novelraw Arc 4 - Adivansavatarana - Chapter 1 The Great Bharata
Arc 4 - Adivansavatarana - Chapter 1 The Great Bharata
In the sacred grove of Naimiṣāraṇya, the fire still burned with unceasing flame, tended by those devoted to dharma. Among them, the venerable ŚAUNAKA, his mind ever drawn toward the ancient and the eternal, addressed the learned SŪTA once again.
He said:
“O Sūta, you have spoken well,Of Bhṛgu’s line, where sages dwell.My heart is stirred by tales so vast,Of ancient times, of future, past.
Yet still I yearn—again I pray,O son of Sūta, deign to sayWhat Vyāsa sang in epic tone,A lore by time and spirit known.
The stories told 'midst sacred flame,Where ṛṣis sat and called each name,At Janamejaya’s serpent rite—Tell those again, in truth and light.
What goals were set in tales so grand?What truths did sages understand?Reveal it all without delay,O wise one, clear my soul’s dismay.”
Sauti replied,“In the sacred intervals of their rites, the Brahmanas, learned in the Vedas, discoursed on many subjects—each rooted in sacred wisdom. Yet it was Vyāsa who recited the wondrous and vast history known as the Bhārata—a tale unlike any other, filled with marvels, teachings, and the deep echoes of dharma.”
Hearing this, ŚAUNAKA once again spoke, his desire unquenched:
“That sacred tale—the Mahābhārata,Which spreads the fame of Pāṇḍu’s line,Recited after rites were done,By Vyāsa’s voice, through grace divine—
I long to hear in fullest way,Each verse, each tale, each noble ray.
Born from the ocean of his mind,That sage in Yoga’s truth refined,Whose soul like crystal, pure and clear,Gave birth to all we hold most dear—
O best among good men, I pray,Let not this moment slip away.My thirst, though deep your words have been,Remains untouched by what I’ve seen.
Speak, son of Sūta, speak it now,With reverence deep, to thee I bow.”
Then Sauti, son of Lomaharṣaṇa, with humility and joy, replied:
“I shall recite to you, O Brāhmaṇa, from the very beginning, the great and noble history known as the Mahābhārata, composed by the sage Vyāsa.Listen to it in its entirety as I recount it—for truly, I too find great delight in its telling.”
Sauti said:
“When Janamejaya was performing the great snake sacrifice, the venerable sage Kṛṣṇa Dvaipāyana Vyāsa, hearing of the rite, arrived there along with his son and disciples.
This illustrious sage, grandfather of the Pāṇḍavas, was born on an island in the river Yamunā, to the virgin Kali, through the sage Parāśara, son of Śakti.
By sheer force of will, Vyāsa developed his body the moment he was born. He swiftly mastered the Vedas along with all their branches, as well as the histories and Purāṇas. That which others strive to gain through asceticism, scriptural study, vows, fasting, progeny, or sacrifice—he attained effortlessly.
He, the first among Veda-knowers, divided the single Veda into four parts for the benefit of all.
This Brahmarṣi, possessed of knowledge of the Supreme Brahman, was a seer of the past through divine intuition, sanctified in his conduct, devoted to truth and righteous deeds, and of great renown.
To preserve the lineage of King Śāntanu, he begot Dhṛtarāṣṭra, Pāṇḍu, and Vidura.”
And the high-souled Ṛṣi Vyāsa, accompanied by his disciples—each learned in the Vedas and their limbs—entered the sacred pavilion where King Janamejaya’s great sacrifice was underway.
There, he beheld Janamejaya, the royal sage of the Bhārata line, seated in majesty within the sacrificial arena. He shone like Indra amidst the gods, surrounded by his sadasyas, the officiating priests, by kings of distant lands whose locks bore the sanctity of the ceremonial bath, and by masters of ritual as wise and composed as Brahmā himself.
Seeing the arrival of the sage, Janamejaya—foremost of kings and descendant of the noble Pāṇḍus—rose at once. With his relatives and retinue, filled with great joy, he swiftly advanced to welcome the seer. With the approval of his assembled priests, the king offered Vyāsa a golden seat, just as Indra had once offered such honor to Bṛhaspati.
