THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (57 page)

TEN THE LORDS OF LIGHT
 

For a long moment, Arjuna stood numb with rapture. His mind cried, “Siva appeared before me. We fought! Then he blessed me, he laid his hand on this head of mine.”

He felt his head with his fingers. Arjuna exulted, “I have seen the God of Gods with my eyes, he gave me his own astra.”

Then, he said, “I must prove worthy of Siva’s trust. I must never misuse the Paasupata.”

It was at that moment Arjuna heard the first strains of unearthly music. Once more, the mountain Mandara shone supernaturally. Those that came there now did not cloak their splendor; and their bodies were pristine lights.

Arjuna thought he must have fallen into a dream when, suddenly, he heard an ocean roaring on the mountain, the wash of waves. It was no dream: the sound of waves heralded the coming of a God. Varuna walked down from the sky and the luculence of the Lord of oceans lit up the mountain, his hue of lapis lazuli. Seaweed was his hair and he wore a crown with a pearl as big as a man’s head set in it. The river-goddesses, the daityas and sadhyas who are aquatic, sinuous mermaids and mermen, sirens, sea serpents, all came with Varuna.

A chariot flashed down out of the sky: a vimana swift as thoughts, silent as petals. In it rode Kubera, Lord of treasures and his skin was like molten gold: the hue of the Jambu river. Around Kubera were the fierce and strange yakshas, whose master he is.

In another vimana, faceted like a diamond, came Surya’s son Yama, the Lord of death, who takes all the living; and he was terrible to behold. In his hand, he held his inexorable danda, the staff of retribution. And he came surrounded by the spirits of the dead, the manes.

At last, not in a vimana, but mounted on a white, four-tusked elephant, Airavata who trod air, came the king of the Devas: resplendent Indra, his queen Sachi beside him, lovely as heaven. The other Devas, all glorious Lords of light, flew behind Indra in their flitting vimanas: Agni, Vayu, Dharma and the rest.

Varuna, Kubera, Yama and Indra were the rulers of the quarters: west, north, south and east. Arjuna was numb with awe.

Yama stepped forward, his dark hand raised in blessing. He said in a voice deep as the sky, “We are the Lokapalas, the guardians of the directions and we bring you gifts. I am Yama.”

This exceeded Arjuna’s wildest hopes; he stood enchanted.

Yama went on, gravely, “You were Nara in your last life, Mahatman; and all the universe rested in you, because Narayana was with you. But you have forgotten and it is Brahma’s will that you forget: so you can accomplish your mission in this life.

You must kill Bheeshma, who is a Vasu and Drona and my father’s son. A hundred Nivatakavachas have been born as Dhritarashtra’s princes, to be the terrors of the earth. Them you must kill and first their brothers in Devaloka. You are wise to come seeking the astras of heaven to fight such enemies.”

Yama came forward and Arjuna knelt at his feet. The Deva of death proffered the danda, his blazing staff and Pandu’s son received it. Yama whispered the mantra for the danda and when Arjuna repeated it, the weapon was his to command. Yama blessed Arjuna and stepped back from the kneeling kshatriya.

From the west, Varuna came toward Arjuna and his pale lambency enfolded the Pandava. In a voice in which dim waves echoed, the Lord of the sea said, “I, Varuna, rule the west. I am the master of the ocean and the rivers.”

In bright hands, their fingers elegant as wavelets, the Deva held out a mysterious noose to Arjuna. It lay there, a thing alive, made of water, froth and light. It was barely substantial; it was so subtle, so exquisite. Arjuna knew this was the fabled paasa of the Sea God, a primeval weapon as powerful as Yama’s danda.

Varuna said, “Take my paasa. I killed a thousand asuras with it during the war against Taraka, which we fought for Karttikeya in ancient times.”

Arjuna received the shimmering, umbilical astra and Varuna whispered its mantra to him. The fluid noose vanished from sight; but it was with Arjuna from then. Varuna said, “Not Yama could escape my noose of tides if you sent it after him.”

Kubera came forward. He was the striking Lord of treasures, Siva’s friend. It was for his sake that Siva first came as Rudra to the world. Kubera lives in Alaka, which is next to Kailasa. He came to Arjuna, kneeling with folded hands.

