‘Nor does he hold back from helping the humblest and weakest. Such a lila is like medicine to cure us of false pride—he doses us with the mercy of Shiva jnana.’
‘When our own tradition teaches us not to discriminate, why didn’t people learn from it?’ said the mother in anguish.
‘Too many people across society found it convenient not to learn,’ said the grandfather. ‘Parts of society have still to catch up with the Constitution.’
‘Found what convenient?’ said the child.
‘Would you like to hear another story?’ said the guru, leaving it up to the family to explain the unhappy topic when it chose to the child, since she had never heard her family speak about or comment on ‘caste’ or ‘outcaste’ and both her parents and grandparents had friends from many communities who comfortably visited their home.
‘Yes, please!’ said the child, diverted.
‘This lila is celebrated every year at a place called Puttu Thopu in Madurai city in the month of Shravan, which is also special to Shiva elsewhere in India. Puttu Thopu is located on the south bank of the Vaigai. They say that this is the place where Mahadev performed one of those sixty-four lilas. This happened in the ninth century.’
‘Varaguna Varman the Second, the Pandya king of the time, ordered every household in Madurai to help build a massive bund on the banks of the Vaigai to protect the kingdom from floods in the monsoon. A poor old lady called Vanti Amma was ordered by the overseer to carry baskets of soil as her task. But she was too weak and old for it. She had no family and could not pay anyone to take her place. However, if she did nothing at all, the guards would make her pay a hefty fine, or worse, send her to jail for dereliction of duty. Pandyan law was strict. Mani Vasakar, the king’s trusted minister, though a saint, had been put in jail for misusing state funds to build a private temple to Shiva. Devotion was one thing. State funds belonged to the state.’
‘So Vanti Amma, who prayed every day to Mahadev as her lifelong saviour, gamely came up with a scheme that she dedicated to him. She counted out a few coins from her scant hoard and went shopping, after which she carefully prepared some puttu, mixing coarsely ground rice, grated coconut, jeera, salt and water, which she steamed in bamboo cylinders. She planned to offer portions of this puttu to anyone who would help her.’
‘Mahadev, who was idly watching the people of Madurai scurry around like ants, noticed her activities. He understood her plan at once and liked the genuine effort that the old lady was making to do her duty and save her dignity. “She deserves some help, see how she’s trying to cope alone,” he told Parvati and promptly thought of a new game to play.’
‘Vanti Amma sat near the riverbank with the fresh puttu enticingly laid out on a banana leaf. She waved a palm-leaf fan over it to keep flies away and also fan herself.’
‘“Puttu for any good person who will work in my place!” she called.’
‘But everybody who passed by was already on embankment duty and Vanti Amma grew nervous. Would nobody come forward? Would she have to go to jail, after all?’
‘After some time, a boy of not more than fifteen or sixteen, dressed in a faded dhoti, came by, stopped and greeted her.’
‘“I’m very hungry, Granny. Won’t you give me some puttu?” he said, eyeing the savoury white logs.’
‘“Do take some, child,” said the old lady.’
‘“Why are you giving away free puttu, Granny?” said the boy, squatting beside her.’
‘“Child, I don’t have the strength to do my share of the work. So I’m hoping somebody will take my place in exchange for some food,” said Vanti Amma.’
‘“Oh, is that all? I can do that for you,” laughed the boy, flexing his strong, young arm.’
‘“May Somasundara bless you! Take as much puttu as you like,” said the old lady happily.’
‘The boy delicately helped himself to just a handful of puttu. After eating it, he smacked his lips and grinned cheekily.’
‘“Excellent puttu, Granny. Maybe I’ll come back for more,” he said and strolled off towards the guards to pick up a stout cane basket.’
‘“I’m standing in for that old lady, see? Better tick her name off your list,” he told them and went to work on the embankment.’
‘The boy carried soil steadily to and fro from the earthworks. Coming and going, he sang and whistled, made funny remarks, helpfully caught the arm of anyone who stumbled and cheerfully laboured side by side with the people of Madurai. The atmosphere around him grew light and carefree despite the hard work going on.’
