‘Alas, where is Kartikeya? Why does he not fight the asura? I fear that we erred in trusting an infant!’ Indra said when he woke up from his swoon and saw the devas in disarray. ‘The wise say that it is dangerous to trust the young and the forgetful. The asura’s vengeance will be fiercer and our suffering greater when we lose this time. I have lost all hope that we will win.’
On earth, the dark plant grew rapidly, its leaves blotched and streaked. From it crawled strange, pestilential creatures with many legs and disgusting bodies. Killer snails with armoured shells and poisonous fangs spilled from its depths. They had bizarre, bulging eyeballs and barbed teeth with which they tore into moles and lizards, paralysing them with their venom. Then they drew their prey into their cavernous mouths and ate them. Danger lurked in every shadow and death in every hidden lair . . .
11
Before the Sun Sets
Kartikeya looked down on the field, his face revealing the agony within. Such terror, such torment! Was war the only way to conquer evil? He saw that those who suffered most were not the immortal gods, but the foot soldiers who dropped like flies, and the animals that neighed and trumpeted in pain. How loyal was the warhorse that stood over his fallen rider, shedding tears over his lifeless head! So many souls sacrificed in the quest for power! He saw two soldiers fallen to the ground, their blood draining into the reddened earth, still struggling, still trying to kill the other.
Vishnu came to him and noted his troubled face. ‘I can see the tears in your eyes, Skanda. But the longer you delay, the longer the carnage continues. It is you and only you who can end this senseless war. Shiva, Indra, Veerabhadra or I cannot kill the asura. You must kill him, Shivaputra! Forget that you were once a sage or that you are still a child. At this crucial juncture, you are only a warrior. You have a duty to fight, to destroy evil. That is the vow you took in an earlier life; that is the reason you were born. You came forth from Shiva’s splendour and were brought to Kailasa by Parvati. Ganga, Agni, Svaha and the Krittikas prepared you for just this purpose. The devas anointed you their Vira Senapati. Their actions will be fruitful only if you use your strength to protect the pious, the innocent, the weak and the powerless. Fight now for dharma, son of Rudra. Slay the asura. It is true that only a coward fails to do his duty. But it is not cowardice that holds you back, is it?’
‘O Vishnu, you are the protector of the universe. You have destroyed evil time after time. I believe that you can destroy even this demon with just a humkara, an angry sound. Hence I seek an answer that only you can give. Perhaps it is my earlier life as an ascetic that makes me wonder ceaselessly about right and wrong. Has Taraka not earned glory due to his piety and penance to Brahma? Can we kill a true devotee of the Pitamaha without a qualm?’ asked Kartikeya.
‘How can someone who harasses creation beyond all limits be regarded as a devotee of the Creator? Instead of showing compassion, he exudes hate towards all life, tormenting and killing without pity. It is said that if someone with the ability to stop a sinner does not do so, he incurs half the other’s sin. If the Protector holds back, where will the innocents find refuge? How will virtue and piety that sustain the universe be preserved? Slay him, Kartikeya. Kill him now without compunction.’
Skanda nodded, his face grim, his jaw clenched. Vishnu lifted the maya that had held the battlefield in thrall while he spoke to him. The devas saw Shiva’s son mount his chariot and take up his arms. They raised their voices to praise him and the blue-hued god.
Radiant Kartikeya twanged his mighty bow and proclaimed, ‘You will soon see my prowess, Narayana! I see the sun descending swiftly, indicating that the opportune time will soon pass. I swear to kill Taraka before sunset, and if I fail, let me suffer like a sinner who has abandoned you and Shiva. Let me descend to naraka like one who scorns the Vedas, who torments the powerless, and leads a fruitless life. I join my hands in reverence to you, noble one, for showing me my path.’
Vishnu sounded his war conch, mounted Garuda and flew towards Taraka. Kumara roared, his six faces blazing with rage, and came before Surapadma’s brother. The giant asura caught his first glimpse of the radiant child, armed with glittering weapons and wearing a garland of red glory lilies. He felt his body shudder suddenly as if he had been touched by the cold wing of death. Was his intuition warning him of a greater danger than any he had faced before? He shook off his fears and laughed out in scorn. ‘Cowardly Indra and Vishnu have sent a child to fight me!’ he exclaimed. ‘Why are you here, infant, falling like a moth into the fire? What fame will I gain if I were to defeat you? Therefore, I will let you go, child! Run back to your mother and drink your milk. Or go play with this ball!’
