Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling

Arc 5 - Tirth-Yatra Parva - Chapter 11 - King Śaryāti and Sage Chyavana

Lomaśa then spoke to Yudhiṣṭhira, recounting the ancient deeds performed at this very place. He told how King Nriga had once performed a mighty sacrifice, offering Soma to Indra, the demolisher of hostile cities. The thunder-wielder drank deeply of the sacred juice, and his heart was filled with joy. At that site, the gods themselves, together with Indra, gathered for great rituals. They offered sacrifices on a vast scale, and the priests who ministered to them received abundant gifts.

He continued to narrate how King Amūrtarāyasa, lord of the world, satisfied Indra by performing seven horse-sacrifices. Unlike other rites, where vessels and stakes are made of wood and earth, here everything was fashioned of pure gold. For each sacrifice, seven stakes were erected, with seven golden rings fixed upon them, and the gods themselves, with Indra at their head, set them upright.

Here Lomaśa lifted his voice in elevated verse:

“Gaya, protector of the earth, poured Soma for Indra,

his gifts flowing like rivers in flood.

As stars in heaven, as grains of sand upon the shore,

so countless were his offerings to priests and seers.”

Resuming in prose, he explained that Gaya’s charity was so vast that it defied reckoning. Even the stars of the sky or the drops of rain might be counted, but the wealth he gave in gratuities could not. At his command, Viśvakarman, the divine artisan, crafted golden images of the goddess of Speech, and these were bestowed upon Brahmanas who had come from every corner of the world.

Altars were raised across the land in such number that hardly any space was left uncovered by sacrificial fire. Through these acts of devotion, Gaya ascended to the realm of Indra.

Finally, Lomaśa turned to Yudhiṣṭhira and said:

“Whoever bathes in the holy Payosini

shall reach the world attained by Gaya,

freed of stain, embraced by the gods.

Enter, O son of Dharma, with thy brothers,

and be absolved of every sin.”

Vaiśampāyana said:

Thus did Yudhiṣṭhira, the most praiseworthy of men, bathe with his brothers in the holy waters of the Payosini. Cleansed of sin, the sons of Pāṇḍu journeyed onward to the sapphire-hued hill and the great river Narmadā, whose currents shine with sanctity. There the sage Lomaśa guided them, naming each sacred shrine, each radiant tīrtha of the celestials. Wherever they went, the king bestowed abundant gifts upon thousands of Brahmanas, his hands never weary of charity.

Then Lomaśa, pointing to the sapphire hill and the Narmadā’s sacred flow, declared:

“He who bathes in Narmadā’s stream,

and ascends the hill that glitters like gems,

attains the realms where dwell the gods,

and stands among monarchs crowned in heaven.

This age is the meeting of Treta and Kali,

the turning of the wheel of Time.

Who bathes here now, O son of Kunti,

casts off sin as a serpent sheds its skin.”

He continued in prose, telling how at that very spot King Saryāti had once performed a mighty sacrifice. Indra himself had appeared visibly, drinking Soma in the company of the Aśvins, the twin physicians of the gods. But Bhrigu’s son, the austere and fiery Chyavana, conceived wrath against Indra for scorning the Aśvins, and by his ascetic power he struck down the king of the gods, holding him motionless. Then, through his tapas, he exalted the Aśvins to share in the Soma libation, raising them to the rank of equal drinkers among the celestials.

Hearing this, Yudhiṣṭhira bowed and asked with reverence:

“How did mighty Indra, lord of the six divine attributes,

fall beneath the power of Chyavana’s wrath?

For what cause did the sage kindle anger against him,

and how were the physicians admitted to Soma’s draught?

Tell me this, O Brāhmaṇa, exactly as it came to pass.”

Lomaśa said:

A son was born to the great Ṛṣi Bhṛgu, radiant as blazing fire, named Chyavana. Choosing the stillness of austerity, he sat by a tranquil lake and assumed the immovable vīra-pose, unmoving as a post. So long did he remain that swarms of ants built their mound over him, creepers veiled him, and the sage’s body was hidden beneath earth and dust, until he seemed not a man but a heap of soil. Yet within, his tapas blazed brighter than the sun.

In time, King Śaryāti, lord of men, came to that very lake with his retinue for pleasure. Four thousand queens accompanied him, adorned with ornaments like stars encircling the moon. With them was his only daughter, Sukanyā, youthful, radiant, and restless in spirit. Wandering apart from her companions, she strayed near the ant-hill where Chyavana was buried in meditation.

She moved like a streak of lightning,

restless among blossoming trees.

