‘Indeed,’ said Narada, ‘the ancients have listed four ways to resolve issues: sama, dana, bheda and danda. Sama or conciliation through talking is the best recourse. The second way is to offer dana or a reward to buy off the enemy. But what can we offer an emperor of the three realms that will satisfy him? Bheda is to divide and rule, but the asuras are united under Surapadma and cannot be weakened by dissension. So let us try sama before resorting to danda, or conquest through force and armaments. This will also be in tune with your compassion. However, I fear that this way may not succeed with the wicked, who are likely to assume that your overtures are prompted by fear.’
‘That may be so. But I must still try before I sacrifice countless lives on the altar of war. I will send an ambassador to the asura court to see if war can be avoided.’
While they were talking, a volcano erupted on a distant island, spewing torrents of hot steam and ash. The burning river flowed across the land reducing all life and vegetation to ashes, except for one plant that remained unaffected. Its shoots spread ferociously over the wasted land, taking over huge expanses. Far away, across the seas, a hunter clad in furs plodded through his snowy land looking for his usual path to the pond where he caught an occasional fish or bird. But the path seemed to have disappeared behind a sudden outgrowth of dense bushes. His skin blistered when he touched the branches to find a way through. Alas, he feared he would soon die of starvation and cold.
‘Great god, invincible Kartikeya!’ said Veerabahu. ‘You are our saviour, the one destined to free the world from the wicked reign of the asuras. Allow me the honour of being your ambassador to Sura’s court.’
Kartikeya nodded his consent and soon Veera flew towards Mahendrapuri, nestled like a jewel within a circle of eight glittering cities. He saw the towering battlements and fortress walls of Sura’s capital and the mountainous asura guards. Veera did not engage with them as Muruga had instructed him to slip silently into the city to assess its defences. The warrior saw that the city was beautiful beyond imagination, designed as it was by Vishvakarma. The mansions were splendid, their ceilings inlaid with diamonds and their stairways lit by opals. The royal court was adorned with gold and silver sculptures set in jewelled alcoves. He could see filigree elephants, swans in flight and iridescent peacocks, their tails studded with emeralds. Gandharvas and apsaras danced on public pavilions for the entertainment of the asuras. Alas, all this beauty and grace is wasted on these crude creatures! thought Veerabahu. What a fall for an emperor whose tapasya brought him such power, only for it to be abused!
Clad in rich robes and armour, with a radiant sword thrust into his waist band, Veerabahu flew into Bhayanaka’s court and descended to the ground in front of him. The courtiers were stunned by his bold entry and proud demeanour. Curious to find out what lay behind his audacity, Surapadma waved away the advancing guards and ordered the intruder to speak.
‘I am Veerabahu, messenger of the great Kartikeya, worshipped as Muruga in these regions,’ the warrior announced. ‘I am the ambassador of the Red God, wielding the lance that spells death to demons.’
‘Finally, we will find out where this cowardly god hides!’ exclaimed the Soul Stealer. ‘We have been waiting impatiently to launch our army against this upstart.’
‘Will you not offer me a seat?’ asked the visitor. When Sura merely glared at his presumption, Veera conjured up a throne even more glorious than the emperor’s and seated himself.
‘Your bravado amuses me, soldier!’ said the asura. ‘Speak and satisfy my curiosity before I order my men to kill you. What is your purpose in coming here, courting certain death?’
‘I have come to demand that you free the captive devas and stop your attacks on the innocent and the weak,’ Veerabahu replied. ‘Or you will die along with your soldiers. Our great general, noble Skanda, vanquisher of Taraka and Krauncha, extends his mercy to you and your people. Agree to our terms or prepare to die!’
‘Such insolence! Such presumption!’ shouted Sura. ‘How dare you speak so lightly of my brother’s death? My ministers advise me that it is not proper to kill an emissary, but no rules can constrain me. However, I will refrain from killing you only so that you can take back my message to your master. Tell him not to confront Bhayanaka who has conquered Indra and Yama. Tell him that I laugh at his foolhardy demands. I will kill him without pity, even though he is so young. Death to all foes! That has always been the battle cry of the asuras. So go back to your Muruga and warn him of the fate that awaits him and his men.’
