When the sage left, Devasena’s men sat talking through the night, with a full moon shining down on them. For a moment, Ugraa wondered if this god could be their Kartikeya, but then dismissed the notion. In the morning, they followed the crowds that were hurrying to witness what they called ‘the cutting of the waters.’ They followed the elephant carrying the sacred casket that was to be immersed in Manika Ganga. The priest cut the water with his sword, an act that represented the separation of the pure from the impure. After he left with the casket, the assembled devotees plunged into the river to have a holy bath. Ugraa’s men splashed in the water gleefully along with the locals. Seeing that they were not from these parts, one of the pilgrims told them, ‘Pray to Muruga and seek his help to cross the river of samsara, the endless cycle of birth, death and rebirth.’
That night, immersed in thoughts of Skanda and Muruga, Ugraa had a dream that answered his question. ‘Do you not know me, Ugraa?’ asked a voice in his ear. He could see the god being worshipped on Kamagiri, seated with a radiant goddess. He saw Sage Agastya seated at his feet, singing his praises. ‘He is Muruga, he is Kartikeya, he is the six-faced son of Shiva,’ said the rishi. ‘One face blesses us with light, one grants us boons, one protects his devotees, one enlightens sages, one destroys foes and the sixth face looks with joy upon his consort Valli. As Skanda in Kailasa, he led the devas and performed heroic deeds. But as Muruga in Kamagiri, he is one of us, bringing colour and fertility to our world, and showing us that bhakti is the easiest path to moksha.’ Ugraa gazed at the radiant god and realized that his search was now at an end.
When he woke up, Ugraa was happy that he had been successful in his mission. But he was also grieved. How could he return to his queen and tell her that her beloved had settled down in a verdant land with a new wife? How would she react?
‘She is too gentle to fight for what is hers by right. She will die of a broken heart,’ he murmured, his eyes filling with tears.
16
A Quest and a Quarrel
Muruga’s devotees, young and old, trudged up Kamagiri to worship the god whose splendour was incomparable. They revered Valli as Pongi Amman, the goddess who brimmed over with joy. The simple folk brought offerings of honey and millets, red flowers and rice. They wore amulets blessed by their Muruga to ward off evil forces. They recited the Kamasukta, the hymn of love, for they regarded him as a virile god who could bless them with a loving wife and children. The sages adorned him with garlands of poetry.
The greatest among them was Agastya, who came to worship the god who bridged Kailasa and Kataragama. ‘Radiant Muruga! Son of Shiva and Parvati, Agni and Svaha!’ the sage said, joining his hands above his head in reverence.
Muruga welcomed him and described his greatness to Valli. ‘Vishnu carried the entire earth during his Varaha avatar. Adi Sesha carries powerful Vishnu on his coils. The ocean bears both Vishnu and his immense serpent bed. And this rishi who stands before us drank up this mighty ocean in one gulp, in order to expose the demons hiding from the devas. Agastya and other sages like him surpass even the gods in their powers!’ he said.
Valli washed the feet of the rishi in reverence and brought him fresh milk and fruits soaked in honey.
‘I have come here in thanksgiving for the great boon you bestowed on me,’ said Agastya.
‘Tell me about this boon, revered one!’ said Valli, curious to know more.
‘I was captivated by Muruga’s splendid form in Palani, where he transformed the asura Idumban into his devotee,’ said Agastya. ‘I practised severe austerities seeking his blessings. He appeared to me in a dream and gave me a bundle wrapped in a piece of cloth. I was delighted when I woke up and saw the bundle lying before me, for it told me that Muruga had indeed blessed me. The bundle contained several palm leaves that emitted a divine fragrance. I cried out, “Tamil! Tamil! I have obtained the sweetest nectar.” Those palm leaves introduced me to a heavenly language that came to be known thereafter as Tamil. This language rivals or perhaps even exceeds Sanskrit in sweetness. When we read the great Tamil poems of devotion, our hearts melt and our eyes overflow with tears—something that does not happen when we read the Vedas! Later, when I presented this language in the assembly of sages, Vyasa, who had never shown me much respect before, hailed me as his equal! I came from that assembly straight to Kamagiri to offer up this fame at the feet of my benefactor, Muruga.’
Muruga saw Valli gazing wide-eyed at the sage and told her, ‘I will show you how this language grows more powerful in the years to come, conquering numberless hearts and minds. Travel with me into the future and witness the miracles that unfold in the lives of divine Tamil poets.’
