THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (66 page)

TWENTY-TWO THE WONDROUS CITY
 

Arjuna paused briefly and Bheema cried, “Don’t keep us in suspense!”

His brother took up his story again.

The sun was rising over Devaloka as they flew along. How could he describe the realm of the Gods? He hadn’t words for the luminous plains, studded with a thousand cities, in which Matali said a thousand immortal kings ruled; none for the mountains like jagged jewels, the rivers flowing across those fervid landscapes, at times like dreams in turquoise, at others like broken, fluid sunsets. Through visionary cloud-kingdoms they flitted and a huge excitement took hold of Arjuna.

When they had flown an hour, Matali said, “Look, the sea.”

The ocean of Devaloka is a deeper, more vibrant blue than any sea of the earth. It is so profoundly blue you want to plunge into it, drown yourself in it. Plunge into it is exactly what Matali did! Arjuna cried out in alarm as he saw him fly straight down at the waves, without slowing the vimana a bit.

Matali laughed at his anxiety. “How did you think we were going to arrive at the Rakshasas’ city? My ship is as easy through water as through air.”

Next moment, they had cloven the surface of the sea and were below its waves. It was exactly as the sarathy said; Indra’s ship sailed as effortlessly under water as it did through the sky. At first, they could see some of what lay around them by the daylight that penetrated down here. As they dived deeper, they were soon shrouded in a black night. Matali moved his slender hands over his panel of jewels and the submarine world was lit by piercing lamps shining out in broad beams on all sides of the vimana. Such a fabulous world those lamps illumined!

This was another universe. If the sights of Devaloka on land were extraordinary to Arjuna’s eyes, the translucent world under the ocean of that realm was utterly miraculous. Brilliant fish shone like lights of the soul, in colors that have no names in human tongues. The seaweed and mosses were phosphorescent, the vivid coral breathed and the very rocks were sculpted into majestic shapes.

As they sank, down and down, the Pandava saw mountains here taller than those on the surface world. Matali’s vimana ploughed through the dark water, at his very thought.

Through ravines between towering massifs, that craft flitted like some huge sea-creature, banking and turning as if with eyes of its own and a will. It flew so swiftly that Arjuna was certain they would dash into one of the mountainsides at any moment. But that did not happen.

He asked Matali, “How does your vimana fly so surely?”

Matali replied gravely, “My ship is alive, Indra’s spirit is in him.”

Arjuna did not question anything after that, but began to prepare himself for the task ahead. He sat with his eyes shut in dhyana, summoning all the power he had. Even as deep restfulness spread through his body, Matali woke him from his trance, “Look, Arjuna.”

The vimana had slowed. They were just emerging from between two mountains that faced each other like titans, both covered in fluorescent mosses and teeming with fish. Ahead of them, they saw a low plateau rising from a depression in the ocean floor. Arjuna caught his breath to see the city built on that tableland.

It must have been thirty leagues square. All of it seemed made of lucid crystal, of every color imaginable: some muted, some coruscating. The Pandava saw crystal palaces—there were no homes in that city that were less than palaces—and crystal towers reaching for the surface of the ocean. Blazing lamps lit the city of the Nivatakavachas. They had created their own sun and moon beneath the waves!

The sheer scale of the demons’ city astounded the Pandava. It was covered by a transparent dome and as they drew cautiously near, he saw exotic vimanas flit through the air under this dome. Matali had put out the lamps of their own ship, to approach the Rakshasas’ lair unobserved.

For all its grandeur, its loveliness, an aura of evil hung over the submarine city, a darkness of the soul. Matali shivered and it was all Arjuna could do to keep his hands from shaking. Suddenly, they felt watched by something inconceivably malignant, though they neither saw nor heard anything. Their ship quivered and they could feel it struggling to remain on course, because its every instinct cried out to turn and flee the macabre plateau.

As abruptly as they had sensed it, the feeling of being observed vanished. Matali sighed in relief.

Arjuna strung his bow. He did not trust the lull and he was not mistaken. The next moment, all the lights of the demons’ city went out, leaving them plunged in darkness. As complete as the darkness was the sinister silence that engulfed them. Now it began: the onslaught of the Nivatakavachas on their minds. Arjuna thought he was back in the palace in Indraprastha and had just woken from a long dream.

So compelling was the hallucination he actually rose from his ‘bed’ and walked out of his ‘bedroom’ to wash his face. Matali caught his wrist and pushed him back into his seat.

