‘My task here is done, and I must return to heaven,’ said Ayyappa. ‘But I will grant you whatever boon you desire.’
‘Permit me to build you a temple on earth,’ pleaded the king. ‘Reside there as our beloved Ayyappa, blessing your devotees in the dark age of Kali. Direct us to the holy spot where you wish us to construct the shrine.’
Ayyappa shot an arrow into the sky and told him to build the temple at the place where it fell. This spot was on the Sabari mountain or Sabarimala, where the ascetic Sabari had performed severe penances and been granted a darshan of Sri Rama.
Shasta showed Jayanta the temple that shone like a jewel on the banks of the river, surrounded by verdant hills. ‘The Pampa is as holy as the Ganga, and Sabarimala is as sacred as Kasi,’ he said. ‘Parashurama, Vishnu’s avatar, carved the image of Ayyappa and installed it on the auspicious Makara Sankranti day. I imbued the image with my powers and have since blessed all those who make the pilgrimage to the temple.’
Jayanta saw thousands of devotees travelling through the forest and bathing in the river before entering the temple. He gazed raptly as they chanted ‘Swami Sharanam Ayyappa!’ as they climbed the eighteen steps leading to the sanctum sanctorum. On their heads, they carried bags that contained rich offerings, and coconuts filled with ghee to perform abhisheka to the lord.
‘The journey they undertake represents the path of self-realization,’ said the lord. ‘After observing forty-one rigorous days of austerity, shunning all vices and filling their minds with virtuous thoughts, they are ready to attain knowledge of the Supreme.’
Indra’s son absorbed Shasta’s words and then asked a question that still remained unanswered. ‘You said that my father helped you fulfil your mission. But I did not see him anywhere!’ he exclaimed.
‘Did you look closely at the tigress that I rode into the kingdom?’ laughed Shasta. He smiled at Jayanta’s startled reaction. ‘The other devas and their wives were so happy to be rescued from Mahishi that they accompanied me as tigers and tigresses! But I must leave you now, my son. Return to Amaravati and take up your noble duty. Be fearless like Ayyappa and finally, victory will be yours. My blessings will always remain with you.’
Shasta vanished and Jayanta found himself once more in the Nandana, sad, alone, contemplating the damage caused by the battle. He straightened his shoulders and summoned his men to restore the garden to its previous serenity. He would now take on his father’s duties, protecting his city and people.
Far below in the valley, the alien plant mimicked the appearance of amaranth, mint and other edible greens. Unaware of its real nature, the simple folk ate it and fell grievously ill. It burned through their stomachs and spread its poison through their bodies, leading to a terrible death.
7
Many Mothers, One Son
Ganga stood silent before her sister. Parvati’s wrath and her accusations that she had stolen her child had cowed her down. She was proud that she sparkled on Shiva’s jata but it was her sister who was venerated as Prakriti to his Purusha. Further, after claiming that she was the true mother of the child, she now had to confess that she had abandoned the sparks bearing Shiva’s energy.
‘Where is he, Ganga?’ Parvati asked her, reaching out to shake her shoulders. A cold mist swirled around them, touching them with icy fingers.
‘I must confess . . . I have to tell you . . . that I do not know, sister!’ Ganga stuttered. ‘I too am anxious about your son’s whereabouts.’ She saw Parvati’s eyebrows knit together in anger and hurried on. ‘I was unable to bear the intense heat he generated, the heat of Shiva’s third eye. My water began to froth and steam . . . all the creatures living in it cried out in pain. And so . . . ’
‘So?!’ Parvati interrupted in rage. ‘What did you do to my child, Ganga?’
‘I cast the tejas among the reeds bordering a lotus pool on the mountain slopes,’ Ganga whispered, lowering her head in shame.
Parvati moaned aloud. ‘Where is he now, helpless and alone? What a wretch you are to have abandoned him so!’ She sped to the top of the mountain and peered at the slopes down which the river tumbled. Was her precious one still alive? Or had he been shredded by the fangs of beasts? Had he been battered by falling boulders or captured by demons? She could not see any human on these desolate peaks—no one who would have seen the crying child and taken him to safety. A wolf howled, making her bite her lip in fear. Was her son hiding in the woods, hungry and afraid? But how could a newborn child have walked anywhere? He must be dead . . . O Shiva, let him not be dead! The child I prayed for, longed for . . . the child I would give my life for . . . dead now!
