THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (6 page)

EIGHT BHEESHMA AND AMBA
 

A radiant Amba arrived in Shalva’s kingdom. Flushed with the thought of seeing him, of being his queen, she alighted before the palace. She ran up the steps and was shown, but after an hour’s wait, into a solemn court hardly full of the welcome she had expected.

“My lord,” she cried happily, “I have brought your garland. I told Bheeshma I had chosen you for my husband and he sent me to you with a royal escort. Here I am, take me for your queen.”

She was overjoyed to see him and waited for him to rise and take her hand. But he remained sunk in his throne. A spasm of contempt twitched his lean face; he gave a short laugh.

More for his court’s benefit than hers, he said, “Do you think I am a beggar that I would take you as alms from my enemy? Bheeshma seized your hand and carried you from your swayamvara. If that was not enough, he routed the rest of us as a lion would a jackal-pack. By kshatriya dharma, princess, the man who wins a woman in battle has made her his own.” His voice quivered and she knew he cared more that Bheeshma had defeated him, than for her or what she felt.

Shalva said coldly, “Go back to Bheeshma, perhaps he will break his oath for you. Beg him and see if he will marry you. As for me, I have no place for the refuse of my enemies, neither in my palace nor in my heart.”

Lovely Amba’s face crumpled. Hanging her head, she whispered fiercely, “Not that you have a heart for me to find a place in it.”

Amba stalked out of Shalva’s palace. She went back to Hastinapura and came to Bheeshma. Strands of white streaked her hair as if she had aged ten years on her journey. Bheeshma rose in concern, “Why have you returned so soon?”

She raised her tearful face to him. Through clenched teeth, she said, “Shalva turned me away. Yet, he enriched my knowledge of dharma. He said a woman belongs to the man who wins her in battle: it is the law of the kshatriyas. You took me by my hand, defeated the other kings and carried me away. Shalva says I belong to you and no one else.”

She broke down. She knelt at Bheeshma’s feet and sobbed, “I cannot go back to my father’s house. I have nowhere to turn, except to you. Noble Bheeshma, don’t abandon me, don’t let my womanhood be desolated. Take me to be your wife.”

As Bheeshma raised her up gently, he realized what he felt for Amba was not only pity. He wanted to take her in his arms and keep her there forever. But instead, he said, “How can I marry you, child? I am too old for you. Besides, I have sworn an oath that I will be celibate all my life. I had better die than marry you, because if I break my oath I will not be able to live with myself.”

She stood before him, so vulnerable and he could hardly bear to look at her. Kindly as he could and he knew how cruelly to her, he continued, “If you had just said a word to me in Kasi I would have left you behind. But fate is inscrutable. She deceives us effortlessly, time and again: as if we learn nothing from all the lessons she teaches and our hearts never grow quiet enough to master our own destinies.

Rather than wait for me to marry you princess, go back to Salva. He may change his mind in time and take you for his queen. He may already have thought better of his rashness.”

But she said, “You don’t know his heart. How quick his anger was when I stood before him and how cold his hatred. I thought I would die. And you want me to go back to that man and beg him to marry me? Never! And he would never do it. You are too kind Devavrata and full of such lofty wisdom.” Her eyes flashed. “But you are not kind enough to break your oath and unfortunately your wisdom is of no use to me. You never hesitated when you abducted me. Why can’t you use the same courage now to save my life?”

She moaned as if an arrow was lodged in her flesh. His heart churning, Bheeshma said, “My oath is not for myself. My dharma is far beyond my own selfishness and more important than your life.” His voice grew hard, when he thought of Vichitraveerya and the future of Hastinapura. He said grimly, “Forgive me for what has happened if you can. You may remain here in our city for the rest of your life and your every comfort will be seen to. But as for marrying you, Amba, that I cannot do.”

Bheeshma turned and walked out before he imperiled his soul by looking into her face again. Amba wept long and bitterly. She lived in Hastinapura for six tormented years. She saw her sisters, Ambika and Ambalika, become Vichitraveerya’s queens. And she, the first of them, was alone, unwanted.

