novelraw Arc 3 - Kairata and Indralokagamana Parva - Chapter 2 - Arjuna Travels to the Realm of Indra
Arc 3 - Kairata and Indralokagamana Parva - Chapter 2 - Arjuna Travels to the Realm of Indra
Vaisampāyana said:
After the Lokapālas had departed, Arjuna—the slayer of hostile hosts—turned his thoughts to the chariot of Indra. Even as Gudākeśa, gifted with keen intelligence, pondered upon it, there appeared in the heavens that radiant car, guided by Mātali, cleaving the clouds as it came. Its approach illuminated the sky and filled the vault of heaven with a rattle deep and resonant as the roar of thunder-laden clouds.
Upon it were arrayed swords and terrible missiles, maces of fearsome shape, winged darts of celestial sheen, lightnings of blinding brightness, and thunderbolts that could shatter mountains. There were engines fitted with wheels, propelled by the force of the air, each producing a roar as of a tempest among the clouds. Fierce, vast-bodied serpents with blazing mouths coiled upon the car, while heaps of stones, white as banks of snow-clouds, were stored within it.
Ten thousand steeds of golden hue, swift as the wind and gleaming like molten sunlight, drew that chariot. So great was its illusion-born swiftness that the eye could scarce follow its flight. Upon it waved the blazing banner Vaijayanta—straight as the bamboo, its surface green as the emerald or blue as the lotus, decked with gold and radiant as a streak of lightning.
Seated upon the car was a charioteer adorned with gold, and Arjuna, beholding him, knew it for a vehicle of the immortals. As he stood in wonder, Mātali descended from the car, bent low in salutation, and spoke in a voice clear as a conch’s call:
“O fortunate son of Śakra! The Lord of a hundred sacrifices himself desires to behold thee. Ascend without delay this car which Indra has sent. Thy father, the chief of the immortals, has commanded me: ‘Bring the son of Kuntī here, that the gods may gaze upon him.’ Śaṅkara himself, attended by celestials, Ṛṣis, Gandharvas, and Apsarases, awaits thee. At the bidding of the subduer of Pāka, come now to the region of the gods. When thy purpose is fulfilled, thou shalt return, bearing weapons.”
Arjuna replied:
“O Mātali, ascend thou first this wondrous car, for it is not one that can be attained even by hundreds of Rājasūya or Aśvamedha sacrifices. Not even kings of vast wealth, who have performed great rites with lavish gifts, nor gods nor Dānavas themselves, are fit to ride in it. Without the merit of austerity, a man is not worthy to behold, to touch, far less to ascend this chariot. When thou hast mounted and the steeds stand still, I shall set foot upon it—as a righteous man steps upon the straight road of virtue.”
Vaisampāyana continued:
Mātali, the charioteer of Śakra, hearing the words of Arjuna, swiftly mounted the celestial car and steadied the golden steeds. Then the son of Kuntī, his heart light with gladness, descended to the sacred waters of Gaṅgā and bathed, purifying himself. Standing in the cool current, he silently repeated his daily prayers as prescribed by ordinance, and, with due reverence, offered libations of water to the Pitṛs.
Then, turning to the towering Mandara—the king of mountains—he spoke as one bidding farewell to a venerable friend:
O mountain, refuge of sages, crowned with the shrines of the gods,
Thy shoulders bear the chants of the Vedas, thy slopes are robed in light.
Here have I tasted thy fruits, here have I drunk thy waters sweet as amṛta,
And slept, as a child in his father’s arms, upon thy sunlit breast.
“Through thy grace,” he said, “the pure-hearted rise to heaven; upon thy heights dwell holy hermitages, and in thy glens are sung the hymns of immortality. Happily have I walked thy tablelands, wandered through thy bowers, and knelt at thy sacred shrines. I have quenched my thirst in thy clear streams and rested where the voices of Apsarases mingle with the murmur of the wind. O Mandara, may thy glory be eternal.”
Thus speaking, the slayer of hostile hosts—radiant as the midday sun—ascended the celestial chariot. The Kuru prince, rich in intelligence and courage, rose into the firmament, borne by steeds swifter than the wind, coursing in a car blazing with its own light.