‘Do not woo death so blithely, Sura!’ Veera said, rising to his feet. ‘Kartikeya is the son of the trident-bearer who granted you his powerful boons. Surrender to him and he will be merciful.’
‘Who speaks so arrogantly before my grandson?’ shrieked a new voice. ‘Why is he still standing? Club him to death at once!’
Veera gazed astonished at the old woman who was rushing towards him angrily, with bloodshot eyes and dishevelled hair. ‘Grandmother Diti, your wish is my command!’ said Sura, gesturing to his guards who advanced with their swords raised. Veera enlarged his own form and struck them down with his huge fists. He vanished from the court and made his way to the dungeons, casting a spell on the guards to render them unconscious before freeing the devas. ‘Your powers and weapons have been restored to you by gracious Muruga,’ said Veera. ‘Let us join him in his fight against Bhayanaka.’
As they sped past Lankapuri, one of the eight cities surrounding Mahendrapuri, the thousand-faced Yalimukha confronted Veerabahu. He hurled massive clubs, boulders and rods, using his two thousand hands. But the devas shattered them with their arrows while Veera flew at him with his sword. The sword swept down like lightning, shearing off the asura’s heads. The asura crashed to the earth with a horrific howl. The devas sped unhindered along the skyways to join Muruga.
The asuras trembled as they heard owls shriek in broad daylight. The axles of their war chariots broke without cause and the flagpoles before Sura’s palace fell with a crash.
When the troops that had gone in search of Veerabahu returned empty-handed, Sura ordered them to drag the captive devas before him. The guards stationed in the dungeons came instead, shamefaced, to confess that the gods had escaped. ‘Kill these fools!’ roared Sura to his commander. ‘Display their heads on poles at the palace gates to warn others of the consequences of failing me.’
Right then a messenger came from Lankapuri. ‘Veerabahu has killed the fearless Yalimukha and many of our men,’ he said. ‘Our spies report that Muruga embodies the fiery power of Shiva’s third eye. People believe that he is the saviour born to rescue them. They worship him secretly, praising him as the slayer of demons, and the lord of the triumphant spear.’
‘We too have heard tales of his miraculous birth and valorous deeds,’ said Sura. ‘We should have killed him as soon as we heard of Taraka’s death. But a craven minister advised me to wait. Where is the fool now? Clap him in chains and cast him into the sea. I will set out with my army to confront those who challenge my might.’
‘Mahendrapati!’ said his commander. ‘You have never fought a battle, even against Vishnu and Brahma. Why should you do so now against a child just weaned from his mother? Krauncha died because of Agastya’s curse and Taraka because he sought a boon that made him vulnerable to Shiva’s son. But your powers are undimmed by curses or boons gone wrong. Trust us to kill our foes, Bhayanaka. Have we ever failed you before?’
‘I will lead our troops, Father,’ said Sura’s son, Bhanugopa. ‘Why dignify a mere boy by going out to fight him yourself?’
‘No, I will go, Father,’ pleaded Sura’s other son, Agnimukha. ‘Fierce Diti has blessed me with a magic bow and the power to incinerate our foes. I will make you and great grandmother happy by destroying the devas.’
Diti nodded gleefully from her seat next to Sura. The Soul Stealer smiled at his sons, knowing that they were more than equal to the task.
But a lone voice rose in dissent—that of Sura’s br
other Simhamukha. ‘Valiant brother,’ he said. ‘You are indeed blessed, for you are armed with Shiva’s boons. But you have not used your powers wisely. You have pandered to grandmother Diti’s thirst for revenge and tortured the devas ceaselessly. You have jailed them, made them perform menial tasks, looted their treasures and tormented the apsaras. Is all this not enough? How much longer should we carry the burden of grandmother’s rage? Let us allow our sons to emerge from the hatred that clouds our minds. Do you really think that you can confront the fury of Shiva’s eye of fire?’
Diti glared at her grandson. Sura sprang to his feet and drew his sword. He fixed his blazing eyes on his plain-speaking brother. ‘I am ashamed to call you my kin!’ he ranted. ‘Who named you Simhamukha when you quiver like a mouse at the mere mention of your enemy’s name? A lion roars and kills its foe; it does not tremble and hide. Do you think, my cowardly brother, that I can be defeated by a mere child? Can even three-eyed Shiva imagine that his son can kill me?’