After six years, thinking anything was preferable to the purgatory in which she lived, she went to Shalva again. He was even more savage with her. He laughed; did she really expect him to marry the concubine of Hastinapura? Further deranged by his cruelty, Amba went back to the Kuru kingdom. Now she focused all her frustration on Bheeshma; she held him responsible for ruining her life.

And one day, unable to bear her life in that city any more, she walked out. Her long hair left loose, she came like a mad woman down the palace-steps, walked out into the open and down the king’s highway, while the guards stared at her. She went in her finery, unaware of her surroundings, as if some implacable purpose more potent than the world drew her on. Never pausing, she went toward the forest she had passed through when she rode to Salva. Amba had not abandoned her battle to persuade Bheeshma to marry her; she had decided to enlist the support of the rishis of the jungle.

The holy ones were alarmed at her coming. She was beautiful and full of virgin womanhood. The older hermits feared she would distract the younger acolytes. They were about to turn her away when a grand old mendicant, whose voice echoed under the trees, arrived in that asrama. When Amba saw him she gave a cry and ran to fall at his feet. That ancient with the long white hair and beard, whose name was Hotravahana, raised her up and embraced her. She sobbed like a small child against his chest. He was her grandfather and once a king of Kasi. In his last years, he had taken to the forest and a life of tapasya.

When she had wept for a while and he comforted her, she grew calmer. He drew out her story in agonized fits and starts, from the day of the swayamvara. When Hotravahana saw how obsessed she was with Devavrata, he knew Bheeshma and no other man was his granddaughter’s deepest destiny. She would have been unhappy even if Shalva had married her. She was a passionate girl and once Bheeshma had taken her hand she had belonged to him.

Hotravahana said, “There is only one person in the world to whom Bheeshma will listen. Curiously, he is due in this asrama in a few days.”

Amba and the other rishis wondered who that person was. But Hotravahana said they must wait and see for themselves.

Now that her grandfather was there, Amba was allowed to remain in the asrama. A few days later there was some excitement in that hermitage and some novices ushered in an extraordinary figure. He was tall and great; he was old and youthful at once. His hair was like a lion’s mane; his face was calm, yet reflected the deep tides that moved in his heart. He was so godlike you felt he could set aside his human form at any moment, like a set of clothes.

The eldest rishis rose and prostrated themselves before him. The visitor seemed especially glad to see Hotravahana and embraced him warmly. Her grandfather brought Amba to the profound one, “Guru Bhargava, this is my grand-daughter Amba. She has a grievance which only you can redress.”

Bhargava laid a hand in blessing on the distraught Amba’s head. She felt a current of grace flow through her body. For a moment, she was faint with joy, as if he had removed her pain by his very touch. But the relief did not last. Bhargava stared at her, his eyes misting over with whatever he read in her sad face. Puzzled, he continued to gaze disconcertingly.

At last, he sighed and said in his deep, slow voice, “Ah child, you are stricken with sorrow.” He turned to Hotravahana, “But tell me, old friend, who is he that makes her so sad?”

Hotravahana told him Amba’s story. Bhargava was visibly startled when he heard Devavrata Bheeshma’s name and he listened in some absorption. When Hotravahana had finished, Bhargava stared at the princess even more intently. Again his eyes grew dim as if he saw distant times and events, all far from the present, but to him as real.

Suddenly, as if making up his mind, he said, “I will tell Bheeshma to marry you. And how will he refuse his guru? Let no time be lost, you have suffered long enough.”

Bhargava sent a young rishi to Hastinapura to tell Bheeshma his master wanted to see him. Bheeshma came immediately to the forest. The regent of the Kurus prostrated himself at his guru’s feet.

Laughing happily, blessing his most illustrious pupil, Bhargava enfolded Bheeshma in a great embrace.

“Devavrata, my child, let me look at you! It has been so long. I often ask your mother about you. But she says she hardly sees you herself any more, but only hears of you from rumors on the wind and the news of birds and men who come to wash their sins in her.

