THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (14 page)

TWENTY-SIX UNDER THE RIVER
 

His veins full of nightshade, Bheema sank like a stone in the river. Down he slid, along the smooth sides of the shallows, plunged in venom dreams. Pulled down by a wicked undertow he fell toward the riverbed, among phosphorescent mosses and lichens. Vivid fish swam curiously around him, wondering what this giant was.

But the river is a Goddess and she is mysterious. She was also, after a fashion, Bheema’s great-grandmother. Many strange creatures lived beneath her currents and becoming aware of the peril to Bheema’s life, she stirred up some water-serpents that had their nests on the deepest bed of the river. She cried to them that a dangerous enemy had arrived in their midst. Those scarlet and green serpents swarmed around the unconscious Bheema and began to sting him repeatedly. They sank their fangs in, squeezing pale snake-venom into his blood.

Bheema struck the bottom of the river and he fell right through the sand into the world of the nagas. Normally, any man would have been dead as he plunged through the subtle threshold; so many snakes had stung him and quite a few went down with him, their fangs still fastened to his flesh.

But Bheema did not die. Fate had intended him to fall into the secret realm below and the Devi of the river knew this. Instead of dying, he seemed to recover with each sting. Color flushed back into his face and the Pandava awoke with a shout in the kingdom of the nagas. Flinging off the vines that bound him, he seized the serpents and smashed their hoods against the emerald floor of the strange chamber he found himself in. As the river knew it would, the snake-venom acted as a powerful antidote to the kaalakuta Duryodhana had plied him with. The Pandava was quickly back to himself and livid that these wretched worms had dared sting him.

He killed a hundred of them and those left alive fled through an opening in the wall through which he could not follow them. Along smooth, narrow passages, their way lit by jewels on the walls, those serpents flew deep into the bowels of the earth, into the under-world of patala. They were the guardians of that hidden world and the human had killed more than half of them.

They arrived in the august presence of their sovereign, Vasuki of countless coils, master of all nagas. Vasuki sat on his throne, which was a giant emerald carved into a seat, with two glimmering snake-wives entwined around him. His ministers sat around their king and that sabha was as brightly lit as Indra’s Sudharma by jewels embedded on walls, ceiling, floor and at serpent-hood and throat. The snakes from the river bent their hoods at Vasuki’s feet. That king now had a human form, green and brilliant.

Vasuki whispered so that chamber echoed with his voice, “My children, why have you come to me? Is something the matter?”

The serpents of the riverbed gnashed their fangs and venom trickled from their jaws. Their leader cried sibilantly, “A man, sire, a young mortal. He sank into the river and the Devi stirred us. A thousand of us rose to meet him and his hands were bound and he seemed asleep. We stung him fiercely as he sank. No ordinary man could have survived our stings, but this one woke up as if our fangs had tickled him.

He broke the vine with which someone had tied him before they pushed him into the river and he fell on us. He dashed us against the floor and the walls. He stamped our hoods with feet like tree-roots and our brothers were crushed. Vasuki, he was a storm of death and his body seemed to be made of gusts of wind. Those of us who escaped the savage youth fled to you, my lord.”

That snake bent his head low before his emperor. He knew that death was Vasuki’s punishment for allowing a stranger into his kingdom. A long moment’s silence fell, only soft snake breath filled the cavernous chamber. The queen serpents slid quietly away from their king. Vasuki’s expression gave nothing away of what he thought. Silently, the naga emperor brooded. Then, to the relief of the river-guards, Vasuki’s face was lit by a smile. He said in his rustling voice, “I think I know who this youth of yours is. Come, let us take a look at him.”

And at once he was an awesome hamadryad, a hundred feet long and resplendent. His immense hood was tucked in, his scales shone and the jewel in his head was as big as a man’s fist. Swift as eagles, the nagas and their king flew along the mazes of patala toward the chamber in which Bheema stood, panting, among the carcasses of a hundred snakes. Among those who went with Vasuki was an aged serpent Aryaka. He was his king’s minister and Vasuki and Aryaka had exchanged a knowing glance when they heard the intruder being described; both of them suspected who the human youth was. Aryaka was also Kuntibhoja’s grandfather.

