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

  Sauti looked around. The night had grown quiet and still. The insect songs of twilight had given way to the calm of the night. In the deep jungle, predators roved and fauna continued their nightly game of survival, but here in the sanctified shelter of Naimisha- sharanya, the peaceful brahmins and brahmacharyas listened with rapt attention to every syllable of Sauti’s narrative. They had all heard some part or version of the legend of the Bhrigu before, but never before recited in such poetic detail.

  ‘The only reason why the Haihaya did not kill Jamadagni was because he thought he might have need of his knowledge later. Not all kshatriyas need be ignorant or illiterate. Indeed, many are among the wisest and most knowledgeable in their own right, often vying with the wisest brahmins in the quest for Vedic enlightenment. But the Haihayas were ignorant to a fault and hostile to all forms of learning, and like all ignorant beings, the Haihaya lived in perpetual self-doubt. King Arjuna Kartavirya thought that there might yet be something that needed to be known in order to keep the calf of plenty producing the endless supply of treasures he envisioned, and so, until he could be sure of that plentiful supply, he decided to leave the brahmin and his wife unharmed.

  ‘Later that same day, the sons of Jamadagni and Renuka returned home and learned of the events of the day. They were outraged and furious at the abuse meted out to their parents by the Haihaya king. But being brahmins, they could do nothing about it. Except for the fifth son, Jamadagneya, whom, as we have learned, was also named Rama and had come to be better known as Parashurama, Rama with the Axe.

  ‘Now, Parashurama was no ordinary brahmin boy. In fact, he shared more than some of the best qualities of a warrior. His great-grandmother Satyavati was a kshatriya who married Sage Richika of the Bhrigu clan. Satyavati was concerned that due to her kshatriya parentage, her children might display warrior tendencies as well. So she appealed to her husband to use his divine knowledge to ensure that her offspring would turn out to be knowledge-seeking brahmins who worshipped the word, not the sword. At the same time, Satyavati’s mother, the wife of King Gadhi, lacked a son and heir who would inherit Gadhi’s throne and continue his lineage. She in turn desired a child who would be disposed towards war and weaponry or in other words, kshatriya-like tendencies.

  ‘With this in mind, Sage Richika performed a yagna and divided the payasam sanctified from the yagna into two parts. One part he gave to his wife Satyavati to consume, the other part to her mother. But mother and daughter accidentally exchanged their portions and each consumed the other one’s share. Only after they finished did they realize their error. Satyavati appealed to her husband to do something. As the wife of a brahmin, she could hardly raise a kshatriya son! Nor would having a brahminical son solve the problem her mother faced.

  ‘Sage Richika could not entirely alter the potency of his mantras. But he took steps to ensure that the effect of the payasam would be delayed by one generation. Thus, Satyavati gave birth to a son with perfect brahmanical tendencies and who became an emblem of the brahmin varna, Jamadagni. While her mother had a son who was the perfect heir for Gadhi. Thus both mother’s and daughter’s dilemmas were resolved.

  ‘But as predicted by Richika, the effect of the payasam was delayed, not cancelled. Thus it was that Jamadagni’s son, Jamadagneya, was born with kshatriya tendencies. In acknowledgement of this fact, Jamadagni and his wife Renuka named him Rama, a favoured name in her kshatriya dynasty of Suryavansha Ikshwakus. However, they hoped that at worst he would be a brahma-kshatriya, one who was conversant in the arts of war but chose to follow the path of knowledge and peace. As for Satyavati’s mother, she gave birth to a son whom she named Vishwamitra, and who grew up as a kshatriya with a keener interest in learning than his father might have wished.

  ‘Young Rama grew up honouring his parents’ wishes to the letter. He was a dedicated brahmacharya and a devout seeker of Vedic wisdom. Thanks to his parents’ enlightened upbringing, he did not suppress or deny his kshatriya side but kept it in check by training under one of the most austere and disciplined gurus possible, the mighty Lord Shiva himself, Destroyer of Worlds. Shiva’s training demanded impossible penance and discipline which no ordinary kshatriya—indeed, no ordinary mortal—could dream of achieving. Simply by gaining Shiva’s acceptance as a guru, Jamadagneya Rama proved himself to be a formidable brahma- kshatriya, that rare enlightened being who possesses the best qualities of both brahmin and kshatriya varnas. It was in acknowledgement of this very austerity and pacificist approach that Lord Shiva gave his divine Parasu to Rama, thus earning him the epithet Parashurama by which he was thereafter known.’

