The sun was descending towards the horizon. In the heat, distant white clouds were forming. The earth was trembling from the fever of the season. All of this—this land, this earth—was not merely a flat, barren region. The trees were dense and layered, and the nights were filled completely with their presence. This was the nature of that land. It was natural for the harsh heat to make the skin gleam. It was natural for eyes to blink involuntarily. For ears, the chirping of insects was quite a common occurrence. From above, a thin stream of water was flowing. It didn't have much width—one could jump across it easily if one tried. Yet its name was nonetheless significant: she was the Chandrabhaaga. Perhaps long ago, she flowed like a moonlit thread of water, separated from the moon itself, and this is what gave her this name. The Chandrabhaaga flowed and flowed until she reached a certain place. There, the stream halted against a hill. Below, there was a depth of about four or five fathoms. From the edge of that hill, the water fell. That place was a large valley. When water falls, it naturally creates a large pool. In that valley, it remained cool. The water stayed still. When the large pools filled with water overflowed their capacity, the water naturally flowed onward! But it didn't flow away completely until much water had accumulated, nor did it form a small channel-like stream along the hillside. In this valley alone—there was an abundance of water, trees, vines, green grass, medicinal plants, herbs, small pools where water accumulated, thin streams of water flowing among the rocks, places where moss-covered ground made one's feet slip! Huge trees rose high within, blocking the sun, leaving no gaps, that they made that place resemble the Himalayas in midsummer.
Mankind is diverse and complex. Some are mere creatures driven solely by the satisfaction of trivial desires, while others are seekers of bodily comfort. The scarcity and abundance of wealth appear to be cited as causes for the differences in human nature. In reality, however, wealth is not the cause of such inherent differences in nature. Some are naturally inclined towards pleasure and indulgence. Some are content with mere subsistence. Even when placed in the homes of the wealthy, some will eat only what they desire. Some are pleased only with certain articles of food. This is not confined to the homes of the wealthy alone; it exists equally in poor households. One person will eat only his favorite dish or delicacy. This is a difference ordained by nature itself.
Here, the Chandrabhaaga flows. There is a waterfall. Below, it is an extremely cool place. The heat of summer causes one's body to swell from fever. During the midday hours, one can come to this river and find cool refuge in the shade of the trees on the rocky surfaces, rest, and after spending the afternoon, return home. In that region, there are one or two villages. Some people from those villages don't even know that there is a waterfall here. But on that day, those who slept in that cool place were experiencing the refreshing coolness. Among them, one was beautiful—with a face like the moon itself, with dark, flowing hair. A man of tall stature. With earrings in his ears and a necklace around his neck, he appeared to belong to a noble Kshatriya[1] family. The second one too possessed the characteristics of a Kshatriya. But this man was dark-complexioned. His eyes were small. There was something like a mark of deformity on his face. When one looked at him, a certain repulsion arose. These two were very close companions. They were seated on a rocky surface. One could say that the son of a king was resting there.
(T/N: Lil bit History warning)
Descending into that pool is difficult. There are no steps. One must hold onto vines and carefully climb down the rocky slopes using one's feet. It is the same as climbing up. These two arrived there from early morning. The capital is quite far from here. The beauty of this place—which many have heard about—and the desire to see the location favored by the prince, and to experience this coolness in the midst of that journey, were thought of in four or five ways. The friend who first told of the beauty of this place is the one who brought him here. That friend's name is Jayadratha[2]. The prince's name is Śrīmukha[3].
Śrīmukha is the son of the ĀndhraRāja[4]. The Āndhra people have been a distinct race since the Tretā Yuga[5]. In ancient times, there was a great king named Yayāti, who married Devayānī, the daughter of Śukrāchārya! Śarmishthā, the daughter of Vṛishaparva, was also his wife. This Yayāti had four sons, and among them was one named Anu. From that lineage, a king named Bali was born. He ruled the entire eastern region of Bhārata (India). That region was called Prāchy Deśa (the Eastern Country). This Bali had six sons: Aṅga Rāja, Vaṅga Rāja, Kaliṅga Rāja, Sumha Rāja, Puṇḍra Rāja, and Āndhra Rāja! This Bali divided and distributed the entire Prāchy Deśa, which was his domain, among these six sons. The land between the Kṛishṇā and Godāvarī rivers fell to the share of the Āndhra Rāja. From then on, this land came to be known as Āndhra Deśa (the Āndhra Country). This Āndhra Rāja was a contemporary of Daśaratha Mahārāja, the father of Śrī Rāma.
