In this episode, we uncover a celestial scandal. Brihaspati, Guru of the Devas, neglected his wife Tara, who then fell in love with the Moon God, Chandra. Furious, Brihaspati cursed their unborn child to be neither fully man nor woman. From this union was born Budha, the planet Mercury — a divine being of intellect and mystery, marking the mystical start of the Mahabharatam timeline.
King Sudhyumna’s Transformation.
Some time later, on Earth, a king named Sudhyumna, a descendant of Manu and ruler of great renown, went hunting in a sacred forest—unaware that it was the private abode of Lord Shiva and Goddess Parvati.
As the divine couple watched the majestic animals move through the trees—the bull elephants, proud lions, and radiant peacocks—Parvati smiled and said, almost teasingly:
“My love for you is so deep, that even seeing other males here feels like an intrusion. Let there be no other male in this forest but you.”
Shiva, amused and affectionate, agreed.
“So be it,” he said. And with a thought, he transformed the entire forest.
Every male creature—be it lion, elephant, or bird—instantly turned female.
Even King Sudhyumna.
In the blink of an eye, the mighty king found his body transformed. His masculine form was gone, replaced by that of a woman.
Shocked and distraught, Sudhyumna cried out,
“Who has done this to me? What curse is this? Which yaksha or demon has played such a trick on me?”
He wandered in confusion until he stumbled upon Shiva and Parvati in divine embrace. Falling at their feet, he pleaded,
“O Mahadeva, this is unjust. I am a king, a man with responsibilities, a family, a throne. I came only to hunt, not to intrude on your sacred forest. How can I return like this?”
Shiva, moved by his plea, replied,
“What has been done by Shakti and affirmed by me cannot be undone. But I shall grant you a concession. From now on, when the moon is waxing, you will regain your male form. And when the moon wanes, you shall return to this female form.”
This unusual fate—of living alternately as man and woman—became part of Sudhyumna’s destiny, woven into the rhythm of the moon itself.
The Birth of the Chandravamshi Dynasty.
After being granted the dual form by Lord Shiva—man during the waxing moon and woman during the waning—King Sudhyumna chose not to return to his kingdom. Burdened by the strangeness of his fate and unsure how to face his people, he remained in the forest.
There, living in solitude and reflection, he came to be known as Ela—a name that would carry both masculine and feminine essence. Half the month, Ela was a man; the other half, a woman.
One day, destiny played its hand. Ela met Budha, the son of Chandra and Tara—the very child cursed to embody both genders in one. When they saw each other, it was as if the two halves of a cosmic equation had found completion. Both embodied duality, balance, and beauty in their own ways.
Their union was natural—two beings who understood each other beyond the physical. From Budha and Ela were born many children, and from those children arose the Chandravamsha—the Lunar Dynasty.
The Two Lineages, Suryavamsha and Chandravamsha.
In the sacred tradition of Bharata-varsha, the kings of ancient times trace their origins to two celestial sources:
- The Suryavamsha, the Solar Dynasty.
- The Chandravamsha, the Lunar Dynasty.
These two lineages were not just genealogical divisions; they represented two distinct temperaments.
The Suryavamshis, children of the Sun, were warriors of clarity and discipline. They saw the world in black and white—truth or falsehood, dharma or adharma. Conquest, order, and righteousness were their cornerstones. Among them stood towering figures like Manu, Ikshvaku, Bhagiratha, Harishchandra, Dasharatha, and the most revered of all—Rama of Ayodhya.
The Chandravamshis, by contrast, were ruled by the shifting moods of the moon. They were deeply emotional, artistic, intuitive, and often unpredictable. Just as the moon changes every night, so did their inner world. They could be passionate and poetic—but also impulsive, volatile, and uncertain.
And it is from this Lunar lineage that the Kurus emerged—the very clan to which the Pandavas and Kauravas belonged. Their emotional flare-ups, their intense attachments and rivalries, their struggles with dharma—all bear the unmistakable signature of the Chandravamshis.
Understanding their origins is the key to understanding their choices.
Nahusha, From Emperor to Python.
Among the children of Budha and Ela, one name stands out in early history—Nahusha, a mighty and noble emperor. Through strength, intelligence, and virtue, he ruled the Earth with distinction. So great was his reputation that he was invited to Devaloka, the celestial realm, by none other than Indra, the king of the gods.
Indra, preparing to leave for a divine task, said to him:
“Until I return, govern Devaloka. Maintain order, uphold dharma, and enjoy the blessings of this realm with responsibility.”
But power has a way of testing even the best of men.
No sooner had Indra departed than Nahusha, intoxicated by celestial grandeur, allowed pride to take root in his heart. He ascended Indra’s throne as if it were his by birthright. Surrounded by apsaras and divine luxuries, he began summoning whomever he pleased—losing himself in the indulgence of authority.
But his arrogance did not stop there.
His eyes soon fell upon Shachi Devi, the devoted wife of Indra. Possessed by delusion, he declared:
“I sit on Indra’s throne. I am Indra now. You are mine.”
