13.
One day in high summer, when the air
seemed to scorch the skin, and every breath
was an effort, Arjuna proposed
that there should be a grand expedition
to the countryside. It would be cool
under the trees on the shady riverbank.
Arrangements were made. With family and friends,
together with a retinue of cooks,
maids and other servants, they left the city
in palanquins, in chariots, on horseback;
dozens of carts were piled with the provisions
Bhima thought essential for their needs.
Encamped beside the sparkling Yamuna,
some plunged into the refreshing water;
some played games, others brought out flutes,
drums and vinas, and there was dance and song.
Needless to say how plentiful and varied
the food was, how delectable the drink.
Krishna and Arjuna walked off by themselves
among the trees, talking, reminiscing.
They were enjoying each other’s company,
seated at their ease in a pleasant grove,
when they were approached by a strange brahmin.
He towered above them, tall as a shala tree.
His hair and beard were red, his skin coppery,
and he was radiant as the morning sun,
blazing with glory. The two kshatriyas
stood up to honor him.
“I see,” he said,
“the world’s greatest heroes standing before me.
I beg you—give me enough to eat. I’m starving.”
Arjuna said, “We’ll fetch you food, enough
and more than you can possibly consume.”
“It is not food I want,” said the stranger.
“I am Agni. I am Fire itself.
This Khandava Forest is the feast I crave,
but every time I try to gobble it
with my fiery mouth, Indra sends bank on bank
of voluminous black thunderclouds,
dousing the flames with deluges of rain,
frustrating my voracious appetite.
He does it to protect his friend—the snake,
Takshaka, whose home is in this forest.
But now I have met you, I shall succeed.
I know your mastery of every weapon—
come to my aid! Fend off Indra’s rain clouds;
prevent the million creatures of the forest
from escaping death.”
The god of fire
was in poor health, suffering from a surfeit
of clarified butter, which had ceaselessly
been poured into him, in sacrifices
sponsored by an overzealous king.
He had been told that only by consuming
fat from the creatures of the Khandava
would he be cured.
“It’s true,” said Arjuna,
“that we know how to summon divine weapons,
but we have come here on a pleasure outing—
we have no bows, or quivers, and have only
ordinary chariots and horses.
If I am to help you as you wish
I need a bow commensurate with my strength,
an inexhaustible supply of arrows,
and a chariot that shakes the ground,
as dazzling as the sun. I want fine horses—
divine white horses, faster than the wind.
Krishna, too, needs weapons to suit his skill.
We’ll help you, willingly, but we must have
tools for the task.”
Agni summoned Varuna,
keeper of weapons, one of the world guardians,
lord of waters. Agni paid him homage,
then asked him to provide the two warriors
with the weapons they would need. First Arjuna
received with joy the marvelous bow Gandiva,
the indestructible, the shining arc,
a bow so mighty that the cording of it
caused the air to throb, the mind to shudder
of anyone who heard it. Then Varuna
gave ambidextrous Arjuna two quivers
filled with an ever-replenishing supply
of shafts. Krishna received a keen-edged discus
that would always return to the thrower’s hand;
and a great club, lethal as a thunderbolt.
Lastly, Varuna summoned for the heroes
a horse-drawn chariot, made by Vishvakarman,
celestial craftsman. It was magnificent—
huge and well-proportioned, flying a banner
marked with the image of a divine monkey
whose terrifying and unearthly roars
could render an enemy insensible.
Four white horses, fast as thought, faster
than the strongest wind, drew the chariot.
Now the heroes were equipped for battle
and eager to engage with the chief of gods.
Agni spewed out a ring of fire encircling
the dense forest, to cut off all escape.
Then, working inward, the hungry fire consumed
everything in his path. Insatiable
flames leapt, roared and crackled through the trees,
and billows of smoke, rivaling Mount Meru,
could be seen from scores of miles around.
A dreadful screeching started. Many creatures
were burned immediately. Others ran
blazing, scattering mindlessly, eyes bursting,
pawing the ground until they atomized
in the white heat of the conflagration.
Everywhere, animals ran, struggled, writhed.
Some clung to their mothers, fathers, mates
unable to abandon them. In this way
whole tribes and families met death together.
Anything that managed to break free
was hunted down by Arjuna and Krishna,
guarding the periphery of the forest
so nothing could escape the conflagration.
Birds flew upward, but burst into flames
before they could escape to cooler air
or they were shot by Arjuna, to fall
and perish in the deafening inferno.
As forest pools came to boiling point
fish and tortoises jumped out or crawled
onto the banks, to burn and suffocate.
When Arjuna saw them, he cut them to shreds
and, laughing, threw them into the leaping flames.
The creatures’ screams ascended to the heavens
so that the gods themselves were terrified
and cried out to Indra, sacker of cities,
“What is this? Why are these creatures dying?
Are we witnessing the final destruction
of the world?” Indra hurled down immense
volumes of water, pelting the burning trees
with shafts of rain, and a barrage of hailstones
as big as pigeons’ eggs. So great was the heat
that they turned into scalding clouds of steam
before they reached the ground. Indra increased
his onslaught. Arjuna, raising his bow,
loosed cascades of shafts, shattering hailstones,
casting a net of arrows, a canopy,
so Indra’s rainstorm failed to penetrate.
