Shakti: The Feminine Divine (19 page)

A howl of self-loathing rent the air as Mahisha took in the pattern that emerged from the chaotic visions. He prayed for the endless waves from a past come to life that crashed over him, leaving him struggling and breathless, to cease and desist. But there was more.

Suddenly the unrelenting images, which seemed to be thriving on his runaway emotions, inundated his mind with fresh force and renewed intensity. Mahisha remembered them from a story, but there was so much more. He was in his mother’s womb while they hunted her down as though she were nothing but a mere animal. He felt her concern for him over her own desperate plight, inducing a fit of sobbing that was so intense, it should have blinded him from the projections. Instead it brought them sharply into focus and they attacked him with their visceral ferocity.

Mahisha saw himself as a baby, bathed in his mother’s blood. He heard the weeping and even though he knew all too well that it would be a futile attempt, he willed his mother to live for his sake. She would not do it, though, and made the choice to follow his father to the unknown realms.

A little boy in the company of the rakshasa, who was his boon companion, played with his pets and drew what comfort he could from their unquestioning affection. But he was always alone. The restlessness in him would never be appeased and while it existed, peace and contentment would always prove elusive. Anger had been his most constant friend. It did not make him feel like the victim of a tragedy; rather, it had made him feel invincible and he relished it.

He had schooled himself under the approving gaze of Rakhtabija, hardened himself against every one of his kindly instincts that would only be taken advantage of, inculcated
within him the harsh discipline that would stand him in good stead when he went after Indra. He watched his metamorphosis from the lonely child he had been, who could not bear to see an animal go hungry, to the ruthless killing machine with the finely honed predatory instincts.

The consequences of his actions were laid out before him. He saw the victims of his fell deeds in an endless parade, a haunting litany of profound grief. Mahisha saw himself give the order to kill anyone who had scruples about accepting the son of a she-buffalo as their king. Full-blown violence had erupted as a result and he saw entire families uprooted by the madness that had ensued. He saw people who had lost everything from wealth and possessions to their hope and will to live. The hatred had blinded him to so much, but now his eyelids had been prised open.

The king had doled out generous helpings of horror and more pain than his subjects could possibly stomach. They had cursed the day he was born and the accursed creature that had inflicted him on the three worlds. The palpable excoriation of his blameless mother hurt worse than the invectives muttered against him.

It seemed incredible that he had been the instrument of so much destruction in so short a while. At the time, he had been so inured to killing that he had felt absolutely nothing. However, seeing the blood-spattered masterpiece of doom, which he had drawn with his own hands, he relived every one of the killings. This time, guilt clawed its way back from the subterranean hideout he had banished it to and tore into him with grim purpose.

The hard armour he had worn to protect himself from every kind of emotion cracked in many places and fell away
from him, leaving him naked and exposed. Mahisha saw the three worlds from a distance and they were the gloomiest and darkest places he had ever seen. There was not a happy soul in all their vastness, as he had robbed them of such a possibility long ago. The survivors of his reign seemed resigned to death, even welcomed it. They all hated him and wished him dead.

Self-loathing lashed him like a whip. Mahisha welcomed the pain, which exploded all over him and climbed to levels that were quickly unbearable. He knew that nobody could hope to survive such a laceration of the spirit that was already wounded past recovery, and he was glad. There could be no excusing the things he had done and there was no punishment severe enough for the likes of him. He deserved to suffer.

Vaguely, he felt Durga’s presence; he knew that she had always known what he had just seen, and shame coursed through him as he tried to shake her off. But she held him close, refusing to let go, and he was so grateful that he gave vent to his anguish. Still she held on to him, forcing him to accept the comfort he thought himself unworthy of.

Ever so gently she rocked him in her arms, absorbing the worst of his pain. Mahisha did not want to return to the world of the living, which was also the scene of his heinous crimes. In her compassion, Durga held him in a limbo world, buying him time to come to terms with what he had done.

