Becoming God
By
Trilok Nath Pandey
First published in India in 2019
E-mail: [email protected]
Becoming God
by Trilok Nath Pandey
Copyright © Trilok Nath Pandey
Cover Image: Kumar Amit
Cover Sketch: Irshad Kaptan
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.
Typeset by Bonzuri Books (Zodel Studios)
Prologue
I saw Shiv in my son Ashutosh who was running helter-skelter escorting his wife on deathbed, seeking treatment for her. I saw Shiv carrying seared Sati on his shoulders running across the world like a mad man, seeking medication for her. Both – my son’s wife Kavita and Shiv’s consort Sati – died. Their death sucked me into intense visions. I saw Shiv, a tribal youth from Himalayas being so intense in love and compassion. This further pushed me to the realization that how simply Shiv played hisleela, the divine acts, in human form. This humanity, along with the divinity, elevated a tribal youth to godhood and even to the greatest one in the pantheon of gods of Hindus.
Shiv occupies the vastest space of people’s mind because of his closeness to ordinary human beings. His ordinariness is extraordinarily divine. It is only he who provides a portal to an ordinary person to usher in ecstasies of divinity. This enabled me to delve deep into Shiv’s leela. To me his leela is quite different from what has been told by earlier tellers. I tried to tell it in my own ordinary style in the light of vision bestowed by Lord Shiva Himself through the tragic event in my family mentioned in the beginning.
As this story of Shiv is the outcome of intense vision I happened to have, I hope the sparks of the vision will ignite the bliss in the readers of this novel, The Becoming God.
I am grateful to my family members, particularly my wife Geeta, who bore the weight of my vagaries arising out of intense vision of Shiv. I am also thankful to my friend Awadhesh Kumar Rai for removing mistakes from the manuscript by carefully reading it. I am greatly beholden to Professor Prabhat Ranjan of Delhi University, who spared time from his busy schedules to make many valuable suggestions. Appreciation is also due to Bonzuri Books for their excellence in making it convenient to reach out to you on Kindle in the form of ebook.
Chapter One
Deul
1.1
In Tribhut, the roof of the world, in the Himalayas there is a valley called Deul. The people in the far plains call it Duolok, the land of light, or Devlok, the land of gods. Some name it Deval or Devalay, the abode of gods. Whatsoever they call it, they remain so enamoured with the valley that they believe that it is the heaven, and that the earth ends at its border.
The valley is surrounded by Mount Meru in the north, Mount Mandhata in the south, and some lesser mountains standing in humility in the east and west. The peak of Mount Meru, called Kailash by the natives, remains perennially decked with snow, while other peaks are almost naked. The Kailash is venerated far and wide as a pious peak untouched by human banalities. The natives believe it is the dwelling of spirits, and stay away at an awesome distance. Even the thought of climbing it is considered unholy and dreadful.
The Sun, the Moon and Clouds decorate the Kailash with lights and shades. The Sun colours it with golden hue in the morning, with bright fluorescence in the noon and with elegant crimson in the evening. The Moon takes over thereafter to wrap it with misty glow sometimes and with mysterious darkness other times. The Clouds provide it an enrapturing look with fast-changing shadows.
Two lakes - Manas and Rasas - lie at the foot of the Meru, tied with a couple of streams. The Meru, crowned with the white Kailash, has always been kind to the twin lakes by lending steady supply of water, and sharing its bounteous beauty. The Kailash, along with its heavenly companions, playfully mirrors itself in the lakes.
Both the Manas and Rasas are blessed with crystal-clear waters, allowing a viewer to have a fair visibility of the swimming fish and even the tiniest pebbles lying in their beds. The Sky and the Clouds, the Sun and the Moon, and the Meru and the Mandhata provide myriads of hues to the lakes’ waters – sometimes royal blue, sometimes emerald-green, sometimes crimson red, unceasingly. The Kailash keeps smiling mysteriously over the magical play of colours.
Despite being twins connected with a canal called Gangaju, the two lakes are poles apart. The Manas, with its calm and serene ambience, is perceived as a place for gods to bathe and to delight in water sports. In contrast, the Rasas is believed to be home to demons, and its water is considered capable of stoking passions. With its turbulent waves, uneven shores and eerie look, the Rasas is naturally condemned to negatives. That seems the reason why the swans, venerated as the most pious and judicious of the birds, opt for the Manas, not the Rasas, for their swimming sprees.
Besides the lakes and the streams, there are rugged terrains, scattered algal wetlands, and vast grasslands. In the winter when the lakes freeze, some extra vastness comes up, making additional space for the little creatures of the land to roam wantonly.
1.2
Two villages - Lohtsa and Thongsa - were located on the shores of a stream called Mo Chu, which flew down the expanse between the Meru and the Manas. Lohtsa was on the west bank of the Mo Chu, while Thongsa on the east bank. The villagers crossed the stream easily, except when the stream was inflated during the rainy season which was mostly short and skimpy.
The two villages consisted of five or six families each, who along with their herd would roam almost the whole year except for the winter, looking for grazing grounds. During their wanderings they lived in makeshift sheds called Rebo, made of goatskins. Their herd were goats, sheep and yaks, helmed by ferocious dogs, which every family kept as faithful companions to guard against any sneak or aggression, and to keep watch on their herd.
