Mahabharata Vol. 6 (Penguin Translated Texts) (2 page)

Thus, interpreted in terms of
BORI’s critical edition, the Mahabharata no longer possesses the 100,000
shlokas it is supposed to have. The figure is a little short of 75,000 (73,787 to be
precise). Should the Hari Vamsha be included in a translation of the Mahabharata? It
doesn’t quite belong. Yet, it is described as a
khila
or
supplement
to the Mahabharata and BORI includes it as part of
the critical edition, though in a separate volume. Hence, I have included the Hari
Vamsha in this translation as well. With the Hari Vamsha, the number of shlokas
increases to a shade less than 80,000 (79,860 to be precise). However, in some of
the regional versions the text of the Mahabharata proper is closer to 85,000 shlokas
and with the Hari Vamsha included, one approaches 95,000, though one
doesn’t quite touch 100,000.

Why should there be another translation
of the Mahabharata? Surely, it must have been translated innumerable times. Contrary
to popular impression, unabridged translations of the Mahabharata in English are
extremely rare. One should not confuse abridged translations with unabridged
versions. There are only five unabridged translations—by Kisori Mohan
Ganguly (1883–96), by Manmatha Nath Dutt (1895–1905), by the
University of Chicago and J.A.B. van Buitenen (1973 onwards), by P. Lal and Writers
Workshop (2005 onwards) and the Clay Sanskrit Library edition (2005 onwards). Of
these, P. Lal is more a poetic trans-creation than a translation. The Clay Sanskrit
Library edition is not based on the critical edition, deliberately so. In the days
of Ganguly and Dutt, the critical edition didn’t exist. The language in
these two versions is now archaic and there are some shlokas that these two
translators decided not to include, believing them to be untranslatable in that day
and age. Almost three decades later, the Chicago version is still not complete, and
the Clay edition, not being translated in sequence, is still in progress. However,
the primary reason for venturing into yet another translation is not just the vacuum
that exists, but also reason for dissatisfaction with other attempts. Stated more
explicitly, this translation, I believe, is better and more authentic—but
I leave it to the reader to be the final judge. (While translating 80,000 shlokas is
a hazardous venture, since Ganguly, Dutt and Lal are Bengalis, surely a fourth
Bengali must also be pre-eminently qualified to embark on this venture!)

A few comments on the translation are
now in order. First, there is the vexed question of diacritical
marks—should they be used or not? Diacritical marks make the translation
and pronunciation more accurate, but often put readers off. Sacrificing academic
purity, there
is thus a conscious decision to avoid diacritical
marks. Second, since diacritical marks are not being used, Sanskrit words and proper
names are written in what seems to be phonetically natural and the
closest—such as, Droupadi rather than Draupadi. There are rare instances
where avoidance of diacritical marks can cause minor confusion, for example, between
Krishna (Krishnaa) as in Droupadi
⁸
and Krishna as in Vaasudeva. However, such instances are extremely rare and the
context should make these differences, which are mostly of the gender kind, clear.
Third, there are some words that simply cannot be translated. One such word is
dharma. More accurately, such words are translated the first time they occur. But on
subsequent occasions, they are romanized in the text. Fourth, the translation sticks
to the Sanskrit text as closely as possible. If the text uses the word Kounteya,
this translation will leave it as Kounteya or Kunti’s son and not attempt
to replace it with Arjuna. Instead, there will be a note explaining that in that
specific context Kounteya refers to Arjuna or, somewhat more rarely, Yudhishthira or
Bhima. This is also the case in the structure of the English sentences. To cite an
instance, if a metaphor occurs towards the beginning of the Sanskrit shloka, the
English sentence attempts to retain it at the beginning too. Had this not been done,
the English might have read smoother. But to the extent there is a trade-off, one
has stuck to what is most accurate, rather than attempting to make the English
smooth and less stilted.

As the table shows, the parvas (in the
eighteen-parva classification) vary widely in length. The gigantic Aranyaka or
Shanti Parva can be contrasted with the slim Mousala Parva. Breaking up the
translation into separate volumes based on this eighteen-parva classification
therefore doesn’t work. The volumes will not be remotely similar in size.
Most translators seem to keep a target of ten to twelve volumes when translating all
the parvas. Assuming ten volumes, 10 per cent means roughly 200 chapters and 7000
shlokas. This works rather well for Adi Parva, but collapses thereafter. Most
translators therefore have Adi Parva as the first volume and then handle the
heterogeneity
across the eighteen parvas in subsequent volumes.
This translation approaches the break-up of volumes somewhat differently, in the
sense that roughly 10 per cent of the text is covered in each volume. The complete
text, as explained earlier, is roughly 200 chapters and 7,000 shlokas per volume.
For example, then, this first volume has been cut off at 199 chapters and a little
less than 6,500 shlokas. It includes 90 per cent of Adi Parva, but not all of it and
covers the first fifteen parvas of the 100- (or 98-) parva classification.

