novelraw Arc 5 - Sambhava - Chapter 7 - Kacha’s Quest for Sanjeevani Vidhya
Arc 5 - Sambhava - Chapter 7 - Kacha’s Quest for Sanjeevani Vidhya
Janamejaya said:
“O thou rich in penance, master of sacred lore,
Tell me how our noble ancestor Yayāti,
Tenth from the mighty Prajāpati,
Won the hand of Śukra’s daughter—
She who was deemed unobtainable.
I wish to hear, in full and orderly manner,
How this great union came to pass.
And also, O wise one, recount to me one by one
Those royal sages who became founders of mighty lines.”
Vaiśampāyana replied:
“O king, Yayāti, resplendent as Indra in glory,
Shone like the midday sun among kings of men.
Listen, then, as I recount the tale of how Śukra,
Preceptor of the Daityas and master of divine mantras,
And Vṛṣaparvan, lord of the Asuras,
Bestowed their daughters upon this king,
And how Devayānī became Yayāti’s queen
In a union blessed by destiny and sacred rite.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
In ancient times, a great rivalry brewed between the celestials and the Asuras, each vying for sovereignty over the three worlds and all that they contained. Their battles were many and fierce, shaking the heavens and earth alike.
To gain advantage in these cosmic contests, the gods appointed Vṛhaspati, the wise son of Aṅgiras, as their sacrificial priest—he who shone with the purity of Vedic knowledge. In response, the Asuras, not to be outdone, chose the learned Uśanas Kāvya, also called Śukra, as their spiritual guide and priest in battle.
Between these two Brāhmaṇas—Vṛhaspati and Uśanas—there was continual contention, not only in rite but in pride, as each proclaimed his superiority in sacred art and mystic power.
The Dānavas fell, but rose again,
By Śukra's word, their life regained.
While gods who perished on the field,
Lay cold, with none their wounds to shield.
With the Sanjīvanī-vidyā—the sacred science of revivification—Śukra brought back the Asuras slain in battle. One by one, they rose again with strength renewed, returning to fight with undiminished fury.
But the devas, though brave and mighty, suffered greatly.
For Vṛhaspati, noble yet restrained,
Knew not the lore by which life is regained.
Thus, the gods mourned, their hearts cast down, for their fallen kin lay still upon the field, and no power among them could restore breath to those who had departed.
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Burdened with grief and fearing the vast power of Uśanas—the sage of infinite knowledge—the gods assembled in anxious counsel. Their slain would not rise, while the Asuras returned again and again to the fray, restored by the mighty seer.
In desperation, they turned to Kacha, the eldest son of Vṛhaspati, radiant with youth and virtue.
“To thee we turn, O noble one,
A task we beg, thou shining sun.
Within Śukra the secret lies,
That brings the dead again to rise.
Go forth and learn that sacred lore,
Which seals the fate of godly war.”
With reverent urgency they said, “Find thy way to Śukra’s abode in the court of Vṛṣaparvan, the Asura king. Though he aids the Dānavas unfailingly, he may yet receive thee—for thou art young and can show him reverence. Win his trust. Win Devayānī's favour, his cherished daughter, through thy conduct, kindness, and humility. None but thee may succeed in this.”
Thus entreated by the gods, Kacha, devoted to their cause, humbly replied:
“So be it, as you have asked,
I take upon me this noble task.”
Without delay, he journeyed to the city of the Asuras, capital of Vṛṣaparvan’s realm, where the great sage Śukra dwelt. There he beheld the Brāhmaṇa, radiant like fire, serene in his discipline and unmatched in wisdom.
Approaching him with folded hands, Kacha spoke:
“O illustrious sage, accept me, I pray,
As thy disciple from this day.
Grandson of Aṅgiras, Vṛhaspati's son,
I seek to walk the path you’ve won.
Let me live in brahmacarya pure,
A thousand years, steadfast and sure.
In thought and deed I shall obey—
Command me, master, show the way.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Śukra, hearing Kacha’s humble request, welcomed him with graciousness befitting a sage of his stature.
"Welcome art thou, O Kacha," he said.
"Thy words I accept, and thy presence gladdens me.
