He would have continued endlessly perhaps but the spirits of his pitrs, including his grandfather Sage Richika, appeared before him and appealed to him to cease his campaign of vengeance. Only then did he stop.
Weary of slaughter, his task done, he decided to go home.
Crossing the river Malaprabha on his way home, he paused to clean his axe. Parasu had drunk far too much blood. Twenty-one generations of kshatriyas had died under its perennially sharp blade. Now there was no more left for it to slake its thirst. Parashurama dipped it into the cool waters of the river, meaning to rid it of its burden, for the blood it drank added greatly to its weight and Parashurama had borne that weight too long.
The axe relented, also weary of bloodthirst, and began to purge itself of the blood it had consumed. Like a man who has consumed too much will vomit up the excess, Parasu began to spew forth the blood of its countless victims.
The river began to turn red with blood.
Parashurama realized that if he allowed Parasu to relieve itself here, the entire Malaprabha would be filled with the store of its accumulated blood. And eventually, all that blood would be carried down to the great ocean which would also be tainted. He lifted the axe out of the river.
He went in search of a suitable place to relinquish the blood of his victims.
He found it in the great northern plain. There he unleashed the blood from Parasu, once, twice, thrice . . . five times in all, the blood flowed from the axe, like a roaring tide. When it was drained, five enormous lakes of blood lay upon the land.
Samantapanchaka was the name given to this place.
Over time, the land absorbed the blood.
But was forever tainted.
It was on that very site that the great Maha Bharata war took place an Age later, when eighteen akshohinis of the Kauravas and Pandavas clashed on that field and stained that tainted soil once again with fresh blood.
||Eleven||
The rishis of Naimisha-sharanya asked Sauti to explain what the term akshohini meant. He replied that an army was broken into various units, and each of these was called an akshohini. He then explained what an akshohini consisted of, how many elephants, horses, chariots and foot soldiers.
Perhaps in keeping with the motif of eighteen, Sage Vyasa had also compiled his epic poem in eighteen parvas or sections, Sauti said. He then explained how he had taken Sage Vyasa’s original eighteen parvas and divided them further into a total of one hundred sections or books. He briefly outlined the contents of each of the hundred sections. He then praised the epic, saying:
‘Even he who is well-versed in the Vedas, the Vedangas and the Upanishads but has not read the Mahabharata, cannot be said to possess any real knowledge. For once a person has heard this epic, no other tale will seem as pleasing, and will be as the harsh cawing of crows after listening to the sweet singing of koyals. Just as the three realms of heaven, earth and the underworld have been created from the five elements of earth, water, brahman, wind and sky, thus is all poetry inspired by this supreme poem. Just as we know of four manner of beings—those born alive from wombs, those born from eggs, those that are plants, and those that are born from exudations and which we call insects, thus are all the Puranas derived from this greatest purana of all. As the five senses are dependent on the functioning of the mind, all events hereafter are dependent on this history. There is no story that can be told without taking inspiration from this ur-story, for it is to story- telling itself as food is to a living body. All poets shall take inspiration from it in order to pursue their professions. This Bharata epic which flowed from the lips of the great Krishna Dweipayana Vyasa is incomparable, beyond measure, purifying, sanctifying and a cleanser of all sins. He who wades into its divine ocean of stories has no need to bathe in the waters of Pushkar to cleanse himself.’
||Paksha Four||
THE SARPA SATRA
||One||
All day long the sacrificial fires burned, fed by an army of brahmins. Janamajaya son of Parikshat sat with his brothers Shrutasena, Ugrasena and Bhimasena on the field of Kurukshetra, performing the formidable sarpa yagna. An island of activity in the vast desolate plain, the yagna was attended by many pre-eminent brahmins who became ritvijas or officiating priests, and sadasyas or participants in the ritual sacrifice. The hotar, the brahmin who recited the essential Vedic shlokas uninterrupted, was the great Vedic scholar Chandabhargava, a Bhrigu descended from Chyavana. The udgatar, who chanted shlokas alongwith the hotar, was the wise old Kautsarya Jaimini. The adhvaryu, the officiating priest of the ritual, was Bhodhapingala. And Shargnarava was the brahmin of record for the yagna. The great Krishna Dweipayana-Vyasa was a sadasya, along with his sons and disciples: Uddalaka, Shamathaka, Shwetaketu, Panchama, Ashita, Devala, Narada, Parvata, Atreya, Kundajathara, his associates Kutighata and Vatsya, an old scholar named Shrutashrava, Kahoda, Devasharma, Maudgalya and Samasaurabha. These were but a few of the many illustrious Vedic gurus and brahmins who attended as sadasyas at the sarpa yagna.
