novelraw Arc 6 - Hidimba - Chapter 4 - The Slaying of Hidimba
Arc 6 - Hidimba - Chapter 4 - The Slaying of Hidimba
Vaiśampāyana said:
Not far from where the Pāṇḍavas lay asleep,
There dwelt a fearsome rakṣasa named Hidimba,
High upon the branches of a great Śāla tree.
Possessed of immense strength and savage appetite,
He was a cannibal, cruel in heart,
With grim visage twisted by long, sharp teeth.
His frame was vast—his belly swollen, his limbs long and powerful.
His tangled locks and thick beard were red as fire,
His shoulders broad as the trunk of a mighty tree,
His ears pointed like sharpened arrows,
His eyes bloodshot, glowing with an ominous gleam.
As he scanned the moonlit forest, his gaze fell upon the sleeping sons of Pāṇḍu.
The scent of human flesh wafted through the air,
Stirring the deep hunger that burned within him.
Shaking his grizzled locks, scratching at his scalp with long, curved fingers,
The monstrous Hidimba yawned, his gaping mouth dripping with anticipation.
Like a raincloud heavy with storm,
His massive form swayed in the branches,
His teeth gleaming under the pale light.
Turning to his sister, Hidimbā, who dwelt nearby, he spoke in a voice heavy with cruel delight:
“O sister! After so long, such delightful prey has entered my domain!
My mouth waters with desire for their flesh.
These eight teeth of mine—sharp, unyielding, thirst for fresh blood.
Today I shall tear into their warm, living bodies,
Tearing open their veins, drinking the frothy flow of hot human blood.
Go, sister—approach them while they sleep.
See who these men are. They lie helpless in our forest.
You have nothing to fear. Go swiftly and do my bidding.
Slaughter them and drag their bodies here to me.
We shall feast together, tearing their limbs,
And when we are full with their flesh,
We shall dance together in wild delight beneath these trees!”
Thus did the terrible Hidimba speak,
His lust for blood rising with the midnight wind,
While the Pāṇḍavas slept on, unaware,
Under the gaze of the hungry demon.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus commanded by her brother, the rakṣasī Hidimbā, dark wanderer of the forest, hastened toward the Pāṇḍavas. Moving silently through the moonlit woods, she came upon them where they lay:
The sons of Pāṇḍu slept in deep exhaustion,
With Kuntī by their side.
Only Bhīmasena, mighty-armed, remained awake,
Keeping solemn vigil beneath the banyan tree.
And when Hidimbā beheld him, her heart was pierced at once.
She saw a man unlike any she had known—
His form radiant like molten gold,
His mighty shoulders broad as a lion’s,
His arms thick and strong as serpent hoods,
His neck marked with three graceful lines, like the sacred conch,
His lotus-petal eyes shining beneath the forest shadows.
His chest rose firm like the sala tree,
His face glowed with a celestial radiance.
In that moment, the rakṣasī’s savage intent vanished.
Desire overwhelmed her.
She whispered within herself:
“This man, of hue like fire, is worthy to be my husband.
Why should I obey my brother’s cruel command?
A woman’s love for her husband burns deeper than any tie of kinship.
If I slay him for Hidimba’s pleasure, his death will give but fleeting satisfaction.
But if I spare him, I may possess him forever."
Having thus resolved, the rakṣasī, skilled in illusion, assumed a celestial form.
Her monstrous shape dissolved,
And she appeared as a woman of surpassing beauty—
Decked with heavenly ornaments,
Her lips smiling gently,
Her gait modest and alluring,
Her every movement filled with grace.
Approaching Bhīma slowly, she addressed him with soft, honeyed words:
“O bull among men, who art thou that wanderest here?
From what land hast thou come?
Who are these noble ones who sleep beside thee?
And who is this divine lady, resting trustfully, as if within her palace chamber?
Know, O sinless one, this forest is ruled by a fierce rakṣasa named Hidimba—my brother.
It was he who sent me forth to slay you, that we might feast upon your flesh.
But O noble one, upon seeing thy form—radiant, unmatched among men—
My heart has been captured.
I desire no other for my husband but thee.
O mighty-armed warrior, learned in dharma,
Take me for thy wife and do what is proper.
Kama’s arrows have struck my heart;
My body burns with longing.
I will rescue thee from my brother’s jaws.