You have grown so much. Why, you have grown into a man Devavrata and not a young one any more.”

“Master, why have you sent for me? Is there anything I can do?”

Bhargava watched his disciple’s face thoughtfully. He said, “Hotravahana is an old and dear friend of mine. He has never asked me for a thing, until today.”

Bheeshma said, “You know I will do whatever I can.”

“Devavrata, it is a mere trifle.”

“Tell me, Guru.”

Bhargava signaled Amba to come forward. When he saw her, Bheeshma grew very still. Bhargava said, “I believe you know this young woman?”

Impassively, his sishya replied, “She is the unfortunate Amba, a princess of Kasi. She was to marry the king of Salva, but fate played her false and I was fate’s instrument.” Bheeshma raised his eyes and looked into his master’s face. “Shalva wouldn’t take her for his wife and she came back to Hastinapura. But I could not marry her myself, because of the oath I swore for my father.”

“What oath is that?”

“That I would never marry in this life.”

“A grave oath,” said Bhargava slowly. “But there is no oath that may not be broken for one’s guru. I command you now, Devavrata, you shall marry this princess. And I see in your eyes how much you would like to make her your wife.”

Bheeshma said in a low voice, “Don’t ask me to do this. You know how solemn my oath is.”

“Yes, all heaven speaks of it and all the earth too. But I have given my word to Hotravahana that you will marry Amba. Would you have me break my word, would you mock your guru?”

Bheeshma said levelly, “Ask me for my life and I will gladly give it to you. But don’t ask me to break my oath. That I cannot do, even for your sake.”

“By the timeless laws of guru and sishya, which have come down the ages, you leave me no choice. I must curse you.” But he was torn between anger and love for his pupil. He added softly, “Or else, you must fight me.”

“I will fight you.”

For a long moment, Bhargava stared at his disciple. Then he turned abruptly and made for a clearing in the forest, some yojanas away. For no battle should be fought near an asrama where rishis live and pray for the world.

Forbidding the hermits to come after them, Bheeshma followed his master. Amba’s very life felt faint within her. She was sure Bhargava would kill the man of her twisted destiny. Who could face the Avatara in battle? Strong woman though she was, she clung to Hotravahana, trembling to think she was the cause of this. But her anger gave her strength and she told herself she did not care if Bheeshma died. It was only fitting, after the ruin he had made of her life.

Deep in the jungle, master and disciple arrived in a green clearing. With no warning Bhargava turned, quick as light and shot a calescent astra at Devavrata. It flashed at him like a streak of lightning. But the sishya had been well taught. In a blur, quicker than the astra’s flight, he doused it with a shaft of his own, of water. All this took no more than a moment: they were both such bowmen.

Hardly had fire and water subsided when Bhargava loosed his second missile, now plain and cold. But it was a weapon of illusion and seemed to fly at Bheeshma as a thousand arrows; but only a single one was real, aimed at his heart. He had less than a moment to spot that shaft and cut it down. Bheeshma sliced the real arrow in two and the others vanished around it.

Now Bheeshma shot an incendiary agneyastra at Bhargava. Across the clearing, the guru had abandoned his human form and was a figure of white light, illumining the darkling trees. With a varunastra, his master extinguished Bheeshma’s arrow of a hundred fires. The two archers stood panting with their effort of will.

They rested for only a moment. Then, invoking more mystic astras, each one more potent and complex than the last, they dueled in the jungle’s heart. For days they fought, the awesome master and his tremendous disciple. The earth shook and the Devas came out in their sky-chariots to watch.

Someone else watched, as well, hidden behind a banyan tree that grew at the edge of the clearing. Amba had broken away from the rishis and her grandfather and followed Bhargava and Bheeshma. She watched them now, her mad eyes blazing.

Their duel became the world to the two warriors. It became a reflection of their spirits, of life and death. They were entirely absorbed, as munis are by their dhyana; battle to those two was no less than worship. Forest and sky lit up with the flares of astras. Amba stood petrified behind her spreading tree. Like her, the Devas in their vimanas did not stir, but were breathless spectators above.