novelraw Arc 3 - Astika - Chapter 7 - Garuda’s Journey
Arc 3 - Astika - Chapter 7 - Garuda’s Journey
Sauti continued:
And then that Brahmana, accompanied by his wife of the Nishadha caste, emerged from Garuda’s throat unharmed. Bowing in gratitude, he praised the mighty bird and departed to whatever path pleased him. Garuda, the devourer of serpents and swift as the mind, stretched his wings wide and rose once more into the skies.
As he soared with the grace of divine energy, he beheld his father, the great sage Kashyapa. Seeing his son return from his formidable quest, the sage greeted him with joy.
Kashyapa spoke:
“O child of noble wings and blazing strength,
Is it well with thee in thy high flight?
Dost thou find thy food with ease each day?
Is there abundance in the world of men?”
Sauti said:
And Garuda, hearing the voice of his sire, halted his flight and prepared to reply with due respect.
Then Garuda, bowing before his father, spoke in earnest tones, his voice filled with the intensity of his vow and the burden of his hunger.
Garuda said:
“My mother is ever well, and so is my brother, and so am I.
Yet, father, though the sky bears me, my hunger weighs heavy.
Food I obtain, yet it is not enough—my peace is broken,
For the snakes have sent me to seize the Amrita,
And this day I go to fetch it, to free my mother from bondage.”
“On my mother's word, I devoured the Nishadas—
By thousands they fell to my hunger,
Yet still I am not satisfied.
O worshipful one, guide me further,
Show me food sufficient to quell this fire within.
Then shall I, strengthened, bring the nectar back by force.
Direct me, father—tell me where I may find such nourishment.”
Then Kashyapa, knower of all that was and is to be, looked upon his son with calm wisdom and spoke with words that carried the weight of ages:
Kashyapa said:
“This lake, my son, is sacred—its fame reaches even the heavens.
In its waters dwells an elephant with head bent low,
Endlessly dragging a tortoise, who is none other than his elder brother.”
“They are locked in eternal struggle—
A feud carried over from their previous birth.
I shall recount to thee in detail the cause of their hostility,
Why they were cursed to dwell thus in the form of beasts.
Listen attentively, O mighty one, and know their tale.”
Sauti continued:
In ancient times, there lived a mighty Rishi named Vibhavasu, austere and possessed of terrible wrath. He had a younger brother named Supritika, who, unlike the elder, was ever inclined toward the separation of their shared inheritance.
Supritika would often speak of dividing their patrimony, desiring wealth to himself alone. But his elder brother, Vibhavasu, counseled otherwise, warning of the dangers of division among kin.
Vibhavasu said:
“From great folly arises this urge, O Supritika,
To part the wealth held by brothers as one.
Blinded by greed, men seek separation,
And then quarrel, deluded by gold.”
“Divided, they heed not the sacred texts,
They trust not each other, but live in fear.
Estranged by the whispering tongues of foes,
They soon fall, one by one, like loosened stones.”
“Ruin comes quickly to the hand that cleaves
The tree of kinship for selfish gain.
Therefore, I say: the wise do not approve
Of the partition of ancestral wealth.”
“Yet you persist, deaf to my words—
Desiring separation and acting in pride.
For this, O Supritika, I curse you now:
Thou shalt become an elephant, proud but lowly.”
Sauti said:
Thus cursed, Supritika, enraged and undaunted, returned the curse with equal fury.
Supritika replied:
“You too, Vibhavasu, by your anger swayed,
Shall roam as a tortoise in the watery shade!”
And thus, on account of their greed for wealth, those two once-noble Rishis—Supritika and Vibhavasu—became, by each other’s curse, an elephant and a tortoise.
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Sauti said:
“Blinded by wrath and pride in their might,
The foolish ones lost their heavenly right.
Transformed by anger into beasts of the earth,
They warred as creatures of inferior birth.”
Now, due to the enmity they bore in their former life, they are locked in ceaseless conflict. In this very sacred lake, they strive against one another, each proud of the immense weight and power of his body.
Behold! One of them—the elephant, massive and splendid—approaches even now. Hear the mighty roar he lets out as he nears the shore. And within the waters, stirred by that sound, the tortoise of equal girth and strength rises to meet him.
The elephant, curling his formidable trunk and swinging his tusks, rushes into the lake. His limbs churn the water—his tail and feet, trunk and tusks—stirring waves that scatter the fish and shake the banks.
