novelraw Arc 10 - Part 2 - Arjuna Vanvasa - Chapter 1 - Dhanañjaya Gets Exiled
Arc 10 - Part 2 - Arjuna Vanvasa - Chapter 1 - Dhanañjaya Gets Exiled
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus having established that noble rule of brotherhood and sacrifice, the sons of Pṛthā dwelled in harmony at Khandavaprastha. Mighty were they in arms, and by their valor, many kings were subdued, their banners lowered in reverence to the five lion-like sons of Pāṇḍu.
Kṛṣṇā Draupadī, jewel among women, shone amidst them like the moon among five radiant stars. Though she was shared, her heart was not torn—each loved her with whole devotion, and she returned it as one river watering five blooming trees. Like the Sarasvatī flowing with joy, decked with tusked elephants at her banks, so did Draupadī rejoice among her heroic lords. And they, pure in conduct and firm in dharma, honored her as a goddess walking among men.
In the shelter of their rule, the Kuru race prospered—
Free from sin, blessed by dharma’s grace,
The fields grew golden, and hearts knew peace,
As truth and justice held their place.
But, O King, time moves ever in spirals, not straight lines. It so happened one day that a Brahmana, pale with grief and fury, came to the city gates, his voice rising like thunder before the storm.
His herds had been seized by thieves—cattle stolen under daylight’s watch, by wicked and lawless men. Bereft of reason by wrath and despair, the Brahmana cried out to the sons of Pāṇḍu:
“O Pāṇḍavas, lords of this land,
My kine are taken from my hand!
Robbers, vile and without shame,
Drag my wealth in your noble name!
Where is your strength, your bow, your sword?
The lion’s cave is breached by cur!
The sacred ghee of yajñas pure
Is now consumed by scavengers!
Shall a king who takes the tax not guard,
Be praised? Nay—he is fallen hard!
The wealth of Brahmans is not yours—
Protect it, else your fame is sores!
O sons of Dharma, lift me now,
I fall in grief, I break my vow!
For if the just do not defend,
Then dharma’s light shall find its end!”
So wailed the Brahmana, standing like a burning fire before the noble sons of Pāṇḍu. His words, like poisoned arrows, pierced their righteous hearts. For to fail a Brahmana was to fail the sacred order of the world itself.
Hearing the anguished cries of the Brahmana, Dhanañjaya—the long-armed hero born of Kuntī—rose with a heart moved to fire. The voice of the afflicted man pierced him like an arrow, and without delay, Arjuna cried out with firm resolve:
“Fear not, O Brāhmaṇa. I shall retrieve what is thine.”
But in that very hour, fate presented its test. The chamber that held the Pāṇḍavas’ weapons—sacred and sealed by their vow—was occupied by Yudhiṣṭhira the Just, seated within alongside Kṛṣṇā Draupadī. By the code they had established, none could intrude upon that room when another was present with her. And thus, torn by duty and law, Arjuna stood immobile.
The Brahmana continued to weep, his grief echoing through the palace halls like a sacred fire unmet by ghee. Arjuna, summoned again and again, stood still—his mind wracked by conflict.
“Alas! Dharma strikes from both sides!
Shall I protect, or shall I hide?
If I ignore this pleading cry,
The king shall bear sin—and so shall I.
Yet if I breach our solemn vow,
To exile’s path I’m bound from now.
What matters body, rule, or fame—
If dharma burns, all ends in shame.”
Thus did Arjuna reason, his heart turning toward sacrifice.
“I shall bear the sin alone,” he thought, “if sin it be. Better I wander the forest and die a righteous man than live in comfort having turned from dharma.”
Resolute, he entered the chamber.
Bowing respectfully before Yudhiṣṭhira, he explained his purpose. Then, retrieving his celestial bow, that mighty son of Indra emerged, radiant as a rising sun. With gleaming mail upon his chest and quiver on his back, he climbed into his war chariot crowned with a noble standard.
Swift as wind and sharp as flame,
This story has been stolen from NovelBin. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Partha surged forth in dharma’s name.