The jewels Kubera wore on his dark body shone hardly less than his satin skin. In a voice full of mountain winds, whistling through gorges whose icy sides are sheer as mirrors, the Lord of the yakshas and guhyakas said, “I am Kubera, master of treasures. I rule the north. I, too, have a weapon for you, Partha. But first, let me bless you that you and your brothers will have all the wealth of this world, after you win the war. Here, take my antardhana.”

Kubera held out a weapon of fire to Arjuna and it was as if a sun-flare was trapped inside it. Kubera said, “I burned a million asuras with my antardhana, when my Lord Siva once destroyed the Tripura. Now you burn Duryodhana’s evil legions with it!”

He taught Arjuna its mantra and that astra, also, melted into the Pandava’s body. Arjuna fell on his face and cried, “Lords of the worlds, if you will sit in this wild place, I would serve you, my masters: with fruit and flowers, which are all I have to offer.”

The Devas seemed glad to sit on the ground and Arjuna brought them fruit, sweet berries and water from the nearby stream of the Ganga. And they were pleased by his devotion.

Indra said to Arjuna, “I am proud of you, my son. No mortal man of this yuga has received the astras from the Devas’ own hands. And for that, the weapons shall be twice as powerful with you. But you must come to Devaloka with me now. There is something I want you to do there and there I will give you my astras.”

Arjuna bowed acquiescence, though he was a little frightened by the Lokapalas. Indra said, “My sarathy Matali will bring my vimana for you.”

One by one, the Guardians blessed Arjuna and vanished like echoing whispers from the mountain, leaving the Pandava alone and dazed. He felt as if his body had turned to water and his heart was a sea of visions. A glint of light higher up the mountain caught his eye. He saw an incredible ship of the sky, a disk even more dazzling than those that had just left him. Softly as flowers, it flew down to the ground.

Wonderful lights flashed on the vimana’s smooth body. As Arjuna rose and approached the craft, a door open at its side and a flight of steps flowed out from it. A small bright being came smiling down those steps. He came right up to the Pandava and embraced him warmly.

“I am Matali!” cried that extraordinary one. “I have come to fetch you to Indra’s kingdom.”

Arjuna murmured, “I am going to Devaloka without performing any yagna, or even dying. Matali, I must purify myself before I enter your vimana; for your craft is a high way of dharma.”

Matali said he would wait for Arjuna, while the Pandava bathed. Arjuna waded into the icy Ganga and standing in the swirling flow, offered his usual worship. He offered holy water to his ancestors, turned his face to the mountain-king Mandara and prayed to that unmoving guru.

“Mandara, refuge of rishis, guardian of the earth, by whose grace men achieve their ambitions! I have been so happy in your sanctuary. Like a child in his mother’s lap, I had succor from you. I prostrate myself before you, bless me again. I fear the destiny that calls me and have dire need of your serenity.”

Arjuna came out from the river and prostrated himself. He felt a shiver in the earth under him: the mountain acknowledged his worship. A fresh breeze stirred in the trees as if mighty Mandara sighed that the Pandava must leave his slopes now. Arjuna bowed to the grove where Siva had appeared to him and, his eyes moist, he turned back to Matali and Indra’s vimana.

Matali said gently, “Shall we go now?”

“You go first, Matali. I am not worthy of going before you into this ship.”

Matali mounted the stairway. Bravely, Arjuna climbed after the sarathy. But no degree of courage, none of his long wanderings on earth, not his months of tapasya, nothing at all could have prepared him for what he saw within that supernal skycraft.

It was another world! The light inside the vimana was not of the sun, the moon or fire, but of another order. It just was, of itself, with no source from which it issued. It was everywhere, containing everything. ‘The light of time,’ thought Arjuna, for no reason he could name.

Matali showed him where to sit, saying, “We will fly in a moment and we shall go swiftly. But there is nothing to fear, enjoy what you see.”

The sarathy laid his fingers on some glowing panels before him. A window slipped open, all around Arjuna, so he had an uninterrupted view.

“Are you ready?”

