knew how, but she folded her hands like a lotus bud and whispered Durvasa’s mantra.
As the mystic words spilled from her lips, there was the strangest flash of light. Something extraordinary was happening to the stream of sun’s rays that flowed in through her window. They had become intolerably bright and shone with a hundred colors. Kunti shut her eyes in terror. What had she done? Then she heard it, a low, but quite distinct sound: there was someone else in the room. Could it be…?
Her eyes flew open and she cried out—standing not five feet from her was a dazzling being whose body was a cool fire and his hair wavy flames. Kunti breathed, “Durvasa’s mantra worked! I called and you came.” Almost as if she was talking to herself and he was just a dream. “Oh, how splendid you are, Surya Deva!”
He stood there, so implacable, his light blotting out the rest of the world. It was as if just she and he were alone together in a place that was not only her bedchamber, but also another world. She saw his eyes roving over her with a far from innocent look.
He, the God, said slowly, “What do you want from me?”
She knew what she wanted from him and wouldn’t dare admit it. She mumbled falsely, “Why, nothing. I saw you rising and you set the river alight and the birds all sang to you. I thought I would like you to come to me. So I said the mantra and here you are.”
“The Devas do not appear before mortals for their mere fancy. We come only when a great purpose of fate is to be fulfilled.”
Kunti bit her lip and whispered, “Deva, what do you want from me?”
“Young woman, I want you.”
“Oh! How can you even think such a thing?”
But his eyes were grave and mocking. With a sinking feeling, she knew he would not relent. The cool Sun said, “The rishi taught you a mantra for childbearing. Perhaps he did not say?”
The Sun God clicked his tongue and shook his head of spectral flames.
“But what will the world say if you give me a child? What will my poor father say? It will kill him if he knows I am not a virgin.” Tears rolled down her face in a slow procession.
It is told that even the Sun, who has burned in the sky since before earth was made and is the witness of the world, lost his heart to young Kunti. He put his arms around her and unearthly warmth surged through her body, calming her. He stroked her hair and her face. Soon she began to forget all her fears; instead, she was on soft fire.
He assured her, “Our child will be born immediately and you will feel no pain. You will still be a virgin and no one will ever know what happened between you and me.”
He was invading her with his delirious warmth. Ripples of excitement flowed from some core of her that she had never known existed. She heard his assurances and knew he would not lie. Young Kunti gave a moan of sheer lust. She flung her slender arms round his neck and kissed him feverishly. That kiss coursed such dreams through her heart, dreams with the power of sun-flares. She hardly knew when he lifted her nightgown over her head. She did not hear herself cry out, as the God fastened his lips to her breast.
Kunti was borne far from herself, far from the earth. With him beside her, she flew in a burning chariot of the sky, through visionary mandalas. And made a woman by the Sun himself, she draped her legs around his neck like a wild-flower garland and a hundred tumults shook her.
When he had finished and rose away from her, she smiled gratefully at him.
“We are in another world and no time passes on earth,” said the God.
He placed his hand on her flat, young girl’s belly. When she looked down, she saw her body there was full of light. “My son grows in you,” breathed Surya Deva. The child in her grew swifter than time. In moments, with just a quavering of her loins, he was born. The father held the glorious infant in his arms.
“Look, he wears kavacha and kundala.” It was true, their baby was born wearing golden
As the mystic words spilled from her lips, there was the strangest flash of light. Something extraordinary was happening to the stream of sun’s rays that flowed in through her window. They had become intolerably bright and shone with a hundred colors. Kunti shut her eyes in terror. What had she done? Then she heard it, a low, but quite distinct sound: there was someone else in the room. Could it be…?
Her eyes flew open and she cried out—standing not five feet from her was a dazzling being whose body was a cool fire and his hair wavy flames. Kunti breathed, “Durvasa’s mantra worked! I called and you came.” Almost as if she was talking to herself and he was just a dream. “Oh, how splendid you are, Surya Deva!”
He stood there, so implacable, his light blotting out the rest of the world. It was as if just she and he were alone together in a place that was not only her bedchamber, but also another world. She saw his eyes roving over her with a far from innocent look.
He, the God, said slowly, “What do you want from me?”
She knew what she wanted from him and wouldn’t dare admit it. She mumbled falsely, “Why, nothing. I saw you rising and you set the river alight and the birds all sang to you. I thought I would like you to come to me. So I said the mantra and here you are.”
“The Devas do not appear before mortals for their mere fancy. We come only when a great purpose of fate is to be fulfilled.”
Kunti bit her lip and whispered, “Deva, what do you want from me?”
“Young woman, I want you.”
“Oh! How can you even think such a thing?”
But his eyes were grave and mocking. With a sinking feeling, she knew he would not relent. The cool Sun said, “The rishi taught you a mantra for childbearing. Perhaps he did not say?”
The Sun God clicked his tongue and shook his head of spectral flames.
“But what will the world say if you give me a child? What will my poor father say? It will kill him if he knows I am not a virgin.” Tears rolled down her face in a slow procession.
It is told that even the Sun, who has burned in the sky since before earth was made and is the witness of the world, lost his heart to young Kunti. He put his arms around her and unearthly warmth surged through her body, calming her. He stroked her hair and her face. Soon she began to forget all her fears; instead, she was on soft fire.
He assured her, “Our child will be born immediately and you will feel no pain. You will still be a virgin and no one will ever know what happened between you and me.”
He was invading her with his delirious warmth. Ripples of excitement flowed from some core of her that she had never known existed. She heard his assurances and knew he would not lie. Young Kunti gave a moan of sheer lust. She flung her slender arms round his neck and kissed him feverishly. That kiss coursed such dreams through her heart, dreams with the power of sun-flares. She hardly knew when he lifted her nightgown over her head. She did not hear herself cry out, as the God fastened his lips to her breast.
Kunti was borne far from herself, far from the earth. With him beside her, she flew in a burning chariot of the sky, through visionary mandalas. And made a woman by the Sun himself, she draped her legs around his neck like a wild-flower garland and a hundred tumults shook her.
When he had finished and rose away from her, she smiled gratefully at him.
“We are in another world and no time passes on earth,” said the God.
He placed his hand on her flat, young girl’s belly. When she looked down, she saw her body there was full of light. “My son grows in you,” breathed Surya Deva. The child in her grew swifter than time. In moments, with just a quavering of her loins, he was born. The father held the glorious infant in his arms.
“Look, he wears kavacha and kundala.” It was true, their baby was born wearing golden
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