The pain flashed up to his brain, misting up his eyes, fogging his senses. One more step, just one more, he told himself. There was still so much distance to climb. He tried to find a rhythm, chanted Om Namah Shivaya in his mind. He needed to save his breath for climbing. When he looked down, he saw that he had made good progress. If he fell now, he would never be able to rise again. Do not look down, he told himself, climbing again despite the excruciating agony. He forced himself to ignore the pain and the fear that he would never make it to the top. He looked down at faithful Veerabahu and his loyal ganas who stood peering upwards, feeling his pangs as their own. He could not let down Valli’s father, her brothers and their hunter tribe who had followed him to an almost certain death. They had collapsed to the ground now, their faces turning blue, their hands clutching at the soil, holding on to life, yet ready to die for the earth that they loved.
He saw in his mind a vision of all the people who had come to him for refuge, whom he had promised to save. He knew that they were dying now, by the hundreds, by the hundred thousands . . . the young children clinging to mothers unable to help them, their own faces purple in their agonized efforts to breathe. He owed it to them to continue upwards, to survive, to fight, to defeat the Soul Stealer. Sura would not steal his soul or his spirit, or those of anyone else—if only he could stay the course. He would persist, even if he had just one more breath left in his body. His foot slipped, he almost tumbled down. He heard the gasps that escaped the lips of the watchers as he dangled from the tree. He swung his feet back onto the spikes, cursing as they speared his sole. How much longer must he labour? The climb was unending; the light was fading from his eyes. Muruga climbed, he struggled, he swore, he suffered. He saw his starry mothers shining down on him. ‘You can do it,’ they whispered to his fevered brain. ‘Climb up to us, my son,’ they said. ‘We cannot live without you.’
He gazed upwards and saw his Valli looking at him, her eyes swimming in tears. ‘You should have taken me with you,’ she said fiercely. ‘But now that you are there alone, fight on. You cannot die, my love, for I will pursue you wherever you go.’ A brave smile trembled on her lips. His mind saw again visions of the millet fields, the forest where they had first embraced, their blissful home on the hill . . . It was Devasena’s face now gazing at him, her eyes imploring, her fear for him rendering her speechless. O, goddess of love! If I could just embrace you once more! he thought. A drink from your lips will make me stronger than the elixir of the gods. What awaited him above? Was it an invincible demon that would flay his body and steal his soul? How did his divine parents perceive the fate that he had brought upon himself? Would he ever see Ganesha’s merry smile or Shasta’s serene face again?
‘Stop moaning!’ Ganesha’s voice seemed to boom in his ear. ‘Climb up. Show some spirit. I cannot always be there to rescue you, little brother!’ Kartikeya smiled. He moved faster now, his heart thudding, filled with new hope. He could not let everyone down. He would not stop to wonder if he had the mettle to confront the asura. He did, he would.
Finally, he reached the top. Just one more step. He looked up and gasped. The window was too narrow. It was not big enough for him to pass through. He tried still, pushing at the branches, trying to widen the passage. But the branches slashed at him, as if they were demons guarding the entrance. He had come so far, cherished so much hope, only to find that he had failed. What should he do now? A solitary tear slipped from his eye. The branches shrouded everything below him. He was caught between two worlds, one dying and one beyond his reach. He could not save earth nor could he return to Valli and Devasena. He would never see them again or hold them in his arms. The cosmic axis would be sundered and the asura would rule for aeons more. His eyes turned upward again as the darkness spread further, making it difficult to see anything. He could see a smiling face above him, whether real or imagined, he could not say. His mind was troubled, his body enfeebled. It appeared as if Vishnu was smiling at him, blessing him. How did he have faith in him even now, when he was at his wits’ end, staring at defeat? Did he still hope that Kartikeya could win, while his own Garuda’s life was at stake on earth?
Garuda. He clutched at a sudden thought that flashed into his weakened mind. He remembered the story of Garuda getting the pot of nectar hidden under a rotating wheel of sharp blades. How had he made his way through? Kartikeya drew in a quick breath, reduced his body to half its size and crashed through the gap between the clashing blades of the tree. He resumed his normal form, wondering if he had sufficient strength left to fight the demon. He heard a scream then, a shrill cry of agony. Someone had tried to follow him through the gap in the canopy and had been wounded, perhaps killed.
