Mahadev

by Renuka Narayan

  ‘“The first thing to do is get Shiva married. But who will marry him now?” said Brahma, annoyingly practical.’

  ‘The devas thought hard.’

  ‘“We can only throw ourselves on the mercy of Shakti, the feminine side of Shiva,” they said nervously and began to pray to this multiple energy that could be many things all at once.’

  ‘Shakti, who moved independently of Shiva although she was half of him, took pity on the devas. She willed herself to be born on earth, taking care to choose good parents who worshipped Shiva. She chose Himavan, lord of the snow peaks, and his soft-hearted wife, Mena, who were very happy with each other and thought it would be nice to have a child to hopefully add to their happiness. Accordingly, one day, Himavan found an exquisite baby girl asleep on a rare lotus that had mysteriously bloomed in icy Manasarover. He brought her home to Mena as bhagvat prasad, the blessed gift of the gods.’

  ‘As the daughter of the mountains, Shakti was given the names Parvati and Girija, since “parvat” and “giri” mean “mountain”. She played her part perfectly in this lila of her own making. She delighted her earthly parents by being a caring, affectionate child. She enjoyed an enchanted girlhood, and worshipped Shiva with all her heart right from when she was a very little girl. When she grew up, she tracked him down to his mountain cave and brought him water and his favourite vilva or bel leaves every day without fail. But Shiva never noticed.’

  ‘The watching devas now thought of a way to make Shiva open his eyes, look at Parvati and fall in love with her. They recruited the services of Kama, the cheerful and confident young god of love, who alone feared nobody for almost every creature succumbed to his flowery love arrows. However, Kama quailed at the thought of committing the sin of swami droham, of doing something against God. But he was bound by his duty to Indra, his king, who gave him no choice. So Kama made up his mind to be brave, quietly consoling himself that if he had to risk dying, it was best to be killed by Shiva himself. Kama took along his wife Rati and his friend Vasant, the Spring, to make everything pretty and pleasant around Shiva when he opened his eyes and looked at Parvati.’

  ‘When Parvati arrived and knelt in prayer, Kama shot his arrow with deadly accuracy at Shiva. Alas, it proved deadly for him instead, for Shiva’s eyelids fluttered, he looked for the source of the disturbance, burnt poor Kama to ashes with a fiery look from his third eye and vanished! He did not look once at Parvati, who was left consoling a heartbroken Rati.’

  ‘But Parvati was not a quitter. “I have to do this for the devas, so I shall,” she told herself sternly and just as sternly, she told Shiva in her head, “You like austerity, do you? I’ll show you austerity.” Overcoming her parents’ natural objections, Parvati decided to go deep into the forest to begin an unrelenting fast and prayer to win over Shiva since nothing else seemed likely to move him—not her beauty, not her youth, nor her royal parentage nor her sincere intent to marry him for a good cause.’

  ‘Parvati put away her royal robes and put on the chira-valkala or hermit’s habitual dress of tree-bark. She stood in the waters of a lonely pond, praying all day to Shiva, indifferent to heat, rain and cold, and to the very real threat from insects, reptiles, birds and animals. Her skin grew deeply tanned and her forehead, nose and chin were painfully sunburned, as were her shoulders and arms. Her hair grew matted like Shiva’s, her body shrank and her delicate ribs stuck out as she gradually stopped eating. “Aparna!” said the shocked sages who passed by, “she doesn’t eat even a leaf,” while Mena, Parvati’s mother, cried, “Ooh, ma! Oh, don’t!” The stoic princess thus acquired the names Uma and Aparna.’

  ‘The horrified devas watched helplessly as Parvati grew thinner and thinner and frailer and frailer, with no sign of giving up. “We’re so sorry we did this to you, Mother,” they wept in remorse from their safe house in Brahmalok. “Why won’t Shiva listen?”’

  ‘Oh!’ said the child in distress, not meaning to interrupt but too deeply affected by Parvati’s suffering to stay silent. ‘Won’t Shiva go to her soon? Poor Parvati!’

  Her father hugged her, his own eyes suspiciously moist. ‘Let’s listen to some more to find out,’ he said soothingly.

  ‘We now come to the more obviously happy part of the story,’ said the guru to the child. ‘But I think Parvati’s tapas was marvellous, too, because she was stretching her limits in her human form and just wouldn’t give up. So far, I’ve more or less followed Parvati’s story the way it’s told in the Kumarasambhavam, The Birth of Kartikeya. This is an epic poem by Kalidasa from the fourth century.’

