Mahabharata · The Division of the Realm, Indraprastha, and the Burning of Khandava

About 100 min read · 16,884 words

The story Narada had been telling had reached its final turn. Sunda and Upasunda, the two asura brothers who had always shared a single breath and a single mind, had conquered the three worlds and left themselves without a rival. They had carried off the treasures of the gods, the gandharvas, the yakshas, the nagas, the rakshasas, and every king of the earth, and now they passed their days in deep contentment. The labor was behind them and nothing remained to be done, so like the immortals themselves they gave their time to women and perfumes and garlands of flowers, to fine food and drink and every pleasure they could name.

Tilottama and the end of the two asura brothers

One day the brothers went out for pleasure to a level tableland of the Vindhya range, a stony plateau overgrown with flowering trees. Every object of desire was brought and set before them, and they took their seats with glad hearts among beautiful women. To please them the women began to dance to music and to sing sweet songs in praise of the mighty pair.

Just then Tilottama came along, attired in a single length of red silk that left all her beauty plain to see, plucking wild flowers as she walked. She moved slowly toward the two asuras. Flushed with the wine they had drunk, the brothers were struck the moment they saw her. They rose from their seats and hurried to where she stood, and each, seized by desire, wanted her for himself alone. Sunda caught the fair-browed maiden by her right hand.

Drunk on their boons, on their bodily strength, on the wealth and gems they had gathered from every quarter, and on the wine in their blood, the brothers turned on each other, each bending his bow in anger. “She is my wife, and so your superior,” said Sunda. “She is my wife, and so your sister-in-law,” answered Upasunda. “She is mine, not yours,” each said to the other, and rage carried away the love that had joined them all their lives. Bereft of reason, they took up their heavy maces, and crying each “I was first, I was first,” struck one another down. Bathed in blood, the two fierce asuras fell to the ground like a pair of suns dislodged from the sky.

Seeing this, the women who had come there and the other asuras present fled trembling in grief and terror, and took refuge in the nether regions. Then the Grandsire himself, pure of soul, came there with the celestials and the great rishis. He praised Tilottama and offered her a boon, and before she could speak he said, in gladness, “You shall range the region of the Adityas. Your splendor will be so great that none will be able to look at you for long.” Granting her this, and re-establishing the three worlds under Indra as before, the Grandsire returned to his own realm.

A key to reading this (the idea): Tilottama is an apsara whom Vishvakarma fashioned out of the smallest particles, a sesame seed at a time, gathering into her every beauty in the world, so that she might sow discord between Sunda and Upasunda. By Brahma’s boon the brothers could be killed by no creature except each other. Their ruin, then, could come only at their own hands.

“So it was,” Narada said, “that asuras forever united and moved by one purpose killed each other in fury for the sake of Tilottama. Out of affection, therefore, I tell you, foremost of Bharata’s line: make some arrangement among yourselves so that you never quarrel over Draupadi.”

Addressed thus by the great rishi, the illustrious Pandavas took counsel with one another and, in Narada’s very presence, set a rule among themselves. It was this: while one of them sat with Draupadi, any of the other four who came upon them so must go into the forest for twelve years and live there as a celibate. When the virtuous Pandavas had established that rule, Narada, well pleased, went where he wished. And it was because of this compact, O king, that no dispute ever rose between the brothers.

The gist: By telling the story of the asura brothers who destroyed each other, Narada warned the Pandavas, and the five brothers bound themselves to a rule of twelve years’ exile so that no quarrel would ever arise over Draupadi.

The brahmin’s cattle and Arjuna’s broken vow

With that rule in place, the Pandavas went on living at Khandavaprastha. By the strength of their arms they brought many kings under their sway, and Draupadi took delight in her five heroic husbands as they took delight in her. Because the brothers were so upright in their conduct, the whole line of the Kurus, free of sin and content, grew in prosperity.

Some time later a band of robbers drove off a brahmin’s cattle, and while they were carrying away the herd the brahmin, out of his senses with anger, came to Khandavaprastha and reproached the Pandavas in accents of grief. “From this very realm of yours my cattle are being carried off by force by wretches!” he cried. “Pursue the thieves. A king who takes the sixth part of the produce and does not protect his subjects has been called by the wise the most sinful man on earth. A brahmin’s wealth is being stolen, and virtue itself is dwindling. Take me by the hand, you Pandavas, for I am drowning in sorrow.”

Dhananjaya heard the brahmin weeping in bitter grief and at once called out to him, “Have no fear!” But the chamber where the brothers kept their weapons was at that moment occupied by Yudhishthira the just, seated there with Draupadi. Arjuna could not enter it, nor go with the brahmin alone, though the man’s weeping urged him on. He reflected with a heavy heart: this innocent brahmin’s wealth is being robbed, and I must dry his tears. If I do not protect him, the king will be touched with sin through my indifference, and our failure in duty will be spoken of across the kingdom. Yet if I disregard the king and enter the chamber, I break faith with him and earn the penalty of exile in the woods. Still, I must overlook everything, for virtue outlasts the body, and lives on after the body has perished.

Having come to that resolve, Arjuna entered the chamber, spoke with Yudhishthira, and came out with his bow. He told the brahmin cheerfully, “Come quickly, so the thieves do not get far ahead. I will bring back the wealth that has fallen into their hands.” Then Dhananjaya, skilled with either arm, armored and in his war-chariot with its standard, pursued the robbers, pierced them with his arrows, and forced them to give up the herd. Restoring the cattle to the brahmin and winning great renown, he returned to the capital. He bowed to his elders, received everyone’s congratulations, and at last went to Yudhishthira. “Give me leave, my lord, to keep the vow I took,” he said. “In seeing you seated with Draupadi I have broken the rule we set for ourselves. I will go into the woods, for that was our understanding.”

Yudhishthira, hearing those painful words without warning, was overcome with grief and said, in an unsteady voice, “Why?” After a moment he spoke to his curly-haired brother, who never turned from his vows. “Sinless one, if my word carries any weight, listen. I know full well why you entered my chamber and did what you think was an offense to me. There is no displeasure in my heart. A younger brother may enter without fault the room where the elder sits with his wife; only the elder does wrong by entering the room where the younger sits with his. So set this purpose aside. Your virtue has suffered no loss. You have not slighted me.”

Arjuna answered, “I have heard from your own lips that there is no room for quibbling in the discharge of duty. I cannot swerve from truth. Truth is my weapon.”

So, with the king’s permission, Arjuna made himself ready for a life in the forest, and went out to live there for twelve years.

A sub-tale: Notice that Yudhishthira wished to release Arjuna, arguing that a younger brother’s entry carries no fault. Here the moral intricacy of the Mahabharata opens. The king’s fine-drawn reasoning was true enough in practice, and still Arjuna would not take the exemption. For him, keeping his word was itself the truth, however just the release might be. That is the distance between the elder brother’s worldly tact and the younger’s unbending fidelity to a vow.

The gist: To recover the brahmin’s cattle Arjuna had to enter the weapons-chamber where Yudhishthira sat with Draupadi. Though Yudhishthira tried to release him from the penalty, Arjuna, holding to the truth, accepted the twelve years of exile.

Arjuna’s pilgrimage and the naga maiden Ulupi

When the strong-armed Arjuna, who spread the renown of Kuru’s race, set out for the forest, brahmanas learned in the Vedas walked behind him for a distance. He journeyed like Indra followed by the Maruts, attended by ascetics and reciters of sacred stories and men of sweet speech, and along the way he saw many lovely forests, lakes, rivers, seas, and provinces. At length he came to the source of the Ganges and thought to settle there.

Now hear of a wonderful thing he did while he lived there. The brahmanas with him performed their fire-rites daily, kindling and offering to the sacred fires on the banks of that holy stream, so that the place where the Ganges comes down to the plains grew beautiful indeed. One day Arjuna went down into the Ganges to bathe. When his ablutions were done and he had offered water to his ancestors, and was about to rise from the stream to perform his fire-rites, the mighty hero was dragged to the bottom of the water by Ulupi, daughter of the king of the nagas, urged on by the god of desire.

The son of Pandu was carried into the beautiful mansion of Kauravya, king of the nagas. There he saw a sacrificial fire already kindled for him, and Dhananjaya performed his rites before it with devotion; and Agni was well pleased with him for the fearlessness with which he poured his offerings. His rites finished, Arjuna looked at the naga king’s daughter and said with a smile, “What a bold thing you have done, gentle one. Whose is this lovely realm, and who are you, and whose daughter?”

Ulupi answered, “There is a naga named Kauravya, born in the line of Airavata. I am his daughter, and my name is Ulupi. Seeing you come down into the stream to bathe, I lost my reason to the god of desire. I am still unwed, and I am afflicted for your sake. Gratify me today by giving yourself to me.”

Arjuna replied, “Commanded by King Yudhishthira, gentle one, I am keeping the vow of a celibate for twelve years, and I am not free to do as I please. Yet I have never spoken an untruth in my life, and I am willing to do you a kindness if I can. Tell me, naga maid, how I may act so that in pleasing you I am not guilty of any falsehood or breach of duty.”

Ulupi answered, “I know why you wander the earth, son of Pandu, and why you were told to live as a celibate. The exile of any one of you is only for Draupadi’s sake, and by keeping this vow you are simply doing that duty. Your virtue can suffer no loss by heeding me. And it is a duty to relieve the distressed; you lose nothing of your virtue by saving me. If even a little of your virtue should suffer, you will gain far more merit by saving my life. I am your worshipper, Partha. Yield yourself to me, for otherwise I will destroy myself. Earn great merit by saving my life. You who always protect the afflicted and the helpless, I seek your shelter, weeping in sorrow.”

So entreated by the naga king’s daughter, the son of Kunti did all she desired, making virtue his motive. He passed the night in the naga’s mansion and rose with the sun. Ulupi went with him back to where the Ganges enters the plains, and there the chaste woman took her leave and returned to her own abode. And she granted him a boon that made him invincible in water. “Every creature that lives in the water,” she said, “will be yours to conquer.”

