The Seduction of Shiva: Tales of Life and Love (10 page)

Nanda
¹
once went to Vrindavana, to graze his cattle in a grove of fig trees. The young Krishna was with him. Letting the cows drink tasty water from a lake, Nanda sat under a tree, holding the little boy to his chest.

One aspect of Krishna is that of the man of magic. With that power, he covered the sky with clouds. The woods became dark. A fierce wind blew, shaking the trees and, with terrible claps of thunder, a torrential downpour commenced. As the rain fell on his shoulders, Nanda was filled with fear. ‘How will I get home, leaving the calves behind?’ he worried. ‘And if I don’t
go, what will happen to this boy?’ Even as he fretted thus, Krishna began to cry, scared of the streaming water, clinging to his father’s neck.

It was at that time that Radha
²
came towards them. Her dainty steps would have shamed a bird. Like autumn moonlight was the glow on her lovely face, and like autumn lilies at noon shone her eyes through mascara-brushed lashes. Her lips surpassed the glory of ripe cherries and her teeth the brightness of pearls. Her breasts were as wood-apples, saffron-tinted and firm, and her torso beautifully rounded with a deep-set navel. Below it, adorned with the bejewelled net of a girdle, were her seductive hips, true weapons of love.

Gem-studded anklets tinkled on her red-painted feet. Seashells embellished the bracelets on her wrists. Rings gleamed like flames on her fingers, and glittered like the summer sun in her ears. Her hair was dressed with strings of jasmine and her temples decorated with beauty spots of musk and vermilion. Her body had the
lustre of a magnolia blossom. In her hand she held a jewel-like mirror into which she gazed as she smiled, like a flower in full bloom.

Seeing Radha in that lonely place, lighting it up in all directions with her radiance, Nanda was filled with wonder. With head bowed in devotion and eyes brimming with tears, he called out to her. ‘I know of you from the sage Garga,’
³
he cried, ‘you are Padma, the beloved of Hari. And I know this boy is the great Vishnu, the imperishable one who transcends all attributes. But I am human, and deluded by his magic power. Take this lord of life, good lady, and go as you please. I know that you will return my son after all that is needed has been done.’ And he handed her the child who was howling with fright.

Radha took the boy and smiled sweetly. ‘This is secret and not to be revealed, Nanda,’ she said. ‘You see me because of the merits of your past lives. You are wise and also know the story from Garga. What we do in this pasture is secret.
Choose a boon, lord of Vraja. Whatever you wish for. I can easily give you even that which is hard to get for the gods.’

‘Grant me devotion to you both,’ Nanda replied. ‘I have no other wish. Give us refuge at your feet, Mother of the Universe.’

‘I give you this incomparable gift,’ said the great goddess as she happily took Krishna to her breast. ‘May you have devotion to us both, day and night. And with this boon no delusion will overcome you when you go to heaven after giving up the human form.’ She then went away with Krishna in her arms. Thrilling at the memory of their
rasa
dance together, she held him to her breast with loving kisses and embraces.

Thereafter Radha beheld a bejewelled magical bower, with gem-studded urns and wonderful greenery. Decorated with a mesh of rubies and pearls, embroidered cloth and many flags, the bower was surrounded by a flower garden and had seven steps leading to a crystal door. Within it, under pillars of ruby, was a bed strewn
with flowers and scented with sandalwood and incense, saffron and musk.

Joyfully, the goddess entered the bower where stood urns full of ambrosial honey and others of fresh water, clear and cool, topped with betel leaves and camphor. Reclining on the bed of flowers was a charming young man, dark and handsome. Dressed in a yellow garment and touched with sandalwood powder, he looked at her happily with an enchanting smile.

This youth wore tinkling jewelled anklets and bracelets. Two precious earrings gleamed near his temples and the great gem
Kaustubha
⁴
flashed on his chest. Like autumn moonlight was the glow on his face, and like autumn lilies were his eyes. A peacock feather was tied with a string of jasmines to his thrice-twisted hair.

Even though she is the repository of all memory, and her arms were now without the child, Radha marvelled at the sight of the youth. Her eyes drank in his face lovingly, as the
chakora
bird does the moon, unblinking and ardent for
a fresh union. Eager for love, she thrilled all over as she smiled and kept looking at him with sidelong glances.

