Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling

Arc 3 - Astika - Chapter 4 - The Wager, The Ocean, and The Curse

Sauti continued:

Thus, I have recited to you the entire tale of how Amṛta was churned from the Ocean of Milk, and how on that celestial occasion emerged the wondrous horse Uccaiḥśravā, possessed of unmatched beauty and unsurpassed prowess, honored by gods and immortals alike.

It was concerning this steed that a fateful dialogue took place between the two sisters, Kadru, and Vinatā—mothers of the Nāgas and Garuda respectively.

One day, beholding the radiant horse descending like a comet across the sky, Kadru turned to her sister and posed a curious question.

Kadru said:

"Tell me, O amiable sister, with grace in your voice,

Of what hue is the tail of that prince among horses?

Speak quickly and surely—let not the moment pass."

To this, Vinatā, ever confident, replied:

Vinatā said:

"Bright is his body, resplendent with light—

And white, O sister, is the tail of that steed.

There is no doubt in me. What say you in return?"

Then Kadru, smiling with a glint in her eye, gave her answer:

Kadru said:

"Nay, dear sister, the horse’s tail is black.

Let us wager upon it, for truth will be seen.

She who errs in her answer shall be the slave of the other—

Let this be our bond, O sweet-voiced Vinatā."

Thus was a wager set between the two celestial sisters—one born of pride, the other of cunning. The seed of bondage and liberation was sown with but a single glance at the tail of a steed.

Thus, having set a wager for servitude, the two sisters, Kadru and Vinatā, returned to their respective abodes, intent on verifying the color of Uccaiḥśravā’s tail the next morning. But Kadru, determined to win by deception, summoned her thousand snake sons and gave them a cunning command.

Kadru said:

"O my sons, strong of poison and swift in coil,

Transform yourselves this very night

Into black hairs fine and slender,

And cover the horse’s tail entirely.

Let not my sister claim the victory,

For servitude shall never be mine."

But the serpents, proud and willful, refused to obey their mother’s deceitful command. Enraged beyond measure, Kadru cursed her own sons.

Kadru cried out in wrath:

"You defy your mother’s word,

Proud serpents of my womb—

Then may you perish in the flames

Of Janamejaya’s mighty snake sacrifice,

When Agni shall rise to devour you all!"

The sound of that curse echoed through the heavens and reached the ears of Brahmā, the Grandsire of all. Moved by the gravity of her words and the proliferation of snakes across the earth, he contemplated their destiny.

Seeing their venomous nature, immense strength, and their ceaseless aggression toward other creatures, the Grandsire deemed the curse of Kadru just and timely, ordained by fate itself. For those who delight in bringing death, fate often brings death as justice.

Thus, with the agreement of the gods, Kadru’s curse was sanctioned, and the course of destiny flowed onward.

Then Brahmā called unto him the sage Kaśyapa, the father of the snakes, and spoke words of divine assurance:

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Brahmā said:

"Grieve not, O wise Kaśyapa, for thy serpent sons.

Fierce are they, filled with venom and wrath,

Dangerous to gods, men, beasts, and birds.

The sacrifice of the king shall be their end,

Ordained long ago for the world’s good.

But I shall grant thee knowledge deep—

Of antidotes, of herbs, of healing lore,

So that not all shall perish, and balance be restored."

Thus comforted, Kaśyapa received from the Grandsire the sacred knowledge of neutralizing poison, a lore that would one day shape the fate of men and serpents alike.

Sauti said:

Then, when the night had passed away and the sun rose bright in the morning sky, O thou whose wealth is asceticism, the two sisters—Kadru and Vinita—driven by the eagerness of their wager regarding slavery, set out with great haste to behold the celestial steed Uccaiḥśravā more closely.

On their journey, their eyes fell upon the vast and wondrous Ocean, the mighty Śīra Sāgara, the receptacle of all waters. It stretched endlessly before them, deep and immense, its surface heaving with waves that roared like thunder and rolled in tumultuous cadence. It was filled with monstrous aquatic beasts, creatures so immense they could swallow a whale whole—mākaras, timiṅgilas, and beings of terrifying forms in thousands.

Dark, vast, and terrible, it was inaccessible to man and beast alike, guarded by dread leviathans and swarming with crocodiles and tortoises. It was a mine of every kind of gem, home to Varuṇa, the deity of the sea, and a splendid, mysterious dwelling for the Nāgas, lords of the nether realms. It cradled within it the subterranean fire, and offered sanctuary to the Asuras when driven from heaven. It was revered by the gods and feared by all living creatures, a holy abyss whose unfathomable depths held nectar and mystery alike.

Tremendous whirlpools spiraled in its depths, stirred by the waxing and waning of the moon. The wind danced upon its surface, raising waves like the arms of a maddened dancer. It was from this very ocean that the conch Pāñcajanya, carried by Lord Vāsudeva, had once emerged.

