Stories of the Great Bharata - A Retelling

Arc 4 - Kṛṣṇa-yāna Parva Chapter 12 - Gavala’s Marraiges

Then Nārada, the divine sage of heaven and earth, continued his tale before the king:

“Thus addressed by Suparṇa,

in words radiant with truth and wisdom,

that lord of sacrifice, Yayāti,

best among donors and ruler of Kāśī,

reflected long upon what was said.

Before him stood his friend Tārkṣya,

the mighty Garuḍa,

and beside him the noble Galava,

ocean of austerities and faith.

Seeing them thus—

the sky’s sovereign and the sage of vows—

and perceiving that this alms they sought

was born of ascetic merit and divine ordainment,

Yayāti’s heart glowed with joy.”

The king, filled with humility, addressed them:

“Blessed is my life this day, O sinless one,

and blessed the race in which I am born.

By thy presence, O Tārkṣya,

this land of mine is made holy.

Yet hear me, friend of the sky:

I am not as rich as once I was.

Time has dimmed the brightness of my treasure,

and my wealth has suffered loss.

But I shall not let thy coming be fruitless,

nor send away this Brāhmaṇa in sorrow.

For he who turns the seeker empty-handed

lays ruin upon his line.

It is said:

there is no sin more dreadful

than to utter ‘I have nothing,’

to kill the hope that is born of faith.

The disappointed man,

whose heart is slain by denial,

may, with his silent curse,

consume the sons and grandsons

of him who failed to aid.”

Then, rising from his seat, Yayāti’s face shone with resolve, and he said unto Galava:

“Take, therefore, this daughter of mine,

the radiant Mādhavī—

she who perpetuates four noble lines.

In beauty she equals the daughters of heaven;

in virtue, she is the embodiment of dharma.

Gods, men, and Asuras alike

have sought her hand in marriage,

for she is grace incarnate.

Let alone eight hundred steeds

of moonlike hue and blackened ear—

the kings of earth would yield

their kingdoms for her sake.

Take her, therefore, O Brāhmaṇa,

as the means of fulfilling thy vow.

Only grant that I may have through her

a daughter’s son,

so my lineage may continue.”

Then Galava, bowing low, received the maiden as a sacred gift. With Garuḍa beside him, he said softly:

“We shall again see thee, O king;

may righteousness guard thy house.”

Taking Mādhavī with him— the maiden whose beauty was like dawn over the Himalayas— the sage departed. And Garuḍa, smiling with divine foresight, said:

“The means, O Galava, have at last been found.

Through her, thy debt to thy preceptor shall be paid.”

Thus speaking, the celestial bird took his leave and soared aloft to his heavenly abode, leaving Galava to walk the earth in quiet purpose.

Then Galava, holding the hand of the blameless Mādhavī, pondered deeply where he might find a king worthy of her grace and capable of offering the dower he sought.

“First,” thought he,

“I shall approach that noble sovereign,

Haryyaśva of Ikṣvāku’s line—

ruler of Ayodhyā,

beloved of his people,

guardian of dharma and protector of the Brāhmaṇas.

His treasury overflows,

his armies are vast,

and yet his heart is tranquil,

for he seeks offspring and the blessings of virtue.”

Thus resolved, Galava journeyed to Ayodhyā. Standing before that great king, radiant with tapas and restraint, he spoke in reverent tones:

“O lord of men,

this maiden whom I bring—

fair Mādhavī, daughter of Yayāti—

is born of celestial beauty and virtue.

She shall increase the glory of her husband’s house

and bear noble offspring.

Accept her, O ruler of kings,

by giving a dower in righteousness.

I shall tell thee the dower required—

hear, and decide what thou wilt do.”

Thus began the great trial of Galava’s vow, and the long journey of Mādhavī, whose purity was destined to sanctify kings and sages alike.

Then Nārada, the celestial sage, continued:

“After leaving Ayodhyā’s sacred realm, the ascetic Galava said unto Mādhavī, daughter of Yayāti, ‘O blessed one, now shall we go unto the land of Kāśī. The ruler there is the noble Divodāsa, son of mighty Bhīmasena, virtuous, self-restrained, and famed for truth. Grieve not, O maiden of stainless vows; follow me slowly, and may fortune attend our path.’

And so they came to Vārāṇasī, shining beside the holy Gaṅgā, where the city of Kāśī gleamed like a cluster of gems under the sun. The king received the sage with due honour— water for the feet, gifts of honey and milk, and words humble yet resplendent with respect.

