He had a sister called Holika who had been told by the same wise Sage that she could never be burnt by fire. Hiranya Kashyap and Holika became so vain that they behaved as if they were owners of the entire universe.
Then, one day, all this changed.
Hiranya Kashyap’s wife gave birth to a baby boy whom they named Prahlad.
Hiranya Kashyap found no need, or time, to rejoice.
When the courtiers came to him and said, ‘Congratulations, your majesty, on the birth of your heir,’ he only snarled, saying, ‘Bah, what do I need an heir for? I shall live for ever. I am God. Heirs mean nothing to me.’
One day, when Prahlad was four, he was playing outside the potter’s kiln and saw the potter praying.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘I am praying to God to save my kittens,’ she replied. ‘They have got locked up in the kiln by accident.’
‘You should pray to my father.’ said Prahlad.
‘Your father cannot save my kittens from that awful fire inside,’ she said, ‘only God can.’
‘My father will punish you if you use God’s name,’ Prahlad advised her.
‘I’ll have to take my chances,’ the potter replied.
‘Your god can do nothing to help,’ Prahlad said.
‘Oh yes he can,’ the potter answered.
‘Then I’ll wait here and see,’ the young boy said. Prahlad waited. When it was time to open the kiln, he heard, ‘Miaow, miaow.’ It was the kittens. They were safe!
A year later, when Prahlad was five and was playing in the garden, his father chanced to pass that way. The King paused long enough to ask his son, ‘Who is the greatest being in the whole Universe?’ He expected the same answer he got from all his flatterers.
‘God,’ said the child.
The King was taken aback for a second. Then he smirked. ‘See, see,’ he boasted to his courtiers, ‘even this small child recognizes that I am God.’
‘No,’ said the child, ‘you are not God. You are the King and that is all you will ever be.’
Hiranya Kashyap’s face turned purple with rage. ‘Take this child,’ he ordered, ‘and hurl him from the highest cliff in the kingdom.’
The courtiers were very fond of the gentle child but were terrified of his father. So they scooped little Prahlad up and carried him to the highest mountain in the Himalayas. There, they stood on a peak that touched the sky and dropped the boy.
Prahlad fell … fell … fell. But to his surprise – and to that of the courtiers looking down from above – he landed in the midst of the warmest, sweetest softness that could be imagined. God had been watching from his heavenly window and had decided to catch the child in his lap.
When Hiranya Kashyap found out what had happened, he turned black with anger. He had the boy brought to the court and thrown at his feet.
‘You were very lucky to be saved,’ he raged.
‘It was God who saved me,’ Prahlad replied.
‘As I was saying,’ the King continued angrily, ‘you were lucky to land in such a soft patch. The courtiers who threw you down there will have their heads chopped off and then I’m going to have a roaring fire made and have you burnt in it. Let us see what your god can do for you then!’
The King commanded that a huge bonfire be made the following day. Logs were collected and piled into a massive pyre. Then the pyre was lit.
Hiranya Kashyap called his sister, Holika, and said, ‘If we just toss this child into the fire, he will squirm and run out. Since you have been granted the boon of never being burnt by fire, why don’t you take Prahlad in your arms, walk into the flames and sit down. Hold the child tightly. When he is quite dead, you can walk out.’
Holika took Prahlad in her arms and walked into the middle of the fire. There, she put him in her lap and sat down.
The flames were leaping hundreds of feet into the sky. Hiranya Kashyap was quite pleased with himself. He was finally getting rid of this troublesome child.
The flames were very hot and made the King perspire. At first he contented himself with moving back a few yards. Then, when the heat and smoke became quite overwhelming, he said to his courtiers, ‘I’m going into my cool palace. Let me know when all this is over.’
A strange thing happened amidst the flames. Holika had a change of heart. She looked up towards heaven and prayed, ‘God, please do not save me from the fire. I am ready to meet my Maker. But please save this innocent life. I give my boon to this young boy. Let him live.’
The fire burnt for several hours. The King had just sat down to enjoy his dinner when one of his courtiers came running in.
‘Your majesty,’ he said bowing, ‘your majesty.’
‘Yes, yes, what is it? You know I do not like being disturbed at dinner time.’
‘The fire has burnt itself out.’
‘And?’ prompted the King.
‘Holika has perished in the flames.’
‘What!’ cried the King. ‘And the child?’
‘Your majesty … Well, your majesty …’
‘Well, what? Answer quickly or I’ll have your tongue pulled out.’
‘Prahlad is still alive.’
Hiranya Kashyap kicked his food away and stood on his feet, puffed up with fury like a balloon.
‘Bring that brat to me. I’ll kill him myself.’
The courtiers dragged in little Prahlad and threw him in front of his father.
‘So,’ said the father, ‘you managed to escape a second time.’
‘I did not escape,’ said Prahlad. ‘God saved me.’
‘God, God,’ cried the King, ‘I’m sick of your God. Where is he anyway?’
‘He is everywhere – in fire, water – even in that pillar.’
‘Oh, he is in that pillar, is he?’ the King yelled. ‘Well, I am going to tie you up to that same pillar and kill you. Let’s see if your god will come out to save you.’
