THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (65 page)

TWENTY ARJUNA RETURNS
 

For a magical week, there was uninterrupted festivity in Chaitra: wine, food and song. Draupadi learnt to sing and dance with yakshis, guhyakis and forest gandharvis. But at the week’s end, Yudhishtira came to Kubera on his sapphire throne and said, “My lord, we have been overwhelmed by your hospitality. But now we must return to Badarikasrama and wait for Arjuna, for our hearts are full of him.”

Kubera gave Panchali precious gifts from his legendary coffers. The jewels she had from him were not of the earth but ornaments of the Devas. There were diamonds, moonstones and rubies and corals and pearls from the seas of worlds deep in the heavens. They were all stones of great power and fortune. At last, it was time for the Pandavas to return to Badarikasrama.

Kubera had the saugandhikas that Bheema had plucked for Draupadi packed in reed-baskets. They took his blessing before they left because they knew that, for all his geniality, he was one of the masters of the earth: the Dikpala of the north, the Lord of treasures. Yet, not once during their visit did he seem any more than a wise and affable host, if somewhat ageless, since you could not begin to tell how old he was. Not once did he reveal his other, pristine form to them: that of an awesome Lokapala.

Back at Badarikasrama, the days and nights began to seem long as years to Draupadi and the Pandavas. Every morning, they awoke in excitement that Arjuna would return to them today. But each day brought disappointment and, at its end, they would lie in their beds, sleepless, wondering if he would arrive in the dead of night.

Yet the asrama and its surroundings were tranquil and lovely and did not allow them to remain dejected. The trees of the nearby woods were all in bloom, draped in brilliant cloaks of flowers. They went on long walks together through the cedar groves and even Draupadi was contented in Badarikasrama. Bheema was always dancing attendance on her, going to absurd lengths to satisfy her every whim. He would climb the tallest tree or up to the most hazardous rock-crevice, to fetch a flower that took her fancy. And, indeed, they were reasonably happy.

But after they returned from Kubera’s garden, all their thoughts were full of Arjuna. Five years had passed since he left them and they could hardly bear the separation any more.

One day, they were out on a rambling walk—the Pandavas, Draupadi and Lomasa, Dhaumya and his brahmanas and some of the rishis—in the pine forest south of Badari, when Nakula, who walked ahead of the others, gave a shout and pointed to the sky. “Look! What is that?”

A light like a piece of the sun come loose hung pulsing in the blue. Most of them had never seen anything like it, but Lomasa smiled. “It is a vimana from Devaloka.”

The gleaming ship of the firmament hung perfectly still, as if those inside it were seeking something on the mountain below. The Pandavas and the rishis stood rooted. Next moment, in a silent, thought-swift streak of light, the vimana flashed down to the earth and landed not five hundred hands from where the Pandavas stood. A door at its side slid open, a stairway made of mirrors slipped noiselessly to the ground and a kshatriya climbed down those steps, smiling from ear to ear.

“Arjuna!” screamed Draupadi and ran into his arms.

Then Arjuna knelt at Yudhishtira’s feet and Yudhishtira pulled him up and took him in his arms. Soon Bheema, Nakula and Sahadeva were hugging Arjuna and they were all laughing in absolute joy, tears in their eyes. Arjuna prostrated himself before Dhaumya. He bowed reverently to Lomasa and the rishis of Badari and embraced the brahmanas of Indraprastha. Such a reunion there was and Draupadi just stood by, tears flowing from her dark eyes that never left Arjuna’s face. It was as if she was seeing him again for the very first time, as she had long ago at her swayamvara.

Meanwhile, the elegant sarathy Matali had come down the stairway that was a threshold between this world and another. Yudhishtira went forward to greet him, with Lomasa and Dhaumya. Matali stood aside at the foot of the glass steps and they began to throb with light: Indra, king of the Devas, came majestically down them.

One by one, the Pandavas fell at the God’s feet; he blessed them all and the rishis who stood tongue-tied. Indra carried a silver casket in his hands and he called Draupadi. She knelt before him and he pressed the casket into her hands. “A small gift for my son’s lovely wife.”

Indra turned to Yudhishtira, “The time draws near when you will sit upon the throne of your ancestors in Hastinapura and the world will pay homage to her emperor once more. Destiny moves swiftly and the war on the edge of the ages is near. Another year and some months you still have to spend in exile. I have brought Arjuna back to you and I thank you for the time he spent with me.

You will find it was well spent, for your brother is a master of astras now. No warrior on earth and perhaps none in Devaloka, can match him any more, as my enemies discovered to their cost. But I will leave that tale for him to tell.”

Indra clasped Arjuna to him, one last time and Draupadi thought she saw a tear in the God’s stern eye. The Deva said, “I must leave you now and you must return to the Kamyaka aranya.”

