TWENTY
When Kunti returned from her night on the mountain, she was with child again. Now she bore the son of the wind in her womb and she glowed with that boy, growing powerfully within her. Pandu could hardly wait for his son to be born. And when Kunti delivered her child and he cried lustily for her breast, Pandu was not disappointed. His second son was a huge baby and the grip of his small hand was as strong as his voice was loud.
Once more, a disembodied voice spoke to them, "Let your son by Vayu Deva be named Bheemasena. He will be the strongest and most loving of your children."
And so it was. Little Bheema was so fond of his brother Yudhishtira that Pandu was delighted. From the beginning there was no rivalry between the two; rather, they seemed to complement each other's natures perfectly. Once, when their second son was just two months, Pandu and Kunti were out on the mountain with the children. They were returning to the asrama by a steep trail, a short way they used when they were tired. Kunti tripped over a root that had stretched itself across the narrow path and Bheema flew out of her arms and fell onto a rock some fifty feet below.
Kunti ran screaming down the slope, certain her baby had been killed by the fall. His heart in his mouth Pandu went after her. But little Bheema lay gurgling happily; the fall had thrilled him no end but had not hurt him at all. The black rock on which he had fallen was smashed to bits and there was not a scratch on him. Kunti snatched him up and he snuggled against her, while Yudhishtira watched with solemn eyes that saw everything with unwinking equanimity.
A happy year passed and then Pandu grew restless again. He had been having strange dreams, in which he saw himself as the father of more children than two. He saw many Devas in his dreams; but most of all he saw one who was more majestic than all the others, because he was their king. Pandu was certain that greatest Deva spoke to him.
He called Kunti and said, "I have been dreaming of Indra. He says we must have a son by him, a perfect kshatriya, greater than even Yudhishtira and Bheema."
She began to protest, but he laid a finger on her lips. With a sigh and an inner quaver at the thought of summoning the king of the Devas, Kunti agreed to do as her husband asked. Now she went deep into a nearby forest and inside a cave invoked the Deva king with Durvasa's mantra. Indra came to her, stern and full of majesty. For all that, he was tender; and when he had calmed her first helpless anxiety, he was the most ardent of her unearthly lovers. Even as she lay delirious in his arms, she swore she would never use the mantra again.
In time, Kunti delivered her third and finest son. Once more, an asariri spoke to that forest family. "This is the child who will win undying fame for his father. He will become the greatest archer on earth and conquer the world in his brother's name. Let him be called Arjuna." The heavens opened. They heard gandharvas singing little Arjuna's praises and soft flowers rained down on them, swathing the hermitage in the scent of other worlds.
The night Arjuna was born, Indra came to Pandu in a dream. Now he spoke clearly to that kshatriya, "Tonight Vishnu's twin incarnations, Nara and Narayana, have been born into the world to cleanse it of evil. Arjuna is Nara, come again as a man. In Mathura tonight, Narayana has also been born. Hearken to the earth, Pandu, she sings the birth of dark Krishna."
Pandu awoke. It was past midnight and he heard the wind in the trees like a hymning sea, full of a celebrant rumor that a blue savior had been born into the world, to purify it in blood. From far away, he thought he could hear a storm over a distant city at whose evil heart the newborn Avatara, his Arjuna's cousin, nestled. When Pandu fell asleep again, listening to the wind outside, prophetic dreams visited his sleep. He saw his sons fight a great war for the Blue God who had been born that night. It was an ancient war between good and evil, one that would destroy the race of kings forever. But when he awoke the next morning, he remembered nothing of his dreams.
The years were full and swift with the joy of his sons and Pandu, hermit prince of the Kurus, could not have been happier. But when a year passed after Arjuna's birth, he called Kunti once more and said, "There is a greed more irresistible than the avarice for wealth and I am prey to it. How wonderful our three children are, but I am not satisfied. Kunti, use your mantra again; give me just one more son!"
But this time Kunti was firm. "Not the direst calamity should make one summon the Gods for more than three sons. Besides, I could not bear the coming of another Deva. I would die."
No matter how much he begged her, she would not relent. But Pandu's desire for more sons was soon to be satisfied. One morning, when Kunti had gone to the river, Madri came to him. She looked unhappy and Pandu asked her, "Is something the matter, my love?"
And it all burst out of his second queen: the resentment she had harbored and the envy. Madri cried, "The preference you have shown Kunti doesn't sadden me, because I know I am younger than she is. But can't I be the mother of at least one of your children? She has borne you three sons; can't she teach me her mantra so I can also fulfil my womanhood?"
"Kunti thinks of you as her own sister, she won't grudge you this," said Pandu.
