The next instant, Muruga’s chariot appeared like a flash of lightning before Sura. The two combatants were face to face for the first time and gazed curiously at each other. Sura saw the splendid warrior, with the weapons glittering in his twelve arms vying in splendour with his crown and ornaments. And then he saw the six faces smiling at him. Sura felt a strange quiver in his heart and gazed wide-eyed at the brilliant son of his preceptor. ‘How can this young boy kill me?’ he asked himself. And then, ‘Why does he smile at me as if he knows me well? Is he so foolish that he does not realize that he is staring at his death?’
20
Battling the Monster
Surapadma was disconcerted for a moment; then he felt a reluctant admiration for the youngster’s bravado. ‘So you have come out of hiding at last!’ he said. ‘I can see that you are too callow to even understand what fear is. You stand before Jagadbhaya, the terror of the universe, propped up by the misleading words of the devas, not knowing the extent of my powers. How low have Shiva and Vishnu sunk that they have sacrificed a child to assuage my anger! I am not known to show pity, but my heart is moved on seeing your youthful smile. It reminds me of my son, Bhanugopa, the only soul I have ever loved, who was just as young when he captured the sun and tied him to his cradle. Flee from your fate, child. Run away now. Do not presume to think that you can bring me down the way you defeated Taraka, Simha and Krauncha. I have received boons of unimaginable power from Shiva, about which you are unaware. They will protect me, even from Shiva’s son.’
‘Alas, Surapadma,’ said Kartikeya, ‘the boons you received have been diminished by your wicked deeds. Blinded by ego, you persist in your folly. You say that you pity me. I too do not wish to harm you, for you are my father’s devotee. You won his grace and are hence his son, just as I am. We are kin too in another way. The devas and asuras are both descendants of the great Kashyapa while their mothers Diti and Aditi are sisters. Why must we fight then? Could you not reclaim the virtue that won you unsurpassed powers? The time has come for you to subdue your malevolence and rise above your lower instincts. Forswear darkness and choose dharma. If you do not, the Devi’s weapon of light will splinter you into particles too small for the eye to see. Is that what you want? You are nothing before Shiva and Shakti whose powers I represent on earth. Evil may appear to win for a short time but it is righteousness that finally triumphs.’
Sura answered Kartikeya’s heartfelt plea with a volley of weapons and arrows. Skanda countered with his powerful astras. The asura’s Brahmastra was destroyed by Kartikeya’s vajra. Finally, Sura invoked the Paashupatastra, won through severe penances to Shiva, but it transformed into a garland and fell around Muruga’s neck. Sura disappeared from the battleground, to ponder and formulate the right approach before taking the field again.
His son Bhanugopa took his place on the battlefield. He snared the devas with his Mohanastra and dropped them into the sea. The ganas rushed to Kartikeya seeking his intervention. The radiant god rescued the devas and revived them. Mortified by the experience, the devas stormed Mahendrapuri, taking on Sura’s other son Agnimukha, who spewed flames from his mouth. Determined to win the war for his father, he called for help from his personal deity, Bhadrakali. When she appeared before them with macabre force, the devas were swept away and ran hither and thither to escape. Kartikeya saw their plight and came boldly before the fierce Devi. Would she realize who stood before her? Would she destroy her own son in her rage?
Bhadrakali roared at him. He bowed to her, standing fearlessly before her as she advanced with her spear raised. She came closer and closer. He looked up at her and said, ‘Mother, bless me! Help your son fight the evil that threatens the world.’ Did she hesitate when she heard his voice? No, her spear was now touching his breast. He stood calmly. Moments passed, seeming like aeons. The devas trembled. What if Parvati were to destroy the son she had longed for? What if their saviour were to die even before he fought Sura? What would become of them? It appeared that Kartikeya had no such fear. He seemed to be foolishly certain that she would not harm him, that her love would guard him.