No sun nor moon nor fire burned there—
Yet all space shone with the light of tapas.
The stars that gleam small to mortal sight
Stood vast and splendid in their own stations.
Before him stretched countless chariots of unearthly beauty, and in all directions shone realms of the blessed—royal sages crowned with the perfection of their vows, warriors who had fallen in righteous battle, ascetics of fierce penance, Gandharvas blazing like suns, Guhyakas, Ṛṣis, and hosts of Apsarases moving in radiant throngs.
Marvelling at their splendour, Arjuna turned to Mātali. The charioteer replied with joy:
“These, O son of Pṛthā, are the virtuous, dwelling in the realms their deeds have won. These are the lights thou didst see from earth as stars.”
Passing onward, Pārtha beheld at the gates of Indra’s realm the mighty Airāvata, the four-tusked elephant, resplendent as Kailāsa with its jewelled peaks.
Through the path of the Siddhas he journeyed,
Like Mandhātṛ of ancient fame;
Lotus-eyed, lion-hearted,
He came at last to Amarāvatī, the city of the gods.
Vaisampāyana said:
The city of Śakra that Arjuna beheld was a place of delight, thronged by Siddhas and Cāraṇas, adorned with blossoms of every season and trees of every sacred kind. Among them lay the gardens of Nandana, where the Apsarases wandered, their laughter mingling with the hum of bees. Fragrant breezes, heavy with the golden dust of celestial pollen, moved through flowering boughs as if to greet the son of Pṛthā in welcome.
O realm that none may behold without the fire of tapas in their heart,
O gate that opens only to the vow-keeper, the sacrificer, the fearless in battle—
Here no law-breaker may tread, nor they who have shunned the rites of the Vedas;
Here walk only the pure, the generous, the steadfast in dharma.
Through these perfumed paths Arjuna passed, beholding thousands of chariots that moved at the will of their masters, gliding like thoughts across the air. Ten thousand more stood in ordered ranks, gleaming with inlaid gems. The breezes that fanned him bore the scents of blossoms never fading, while Apsarases and Gandharvas poured forth songs of praise. From all sides rose the music of conches and the deep rumble of drums, mingled with the voices of bards and sages chanting the hymns of Ṛk and Yajus.
At the command of Śakra, Arjuna walked the starry way called Suravīthi. There he met the Sādhyas, the Viśvas, the Maruts, the twin Aśvins, the Ādityas, the Vasus, the Rudras, and the Brahmarṣis of unfading brilliance. Royal ṛṣis stood among them with King Dilīpa at their head. He beheld also Tumburu and Nārada, and the Gandharva lords Haha and Huhu. To each he offered salutation; to each his greeting was returned.
Last of all he saw the chief of the immortals—the wielder of the thunderbolt—his father, the chastiser of Pāka. A white umbrella, shafted in gold, shaded the thousand-eyed god, and cool airs from a perfumed cāmara played upon him. Gandharvas headed by Viśvāvasu sang his praise, while Brāhmaṇas chanted the hymns that uphold heaven.
The mighty son of Kuntī bowed to the ground, and Indra, smiling, drew him into his embrace. Taking Arjuna’s hand, he seated him upon a portion of his own sacred throne, revered by gods and sages alike. The king of the celestials, fragrant and resplendent, bent to inhale the scent of his son’s hair; then, moved by affection, he placed Arjuna upon his lap.
Like two suns in one firmament, like moon and sun on the dark fortnight’s fourteenth night,
Father and son together shone, filling the hall with a splendour that knew no waning.
Indra’s gaze lingered, drinking in the sight; the more he looked, the more his heart was glad,
And Arjuna, lotus-eyed, shone there like a second Vāsava reborn.
The wielder of the thunderbolt, running his marked hands—scarred with the sign of the vajra—over Arjuna’s golden, bow-drawn arms, marvelled at their strength and grace. Around them, Tumburu and his band of Gandharvas sang sweet hymns, both sacred and profane.