A key to reading this (the lineage): Ulupi is the daughter of Kauravya, a naga king of the line of Airavata. Airavata is one of the chief serpent clans, distinct from Indra’s elephant of the same name. The nagas are pictured here as a divine race that dwells in mansions beneath the water. The son Ulupi bears, Iravan, will appear later in the war of the Mahabharata.

The gist: On the bank of the Ganges, as Arjuna performed his rites, the naga maiden Ulupi drew him down into the water and pleaded with him. Making dharma and the rescue of one in distress his motive, Arjuna granted her wish, and in return received the boon of being invincible in water.

Chitrangada, princess of Manipura

Arjuna told the brahmanas all that had happened and set out for the slopes of the Himalaya. He visited Agastyavata and the peak of Vasishtha, then the peak of Bhrigu, purifying himself with the proper rites, and gave away many thousands of cows and many houses. He came to the sacred hermitage of Hiranyavindu, bathed there, and beheld many holy regions; then, coming down from the heights with the brahmanas, he journeyed east.

In the forest of Naimisha he saw the lovely lotus-filled river Utpalini, and the Nanda and the Apara Nanda, the far-famed Kausiki, and the great rivers Gaya and Ganga, and every place of sacred water. He purified himself and gave away many cows to the brahmanas. Whatever holy waters and sacred places there were in Vanga and Kalinga, he visited them all, performing the proper ceremonies and giving away much wealth. At the border of Kalinga the brahmanas bade him farewell and went no further.

With their leave, the brave Dhananjaya went on toward the ocean with only a few attendants. Crossing the country of the Kalingas and passing many lands and holy spots, and beholding the Mahendra mountain thronged with ascetics, he came at last to Manipura, moving slowly along the sea-shore, to the court of the virtuous Chitravahana, its ruler. The king had a daughter of great beauty named Chitrangada, and Arjuna beheld her wandering at ease in her father’s palace and desired to win her. He went to the king and said, “Give me your daughter, O king. I am the son of an illustrious Kshatriya.” The king asked, “Whose son are you?” and Arjuna replied, “I am Dhananjaya, son of Pandu and Kunti.”

At this the king spoke in sweet accents. “There was in our line a king named Prabhanjana, who was childless. By severe austerities he gratified Mahadeva, the great lord who holds the bow Pinaka, and the lord granted him the boon that each successive descendant of his race would have but one child. Because of that boon only one child is born to each in this line. All my forefathers had a son; I have only a daughter to carry on my race. But I have always looked upon her as my son, and I have duly made her a putrika. So one of the sons you beget upon her shall be the perpetuator of my line. That son is the dowry for which I give my daughter. If you agree, you may take her on this understanding.”

Arjuna accepted it all and said, “So be it.” Taking Chitravahana’s daughter as his wife, the son of Kunti lived in that city for three years. When at last Chitrangada bore a son, Arjuna embraced the princess with affection, took leave of her father, and set out on his wanderings once more.

A key to reading this (the idea): A putrika is a daughter whom a sonless father declares to be as a son, with the resolve that the son she bears will carry on the father’s own line. This is why Babhruvahana, the son born of Chitrangada, comes to the throne of Manipura, the seat of his maternal grandfather, and has no claim upon Hastinapura.

The gist: On his pilgrimage Arjuna reached Manipura and married princess Chitrangada on the putrika condition. He stayed three years, and after the birth of a son he moved on.

The five crocodiles and the freed apsaras

Then that bull of Bharata’s race went to the sacred waters on the shores of the southern ocean, all adorned with ascetics who lived there. In that region lay five holy waters where ascetics also dwelt, yet the waters themselves were shunned by all of them. They were called Agastya, Saubhadra, and Pauloma, and Karandhama, which gave the reward of a horse-sacrifice to those who bathed in it, and Bharadwaja, the great washer of sins. Finding these five waters uninhabited and shunned by the pious, Arjuna asked the ascetics with joined hands why they were avoided. They answered, “Five great crocodiles live in them and carry off any ascetic who bathes there. That is why they are shunned.”

Hearing this, and though the ascetics tried to dissuade him, that foremost of men went to see the waters. Coming to the sacred water named Saubhadra, after a great rishi, the brave scorcher of foes plunged in to bathe. The moment he entered, a great crocodile seized him by the leg. But the strong-armed Dhananjaya caught the struggling ranger of the water and dragged it forcibly to the shore, and as it touched the land the crocodile became a beautiful damsel bedecked with ornaments, radiant with a celestial form. Amazed at the sight, Arjuna asked her gladly, “Who are you, lovely one? Why have you been a ranger of the waters, and why did you commit so dreadful a sin?”

The damsel replied, “I am an apsara who once sported in the woods of heaven, Varga by name, ever dear to Kuvera, the treasurer of the gods. I had four companions, all lovely and able to go where they wished. One day, on our way to Kuvera’s abode, we saw a brahmin of rigid vows, exceedingly handsome, studying the Vedas in solitude, and the whole forest seemed lit by his ascetic splendor. To disturb his meditation we alighted there. Myself and Saurabheyi and Samichi and Vudvuda and Lata, we approached him together, singing and smiling and tempting him. But his heart never once wavered from its pure meditation, and the glance he cast on us was full of wrath. ‘Become crocodiles,’ he said, staring at us, ‘and range the waters for a hundred years.’”

“We were deeply distressed at this curse,” Varga went on, “and we sought to appease the brahmin who never strayed from his vow. ‘Puffed up by our beauty and youth, and driven by the god of desire, we have behaved very improperly,’ we said. ‘Forgive us. The virtuous have said that women should never be slain, and that a brahmin is ever the friend of every creature. We seek your protection; be pleased to pardon us.’”

Thus entreated, the brahmin, radiant as the sun or the moon, grew merciful toward them. “The word hundred, as I have used it, means a fixed span and not an endless one,” he said. “Becoming crocodiles, you shall seize and carry off men for a hundred years. At the end of that time an exalted man will drag you all from the water to the land, and you will regain your true forms. I have never spoken an untruth even in jest, so all this must come to pass. And those sacred waters, once you have been delivered there, will be known throughout the world as the Nari-tirthas, the waters bound up with the suffering and the deliverance of women, holy and cleansing to the wise.”

Varga finished her tale to Arjuna. “Hearing his words, we saluted him with reverence, walked round him, and left with heavy hearts, wondering all the while where we would meet the man who would restore our shapes. As we thought of it, in almost a moment we beheld the celestial rishi Narada, and our hearts filled with joy. We saluted him and told him everything, and he said, ‘In the lowlands along the southern ocean there are five holy waters. Go there without delay. Dhananjaya, the pure-souled son of Pandu, will soon deliver you.’ So we came here, and today you have truly set me free. But my four companions are still within the other waters. Do a good deed, hero, and deliver them too.”

So that foremost of the Pandavas gladly freed them all from the curse. Rising from the waters, they took back their own forms and looked as they had before. Having cleansed the sacred waters of their old danger and given the apsaras leave to go where they pleased, Arjuna wished to see Chitrangada once more, and he went to the city of Manipura. There he saw upon the throne the son he had begotten upon Chitrangada, who was named Babhruvahana. Seeing Chitrangada again, Arjuna then set out for the place called Gokarna.

The gist: At five abandoned sacred waters in the south, Arjuna dragged out a crocodile and freed the apsara Varga from her curse, then freed her four companions as well. These came to be called the women’s tirthas. On his way back, Arjuna saw his son Babhruvahana on the throne of Manipura.

Meeting Krishna at Prabhasa, and entering Dwaraka

Arjuna of measureless prowess saw, one after another, all the sacred waters and holy places on the shores of the western ocean, and he reached the sacred spot called Prabhasa. When he came, unannounced, to that lovely region, the slayer of Madhu heard of it and went there to see his friend. Krishna and Arjuna met and embraced and asked after each other’s welfare, and those dear friends, who were none other than the ancient rishis Nara and Narayana, sat down together. Krishna asked Arjuna about his travels, and Arjuna told him everything that had happened. Hearing it all, that mighty hero of the Vrishni race said, “This is as it should be.”

Krishna and Arjuna, after sporting as they pleased for a while at Prabhasa, went to the Raivataka mountain to pass some days. Before they arrived, Krishna had ordered the mountain adorned by many craftsmen, and much fine food gathered there. Enjoying all that had been laid out for him, Arjuna sat with Krishna to watch the players and the dancers, then dismissed them with due respect and lay down on a splendid bed. As he lay there, he described to Krishna all the sacred waters and lakes and mountains and rivers and forests he had seen, and sleep stole over him while he spoke.

He woke in the morning to sweet songs and the melodious notes of the vina and the praises of the bards. When the necessary rites were done and Krishna had greeted him warmly, he rode out on a golden car for Dwaraka, the Yadava capital. In his honor the whole city had been adorned, its gardens and houses alike, and the citizens poured into the streets by the hundreds of thousands to see him. Men and women together swelled the great crowd of the Bhojas, the Vrishnis, and the Andhakas, and Arjuna was welcomed with respect by all, and in his turn he honored those who deserved his homage and received their blessings. He went to Krishna’s mansion, rich with gems and every comfort, and stayed there with him for many days.

A sub-tale: The phrase “Nara and Narayana” recurs here. In tradition Arjuna is held to be an incarnation of the rishi Nara and Krishna of the rishi Narayana, inseparable companions who practiced austerities together for ages at Badarikashrama. The teller frames this reunion at Prabhasa as a return of that ancient friendship, a thread that will run on through the burning of Khandava and all the way to Kurukshetra.

The gist: At Prabhasa, Krishna and Arjuna were reunited. After some days on Raivataka, Arjuna came to Dwaraka, where the citizens poured out to welcome him, and he took up residence in Krishna’s mansion.

The festival on Raivataka and the carrying off of Subhadra

Within a few days, a grand festival of the Vrishnis and the Andhakas began upon the Raivataka mountain. The heroes of those tribes gave away wealth to the brahmanas by the thousands, and the hill was ringed with mansions decked in gems and with bright artificial trees. Musicians played in concert, dancers danced and singers sang, and the young men of the Vrishni race, adorned with every ornament and riding gold-decked cars, made a handsome show. Citizens on foot and in fine chariots, with their wives and followers, were there by the hundreds of thousands.

