Prem Purana

by Usha Narayanan

  Buddhi stepped forward to greet Riddhi’s chosen one, unaffected by Siddhi’s resentment.

  ‘He is perfect in face and form—perhaps too perfect,’ muttered Ganesha to Siddhi as they gazed at the lovelorn pair. ‘But has he ever fought an enemy? Does he even know how to use a weapon?’

  Siddhi curled her lip at the stranger. In her view, a man who could not prove his mettle in battle was no man at all. ‘Look at the flowers he wears on his head like a crown,’ she scoffed. ‘He looks as if he spends his days perfuming his body and smoothing his curls. He even carries a flute, pretending to be Krishna!’

  Ganesha beamed at her, happy that they were in agreement for once. ‘I will unmask the pretender before your eyes,’ he said and stepped forward to bar the poet’s path.

  ‘Who are you? What is your name and lineage?’ he shot at him, disregarding Riddhi’s cry of protest at his rudeness.

  ‘I am Sumukha, and my father is an ascetic,’ the poet replied, his face calm and unperturbed.

  ‘Sumukha!’ mocked Ganesha. ‘You seem to be aptly named, as your face is your only fortune.’

  ‘Why do I need riches when my Riddhi is as lustrous as gold and as brilliant as a diamond?’ the man replied, smiling at his beloved.

  Riddhi clapped her hands in delight, but Ganesha frowned. ‘So you propose to dawdle all day singing songs to the arch of her eyebrow and the curve of her hips?’ he jeered.

  ‘I forgive you, Gajamukha, for I can see that your hostility springs from jealousy,’ said Sumukha. ‘How can someone like you hope to compete with my good looks and charm?’

  Ganesha stomped his foot angrily, but the poet continued, unfazed. ‘In times gone by, the demons yearned for the beauteous Lakshmi, but she had eyes only for Vishnu,’ he said. ‘And now, a misshapen god yearns for Riddhi, but she has chosen me!’

  Ganesha raised his staff threateningly at the insult. ‘You have shown us that you can talk, but can you fight, dapper poet?’ he challenged.

  ‘May I ask you if you can write poetry, my friend?’ Sumukha retorted. ‘Can you love her like I do? Moreover, where is the need for me to fight when I have won her already?’ A smug smile lit up his face.

  Ganesha took a step forward, his ears flapping furiously. ‘You are an annoying gnat and I will take great pleasure in destroying you!’ he swore.

  ‘No! You cannot fight him, Ganesha!’ shouted Riddhi, trying to come between them. ‘He is a poet, not a warrior. You said that you would talk to him, not kill him.’

  ‘The foolhardy mortal mocks me and I must avenge the insult,’ declared Ganesha. ‘Let us see how he fares against Gajamukha.’

  ‘Calm yourself, dear friend,’ Buddhi intervened, her eyes pleading with him. ‘It is not fair for you to fight someone so unskilled in weapons.’

  ‘Yes,’ mocked Siddhi. ‘The man carries a flute, after all.’

  Ganesha halted his headlong advance but his words were not too encouraging. ‘I will make one concession,’ he said. ‘I promise not to attack him unless he manages to wound me.’ Ganesha’s expression made it clear that he did not think the poet capable of doing this.

  Riddhi looked at his implacable face and turned to appeal to her suitor instead.

  ‘Do not fight him, Sumukha!’ she said. ‘If you do not draw blood, he cannot kill you. Just tell him that you do not carry a weapon.’

  Siddhi rolled her eyes at her sister’s cowardly suggestion and moved forward to offer Sumukha her own bow and arrows. He looked at the challenging expression on her face and then gingerly took the weapons from her. Riddhi clutched his arm in panic. But the poet’s pride had been aroused and he freed his arm from her hold.

  ‘I will do this for you, though I may die in the process, my sweet Riddhi!’ he declared.

  Riddhi stomped her foot in anger, but neither of the opponents was willing to listen to her.

  Ganesha smirked as he saw Sumukha struggling to hold the bow upright and position the arrow. Then he stood, legs apart and his arms crossed over his chest, mocking the poet with his own relaxed air.

  Sumukha’s first arrows wobbled forth and fell just a few feet from where he stood. Siddhi scowled at him. The poet’s face grew red with exertion and embarrassment, but he persevered. Finally, one of his arrows managed to reach Ganesha, though it was not forceful enough to wound him. Ganesha snorted in amusement. The poet seemed heartened by his success and let loose more arrows, getting better with each one.

