Vivāha
Stories of vivāha from the ancient past.
Despite all his training, Pururava had never been in a real battle before. But five years among the Suryavanshi ensured that he heard countless tales of war-field heroics. When the battle began, he was told, every stroke and slash either saved your life or took that of another; and a solider easily gave into battle lust and instinct. The high of battle and blood was compared to that of the Sacred Plant- War being Soma to men with swords and armour. This blood lust was given great glory even in the ballads of Deva and Asura. When his training was complete, Senapati Drishta had proudly announced to Ikshvaku that Pururava would be a warrior full of glory and valour.
Pururava felt none of that though. Every weary breath he took brought stench and dust to his lungs, and more muscles ached in his body that he thought he had. From time to time, a fresh batch of gristle and blood would splatter across him, blinding him. Rubbing his eyes with his bloody, grimy hands was of no help. His eyes stung, and the many cuts and bruises upon him were now beginning to hurt. He hadn’t lost too much blood, he was sure of that, but the daze that was setting in was fatigue, not battle lust.
The enemy was an unanticipated element in this battle as well. Pururava expected barbarians, vicious and hungry for blood. He expected hairy beasts and aggressive snarls. Instead he got what, despite the death and blood around him, could best be described as a gentle enemy. The Gandharvas all looked young, and both their men and women fought the battle. They were short, limber and swift. Most of them wore no protection of any kind, and many fought entirely naked. But their faces were expressionless, their eyes almost benign. They gave no aggressive looks as they fought, and emitted no threatening snarls. They called out no war cries, and seemed to have no commander or Senapati. They bounded from tree to tree, jumping down in great swoops, using the momentum to drive their spears through the bronze armour of Pururava and his soldiers- much like he had seen Vanaras do. Even as they received cuts and met their deaths, they emitted no sounds of pain, and howled no pleas of mercy. If not for the fact that he could actually see them and touch them, Pururava could have imagined that he fought an invisible, silent enemy.
They were courageous, there was no doubt about that. Pururava took on Gandharvas half his size, who charged at him with no fear. They were outnumbered, but they knew the terrain and used it to their advantage. The battle was long and vicious, but gradually the tide began turning in the Somavansha’s favour. Dozens of Gandharva companies had already fled into the mountain vales. But Devapi warned him that those who fled would return in a few days with more behind them. To address this, he set his horse riders only to one purpose- to hunt down and kill every fleeing Gandharva.
But this was while the battle continued to rage. There were still many Gandharvas about, those who bravely chose to remain and fight, even while many of their brothers dropped weapons and fled. Two Gandharvas came at Pururava together, their spears pointed firmly at him. Many of the battle instincts that a soldier developed, and came to rely upon, failed against the Gandharvas. There were no metal weapons in their possession, and all they had was either wood or stone. A seasoned soldier attacked or evaded simply because of the glint of metal here, or the gleam of a sword there. Light bouncing off a shiny, metallic surface often meant life and death for the keen eye. Here, it meant nothing. In the darkness, Pururava knew, many of his men had perished because they did not see the spear coming at them, or the arrow loosed in their direction. Pururava turned to face the oncoming attackers and braced his shield. His sword was long and heavy, not as wieldy as he would have liked, and he had already decided to forge a new one after this battle. As the attackers came close, he charged and banged his shield against one as hard as he could. As his shield crashed against Gandharva bone he rotated to his right, away from the spear of the second one. While the first Gandharva reeled and recovered, he slashed his sword hard and firm, lodging it into the waist of the second. For a moment, Pururava thought he saw surprise in those dying eyes, before the first Gandharva charged at him again. Pururava easily diverted the spear with his shield, and thrust his own sword straight into the Gandharva’s throat. Blood and choking sounds emerged from his throat as he fell and joined his companion in death.
Pururava looked around and glanced upon Ashvin finishing off a Gandharva, and Devapi removing his sword from a slain one’s gut. Elsewhere around him, his men were walking around the battle-field, tending to their injured and finishing off wounded enemies. The sound of horses distracted him, and he turned around to find the source. Two Gandharvas had mounted one of his horses, and a third one another. Before the soldiers closest to them could react, they charged their mounts and sped away, but in the opposite direction- Khandakvana. Without realising it, blood lust was now upon Pururava. He longed for more battle, and mounted a stallion of his own to chase the fleeing Gandharvas. Behind him, he heard the hooves of a following horse, and knew by instinct that Ashvin had given chase as well.
