Kartikeya quickly mounted Mayura and hurled his trident at the asuras. It rained down hordes of bhootas and pishachas that tore the enemies to shreds. The trident then flashed directly at Sura, who had fled to the edge of the field, unable to stop the decimation of his clan. The trishul tore off his head and carried it to the sea, while his body crashed to the ground.
The devas exulted and sang praises of their leader. ‘Jagadbhaya is dead! The Soul Stealer will harass us no more!’ they cried out. The ganas with animal heads raised their trunks and snouts in the air and chorused, ‘Hail to Shiva’s son! All hail the slayer of Surapadma!’
‘My men and I will plunge into the sea and bring you the asura’s head as a trophy, Kartikeya,’ said Veerabahu, exulting at the death of the monster. He and his men flung off their armour and weapons and dove into the ocean to look for the monstrous head.
The jubilant devas fell upon Mahendrapuri, crashing through its many gates. Indra, with his thousand eyes brimming with joy, attacked the eastern gate, Varuna the west, Kubera the north and Yama the south. Their fierce attendants slashed at the surviving demons with axes and swords and hurled their bodies into the sea. Whales and crocodiles came to feast on them, devouring them along with their armour and ornaments, while smaller sea creatures fought for the remnants. The monsters of the deep fought fiercely among themselves for the choicest flesh, a war that was more horrific than the one that the devas and demons had fought on land. The sea, swelled with the influx of bodies and gore, inundated the shore with blood-red waves.
‘Your father will be proud of you, Kartikeya,’ said Garuda. ‘This battle will be spoken about as long as men live. Your valour will be extolled with as much reverence as that of Vishnu against Hiranyaksha, Hiranyakashipu or Ravana. I am glad that I could play a small role in your victory as did my son, Mayura. Remember that the asura’s secret strength can be countered only by your ability to discern his real form, his essence. Neither the devas nor I can help you do that. May the crescent-wearer bless you. May lion-mounted Durga guide you. May blue-hued Hari protect you!’
Why does he speak of the dead asura as if he were still alive? wondered Muruga. But before he could ask him anything further, he heard terrible cries of agony emanating from his enemy’s capital. He quickly mounted a white horse and galloped into the fortress. The broad avenues of Mahendrapuri, paved with lapis lazuli, were now crimson, covered with streams of blood. The asura women ran from the invaders, crying out for their sons and husbands: ‘Where are you? Why have you left me behind?’ They pleaded with the ganas, asking them to spare an innocent child, a wrinkled old mother. ‘Do not kill us. What harm did we do?’ they wept. Huge fires roared, devouring mansions and the wealth that the demons had piled up. Many houses collapsed in the flames and fell into the sea.
‘Do not kill the innocent!’ shouted Muruga. ‘We are not asuras to rain havoc on those who played no role in the war.’
And then, over all the clamour, they could hear a terrible cracking sound that echoed to the skies. ‘I am not dead! Foolish devas, did you think that you had killed Bhayanaka?’ shouted a fierce voice. The devas froze. The ganas stopped their merrymaking. Muruga drew on the reins of his horse to bring it to a stop and listened. Was it Sura’s spirit that was haunting them? Had they not seen his head tumbling into the sea with their own eyes?
22
The Killing Tree
‘You boasted that you had shown me your eternal form, Muruga!’ the voice roared. ‘See mine now and tremble.’ The birds and the beasts were silent. The mountains and the seas were still. The sounds of revelry had died down. The deva sena looked at one another, recognizing the voice. How did Surapadma speak still when his head had been removed? Did another manifestation of the Soul Stealer remain?
‘We were unable to hear all that Sura asked for when Shiva granted him his boons,’ whispered Surya, his eyes panicked. ‘And we were too afraid to ask the god later.’
‘It is the fault of the three-eyed one who is always too munificent when it comes to the asuras,’ ranted Indra. ‘And it is we who must pay the price. Vishnu has always rescued us from the asuras, but this time Sura is protected against the Trimurti as well. We are forced to rely on Kartikeya who is still inexperienced. How can someone so young defeat the Soul Stealer? Perhaps we are destined to fail . . . ’ He shuddered.
