The Seduction of Shiva: Tales of Life and Love

by Haskar

  One day, in the land south of the Himalayas, he saw a city with nine gates. It possessed all the good attributes—battlements and moats, gardens and terraces, latticed windows and royal gates. It was full of great mansions crowned with domes of gold, silver and steel. The palaces in that city were adorned with emeralds and rubies, crystals and pearls, opals and sapphires, and shone like the citadels of the serpent kings. They were surrounded by avenues and squares, markets and halls of assembly, places for sport and for relaxation, with benches of coral and many flags and banners.

  Outside that city was a beautiful park full of wonderful trees and creepers, with birds singing and bees humming over the flowers. There was a lake within the park, and the verdure around it rustled in the mild spring breezes and the cool spray of waterfalls. The animals in that park were peaceful and harmless; and the nightingale’s call beckoned the traveller to rest in it.

  Wandering in that marvellous woodland, Prince Puranjan beheld a damsel coming his way. With her was a retinue of ten attendants, each the leader of a hundred maidens, and a five-headed serpent guarded her. She was in the first bloom of youth. Her complexion was dusky, her nose and temples, teeth and mouth, and the curve of her waist were of exceeding beauty. She wore a yellow garment and a girdle of gold. Rings sparkled in her ears and the anklets on her feet tinkled as she walked, modestly covering a rounded bosom which testified to her flowering charms. In truth she looked like a goddess. And she was in search of a worthy husband.

  The arrows of that beauty’s glances struck the brave Puranjan in his heart, and he addressed her in a sweet and gentle tone: ‘Lotus-eyed one, who are you? Who is your father and from where do you come? For what purpose have you come near this city? Tell me, tender one, who are these ten attendants commanded by an eleventh warrior, and who are these women and the serpent that goes ahead of you? Are you a goddess, or do you wander here like an acolyte searching for your lord? All the desires of your husband would be satisfied merely in knowing that you look for him.

  ‘But, lovely one,’ he continued, ‘I see that your feet touch the earth. This would not happen if you were celestial. So, if you are indeed of the human race, will you not adorn this best of cities with me, as the goddess Lakshmi graces paradise with the god Vishnu? Behold, I am brave and powerful. But your eyes have smitten my heart today. Your smiles and glances, modest but full of passion, have made me suffer with desire. Give me your favour, beautiful one. Your face is like a lotus blossom, surrounded by the dark wreath of your hair. Your voice is sweet. But your modesty makes you avert your face from me. Give me at least a glimpse of your beauty.’

  The damsel smiled to indicate her acceptance of Puranjan’s plea. She too had become enamoured of the prince. ‘O best of men,’ she said to him, ‘my companions and I do not know our names or clans, nor who gave us birth. We live in this city at present, and this is all that I know. Who built it for us to stay in, even of that I am ignorant. These men and women are my companions. When I sleep, this serpent remains awake, guarding the city. Well have you come, my dear, and well may it be with you. My companions and I will offer you every pleasure to fulfil all your desires. May you stay for a hundred years in this nine-gated city, enjoying all the delights you seek and which I will offer you. How could I ever consort with any man other than you?

  ‘Others,’ the damsel added, ‘the celibates and the renunciants, know neither the delights of love nor enjoy other pleasures; they only think of tomorrow and the hereafter. It is only the householder who can attain in this world both the sacred and the secular ends of life, fame and paradise. Hermits and renunciants cannot even imagine all this. It has been said that the householder’s status is the one foundation in this world for the happiness of all beings—human and celestial. Which woman would not choose a husband as famous, generous and handsome as you? Which woman’s heart would not long to find a place in your arms, smooth and strong as a serpent? You walk the earth, as it were, only to solace women like us with your sweetness and compassion.’

  Their views in concord, those men and women then stayed in that city for a hundred years, enjoying every felicity. The bards and the balladeers would sweetly sing of Puranjan’s fame.

