In ancient times there was a sage named Sthulakesha who had earned himself great power through his austerities and learning and was famous for his concern for the welfare of all creatures. One day, the king of Gandharvas, Vishvavasu, sired upon the apsara Menaka, a child. When time came for her child to be born, the apsara Menaka delivered the baby, which was a girl, on the bank of a river and then abandoned her there. Sage Sthulakesha heard the cries of the child and discovered her there, alone and bereft. He was overwhelmed by her blazing radiance and knew her at once to be the child of an immortal. Driven by his great compassion for all living creatures, he adopted her and raised her in his own ashram. She grew up to be a woman of great physical beauty, and in acknowledgement of her superiority to all others in this respect, he named her Pramadvara, literally meaning The Most Beautiful.
Now Ruru, grandson of Chyavana and great-grandson of Bhrigu, lived in that same ashram. When he set eyes on Pramadvara, he fell madly in love with her. Through his friends, he sent word to his father of his passion, and when Pramati heard of his son’s desire, he went to Sage Sthulakesha to arrange the match. The sage happily engaged Pramadvara with Ruru, and fixed an auspicious date for their nuptials, selecting the phase when the nakshatra, or star, named Bhagadaiva, also known as Uttarphalguni, would be in the ascendant. All concerned were filled with great anticipation and joy at the joining of these two young persons.
A few days before the appointed date of the wedding, the beautiful Pramadvara was playing innocently with her friends. Involved in her play, she failed to notice a sleeping snake coiled in the bushes and stepped on it accidentally. Driven by instinct as well as by the inexorable power of Time, the snake sank its venomous fangs into the careless girl’s foot. Pramadvara fell down senseless. Her beauty, so alluring when she was alive, became even more alluring when she lay dead, for the venom of the snake enhanced her beauty manifold, and she appeared to be simply asleep on the ground. Her adoptive father and the other sages of the ashram quickly gathered around her motionless body, lustrous as a lotus in bloom. Svastyatreya, Mahajanu, Kushika, Shankhamekhala, Bharadvaja, Kaunakutsa, Arshtisena and Gautama were present, as were Pramati, his son Ruru, and other inhabitants of that part of the forest. Overcome with grief, they sat in a circle and began to lament her passing. But Ruru, unable to bear his pain, left that place.
||Six||
Unable to bear the grief of losing his beloved Pramadvara, Ruru wandered aimlessly through the forest, weeping piteously. His thoughts kept returning to his last sight of Pramadvara, looking even more beautiful in death than she had in life. Mourning and lamenting, he called out loudly, ‘My beloved Pramadvara lies on the ground, dead. She is gone from this world. And in her absence, the world fills up with pain and grief. But if I have been scrupulous in my austerities and vows, if I have given alms and helped the needy, if it be true that I have honoured my elders and shown them all due respect, as I have been true and righteous from the day I was born to this day, then why do I suffer thus? Why has my Pramadvara been taken from me? Let her rise up again! Let her stand and live once more!’
Moved by his pain, the devas sent word to Ruru through a dhoot, an envoy of the gods. ‘Ruru, your grief-stricken words can accomplish nothing. Once life has fled a mortal body, it can never return. Tragic as it is, Pramadvara’s time on this earth has run out. This daughter of the gandharva and the apsara is dead now. Waste no more time in mourning.’ And then, seeing Ruru’s grief increase rather than abate, the dhoot said quietly, ‘You persist in your grief. Very well then. A great age ago, the devas devised a loophole in the iron law of life and death. If you choose to resort to it, you may find some solace and regain your Pramadvara.’
At once Ruru pounced on the dhoot’s words. ‘Tell me at once! What is this loophole? If there is any way at all to get back my Pramadvara, I will do it. I beg you, grant me this deliverance, messenger of the gods.’
The dhoot nodded sombrely and said, ‘Then hear me well, scion of Bhrigu. Bestow half your life upon your beloved and she shall rise again and be your bride.’
Ruru stared at the dhoot. ‘Is that all? I would give all my life for her! What is one half? I agree at once! I surrender half my life to Pramadvara that she may live again. Let my slender beauty rise once more and be exactly as she was in life, for she is love itself personified.’