Alas! It was clear now that the asura was not dead, but alive in a more malignant form. Every being on earth or heaven was able to see him now. The evil plant that had frightened those on earth had been just an augury of the asura’s final plan for the dissolution of the universe. Surapadma stood before them as a massive tree, soaring high in the midst of the sea, its branches stretching to the farthest reaches of the sky and to the four corners of the earth. Its roots reached deep down, to the tortoise supporting the earth on its back. A menacing dome formed above them, filling all space, stifling life. It threatened to cut off the cosmic axis that extended from Kataragama to Kailasa, the mystic connection that preserved earth and its life forms. The air they breathed had turned foul, suffused with the putrid smell of decay and degeneration.
Surapadma’s mocking laugh echoed to the firmament, adding to their terror, revealing the presence of the sorcerous demon. As the tree swayed, the stars fell from their places and planets were torn from their orbits. Mountains turned upside down, the seas flowed together, and countless creatures perished. The top of the tree was hidden in the swirling mists of maya but in its branches they could see the twisting forms of Muruga’s soldiers, who had tried to slash its branches and bring it down. The victims shouted and struggled as the tree wound itself around them. Their cries dwindled to whimpers and then died out altogether.
‘Stay away from the tree!’ Muruga shouted, stopping the men who were rushing to the rescue and others who were preparing to attack its roots with fierce axes. He could discern that the tree, now possessed by Sura, was listening to them, reacting to their moves, planning more devastation. The Soul Stealer had corrupted the tree of life that had earlier shone with golden flowers and ruby fruit. Now its fruits had rotted; it no longer glittered but cast an evil shadow over the seven seas and all of earth. Everything that its shadow touched withered and died. Thunder and lightning flashed now from its upper reaches while fierce blue flames erupted from its roots. The fire consumed the waters of the oceans and destroyed the sea creatures. And when its dried-up bed was exposed, strange new life forms crawled out of it. There were dinosaurs with long tails embedded with spears, snails with serpent fangs that carried the stench of death, animals with slimy bodies, curved horns and toad faces—each so huge that they could swallow a man whole. It was creation run amuck, erupting from the primordial waters of chaos.
Sky and earth were confounded, the earth shaken at its foundation. Screams echoed to the sky as the tree reached down to trap people, searing their flesh and addling their mind. The poor souls it touched shuffled around in circles, their minds destroyed, their eyes frozen in panic. Screaming with rage, Indra hurled his vajra at the tree’s roots, but the weapon crumbled to dust when it touched the tree. Indra himself fell down senseless, for the tree had robbed him of his strength and added it to its own. Yama attacked the tree with his deadly staff, only to lose his weapon and collapse, denuded of his powers. Surya, Agni, Vayu and Varuna—each used his most ferocious weapons to attack the tree. But all of them dropped down senseless, their energy draining away as if the amrit they had drunk was powerless against the anti-god. Finally, they realized that it was foolhardy to attack the tree, thereby adding to its powers.
Indra lay on the ground, gasping for breath. He looked up at the evil canopy that was swiftly closing over their heads, trapping them in a cage from which there was no escape. He did not want to suffer here on earth among lowly mortals and beasts. It was better to flee now before he became too weak. At least he still had some vestiges of power in Amaravati. He would continue as a vassal of Bhayanaka, who was now the absolute ruler of the cosmos. Sura had es
tablished the supremacy of power without purpose, lust without love, and terror without hope.
‘We have fought Surapadma and lost again, thanks to Shiva’s boons!’ he said aloud to the devas clustered around him. ‘The time has come to accept defeat and fly through the small window that is still open. Let us return to the heavens and leave mankind to its fate. Come with us, Kartikeya. We know that you tried your best, but you are young still and it was foolish of us to expect so much from you. After all, even I, the great Indra, could not kill this asura!’
‘There are more souls here on earth who love me than there are in heaven,’ Kartikeya replied. ‘They came with me blindly, believing that I was their refuge. How can I betray their trust? Go now, devas, and tell those in heaven that I am thinking of them. Ask them to imbue me with their love and their strength so that I may succeed. Life or death, let my fate be written here on earth.’
