Revised Introduction, Rough Version

नारायणं नमस्कृत्य नरं चैव नरोत्तमम्

 देवीं सरस्वतीं चैव ततो जयम् उदीरयेत्

महाभरत

Mahābharata

As retold by

Michael Dolan, B.V. Mahāyogi

 

Revised Introduction: Rough Version, Unedited

Dear friends: Thanks for all the support and interest in my work.

I'm currently working on a retelling of Mahabharata.  I started adapting Mahabharata for a graphic novel, but as I was putting stories together, I realized that I was more comfortable compiling the stories in a new version or "retelling." I'm hoping to publish this in book form.

The Mahabharata lends itself to well to this kind of treatment, since many of the stories are independent and have been the source of much of India's classical drama and literary tradition. Still, as I went through different translations to arrive at my retelling, I felt unsatisfied by the existing versions. Many of them use either a high Victorian style, antiquated and stilted. Others treat the characters as cute, fantastic, and hilarious caricatures. I'm trying to give the characters the dignity they deserve without lapsing into adulation. The Mahabharata is both tragedy and history, legend and comedy, with deep spiritual, ethical and moral teachings. Reading Mahabharata is elemental to a real understanding of India's deep cultural and religious traditions. At the same time the length of the work is daunting. Its hundred thousand Sanskrit shlokas run to about 2,500,00 words in English translation. As a story-teller I focus on a compelling narrative. Here's an excerpt from the introduction to the book, with no illustrations for the moment.

Introduction

Long before the Iliad and the Odyssey of Homer, long before the ancient Greeks, a war was fought on the plains of Northern India: the Kurukṣetra War. This war and its antecedents form the story of Mahābharata, the story of Greater India and the rise and fall of the Aryans. 

The Aryan civilization found its denouement in  the Kurukṣetra war, the internecine battle between the sons and grandsons of the great warrior Bhiṣma, arguably the bloodiest battle in the ancient history of the world.

The exact age of the war is unknown, however the Sanskrit Mahābharata was known to Aristotle, the teacher of Alexander the Great. 

Having conquered a part of the region west of the Indus River somewhere around 500 BC, Alexander sent the spoils of his conquest to his library in Alexandria.

Among the treasures of Alexander’s Eastern conquest were books in Sanskrit, including the grammar of Panini, the Upaniṣadic texts, the original Vedas in Sanskrit, and the Mahābharata. The traditions of the poet Vyāsa, nominal composer of the work, were celebrated in ballads, song, and theatrical works long before the time of Alexander. And while it is difficult to assign a date to these works, they must have been written at least hundreds of years before their discovery by the Greeks.

Scenes from Mahabharata, Rock Carvings, 7th Century, Tamil Nadu

Since the events celebrated in epics often take place long before they are recorded in literature, a conservative estimate of the age of Mahābharata takes us back to at least 1000 years before the modern Christian Era (CE). According to some traditions, the work is far older. Some historians give the date as early as 3109 B.C. Many researchers cite the lack of certifiable artifacts dating from this time as evidence that the antiquity of these stories is exaggerated, however the ancient text itself demonstrates an incredible wealth of detail about the civilizations that once occupied the Indus River valley extending to the region of the Ganges Delta – so claims that indicate origins in ancient antiquity cannot be easily dismissed.

The great Kurukṣetra war ended in the total destruction of the dynasty of the Aryans who populated the region. While different theories exist as to the racial characteristics of the Aryan peoples so many thousands of years ago, it is hard to imagine today exactly what happened. We may rely only on the text itself and the traditions of India for clues. Our story takes place on the  plains of Kurukṣetra in Punjab, Northwest of present day Delhi.

We therefore must cast our vision back into time, back thousands of years far before the time of Shakespeare,  before the time of King Arthur, before the Aztecs sacrificed their virgins and warriors to the sun god, before the dark ages. The heros of Mahabharata fought their battles and made their offerings to the gods centuries before the fall of the Roman Empire, even centuries before Jesus Christ taught in Galilee.

To apply our imagination to the stories of the Mahabharata, we must return  to a time before Alexander the Great sat at the feet of Socrates to   learn Algebra and the philosophy and etiquette of kings.

We must travel back into the past before the Egyptian Pyramids of Giza dominated the valleys  of the Nile river basin.

And now that we have journeyed into the past, we must then turn our vision farther east, beyond the Pyramids of the Nile. Past the Hindu Kush. We must travel to the other side of the world, the Orient, all the way to the wild, mystical foothills of the Himalayas, to a time in ancient history sometime after human beings crawled out of the ice age and began organizing themselves into agricultural communities.

Artists depiction of ancient Himalayan Civilization in Harappa

Farming took place with the domestication of oxen, horse, and elephant. The domestication of the cow, the cultivation of rice, bananas, and wheat were achieved by the Mohenjo-Daro civilization that grew near the now-extinct basin of the Saraswati River.  (http://www.mohenjodaro.net/)

A civilization was born from agricultural cultivation. Gradually towns and cities arose. How South Asia came to be populated with citizens and their kings is an enigma shrouded in mystery.

Remains of Indus Valley Civilization at Harappa

 But how the ancient kings of the Aryan civilization ruled, did battle, and celebrated peace, how they thrived and were finally ruined are the subjects of our story. Their lives have been recorded in the meters of Vyasadeva’s poetry as Mahabharata.

Kailash rock-cut temple.

Paṇḍu and his blind brother Dhṛtaraṣṭra were the respective kings of Hastinapura, the place of the elephants. Modern archeologists have placed the ruined walls of the palaces of Hastinapura nearby the original city of New Delhi.

At the time of our story,  Hastinapura was the seat of the ancient rulers of India. When King Paṇḍu died, before his time, his brother Dhṛtaraṣṭra reluctantly became regent-king ruling until the next generation was fit to inherit the kingdom. A rivalry grew between  his nephews, the sons of Paṇḍu, along with his own hundred sons headed by the eldest; Duryodhana.

Pandavas & Draupadi with Akshaya Patra (Source: Amba Theertha, near Kalasa, Karnataka

The sons of Paṇḍu  were called the Paṇḍavas . Of the Five Paṇḍavas, Yudhiṣthira also the eldest, was a man of righteousness and truth. Bhīma was a powerful warrior, mighty and stong, with a warriors appetite. . Arjuna was to become  the greatest archer who ever lived. Their two younger brothers were the twins: Nakula and Sahadeva: both handsome, elegant, masters of poetry, lovers of women and noble warriors.

There are many versions of Mahabharata: the story is often told in summary fashion. The complete version begins years after the battle has finished.

Black and White Image of an Antique Medallion showing Arjuna and Hanuman

Arjuna was brother-in-law to Krishna his intimate friend. With Subhadra, the sister of Krishna, Arjuna begat Abhimanyu. The son of Arjuna was Abhimanyu. With Uttara, Abhimanyu begat Pariksit, who became king of all the Indias and ruled in peace after the Kuruksetra war. Unfortunately, as the result of a brahmana’s curse, Pariksit was doomed to die of snake-bite. The pious Pariksit turned to Sukadeva Goswami and heard the message of Bhagavat Purana from him for seven days before being attacked and killed by Taksaka, a great snake.

The son of Pariksit is Janamejaya. Determined to rid the world of snakes, he begins a great sacrifice. Many great snakes are burned in the sacrificial fire when Astika, a young Brahmana steps forward and begs a boon. When the boon is granted, the boy asks the king to stop the sacrifice on the grounds that mercy is above justice. 

He explains the nature of the feud between Pariksit and the snakes, which really began in ancient times when Arjuna and Krishna burned the forest of Khandava-prastha.  Janamejaya’s rage against the snakes is ultimately pacified, but his curiosity is piqued. He wants to know how Arjuna came to burn the forest and hear the entire history of his ancestors, the rulers of India.

Fire-god Agni disguised as brahmana asks Krishna and Arjuna to burn the Khandava forest, Bas Relief, 

Vaishampayana enters the assembly. The gathered brahmaṇas offer him a chair of honor in the snake sacrifice.  He is dressed in a deer skin with matted hair and sits on a kusha grass mat before King Janamejaya and begins to tell the ancient histories of the Mahabharata. 

He begins by telling of how, before the pious rule of Bharata and his descendants, the ksatriyas or warrior class had committed many abuses. Before the golden age of Bhishmadeva, these ruthless dictators persecuted brahmaṇas, raped the land, destroyed rivers and forests, plundered and killed the innocent. They demanded tribute in the form of gold and silver. They raped virgins and violated the principles of religion. The earth was soaked in blood and the rivers ran red. The earth was overburdened with the weight of militaristic kings. And so it was that Bhumidevi, the earth in the form of a cow, came to pray to Vishnu and beg for help against these injustices. At this time, the earth was exhausted from exploitation. Kṛṣṇa, determined to alleviate the suffering of the earth, set into motion a sequence of events that would culminate in the Kurukṣetra War, the First Great War of Kings.  

We begin with the end of the great Kurukṣetra war. Amid the ruins of the killing fields huddle a single handful of battle-scarred warriors. Their shields are bent, their quivers exhausted, their faces bloody. They are covered in sweat and blood, and the dust of the war-grounds. 

Their limbs are scarred, their bodies torn with arrows. These are the five Paṇḍavas, victorious in the battle, the new lords of Hastinapura. They are among the only survivors of the devastating war. They have defeated the envious Kauravas, but at what cost?

A Vaishnava interpretation….Scholars study “internal evidence..” To understand the age of the Mahabahrata war etc.

When approaching an ancient text such as Mahabharata we naturally wonder how we are to interpret its meaning.

How are we to understand the Bible or the Bhagavad-Gita? Fundamentalists insist on the textual meaning of scripture, but since the scripture was written or revealed in a foreign language we rely on translation. And yet, translation itself is a form of interpretation. How can we understand or discuss the ancient literature of faith which was originally written in Sanskrit, Greek, Hebrew, or Latin?

Fundamendalists, of course, take a dim view of interpretation; and yet fundamentalism is but one among many interpretations.

Fundamentalists insist that we must accept a text “AS IT IS,” and yet to explain the correct meaning of three words they often need a thousand.

Deeper thinkers compare texts, cite precedent, and look to the examples of greater readers than themselves. Their commentaries form the basis of doctrines. Doctrines are taken up by schools which treasure a particular interpretation and shelter living teachers who expound them.

Let’s take an example. In the Bible, in  Book of John 1.1, we find “In the beginning was the word and the word was with God and the word was God.”

Simple enough, right? But what exactly was the word?

Was the “Word” a mantra by which God created the world?

The Greek is λογος, LOGOS. Now Logos or “word” could be taken to mean, “the word of God.” So, “In the beginning was the Word of God.” For Hindus the Word of God is found in the Vedas, for Islam it is the Koran. A Christian might want to be more specific; for Christians the word of God reveals Jesus Christ and is revealed by Him. So, it may be said that “Logos denotes the essential Word of God, Jesus Christ the Personal Wisdom and Power in Union with God.”  (http://www.gospel-john.com/greek/chapter-1.html)

Of course Logos also means “Logic.” So, perhaps John here is saying that before the universe comes into being there is logic, the laws of nature. “In the beginning there was logic,” seems a logical idea.