  Sauti looked around at his audience. Despite the utter blackness of the forest background and only the flickering light of the oil lamps and torches around the ashram, he was certain that once again their numbers had swelled. He did not know how this could be possible, nor did he think that merely attempting to recount his listeners would yield satisfaction. In any case, once launched upon his mammoth recitation, he could not permit himself to be interrupted or distracted by such minor considerations. If the myth was true: if the dead of Kurukshetra indeed resided in Naimisha-van: if those dead souls now gathered around to hear his recitation of the Mahabharata epic, then so be it. What better motive to study itihasa than to learn the causes of one’s destruction?

  ‘There is an episode involving Rama that will better enable you to understand his dual nature. When he was but a boy, an incident happened involving his mother. Rama and his brothers were away in the forest, collecting fruit and herbs, chopping wood and performing other daily chores. Sage Jamadagni was preparing to perform his ritual ablutions so he could begin his day’s meditation. As usual, Renuka went down to the river with her pot to fetch water for her husband’s ablutions. As she walked the path that led down the Ramshrung mountains to the Malaprabha river, she heard unusual sounds and laughter. Through the close-growing trees and foliage she glimpsed someone splashing about in the water below, making a great deal of noise. It was King Chitraratha, lord of the gandharvas, the artistic and musical entertainers of the devas, dallying with his lovers. Innocent as she was of such activities, totally isolated and secluded in her life as a hermit’s wife, Renuka had no experience of such a sight. At first, she did not even know what was transpiring on the banks of the river below. The closer she came to the riverbank, the more she saw and heard, and the more these titillating sights and sounds aroused and inflamed her curiosity. Finally, she stopped and watched from a discreet spot behind a tree.

  ‘King Chitraratha was a magnificent specimen of masculine perfection, endowed with great physical beauty and artistic talent. He sang and recited lyric poetry, danced and cavorted with his gandharvas in a display of amorous art performance such as only gandharvas and apsaras can demonstrate. Any mortal observer would be powerfully aroused by such a scene. To Renuka, innocent and pure of life and thought, it was an erotic assault that engulfed her completely. She felt as if her entire being was aflame, and was overcome by her passions. Watching the other-worldly lovers engaged in the oldest pastime of all, she could not help but fantasize about participating in those arcane acts herself.

  ‘The sound of the pot striking the ground as it fell from her hand brought her back to her senses with a jolt. The gandharvas hardly heard or noticed, absorbed as they were in their pursuit of ecstasy. But she was powerfully embarrassed by the extent to which she had lapsed and the thoughts that had consumed her and she ran all the way back to the ashram, hardly noticing or caring that she was catching her garments and ripping them on branches and roots, or that her neatly knotted hair had fallen open to loose her tresses in wanton abandon. She arrived back at the ashram of her husband in a state such as he had never seen her before, dishevelled, glistening with perspiration brought on as much from her fantasizing by the river as from her reckless run uphill, her hair loose and tangled, her clothes torn and dirty—and no pot of water in her hand.

  ‘Jamadagni was startled beyond words. As a man of great wi
sdom and insight, he instantly knew what emotion assailed his wife. After all, she was his wife and consort and he of all people recognized the signs of arousal upon her face. Her dishevelled state and frantic guilty manner were a great shock. To make matters worse, she blurted out an explanation of what had transpired in a feeble attempt to gain his sympathy. But the more she said, the deeper she sank into self-incrimination. Her description of the physical beauty of King Chitraratha and the acts she had witnessed him performing with the female gandharvas were sufficient to enrage her husband.

