novelraw Arc 4 - Kṛṣṇa-yāna Parva Chapter 7 - The Entry of Kṛṣṇa into the Kuru Court
Arc 4 - Kṛṣṇa-yāna Parva Chapter 7 - The Entry of Kṛṣṇa into the Kuru Court
Then the divine sage Nārada, bright as a thousand suns, spoke again to Mātali, charioteer of the Lord of the Celestials. His words fell like sacred chant, unveiling yet another wonder hidden in the nether reaches of the worlds.
He said:
“Behold, O Mātali, this resplendent city—
Hiraṇyapura, the golden realm of splendour!
Built by the Daityas and Dānavas,
it gleams like the heart of fire,
woven with a hundred veils of illusion.”
It stood vast and radiant in the regions of Pātāla, raised by the divine architect Maya, master of magic and measure. Every tower shimmered with mystery; every arch breathed enchantment. For here the mighty Dānavas of old, blessed with boons from Brahmā, once dwelt—immortal in power and cunning, unassailable even by Śakra, by Yama, by Varuṇa, or by Kubera, the Lord of Treasures.
“Here dwell the fierce Kālakhañjas,
born from the glance of Viṣṇu,
and the dread Yātudhānas,
sprung from Brahmā’s feet—
fanged, swift as the wind,
and strong through sorcery’s art.”
These mighty beings, adorned with terrible energy, possessed the māyā-śakti of illusion and stormed through the deep with tempestuous might. Among them also lived the Nivātakavacas, born of darkness, unconquerable even by Indra himself.
Nārada’s eyes glimmered as he turned to Mātali and spoke with gentle mirth:
“Thou knowest, O friend of the Thunderer,
how even Śakra once turned back,
when these illusion-born warriors
rose against heaven’s chariot wheels.
Thou too, with thy son Gomukha,
hast seen retreat forced upon gods.”
Then he bade him look upon that dreamlike city. Mansions of silver and gold rose high, gleaming with coral and lapis, their walls shimmering like frozen sunlight. The gems Vajrasāra and Arkasphatika caught the fire of creation, making the palaces blaze with inner light. Some seemed carved of crystal and ruby, others like the glow of Padmarāga or purest marble, yet none could tell their true substance, for they were woven from illusion itself.
“Behold,” said the sage,
“their lofty towers that touch the mists,
their gardens of wish-born trees,
yielding fruit and flowers at will;
their springs and hills that move with thought—
like living clouds shaped by desire.”
There lay the Dānavas’ halls of sport and slumber, their couches adorned with precious stones, their vessels wrought with gemmed filigree, their pleasure-grounds glittering like moonlight on metal. The whole city pulsed with enchantment, breathing the pride of beings once rival to the gods.
Then Nārada spoke again:
“Survey, O Mātali, these sons of Diti—
fierce in splendour and dauntless in might.
If among them one seem worthy of thy daughter,
speak, and I shall offer her hand in honour.
Else, let us ascend to another world.”
Hearing these words, Mātali, ever loyal to the gods, bowed slightly and replied with measured reverence:
“O holy seer, this alliance may not be.
The Devas and Dānavas are brothers by birth,
yet bound by enmity eternal.
It were unseemly for me, servant of Indra,
to seek kinship among our foes.”
Then, smiling softly, he added:
“And thou, O Nārada,
whose joy it is to stir divine contention,
knowest well that peace
is not thy chosen instrument.”
Thus, with laughter mingled in wisdom, the two celestial wanderers turned away from Hiraṇyapura—the golden mirage of the underworld—and prepared to ascend toward other realms of wonder in their sacred quest.
Then the celestial sage Nārada, ever radiant and filled with divine vision, spoke to Mātali, pointing toward a resplendent realm bright as the dawn’s first light.
“Behold, O charioteer of heaven,
this is the region of birds,
home to winged beings of noble plume,
fierce-hearted and fleet as the wind.
Born of Vinata’s blessed womb,
they shine with Garuḍa’s might.”
This was the province of the Suparṇas, the mighty race sprung from the six heroic sons of Garuḍa—the divine bird who once bore the nectar of the gods and broke the chains of heaven. Their names, said Nārada, were Sumukha, Sunāman, Sunetra, Suvarchas, Suvāñc, and Suvala, princes among birds and founders of countless lineages. From their progeny arose a thousand radiant clans, each glorious, swift, and noble.
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These winged beings, offspring of Kaśyapa and Vinata, adorned with the auspicious mark Śrīvatsa upon their breasts, were strong as tempests and fearless as fire. Their feathers gleamed like molten gold, their eyes flashed with divine brilliance, and their beaks shone like polished copper.
“They are ever tireless in flight,” said Nārada,
“never weary in battle,
nor burdened by weight or distance.
Their hearts know only valor,
their wings, the breath of freedom.”