There was Balarama, the plough-bearer, roving at will and merry with drink, with his wife Revati beside him and musicians and singers at his back. Ugrasena came, the mighty king of the Vrishnis, with his thousand wives and his sweet singers. Pradyumna and Samba, ever fierce in battle, flushed with wine and adorned with garlands and costly robes, disported themselves like a pair of gods. Akrura and Sarana and Gada, Vabhru and Nisatha and Charudeshna, Prithu and Viprithu, Satyaka and Satyaki, and many another, with their wives and their bands of singers, graced that mountain festival.

As the great festival unfolded, Krishna and Partha wandered through it together, taking in everything. There they saw the lovely daughter of Vasudeva, Bhadra by name, decked in every ornament amid her maids. The moment Arjuna beheld her, he was seized by the god of desire. Marking how fixedly Partha gazed on her, Krishna said with a smile, “How is this? Can the heart of one who ranges the woods be stirred by desire? This is my sister, the full sister of Sarana. Her name is Bhadra, the favorite daughter of my father. Tell me if your heart is set on her, and I will speak to my father myself.”

Arjuna answered, “She is the daughter of Vasudeva and the sister of Krishna, and gifted with such beauty, whom could she fail to enchant? If this sister of yours, this maid of the Vrishni race, becomes my wife, I may truly prosper in all things. Tell me by what means I may win her. To gain her I will do whatever a man can do.”

Krishna replied, “Self-choice is ordained for the marriage of Kshatriyas, but its outcome is uncertain, Partha, for we do not know this girl’s temper. For brave Kshatriyas the learned have praised a marriage by forcible seizure. So carry off my beautiful sister by force, for who knows what she may do at a self-choice.” Then Krishna and Arjuna, having settled what should be done, sent swift messengers to Yudhishthira at Indraprastha with word of it all, and the moment he heard, Yudhishthira gave his assent.

Informed of Yudhishthira’s assent, and learning that the maiden had gone up to the Raivataka hill, Arjuna took Krishna’s leave as well, having settled everything with him in consultation.

Then, with Krishna’s assent, Arjuna set out in his well-built golden car, hung with rows of small bells and fitted with every weapon, its wheels roaring like the clouds, its splendor like blazing fire, drawn by the steeds Saivya and Sugriva. He was armored, girt with a sword, his fingers cased in leather, and he rode out as though on a hunt. Meanwhile Subhadra, having paid homage to the lord of hills, worshipped the deities, had the brahmanas pronounce their blessings, and walked round the mountain, was coming back toward Dwaravati. Pierced by the shafts of desire, the son of Kunti rushed suddenly upon that faultless Yadava girl and lifted her by force into his car, and with the sweet-smiling maiden beside him he drove off in his golden chariot toward his own city.

Subhadra’s armed attendants, seeing her seized and carried away, all ran crying toward the city of Dwaraka. Reaching the Yadava court, the hall called Sudharma, they laid the whole matter of Partha’s deed before the chief officer of the court. He blew his gold-decked trumpet in a loud blast, calling all to arms, and at the sound the Bhojas, the Vrishnis, and the Andhakas came pouring in from every side. Those who were eating left their food, and those who were drinking left their drink.

They took their seats upon their thousand thrones of gold, spread with rich carpets and set with gems and coral, blazing like fires fed with fresh fuel. When they were seated in that court, which was like a gathering of the gods, the chief officer, with those who stood behind him, told them of Arjuna’s conduct. The proud Vrishni heroes, their eyes red with wine, sprang up from their seats, unable to bear what Arjuna had done.

Some cried, “Yoke our cars!” and some, “Bring our weapons!” and some called on their charioteers, and some in their impatience yoked their gold-decked horses themselves. As the cars and armor and standards were brought, the uproar of the heroes swelled. Then Balarama, white and tall as the peak of Kailasa, garlanded with wildflowers and robed in blue, proud and flushed with drink, said these words: “You senseless men, what are you doing while Janardana sits silent? Not knowing his mind, we roar in vain. Let Krishna say what he intends, and do at once what he wishes done.”

Hearing those words, worthy to be heeded, they all cried “Well said!” and fell silent, and took their seats again. Then Balarama, that crusher of foes, spoke to Krishna. “Why do you sit gazing on in silence, Janardana? It was for your sake that we welcomed and honored Partha, and it seems the wretch did not deserve our homage. What man of respectable birth breaks the plate he has dined from? Disregarding us and you alike, that Pandava has today outraged Subhadra and courted his own death. He has set his foot on the crown of my head. How am I to bear it, like a snake trodden underfoot? Alone I will make the earth empty of Kauravas today. I will never endure this from Arjuna.” And all the Bhojas, Vrishnis, and Andhakas roared their approval, like kettledrums, like storm clouds.

A key to reading this (the idea): A svayamvara is the marriage-rite in which a girl chooses her own husband. Carrying a bride off by force, the rakshasa marriage, was sanctioned by the shastras for brave Kshatriyas, since the outcome of a svayamvara was always uncertain. Note that the seizing was done on Krishna’s own advice and with the assent of Yudhishthira and Vasudeva. It was a recognized form of marriage, a public one, even though Balarama was outraged by it.

The gist: At the festival on Raivataka, Arjuna was smitten with Subhadra. On Krishna’s advice, and with the assent of Yudhishthira and Vasudeva, Arjuna carried her off by force. Balarama, in fury, was ready to kill Arjuna, while Krishna kept his silence.

Krishna’s resolution and the marriage of Subhadra

When the Vrishni heroes had spoken this way again and again, Krishna at last uttered words of deep import, in keeping with true morality. “Gudakesa has not insulted our family by what he has done; rather he has raised our honor. Partha knows we of the Satwata race are never mercenary, and the son of Pandu holds a self-choice to be uncertain in its outcome. Who would approve of accepting a bride as a gift, as though she were an animal? What man on earth would sell his own child? I think Arjuna, seeing these faults in the other ways, took the maiden by force, according to the ordinance.”

“This alliance is entirely proper. Subhadra is a girl of renown, and Partha too is renowned. Perhaps thinking of all this, Arjuna carried her off. Who would not wish to have Arjuna for a friend, born in the race of Bharata and of the renowned Santanu, and himself the son of Kuntibhoja’s daughter? In all the worlds, with Indra and the Rudras, I see no one who can vanquish Partha by force in battle, save only the three-eyed Mahadeva. His car is famous; my own steeds are yoked to it. So go after Dhananjaya in good cheer, stop him with conciliation, and bring him back. If Partha reaches his city after defeating us by force, our fame is gone. In conciliation there is no disgrace.”

Hearing Krishna’s words, they did as he directed. Stopped by them, Arjuna returned to Dwaraka and was united in marriage with Subhadra. Honored by the Vrishnis, he sported there as he pleased and passed a whole year in Dwaraka. The last year of his exile he passed at the holy region of Pushkara. When the twelve years were complete, he came back to Khandavaprastha. He went first to the king, then paid careful homage to the brahmanas, and last of all he went to Draupadi.

Draupadi, out of jealousy, said to him, “Why do you linger here, son of Kunti? Go where the Satwata girl is. A second tie always loosens the first upon a bundle.” Arjuna soothed her again and again and begged her pardon. Then he went to where Subhadra waited, attired in red silk, and sent her into the inner apartments in the simple dress of a cowherd woman, in which she looked lovelier still. Bhadra of the large, faintly reddened eyes first worshipped Pritha, and Kunti, out of deep affection, smelt the head of the faultless girl and blessed her without end. Then, her face like the full moon, Subhadra went quickly to Draupadi and worshipped her, saying, “I am your maid.” Draupadi rose and embraced Krishna’s sister with love and said, “May your husband be without a foe,” and Bhadra answered gladly, “So be it.” From that time the Pandavas lived in happiness, and Kunti was glad.

The gist: Krishna won the Vrishnis over with a reasoned, lawful defense of Arjuna. Arjuna returned to Dwaraka and married Subhadra, spent one more year there and the last year at Pushkara, then came back to Indraprastha. After a first flash of jealousy, Draupadi received Subhadra with grace.

The Yadavas’ dower and the birth of Abhimanyu

When Krishna, pure of soul and lotus-eyed, heard that Arjuna had reached his fine city of Indraprastha, he came there with Balarama and the other heroes of the Vrishni and Andhaka tribes, with his brothers and sons and many brave warriors. Akrura came, the generalissimo of the Vrishni host, liberal and renowned; and Anadhrishti of great prowess; and Uddhava, of great intelligence, a pupil of Vrihaspati himself; and Satyaka and Salyaka and Kritavarman and Satwata, Pradyumna and Samba and Nisatha and Sanku, Charudeshna and Jhilli and Viprithu, Sarana of the mighty arms, and Gada, foremost of the learned. These and many other Vrishnis and Bhojas and Andhakas came to Indraprastha, bringing many nuptial gifts.

Hearing that Krishna had arrived, King Yudhishthira sent the twins out to receive him, and the prosperous Vrishni host entered Khandavaprastha, which was adorned with flags and ensigns. The streets were swept and watered and decked with wreaths and clusters of flowers, sprinkled with cool and fragrant sandalwood water, and every quarter was rich with the scent of burning aloes. The city was full of glad and healthy people and thronged with merchants and traders.

Krishna, with Balarama and many of the Vrishnis, Andhakas, and Bhojas, entered the town and was worshipped by the citizens and by brahmanas in their thousands, and at last he came to the king’s palace, which was like the mansion of Indra. Seeing Balarama, Yudhishthira received him with due ceremony, and he smelt the head of Krishna and embraced him, and Krishna in turn paid humble homage to him and to Bhima. Then Yudhishthira received the other chief men of the Vrishni and Andhaka tribes, some as his superiors, some as his equals, some with affection, and by some he was himself worshipped.

Then Krishna gave the bridegroom’s party much wealth, and to Subhadra he gave the nuptial presents her kinsmen had prepared. He gave the Pandavas a thousand cars of gold hung with rows of bells, each drawn by four steeds with trained charioteers; ten thousand cows of Mathura, of fine color, yielding much milk; a thousand mares with golden harness, white as the beams of the moon; a thousand mules, trained and swift as the wind, white with black manes; a thousand skilled serving-maids; and hundreds of thousands of draft horses from the land of the Valhikas as Subhadra’s dower, and ten cartloads of the finest gold, bright as fire.

