THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 (58 page)

TWELVE THE WEAPONS OF INDRA
 

Full, joyful days, Arjuna spent in his father’s house in Amravati; and it seemed to the Pandava that the days here were interminable. For, of course, one day and night in Indra’s Devaloka are equal to a year on the earth below: the day being as long as a summer and the night as winter. But day and night in Devaloka were not as sharply divided as on earth. It was never entirely light or dark here, but a mixture of both.

It did not do, in unearthly Amravati, to think too long about the wonders of the place, because these were everywhere. Arjuna spent a lot of time with Chitrasena the gandharva and mortal man and immortal Elf became close friends. They roamed the lively streets of Amravati together. The gandharva showed the Pandava other parts of Devaloka also in his own sleek disk of the sky. The fields of heaven, where grasses of spirit-fire grew in echoing colors, the two unlikely friends ranged, with the lustrous winds of the outer reaches plucking at their faces.

Chitrasena also became Arjuna’s guru. He taught the kshatriya to play on the delicate vina; he taught him singing and dancing. Arjuna learnt all these with talent that made even Indra marvel. The gandharvas are masters of music and they are masters of teaching music as well. And Chitrasena was among the finest musicians in Amravati.

Indra announced that soon he would have another feast in the palace.

There was a wide field at one end of Indra’s palace and here the Deva gave Arjuna lessons at archery: the final touches to a profound education. Day by day, the God imparted the secrets of the devastras to his mortal son and he was delighted at how exceptional a pupil Kunti’s prince was. Quite simply, he had never seen an archer like the Pandava.

One day, Indra called Arjuna and they walked together to the end of the interminable field. When they arrived under a tall white tree there, Indra stopped.

“I have given you all the astras I have. I have just one more weapon for you.”

Arjuna felt his skin tingle. He knew what that final weapon was. Indra said, “I want to give you my Vajra. Once, I sheared their wings from the mountains of the earth with it; with it, I send forth thunder and lightning into clouds and make the rain fall.”

Twilight fell over Amravati and Indra stood revealed in glory before his son. In his hands, he had a blinding ayudha, a thunderbolt of a thousand joints of adamant, pulsing and elemental. Arjuna knelt before his father.

Indra said in a voice that was the rumbling of the clouds of the pralaya, “Son of Kunti, receive my Vajra!”

Bravely, Arjuna held out his hands. A hush fell over Devaloka, as the father placed the awesome weapon in his son’s human palms. Arjuna felt no weight, at all, of the shining Vajra; it might have been made of imagination. Then Indra spoke a mantra more ancient than the earth and the Vajra entered the kshatriya’s body and his spirit. The thunderbolt of the Lord of Devaloka was Arjuna’s: to use in the war he must fight against evil, in the world below, upon the crack of the ages.

The pale and ancestral tree above them, from whose seeds the eldest trees of the earth were once born, was full of deep whispering. A powerful intuition of destiny stirred in Arjuna.

THIRTEEN THE APSARA URVASHI
 

Full, indeed, were Arjuna’s days in Amravati. What he learnt from Indra and Chitrasena was incalculable. Kunti’s son not only became a master of weapons, but of music and dance; and he grew in Amravati, by the ethereal tutelage of the spirit.

From here, the concerns of the world below might have seemed distant, even insignificant. But Arjuna yearned for his brothers. He thought of them often and most of all of Panchali. He also realized from stories of longago battles that Chitrasena would tell him and from epical songs the gandharva sang, that Amravati was not always full of grace and peace.

Great wars had been fought in Devaloka, against forces of darkness so malignant they were beyond Arjuna’s understanding. He knew that here, also, there were times that were good and others that were evil. There had been times when some invincible Asura or other brought his fell legions to Amravati, routed Indra’s army and usurped his throne. Anguished days would follow: the Devas cast out from their home, their women forced to lie for aeons in demons’ beds. Deva and gandharva, kinnara, siddha, charana and naga were driven into exile, or, at times, kept as slaves in their own city; while the evil ones who conquered them assumed power over all their dominions, including the earth.

Arjuna heard tales of how Agni, Soma, Surya, Vayu, Varuna, Kubera and Indra himself had to relinquish their lordship of the elements to monstrous Danavas, who then pervaded the three realms with darkness and strife. Those were the sinister days, when heaven and earth teemed with devils and all things of light and love were eclipsed.

When Arjuna lived in Amravati, there was someone in that city smitten by the Pandava prince, since the moment she set eyes on him. She neither ate nor slept, or had a moment’s peace for wanting him in her soft bed, her deep arms. Urvashi, the apsara, was stricken with love for the kshatriya from the earth.

She told herself it was an absurd fascination. She had better beware: he was Indra’s son; the Deva would be furious with her if she seduced the Pandava. Besides, Arjuna was already married to two women. He was a mortal and love between a mortal man and a nymph of Devaloka violated the dharma of heaven and earth. But Urvashi was helpless to resist the pang she felt and it was consuming her. She had to have him for at least a night: no matter if she never saw him again, no matter if he broke her heart. Nothing else counted any more; dark Arjuna haunted her every moment.

