The Blind King Is Answered

The thirteenth day was over, and in Hastinapur the old king sat in his hall and would not let the messenger begin.

Sanjaya had come back from Kurukshetra with the news already delivered: that Abhimanyu, the son of Arjuna and Subhadra, a boy of sixteen, had been drawn into the wheel array alone and killed there by six great car-warriors of the Kaurava side. Dhritarashtra had heard that much. What he wanted now was the morning after it.

"After Abhimanyu's slaughter, when the next day came," he said, "what did the Pandavas do, afflicted with grief and sorrow? Who among my warriors fought with them?"

He did not wait for the answer. He never did.

"Knowing, as they did, the achievements of Savyasachin, tell me how the Kauravas could, having perpetrated such a wrong, remain fearlessly. How could they in battle venture even to gaze at that tiger among men, as he advanced like the all-destroying Death himself in fury, burning with grief on account of the slaughter of his son? Beholding that warrior with the prince of apes on his banner, that hero grieved for his child, shaking his gigantic bow in battle, what did my warrior do? What, O Sanjaya, hath befallen unto Duryodhana?"

Sanjaya was the king's suta, his charioteer and his court reporter, and he had been given by Vyasa a sight that let him see the whole field from where he stood. He had told this king every death for thirteen days. He knew the shape of the questions by now, and he knew that this one was not really a question about the fourteenth day at all.

"A great sorrow hath overtaken us today," Dhritarashtra said. "I do not any longer hear the sounds of joy."

What followed was not a question but an inventory, and every item in it was a silence.

"Those charming sounds, highly agreeable to the ear, that were formerly heard in the abode of the Sindhu king, alas, those sounds are no longer heard today. In the camp of my sons, the sounds of countless bards and panegyrists singing their praises, and of dances, are no longer heard. Formerly such sounds used to strike my ears incessantly."

He went tent by tent through his own army, the way a blind man goes through a house he knows, touching each thing to be sure it is still there.

"Formerly, while sitting in the abode of Somadatta, who was devoted to truth, I used to hear such delightful sounds. Alas, how destitute of merit I am, for I observe the abode of my sons today to be echoing with sounds of grief and lamentation, and destitute of every noise betokening life and energy. In the houses of Vivinsati, Durmukha, Chitrasena, Vikarna, and other sons of mine, I do not hear the sounds I used to hear."

Then Ashwatthama, the son of Drona, on whom his sons had leaned.

"Upon him Brahmanas and Kshatriyas and Vaisyas and a great number of disciples used to wait, who took pleasure day and night in disputation, in talk, in the stirring music of diverse instruments and in delightful songs, who was worshipped by many among the Kurus, the Pandavas and the Satwatas. In the abode of that son of Drona no sound can be heard as formerly. Singers and dancers used to wait closely upon that mighty bowman. Their sounds can no longer be heard."

Vinda and Anuvinda of Avanti, whose camp roared every evening. The Kaikeyas, whose soldiers sang and slapped their palms in time while they danced. The priests competent in sacrifice who waited on the son of Somadatta.

And last, his teacher's tent, which had a particular noise of its own.

"The twang of the bowstring, the sounds of Vedic recitation, the whiz of lances and swords, and the rattle of car-wheels used incessantly to be heard in the abode of Drona. Alas, those sounds can no longer be heard there."

He had been listening to his war through his ears for thirteen days. Now the war had gone quiet, and he could tell from the quiet exactly what it meant.

From the silence he went, as he always went, to the day he says he was right.

"When Janardana of unfading glory came from Upaplavya, desirous of peace, from compassion for every creature, I then said unto the wicked Duryodhana: obtaining Vasudeva as the means, make peace with the Pandavas, my son. I think the time has come. Do not, O Duryodhana, transgress my command. If thou settest Vasudeva aside, who now begs thee for peace and addresses thee for my good, victory thou wilt never have in battle."

That was the embassy every man in the hall remembered. Krishna had come from the Pandava camp at Upaplavya and asked for five villages, and had been refused, and an attempt had been made to seize him in that very room.

"Duryodhana, however, did set aside him of Dasarha's race, that bull among all bowmen, who then spoke what was for Duryodhana's good. By this he embraced what was calamitous to himself. Seized by Death himself, that wicked-souled son of mine, rejecting my counsels, adopted those of Dushasana and Karna."

Then, further back still, to the dice.