Excited and eager to be off now, Arjuna nodded. The sarathy passed his hands over the panels, not actually touching any of them this time. The vimana shuddered and suddenly Arjuna found himself not in a disk full of unearthly light, but in a white chariot. Matali held golden reins in his hands and they yoked five green horses whose skins shone like moonlight!1

Then they flashed up steeply into the sky and in a moment were high above Indrakila and the earth, among the clouds.

“Look how the world seems from here, Arjuna.”

Far below him, Arjuna saw the earth dwindle into a blue-green ball and the loftiest mountain ranges were so small he could hold Mandara and Himavan in the palm of his hand. Already, Matali was pointing up and ahead of them.

“Look.”

The sky was no longer a pastel blue. It began to swim with fluorescent colors: purple, violet and mauve and Arjuna realized dimly that the speed at which they flew had something to do with the

1. In Ganguli’s book, the chariot is described in detail, with great nagas upon its body, as well as masses of white jewels. It is drawn by ‘tens of thousands of golden horses’.

spectral hues that appeared around them. The chariot flashed on quicker than ever and the colors around them grew blinding. Then Arjuna gave a cry, because the sky parted before them like a sea for a prophet! And it seemed a veil had been drawn away from the face of another, grander universe.

Matali laughed softly beside him and Arjuna was speechless. He wondered if he was dying. They flashed through the cleavage in the sky and left the dimension of the earth behind them. They were in Devaloka, in what men call heaven.

“My Lord Indra’s domain,” murmured the sarathy.

A child’s delighted smile spread across Arjuna’s face. Somehow, the Pandava did not feel this new realm was unfamiliar. He even thought he had been here before, though he could not remember when or how. It was like a fabulous homecoming.

But this world was beautiful beyond description and, most of all, it was made of light. The light inside the vimana was now everywhere. It was always both day and night in Devaloka, bright and dark, dawn and twilight. Arjuna knew that here the spirit dominated everything else. The pervasive light was spiritual and he saw the stars in the sky of Devaloka were great souls, who flamed on and on with infinite fire.

Devaloka was lit by tapasya; even Matali’s chariot flew on faith and little else. Reality here was another thing, a different law from on the earth below. The Pandava felt, queerly, that he was on the ‘inside’ of the universe and a little nearer its still center.

They flew along incandescent skyways, where countless other vimanas, like their own but none quite as big, flitted by, bearing all sorts of celestial folk. Elven gandharvas, Kubera’s guhyakas, siddhas, charanas and kinnaras they saw and apsaras in golden craft; many were flashing disks and others long, arrow-like ships of the air. Then the Pandava saw some even more incredible voyagers. These had no vimana of any kind, but flew themselves and some waved in welcome: the rishis of heaven!

Who can describe Devaloka in any tongue of men? Or the glory of Indra’s city, Amravati, whose streets are paved with prayers and slabs of unworldly jewels? And the folk of every immortal race who walk those streets: who can convey their beauty or majesty in words?

Trees whose leaves were full of subtle song lined Indra’s brilliant streets: pristine kalpa-vrikshas, the ancestors of all earthly trees. They were alive and definitely spoke, in an intimate tongue of being and silence.

They flew over great mansions, thousands of them, each one far more magnificent than the finest palaces of the earth. Their walls were made of Devaloka’s gold and silver and set with gemstones cooled from distant stars. Looking at them, Arjuna saw visions of places and times beyond imagination.

When the Pandava happened to glance at his own hands, he saw that he, also, shone strangely here! And he felt weightless, as if he wasn’t made of flesh and blood, any more, but only the light of this place, always shifting, yet full of an unchanging peace.

Matali pointed ahead, “Look, Arjuna, your father’s palace.”

At the heart of Amravati, stood a crystal palace, low, outflung and set in a garden such as Arjuna had seen only in his dreams.

ELEVEN AMRAVATI
 

Softly, Matali flew down into a vast courtyard, outside the palace of the king of the Devas. As Arjuna alighted from the vimana, he saw the sadhyas, the viswas, the maruts, the Aswin twins and mighty brahmarishis. Indra came slowly down the marble steps of his palace. Around his ankles, five white leopards padded. His arms opened wide and his face wreathed in a smile, Indra came to greet his son.

