A story · Vedas · Vedas — Stories

Vishvamitra and the Rivers

Rig Veda 3.33

The story · English

Two rivers come down from the lap of the mountains, Vipas and Sutudri. They run as if they want to run. They are like two mares let off the tether, racing each other, and like two bright cows bending to lick a calf. The water pours out of them fast. Indra has set them moving, and they ask only to keep moving. Like two chariots on one road, they head for the sea. Each swells with its own waves, and each bright stream reaches toward the other. Then a man comes to the bank and speaks. 'I have come to the most motherly of rivers,' he says. 'We have reached Vipas, wide and blessed.' In front of him the two mothers run on together to their one shared bed, as if tending a single calf between them.

The rivers answer him. 'We go swollen with water, along the bed the gods made for us. Once we have been sent on our way, nothing can hold us back. What does this poet want, calling out to rivers again and again?' The man does not leave. 'Stop for a moment at my word,' he says. 'You who keep to the truth, pause in your going and listen. My speech is gentle, like soma poured out.' Then he raises his voice in a great hymn, asking for their help. He is the son of Kusika, Vishvamitra, and he has come a long way to stand before these waters and call them by name. The rivers hear him out, and they tell him who it is they obey.

'Indra dug our channels,' the rivers say, 'Indra with the thunderbolt in his arm. He struck down Vritra, who had walled the rivers in. Then the god Savitar, whose hands are beautiful, led us out, and we go on wide at his sending.' The poet agrees with them. 'That deed of Indra should be told forever,' he says, 'how he cut Ahi apart. With his thunderbolt he struck down the ones who sat around the waters, and the waters went out, looking for their way.' The rivers ask something of him in return. 'Singer, do not forget these words of yours. People in ages to come will hear them. Poet, be kind to us in your hymns. Do not bring us low in the eyes of men. We bow to you.'

Now the poet makes his request. 'Listen well, sisters, to the poet,' he says. 'He has come to you from far away, with wagon and chariot. Bend low for him. Let yourselves be easy to cross. Rivers, keep your currents below our axles.' This is the whole of what he asks: that the waters drop, so that wheels can roll through them and no one is swept away. The rivers consider him, and they give their answer. 'We will hear your words, poet,' they say. 'You have come from far away, with wagon and chariot. I will bow down for you, the way a mother bends to the child at her breast. I will give way to you, the way a young woman gives way to the man she loves.'

'When the Bharatas have crossed you,' the poet says, 'the band looking for cattle, sent and urged on by Indra, then let your current run again as it was set loose. I ask the goodwill of you who deserve worship.' And the Bharatas, looking for cattle, crossed. The poet had won the favour of the rivers. Then he released them. 'Swell now,' he says. 'Bring plenty, you who are rich in gifts. Fill your channels to the brim, and go quickly. Let your wave lift up the yoke-pins. Waters, leave the traces alone. And may the pair of oxen, which no one may harm, who have done no wrong and carry no fault, never come to ruin.' The waters rose again behind them, and the rivers went on toward the sea.

कथा · हिन्दी

In this book

• Before: Indra and Vritra · Rig Veda 1.32
• Next: Pururavas and Urvashi · Rig Veda 10.95
• All of Vedas · Ask Krishna about it

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