‘I am not afraid of her people or her army. Even if she were to come herself, I am ready to fight her. How can she take my husband away? And why are you so willing to go to her? Is it because you have grown tired of me?’
‘How could I ever stop loving you, my crimson-eyed pigeon? I will never forget you, even if the skies fall to earth and the seas rise to heaven. Give me leave to go, sweet one. Let me see a smile on your lips.’
‘No, I will never let you go!’ she said and stormed out. He sat alone with his thoughts, wondering what he should do next. A tiny hummingbird flitted in, its plumes shimmering in jewel tones of sapphire and opal, topaz and beryl. The bird buzzed around his head and then perched on his shoulder. ‘Do you come from Indra’s garden, beautiful one?’ asked Muruga. ‘Did you come here looking for Valli, mistaking her face for a flower?’
The bird chirped angrily and flew off his shoulder. The next moment, he saw Devasena standing before him, clad in colourful silks, her eyes flaming fire.
17
A Duel of Hearts
‘O, my beloved Devasena!’ Muruga rushed forward to embrace his wife. ‘Little did I think that you would travel so far to come to me.’ He crushed her in his arms and kissed her flushed cheeks.
But she stood silent and unresponsive. He loosened his hold and looked intently at her face.
‘I pay humble homage to Muruga, the beloved of Valli!’ she said.
Muruga noticed the sting in her words and the stiffness of her stance. It was clear that she was angry and with good reason. He had stayed away far too long after promising to return soon. ‘You have grown more beautiful since I saw you last, my queen,’ he said, in a bid to placate her. ‘I see my face reflected on a cheek that is more lustrous than the pearls of the deep sea.’
She made no reply but turned her face away and moved to stand by the door, as if ready to leave. She averted her glance—her anger making her behave the same way she had as a bride. Her silence was the most potent weapon to express her wrath.
‘I heard you had sent messengers to look for me and was planning to return at once. You surprised me by coming yourself, gentle one!’ he said.
‘Alas, when you are gentle, people often dismiss you as being unimportant,’ she replied at last. ‘The men I had sent returned to Skandagiri to tell me that you were lost in the charms of your Valli. They said that you now preferred millet flour and honey to the delicacies in heaven. As they were afraid to intrude, I had to come myself to see if what they said was true. I had to find out if you had forgotten me.’ Her voice broke in a sob. ‘Do you love her more than you love me? Do you not remember your promise to your wife waiting patiently for your return?’
He came closer to her but she stepped away, unwilling to let him touch her. ‘Do you know what agony I felt when I heard people whisper that you had abandoned me? The silks I wore burned my skin; the lotus garland felt heavy like stone. Each night felt like a thousand. And each day . . . each day I paced the halls of our palace, then stepped into the courtyard to look down the avenue, yearning to see you return. Many walked down that leafy path, tall and short, young and old, man and woman. But not you . . . it was never you. I would step back into the mansion, then whirl round again thinking, “He must be coming at this very moment!” I called desperately to the falcon and the red-eyed koel, asking them if they had seen you during their flight.’ Devasena sobbed and angrily wiped away her tears.
‘Do not cry, my queen,’ he said. ‘I seek your forgiveness a hundred thousand times.’ She flung herself down on the couch and buried her face in her hands. He sat at her feet, his face forlorn. ‘I am your slave to be punished, I agree,’ he said. ‘But can you not see how desperately I plead? Shed your rage, sweet goddess. But if you will still be angry, then give me back my kisses with interest.’
She looked at him then, still distraught. ‘Do you know what finally brought me here? What made me leave my safe home to venture into regions unknown? It was the dreadful vision I saw of you wounded, bleeding, all alone. My Vira Senapati standing on a battlefield facing a foe who could not be defeated. Dread filled my heart, I forgot to breathe. I hastened here to see if you were well, to assure myself that your limbs had not been shredded by the beast. I came to warn you to be careful, to prepare yourself fully to face your ominous foe. But what did I see when I perched on your window, disguised as a bird? I saw you with your new wife and heard her speak rudely against you and the gods. What scorn, what pride she displays! Are you possessed by some dark spirit that you could listen to her words and yet love her, Kartikeya?’