  Of the nine gates of that city, seven were above it and two below.1 They had been built to enable the city’s ruler to go in different directions. Five gates faced eastwards and two to the west. One opened to the north and another to the south. Of the eastern gates, four were paired and one stood separate. Each gate had a name, and through each Puranjan would visit different places, accompanied by different friends. But above all he took help and counsel from two blind citizens of his capital city.

  Whenever Puranjan went to the inner apartments with his chief attendant, he experienced great happiness, joy and attraction for his wife and children. His mind was entangled in them and smitten with desire. He had been ensnared by his beloved. He followed her in whatever she did. When she partook of wine or food, he did likewise, eating whatever she ate. If she talked or sang, laughed or wept, he did the same. When she ran, he would run, and when she stopped, he too would stop. He slept and sat, listened and looked, smelt and touched as and when she did. He would plunge into grief when she was sad, and be filled with joy when she was happy. Thus entranced by his wife, Prince Puranjan followed her every instruction, like a tame animal, and he also came to be controlled by her attendants.

  One day Puranjan put on his gilded armour, took in hand his great bow and quiver of arrows, and set out for the forest in a swift chariot2 with his eleventh attendant. Five horses were yoked to that chariot, which had two rods and wheels, one axle and three flagstaffs, a charioteer with five leashes and one set of reins. It was equipped with five weapons and seven curtains, and it could move at five different speeds. All its trimmings were of gold. Though it was difficult for the prince to leave his beloved even for a moment, such was his desire to hunt that day that he left her without ado.

  A demonic passion had made his heart cruel and hard. With sharp arrows did he kill many innocent animals in the forest. Many died in agony, pierced by his feathered darts. All compassionate people sorrowed to see this pitiless slaughter. At last, having killed many buffaloes, deer, boars, rabbits and other animals, Puranjan was fatigued. Tired out, he returned to the palace where, having bathed and rested, dressed and dined, he remembered his beloved. His desire aroused once more, he searched for his beautiful wife but she was not to be seen anywhere.

  Puranjan asked the women of the inner apartments: ‘Maidens, is all well with your mistress? Why does all the magnificence of this mansion not appear pleasing today? A house without one’s mother or a devoted wife becomes like a chariot without wheels. Which wise person would live and be miserable in such a house? So tell me, where is that beauty who revives me every time I am in pain and sorrow?’

  ‘Lord, we do not know what has come over your beloved,’ the women replied. ‘Behold, she lies there on the floor without any covering.’

  Puranjan went to his wife, took her in his arms and soothed her with endearments. ‘Darling,’ he said, ‘a passion for the hunt made me go away without asking you. In this I certainly did wrong. Even so, look at me kindly as your own. What woman will not accept a dear husband who, tormented by love’s arrows, is always her slave?’

  Then his wife came close and embraced him, for with many wiles had she brought him completely under her control. And he was so smitten by her that he lost count of time, spending day and night in her company as if she was his supreme end in life.

  Constantly rapt in desire, Puranjan’s youth passed as if within moments. From his wife, Puranjani, he had many sons and daughters, and after they too were married, many grandchildren also. His line spread through the entire land of Panchal and he remained engrossed with his children, grandchildren, kingdom and treasure. To seek yet other comforts, he performed great sacrifices to all the gods. At last he entered old age, a state always unpleasant to those who love pleasure.

  There was a
king of the demons called Chanda Vega. He had a retinue of three hundred and sixty demons and a like number of demonesses, both dark and fair. They would by turns plunder Puranjan’s city of many delights. The five-headed serpent, who guarded the city, long resisted these marauders. For one hundred years he fought alone against the demonic seven hundred and twenty till he was weary. Then Puranjan was stricken with worry, for all this time he had been immersed in pleasures brought to the city by his attendants and had remained unaware of this peril.

  Another danger also appeared at this time. The Kalkanya, that is the daughter of Kaal, the lord of time, had been wandering over the world in search of a husband but none would accept her. This maiden of ill aspect, whose name was Jara, finally went to the king of the barbarians and requested him to take her hand. ‘O great one,’ she said, ‘I have come to you as I wish to make you my husband. Gratify me with your acceptance of my wish.’