  ‘Kalidasa took the story from Valmiki’s Srimad Ramayanam, from the first book, the Bala Kandam, Sargas thirty-six and thirty-seven, in which Sage Vishvamitra, on the way to Videha, tells Rama and Lakshmana about the birth of Kartikeya. Valmiki also has a very touching scene where Rama’s mother Kausalya calls down the grace of all the gods on him when he goes in exile for fourteen years. She begins with Skandascha Bhagavan Devaha, invoking Kartikeya.’

  ‘Kalidasa is said to have lived in Ujjain, you know, where your grandfather took your father to see Shiva as Mahakaleshwar. Kalidasa must have seen that ancient shivling, too! Isn’t that a thought? I hope you’ll read the Kumarasambhavam yourself one day. There are eight thrilling verses in particular in which Kalidasa describes how Kama, peering from behind a rock, sees Shiva meditating in utter stillness on a tiger skin under a tree. Even the breeze does not dare to disturb him. Kama’s weapons almost fall from his suddenly nerveless fingers in that great hush. Those verses make you feel that you actually see Shiva for yourself.’

  ‘Is the poem in Sanskrit?’ said the child, interested.

  ‘Yes, it is. It’s best to start learning Sanskrit as soon as possible, to get it right. Your prayer to Ganapati was well said, so I know you won’t be frightened of Sanskrit. But it’s hard work! You know, of course, that the English alphabet has twenty-six letters. Well, the Sanskrit alphabet has twice as many. We learn them in strings. If you learn Sanskrit properly, your mind will be so well-trained that you’ll find many other subjects very easy, like language, law, math, poetry, logic and science.’

  ‘Yes, we plan to give her that foundation,’ said the mother. ‘Her school is being pulled this way and that about teaching Sanskrit. So we’ve decided to find her a good teacher for lessons at home. I missed out, and I think it’s too important for us to leave to chance. In fact, we wanted to ask you to recommend someone suitable . . . someone who loves both prose and poetry and can communicate that love to her.’

  ‘Ah, gadyam and padyam, prose and poetry,’ smiled the guru. ‘I’ll think of someone. There’s a lovely poem in praise of Sanskrit for the many gifts it has given India . . . subharati suramya, “the language of our enchantment”. No wonder Macaulay wanted to cut us off from it and turn us into brown Englishmen to serve the needs of Empire. But English also woke us up and sparked off Hindu reform, didn’t it? We were dragged, kicking and screaming, into the modern world.’

  ‘Anyhow, to resume our tale, Shiva did come by at last and marry Parvati in a grand wedding, with Parvati first making sure to restore Kama’s spirit to Rati.’

  ‘The best song I’ve ever heard about Shiva-Parvati’s marriage is Shivji bihane chale; palki sajai ke bhabhuti ramai ke, ho Ram (Shivji is on his way to be married wearing holy ash, with a bridal palanquin). It’s a storytelling classic. I enjoy the words, the music and the vivid picture it paints. You feel like you’re right there, dancing with the happy crowd . . . sang-sang barati chale dholva bajai ke ghorva daudai ke, ho Ram (along with him is the bride-groom’s party beating drums and speeding on horses).’

  ‘Shankar ka Vivah (Shankar’s wedding), we know it, too,’ said the grandfather. ‘The oral tradition remains as strong as ever in our mother tongues, thank God. That’s what we’re doing ourselves now, aren’t we—katha in English?’

  ‘Shankar ka Vivah is a brilliant katha,’ said the father. ‘You can hear different versions on YouTube with the ful
l flavour of Bhojpuri!’

  ‘I love that song,’ said the mother. ‘It makes me feel light and cheerful like I was a Shivagana myself . . . suttva ghumaike, ghuttva lagaike, ho Ram (Passing a pipe of weed around and taking a swig of bhang).’ She lapsed into a giggling fit.

  ‘Why does Shiva smoke and drink with the ganas?’ said the child sternly, with a look at her convulsed mother. Her father put up his hand to hide a grin.