"I myself did not approve of the game of dice. Vidura did not approve of it. The ruler of the Sindhus did not, nor Bhishma, nor Shalya, nor Bhurisravas, nor Purumitra, nor Jaya, nor Ashwatthama, nor Kripa, nor Drona."

It is a strange list to hear a man recite. Jayadratha of the Sindhus, who was at that hour sitting in his tent with Arjuna's vow over his head, is in it. So is Bhishma, lying on his arrows a few miles away. Every name on it belongs to a man who did not stop the game either, and the king who is naming them is the one who sent Vidura to fetch Yudhishthira to the hall.

"If my son had conducted himself according to the counsels of these persons, he would then, with his kinsmen and friends, have lived for ever in happiness and peace."

He came round then to the Pandavas, and spoke of them the way a man speaks of a property he has lost.

"Of sweet and delightful speech, ever saying what is agreeable among their kinsmen, high-born, loved by all, and possessed of wisdom, the sons of Pandu are sure to obtain happiness. The man who casteth his eye on righteousness always and everywhere obtaineth happiness. Such a man, after death, winneth benefit and grace."

Then the sentence that thirteen days of corpses had finally pushed out of him.

"Possessed of sufficient might, the Pandavas deserve to enjoy half the earth. The earth girt by the seas is as much their ancestral possession as of the Kurus. Possessed of sovereignty, the Pandavas will never deviate from the track of righteousness."

Half the earth. It was the exact settlement that had been on the table before the war, and he was granting it now, aloud, in an empty hall, to nobody.

And he had a plan for it too, worked out and complete, as though the fourteen days behind him could be unmade by good sense applied late.

"O child, I have kinsmen to whose voice the Pandavas will ever listen. Shalya, Somadatta, the high-souled Bhishma, Drona, Vikarna, Valhika, Kripa, and others among the Bharatas that are illustrious and reverend in years. If they speak unto them on thy behalf, the Pandavas will certainly act according to those beneficial recommendations. Who amongst these, thinkest thou, belongs to their party, that will speak to them otherwise? Krishna will never abandon the path of righteousness. The Pandavas are all obedient to him. Words of righteousness spoken by myself also, those heroes will never disobey, for the Pandavas are all of righteous soul."

Bhishma had fallen on the tenth day. Vikarna would die on the fourteenth. Somadatta's son would die on the fourteenth. The delegation the blind king was assembling in his mind was half of it already dead, and he was still counting heads for it.

"Piteously lamenting, O Suta, I spoke these and many such words unto my son. Foolish as he is, he listened not to me. I think all this to be the mischievous influence of Time."

Then he counted the other side, which was the one exercise at which he had always been exact.

"There where Vrikodara and Arjuna are, and the Vrishni hero Satyaki, and Uttamaujas of the Panchalas, and the invincible Yudhamanyu, and the irrepressible Dhrishtadyumna, and the unvanquished Shikhandi, the Asmakas, the Kekayas, and Kshatradharman of the Somakas, the ruler of the Chedis, and Chekitana, and Vibhu the son of the ruler of Kasi, the sons of Draupadi, and Virata, and the mighty car-warrior Drupada, and those tigers among men the twins, and the slayer of Madhu to offer counsel: who is there in this world that would fight these, expecting to live?"

He had the whole roll by heart. Nobody had to read it to him.

"Who else, again, is there, save Duryodhana and Karna and Shakuni the son of Suvala, and Dushasana as their fourth? For I do not see the fifth that would venture to resist my foes while the latter display their celestial weapons. They who have Vishnu himself on their car, clad in mail and with the reins in hand, they who have Arjuna for their warrior, they can never have defeat."

Four names on his own side. He could not find a fifth man in his army who would stand in front of the Pandavas by choice, and he said so, while sixty thousand cars of his were still on the field.

"Doth not Duryodhana now recollect those lamentations of mine? The tiger among men, Bhishma, thou hast said, has been slain. I think, beholding the fruits of the words uttered by the far-seeing Vidura, my sons are now indulging in lamentations. I think, beholding his army overwhelmed by Sini's grandson and Arjuna, beholding the terraces of his cars empty, my sons are indulging in lamentations. As a swelling conflagration urged by the winds consumes a heap of dry grass at the close of winter, even so will Dhananjaya consume my troops."

Then, at last, the thing he had summoned the messenger for.

