novelraw Arc 6 - Markandeya-Samasya Parva Chapter 4 - The Glory of Kṣatriyas
Arc 6 - Markandeya-Samasya Parva Chapter 4 - The Glory of Kṣatriyas
Vaiśampāyana said:
When the sons of Pāṇḍu heard many wondrous tales from the sage, Yudhiṣṭhira, ever devoted to dharma, once more spoke to Mārkaṇḍeya:
“O great muni, thou hast narrated marvels of gods and seers. Tell us, how did the sage Vaka become so long-lived?”
Mārkaṇḍeya, the long-lived himself, smiled and replied:
“The royal sage Vaka is a mighty ascetic, crowned with immortality. Of the reasons that made him such, it behoveth you not to inquire. Enough that he is so.”
But Yudhiṣṭhira pressed further, saying:
“We have heard, O great ṛṣi, that Vaka and Dalvya are both immortal, honored by gods and men alike, and friends of mighty Indra. Tell us then the meeting of Vaka and Śakra, the tale of joy and sorrow entwined.”
Mārkaṇḍeya said:
When the dreadful war between gods and Asuras had ended, Indra, slayer of Vṛtra, was established as lord of the three worlds. Clouds poured timely rain, harvests flourished, men were virtuous, women content, and all four orders of society moved in righteousness. Kings ruled justly, Brāhmaṇas performed sacrifices, and peace covered the earth.
Seated upon Airāvata, his white elephant, Indra beheld the worlds, delighting in their joy. He looked upon hermitages rich with penance, rivers shining with sanctity, cities prosperous, villages adorned with plenty. At last, he came to the eastern shore where the sea met a forest bright with life, and there he beheld Vaka.
The immortal sage, seeing the thousand-eyed one, received him with reverence, washing his feet, offering arghya, fruits, and roots. Then Indra, seated, spoke:
“O sinless muni, thou hast lived a hundred ages. Tell me, what are the sorrows of those who are deathless?”
Vaka replied in grave wisdom:
“Immortality is not unmixed with pain:
To dwell with those whose hearts we hate,
To lose the dear, to cling in vain,
To serve the wicked—this is fate.
The death of sons and wives and kin,
Dependence on another’s breath;
To see the poor despised by wealth,
Such are the burdens borne of deathless life.
Families rise and families fall,
Wisdom weeps while folly laughs;
The noble bow before the base,
And learned hearts are pierced with grief.
Thus, O lord of gods, immortality
Is but to watch the endless wheel,
The turn of joy to misery,
The dance of fate none can conceal.”
Indra, struck with wonder, asked again:
“O venerable one, tell me then the joys of those who are immortal, those that gods and ṛṣis themselves adore.”
Vaka smiled and answered:
“He is most blest who, in his home,
With his own hands prepares his food,
Without the need of wicked friends,
Content with little, calm of mood.
Better a handful of roots and grain,
Cooked in peace at dawn or noon,
Than rich delights from stranger’s hand,
That taste of scorn and breed of shame.
If, after feeding guest and kin,
And making due oblations done,
A Brāhmaṇa partakes the rest,
That meal is sweeter than the sun.
Each mouthful then is merit’s seed,
Equal to gifts of a thousand kine;
And water poured from grateful hands
Washes away all former sins.”
Mārkaṇḍeya said:
“Thus Vaka spoke, revealing the paradox of endless life—sorrows that pierce, joys that uplift. And Indra, lord of the thunderbolt, conversed long with him, learning the mysteries of mortality and deathlessness. Then, bowing with respect, the thousand-eyed god ascended back to heaven, leaving Vaka to his forest peace.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Then the sons of Pāṇḍu, their minds still filled with wonder, once more addressed the ancient Mārkaṇḍeya:
“Revered sage, thou hast spoken of the greatness of the Brāhmaṇas. Tell us now of the greatness of the royal Kṣatriyas, whose duty it is to protect the earth.”
Thus asked, the long-lived ṛṣi replied:
“Listen, O sons of Pāṇḍu, to the glory of kings. In ancient days, a ruler of the Kuru race, Suhotra by name, went to visit great ṛṣis, and having paid them homage, he was returning to his city.
As he journeyed, he came upon King Śibi, the son of Uśīnara, seated proudly upon his chariot. When the two sovereigns met, each saluted the other with due honor, but neither gave way. For each regarded the other as his equal in virtue and power, and neither would yield the road.