Balarama, wielder of the plough and lover of valor, gave Arjuna as a wedding gift a thousand elephants, each huge as a mountain crest and unstoppable in battle, their temples and ears and flanks streaming with the rut, decked with coverlets and bells and golden ornaments and fine seats upon their backs. That great wave of wealth and gems, with its foam of cloths and blankets, its crocodiles and sharks of elephants, its floating weeds of flags, swelled and mingled with the Pandu ocean and filled it to the brim, to the sorrow of every foe. Yudhishthira accepted the gifts and honored all those great warriors.

The renowned heroes of the Kuru, Vrishni, and Andhaka races passed their days there in pleasure and merriment, like virtuous men in the regions of the blessed, raising now and then loud shouts and clapping of hands. After many days of sport, honored all the while by the Kurus, the Vrishni heroes returned to Dwaravati, with Balarama at their head, carrying the pure-rayed gems the Kurus had given them. But Krishna stayed on with Arjuna in the delightful city of Indraprastha, and wandered the banks of the Yamuna, hunting deer and wild boar with his shafts.

Then Subhadra, Krishna’s beloved sister, gave birth to an illustrious son, as Puloma’s daughter, the queen of heaven, brought forth Jayanta. Long-armed, broad-chested, with eyes wide as a bull’s, that crusher of foes was named Abhimanyu, for he was fearless and full of fire. Begotten by Dhananjaya upon the Satwata girl, he was like fire drawn out of the sami wood by rubbing. At his birth Yudhishthira gave ten thousand cows and coins of gold to the brahmanas, and Krishna performed the rites of infancy.

From his earliest years the child was the darling of Krishna, of his father, and of his uncles, like the moon to all the people of the world. He grew like the moon in its bright fortnight. Soon he was versed in the Vedas, and he acquired from his father the science of weapons, both celestial and human, in its four branches and ten divisions.

Abhimanyu learned as well how to counter the weapons hurled at him, and how to move his hand with great swiftness and lightness, forward and back and sideways and wheeling. He grew like his father in knowledge of scripture and rite. He had the power to slay every foe and bore every auspicious mark upon his body; he was hard to see in battle and broad-shouldered as a bull, proud as a lion, and his prowess, as he wielded his great bow, was that of an elephant in rut. With a face fair as the full moon and a voice deep as a drum or the clouds, he was the equal of Krishna in bravery and energy, in beauty and in form.

The illustrious Panchali too bore five sons from her five husbands, all heroes of the first rank, immovable in battle as the hills: Prativindhya by Yudhishthira, Sutasoma by Bhima, Srutakarma by Arjuna, Satanika by Nakula, and Srutasena by Sahadeva. The brahmanas, foreseeing that Yudhishthira’s son would bear the weapons of his foes as the Vindhya mountains bear all, named him Prativindhya; and the son Draupadi bore to Bhima, born after Bhima had performed a thousand Soma sacrifices, was named Sutasoma.

Arjuna’s son, born on his return from an exile crowded with famous deeds, was named Srutakarma. Nakula named his son Satanika after a royal sage of that name in the illustrious line of Kuru, and the son Draupadi bore to Sahadeva, born under the constellation whose deity is fire, was named Srutasena after Kartikeya, the commander of the celestial host. The sons of Draupadi were born a year apart, and all became renowned and deeply attached to one another. Their rites of infancy and childhood, the first shaving of the head and the investiture with the sacred thread, were performed by Dhaumya according to the ordinance, and after they had studied the Vedas they learned from Arjuna the use of every weapon, celestial and human. Seeing their sons grow to be great warriors, the equals of the children of the gods, the Pandavas were filled with joy.

A key to reading this (the lineage): Draupadi’s five sons are called the Upapandavas: Prativindhya (by Yudhishthira), Sutasoma (by Bhima), Shrutakarma (by Arjuna), Shatanika (by Nakula), and Shrutasena (by Sahadeva). Abhimanyu, Subhadra’s son, will later marry Uttara, and it is his son Parikshit who carries the line forward, since all five Upapandavas and Abhimanyu are killed in the war.

The gist: Krishna and the Yadavas brought a vast dower to Indraprastha. Subhadra bore Abhimanyu, who grew as skilled in arms as his father. Draupadi bore five sons, the Upapandavas, whose rites were performed by Dhaumya.

Yudhishthira’s reign at Indraprastha

The Pandavas, settled at Indraprastha by the command of Dhritarashtra and Bhishma, began to bring other kings under their sway. All the subjects lived in perfect happiness under Yudhishthira the just, as a soul lives happily in a body blessed with auspicious marks and good deeds. He paid homage to virtue, pleasure, and profit in just measure, as though each were a friend dear to him as his own self, and it seemed as if those three pursuits had taken form on earth, with the king shining among them as a fourth.

In Yudhishthira the people found a king devoted to the study of the Vedas, a performer of great sacrifices, a protector of all good men. Under his influence the fortune of every monarch of the earth stood firm, their hearts turned to the meditation of the Supreme, and virtue grew on every side. Set among his four brothers and upheld by them, the king shone the brighter, like a great sacrifice upheld by the four Vedas, and learned brahmanas, with Dhananjaya at their head, waited upon him as the gods wait upon the Lord of creation.

Out of the fullness of their love the eyes and hearts of all the people rested with delight upon Yudhishthira, who was as the full moon without a stain. They took delight in him from sincere affection, and for more than his kingship, and he always did what pleased them. Sweet of speech and great of understanding, he never uttered anything improper or untrue or harsh or unwelcome. So that best of the Bharata monarchs passed his days in happiness, working for the good of all as for his own, while his brothers too, by their energy, brought other kings under their sway and lived without a foe to trouble them.

The gist: Settled at Indraprastha by the command of Dhritarashtra and Bhishma, the Pandavas brought other kings under their sway. By balancing dharma, artha, and kama, Yudhishthira’s kingdom prospered, and the people came to love him with genuine affection.

Agni comes in the form of a brahmin

After some days Arjuna said to Krishna, “The days of summer have set in, Krishna. Let us go to the banks of the Yamuna, and sporting there with our friends we will return in the evening.” Krishna answered, “That is my wish too, son of Kunti. Let us play in the waters as we please, in the company of friends.”

So, having taken counsel and with Yudhishthira’s leave, Partha and Krishna set out surrounded by friends. They reached a fine spot on the Yamuna, thick with tall trees and set with high mansions that made the place look like the city of the gods, where costly and well-flavored food and drink, garlands and perfumes, had been gathered for them, and there the party went in without delay and gave themselves to pleasure, each as he wished.

The women of the party, full-hipped and deep-bosomed, with lovely eyes and steps unsteady with wine, sported at the bidding of Krishna and Partha, some in the woods, some in the water, some within the mansions. Draupadi and Subhadra, merry with wine, gave away their costly robes and ornaments to the women who played there. Some danced for joy and some sang, some laughed and jested and some drank the excellent wines, and the mansions and the woods, filled with the charming music of flutes and lutes and kettledrums, became the very image of Prosperity.

While things stood so, Arjuna and Krishna went off to a charming spot a little apart from the rest and sat down on two costly seats, amusing themselves with talk of many old deeds of valor. As they sat there like the twin Aswins in heaven, a certain brahmin came to them. He looked like a tall sala tree; his complexion was like molten gold, and his beard was a bright yellow tinged with green, his body well-proportioned in height and girth. With matted locks and dressed in rags, he resembled the morning sun, and his eyes, tawny and shaped like lotus petals, seemed to blaze with light. Seeing that splendid brahmin approach, both Arjuna and Krishna rose quickly from their seats and stood, waiting on his word.

The brahmin said to them, “You two, staying so near Khandava, are the foremost heroes on earth. I am a brahmin of great appetite who always eats much. I beg you to gratify me by giving me enough food.” They answered, “Tell us what food will satisfy you, and we will try to give it.” The brahmin, thus questioned, replied, “I do not want ordinary food. Know that I am Agni. Give me the food that suits me. This forest of Khandava is always guarded by Indra, and because he guards it I have never been able to consume it.”

“In that forest lives the naga Takshaka, Indra’s friend, with his followers and family, and it is for his sake that the wielder of the thunderbolt protects it; many other creatures are protected there for Takshaka’s sake. Though I long to consume the forest, I fail, for whenever I blaze up Indra pours water on me from the clouds. I have come to you, who are both skilled in arms. Help me, and I will surely consume this forest, for this is the food I desire. Hold off those showers, and keep any of the creatures from escaping, when I begin to burn it.”

Janamejaya said, “Why did the illustrious Agni wish to consume the forest of Khandava, so full of living creatures and guarded by the chief of the celestials? When Agni burned Khandava in his wrath, there must have been a grave cause. I long to hear it all in detail. Tell me, sage, how the forest of Khandava was consumed in days of old.”

A key to reading this (the idea): Agni’s “food” is the oblation. Here he is afflicted by an illness whose cause the story of Svetaki will soon reveal. Burning Khandava is his medicine, for the fat of the creatures that dwell in it will restore his natural brilliance. Indra guards the forest to protect his friend Takshaka, and that is the root of the coming conflict.

King Svetaki and the malady of Agni

I will tell you the story of the burning of Khandava, said Vaisampayana, as the rishis have told it in the Purana. There was a celebrated king named Svetaki, endowed with strength and prowess, the equal of Indra himself, whom no one on earth matched in sacrifices, charity, and understanding. His heart was ever set on sacrifice and gift, and he performed the five great sacrifices and many more, with large presents to the brahmanas at each.

Assisted by his priests, the wise Svetaki performed sacrifices for many long years, until at last those priests, their eyes wearied and weakened by the endless smoke, left him, wishing never again to serve at his rites. Though the king asked them again and again to come back, they would not, for their eyes were sore. So the king, at his priests’ own bidding, called in others like them and completed the sacrifice he had begun.

