MAHABHARATA SERIES BOOK#1: The Forest of Stories (Mba)

by Ashok K. Banker

  Jamadagni prayed they would finish the search and leave as quickly as they had come.

  ||Three||

  ‘Look, father!’

  One of the boorish sons of King Arjuna Kartavirya came around the hut dragging a cow by a string attached to its nose-ring. She was a lovely animal, white and brown, with the firm flesh and level back of a young bovine, not yet humped with old age, or marked with the scars and bruises of the yoke, her large eyes doe-like and striking, the nose-ring in her nostrils adding to her feminity, as did the mincing way she walked. She caught sight of Jamadagni and mooed pitifully in protest at the manner in which she was being treated, her eyes wide and rolling. The other two princes prodded her in the flanks with their sheathed swords when she tried to resist. One even put his boot to her rump and shoved. She lurched forward squealing.

  Jamadagni clutched Renuka’s shoulder tight, silently warning her not to move or make a sound of protest. Even speaking might betray her, for though she was a dutiful brahmin wife and mother in every respect, she had been raised a warrior-princess and speaking deferentially to other kshatriyas, particularly under hostile circumstances, might well bring out the warrior in her as well. After all, these were the arch enemies of her own lineage, the killers of her distant cousins and kin. The best thing she could do was stay silent.

  ‘A cow,’ King Arjuna Kartavirya said dispassionately, glancing at the terrified animal. ‘I am too old to fill my belly with milk, and I am no brahmin to desire ghee. What would you have me do with this beast?’

  ‘Eat it!’ said one of his sons, grinning.

  ‘We shall slaughter it and roast it here on a spit, and we can all feast and regain our strength before continuing the chase.’

  ‘Yes, father!’ said the third son eagerly. ‘It would take too long to go back home to Mahishmati and we need meat to regain our strength. This is a good plan.’

  Jamadagni felt his stomach sicken, nauseated with fear and rising anger. Kill a brahmin’s cow just to make a meal? Slaughter and roast it on consecrated ashram soil? What wanton beasts were these Haihayas? Yet he dared say none of these aloud for the consequences would be certain death. Instead, he stared at the back of the king’s head, waiting to see his response. He knew that anything these young princes and the soldiers said or did was only by leave of their liege. It was this man who was the dangerous one. The one to watch.

  King Arjuna Kartavirya seemed to be pondering his sons’ suggestion. ‘Why not,’ he said at last. ‘It is a young cow, her flesh will be tender and nourishing. There seems to be no other source of nourishment in this wretched aranya. Very well. Slaughter the cow and baste it. Salt it well.’

  And he began to walk away.

  Jamadagni could remain silent no more. He released his wife’s shoulder and moved her behind him before stepping forward. ‘My Lord,’ he cried in the most pathetic voice he could manage. ‘I beg your leave to speak.’

  One of the princes raised his sword as if to strike Jamadagni down for his insolence.

  ‘No,’ said the king, his back still turned. How had he seen his son’s action? Arjuna Kartavirya was renowned for his arms in battle, perhaps he had eyes that matched the arms in supernatural prowess. ‘Speak, brahmin,’ he said, still facing toward the clearing, where his soldiers stood in tired rows, awaiting their next command. ‘But heed what you say and remember to whom you address your words.’

  ‘Great one,’ Jamadagni said, keeping his head bowed low and his hands joined. ‘If it is food you seek, this cow will provide it. There is no need to kill her.’

  The king’s back seemed to laugh at Jamadagni. ‘Did you not hear me say that I am grown too old to sup on milk. I do not care for butter and cheese either. The cow’s flesh, on the other hand, makes a fit meal for fighting warriors. I have already decreed that the cow be slain. You, on the other hand, shall be executed for questioning my command. Let it not be said that a judgement pronounced by Arjuna Kartavirya, emperor of the world, can be overturned by a brahmin! Kill him.’

  At once the swords slipped free of their sheaths and the arms of the princes rose eagerly as they advanced on Jamadagni. Renuka’s scream rang out from behind, shrill and piercing. Jamadagni saw the way the prince nearest to him turned his grinning face to leer at her eagerly and knew that once they had slain him, they would have no reason to leave her alive—or untouched. He had a fraction of an instant in which to act and only one recourse. He took it.

  ‘Kama-dhenu!’ he cried.

