‘Surapadma, I will show my true form in a bid to honour my father’s devotee!’ he said. There was a sudden silence as if the world had been emptied of sound. The battlefield faded from sight and the two now stood alone facing each other on a mountain that was not of this earth. The young god showed Sura his vishvarupa, with the Trimurti visible in his chest, the sages in his locks, the treasures of the world in his palms, and the Vedas and mantras in his mouth. The planets and stars were at his toes, the oceans were his nails and entire universes were suspended from his hair. Seeing this supernal vision, Sura’s heart melted, his ego was dissipated and tears sprang to his eyes. ‘He is indeed Shiva’s son, for his form is breathtaking and his powers divine,’ he murmured.
Narada now appeared before Sura, advising him to escape death by surrendering to Kartikeya. ‘He is infinitely merciful, to devotees and foes alike. He brought back to life the kith and kin of his wife Valli who fought against him. He showed his vishvarupa to Veerabahu and to you, just as Krishna did to both Arjuna and Duryodhana.’
Muruga now returned to his natural form. Sura looked upon his gracious eyes, his mighty arms and the gentle smile on his lips. The child who had been abandoned on a distant mountain had grown into a formidable opponent and had come to confront Sura. But it was not Muruga’s valour but his compassion that had impelled him to offer friendship to Shiva’s devotee. Should he accept it? The Soul Stealer recalled the magical mountain where Shiva sat with his rishis under the banyan tree. His tapasya had allowed him to enter that world once. The blue-throated god had smiled at him, the crescent moon gleaming on his head. He had heard a rhapsody of a thousand golden bells ringing and inhaled the fragrance of incense and sandalwood. Could he be happy again in those sacred environs? Sura’s eyes were drawn again to Muruga’s face. The young god seemed to be saying, ‘Come with me, Sura. Let us return home to noble Shiva and Parvati.’
The planets halted in their orbits. Earth and heaven were held in thrall. Would the Soul Stealer give up his awful ways?
21
A Bizarre Brigade
Surapadma shook his head, wishing to shake off these images and voices. How could he stop the war now? Would he not be mocked for his surrender to a callow youth? What of his position as the sovereign of the universe and his promise to Diti that he would make the devas pay for eternity for their wrongdoing? He could not consider making peace with the gods who had killed his brothers and his sons. Crafty Indra would soon begin plotting to destroy him, for that had always been his way. No! Even if he were to die, he would do so fighting, with his head unbowed. He again heard the vultures screeching above and saw the wolves gorging on the corpses. This was his home ground. He would be the victor, as he always had been.
‘It is you who must fall at my feet and plead for mercy! Show your valour in action, not in words, Shivaputra!’ Sura shouted. ‘You have shown your vishvarupa, now see mine!’ Sura assumed the form of a giant in a crude mockery of his foe. The giant had a thousand arms and legs, each a distorted form of Brahma’s creation. The sun and the moon were seen caged in his chest, trying desperately to break out. The oceans that formed his feet seethed with tidal waves that overran the earth and killed its denizens. His mountainous legs crushed villages and towns to dust. His eyes were volcanoes that erupted in new regions, destroying life. The devas were imprisoned in his huge body, unable to render any help to their sena.
Muruga’s army was dazed and floundering, waiting desperately for dusk so that they could retreat and recover from their grievous losses. They reeled from the mammoth Sura’s attack, their bodies bleeding, their weapons falling from nerveless hands. But it was their minds that were their undoing, for dark visions fogged their senses and blinded their eyes. Everywhere they turned, they could see an old, stooped woman, with a bloody mouth and scarlet eyes. They heard her chanting a dirge for the dead, tying up their spirits with a cord and dragging them to another world. Veera saw a vision of his infant son being snatched from his screaming wife and being put to the sword. The child’s body was then thrown on a pile of corpses. Veera’s men too were tormented by fear for their parents and loved ones. They retreated in panic to their camp, knowing that they could not fight the asuras when their greatest foes were in their own heads.
