FORTY-SEVEN
The next morning, shortly after daybreak, Kunti and her sons came to their host the brahmana to say farewell. They found the traveling bard, last night's inflamer, already gone. When the brahmana's wife heard their guests were leaving, she begged them to wait for just an hour: she wouldn't let them go without cooking some food for the young man who had saved her family. Bheema was delighted. Kunti and her sons spent that hour with the brahmana and his two children, while the wife got busy in her kitchen.
The meal was ready and packed in an earthen vessel tied in a cloth. Embracing their host, the Pandavas and their mother set out. The people of Ekachakra came out to say goodbye. Some of the women had tears in their eyes as they waved to Bheema. The Pandavas passed through the gates and walked on without looking back, it was inauspicious.
Across sweeping plains with fields bright as a parrot's feathers the wayfarers went, happy to be out of the friendly but dreary town they had lived in for so many months. They tracked the sun toward Kampilya. Soon the day grew warm and they rested in some airy woods and ate the meal the brahmana's wife had sent.
When they had eaten, sleep came over them. The princes had not slept all night long and Kunti just a few hours before dawn. They lay in the shade of a large nyagrodha tree, with no walls or ceiling to cage their dreams. The brothers all dreamt of a dark and bewitching face, its eyes full of fate.
It was growing on evening when Yudhishtira awoke, before the others and he saw a profound rishi had joined them. With a knowing gleam in his eye, Vyasa said, "Sweet dreams, I hope, my son?"
Yudhishtira awakened the others. The princes prostrated themselves at Vyasa's feet and he blessed them. The maharishi said, "The way ahead leads straight to Kampilya and fortune awaits you there, all of you. I see darkness lifting away from your lives; days of joy are around the corner of time. You will soon forget the evil months you have passed through. Be of good cheer, I will see you in Kampilya!"
He strode off into the trees and actually seemed to vanish. Kunti and her sons made their way again toward Drupada's capital. Singing among themselves, more hopeful than they had ever been since the burning of the house of lac, they journeyed on, by day and by night, passing through virgin forests and across glimmering plains, fording gushing streams. In their mood, they were intensely sensible of the sights, sounds and scents of the lands they went through, as if only now that they headed for Kampilya they had eyes and ears for nature's lavish beauty.
One night, as they walked through a forest, Arjuna led the way with a rushlight in his hand. The moon had risen above them and they heard the Ganga flowing ahead. They heard other noises, as well: unearthly voices and wonderful laughter; someone was bathing in the river.
As they went nearer, abruptly all the sounds ceased. Nothing stirred. They thought they must have heard animals drinking at the river; only the breeze had made them seem like golden voices.
Yudhishtira said, "My body is hot and tired. I am going to bathe."
"Let's all bathe," said Bheema. "The water smells so sweet."
They approached the river, when suddenly a luminous chariot appeared from the trees, like a full moon. Two horses were yoked to it and they were not of this earth. Their skins glowed in the dark, green and copper and their manes seemed to be made of tongues of silver flame. Kunti and her sons could not be sure if those horses' hooves touched the ground.
At the helm of the chariot, stood the most marvelous being. He was taller than any man of the earth. Woven with flowers and full of light, his hair hung to his shoulders. His dark face was keen and sharp and his wide eyes glittered angrily at them. For a moment, he stood glowering and behind him in the trees were other forms, dim and bright. The princes of Hastinapura fancied they were female forms.
The chariot-rider raised a hand and cried in his ringing voice, "You cannot approach the river! The twilight hours are only for the yakshas, gandharvas and rakshasas. We kill witless mortals who dare trespass here at this time."
Arjuna heard his haughty tone and cried, "Who are you to lay down laws for the river waters that are free?"
"I am Angaraparna the gandharva!" said the Elf, more imperiously still.
"Sky-rover, no one has any right over the ocean, the Himalaya, or the Ganga. Not by day or night, or twilight."
The gandharva bristled. He cried fiercely, "Begone mortals! I came to the river to bathe with my women; you may not approach the water until we have finished. Go peacefully, before you annoy me. This vana is named after me and not merely men but yakshas and rakshasas dare not come here. Humans, begone!"
