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If you are familiar with Indian epics, you know of the great war between cousins that decimated dynasties, restored righteous world order, and gave birth to the Bhagavad Gita - an ancient manual on ‘How to Live Well.’
This epic1 surpasses Game of Thrones in intrigue, murders, backstories, power struggles, and the eventual deaths of most characters. Unlike Game of Thrones, it is deeply rooted in the concept of a universal order of good versus evil.
Some may believe that good and evil are subjective, but certain universal truths hold, no matter the context.
As the saying, attributed to the Buddha (one of the ten incarnations of the Preserver-God), pithily expresses, “Three things can never be hidden: The Sun, Moon, and the Truth.”
In Indian mythology, this theme is ever prevalent.
The core belief that ‘truth simply is’ and eventually triumphs is reflected in the tale of of the truth king, an ancient story of a beloved king who paid a steep price for sticking to the truth.
Stories are rooted in backstories; events are usually traceable to other events that caused them.
Thus, the philosophy of karmic action, or cause and effect, is continually demonstrated.
Today, I retell the ancient story of a mighty warrior who faced such a test and how he overcame it.
The king of a vast kingdom, of noble lineage, was out riding one day when he came across a beautiful woman by a river. Enchanted, he approached her and conversed with her. In the end, he professed his interest in marrying her.
The woman, beautiful and worldly wise, agreed to be his wife but on one condition.
The king would not question or prevent her from doing any action, no matter what.
If he did, she would leave him.
In love, whether infatuated or not, he agreed right away, perhaps presuming, like most, that her actions would not be that worrisome.
So, the couple wed and lived happily for a while.
In due course, their first child was born.
But to the king’s horror, one day, he found that the baby was missing.
Upon inquiry, the queen reminded him of his pledge.
Such was the power of a given word that the king remained silent.
After some time, a second child was born, and this time the king was determined to watch over the child.
One early morning, he saw the queen surreptitiously leave the palace with the baby.
He followed her silently.
The queen reached the riverbank of a mighty river that flowed close to their palace.
In front of the astonished eyes of the king, she threw the baby into the river.
Shocked, the king remained still.
He wrestled with himself—if he said anything, she would leave him—and he loved her deeply.
Then, there was the issue of his given word to her. That meant something in those days.
His love and his code of honor won the day. He returned to the palace quietly.
A pattern emerged.
They had five more sons, and each baby was taken to the river by the queen and drowned.
The king’s anguish grew beyond tolerable levels.
Why was she doing this? he wondered.
What secret is she harboring that she cannot share with me, her husband?
He was most affected by her demeanor after the event; she acted as though nothing had happened and continued life as before.
The king lost sleep when the queen became pregnant for the eighth time. He was determined not to let his son be drowned.
As always, the queen took the baby to the river, but before she could act, the king rushed to her side and held her back by the arms. "No. I will not let you sacrifice our son again. Why are you doing this? He is an innocent baby."
The queen stood back with the baby in her arms.
Her expression grew somber.
“Dear king, you promised not to interfere in my actions. What have you done?
This was the last such act I had to undertake. Then, we could have lived happily. Now, I must leave you.
But before I go, let me tell you my story.”
She then disclosed that she was, in reality, Ganga, a divine princess descended from the heavens.
She informed the king that these children were the eight elemental deities in their previous life who had been cursed to be born as mortal men.
The deities had stolen a divine cow owned by a wise sage’s wife. When the sage returned, he knew at once that they were the culprits and cursed2 them to leave the heavens and suffer life on earth as mortal men.
Chastened, they begged his pardon profusely. Finally, he relented.
The sage offered that if the eight deities were to request Ganga to be their mother on earth and to drown them at birth, they would be able to return to their prior life in Heaven, skipping the entire ‘living as a human’ part.
The eight deities rushed to Ganga and related the whole story.
She took pity on them and agreed to become their mother, choosing the king as her partner on Earth.
Thus, the king learned the story behind the drowning of the babies.
Saddened by his lack of confidence and betrayal of his given word, he begged Ganga to stay and leave him the eighth child.
Unfortunately, Ganga too was bound by her word, but she promised to return the eighth child to him in due time.
The mother took the baby with her and raised him lovingly, providing him with the finest education bestowed upon him by wise sages in the heavens.
When he grew to be a young boy, he was returned to the king.