It was then that Nārada, the divine ṛṣi, descended, radiant with celestial brilliance. Beholding them thus, face to face, he asked:
‘Why do you stand, O kings, barring one another’s way?’
The two monarchs answered as one:
‘Holy one, do not think we quarrel out of pride. The sages have declared that the way is due to him who is superior in virtue, or to him whose power is greater. But here we are equals in every respect; neither is above the other. Therefore, neither yields.’
Hearing this, Nārada, son of Brahmā, smiled and recited words of wisdom:
“He that is wicked dealeth wickedly,
Even with the meek and mild;
He that is humble still showeth humility,
Even to the cruel and wild.
He that is honest dealeth honestly,
Even with the false and base;
How then shall he not act in truth,
When meeting the truthful face?
He that is noble magnifies,
The service rendered small;
Among the gods themselves, is it not so?
Goodness is greatest of all.
Conquer the mean by charity,
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The liar by truth’s way;
The sinner by forgiveness,
The crooked by honesty’s ray.”
And Nārada, having spoken thus, stood silent.
Then Suhotra, king of the Kurus, hearing those words, understood the verdict. He walked reverently around King Śibi, praising the countless virtues of the son of Uśīnara, and yielding the way with joy.
Thus did Nārada declare the high blessedness of royal Kṣatriyas, whose greatness shines not only in valor but in humility, in the conquest of the self, and in honoring virtue wherever it is found.
Mārkaṇḍeya continued:
“Listen now, O sons of Pāṇḍu, to another tale that reveals the greatness of royal generosity.
Once, King Yayāti, son of Nahusha, sat upon his throne, encircled by citizens and ministers, radiant with royal splendor. In that august assembly entered a Brāhmaṇa, humble in bearing yet resolute in purpose. Approaching the monarch, he bowed and spoke:
‘O king, I have come to seek wealth, not for myself, but for my preceptor, in accordance with the sacred covenant I have undertaken. Grant me what I ask.’
The king regarded him kindly and said:
‘O holy one, tell me of this covenant. What is the spirit in which thou wouldst have me give?’
The Brāhmaṇa replied:
‘O king, when men are asked for alms, they often look with contempt upon the beggar. Therefore, I ask: with what heart, with what feeling wilt thou grant me that which I desire?’
Then Yayāti, foremost of the generous, answered with words that shone like jewels:
“Never do I boast of gifts once given,
Nor grieve for treasure gone;
I turn away from what cannot be bestowed,
But rejoice in giving what is mine to give.
The Brāhmaṇa who comes as a supplicant,
He is dearer to me than my own kin;
I am never angered by the hand that asks,
Nor sorrowful for the wealth I part with.”
Having spoken thus, the king commanded that a thousand kine be brought forth, sleek and adorned with bells and garlands. These he bestowed upon the Brāhmaṇa with a cheerful heart.
Receiving the gift, the Brāhmaṇa departed, his vow fulfilled, praising the bounty of Yayāti, who, though lord of men, saw his own joy reflected in the joy of giving.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Then the son of Pāṇḍu once more addressed the sage Mārkaṇḍeya with reverence, saying:
“Tell us, O great Ṛṣi, of the high fortune of royal Kṣatriyas, for we long to hear of their glory.”
Mārkaṇḍeya replied:
“Listen then, O sons of Pṛthā, to a tale of two kings—Vṛṣadarbha and Śeduka—both versed in morals, skilled in arms, and equal in renown.
Now, Śeduka knew well that Vṛṣadarbha had since boyhood held a vow unspoken: never to grant unto Brāhmaṇas aught of metal save gold and silver. Such was his fixed resolve.
In time, there came before Śeduka a Brāhmaṇa, who, having completed his study of the Vedas, sought wealth for his revered preceptor. Standing before the king, he spoke:
“Grant me, O lord of men, a thousand steeds,
That I may fulfill the debt to my guru.
Bestow this wealth upon me, O king,
That I may go forth blessed by thy gift.”
But Śeduka, though noble, answered him thus in measured words:
“It is not possible for me to grant thee horses. But go thou unto King Vṛṣadarbha. He is virtuous and steadfast in vow. Surely he will fulfill thy desire. For it is known that he grants freely, and never turns the Brāhmaṇa away.”
So instructed, the Brāhmaṇa went forth to Vṛṣadarbha and, bowing low, begged of him a thousand steeds. But when the king heard, he struck the petitioner with his whip.
Wounded in body and spirit, the Brāhmaṇa cried out:
“Innocent am I! Why dost thou strike me, O king? Is this the way of dharma?”
