Prem Purana Read online

  ‘What is Ganesha fond of?’ asked Riddhi, tossing him a mischievous glance.

  ‘He is a bhojanapriya, of course!’ said Lakshmi. ‘He enjoys feasts and will travel to the ends of the earth if you offer him laddoos or modakas, sugarcane or pomegranates.’

  ‘It is not that I seek them, Devi,’ Ganesha interrupted hurriedly. ‘You know that devotees offer us what they themselves desire, out of their love for us.’

  ‘That is true,’ agreed Lakshmi. ‘I must also tell you girls of a time when Shiva used Ganesha’s fondness for eating to humble Kubera, who wished to show off his opulence at a grand feast. Ganesha went to Kubera’s mansion in the place of his father and ate up all the food there and then began to devour the walls themselves. A desperate Kubera asked him to stop, but Ganesha threatened to eat him too if he did not satisfy his hunger. The lord of treasures was helpless and went to Shiva who advised him to offer his son a handful of puffed rice with true devotion. Kubera did so and Ganesha calmed down, having taught the god a much-needed lesson!’

  ‘Let me offer you something refreshing to drink,’ said Ganesha, hoping to distract the goddess from talking about him. But Devi Lakshmi had already embarked on a fresh tale.

  ‘Ganesha’s adventures are almost too many to tell,’ Lakshmi continued. ‘Once, Vibhishana, the king of Lanka, was on his way back from Ayodhya. Rama had given him a Ranganatha vigraha in gratitude for his help during his war with Ravana, and told him not to place it on the ground before reaching his destination. But Vibhishana had to stop on the way to offer prayers and entrusted the idol to a young cowherd while he went to the river to make his ablutions. The boy promptly set the vigraha down and ran away, not willing to allow the beautiful image to leave this sacred land. When Vibhishana returned, he tried to lift the idol up in his arms but could not, however much he tried. He gave furious chase to the boy who was none other than Ganesha, and cornered him on top of a hill. Vibhishana gave him a few knocks on top of his head before leaving to return to his own country. Well, you can still see the marks on Ganesha’s image installed there on top of the hill!’

  Lakshmi paused then, and murmured that she could sense that her lord was waiting for her. She took her leave, but not before gifting them with fine silks and jewels.

  ‘I too brought an emerald necklace for you, Riddhi, though I am unable to find it,’ said Saraswati Devi. ‘I rejoice at your choosing Ganesha as your husband.’

  ‘Bless me, mother,’ said Riddhi, touching her feet. Buddhi helped her mother remove the necklace that she had worn around her own neck and forgotten about, so that she could present it to Riddhi.

  Saraswati smiled at Buddhi and touched her head fondly in blessing. ‘You too will find your groom soon,’ she said and turned to her firstborn. ‘Siddhi, I know that you dream of defeating asuras and riding into battle on a lion. Perhaps you can achieve all this and be married too,’ she advised.

  Why did everyone provoke Siddhi by talking of marriage?

  Buddhi looked anxiously at her sister. Hopefully, Siddhi would not respond rudely to their gentle mother.

  6

  A Son Like Krishna

  Though her eyes flashed angrily for a moment, Siddhi stayed silent, not wishing to offend her mother. Buddhi breathed a sigh of relief. Saraswati turned to Ganesha. ‘I remember why I came looking for you!’ she exclaimed. ‘You must go to Vyasa, my son, for he has a task for you. Take Buddhi along, for it will help you attain your goal.’ Saying that, she returned to her world.

  Ganesha transported himself with Buddhi to Vyasa’s hermitage. The sage, renowned as Veda Vyasa due to his success in classifying the Vedas into four parts, welcomed them warmly.

  ‘Omkareshwara!’ Vyasa said in worship to the one who embodied the pranava mantra. ‘I seek your help in transcribing an epic of immense proportions. I wish to tell the story of the great war between the Pandavas and the Kurus, during which Lord Krishna blessed the world with the Bhagavad Gita.’

  ‘I am honoured and happy that I will be the first to hear your divine verses,’ said Ganesha. ‘And Brahma’s daughter Buddhi will hear them with me, for she has a great thirst for learning. But before we start, I would like to enliven our task by making it an intellectual challenge.’

