The greatest stories are also allegories, which means that they
work on many levels. On one level – the most obvious level – the
story of the Mahabharata is the story of a Great War between two
sets of cousins – one set noble, righteous, law-abiding and virtuous,
the other corrupt, deceitful, crooked and unscrupulous. But on
another level, the Mahabharata is about the battles that rage in our
own minds and hearts each day, as we struggle to choose between
what we know is right and good and difficult , and what we know is
not-so-right, not-so-good and definitely way easier
Each day, just like Arjuna on the battlefield of Kurukshetra, we make excuses for our weaknesses on the battlegrounds of our minds and hearts, and whine about the right choices being too scary, too hard, too lonely, or just not as much fun . We become confused about what the right thing to do is, and wish we could run away from the battle rather than face its consequences. But unlike Arjuna, we often shut out the Krishna who lives in all of us – the still, small voice of our conscience that tells us, loudly and clearly, what we really ought to be doing – and end up doing what is convenient rather than what is right . Over time, our inner Krishna, tired of being ignored, stops speaking altogether, leaving us confused and clueless about what the right answers are.
Because, when you read the Gita, there is no escaping Krishna’s gentle – but no-nonsense – diktat to his confused, nervous, heartsick friend, Arjuna, and through him, to all of us: • Focus only on doing your duty; let the Universe take care of the consequences. • Defend the good, destroy the bad. • Be true to yourself. • Never hesitate to fight the good fight with everything you’ve got, for as long as it takes. • Talk to your closest friend – your inner voice – often and at length (yes, even if it takes 700 shlokas worth of time, and especially on the eve of a big battle) and listen to what he has to say. • That is the secret to being happy. That is the secret of a good life. That, my beloved Arjuna, is the only way to live.
Once upon a time, many thousands of years ago, the king of the Bharatas ruled the land that we now know as India from his capital of Hastinapura (now placed about 100 km north–east of today’s Delhi, in Meerut district, Uttar Pradesh). This king had two sons. The older one, Dhritarashtra, should rightfully have been king after his father passed, but he was blind, which automatically disqualified him from kingship. Thus did the younger son, pale and sickly Pandu, who would never otherwise have had a chance to rule, get his lucky break and become king.
And thus was the stage set for the Great War at Kurukshetra (which is the town that we still call Kurukshetra, located about 160 km north of Delhi, in Haryana). For 18 long days, the greatest warriors in the land faced each other and fought like lions, their roars resounding across the land. One by one, legendary heroes fell, never to rise again, drenching the dusty plains with their noble blood. One by one, entire clans were wiped off the face of the earth, denuding the land of good men, leaving only widows and wailing orphans behind.
As you have probably noticed, Ugrashrava Sauti’s version was narrated , not written down. This was generally the way information and stories – even those that were 1.8 million words long – were passed on in the olden days (ancient Indians had insane memory power). The first written version – with who knows how many more additions and deletions – that we know, dates back only to the 4th century CE, more than 1,600 years ago.
What makes the Mahabharata more interesting is the belief that it isn’t a story that Vyasa made up entirely in his head. It is said to be a mix of fact and fiction, a story set against actual historical events that occurred somewhere around the 8th century BCE (or a lot earlier, or a little later – no one is quite sure. The dating of ancient Indian texts is also often a mix of fact and fiction).
1 chariot (Ratha) + 1 elephant (Gaja) + 3 horses (Ashva) + 5 foot soldiers (Padhata) = 1 Patti 3 Pattis = 1 Sena-Mukha 3 Sena-Mukhas = 1 Gulma 3 Gulmas = 1 Gana 3 Ganas = 1 Vahini 3 Vahinis = 1 Pruthana 3 Pruthanas = 1 Chamu 3 Chamus = 1 Anikini 10 Anikini = 1 Big Fat Akshauhini! So how many chariots/elephants in an Akshauhini? How many horses? And foot soldiers? Try and work it out for yourself before you read on for the answers. And the right answer is … There are 21,870 chariots, 21,870 elephants, 65,610 cavalry and 109,350 infantry in 1 Akshauhini.
