Shakti: The Feminine Divine (24 page)

They all fell silent for a few moments. Dadichi’s eyes were closed in quiet contemplation. The guardians of the universe glanced at each other surreptitiously, although none wished to make eye contact. They were wondering the same thing. How was it that the members of the Vedic brotherhood alone were so certain about events for which there had purportedly been no eyewitnesses?

However, it had to be admitted that Dadichi’s as well as Brihaspati’s words made complete sense. They had all had the terrible misfortune to see Mahisha at the height of his power, when he seemed to draw strength from inexhaustible reserves, while the mightiest among them had been little more than helpless puppies in his presence. They still had the odd nightmare, which featured variations of a fearsome buffalo bearing down on them, with its impossibly long and curved horns aimed at their innards. It was impossible to visualize the beautiful Goddess, who had reportedly carried no weapons or even worn armour, engaging in a bullfight, let alone conquering the terrible beast. Brihaspati’s version made more
sense. After all, Vishnu, aided by the Goddess, had employed similar trickery to vanquish Madhu and Kaitabha.

At the precise moment when their doubts had all but vanished, Dadichi spoke, with his eyes closed, ‘In the little time left to me, I wish to share with you a shameful family secret that by rights ought to have accompanied me to the grave. But circumstances dictate that I reveal the nature of the burden I have long carried, so that none other may have to suffer the same, ever again.

‘While I was engaged in the performance of austerities, my wife Suvarcha and my daughter were alone at my humble abode in the wilderness. My reputation is such that none in their right mind would have dared hurt them, but a demented beggar blundered into my ashram, threatened them with a knife and violated them in turn.

‘I saw what happened with my yogic vision, but it was too late for me to help them. The pack of wolves summoned by me tracked down the rapist and tore him to pieces. Needless to say, that was hardly the end of that. My wife killed herself, knowing that she had brought dishonour upon the family, but not before separating my daughter’s soul from her body. They were both long gone when I returned. From what I taught her, she knew that a woman whose honour has been tainted is a curse, who will bring grief to not only herself but also everybody else who has the misfortune to cross her path. She had no choice but to follow the time-honoured course to contain it.

‘The wisest amongst us do not believe in raising a hue and cry over such things in the manner foolish mortals are wont to. Rape and other crimes against women should be buried deep in our psyche, allowing them no room to breathe, until they shrivel up and the very notion of such unthinkable evil vanishes
forever. By keeping such crimes alive in our consciousness, we only serve to inspire copycat criminals who spring up all over the place like weeds.

‘There is a fine line between consensual sex and rape, which is why for the latter to be eradicated, the former needs to be contained within the confines of divinely sanctioned marriage and performed solely for the purpose of producing heirs. At the very beginning, I told Indra that his decision to banish Kama was laudable. Kama has long abused his power— foolishly bestowed upon him in a weak moment when Brahma lost control of himself—in the realm of desire.

‘In the company of his wife, Rati—an inauspicious woman born from her father Daksha’s seminal fluids, when he sinfully desired his sister—he was the first to bring the blight that is promiscuity into the fair city of Amaravathi, with his den of inequity, where lovemaking and other foul arts are taught. The apsaras and gandharvas are equally guilty, thinking themselves to be above the laws of civilization, believing that the gay abandon that serves them in good stead in the disreputable fields of music and dance is applicable everywhere else.

‘With Kama out of the way, the laws of decency can once again be enforced and the obsessive focus on sexuality can be controlled. All that remains to be done is for Vritra to be silenced. This will be no mean feat, thanks to Twastha’s filial affection, which has rendered him safe from the methods so successfully employed by Indra in the past. This time around, the lord of the heavens will need my bones, which I freely give to him to be employed for the common good.’

All present had to fight to hold back their tears and even Svayambuha looked grave when Dadichi spoke about his lost wife and daughter. His eyelids had been closed, but the
great sage who had mastered his senses could not hold back the tears that trickled down his cheeks in a mournful passage. The terrible tragedy that had overtaken his family, which he had confided to them, brought the august gathering close in a manner that would not have been possible in so short a while, and united them with the unbreakable bond that was shared pain.