The dhoot bowed low to Ruru and left his presence. He then went to the netherworld, realm of Yama, lord of death and dharma. When he came before Yama, the lord of death instantly knew him, for the dhoot was none other than the king of Gandharvas, Vishvavasu, father of Pramadvara. He folded his hands before Yama-dev and said: ‘Dharmaraja, if it please you, let Ruru’s beautiful beloved Pramadvara, rise empowered by half her beloved’s life which he has granted her of his own free will.’ He bowed low and added, ‘If you deem it fit.’
Yama’s response was brief. ‘Dhoot of the devas, king of the Gandharvas, if you deem it so, then it shall be so.’ And he gestured powerfully, saying ‘Let Ruru’s beloved Pramadvara rise with half of Ruru’s life empowering her body.’
At that very instant, back in the ashram of Sage Sthulakesha, in the centre of the circle of mourning and chanting rishis and forest dwellers, the beautiful Pramadvara stirred, opened her eyes, sat up, then rose to her feet as if rising merely from a restful slumber, to the amazement of all present.
Thereafter, Pramadvara continued to live as normal, her life extended by the exact duration of half of Ruru’s allotted lifespan. In balance, Ruru’s own life was shortened by exactly half its allotted length. But these were things noted and verified only much later, once both had lived out their lives normally and fruitfully.
At that time, Ruru and Pramadvara went ahead as planned, and were joined in sacred matrimony in accordance with all rites and ceremonies and prepared for a life of great mutual happiness, bringing joy to all who knew them.
But in his heart, Ruru swore an oath. Having come so close to losing his beloved Pramadvara—having in fact lost her forever if not for the intervention of the gods and his own sacrifice—he swore a terrible vow to destroy the species of snakes at every chance. And from that day on, that resolute keeper of vows slew snakes at every opportunity, using any and every means or weapon at hand. His anger was terrible and could not be appeased.
One day he was travelling through a large forest when he came upon a dundubha, a snake that was not poisonous. As he was wont to do, he raised up his staff and tried to strike it dead. The dundubha escaped the first blow but was injured painfully. Ruru raised his staff again, this time intent on striking a death blow. But the dundubha cried out in anguish, ‘Brahmin, I have done you no harm! Why do you wax wrathful against me? Why have you attacked me for no reason at all?’
||Seven||
Unnerved by the snake’s appeal, Ruru paused in his attack. A good- souled man, he replied, ‘My wife, who is as dear to me as life itself, was bitten by a snake. For that reason I swore a vow that I would kill every snake I saw. I cannot spare you. Prepare to die.’
But the dundubha cried out angrily: ‘Brahmin, there are many kinds of snakes. Some do kill humans, I do not deny it. But I am of a kind that is only related to them by smell, called dundubha. We share the same misfortunes as our venomous brethren but not their poisonous aggression. We share their sorrows but have our own ways of seeking joy. It is not right that you should kill dundubhas like myself. You should learn to differentiate between us and our venomous brethren.’
Taken aback by this passionate eloquence, Ruru lowered his staff. He feared that the snake might be a sage in disguise. Seeking to appease the great soul, Ruru said, ‘You do not seem like an ordinary snake. I believe you must be some other being only temporarily occupying this form. Tell me then, how did you come to be a snake?’
The snake’s response was astonishing. ‘Alas, what you say is true. I am reduced to being a snake only on account of the curse of a brahmin. In fact, I am a rishi named Sahasrapata.’
Intrigued n
ow, Ruru set his staff aside and sat on a log. ‘Tell me, good snake. Who was this brahmin and why did he curse you, and how long are you condemned to occupy this present form?’
The dundubha said, ‘Listen then and I shall tell you my story.’
||Eight||
Long ago I had a friend, a brahmin named Khagama. He was sincere, honest and possessed the power of tapas, gained from his austerities. I was still a child then. One day, while he was engaged in the agnihotra sacrifice, I mischievously wove lengths of straw together to resemble a snake and startled him with it. Frightened, he fainted.
When he revived, he was furious with me. With the fury of a righteous man, he swore to me, ‘Because you made a powerless snake to scare me into fainting during my ritual, so by the force of my anger, you too will become a powerless snake!’
Trembling with fear, for I knew what a brahmin with his power could accomplish through such vows, I beseeched him with folded hands. ‘Khagama! I am your friend! I only meant to make you laugh with my prank. Please, my friend, withdraw your curse.’
Seeing me so agitated, his anger reduced by degrees. Drawing several deep breaths for he was still recovering from his fright, he finally said, ‘A brahmin’s curse once uttered can never be taken back. But I will grant you a means of escaping your curse. Listen to me carefully and hold this in your memory forever. There shall be a sage named Pramati and one day he shall raise a son named Ruru, a man pure of heart and mind. When Ruru appears before you one day, you shall be immediately freed from my curse.’