He raised a hand over them and climbed back into his crystal ship. Matali embraced Arjuna, then, with a wave at Yudhishtira and the others, he too climbed back into the vimana.

The stairway of mirrors withdrew without a sound. The diamond panel slid smoothly back into place, leaving the disk opaque once more. The vimana began to pulse with light again, until those who stood on the ground had to turn their faces away. In a whisper, the great ship flew up into the sky; quicker than seeing, it was high above the mountain.

Now it seemed Matali was having a little gentle fun. His marvelous craft was no longer a disk; instead, a golden chariot had appeared in its place, drawn by six winged horses! Matali himself sat in plain view at its head, reins in one hand and a silver whip in the other. Behind him sat Indra, entirely glorious now. As those below watched spellbound, the white horses flashed straight up toward the sun and vanished: they went swifter than light.

For a long moment, the Pandavas stood staring after the Deva; then, the princes linked arms and made their way back to Badarikasrama. None of them spoke much; their hearts were too full at Arjuna’s return. Often, in turns, the other Pandavas would go near their brother and hug him or squeeze his hand, as if to make sure he had really come back. Draupadi still walked between Yudhishtira and Arjuna, in a dream, holding both their hands, her gaze never leaving Arjuna’s face. At times, she would smile to herself in some quiet bliss and her eyes were full.

TWENTY-ONE ARJUNA’S STORY
 

Back in Badarikasrama, the rishis laid on a feast to celebrate Arjuna’s return. When they had eaten, Yudhishtira said, “Arjuna, tell us everything that happened to you since you left us in the Kamyaka vana.”

Arjuna smiled; there was so much to tell. He himself was full of his most recent exploit in Devaloka, but he began with his journey to Indrakila and his first encounter there with Indra. He told them about his tapasya and how Siva came as the hunter. He described his duel with the vetala and how, finally, Siva stood revealed before him and gave him the Paasupatastra.

“Soon after the Lord vanished, the sky grew brilliant and the Lokapalas appeared before me: Varuna, Indra, Kubera and Yama. They all gave me their astras and the mantras to command them.”

Bheema said incredulously, “You have the Lokapalas’ astras?”

Arjuna shut his eyes. He made an occult mudra with his fingers, whispered a mantra and those weapons appeared as golden arrows in his hands. With another mudra and another mantra, he made the astras vanish again. In fact, he had not truly invoked the ayudhas, just their shadows. If a devastra was summoned frivolously, it would consume the one who calls it, or even the very earth.

Bheema was the most obviously excited at Arjuna’s return. He would stroke his brother’s face, take his hand and his eyes would fill as often as Draupadi’s. Arjuna told them how Matali arrived on Indrakila in his vimana. He described the inside of that craft, vividly and the flight to Devaloka.

Like a poet, he described Amravati and his brothers smiled to hear him. It was so unlike the quiet Arjuna to wax eloquent about anything. But the rishis of Badarikasrama hung on his every word, as if it were amrita to them: specially when he spoke of Indra’s throne, which the worlds worship. Arjuna did not mention that the Deva king made him sit on that very throne; he only told his brothers, later, when they were alone.

Arjuna told them about the wine and the food in Amravati, its mountains and forests, Indra’s garden, the Nandana and the lucent river that flows there. He told them about his lessons at archery with Indra and how he received the Vajra. He spoke warmly of Chitrasena, who became his fast friend and his master at music and dancing.

Yudhishtira said with interest, “You must show us what you have learned from him.”

Now Arjuna said he was tired and would like to rest for a while, but he would continue his story later. The rishis of Badarikasrama politely left the Pandavas and Draupadi together.

When they were alone, Arjuna said, “I did not want to say what happened with the apsara Urvashi, when the holy ones were here.”

Panchali looked sharply at him and he blushed. She said in a tight voice, “And what happened with the apsara Urvashi?”

Arjuna took her hand, “Not what you imagine.”

He told them how Urvashi came to him at dead of night. Draupadi’s eyes glittered dangerously, when he described how the apsara made a midnight offering of herself. “But she is a mother of the Kurus and I told her I had only a son’s love for her.”

“That couldn’t have pleased her,” murmured Bheema. A smile was back on Draupadi’s face, that her husband had spurned an apsara.

“She said many of our ancestors had been to Devaloka as a reward for their punya on earth and none of them had refused her.” Arjuna still shuddered to think of that night. “But I couldn’t see her as she wanted me to. I knelt at her feet and begged her to forgive me.”

Bheema laughed admiringly, “She must have been angrier than ever!”

“She was,” said Arjuna quietly. “She cursed me.”

That fetched a gasp from his brothers and a cry from Draupadi. She whispered, “What was the curse?”

“That I lose my manhood and live among women, singing and dancing as a eunuch.”

Lovely Panchali gave a sigh and fainted. Bheema sprinkled icy spring water on her face and she awoke gasping for its coldness. She moaned, “Oh, Arjuna, what will you do? Has Urvashi’s curse affected you yet?”