Hari then addressed her. ‘Radha,’ he said, ‘you remember what happened in heaven, in the assembly of the gods. Today, my love, I will fulfil that which was agreed in the past. My beloved, beautiful Radha, you are more to me than life itself. As you are, so am I: there is no difference between us. As is whiteness in milk, blazing in fire and fragrance in earth, so am I always in you. Without you, people call me Krishna, but with you they say Shri Krishna. For you are Shri, my glory, treasure and support. You are the woman and I the man, say the scriptures; you represent all power and I the imperishable self. In capability, intellect and wisdom, we are the same. Whosoever differentiates between us lives forever in hell.

‘One distressed, who calls out
Ra
, the first syllable of you name,’ Krishna continued from the beautiful bed, ‘I grant him the highest
devotion. And to one who adds the second syllable
dha
, to him I rush to hear that full word. For it means more to me than all the canonical ceremonial ritual worship. Indeed, one who utters it is dearer to me than the name itself. Dearer than all the gods and the goddesses. They are like life to me, but you are even more than life. They stay in different places, but you are within my heart. My pleasing four-armed image may shine in the thoughts of many, but I am here as Krishna, to marry you myself.’

‘Lord, I know and remember all,’ replied Radha. ‘How can I forget? I am everything you say. It is because of your grace. Some are dear to the master and some not, such as those who do not recall me. But you can turn a mite into a mountain, and the other way too, for your mercy is the same for all.

‘I stand here,’ she continued, ‘and you are reclining. We have talked for but a moment which I cannot get back, though it seemed like an age. Touch me on my head and breasts with
your lotus feet. My heart has been scorched by separation from you. I am unable to look anywhere but at you. That alone gives me peace.’

Shri Krishna laughed on hearing Radha. True, good and scriptural was his reply. ‘My dear,’ he said, ‘whatever happens anywhere at any time is ordained by me and cannot be changed. The time for the fulfilment of your wishes has now arrived. I will implement them and nothing can stop it. For I ordain the ordainers, and lesser ones like Brahma
⁵
obey me.’

Brahma had meanwhile appeared before Hari, rosary and bowl in hand, smiles on all his four faces. Krishna welcomed and greeted him, even as the world’s creator bowed to Hari with all devotion, and then went to Radhika, saluting the mother as he sprinkled her with cupped hands of water from his bowl.

‘O mother,’ said Brahma, ‘it is by Krishna’s grace that I see you. To have this sight is most difficult anywhere, more so in this land. For long did I pray to Krishna, till he appeared in person
to grant me a boon. “Let me see the lotus feet of Radha,” I asked, “soon, even now.” And Hari told me he would let me do so in due time.

‘God’s command is never fruitless,’ Brahma continued. ‘Because of it I see you. It is something, mother, which all desire, in heaven and here. You are of the same nature as the goddesses, a part of them all. You are half of Krishna and like him in every way. You are he and he is you. Who ordained this, I cannot find in the scriptures. But just as heaven is higher than this world, so are you above all, even the unborn and unformed. Just as everyone in the world lives as a part of Krishna, so are you the power within all. Men are a part of Hari and all women a measure of you. I, this world’s creator and the progenitor of the gods, am unable to expound even a fraction of your attributes. For knowledge is the father of discourse, mind the mother of knowledge, and you are the parent of the mind. Who can explain you? Not I, not the great god, nor the one who is endless. But
the mercy of the god of gods is the same for all. Children may from time to time manifest faults as well as virtues, but parents lovingly forgive all.’

Thus did Brahma speak as he stood before them both.

‘O creator, choose a boon,’ said Radha. ‘Grant me devotion to yourself,’ was the request to which she assented at once as the world’s creator bowed to her again. Then he kindled a fire before them and commenced the ceremony of marriage.

Krishna had meanwhile risen from the couch to stand before the fire into which he offered oblations in accordance with Brahma’s liturgy. Bowing yet again to him and to Radha, the creator himself tied the band of marriage on their wrists and had them perform the sevenfold circumambulation of the fire. Thereafter he waved the flames around Radha and sprinkled perfume on Krishna. Having him hold Radha’s hand as he recited the scriptural verses, the creator then placed her hand on Krishna’s chest and Krishna’s on her back as she recited the verses for women.

Brahma then had Radha garland Krishna with a chain of celestial flowers reaching to his knees, and Krishna garland Radha similarly. Bowing to them again, he once more sprinkled perfume on Shri Krishna and on a smiling Radha to the bridegroom’s left. Instructing them to cup their hands, the creator then recited the five scriptural verses of blessings, and with a bow offered Radhika to Krishna, as a father devotedly would his daughter. Meanwhile the gods sounded trumpets of joy and celestial flowers streamed down in a shower. The demigods sang and the divine nymphs danced. ‘As the marriage fee, give me devotion to yourself,’ Brahma said with a smile to the contented Shri Krishna.

