When the venerable Sounaka narrated the sacred tale of the Mahabharata before the gathering of sages and scholars, the spoke of the time when the sons of Pandu sojourned amidst the sanctified groves of Badarivana, where in ages past the divine sages Nara and Narayana had performed their austere penance.
One tranquil morning, the righteous king Dharmaja spoke thus to his brothers: “It is now nearing five years since Arjuna departed. Surely, he will soon return, endowed with renewed might, armed with celestial weapons, and enriched by the sacred wisdom of divine lore. Once more shall we behold that indomitable vanquisher of foes.” With this hope in their hearts, the Pandavas journeyed northward, accompanied by Brahmins and ascetics.
Traversing the holy regions of Gandhamadana, they came upon the hermitage of the royal sage Vrushaparva, who received them with all due honour, offering them the traditional rites of hospitality. For seven days they dwelt there, engaged in their spiritual observances. Then, leaving a few companions behind, the brothers set forth with Romasa and Dhoumya, guided by the directions of Vrushaparva, toward the higher northern ranges. Before long they beheld the resplendent mountain Malyavantha, whose peaks glimmered like polished crystal, its caverns adorned with gold, its cliffs curtained by garlands of ice-drops that glittered in the morning sun.
Around them spread a forest of ineffable beauty, filled with serenity and a peace that transcended the senses. As they walked through its shaded paths, the blossoms outshone even the jewels of frost, the air perfumed with a fragrance divine. The bees, drunk with the sweetness of the blooms, hummed in harmonious rivalry with the cooing of the koels; the birds wheeled through the sky in joyous flight, rising and falling as though dancing to nature’s hidden rhythm.
Every leaf and twig quivered with life, moving in unison with the breath of the forest; every flower, bud, and tree seemed steeped in celestial rapture. Amid this blissful realm, the Pandavas came upon a river born of the melting snows of the sacred mountains. Its waves sparkled like silver, bearing garlands of flowers of wondrous hue and fragrance. Droupathi, seated beside Bheema upon a stone cool and bright as moonlight, beheld the blossoms floating upon the stream and said, “These flowers breathe a perfume beyond that of the Sougandhika lotuses. Never have I seen such beauty or felt such fragrance. Bring me, O Bheema, some of these flowers that gladden the heart.”
For indeed, the yearning of woman for the beauty of nature is but a reflection of the universe’s own longing to express itself in form and colour. In every desire lies the unseen design of fate, which moves not through grand complexities but through simple acts that shape the course of destiny.
Bheema, ever swift to act, rose and followed the course of the river, climbing the slopes until he beheld a palace of dazzling splendour, its walls of moonstone shining as if in embrace with the sky, its towers touching the clouds. Lifting his mighty conch, Bheemasena sounded it with a thunderous cry, and its echo rolled through the mountains and caverns, reaching even the palaces of Kubera, the lord of wealth.
At once, hosts of Yakshas and Rakshasas, guardians of Kubera, rushed forth to confront him. They surrounded Bheema as though he were Kartikeya, the commander of the gods’ armies. But Bheema, with a storm of arrows, shattered their ranks; blood flowed like streams of crimson, dyeing the stones around.
from his wrath, the warriors sought their chief, Manimantha, Kubera’s mighty ally, who advanced against Bheema, his weapon blazing like the tusks of a celestial elephant meeting a lion’s fury. Yet Bheema’s arrows formed a barrier dense as a forest, confounding his foe. Enraged, Manimantha hurled his divine mace, glowing with fire, but before it could strike, Bheema’s shafts consumed it into ashes.
Undaunted, the Yaksha hurled a Shakti weapon that struck Bheema’s arm, but the son of Vayu leapt forth, mace in hand, fierce as the storm. Manimantha, prideful and fearless, now wielded a trident aflame with divine energy, but Bheema shattered it with a single blow of his mace. Seeing his weapons fail, Manimantha rose into the sky to flee, but Bheema cried aloud, “Do not run from battle!” and, with the strength of a tempest, flung his mace upward. It struck the Yaksha, who feel lifeless to the ground.
The remaining demons, stricken with terror, fled northward, crying out Kubera’s name. Meanwhile, Dharmaja, learning from Droupathi of Bheema’s departure, left her and Dhoumya in the hermitage of the sage Arstishena and followed with Nakula, Sahadeva, and Romasa. They reached the spot where the slain warriors lay and found Bheema standing before the shining palace, his form radiant with battle’s ardour.
The surviving Yakshas hastened to Kubera, reporting the death of Manimantha and the valour of the son of the Wind-God. Hearing this, Kubera marvelled: “This is the same mighty one who once plucked the Sougandhika lotuses, defeating my guards; now he has slain Manimantha and my strongest warriors.
What power dwells in him!” Accompanied by hosts of Yakshas, Gandharvas, and celestials, Kubera descended to meet the Pandavas. Beholding them, he was pleased and approached Bheema, who still stood armed and vigilant.
The brothers saluted Kubera with folded hands. The lord of treasures, his visage glowing with divine grace, spoke gently to Dharmaja: “O virtuous king, let not your heart be troubled by what has come to pass.
This deed of your brother was ordained by fate and fulfils the curse once uttered by the sage Agastya. Manimantha, in arrogance, once spat upon that sage as he stood in penance upon the banks of Yamuna. Agastya, affronted, declared, ‘He shall fall by a mortal’s hand, and the hosts who follow him shall perish likewise.’ Thus, has destiny wrought its will through your brother’s strength.” Kubera then added, “Know, O son of Dharma, that courage, wisdom, timing, and discretion are the pillars of victory. Rash valour without discernment brings ruin even to the mighty.
Teach your brother, therefore, to temper his strength with judgment. Yet be assured, I and the divine guardians—Yama, Vayu, Indra, and the Ashwins—shall watch over you. Remain here for fifteen days in the hermitage of Arstishena; all your needs shall be fulfilled. Your brother Arjuna, having obtained celestial weapons and honoured by Indra himself, is even now preparing to return to you. May your desires be crowned with success.” Thus, blessing the sons of Pandu, Kubera departed with his hosts, leaving them to dwell in quietude, awaiting the return of Arjuna and the unfolding of fate’s deeper mysteries through thought, action, and divine experience.
