The Thousand-Armed King

The sages told the Pandavas of Banasura, the thousand-armed demon-king whose pride was humbled by Krishna, and of the love of his daughter Usha for Krishna's own grandson - a tale of pride brought low, of love that crossed the lines of enmity, and of the deep unity of the great gods even when they seem to war.

Banasura was a mighty asura king, the eldest son of the generous demon-king Bali, and he had a thousand arms. He was a great devotee of Shiva, and by his devotion he had won the god's favor and protection, so that Shiva himself guarded his city. Banasura was so strong, with his thousand arms, and so proud of his strength, that he longed for a war worthy of him, an enemy who could give him a real fight - for none had ever stood against him, and his thousand arms itched for a worthy foe. In his arrogance he even went to Shiva and begged him for such a battle. And Shiva, who saw the pride in him, gave him a warning: that the foe he longed for would indeed come, and that his pride would be humbled - and that the sign of his downfall would be the falling of his great peacock-banner, the flag of his city. When that banner fell, Shiva told him, his hour of humbling had come.

Banasura had a beautiful daughter named Usha. One night Usha dreamed a vivid dream, in which she met and fell deeply in love with a handsome young prince - a youth of surpassing beauty whom she had never seen in her waking life, who came to her in the dream and won her heart. When she woke, the dream-prince was gone, but her love for him remained, vivid and aching, and she was filled with longing for a young man she had never met and did not know, certain that he was real somewhere in the world.

Usha confided her trouble to her dear friend Chitralekha, a clever and gifted young woman with magical skill, who was the daughter of Banasura's minister. Usha described the prince of her dream, and Chitralekha, who was a wonderful artist, set about helping her find him. Chitralekha drew portraits of many princes and young men - of the gods, the gandharvas, the great royal houses of the earth - showing each to Usha, until at last Usha cried out in recognition: there he was, the very youth of her dream. The portrait was of Aniruddha, the grandson of Krishna, the son of Pradyumna, a young prince of the Yadava house of Dwaraka.

Now that Usha knew who her beloved was, Chitralekha resolved to bring the two together. By her magical power, Chitralekha flew through the night to distant Dwaraka, to the palace where the young prince Aniruddha lay sleeping, and by her art she lifted the sleeping youth up and carried him through the air, all the way back to Usha's chambers in Banasura's palace, and set him down there beside the longing princess.

Aniruddha woke to find himself, to his astonishment, in a strange and beautiful chamber, with the lovely Usha beside him - the very maiden, as it happened, who had dreamed of him. And the two young people, meeting at last in the flesh, found in each other everything they had hoped, and fell deeply and mutually in love. Aniruddha stayed, hidden in the inner women's quarters of Banasura's palace, and the two lovers lived secretly together in joy, hidden from the demon-king and all his court, for a time of stolen happiness - the grandson of Krishna and the daughter of a demon, in love within the very stronghold of an enemy.

But such a secret could not be kept forever within a palace full of guards. In time the women's quarters showed signs that a man was hidden there - that Usha was no longer alone - and the guards, alarmed, discovered the young prince Aniruddha concealed in the princess's chambers. They reported at once to King Banasura.

Banasura was enraged. That a strange man should be found hidden in his daughter's quarters, within his own stronghold, was an outrage to his honor and his pride, and he did not stop to ask who the youth was or how he had come. He sent his warriors to seize the intruder. Aniruddha, though alone and far from home, fought back valiantly; the young hero took up an iron club and battled the demon-king's forces with great courage, striking down many who came against him, defending himself and his beloved fiercely.

But he was one against an army, in the heart of an enemy fortress. At last Banasura overcame him not by ordinary force but by magic, binding the brave young prince fast in coils of magical serpent-nooses, the nagapasha, from which he could not break free. So Aniruddha was made a captive in Banasura's palace, bound and helpless, and the demon-king held the grandson of Krishna as his prisoner.

Back in Dwaraka, the disappearance of young Aniruddha caused great alarm and grief; no one knew what had become of him, for he had vanished from his bed in the night. At last the divine sage Narada, who knows all that passes in the worlds, came and told Krishna and the Yadavas the truth: that Aniruddha had been carried off by magic to the palace of Banasura, far away, and was now held captive there, bound in serpent-nooses.

At once Krishna, with his brother Balarama and Aniruddha's father Pradyumna, gathered the Yadava army and marched to war against Banasura, to rescue the captive prince. They came to Banasura's great city and laid siege to it, and the demon-king's forces came out to meet them, and a fearful battle was joined between the host of Krishna and the host of Banasura beneath the walls of the city.