  Sage Jamadagni was not a man given to a loss of temper easily and he loved his wife dearly enough to overlook almost any transgression. But this was a shameful lapse and somehow her mental adultery seemed no less than the actual act, so deeply had she given herself over to the emotional and psychic details of the self-seduction. What he did next was as much the reaction of a jealous husband as that of an outraged brahmin penitent.

  ‘One of their sons had returned home during this time. Jamadagni ordered him to take up a weapon and kill his mother at once, as her crime, in Jamadagni’s view, was beyond tolerance or forgiveness. He would not debate the right or wrong of such a terrible penalty, and insisted that the execution be carried out without question or argument.

  ‘Reluctantly and with great distress, the first son refused. Shamefaced, he asked his father’s forgiveness for he was unable to follow his instruction.

  ‘Thereupon, Jamadagni asked his first son to go fetch his brothers.

  ‘When all five of his scions were before him, he ordered each of them in turn to follow his bidding and execute his condemmation of their mother.

  ‘One by one, each of them refused him. Shamefaced and recalcitrant, they were terrified of their father’s wrath but unable to do as he bid.

  ‘Except for Parashurama. He was the last to return home as he was performing his usual chore, chopping wood for the yagna fire. He saw his mother’s weeping distress, heard his father’s enraged commands, sensed his brothers’ shameful impotency, and listened to the terrible pronouncement.

  ‘Without a single word or hesitation, Parashurama raised his axe and with one smooth blow, beheaded his mother.

  ‘His father stared, his anger silenced at last. Parashurama’s brothers broke out into grievous weeping. Parashurama knelt before his father, bowing his head. Jamadagni stared down at his son and was filled with admiration for him.

  ‘Impressed by Parashurama’s obedience, he told his youngest son that he could have any boon he desired. For though a brahmin hermit lived in utter poverty and in a state of near destitution, these were the result of his vows. In point of fact, he possessed the power to grant almost any desire or wish through the use of the powerful mantras he knew. He now offered to grant his obedient son any wish he demanded.

  ‘Parashurama thanked his father and touched his feet in devotion, then said that all he desired was for Jamadagni to restore his mother to life. Indeed, it was because he knew that Jamadagni possessed knowledge of the mantra that restored life to the dead that he had willingly executed his own mother. Now that her punishment had been meted out, it was only fair that Jamadagni should give Parashurama and his brothers their mother back again.

  ‘Jamadagni was left speechless by his son’s intelligence and his obedience. His anger dissipated by now, he agreed that being executed was punishment enough for his wife. Uttering the potent mantra of resurrection, he restored Renuka back to life, and when she was whole and breathing again, embraced her and accepted her unconditionally once again.’

  Sauti stopped and looked around. ‘So you see what a resolute boy Parashurama was? He respected and loved his parents so much that he could behead his own mother at his father’s bidding, but he only did so because he was certain he could resurrect her again. He could do such a thing because unlike his brahmin brothers, he was born with the heart of a warrior. The kshatriya part of his being enabled him to commit that terrifying act of maa-hatya, killing one’s own mother, as well as to think beyond that terrible act to its aftermath, whereupon he knew his father would agree to resurrect her. Only a kshatriya could conceive of and then act upon such an unspeakably violent plan, all within the space of the few seconds it took for his father to order him to execute his mother.

  ‘That same quality, the ability to see the need for violence and act upon it without hesitation, was what led to the events that followed the theft of the calf Kamadhenu. Had Parashurama been an ordinary brahmin boy like his brothers, he could never have done what he did next. Then again, perhaps the generations of suffering inflicted upon countless pacificist brahmins, and the Bhrigu line in particular, had naturally evolved a descendant of that line in whom all the collective righteous rage of those who were wronged and killed had converged. It was as if all the sufferings of his Bhrigu ancestors at the hands of kshatriyas had been brewed into the cataclysm that walked the earth by the name of Parashurama.’