Arjuna laughed at him. "Your threats don't frighten us, not even at this twilight hour of your strength."
With a cry of anger, the gandharva raised his bow. It was an arc of light in his hands. Quick as light, he drew arrows from his quiver and began to shoot at them, especially at Arjuna. Now Arjuna, too, was a blur: he struck aside the immortal's fiery stream of arrows with his torch.
The gandharva paused in his archery that would have razed a small army. His arrows all lay extinguished at Arjuna's feet. The dark human said, "Angaraparna, your archery is very pretty and about as potent as wave-froth. But you are not of our earth and I will show you what sort of archer I am with a weapon of the sky."
The gandharva waited, amused, confident the human's arrows would be puny. Arjuna took his bow from Bheema, who had been carrying it for him. Indra's son called to his adversary across the moonlit glade, "Gandharva, I charge this arrow with the astra of Agni. It is Brihaspati's weapon, given to me by my master Drona. Let us see you stop my arrow."
With a resonant mantra, Arjuna shot his astra at the gandharva. It did not travel as swiftly as a common shaft, but seemed to linger in the air as it flew at the glowing chariot. Angaraparna waited with a mocking smile on his lips. Midway between Arjuna and the gandharva, the astra took fire.
Angaraparna cried out in amazement; his women in the trees screamed. In a sheet of flames, Arjuna's agneyastra flashed between the unworldly steeds and struck the chariot. The ratha erupted and Angaraparna was flung headlong from it.
The chariot—from which Angaraparna got his name, 'Scorching Chariot',—burned down. The shining horses bolted into the trees. Arjuna strode up to the stunned gandharva, seized his lustrous hair and dragged him to Yudhishtira.
Three tall, incredibly beautiful women ran out from the trees: the gandharva's wives, their faces and bodies shimmering, their hair touched with starlight. The tallest came boldly up to the Pandavas. She said in her voice so full of music, "Noble ones! I am Kumbheenasi. I beg you, spare my husband's life."
The others remained behind her in the shadows. The princes heard their stifled sobs and saw their delicate bodies tremble. Arjuna held Angaraparna by his hair and the gandharva was still dazed. His chariot was a mound of ashes.
Kumbheenasi knelt at Yudhishtira's feet. She grasped his hand in her soft palms, knowing at a glance that he would decide Angaraparna's fate.
"Kind Kshatriya, spare my husband!" she sobbed.
Yudhishtira turned to Arjuna, who still stood red-eyed. The older Pandava said, "Let him go, Arjuna. You have proved your point and who would kill a man that needs a woman's protection?"
Arjuna scowled at Angaraparna, as if he would dearly prefer to kill him. He released the Elf's hair and the gandharva fell back on the grass. He gave a long moan and slowly stood up. He was taller than Bheema. Now he bowed low, with folded hands, to Yudhishtira and Arjuna.
With a rueful smile, Angaraparna said, "I renounce my name! I am humbled and my chariot is ashes."
He laughed. It seemed merriment was so much part of his nature that not the shame of defeat could stifle it. Impulsively, Angaraparna took Arjuna's hand and cried, "I must repay your kindness! I would have killed you, but you spared my life when you could have had just revenge. I will give you the secret power of the gandharvas, the chaksushi is mine to give."
Before Arjuna could protest, the gandharva placed his fingertips on the Pandava's temples and whispered a mantra in his ear. Arjuna's body began to tingle with a most extraordinary sensation. Angaraparna was saying, "The chaksushi sets the gandharvas apart from you humans."
Liquid sight was upon Arjuna, as if a hidden eye had opened inside his head at the gandharva's mantra: a fabulous, mystic eye. Visions swept the Pandava prince and all his rage of a moment ago melted away. A beatific smile lit his face.
Angaraparna said, "Now you can see into all the worlds, Kshatriya and whatever you like on any of them."