“Logos” can also mean “the idea.” So perhaps We mean to say that idea precedes matter. “In the beginning was the Idea.”

I don’t want to belabour the reader with too many examples, but it seems clear that even so simple a sentence as “In the beginning was the word…” is subject to a wide variety of interpretations, doctrines and schools.

How then can fundamentalism exist? Even a purely textual analysis leads us into unknown waters, for there is a big difference between saying that the world began with a mantra (logos) or saying that it began with Jesus Christ; that the world began with scripture (logos) or with logic.

Which interpretation is best?

Different interpretations imply distinct teachers and lead to different consequences. If I accept the Christian interpretation of “Logos” I follow the Christian path to Jesus Christ. If I feel that logos  means  logic,  perhaps I become a scientist. By accepting a particular teacher I belong to a school of thought that has arisen around a certain doctrinal point of view. That school has a tradition which grants it solidity.

As long as I feel strong in a certain tradition there is no need for me to do any interpretation on my own. I have my faith.

And yet, what if I am asked to think?

In the 1980s I was faced with  a dilemma. I had great faith in my guru, A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, author of “Bhagavad-Gita As It Is,” and founder and teacher of the International Society for Krishna Consciousness. Given my own search for truth I found great comfort in his teachings and dedicated my life to following them. I lived simply in a yoga ashram, waking early, chanting thousands of names of God on my rosary, eating simply, and attending religious services. We meditated on the eternal soul. We preached dharma, visited India, and worked hard to spread his teachings. But, after a when Prabhupada passed to the next world, his mission was in crisis.

My guru’s followers tried to continue his mission as before. But they were flawed vessels, unable to communicate a spiritual message at the same level. It seemed to me that where Prabhupada embodied spiritual devotion and knowledge, his students were flawed vessels. His divine message decayed into a call for loyalty.  Leaders wanted to carry on the mission at all costs and prematurely set themselves up as “gurus.” The vibrant and diverse spiritual community I had known collapsed into sectarianism. Where people from Africa, Australia, India, Europe, Asia, and America had been united in an international society around Prabhupada and his teachings, they broke into factions. These schisms have been well-documented and need not be detailed here; that is not my purpose. I suppose some kind of schism or rupture into different schools is inevitable after the passing of a great spirtitual master.

Still, I was forced to choose between teachers and schools at a time when my own personal understanding of spiritual life was still fresh and green. I was quite young, having joined the movement in my early twenties.

But, returning to my theme, the bone of contention between the differing parties was the correct interpretation of our teacher’s message. Since he had insisted in a fundamentalist approach to certain scriptures, it became difficult for his followers to sustain his method. They lacked tools to interpret the ancient teachings of Bhagavad-Gita and Srimad-Bhagavatam or their modern application by Prabhupada’s own mentor, Bhaktisiddhanta.

The new leaders hardly had their feet wet in terms of grasping the great and perennial wisdom of India. This was in the 1980s, I’m sure everyone concerned is far more erudite and spiritually realized today than they were so long ago.

Lightning doesn’t often strike twice, so my personal crisis of conscience may be rare. And yet, it seems, whenever an important guru establishes a great school his followers have shown a certain capacity for rupture.

The new leaders made it clear that dissent was unacceptable; yet at the same time they were unsure of their own points of view. Few had the required flexibility to act as sycophants to the new leaders and the society my guru had created was left in ashes.

In the midst of this crisis I went to India and sought shelter at the feet of another mentor. In fact, he had helped my own teacher. He was a kind of teacher of teachers who had retired to live on the banks of the Ganges. His name was Shridhar Maharaja. He had seen similar schisms in India in the 1930s with the mission of his own guru, Bhaktisiddhanta.

What surprised me about Shridhar Maharaja was his openness. He the kind of guru who poses as a king with bodyguards; he was an unpretentious teacher. People came to visit him with questions, but he rarely went out from his own humble place of worship. His small rooms with a terrace overlooking the Ganges were shelter enough. In the mornings and afternoons he would sit with his friends and a few students and they would talk about what was on their mind, philosophically. They were invited to “think,” along with their teacher, not merely to learn the scriptures by rote.

Someone would pose a question. Shridhar Maharaja would make a point, divide it into deeper questions, illustrate each question with an appropriate quote from scripture, tell a related anecdote or two, and resolve the questions. He would invite us to reflect not only on his answers but also on the questions.

Months later we noted his comments and developed them into books. In a collaborative effort headed by Bhakti Sudhir Goswami we published five of his books at Guardian of Devotion Press where I was Editor. These books were later translated into Spanish, French, German, Chinese, Russian, and Bengali among other languages. The Bengali version was well-received in India. The English and foreign language versions are still in print. Shridhar Maharaja himself received no money from any of these editions. He was a humble man of great erudition and no literary pretension. He occasionally composed such poetry as the Prema-dhama-stotram and created a brilliant commentary on Bhagavad-Gita, but these projects were brought to fruition by his great disciple, Bhakti Sundar Govinda Maharaja, who was responsible for bring together in harmony many of those who had lost in the ruptures and schisms of different missions, as well as giving inspiration to his own international mission.

Shridhar Maharaja  was a humble soul; his relationship with his foremost disciple Govinda Maharaja was evidence of that humility. Their teacher-student relationship was friendly. In my lifetime of 61 years I don’t know if I have ever seen a greater friendship than the one between Shridhar Maharaja and Govinda Maharaja. But here, both guru and disciple knew how to think. Shridhar Maharaja never tried to turn Govinda Maharaja into a blind follower. He shunned egoism as they collaborated to build the Chaitanya Saraswat Math, his mission in India.

As I was going through the Bhagavad-Gita recently, making an attempt to give a brief summary for those unfamiliar with its message, I looked at some of the different interpretations. When I went through the version attributed to Shridhar Maharaja, I could understand that the work there was a close collaboration between Shridhar Maharaja and Govinda Maharaja. The degree of their friendship was such that Shridhar Maharaja trusted Govinda Maharaja with curating his message on any number of levels.

I give this example this to reiterate my point that the erudition of Shridhar Maharaja was no obstacle to his humility. And also that his school allowed for creativity and innovation in his disciples. He was no despot.

 Shridhar Maharaja showed no interest in wealth, in name or fame. When we brought him sample copies of the books we had published in his name, he gave us his blessings and full credit for our work. He said, “What I have given in a random way, you have collected there. You have done the work of Vyasa.” Of course it was the work of Ganesh. Vyasa composed, while Ganesh was the scribe.

My point here is that in contrast to the so-called “New Leaders,” not only was Shridhar Maharaja a preceptor I could trust, but he encouraged us to understand things. His motto was “Dive deep into reality; go deeper. Don’t take a superficial reading.”.

 He had no interest in Dollars, Diplomacy and Despotism or kana, kamimi, pratistha. At 86 or so years old when I first met him, he had no taste for money, women, or even fame.

And yet, he was reknowned by Vaishnavas of the Nabadwip school for his depth of understanding. I cannot claim to a great follower of his. And yet in order to publish the books we did as a humble offering I was made aware of the need for interpretation.

While Shridhar Maharaja defended the Vaishnava point of view, he did so as someone with a vast array of tools and weapons, from literal fundamentalism and deep scholarship to a subtle grasp of allegory.

When truth is self-evident, there is no need for allegory; but when truth is hinted at, we may accept the allegorical meaning.

Or as Shridhar Maharaja used to say, “Connotation increases, denotation decreases; Denotation increases, connotation decreases.”

A good interpretation values the intention of the author of a work, whether it be Shakespeare or Vyāsa. In discovering the meaning of Mahābharata, then, we should consider Vyāsa’s purpose.

While this is not at all an easy task, given the prolix nature of of his work, it is not impossible, given that certain themes are recurrent.

One of the problems a reader faces is ferreting out Vyāsa’s contribution to the epic. We know that there are several authors of the Mahābharata: while it is gathered together, edited, and perhaps finally narrated to Ganesh by Vyāsa, there are many different speakers. These include especially Vaishampayana at the snake sacrifice of Janamejaya and Suta or Ugrashrava, who repeats Vaishampayana’s version before the 10,000 sages gathered together in Naimisharanya forest for a sacrifice.

Astute readers such as Sri Aurobindo have noted a distinction in their style, which ranges from florid to stark. While some sections seem plain and unvarnished, others tend towards hyperbole. Certain passages betray the distinct and unmistakable style of a great epic poet. And yet other other passages such as the long-winded speeches of Bhishmadeva on ritual echo the overblown Biblical rules of Leviticus, and may have been introduced at a later date by another author.  So many inconsistencies of style assume a diverse authorship. And yet, Vyāsa’s voice speaks with such authority that we may recognize it when we hear it.

His voice is powerful, simple, and clear, and yet contains high thinking. His ideas are austere, original and noble. His imagination is neither florid nor fantastic, but strong and pure. Even when speaking of gods or demons his personalities are not incredible or fantastic, but flesh and blood.

As an example of what I mean, let’s take a look at the traditions of Spain.

The first great poem written in the Spanish language is El Cantar de Mio Cid, composed between 1140 and 1270 in Old Spanish. While the hero Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar is exiled unfairly he performs superhuman feats to regain his throne. And yet, while El Cid is legendary and larger than life,  his deeds as well as the atmosphere of ancient Spain are drawn realistically. There is nothing particularly magical about the landscape. Neither dragons, nor sorcerors, nor demons appear  anywhere in the work. For contrast one might look to the Arthurian legends where Merlin’s magic converted Uther Pendragon into a double of Lord Gorlois that he might seduce Lady Igraine and beget Arthur. The Arthurian legends of England are filled with dragons and holy grails. Not so the Spain of El Cid. But in short order a fantastic literature arose around the chivalric tradition. Exaggerated tales of fantasy, damsels in distress, sorcerors and dragons appeared to engage the minds of readers in Spain. An excellent example was Amadis de Gaula.

While Amadis de Gaula  by Garci Rodriguez de Montalvo was published in 1508 in Zaragoza, it belongs to an earlier tradition dating back into the 14^th century. It’s full of wizards with magical powers, giants, dragons, fair damsels and knights in shining armour.  It’s all magic and little realism.

Cervantes turned this world on his head by creating a parody of chivalric fantasies. His parody, Don Quixote is still on the best-seller list. And much of his success is due to his having discovered magical realism, a style more real than magic. He began by parodying the style of Fantasy popular even today in works by Ursula Le Guinn or George R.R. Martin’s Game of Thrones. And yet, while laughing at Amadis de Gaula, Cervantes created a much more solid character in that of the Quixote, a man who loses his brains from reading too much and chases windmills. And yet there are no giants and dragons in the Quixote. While Cervantes’ work is full of magic, it gives us a stark picture of reality. So much so that he is considered the first author to write in the style of magic realism.

But if we look further back in time, we must consider Vyāsa as the first author to write in the tradition of Magical Realism.  His epic poetry mentions flying machines for example, but does so in passing, as if airplanes were a commonplace of ancient India. Where the Ramayana’s ten-headed Ravana is a ghastly monster, Vyāsa’s Kartavirya Arjuna by contrast seems to be a real man who suffers from a genetic disorder that causes him to have twenty arms. Vyāsa is never fascinated by the unusual supernatural elements in his work; his realism supercedes the magic. Where Indra competes for Damayanti he loses to a mere mortal.  His supernatural power is to no avail against a woman’s fancy.

