Krishna, Dharma, and the Mahabharata I Thought I Knew
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| Krishna and Arjuna at Kurukshetra |
When I was growing up, I used to listen to so many stories from our epics and mythology—whether it was reading Amar Chitra Katha books or listening to my paati narrate tales of bravery and valor, the purpose of the divine, and the importance of adhering to dharma.
Stories of Shiva and Vishnu found their way into my life through various forms. As a child, it was fascinating to see the power wielded by the Gods. And the message I took away was very simple: if you are devoted to the Gods, no harm can befall you.
The Mahabharata, Ramayana, Nala-Damayanti, tales of Muruga and Ganesha, Draupadi, the Pandavas, the Kauravas—the army of characters was endless. To say they fascinated me would be a big understatement.
I have read the Mahabharata many times, through various authors, and listened to many narrations of it. Every single time, I walk away with a new meaning.
Krishna, in particular, always fascinated me.
When I was younger, though, I looked at him very differently.
I would see the Kauravas and Pandavas battle and wonder: if only Krishna hadn't interfered, could Karna have defeated Arjuna? If Krishna hadn't suggested that Bheema strike Duryodhana on his thigh, would Duryodhana have won? Why did Indra have to obtain Karna's protective kavacha and kundala from him?
There were numerous situations in the Mahabharata where I would wonder what might have happened if the Gods hadn't interfered.
Then came the teenage phase, when I was also trying to act cool and rebellious. I would find ways to convince myself that Krishna had simply cheated, and therefore the Pandavas had cheated. If not for Krishna, I thought, the Pandavas would have met with a very different fate.
The Epics Haven't Changed. You Have.
Now we are watching Kurukshetra on Netflix. It's a brilliant series. Every episode is centered on a particular character, with the events unfolding from that character's perspective. The kids are enamored. More importantly, it has become a great time for discussion at home. They have a lot of questions.
It takes me back to watching B.R. Chopra's Mahabharat on Doordarshan as a kid. Nitish Bharadwaj as Krishna was just amazing. His portrayal of Krishna was filled with dignity and that twinkly charm.
But there is something remarkable about these epics.
Every time you return to them, you seem to take something different away.
You have.
Krishna Did It Again
We watched the slaying of Jayadratha last night.
Arjuna had sworn that he would kill Jayadratha before sunset. The Kauravas therefore kept Jayadratha heavily protected, knowing that if they could keep him alive until sunset, Arjuna's vow would destroy him.
Krishna creates the appearance that the sun has set. Believing that he has escaped death, Jayadratha emerges from safety. The sun reappears, and Arjuna gets his opportunity.
When I encountered this story as a kid, I would have thought: Krishna did it again.
Another trick.
Another intervention.
This time, I felt completely different.
For years, I had been asking whether each individual action of Krishna was fair. Was this within the rules? Why did he interfere here? Why did he tell someone to do that?
I think I was asking the wrong question.
Krishna stood on the side of dharma. That's it.
He wanted dharma to prevail.
The Kurukshetra war wasn't a contest between two morally equivalent sides with Krishna acting as a neutral referee. By then, too much had happened. Draupadi had been humiliated in the Kuru Sabha. The Pandavas had been cheated of their kingdom. Every attempt at reconciliation had failed. Krishna himself had gone as a messenger of peace and returned empty-handed.
The war had become a struggle over whether dharma would ultimately prevail.
That is also how I now understand Krishna's reaction when Karna uses his divine weapon against Ghatotkacha—the weapon he had been preserving for Arjuna. Ghatotkacha dies, but Krishna is relieved. Arjuna is disturbed by Krishna's reaction, but Krishna understands what has just happened: the weapon capable of killing Arjuna is gone.
Arjuna is indispensable to the Pandava cause.
When I was younger, moments like these bothered me.
They strike very differently now.
Maybe that's why we pray to Krishna, Shiva, Vishnu, the Goddesses and divinity in general. Maybe that's also why our traditions place so much emphasis on dharma.
But I understand that idea differently now too.
As a child, I thought devotion meant that God would ensure that nothing bad happened to you.
The Mahabharata itself tells us that cannot be true.
Draupadi suffers. The Pandavas suffer. Abhimanyu dies. Ghatotkacha dies. Virtuous people suffer terrible losses.
Dharma doesn't promise us a life without suffering.
