Kalki and Kuṭhodarī

After the victory at Kīkaṭapura, Bhagavān Kalki comes to the sacred lake Cakratīrtha. There the tiny Vālakhilya ṛshis, who are full of tapas (austerity), run to him in fear of a rākshasī of enormous size named Kuṭhodarī. Kalki goes to meet her. She swallows him together with his army. He lights a fire inside her, cuts his way out and kills her. Her son Karaṃja then attacks and is killed by the Brahmāstra.

After Kīkaṭapura, the visit to Cakratīrtha

Kalki had defeated the Buddhist king Jina at Kīkaṭapura and accepted the tribute of the region as dharma required. He gathered the wealth of the kingdom, made arrangements for its rule, and left with his army. On the road he came to Cakratīrtha, a sacred lake linked with Naimishāraṇya, and bathed there with full rites.

Kalki was resting at Cakratīrtha with his brothers, his companions and his followers when he saw a group of ṛshis coming toward him in plain distress. They were the Vālakhilya munis. These ascetics are so small that they travel in the hollow of one thumb-nail, yet they hold in themselves the full heat of Vedic tapas. These ṛshis, small in body and vast in spiritual power, came before Kalki frightened and unable to go on along their forest paths.

Kalki received them with deep respect and asked: “Where have you come from? Who has frightened you? Even if it were Devarāja himself, I will destroy him. Speak freely.”

Kuṭhodarī: her family and her form

The Vālakhilya ṛshis told him why they were afraid. A rākshasī of enormous size had settled near the Himālaya. Her name was Kuṭhodarī. She came of the greatest Rākshasa blood. She was the daughter of Nikumbha and the granddaughter of the mighty Kumbhakarṇa, the brother of Rāvaṇa, who had been killed by Bhagavān Rāma. Her husband was Kākañju (also written Kākaṃju), and her son was Karaṃja, who is also called Vikaṃja in some passages.

The text tells her size in words that show the wonder of those who saw her. She lay with her head on the peaks of the Himālaya and her feet reaching to the Nishadha mountains. She was like a mass of cloud that had taken the shape of a woman and settled across the mountain ranges. She lay nursing her huge son. The breath from her mouth and nose blew out like winds that threw mad elephants far away. Whole packs of lions slept undisturbed in the hollows of her ears. Deer with their young grazed at the roots of her hair as if it were a meadow.

The Kshīranadī. The ṛshis spoke of a white river flowing down from the Himālaya. It was pure as a conch shell and bright as moonlight, and it rushed along fast with a great mass of foam. This was no ordinary river. It was the Kshīranadī, the River of Milk, and it flowed wholly from the milk of Kuṭhodarī’s breast as she nursed Karaṃja. The text says that after seven ghaṭikās, a second such river would begin from her other breast, and the first would then shrink into a still, lake-like pool. Those who saw it were struck with wonder: “If the milk of one breast makes such a river, how large must be the son she nurses?”

The ṛshis had not left their āśramas because the rākshasī attacked them. They left because of the force of her breath, which blew through the mountain paths and forest ways like great winds and made life in the forest impossible for such small ṛshis.

The march to the Himālaya

Kalki heard the ṛshis and at once decided to deal with the danger. He set out for the Himālaya with his army of elephants, horses, chariots and foot-soldiers. At the foot of the hills the army camped for the night at the base of the mountain. At dawn, as Kalki got ready to advance, they saw the Kshīranadī flowing in the valley below, white, rushing and huge.

The warriors stood frozen at the sight. The ṛshis, who had come along with them, said: “That is her breast-milk. The rākshasī lies above, on the summit.” Even the soldiers who had fought at Kīkaṭapura without flinching stood pale and unsure before this sight.

Kalki saw their fear. He told the main body of the army to stay below and to use fire to clear paths through the thick mountain growth. Only chosen divisions of elephants, horsemen and chariots would go up with him. With this small, dedicated force he climbed toward the place where the rākshasī lay.

The battle and the swallowing

The ṛshis guided him to the mountain ledge where Kuṭhodarī lay. Kalki saw her, as huge as a second mountain set on top of the first. He began to rain arrows on her. Falling on her vast body, they were like drops of water striking a rock. But the noise was enough to wake her.

Kuṭhodarī rose with a sound that shook the sky. Her terrible voice rang across the mountain ranges and made the soldiers below fall senseless to the ground. The warriors nearest to her dropped their weapons and collapsed. The rākshasī opened her huge mouth, wider than a mountain cave, and drew in her breath. The force of it, like a great whirlpool, pulled in everyone near her. The elephants, horses, chariots and soldiers, and Kalki himself, were all sucked into her mouth and swallowed.

The devas watching from the sky cried out in grief. Some ṛshis began prayer and japa for Kalki’s safety. Others wept. Kalki’s camp below heard the sounds of disaster and began to mourn. The rākshasas rejoiced.

Escape from within

Inside the rākshasī’s belly Kalki gathered his mind. He remembered his own nature. With full calm he lit a fire in the darkness of her stomach. He fed a great blaze with the arrows and whatever else he had: weapons, wooden parts of chariots, leather and fibres. The fire grew large and fierce.

As Indra once split open the belly of Vṛtrāsura with his vajra, Kalki drew his divine sword, the jewelled khaḍga given by Bhagavān Śiva, and tore open the rākshasī’s huge belly with it. He cut outward with great force, and Kuṭhodarī’s belly split wide. Kalki came out first, soaked in blood, sword in hand. Behind him came the horses and elephants through the wound he had opened, some through the torn belly and some through other natural openings of the rākshasī’s body. The soldiers and his brothers came out in blood and fire, shaken but alive.

Kuṭhodarī’s body was destroyed from within. She fell with a sound like a mountain falling and shook the earth. She died. The devas above showered flowers.

The death of Karaṃja

It was not yet over. Kuṭhodarī’s son Karaṃja had seen his mother die. He was huge himself. A garland of elephants lay on his chest, serpents were wound about him like ornaments, and he carried himself with the fearsome pride of his line. Wild with grief and blazing with fury, he charged forward without weapons. He rushed into the midst of Kalki’s soldiers with his bare hands alone and overwhelmed them by sheer force and size.

Kalki watched him: young, huge, mad with grief and dangerous. He called up the Brahmāstra, the supreme weapon Paraśurāma had given him during his schooling, and let it fly. The Brahmāstra cut off Karaṃja’s head and threw it to the ground. Karaṃja fell.

The devas again showered flowers on Kalki. The ṛshis who had sheltered near Cakratīrtha praised him and blessed him. From there Kalki went on to Haridvāra, on the bank of the holy Gaṅgā, where the great assembly of ṛshis, with Maru and Devāpi, was waiting for him.

Sources

• Kalki Purāṇa, Tritīyāmśa, Chapters 1–2
• Kalki Purāṇa, Tritīyāmśa, Chapter 2 (the visit to Cakratīrtha, Kuṭhodarī, the march, the swallowing, the escape, the death of Karaṃja)