And now the warning Shiva had given Banasura came to pass, in the strangest of ways. For Banasura was Shiva's devotee, and Shiva had promised to protect his city - and so the great god Shiva himself, bound by his promise to his devotee even though his devotee was in the wrong, came forth with his hosts, and his son the war-god Skanda beside him, to fight on Banasura's side against Krishna.

So there came about a thing that seems, on its surface, impossible and even terrible: a great battle in which Shiva and Krishna - the supreme Lord in two of his forms, who are in truth one - fought against each other, each leading his hosts, Shiva defending his devotee and Krishna defending his grandson. Krishna met Shiva himself in the duel, and the two contended; Krishna, it is said, used a weapon of yawning that made even the great Shiva grow drowsy and unable to fight on, while Pradyumna drove off the war-god Skanda, and the Yadavas overcame Banasura's hosts. Yet through it all, the two great gods bore each other no true enmity, for they knew, beneath the show of battle, that they were one - Shiva fighting only to keep faith with his devotee, Krishna fighting only to free his captive grandson, neither truly opposed to the other in the depths.

With Shiva drowsing and the demon hosts overcome, Banasura himself came forth at last against Krishna, his thousand arms wielding a thousand weapons, the worthy battle he had always longed for now come upon him in earnest. And his great peacock-banner, the flag of his city, fell - the very sign Shiva had foretold of his humbling.

Krishna took up his discus, the blazing Sudarshana chakra, and as Banasura came against him with his thousand arms, Krishna began to cut those arms away. One after another the discus shore off the demon-king's arms, until the thousand-armed warrior who had longed for a foe worthy of his strength was being shorn of the very arms he had been so proud of, his pride cut down with them, arm by arm. Banasura, who had wished for a great battle, had found one at last - and it was humbling him utterly, exactly as Shiva had warned. Krishna left him at last only a few of his arms, having cut away the rest, the thousand-armed king reduced and his arrogance broken.

As Krishna stood ready to make an end of the humbled Banasura, Shiva himself came forward and pleaded for the demon-king's life. "Spare him, Krishna," the great god asked. "He is my devotee, and I have given him my protection. He has been humbled enough; his pride is broken and his arms are shorn. For my sake, and because he has worshipped me faithfully, let him live."

And Krishna, who honored Shiva as he honored himself - for the two are one - granted the plea at once and gladly. He spared Banasura's life, leaving him his few remaining arms, and made peace. For there had never been true enmity between Krishna and Shiva; the whole great battle had been only the keeping of faith on both sides - Shiva keeping faith with his devotee, Krishna keeping faith with his captive grandson - and now that both could be honored, the two great gods were perfectly reconciled, having shown, even in their seeming war, that they were never truly opposed. Krishna honored Shiva's devotee for Shiva's sake, and Shiva honored Krishna's purpose, and all was made well between them.

Banasura, his pride humbled and his life spared, was a changed and chastened king. He freed his captive Aniruddha from the serpent-nooses, and - seeing now that the youth was the beloved of his daughter and the grandson of the Lord himself - he gladly gave his daughter Usha to Aniruddha in marriage, so that the love of the two young people, which had begun in a dream and survived a war, was crowned at last with a true wedding. Krishna returned in triumph to Dwaraka, bringing the young couple home, the lovers united and the demon-king humbled and at peace.

The sages drew the lessons for the Pandavas. "See first the humbling of pride: Banasura longed in his arrogance for a great battle worthy of his thousand arms, and he got it - and it shore away his arms and his pride together, exactly as he had been warned. Those who crave a fight to prove their strength often find the fight that breaks them; pride that goes seeking to be tested is usually granted its wish, and humbled by it.

"See, too, the power of love to cross even the deepest lines of enmity: the daughter of a demon and the grandson of the Lord, drawn together first in a dream, found each other and held to their love through capture and war, and were united in the end. And see, most deeply, the unity of the great gods beneath their seeming strife: that Shiva and Krishna, who appeared to war against each other, bore no true enmity at all, but were one - each keeping his own faith, Shiva with his devotee and Krishna with his own, and reconciled in perfect honor at the last. The divine, however it seems to us to be divided into contending forms, is one beneath; and the devotee of one is honored by the other, for they are not two."

And the Pandavas, who loved Krishna and revered Shiva alike, took comfort in the deep unity of the gods beneath their many forms, and in the humbling of pride and the triumph of love.