  ‘I have already found someone for you,’ the barbarian king told Kalkanya. ‘Inauspicious and unpleasing as you are for all people, none will accept you of their own will. But you can take the people of this world and enjoy them by force, even though you are unwanted by them. I will give you my army, and with its help none will be able to withstand you. Here is my brother Prajvar and you are now my sister. With both of you and my army of terror I will wander in a subtle form through the world.’

  Then the barbarian king’s hordes, together with Jara, the Kalkanya, began to traverse the earth at will. With great force they besieged the city of Puranjan, which was guarded by that ancient serpent and endowed with all earthly pleasures. Kaal’s daughter Jara started to enjoy the denizens of that city forcibly. While the city was being thus ravished, the barbarian hordes also penetrated it through different gates and commenced its destruction.

  Puranjan, who was deeply attached to his family, had exulted in his lordship of the city. He now began to suffer untold agonies. His sense of discrimination was lost and his lustre tarnished by the Kalkanya’s embrace. His continued attachment to pleasures made his condition pitiable. The barbarian soldiers plundered him of his glory. He saw his city ravaged and the Panchal country disintegrating under the occupation of enemies. His sons and grandsons, ministers and servants lost their respect for him; his wife ceased to be affectionate; and his body was possessed by Jara. Finding no means of escape, he was seized by anguish. Debased by craving for pleasures—pleasures which the Kalkanya had made worthless—deprived of his kinsmen’s esteem and the fruit of afterlife, his mind dwelt only on looking after his wife and children. Even though he did not want to leave them, he was forced to do so, for he was surrounded by demons and barbarians and made useless by Jara. At this moment Prajvar, the brother of the barbarian king, set fire to Puranjan’s city.

  With the whole city aflame, the condition of Puranjan, his wife and family, his servants and subjects became even more desperate. The serpent that protected the city was in dire straits. His dwelling was attacked by Prajvar and captured by the barbarians. Exhausted, in pain and unable to protect his charge, he wished to leave the city, just like a snake tries to escape from the hollow of a burning tree. Prevented by the barbarians, he wept in misery.

  Immersed in attachment to himself and his possessions, Puranjan had almost lost his mind. His ability to enjoy his belongings had long since departed, but his possessiveness for them, for his children and grandchildren, household and treasures still remained. Noticing that the time to be separated from them had now arrived, he began to lament.

  ‘Alas!’ he wept. ‘My wife was the mistress of a great household. Who will help her and how will she survive when I leave this city? Surely, worry for our children will consume her. She was always ready to serve and support me, and to warn me of my mistakes. But will she be able to manage this household when I am gone? And how will my children live when I go, for am I not their sole support? Surely, they will become like travellers on a ship wrecked at sea.’

  Compelled by unwisdom and debased in mind, while Puranjan thus lamented, he was seized by the terrible barbarian king. As the barbarians tied him with ropes like a beast and began dragging him to their camp, his lamenting kinsfolk followed him out of the city which was simultaneously destroyed. Thus was Puranjan driven from his city by the mighty king of the barbarians.

  In this allegorical portrait of love, life and death, Puranjan is the individual soul. The nine-gated city is the human body with its nine openings, through which the material world is experienced. The woman, Puranjani, is awareness or ego which gives the sense of me and mine for material experience. The ten attendants are the sensory and motor organs, and their retinue the sense objects. The eleventh, chief, attendant is the mind. The five-headed serpent is the life force comprising the five breaths. The blind citizens are the hands and the feet. The chariot is again the body and the hunt is the possession of things through the sense organs. The king of the demons is the Year and his retinue are the days and the nights. Jara is age, the daughter of Kaal or Time. The barbarian king is Death and his brother Prajvar is Pestilence.

  From Bhāgavata Purāṇa, 4.25, 4.29

  Mukti and Viveka: The Dialectic of Intercourse

  The great Bharata war had been won. The victorious Pandavas decided to celebrate their conquest with the Ashvamedha, a horse sacrifice. This traditional ritual for the assertion of sovereignty involved letting a horse loose to wander where it would, escorted by an armed force to prevent anyone from obstructing it in a show of independence.

