FIFTEEN
King Soora of the Vrishnis, who were a branch of the Yadavas descended from Soma Deva, the Moon God, had a son and a daughter called Vasudeva and Pritha. Soora had a cousin who was like a brother to him. That king, Kuntibhoja, had no children and was obsessed by this lack. Soora, who had grown up with him, feared that Kuntibhoja was on the verge of either losing his mind or taking his life. He gave his daughter Pritha to his cousin, to raise as his own.
Kuntibhoja's dejection vanished like winter's frost on the mountain at the advent of spring. Pritha became his perennial spring and he loved that charming girl better than anything else. She was his sun, moon and stars; she was his world, his universe. He named her after himself, because he could not bear to think that she was not his in any way. He called her Kunti. Kunti was exquisite; she was wise beyond her years. She was everything her foster-father could have wanted her to be. And best of all, she doted on him.
Kunti grew up in Kuntibhoja's palace and she grew more beautiful every day. The people and the kings and queens who saw her all said that nowhere in Bharatavarsha was there a princess like Kunti. Some said, surely, she was more suited to be the wife of a Deva in heaven, than the queen of a mortal king: they never knew how near prescience they came.
This was the dwapara yuga, when the world had not yet been shut away from Devaloka, as it would be when the kali yuga arrived. Immortal sages and luculent gods still came openly among men. Of course, the dwapara yuga was drawing to a close and darkness was falling swiftly over the earth. But those were still times when rishis like Vyasa and Durvasa lived in the sacred land of Bharata.
One day, the Muni Durvasa appeared in Kuntibhoja's city. Fate had brought him here, for he had a gift to bestow on the Vrishnis. There was a dramatic design unfolding in time, for which the holy one was chosen to be a catalyst.
Durvasa was often described as an amsa of Lord Siva and his temper was legendary. So when that rishi came to Kuntibhoja's court, he was received not only with affection but trepidation as well: lest he was offended by some trifle and cursed the king and his kingdom. Of course, Durvasa was not nearly as temperamental as he was reputed to be. Yet, it was true that among the great sages this one was more easily angered than most: with him, it did well to err on the side of caution. And innocent as all mortals are of fate, Kuntibhoja entrusted the task of looking after his guest to his daughter Kunti.
Young Kunti, who was barely fourteen, fulfilled her difficult task so graciously that even Durvasa, a hard man to please, was delighted with her. The day before he left he sent for the young princess. It was late evening. Birds were roosting in their armfuls in the darkening trees outside. Durvasa sensed fate so near him, he felt he could reach out and touch her.
Kunti came in and he made her sit beside him. He laid his hand on her head and said fondly, "Dear Kunti, what a special child you are. You have looked after me so well I have decided to give you a gift that none of your father's friends can match.
I am going to teach you a mantra. It is old and powerful and once you know it I will tell you what it is for."
He made the girl kneel before him. As she repeated the secret words after him, Durvasa felt the tide of destiny surge in his body; on its wave-crests rode resplendent kshatriyas of a strange future. For the life of him, the muni could not understand why he had decided to teach this princess a mantra that was certainly not meant for a child like her. But then, he understood little of why, in the first place, he had come to Kuntibhoja's city.
"Have you learnt it?"
Kunti nodded. She rose, sat beside him again and asked, "What is it for?"
For a moment, Durvasa did not reply. He was uncertain whether he should, after all, tell her what the incantation really was. Then he said, "It is a mantra for the Devas. Think of any Deva as you say it aloud and he will appear before you."
She gave a delighted laugh. Durvasa spoke so gravely that a part of her believed him completely. But another part, which was still a child, just couldn't conceive that she could summon a God. Durvasa smiled at the princess, but he wondered what he had set afoot.
The next day, blessing Kuntibhoja and his wispy, adorable daughter, that profound sage went on his way.