EIGHTEEN
For some time, the Pandavas lived in Badarikasrama on Mount Gandhamadana. Each day they rose with the sun, at dawn so enchanting it dissolved sins and they thought: today Arjuna will return from Devaloka. But the days grew into weeks, the weeks into months and there was no sign of him.
Yudhishtira was at perfect peace with himself. He was happy to sit with the rishis of Badarikasrama all day long, specially the ancient one and listen to their illustrious lore. The mountain was so suffused with the Spirit it was hardly a place of the earth and Yudhishtira's heart was full with the sanctity of that hermitage. Some nights, he dreamt he saw Nara and Narayana sitting at dhyana at a cave-mouth and their faces were familiar. When he awoke, he remembered nothing of his dreams.
Bheema and Draupadi were more restless than Yudhishtira, though their impatience of the Kamyaka vana was a thing of the past. The two of them took to going on long walks through the cedar forests of Gandhamadana. Those were fragrant woods and the very air was like a blessing: and so, indeed, was that mountain named Gandhamadana, for its scented cedar.
But one day, the two of them wandered along a trail that wound its way steeply down the mountain's side, a trail they hadn't explored before. After an hour, the path grew less precipitous and made its way into a thick forest over which an aura of mystery hung. It was darker here than in the forests higher up, because the trees were more tropical and grew closer to one another. Bheema and Drau padi had to walk slowly. They had gone half an hour into the forest, following the trail still, when Draupadi seized Bheema's hand and made him stop.
"Can you smell it?" she breathed, in an ecstasy. "Ah, Bheema, can't you smell that fragrance?"
Bheema sniffed the air and there was no mistaking it: a scent straight out of heaven was borne on the breeze stirring in that forest.
"What is it?" Draupadi asked. "I have never smelt anything like it in all my life."
They walked deeper into the trees, following the unearthly scent to its source; as they went on, it grew stronger, pervading the forest headily.
Bheema shut his eyes and said, "I feel I am walking into swarga."
The scent was irresistible and following it blindly, they came into a small clearing. Draupadi stopped.
"Look!" she whispered, pointing.
Growing out of the earth under a punnaga tree was a little flower, scarlet and streaked with gold; and this flower filled the whole forest with the heavenly scent. Gingerly, Bheema and Draupadi crept forward, as if the tiny thing might wilt and die if they set foot too firmly.
When they were near, Draupadi said, "It must be the saugandhika the rishis told us about. No other flower on earth can smell like this."
Bheema sniffed the air again. He walked a few paces beyond where the scarlet flower grew. He said, "The scent grows stronger! There are more of these inside the forest."
Draupadi couldn't help herself any more; she knelt down quickly and plucked the little flower. Sniffing it and sighing, she said, "I must take it for Yudhishtira. The munis said it stays fresh for a year after being plucked. But, Bheema, I want some more for myself. You must get them for me from wherever they grow."
"It's too late today, it will be dark in an hour. Their scent isn't strong; the flowers grow deep in the vana and there may be danger there. Let us go back now and I will come again tomorrow by myself and bring you as many as you like."
The bright flower nestled in Draupadi's hand and it barely covered a tenth of her palm. Reluctantly she said, "Very well; but promise you will come tomorrow. I must have some more of these, they fill me with such delight."
The rishis of the Badarikasrama confirmed that the flower was indeed a saugandhika and the hermitage was soon awash with its scent. Yudhishtira kept it beside his sleeping-mat, in an earthen vessel filled with spring water and the next morning it was as fresh as it had been when Draupadi picked it.
The old muni of Badari said, "It is a blessed flower that grows in Kubera's garden. It will not fade for months, its heart is so strong."
The next morning, at crack of dawn, Bheema set out alone for the forest. He went by the same path that Draupadi and he had taken the previous day and soon reached the punnaga tree where they had found the saugandhika. Through the vana, with invisible fingers, the maddening aroma reached for the son of the wind. Following it, Bheema walked deeper and deeper into that forest.
