Chapter
17
Vyâsa's Voice that Heals - Recalling the Bygone
Days
Emperor
Parîkchit journeyed in state over the entire
Indian continent, acquainting himself with the
administrative excellence of the rule of his
grandfathers, with the unique relationship which they had
established between themselves and Lord Krishna
who had then come down on earth as Man, listening to the
experiences of many a saint and scholar who lived in
those halcyon days, and reflecting on those cheering
memories, as he travelled along. Often he was
overcome with remorse at the thought that he was not
alive during those days when the grandparents were in
such heavenly bliss.
Vyâsa's
Voice that Heals
While thus immersed in
the joy of recollecting the annals of his forefathers and
the glory of those bygone days with Krishna,
Vyâsa, the great sage, appeared before him
quite unexpectedly. He welcomed him with great honor and
seated him on an elevated seat. The sage praised the rule
of Parîkchit and said that he was reminded
of the reign of the Pândavas. The young king
listened reverentially to his talk. After some time,
Vyâsa said, "Son, I must be going now". But
Parîkchit said, "It is like placing a dish
of delicacies before a starving man and just when he is
about to stretch his hand towards it, dragging it away
from his grasp. Your accounts of the adventures of my
grandfathers and of the splendor of S'rî
Krishna are like the most precious gems spread out
before me; but, you cause the most painful disappointment
to me by refusing to let me have them. Your leaving me
just now makes me feel desperately sorry".
[See
also S'rîmad
Bhâgavatam
Chapter 4: The appearance of Nârada]
He pleaded with the
sage to stay a little longer. "Tell me on what mission
you have come. Be with me for some more time and assuage
the hunger that is gnawing me. I missed the great good
fortune that my grandparents had to spend their lives
with the Lord Himself. I shall save myself from decline,
at least by listening to their exploits and their
devotion which drew upon them His grace. Seeing the King
who prayed in great earnestness and humility,
Vyâsa said, "Son do not feel that you are in
any way inferior or less endowed with good fortune. I
declare that no one else had such good fortune as you
earned. For, you drew upon yourself the grace of the
Lord, the moment you were born. The Lord,
Vâsudeva, gave you the breath of life; He
raised you in His arms and played with you, while you
were yet a baby. You too stuck to Him so close that you
scarce kept aloof. Your youngest grandfather,
Sahadeva, had to pluck you by force from
Krishna and hand you over to the women in the
inner halls. You were named ceremonially by
Vâsudeva Himself. What a memorable scene it
was! You showed us that you were a wonderful child; you
followed with your eyes the Lord wherever He moved,
whichever side He turned. You were intent on
"parîksha" (finding out) where He was, as no one
else was in that hall that day. Krishna hid
Himself very cleverly behind pillars and tried various
means of diverting your attention away from Him; but, you
proved too clever even for Him! Your eyes were searching
for Him alone; they saw only Him and His splendid
Form.
All of us who were then
present were wonderstruck at your devotion and
concentration. It appeared as if you were examining each
face and trying to find out whether it was
Krishna's; your face fell when you saw it was not;
it blossomed when your eyes saw Him and Him only.
Scholars and simple folks, ryots and Rajas, realised that
you were a remarkable child. That is the reason why, when
your grandfather Dharmaraja prayed to Him to give
you an appropriate name. He named you after your strange
behavior, Parîkchit (he who examines, he who
tries to find out).
When the Lord announced
this name to Dharmaraja, in the hearing of that
vast gathering of courtiers and scholars and sages, they
all applauded, saying, "Very apt, excellent, fine". Being
so richly favored by fortune it is not meet that you
should condemn yourself as unlucky. You were fondled by
the Lord; He played with you and watched your gambols; He
gave you your name. How few earn this fortune! Do not
consider these just common gifts of grace".
Tears of joy welled
from the eyes of Parîkchit at these words.
He had a question rising up from his throat, but,
Vyâsa saw him swallowing it and so he patted
him on the shoulder and encouraged him to ask it. "Son,
it looks as if you desire to put some query to me. Ask
without hesitation, do not quail". Taking courage from
this prompting, Parîkchit said, "Worthy master! Man
cannot know the value of either joy or grief, unless he
is aware of them. The joyful contacts of which you spoke
now were awarded me when I was scarcely aware of the
bliss inherent in them. Real joy can be tasted only when
one is conscious of its value. If a child is given a
billion-rupee diamond, it will only deal with it as a
lump of glass. The happiness of being with the Lord,
which you say I had in my childhood, is as ineffective as
the joy experienced in past births. I did not know then
what precious moments they were. Had I known it, were I
capable of knowing it, I could have treasured that joy
for ever. Now it is all mere inference. I have no ocular
proof of the grace of the Lord which I received then; so,
I depend now on auricular proof only. So, please tell me
of the greatness and glory of Krishna; let my ears drink
the nectar of those stories".
