Kartikeya and His Battle with the Soul Stealer

by Usha Narayanan

Then Sura toppled to the ground, his head touching Skanda’s feet. ‘Spare my life a little while so that I may speak to you,’ he begged. And the young god nodded.

  ‘You called me brother, you showed me love. You revealed your vishvarupa so that I would realize how grievously I had sinned. You revealed that only actions determine fate, that it is truth that moves the sun across the skies. You taught me that nothing lasts forever, except love that makes the impossible possible. Touched by your lance and your light, I have been purified, my sins burned away. I seek a final boon of mercy from you, great one. Allow me to be your slave and companion, to serve you like the garudi and blessed Ulluck. Let me repay your love with my devotion. Let the Sura Samhara keep your name and your message alive—the message of everlasting faith in Kartikeya.’

  ‘Your story is one of cosmic significance, Surapadma,’ said the lord. ‘Your fate has shown that a man’s best strengths lie within him and that redemption lies in his own hands. Fear nothing, fight for what is right and you will conquer.’ He raised a glowing hand and a light enveloped Surapadma, transforming him into a glorious peacock and a rooster.

  ‘Surapadma, the cockerel will adorn my flag,’ said Kumara. ‘The peacock will be my mount. They are symbols of your earlier pride, for the peacock vaingloriously spreads its tail and the rooster struts on its little mound with its chest thrust out. But now, they are symbols of redemption. Hereafter, the peacock will represent joy, life-giving rains, and liberation from fear. And the rooster will herald a new dawn and a new life.’ The peacock and the rooster cried out in joy.

  Brahma came there to bless Surapadma in his new forms. ‘Your soul is now bound forever to Muruga’s love and grace,’ he said. ‘He has not destroyed you, just the evil that resides within. Everyone follows a different path to moksha according to their own nature. Some paths are straight, some are winding. But finally, all of them are like streams that rush down to the ocean. They all lead to glorious Skanda! He appears to children as Kartikeya, the playful child-god, to young men as the eternal Kumara, to scholars as wise Shanmukha, to soldiers as Vira Senapati, to sages as Swaminatha and to householders as Muruga, the husband of Valli and Devasena.’

  The lance that pierced Surapadma continued its blazing journey, slashing the branches of the death tree, opening up an airway for the beings on earth to breathe. Veerabahu, Valli’s father, the hunters, the ganas—all of them rose, bewildered. What had happened? How was it that they were alive still? Did it mean . . . could it signify that Kartikeya had won? They stared with dazed eyes as the tree disintegrated. They had heard screaming and sounds of battle. As the dust settled, they saw a glittering bird flying down to them—a glorious peacock carrying someone on its back. Who was it? Was it Surapadma’s latest form?

  Garuda’s shriek of jubilation confirmed their greatest hope. A ragged cheer erupted from their throats. They could now see Kartikeya on the peacock’s back, a smile on his lips, his radiant lance in one hand and the rooster banner in another. They had been finally freed from their ordeal. Shiva’s son had lived up to their trust. They laughed and they cried. They joined their hands in worship.

  Vishnu came down to bless them, his face revealing his supreme joy. ‘Behold the triumphant warrior!’ he exclaimed. ‘Kartikeya has won his place among the greatest gods with his valour and his championing of love and dharma. He has transformed evil into its opposite; he has transformed Surapadma who now serves him in the form of a peacock and a rooster.’ The listeners gasped. They realized that Skanda’s greatness lay not in his weapons but in the power he exercised to create good, even from evil.

  They basked in the rays of Surya that made the earth brilliant again. A fragrant breeze spread across the world, filling it with the breath of life. Lions roared in the forest, their manes rippling; Ulluck’s clan hooted loudly as they used their arms to swing from tree to tree, wondering about their missing tails. Birds flew about, chirping, their wings yellow and red against a bright, blue sky. Rivers flowed, clean and pure, nourishing the earth. New crops and flowers raised their heads. The people cast aside their fears and offered prayers in the few shrines that remained. A gentle glow bathed their hearts, healing the ravages they had suffered. The killing tree teetered, on the verge of crashing to earth. But Kartikeya laid his gracious hands on it and it returned to its original form as the tree of life. His eyes could again perceive the snowy peaks of Kailasa. The cosmic axis had been preserved; the survival of the world has been assured.

  ‘The universe worships Brahma in the Satya Yuga, Sri Rama in Treta Yuga and Sri Krishna in Dwapara Yuga,’ said Vishnu. ‘You, Kartikeya, will be revered henceforth as the god of Kali Yuga, the one who transports the pious across the perilous ocean of life. You will be hailed as Bhayanashana as you have freed the world from Bhayanaka. Those who listen to your story will be famous, handsome, wealthy and will live a long life. They will be free from suffering and attain everything they desire.’