Prahlad was tied up to the pillar and Hiranya Kashyap raised his sword to finish him off. Just then, there was a loud thunderclap and the pillar broke in two.
Out of the pillar came God.
He had assumed a strange shape.
The upper part of the body was that of a lion, the lower that of a man.
So he was neither man nor beast.
He lifted the King and carried him to the threshold of the palace and then placed him in his lap.
So the King was neither in a house nor outside it.
Then he killed Hiranya Kashyap with one swipe of his long lion’s claws.
So no weapon was used.
The time of the day was dusk.
So it was neither morning nor night.
Pink and grey clouds puffed along in the sky. Hiranya Kashyap was finally dead, despite all his arrogant predictions.
The courtiers cried, ‘Long live the King,’ as they placed the young Prahlad on his father’s throne, happy in the knowledge that they were now going to be ruled with justice.
A DAY FOR BROTHERS
* * *
Some time around March, when the moon is in the second day of its waning cycle, all sisters in India pray that no harm comes to their brothers. If one lives in a large family as I did, one prays for one’s male cousins as well. I rather enjoyed all this. I liked my brothers and cousins, all of whom happened to be older than I was. I had much to learn from them – fishing, for example.
Until I was four, I was only allowed to watch the boys collect and prepare their fishing gear. It all seemed an exotic male ritual of which I could never be a part. I could stand under the tamarind tree and watch a cousin dig for earthworms. I was not allowed to dig myself. I could watch lead weights being attached to fishing lines to make them sink and four-inch pieces of cane attached to them to make them float. I longed to join in this male world and ended up pushing hard for an invitation.
One year in March, when the icy winds had stopped swooping down on Delhi from the distant Himalaya Mountains and when all the woollen clothes had
been cleaned, folded and tucked into mothballed trunks, I approached a group of male cousins as they were preparing for their first fishing trip of the year. Their ages ranged from six to eleven. I was five.
‘May I come with you this time, please?’
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re a girl.’
‘But I can do everything you can.’
‘No you can’t. Why did you scream so much yesterday when we were digging up earthworms?’
‘Because you cut an earthworm in half with your spade … and both halves were wriggling.’
‘These things happen. None of the boys screamed.’
‘I’ll get used to it. Please let me come fishing with you.’
They relented eventually. My eldest cousin actually made me a small rod out of the cut-up bamboo. To this he attached a line made out of twine and a hook made out of a bent pin. I thought it best to put on a pair of shorts. The Yamuna River was behind our house and it took us but five minutes to get to it. Once there, the boys spread themselves out on the rocks, threaded earthworms on to their hooks, and threw in their lines.
‘Go on, go on, don’t just sit there stupidly,’ said my youngest cousin. ‘Put your earthworm on and fish.’
How could I tell him that I was terrified of earthworms? I had never even touched one. I closed my eyes and put my fingers into the tin of worms. I could feel a wet, slimy tangled mass of creatures in there. I pulled one out. It felt quite awful. With my teeth clamped tightly so they would not open to let out the screech that was inside me, I began threading the creature on to the hook. First, the head, then bit by bit, the body. All was going well until I noticed some muddy stuff oozing out of the back of the worm. My teeth unclenched. I must have screeched for five whole minutes.
My eldest cousin put his arm around me and calmed me down. ‘Never mind, never mind,’ he said. ‘I’ll thread the worm for you. It takes a little while to get used to it. You will be just fine on the next fishing trip. Now, do you want to hold my rod for a while?’
Some cousins and brothers can be so very nice. That is why I did not mind praying for them on the Day for Brothers. Here are two of the stories we were told that day.
The Mango Tree
In a small town, there was a small house in which lived a young man, his wife and the young man’s sister. This small house had a small garden at the back in which grew a small mango tree. One day the young man’s wife came to him and said, ‘Look here, I’m fed up with our situation. Your sister …’
‘Have you come here to complain about my sister again?’
‘What can I do? I know it’s quite useless … My complaints fall on deaf ears, anyway … I’m just … so angry with your sister. I get up early in the morning, draw water from the well, light the fire in the kitchen, cook breakfast, wash and scrub pots …’
‘Don’t go on,’ said the brother. ‘I’ve heard it all before.’
‘And what does your lazy sister do all day? Nothing … nothing … she lolls about in the garden, watering her mango tree, talking to it, clearing away dead leaves, and feeding it manure and mulch …’
‘That isn’t all she does. She comes in and talks to me. Just an hour ago, she was playing chess with me.’
‘Just because she adores you, doesn’t mean you should ignore her faults. You must tell her to leave that … silly mango tree alone, and come and help me with the housework. I really think we should marry her off. That might teach her to be more responsible.’
Since the sister was of marriageable age, the brother could not really object. He knew though, that he would miss her very, very much.
A marriage was arranged. When all the ceremonies were over, and the sister was about to leave with her groom to lead a new life in a new town, she turned to her sister-in-law and said, ‘Dearest sister-in-law, I’m going to miss my mango tree so much. Would you please do me a great favour and look after it for me? Please water it well and clear the weeds that grow in its shadow.’
