novelraw Arc 5 - Sambhava - Chapter 8 - Devayānī and Śarmiṣṭhā
Arc 5 - Sambhava - Chapter 8 - Devayānī and Śarmiṣṭhā
Vaiśampāyana said:
The dwellers of heaven rejoiced greatly upon Kacha’s return.
He had mastered the rare and powerful Sanjīvanī-vidyā, and with it, fulfilled the hopes of the gods.
With gratitude and triumph, the celestials received him as one of their own.
Now possessing the means to revive their fallen, the gods considered their objective complete. They gathered and spoke among themselves, turning to Indra—king of the celestials:
“The time has come for valor to rise again.
O Purandara, armed with this knowledge,
Go forth and destroy our enemies!
Let the Asuras fall, and victory be ours!”
Indra, known also as Maghavat, heard their call and answered without hesitation:
“So be it.”
Accompanied by the gods, he set out, his mind prepared for war.
But as he journeyed, he came upon a garden of divine beauty—
the pleasure-grove of Chitraratha, king of the Gandharvas.
There, in a crystal-clear lake, a group of celestial maidens were at play,
their laughter rising like music across the air.
Indra, ever prone to mischief and charm,
transformed himself into the wind.
Invisible and swift, he scattered their garments,
Laid neatly on the bank, now blown into confusion.
Vaiśampāyana said:
A little while later, the maidens finished their playful bathing and rose from the water. As they approached the bank, they found their garments scattered and mixed—carried here and there by the sudden gust of wind.
Amidst the confusion, Śarmiṣṭhā, daughter of the Asura king Vṛṣaparvan, unknowingly picked up the garments belonging to Devayānī. Mistaking them for her own, she put them on.
But Devayānī, upon recognizing what had happened, confronted her.
“O daughter of an Asura chief,” she said sharply,
“Why have you taken my attire?
You are my disciple and should show me reverence.
Such conduct reveals your lowly nature—
Nothing good shall come to one who lacks propriety.”
Stung by the accusation, Śarmiṣṭhā retorted swiftly and with scorn:
“Thy father, the Brāhmaṇa,
Ever sits at my father’s feet—
Head bowed, eyes lowered,
Like a hired singer of praises!
He accepts gifts—he gives none.
Your lineage is that of petitioners.
Mine is that of kings and givers of wealth.
Daughter of one who chants for coin,
You dare to scold me in pride?
Beat your breast if you must,
Shout, cry, rage—your anger is useless.
You are a beggar’s daughter—I am a ruler’s child.
You wish to quarrel, but remember this:
I do not consider you my equal—nor ever shall.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Devayānī, hearing Śarmiṣṭhā’s harsh words, was overwhelmed with fury. Insulted and humiliated, she began to tug at her garments in anger and distress.
Seeing this, Śarmiṣṭhā—still burning with wrath and pride—acted without restraint.
In a moment of rage,
She seized Devayānī and flung her down
Into a deep well hidden in the grove.
Without looking back, believing she had silenced her rival for good,
Śarmiṣṭhā turned away.
Her heart still smoldering,
She returned home in a storm of anger,
Convinced that Devayānī was dead.
Vaiśampāyana said:
After Śarmiṣṭhā had left, King Yayāti, the son of Nahuṣa, happened to arrive at that very spot. He had been out hunting, and the horses drawing his chariot—along with the spare horse—were all weary. The king himself was parched with thirst.
Looking around, he noticed a well nearby. But as he approached it, he saw that the well was dry. Yet when he peered into its depths, he beheld a startling sight.
A maiden shone within it—radiant as fire,
Her beauty glowing in that shadowed pit
Like lightning flashing through a cave.
She was tangled among the roots and grasses, her garments in disarray, her face stained with tears—yet her form retained an unearthly grace. She looked as if she belonged to the heavens.
Moved by compassion and curiosity, the blessed king spoke gently to her:
“Who art thou, O radiant one?
Thy nails gleam like polished copper,
And celestial gems adorn thine ears.
Thou seemest troubled, distressed in heart.
Why dost thou weep in this lonely place?
How didst thou fall into this well
So hidden by vines and tall grass?
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Tell me, slender-waisted maiden,
With the beauty of a goddess—
Whose daughter art thou?
Speak truly, and fear not.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Devayānī looked up from the depths of the well, her voice steady though marked by distress. With dignity undiminished, she answered the king’s gentle inquiry:
“I am Devayānī, daughter of Śukra—
the great Brāhmaṇa who restores the slain Asuras to life.
He does not know what has happened to me—
I was cast here without his knowledge.
This is my right hand, O king—
See, the nails shine like burnished copper.
You are of noble birth and noble heart.
I recognize your virtue, your strength, your fame.
Therefore, I beseech you—lift me from this well.
Deliver me from this pit where I have been wrongfully cast.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
King Yayāti, upon learning that the maiden was the daughter of a Brāhmaṇa—none other than Śukra, the preceptor of the Asuras—immediately extended his hand to help her. Grasping her slender right hand, he lifted her gently from the well.