And yet certain sections of Mahābhārata clearly read as if written by another hand, more garish, more in the style of the Ramayana, more“Valmikian.” Certain of these Valmikian passages seem less inspired, more poetic, almost as if an imitator of Vyāsa is copping his style and inserting his own interpolations. 

The personality and style of a writer are unmistakable. My own guru used to give the example of Aurobindo. When he was in hiding from arrest by the British Government, he wrote some pieces for a newspaper under a pseudonym. The newspaper editor was arrested for abetting a fugitive. On the witness stand, the prosecutor confronted the editor with a copy of the newspaper. He denied knowing Aurobindo Ghose. But when the prosecutor read the article aloud, the judge agreed it was written in the unmistakable style of Aurobindo. “Here is Mr. Ghose!” said the prosecutor. A pseudonym could not hide his style.

To a trained reader Shakespeare is as distinct from Marlowe as Cervantes is from Garcia Marquez. In the same way, Vyāsa has a peculiar and inimitable style which shines through the narrative. He writes without mannerism. Unlike the work of a Kalidas, a Shakespeare, or Luis de Gongora, he avoids flourishes and exaggerations.

His style is almost bare. In today’s parlance it would be almost hard-boiled. In this sense, the poetry of Vyāsa is closer to the writing of Raymond Chandler than to Shakespeare. This gives him an actuality that isn’t found in Kalidasa who loved metaphors and florid description. Raymond Chandler wrote as if pain hurt and life mattered, and so did Vyāsa.

Vyāsa nowhere attempts to be artistic or to cow us down with his erudition, but is so empathic of the human condition as to be divine in his compassion.

Still Vyāsa, unlike Dante’s Virgil, is capable of lifting us up to the throne of God. Homer offers no such reward. His gods are venal and selfish; his heroes are crafty Greeks interested in spoils, riches, and lovers. Vyāsa’s message comes from beyond this world without denying the world’s existence. Even the worst villain of Mahābhārata, Duryodhana, is not without charm. Above all, Vyāsa is honest; an incredible quality for an epic poem. He shows us the foibles of his heroes: Bhima is gluttonous and violent, Yudhisthira dry and bound by his own formulas of dharma, Arjuna proud, Draupadi fireborn and hot-tempered. All the characters in the Mahābharata could have stepped from the pages of a modern novel. Critics are so surprised by this characteristic of Mahābhārata that they are convinced it could not enjoy the antiquity it does. It must have been produced at a later date than over 3000 years ago by virtue of its modern style, they reason. This is further testimony to the greatness of Vyāsa.

And yet Vyāsa’s task was much greater than either Dante or Homer. Where Homer’s Iliad chronicles an episode in the legendary Trojan War, Vyāsa’s epic not only details the important events of the Kurukshetra war, but spans the lifetimes of its heroes, even explaining their former lives. Vyāsa narrates the details of the political conflicts leading to the war and includes numerous minor tales peripheral to the main story.

Apart from its value as an epic poem, the Mahābharata is a historical document outlining the conflicts of an ancient world, its ethos, ritual, concepts of duty, and quotidian practices.

And yet the real power of Mahābharata is in the very conclusions drawn by Vyāsa as pertaining to dharma. These conclusions belie his intentions and illuminate any allegorical interpretations that might be placed on his work.

By closely examining Vyāsa’s style and entering into the spirit of his work, we may gather an informed view of his thought.

His Sanskrit is terse and unadorned, but his thought is deep. Without the pomp of Kalidasa, even his romantic stories like Shakuntala, Nala and Damayanti, and Savitri are innocent and sublime. If Kalidasa’s poetry is a magic fountain Vyāsa is a cool mountain brook, satisfying in the summer heat.

And the themes that characterize Vyāsa have special power even thousands of years later. He is everywhere concerned with dharma. And yet he is capable of fine distinctions in its application. He knows that there is and always will be both civil and spiritual dharma.

Individuals are responsible to the demands of society according to Vyāsa. As such, social dharma  is important and should be observed. But above the ordinary laws of society, each individual has the right and the responsibility to seek a higher salvation. In this sense dharma becomes spiritual.

Vyāsa is not moralistic. The Mahābharata is not a  fable with an easy moral. Many of the stories found within its pages ask us deep questions and leave us to contemplate the solutions.

And yet Vyāsa has much to say on practical ethics, the just rule of kings, the idea of a society with righteousness, purity, and unselfish work done in dedication. His moral position is subtle. He does not outline a set of rules to be followed, but asks us to develop a higher set of values that correspond to a deeper awareness of spiritual reality.

His idea of sannyasa as outlined in Bhagavad-Gita is telling. Na karmanām anarambhātma naiṣkarmyam purusho shrute..“Not by avoiding action does a man become free from karma, nor by renunciation does he achieve perfection..” We don’t become perfect by running away from our duty. Renouncing the world and escaping duty is not something that Vyāsa values, for all the saints and sages that appear in Mahābharata.  Real renunciation means working in a spirit of nonattachment in dedication to the Supreme. Vyāsa identifies Krishna as the Supreme, not only in the Bhagavad-Gita, but also in the Vishnu-sahasra-nama, found in the teachings of Bhishma, spoken from a bed of arrows where he has fallen, waiting to die.

Keeping this in mind, it is evident that Mahābhārata is in the end a deeply Vaishnava text. No credible evidence has ever been cited to refute the idea that Bhagavad-Gita was authored by Vyāsa himself. Its style is congruent with the style of the poet whose muscular Sanskrit is found in the greatest lines of Mahābharata. Keeping to the literal meaning of his words as well as the context provided by a close analysis of both his style and content, one must come to the conclusion that Vyāsa himself recognized Kṛṣṇa as God Himself.

A proper interpretation whether literal or allegorical of Vyāsa’s intention must take this into consideration. Vyāsa’s ethical and spiritual point of view in terms of dharma has a definite stamp. He outlines the need for social morality as well as a kind of higher ethic of the soul. This higher ethic calls for surrender, leaving behind mundane considerations of sin and virtue. The ideal of surrender is given by Kṛṣṇa in Bhagavad-Gita as sarva-dharman-parityaja, mam ekam śaraṇam vraja… “Give up all mundane concepts of dharma  and surrender to me.” The concept of surrender has been developed further by the Gaudiya school of Vaishnavism as Śaraṇagati,  notably by Bhaktivinoda Ṭhakura, his son and follower Bhaktisiddhanta Saraswati and his disciple Bhakti Rakṣaka Śrīdhar dev Goswāmi, my guru, mentor and teacher.

And Vyāsa’s power of story-telling is nowhere in greater evidence than in the story or Nala and Damayanti, or Savitri, or Śakuntala. Without the constant digressions that often weary the reader, these poems reflect the style, diction, and personality of his thought.

The story of Nala has much charm, and yet here we may find the soul of a noble rishi shining forth even as he tells an ancient tale. We can feel the sympathy of the poet for the quiet greenery of the sacred river that once flowed by the foothills of the Hindu Kush. We can follow him as he walks on the path, his leathery feet hardened by the sharp stones of the river bed.  Nala’s story is not populated by Gandharvas or Rakṣasas, there are no supernatural giants. A sad Naga prince transforms a prince into an ugly dwarf. Golden swan messengers bring news of love and delight.

And yet these supernatural elements, while full of wonder, are told in an austere style. As soon as the magical elements appear, they are gone and we go on with life’s struggle. He limits the magical to a few strokes of his pen. This economy is what converts the poem into an epic, whose allegory is worthy of serious discussion, and not as a fairy tale as it is sometimes rendered by enthusiastic grandmothers charming their babes with a bedtime tale.

I hope my retelling has not been so severe as to make mundane what is sublime; I hope I have been able to preserve the beauty and strangeness of this ancient story.

The idea is that when an idea is spelled out for us, carefully delineated and commented on, there is not much need for interpretation, but when we are faced with an implied meaning  in the Bhagavad-Gita, Mahabharata, Bhagavatam, or elsewhere, we are free to understand the inference.

For example, the invocation of Mahābhārata:

 नारायणं नमस्कृत्य नरं चैव नरोत्तमम्  देवीं सरस्वतीं चैव ततो जयम् उदीरयेत् 

nārāyanaṃ namaskṛtya 

naraṃ caiva narottamam 

deviṃ sarasvatiṃ caiva

tato jayam udirayet

This may be translated as follows:  “To Narayana: obeisances as also to Nara, the Supreme Human. To the devas, headed by Saraswati. Then, Jaya may be uttered.”

Nara and Narayana are the worshipful deities of Badarikashrama. And yet sometimes Arjuna and Krishna are considered as Nara and Narayana.  So, it may seem to some that the author invokes Nara and Narayan or Arjuna and Krishna. “Jaya” is the ancient name of the Mahabharata, since its subject is the Triumph of Dharma as well as the Victory of the Pandavas.

And yet, Vishvanatha Chakravarti Thakura who is perhaps the greatest master of interpreting allegorical meanings in the Gaudiya line of Vaishnavism has another view. He thinks that “Nara” refers to the “human-like form of Godhead.” Narayana obviously references  the “Vishnu form of Godhead.” So the line under discussion references the Aishvarya or Majestic form of God as well as the intimate human form of Godhead found in Vrindavan. The line could be tranlsated as follows.

After offering all respect to the Supreme Person Krishna 

who has a human-like form, and to Narayana, 

the majestic form of Lord Vishnu, 

and after bowing before  Sarasvati, the goddess of learning, 

this poem, called "Jaya!" or  victory, 

[also known as Mahābhārata] 

may be recited and studied.

In trying to access the allegorical meanings found in Mahabharata, one must dig a bit deeper. While the Mahabharata is clearly a Vaishnava text, containing as it does both the Bhagavad-Gita and the Vishnu Sahasra Nama, some of the stories found there do not yield their meaning on first glance.

And yet, something of the allegorical meaning may be seen if we take Vishvanatha’s version.

The study of allegorical meaning in the Mahābhārata has a long tradition. The poet Śrī Harṣa, for example, working in the 12^th Century, wrote a long poetic work in Sanskrit called the  Naiṣadhīya, where he asserts that  the story of Nala and Damayanti as found in the Mahābhārata is really an allegory for the soul’s search for Divinity.  Śriharsha was a Sanskrit  poet in the court of King Vijayachandra of Kanauj, which is found in present day Uttar Pradesh.  His book was quite popular in his day and has been studied for centuries by pundits. According to Rajasekhara’s Prabandhakosa, after writing his famous kavya, Śrī Harṣa was honoured with the title, Narabharati.

After achieving fame at court, he spent his later life as a renounced sage on the banks of Ganges.  Vijayachandra’s son,  Jayantchandra, ruled in second part of the 12th century. In 1174,  while  Angkor Wat was constructed by Suryavarman II in Cambodia and the crusades were being fought in Jerusalem,  Naishadha Charita, was supposed to have been composed.

This poem, based on the story found in Mahābhārata was introduced into Gujarrat tradition by Hariharsha during the reign of Viradhavala in the 13^th Century where dramatic performances of the work have been recorded since that time.  Sriharsha was also a philosopher who refuted the Nyaya system of philosophy, which has to do with atoms in the void.

