For the Love of Dharma

Check the theme here: Pandava Mahaprasthana

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The cool winter dawns eased into warm mornings as fresh green leaves and colorful flowers bloomed on the trees. It was the period between winter and spring when the weather oscillated from cold to warm to cold throughout the day.

Dharma’s son Yudhistira explored the forest as Draupadi smelled the new blooms, gliding between the trees and shrubs like a yakshini. The days blended into one another since they began the Mahaprasthana. They walked from morning to evening and rested at night, or they set up a little hut on the outskirts of a kingdom and lived there for a few months. Given their ages, the brothers and their queen needed more rest to complete the last journey.

“We’ll reach the Himalayas in over a decade,” Sahadeva predicted the other day.

Yudhistira nodded along with the others. They were in no rush for it. Renouncing the kingdom meant they could repeat their pilgrimage at a slower pace. Of course, travelers and rishis still gave them updates when they met. Parikshit was ruling well, keeping his citizens happy and content. Their great-grandson, Janamejaya, was growing into a young lad, training under the best acharyas. He also had Subhadra and Uttarā to mold him.

Releasing a deep breath, Yudhistira rubbed his palms on his face. He had been tired for so long that he forgot how it felt not to be responsible for anyone. Even now, he was the eldest, the one his brothers looked up to despite the random disagreements. Draupadi, too, sought his opinion and valued it.

Yudhistira tried to remember the carefree days of his childhood. He had only a vague recollection of time. Except for the first year, he spent the remaining eighty-one years as the responsible one, upholding dharma regardless.

 “You are the son of Dharma, my child. You should be careful not to make a mistake.” His mother said when Yudhistira was less than six months old.

He hadn’t even understood what she meant. Yet, he heard countless variations of the words over the years.

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“Maa, who is Dharma?” Yudhistira asked Kunti when he was a little over two years old.

Kunti bounced a chubby Bhima on her thighs as she sat on the grass outside their hut. Large trees and tall mountains protected their little home in the foothills of the Himalayas on all sides. There was ample space for him to run around, though his mothers, Kunti and Madri, warned him not to get close to the rushing brook a few meters away. It wouldn’t take even a second for him to get carried away by the waves.

“Dharma is your father, Yudhi.”

Yudhistira frowned in a way only kids can, scrunching his face in concentration, his little pink tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. He pointed to his father sitting at a distance, sharpening arrowheads with a stone. “He is my father. Is he Dharma?”

Bhima grabbed a wayward lock of Kunti’s hair and tugged it.

“Oww! Let it go, you naughty boy!” Kunti admonished him. She continued to tussle with him, but he wouldn’t budge. Though he was around eight months old, Bhima looked like a toddler.

Yudhistira stepped closer and tickled Bhima until the boy loosened his fist. Kunti slipped her hair free of his grip and breathed a sigh of relief.

“What will I do with this fellow without you?” She said, kissing both her sons on their foreheads.

“Madri, please take Bhima for a while.”

Madri, his second mother, smiled, her delicate features lightening up as she opened her arms for Bhima to run into. She was beautiful and looked like the apsaras Yudhistira saw one night when he peeked outside the hut. His mother caught him and warned him not to do that. The apsaras and gandharvas often visited the region in the dark and preferred privacy.

With the distraction handled, Yudhistira sat facing his mother, waiting for her answer. He was a patient boy. He could wait for hours if it meant he would get what he wanted.

“You have two fathers, my darling child. Dharma is your birth father. He was the one who gave you life. Pandu Raja is your father, the one who gave you his name, love, and lineage.” Kunti explained.

Yudhistira thought about it. “So am I the son of Pandu or Dharma?”

“Both and more.”

“More?” He was curious.

Kunti gave a definite nod. “You are a Pandava, the son of Pandu. You are Partha, the son of Pritha; that’s my other name. Both these names apply to your brothers as well. However, you are also the son of Dharma, and one day, I hope you will be popular as Dharmaraja and respected by everyone. Understood?”

