THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (64 page)

The monkey cried in his reedy voice, “What is the matter, O Vayuputra, can’t you move an old vanara’s tail? Or are you making fun of me again?”

Full of quick shame, Bheema strained at the tail, grunting and roaring; but to no avail. Suddenly, he felt a spinning dizziness. He felt every ounce of his vast strength drain out of his arms, all his limbs and being absorbed uncannily into the monkey. The Pandava keeled over where he knelt. Mighty Bheema fainted on the mud track: vanquished by a monkey’s tail!

When he stirred from his faint, he saw the little old monkey had vanished. In its place, a magnificent vanara knelt beside him, smiling and sprinkled cool water on his face. Ah, this was a different monkey altogether, taller than Bheema, golden-furred, resplendent.

Bheema sat up weakly, shaking his head. He folded his hands and asked, “Who are you, magnificent one?”

The towering creature smiled and replied, “Just an old monkey whose tail the great Bheema was trying to move.”

Bheema bowed his head, “Forgive me for being arrogant, Vanara. I take back everything I said to you. I beg you, tell me who you are.”

“But you know who I am, Bheema. You know my name.”

Bheema goggled at the splendid one. The monkey said, “Bheema, my brother, I am Hanuman.”

A wild cry erupted from Bheema and next moment they were hugging each other, with tears streaming down their faces. Hanuman cried, “Ah, the same thrill of love courses through me when I embrace you as I felt when I touched my Rama!”

Bheema felt his weakness leave him and a new strength, greater than anything he had before, flooded his body. The Pandava prostrated at his legendary brother’s feet. Hanuman raised Bheema up and then they sat together beside the jungle trail. Bheema was in no hurry, any more and chewed contentedly on the fruit Hanuman offered him.

The hours flashed by and nothing the two did not talk about: from the battle of Lanka to the game of dice in Hastinapura. Once during this conversation, Hanuman grew thoughtful and said, “Times have changed indeed. Yet, do you know, Bheema my brother, scratch them a little and there isn’t so much difference between those days and these. Good and evil have always existed, side by side and fallen into conflict even like cats and dogs.”

He paused, gazing fondly at the Pandava. Then he patted Bheema’s cheek and said, “But it is true, you know, that finally goodness will always prevail. So don’t worry: you and your brothers will vanquish the Kauravas and the Kuru kingdom shall be yours. I, Hanuman, assure you of this!”

Bheema said quietly, “As long as you are with us, we cannot lose. I feel the new strength you have blessed me with.”

Hanuman gave a laugh and cried, “But I will do more! In memory of this meeting with my little brother in the jungle.”

“Your blessing is more than enough,” said Bheema.

But Hanuman’s face had lit up and he said, “I will sit on your brother Arjuna’s banner during the great war! And I promise you, my roars will strike terror in your enemies’ hearts and give courage to your own soldiers.”

Bheema hugged him again. Then, he was suddenly embarrassed. Hanuman asked, “What is it, child? There is something you are not telling me.”

Bheema blurted, “I want to see you as you were when you leapt across the ocean!”

Hanuman laughed. Then he was still and the forest around them was, also; and he began to grow. In a moment, he was as tall as the tallest tree. The next, he was big as a hill and then even bigger, big as the Vindhya and he shone like a sun! Overwhelmed, Bheema knelt at his feet. In an instant, stupendous Hanuman, hero of another yuga, was his monkey self again, somewhat Bheema’s own size; and he laid a hand in blessing on the Pandava’s head.

They ate more fruit together. More news and fabulous tales Hanuman told his brother, both of them excited as boys at meeting. At last, Hanuman looked at Bheema, with his eyes full of love, “I have kept you for long enough. Hurry on, Bheema and find the saugandhikas you have come for. The way ahead is fraught with danger, for this path leads into the spirit-world. Strange things live in this jungle. It is a forbidden forest and you must go with some stealth.”

Then he laughed. “But my brother is a kshatriya and no one on earth is as strong as he is. Why should I be anxious for him? It is those who cross his path who should beware!”

Bheema said wryly, “Unless they are old monkeys who are so weak that they cannot move!”

They hugged each other again. Then Hanuman waved Bheema on and stood looking after him as the Pandava sped up the narrow trail, deeper into the forest. When he was out of sight, Hanuman vanished from that place like a dream.

NINETEEN WHERE THE SAUGANDHIKA GROWS
 

As Bheema loped deeper into the forest, the fragrance of the saugandhika was so strong that he knew he couldn’t be far from where the flowers grew. Now, it was not the scent of just one flower that filled the vana, but of a thousand, a million saugandhikas! This must certainly be swarga he had stumbled into, thought Bheema; anyway, not even heaven could smell any sweeter.

Soon the jungle was dense and trackless and the Pandava ploughed on through it, following just the ravishing scent. As he went, he had to thrust dark, living liana out of his way: vines that grew thick as a man’s arm and coiled themselves around any passing creature. At times, the creepers clung so swiftly and fiercely Bheema had to cut himself free with his sword.