***
“We should turn back now,” Ashvin suggested. “They’re bound to turn around, your men will catch them then.”
But something didn’t feel right, even Pururava’s horse sensed it- from the way he twitched his tail. “No,” Pururava said, “They’re not turning back, I know it. They’re headed into the Khandakvana.”
“There’s still open country between here and the forest,” Ashvin said. “They won’t risk that.”
Yet something told Pururava that they would. So he kept the pursuit on, and Ashvin dutifully followed. In the distance on either side, one saw the glistening waters of the great rivers, Yamuna and Sarasvati. They disappeared from time to time along the way, curving between the foothills of the great Himalaya, and being engulfed by random streaks of trees. Pururava knew that the entire land was dense forest once, and Khandakvana was a monstrous jungle that extended from just above the Narmada all the way to the trans-Himalaya. Around the myriad lakes and ponds in that forest, the Devas and Asuras had fought their wars, hundreds of years ago. Then the trees receded, the rivers turned the land fertile, and the last of the Devas and Asuras died off.
The Gandharvas they chased obviously knew the land as well as they did, if not better. They bounded left and right, doubled back in circles, and made false trails that led to a clump of trees or disappeared as they turned back. It made progress slow and stuttered, and Pururava was getting impatient. After more than four hours, the sky was beginning to turn faint orange. Pururava’s legs hurt, and he knew his horse was tired too. The trail led them to another dense gathering of trees. From here, on the jungle continued to get denser till it covered the entire land between the Sarasvati and the Yamuna.
They stopped and dismounted, bending to see depressions in the grass and pick the next trail. “Let’s end it here,” Pururava said finally. “They’re definitely inside Khandakvana now, there is no way we can pursue them.”
“I agree,” Ashvin said. “We can rest here awhile. I have a pouch of fresh fruits with me.”
“I’m not hungry,” Pururava said, distractedly. Then, realising that he should appreciate Ashvin’s foresight, he added softly, “But give some to the horses. They must be ravenous, and the grass here is sparse.”
Ashvin obeyed, and Pururava idly ran his fingers through the glade, wondering what sort of a King he was. His so-called capital was a village vulnerable to attack. His forces were small in number, and not nearly as well trained as the mighty Suryavanshi. That was when a faint, distant melody floated to him. He looked about alert- where was that coming from? He strained his ears and the melody became clearer, floating within the breeze. His eyes met Ashvin’s and they nodded, agreeing that they were both hearing it. Pururava tensed, there were no villages or settlements here, and the melody was unlike he had ever heard. This was not the sound of the flute or the wood drum. Ashvin gestured towards the forest, and Pururava nodded. With hands on their swords they moved closer in, towards the apparent source of the music. The forest was dark and strange, glowing eyes stared at them from all sides. Lulled by the music, they lost track of time, and ventured deeper and deeper into the jungle. At some point, their hands floated away from their swords and their steps became casual and relaxed.
By the time they came to a clearing, the sun was well on its rise, and its bright rays were piercing through the trees in shallow beams of light. In the middle of that clearing was a pond, shining under the rays. By its side, Pururava found both- the source of the music and the Gandharvas he was pursuing. The horses they fled on were nowhere to be seen, and two of them lay prone by the pond. The third one, wrapped in skins similar to the others’, played the strange instrument that emitted those dulcet waves of melody. Pururava’s attention went to the instrument first, a long and slender piece of wood that was oblongated at one end. Thin, barely visible strings ran from one end of it to the other, and the Gandharva was running its fingers through them with a fluid ease that was hypnotic in itself. Barely conscious of himself, Pururava moved closer. At his approach, the Gandharva stopped abruptly and shot up, looking nervously between them and the apparently unconscious companions beside it.
When the music disappeared, a strange discomfort came over Pururava, as if something beautiful had been instantly sucked out of the world. The last string the Gandharva played before stopping resonated within him longer, echoing from one ear to the other and back. Suddenly he regretted stepping closer, he should have stayed at the edge of the clearing, and continued to listen. That was when the Gandharvi spoke, and her voice was as tonal as the music she had played.
“You have come to kill us,” she stated.
Pururava could not find his voice. His ear still craved the music, and yet a part of him wanted to continue listening to this Gandharvi talk.
“Do it then,” the Gandharvi urged, a pleasant lilt in her voice.