Shachi, the embodiment of grace and virtue, was horrified. She tried every possible way to avoid his advances. Yet Nahusha persisted, blinded by his own imagined divinity.
Seeing no other way, Shachi devised a plan to protect herself and humble Nahusha. She said,
“Yes, now you are Indra. But if you wish to receive me, I have a condition. The Sapta Rishis—the seven great sages—must carry you to my palace on a palanquin. Only then will I be yours.”
Nahusha, lost in vanity, ordered the seven sages—Atri, Bhrigu, Vasistha, Gautama, Kasyapa, Bharadvaja, and Agastya—to serve as his bearers. These sages, who upheld the spiritual fabric of the universe, silently agreed, knowing that Nahusha’s fall was now inevitable.
As they bore the palanquin, Nahusha grew impatient. Caught in his own urgency and entitlement, he lashed out in frustration, shouting:
“Faster!”
In that moment of ultimate disrespect, he did the unthinkable—he kicked Agastya Muni, one of the revered sages, on the head.
The silence broke.
Agastya, calm but searing with truth, turned to him and said:
“Your pride has blinded you. You have fallen so low that you are no longer fit for Devaloka. You are not even fit to be human. Become what your behavior reflects—a creature that crawls on its belly in darkness. Become a python.”
And with those words, Nahusha was cursed.
He fell from the heights of Devaloka to the Earth below—not as a king, not even as a man, but as a massive, earth-bound python, condemned to live in darkness and hunger, far removed from glory.
We will return to Nahusha’s story later, when he reappears in a surprising moment of the Mahabharata.
Devas and Asuras in Constant Battle.
In the ancient land of Aryavarta, the conflict between Devas and Asuras was not merely a struggle between good and evil—it was a clash of civilizations, of energies, of destinies.
The Devas, under the leadership of Indra, were aided by Brihaspati, their learned and wise guru, who conducted rituals and advised them on matters of dharma and warfare. On the opposing side stood the Asuras, determined and resourceful, guided by their own spiritual powerhouse—Shukracharya, the master of knowledge and austerity.
These two forces clashed again and again, across the fertile Gangetic plains, in an ongoing battle for supremacy. The Devas, descending from higher realms, sought to secure the sacred heartland of Bharat. The Asuras, emerging from the harsh deserts of the west and south, sought to rise and reclaim what they saw as rightfully theirs.
In this unending war, the Asuras had one great advantage—Shukracharya’s Sanjeevini Vidya.
With the power of the Sanjeevini mantra, Shukracharya could bring the dead back to life. Every evening, as the battlefield fell silent and the smoke cleared, the slain Asura warriors were revived by Shukracharya’s chants. And at dawn, they returned to fight once more—undaunted, unstoppable.
For the Devas, this was a nightmare.
“How do you defeat an army that never stays dead?”
No matter how many warriors they killed during the day, by the next morning, the Asuras were back—restored, relentless, and ready for war.
Desperation took root among the Devas.
That’s when Kacha, the brilliant son of Brihaspati and grandson of the great sage Angiras, stepped forward. With a resolve as sharp as his intellect, he descended to the realm of the Asuras and humbly approached Shukracharya.
Folding his hands in reverence, he said:
“O revered one, I am Kacha—son of Brihaspati, grandson of Angiras. I come from a lineage of wisdom and righteousness. I seek knowledge. Please accept me as your disciple.”
Kacha Becomes Shukracharya’s Disciple.
The moment Kacha arrived at Shukracharya’s ashram, suspicion stirred in the hearts of the Asuras.
They gathered around their Guru and warned him,
“He is from the enemy's camp. The son of Brihaspati! Surely he’s here to learn the Sanjeevini mantra—the secret that gives us the upper hand. Let us kill him now, before it’s too late.”
But Shukracharya, the torchbearer of knowledge and dharma, was not moved by fear or politics.
He looked at Kacha and calmly replied,
“He has done us no harm. He comes with humility, discipline, and all the qualities of a worthy student. According to the law of dharma, knowledge must never be denied to one who truly seeks it.”
With that, Kacha was accepted as his disciple.
Years passed, and Kacha proved himself every single day—obedient, attentive, and unwavering in service. Whether it was tending to the cattle, gathering herbs, or assisting in rituals, he performed every task with absolute sincerity.
In the ashram lived Shukracharya’s daughter, Devyani. She watched Kacha day after day, admiring his grace, intelligence, and quiet strength.
Love bloomed in her heart, but Kacha’s heart was elsewhere.
No matter how hard Devyani tried to get his attention—through smiles, glances, gestures—Kacha remained unmoved. His focus was fixed. He had come for one purpose: to uncover the secret of Sanjeevini, the mantra that revived the dead. No distraction could pull him away.
And the Asuras knew it too.
The Asuras Assault Kacha.
One day, while grazing the cattle deep in the forest, Kacha was alone. The moment the Asuras spotted him, they seized the opportunity.
They ambushed him, killed him, tore his body apart, and fed the pieces to wild animals so no trace would be found.
That evening, as the sun dipped behind the trees, the cows returned to the ashram—but Kacha did not.
Devyani waited. And waited.