And even as the dundubha finished his story, Ruru saw that he had been transforming back into a man by degrees. As the son of Pramati watched incredulously, the dundubha stood before him, his mortal form regained.
Rishi Sahasrapata joined his palms together and bowed before his saviour. ‘Best of beings, since you have saved me from my curse, I offer you some words that may prove beneficial to you. Know this: the only righteous path is ahimsa. For only by not destroying life can we ourselves live peacefully. Therefore, a brahmin should never take the life of any living creature. The sacred texts have already expounded upon this, emphasizing that a brahmin’s dharma is to always be peaceful, truthful, learned in the Vedas and Vedangas, never give any creature cause to fear him, and should be ever willing to forgive those who transgress. This law of ahimsa is therefore the highest dharma of a brahmin. Not for you is the dharma of a kshatriya, who holds the danda of punishment, who wields it against transgressors in order to protect his people. Leave that to the kshatriyas. You know of the snakes destroyed at Raja Janamajaya’s sarpa satra, do you not? Those frightened snakes were saved by a brahmin performing this highest dharma. His name was Astika, and he was a brahmin among brahmins.’
||Nine||
Ruru heard Sahasrapata’s words and replied, ‘Good brahmin, I do not know anything about this sarpa satra of Raja Janamajaya but I am intrigued. Tell me more. Why did this King Janamajaya seek to destroy snakes and how did he set out to destroy them? And how did this Sage Astika save them? Do tell me the story.’
But Sahasrapata, whose body was now fully anthromorphised, replied only, ‘Ruru, you will indeed hear the story of how Astika saved the snakes, but not from my lips. Another brahmin shall recount the tale to you.’
And having said this, his body faded away completely. Nonplussed, Ruru searched around in that part of the forest, but could find no trace of the rishi who had been a snake. Exhausted and hungry, he went home and eventually, heard the story from his own father.
||Paksha Six||
THE BOOK OF SNAKES
||One||
Kulapati Shaunaka seated himself and addressed Sauti. ‘I too am curious to know the story behind Raja Janamajaya’s sarpa yagna. Pray tell us, why did that tiger among kings seek to destroy all snakes on earth? Whose son was he, what was his family history? And what of this brahmin Astika of whom we have just heard? Who was he and what was his family history? Tell us all, good Suta.’
Ugrasrava replied: ‘Great one, I shall recount to you the tale of Astika, answering all your questions.’
Shaunaka’s age-lined face beamed in the firelight. The sage looked around at his fellow sages and the assembled brahmacharyas and rubbed his hands in evident enthusiasm. ‘Yes, tell us the tale of Astika! We look forward to it.’
The son of Lomarsana smiled in response at the kulapati’s enthusiasm. ‘Itihasa. This is what was spoken as history by the ancients and retold by Krishna Dweipayana Vyasa to the sages of Naimisha-sharanya.’
At the mention of their ashram, the brahmins looked at one another, surprised and pleased.
Sauti went on. ‘Indeed, my own father, the learned Lomarsana, himself a disciple of Vyasa and a suta as well, narrated it to the sages
of this great ashram, in your own presence, Kulapati Shaunaka. I was but a child and present on that occasion. And now it is my great privilege to continue in my father’s tradition and narrate the same tale to you once more, kulapati, as well as the other denizens of your ashram.’
||Two||
Astika’s father was a lord as powerful and renowned as the legendary Prajapati Daksha himself. Celibate and always dedicated to austerities, he ate sparingly and never spilled his seed. He was known by the name Jaratkaru. Famous among yayavaras, he lived his life as a mendicant, and remained ever righteous and rigid in dharma. Once during his wanderings, he came to a great cave and saw many beings hanging upside down from the roof of the cave. He saw that these people were suspended by a single string of grass and that this string of grass was being gnawed at steadily by a rat who lived in a nest of rats in the cave.
Alarmed at this unusual sight, he enquired of them, ‘Who are you and why are you left to hang thus from the roof of this cave? Do you know that the rope from which you hang is made of grass and it is being gnawed on by rats and may break at any time?’