According to his analysis, Damayanti’s search for her soul-mate, Nala, ends when she chooses the human Nala amid the perfection of the gods; this is an allegory for the Search for Śrī Kṛṣṇa.

Poets and dramatists generally prefer the first part of the story. It has a beginning, a middle and an end and is complete as a romantic tale with a happy ending. And Śrī Harṣa's version  has intrigued lovers of the Damayanti story for centuries. But if his reading is correct, what do we make of the second part of the story, where Nala falls under the influence of Kali?

The second part of the legend is really a completely different story. In this part we also have the theme of a search, but this time Nala searches for Damayanti, while Damayanti continues to search for Nala.

The theme of search is one that unites both halves of the story. It may also be considered that if the finite is searching for the infinite, the infinite is incomplete without the finite. So, just as the finite searches out the infinite, the infinite also searches for the finites. Just as the soul is involved in the Search for Śrī Kṛṣṇa, so is the Absolute engaged in a loving search for his lost servant. Both maintain their identities, neither is merged into the other. But perhaps the search of Nala for Damayanti is a another metaphor for the soul’s search for completeness.

For further insight into the allegorical meanings of Vyāsa’s work, we may look again to the Naiṣadhīya of Śrī Harṣa, which is probably the best retelling of the story in Sanskrit verse. As Kalidāsa expands the ideas found in Śakuntala, Śrī Harṣa is responsible for creating a poetic work based on the Nala story of Mahābhārata, or Nalopadhyaya.

  Writing in the 16^th Century, the Vaiṣṇava poet and commentator Nārāyaṇa examines the allegorical significance of the Naiṣadhiya of Śrī Harṣa, seeing Vaiṣṇava ideas throughout, where the erotic principle between Nala and Damayanti represents the bhakti  principle. Unfortunately, his analysis is not systematic; he does not extend the allegory to include the entire poem. Nārāyaṇa however, does point out that Śrī Harṣa was a follower of Rāma, since the invocation of Naiṣadhīya includes an invocation to Rāma.

According to his version, the story may be read as an allegory where Nala represents Divinity and Damayanti is the soul aspiring to reunite with Divinity. It is suggested that Nala represents Nara or Narayaṇa, when various verses refer to him in adulatory language as if he were a god or even the highest God. These are veiled references to bhakti. Nowhere in the Mahābhārata does Vyāsa refer directly to bhakti  as the Supreme Erotic Principle. And yet perhaps the story of Nala and Damayanti may be read allegorically in this light.

While the 16^th century commentator and poet Narayaṇa shies from an explicit or systematic interpretation of allegory in the story of Nala and Damayanti, Rāmāvatara Sharma (1877-1929) a celebrated scholar of Benares composed a Sanskrit drama called Dhīra-Naiṣadham based on the Naiṣadhīya. Sharma considered the verses of the Naiṣadhīya as sacred mantras. Others have seen Vedantic interpretations in the text.

For example, the golden swan who communicates Nala’s love for Damayanti is seen to represent the Paramatma, who resides within the hearts of advanced souls and who tries to communicate through our good intelligence the love that God has for us. Just as the Paramatma is trying to guide us to Divine Love through our good intelligence, the golden swan leads to the union between Nala and Damayanti, or between the truth-seeker and the divine truth. The communication between the golden swan and Nala and Damayanti represents the path by which a soul comes in connection with divine truth.

Real divine life begins when one comes in connection with a swanlike soul or messenger who conveys divine reality to us. Just as the swan messenger brings love to Nala and Damayanti, the guru principle affords an ordinary soul a glimpse into the truth of the Divine World.

Of course, Bhaktivedanta Swāmī eschews allegorical readings and demands that we must consider the text of Mahābhārata as self-explanatory or As It Is. On the other hand, if we take it that Vyāsa himself is a Vaiṣṇava, may curiosities of Mahābhārata fall into place and we are able to find meaning even in sections of the work that are apparently secular or mundane.

The virtuosity of Vyāsa may be seen as a supernatural gift. And so, even in “mundane” passages a deeper meaning may be read by those intent on diving deeper into the work. As legend has it the Mahābhārata was dictated by Vyāsa to Ganesh on the condition that he spoke continuously without stopping. Vyāsa gave the elephant-headed god his own condition: He must not write a line unless he understood it completely. While Ganesh contemplated the profound meaning of a particular verse, Vyāsa had more time to compose, so the story goes. And so we find much mystery in the Sanskrit verses. Just as Ganesh himself paused to sift through the hyperbole of a given statement or to consider an allegory, so may we readers, thousands of years later ponder the internal meaning of a line whatever its external textual significance.

In the second part of the story, the soul is bewildered by Kali and falls under his influence. He takes part in gambling, loses his kingdom, and is converted into a hideous dwarf. Gradually he is purified by his trials and becomes free from Kali’s influence. Finally he engages once again in his quest for Damayanti and is reunited with her.

The various Sanskrit commentators from the 12^th century on have dedicated thousands of verses to exploring the allegory in this story. I have no such poetic power. My point here is in defense of Vyāsa: while it is said that many things in Mahābhārata are mundane fairy tales or trifling legends, it is my assertion that a deeper current of reality runs through the entire work. Entire traditions in Indian poetry and drama have derived from the work. As such it is difficult to ascribe purely mundane motives to its composition. The spiritually romatnic history of Damayanti is only one of thousands of stories that flowed from the pen of Vyāsa.

And Vyāsa is everywhere a truth-seeker.  His Sanskrit is often restrained. Critics prefer the ornate Sanskrit of later poets. Even a first-year student of Sanskrit can understand Vyāsa's Mahābhārata. Unfortunately, some scholars, who have found his style easy to read mistake simplicity for childishness.

These elitists prefer the arch Kalidasa or the ornament of the later poets. Since even a first-year Sanskrit student can read and translate parts of the Bhagavad-Gītā, the work of Vyāsa is considered “for beginners.”

But his simplicity belies profundity. While the Sanskrit of Kalidasa appeals to advanced readers for its flourishes and metaphors, but such a facile interpretation of the material misses the point. Vyāsa is great exactly because his ideas are clear. Where Kalidasa is grandiose, Vyāsa is austere. His work is fine, even austere with few extra words or expressions. His writing is compact, economic, sparse, and modern.

The Bhagavad-Gītā, for example,  opens simply. Where he might use thousands of ornate words  of oratory, Dhṛtaraṣṭra asks merely, “What did my sons and the Paṇḍavas do at the holy place of Kurukṣetra?”

It’s hard to set the scene with a greater economy of language. And while great poets rise and fall on the basis of their ornamentation, Vyāsa’s great strength is in his deep intellect and simplicity of style. His great ideas do not depend on style. And yet nowhere is his restraint more in evidence than when he deals with the supernatural. While his stories are often magical, his treatment of divinity is grounded in reality. He gives a glimpse into the world of miracles and divinity as if it were a commonplace.

Nowhere is this better appreciated than in the teachings of Kṛṣṇa in Bhagavad-Gītā. While we are encouraged to view the text as sacred, it eludes easy understanding. What exactly is karma? What is dharma? How are they different? Krishna tells Arjuna to go to war; but it is the battle for his soul that intrigues us.

When Vyāsa discusses spritual reality in Mahābhārata, his terse Sanskrit becomes almost Upanishadic. He sometimes speaks in riddles to Ganesh who must probe the depths of his meaning before inking his words. The Gita is often known as Gitopanishad, precisely for this reason. Just as Vyāsa sat before Ganesh and spoke, a student sits near the master to hear the Bhagavad-Gita which is a spoken dialogue. Upa means near, and Sad means sit. So Upanishad means "What may be heard sitting down before the master." Rather than paint scenes with words, Vyāsa tells his stories through dialogues.  But when he turns his genius to stories, he tells stories that last for generations.

Vyāsa's genius in story-telling shines through in Nala and Damayanti. On its face it is a magical fairy story in the forest, complete with dwarfs and snake-princes. Externally, it is a romantic tale of a drunken gambler husband who leaves his wife under the influence of demon forces. She survives, he returns. There's a happy ending. It has all the elements of a successful Hollywood movie.

And yet, as we have seen in the work of Śrī Harṣa, the story of of Nala and Damayanti for example leaves much room for allegorical interpretation.

For example, many commentators take it that “Nala” is a corrupt form of Nara. That is to say the hero of the story is in fact Nara. Yudhisthira is asked by Brihad Aswa to reflect on the history of someone named “Nala” who could in fact be “Nara” of Nara-Narayana. As Cakravarti Thakura points out, "Nara" refers to Krishna. And so, in an oblique way, Yudhisthira is being asked to reflect on the Search for Śrī Krishna.

Many dramatists rely merely on the first part of the story. Once again, at face value this is merely a trite love story; a potboiler, a romantic tale for the ladies. But a deeper reading has been made for centuries. If Mahabharata is a mundane work, devoid of spiritual value, then perhaps the story of Nala and Damayanti is merely eyewash for the general public; a fairy tale to make us think of the evils of gambling. But what if something deeper is going on here?

Śrī Harṣa felt there was.

According to his view, Nala is a veiled reference to the highest of “human” gods, Nara.

If the poem ends with Damayanti’s search for Nala, where she chooses him at the swayamvara  ceremony, we may see an allegory of the soul’s search for Śrī Kṛṣṇa.

Damayanti is forced to choose between the ordinary gods, like Indra, Vayu, Yama, and Agni. She chooses Nala for his human characteristics. Arjuna, who is also known as and incarnation of “Nara” in the mystic duo of “Nara-Narayana” also chooses devotion to Krishna as the “human” form of Godhead.

           

In one of the verses of the Śrī Harṣa’s poem, (Naishadha Carita 1.29) “Nala” is described as being perceived by the soul only through bhāvana, a form of meditation which is one of the methods of knowing available to the soul according to Bhagavad-Gita :2.66 nāsti buddhir ayuktasysa, na cāyuktasya bhāvana na cābhāvayataḥ śāntiḥ aśāntasya kṛtaḥ sukham नास्ति बुद्धिर् अयुक्तस्य्स, न चायुक्तस्य भावन न चाभावयतः शान्तिः अशान्तस्य कृतः सुखम्

 It is also mentioned that the vibration of his name, engenders great joy. 

 In the end, Damayanti must choose the real Nala among many false “Nalas.” This may be seen as the need to carefully choose between many false truths or even false gurus.

According to a long tradition, then, one which includes the Sanskrit poet Śrī Harṣa, the Nala and Damayanti story must have a deeper and allegorical meaning, one that may perhaps be a metaphor for the search for higher truth and even the Search for Sri Krishna.

But returning to  Nala and Damayanti: the first half of the story places the search for truth squarely on the shoulders of Dayanti who is forced to choose the human-like Nala from amongst the superhuman gods, Indra the god of rain, Vayu the wind-god, Agni the fire-god, and Death Himself, Lord Yamaraja.