“It is the demons’ maya,” the sarathy hissed. But he had a monster’s face, bloated and fanged and his eyes were baleful. Arjuna reached for his sword, when he felt a warmth suffuse his chest and a burst of light. Someone unseen was fighting the asuras’ sorcery. Matali’s face was his own again, but worried.

“We mustn’t stand still!” he cried. As if in response, the vimana flashed up from where they had lurked in the dark, thinking they were invisible. Lamps on again, they flew directly over the city of the Nivatakavachas, above the dome. Matali passed his hands over his panel; Arjuna’s seat was thrust aloft so he was above the rest of the vimana. He was surrounded by a skin of some sheer material, like a large bubble, which kept the water out. Then the seat vanished from under him and he found he could stand steadily, because the bubble did not sway or shake, but was rock-like.

“The warrior’s place,” Matali said. “You can shoot your astras through the skin, Arjuna.”

The Pandava felt a wave of affection for the little sarathy: he was so calm at this critical time, all his wits about him. As they circled above the eerie city, they saw a flotilla of vimanas spew out from the covering dome and fly at them. Dark weapons were mounted on these craft; some already spat serpentine narachas.

Burning missiles snaked at them from every side and Arjuna began to hallucinate once more. Part of him saw the tracers of fire flaring at them; but he thought he was imagining this: because, actually, he was back in the Dwaitavana, sitting beside the lake with Draupadi and Bheema. The first of the narachas rocked the ship and woke Arjuna from his trance. He should have shot it down, but had stood bemused by the maya of the demons.

Matali cried, “The mohini astra, Arjuna! First, the mohini.”

The dazed Arjuna would not have thought of it himself. Even now, it took all his strength to summon the astra. It seemed as if another will held his mind and his limbs in a vice. Strangely, now, he thought not of Indra or any other God, but of Krishna. He saw his cousin’s face, smiling at him, just as if he stood before him under that sea. The darkness around them seemed to give a lurch and dissipate. Arjuna’s mind cleared, as if whatever had held him in its power shrank back.

In a flash, he lifted the Gandiva and shot his astra at the city of Rakshasas. They heard the keening song of the mohini. They felt the sea-bed shudder and then no more illusions troubled them.

But now they were surrounded by the Nivatakavachas in their vimanas. The demons attacked them with all sorts of sorceries and bizarre astras of their own. It was all Arjuna could do to keep them from blasting their ship in shards. Matali, at his panel, was superb; they flitted here and there, quicker than thinking. The Rakshasas’ missiles missed them narrowly, some erupting so close they were rocked.

Arjuna felt no fear or hesitation any more. He invoked the madhavastra and loosed it at the Rakshasa fleet. Swifter than light, separating in a thousand different astras as soon as it touched water, that weapon blew the demon ships into sand. Those who died never knew what killed them.

And now they saw the strangest sight: some of the Nivatakavachas swam back into their city, swimming as fluently as the fish around them. Their smooth bodies had skins and scales, both. They were humanoid, yet they had fishtails and tentacles, too. Squirting clouds of black ink, so the enemy could not see them any more, they streaked away into the city’s fastness before Arjuna could aim at them again. Each one of those monsters was clad in silvery armor, like their skin: their impenetrable kavachas.

Matali below cried, “Look, Arjuna, the dome opens for them. Quick, shoot the Vajra into the city!”

Arjuna cried back, “Be prepared to fly, Matali, or we shall also be consumed.”

“I am ready,” the sarathy replied. “Quickly Arjuna, before the dome closes.”

There was no time for thinking. In a moment, the mantra was on Arjuna’s lips and the vimana shook with the summoning of a mahastra. The bubble at the crown of the ship took blinding light. The Pandava looked at his hands and his body and they were joints of blue-white lightning. The Vajra was upon him, charged with Indra’s power. Arjuna drew back his bowstring and loosed the Vajra.

It flew out like a flare from a star and all the dark water around them turned fulvid. It was daylight, as if the sun had risen from the bed of the sea. The daylight grew luciferous and they saw the very waves were ablaze. Even as his legs turned weak and Arjuna fell into the soft seat that appeared under him, they flashed away toward the surface. In less time than it takes to think of, they burst out of the water and flew up into the sky.

Below them, the ocean was livid. There was a star erupting under the waves that had turned into tidal flames, reaching for them with white-hot fingers, as they flitted out of reach. As it consumed the city of Nivatakavachas, the explosion of the Vajra shook the vimana high in the air; all Devaloka quaked.

