novelraw Arc 5 - Tirth-Yatra Parva - Chapter 18 - Jataśūra Defeated
Arc 5 - Tirth-Yatra Parva - Chapter 18 - Jataśūra Defeated
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus journeying, Bhīmasena at last came to the foot of Kailāsa, where before him shone a lotus-lake of otherworldly beauty. Its waters poured forth from the sacred cascades near the abode of Kubera, lord of wealth, and it gleamed like a jewel set in a mountain crown. All about it stretched groves of fragrant trees and flowering creepers; lilies floated upon its face, and green leaves spread a soothing shade.
The lake was filled with golden lotuses, their stalks flashing like lapis lazuli, their petals glowing with the hue of dawn. Swans and kāraṇḍavas glided among them, scattering farina across the clear expanse. Its banks, firm and clean, shone like polished crystal, for mud and mire could find no home there. The waters were cool, clear, and light as ambrosia, healthful and gladdening to the heart. Indeed, it was a wonder of the worlds, cherished by gods, gandharvas, and apsarases alike, and guarded as the cherished sport of Kuvera, king of the yakṣas.
Celestial sages frequented its shores, and kimpuruṣas, kinnara-singers, and rākṣasas too came to its margins. All held it sacred, for it was protected by the might of Kuvera himself. When Bhīma beheld this sight, his heart leapt with delight, and drinking deeply of the lake’s waters, he felt as though nectar itself had filled his veins.
But even as he rejoiced, there rose a stir. For by the mandate of their king, hundreds of rākṣasas known as Krodhavāsas—fiery in eye, fierce in temper—stood guard over those waters. Armed with varied weapons, clad in uniform array, they patrolled the sacred banks. Seeing Bhīma, deer-skin clad, golden armlets upon his mighty arms, sword at his side, bow and weapons in hand, their voices rose in alarm.
“Behold!” they cried to one another, “here comes a man clad as an ascetic, yet armed like a warrior, striding without fear into the lord’s domain. Let us question him, lest transgression fall upon this holy ground.”
Then surrounding Vṛkodara of the dreadful arms, they demanded of him:
“Who art thou, O stranger? Declare thy name and thy purpose. Why dost thou wander armed in this sacred grove, clothed in a hermit’s garb yet bearing the weapons of war? Speak plainly, O strong one, and tell us the object of thy coming.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Standing proud before the yakṣas, Bhīmasena, lion among men, declared in ringing tones who he was and why he had come.
“I am Bhīma, son of Pāṇḍu,
Born of Vāyu, fierce and free.
Draupadī longs for Saugandhikas,
And I shall bring them back from thee.”
The guardians of the lake, fierce Krodhavāsas, replied in wrath, their voices harsh like the clash of iron:
“This lake is Kuvera’s treasure,
Here no mortal dares to tread.
Only with Vaiśravaṇa’s blessing,
May sages, gods, and seers be fed.
Whoever scorns the Lord of Wealth,
And takes his blossoms by his hand,
That fool shall fall to swift destruction,
And perish on this sacred land.”
But Bhīma, fire-eyed and resolute, answered them with the proud law of his order:
“A kṣatriya bows to no one,
His dharma is to guard, not crave.
The mountain’s streams flow free for all—
Not hoarded like a miser’s grave.
Why should I beg what nature yields,
What springs from heaven’s mountain side?
The flowers belong to gods and men,
In that eternal law I abide.”
So saying, he strode into the shining waters. The yakṣas, enraged, closed in on him from every side.
“Seize him! Bind him! Hew him! We shall feast upon him!” they cried, rushing with spears, lances, and axes. But Bhīma raised his golden-plated mace, terrible as Yama’s staff, and thundered to the skies:
“Stand fast, ye fiends of wrath and guile!
Here ends your pride, your rage, your while.
My arm shall shatter fang and bone,
Till all your hosts lie overthrown!”
Then the battle burst forth. The yakṣas swarmed like locusts, but Bhīma met them like a tempest, breaking arms, crushing skulls, felling warriors upon the lotus-banks. More than a hundred fell beneath his blows, strewn like uprooted trees on the river’s edge.