Taraka conjured up a golden ball and tossed it towards Kartikeya. The boy caught it in one hand and issued a challenge to his foe. ‘Stop mocking me, Taraka!’ he said. ‘You do not realize that I hold your life in my hands. Do not judge me by my appearance. Even a small fire can burn your finger and the venom of a young snake can kill. The sun at dawn is no less powerful than the one at noon. Lastly, does not a mantra of a few syllables have the power to destroy the universe?’ He threw the ball back at the asura, but now, imbued with his power, it reduced Taraka’s chariot to dust. The angry asura mounted another chariot and hurled a horrific spiked club at the boy. Even as Kartikeya countered the club with an axe, the asura sent forth an occult mace that destroyed his chariot. At once, Garuda summoned his son Mayura with his proud neck and many-coloured tail to serve as the youngster’s mount.
Kartikeya swiftly climbed on to the bird’s back and stroked his head with a loving hand. He attacked the asura army with a lustrous astra from which blazing meteors erupted, covering them with fire. Veerabahu, his brothers and the ganas brought down those who managed to escape its flames. The asuras fled in fear like serpents without fangs or bulls with broken horns. Taraka roared in fury, angered by the youth’s audacity. He put out the astra’s fire with a torrential downpour, hurled huge boulders to crush the deva sena, and unleashed the Brahmastra against his foe. But Skanda foiled it with an astra of his own and shattered the boulders with his arrows. The asura sent the Narayanastra next, but it turned into a garland and fell around Kartikeya’s neck, for Narayana himself fought by the youngster’s side.
‘Do you not recognize the one born to kill you, asura?’ laughed Vishnu. ‘Surrender to Shiva’s son or die!’
Taraka replied to the taunt by releasing an astra of darkness that blanketed the field. He then took the form of a column of fire and towered over his enemies in a bid to terrify them. However, Kumara’s weapons dispelled the darkness and shattered the column of fire. As Taraka disappeared from the field in order to recoup his powers, Kartikeya turned his ire on the demon army. He sheared off their heads like a living Sudarshana chakra, and sages and gandharvas jostled for space in the skies in order to watch him.
Taraka appeared again and invoked the most powerful astra of all, the Paashupatastra. It appeared in his hand, pulsing like a lightning bolt, imbued with Shiva’s powers. The devas could see a huge figure looming behind the asura, with fierce fire flashing from his third eye. They saw the matted locks and the body covered with serpents that hissed and writhed. On his chest appeared numberless stars and planets which gleamed like gold. On his head was a crescent moon, which was the colour of blood. The sun had reduced to a dark disc, all its light destroyed. The fearsome figure opened his mouth wide as if to devour all life. Kartikeya gazed spellbound at this huge form while the gods gasped in terror. The Rudras let their weapons fall from their nerveless fingers. The ganas gazed fearfully at Shiva who had appeared in order to protect Taraka. How could they fight Kalantaka, the one who ended time? How could they stand up to Maheshwara who dissolved the endless galaxies into nothingness?
The astra flew towards them with an eerie, wailing cry. All was lost. Shiva had ordained that they would die today.
Then a voice broke into their torpor, loud and clear. ‘Worship great Shiva. Chant his name!’ cried out Vis
hnu.
‘Om Namah Shivaya!’ Kartikeya sang out. Indra, Varuna, Surya, Nandi, Veerabahu—all of them echoed the divine incantation. The astra was now coming straight towards Skanda’s heart. Would it tear through him, destroy him and the hopes of all living beings?
Kartikeya raised his hand and snatched the astra from the air. The devas watched dumbstruck. What now?
The Paashupatastra was transformed into a garland of blue lotuses, the flowers Shiva preferred above all others. It rose from Skanda’s hand and dropped around his neck. The next instant, the shadowy figure looming behind the asura vanished. Maheshwara had accepted their worship. His astra would no longer serve the asura.
Taraka understood what this miracle signified. His heart was filled with dread and despair. The indomitable astra he had summoned had drained his body and mind. He tottered, wondering for a moment if he should concede defeat. But his ego twisted within him, unwilling to accept that a mere boy could defeat him. I believed that my boons would protect me forever, he thought. But they have become a noose around my neck now. I thought Shiva’s son would never be born, but here he stands before me, shaming me before the world. Alas, what hope remains!
