novelraw Arc 5 - Sambhava - Chapter 29 - The Curse of Śvetaketu
Arc 5 - Sambhava - Chapter 29 - The Curse of Śvetaketu
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Thus addressed by his devoted queen, Pāṇḍu—knower of dharma and versed in the codes of righteousness—answered her in words that were thoughtful, grounded in sacred tradition, and shaped by both affection and resolve.
“O Kuntī,” he said, “what you have spoken
is rooted deep and wisely broken
from the mouth of truth. Indeed,
Vyūṣitasva set that very precedent by deed.
Like the gods was he in name and fame,
and worthy sons from him once came.
But let me now unfold to you
what ancient ṛṣis held as true.
In days of old, in earlier times,
the path was set in freer lines.
Women walked as they willed, unbound—
no walls enclosed, no chains were found.
They chose their mates as pleased their heart,
and moved through life in joy and art.
Though loyal not in strictest way,
none called them sinful in that day.
That dharma, light and free from blame,
was praised by seers of righteous name.
The beasts, the birds, to this day prove
that nature grants such freedom’s move.
He looked gently at her, not with license but with sincerity.
“This usage was sanctioned by the great ṛṣis,” he continued. “Among the Northern Kurus even now, women live without jealousy or restriction, enjoying honored freedom. That lenient custom was not born of desire, but of harmony with ṛta—the cosmic order.”
“The binding vow of single life,
of one man joined to only one wife—
this came but late, in newer age,
written upon society’s page.
And I shall tell, O slender queen,
who shaped this norm, what they had seen.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
And Pāṇḍu, well-versed in the ways of dharma and the wisdom of the ancients, continued his words to Kuntī with gentle reasoning, his gaze steady and voice unwavering.
“It is told,” he said, “in sacred lore—
of a sage renowned in days of yore:
Uddālaka, noble and wise,
who dwelt beneath the forest skies.
His son was Śvetaketu, bright—
a youth of virtue, flame, and light.
From him, the present vow took form—
the chaste path we now deem the norm.”
“O lotus-eyed Kuntī, listen carefully,” he continued. “One day, in the presence of Uddālaka, a Brāhmaṇa came and, without shame or secrecy, seized the hand of Uddālaka’s wife—Śvetaketu’s mother—and said to her, ‘Come with me.’ This act, though done without malice, enraged the young ascetic.”
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“He saw his mother taken so,
and fury in his heart did grow.
His father, calm, then said, ‘My son,
this is the way things long have run.
Among all orders, women roam—
unbound, unblamed, they leave their home.
As cattle move from field to field,
so men in love their passions yield.’”
“But Śvetaketu, son of fire and virtue, would not accept this ancient law. Out of indignation, he established the present moral code among human beings—the vow of fidelity between man and wife. From that time forward, chastity was declared a dharmic law.”
“So it was that rage became
the forge for purity and name.
But know, dear queen, that even still—
among the gods, the ancient will
is free from jealousy or blame—
the law of love is not the same.”
He turned to Kuntī with great seriousness.
“From that age, for humankind,
this law of loyalty was defined.
Yet if a woman, pure and true,
is asked by him she’s pledged unto—
to raise a son in dharma’s light,
and she withholds, she sins by right.
And he who breaks a faithful vow,
or shames a wife of sacred brow—
commits a sin, both grave and deep,
that slays the life the womb may keep.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
And thus, the noble Pāṇḍu, his heart stirred with both desire and dharma, continued to speak to his beloved queen. He was earnest, humble, and persuasive—drawing upon the wisdom of the ancients and the examples of sacred women who had preserved their lineages in times of crisis.
“O gentle one,” he said, “what we now call virtue—
this law, this vow, this sacred pursuit—
was born of Śvetaketu’s wrathful mind,
defying ways that once were kind.
But know this truth, O slender queen—
that virtue once had broader mean.
The righteous Madayantī, too,
did what her duty asked her do.
Her husband, Saudāsa, cursed and weak,
bade her a son through penance seek.
And so to sage Vasiṣṭha she went,
and thus Asmaka’s life was sent.”
He looked upon Kuntī with a gaze full of trust and reverence.