  The Pandavas consecrated a black-eared stallion with due ceremony and released it to wander at will under the protection of their chief warrior, Prince Arjuna. In this they were advised and assisted by their friend, the god Krishna.

  Several battles were fought to guard the horse in its wanderings. Eventually the beast entered the kingdom of Champa,1 where it was seized by the local ruler who then readied his army to fight the Pandava force. One of his warriors was his own son, the noble Prince Sudhana.

  The prince took leave of his mother and sister. They were aware that he would be confronting the formidable Arjuna and perhaps even the god Krishna. Sudhanva’s mother realized the dangers fully. ‘But son,’ she said, ‘does one who dies facing Krishna really die? On the contrary he achieves salvation for himself and twenty-one generations of his forbears and descendents.’ His sister also encouraged him.

  Going to an outer room, the prince saw his wife, the lady Prabhavati. A slender form with lovely eyes and breasts, she stood holding sandalwood and camphor in a plate of gold. Also on it were blades of sacred grass and grains of rice around lotus and champak flowers and a lamp, the whole gleaming in five newly lit flames from pieces of camphor. She wore pretty anklets, a girdle over a bright silken garment and a bodice the colour of flowers. Her mouth was reddened. Around her neck was a string of pearls, and bangles tinkled on her wrists.

  That wise young woman waved the plate in front of her warrior husband with due adoration like a devoted wife, all the while looking at him out the corner of her eyes. Having completed the ceremony, she then addressed her spouse. ‘Lord,’ she said, ‘I can see from your face that you are longing for the sight of Krishna. But are you going to forsake me? It seems that your vow of fidelity to your only wife is about to be breached. But she whom you now seek can never equal the one who chose you. Though good people praise her, she is available to everyone, be it father or son. I am not like that. Yet it is she, Mukti,2 lady salvation, who now stirs your heart. The eagerness of your desire has turned you to Krishna, and you are rushing away because you think he will bring her to you. But, after seeing him, you will care for her no longer. It is only I, now left at home, who will be your love.

  ‘Well,’ she continued, ‘it takes but a moment for the minds of men to start lusting for the nymphs of heaven. But if you have not yet engendered discrimination—Viveka—then what is the point of your going to war? You can achieve Viveka only through me, even though it may still not prevent you from going.

  �
�Now, men may go to other women,’ she added, ‘but women do not behave like that. I too could go to lord salvation—Moksha3—when you leave me. Would not that be another man for me? So, take me with Viveka, and you will, undoubtedly, have all success in this terrible world. He has been with me since I was little, and always guards my body. That is why I am ashamed to go to Moksha. Only women without discrimination go to another. Nevertheless, if you go to Mukti, I will go to Moksha at the same time. For one crooked turn follows another. But I will go there thinking of you. For Mukti fears me and will laugh at you, wondering what kind of a man you are to seek her, abandoning a devoted and discriminating wife.’

  ‘My dear,’ Sudhanva then replied, ‘there is no doubt that I can get Mukti only through you. But what you have said has turned off my desire as it questions my manhood. By all means look for Moksha when I go to battle with Krishna. Just go. Forget me, my fine clothes, gold and jewels, even my body and heart. Had I known that you were enamoured of Moksha, I would never have attempted to father discrimination on someone like you.’

  ‘My lord, Viveka is present only in my heart,’ Prabhavati replied. ‘To make him a real person, whom I can see and who will perform our funeral rites, give me one last pleasure before you go to contest with the great Arjuna. I have already had the bath of purification at the end of my period.’

  ‘I will come back, Prabhavati,’ said Sudhanva. ‘I will be with you after having seen Krishna and Arjuna, and defeating them both with just five arrows.’

  ‘No!’ she retorted. ‘Those who go to see Krishna, and actually do so, never come back into this world.’

  Whereupon Sudhanva said, ‘Lady, if you know that there is no return after seeing Krishna, then it is pointless looking for someone to perform the funeral ritual.’