‘Who is it?’ he cried out, his voice fearful. ‘The window must have closed. Do not risk your life.’ But his voice was too feeble; he could hardly hear it himself.
He stretched out a hand behind him and felt a warm, furry body. O Shiva! Let it not be my dearest friend. ‘Ulluck!’ he cried out. ‘Is it you? What happened to you, my friend?’ He hauled himself to a sitting position and saw the black-furred gibbon lying motionless. He felt the wetness in his hand and saw that it was covered in blood—Ulluck’s blood! Was his friend wounded grievously? Alas, was he dead? Was this the final price he had to pay for believing that he could do what the other devas could not? He bent down and shouted his friend’s name in his ear. But Ulluck would not even open his eyes. Blood covered the gibbon’s lower torso though his face seemed untouched. Is he breathing? I must see if he is breathing! He listened carefully, desperate to hear a heartbeat, a quick breath. Yes! He heard a gasp and then the sound of uneven breathing. He is alive! The gods be praised. Keep breathing, my brother.
‘Ulluck!’ he shouted again. ‘Open your eyes. How badly are you wounded?’
‘Do you have to shout so loudly?’ his friend replied, his voice shaky. ‘I could have died of shock, you know!’ He reached out gingerly to touch his wound. He hissed with pain and grimaced. ‘I feared as much! I appear to have lost my tail, my beautiful tail. But I look even more handsome now, don’t you think?’ Muruga was overjoyed to know that it was only his tail that Ulluck had lost while forcing his way through. ‘Together, we will conquer Sura, my Skanda! And henceforth, my tailless body will bear witness to my love for you!’
Watching from above, Narada said, ‘Not just Ulluck, but all apes will lose their tails from today, as a mark of Ulluck’s sacrifice!’
Vishnu’s eyes were moist as he said, ‘Such love and sacrifice! May they reap the reward. May the world soon celebrate the victory of Kartikeya over Sura!’
‘A very touching scene, I am sure,’ said a booming voice. Muruga pulled himself hurriedly to his feet and saw Surapadma looming over them. He was still shaken and unprepared to fight. Perhaps this would be the last scene they would see in their lives. He must focus, pull himself together. Use the power of righteousness to defeat Bhayanaka’s weapon of hatred.
Who would win? In which direction would the earth revolve? The way of the gods or the anti-god? He did not know.
23
The Night of the End
‘There neither sun, nor moon, nor fire give light. Those who go there do not come back again. That is my supreme abode!’ Surapadma intoned in a sonorous voice. Kartikeya realized with a start that this was what Krishna had said to Arjuna, on the edge of another mighty war between darkness and light, when he had revealed the supreme truth.
‘Surapadma!’ he exclaimed. ‘Your arrogance prompts you to mock the matchless Gita! You repeat the words spoken by great Krishna to guide humanity in its struggle against evil in Kali Yuga. You fail to realize that your ego is the biggest barrier to knowledge of the Supreme, as it comes with the trappings of desire, anger, greed and pride. Keeping it in control is the biggest battle we must fight, every day of our lives. It is the asura that resides within each soul, even mine.’
‘A soul you will not possess for long, Kartikeya! Remember that you stand before the Soul Stealer.
These are your last moments as a being that is capable of thinking and feeling. Soon you will be reduced to a gibbering idiot, with no power to perceive meaning. I will miss your impudence when your mind is destroyed, I must confess, for you have shown much promise. You discovered my secret and entered the haven where my lifeblood is enshrined. I sought a boon from Shiva that no living being, god or human, should be able to discover me here. But your birth occurred after he granted this boon. I asked that I should remain hidden from all eyes, except those of someone who could discern the truth behind the façade, the door hidden in the smooth wall. That too you did. Our powers lie at opposite extremes. You swear by love, while I repose faith in fear and hate. I will prove now that my way is supreme. You may have managed to escape the foul earth below but you will not be able to rescue your friends. They will all die but I will live on, creating my own world, populated by creatures that reflect my mind and purpose. Perhaps you have already seen some of them, so dark and wicked . . . snakes, scorpions and dragons! Alas, that you should die here, far from your godly parents and your wives. Or perhaps, I could make you my slave. Shiva’s son, my slave! Bow your head to me, Muruga, and I may still spare your mind.’ He roared with laughter. The youngster who had killed his brothers would pay eternally for his presumption.