To his amazement, they responded: ‘We are a clan of rishis rigid in dharma who pursued our living as yayavaras, by which name we are known. We suffer this fate because we are bereft of descendants save a solitary heir named Jaratkaru. Unfortunately for us, he too pursues the same path as we did, that of the yayavara. He will grow old without a wife and die childless. That is why we are condemned to hang upside down in this cave, because our clan is dying and literally descending into the earth for want of heirs. But who are you who comes to this desolate place and why do you show so much interest and concern for us, brahmin?’
Jaratkaru replied emotionally. ‘Strange though it seems, I am Jaratkaru, your sole descendant! All that you say is true. You are my forebears. Now tell me, what should I do to help you?’
Conferring among themselves, his pitris replied, ‘You must have offspring, Jaratkaru! Sire an heir for your own sake as well as to continue our line. This is your given dharma. All your virtuous deeds and the accumulated tapas of your austerities are worthless without an heir to continue your line. Go forth, marry, have children. You are our only hope now!’
Jaratkaru bowed his head in acceptance. ‘Earlier, I had resolved never to take a wife because I had chosen the path of a yayavara. But for your sake I am willing to forego that resolution and take a wife. But, my great forebears, if I take a wife, it must be according to certain conditions I set down. I will only take a wife who has the same name as I, and whose family willingly gives her hand to me in marriage. Moreover, she must be an unspoiled girl and we must marry exactly according to prescribed rites. These are my conditions and difficult as they are, I will not deviate from them. I shall go forth and seek out such a wife and if such a woman gladly accepts even a penniless mendicant as myself as husband, then I shall marry her and continue your and my lineage and you shall then be freed of this state of limbo and attain to moksha at last.’
Having pronounced these words, Jaratkaru the yayavara then went forth into the world and sought high and low for a suitable girl. But search as he might, he could not find a girl who met the conditions he had set down. One day, he was travelling through
a forest and in those deep woods, he felt overcome by his failure. Sinking to the ground in despair at the thought of his suffering ancestors, he called out for alms, and asked for the hand of a young girl in marriage from anyone who might be listening.
The earth shook and the forest was filled with a great commotion. Animals ran helter-skelter and a fierce wind blew and rain lashed Jaratkaru’s face. As suddenly as it had begun, the chaos ceased and when he opened his eyes again, Jaratkaru saw a great Naga before him, towering high, its uncoiled length stretching away farther than his eyes could see. As he gazed at this astonishing sight, the Naga reduced himself to a less fearsome size and assumed the partial aspect of a man to speak to Jaratkaru. When he spoke, his voice was a sibilant hiss that lashed through the jungle like a monsoon gale.
‘I am Vasuki. I heard your plea for alms, yayavara,, and I came here to offer my own sister in marriage to you.’
At the mention of the Naga’s name, Jaratkaru was struck dumb momentarily. Vasuki was the legendary king of the Nagas who had once aided the devas and asuras in the great amrit-manthan, offering his own body to be used as a rope to be entwined around Mount Mandara so the mountain could be turned to and fro like a churning ladle in the great ocean, to produce the Amrit, elixir of immortality. He was among the greatest of snakes, son to Sage Kashyapa and his wife Kadru, creators of the species of snakes, brother to Anantha and Takshaka. Kadru and her sister Vinata were the daughters of the great Prajapati Brahma, who gave both daughters in marriage to the Sage Kashyapa. The sisters later became bitter rivals and when Kadru’s own children refused to side with her against their aunt, she cursed them to burn in the sacrificial fire of a raja named Janamajaya in a future age. Vasuki’s brother Anantha was the same great serpent on whose coils Lord Vishnu the Preserver himself sat in his yogic posture of perpetual transcendental meditation called yoganidra or ananthasayana. Anantha, Vasuki and Takshaka were each distinguished by the title of Nagaraja, King of Snakes. Vasuki’s usual place was coiled around the blue throat of Lord Shiva himself, and it was the great Destroyer who had lent him to the devas for the amrit manthan an eon ago. His power was unimaginable, second only to that of his bhraatr, Takshaka, the fearsome one who possessed the deadliest venom of all snakes. Faced with such a fearsome being, unimaginable as a brother-in-law at first glance, Jaratkaru’s instinct was to say no outright, but he could not simply refuse without some justification. A thought struck him. He had sworn a vow that he would only marry a young girl whose name was the same as his own. All he had to do was ask Vasuki his sister’s name and deny her on the grounds that her name differed! Reassured, he addressed the Naga respectfully.
MAHABHARATA SERIES BOOK#1: The Forest of Stories (Mba) Page 13
