MAHABHARATA SERIES BOOK#1: The Forest of Stories (Mba)

by Ashok K. Banker

  Kashyapa shrugged. ‘If you want to bite the tree, bite it. Then let us see whether or not it withers.’

  Provoked further by the brahmin’s challenge, Takshaka lunged at the tree, twisting his hooded head sideways to sink his fangs deep into the ancient wood. At once the sap of the tree began to sizzle and dry up as the powerful venom from the snake lord’s pouches entered the veins of the tree. The trunk began to turn grey, the leaves lost their colour, the fruit blackened and the whole tree withered before Kashyapa’s eyes just as if it had been set ablaze by an invisible fire. In moments, it was reduced to an ashen state. Even the ground for miles around began to wither and die. Takshaka had injected enough venom into the tree to slay a thousand trees.

  Takshaka withdrew his fangs and hovered above Sage Kashyapa. His ruby eyes glinted in his hooded face. ‘You see, brahmin? That tree is destroyed! Nobody can save it now!’

  But still Kashyapa stepped forward, approaching the skeletal ruin of the once-proud lord of the forest. He knelt down and laid a hand on the base of the trunk. ‘So you say, king of snakes. You have shown what you can do with your destructive poison. Now see what I can do through the power of science and knowledge!’

  And Kashyapa set to work, chanting mantras and using herbs and unguents of his own making. Soon, a green shoot emerged from the derelict tree’s ruin. The shoot grew into a sapling, then the sapling sprouted leaves, then twigs, then branches . . . Before the astonished eyes of the snake king, the entire tree rose up again from the earth, every inch as it had been before, glowing with health and vigour. Kashyapa picked a fruit from a low-hanging branch and bit into it, smiling to show that it was delicious.

  Takshaka hissed long and hard at the brahmin, flashed his fangs in anger, shook his tail about, raised and dipped his hood. Finally, his anger spent, he subsided sulkily. ‘Very well, brahmin. I concede that you possess a great ability. Never before have I seen anyone counteract the effect of my venom in this manner. Truly you must be blessed with great knowledge and power. Tell me, what is your real purpose in going to the palace of Raja Parikshit? What do you seek to gain by saving his life?’

  Kashyapa answered honestly, ‘I seek to enrich myself. He is a king of the great Kuru line. If I save his life, he will certainly reward me richly.’

  Takshaka’s ruby eyes gleamed brightly within the shadows of his hood. He lowered his great hood so his face was on the same level as that of the sage. ‘Brahmin, you know that the king is under a powerful curse, a terrible shraap. There is no power that can countermand such a shraap, once uttered. Nor has anyone mitigated or circumvented the effect of the curse as yet. It is Raja Parikshit’s fate to die today. No matter how great your knowledge or skill, your success is uncertain. If you perchance fail, instead of gaining riches, you will suffer a great loss of reputation. Whatever earnings you presently gain will also cease and you will be penniless.’

  Kashyapa considered Takshaka’s words and found merit in them. ‘Let us assume you are right in your assumption. What do you propose?’

  Takshaka hissed sibilantly with pleasure. ‘Best of brahmins, if it is riches you seek, I can give you more than you can ever hope to get from Raja Parikshit. Moreover, your gain will be assured as I will give it to you right now. All you need do is turn back and retrace your steps homewards, a rich man!’

  Kashyapa meditated on the proposal and saw that Takshaka was right. No matter what he did, Parikshit was doomed to die. It could not be any other way. There was therefore no reason why he should not profit from this proposal.

  ‘So be it,’ he answered at last.

  Takshaka then produced a great store of riches which he gave to Kashyapa. Burdened with his newly-gained wealth, the sage returned home.

  Takshaka continued on his way to Nagasahnya. He disliked referring to the capital city of the Kurus as Hastinapura, for the name meant City of Elephants, and elephants often trampled snakes underfoot and crushed them to death. He preferred the name Nagasahnya: Nest of Snakes!

