His veins full of nightshade, Bheema sank like a stone in the river. Down he slid, along the smooth sides of the shallows, plunged in venom dreams. Pulled down by a wicked undertow he fell toward the riverbed, among phosphorescent mosses and lichens. Vivid fish swam curiously around him, won- dering what this giant was.
But the river is a Goddess and she is mysterious. She was also, after a fashion, Bheema's great-grandmother. Many strange creatures lived beneath her currents and becoming aware of the peril to Bheema's life, she stirred up some water-serpents that had their nests on the deepest bed of the river. She cried to them that a dangerous enemy had arrived in their midst. Those scarlet and green serpents swarmed around the unconscious Bheema and began to sting him repeatedly. They sank their fangs in, squeezing pale snake-venom into his blood.
Bheema struck the bottom of the river and he fell right through the sand into the world of the nagas. Normally, any man would have been dead as he plunged through the subtle threshold; so many snakes had stung him and quite a few went down with him, their fangs still fastened to his flesh.
But Bheema did not die. Fate had intended him to fall into the secret realm below and the Devi of the river knew this. Instead of dying, he seemed to recover with each sting. Color flushed back into his face and the Pandava awoke with a shout in the kingdom of the nagas. Flinging off the vines that bound him, he seized the serpents and smashed their hoods against the emerald floor of the strange chamber he found himself in.
As the river knew it would, the snake-venom acted as a powerful anti- dote to the kaalakuta Duryodhana had plied him with. The Pandava was quickly back to himself and livid that these wretched worms had dared sting him.
He killed a hundred of them and those left alive fled through an opening in the wall through which he could not follow them. Along smooth, narrow passages, their way lit by jewels on the walls, those serpents flew deep into the bowels of the earth, into the under-world of patala. They were the guardians of that hidden world and the human had killed more than half of them.
They arrived in the august presence of their sovereign, Vasuki of countless coils, master of all nagas. Vasuki sat on his throne, which was a giant emerald carved into a seat, with two glimmering snake-wives entwined around him. His ministers sat around their king and that sabha was as brightly lit as Indra's Sudharma by jewels embedded on walls, ceiling, floor and at serpent-hood and throat. The snakes from the river bent their hoods at Vasuki's feet. That king now had a human form, green and brilliant.
Vasuki whispered so that chamber echoed with his voice, "My children, why have you come to me? Is something the matter?"
The serpents of the riverbed gnashed their fangs and venom trickled from their jaws. Their leader cried sibilantly, "A man, sire, a young mortal. He sank into the river and the Devi stirred us. A thou- sand of us rose to meet him and his hands were bound and he seemed asleep. We stung him fiercely as he sank. No ordinary man could have survived our stings, but this one woke up as if our fangs had tickled him.
He broke the vine with which someone had tied him before they pushed him into the river and he fell on us. He dashed us against the floor and the walls. He stamped our hoods with feet like tree-roots and our brothers were crushed. Vasuki, he was a storm of death and his body seemed to be made of gusts of wind. Those of us who escaped the savage youth fled to you, my lord."
That snake bent his head low before his emperor. He knew that death was Vasuki's punishment for allowing a stranger into his kingdom. A long moment's silence fell, only soft snake breath filled the cavernous chamber. The queen serpents slid quietly away from their king. Vasuki's expression gave nothing away of what he thought. Silently, the naga emperor brooded. Then, to the relief of the river-guards, Vasuki's face was lit by a smile. He said in his rustling voice, "I think I know who this youth of yours is. Come, let us take a look at him."
And at once he was an awesome hamadryad, a hundred feet long and resplendent. His immense hood was tucked in, his scales shone and the jewel in his head was as big as a man's fist. Swift as eagles, the nagas and their king flew along the mazes of patala toward the chamber in which Bheema stood, panting, among the carcasses of a hundred snakes. Among those who went with Vasuki was an aged serpent Aryaka. He was his king's minister and Vasuki and Aryaka had exchanged a knowing glance when they heard the intruder being described; both of them suspected who the human youth was. Aryaka was also Kuntibhoja's grandfather.
