Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling

Arc 3 - Astika - Chapter 11 - Naga’s Deliberation and Deliverance

Sauti said:

Then Vasuki, foremost among serpents,

Hearing the curse that doomed their kind,

Reflected long with heavy heart

How best that fate might be undone.

To Airavata and the sinless host of snakes,

He spake these solemn words:

Vasuki said:

"O brothers, you know the doom upon us.

Our mother’s words, spoken before

The Infinite, Immutable, and True—

Strike terror into my heart.

No curse once uttered in the presence

Of the Eternal can be in vain.

Surely our destruction draws nigh.

Yet, if fate can be forestalled,

Let us not sit idle in despair.

Wise ones say, there is a remedy for every curse—

Save for those uttered by one’s own mother.

But still, shall we not try?

Let us now, as once did the gods

When Agni vanished into a cave,

Consult together and devise a way—

That King Janamejaya’s wrath may pass,

And we be spared the fire of sacrifice.

O ye wise and discerning, speak!

Let our counsel be swift,

For the hours move with sharp teeth,

And delay may cost us all."

Sauti continued:

Then the serpents, conferring amongst themselves with anxious hearts, resolved upon a subtle course. Their hope lay not in open defiance, but in clever counsel that might turn the tide of fate.

They said:

“Let us give him such advice

That the sacrifice may be obstructed.

The king—foremost among the wise,

A man of discernment and virtue—

Will surely turn to us,

Believing our words to be of sterling worth.

And when he does,

We shall say:

‘This sacrifice must not be.’

We shall speak of evil in this world and the next,

Of unseen dangers and cosmic unrest.

Thus shall we shroud the path ahead in dread,

And take great care

That the sacrifice may not take place.”

Sauti continued:

Thus, having resolved to dissuade the king by argument, the serpents also laid down a more desperate scheme—one born of fear, and fire, and the shadow of death.

They said:

“Or let one of us draw near

And strike with fang

The priest who, faithful and wise,

Seeks only the monarch's good—

He who knows the sacred rites,

Chosen to lead the sacrifice.

Let him die!

For if he falls, the sacrifice shall fail.

And more—

Let us bite all those

Whose lips know the mantras,

Whose hands perform the rites,

Whose minds are trained in the sacred texts.

Let none remain

Who can complete the king’s terrible vow.

By this means,

We shall obstruct the fire

That seeks to consume us.”

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Sauti continued:

The council of serpents grew tumultuous, their fear of extinction driving them to hatch many desperate plots. But even amidst their fury, some voices spoke of dharma and restraint.

Then spoke the serpents more virtuous and wise:

“O brothers, this counsel turns to darkness.

This path reeks of adharma.

Brahmanas must not be slain.

Even in peril, let the righteous path be our guide.

For unrighteousness, though swift and strong,

Shall one day consume the very world it builds.”

Another group said:

“Let us become clouds—

Thunderous, luminous with lightning!

Let our showers quench the sacrificial fire,

And drown the rite in storm.”

Some whispered:

“By stealth, let us come at night—

And steal the Soma vessels.

Without the Soma, the rite shall fall.”

Others, bolder, said:

“Let us strike terror—

Hundreds of us bite the priests,

The onlookers, the king’s men,

Till panic halts the sacrifice.”

And there were those even more reckless:

“Let us defile the sacred offerings,

With venom, urine, and dung.

Let filth and fear undo the rite.”

Some spoke with guile:

“Let us take the garb of rittviks—

The king’s own priests.

We shall demand our dakshina first,

And withhold the sacrifice if it displeases us.”

And others, cold and vengeful, declared:

“Let us seize the king

As he sports in water,

Carry him off,

Chain him in coils—

Let no fire be lit in his name.”

Yet others, with poison on their tongues, said:

“Let us strike the king himself.

One bite—

And all this ends.

With his death,

The root of evil shall be torn out.”

Sauti said:

Thus, their words spent, their proposals laid, the serpents fell silent and fixed their eyes on Vasuki, the king of snakes, waiting for his final word.

Sauti said:

Then Vasuki, the wise serpent-king, pondered long in silence. His eyes heavy with worry, he spoke with the weight of a thousand lives resting on his hooded brow.

And Vasuki said:

“O snakes, kin of mine—

Your counsel swirls like a storm,

But not one wind carries peace.

None of your words, fierce and bitter,

Lead toward the path of dharma.

What then shall I do for your good?”

“O children of Kadru,

Only the grace of our father, the mighty Kashyapa,

May yet cool the fire of this curse.

To him we must turn.”

“Alas! My heart sees no clear road.

Among all your voices, none ring true.

Yet if I act, be it right or ruinous,

The burden, the glory, or the blame

Shall rest with me alone.”

Sauti said:

Then Elāpatra, the wise and gentle-hearted among serpents, rose with calm majesty amid the tumult of fear and desperation. His voice rang with clarity, the voice of one who had listened in silence to fate’s whispers from the very lap of destiny.

Elāpatra said:

“This fire that threatens to consume us all—

This sacrifice by Janamejaya—

Is not born of mortal will alone.

It is fate, O serpents,

Rooted deep in what has already been spoken.”

“I lay upon our mother’s lap,

Small, trembling, listening.

And I heard then the sorrowful voice of the gods

Raised in protest to the Grandsire—

‘How could she curse her own sons so, in your presence,

O Lord of Lords?’”

“And Brahmā, calm and omniscient, replied—

‘Because the snakes had grown many,

Terrible in form, venomous and wild.

For the good of all beings, I did not stop her.

But hear this too:

Not all shall perish.

Only the wicked, the cruel, the unrestrained.