But the vision they saw was not of a devotee but of a man leading a debauched life, wasting his money on drink and courtesans. When they turned questioning eyes to Muruga, he gestured to them to wait. They saw the man, Arunagiri, grow increasingly diseased and debt-ridden. Finally, disgusted with his vile state, he climbed up a temple tower and hurled himself down in a bid to end his life. Valli gasped in shock, afraid to see his shattered body on the granite floor. But, that was not what happened. Arunagiri floated gently to the ground. He stood astounded, unable to understand how he had escaped death. Then he saw the resplendent Muruga standing before him, a hand raised in blessing. ‘Listen to me, Arunagiri,’ he said. ‘You were not born to die but to save others; you were not meant to fall but to help others rise. Understand that you are the chosen one, destined to spread my teaching to the world.’ Arunagiri fell at his feet and felt his heart being cleansed by Muruga’s grace.
‘Chant the mantra that signifies my birth in the thicket of reeds,’ said Shiva’s son.
‘Om Sharavanabhava!’ chanted Arunagiri, again and again. At once, his body was healed and his mind was blessed with spiritual and poetic genius. His sins were destroyed and he was filled with the light of the Supreme.
‘This is the enlightenment that we all seek,’ murmured Agastya, as they watched the events unfold before their eyes. ‘We go through many lives in a bid to erase our karmic burden.’
‘Another Tamil poet I adore expresses this yearning so well that I must bend time to bring you his words from the future,’ said Muruga. ‘“I have grown tired, my lord, after being born on earth so many times,” he says. “I have lived as grass, weed, worm, tree, animal, bird, snake, man, demon, ascetic and sage. But now my tired eyes have seen your golden feet. And my heart proclaims joyously that I have reached home!”’
There was silence then as the three of them contemplated these brief lines that captured the total meaning of life. Valli realized that countless people and animals adored Muruga because his compassion had touched them all.
‘There is more for you to witness in Arunagiri’s life,’ said Muruga. ‘Impressed by his ecstatic verses, King Devaraya appointed him as the royal poet in his court at Tiruvannamalai. But Sambandan, a rival scholar, was jealous of Arunagiri’s good fortune and hatched a plot against him.’
The three looked down upon Devaraya’s court where Sambandan challenged Arunagiri. ‘You have lied to the king, saying that Muruga appeared before you and saved your life,’ he said. ‘Prove that this is true by asking Muruga to appear before us all now!’
Arunagiri meditated on Muruga and began to sing: ‘O, lord of lords! When you dance, Adi Sesha dances in the netherworld and Mount Meru on earth. Bhadrakali dances with Lord Shiva, the rider of the bull, and his ganas dance with him. Sweet-voiced Saraswati dances, as does Brahma on his lotus. The devas, the moon, Vishnu and his consort Devi Lakshmi—everyone dances. Your peacock dances and so must you. O, favoured nephew of Hari, come dancing before the king. And make his heart dance with joy!’
Muruga emerged from a pillar in the temple where he had earlier saved Arunagiri. He came riding his peacock to Devaraya’s court, blinding the king with his radiance. Sambandan was unwilling to accept defeat still. ‘Alas, Arunagiri has deprived you of sight, O Devaraya!’ he said. ‘Order him to make amends by fetchi
ng the parijata flower from heaven so that you may regain your vision.’
Valli watched spellbound as Arunagiri moved his life force into the body of a parrot and flew to heaven to bring the parijata flower to earth. The king’s eyesight was restored but Sambandan had already cremated Arunagiri’s body that he had left behind in the temple. Unable to return to his human form, the poet remained on the tower as a parrot and continued to sing Muruga’s praises.
‘I am distressed that Sambandan won this battle, O Kumara!’ said Valli.
‘The king punished him by banishing him from the kingdom, Valli,’ Muruga replied. ‘As for Arunagiri, remember that in Tamil both bliss and parrot are written as suka. When we say that he attained a suka swarupa, it also means that he attained the blissful state he yearned for—to become one with me. Victory was finally his!’
She smiled at him, moving him to bliss. He gazed at her enrapt, until the sage’s voice broke their trance.
‘Glorious one’, said Agastya, ‘what is the teaching you asked Arunagiri to share with humankind?’