There were the most exceptional monkeys and birds in the branches, peering down curiously at him; some called out in astonishment to see the intruder. The birds were so vividly plumed they were luminous in the twilight forest and the monkeys had brilliantly colored faces, like dancers’ masks. There were other, more dangerous beasts in that forest; but this was their time for sleep and none of them challenged the Pandava. Though wildflowers of every imaginable kind grew in the jungle he crashed through, only a single fragrance filled the air: the heady scent of the saugandhika. There were bigger flowers than the little scarlet one, there were lovelier ones; but none of these could match the wild and perfect aroma of the tiny flower Bheema had come looking for.

When he had gone an hour after he left Hanuman, he heard the swishing flow of water and next moment, broke into the sunlight of an open glade through which a cobalt river meandered. Its waters were indescribably blue, as if a bit of clear sky had fallen to the earth and turned into a river. But it was not the incredible blueness or sparkling clarity of the river that held Bheema transfixed; it was the riot of minute scarlet flowers that grew on its velvet banks and upon its shimmering water. From the fragrance which hung over that place they had to be saugandhikas, all thousands and thousands of them!

Had Bheema been a little more observant of his surroundings he might have noticed the river’s bank was a carefully tended garden, its shrubs and trees planted with order, its paths neatly laid. The water was gently dammed with earth, so it formed a pool, on which the saugandhikas grew in thick beds. But Bheema was intent on plucking the flowers and taking them back to Draupadi as quickly as he could. He could hardly wait to see her face light up.

Now the Pandava felt very thirsty. The way through the forest had been long and Hanuman’s fruit lay heavy on his stomach. He strode up to the river whose clear water was so inviting and, without a thought for any danger, knelt to drink.

He did not see the many eyes that watched him from the trees. The moment his lips touched the sweet river-water, angry cries shattered the silence and in a blink, Bheema found himself surrounded by the weirdest beings he had ever set eyes on, more than a score of them. They were tall and lean; some were even handsome after a fashion; and though they were not rakshasas, they were certainly not human. Their skin shone and their eyes seemed like facetted jewels set in their long faces: some blue as the river, some leaf-green, some wine-red. More bizarrely, some of them had their feet turned back from their ankles and others had holes in their backs, while still others walked bent almost in two, their hands trailing the ground. All of them wore clothes that seemed woven from bird-feathers, leaves and wildflowers and some from large patches of butterfly-wing.

Bheema rose slowly and turned to face the eerie throng crowded hostilely round him. The leader of the beings said grimly, “Who are you, mortal, that dare enter my Lord Kubera’s garden?”

Another whispered menacingly, “Don’t you know death is the penalty for drinking from Kubera’s river?”

Bheema did not flinch, only tightened his grip on his mace. After his encounter with Hanuman, he felt stronger and more unafraid than ever. Gazing back calmly into the glittering insect-eyes of the leader of the motley crowd, Bheema said, “I am Bheemasena the Pandava, Vayu’s son and Kunti’s. I have come to pick saugandhikas for my Panchali.”

“The flowers belong to our king, no one may pick them!” cried the leader of the yakshas and guhyakas. They were Kubera’s people, the guardians of the nine treasures. “But if you want flowers for your wife, you must come and ask our Lord Kubera for them. He is generous and may give you some; but then again, he may not.”

Bheema snorted at the idea. “Why should I beg for some flowers that grow on the river? I am a kshatriya. The river flows free on the face of the earth; it does not belong to anyone and neither do the flowers that grow on its water. I will pick the saugandhikas and see who stops me.”

With shrill cries, the yakshas and guhyakas attacked him. They carried short swords, some produced staffs and javelins and they set on him from every side except where he had his back to the river. Bheema gave a roar that stopped many of those guardians in their tracks. Then he was at them like a tempest. He was so quick they could hardly see him and so powerful they fell around him helplessly, heads smashed, bodies shattered by his mace, the clear river stained with blood. In no time, those left alive fled from this fearsome mortal and back to their king in his palatial cavern: Kubera, Lord of that jungle.

Stepping nonchalantly over the corpses of those he had killed, Bheema waded into the river and began gathering saugandhikas by the armful. As he did so, he sniffed them in delight, his eyes shining when he thought how Draupadi would love them. When he had enough flowers and much more, since he was never one to do things by halves, he laid them carefully on the mossy bank. He stripped off his clothes and bathed in the cold water, washing off the blood of the yakshas and guhyakas he had killed.

Meanwhile, those who had escaped arrived in some disarray before their king. Kubera was Master of the treasures of the earth, a Lokapala and Siva’s friend. He was a Deva and his luster filled his twilight cave-palace. He sat with twelve red hounds at his feet and surrounded by a colorful array of jungle folk: yakshas, guhyakas, ganas, siddhas, charanas, gandharvas, nagas, kinnaras and rakshasas. Of all the secret sabhas in the world, Kubera’s was the most opulent. Precious gemstones of incredible size and fire were embedded in the walls and lofty ceilings of the maze of caves that was his palace.