  Riddhi grew more anxious and held out a hand in a silent plea, only to be ignored. Sumukha’s next arrow was true to its mark. It struck Ganesha’s forehead and drew blood.

  ‘At last!’ exclaimed the young god, his eyes gleaming. ‘Now I will kill you!’ He fitted an arrow to his bow.

  ‘Have mercy, he is human!’ shouted Riddhi, trying again to step between the rivals. But her sisters held her back. She wept with grief and guilt. Why had she brought Sumukha to meet Ganesha when there was no need to seek his approval? Parvati’s son was evidently jealous that the poet had succeeded where he could not. Now it was too late to stop the tragedy. Her sobs grew louder.

  Ganesha released his first arrow. Riddhi screamed and shut her eyes, unwilling to see her swain fall. But Ganesha had angled his bow upward at the last moment and the arrow blazed through the skies and disappeared from sight. Riddhi opened her eyes in dread and saw that her poet was still standing and aiming arrows at his foe. She turned desperate eyes to her elephant-headed friend. Had he granted his rival a reprieve? But no, he was drawing the bowstring again. Was he playing with Sumukha like a cat teasing a mouse? Could he be so cruel?

  The birds chirping in the trees fell silent and the air grew still as the second arrow flew forth, aimed directly at Sumukha. This was the end. Riddhi screamed and Buddhi began praying to the gods. But what use were her prayers when the attacker was the first among the celestials? Even Siddhi felt her stomach churn as she regretted the role she had played in provoking the contest. It was not valorous to kill a foe who was so much weaker.

  The arrow roared forward, erupting crimson flames, straight towards Sumukha’s chest. The girls looked on, petrified. They knew that an astra shot by Shiva’s son could not fail. The arrow would cleave open the magnificent body . . . Sumukha’s beautiful face would be distorted in the agony of death . . . His eyes would cling to his beloved in his last moments . . . What a tragedy, and a needless one at that! Riddhi moaned in anguish.

  Then they saw that the poet was laughing, with his head thrown back and his hands on his hips. Had he been crazed by fear? Had the astra failed in some mysterious way? For if he had been struck, blood would be pouring down in torrents by now. Riddhi rushed to him, filled with a desperate hope. Sumukha reached out for her and she saw that instead of a wound, his chest was now adorned with a garland of red hibiscus. One more arrow flashed towards him and this one turned into a garland of durva grass and dropped gently around his neck.

  Riddhi turned her confused gaze on Ganesha and saw that he too was laughing. Instead of his elephant head and rotund body, he now had the face and physique of her Sumukha. In fact, he looked exactly like the poet and was wearing two garlands himself. Had the jealous god taken Sumukha’s form in order to taunt her? Or had her senses been disordered by the threat to her beloved?

  4

  Nara Mukha

  ‘Do you not know me?’ asked her Sumukha, embracing her warmly. As her body touched his, she sensed that her handsome poet was not dead. She began to cry again, this time in relief.

  Ganesha spoke then, still in his dazzling human form. ‘Sumukha and I are one and the same, Riddhi!’ he said. ‘To kill him, I would have to kill myself. Forgive me for sporting with you, my love. But it was merely to show the world that every man can become divine when he realizes the Supreme within himself.’

  Sumukha took Riddhi’s hand in his own and reiterated his love. ‘My goddess, my Shakti!’ he said. ‘You have shown the world that love is the true remover of obstacles. You were ready to give up
everything, even your immortality, for the sake of the man you loved. We are now part of each other, together until the end of time.’

  A delighted Riddhi smiled at him and pulled him away to their usual retreat in a fragrant garden on the banks of the Ganga. Here Sumukha made sweet amends for making her suffer pangs of anxiety.

  Siddhi gazed long and hard at Ganesha who still stood in his human form and a shadow crossed her face. She clenched her fists and walked away without a word.

  Is she jealous of Riddhi and her happiness with Sumukha? wondered Buddhi. She herself was entranced by Ganesha’s beautiful form that reminded her of the old tale of his creation.

  ‘My guru once told me that when you were first created, you had a human face, and that you were beheaded by your own father. How could this happen? The very idea keeps me awake at night,’ she said.