So if the Kauravas had 11 Akshauhinis, they had 240,570 chariots, 240,570 elephants, 721,710 horses and 1,202,850 infantry, versus the Pandavas’ seven Akshauhinis with 153,090 chariots, 153,090 elephants, 459,270 horses, and 765,450 infantry. Even assuming just one person per chariot and one person per elephant – typically, there were at least two in a chariot and at least six on an elephant – there were close to a whopping four million men fighting in the Great War!
Whether you take the number of chariots (21870), or the elephants (21870), or the cavalry (65610) or the foot soldiers (109350), the digits always add up to 18! And there are 18 Parvas (books) in the Mahabharata, and 18 chapters in the Gita, and, best of all, the Kurukshetra War lasted exactly 18 days. Cool, huh?
But even among chariot riders, or Rathis, there were levels of excellence. An Atirathi was the lowliest, a warrior capable of fighting off a mere 10,000 warriors (whether on foot or on horseback) at a time. Next in the pecking order were the Maharathis , heroes like Duryodhana, Dhrishtadyumna, Ashwatthama, Abhimanyu, and all the Pandava brothers except Arjuna, who were capable of holding up to 60,000 warriors simultaneously. Superior to them were the Atimaharathis – men like Arjuna, Karna, Bhishma and Drona – who no longer dealt with lowly foot soldiers but focused purely on Maharathis, being able to single-handedly take on a dozen of them at a time!
There was also another, even more superior class of Rathis, called the Mahamaharathis , who were capable of fighting 24 Atimaharathi warriors at the same time! But no mortal ever attained this status, mainly because there never were 24 Atimaharathis at the same place at the same time, ever. In theory, though, gods and their avatars – Shiva, Rama, Krishna – are believed to be Mahamaharathis.
those rules, several of which were broken during the course of the Kurukshetra war. • Fighting must begin no earlier than sunrise and should end exactly at sunset. • More than one warrior must not attack a single warrior. • Two warriors may duel, or engage in prolonged personal combat, only if they carry the same weapons and are on the same mount (a chariot warrior cannot attack a horseman, for instance) • No warrior may kill or injure a warrior who has surrendered. • A warrior who surrenders becomes a prisoner of war and will then be entitled to the privileges of a prisoner of war. • No warrior may kill or injure an unarmed warrior. • No warrior may kill or injure an unconscious warrior. • No warrior may kill or injure a person or animal not taking part in the war. • No warrior may kill or injure a warrior whose back is towards him.
Each day, just like Arjuna on the battlefield of Kurukshetra, we make excuses for our weaknesses on the battlegrounds of our minds and hearts, and whine about the right choices being too scary, too hard, too lonely, or just not as much fun . We become confused about what the right thing to do is, and wish we could run away from the battle rather than face its consequences. But unlike Arjuna, we often shut out the Krishna who lives in all of us – the still, small voice of our conscience that tells us, loudly and clearly, what we really ought to be doing – and end up doing what is convenient rather than what is right . Over time, our inner Krishna, tired of being ignored, stops speaking altogether, leaving us confused and clueless about what the right answers are.
Because, when you read the Gita, there is no escaping Krishna’s gentle – but no-nonsense – diktat to his confused, nervous, heartsick friend, Arjuna, and through him, to all of us: • Focus only on doing your duty; let the Universe take care of the consequences. • Defend the good, destroy the bad. • Be true to yourself. • Never hesitate to fight the good fight with everything you’ve got, for as long as it takes. • Talk to your closest friend – your inner voice – often and at length (yes, even if it takes 700 shlokas worth of time, and especially on the eve of a big battle) and listen to what he has to say. • That is the secret to being happy. That is the secret of a good life. That, my beloved Arjuna, is the only way to live.
Once upon a time, many thousands of years ago, the king of the Bharatas ruled the land that we now know as India from his capital of Hastinapura (now placed about 100 km north–east of today’s Delhi, in Meerut district, Uttar Pradesh). This king had two sons. The older one, Dhritarashtra, should rightfully have been king after his father passed, but he was blind, which automatically disqualified him from kingship. Thus did the younger son, pale and sickly Pandu, who would never otherwise have had a chance to rule, get his lucky break and become king.