Damayanti chooses Nala. It has been said that this might be an allegory for the search for Śrī Krṣṇa and that given to choose between the SuperHuman Divine or Aiśvarya and the human divine, true bhakti opts for the human conception. A more intimate relation with divinity leaves behind the opulence and power of the Fatherhood of Godhead for the simplicity and beauty of the Sonhood of Godhead as seen in Nanda and Yashoda. The highest realized souls are not interested in God the Father. They want to know about the Sonhood of Godhead.

As Raghupati Upadhyaya once said, (Padyavali 126)  shrutim apare smritim itare bhaaratam anye bhajantu bhava-bhitaah aham iha nandam vande yasyalinde param brahma

“Many truth-seekers want liberation from material existence. They worship God the Father. Let them. Many worship the śruti and the smṛti with all their philosophical musings and religious rituals.  But God Himself, in the form of baby Kṛṣṇa is crawling in the courtyard of Nanda Mahārāja as his son.  I am interested in the Sonhood of God. What did Nanda Mahārāja do, that God plays as his Son?”

Raghupati Upadhyaya, Padyavali 126

The highest realized souls enjoy an intimate relationship with Godhead. Evidence of this is found in Vṛndāvana. When the residents of Vṛndāvana were challenged by the raingod Indra to give up their love of Kṛṣṇa and worship him, they sided with Kṛṣṇa. Indra inundated Vṛṇdāvana, but Kṛṣṇa picked up a mountain, Govardhan Hill, and protected them. The conclusion is that beauty is above power, or that the natural beauty of Vrindaban is superior to the forced opulence of the gods.

But Vyāsa, with his typical economy of style, had only alluded to the supremacy of beauty and the Kṛṣṇa conception. In the interest of preserving the confidentiality of this high conception, he had erred on the side of austerity.

And so, after having composed the Mahābhārata, Vyāsa found that his work had referred to the Kṛṣṇa conception only in  a veiled way. He realized that many  superficial readers would misinterpret. They could not understand how Kṛṣṇa could be the Supreme Personality of Godhead. It was time to go deeper.  With this he went to Nārada for guidance and was encouraged by the spiritual master of the demigods to compose the Bhāgavat.

In the second verse (SB 1.1.2)m of that great work, we find:

dharmaḥ projjhita-kativo ‘tra paramo nirmatsarānāṃ satām

vedyaṃ vāstavam atra vastu śivadaṃ tāpa-trayonmūlanam

śrīmād-bhāgavate mahā-muni-kṛte kiṃ vā parair īśvaraḥ

sadyo hṛdy avarudhyate ’tra kṛtibhiḥ śuśrūṣubhis tat-kṣanāt

धर्मः प्रोज्झित-कैतिवो ‘त्र परमो निर्मत्सराणां सतां

वेद्यं वास्तवम् अत्र वस्तु शिवदं ताप-त्रयोन्मूलनम्

श्रीमाद्-भागवते महा-मुनि-कृते किं वा परैर् ईश्वरः

सद्यो हृद्य् अवरुध्यते ’त्र कृतिभिः शुश्रूषुभिस् तत्-क्षनात्

“Leaving behind external dharma,  society consciousness, and materialistic religion, this Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam gives the highest truth: Pure-hearted truth-seekers will understand it completely. This truth is reality, free from illusion and will benefit all. Understanding this will free you from the three-fold miseries of material nature.

This book was composed by Vyāsa when he was fully realized as a Mahamuni. This book is all one needs for complete understanding of Divine Reality. Who ever reads this book or hears its message will arrive at the truth within his heart.”

As my initial premise for this article was to discuss the author of Mahābhārta and his intentions, it is important to understand his later work. His frustration with the misinterpretations of Mahābhārata led Vyāsa to write the Bhāgavata Purana, which is a further extension of his thought. Bhaktivedānta Swāmi remarks, “The history of the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam is also very glorious. It was compiled by Śrī Vyāsadeva after he had attained maturity in transcendental knowledge. He wrote this under the instructions o Śrī Nāradajī, his spiritual master. Vyāsadeva compiled all the Vedic  literatures, containing the four divisions of the Vedas, the Vedānta-sūtras (or the Brahma-sūtras), the Purāṇas, the Mahābhārata, and so on. But nevertheless, the was not satisfied.”

“His dissatisfaction was observed by his spiritual master, and thus Nārada advised him to write on the transcendental activities of Lord Śrī Kṛṣṇa. These transcendental activities are described specifically in the Tenth Canto of this work…The author of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam says that the Lord Śrī Kṛṣṇa is the origin of all creations. He is not only the creator of the universe, but the destroyer as well. …Śrī Vyāsadeva at once worships the paratattva, Śrī Kṛṣṇa, whose transcendental activities are desribed in the Tenth Canto.”

Bhaktivedānta Swāmi leaves no doubt in his commentaries that  Vyāsa’s intention is always the glorification of Śrī Kṛṣṇa. It is logical to assume, then, in any attempt to interpret difficult passages in Mahābhārata Vyāsa’s intention should be kept in mind.

This verse from Bhagavatam also references dharma. But here we find a point of departure. Where Mahābhārata upholds all forms of dharma  that lead to a higher goal, including, karma-yoga, jñāna and bhakti the Bhagavatam exclusively focuses on bhakti, or divine love.

The Bhagavatam, then, is clearly meant for a deeper exploration of the values first touched upon in the Mahābhārata. But since the author of Mahābharata himself is clearly a bhakta,  his love for Kṛṣṇa as well as his understanding of bhakti  is evident on every page and in every Sanskrit verse, as long as one has the eyes to see or the ears to hear its message.

Savitri

If the story of Nala and Damayanti invites allegorical interpretation, the story of Savitri goes even further down that path.

Many poets have imagined Death; few could give us Savitri. Savitri is not only a chaste woman whose  love saves her husband from a premature death;  Savitri is daugher of the Gayatri mantra herself, delivering the soul from Death. The allegory has been explored in depth in the poem Savitri by Sri Aurobindo, who dedicated many years to its exposition and who founded a Yoga School of his own, based on the teachings he discovered there.

While apparently the story of Savitri is  nothing more than the tale of a chaste wife who delivers her husband by confronting Death Himself, there is much more to be read between the lines.

The Story of Savitri in Mahābhārata has been retold many times, notably by Edwin Arnold in his “Idylls” in the 19^th Century and by Sri Aurobindo in the 20^th Century.

But it was Sri Aurobindo who brought the poem to public attention with his Savitri: A Legend and a Symbol. His work, an epic poem in blank verse, runs some 24,000 lines. He revised the book over a lifetime. It took him almost 50 years to complete the 12 books and 49 Cantos of Savitri: A Legend and a symbol. (You can find the poem online in its entirety, here. http://savitrithepoem.com )

Aurobindo’s author’s note on the work is brief but instructive and gives the skeleton of the story as well as his version of its allegorical meaning. He writes:

"The tale of Satyavan and Savitri is  Satyavan is recited in the Mahabharata as a story of conjugal love conquering death. But this legend is, as shown by many features of the human tale, one of the many symbolic myths of the Vedic cycle. Satyavan is the soul carrying the divine truth of being within itself but descended into the grip of death and ignorance; Savitri is the Divine Word, daughter of the Sun, goddess of the supreme Truth who comes down and is born to save; Aswapati, the Lord of the Horse, her human father, is the Lord of Tapasya, the concentrated energy of spiritual endeavour that helps us to rise from the mortal to the immortal planes; Dyumatsena, Lord of the Shining Hosts, father of Satyavan, is the Divine Mind here fallen blind, losing its celestial kingdom of vision, and through that loss its kingdom of glory. Still this is not a mere allegory, the characters are not personified qualities, but incarnations or emanations of living and conscious Forces with whom we can enter into concrete touch and they take human bodies in order to help man and show him the way from his mortal state to a divine consciousness and immortal life."

Of course, Aurobindo transforms the original version of Mahābhārata to suit the needs of his own yoga school with its neo-Shaivite focus; a fact which hardly endears him to fundamentalists. Since the Mahābhārata is demonstrably a Vaishnava document, his Shaivite interpretation of Savitri seems forced. It is unusual that while he praises Vyāsa for his economy of style he spends 50 years trying to surpass him with florid language and symbolism. The original Savitri myth in Mahābhārt is charged with its own deep trancendental ideas, which we shall explore here.

Etymology of Names

The heroine in the story is named for Savitri, since her kingly father and his queen were blessed by the goddess to bear a child. So Savitri, the heroine is the daughter of Savitri the goddess.

So, Savitri is the daughter of the goddess Savitri, herself an emanation or manifestation of Saraswati, the goddess of wisdom and consort to Lord Brahma the creator of the universe.  Savitri is considered to be the Gayatri mantra personified. In some Puranas Saraswati is  Brahma’s consort, where in others Savitri or Gayatri is named. 

The Gayatri mantra begins Om bhur bhuvah svah tat savitur… The word savitur  is a reference to the sun, but metaphorically refers to divine light. The gayatri mantra of savitri reveals divine light, savitur.  The word Savitur overtly revers to the sun-god, and yet the idea of light and knowledge are linked. The word Savior in Engish and sabiduria, or “knowledge” in Spanish are related to the Sanskrit savitur and Latin salvare to save. Savitri, then is “one who brings the light,” or “one who saves the soul.” Savitur  can mean “the Divine Creator, or the god of illumination and creation.”  Gayatri is a meditation on what is Savitur, what is light-giving, the source of illumination and knowledge. Physically, it is the sun which illuminates our universe. Metaphysically, it is soul.

And while the individual soul gives light to her own subjective world, there is a higher plane, the super-subjective world.  God gives light to the soul.

The super-subjective world of divine reality shines spiritual light on us all. Bhaktas meditate on the flute-song of Shri Krishna as Gayatri, the divine sound whose meaning gives light and invites us to participate in the joyful stately dance of Vrindaban.

Satyavan: the word “satyavan” means “truth-seeker,” or  “truthful.”

The most obvious allegorical meaning here is that a truthseeker (satyavan) is saved or illuminated by gayatri (savitri) who liberates his soul from death.

Savitri and Satyavan embody the struggle for truth faced by the embodied soul and his redemption through austerity, chastity, devotion, and truth-seeking informed by divine mantra.

Born with the blessings of the goddess of illumination, Savitri is a ray of sunshine for her parents; after her argument with Death she cures her father-in-law of his blindness.

A common prayer offered to one’s guru or spiritual mentor goes

ॐ अज्ञान-तिमिरान्धस्य

ज्ञानाञ्जन-शलाकया

चक्षुर् उन्मीलितं येन

तस्मै श्री-गुरवे नमः

oṁ ajñāna-timirāndhasya

jñānāñjana-śalākayā

cakṣur unmīlitaṁ yena

tasmai śrī-gurave namaḥ

I was born in the darkness of ignorance, but my eyes were washed with the balm of knowledge and I was given sight by my guru. He illuminated me with knowledge and so I offer him all respects.

Savitri gives light. She saves her father-in-law from blindness and her husband’s soul from the hand of death.  In this sense, she represents the guru principle.

No other heroine in history captivates our attention quite like Savitri. Sri Aurobindo spent more than 40 years composing a blank verse epic based on the allegory found in the poem and yet he does not supersede Vyāsa. Dante had his Beatrice, whose angelic chastity guides him from the depths of hell to the highest realms of heaven. But Dante’s adventures with the damned in Inferno excite more attention than his glimpse of heaven’s angels.