‘May your devotion to me be forever,’ Hari replied. ‘Go, and continue the works I have ordained.’

From
Brahmavaivarta Purāṇa
, Krishnajanma Khanda, 15.1–139

There was a sage named Marichi, who lived in a hermitage on the bank of the river Ganga outside Champa, the capital of the Anga country. He was considered a fount of miraculous wisdom, having acquired divine sight by virtue of his penances. Once he was approached by Kama Manjari, a leading courtesan of Champa.

The woman looked distraught, with teardrops glistening on her breasts. Her flowing hair spread on the ground as she bowed before the sage. Her relatives, led by her mother, also arrived at the same time. They were full of concern and had followed her in great haste.

The sage was compassionate. He comforted them with soothing words, and asked
the courtesan the reason for her distress. Embarrassed, sad, but also proud, she said, ‘Lord, I am unfit for the pleasures of this world, and only seek merit in the next. You are famous for helping those in trouble. I have come for refuge at your feet.’

Her mother also bowed, the fillet on her grey hair touching the ground. Raising clasped hands, she said, ‘Lord, let this servant explain to you the things for which my daughter blames me. My only fault has been doing my duty. The duties of a courtesan’s mother are well known.

‘From her birth, the daughter’s limbs must be shaped with massage and other exercises. Her body must be nourished with a measured diet which will increase its energy, strength and lustre, improve the mind, and balance the humours and the elements within.

‘From the fifth year her contact with men, even her father, must be limited. But celebrations should be held for her on birthdays, festivals and other auspicious occasions. Her education
should also commence in all the branches of the science of love.

‘These include the arts of dancing, singing and playing musical instruments; of theatre, drawing and cookery; and of creating floral arrangements and making perfumes. As well as the skills of reading and conversing. All of these must be well taught.

‘She must know enough of grammar, logic and astronomy to be able to talk about these sciences. She must have mastery over how to make a living, and how to amuse; know how to gamble, both by betting on animals and by gaming with dice. She must also learn with due effort and practice the arts of coquetry and flirtation.

‘During festivals and processions she should be displayed, suitably ornamented and surrounded by a large entourage. Through instructors arranged in advance, she should gain success at musical and other performances which take place on special occasions. The celebrity thus
acquired should be heralded abroad. Soothsayers should proclaim her auspicious bodily attributes. Sybarites, wits and go-betweens should spread the word among men of fashion about her beauty, temperament and artistic ability.

‘Once she has become the focus of young men’s desires, she should be offered for the highest possible fee. But it should be to an independent person of good family and the right age. He should be healthy and good-looking, rich and able, generous and simple, competent, cultured and sweet-tempered. To one who is not independent, but learned and possessed of other qualities in high degree, she can be given even for a lower price while telling others it is much greater. Or she can be married to a minor under common law and the fee extorted from his guardians.

‘But the courtesan should only attract the client; she should not fall in love with him. Even if she falls in love, she should not disobey her mother or grandmother. This is the condition.
Now, this girl has infringed her own ordained duties. She has spent a whole month at her own expense, in dalliance with an unknown young brahman whose only wealth is his beauty. She has rejected and annoyed numerous suitors with plenty of money. In the process she is ruining her family. When I tried to stop her, saying nothing good would come out of this folly, she became angry and set off to live in the forest. If this remains her decision, all these people will be left with no alternative but to starve to death.’ And she burst into tears.

‘Gentle maiden,’ the sage said kindly to the courtesan, ‘living in the forest is very hard. People do it only for attaining salvation or for ensuring a place in heaven. The first is not possible except through wisdom, and even then difficult to obtain. The second is easy to achieve for all those who adhere to their ordained family duties. So turn away from the impossible and do as your mother says.’

Kama Manjari was greatly disturbed. ‘Lord, if
I cannot find refuge at your feet,’ she cried, ‘then the only resort for my suffering is the god of fire.’

Pondering over this threat, the sage turned to her mother. ‘Go home for the present,’ he told her, ‘and wait for a few days. By then this delicate girl used to luxury will have had enough of the hard life of the forest. I too will persist in persuading her so that she returns to her normal life.’ The mother agreed and went back with the others.

Thereafter the courtesan put on a pair of simple washed garments and stopped using much make-up. She busied herself with attending to the hermitage plants, gathering flowers for the divine services, and performing various religious rituals. She worshipped the god Shiva with floral offerings, incense and lighted lamps, dances and music. With these devotions, and with discussions in private about the threefold goals of life and other philosophical subjects, she soon won the saintly hermit’s heart.

