novelraw Arc 5 - Tirth-Yatra Parva - Chapter 6 - Lopāmudrā’s creation and youth
Arc 5 - Tirth-Yatra Parva - Chapter 6 - Lopāmudrā’s creation and youth
Vaiśampāyana said:
When the Brāhmaṇas dwelling in the forest learned that Yudhiṣṭhira was preparing to set out upon pilgrimage, they gathered before him and spoke with folded palms:
“O son of Kuntī, thou art about to traverse
the sanctified tīrthas with thy brothers,
guided by the holy sage Lomaśa,
guardian of vows and friend of the celestials.
Without thee, O king, we shall never behold them.
The way is dangerous, beset with beasts of prey,
haunted by rākṣasas, and hard of access.
But shielded by thine arms,
we too may cross and gain that merit.
Take us, O lord of men, that we may bathe in holy waters,
wash away our sins, and behold the rivers and peaks
where Kartavīrya, Aṣṭaka, Lomapāda, and Bharata of old
won eternal regions by pilgrimage and sacrifice.”
Thus they besought him with reverence. Their words, born of faith, touched the son of Dharma, and with tears of joy shining in his eyes, Yudhiṣṭhira replied:
“Let it be so.”
With the sanction of Lomaśa and Dhaumya, he resolved to depart with his brothers and Draupadī of faultless features.
At that moment, the blessed sages Vyāsa, Parvata, and Nārada—lords of ascetic wealth and radiant with tapas—arrived at Kāmyaka to behold the sons of Pāṇḍu. Rising with devotion, Yudhiṣṭhira worshipped them with fitting rites. The great ṛṣis, pleased with his humility, spoke words of guidance:
“O sons of Pāṇḍu,
banish dark thoughts from your hearts.
Let your bodies be disciplined by earthly vows,
but purify the mind by vows of the spirit.
The body is cleansed by fasting, by bark garments, by regulated food,
but the mind is cleansed only by banishing malice and envy.
A heart that harbours no evil thought
is the purest of all tīrthas.
Therefore, with thoughts made stainless,
and vows observed in body and soul,
set forth to the rivers, peaks, and hermitages,
and win the fruits of pilgrimage.”
The Pāṇḍavas, with Kṛṣṇā Draupadī, bowed their heads and said: “So be it.”
On the day after the full moon of Āgrahāyaṇa, under the auspicious star Puṣya, they performed propitiatory rites with the celestial and human sages, honouring the feet of Lomaśa, Dvaipāyana, Nārada, and Parvata.
Then the sons of Dharma set forth eastward. They were clad in bark and deer-skins, their hair bound in matted locks, yet cased in shining armour and armed with sword and bow. Bhīma, Arjuna, and the twins bore quivers filled with arrows, their faces radiant with resolve.
With them went Dhaumya and the ascetics of the forest, Indrasena and other attendants, fourteen and one chariots, and a train of cooks and servants. Thus surrounded, guarded by sages and by their own prowess, the sons of Pāṇḍu departed from Kāmyaka upon their sacred journey.
Yudhiṣṭhira, heavy with grief, spoke to Lomaśa:
“O best of celestial ṛṣis, I do not believe myself bereft of merit.
Yet sorrow clings to me like a shadow—
Never was there a king so tried by fate.
My enemies are devoid of dharma and of noble qualities,
yet it is they who prosper,
while I, though righteous, suffer in misery.
Why is this so, O sage?”
Lomaśa replied with gentle firmness:
“Grieve not, O son of Pṛthā,
that sinful men often appear to prosper by sin.
For their prosperity is but a flame in dry grass—
bright for a moment,
then extinguished to the roots.
I have seen many Daityas and Dānavas
rise high through pride and cruelty,
yet each, in time, was hurled down to ruin.
Hear then, O king, the path by which destruction overtakes them.
From sin is born pride,
from pride—vanity,
from vanity—wrath,
from wrath—every evil propensity.
From evil arises shamelessness,
and where shamelessness dwells,
good conduct vanishes.
Thus stripped of virtue, O Bhārata,
forbearance and prosperity abandon them,
and adversity seizes their hearts.
Then Kali himself possesses them,
and blinded by arrogance, without sacrifice, without reason,
they march swiftly toward their own destruction.
Infamy covers them as dust covers the fallen.
But the gods, O king, walked another road.
They sought the tīrthas,
bathed in rivers and lakes,
gave in charity,
offered sacrifice,
and purified themselves with tapas.
Because they upheld dharma,
prosperity clung to them like a faithful companion.
Therefore, O son of Dharma,
walk thou the path of the devas.