Witnessing his might, the survivors faltered. Fear spread like fire through dry grass; they fled skyward toward the peaks of Kailāsa, broken and defeated.
Victorious, Bhīmasena entered deep into the lotus-lake. Drinking of its nectar-cool waters, his strength redoubled, and joy filled his heart. He plucked the golden Saugandhika blossoms in armfuls, each one radiant as the rising sun.
Meanwhile the fleeing yakṣas sought refuge with their lord. Breathless, they told Kubera of the mortal hero’s invincible strength and dreadful prowess.
The Lord of Wealth, master of treasures, smiled in serenity:
“Let Bhīma take what flowers he will,
For Draupadī, so dear, so fair.
This was foretold; I knew his path,
His coming here was in my care.”
Thus with Kuvera’s blessing, the yakṣas laid aside their anger and returned. There they beheld Bhīma, mighty among men, disporting in the sacred lake, radiant with lotus-blossoms, delight shining upon his face.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Then Bhīmasena, the mighty-armed, gathered the rare and unearthly blossoms, Saugandhikas shining like dawn, filling his hands with fragrant treasure.
But even as he did so, the air changed. A violent wind arose, sharp and piercing, hurling gravel across the slopes. Meteors blazed across the sky with thunderous sounds. The sun dimmed, his rays paling under a veil of gloom. Darkness fell, the quarters reddened, beasts shrieked, birds cried in terror, and the trembling earth shivered with dust and storm.
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“The heavens flame with omens dire,
The ground resounds with hidden fire.
The beasts cry out, the birds take wing—
What fate is nigh, what war to bring?”
Seeing such fearful portents, Yudhiṣṭhira, son of Dharma, spoke with calm foresight:
“O brothers, sharpen your arms, for danger nears. These omens cry of battle. Where is Vṛkodara, breaker of hosts? Surely some great deed is upon him.”
Looking around and not finding Bhīma, he turned to Draupadī and the twins. The queen of sweet smiles, desiring to soothe her lord, spoke gently:
“O king, the lotus brought today by the wind I showed to Bhīma. Out of love he vowed to fetch me many more. Surely he has gone to the north-east, to seek them in Kuvera’s groves.”
Hearing her words, Yudhiṣṭhira said to the twins:
“Let us follow where Bhīma’s feet have flown. Let the rākṣasas carry the weary Brāhmaṇas. O Ghaṭotkaca, bear Kṛṣṇā in thy arms. Thy father’s pace is swifter than the wind, like Garuḍa in flight. Yet though he leaps across the sky, he will not harm the siddhas or the sages. Come—by your strength we shall reach him.”
At the king’s command, Hidimbā’s son and the rākṣasas, knowing the quarter of Kuvera’s lake, bore the Pāṇḍavas and the ascetics swiftly onward, with Lomāśa at their side. Soon they reached the radiant waters, clothed in blossoms and circled by shining woods.
There they beheld Bhīma on the lotus shore—terrible in wrath, eyes steady, lip bitten, mace raised in both hands. Around him lay the yakṣas he had slain: eyes shattered, arms crushed, skulls broken. He stood like Yama at world’s end, mace lifted in judgment.
Yudhiṣṭhira the just hastened forward, embraced his brother again and again, and spoke with gentle rebuke:
“O son of Kuntī, lion of might,
Why tempt the anger of the bright?
Restrain thy hand, offend not heaven,
By gods alone is fortune given.”
Thus instructing him, Yudhiṣṭhira took the lotuses and bade all rest. The Pāṇḍavas and the Brāhmaṇas sported for a time in Kuvera’s fragrant lake, hearts eased after peril.
But soon the warders of the gardens arrived—huge-bodied rākṣasas bearing rocks for weapons. Seeing Yudhiṣṭhira the just, the sage Lomāśa, Nakula, Sahadeva, and the Brāhmaṇas, they bowed low in reverence. Pacified by the king’s calm words, they set aside their anger.
By Kuvera’s knowledge, no harm befell the sons of Pāṇḍu. On the slopes of Gandhamādana they dwelt awhile, delighting in the blossoms, awaiting the return of Arjuna.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Once, while dwelling on the slopes of Gandhamādana, Yudhiṣṭhira, son of Dharma, spoke before Kṛṣṇā, his brothers, and the gathered Brāhmaṇas:
“Together we have wandered wide,
Through sacred groves and rivers’ tide,
Where sages dwelt, where gods would roam,
Each tirtha sanctified as home.