Already Pururava knew that he could not, he would not. In the midst of battle it was different, when a naked Gandharva charged at you, you attention did not veer to its gender. Here, Pururava noticed everything- the smooth bumps around her chest, the wide curve of her hips and the slender legs beneath her robeskins. Her face was hidden, but here she was a female- and he could not raise his arms against her.
Ashvin sensed the change in his King’s intent, or perhaps changed intent himself. “Relax, Gandharvi lady,” he said softly, and added, “We will not hurt you.”
A voice inside Pururava told himself to take charge. He was the King, and he was acting like a tongue-tied fool. He stepped forward and said, “Are your companions injured?”
“They are,” the Gandharvi replied hesitantly.
Pururava stepped closer to inspect, and the Gandharvi backed off in alarm, her eyes widening in fear. “Fear not, Gandharvi,” Pururava said, voice firm but gentle. “Yes, we have been chasing you all night. But now that I see you, now that I have heard your music and your voice, I cannot cause you any harm.”
Pururava saw a trace of relief blink across the Gandharvi’s eyes, mixed with uncertainty. She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped and closed it. He stepped in closer to catch a glimpse of her face, and she looked up into his eyes. The sun fell directly on her face, and as she looked up, her hood fell back- allowing her velvet-black hair to fall out. Pururava sucked in a deep breath, never had he seen a woman of such beauty. The women of Sringara were fair and their hair radiant, and the women of Kapisa surpassed even them, but this Gandharvi was of a different make altogether. Her skin was the colour of creamy milk, and there was a dark hue in her eyes, her nose sharp and distinct.
“Will you help me, Somavanshi?” She asked hesitantly. Pururava was surprised that she knew his dynasty’s name.
“I will,” he heard himself say, still enamoured by the Gandharvi’s beauty. Strange thoughts were now occurring to him, thoughts that had never been pertinent before. He was thinking of a wife, of children and of a family. It came from deep inside him, the decision that he wanted this Gandharvi for his companion. Let Ikshvaku make friends his way, he said to himself, I can make my friends this way. Aloud he said, “What is your name, Gandharvi?”
“I am named Urvashi of the Apsaras, Somavanshi,” the Gandharvi replied timidly.
“The Apsaras?” Pururava repeated enquiringly. “What tribe are they? Are you not a Gandharvi?”
Urvashi timidly shook her head sideways.
“Then how were you among the Gandharvas we attacked?” Pururava asked. “And where are the Apsaras from?”
“I was a captive of the Gandharvas,” Urvashi replied. “We were originally a travelling party of nineteen Apsaras from beyond the Twin Lakes.”
Ashvin gave Pururava a questioning look. “The lakes of Rakshastala and Mansarovara,” Pururava explained. “So the Apsaras are a trans-Himalayan tribe?” He asked her.
Urvashi opened her mouth, and then stopped herself. “Speak your mind, Apsara,” Pururava said.
“What is your name, Somavanshi?” Urvashi asked.
“I am Pururava, the Somavanshi King. This here is Ashvin, my Senapati.”
Urvashi’s eyes widened in recognition, and suddenly her demeanour bore more confidence. “You are loathed figures among the Gandharvas,” she said. “I heard them curse you many times during my captivity.”
Pururava felt proud under her compliment, though anything she said sounded to him as accordant as her music. “No harm will come to you,” he reassured you. “But your companions are injured, let me tend to their wounds.”
“You are a healer?” Urvashi asked in surprise.
Pururava smiled at her simplicity. “No, Apsara lady, I am not. But I know enough about wounds to try and help them. It could give them enough time till we bring them to the real healers, my vaids.”
Urvashi smiled, meekly at first but then widely. “See to them then, King Pururava. They are only boys, my brothers. My parents charged me with their protection. Please help them.” With that she fell his feet.
Pururava backed off and spread out his arms, “No, Urvashi, you need not do that. And it does not befit me to have a woman touch my feet.”
“But you have offered me and my brothers your protection,” Urvashi said, clearly at a loss. “We are your slaves now, you may do with me as you wish.”
Pururava bent forward and picked Urvashi up. Her robeskins were torn and tattered, and around where he gripped her arms, his skin touched hers. For the first time in his life, Pururava experienced lust. He wanted this woman, he wanted to make her his.