‘I don’t want to live…’ Mahisha voiceless cry pleaded with her. ‘This life is ruined beyond redemption and there is nothing I can do to make recompense. I’ll accept whatever punishment you think I deserve, even if it means being tortured for the rest of eternity, so that others may learn a lesson from the worst evildoer that ever existed!’

‘So after everything you have been through, your solution
is more violence? I should think not!’ the goddess said quietly. ‘The good news is that you are through and the debt you have incurred has been paid many times over. All I wanted was for you to pay heed to the fact that you were afflicted with a disease, the root cause of which needed to be identified to help you seek the proper treatment that would fix the symptoms and prevent it from infecting others as well.

‘Now it is done, and all that is left is for you to let go of all the anger and hatred which you long directed at others and have now turned inwards. The others did not deserve it and neither do you. Those destructive emotions you have harboured and that you mistakenly believed would keep you safe have done you little good, and it is time for you to slough them off.’

Mahisha listened to her voice, which had the magical effect of stopping his descent into madness and called on his discipline to find the courage to obey and trust in her. Slowly, the long-festering rage was siphoned away and as he divested himself of his captors, the pain seeped away as well, bringing blessed comfort and peace in its wake. His blindness was fully cured and finally, he saw the truth in all its unvarnished glory.

Every single journey taken by his soul along infinite twisting pathways had led him to this moment in her arms, which was to be the culmination of his travels. There had been so many lessons he had failed to learn, but in the little time he had left, his education was complete. After all this time, he had finally found acceptance, and with it came fulfilment. Just before he took his last breath, he willingly raised his eyes to meet those of the goddess. This time he was happy to merge into her being and become one with her forever.

Warm Afterglow

T
HE PALL OF
darkness that had descended on the three worlds with the ascent of Mahisha was finally discarded. The intolerable atmosphere of gloom and doom vanished, to be replaced by a brand new ambience of sheer joyfulness.

Initially, following the sudden disappearance of Mahishasura and his evil minions, there had been a chaotic period of confusion. Nobody could say for certain what had actually happened, although that did not stop most from expounding at length about the gruesome end Mahisha had met at the hands of Goddess Durga. It seemed too good to be true, and the people waited fearfully for the clatter of hooves that would signal the end of the world. But then Indra marched triumphantly into his beloved city of Amaravathi and reclaimed his throne, setting their fears to rest. The skies rang out with the sounds of uninhibited celebration to commemorate the victory of the goddess and soon the mortals joined in as well.

The devas sang hymns in her honour in an ecstasy of
devotion. They thanked her for the great service she had done them, for which they could never ever repay her, and begged her to protect them from future misfortunes as well. But mostly they expressed their gratitude for the remarkable compassion she had shown even towards one like Mahisha, whose acts of evil had all but guaranteed that his soul remain in torment for all of eternity. The devi could have condemned him to such a fate and none would have disputed her justice, yet she had liberated him and helped him ascend to the higher worlds. With this act of unequalled magnanimity, she had given them all hope and blessed them with the knowledge that her grace included everything in creation.

Vishnu had told them that Mahadevi tended to get impatient with excessive displays of affection or approbation, which explained her reticence to participate in the festivities. Undeterred by her lack of enthusiasm, the devas had their vishwakarma, Twastha, sculpt a beautiful lifelike statue of Goddess Durga astride a lion, capturing the exact moment she had thrust her spear into Mahisha’s black heart, while he was trying to escape. They bathed the statue with milk and honey, smeared sandalwood paste on it, bedecked it in the finest of garments and exquisite jewellery, worshipped it with flowers from Indra’s renowned Nandana garden, anointed it with perfume distilled especially for the occasion and lit fragrant incense sticks.

Then the jollification began in earnest. The devas showered gold coins and flowers on earth, so that the mortals could join in as well. The humans fashioned crude statues of their own and worshipped the goddess, following the examples of the gods. They sacrificed lambs to her and partook of the burnt and sanctified offerings themselves, feasting and revelling for
days on end in glorious celebration. All in the three worlds were grateful to bear witness to the momentous occasion, which would live on forever in their hearts and their memories. Later, they would pass it on to their offspring, so that the greatness of the goddess would never be forgotten.