He saw Vishnu laughing at him, his contempt clear on his face. Hari was his enemy, the eternal foe of his clan. It was his counsel that had enabled the boy to counter him. If he removed Vishnu from the field, he could still win.
Seeing the asura frozen in thought, Vishnu called out to his young charge. ‘Kartikeya, you must hurry. Look where Surya sinks towards the horizon, his eyes red with grief. Use Shakti’s lance against Taraka, for only that weapon can kill him.’
But the boy did not seem to have heard him. The lance did not appear in his hand. Vishnu studied him intently for a moment. Then he roared forward to stand before Taraka.
Taraka turned his blistering rage on the blue-hued god. ‘Protector of the universe!’ he mocked him. ‘See if you can protect yourself against my powers. I will destroy you first and then the devas, one by one!’
But Vishnu had another plan in mind. ‘Why should the two of us fight, Taraka?’ he asked. ‘It is Shiva and his astra that abandoned you. Fight Shiva, kill him. And then all your foes will be reduced to dust.’
The devas watched anxiously from the sidelines. ‘Why is Vishnu provoking the asura without reason, diverting him from his battle with Kartikeya? Does he not realize that the time to kill Taraka will soon pass?’ Indra fumed.
‘His intervention is going to cost us dearly. Look how swiftly Surya is descending in the west!’ exclaimed Yama.
The asura turned his reddened eyes towards Mahadeva. Then he charged towards Shiva and lifted the pole of his chariot. As the ratha tilted, earth cried out in pain and the sages in heaven swooned. Brahma fled, convinced that all creation would soon be destroyed. Taraka’s soldiers roared in joy. Shiva abandoned the chariot and mounted Nandi. The asuras seized the lion-drawn carriage and smashed it to the ground. Mahadeva’s trident came to his hand, ready to attack the asura. ‘Patience!’ said the god, raising his hand to curb its rage. Unwilling to let him go, Taraka rushed towards Shiva, shouting out threats.
Incensed at this attack, the devas rushed to intervene—Vishnu wielding his discus, Indra his vajra, and Yama his staff. Varuna raised his noose aloft and Agni his radiant spear. Vayu flew at Taraka with his fearsome goad. However, the asura turned upon the throng, striking Indra down with a fierce blow, then bringing down the other gods with their own weapons. Even after they had fallen, he trampled upon their supine bodies, giving vent to his fury. Seeing that Hari was still flying on his Garuda, he rushed at him with a fierce cry. His foe waited until he came near and then vanished with a laugh. Had he returned to mystic Vaikunta that could never be seen by sinners?
Angry that his attack on Hari had been foiled, Taraka rushed towards Shiva again, his fist raised like a bludgeon. But Hari had not fled anywhere. He flashed into their midst again and proclaimed: ‘It appears that Kartikeya cannot kill this asura! So fly to safety, devas. We invited disaster by challenging Taraka, but I will fight still, with my bare fists if need be.’ He jumped down from Garuda and ran towards the asura king. His consort, Bhumidevi, who was Mother Earth, shuddered in fear. The sages trembled, fearing that Kalki, Hari’s final avatar, had been born to destroy the world. Roaring flames poured from Vishnu’s mouth, bringing death to the asura sena. They flashed red and blue, reducing mountains to ashes and setting the oceans on fire. ‘Keshava, Madhava, Madhusudana!’ the rishis chanted, worshipping Vishnu by his many names. ‘Withdraw your fire or the world will end before its time.’
But Hari paid no heed. ‘I will kill Taraka and preserve the world!’ he declared again as he rushed headlong towards their foe.
Why was Kartikeya still silent? The devas and their sena turned accusing eyes on Shiva’s son. Was he afraid? Was he trapped by his own confused thoughts?
Kartikeya saw Taraka rushing towards his father, who remained impassive. He saw Hari, the god of the cosmic sea, trailing the fire of dissolution as he pursued the asura. He saw the orb of the sun fast sinking in the west. He remembered his vow to rid the world of evil. But, he did nothing.
‘Skanda! Look! I cannot hover any longer on the rim of the sky,’ cried out Surya in desperation. The gods trembled. What would happen when the sun set? Would their senapati be killed?