Svayambuha broke the short silence that followed, ‘We are all in agreement then… Indra is the chosen one and the wielder of the weapon that will stop Vritra’s heart, silencing him forever. It is no doubt a formidable task we have set him, but since we are backed by righteousness, he shall not fail. Of that I am fully confident. Even so, our endeavour will be far from over.

‘Words are infused with the power of the Goddess Saraswati and as such, they are supremely potent. Once uttered, they can never be taken back, and utterances tend to prevail long after the tongue that spoke them has decayed and been turned to ash. Killing Vritra is only the first step in a long and difficult journey, but we should persist without ever turning back, not stopping until the imprints left by his words have been completely expunged.

‘The followers of the false prophet have to be smoked out from their lairs and dealt with in the same manner as their master. Those who seek to protect them or thwart our efforts in any way must be considered an enemy to the cause. They must be hastened to the same fate as the condemned. This task will be entrusted to the lokapalas. Once the last of the bad apples has been trashed, we can move on to the final leg of our journey, which is rehabilitation and prevention.

‘None of us here supports unnecessary violence, but
since the three worlds will be awash in blood yet again, it is important that we provide the survivors with calm leadership to reassure them that we are not bloodthirsty asuras or malevolent goddesses but their benefactors, who have steered them safely past the worst of the crisis and will guide them towards the path of virtue.

‘Once the survivors have been set straight, we will move on to recondition their thinking to purify their minds. This is something I intend to personally oversee, so that it can be enforced now and for evermore. Together, we will formulate the laws that will guide people into fostering all that is noble within them, in keeping with the tenets of dharma, which is the only path towards lasting happiness.

‘Future generations will revere our memories, even if their ancestors had reviled us for making them swallow the bitter medicine they needed to cure them of the spiritual malaise that had overtaken them. The iron laws of Manu will endure as long as the three worlds do, and they will be better for them. This is the service we will perform for the benefit of the entire cosmos, and we must spare no effort to make it happen!’

Thunderous applause broke out spontaneously at the conclusion of his impassioned speech. Indra was on his feet, roaring his approval, and the celestials followed his examples. The sages clapped their hands to convey their approbation. Dadichi looked around at them, his face lit up with joy.

In the days that followed, the sages, led by the Saptarishis and Brihaspati, sought the blessings of the gods and the Divine Mother and set underway a yagna that would be performed for many years, till success was granted to all the endeavours they had embarked upon.

Dadichi readied himself for death. With Shiva’s name on
his lips and the prayers of the congregation resounding in his ears, the sage assumed the sirasasana pose, with his entwined fingers supporting his head and his feet raised heavenward. Brihaspati slit his throat precisely at the jugular, allowing the blood to flow into the sacrificial flames. When the last drop had been shed the body, which miraculously remained in the headstand position last assumed by its owner, was handled with the respect due to one who had made the ultimate sacrifice. Once the dismemberment was complete and the bones separated from the flesh, the last rites for the dead sage were performed. His mortal remains were consumed by the sacred fire in the final act of sublime purification.

The Slaying of Vritrasura and the Witch Hunt

T
HE LOKAPALAS THEN
used the bones of adamantine to reinforce their preferred weapons. Indra’s vajra was remade with Dadichi’s bones, as was Yama’s danda, the staff of death. Varuna’s pasha, which he had famously used in the days of yore to round up asuras and hurl them to the far reaches of the three worlds, was reinforced as well. Kubera’s club, the mighty antardhana, which had bludgeoned the head of too many enemies to count, was made many times stronger. Brihaspati fashioned a bow, a quiverful of arrows and the terrible astra known as the brahmashiras, which had the capacity to raze the three worlds to the ground, with the remaining bones, and presented them to Indra.