  Reaching the city, he quickly learned from his spasas—the wily snakes who acted as his spies—that Raja Parikshit had taken elaborate precautions to ensure his survival. While it would not be impossible to gain access to the king, Takshaka had no desire to be seen until the very last instant. Because he could only kill the king through a bite, he must get close enough to Parikshit to commit the deed without anyone being aware of his presence. He first dispatched several of his snake spasas to the king, using Maya—the power of illusion—to disguise them as ascetics. They carried with them leaves, water and fruit, allegedly for a rite they were to perform. There were any number of holy men performing similar rites in and around the king’s palace that day. Even so, the king’s guards searched the ascetics and the things they carried carefully. Not a blade of darbha grass or single fruit did they leave unexamined. Only when they found nothing suspicious did they let the party pass into the palace.

  The ascetics performed the rites with due ceremony. When they had finished, they gave the king the fruit that had been consecrated by the ritual. After examining each fruit carefully, the king’s advisors pronounced the fruits safe to eat. Raja Parikshit asked his advisors to share the fruit with him for it was late in the day and in moments the sun would set and the time of the curse end.

  Lit by the rays of the setting sun that shone in through a window of the raised palace, Raja Parikshit selected a fruit at random from the platter placed before him but did not pick it up. It was a succulent ripe fruit, perfect in every way, the skin unbroken and unblemished. He took it up for a moment then returned it to the platter. Everyone was on edge, waiting eagerly for the sun to pass below the horizon and the curse to end. As the moments passed by and the rays dipped lower, the mood turned from one of great anxiety to one of controlled jubilation for it was obvious by now that Takshaka had failed to complete the curse and the king would be free of the threat.

  At that moment, the sun fell below the horizon and the time of the curse was at an end. Cheers began to ring out across the palace—and farther across the city, as the citizenry celebrated the survival of their beloved king. For too many Kurus had already perished in the great Maha Bharata war not long ago, and nobody wished to see yet another of that great dynasty die before his time.

  Smiling, Raja Parikshit picked up the fruit and was about to bite into it. But as he raised the fruit to his mouth, the skin broke and the tiniest of black worms emerged from the succulent ripe flesh. Parikshit laughed and held up the fruit, showing it to all his well- wishers.

  ‘Look! The hour of the curse has come and gone and I am still alive and well! The sun has set on the seventh day! Now, Takshaka cannot bite me and kill me with his poison. I have no fear of assassination from him! But because the brahmin cursed me in Takshaka’s name, I do not wish to see the words spoken by a brahmin to be untrue. Therefore, I pronounce this little worm to be Takshaka! Let him bite me, if he can, and let the brahmin’s words therefore be true to the letter, if not to the deed.’

  And so saying, he placed the tiny worm upon his own neck, still laughing at his own wit. Filled with the euphoria of having escaped a certain death, he was obnoxious and arrogant. His advisors too, exulting in their success at keeping the king alive despite all odds, were filled with pride at their achievement, and laughed loud and long as well.

  ‘Come now, Takshaka,’ Raja Parikshit said mockingly, clicking his tongue as if addressing a pet, ‘will you not bite me now?’

  In a flash, Takshaka assumed his true form. Gigantic, jewel- scaled, powerful, he coiled around the king. As the horrified advisors and guards watched, Raja Parikshit was wrapped from head to foot in the mammoth coils of the king of snakes. At once their laughter turned to tears and cries of dismay. Takshaka opened his great maw and showed them his giant fangs, dripping with venom. As they stared, hypnotized like prey before the fascinating gaze of a cobra, he roared at them in fury, demonstrating his power. Droplets of venom sprayed the entire palace, drenching it, bathing everyon
e present. The stench of the snake king’s maw filled the room, turning the stomachs of the advisors and guards.

  The roar reverberated throughout the city. Everywhere, people celebrating and dancing stopped still and listened, their hearts chilled by that terrible sound.

  The advisors and guards picked themselves up off the floor, staring in dismay at the white specks that dotted their clothes and skin. They could feel the toxin from the venom poisoning their bodies already. Screaming, they ran, tearing off their own clothes, falling out of the palace windows in their haste to get out. Some fell to their death or injury, others succeeded in tumbling out the doors and down the steps, scouring off the venom with mud, leaves, anything they could find. From within the palace, another terrible roar exploded, this one louder and more terrible than the first. They ran in every direction, screaming and tearing at their own skin.