He himself wore few ornaments on his dark skin, but every ring, bracelet or necklace that adorned him, whether of diamonds, emeralds, huge rubies, or pearls luminous as the moon, was a king’s ransom. His throne was carved from a single sapphire, mined and cut in the earth’s deepest past; it was the seat of his power. Kubera was a great sovereign of the earth. Now he saw his people run in to him in shock. “What happened to you?”

The yakshas’ leader cried, “A terrible warrior appeared at the river. He drank your water and wanted to pluck saugandhikas to take with him. We tried to stop him, but he killed more than half of us1. Even now, he is picking the flowers as he likes.”

Kubera murmured, “One warrior? And he slew half of you? What is he? A gandharva, a Deva, a Daitya or a Danava?”

The tall guhyaka turned his face down and whispered, “No Lord, he is a mortal.”

1. A tale is told of an old curse of Agastya Muni’s, which is responsible for these yakshas and guhyakas being slain by Bheema.

A murmur of disbelief hummed through the court. Kubera frowned for a moment, then a smile broke out on his face. He rose and said, “I think I know who this mortal is. It is Bheema the Pandava come looking for saugandhikas for his Panchali. He is a friend. Come, we must go and welcome him to our kingdom.”

Kubera strode out from his palace, followed by as wild and varied a train of subjects as any king in heaven or earth could hope to have. Many of them wore ashes, jata and rudraksha; for, most of Kubera’s people are Sivabhaktas. They were all quite uncanny by any human norm: some were as tall as two men, others short, but bright-bodied, some had more than one head, some were so ugly you couldn’t look at them and others were as beautiful. There were changelings among them, who were wolves or serpents, at times, but at others had almost human forms, with jewels in their heads. There were centaurs, fauns and other lively ones, who were spirits at times and had bodies at others.

Back at the river, Bheema felt very sleepy. The king’s water had this effect on those who were unused to it. The Pandava came out of the river and fell asleep on the soft grass beside the flowers he had plucked. He thought he would take a short nap, but he slept longer than he expected to.

In Badarikasrama, the day had worn into evening and there was no sign of Bheema. Yudhishtira grew anxious and Draupadi also. She said, “The forest was dark and seemed menacing.”

One of the rishis of the asrama added, “Men have never been known to enter that forest. Mysterious creatures are said to live at its heart. But none of us have ventured in there, so we couldn’t say if the tales we hear are true or not.”

Yudhishtira said, “No creature can harm my brother. But it can’t have taken him so long to find the saugandhikas.”

Draupadi said, “Let us call Ghatotkacha to take us to look for Bheema.”

So they did. In a few moments, Ghatotkacha stood before them, his black hands folded graciously. Yudhishtira said, “Your father is missing since morning. He went into the forest in search of saugandhikas and hasn’t returned.”

Ghatotkacha’s eyes were worried. “That is Kubera’s vana. The saugandhikas grow on the blue river in heart of the forest and they belong to the Lord of the yakshas. He does not take kindly to uninvited visitors.”

Yudhishtira cried, “We must fly there!”

Draupadi said, “Take me with you. It was I who sent him, I can beg Kubera for his life.”

There was no time to argue and Yudhishtira gave in to her. Ghatotkacha picked them both up, easily and flashed away from Badarikasrama toward Kubera’s darkling vana. The sun was setting over the mountain’s shoulder as they flew through the saffron dusk, bathed themselves in its calid colors.

In no time, by fading light they saw a river like a sparkling thread below them, weaving in and out of the sable forest. Like a bird, Ghatotkacha came gliding down and landed in Kubera’s garden, where they saw a most singular gathering. Amidst a crowd of yakshas, guhyakas and others and seeming to enjoy each other’s company hugely, were Bheema and Kubera himself.

Yudhishtira gave a cry of relief when he saw his brother and ran forward to embrace him. Bheema came to Draupadi with his hands full of saugandhikas and, when he saw her smile, he clasped her to him, in joy, that he had pleased her. They came before the Lord Kubera and Yudhishtira and Draupadi paid obeisance to him. He laid a dark palm on their heads, blessing them.

The Deva said, “You must spend at least a week with me here in my Chaitra.” That was the name both of his realm and his garden2.

But Yudhishtira hesitated, “Lord, we came to the mountains to wait for Arjuna. Only today I was thinking that perhaps we should go further north, lest he arrive there.”

“Stay with me for a week. Then return to Badari and Arjuna will come to the asrama,” replied Kubera.

They spent a charmed week with the Lord of treasures and there was feasting in Chaitra by day and night, under sun, moon and stars; and the singing never stopped, or the dancing. The wine and the food were fresh and more delicious than any served in the courts of human kings; and, much to Bheema’s delight, there was no end to either.

Ghatotkacha flew to the Badarikasrama and brought Nakula and Sahadeva back with him to join the others. The Pandavas made many friends in Kubera’s garden. Some were exotic and beautiful, some entirely grotesque. But their hearts were true, without exception and they made Yudhishtira and his family welcome among them; most of all, their mysterious and powerful king did.

2. The sequence of the events that lead to the Pandavas’ meeting with Kubera is told a little differently in the original text. It has been compressed here for convenience.