  ||Five||

  When Parashurama returned home and found that his father’s calf had been stolen, and stolen by none other than the king of the very Haihaya kshatriyas who had been slaughtering brahmins for decades, he did not hesitate. He took up his axe and set out on the road that led to Mahishmati. He did not stop to think of the consequences of what he was about to do, nor of the odds against him. For while a brahmin’s disciplined meditation and learning compel him to consider carefully before embarking upon any venture, a kshatriya’s very nature is predicated on swift reflexes and instinct. Parashurama only knew that his father and mother had been insulted, their sanctified home and ashram defiled, and a precious calf stolen. What Jamadagni had not mentioned to the Haihayas, as it would hardly have mattered to them, was that the calf actually belonged to Lord Indra. The king of the Devas had graciously given it to Jamadagni for safekeeping. Bad enough that King Arjuna Kartavirya had stolen the calf; worse still, the calf had not belonged to Jamadagni in the first place.

  In those days, kshatriyas were masters of the realm. Brahmins cloistered themselves in deep aranya ashramas, on unnattainable mountain peaks, or in the most uninhabited locations possible. There, in their ashrams and caves, they reigned supreme over the worlds of learning and inner space. But the developed world of cities and towns and villages was dominated by kshatriyas who roved the land, taking whatever they desired and fighting for anything that was disputed.

  Mahishmati, the capital of the Haihaya nation, was a land overrun by the kshatriya way of life. Violence was omnipresent, and considered a way of life. Sadly, it was the people of other varnas, those who were merely living their lives or going about their tasks, who suffered the most. Some fell victim to rapacious kshatriyas like the Haihayas, others were innocent bystanders who came in harm’s way accidentally, and many unfortunates died or suffered only because they happened to work with or work for one or other group of warring warriors. Many tradesmen, craftsmen, artisans, artists and even poets set aside their tools and implements and took up weapons only to defend themselves and their families against the incessant threat of violence. Fights erupted at any moment, every day there was a battle, and life itself was one endless war campaign.

  It was to this violent and ruthless city that Parashurama came in search of his father’s lost calf. A young man barely grown to adulthood, hair matted and tied in a knot on top of his head, clad in the simple white anga-vastra and dhoti of a brahmacharya, bearing the ash smears that declared him a brahmin, he walked the dusty road that led to the city. Even before he reached its high gates, he encountered trouble. A band of Haihaya warriors were returning from a skirmish in which they had fared badly against the forces of Bahu, son of Sagara. They were talking bitterly amongst themselves of Bahu’s inroads into Haihaya territory and how the tide appeared to be turning against their army as well as the Panchagana. Everyone of them agreed that it was only a matter of time before King Arjuna Kartavirya lost control of Ayodhya and once that great stronghold fell, it would be a great blow to their cause. It was while they were in
this foul mood that they chanced upon the young brahmin boy walking steadfastly along the raj marg. ‘Brahmin!’ said one of them, tapping the hilt of his sword on his shield. ‘Do you not see kshatriyas on the road? Bow at once to us!’

  ‘Show some respect for your superiors!’ said another, deliberately taunting Parashurama.

  Parashurama did not even notice that they were addressing him. Completely absorbed in his goal, he walked at a rapid pace, intent on reaching the city. The Haihayas took his quick walk as an indication of cowardice and thought he was scurrying away from them. Irritated, they rode after him and one of them raised his sword to strike Parashurama down from behind.

  His eyes on the dusty road, the sun above and behind him, Parashurama saw the shadow of the Haihaya horse rider with his raised sword swooping down on him. Without a second’s thought, his axe flashed upwards. A man’s cry rang out. And the arm holding the sword fell with a clattering thump, severed arteries and veins splurging life fluid onto the earth below. The injured man swung his horse around, screaming in pain, and his stump spewed blood onto his comrades, drenching their armour and faces. He fainted away from the shock and loss of blood, falling to the ground as his horse milled about in confusion.

  Parashurama continued to walk on towards the city. He had not slowed his pace even when he defended himself against the Haihaya’s attack. He flicked the blood from the axe’s edge as he went, but did not return it to its place in his waistcloth; he let it stay in his hand by his side, swinging as he walked, its finely honed blade catching the noonday sunlight and reflecting it in bright dazzling shards.