  His voice, trained by a lifetime of sandhi recitation and chanting of shlokas and mantras, rang out across the clearing like a temple bell, electrifying the very motes of the air itself:

  |Namo devyai Maha devyai|

  ||Surabyai cha namo nama||

  |Gavam Bheeja swaroopaya|

  |Namasthe Jagad Ambike|

  The oncoming swords had halted at the utterance of his first word, the uncouth Haihaya princes bearing the weapons of slaughter had frozen still, startled by the authority and power in his voice. If there was one thing kshatriyas feared, even if briefly, it was the brahmin power to summon and manipulate the forces of brahman to work his will. Even without looking at them directly, Jamadagni saw the fear on their moustached faces.

  His own eyes were directed at the cow, as were the shlokas he was reciting, the Gomatha Stuti. It was but a prayer to Mother Cow, recited by all brahmins to honour and please the four-legged givers of the essential items that sustained a brahmin’s life. But by simply prefacing it with the title ‘Kama-dhenu’ he had rendered it a special invocation, infused with the power of all the tapas he had accumulated over his lifetime of meditation and penance. Dhenu was the cow’s given name, so named by her rightful owner. Kama meant desire. Kama-dhenu therefore meant Dhenu who fulfilled one’s desires.

  Even as the last echoes of his recitation died away, the cow mooed long and loud. Her cry filled the clearing. Jamadagni saw the Haihaya princes react, backing away from the cow, even though it was but a harmless bovine and they were strong warriors armed with drawn swords. At the periphery of his vision, he sensed the other soldiers also react, made nervous by his chanting of the mantras. This was the Treta Yuga: the world was still young, words still had their full potency, and the utterances of a man of brahman could move mountains and redirect rivers if he so desired. It was the reason why many kshatriyas, particularly those openly hostile to brahmins as the Haihayas were, struck before they spoke, deeming it safer to kill a brahmin on sight rather than wait and chance being struck down by his mantras. There was even a term for it: astra. A mantra of such potency, it could be wielded as a weapon. Which was literally what the term meant, weapon.

  What he had just recited was no astra. Far from it. But these brutes did not know that. Already they were backing away from him, the cow and the hut as if all were ablaze and the fire threatened to consume them as well.

  Only King Arjuna Kartavirya stood his ground, although he had turned to face Jamadagni once again and was watching him with an expressionless face that was all the more menacing for not revealing any emotions even as everyone around him was displaying conflicting emotions and expressions.

  Dhenu lowed again, raising her head and turning it from side to side, eyes looking downwards, whites showing. She was still afraid of the men with swords, she sensed their bestial intentions. But the mantra compelled her to obey. The lowing she had just issued was her reply to Jamadagni, informing him that she was now ready to fulfil his desire.

  Jamadagni turned to look at the Haihaya king. ‘It is food you desire, is it not?’ he asked. ‘Food suitable for the nourishment of men at war? You shall have it.’

  He spoke the next part of the Gomata Stuthi, the smriti—secret—part that was not known even to his fellow brahmins. It was a complex mantra, dense and difficult to understand let alone recite. He had never spoken it before, only heard it once when the owner of Dhenu had recited it in his presence. But he was a brahmin. It was what he did. He recited the shloka perfectly.
>
  The cow lowered her head and snorted. It was an unlikely sound from a young female, the kind of snort that might be expected from a grown bull instead. Straining, forceful, aggressive. She stamped her feet, kicking her hind legs. The princes backed further away, increasing the distance between the cow and their precious selves. The other soldiers watched with rising alarm. Only King Arjuna Kartavirya observed both Jamadagni and the cow with dispassion.

  Dhenu issued a deafeningly loud bellow that Jamadagni felt strike the bones of his chest and reverberate within his lungs.

  He saw the kshatriyas close their eyes for an instant, no more than a blink and a wince. When they opened their eyes again, there was a great feast spread out across the clearing.

  They exclaimed, backing away in great alarm, as if they were witnessing the appearance of armed men or a horde of elephants rather than just food. A few moments passed, during which they looked at each other, then at the repast that lay before them, unsure of what they were witnessing or what to do next.