The sage—honored even by celestial ṛṣis, and capable of bestowing boons—took his seat with tranquil grace. Then the king, following the rites of scripture, worshipped him in due form. He offered water for the sage’s feet and mouth, the ceremonial arghya, and kine as gifts.
Vyāsa, accepting these offerings from Janamejaya of the Pāṇḍava line, was well pleased. He also instructed that the kine not be slain, which gladdened his heart further. Thereafter, the king bowed low before his great-grandfather and inquired after his well-being.
The illustrious seer, returning the courtesy, gazed upon Janamejaya and gently asked after his welfare. Having already been honored, he then honored in turn the assembled sadasyas with his blessings.
When all had been properly welcomed and seated, Janamejaya, with joined palms and all his priests beside him, humbly questioned that foremost of Brahmanas.
Then King Janamejaya, his voice tempered with both reverence and longing, questioned the sage with folded palms:
“O Brāhmaṇa, knower of all,
You saw the rise, you saw the fall—
The deeds of Kuru’s mighty line,
The sons of light, the sons of spine.
I yearn to hear their tale unfold,
The acts of kings, the brave, the bold.
What was the cause of that great split,
That drew their hearts from kinship's writ?
Why came the war so vast, so dire,
That burned the world in battle’s fire?
Where reason failed and dharma bled,
And countless souls lay cold and dead.
Between my grandsires, fierce and great,
What cast their minds to hands of fate?
What shadow dimmed their inner flame—
Tell me, O sage of spotless name.
O excellent Brāhmaṇa, speak it all—
Leave not one thread from memory’s call.
From first to last, let all be said,
The living tale, not just the dead.”
Hearing these earnest words from King Janamejaya, the venerable sage Kṛṣṇa Dvaipāyana Vyāsa turned to his disciple, the learned Vaiśampāyana, who was seated nearby. With calm authority and deep purpose, he spoke:
“Recount, O Vaiśampāyana, all that transpired between the Kurus and the Pāṇḍavas in ancient times. Narrate to the king the full tale of their discord, exactly as you have heard it from me.”
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Thus commanded by his revered preceptor, the blessed Brāhmaṇa Vaiśampāyana rose to the task. In the presence of the king, the assembled sadasyas, and the many noble chiefs who had gathered, he began the sacred narration.
He spoke of the hostilities that arose, of the bitter conflict, and the eventual ruin and annihilation of both the Kurus and the Pāṇḍavas—unveiling the vast, sorrowful, and majestic history of the Bhārata race.
Then Vaiśampāyana, the devoted disciple, bowed before all, and with folded hands began his sacred recital:
“First, I bow to my preceptor’s grace,
With limbs touched low in eight-fold place.
With heart and soul, with reverent breath,
I honor him in life and death.
And next, I praise this learned ring—
These Brahmanas wise, who dharma bring.
I worship all, both young and sage,
Before I turn this epic page.
What I have heard from Vyāsa’s lips,
Whose mind no error ever grips—
The sage whose soul all worlds revere,
Whose words like dharma’s flame appear—
That tale I now to you unfold,
Of men and kings and ages old.
O monarch, born of noble seed,
You too are fit this text to heed.
My heart, once hesitant, is strong,
For by my guru's will and song,
I feel no fear, I bear no doubt—
Thus let the tale be spoken out.”
Then Vaiśampāyana, steady in voice and mind, offered the monarch a glimpse of the vast epic yet to unfold:
“Hear, O king, in brief I tell,
The tale where dharma rose and fell—
A lineage torn, a fate severe,
That shook the earth from sphere to sphere.
When Pāṇḍu fell in forest’s gloom,
His sons returned to court and gloom.
The Kauravas, with envy blind,
Let poison seep into their mind.
Bhīma, by guile, was made to fall—
Yet rose with strength to awe them all.
Then came the house of wax and flame,
Where sin concealed itself in name.
They dwelt in woods like sages pure,
With trials long and hearts demure.