This Śrīmukha is the son of Romapāda, the lord of Āndhra Deśa. Śrīmukha is educated. He is discerning. But he is also passionate. His friend's name is Jayadratha. He is not from this country. No one knows from which country Jayadratha came. Many people speak of it in various ways. Some say he is from Kāśmīra Deśa[6]. Others say he is from Magadha Deśa. Still others say he is descended from the royal line of Nepal. But he has traveled through many countries. He possesses immense worldly experience. He is skilled in speech. When people see his face, they are struck with awe. Yet he becomes friendly with some. His friendship is like wine—the more one experiences it, the more intoxicating it becomes.
This Jayadratha became intimate[7] with Śrīmukha. Certain circumstances had arisen that brought about this intimacy. Jayadratha's mother and Jayadratha himself came to the Āndhra Rāja's capital a few months ago. The capital was situated on the banks of the Kṛishṇā[8]. Kshatriya lineage members who had traveled through many countries came seeking the king's audience. The king did not offer Jayadratha any employment. However, the king arranged for their stay in a Dharmashālā (charitable rest house). Daily, provisions were given to them regularly. Jayadratha had no work to do. Śrīmukha developed some affection for Jayadratha. When Jayadratha was among ten others, he would not speak with Śrīmukha. Only when he's alone, he would speak. Śrīmukha's eagerness to speak with him for long hours was evident, but Jayadratha's eagerness was not apparent. Yet every word that Jayadratha spoke kindled within Śrīmukha a longing and a mysterious, hidden desire. Jayadratha appeared to be a kind of knowledge himself. Within four or five months, Śrīmukha's complete involvement in all affairs became influenced by Jayadratha. But no one knew of this.
It was Jayadratha who awakened and kindled within Śrīmukha the desire to visit and behold the beautiful and cool Chandrabhaagā waterfall. No one knew that Jayadratha was accompanying Śrīmukha there. The royal prince and some servants came on horseback.[9] The prince set out from a distant village. After four or five days following that, three servants and Śrīmukha examined the entire region and departed. To descend into the pool, paths were arranged in some places as steps, in some places as ladders, and in other places as sturdy creeping vines for support. After two or three days of all these preparations, Śrīmukha came with one royal servant and rested in that pool for some time, then departed. The next day, the prince said he would go alone to that place. The path had been made easy. There were familiar places where he had rested yesterday. The guard accepted this. He had no choice but to accept. Śrīmukha firmly dismissed the guards.
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On that day, after morning had turned to afternoon, Śrīmukha descended into the pool. The royal servant held two horses. He stood at a distance under the shade of a tree. On the upper part of the hill where the Chandrabhaagā flows, there is not a single tree. All are merely shrubs. Yet they are beautiful in their way. It is impossible to call them trees; if one must call something a tree here, it is unavoidable—there was one tree standing there, about two yards in girth, with upper branches and twigs arranged like the crown of a tuft of hair. Does that tree cast a shadow? The royal servant had no other recourse but to take shelter under that tree. The servant tied the horses to the girth of the tree and remained there. The horses tossed and fidgeted. Their manes were drenched with perspiration. The waters of the Chandrabhaagā flowed like coconut water. The tree was close to the Chandrabhaagā. The royal servant was constantly cooled by the waters of the Chandrabhaagā, reducing the intensity of the heat. Despite such severe heat, the waters of the Chandrabhaagā appeared to the royal servant like a refuge, a haven. There was but one anxiety in the royal servant's mind. If any calamity befell the young prince at the base of the waterfall, he would not hear the prince's call. If he went midway to check on the prince, the prince would see him and become angry: "Why have you come?" The royal servant had no permission to bring the prince's companion down until afternoon had fully passed. Thus, beside the Chandrabhaagā's cool and refreshing place, the servant spent some time in anxious deliberation—for some time giving water to the horses, for some time taking water away and splashing it on the horses' faces and hindquarters, for some time passing the time in various ways.
