men! Like moths that, all too knowingly, fall into the fire and give up their lives, like a fish that covets the bait and is caught on the hook — why will you lose your lives through greed for wealth? Surely you must have heard my name. I am Arjuna, the son of Pāṇḍu, who in the Mahābhārata war conquered Droṇa, Bhīṣma, Karṇa and the rest — conquerors of the three worlds. With this Gāṇḍīva I will send you in a minute to the world of Yama. Even now, turn back — or else your final hour is certain!" But not the slightest fear or alarm could be seen in them. Setting about still more violent deeds, they subjected the company to every kind of violence, and finally, … me too

they made ready to fall upon us. Then I resolved to take up a divyāstra and kill them; but — what a strange thing, I know not — however much I tried, not a single mantra came to my memory. I had forgotten the very procedure for discharging and withdrawing them. Before my very eyes the thieves were seizing and carrying off Kṛṣṇa's wives and the maidservants. The tormented women, crying out my name — "Save us, rescue us! Arjuna! Arjuna! In the end are you handing us over like this to the wicked? Had we known you would do this, we would gladly have been swallowed up in the sea itself, along with Dvārakā!" — so they cried; and watching and hearing the women and boys shouting as they broke free and ran this way and that, and those raising cries of lament, I could only hiss like a lion whose teeth and claws have been torn out; I had become powerless, unable to take any action at all. I could not even string my bow. Then again, taking up arrows, I fought with them. Meanwhile all the arrows I had with me were used up. My heart was burning up. "A World Without Kṛṣṇa Is Hell Itself" Disgust arose in me for my own self. I became lifeless. All the efforts I made came to nothing. I realised that my inexhaustible quiver had gone with Vāsudeva Himself. Otherwise — that I became so luckless as to be unable to rescue the women of the inner palace while forest cowherds were dragging them away — surely no other proof is needed that all my strength has gone with the Lord Kṛṣṇa Himself! While separation from Kṛṣṇa burned me on one side, on the other the pain of being unable to bring the women to Indraprastha as His command required joined it like wind to a fire; and not stopping even there — Vāsudeva's queens, who in the city of Dvārakā had dwelt within golden mansions and enjoyed all manner of divine comforts, were

delicate women. At the hands of those forest cowherds — how many torments they may be suffering! At that thought, like sticks in a fire, my heart burns still more and is turning to ash. "Ah, Kṛṣṇa! Rather than sacrificing us in this way, could you not have taken us too along with you to your own abode? Having saved us from all those terrible torments, have you in the end imposed such a harsh punishment?" So Arjuna lamented, beating his head with his hands, and with his wailing that whole room shook and trembled. Even Bhīma's heart, like a heart of stone, melted and flowed. Seething-hot water began to pour from his eyes like a flood, in stream upon stream, giving off steam. Seeing that, Dharmaja grew afraid, wondering what might happen, went to Bhīma's side and spoke words of consolation to him in the form of spiritual counsel. Then, after some time, Bhīma came to his senses, bowed to his elder brother and said: "Brother! I have no further need of this life; if you give me leave, I will go to the forest, build a pyre for myself, and, remembering Kṛṣṇa's name, reduce this body to ash in it and join Kṛṣṇa, who is in His own abode. Give me leave. This world without Kṛṣṇa seems to me nothing but hell," he said, wiping those hot tears with his upper cloth. Sahadeva, who had kept silent all this while, came to Bhīma's side and said: "Brother! Do not be hasty. That day, when Vāsudeva went to King Dhṛtarāṣṭra on the peace mission, you have perhaps forgotten what answer Vāsudeva gave to the question that Dhṛtarāṣṭra's son asked in the assembly.