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The story of the Mahabharata is one of mystery and wonder that daringly claims to tell the most grand of all tales a story that contains everything in existence. In a brilliant flash, the story opens with a section known as The List of Contents, which puts forth a jagged roadmap that structures the epic ahead. “Everything has been entered here,” we readers are forewarned. But before the one hundred and fifty couplets comprising this table of contents laid out in poetry are presented, we are given a more concise accounting of the epic “There is a triple mystery—Veda, Yoga, and science—Law, Profit, and Pleasure. The seer saw the manifold sciences of Law, Profit, and Pleasure, and the rule that emerged for the conduct of worldly affairs. And the ancient histories with their commendation, and the various revelations—everything has been entered here, and this describes this book.” Here, we are told that from this exhaustive and expansive text, one rule emerged “for the conducts of worldly affairs,” but what is this rule How does one rule cohere from the sciences, segmented and put forth as Law, Profit, and Pleasure What then is the relation between these apparent subsciences, and the other pillars of the triple mystery Veda and Yoga Before we try to understand what this emergent rule is, we must further investigate that from which it is said to emerge. In the statement, a flurry of terms are quick to appear, namely Veda, Yoga, Science, Law, Profit, and Pleasure. The narrator stops short of making their relationship to each other explicit, though a few clues exist. First, the terms as they are presented are grouped into two sets Veda, Yoga, and Science followed by Law, Profit, and Pleasure. The second group of “manifold sciences” are subdivisions of the parent term, science. A tiered relationship between the two sets thus emerges, as Veda, Yoga, and Science are presented as prior in order. This makes some headway in clarifying the relationship of the second tier to the first, but what of the relationship between the three distinct elements that comprise the first tier Readers of the Mahabharata well know the term vedas refers to the collection of texts sacred to the Hindu religion. Yoga, in this same context, is likewise known to be a means of disciplining thought through the cultivation of the mind. While the mind reaches out to comprehend the text of the Vedas, Yoga instead aims to discipline, shape, and unify the internal experience. Thus, reading of the Veda as an intellectual activity, and the practice of Yoga, a mental but not intellectual activity, are both aimed at achieving enlightenment. The mystery then, at least in part, arises when Science is named as the third and final part of the trinity, for it is with its addition that the relationship among the three presents itself as a mystery that demands consideration. Departing from any conceptions of western sciences, like physiology and geology, this seer’s Science is a translation of the Sanskrit word sāstra, which means precept or rule. While a sāstra of ritual devotion would prove to be congruent with the two other activities that have natural ends in achieving enlightenment, instead, this sāstra is said to be comprised of Law, Profit, and Pleasure, whose ends are not necessarily found in enlightenment. Instead, rather, the three as sciences, in light of the definition of the term, seem to present themselves as rules of action aimed at each of these three distinct goals. It is possible for actions to be for the sake of something else, thus an activity aimed at law often find a higherorder goal in the hopes of achieving peace. However, it is equally possible for actions to be undertaken for their own sake. For example, consider activities aiming at profit for the sake of profit. Here, the goal is to accumulate wealth simply for the sake of being wealthy, and not for the sake of a future donation. Returning to the Mahabharata then, by what standard are these three sciences of law, profit, and pleasure judged Later this question will guide our inquiry. In summary then, we are left with an enigmaic “triple mystery” to investigate. How does one rule cohere from these unexpectedly elevated sciences For that, we must turn to the stories within the Mahabharata, and because a rule that governs the whole must be present in its parts, we will consider one part The Dicing. The story of The Dicing comes at a time of upheaval in the Mahabharata. After emerging from the forest where they were born, the sons of Pandu, numbering five, evade a series of attempts on their life, each plotted by their jealous cousin, Duryodhana, son of the King, Dhrtarastra. In an attempt to offer stability to his nephews, Dhrtarastra offers the five boys settlement in Khandava. It is from this place and by their natural gifts and moral virtues that the Pandavas begin to amass power in the form of riches and alliances. Thus, the chapter known as The Dicing opens with the description of their smarting cousin, Duryodhana, now guest in the Pandavan halls at Khandava, as he is gripped by a bout of jealous rage at the sheer wealth before his eyes that far exceeds his own. On his return from the kingdom of the Pandavas, Sakuni, Duryodhana’s uncle notices his dismay and asks to know why the young man is upset. Duryodhana admits to “burning” with resentment at the sight of his cousin’s fortune II.110. He continues on to say, “I shall enter the fire, or drink poison, or drown myself, for I shall not be able to live” II.110. The fraying of his own understanding of himself is made plain as he then concludes he, “would be neither a woman nor not a woman, neither a man nor not a man,” if he were to accept his lesser position II.110. This reply is above all strange because it suggests that if he were to accept the material superiority of the Pandavas, he would cease to be a unity in himself. It is not at all uncommon for men in states of perceived weakness to liken themselves to women. However, Duryodhana