‘When the overseer gave his section a short break, the boy put the basket down under a tree, turned his back on the bustle and peacefully went to sleep.’
‘Meanwhile, the king himself arrived to inspect the work. He was very annoyed to spot a teenager sleeping the morning away. He dismounted from his horse, strode up to the boy and delivered a smart blow of his cane on the boy’s bare back.’
‘“Aaah!” screamed the workers, even the king. They had all felt the lash. What strange miracle was this?’
‘Now, Varaguna Varman was no fool. He was, after all the Pandyan king and knew something about the god he prayed to every day. Who else could it be, playing such tricks?’
‘He fell to his knees besides the boy who turned over and smiled.’
‘“I’m sorry it hurt. But it couldn’t be helped, could it, when I’m in each one of you . . . even in old women with no strength to work?” he said and vanished.’
‘The king could not believe his luck.’
‘“I saw him. I actually saw him. He spoke to me!” he said joyfully, and taking the basket used by Mahadev, he reverently filled it with the soil on which Mahadev had slept to take back to his puja room at the palace.’
‘But before he left, he excused Vanti Amma from work, presented her his big golden ring as a mark of respect and apology, and humbly requested her to pack the remaining puttu for him as prasad.’
‘When the workers realized what had happened, they fell to their knees, thanking Mahadev for appearing in their midst. Those he had touched, joked with and teased could not believe their luck. “We must have done something good in our past lives that he showed himself to us so affectionately, as one of us,” they said, eyes overflowing. They felt certain of good luck for the rest of their days and went back to work with great good will.’
‘The bund came up very well with not one accident.’
‘The old lady thanked Shiva, heart and soul. She died soon after in great peace and happiness, for Shiva gave her mukti for just that handful of puttu.’
‘Krishna gave Sudama unimaginable wealth for two handfuls of poha. Shiva gave Vanti liberation itself for a handful of puttu. Hari bhakti, Shiva jnana. The gods love to serve those who love them.’
‘I must tell you something nice here that unites the north and south in the most unexpected way. Guess what Yashoda Maiyya gave Krishna as packed lunch in Vrindavan? It was mixed rice or curd rice with pickle or chips, typically wrapped in a leaf-packet. No, I’m not making it up, how could I? It’s in the Srimad Bhagavatam. Vyasa says, “vame panau masrna kabalam tad phalanyangulishu”. “His left hand held the blob of mixed rice and between the fingers of the other, he held the accompaniment”, when Krishna had lunch with the gopa boys while out grazing the cows.’
‘The Kannada word for curd rice is masaru anna, as I discovered in Bengaluru, while Vyasa’s word for mixed rice is masrna. So if we link it backwards, we could well say that the “mixed rice” was curd rice. There would have been no shortage of curds in Yashoda’s home. We know how Krishna loved butter, milk and curds. The usual “accompaniment” to curd rice is pickle or chips, or both pickle and chips. The pickle could have been mango or lemon. The “chips” could have been papad or fried vegetable chips. To think we still eat the food our dear Lord ate!’
‘Do you know, in the Telugu lands, they say majjiga for buttermilk? They call it “the mother of the motherless” for its comfort valu
e. I don’t wonder at it—milk and milk products were the old building blocks of our diet. Once upon a time, it was considered a sin against society to dilute the milk you sold, and we had strict rules about milking. The cows were grazed only on sweet organic grass and no cow could be milked until its calf had drunk its fill. The cowherd boys were carefully instructed on these matters.’
‘How lucky were those gopa boys who innocently played all day with Krishna and Balarama . . . Sridama, Subala and Stoka were Krishna’s three best friends by the Yamuna. Everywhere you look, you find them by a riverbank, a lake, a hill, the shore, celebrating the lila of the gods.’
‘So you won’t be surprised to know that every Shravan, to this day, the people of Madurai make puttu to take on a picnic to Puttu Thopu in remembrance of Mahadev’s lila there. “Thopu” means “grove” or “thicket”. The Meenakshi temple is closed for two days during that time so that Parvati and Shiva can go in procession to the banks of the Vaigai to join the party . . .’
