EIGHTEEN
In the asrama in the forest of Satasringa, a jade valley nestled between Himalayan slopes, Pandu settled slowly to his new life. Often, in the cold nights, the wildness in his blood urged him to seek out one of his wives. But by God's grace, or because his time to die had not come, at the critical juncture either he himself or his women prevented the fatal contact. Some years went by in this struggle. But celibacy, even enforced celibacy, quickly brings strength and serenity; and so it did to Pandu and his wives.
Peace came over them. It became a habit and in time an easy one, to subdue the mortal enemy, desire, whenever she raised her seductive head. Many rishis came to Pandu's asrama; from them the prince learnt the art and the joy of dhyana, meditation. After the first year, Pandu began to accept his new life. Like a molting snake does its skin, he shed the memory of his violent past. The loyal Kunti and Madri also settled into their untimely vanaprastha. The years flowed by without any outward event, but in inner transformation.
Then the initial adjustment to the new life had been made. The first shock passed, of the change the rishi's curse had forced on them. But now, Pandu was gripped by a deep sorrow: that he could not have children. In his boyhood, his grandmother Satyavati had instilled the fear in him that no man who did not have a son could enter heaven when he died. She said only the most accursed men were condemned to childlessness.
Pandu found he could not meditate any more. When he shut them to still his mind, images of fantasial children danced before his eyes. It was as if destiny had taken a hand again, if a subtler one, in Pandu's life in the wilderness. Day and night, he saw visions of his wives with sons in their arms; in his dreams, he saw himself a proud father. His peace was gone.
Once he went to visit some munis that lived in tapasya in that forest. They were planning to cross the mountains to the Manasarovara, lake perched between heaven and earth, which Brahma once created with a thought, where the Parabrahman, the eternal Spirit, abides.
Pandu said to them, "Take us with you; we also seek the refuge of the Brahman."
But the eldest rishi replied, "That is not your way, Pandu, nor is it time for you to seek the Brahman. Besides, the princesses will not be able to make the crossing to the Manasarovara."
Pandu broke down and wept. He told them how he had become obsessed with the desire for a son. Among those rishis was an old man who was a visionary and saw through time. He said to Pandu, "I have looked into your future and I have seen you having not one, but five sons. They will not be ordinary children, but kshatriyas of destiny."
"How will I have sons with my curse?" asked Pandu.
"Your own mothers had sons after their husband was dead."
Pandu stood transfixed by the implication. Those rishis blessed him and went on their way to the lake of the Brahman. Pandu ran home in a fever of excitement. He called Kunti, who was the older and more mature of his wives.
He said to her, "I will find only hell when I die, because I have no sons. I cannot father children on you myself, but we can ask a rishi to help us. It seems to be the fate of the Kuru line."
Kunti turned pale. "You violate the chastity of my mind with this thought. I am your wife Pandu and that is a sacred thing. I would give up my life for that and here you are asking me to have another man's child. Whoever he may be, the very idea is hateful to me."
He stared at her in a mixture of disappointment and a love he could not express. Her eyes turned down, she said softly, "If you think you won't find a place in heaven without having a son, here I am before you. Father your child on me and when he is born I will follow you out of this world."
"I am so desperate that I would do as you say. Only, I would not orphan my son as soon as he is born, but nurture and enjoy him. Kunti, listen to me, I also know something of the scriptures and the law.
In the elder days, the golden ages of the earth, women were never bound to one man. It was only Rishi Uddalaka's son Swetaketu who forced the contrivance of marriage on women; and perhaps caused the fall of the human spirit. For when their holy freedom was restricted, women began to be secretive and deceitful.
In our own house, Vyasa was called to father sons on our mothers. There is no sin in it, Kunti. Would you rather see me die of a broken heart than do as I ask?"
She stopped his lips with her hand. Kunti had remembered something, a boon given her long ago by another rishi. Slowly she said, "I have a cure for your sorrow."
"What is it?"
He hardly believed her. He was thinking instead of asking Madri to give him a child by a rishi, though she was even less likely to agree. Despair suffocated Pandu.
But Kunti was saying, "Many years ago, when I was a girl, Maharishi Durvasa stayed in my father's palace for a week and I looked after him. Though I did nothing very much, he was pleased with me."
"I am not surprised," murmured Pandu, whom she cared for so lovingly in the forest.
"Just before he left, he taught me a mantra and told me I could summon any Deva I wanted with it. I was too young then to understand what he meant; besides, I was too frightened to invoke a God. But I still remember the mantra as if he taught it to me yesterday. If you want me to, I can summon a Deva and the Kuru line will be blessed with a matchless prince."
She spoke half in jest and, of course, said nothing of how she had invoked the blazing sun. But her husband cried, "You must use the mantra today!"
He led her impatiently to their little hut. He called Madri out and told her they were going to visit all the asramas in the forest. They must leave at once, because today was the happiest day of his life! A bewildered Madri prepared to go with him. But she asked, "What about Kunti?"
"Kunti stays here!" cried Pandu. "She stays here and invokes Dharma Deva, the Lord of truth."
When Madri and Pandu had gone, Kunti stood waving after them for a long time. At last, alone and afraid, she turned back into the little wooden dwelling. Briefly, she regretted having told Pandu about the mantra. She trembled when she thought of the day the Sun God had appeared before her. But then, she remembered how miserable her husband was and thought how happy she could make him.
With a sigh, Kunti stood beside the fire of worship. Fixing her mind on dharma and the God who embodies eternal justice, she chanted Durvasa's mantra for the second time.