by Sudha Murty
Ratnakara was taken aback. Speechless, he turned to his children. Taking a cue from the elders, they too denied any share in their father’s sins.
Saddened, Ratnakara finally looked at his wife. He was confident that his life partner would share his losses as much as his gains, and help reduce the burden of the sins on his soul. But she too shook her head.
Ratnakara realized the truth in the sage’s words and ran back to him. He found Narada sitting under a tree chanting, ‘Narayana! Narayana!’
Ratnakara fell at his feet and began to cry. ‘O Great Sage! You have opened my eyes. Not one person wants to share the load of my sins. I want to get away from this lie of a life. Tell me how to atone for my misdeeds. Please guide me.’
Narada held him by his shoulders. ‘Child, mistakes are bound to take place if one doesn’t receive proper guidance,’ he said gently. ‘Now focus on God and meditate. Eventually, you will understand the meaning of life. Just chant the word Rama repeatedly. It is, after all, the name of the lord.’
Ratnakara tried his best to say ‘Rama’, but his tongue was unable to pronounce the pure name of God, no matter how much he tried.
After some time, Narada suggested, ‘Let’s try something else. Do you know anyone called Mara?’
‘Yes, I had a friend named Mara,’ Ratnakara replied.
‘Excellent! Then just chant that repeatedly,’ said Narada with a smile. He stood up, bid Ratnakara goodbye and departed.
Ratnakara found a comfortable place to sit and began chanting, ‘Mara Mara Mara Mara.’ Soon, it seemed as if he were chanting, ‘Rama Rama Rama Rama.’
Years went by and an anthill began growing around Ratnakara. But he did not stop chanting and remained lost in meditation. Seeing this, people started referring to Ratnakara as Valmiki, or the man within the valmika, an anthill. As more years passed, Ratnakara’s original name was forgotten, and he came to be known only as Valmiki.
At last, Narada came to see him and removed the anthill. Valmiki finally opened his eyes. Narada blessed him and encouraged him to start an ashram. Soon, Valmiki’s fame as an enlightened sage spread far and wide.
One day, Valmiki was heading to the river Ganga for a bath when he came across a stunning stream called Tamasa. Valmiki thought, ‘The water is so clear—just like a pure mind. I think I will have a bath here today.’
He placed his things at the base of a big tree on the banks of the water and happened to notice a pair of beautiful white cranes. He smiled at the peaceful sight.
Suddenly, an arrow struck the male crane and the bird died. Filled with agony, the female crane screeched and cried until it also died of grief and shock. Valmiki’s heart burst with pain, and anger coursed through his body. He looked around to see who had shot the bird and spotted a hunter with a bow and an arrow a few feet away. Furious, he cried out,
Maa nishada pratishtham tvamagamaha shaasvati samaaha
Yat kraunchamithunaadekam avadhi kaamamohitam.
O hunter! May you suffer forever and find no rest, because you have killed one of the most devoted and passionate bird couples.
Later, when Valmiki composed the Ramayana with the blessings of Lord Brahma, the above became the first shloka of the epic.
Today, Valmiki is respected as the first poet or adikavi, and the Ramayana is called the first kavya or composition (adikavya).
A Measurement of Time
Once, there lived a generous king named Nimi, who ruled the kingdom of Videha. The capital of Videha was the city of Mithila.
One day, Nimi decided to perform a yagna and requested Sage Vasishtha to be the chief priest. The sage, however, declined. ‘I apologize, but I have a prior commitment with Lord Indra that same day. Please go ahead and I will join the yagna a little later.’
Nimi requested Sage Gautama to start the yagna, so that Sage Vasishtha could take over when he arrived.
As fate would have it, Nimi forgot to inform Sage Vasishtha about the time of the yagna. By the time Vasishtha arrived, the preparations were almost at an end, without any input from Sage Vasishtha. Vasishtha was very upset and admonished Nimi. ‘You are an irresponsible king. To perform a yagna with sincerity, proper preparation must be done, and the person performing it must be ready. That takes time. How could you forget to inform me of the time?’