“Welcome!” cried the Lord of Devaloka. He embraced Arjuna and sniffed the top of his head like any father.

The others were struck by the likeness between father and son and by how splendid the kshatriya of the earth was. Here, Arjuna seemed every bit a Deva himself. After the Pandava stepped out of the vimana, the world around him seemed less exotic than it had while they flew. Even the luminescence of Devaloka was now a quieter thing, unobtrusive. But he still felt he could float away at any moment, out of himself, on any of the numinous legends that lurked just beneath the surface of this world: the dreams of which all this world was made.

Gandharvas and apsaras had come with Indra and they went singing up the wide stairway into the palace. This was an exceptional day in Amravati: when Indra’s son had come to his father’s house for the first time. And what a welcome he had from the immortals of Devaloka.

A little dazed, Arjuna allowed Indra to lead him into the sabha of Amravati, the stunning Sudharma. Arjuna had thought he would come to this place as a humble mortal summoned here by a lofty God. Instead, he found himself feeling at home. Best of all, he was not being treated like an outsider, an inferior, but a prince of heaven, as Indra’s son: which, only now Arjuna began to realize, was who he was!

Indra led him to the throne that is worshipped by Devas and rishis, the Lokapalas and all the immortal races: siddhas, gandharvas and apsaras, charanas and kimpurushas. It was carved from a single blood-red ruby, fringed in gold and crystal. Indra sat on that huge throne, the leopards at his feet and called Arjuna to sit beside him. The Pandava knew Indra would never ask him to sit upon that sacred throne, unless it was his rightful place. Arjuna took his place.

Now the gandharvas set up a song. Arjuna had never heard anything like it before, so hauntingly sad, yet full of joy. The tall gandharvas played on flutes and plucked on sonorous vinas and their voices were so exquisite he wanted to cry. And since the great Elves sang in a tongue of heaven he did not understand, he whispered to Indra, “What are they singing, what does it mean?”

With a smile, Indra replied, “It is a song about a father and a son who have been separated for many years. The father yearns for the boy, but they cannot meet for reasons of destiny beyond their control. The song tells of how, at last, they meet briefly and are parted again almost at once.”

Something in the Deva’s voice brought Arjuna up sharply. When he glanced at his face, he saw tears in Indra’s eyes: tears of sorrow and joy just like in the gandharvas’ song. The song ended and everyone in the sabha applauded. The five musicians who had sung and the five who had played with them stood up, solemn and beautiful; they bowed.

Indra made a sign that they should approach his throne and opening a box of precious trinkets beside him, he rewarded each one, telling them “I was moved by your song.”

Those Elves bowed deeply and one of them said, “Today it seems there are two Indras in Amravati!”

Another song took up in the Sudharma, now entirely festive and the apsaras of Devaloka,
choros nympharum,
shimmered in on feet light as wishes. Their dance was unutterably graceful and later, swift past the scope of the eye: so they would appear to be in more places than one or two at the same time. Though only ten apsaras came to dance for their king and his son, at the climactic sections of the performance it seemed they were a hundred1.

Arjuna sat hardly breathing; how would he describe this to his brothers when he returned to them? At times, the Pandava felt he could see the music with his eyes and at others he felt he strangely ‘heard’ the dancers’ bodies: that their movements actually became the song they danced to.

And those apsaras were so beautiful. Not Draupadi or Subhadra could match these women; their beauty was of another ilk. Indra pointed out Menaka, who once enchanted Viswamitra. Dusky Ram

1. Ganguli’s text says thousands of apsaras danced. He names Ghritachi, Menaka, Rambha, Purvachitti, Swayamprabha, Urvashi, Mishrakesi, Dandagauri, Varunthini, Gopali, Sahajanya, Kumbhayoni and Madhuraswana.

bha danced for Arjuna and his father today, peerless Tilottama and Urvashi, who was perhaps the most seductive of all the nymphs.

When Urvashi saw the kshatriya of the earth, her eyes never left him. Indra did not fail to notice this. He saw that Arjuna, also, stared at this apsara more than at any other dancer. Indra gave no sign that he was aware of the attraction between the two, one of heaven and the other of the earth.