It was but the start of the ceremony. As of now, only the initial offerings and mantras had begun and the main purpose of the ritual—the extermination of the entire species of serpents on earth— was yet to start. As the brahmins had explained, it would be some time before the yagna accumulated sufficient brahmanic potency to start drawing in snakes from around the world, literally pulling them from wherever they existed, into the sacrificial fire, there to burn to ashes. It was an ambitious undertaking and required every ounce of concentration on the part of the officiating and attending brahmins, and Janamajaya and his brothers knew this well. They too were focussed on the yagna’s immaculate execution, and were deep in concentration as the purohits poured endless ladles of ghee into the flames and recited the powerful shlokas from the Vedas uninterrupted. The roar of the fire as it was buffetted by the winds across the Kurukshetra plain was like the voice of Agni personified, underscoring the rhythmic chanting of the priests.
The site of the yagna also weighed heavily on the minds of the king and his brothers. It was not that long ago that their own forefathers had assembled here in prodigious numbers, waging the greatest war ever known in the history of the human race. When the blood-speckled dust had settled on that gruesome tragedy, only a handful of survivors remained alive on this field of battle. Of them, only one had left an heir: Abhimanyu, who had died in the notorious chakravyuh formation, had left his wife Uttara with child at the time of his demise. Abhimanyu himself was the son of Arjuna, one of the five Pandava brothers, from his union with his wife Subhadra, sister of Lord Krishna himself. This made Parikshat the great-nephew of Krishna and the grandson of Arjuna. Parikshat in turn sired Janamajaya, and it was in fact for his father’s sake that Janamajaya was performing this sarpa yagna. In a sense, this ceremony and those sponsoring it, were causally linked to the Maha Bharata war itself. These thoughts were no doubt on the minds of King Janamajaya and his brothers that day as they sat on the field at Kurukshetra as the yagna fire blazed and the brahmins challenged the wind with their ritual chanting. Who knows what anxieties and emotions filled the hearts and minds of the four Kurus as they sat upon the very spot where their entire dynasty and the vast part of the population of their nation had been exterminated, in a battle with their own brethren and kin?
It was at this moment that a sarameya happened to stray into the consecrated site where the yagna was taking place.
The sarameya was, as his name suggested, a progeny of the celestial bitch Sarama herself, from whom all dogs are descended. He was but a pup, and merely exploring. Sniffing with his whiskered nose to the ground, as pups will do, he had followed his nose to the site of the satra, forgetting his mother’s warning not to stray too far from her nest. The eldest of his litter, he was bolder than his siblings, and twice as tall and long as they, but still no more than the length of a man’s hand. His brindled fur bristled sharply as he smelled myriad rich exotic scents in that place, his little tail rod-stiff and pointing directly upwards as he snuf
fed and sniffed his way along. So low was his nose and so intense his concentration, he failed to notice that he was coming close to a place of human activity. The countless lives expended on that alluvial plain had left a morass of lingering scents that were like an explosion of sensory experience to the little canine. Through the power of scent alone, he could almost imagine in his dog’s mind what terrible slaughter and violence had transpired here, and the effect overwhelmed him.
He stumbled into the innermost area of the yagna, nose still to the ground, tail raised high, and might well have blundered past the preoccupied brahmins who were all intent on their chanting and feeding of the fire, passed onwards and never been noticed. He was a tiny thing after all, no more than a handful of fur, and all but invisible to most humans. But his zigzag pattern of movement, caused by his following a path dictated by his nose rather than his sense of sight, happened to bring his little furred head in contact with the foot of one of Janamajaya’s brothers. Unfortunately for the little tyke, the foot in question belonged to Shrutasena, not known for his sense of patience or tolerance.
