‘This is my palace! Everyone here is my slave!’ roared Surapadma. ‘Fool that you are, you think you are granting me a boon by allowing me to stay in my own home!’ A slash of his sword and the minister fell dead. Still angry, the emperor flew over Amaravati, gesturing to a mansion here and a gandharva there. His asuras torched whatever he pointed at and many more besides. They captured others to take back to the royal kitchens, to be roasted and served to Surapadma. Finally satisfied , the asura turned to the captive girl to slake his lust while his chariot flew back to Mahendrapuri. The people of Amaravati reeled in distress, their voices rising in anguish as they wept over their dead and dying.
The firstborn of Diti’s grandsons, Surapadma, had been named Padmasura, in tune with the names of other asuras. But he showed his need to be different, to turn the world upside down, by demanding that he be called Surapadma instead. Before he learnt to wield the bow and sword, he learnt the dark arts from his asura gurus. He was considerably bigger than the other children of the asura clan, his body growing to massive proportions day by day. When he was full-grown, he towered over everyone else like a dark mountain and glowed with the lustre born of his parents’ tapasya seeking a child. His hair and beard were the colour of molten copper and his roar made the guardian deities of the eight directions tremble. When he opened his huge mouth, his courtiers and subjects feared that he would swallow up the sky and devour the moon, planets and stars to feed his colossal appetite.
‘Build me a fortress palace that floats on the waves!’ he ordered the gods’ architect Vishvakarma. ‘Ensure that it surpasses the magnificence of Vishnu’s serpent abode on the cosmic sea or you will lose your head!’
Soon, his fort palace came up in Mahendrapuri, its walls studded with precious stones, its roads paved with gems. His throne was set upon a golden lion with huge rubies for eyes. ‘The lion is alive!’ shuddered one of his servants. ‘I have seen it follow my movements with its eyes!’
There were rumours that the lion prowled the palace corridors during the night and devoured unwary servants. ‘My Ambika is gone!’ wept a guard one morning. ‘No one has seen her since last night when she was asked to polish the emperor’s throne.’
‘Why did you not go with her?’ asked another maid, her eyes wide with fear.
‘I ran to the court as soon as I heard, but she was already gone. Eaten by the monster. I only found this!’ he sobbed, showing them the silver anklet his Ambika always wore. ‘And the lion . . . it was standing motionless . . . but I swear I saw its tongue licking a drop of blood off its lips!’
Not satisfied with his powers, Surapadma announced that he would embark on a longer penance, to Shiva this time. His prayers would be unprecedented in scale and ferocity of will.
Mahendrapati made his men prepare a sacred ground larger than any that earth had seen. The mountains formed its boundaries and served as fortifications. Surrounding the huge central yagna kunda were a hundred and eight sacrificial pits which were under Taraka’s charge. Around those were a thousand and eight smaller ones under Simhamukha’s care. His grandmother, Diti, presided over the procurement of the essential elements—nine kinds of grains, darbha grass, ritual vessels, ghee, flowers and lavish gifts to be given to the priests and guests. She also stationed fierce lions, bears and yalis with elephant heads and lion bodies in the vicinity to protect the yagna. Fierce flames and fiercer chants rose to the sky as Surapadma sought to win the favour of Shiva. But alas, even after a hundred years, the great god did not appear before the asura.
Diti’s grandson now dismissed his people, his guards and his brothers and made his way alone towards the dark centre of the jungle. Here, he embarked on a solitary penance for the next hundred years. Even when night fell over this part of the world, this forest alone was lit by a crimson glow. Lions and elephants shunned this place, for they had seen the monstrous being who chanted fierce prayers to the god of the final annihilation.
‘Bhayanaka, the terrible one!’ whispered the wind, its wings scorched by the unearthly heat. ‘Diti’s vengeance!’ trembled the sages in the mountain caves. ‘Surapadma!’ shuddered the devas as a river of fire blazed forth from the earth to the heavens, searing their every breath.