  Touched by her tender heart, Ganesha revealed to her in a vision all that had happened:

  Devi Parvati had placed Nandi on guard outside her mansion when she was taking a bath, and ordered him not to allow anyone inside. However, being Shiva’s devotee, he had been unable to stop the three-eyed god from entering. The angry Parvati decided that she must have someone who would obey her orders alone, and created a heroic son for herself from the turmeric paste that anointed her body. She named him Vinayaka, the unparalleled leader, and smiled at his glorious face and form that shone like a thousand suns. She clothed him in silks, adorned him with jewels and gave him a mystic staff imbued with her powers. ‘Guard our home and allow no one to enter,’ she commanded.

  Buddhi watched as Parvati’s indomitable son stopped the great Shiva from entering his wife’s abode. She clutched at Ganesha’s arm in fear.

  ‘Who are you, fool, that you dare to stop me?’ roared Shiva.

  ‘I am Vinayaka, Parvati’s son!’ the young lad replied proudly.

  ‘I am her husband and I command you to step aside!’ said the angry god, striding forward. However, Vinayaka raised his staff and crimson flames erupted from it to bar Shiva’s way.

  ‘Nandi!’ shouted Shiva. ‘Make this boy understand the danger of challenging the god of gods.’

  Nandi and the ganas attempted at first to cajole the boy into stepping aside. Then they threatened him and raised their fists.

  But Vinayaka was unmoved and raised his voice in defiance. ‘Leave now or die!’ he said to Nandi, fixing him with a fierce glare. The mighty bull felt strangely uneasy and stepped away.

  But just then, he heard his master’s command. ‘Kill the intruder! Toss him down the mountain. Show him who you are!’

  Nandi could not ignore Shiva’s direct order. He pawed the ground, tossed his head and charged forward, his fierce ganas at his heels. Buddhi closed her eyes in fear. How would the young lad survive this horrific attack?

  However, the radiant Vinayaka was unfazed. He laughed in Nandi’s face and scorched him with his flaming staff, forcing him to retreat with a bellow of pain. The youth attacked like a whirlwind, his movements too swift to be seen. His laugh rang out, shrill and clear, while his staff spun through the air with an eerie howl, breaking backs and smashing skulls.

  Seeing his attendants scatter like straw, Shiva rushed into the fray with his bow raised. The lustrous staff flew from Vinayaka’s hand, knocked the bow from Shiva’s grasp and returned to the boy’s hand. The devas gasped in fear and fled the scene. Vishnu alone rushed forward, mace in hand. But Vinayaka rebuffed him with one powerful blow of his staff.

  ‘Kill him from behind while I engage him in front,’ said Vishnu to Shiva. He mounted Garuda and flew at the young warrior. His incandescent chakra blazed forth to behead the youth.

  Buddhi moaned in fright. Ganesha smiled at her and whispered that all would be well.

  Vinayaka’s danda rose in the air and shattered the fiery chakra. Then it struck the lord of Vaikunta and pushed him off Garuda’s back. Undaunted, Vishnu began to grapple with the boy, trying to crush him with his four powerful arms. While Vinayaka was pinioned by Vishnu, Shiva advanced on him from behind, with his trident raised. How could Parvati’s son escape this twin attack?

  ‘No, no! He is a mere boy. Look at his divine face. Do not kill him this way,’ whispered Buddhi, watching the drama unfold in Kailasa. Ganesha took her hand gently in his and held it tight.

  The next moment, Shiva’s trident took off the head of the valiant Vinayaka. The headless body continued to wrestle with Vishnu for a few moments, obedient still to his mother’s command. The devas, the ganas and the Trimurti stood ashamed, regretting the death of the indomitable lad by deceit.

  Parvati came out then and wailed in anguish on seeing her son so cruelly cut down. Her wrath leapt forth like a fierce fire and dried up the seven oceans. Then the flood of tears from her eyes filled up the oceans again so that the waters became salty. She transformed herself into dire Bhadrakali and from her sprang thousands of Shaktis—fanged, four-armed, ferocious. They crushed the devas, ripped the ganas apart, trampled the gandharvas under giant feet, smashed the yakshas and swallowed the rakshasas. Shiva and Vishnu stood trembling, unable to appease the furious goddess. The sages sang hymns of praise, fell at her feet and pleaded for mercy. Bhadrakali stopped her attack, though her eyes still rolled angrily.