  When Vyasa nodded his consent, the young god said, ‘I will inscribe what you recite only as long as you recite the verses without pausing.’

  ‘I agree, and challenge you in return,’ said the sage. ‘You can write down what I recite only after you have understood the verses.’ Ganesha smiled, realizing that Vyasa had bought himself some time to think by placing this condition. He agreed happily, for he loved nothing more than a battle of wits.

  The sage took his place under an enormous banyan tree, and Parvati’s son sat before him like a humble student. Vyasa began his narration, and Ganesha found it easy to keep pace. But then, the sage began to intersperse his couplets with difficult verses that were more like poetic riddles. Buddhi looked quickly from sage to student, unable to decipher the verses, but hoping that Ganesha would be able to unravel them.

  The epic tale that Vyasa named Jaya was in itself pregnant with meaning and had much substance to provoke thought and debate. It was a shastra, a textbook that taught one about life and how to live it. But it was also a mystic sutra, a philosophical treatise on the mysteries of the universe. Ganesha thought deeply when faced with a conundrum, chuckled loudly when he deciphered it and continued writing. The sage smiled at him and carried on. Buddhi watched the drama unfold as one great mind was pitted against another. Would her friend be able to complete the saga without stopping? The flow of thought and plot was so rapid that she could barely keep up. Several questions rose in her mind and she resolved to clarify them later with Ganesha’s help.

  And then, an obstacle sprang up in the path of the Vighnaharta himself. The quill with which he was writing snapped. He would have to seek time to replace it. Would that not be construed as defeat? Should she rush to Vyasa’s ashram to fetch him another quill? She looked anxiously at Ganesha and wondered for a moment why she was so eager that he should win. But by then Parvati’s son had already come up with a solution, that too an unexpected one. He conjured up the tusk that had been broken by Parasurama’s axe and began to write using it in the place of his quill. She laughed at herself for fearing that a broken feather could stop Shiva-suta.

  ‘But why do you use your tusk instead of another quill?’ she asked him when he paused for a moment.

  ‘A feather could break again, could it not?’ he replied. ‘But the real reason I chose to use my tusk is that Vyasa’s epic deserves to be written with a nobler instrument than a mere feather!’

  Many days later, Vyasa completed his narrative of 8800 splendid verses and the scribe finished his writing. The two bowed their heads in respect to each other. ‘This is just the beginning,’ Ganesha said to him. ‘Your Jaya will be enlarged by your student Vaisampayana and become known as Bharata. The story will capture the imagination of future generations who will add to its glory with thousands of verses. Finally, this saga of more than a hundred thousand verses will be renowned as the Mahabharata. And learned men will exclaim in awe that “what is here is elsewhere, but what is not here is nowhere else!”’

  When Ganesha had returned with Buddhi to the forest, he asked her teasingly, ‘Did my writing prove to you that my big head contains some amount of intelligence?’

  She smiled at him but remained silent. He wanted to woo her with passionate words, telling her that she embodied the purity of the white lotus, the splendour of the snow-covered mountain and the brilliance of tapasya. But he knew that she valued depth more than declamation and wisdom more than words.

  ‘Accept my love, Buddhi,’ he said simply, yet earnestly. ‘Be the music in my flute and the truth in my understanding.’

  Buddhi blushed. ‘Did Sumukha write some verses for you to recite?’ she asked. ‘I must first unravel all the secrets you are hiding, especially about your marriage to Kamala and
Vimala!’

  ‘Not just these two. I was married to Pushti when I was born due to Krishna’s boon,’ he said. ‘Together, we granted our devotees good fortune and prosperity.’

  ‘Yet another wife!’ exclaimed Riddhi, who had come there looking for her Sumukha.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And Pushti was sweet and delightful, never fighting with me or mocking me.’ He cast a sidelong glance at the two girls to see if they were jealous. ‘She always said that she adored my handsome face, my lively mind, my virile charm . . .’

  ‘Stop, stop!’ said Buddhi, raising a hand in protest. ‘Did she ever say that you boast too much? Also tell me, why was it necessary to marry so many times? Was it because you were born through Krishna’s blessings?’ She turned and walked away in a huff, leaving Riddhi behind with him.