Nimi accepted his fault. ‘O Sage, your anger is justified. Your clan has been the guru of my clan for generations. It is a position most sacred to my lineage. In my hurry and carelessness, I have committed a grave mistake. I have offended you and been a great disappointment to my ancestors. This offense is so great that I do not wish to live any more.’
The sage became thoughtful. The king had made a terrible mistake, and Vasishtha understood his plight.
The king continued, ‘O Sage, I have just one request: help me so that I may see the world through the eyes of my subjects and be with them every day even after I leave this perishable body.’
With a nod, Vasishtha transformed the king into eyelashes. Eyelashes are called nimi in Sanskrit, and since it only takes a second to blink, this unit of time came to be known as nimisha (a second).
From the Heavens to the Earth
King Bahu of the Ikshvaku dynasty was not concerned about the welfare of his subjects or the protection of his kingdom. He would often be found drunk or gambling, or both, and in no state to rule.
Knowing that the kingdom was weak, another king waged a war against Bahu, who escaped to the forest with his two wives and took shelter in the ashram of the sage Bhargava. To make matters worse, one of his wives was pregnant, and during this stressful time, the other wife became jealous and poisoned the first, despite knowing that she was with child. However, Sage Bhargava learnt of this and rushed to the woman’s rescue. He did his best to drain the poison from her body, but it could not be removed completely, and the baby was born with traces of poison in his blood. So the baby boy was named Sagara, which also means ‘along with poison’. Sagara grew up in the sage’s ashram, learning the art of warfare and receiving an excellent education.
Over time, he regained his father’s lost kingdom and became a wonderful king. He had two wives. The first wife gave birth to a baby boy named Asamanjasa, while the second wife performed a dedicated penance and was blessed with 60,000 children. These children collectively dug a pond that in time turned into an ocean. That is why the ocean is also called sagara, for the sons of Sagara.
Asamanjasa turned out to be like his grandfather, and so did his 60,000 stepbrothers. Sagara struggled to mould his children into worthy future kings.
Meanwhile, in an attempt to establish supremacy, King Sagara decided to perform the Ashvamedha yagna. During this process, a king’s horse is allowed to wander around for a year. Wherever the horse goes, the king of that land either accepts the sovereignty of the master of the horse or challenges him. Once the horse returns to his master’s kingdom, the king’s status gets elevated to that of an undisputed sovereign.
Lord Indra learnt of Sagara’s plans and, fearful of the consequences, kidnapped the horse. The 60,000 children searched far and wide for the horse, but with no luck. After some time, they came across a meditating sage, Kapila. They stopped there, and one of them asked the sage if he had seen the horse, to which the sage did not reply because he was in deep meditation. But the children took the lack of response as an insult and began hitting the sage. Kapila finally broke his meditation and opened his eyes. They were red with anger. With one glance, all of them were reduced to ashes.
When King Sagara learnt of the demise of his children, he rushed to Sage Kapila. Folding his hands, he requested him, ‘Honoured sage, I am aware that my children have made a grave mistake, but they have also done some good in their lives, including the creation of an ocean that sustains life. I beg you not to deprive them of attaining moksha.’
Kapila was a kind sage. He replied, ‘For your children to attain moksha, the river Ganga must flow over their ashes. Only then can they go to heaven.’
/> So the king offered penance to the gods in the hope of convincing them to let the river Ganga flow down to the earth and over his children’s ashes. But Sagara died before his penance was complete, and the task remained incomplete for a long time.
Many years down the line, Bhagiratha was born in the same clan and ascended the throne. He learnt of the story of Sage Kapila and his ancestors, and decided to pray to the lord to beg for their salvation. Vishnu appeared and said, ‘Bhagiratha, the path has been set. You must convince Ganga to flow over their ashes. You must pray to her.’
Inspired, Bhagiratha began praying to Ganga, who originated at the feet of Lord Vishnu. He was aware that it was a Herculean task to convince her to descend from the heavens to the earth, and he put his heart and soul into his tapasya.
Finally, Ganga appeared one day. On hearing his request, she said, ‘The force of my waters is too much for the earthly realm to sustain. Pray to Lord Shiva and ask him to reduce my spate so that the earth does not get washed away.’
