Kartikeya and His Battle with the Soul Stealer Read online

  Diti flicked her whip on Indira’s back. The thunder god erupted in rage and jagged lightning filled the skies. ‘Mother Diti, you demean yourself with your behaviour, showing that you are unworthy of being lofty Kashyapa’s wife. You dare to use your whip on the celestial king who commands the elements! You broke the laws of tapasya and then seek to punish me for doing my duty. Do not think that your present dominance will continue forever. You and your tribe will pay for your insolence.’

  The asura mother paid no heed to his threats. ‘Punish him, my son. He must pay the price for tearing up my child in my womb!’ she said, her hands clenched in fury.

  The devas watched fearfully from the skies. How would they survive when the king who imposed order on the universe was under threat? Would Diti’s revenge throw the realms into disarray? What price would they have to pay for her anger?

  Kashyapa hurried to the asura court to counsel his son. ‘Brave Vajranga, your fame as a warrior has spread throughout the universe,’ he said, in a ploy to please him. ‘Now, to show the world that your grace is as peerless as your valour, show mercy to your foes. Do not fall prey to the transient powers of the world, but remember that only righteousness is eternal. Forgive Indra without whom the universe will spin into chaos. You will then discover real joy in this life and in the lives to come.’

  Diti laughed when she heard this and said, ‘Only this world and its powers are real, my son. Do not be deceived by talk of sin and merit, of future lives and a blissful heaven. Was Indra righteous when he killed my son in my womb? Was he compassionate? Why did this great rishi not counsel him against his wickedness? I suffered so long, mortified my flesh and mind, only to have my tapasya overturned in a trice. Imagine my shock and my pain when I lost my sons, the ones who came before you. Should we all suffer endlessly under the devas’ tyranny? Should our clan alone be oppressed for our supposed sins when the gods too exhibit such fierce passions and greed? Wealth and power are essential if you wish to control heaven and earth, my son. That is what has made the devas overlords of the universe. Alas, Indra has drunk the nectar that emerged from the cosmic sea. He cannot be killed until his time is upon him. But you can enslave him forever and declare to the world that the asuras are supreme.’

  Brahma appeared then in a flash of light that dazzled their eyes. ‘Reduce your rage, Diti,’ he said. ‘Spare Indra, though he has sinned against you. Show him that you are not dishonourable like him. Today, he stands shamed before his retinue after being defeated by your valiant son. Force him to live each day hereafter remembering this humiliation—a fate worse than death. Let him go, Diti.’

  Diti’s brow furrowed in thought. Gradually, she brought her rage under control. It would not be wise to oppose the will of the Creator. Moreover, as he had pointed out, there could be no greater humiliation for the storm god than to live in shame. She nodded to Vajranga who released Indra from his noose. The Creator rewarded him for his forbearance by blessing him with a beautiful wife, Varangi.

  In time, Vajranga went into the forest to begin severe austerities in order to have a powerful son, while his wife prayed too, from within the confines of an ashram. As the heat from their penances reached the skies, Indra grew disturbed and began to assess the threat to his position. Vajranga had promised not to imprison him, but what would his children do? Especially as Varangi too had united her tapasya with his. He could not confront Vajranga again, but he could attempt to break the wife’s tapasya. Putting his plan into action, Indra began to harass Varangi. By day, he threatened her in the form of fierce beasts, and by night through frightful nightmares. He appeared before her as a giant serpent, pinioned her in his coils and dragged her through the forest. He came as a huge monkey, tossed stones at her and tugged at her clothes and hair. Then he took the form of a jackal and defiled her altar. When she built a new altar, a ram with large curved horns charged at her and tossed her into the air. Even though she was terrified, Varangi continued with her prayers, making Indra angrier at each failure. He sent forth a huge fire to destroy the ashram and buffeted her with fierce winds when she stood at bay. She had been strengthened by her tapasya, and Indra was unable to kill her. His only hope was that she would kill herself from fear before she gave Vajranga a son. Varangi thought that the mountain overlooking the ashram was an asura in disguise and was causing all the trouble. As she prepared to curse him, the mountain took the form of a man and told her that it was Indra who was causing these torments.