But there was no sign of the young Brahmachari she adored.
Panic gripped her heart. She rushed to her father in tears.
“Father! Kacha hasn’t returned. Something terrible has happened. You must bring him back. Wherever he is—whatever has been done to him—please bring him back!”
Moved by his daughter’s anguish, Shukracharya closed his eyes and chanted the Sanjeevini mantra.
In moments, Kacha was restored to life, his body reformed and spirit revived—once again walking the sacred earth.
But this was only the beginning…
The Second Death of Kacha.
Once again, moved by his daughter’s desperate cries, Shukracharya invoked the Sanjeevini mantra, and Kacha was brought back to life.
When Kacha stood before the Guru, gasping for breath, Shukracharya asked,
“What happened this time?”
Kacha bowed and replied,
“The Asuras ambushed me in the forest. They tore me to pieces and left me for dead.”
Shukracharya nodded gravely,
“You must be more careful, child. The Asuras have never trusted you. You carry the blood of Brihaspati, and that alone is enough for their hatred. Yet, here you are—my disciple, under my protection. Walk wisely.”
Days passed.
One morning, Kacha went out to gather flowers for the daily worship. But the Asuras were watching.
This time, they were merciless.
They captured him again, killed him, ground his body to pulp, mixed it with seawater, and—most wickedly—added some of it into Shukracharya’s wine.
Unaware, the Guru drank the very essence of his own disciple.
Evening came. The cattle returned. The sun dipped into twilight. But Kacha did not return.
Devyani’s heart sank.
She ran to her father again, pleading, “Kacha is missing again! Please bring him back!”
But this time, Shukracharya's tone changed.
He sighed and said,
“Perhaps this is his fate. Death is inevitable. For one who is born, death is certain. You must not grieve like ordinary minds. You are my daughter—raised with wisdom, bred in discipline. Don’t reduce yourself to this.”
Devyani’s voice trembled with pain,
“No, Father! Either you bring him back—or I will throw myself into the lake and end my life.”
Shukracharya looked at her—a father torn between reason and love. He closed his eyes and said,
“Let it be. I shall bring him back— but this will be the last time.”
What he didn’t yet know was that Kacha now lived inside him.
Kacha Learns the Sanjeevini Mantra.
Shukracharya sat down to chant the Sanjeevini mantra once again. But as he began the ritual, he felt a strange unease—a churn deep within his stomach. It grew into a violent rumble, then a voice echoed from inside him.
It was Kacha.
From within the Guru’s belly, Kacha cried out,
“Acharya! It is I—Kacha! The Asuras killed me again. They ground my body, mixed it into salt water, and dissolved my organs into your wine. Unknowingly, you have consumed me.”
Shukracharya was stunned, and then furious.
“What treachery is this?” he thundered.
“To place my disciple in my own belly? This is not warfare—this is vile!”
Rage seethed through him, not just as a Guru, but as a being of dharma betrayed. He paced in silence, torn between duty and despair.
“Now I have only two choices,” he said.
“If I do nothing, Kacha is lost forever. But if I bring him back to life… I must die.”
The dilemma weighed heavily on him. For the first time, he whispered aloud, “Perhaps I have been loyal to the wrong side. These Asuras have crossed all bounds. Maybe it is time to leave them and go to the Devas.”
But Devyani fell at his feet, sobbing.
“I cannot live without Kacha… and I cannot live without you. If either of you dies, I will drown myself in the lake.”
Caught between the love of a daughter and the honor of his path, Shukracharya made his decision—one that would change the course of celestial history.
The Sanjeevini Secret, Fulfilled, But Not Without Loss.
Shukracharya looked at his grieving daughter and then turned to Kacha, whose voice still echoed from within.
He said solemnly,
“You have fulfilled your mission, Kacha. You came to learn the secret of Sanjeevini. You have proved worthy—through service, sincerity, and sacrifice.”
Then he added,
“Now I will pass the mantra to you. I will revive you from within my own body, even though it will cost me my life. Once you emerge, use the same Sanjeevini mantra to bring me back.”
With focused intent, Shukracharya began chanting the sacred syllables of Sanjeevini. A glow rose from his being, and like a full moon rising from a mountain, Kacha emerged—tearing through his Guru’s body.
Shukracharya collapsed—lifeless.
A piercing cry rang out from Devyani, who had just witnessed the unthinkable. But Kacha, with reverence and urgency, began chanting the mantra. Moments later, life returned to Shukracharya, and the Guru opened his eyes once again.
The mission was complete. The Sanjeevini mantra was now with the Devas.
Kacha prepared to leave. But Devyani stood in his path—eyes full of love, heartbreak, and confusion.
She said softly,
“You cannot leave. I have loved you.”
Kacha paused, his face calm but resolute.
“Devyani, I am your father’s disciple. That alone makes you like my sister.”
He looked at her gently and added,
“And now, I have emerged from your father’s body. In that way, he is also like a mother to me. So by both dharma and nature, you are my sister. I cannot go against either.”
Tears streamed down Devyani’s face, but Kacha offered only silence and a respectful bow.
And he walked away…
To Be Continued...