‘Oh, well, yes, yes,’ answered the sister-in-law.
Once the sister had left, the sister-in-law turned to her husband and yelled, ‘Did you hear that? Did you hear that? Did you hear your selfish sister? She didn’t say that she was going to miss you. She didn’t say that she was going to miss me. She did say that she was going to miss her mango tree!’ She decided then that she was going to ignore the mango tree. The mango tree irritated her just as much as her husband’s sister had. Now she could be rid of both.
As the days passed, the unwatered, uncared-for mango tree started drying up and its leaves began to fall.
At the same time, the brother, who had been a strong, robust and healthy young man, began to lose his appetite and get thinner and weaker.
One day, a letter arrived. It was from the sister and said, ‘Dearest brother and sister-in-law. I hope all is well and that my tree is green and that my brother is in good health.’
The remaining leaves of the mango tree were quite yellow by this time, but the sister-in-law wrote back, ‘Dearest sister. Your tree is fine, but your brother has not been feeling so good.’
Soon another letter arrived from the sister. ‘Are you sure my tree is green? And how is my brother?’
The mango tree only had one brown leaf on it now, and the brother was so sick that the doctors had said that he could not live. So the sister-in-law wrote back, ‘Your tree is fine, but the doctors have given up all hopes for your brother.’
When the sister received this letter, she raced back to her small home town and went straight into the small garden to water her small tree. As she watered it, cleared the weeds around it, and mulched it, it began slowly to turn green.
The brother, too, began to recover.
As more leaves returned to the tree, the brother’s cheeks got pinker and his eyes became brighter. Within a month, the tree was healthy and strong.
And so was the brother.
It was only then that the sister turned to her sister-in-law and said, ‘Now do you understand? It was not the tree that I loved, but my brother. It was not the tree whose welfare I was concerned with, but my brother’s. The tree and my brother share a common soul. It was my duty to look after them both.’
The Faithful Sister
There once was a family with a single child – a shy girl who had to learn out of necessity to spend most of her time playing by herself. How she longed for a baby brother to play with.
But it was not to be until she was fifteen years old, when her mother gave birth to a boy and at the same time announced to her daughter that it was high time she was married. While the marriage was being arranged and prepared for, the girl spent most of her time with the new baby.
She would rock his cradle, kiss him and whisper, ‘Oh, you dearest, sweetest brother, I love you so very much.’
Unfortunately, she was with her brother for only a year. Then she was married off to a man who lived quite far away.
The brother grew up knowing that he had a sister, but not knowing his sister at all.
The sister gradually had her own family but never stopped missing her dearest, sweetest brother.
When the brother was about to get married, he announced to his parents, ‘I want to make sure that my sister attends my wedding. I will go to her home and invite her in person.’
When the brother arrived at his sister’s house he knocked at her door.
He knocked and knocked and got no answer.
You see, it was the second day of the waning moon in March and the sister was praying for her brother. During these prayers, she was not supposed to talk.
So she could not come to the door.
The brother knocked and knocked and was just about to turn back when the sister appeared.
‘Oh, dearest, sweetest brother,’ she cried in joy, ‘I am so very happy to see you. I couldn’t answer the door earlier as I was praying for you. Please do come inside.’
‘I cannot stay for long,’ said the
brother, ‘I am soon to be married and came only to invite you. Why don’t you return with me?’
‘Oh, my dearest, sweetest brother, of course I shall come to your wedding, but I will not leave for a few days. Stay for a while and eat and rest. I will cook you rice puddings and breads and sweets and also some extra food for you to take on your journey back home.’
The sister made all kinds of sweets, round ones and square ones and diamond-shaped ones and squiggly ones for her brother to eat on his return trip. She tied them in a green cloth bundle and gave them to him.
After the brother had left, one of her children came to her and said, ‘Mother, may I have some sweets?’ She picked up a round sweet that she had not packed and broke it in two. She threw half of it to her dog – who promptly gobbled it up – and was just about to pop the other half into the mouth of her youngest child when the dog rolled over and died.
She quickly examined all the pots, pans and grinding stones in her kitchen and discovered to her horror that a poisonous snake had got into the bag of grain and that she had accidentally ground it when she was preparing her sweets.
She began to cry, ‘Oh, my dearest, sweetest brother. What have I done? What have I done? If you eat the sweets I gave you, you will die like my dog.’
She then rushed out of the house. Anyone she met on the road she would ask, ‘Have you seen a traveller pass this way carrying a green bundle?’ Every time she was told, ‘Oh yes, such a traveller did pass this way. Just keep going and you’ll reach him.’
So she went on running for hours and hours.
At last, she passed a blacksmith.
‘Have you seen a traveller pass this way carrying a green bundle?’ she asked.
‘Oh yes,’ said the blacksmith, ‘such a traveller is sleeping under the mango tree further up the road.’
She found her brother and, hoping that he had not eaten the sweets, began shaking him. ‘Wake up. Wake up. Don’t die.’
The brother eventually sat up. ‘What on earth are you saying? I am not dying.’
Seasons of Splendour Page 9