Mahashivratri made me recall some legends of Lord Shiva that light up the land. Moreover, I remembered thinking during a trip to the Kangra Valley in Himachal Pradesh that while warring factions carry on fighting, the inner life of Bharat goes on peacefully. I saw that at the 17th century village of Paragpur in Kangra district. It was reportedly built on an ancient site and its habit of faith went on as though nothing had happened except the lila of the gods. It was very moving.
Paragpur was the stronghold of the Kuthialas, a branch of the Sood clan, who were treasurers to the royal family of Kangra. Next to Paragpur was Garli Village, a charming heritage site, which is the domicile of the Soods. They were Silk Route merchants, builders of cities like Simla, and patrons of commerce and culture. Their old homes showed their cross-continental history—an Italianate villa here, a Chinese lintel there—while not far away, the river Beas was witness to the advent of Alexander of Macedonia around 325 BCE.
Over the past many years, I’ve been by the Beas, on the Beas, across the Beas, and even in the Beas, and there’s something about that river. It has so much personality, a mysterious air of ‘I would if I could’—tell stories, I mean.
When I thought of how much history had flown with it and its old rulers, the Katoch clan, I wanted to nudge the Beas by its shoulder of delicately-tinted mauve stone and say in my most cajoling tone, “Won’t you tell me of old, forgotten far-off things?”
I sat expectantly by the river soaking in the peace of the falling sunset. But all I could hear was the sound of the river and the call of a night-bird or two. Really, what had I expected? That a water sprite would swim up to tell me fabulous stories? I went back irrationally disappointed. But the Beas gave me a wonderful surprise one morning, something that I could not have imagined despite so many years of being amazed by ‘the wonder that is India’.
This happened when I went to visit the Shri Kalinath Kaleshwar Mahadev Temple in Paragpur. Its story goes that in yet another ancient battle between the devas and the asuras, Parvati assumed the fierce form of Kali to defeat the aggressors. But she went on storming even after her victory, and Shiva had had to lie down inert in her path to stop her. Kali stepped right on him, roaring in rage, and only then did she come out of her fury, and recoil in horror when she saw what she had done. She went away greatly embarrassed, and it was here, at this site on the banks of the Beas, that Shiva is believed to have met her, brought her out of her depression and made her smile again.
I knew this story from childhood but I knew nothing of this small temple or its connection with this story. Incredibly, the sanyasis of the Niranjana Akhada who attended on ‘Kalesar’ as they call Kaleshwar locally were from South India. They retold the legend to me and I went back marveling at how deep and far the dotted lines run across our country. I felt blessed to have actually heard the legend of Kalinath Kaleshwar right there by the Beas where Shiva had persuaded Parvati to come back home to Kailash.
At the other end of the country, another Shiva story became the sthala puranam or source legend for one of India’s most beautiful topographical features. The story goes that Shiva once spent a night in the Raghunandan Hills of Tripura on the way back to Kailash. With him were 99,99,999 followers, one short of a crore or “Unakoti”. Shiva asked his followers to wake up before dawn. However, not one was awake on time except Shiva himself. So, Shiva went off on his own, leaving them behind. When they woke up and realised their mistake, they were too ashamed to move, and turned to stone, deciding to stay forever at the place where they had last seen Shiva. The rocks on the Unakoti Hill are said to be that entourage.
Up in the snows, Shiva overturned the very idea of creation. ‘Brahma the Creator’ was given the task of making people inhabit the three worlds. For Bhulok, the earth, Brahma first created four handsome young men to be the ancestors of mankind. They sat down to pray for guidance on the shore of Manasarovar Lake. Suddenly, a great white swan swam up. It was Shiva, the ultimate free soul or “supreme swan”, the Paramahamsa. The swan swam all over the lake to symbolically warn the four young men that the world was merely maya or illusion, and that the only way to escape its bonds was to refuse to procreate. Shiva did that because he felt that it was only fair to warn them that creation was just a game for the gods.
Then, in the legend of Nilkanth when Shiva drank the Kalakuta poison to save the world, the vishpurush or spirit of Kalakuta sprang out weeping in shame at the outrage he had involuntarily committed by burning Shiva’s throat, and in despair at the ferocity of his substance. So, the Lord, who wanted nothing for himself but gave things away to others, blessed him with a boon, for it was not Kalakuta’s fault that it was so deadly. It grew fierce only when fiddled with, just as so many other things are poisonous only if we stir them up ourselves. Shiva granted the vishpurush the boon that he would return to Nature by being born on earth one day as Drona’s son, Ashvatthama. Ashvatthama is believed to still wander the earth and comes forward only when we mess with Nature. Shiva’s lilas are truly infinite and I would greatly enjoy retelling more another time.
(Views are personal)
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