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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, 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 finds a higherorder goal in 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 enigmatic “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 son’s 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 theory 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 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 Vidura’s good character, the narrator tells us the king “deemed the situation as high ineluctable fate.” 11.124 This mention of fate brings to the fore looming questions about the role it plays within the Mahabharata. This observation is stressed by the narrator, as it appears first in the poetic narration, and once more in the summary in prose that follows. Further, the narrator takes equal care to note twice that this is Dhrtarastra’s perspective, a detail that suggests this is not the objective case, but the situation as he sees it. If fate does not indeed rule the events at hand, then there is instead more room for actions to be taken that would otherwise influence the course of ensuing events. What we observe here then is Dhrtarastra’s abdication of responsibility, which turns what power he as left over to fate. Dhrtarastra points to fate at a time when he is unable to resolve an impasse between himself and his son. “Divining Vidura’s mind,” Dhrtarastra admits to being aware of the general need to act in good faith towards one’s family. II.115 Yet, unable to act on this knowledge, which he attributes to Vidura and does not claim as his own, he lacks sufficient resolve to fully condemn his son’s plan. Ultimately, Dhrtarastra blames fate as the cause for what is about to ensue, and is unable to recognize the opportunity for further actions that might shape this fate. Fate in the Mahabharata thus appears as that course of events that take place when human action fails, either because it is artificially constrained—as in the case of Dhrtarastra and Duryodhana’s willful blindness to the truth, or due to the natural limits of human control, as in the case of events which occur by chance. By deciding not to act, what Dhrtarastra invites upon himself is fate. Love of profit and love of pleasure have thus found their full expression in this father and son pair. Dhrtarastra, guided by a love of pleasure, cannot comprehend or persuade his son, who is consumed by the pursuit of profit, to act with regard to anything beyond gain. Their visions remain incommensurable, for each is bound by the logic of his own science and blind to the measure of the other. With too narrow a view to fathom any further action, Dhrtarastra finally invokes fate and invites it govern the outcome of the dicing. But what of that third science, law For this, we must look to the eldest of the fated Pandavian cousins Yudhisthira. At the outset of the epic, Yudhisthira is introduced as the, “best of the upholders of the Law, the son of Dharma,” a man, “who knew the law” I.130. Said to be the most likely to gamble if challenged, he is the one chosen for this fated dicing. Upon hearing news of this invitation to dice at the behest of the king, Yudhisthira observes the dangers inherent in such a challenge, but after hearing once more than the invitation comes at the kings invitation, he acquiesces, saying “It is the king Dhrtarastra’s behest. So I will not refuse sage, to go to the game.” II.126 In this exchange, we see Yudhisthira’s initial suspicion of the game overruled by his desire to abide by common social laws. That the king, who is also his elder family member, has invited him to the dicing makes it impossible to refuse the offer without abandoning the custom of abiding one’s elders. To deny the king would have been tantamount to questioning the King’s judgment to allow for the dicing to take place. Thus Yudhisthira lives up to his title, Son of Dharma, and accepts. One might expect that a character allied with the law would behave differently than a corrupted king and his wayward son. Yet tellingly, Yudhisthira, like Dhrtarastra, invokes fate when accepting the invitation tot he dicing game. Dhrtarastra just prior to sending Vidura to extend his invitation mused, “This world submits to the Place’s design.” II.124. Yudhisthira, here, echoes this sentiment just before he accept, saying, “But this world obey’s the Placer’s design—“ II.126 Yudhisthira too relinquishes agency, instead entrusting to fate what he cannot resolve through reason. Though it would be in his self interest to decline the invitation—this being a natural law of self preservation— he remains bound by another law the custom of showing deference to an elder and a king. In demonstrating a love of law, one seeks to protect it by abiding by it. If an impasse occurs between two opposing laws, the laws cannot be evaluated by a love of law simply—which demands that both be abided. Like Duryodhana’s simple love of profit and Dhrtarastra’s simple love of pleasure, no science can evaluate itself by its own measure, but instead needs recourse to some higher order end. It is only with a view to a higher order end that conflicts can be evaluated by their ability to reach or harm that goal. Were Yudhisthira to care for the science of law with a view to the flourishing of all, he would instead deny the kings request, knowing that the good of someone is found not in acquiescing to their every desire, but in gratify only those desires that are worthy of the good character one hopes to help cultivate. Instead, Yudhisthira does not critically evaluate these two laws. Seeing he is in no immediate danger of himself being harmed, he opts to accept the king’s invitation less he break the law that is customary. This same, simplistic love of law appears when Yudhisthira says aloud to Vidura, “…Once challenged I will not refuse. For so I have sworn for eternity.” II.126 Here, Yudhisthira, issues himself an edict. In loving a thing, one seeks to partak in it wholly, so issuing laws to oneself is an expression of one’s own love of law. Upon his arrival at the dicing hall, Sakuni, Duryodhana’s champion, is quick to issue a formal challenged to Yudhisthira, and promptly exclaims, “Let there be a convent to game, Yudhisthira” II.127 Bound by his unrelenting love of the law—Yudhisthira now can conceive of no choice but to game, as the unstated natural law of self preservation is at once trumped by the self imposed law to meet every challenge. Yudhisthira in his single minded love of the law gambles singlemindedly. First for his wealth, then for the lives of his kin, then his own, and ultimately his wife, Drupadi’s. II.138 Of her husband, Drupadi suggest, “the king Yudhisthira is so befooled and crazed by the game—.” II.140 This singleminded commitment to gamble when