  A great length of cloth, some ten yards long and five yards wide, enough to take up one whole side of the clearing, had appeared. Upon this cloth were arrayed a rich variety of victuals of every possible description, along with nectar, juice and wine of every kind, all arranged in fine pots, jugs, bowls and ornate containers. It was a feast fit for a king—or for several dozen kings in fact.

  And it was real, as even Jamadagni’s olfactory sense told him.

  The soldiers and princes realized it too, for even if their eyes were deceiving them, their noses could not mistake the aromas of such rich food and drink.

  They looked around at their leader for guidance.

  He was looking at Jamadagni, eyes cold and face devoid of any discernible emotion.

  ‘What manner of brahmin trickery is this?’ he asked in a voice that was almost a growl of warning. His hands hung by his sides, flaccid and unmoving. Jamadagni kept a watch on them, for he knew from all he had heard of the Haihaya King that it was those arms that were the real threat.

  ‘It is no trickery, my lord.’ Jamadagni kept his head bowed and his hands clasped. ‘You desired a meal. I provided it.’

  ‘But how? From where did this feast appear?’ King Arjuna Kartavirya’s queries were sharp and pointed, as was his tone. If his face and eyes did not betray emotion, his voice more than made up for the lack. That mellifluous baritone voice conveyed an infinite range of subtle nuances. There was awe present, a little fear as well, and much suspicion, doubt, and distrust. ‘And what part did the cow play in this magic feat?’

  ‘It was not magic, raje, merely the miraculous product of Gomata.’

  The Haihaya king’s voice added a touch of speculation to the mix of audible emotions, even as his face remained resolutely inscrutable. ‘All cows cannot produce entire feasts on demand. Magically. Out of thin air. What manner of being is this in the shape of a young cow?’

  Jamadagni swallowed. He had hoped that the appearance of the meal would distract the ravenous kshatriyas from all other thoughts. And he could see that the warriors as well as the sons of the king were already staring with gaping mouths, already fallen under the spell of the delicious aromas that filled the clearing.

  ‘Answer me, brahmin!’ King Arjuna Kartavirya’s voice cracked as sharply as a whip.

  Jamadagni dipped his head. ‘The cow is no ordinary cow. Her name is Dhenu.’

  ‘Dhenu,’ repeated the Haihaya king, as if tasting the word, rolling it on his palate to savour its meaning. ‘The Giving One. An appropriate name for a cow. Yet I recall you calling out a somewhat different version of that name earlier, before you began chanting your brahmin gibberish. What was it?’

  Jamadagni felt a bead of sweat burst forth on his forehead. He did not like the alteration in the voice of the Haihaya king. Arjuna Kartavirya sounded less afraid and anxious now that the initial shock of the sudden feat had worn off, more . . . calculating, more shrewd. ‘Kama-Dhenu,’ he replied, deciding it was wisest to say as little as possible.

  ‘Kama-Dhenu!’ King Arjuna Kartavirya said aloud.

  At once the cow reacted, mooing. The two princes nearest to it—though still a good ten yards away—both reacted as well, stumbling into one another in a bid to retreat farther from the animal. Their armour and swords clashed noisily as they extracted themselves from one another’s arms, each cursing the other softly so as not to be heard by their father.

  ‘A most unusual name for a cow,’ King Arjuna Kartavirya said, ignoring his sons. ‘Kama meaning desire. Dhenu meaning The Giving One. Therefore Kama-Dhenu must mean the One Who Gives You Your Desire.’

  His face remained as inscrutable as always, even as his voice ranged through a variety of emotions. Pleasure at his decoding the Sanskrit names, relaxation as he began to see that this was not a threat to be feared, and most disturbing to Jamadagni’s ears, wily calculation as he began to understand the full measure of what he had discovered.

  ‘A Cow That Fulfils One’s Desires,’ he said, playing with the Sanskrit words as a musician might play with a lute. ‘Fascinating!’ He pointed a finger at his sons. ‘Eat. Everyone. Eat and drink to your heart’s content.’

  There was the barest moment of hesitation. Then every last man in the clearing fell upon the arrayed food and drink like a pack of hungry wolves upon a solitary doe in deepest winter. The rude sounds of lips smacking, liquid being gulped, food being chomped, crunched, torn to shreds, and otherwise consumed by two hundred and fifty uncouth hungry kshatriyas were the only ones to be heard for the next several moments.