Observing his infatuation, she said with a
smile when they were alone, ‘People are fools to consider the goals of artha and kama on the same level as those of dharma.’
¹

‘Tell me, girl,’ Marichi responded, ‘how do you hold dharma to be higher than artha and kama?’

Prompted thus, Kama Manjari spoke slowly and bashfully, ‘Lord, your knowledge of the threefold goals is certainly much greater than mine. To ask me shows only your kindness to this servant. Very well. Listen.

‘Without dharma, artha and kama cannot even begin. Dharma is independent of them, and it alone leads to the bliss of salvation. It is moreover achievable by concentrating the mind; unlike artha and kama it does not need external aids. Contemplation of the absolute increases dharma, and indulgence in artha and kama, no matter how, cannot obstruct it. Even if obstructed, dharma can be revived with little effort; correcting its faults, it soon becomes able once again to lead the practitioner to salvation.

‘Look at the gods. Brahma lusted after the nymph Tilottama. Shiva violated the wives of thousands of hermits. Vishnu dallied in his harem with sixteen thousand wives. Prajapati was infatuated with his own daughter. Indra committed adultery with Ahalya. The wind god slept with the wife of Kesari. The moon god did so with his guru’s spouse. The sun god mounted a mare.
²

‘And look at the divine sages. Brihaspati cohabited with the wife of Utathya. Parashara ravished the boatman’s daughter. His son had intercourse with the wives of his brothers.
³
Atri did the same with a doe.

‘The impermissible conduct of the gods in such cases did not detract from dharma,’ she continued, ‘because of the power of their wisdom. Passion cannot soil the mind purified by dharma just as dust cannot besmirch the sky. That is why I believe that artha and kama cannot equal even a hundredth part of dharma.’

The sage was aroused. ‘You minx!’ he cried.
‘You are right! In those who have seen the absolute, dharma cannot be impeded by sensual indulgence. But I have never had anything to do since birth with talk of artha and kama. I must first get to know their form, their method and their result.’

‘Artha,’ she replied, ‘is about earning, increasing and protecting wealth. Its methods are war and peace, agriculture, cattle rearing and commerce. Its best fruit is charity to the deserving.

‘Kama concerns the special and delightful contact between man and woman when the minds of both are focused on the senses. Its methods are all that is pleasing and beautiful. Its fruit, born of mutual embraces, is a palpable and self-evident pleasure which nothing can surpass. It gives infinite joy, increases self-confidence and is ever sweet to remember. Highly placed people endure great discomforts and pay vast sums, engage in bitter fights and undertake fearful journeys across the sea, just for this pleasure.’

It was either her wiles or his folly, or simply fate, but on hearing her words the sage abandoned his penances and fell for her completely. She took the fool in a covered carriage through the highway to the city where he was installed in her own house. It was announced that a festival of love would take place on the following day.

On the morrow the sage Marichi was taken to the festival through the city’s main boulevard. Bathed and perfumed, he wore a fine floral garland and had already assumed rakish manners. He could not bear to be parted from Kama Manjari even for a moment: interest in his former mode of life had disappeared completely.

At the festival garden they came into the presence of the king who was surrounded by a bevy of young women. ‘Madam,’ the king said with a smile, ‘please be seated with the reverend lord.’ The courtesan saluted him and sat down, smiling sweetly. Then an elegant lady got up and said with hands clasped in homage, ‘Sir, I have been defeated by Kama Manjari and accept to
be her servant from today.’

As the lady bowed, there was a roar and astonishment and joy from the crowd in the park. The delighted king presented Kama Manjari with precious jewels and other gifts. The chief citizens and leading courtesans congratulated her. Praised by the people she then returned to her residence.

‘Lord,’ she told the sage at home, ‘it is time to say farewell. You have granted many favours to this servant. Now you should look to your own affairs.’

The sage was as if thunderstruck while in the midst of a passion. ‘Dearest,’ he cried, bewildered, ‘what is this? Whence this sudden indifference? What has happened to that extraordinary love you had for me?’

She replied with a smile, ‘Lord, you remember the woman who accepted defeat at my hands in front of the king today? There had been a little altercation between us. She had ridiculed me saying I put on airs as if I could seduce even
Marichi. We had taken a bet on this, with the stake that the loser would become the other’s servant. Thanks to you, I have won the bet!’

From
Daśa Kumāra Charitam
, 7.2