novelraw Arc 3 - Kairata and Indralokagamana Parva - Chapter 1 - Arjuna meets the Kairata
Arc 3 - Kairata and Indralokagamana Parva - Chapter 1 - Arjuna meets the Kairata
Janamejaya said:
“O illustrious one, tell me in detail how Arjuna, that tiger among men, gained the divine weapons. How did Dhanañjaya, mighty-armed and unshaken, enter the solitary forest without fear? What did he do while dwelling there? How were the great Sthāṇu and the Lord of the Celestials pleased by him? O best of the brāhmaṇas, recount to me also that wondrous battle fought between Arjuna and Bhava—so marvellous that the hearts of even the Pāṇḍava lions trembled with awe, joy, and a sense of their own smallness. I know of no deed of Jishnu that is blameworthy, even in the smallest measure; therefore, O sage, tell me this story in full.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
“O king, hear then an excellent and unparalleled narration—how the son of Indra met the three-eyed Lord of Lords, and touched the person of that illustrious god.
At Yudhiṣṭhira’s command, Dhanañjaya of immeasurable prowess set forth from Kāmyaka to behold both Śakra, the chief of the celestials, and Śaṅkara, the god of gods. He armed himself with his celestial bow and a sword with a golden hilt, and with a calm mind fixed upon his purpose, set out toward the northern heights of Himavat. Alone, he entered a fearsome forest, thick with thorns and brambles, rich with flowers and fruits of every kind, echoing with the cries of countless birds, roamed by beasts of every species, and frequented by Siddhas and Cāraṇas.
When the son of Kuntī stepped into that unpeopled wilderness, the heavens resounded with the music of conchs and drums. From the sky descended showers of blossoms, and clouds drifted overhead, casting a cool and holy shade. Passing through difficult wooded lands at the feet of the great mountains, Arjuna came to the bosom of Himavat, and there for a time he shone in the splendour of his austerities.
He beheld trees heavy with green foliage, their boughs alive with the song of birds; rivers of crystal and lapis currents, broken by fierce eddies, where swans, ducks, and cranes called to each other; banks fragrant with flowers, where male kōkila sang in chorus with peacocks. In this paradise of mountain and stream, Arjuna, delighted, set himself to his penance.
Clad in grass rags and black deerskin, staff in hand, he lived first on withered leaves fallen to the ground. In the first month he ate fruit only once in three days; in the second, once in six; in the third, once a fortnight. When the fourth month came, the strong-armed Pāṇḍava subsisted on air alone. With arms upraised, leaning on nothing, standing on the tips of his toes, he performed his tapas, and his locks, bathed in river waters, shone like lightning or the lotus.
Then the great ṛṣis, seeing the fierce heat of his penance, went together to the Lord of the Pināka and spoke:
“O God of Gods, this son of Pṛthā is engaged upon
The most arduous austerities upon Himavat’s breast.
The earth smokes about him with the heat of his tapas,
And we know not the purpose that drives him thus.
Yet his striving troubles us—restrain him, O Śaṅkara!”
Hearing them, the husband of Umā, the Lord of all creatures, replied:
“Grieve not for Pārtha, O holy ones—
I know the desire within his heart.
He seeks not heaven, nor wealth, nor long life;
This very day I shall fulfil his wish.”
The truth-speaking ṛṣis, gladdened by these words of Maheśvara, bowed to him and returned each to his own abode.
Vaiśampāyana said:
After the great ascetics had departed, the wielder of the Pināka—Hara, cleanser of all sins—took upon himself the form of a mighty Kirāta. He shone like a golden tree under the morning sun, his form huge and unshakable as Mount Meru, bearing a handsome bow and arrows like venomous serpents, his whole being a living flame. At his side walked Umā, disguised as a Kirāta woman, and with them came a merry host of spirits in manifold forms, clad in the garb of mountain-dwellers, and thousands of women adorned in the same wild attire.
With their coming, the breast of Himavat blazed with a strange beauty. The forest grew still: the murmur of springs and streams, the calls of birds—all fell silent. As the Lord of gods drew near to Pṛthā’s spotless son, he beheld a wondrous sight—a dānava named Muka, wearing the shape of a wild boar, rushing to slay Arjuna.
Phālguna, seeing the beast charge, seized the Gāṇḍīva and arrows swift as death, stringing his bow till the air thrummed.
“I have done thee no harm,” he called to the boar,
“Yet thou seekest my life—therefore I send thee to Yama’s hall!”