Meanwhile, Śrīmukha descended into the pool and sat upon the rocky surface where he had rested the previous day. Whether the afternoon was advancing or time was passing, he could not tell. On that day, he was waiting there for Jayadratha. How could Jayadratha come? And however he came, the royal servant would surely see him. If he had to descend from above, he would not know of the path like steps that the royal servants had arranged. "Why would he come? Am I asking him to come?" So he thought. This Jayadratha is a sage of extraordinary intellect. When one sees him, all sorrow vanishes. His father[10] did not give him any employment. He, his mother, have been living in the Dharmashālā for years now. They do not lack anything. His father is like this. He himself had arranged a portion of the Dharmashālā for their habitation and another portion for their comfort.
At the base of the hill where the waterfall is, water pools and forms a tank. After flowing for some distance, it again becomes a thin channel and continues to flow. On both sides of this channel as it forms, there are elevated hills. After crossing those hills, it becomes level ground. Beyond that, all is flat terrain. Below that is low-lying ground. Following the channel, Śrīmukha saw the river flowing between the elevated hills on both sides, down to the low-lying ground, and it all appeared to him as his own kingdom. He felt like going to see it. Yet he did not go. Instead, he sat gazing at the distant opening where those hills parted, revealing the landscape beyond. For a long time, something very small, like a tiny shrub, seemed to be coming gradually, moving forward, and after some distance, it appeared like a man. When it came very close, it appeared like Jayadratha. Śrīmukha, with a gentle smile, asked some questions: "How have you walked such a distance? Is all this land familiar to you? Are there villages behind that?"
Jayadratha came and sat down. Śrīmukha asked, "O Jayadratha! Why do you fear so much? We would have both come together, hmm?"
Jayadratha: "O Prince! Since my birth, there is no country I have not traveled. Traveling through countries has become my vow. Without work or support, I keep returning again and again. The great king could not give me any employment. If our friendship becomes known to people, jealousy will arise among the royal officials towards me. You are sustaining me and my mother. Our friendship must remain secret. Otherwise, even this little bond could be destroyed, could it not?"
---
Śrīmukha: "You should marry."
Jayadratha: "I am already married. I also have a son."
Śrīmukha: "What! I did not know this! Where is your wife? How have you been living here alone, abandoning her for so long?"
Jayadratha: "She belongs to the royal lineage of Kāśmīra. She is in Kaliṅga Deśa. We have relatives there. I go back and forth to that place."
Śrīmukha: "I see. Sometimes you disappear for several months. So you have been going there. What is the age of your son?"
Jayadratha: "Four years old. He is of the same age as your son. Your son's name is Vikrama, is it not? My son is two months younger than him. My son's name is Aśmaka."
Śrīmukha: "You must bring your wife and son to our capital at once."
Jayadratha sighed, Dependence hangs around my neck like a drum— I and my mother survive by your charity. My mother is a princess. Yet she is a being who has endured severe hardships. A queen who has undertaken rigorous vows. For one vow, for one conviction, for one pledge, she is of such a severe nature that she can sacrifice everything in life. My wife is not like that. Though we are Kṣatriyas, we are Kṣatriyas who do not know kingdoms. Kṣatriyas who have deliberately renounced kingdoms. My wife is a child of those who have experienced royal splendor. We cannot live in one Dharmashālā, in two rooms. I am not saying these things to you so that you might help us acquire wealth and build ourselves a separate dwelling. I have a strange nature. What is there in living? I married, a wife came. The excitement that existed in union during the first days does not exist in subsequent days. We try foolishly to prolong it through intellect and reason, and pretend to restore the initial excitement. It is vain effort. What I call truly living is that every new experience in life occurs only once. In experiences that occur later, there is no newness. The intellect, dulled by memories of the first experience, wanders uselessly. Some might argue that the joy generated by memory alone is special. I do not believe in that. I perform a daring deed. Before doing it, I do not have the confidence that I can do it. I believe I can! I have no certainty! Yet I assume I have certainty. The momentary excitement generated by that daring deed—a trembling of the heart within experience, a pleasant renewal of life—exists only when performing that daring deed—
