On the seventeenth day of the yagna, just after long dead and risen to Swargalok, floated back to earth. There he was in the banyan tree outside the front door, a dark, saggy silhouette entangled in the criss-cross of branches, clamouring for help. The hullabaloo woke them up. A harvest moon lit up the scene. They managed, with some difficulty, to bring him down and helped him indoors. Dazed by the descent and the excitement of the landing, he said nothing for a while but examined the bruises, crimson and indigo, that were beginning to blotch his skin. Though he was quite casual about it, they were uncomfortable with his nudity. Stark raving naked he was. A bull of a man. Over six feet tall, broad- chested, with a large head, grey shoulder-length locks and matching horseshoe whiskers tracing a prominent jawline.
As the youngest in the family, it fell upon Ashtak to get a loincloth for him. The visitor glanced at it disdainfully and told them that he was used to dressing up as they did in Swargalok: in fragrances, flower garlands and divine ornaments. Please accept this humble cloth as a temporary measure, they said. I want proper clothes, he insisted. We are in the sacred Naimisha forest, he wasPolitely informed, and barkcloth is the appropriate dress code-you will get a new set of garments in the morning. A snort of contempt from him and then the question: Don't you know who I am?
They had all noticed that his feet did not touch the ground but remained about six inches above. Vasuman, the eldest among the brothers, tried to soothe the visitor's irritation by adopting an overly respectful tone. "O venerable one, as you have come down from Swargalok, you are obviously a celestial being-a yaksha, deva, gandharva or rakshasa. Whoever you are, we are honoured to have you here. Please accept the fruit of our yagna.
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