They flew on in silence, both of them overwhelmed, Arjuna trembling. After a while, Matali turned to the Pandava with a smile. Impulsively, he embraced the prince and cried, “You are the greatest kshatriya of all! For an age, no army could do what you have just done by yourself.”

But Arjuna’s eyes were full of the splendor of the ocean-city they had just destroyed. Somberly, he said, “Matali, that was the most beautiful city in heaven or earth. I feel more sad than triumphant.”

Matali said softly, “That city was not built by the Rakshasas, neither did it belong to them. It was our city, wrought by Viswakarman, once and great was its glory. We once lived there for yugas; but were driven out by the Nivatakavachas and we could do nothing to win back our city, because the demons had Brahma’s boon that no Deva could kill them.” He sighed. “But some days after you had the Vajra from your father, we decided the Rakshasas must die. Even if our ancient home was consumed.”

TWENTY-THREE HIRANYAPURI
 

Matali fell quiet and they flew in silence again. Arjuna said, “We are not going back the way we

came.”

“No, there is another task for you. Look.”

He pointed ahead and near the horizon, Arjuna dimly saw an object in the sky that must be another vimana. As they flew nearer, he saw the gleaming thing was no ship of the air, but a golden city. It flew toward them as swiftly as they did toward it.

“Hiranyapuri,” said Matali, with no emotion.

“It is splendid!” cried Arjuna.

“Puloma’s city of sorcery,” the sarathy replied dryly.

“Who is Puloma?”

“The golden witch and the Kaalakeyas are her sons.”

“Who are they, Matali?”

“They are Asuras, changelings who take any form they choose. They go where they like, do as they please. They are strong and cruel; and they, too, are protected by Brahma’s boon of old to their mother. For, once, Puloma was not an aabhichari but a tapasvin.” He lowered his voice. “She is our queen Sachi’s mother.”

“What have we to do with them?”

“The Kaalakeyas, also, can only be killed by a mortal man. They mean to invade Amravati for their various pleasures and it will not be the first time. Indra wants you to torch them from the sky.”

They were quite near the exotic city, which flew along like a huge mirage. Suddenly, bees from a golden hive, a swarm of dark vimanas flew out from the portals of Hiranyapuri and flashed at them. In those sleek battle-ships crouched Puloma’s sons.

Some were almost human and even handsome; others had the slavering faces of beasts. Some had just one head, but many had two, three and more, grimacing or grinning in every direction. Some had hands, but others claws; some, Arjuna saw, were winged. Some were serpents coiled in their vimanas and some had lions’ faces. Many had just one eye, while others had three and a few, even five, glaring.

Perhaps because they had no natural armor to protect them, all of these were more accomplished warriors than the Nivatakavachas. They hailed Matali and Arjuna in evil voices, some deep, some shrill.

“Devas, you have come back to fight!”

“Weren’t you routed the last time, that you dare attack us again?”

“Can you hear us, Indra? You shouldn’t have troubled coming here; we were on our way to Amravati.”

“Perhaps we can take his head with us!”

Devilish laughter filled the sky. Arjuna could not understand how they cast their voices so far, but there was hardly time to think of that. The Asuras attacked with flaming missiles so Matali’s vimana was tossed about like a coracle on a stormy sea. Their ship streaked this way and that; it took all the sarathy’s skill to keep them aloft. Often, they vanished before the Asuras, then reappeared in another part of the sky.

But these demons were marksmen and found their target too often. Arjuna raised the Gandiva and the air was thick with weapons.

He soon cried to Matali, “There are too many of them. I cannot fight them all.”

The sarathy cried back, “The Paasupata, Arjuna! Use Siva’s weapon.”

At that moment, darkness fell on the sky and stark terror. It was inside their vimana, as well, filling Arjuna’s eyes, his heart. He felt faint, as if cold hands were on his throat, choking him. The Pandava heard a low gasp below him. He saw Matali’s panel was dark and guessed the sarathy must have slumped across it in a faint. Arjuna called out to him, but there was no response. He was alone and he did not know how long the vimana would fly itself.

In panic, Arjuna invoked the Paasupata, the final astra. He knew that every time Siva’s astra was invoked, it assumed a different guise. By now, a hundred vimanas had flown out from Hiranyapuri. The sky echoed with the roars and howls of a hundred Kaalakeyas. The Paasupatastra filled the vimana with light, like another sun and Arjuna saw the demons’ vimanas veer away. Though they had an answer for every astra the Pandava had loosed at them so far, he saw the light of the Paasupata

unnerved them.

