novelraw Arc 6 - Markandeya-Samasya Parva Chapter 3 - The Prophecy of Kalki
Arc 6 - Markandeya-Samasya Parva Chapter 3 - The Prophecy of Kalki
Vaiśampāyana said:
Yudhiṣṭhira, son of Kuntī, once more questioned the great Mārkaṇḍeya, eager to know the fate of the earth in the darkening course of Time. “O sage,” said he, “thy discourse on dissolution and rebirth is wondrous. Tell me now of the Kali age—its food and pastimes, its span of life, the power of men, and the very limit at which Kṛta dawns anew.”
Then Mārkaṇḍeya, gladdening Keśava of the Vṛṣṇis and the sons of Pāṇḍu, began to speak of what he had seen by vision and grace.
Four hooves once bore the Bull of Right—
In Kṛta all was clear and bright;
One leg fell in Tretā’s day,
And two in Dvāpara slipped away.
In Kali’s dusk—one quarter stays;
Three parts of sin obscure the ways.
He said: In Kṛta, guile and avarice were unknown; dharma stood complete. In Tretā one foot was lost; in Dvāpara, dharma and adharma were mingled; and in Kali, righteousness clings to but a fourth. With each yuga men decline in years, in vigor, in intellect. In Kali, all orders—brāhmaṇa, kṣatriya, vaiśya, and śūdra—profess virtue while weaving nets of deceit. Lives grow short; learning grows thin; wisdom withers. Avarice and anger flourish; men, stung by lust and ignorance, turn upon each other’s lives. Boundaries of caste and duty blur— the lowest rise above, the higher sink below; the world inverts its course.
Truth thins to thread, and vows are husk,
The righteous mask the robber’s tusk;
With scripture’s words men bait their snares,
And trade in holiness and prayers.
Food and habit alter: flax their finest cloth; the poorer grains their staple; cows grow scarce and men live on goat and sheep and fish and milk. Even the vow-keeper covets; men sow stream-banks with spades, yet harvests fail. Offerings for gods and sires are eaten first by the offerers themselves; fathers consume the sons’ substance, and sons the fathers’. Brāhmaṇas dispute away the Veda, forsake the homa and the staff; disputation passes for wisdom; the mind stoops to the mean. Calves are harnessed to plough; sons and sires slay each other and glory in their safety.
Kings become thorns, not shields of peace,
They tax and tear, yet guards release;
They seize the good, ignore their cries,
And boast of wisdom clothed in lies.
Marriage customs loosen; girls choose at will; rulers, greedy and restless, plunder their folk. Trust dissolves; cowards are famed as brave, the brave go cheerless. One food feeds all; sin prospers, virtue fails; distinctions blur till all seem of one order. Wives cease to serve; husbands cease to cherish; both grow free and sharp of tongue. No one listens; no one teaches; darkness spreads across the earth. At sixteen years a life may end; children beget children; jealousy, malice, and false piety abound. Highways swarm with lustful trade; towns with famine and deceit; merchants cheat by weight and measure; ceremonies are performed without ordinance and men do whatever pleases them.
When forests fall and gardens die,
And rivers’ banks are bled and dry;
When learning begs at passion’s door—
Then know the Yuga nears its shore.
The regenerate, oppressed by the unregenerate, cry “Alas!” and flee to mountains and rivers; robbed by bandits, even the foremost wander like crows. Burdened by taxes and bad rulers, many take service beneath those they should instruct. Śūdras expound scripture; brāhmaṇas listen and fix their path accordingly. Bones and relics are worshiped within walls; sacred places are marred with tombs; shrines to the gods fall empty. Flowers beget flowers and fruits within fruits; rains fall out of season; winds are confused; meteors cross the sky; the sun wears many doubles; eclipses come awry; fires spring up unbidden. Women grow sharp and pitiless, disobedient and quick to weep; men and women alike turn omnivorous and cruel. Friends cast off friends; kin abandon kin; peoples uproot and wander, crying “O father! O son!”
The heavens burn with signs ill-starred,
The roads with beggars’ pleas are barred;
The child is old before the dawn—
Such are the marks: the age is gone.
When men kill men without compunction, despise life of beast and bird, and delight in harm, then the Yuga ends. Yet even this has limit.
“When those terrible times are over,” said the sage, “creation begins again. Men are born anew; the four orders are re-established. Providence turns propitious; the sun, the moon, and Bṛhaspati, meeting Pushya in one sign, herald Kṛta’s dawn. Rains return in season; stars and conjunctions grow auspicious; the planets run their orbits well; abundance, health, and peace arise.