The Mahabharata is one of the greatest
stories ever told. It has plots and subplots and meanderings and digressions. It is
much more than the core story of a war between the Kouravas and the Pandavas, which
everyone is familiar with, the culmination of which was the battle in Kurukshetra.
In the Adi Parva, there is a lot more which happens before the Kouravas and the
Pandavas actually arrive on the scene. In the 100-parva classification, the Kouravas
and the Pandavas don’t arrive on the scene until Section 6.

From the Vedas and Vedanta literature,
we know that Janamejaya and Parikshit were historical persons. From
Patanjali’s grammar and other contemporary texts, we know that the
Mahabharata text existed by around 400
BCE
. This need not
of course be the final text of Mahabharata, but could have been the original text of
Jaya. The Hindu eras or
yuga
s are four in number—Satya (or Krita)
Yuga, Treta Yuga, Dvapara Yuga and Kali Yuga. This cycle then repeats itself, with
another Satya Yuga following Kali Yuga. The events of the Ramayana occurred in Treta
Yuga. The events of the Mahabharata occurred in Dvapara Yuga. This is in line with
Rama being Vishnu’s seventh incarnation and Krishna being the eighth. (The
ninth is Buddha and the tenth is Kalki.) We are now in Kali Yuga. Kali Yuga
didn’t begin with the Kurukshetra war. It began with Krishna’s
death, an event that occurred thirty-six years after the Kurukshetra war.
Astronomical data do exist in the epic. These can be used to date the Kurukshetra
war, or the advent of Kali Yuga. However, if the text was composed at different
points in time, with additions and interpolations, internal consistency in
astronomical data is unlikely. In popular belief,
following two
alternative astronomers, the Kurukshetra war has been dated to 3102
BCE
(following Aryabhatta) and 2449
BCE
(following Varahamihira). This doesn’t mesh with the
timelines of Indian history. Mahapadma Nanda ascended the throne in 382
BCE
, a historical fact on which there is no dispute. The
Puranas have genealogical lists. Some of these state that 1050 years elapsed between
Parikshit’s birth and Mahapadma Nanda’s ascension. Others state
that 1015 years elapsed. (When numerals are written in words, it is easy to confuse
15 with 50.) This takes Parikshit’s birth and the Kurukshetra war to
around 1400
BCE
. This is probably the best we can do,
since we also know that the Kuru kingdom flourished between 1200
BCE
and 800
BCE
. To keep the record straight,
archaeological material has been used to bring forward the date of the Kurukshetra
war to around 900
BCE
, the period of the Iron Age.

As was mentioned, in popular belief, the
incidents of the Ramayana took place before the incidents of the Mahabharata. The
Ramayana story also figures in the Mahabharata. However, there is no reference to
any significant Mahabharata detail in the Ramayana. Nevertheless, from reading the
text, one gets the sense that the Mahabharata represents a more primitive society
than the Ramayana. The fighting in the Ramayana is more genteel and civilized. You
don’t have people hurling rocks and stones at each other, or fighting with
trees and bare arms. Nor do people rip apart the enemy’s chest and drink
blood. The geographical knowledge in the Mahabharata is also more limited than in
the Ramayana, both towards the east and towards the south. In popular belief, the
Kurukshetra war occurred as a result of a dispute over land and the kingdom. That is
true, in so far as the present text is concerned. However, another fight over cattle
took place in the Virata Parva and the Pandavas were victorious in that too. This is
not the place to expand on the argument. But it is possible to construct a plausible
hypothesis that this was the core dispute. Everything else was added as later
embellishments. The property dispute was over cattle and not land. In human
evolution, cattle represents a more primitive form of property than land. In that
stage, humankind is still partly nomadic and not completely settled. If this
hypothesis is true, the Mahabharata again represents an earlier
period compared to the Ramayana. This leads to the following kind of proposition.
In its final form, the Mahabharata was indeed composed after the Ramayana. But the
earliest version of the Mahabharata was composed before the earliest version of the
Ramayana. And the events of the Mahabharata occurred before the events of the
Ramayana, despite popular belief. The proposition about the feud ending with Virata
Parva illustrates the endless speculation that is possible with the Mahabharata
material. Did Arjuna, Nakula and Sahadeva ever exist? Nakula and Sahadeva have
limited roles to play in the story. Arjuna’s induction could have been an
attempt to assert Indra’s supremacy. Arjuna represents such an integral
strand in the story (and of the Bhagavad Gita), that such a suggestion is likely to
be dismissed out of hand. But consider the following. Droupadi loved Arjuna a little
bit more than the others. That’s the reason she was denied admission to
heaven. Throughout the text, there are innumerable instances where Droupadi faces
difficulties. Does she ever summon Arjuna for help on such occasions? No, she does
not. She summons Bhima. Therefore, did Arjuna exist at all? Or were there simply two
original Pandava brothers—one powerful and strong, and the other weak and
useless in physical terms. Incidentally, the eighteen-parva classification is
clearly something that was done much later. The 100-parva classification seems to be
older.