  Takshaka roared again and again, spewing his venom across the palace that had been built to keep him out. In moments, the palace lay ruined, its walls, pillars, floor, ceiling, furnishings, all smoking and smouldering as the venom worked its poisonous magic, seeping into the very cracks and crevices, corrupting the very foundations. As the walls began to shake and the pillars cracked, Takshaka rose up and lunged skywards. Bursting out of the roof of the palace, he flew up into the sky, hapless Raja Parikshit clutched in his coils. Below, the palace crumbled and collapsed inwards, leaving only a cloud of dust. Takshaka bellowed loud and long enough to cause riots and panic across Hastinapura, terrifying everyone. People looked up in the dusky twilight and pointed in horror as they saw the king of Nagas holding their king in his coils. As they watched, Takshaka sank his fangs into Parikshit’s body, impaling him as a man fallen upon swords. When Parikshit was completely dead,

  Takshaka released his body, letting it fall to the ground before his ruined palace and slaughtered advisors. Then Takshaka flew through the sky and disappeared from sight, his goal accomplished.

  In time, the people and city completed the mourning period for their beloved king and installed his young son Yuvraj Janamajaya on the throne in his stead. He was thus named for someday being a slayer of many enemies, but he was yet a child then. His early ascension and good Kuru upbringing compelled him to become wiser than his years. With the help of his father’s advisors—those who had survived—and preceptor, he attempted to rule wisely over the kingdom as his brave forebear Yudhishtira had not long ago.

  When he was of age sufficient to go to war, young Raja Janamajaya’s advisors went to the king of Kashi, Raja Suvarnavarman, and asked his daughter’s hand in marriage. The alliance of the two kingdoms would benefit both and the match was a suitable one as well. Kashi-naresh Suvarnavarnam agreed readily and his daughter Vapushtama was married to Janamajaya. The Kuru king was so besotted with his young bride, he never loved another woman in his life. Together, Janamajaya and Vapushtama found great love and companionship and were as happy in each other’s company as Pururava and Urvashi once were in times of yore. They roamed the lakes and forests, glens and dales, and basked in the pleasure of their mutual love.

  ||Eighteen||

  Around the time that Janamajaya married Vapushtama, the yayavara Jaratkaru was still roaming the earth as a mendicant, sleeping wherever he happened to stop each day, possessing nothing, pursuing great feats of austerity, abstaining even from food and living on little more than air, wasting away his body day by day. It was at this time that he came to the cave where he saw his ancestors hanging upside down from the roof and learned of their misery. When he knew that these were his own forebears, suffering and descending into the earth day by day because of his lack of offspring, he was moved to vow to them that he would marry and raise a son who would continue their line, provided his bride met with certain conditions. Then he went out into the world and sought a suitable girl for a considerable length of time before finally being approached by Vasuki and agreeing to marry the snake king’s sister who was also named Jaratkaru. So particular was Jaratkaru to adhere to his chosen path as a yayavara that he even warned Vasuki that if he took his sister as his wife he would never be able to provide for her. ‘As my chosen path forbids me from working, I cannot maintain her in any manner. She must be given to me as alms and survive as best as she can, just as I do.’ All these and the earlier conditions Vasuki agreed to readily and so Jaratkaru was introduced to his namesake and married her.

  Vasuki built a beautiful house with splendid décor and furnishings and gave it to Jaratkaru as a wedding present. Jaratkaru lived there, finally resting his head under the same roof each night for he understood that in order to have progeny and raise a family, he must enter the stage of grihastha-ashrama and become a householder. But even so, he cautioned his new bride: ‘Take care that you never do anything that causes me displeasure. If you do, I shall leave you forever and never set foot in this house again.’ Anxious to please him as well as to honour her brother’s wishes, poor Jaratkaru agreed without protest. Like a shwetakakiya, a fabled white crow, she served him from that day onwards, displaying the dedication and watchfulness of a faithful dog, the timidity of a doe, and the instinct of a crow.

  One day, during her time of fertility, she bathed and after preparing herself suitably, lay with her husband. That night she conceived a child from their union, radiant as the flames of the yagna fire, endowed with the heat of tapas, and splendid as Agni himself. As the moon waxed that fortnight, so did her child wax within her womb.

