novelraw Arc 2 - Abhimanyu-Vadha Parva - Chapter 6 - Mṛtyu’s Plight
Arc 2 - Abhimanyu-Vadha Parva - Chapter 6 - Mṛtyu’s Plight
Sañjaya said
Then the divine sage Nārada continued his narration to the sorrow-stricken Yudhiṣṭhira, recounting the ancient story of Death and her origin as once told to King Akampana.
When Brahmā had commanded the dark maiden to destroy all beings, the gentle lady—terrified, trembling, her palms joined like a creeper bending in the wind—bowed low before the Lord of Creatures.
With folded hands and eyes downcast,
She spoke, her voice like trembling blast
“O Lord, how can a woman’s hand
Deal death through all Thy blessed land?”
She said
“O Self-born, O foremost of speakers! Thou hast created me, yet commandest me to perform this act—cruel, fearful, and unrighteous.
How shall I, knowing it to be evil, slay the living? I tremble at sin and dread the curse of the sorrowing. Sons, fathers, friends, and husbands are dear to all; those bereaved by me will curse my name and seek my ruin.
The tears that shall flow from widows and orphans affright me, O Lord! Protect me from such unrighteousness.
I will not go to Yama’s abode; rather permit me, O boon-giver, to retire to the holy retreat of Dhenuka. There will I worship Thee and perform austerities, harming none, my heart pure and steadfast.”
Brahmā replied
“O Death, thou hast been created for this very task—the completion of the cycle, the destruction of all beings. Fear not! Do My bidding; none shall blame thee. This must be done, and it cannot be otherwise.”
But trembling still, she bowed her head,
And from her eyes soft tears were shed;
Her heart was pure, her pity deep—
And Brahmā smiled, yet let her weep.
Thus rebuked, the maiden stood silent—her eyes upon the ground, her heart unwilling to harm. For the good of all beings she restrained her hand. Seeing her thus, the Grandsire grew tranquil once more, his wrath forgotten, his face serene as dawn.
And as he turned his gaze upon creation, the fires of destruction ceased. Life began to move again, and beings continued as before, untouched by premature death.
Then the maiden—still called Mṛtyu, Death—departed from the presence of Brahmā and went swiftly to the hermitage of Dhenuka.
There, filled with compassion for all beings, she performed austerities of terrible severity. For sixteen billion and fifty billion years she stood upon one leg; then again for twenty-one times ten billion more she remained unmoving. For ten thousand billion years she wandered among mortals, observing their sorrows.
In the sacred waters of Nandā, she dwelt for eight thousand years, cleansing her heart through purity and silence. Then she went to Kauśikī, fasting on air and water alone. Next to Pañcagaṅgā, then to Vetasa, then to Gaṅgā, and finally to the heights of Meru and Himavat, she journeyed—each step a prayer, each breath an act of penance.
On the summit of Himavat, where the gods had once performed sacrifice, she stood for a billion years upon a single toe, unmoving as a pillar of stone. Thence she travelled to Puṣkara, to Gokarṇa, to Naimiṣa, and to Malaya, worshipping only the Self-born One, Brahmā, in steadfast devotion.
At last, the Grandsire, softened by her purity, appeared before her and said
“O gentle one, why dost thou undertake such penance? What sorrow troubles thee still?”
And Death, bowing low, answered
“O Lord of Creatures, I cannot slay them. They live in harmony, in health and peace, harming none. My heart cannot bear to end their joy. Grant me a boon, O Blessed One, that I may not incur sin. I fear unrighteousness and beg Thy protection.”
Brahmā replied
“O sinless one, hear My word that can never fail. Thou shalt incur no sin in thy appointed task. Slay, therefore, the four kinds of creatures—born of womb, of egg, of sweat, and of sprout—when their time arrives. Virtue shall ever be thine.
Yama, the Regent of the South, and the many rogas—diseases born of thy tears—shall aid thee in this duty. They shall spring from the bodies of creatures themselves, not from thee. Thus sin shall never stain thee.
Be thou steadfast, O fair one. Cast away desire and wrath. Fulfil thy office without malice, for by this obedience shalt thou uphold the law of creation.”