  ‘O Krishna! How did you placate all the women you wooed? Was it with your music or your smile?’ he murmured, looking up playfully towards the heavens.

  As if in answer to his words, the forest filled with the melody of Krishna’s flute and the sound whirled them back through the ages to a time when Parvati was performing a vrata in order to have a child.

  Riddhi and Ganesh stood invisible, watching events unfold in Kailasa.

  ‘The Punyaka vrata is like the Satya among yugas, the purana among poems, Narada among sages and Rama among kings,’ said Shiva to his wife. ‘Perform this vow with devotion and Krishna himself will be born as your son.’

  Parvati gathered together offerings of parijata, champaka and kadamba. She worshipped Vishnu with diamond lamps and golden parasols and adorned his image with pearls and coral. She bathed him in milk and honey and lived an ascetic life for one long year. The sages came to bless the vrata and with them came the gandharvas, apsaras and yakshas. Parvati’s father Himavan came with gifts of radiant gems, wild elephants and horses. Priests and bards gathered there as did the poor to receive the generous alms that would be distributed. Indra presided over the offerings and Kubera over the treasury. Surya advised them on the rituals to be performed and Varuna supervised the feasts. Lakshmi made an ambrosial pudding with her own hands, and through her grace, the sacrificial ground flowed with rivers of honey and milk, ghee and butter.

  The radiant Sanat Kumara, son of Brahma, officiated over Parvati’s vrata. She was delighted when she finally came to the last day of the vow. Her desire would be fulfilled and Kailasa would echo with the laughter of a divine child. ‘Allow me to complete my vrata by giving you gold and jewels as offerings,’ she said to Sanat Kumara.

  ‘What can a priest do with gold, noble Parvati?’ he said in reply. ‘I desire something else.’

  Parvati smiled and nodded, not realizing what she was agreeing to. ‘Hand over Shiva to me, goddess, as my fee!’ he said. Parvati looked at him in shock and then tried to coax him into accepting some other gift. But the priest was adamant, and she began to weep helplessly. Shiva comforted her with his gentle touch and said, ‘Give him the fee he seeks so that your sacrifice may be completed, Devi.’

  ‘But how can I give you away and then hope for a child? How is it possible to build a palace in the air?’ she protested.

  The devas and the sages were dumbfounded and the ganas wept for their goddess. Then the turmoil was silenced by the sound of Vishnu’s divine conch, Panchajanya, signalling the appearance of the Supreme Protector. From a loka far away arrived a luminous chariot with diamond wheels, a golden body and a dome studded with gems and inlaid with pearls. The ratha was accompanied by majestic, four-armed beings wearing garlands of wild flowers. As the chariot floated near the earth, the blue-hued Narayana descended from within, a beatific smile on his face and a hand lifted in blessing. All those present in Kailasa fell prostrate before the lord of Vaikunta.

  ‘Let us exalt the goddess who has performed this vow in order to enlighten all beings,’ said Narayana. ‘The wise know that Parvati needs no boon to attain what she desires, for she embodies primordial energy without which there is no life.’

  He turned to the goddess then and said, ‘Divine One, offer Shiva to Sanat Kumara without any fear. Then you may take your lord back in exchange for a cow, which represents the divinity of the gods.’ Having offered his counsel, he returned to his ratha and disappeared into the skies.

  Trembling in anxiety, Parvati gave her precious husband to the head priest as his fee. She then sought to reclaim him by making an offering of not one but a hundred thousand cows. But to her horror, Sanat Kumara refused to make the exchange.

  ‘What will a priest do with so many cows?’ he asked her. ‘Am I a fool to give away the omnipotent Maheshwara who grants moksha and eternal joy?’

  The goddess was dumbstruck at the turn of events. How could the blessings of Narayana go awry? Her vrata had not yielded the boon she sought, and worse still, she had lost her lord as well.

  A sudden light illumined the skies with a blinding radiance. A fierce heat burned up the slopes of Kailasa. Then the heat changed into the silvery coolness of the moon’s rays and a divine fragrance permeated the air. The devas shielded their eyes with their hands and trembled as they beheld the dazzling form standing before them. Divine Krishna had descended from Goloka, clad in golden silk, and wearing his Vaijayanthi garland.

