Prem Purana

by Usha Narayanan

  However, Dashanan’s maternal grandfather, the asura Sumali, had a darker scheme in mind for Kaikesi’s son. Sumali had chosen Vishrava to be his daughter’s groom only because the sage was imbued with great potency due to his tapasya. He knew that the glorious child born of their union would wield power over the three realms and help Sumali fulfil his ambition.

  ‘My people are eager to see my grandson, their future ruler,’ said Sumali to Vishrava, seeking his permission to take the lad with him. The sage felt a stirring of unease but knew that he could not rightfully turn down the request. The asura king rushed his grandson away to a splendid palace he had constructed for him and lost no time in immersing him in pomp and pleasure. He showered Dashanan with priceless gifts and surrounded him with lovely women who pandered to his every whim. The young prince, used to an ascetic life, gradually began to enjoy and then to crave these sensuous delights. Memories of the tenets inculcated in him by Pulastya made him hesitate initially, but then he gave in to temptation, telling himself that he needed to experience these joys first before relinquishing them.

  ‘Remember that you are young only once, sweet child!’ said Sumali, encouraging him to indulge himself. ‘Soon you will be a king and will be spending all your energies on arduous expeditions to extend your dominion.’

  Dashanan’s mind struggled to reconcile the disparate ideas of life promoted by his two grandfathers. ‘Grandsire Pulastya warned me to shun worldly power and not allow pride and lust to cloud my mind,’ he said to Sumali. ‘He said also that if I can control my passions I can aspire to be like Indra.’

  ‘Be like Indra?’ scoffed Sumali. ‘Listen to me and you will become Indra. You are young, handsome and powerful—not a dried-up ascetic like Pulastya!’ He watched his grandson’s eyes light up at the thought and smiled to himself. He had identified Dashanan’s weakness and would have no qualms about exploiting it. ‘You can yoke Surya to your chariot and make Yama stand guard at your door. You can take the beauteous Indrani to bed. Why, you can even rewrite your future as you please, for the planets of destiny will be your slaves.’

  ‘How can I achieve all this?’ Dashanan whispered, enthralled by this vision.

  ‘Pray to your great-grandfather, Brahma. Seek the boon of immortality,’ said Sumali. ‘Then no god or demon can stop you.’

  The skies soon echoed with Dashanan’s fervent chants. Pulastya was grieved when he realized that his grandson sought worldly powers and not spiritual ones. Had all his efforts to attune his mind to virtue been wasted? On the other hand, Sumali watched gleefully as the intensity of Dashanan’s tapasya shook Indra’s throne and made the devas tremble.

  A hundred years passed, but Brahma did not appear before the tapasvin. The intrepid Dashanan cut off one of his heads and proffered it as sacrifice. More years passed without reward and Sumali’s grandson offered a second head to the fire. This too was fruitless and Dashanan offered one more head and then another, resolved to achieve his purpose or die in the effort. Finally, only one head remained. By now, Sumali was overwrought, tortured by the fear that he would lose his grandson entirely. He began pleading with him to stop the penance that he himself had suggested.

  ‘No, grandfather!’ replied Dashanan, his eyes glittering wildly in a face grown gaunt due to his prolonged austerities. ‘Surely, the gods have never seen a penance so intense or a devotee so fierce. Brahma must acknowledge my greatness and grant me his boons. Further, it is not in my nature to retreat or accept defeat once I have set my mind on a goal.’

  Dashanan closed his eyes for a moment and then raised his sword to lop off his remaining head. It seemed certain that the life of this luminous tapasvin would end that day. Sumali rushed towards him with a scream, but his grandson’s sword had already started on its downward course. The devas watched with ashen faces while the sages fled in terror. The planets and the sun swerved from their positions while the creatures on earth felt a dark dread engulf them. What would happen when the rakshasa completed his sacrifice?

  And then, an invisible force intervened.

  Dashanan’s hand froze in mid-air, though he strained every sinew to bring down the sword. He felt a fierce heat envelop him. Brahma appeared before him in a flash of incandescent light.

  ‘Your devotion and sacrifices have pleased me,’ said Chaturmukha, the god with four faces. ‘What boon do you seek?’