The families would scatter across the vast valley in search of grazing grounds. The Lohtsans would remain restricted to the west of the Mo Chu and the Manas, while the Thongsans were entitled to graze their cattle in the area in the east. Intrusions would occur rarely, and if any it was bound to trigger fierce fights between the the two rival villages.
Barring animosity over intrusion, the people of the two villages lived in harmony, following a common faith, patterned by the geographical conditions of the area. The people were mostly stocky, having flat face – with even nose and small eyes, and pale complexion. Men and women both looked almost alike, with long uncut hair plaited on their heads and soft hairless faces. Only a few men were blessed with beard and moustache, thin and sparse, that they never cut or shaved.
Despite being privileged to remain close to the Manas, the nectar lake, the villagers never used water for washing or bathing. They were so scared of cold that even during summer they did not use water for such purposes - they had never used it, ever since their birth. Rather they rubbed their bodies with butter for smoothness and cleanliness, unmindful that that made them so stinking and odious. They were very fond of butter. Whether it was days-old stale or stinking, they relished that eating.
The villagers had deep faith in their religion and great respect for their village chief called Goba. Goba was a priest, protector, deliverer, and medicine man. He was the chief propitiator of the village goddess Tora, and worked as a medium between the people and the goddess by communicating people’s sufferings and prayers to the goddess and disseminating divine directives claimed to be received from her through visions and inspirations.
Goba would preside over the funeral rites by leading the funeral procession to goddess Tora’s temple, where he would perform elaborate rituals to propitiate the g
oddess. The temple of the goddess was situated a few feet above from the foot of the Mount Meru, in a dark cave, where the goddess was believed to be residing in an obelisk arrayed in front of an altar.
Getting the body of the dead placed before the goddess, Goba would sing some hymns spookily, and intone some cryptic sounds as if conveying to the goddess the pain of the relatives of the dead. Meanwhile, he would continue offering butter and dried leaves of some plant in the fire lit on the altar. Amidst this eerie ritual the relatives of the dead and villagers would stand in a corner - scared and stupefied.
Goba would announce the closure of the ritual for the day by blowing his bone pipe lugubriously, hinting to the villagers to get out of the temple without looking back, leaving the body there. Nobody was allowed to stay in the temple in the night.
The ritual was repeated for three days, till the spirit finally willed to leave the body, though under duress from the goddess. Ultimately, at the end of the third day, the Goba would declare the unqualified departure of the spirit from the body, and ask the relatives and villagers to take the body to the cremation ground situated at a small plateau, a few feet up the mountain. There, he would blow his bone pipe, and some formidably taloned birds would appear mysteriously from nowhere as if they were waiting for the call. The Goba then would start lopping limbs off the body and offering the slivers to the hovering birds. He blew his bone pipe to see off the spirit to its upward journey, and to signal to the relatives to move down without looking back. They believed that above that plateau was the land of spirits, where they never wished to be.
1.3
The villagers had a clear family pattern with a very strong familial bond, though they were not aware of marriage or living like man and wife. There was a free love life - restricted only by three rules, prohibiting lovemaking: beyond own family, between mother and son, and forced one. They did not believe in a regular partnership, and always rejected force by either of the partners to avail intercourse. This code of carnal conduct would keep villagers consolidated within their own families, and help them limit the growth of family size and develop strong bond among the family members. They were compelled to customise themselves to adopt this lifestyle by the harsh climatic conditions and frugal means of livelihood available in the area. By insisting on absence of force for carnal favour, they ensured love and equality between the partners and eliminated any possibility of bickering within a family. That was why the size and the number of families in the village had remained almost the same over decades. This also reflected very well on the society of the village, and they all remained in almost perfect peace and harmony.
Any violation of the code was penalised harshly. The lech was punished by severing of his limb of mischief. In case of a female convict, she was just expelled from the family quarter and condemned to live in the herd’s quarter in the open with cattle where she might die due to severe cold or was buried in heavy snowfall in winter. If she survived, she suffered the ignominy of insinuations of coupling with animals she was condemned to live with.
Chapter two
Cheu
2.1
It was a full moon night in the late spring. Lolmu, the Goba of Lohtsa village, with his family and cattle, was camping at a grazing ground only a bit away from the Manas Lake. Except for Lolmu, the whole family was asleep. The family dog, Lolmu’s faithful companion, was dozing off at the entrance of the rebo.
Lolmu was awake not by choice but under the spell of bizarre thoughts. Vexed, he ventured out. The snoozing dog leaped up to vigilance and moved behind him. They took a round of the rebo, and the adjoining cattle’s quarter. Everything was alright, except an intense eeriness appearing infused in the ambience.
The valley was awash with milky light of the full Moon. The Moon was looking into the lake, causing illusion as to whether it was in the sky or in the lake. The Manas was mysteriously more awakened than ever. The spooky silence was huskily warning the wind against unnecessary haste, and the Manas against over-enthusiasm. Lolmu was so awed by the spectral spiritedness that he prostrated on the ground in fear of the spirits. He invoked Goddess Tora for protection. Prayerfulness was so heavy on his consciousness that he soon slipped into stupor.