He moved to sit beside her and drew her head down to rest on his shoulder. ‘I was angry too at first,’ he replied, ‘until I realized that her words were not mockery but praise. She was cleverly paying homage to the god who wears mighty Ganga on his head, the Devi with the power to destroy the universe and the Protector who kills dire demons age after age. She was affirming to the world that the gods are peerless and their actions beyond understanding. That is how she is—forceful, forthright and caring. When you come to know her, as you soon will, you will realize that I am indeed “possessed”, but only by her love.’
He took her silence for consent and kissed her tenderly. ‘O Devasena, my honey flower!’ he said. ‘Do not punish me any longer. I vow that even when I was away, I was bound by your arms, locked in your heart, held captive by your love.’
The curtains covering the doorway were pushed aside roughly and Valli strode in, her face aflame. ‘Love, love, love! To how many women will you proclaim your love?’ she cried out. ‘I waited for you, hoping that you would follow me . . . that you would say you had thought better of leaving me!’ she exclaimed. ‘When you did not come, I came to you myself. I see that what I feared has come true, that there is indeed someone poisoning your mind against me. I look at her ethereal face and suspect that this is your high-born wife who has come to steal you away. But she will not succeed, for I will fight fiercely to hold on to my own!’
Muruga stood nonplussed, not knowing how to stop the unfolding pageant of jealousy and love. His servant came to him then, saying that Narada had arrived and wished to speak to him. ‘The rishi says that he sees war clouds gathering on the horizon,’ said the servant. ‘You must come at once to him.’ Muruga looked helplessly at his warring wives and then went with his man to meet Narada.
The two fierce women stood face to face—one bold and wrathful, the other delicate yet firm. What would happen now? Who would win? The fiery mountain goddess or regal Devasena?
Valli and Devasena gazed intently at each other, looking for the other’s weaknesses. What does he see in her that he does not find in me? wondered Devasena.
Valli burst into speech first. ‘You are so pale and fragile, adorned from head to toe with diamonds and gold,’ she said, with a scornful curl of her lips. ‘You are the very picture of the celestial wife, with the parting of your hair gleaming with vermilion! But then, should you not have stayed in your palace in the skies? Why did you venture into my rustic world? Did you think your Kartikeya would protect you from uncouth people like me? However, let me tell you that you will not survive here for even a day, Devasena.’
‘O jungle lass! I see you clearly too, so bright and brazen, your lush body clad in rough clothes!’ retorted Devasena. ‘I understand how you managed to lure my husband from me. Your bold eyes are lined with kohl, your lips coloured with the juice of berries. You stand with your hands on your hips, drawing attention to your slim waist and your ample bosom.’
‘Do they not say that a woman is often another woman’s worst enemy?’ said Valli. ‘You belittle me, making it appear as if I snared your husband with my body. But by doing this, you insult him too, implying that he is so easily swayed. The world often blames the woman for leading the man astray, though both partners are equally responsible. You wish to paint me as the mistress who is scorned by society. You portray yourself as the tearful wife, the symbol of patience and sacrifice, the one who will win in
the end . . . But what you do not know is that I too was married to Muruga with proper rites. I am your equal in every way!’
Hearing their raised voices, Valli’s people, rough mountain men and women, came to stand behind her in support. They would not let a pretentious stranger subdue their mistress. Seeing the crowd gathering against their queen, Ugraa and his men came rushing in, with angry faces and clenched fists.
‘How can you be his wife or my equal?’ Devasena shot back. ‘The Vedas say that a wife is an ardhangini, half of the husband. They say that his highest dharma is fidelity to her. Can a marriage performed by your tribe equal one witnessed by the gods in heaven? A proper marriage is one arranged by parents between their daughter and a man they have chosen for her. She then becomes the source of dharma, artha, kama and . . . ’
‘Stop lecturing me!’ Valli interrupted rudely. ‘I too have studied the scriptures along with the sages who gather here to worship Muruga. I have seen some passages that portray women as heartless, disloyal, and the seat of malice. They say that women are unfit to perform sacred rites or study the Vedas.’