No, not dead. He was alive somewhere; her heart would have told her otherwise. She tamped down her fears. Her love reached out to the child she had not seen yet. Her frantic eyes looked around for a sign, however small, that something divine was afoot. She saw a duck swimming in a pond, followed by its young. A sob escaped her throat. Then she spied a shining peak below the one she stood on, its slopes lit by fresh veins of dazzling gold and silver. ‘He must be there, my precious one! His presence must have transformed the dark peak,’ she murmured. She did not know how she reached it, but the next moment she was standing on the luminous hill. Below her was a clearing and in its midst stood a magnificent child along with a white elephant, surrounded by worshipful men, women, beasts and birds. Lions stood with deer, golden eagles with bulbuls. She stood stock-still, gazing in wonder. This must indeed be her son, casting his wondrous influence on the jungle creatures. His appearance was singular, for he had six faces and twelve hands. No doubt this was because he had been born from the six sparks that had emanated from Shiva.
‘My son!’ she cried out. The boy and the elephant turned to look at her. A small gibbon that was perched on her son’s shoulder chattered in his ear. She hurried forward, eager to clasp her child in her arms. She would shower him with love, make amends for leaving him on the bare hill where he had struggled to survive. She would place him on her lap and feed him sweetmeats that she had made with her own hands. Was she not Annapoorani, the goddess of nourishment? ‘My son!’ she called again, her eyes overflowing with tears, running towards him, gazing at his face, waiting for him to look at her with realization and love.
But he gazed at her without warmth, with the distant stare of a stranger. He appeared to be perplexed that she was so agitated and that she should call him son.
‘I am your mother, child!’ she said. ‘I have been looking for you for so long. I can hardly speak for joy that I have finally found you!’
The child stiffened, his face set in angry lines. She slowed her steps, giving him time to absorb what she had said. He was stunned, no doubt. He was an infant, after all. He was angry perhaps that she had left him here alone, not knowing that she had just recently discovered his existence. She would tell him of her long quest, her desperate search. She would show him how much she loved him, tell him that she could never have abandoned him. He was Shiva’s son, her son. She looked at him imploringly, willing him to read her heart. Skanda’s eyes were stormy. He turned away from her, away from her love. She stretched out a trembling hand and whispered, ‘My son, look at me. Do not spurn me, for then my heart will break.’ She had already shed so many tears in anticipation of this moment, when she would be united with him. Alas, her imagination had painted a misleading picture. She had dreamt that he would recognize her at once and would run joyously into her arms. He would cling to her and assail her with countless questions. She had pictured her triumphant return to Kailasa, to reveal to her lord that she had found their son and to assure him that he would bring them boundless joy. As she stood bereft, with tears clouding her vision, she saw a group of women interpose themselves between her and the child. There were six of them, their garbs revealing that they were wives of rishis. Their stance was belligerent, their eyes angry. She staggered back a step, confused and careworn.
She could see that they did not recognize her as the Devi. No doubt she ap
peared demented, with her tearful face and dusty garments. She wore no ornaments and her hair was flying in the wind.
‘Who are you?’ asked one of the women. ‘What gives you the audacity to claim our Skanda as your son? Was it you who abandoned him so coldly on a bed of reeds on the mountain? Shame on you then! Do not come here to claim him now. We are the Krittikas, his mothers. And he is Kartikeya, our son.’
‘Kartikeya!’ whispered Parvati. ‘So my son now has a name.’
As Parvati stood silent, absorbing all that they had said, another voice chimed in. Taking courage from their claim, Ganga, who had followed her sister, spoke up again. ‘He is Gangeya, my child as well,’ she said. ‘I know you, noble Krittikas, for you bathe in my waters. The woman who stands before you is Devi Parvati, who is here to wrest Kartikeya away by force.’