Be mine, O Bhīma.
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Let us dwell together on the breast of inaccessible mountains,
Far from men, in secret joy.
I can traverse the air at will;
With me, thou shalt enjoy boundless happiness in those hidden realms.”
Thus spoke Hidimbā, her voice trembling with earnest love,
As the winds whispered through the midnight forest,
And Bhīma listened in silence—his strength unshaken, his mind unmoved.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Hearing the rakṣasī’s passionate words, Bhīma replied in a firm and steady voice:
“O rakṣasa woman,
Who, possessed of dharma, could abandon his sleeping mother,
His elder brother, his younger brothers,
To gratify his own desires?
Am I a man to seek pleasure while my mother and brothers—
Unconscious and vulnerable—lie exposed to danger?
Shall I surrender them to the jaws of a rakṣasa while I indulge my own lust?
No, never.
Like a sage who has conquered his passions,
I shall not abandon my duty to my family.”
The rakṣasī Hidimbā, her voice urgent, replied:
“O noble one, awaken them all!
I shall do all that is agreeable to you.
I promise to rescue all of you from my brother,
And protect you from harm.”
But Bhīma, unmoved, answered with unwavering courage:
“O rakṣasa maiden,
I will not awaken my mother and brothers,
Even for fear of thy brother's wrath.
Know this—there is no rakṣasa alive
Who can withstand the force of my arms.
Neither men, nor gandharvas, nor yakṣas
Are capable of resisting my might.
O fair-eyed one, stay here or depart as you wish.
Or, if you choose, summon your cannibal brother at once.
I care not. My strength shall stand against him.”
Thus spoke Bhīmasena, fearless as Indra,
His voice calm, his heart steady,
While the winds of the great forest whispered through the dark branches,
And destiny drew near its next fierce contest.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Hidimba, chief of the rakṣasas, growing impatient at his sister’s delay,
Descended swiftly from his high perch upon the Śāla tree.
His form was monstrous, terrible to behold—
His red eyes glowed like embers,
His broad mouth gaped wide with rows of sharp, pointed teeth.
His hair stood upright like a bristling storm cloud,
His massive frame loomed like a mountain wreathed in dark thunderclouds.
His long arms, thick as serpent hoods, swung as he strode forward.
As Hidimbā beheld her fearsome brother approaching, her heart trembled with dread.
Turning quickly to Bhīma, she cried:
“O mighty-armed one!
The wicked cannibal approaches, full of wrath!
I beg thee—awaken thy brothers and thy mother.
I am a rakṣasī; by my nature I can carry you through the skies.
Mount my hips! I shall bear you all aloft and fly far from this place.
Let me save you while there is still time,
Before my brother’s rage falls upon you!”
But Bhīma, unmoved, smiled and answered calmly:
“O fair-hipped one, be not afraid.
So long as I stand here,
No rakṣasa shall lay hand upon my brothers or my mother.
I will slay this foul creature before your eyes.
He is not fit to be my adversary.
No host of rakṣasas, however great, can withstand my strength.
Behold my arms, thick like elephant trunks.
Behold these thighs, hard as iron maces,
And this broad chest, like a slab of adamant.
Today, O beautiful one, you shall witness my might—
Equal to that of Indra himself!
O gentle Hidimbā, do not mistake me for a mere man.
But if you fear for me, cast that fear aside.”
Hidimbā replied with trembling voice:
“O tiger among men, radiant as a celestial!
I hold you not in contempt.
But I have seen the dreadful strength that rakṣasas wield upon men.
And though you shine like a god, I fear for your safety.”
Thus they stood—
The loving rakṣasī torn by fear and longing,
And Bhīma standing firm as a mountain,
Awaiting the terrible Hidimba’s approach.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Hearing Bhīma’s proud words, Hidimba the rakṣasa, hungry for human flesh, grew ever more enraged.
His crimson eyes blazed like twin suns,
His broad mouth gaped wide, baring sharp, grinding teeth.
Then he beheld his sister standing nearby—
Transformed into a radiant human maiden,
Her head crowned with garlands of forest flowers,
Her face shining like the full autumn moon,
Her fine brows arched, her eyes long and glistening,
Her nose delicate, her lips red as bimba fruit.
Her limbs were graceful, her skin of soft golden hue,
Her nails polished like jewels, her hair coiled in glossy ringlets.