When even this relentless focus did not win Shiva’s favour, Surapadma intensified his penance. For a hundred years, he stood unmoving and unblinking, facing Kailasa, his arms raised heavenward. During the next hundred years, he gave up food and ate only the leaves of the patala, the trumpet flower tree. After this, he confined himself to eating only one bilva leaf, with its three leaflets, since it was the offering favoured by the three-eyed god. For another hundred years, he subsisted on just one raindrop. Then he gave up even that and lived by breathing air alone. Hundreds of years passed in this manner. Surapadma stood balancing his weight on one big toe and repeated Shiva’s mantra unceasingly. And for another hundred years he hung by his feet from a branch extending over the sacrificial fire, breathing only its smoke.
Nine hundred years had passed by now, and the asura decided that he would make one last attempt to please Shiva. He would make the ultimate sacrifice—his life. He began to feed the fire severed pieces of his flesh and limbs, one after the other. His blood flowed in crimson torrents and an acrid smoke rose to the skies. Diti, his brothers and his asura followers wept and pleaded, asking him to stop this torment.
Soon, only his fierce will was keeping his tortured body alive. He propelled himself closer to the fire, leaving a trail of blood and gore. A despairing cry of ‘Om Namah Shivaya’ sprang from his mind, for he was no longer able to speak. He rolled his mutilated body into the fire in a final burst of agonized effort. The flames scorched his flesh but he uttered no cry of pain. His brothers saw the fiery death of their leader and prepared to enter the fire themselves. The devas watched in terror. What new horrors would this sacrifice bring upon them? Would the universe come to an end before its time?
And then, their eyes were blinded by a brilliant light. Perhaps Shiva did not wish them to see this abhorrent sacrifice. They strained their eyes and saw Shiva descending to earth in a shower of meteors. His fire doused the one burning in the sacrificial pit. And from the depths of the yagna kunda, Surapadma emerged, with his magnificence greater than ever before, his voice raised in praises to the blue-throated god.
‘Blessings upon you, Surapadma!’ said Shiva, his voice like the rumble of thunder. ‘Your tapasya has borne the result you sought. Seek the boons for which you have prayed so ardently and for so long!’
‘I worship thee, three-eyed Shiva! Conqueror of time and death!’ said Surapadma. ‘Let me not be defeated by the gods who now rule heaven, including the Trimurti. Let me have power over the elements that govern life and death. Let me enjoy dominion over the thousand and eight kingdoms of the universe.’
Shiva raised a hand to bless him with these boons and with mighty weapons. The skies thundered and volcanoes spewed lava. Mother Earth splintered as she realized that a new Samharaka had been created, a destroyer as powerful as Shiva. The clamour of the elements deafened the devas and they could no longer hear what Sura was saying. They saw Shiva nod acceptance and vanish from the earth. The asura roared in triumph as the devas stood helpless. What was the full extent of Sura’s powers? The fear of the unknown was greater than that of any known peril. How could they defeat a demon when they did not know his secret strength?
All they could surmise was that it must be unimaginably powerful, for it made Sura even more terrifying, his cruelty even greater. The world trembled under his excesses. The cremation grounds became dwelling places for men clad in rags, eating pieces of flesh stolen from the pyres. Those who came to burn their dead, stayed until the body was fully consumed by the fire, afraid that these demented men would profane the bodies. The keepers of the burning ghats swore that they had seen Sura bring victims here and devour their life force. ‘We have only heard of Yama drawing out the souls of the dead like a thread and winding them around his little finger. But we h
ave seen the Soul Stealer draw out the souls of the living, leaving them behind gibbering in terror, waiting for death to come,’ they said, their eyes wide with horror. Fear became the dominant instinct among men, appearing to be even more important for survival than breathing. His followers multiplied beyond imagination, for the dread he inspired was immense.
‘Beware of the Soul Stealer!’ the people whispered, as they flitted about on silent feet, fearful of encountering him. And soon, the name spread far and wide. Finally, the name reached the ears of Surapadma himself. His spies told him what his subjects called him and stood trembling in fear, waiting for his reaction.
‘Soul Stealer!’ he murmured. ‘I like the name! Indeed my powers are greater than Yama’s, greater than those of the Destroyer himself.’
