The Journey of Learning

Ganga's Descent from Heaven

The broad-shouldered youngster, with a quiver full of arrows heavy on his shoulders, his mighty bow strung and ready on the same arm, entered the hot, arid realm of Patala. There were neither days nor nights in the realms below the earth since there was no sunlight. It was just the perpetual dull glow of ancient lights, trapped within the realms and reflected between smooth rocks and precious stones strewn around with no claimers.

The unsheathed sword he held in the other hand helped somewhat, shining in the reflected light, creating a brighter bubble around him and giving better visibility.

"Do not be complacent, Child. Be ever ready for battle," his grandfather had instructed him, "The beings that live below the earth's surface are much larger and stronger than humans. But not all of them are evil. Be respectful and kind to the noble ones. Always be vigilant for the attack of the evil ones lurking in the dark."

Traveling down-slope for several days, he had lost count of the time due to the unlit sky, if he could still call it that. He climbed down, crossing realm after realm, each hotter and drier than the one earlier. He ate from his backpack and drank from his water-pouch sparingly, for he was yet to see a source of food or drink in those parched lands. He rested only when he could no longer run or sustain a brisk pace, with an unsheathed sword in his grip even while sleeping. The breaks became more frequent as the air got thinner and hotter, tiring him sooner. He had encountered only rotting carcasses of different shapes and sizes on his way.

Stench of burning flesh, surprisingly strong for the wind-less realm, suddenly hit him. It reminded him of the mass cremations one witnessed during the end of a war for the animals and unclaimed soldiers. It grew in intensity as he walked briskly along the recently-tread path.

He noticed a mound at a distance, wide as a battlefield. It was somewhat brighter than the dark surroundings due to the spots of dull light sources on its surface. The smell of burning was strongest in that direction. So, he started running towards it.

A wave of heat hit him as he drew nearer. To his horror, he realized it was a large mass of ash spread over several square-thousands of feet. The bright spots were actually dying embers beneath the surface. Bits of bones were visible in between.

A decorated horse was dozing nearby, seemingly oblivious to the heat and stench. It looked like the one he had guarded throughout the previous year. But just to be sure, he examined the golden plate on its face. The plate proclaimed it to be the sacrificial steed of King Sagara.

Dread filled his heart as realization sunk in. Such a large mass of human ash close to the horse could only mean that his uncles had suffered a gruesome death. Who in the three worlds was capable of killing sixty thousand mighty warriors? It could only be divine power or evil magic.

Anshuman collapsed to the ground and wept, overcome by grief. His grandfather had lost all his progeny in one go, by some cruel strike of fate.

Amidst sadness, he remembered his encounters with the four majestic earth-carrying elephants. Tracing the path his uncles had cleaved into the earth, he had first encountered the gigantic Virupaksha. Thrilled that he could actually see the all-knowing pachyderm which one only heard about in stories, he bowed down to it. He had inquired if the ancient-one would be kind enough to tell him about the horse, its thief as well as his uncles' whereabouts. "You shall find the horse and return with it, Child," the elephant's deep voice rumbled from the skies. The other three elephants had said the same. None of them had said anything about his uncles.

The fatigue of an arduous journey and the burden of loss took their toll. The piteous crying soon softened to sobs and before long, he dozed off.

"Wake up, Child," a gentle voice aged with wisdom called out to him, "I am as grieved as you are, but it is time to collect yourself and move on."