Bathe in the sacred waters,
visit the holy hermitages,
honour the seers and gods,
and prosperity will again be thine.
For this is the eternal way.”
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And Lomaśa continued:
“As king Nṛga, as Śibi and Auśīnara,
as Bhagiratha, Vasumānasa, Gaya, Puru and Purūravas,
by tīrthas and tapas won both merit and enduring fame,
so too shalt thou, O son of Pāṇḍu.
As Ikṣvāku with his sons,
as Muchukunda and Maṇḍhātr̥,
as king Marutta and the hosts of the gods,
and as the ancient ṛṣis of heaven
by sacrifice and austerity won prosperity,
so too shall it be with thee.
But the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra—
enslaved by sin,
blind in ignorance,
drunk on pride—
they shall fall, O king,
like the Daityas before them.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
The heroic sons of Pāṇḍu, accompanied by their attendants and guided by sages, journeyed from one holy place to another until at last they reached the sacred forest of Naimiṣa. There, O king, they came to the river Gomati. Entering its holy waters, they bathed with devotion, performed ablutions, and made offerings. In that tīrtha they gave away herds of cattle and abundant wealth to the Brāhmaṇas.
From there they moved through holy places—Kanyā, Aśva, and Go—where they poured libations of water to gods, pitṛs, and seers. They passed through Kalākūṭi and Viṣaprastha, then reached the river Vāhudā and performed sacred baths. Proceeding onward, they came to the sacrifice-ground of the gods, Prayāga, where Gaṅgā and Yamunā join their currents.
At the confluence of rivers, the sons of Pāṇḍu stood,
their hearts lifted in silent prayer.
They bathed where heaven touches earth,
and their sins were washed away like dust in rain.
Residing there for a time, they performed penances of great merit, fasting and worshipping with concentration. From Prayāga they advanced to the tīrtha called Vedi, consecrated to the Creator, Brahmā, and adored by countless ascetics. There they lived simply, subsisting on fruits, roots, and clarified butter, offering all first to the Brāhmaṇas, and undertaking austerities with firm resolve.
Then they journeyed to Mahīdhara, consecrated by the virtuous king-sage Gaya of unfading splendour. Upon that sacred mountain stands Gayāsīra, crowned by peaks, beside which flows the fair Mahanadī with cane-covered banks. Atop that hill lies the Brahmasara lake, a place adored by sages. In ancient days Dharma, the eternal god of justice, had resided there, and Agastya himself once came to behold that divinity. From this very lake spring forth many rivers, and there Mahādeva, wielder of the Pināka, abides forever.
Arriving there, the Pāṇḍavas observed the Cāturmāsya vow with all its rites, offering the great Ṛṣiyajña, the sacrifice to the sages.
There grows the eternal banyan tree,
vast in shade, unchanging through ages.
Any sacrifice performed beneath its boughs
becomes eternal, untouched by time.
So the sons of Pāṇḍu, fasting and focused in soul, worshipped there. Hundreds of Brāhmaṇas, rich in ascetic merit, gathered to them, and all performed the Cāturmāsya sacrifice together. Learned men, well-versed in the Vedas, conversed with the princes on sacred themes.
Among them, the vow-keeping sage Śāmatha, pure in conduct and devoted to brahmacarya, spoke of the great King Gaya, son of Amūrtarāya:
“O Bhārata, Gaya was foremost of royal sages, radiant as the sun. Here, on this very ground, he performed sacrifices of unparalleled splendour. Mountains of cooked rice rose by the hundreds and thousands; lakes brimmed with clarified butter; rivers of curd and streams of spiced dishes flowed in every direction.
Day after day the earth was filled
with food pure and abundant;
Brāhmaṇas and all beings, high and low,
were fed until no hunger remained.
At the close of each sacrifice, gifts of wealth and kine were bestowed upon Brāhmaṇas, and the chanting of Vedic hymns ascended so powerfully that the heavens themselves resounded.
The sky was filled with mantras,
the horizons trembled with sound,
the earth and heaven together
echoed the voice of sacred praise.
So wondrous were the offerings that men, gratified and astonished, sang aloud:
‘Who, today, can remain hungry
in the sacrifice of the great King Gaya?
Even after all are fed,
mountains of food still stand untasted!’
‘As sand-grains upon the shore,
as stars uncounted in the heavens,
so were the gifts of Gaya’s yajña—
beyond number, beyond measure.’
Indeed, O king, even the gods, surfeited with clarified butter from his rites, could take no more from any other offering. Thus did Gaya, the royal sage of immeasurable splendour, surpass all kings of the past in sacrifice, and none in the future shall equal him.
