Emperor Parīkchit
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.
Vyāsa'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, Vyāsa,
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 Parīkchit
and said that he was reminded of the reign
of the Pāndavas. The young king
listened reverentially to his talk. After
some time, Vyāsa said, "Son, I
must be going now". But Parīkchit
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'rī 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'rīmad
Bhāgavatam Chapter 4:
The appearance of Nārada]
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, Vyāsa
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, Vāsudeva,
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 Vāsudeva 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 "parīksha" (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, Parīkchit (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 Parīkchit
at these words. He had a question rising
up from his throat, but, Vyāsa 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, Parīkchit 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".
Vyāsa
was moved by his entreaty; he agreed.
"Son, do you consider His līlās to be just
one or two? How can I relate to you His
līlās 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". Parīkchit 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."
Vyāsa
burst into laughter. "Son, your
earnestness surprises me much. For, only
such earnest individuals can get jńāna
(knowledge); I am delighted that you have
this deep yearning. So, I shall tell you
what you have asked for. Listen!" Saying
this, Vyāsa made himself comfortable in
his seat; Parīkchit, 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, Balarāma, 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. Draupadī,
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, Bhīma pulled out a
huge tree by its roots and whirled it at
the crowd of foiled kings.
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