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On the towering peaks of the Himalaya, where the Ganga comes down into her broad channel and flows on, lay the holy pilgrim-place called Badarikashrama. There, in its solitude, sat two portions of Lord Vishnu himself, Nara and Narayana, sunk in fierce penance. Of all the sons born to Dharma, these two, the finest of sages, had climbed to this snow-crowned height and lost themselves in contemplation of Brahman. For a full thousand years they held to an austerity so severe that its heat scorched the whole moving and unmoving world.
That burning reached all the way to the seat of Indra, king of the gods. A disquiet rose in the mind of the thousand-eyed one. If these ascetic sons of Dharma came into their perfection in full, he thought, they might seize his own high throne. Their penance had to be broken somehow. Turning this over, Indra mounted his splendid elephant Airavata and set off in haste toward the Gandhamadana mountain.
Arriving there, he saw the two rishis blazing with the power of their penance, radiant as two suns climbing the morning sky. Astonished, Indra wondered whether Brahma and Vishnu had appeared before him, or whether two suns had risen together. He drew near and spoke. O sons of Dharma, tell me your purpose. I have come only to grant you the finest of boons; even were it something that should not be given, I would give it, for I am wholly pleased with your austerity.
The illusion fails, and Kamadeva’s army marches
But the two rishis, steady of heart and deep in meditation, said nothing. Again and again Indra pressed them to ask for a boon, and getting no answer he conjured up his terrifying power of delusion. He brought forth savage creatures, wolves and lions and tigers, to frighten the sages; then he raised storms and rain and fire, and showed them terror after terror. Yet the two sons of Dharma were not shaken in the least by this fear, and did not so much as stir from their seats. Defeated, Indra returned to his own halls.
Home again, he brooded in sorrow. These two are meditating on the great vidya, the primordial power, the eternal supreme nature herself. All the illusion woven by gods and demons springs from that same Goddess; who then could unsettle her devotee, however great a master of illusion he might be? The man in whose heart the vag-bija, the kama-bija, and the maya-bija are enthroned, the seed-syllables of speech, of desire, and of illusion, is beyond anyone’s power to disturb.
Now Indra summoned Kamadeva, the god of desire, and Vasanta, the spring. O Kamadeva, he said, take Rati and Vasanta and a host of apsaras, and go quickly to that Badarikashrama on Gandhamadana. Nara and Narayana are there in solitude at their penance. With your five flower-arrows, fill their minds with desire. When Brahma, Shiva, the moon, and even I myself are bewildered by your arrows, what account are those two? To aid you I am also sending a company of apsaras, Rambha, Tilottama, and the rest.
Kamadeva warned him respectfully. O Indra, I will surely do your work. If they are meditating on Vishnu, Shiva, Brahma, or the sun, they will fall under my power. But there are devotees of the Goddess who dwell only on the great seed-syllable of desire, the kamaraja mahabija ‘क्लीं’, absorbed in the worship of her whose very form is the great Shakti; on such a one my arrows have no effect. Even so, at Indra’s insistence, that vast troupe set out fully arrayed toward the place.
Spring arrives out of season
Vasanta reached that lord of mountains first. Before the eye could follow, every tree burst into flower, and swarms of bees came hovering over them. Mango and maulsiri, tilaka and kimshuka, sal and tala, tamala and mahua all hung heavy with blossom. The lovely call of cuckoos rang out from the branches, and vines laden with flowers began to climb the high slopes. Soft southern breezes, fragrant and sweet to the touch, began to blow, and in that moment even the sages’ inner faculties grew restless. Just then Kamadeva arrived with Rati, loosing his five arrows, and Rambha and Tilottama, skilled in music, began to sing sweet songs bound in perfect measure and rhythm.
That sweet singing, the calling of the cuckoos, and the humming of the bees broke the meditation of the two great sages. Seeing spring come out of its season and the whole forest decked in flowers, they grew troubled. Narayana, astonished, turned to Nara. Brother, look. All these trees stand adorned and heavy with blossom, the cuckoos are calling, rows of bees are settling everywhere. This lion that is spring has come here tearing apart the fearsome elephant of winter with the sharp claws of its palasha flowers.