takes care to instead say he would be neither a woman nor a woman. To neither be a woman nor not a woman implies he is womanlike, but not female. In having lesser wealth than the Pandavas, his status is not only lower, but should he need anything that he could not acquire for himself, he would need to rely on their favor. This suggests Duryodhana is like a woman, but because he is, of course, not female, he is unable to wholly act as a woman. Similarly, to be neither a man nor not a man, acknowledges that he is male, but cannot act as a man in the fullest sense, as is traditional for this time—that is, to be a provider and not a receiver. Thus, Duryodhana understands himself to be made womanlike as a man, a transformation he says he desires avoid through death rather than accept. There is, however, an extremeness to Duryodhana’s rationale. Though he recognizes that he is, “alone. not capable of acquiring such a regal fortune,” it is still possible and very much already the case that he is extremely wealthyII.1 . The wealth of the Pandavas has no immediate affect on his own personal wealth or, stated differently, fortunes accrued by the Pandavas do not immediately rob Duryodhana of his own material means. Yet, for Duryodhana, any kind of wealth in itself does not seem to be sufficient. Later in this same chapter, when speaking to his father, Duryodhana asserts, “Contentment and pride kill good fortune” II.112. Contentment implies a sense of satisfaction with the present state, to the extent that one no longer seeks to change it because they derive happiness from the state of things as they are presently. Thus, it is by the presence of happiness that one is able to determine whether or not they are content happiness, here, is the ultimate goal by which contentment is assessed. Therefore, if Duryodhana were to be content with his wealth, this would imply a sort of happiness with his wealth as it currently exists, and that this state of happiness is of greater value, as the subordinate goal of achieving wealth terminates once happiness is achieved. A modern example helps us further understand the manner in which activities are evaluated. For example, let us consider a person were to say they are content with the number of books they own, because they have as many as are needed to educate themself well, as far as books are concerned. The activity of accumulating books is evaluated by something beyond the activity itself, namely the goal of educating oneself. Duryodhana, however, resists any evaluation that would lead to the cessation of his activity. It thus emerges that Duryodhana seeks to engage in the activity of accumulating wealth for the sake of wealth. It is in this construction alone that an action resists subordination to any other goal, and as a result will never terminate—according to its own logic. Returning to the earlier idea that, for Duryodhana, any kind of wealth in itself is not sufficient for his contentment, it now appears Duryodhana evaluates himself not according to his possession of wealth, but by his ability to acquire wealth. As such, anyone who demonstrates a superior ability to acquire wealth, exists to highlight his inability and failure to fulfill the one activity he seeks to engage in to the exclusion of all else. When fantasizing about the possibility of besting the Pandavas in battle, which would no doubt impoverish them, he muses, “When they are defeated, the earth will be mine, and all the kings, and,” he ends, “that rich assembly hall” II.111. For the time, at least, Duryodhana acknowledges no greater goal than the acquisition of wealth. Taking seriously the notion that everything is written of in the Mahabharata, we ought believe that the science of profit is contained within the text. Within the tale of the Dicing, Duryodhana emerges as the character most concerned with profit—to the extent that he singlemindedly pursues profit, evident from the jealous rivalry he exhibits towards his kin and disregard for his father’s council Further, he pursues it for its own sake, finding the possibility of contentment to be antithetical to his very being. Dhrtarastra, his father, appears to orient himself by an altogether distinct science. When trying to convince his son that reasons to be happy are already at hand, Dhrtarastra reminds him, “You wear fine clothes, you eat hash of meat, purebred horses carry you …. Costly beds and charming women … all this waits on your word.” II.112 In his evaluation, Dhrtarastra looks to the material comforts as the measure. Wearing fine clothes produce physical comfort, as does the privilege of being carried, and having beds filled with charming women. Similarly, we see this proverbial measuring stick guiding Dhrtarastra’s evaluations elsewhere. After hearing of his son’s intention to lure the eldest of the Pandavas into a game of dice, Dhrtarastra observes that he should wait for his counselor to advise him on whether or not to approve this plan. II.114. Experience tells us that when choices are made alongside friends who share the same opinion, the pain of weighing ones options and coming to a decision is lessened. Likewise, Dhrtarastra, here, waits for his advisor to alleviate the discomfort of decision making, by distributing the burden of judgement and seeking not only council but also shared responsibility for whatever consequences may follow. However, the prospect of this pleasure is at once overpowered by the threat of an altogether different sort of discomfort. In a puerile outburst, Duryodhana, acknowledging that his plan is likely to be rejected, exclaims, “I shall kill myself Let there be no doubt. When I am dead, be happy with your advisor, king. Surely you shall have the pleasure of all earth why bother about me” II.114. Duryodhana, recognizing his father’s propensity to judge actions according to the amount of pain or pleasure promised, threatens him with the greatest displeasure a father can know the death of his child within his own lifetime. Tellingly, this tact is successful, as