Then came the Apsarases in their thousands—Ghṛtācī, Menakā, Rambhā, Pūrvacitti, Svayamprabhā, Ūrvaśī, Miśrakeśī, Dandagaurī, Varuthinī, Gopālī, Sahajanyā, Kumbhayonī, Prajāgarā, Citraseṇā, Citralekhā, Sahā, Madhurasvanā—each adorned with lotus eyes, slender waists, and broad hips. They danced in intricate patterns, their full breasts swaying, their glances stealing the steadfastness of the most resolute ascetic.
O music that melts the marrow, O steps that shake the firm resolve,
O eyes like moonlit lakes that draw the heart as the tide draws the sea—
Even the sages who have stood unmoved in storm and flame
Might falter here, where beauty itself becomes a weapon.
Vaisampāyana said:
The gods and Gandharvas, perceiving the will of Śakra, hastened to prepare a splendid arghya and to honour the son of Pṛthā. They brought pure water to wash his feet and face, then led him within the radiant palace of Indra. There, thus worshipped according to celestial rite, Jishnu remained in the abode of his father, learning each day the use of heavenly weapons and the mantras for their recall. From Indra’s own hands he received the thunderbolt—Vajra, irresistible in its might—together with the roaring bolts of lightning whose coming is heralded by stormclouds and the ecstatic dance of peacocks beneath the rain.
O weapons born of the storm,
whose roar shakes the bones of Daityas,
whose flash blinds the eyes of the proud,
you came into the grasp of Arjuna,
as rivers flow to the ocean’s call.
Though crowned with celestial arms, Arjuna’s heart turned often to his brothers on earth. Yet, at the command of Indra, he dwelt five full years in Svarga, surrounded by splendour and ease.
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When the time was ripe, Śakra addressed him, saying, “O son of Kuntī, take now from Citraseṇa the knowledge of music and dance—arts that are not found among men but are cherished in the halls of the gods. This gift will serve thee well.” Then Purandara bestowed upon Arjuna the Gandharva-lord Citraseṇa as friend and companion, and the two dwelt together in joy.
Under Citraseṇa’s patient tutelage, Arjuna learned the full range of music—vocal and instrumental—and the intricate art of dance as known only to the Gandharvas. The sound of the vīṇā, the beat of celestial drums, the rise and fall of heavenly scales flowed through his hands and voice.
O music of heaven, that melts the heart yet sharpens the will,
O dance whose steps mirror the turning of the stars,
you entered the soul of the Pāṇḍava,
but found there a fire unquenched.
For even amidst song and splendour, Arjuna’s mind knew no true rest. The memory of Śakuni’s crooked dice, of Duḥśāsana’s foul hands upon Draupadī, burned within him. The thought of his brothers wandering the forests and of Kuntī’s patient suffering weighed upon his spirit. And so, though he mastered the myriad modes of music and the endless patterns of Gandharva dance, his heart still yearned for the day of reckoning.
Vaisampāyana said:
One day, perceiving that Arjuna’s eyes lingered upon Urvaśī, Vasava called Citraseṇa to his side and spoke to him privately. “O king of the Gandharvas, I am pleased with Arjuna. Go as my messenger to that foremost of Apsarases, Urvaśī, and bid her wait upon this tiger among men. Say to her: ‘Through my grace Arjuna has mastered all weapons and arts revered by gods and men. Now, as I have taught him the arts of war, so should you instruct him in the arts of gentle company and love.’”
Thus commanded, the chief of the Gandharvas at once set out to find Urvaśī. Seeing him approach, she greeted him with graceful welcome and honoured him with the courtesy befitting a guest. When they were seated at ease, he smiled and began to speak.
“O fair-hipped lady, know that I come as the envoy of the sole lord of heaven, who seeks a favour of you. The one I speak of is known among gods and men alike for his inborn virtues—his grace, his noble conduct, his beauty of form, his vows, his self-restraint. Renowned for strength and valour, respected by the righteous, quick of wit, rich in energy, gentle in forgiveness and free from malice, he has studied the four Vedas with their branches, the Upaniṣads, and the Purāṇas. Loyal to his teachers, possessed of the eight noble qualities, he is, by his birth, prowess, and youth, a protector fit for the very heavens, like Mahāvata himself.
