The Seduction of Shiva: Tales of Life and Love (7 page)

There was once a very famous and powerful sage named Kunigarga. A practitioner of tremendous spiritual penance and austerities, he created by the power of his mind a handsome daughter whose presence pleased him immensely. Thereafter, he gave up his mortal body and ascended to the world above.

His bright-eyed daughter was a virtuous and pious girl. She stayed uncensored in his hermitage, observing rigorous penance, fasting and offering prayers to the gods and the ancestral spirits. A long time passed in these austerities. Her father had wished to get her married while he lived, but the irreproachable girl did not want it, for she did not see anyone compatible enough
to be her husband. So she continued to torment her body with fierce austerities, devoting herself in the lonely forest to the worship of the gods and the spirits.

The labours tired her out, but she considered herself content. Gradually she was worn down by her penance and by age. Eventually, when she could not even walk a step by herself, she made up her mind to depart for the next world.

Seeing that she now intended to give up the mortal body, the divine sage Narada came to her. ‘O sinless adept in ascetic practice!’ he said to her. ‘How can there be salvation for a virgin as yet unconsecrated in marriage? This is what we hear in heaven. You have achieved the highest excellence, but you have not yet won your entry there.’

On hearing the words of Narada, the Vriddha Kanya or old maid went to the assembly of hermits and told them, ‘Noble minds, I am ready to give up half of the fruit of my penance to anyone who will marry me.’

The hermit Galava’s son, Shringavan, agreed to marry her, but with one condition. ‘Virtuous lady,’ he said, ‘I will take your hand in marriage today, but you and I should stay together for just one night.’

‘So be it,’ she agreed, and gave him her hand. They were then married with due rituals before the sacred fire.

That night she became a beautiful young woman again, adorned in a divine dress and ornaments, anointed with celestial fragrances, lighting up everything with her radiance. Galava’s son was delighted. They spent the night together and in the morning she told him, ‘O best of hermits, I have satisfied the condition you set for me. May all be well with you. Now I go.’

As she left him, she spoke once again, ‘This will be a place of pilgrimage forever more. Whoever comes here and stays for one night, offering worship to the gods, will obtain all the merits of a vow of celibacy observed for over fifty years.’ And with these words she gave up
her body and ascended to heaven.

As for the hermit’s son—he felt much deprived thinking of her beauty. With great pain he accepted, in accordance with their pact, half the fruit of her austerities and also achieved salvation, even as he grieved at having been so stricken with the beauty of the Vriddha Kanya.

From Mahābhārata, Shalya Parva, 52.3–23

How is it that Ravana never forced himself on Sita when she was in his power?
¹
Here is a story to set such speculation to rest. It is from the Ramayana, at a time much before Sita’s abduction, when the king of the demons was on his way to battle the gods and conquer heaven.

Proceeding on this campaign with his army, the ten-headed demon king reached Mount Kailasa, the abode of Kubera, the god of wealth. There he decided to camp for the night as the sun had set. Armed with all kinds of weapons, his warriors slept while the moon was rising, as
pure and splendid as the mountain itself. Mighty Ravana reclined upon its peak, gazing at the moonlit scene.

The wooded hillside shone with forests of gleaming trees: kadamba and karnikara; ashoka and arjuna; bulletwood, beech mahogany; frangipani, lodh and mulberry; coral jasmine and trumpet flower; mango, screw pine and rose bay; coconut, long pepper and bread fruit. Lilies bloomed in the waters of Mandakini, the celestial stream. The sweet voices of lovelorn and passionate satyrs pleased all hearts. Intoxicated demigods, their eyes reddened with wine, disported there with their womenfolk. The melodious sound of nymphs singing in Kubera’s palace could be heard like the distant ringing of a bell. A shower of blossoms fell from the foliage ruffled by the wind, pervading the hillside with the fragrance of spring.

A pleasant breeze, redolent of the scent of spring flowers, kindled Ravana’s sensual desire. The beauty of the mountain and the coolness
of the air, the wealth of the florescence and the sound of music, the night’s advent and the rising moon, all of these made that mighty warrior a prisoner of Kama. Sighing repeatedly, he stared at the lunar orb.