The rutilance of Siva’s astra engulfed Matali, the ship of the sky and Arjuna.

“AUM Namah Sivayah
!” Arjuna prayed silently, then shot the arrow that bore the astra from his quivering bow. For a moment, nothing happened and the archer watched his shaft flare out from the little dome in which he sat. Below him, he heard Matali wake with a cry.

“Are you all right, Arjuna?”

The incandescence of the Paasupata had left their vimana and now the astra erupted outside, so the Kaalakeyas’ fighting craft were blown about like leaves in a storm of light. Even Hiranyapuri in the distance shook.

Arjuna cried to Matali, “Look, the Paasupata!”

An incredible spectacle unfolded before their eyes. It seemed the sky, their ship, the Asuras, their vimanas and the golden city of the firmament were all transported to another realm, where time did not move. Like a dreamer, Arjuna could only watch. Where Siva’s astra went, a hundred new vimanas filled the sky. In them sat shadowy warriors, with matted dreadlocks and rudraksha beads that glowed like the jewels the great nagas wear in their heads. The warriors were fierce-looking and covered in ash like rishis.

Arjuna heard Matali breathe, “Ganas. Sivaganas of the Paasupatastra!”

A legion of vimanas and ganas had appeared in the sky and the rest of the battle was over in a moment. In that moment, the hundred Kaalakeya ships burned and fell away with their demons already dead. Then, the vimanas of the astra vanished.

Silence had fallen everywhere. Hiranyapuri floated some way ahead. A thousand archers appeared at the portals of the golden city, each one with a bow. Roaring so heaven and earth shuddered with that sound, those Asuras shot a thousand astras at the Matali’s vimana. Arjuna could not possibly cut all those missiles down. Matali was helpless, too; they couldn’t hope to evade the flaming tide in the sky. They could only wait and pray for some intercession.

They did not know the Paasupata was not spent. As the wave of a thousand fires came sweeping at them, an awesome figure materialized in the sky: a vast shadow whose feet were planted on the horizon, whose head, which was big as a world, loomed high above Hiranyapuri. He had jata down to his waist: dreadlocks coiled like cobras. White ash covered his naked body from his face to his feet and great serpents, their forked tongues sliding in and out of their mouths, were his garments. His eyes were crimson suns; his fangs were massive columns. He wore incredible ornaments upon his bare and black chest: pearls like moons, diamonds like stars, topazes like misty planets. He stood between Hiranyapuri and Matali’s vimana like a mountain.

No word did that apparition speak; no sound came from him. He yawned open his mouth, deep as the void and the thousand astras disappeared into its darkness.

No one had breathed a word, while Arjuna recounted his adventure. Now he paused, still full of awe as he remembered the Shadow of the Paasupata.

Bheema sat holding Arjuna’s hand and his eyes wide. He cried impatiently, “And what happened then? What did the apparition do?”

Arjuna said, “The great shadow glowed for a moment with the astras he had swallowed. A terrible smile lit up his black face. He gave a growl that shook the sky, raised a mountainous hand, plucked golden Hiranyapuri out of the air and swallowed that city as well. All Matali and I heard was an awful scream from a million Asuras’ throats, then there was silence.”

For a moment, Arjuna was afraid the Spirit of the Paasupata might not be satisfied and turn its attentions to them. As if reading his fear clearly, that Spirit did indeed turn solemnly toward them, but then folded his hands grimly and bowed: because Arjuna was a master of the Paasupata. With that, the dreadful one vanished as suddenly as he had appeared and they were alone in an empty blue sky.

Matali hugged Arjuna again and again, crying, “Your father will be proud of you today! I have fought many battles through the ages of Devaloka, but I never fainted before. This was a great battle, my prince, the Kaalakeyas were worthy antagonists.”

The Pandava saw the strangest look in that sarathy’s eye: one of reverence. Matali said in a low voice, “Arjuna, none among the Devas, even, is your equal.”

Arjuna began to protest, but the little sarathy was already back in his place, flying them home to Amravati.

“I am so proud of you!” cried Bheema, hugging his brother. Yudhishtira asked, “And your father, Indra, was he pleased?”

Indra was waiting for them on the steps of the palace. He came running to the vimana when they landed and embraced Arjuna; there were surely tears in his eyes.

Later, in his sabha, the Deva king said, “You have more than paid your guru-dakshina to me, my son. Yudhishtira is fortunate to have you for his brother: how will Dhritarashtra’s princes contain you when the war on earth begins? Now you are invincible not only against men, but the Devas and the Asuras.”