Their senapati saw the extent of their suffering and blamed himself. He had brought all this down upon their innocent heads—all for the sake of honour, glory and dharma. A ghastly darkness engulfed him, filling him with despair like never before. His mind was weighed down by bitter thoughts. He had chastised Sura for his arrogance, but he had been arrogant himself in thinking that he could vanquish Yamajit. Most of his sena had already been killed or driven away, broken in mind and body. He closed his eyes against the sight of corpses piled in heaps, their limbs mixed up, their heads sundered. Once these same bodies had been cosseted and caressed, by mothers and wives. But now their flesh was being torn away by jackals and vultures. He would soon lose to Sura and be dragged away in chains. Anguished wives and mothers would stream to the field, looking for their loved ones. They would throw themselves on the torn bodies, kiss the bloodied foreheads, and call out their names, again and again. ‘Wake up, wake up! Do not leave us!’ they would cry, their grief scalding heaven and earth. Then they would curse Kartikeya, the pretender who had led their men into the jaws of death.
‘Have you come to your senses at last, Muruga?’ a loud voice broke into his anguish. ‘Alas, too late! For you are marooned and must face my wrath alone!’ Sura advanced upon him, wading through the corpses. His face was twisted and cruel, his eyes gloating.
Muruga’s heart pounded as if it would burst. Waves of darkness assailed him and made him stagger. He was now certain that the asura was attacking him without even touching him. Was it his occult powers that allowed him to weaken his mind in this manner? He was feared as the Soul Stealer after all. He had no time to ponder further as a fetid smell attacked his nostrils. His breath burned its way out of his chest, leaving him gasping. His eyes filmed over, and he heard countless voices raised in torment, calling out to him for succour. The corpses before him stared with red eyes, reached out with mangled hands, and tried to rise on maimed legs. On the edges of the field, wolves raised their heads and howled. Muruga closed his ears with his hands but could not shut out the infernal noise. His hair stood on end. He gagged, his senses overwhelmed by the sights and smells of gory death.
‘Stop it!’ he shouted. ‘Stop this horror at once.’ He hurled his axe at Sura. But Sura brushed the weapon aside and strode slowly towards him, enjoying his terror and helplessness. Even if Muruga could not be killed, Sura could still chain him and make him dance like a captive bear.
Brahma and the sages watched helplessly from heaven. If Muruga were to be defeated, the universe would be powerless again. It seemed that evil would win that day.
And then they heard it—a loud flapping sound like the beating of thousands of huge wings. The skies grew dark and they looked up in puzzlement. Then they saw a glint on the horizon, a shadow in the air. They watched awestruck and confused, both demons and gods, waiting to see what wonder unfolded in the skies. Was it the Homa bird that was believed to lay its egg while flying very high? The egg would hatch in the air as it fell towards earth, and the chick that emerged would fall too until it realized that death lay below. It would flap its wings then and soar upwards and upwards until it reached its mother. They said that the Homa never touched the earth, remaining always distant, never getting enmeshed in the world. Anyone who was lucky enough to see it or even its shadow would be blessed with kingship and happiness.
But now, both he and Sura had spotted it. Could there be two winners? Kartikeya could hear shrill cries and wild trumpeting. He narrowed his eyes and discerned the dark silhouette advancing at great speed.
Gradually, the shape became clearer. It was not the Homa but another bird, a mammoth one with a body glittering like an emerald, its wings golden, a diamond crown on its head. Muruga gasped as he recog
nized Vishnu’s glorious mount, the leader of the garudas and garudis who had been his early friends. Powerful, fearsome, swift like the wind, Garuda was so huge that a man could hide in his plumage without being noticed. More felicitous than the Homa bird, Garuda had brought the Sama Veda to the sages in the vibration of his wings. It was no wonder that even the devas had mistaken him for Agni when he was born, for his lustre was dazzling.
‘Gaganeshwara!’ exclaimed Muruga, in awe and reverence, sending out a prayer to the lord of the skies. ‘I worship the one who has the power to dry up the seas and raze the mountains with a single flap of his wings! Bless me, great warrior.’
‘Garuda!’ echoed Sura, a pang of fear piercing his heart. He knew that the mighty bird had freed his mother Vinata from captivity by stealing the nectar of the gods, and then cleverly snatched it back before the asuras could drink it. Garuda was an ancient enemy, the vaahana of the god who had taken birth on earth in every yuga to destroy evil. Why had the eagle come now, when he had almost vanquished his foe? The asuras gibbered among themselves in fear. Was the bird an omen of their downfall? Sura and his army retreated to a safe distance to assess this new threat, for Garuda was not alone.