Taraka turned to look at his young foe. He had heard Vishnu tell the boy to strike the final blow before sunset. But he was standing motionless, seemingly helpless. The asura roared in triumph as he unloosed an occult arrow at the boy. There was a flash of light that blinded all eyes for a moment. When their vision cleared, they saw that Skanda was still unhurt. The arrow had torn into the heart of Mayura instead. Garuda cried out in agony to see his son thus wounded. Agni blazed forward to bear Skanda on his shoulders.
Surapadma’s brother laughed uproariously. ‘O, little one! Are you crying now because you have lost your playmate?’ he taunted. ‘Did I not warn you at the outset to stay away from me? But do not grieve, you will soon be joining your mount in death!’
He fitted another arrow to his bow. Then he staggered, his eyes widening in shock. A lustrous maiden emerged from within him, lighting up the battlefield and the eight directions. Her voice was soft, yet it echoed in the forests and mountains: ‘Taraka, I am the Shakti you acquired with your tapasya, the power that protected you all this time. But now you have exhausted all your punya with your vile deeds. You have been cruel to humans and gods, and mocked the Trimurti who should be worshipped. You have overturned cosmic order and unleashed chaos. Your attack on young Mayura will be the last of your sins. I leave you now to face the consequences of your actions.’ She turned her eyes to Shiva’s son. ‘You may kill him now, Kumara. Use your Guha Shakti, the lance that remained hidden until now. And rid the world of a festering plague.’
The ethereal figure disappeared. An incandescent lance sailed through the veils of heaven to land in his hand. Kartikeya clasped it firmly and offered a silent prayer to his mother. He felt the Devi’s power pervade his limbs and realized why he had been unable to invoke the lance until now. It could not attack Taraka as long as he was protected by the Shakti within him.
Taraka trembled, his powers deserting him. Parvati’s son raised the lance. ‘If it is true that dharma is ever victorious, that truth always prevails, let this asura be killed!’ he proclaimed. The weapon emitted blazing sparks as it leapt across the space between them with a thunderous sound. Taraka’s ghastly cry echoed to the skies as the lance pierced his heart and he came crashing to earth. The sun set in the west, relieved that the monster was dead. The mountains ceased their trembling and a pleasant breeze caressed their limbs.
‘The scorcher of the earth is dead. The devas are freed from Nandi’s curse. Victory to the wielder of the lance! Victory to the Deva Senapati!’ sang the sages. The Trimurti smiled proudly on the young scion.
‘Rudra and I knew that the asura had to exhaust his punya before he could be k
illed,’ Vishnu explained to Indra. ‘We provoked him so as to give him the opportunity to dispel the little merit he still had within him.’ He then turned to the boy who looked troubled though the others celebrated.
And he answered the question that Kartikeya could not bear to ask.
12
The Fawn-eyed Beauty
‘He is safe!’ Vishnu said, and watched Skanda’s face blossom in joy. The devas listened and wondered.
‘I am here, beloved Kartikeya! Slayer of Taraka!’ said Mayura, dancing in joy before them, amidst the rain of rose petals strewn by the gods from the sky.
‘Is he a spectre or an illusion born of grief?’ murmured the boy. But then Mayura came to him and embraced him with his gorgeous fan. The young god touched his head with a wondering hand and then clasped his neck in a fond embrace. ‘He is alive! Taraka’s arrow did not kill him.’
Vishnu smiled. ‘I discerned Taraka’s intention to toy with you, to taunt you and your love for earth’s creatures. I could see that he was aiming for Mayura’s heart, wishing to render you helpless with grief. It was not a difficult task to whisk Mayura away and replace him with an illusion that fell prey to the arrow!’
Kartikeya bowed to Hari in gratitude and mounted Mayura again, his joy now complete. Vishnu revived the wounded ganas, their mounts and all the brave warriors who had fought the righteous war.
The survivors of the asura army fled from the field, trying to escape the exultant deva sena. The victors, finally able to avenge the torments they had suffered for ages, hacked off heads and limbs, until not a single asura remained alive. Skanda and his men stormed into the dungeons to free Jayanta. Indra tearfully embraced his son and praised his valour in fighting for their city and people. Jayanta’s wondering gaze was fixed on Skanda and he murmured, ‘Even Shiva has only five faces but this one has six!’ Skanda then went before Shiva who blessed him and took him to Kailasa in a triumphal procession.
Kartikeya and His Battle with the Soul Stealer Page 12