‘Garuda-borne Vishnu ran away from Sura! Four-faced Brahma fled too. Shiva is afraid and sends us a child as sacrifice,’ laughed Diti, stoking Sura’s ego. ‘And yet this fool babbles on about sin and Shiva’s rage!’
Sura moved threateningly towards his brother. ‘Simhamukha, you question my valour, you mock our grandmother’s natural desire for revenge. You forget that the devas have always been deceitful and deprived us of our rightful due. I advise you to return to your own kingdom, for it appears that you are afraid to fight.’
‘I fear only the ceaseless flouting of dharma, for it will harm not just us but our children and grandchildren,’ replied his brother. ‘You appear to have forgotten that your powers are of this earth and will perish one day.’
‘Brother, you prate endlessly of dharma like the sages of old. Your mind is addled by fear of a mere child whom even his father abandoned. He was stolen by Agni, tossed into the Ganga, cast onto a mountain slope, and lived amidst beasts and birds. How can his powers equal mine?’
Seeing that his brother was fixed in his purpose, Simhamukha resolved that it would be better to fight and die rather than watch while his people were decimated. ‘Forgive me, Brother,’ he said. ‘Allow me to lead our army into the field when our foes arrive. I will return victorious or die trying.’
The fateful day dawned. The celestial army approached the city of the Soul Stealer. Vishvakarma built the devas a vast war camp they named Hemakoota, golden-peaked. The leaders gathered to formulate their war strategy while dark omens troubled the earth. The seas retreated from the shore. Whales and dolphins fled to the deep. Yama’s attendants trembled, fearful that the toll of death would be greater than they could bear. The garlands the devas wore began to fade and their splendour dimmed. Surya was a shadow of himself, wreathed in ashy circles, and surrounded by dark clouds that showered blood. An uneasy Indra spoke to the devaguru asking him what these signs signified.
‘They portend the terrible massacre that will soon follow,’ replied Brihaspati. ‘They foretell a future that will be more terrible if Muruga were to fail against Surapadma. Our very survival hangs in the balance. When Muruga fought Taraka, the asura’s destiny made him vulnerable to him. But when it comes to Surapadma, the asura is endowed with secret boons that we have no knowledge about. His unflinching tapasya for a thousand years has imbued him with the power to achieve the unachievable, to defeat the undefeatable. Do you not remember the frightful omens that accompanied his birth? The priests foretold that he would bring disaster on all life. Sura chose not the pious path of Kashyapa, but the hideous path to revenge, directed by Diti. He has never looked back since and is today the source of all that is vile and venomous.’
‘Can we do nothing then, O guru?’
‘Pray to the Trimurti and strengthen Muruga’s hands. There is little else we can do. Death stalks the realms and peers into mansions and humble homes alike. Disquieted by his foul appearance, people abuse him and attack him with weapons. But nothing can impinge on him.’
Narada too had seen the signs and he said to Vishnu, ‘I fear that darkness will take over the earth, Narayana. The future is strangely hidden from me. I cannot see Skanda’s triumph over Surapadma, however much I long for this to happen. If I cannot see who wins the war, does it mean that Kartikeya will lose? My heart is sorely troubled, for even though I am an ascetic, I cannot shed my attachment to Shiva’s radiant young son.’
‘What Muruga can discern and what he can do will alone determine his success and the survival of humanity, Narada. The future is unclear because no one can predict whether he can vanquish the asura with such unprecedented powers. All we can do is watch and wait.’
‘We must find out everything about each other, now that our lives are entwined,’ said Devasena to her sister Valli. ‘I am the elder sister and therefore you are duty-bound to obey me.’
‘If we were born from our father’s tears, it would be difficult to establish which of us was born first!’ exclaimed Valli. ‘I think it must be me, because I am much braver than you are. Do they not say that the firstborn is always strong and a natural leader?’
‘Domineering perhaps! Strength does not always lie in aggression,’ countered Devasena.
‘Perhaps what matters is our birth in this life. I was born to a deer, who was Lakshmi herself. And you?’
‘Airavata brought me up, but my birth appears to be a mystery,’ replied Devasena. ‘This argument reminds me of the one between Skanda and Ganesha, each claiming that he is elder! How does it matter? It is sufficient that I know the gods and you know the mortals. Together we should help our husband in every way we can.’