‘Imagine Mahadev romping around as an old woodcutter and a cheeky teen,’ chuckled the father. ‘And I liked his public gesture to Tandavan. Mahadev really is a play-actor—both at the big level of maya and in our small lives.’
‘He’s very soft-hearted for such a strong, masculine god,’ said the grandmother. ‘That must be his womanly side.’
‘I found another story about Mahadev in which he became a woman. He did not ask Parvati to go in his place. He rushed to the rescue himself in the form of a mortal woman.’
‘Mahadev as a woman?’ said the father. ‘That’s unusual. We know that Shakti is his other half. We know that Vishnu became Mohini to save the situation after the Milk Ocean was churned. But I’ve never heard of Mahadev himself taking the form of a woman.’
‘I was wrong in saying that all women devotees except Andal were tragic figures,’ said the guru to the mother. ‘Vanti was not tragic. She had a big problem that Mahadev more than solved. This story about Mahadev as a woman goes back a long way, it’s even older than the story of how he carried earth for a handful of puttu. Would you like to hear it?’
‘Of course,’ said the mother.
‘Mahadev’s lila with Vanti and the puttu was in the ninth century. Over 200 years before that, in the late sixth century, a girl called Ratnavati was an ardent devotee of Mahadev, whom she worshipped by the name Sevadinath. She inherited this love from her father Ratnaguptan, who was a merchant and a man of faith. Ratnavati lived with her huband in Trichy. There were no elders or relatives at home; it was just the two of them and a part-time servant. The husband, being a merchant himself, was often away on work. When Ratnavati became pregnant, she prayed every day to Sevadinath Mahadev for the baby’s health. She chanted slokas, did puja and offered bel leaves and milk. She firmly believed that Mahadev would protect her and her unborn child all the way.’
‘But naturally, Ratnavati wanted her mother by her side during the birth. Nobody else would do. She sent word to her mother who lived some distance away from Trichy across the river Kaveri, to come to her before the birth. When the date drew near, Ratnavati’s mother began to prepare her daughter’s favourite snacks to take along. She also made the special restorative laddoos usually given to new mothers, some medicinal oil, some herbal marmalade called lehiyam that we call chyavanprash in the north and a big jar of pure ghee from cow’s milk. Going to Trichy by bullock cart took two weeks those days and Ratnavati’s mother set out with two attendants in time for the baby’s expected arrival. But when they neared Trichy, they found to their great dismay that the Kaveri was in flood and totally impossible to cross.’
‘While her mother fumed and fretted on the far bank of the Kaveri, Ratnavati went into early labour and began to panic. It was bad enough that her husband was away on work, planning to be back before the baby was due. But where on earth was her mother? As the sky grew dark and rain clouds began to empty on Trichy, she prayed desperately to Shiva, “Dear God, my saviour, my Lord Sevadinath, I know you have no parents but you do have two beautiful children on Kailash and all of us here are your children, too. I’m sure you understand how much I need my mother now. Please don’t leave me alone, please help me”.’
‘Ratnavati had barely finished her prayer when she heard a knock on the door. There stood her mother, beaming, carrying many baskets and bundles. Relieved and happy, Ratnavati let her mother take charge. With her mother’s able help, she delivered a beautiful baby. Her mother took over the house and knackily looked after the baby. She dosed Ratnavati with healing syrups, let her sleep undisturbed between feeds, cooked nourishing meals and kept the house fresh and tidy. She did not let Ratnavati pick up even a pot of drinking water. Ratnavati felt thoroughly petted and pampered by all this loving care.’
‘After a few days, Ratnavati heard a knock and went to the door. She was shocked to see her mother and the two attendants.’
‘My dear daughter, please forgive me for not coming to you sooner!’ cried her mother. ‘The Kaveri was flooded and I couldn’t cross. How worried I was! I am so relieved to see you looking well. Where is my grandchild?’
‘As her mother sobbed in relief, Ratnavati rushed to the kitchen where she had seen her mother’s double go. But that mother was nowhere to be seen. Ratnavati looked at her mother in utmost wonder and went at once to the puja room to thank Mahadev. Who else could it have been? Sevadinath Mahadev had become a mortal mother for the sake of a girl who totally trusted him and called out to him in complete faith. He had even brought the same food and medicine that Ratnavati’s mother had prepared.’