2.2
Lolmu was awestruck at the sight of a tall dark woman with red fiery eyes, who chided him for not recognizing her, “You don’t know me? I am Tora. I have a boon for you, nay, for all of you, the whole of the universe. The Lord has arrived tonight on the earth. Rush to receive him beside the Gangaju near the Manas. And remember, don’t reveal it to anyone.”
Before Lolmu could ask anything, the vision disappeared. He ran towards the Manas immediately.
By the time Lolmu reached the Manas, the sun was already out in the sky. He was afraid that he could invite the ire of the Thongsans, the rival villagers, for infiltrating into their territory violating the treaty of not entering each other’s area without prior approval. Gangaju was in the Thongsan territory. There was no time to seek approval from the Thongsan Goba. Moreover, he could not have done so due to explicit instruction of the Goddess against any disclosure.
It was almost late afternoon when Lolmu neared Gangaju. He was relieved that no Thongsan had seen him thus far, and none seemed to be nearby to notice him. Encouraged, Lolmu hastened his steps, and soon Gangaju was within sight.
Lolmu was surprised to see that some birds were chirping and cheering near the confluence of the Gangaju and the Manas. As he went nearer, he saw a newborn baby lying there, waving its arms and legs in the air. And, what was that protecting the baby’s face from sunshine!?! Oh, it was the hood of a snake. So large! Unbelievable! He was frightened by the presence of a snake in that cold region. He had never seen this creature earlier, except for once in the far plains where he had once been.
Lolmu was awed to see that the baby was flinging its hands in the air, trying to catch the hood of the snake, and the snake was averting the catch by waving its hood. The baby was squealing at its efforts to catch the hood, and the birds were cheering it.
Shocked with surprises, Lolmu stood stupefied at the spot. Meanwhile, the chirping birds flew away, and the snake brought its hood down touching ground as if greeting the baby and retreated hastily towards the Kailash.
Lolmu asked himself, “Is this baby our Lord?” He stared sceptically at the baby, looking for some signs portending its being the Lord. He could find none, except for extraordinary features of the baby: cutely elongated face, large eyes, sharp nose, golden brown complexion, and black curly hair. He thought, “These are the features alien to this region. They befit the divine only, not a baby of the soil.” This realization overwhelmed him with awe and devotion, and he hurriedly picked up the baby and wrapped it in his goatskin robe. He noticed that the baby was a male, and there was a prominent Mongolian blue spot on its neck. He ran back post-haste. He was extremely happy over finding the Lord and the success of the expedition without being noticed by the rivals. He was running, as if flying, towards his camp.
By the time Lolmu reached his camp, it was already late night. The family members concerned over his unannounced absence surrounded him, glowering with curious eyes. His younger brother, Bilotu was furious, alleging that he had recklessly fled while he was needed there to mind Dhenu, the cow, that had given birth to a calf that morning.
Everybody in the family was surprised when Lolmu took the baby out of his robe. Everybody was curious to know: “Who was this baby? Where did Lolmu find it? Who were its parents?” Lolmu hushed them by sternly replying that the baby was Cheu, meaning the greatest. Everybody was silent. Only Bilotu was still vocal, ridiculing the child for being named Cheu, and instead called him Meu, meaning the orphan.
Lolmu felt hurt over Bilotu’s insolence, though he knew that his younger brother was an arrogant and pugnacious person by nature. He had been tolerating him silently since his childhood, and had not minded much his open disrespect to him as elder brother and more as the Goba whose command reigned over the village.
But, disrespect to the child made him seethe with anger. He wished he could tell the truth about the child, had the Goddess not forbidden him. Haplessly, he grew anxious about the future of the child, forgetting that the child was the Lord himself.
The burden of bringing up Cheu fell solely on Lolmu as he was born to no woman in the family and moreover Bilotu had caused so much rancour that none in the family volunteered to raise the child. Bilotu was resentful that Lolmu had never earlier been a caring father of the children in the family, and why he suddenly developed so much affection for an orphan.
Undaunted by resentment and criticism from Bilotu and others in the family, Lolmu committed himself to Cheu. He would take him along, wherever he went. He never left Cheu alone, partly because of fear of harm from Bilotu and partly because of his intense affection for the child. Finding that no one, even children, of the family took interest in the boy, Lolmu introduced him, instead to the cattle of the family: this was Dhenu for milk for Cheu; this was its calf, Lolmu had named it Nandi, meaning the carrier. Nandi was a different calf – cute, soft and hairless. Cheu had a special relationship with Nandi; both having arrived the same day on the earth. Cheu was also very close to Dhenu and the dog of the family, despite its ferocity, besides other animals. Either taught discreetly by Lolmu or from his latent divinity, the child developed a good communication skill with the animals. Concordant to Cheu’s affection for animals, Lolmu added two self-composed lines to the lullaby that local women would sing to put their children to sleep. Lolmu would sing his version of lullaby at bedtime to the child:
“Come, Dhenu, come from the grazing ground.
For milk, Cheu needs you.
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