“Fear not,” He said, “for none shall blame,
Thy touch fulfills creation’s frame;
The tears thou shed’st shall turn to pain,
That ends when souls are born again.”
Then the maiden bowed her head again, trembling but obedient, for she feared the curse of Brahmā. And saying “So be it”, she departed to carry out His will.
From that time forth, casting away both love and anger, she began to take the lives of creatures when their destined hour arrived. Disease, born from her tears, became her silent messengers, arising from the very bodies of beings.
Thus Death came not as a slayer, but as the fulfiller of time. For the senses themselves depart with the departing life, only to return when the soul takes birth again.
Nārada said
“O King, know that all beings—even the gods—are bound by this law. The wind itself rends the bodies of creatures at the appointed hour, not by malice but by nature’s own decree.
Therefore, grieve not for thy son. He hath ascended to heaven and dwells now among the righteous, radiant in the regions of heroes. Death is no foe—it is but the turning of the eternal wheel.
Those who understand this, knowing death to be ordained by Brahmā Himself, do not mourn the departed.”
Vyāsa said
When Nārada had thus spoken, King Akampana’s sorrow vanished. Bowing to the sage, he said
“O divine one, my grief is gone. Blessed am I to have heard this sacred tale. I bow to thee in reverence.”
And the celestial sage, that foremost of seers, departed to the woods of Nandava, his task fulfilled.
Who hears this tale of Death’s first birth,
Is cleansed of grief and gains new worth;
His life is lengthened, fame is won—
As shines the moon when night is done.
Sañjaya concluded
“Thus, O King Yudhiṣṭhira, hearing this holy history, cast away thy sorrow. Remember thy duty as a Kṣatriya and the glory won by heroes. Thy nephew Abhimanyu, radiant and fearless, having slain countless foes before falling, hath reached the realm of Soma, pure and immortal.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from NovelBin. Please report it.
Therefore, gather thy strength, O son of Dharma—
stand once more for battle, with thy brothers beside thee,
for the fire of righteous wrath alone shall now restore balance to the world.”
Sanjaya said
Hearing the origin of Death and her strange offices, king Yudhishthira bowed to Vyāsa and, still heavy with sorrow, begged “O ascetic of unbounded wisdom, speak again in words of grave import. Recount the feats and gifts of the royal ṛṣis of old; let their stories steady my heart.”
Then the Island-born sage spoke thus
“There was a king named Śvitya, whose son Śṛñjaya cherished the friendship of Nārada and Pārvatā. Once those two divine seers came to his palace and, duly honoured, dwelt there content.
As the king sat with them, his daughter—moon-faced, sweet of smile—entered and bowed. Seeing her, Pārvatā said with a smile, ‘Whose daughter is this bright-eyed maiden? Is she the splendour of Sūrya or the flame of Agni—or Śrī, Hrī, Kīrti, Dhṛti, Puṣṭi, Siddhi, or Soma’s own sheen?’
Śṛñjaya answered, ‘She is my child, come for a father’s blessing.’
Nārada then said, ‘If thou desirest great good, O king, give this maiden to me in marriage.’
Delighted, Śṛñjaya agreed. But Pārvatā, vexed, addressed Nārada ‘I had chosen her in my heart ere thou didst speak; therefore, by this presumption, thou shalt not reach heaven at thy will.’
Nārada replied, ‘Husbandship is sealed by word and consent, by libation and grasping of hands, and—above all—by the seven sacred steps. Since these rites were not fulfilled for thee, thy claim is vain. And as thou hast cursed me, know thou too shalt not enter heaven without me.’
So the two, having cursed each other, remained. Meanwhile Śṛñjaya, longing for a son, fed and robed the Brāhmaṇas with spotless care. Pleased, they came to Nārada ‘Grant the king a son such as he desires.’
‘So be it,’ said Nārada, and to the king he spoke ‘Ask thy boon.’
Śṛñjaya prayed for a son of every accomplishment and fame, whose very urine, phlegm, sweat, and excreta would be gold.
In due time a son was born—Suvarṇaśṭhīvin—who multiplied his father’s wealth past measure. Walls and forts, vessels and beds, the Brāhmaṇas’ dwellings and the royal cars—gold everywhere!