Desire for frolic stirred her heart,

and beauty glowed upon her face.

As she drew near, the hidden sage beheld her—bright as dawn, alone and unguarded. Desire, long subdued, stirred in his ascetic heart. He called out softly, but she did not hear. Instead, noticing two gleaming orbs—his eyes—shining within the mound, curiosity overcame her reason. Mistaking them for glow-worms, she pricked them cruelly with thorns.

Blinded and pained, the sage’s wrath blazed forth. By his curse the bodily functions of Śaryāti’s entire army were obstructed, and the hosts of men fell into great torment. Alarmed, the king sought the cause, asking again and again who had offended the venerable son of Bhṛgu. None could answer, until Sukanyā, stricken with fear, confessed her folly.

Śaryāti hastened to the ant-hill and found the sage, old in years yet fierce in austerity. Bowing with folded hands, the king pleaded:

“O holy one, forgive my daughter. In ignorance and childish folly she has wronged thee. Be thou gracious, and release us from this misery.”

But Chyavana, his eyes pierced and wrath yet burning, spoke with grave resolve:

“Pride has blinded thy daughter’s heart,

and with her thorns she blinded me.

Yet forgiveness I may grant—

if she herself becomes my bride.

Only on this condition, O king,

shall my anger turn aside.”

Without hesitation, King Śaryāti accepted the sage’s demand. In that very place he gave his jewel-like daughter to the ascetic.

Thus Sukanyā, faultless and radiant, became the wife of Chyavana. With a pure heart she served him—tending the fire, welcoming guests, and attending to her husband with obedience and devotion. In time, her guileless service and graceful countenance softened the ascetic’s stern life, and the king, relieved of the curse, returned joyfully to his city.

Lomaśa said:

Once, O king, the twin physicians of the gods, the Aśvins, wandered through the forest and beheld Sukanyā as she rose from her bath. Her body, unadorned yet radiant, glowed like lightning in a raincloud, and her beauty astonished even those celestial youths.

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They approached her with smiles and gentle words:

“O maiden of shapely limbs, who art thou,

gleaming like the daughter of heaven?

Why dwellest thou in this lonely wood,

when thy beauty deserves the halls of the gods?

How can such loveliness be bound to an old man,

decrepit, joyless, bereft of strength?

Forsake this aged Chyavana, O timid one,

and accept one of us as thy lord.

For youth like thine is not to be wasted,

like flowers offered to a lifeless stone.”

Sukanyā, modest and steadfast, lowered her gaze and replied with firmness:

“O lords of light, know me as the daughter of King Śaryāti, and the devoted wife of Chyavana, son of Bhṛgu. Doubt not my fidelity, for I am bound to him in dharma, in love, and in truth. Never shall I abandon him.”

The Aśvins, still smiling, pressed her again:

“We are the physicians of the celestials. If thou bringest thy husband to us, we shall restore him to youth and splendour. Then, O fair one, choose freely—whether him, or one of us—for thy lord.”

Hearing this, Sukanyā returned swiftly to the hermitage and told Chyavana all. The aged sage, desiring renewal of form, consented and said:

“Do as they have spoken.”

Thus, with her husband’s blessing, Sukanyā returned and assented:

“Be it so.”

The Aśvins then said: “Let thy husband enter the water.”

Chyavana descended into the sacred pool, and the twin gods entered with him. In but a moment, three radiant youths emerged—each bearing the same resplendent form, adorned with shining earrings, their bodies glowing like polished gold.

They spoke to Sukanyā:

“Behold us now, O fortunate one!

Choose thy lord among us three.

Let thy heart decide, O fair-browed maiden,

which form shall claim thy hand.”

Confused at first, for all appeared identical, Sukanyā studied them with steady heart. Her chastity, her wifely devotion, and her inner wisdom guided her sight, and she recognized her true husband among the three. Bowing low, she placed her choice upon Chyavana.

Thus renewed in beauty, youth, and strength, Chyavana, overjoyed, addressed the Aśvins with gratitude:

“O divine physicians, by your grace

I have regained youth, beauty, and my beloved wife.

Therefore, I vow before you both,

in the presence of mighty Indra himself,

that I shall make you sharers of Soma,

the sacred draught withheld from you till now.”

Delighted by this promise, the twin gods ascended to heaven, while Chyavana and Sukanyā lived thereafter in joy, radiant as if dwelling among the celestials.

Lomaśa said:

News soon reached King Śaryāti that Chyavana had been transformed into youth once more. With his queens and his retinue, he hastened to the hermitage. There he beheld the sage, radiant and youthful, seated beside Sukanyā, who shone like a goddess. The joy of the king and his wife was boundless, as though they had conquered the earth entire.