Many times did Gaya perform such sacrifices, here, beside the Brahmasara, leaving behind a glory that endures for eternity.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
After these sacred rites, the royal son of Kuntī, renowned for his unstinting generosity toward Brāhmaṇas, journeyed to the hermitage of Agastya. There, at Durjaya, he took up his abode. In that holy place Yudhiṣṭhira, ever eager for wisdom, asked the celestial Ṛṣi Lomaśa:
“O holy one, tell me—why did the great sage Agastya slay the Daitya Vātāpi here? What was the might of that Asura, and what provoked the wrath of the seer?”
Thus questioned, Lomaśa, the knower of past and future, began to speak:
“O son of Kuru’s race, listen. In days long past, there dwelt in the city of Maṇimatī a mighty Daitya named Ilvala. His younger brother was Vātāpi. One day Ilvala approached a Brāhmaṇa endowed with ascetic power and said, ‘Grant me a son equal to Indra, the lord of the gods.’ But the Brāhmaṇa refused, for none could be born to rival the wielder of the thunderbolt.
From that denial sprang fury. Ilvala, seething with wrath, became a destroyer of Brāhmaṇas. Endowed with powers of illusion, he made use of his brother in a dreadful stratagem. Vātāpi could change form at will; Ilvala would transform him into a ram, slay him, and prepare the flesh as food.
Unsuspecting Brāhmaṇas, honored guests,
ate of the meat set before them.
But when Ilvala called aloud,
‘Come forth, O Vātāpi!’
The Daitya, whole once more, would rend the bodies of the Brāhmaṇas from within and emerge laughing, red with blood. Thus, by guile and cruelty, Ilvala and Vātāpi slaughtered countless ascetics.”
Lomaśa continued:
“Meanwhile the sage Agastya, endowed with ascetic brilliance, once beheld a grievous sight. His pitṛs—his ancestors—were hanging upside down in a dark abyss. Seeing them, he cried out, ‘Why are you thus bound in torment?’
They answered, ‘It is because we are without offspring. If you, O Agastya, can beget a son, then we shall be freed and rise to blessed realms. Without issue, both we and you remain trapped in misery.’
Moved with pity, Agastya replied: ‘Be at peace, O Pitṛs. I shall not fail you. You shall be saved, and I too shall attain the state of those who leave behind progeny.’
Yet when the sage turned his mind to finding a wife, he saw no woman worthy of bearing his seed. Then, by his yogic power, he gathered the finest parts from various creatures and fashioned a maiden of surpassing beauty. This radiant girl he gave to the king of Vidarbha, who was at that time performing austerities to obtain children.
Born of ascetic fire and divine design,
shining as lightning in the storm,
the maiden grew day by day—
a lotus rising from sacred waters.
When the princess came of age, she surpassed the Apsarases in beauty. Attended by a hundred virgins and a hundred maidens, she shone among them like Rohiṇī among the stars. Endowed with virtue, manners, and truth, she gladdened her father’s heart. To her the Brāhmaṇas gave the name Lopāmudrā.
Graceful as flame, steadfast in truth,
gentle in speech yet radiant in power,
she grew like the crescent moon
toward fullness and perfection.
So wondrous was her beauty that none dared seek her hand, for fear of the king of Vidarbha. And as the maiden blossomed into youth, her father pondered anxiously:
‘To whom shall I give this daughter of mine—
this jewel surpassing all creation?’”
Lomaśa continued:
When the great Ṛṣi Agastya beheld that maiden Lopāmudrā grown into womanhood, graceful and pure, he thought her fit for the duties of a householder’s life. Approaching the ruler of Vidarbha, he spoke gently yet firmly:
“O king, bestow upon me thy daughter, Lopāmudrā.”
Hearing these words, the monarch of Vidarbha trembled. Overcome with sorrow, he swooned away; yet, fearful of the power of the sage, he dared not refuse. Later, with heavy heart, he spoke to his queen:
“This Ṛṣi, blazing with ascetic fire, cannot be denied. If angered, he might consume us all. Tell me, O gentle one, what is thy will?”
But the queen, struck dumb with grief, uttered not a word. At that moment Lopāmudrā herself entered. Seeing her parents weighed down by anguish, she bowed and spoke with steady voice:
“Do not sorrow for me, O father. Bestow me on Agastya. Thus shall you be freed from fear, and I shall fulfill the destiny ordained for me.”
Thus, with courage born of dharma,
the maiden chose the path of sacrifice.
