The ever-learning mind of Dharmaja, restless in the pursuit of wisdom, bowed with folded hands and spoke to the venerable sage Markandeya: “O holy one, is there any being in this world older than you who yet lives?” The sage, radiant with age and grace, replied: “There was once a king named Indradyumna, whose splendour illumined the earth, and whose merits bore him long to paradise.
Yet even divine merit wanes with time, and when his virtue was spent, the gods said, ‘Thou canst dwell here no longer, thy reward is exhausted.’ Thus, the king returned to the mortal world. Coming to me, he said, ‘O revered one, do you know me? I am Indradyumna, once famed for shining merits.’ But I said, ‘I cannot recall you. Yet in the Himalayas dwells an owl named Pravakarna, far elder than I; he may know of you. Go, and meet him.’ The king then begged me to accompany him, but I, being under treatment for the frailties of age, could not move.
Then the king, by divine power, transformed himself into a horse, placed me upon his back, and bore me to the abode of the owl. The owl, after long thought, said, ‘I remember not who you are. But near the lake Indradyumna dwells a crane named Nalikajangha, elder even than I. He may recall you.’ Then the horse-king carried us both to that lake, where the crane, questioned in turn, said, ‘I know you not, but within this lake lives a tortoise, eldest of all dwellers in the waters. Surely, he will remember you.’ The crane called, and from the lake emerged a vast tortoise, its eyes dim with age.
When it beheld the king, it wept and said, ‘What sin if I forget King Indradyumna! He is a noble soul, a protector of the weak, a giver of countless cows, a performer of many yajnas. From the very hoofs of those cows this lake was formed, and by his name it is praised among men. How could I not remember him, my benefactor, my king?’ As the tortoise spoke, celestial guards descended, radiant in divine glory, and said, ‘O great soul, your name lives upon the earth; your fame is undying.
Return now to the higher worlds, where eternal joy awaits you.’ The king bowed and said, ‘I must first return the venerable ones who aided me to their homes; then I shall come.’ Thus, he bore them back and ascended the heavenly chariot, shining once more among the blessed. Hearing this tale, Dharmaja, filled with wonder, bowed low and said, ‘O light of righteousness, thy narration of the eldest being is beyond measure marvellous. Yet tell me, how did Kuvalayasva of the Ikshvaku race come to be called Dundhumara?’ Then the sage continued: “Listen, O son of Kunti. There was a sage named Udanka, equal to Shiva in his resolve for the world’s welfare.
He wandered through barren lands, turning them fertile by the power of his penance. His meditation upon Vishnu endured through the ages. Pleased by such devotion, the Lord appeared before him. Udanka, folding his hands, praised him thus: ‘O Vishnu, Lord of gods, essence of Vedas, sustainer of all that moves and moves not, Thou art the eternal and flawless One. Through right meditation Thou freest beings from birth and death. The universe is Thy form; even Shiva praises Thee. By Thy grace, sages, birds, and serpents hold their place in the cosmic order. Thou art sacrifice and spirit, the destroyer of demons and upholder of truth. Let my mind ever rest in Thee, in self-control and virtue.’ The Lord, pleased, granted his wish and said, ‘For the welfare of the worlds, a task awaits thee.
There is a demon named Dundhu, son of the ancient fiends Madhu and Kaitabha, who troubles the worlds. Go to King Bruhadaswa of the Ikshvaku line and prepare his son Kuvalayasva to destroy this scourge. By my grace and thy guidance, he shall prevail.’ Udanka continued his penance until Bruhadaswa, who ruled the earth in justice, was prepared to retire to the forest. When the sage came to Ayodhya, he said, ‘O king, righteousness lies not only in the forest but in the throne. The protection of people, the upholding of law, and the peace you bring to sages are themselves a sacred penance.
Yet a great danger threatens us. Near my hermitage by the ocean lies a dune where the demon Dundhu sleeps. When he exhales, his breath is fire and tempest, destroying forests and lives. This torment endures seven days each year. Save us from this peril, O king, and afterwards pursue thy vow.’ But Bruhadaswa replied, ‘O sage, I have renounced the use of arms. My son Kuvalayasva, strong in virtue and valour, shall undertake this task. He will act under thy guidance and earn both glory and merit.’ Udanka blessed him, saying, ‘May Vishnu’s grace dwell upon thy son.’ Then Dharmaja asked, ‘Who were Madhu and Kaitabha, and how were they slain?’ The sage replied: ‘When the universe lay submerged in the primal ocean, Vishnu rested in yogic sleep upon the serpent Ananta.
Then arose from his navel the lotus on which Brahma sat to create. But two demons, Madhu and Kaitabha, born of the ocean’s foam, assailed the Creator. Seeing Brahma’s distress, Vishnu awoke and said to the demons, “I admire your strength; ask a boon.” In pride they mocked him, saying, “Ask of us, for we grant, not receive.” Smiling, Vishnu said, “Then grant me this boon: that you both die by my hands for the welfare of the worlds.” Bound by their word, they consented but added, “Slay us only where there is no water.” Then Vishnu, laughing, placed them upon his thighs and struck off their heads with the Sudarshana Chakra. Dundhu, born of them, inherited their pride and fury and became the scourge of gods and sages alike.
Thus, O son of Kunti, is the story of Kuvalayasva and the demon Dundhu—a tale that teaches the rise and fall of fame, the limits of power, and the eternal weight of virtue and merit upon the scales of time.