One day, when her yearning became intolerable and she thought of stealing into the Pandava’s apartment that night, Indra sent Chitrasena with a message for Urvashi. The Deva king had noticed how the apsara gazed at Arjuna; Indra had seen how his son stared back at Urvashi.

He allowed this passion to simmer for a while: to grow in the denial of what it desired. When he saw that Urvashi was pale with it, he called Chitrasena one morning, shortly after he had given Arjuna the Vajra.

Indra said to the gandharva, “I did not want Arjuna to be distracted until I had given him all the astras. But unless he tastes love in Devaloka, he won’t have tasted our kingdom’s sweetness.”

The canny Elf knew what was coming. “Command me, Lord, to which apsara shall I take your message?”

“Chitrasena, can it be you haven’t noticed which apsara’s gaze clings to my son, as a rishi’s mind does to his dhyana? Can it be, Gandharva, you haven’t noticed to which apsara’s face Arjuna’s eyes turn, as if he has no will to stop them?”

Chitrasena replied with a smile, “What message shall I take to Urvashi?”

“Tell her I said she may go to my son tonight and let it be a night he will never forget.” Indra paused.

Chitrasena asked, “Is there anything else, my Lord?”

Out of a reverie Indra said, “You had better hurry, because she has made up her mind to visit him tonight anyway. Usually, she robs us men of sense and sleep. It is gratifying to see Urvashi bleary-eyed from thinking of my son.”

“He is handsome, my Lord and accomplished beyond what most Devas are,” said the gandharva. “And…”

“And?”

“And, as has always been between heaven and earth, he attracts her because he is mortal.”

Indra sighed. “Yes, that is true. But hurry now, Chitrasena: tell Urvashi that not only do I approve of her seeing Arjuna tonight, I ask her to.”

Chitrasena bowed and began to leave, when his king said in a lighter vein, “And don’t tarry with her, you were always susceptible to her charms.”

Chitrasena went out with a song on his lips. Musing about how, once he became her lover, the Pandava would tear himself away from Urvashi when the time came for him to return to the earth, Chitrasena arrived at the apsara’s palace.

He said to her woman, who opened the door for him, “I must see your mistress at once. I bring her an urgent message from Indra.”

He was shown to a private chamber where the apsara received visitors. He waited a short while; then Urvashi came in. Helplessly, the gandharva felt the tremor that unsettled him each time he saw her close. Amravati could boast of many women of exceptional beauty; Rambha, Menaka and Tilottama were among Indra’s subjects. But now, to Chitrasena’s mind, the apsara Urvashi was the loveliest of them all. There was a fever in her eyes today; a pang of love heightened her complexion, making her more irresistible than ever.

She was not only supremely beautiful. Urvashi’s was a strong presence and she was almost as tall as the gandharva. Only her eyes betrayed the unrest she felt, as she took his hand and said with a bewitching smile, “This is a rare honor. What brings the lord of the gandharvas to my house? You have come yourself, rather than send a messenger.”

Enjoying the cool, delicious touch of her fingers, the Elf said, “I come as a messenger myself.”

“Whose messenger, Chitrasena?”

“Indra sends you a message.”

Distractedly, she said, “Tell me our king’s message.”

A smile touched Chitrasena’s eyes. “Indra asks you to visit his son tonight.”

She gasped. “Is it true? Does he really ask this of me?”

“Indeed, he does. He said to me, ‘Tell her she has my blessing. Let their love not be darkened with fear, but let them be in complete sweetness and abandon with each other.’

So, waste no more time. Bathe quickly, make yourself even more beautiful and go to Arjuna. How I envy him tonight!”

Urvashi squeezed the gandharva’s hand gratefully. He bowed and left her. Urvashi ran into her bedroom, crying to her women, “Draw a bath for me.”

Some hours later, a burning moon rose into the night. Clad in a gown so sheer the curves of her body were quite plain by the bronze light, which fell on her like a lover, Urvashi made her way to Indra’s palace. The pendant at her throat winked back sapphire, emerald and pearl at the moon. She wore wildflowers of Devaloka in her long hair and their scents were all of desire. Urvashi the apsara, one of the most beautiful women of all time, went forth to love.

Some siddhas and charanas stared at her, helplessly, as she glided through the moon-drenched streets, her hips swaying. She was truly a dream and she meant to invade Arjuna’s sleep.

Her heart in her mouth to think of his mortal’s touch, she arrived at his apartment. Her hands were moist with excitement, her golden body covered in a film like dew. She hesitated a moment at the door and stood there like a breathing idol.

A youth assigned to look after Arjuna came out. The poor boy trembled to see Urvashi, her breast heaving slightly, not from any exertion yet but in anticipation of those to come.

The boy said, “My lady, what brings you here at this hour?”

Regal again at once, with no trace in her voice of the storm within, Urvashi replied, “Tell Arjuna I have come to see him. Tell him his father Indra sent me.”

The boy bowed and turned to go, but she called softly after him, “Tell him that I also came because I wanted to.”