It asks us not to abandon what is right simply because doing what is right has become difficult.
And that is where Krishna stands apart from almost everyone else in the Mahabharata.
What Happens When a Rule Enables Adharma?
Take Bheeshma.
Bheeshma had vowed his loyalty to the throne of Hastinapura. There was enormous nobility in his vow. But over time, that very vow trapped him. He knew what Duryodhana was doing. He knew the injustice that had been committed against the Pandavas. He witnessed what happened to Draupadi in the Kuru Sabha.
And yet his vow bound him to Hastinapura.
The same uncomfortable questions surround Drona and Kripa.
These were not evil men. They were great men, which is precisely what makes their choices so troubling. Their loyalty, obligations and vows eventually prevented them from standing against something they knew was wrong.
There is a point in the war when Bheeshma is creating havoc in the Pandava army. Arjuna is still reluctant to fight his beloved grandfather with his full strength. Krishna becomes so infuriated that he leaps from the chariot and rushes toward Bheeshma, prepared to break his own vow not to fight in the war.
That contrast fascinates me now.
Bheeshma would not break his vow even when his vow bound him to the side of adharma. Krishna was prepared to break his vow if that was what protecting dharma required.
As a teenager, I would have said: Krishna broke the rules.
Today I ask a different question: what happens when following a rule itself enables adharma?
Rules matter. Vows matter. Loyalty matters. Duty matters.
But none of them can become substitutes for moral judgment.
And that brings me to Karna.
I understand the fascination with Karna because I once shared it. Our movies and popular retellings have often emphasized his generosity, his extraordinary abilities, the humiliation he endured, and his fierce loyalty to Duryodhana.
And all of those things are true.
Karna is one of the most tragic and compelling characters in the Mahabharata.
But over the years, I have stopped confusing tragedy with righteousness.
Karna knew what Duryodhana was. And when Draupadi was humiliated in the Kuru Sabha, Karna wasn't merely a helpless spectator. He participated in her humiliation.
His loyalty to Duryodhana may have been admirable in isolation. But what happens when loyalty demands that you participate in adharma?
That is the same question Bheeshma's life raises in a different way.
Karna had his loyalty.
Drona had his obligations.
Krishna had only one absolute: dharma.
That is why Krishna will always stand apart from the so-called elders of the Mahabharata for me.
None of this means the Pandavas were flawless.
Yudhishthira's decision to gamble was catastrophic. It brought terrible consequences not merely upon himself, but upon his brothers and Draupadi. The Pandavas made mistakes. They suffered. They were human.
And perhaps that is precisely the point.
The Pandavas aren't on the side of dharma because they are incapable of making mistakes. Dharma doesn't require human beings to be flawless. It requires them to recognize their mistakes, bear their consequences, and continue trying to choose what is right.
Krishna and Arjuna
Through all of this, Krishna remains the constant.
Krishna was always present.
If not for Krishna, the Pandavas may never have found a way to bring Shikhandi to the forefront against Bheeshma. If not for Krishna, they may never have found a way past Drona. If not for Krishna, Arjuna may not have defeated Karna. If not for Krishna, Bheema may not have defeated Duryodhana.
But perhaps Krishna's greatest intervention happens before any of these.
Arjuna looks across the battlefield and sees his teachers, cousins, friends and relatives.
And he puts down the Gandiva.
He cannot fight.
Krishna doesn't simply order him to pick up his bow.
He teaches him.
And we get the Bhagavad Gita.
Maybe that is the moment that explains everything else.
Krishna isn't merely the strategist who ensures that the Pandavas win the Mahabharata. He is the one who constantly brings everyone—and especially Arjuna—back to the same question:
I tell my kids what I have come to understand from the Mahabharata: do what is right. Choose dharma, even when it is difficult.
That doesn't mean nothing bad will ever happen to you. The Mahabharata certainly doesn't promise us that.
It tells us something harder.
Suffering is not a reason to abandon dharma.
Maybe my kids will disagree with me someday. Maybe they will question Krishna and his actions, just as I did. Maybe they will wonder why he intervened here, bent a rule there, or allowed something else to happen.
That's okay.
My paati told me these stories when I was a child.
Decades later, I am telling the same stories to my children.
They haven't changed.
But I have.
And perhaps, years from now, my children will return to them and discover meanings that they cannot see today.
We do.
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