When Pushya crowns the triple light,
And gentle rains make dark to bright,
The Bull of Right lifts hoofs once more,
And Kṛta steps upon the shore.
Then, commissioned by Time, a brāhmaṇa named Kalki is born in Śambhala, of an auspicious line. He glorifies Viṣṇu; his energy, intellect, and prowess are great. At thought, weapons, mail, chariots, and warriors stand at hand. King of kings by virtue’s strength, ever-victorious, he restores order in a world at odds with itself. Surrounded by brāhmaṇas, that blazing sage-warrior destroys the mleccha ways wherever they hide, ends the crookedness of the age, and inaugurates a new cycle.”
He comes when law is all but lost,
To weigh the world and count the cost;
He shears the night with dharma’s sword,
And turns the wheel back to the Lord.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus did Mārkaṇḍeya, seer of cycles, declare the evening signs of Kali and the dawn-signs of Kṛta, the fall and the renewal, the terror and the healing. Hearing him, the sons of Pāṇḍu and Kṛṣṇa of the Vṛṣṇis bowed their minds to dharma’s patient arc, and took courage from the promise of returning light.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Then Mārkaṇḍeya, best of the long-lived, continued his discourse, O King.
“When Kalki, tiger among Brāhmaṇas, shall have arisen in Śambhala, he will root out thieves and oppressors. At a great Horse-sacrifice he will give the earth itself to the Brāhmaṇas, and establish anew the blessed order of dharma ordained by the Self-existent. Then, having performed sacred deeds, Kalki will retire to the forest, even as kings of old renounced their glory after sacrifice. The people, purified, will imitate his conduct.
The cries of grief shall fade away,
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When thieves are smitten, sins decay;
And once again the world shall stand,
Made holy by the righteous hand.
As virtue rises, gardens will be planted, tanks and ponds dug, temples raised, and schools resound with the lore of the Veda. Sacrifices will once more be performed; the Brāhmaṇas will be truthful, ascetic, and content; the āśramas, once filled with impostors, will again shine with seekers of truth. Crops shall ripen in every season, vows and charities shall be honored, and kings will rule with justice. Each order will be devoted to its duty—Brāhmaṇas to study and sacrifice, Kṣatriyas to protection and prowess, Vaiśyas to tillage and trade, and Śūdras to service of the three higher orders.
Thus, O Yudhiṣṭhira, I have told thee the courses of the four Yugas, as sung in the Purāṇa of Vāyu, adored by the Ṛṣis. Being deathless, I have seen the revolutions of ages; all that is, I have spoken. Now hear also what thou must do, O son of Dharma. Fix thy soul always on virtue, for one of virtuous soul gains bliss in this world and the next. Above all, never humiliate a Brāhmaṇa, for his wrath can consume even the three worlds.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus instructed, Yudhiṣṭhira bowed with reverence and said:
“O Muni, if it is mine to protect my subjects, what is the path I must walk? Tell me the conduct that accords with dharma, that I may not fall away from my duty.”
Mārkaṇḍeya replied:
“Be merciful to all creatures, devoted to their welfare. Love all beings, scorning none. Speak truth, be humble, keep thy passions under control, and protect thy people as a father guards his children. Practise virtue, renounce sin, worship the gods and the manes; expiate by charity all errors born of ignorance. Cast away pride and vanity; delight in good conduct. Having subjugated the earth, rejoice in righteousness and not in cruelty.
By truth and mercy hold thy throne,
By self-restraint be ever known;
By dharma’s staff the world is stayed,
Not wealth, nor arms, nor battle’s blade.
Take not to heart thy present calamity, O King. Time afflicts all creatures—even the dwellers of heaven cannot resist its power. The wise are never overwhelmed by suffering; let no doubt cloud thy mind, for doubt eats away virtue as rust devours iron. Remember thy birth in the noble line of the Kurus; walk steadfast in the path I have spoken—in thought, in word, and in deed.”
Then Yudhiṣṭhira answered with joined palms:
“O foremost of the regenerate, at thy command I shall act. Lust and avarice are not in me, nor pride, nor fear, nor vanity. Therefore, O lord, I will follow all that thou hast spoken.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Having heard these blessed words of wisdom from Mārkaṇḍeya, the sons of Pāṇḍu, Kṛṣṇa of the Vṛṣṇis, the Brāhmaṇas assembled, and all that company were filled with wonder and delight. Their hearts grew firm, their sorrow lightened, and they rejoiced in the hope of dharma’s eternal return.
