Prem Purana

by Usha Narayanan

  Once he had decided on this path, Dashanan plunged into prayer just as fiercely as he had fought earlier. He subdued his ego and focused his energies on devotion. He chanted verses from the Sama Veda that were closest to Shiva’s heart. He then composed and sang the Shiva Tandava Stotra, extolling the god and his cosmic dance in verse. The music reverberated through heaven, earth and patala, binding man and god, animal and bird in its exquisite rhythms. Shiva listened, rapt, with his eyes closed. Dashanan then created the Rudra veena, using one of his heads as the gourd, one arm as the beam and his veins as the strings. His song, set in Raga Kambhoji, was majestic in gait and drenched the world in devotional fervour.

  Dhimid dhimid dhimi dhvanan

  mrudanga tunga mangala

  Dhvani krama pravartita prachanda tandava Shiva

  ‘I worship Lord Shiva, whose dance of creation is in harmony with the fierce dhimid-dhimid-dhimi that comes from the auspicious drum,’ he sang.

  Shiva’s heart was softened by the music, and he raised his toe to allow Dashanan to free himself. Then he appeared before the rakshasa on the mountaintop in order to accept his worship. Parvati remained out of the rakshasa’s sight still, at Vishnu’s insistence.

  Delighted at his success in winning Shiva’s grace, Dashanan conjured up a drum, a flute, a trumpet and a conch shell that he played with his many hands and mouths, creating a rhapsody the likes of which had never been heard on earth or in heaven. So enchanting was the music that even the serpent around Shiva’s neck swayed to the rhythm. The ganas listened spellbound while Nandi shed tears of rapture. Fierce Rudra now became gentle Ashutosha—easily pleased by his devotee’s faith. His eyes closed in ecstasy. His trident glowed with a white radiance, calmed by the sublime cadence of the song.

  Shiva opened his eyes as the song ended and glanced with favour upon the repentant rakshasa. ‘I bless you, my son. Henceforth, the world will know you as Ravana—the one with the terrifying roar,’ he said.

  Ravana! A splendid name that befits my grandeur! thought the rakshasa, delighted that he had gained Shiva’s favour.

  ‘You have won me over with your mystic melodies, and for that I reward you with my invincible moon sword, Chandrahasa,’ said Shiva. ‘I will grant you another boon as well, so tell me what you most desire.’

  Ravana’s ego blinded him and he decided to ask for Parvati, whose incomparable beauty was renowned in the universe. She was the mighty daughter of Himavan and the embodiment of Shakti. With her by his side, his prowess would surpass even that of Shiva.

  Parvati sensed his unworthy thoughts. ‘He pretends to worship Shiva while he lusts after his wife. I will burn him to cinders,’ she muttered.

  ‘Wait just a little longer,’ urged Vishnu. ‘Shiva is now a slave to the demon’s music and he will be vexed if you should harm him.’

  The rakshasa knew that he had to be devious if he wanted Parvati, for Shiva adored her and had made her half of himself in his form of Ardhanariswara. So he kept up his pretence of humility and said, ‘By your grace, I now possess the greatest treasures of the universe, Maheshwara. I have Brahma’s astras, your moon sword and Kubera’s pushpaka vimana. My desire now is for a wife as beautiful as yours!’

  ‘But that cannot be,’ said Shiva. ‘No goddess or mortal can ever be as beautiful as Parvati. Ask for a different boon, Ravana.’

  But the rakshasa was adamant. He knew that Shiva would be forced to give up Parvati as he could not retract his promise. He lowered his head to conceal his lustful eyes and twitching lips.

  ‘Does he really think he can hide his thoughts from me?’ fumed Parvati. ‘Did my lord not call Ravana his son? That makes the rakshasa my son as well, and he commits the foulest of sins by lusting for his own mother. I should have killed him earlier and not held back, Vishnu. If I do so now, the asuras will mock my lord, saying that he is unable to grant Ravana’s boon. But what other course remains? How will the realms survive the sacrilege if the demon were to seize me? The seas will dry up and the planets will spiral to a fiery end. My eyes burn and my weapons fly to my hands. I can never allow this beast to touch me!’

  Her trident pulsed with fearsome power as she raised her arm. The watching devas cowered as the universe trembled on the edge of annihilation.