Angered, he prepared to curse the monarch, but Vṛṣadarbha spoke quickly to forestall him:
“O Brāhmaṇa, is it right to curse one who gives not what is asked? Consider well if this be the conduct worthy of thy order.”
Then the Brāhmaṇa replied:
“O king, I have come to thee at the bidding of Śeduka. It is he who sent me here to seek this boon.”
Hearing this, Vṛṣadarbha was moved and said:
“Strike thee I did, O holy one, in error,
Therefore I shall not send thee away empty.
Whatever tribute enters my treasury
Before the sun sets shall be thine.”
And even as he had spoken, he gave unto that Brāhmaṇa the entire revenue of that day. Such was its abundance that the wealth far exceeded the value of a thousand horses.
Thus did the Kṣatriya king uphold his vow, redeem his harsh act, and magnify the honor of his order.”
Mārkaṇḍeya said:
“Listen now, O sons of Pāṇḍu, to the high fortune of King Śibi, son of Uśīnara, whose fame resounds in heaven and on earth.
In ages past, the gods resolved among themselves to test the king’s virtue. Indra, the wielder of the thunderbolt, and Agni, the smoke-bannered, descended to earth. Agni assumed the form of a trembling pigeon, while Indra became a fierce hawk in pursuit.
The pigeon, chased and terrified, fell into the lap of King Śibi, who sat upon his throne radiant like the midday sun.
The king’s priest, beholding this omen, said:
‘O king, the falling of a pigeon upon one’s body forebodes danger. Offer wealth to avert the ill, for the wise proclaim that giving drives misfortune away.’
But the pigeon itself cried out in human speech, addressing the king:
“Protector of the distressed, I take refuge in thee!
Though clad in feathers, I am no bird;
I am a Brāhmaṇa, a knower of the Vedas,
Pure of conduct, sinless, devoted to truth.
Forsake me not, O king, for my life is thine to guard;
Deliver me not to the hawk, my foe.
To give up one learned and innocent is no righteous gift,
For such an act darkens heaven itself.”
Then the hawk, fierce and unyielding, spoke in reply:
“O king, in the order of creation, creatures sustain themselves by food. Who art thou to withhold from me what fate has ordained? This pigeon is my nourishment. To deprive me of it is to take my life.”
Śibi, steadfast in dharma, reasoned aloud:
“Never has man heard birds speak thus with the tongue of wisdom. How then shall we act today? Know this, O hawk:
“He that betrays a suppliant to his foe
Shall find no refuge when fear overcomes him.
The clouds withhold their rain from such a man,
His seed lies barren in the earth.
His offspring die untimely, his ancestors fall from heaven,
The gods reject his offerings of sacred ghee.
The thunderbolt smites him, food becomes unclean,
And his soul, fallen from heaven, wanders in darkness.”
Moved by compassion, the king offered ransom:
“O hawk, take instead a bull well-cooked with rice, or meat in abundance. Spare this creature that has sought my shelter.”
But the hawk was resolute:
“Neither bull nor other flesh do I desire. This pigeon is mine by divine allotment. Give it to me, O king.”
Śibi answered:
“Never shall I surrender him. Command me rather some act by which thou shalt be appeased, yet I may not betray this suppliant.”
The hawk said:
“Cut from thy own body flesh equal in weight to the pigeon. Thus mayst thou redeem thy word.”
The king, unshaken, agreed. With his sword he cut flesh from his thigh and placed it on the scale. Yet the pigeon outweighed it. Piece by piece, he carved his body—arms, shoulders, chest—and still the pigeon weighed heavier. At last, with steady resolve, the king himself ascended the scale, offering his life for the life of another.
In that instant, the hawk vanished, declaring: “The pigeon is saved!”
Śibi turned to the bird upon his lap and said:
“O pigeon, declare who this hawk is. None but the lord of the universe could act so wondrously.”
The pigeon revealed his true form:
“I am Agni, called Vaiśvānara. The hawk was Indra, lord of the celestials. We came to test thee, O king, and thou hast surpassed every trial.
The wounds thou hast carved upon thy flesh shall not mar thee—they shall shine like gold and breathe fragrance, signs of thy glory. Long shalt thou rule, revered by gods and Ṛṣis alike. And from thy very flank shall arise a son named Kapotaroman, foremost among the Saurāthas, resplendent in bravery and beauty.”
Thus did Śibi’s sacrifice become eternal, his name sung among kings as the very embodiment of dharma.
