novelraw Arc 3 - Astika - Chapter 6 - Garuda’s Quest
Arc 3 - Astika - Chapter 6 - Garuda’s Quest
Sauti said:
Then Garuḍa, the mighty son of Vinatā, swift as thought and vast as a storm-cloud, repaired to his mother on the other shore of the great ocean. There dwelt Vinatā, sorrowful and bound in servitude, her head bowed low in the shame of defeat.
One day, Kadru, proud and vindictive, summoned Vinatā, who humbly prostrated herself before her co-wife. In the presence of her son, Kadru commanded:
“O gentle Vinatā, bear me upon thy shoulders.
In the midst of the ocean, in a hidden and fair quarter,
lies the region of the Nāgas—our kin and children.
Carry me thither, as befits thy duty.”
And Vinatā, though aggrieved, did not refuse. Obeying the cruel command, she bore Kadru upon her shoulders.
Then Garuḍa, his wings stretched like vast banners of the sky, rose into the air. Upon his mighty back he carried the serpents, the thousand Nāgas—Kadru’s children, coiling and hissing, clinging to his feathers. Together, mother and sons were thus borne aloft—Kadru on Vinatā, the Nāgas on Garuḍa.
As Garuḍa soared higher into the sky, the rays of the scorching sun beat down upon the serpents. Struck by the heat, they writhed in agony, their venomous breath weakened, their eyes rolling in pain.
Kadru, seeing her sons swoon, raised her voice in a desperate cry:
“O lord of clouds, Indra, mighty wielder of the vajra,
send down thy cooling rain,
lest thy kin, the Nāgas, perish beneath the blazing sky!”
And Indra, moved by her plea, gathered the clouds and cast down torrents of rain. The winds calmed, the skies darkened, and a life-giving shower fell upon the serpents. Revived by the touch of the divine waters, the Nāgas breathed once more and clung to Garuḍa’s back.
Thus, through the sky did the radiant Garuḍa fly, bearing the burden of injustice and fate. But in his heart, a vow had formed—to free his mother from bondage by an act of valor that would shake the three worlds.
And upon Indra’s causing that downpour, the Nāgas became exceedingly delighted, for the fierce heat of the sun that had scorched their bodies was quenched by the torrents of heavenly rain. The earth was filled with water on all sides, and the cool, clear flood spread in waves even into the nether regions. Rivers swelled, clouds wept in joy, and the sky roared like a hundred lions in storm.
The celestial waters rose, washing over forests and plains, while the Nāgas, glistening with fresh vigor, coiled and uncoiled upon the back of Garuḍa.
Thus, refreshed and unharmed, the serpents, with their mother Kadru, reached safely the remote island called Ramāṇīyaka, delightful and serene, hidden amidst the ocean’s vast embrace.
It was there, in that serene haven, that Garuḍa set them down—his mighty wings folding like thunderclouds at rest. But his mind, stirred by a growing resolve, burned bright with the thought of liberating his mother from bondage.
That island, Ramāṇīyaka, had been fixed by the Creator himself—Brahmā, the Grandfather of all—as the abode of the terrible Makara, leviathans of the deep. Fierce and vast was the Lavana Sāgara, the Ocean of Salt, which roared nearby, encircling the blessed isle like a coiled serpent in slumber.
There, arriving with Garuḍa, the mighty bearer of the heavens, the Nāgas beheld a land of sublime beauty. A forest greeted their eyes, fresh and fragrant, washed by sea-waves and filled with the honeyed melodies of birds in unending chorus.
Clusters of trees stood in proud assembly—laden with luscious fruits and flowers of every hue, swaying gently in the ocean breeze. Around them rose mansions, radiant and finely wrought, their domes reflecting the golden sunlight like mirrors of the gods.
Lakes with crystal waters, blue as sapphire and adorned with blooming lotuses, stretched across the landscape like jeweled mirrors. Fragrance from hidden blossoms mingled with the wind, and it carried upon its breath the scent of sandal, camphor, and clove.