  The next moment, something flashed from Vishnu’s hand and wrapped itself around the prongs of the trishul. It was an iridescent garland of unfading ocean lotuses. Parvati turned her burning gaze on the blue-hued god. Did her brother expect to deter her still? No. He could not stay her hand any longer.

  As her lips tightened in anger, one of the blossoms from the garland spun free, glinting like Vishnu’s chakra as it sailed forward. The flower was transformed into a maiden of divine beauty who stood before Shiva with her head bowed.

  ‘This must be Parvati!’ whispered Ravana, as he gazed at her exquisite face and form. The maiden’s skin seemed to be woven from moonbeams. Her face was radiant like the lotus from which she was born. Her eyes were bright and liquid like a fawn’s. The soft smile on her lips held the three realms in thrall. Her limbs were shapely, long and golden. A delicious fragrance of sandalwood and aloe wafted towards him, bringing him the promise of heady delights. Her anklets tinkled melodiously as she moved forward gracefully to offer worship to Shiva.

  ‘Salutations, great god,’ she said, her voice clear and sweet like a koel’s.

  Ravana was in a trance. He ached with the desire to clasp her in his arms, to carry her away to his palace, to shun the world forever and lose himself in her caresses. He could hardly wait for Shiva to grant him his boon. He stood breathlessly on the sacred peak of Kailasa watching the apsara. She raised her eyes then and looked at him.

  3

  The Rapture

  Long, long ago, before Time began, there was only the great god Narayana, reclining over the waters of the cosmic ocean on the coils of the serpent Adisesha. From Narayana’s navel sprang a lustrous lotus, bearing four-headed Brahma, entrusted with the task of creating the world and all its creatures. Brahma created Purusha, the primal man, within whom was embedded all life. This Purusha, who had a thousand heads, eyes, arms and legs, encircled the earth from all sides and transcended it. The visible world was only a quarter of his vastness and the remaining three quarters lay hidden in the celestial sphere. His soul was in repose and free of fear and desire. However, Brahma soon realized that a creation without fear or desire would not act. And without action, the world would remain barren of life.

  The Creator took up his great sword and split the Purusha into two. With this stroke he created night and day, darkness and light, sky and earth, life and death, male and female. The two halves yearned to become one again, and from their embrace was born all life in pairs—horses, lions, cattle, birds, snakes, fish and ants. The fierce desire of men and women to join together transformed them into Kama and Rati, the god and goddess of love. The whole world became their playground and their rapture gave birth to Shringara, the poetry of love. So powerful was this fervour that it flared higher when the lovers came together and also when they were apart. Poets sang joyously of a passion that was sated when indulged and at the same time left one hungering for more.

  When the gods themselves were maddened by Shringara, how could a rakshasa withstand its allure? Just one glimpse into the maiden’s eyes set off a tempest within Ravana. A blinding light enveloped him, cleansing his soul with its fierce purity. The evil aura that clung to him was battered, twisted out of shape and dissolved into nothingness. Ravana’s powerful shoulders trembled like they never had before god or man, and he stared unblinking at her. His ego bowed to a force greater than itself, suffused by the transformative energy of love.

  The maiden looked back at him, entranced. The very air between them seemed to throb with ardour. Her tender limbs quivered with yearning. Her body ached to get closer to him so that she could be enfolded in his arms.

  ‘Give me this beautiful maiden as wife,’ Ravana said to Shiva, his voice hoarse. He wonde
red for a moment whether this was Parvati or someone else. But he was so enraptured by her beauty that he dismissed the question as soon as it arose in his mind. He would die if he could not make this woman his own, and at the soonest. It did not matter who she was or from where she hailed. He forced himself to wait for the god’s reply.

  The lord of Kailasa smiled at the blue-hued god who now stood beside him. ‘You have always granted boons out of your infinite mercy, only to see them misused,’ Vishnu said softly to him. ‘I have come to help you unravel the knot!’

  ‘Maybe Ravana will be redeemed through his love for this maiden,’ Shiva said. He turned his gaze on the woman born through Vishnu’s grace. ‘Your creation is lovely,’ he said, ‘perhaps as charming as the Mohini avatara you took to rescue me from another asura! I would even say that she is the most beautiful woman who ever lived, except . . .’