“There are no slaves among us, Urvashi of the Apsaras. Women are not treated with such dishonour in Aryavarta. And with the beauty that you possess, there is only one thing I desire to do. If you permit, I would like to wed you.”
***
“Short of an Ashvamedha, the only ritual so replete with prayers and customs is the Vivaaha,” said Putakritu happily. It was not often that the ageing man found eager, patient ears in his nephews.
“How many days will it run, Uncle?” Piped the six year old Mitrayu, son of Divodasa.
“Fourteen days for all of us, but the newlyweds will have to follow secondary observances for an entire year!” Putakritu replied.
“Are Pratardana and Princess Sunidhi meeting in a Gandharva vivaaha?” Sudas asked. It was the one question he forgot to ask his mother, after she finished her tale of Pururava and Urvashi.
Putakritu widened his eyes towards Sudas. “And how would you know what a Gandharva vivaaha is, young one? Last time I checked, you were only fifteen.”
Sudas reddened under his cousins’ interested gaze. “My mother told me about it recently,” he mumbled.
Putakritu nodded genially. “Your mother is the most learned, fierce woman I have ever met,” he said to Sudas. “No doubt, much of that comes from her formidable father. The strong fort he holds in Kampilya gives protection to Kanyakubja in turn. But come, let us not leave your cousins waiting. Do share, what is a Gandharva vivaaha, young one?” Putakritu’s face was made up into his best teasing expression.
Devaratha snickered, enjoying Sudas’s rare moment of embarrassment to the hilt. “Tell us, Sudas!” Next to him, Mitrayu laughed even though his face betrayed his cluelessness.
“Gandharva vivaaha is the willing and mutual union of two lovers, unlike an arrangement made by parents, or for trade and military purposes,” Sudas finally said, turning to Devaratha with a mock smile. “Its origin is in the marriage between Urvashi and King Pururava Aila. Urvashi was an Apsara, and we should technically call it Apsara vivaaha, but the distinctions between Gandharva and Apsara have long been blurred.”
Uncle Putakritu’s eyes were set thoughtfully upon Sudas. “You know much for your young age, my dear nephew,” he said approvingly. “Now you must complement your sharp mind with a sharp stance in battle. I hear Pijavana intends to begin your martial training soon?”
“Yes, and I look forward to it,” Sudas replied.
“I do too!” Said Devaratha. “But both you and father say there is much time before that.” He looked at Putakritu with accusation.
“And for the right reason, Deva,” Putakritu said comfortingly. “You are two years younger to Sudas. Why worry, your turn will come when the time is right.”
Mitrayu decided he wanted to be a part of the proceedings too, and interjected- “I want to do it too!”
Uncle and cousins chuckled at the young one. “What do you want to do, Mitra?” Putakritu asked.
Mitrayu hesitated, realising now that he had no idea what the elders were talking about in the first place. They caught his expression and laughed fondly. Then the curtains parted and an attendant walked in. Bowing before Putakritu, he said, “The procession of boats has been sighted. King Satyadhriti requests your presence at the welcoming.”
Putakritu and his nephews made way for Kashi’s eastward docks. Gold glinted at Sudas from every direction under the bright, shining Sun. Kashi was home to more than thirteen thousand people, a dedicated citizenry that was keeping the streets and docks free in respect for the royal family. This was time for the King to conduct sacred rituals, grand in scale yet private in attendance, and the populace would get its time to celebrate later. The abundance of rshis was visually striking here in Kashi, for in Prayaga their presence was tempered by an equal mix of soldiers.
Sudas, Devaratha and Mitrayu followed Putakritu, and other elders that they did not recognise, through Kashi’s wide, paved roads. Despite its opulence and grandeur, Kashi was also the birth place of stern, austere figures such as the Rshis Gritsamada, Dhanvantari and Arishtanemi. Their influences could be seen in the faded-grey robes of the Kashi rshis, their unique and strict dialect, and the sharp, angular architecture of city’s older temples. The boys were led through narrow streets in Kashi’s more populated residential areas. Blocks of houses were lined in a terrace-step design, with smaller series of stairs leading down from one line to another. The Sun was only a cast of light in the sky among these tightly packed houses, the streets and stairs falling entirely in their shadows. Then they descended onto a large boardwalk, which led onto an even larger one that merged with the docking bay.