And then, Bhadrakali changed before their fearful eyes. She once again became the gentle Parvati. The watching ganas gasped in relief. Muruga bent his head before her and she touched it in blessing. She disappeared then, without uttering even a word. What did her silence indicate? But there was no time to speculate, for the asuras, angry that their goddess had deserted them, began to attack with increased fury. The devas fought back with new hope in their hearts. Finally the brave Bhanugopa and Agnimukha fell before their combined onslaught.
The asuras howled in disbelief that death could snatch away their glorious princes. They tore their hair in grief and glared red-eyed at their foes. An eerie silence fell on the battleground as the devas retreated, waiting to see how the asuras would retaliate. The awful stillness was broken by voices raised in lament, accompanied by the slow beating of ceremonial drums, announcing the death of the warriors in battle. The troops retreated to their fortress carrying the bodies, their hearts pounding with fear at the thought of how Jagadbhaya would punish them for allowing this tragedy to take place.
Surapadma heard the drums pounding, not in joy but in mourning. He rushed to the ramparts and saw his men returning with flagging steps, bearing two biers. ‘Who are the two who have fallen? No, let it not be my sons . . . not my beloved Bhanugopa who defeated Yama. But alas, we could not kill Yama. What if he has taken revenge on my son now?’ He rushed down from the battlements and sped to his court. A shrill cry broke from his lips as he saw the faces of his dead sons and their bloodied limbs, now still in death. ‘Bhanugopa! Agnimukha!’ he cried, as he clasped first one son and then the other in his arms. ‘Wake up, wake up!’ he shouted, shaking them by their shoulders. ‘I cannot bear to see you like this, Bhanu,’ he wept, flinging himself on the chest of his favourite child. ‘Your face so still, your eyes dimmed. Alas, no grief can be greater than that of losing a child, that too one as noble as you. I never dreamed that this day would come, assuming always that I would precede you in death. It is unnatural that a son should die while the father still lives. But is it not because of my own doing that nature is overturned, that cosmic order is destroyed? And now the elements take their revenge. My Bhanu has been blown away by the wind, like the foam on the waves, into the eye of the void. If only I could go back in time, take back my wrongs . . . but I cannot. If only I had set aside my anger, turned away Diti’s thirst for revenge . . . Has destiny turned against me, has good fortune deserted me? Finally, will dharma win, as Shiva’s child told me? Is my splendour just a passing dream in a world of illusion?’ His eyes overflowed but his heart was empty.
‘Make preparations for the funeral of my sons,’ he ordered then. ‘Let it be as glorious as the lives they lived.’ His face was grim as he rose to his feet and tied up his dishevelled hair. Once the rites were complete, he donned his armour, gathered up his sword, his great bow and arrows, his axe and spear. ‘I will destroy Shiva’s son in single combat,’ he vowed. ‘I will make Shiva grieve like I do now.’
The great gates of Mahendrapuri yawned open like the mouth of Death. The asura army erupted through its portals like the flood at the end of time. They were numberless, with many thousands replacing each thousand that had been killed. Surapadma twirled his thick moustache and watched with a sneer as his enemies fled in panic. They would now face the fury of a father demented by grief and would soon wish they had never been born.
But what was that? A headless corpse stood between the asuras and the deva sena, waving its bloody stumps as if to warn them away. Was it a warning to Surapadma’s troops or to their foes? Sura’s soldiers stumbled, their eyes wide with terror. Their horses whinnied, with their nostrils flaring and ears pinned back. The whips fell from the hands of the charioteers as they felt dizzy with fear. Beyond this gory messenger of death they could see the massed forces of the enemy. The devas glared at them, mounted on fabulous beasts, gathered around t
he radiant form of their senapati. The ganas stared with wrathful eyes, holding their weapons in hands, claws and misshapen limbs, dancing impatiently like their three-eyed god on the cremation grounds.