They arrived at the emerald chamber. Bheema was now striking resounding blows at its walls. He saw no way to get out, other than to break them down. Vasuki peered through a panel on one of the walls; he could look in but Bheema could not look out.

The great naga said, “This is a welcome visitor! It is Bheemasena, Kunti and Pandu’s son and the wind’s.”

Aryaka shimmered to see his great-grandchild. In a moment, all the nagas had human forms again. At a secret word from their king, a whole wall to that chamber slid smoothly away. Bheema stood gaping at those serpent-lords. Aryaka cried, “My little son!” and clasped the Pandava in his arms.

Bheema was amazed. “What is this place? Who are you, old man and who are these fine friends of yours?”

Vasuki laughed to see how fearless the Pandava was. He, too, came forward and embraced Bheema. “You may have heard of me, young Bheemasena. I am Vasuki of the nagas. Surely, fate has some important plan for us that you have fallen into my kingdom. I see you are as strong and as brave as I had heard O son of Vayu. This old one here is your grandsire Aryaka.”

Bheema knelt before them. What a story to tell his brothers in Hastinapura! Vasuki and Aryaka both blessed him. The serpent-king said, “I must give our guest precious gifts to take home. He is an honored visitor and, from now on, always welcome in my kingdom.”

The king touched Bheema’s shoulder and a delectable coolness coursed through the Pandava. The place where the naga had touched him glowed like dark jade. Vasuki said, “I declare you a friend of the nagas. Anywhere in the world my people will know you by my mark on your body. And they will help you, whenever you need them. But that isn’t enough.”

He clapped his hands. When two of his servants came forward, he said, “Give this youth treasure to his heart’s content, gold, silver and jewels.”

But Bheema was hardly moved by this. Vasuki laughed again.

“So,” he cried, “he is truly a prince! Wealth means little to him. Then what would you have of me, Bheemasena? You only have to ask and it shall be yours, because I have already grown very fond of you.”

Aryaka whispered in his king’s ear and Vasuki smiled. “I have something for you that you can treasure for ever.”

“What is it?”

The Lord of the nagas said, “I have an amrita for you, Bheema. An elixir that will give you strength such as even you haven’t dreamt of.”

Vasuki nodded to one of his servitors who went off to fetch the nagamrita. It was made from snake-essences and from arcane recipes handed down from generations of nagas, since the beginning of their race. Crushed jewels were mixed in that elixir and venom as well and other rare substances, all in exact measures: even a drop too much of this or that would kill the drinker instead of giving him superhuman strength.

The attendant returned shortly with a steaming chalice in his hands, which he gave to his king. The silvery amrita in the chalice was heavier than quicksilver and Vasuki arched a long, slender brow. “You have brought a good deal of it. You obviously think this young kshatriya can drink twice as much as anyone else.”

The serpent-king turned to Bheema, “This will give you the strength of a hundred elephants, for every draught you can drink. But it is a heavy potion; no mortal has ever drunk more than a sip before.”

Aryaka made Bheema sit cross-legged on the floor, facing the east. Ceremonially, Vasuki handed the Pandava the chalice, its effervescent amrita streaked with color.

“Drink slowly, prince. No man can hold more than a sip or two.”

With a grin at his grandsire, Bheema drained the whole thing at a gulp. He handed back the chalice and cried, “It’s heavy all right, but tasty. Can I have some more?”

“Bring more nagamrita for Bheemasena! He must have as much as he can drink and he will be as strong as the kshatriyas of the nobler ages.”

More amrita was fetched. Bheema quaffed eight chalices. Then he began to feel drowsy. The nagas had already made a bed of dry moss and soft reeds for him. Bheema was helped on to it, yawning and his limbs heavy with the drink. Vasuki said, “Sleep deeply, sleep long Bheema. And as you sleep your strength will grow.”

Murmuring his gratitude, Bheema fell asleep at once and began snoring. Posting a guard outside the room, Vasuki, Aryaka and the other nagas left. Eight days Bheema slept under the Ganga, one for each chalice of amrita he had drunk. The potion went to work on him and he grew stronger with each moment he slept.