The ground rumbled under their feet. Kartikeya heard furious snarls as a flash of fire singed his chest. He stepped back in haste, looking to see who this new enemy was. He recognized Sura’s grandmother, Diti, who had stood watching his battle with Sura from the asura’s palace. Did her hatred for the devas still remain unabated?
‘This is the final revenge!’ said Diti, holding the reins of a dragon that was still belching fire. It appeared that she had ridden the beast here in anticipation of her grandson’s victory. He felt Ulluck’s arm clutching at him in fear. ‘Imagine the grief that Parvati will experience when her child is destroyed! Envision foul Indra’s despair when he realizes that his last hope is gone. Allow me, Sura, to let loose my dragon so that he may roast this asura-killer before my eyes. My beast burns with rage as Garuda killed his children in support of this upstart!’
‘I do not wish to fight an old woman, even one who is so twisted and depraved,’ said Muruga. ‘You have erred grievously, Diti, in setting your grandsons’ feet on the path of revenge. You distorted Sura’s mind, encouraging him to spread hatred throughout the world. I banish you now to earth, to dwell with the creatures that are tormented by Sura. You will suffer as they do and pay the price for your sins.’
Diti shrieked as she and her dragon crashed through the poisonous branches and fell to earth. The branches closed behind her, ensuring that earth remained starved of air and light. Sura howled in anger at the unexpected turn of events. Then, he turned a murderous glare on Kartikeya, extended his arm and closed his hand in a fist, using his occult powers to draw his enemy to him. Parvati’s son planted his feet firmly on the ground and exercised all his strength to resist the pull. ‘You . . . you banished my beloved Diti, who loved me beyond all reason! You will pay for this, Muruga,’ shouted Bhayanaka. ‘You have foolishly taken on an enemy too strong for you. Even Shiva fears me, weakened as he is to just half a man, for he has sacrificed half his body to his wife! I will now be supreme, ruling in his stead as the destroyer of the universe. The canopy that covers the earth will soon sunder humanity completely from the gods. Only those who worship me unconditionally will live henceforth. All the creatures you saved earlier with Garuda’s help will be destroyed. Look upon my powers and despair, upstart! Acknowledge my glory, greater than that of any other asura before me.’
The asura’s face was shadowed by hatred; his teeth were clenched in anger. A hazy red shape embodying his rage clawed its way towards Kartikeya, suffusing his soul with its venomous breath. It attempted to suck out all that he held sacred—love, compassion and truth. His heart filled gradually with hate for all those who had brought him to this predicament. First, he hated the Soul Stealer who had reduced all life to this perilous state. He felt bitter towards the devas who had pleaded with him to fight Sura and then tried to run away like cowards. He even blamed his father for granting this monster such powerful boons that he was invincible. As for his mother, she had promised that her lance would come to him when the time was right. What better time than now? What use would it be to him later when he was dead or imprisoned? His parents had abandoned him again, just as they had earlier when he had been born on the mountain slopes. What use were the gods if they watched silently while earth was reduced to a wasteland and all life destroyed?
Kartikeya’s heart withered within him, becoming black and embittered. He heard Sura calling him names: ‘Calfling, coward, fool! Son of a foul mother who roams the world demented, with rolling eyes and lolling tongue.’ His mind struggled to break free, roiling in anger and despair. Now his dazed eyes could see Sura holding Valli by her hair, raising his sword to kill her. Valli was screaming, struggling, her eyes panicked. Shiva’s son shook his head violently to shake off the vision, but could not succeed. Sura’s sword slashed at Valli. Her body went crashing through the dark branches and her head rolled behind it, the mouth still open and screaming. Wake up, wake up! Muruga shouted to himself. Valli is safe . . . you left her with Shiva. Fight back. You did it before; you can do it now! But he had no army behind him.