Not for pleasure, not for pomp,
but to uphold the will of heaven.
Hearing her words, the king, though sorrowful, gave his daughter to the sage with due rites.
Having obtained her, Agastya said to Lopāmudrā:
“Cast aside these robes of silk, these ornaments of gold. Such adornments are not for the wife of an ascetic.”
Without hesitation, the large-eyed maiden cast away her jewels and garments of fine texture. Clad in bark and deerskin, she became the equal of her husband in austerity. Together they journeyed to Gaṅgādvāra, where the sage practised severe penances. Lopāmudrā, steadfast and cheerful, served him with devotion; and Agastya, pleased by her conduct, grew in love for her.
After some time had passed, the great Ṛṣi, beholding Lopāmudrā in her season, radiant after her morning bath, summoned her for union. But the maiden, joining her hands, replied modestly yet firmly:
“The wife is wed for offspring, and such is my desire, O lord. Yet as I once lay upon beds adorned with flowers in my father’s palace, so too I wish to be approached now. Let me wear garlands and ornaments, and do thou also be decked in splendour. I cannot come to thee clad in these ragged robes, for love, too, must be honoured in its season.”
Love seeks its due expression—
not in rags, nor in neglect,
but with reverence, beauty, and joy,
as sacrifice is offered with care.
Agastya, smiling with a trace of weariness, replied:
“O blessed one, thou of slender waist, I possess not the wealth of thy royal father. How shall I provide what thou desirest?”
But Lopāmudrā answered gently:
“O sage, thy ascetic might is boundless. If thou willed it, all the treasures of the earth could be brought here in an instant.”
The Ṛṣi said:
“True are thy words, O fair one. Yet to summon such wealth by my austerities would be to waste the merit I have gathered. Bid me instead do that which shall not diminish my penance.”
Then Lopāmudrā, ever wise, replied:
“My season will not last long. I do not wish to harm thy merit. Yet, O holy one, I also do not wish to unite without the fulfilment of my desire. Do thou therefore seek wealth by righteous means, without injury to thy virtue.”
Agastya bowed his head and answered:
“If such is thy resolve, O blessed girl, I shall go forth in quest of wealth. Meanwhile, remain here as it pleaseth thee.”
Lomaśa continued:
Agastya, having resolved to seek wealth without diminishing his ascetic merit, journeyed first to the court of King Śrutarvan, famed for his prosperity and righteousness. The monarch, learning that the pot-born sage had reached the frontiers of his realm, came forth with his ministers to greet him. With reverence he offered arghya and water for the sage’s feet, and bowing with joined palms, he asked:
“O holy one, what brings thee to my kingdom?”
Agastya replied:
“O lord of earth, I have come desiring wealth. Bestow upon me what thou canst, according to thy ability, yet without harming thy subjects.”
Śrutarvan bowed his head and spoke truthfully:
“My expenditure equals my income, O sage. Yet whatever wealth is mine, thou mayest freely take.”
The seer, however, perceiving with even eyes the balance of the king’s means, reflected:
“If I take from him, his people will suffer;
to snatch from the just is to wrong all beings.
Better to abstain than to injure dharma,
for true wealth is that which harms none.”
Thus he accepted nothing. Instead, he took Śrutarvan with him and proceeded to the realm of King Vṛadhnaśva.
That monarch, too, came forth in humility, welcomed them with arghya and water, and asked of their purpose. Again Agastya declared his need, and again the king replied:
“My income is equal to my expenditure. Knowing this, take what thou desirest.”
But the sage, seeing that to accept would wound the balance of that land, refrained.
From there, accompanied by Śrutarvan and Vṛadhnaśva, Agastya journeyed to the kingdom of Trasadasyu, son of Purokutsa, mighty among the Ikṣvākus and famed for his riches. The king received them with honour, offered worship, and inquired of their mission.
Agastya spoke as before, and Trasadasyu too replied with truth:
“My expenditure equals my income. Take what thou wilt.”
Once again the sage, beholding the equality of means, declined, knowing that to accept would injure creatures dependent upon the king’s balance.
Thus from king to king he passed,
seeking wealth yet taking none;
for dharma weighs both gift and loss,
and the wise harm not the innocent.
At length, the gathered kings looked upon one another and spoke with one voice:
“O Brāhmaṇa, there is a Dānava named Ilvala, whose wealth is beyond measure. Let us all together approach him and seek wealth at his hands.”
Lomaśa said:
This counsel seemed proper to all, and so it was resolved. United in purpose, the kings and the sage went forth to the abode of Ilvala, lord of treasures and enemy of Brāhmaṇas.