armor and earrings. Already, the little one looked like his luculent sire.
The Deva went on, in wistful prophecy, “He will be the greatest archer on earth. He will be kind and generous to a fault, but proud and sensitive as well, because he is born to a twisted destiny. Yet, his fame will live in the world as long as the sun and the moon are in the sky.”
Surya handed the child to its mother and vanished from her room as abruptly as he had come. Kunti tried her best to raise a spark of motherhood, but she was too young to feel maternal toward her fabulous child. The whole morning seemed like a dream, except for the baby she cradled in her arms, his long eyes still shut fast in the slumber of infancy.
Now that her supernal lover had gone, shame and fear returned sharply. The princess dreaded to think what would happen if the child was discovered. True, before he went she felt the God restoring her virginity. But how would she explain the infant with the golden armor and earrings?
She crossed to the window, thinking even to be rid of the child by flinging him out. She felt no twinge of anything maternal, only panic. Under her window, the river flowed as calmly as ever. As she stood there with the unwanted infant in her arms an idea stole over the princess Kunti, rather as the sun had.
In a fever of haste, she pulled a square of silk from among her clothes and swaddled her baby in it as securely as she could. From the next room, she fetched a sandalwood box in which she had received a gift the previous day. She set him down in it, making him cozy by stuffing its sides with more cloth. She fetched a long cloak, which she put on.
Hiding the box under the cloak, Kunti stole out of her apartment. Nodding perfunctorily to the servants she saw along the passage that wound down to the level of the river, she strode along. At last, with a whimper of relief, she came out through a side-door into the sunlit day. This was her private garden, at the bottom of which the river flowed through the palace grounds. She saw there was no one about.
Kunti broke into a run and reached the bank of the river. Under a tree that grew out over the water, she turned to make sure she was unobserved. Kneeling quickly at the current’s edge, she was about to float the little box on the murmuring flow, when her sun-child opened his eyes and gazed up at his mother. He gurgled in his little throat and smiled at her. She bent helplessly to kiss him and now tears streamed down her cheeks. Kunti floated the wooden box down the river.
She raised her eyes to the sky. She folded her hands to the burning Deva and cried, “Watch over our son, let no evil befall him.”
Young Kunti wept beside the river. As he floated out of her life, bobbing upon the bland current, she blessed her baby: “May all your paths be auspicious. May the lord of rivers guard you; may the lord of the air watch over you; may all the Gods protect you. And when I see you again one day, let me know you by your golden kavacha and kundala.”
She sobbed after him, “How fortunate she will be who finds you and raises you. But oh, my son, I am not that woman.”
The box with its precious cargo grew smaller; soon it was only a dark speck on the water. She cried after it, “God bless you, my child, God bless you!”
Her son was lost in the distances of the river. She stood gazing after him for a long time before she turned back to her father’s palace. In a single incredible hour, her life had been transformed forever.
Everyone said a new maturity had come over the princess Kunti; it was time she married. She smiled and asked innocently how she, who lived such a cloistered life in her father’s house, could mature so suddenly. But at nights when she slept and whenever she was alone, an unvarying image haunted her dreams and her solitude. She saw a wooden box floating away from her. She saw the small, brilliant face of him who lay in that box and Kunti thought she would go mad with
The Deva went on, in wistful prophecy, “He will be the greatest archer on earth. He will be kind and generous to a fault, but proud and sensitive as well, because he is born to a twisted destiny. Yet, his fame will live in the world as long as the sun and the moon are in the sky.”
Surya handed the child to its mother and vanished from her room as abruptly as he had come. Kunti tried her best to raise a spark of motherhood, but she was too young to feel maternal toward her fabulous child. The whole morning seemed like a dream, except for the baby she cradled in her arms, his long eyes still shut fast in the slumber of infancy.
Now that her supernal lover had gone, shame and fear returned sharply. The princess dreaded to think what would happen if the child was discovered. True, before he went she felt the God restoring her virginity. But how would she explain the infant with the golden armor and earrings?
She crossed to the window, thinking even to be rid of the child by flinging him out. She felt no twinge of anything maternal, only panic. Under her window, the river flowed as calmly as ever. As she stood there with the unwanted infant in her arms an idea stole over the princess Kunti, rather as the sun had.
In a fever of haste, she pulled a square of silk from among her clothes and swaddled her baby in it as securely as she could. From the next room, she fetched a sandalwood box in which she had received a gift the previous day. She set him down in it, making him cozy by stuffing its sides with more cloth. She fetched a long cloak, which she put on.
Hiding the box under the cloak, Kunti stole out of her apartment. Nodding perfunctorily to the servants she saw along the passage that wound down to the level of the river, she strode along. At last, with a whimper of relief, she came out through a side-door into the sunlit day. This was her private garden, at the bottom of which the river flowed through the palace grounds. She saw there was no one about.
Kunti broke into a run and reached the bank of the river. Under a tree that grew out over the water, she turned to make sure she was unobserved. Kneeling quickly at the current’s edge, she was about to float the little box on the murmuring flow, when her sun-child opened his eyes and gazed up at his mother. He gurgled in his little throat and smiled at her. She bent helplessly to kiss him and now tears streamed down her cheeks. Kunti floated the wooden box down the river.
She raised her eyes to the sky. She folded her hands to the burning Deva and cried, “Watch over our son, let no evil befall him.”
Young Kunti wept beside the river. As he floated out of her life, bobbing upon the bland current, she blessed her baby: “May all your paths be auspicious. May the lord of rivers guard you; may the lord of the air watch over you; may all the Gods protect you. And when I see you again one day, let me know you by your golden kavacha and kundala.”
She sobbed after him, “How fortunate she will be who finds you and raises you. But oh, my son, I am not that woman.”
The box with its precious cargo grew smaller; soon it was only a dark speck on the water. She cried after it, “God bless you, my child, God bless you!”
Her son was lost in the distances of the river. She stood gazing after him for a long time before she turned back to her father’s palace. In a single incredible hour, her life had been transformed forever.
Everyone said a new maturity had come over the princess Kunti; it was time she married. She smiled and asked innocently how she, who lived such a cloistered life in her father’s house, could mature so suddenly. But at nights when she slept and whenever she was alone, an unvarying image haunted her dreams and her solitude. She saw a wooden box floating away from her. She saw the small, brilliant face of him who lay in that box and Kunti thought she would go mad with
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