Thus armed with the deadly arsenal forged in the dark passion of a noble sage’s personal tragedy, annealed in his overwhelming grief and tempered in the heat of his wrath and
icy purpose, the lokapalas went on a rampage. Holding lists of practising members of the Goddess cult, Varuna, Yama and Kubera set out in their respective directions to hack away at the many limbs of the monster that threatened to wreak havoc over their lives.

Indra alone headed eastwards, where his nemesis awaited him. He hefted the vajra in his hand with practised ease. It was the only friend that had never let him down. It would sever the head of the demon, Vritrasura, whose fiendish cleverness had disrupted the social order, and prove yet again that while Indra possessed it, he need never fear his enemies.

Blood flowed freely in the heavens where the rot had set in, and rained down upon the upturned face of Mother Earth, who added her salty tears to the torrent that cascaded over her, leaving a stain that would never be removed. Dadichi’s bones of adamantine in the hands of Varuna, Kubera and Yama struck repeatedly and did not miss a single mark. The body count mounted as many were dragged out of homes where formerly the lokapalas had always been welcomed and feasted. At the height of Mahisha’s reign, the celestials had been united by a common calamity. But peace had robbed them of shared bonds and they all turned on each other, torn apart by conflicting ideologies and loyalties.

The lokapalas killed many of their own so that in future the safety of the fairer and weaker sex would be guaranteed. Some sobbed silently, while others accepted their deaths without blinking as a noose tightened around their necks, a staff smashed their limbs or a club crushed their skull. But none would ask for mercy or renounce their faith. They clung to their beliefs and placed themselves in the hands of the Goddess, unafraid of what lay on the other side of life.

Too many joined the ranks of the departed, their very identities obliterated in the flood of blood, to be swallowed up by the tides of time and effectively blotted from living memory. The triad of lokapalas and those who saw fit to help them in their chosen task were soaked to the skin in the red stuff. They would never again be rid of its smell, taste or feel.

Meanwhile, the wave of death propelled Indra forward and deposited him at the threshold of his old enemy’s residence. Vritra, the dark giant, awaited him in the shadows within, with none of the trademark glowering or aggressive bristling that had become an all-too-familiar sight for Indra when he went to confront his enemies. Even when seated cross-legged on the floor, he towered over the wielder of the thunderbolt.

He looked on impassively, seemingly unperturbed at the sight of the raised vajra. When Indra released it, the unstoppable weapon sailed towards Vritra’s chest and would have struck him in the heart if Twastha had not appeared out of nowhere, interspersing himself between his son and the king he had hated so much.

It was a mortal blow, delivered with so much force that Twastha was torn to pieces. Not even a few drops of blood marked his passing. Vritra shut his eyes briefly and his great body shuddered a little. Indra was delighted at the display of weakness and would have liked to savour it, but the moment passed so quickly that he was forced to entertain the distinct possibility that it had been a figment of his imagination.

The notion was reinforced when Vritra addressed him calmly, as though nothing of note had happened or was going to, ‘Mercifully, my father had finally learned enough to throw off the yoke of anger that had driven him for so long and brought him so little happiness. It was my privilege to teach
him to forgive even those whom he had convicted of having committed unforgiveable crimes. Did you know his hatred of you had grown to such proportions that it had trapped him in a dark place? He was so consumed by the need to destroy you that he had to constantly feed on the flames of his rage to sustain himself.

‘Not a single moment went by without him dwelling obsessively on all the hurts you had inflicted upon him. The insults you had heaped on his beloved wife, the slaying of my brother, were scenes he played repeatedly in his mind’s eye. When that began to pall, he conjured up visions of the slights, both real as well as the ones he figured you would eventually throw at him, and future wrongs you were sure to do him, to justify his feeling constantly aggrieved. At other times, bitter envy would fill his heart and he would brood over your good fortune while lamenting his own painful situation…’

‘Thank you for the information, but I am already familiar with his unnecessarily obsessive hatred towards me,’ Indra snapped. ‘We both know that it did him no good and hastened his death. But I do wonder what he made of you…the son he created with the sole purpose of crushing me, who turned out to be a false prophet with a marked preference for a female’s garb over warlike raiment.’