With grace and courtesy,
The monarch raised her up—
And in that brief moment,
Their fates became entwined.
He glanced once at her form—tapering and radiant—then, with proper decorum, spoke kindly and departed. Without delay, he returned to his capital, leaving the grove behind.
When the son of Nahuṣa had gone, Devayānī, still deeply wounded by Śarmiṣṭhā’s cruelty and burdened by the shame of her fall, turned to her faithful maid, who had just arrived.
Her voice was calm but resolute:
“O Ghūrṇikā, go swiftly.
Speak to my father without delay.
Tell him all that has passed.
I shall not return to the city of Vṛṣaparvan.
Not after this disgrace—
Not after what has been done to me.”
Thus commanded, Ghūrṇikā quickly made her way to the great mansion of Vṛṣaparvan, the chief of the Asuras. There, she found Kavya—Śukra—sitting in thought, and approached him with eyes clouded by anger.
She spoke without delay:
“O blessed Brāhmaṇa,
Know that thy daughter Devayānī
Hath been insulted and ill-used in the forest—
By none other than Śarmiṣṭhā,
The daughter of Vṛṣaparvan.”
Śukra, hearing this grievous report, rose at once. His heart weighed heavy with grief, he went forth in haste, searching the woods for his daughter.
When he found her, standing solemn in the forest shade, he embraced her with deep affection. But his voice, when he spoke, trembled not only with grief—but with the sternness of a teacher:
“O daughter, joy and sorrow come to all,
Born of their own deeds,
The fruit of fate or fault.
Surely some transgression lies behind this pain—
Some hidden cause now expiated by suffering.”
But Devayānī, holding back tears, replied with strength in her voice:
“O father, whether this is fate or punishment, hear me patiently. Let me tell you what was spoken to me—cruelly, openly, by Śarmiṣṭhā, daughter of Vṛṣaparvan.
With eyes red from rage, she said to me—repeatedly:
‘Thou art the daughter of one who chants the praises of others for coin,
Of one who begs for alms, who lives on gifts.
But I—I am the daughter of one who is worshipped,
Of one who gives freely, who never accepts anything from others.’
These words, father—words of scorn and venom—
She hurled at me in pride,
As if thy calling were a stain,
As if our honour were beneath hers.
If I am truly the daughter of one who chants for hire,
Then let me bow to her,
And beg for her favor!”
Hearing the bitter words reported by his daughter, Śukra—great among seers, radiant in his spiritual might—gazed upon Devayānī with steady eyes and spoke with a voice both gentle and full of power.
“Thou art no daughter of a beggar,
Nor of one who chants for hire.
Thou art the daughter of one who bows to none,
But to whom the three worlds bow in reverence!
Vṛṣaparvan knows this truth—
As does Indra, king of the gods,
And Yayāti, ruler of men.
My strength, O daughter,
Is the inconceivable Brahman—
That formless, deathless Godhead none can oppose.
The self-born, pleased with my devotion,
Once declared:
‘Forever shalt thou be the lord
Of all that moves or lives—
On Earth, and in Heaven.’
It is I who pour the nourishing rain,
Who give life to crops and feed the world.
I do not accept charity—I am the one who gives!”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Thus, with words rich in wisdom and strength,
Śukra sought to soothe Devayānī’s wounded pride.
Her heart still burned with grief and anger,
But her father’s voice was like cooling rain upon fire.
Śukra, continuing with calm wisdom, sought to guide his daughter toward restraint and reflection:
“Know this, O Devayānī—
He who pays no mind to the cruel words of others,
Conquers everything.
The wise say the true charioteer
Is not the one who urges the horses with fury,
But the one who calmly holds the reins tight
And never lets go.
A true man is he who conquers wrath without indulgence.
Like a serpent shedding its old skin,
The wise cast off rising anger through forgiveness.
He who suppresses anger,
Who heeds not the bitter speech of others,
Who stays his wrath though provoked—
Such a one surely attains all four goals of life:
Dharma, artha, kāma, and mokṣa.
Between the man who performs sacrifices monthly for a hundred years,
And one who never yields to anger—
The latter is held higher by the wise.
Children quarrel—boys and girls who do not yet know right from wrong.
But the wise should not stoop to their example.”
Devayānī listened, but her grief was not soothed. Her voice rose with quiet force:
“O father, I too understand the difference
Between forgiveness and anger.
But when a disciple insults the preceptor,
Forgiveness only deepens the fault.
If the guru truly wishes the student’s good,
He must correct such arrogance—not overlook it.
I no longer wish to dwell in a place
Where misbehavior is left unrebuked,
And those of low conduct are allowed to flourish.
The wise should live only where virtue and birth are respected,
And good conduct is honoured.
The cruel words of Śarmiṣṭhā still burn within me—
Like fire lit by dry kindling.
And what could be more painful
Than to bow before those we despise,
To serve the fortunate while possessing none of our own?
Death, indeed, would be better
Than the humiliation of honouring one’s enemies.”