Janamejaya said:
“O Brāhmaṇa, it behoveth thee to recount in full the greatness of the Brāhmaṇas, even as the mighty ascetic Mārkaṇḍeya once expounded it unto the sons of Pāṇḍu.”
Vaiśampāyana replied:
“Listen, O King. The eldest son of Pāṇḍu had indeed asked Mārkaṇḍeya this very question, and the great sage narrated unto him the conduct of Brāhmaṇas in ancient days. Hear now that tale.”
Mārkaṇḍeya said:
“There was once a king named Parīkṣit of the race of Ikṣvāku, who ruled at Ayodhyā. One day, while hunting, he strayed far from the abodes of men. Fatigued with hunger and thirst, he entered a dense forest, and within it discovered a clear and delightful tank. Having bathed with his horse and refreshed himself, he reclined upon the bank.
There he heard sweet strains of music, and soon beheld a maiden of great beauty, singing as she gathered flowers. Astonished, the king asked:
‘O blessed one, who art thou? Whose daughter art thou?’
She answered: ‘I am a maiden.’
The king, overcome with desire, said: ‘Be thou mine.’
The maiden replied: ‘Give me a pledge, and only then will I be thine. Swear that thou shalt never cause me to look upon water.’
The king, infatuated, agreed. Thus was she wedded, and he took her to his capital, hiding her from the eyes of his ministers and subjects. Yet the women of the palace whispered of her unmatched beauty, and revealed that she was kept by the king under that peculiar vow.
The minister-in-chief, curious and wary, devised a scheme. He caused to be built an artificial forest, filled with blossoming trees and fruits, and within it a hidden tank of limpid water, covered with a net of pearls. Then he said to the king:
‘O lord, here is a forest without water. Sport here joyfully with thy queen.’
The king entered with his beloved, and weary with play, they sat in a bower of creepers. Beholding the hidden tank, he said:
‘Cheerfully plunge into this water!’
She obeyed—and vanished beneath its surface, never rising again.
The waters closed, the queen was gone,
The king in grief stood all alone;
His vow betrayed, his joy undone,
His wrath upon the frogs begun.
In despair, the king drained the tank and discovered a frog sitting at a hole. Believing that the frogs had devoured his queen, he ordered throughout his dominion:
‘Let frogs be slain everywhere! None shall approach me save with tribute of dead frogs!’
The slaughter spread, and the terrified frogs sought refuge with their king, Āyu, who, assuming the guise of an ascetic, came before Parīkṣit. With gentle words he said:
“O king, restrain thy wrath. What gain is there in slaying innocent frogs? Prosperity flees from him whose soul is steeped in ignorance and anger. Let thy rage be pacified.”
But Parīkṣit, burning with grief, replied:
“My beloved was swallowed by these creatures! How can I forgive? They deserve death.”
Then the frog-king revealed the truth:
“I am Āyu, king of the frogs. Know, O monarch, that thy wife was my daughter, named Suśobhanā. She is wont to deceive kings in this way. Many before thee have been deluded by her. Forgive the frogs, and I shall give her again unto thee.”
Thus Suśobhanā was restored, but her father, angered by her deceit, cursed her saying:
“Because thou hast misled many kings, thy offspring shall prove disrespectful to Brāhmaṇas.”
Nevertheless, Parīkṣit, enamoured of her charms and virtues, felt as if he had won the sovereignty of three worlds. He honored Āyu with due reverence, and in time begot three sons upon Suśobhanā—Śala, Dala, and Vala. Later, renouncing his throne, Parīkṣit installed his eldest son and himself retired to the forest for ascetic life.
One day, Śala, while hunting, pursued a deer. His charioteer said:
“Restrain thy purpose, O prince. This deer cannot be caught unless the Vāmi horses of Vāmadeva were yoked to thy car.”
Śala, enraged, threatened his charioteer:
“Tell me of these Vāmi horses, else I slay thee!”
The charioteer, torn between fear of the prince and dread of Vāmadeva’s curse, at last confessed:
“They are the steeds of the sage Vāmadeva, fleet as the mind itself.”
Śala resolved to seize them, and driving to the hermitage, he said to the sage:
“O holy one, grant me thy pair of Vāmi horses, that I may overtake this deer.”