For in honouring thee, I honour Vṛhaspati,
Who is himself worthy of all reverence."
Thus accepted, Kacha took upon himself the sacred vow he had declared—
to serve his preceptor in brahmacarya for a thousand years,
in thought, word, and deed.
He strove, with utmost care, to win the favor
of both his master and Devayānī,
Śukra’s daughter, youthful and proud.
With lute and lyre, he sang and played,
In dance and jest his heart he laid.
He brought her fruits, he wove her flowers,
And served her well in twilight hours.
Kacha’s devotion shone bright, and the maiden’s heart was moved.
With gentle voice and soft demeanour,
she too came often to his side,
her spirit drawn to his quiet strength.
In glades where golden sun did fade,
Together oft the two had strayed.
And though no vow of love was spoken,
In acts and glances, signs were woken.
Time flowed on—
five hundred years passed as swiftly as the wind,
and the Dānavas grew suspicious.
They learned of Kacha’s purpose—
that he sought the secret of Sanjīvanī,
the power to restore the dead,
and their fury was kindled.
Careless of the sin of slaying a Brāhmaṇa,
they seized their moment in the forest.
There, where cattle roamed and silence fell,
They found the youth beside a dell.
With wrath inflamed and hearts untrue,
They slew him where the grasses grew.
They tore his body limb from limb,
and cast the pieces to the beasts of the wild—
jackals, wolves, the hungering dark.
Twilight came.
The cows returned without their keeper.
Seeing them, Devayānī’s heart sank.
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Something was amiss.
She went swiftly to her father and spoke:
“O Father, the kine have come alone,
Without the one who called them home.
Where is the youth who served thee true?
The woods are dark—he should be too.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Devayānī, her face pale with anxiety, turned to her father and spoke with urgency and grief:
“The evening fire is kindled, O father,
The sun has dipped below the trees.
The kine return, but not the one
Who walks them home with gentle ease.
Kacha is gone, he is not seen—
Lost to the world, or dead, I deem.
And know, O sire, this truth from me:
Without him, I no longer wish to be.”
Her voice trembled with unshed tears,
and hearing her solemn vow,
Śukra, master of mysteries, was moved.
With calm yet potent resolve, he said:
“Fear not, my daughter. I shall bring him back.
Let this one come—such is my call.”
And with the power of Sanjīvanī-vidyā,
that sacred science known only to him,
Śukra summoned the spirit of Kacha
from the realm beyond death.
At that divine command,
Kacha arose from the bellies of beasts.
The wolves that had devoured him
were torn apart as his body knit itself anew—
bone to bone, flesh to flesh, life returned.
He came before his master, whole again,
his heart alight with gratitude.
Devayānī, seeing him restored,
asked why he had delayed so long.
And Kacha, his voice steady, spoke gently to her:
“I was dead, O noble-hearted one.
With sacred fuel, kuśa grass, and wood,
I made my way beneath the sun
Toward our dwelling in the wood.
The kine were gathered ‘neath a tree,
A fig of shade and spreading bough.
Then came the Dānavas—dark and grim—
And halted me with furrowed brow.
They asked me, ‘Who art thou that comes?’
I said, ‘Vṛhaspati's own son.’
They slew me then in vengeful spite,
And fed my flesh to beasts that night.
But summoned now by Bhārgava’s might,
I rise anew, returned to light.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
On another occasion, at Devayānī’s request, Kacha ventured into the forest to gather flowers. As he wandered through the woods, collecting blossoms, the Dānavas again caught sight of him.
Seized by malice and fear of losing the secret of Sanjīvanī, they killed him once more. This time, they ground his body into a fine paste and mixed it with the waters of the ocean, hoping to prevent any possibility of revival.
When Kacha did not return for a long while, Devayānī’s heart grew anxious. She came again to her father and said he had not returned. Once more, Śukra employed his divine knowledge and summoned Kacha.
At the sage’s call, Kacha reappeared—risen from the ocean’s depths, restored through his master’s power—and recounted the cruel fate the Asuras had inflicted on him.
But the Dānavas, relentless in their resolve, devised an even darker scheme.