‘Kartikeya, come with us!’ Agni pleaded. How could he leave behind his son—the one he had carried from Shiva’s cave on that fateful day? How could Skanda survive against a foe with powers fiercer than anything they could have imagined?
But the youngster refused to listen. ‘No, Father! I am resolved to stay here and fight to the end,’ he said. ‘I beg you to flee to safety along with the other gods. I plead with Garuda too to leave with his clan, carrying the animals and birds to a safe place. Let us not add further to the toll of death.’
‘Do not be foolish, young one!’ exclaimed Indra. ‘Listen to your leader who is so much wiser than you are. You have no way to kill this monster. Do not die here with these poor souls, far from your parents and your wives. Besides, how will I explain to Shiva that I left you behind while I fled?’
Agni looked pleadingly at his son but Kartikeya turned away, making mental plans for what he should do next. The fire god’s duty lay with the gods but his heart remained on earth with his son. He could not turn his back on his devotees either, for he was an inextricable part of human lives, from the prayers they offered him at the birth of a child to the final fire that reduced their bodies to ashes.
‘Forgive me, Devendra, for disobeying your command!’ he said now. ‘I will stay with my son, regardless of the fate that awaits me.’ He moved to stand beside Kartikeya, staring at Indra with defiant eyes.
The celestial king glared at him. Shiva would blame him, no doubt, for deserting his son when a lesser god stood by him. Agni stared at the others who were looking at one another in dismay. Where did their duty lie? But how would anyone profit if they were destroyed by the asura? How could they help anyone if they were reduced to nothing, deprived of the amrit that was kept safely in heaven? The Soul Stealer had sapped them of strength, not just of the body, but also of the mind. Fear of what he would do to them next was the only constant in their lives.
‘We have fought before and lost, Agni!’ said Surya. ‘It was foolish of us to hope that our weapons could destroy the hunter of souls. Let us escape now, so that we may create a new world and new life once Sura forgives us for our defiance.’
‘So all you mighty gods are ready to give up?’ Agni asked, curling his lip. ‘You have decided to submit to the powers of darkness, giving up all hope. Do you not fear that the world will mock you or that it will forget that you ever existed? The bards, frightened by Sura’s threats, will no longer sing of truth or dharma. Will your life be worth living then? Is it not better to stand up for what is right, to be counted as warriors of light fighting a despicable tyrant? Stand with us now, devas, or forever wallow in fear!’
‘Let me speak while the devas determine their course,’ said Garuda. ‘My clan as well as the other beasts and birds that flocked to help their Kartikeya have decided on what they will do. They assert that they would rather die as free spirits than live as slaves. They will stay here, sharing the fate of the world and Shiva’s son!’
Kartikeya looked at the creatures big and small with eyes grown moist. What had he done to earn such loyalty?
Still the devas stood silent. Agni’s shoulders slumped in despair. His plea had fallen on deaf ears. Indra and his retinue would leave soon, prepared to kneel at Sura’s feet rather than fight him. The few who remained would struggle for breath in the fetid air as the canopy moved inexorably to cover the earth.
Then Vayu stirred. He came swiftly to stand beside Kartikeya. The others watched him in silence. And then Yama, lord of dharma, crossed over, ready to fight under the rooster banner. The throng watched intently to see if the others would follow. Yes. Varuna, Soma, the Ashwins and Surya lined themselves alongside Kartikeya. Finally came Indra, unwilling to be seen as a coward. Behind them ranged the lions and bears, tigers and boars, monkeys and birds, ready to give up their lives to fight alongside the god of the triumphant spear. There was nothing more to be said. Garuda let out a tumultuous shriek. Kartikeya heard Ulluck breathing heavily, clutching his hand firmly in his.
The roots of the killing tree glowed with a fierce fire, as if strengthened by the devas’ attack. Kartikeya looked up and saw that only a small patch of sky was still visible. The birds fell from the sky in droves, the animals choked. His men were collapsing too, as were his ganas, faithful to the end. Veerabahu and his brothers stood beside him, waiting for his orders, their chests heaving, looking up in panic as the tree shut them off from heaven, from the Trimurti. Death and extinction loomed close. Why did Muruga not use the Devi’s lance? Where was it?