Yudhistira took a few seconds to list his names in his mind. He was many things at once, but liked the sound of Dharmaraja the best. Noticing his mother waiting for his response, he nodded with a wide smile. “Yes, Maa.”

“Good. In a few months, you will have another brother. You should love him as much as you love Bhima.”

Yudhistira grinned. However, he had more questions to ask. “Are Bhima and this new brother not the sons of Dharma?”

Kunti shook her head. “You are too young for this, but you need to know. Bhima is the son of Marut. The coming baby is the son of Indra. They will differ from you, but you belong together. You are all Pandavas, here to carry your father’s legacy. They are your responsibility.”

“Yes, Maa. I will take care of all my brothers. When Madri Maa has babies, I will take care of them too.” Yudhistira promised.

“I know you will, little darling,” Madri said from behind. Yudhistira didn’t notice her return but was glad to have her approval.

“One day, you will be the king of Hastinapura. You should take care of all your subjects, my boy,” Pandu said, bending to tousle Yudhistira’s hair with a light smile.

In a few months, Yudhistira sat on the grass, holding his latest little brother, who was just a few hours old.

“Arjuna…” Yudhistira repeated the name he heard from the sky. It was the same voice that named Bhima. His mother said the voice named him, too. Their fathers from swarga, the devas who came to earth to fulfill the wishes of a woman who wanted children to continue her husband’s lineage, named them.

Six months later, Yudhistira traced his hands on newborns on either side, the sons of his second mother. She gave birth to twins because their fathers were also twins, the Ashwins, devas of medicine and healing.

Before he knew it, Yudhistira was the eldest, with four younger siblings following him around. It was a lot for his little shoulders, but he carried the weight with pride.

In the next few years, he tried to find out more about his birth father. His actual father didn’t like it, so Yudhistira directed his questions to Kunti when they were alone or taking care of the kids.

“What do you want to know, Yudhi?”

“Everything! Tell me everything!” He demanded. If there was one thing he loved the most, it was knowledge. He spent as long as he could with the rishis in the nearby ashrams, listening to their stories from the Puranas and Vedas.

Kunti laughed, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. He leaned into her, breathing in the scent of jasmine and something citrusy.

“Dharma is also called Yama Dharmaraja. He is the deva of justice and death. He rewards those who follow the righteous path and punishes those who don’t. People fear him for his punishments, but he wouldn’t have to do that if they were good.” Kunti explained and continued.

“Like all devas, he has his own place called Naraka. There, he supervises punishments on one side and provides safety for kind souls in his sabha on the other side. Pandu Raja wanted Dharma to be born as his son so that his offspring would become a righteous and devoted ruler. That is you, Yudhi. It’s your responsibility. Remember, you should never stray from the path of dharma or bring a bad name to your fathers.”

“I won’t, Maa. I will be just like Dharma Deva and make all of you proud.” Yudhistira made another promise to his mother.

***

For decades, he tried his best to keep all his promises. He wanted to be the righteous one, the Dharmaraja everyone loved, the king who made no mistake!

Yet, following dharma wasn’t simple, as Draupadi reminded him. No matter how judicious he was about everything, his one miscalculation left a permanent mark on his name—Dharmaraja gambled away his kingdom, brothers, and wife because he chose Kshatriya dharma over raja dharma and svadharma. He was so determined to do the right thing every time, he subjected his family to the worst situations.

Yudhistira decided he would admit it now. He resisted for as long as he could, citing examples to prove himself right. Not anymore. If he didn’t acknowledge that he was flawed even when they were on their last journey to their end, it wouldn’t lead him to swarga, would it? If he wanted to reach swarga in his mortal body, he didn’t need to renounce the kingdom. He had to renounce his former self, the one that clung to the idea of flawless perfection and depended on the approval of others.

The mere thought freed him from the weight on his shoulders. Yudhistira stood straighter and smiled, tension seeping away from his features.

This felt good!

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