Thus, Bhagiratha began another tapasya until Shiva finally appeared. He offered to let Ganga flow through his hair and only then descend to the earth. As Ganga rushed down, Shiva tied up his hair, letting just one stream escape and flow down to the earth. From that day on, Shiva came to be known as Gangadhara, and Ganga came to be known as Bhagirathi because of Bhagiratha’s great penance to both Lord Shiva and Lord Vishnu.
Despite Shiva’s strategy, the force of the Ganga was so strong that when she reached earth, the gush of the water flooded the ashram of the sage Jahnu. Jahnu became so livid at the destruction that he drank the river, and Ganga could not proceed further. When Bhagiratha learnt of this development, he became disheartened and prayed earnestly to the sage as well as to Lord Vishnu and Lord Shiva.
Finally, the sage gave in and released Ganga through his ears. This is why Ganga is also known as Jahnavi. The river eventually flowed over the ashes of Sagara’s children, and they attained salvation.
People in India still believe that if the dead’s ashes are immersed in the Ganga or if a dying person receives the holy water before death, he or she will achieve salvation. In history, what is today called the Bay of Bengal was known as Ganga Sagara (or Poorva Samudra) and the Arabian Sea was referred to as Sindhu Sagara (or Pashchim Samudra).
The Ganga originates from a glacier in the Himalayas called Gaumukh (a cow’s mouth), a little beyond the town of Gangotri, and merges with the sea at the Bay of Bengal. Many rivers such as Alaka, Nanda, Yamuna, Saraswati, Sarayu, Gandak and others join Ganga on her journey. A rock at Gangotri marks the spot where Bhagiratha did his tapasya, along with statues of Bhagiratha and Ganga. Similar statues can also be seen at Sage Kapila’s ashram in West Bengal.
It is noteworthy that Bhagiratha’s continuous penance led to the coining of the phrase ‘Bhagiratha prayatna’, which is used to denote the effort required to be put into a Herculean task.
The Upside-Down King
Satyavrata was a popular Suryavamshi king of Ayodhya. He ruled his land fairly, and when he grew old, he crowned his son Harishchandra the next ruler.
Satyavrata’s next desire was to retain his mortal body when ascending to the heavens. So he requested his teacher, Sage Vasishtha, to assist him. Vasishtha tried to explain to him that his wish was neither natural nor something that would be acceptable to the gods. Satyavrata, however, was adamant.
Vasishtha advised him, ‘O my dear king, you are certain to go to the heavens because of all the good deeds you have done in this life. But your mortal body must be discarded first. It is the law of nature.’
Undeterred, Satyavrata pressurized Shakti, Sage Vasishtha’s eldest son, to help him, and even offered him wealth in exchange. Shakti was angered by the crude gesture of a bribe. When Vasishtha came to know of Satyavrata’s actions, he cursed him. ‘You have committed three grave sins: you have not listened to your guru, you have attempted to use underhand means to get what you want and you have harboured the unearthly desire to go to the heavens with your body. From this day on, you will be known as Trishanku, and may you wander this world without peace of mind or any aim.’
As Trishanku travelled through forests and kingdoms, he came across the famed sage Vishvamitra, who was also a Suryavamshi. Vishvamitra had once been a king but had given up all association with worldly matters and taken to the life of a sage. But because he had not yet conquered the sins of jealousy and anger, he had not achieved enlightenment. Vishvamitra did not like Vasishtha, so when he learnt of the reason behind Trishanku’s aimless wandering, he saw an opportunity to put Vasishtha down, and agreed to fulfil the old king’s desire to move to the heavens with his body intact.
‘Don’t worry, Trishanku! I will take it upon myself to ensure that your desire is fulfilled,’ he said.
Many sages tried to talk Vishvamitra out of this arrangement, but the sage was adamant. He used his powers obtained from his prayers to begin performing the rites. Trishanku felt his body rise and head towards the heavens. He was ecstatic.
When the gods above sensed an irregular occurrence, they assembled to see what was happening.