“You know, O lotus-eyed and true,
how we ourselves, the royal few—
were born by Vyāsa’s sacred might,
when no father stood in rightful sight.
That sage begot us, not through lust,
but to uphold our house and trust.
So too, O Kuntī, you must see—
that this is not impurity.”
He softened his voice, invoking both śāstra and sentiment.
“The wise have said, when her time is near,
a wife must to her husband steer.
At other times she walks her way,
but then, his word must she obey.
And if, by fate, the husband lies
without the seed that procreation ties—
then dharma grants him one request:
that sons may rise from what is best.”
Then, in an act of profound humility, King Pāṇḍu folded his palms, their fingertips pink like lotus petals, and raised them to his head as a cup—a sacred gesture of supplication.
“O faultless one, with fingers red,
I lift my hands and bow my head.
My body cursed, my hope grown thin—
yet dharma stirs my blood within.
Through thee, my queen, the line may live—
a gift that only thou can give.
Find now a sage, of tapas bright,
and bring to birth a son of light.
For then, O fair-hipped, pure and kind,
I too may leave this world behind—
and walk the path the fathers trod,
upheld by sons, and blessed by God.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Thus addressed by King Pāṇḍu, the subduer of cities and his heart heavy with purpose, the noble Kuntī, ever devoted to dharma and her husband’s will, gently smiled and replied. Her words were calm yet filled with the glow of a secret she had long carried within her heart.
With modesty and reverence, she spoke of a boon from her maiden years—a boon given by one whose anger was feared but whose grace, once earned, was unshakable.
“In my father’s house I dwelt,
With guests and sages I often dealt.
To Brahmins pure, I bowed each day,
And served them well in every way.
One day came he, with matted hair,
With fire-bright gaze and yogic stare—
Durvāsas, of the blazing wrath,
Yet pleased by me upon his path.
He gave to me a wondrous spell,
A sacred mantra none could quell:
‘Call any god,’ he told me true,
‘And he shall come to dwell with you.’”
She paused and looked upon her husband, whose eyes were fixed upon her with rising wonder and joy.
“No god, once called, can turn away—
They must obey without delay.
Through their grace, a child you’ll see,
Born of you, yet divine shall he be.
These were his words, O noble king,
And now hath come their blossoming.
Command me now—name him aright,
Whom I shall summon through this rite.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Hearing of that boon from his virtuous wife, the mighty Pāṇḍu—his heart filled with hope and purpose—addressed Kuntī with words that upheld the path of dharma and the sanctity of intention. With gravity befitting a king and penitent sage, he spoke:
“O graceful one, in this sacred hour,
Strive thou with heart, with vow, with power.
Let not this day of fate go by—
Call now the lord of law on high.
Yama, the god of justice, pure,
Whose righteous path shall aye endure—
His presence shall not taint with sin,
For virtue dwelleth deep within.
If such a god beget our son,
The world shall praise what we have done.
That child, the crown of Kuru’s line,
Shall walk in light, serene, divine.
Summon him, O you of lotus grace,
With holy rites in silent place.
Observe the vow, let prayer arise—
Invite the Judge of Earth and Skies.”
So instructed, Kuntī bowed her head. With devotion in her soul and sacred intent in her heart, she prepared to invoke the guardian of dharma.
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Then Kuntī, that noble lady of radiant virtues, thus addressed by her lord, bowed her head and said, “So be it.” With reverent heart, she circumambulated Pāṇḍu, as sacred custom dictates, and withdrew to perform the act he had commanded—an act both divine and dharmic in its intent.
Obedient to her husband’s word,
She bowed, then rose without a word.
With tranquil eyes and steadfast will,
She sought the grove serene and still.
There, in the hush of twilight forest, beneath the gaze of unseen stars and forest-dwelling spirits, she fixed her mind on the god of justice—Yama, the impartial. Remembering the mantra gifted by the sage Durvāsas, she purified herself with prayer and water, and with quiet intensity, invoked the celestial Judge.
“O Dharma, lord of cosmic law,
Whose gaze the righteous never saw,
If ever truth in me resides,
Then come, and be where virtue guides.”
As the words of the mantra were uttered with sacred resolve, the heavens trembled ever so slightly, for a union ordained by fate was about to unfold.