The royal family of Kashi stood there in all its pageantry, accompanied by its relatives from all major and minor lines of the vast Bharata family tree. As Sudas walked up to join them, he spotted King Satyadhriti and the radiant Queen Meghna, who was flanked by his own mother- looking every bit the First Matriarch of Bharatvarsha. Crown Prince Pratardana stood behind them- tall and muscular Bharata scion. One look at him, and Sudas wished he grew up to be as strong and rugged as his cousin. Pratardana was surrounded by the other family elders- King Pijavana, Vishvaratha and Divodasa. Behind them were the several cousin brothers and sisters of Pratardana and King Satyadhriti. Sudas spotted familiar faces among them- cousins he had encountered at previous family gatherings. As the Suryavanshi procession floated into the dock, Sudas merged into that happy mass of welcoming Bharatas.
Three large, ornate boats led the arriving party, and Sudas counted ten smaller boats rowing alongside them. Soldiers were visible everywhere- from the decks of the larger boats to rowing the smaller ones, or standing proudly atop them gazing at Kashi. Sudas scanned the people on the larger boats for Dilipa- wondering whether the royal family of Ayodhya would be in attendance. As the larger boats were anchored to the docks, the Suryavanshi and Bharata trumpets broke out together, their cacophony piercing the air in a loud, blaring crepitate.
“They look grand!” Devaratha shouted above the din, awe evident upon his face.
Sudas nodded and took Mitrayu’s hand into his, taking care not to lose him as people stepped back to allow the Suryavanshi to descend. Two tall, heavy-bearded and barrel-chested men were the first to alight. Their dark, plated armour was embroidered with fine golden threads interwoven in thick, twirling bands. King Satyadhriti stepped forward to greet them in a namaskara. “Welcome to Kashi, great Kings of the Suryavansha,” he said graciously.
Queen Meghna came forward with a pot of fresh water and newly forged cups of wootz steel. She handed them to the Suryavanshi Kings, and King Satyadhriti poured water into them. “Sacred water of the Ganga,” Satyadhriti explained. “Though I am too small a man to talk of the Ganga to King Bhagiratha.”
That was when Sudas finally had a face for the name. King Bhagiratha was the taller of the two men who had descended, his milky complexion accented by his dark and dense beard. Sudas could easily discern the physical features Dilipa shared with his father- sharp nose, thin lips and orange-brown eyes. But the Crown Prince would have to put on a lot more muscle before he reached King Bhagiratha’s hulky make.
King Bhagiratha’s eyes radiated with humility, and he touched the cup of Ganga-water to his head before slowly drinking it down. “The Ganga has sacred waters indeed, King Satyadhriti,” said Bhagiratha. “But the Ganga of Kashi has waters that are doubly sanctified. I am blessed to be touched by it.”
Sudas was awed by King Bhagiratha’s simple, soft-spoken demeanour. He held an aura of deep calm and perfect control, no doubt precipitated under his decades of meditation in the Himalaya. The introductory greetings were made, and the remaining Suryavanshi family stepped down from the boats. Kings Bhagiratha and Pijavana met like old friends, embracing each other dearly and sharing quips that only they found uproarious. Kings Satyadhriti and Vishala III withdrew privately, to discuss the wedding arrangements, as fathers of groom and bride respectively. The queens and princesses made way for the palace immediately, theirs would be a private session of singing and dancing that Sudas and his young cousins hoped to crash later- they had to set their sights on Princess Sunidhi after all.
Only the young boys were left on the dock, and finally Sudas spotted Dilipa. The Suryavanshi prince flicked his eyebrows upward in acknowledgment, and walked towards Sudas. “A golden, glorious city even from the boat,” he commented, looking very obviously impressed. “You must take me exploring, Sudas.”
“Kashi is new to me too,” Sudas replied, smiling. “But we can explore it together! These are my cousins- Devaratha, son of King Vishvaratha and Mitrayu, son of King Divodasa.”
Dilipa nodded to Devaratha, and bent down to bring his gaze to Mitrayu. “Hello there, young one. How old are you?”
“Six!” Mitrayu peeped.
Dilipa laughed and turned to Sudas. “So when do we start exploring?”
“Right away,” Sudas replied. “The main ceremonies don’t begin till six days later. We have enough time to discover Kashi at our leisure.”
“Well, I must make time for other things too,” Dilipa said mischievously, as they began ascending up the stairs. “The brothers of the bride steal away the groom’s horse, or do you not have that custom among the Bharatas?”