His arrows sang, the thieves turned pale—
And justice rode on Arjuna’s trail.
One by one the robbers fell before his might. Arjuna reclaimed the Brahmana’s stolen kine, restoring them with gentle words and a steady gaze. His fame, like Indra’s thunder, spread across the land.
Returning victorious, he bowed before his elders. The people hailed him, and the Brahmana blessed him. But Arjuna’s joy was tempered by resolve. Turning to Yudhiṣṭhira, he folded his hands and said:
“O King, grant me now thy leave—
For I must go, and not yet grieve.
The vow we swore—I have transgressed.
I saw thee there, and now I rest
Only in forest shadows deep,
To cleanse the vow I failed to keep.”
Hearing these words, Yudhiṣṭhira—whose heart was ever anchored in truth—was struck with sorrow. His face paled, his voice trembled.
“Why, O Arjuna?” he cried, the words torn from his soul.
Yet Arjuna stood unmoved, his eyes alight not with pride, but with the clarity of renunciation. Then, after a pause heavy with silence, the eldest Pāṇḍava—tormented by grief yet bound to truth—spoke in strained tones:
“O sinless one, O son of Indra,
If I hold any worth in thy eyes,
Then hear me as I speak from the seat of dharma…”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Then Yudhiṣṭhira, ever steadfast in dharma and gentle in spirit, looked upon his younger brother with eyes full of love and understanding. In a voice heavy with sorrow yet clear with reason, he said:
“O mighty-armed one, noble and true,
I know thy heart and what thou dost pursue.
No wrong have I seen in thy sudden stride,
No anger, no fault, in thee shall abide.
For the younger brother, in truth and law,
May enter the place where the elder saw
His spouse seated. No breach lies there—
It is not a path the wise despair.
But if the elder trespass down,
Where the younger rests with his queenly crown,
Then shame may rise and dharma break—
But not for thee, for dharma's sake!”
He paused, his voice pleading gently against fate.
“O Arjuna, lay down this exile. You have not transgressed me. Your virtue has not dimmed. You have upheld righteousness even now. Let the vow be set aside—for I, your elder and the one with whom the vow was broken, feel no wrong.”
But Arjuna, son of Indra, his brow unwrinkled, his gaze steady, spoke in words like thunderclouds that hide the sun:
“O king, even you have taught me thus:
No twisting word shall govern us.
In dharma’s path, no place for guile,
I shall not stay, though urged awhile.
Truth is my weapon, and dharma my guide—
I shall not stumble, nor shall I hide.
Though the world approve and fate may call,
I shall stand firm, though forests fall.”
Thus declaring, he bowed before Yudhiṣṭhira. And the king, seeing his brother unmoved, granted him leave with a heavy heart.
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Having received his elder’s blessing, Arjuna, the ambidextrous warrior and peerless archer, laid down his princely garments, took up his forest garb, and departed toward the wild lands beyond. For twelve years would he live apart, in forests and hermitages, journeying through sacred lands, seeking both expiation and enlightenment.
And so did Dhanañjaya, upholding his vow like a flame unflickering in wind, walk the path of the warrior-sage, unshaken by comfort, untouched by praise.
He chose the woods instead of ease,
The vow above a brother’s pleas.
In him was dharma deeply sown—
A path of thorns he walked alone.
Vaiśampāyana said:
When Arjuna, that spreader of the Kuru race’s fame, departed from Hastināpura, the earth seemed to lose a part of its light. Strong of arm and steadfast in truth, he walked the path of renunciation like a second Dharma incarnate. And behind him followed a host of beings noble and wise—Brahmanas well-versed in the four Vedas, bearers of mantras, seekers of the Self, skilled musicians, reciters of the Purāṇas, ascetics clad in bark and silence, and sages who preserved the ancient lore in honeyed words.
As Indra strides with Maruts trailing,
So strode Arjuna, glory hailing.
Through sacred groves and rivers wide,
Dharma and fame walked by his side.