And the tortoise, lifting his head, rises up with resolve. The two are drawn again into the ancient feud, their enmity undiminished by time or form.
Then Kashyapa, the great Rishi and father of Garuda, pointed to the lake and described the sheer enormity of the creatures locked in conflict.
"The elephant," said he, "measures six yojanas in height, and in circumference he is twelve yojanas—vast as a mountain and dark as a thundering raincloud. The tortoise, no less formidable, is three yojanas high and spans ten yojanas in girth."
“They wrestle in wrath, those mighty beasts,
In rage unspent from former feasts.
Their strength and pride in battle merge,
Like thunder meeting ocean’s surge.”
Kashyapa then continued: "Eat them, O Garuda, while they are thus madly engaged in battle and forgetful of the world. They are locked in hatred born of their former lives. Devour them both, replenish your strength, and then accomplish the task for which you were born. Having consumed that fierce elephant, which resembles a mighty peak shrouded in clouds, proceed to seize the Amrita."
(To clarify, O Brahmanas, a yojana is a unit of ancient Indian measure, roughly equivalent to 8–9 miles (or 13–15 kilometers) depending on varying traditions. By that measure, the elephant was almost 50–55 miles in girth, a living mountain indeed.)
Having said so unto Garuda, the illustrious Kashyapa, blessed his mighty son. He invoked the sacred powers of the Vedas and the rites upon him, knowing full well the task Garuda was to undertake.
“Blessed be thou, when thou art in combat with the gods!
Let pitchers of water brim,
Let Brahmanas chant in hymn,
Let Kain and other auspicious marks guard thy path.
Blessed be thou, O Viparious One of might!”
“And thou, O child of strength,
When engaged with gods in heavenly war,
Let the Riks be thy breath,
The Yajus thy arm,
The Samas thy heart,
And the sacred butter thy shield.
Let the Upanishads, in all their mystery,
Be the fire in thy wings.”
Garuda, thus addressed and blessed by his father Kashyapa, departed with purpose and speed. Soaring towards the sacred lake of legend, he beheld the clear waters teeming with birds of every hue, and he remembered his father’s counsel. Then, descending with the swiftness of divine will, the mighty ranger of the sky seized the elephant and the tortoise—one in each talon—and rose high into the heavens.
In the course of his flight, he came upon a place sanctified by time, known as Alam Mawa, a celestial grove of trees divine. The wind from his wings stirred the grove into trembling. Trees crowned with gold and branches heavy with gems and fruits of silver shook in dread, fearing their limbs would break under the storm of his might.
Then among them, one great banyan of peerless expanse, stood unmoved and spoke aloud unto the sky-ranger:
“O mighty son of Vinita, bearer of heaven’s winds,
Rest thou here upon my branch, which stretches a hundred yojanas long.
Here mayst thou eat in peace thy burdened prey—
The elephant of thunderous gait and the tortoise of ancient feud.”
Thus called, Garuda, whose wings spanned mountains and whose body cast shadows over seas, alighted on the mighty branch of the banyan tree, a refuge for a thousand feathered lives. But lo, so great was his weight and power that the branch, laden though it was with leaves and life, shook and broke and fell to the earth.
At the very touch of Garuda, mighty as the wind-god himself, the great branch of the celestial banyan cracked and fell away. But the bird, swift in thought and movement, caught the branch in his beak before it could crash to the ground. As he lifted it, his keen eyes perceived something wondrous—the Vālakhilya Rishis, small in form yet vast in ascetic power, were hanging from the branch, their heads downward, absorbed in penance.
Moved by compassion, and fearing their destruction—
“If this branch falls, these sages perish.
Not for the sake of hunger shall I become a slayer of the pure.”
Thus did Garuda tighten his grip upon the elephant and the tortoise, holding them in his claws, and with the broken branch gripped in his beak, rose again into the skies, wings outspread like the edges of the firmament.
The great Vālakhilya sages, astonished by this feat—one beyond the reach of even the gods—blessed the mighty bird, bestowing upon him a divine name:
“He who soars the skies bearing the weight of beast and branch,
Who shields the wise and conquers hunger,
Let him be known as Garuda—
The bearer of burden, the devourer of serpents,
The swiftest of all born of wing.”
Thus was the name "Garuda" born from the lips of Rishis and sanctified by their vision.