Then Galava, seated with quiet dignity, spoke of his purpose, recounting the vow to his preceptor and the wealth yet unfulfilled.

The noble Divodāsa, hearing all, inclined his head and said:

“O revered Brāhmaṇa, thy purpose is known to me already.

When first I heard of thy vow and of the maiden of Yayāti’s line,

my heart was drawn to this blessed undertaking.

Passing by other kings, thou hast come to me—

and this, O holy one, I count as honour greater than conquest.

My treasure is as that of King Haryyaśva;

I have but a portion of the steeds thou seekest.

Yet let this fair maiden be mine for a time—

that I may beget upon her one royal son.

Thus shall thy vow proceed, and my lineage be blessed.”

Hearing his words of faith and humility, the Brāhmaṇa of steadfast vow gave the maiden unto him, and the king, with ritual and prayer, accepted her as his queen.

Then, says Nārada,

“Like Sūrya with Prabhāvatī,

or Agni with Svāhā,

like Indra with Śacī,

Varuṇa with Gaurī,

Chandra with Rohiṇī,

and Rudra with Rudrāṇī—

so did Divodāsa delight in Mādhavī,

and Mādhavī in him.”

The blessed maiden, radiant as Lakṣmī herself, bore unto him a son— Pratardana, a prince of fierce splendour and unmatched strength, who, in later years, would shine among kings like a flame among kindled fires. When time’s appointed circle had turned, the holy Galava came once more before the king and said:

Stolen novel; please report.

“O ruler of Kāśī, the vow must yet continue.

The child is born—may thy joy be full.

But the dower thou hast pledged

may remain with thee;

only let the maiden return,

for I must journey onward.”

Then Divodāsa, devoted to truth, bowed his head before the sage and replied:

“So be it, O holy one. May righteousness guide thee in thy sacred work. The steeds shall remain, and the maiden go with thee.”

Thus did the virtuous king, renouncing attachment even to beauty and joy, restore Mādhavī to the sage’s care. And she, once more shedding the veil of motherhood, became a maiden again—pure, serene, untouched by time.

“With calm eyes and gentle step,” said Nārada, “she followed Galava from Kāśī’s shining gates, her heart unwavering in the path of dharma, her beauty undiminished by birth or sorrow.”

Then the sage, with the sacred daughter of Yayāti beside him, journeyed onward in search of the third king— to whom destiny would next bind her, that his vow might yet be fulfilled.

Then Nārada, the divine sage, continued his narration:

“Faithful to her word, the illustrious Mādhavī,

abandoning the splendour of Kāśī and the palace of Divodāsa,

once more assumed her maiden form—

radiant, pure, and self-contained.

Following in the footsteps of Galava,

she moved like sacred speech personified,

obedient to dharma and to the vow that bound her.”

The holy Galava, his heart firm in the pursuit of his preceptor’s due, wandered across the lands until he came to the realm of the Bhojas, where ruled the noble and powerful king Uśīnara, whose fame was spread like fragrance upon the winds.

Approaching that monarch of unbaffled prowess, the ascetic, calm yet resolute, addressed him, saying— “O ruler of men, behold this maiden, born of royal blood and touched by heaven’s grace.

She shall bear thee two sons, radiant as the Sun and the Moon. In their glory thou shalt find both this world’s joy and the next world’s peace. Yet hear, O king, the condition that I ask— four hundred steeds of lunar whiteness, each with one ear black as night. These I seek not for myself, but to fulfil my vow to my preceptor, the great sage Viśvāmitra, whose word must not go unredeemed.

Thou art now without an heir.

Beget, O king, offspring that shall save thy line.

He that leaves behind a son drinketh nectar in heaven,

while he that dieth childless falleth into the dark abyss

where memory and hope alike are lost.

Therefore, O son of the Bhojas, take this maiden for virtue’s sake,

and let thy seed continue among kings.”

Hearing these words of deep wisdom and purpose, King Uśīnara bowed slightly, his eyes bright with resolve.

“O holy Brāhmaṇa,” said he, “thy speech is clear as the river’s flow.

My heart is inclined to thy request. Yet know this—

I have but two hundred steeds of the kind thou seekest.

Of other breeds and colours there are thousands in my lands,

but the white steeds with black ears are few indeed.

I will, therefore, follow the path of the kings before me—

of Haryyaśva of Ayodhyā and Divodāsa of Kāśī—

and beget but one son upon this maiden,

giving to thee a fourth part of the price thou hast named.