  ‘I do not wish to see any more,’ said Buddhi, her limbs shaking at the violence that she had witnessed. ‘How could Shiva kill you when you were merely obeying your mother’s orders? How did the gods have the heart to destroy a child so luminous and brave? Look how your mother grieves. Shiva’s act has resulted in so much violence and death. And I am distressed that you had to face all this as soon as you were born!’

  Ganesha basked happily in her attention and her sympathy. But being Buddhi, she was interested in finding out the reason behind all that had happened. ‘You were so powerful, imbued with your mother’s divinity. Could you not sense the imminent attack, though it came from behind you?’ she asked.

  ‘I could indeed. But I forced myself to submit, because it is my mother’s shakti that presides over the trishul. After all, I owe my very existence to her.’

  She nodded slowly. He was truly a lofty soul to have chosen respect for his mother over his own survival. ‘It is puzzling that the Vighnaharta himself had to face so many obstacles. Why did all this have to happen?’

  ‘In an earlier age, Shiva struck Surya on the chest for attacking two of his devotees,’ Ganesha replied. ‘An angry Sage Kashyapa, Surya’s father, cursed the three-eyed god saying that his own son’s head would fall off one day. Even the gods have to pay for their actions, you see.’

  ‘But I ache for the young lad who was sacrificed for no fault of his!’ Buddhi exclaimed.

  ‘You must see what happened later . . . how my mother was appeased,’ Ganesha said. They returned to the scene of the angry Bhadrakali who demanded that her son be restored to life.

  Shiva ordered his ganas to travel north and fetch him the head of the first creature they encountered. They returned with the head of Airavata, Indra’s elephant. The lord of Kailasa attached the head to Vinayaka’s body and brought him back to life. ‘Henceforth, he will be Shiva-suta and Parvati-nandana, the son of both Shiva and Parvati,’ he said.

  The vision faded and Buddhi stood alone in the forest again with Ganesha. What she said now startled him and made him laugh.

  ‘Poor Airavata! Why did he have to lose his head for you?’ she asked.

  ‘There was a reason for that too,’ Ganesha replied. ‘Once, Vishnu gave Sage Durvasa a divine flower, and the sage in turn gave it to the king of the heavens. Indra carelessly placed it on Airavata’s head, and the proud elephant shook it off and trampled it underfoot. Durvasa was furious, and cursed Indra and the devas that they would lose their powers and Airavata his head. Indra prayed desperately for relief and Vishnu, the protector of the universe, promised him that their powers would be restored when they drank the amrit that emerged from the cosmic ocean. His elephant too would rise from the kshira saagar in his origina
l form.’

  Buddhi nodded, storing all this knowledge in her mind. ‘I can see the original Vinayaka in your present form,’ she said. ‘Why do you not retain your human face as a tribute to your mother’s love?’ She paused for a moment and quickly added: ‘Not that I think you do not look majestic as Gajamukha!’

  She is so careful not to hurt anyone with her words, thought Ganesha. She is afraid that I will think that she is mocking my elephant face.

  ‘I could easily take up the form of Adi Vinayaka,’ he said. ‘But I choose to retain my elephant head as my devotees find it endearing. They look at me and smile. They come to me freely, for no one can fear a god who looks like I do and chooses a small mouse to carry him! They regard me as their child, born in their family to make their lives better. Through me, they can approach my father, the fierce Rudra, and my mother, Parvati, who holds me as a child on her lap. I will do anything to make my devotees happy, even sipping a little milk from their cups when they offer it to me! You see, the impossible becomes possible when you are unusual like I am.’ He looked at her gentle face and added, ‘Today, in honour of your loving heart, I promise that I will appear with a human head whenever I am alone with you and your sisters.’

  Buddhi gazed raptly at his flawless body and his handsome face that was as splendid as Manmatha’s. ‘I will appear as Nara Mukha to my devotees too in a few rare temples,’ he said. ‘Those who pray to me there will be blessed with happiness in all their relationships.’

  He paused and looked into her eyes and asked her teasingly, ‘So, have you fallen in love with anyone yet, my adorable Buddhi?’

  She lowered her eyes in confusion but then raised them again to proffer a quick reply. ‘Maybe. Maybe not! You will have to find out for yourself,’ she said, with dimples dancing in her cheeks.

  But Ganesha was not looking at her any longer. His eyes seemed to be gazing at something that was not visible to her.