  Jamadagni waited for King Arjuna Kartavirya to join his men in their feast. But the Haihaya king stood where he was, watching, listening, waiting.

  After a while, he called out to his sons. He had to call more than once to distract them from their frenzied eating and drinking. They appeared to be in a contest to choose who among them could eat and drink the most in the shortest time possible. Jamadagni wondered if perhaps they thought that because the feast had appeared so suddenly, it might disappear as fast. The thought was an amusing one, and he might have smiled, had the circumstances not been so dire.

  When the father finally had his sons’ attention, he asked them roughly, ‘Is it good?’

  They turned ecstatic faces to him, smeared with food and wine stains. They babbled answers but the visual evidence was sufficient to answer the Haihaya king’s query.

  He turned back upon Jamadagni that same cold inscrutable gaze. ‘What else can she provide?’

  Jamadagni kept his head low and his hands joined. ‘Does my lordship crave more food? Speak your appetite’s desire and I shall ask Gomata to provide.’

  King Arjuna Kartavirya’s voice suggested a sneer. ‘I possess wealth enough to feed the world thrice over every day. What if my appetite desires things other than food? Can Kama-Dhenu provide them?’

  Jamadagni swallowed again. This was the very thing he had feared might come to pass. ‘I have never had occasion to test her, my lord. In fact, this was the first time I made any demand of her.’

  The King of the Haihayas snorted. ‘Typical brahmin austerity. But you do possess the mantras that will invoke her giving nature, do you not? So ask her for something other than food.’

  Jamadagni spread his hands in apparent bewilderment. ‘What shall I ask for, sire?’

  ‘Ask for gold. Precious gems. Women. Anything. I merely wish to see what she is capable of producing through her magical power.’ Jamadagni felt his hands trembling despite himself. ‘My lord,’ he said.

  Renuka came up behind him and put her arms around his shoulders, comforting him by adding her strength to his own. He glanced sharply at her, indicating with his eyes that she was to continue to remain silent. She blinked and held her eyes shut an instant longer than needed, to communicate her understanding.

  He was glad for her presence, for her touch. He prayed that their sons would not return until this nightmare was ended. The sooner he answered King Arjuna Kartavirya’s
queries and the Haihaya was satisfied, the sooner he would leave the ashram with his vile kshatriyas.

  You delude yourself. Now that he knows the power of Kamadhenu he will not simply leave here. You heard the greed in his voice just now. He lusts after her for what she is, a being of power. Earlier, he was about to spare our lives because there was no reason to waste even the energy needed to kill us. Now he has a powerful motive to do so.

  ‘Do it,’ the Haihaya commanded. ‘Demand extraordinary wealth. A king’s ransom.’

  Jamadagni knew this was the beginning of the end. Once the kshatriya saw what Kamadhenu was capable of, he would never be able to simply leave here. Yet he had no choice but to comply with the Haihaya’s request—even using the wrong mantra was not possible. As a brahmin, he could no sooner mispeak the words than he could forget his own identity. Truth above all. This was Treta Yuga, also known as Satya Yuga, the only Age of Truth in the history of the world. A brahmin must speak every shloka immaculately, and speak nothing but the absolute truth.

  Trying to ignore the growing dread within his heart, he recited the mantra that would compel Kamadhenu to fulfil the desire of King Arjuna Kartavirya.

  ||Four||

  Sauti paused and partook of the refreshment offered him by the brahmacharyas. The air was electric with anticipation as the rishis of Naimisha-sharanya waited to hear the rest of his narrative. After a short respite, he continued.

  ‘What followed next was as tragic as it was inevitable. Kamadhenu produced all that Rishi Jamadagni commanded. At the sight of the great piles of gold and gems and other precious objects, King Arjuna Kartavirya was filled with lust for more. He kept demanding that Jamadagni compel Kamadhenu to produce more and more, each time naming some new item that he desired until a small hillock of treasure lay in the centre of the clearing. Then, as Jamadagni had feared all along, the Haihaya realized that if he possessed Kamadhenu herself, he would be the richest, most powerful man in the world. When this realization came to him, he took the calf by force and left with his sons and soldiers and returned to his capital city Mahishmati. Before leaving, he compelled Jamadagni to instruct him, and him alone, in the mantras of command, and once the Bhrigu had finished teaching him the powerful shlokas, he struck him aside and rode away with the magic calf.’