The sage Ugraśravā, in the quiet groves of Naimiṣāraṇya, told the hermits of the burning of the Khāṇḍava forest and of the marvel that followed. When the fiery tumult had ceased, the master-sculptor Maya, rescued from the blaze by Arjuna, came into the presence of Dharmaja Yudhishthira. Bowing low, his heart alight with gratitude, he said: “Son of Pandu, thou hast preserved my life—a boon so vast that no service of mine can weigh against it. Yet, though my debt can never be repaid, I am ready to place my skill at thy command. I am of the race of the Dānavas, a craftsman in every art, and all the powers of my hand and mind I lay now at thy feet.”
Arjuna turned to Krsna and spoke with quiet counsel: “Bid him fashion a work that the world has never seen—a thing of wonder and immortal fame.” After a thoughtful pause, Krsna replied: “Dharmaja, lord of the Kuru line, holds among kings a station of enduring glory. Let their rise for him a palace such as neither God nor man has known: a dwelling of splendour, comfort, and delight beyond all imagining.” Maya bowed again and said: “In the realms of majesty and pleasure, your Dharmaja stands above both the monarchs of men and the lords of the Dānavas. I shall raise a hall whose beauty no art in the three worlds may rival. Long ago I gathered gems of rarest fire and carvings of inestimable worth for the Asura king Vṛṣaparva; these treasures I preserved in the sacred Bindu-Sarovar. From them I shall create a wonder—Mayasabha—and lay it at Dharmaja’s feet. And more: within my keeping are the mighty mace of the sage Bhaumaditya and the conch Devadatta, whose call strikes terror in the hearts of foes. The invincible mace I shall present to Bhīma, the divine conch to Arjuna.”
Praised by Yudhiṣṭhira and his brethren, Māyā set forth. Krsna, desiring to visit his parents, turned his steps to Dvārakā. The great artisan journeyed to the north-east, beyond the heights of Kailāsa, until he reached the golden Hiranyaka peaks of Mount Maināka, where once the Lord of all created the worlds, where Bhagiratha’s penance brought Gaṅgā down to earth, and where the divine Triad had offered their ancient sacrifice. At Bindu-Sarovar, sanctified by these deeds, he gathered the priceless materials he had hidden there, worshipped the gods, sought their blessing, gave gifts to the holy, prayed to Mother Earth, and returned to begin his task.
Then commenced a labour of celestial art. Pillars and terraces shone with the lustre of gold and silver; beams were studded with flawless gems. Every wall bore carvings of secret beauty; every panel flashed with sapphires placed where the eye must linger. Rare pink diamonds lined the arches of the inner halls. Ponds, walled with gold and edged with silver steps, were filled with crystal waters. Upon them floated lotuses of ruby that never withered; creepers of emerald remained eternally green. Tortoises of cat’s-eye stone seemed to glide among living kin, and fish of topaz caught the sunlight like golden fire, as though seeking their mates. Foam of pearls curled at the water’s edge; steps of coral glowed like dawn. Sunlight and reflection played together until the senses faltered, and no mortal eye could discern where nature ended and the craftsman’s magic began.
Elsewhere, ponds brimmed with lotuses of many hues; trees of perpetual verdure sheltered the nests of sparrows whose soft murmur filled the air. Maya drew upon every subtle art—gems of every kind, diamond and sapphire, emerald and topaz, lapis lazuli, coral and pearl, with gold, silver, copper and strange alloys—to bend the light of sun and moon into gentle splendour. He employed all the precision of architecture and engineering: crystal took the place of marble, copper that of stone, cunning alloys that of iron. Eight thousand of his demon artisans laboured for fourteen months, until the work stood complete—a marvel that could be beheld in past, present, or future alike: the Mayasabha, a hall of wonder.
When the palace was finished, the mighty mace was given to Bhīma and the echoing conch Devadatta to Arjuna. Maya received honour and blessing from Dharmaja and departed whither he willed. Yudhishthira, son of Dharma, in gratitude bestowed rich gifts—herds of cows, lands heavy with grain, and gold in abundance. Ten thousand guests he feasted with the choicest fare, and when the hour of sanctity arrived, he entered the Mayasabha amidst the chant of Vedic hymns, the roll of drums, the play of music, and the dance of joyous women. The air itself seemed alive with a harmony of tradition and the promise of ages to come; colours shimmered with a beauty beyond the telling.
It was not mere wealth that shone there, but glory; not display, but splendour; not luxury, but the triumph of a craftsman’s genius. The Mayasabha stood as the embodiment of right intention and patient art, of careful planning and the just use of time, of reverence for skill and the dignity of work. Here, the hand of the Dānava had turned matter into poetry and left for the world a model of creative power that defies the measure of the three worlds.