In Greek mythology we have Orpheus, who visits the Underworld but fails in his attempt to return with Eurydice. And then there’s Persephone, kidnapped by the lord of death Hades, who returns to the mortal world but must spend winter in the Underworld for having eating three pomegranate seeds there. But Vyāsa gives us Savitri who rescues the truth-seeker Satyavan from the shadow of death. The whole poem has a cosmic dimension that makes it one of the most transcendental episodes of the Mahābhārata.

The Great Conversation

   I say one of the most transcendental episodes, for obviously the conversation between Krishna and Arjuna is the centerpiece of Vyāsa’s transcendental realization and gives the core teaching of the entire epic.

What makes the Bhagavad-gita such a singular work? There are many epic and heroic poems, sagas of war from the ancient world. Perhaps the Iliad and the Odyssey are the most well-known. Many books describe ancient combat, the lust for battle, the tragedy of war. Many of these confront important moral dilemmas. And yet, when the time for battle comes, the hero accepts his fate and enters the fight. A hero who refuses the call to adventure is a coward. It is rare to find a hero who enters a great conversation at the moment of truth. And yet at the outset of battle in Kurukshetra, all the action pauses to hear a dialogue between a man in great crisis and God Himself.

   To find a similar argument against war in Greek Mythology one might cite the example of Odysseus feigning madness to avoid Agamemnon's calle to arms in his siege of Troy. Then there's Achilles refusal to fight. But Odysseus avoids war out of self-preservation and family affection where Achilles sulks in his tent out of anger and pride. At no point in the ancient Greek epic do we find any metaphysical discussion between gods and men about the nature of soul and karma.

The central conflict in Mahabharata is the battle of Kurukshetra.  And the key moment is the beginning of the battle. The pivot point of the entire 100,000 verse work is Arjuna's crisis of conscience. If Arjuna decides not to fight, the battle is lost. Without Arjuna, the Pandavas are finished.

And yet his crisis of conscience is not based on weakness, although Krishna tells him not to be weak. He is concerned with the future of the dynasty. If war destroys all the great heroes of an age, what will be left? Society will be ruined. The very principles of religion will suffer. Customs and traditions will fall by the wayside, women and children will be corrupted. The whole system of caste and social order will never recover.

Arjuna is a stoic hero. He is not concerned with pride and adventure, booty or gold, kingdom and fortune. Even his duty as a warrior, a principle he has always cherished, has no value for him. He stops his chariot just as hundreds of thousands of warriors are ready for blood, and in the heart of the battlefield puts down his weapons. He will not pick them up again until he is convinced.

   The dialogues of Plato are set in the gardens of the Greeks, where young men discuss abstract ideas about justice. But the dialogue between Arjuna and Krishna is set on the plains of Kurukshetra where men of iron and steel are about to commit wholesale slaughter. The ideas they discuss are far from abstract, but would influence the fates of thousands of heroes.

  The highest ideals of the Greeks may be expressed in the Platonic dialogue called "Crito" where Socrates drinks poison while discussing the soul. http://classics.mit.edu/Plato/crito.htm But Socrates is always more interesting for the questions he asks than for any real answers about the meaning of life. Whereas Arjuna will not be satisfied simply by putting interesting questions. Unlike Socrates who seems satisfied to merely ask questions, Arjuna wants to get to the meaning of life before he sacrifices his own in battle.

   Sometimes we overlook the nobility of Arjuna when looking deeply into the meaning of the Bhagavad-gita, since Krishna Himself dismisses many of his questions as being superficial. But it is Arjuna's nobility which elevates the conversation to the highest level.

    Nor do we find such a conversation anywhere in the Bible or the teachings of Christ to his disciples. Jesus Christ found himself teaching in parables to fishermen and carpenters.  If he were able to discuss the inner meaning of spiritual life with an intimate disciple, we have no record of such a discussion. For a true parallel, we would need to know what conversation Jesus Christ had with his Heavenly Father while in the Garden of Gethsemane. There it is said the Lord Jesus asked his Father to remove the cup of wrath he was about to drink. What dialogue He may have had with His Son, we can only imagine. What would God have said to Jesus Christ in his moment of doubt?

     In the Gita we have a conversation by a man in crisis with God Himself, Krishna. If you could have a conversation with God in a moment of crisis, what questions would you ask? Arjuna asked about karma, dharma, yoga, work, action, sin, knowledge, religion, duty, the goal of life, self-realization, the nature of reality, God, time, and the world. As hardened warriors held their bow-strings tight, Arjuna paused his weapon long enough to ask about the nature of the soul, death, and the Supreme Reality.

   Any one of us who have passed through a moment of crisis know what Arjuna felt. And like Arjuna, we can take solace and inspiration from the  words of Krishna and the message of Bhagavad-gita even in our darkest hour of need.

But it is Vyāsa to whom we owe the debt of recording the conversation; of using all his art and inspiration to place this inquiry about truth in such a dramatic setting, just as one places a great pearl in a setting of gold. And it is his purpose that we are studying here. Bhagavad-Gita is the most excellent conversation between Krishna and Arjuna, and Krishna’s teachings to Arjuna are central to the Mahābhārata. In light of this, Arjuna is often considered to be its hero.

And yet Madhva had another point of view.

            At the beginning of this article, I mentioned the idea that great teachers who spend a lifetime contemplating the deep meaning of a work found their own schools of interpretation. One such teacher was Madhva (1238-1317 AD). Also known as Madhvācārya, he founded the dualist school of Vedanta known as Tattvavada. He opposed the ideas of Shankara known as Mayavāda.

            Shankara’s view is that reality is one. Spiritual energy is the basis of all existence and the entire material manifestation is an illusion. This is an extreme form of idealism. The world exists only as a mental phantasm. Madhva strongly disagreed with this view. Tattvavada means “realism.” God is real, but the world is also real, in his view. Since there are two distinct realities, spiritual and material, his school is called dualism or Dvaita.

            Chaitanya Mahābprahu  found much of value in the teachings of Madhva, and where he had some differences with him philosophically, he accepted sannyāsa from Iśvara Puri who was in the Madhva line. Śrīdhara Mahārāja described Mahaprabhu’s acintya-bheda-abheda-tattva Vedantic view as “ideal realism.”

            Madhva dismisses the idea that the Mahābhārata is merely a motley collection of fantastic stories and considers it to be holy scripture revealed by the hand of Vyāsa, an incarnation of Krishna Himself. For Madhva, Mahābhārat is something like the Hindu Bible. His commentary the Mahabharata tatparya nirnaya  is written from the Vaishnava point of view.

            As we have said, normally Arjuna is considered the hero of Mahābhārata, but Madhva differs. He finds that Bhima is most heroic figure among the five Pandavas and does his best to support his claim citing evidence from other scriptures such as HariVamsa, Vishnu Purana, Bhagavatha and Garga Saṃhita.

            According to Madhva, Bhima should be considered superior to Arjuna because he strictly followed Bhagavata dharma in all his activities.  He was a better student than Arjuna. He learnt the use of weapons bettter than everyone else, and yet he never makes us of supernatural weapons, relying only on his mace. To make use of supernatural weapons one has to appeal to different gods. Krishna advises us against this in Bhagavad-Gita.

            The use of weapons given by the gods is also for achieving certain material results. Bhima never relies on the gods. Such dependence is against Bhagavata dharma. He never worshipped any other deity other than God Himself, Krishna.

            Bhima never opposes Krishna, nor does he ever oppose the devotees of Hari; in fact Bhima is never even friendly to nondevotees. Where Arjuna doubts Krishna and questions him again and again, Bhima never doubts Krishna as the Supreme Personality of Godhead nor does he question Bhagavata dharma. Krishna never calls him a coward as he does Arjuna. Bhima never gives Krishna cause to censure him, his own character prevented such a talk.

Bhima never uses his knowledge and learning for his own person livelihood or survival as does Yudhisthira. This is why he doesn’t argue with Death when he appears as a Yaksha. Bhima doesn’t plea with any gods when he is trapped by Nahusha the Naga and almost crushed to death but relies on Krishna’s mercy. Bhima fights  Ashvatathama only at God’s instructions.

Draupadi also strictly follows Bhima in respect of Bhagavata dharma.She never opposes Krishna. Both Bhima and Draupadi tolerate the stripping of her garments by Dusshasana ad teh insults of Duryodhana, since their faith is greater: they realised the intention of Krishna to provide the garments enflessly. They trust Krishna completeley and surrender to him. ( See Professor K.T. Pandurangi’s translation of Madhva’s commentary, Mahabaratha Tatparya Nirnaya   http://www.mahabharatatatparyanirnaya.com)

As Madhva himself is considered an avatar of Vaya as were Hanuman and Bhima before him, perhaps there is some partiality in his comment. Madhva’s views aside, we should not look lightly on Arjuna’s position.  While Madhva gives Bhima the advantage, we might do well to consider that Kṛṣṇa chooses Arjuna and not Bhima to be his interlocutor for the confidential wisdom Bhagavad-Gītā.  Intimacy in friendship is not always determined by how well the friends treat each other. Indeed, sometimes friendship is like a coconut; rough on the outside, soft and sweet on the inside.

After all, Arjuna marries Kṛṣṇa’s sister, Subhadra: they are brothers in law, and brothers sometimes have an outwardly rough friendship. As for going to the demigods to ask for help with weapons, Arjuna does everything to empower himself in the service of Kṛṣṇa, even going so far as asking help from Śiva. This does not make him a traitor to the cause. As for Arjuna’s so-called “lapses” in dharma, Kṛṣṇa Himself asks Arjuna to contravene some of the laws of combat to rid the earth of militaristic kings. Arjuna, more than Bhima, is his agent and confidant in the battle o Kurukṣetra.

Rūpa Goswāmi’s authority is final in these matters. In Bhakti-rasāmṛta Sindhu, he gives a description of Kṛṣṇa’s personal friends: rūpa-veṣa-guṇādyais tu samāḥ samyag-ayantritāḥ, viśrambha-sambhṛtātmāno vayasyās tasya kītitāḥ (Bhakti-rasāmṛta sindhu, 3.3.8), Those advanced souls whose form, qualities and dress are similar to Kṛṣṇa’s, who are unrestricted by reverence, and are full of trust and familiarity are known to enjoy a friendly relationship with Kṛṣṇa.”

And in Bhakti-rasāmṛta sindhu, 3.3.11, Rūpa Goswāmī when makes a distinction between Kṛṣṇa’s country and city  friends, he lists Arjuna first. Arjuno bhīmasenaś ca duhitā drupadasya ca, śrīdama-bhūsurādyāś ca, sakhāyaḥ pura-saṃśrayāḥ: “Arjuna, Bhīmasena, Draupadī, and the brahmaṇa Śrīdama are some of Kṛṣṇa’s city friends.

Of their friendship, he writes: śirasi nṛpatir drag aghrāsīd aghārim…(3.3.12) “When Kṛṣṇa arrived in Indraprastha, King Yudhisthira was moved and smelled his head. Bhima and Arjuna embraced his iron arms, their hear standing on end, while Nakula and Sahadeva fell at his feet with tears of joy.  And so it was that the five brothers, their hearts filled with joy greeted Kṛṣṇa upon his arrival.”