"O Sanjaya, thou art accomplished in narration. Tell me everything that transpired after the doing of that great wrong to Partha in the evening. When Abhimanyu was slain, what became the state of your minds? What measures were resolved upon by Duryodhana, and what by Karna? What also did Dushasana and Suvala's son do? Tell me what measures were then adopted by my son. Were they ill-judged, or well-judged?"

Sanjaya had heard this lament, in one form or another, since the first day. He did not begin with the fourteenth morning.

"I will tell thee all, for everything hath been witnessed by me with my own eyes. Listen calmly."

Then, before the narration, four words that a servant does not say to a king.

"Great is thy fault."

He said it flatly, and went on before the old man could interrupt.

"Even as an embankment is useless after the waters have flowed away, even so, O king, are these lamentations of thine useless. O bull of Bharata's race, do not grieve. Wonderful as are the decrees of the Destroyer, they are incapable of being transgressed. Do not grieve, for this is not new."

And then he laid out, one after another, the four moments at which this could have been stopped, and named the man who had been standing at each of them.

"If thou hadst formerly restrained Yudhishthira, the son of Kunti, and thy sons also, from the match at dice, this calamity would never have overtaken thee.

"If, again, when the time for battle came, thou hadst restrained both the parties inflamed by wrath, this calamity would never have overtaken thee.

"If, again, thou hadst formerly urged the Kurus to slay the disobedient Duryodhana, then this calamity would never have overtaken thee. Hadst thou done any of these, the Pandavas, the Panchalas, the Vrishnis and the other kings would never have known thy wrong-headedness.

"If, again, doing thy duty as a father, thou hadst, by placing Duryodhana in the path of righteousness, caused him to tread along it, then this calamity would never have overtaken thee."

Four chances. Not one of them beyond the reach of a king. The dice, the muster, the moment when the assembled Kurus could have been told to put down a son who would not obey, and the ordinary daily business of a father with a boy.

"Thou art the wisest man on earth," Sanjaya said. "Forsaking eternal virtue, how couldst thou follow the counsels of Duryodhana and Karna and Shakuni?"

That was the charge. The king had spent an hour naming the counsels he had given. Sanjaya answered by naming the counsels he had taken.

"These lamentations of thine, therefore, O king, that I hear, of thine that art wedded to worldly wealth, seem to me to be honey mixed with poison."

He had one more thing, and it was the one that would land.

"O monarch, formerly Krishna did not respect king Yudhishthira, the son of Pandu, or Drona, so much as he used to respect thee. When, however, he came to know thee as one fallen off from the duties of a king, since then Krishna hath ceased to regard thee with respect."

A few minutes earlier the king had told the hall that Krishna would never abandon righteousness, and that the Pandavas would heed words of righteousness spoken by himself. Sanjaya had let him finish, and then told him what Krishna thought of him.

"Thy sons had addressed various harsh speeches towards the sons of Pritha. Thou wast indifferent to those speeches then, O thou that wieldest sovereignty. The consequence of that indifference hath now overtaken thee. O sinless one, the ancestral sovereignty is now in danger. The kingdom that the Kurus enjoy, as also their fame, had been acquired by the Pandus. The virtuous sons of Pandu added to that kingdom and that fame. Those achievements, however, became barren of fruit as they came in contact with thee, since they were deprived of even their ancestral kingdom by the covetous."

Then, having finished with the father, he defended the sons.

"Now, O king, when the battle has begun, thou censurest thy sons, indicating diverse faults of theirs. This is scarcely becoming. The Kshatriyas, while fighting, do not take care of their very lives. Indeed, those bulls among Kshatriyas fight, penetrating into the array of the Parthas. Who else, save the Kauravas, would venture to fight with that force which is protected by Krishna and Arjuna, by Satyaki and Vrikodara? Them that have Arjuna for their warrior, them that have Janardana for their counsellor, them that have Satyaki and Vrikodara for their protectors, what mortal bowman is there that would dare fight with, save the Kauravas and those that follow their lead? All that is capable of being achieved by friendly kings endued with heroism and observant of the duties of Kshatriyas, all that is being done by the warriors on the Kaurava side."

The men out there were doing the only honourable thing left to them in a war their king's silence had made. It was not their courage that had failed. It was his.

"Listen now, therefore," Sanjaya said, "to everything that hath taken place in the terrible battle between those tigers among men, the Kurus and the Pandavas."

And he began the fourteenth day.