But robbers, hearing of the golden prodigy, resolved ‘We shall seize the prince, the very mine of his father’s treasure.’ They stole him to the woods and slew him, carving the body to seek the promised metal—finding none. In that instant, all the boon-gold vanished from the realm. Mad with failure, the thieves fell upon one another and perished—together with the wondrous prince.
Śṛñjaya’s heart broke with grief. As he lamented, Nārada appeared and spoke
“O king, thy wish remains unwon,
For death is due to every son;
Even Marutta, lord of fame,
Passed hence—so still thy grief and shame.”
‘Hear, Śṛñjaya,’ said Nārada, ‘of Marutta, son of Avīkṣit. Displeased with Bṛhaspati, he took Sāṁvarta as his priest. Śiva himself bestowed on him the golden plateau of Himavat; with that wealth he performed vast sacrifices. Gods in hosts, with Indra leading and Bṛhaspati attending, came to his rites. His precincts shone with golden carpets; the twice-born ate as they pleased, with milk, curds, ghee, and honey in plenty; robes and jewels flowed to the learned as water to the sea.
The Viśvedevas were his courtiers; the heavens were gladdened by his libations; the gods returned the favour with life-giving rains. Ever he honoured ṛṣis, Pitṛs, and devas with vow, study, and gifts; even Śakra desired his welfare. With sons and counsellors and kinsmen, Marutta ruled a thousand years, then ascended to those eternal regions earned by merit.
If such a king—greater than thee in tapas, truth, compassion, and liberality; greater than thy son—has died, why wail for Suvarṇaśṭhīvin, who made no sacrifice nor gift?’”
Gold fades, and boons like dew depart;
But dharma lives within the heart.
The road of kings and sons is one—
By deed is immortality won.
(Sañjaya)
Thus spoke the sages of old, O King. Be consoled. For Abhimanyu, bright as a star of Soma’s line, won heaven by valour and by dharma. Steady thy heart, recall thy royal duty, and stand—O son of Dharma—beside thy brothers once more.
Sañjaya said
Then Nārada, the celestial sage of unerring vision, continued his discourse to Śṛñjaya, whose heart still smouldered with grief.
“O King,” said he, “hear also of Suhotra, the righteous monarch who, though foremost of heroes and invincible in war, at last fell a prey to Death.
He was famed among the kings of the earth, and even the gods themselves descended to behold him. Having acquired his dominion by virtue and courage, he ever sought the counsel of his ṛtvijas, priests, and Brāhmaṇas. He questioned them daily upon the duties of kingship, and acted ever according to their sacred word.
Just in protection, generous in gifts, firm in vow and valorous in arms, Suhotra ruled as one who joined dharma and power in equal measure. He adored the gods with sacrifices ordained by scripture and struck down the unrighteous with the shafts of his bow.
He ruled the world from sea to sea,
No thief nor foe his realm could see;
By truth and gifts his name was known,
By might and mercy held his throne.
He gladdened all beings by his justice and by the grace of his deeds. His dominion was free from mlecchas and forest marauders, and in that age of his reign the heavens themselves were pleased. The Cloud-god poured rain of gold year after year upon his land.
Then rivers ran golden streams; their waters shone like molten sunlight and were open to all. Fishes, crabs, and makaras of shining gold floated in those waters; even tortoises and crocodiles gleamed like images wrought by divine smiths.
The lakes he built stretched for miles and glittered like pools of liquid treasure. Dwarfs, hunchbacks, and wondrous creatures of gold—made by heaven’s marvel—walked upon the earth. Beholding these celestial marvels, Suhotra, though astonished, rejoiced not for wealth but for the chance to give.
At Kurujāṅgala, he performed a vast sacrifice, giving away that endless flood of gold to the Brāhmaṇas before his rites were done.
He accomplished a thousand Aśvamedhas, a hundred Rājasūyas, and countless Kṣatriya-yajñas, each crowned with lavish gifts. Daily he offered worship, undertook vows and rites of every kind, and fulfilled the ordinances of sacrifice for the welfare of his subjects.
A thousand steeds to gods he gave,
A hundred kings he made the brave;
By gift and rite his fame was sung,
By dharma’s path his soul was young.