Arjuna was embarrassed and bent his head. Indra went on, “When you take the field, Bheeshma, Drona, Kripa, Karna, Shakuni, Duryodhana and all his brothers together shall have only a sixteenth part of your prowess. Look what I have for you.”

A servant brought a crystal box. Indra opened it, drew out a suit of golden mail and gave it to Arjuna. It was light as the breeze. The Pandava received it in wonder, thinking for a moment that it was an elaborate ornament for a warrior. Indra said, “Not the astras of the Gods can pierce this mail. It is my own kavacha, made before the earth.”

He set another crown on his son’s head and then gave him ornaments and silks for Draupadi.

When the brothers opened the casket Arjuna had brought from Devaloka, the light of those gifts filled their cave on Badarikasrama. Arjuna said, “I rested another week in Amravati, then Indra called me. ‘I know how anxious you are to be back with Panchali and your brothers. Yudhishtira and the others spend every moment waiting for you. I think the time has come for you to go back.’”

There was a feast that night in Indra’s halls and Chitrasena’s gandharvas and Rambha’s apsaras sang and danced until daybreak. The sun rose over Amravati and Indra said quietly to Arjuna, “The pushpaka vimana is waiting to take you where your heart is.”

Arjuna bid farewell to all his friends in Amravati. His stay there had been so full of wonder he felt he was about to wake from a dream. Chitrasena embraced him, while Arjuna held back his tears. But the gandharva wept openly. “Why are you mortals afraid to show your feelings? Aren’t you sad to be parting from me? Then why are you ashamed to cry?”

Indra blessed Arjuna and said, “I will come to restore you to your brothers.”

Matali had brought the vimana to the palace steps again.

“We already knew that you were here, in the Badarikasrama. So here I am,” ended Arjuna, radiant to be back.

Yudhishtira rose. He put his arms around his brother and said, “And we are glad you have returned. The wait was becoming intolerable.”

Draupadi murmured, “But you must miss the grandeur of your father’s kingdom.”

Arjuna said, “Devaloka is glorious and so is Amravati. But I belong with all of you and it is here that my heart is content. For me not the wonders of swarga can match this joy.”

They sat in silence for a while. Then Yudhishtira said into the deepening dusk, “I feel as if our enemies are already vanquished and we have our kingdom back. But, Arjuna, curiosity has its way with me: can we see the devastras?”

Bheema cried, “Show them to us!”

Nakula and Sahadeva said, “Show us the astras, Arjuna.”

Arjuna rose and went into the crisp evening outside, where the mountains were painted in the fluid colors of sunset. Arjuna folded his hands to the sky and began to chant some resonant mantras. The rishis gathered round the Pandavas in awe and Gandhamadana shook below their feet. A sudden darkness obscured the sunset. Above Arjuna, ominous thunder rumbled and gashes of lightning streaked the heavens, though not a cloud was to be seen. A dread fell on the rishis and the Pandavas.

Arjuna’s body began to shine, as if lit from within by the fires of the Gods. He stood unmoving, his eyes shut, his hands folded. Draupadi clutched Bheema’s hand tightly and even Bheema shivered at the immense disturbance of the elements. Then it seemed that the very sky parted and from beyond, from another mandala, unearthly weapons appeared in that darkness, each one a Deva’s.

A thunderbolt fell, blinding, before the immobile Arjuna, a shimmering noose, golden arrows, alive and breathing with the elemental forces that filled them, a trident, a burning spear and a hundred other ayudhas, one after the other, in a refulgent storm. They all waited before the archer who summoned them, for his command; the sky was full of Devas’ lustrous shadows, the mountain blazed with light.

The Pandavas stood transfixed, the rishis of the Badarikasrama, too: that hermitage was as bright as day. Then, all at once, the sky was full of vimanas and the winds were brilliant, as a host of Gods appeared in the sky. They were the guardians of the astras; Indra’s Devas and Rudra’s ganas and with them, brahmarishis seated on clouds, devarishis from Amravati, siddhas, charanas, noble rakshasas and gandharvas. The sky was full of music so sweet it was hard to endure.

A quaint figure draped in a wildflower garland, whose fragrance filled the asrama at Badari, stepped out from thin air before the Pandavas. He plucked lightly on the vina he carried in his hand and a song brimmed on his lips. Arjuna stood like a stone, his palms folded to the astras.