Tales from the Indian Epics. Charles Augustus Kincaid
pulling him backwards and forwards they began to churn the ocean. Great masses of foam rose upon the waters. Clouds of vapour issued from the mouth of the Snake King Vasuki and scorched the faces of the demons who pulled the Snake King's head. Then rising higher the vapour descended in cooling rain to refresh the lesser gods. And the forest flowers torn from the sides of Mount Mandara by the coils of the Snake King were wafted abroad by the winds and fell softly upon their faces. The gods and demons pulled the mountain summit backwards and forwards through the air so swiftly that the forests upon it caught fire. But the god Indra opened the windows of heaven and the rain fell in torrents on the fire and extinguished it. Yet although gods and demons toiled without ceasing until their strength was spent, nothing rose from the surface of the ocean. The lesser gods and the demons then went to the court of Brahmadeva and said, "O father of the gods, we are exhausted with labour and can work no more, yet the ambrosia has not been won." Brahmadeva begged the Lord Vishnu to give the gods and demons greater strength, that they might continue the churning. This the Lord Vishnu did, and they swung Mount Mandara to and fro until the foam of the churned ocean rose almost higher than the great mountain itself. At last a pale yellow disk began slowly to rise from the ocean. It rose right out of the waters high into the sky, and, ever since, as the moon, has at night time shed its pale light over the earth. Next there rose from the waters an elephant larger than mortal mind could have imagined. Two enormous white tusks stretched many yards in front of him. His eyes were like red ponds, and his trunk seemed to rival in length the great coils of the Snake King himself. Indra called the mighty beast to him and soothing it with his hand, said, "You shall be known hereafter as Airavat and shall be my servant always." Still the churning continued and there rose from the sea the prettiest maid who had ever been seen in the three worlds. Her long black lashes drooped upon a pair of rosy cheeks. Her hair curled in golden rings over an ivory forehead. Her eyes were bluer than the sky above. Indra called her to him. "You shall hereafter be called Rambha," he said, "and you shall be chief among my dancing girls."
Harder still the gods and demons toiled at the churning, until there rose from the waters the most awful vision of beauty that eyes human or divine had ever seen. From a perfect face two eyes of deepest grey looked out. Thy gazed unblinking into space. But so grave was their expression and so full of wisdom that neither demon nor god, except Vishnu alone, dared meet their look. A moment later, amid an awed hush, Vishnu stepped forward and took the lovely woman by the hand. "You shall be called Lakshmi," he said, "and you shall be my queen."
Backwards and forwards swung Mount Mandara. Then from a distance the gods and demons saw a fair woman coming towards them. In each hand she carried a jar, but when she came close, they saw that her expression was evil and that great lines marred her features and that black pits lay under her eyes. They let the strange woman pass, and she made her way to the dry earth. There, known as Sura or the wine goddess, she has dwelt ever since.
Again they churned until there rose above the waves a pure white horse. It was the most beautifully shaped horse that has ever lived on earth before or since. It swam through the billows until it reached the shore, when it thundered out of sight at full gallop.
"Let its name be Uchaisrava," said Indra, and the gods and the demons once more bent to the churning. Then there rose above the foam the most marvellous jewel that eyes have ever beheld. Set in a vast plate of gold were emeralds like the green pools of an Indian village and sapphires like the blue lakes in the Himalaya mountains. Vast rubies shone out of masses of diamonds huge as rocks of crystal. The Lord Vishnu stepped forward and fastened the sea jewel round his neck. There, known as Kaustubha, it has hung ever since.
Still they churned, the gods and demons, until a strange ripple spread over the waters and a terrible stench rose from it. The head and tail of the giant snake dropped gradually out of the hinds of the fainting churners. Even Vasuki's eyes became dull and his coils began to slip inertly off Mount Mandara's sides. Suddenly the god Shiva placed his mouth on the waves near the ripple, and sucking it in, saved the three worlds. For this was the terrible Vish—the poisonous fluid which overlaid the ambrosia to guard it. If the Lord Shiva had not drunk it, it would have destroyed alike the lesser gods, demons and men. As the Lord Shiva swallowed it, it burnt a deep blue mark on his throat. And he has ever since been known as Nilkantha or Blue-throat.
When the fumes of the Vish had passed away, the gods and demons churned once more. At last an aged man rose slowly through the masses of the ocean foam. In his right hand he carried a gold jar of exquisite workmanship from which issued a perfume of delicious fragrance. At the sight of the aged man, whom they knew to be Dhanwantari, the demons snatched the ambrosia from his hands, trying to rob the gods of their share. But the Lord Vishnu took it back from them. And to punish them for their greed he poured out the ambrosia to the gods only, who drank it and at once became immortal, while the demons, who drank none of it, have remained mortal to this day.
But one of the demons, Rahu by name, took the form of a celestial, and deceiving the Lord Vishnu received a draught of ambrosia. As the demon drank, the sun-god pierced his disguise and told the Lord Vishnu of his deceit. Vishnu, lifting his discus, shore off the head of Rahu with it before the ambrosia had passed his throat. Rahu's body fell to the ground, and, being mortal, soon rotted. But his head, having taken the ambrosia, is immortal and still endures.
But because the sun-god detected him as he drank the divine liquid, and told Vishnu, Rahu's head bears to the sun-god an undying hatred. Sometimes he steals up unperceived close to the bright sun-god and with a single bite swallows him. But because Rahu has no body, the sun-god in due course reappears through his enemy's throat and once again begins to shine upon the earth in all his former splendour.
And then men gather together and say that there has been an eclipse of the sun.
VEDA'S PUPIL
Once upon a time there lived in India a great rishi or sage named Veda. According to the custom of those days, he took as his pupil a Brahman boy named Uttanka. Now Veda had, when himself a boy, been the pupil of a very stern anchorite named Dhoumya, and he had suffered much from his master's severity. Remembering his own unhappy youth, Veda treated Uttanka with the greatest kindness. When Uttanka grew to manhood, he remembered gratefully all the care with which Veda had taught him and all the love that his master had shewn him. So Uttanka went to Veda and said:
"O my master, tell me how I can return your kindness in some small measure. For it is the custom that the master should receive from his pupil a fee for his teaching. The pupil who does not pay the fee and the master who will not receive it are alike to blame. And in after years the fault, whether of master or of pupil, will bear fruit, and the love which they should have for each other will be absent, and hatred will take its place."
"Uttanka, my child." said the rishi, with a kindly smile, "I am in want of nothing. So let us wait until the need arises."
Uttanka waited for some weeks and then again he went to his teacher. "O my master," he said, "I pray you, tell me what I shall bring you as the fee due to you for your teaching."
"My son," said the rishi, "I am still in want of nothing. But as you again press me, I cannot again refuse you. Go therefore to my wife, your mistress, and bid her tell you what you should bring her as a pupil's fee."
Uttanka went to the rishi's wife and, telling her what his teacher had said, begged her to say what she wished, so that he might bring it to her as a return for Veda's teaching. The saintly lady thought for a moment and then spoke: "Uttanka, my son, four days hence is a sacred day. It will then be my duty to give food to many Brahmans. But I have no ornaments fit for so great an occasion. So go to King Paushya and beg from him the earrings that his queen wears."
Uttanka bowed to the feet of his teacher's wife. And although he knew that King Paushya's palace was many hundred leagues away, he set out on his errand with a brave heart. When he had walked two or three thousand paces he met a giant riding an enormous bull. The giant was many times a man's height and the bull stood as high as the largest war