Two warriors engaged in battle! Both were Kṣatriyas skilled in war. Both possessed martial prowess. Both were mighty, both desired victory. One slew the other. For a while they fought. One of them killed the second. At the moment when the warrior realized that his enemy was slain by his own blow, what was the state of that warrior's mind? As I understand it, the ultimate mystery of life seems to exist in such particular moments of strange experience. That alone is the true essence of living. Otherwise, what am I? When the sun ascends the eastern mountain peak, our household awakens from sleep. Daily, we perform our duties. We bathe, we drink. We also experience pleasures. What is special in this? A stream flows. This very Chandrabhaagā river possesses it. What does it mean to call this a river? The wisdom of the Āndhra people lies precisely in calling this a river.[11] It is not mighty nor does it flow with great force. The Kṛishṇā and Godāvarī may be called great rivers. This Chandrabhaagā flows as a small stream. Wherever one descends, there is no depth of water. What is special in that flow? Nothing. Water flows. That alone is special. But when it reaches the edge of this hill, it falls from there. In that fall, it falls like the trunk of Airāvata[12] trembling with thunder. By falling and forming such a pool, it has beautified this entire valley! It has kindled strange and varied reflections in the rocks between the stones. By its coolness, it has thrilled this entire valley. Beyond that are no shrubs, no grass—only rocky desolation. Within this valley, the waters have moistened the stone fragments in the depths of the hill, and from that moisture-soaked earth, hidden life-force has manifested in the form of strange medicinal herbs. What mysterious power dwells in water-soaked earth! Through the conjunction of these two elements, what subtle life-force, trembling within, moves with gentle undulation, gurgles, and in what form it emerges and comes forth—we cannot know. This water, falling and pooling between these two hills, flows onward. Again, this river, carried upon the hill, forms again such rocky pools. In the life of this river, this waterfall, this valley, this strange manifestation of medicinal herbs—this is a peculiar experience.
This experience perpetually illuminates the form of this river-goddess. Blessed is that eternal experience! O supreme Māheśvarī-Devī, O river-goddess of perfect vision![13] Human life lacks such beauty. When human life possesses one particular sublime experience, it is consumed in that very moment and passes away in that very moment. Therefore, when a man obtains one such great and sublime experience, if he were to attain death immediately thereafter, he would find fulfillment in the half of his life's journey—
"I do not love my wife. In our lineage, we do not marry for love. That is our vow. We are those who have taken a severe pledge. Generation after generation, we have upheld our pledge. We are born solely to uphold that pledge. Our lineage continues through generations. Therefore, I have no authority over my own life."
Śrīmukha: "If that is so, what have you done?"
Jayadratha: "What have I done? Within my heart dwells an appreciation of beauty that knows no bounds. All the beauty in the three worlds[14]—as fishermen spread nets across miles of ocean, gather all the fish within those nets to one place, and fill a hundred boats with them—so have I gathered all the beauty of existence to one place. That gathered beauty I have incarnated as a woman."
Śrīmukha: "Such a woman does not exist in the world."
Jayadratha: "Why not? Was not Draupadī[15], the wife of the Pāṇḍavas, such a woman?"
Śrīmukha: "Perhaps. But if that were so, there would not have been such a great war[16] involving our entire lineage. Very well. After obtaining such a woman, what did you do?"
Jayadratha: (laughing with emotion) "On the first night, in the first union with her, experiencing that supreme bliss, I inscribed that particular experience in my memory, and immediately drew my sword, pierced myself, and died. That is the culmination of a moment. That is the ultimate purpose of life's experience."
Śrīmukha: "What you have said is very beautiful. It is true. On the second night, there is no newness as existed on the first night. But there is another kind of newness."
"The newness of the second night is not part of authentic experience," Jayadratha said. "It is artificial experience brought forth by the intellect through familiarization. Only the first time is authentic experience. What comes thereafter is the delusion of pleasure. A human is born. This body is a combination of five elements[17]. Within this combination lies a newness. Does life fade away as soon as it is lived? I believe that for only the first few days does newness exist. In the days when newness is believed to exist, does not the newness that existed in the prior times fail to exist in the present times? In truth, the newness that existed on that very first day alone is true newness. Whatever one experiences for the very first time with this body—that alone is the supreme beauty within strange experience. Everything else is worn out."
Śrīmukha considered this carefully. "Then are we not also excluded from such authentic experience?"
"How can that be, prince!" Jayadratha replied. "Your wife is said to possess otherworldly beauty. It is said that you married her with love."
"Yes indeed!" Śrīmukha said. Did i die in the pleasure of that experience on my first night? But if I were to die during some such strange experience, would that not fulfill the purpose of this birth?"
