The Mahabharata is one of the great epic poetries of the world and one of the two Hindu itihaasas or histories. The first chapter of the Mahabharata is called the Anukramanika Parva. It is an index of sorts; a list of contents, if one could call it that.
The Mahabharata itself is a narration which is set in a frame structure, a story within a story, within a story. The story of the Bharata, which is composed by the seer, Veda Vyasa is narrated by his disciple, Vaishampayana to Janemjaya, scion of the Kuru household and a descendant of Arjuna, the Pandava, one of the main protagonists of the story. The story of Vaishampayana's narration is itself described by the Suta, Ugrashrava to the sages of Naimisharanya, a hermitage of Saunakas, a clan of rishis.
The first chapter called Anukramanika sets up this outer frame with the arrival of Ugrashrava at Naimisharanya. This follows a short history of the composing of the Bharata narrated by Ugrashrava; this also includes a very short genealogy of the gods.
What follows is the a list of contents, as well as a sort of concise, pocketbook version of the epic, set as a dialogue. The dialogue is between Dhritarashtra, the king of Hastinapura and Sanjaya, his charioteer, friend and somewhat reporter of the war. The setting is after the end of the war and Dhritarashtra recounts the history of his sons and the sons of his brother, Pandu, while regretting that he could not help the destruction of the race.
What is interesting here is the theme and the motif of the discussion. It is set as a long lament on the futility of the war and the destruction that it had caused. The story could have been recapped as Bhishma's recounting on his deathbed, or as one of the Pandavas trekking about their lives to a young Parikshit, or even some one like Vidura having a conversation with, say, Vyasa. But choosing to portray Dhritarashtra here in his moment of devastation is telling as it seeks to heighten the sorrow. Although named Jaya or victory, this seems less about victory than about the cost that one must pay when one only seeks victory and supremacy in this world.
It would do good for us to understand this, and to understand the futility and destruction that war and violence bring with it. Easy as it might be to proclaim that we will wipe out our enemies, perceived or real, the cost that one must pay will end in only remorse and regret.
The Mahabharata itself is a narration which is set in a frame structure, a story within a story, within a story. The story of the Bharata, which is composed by the seer, Veda Vyasa is narrated by his disciple, Vaishampayana to Janemjaya, scion of the Kuru household and a descendant of Arjuna, the Pandava, one of the main protagonists of the story. The story of Vaishampayana's narration is itself described by the Suta, Ugrashrava to the sages of Naimisharanya, a hermitage of Saunakas, a clan of rishis.
The first chapter called Anukramanika sets up this outer frame with the arrival of Ugrashrava at Naimisharanya. This follows a short history of the composing of the Bharata narrated by Ugrashrava; this also includes a very short genealogy of the gods.
What follows is the a list of contents, as well as a sort of concise, pocketbook version of the epic, set as a dialogue. The dialogue is between Dhritarashtra, the king of Hastinapura and Sanjaya, his charioteer, friend and somewhat reporter of the war. The setting is after the end of the war and Dhritarashtra recounts the history of his sons and the sons of his brother, Pandu, while regretting that he could not help the destruction of the race.
What is interesting here is the theme and the motif of the discussion. It is set as a long lament on the futility of the war and the destruction that it had caused. The story could have been recapped as Bhishma's recounting on his deathbed, or as one of the Pandavas trekking about their lives to a young Parikshit, or even some one like Vidura having a conversation with, say, Vyasa. But choosing to portray Dhritarashtra here in his moment of devastation is telling as it seeks to heighten the sorrow. Although named Jaya or victory, this seems less about victory than about the cost that one must pay when one only seeks victory and supremacy in this world.
It would do good for us to understand this, and to understand the futility and destruction that war and violence bring with it. Easy as it might be to proclaim that we will wipe out our enemies, perceived or real, the cost that one must pay will end in only remorse and regret.
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