Great kings who had sworn to follow the path of dharma were brought down, one by one. Bhayanaka’s army marched ahead like the angry sea, mounted on bull elephants and fearsome beasts. Numberless warriors marched behind them, carrying flags with his insignia—a fierce dragon belching fire. Their enemies died by the thousands. Those who survived were chained like dogs in Sura’s dungeons, forced to beg even for a drop of water. Many of them snatched their guards’ weapons and put themselves to the sword, not wishing to live such a life. Every day, there were tales of some new horror that Sura had enforced. He snatched up children so young that the crowns of their heads were still soft and had them killed by his elephants. He watched gleefully as the parents cried out in grief, kept away by sharp spears, while the children looked up in terror at the animals, too fearful to even cry. Entire villages and towns were set on fire, with guards mounted on elephants preventing the people from fleeing. Black smoke and agonized cries swirled around the elephants’ heads like thunderclouds around mountain tops.
‘The Soul Stealer has learnt the Sanjivini mantra from the asura guru Sukracharya,’ said Sura’s ministers. ‘Now he can bring back to life all the asuras who die in battle.’ His dark rule expanded over the southern regions while his brother Taraka held court in the north. Sura’s opponents fled, helpless against his weapons, his mammoth army and his dark powers.
Diti chortled with delight at his actions and encouraged him in his violent ways. ‘Do whatever you want, Sura. Lead a life of glory and pleasure,’ she said. ‘Make up for all the time you lost during your penance. Turn the world upside down and enforce a new order—that might is right. Throw out the old ministers who prattle endlessly about right and wrong. Who can question you when Shiva’s boon protects you even from the Trimurti? All creatures, god or demon, man or beast, exist merely to do your bidding. When this lion roars, other creatures must hurry to obey!’
To please her, Sura ordered Indra to bring fresh fish to the royal kitchens every day. Vayu had to sweep the streets of the capital. The apsaras had to serve as her handmaids. He reversed the laws of nature in keeping with his perverse spirit. The moon was to remain whole through the month; Agni would now be cold to the touch; Surya was to remain constant in the sky over Mahendrapuri; and Brahma was to serve as Sura’s priest.
Bhayanaka’s sons, nurtured in depravity, showed early signs of wickedness. Sura’s firstborn son rampaged like an angry bull elephant, destroying everything he saw. One day, he snatched the sun from the skies, causing the earth to tremble in darkness. A fearful Brahma praised him as Bhanugopa, the guardian of Bhanu or Surya, and begged him to release his captive. The boy agreed to this, but only after getting the Brahmastra from him in exchange. Another son, Agnimukha, captured Vishnu’s Garuda and Brahma’s swan and used them to fly around at will.
As Yama was no longer the arbiter of paap and punya that determined man’s fate, people spurned their duties and responsibilities, freed from the fear of consequence. They no longer sought to attain moksha through noble deeds but descended into a bestial pursuit of pleasure. The darkness of the soul, personified in Sura, permeated all life. The world became unstable, devoid of karmic forces. Where there was order, there was now chaos. Where there was compassion, there was now unabated cruelty.
Sura’s grandfather Kashyapa remonstrated with him in an attempt to bring him back to the right path. He counselled him on the duties of a king, telling him about the perfect prince who had ruled Ayodhya. ‘Rama was such a peerless soul that when he was exiled, Dharma followed him, weeping,’ said the sage. ‘Later, when he became king, his kingdom became the model of righteous rule. There were no poor, as there were no rich; there were no learned souls, as there were no uneducated ones. In contrast, your kingdom, though rich beyond imagination, is poor in virtue. And while Ayodhya is still regarded as a symbol of divinity, your kingdom is the epitome of sin. Use your enormous powers for good instead of evil, Surapadma,’ he pleaded. ‘That is the way to attain true bliss.’
Diti intervened, putting an end to her husband’s homily. ‘Swarga and naraka are merely myths that the gods use to control the universe, Sura,’ she said. ‘When they say that the world is maya and that our actions are illusions, how can you suffer consequences for what you do? There is no rebirth or moksha, no good or evil, no right or wrong. Therefore, enjoy yourself to the fullest, and exercise your powers freely.’
Seeing the brutish smile that twisted Sura’s face in response to Diti’s praise and encouragement, Kashyapa turned away in grief. He would pray for divine intervention to liberate the realms from the asura’s rule.