He wandered through fragrant forests where birds sang the Vedas, across vast rivers and lotus-laden lakes, beside hermitages where smoke curled from yajña fires like threads of heaven. At last, he reached the hallowed source of Gaṅgā, the celestial river, daughter of the mountains, purifier of sin.
There, among the groves near Gaṅgā’s descent to the plains, the son of Kuntī made his camp with those learned Brahmanas. Daily, they kindled agnihotras upon the riverbanks—fire offerings rising like golden tongues to heaven. Clarified butter was poured into flame with Vedic chants; flowers were laid with trembling hands; the wind carried fragrance and song.
In that holy place by Gaṅgā’s spring,
Where mantras rose and birds did sing,
Fire met water in sacred dance—
And dharma’s light did there advance.
One day, as was his vow, Arjuna descended into the sacred river for ablution. He bathed in silence, offered libations to his ancestors, and bowed in gratitude to the eternal flow. Just as he prepared to rise, his mind turned toward the fire once more—but fate had other designs.
Suddenly, from the depths of the Gaṅgā, he was seized—not by beast or foe, but by beauty cloaked in water. Ulūpī, daughter of the serpent king Kauravya, drawn by Kāmadeva’s subtle hand, had come for him. In an instant, swift as thought, she dragged the mighty-armed hero into the fathomless deep.
Like a flame caught by curling wave,
Arjuna plunged to Nāga’s cave.
No cry, no sound, no mortal trace—
Only Gaṅgā’s hush and Ulūpī’s grace.
Below, in the luminous palace of the Nāgas—wrought of emerald and pearl—he found himself surrounded by wonder. There a fire was already kindled, radiant and sacred, as if the gods had anticipated his coming. With composure undisturbed, Arjuna bowed before the flame, performed his rites with devotion, and poured ghee into the form of Agni manifest. The god of fire, pleased by this fearless act, accepted the offering in silent joy.
Then, turning at last to behold the one who had brought him here, Arjuna saw Ulūpī—her form resplendent as moonlight on the serpent-waves. Her eyes shone like lotus pools, her voice was a whisper of flowing water.
Arjuna, smiling, addressed her with gentle wonder:
“O fair one, bold and without fear,
Who draws a man from waters clear?
Who art thou, shining in this place?
What world is this, and what thy race?”
Thus began the tale of Ulūpī and Arjuna beneath the surface of sacred Gaṅgā—where destiny stirred the currents of dharma and desire.
Hearing Arjuna’s gentle inquiry, the maiden of the waters bowed her head and spoke with passion born of divine longing. Her voice, soft as the ripple of moonlit waves, carried the weight of hidden fire.
“O son of Kuntī, hear my name—
Ulūpī, born of serpent flame.
My sire is Kauravya, noble and great,
Of Airāvata’s line, bearer of fate.
When I beheld thee bathe in Gaṅgā’s stream,
Like some god come down from dream,
Desire pierced my serpent soul—
A fire no water could control.
I am unmarried, O sinless one,
My longing wakes with every sun.
Grant me this boon, O tiger-eyed—
Let me be thy bride, thy joy, thy pride.”
She gazed at him—neither ashamed nor haughty, but firm in her longing, purified by sincerity.
Arjuna, ever bound by dharma, did not recoil. But neither did he yield without thought. With the gravity of one whose every word bore the weight of truth, he answered:
“O Nāga maiden, graceful and fair,
Thy voice is sweet as morning air.
But hear me now with heart composed—
I walk a path that hath been closed.
Yudhiṣṭhira, my noble king,
Hath bound me in a Brahmachārin ring.
For twelve long years I may not stray,
Nor break my vow in any way.
Yet never have I uttered lies,
And in thy eyes no falsehood flies.
If there be a way I may fulfill
Thy wish—without dharma’s will
Being broken—speak it true,
And I shall grant this gift to you.”
So said Arjuna, torn between the fire of his vow and the fire of her yearning. His heart was like a bow drawn taut—pulled between righteousness and compassion, yet unwavering in truth.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus began a dialogue subtle and sacred beneath the waters of the Gaṅgā, where the laws of earth softened in the light of deeper cosmic order.