  Pious kings came to life again. ‘Kartikeya, you have shown yourself as an ascetic and a leader, a warrior and a lover. You have imposed order, transformed evil to piety, and brought hope that virtue will triumph. You have shown that you are equally pleased with the simple worship of primitive men as well as the profound tapasya of sages. You married a heavenly and an earthly bride, brought together the rich and poor, and devotees from the north and south. You are powerful Kartikeya, the arbiter of dharma, as well as compassionate Muruga who blesses his devotees. You are a symbol of our land which is magnificent in its diversity, guiding us to a new age of youth, vigour and hope.’

  Bards and sages praised the god of love and war. ‘O Muruga,’ they sang, ‘nothing is sweeter than the joy of worshipping you. Mount Meru shakes in the wind rising from the beat of your peacock’s wings. The mountains crumble under your dancing feet and the dust fills the seas, creating new land. When your rooster crows, the sky splinters, and the stars tumble down. Shiva wears a garland of skulls; Vishnu, a wreath of tulasi. But you wear the crowns of the devas, of Surapadma and Krauncha. Bless us, O god of the lustrous lance, wearing a coronet of kadamba flowers.’

  In Kailasa, Devasena and Valli waited side by side for their Kartikeya to return. Sisters in an earlier birth, they were now bound together by their love for Kartikeya. The keen eyes of a huntress helped Valli spot it first—the rooster banner rising over the distant horizon. ‘Look!’ she exclaimed, pointing it out to Devasena. They saw then the gigantic bird, its head and neck glinting blue-green, trailing a long tail shimmering like blue sapphire. Soon they could discern the luminous figure seated atop the bird that called out in raucous triumph. Devasena’s Kartikeya was here, Valli’s Muruga had returned. Behind him they could see the glint of armour and weapons, as the splendid army of the Deva Senapati followed their leader. Valli’s breath caught in her throat. Her Muruga had promised that he would return to her, safe and sound. And he had kept his promise. The two maidens rushed to the entrance gates, their eyes spilling tears of joy. The peacock landed on the ground some distance before them. More feet thudded on the ground as the rest of the sena dismounted from their chariots and their celestial horses. Alongside Veerabahu stood a gibbon with glossy dark fur, surveying them with bright eyes. The army stopped some distance away while Kartikeya sprang from the peacock’s back, his strides quickening when he saw the eager faces of his queens.

  Impatient Valli hastened towards him, her face aglow with love. She exchanged a long, passionate glance with him and then strode past. Muruga turned in surprise. Valli was standing before his retinue, joining her hands in thanksgiving. They fell to their knees before her—soldiers, ganas, beasts and birds. ‘I will be forever grateful to you, great souls!’ she said to them. ‘You have stood by him, fought beside him, helped him attain glory. You have freed earth and heaven from the yoke of evil. And more than everything else, you have brought him back to my sister and me. What can we give you in reward, except our blessings? May you always remain true and wise, fearless and invincible.’

&n
bsp; Muruga joined her then, his hand raised in blessing. Devasena stood flanking him on the other side. The warrior god was united with his Shaktis, and earth and heaven rejoiced. The next instant, a silver mist wrapped around them and hid the three from view. The gods smiled, knowing that Kartikeya wished to be alone with his wives after their long separation. They would bind him within the circle of their loving arms—their warrior, their lover, their abode of bliss. Who would he go to first, delicate Devasena or vibrant Valli? Or perhaps, like the blue-hued god who took many forms to please his adoring wives, Kartikeya too would appear to Valli as a majestic hunter, adorned with red glory lilies, and to Devasena as the Deva Senapati, clad in silks and glittering ornaments.

  Nothing was beyond the powers of Parvati’s son, born in the cradle of a lotus, enshrined now in the hearts of men and gods.

  THE BEGINNING

  Let the conversation begin…

  Follow the Penguin Twitter.com@penguinbooks

  Keep up-to-date with all our stories YouTube.com/penguinbooks

  Pin ‘Penguin Books’ to your Pinterest

  Like ‘Penguin Books’ on Facebook.com/penguinbooks

  Find out more about the author and

  discover more stories like this at Penguin.co.in

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  UK | Canada | Ireland | Australia

  New Zealand | India | South Africa

  Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.

  This collection published 2018

  Copyright © Usha Narayanan 2018

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  Jacket images © Neelima P Aryan

  ISBN: 978-0-143-44009-3

  This digital edition published in 2018.

  e-ISBN: 978-9-353-05201-0

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.