Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling Arc 5- Jalapradānika Parva - Chapter 1 - Vidhura Comes to me

Vaiśampāyana said:

When Duryodhana had fallen, and all the kings and warriors of earth lay stretched upon the field like uprooted trees, Janajaya spoke once more to the sage:

“O holy one,” said he, “after that great slaughter, what did the blind monarch Dhṛtarāṣṭra do when he heard of the death of his sons? And what of Yudhiṣṭhira, the son of Dharma, after victory was his? What beca of the survivors—Kṛpa, Kṛtavarmā, and Aśvatthāman—after the curses had been uttered between them? Tell all that Sañjaya said unto the king.”

Then Vaiśampāyana, the sage, spoke:

When the tidings reached Dhṛtarāṣṭra that his hundred sons were no more, the old monarch, overwheld by grief, sank into silence. His heart trembled like a leaf in the storm, his fra seed shorn of life. He sat unmoving, like a tree stripped of its branches.

Then Sañjaya, ever wise and faithful, approached him and said softly:

“O king, why grievest thou thus? Grief serves no end. The earth, once teeming with armies, now lies desolate—eight and ten akṣauhiṇīs of warriors have fallen! The kings of every realm who had co to serve thy son are slain. Perform now, O lord, the sacred rites for thy sons and kinsn, for thy grandsires, thy friends, and thy teachers. Let the lamps of the dead be kindled.”

So spoke Sañjaya; and Dhṛtarāṣṭra, bereft of sons, of counsellors, and all who once upheld his strength, fell senseless to the ground, like a mighty tree rent from its roots by the wind.

When life returned to him, the king said in a trembling voice:

“Bereft of sons and kinsn, what need have I now of life? Like a bird with broken wings, how shall I wander the world in this old and sightless fra? My kingdom is lost, my children slain—what brightness can remain to ?

I heeded not the words of Bhīṣma, nor of the seer Nārada, nor of Jamadagni’s son, nor of the island-born Kṛṣṇa Dvaipāyana, though they warned with wisdom. Even Keśava himself said before all: ‘Let there be peace, O King. Grant but five villages to the sons of Pāṇḍu, and let thy son rule the rest!’

Fool that I was, I turned from those words. Now do I reap the fruit of that folly. For the death of Duryodhana—roaring like a lion in battle—the fall of Duḥśāsana, the setting of Karṇa’s sun, the end of Droṇa’s might—all these I have heard, yet my heart does not break. Surely I must have sinned in lives gone by, that fate should lay this ruin upon now. All my race destroyed, all my hopes extinguished—what man on earth is more accursed than I?

Let the sons of Pāṇḍu see no longer! This very day will I depart upon that path which leads to the eternal Brahman.”

Then Sañjaya, devoted to his king, spoke again with deep compassion:

“Cast off this grief, O monarch. Thou hast heard the wisdom of the Vedas and the sayings of the seers. Rember what the sages told when I wept for my son—they taught that grief blinds the heart and destroys understanding.

When thy son was proud in youth, thou didst not heed the counsel of those who loved thee. Covetousness drove thee to thy ruin. Thy own understanding has wounded thee as a sharp sword wounds the hand that wields it.

Thy son was guided by evil n—Duḥśāsana, the deceitful Śakuni, the rash Karṇa, and foolish Citrāsena. Even Śalya, drawn by affection, beca an instrunt of doom. Ignoring the words of Bhīṣma, Vidura, Droṇa, and Kṛpa, of Kṛṣṇa himself, of Nārada and Vyāsa, thy son beca an enemy of the world.

Thus has the Kṣatriya order been consud, and the fa of thy foes increased. Thou wert placed as the judge between both houses, yet uttered no word of justice. Now the fruits of partiality have ripened, and thou beholdest the ruin of thy line.

Be not as one who seeks honey and sees not the fall beneath his feet. The man who gazes only at the sweetness of gain and not at its peril, perishes through his own greed.

Wealth does not co to him who grieves; the fruit of desire is lost in sorrow. Grief is a fire that consus virtue and blinds the path to heaven. The wise call him foolish who hides burning coals within his garnt and lants when they scorch him.

Thou and thy son together fanned the fire that was Pārtha’s wrath. Thy covetousness was the ghee poured upon its flas, and into that blaze thy sons have fallen, like moths drawn to fire. Grieve not now, O King, for what is consud cannot be restored.

Tears shed in excess burn the dead for whom they fall, even as sparks scorch dry grass. Therefore, master thy sorrow with thy wisdom, and rise once more in the strength of thy own spirit.”

Thus, O King, did the wise Sañjaya console the stricken monarch. Then Vidura, of great insight, seeing the grief that yet lay heavy upon Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s heart, spoke once more, with the calmness born of truth.

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Vaiśampāyana said:

“Hear now, O Janajaya, the words of nectar that flowed from Vidura’s lips—words that soothed the wounded heart of Dhṛtarāṣṭra, as cool rain calms the smouldering earth after fire.”

Vidura spoke:

“Rise, O King of the Kurus,

Why sink into the dust below?

Stand firm upon thy fleeting world—

Such is the law of all, to go.

What’s born must die, what’s joined must part,

What climbs must one day fall again;

The wise behold this moving wheel

And do not weep for loss or gain.

The brave and timid, both are seized

When Ti, the Hunter, takes his prey;

Who flees or fights is all the sa

When Death has marked his chosen day.