Soon, the forest was a very different world. Knotted trees with immense boles grew here, their branches so entwined that it was always twilight. Startling flowers that did not grow near the hem of the jungle covered the trees and thickets in gaudy profusion. Birds with livid plumage called in the branches, birds he had never seen before. As he went on, the vana grew stranger and stranger.
Bheema pressed on. The scent of the saugandhika was stronger, but he realized he had a good way to go before he arrived where the flowers grew. The silence of this jungle oppressed him; as if someone or something, perhaps a vana devata, a forest god, watched him with a thousand eyes hidden in stamen and leaf and did not want him to go any farther. To fight this feeling Bheema raised the conch he carried at his waist and blew a ringing blast on it. Sleeping lions were roused in their caves. Bheema heard a growl or two, a desultory roar here and there, as he plunged on. The Pandava smiled: this was far better than the intolerable silence.
But lions were not all he roused with his conch. Someone else lay asleep in the forest, someone from another age. He had come here just to meet Bheema, for he had something in common with the Pandava. That being now lifted his tail and crashed it down across the path beside which he sat, leaning against a tree. He was a warrior from another yuga, when everyone was much grander than in Bheema's dwindled time. But Bheema was not to know this, save from stories he had heard, which he hardly took literally. Like men of every age, he, too, thought that all times had been exactly like the one he lived in.
Bheema heard that crash like thunder falling on the earth and ran toward it. Perhaps some rakshasa had heard his conch and was challenging him? Nothing could be better! How bored he had been, for longer than he cared to think, surrounded by rishis and brahmanas who spoke of nothing but peace and the atman and moksha. How he longed for a good fight; it would restore his spirits like nothing else.
He loped eagerly through the vana, quickly as the wind. Until he rounded a bend in the trail and saw a wizened old monkey before him, his back turned, his wrinkled head cradled in the crook of his brown arm and apparently fast asleep. Though the monkey was quite a small creature himself, he had the longest, finest tail Bheema had ever seen. Both tail and its owner lay stretched squarely across the path along which Bheema was rushing to meet whoever had made the earth tremble.
Bheema growled in annoyance. Weakly, the monkey raised his head to see who had disturbed his nap. Bheema towered over him, his brawny hands on his hips. The Pandava saw the monkey was an ancient of his kind. His golden face was covered by fine wrinkles; his eyes, though bright, were so full of age it was impossible to reckon how old he was. He could have been a thousand years; he was so worn and thin. Bheema growled again, hoping to scare the little creature away. But then, the monkey spoke to him in perfect human speech, chaste old language in fact!
In a frail voice, he said, "Young man, why do you make so much noise? I was sleeping peacefully, dreaming fine dreams and you come blundering through the jungle blasting on your conch."
He regarded the impatient Bheema out of shrewd eyes, with directness the Pandava found disrespectful and somehow unnerving too, though he could not think why. Bheema stood breathing heavily, taken aback. Still using exquisite old language that scholars do, the monkey said again in his rambling way, "Young Kshatriya, for so you may well be, are you a stranger to these parts? I have never met another human being in this forest who makes such a noise. This is no battlefield, young man. Yes, you are surely a stranger here, that you disturb all the jungle-folk with your din."
He paused again and his shining eyes never left Bheema's face. The Pandava was still speechless with surprise.
"And where are you going deep into the vana? Don't you know this is a dangerous place and the forest is quite impenetrable not far from here? Don't you know anything at all, young fellow? That you plunge on heedless, blowing your conch."
Bheema was angry by now; but he felt so inexplicably drawn to the little old monkey that he still said nothing. He growled again, trying desperately to collect his wits. The monkey, who seemed to see clearly into everything that went on inside Bheema's head, said, "Come and sit beside me for a while. I picked some fruit for myself."
He uncurled his arm and pushed out an amazing heap of fresh fruit, pear and plum, peach and apple, offering them to the Pandava. "My advice to you, young Kshatriya, is that you sit down and eat a few fruit with me and then turn back wherever you came from. Though I really cannot imagine where that might be, or who you are, for that matter."