‘Allow us to speak,’ said a new voice. Agni stood before them, his face dazzling and his hair flaming around his face. With him stood Svaha, her face rapt with love for the child. ‘The boy is our son, Agniputra, for we bore the divine orb containing Shiva’s tejas from his cave. As his lustre spread over the realms, people fled in all directions, unable to bear the fiery heat. We saved the world by plunging the orb into the coolness of Ganga’s waters. We protected Skanda, the scorcher of enemies in the three realms.’
They stood glaring at one another, while the boy looked intently from one face to another, attempting to discover the truth from amidst these conflicting claims. Taruna, who had been watching the goings-on with a twinkling eye, continued to eat the fruits that came to his hand in a magical stream.
Then came the sound of mighty hoofs, the throbbing of drums and the tumult of an excited throng. Nandi appeared in their midst, massive like a mountain. Surrounding him was a host of ganas, their bodies smeared with holy ash, their heads those of boars, lions, serpents and animals never seen on earth. They were strange and also beautiful in their own way, hailing from realms far above and below this one. Shiva sat on Nandi’s back, five-faced and majestic, lustrous like the starry galaxies, glowing with his inner fire. The devas followed the retinue—Vishnu on Garuda, Brahma on his swan and the others in jewelled chariots.
‘Your claims are ridiculous!’ proclaimed Nandi, his voice challenging. ‘Skanda is Shiva’s son, born of the tejas that emanated from the lord’s six eyes. That is why he is Shanmukha, the one with six faces. Agni and his wife stole Shiva’s fire and deprived Devi Parvati of her child. How can the rest of you claim the boy as your own? Can noble Garuda take birth from the womb of a common bird? Can a frog be considered divine just because it lives in the same pond as a lotus? How can lesser beings like you lay claim to the one born to illuminate the universe?’
‘No wonder we could not defeat him,’ murmured Yama to Indra. ‘That must be the reason Agni intervened on his behalf.’ The devas joined their hands in worship.
‘Forgive us, Kartikeya, for unknowingly raising our weapons against the warrior born to redeem us,’ said Indra.
The child stood with his legs braced, his forehead furrowed. Was he angry? Was he unwilling to accept them? They watched and waited.
Finally, he spoke. But his words were not what they wished to hear. ‘So many lofty souls have come before a simple jungle dweller, claiming that he is their son!’ he exclaimed. ‘If that is true, then where were you all when I was left on a mountain to perish? Will anyone believe that such great gods were unaware of my desperate plight? Would you have even cared if I had died here, torn apart by beasts, or buried under a snowstorm? Ganga, was it not you who washed me ashore as easy prey to the elements? The gods who worship me now, did you not attack me with your celestial weapons? And when you could not win, did you not try to kill me by deceit? It was my forest friends whom you dismissed as witless and worthless who stood by me then. See how many of them lie dead around us, the many who are maimed. My heart bleeds to see them in this state. I weep that I am unable to repay them for their selfless love.’ He brushed away the tears that spilled down his cheeks and turned fiercely towards Shiva. ‘As for you, dauntless Shiva, you remained silent, allowing your son to be so vilely treated. And you, omnipotent Devi—you come to me now, shedding copious tears. I saw how my garudi and the mother of my friend Ulluck fought, ready to sacrifice their lives to protect their young. But you . . . ?’ A dreadful silence fell on the gods as they listened to him vent his anger. ‘The only one I can forgive perhaps is Agni, for he atoned for abandoning me by helping me in the battle.’
‘Have you forgotten me, Skanda?’ said Svaha, her eyes glistening with tears. Skanda looked at her thoughtfully, wondering where he had seen those wise, beautiful eyes. Then the goddess transformed herself into a familiar form. She was the garudi who had watched over him for so long. Above her head soared her numerous offspring, his companions since they had emerged from their eggs. Agni’s wife spoke softly to him. ‘Forgive me for not being able to bear your heat until you were born, Skanda. We coddled you as long as we were able to, but then entrusted you to Ganga, believing that you would be safe with her. After all, she adorns your father’s head and is your mother’s sister as well. However, she cast you among the reeds and I stayed behind to watch over you. I laid numerous eggs so that you would have companions who would play with you and protect you.’
Skanda joined his hands to her in worship and gratitude. Then he turned to the others and said, ‘I wish to live my life as before, in the hills and woods. Here the sky is my garment, the earth my bed. Roots and fruits are my food, the waters of the river my drink. The silver brooks are my pool, the eagle and elephant my companions. I fear neither the bears growling in caves nor the serpents asleep on forest paths. This is my kingdom, this is my heaven. And I wish to go nowhere else.’