Kartikeya heard his mother’s voice whisper in his ear: ‘My lance is nothing but the manifestation of wisdom and courage—the qualities you need in order to destroy the fear and hatred that Surapadma represents. You will be able to defeat him only when you acquire true understanding, when you can see past appearances and recognize the underlying truth.’ When he had realized that Krauncha was not a mountain but a demon in disguise, the lance had come to him. Similarly, in his battle against Taraka, the lance had appeared in his hand only when the Shakti protecting the demon had left him.
What was it that protected this tree and Surapadma’s life? How much time did he have before the canopy closed completely? He looked up and saw that it had advanced swiftly while he had been speaking to the devas. The mystic path to Kailasa would soon be completely blocked, ending life on earth as they knew it. The tree was the living, breathing demon himself, quick to take advantage of his weaknesses, eager to strike the final blow. What must he do now? He felt his heart pounding fiercely, bordering on panic. He could not let Bhayanaka take over his mind, make him lose that easily. Think! he told himself. Think!
Perhaps he was looking at the problem from the wrong perspective. They had been attacking the roots, believing that these anchored the tree to life. But the Soul Stealer had always shown his desire to turn the natural order upside down. Muruga looked up at the top of the tree, where the horrific branches were coming together with flashes of lightning. What if the answer lay above and not below? Was that the right path? Fear swamped him in a wave again, as he considered the consequences of making the wrong decision. He must hurry and act. But if he chose to fly upwards, he could be risking death, for himself and his followers. He had no time to waste. He needed to decide at once.
And then Kartikeya saw the Krittikas shining down upon him through the small window of sky that was still visible. His mothers, his saviours in the mountain forest, now reigning as stars in the sky. Were they his saviours here too? Were they showing him the true path? He would fly upwards and perhaps see what lay beyond. But alas, when he tried to lift his body into the air, he was unable to summon the power to do so. He was not even able to think cogently. Perhaps it was due to Sura’s influence on his mind. Was the demon manipulating him in order to make him choose the wrong course? No! His mothers would never lead him astray. They loved him immensely, perhaps even more than he loved them. He would trust in that bond, entrust his life to that truth. He tried again to fly. But he was too weak. His breath came in gasps. Bhayanaka had drained him of strength. He had to climb the tree the hard way. But
he would do so. He had to see where it led. His instincts told him that his future lay that way.
‘Do not follow me,’ he told his followers, his friends to the end. ‘You know that I am destined to do this alone. Trust in me; imbue me with your love. Allow me to find out if I am worthy to be called your senapati, the warrior son of Durga.’ They opened their mouths to protest—Agni, the animals, and Valli’s father. Then they looked at his determined face and decided to stay silent. They stood staring at him anxiously, their faces betraying both fear and hope. Their chests heaved with every tortured breath. The slightest movement was so painful that they could hardly consider climbing. Yet they would have done so if their leader had not stopped them.
Muruga looked up at the towering tree and the clashing branches at the top. There was just a little time left before total darkness swallowed the earth. He began to climb. Then he felt a blow on his chest and fell to the ground. Was it the tree that had hurled him away? He would not let it defeat him. He staggered up, then jumped as high as he could, throwing his arms and knees around the tree, clinging to it. But his hold slipped and he slid to the ground again, his body scratched and torn by thorns. Do not hurt yourself by blindly throwing yourself at the tree! he told himself. He noted the spikes protruding from the trunk. That was the solution. He jumped at the tree again, as high as he could, and clasped his arms around it. But this time, he placed his feet on the spikes below him. The tree seemed to heave in an attempt to throw him off again, but he would not let go. He dragged himself up another step. He felt the thorns digging into his flesh and poisoning his body. The pain burned through his veins. The branches slashed at him, making him bleed. The blood flowed into his eyes, blinding him. How could he climb if he could not see? He looked upwards. The canopy was high above, the window very small now. He would not make it in time, not at this rate, not with this pain. He looked down at the devas, at Garuda, at the animals and birds looking at him with fearful eyes. He could hear their painful breath tearing through their throats, warning him that time was running out. But he could not climb; he could not bear the torment. But what choice did he have? Kartikeya climbed one more step, placing his foot on the murderous spike.
Kartikeya and His Battle with the Soul Stealer Page 23