Without even looking at the pup, Shrutasena swatted him aside. The pup yelped and stumbled.
Then he picked himself up and wagged his tail, lifting his little
head to stare up at the tall human whom he had apparently offended in some unknown way. He came closer to the human, wagging his tail, and attempted to lick Shrutasena’s foot to show that he had meant no offence and would happily be friends if Shrutasena wished.
Once more, Shrutasena kicked the pup aside. The little ball of fur weighed no more than a few hundred grams and flew several feet away, tumbling over and over in the dust, squealing in distress. He regained his feet, yelping and calling out to his mother for help, unable to understand why he should have been treated so roughly when all he had sought to do was apologize and proffer a paw in friendship.
The pup’s crying caught the attention of Janamajaya’s other brothers, Bhimasena and Ugrasena. While it is true that a little sarameya can easily slip by unnoticed through a human camp, yet once he begins crying out, he can wake the whole camp.
Janamajaya’s three brothers all came up and began beating the pup with their lathis. Blow after blow rained down on the little sarameya. Fortunately for him, he was small enough to dodge and avoid most of the blows, or else he would certainly have died that day. But a few of the blows did catch him and caused him great pain and bruising, even cracking a rib and a thigh bone. He yelped pitifully and when that did not stop the shower of blows, he howled his distress.
Somehow, he slipped out of the circle of pain and fled, limping and howling loud enough to alert the entire contingent of brahmins. They looked up, frowning, but did not pause in their ritual activities for once begun a satra or yagna must be seen through immaculately. Even a syllable misspoken or the wrong herb proferred to Agni can render the entire enterprise invalid. Once they saw that there was no cause for alarm, merely a stray dog being chased away, they forgot the incident instantly.
As did Janamajaya’s brothers, who resumed their seats and returned to their thoughts, dire and dark as they must have been.
Limping and crying pitifully, the little pup made his way homewards. After a considerably longer time than it had taken him to reach the yagna site, he finally managed to limp his way back to the nest where Sarama guarded the rest of her new brood. On seeing his mother, he began crying louder than ever, and limping more pitifully. His mother exclaimed and rushed to his side to comfort him. After licking his wounds and bruises and after a close examination of his injuries, she finally asked him what had happened. Speaking in their canine tongue, he communicated to her how he had come by his injuries.
‘You must have done something to provoke them, my son,’ she said.
‘But I did nothing!’ he wailed.
‘Perhaps you licked the sacred ghee? Or soiled the sanctified site?’
‘No!’ he insisted. ‘I did nothing. I never even looked at anything. They just beat me for no reason at all.’
Sarama was outraged. She went at once to the site of the sarpa yagna and confronted the king himself. His brothers attempted to bar her passage but as Mistress of all Dogkind, Sarama was a giant among her kind. She towered above all three of Janamajaya’s brothers and could have swallowed the trio whole if she chose. She glowered at them, baring her fangs and snarling, and they stepped aside to let her pass unmolested. The priests glanced in her direction, puzzled, but continued their rituals. The day’s session was still in progress and they could not afford to pause or interrupt their work for even a moment. Janamajaya rose from his seat and was taken aback at the sight of the huge dog looming above him, snarling menacingly.
‘Raje,’ she said angrily. ‘Your brothers beat my son for no reason at all. He did nothing wrong here. Why did they attack him, a poor defenceless little whelp?’
Janamajaya had no answer to offer. He looked at his brothers who also looked away, avoiding his gaze. They had been too harsh with the pup and realized it, but would not say so aloud. After all, he was a mere dog! And they were princes of the Kuru line.
‘He did not lick the yagna ghee,’ Sarama went on. ‘He did not even look at it! Yet your brothers attacked him and beat him—with lathis! This is unjust violence. Have you of the Kuru race not yet learned to rid yourself of the evil of violence? Has the slaughter of countless millions of your people not taught you anything?’