  But before he could finish speaking, Parvati appeared before him in a rage, unable to listen any longer to his words praising the maiden. She gazed angrily at the woman whose body was curved and sensuous, her lips perfectly formed, her face more luminous than the moon. And a terrible curse erupted from her lips.

  ‘Be gone to earth and live your life as a frog, strumpet!’ she cursed. ‘Do not imagine that your coquettish eyes will snare my lord.’

  Shiva shook his head in regret and said, ‘You have spoken in haste, Parvati! I merely wished to say that no woman can compare in beauty or grace with you, the queen of my heart. Alas! You have cursed an innocent soul for no fault of hers.’

  Parvati stood chastened, realizing that she had erred by giving in to a jealous impulse. Ravana exclaimed in dismay as the maiden he loved spiralled down to earth in the body of a frog. His goddess transformed into a frog? How could this happen?

  ‘Do not leave me, my beloved!’ he wailed. ‘O Shiva, restore her to me!’

  Shiva raised a hand in blessing. ‘You will find your soulmate and rejoice in a love that is eternal,’ he said.

  The distraught Lankeshwara plunged to earth, desperate to reclaim his lustrous beauty. His conquests were forgotten, his many queens faded from his mind. All his thoughts were now focused on the one woman who held his heart in her delicate hands.

  Ravana searched relentlessly, disregarding food and sleep and forsaking the luxury of his palace to roam the four corners of the world. But the earth was huge and her creatures infinite. To find a frog that was not a frog, to rescue her from wherever she was and transform her again into the apsara he loved—this was a daunting task even for him. But he persevered, as he needed her for his very survival.

  His quest was frenzied, his forays endless. Where was she now? Was she even alive? If she were still a frog, she could have fallen prey to one of the many enemies of her species. How could he live on if he never found her?

  Tired of roaming the earth, frenzied, his efforts so far in vain, Ravana decided to rest awhile in a lush forest where deer roamed free and brilliant birds chirruped in the branches. He sat with his back against a giant coral tree, feeling troubled and fatigued. His eyes were unseeing as he relived again his fleeting moments of bliss in Kailasa. Seeing that apsara before him, dreaming of a life with her—that had been more significant to him than even receiving Shiva’s boons. He felt dejected, and wondered if he could go on living if he failed to attain her love.

  And then he heard a voice . . . her voice! Was it . . . could it be . . . ? His pulse raced. He had heard his apsara speak just a few words, but he was certain that he could recognize her voice even in his sleep. It was her . . . it must be her! Providence had somehow reversed the curse and restored her to her natural form.

  He jumped to his feet, impatient to look upon the girl’s face. He saw her slender arms first and then the edge of her bright red garment. He waited in agony to find out if it was her. And then her face emerged like a full moon from behind the clouds as she pushed past a hibiscus bush, pausing to pluck one iridescent bloom and tuck it behind her ear. She heard his loud gasp and looked up swiftly. Her eyes were trapped by the fierce ardour of his glance. A delicate blush stained her soft cheeks and she looked down in confusion, only to look up again in a fever of anxiety. Surely, he was not a mere illusion conjured up by her passionate dreams! Her heart thudded under the silk she wore. This radiant face was certainly the one that had haunted her memories. She had yearned for him, though she knew neither his name nor his parentage. He belonged to her previous life, if that was what it was, when she had lived among the gods. She saw now that he too had eyes only for her. Was good fortune smiling upon her again that she had been granted another opportunity to attain bliss?

  Ravana was almost beside himself with joy. His long journey had ended with success. His greatest penance had been rewarded. He had found his apsara who could raise him to ecstasy with a mere glance from her entrancing eyes. He would seize her in his arms and fly away, before fate intervened to separate him again from the woman who anchored him to life, to love and to happiness.

  As he stepped forward eagerly, Mayasura walked into the clearing behind his daughter. He glared at the intruder at first and then softened his gaze when he saw that the warrior was magnificent and that he had eyes for no one but Mandodari. The rakshasa’s ornate jewels, his splendid sword and the arrogance of his stance revealed to the father that this stranger was no commoner. His majestic face and form showed that his ancestry was noble and that he was accustomed to rule.