Towering above all were the trees of the Malaya hills, sacred and celestial, whose peaks seemed to brush the very heavens. Among them stood trees of rare kind, whose petals danced down like rain, blessing the earth with color and peace.
Thus did the Nāgas alight upon Ramāṇīyaka, an isle divine, serene and sacred, untainted by sorrow—yet soon to be tied to fate’s unfolding wheel.
And that forest, O sages, was indeed charming—beloved of the Gandharvas, the celestial musicians, who found their joy in its sweet serenity. To them it was a place of constant delight, a haven of fragrance and song.
The air was thick with the hum of bees, drunk on nectar, weaving through the flowering groves in frenzied dance. Everywhere the eye turned, beauty unfolded—radiant blossoms, verdant boughs, golden light filtered through gently swaying leaves.
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The forest teemed with wonders, each more delightful than the last—its lakes shone like molten silver, its breezes carried strains of divine music, and the notes of myriad birds echoed like a celestial chorus across the boughs.
Such was its charm that even the sons of Kadru, fierce and venomous by nature, were seized by joy and wonder. Their serpent hearts, accustomed to dark caverns and secret paths, swelled with gladness at the sight of that holy, resounding, and delightful forest, filled with peace, music, and the play of light.
Thus, having arrived in that charming forest, the Nāgas, filled with joy and pride, began to roam and sport at will. And after some time, their pleasure unsated, they addressed Garuḍa, the lord of the birds, whose wings bore the might of storms:
"O thou of mighty energy, O ranger of the skies,
Bear us now to some other isle, more fair, more pure,
For surely thou hast seen many such abodes
While coursing through the heavens."
Hearing their command, Garuḍa, the eagle of vast speed and strength, paused in silent thought, and then turned to his mother Vinatā, and asked:
"Mother, why must I obey the words of the snakes?
Why am I their bearer, their servant in flight?"
Then Vinatā, her voice gentle yet heavy with grief, replied:
"O best of birds, my son, my joy, my pride,
By misfortune and deceit, I have become their slave.
A rash wager once I laid with Kadru, my co-wife—
And by her trickery, I lost and thus fell low.
Now bound to her will, I suffer this yoke,
And you, my son, born of my womb, share this fate."
And when Garuḍa, of boundless vigor, heard this tale of sorrow from his noble mother, his heart blazed with wrath, yet cooled with resolve. Turning to the Nāgas, he addressed them with dignity:
"Tell me then, ye serpents, what must be done?
What object must I fetch, what deed must I perform,
What knowledge or power must I attain,
That my mother and I may win our freedom?"
And the Nāgas, pleased yet proud, answered him with a sneer:
"Bring us the Amṛta, the nectar of immortality,
Won by the gods and guarded well—bring it to us,
And we shall free you from this servitude."
Thus instructed by the snakes, Garuḍa, the mighty-winged, turned to his sorrowful mother and said:
"Mother, I shall bring the Amṛta,
The nectar of the gods, as the snakes demand.
But before that, I must feed my strength—
Tell me where I may find worthy food."
Vinatā, wise and mindful of dharma, replied:
"In the distant midst of the roaring ocean,
Lies the fair home of the Niṣādas, men of the wild.
There, thousands dwell—go, my son, and feed.
But remember this, O child of virtue—
Slay not the Brāhmaṇa, O eagle supreme,
Even in hunger, even in wrath, avoid this sin.
A Brāhmaṇa is fire veiled in flesh, a sun in human form.
When angered, he is more fearsome than poison, sharper than blade.
He is the master of creatures, the source of Vedic sound,
The bearer of truth, and purifier of the world.
Neither Agni nor Sūrya consume what he, in wrath, may burn.
He is the firstborn of all beings,
The leader of varṇas, the father of the world.
By humility, wisdom, and peaceful austerities,
Is the true Brāhmaṇa known, not merely by birth.
Reverence him always, my son, and be blessed.
Go now, fulfill thy quest, but guard thy virtue well."
Thus did Vinatā, mother of mighty Garuḍa, speak with love and care. Her son, fierce and radiant as lightning, desired to discern the sacred Brāhmaṇa, so that he might uphold dharma while fulfilling his quest.