‘When I left, you were both at war. But now . . . !’ exclaimed Muruga who had returned silently, fearing that the quarrel between his two wives would still be raging.
‘We are talking about how we can help you best,’ said Valli. ‘I am born of the hunter tribe and no war can frighten me! Perhaps my sister may not be so well equipped, considering how her men were defeated by mine!’
‘That was because I would not allow them to use their divine weapons,’ Devasena protested. ‘Do not underestimate me, Sister!’
‘Neither of you will be fighting this war,’ Muruga replied. ‘You should retreat to Kailasa where you will be safe until the war is over.’
‘She can go if she wishes, but I will stay,’ Valli said at once.
‘If she stays, I will too,’ Devasena replied.
It appeared another fight would begin, this time between Muruga and his wives. Would he have to agree to their demand?
19
When Earth Ran Red
‘I value your support, my queens. I do not underestimate either of you or your abilities. Nevertheless, I am resolved not to allow either of you to remain in these dangerous parts,’ Muruga said firmly.
‘You are resolved? Is that how our life is going to be, with you deciding everything and never giving us a choice?’ asked Valli, her face mutinous. ‘Do not treat us like weaklings, Muruga! Our father Vishnu came before us and told us about our previous births. He said that our shaktis must be joined with yours before you can win the battle.’
‘I think what that really means is that your love will strengthen me. It will inspire me to fight with all I have, so that I can return to you both to celebrate the victory. Surapadma is vile beyond imagination. He will not hesitate to take you captive and coerce me to surrender. I cannot take this risk when the fate of the world is at stake.’
‘So we are to be coddled and confined to a palace in Kailasa!’ Valli exclaimed. ‘Do you think, like lesser minds do, that women are mere pawns in battle? Then you fail to understand that women are not helpless. You forget that as Durga, your mother killed Mahishasura whom no deva could kill.’
‘I was cherished by different women from the time of my birth; hence, I can never dismiss you as weak,’ Muruga replied. ‘You are strong, often stronger than men. And a woman’s fierce instinct to protect her loved ones is the most powerful force on earth
or heaven. But the gods have told me that the final fight can be won only through my resolve and drive. Not even they can help me win. So allow me to fight the enemy without being distracted by fears for your safety. This is my earnest entreaty to you, my queens.’
The two looked at him in silence as they absorbed what he was saying. They could see that he was sincere and that his words made eminent sense. Valli nodded and retreated into her chamber so that her sister could say her farewell to the husband she had been separated from for so long. Her turn would come when she would ensure that Muruga paid a steep price in kisses for sending her away. It would be difficult to be away from him when he was engaged in a dangerous battle, no doubt, but it would allow her to pay her respects to his parents in Kailasa. Would they be pleased to see her, to welcome her into their home? Should she pretend to be soft-spoken and obedient like her sister? No. She did not wish to do that. Fiery Durga would be happy to see someone who was as bold as she was. And Shiva was the Destroyer—he was not likely to be perturbed by a mountain girl. This would be a good opportunity to know them and her sister better. If need be, she could return here and fight by Muruga’s side! She smiled.
Devasena was trying hard to be brave and not discourage Muruga when he was setting out to battle, but was not entirely successful. What if he did not return? He had killed Taraka as had been ordained. Her Kartikeya was valorous, no doubt, but what if Sura’s hidden powers proved too much for him? Her beloved had said that not even the gods could help him in this battle. Why were they sending him out alone to battle a demon that they had not been able to vanquish, especially when he had little experience in battling asuras? If something were to happen to him . . . how would she live without him? She remembered their lovemaking in the dark caves, and in the shade of the parijata groves. She remembered how her maids had teased them in the morning, spotting the kohl on his lips, her dishevelled clothes and her blushing face. She recalled the rainy days spent beside him, watching the peacock make a parasol for his mate with his unfurled tail or the fireflies lighting up the midnight sky. How precious were those days and nights spent with her beloved, enjoying the gentle breeze bearing the scent of champa and ketaki flowers! Were these going to be her only memories if he were to go now and never return?
Kartikeya and His Battle with the Soul Stealer Page 19