challenged, despite the harm done to all of his interest appears to any onlooker as insanity. Singlemindedness, especially to the detriment of one’s own interests appears as insanity. Though Yudhisthira acts with total commitment to his law and the king’s, failure to consider alternative actions ceases to appear rational— as reason in good form seeks to consider the whole of a situation, which in this case ought to include the duty a husband has to his kingdom, kin, and wife. Clearminded Arjuna, Yudhisthira’s brother, perceives his brother’s actions for what they are a dutiful commitment to the science of law. However, curiously he refers to them not simply as a dutiful adherence to dharma, but as obedience of the baronial law stating, “Yudhisthira was challenged by his foes, and remembering the barony law, he played at his enemy’s wish.” II.144 This echos Duryodhana’s earlier invocation of the same law “The baron’s way, … be Law or Unlaw, bull of the Bharatas, as long as it is his way.” II.122 The implication is striking. In his monomaniacal desire to follow the law, Yudhisthira—according to his brother—ceases to act according to law or unlaw in any moral sense, and instead follows only “his way.” In his strict adherence to the science of law, absent a holistic consideration of the whole situation, renders his path indistinguishable from the willful selfassertion that characterizes his cousins actions. What begins as fidelity to a principle risks becoming its own kind of blindness. Like Duryodhana and Dhrtarastra, Yudhisthira abandons the possibility of acting with in view of a principle capable of governing the whole, and instead binds himself to a single science—that of the law—suitable to govern only a part of life. In doing so, he prematurely yields to fate what human action and judgment still had the opportunity to shape. We the readers are allowed a further glimpse into Yudhisthira’s conception of fate. When departing for the dicing, Yudhisthira claims, “Fate takes away our reason As glare blinds the eye. Man bound as with nooses Obeys the Placer’s sway.” 11.127 While it is true that he is unable to reason himself out of the impasse brought about by these two conflicting laws and his own the desire to abide by the law, reason still leaves him many options at his disposal. For one, he might have opted to stop gambling once his material wealth was depleted. Otherwise, he might have diced a round or two, and then judged his duty sufficiently fulfilled with a view to what was socially expected. Instead, Yudhisthira dices until all is lost. Yudhisthira fails to use reason that is otherwise at his disposal, and it is for this reason that it perhaps feels to him as though his reason is being forcibly taken away. We are not forcibly kept from things of which we are not already in possession. That he finds himself incapable of reasoning further feels to him as though fate has removed his ability to do so. This introduces a curiosity to our investigation of fate previously we had said that fate is what takes over when men fail to act however, that man fails to act can also be a symptom not of constraining circumstances, but of his own lack of character. When men give over agency, fate takes over, just as it does when men lack agency. Thus, it can be said that one can invite fate to act where he is otherwise unwilling—scenes familiar in the cases of Duryodhana and Dhrtarastra. Still, Yudhisthira is not altogether like his kin. While Duryodhana seeks to practice his science of profit solely to his own benefit, and Dhrtarastra seeks to benefit himself by ensuring the happiness of those close to him, Yudhisthira foregoes any consideration of himself and instead throws himself before the mercy of the law without regard for his own interest. Yudhisthira demonstrates a selflessness of which neither of his enemies are capable. For this reason, the fated outcome of the Mahabharata may be less surprising. Duryodhana dies and excruciating death by a blow to the thigh by one of the Pandavas, and is left to expire on the battlefield—as is deserved for a man who could think of no one but himself. Dhrtarastra, for his transgressions, is not spared the displeasure of watching his son die—a the very thing he had tried to escape when he chose to appease his son rather than let the young man kill himself. However, for his generous, if misguided, spirit, he renounces all worldly possessions and seeks refuge in a brahminic life in the forest until his inevitable death from old age. Yudhisthira, who possesses the most generous spirit, ascends to heaven after willingly renouncing his kingdom. Thus the lovers of profit, pleasure, and law are each dealt with fate according to the degree of their misdeeds. If we revisit the three sciences, as they were presented at the outset of the epic, we now come to view the list in a new light. Recall, as they were presented there were three, the “science—Law, Profit, and Pleasure.” This list then is not put forth without order. Rather, Law, Profit, and Pleasure are a hierarchy of sciences, descending from the one that requires the greatest spirit, to the least. In conclusion, we’ve clarified the three sciences, demonstrating their logical shortcomings when practiced without a view to any higher order good, and their relation to each other as greater to lesser. Finally, what of the “rule that emerged for the conduct of worldly affairs” Towards the climax of the dicing, Vidura, our personification of truth turns to the king and likens his advice to medicine being given to an ill patient—bitter but necessary. He implores, “To save the family, abandon a man to save the village, abandon a family to save the country, abandon a village to save the soul, abandon the earth.” II.132 This rule is elegant in its complexity. It lists the order by which sciences ought be abandoned. Dhrtarastra in his unwillingness to upset his son, forsakes the family for a man. Duryodhana in his love of the material forsakes his soul. Meanwhile, Yudhisthira in his love of the laws of custom foresakes his brothers, wife, and village for the familial ties to his uncle. Of course, the ultimate trade wherein one abandons the earth to save the soul applies to all of our three protagonists, as each of their sciences is an earthly science, and ought be considered relive to something higher, namely the salvation of the soul in nirvana. It would be audacious to claim that this alone is the one precept meant to guide the “conduct of worldly affairs.” As the Mahabharata unfolds over the course of two million words, it would seem that any one sentence could only be an indicator of a rule and not the rule itself, otherwise we might have heard it at the outset. However, if there was only one sentence that could be passed on to encompass this massive epic, I argue this ought to be the one.