Vāmadeva, knowing his intent, replied calmly:
“I give thee my pair of Vāmi steeds, but return them once thy object is accomplished.”
Śala took them, caught the deer, but afterwards, swelling with arrogance, declared:
“These jewels of steeds the Brāhmaṇas do not deserve to possess. They shall not be returned.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
“Mārkaṇḍeya, the great sage of Bhrigu’s race, continued his discourse, recounting to Yudhiṣṭhira the fate of King Śala, son of Parīkṣit.”
Mārkaṇḍeya said:
When Śala seized the Vāmi steeds of Vāmadeva, the sage bore it patiently for a time, thinking within himself:
‘The prince is young, elated by fortune. He sports in his ignorance, forgetting his pledge. Alas, how sad is this!’
After a month had passed, Vāmadeva sent his disciple Ātreya, saying:
“Go to the king. Tell him gently that if his purpose is accomplished, he must return my steeds.”
Ātreya came before the monarch, but Śala, intoxicated with pride, answered harshly:
“These steeds are fit for kings alone. What need have Brāhmaṇas for horses? Return content, O boy.”
Ātreya sorrowfully carried these words to his preceptor. Vāmadeva’s heart burned with wrath, and he himself approached the king.
“Give back my Vāmi steeds, O ruler of men,” he said.
“With them hast thou accomplished what was beyond thy power. Do not transgress dharma. Do not subject thyself to the noose of Varuṇa by robbing a Brāhmaṇa.”
Śala sneered:
“These docile bulls are good enough for Brāhmaṇas. Take them instead. The Vedas themselves are your vehicle in this world and the next. But steeds—these belong to kings.”
The sage replied, serene yet stern:
“The Vedas, indeed, bear us hence,
But in this world we too must move,
And steeds like these bear us along.
O king, give back what thou didst pledge.”
Yet the king answered with scorn:
“Take mules, or asses, or swift steeds of the wind. But these Vāmi horses are mine. Know, O sage, thou shalt not have them.”
Then Vāmadeva invoked his terrible vow:
“If I have spoken truth, if my tapas is not in vain—let four mighty Rākṣasas, iron-bodied and fierce, rise up at my command, to cut thee into four pieces and bear thee away on their lances.”
At once, four ghastly beings appeared, roaring like thunder, weapons flashing. Śala cried out in defiance:
“If my people, if my brother Dala, if the men of Ikṣvāku acknowledge my sway, then I will not yield these steeds. I swear it, even unto death!”
And even as he spoke, the Rākṣasas slew him, casting his body to the ground.
The Ikṣvākus, struck with grief, installed Dala upon the throne. But Vāmadeva came again, unrelenting, and spoke:
“O king, dharma ordains that gifts be made to Brāhmaṇas. If thou fearest sin, restore the Vāmi steeds to me.”
But Dala, blinded by rage, turned to his charioteer:
“Bring me a poisoned arrow, keen and fierce. With it I shall slay this Brāhmaṇa, and let dogs devour him!”
Vāmadeva, unshaken, said:
“O king, I know thy son, Senajita, a boy of ten summers. Shoot thy arrow at him, and thy hands will not be stayed.”
Stricken with delusion, Dala let fly the shaft. The arrow sped unseen, and in the inner apartments his innocent son fell dead.
In anguish and fury Dala cried:
“Bring me another arrow! I shall crush this Brāhmaṇa today, even if heaven falls!”
But as he bent his bow, his arm froze, powerless. Vāmadeva’s voice rang clear:
“That shaft thou canst not shoot, O king. No hand that seeks the blood of a Brāhmaṇa may release it.”
Then, moved by dread, Dala laid down the weapon. The sage said:
“Touch thy queen with this arrow. Thus mayst thou purge thy sin.”
The queen, wise and steadfast, touched the arrow and spoke humbly:
“O holy one, grant that I may guide this wretched husband with words of virtue, day by day. Let me serve Brāhmaṇas, honoring them, and by such service may I gain blessed realms hereafter.”
The sage beheld her gentle eyes,
And heard her voice of truth and grace;
He blessed her thus, and to her kin
He gave protection and the throne.
Mārkaṇḍeya said:
“Thus, O son of Pāṇḍu, by the wisdom of a woman and the grace of a sage, the curse was stayed, and the race of Ikṣvāku preserved. Dala, freed from his sin, bowed to Vāmadeva and restored the steeds with reverence.”