But he saw Madri's face set hard. "She is my rival for your love. She has resented me since the day you brought me home. She never shows it in your presence, Pandu. But in the things she says and does when we are alone, she makes it clear she would have rather been your only wife. I will not beg her for the mantra. You must ask her yourself."
Pandu was only happy to go to Kunti and say, "If you won't have any more children, will you allow Madri to use the mantra? She says that you have three fine sons, may the Gods protect them, while she has none."
"Did she ask you for this? Is she willing?"
"She was afraid you might refuse if she asked herself."
Kunti laughed, "Why should I refuse my little Madri anything? But she has been strange lately, as if she resents me. I cannot teach her the mantra, but I can invoke a Deva for her, whichever one she wants."
Kunti took Madri to a secluded grove in the forest. She asked her to think of any Deva she chose. When she had murmured the words of power Kunti hurried away from that place, leaving Madri alone. As she went, behind her she felt the intense agitation of heaven and earth that heralded the coming of a God. Kunti and Pandu stayed awake most of the night in their kutila, thinking of Madri in the forest. Through the night they heard the wind moaning in the trees; it could have been the passionate whispering of a Deva. At last, near dawn, Pandu and Kunti fell asleep.
When Madri returned from the forest in the morning, a soft new radiance was upon her; her skin shone from whatever had happened in the night. But when they asked her excitedly who her Deva was, she would not tell them. "Let that be my secret," she said.
In course of time, Madri delivered not one but two beautiful sons. She wore a look of such smugness that Kunti finally realized how much the younger woman envied her.
The heavenly voice spoke in that asrama once more, "The sons of the Aswins will be the most handsome men on earth. Let them be called Nakula and Sahadeva."
No sooner were her twins born, than Madri's nature underwent a sad change. She did not have a moment to spare for Kunti's boys any more, but only carried and cosseted her own. Kunti treated all five princes equally and fortunately the children made no differences among themselves. It was in none of their natures and to Madri's chagrin even her sons were more attached to Kunti than to her.
When the twins were a year old, Madri said to Pandu, "Tell Kunti to say the mantra again for me. Wouldn't you like to have more sons as handsome as Nakula and Sahadeva?"
Pandu went and asked Kunti, "Will you say the mantra once more for Madri? She has only two sons while you have three."
But Kunti's face grew dark. "She is always setting her boys apart from mine. Using the mantra once, she had twins. I dare not think whom she will invoke, if I say it for her again. Don't ask me to do this, my lord. Let us be content with the children we have."
And Madri had to be satisfied with her twins and her position in the family, which was definitely of the second wife. But that asrama, set like a jewel in Satasringa, was the happiest place. Pandu's sons grew apace there, loved by all the rishis who lived in that valley praying for the world. Those masters of the spirit performed the rituals of naming and initiation for the five princes. It was with them that the young Pandavas had their earliest tutelage.
In Mathura, Kunti's kinsfolk the Yadavas were shocked to hear Pandu had been cursed. Now when he heard that Pandu was the father of five sons, Kunti's brother Vasudeva sent gifts for his nephews through his family priest Kashyapa. He also sent news of the birth of his own sons, Balarama and Krishna. Charmed by the Pandava princes, Kashyapa stayed on in the forest asrama for a while. He performed the upanayanams of the Devaputras.
The rishis all adored the young kshatriyas. So did the wild creatures of the jungle, where the boys ranged as freely as the wind and the sun: inseparable and wonderfully gifted.
In the same forest lived Sayyati's son Suka, as if fate had brought him here. This hermit was a fine archer and he became the princes' first guru in the wilds. So, though they grew up far from a palace, they lacked little in their education: which kshatriya boy could have asked for better masters than Suka and their own father Pandu?
From the beginning, Yudhishtira was adept with a javelin and Bheema with a mace. Arjuna was far ahead of the rest with a bow and arrows; he shot with equal ease with his right and left hands. Though, in every discipline, they were no match for one of their brothers, the twins excelled as all-round warriors. They performed equally well with the mace and the javelin, the sword and the longbow.
In just a year, Suka told Pandu, "Arjuna is already as good an archer as I am. I have nothing more to teach him. I have never seen another boy blessed with such talent. A gift like his develops only over many lives and is perfected in a final one." He paused, thoughtfully. "After which there are no more births or deaths, because the spirit has become immaculate."
Suka gave young Arjuna his own bow and then went away to the highest Himalaya to continue his tapasya, in preparation to leave his body. Now that he had taught Pandu's third son everything he knew, his work in the world was accomplished. He passed beyond this earth and its affairs.