At last, Bheema found his voice. He gave a short roar and cried, "You are the strangest monkey I ever saw! Talking like a man and in old language. Who on earth are you?" His eyes narrowed, "Are you a monkey at all? Or a vana devata, who have assumed a monkey's form? Or are you a rakshasa? If it's a fight you want, show me what you really look like and let us begin!"
The monkey laughed. "Rakshasa? Fight? You are certainly a peculiar young man. Can't you see, my fine prince, I am just a tired old monkey, too weak to even move from where I lie? What is all this about vana devatas and rakshasas? And you still haven't told me who you are, or what you are doing in this forest." He gave a groan. "Aah, I feel so ill today and you won't let me sleep."
Bheema drew himself up and said in his most superior tone, "Monkey, I am Bheema the Pandava. I am the son of Vayu and I am in a hurry. Let me pass."
The monkey mumbled disapprovingly to himself. "In a hurry? And where are you going in such a hurry? Don't want to take my advice, it seems. Sit down and eat some fruit, young Pandava; and then turn back. It is not safe to go on, I tell you. Ah, but the young never listen, do they? They must learn from their own foolishness."
"I don't want your advice, monkey!" snapped Bheema haughtily. "I want you out of my way, so I can go on."
"Truly, I am in your way, young Kshatriya. But I am so old I cannot move. Otherwise, would I dare lie in the way of Vayu's son? Why, I tremble even to hear that God's name. But I can't move. So just step over me and be on your way, Bheema, if you are determined to go on."
Now Bheema frowned. "You are older than I am. I cannot step over someone older than me." He laughed, mockingly, "But if you insist, I shall really have to make the leap of faith, as Hanuman did over the sea!"
"Hanuman? Who is he? Who is this Hanuman whose very name makes your eyes shine?"
Bheema cried, "I can't believe this. You, a monkey and you don't know who Hanuman was?"
The old monkey shook his head. Bheema looked down his nose at the creature now. He said, "You deserve to be stepped over; that, being a vanara yourself, you don't know about the greatest vanara there ever was. Immortal Hanuman!"
"Really?" said the monkey softly.
But Bheema had not finished. "Hanuman was the strongest, wisest, most revered monkey that ever lived. He fought at Rama's side on Lanka. Why, it was he who discovered Sita in the asokavana in Ravana's palace and leapt across the sea to bring her Rama's message. He is a legend not only among monkeys, but among men as well. He has the place of a God; we worship Hanuman. And you have not heard of him.
Listen monkey. Hanuman is one of the greatest scholars of all time; he is a master of his mind, perfectly devoted to his Rama. Hanuman is a jivanmukta, a liberated soul; he is also a chiranjivi, he lives for ever."
A smug smile spread across Bheema's face. "And just like me, Hanuman is a son of the wind, a Vayuputra. Yes, Hanuman is my brother, as strong as I am, perhaps even slightly stronger."
The little monkey's eyes grew round. But Bheema had finished his eulogy of Hanuman and he said again, "Let me pass, old monkey, I am in a hurry. I have to find the heart of this jungle, for I must take the saugandhikas back for Draupadi."
"So that's what you're after! Well, as I have told you, I am tired and ill and really too old to move. If you knew how old I am, you would understand why I cannot move. I fancy I must be as old as your Hanuman."
Bheema growled, "You can't be as old as Hanuman, monkey! You don't know what you are saying."
"Well, anyway, the fact is that I can't move and, being such a noble young kshatriya, you will not step over me. So, really, there is just one solution to our problem: that you move my tail aside and pass," said the monkey, smiling sweetly.
Grumbling to himself, Bheema crouched down beside the old vanara and took his fine golden tail in his hand to move it out of his way. The tail would not budge. Growling, Bheema put both his hands to the task. Not an inch could he move the monkey's tail. Great Bheemasena, tameless Vayu's son, slayer of Hidimba, Kirmira and Baka, began to pant with his effort. Beads of sweat stood on his brow; but he could not shift that wizened old monkey's tail by a hair's breadth.
The monkey cried in his reedy voice, "What is the matter, O Vayuputra, can't you move an old vanara's tail? Or are you making fun of me again?"