The king, pleased with his son’s virtuous manners and erudition, rejoiced in his return. When he became an adult, the king crowned him heir.
Meanwhile, still fond of hunting, the king rode out across his kingdom in search of new adventures.
On one such trip, he came across a beautiful fisherwoman’s daughter going about her day.
Once again, he became enamored of a beautiful woman and asked to marry her.
The daughter deferred the decision to her parents.
However, her parents were unimpressed with their only child’s future prospects and refused the king's permission to marry their daughter.
The king tried many ways to give them the confidence they sought that their daughter would want for nothing in his palace.
But they said, “Oh King, it is not for our daughter that we fear, but that a child born to her will be deprived of any claim to your kingdom and will be second fiddle to your firstborn. We cannot knowingly condemn our daughter to such a fate.”
The king returned crestfallen.
He became so attached to the woman he had met that he lost sight of his main duties, refused food and drink, and fell into melancholy.
His heir, Prince D., was the bravest of known warriors and as virtuous as he was skilled.
When the king refused to abandon his melancholy, despite the many entreaties of his advisors, and return to his kingly duties as before, the advisors discreetly let the Prince know of this state of affairs.
The Prince spoke to his father. “Tell me,” he said, “what ails you? I have never seen you appear so sad. You remain inside the palace, unwilling to resume your former duties or to take up your favorite pastime of riding. The people of this kingdom, your advisors, and I are worried about your health. Let me help relieve you of any burden that may be troubling you.”
The king smiled wanly but refused to acknowledge that anything was amiss. He strained to show his son that he was alright and asked him not to worry so much.
After struggling to get past his father’s defenses, the son left him alone and went in search of his father’s trusted advisor.
From him, he came to know of the fisherman’s daughter that his father had set his heart on to marry but who had refused his offer.
He immediately rushed to their home by the river bank and begged them to reconsider their opposition to the marriage, extolling his father’s virtues.
But to the son, they were also plain in their objections.
They once again recounted their reasons for the opposition.
On learning of the real reason behind the objection to the marriage, the son, dutiful and loving, wished to ensure his father had the happiness due to him.
He was aware of the history of his parents' fallout and was desirous of restoring to his father a happiness he had not experienced since.
Without hesitation, the heir agreed to renounce the throne in favor of any future son born to his father and the fisherman’s daughter.
However, the parents were not satisfied.
While they appreciated the generous offer of the heir in renouncing the throne and had no reason to question his intent, they were still hesitant.
Voicing their concern, they said there is no guarantee on how his children and grandchildren may behave - who was to say they would not come calling for the throne as their birthright?
They were wary of their daughter being entangled in such uncertain circumstances.
Perhaps the prince deliberated deeply, or he was swept away by the moment, unable to sway the couple with his entreaties so far.
His heart may have been heavy with the desire to see his dejected father smile again.
Or perhaps he was conscious of the perceived failure in fulfilling what he saw as his duty as a son—to bring happiness to his father and fulfill his unspoken wishes.
Whatever the reason or the thought that took hold of this young prince, brave and righteous, and more worthy to occupy the throne than any other warrior on Earth at that age, he decided in a moment to take a vow.
A vow so terrible that the heavens and earth shook with the import of his words.
He, Prince Devavrata,3 the son of Princess Ganga, and King Shantanu, vowed that not only would he renounce the throne, but also take a vow of celibacy for as long as he lived, thus ensuring a clear line of succession for the future children of his father and his step-mother.
The Gods showered him with flowers for his resolve that day, and for the display of his unselfishness.
No one before him had renounced the throne in such a fashion.
His father, meanwhile, having gotten wind of his son's journey, rushed to stop him from making a hasty decision.
He arrived just in time to hear the vow that reverberated in the quiet of the morning forest air.
For a young and courageous warrior with his whole life ahead of him, the vow was indeed a tragedy.
To knowingly renounce his birthright, out of love for his father, was certainly unusual.
But so was his birth, and his mother’s subsequent absence from his life after he attained his youth.
Throughout the years, he had witnessed his father’s profound sadness.
Should he have accepted his own happiness at the cost of his father’s?
His father would never have sacrificed his son’s right, so the only person who could, was himself.
Was he so selfish as to desire happiness for himself but not for his father - whom his mother had unknowingly hurt?
