An angry Parashurama once again picked up his axe and hacked off the wicked king’s arms until he bled to death.
Kartavirya’s sons avenged their father’s death by beheading Jamadagni. So Parashurama raised his axe a third time, and took an oath, ‘If the rules of society are not respected by kings themselves, how are we any different from animals who live by force? I shall kill every king who disrespects the rules of society; rules of society are greater than any king.’
Parashurama went around the world killing all rulers he found unworthy. Hundreds were thus slaughtered. A few survived by hiding behind women. From these cowards were born the next generation of kings, who were too timid to govern.
‘Will I ever find a perfect king who respects the rules of marriage and the rules of property?’ wondered Parashurama.
Parashurama is a violent avatar of Vishnu who enforces rules; he is very different from Ram who upholds rules and Krishna who bends rules. Parashurama has no wives, Ram has one wife and Krishna has many. The Goddess manifests as Parashurama’s mother (Renuka), Ram’s wife (Sita) and Krishna’s friend (Draupadi). Thus there is a pattern of progression in the three avatars.
Parashurama’s story reveals a period of great unrest between kings and sages. It marks the rise of the notion of property. Both women and cattle are seen as property, an early indicator of patriarchal thought.
Parashurama’s story is a harbinger of things to come, for Ravana will tempt Sita with a golden deer and seek to possess her, even though she is another’s wife. Kaikeyi will seek the throne of Ayodhya for her own son as Kartavirya seeks Jamadagni’s Nandini.
Many communities like the Chitpavans of Pune and the Nairs of Kerala trace their ancestry to Parashurama. Though traditionally priests, these communities play a key role in political matters of their respective societies.
In the Deccan region, especially Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh and Maharashtra, Renuka’s head and headless body are worshipped as the goddess Yellamma, Ekavira or Hulligamma. Yellamma shrines have been associated with the infamous, and now illegal, devadasi practice of dedicating young girls to the deity and compelling them into prostitution.
Kaushika Becomes Vishwamitra
Kaushika was a king who performed many yagnas to satisfy the hunger of his subjects. Then one day, he met a rishi called Vasishtha who had with him a cow just like Indra’s Kamadhenu who could fulfil any wish. Kaushika felt that such a cow should belong to a king so that he could feed his entire kingdom effortlessly.
Vasishtha, however, refused to part with the cow, stating, ‘The wish-fulfilling cow only comes to one who has no desires.’ Kaushika tried to take the cow by force but the cow resisted. From her udders emerged a band of fierce warriors who repelled every attack of Kaushika’s.
Kaushika realized that the only way to possess a Kamadhenu was to become a rishi like Vasishtha and compel Indra to give him one of the magical cows that grazed in the paradise known as Swarga. For that he had to acquire siddha. For that he had to do tapasya. For that he had to live in the forest like a hermit. For that he had to renounce his kingdom and his crown.
A determined Kaushika did it all. In time, he had enough siddha to make nature do his bidding.
But while Kaushika was busy restraining his senses and gathering siddha, his family was left neglected. No longer in the palace, they had to fend for themselves. They found it difficult to find food. They would have starved had it not been for the generosity of a man called Trishanku.
A grateful Kaushika offered Trishanku a boon. Trishanku said, ‘I have disrespected my father. I have forced myself on a married woman. To satisfy my hunger, I have killed cows and made calves weep. As a result, I do not have enough merit to enter Swarga. Use your siddha to force my entry into that garden of delights located in the realm of the stars.’
Using his siddha, Kaushika caused Trishanku to rise from the land of humans through the sky towards the land of the devas. Indra, ruler of Swarga, did not take this kindly. Trishanku was an unworthy, uninvited guest. He pushed Trishanku back towards the earth.
Kaushika had enough siddha to prevent Trishanku from crashing to the ground, but not enough to overpower Indra. So Trishanku got stuck midway, suspended between the earth and sky, between the land of humans and the land of the devas.
Kaushika continued his austerities, determined to gain more siddha and defeat Indra. Fearing the worst, Indra sent the apsara Menaka to seduce the former king. Menaka danced before the meditating sage and it was only a question of time before he succumbed to her charms.
Frustrated at not being able to turn into a rishi as powerful as Vasishtha, Kaushika resumed his austerities. Just when he was about to regain his siddha, a king called Harischandra who was out hunting disturbed his concentration. Enraged, Kaushika was about to curse the king and his clan when the king offered his entire kingdom as compensation. Kaushika accepted this compensation as it allowed him to feed his starving family.
To ensure that Harischandra’s compensation was not mistaken as alms or bhiksha, or as charity or daana, Kaushika asked the king for dakshina, a service fee for liberating him from the karmic obligation of his crime. Having given away his entire kingdom, Harischandra realized he had nothing more to give. So he did the unthinkable: he sold himself, his wife and his son as slaves and gave the money he thus collected to Kaushika as dakshina.