  Dashanan offered him worship and asked that he be made immortal. But the god replied that this was not a boon he could offer anyone. All creatures that were born had to die.

  ‘Then make me impervious to my enemies—gods and demons, gandharvas and yakshas, serpents and wild beasts,’ he said.

  ‘So be it!’ smiled Brahma. ‘And as a further reward for your piety, I hereby endow you with power over divine and occult weapons. Use your gifts wisely, Dashanan.’

  The next instant, Brahma disappeared as swiftly as he had come. The nine heads that Dashanan had sacrificed were restored to him, and they appeared to be even more magnificent than before. The rakshasa roared in triumph for he had gained powers through which he could make all the realms dance to his tunes. His arrogance grew, feeding on the extravagant praises that his asura followers showered on him. He unleashed the ambition that he had kept subdued for so long, sending the devas in swarga and the nagas in patala scattering in fear.

  Dragging her maimed foot, tormented by strange memories, the frog maiden made her way carefully to the edge of the pond. If she wanted to discover the truth about herself she must first leave the foul-smelling water. She pulled herself onto land and carefully looked around. In the distance she could see two ascetics chanting mantras before a sacrificial fire. Perhaps these learned men could help her unravel her destiny if she could only make them understand her plight. She hopped forward as quickly as she could, but halted when she heard a rustling that set her senses jangling. A desperate leap took her to a hiding place behind a boulder. Now she could see the snake making its way forward, its dark body glowing with hideous red bands. She knew that the reptile was a frog’s mortal enemy and was a thousand times more dangerous than a turtle.

  The snake made its way towards a covered pot that was placed some distance away from where the rishis were engaged in prayer. She watched as it climbed up the side of the pot, forced aside the cover and dipped its head into it. A few moments later, it retreated and slithered away behind some bushes.

  What was inside the pot? She hopped rapidly forward and saw drops of milk splashed on the ground. The milk had been poisoned and the rishis would die if they drank it. She had to warn them. But how? Her croaking would convey no meaning. They would drive her away, thinking that she was tainting the sacred ground. She could turn away and leave them to their fate. But what if this was her chance to reverse the karma that had brought her here? She could sacrifice her useless life for theirs. Perhaps she would be born again as a woman and have the good fortune to marry her warrior. Her heart raced at the mere thought and she felt a new energy coursing through her. She was ready to face anything to make that possible.

  The frog maiden hopped nearer the pot and tried to jump to the top. But it was too high and the sides too smooth. Her feet could find no grip. She tried again and fell back on the hard ground. The chants were growing louder, reaching a crescendo. The prayers were coming to an end. She looked around and spotted the stone on the farther side against which the pot rested. Yes. Using the rock as a step, she leapt, and plunged into the creamy milk through the gap created by the snake. The milk was frothing with poison. Her feet scrambled to keep her afloat, but soon the noxious fumes smothered her. She gasped for breath and knew that death was near. But her lifeless body would serve as a warning to the ascetics. They would be safe. Her weak croak of triumph floated in the air.

  The rishis rose to their feet, their austerities completed. One of them moved towards the pot of milk, his throat parched with the heat of the fire and the fierceness of the chanting. He raised the pot near his face and retched as he saw the fro
g. He drew back in horror and smashed the pot to the ground.

  ‘I curse you, greedy frog, for polluting the milk!’ he said. Then he gasped as the motionless form moved and rose from the shards of clay, no longer a frog but a beauteous young woman standing with head bowed and hands joined in prayer. Tears ran down her cheeks as she realized that the rishi’s curse had reversed the one that had turned her into a frog.

  ‘Forgive me, great one,’ she said in a voice that was as melodious as a veena. ‘I had to do this to warn you that a snake had poisoned your milk.’

  One of the rishis closed his eyes in meditation and perceived what had happened a little earlier while they had been absorbed in prayer. ‘She speaks the truth,’ he said to the other ascetic. When he found out that she did not have a name, he named her Mandodari, for she had been recreated from a manduka or a frog.

  ‘We bless you with a happy life, divine maiden!’ he said. ‘You will have a valorous husband who is renowned in the three worlds.’