They slew him a third time.
This time, they burned his body to ash, ground the remnants finely, and secretly mixed the ashes into Śukra’s wine. Unaware of the deception, the sage drank the mixture.
Soon afterward, when Kacha did not return, Devayānī came once more to her father. Her voice trembled with grief and determination:
“O father, he was sent for flowers, yet he returns not.
I fear the worst—he is lost or dead.
Truly I say again, without him, I will not live.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Śukra, hearing his daughter’s grief, spoke with measured calm, though troubled in his heart:
“O daughter, the son of Vṛhaspati has again departed to the realm of the dead. Though I revive him each time through my knowledge, the Dānavas continue to slay him. What more can I do?
Do not weep, Devayānī. Do not grieve.
One such as you, blessed by my power,
should not lament for one who is mortal.
Know this: because of my austerities and wisdom, you are worshipped thrice daily—at dawn, noon, and dusk—by the Brāhmaṇas, the gods with Indra, the Vasus, the Ashvins, the Asuras, and all beings across the three worlds.
Yet even with all my power, I cannot protect him.
He is restored, only to be slain again.
To keep him alive… has become impossible.”
But Devayānī, her heart steadfast, replied through her tears:
“Why should I not mourn, O father?
He is no ordinary man.
His grandsire is Aṅgiras, ancient and revered.
His father is Vṛhaspati, preceptor of the gods.
He himself is learned, pure,
a Brahmachārin rich in penance,
ever wakeful, ever skilled.
He is dear to me—truly dear.
If he is gone, I shall not eat.
I shall follow the path he has taken.
Without Kacha, I have no desire to live.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
The great sage Kāvya, also known as Śukra, was deeply shaken by Devayānī’s words. Her grief and resolve stirred his anger, and he understood at last the true extent of the Dānavas’ deceit.
“They seek to harm me,” he said, eyes blazing.
“These Asuras, followers of Rudra,
Have made me a partner in their sin.
My disciple, under my care, has been slain—
Again and again, in secret, in cruelty.
They defile the sacred bond between teacher and pupil.
They have made me, unknowingly, a partaker in the murder of a Brāhmaṇa.
This crime is dire—its end is destruction.
Even mighty Indra could not escape its flame
if touched by the guilt of Brahmanicide.”
Devayānī, seeing her father’s wrath and sorrow, urged him again to act. At her insistence, Śukra prepared to summon Kacha from the domain of death.
But when he did so, a faint voice rose—not from afar, but from within.
From the very depths of his own body,
Śukra heard the trembling voice of his disciple.
“O lord,” came the voice of Kacha, “have mercy upon me.
I am thy disciple—Kacha, who worships thee.
Protect me, as a father would his own beloved son.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Śukra, hearing the voice of his disciple from within, stood still, astonished and disturbed. Then he spoke with grave realization:
“O Brāhmaṇa, by what means hast thou come to dwell within me? What path brought thee to my very stomach? But now the truth is clear. I can no longer remain with the Asuras. They have violated the sanctity of my household. This very moment, I renounce them—I shall go to the gods.”
From within, Kacha replied, his voice steady despite the torment:
“By thy grace, O Kavya, my memory remains unbroken.
I recall all that has passed—nothing is lost.
Nor have my ascetic powers been diminished,
And thus I endure this pain that would break most men.
Slain by the Dānavas, burnt to ash,
I was mixed with wine and unknowingly given to thee.
Yet know this, O Brāhmaṇa:
When thou art near, the cunning of the Asuras
can never overcome the wisdom of the seers.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Śukra, hearing Kacha’s words from within and weighed down by the impossible dilemma, turned to his daughter with a heavy heart.
“O Devayānī,” he said, “what good can I now do for you? The only way to restore Kacha to life… is through my own death. He is inside me—there is no other path for his release but by cutting open my body.”
Devayānī, stricken, cried out:
“O Father, both paths burn me like fire!
Whether it is Kacha who dies, or you—
I am undone either way.
If Kacha dies, I shall not live.
And if you depart from this world,
I will have no strength to endure.”