‘Those must have been inserted by mean minds who could not bear to share their glory with the fair sex,’ said Devasena. ‘The truth is that godliness resides only in places where women are given due respect. And where they are not respected, no action can be fruitful. Man or woman, we attain fame or infamy only through the choices we make. To give an example, Diti and Aditi are Daksha’s daughters and both married Sage Kashyapa. Diti chose hatred and gave birth to the asuras whereas Aditi chose love and gave birth to the gods.’
‘So now you are implying that you are like Aditi, with your marriage being performed in heaven while I am Diti, relegated to a lower realm! In what way are people inferior to the gods, when we too can attain divinity through right thinking and action? And what do you mean when you speak of a “proper marriage”? Is it kanyadaan, where you are given away to a man as if you are an object? Does it become “proper” only when a father pays a varadakshina, a dowry to buy the groom? I would rather marry a man of my choice, who sees me as an equal, not as a dressed-up puppet. I am nothing like you, worshipping my husband as my god. I would rather stand beside him and support him in any way I can. Proud Devasena, accept the reality of your situation. After all, you have seen this before. Even noble King Dasharatha of Ayodhya had three wives.’
‘Why should our parents not choose our groom? Do they not care for us? Will they not make every effort to ensure our happiness? As for Dasharatha, what joy did he attain by marrying more than once? His many marriages led only to jealousy and heartbreak . . . On the other hand, it is his son Rama who is venerated as the ideal purusha. He vowed that he would marry only once and would not break his resolve even after Sita returned to the earth’s womb.’
‘It is not the number of wives that matters, but true love,’ said Valli. ‘Rama loved Sita like Muruga loves me. Like Krishna loved Rukmini . . . Have you not heard about how Satyabhama tried to use her wealth to belittle Rukmini? She gave Krishna away as charity and then sought to buy him back with his weight in gold and jewels. But even when she had placed all her wealth on the scale, including the ornaments she was wearing, Krishna remained heavier. In desperation, she appealed to her rival, Rukmini, who then placed a single tulasi leaf on the pile of gold. At once the scale dipped, showing that the lord could be won only by love, not money. Later too, when Satyabhama demanded that Krishna bring her the parijata tree from heaven, he gave her the tree but ensured that the flowers fell into Rukmini’s garden!’ She looked meaningfully at Devasena, with a taunting smile playing on her lips.
Devasena’s eyes were now blazing. She wanted to lash out at the woman who stood mocking her. But, being gentle by nature, she was unable to plunge into an ugly fight. Valli continued to rant seeing that her rival was silent. ‘Remember that Muruga came looking for me whereas he was forced to marry you by your parents. Now he loves our land of millet and honey, of mountains and lotus ponds much more than he ever loved your city of mansions!’
Finally, Devasena’s rage erupted in a loud cry of challenge. From her anger appeared fierce men and women, peacocks, parrots and even bees from her heavenly realm. Not to be outdone, Valli’s women made whistling sounds summoning wild pigeons, cuckoos and geese. The two sides hurled insults at each other and a melee broke out. The birds and the honeybees battered one another with wings and stings. Devasena did not allow her men to use their weapons and soon Valli’s mountain tribe won the battle. The victors embraced one another gleefully and returned to their village to drink and celebrate. Ugraa and his men retreated to the courtyard to nurse their anger. Devasena’s peacocks and bees fled into the jungle. And the two combatants were left facing each other, both a little ashamed of their behaviour.
‘Yes. Such conduct is not becoming of the wives of Shiva’s son,’ said a resonant voice, startling them. ‘Nor is it worthy of your father who granted you both a boon—that you would marry Skanda.’