‘If every sage begins to use his power for such a desire, then the heavens will be full of humans, and it will no longer remain the heavens,’ said one of the gods.
The gods agreed that something must be done.
Indra took charge and began pushing Trishanku back towards the earth.
Vishvamitra sensed Trishanku’s body descending to the earth with his head downwards and became furious at Indra’s move. He used all his power now to push the body back up again. This constant tug caused Trishanku to get stuck midway between the two realms and turn upside down, unable to go either way.
With no respite in sight, Indra, alarmed by this turn of events, approached the sage. He reasoned with him. ‘Dear sage, what you are doing will set a precedent for all mortals and result in conflict between the rules of the heavens and the earth. We want peace, not war, in the future. We cannot allow mortals into heaven as long as they retain their physical form.’
With much difficulty, Indra managed to placate Vishvamitra, who was now in a fix. He understood the wishes of the gods, but could not forgo his promise to Trishanku. So Vishvamitra created a new heaven for Trishanku that stood between the two realms of the heavens and the earth.
Thus, the term Trishanku Swarga was coined—indicating a state in which a person is caught between his or her desires and possessions, and is neither here nor there.
The Promise of a Promise
King Harishchandra of Ayodhya was a popular and impartial king. He was blessed with a pious wife named Taramati, and together they had a son named Rohitashva. King Harishchandra was very dharmic, and was believed to let nothing deter him from walking the path of dharma.
One day, a discussion sparked among the gods and the sages about which king was the most honest and faithful to his dharma. Vasishtha, the guru of the Suryavamshis, remarked, ‘No one can beat Harishchandra in this regard.’
The statement upset the gods as well as Sage Vishvamitra, who questioned how a mortal could be better than the gods. Just then, Narada arrived at the scene. He also agreed with Vishvamitra. Encouraged, Vishvamitra said with confidence, ‘I will prove you wrong, Vasishtha.’
‘Of course you can try,’ Vasishtha replied. ‘You can test Harishchandra for as long as you like; I know that he will pass all your tests with flying colours. But in the rare chance that he doesn’t, I promise to give up my position as a teacher and live the life of a common man for the rest of my time.’
Narada turned to Vishvamitra. ‘But what happens if Harishchandra proves that he is the best there is? There must be some consequence for you too.’
‘Then I will give Harishchandra half of my yogic powers and the divine goodwill that I have earned. I will ensure that he becomes renowned and lives for a long time in the world as well as in the minds of future generations,’ said an enraged Vishvamitra.
Narada nodded, and the
two sages agreed that Harishchandra be tested. Vishvamitra set about formulating his strategy.
Very soon, some villagers approached Harishchandra for help. ‘There is a wild boar in our village that is destroying our crops and posing a danger to our families. Please help us.’
So the king gathered some of his soldiers, and the party set out to hunt the boar, who was Vishvamitra’s creation. Harishchandra, who was oblivious of the test, followed the footprints of the boar and galloped deep into the forest, far ahead of his troop, who soon lost sight of him.
He wandered the forest for a long time, but it seemed that the boar had vanished into thin air. Tired from the chase, Harishchandra walked until he spotted a beautiful ashram. This ashram too was one of Vishvamitra’s creations. Two beautiful women stepped out and welcomed the king with garlands and drinks and entertained him. Pleased, Harishchandra relaxed for some time and revelled in the attention he was receiving. Then he rose to depart, thanked his beautiful hosts and promised to send them gifts from the royal treasury through his messengers.
The women, however, refused his gifts. ‘King, we do not want any gifts from you. We only want to marry you,’ they declared.
Harishchandra was unprepared for this. ‘I can’t marry you, young maidens. I already have a wife and a child. Such an action constitutes adharma,’ he said.
Just then, Vishvamitra entered the scene.
‘King!’ he thundered. ‘This is my ashram, and you have come here without taking my permission. Now you are insulting my daughters by refusing their wishes. The only way to right your wrong is to accede to their request and marry them.’
The king politely refused again.
When Vishvamitra persisted, at last Harishchandra said, ‘Sage, I would rather part with my kingdom than marry your daughters. I cannot go against dharma.’