Vyâsa was
moved by his entreaty; he agreed. "Son, do you consider
His lîlâs to be just one or two? How can I
relate to you His lîlâs which are beyond
one's capacity to enumerate. So, ask about what He did in
connection with some particular person, or during some
particular incident or situation; I shall gladly tell you
all the details". Parîkchit was elated at this; he
begged him with folded hands, "Master! Tell me how this
great attachment between my grandparents and Lord Krishna
was born."
Vyâsa
burst into laughter. "Son, your earnestness surprises me
much. For, only such earnest individuals can get
jñâna (knowledge); I am delighted
that you have this deep yearning. So, I shall tell you
what you have asked for. Listen!" Saying this,
Vyâsa made himself comfortable in his seat;
Parîkchit, too, got ready to hear, with a heart
that was blossoming with joy and ears that widened in the
ambition to learn.
"Son! King Drupada grew
anxious to give his only daughter in marriage to a
suitable groom but, could not succeed in securing one, in
spite of the most diligent search. So, he announced a
Svayamvara
(festival for choice of bridegroom) and, kings of great
might and majesty assembled in his capital, along with
scholars endowed with charming personality, all eager to
wed the princess whose beauty was unexcelled in the three
worlds. They were all proud of their wealth and valor,
for they felt they could win her by those
attainments.
In that assembly hall,
the king had fixed a contrivance on a pillar. It was a
wheel revolving fast, a wheel that was reflected in a
sheet of water, below the pillar on which it turned. The
wheel had a 'fish' tied on it: the competitors for the
hand of the princess were asked, one by one, to come
forward and, drawing the bow looking at the reflection,
shoot at the fish-target up above. Drupada announced his
intention to give away his daughter in marriage to
whomsoever hit the target, so prepared. The city was full
of princes and kings who had arrived to try their hands
at this unique festival of bowmanship.
News of this festival
reached the ears of your grandparents who had then
assumed the role of brahmins, to mislead the wily
Kauravas. They felt at first that they should not come
out in the open on that occasion; but, Arjuna, your
grandfather, was able to persuade his brothers to attend
the festival of valor, for, as he said, no
kshatriya should stay away when bowmen compete for
a worthy prize.
Thus
it happened that the five brothers sat among the
assembly, in the garb of brahmins, like a group of lions,
casting a halo of heroism around; all eyes were drawn
towards the place where they sat; people commented on
their presence, many in admiration, some in derision;
some praised them as champions, some laughed at them as
prize fighters or cooks. The whispers aroused by them
spread all round.
Lord Krishna had come
for that festival. His eyes were fixed on Arjuna all the
time; this was noticed by his brother, Balarâma,
who spoke something to his brother. At last, the
Svayamvara contest began; one by one, the candidates
proceeded to the shadow seen in the water and aimed the
arrow at the 'fish' rotating above. They failed and
returned pale with humiliation. They walked back to their
seats, heavy with disappointment and shame, and sat sunk
in sorrow.
Krishna had no
intention to rise and have a try at the target, for, He
sat quiet in His own place. If He had that intention, He
could have quite easily hit the 'fish' and win. But, who
can gauge the depths of His mind?
Just then, Arjuna rose
and proceeded towards the 'contrivance', casting a
lightning flash of brilliance over the assembly by the
heroic aura of his personality. Draupadî, the
princess, lifted her head and watched him in admiration.
Her mind merged in that flash of light. In an instant,
Arjuna's arrow split the 'fish', he won. The applause of
the gathering rose to the skies. The princess came
forward and wedded him, placing a garland of flowers
around his neck and holding his hand.
When Arjuna emerged
from the Hall holding the hand of the bride, the horde of
defeated kings and princes yelled that the rules of the
contest were broken, since a brahmin who had no right to
compete in bowmanship was allowed to participate and
declared the winner. They fell on your grandfather, in an
angry clump. But, Bhîma pulled out a huge tree by
its roots and whirled it at the crowd of foiled
kings.
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