‘Kill them, burn them, smash them!’ roared Surapadma, freeing them from their trance. Vultures took flight from tall trees and began wheeling in circles above the killing fields. Bhayanaka rushed at his foes, his hands a blur of movement. No one could see him notch his arrows or draw his bow, but a livid flow of silvery death assailed his foes. The arrows blazed with fire or dripped with poison. His axe shattered limbs and sliced off heads, setting off agonized shrieks. The wrathful demon flew everywhere on his magical chariot, his weapons flying through the air like comets. His troops spread out like a forest fire, with gleaming swords and spears, fangs and claws that ripped open their enemies’ chests. They snarled and growled, shredding their foes, devouring them whole, creating fearsome naraka on earth.
Surapadma was unimaginably strong and vented his fury by wrenching off the heads of his enemies with his massive hands. When he spied Veera in the midst of a fierce throng, raining death on his troops, he made straight for him on his fleet chariot. ‘I will kill you now!’ he roared and brought his mace down on his foe’s head. Veera dodged the blow but it still caught him on his shoulder, making him cry out and swoon in pain. Sura picked up the unconscious warrior and sent him flying through the air to land at Muruga’s feet. Enraged that his brother in arms should be so abused, Kartikeya showered incandescent arrows on the asuras. Each arrow multiplied into a thousand in mid-air and cut down the asura forces. Then he turned on Sura, using his arrows to shatter his splendid chariot and kill his charioteer, making the Soul Stealer flee to safety. The devas laughed and danced in joy at the sight of their tormentor being chased away.
Sura needed a respite. His wits were clouded by rage as he watched the devas, his slaves for so long, gloating at his retreat. Then he called for another chariot, preparing to return to the field to confront the foes who had begun celebrating too soon. But as he strode along a narrow corridor, an old, shrivelled man appeared before him and barred his way. ‘Who are you? How did you enter my palace?’ Sura shouted at him.
The man stood staring at him with hollow eyes and made no reply.
‘You test my patience,’ Sura said, his voice rising further. ‘My sword has to serve a greater purpose today or I would use it to sever your head from your neck. Run away, old man, before I change my mind. No doubt age has swallowed your wits or you would know whose path you have crossed!’
‘I hesitated, wondering which of my names I should give you,’ the man replied, his voice sombre and gloomy. ‘They call me Kaala and Mrityu, Time and Death. Call me what you will—I come to everyone when their days on earth are done. I know well that I stand before Surapadma, the one whom men call the Soul Stealer. They are foolish to do so because only I can gather their souls when they die and mete out justice according to their actions. I have come to you now to warn you and counsel you. I wish to reclaim the illustrious grandson of Kashyapa, the one who prayed for a thousand years to win Shiva’s grace. You have lost your glory, Sura; you have lived a life of endless sin. Naraka awaits you, where you will suffer, friendless and forlorn, without love or hope. The crown you wear, the palace walls that glint gold, the men who praise you—all will vanish, like bubbles on the ocean.’
Sura clenched his jaw; his eyes glittered with fury. ‘My glory shines to the skies and dazzles the gods! No one can kill Yamajit, the conqueror of Yama,’ he retorted. ‘I myself will give up this body when I grow weary of life. Until then, I will dangle the universe upside down, like a toy in my hand, to keep or to destroy. Here, only my word reigns supreme—not the toothless dharma of the gods. Speak not to me of love either, for my Bhanugopa is gone. Love merely weakens you while hatred keeps you strong. Even killing grows burdensome, which is why I employ fear to keep my slaves in line. Watch closely, Kaala, and I will show you what I mean.’ He flitted to the roof of his palace and gestured at a soldier standing erect, guarding the gates. An arc of fire shot out from his hand, setting the warrior aflame. As his shrieks rent the air, the other soldiers looked up at their king, their eyes rolling in fear. ‘Oh, such a tragedy to befall an honest man!’ Sura smirked, turning to assess Kaala’s reaction to this display of his power.
The old man was standing beside him, but his eyes were not on the victim but on the king. ‘Tragedy indeed!’ he murmured. ‘Your ego tells you that you control your own fate; it misleads you into thinking that others may fall, but not you. You mock my words, unwilling to consider that there is another path you can take. You refuse to believe that in Kartikeya, you may have met your equal, perhaps your superior. And that your darkness will be shattered and your soul crushed by his incandescent light.’