Then Pāñcālī, radiant as a star,
Was won by strength in royal war.
The five then made Indraprastha rise,
A city bright as starlit skies.
Arjuna gained the bow divine,
And met with Vāsudeva’s line.
The demon Maya, spared from wrath,
Repaid his life with artful path—
He built a hall of wonder deep,
Where light would dance and shadows sleep.
But envy’s game was still to play,
In dice they lost their world away.
And exiled long for fourteen years,
They bore the weight of fate and tears.
At last arose the final war,
Where brother clashed with brother’s star.
The field was red, the end was vast—
Thus dharma trembled to its last.”
Hearing the vast sweep of events, King Janamejaya, burning with curiosity and thirst for truth, spoke thus with reverent urgency:
“O Brāhmaṇa, noble and wise,
You’ve shown the tale in lightning skies.
Yet such a tale, of dharma's weight,
Deserves more than a passing state.
That history of deeds so vast,
Of wars and vows and shadows cast—
Recite it now in full, I pray,
Let not its glories fade away.
Why did those tigers born of fame,
Strike kin, then still receive acclaim?
What cause could be so fierce, so grave,
That saints would kill yet still be brave?
Why bore they wrongs in silence deep—
The sons of Pāṇḍu, wrath asleep?
Why Bhīma, strong as thunder’s call,
Not shatter Kuru’s scheming wall?
Why Draupadī, with fury bright,
Whose eyes alone could set alight
The hearts of men in blazing fear—
Why held her wrath and dropped no tear?
Why followed they Yudhishṭhira’s hand,
Though fate had marked his dice-cast stand?
Why Nakula, and Sahadeva true,
Let insult pass without their due?
And Yudhishṭhira, dharma’s own—
Why did he sit upon that throne
Of suffering and patient woe,
And let his kin bear cruelest blow?
And Arjuna—dhanurdhara great—
With Kṛṣṇa driving chariot fate—
Why did he too endure disdain,
Before he loosed that final rain?
O sage of penance, tell me now,
Reveal each oath, each secret vow.
Tell all they bore, all that they won—
The mighty deeds those heroes done.”
Then Vaiśampāyana, filled with devotion and steady resolve, addressed King Janamejaya:
“O monarch wise, appoint a day,
For what I tell is long in play.
This tale, profound and vast in span,
Was told by Vyāsa, god-like man.
The son of Satyavatī bright,
Of mind as deep as endless night—
He shaped this tale of sacred fame,
A hundred thousand verses' flame.
To read this work, or hear it said,
Is to the realm of Brahma led.
Such is the fruit of listening here—
The gods themselves draw ever near.
This Bhārata, with Vedas paired,
Is holiest lore the world has shared.
It teaches Artha, Kāma’s art,
And Mokṣa’s path to free the heart.
O King, this tale is praised of old,
By ṛṣis wise and sages bold.
Recite it to the just and kind,
And wealth and blessings you shall find.
This is Jaya—tale of might,
Of dharma’s rise and adharma’s fight.
Let kings who seek to rule the land
Attend this tale with heart in hand.
It is a sacrifice of speech,
That even heaven’s gates can reach.
If king and queen but lend their ear,
A noble child shall soon appear.
For Dharma, Artha, Mokṣa’s gain,
No other lore so pure, so plain.
This Vyāsa spoke in age long past—
It shall endure while ages last.
Who hears it told shall find release,
Their sins will fade, their hearts find peace.
In deed, in speech, in silent thought—
All faults by this great tale are caught.
Thus ready now, with mind made still,
Hear Bhārata, as is my will.”
“They who hear with faultless ear,
This tale of Bharatas held dear—
Shall fear no illness, none at all,
Nor dread the world beyond the wall.
To raise the fame of Pāṇḍu’s line,
Of Kṣatriyas fierce, of hearts divine—
The sage Dvaipāyana composed
This work where all the worlds reposed.
First in knowledge, proud and bold,
The sons of dharma here unfold.
Their glory rides on every page—
A boon to man in darkened age.