Harischandra was bought by a chandala, the caretaker of a crematorium, who asked him to tend to the funeral pyres. His wife and son were bought by a priest, who made them servants in his household. The son died of snakebite while he was collecting flowers in the garden. The distraught mother brought her son’s body to the crematorium and found her husband there. Harischandra, once a king, now a chandala, demanded a fee to cremate his own child, for those were the rules of his master. The former queen had nothing to give but the clothes on her body. So she offered the same, and he accepted it as fair payment.
In the light of the funeral pyre, Kaushika saw the naked queen and the stoic king, weeping for their son, but neither blaming nor reproaching anyone for their terrible situation. From where comes this wisdom that enables you to be at peace even in tragedy, asked Kaushika. ‘From my guru, Vasishtha,’ said Harischandra.
At the mention of his old rival’s name, Kaushika’s envy reared its ugly head again. He goaded a man-eating rakshasa called Kamlashpada to devour Vasishtha’s son, Shakti.
Shakti’s son, Parasara, thus orphaned, decided to destroy all rakshasas on earth. But Vasishtha pacified his grandson by explaining to him the laws of karma: ‘Every action has consequences. Why blame the instrument of karma for what is determined by our own past actions? By denying Kaushika the Kamadhenu, because he did not deserve it, I ignited rage in his heart, which led him to goad Kamlashpada to kill your father. I am as much responsible for Shakti’s death as Kamlashpada and Kaushika are. I wish I had more sons that Kaushika could kill until he has his fill of anger.’
Hearing this, Kaushika realized that it is not siddha that makes a man a rishi, it is the ability to care for others. To care for others, we have to first see them, understand them truly. Vasishtha had seen Kaushika in a way that Kaushika had not seen himself. And Kaushika had failed to see Vasishtha as he truly was. His gaze was coloured by rage. He realized Vasishtha was a wise seer, and he a powerful sorcerer at best.
‘The purpose of yagna and tapasya is not to increase my wealth and my power. It is to make me unknot my mind, move from aham to atma, see the world from another’s point of view. Only then can I be a rishi,’ Kaushika thought.
With this realization, Kaushika was transformed. He stopped being Vishwashatru, enemy of the world, and became Vishwamitra, friend of the world. He no longer wanted to change the world; he wanted to help the world. He decided to use his learning and his experience to create noble kings that even Parashurama would admire.
In narratives, kings perform a yagna to harness material wealth from nature, and sages perform tapasya to get magical powers that e
nable them to control nature. Shiva encourages one to outgrow the hunger for material wealth and magical powers. Vishnu encourages one to pay attention to this hunger in others.
Kaushika, the raja or king, becomes Vishwamitra, the rishi or sage. His rivalry with Vasishtha is a recurring theme in the scriptures. In tales, Vasishtha comes across as wise but idealistic while Vishwamitra comes across as impatient but pragmatic.
Kaushika and Parashurama embody attempts to bridge the gap between warriors who value things and sages who value ideas. Kaushika the warrior wants to be a sage. Parashurama the sage wants to be a king.
Trishanku is a metaphor for a person who belongs nowhere: the outlier trapped between worlds.
Menaka is a metaphor for temptations that prevent us from achieving our goal.
Harischandra is a metaphor for honesty; he suffers personal tragedy but remains true to his word.
In Varanasi, on the banks of the Ganga, stands the Harischandra Ghat where bodies are cremated. The keepers of this ghat trace their ancestry to the chandala who bought Harischandra as a slave.
The Yagna of Vishwamitra
Wild, the forest is of no value to humans, for in the wilderness humans are no different from animals. Domesticated, the forest grants humans value by turning into fields and orchards of which man is master.
But when the human mind is domesticated by rules, the mind is restrained. What should a king be, an enforcer of rules or an expander of minds? Should he turn his subjects into domesticated, obedient beasts or into brahmins?
These questions plagued Vishwamitra. So he established the Siddha-ashrama, a hermitage in the middle of the forest. He decided to conduct a yagna there, risking attack by rakshasas. This was the best way to help new kings appreciate the principles of domestication.
He sent invitations to the kings whose kingdoms were located up and down the river Ganga, asking them to send their sons to protect his fire-hall, the yagna-shala, from rakshasa attacks. ‘In exchange, I will grant them practical knowledge about war and weapons. I will even teach them spells with which they can turn ordinary arrows into potent missiles with the power of fire, water, the sun, the moon, wind and rain.’
But no kings sent their sons; they were terrified of the forests and the rakshasas.
When no student comes to a teacher, a teacher goes in search of a student. Vishwamitra decided to find a student and turn him into a perfect king. And who better than a student of his arch-rival Vasishtha whose wisdom he had begun to grudgingly admire?
Rishis or seers came from all communities. Vyasa was born to a fisherwoman; Valmiki was a highway robber and wandering poet; Vasishtha and Agastya were born to apsaras, celestial damsels who were bound to no man; Vishwamitra emerged from a line of kings. Most of them renounced all connections to their earlier life and were hence considered the mind-born sons of Brahma, reborn in thought.