Some days later Svetaki wished to perform another sacrifice, one that would run a hundred years, but he could find no priest to help him. Casting off all sloth, the king with his friends and kinsmen courted his priests persistently, with bows and gentle words and gifts of wealth, and still every one of them refused to carry out what he had in mind.

Then the royal sage, growing angry, addressed the brahmanas in their hermitages. “If I were a fallen man, or lacking in service and homage to you, I might deserve to be abandoned without scruple. But since I am neither degraded nor wanting in homage, you ought not to obstruct my sacrifice or forsake me without good cause. I seek your protection; be gracious to me. But if you abandon me out of mere enmity, I will go to other priests, and by kind words and gifts I will lay the matter before them, so they may accomplish it.” And with that he fell silent.

The priests, knowing well they could not serve at the king’s sacrifice, made a show of anger and said, “Best of kings, your sacrifices never cease. Serving you always, we are worn out, and being wearied by these labors we ask your leave. In your loss of judgment you urge us on and on. Go to Rudra. He will serve at your sacrifice.” Stung by those words of censure, Svetaki grew angry, and going to the mountains of Kailasa he gave himself to austerities.

He worshipped Mahadeva with fixed attention and the most rigid vows, going without food for long stretches, eating only fruits and roots, and sometimes only at the twelfth or the sixteenth hour of the day. For six months the king stood rapt, arms upraised and eyes unmoving, like the trunk of a tree or a rooted column. At last Sankara, gratified with that austerity, showed himself and said in a calm, grave voice, “I am pleased with your penance, O tiger among kings. Ask now the boon you desire.”

The royal sage bowed and replied, “If you are pleased with me, then, god of gods, come and serve at my sacrifice yourself.” The god, well pleased, said with a smile, “We do not ourselves serve at sacrifices; but since you have undergone such penance for the sake of a boon, I will assist at your sacrifice, on one condition. If for twelve years, without a break, you can pour libations of clarified butter into the fire, leading all the while the life of a celibate with rapt attention, then you shall have from me what you ask.”

Svetaki did everything the wielder of the trident directed, and when the twelve years had passed he came again to Maheswara. Seeing him, Sankara said with great satisfaction, “I am pleased with you for this deed of yours. But the duty of serving at sacrifices belongs to the brahmanas. So I will not serve at yours myself. There is on earth an exalted brahmin who is a portion of my own self, known by the name of Durvasa. He will assist you. Let every preparation be made.”

Hearing this, the king returned to his capital and gathered all that was needed. When everything was ready, he came again before Rudra and said, “Every article is collected and my preparations are complete, through your grace, god of gods. Let me be installed at the sacrifice tomorrow.” Then Rudra summoned Durvasa and said, “This is Svetaki, best of kings. At my command, best of brahmanas, assist him in his sacrifice.” And Durvasa said, “So be it.”

Then the sacrifice for which Svetaki had made all these preparations took place, performed according to the ordinance and in its proper season, and the gifts to the brahmanas were large. When it ended, the priests departed with Durvasa’s leave, and the assembled sages went their ways, and the king entered his palace, worshipped by learned brahmanas, praised by the chanters of hymns, and congratulated by the citizens.

Such was the story of that royal sage Svetaki, who in his time won great renown on earth and, when the hour came, ascended to heaven in the company of the priests and sages who had helped him in life.

At Svetaki’s sacrifice, Agni had drunk clarified butter for twelve years, poured into his mouth in one unbroken stream. Having drunk so much, Agni was so satiated that he wished never again to take butter from anyone’s hand at any other sacrifice. He turned pale and lost his color and could no longer shine as before; his appetite failed from surfeit, his energy dwindled, and sickness came upon him.

When the drinker of the sacrificial libations saw his energy slowly failing, he went to the holy abode of Brahma, worshipped by all. Coming before the great Deity on his seat, Agni said, “Exalted one, Svetaki has gratified me to excess, and I am suffering from a surfeit I cannot throw off. I am dwindling in splendor and strength. Through your grace I wish to regain my own lasting nature.” Brahma smiled and answered, “For twelve years you have eaten an unbroken stream of sacrificial butter, and that is why this illness has seized you. But grieve not.”

“That dreadful forest of Khandava, the refuge of the enemies of the gods, which you once burned to ashes long ago at the gods’ request, has now become the home of countless creatures. When you have eaten the fat of those creatures, you will regain your own nature. Go there in haste and consume that forest with all its living population, and you will be cured of your malady.”

Hearing these words of the Supreme Deity, Agni set off in haste and soon reached Khandava in full vigor. There he blazed up in fury, with Vayu to help him. Seeing Khandava on fire, its dwellers strove mightily to put it out. Elephants by the hundreds of thousands rushed up in anger and threw water from their trunks, and thousands of many-hooded serpents scattered water from their hoods, and the other creatures of the forest by every device quenched the fire. In this way Agni blazed up in Khandava seven times over, and seven times the dwellers of the forest put him out.

A sub-tale: The story of Svetaki is an example of the Mahabharata’s habit of tucking a small tale behind a great event. The priests fleeing, worn out by the smoke; the king going to Rudra; Rudra appointing Durvasa: the end of it all is that Agni, drinking ghee for twelve years, fell ill. That illness becomes the seed of the burning of Khandava. One king’s devotion to sacrifice becomes, in the end, the distant cause of the ruin of an entire forest.

The gist: At the hundred-year sacrifice of King Svetaki, for which Durvasa officiated at Rudra’s prompting, Agni drank ghee without pause for twelve years and fell sick from surfeit. Brahma told him to cure himself by consuming the fat of the creatures of Khandava, but under Indra’s protection its dwellers quenched the fire seven times.

The divine weapons: Gandiva, the discus, and the chariot

Then Agni, in anger and disappointment, his malady still uncured, went back to the Grandsire and laid before him all that had happened. Brahma reflected a moment and said, “Sinless one, I see a way for you to consume Khandava this very day, in the sight of Indra himself. Those ancient gods Nara and Narayana have taken birth in the world of men to accomplish the gods’ work; on earth they are called Arjuna and Vasudeva, and they are staying now in the forest of Khandava. Ask them to help you. Then you will consume the forest even though the celestials guard it, for they will keep its creatures from escaping and thwart Indra as well. Of this I have no doubt.”

Hearing this, Agni came in haste to Krishna and Partha and made the plea I have already told. When he had spoken, Arjuna said words fit to the occasion. “I have countless excellent celestial weapons with which I could fight even many wielders of the thunderbolt. But I have no bow equal to the strength of my arms and able to bear the might I would put forth in battle, and because my hands are so swift I need arrows that can never be spent. My car cannot carry the load of arrows I would keep by me. I want white celestial steeds swift as the wind, and a car with the splendor of the sun and wheels that roar like the clouds. And there is no weapon suited to Krishna’s power, with which he may slay nagas and pisachas. Give us, exalted one, the means by which we may succeed and hold Indra off from raining upon that great forest. We are ready to do all that manhood and prowess can do.”

Thus addressed, the smoke-bannered Agni, wishing to speak with Varuna, called to mind that son of Aditi who guards one quarter of the sky and rules the element of water. Knowing himself remembered, Varuna at once appeared, and Agni welcomed him with reverence and said, “Give me without delay that bow and quiver, and the ape-bannered car as well, which were obtained from King Soma. Partha will achieve a great work with Gandiva, and Vasudeva with the discus. Give me both today.”

Varuna replied, “Very well, I give them,” and he handed over that wonderful jewel of a bow, charged with great power. It was the enhancer of fame and of great deeds, proof against every weapon, the chief of all arms and the grinder of them, the smiter of hostile armies, alone equal to a hundred thousand bows, the multiplier of kingdoms, variegated with lovely colors, beautiful to behold and flawless in every part, worshipped by the celestials and the gandharvas alike.

Varuna also gave two inexhaustible quivers, and a car fitted with celestial weapons, its banner bearing a great ape, yoked to steeds white as the fleecy clouds, born in the region of the gandharvas, harnessed in gold and swift as the wind or the mind. It could not be vanquished by celestials or asuras; its splendor was that of the sun, and the sound of its wheels was tremendous, and it gladdened the heart of every creature that looked on it. Vishvakarma had made it after severe meditation, and it was the very car from which the lord Soma had once vanquished the danavas. Upon its golden flagstaff sat a celestial ape, fierce as a lion or a tiger, that seemed bent on burning all it beheld, and on the other flags were great creatures whose roars made the enemy’s soldiers faint.

Then Arjuna, armored, girt with his sword and his fingers cased in leather, walked round that splendid car and bowed to the gods and mounted it as a righteous man mounts the celestial car that bears him to heaven. Taking up that first of bows, made by Brahma of old and called Gandiva, he was filled with joy, and bowing to Agni he strung it with force, and those who heard the sound quaked with fear. Now that he had the car, the bow, and the two inexhaustible quivers, the son of Kunti was glad and thought himself fit for the work.

Then Agni gave Krishna a discus with an iron pole set through a hole in its center, a fiery weapon that became his favorite. “With this, slayer of Madhu, you will be able to conquer even foes who are not human,” he said, “to stand above men and gods and rakshasas and pisachas, daityas and nagas alike. Hurled by you at your foes in battle, it will slay them without fail and return again to your hand.” And Varuna gave Krishna a mace named Kaumodaki, able to slay every daitya and, when hurled, roaring like the thunder.

Then Arjuna and Krishna, filled with joy, said to Agni, “Exalted one, furnished now with weapons and skilled in their use, with cars and their flags and standards, we are able to fight even all the celestials and asuras together, let alone the wielder of the thunderbolt come to fight for the sake of his naga. Blaze forth as you please, ringing this great forest on every side. We are well able to help you.”

A key to reading this (the idea): Here Arjuna receives the Gandiva bow, two inexhaustible quivers, and the ape-bannered chariot, the monkey-standard from which Arjuna is called Kapidhvaja; and Krishna receives the Sudarshana discus and the Kaumodaki mace. These are the very weapons that will stay with them through the whole war of the Mahabharata. Gandiva was first fashioned by Brahma, then passed by way of Soma to Varuna.