This tale is sacred, crowned with fame,
A lengthened life its holy claim.
From Vyāsa’s will, to bless mankind,
This Bhārata was so designed.
He who, in virtue’s name and grace,
Invites the twice-born to this place,
And bids them hear this noble song—
Earns merit vast and ever strong.
Who speaks the lineage of this race,
Gains purity and honored place.
His house shall grow in wealth and kin,
And worldly praise he too shall win.
A Brāhmaṇa who reads this text
Four rainy months without being vexed—
Is cleansed of sin and freed from stain,
Like rivers freed by monsoon rain.
And he who reads this tale sublime
Is counted sage in Vedic time.
For all the Vedas here reside—
In Bhārata, where truths abide.”
“This work reveals both god and sage,
From time’s beginning to this age—
The sinless Keśava, lord divine,
And Mahādeva’s wrathful shine;
With her, the goddess mountain-born,
From whom brave Kārtikeya’s form
Was born of fire and spirit flame,
Reared by mothers none could name.
The greatness of the holy cow,
The Brāhmaṇa with dharma’s vow—
All these and more within reside,
In Bhārata, with truth as guide.
It holds all hymns, all stutis praised,
By gods and sages fire-mazed.
To hear it is a sacred right,
For every soul that seeks the light.
Who reads it through the lunar days,
And chants its words in selfless praise,
Shall rise beyond the heaven's gate,
To merge with Brahma’s changeless state.
And he who lets but one verse sound,
While Śrāddha rites the hearth surround—
Makes that rite never-ending, bright,
The Pitṛs fed by endless light.
With gifts once given, they remain,
Forever full, immune to pain.
Such is the grace this poem yields,
In sacrifice and virtue’s fields.”
“The sins that cling to mortal breath,
By senses stirred, or mind beneath—
Be they known or veiled from sight,
Are cleansed away by Bhārata’s light.
The tale of Bhārata’s noble seed,
Exalted in both thought and deed—
Is Mahābhārata, named so true,
And he who knows its name anew,
Is freed from sin, from stain and fall—
This tale uplifts and cleanses all.
So wondrous is this sacred song,
It purifies the proud and wrong.
For three full years did Vyāsa rise,
With morning rites and fire-lit skies,
And from his vow and vision poured
This epic stream the worlds adored.
So Brāhmaṇas, with vow and care,
Should hear this work through sacred air.
And he who chants, and those who hear—
In joy, in sorrow, far or near—
Shall not be touched by karma’s chain,
Nor reap of sin, nor suffer pain.
Let one who yearns for virtue bright
Attend this tale, from first to night.
It holds all itihāsas high—
And cleanses heart, and clears the eye.
The joy of heaven’s own high delight
Is dim beside this hearing right.
For purity, for peace, for grace—
There is no lore of nobler place.”
“The virtuous soul who hears this tale,
Or bids it told with heart not frail—
Gains fruit of Rājasūya’s fire,
Or Aśvamedha’s kingly pyre.
This Bhārata—a gem-bound sea,
As vast as Meru’s majesty—
Is holy lore, of Veda's worth,
That purifies both soul and earth.
It pleases ear and strengthens grace,
And leads the heart to dharma’s place.
It cleanses sin and raises name,
And leaves the world with virtue’s flame.
O king, who gives this book away
To one who asks—on such a day,
He gives the earth in full domain,
With all her seas and wealth and grain.
So hear, O son of Parīkṣit bold,
This tale of virtue once retold.
Of conquest, truth, and noble strife—
The path through dharma into life.
For Vyāsa rose each morning pure,
And for three years his vows kept sure.
This Mahābhārata he wove,
A world of wisdom none can move.
O monarch strong, behold this test—
Whatever matters to the quest
Of Artha, Kāma, Dharma's way,
Or Mokṣa's light that ends the fray—
May elsewhere briefly bloom or gleam,
But all reside in Bhārata’s stream.
And what is not within this song,
Is found in no world, right or wrong.”
Yad ihāsti tad anyatra, yan nehāsti na tat kva cit.