  Knowing that an ashram was not the right place for her, the rishis entrusted her to Mayasura, the architect of the asuras, and his apsara wife Hema, who had long been praying for a daughter.

  Mayasura and Hema took the young maiden into their home and hearts, viewing her as a blessing from the gods. They showered her with love and watched her beauty grow by the day. They saw that her piety and innocence gave her a glow that was almost unearthly. Soon, however, Indra summoned Hema to heaven and she was forced to leave her daughter in Mayasura’s custody.

  ‘You must find a groom worthy of her,’ she advised Mayasura. ‘Someone who will love and cherish her as she deserves.’

  Mandodari wept at being parted from her mother, while her father sought solace from his own grief by beginning his search for the right groom for her. His daughter already knew who she wished to marry—the man she had glimpsed in her vision, the one she knew was meant for her. Watching her face clouded with yearning, Mayasura asked her to tell him what troubled her. But when she did so, he was unable to help her, as she did not know her suitor’s name or lineage. Where was he? Was he even real?

  ‘Do not fret,’ Mayasura said to his daughter. ‘I will find the finest groom on earth, the greatest warrior ever seen. He will adore you and you will soon forget your dream lover.’

  Mandodari knew that she must listen to her father, though she was certain that her warrior was no dream. She felt in her heart that so many miracles had taken place in her life only so that she could be united with him. He was there somewhere, pining for her as deeply as she did for him. She heard his voice every day and saw his face every night. ‘O, my king! How unfortunate I am to have lost you so soon after seeing you!’ she mourned. ‘Will I ever have the good fortune to see you again?’

  2

  Lankeshwara

  Dashanan’s fearsome powers grew by the day, and neither the devas nor the demons could stand against him. Egged on by his asura grandfather, Dashanan embarked on a campaign to subjugate the lords of the earth and the skies. In his arrogance, he listened neither to his father Vishrava’s advice nor Pulastya’s. He drove out his half-brother Kubera, the treasurer of the gods, from his beautiful island kingdom of Lanka, and occupied the throne himself. He destroyed ashrams, ravaged the richest lands and ravished women who he treated as the spoils of war. Knowing that he had won his powers through tapasya, he allowed no one else to conduct a sacrifice, for he feared that they would challenge his supremacy. He seized Kubera’s immense treasures and his pushpaka vimana, a flying fortress that would obey his very thought and traverse the three realms. Mounted on his aerial chariot, Dashanan continued his depredations with impunity. His harem was soon filled with alluring women of every race, from glowing gandharva women to sensuous and earthy rakshasis, from mermaids of the sea to delicate woodland sprites. Apsaras sang his praises while sinuous nagakanyas pleased him in bed.

  The king’s sins grew by the day, as did his dark aura, seething around his many heads with malevolent power. ‘I am invincible!’ he gloated as he sailed the skies, looking for rare treasures to seize and new enemies to destroy.

  One day, Dashanan’s eyes lighted upon a mountain that glistened like a jewel, with facets of crystal, ruby, gold and lapis lazuli. He flew closer to its dazzling peak, only to have his chariot jerk to a stop in mid-air, as if it had encountered an invisible wall. The jolt nearly caused Dashanan to tumble headlong to earth.

  An angry voice bellowed at him from the mountain peak. ‘Did you think you could fly so arrogantly over the abode of Shiva, the god of gods?” asked Nandi, Shiva’s attendant, who also served as his vaahana.

  ‘So this is where your god hides in fear!’ roared Dashanan in reply. ‘I have heard of this Shiva, a mendicant without home or wealth, an ash-smeared ascetic who lives in a cremation ground! I know of his sons, the war god Karthikeya, and the elephant-headed Ganesha. But how dare you, a mere servant, address me so rudely? Know that it is only a moment’s task for me to destroy your mountain, to kill your master and take home your treasures.’

  ‘How you do rant and rave, rakshasa!’ Nandi retorted. ‘You speak recklessly about the Tandavamurti whose dance controls creation, preservation and dissolution. You mock his ardent devotee who guards his mountain and serves as his mount.’