  ‘Shiva does all that to show us how perfectly free he is, or so we fondly think,’ said the guru. ‘It’s not a good idea for everyday life on earth, in case it gets too much and spoils our health. But there’s nothing “wrong” with it for grown-ups socially, within limits, of course. It’s a pitiful sight only when you see someone out of control. A true lady and a true gentleman know the art of self-control and how to moderate their behaviour. Mahadev certainly did. But his wild appearance upset those who lived by tight outward rules. He was beyond the understanding of many people. So, you see, Parvati really had a tough job. First convincing Shiva to marry her and then convincing Mother Mena to let her marry Shiva—this wild, ash-smeared yogi hung about with snakes and surrounded by tipsy, capering goblins. His only plus point was that he was a “bath freak” as we’d say back in the day. He bathed all the time.’

  ‘But the wedding went off well. All three worlds were joyful witness. It was our first big party, with everyone present, and we still celebrate it. The wedding took place a day before the moonless night of Amavasya in the month of Phalgun, which is mid-February to mid-March by the Indian calendar. All over India and wherever we go, we celebrate it every year as Maha Shivratri, the great night of Shiva. Typically, we bathe and fast and go to the temple to offer Shiva bel leaves and water. That’s what he likes as presents from us—cleanliness, an effort to detox, and most of all, loving remembrance.’

  ‘It was a happy marriage, for Parvati was more emotionally mature than Sati. Shiva fell wholly in love with Parvati for her strength of character, and she with Shiva for the goodness and grandness of his nature. He was incapable of a pettiness. It became a splendid, deeply loving friendship between equals, spiced now and then by a quarrel or two, which was really just another round of lila or divine games, for this partnership was as knit as vaak and arth, as word and meaning, inseparable from each other. It was sturdily made of trust, loyalty and mutual appreciation, setting an example to the world.’

  ‘Of course, the devas showed up soon after, begging Shiva to think of their unhappy situation as powerless exiles, and somehow produce a son who could liberate them from asura rule and enable them to go home to Indralok. All the devas assembled on Mount Kailash to piteously petition Shiva except Yama, god of Death, who was detained round the clock by Surapadman. The asura king kept Yama close by as his personal physician. With the Lord of Death himself as the doctor, which infection, disease or hurt could dare come near those he guarded?’

  ‘Ah, but how the gods love to outwit the vain, the greedy and the presumptuous! Shiva heard the devas out and shot those six sparks of fire from his third eye, which landed in the Ganga. Ganga’s waters hissed in pain for she couldn’t bear the heat and she passed the fire on to Agni, the fire god, who himself found it too hot to handle. So he put the six sparks on six lotuses in a cool little forest pond surrounded by saravana or marshy reeds.’

  ‘The six sparks, with their first force spent, instantly turned into six tiny baby boys so that the soft, delicate lotuses could hold them without being burnt. This lovely secret pond was where six beautiful star maidens came every evening to bathe. Together, they made up the constellation Krittika, also known as the Pleiades. The star maidens looked after the little boys until Shiva and Parvati came looking for them. Parvati was so happy that she held them all together in one big hug. This magically turned the six children into one lovely boy, Kumar. To thank the star maidens for looking after her child, Parvati said that she would also call him Kartikeya, meaning “of the Krittika”.’

  ‘Kumar grew from a toddler into the most wonderful boy. He led the devas into battle against the asuras Surapadman and Taraka. He won with the help of his father’s blessings, his mother’s strength and his own courage. Both asuras were crushed and begged for mercy. The Skanda Purana by Vyasa says that Kumar, being just a boy-god then, had ridden to battle on a sturdy goat with wickedly curved horns in remembrance of a dangerous wild goat that he had quelled on Kailash with his child’s strength. When the two defeated asuras pleaded for grace, Kumar turned Surapadman into a peacock for his mount and placed Tarakan as a rooster on his war chariot’s banner. Of the many birds on earth, these two look upwards to heaven to utter their calls.’

  ‘The gods do not exclude sinners from their kindness if they sincerely repent. Whereas, a greedy, jealous person like Duryodhana in the Mahabharata disqualified himself from grace by staying arrogant to the end. He would not give even one needle-point of land to his cousins and plunged them all into war to become a kulantaka, the destroyer of his own clan.’

  ‘Kumar was so bright and endearing that anyone who saw him took one look and doted on him at once. Well, just think of whose child he was. He had the priceless gift of charm and a strong streak of mischief. He loved to tease those who loved him, especially scholars and poets puffed up in their own importance, by appearing to them as a cheeky little boy or as an old man. At the same time, he was known to be very protective and loyal towards his devotees, which made generation after generation love him more and more and more. “You exist to make us live!” they cried.’