Śukra, moved by the depth of her devotion and love, turned his thoughts inward and addressed Kacha once more:
“O son of Vṛhaspati, thou art truly blessed.
Devayānī’s heart is bound to thee—this is no small thing.
If thou art not Indra himself in disguise,
then receive now from me the science I alone possess.”
His voice deepened with resolve:
“None who dwells within my body may come out alive.
Yet a Brāhmaṇa must not be slain.
Therefore, I will teach thee the secret of Sanjīvanī—
the power to bring the dead to life.
Learn it from me, here and now.
Then, tear thy way from within,
and restore me, thy guru,
as I shall restore thee.
Be reborn, not as a mere disciple—
but as my very son in knowledge and spirit.
And when you emerge, let your conduct
be filled with grace.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Having received the sacred science from his preceptor, Kacha, armed now with the power of reviving the dead, performed the impossible. He tore open Śukra’s body and emerged—resplendent and whole—
Like the moon rising full and radiant
On the fifteenth night of the bright fortnight.
He stepped forth, his form unmarred, his knowledge complete. But when he beheld the body of his teacher—lifeless, torn, fallen like a heap of ascetic energy spent—his heart was filled with reverence.
Without delay, and guided by the very science imparted to him, Kacha revived Śukra, restoring him from death to life.
Then, bowing with deep respect, he spoke:
“To him who pours the nectar of wisdom
Into the ears of one ignorant,
As thou hast done for me—
I offer the reverence due to father and mother alike.
Who, remembering such immense grace,
Could ever raise harm against his teacher?
The guru is to be honoured above all.
He is the giver of knowledge—
The rarest treasure upon this Earth.
Those who, having learned, bring harm to their preceptor—
they are cast out from the world,
and their path leads only to realms of sin.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Having regained his life and faculties, the great sage Śukra sat for a moment in thoughtful silence. He recalled how he had been deceived—unwittingly consuming wine tainted with the ashes of his disciple, and how that moment of indulgence had clouded his wisdom and led to a terrible breach of sanctity.
Beholding Kacha standing before him—alive, learned, and radiant—Śukra recognized the danger of such loss of awareness. He resolved then and there to bring about a lasting reform for the welfare of all Brāhmaṇas.
Rising from the ground, his voice filled with stern resolve, he declared:
“Henceforth, the Brāhmaṇa who cannot resist
The temptation of wine—
Who drinks and falls into forgetfulness—
Shall be deemed fallen from dharma.
Let it be known:
He shall be regarded as having slain a Brāhmaṇa.
He shall be hated in this world and the next.
He shall forfeit his virtue.
This I proclaim—
To safeguard the dignity and conduct of Brāhmaṇas everywhere.
Let the righteous heed these words.
Let the gods, the seers, the three worlds—
All bear witness to this decree!”
With that solemn vow, the high-souled Usanās, sage among sages, turned to the Dānavas—those who, by their actions, had forfeited their wisdom.
“You have been foolish,” he told them, his tone unrelenting.
“Kacha has achieved his aim. He has gained the knowledge of Sanjīvanī, the power to revive the dead. From this day forward, he will remain with me.
This Brāhmaṇa, through discipline, devotion, and divine instruction,
has become as powerful as Brahmā himself.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Having spoken thus, Bhārgava—Śukra—ended his speech. His words, firm and final, echoed with the weight of righteousness and power. The Dānavas, astonished and subdued, silently took their leave and returned to their homes.
As for Kacha, he had now completed his vow.
He had lived and served in the household of his preceptor for a thousand years—faithfully, tirelessly, and through trials no ordinary man could endure.
Having fulfilled his purpose and received the boon of Sanjīvanī from his master, he approached Śukra once more and, with reverence, sought leave to depart.
With knowledge gained and duty done,
The path now led back to the sun—
To the gods he once had vowed to aid,
Bearing wisdom the Asuras feared.
With Śukra’s blessing, Kacha prepared to return to the celestial realms,
his mission complete,
his spirit tested and transformed.
Vaiśampāyana said:
When the period of his vow had ended, and Kacha had received his preceptor’s blessing to depart, he made ready to ascend to the realm of the celestials. But before he could go, Devayānī stepped forward.