The king was received with honour. After greetings, Chyavana said with gentle words:

“O King, I shall officiate as priest in a sacrifice for thee. Let all preparations be made.”

Śaryāti, delighted, agreed at once. On an auspicious day, a splendid sacrificial ground was prepared, rich with all necessaries. There, Chyavana son of Bhṛgu began the rite as priest.

Then came the wonder. Chyavana lifted the Soma juice to pour libation for the Aśvins, the twin physicians of the gods. But Indra, wielder of the thunderbolt, rose in anger and forbade it.

“These two,” he cried, “are physicians, servants of the celestials. They assume forms at will and move among mortals. Never shall they taste Soma!”

Chyavana replied calmly:

“O Slayer of Vala, O Lord of the gods! These Aśvins restored me to youth and strength. They are divine, mighty in deed and radiant in beauty. Why should Soma be denied to them when all others partake? Truly, they too are gods!”

But Indra repeated his refusal. Still, Chyavana ignored him, smiling as he raised the Soma for the Aśvins. Then Indra thundered:

“Offer it, and I shall hurl my bolt, peerless among weapons, upon thee!”

Yet the sage remained unmoved. He poured the Soma, reciting sacred hymns. At once Indra hurled the thunderbolt—but Chyavana, with his ascetic power, paralysed Indra’s arm in mid-flight.

Then, with blazing wrath, he summoned forth by mantra a terrifying spirit.

From the fire of his penance arose Mada,

a demon vast as the end of the worlds.

His jaws stretched from earth to heaven,

his four great fangs a hundred yojanas long.

His eyes blazed like the sun and moon,

his face a conflagration at doomsday.

His tongue flickered like lightning unceasing,

and his roar shook the three worlds.

One arm spanned ten thousand yojanas,

the other matched it, mountain-like.

His open mouth yawned to consume creation,

and the gods trembled at his approach.

This demon rushed upon Indra, the performer of a hundred sacrifices, intent on devouring him. The heavens shook with the sound, and the gods themselves quailed.

Lomaśa said:

When Indra, performer of a hundred sacrifices, beheld Mada, the demon of dreadful form, rushing upon him with jaws agape like Yama himself, terror seized him. His arms remained numb, struck powerless by Chyavana’s curse, and the king of the gods licked the corners of his lips in fear.

Then, trembling, he spoke to Bhṛgu’s son:

“O Brāhmaṇa, O mighty ascetic! From this day forth let the Aśvins be entitled to drink Soma. Be merciful, for my undertaking must not fail. Truly, I sought only to spread the fame of thy power, and to make known the glory of Sukanyā’s lineage. Spare me, and let thy will be done!”

Thus addressed, Chyavana’s anger cooled. He released Indra from paralysis, and with calm authority dispersed the demon Mada, breaking him into four parts and placing them in the world—

In the lure of wine and strong drink,

in the snare of women’s charms,

in the ruinous throw of dice,

and in reckless sport of arms.

So intoxication entered the world, subdued yet never absent.

Thereafter Chyavana completed the sacrifice. He poured Soma for Indra and also for the Aśvins, who by his vow were granted their rightful share among the gods. The celestials rejoiced, Śaryāti was blessed, and the sage’s fame spread through all the worlds. He dwelt thereafter in peace, his youth restored, attended by Sukanyā, ever faithful.

Then Lomaśa pointed out to Yudhiṣṭhira the sacred places around them:

“This, O king, is the lake of Chyavana, shining with the songs of birds. Here must thou and thy brothers offer water-libations to the ancestors and the gods. There lies Śikata-kṣa, and beyond it the woods of the Sindhu. In these places, bathing purifies sin, for here is the meeting of ages—when Tretā gives way to Dvāpara.

See yonder Arcika Hill, dwelling place of the wise. Fruits ripen in all seasons, streams never fail, and cairns of the gods crown the slopes. Here did Nara and Nārāyaṇa, and Santanu, and Śaunaka, perform austerities and win eternal regions.

Sacred fires burn still upon these peaks,

the smoke rising like prayers to heaven.

The moon himself claimed this bathing spot,

and saints sustain themselves here only on air.

There also flows the Yamunā, inexhaustible and pure, once the seat of Krishna’s penances. In this holy place the gods themselves abode, Varuṇa and Brahmā, practising restraint and truth. O son of Kunti, let us go together—thy brothers, Draupadī, and I—to bathe in these waters, sanctified by sacrifice.