The wealth I possess, O Brāhmaṇa, exists not for my pleasure

but for the good of my people.

A king who spends his realm’s treasure for his own delight

is like one who feeds on the lifeblood of his subjects.

Let this maiden, bright as a celestial damsel,

come to me in righteousness, and I shall be blessed.”

Then Galava, well-pleased, praised the king’s virtue, and gave unto him the maiden Mādhavī. Thereafter, the sage withdrew into the forest to continue his austerities, awaiting the fulfilment of her destiny.

And Uśīnara, pure of conduct and steadfast in his vows, delighted in her companionship— amidst mountain valleys and woodland retreats, beside cool streams and fragrant gardens, beneath moonlit terraces where the night itself seemed to watch in wonder.

“Like Indra with Śacī,

like Soma with Rohiṇī,

like Dharma with Dhṛti,

so did the king, possessed of royal splendour,

rejoice in the embrace of Mādhavī.”

In due course of time, she bore unto him a son radiant as the rising sun— Śibi, famed through the ages for his righteousness and compassion, who would one day give even his flesh to save a dove.

When that noble child was born, the holy Galava returned to the court of the Bhojas and said—

“The work is done, O king. A son, worthy of heaven and earth, is born to thee. The balance of steeds may remain with thee,

but let the maiden now come with me,

for the vow must yet be completed.”

Then Uśīnara, steadfast in dharma and ever truthful, bowed before the sage and returned Mādhavī to his care.

“And thus,” said Nārada,

“renouncing the splendour of kingship once more,

that faithful maiden became again a virgin pure,

shining like the moon emerging from a veil of cloud.

With calm eyes and an unshaken heart,

she followed Galava yet again—

toward the final act of her divine service.”

Then Nārada spoke again to the listening king:

“When Galava, steadfast in vow, approached Garuḍa,

the mighty son of Vinatā beheld him from afar and smiled.

‘By good fortune, O Brāhmaṇa,’ said the celestial bird,

‘I behold thee crowned with success, thy task fulfilled at last!’”

But the sage, ever truthful, bowed and answered humbly—

“Not yet, O Tarkṣya.

Three parts are done, but one remains.

Six hundred steeds have I gained,

yet two hundred still elude my grasp.”

Then Garuḍa, the eternal traveler between heaven and earth, spoke gently, his voice resonant as the wind through a conch:

“Strive no further, O son of Kuśika’s line,

for what the gods have hidden cannot be found by mortal toil.

In ancient days, Ṛcīka, seeking Satyavatī,

daughter of King Gādhi of Kānyakubja,

was asked a bride-price of a thousand steeds—

white as moonlight, each with one ear dark as night.

To please his beloved’s sire, the sage obtained them

from Aśvatīrtha, Varuṇa’s sacred mart of horses,

and gave them to the king, who in turn,

bestowed them as sacrificial gifts to Brāhmaṇas at his rite of Puṇḍarīka.

The three kings thou hast visited—Haryyaśva, Divodāsa, and Uśīnara—

each purchased two hundred from those priests.

The remaining four hundred, while being ferried across the river Vitastā,

were swallowed by the flood and lost forever beneath her waves.

Therefore, O sage, what is lost to the world cannot be regained.

Seek not what destiny has withheld.

Instead, offer this maiden—peerless Mādhavī—

as the equal of two hundred steeds.

Thus shalt thou redeem thy vow and win thy peace.”

Hearing these words, calm and wise, Galava inclined his head in assent.

Taking with him both the radiant Mādhavī and the six hundred steeds gleaming like frozen moonlight, he journeyed with Garuḍa to the hermitage of Viśvāmitra, his venerable preceptor. Standing before that sage whose austerities equaled fire, Galava said with folded hands—

“O holy one, behold these six hundred steeds,

white as the lunar rays, each with one ear black as the storm-cloud.

And here, this maiden—daughter of King Yayāti’s line—

pure, devoted, and sanctified by virtue.

Three kings have begotten noble sons upon her—

Vasumān, Pratardana, and Śibi,

each radiant as Indra’s own offspring.

Let a fourth, O mighty sage, be born of thee—

to complete the measure of my offering.

Accept her, therefore, in place of two hundred steeds,

and count my vow as whole.”

Then Viśvāmitra, beholding Galava with Garuḍa beside him, and the maiden standing with downcast eyes and lotus grace, spoke with a gentle smile:

“Ah, Galava! Why didst thou not bring this treasure sooner?