The performance was over and the apsaras danced their way out of the sabha, anklets murmuring at the hushed end of the gandharva’s song. Again, the leader of the musicians, the tall one, came forward to acknowledge the applause of the Deva king.

Indra said, “Arjuna, this is Chitrasena. I think you both shall be friends.”

Arjuna rose and Chitrasena took his hand and then embraced him with a laugh, crying, “We shall!”

Indra said, “Chitrasena, however gifted they may be, human warriors do not learn singing and dancing. It seems they consider it a slur on their manliness.”

“The gandharvas are the finest warriors on heaven and earth. Yet, most of all, we are musicians. Song is what we live for!”

Indra said, “Arjuna, I want you to learn music and dancing from Chitrasena. You will not find a better master anywhere. What do you say, Gandharva? Will you teach my son?”

“It will be an honor! I watched him while we sang. There is music in him, my Lord, he will make a fine pupil.”

A deep gong sounded. Indra rose and took Arjuna’s hand.

“We don’t want you going hungry, after your long journey. Come.”

The great dining-hall was full of illustrious guests today; the banquet was to welcome Indra’s son to Amravati. Dark and bright folk sat at Indra’s feast. There were gandharvas, of course, for Devaloka is always full of these blithe ones. Then there were apsaras, kimpurusha centaurs, some of whom had flown here from Earth’s lofty mountains, where they love to be and kinnara fauns. There were serpent lords, nagas with emerald skins; and a host of other extraordinary beings, who put Arjuna in mind that humankind was, indeed, a very small part of creation, whatever men themselves may think. And history was much vaster than we imagine, with our petty concerns and conflicts.

Every face in Indra’s dining-hall had deep tales etched on them by time, softening them, making them wise and strong. Arjuna could not begin to think what the experiences of that gathering might have been. Indeed, he could not calculate how old most of those present were. He told himself one could not judge Amravati by the earth’s norms, not even remotely. Yet, they were all warm and affectionate.

Arjuna sat beside his father at the head of the high table. The food arrived and its aromas were divine. It seemed countless courses came, each superbly finished and served up on crystal salvers. They were all, truly, works of art.

Arjuna could not have guessed what many of the delicacies he tasted that day were, nor did he much want to. Suddenly he found he was ravenous. After all, it was the first real meal he was eating since he set off on his quest from the Kamyaka vana. The Pandava did justice, with Indra watching over his son, taking the dishes from the servitors and serving Arjuna himself.

There were succulent fruit and rice with longer grains than the Pandava had ever seen and some delectable fish. And, falling to, the kshatriya was reminded of the aphorism of a legendary philosopher, whom Bheema never tired of quoting: that eating was the first of all pleasures!

Wine flowed, poured in tiny goblets that held no more than a mouthful each. Nine or ten different kinds were served and none more than once. Arjuna thought he saw flashes of silver or gold dust, or starlight, in some of them. They were heady despite the minute quantities in which they were poured, many times as strong as the wines of the earth. And they were delicious, full of all sorts of fine fires and streams.

The wine focused his mind and, when he had drunk a few glasses, Arjuna felt exhilarated. He was actually here in Amravati, sitting beside his natural father who was the king of the Devas! When the meal was over, a deep languor came over the Pandava. He remembered that he had not slept since his encounter with Siva.

Indra rose and said gently, “I fear we have worn you out in our excitement at seeing you. You need to sleep. Come, I will show you to your apartment.”

Indra led Arjuna out of the dining-hall, down an airy passage and through a courtyard full of flowers. At the end of that courtyard were the finest apartments in the palace. He kept them for his most special visitors, the ones nearest his heart. The door opened at the Deva’s touch and inside were the most luxurious rooms. When he saw the huge soft bed in the second room from the door, the Pandava said wryly, “I could sleep for a day and a night.”

Indra seemed overcome again that his son was with him. He embraced Arjuna, kissed him on both cheeks and the top of his head. The Deva said, “Sleep for as long as you can, my son and may your dreams be full of peace.”

Indra left him and the Pandava fell on the bed and was asleep at once. His dreams were indeed full of light and peace.