Arjuna's eyes were alight at what he saw. Then, remembering himself, he willed the uncanny visions to stop and to his surprise, they did. Arjuna looked at the tall being before him in some awe.
The gandharva had already flashed on to his next concern. "I also want, O Kshatriya, to give you and your brothers a hundred horses: steeds like mine foaled in the homelands of the gandharvas. They appear at the very thought of he who owns them and so do they change their color, or their speed. Look."
Next moment, a herd of wild horses stood on the banks of the river. They were like no horses of the earth, shimmering and of many colors. The Pandavas stood enraptured, as their new-found friend said, "My horses are lean, Kshatriyas. But they never tire and they run as swift as thoughts!"
Arjuna thought this had gone far enough. "I cannot accept your gifts, wonderful though they are. I have nothing to give you in return."
Angaraparna bowed solemnly again. "To meet a great man is always a joyful thing. Besides, you have given me an inestimable gift—my life! Yet, if you want to repay me for what I gave you, teach me the secret of the astra that made my chariot ashes."
"So be it!" laughed the Pandava. "I will teach you the secret of the astra and take your chaksushi and your horses."
Arjuna taught the gandharva the mantra for the agneyastra and the immortal shone to receive it. In return, the Pandava took the marvelous horses, fleeter than the wind. The two of them embraced, crying, "May our friendship last for ever!"
Then, curious, Arjuna said, "Tell me, friend, why did you attack us? We are kshatriya princes, not thieves or brigands."
The Elf was solemn. "Unannounced, without care for proper time or rite, you wander these forests. You do not know where you should venture, at what hour. My women were with me; I was honor-bound to attack. But tell me friend, in truth, who are you?"
Yudhishtira replied, "We are the Pandavas, hiding from our enemies."
Angaraparna gave a long whistle, melodious as a birdcall. He embraced each of the princes again and bowed deeply before Kunti.
"I am glad! I am exceedingly glad you are alive. One day you five will rule the world; it is not right that you roam the wilds without a priest to guide you. Kings and princes must have priests. Tapatyas, no kshatriya can conquer the earth without a brahmana beside him."
Arjuna said, "We are Pandavas and Kaunteyas, all right. But why do you call us Tapatyas?"
"Once, with the help of his guru, the brahmarishi Vasishta, the ancient king Samvarana regained the kingdom he had lost. With that muni's help, also, Samvarana won the hand of his beloved, Surya's daughter Tapati. In time, Samvarana and Tapati had a son. They named him Kuru and he was your ancestor. And so I call you Tapatyas."
Arjuna said, "For the time being, let your beautiful horses remain with you. I will take them when my brother is a king. Now, wise friend, tell us if you know a brahmana who will be our priest."
"A rishi who does tapasya in this very forest. He is Devala Muni's younger brother, called Dhaumya and his asrama is yonder."
He pointed deeper into the jungle. After their piquant encounter, the Pandavas and Kunti bid the gandharva farewell and went the way he pointed, in search of a priest.
Dhaumya's asrama was a simple and austere dwelling, next to a jungle shrine called Utkochaka. He was a serene muni, tall, spare and bearded; and his eyes shone with wisdom. The princes prostrated themselves at his feet. When he had blessed them, he made the Pandavas and Kunti sit comfortably on seats of darbha grass and fed them sweet fruit and some soft and delicious roots.
Already, uncommon empathy sprang deeply between them. Dhaumya said, "Tell me, Brahmanas, if brahmanas you are, who you are and why have you sought me out in this jungle where no man ventures?"
Yudhishtira replied, "Muni, we are the Pandavas of Hastinapura, whom the world believes dead. We have come to you because we want a priest and a guru. For, one day we hope to return to our father's city and rule the world from there."
Dhaumya smiled and grew very quiet. Finally, he asked, "And where are you heading now?"
"To Kampilya."
This seemed to satisfy him. "If you truly want me to be your priest, I am willing."
Suddenly, they had a strong sense that the darkness that had shrouded their lives for two years had lifted away. Dhaumya did not take long to collect his spare possessions. By the light of a new dawn, they set out together for Kampilya.