Read Online THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 1 by Ramesh Menon - Free Book Online
Authors: Ramesh Menon
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his human form and was a figure of white light, illumining the darkling trees. With a varunastra, his master extinguished Bheeshma’s arrow of a hundred fires. The two archers stood panting with their effort of will.
They rested for only a moment. Then, invoking more mystic astras, each one more potent and complex than the last, they dueled in the jungle’s heart. For days they fought, the awesome master and his tremendous disciple. The earth shook and the Devas came out in their sky-chariots to watch.
Someone else watched, as well, hidden behind a banyan tree that grew at the edge of the clearing. Amba had broken away from the rishis and her grandfather and followed Bhargava and Bheeshma. She watched them now, her mad eyes blazing.
Their duel became the world to the two warriors. It became a reflection of their spirits, of life and death. They were entirely absorbed, as munis are by their dhyana; battle to those two was no less than worship. Forest and sky lit up with the flares of astras. Amba stood petrified behind her spreading tree. Like her, the Devas in their vimanas did not stir, but were breathless spectators above.
For a while it seemed neither archer would prevail. Then Bheeshma invoked the praswapastra. That weapon would fuse the apocalyptic fires hidden within the most infinitesimal particles; it would consume the very earth.
Bheeshma drew his bowstring back to discharge the astra at his master. But two other figures appeared between the bowmen. Midnight was brilliant, as if day had dawned. The Devas put aside cloud coverings, drew back the veils of heaven and revealed themselves. The sky was full of shining craft and stern Gods who are beyond the understanding of men.
One of the splendorous ones who stood between Bhargava and his pupil was Rudra, tall as a tree. His skin was white; dreadlocks hung to his shoulders, with a moon-sliver hiding among them. His throat was blue, where he had once quaffed smoking poison and emerald cobras twined themselves around his attenuated body. Beside him was Narada, the eternal wanderer, Brahma’s son old as the stars are.
In his voice deeper than the sky, Rudra said, “Stop, Devavrata of the dreadful vow! It is not written that you shall be the one to end this age. That time has not yet come and the task belongs to another.”
Bheeshma stood frozen. He did not hear Rudra, only waited for his hand to be free to loose the astra at his guru. Narada went near Bheeshma and spoke softly to him, calling him back to the world he was set to burn.
Slowly Bheeshma’s breathing grew calmer, his knotted body relaxed. With a sigh, Devavrata remembered himself and lowered his bow. Vast relief surged through heaven and earth.
Rudra said to him, “You are the sishya, you must withdraw first.”
Bheeshma bowed. He went up to the smoldering Bhargava. He laid his bow and his quiver at his feet and knelt before his guru. Bhargava raised his pupil up and embraced him, crying, “My son, you are Bheeshma indeed! Even I could not vanquish you. My heart is full today, that I have such a sishya.”
Bhargava cried across the clearing to Amba in the trees, “This man will give up his life, he will consume the world; but he will not break his oath. Princess, Devavrata will never marry you.”
Amba gave a shuddering howl as of a wild creature shot with an arrow. She turned and ran from that place like a dark wind.
NINE AMBA
Running, sobbing as she ran, she hardly knew herself any more as she went. She stopped at times and bayed at the stars in the night sky like a she-wolf that had lost her mate. All she knew was the fire in her soul for revenge, consuming her. Bheeshma may be the greatest kshatriya on earth; but he had ruined her and he must pay for it with his life.
In the heart of a forest, where not even rishis ventured, she sat under a gnarled tree and began to pray. For a year she sat, unmoving, her body fed by just her hatred, worshipping Siva’s son Karttikeya. Dirt caked
They rested for only a moment. Then, invoking more mystic astras, each one more potent and complex than the last, they dueled in the jungle’s heart. For days they fought, the awesome master and his tremendous disciple. The earth shook and the Devas came out in their sky-chariots to watch.
Someone else watched, as well, hidden behind a banyan tree that grew at the edge of the clearing. Amba had broken away from the rishis and her grandfather and followed Bhargava and Bheeshma. She watched them now, her mad eyes blazing.
Their duel became the world to the two warriors. It became a reflection of their spirits, of life and death. They were entirely absorbed, as munis are by their dhyana; battle to those two was no less than worship. Forest and sky lit up with the flares of astras. Amba stood petrified behind her spreading tree. Like her, the Devas in their vimanas did not stir, but were breathless spectators above.
For a while it seemed neither archer would prevail. Then Bheeshma invoked the praswapastra. That weapon would fuse the apocalyptic fires hidden within the most infinitesimal particles; it would consume the very earth.
Bheeshma drew his bowstring back to discharge the astra at his master. But two other figures appeared between the bowmen. Midnight was brilliant, as if day had dawned. The Devas put aside cloud coverings, drew back the veils of heaven and revealed themselves. The sky was full of shining craft and stern Gods who are beyond the understanding of men.
One of the splendorous ones who stood between Bhargava and his pupil was Rudra, tall as a tree. His skin was white; dreadlocks hung to his shoulders, with a moon-sliver hiding among them. His throat was blue, where he had once quaffed smoking poison and emerald cobras twined themselves around his attenuated body. Beside him was Narada, the eternal wanderer, Brahma’s son old as the stars are.
In his voice deeper than the sky, Rudra said, “Stop, Devavrata of the dreadful vow! It is not written that you shall be the one to end this age. That time has not yet come and the task belongs to another.”
Bheeshma stood frozen. He did not hear Rudra, only waited for his hand to be free to loose the astra at his guru. Narada went near Bheeshma and spoke softly to him, calling him back to the world he was set to burn.
Slowly Bheeshma’s breathing grew calmer, his knotted body relaxed. With a sigh, Devavrata remembered himself and lowered his bow. Vast relief surged through heaven and earth.
Rudra said to him, “You are the sishya, you must withdraw first.”
Bheeshma bowed. He went up to the smoldering Bhargava. He laid his bow and his quiver at his feet and knelt before his guru. Bhargava raised his pupil up and embraced him, crying, “My son, you are Bheeshma indeed! Even I could not vanquish you. My heart is full today, that I have such a sishya.”
Bhargava cried across the clearing to Amba in the trees, “This man will give up his life, he will consume the world; but he will not break his oath. Princess, Devavrata will never marry you.”
Amba gave a shuddering howl as of a wild creature shot with an arrow. She turned and ran from that place like a dark wind.
NINE AMBA
Running, sobbing as she ran, she hardly knew herself any more as she went. She stopped at times and bayed at the stars in the night sky like a she-wolf that had lost her mate. All she knew was the fire in her soul for revenge, consuming her. Bheeshma may be the greatest kshatriya on earth; but he had ruined her and he must pay for it with his life.
In the heart of a forest, where not even rishis ventured, she sat under a gnarled tree and began to pray. For a year she sat, unmoving, her body fed by just her hatred, worshipping Siva’s son Karttikeya. Dirt caked
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