While Madhva exalts Bhima, for followers of Chaitanya Mahaprabhu, Rūpa Goswāmi’s opinion is considered final. We shall let Rūpa Goswāmī put the controversy to rest. Of the distinction between Bhima and Arjuna, Rūpa says, (Bhakti-rasāmṛta sindhu, 3.3.11)

“Śreṣṭhaḥ pura-vayasyeṣu bhagavān vānaradhvajaḥ…Among the ‘city friends’ the Pāṇḍava Arjuna is the best.”

In his commentary on Bhakti-Rasāmṛta-Sindhu called Nectar of Devotion, Chapter Forty-one, Fraternal Devotion, His Divine Grace, A.C. Bhaktivedānta Swāmī Prabhupāda remarks, “Of the five Pāṇḍavas, Arjuna is the most intimately connected with Kṛṣṇa. He has a nice bow in his hand which is called Gāṇḍīva. His thighs are compared with the trunks of elephants, and his eyes are always reddish. When Kṛṣṇa and Arjuna are together on a chariot, they become celestial beauties, pleasing to the eyes of everyone.”

For further reading, take a look at Bhakti-Rasāmṛta-Sindhu.

 Bhishma's vow

It may be said that the story of the Mahabharata proper really begins when Bhishma returns to his father, Shantanu. Thus begins the real story of the dynastic struggles of the Kurus. Bhisma's vow raises many questions. 

Mahabharata is at the same time history, legend, mythology, scripture and religious instruction. And yet, Mahabharata is not a moral fable. It is much too complex a history to satisfy our need for simple moral conclusions. In this great epic we find heroes involved in all too human problems. And the solutions to questions are not always given. It allows us to reflect on the tragic consequences of karma while following the lives of great personalities. Our own struggle towards right living may be enlightened by seeing how these great souls struggled with their dharma and karma.

Bhishma's vow has terrible consequences. By renouncing the kingdom, Bhishma changes the succession. As prince did he have a right to decide the succession? His decision has grave consequences.

Consequences

Was his vow the spontaneous emotional reaction of a young man, or was it based on thoughtful consideration? Sometimes our emotions lead us into trouble. 

Shantanu himself was an older man. Yet he fell prey to his emotions by succumbing to an infatuation with a young woman. His infatuation with Satyavati brings about the downfall of his dynasty. Bhisma was a worthy successor to Shantanu. Neither the hot-blooded Chitrangada nor the gentle Vichitravirya were really qualified to succeed. Bhishma's vow impels him to create a new line of succession, one that disintegrates into dissension and finally war. Could the war have been avoided if Shantanu had controlled his emotions? 

Old age brings infirmity. It reminds us of our mortality. Shouldn't Shantanu have concentrated on his spiritual life in his old age, instead of chasing after a young woman? 

Bhishma was learned, and had been trained to rule as  king. But with his blind obedience to his father he deprives the kingdom of Hastinapura of his capable leadership. His self-abnegation leads to the corruption of an empire. All this so that his aging father can satisfy his lust for a young woman. Parashurama was Bhishma's guru. He was an example of blind obedience to his father and guru. But Bhishma's father made him renounce the kingdom so he could court a young maiden. Is blind obedience towards superior authority a good thing?  When is obedience a virtue?

 Bhishma is a righteous personality, but sometimes he appears to be  exploited for his sincerity and dedication by his selfish relations, from Shantanu to Duryodhana. We find numerous such evidences in the Mahabharata. He is a man of his word and always keeps his promise. Is following a vow always a good thing? Or should one be more flexible and try to do the right thing according to time, place, and circumstances? These are some of the difficult ethical questions posed by Mahabharata. 

And yet, while many questions remain unanswered and the heroes and champions display human flaws, Mahabharata insists on integrity. It is never right to do wrong. 

We see the karmic consequences of bad judgment and harmful conduct everywhere. The Mahabharata teaches us that there are consequences for our deeds. “Whatever you sow, that you will reap.” Wrongdoing is always punished; not with eternal hell, but with failure in this life and an unhappy next life.

Right Action

So, while Mahabharata is not a moral fable, we find in its verses that right action is rewarded in well being and success. Intelligence, goodness, wisdom, and integrity are to be practiced. Ignorance, dishonesty, avarice and fraud are to be avoided. We should reject the temptation to be dishonest and unscrupulous.

Apart from the higher wisdom teachings on the nature of self, karma, the origin of the universe and the perfection of yoga in bhakti, in dedication to Krishna, Mahabharata gives very practical ethical instructions through the stories of its heroes.  It teaches that to believe that it is necessary on occasion to be less than honest is false. A life of discipline, of dharma is exalted. A lawless society cannot long survive.

The ultimate teaching of Mahabharata is found in Bhagavad-gita, where Krishna teaches the lesson of immutable reality and absolute love:

Bhagavad-Gita Chapter 10 text 8 (A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami)

ahaṁ sarvasya prabhavo

mattaḥ sarvaṁ pravartate

iti matvā bhajante māṁ

budhā bhāva-samanvitāḥ

SYNONYMS

aham—I; sarvasya—of all; prabhavaḥ—source of generation; mattaḥ—from Me; sarvam—everything;pravartate—emanates; iti—thus; matvā—knowing; bhajante—becomes devoted; mām—unto Me; budhāḥ—learned; bhāva-samanvitāḥ—with great attention.

TRANSLATION

I am the source of all spiritual and material worlds. Everything emanates from Me. The wise who know this perfectly engage in My devotional service and worship Me with all their hearts

Bhagavad-gita Verse 10.8 - Commentary by Bhakti Rakshaka Shridhar 

Verse 10.8

aham sarvasya prabhavo, mattah sarvam pravartate

iti matva bhajante mam, budha bhava-samanvitah

aham prabhavah - I am the Supreme Absolute Truth, svayam Bhagavan or the original Supreme Lord, the cause; sarvasya - of all causes, including Brahman, Paramatma, and Bhagavan, i.e., the all-comprehensive aspect of the Absolute, the all-permeating aspect of the Absolute, and the personal aspect of the Absolute, which is endowed with all the qualities that attract everyone to serve Him. sarvam- All attempts in the universe of matter and spirit, and the Vedas and allied scriptures with their functions; pravartate - begin; mattah - Realizing; iti - this mystery; budhah - persons blessed with fine theistic intellect; bhava-samanvitah- endowed with their internal devotional nature of servitude, friendship, parenthood, or consorthood; bhajante - devote themselves; mam - unto Me.

In one of the four nutshell verses of the work, Krishna says, “I am Krsna, the Sweet Absolute. I am the root cause of the all-comprehensive aspect of the Absolute, the all-permeating aspect of the Absolute, and also the personal aspect of the Absolute - the Master of all potencies, who commands the respect of everyone - Lord Narayana of Vaikuntha. The universe of mundane and divine flow, every attempt and movement, the Vedas and allied scriptures which guide everyone's worship - all are initiated by Me alone. Realizing this hidden treasure, the virtuous souls who are blessed with fine theistic intellect surpass the standards of duty and nonduty, and embrace the paramount path of love divine, raga-marga, and adore Me forever.”

These lessons are instilled in our minds by the incidents and episodes of the Mahabharata as well as by the wisdom teachings of Krishna in Bhagavad-gita.

नारायणं नमस्कृत्य नरं चैव नरोत्तमम्

 देवीं सरस्वतीं चैव ततो जयम् उदीरयेत्

Date of the Battle of Kurukshetra

There is some speculation as to the actual date of the war described in the Mahabharata. According to the ancient Hindu tradition since before the time of Alexander the Great, the Mahabharata war coincides with the beginning of the Iron Age, the Age of Kali, which marks a departure from the golden age of yore and a considerable moral downfall as well. Many episodes in Mahabharata, as for example Ashvatthama killing the sleeping sons of Draupadi, are concerned with a departure from the rules of war. These departures are a turning point in history which usher in the Kali age, the age of iron. Kali yuga is considered to have begun with the great war between the Pandavas and Kauravas which destroyed the old order.

The actual date of the war, along with so many other historical aspects of Mahabharata lore, is much disputed. According to the scholarship of no less than Bhaktivinoda Thakura, writing in 1880 in his Sri Krishna Samhita, “It may be understood that the battle of Kurukshetra took place 3,791 years from today. Dr. Bentley Sahib calculated the position of the stars and decided that the battle took place 1,824 years before Christ. 

The future swanlike scholars can determine the correct figures after further research.” Dr. C.V. Vaidya of the University of Bombay writes in his 1905 publication, “The Mahabharata: A Criticism,” discusses a number of possible dates for the antiquity of the actual war described in Mahabharata.  

He writes,”the earliest date assigned to the Mahabharata war is that fixed by Mr. Modak on the basis of some astronomical data found in the Mahabharata. He thinks that the vernal equinox at the time of the war was in in Punarvasu and hence about 7,000 years must have elapsed since then. Some thinkers, following the opinion of Varaha Mihira, believe that the battle was fought in 2604 B.C. European scholars on the other hand believe in the authority of a shloka in the Vishnu Purana that the war took place in about 1500 B.C. Mr. Dutta gives 1250 B.C. as the date of the Kuru Panchal war on the basis of the Magadha annals which show that thirty-five kings reigned in Magadha between the Kuru-Panchal war and the time of Buddha. …The orthodox opinion, however, is that the war took place in 3101 B.C., calculating on the basis of the generally accepted belief in India that in 1899 A.D., five thousand years had elapsed since the beginning of the Kali-age. We agree with this orthodox opinion on the basis of both internal and external evidence.”

A modern consideration of astronomical proof gives the date that the Kurukshetra war ended and Kali-yuga as February 18, 3102 BCE at 2:27:30 am, based on the Surya siddhanta’s mention that during the change of Yugas, all 7 planets will line up along the elliptic of the Earth’s annual path in the constellation of Pisces, just before Aries on a Phalguni Amavasya day, the last day of the year. 

http://www.patheos.com/blogs/drishtikone/2010/09/astronomical-proof-mahabharata-war-shri-krishna/.

 As Bhaktivinoda Thakura put it, “The future swanlike scholars can determine the correct figures after further research.”

Whatever the actual date of the Mahabharata War, it seems clear that the epic Sanskrit poem, has gone through at least three major editions before coming down to us in its present form of about 100,000 Sanskrit shlokas.

Ancient version of Mahabharata

According to my best research on the subject, the epic Mahabharata has evolved from a core of about 8,000 verses to its present immense size of about 100,000 shlokas, between the time of the actual Mahabharata war, sometime between 3100 and 1000. B.C.  How did this evolution take place?

The Mahabharata is a vast work. According to the Mahabharata itself, its author is Vyasa.  The work was narrated in its entirety within an oral tradition by three great narrators: Vyasa himself, Vaishampayana, his pupil, and Sauti, another of his disciples.

Vyasa teaches the story to Vaishampayana who relates it to the King Janamejaya at his snake sacrifice. When Janamejaya asks questions to Vaishampayana, the narrative grows and changes. This amplified version was heard by Vyasa and taught to Sauti, or Suta Goswami.

In this way the work as edited by the original author Vyasa may be said to have given rise to a second edition. This second edition was again taught by Vyasa to his other disciple, Sauti, or Suta Goswami.