But even as he aimed, Śaṅkara in his Kirāta guise spoke sharply:
“The boar, dark as Indrakīla’s slope,
Was first my mark—stay thy hand!”
Ignoring the words, Arjuna loosed his shaft; at the same moment, the blazing Kirāta loosed his own, a bolt like fire and thunder. The two arrows struck together upon the boar’s iron-hard hide, thundering like Indra’s bolt and storm-clouds crashing upon a mountain’s breast. Stricken, Muka yielded his life and took again his dreadful rākṣasa form.
Then Jishnu beheld the stranger before him—golden as a god, clad as a mountain-hunter, ringed by many women. With joy and a touch of challenge, he addressed him:
“Who art thou, roaming this wild,
Surrounded by women in so fearsome a forest?
Why didst thou shoot the beast I had marked?
That rākṣasa came to slay me—
He was mine to strike, and so thou shalt not leave here alive.
This is not the law of the chase, O mountaineer;
For such affront, I take thy life.”
The Kirāta, smiling, replied in gentle tones:
“O hero, fear not for me—
These forests are our proper home.
But thou—delicate, splendid as fire—
Why dwell alone in this harsh solitude?
We who are hunters range these woods rich with game,
Yet thou, armed and bright, seemest a stranger here.”
Arjuna answered with pride:
“Leaning on Gāṇḍīva and arrows that blaze like fire,
I live in this forest like Agni himself.
Thou hast seen how this monster,
A rākṣasa in animal’s form,
Has fallen beneath my hand.”
The Kirāta replied with a voice deep as thunder:
“This rākṣasa, struck first by my shaft,
Fell and journeyed to Yama’s halls by my hand.
He was mine to aim at, mine to slay—
Thy boast is hollow, O proud one.
Impute not thy fault to another;
Thou art in the wrong, and for it, thy life shall end.
Stay, and I shall send at thee arrows like thunderbolts.
Match me, if thou canst, and let thy best shafts
Fly swift toward my heart!”
At these words, Arjuna’s eyes flashed with anger. He raised the Gāṇḍīva and loosed a torrent of arrows upon the mountain hunter. The Kirāta, however, received each shaft upon his body as though they were but gentle rain, smiling as he called out again and again:
“Wretch, wretch—
Loose thy keenest arrows, those that pierce to the vitals!
Show me all the fire thy hands can summon!”
Thus provoked, Dhanañjaya’s fury grew, and he poured his arrows in a relentless storm, each shaft swift and deadly as a serpent of burning venom. Yet Śaṅkara, the wielder of the Pināka, bore that downpour with unshaken joy, standing firm as a peak of the Himavat. Not a wound marred him; not a step did he yield.
Arjuna’s wonder deepened, and he murmured to himself:
“Excellent—excellent! Who is this mountaineer,
Delicate in limb yet unshaken by the Gāṇḍīva’s wrath?
Is he Rudra himself, or some other god—
A Yakṣa, an asura, or a being of the hidden worlds?
The heights of the Himavat sometimes know the tread of the divine;
None but the Lord of the trident could endure my bow’s fury.
Yet be he god or spirit, save Rudra alone,
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I shall send him to Yama with my shafts.”
With this thought, the son of Pṛthā unleashed arrows by the hundred, bright as the rays of the sun. But the Lord of all creatures endured them as a mountain bears the fall of rocks. Soon Arjuna’s quivers lay empty. Alarm stirred in his breast, and he remembered Agni, who in the burning of Khāṇḍava had gifted him inexhaustible quivers.
“Alas! My arrows are spent—what now shall I shoot?
Who is this being who swallows the Gāṇḍīva’s wrath?
I will slay him with the bow’s own end,
As an elephant is felled by a lance,
And send him to the realm of the mace-bearing Yama!”
Seizing his bow by the string, Arjuna dragged the Kirāta close and rained blows upon him, each stroke as fierce as a thunderclap. But the mountaineer, swift as thought, wrenched the celestial bow from his grasp. Bereft of his weapon, Arjuna drew his sword and rushed forward, resolved to end the combat. With all the strength of his arms, he brought the blade down upon the Kirāta’s head—a stroke that might have cleft even living rock.
But that first of swords, meeting the crown of the Kirāta, shivered into splinters. Undaunted, Pārtha seized trees and stones from the forest and hurled them with the strength of a tempest. Yet the mighty Lord, still wearing the guise of a great hunter, endured that pelting of trunks and boulders as a mountain bears the storm.
