Utanga

Having completed his instruction of the grandsire, Krishna took his leave of the Pāṇḍavas and set off toward Dvārakā; and on the way, crossing the sandy plains, he met his old friend, the simple and austere brāhmaṇa Utanga. And Krishna came down from his chariot and bowed before the holy man; and Utanga, who had not heard the news of the war, asked after the welfare of their Kuru kinsmen.

And when Krishna told him of the complete destruction of the Kuru and Pānchāla lines, Utanga's chest heaved with indignation, and his eyes reddened, and he raised his hand to curse the Lord: you had infinite power, he cried, and you stood by and let this slaughter of kinsmen happen; you must have practised deceit; prepare to receive my curse.

And Krishna, with perfect serenity, calmed him: peace, do not waste the merit of your long penances in this anger; hear me first, and then curse me if you still wish. And he revealed to Utanga his cosmic form, the Vishvarūpa, and explained that all that happens in nature moves according to the irreversible laws of nature and of each soul's own past deeds, which are the manifestations of the supreme will; that the war was not the Lord's failure but the working-out of a cosmic necessity. And Utanga, overwhelmed, bowed and begged forgiveness.

And Krishna, pleased with his realization, offered him a boon; and the simple desert brāhmaṇa asked only this: that whenever he was thirsty in the desert, he might find water. And Krishna granted it and went on his way. Days later, parched in the desert, Utanga remembered the boon; and there appeared before him a dirty, half-naked outcaste, a low chaṇḍāla, surrounded by howling dogs, carrying a leather water-bag of muddy water, who offered him drink.

And Utanga, blinded by his ritual pride and his prejudice, recoiled in disgust and refused the outcaste's unclean water.

And at once the outcaste vanished, and Krishna stood in his place; and Utanga complained bitterly that the Lord had made an untouchable offer him unclean water.

And Krishna smiled sadly and told him the truth: for your sake, Utanga, I asked Indra to bring you the very nectar of immortality in the guise of water; and Indra, reluctant to give a mortal such a gift, agreed only on the condition that he might come as an outcaste, to test whether you had truly transcended your prejudices; and I accepted, believing you had attained real wisdom and could see past the outer form. But you failed the test, and refused the nectar of immortality because of your superficial prejudice about the vessel it came in.

And Utanga wept in shame, understanding at last that true wisdom must see the Divine equally in all beings, and that his learning and his penance had not freed him from the deepest ignorance of all, the ignorance that judges a soul, or a gift, by the outward form of the one who bears it.