Then Kavya—Śukra—foremost among the Bhṛgus, was moved to anger. His patience, long tested, finally gave way. Without restraint, he approached King Vṛṣaparvan where he sat, and addressed him with words sharp as thunderbolts:
“O King, sinful deeds do not bear fruit at once—
They are not like the Earth, yielding crops in a season.
Rather, like poison hidden in sweetness,
They ripen in silence and destroy in time—
Striking the doer, or his sons, or his grandsons.
No sin ever goes unpunished.
Its fruit must come—slow, sure, and bitter.
Did you forget?
You and your people killed Kacha—
Grandson of Aṅgiras, a virtuous soul,
A seeker of truth, a guest under my care.
And now, your daughter has disgraced mine.
For this double outrage, I will leave you.
I will no longer stay in your kingdom,
Nor lend you the power of my penance.
Do you take me for a fool, an idle boaster?
You mock righteousness and correct nothing!”
Vṛṣaparvan, troubled and fearful, replied with humility:
“O Bhārgava, son of Bhrigu,
Never have I doubted your truth or virtue.
Indeed, you are the very embodiment of dharma.
But if you abandon us now,
We shall have no refuge left.
We will be forced to plunge into the ocean’s depths—
For without you, we are as good as lost.”
But Śukra, unmoved, replied:
“Whether you sink into the sea,
Or scatter to the ends of the world—
It is no concern of mine.
I cannot endure my daughter’s sorrow.
She is dearer to me than life itself.
My presence here depends on her joy.
If you wish me to stay,
Then seek to restore her dignity.
As Vṛhaspati ever seeks the welfare of Indra,
So have I sought yours—through my penance and wisdom.
Now it is for you to act.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Then Vṛṣaparvan, humbled and aware of his dependence on Śukra, spoke with reverence:
“O Bhārgava, truly, you are the master of all that the Asura lords possess in this world—
Their elephants, their cattle, their horses,
And even my own person.”
Śukra replied firmly:
“If this is truly so—if I am indeed the master of all the Asura’s wealth and authority—
Then go and fulfil the wish of Devayānī.
Let her be satisfied.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Having received this charge from Vṛṣaparvan, Śukra went to his daughter and conveyed the king’s submission.
But Devayānī, still resolute and guarded, replied swiftly:
“If you are indeed the master of the Asura king and all he owns,
Then let Vṛṣaparvan himself come before me,
And say so to my face.”
Obedient to this demand, Vṛṣaparvan approached her. With folded hands and softened voice, he said:
“O Devayānī of gentle smiles,
Whatever you desire—be it difficult or great—
I am willing to grant it.”
Devayānī answered without hesitation:
“I ask that Śarmiṣṭhā,
Along with a thousand maidservants,
Attend upon me as my retinue.
And she must follow me wherever my father chooses to give me away.”
Vṛṣaparvan, seeing no other course, turned to one of the attendants nearby and commanded:
“Go at once and bring Śarmiṣṭhā.
Let her do as Devayānī desires.
This is the will of Śukra—
And it must be done without delay.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
The maid-servant went quickly to Śarmiṣṭhā and delivered her message with urgency:
“O noble Śarmiṣṭhā, rise and come with me.
This is for the good of your kin.
Devayānī has spoken to Śukra,
And the great Brāhmaṇa is ready to abandon the Asuras.
All depends on your response.
You must now do what Devayānī desires.”
Śarmiṣṭhā, hearing this, replied without hesitation:
“I shall do gladly what Devayānī asks.
Let not Śukra, nor Devayānī, leave the Asuras on my account.
If they are displeased because of me,
Then I shall make amends.
I will go as summoned.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Obedient to her father’s command, Śarmiṣṭhā soon emerged from the splendid palace. She came in a palanquin, attended by a thousand maidens, each bearing signs of wealth and status.
Approaching Devayānī with composure, she bowed and spoke:
“Here I stand—with a thousand maids—
As thy waiting-woman.
I shall follow thee wherever thy father may give thee away.”
But Devayānī, recalling the sting of past humiliation, replied with sharp dignity:
“I am the daughter of one who sings the praises of thy father,
Who begs and accepts gifts.
You are the daughter of one who is adored, who gives, who rules.
How, then, can you truly be my maid?”
Śarmiṣṭhā, humbled yet resolute, replied with grace:
“One must, above all, strive to bring peace to one’s afflicted kin.
Therefore, I shall follow you—wherever your father may give you in marriage.”
With this vow, her submission was complete.
Then Devayānī, now satisfied, turned to her father and said:
“O best among Brāhmaṇas,
My heart is at peace.
I shall now re-enter the Asura capital.
I am assured now—
Thy knowledge and power,
Thy science and wisdom,
Have not been in vain.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Hearing his daughter’s words, Śukra—foremost of sages,
Revered and honored—was filled with joy.
With peace restored, he re-entered the capital of the Asuras,
His heart lightened and his spirit glad.
And the Dānavas, knowing his worth and fearing his departure,
Worshipped him with deep reverence,
As one who held in his hand the fate of their race.