And in a distant corner of Sura’s kingdom, a small seed sprouted into a plant, with leaves that glinted with a purple fire. The seeds from this plant spread in the wind and sprouted into thick saplings of a kind never seen earlier. It advanced below the earth too, sending out new roots from the nodes that studded its vines. Farmers looked at the plant suspiciously but waited to see what fruits it would produce. They would then decide whether to let it remain or not.
The gods ran to Vaikunta to seek Vishnu’s help in freeing themselves from their suffering and shame. But the lord told them that they were paying the price for their earlier silence when Brahma’s son Daksha had insulted the three-eyed god. Through Vishnu’s grace, the devas witnessed again the events that had led to Nandi cursing them.
Shiva, pleased by the adoration of Daksha’s beautiful daughter Sati, took her as his wife without seeking her father’s permission. Daksha roared with anger and wounded pride and cursed Shiva before a gathering of devas. ‘Shiva is a thief, a beggar, a loathsome dweller of the burning ghats!’ he ranted. ‘I expel him as well as his ungodly throng of bhootas and pretas from all sacred rites henceforth. No prayers or offerings should be made to him and anyone who flouts my decree, even if it is one of you devas, will lose his power and position.’ Fearful of incurring his wrath, the gods nodded in acceptance.
But Shiva’s foremost gana, Nandi, who was present there, grew angry at his irreverence. ‘Evil Daksha! You are a fool to imagine that you can exclude the god who presides over sacrifices. Shiva himself is the offering, the mantra that is chanted and also the fruit of the sacrifice. Without his blessing, your yagna will remain incomplete. It is evident from your actions that your death is drawing near. Your conceited head will soon fall upon the ground. As for you, devas, you will soon repent for staying silent while Daksha spoke so insolently. You will be tormented by the asuras and forced to fall at the feet of the same Shiva whom you have dishonoured today!’
Blinded by pride, Daksha refused to listen. He demonstrated his contempt for Nandi’s words by performing a grand yagna to which he invited all the gods except Shiva. Unable to tolerate this insult to her husband, Sati came there uninvited, to chastise her father. Daksha laughed at her and continued to abuse Shiva with foul words. Unwilling to live any longer as his daughter, Sati created a yogic fire and immolated herself in it. Shiva erupted in fury when he found out what had happened. He sent his fierce ganas led by Veerabhadra and Bhadrakali to kill Daksha and the gods. His ganas attacked with clubs and spears, fangs and claws, killing them all and destroying the yagna. Not even the amrit the devas had imbibed could protect
them from Shiva’s powers. Veerabhadra himself slew Daksha, severing his head and throwing it into the yagna fire where it was reduced to ashes. Brahma ran to Shiva and pleaded tearfully with him to restore his son Daksha and the devas to life. All the dead rose again, with Daksha now bearing the head of a goat.
‘Do you remember now?’ asked Vishnu, as the devas looked shamefaced, recalling their past errors. ‘You are paying for your sins then and can only reclaim your strength by throwing yourselves at Shiva’s mercy. Remember too that by his boon, Taraka can be killed by Shiva’s son alone. So you must first persuade the moon-crested god to marry Parvati, who is Sati’s reincarnation. Unless Shiva gives up his ascetic life, there will be no saviour to rescue you from the asuras.’
Indra at once ordered Kama to use his flower arrows to entice Shiva to marry Parvati who was praying to attain the same objective. Kama did so and was burned to ashes by Shiva’s third eye, as the ascetic god did not wish to enter the world of love and loss. But soon Parvati’s beauty captivated Shiva and he agreed to marry her. The marriage took place with the blessings of her father Himavan, the king of the mountains, and the divine couple retired to Kailasa to rediscover their love.
The great god Mahadeva was handsome, brilliant like a hundred suns, with an emerald serpent encircling his torso; his head was adorned by the crescent moon and the sparkling torrents of the Ganga. His body shone with the cosmic dust of innumerable stars while his neck gleamed blue from the poison he had swallowed to save the universe. She gazed at him with wide, beautiful eyes; her radiant face vied in lustre with the diamonds she wore. She was bashful yet bold, and his burning glances ignited a passion that she had not known until then. They clutched each other in a frenzied embrace and exchanged heady kisses. A full moon shed its hypnotic light upon them as he worshipped her with his eyes and touch, with garlands of blue lilies and fragrant pastes of sandalwood.
Kartikeya and His Battle with the Soul Stealer Page 3