  ‘A devotee with the head of a bull! Look at my glorious form and then at your own misshapen one! Why, even your god is no match for me. My body is anointed with sandal paste while his is coated with ashes. I wear fine silks and jewels, whereas he wears animal hides, skulls and snakes. I come from a noble lineage of sages and kings, whereas no one even knows who his father is. I own everything that is precious and valuable, while your master owns nothing except a begging bowl!’

  ‘Stop your foul words, Dashanan!’ bellowed Nandi. ‘You mock Shiva who is everything that is auspicious and eternal. He is the lord who bestows moksha on those who chant his name. He is Digambara who wears the sky as his garment. He—’

  ‘Speak another word and I will cut off your tongue, beast!’ interrupted the rakshasa. ‘Look at the ghouls with long tails that come stumbling out of caves to confront me! Their faces are hideous, their bodies beastly. They howl and hiss and contort their ugly faces. Is this vanara army going to prevent the great Dashanan from uprooting this mountain?’

  ‘Your insults exceed all limits, asura!’ roared Nandi. ‘Try laying rough hands on Kailasa and you will face dire Shiva’s wrath. For my part, I curse that the kingdom you are so proud of will be destroyed by vanaras! And your rampant conceit will bring about your downfall.’

  ‘The animal challenges me!’ laughed Sumali’s grandson. ‘Watch now while I imprison Shiva and enslave his sons.’ He bent low and clasped Kailasa in his outspread arms.

  Shiva was in his cave, engaged in profound meditation. But Parvati, seated beside him, stringing a garland of lavender flowers, raised her head angrily on hearing the upstart’s boast. ‘My sons to be your slaves?’ she fumed. ‘The indomitable Karthikeya, who subdued Tarakasura and leads the deva armies? And glorious Ganesha, first among the gods? You will now face the wrath of Bhadrakali, rakshasa! You will tremble on seeing my mighty arms, my dreadful fangs and my eyes rolling in rage. I will shred your adamantine body as if it were gossamer.’

  Suddenly, she heard a voice in her ear, pulling her back from the edge of wrath. ‘Do not go before the rakshasa now, Parvati,’ it said. ‘His own actions will hasten his doom.’ Parvati looked up into the radiant face of Vishnu who had appeared before her.

  ‘Mother of gods!’ he said, his voice gentle and soothing. ‘You are the embodiment of peace, the refuge of all living beings. Hold back your anger, Shakti!’

  She joined her hands together in reverence. ‘Welcome to Kailasa, my brother,’ she said, allowing his grace to calm her. ‘I submit myself to your wisdom.’

  But even as she spoke, the mountain shook under their feet. Again, Vishnu gestured to her to wait. They emerged from the cave and saw that Dashanan had carried out his threat
to uproot Kailasa. Mountain goats and deer scattered in fear. The sages in their ashrams stopped their chanting and stared in horror. Shiva’s fierce ganas rushed to gather their weapons. Nandi furrowed the ground with his mighty hooves and lashed his tail, awaiting Shiva’s command. The devas gathered above, watching their foe attack fierce Rudra’s domain.

  ‘O great Shiva! Awaken now to kill the demon and free us from his tyranny!’ they prayed.

  The skies exploded with a fierce light as Shiva opened his eyes. His indignant roar shattered mountain peaks and set the seas aflame. His body glowed with the light of a thousand suns. The emerald serpents on his body spat poison. The trident in his hand blazed with supernal power, ready to shear off Dashanan’s heads. The ganas sent boulders flying towards the assailant. Nandi bellowed, seeking Shiva’s permission to kill Dashanan.

  But Shiva had the power to annihilate the universe with a glance. He needed neither Nandi nor the ganas to quash the foolish asura. The dire god knitted his eyebrows and pressed lightly down on the mountain with his little toe.

  At once, the mountain extended stony roots to surround the rakshasa and hold him captive. Dashanan felt as if he was pinned down by the weight of the whole earth and her creatures. He roared in pain and pushed at the walls of rock that imprisoned him, but to no avail. Trapped as he was beneath Kailasa, his enormous powers were useless.

  He struggled through the day and the night, exerting all his strength, but to no avail. Days passed and then months. His agony grew unabated until finally he realized that he could free himself only through Shiva’s mercy. He had to show the three-eyed god that he was repentant.