Asking her in, the youth went off, his eyes knowing. She mopped her face with a gossamer kerchief. In a moment, that seemed a whole night of Amravati to her, the boy came back. “My master is asleep. Will you return tomorrow, or shall I awaken him?”

A flash of annoyance in her haughty eyes, then she softened again. “Show me where he sleeps, I will wake him myself.”

The youth hesitated, but only for a moment, after the glare she gave him. He said meekly, “Follow me, my lady.”

He led her through three capacious rooms, fragrant with incense and down a tall passage, until they arrived at a closed door. The boy paused at that door.

Urvashi said to him, “Do you know who I am?”

Blushing, he stammered, “The Devi Urvashi.”

She gave him a smile to make his heart sing and said archly, “Now leave me.”

He melted away into the shadows of the passage. Urvashi pushed open the door and glided into Arjuna’s bedroom. Moonlight flowed in through the lofty windows set along the far wall. Between her and the windows was the bed on which Arjuna lay, fast asleep.

For a long moment, Urvashi stood utterly still and all she heard was her own heart beating. She pulled the door shut behind her and went toward the sleeping Pandava. The cover he had drawn over himself had fallen away and she saw he wore no cloth upon his chest. Arjuna slept with his lips parted, breathing evenly. Urvashi felt weak. She could not wait any more, but must touch him at once. She bent down and laid her tremulous hand on the dark skin of his chest; in a swoon, she stroked him with her fingertips.

Arjuna opened his eyes and sat up with a cry. The moonlight shone through her gown, so no part of her was hidden from him. She heard him catch his breath sharply and she stood there offering herself in silence.

Arjuna breathed, “Devi, how are you here at this hour?”

He hardly dared look at her for the effect she had on him. He could see her fair breasts, with their long buds. He could see her whirlpool of a navel, above hips flaring out from a waist around which he could join his hands. And below, the shadow nestling between her thighs. Urvashi, the apsara, seemed made of moonlight, desire and little else; and poor Arjuna’s heart lurched wickedly.

Her laugh tinkled through the room, through the moonlight, right through him. She was nervous herself, if not as flustered as the dark archer who stood before her, anxious as a boy.

She said, “I have come to serve you, my prince, your father sent me.” A pause and then, in a voice full of velvet wildness, “And I wanted to come myself.”

Fearing the worst by now, Arjuna babbled, “But why, O my mother?”

She had swayed toward him and she froze as if he had struck her. A spark of rage in her grey eyes, she breathed, “Mother? Did you say mother?”

Solemn Arjuna nodded. His heart and his brother Yudhishtira’s voice, deep inside him, pulled him one way; while she and his own mad flesh pulled in another, so fiercely he felt torn in half. Somehow, Arjuna stopped himself from taking her in his arms.

She said, “Pandava, I have seen you stare at me when we danced for you in your father’s halls and on many other occasions. And now, I come to you for love and you dare call me mother?”

Suddenly she seemed so cold and her near nakedness a distant thing. But now Arjuna had won his battle with himself. More levelly, he said, “You are the mother of my race, Apsara. That is why I stared at you, thinking, ‘That is Urvashi, who was Pururavas’ love. She is the mother of the Kurus and she is far lovelier than I had imagined.’ I swear these were my only thoughts. Forgive me if I misled you.

Great queen, who am I to dare think of you, except as my mother? Can I ever think of myself as being your lover? Oh, not in a thousand lives!”

She remembered that, in a forgotten time, she had loved another kshatriya, of whom this young warrior reminded her. But that had been on earth. So, after a fashion, she was perhaps his ‘mother’; that only whetted her desire. She could feel the male in him so aroused he could hardly restrain himself from falling on her. If she was patient, she could seduce him. After all, which man had resisted her? Which Deva or gandharva had? Not Indra, or any of them, ever.

This beautiful mortal was diffident; but she would coax him out of his shyness. Laughing softly again, she said, “Kshatriya, you don’t know how it is with the apsaras. We are always young, Arjuna. We never become mothers, but are just for love. I was your ancestor’s lover, once, but I never belonged to him or to anyone I loved. We are dancers in Indra’s sabha, the courtesans of Amravati. We are here for the pleasure of all and we are forever free.”

He stood mutely before her, his eyes turned down. She went on, frankly, “Don’t imagine you are the first of your race to come to Devaloka. Many sons of Puru and his grandsons and their sons have come to Amravati by their punya. None of them hesitated to make love to me, or to Rambha, Menaka, or Tilottama. We are here to give delight, there is no shame in Indra’s realm.”

She came toward him again. “The dharma of the earth does not bind the apsaras: time in Devaloka is another river. You will only sin if you spurn me. Aren’t you a man and a kshatriya? Isn’t it a warrior’s dharma to slake a woman’s thirst, when she desires him? I am not your mother, or anyone sacred, Arjuna.”

But he stepped back from her in alarm. “Ah, don’t say that! You are as much my mother as Kunti is; you are as sacred to me as she. You are the mother of all the Pauravas.