Jayadratha's expression grew serious. "What words are these, prince! You are one who has studied the Vedas and Vedāṅgas. You are one capable of protecting the Chāturvarṇya system[18]. The people of Āndhra Deśa have placed their hopes in you. Your father is growing old and has entrusted the kingdom to you, preparing himself for the Vānaprastha Āśrama[19]. Prince! Human lives are of two kinds. One is selfish life. The other is altruistic[20] life. The lives of kings are altruistic in nature. They do not possess freedom over themselves."
Śrīmukha asked thoughtfully, "Among these two kinds of lives, which is superior?"
"If you ask me," Jayadratha said, "a selfish life alone fulfills the purpose of birth. But I am living an altruistic life. This is a pledge to me. This pledge does not end with me. My son too must uphold this pledge. Therefore, my life has no fulfillment. Only such a strange experience possesses fulfillment."
Śrīmukha leaned back, his eyes distant. "I have heard that yogis and those who know Brahman[21] attain a particular sublime experience, is it not? That is fulfillment!"
"That is not the fulfillment of one birth," Jayadratha said, his voice growing intense. "It is not the natural fulfillment inherent in birth. It is not fulfillment gained through acquiring the distinction of bodily experience. It eliminates multiple births. That consciousness has no relation to these births, to these bodies. If one were to accept their doctrine, then acquiring some strange experience through this body is the very purpose of wearing it! Only when one wears this body can there arise that experience which is the result of the conjunction of the five elements of this body, which is the supreme purpose of countless reflections. It has no relation to Brahman knowledge. I have already told you this! This waterfall has made this entire valley cool. The interior of the stone fragments at the depths of this valley is cool. The earth-substance within that, moistened—what strange experience is it undergoing that we cannot know? Its manifestation! Herbs, medicinal plants! Is there not an unknown vibration within the tiny particles of that cool earth-substance, the precursor to their manifestation? That—the movement of the five elemental particles in true bodily existence, moving or capable of movement, the experience that can be gained! A man experiences such an experience in the first meeting with a woman of otherworldly beauty whom he loves with all his heart. Or when leaping into a blazing fire pit. Or when casting one's body into the abyss beneath such a great waterfall. This experience is like that! There is no other experience like it."
Śrīmukha listened, his expression thoughtful. "What you have said is a very novel doctrine. You are like Vyāsa Maharṣi[22]. You are like Śrī Kṛishṇa himself."
At these words, Jayadratha closed his ears and rested his face upon his knees, sitting in silence. This closing of his ears did not display displeasure at hearing the names of Śrī Kṛishṇa. After some time, Śrīmukha rose and said, "Jayadratha! I believe the afternoon must still be here. Shall we go up and look?"
Jayadratha had maintained a secret relationship with Śrīmukha for four years. He had shaped the prince according to his vision. He knew all the fluctuations and contradictions in Śrīmukha's nature. Whenever Śrīmukha encountered something entirely novel, he became intensely attached to it. Yet Jayadratha possessed a traditional mind. He had studied the Bhagavad Gītā and Brahma Sūtras, recently propagated throughout the land[23]. He had developed a taste for new commentaries upon them. He would not deviate even slightly from the paths prescribed by the Dharma Śāstras. Yet he possessed royal characteristics abundantly. He experienced attachment to pleasure. He possessed great enthusiasm for daring deeds. He regarded life as trivial. Whenever he heard something novel, he would immediately bring it into experience.
The royal servants must not see Jayadratha. Śrīmukha climbed the hill.
Jayadratha hesitated. Śrīmukha turned back and motioned for him to follow. Jayadratha had no choice. Śrīmukha reached the upper part of the hill, and there he stopped, waiting. Jayadratha necessarily followed him. As his body remained on the hill's surface, he raised his head and looked upward. He examined the distant region carefully. The royal servant was stationed far away. The sun blazed intensely. As the second watch of the day passed and the beginning of the third watch approached, the harshness of the midday sun became particularly acute. The eyes could not perceive clearly. A man at a distance could not be seen distinctly. The shimmer in the heat created mirages. Moreover, the sun in that treeless, rocky region reflected and refracted in such a way that the eye's light could not travel straight. In such a place, when a thin stream of water flowed, the sun struck the water. Water reflected the sun's rays back. The sun became turbulent. The waves of heat rippled and undulated. Within such undulating waves of heated light, the eye's vision could not travel smoothly or clearly. Thus, the royal servant stood amidst the sun, the undulating water-waves, and the intertwining beams of refracted light. Moreover, where the waterfall occurred, this collision of heat-shadows was even more intense. The servant could not quickly identify who anyone was. Jayadratha and Śrīmukha proceeded toward the place where the waterfall occurred.