For then, four sons, sanctifiers of my race,

would all have been mine alone!

Yet be it so. I accept this maiden as thou hast said.

The steeds may graze in peace upon my hermitage grounds.”

Thus speaking, the sage, radiant with ascetic fire, took Mādhavī as his own, and in due time she bore him a son named Aṣṭaka, bright as the rising dawn, a giver of gifts and protector of truth. When that child was born,

Viśvāmitra blessed him with wisdom and virtue, saying:

“Be righteous, O son,

be generous as the sea,

and rule thy people with compassion.”

He then gave unto Aṣṭaka the six hundred steeds of lunar hue, and the youth, radiant as the moon, departed to his own bright city.

Viśvāmitra, his purpose fulfilled, handed the maiden to his disciple for safekeeping and withdrew into the silence of the forest. Then Galava, his vow accomplished, his heart serene as still water, spoke softly to Mādhavī:

“O daughter of Yayāti,

thou hast borne four sons—

each a light unto his race,

each a pillar of virtue.

One was liberal as the sea,

one valiant as the storm,

one steadfast in truth and righteousness,

and one devoted to sacrifice.

By thy womb, O noble-hearted one,

thou hast saved thy father’s race,

gladdened four kings,

and freed thy servant, the humble Galava,

from his debt to his master.”

Then, bowing low before her, he said with tears of reverence:

“Go now, O slender-waisted one,

return to thy father’s house in peace.

Thy name shall live eternal

among the daughters of men.”

And so, releasing Garuḍa, the bird of heaven, from his service, Galava bade farewell to Mādhavī, and departed into the forests to pursue his penance— his heart light as air, his soul radiant with fulfilment.

“Thus,” said Nārada,

“did the vow of Galava reach its end—

through the sacrifice of one maiden,

who bore four noble sons

and redeemed four generations.”

Then the divine sage Nārada said:

When Galava, steadfast in penance and pure of heart, returned from his journeys, he came once more before Garuḍa, the mighty son of Vinatā. And the lord of birds, radiant as the morning sun, smiled upon him and said:

“By good fortune, O Brāhmaṇa, I behold thee crowned with success.

Thou hast borne well the burden of thy vow;

the task set by thy preceptor must now surely be fulfilled.”

But Galava, truthful and humble, replied:

“Three parts have been accomplished, O Tarkṣya,

yet the fourth remaineth.

Six hundred steeds have I obtained,

but two hundred more are yet unfound.”

Hearing this, Garuḍa, the sky-soaring one, whose wings beat like thunderclouds, spoke gently:

“O best of the twice-born, cease thy striving. The last portion of thy vow is beyond the reach of mortal hands. In ancient days, the sage Ṛcīka sought the hand of Satyavatī, daughter of King Gādhi of Kānyakubja.

The king, desiring splendour, said to that Rṣi:

‘Bring me a thousand steeds, moon-white,

each with one ear black as night.’

Ṛcīka, by his ascetic might, journeyed to Varuṇa’s abode, to the sacred mart of horses called Aśvatīrtha, and there, by the grace of the Ocean-Lord, he obtained those steeds of wonder.

Gādhi then performed a great sacrifice, the holy Puṇḍarīka, and gave away those steeds to Brāhmaṇas as his gift of faith. Three kings of ancient renown—Haryyaśva, Divodāsa, and Uśīnara— purchased from those priests two hundred each, and thus didst thou receive from them thy portion.

But the remaining four hundred, O Galava, while crossing the river Vitastā, were swallowed by her sacred waters and vanished forever into her depths. Therefore, O wise one, seek not what fate has hidden.

Give instead this maiden—blessed Mādhavī, whose womb hath borne the sons of kings— as an offering to thy preceptor in place of two hundred steeds. Thus shalt thou fulfil thy vow and win the peace that attendeth completion.”

Hearing the counsel of the lordly bird, the Brāhmaṇa bowed his head and said, “So be it.”

Taking with him both the radiant Mādhavī and the six hundred steeds bright as moonbeams, he journeyed with Garuḍa to the hermitage of his preceptor, Viśvāmitra.

There, amidst the rustle of sacred trees and the fragrance of burnt offerings, Galava approached the sage, bowed low, and said:

“O revered one, behold! Here stand six hundred steeds,

of moon-white hue, each with a single ear dark as night.

And here, this maiden—daughter of King Yayāti’s line—

pure, faithful, and radiant as Śrī herself.