Surapadma growled like a beast, his lips drawn back; his arms flexed so that the roped muscles stood out. He reached out angrily for the messenger but Kaala was no longer there. The asura shivered. Then he muttered to himself, ‘There was no one there. Kaala was a manic vision, like the many I inflict upon foolish men!’ He raised his head to the sky and shouted, ‘You do not frighten me, old man!’
As if in answer, a fierce wind swirled around him, sweeping off the heavy gold domes on the rooftop, sending them crashing to the ground. The new flagpoles, installed after the old ones had fallen, cracked with a thunderous sound. The oceans swelled and swallowed the homes built on their shores. Lamps flickered and died, and fires reduced themselves to ashes. The wind dropped too and everywhere there was darkness and silence.
Muruga looked up at the sudden light that sprang up on his enemy’s roof. He saw flames dancing around his magnificent foe as he glared down upon his enemies. He could see Bhayanaka as clearly as if he stood next to him. He saw the rage that burned in the demon’s eyes. Surapadma looked like he had taken the place of the destroyer, Shiva, whose dwelling was in the burning ghats. A shudder shook Kartikeya’s body. ‘Om Namah Shivaya!’ he prayed to the three-eyed god. ‘The world will soon lose either me or Surapadma,’ he said to Veera. His men looked at him with awe and fear. Was their leader a great warrior, sage or god in the making? Their survival depended on the answer to this question.
Darkness was advancing with furious force; the mouldering vegetation was everywhere, submerging fertile lands. Men were herded into smaller and smaller pockets of land where they lived in fear, looking at the advancing forest. The mountain dwellers recoiled when they saw dead toads floating in the rivers from which they drank water. The crystal springs had now turned murky green. Nothing could stop this eerie canopy that spread like a monster mushroom covering their huts overnight, piercing clay walls, even bursting through stone walls. Doom was nearing them fast, and they were helpless.
Mahendrapati took to the skies in his aerial chariot and savaged the deva sena with his fierce onslaught. Muruga asked his men to take cover while he himself confronted the asura. The foes flashed across earth, sky and the netherworld, moving so quickly that no eye could follow them. Sura used a mantra taught to him by the asura guru Sukra to assume many terrifying forms. First he was a huge bird that attacked the devas and slaughtered their steeds with its monstrous beak and claws. Indra assumed the form of a peacock and Muruga rode on his back to combat the bird. The bird grew larger and larger, obscuring the sky and bringing darkness to earth though it was still day. Muruga’s arrows tore the bird into seven pieces that became the seven seas and inundated the earth. Sura countered by creating a raging fire that devoured the flood. Then he turned himself into a huge column of fire, only to have Muruga put it out with a strong gale. Bhayanaka fought his foe as a mammoth snake and as a winged elephant. He was the force of untamed nature and took on its most frightening forms. The devas watched in terror, fearing that the youngster would fall for one of Sura’s ploys. How would he combat this asura who loomed between earth and sky, impervious to all their weapons? This was a battle the like of which they had never witnessed in their darkest times
.
Muruga destroyed each of Sura’s sorcerous forms but the asura managed to shed these bodies swiftly, thereby escaping death. Indra warned Kartikeya: ‘If we cannot kill Sura today, he will reign uninterrupted for another one hundred and eight yugas. We will never survive this torment.’
It appeared as if no one else existed except these two foes, as they shot through the floor of the sea and the gates of eternity. Their fight became more savage with every passing moment and earth and sky were shaken to their foundations. Deep fissures appeared on earth. Huge land masses broke away and were carried off by the roiling sea to form new continents. Their battleground became an island. Darkness and death threatened all life. Fear filled the hearts of all humans.
Kartikeya saw how valiantly the asura fought, despite being chased from heaven to earth, and from one form to another. The war god realized that the demon had attained transcendent powers because of his tapasya. He still hoped to reclaim Sura like Rama had redeemed Ravana’s brother Vibhishana, or as he himself had won over Simhamukha.
Kartikeya and His Battle with the Soul Stealer Page 21