Her voice was steady, but her heart trembled with longing.
“O grandson of the great Ṛṣi Aṅgiras,” she said, “in conduct and birth, in learning, in austerity, and in humility—you shine among men like the sun among stars.
As my father reveres the sage Aṅgiras,
So do I honour thy father, Vṛhaspati,
With deep and heartfelt regard.
O sage of noble ascetic wealth,
Hear now what I have long held in my heart.
Recall my affection, my care,
Throughout the long years of thy vow.
I served thee with devotion—not merely as a friend,
But as one whose heart was bound to thee.
Now that your vow is fulfilled,
Let this be our moment of union.
Let your heart turn toward mine.
Take my hand in marriage, O Kacha—
With the sacred mantras and the rites ordained.
Let our union be sanctified by dharma and truth.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Hearing Devayānī’s proposal, Kacha, noble and composed, replied with gentle gravity:
“O Devayānī, thou art to me as sacred as thy father.
Indeed, even more so—for you are beloved by the high-souled Bhārgava,
and by that bond, you are doubly worthy of reverence.
You are the daughter of my preceptor—
and thus ever deserving of my worship.
As I revere Śukra, so must I revere you.
For me, to look upon you otherwise would be a breach of dharma.
O gentle one, please do not speak thus.
My duty to my teacher binds me still,
Even now, after my vow is fulfilled.”
But Devayānī, wounded by his restraint, spoke again—her voice tinged with sorrow and unshaken love:
“O Kacha, thou art the son of my father’s guru’s son. That lineage too binds us in shared regard and spiritual kinship.
But remember—
when the Asuras slew thee time and again,
when all hope seemed lost,
it was I who pleaded for thy life,
I who grieved, I who fasted.
In love, in friendship, in every act,
I was thine, even when thou knew it not.
Now, O virtuous one, recalling all this,
how canst thou abandon me without cause?
I have done no wrong.
I am devoted—wholly, truly—to thee.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
After hearing Devayānī’s plea, Kacha replied with calm restraint, though his voice carried the weight of sorrow:
“O noble one, bound by virtuous vows,
urge me not into a path that would violate dharma.
O fair-browed maiden, have mercy on me.
You are more worthy of reverence than even my preceptor.
Truly, you are sacred in my eyes.
Know this, Devayānī—
the place where you once dwelt, the body of your father,
was also my abode when I was revived.
By that strange and sacred bond,
you are to me as a sister.
O large-eyed one, radiant as the moon,
we have lived together with perfect understanding.
We shared time, conversation, and trust—
let that remain untainted.
I now ask your leave to return to my celestial home.
Grant me your blessing for a safe journey.
And when you remember me in future days,
recall that I never strayed from virtue.
Remain ever devoted to your father,
Serve him with sincerity and a single heart.”
But Devayānī, wounded by his firm denial, responded in anger and anguish:
“If, though I have openly chosen you,
you truly reject me as your wife,
then know this, O Kacha—
the knowledge you have gained shall bear no fruit!”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Hearing Devayānī’s angry words, Kacha replied with calm dignity, unshaken in his dharma:
“O Devayānī, I have not refused you out of disdain.
You are faultless. It is only because you are the daughter of my preceptor.
This is the sole reason for my denial.
Nor did Śukra ever forbid it.
But I have chosen what is right.
If you must curse me, so be it.
I have spoken only as a sage should.
I do not deserve your curse.
You have spoken in anger, not in righteousness.
Thus, your wish shall not come to pass.
No son of a Ṛṣi shall ever take your hand in marriage.
You said my knowledge would bear no fruit—
Let it be so for myself.
But in the one to whom I pass it, it shall flourish.”
With these words, Kacha took his leave.
He turned from the earth and made his way swiftly to the realm of the gods. There, upon his arrival, he was received with great honour.
The celestials, with Indra at their head, welcomed him joyfully. They worshipped him as one who had accomplished a deed both rare and heroic.
“Great is the benefit thou hast brought us,” they said.
“Wondrous is thy endurance and wisdom.
Thy name shall live forever in the worlds.
And in all sacrifices, thou shalt share our offerings.”