A man without boast,
who honours all in measure,
whose sight pierces the smallest thing
as clearly as the great;
whose speech is sweet,
whose hand is generous in food and drink,
whose word is truth,
whose heart is without pride,
and who stands firm in promise—
such is Arjuna.
He equals Indra and Varuṇa in all desirable virtues. O Urvaśī, this hero is to taste the pleasures of heaven. At the command of Śakra, let him rest today at thy feet. Do this, O gracious one, for Dhanañjaya’s heart inclines to thee.”
Hearing this, Urvaśī of flawless beauty smiled. She received the Gandharva’s words with respect and replied warmly. “Hearing virtues such as you have described, I would bestow my favour upon any man who possessed them—how much more upon Arjuna! At Indra’s command, for friendship’s sake towards you, and moved by the virtues of Phālguna, I am already touched by Kāma’s arrow. Go, therefore, where you will; I shall gladly go to Arjuna.”
Vaisampāyana said:
Having sent away the Gandharva, successful in his mission, Urvaśī of radiant smiles was seized by longing for Phālguna. She bathed in scented waters, performed her ablutions with grace, and adorned herself with ornaments of dazzling gold and garlands steeped in celestial fragrance. Inflamed by Kāma’s power, her heart pierced through by the shafts of Manmatha, she thought only of Arjuna—his beauty filling her mind so completely that she imagined herself already sporting beside him upon a wide, luxurious couch draped in heavenly silk.
When twilight deepened and the moon ascended the sky, she set out for Arjuna’s mansion. Her crisp, soft, and flowing braids, adorned with fresh clusters of flowers, framed her moonlike face. Each step seemed to challenge the moon’s splendour, as the subtle play of her arched brows, the gentle cadence of her voice, and the radiance of her smile wove an enchantment about her.
Her bosoms, firm and finely tapering,
trembled with the rhythm of her walk,
their weight causing her to bend slightly,
waist curved in three graceful folds.
Her hips, broad as the base of a hill,
girdled in gold, wrapped in gossamer cloth,
seemed the very throne of the god of love—
capable of shaking even a sage’s vow.
Her feet, copper-bright, smooth-ankled,
with arches curved like the tortoise shell,
tinkled with rows of tiny bells,
each sound a whisper of temptation.
A flush warmed her cheeks—part from wine, part from desire. Moving in many alluring postures, her form expressing a quiet delight, she seemed fairer than ever. Though heaven teemed with wonders, the Siddhas, Cāraṇas, and Gandharvas gazing upon her found nothing more lovely than she. The upper half of her body was veiled in a fine, cloud-hued garment, so that she shone like a crescent moon half-hidden in drifting vapours. Swift as wind or thought, she reached the mansion of the son of Pāṇḍu.
At the gate, Urvaśī of the beautiful eyes sent word through the attendant, and upon receiving leave, entered that radiant palace. Yet when Arjuna beheld her at night in his chambers, his heart, far from swelling with desire, was stirred with unease. Rising quickly, he stepped forward in courtesy. From modesty he closed his eyes, and bowing, saluted her with folded hands.
“O foremost among the Apsarases,” he said, “I honour you by bowing my head. Speak, lady, and command me. I stand before you as your servant.”
Vaisampāyana continued:
Hearing the words of Phālguna, Urvaśī at first stood speechless, as though deprived of her senses. Regaining her composure, she approached Arjuna with eyes bright from longing, and spoke in a voice both tender and charged with desire. She told him all that had passed between herself and the Gandharva Citraśena.
Urvāśī said:
“In the great court of the immortals, when thou camest to Svarga, O son of Śakra, Mahendra summoned an assembly resplendent with beauty and music. There came the Rudras and Ādityas, the Aśvins, and the Vasus. Great Ṛṣis, royal sages, Siddhas, Cāraṇas, Yakṣas, and mighty Nāgas took their seats according to their rank and power.
The Gandharvas struck their vīṇās,
singing songs of celestial melody;
the Apsarases began to dance,
their anklets ringing like silver rain.