With flowers and water gods we praised,
With fruits and roots the Pitris raised,
In holy mountains, lakes, and seas,
We bathed with saints in sanctities.
Ila, Sarasvatī, Sindhu, Yamunā, Narmadā’s flow,
The Ganga’s source and peaks of snow,
The Viśāla tree, Nara’s shrine,
And this lake where the blossoms shine—
All have we seen, O twice-born seers,
Guided by Lomāśa’s years.
Now tell me, Bhīma, mighty hand,
How may we reach Kuvera’s land?”
As the king thus spoke, behold—a voice resounded in the sky, clear and commanding:
“That place is not for mortal feet,
Too high its path, too stern, too steep.
Return the way that brought thee here,
Through Vadari, the hermitage dear.
There shalt thou see with heart made pure,
The saints, the Siddhas, strong and sure.
From Vrishaparva’s flowering glade,
To Arṣṭiśena’s quiet shade—
Then only, O son of Dharma’s line,
May Kuvera’s dwelling rise divine.”
At once a cool and fragrant breeze descended, scattering blossoms like offerings of heaven. The Pāṇḍavas and their Brāhmaṇa companions marveled, astonished at the heavenly sign.
Then Dhaumya, wise in counsel, spoke gently to the king:
“Celestial words are truth’s own flame,
Let no man question heaven’s claim.
What voice hath spoken from the sky,
So let it be, O Bhārata high.”
Obeying the sage, Yudhiṣṭhira returned with his brothers, with Draupadī, and with the holy Brāhmaṇas, to the hermitage of Nara and Nārāyaṇa at Vadari. There they dwelt in peace, awaiting the fulfilment of destiny, their hearts gladdened in sacred company.
Vaiśampāyana continued:
They dwelt awhile in that high hermitage, awaiting Arjuna’s return; the Rakshasas had departed, and Ghaṭotkaca with them. Yet among the Pāṇḍavas there walked one who wore the garb of a brāhmaṇa though his heart was dark—Jātaśūra, a wolf in priest’s guise, flattering the sons of Pāṇḍu while he watched for treachery. He lingered like an ash-covered fire, feigning counsel and learning, while secretly coveting their bows, quivers, and the fair Draupadī.
One day, while Bhīma was absent on the mountainside, and Lomāśa and many sages were away in holy rites, that wretch cast off his mask. He swelled himself terrible, assumed a monstrous form, and in a heartless leap snatched up Yudhiṣṭhira, the twins, and Kṛṣṇa — and with the speed of a storm he bore them off, clutching Draupadī and the weapons of the house of Kuru.
Sahadeva, with the fury of a youth who will not let shame endure, wrested the sword Kauśika from the clutch of a foe and shouted for Bhīma as he ran in the direction whence the mighty brother had gone. Yudhiṣṭhira, heavy with resolve, made himself a burden upon the robber’s course so that the villain could not speed; and calling the faith-broken one to account, he rebuked him with the weight of dharma upon his lips.
“O thou who wear’st a Brahman’s robe yet bear’st a demon’s heart,” he said, “thy deed is poison to the world. Whether of human kind or born of lower birth, all creatures once knew virtue. Even Rakshasas once honoured righteousness as men do now. We are the guardians of kingdoms; upon our order depend gods and pitṛs and men alike. We feed the sacrificial flame; by our rule the earth prospers. How then can one who has eaten at our board lift hand against his host? A friend, a guest, a shelterer, these are not to be wronged. Thou hast eaten, been honoured, and now wouldst thou bring infamy? Know this: by violence to a woman thou hast drunk the world’s poison. If thou art resolute to sin, then meet us in fight; but thy name shall carry demerit and shame for ever.”
He made his person heavy, and the robber’s pace was checked; the villain staggered under the weight of that reproach and the king’s steady bearing.
Sahadeva, fiery and clear-voiced, stood forward and cast his gauntlet before the robber with the young daring of a Kshatriya. He proclaimed with the unwavering courage of one who seeks heaven by the spear:
“What merit greater for a Kshatriya lies
Than death in battle or a foe’s surprise?
