Mahabharata and the art of self-critique

A new current of fascinating books on the Mahabharata has arrived! I was reading Keerthik Sasidharan’s The Dharma Forest and Ira Mukhoty’s Song of Draupadi, and wondering what makes stories from the Mahabharata endure. One reason the Mahabharata is so powerful is that it offers itself up for critique and continually ponders over, re-evaluates, and negates its own ideas.

Krishna, regarded as God himself, is not spared this questioning. He is doubted many times over, by Arjuna, by the sage Uttanka, and most importantly, by Gandhari, who curses him and his entire clan to perish. Some characters remain unconvinced by Krishna’s justifications for his actions. In fact, the one thing the Mahabharata establishes beyond all doubt is the imperfection of all human endeavour.

Perhaps this was why, some ancient thinkers of Sanskrit aesthetics concluded that the aesthetic purpose of the epic was to make us all realise the pointlessness of everything and persuade us to renounce the world! In our time, the pandemic seems to have done a great job of this.

While many scholars have spent too much ink arguing about the contradictions and inconsistencies in the Mahabharata and its philosophical outlook, perhaps the epic has a message that it can only convey through these inconsistencies: such as the importance of dialogue and of reflecting on the same things every once in a while, finding new answers and new questions.

We all know of the grand narrative of Bhishma’s vows. Bhishma, who was born Devavrata, finds out that his father is in love with a fisherman’s daughter, Satyavati. Satyavati’s father refuses to allow their marriage since his grandchildren would not succeed the throne. Bhishma, hearing of this, takes the oath that he would remain celibate and never marry (the oath gives him his name Bhishma).

Now, Bhishma comes to be celebrated for this oath throughout the epic. Even when the throne of Hastinapura is left without a successor, Bhishma refuses to give up his vow, although the throne was the reason for his vow in the first place.

Brian Black, in his new book on dialogue in the Mahabharata, brings up a very interesting story connected with these vows. Bhishma repeatedly justifies his vows in the epic, revealing them to different characters and explaining his reasons. Each time, the explanations change, depending on the context and character. Finally, when Bhishma is on his deathbed, he must instruct Yudhishtira on the duties of a king. He tells Yudhishtira many stories, one of which is the story of Kaushika.

Kaushika is a well-meaning sage who has taken a vow to always speak the truth. Kant would like him, perhaps? But Krishna certainly does not. Unfortunately for Kaushika, one day, he witnesses some people fleeing from robbers. When the robbers come looking, they ask Kaushika where the people went. Kaushika, bound by his promise, reveals the direction, and the people are killed. As a result of keeping his vow, Kaushika ends up in hell, where he suffers for a long time. But it is Bhishma telling Yudhishtira this story. Bhishma is hinting at the danger of making rash vows and sticking to them irrespective of context, something that he himself is guilty of!

Now, you can say, of course, that self-criticism, and a critique of power, can only happen when dialogue is in good faith. When prime ministers of powerful countries hold drinking parties in a pandemic and call them ‘work meetings’, we are left with only satirists to engage in real dialogue with! I agree.