Shakti viewed the revelry with extreme annoyance and confided her feelings to Shiva and Vishnu. ‘It is to be wondered if they will remember the actual lesson to be learned here. I am getting the bad feeling that the devas and humans alike will get carried away with the elaborate rituals they have devised so lovingly in Durga’s honour and devote their lives to them, conveniently ignoring the rest of the factors that led to the spectacular rise and fall of Mahisha. Why do they feel the need for such a rigidly structured approach, which is the surest way to trap themselves in ignorance forever? If they are not careful then all too soon they’ll blunder their way into yet another end-of-the-three-worlds crisis. And I’ll be bemoaning the fact that no matter how many valuable lessons are offered by the past, those in the present will choose to bypass them, almost guaranteeing a retribution-filled future for themselves!’

‘How will your children learn what you want them to when you are unapologetically intransigent and insist on operating in great secrecy, deliberately making them play a complicated game of hide-and-seek with the truth?’ Vishnu asked her.

‘It is because I want them to care enough about the things worth learning, to devote more of themselves towards unearthing it,’ Shakti snapped at him. ‘If everything were to be unmasked for their viewing pleasure in plain sight, they would still shut their eyes, ignoring its worth, and discard it like trash.’

‘You are right, of course,’ Shiva agreed. ‘All the more
reason for you to come away with me and forget about the offspring for the foreseeable future. It is too bad you can’t make them study their lessons at spear-point! They are all exasperating creatures, but the good news is that you have earned us all a respite from them. It will be a while before we are called upon to bail them out from whatever life-threatening situation they have got themselves into. Besides, you should be admiring that attractive statue they have consecrated to the Goddess Durga! I think Vishnu will agree with me that it far surpasses the original in terms of beauty!’

Vishnu went along gamely, ‘The vishwakarma certainly knew what he was doing. The original may be the most beauteous thing in the three worlds, but that statue is something else, and entirely lifelike. I could spend all my time gazing at the bounties of that bosom and the abundance of that derrière. Don’t even get me started on those remarkable curves that were made to be caressed!’

‘No wonder the three worlds are filled to overflowing with sexist swine,’ Shakti responded bitingly, though she had promised herself that she would not rise to the bait. ‘The shocking conduct of the foremost of the gods is all they have by way of example, so it is hardly surprising that they objectify their women in that despicable way. You would think that a good day’s work would have earned me some respect, as opposed to this sort of boorish conduct. Perhaps it is high time the two of you were taught a lesson at spear-point!’

Shakti could have gone on, but she was determined to preserve her dignity while the Preserver and Destroyer clutched their stomachs and howled with laughter. ‘In some ways, duplicate Durga is superior to the real Shakti, don’t you think, Vishnu?’ Shiva managed between uncontrollable paroxysms of
glee. ‘She speaks the beautiful language of silence, which is so soothing to the ears, unlike this spitfire here, whose voice gets so shrill when annoyed. Twastha’s labour of love won’t be getting into hissy fits or be subject to uncontrollable mood swings either!’

‘Stop it, Shiva! Your behaviour is truly reprehensible,’ Vishnu chided in a high-pitched, affected tone.

‘Which only proves that he’s a lousy mimic,’ Shakti thought irritably.

‘She expects nothing but respect from us and we owe it to her,’ Vishnu continued his banter. ‘We can take it in turns to bathe her in milk and honey. You get some flowers, while I anoint her with perfumes. Incense is irksome to her nostrils, but it would not do for us to ignore the proper procedures for her worship. Once the ritual is complete, we will sing songs praising her until the birds drop out of the skies in protest, and then she’ll forgive us for our insufferable conduct and love us again.’

‘Love you two loutish loons?’ Shakti queried. ‘If you want love, I suggest you repair to your wives. Or you should spare that long-suffering duo and ask the sthapathi to make statues to keep you company in the lonely reaches of the night, and you can slaver over the hippy things all you want. As for me, I am leaving. Buffoonery does not agree with me at all.’