‘It is simple, just two words!’ replied Muruga. ‘Summa Iru—be silent. When being quiet is bliss, what can you gain by chasing after this world of illusion? You must be what you are naturally, free from thoughts, free from senses and free from ego. A quiet mind allows you to realize the Supreme by surrendering to him. Arunagiri practised what I taught and discovered the truth by eliminating everything that did not constitute his Muruga. This was his song, more exquisite than any I have heard:
‘Uruvai aruvai uladhai iladhai maruvai malarai maniyai oliyai karuvai uyirai gatiyai vidhiyai guruvai varuvai arulvai guhane!’
Valli was moved by the words and softly murmured their meaning: ‘O Guha! You have a form but you are also formless. You are both being and non-being, the fragrance and the flower, the diamond and its sheen, the seed of life and life itself. You are the mode and the act of existence. Come to us and bless us, great guru!’
‘Perfection in every word!’ exclaimed Agastya. ‘The Ultimate embodied in two magical lines.’
‘The Vedas tell us what is not but not what is,’ Muruga continued. ‘That is what the great Ramana Maharishi will reveal in the form of a story to his disciples in the future. Sita was asked to identify the real Rama from many others who looked just like him. She shook her head at each false Rama but stayed silent when the real one stood before her. That is the power of truth—it reveals itself in silence.’
Agastya meditated on Muruga’s lucid words and then left his presence in order to share these lessons with his followers.
While divinity prevailed here, anger reigned in Mahendrapuri where Surapadma’s army gathered, drawn from the fiercest warriors of earth and the netherworld. Sura brooded over the ill omens that he witnessed every day. His eyes were reddened with lack of sleep as his nights were troubled by dark visions. ‘No one can bring me down, no one!’ he exclaimed as he paced to and fro before his terror-struck ministers.
Then he sprang on the guard nearest to him and lopped off his head. He smeared his face with the blood gushing from the asura’s neck and offered the head to the altar that he kept burning for his dark rites. From the fire emerged a monstrous form with many arms and a fanged mouth. The demon trembled before Sura and his heart longed for deliverance. What did the Soul Stealer desire now? Did he not have wealth and power beyond imagination, and boons from mighty Shiva?
‘I feel a storm coming my way. So take this offering and complete the rites I have initiated,’ said Sura. ‘Empower me to conquer Time and make me young and omnipotent. Let my reign be eternal. Let my enemies suffer on earth as they would in naraka.’
Muruga gazed lovingly at his Valli, happy to be alone with her again after the sage left. ‘My beautiful gazelle! My mountain rose!’ he said as he drew her into his arms. She caressed him with her lips and her hands. He gently kissed her neck, her cheek and then her coral mouth. Garuda’s son, Mayura, who was always close beside his Muruga, flew away through the window. The snake coiled under his foot, a symbol of Muruga’s control over the world of delusion, swiftly hid behind a silken couch. The golden lamp dimmed its light, glowing red in bashfulness. Time sped by on light feet as the two embraced and exchanged honeyed words. Until . . .
Until words he had spoken lightly created a furore, sparking their first fight after they were wed. ‘Devasena has sent messengers to take me back to Skandagiri, my love,’ he said. ‘I fear that I have stayed here too long and given her cause to worry. I should go now to her and reassure her that all is well.’
As soon as she grasped what he was saying, Valli pulled her hands free of his. She moved away from him and assailed him with a torrent of words. ‘Oh, do you live in fear of your grand wife?’ she asked angrily. ‘Even if you are afraid, know that I am not! Why should you run to her as soon as she calls? Are you not happy here?’ She clutched his arms fiercely and looked up into his face, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I cannot bear to let you go, even for a moment. You must stay here with me, my heart.’ She placed her finger over his mouth when he tried to reply and said, ‘If she misses you so much, let her come to you! You cannot go. And that is my last word!’
As she began to sob, he comforted her, reaffirming his love for her. When she had calmed down a little, he said, ‘Devasena would never force me to do something I do not care for. But she is not brave like you, my love. She is gentle like a fawn and loves me beyond reason. As my wife and as Vishnu’s daughter, we owe her respect. You should be cordial to her if we are to live together in harmony.’