For here Mandhātā, lord of the bow, worshipped with offerings, and Somaka, son of Sahadeva, made gifts that pleased the celestials. Blessed is the man who honours these shrines; freed from sin, he wins merit that endures.”

Yudhiṣṭhira spoke with wonder:

“O Brāhmaṇa, thou art learned in ancient tales. Tell me of Mandhātṛ, son of Yuvanāśva—how was he born, how did he rise to glory? The three worlds are said to have bowed beneath his power, as they bow before mighty Viṣṇu. How came his name to resound in heaven and earth alike, rivaling Indra in splendour?”

Lomaśa replied:

“Listen well, O king, and I shall recount the wondrous birth of that ruler who shook the worlds.

Yuvanāśva of the Ikṣvāku line, lord of men and giver of wealth, performed a thousand horse-sacrifices and countless other rites of grandeur. Gold was given in heaps, cows in herds, jewels in unending streams—yet one gift the gods denied him: a son.

Burdened with sorrow, the king laid down his crown, entrusted his ministers with rule, and sought the forest. There he lived upon penance, fasting with rigid vow, until hunger parched his throat and thirst scorched his lips.

It was then that he wandered, weak and staggering, into the hermitage of Bhṛgu’s race. That very night, the sage had performed a rite for Saudāyumna, consecrating a jar of holy water with the power of his austerities. The water, touched by Vedic hymns, bore the seed of destiny: whosoever drank it, his queen would give birth to a godlike son, a hero who could challenge even Indra.

The jar stood on the altar, glistening with light. But the saints, weary from their vigil, slept. Yuvanāśva, parched and trembling, sought water to live. His call was faint, no one heard. At last his eyes fell upon the consecrated jar. He drank deep, and life returned to him.

When the sages awoke, they saw the jar emptied. They turned to one another in dismay, until Yuvanāśva confessed: ‘Thirst drove me. I alone drank the water.’

Then the son of Bhṛgu, grave and resplendent, spoke:

“O king, thou hast done what was not ordained.

This water bore the seed of sacrifice,

meant for thy queen, that she might bear a child

fierce as Indra, radiant as the sun.

But Fate is strong; what is done cannot be undone.

By thy lips the draught was taken,

therefore from thy very body shall a son be born.

A hero unmatched, destroyer of foes,

he shall rival the gods themselves.”

The sages consoled him further:

“Fear not, O lord of men. By sacrifice and our blessing the pains of birth shall not afflict thee. From thy own side shall spring a son of immeasurable power, destined to be the monarch of monarchs.”

Thus was the mystery sealed by destiny.

When a hundred years had passed, destiny fulfilled itself. From the left side of Yuvanāśva’s body there burst forth a child radiant as the midday sun. The king, though pierced, did not die—a marvel beyond reckoning.

Then the gods assembled, led by mighty Indra, to behold this wonder. They asked the wielder of the thunderbolt:

“What shall this infant suck?”

Indra, smiling, placed his forefinger in the child’s mouth and said:

“Me he shall suck.”

Thus, nourished by the king of the gods himself, the boy was named Mandhātṛ, “He who sucked me.” From that divine touch he grew in strength beyond mortal measure.

In but a short span, the boy rose to a height of thirteen cubits. Without tutor or teaching, by sheer brilliance of mind, he mastered the entire Veda and the holy science of arms. On that very day celestial treasures appeared before him: the bow Ajagava, shafts of horn tipped with death, and a coat of mail that no weapon could pierce.

Indra himself placed the child upon the throne. And like Viṣṇu striding the worlds in three steps, Mandhātṛ conquered the three realms by dharma, not cruelty. Wherever his chariot-wheel rolled, its course was irresistible. Jewels and treasures flowed to him unasked, as though the earth herself delighted to serve his command.

O king, know this land thou seest—rich, fertile, sacred—was once his domain. The earth bore the marks of his countless sacrifices; not a span remained without the impress of his yajña. Ten thousand padmas of kine he gave to Brāhmaṇas, wealth beyond measure.

When a twelve-year drought scorched the earth and Indra withheld the rains, Mandhātṛ caused rain to fall by his own virtue, unheeding the thunder-wielder’s glare. By his shafts he slew the fierce Gandhāra king, born of the lunar race, whose fury had shaken nations.

He protected the four orders with justice and guarded the worlds by his austerity and truth. By sacrifice he ascended to the side of Indra himself, radiant as the sun. Behold, O Yudhiṣṭhira, this very spot in the holy Kuru field where that monarch, Mandhātṛ, performed his offering to the gods.

Thus, at thy request, have I spoken of his wondrous birth and mighty deeds, a tale extraordinary, a glory unmatched.