Agni raged on, in his many fiery forms.
Though frustrated, Indra looked down with pride
at his mortal son, the mighty Arjuna,
then mobilized an army of snakes, demons
and predatory creatures, who converged
on the heroes with an almighty din,
as if the oceans of the world were churning.
They unleashed a storm of iron bolts.
Arjuna shot innumerable arrows.
Krishna hurled his discus, which returned
to his hand, time after time, slick with blood.
The attack was soon repelled, and the searing fire
continued unabated. Agni devoured
rivers of fat and marrow, as the millions
of forest creatures gasped their final breath.
His eyes alight, his scarlet tongue flickering,
his flaming mouth and crackling hair ablaze,
Agni feasted, protected by the heroes.
Then the battle of earth and sky began
in earnest. Indra called upon his allies
among the gods, and Arjuna and Krishna
were soon under assault from every side.
But their weapons, and their skill, prevailed.
The gods retreated. Indra then tore off
a mountain peak and hurled it at the heroes;
but Arjuna’s arrows intercepted it
and broke it up into a thousand fragments.
Indra summoned predatory birds,
with razor beaks and claws, to strike the warriors;
and snakes slid all around, their sussuration
filling the air, their scalding venom shooting
from burning mouths. Arjuna’s heaven-made arrows
diced them up, to shrivel in the flames.
Krishna knew, though Arjuna did not,
that this hard-fought fight was a rehearsal
for the great annihilating war
that would come—a war they would fight together.
Not all the forest dwellers were devoured.
The king of snakes, Takshaka, was away
in Kaurava country. His son, Ashvasena,
tried to escape the advancing flames, but failed.
His mother, desperate to save him, started
to swallow him, but Arjuna shot an arrow
which sliced off her head. Indra, seeing this,
sent great gusts of wind to save his friend’s son
which, for a moment, distracted Arjuna
and, in that moment, Ashvasena fled.
Maya, a gifted demon, dodging the flames,
about to be cut down by Krishna’s discus,
cried out, “Arjuna! Save me, Arjuna!”
Appealed to in this way, Arjuna called,
“Have no fear.” And Maya was protected.
Four other forest creatures survived the blaze.
These were fortunate young sharngaka birds.
The listening king, Janamejaya,
was amazed at this. “But how could young birds
possibly survive such an inferno?”
Vaishampayana explained as follows:
The celebrated seer Mandapala,
thwarted in his spiritual aspirations
by lack of sons, resolved to be a father.
To expedite the process, he became
a sharngaka bird, mating with a female
called Jarita. Having begotten four sons,
he promptly flew off with another female,
Lapita, abandoning his family.
As he was dallying with his lady love,
he saw Agni arrive to burn the forest
and worshiped the fire god with fulsome praise.
Agni, flattered, offered him a boon.
Mandapala bowed: “Please spare my sons
when you are laying waste to the Khandava.”
As the fire advanced, the mother bird
was consumed with terror for her chicks
who could not yet fly. What was she to do?
She could not carry them all—should she take one?
Should she cover all four with her body?
The four young birds said, “You should fly away
and save yourself. You can have more sons
and in that way our line will not die out
though we ourselves will perish in the flames.”
Jarita urged them to hide in a rat hole
but they preferred death by fire. Eventually,
she flew away to safety. The fire approached,
and the little birds sang a loud hymn of praise
to Agni. The fire god was delighted,
and remembering Mandapala’s request,
he left the young birds alone, and raged onward.
Meanwhile, Mandapala was suffering
sharp pangs of anxiety for his offspring
despite the fire god’s promise. He lamented
loudly for his little sons. Lapita
was furious, “It’s not your sons you’re mourning—
Agni promised to spare them after all.
No, it’s that other bird you’re hankering for.
You love her more than me—go to her then!”
When the fire had passed, Jarita returned
and found her four young sons alive and well.
Full of joy, she embraced each one, and wept.
Then Mandapala arrived, much relieved
to see his family. They, however,
refused to look at him, although he burbled
to each one in turn. “Uncaring wretch!”
cried Jarita. “You left us unprotected
to frolic with your buxom Lapita!”
“Jealousy really is a dreadful thing,”
said Mandapala. “And when once a woman
has sons, she neglects her wifely duties.”
Eventually, the two were reconciled
and the entire family left that forest
and flew to settle in another country.
After the two heroes had done their work,
after Agni was completely sated
and the Khandava Forest was no more
than a blackened, desolate expanse of earth,
Indra appeared before them. “I am pleased.
You have achieved feats that even the gods
have failed at. I will grant you any boon
you ask for.” Arjuna chose divine weapons.
“You shall have them, but only at the time
I think is right,” said Indra to his son.
As his boon, Krishna asked that Arjuna
should be his friend lifelong, both in this world,
and in worlds to come. Indra gladly blessed
the friendship which had been ordained by heaven.