Either slay me here, or bear this dame away—
But know my name: I am Sahadeva of sway.
If on this day the sun should set,
And yet this demon live to boast and fret,
Then let my voice renounce the Kshatriya’s fame—
For I will not bear the shadow of that name.”
Thus spoke the youngest of Kunti’s sons, and the place rang with his oath. Yudhiṣṭhira’s calm held them fast; he bade his brothers not to despair, assuring them that Bhīma’s return was near and that the robber’s life would not endure when the mighty son of the Wind should come.
So the land was set for trial. The villain fled with his spoils; the Pāṇḍavas girded themselves with sorrow and courage alike. The hermitage that had been a place of quiet now thrummed with the drum of destiny — for in that moment the law of kṣatriya virtue, the duty of kings and sons, stood plain before heaven and earth.
Vaiśampāyana said:
As Sahadeva uttered his fiery challenge, Bhīma the mighty appeared, mace in hand, resplendent as Indra brandishing the thunderbolt. His gaze fell upon his brothers borne upon the shoulders of the fiend, Draupadī struggling in terror, and Sahadeva defiant on the ground. Jataśūra, that sinner masked in brāhmaṇa’s guise, reeled about bewildered by Fate itself, his monstrous form betraying his deceit.
The wrath of Bhīma blazed forth like a fire unbound. His voice, deep as thunder, addressed the Rakṣasa:
“Wretch! Long ago I marked thee as vile, when thy eye lingered upon our arms. Yet I slew thee not, for thou camest as a guest, cloaked in a brāhmaṇa’s robe, uttering no harsh word, and giving us no cause. To strike at one innocent of offence, or at a brāhmaṇa in seeming, is a sin that drags the soul to hell. But now thy mask is fallen, thy time is ripe. In coveting Kṛṣṇā, thou hast swallowed the hook of Fate, and shalt be dragged to doom as surely as the fish to death. Go not where thou intendest, but whither Vaka and Hiḍimva went—down into the jaws of Yama!”
So spake Bhīma, and the Rakṣasa, trembling in heart yet driven by destiny, set down his prey and turned snarling to the fight. His lips quivered with rage as he shouted:
“Dog of a man! It was thee I awaited. This day thy blood shall flow as oblation to those of my race whom thou hast already slain!”
Thus challenged, Bhīma rushed upon him, licking the corners of his mouth, his eyes blazing, striking his mighty arms together with a sound like thunder. And the demon too bounded forward, yawning with fury, mouth gaping like a cavern, even as Vāli once charged the wielder of the bolt.
A fearful wrestling then began, like god and titan grappling in primeval strife. The sons of Mādrī would have rushed to aid, but Vṛkodara checked them with a smile:
“Stand ye and witness! By my own self, by my brothers, by merit and sacrifice, I swear—I alone shall slay this Rakṣasa!”
Then the duel roared on. Trees were torn from the earth, wielded as clubs and shattered into splinters. Forest groves fell crushed beneath their fury, as when Vāli and Sugrīva strove for a woman’s sake. When no tree remained unbroken, they hurled vast crags, crashing together like mountain against storm-cloud, each blow echoing like Indra’s thunder.
Still unsated, they seized each other by the arms, grappling like tusked elephants in rut. Their teeth gnashed, their mouths foamed; and Bhīma, coiling his fist like a five-hooded serpent, struck the Rakṣasa on the neck with the force of worlds. Jataśūra staggered, faint and powerless.
Then Bhīma, mighty-armed, lifted the demon high and dashed him upon the ground. Limbs cracked, body shattered, gore staining the earth. With his elbow he struck once more, severing the fiend’s head—its lips bitten, its eyes rolling—till it rolled from the body like a ripe fruit from its stalk.
Thus perished Jataśūra, that devourer of men. And Bhīma, standing victorious, shone like Yama at the world’s end. Returning to Yudhiṣṭhira, mace in hand, he stood radiant as the gods themselves, while the foremost of brāhmaṇas lifted hymns of praise, lauding Vṛkodara even as the Maruts laud Indra.