His wrath now smoking from his lips, the son of Pṛthā closed in and struck the invincible Kirāta with clenched fists, each blow descending like Indra’s own thunderbolt. The Lord, matching force with force, returned each strike with equal might. The clash of their blows rang through the mountains like the meeting of cloud and storm, terrible as the ancient battle of Vṛtra and Vāsava.
Then Jishnu, in a sudden surge, clasped the Kirāta and pressed him hard against his breast, but the Lord, strong beyond measure, crushed the Pāṇḍava in his arms. So great was the force of their embrace that smoke rose from their straining bodies, as if embers glowed beneath. The god of gods, striking with his full power, overwhelmed the already battered Pārtha, and in his divine grip the son of Kuntī lost all sense and strength. His limbs bruised and torn, he fell motionless to the earth, breathless, as if life had fled.
After a time, breath returned to him. Rising slowly, his body wet with blood, grief filled his heart. Bowing in his mind to the great Lord of Lords, he shaped a humble image of clay and adorned it with garlands of forest flowers. But when he looked again, he saw the same garland resting upon the crown of the Kirāta before him. Wonder dawned in his eyes, and joy, and he knew the truth. Falling prostrate at the feet of the Lord, he offered reverence.
Hara, seeing the devotion in Pārtha’s heart and the marks of long austerity upon his frame, spoke in a voice deep as the thunder over mountains:
“O Phālguna, I am pleased with thee.
Thy act is without equal; no kṣatriya lives
Who matches thee in courage and patience.
Thy strength and thy prowess stand near to mine.
Behold me now in my own form, O bull of the Bhāratas,
For I shall grant thee sight and favour.
Thou wast a ṛṣi in another birth;
Thou shalt conquer all foes, even those that dwell in heaven.
Since I am pleased with thee,
I shall give thee my irresistible weapon—
Soon thou shalt wield it as thine own.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Then Pārtha beheld him—Mahādeva, the god of blazing splendour, wielder of the mighty Pināka, dweller upon the snowy heights of Kailāsa—standing resplendent, with Umā by his side. At that vision, the conqueror of cities bent one knee, bowed his head, and worshipped the great Lord, seeking his grace.
And Arjuna spoke in a voice of deep reverence:
“O Kapardin, crowned with matted locks,
O chief of all the gods, destroyer of Bhaga’s eyes,
O three-eyed Lord, refuge of all the worlds—
I know thee as the Cause of causes.
From thee the universe has sprung;
none among devas, asuras, or mortals can vanquish thee.
Thou art Śiva in the form of Viṣṇu, and Viṣṇu in the form of Śiva.
Thou didst shatter the great sacrifice of Dakṣa in ages past.
O Sarva, wielder of the trident,
bearer of the Pināka, blazing as the sun,
Creator and destroyer, purest of the pure—
I bow to thee!
Lord of the Gaṇas, source of all blessing,
Cause behind all causes,
higher than the highest, subtler than the subtlest—
pardon my fault, O Śaṅkara.
To behold thee I came to this sacred mountain,
thy beloved seat, haunt of the greatest ṛṣis.
Worshipped by the worlds,
I adore thee for thy grace.
Let not this combat born of my ignorance
be counted against me—
O Śaṅkara, I seek thy protection;
forgive me all I have done.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
The great Lord, sign-marked by the bull, mighty in power, took Arjuna’s hands within his own, and smiling, said, “I have pardoned thee.” Then the illustrious Hara, clasping the son of Pṛthā in his arms, spoke again, his voice warm with affection, to console him.
Mahādeva said:
“In a former age thou wert Nara,
eternal companion of Nārāyaṇa.
At Badarī didst thou perform
fierce austerities for thousands of years.
In thee, O son of Pṛthā, and in Viṣṇu—
first among beings—dwelleth immeasurable might.
Ye two uphold the worlds by your strength;
together ye chastised the Dānavas
at the coronation of Indra,
wielding the great bow whose twang
is the roar of the storm-cloud.
Even this Gāṇḍīva is that very bow,
fit for thy hands alone;
I took it from thee by māyā.
These two quivers, inexhaustible as before,
I now restore to thee.
Thy frame shall know neither pain nor sickness;
thy prowess shall not be baffled.
I am pleased—
ask now the boon thy heart desires.
In all the heavens there is none to match thee,
nor among kṣatriyas one above thee.”
Arjuna bowed low and answered:
“O Lord whose sign is the bull,
if thou art pleased to grant my wish,
then give me, O Mahādeva,
that fierce celestial weapon of thine—
the Brahmaśira,
whose might at the end of the yuga
dissolves the universe.