She wore celestial ornaments, her fine robes of sheer silk fluttering in the night breeze.
Beholding her thus transformed, Hidimba suspected the truth—
That she had fallen under the sway of carnal desire.
His rage swelled like a storm, and he roared:
“O wretched woman!
Who is this fool that dares obstruct my feast?
Hast thou grown so shameless that thou fearest not my wrath?
Fie upon thee!
You, unchaste sister, would betray your own kin,
Disgracing the honor of the rakṣasa race!
You would bring shame upon our ancestors for the sake of a mere man!
But I shall not allow it.
Those whom you seek to protect I shall slay at once—
And after them, you yourself shall perish at my hands!”
Thus speaking, Hidimba, his teeth grinding against each other, lunged toward his sister to strike her down.
But before he could reach her, Bhīma stepped forward,
Calm and smiling, yet fierce as a storm held in check.
Bhīma rebuked him in steady voice:
“O Hidimba! There is no need to disturb these sleeping ones.
If it is battle you desire, turn first to me.
Why would you strike a woman—especially one who has sinned not?
She has merely been touched by the power of desire,
That god who rules over all living creatures.
You, wicked one, commanded her to approach us.
Seeing me, she desired union.
Her actions harm you not.
It is Kāma—the god of love—that is to blame.
Do not strike her, O wretch!
I stand before you.
Let her be.
Come, face me alone in battle!
Today, I shall send you to Yama’s dark abode.
Your skull shall be crushed beneath my grasp,
As an elephant tramples the head of a snake.
When you lie slain upon the ground,
Let the herons, hawks, and jackals feast upon your limbs.
This forest, long haunted by your cruelty,
Shall today be freed from fear and cleansed of rakṣasas.
O hideous one, you who once ruled these woods like a mountain looming over men,
Shall fall like an elephant dragged down by a lion.
Henceforth, men shall walk these forests in safety,
And your sister shall witness your fall beneath my hands.”
Thus did Bhīma speak, his voice like thunder,
As the terrible duel loomed beneath the starlit canopy,
The mighty arms of the son of Vāyu poised for battle,
And the fate of Hidimba sealed by dharma’s unshakable hand.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Hearing Bhīma’s bold challenge, Hidimba roared in reply:
“O man, what need is there for thy boasts and vaunts?
First accomplish what thou speakest of, and then may you proclaim your strength!
Delay no longer.
You believe yourself strong—
Now shall your true might be weighed.
Until then, I will spare your brothers—
Let them sleep in peace.
But you, fool who speakest evil words, I shall slay first!
After drinking thy blood, I will destroy the rest,
And finally, this shameless sister of mine who dares betray me.”
Thus snarling, the terrible rakṣasa extended his monstrous arms and charged furiously toward Bhīma.
But Bhīmasena, mighty-armed, met him like an immovable mountain.
As though playing in sport, Bhīma seized Hidimba’s extended arms with iron grip,
And with overwhelming force dragged the struggling rakṣasa thirty-two cubits away—
As a lion drags a deer from its lair.
Feeling the crushing weight of Bhīma’s strength,
Hidimba roared like a thundercloud in rage,
Clasping Bhīma tightly and thrashing in fury.
But Bhīma, careful to protect his sleeping kin,
Pulled the writhing rakṣasa farther into the forest depths,
Lest his howls disturb his resting brothers and mother.
There, in that dark forest clearing, the mighty combat raged:
Like two maddened elephants crashing in the jungle,
They wrestled, pulling and twisting,
Crushing trees beneath their trampling feet,
Tearing apart the thick creepers that clung like serpents to the trunks.
The sound of their terrible struggle echoed through the forest.
At last, those tigers among men—Yudhiṣṭhira, Arjuna, Nakula, Sahadeva—
Awoke from their slumber along with Kuntī.
They rose quickly and beheld before them the grim spectacle:
The terrible rakṣasa Hidimba locked in furious battle with Bhīma,
The son of Vāyu, standing firm like a mountain against the storm.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Roused from sleep, those tigers among men, with their mother Kuntī, gazed in wonder.
For before them stood the rakṣasī Hidimbā,
Resplendent like a daughter of the celestials,
Her beauty shining like the moon amidst the forest gloom.