Vaiśampāyana said:
“Once more the son of Pāṇḍu addressed the sage Mārkaṇḍeya, saying:
‘O holy one, tell us again of the great fortune and blessedness of kings.’
And Mārkaṇḍeya replied:
‘Listen, O sons of Kuntī, to a tale of ancient kings who shone like blazing fires of dharma.
At the horse-sacrifice of King Aṣṭaka, born of the line of Viśvāmitra, many mighty rulers assembled. Among them came his three brothers—Pratardana, Vasumānas, and Śibi, son of Uśīnara. When the sacrifice was complete, the four brothers mounted a single car to return to their capital.
As they journeyed, they beheld the divine sage Nārada, radiant with austerity and wisdom. Bowing to him, they invited him to ride with them. Nārada, smiling, assented and mounted their car.
One of the kings, desirous of knowledge, addressed the celestial ṛṣi:
‘O holy one, all four of us are blessed with long lives and have ever walked the path of virtue. We shall dwell long in heaven after our time on earth is done. Tell us, however, who among us shall first fall down from heaven?’
The sage, who knew the ways of men and gods, replied:
‘First shall Aṣṭaka descend.’
The brothers asked in wonder:
‘For what cause?’
And Nārada said:
“I dwelt once in Aṣṭaka’s abode,
And he carried me forth upon his car.
Thousands of kine grazed before us,
And I asked, ‘Whose are these, O king?’
He answered, ‘I gave them away,’
And by that speech praised his own gift.
Though generous, he tainted charity with pride;
Therefore must Aṣṭaka descend first from heaven.”
Then another asked:
‘Of the three of us that remain, who shall fall next?’
Nārada said: ‘Pratardana.’
And when questioned why, he explained:
“Pratardana once yoked his steeds,
And Brāhmaṇas came to beg for them.
One by one he gave them away—
Right wheel, left wheel, left front horse.
At last, the final steed he yielded,
And drew the car himself by hand.
But as he strained, he muttered in pride:
‘There is now nothing left for the Brāhmaṇas.’
Thus, though generous, his words bore blemish;
And for that fault, he too shall fall.”
Of the two brothers left, one asked:
‘Who among us two shall descend?’
Nārada answered: ‘Vasumānas.’
And he told why:
“Thrice I beheld the flowery car
That Vasumānas gained by sacrifice.
Twice he gave it freely, saying, ‘It is thine.’
But the third time, though I praised,
He only said, ‘Thou hast praised it enough.’
Thus withholding what he once had granted.
And for that holding back of his gift,
Vasumānas too shall fall from heaven.”
Then one last question was asked:
‘Of us two that remain, who shall stand, and who shall fall?’
And Nārada replied:
‘Śibi shall remain in heaven. I, though a celestial sage, cannot stand beside him.’
The brothers marveled, and Śibi’s tale was told:
“One day a Brāhmaṇa came to Śibi,
And said, ‘O king, I hunger. Feed me.’
Śibi replied, ‘What shall I do? Command me.’
And the Brāhmaṇa answered, ‘Give me thy son, Vṛhagarbha,
Slay him and serve him as food.’
Without hesitation Śibi slew his son,
Cooked him with sacred rites,
Placed the vessel upon his head,
And sought out the Brāhmaṇa.
Yet word came: ‘The Brāhmaṇa burns thy city,
Treasury, arsenal, and royal halls.’
Unshaken, Śibi entered the flames,
And spoke calmly: ‘The food is prepared.’
The Brāhmaṇa was silent, struck with wonder.
Śibi urged him: ‘Eat, holy one.’
The Brāhmaṇa replied: ‘Nay—thou thyself eat it.’
Śibi said at once: ‘Let it be so.’
Cheerfully he raised the vessel to his lips—
When the Brāhmaṇa seized his hand,
And revealed himself as Vidhātṛ,
The divine ordainer of all.
‘O Śibi,’ he said, ‘thou hast conquered wrath.
There is nothing thou wouldst not give a Brāhmaṇa.’
And lo, Śibi’s son appeared before him,
Shining like a child of the gods,
Adorned in jewels, fragrant as sandal.
Thus tested, thus exalted,
Śibi stood supreme in dharma,
And even the immortals bowed to him.”
Mārkaṇḍeya concluded:
“This, O son of Pāṇḍu, is the high fortune of Śibi, whose name is deathless. Not for fame, not for wealth, not for pleasure did he act, but for dharma alone. And that is the true glory of kings.”