Then Garuda, whose wings could shake the mountains and whose body blazed like a second sun, coasted through the skies at will. The elephant and tortoise clutched in his claws, and the bough in his beak, he flew on, seeking a place to set the Rishis down in safety. But not a single resting place appeared on land, water, or sky vast enough to support his tremendous burden.
At length, that devourer of serpents, vigilant and mindful of his task, beheld the sacred mountain Gandhamādana, fragrant and resplendent, thronged by Rishis and clothed in divine herbs.
Upon that peak, he saw his father, the great Rishi Kashyapa, absorbed in ascetic meditation, his body glowing with the fire of tapas. And Kashyapa too, perceiving Garuda, radiant and terrible in form, understood at once his son's purpose and power.
Then the sage, with a voice calm as the cooling moon, addressed his mighty offspring thus:
Kashyapa said:
“O son whose strength matches that of time itself,
O child whose wings could cleave the heavens—
Why dost thou bear this weight, O Garuda?
Who are these twain within thy talons,
And what drives thee so through wind and cloud?”
Hearing the mighty flapping of Garuda’s wings and perceiving his burden, Kashyapa at once cautioned his son.
Kashyapa said:
“O son of Vinatā, mighty as the storm,
Commit not this deed in thy haste,
For the Vailakhya sages that hang from yonder bough—
Sustained by sunrays, pure and austere—
If angered, may curse thee with fiery words
That even gods might not withstand.”
Then, desiring the safety of his son and the welfare of all, Kashyapa approached the Vailakhyas—those radiant sages of perfect penance, shining like the solar orb, with sin long since burned away by austerity.
And bowing with reverence, Kashyapa said unto them:
“O ye sages, lords of sacred might,
Ye who drink the sun and move not from your place,
Hear me—this bird is my son Garuda,
Born for the good of gods and men.
He strives now to win the nectar of immortality,
To free his mother from the bonds of slavery.
The burden he bears is great, the purpose greater still.
If it pleases you, release him from this trial.
Let not your wrath hinder the cause of dharma.”
The ascetics, thus addressed by the illustrious Kashyapa, left the branch willingly. They departed for the sacred heights of Himavat, the mountain of snow, where they might resume their penances undisturbed. Once they had vanished, Garuda, son of Vinita, his speech muffled by the branch still held in his beak, turned to his father and spoke with effort.
Garuda said:
“O sire, O knower of all things,
Where shall I cast this mighty bough?
Speak, I pray, of a place uninhabited,
Where no mortals tread, nor gods make stay.”
And Kashyapa replied to his winged son with wisdom and care:
Kashyapa said:
“There lies a mountain, remote and veiled in snow,
Untrodden by man, untouched by beast,
Whose caves are sealed in frozen mist,
And whose peaks defy even thought to scale—
Go, child, and cast thy burden there.”
Then Garuda, the lord of the skies, massive in frame and mighty in strength, took flight once more. He soared across hundreds of thousands of yojanas—each yojana measuring roughly 8 to 9 miles—with such swiftness that even thought could scarce keep pace.
The bough he carried was immense—so vast that even a rope made from a hundred cow hides could not encircle it. Along with the branch, clutched in his talons, he still bore the elephant and tortoise, locked in ancient enmity.
Obeying his father’s command, Garuda reached that secluded, desolate mountain in but a moment. And there, upon a high peak clad in eternal frost, he let fall that massive branch.
And as that massive branch fell from the grasp of Garuda, it descended with a thunderous roar, shaking the foundations of that desolate, snow-clad mountain. The earth trembled beneath the sound, and the very prince of mountains seemed to stagger from the force of the storm raised by Garuda’s powerful wings.
The trees that crowned the mountain's slopes dropped showers of golden blossoms, scattered by the wind like garlands from the heavens. Jewels and veins of gold that had adorned the peak were dislodged and tumbled down its sides. As they fell, they gleamed in the sunlight—gems ablaze like stars cast from the sky.
The mighty brow of the tree struck the earth below, flattening countless trees in its path. These trees, bright as polished gold, mingled with dark foliage and glowing blooms, fell upon the slopes. Their descent shimmered like clouds torn open by lightning, and dyed in the dust of mountain metals, they glistened as if bathed in the blazing light of the sun.
Then that best of birds, Garuda, having perched atop the sacred mountain, devoured both the elephant and the tortoise. Satiated at last, he soared once more into the sky, rising with tremendous speed and force. As he ascended, ominous signs began to appear among the heavens—portents that struck fear even into the hearts of the gods.