  ‘Acharya Adi Shankara wrote a powerful thirty-three-verse Sanskrit poem to him that he composed at Kartikeya’s temple at Tiruchendur on the Coromandel shore.

  ‘Kumar is also called “Subrahmanya”, so Acharya’s poem is called the Subrahmanya Bhujangam. They say that the poem sprang out of a glowing vision that Acharya had of Kumar seated deep in his heart.’

  ‘Acharya set it in Jagati Chhand, the twelve-syllable Vedic metre. When you say it aloud, the poem seems to glide forward like a snake on its “shoulders”, which we call bhujanga prayatam. This poem is believed to cure us of physical, mental and spiritual sickness. So people recite it even today in Maharashtra, Goa, Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh, Telangana, Kerala and Tamil Nadu like how the Hanuman Chalisa is recited in the north, as a kavach or protective prayer. I’ll tell you my favourite verse:

  ‘Mayuradi roodam, Maha vaakya gudam

  Manohari devam, Mahatchitta geham

  Mahi Devadevam, Maha Vedabhavam,

  Mahadeva Balam, Bhaje Lokapalam’

  ‘It says, “Who rides the peacock; who is the secret cave of truth in the hearts of believers; who is the lord of the celestials; who embodies knowledge; who is the Great God’s son—Hail to that protector of the world.”’

  ‘There, I’ve tried to translate it, but it just doesn’t compare with how it sounds in the original. Why not add this verse to the prayer you say to Ganapati? It’s so easy to say aloud, unlike some jaw-breakers in Sanskrit. It’s Acharya’s gift of Kumar to us all, wherever we live.’

  ‘The Tamil people in particular took Kumar wholly to their hearts. Indeed, they say he was always theirs. “You may stand like a stone in your temples but to us you are like a ripe fruit, the fruit of knowledge and mercy,” they said. They called him “Murukan”, “the beautiful one”, and wrote reams of poetry about him that they still sing. Especially, they love the Tiru Pugazh, the poems to Kumar by the fifteenth-century poet Arunagiri Nathar. Tiru Pugazh means “Holy Praise” or “Divine Glory”. Arunagiri compares the sight of Murukan on his peacock to the red sun rising on a blue-green sea.’

  ‘The Tiru Pugazh became a companion book to the Tevaram, seven volumes of songs about Shiva from very ancient times. Imagine, there are hereditary singers of Tevaram even today at many old Shiva temples out south. Those songs have been sung from the seventh century! Today, many modern young people go to special classes to learn to sing both Tiru Pugazh and Tevaram with the stories and the “Shaiva
Siddantha” or philosophy explained. Whatever else these young people may do in the world, Kumar and Shiva are alive to them in their daily life.’

  ‘It is with these old stories and songs on their lips, and with the most dedicated love for Kumar and Shiva in their hearts, that a group of young men in their twenties came all the way north from Chennai in the winter of 1944 to work in the Government Secretariat. They were summoned because their English had become very good in the Madras Presidency where the British had been for nearly 300 years.’

  ‘The British government of the day in Delhi knew about their language skills. But it’s likely that it did not know of the divine love that burned in their youthful Indian hearts or what that love would make them do in far-off Delhi for their Murukan, their Kumaran, Kandan, Kartikeyan, Guhan, Subrahmanyan, Saravanan, Velayudhan . . . they had so many meaningful names for him. What’s more, they carried an ancient shadakshari or six-syllable mantra with them, invoking his grace—Saravana Bhava—just as they carried the powerful panchakshari or five-syllable mantra for Shiva, Namas Shivaya.’

  ‘I’ll tell you the rest next Monday. I’ll leave you with the thought that Kumar, born of Shiva’s holy fire, is with you in your home as the light in every flame lit for worship—“Deepa mangala jyoti namo namah (I bow to the Light of every lamp lit for God)”. That’s what Arunagiri said of Kumar over 500 years ago.’

  7

  Shivaskanda Murti

  ‘Sri Parameshvara prityartham,’ said the guru in a ringing voice when he settled down to speak on his next visit. ‘This is being done to please God.’

  He surprised himself by saying so, for the words belonged in the act of sankalpa that described the when, where, why and what of a ritual that was about to start. It was a formal declaration, stating space and time, of your intention or goal before you began a puja, a pilgrimage or a worthy project.