When again Sauti tells the story of Mahabharata to Shaunaka Rishi and the sages of Naimisharanya, many new questions arose which had not been answered by the second edition. In this way, through the narration of Suta Goswami, a third edition was developed. This third edition with a few minor corrections passed through the mind and heart of Vyasa to the transcendental tusk of Ganesh and was inked in Sanskrit some time ago in antiquity, between the 11^th and 4^th Century before the Common Era.

While the actual hard copy in Sanskrit that we refer to today was canonized sometime between the 11^th and 4^th Century, a living oral tradition was communicated by brahmanas from teacher to disciple as well.  The discrepancies between oral and written traditions were resolved by the final text which was inscribed on palm-leaves and distributed throughout India by the brahmanas determined to preserve this ancient history.

Since the brahminic tradition was challenged by the authority of the Guptian kings who promoted Buddhist thought, the historic records pertaining to the origins of Mahabharata were mostly destroyed. And so all historic scholarship as to the authentic dates of the Kurukshetra war are based to some degree in speculation and linguistic analysis. More on this later.

Different versions or "Editions" of the Mahabharata

the "Jaya" version: 8,800 verses

Based on some of this scholarship, we can say that the original Mahabharata was considered as an Itihasa or history. Its character was less didactic than the work we have today. The original name of the work was “Jaya!” or Victory!. This name is derived from the invocation,

नारायणं नमस्कृत्य नरं चैव नरोत्तमम् ।देवीं सरस्वतीं व्यासं ततो जयमुदीरयेत् ॥ (४)

nārāyaṇaṁ namaskṛtya naraṁ caiva narottamam |

devīṁ sarasvatīṁ vyāsaṁ tato jayamudīrayet || (4)

“As we first bow to Narayana, God Himself, and to Nara, the supreme human form of God (Krishna), to the goddess of learning Saraswati, and to Vyāsa, author of the work, before we utter the story of triumph, or Jaya.”

Here, the word Jaya, or “Triumph” refers to the work itself, and “Jaya” is considered to be the original name of the poem, penned by Vyasa himself. 

In the introduction to the work, the Adi Parva, the different editions of Mahabharata are described by Sauti, while mentioning that the Mahabharata may be delivered in different lengths without diminishing its value.

 At the beginning of the Adi Parva, while giving his own version, Sauti tells the sages at Naimisharanya that the Rishi Vyasa published this mass of knowledge in both a detailed and an abridged form. Sauti or Ugrashrava said, “It is the wish of the learned in the world to posess the details and the abridgement. Some read the Bharata beginning with the initial mantra (invocation), others with the story of Astik, others with Uparaichara, while some Brahmanas study the whole… I am aquainted with eight thousand and eight hundred verses, and so is Shukadeva and also perhaps Sanjaya….Vyasa executed the compliation of the Bharata, exclusive of the episodes originally in twenty-four thousand verses; and so much only is called by the learned as the Bharata.”

 Suta Goswāmī or Sauti or Ugrashrava is the editor of the finished work. He composed a synopsis in one hundred and fifty verses, consisting of the introduction with the chapter of contents. This he first taught to his son Shukadeva; and afterwards he gave it to others of his disciples who were possessed of the same qualifications. After that, he executed another compliation, consisting of sixty hundred thousand verses. Of those, thirty hundred thousand are known in the world of the Devas; fifteen hundred thousand in the world of the Pitris: fourteen hundred thousand among the Gandharvas, and one hundred thousand in the regions of mankind. Narada recited them to the Devas, Devala to the Pitris, and Suka published them to the Gandharvas, Yakshas and Rakshasas; and in this world they were recited by Vaishampayana, one of the disicples of Vyasa, a man of just principles and the first among all those acquainted with the Vedas. Know that I, Sauti, have also repeated one hundred thousand verses.

How did the original work of 8,800 verses become 100,000 verses? The very expansion of the Mahabharata from 8,800 to 100,000 verses defies a “fundamentalist” approach. How could it be possible for a disciple to expand his guru’s version from a terse 8,800 verses to a bulky 100,000 verses. The Mahabarata in translation runs to about 2 million words in English. Who authorized Sauti to create a longer version of the work?

The "Bharata" version: 24,000 verses

The 8,800 verse first edition of anusthab shlokas in Sanskrit composed by Vyasa and mentioned by Sauti becomes a second edition when it is narrated by Vaishampayana Rishi, a disciple of Vyasa.  Vaishampayana had been taught the poem along with his godbrothers Sumantu, Jaimini, Paila, and Shukadeva Goswami, the son of Vyasa himself.  

According to the final edition of Mahabharata, each one of these five disciples published a different edition of the work. Vaishampayana’s edition of Mahbharata differs from the original work by some 16,000 Sanskrit verses. On the evidence of the Adi Parva quoted above, it seems that Vaishampayana’s “Bharata” version ran to about 24,000 verses. 

The "Mahabharata" of Sauti

So, the original version expands from 8,800 to 24,000 by the reckoning of Sauti. Sauti, our final narrator who gave the work its ultimate form of 100,000 verses as recited before the sages of Naimisharanya headed by Shaunaka somewhere after 1000 BC.  

Sauti says, “Know ye Rishis, that while Vaishampayana was the first reciter of Mahabharata in the human world,  I have recited the work of Vaishampayana in 100,000 shlokas.”  The current edition comes down to us in the form we know now it with a preface, and introduction and a table of contents. With Sauti, or Suta Goswami as he is known in the Bhagavat Purana, for he also narrates this poem of Vyasa, we arrive at the fixed form of Mahabharata which in fact contains about three thousand less shlokas than that given by Sauti (96,836 to be exact.) It was perhaps Sauti himself who gave the name “Mahabharata” to the work, changing it from “Bharata,” or “Jaya” as in the original version given by Vyasa.

In short, the present Mahabharata may be considered as an original composition of Vyasa called "Jaya" in 8,800 verses, edited in a 2^nd edition or Bharat edition by his disciple Vaishampayana in 24,000 verses and expanded, edited with table of contents, preface and introduction in 100,000 verses as Mahabharata by Sauti, or Suta Goswami as he is also known in a final 3^rd edition.

Whatever the contribution made by Vaishampayana and Sauti, the authorship of Mahabharata is generally attributed to Vyasadeva Himself. No reason exists to reject the authority of tradition. On the other hand, Vyasa is believed to have edited the Vedas which predate the Mahabharata considerably. The brahmanas mentioned in the Mahabharata are “well-versed in the Vedas.” Vyasa’s father Parashara was considered “well-versed in the Vedas.” How could the father of Vyasa be “well-versed” in a book that his son has yet to write?

That there really existed a Rishi named Vyasa who was the son of Parashara has been confirmed by a number of reliable scriptural sources outside the Mahabharata, as for example the Yajun Kathaka. There is no reason to doubt that this Vyasa wrote the epic poem and did so on the basis of his own personal knowledge. One of the remarkable features of the Mahabharata is the intimate detail of events, characters, and the quotidian life of the period. Only an eye-witness could have described the events and places of thousands of years ago with such an eye to detail. People and places are often mentioned as being so well-known as to have no need for introduction. As a result of Vyasa’s gift for description the reader feels the characters in Mahabharata must be living breathing souls of flesh and blood.

Often the descriptions in Vyasa’s narrative strike us as no less than fossils whose outline reveals the reality of a lost and forgotten ancient civilization.  An impartial reader concludes that this narrative was written from a personal acquaintance with the characters and an intimate relationship with the heroic deeds.  In fact, far from being a collection of mythological fairy stories, much of the Mahabharata reads like the realistic story of heroes struggling with historical problems, much like the Canto del Cid, the primordial epic in the Spanish language.

But if there was a historical Vyasa who wrote the Mahabharata, what is his relation with the original Vyasa who wrote the Vedas? Was there another Vyasa who compiled the edited version of Mahabharata given by Sauti and issued a fourth edition?

Bhaktivinoda Thakura’s point of view is well worth considering:

"When the one Veda became greatly expanded, then Vyasadeva, after duly considering the subjects, divided the Veda into four and wrote them in book form. This took place a few years before King Yudhisthira s reign. Then Vyasadeva s disciples divided those words among themselves…

"…It is said that the Mahabharata was composed by Vyasadeva, and there is no objection to this. But it cannot be accepted that the Vyasa who divided the Vedas and received the title Vedavyasa at the time of Yudhisthira was the same Vyasa. The reason for this is that in the Mahabharata there are descriptions of kings such as Janmejaya, who ruled after Yudhisthira. There are specific references about the Manu scriptures in the Mahabharata, therefore the present day Mahabharata must have been written some time after 1000 B.C.

" From this it appears that Vedavyasa first made a draft of the Mahabharata, and later on another Vyasa elaborated on it and presented that under the name of Mahabharata One learned scholar from the sudra community named Lomaharsana recited Mahabharata before the sages at Naimisaranya. Perhaps he created the present day Mahabharata, because during his time the original 24,00 verses that were written by Vyasadeva were expanded to 100,000 verses.

"Since there is no special mention of Buddha in the Mahabharata it is understood that Mahabharata was recited by Sauti before the reign of Ajatasatru and after the reign of Brhadratha's descendants. If we study the descriptions of Naimisaranya, then we come to know that when the peaceful rsis saw the end of the Candra and Surya dynasties, they felt unprotected due to the absence of ksatriyas. Therefore they went to the secluded Naimisaranya and passed their lives discussing the scriptures. There is one more belief about the assembly of Naimisaranya.

For some time after the battle of Kuruksetra and before the coronation of King Nandivardhana the Vaisnava religion was very prominent. The main conclusion of the Vaisnavas is that every living entity has a right to cultivate spiritual life.

"But according to the opinion of the brahmanas, persons of castes other than brahmana are ineligible for liberation. Sober persons of other castes may be born again as brahmanas to endeavor for liberation.

" Because of these two conflicting opinions, the Vaisnavas highly regarded the scholars of Suta Gosvami’s line and thus established them at Naimisaranya as superior to the brahmanas  Some of the brahmanas there who were less qualified and controlled by wealth also accepted the scholars of Suta s line as superior. Those less qualified brahmanas defied the doctrines of karma kanda and accepted Suta as their spiritual master.

"They took shelter of Vaisnava religious principles, which are the only means of crossing the influence of Kali, the abode of sin. Anyway, that assembly gathered long after the battle of Kuruksetra. There is no doubt about this. (Kedarnatha Dutta,, Bhaktivinoda Thakura Shri Krishna Samhita 1880, Calcutta)

Sauti’s narration of Mahabharata was heard by the sages of Naimisharanya forest at the twelve year sacrifice of Shaunaka. If Sauti and Suta are the same person, Suta Goswami is also the narrator of Bhagavat Purana and a disciple of Vyasa who narrated his conclusions to Shaunaka Rishi and the sages of Naimisharanya.

The Mahabharata narration of Sauti or Suta Goswami as heard by Shaunaka was later compiled by Vyasa as the final edition of Mahabharata. Sauti heard the story of Mahabharata from his guru Vyasa. Vyasa’s version as heard and narrated by Sauti includes the version of Vaishampayana Rishi as told to Janamejaya.