  ‘I am more resolved now than ever that I will make Indra pay for his crimes,’ she vowed.

  Finally, Vajranga returned to the ashram, having been blessed by Brahma. He saw that the ashram had been reduced to cinders and his wife was sorely disturbed. She told him all that had happened and asked him to punish Indra. Vajranga was furious to hear that Indra had repeated his crimes despite being spared once. However, he could not betray his promise to Brahma that he would not harm the thunder god.

  ‘My sons will avenge the harm caused first to my mother and then to my wife,’ Vajranga proclaimed. ‘They will reign over heaven, earth and the netherworld, and destroy the devas who employ such craven means against us.’

  Diti smiled when she heard this and then laughed out loud. Indra would now pay a heavy price. She waited in gleeful anticipation while Varangi bore not one but three sons— Padmasura, Tarakasura and Simhamukha. Then was born a fierce daughter with a goat face whom they named Ajamukhi. With the birth of each dreadful asura, the earth gasped in horror. The sun and the moon seemed to lose half their light, and the corners of the earth were swallowed by shadows that grew larger by the day. The sages saw dark omens and intensified their chants to ward off the evil that was taking root. Snakes hissed without cause and jackals howled during the day, signalling that disaster was not far away. The asuras on the other hand, rejoiced that they finally had valiant leaders to defeat the foes who had driven them into the depths of patala. Their women danced and sang with joy, looking forward to the day when apsaras would bow to them, and Indra’s queen Indrani would surrender her gold diadems to them.

  ‘You must pray to Shiva and Brahma who will bestow powerful boons on you, my precious grandsons,’ said Diti. ‘Make yourselves invulnerable so that you can vanquish the devas once and for all. They are deceitful and ever hostile to our kind, driving us almost to oblivion. In what way are we inferior to them that we should suffer in this manner? Set our people free and punish them by harassing them the way they harass us.’

  Her grandsons declared their resolve to become the deliverers of the asura clan, and began their tapasya. Tarakasura retired to a dark cave where he performed severe austerities to win Brahma’s favour. He denied himself the fine food that he was used to and subsisted on mere leaves. Then he gave this up too and drank only water to sustain himself. He surrounded himself with fire in four directions while the sun blazed overhead as the fifth fire. In winters, he plunged into icy mountain pools, focusing his mind always on the Creator. His lustre grew by the day, filling the world with a fierce red glow, and the heat of his asceticism rose to sear Brahmaloka.

  The four-headed Creator was forced to appear before Taraka and offer him a boon. ‘Make me impervious to devas and men, to all weapons and to death itself,’ the asura said.

  ‘Immortality is a boon that I cannot grant,’ replied Brahma, ‘for it goes against the laws of nature. Ask for something else, my son.’

  The asura pondered for a moment and then said, ‘Let me be killed only by a son of Shiva—one that is not born of his wife. Further, this son should have the power to kill me only when he is a child.’

  Brahma smiled a secret smile. ‘I grant you this boon, Taraka!’ he said.

  Taraka rejoiced, believing that this was as close to immortality as he could get, for Shiva, having lost his wife Sati, had forsworn love and the life of a householder. The three-eyed god was now engaged in dhyana deep within a remote mountain cave. Even if he married again, a child born in the natural way could not kill Taraka. And no
infant could ever match Taraka’s prowess.

  The asura proclaimed to the world that he was immortal and began to rule the northern regions of the earth, torturing and destroying life with impunity. The earthly kings who fought him soon realized that none of their weapons could harm him and that they could not kill him. His brother, Simhamukha, armed with divine powers and weapons as well, served as his lieutenant, bringing his brother the treasures of the earth and patala. Powerful asura kings, like Kujambha and Mahishasura, bowed to Taraka and swore that they would aid him in his battles. The numberless asuras who had gone into hiding and exile now came to pay obeisance to their emperor and join his ranks. Taraka’s power and arrogance grew by the day and, while his commanders kept his subjects in control, he indulged in pleasures such as wine and women, dance and merrymaking.