And thus was the stage set for the Great War at Kurukshetra (which is the town that we still call Kurukshetra, located about 160 km north of Delhi, in Haryana). For 18 long days, the greatest warriors in the land faced each other and fought like lions, their roars resounding across the land. One by one, legendary heroes fell, never to rise again, drenching the dusty plains with their noble blood. One by one, entire clans were wiped off the face of the earth, denuding the land of good men, leaving only widows and wailing orphans behind.
As you have probably noticed, Ugrashrava Sauti’s version was narrated , not written down. This was generally the way information and stories – even those that were 1.8 million words long – were passed on in the olden days (ancient Indians had insane memory power). The first written version – with who knows how many more additions and deletions – that we know, dates back only to the 4th century CE, more than 1,600 years ago.
What makes the Mahabharata more interesting is the belief that it isn’t a story that Vyasa made up entirely in his head. It is said to be a mix of fact and fiction, a story set against actual historical events that occurred somewhere around the 8th century BCE (or a lot earlier, or a little later – no one is quite sure. The dating of ancient Indian texts is also often a mix of fact and fiction).
1 chariot (Ratha) + 1 elephant (Gaja) + 3 horses (Ashva) + 5 foot soldiers (Padhata) = 1 Patti 3 Pattis = 1 Sena-Mukha 3 Sena-Mukhas = 1 Gulma 3 Gulmas = 1 Gana 3 Ganas = 1 Vahini 3 Vahinis = 1 Pruthana 3 Pruthanas = 1 Chamu 3 Chamus = 1 Anikini 10 Anikini = 1 Big Fat Akshauhini! So how many chariots/elephants in an Akshauhini? How many horses? And foot soldiers? Try and work it out for yourself before you read on for the answers. And the right answer is … There are 21,870 chariots, 21,870 elephants, 65,610 cavalry and 109,350 infantry in 1 Akshauhini.
So if the Kauravas had 11 Akshauhinis, they had 240,570 chariots, 240,570 elephants, 721,710 horses and 1,202,850 infantry, versus the Pandavas’ seven Akshauhinis with 153,090 chariots, 153,090 elephants, 459,270 horses, and 765,450 infantry. Even assuming just one person per chariot and one person per elephant – typically, there were at least two in a chariot and at least six on an elephant – there were close to a whopping four million men fighting in the Great War!
Whether you take the number of chariots (21870), or the elephants (21870), or the cavalry (65610) or the foot soldiers (109350), the digits always add up to 18! And there are 18 Parvas (books) in the Mahabharata, and 18 chapters in the Gita, and, best of all, the Kurukshetra War lasted exactly 18 days. Cool, huh?
But even among chariot riders, or Rathis, there were levels of excellence. An Atirathi was the lowliest, a warrior capable of fighting off a mere 10,000 warriors (whether on foot or on horseback) at a time. Next in the pecking order were the Maharathis , heroes like Duryodhana, Dhrishtadyumna, Ashwatthama, Abhimanyu, and all the Pandava brothers except Arjuna, who were capable of holding up to 60,000 warriors simultaneously. Superior to them were the Atimaharathis – men like Arjuna, Karna, Bhishma and Drona – who no longer dealt with lowly foot soldiers but focused purely on Maharathis, being able to single-handedly take on a dozen of them at a time!
There was also another, even more superior class of Rathis, called the Mahamaharathis , who were capable of fighting 24 Atimaharathi warriors at the same time! But no mortal ever attained this status, mainly because there never were 24 Atimaharathis at the same place at the same time, ever. In theory, though, gods and their avatars – Shiva, Rama, Krishna – are believed to be Mahamaharathis.
those rules, several of which were broken during the course of the Kurukshetra war. • Fighting must begin no earlier than sunrise and should end exactly at sunset. • More than one warrior must not attack a single warrior. • Two warriors may duel, or engage in prolonged personal combat, only if they carry the same weapons and are on the same mount (a chariot warrior cannot attack a horseman, for instance) • No warrior may kill or injure a warrior who has surrendered. • A warrior who surrenders becomes a prisoner of war and will then be entitled to the privileges of a prisoner of war. • No warrior may kill or injure an unarmed warrior. • No warrior may kill or injure an unconscious warrior. • No warrior may kill or injure a person or animal not taking part in the war. • No warrior may kill or injure a warrior whose back is towards him.
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