Those who are virtuous and harmless shall be spared.’”

“And he proclaimed—

‘A sage shall be born in the line of the Yayavaras,

By name Jaratkaru,

And from him, a son:

Āstika, bright as the sacred flame,

Wise, and firm in dharma.

He shall come at the appointed hour,

And he shall stop the snake sacrifice.’”

Sauti continued:

Thus spoke Elāpatra, bearer of hope,

And silence fell among the serpent host,

As if fate itself had paused to listen.

For in the womb of doom had been sown a sliver of deliverance.

Sauti continued:

And Brahmā, the Grandsire of all, thus answered the sorrowing gods with measured grace:

“He, the brahmana of austere vows—Jaratkāru—

Shall take as wife a maiden of the same name as his own.

A child shall be born of that union,

A sage—Āstika—radiant with tapas,

And in time, he shall halt the flames of destruction.”

Then turning to the gods, he declared:

“This maiden you seek is already born—

She is Jaratkāru, sister of Vāsuki,

Endowed with virtue and quietude,

A vessel for destiny’s boon.”

“Give her, O Vāsuki, freely as alms—

To that same Jaratkāru,

When he wanders the earth in search of a bride.

In that sacred union lies your salvation.”

And the gods, bowing in reverence, replied:

“Be it so.”

And the Lord of All Creation, having spoken the words that would one day stay the fire of wrath, returned to his celestial abode.

Sauti concluded:

Thus was the path of redemption foretold and set.

A cursed race awaited its redeemer,

And fate, ever mysterious, began moving silently in fulfillment.

Sauti continued:

O best of the twice-born, when the serpents heard Elāpatra’s prophetic words, hope swelled in their hearts. In chorus, they exclaimed:

“Well said! Well said! Blessed be the wise Elāpatra!”

And Vāsuki, filled with renewed purpose, began to tend his sister with the utmost care and reverence. That maiden, named Jaratkāru, was raised in sanctity, as if she herself were a mantra meant to free the serpents from annihilation.

Time passed.

And it came to be that the gods and asuras, united by common yearning, churned the Ocean of Varuṇa, seeking Amṛta, the nectar of immortality. Mighty Vāsuki, foremost among serpents, was chosen as the churning rope—his sinewed body pulled by divine and demonic hands alike.

And when the churning ended, the gods, moved by the trials borne by Vāsuki, approached Brahmā, the grandsire of all creation. They said:

“O Lord of Lords, hear us.

The noble Vāsuki, who helped us attain Amṛta,

Now burns from within,

Tormented by the curse of his mother.

Out of compassion, free him from his sorrow,

For he is ever our ally and well-wisher.”

Moved by their plea and the merit of Vāsuki's sacrifice, the gods awaited Brahmā’s reply, hoping that compassion would uncoil the fate still wrapped tightly around the serpent king.

Sauti said:

Then the Grandsire, Brahmā, supreme among the immortals, replied:

"O ye shining gods,

What you have uttered I have already pondered in the seat of my mind.

Let Vasuki, the king of snakes, now act as was foretold by Elāpatra.

The time has come. The wheel of fate has turned."

"Only the wicked among the serpents shall perish—

Those who are innocent and virtuous shall be spared.

This is the decree of Dharma."

He added:

"The sage Jaratkāru has already been born.

Even now, he dwells in severe austerities,

Bound by vows, clothed in penance,

Seeking release for his ancestors."

"Let Vasuki, at the appointed time,

Offer his sister Jaratkāru to him as alms.

Thus shall the word of Elāpatra be fulfilled.

This prophecy is true—it shall not fail."

Thus, the gods rejoiced, for the thread of fate now knotted itself into a hope—Astika would be born, and the flames of the snake sacrifice, once fated to consume them all, would soon meet their destined extinguisher.

Sauti continued:

Then Vasuki, King of the Serpents, scorched by the cruel curse of his mother and stirred by the words of Brahmā, resolved to fulfill the ancient prophecy. Desiring to bestow his sister Jaratkāru upon the sage of the same name, he summoned the elders and guardians of his kin.

To them he issued this solemn command:

"Let every eye be turned to the earth,

Let every ear be open to the winds.

Watch with care, O vigilant serpents,

For the sage Jaratkāru wanders the world.

The wheel of our race spins in peril;

Only he can stay its ruinous course."

"When that exalted Rishi seeks a wife,

Whispers his wish even to the sky,

Fly to me at once—delay not.

For in his marriage, our salvation lies."

Thus instructed, the serpents dispersed, unseen and unheard, into forest, river, and mountain—waiting for that one word from the sage that would ignite hope for the serpent kind.

“O Brahmanas, hear the reason why the illustrious sage came to be known as Jaratkāru upon the earth. The word Jara means ‘decay’ or ‘wasting away,’ and Kāru means ‘vast’ or ‘immense.’

This Rishi once had a body vast and powerful—

But he wore it down through fierce austerities.

With each penance, with each renunciation,

His form wasted, reduced by his own will.

Thus was he named Jaratkāru—he who has wasted the vast.

And likewise, O listeners of sacred tales,

The sister of Vasuki, raised in the same ideal,

Born to bring salvation to the race of serpents,

Was also named Jaratkāru,

For she too was destined to bear austerity’s weight—

**Not of body, but of destiny.”

But though the snakes watched and waited,

Time passed in silence.

The great Muni, immersed in austere vows,

Wandered fearlessly across the world,

Unmoved by pleasure or desire.

With vital seed contained,

With mind purified by sacred knowledge,

He sought no companionship—no wife.

Engaged wholly in penance,

His senses subdued, his heart steady,

The sage seemed beyond all worldly need.”