  A few days later, she was sitting with her husband when, overcome by fatigue, he lay his head down on her lap and fell asleep. He continued sleeping even as the sun dipped low and began to slip behind the mountains. Vasuki’s sister grew anxious with every passing moment. It was vital for her husband to perform his evening rituals at a precise time and that time was rapidly passing. Yet she feared to wake him in case he resented his sleep being disturbed. For several moments, she debated both choices, tormenting herself with anxiety. Finally, she decided that it was better for her to suffer her husband’s anger than for him to suffer the loss of dharma that missing his evening rites would bring. Her mind made up and preparing herself for any consequence, Jaratkaru woke her namesake with the sweetest voice she could summon. ‘Beloved husband, rise now. See, the sun is setting and soon the great and auspicious moment for agnihotra will pass. Perform your duties before the time dwindles and dusk falls across the world.’

  As she had feared, Jaratkaru was not accustomed to being woken by another person. He reared at her in anger. ‘You sister of a snake! You dare break my rest? So long as I sleep, even the sun itself dare not set. By suggesting that I am capable of missing the precious hour of agnihotra and failing in my duties, you insult me greatly. How dare you think that I would fail in my dharma? I have warned you before not to displease me for any reason, yet you have done so now! I cannot live with you a moment longer!’

  Vasuki’s sister’s heart shrank with sorrow at her husband’s words but she attempted to explain herself. ‘Great one, I had no intention of insulting you. On the contrary, as your wife, I desired only that you fulfil your dharma immaculately. That is the only reason why I woke you.’

  But Jaratkaru’s mind was made up. Rigid and intolerant in his outlook, the mendicant told his wife angrily, ‘I told you that if you displease me, I would leave you. As you have displeased me, I must go now. Otherwise, I would prove myself to be a liar and that is an even greater transgression against dharma! I am leaving now.’

  She ran behind him, crying out. ‘What shall I tell my brother?’

  He said, ‘Tell him that my time with you was a pleasant time. But then the time came for me to leave.’ In a gentler tone, acknowledging the brief period of happiness they had shared, he also said, ‘Do not grieve for me.’

  Then he continued on his way.

  Beautiful Jaratkaru, her womb quick with child, was overwhelmed by great sorrow. Her mouth was parched from pleading, and her face wet from crying. Forcing herself to make one last attempt, she ran after
her husband yet again and appealed to him with joined palms. ‘If you are a master of dharma, then I too am a queen of dharma! I was given to you for a purpose and that purpose has not been achieved yet. I too have a dharma to fulfil and it cannot be done if you leave me. Will you fufil your own dharma at the cost of mine?’

  Puzzled at her outburst, the inflexible Jaratkaru came to a stop. What did the woman mean? What dharma was she speaking of that she had to fulfil? How was he costing her that goal?

  Seeing her opportunity, the sister of Vasuki explained in a rush of words, telling her husband the story of her siblings, their mother’s curse and their subsequent conception of a loophole that would enable them to subvert the curse and survive extinction, ending with her brother grooming her to become the wife of the wandering yayavara. ‘Now, I am with child by your grace, but I must ensure that he is the one desired by my brother and family, the one who will be our salvation. If you leave now, how can I be certain that my purpose has been fulfilled? What if this is not the child? How can I conceive another without your presence?’

  After hearing the story, Jaratkaru’s heart softened towards his wife. He put his arm around her to comfort her and said, ‘Bhagyavan, you are indeed the fortunate one. The child that lies within your womb shall turn out to be one of the greatest of rishis, a follower of dharma and a master of the Vedas and Vedangas. I have seen all this even as my head lay in your lap and I slept. The child you seek, it is there.’ When he said this, his wife’s heart leaped up with joy for her great purpose was fulfilled. But the woman in her still hoped that he would relent and stay with her, if not to conceive a child, then to extend the period of happiness they had shared so briefly. Clutching at his arm, she appealed to him silently one final time. But his heart was set on returning to the path of austerities and now that he knew he had fulfilled his vow to his ancestors, the yayavara could not justify any reason to stay. The pursuit of happiness and the pastime of love are not sufficient to keep the austere from treading the path of enlightenment. And so Jaratkaru left his namesake and went his separate way.