Three royal sages have begotten upon her sons—

Vasumān, Pratardana, and Śibi—

each noble, each resplendent as the sun.

Let a fourth, O lord, be born of thee—

one that shall illumine thy race.

Thus shall the count of steeds be complete,

and I, thy servant, released from debt,

shall return to the forest and dwell in peace.”

The mighty sage Viśvāmitra, beholding the Brāhmaṇa with Garuḍa beside him and the maiden standing with eyes cast down, spoke with tranquil joy:

“O Galava, why didst thou not bring this maiden before? Four sons sanctifying my line might have been mine alone! Yet be it so. I accept this fair one as thou hast said, and the steeds may graze within my hermitage.”

Thus did Viśvāmitra of blazing ascetic power take Mādhavī as his consort. In time she bore him a son— Aṣṭaka, wise, radiant, and generous, a giver of gifts and guardian of righteousness. When the boy was born, the sage blessed him, saying:

“Be thou steadfast in dharma and rich in compassion,

a pillar of sacrifice and a light to men.”

Bestowing the six hundred steeds upon his son, Viśvāmitra retired once more into the silent woods, his heart at peace. Then Galava, his vow fulfilled and his spirit serene, turned to the maiden, his voice gentle as evening wind:

“O daughter of Yayāti,

thou hast borne four sons of shining virtue:

one generous as the sea,

one valiant as Indra’s thunder,

one steadfast in truth,

and one sanctified by sacrifice.

Through thee, O blessed one,

thy father is redeemed,

four kings are honoured,

and I, thy humble servant, am freed from my debt.

Go now, O slender-waisted Mādhavī,

return to the home of thy birth.

Thy name shall live among women

as the flame of devotion and dharma.”

Having thus spoken, Galava bowed to her with reverence, dismissed Garuḍa, the devourer of serpents, and returned the maiden to her father Yayāti. Then, with his vow fulfilled and his heart unburdened, the sage departed to the forest, to live once more amidst the peace of penance and prayer.

“Thus,” said Nārada, “was the vow of Galava accomplished— through the grace of the gods and the purity of a woman’s heart.”

Then said Nārada, the divine sage, unto the listening king:

After fulfilling the destinies of many kings and sages, the illustrious Yayāti, son of Nahusha, journeyed once more to the confluence of the sacred rivers— Gaṅgā and Yamunā— taking with him his daughter Mādhavī, her form radiant like the golden dawn, her hair decked with wild flowers of the forest.

In a chariot bright as the sun’s own orb,

he came to that hermitage sanctified by the penance of seers.

Behind him followed her brothers—

the princes Puru and Yadu, protectors of dharma.

And around them gathered a vast assembly— Nāgas and Yakṣas, Gandharvas and Rākṣasas, kings, beasts, and birds, the dwellers of mountain, river, and tree. Even the forest seemed alive with presence divine.

The air was fragrant with sandal and smoke of sacrifice, and the hermitage shone like a city of the gods. There gathered the mighty and the wise, crowned kings and radiant Rṣis; yet brighter than all shone Mādhavī, daughter of Yayāti, the peerless one.

The winds grew still to behold her face, and the Gaṅgā herself murmured low, as though singing the hymn of her renunciation. When the svayaṃvara began— the rite of self-choice for a bride— many noble lords, radiant as fire, stood in assembly, each hoping she would choose him.

But Mādhavī, remembering the lives she had touched, and the kings whose races she had sanctified, looked upon them all with serene compassion, and passed each one by. Then, with eyes like tranquil lotuses, she turned to the sacred forest itself and said within her heart:

“O lord of all beings,

I have been wife, mother, and daughter;

I have fulfilled the dharmas of men and kings.

Let now the forest be my consort,

its silence my crown,

its austerity my vow.”

Descending softly from her chariot, she bowed to her father, to her brothers, and to all who had assembled there. Then, turning away from the path of mortals, the daughter of Yayāti entered the living forest— her feet falling like petals on the earth.

There she lived, in groves sanctified by sages, feeding upon tender shoots and crystal waters, wandering with the deer in peace. Clad in bark, her form pale with fasting, she shone with a light born of penance.

In valleys cool with shadow and on mountains kissed by dawn, she walked like a spirit between worlds. The moon became her lamp, the wind her hymn, and her heart—unbound by all desire—her offering to the eternal. Thus did Mādhavī, renouncing kingship and delight, attain the radiance of a saint, her austerities lighting the forest like fire beneath crystal streams.