It was at this time that Rambha happened to pass by. She was the choicest of all the celestial nymphs. With a face as radiant as the full moon, ornamented with divine jewels, a paste of heavenly sandalwood adorning her limbs and coral blooms her hair, she seemed ready for a special feast.

Her eyes were enchanting, set below eyebrows that were like curved bows. Her curvaceous hips, which were embellished with the loops of a girdle, she carried like the finest gift of love. Fragrant with the floral scents of all the six seasons, she shone like the goddess Shri in all her glory. Wrapped in a garment of glistening blue, her thighs beneath it were as comely as an elephant’s trunk and her hands as soft as leaf buds. Thus did Ravana behold her as she passed
through his camp.

He was instantly smitten by Kama’s arrows. Getting up, he caught her by the hand as she went by. She was embarrassed, but he smiled at her. ‘Where are you going, my beauty?’ he said. ‘Whom do you want to reward with yourself? Who’s good luck is it that he will enjoy you? Your mouth smells of lilies and its taste must be like nectar. Whom will it gratify tonight? Your close-set breasts shine with a golden glory. To whom will you offer their feel? Your deep loins are like wheels of gold with their golden girdle, a veritable opening to paradise. Who is it that will mount them today?

‘Be it Indra or Varuna or the Ashvins,’
²
he continued, ‘which male is better than me? This is not right, my girl, for who but me is master of the three worlds. So, rest your beautiful hips on this fine rock. The ten-headed lord of lords, the ruler of the whole world, begs you with folded hands. Sleep with me!’

Thus propositioned, Rambha trembled and
clasped her hands. ‘Be gracious, sir!’ she cried. ‘It is not worthy of you to speak like this. You are my elder, and should protect me from such insolence in others. Legally I am your daughter-in-law. This is the essential point for you to recall.’ And she stood there, her eyes cast down at Ravana’s feet. His mere gaze had made her hair prickle.

‘You would be my daughter-in-law only if you were the wife of my son,’ said Ravana.

‘Very well,’ Rambha replied. ‘In law I am indeed your son’s wife, demon lord. The son of your brother Kubera is dearer to me than life. He is Nalakubara. He is famous as a brahman in virtue and a kshatriya in valour, but he is also like a fire in anger and like the earth in forbearance. It is with him that I have a rendezvous. For that have I dressed up. He too loves me and none else, and now awaits me eagerly. This is the truth, and you should let me go. Do not obstruct me, demon lord. Follow the path of good people. I respect you and indeed you should protect me.’

Thus addressed, Ravana replied politely. ‘To
call oneself my daughter-in-law,’ he said, ‘would apply in the case of a woman being the wife of just one man. But the situation in heaven is different. It has always been held that celestial nymphs have no husband, and none is the wife of only one person.’ Then he forced her down on the rock and, overcome by lust, had intercourse with Rambha.

Eventually she was released, though shuddering like a stream trodden through by an elephant. Her garland and jewellery were in disarray, her hair undone, her hands quivering. She seemed like a flowering vine shaken by the wind.

Trembling with shame and fear, her hands clasped in entreaty, she went to Nalakubara and fell at his feet. ‘What happened, good lady,’ that great soul asked, ‘why are you doing this?’

Heaving a sigh, her hands still clasped and quivering, Rambha began to tell him exactly all that had happened. ‘Lord,’ she said, ‘this ten-necked demon is on his way to heaven with an
army. Camped for the night, he saw me as I was coming to you. He caught me by the hand and asked to whom I belonged. I told him everything, fully and truthfully, but he was out of his mind with desire and would not listen. I pleaded with him, told him that I was his daughter-in-law, but he paid no heed and outraged me by force. That, my gentle and virtuous lord, has been my fault which you must forgive, for women are not as strong as men.’