‘I am all alone!’ he cried out.
‘No, my friend! I am here—with you to the end!’ Ulluck shouted, his eyes peering tearfully into his own. ‘Hold my hand. Together we will defeat him.’ He felt the hand that grasped his firmly; the love that flowed into him. He felt the hand tremble, knew that Ulluck was afraid. There was no shame in fearing such an indomitable foe. He had to use this fear to keep going. That must be his focus. He had looked his deepest fears in the eye. They could no longer control him. He fought through the panic into the light of reason.
Kartikeya looked up at the asura, saw the pleasure he took in watching him flounder. Sura’s eyes glowed red, like those of beasts in naraka tormenting sinners. His nostrils flared, savouring the scent of his enemy’s despair. His lips had curled in a sneer on hearing Ulluck’s vow of loyalty. Clearly, the Soul Stealer saw their affection as a weakness, one that he could exploit. But such sublime love could never be considered a weakness, except by a perverse mind like Sura’s.
Muruga could no longer hear Valli’s ghastly screams. Instead, he felt her shakti flowing into him and that of gentle Devasena. With him too was Ganga, who had fought her mighty sister so that she could call him son; and Suparni who had brought Garuda to him when he needed help most. The Krittikas shone down upon him, in keeping with their promise of eternal love. They trusted him fully, as did Ulluck, to save the birds, the beasts, the people and the gods. They waited for him to re-establish dharma, and to rescue the universe from Sura’s terrors. It was they who gave him the impetus to act, to attain his goal. How could he let them all down? How could he allow his light to be dimmed by darkness?
He would not allow doubt or despair to weaken him. Not when he was the son of the fierce Durga and the three-eyed Shiva. Not when the glorious Vishnu had blessed him. He had been born, he had lived, and he would die if need be, for a divine purpose—to kill the Soul Stealer. He would win this epochal battle of mace and sword, muscle and sinew, mind and soul.
Suddenly, he could breathe easier; the darkness was lifting. He could feel the red haze that had dimmed his mind dispersing. He saw the demon’s ghastly face, his reddened eyes, his hollow breath sounding like the rasp of death. And in response, he felt the stirring deep within him, the transformation.
‘Submit now, foolish Muruga!’ intoned Sura, his voice rising. ‘Or you will die!’
Muruga pulled his shaking body together and willed his spirit to rise again. He felt the poisonous vapours of sorcery trying to overpower him. And in response, a single cry rose within him: ‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’ He shouted a reply to the Soul Stealer, ‘You are the one who must die! Shiva’s blessings no longer protect
you, having been destroyed by your vile deeds. You will die here, hiding from the world like the coward you are.’
The asura’s eyes glittered as he strode forward. ‘Surrender to me!’ he shouted again, his voice frantic.
Kartikeya saw him then for what he was: a soulless murderer who had staked his future on fear and hate. And he understood . . . A brilliant awareness illumined his mind. He knew that the asura’s powers were not the greatest on earth. Others were more powerful: those of love, nature and truth.
Parvati’s lance came to him then in a blaze of light. It pulsed with a refulgent power that could tear through the clouds of ignorance and gloom. Muruga grasped it firmly in his hand.
Seeing the brilliant weapon, Sura magnified his form through sorcery and attacked him with a flurry of weapons. While Muruga faced this occult being, the real Surapadma attacked from behind. Shouting out a warning, Ulluck threw himself between the demon’s axe and its intended victim.
But Skanda had already whirled around. With one arm, he removed Ulluck from the weapon’s path while with another he hurled the lance at the Soul Stealer. It hurtled forward, trailing fire. Its incandescent tip ripped through Sura’s body, making him scream in agony. He tottered, his eyes fixed on Kartikeya, his life still hanging by a thread—all that remained of the punya he had gathered in a thousand years of tapasya.
Kartikeya and His Battle with the Soul Stealer Page 24