  With his arrival, the delusion that had held the world captive was lifted. Sanat Kumara bowed to Krishna and released Shiva to the Devi. She bowed in adoration to Krishna and prayed for a son in his likeness. Krishna granted her the boon and vanished. The joyful Parvati distributed gifts to the poor, and the festive celebrations in Kailasa began.

  When the guests had finally departed, the Devi celebrated her love with Shiva in the beautiful gardens surrounding their mansion, where cuckoos sang sweetly and parrots warbled of love.

  But their bliss was not to continue for long. An emaciated Brahmin appeared at the doorway of their home and called out to them. Parvati hurried out to welcome him, as the scriptures mandated that a guest be treated like a god. ‘I am hungry and thirsty, divine mistress,’ said the visitor. ‘I heard that you hosted a great feast to celebrate your vrata seeking a child. Treat me as your child, goddess. Honour me with choice foods flavoured with almonds and saffron, and sweetened with sugar and honey. Bring me rice and vegetables cooked in ghee, ripe fruits and sugarcane. Offer me pure water and betel leaves infused with camphor. Then worship sublime Krishna who will come to you as your child.’

  Parvati hurried to gather the foods that would please their guest, but was distressed when she returned and could not find him. She was afraid that she had offended him in some way and sent the ganas to look for him. Then she heard a voice from the skies that proclaimed, ‘It was Krishna who came to you in the form of an ascetic. But now, he has transformed himself into a child. Your precious son awaits your embrace, Devi!’

  The goddess sped through her home on winged feet. She discovered the lustrous infant lying on her bed, his face like the moon and his body the colour of the champaka flower. She called out to Shiva as she lifted the child into her arms and soon the three-eyed lord came to stand beside her and look with pride upon their son.

  Brahma came first to bless the newborn. ‘You will fill the world with laughter and will be adored in many forms,’ he said.

  ‘Time itself will begin with your creation,’ said Yama. ‘May you be wise like your father and dispense justice in all the realms.’

  Then arrived the ascetic god Shanideva, ruler of the planet Saturn. He bowed in the direction where Parvati was seated, but kept his eyes half-shut, meditating on Krishna.

  ‘Why do you not look upon my son?’ asked Parvati, construing it as a slight to herself and her child.

  ‘It is because I do not wish to harm the infant,’ he replied. ‘My wife cursed me because I disregarded her call when I was lost in dhyana. She said that anyone I looked upon would be destroyed.’

  Parvati laughed at his explanation and her attendants joined her in mocking him. ‘Stop your foolish prattling and look at my son,’ she ordered.


  And fate stepped in.

  7

  A Secret Revealed

  Shanideva grew desperate. His throat felt parched. Cornered by Parvati’s command, he slowly turned his head and cast a sidelong glance at the child. At once, the child’s head fell off his shoulders and vanished to merge with Krishna in Goloka. Parvati wailed in agony as she looked down on her son’s headless body. Shani hung his head in fear and dejection. The gods stood stupefied like paintings on a wall.

  Vishnu reassured them and then flew into the skies on his Garuda. He found a king elephant sleeping with his head to the north and severed his head. The elephant’s mate began to wail at the death of the elephant king, and the merciful god drew out another head from the severed one and used it to bring the dead elephant back to life. He then hastened to Kailasa, fixed the head on the child’s neck and revived him.

  ‘Parvati’s son will be worshipped henceforth as Ganapati, lord of the ganas, and Varaprada, granter of boons,’ he said. ‘He will obtain the exalted knowledge of Brahma with my blessings.’

  Parvati gazed angrily at Shani and cursed him with lameness. However, Shani’s brother Yama and his father Surya chastised her. ‘Devi, you were the one who ordered Shani to look at your son even after he told you clearly that it would cause him harm,’ they pointed out.

  The goddess realized that she was at fault and blessed Shani, saying that though she could not retract her curse, he would be venerated thereafter as the king of the planets and the best of ascetics.

  Shiva smiled upon his son and said, ‘I grant you the throne of meditation, and the power to redeem the world.’

  Surya presented him with incandescent earrings and Varuna a bejewelled parasol. Soma brought Ganapati a wreath of brilliant pearls while the sages worshipped him with sandal, aloe and vermilion. Saraswati ordained that he would be the god of memory and magic, of wit and creative genius.