Deeply angered on hearing of this outrage, Kubera’s son went into a trance during which he understood all that had happened. His eyes bloodshot with wrath, he took some water in the palm of his hand and, with due rites, pronounced a terrible curse on the demon lord. ‘Good lady,’ he said, ‘as he violated you by force though you did not desire it, he will never again be able to do that with any other woman. Sick with lust, if he does so, his head will shatter into seven pieces.’

The curse was like a flame of fire. As it was uttered, there was a peal of celestial trumpets
and flowers rained from the sky. All the gods led by Brahma were delighted. The sages and the monks were very pleased, for they now knew of the world’s condition and the demon’s death. Ravana too came to know of this terrifying curse and therefore quelled his inclination to sleep with unwilling women.

From Rāmāyana, 7.26.1–59

In times bygone, the land of north Panchala was ruled from its capital, Hastinapura,
¹
by a king named Mahadhana. This virtuous monarch, who ruled according to the sacred law, was childless.

Once, he sat with his head in his hands, immersed in worry, ‘My house has many treasures but neither a son nor a daughter. My line will end with my passing and the state be taken away, an heirless kingdom, and be ruled by someone else.’

‘Majesty, why are you so worried?’ he was asked by monks and priests, friends and relatives.

And on his explaining the matter at length, they said, ‘Propitiate the gods. Then you will have a son.’

So he entreated the gods, Shiva and Varuna, Kubera and Shakra, Brahma and the others, as well as the deities of parks and forests, crossroads and suchlike. People believe that children are born from such entreaties, but it is not so. If it were, everyone would have a thousand sons. In fact, sons and daughters are born when three conditions coincide: the father and the mother come together, full of passion; the mother is healthy and in her fertile period; and a being due to be born is at hand. The king, however, continued his propitiations.

The Bodhisattva
²
of that auspicious age then descended into the queen’s womb. An intelligent woman has five particular qualities. She recognizes a man in passion; the right time of her period; the descent of a life into her womb; the conditions in which this happens; and whether it is a boy or a girl—the former
gets attached to the womb’s right side, and the latter to the left.

The queen was delighted. ‘Thank heaven, and congratulations, noble one,’ she told her husband. ‘I am with child. It is on the right side of the womb, so it will definitely be a son.’

The king was overjoyed. He raised and stretched out his right arm, saying, ‘I too will now see the son I have so long wanted. May his birth be smooth. May he carry on my work, support me as I will support him, and inherit from me. May my line continue. And when we are gone, may he give gifts, great and small, accumulate merits, and dedicate them to our name.’

The queen was installed in comfort on the top floor of the palace, with all requirements for the weather and various foods prescribed by the physicians—not too hot or sour, salty or sweet, bitter or astringent. There she moved about from one room to the other as her pregnancy ripened, without hearing any displeasing sounds, her body
adorned with pearl strings, like a nymph in the garden of paradise.

Drums were joyfully sounded at the boy’s birth. The king had the city cleared of stones, pebbles and gravel, sprinkled with sandalwood water and decorated with flags, fine incense and all kinds of flowers. ‘Distribute gifts to monks and priests, poor people and beggars,’ he commanded, ‘and release all prisoners.’ After three weeks, the birth rite was performed and the naming ceremony arranged. ‘What should be the prince’s name?’ the ruler asked, to which the ministers said, ‘He is the son of King Mahadhana, so it should be Sudhana.’ And so was he named.

Eight nurses were appointed to look after Sudhana. Nourished on milk and yoghurt, butter, ghee and other choice foods, he grew rapidly like a lotus in a lake. Then he was entrusted to the care of teachers: of letters and
numbers, accounts and finance, acquisition and disposal of assets. He also learnt how to inspect buildings and lumber, young men and women, gemstones and textiles, horses and elephants, and how to interpret the inspections of these eight as a scholar and expert.

He also learnt the skills of warriors and kings who must rule the earth: riding the elephant, the horse and the chariot; wielding the sword and the bow, the goad and the lance; cutting and piercing; using the fist, the head and the feet; shooting hard with arrows, from afar and at the sound; retreating and advancing. His father built three palaces with parks for him, one each for the winter, the summer and the rains. He also arranged three harems there, with older, middling and young denizens. There Prince Sudhana would sport, dally and make love, surrounded by music and with no men around.