When Bheema awoke and stretched his limbs, he felt an enormous new power rippling through them and gave a roar of delight. Vasuki’s guards went flashing away to their king. The serpent lords returned to the emerald chamber. Now they came with a hillock of food piled on silver salvers.

Bheema ate until the last morsel was gone. It was exotic and delicious fare and he did not ask what any of it was. He was given water to drink and wash with. The nagas clothed him in soft garments, woven from white fabric that glowed in the dark. That cloth was made of mosses washed clean of their natural dyes. Bheema felt rather pleased with himself.

Vasuki said to him, “You are as strong as a thousand elephants now. May the Gods bless you; there are many trials ahead of you and many battles you must fight.”

Bheema knelt and thanked that strange and splendid king. Vasuki raised him up and embraced him and Bheema’s grandsire Aryaka did as well. In his hypnotic voice Vasuki said, “It is time you went home to your mother and your brothers. They have given you up for dead.”

The Pandava bid farewell to his new friends. Old Aryaka’s eyes were moist and the king also seemed sad to see the charming human prince go. Bheema went through a tunnel with some of the nagas and up through a hidden trapdoor. They swam up through the river and into a sunlit day above.

Breaking the surface of the Ganga with a shout, Bheema saw he was in the same place where he had fallen asleep. Vasuki had told him how Duryodhana had tied his hands and feet and rolled him into the water. He warned Bheema he should not confront Duryodhana; nor should he reveal anything of his adventures under the river. The best course was to be vigilant and to keep the Kaurava guessing.

The nagas came ashore with the Pandava; they pointed to the colorful pavilion. Could Bheema find his own way home to Hastinapura? Of course he could, he cried. One by one, those magical beings embraced the Kuru prince and they dived back into the Ganga. Bheema saw that as they swam through the clear water, they turned into great snakes and flashed down, back to their nether world and their mysterious king.

When he was alone, Bheema threw back his head and gave an echoing roar. The sun was bright in the cloudless blue sky above him. It was a fine spring day and it was wonderful to be alive, especially now that he was so much stronger as well. Just let Duryodhana cross him again! But as he walked home, at leisure, the Pandava was thoughtful. He could hardly believe what he knew: his cousin had actually tried to kill him. He grew somber. It dawned on him that the world was not what he had naively imagined it to be. Young Bheema had begun to grow up.

Then he thought of his mother waiting for him. He thought of his brothers and what a story he had for them. Bheema began to run toward Hastinapura as swiftly as his father of the air, so that the trees, the birds and animals on his way wondered at the uncanny little gale blowing past them. Its heart was invisible, because it went so quickly.

When Bheema returned, Kunti clasped him to her, sobbing, “My little son, I thought you were dead!”

At last she calmed down and let him go to his brothers. Yudhishtira had tears in his eyes and he also held Bheema long. Then Bheema hugged Arjuna and the twins. Kunti sent word to Vidura, whom she considered her only friend in the palace. When he came, he cried he had told them, hadn’t he, that Bheema would be back safely. Vidura sat with Kunti and the Pandavas and Bheema related all that had happened to him since he had fallen asleep beside the river.

He told them that Vasuki, who had eyes everywhere, said Duryodhana had poisoned him and rolled him into the water. Their suspicions were confirmed. But Vidura warned them, “Say nothing of what you know, but always be on your guard. Be friendly and wary and at dinner tonight, watch every face and you will know who were all guilty of trying to kill Bheema.”

That evening, Bheema appeared in the royal dining-hall with his brothers for the night meal, which was taken together with the king and the rest of the family. The smile of the past eight days froze on Duryodhana’s lips and his face was a picture. Beside that evil prince, sat another whose mouth fell open as if he, too, had seen a ghost: Shakuni was obviously shocked and, if the Pandavas did not suspect Gandhari’s brother yet, Vidura saw through him.

Duryodhana was forced to pretend he was also relieved that Bheema was back safely. But he saw in the Pandavas’ eyes that they knew who had tried to kill their brother and he lay low for a while. But not for long: the attempt by the river was by no means the last one he made on his cousin’s life. He was responsible for many subtle ‘accidents’ in the palace, which befell only the second Pandava. But at times by good fortune and often by his superhuman strength, Bheema always escaped unhurt.