Yet, he added with solemn tone, though born of noble essence, they were fierce without compassion, for they lived upon the serpents—their own kin through the line of Kadru. Thus, bound by enmity since creation’s dawn, they were denied full spiritual peace.
“By act,” he said,
“they are as Kṣatriyas—
warriors by nature,
proud, unyielding, and radiant with might.
Yet by appetite they are fallen,
for feeding upon their brethren’s flesh.”
Still, these avian warriors were beloved of Vishnu, for the Lord Himself dwelt within their hearts, guiding their flight and guarding their fate. Their wings bore the echo of His presence; their songs rose as hymns of devotion.
“They all worship Nārāyaṇa,” said Nārada,
“He is their refuge and eternal protector.
The winds carry His name through their flocks;
His light shines through their eyes.”
Then the divine sage, as if counting stars in a cosmic array, began to recite the names of those mighty ones—
the illustrious sons of Garuḍa, radiant as suns:
“Suvarṇacūḍa, Nāgasin, Dāruṇa, Chandatuṇḍaka, Anala, Vaiśālākṣa,
Kuṇḍalin, Paṅkajiṭ, Vajraviskambha, Vainateya, Vāmana, Vātavega,
Diśācakṣu, Nimiṣa, Animiṣa, Trirava, Saptarava, Vālmīki, Dīpaka,
Daityadvīpa, Saridvīpa, Sarasa, Padmaketana, Sumukha, Chitraketu,
Chitravara, Anagha, Meṣāhṛt, Kumuda, Dakṣa, Sarpānta, Somabhojana,
Gurubhāra, Kapota, Sūryanetra, Chirantaka, Viṣṇudharma, Kumāra,
Parivarha, Hari, Suśvara, Madhuparka, Hemavarṇa, Malaya,
Mātariśvan, Niśākara, and Divākara.”
Their names were like the rustle of divine wings in the ether. Each was radiant in form and fiery in valor, masters of wind and sky, unmatched in the grace of motion.
“These,” said the sage, “dwell only in one province of this vast feathered realm.
I name but those whose fame is sung among gods—
heroes by might, illumined by glory.”
Then, turning toward his companion, Nārada added gently:
“If among these thou findest none
worthy of thy daughter Guṇakeśī,
come, O Mātali—
let us rise again through the ether.
There are other realms yet unseen,
where destiny may reveal her chosen groom.”
Thus spoke the divine sage, his voice flowing like Vedic chant over the currents of the air, while Mātali gazed upon that radiant land of wings and wondered at the vastness of creation.
Then Nārada, the divine wanderer whose vision pierces all the worlds, spoke once more to Mātali, the celestial charioteer, as they descended deeper into the hidden planes of being. His words glowed like hymns in the darkness below.
“This realm, O Mātali, is called Rasātala—
the seventh stratum beneath the Earth.
Here dwells Surabhī, the radiant Mother of Cows,
born of Amṛta, essence of the gods’ delight.”
She stood resplendent, luminous with compassion, her form suffused with fragrance and light. From her flowed an endless stream of milk—the distillation of every sweetness, the essence of the sixfold tastes of the earth.
“Sprung from the mouth of Brahmā,” said Nārada,
“when the Grandsire, filled with joy,
drank the Amṛta and exhaled the purest gift—
thus was born Surabhī, flawless and eternal.”
When but a single drop of her milk fell upon the earth, it gave birth to the Kṣīra-sāgara, the Milky Ocean, whose waves gleam white as moonlight. Around its foaming borders dwell the great ascetics known as the Foam-Drinkers, who live upon nothing but the sacred froth.
“They are the Phena-bhujas, the ascetics of Rasātala,”
declared the sage, his eyes bright with reverence.
“They feed on purity itself;
their tapas burns so fiercely
that even the gods regard them with awe.”
From Surabhī, the universal mother, were born four celestial cows who uphold the quarters of the world—the Dikpālī-s—guardians of balance and bounty:
“In the east abides Surūpā,
bright as the dawn’s first glow.
In the south, gentle Haṃsikā,
soft as the breath of summer rain.
In the west, under Varuṇa’s gaze,
dwells Subhadrā, of many hues.
And in the north, the region of virtue,
shines Sarva-Kāmadughā,
the fulfiller of every desire.”
Each of these divine mothers poured forth milk into the depths of the cosmic sea, enriching the waters that the gods and asuras once churned with Mandara Mountain as their pole. From that churning arose the treasures of heaven—Vāruṇī, the wine of joy; Lakṣmī, the goddess of fortune; Amṛta, the nectar of immortality; Uccaiḥśravā, the lord of steeds; and the peerless gem Kaustubha.
“All these,” said Nārada, “were born
of waters mingled with the milk of Surabhī’s line.
Her essence flows through all creation—
as Svāhā to those who live by sacrifice,
as Svadha to those who live by offerings to ancestors,
and as Amṛta to those who dwell among the immortals.”