By thy grace may I wield it in the dread battle
against Karṇa, Bhīṣma, Kṛpa, and Droṇa;
may it burn the hosts of dānavas, rākṣasas,
evil spirits, piśācas, gandharvas, and nāgas.
When hurled with mantra,
may it summon a thousand darts,
maces grim, and serpentine arrows of poison.
With it may I stand against those masters of war,
and, blessed by thee, prevail.”
Then Bhava replied:
“O mighty son of Pāṇḍu,
I shall give thee my beloved Pāśupata,
for thou art able to bear, to hurl, and to recall it.
Neither Indra, nor Yama,
nor the king of the yakṣas,
nor Varuṇa, nor Vāyu know it—
how then could mortals?
But heed well my word:
it must not be cast without grave cause,
for loosed against one of little might
it may unmake the worlds.
No being in the three realms,
moving or still, can withstand it.
It may be sped by thought,
by the glance, by the word, or by the bow.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Hearing the words of the great Lord, the son of Pṛthā purified himself, casting away all distractions. With mind steady, body stilled, and senses withdrawn, he approached Maheśvara and, bowing with reverence, said, “Instruct me.”
Then Mahādeva, Lord of the Universe, revealed to that best of the Pāṇḍavas the secret of the Pāśupata—terrible as Yama’s own embodiment—teaching him the mantras for its hurling and its recall, the disciplines that guard its use, and the power it holds over every moving and unmoving being in the three worlds. From that moment, the mighty weapon stood by Arjuna’s side as it had once stood by Śaṅkara, the Lord of Umā. Gladly did Arjuna receive it, his heart alight with wonder.
At the instant of its bestowal, the whole earth trembled—mountains shook, forests shivered, oceans heaved, and cities echoed with a sound like the beating of a million drums. From all quarters came the roar of conches and the clash of celestial trumpets. Tempests rose, hurling whirlwinds into the sky. And the gods and dānavas alike beheld that dread weapon, embodied in terrible form, standing guard beside the son of Pāṇḍu whose energy knew no bounds.
By the touch of the Three-Eyed One,
all taint was driven from Pārtha’s body.
His limbs grew resplendent as gold,
his spirit shone clear as crystal.
Then the great Lord commanded:
“Go now, O Arjuna,
and tread the path to heaven.”
Arjuna bowed low, worshipping the Master of all worlds, gazing with folded hands upon him whose radiance no mortal eye can bear. Bhava—blazing in splendour, dwelling on snow-clad heights, husband of Umā, master of desire, fountain of every blessing—placed in the hands of that foremost of men the great bow Gāṇḍīva, destroyer of dānavas and piśācas alike.
Then the Lord of gods, leaving the blessed mountain with its white plateaus, deep valleys, and cave-sanctuaries beloved of the sky-roaming ṛṣis, rose upward into the heavens with Umā beside him, vanishing from sight while Arjuna stood watching, his heart filled with reverence and triumph.
Vaiśampāyana said:
The wielder of the Pināka, bearing the bull as his emblem, vanished before the eyes of the watching son of Pāṇḍu, even as the sun sinks from the sight of the world at day’s end. Arjuna, slayer of hostile heroes, stood in wonder, his heart filled with exultation.
“I have seen the great Lord of gods.
Blessed indeed am I, beyond measure favoured,
For I have touched with my hands
The Three-Eyed Hara, boon-giver, wielder of the Pināka.
Success is already mine,
My enemies already laid low,
My purposes already fulfilled.”
As the son of Pṛthā thus mused, radiant with immeasurable energy, there appeared Varuṇa, the god of waters—handsome, gleaming with the lustre of lapis lazuli, accompanied by hosts of aquatic beings. Rivers male and female flowed in his train, along with serpentine Nāgas, mighty Dāityas, shining Sādhyas, and hosts of lesser deities. With his coming, the quarters of the sky blazed with watery splendour.
Then came the Lord of Treasures, golden-bodied Kubera, seated upon a car of dazzling radiance, attended by multitudes of Yakṣas. The very heavens brightened with his glory. And Yama, god of justice, destroyer of all worlds, son of the Sun, arrived in equal brilliance, bearing his terrible mace, accompanied by the Pitṛs—both embodied and disembodied. His coming was as the rising of a second sun at the end of the age, and with him came the hosts of Guhyakas, Gandharvas, and Nāgas.