Full of quick shame, Bheema strained at the tail, grunting and roaring; but to no avail. Suddenly, he felt a spinning dizziness. He felt every ounce of his vast strength drain out of his arms, all his limbs and being absorbed uncannily into the monkey. The Pandava keeled over where he knelt. Mighty Bheema fainted on the mud track: vanquished by a monkey's tail!
When he stirred from his faint, he saw the little old monkey had vanished. In its place, a magnificent vanara knelt beside him, smiling and sprinkled cool water on his face. Ah, this was a different monkey altogether, taller than Bheema, golden-furred, resplendent.
Bheema sat up weakly, shaking his head. He folded his hands and asked, "Who are you, magnificent one?"
The towering creature smiled and replied, "Just an old monkey whose tail the great Bheema was trying to move."
Bheema bowed his head, "Forgive me for being arrogant, Vanara. I take back everything I said to you. I beg you, tell me who you are."
"But you know who I am, Bheema. You know my name."
Bheema goggled at the splendid one. The monkey said, "Bheema, my brother, I am Hanuman."
A wild cry erupted from Bheema and next moment they were hugging each other, with tears streaming down their faces. Hanuman cried, "Ah, the same thrill of love courses through me when I embrace you as I felt when I touched my Rama!"
Bheema felt his weakness leave him and a new strength, greater than anything he had before, flooded his body. The Pandava prostrated at his legendary brother's feet. Hanuman raised Bheema up and then they sat together beside the jungle trail. Bheema was in no hurry, any more and chewed contentedly on the fruit Hanuman offered him.
The hours flashed by and nothing the two did not talk about: from the battle of Lanka to the game of dice in Hastinapura. Once during this conversation, Hanuman grew thoughtful and said, "Times have changed indeed. Yet, do you know, Bheema my brother, scratch them a little and there isn't so much difference between those days and these. Good and evil have always existed, side by side and fallen into conflict even like cats and dogs."
He paused, gazing fondly at the Pandava. Then he patted Bheema's cheek and said, "But it is true, you know, that finally goodness will always prevail. So don't worry: you and your brothers will vanquish the Kauravas and the Kuru kingdom shall be yours. I, Hanuman, assure you of this!"
Bheema said quietly, "As long as you are with us, we cannot lose. I feel the new strength you have blessed me with."
Hanuman gave a laugh and cried, "But I will do more! In memory of this meeting with my little brother in the jungle."
"Your blessing is more than enough," said Bheema.
But Hanuman's face had lit up and he said, "I will sit on your brother Arjuna's banner during the great war! And I promise you, my roars will strike terror in your enemies' hearts and give courage to your own soldiers."
Bheema hugged him again. Then, he was suddenly embarrassed. Hanuman asked, "What is it, child? There is something you are not telling me."
Bheema blurted, "I want to see you as you were when you leapt across the ocean!"
Hanuman laughed. Then he was still and the forest around them was, also; and he began to grow. In a moment, he was as tall as the tallest tree. The next, he was big as a hill and then even bigger, big as the Vindhya and he shone like a sun! Overwhelmed, Bheema knelt at his feet. In an instant, stupendous Hanuman, hero of another yuga, was his monkey self again, somewhat Bheema's own size; and he laid a hand in blessing on the Pandava's head.
They ate more fruit together. More news and fabulous tales Hanuman told his brother, both of them excited as boys at meeting. At last, Hanuman looked at Bheema, with his eyes full of love, "I have kept you for long enough. Hurry on, Bheema and find the saugandhikas you have come for. The way ahead is fraught with danger, for this path leads into the spirit-world. Strange things live in this jungle. It is a forbidden forest and you must go with some stealth."
Then he laughed. "But my brother is a kshatriya and no one on earth is as strong as he is. Why should I be anxious for him? It is those who cross his path who should beware!"
Bheema said wryly, "Unless they are old monkeys who are so weak that they cannot move!"
They hugged each other again. Then Hanuman waved Bheema on and stood looking after him as the Pandava sped up the narrow trail, deeper into the forest. When he was out of sight, Hanuman vanished from that place like a dream.