The royal servant saw the prince. He recognized him as the prince.
Recognition meant that the prince was indeed there. The place where one descended into the pool was distant. The prince had come up from there. The clothes he wore were familiar. Because of these reasons, even though the prince's form was not distinctly visible, the servant could recognize him as the prince! But who was that second person? How could one identify Jayadratha? Few people knew of such familiarity between Jayadratha and the prince. Moreover, how could Jayadratha have come to this place? Could it be that some Nāga Raja[24] from the netherworld had come to see the prince?! The distant figure appeared dark. He seemed hunched over. He seemed to be looking somewhere. The royal servant dared not approach closely. Moreover, the sun's rays were beating down upon both of them. The spray of water from the upper part of the waterfall, bursting forth in the violent leap, scattered in successive drops that appeared white, striking and soaking them. Rainbows emerged. The state of emergence was one thing. The state of fading was another. The state of emergence was visually pleasing to the eyes. The state of fading created the illusion of sight. The emergence of rainbows brings peace to the heat. Here, there was no peace to the heat. The waterfall possessed the initial stage of rainbow formation. In that state, the servant could not identify who the second person was.
The two remained near the mouth of the waterfall for two periods. Śrīmukha asked if they should bathe.
Both removed their clothes. They bathed where the water, falling straight from the hill, crashed down. The waterfall's width was very small. One man could sit there and place his hand against it and stop the flow. Behind the man, the water accumulated and pooled, then flowed down from his shoulders. For two periods, those who had experienced the intense harshness of the midday heat found supreme comfort in the cool water upon their bodies.
"I must experience the bodily pleasure you spoke of," Śrīmukha said. "I shall go down with this cascade[25]."
Jayadratha protested. Śrīmukha displayed increasing eagerness. Jayadratha increasingly resisted. Śrīmukha took his hands and pulled him back playfully. Śrīmukha pretended to resist. Jayadratha knew he was acting.
Time passed.
Then Jayadratha rose, dressed, and descended into the valley. After Jayadratha had completely descended into the valley, Śrīmukha departed after some time. He came out, began dressing, then removed his clothes again and descended into the water.
The sun had moved somewhat farther away. That second man had disappeared. The prince was alone. He descended again to bathe. The prince, sitting in the stream of falling water, was not clearly visible to the royal servant. Doubt arose in the servant's mind. He began moving toward where the water fell. He came closer to the prince. Śrīmukha lost his footing in the cascade and fell. The royal servant ran forward. Without hesitation or thought, he leaped into the falling water.
Translation by vihu_vhu
[1] The warrior clan.
[2] spelled same
[3] spelled- shreemukha
[4] king
[5] The Yugas are a cyclical concept in Hindu cosmology, representing four distinct epochs of time that define the moral and spiritual state of humanity. 2nd one - Treta Yuga: The Age of Three Quarters Truth, lasting 1,296,000 years, where virtue diminishes slightly. Each Yuga represents a phase in the cosmic cycle, with humanity's moral and physical state deteriorating as time progresses through these ages.
[6] Kashmir
[7] what we today call 'Bestfriends'
[8] Krishna River
[9] Jayadratha didn't came with them
[10] King Romapaada
[11] T/n: Is this sarcasm?
[12] Legendary white elephant that resides in Heaven. It's mount for Indra.
[13] He's praising Chandrabhaaga
[14] Heavenly realms, Earthly worlds, Hell realms
[15] ref: Mahabharata
[16] it seems Satavahana kings have connection to Mahabhaarata
[17] Air,water,fire,space,land
[18] Division based on the work. Families continue their trade(work/skill) succeding further generations.
[19] Retiring from throne
[20] showing a selfless concern for the well-being of others, without care for one's own interests; unselfish:
[21] The formless, genderless ultimate reality having no attributes, or any of Supreme Deities (In case of form)
[22] Narrator of Mahabharata and 18 Puranas
[23] remember this is happening few years after happening of Mahabharata war and starting of kaliyuga
[24] Snake King - they can shapeshift acc to their will and the snake clan possess some powers ( they're not regular snakes )
[25] flow of chandrabhaaga to down