The burning of Khandava and the battle with Indra

So addressed by Krishna and Arjuna, the illustrious god put on his most fearsome form and set about consuming the forest. Ringing it on every side with his seven flames, he began to devour Khandava, showing the all-consuming shape he wears at the end of a cosmic age. Catching the forest from all sides with a roar like thunder, Agni made every creature within it tremble, and the burning forest blazed like Mount Meru struck with the fallen rays of the sun.

Then those foremost of chariot-warriors took their places on opposite sides of the forest and began a great slaughter of the creatures on every side. Wherever a creature was seen trying to flee, there the two heroes rushed to head it off, until the two cars seemed as one and the two warriors as a single man. As the forest burned, hundreds of thousands of living things ran about with terrible cries. Some had their limbs scorched, some were seared by the heat, some ran wild with fear. Some clasped their children or their parents and, unable to abandon those they loved, died where they stood. Some bit their lips and rose upward, then fell whirling into the blaze below, and some rolled on the ground with wings and eyes and feet burned away.

The tanks and ponds of the forest, heated all round by the fire, began to boil, and their fish and turtles perished. The birds that took wing to escape were pierced by Arjuna’s shafts and fell in pieces into the burning element, crying aloud, and the creatures struck by his arrows roared and yelled with a clamor like the churning of the ocean of old. The mighty flames, reaching to the sky, brought great anxiety upon the celestials themselves.

So all the dwellers in heaven went in a body to Indra of the hundred sacrifices and the thousand eyes and said, “Why, lord of the immortals, does Agni burn these creatures below? Has the hour come for the destruction of the world?” Hearing this, and seeing for himself what Agni was doing, the slayer of Vritra set out to protect the forest of Khandava.

Covering the sky with masses of clouds of every kind, Indra began to pour rain upon the burning forest, and his clouds, by the hundreds of thousands, sent down showers thick as the flagstaffs of war-chariots. But the showers were dried up in the sky itself by the heat and never reached the fire. Then Indra, growing angry, gathered still greater masses of clouds and loosed a heavy downpour, and with the flames fighting the driving rain and the clouds massed overhead, the forest, full of smoke and flashes of lightning, was a terror to behold.

Then Arjuna, calling up his finest weapons, held back Indra’s downpour with a shower of shafts of his own. He covered the forest of Khandava with countless arrows as the moon covers the sky with a thick mist, and when the heavens above the forest were roofed with his arrows, no living thing could escape from below.

Now it happened that while the forest burned, Takshaka, king of the nagas, was not there, having gone at that time to the field of Kurukshetra. But his mighty son Aswasena was there, and he struggled hard to escape, though hemmed in by Arjuna’s shafts he found no way out. His mother, the daughter of a snake, resolved to save him by swallowing him, and she swallowed his head first and then began upon his tail; and wishing to save her son, the serpent rose up while still swallowing him. But Arjuna, seeing her escaping, struck her head from her body with one sharp, keen-edged arrow.

Indra saw all this, and wishing to save his friend’s son, the wielder of the thunderbolt raised a violent wind and robbed Arjuna of his senses, and in those few moments Aswasena made his escape. Seeing that show of illusion, and deceived by the snake, Arjuna in his fury cut every creature that sought to flee by the sky into two and three and more pieces, and he and Agni and Krishna cursed the serpent that had escaped so treacherously, saying, “You shall never be famous.”

Then Arjuna, remembering the trick played on him, grew angry and, roofing the sky with a cloud of arrows, sought to fight the thousand-eyed god. Indra, seeing Arjuna’s wrath, rose to meet him and hurled his fierce weapons, and the winds, stirring all the oceans, brought together clouds heavy with rain that vomited thunder and lightning. But Arjuna, knowing the means, loosed the weapon called Vayavya with its proper mantras to scatter the clouds, and the force of Indra’s thunderbolt was undone; the rain dried up, the lightning died, and in a moment the sky was cleared of dust and gloom, a cool breeze blew, and the disc of the sun returned to its own state. Then Agni, glad that none could baffle him, took many forms, and sprinkled with the fat of the creatures, blazed up with all his flames and filled the world with his roar.

A sub-tale: Aswasena’s escape will bear heavy fruit later. Filled with his mother’s death and Arjuna’s curse, this naga will come in the war at Kurukshetra hidden inside a shaft of Karna’s, seeking Arjuna’s death. So a single creature spared from the burning of Khandava becomes the seed of the later story. This is the very weave of the Mahabharata, where no event stands alone.

The war of the gods and their defeat

Then many birds of the tribe of Garuda, seeing the forest guarded by Krishna and Arjuna, came down in pride from the upper skies to strike the heroes with their thunderous wings and beaks and claws, and countless nagas, their faces breathing fire, came at Arjuna spitting the deadliest venom. Seeing them come, Arjuna cut them to pieces with arrows steeped in the fire of his own wrath, and lifeless they fell into the burning element below.

And there came, hungry for battle, countless asuras with gandharvas and yakshas and rakshasas and nagas, sending forth terrible yells, armed with engines that hurled iron balls and bullets from their throats, and catapults for great stones, and rockets. They pressed forward to strike Krishna and Partha, their strength swelled by rage, but though they rained down weapons, Arjuna, rebuking them, struck off their heads with his sharp arrows, and Krishna made a great slaughter of the daityas and danavas with his discus, until many an asura of measureless might, pierced and battered, lay motionless like driftwood stranded on a bank by the waves.

Then Indra, riding his white elephant, rushed at the heroes and took up his thunderbolt, which could never fail, and hurled it with great force, and the slayer of asuras said to the gods, “These two are slain.” Seeing the fierce bolt about to fly, the celestials took up their several weapons: Yama his death-dealing mace, Kuvera his spiked club, Varuna his noose and lovely missile, and Skanda his long lance, standing motionless as Meru. The Aswins stood with shining plants in their hands, Dhatri bow in hand, Jaya with a heavy club, Tvashtri lifting a whole mountain in wrath, Surya with a bright dart, and Death itself with a battle-axe. Aryaman stalked about with a spiked bludgeon and Mitra held a discus sharp as a razor, and Pusha and Bhaga and Savitri rushed at Krishna and Partha with bows and scimitars, and the Rudras and the Vasus, the mighty Maruts, the Viswedevas and the Sadhyas, and many another god, armed with every weapon, charged upon those two among men to strike them down.

Then wonderful portents appeared on every side, robbing each creature of its wits, like those that come at the dissolution of the world. But Arjuna and Krishna, fearless and unconquerable, seeing Indra and the gods arrayed for battle, waited calmly with their bows in hand, and skilled in war they fell in fury upon the advancing host with their thunderous arrows. Routed again and again by Krishna and Arjuna, the celestials at last left the field in fear and sought Indra’s protection, and the sages watching from the sky were filled with wonder.

Even so, Indra, seeing their prowess again and again, was gratified, and once more he rushed to the assault. He loosed a heavy shower of stones, wishing to test the might of Arjuna, who could draw the bow even with his left hand, and Arjuna in great wrath scattered the shower with his arrows. Then Indra sent a thicker shower still, and again the son of the god baffled it with his swift arrows, gladdening his father. Then Indra tore a great peak from Mount Mandara, with its tall trees upon it, and hurled it, but Arjuna split the peak into a thousand pieces with his fire-mouthed arrows. The fragments, falling through the sky, looked like the sun and moon and planets flung from their places, and the huge peak crashed down upon the forest and by its fall killed many of the creatures that dwelt in Khandava.

A key to reading this (the idea): The moral fold worth noticing here is that Arjuna is fighting his own father, Indra, who is at once angered and delighted by his son’s valor. At the same time, standing with Agni and Krishna, Arjuna is slaughtering the countless creatures of an entire forest, children and parents alike. The teller does not hide this destruction; he dwells at length on the suffering of the burning creatures. This is the same doubleness of heroism and ruin that carries the Mahabharata past any simple division of good and evil.

Indra’s withdrawal and the sparing of Maya

Then the dwellers of the forest, the danavas and rakshasas and nagas, the wolves and bears and other wild beasts, the elephants with rent temples, the tigers and maned lions, the deer and buffaloes by the hundreds, the birds and every other creature, terrified by the falling stones and wild with dread, began to fly in all directions. They saw the forest burning all around them and Krishna and Arjuna ready with their weapons, and frightened by the terrible din they lost the power to move, and set up a frightful roar that, with the roar of the fire, filled the whole sky like the voice of doom.

To compass their destruction, dark and mighty-armed Krishna hurled his great and fearsome discus, bright with its own energy, and the forest-dwellers, danavas and rakshasas alike, cut into hundreds of pieces, fell into the mouth of Agni. Mangled by the discus and smeared with blood and fat, the asuras looked like clouds at evening, and Krishna moved among them like death itself, slaying pisachas and birds and nagas by the thousands, and the discus, hurled again and again from his hand, came back to him after killing creatures beyond number.

No celestial gathered there could vanquish Krishna and Arjuna in battle. When the gods saw that by putting out the fire they could not save the forest from the might of the two, they drew back from the field. Then Indra of the hundred sacrifices, seeing the immortals retreat, was filled with joy and praised Krishna and Arjuna.

When the celestials gave up the fight, a bodiless voice, deep and loud, spoke to Indra. “Your friend Takshaka, the chief of snakes, has not been slain; before the fire began in Khandava he had gone to Kurukshetra. Know from my words, Indra, that Vasudeva and Arjuna cannot be conquered in battle by anyone. They are Nara and Narayana, those gods of old spoken of in heaven. You know their energy and their prowess. Unconquerable in battle, these best of the ancient rishis cannot be overcome by any in all the worlds. They deserve the deepest reverence of all celestials and asuras, of yakshas and rakshasas and gandharvas, of men and kinnaras and nagas. Go hence, then, with all the celestials. The destruction of Khandava has been ordained by Fate.” Then Indra, finding those words true, cast off his wrath and jealousy and went back to heaven, and the dwellers in heaven followed him with all their host.