At last, having completed his earthly works and achieved the four perfections—truth, compassion, liberality, and tapas—the mighty Suhotra departed this world, attaining the most exalted state beyond decay and death.
Then Nārada turned to Śṛñjaya and said:
“When even such a sovereign, O King, who surpassed thee in virtue and surpassed thy son in glory, succumbed to Death, why lament thou for Suvarṇaśṭhīvin, who performed no sacrifice, who gave no sacred gift?
The path of all is one. The mighty fall as surely as the weak, for such is the law decreed by Time.”
Though rivers shine with gold’s bright gleam,
Their current ends within the stream;
So kings, though rich in power and breath,
Flow to the sea of changeless Death.
Sañjaya said
Then the divine sage Nārada, whose voice was like the murmur of heaven’s wind, continued to speak unto Śṛñjaya, who still sat bound by grief.
“O King,” said he, “even Rāma, the son of Daśaratha, fell a prey to Death. That mighty-armed one, filled with immeasurable energy and countless virtues, ruled his subjects as a father cherishes his children. None among men was so beloved, none so steadfast in righteousness.
At the word of his sire, he abandoned the pleasures of Ayodhyā and for fourteen years dwelt in the forest with Sītā, the princess of Videha, and his faithful brother Lakṣmaṇa. There, in Janasthāna, that lion among men slew fourteen thousand Rākṣasas who tormented the ascetics, cleansing the woods of fear.
But the wretch Rāvaṇa, sprung from Pulastya’s line, deceived them both and stole away the chaste daughter of Janaka. Then, like Rudra rising in wrath to slay the Asura Andhaka, Rāma stormed Lanka with his bow, the worlds trembling at his tread. In battle he destroyed that ten-headed tyrant—he who had never before been conquered by gods or Asuras—and with him perished his kinsmen and hosts.
Thus did Rāma, the upholder of Dharma, restore peace to gods and mortals alike. The very celestials hymned his name; the sages extolled his virtues; the heavens resounded with praise of Daśaratha’s son.”
He smote the night-born fiends with flame,
He freed the earth from fear and shame;
The gods beheld, their hearts at rest,
And hailed the king the world had blest.
“Having regained his wife and his throne, that compassionate ruler governed the earth with spotless virtue. He performed the Rājasūya, the Vājapeya, and a hundred Aśvamedhas; he offered the Jarūthya sacrifice, gladdening Indra with libations of ghee. By these deeds he conquered hunger, thirst, and all diseases that afflict mortal beings. His splendour outshone the sun, his wisdom surpassed the sages, and his glory was sung by the gods themselves.
When Rāma ruled, harmony reigned between heaven and earth. The ṛṣis, the devas, and mankind lived as one family. The elements—prāṇa, apāna, samāna, and the rest—performed their functions without faltering. The stars shone with added lustre, and calamities were unknown. None died untimely; none was poor or covetous; none turned from righteousness.
The offerings to the gods and the manes flowed without hindrance, for when the Rākṣasas once defiled the rites, Rāma’s arms smote them and restored the sacred order. Men begot a thousand children each; their lives stretched to a thousand years. No elder mourned a younger, for all fulfilled their destined span.”
Dark as the cloud, with lotus eyes,
Strong as the storm that shakes the skies;
Broad-bosomed, kingly, calm, and wise—
Thus Rāma shone, the world’s sunrise.
“Endued with the gait of an enraged elephant, with arms that reached his knees and shoulders broad as a lion’s, he ruled Ayodhyā in splendour for eleven thousand years. His subjects ceaselessly chanted his name; the world beneath his sceptre grew radiant and pure.
At last, when his task was fulfilled and his line established in eight noble houses upon the earth, Rāma of boundless might ascended to heaven, taking with him his four orders of subjects.
When such a king—peerless in the four virtues of truth, charity, compassion, and tapas—passed away, who wert thou, O Śṛñjaya, to grieve for thy son who neither gave nor sacrificed?
Cease thy lament, for even the immortal Rāma met his appointed end. The law of Death bends to none; only Dharma abides eternal.”
When Rāma’s reign to heaven was borne,
The world grew pale, of splendour shorn;
If he, the blameless, passed away—
Why shouldst thou mourn thy child today?