The unborn were unseen before,

They shine awhile, then fade once more;

Between two silences they stand—

A breath, a sigh—then close the door.”

Thus spoke Vidura, and his tone was like the murmur of the Vedas. Then he said in prose:

“Grief cannot restore the dead, O monarch. It consus only the living. What cos must go; what flowers must fade. Death has no friend nor foe, for Ti devours all alike—kings and beggars, gods and n. All beings are travellers bound for the sa end. What matters it who arrives first?

Grieve not for the warriors fallen in battle. The scriptures declare their destiny to be heaven itself. Facing the foe, ard with vows, they t their fate in glory. From the unseen they ca, and to the unseen they have returned. Thou art not their possessor, nor were they ever thine.

If slain, they win the world of Indra; if they slay, they earn unfading fa. Both paths are luminous for a Kṣatriya. Indra has surely opened for them the celestial gates, for none reach heaven swifter than those who die in righteous war.”

“Their arrows were libations poured,

Their foes the altar, red and vast;

Their hearts were fire, their vows the smoke,

Till all was ended—battle’s last.

No higher road for warriors lies

Than death in arms, beneath the sun;

For them the gods prepare a throne,

Their mortal toils and triumphs done.

Mourn not, O King, their noble fate,

For they have reached the deathless state.”

Vidura continued:

“Cease then, O King, to waste thyself in grief. Perform thy duties as befits thy race. Thousands of fathers, sons, and wives are born and lost each day. Who belongs to whom? Ti binds all in its unseen snare.

Ti grants and Ti destroys. When all else sleeps, Ti alone is awake. None may conquer it—neither power nor piety avails. Beauty fades, youth declines, wealth lts away, and friends depart. The wise cling not to these fleeting joys.

Grief grows by indulgence, as fire by ghee. The cure for sorrow lies in restraint; if thou wouldst lighten it, feed it not. To brood upon misfortune is to deepen its roots. Grief leads not to dharma, nor to profit, nor to joy. It is a fire that consus all three.”

“The fool who nurses grief shall find

No fruit of faith, no peace of mind;

But he who conquers tears with thought

Wins rest from pain and fear unkind.

Be calm, O King, and seek the way

That wisdom lights in night’s decay;

For all that lives must fade and fall—

The Self alone survives always.”

Vidura then said gently:

“The wise slay ntal anguish by wisdom, as bodily pain is cured by dicine. The foolish find no rest, for they war against themselves. The deeds of forr lives follow a man as his shadow—resting when he rests, moving when he moves. In every form he reaps what he has sown.

The self is both witness and judge, both friend and foe. From righteous acts springs joy, from unrighteous acts, sorrow. None suffers for another’s deed, nor rejoices for another’s virtue. Therefore, O King, be steadfast. Let wisdom guide thy sightless eyes and make of sorrow a teacher, not a chain.”

Thus, O descendant of Bharata, Vidura spoke with deep compassion, and his words shone in that darkened court like steady lamps before dawn.

Dhṛtarāṣṭra said:

“O thou of lofty wisdom, thy words have cooled the fire of my grief and given peace to my heart. Yet tell once more, O Vidura—how do the wise free themselves from sorrow born of misfortune, and from the anguish that cos when beloved things are lost?”

Vidura replied:

“He who is truly wise, O King, finds tranquillity by mastering both joy and sorrow. He learns to walk the middle path, unmoved by gain or loss. All that n strive for, O descendant of Bharata, is fleeting. The world itself is as frail as a plantain trunk—fair to the eye, but hollow within.

The mighty and the ek, the learned and the ignorant, the wealthy and the poor—all alike lie at last upon the funeral ground, their flesh consud, their bones laid bare, their forms forgotten. Who then can tell in that equality of dust which was prince and which was beggar?

Why then, O King, do mortals, deluded by ignorance, envy one another’s rank and splendor, when all must share the sa earth and the sa end?”

“The body is but a fragile house

That ti will shatter, wall by wall;

But One within abides unchanged,

The Self that dwells beyond our fall.

As garnts old are cast aside

For robes anew, untorn, untied,

So souls put on fresh forms again,

And wear them till their work has died.”

Vidura continued:

“O son of Vicitravīrya, every creature reaps the fruit of its own acts—joy or sorrow, heaven or hell. None may bear the burden of another. Whether strong or weak, each must carry the weight his deeds have laid upon him.

Consider, O King, how the potter’s vessels et their fate:

so break upon the wheel, so as they take their shape, so after they are dried, so as they are baked, and so while they are used. Even so, the bodies of living beings perish at different tis—so in the womb, so at birth, so in infancy, others in youth, and others again in age. All are shaped, broken, and re-shaped by the unseen law of Karma.

When such is the nature of the world, why dost thou, O monarch, sink again into grief?”

“Like swimrs sporting in the stream,

They dive and rise, they fall and gleam;

So sink through sin, so upward climb—

Thus rolls the ceaseless wave of Ti.

The dull of heart, through folly blind,

Reap ruin from the deeds they bind;

But those who walk with virtue’s fla

Rise upward to the deathless aim.”

Vidura concluded:

“They who possess knowledge and compassion, who act for the good of all beings, and who see this world as a passing shadow, attain the highest end. Knowing that all creatures appear and disappear like waves upon the ocean, the wise grieve not for what must change, but seek instead that eternal shore where change can never co.”