In ages past, it had been agitated by Govinda himself, when in the form of a wild boar he had churned its depths to raise the submerged earth—its floor deeper than even the nethermost realms. So deep was the ocean that the great ascetic Atri, resolute in his vows, could not fathom its bottom even after meditating upon it for a hundred years.

At the end of each cosmic cycle, it becomes the bed of Viṣṇu, the lotus-naveled one, when that immeasurable deity enters yoga-nidrā, the meditative sleep from which the next creation shall rise.

It is the refuge of the golden mountain Maināka, cast into its depths to escape Indra’s thunderbolt. It is the resting place of defeated Asuras, the battlefield-vanquished, and the offerer of waters as ghee to the blazing mouth of Vādavā, the submarine mare of fire.

Immeasurable, infinite, and sublime, it stands as the lord of all rivers, and its sacred waters are both origin and end of life itself.

And as Kadru and Vinita stood upon the shore, they beheld that mighty ocean, and they saw how to it rushed rivers by the thousands, mighty and impetuous, each one swollen with pride and speed like amorous suitors racing toward their beloved. Each river, grand and fierce, sought to be the first to meet the ocean’s embrace, pressing onward, forestalling the others, and vanishing into its vastness.

They saw that though rivers poured into it without end, it was always full, yet never overflowing, ever dancing in its waves, alive with ceaseless motion. Its depths teemed with fierce whales and makaras, monstrous beings that dwelt where light does not reach.

A terrible symphony rose from its belly, as if the aquatic creatures themselves sang out in roaring chorus. And they saw that the ocean was wide as space, stretching to the very horizon, unfathomable and without end, a mirror of the heavens and the grand reservoir from which all waters flow and to which all waters return.

Thus stood the two sisters, beholding the sovereign of seas—the eternal Śīra Sāgara, whose greatness none could measure.

The Nagas, fearful of their mother Kadru’s wrath and moved by the desire to regain her favor, gathered in urgent consultation. Knowing well her terrible temper and the power of her curse, they reasoned among themselves:

"If our mother is disappointed in her wager, she may withdraw her affection and cast us into ruin by her curse. But if we obey her now and she is pleased, she may forgive us and revoke our doom."

Thus resolved, they agreed unanimously, "We shall certainly render the horse's tail black." And so, using their powers of illusion and transformation, the Nagas slithered silently to the dwelling of Uccaiḥśravā.

And it is said that they coiled themselves, slender and numerous, and became the black hairs of the horse's tail, disguising themselves so perfectly that none could perceive the deception.

Thus, did they fulfill their mother’s deceitful scheme.

Now the two co-wives, having laid the wager, O best of Brahmanas, the daughters of Daksha—Kadru and Vinita—set out together in high spirits to verify the truth of their bet. Rising swiftly into the sky, they journeyed toward the far shore of the Śīra Sāgara, the Ocean of Milk.

As they soared through the heavens, they gazed upon the vast and mighty Ocean, the eternal reservoir of waters, profound and immeasurable, agitated suddenly by gusts of powerful wind and roaring like a thousand thunders. It rolled and churned, filled with fierce makaras and whales, creatures so immense they could swallow even the whale itself.

The waters surged with terrifying forms—monsters terrible to behold, of various shapes and immense power, moving in the inaccessible depths. It was a mine of every kind of gem, the shining abode of Varuṇa, and the wondrous dwelling of the Nāgas. It held within it the subterranean fire, and served as the secret retreat of the Asuras and other fearsome beings.

This ocean that knows no decay, whose waters are aromatic and sacred, was revered as the great source of Amṛta, the nectar of the gods. It was immeasurable, inconceivable, filled to the brim by the descent of thousands of mighty rivers rushing into it, each seeming to dance in waves of joyous motion. Vast as the very expanse of the heavens, it glowed from within with the light of subterranean flames, and resounded with the deafening cries of its aquatic denizens.

Roiling with waves, unending in grandeur, sacred in essence, and crowned with the majesty of creation itself—the sisters passed over it swiftly, borne by their divine power.

Having crossed the vast and roaring ocean, Kadru, swift as thought, descended along with her sister Vinita near the steed of heavenly birth—Uccaiḥśravā, that lord of horses, white-bodied and radiant as the rays of the full moon.

Together they beheld the wondrous stallion, its limbs gleaming with celestial brilliance. But lo—upon its tail were black hairs, many and unmistakable, weaving a shadow into the horse’s otherwise gleaming whiteness. Kadru, triumphant and smiling, claimed her victory.

Thus did Vinita, who had staked her freedom upon her word, become a slave to her sister, and sank into sorrow, her heart burdened with regret and grief. Bound by the terms of her wager, she entered into servitude, and Kadru, proud of her deception and the obedience of her sons, now held her sister under her command.