And in that moment the illustrious Śakra descended, seated upon his celestial elephant Airāvata, with his queen beside him. A white umbrella cast its cool shade above his head, making him appear like the moon amidst fleecy clouds. Gandharvas sang his praises, Ṛṣis of blazing ascetic power hymned his glory, and the firmament shone with his light as he alighted upon a peak of the sacred mountain like a second sun
From the southern summit, Yama, wise and fully conversant with dharma, spoke in a voice deep as thunder:
“Arjuna, behold us—the guardians of the worlds—
We grant thee divine sight, for thou art worthy to behold us.
In a former life thou wast the Ṛṣi Nara of immeasurable soul,
The companion of Nārāyaṇa,
Born now among men at Brahmā’s command.
By thy hand shall the grandsire Bhīṣma,
Born of the Vasus, fall in battle.
By thy hand shall be shattered the fiery Kṣatriyas
Led by the son of Bharadvāja,
And the fierce dānavas born as men,
And the Nivātakavacas, dread among asuras.
By thy hand shall Karṇa,
Portion of my father Sūrya,
Meet his fate in battle.
All the incarnate powers of gods, dānavas, and rākṣasas
Shall be struck down by thee,
And rising from thy blows shall attain
The realms earned by their deeds.
Thy fame, O Pārtha, shall live for all time,
For thou hast pleased Maheśvara himself in combat.
With Viṣṇu, thou shalt lighten the burden of the earth.
Take now from me this mace,
My own weapon, irresistible to all beings—
With it thou shalt accomplish mighty deeds.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Then, O Janamejaya, the son of Pṛthā received from Yama that terrible mace—along with its sacred mantras, the rites of invocation, and the secret knowledge of its hurling and recall.
From the western peak, Varuṇa, lord of all waters, whose hue was deep as rain-laden clouds, spoke to Arjuna:
“O son of Pṛthā, foremost of kṣatriyas,
Engaged ever in the duty of thy order—behold me!
I am Varuṇa, lord of the seas and rivers.
Hurled by my will, my nooses none may resist.
Accept now these Varuṇa-weapons,
With their mantras, their rites, their hidden mastery.
With these I bound in battle,
For the sake of Tārakā, wife of Bṛhaspati,
Thousands of mighty dāityas.
Even if Yama himself were thy foe,
He could not escape their snare.
Armed with these, thou shalt stride the battlefield,
And the earth shall be emptied of kṣatriyas.”
Having spoken thus, Varuṇa placed in Arjuna’s hands the celestial nooses that bound without fail, and taught him their mysteries.
When Yama and Varuṇa had bestowed their weapons, the Lord of Treasures, Kuvera, whose shining city crowns the heights of Kailāsa, addressed the son of Pāṇḍu:
“O mighty-armed Pārtha, wise and steadfast,
I too am pleased with thee.
This meeting brings me joy
Equal to beholding Kṛṣṇa himself.
Thou wert a god in ages past,
Eternal as we are;
In ancient kalpas thou didst perform austerities beside us.
Now, accept from me an excellent weapon—
The Antardhāna, my chosen treasure.
It lulls to sleep the hosts of foes;
With it did Maheśvara smite the asuras
When Tripura fell,
Consuming countless mighty warriors.
Endued with the majesty of Meru,
Thou art fit to bear it.”
The Kuru prince, strong as a lion, received with reverence that sleep-bringing weapon, radiant with Kuvera’s own splendour.
Then the Lord of the Thousand Eyes, Śakra, chief of the celestials, spoke to the son of Pṛthā in a voice like the deep roll of clouds or the thunder of a kettledrum:
“O mighty-armed son of Kuntī,
Thou art an ancient god returned to earth.
Thy success is already high, thy station already divine;
Yet the work of the gods is not yet done.
Thou must ascend to heaven, O subduer of foes.
Therefore make ready.
My own chariot, with Mātali as charioteer,
Shall soon descend to bear thee hence.
There, in my realm,
I shall grant thee all my celestial weapons.”
Beholding those Protectors of the Worlds gathered upon the shining heights of Himavat, Dhanañjaya, son of Kuntī, marveled greatly. Endued with vast energy, he approached the assembled Lokapālas with reverence, offering them words of praise, clear water, and the fruits of the mountain.
The celestials, in turn, accepted his homage with gracious hearts, and returning his worship, they departed—each to his own divine domain. Moving with the swiftness of thought and the freedom of the wind, the gods vanished from that holy peak, resuming their stations in the heavens.
Then Arjuna, that bull among men, having received such weapons from the hands of the immortals, stood radiant with joy. His heart was filled as one whose long quest had been crowned with success, and he knew himself to be a warrior fully prepared for the battles to come.