When Krishna and Arjuna saw the chief of the celestials withdraw with all the gods, they set up a lion’s roar, and after Indra had left, they were glad indeed and gave themselves fearlessly to the burning of the forest. Arjuna scattered the celestials as the wind scatters the clouds and slew with showers of arrows the countless creatures of Khandava, so that none, cut off by his shafts, could escape the flames. Far from fighting him, not even the strongest could look upon Arjuna, whose weapons never failed. Now piercing a hundred creatures with a single shaft, now a single creature with a hundred, he moved about in his car, and the creatures, robbed of life, fell into the mouth of Agni as though struck down by death itself.

On riverbanks, on open plains, on burning grounds, wherever they sought shelter the creatures found no ease, for the heat afflicted them everywhere. Hosts of them roared in pain, and elephants and deer and wolves cried out, and the fish of the Ganges and the sea and the tribes of the Vidyadharas were seized with fear. No one, mighty-armed king, could so much as gaze at dark Krishna and Arjuna, let alone give battle. Krishna slew with his discus the rakshasas and danavas and nagas that rushed at him in bands, their huge bodies cut through, their heads and trunks lopped away, so that lifeless they fell into the blaze. Fed with heaps of flesh and blood and fat, the flames rose to a great height with never a wreath of smoke, and Agni, with blazing coppery eyes and flaming tongue and wide mouth, the hair of his crown all fire, drinking that stream of animal fat with the help of Krishna and Arjuna, was filled with joy.

Then it happened that Krishna suddenly saw an asura named Maya fleeing from the abode of Takshaka. Agni, with Vayu for his charioteer, taking on a body with matted locks and roaring like the clouds, pursued him, meaning to consume him, and Krishna stood with his weapon raised, ready to strike him down. Seeing the uplifted discus and Agni pursuing him from behind, Maya cried, “Run to me, Arjuna, and protect me!” Hearing that frightened voice, Arjuna said, “Fear not,” and that word seemed to give Maya his life. Since the merciful son of Pritha had told Maya there was nothing to fear, Krishna no longer wished to slay the asura, the brother of Namuchi, and Agni did not burn him.

Protected from Indra by Krishna and Partha, Agni burned that forest for fifteen days. And of all its dwellers he spared only six: Aswasena, Maya, and four birds called the sarngakas.

A key to reading this (the numbers, in modern terms): Agni burned the forest for fifteen days, and only six creatures survived: the naga Aswasena, the asura-architect Maya, and four sarngaka birds. Maya is the same danava craftsman who, in gratitude for being saved by Arjuna, will later build for the Pandavas the famed illusion-filled assembly hall of Indraprastha, in which Duryodhana’s mistaking of water for solid floor, and his fall, will turn the story toward its later course.

The gist: With the gods routed and a bodiless voice declaring Krishna and Arjuna to be Nara and Narayana, Indra too withdrew. Arjuna and Krishna carried on the slaughter unopposed. The asura Maya was spared under Arjuna’s protection, and in fifteen days Agni reduced the forest to ash, leaving only six creatures alive.

The rishi Mandapala and the birth of the sarngaka birds

Janamejaya said, “Brahmana, tell me why Agni, burning the forest in that way, did not consume the birds called sarngakas. You have told the cause of Aswasena and the danava Maya being spared, but you have not yet said why the sarngakas escaped. Their escape seems wonderful to me. Tell us why they were not destroyed in that dreadful fire.”

Vaisampayana said, “I will tell you why Agni did not burn those birds. There was a great rishi named Mandapala, versed in all the shastras, of rigid vows, devoted to austerity, foremost among the virtuous. Following the path of the sages who had drawn up their seed, with every sense under control, he gave himself to study and to virtue. Having crossed to the far shore of asceticism, he left his human form and went to the region of the ancestors, but there he did not find the fruit he had expected. He asked the celestials seated around Yama why those regions were closed to him, saying, ‘Why are these regions, which I thought I had won by my austerities, beyond my reach? Have I not done the deeds whose fruit these regions are? Tell me, dwellers in heaven, and I will do what will bring me the fruit of my penances.’”

The celestials answered, “Hear, brahmana, the deeds and duties for which men are born as debtors. It is for religious rites, for study according to the ordinance, and for offspring that men are born debtors, and these debts are discharged by sacrifice, by austerity, and by children. You are an ascetic and have performed sacrifices, but you have no offspring, and these regions are closed to you only for want of children. The Vedas declare that a son rescues his father from a hell called Put. Strive, then, to beget offspring.”

Having heard the words of the dwellers in heaven, Mandapala considered how he might obtain the most offspring in the shortest time. Reflecting, he understood that of all creatures the birds alone were blessed with quick increase. So, taking the form of a sarngaka, the rishi joined with a female bird of that species named Jarita, and begot upon her four sons, all reciters of the Vedas. Leaving those sons with their mother while they were still within the eggs, the ascetic went off to another wife named Lapita. Forsaken in the forest of Khandava, Jarita, anxious in her love for them, could not abandon her offspring, those infant rishis within the eggs, and moved by a mother’s love she raised them, following the ways of her own kind.

Some time after, wandering the forest in Lapita’s company, the rishi saw Agni coming to burn Khandava down. Knowing Agni’s intent and remembering that his children were young, Mandapala, moved by fear, sought to gratify the god, that regent of the universe, so that he might put in a word for his unfledged offspring.

Addressing Agni, the rishi said, “You, Agni, are the mouth of all the worlds. You are the carrier of the sacrificial butter. Purifier of all sins, you move unseen within the frame of every creature. The learned have spoken of you as one, and again as of threefold nature; the wise offer their sacrifices before you as one of eight mouths. The great rishis say this universe was made by you, and without you the whole of it would perish in a single day. Bowing to you, the brahmanas with their wives and children go to the eternal regions their deeds have won. The learned name you the clouds in the heavens, charged with lightning, and your flames consume every creature. This universe was created by you; the Vedas are your word; all things that move and are still depend on you. You are the consumer and the creator; you are Vrihaspati in wisdom, you are the twin Aswins, you are Surya, you are Soma, you are Vayu.”

Gratified by this praise, Agni, well pleased, replied, “What good can I do you?” Then Mandapala said with joined palms, “While you burn the forest of Khandava, spare my children.” And the bearer of the sacrificial butter answered, “So be it.” It was for this reason that, while consuming the forest, Agni did not blaze up to destroy Mandapala’s children.

A key to reading this (the idea): An urdhvareta is an ascetic who has turned his seed upward, that is, one who keeps complete celibacy. The irony is that even so great an ascetic as Mandapala was denied the higher worlds for want of children, since in the Vedic tradition a son (putra) is held to be the one who rescues his father from the hell called Put. This is what drives the rishi to take the form of a bird and beget offspring quickly.

Jarita’s lament and the resolve of her chicks

When the fire blazed up in the forest of Khandava, the infant birds were in great distress, and full of dread they saw no way of escape. Their mother, the helpless Jarita, knowing they were too young to flee, was overcome with sorrow and wept aloud. “The terrible fire, lighting the whole world and burning the forest down, comes toward us and swells my grief,” she cried. “These infants of half-formed minds, without feathers or feet, the one refuge of my departed ancestors, break my heart. The fire draws near, spreading fear on every side, licking the tallest trees, and my unfledged children cannot escape. I cannot flee and take them all with me, nor can I abandon them, for my heart aches for them. Which of my sons shall I leave, and which carry away? What can I do now that is right? I will cover you with my wings and die with you.”

“Your cruel father left me a while ago, saying, ‘On this Jaritari, my eldest, my race will depend; my second, Sarisrikka, will beget offspring to spread my line; my third, Stambamitra, will be devoted to austerity; and my youngest, Drona, will become foremost among those learned in the Vedas.’ But how has this terrible calamity fallen on us? Whom shall I take with me? Robbed of judgment, what shall I do that is right? For all my thought, I see no way to save my children from the fire.”

To their lamenting mother the infants said, “Mother, set aside your love for us and go to a place where there is no fire. If we are killed here, you may have other children born to you; but if you are killed, our race can have no more children. Weighing both these losses, the time has come, mother, to do what is best for our race. Do not be swayed by a love for your offspring that will destroy both us and you. If you save yourself, our father, who longs for the regions of the blessed, may have his wish fulfilled.”

Hearing this, Jarita replied, “There is a hole here in the ground near this tree, a mouse’s burrow. Go into it without delay, and you will have no fear of fire. Once you are in, I will cover its mouth with dust, and when the fire is out I will come back and clear it away. This is the only means of escape I see. Follow my counsel if you are to live.”

The infant birds replied, “Without feathers we are only so many lumps of flesh, and if we enter the hole the flesh-eating mouse will surely destroy us all. Seeing this danger, we cannot enter. We see no way to escape the fire or the mouse. If we go into the hole, the mouse will kill us; if we stay, the fire will. Weighing both, a death by fire is better than a death by being eaten. To be devoured by the mouse in the hole is an ignoble end, while the wise approve of the body’s destruction in fire.”

Jarita said, “The little mouse that came out of this hole was seized by a hawk in its claws and carried off. So you may enter without fear.” The young ones answered, “We are not sure that mouse was taken by the hawk; there may be other mice living here, and from them we have every reason to fear. Whether the fire will reach us here is doubtful, for already we see an adverse wind blowing the flames away. In the hole, death is certain at the hands of its dwellers; where we are, death is uncertain. And a place where death is uncertain is better than one where it is sure. It is your duty, mother, to save yourself, for if you live you may have other children as good as we.”

Their mother said, “Children, I saw with my own eyes the mighty hawk, best of birds, swoop down and fly off with the mouse from the hole, and as he flew swiftly away I followed and blessed him for it. ‘King of hawks,’ I said, ‘because you fly off with our enemy the mouse in your claws, may you dwell foeless in heaven with a body of gold.’ Afterward, when the hawk had eaten the mouse, I came away with his leave. So enter this hole trustfully, children; you have nothing to fear. Its dweller was seized and carried off by the hawk before my eyes.”

The young ones said again, “Mother, we do not know for certain that the mouse was carried off by the hawk, and we cannot enter this hole without being sure. Nor do we say that you are quieting our fears with a false tale, for whatever is done by one whose reason is troubled can hardly be called a deliberate act. You have gained nothing from us, and you do not even know who we are. Why should you strive to save us at such cost to yourself? Who are we to you? You are young and lovely, and able to seek out your husband. Go to your husband; you will have good children again. Let us, by entering the fire, reach the regions of the blessed. And if the fire does not consume us, you may come back and have us again.”