Then he described that spring made flesh, Vasanta-shri, as though a beautiful woman stood before them: her hands the red ashoka, her feet the kimshuka flower, her hair the blue ashoka, her face an open dark lotus, her eyes blue lotuses, her lips the bandhujiva blossom, her teeth the flowering kunda, her ears the mango’s first buds, her voice the cuckoo’s, her gait that of an intoxicated swan. Narayana said, O divine sage, know this for certain: spring has come out of season only to break our penance. This singing is the work of the women of heaven; frightened, Indra, the enemy of the demons, has himself set this scheme in motion, and there is no other cause behind it.
Urvashi springs from the thigh
Narayana was still speaking when, alongside Kamadeva, countless apsaras came into plain view: Menaka, Rambha, Tilottama, Pushpagandha, Sukeshi, Mahashveta, Manorama, Ghritachi, Chandraprabha, Soma, Vidyunmala, and Kanchanamalini. Their number was sixteen thousand and fifty. Seeing Kamadeva’s vast army, the two sages were left amazed. Dressed in heavenly garments and ornaments, those women of the gods bowed and stood before them, and cunningly began to sing songs that stir desire.
Narayana heard the song and spoke with warmth. Be seated in comfort, all of you; I will offer you the honor due to guests, for you have come here from heaven, and so you are our guests. But just then a certain pride awoke in the mind of the sage Narayana. Indra has surely sent these women to obstruct our penance, he thought. What are these poor creatures! Let me show the strength of my austerity this very moment and fashion new apsaras lovelier and more divine than they are.
Thinking so, he struck his thigh with his hand, and at once a woman of flawless beauty appeared. She had been born from the thigh, the uru, of Lord Narayana, and for that she was named Urvashi. The apsaras standing there were struck dumb with wonder at the sight of her. Then, to attend on her, the sage created just as many more apsaras of surpassing beauty, who came with gifts in their hands, laughing and singing sweet songs, and stood before him with folded palms.
A mind already won
The apsaras Indra had sent lost all their wits at the sight of that astonishing Urvashi. Their lotus faces bloomed, and a thrill ran through their bodies. Folding their hands, they said, How shall we foolish apsaras sing your praise? Seeing the power of your patience and your penance, we are lost in wonder. Who is there who would not burn under the arrows we dip in the poison of our sidelong glances, and yet your mind has felt not the faintest disturbance. Now we know that you two are true portions of Vishnu himself, storehouses of calm and self-command. We had come here only to carry out the errand of the king of the gods. Though you had the power to curse us, you sages have looked on us offenders as your own people and forgiven us; the wise and great never squander their penance on a curse that yields so paltry a fruit.
Hearing the humble words of those lovely goddesses, the two sons of Dharma, conquerors of desire and greed, were pleased and said, We are greatly pleased with you all. Tell us your heart’s wish. Take this doe-eyed Urvashi with you and set out for heaven. This Urvashi, sprung from the thigh, we have given for Indra’s pleasure. May all the gods prosper; and never again obstruct anyone’s penance.
But instead of returning, the apsaras bent at their feet. O Narayana, they said, with the deepest devotion we have won the nearness of your lotus feet; where would we go now? If in your pleasure you truly wish to grant a boon, then become our husband. Let Urvashi and the others you have created go to heaven at your command; we sixteen thousand and fifty apsaras will stay here and serve you both. The sages who know dharma have called it violence to break the hope of women bound by love; O lord of the world, do not cast us off.
Narayana answered, steady and unmoved. Having conquered my senses, I have done penance here for a full thousand years; how could I destroy it? I have no taste for the pleasures of desire that ruin both happiness and dharma. How could a man of discernment give himself to a bestial kind of pleasure? Still the apsaras kept pleading that among the five pleasures the pleasure of touch is the highest, the very root of joy. But the mind that had ripened through a thousand years of penance could not be moved, not by the terror of tiger and lion, not by the lure of a boon, not by the enchantment of beauty. The pride with which those apsaras had come was broken there and then, and Urvashi, born of his thigh, Narayana sent as a gift for Indra’s pleasure.
In the Shrimad Bhagavata too, this story of the penance of Nara and Narayana and the breaking of the apsaras’ pride appears, yet this account in the Devi Bhagavata has a manner all its own and is fuller, with a larger number of apsaras and a longer plea.
Source: Shrimad Devi Bhagavata Mahapurana (Gita Press, Gorakhpur)