The prince was out on the chase one day when he was seen by the hunter Phalaka, who had in tow the beautiful nymph Manohara whom he
had captured earlier. How he did so is another story, but on seeing the handsome prince he said to himself, ‘That is a prince and this is a most exquisite beauty. If he sees her, he will take her by force. Perhaps I should offer her as a gift myself.’ Approaching Prince Sudhana, he fell at his feet, saying, ‘Sire, I have brought this jewel of a woman as a gift for you. Please accept her.’

It was then that the prince beheld the nymph Manohara. She was beautiful, delightfully pleasing to look at, and blessed with all good qualities. Seeing that slender-waisted girl, with a complexion of burnished gold and her garlands in disarray, he was immediately swept off his feet, firmly caught in the noose of passion.

When Sudhana beheld her,

whose face was as the moon,

it was like a lightning flash

from within a monsoon cloud:

with tender, loving, amorous thoughts

for her, within him welling up,

his heart was pierced by passion’s dart.

He rewarded the hunter with the gift of a village, and returned with Manohara to Hastinapura. There they stayed in his palace, sporting, dallying and making love. So enthralled was he by her beauty, youth and her attentiveness to him, that he was unable to leave her side, even for a moment.

It so happened that about this time two brahmans arrived in the capital from the countryside. One was engaged by the king and the other by Prince Sudhana. While the first was made the royal priest and given much wealth, the second received but a fraction of it.

‘Prince,’ he asked, ‘what will you do for me when you become the king after your father’s passing?’

The reply was: ‘Just as my father appointed your brahman colleague as his priest, so will I appoint you.’

This news reached the other brahman through a chain of ears. ‘I will so act,’ he decided, ‘that the prince does not succeed to the kingdom. How will he then make that fellow the royal priest?’

Meanwhile there was a rebellion in a hill town the king had conquered in the past, and to quell it he sent a force which came back defeated and decimated. After this happened several times, the ministers told him, ‘Majesty, why let our strength deplete and the other side’s grow? Let all those who live by arms in your realm be mobilized.’

Realizing that this provided the time and the opportunity for having the prince killed, the royal priest also addressed the king: ‘Sire, they cannot be subdued thus,’ and, on the king asking, ‘Should I then go myself?’ he replied, ‘Why should Your Majesty go? Here is Prince Sudhana, proud and strong. Let him be sent with your army.’

The king agreed and summoned his son.
‘Go, prince,’ he said, ‘take a force and subdue that town.’

‘So I will, sire,’ said Prince Sudhana, and returned to his harem. But he forgot it all on seeing Manohara. The king spoke to him again but, at the sight of Manohara, he forgot it once more.

The priest then told the king, ‘Majesty, it is impossible to send Prince Sudhana because he is so attached to Manohara. So, get the troops ready, and when the prince leaves the harem, he should be dispatched without seeing the girl.’

‘Act accordingly, gentlemen,’ the king commanded his ministers, and they had the army readied with elephants, horses, chariots and infantry, equipped with all kinds of weapons and war machines.

‘Go, prince, the army is ready,’ they said as he came out.

But he addressed the king: ‘Majesty, I will go after seeing Manohara.’

‘Do not see her, prince, the time is passing.’

‘Father, if that is so I will see my mother, and go.’

‘Go, prince, see your mother.’

Then, taking Manohara’s crest-jewel, he went to his mother and fell at her feet. ‘Mother,’ he said, ‘I’m leaving to subdue the hill town. Keep this crest-jewel hidden and protected. Do not give it to Manohara unless her life is in danger.’ Having thus advised her and taken leave, he set forth to the sound of drumbeats with an army of diverse warriors. Passing through several districts one after another, he camped for the night at the foot of a tree not far from the hill town.