‘Forgive our misdeeds born in ignorance,’ prayed the devas. ‘Come with us to Kailasa!’
‘Do not be angry with me, my Gangeya,’ wept Ganga.
‘Agni, Svaha and the Krittikas can lay claim to me,’ said Kartikeya, ‘for they nurtured me and helped me survive. As for the rest of you, you must understand that I crave neither pomp nor palaces. Allow me to remain here with those who love me.’
Parvati’s heart seemed to break. She had found him after a long and arduous search, but he now refused to come with her. How could she accept his decision?
‘Listen to me, Kartikeya,’ she said, coming closer to him. ‘I have been praying for a child for a long time. But Shiva believes that sons are necessary only to make offerings to the ancestors when one dies. “Since we cannot die, we do not need sons,” he says. Then I created a child myself from the turmeric paste that anointed my body. But my Vinayaka was beheaded by Shiva from behind, while Vishnu fought him from the front.’ Skanda stared at Shiva in horror. Why had he killed Parvati’s son? ‘Later still, when I was almost certain that I would bear Shiva’s child, the devas stole his tejas, depriving me of this hope too.’
‘It appears that deceit has always been the way of the gods,’ Skanda said, frowning. ‘Did Indra not try to kill me from behind? My heart goes out to you, Devi, that one of your sons was killed and the other stolen away.’
‘But I was not killed,’ said Taruna, as he transformed himself before their eyes. He now had a rotund human body and an elephant’s head. Another strange creation like myself! thought Kartikeya, gazing upon him with wonder. If he is Parvati’s son, then he is my brother! That must be why he came to help me.
No wonder we were not able to bring down the duo, thought Indra. Who could defeat the sons of Shiva, fighting together? Ganesha should have come to him when he had discerned the truth about Skanda and not fought against him along with Skanda. It appeared that neither of Parvati’s sons knew how to show proper respect to the king of devas! Indra scowled and watched the developments.
‘Now I can openly call you my brother!’ exclaimed Taruna Ganapati, as he embraced Kartikeya. ‘I can see you are confused, so let me tell you why my own father killed me and how I came back to life. After she created me, Mother aske
d me to guard her mansion while she had a bath. I was happy to follow her directive and stopped Shiva when he tried to enter. Angered by this, he commanded his ganas and the devas to cast me aside.’ He chuckled. ‘But I sent them all flying as I was extremely powerful, imbued with our mother’s shakti. They could not defeat me in battle, so they finally killed me—by subterfuge.’
Kartikeya drew in a sharp breath. ‘And then . . . ?’ he whispered.
‘The Devi raged and threatened to decimate the universe. The devas begged her forgiveness and Shiva restored me to life, replacing the head I had lost with an elephant’s head. He declared that I was now both his son and Parvati’s; he told the devas that henceforth, I would be worshipped first before the other gods! Come with me, my brother. Allow me to take you to Kailasa. Let me teach you all that I know, as befits an elder brother!’
‘Maybe I am the elder one!’ laughed Kartikeya, unable to remain angry when he looked into Ganapati’s merry eyes. The devas waited anxiously, hoping the events would now turn in their favour.
Parvati spoke softly to Kartikeya then, telling him about her long quest to trace him, from the time Vayu told her that Agni had carried away Shiva’s tejas. She explained how Agni had evaded her for long and how Ganga had fought with her. She spoke of her agonized quest across mountains and valleys looking for him. ‘You are Shiva’s son and also mine, Skanda,’ she said, ‘for I am half of him. How could you even think that I discarded you, my child?’
Kartikeya still had questions. He turned to Shiva who had been silently watching the others. ‘Why?’ asked the tormented child. ‘Why did all this happen? Why did I have to struggle here alone when my parents are the greatest of gods?’ The mountains, the trees and the rivers hushed, waiting to hear the answer. So did the animals and birds wheeling in the sky. The throng of devas and humans eagerly turned to the blue-throated god. What would he say?
Kartikeya and His Battle with the Soul Stealer Page 8