Amidst that splendour, O scion of the Kurus,
thy gaze fell upon me—
steady, unwavering, bright as a sunbeam—
and my heart was caught in its light.
When the court dispersed, the gods departed to their abodes. I too returned, yet the echo of thy eyes remained with me. Then Citraśena, sent by thy father, came to my dwelling and spoke these words:
‘O fairest one, Mahendra and I desire this—seek to please Arjuna,
who is brave as Indra in battle,
magnanimous, and without equal in virtue.’
Thus commanded by thy sire and drawn by thine own worth, I have come to thee. The god of love has already made me his captive. My heart is thine, O slayer of foes, and I have cherished this wish forever.”
Vaisampāyana continued:
Hearing her speak thus in the gardens of heaven, Arjuna, overwhelmed with modesty, closed his ears with both hands. His voice, when it came, was gentle yet firm.
Arjuna said:
“O blessed lady, shame upon these ears
that hear such words from thee!
Thou art to me as Kuntī my mother,
as Śacī, queen of Indra—
even so art thou in my eyes.
If I gazed upon thee in that assembly,
it was not from desire but from reverence.
For I thought within my heart—
‘Behold, here stands the mother of the Kaurava race.’
Therefore, O auspicious one,
cast away these thoughts,
for thou art superior even to my superiors,
being the parent of my lineage.”
Vaisampāyana continued:
Hearing Arjuna’s firm refusal, Urvāśī, her eyes bright with longing and voice heavy with passion, spoke again, her words tinged with both desire and indignation.
Urvāśī said:
“O son of the lord of heaven,
we Apsarases are free in our choice,
bound by no mortal law.
Think not of me as thy superior—
for the sons and grandsons of Puru’s race
who have reached Svarga through ascetic merit
have sported with us without sin.
Relent, O hero!
Send me not away in scorn.
Desire consumes me like a fire in the wind.
I am devoted to thee—
accept me, O giver of honor.”
But Arjuna, unmoved, folded his hands in reverence and replied in a voice both gentle and unyielding.
Arjuna said:
“O lady of flawless form, hear me truly:
let the four quarters, the mid-quarters,
and all the gods bear witness.
As Kuntī, as Mādrī, as Śacī is to me—
so art thou, the mother of my race—
an object of worship and not of desire.
Return, O fair one; I bow my head before thee
and prostrate myself at thy feet.
Accept my homage as a son’s;
protect me, as a mother protects her child.”
Vaisampāyana continued:
Thus addressed, Urvāśī trembled with wrath. Her brows drew together, her lips quivered, and she breathed hard in anger. In a voice sharp as a serpent’s hiss, she pronounced her curse.
Urvāśī said:
“Since thou hast scorned a woman
who came of her own will
and at thy father’s command,
pierced by the shafts of Kāma—
therefore, O Pārtha,
thou shalt pass thy days among women,
unregarded, a dancer without manhood,
despised as a eunuch.”
Having uttered her curse, she turned away and departed swiftly to her own abode.
Arjuna, without delay, went to Citraśena and told him all that had transpired that night, repeating often the curse that weighed upon him. The Gandharva carried the tale to Śakra. Then the thousand-eyed king of the gods called his son aside, smiling as he spoke words of comfort.
Indra said:
“O mighty-armed child, thou hast made Pṛthā truly blessed this day.
By thy patience and self-control
thou hast surpassed even the Ṛṣis.
Grieve not for this curse, for it shall serve thee well.
When the thirteenth year of exile comes upon thee,
unknown to all,
then shalt thou bear Urvāśī’s fate—
to live as a dancer, without manhood,
for but one year.
When that year ends, thy strength shall return in full.”
Thus reassured by Śakra, Pāṇḍu’s son cast aside his concern and dwelt joyfully in Svarga, sporting with the famed Gandharva Citraśena.
And so it is said:
The heart of him who hears the tale of Arjuna’s pure conduct
is freed from lust, pride, and wrath.
Such a one, cleansed of fault,
shall ascend to heaven and sport there in bliss.
