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Far down the line of Dhruva there came a king named Anga. His queen was Sunitha, the daughter of Death himself, and from her Vena was born. Through the flaw carried down from his maternal grandfather, Vena turned out wicked by his very nature.
When the great sages had crowned him, he sent a decree across the whole earth. “From now on let no one perform a yajna (fire-rite), no one give in charity, no one pour an oblation. I alone am the enjoyer and the master of every sacrifice. Who is more worthy of worship than I am?” Hearing this, the rishis came to him. First they praised him, and then, in gentle words, they spoke.
The Wrath of the Rishis
“O king, hear what serves your kingdom, your body, and your people. We will worship Lord Hari, the master of every sacrifice, through great fire-rites, and you too will share in their fruit. Pleased by the offering, Lord Vishnu, the very spirit of sacrifice, will fulfill all our desires and yours alike.” But Vena burst into laughter. “Who is more worthy of worship than I am? And who, after all, is this lord of sacrifice you call Hari? Brahma, Janardana, Shambhu, Indra, Vayu, Yama, Surya, Agni, Varuna, Dhata, Pusha, the Earth, and the Moon, all these gods dwell within the body of the king. The king holds every deity within him. So do exactly as I command: let no one give in charity, or offer a yajna, or pour an oblation. As a woman’s highest dharma is service to her husband, so your dharma is to obey my command.”
The rishis reasoned with him at length. “Great king, give a command that does not let dharma wither; this entire world is only the fruit of the sacred offering.” Vena would not shift a hair. Then, filled with anger, the sages spoke among themselves. “A man who reviles Lord Vishnu, the beginningless and endless spirit of sacrifice, is a lawless wretch, unfit to be the master of the earth.” Saying this, they struck the king down where he stood, with blades of kusha grass made holy by their mantras.
The Coming of Nishada and Prithu
The moment the king died, dust rose on every side. When the sages asked what it meant, the people told them, “With the kingdom left without a ruler, the poor and the desperate have turned to thieving, plundering the wealth of others; this is the dust flung up by those swift-footed robbers.” The sages then churned the thigh of the sonless king. From it came forth a man, black as a charred stump, very short, with a small face. In alarm he asked, “What shall I do?” The sages said, “Nishida, sit down.” From that word he was called Nishada. The sinful Nishadas who dwell on the Vindhya mountains descended from him, and through that one gate all the sins of King Vena passed away.
Next the sages churned his right hand. From it appeared Prithu, the mighty son of Vena, blazing like a fire kindled from his own body. In that same moment the primeval bow named Ajagava fell from the sky, along with celestial arrows and armor. Every living being rejoiced at his birth, and because of so worthy a son, Vena himself crossed over the hell called Put and rose to heaven; this is how such a son delivers his father.
For the consecration of Maharaja Prithu the seas and the rivers came, bearing jewels of every kind and holy water. The grandsire Brahma arrived with the Angirasa gods and crowned Vainya, the son of Vena. Seeing the mark of the discus on his right palm, Brahma knew that here was a portion of Vishnu, and his joy was complete. That same discus-mark appears on the palm of every universal emperor who follows, and their power is never blunted, not even by the gods. The people his father had wronged, Prithu now won over and made glad; from that gladdening, that ranjan, came his title, “Raja.” When he walked upon the sea, the waters held still; the mountains gave him passage; and his banner never once broke. At the very sacrifice of his birth, the Suta and the Magadha bards were born, and they sang his praises, reciting the virtues that were still to come.
The Milking of the Earth
During the years without a king, the healing plants and grains had perished. Faint with hunger, the people came to Prithu and said, “Protector of your subjects, the Earth has drawn all the plants and grains back into herself, and we are dying of hunger. Give us the herbs that keep us alive.” Hearing this, Maharaja Prithu took up his Ajagava bow and his celestial arrows and gave chase to the Earth. In terror she took the form of a cow and fled, running through Brahma’s realm and every other world; yet wherever she went, she saw Vainya coming after her, his weapon raised.
At last, trembling, the Earth spoke. “Lord of kings, do you not see the terrible sin of killing a woman, that you level your arrow at me?” Prithu said, “Where the killing of one who works ruin brings happiness to many, that killing is an act of merit.” The Earth said, “If it is truly for your people’s good that you wish to kill me, then once I am gone, what will hold your people up?” Prithu answered, “Even after I have killed you for defying my command, by the strength of my yoga I will hold these people up myself.”
Then the frightened Earth bowed once more and offered a way out. “Lord of men, all the plants and grains I have absorbed into myself, if it is your wish, I can give back in the form of milk. For that, fashion some calf toward which a mother’s tenderness will move me to release them as milk; and make me level everywhere, so that this milk, the seed of every herb and grain, can spread in every direction.” With the tip of his bow Prithu tore up hundreds and thousands of mountains and pushed them to one side, and he made the ground level. Until then, while the Earth lay rough and broken, there had been no division into towns and villages, no ordered way of farming, of tending cattle, or of trade; all of this began only in the time of Prithu, the son of Vena.
Then Prithu, the lord of the Earth, made Svayambhuva Manu the calf and with his own hands milked from the Earth every kind of grain, for the good of his people. On that same food the people live even today. Nor was that all: the gods, the sages, the daityas, the nagas, the gandharvas, the yakshas, and the ancestral fathers each milked the sustenance he longed for, each into his own vessel and through a calf of his own kind. Wherever the land was made level, there the people chose to settle, towns and villages took root, and the Earth began to bring forth grain as though it were neither ploughed nor sown; the cows became like Kamadhenu, and the want of food and water was gone.
By giving the Earth what amounted to a second life, Maharaja Prithu earned the standing of her father, and so the bearer of all creatures came to be called Prithvi, the earth. This story is told in the Srimad Bhagavata as well, though the account in the Vishnu Purana carries a flavor all its own. For the one who hears this tale of Maharaja Prithu’s birth and his greatness, no evil deed bears its fruit, and every bad dream is forever stilled.
Source: Vishnu Purana (Gita Press, Gorakhpur)