‘So now you want to bring a third person into our lives?’ Valli retorted. ‘You are ordering me to show respect to your precious wife from heaven. But do you think she will be equally respectful to me? We are equals, you know, for my marriage to you was performed with the proper rites, presided over by your brother, no less. However, you seem to prefer her over me, perhaps because she is a goddess and so rich!’
Muruga was struggling now to rein in his temper. ‘Why do you cast such aspersions on my love, Valli?’ he asked. ‘Do you think I will spurn you because of your humble origin? Did I not marry you despite society’s decree that a man should marry only once?’
‘But your uncle Vishnu has two wives in Vaikunta, and eight queens in Dwaraka.’
‘Let us not quarrel, my dove. Allow me to go now and I promise I will return soon.’
‘Oh! Yet another promise like those you made in the forest when you were wooing me! You said then that I was more beautiful than the apsaras. You danced gaily with the people whom you now dismiss as being too humble. Have I displeased you in any way, my husband? Did I ask you for jewels or for a palace? Am I not content with my simple beads, my mountain home, my Muruga?’ She shook her head sadly and turned away from him.
‘Stay, my beloved,’ he implored, pulling her back into his arms. ‘Your beauty holds me captive even when your eyes dart fire! What can I do or say to make you trust me? Have I ever scorned you or your clan? I have shown them respect even though they hunt the animals I love and behave crudely when they are drunk.’
‘So, now it is clear! You think my people are wicked and that they act crudely. Like foolish men, the gods too make judgements based on finery rather than merit. When the cosmic sea was churned, Varuna gave his daughter, Lakshmi, to Vishnu who wore silks and jewels, and the halahala poison to Shiva who wore animal skins. You have insulted me and my own. Therefore, I will speak plainly as well. Does my father dance in the cremation ground, wearing skulls and chewing on bones, presiding over the dead? Does he carry a mighty woman on his head? Does my mother dance wildly and destroy the universe? Does my uncle assume fantastic forms in every age to vanquish demons? You appear to have forgotten that your Krishna was raised by humble cowherds and that he stole butter. Did that stop him from measuring the universe in just three steps?’
Kartikeya’s eyes grew red. ‘So speaks the daughter of thieves who steal from gullible men!’ he shot back. ‘Your people live in thatche
d houses with the wind whistling through the gaps. The roof leaks, the door refuses to close and their raucous singing keeps pious men awake.’
‘But we at least have a home!’ Valli retorted. ‘You were born on a mountain and live now on another. You dwell in temples that humble people build for you. What can you claim as your own except your spear? And how many fathers and mothers do you have? Shiva, Parvati, Agni, Svaha, Ganga and the Krittikas—all claim you as their son. Your family is so strange that I feel embarrassed to talk about them!’
Skanda felt disturbed and distressed. What terrible words she used! How insulting was her description of his loved ones! How could he appease Valli who was in a towering rage? His Devasena had never been so unreasonable, so headstrong. He was helpless, caught between his two wives. ‘O Kama, tell me how I can placate my angry huntress!’ he lamented.
Valli continued to rant, disregarding his vexed expression. ‘Did I follow you around professing my love or did you? You disguised yourself as a hunter, an ascetic and a bangle seller—all in order to win me. You pretended that you were dying of hunger so that I would feed you with my hands. You invoked Gajamukha to force me into your arms. But when you achieved your purpose, you forgot all your promises.’ She began sobbing then, afraid that he would leave her on earth and return to heaven. ‘This has always been the way of gods and kings. Pandava Bhima left his asura wife Hidimbi in the forest and returned to his palace with Draupadi. His brother Arjuna abandoned his Naga wife and established Krishna’s sister Subhadra in his mansion. Perhaps Devasena’s messengers have poisoned your mind against me. Maybe they have given you a potion to take over your mind. Otherwise, my Muruga would never speak to me so roughly.’
Her sobs grew louder and the senapati realized that this was not a battle he could win. What should he do now?
He spoke to her in a gentle voice. ‘Have you ever seen me go to another woman’s house, my love?’ he asked her. ‘How then could someone bind me with magic potions? I was vexed that you doubted me and spoke roughly. I vow to you again that I cannot survive without you. But I cannot ignore Devasena’s message either. Her messengers have discovered where I live now and will soon come knocking on our doors. If I ignore them, an army will come next, causing needless panic among our people here. So let me go to her, Valli, and convince her that I am in no danger.’
Kartikeya and His Battle with the Soul Stealer Page 17