It is no secret that a virtuous king benefits the land and its people for the better. Yet, if the people deserve their rulers, did they perhaps not deserve one as worthy as the Prince?
That day, in taking that vow, the Prince altered the lives of everyone in the land. He changed the course of his own dynasty forever.
He came to be renamed by the Gods as ‘Bhishma’ - one who has taken a terrible vow.
His father, unable to dissuade him from his vow, and pleased with his filial offering, granted him immortality, ensuring that his son would only die when he chose to do so.
Thus, the Prince came to be known as Bhishma.
His father and the fisherman’s daughter were married and had two sons before his father passed away.
Bhishma remained by the side of his step-mother, guiding her in ruling the kingdom until his half-brothers came of age.
Tragically, the eldest half-brother, who was crowned heir, died in battle as a result of his foolhardiness.
The youngest half-brother was then crowned king and married two princesses, but died childless.
This set in motion a series of events that led to the continuation of the succession, as the half-brother’s wives bore two sons through yogic practices.
Over time, the children of these two sons grew to resent each other, leading to fierce disputes over rightful inheritance.
Evil actions followed, as one faction sought to deprive the other of their rightful claims.
Finally, it culminated in the great war when no warrior could stay neutral.
In a cruel irony, the scenario envisioned by the fisherman and his wife, came true through the inheritance disputes of their daughter’s great-grandchildren.
Bhishma witnessed it all, his vow becoming a test that he endured until the bitter end.
Unfortunately, his allegiance to the kingdom meant he found himself on the wrong side of the conflict though he loved the five righteous brothers who won the war in the end and brought evil to an end.
Bhishma fell on the tenth day of the eighteen-day war, also due to a consequence of the stringent vow he had taken. That story is best saved for another time.
For over fifty days and nights, he lay on a bed of arrows and suffered the injuries caused by his beloved great-grandson, Arjuna’s arrows, while awaiting the right moment to impart his final wisdom to the new king, and to depart the Earth.
To the end, he stayed true to his vow, despite the many temptations and conflicts that came his way which may have caused a lesser person to question if the vow still mattered.
His life story though creates a few questions for reflection:
Should Bhishma have renounced and set in motion the actions that led to the great war?
Did he have the right to sacrifice the future of his people in such a cavalier fashion? Should he have instead steered his father away from such a choice?
Did circumstances conspire to leave Bhishma with no other choice?
Were the father’s desires just? Did they warrant such a sacrifice?
Were the fisherman and his wife selfish and greedy or pragmatic? After all, their daughter being queen was an unexpected good fortune that came their way, but they desired more than that, and their insistence led to the downfall of one set of their great-grandchildren and hundreds of thousands of other warriors who followed them.
Did the story start with the eight deities or the queen who drowned the babies and abandoned the king?
Which was the cause, and which was the effect?
The Mahabharata or ‘Great Epic of Bharata Dynasty,’ is a pivotal epic in Hindu mythology that is deeply ingrained in the cultural fabric, influencing many of its values. Even children are familiar with its major plots. Its backstories, character development, subplots, and strategic plays surpass those of Game of Thrones. With a length ranging from 100,000 to 120,000 couplets, containing nearly 2 million words, it is 7-10 times the length of the Illiad and the Odyssey.
From other stories of Ancient India, you may know by now that curses cannot be altered and affect even the major Gods. They may, however, be amended to lessen their effect or shorten their punishment as shown in this tale as well.
In Sanskrit, the name means one devoted to the Gods (Deva).
Fascinating tale! Wonderful, thought-provoking questions at the end. As you know I’m terribly interested in conflicts concerning gods and kings.
Here I think the issue was clear, though I doubt many would agree with me: you mentioned the natural order at the beginning of this piece. In this narrative, it was decreed that eight children drown, not seven. Not killing the eighth was a crime in the eyes of the gods, one for which a karmic debt must be paid. Whether or not the king, or we, like this decision-either we submit ourselves to the laws of the universe and join the greater whole-as all other living creatures do-or we sin, strike out on our own, enslave animals and crops, create kingdoms and fight wars of expansion, deny the gods, deny the divine plans the gods have for us, build skyscrapers that threaten those gods homes, reject our neighbors or anyone who thinks otherwise, build concentration camps, strive for totalitarianism, etc etc you get the drift..