And Garuḍa asked:
"O mother, how shall I know the Brāhmaṇa?
What is his mark, his form, his fire?
Doth he shine like the midday sun, or dwell in peace like the moon’s light?
Tell me the signs by which he is known, so I may avoid the sin of slaying him."
Vinatā replied:
"O child, him shouldst thou fear and honor—
Who enters thy throat like a burning coal,
Or pains thee like a fishhook caught in flesh.
The Brāhmaṇa is that holy one whom thou canst not digest.
Though mighty are you beyond compare,
Yet he is fire—veiled, sacred, consuming all in wrath.
Slay him not, even in hunger or ire,
For his curse is more dreadful than death.
He is the Vedas walking, the yajña breathing,
The light in all that is pure and true."
And Vinatā, though grieved by her fate and the cruel wager lost to Kadru, placed her trembling hand upon her son and blessed him:
"Let Māruta, the wind-lord, guard thy wings,
And Sūrya and Soma shield thy frame.
Let Agni blaze upon thy brow in courage,
And the Vasus wrap thy body with strength.
I shall sit in holy rites, chanting prayers for thy success.
Go now, O Garuḍa, my glorious child,
Bring back Amṛta and earn thy freedom.
But walk the path of virtue, ever."
Then Garuḍa, the son of Vinatā, having listened well to his mother’s counsel, stretched his mighty wings wide as the horizon, and with a roar like the crashing of thunderclouds, soared into the skies. His feathers struck the wind, and the heavens trembled with his speed.
Fierce with hunger, determined like Yama the god of death, he descended upon the region of the Niṣādas—those fisherfolk dwelling near the oceans—intent upon fulfilling the demand of the serpents. With his divine might, he raised a storm of dust so vast that the sky itself darkened. Trees on the mountains bent and broke in his wake, and rivers roared in terror.
And lo, the waters he drank in torrents,
His wings stirred tempests on the seas,
His eyes flashed fire like wrathful suns,
And his beak opened wide as fate itself.
The Niṣādas, blinded by the dust and deafened by the din, sought to flee—only to rush into the very jaws of doom. Like birds scattered by a tempest, they soared into the mouth of Garuḍa, vast as a mountain cleft. His orifice widened to engulf them whole, and they vanished like mist before the sun.
And Garuḍa, the devourer, closed his maw,
And silence fell upon the slaughtered land.
The fishermen, caught in the tempest's breath,
Were swallowed in the storm-born death.
Thus, nourished by the Niṣādas, that mighty bird, gladdened and refreshed, prepared to fly onwards—to heaven itself, to wrest Amṛta, the nectar of immortality, from the gods.
Then it came to pass that a certain Brahmana, accompanied by his wife, was among those swallowed by the mighty Garuḍa. But that Brahmana, through his ascetic energy and tapas, began to burn within the bird’s throat like a piece of flaming charcoal.
And the noble Garuḍa, though lord of the skies and fierce as Agni in battle, felt that fire within and was pained. Out of reverence for the twice-born, he addressed the burning guest with humility.
"O Brāhmaṇa," said he, "blazing bright,
Thou burnest me like fire at night.
I knew not thou wert in my maw—
Come forth at once, escape my jaw!"
Then the Brāhmaṇa replied from within the bird:
"O lord of birds, of mighty grace,
My wife is here, of Niṣāda race.
I pray, O noble sky-ranger high,
Permit that she too may pass thee by."
And Garuḍa answered:
"Be it so, O sage divine,
Let her go forth, thy wife and thine.
Though born of lowly caste, I deem,
The Brāhmaṇa’s wish a sacred theme."
Then Garuḍa opened his beak, and the Brāhmaṇa and his Niṣāda wife came forth safely, unharmed and untouched by the fires of digestion.
Thus, did Garuḍa, ever steadfast in dharma, uphold the ancient law that a Brāhmaṇa is never to be harmed—even in error—and fulfilled the command of his noble mother.