  Diti watched him impatiently, for her desire for vengeance still burned strong. She summoned Taraka and told him, ‘You have yet to accomplish what you set out to do, Taraka. You may have conquered earth and patala, but the devas still look down on you with contempt. They have always believed that they are superior to our clan. Now they mock you, saying that you are afraid to attack them. Is this the respect that your tapasya has brought you? Are you satisfied with the trifling pleasures you enjoy now? What kind of warrior is he who does not show his full strength against his enemies? Is such a life worth living? Is this the revenge your mother craves against Indra? If you think it is, then it would have been better, perhaps, if you had never been born.’

  Cut to the quick by her savage words, Taraka flamed with a fierce energy. His roar shook the pillars of Indra’s lofty palace and set the devas trembling. ‘I will invade Amaravati and take Indra prisoner!’ he swore. ‘I will destroy the armies of the devas, snatch away their pride and glory. I swear this to you, my revered grandmother.’

  Taraka set out on his massive chariot that was as fleet as Indra’s vimana. He was followed by ten crore asuras in chariots drawn by the most potent of animals—wolves, elephants, lions, camels and horses. The devas confronted them before they could near their capital city, and a fierce war erupted. Armed with celestial weapons, they showered death and torment on the demons, cutting them to pieces with chakras, swords and arrows. The surviving asuras began to flee from the divine army until Taraka took command, haranguing them with fierce words. The asuras fell upon their enemies with renewed vigour. Armed with the protection of Brahma’s boon, Taraka himself advanced inexorably, pushing aside powerful astras as if they were mere toys. Agni burned his banner to ashes and Surya smashed his crown. Yama snatched away his mace while Vayu broke his chariot wheels so that he was toppled from his seat.

  Taraka roared in rage, conjured up another chariot and rained death upon the deva sena with fierce clubs, spears and axes. Indra’s vajra and Vayu’s goad struck his chest but could not harm him. Agni’s weapon of fire was rendered harmless as well, and the deva army fled in fear. Taraka chased them relentlessly and finally took Indra and his retinue prisoners. He dragged them to his capital, Mayapuri, and humiliated them during every waking moment. He took control of the elements and played with them as if they were mere toys. Earth floundered and its creatures grew terrified. Day and night, the seasons, the wind and the waves fell prey to the chaos unleashed by the asura. Taraka made the sun a lamp in his courtyard and ordered the moon to shine its light without pause upon his antapura. The winds were used as fans to keep his palace cool. Fierce Yama, who took away souls when their allotted time on earth was over and prescribed punishment or reward for their actions, now became Taraka’s herald. Kubera, the god of wealth, gave all his treasures as tribute to him. Varuna, god of the waters, surrendered his mystic sea horses. The great Sage Jamadagni was forced to part with Kamadhenu, his celestial cow that could fulfil all desires.

  The arrogant king reclined on his throne of lapis lazuli and watched as Indra bowed to him and sought his freedom. Taraka looked to his grandmother for instructions. Diti smiled at the sight of Indra bound hand and foot. ‘My heart bleeds to see your plight, Indra,’ she gloated. ‘The nectar of the gods may make you immortal, but I can still make you suffer each day. Prepare yourself to suffer never-ending torment for your sins.’

  Agni and Vayu sped to Brahmaloka and prayed for Brahma’s intervention. Brahma advised Taraka as he had once advised his father. ‘You reign supreme over heaven and earth, Taraka,’ he said. ‘You are a mighty lion with the power to kill a thousand elephants. But what will you gain by exhibiting brute power? Instead, display the power of your mind. Win reverence like the mighty sea that has the power to swallow the earth but still refrains!’

  Won over by this appeal to his arrogance, Taraka gestured to the asura guard to set all the devas free. ‘Go where you will, but remember that I am your king and that you must answer my summons whenever I call. If you seek to escape or hide, know that I will find you and make you pay!’

  The devas prostrated themselves before Taraka and went their way, heads hanging low and their hearts filled with woe. Indra burned with resentment. ‘If Brahma had not armed Taraka with his boons, we would not be forced to bow to him and rule as his vassals!’ he raged. ‘This is not how the king of gods should be treated.’