At that very time Vaishravana, the emperor of the
yaksha
demigods, was travelling that way to a meeting of his subjects, when his flying chariot came to stop in mid-air. ‘I have gone this way many times,’ he wondered, ‘but my chariot has never stopped before. What could be the reason?’ Then he saw Prince Sudhana. ‘This is the Bodhisattva of our auspicious age,’ he observed. ‘He is heading for a battle and may land into
trouble. He has to be helped. That hill town must be subdued without harming any creature.’ He then summoned Panchika, the commander of his army. ‘Prince Sudhana’s hill town must be subdued without a fight,’ he ordered, ‘and no creature should be harmed.’

‘So be it,’ said the general, and created a fourfold divine army: men as tall as palm trees, elephants as huge as hills, horses as large as elephants. Brandishing swords, clubs and other weapons, and with bands making a din to create terror, he and that great host soon reached the hill town.

Its residents were distraught. ‘From whence this mighty army?’ they shouted.

‘Open the gates quickly!’ they were told. ‘Prince Sudhana is coming behind. This is his force. It will do you no good at all if you continue to resist.’

So the people of the town opened the gates and went out with banners upraised, urns replenished and music playing to meet
the prince. He arrested the rebel leaders and reassured the populace, appointing congenial officials, abolishing taxes and enlarging the town before turning back.

That night king Mahadhana had a dream. He saw a vulture come, tear open his belly, pull out his entrails and spread them around the city as seven spirits entered a house. Frightened and alarmed, the king awakened quickly. ‘Let this not be a sign of my losing the kingdom or my life,’ he worried as he sat on his great bed, holding his head. In the morning he recounted the dream to his royal priest.

‘It is certain from His Majesty’s dream that the prince has subdued the hill men,’ the priest reflected, ‘so some false interpretation must be worked out.’ Thinking thus, he said to the king, ‘Sir, this is not a good omen. You will either lose the kingdom or your life. But there is a remedy for it, seen in the books of the brahmans.’

‘What is it?’ the king demanded.

‘Sire, a nice lotus tank must be dug in the
park,’ was the reply. ‘It should be the size of a man, lined with mortar to smoothen its walls, and filled with the blood of a young deer. Your Majesty should descend into this tank, one step at a time. Then, four brahmans versed in the Vedas must lick your feet and anoint them with the fat of someone of the
kinnara
species.
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Thus will you be cleansed of sins and rule the kingdom long.’

‘All this is possible,’ the king observed, ‘but a kinnara’s fat will be extremely difficult to obtain.’

‘Whatever is difficult, sire, is also easy,’ was the reply.

‘How so?’ the king asked, to which the priest said, ‘Well, sire, Manohara is a kinnara woman.’

‘Don’t speak like this, priest,’ the king retorted, ‘the prince’s life depends on her.’

At this the brahman recited a verse:

Give up one person for the family,

give up the family for the village,

for the country’s sake, the village give up,

for your own, forsake the earth.

So, being firm yourself, O king,

you can for that sagacious prince

always get another consort

after getting Manohara killed.

Now there is nothing that people full of their own selves will not do. The king agreed, and the priest set the events in motion. The tank was dug, lined smoothly with mortar, and filled with the blood of fawns. The women from Sudhana’s harem were delighted to learn of the preparations. ‘We are young and beautiful,’ they fantasized, ‘the prince will sport with us.’

Manohara noticed their joy. ‘Why are you all so pleased?’ she asked, and was much troubled and distressed on being informed of the situation. She went to the prince’s mother, bowed at her feet and told her about it in piteous words.

The queen said that she would think about the matter but, when Manohara came to her
again, realized its gravity. She then returned the crest-jewel and her original clothes to the girl. ‘Daughter,’ she said, ‘these were to be given to you only if your life was in danger, for which I cannot be blamed.’

Meanwhile the king had immersed himself in the blood-filled tank as arranged, and the brahmans were licking his feet, asking that the kinnara woman be produced immediately. At that very moment Manohara flew up in the sky with her crest-jewel and sped away, like a serpent released from a trap. The king saw her in the air and summoned the priest. ‘Our objective is not attained,’ he exclaimed, ‘the kinnara Manohara has fled.’