  ‘Greetings from Mayasura, king of the danavas and architect of the asuras,’ he said, welcoming the stranger. ‘And this is my daughter, Mandodari.’

  Ravana woke from his contemplation of Mandodari’s blushing face and nodded in acknowledgement. ‘I am Ravana, king of Lanka, and lord of heaven and earth,’ he said. Then his lips murmured her name with reverence and love: ‘Mandodari. A name as beautiful as she is.’

  Tearing his eyes away from Mandodari, Ravana respectfully addressed Mayasura. ‘I must have your daughter as my wife, O king!’ he said. ‘I will make her queen of my heart and of the three realms. The sun, the moon and the planets that determine destiny—they will all offer her homage. And Indrani herself will wait on her.’

  Mandodari stood silent, her eyelids fluttering, snatching glimpses of his face and listening to the passion throbbing in his words. This was what she had been waiting for; this noble soul was the one for whom she had been created. The curse, her life as a frog, her death and rebirth were all a prelude to her life with Ravana. Shiva be praised, for gazing upon me with favour. Noble Vishnu, bless me once more with your gracious smile, she prayed.

  ‘Give her to me in marriage, Mayasura,’ Ravana asked again, weakened by desire, his impatience starting to break through his composure. If Mayasura refused, he would have to crush him. There was no way he would allow himself to be separated from Mandodari ever again.

  A voice from the heavens answered him, loud and clear, startling the birds and silencing the winds. ‘You invite doom by seeking to marry her, Ravana!’ it said. ‘The daughter born from her womb will cause your death and the destruction of your clan.’

  Mandodari was thunderstruck and looked fearfully at Ravana’s face. Would he still wish to marry her after this prediction? Even if he did, would it be right to bring down doom upon the warrior who stood firm and tall like a banyan tree? On the other hand, had Shiva and Vishnu not already blessed their union?

  ‘The gods have warned us in time,’ said Mayasura, his face pale. ‘It would be foolish to let you marry my daughter and condemn you both to a terrible fate. Go your way, Ravana, and may destiny guide you to another maiden as beautiful as my daughter.’

  Mandodari’s eyes filled with tears, making them glisten like liquid silver. She looked piteously at Ravana, a question in her eyes. Why was destiny snatching him away each time he came near? Why were the gods playing so cruelly with them? Her heart swung between panic and defiance as she wondered what she should do if her suitor still wished to marry her. But did he?

  Ravana felt himse
lf pulled irresistibly into the depths of her magnetic eyes. He needed her like the night needed the day, like darkness needed light. Why should he forgo his pleasures because of the fears of an old asura and the warning of an unseen presence? He had absolute faith in his prowess and the boon that Shiva had granted him. Besides, he had never taken kindly to being told what not to do. Perhaps that was why he had rebelled against Pulastya and his edicts. His ego prompted him to forcibly take whatever was forbidden to him. He tore his gaze away from Mandodari’s face, raised his head high and spoke firmly.

  ‘No voice from swarga or patala can prevent me from marrying the woman I love,’ he said. ‘I will take on the very gods in order to make her mine. I will destroy any force that may come between us. Marry me, fair maiden, and rule my heart and my kingdom!’ Ravana stood erect, with his legs braced as if to counter a challenge. His eyes gleamed with the thought of battle, for he was always eager to display his dominance.

  Mandodari was thrilled that he had sought her consent, not her father’s. She stared intently at him as she wondered if she could trust him with her love and her life. What she saw there gave her strength and confidence. Her heart told her that she could risk everything for just a few moments in the arms of her love—this elegant warrior who had stolen her heart with just one impassioned glance. She nodded in acceptance.

  And at that significant moment, Hema descended from heaven. Mandodari rushed to embrace her mother, but her delight did not last long.

  ‘Are you sure, my child?’ asked Hema. ‘The Lankapati is indeed a splendid suitor, but do you wish to challenge fate so rashly?’

  It appeared as if her mother too was against her marriage to Ravana. Had the gods sent her down to warn her daughter? Mandodari began to ponder again. Was she indeed making the right decision? Would she be standing one day over her fallen husband regretting this? But equally, did she want to be haunted for the rest of her life by the thought that she had thrown away her one chance at happiness? She was torn between reason and emotion, fear and love. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she looked pleadingly at the godlike asura.