Vaisampāyana continued:
One day, in the course of his wanderings, the great Ṛṣi Lomaśa came to the radiant court of Indra, wishing to behold the lord of the celestials. Bowing in reverence before Śakra, the sage’s eyes fell upon a sight of wonder—there, upon half the very throne of the thousand-eyed king, sat Arjuna, son of Pāṇḍu, resplendent as the midday sun.
Honored by the assembled Ṛṣis, Lomaśa was seated upon a place of distinction at Indra’s own bidding. Yet as his gaze lingered upon the Kuru prince, he wondered: By what deeds of merit has this Kṣatriya attained a place beside the sovereign of Svarga? What regions has he conquered, what ascetic feats achieved, that the gods themselves bow to him?
Perceiving the thoughts of the sage, Śakra, slayer of Vṛtra, smiled and spoke.
Indra said:
“O Brahmarṣi, cast aside thy doubt,
for this is no mere mortal.
This mighty-armed hero is my own son,
born of Kuntī by my grace.
He has come to me to gain celestial weapons,
for a purpose destined in the tapestry of Time.
Know him, O sage, as no stranger to the divine—
but as one of two ancient Ṛṣis
renowned in all the worlds:
Nara and Nārāyaṇa,
who in ages past dwelt in the sacred āśrama of Badarī,
by the source of the Gaṅgā,
a place even gods and Siddhas worship from afar.
At my behest,
those seers of immeasurable splendour
have been born on earth as Hṛṣīkeśa and Dhanañjaya—
to lighten the burden of the world
and to guard the path of Dharma.
Yet there is a shadow upon the worlds:
the Nivātakavacas,
fierce Dānavas of the nether realms,
swollen with the boon they have won,
heed no god nor law.
Even all the celestials together
cannot match them in battle.
Proud and unrestrained,
they plot the ruin of heaven itself.”
Vaisampāyana continued:
Then the blessed Viṣṇu—slayer of Madhu—he who on earth was once known as Kapila, whose single glance consumed the sixty thousand sons of Sagara deep within the bowels of the earth—was spoken of by Śakra to Lomaśa.
Indra said:
“O exalted one,
that illustrious and invincible Hari,
like a blazing mass of boundless energy,
is able to render us the greatest service.
Either he, or Pārtha, or both together,
could bring doom upon the Nivātakavacas.
As once the Lord slew the serpents in the great lake,
so too, by sight alone,
could he destroy these Asuras and all their hosts.
Yet the slayer of Madhu should not be summoned
for a task too small;
when his might swells,
it could consume the universe itself.
This Arjuna also is equal to the trial—
he will meet them in battle,
cut down their pride,
and then return to the world of men.
Go now, at my bidding, to the earth.
Thou shalt see the righteous Yudhiṣṭhira
dwelling in the Kāmyaka woods.
Speak to that lion among kings,
and still the unrest of his heart:
‘Phālguna will return to you,
master of all weapons;
without that sanctified skill,
he could not face Bhīṣma, Droṇa, and the rest in battle.’
Tell him also that his mighty-armed brother,
having gained the weapons of the gods,
has mastered the celestial arts of dance and song,
both with voice and with instrument.
And say this besides:
‘Thou and thy brethren should walk the earth’s holy paths,
and bathe in her sacred waters;
thus shall thy sins be washed away,
thy heart’s fever cooled,
and thou shalt rejoice in thy kingdom once more.’
And thou, O foremost of Brahmaṛṣis,
must guard Yudhiṣṭhira in his wanderings;
for fierce Rākṣasas haunt the mountains and desolate wilds—
protect the king from such devourers of men.”
Hearing the words of Indra, Vibhatsu too bowed to the sage and said,
“O best of men, guard the son of Pāṇḍu as he journeys;
let him, shielded by thy power,
visit the sacred shrines,
and give in charity to the Brāhmaṇas.”
Vaisampāyana continued:
Lomaśa, mighty in ascetic energy, answered them both, “So be it.” Desiring to reach Kāmyaka, the sage departed from the heights of heaven. Arriving at the sylvan retreat, he beheld Yudhiṣṭhira the just—slayer of foes and son of Kuntī—seated among ascetics, with his younger brothers gathered around him.