Thus addressed by her sons, the mother bird left them in Khandava and went in haste to a spot where there was no fire and she was safe. Then Agni, with fierce flames, rushed to the place where the sons of Mandapala were, and the young birds saw the blazing fire come toward them. Then Jaritari, the eldest of the four, began to speak in the hearing of Agni.

A sub-tale: Notice that the infant birds reason with their mother that certain death by the mouse in the hole is worse than uncertain death in the fire, and that she should save her own life so the line may continue. This dialogue belongs to the Mahabharata’s deep manner, where even tiny birds debate dharma, duty, and the preservation of the line as subtly as great rishis and kings. Here the children tell their mother that affection unsettles judgment, and that she must decide by reason.

The child-rishis’ hymn to Agni

Jaritari said, “He who is wise stays awake in the face of death, and when the hour of death comes he feels no pangs. But the man of clouded soul, who does not stay awake, feels the pangs of death when the hour comes, and never attains release.”

The second brother, Sarisrikka, said, “You are patient and wise. The time has come when our lives are in danger, and truly, one only among many becomes wise and brave.”

The third brother, Stambamitra, said, “The eldest brother is called the protector, for it is the eldest who rescues the younger ones from danger. If the eldest himself fails to save them, what can the younger do?”

The fourth and youngest brother, Drona, said, “The cruel god of fire, with seven tongues and seven mouths, comes swiftly toward our home, blazing in splendor and licking up everything in his path.”

Having spoken to one another so, the sons of Mandapala then each raised a hymn of praise to Agni. Hear now those hymns.

Jaritari said, “You, O fire, are the soul of the air. You are the body of the earth’s green growth. Water is your parent, and you are the parent of water. Your flames, like the rays of the sun, reach above, below, behind, and on every side.”

Sarisrikka said, “Smoke-bannered god, our mother is nowhere to be seen, and we do not know our father. Our feathers have not yet grown, and we have none to protect us but you. So protect us, infants that we are, with your auspicious form and your seven flames. We seek shelter at your hands. You alone give heat to all the worlds; there is none but you to give heat to the rays of the sun. Protect us, who are young and who are rishis. Carrier of the sacrificial butter, be pleased to pass on by some other road.”

Stambamitra said, “You alone are all things. This whole universe is set within you. You sustain every creature and uphold the world. You are the carrier of the sacrificial butter, and you are the excellent butter itself. The wise know you as one in cause and many in effects. Having made the three worlds, you again destroy them when the time comes, swelling forth. You are the productive cause of the whole universe, and the essence into which it dissolves.”

Drona said, “Lord of the universe, dwelling within their bodies, you cause the food that living creatures eat to be digested, and so all things rest in you. O you from whose mouth the Vedas have sprung, it is you who take the form of the sun, drawing up the waters and the juices of the earth and giving them back in time as rain, making all things grow. From you are these plants and green creepers; from you these tanks and pools, and the great and ever-blessed ocean. O fierce-rayed one, our bodies rest upon Varuna, the water-god, and we cannot bear your heat. Be, then, our auspicious protector. Do not destroy us. Copper-eyed god, red of neck, whose path is marked by black, save us by going along some far road, as the ocean saves the house upon its bank.”

Gratified by what Drona, that speaker of Brahma, had said, and remembering the promise he had made to Mandapala, Agni replied, “You are a rishi, Drona, for what you have said is sacred truth. I will do your pleasure. Fear not. Mandapala spoke to me, asking that I spare his sons while I consumed the forest. His words and yours carry great weight with me. Say what I am to do, for your hymn has greatly pleased me. Blessed are you, brahmana.”

Drona said, “O Agni, these cats trouble us every day. Consume them, with their friends and kin.” Then Agni did what the sarngakas asked, telling them his intent, and growing in strength he went on to consume the forest of Khandava.

The gist: The rishi Mandapala, denied the higher worlds for want of children, had taken the form of a bird and begotten four sons on Jarita, and had won from Agni a promise to spare them. As the fire closed in, Jarita’s lament and her chicks’ clear-eyed reasoning played out, and in the end the four child-rishis’ hymn to Agni won their lives.

Mandapala’s return and Agni’s boon

Though he had spoken to the fierce-rayed god for their sake, the rishi Mandapala grew very anxious about his children, and his mind found no peace. Troubled for his sons, he said to Lapita, who was with him then, “Lapita, how are my children, who cannot yet move about? When the fire grows strong and the wind blows hard, they will scarcely be able to save themselves. How will their mother rescue them? That innocent woman will be sunk in sorrow when she finds she cannot save her young. How will she bear it, crying out for my children who cannot take wing or rise into the air? How is Jaritari, my son, and how is Sarisrikka, and how is Stambamitra, and how is Drona, and how their helpless mother?”

To the rishi weeping thus in the forest, Lapita, moved by jealousy, replied, “You need not fret for your children, who, as you have assured me, are all rishis endowed with energy and prowess. They can have no fear of fire. Did you not speak to Agni in my presence on their behalf, and did the god not promise to save them? As one of the regents of the universe, he will never break his word. You have no cause for anxiety, nor is your heart set on the good of friends. It is only by thinking of Jarita, my rival, that you are so distraught. Go, then, to Jarita, for whom your heart grieves. For myself, I shall wander alone from now on, a fit reward for having given myself to a wicked man.”

Hearing this, Mandapala said, “I do not wander the earth with the intentions you imagine. It is only for the sake of offspring that I am here, and even the offspring I have are now in danger. He who casts off what he has for the sake of what he may gain is a wicked man, disregarded and scorned by the world. As for you, you are free to do as you choose. This blazing fire that licks up the trees fills my anxious heart with sorrow and stirs dark forebodings in it.”

Meanwhile, after the fire had passed from the place where the sarngakas dwelt, Jarita, in her love for her children, came hurrying to see how they were. She found that all of them had escaped the fire and were well. Seeing their mother, they wept though they were safe and sound, and she too shed tears at finding them alive, and embraced them one by one.

Just then the rishi Mandapala arrived. But none of his sons showed any joy at the sight of him. The rishi spoke to them one after another, and to Jarita again and again, but neither his sons nor Jarita said a word to him, good or ill, in return.

Mandapala said, “Which of these is your firstborn, and who comes after him? Who is the third, and who the youngest? I am speaking to you in sorrow; why do you not answer me? I left you, it is true, but I was not happy where I was.”

Jarita said, “What is the eldest to you, and what the next, and what the third, and what the youngest? Go now to that Lapita of the sweet smiles and the youth, to whom you went of old when you found me lacking in everything.” Mandapala answered, “For women there is nothing so destructive of their happiness, in this world or the next, as a co-wife or a secret lover; nothing else so inflames enmity and stirs such anxiety. Even the auspicious and well-behaved Arundhati, honored among all creatures, grew jealous of the pure and illustrious Vasishtha, ever devoted to his wife’s good, and insulted that wise sage among the seven. For those insulting thoughts of hers she became a little star, like fire mixed with smoke, now seen and now unseen, among the seven bright stars of the rishis, like an omen of no good. I look to you for the sake of children, and I never wronged you, as Vasishtha never wronged his wife. But you, in your jealousy, have behaved toward me as Arundhati once behaved toward Vasishtha.”

After this, all his children came forward to honor him, and he spoke kindly to them all, giving them every assurance.

Mandapala then said to his children, “I spoke to Agni for the safety of you all, and the god assured me he would grant my wish. Trusting Agni’s words, and knowing your mother’s virtuous nature and the great energy in yourselves, I did not come to you earlier. So harbor no resentment against me in your hearts. You are all rishis learned in the Vedas, and even Agni knows you well.”

Having so reassured his sons, the brahmana Mandapala took his wife and sons and, leaving that region, went away to another land.

So it was that the fierce-rayed god, grown strong, consumed the forest of Khandava with the help of Krishna and Arjuna, for the good of the world. Agni, having drunk rivers of fat and marrow, was well gratified and showed himself to Arjuna. Then Indra, surrounded by the Maruts, came down from the sky and said to Partha and Krishna, “You have achieved a feat that not even a celestial could. Ask, each of you, a boon that no man can obtain. I am pleased with you.”

Then Partha asked Indra for all his weapons. Indra of great splendor, fixing the time for the gift, said, “When the illustrious Krishna is pleased with you, then, son of Pandu, I will give you all my weapons. I shall know when the time comes. For your stern austerity I will give you all my weapons of fire and all my Vayavya weapons, and you shall accept them from me.”

Then Krishna asked that his friendship with Arjuna might be eternal, and the chief of the celestials granted the wise Krishna the boon he desired. Having granted these boons, the lord of the Maruts, with the celestials, ascended to heaven, after a word also to Agni. And Agni, having burned that forest with its animals and birds for fifteen days, was satisfied and ceased to burn. Filled with flesh and fat and blood, he was well gratified and said to Krishna and Arjuna, “I am pleased with you two tigers among men. At my command you shall be free to go wherever you choose.” So addressed by the illustrious Agni, Arjuna and Krishna and the danava Maya, these three, having wandered a little, at last sat down together on the lovely bank of a river.

A key to reading this (the lineage): Lapita and Jarita are Mandapala’s two wives; Jarita is a hen of the sarngaka species and the mother of the four child-rishis: Jaritari, Sarisrikka, Stambamitra, and Drona. The example of Arundhati and Vasishtha belongs to the constellation of the Seven Rishis, the seven stars of the sky, among which Arundhati is held to be a faint star. Mandapala offers this example to reproach Jarita for the coldness of her jealousy toward him.

The gist: Mandapala returns to find his sons safe, though Jarita and the boys are at first cold to him; with the example of Arundhati and Vasishtha he reconciles with them. The burning of Khandava is finished in fifteen days. Indra grants Arjuna his weapons for a later day and grants Krishna the boon of eternal friendship, and Arjuna, Krishna, and Maya rest together on a riverbank. This closes the Adi Parva.

Source: The Mahabharata (Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa), Adi Parva; in the tradition of Gita Press, Gorakhpur.