Using the stars to guide them, the Pandavas went south through the jungle. The trees grew closer together and soon the vana was so dense it was difficult to go on. They had reached the deep Siddhav- ata and they were tired and thirsty. Kunti sat down under a tree. "I can't go another step."
Their eyes closing, panting, the twins, Yudhishtira and Arjuna also sat beside their mother. Bheema stood before them, as fresh as if he had just had a sleep.
Yudhishtira said, "The land crawls with Duryodhana's spies, we are still too near Varanasi. If Purochana escaped the fire, they will already be on our trail. If they find us here, no one will ever know how we died. We must press on and be far from here when the sun rises."
With an effort, he tried to get up. His legs gave way and he fell back. Arjuna said, "I cannot stand either. You will have to carry us, Bheema."
Bheema smiled. "I have never been tired since I drank the nagamrita. Come, let us go."
Bheema picked up his mother and his brothers again. When they sat securely, it seemed to them, though it may have been their imagination, that Bheema grew even taller. He set off through the for- est as if he had wings on his heels from his father Vayu.
The night breeze, full of mysteries, blew into their faces as the son of the wind bore them through the Siddhavata. Kunti and four of her princes slept. Pushing down trees that came in his way, loping easily over hillocks that loomed in his path, the fifth flew south.
He hardly realized how far he went. When dawn broke, he had gone eighty yojanas. Suddenly, he felt tired. He stopped and set his brothers and his mother down. Waking, Kunti cried, "Oh, I will die of thirst! Water, you must find water."
Feeling ashamed, Bheema picked the others up again and set off in quest of water. On they plunged through the thick jungle and saw no water anywhere. Once or twice Kunti swayed where she sat and Arjuna or Yudhishtira held her, or she would have fallen off. Finally, near noon, she could not bear her thirst any more.
"Put me down at once! I will not go another step until I have drunk some water. I don't care if the Kauravas find me. I must rest."
Ahead was an old banyan tree and Bheema set them down under it. He stood for a moment, atten- tive to the noises of the jungle. Then a smile creased his face.
"Mother, listen! Water birds."
Kunti was in tears. She, too, strained her ears, but heard nothing. The other Pandavas slept against the great roots of the banyan, their lips dry, their eyes shut over parched dreams. Bheema said to his mother, "Before you know it, I will be back with water."
As she laid her head in the crook of her arm, he sped off into the gloom ahead. Now Bheema went so swiftly, he resembled a wild zephyr of the woods: a forest spirit flying toward the dim sounds of the water birds.
He broke into a clearing and shouted in delight to see the fine lake stretched across it end to end. He also felt desperately thirsty. Bheema plunged into that sparkling lake, overgrown with lotuses in colors he had never seen before.
Standing in the cool blue water, he drank deeply from cupped hands and strength flowed back into his tired body. Laughing aloud in exhilaration, he splashed about for a while. Then, soaking the upper cloth he had worn, saturating it, he raced back through the jungle to where he had left his mother and brothers.
He found them in the same stupor. Gently, he made them sit up and squeezed some precious water into each one's mouth. They moaned and opened their eyes briefly and fell asleep again. He saw that color returned to their cheeks and their lips were moist once more. It seemed to him they slept more peacefully and their breath flowed evenly.
Bheema sat watching them. When he looked at his regal mother, still so beautiful, lying on the rough earth under the banyan, tears welled up in his eyes. Bheema began to speak softly to himself.
"I am cursed and a sinner, for I see my mother Kunti, daughter of Kuntibhoja of the Vrishnis, daughter-in-law of Vichitraveerya of the Kurus, Pandu's wife and the Pandavas' mother, sleeping like a beggar in the forest. She bore the Devas' sons in her body, Indra, Vayu and Dharma's. Yet, here she lies on the rude earth and our enemies thrive!"
He sighed and muttered on. "Ah, blessed are those whose relatives are not envious. Duryodhana, do not think the Gods smile on you, vile cousin. If Yudhishtira had not stopped me, your father, Karna, your brothers, Shakuni and you yourself would be floating down the Ganga as ashes and your spirits haunting the mazes of naraka."
He clenched his hands at the pleasant thought. Then, to console himself, he whispered, "The sources of great rivers, like those of great men, are often obscure—some hidden crevice high on a mountain. But in the fullness of time, the world sees their glory. So, too, shall it be with us."
Bheema took heart from this thought and, growing quiet, sat in lone vigil over his family in that deep jungle.