Then the sage smiled, his voice soft as mantra, and quoted the ancient verse sung by the dwellers of Rasātala since time beyond measure:
“Neither among the Nāgas, nor in Svarga,
nor in the shining Vimānas, nor in Triṣṭapa itself,
is there a dwelling so blissful, so serene,
as in this sacred Rasātala!”
Thus did Nārada speak, and Mātali bowed low, beholding with wonder the realm of milk and light where even austerity took the form of sweetness.
Then the divine sage Nārada, radiant as a flame of Brahman’s thought, spoke to Mātali, as they reached a realm vast and glittering like a dream of gods. His eyes gleamed with wonder; his voice flowed like mantra.
“Behold, O charioteer divine,
this foremost of cities, luminous and grand,
shining with the splendour of Amarāvatī itself—
this is Bhogavatī,
the jeweled capital of the Nāgas,
ruled by Vāsuki, lord of serpents.”
The city stretched in endless light—its towers carved from emerald, its streets paved with coral, its fountains flowing with quicksilver. The fragrance of sandal and lotus filled the air; the hiss of serpents blended with the murmur of sacred waters.
“Here dwells,” said Nārada,
“that mighty being Śeṣa,
whose thousand hoods uphold the Earth.
White as the peak of Mount Kailāsa,
adorned in divine ornaments,
his tongues flame like fire at creation’s dawn.”
Through austerity deeper than oceans, Śeṣa Ananta sustained the globe itself upon his coils. Around him dwelt uncountable serpents—children of Surasā, born of the will of Kaśyapa—each radiant with gems, marked with the signs of svastika and sacred circles, wearing jewels of lapis and pearl, their bodies vast as mountains.
Some bore a thousand heads, some five hundred, some seven, and some but one crowned with fire. They were fierce yet majestic, countless as the waves of the sea—millions within millions, each tribe a world unto itself.
“Among them,” Nārada proclaimed,
“these are most renowned—
Vāsuki, Takṣaka, Karkoṭaka, Dhṛtarāṣṭra, Kāliya, Nāhuṣa, Aśvatara,
Vākya-kuṇḍa, Maṇi, Apūraṇa, Khaga, Vāmana, Elāpatra,
Kukura, Kukuna, Āryaka, Nandaka, Kālasa, Potaka,
Pañjara, Airāvata, Sumanmukha, Dadhimukha, Śaṅkha, Nanda,
Upānandaka, Āpta, Kotaraka, Śikhī, Niṣṭhuraka, Tittiri,
Hastibhadra, Kumuda, Maylapīṇḍaka, the twin Padmas,
Puṇḍarīka, Puṣpa, Mudgaraparṇaka, Karavīra, Pīṭharaka,
Saṃvṛtta, Vṛtta, Piṇḍara, Bilvapatra, Mūṣikāda, Śirīṣaka,
Dīlīpa, Śaṅkhaśirṣa, Jyotiṣka, Aparājita, Kauravya, Kuhara,
Vīrāja, Dharaṇa, Savāhu, Mukhara, Jaya, Andha, Viśundhi,
Virāsa, and Sarasa—
all radiant children of Kaśyapa’s line.”
As Nārada spoke, Mātali’s gaze fell upon one among them—a young Naga radiant like the rising moon, standing before the elder Āryaka of Kauravya’s line. His scales shimmered with silver light; his countenance was calm, wise, and noble.
“O holy seer,” said Mātali softly,
“who is this comely youth that stands before Āryaka?
His bearing is serene, his patience deep;
his eyes gleam with intelligence and modesty.
In beauty and grace he excels his kin.
My heart, O Nārada, is drawn toward him—
surely, he is destined for greatness.
He would make a husband worthy
of my daughter, Guṇakeśī.”
Then Nārada, perceiving Mātali’s joy, spoke with a knowing smile:
“O charioteer of the gods, thou hast chosen well.
This youth is Sumukha,
scion of Airāvata’s glorious race,
grandson of Āryaka,
and daughter’s son of Vāmana.
His father was Chikura,
who not long ago met his end
beneath the talons of Vinata’s son, the eagle Garuḍa.”
Hearing this, Mātali’s heart overflowed with satisfaction. His eyes glowed like the fire of dawn as he turned to the sage and said with reverence:
“O celestial Ṛṣi, this prince of Nāgas
pleases me beyond measure.
His virtue is equal to his lineage;
his radiance, to his heart.
If it be thy will, O divine one,
secure him for my daughter’s hand.
For my spirit rejoices in the thought
of joining our fates with his.”
Thus, beneath the jeweled vaults of Bhogavatī, amid the serpents’ shining halls, began the blessed union destined by the gods—the meeting of Sumukha, prince of Nāgas, and Guṇakeśī, the jewel of heaven.