Kuntī, astonished, addressed her with gentle voice:
“O maiden of divine beauty,
Who art thou, and whence do you come?
Thou who shinest like a goddess or an apsarā—
Speak, child. Are you a spirit of this forest,
Or some celestial being descended here?
Tell me truly, what brings you hither?”
Hidimbā bowed respectfully and answered:
“O revered lady, listen.
This vast blue-hued forest is the domain of Hidimba, chief of the rakṣasas—my brother.
At his command I came to slay you all for his feast.
But when my eyes beheld thy mighty son Bhīmasena,
The god of love pierced my heart.
I desired him for my husband,
And tried to lead you all away in secret.
But thy noble son would not leave his brothers.
Then my brother, angered at my delay, came here seeking to destroy you.
But Bhīma, mighty and valiant, seized him with his great strength.
Behold now, O lady—
Thy son and my brother wrestle like two furious lions,
Crushing trees, raising dust that veils their massive forms like mountains in mist.”
At her words, Yudhiṣṭhira sprang up, joined by Arjuna, Nakula, and Sahadeva.
They beheld Bhīma and Hidimba locked in deadly combat,
Each straining to overpower the other with mighty force.
The dust from their trampling feet rose like smoke from a forest fire.
Amidst that swirling cloud, their great forms loomed like cliffs shrouded in mist.
Seeing Bhīma slightly pressed under the rakṣasa’s weight,
Arjuna smiled and spoke gently:
“O Bhīma of mighty arms, fear not!
We were asleep and knew not you battled alone.
Now that we are awake, let me strike down this rakṣasa,
While Nakula and Sahadeva guard our mother.”
But Bhīma, unshaken, replied with calm pride:
“Watch this contest, O brother, as one who merely observes.
Fear not for me.
Having fallen into my grasp, this vile one shall not escape alive.”
Yet Arjuna cautioned:
“O Bhīma, why prolong his life?
We must depart before dawn.
The sky reddens; the eastern horizon glows.
With the rising sun, the rakṣasas grow stronger.
Hasten now! Slay him at once.
During twilight, these beings multiply their deceptions.
Put forth your full might and end this struggle quickly.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
At Arjuna’s urging, Bhīma’s fury blazed like the fires of universal dissolution.
He summoned the full might of Vāyu—his father—
That boundless strength which destroys worlds at the end of an age.
Seizing the monstrous rakṣasa’s body—
Dark as thunderclouds, immense as a mountain—
Bhīma lifted him high into the air,
And whirled him around a hundred times with terrifying speed.
Then, addressing the gasping rakṣasa, Bhīma roared:
“O vile eater of flesh!
Thy wicked intelligence was given thee in vain.
Thou hast thrived upon unholy meat and lived a cursed life.
Therefore, thou shalt meet an accursed death.
I shall cleanse this forest of thy evil.
No longer shall innocent men be slain for thy foul appetite.
This forest shall be blessed and free of terror, like a grove without thorns!”
At this, Arjuna spoke again with calm care:
“O Bhīma, if this contest is too arduous,
Permit me to strike him down, for thou art fatigued.
Or, if it please thee, complete the task yourself, but waste no time.”
Hearing his brother’s words, Bhīma was inflamed with even greater wrath.
With a thunderous cry,
He dashed the rakṣasa to the ground with titanic force,
Slaying him as easily as a lion slays its prey.
Hidimba let forth a final, dreadful howl—
A terrible sound that echoed through the forest like a wet drum struck in fury.
Then Bhīma seized the lifeless body,
Bent it double with his iron grip,
And broke it at the spine, splitting the carcass apart.
The earth shook beneath his feet.
Seeing Hidimba slain, the brothers rejoiced.
Their hearts swelled with gladness,
And they offered praises to Bhīma, their mighty protector,
That tiger among men, who had delivered them from peril.
Arjuna, bowing to Bhīma with reverence, spoke:
“O elder brother, truly thou art our refuge.
But let us now depart, for I sense a nearby town.
Blessed be thou, let us move quickly,
Lest Duryodhana discover our path.”
Thus, the sons of Pāṇḍu, mighty car-warriors,
Agreed with one voice, and set forth with their mother.
And behind them followed Hidimbā, the rakṣasī maiden,
Her heart still bound in love to Bhīma,
Who had slain her brother, yet saved her life.