The others stared anxiously at their brother. He said, “Indra had her reduce the curse to one mortal year, the thirteenth year of our exile. And for that time, it will be a blessing: who will dream of looking for me in a harem of women?”

Draupadi breathed again and his brothers began to laugh. “You might enjoy this curse more than you are meant to,” observed Panchali.

Bheema murmured, “Though not as well as he would like to.”

Yudhishtira remembered, “Rishi Lomasa told us about a task in Devaloka that Indra had for you.”

“That is what kept me so long. There seemed no end to my father’s lessons at archery. Then one day, he called me and gave me his Vajra. That was the last astra he had for me. You were always in my thoughts and I was anxious to return to the earth. But Indra said I must do something for him before I left.”

One day, a month after Arjuna had the Vajra from him, Indra called his son to him alone. “You are a master of astras now and not even the Devas can face you in war, let alone any mortal. But you haven’t been tried with battle and the time has come for you to give me guru-dakshina. I told you there is something you must do for me.”

“I will do anything for you.”

Indra said, “I wonder if you truly understand the power of the astras you have acquired. Do you think you could kill thirty thousand Rakshasas for me as my dakshina?”

Arjuna was startled; but he would have agreed even if he did not have the devastras. The Pandava asked, “Where shall I find the Rakshasas?”

“The Nivatakavachas live in the womb of the ocean of Devaloka,” said Indra and Arjuna saw his eyes misted over, for what reason he could not tell. “They are sorcerers and very powerful. They were tapasvins once and they have a boon from Brahma that no Deva can kill them, but only a mortal man. Our enmity is as old as Amravati and for an age, we have prayed for a kshatriya who would rid us of the Nivatakavachas.

Their influence reaches down to the earth. Theirs is the power that Kamsa wielded and Jarasandha; the same power that now supports Duryodhana and his brothers as part of a web of evil spread across a thousand worlds. A malignant disease afflicts creation and it grows at the very heart of Devaloka.

Arjuna, for this, too, you were born as my mortal son; and for this task, also, you have come to Amravati. Will you go to their city and take fire to the Rakshasas?”

Arjuna said, “If it is in my power, I shall.”

The thought of his mission excited him, most of all, the idea of using the astras in battle. Arjuna was full of courage, he felt ten times the archer he had been before. Indra had the rishis of his sabha come and say some prayers over the Pandava. This was done with grave solemnity, with all the celestials gathered in the Sudharma: gandharvas, kinnaras, Devas, apsaras, siddhas, charanas, nagas and the others. It dawned on Arjuna that the task ahead was not a simple one.

The Pandava did not sleep well that night. With first light, Matali brought his vimana to the steps of Indra’s palace. Indra himself was there to bless his son. Arjuna looked into his face and saw a shadow of anxiety: lest he fail his mission and Indra lose a son. Arjuna felt chastened. When he saw Matali also wearing silvery mail and with every auspicious talisman he owned hung around his neck, he realized the terror the demons inspired.

Chitrasena had come to wish him success. Even the gandharva was somber that morning; he pressed a golden locket of protection into Arjuna’s hand and embraced him.

Matali only said, “Your Gandiva and quivers are in the vimana and the Vajra lies beside the astras, where you will sit.” He paused, before adding, “Where only one mortal man has sat before.”

“And who was he?” asked Arjuna.

“A greater kshatriya than anyone before or after him. But his was not a battle in heaven,” said Indra.

“Why didn’t you ask him to fight the Nivatakavachas?”

Matali laughed, “That was before the Rakshasas came to Devaloka. And that kshatriya’s enemy was more terrible than they are, though he lived on earth.”

“Tell me who the kshatriya was!” Arjuna cried, though he had heard the legend before and should have guessed.

“Pray for his blessing today, before you set out,” said Indra. “It was Rama of Ayodhya for whom I sent the vimana down to Lanka. So he could kill Ravana.”

Arjuna knelt before Indra. All at once, the Deva had a golden coronet in his hand, a jewel-studded kirita. Indra set the crown on the Pandava’s head. “You shall be called Kiriti from now, O Kshatriya of Amravati!”

He clasped Arjuna, once, tightly. Then, the Pandava climbed into the vimana after Matali. The stairway was drawn up and the sarathy showed Arjuna another place where he should sit today. It was a high seat, above Matali, which could be thrust out of the body of the crystal ship when the warrior who sat in it did battle.

How proud Arjuna felt and how humble: sitting where immaculate Rama had once sat. He found that seat swiveled to face every direction and prayed fervently to Sri Rama of old that he, Arjuna, should not fail today. At the edge of his mind was the nagging certainty that this battle was as important as any he would fight later on earth; and its outcome would decide those of the rest.

Matali passed his hands across the glowing panel that made the vimana fly and the craft rose from the ground in a whisper and they flashed away on their mission.