  Diti watched them go with a furrowed brow, realizing that Brahma had fooled her grandson into freeing her foes. She then retired to the forests of the south where Padmasura, who now called himself Surapadma, had begun a new penance. Taraka was not her only weapon. His elder brother, not satisfied with the boons he had received from gentle Brahma, was praying to a darker god—Shiva. Even if Taraka were to fall prey to Brahma’s crafty stratagems, this grandson of hers would ensure the subjugation of the devas.

  How much longer before Shiva appears before him? Diti wondered.

  What new torments will Taraka’s brother inflict on us to please Diti? worried the devas.

  2

  The Soul Stealer

  ‘Bhayanaka is coming! The terrible one is coming!’ shouted the villagers. The ground shook with the sound of marching feet, as Surapadma led his army out of his fortress at Mahendrapuri.

  ‘Hide, children!’ cried the women. They ran—herding the little ones, dragging their daughters behind them—and hid in the forests and behind bushes. Others jumped into dry wells, hoping to evade his eyes.

  The men could not flee, for if they did, he would set their entire village on fire, search out all its inhabitants and punish them. He would give their women and children to his men to torture as they pleased. He would blind the men and sever their limbs. He would choose a few to be strung up alive on his fortress walls where their flesh would be stripped from their bones by birds of prey. It was therefore better for the males to stay in plain sight, heads bowed, hoping desperately that he would pass by, his attention fixed on a quarry farther away. They prostrated themselves, their faces in the mud, as Mahendrapati, lord of Mahendrapuri, rode past on his chariot. So fierce was his aura and so dreadful was the fear he created that they were afraid even to speak his name. They called him Andhakaara or darkness, and Bhayanaka, the terrible one. His spies lurked everywhere, reporting any insult to their emperor, whether real or imagined.

  The men huddled on the ground, their limbs shaking and their mouths dry. Any moment, Surapadma could set his men on them. They had seen his dancing figure the previous night on the walls of the fortress, lit by a hundred torches held by trembling soldiers. ‘O king, you dance like Shiva in the burning ghats, trident in hand,’ they had heard his men praise him. ‘You are more powerful than him and will soon replace him as the destroyer of the world!’

  They heard a piercing shriek then and lifted their heads fearfully. They saw a young girl being dragged away by an asura with a crocodile head. Surapadma laughed, for it was he who had spotted her from his high perch. ‘Bind her, throw her in my chariot!’ he roared. ‘She will help me while away some time on my journey.’

  His destination today was Amaravati, for his spies had told him that Indra had grown haughty again
and needed to be chastised. Devendra had stormed into Brahma’s abode, complaining bitterly. ‘Pitamaha, my patience is at an end,’ he had ranted. ‘Your boons have granted Surapadma such powers that he is beyond our reach. Vayu now sweeps his palace and I am forced to wash his clothes with showers of rain! Who am I? Am I a weak mortal to be thus humiliated? I am Indra of the thunderbolt, the lord of lightning. I am the guardian of the lokas and yet . . . yet I am forced to remain his slave. Such is the power of fear! Brahma, why did you create such a monster and then make him invulnerable? How long can we endure this torture? How much longer before we can bring down his rule?’

  Sura roared when he heard this report. ‘Indra must understand that he is powerless against me,’ he said. ‘I will make him realize that he will be destroyed if he even raises his head. I will tear out his throat, no matter if he comes back to life! The pain will teach him a bigger lesson than anything else can.’

  Surapadma soared into the skies in his chariot, followed by his sena, and flew into Indra’s courtyard. The deva king fled when he heard the uproar of the emperor’s army and hid himself in a distant pond. Bhayanaka looked around with reddened eyes, eager to instil obedience through terror. He ordered his men to bring down the pillars of the palace, to destroy the lotus ponds and gardens and to kill everyone in sight. His restless eyes fell upon the chariot standing in the courtyard. Next to it stood Indra’s seven-headed flying horse, Uchaishravas, which had emerged from the cosmic sea at the beginning of creation. ‘Seize the horse and harness it to my chariot!’ he ordered.

  The ministers from Indra’s court came to him in panic. ‘Surapadma, lord of the realms!’ said one. ‘Please ask your men to stop the slaughter. Stay here as long as you please—forever if you wish, and we will serve you humbly!’