Dhrtarastra is quick to accede to his son’s demand, and gives his approval without further consideration. However simple minded Dhrtarastra is in his commitment to the pursuit of pleasure, his pursuit is steadfast. As such, in appeasing his son, he is pained at the thought of not having consulted his advisor, Vidura, and in an attempt to resolve this pain, seeks his advisors opinion all the same. What follows is the expected condemnation of the plan on behalf of his advisor, which—again causing him pain—prompts the king to urge his son to reconsider. Dhrtarastra is not pained by the prospect of luring his brothers sons into an unjust gambling match, and it is not for this reason that he entreats his son to reconsider. Instead, Dhrtarastra says to his son, “Vidura does not approve of it” indicating his discomfort at causing his advisor’s dismay II.116. Dhrtarastra is guided by his desire for pleasure, and this pleasure evaluated according to his son’s happiness as well as that of his advisor’s. In reminding Duryodhana of his own wealth and comforts, which occurs once again after Vidura’s disapproval is made known, he displays what is either a reluctance or in inability to argue for or against his son’s plan on account of its being just. II.115 Likewise, Dhrtarastra is unable to judge for himself whose pleasure ought to be gratified in view to considering what is just. Had this been the object of his consideration, the king might have realized that the pleasure of one could be secured, and his own too, if he valued justice to be a higher measure than pleasure, simply. A good king would take pleasure in refusing a lowly request, taking solace instead in his own good judgement. Yet, in this king’s simplistic love of pleasure, there are some merits. In seeing the happiness of all, he displays a concern with others, as opposed to a selfish concern for himself alone. And, in aiming for the happiness of both his son and advisor, he demonstrates a desire for the happiness of both, equally. This desire for total harmony, found in him wanting the happiness of both his kin who are closest, is a desirable quality in a king, however underdeveloped it is be presently. A truly kinglike regard for all would, of course, extend to the sons of one’s late brother, but in this case, his does not, further highlighting his shortcomings. Curiously, the flow of the Mahabharata seems to stagnate, as this quandary between father and son repeats itself once more—if only to emphasize the flawed logic of each. In response to his father’s half hearted attempt to unwed his son to his plans, Duryodhana, exasperated, recounts the vast wealth of the Pandavas once more. II.122 Until this point, Duryodhana has obstinately repeated his plans, which are a consequence of the precepts of his science profit. Dhrtarastra, has assessed his sons plans according to that science most dear to him pleasure. Given neither cares for the science of the other, neither is able to fully convince the other, although Duryodhana is successful at making his father sufficiently uncomfortable at the thought of his sons pain, such that he can only gain temporary support. Practiced in isolation, these sciences of profit and pleasure are unable to judge which is ultimately worth pursuing. That is, a neither a science of profit nor pleasure alone are able to unify the two views. Dhrtarastra is unable to muster a third attempt to dissuade his son, and instead replies, “I shall meet with Vidura and find out the truth of the matter” II.123. This deviation is notable. This is the first occasion where Dhrtarastra acknowledges recourse to something greater than either of their sciences namely, truth. It is according to truth that profit and pleasure can be reconciled, without it, their respective sciences remain in tension, unable to find a common good. Recalling the earlier merits of Dhrtarastra’s desire for pleasure by securing the happiness of those closest to him, he now also exhibits an interest in knowing the truth although, his desire for an advisor to discover the truth once again implies an inability on his part to judge it for himself. Duryodhana’s character continues to be shown wanting. As he continues to argue with his father, he states, “The Ancients bequeathed us the rules of the game, There is no evil in it, nor blows.” II.123 The word game, here, can of course refer to the looming dicing, but also reflects Duryodhana’s view that life is a game. This is supported by his competitive, zerosum outlook that causes his swelling jealousy of the Pandavas. In observing that there is, “no evil” in life, he claims there is no moral wrongdoing, echoing an earlier claim that, “The baron’s way, … be Law or Unlaw, bull of the Bharatas, as long as it is his way.” II.122 Dhrtarastra at least feebly acknowledges that there is indeed a truth, which for Duryodhana, this is not a possibility. However, in absence of Vidura, the king ultimately relents. Profit for the sake of profit knows nothing higher. Likewise, pleasure for pleasure’s sake knows no master. Absent of recourse to the truth, personified in this instance by Virdua’s good character, the narrator tells us the king “deemed the situation high ineluctable fate.” II.124 The point is belabored by the text as it appears once embedded in the poetic narration and once more in prose following that same poetry. Further, the poet takes care to twice note that this is Dhrtarastra’s perspective, a detail that suggests this is not the objective case. This observation brings to the fore questions of the role fate plays in the Mahabharata. Dhrtarastra points to fate when he is unable to solve an impasse brought on by the tension between two different sciences, capable of being reconciled, but not without a view to truth. Fate, then, appears as the course events take when human action fails, either because it is artificially constrained—as in the case of Dhrtarastra and Duryodhana’s willful blindness to truth, or due to the natural limits of human control, especially in the face of chance.