Behind the immortal bird flew hundreds and hundreds of his clan. And perched on their backs were numerous animals and birds with flapping ears and glinting feathers. They could see elephants, bears, lions, panthers and gibbons. There were also numberless hawks, falcons, vultures and smaller birds like sparrows, mynahs and parrots. Then the asuras gasped, their eyes widening in horror and disbelief. As the garudas landed on the field, thousands of serpents of all kinds—some they had never seen before—uncoiled from their backs. There were immense pythons, green and yellow vipers, snakes with red and black bands, spitting cobras, deep purple and golden snakes that seemed to have emerged from the shadows of the netherworld. How had the garudas and their enemies, the serpents, come together in peace? What had brought them here in this extraordinary fashion?
Muruga watched stupefied as the strange host advanced, its shrieks, roars, howls and chirrups creating a wild tumult. Then he saw Vasuki, the serpent king whom the devas had used as their churning rope around Mount Mandara to extract nectar from the cosmic sea. ‘O, gracious Kartikeya! You took the form of a seven-hooded serpent, thereby transforming us in the eyes of men,’ said the snake. ‘Instead of being regarded as the lowest of creatures, to be destroyed mercilessly, we are now venerated everywhere. We have not forgotten too that you saved us all from rampaging Garuda. We have come to serve you in return, great one!’ Kartikeya bowed to the magnificent serpent that had been his playmate in Kailasa.
Finally, Garuda landed with the sound of a thunderclap, setting off a storm as he folded his wings. From Garuda’s back leapt a large gibbon, with glossy black fur and white eyebrows. ‘Skanda, Skanda!’ he called in a shrill voice as he sprinted forward on two legs, his tail moving rapidly up and down. Smiling at his feverish delight, Muruga ran forward, eager to embrace one of his old friends from Svetagiri. Was this Ulluck’s father? he wondered, but then realized it was not him. Had he already forgotten the faces of his ape family? The big gibbon reached him and leapt up into his arms. He clasped Muruga’s neck and kissed his cheeks exuberantly. Muruga put his own arms around him and held him close, still worrying that he could not recognize this affectionate soul. Then he saw the curl of buff hair on the gibbon’s head, looking like a crescent moon. Of course! This was Ulluck himself. He had forgotten that the white fur of young gibbons turned to black in adult males and to buff shades in adult females.
‘Ulluck, Ulluck!’ he cried out and squeezed him again. The gibbon jumped down and stood looking at him with a wide smile. ‘See how many I have gathered to come to your help,’ he said proudly, gesturing at the animals and the birds that pranced and flew around them, chattering loudly.
‘You have not brought me fruits this time?’ asked Kartikeya in jest, devouring his friend’s face with his eyes.
‘I will bring you as many as you can eat, but only after we have accomplished what we have come here to do!’ laughed Ulluck.
‘Look how big our Skanda has grown,’ said a parrot, rudely pulling his ear with his beak. ‘Do you remember us all?’
‘Yes, yes,’ nodded the lad, tears brimming in his eyes as he looked at the large-maned lion that he had driven away in order to rescue young Ulluck. Natural foes had been united by their love for him. Here was Aja, the goat he had saved from being sacrificed, bleating loudly as Muruga stroked his huge head. A garudi flew to him now and gazed at him with loving eyes. ‘How are you, Mother Suparni?’ he asked her, his heart overflowing with love for the caring soul. He saw tears spill down her face as she drew closer.
‘Suparni has been following you everywhere, watching over you,’ said Ulluck. ‘It was she who brought us here so that we could help you in our little ways.’
Suparni reminded him of something he had to do, as always playing the role of a mother teaching her little one. ‘Pay your respects to Vishnuratha, Vishnu’s chariot,’ she said. ‘It was only under Garuda’s guardianship that so many of us could come so far.’
‘Forgive me, Gaganeshwara, for I have been remiss,’ said Kartikeya, hurrying to him to offer worship.