‘Narayana, lord of the cosmic sea! We worship you,’ said Valli and Devasena, prostrating themselves before him. By his grace, they were able to see their past lives as Vishnu’s daughters when they had performed tapasya seeking a boon. Lord Vishnu, radiant in yellow silk and dazzling ornaments, came before them and said, ‘I grant you the boon you seek. You two will take another birth as Devasena and Valli and marry Kartikeya. You will unite your shaktis with his wisdom, so that the world may prosper.’
They returned to the present time and looked guiltily at each other and then at the lord. Bold as always, Valli asked him, ‘Could you not have revealed the truth to us earlier, noble father?’
Vishnu smiled. ‘But would it have had such an impact as it does now, my daughter? The world will never forget this war between the brides of earth and heaven, nor will it stop speaking of the merits of arranged marriages as against those born of love. It is through such leelas or divine sport that the gods keep vital truths alive. In later times, youngsters will question our beliefs endlessly and demand proof of everything. Merely expounding philosophy will not convince them, for they are not sages sitting at Shiva’s feet!’ Vishnu laughed. ‘Narrating the stories alone will not be fruitful either, unless the stories provide an insight into the lofty ideas that lie beneath. Hence great bards like Vyasa and Valmiki will reveal all that is beautiful and meaningful in our faith in the form of glorious epics, alive with gallantry, adventure and wisdom. In this way they will ensure that the ultimate truth is understood by the simplest of men.’
He turned to Devasena and told her, ‘You averred that Rama is the ideal husband because he had only one wife. The world will question why Krishna, though another form of Rama, was the beloved of so many women. What everyone fails to understand is that they were not all wives but devotees who sought to attain moksha by worshipping him. Similarly, as Muruga’s two wives, you represent the two essential aspects of creation. To put this more simply, a man can produce children only if he has both the power and the desire. Kartikeya married you both to unite your powers with his before he takes on a dreaded enemy.’
‘Gracious father, we are grateful that you have revealed deep mysteries that perplexed our minds,’ said Devasena. ‘Through us the world will come to understand the power of love that transcends boundaries and transforms everything it touches. Men will be able to witness the bond that links devotees to their god, and mortals to the divine. We worship you, O father, the lord of Vaikunta. We will invoke our Kartikeya, who is red as the evening sky and the stealer of our hearts.’
‘Forgive our ignorance, noble one. Bless us that we may strengthen Muruga’s hands in the battle to preserve the earth,’ prayed Valli. Vishnu raised his hand in blessing and returned to his world.
His daughters hoped that Muruga would be able to heal the world just as swiftly as their father had healed the schism that had divided them. But where was Kartikeya now? What was the message that Narada had brought him?
18
The War Drums
‘I see darkness, I see death!’ said Narada to Kartikeya as soon as he came before him. ‘The gods are in prison, jailed by the vile Surapadma. Even if you were able to free them, it is not certain that you will win the war this time. The asura’s powers are magnified by dark rites. His sorcery spins a menacing web around the earth, killing creatures that walk, crawl and fly. Bhayanaka has gathered a vast army to wage war on you, consumed by a fierce desire to avenge Taraka’s death. His dungeons overflow with the pious. The cries of terrified women echo through his palace. The evil prosper, pandering to his wickedness, offering their sisters and daughters on the altar of his lust. No dissent is allowed, or worship to the gods. Those who protest are condemned to a torturous death. A single word can mean death; a careless glance can invite disaster. Godlessness prevails and the faithful flee before his soulless soldiers. The asura eats men and children and offers their blood to his dark spirits. I shudder at the fate of the world, Kartikeya. You must save them from the monster!’
Shiva’s son gripped Narada’s shoulders and calmed him with comforting words. ‘I will do everything in my power, Devarishi,’ he said. ‘I will rescue the devas and the people who suffer under Sura’s monstrous reign. A plague so ghastly can perhaps be wiped out only by fire. But you know I detest war and bloodshed. Hence I must first see if they can be avoided.’
Kartikeya and His Battle with the Soul Stealer Page 18