‘Ratnavati dissolved in floods of grateful tears when she realized how perfectly Mahadev, the god of doctors, the Vaidishvar himself, had looked after her and the baby. Throughout their lives, she and her mother would often break down remembering it. “Did Sevadinath really do such-and-such?” they would think and sit down abruptly, overcome by his maternal compassion. That Great God beyond time and space, without beginning or end, that Adi Guru, that Mahayogi, that demon-killer, that Trikaldarshi who could see the past, present and future seamlessly, was not remote to them. How could he be, when he had delivered Ratnavati’s baby, plaited her hair for her, washed her clothes, cooked her food and fed her with his own hand as her mother?’
‘Ratnavati and her family held a big puja of thanksgiving and invited the whole town to the feast to celebrate this miracle. Everyone was deeply touched by Mahadev’s caring practical kindness. They loved him even more for this lila.’
‘“What does he not do for us? He drank poison to save the world. He even became the mother to this girl in her hour of need,” they said, shedding tears of wonder. From that day, Shiva was given the name “Thayumanavar”, the Lord who even became the mother.’
‘The people told their king, Mahendravarman Pallava the First, and he built a temple to Shiva as Thayumanavar in Trichy up on its big rock hill. The Pandya kings of the eighth century made the temple even bigger.’
‘The emperors of Vijayanagar and after them the Nayak kings of Madurai rebuilt it in medieval times. That’s how it’s gone on for hundreds of years—Ratnavati’s experience of Ishakripa, God’s grace, is enshrined as the legitimate lore of the land in the temple that was built by Mahendravarman and kept up by king after king from succeeding dynasties.’
‘They hold a festival there every year, even today in the twenty-first century, in which they enact this lila with great feeling and give medicinal oil as prasad to new mothers. Even to this day. They do this not only to remember Shiva’s motherly mercy but to teach everyone who cares to learn that a man can be a mother. A man has it in him to be as caring and supportive as a mother if he tries. Mahadev, that most manly of gods, has set an example to all men.’
14
Shivaya
‘A katha allows us to experience everything in four ways,’ said the guru at the next gathering. ‘First, as a lived experience when we listen; second, in the writing down of it; and third, in the rereading of it . . . and most cru
cially when we retell it and pass it on to new listeners, especially the young. That’s how it’s still alive. We’ve kept a tight hold on the katha and bhajan habit and moreover, we can tell our stories according to our times.’
‘I like it that we can ask questions and that we don’t have to defend the indefensible,’ said the mother.
‘Yes, that’s one of the most attractive things about the tradition. It’s like a flowing river, a pravah, not like water confined in a well,’ said the grandfather.
‘Speaking of which, we have something to show you, haven’t we?’ said the mother to the guru, with a look at the child.
The child got up and went to fetch a roll of chart paper, which she carefully unrolled for the guru.
‘A map of our holy places, Aa Setu Himalaya!’ exclaimed the guru. He studied it with deep attention and looked up, beaming.
‘This is marvellous!’
‘We wanted to set down our sacred geography for ourselves,’ said the father.
‘It’s our family project. All five of us worked on it this week,’ smiled the grandmother.
The guru looked again at the map.
‘It’s beautiful,’ he said. ‘A nice outline of India with snow peaks, hills, rivers, jungles, desert and oceans all lightly filled in as the background, and the tirthas and kshetras drawn boldly on top. I see you’ve done the different terrains in watercolour. That is the most difficult thing to do. You can’t correct mistakes like you can with oil paint or acrylic. Who is the artist here?’
‘It was a division of labour,’ said the grandmother.
‘As the engineer and draughtsman, I did the outline,’ said the grandfather.
‘My son filled in the geography. He did the watercolour work since he used to like drawing and painting,’ added the grandmother.
‘I was afraid that I was too out of practice. But I think it’s like cycling or swimming, it comes back. My eyes and hand remembered the technique,’ said the father.
Mahadev Page 15