Janamajaya hung his head in shame. He had nothing to say that would appease the angry mother. And Sarama was an angry mother, reacting no differently from the way any mother would had her child been beaten so brutally and without cause.
Sarama’s anger was fuelled further by the silence of the Kuru king and his brothers, for she knew then that they were guilty of needless violence against a helpless, defenceless little creature. Her rage knew no bounds. ‘I curse you, Janamajaya!’ she barked. ‘As you have unjustly beaten my child, so also shall evil befall you without cause or reason, when you least expect it!’
And she turned, showing the Kurus her hindquarters, flicked her tail, and departed.
On hearing the curse of Sarama, Janamajaya was very disheartened. To be accused—justifiably—found guilty, and then cursed, by a dog, even if she was the mistress of all dogkind, was not something anyone could claim to be proud of achieving. He buried his face in his hands and wondered why tragedy seemed to befall his line time and time again.
Later, when the day’s yagna session had ended, he returned home to his palace in the capital city of Hastinapura, seat of the Kuru nation, and gave word to his people that he desired a priest, one so honourable and devout that he could counter the effect of Sarama’s curse and absolve Janamajaya of his sin. For though his brothers had struck the blows that harmed the little sarameya, it was under Janamajaya’s rule and at his sarpa yagna that the misdemeanour had been committed, therefore he held himself responsible. But though his people searched far and wide for such a priest, none could be found. For though just a dog, Sarama was a powerful being in her own right. Many myths and legends even considered the celestial bitch to be one of many forms that the Eternal Goddess herself, sometimes known as Devi, other times as Durga or Kali, or an infinite variety of names and titles, chose to take at certain times. Some even believed that Janamajaya had transgressed against Kali herself and would now have to suffer the consequences of his actions. This was ironic since the very cause of the sarpa yagna was to mitigate the effect of an earlier transgression against the demon king Kali by Janamajaya’s late father Parikshat. The king Kali was in no way related to the goddess Kali, and the commonality of name simply referred to their shared darkness of complexion, a common trait among people of the Arya race, but it was nonetheless a matter of some significance. What good was performing a ritual to expiate the sins of the father if the son himself committed further sins in the course of the ritual?
Time passed.
One day, Janamajaya went on a hunt. His quest for prey took h
im to a remote neck of the jungle at the farthest extent of his domain. In the course of his search, he lost sight of his prey but chanced upon an ashram deep within the jungle. A rishi named Shrutashrava resided there and seated beside him was his beloved son Somashrava. After discerning that the son was a rare enlightened soul as well as possessed of precisely the qualities he sought, Janamajaya appealed to Rishi Shrutashrava to permit his son Somashrava to accompany him back to Hastinapura and act as his preceptor. The father agreed but felt it was his dharma to inform Janamajaya about certain facts concerning the son.
‘Bhagavan,’ said the rishi, for he regarded the king of the Kurus as no less than a god incarnate in stature and dignity. ‘My son is a great ascetic and has acquired much knowledge. But he was not born to me in the usual way. Rather, he was the result of my semen being consumed by a snake who then brought him to term in her womb. Due to his unusual nature, he possesses the power to absolve you of sins against any being, with one notable exception: He cannot help you if you transgress against Mahadeva. Moreover, he has sworn a secret vow that requires him to grant a brahmin anything he asks for. If you can accept these unique characteristics of his personality, by all means take him with you and may he serve you dutifully.’
Janamajaya was so pleased at having found the perfect preceptor, he was undaunted by these revelations. He joined his hands together and addressed the rishi with the same respect afforded to himself: ‘O Bhagavan, it shall be as you say.’
Janamajaya returned to Hastinapura with Somashrava and introduced him to his brothers. ‘Henceforth, this is my guru. Kindly regard him as your teacher as well, and obey his every command.’
Shortly thereafter, a rebellion rose in the kingdom of Takshashila that demanded the king’s attention. Janamajaya rode out at the head of his army to suppress the uprising and do battle against the Takshashilans.
MAHABHARATA SERIES BOOK#1: The Forest of Stories (Mba) Page 9