Garuda bowed in reverence to Shiva’s son. ‘This army is a tribute paid by these birds and animals to you in return for the compassion you showed them,’ he said. ‘Each of them will play a role like the squirrel that brought pebbles to Rama to help him build his bridge to Lanka to fight Ravana. The monkeys scoffed that the pebbles were too small. But Rama pointed out that it was these small stones filling the gaps between the larger ones that kept the bridge from falling. He said that what mattered was not size or strength but the impulse of a loving heart.’
‘The three lines that Rama drew on the squirrel’s back in appreciation can still be seen on every member of the species!’ exclaimed Muruga.
Garuda smiled. ‘Maybe you too can leave a mark of your wisdom and compassion,’ he said. ‘If that battle was Vishnu’s war against evil, this one is that of Shiva’s son! The animals and birds who exhibit such love and loyalty today will teach the world a lesson—that they are to be cherished, not killed.’
Fierce howls and thunderous drums drew their eyes to the other end of the battlefield where Sura had appeared, rousing the asuras from their stupor. ‘End the lives of the foolish creatures that dare come before us!’ he exhorted them. The asuras howled and fell upon the feathered and four-limbed creatures, shredding them or devouring them whole. Kartikeya attacked Sura with a multitude of arrows, trapping him in a glinting cage, while he snatched away his chariot. Sura hung in the air within this bizarre cage for a few moments before falling to the ground. But even as he fell, he conjured up a chariot drawn by winged dragons spewing fire. The beasts attacked the elephants and lions forming Garuda’s army and spouted green flames so fierce that the air around them caught fire. Those that escaped the fire were sawn to bits by the dragons’ serrated tongues. It was heart-wrenching to see them snatch up the little birds that had come to help Skanda, and devour them like quick treats.
Despite the ferocity that they faced, the animals and birds kept fighting. The eagles pecked out the eyes of the asuras and the lions tore out their throats with their slavering jaws. The small birds descended on the backs of their foes, pecking at them like a thousand sharp needles. When the asuras were distracted by their attack, the bears knocked them down, pinning them to the ground with their huge bodies and tearing out their entrails. Teams of monkeys hung around the asuras’ necks and arms, giving the panthers and boars an opportunity to kill them. Huge pythons wound themselves around the enemy and crushed them while cobras slithered up their bodies and spat venom into their eyes. But more and more of them fell victim to the asuras—shredded by claws, crushed underfoot, or battered by fierce weapons.
Kartikeya exploded in wrath when he heard their pitiful shrieks and howls, his compassion for Sura erased wholly from his heart. ‘I
will avenge your deaths, brave friends, whatever the price that must be paid!’ he vowed. From his supernal astra emerged thousands of arrows, clubs, swords and fiery chakras. The asuras ran away in panic but the weapons followed them with grim intent.
Garuda roared like the conflagration at the end of a yuga and flew at the dragons with a fierce cry. He snapped one dragon’s neck, tore one apart, crushed another and threw one more to the ground. He tore the other four with his vicious beak and talons so that they fell to their death with flames still pouring from their mouths. Sura tumbled towards the ground along with his chariot.
Vishnuratha flapped his mammoth wings once and the dead and the wounded in the deva sena rose like new, stronger than before. The devas were released from Sura’s occult prison. All the animals, birds and snakes, even those that had been swallowed by the asuras, came back alive.
Restored to their full vigour, the devas attacked the asuras with a hail of weapons that so darkened the sky that the only light visible was that of gleaming swords and arrows. The moon let loose his Somastra, immobilizing the asuras with a chill so fierce that they could not walk or even hold weapons in their hands. Their teeth chattered and their very bones ached with the freezing cold. Sura created a thousand suns to drive away the cold. Angered by his action, Surya launched an astra of illusion that made the asuras look like devas. They fell upon one another fiercely, believing that their enemies had infiltrated their ranks. Indra employed the Indrajala astra that dazzled the eyes of their foes, making them see dire visions. Yama’s Kaaladanda, the mystic staff of Time, unleashed the elements, killing the asuras without number. Vishnu killed Sura’s charioteer, Agni burned his banner and Indra’s arrow carried off the asura’s crown. Vayu shattered Sura’s chariot wheels and Kubera broke his bow and quiver. Standing steadfast against the attack, Sura drove away the gods with his mace and his fierce sword. His club smashed Muruga’s chariot.
Kartikeya and His Battle with the Soul Stealer Page 22