In Vedic society, children were often sent away from home to learn from sages. These sages were often family elders who were expected to renounce their social role, and eventually society itself, to make way for the next generation. They lived in the forest, or vana, away from society. This was vanaprastha ashrama, the stage of forest dwelling, a twilight space of transformation that prepared the old to leave society as hermits, even as they taught the young to enter society as householders. Vishwamitra probably fits into this ashrama, having completed his worldly duty as king.
Students of Vasishtha
When Dashratha had asked the rishi Vasishtha to teach his four sons the ways of kings, Vasishtha had said, ‘I will try my best to make them brahmin.’
‘But I am a king, my sons are princes, they must be trained to be rulers, not priests,’ Dashratha responded in alarm.
‘You confuse brahmin-jati with brahmin-varna,’ Vasishtha had clarified. ‘He of brahmin-jati is a priest, transmitter of hymns and rituals of the Veda. He of brahmin-varna is one who inspires the Brahma of limited mind to move towards being brahman of limitless mind. Whether priest or warrior, farmer, herder or trader, man or woman, everyone must expand their minds, rise from shudra-varna, the mindset of a follower, to vaishya-varna, the mindset of a trader, to kshatriya-varna, the mindset of a master, to brahmin-varna, the mindset of a seer.’
‘How can a king be a servant or a trader or a master or a seer?’ wondered Dashratha.
Vasishtha said, ‘A king is a servant when he mimics other kings without understanding. A king is a trader when he uses rules to get all the things that he desires. A king is a master when he uses rules to impose his thoughts on those around him. A king is a seer when he understands the thought behind the rules and so appreciates the many reasons why a rule is followed and why another rule is not. For a king with a mind of brahmin, rules are merely functional, they are never right or wrong, and like all actions they have consequences. For him rules are not tools of power to dominate and control. For him rules are merely instruments of society that enable even the weakest to have what is otherwise cornered by the strongest.’
‘May you make my sons brahmin,’ said Dashratha on being enlightened so.
When their education was complete, the four sons of Dashratha were sent on a pilgrimage to the hills. When they returned, the eldest prince, Ram, felt there was more merit in being a hermit than a householder. Vasishtha then explained to him how he could be a hermit while leading the life of a householder.
‘Conduct your yagna as only a tapasvi can. Ignite the fire, tapa, which needs no fuel, within your mind. Light the outer physical fire, agni, which demands fuel. Tapa will transform you while agni will transform the world around you. Tapasya will burn your hunger. Yagna will feed the hungry. Tapasya will reveal fear that generates aham. Yagna will help you discover love that reveals atma. Tapasya works on the self so that we can focus on the other. Yagna focuses on the other so that we can work on the self. Tapasya helps you understand rules. Yagna helps you impose rules. He who understands this walks the path of Vishnu.’
The confusion between varna (mindset) referred to in the Vedas and jati (community) that shapes Indian society has created much negativity. Both brahmins like Manu and later academicians have tried to force-fit various jatis into varnas, the assumption being that certain mindsets thrive in certain communities. But the Vedas are more psychological than social, referring to how a person of any profession or gender can have the mindset of a follower, a trader, a master or a seer.
What the word ‘brahmin’ actually means is the subject of many conversations in the Upanishads and the Mahabharata. In all these conversations, the focus is always on worldview, never profession. But it is the focus on the latter that was always preferred in society, by both academicians and politicians.
Vasishtha is driven more by the mind while Vishwamitra is driven more by society. For Vasishtha, if the mind is clear, everything else becomes clear. But Vishwamitra thinks more in terms of action. In many ways, Vishwamitra represents what we call the modern Western ‘just do it’ action-oriented mindset. Vasishtha observes without resistance.
Dashratha Lets Go of His Sons
‘What your sons have learned till now under Vasishtha is rather theoretical. Time for some practical experience from one who was once a king,’ said Vishwamitra to Dashratha.
Dashratha, however, was not willing to part with his sons. ‘They are too young. Take my army instead. I myself shall come with you if you want.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Vishwamitra. ‘You are too old. And your boys are on the threshold of kingship. Let them come with me.’
Seeing Vishwamitra’s nostrils flare in rage, a terrified Dashratha said, ‘I will give you two. But two will stay back, just in case.’
Vishwamitra smiled at the insecure father who did not trust the capability of his sons. Two sons of Dashratha set out with Vishwamitra towards the hermitage. They came to a fork on the road. ‘Which one shall we take? The short route that is safe or the long one that is swarming with rakshasas?’ asked Vishwamitra.
‘Taking the shor
t, safer route makes sense,’ said one of the princes. The other prince, his younger brother, nodded in agreement.
Vishwamitra immediately turned back and returned to Ayodhya and told Dashratha, ‘These two sons of yours are not yet ready. Let me take the other two.’
‘No, no, not Ram,’ said Dashratha, clearly identifying his favourite. But Dashratha knew he had to yield; he did not want to risk the rishi’s curse. So Bharata and Shatrughna stayed back, while Ram and Lakshman went forth.
When Vishwamitra reached the fork on the road, he once again asked, ‘Which one shall we take? The short route that is safe or the long one that is swarming with rakshasas?’
Ram replied, ‘Let us take the long, fearsome route. That is the path of knowledge.’ Lakshman agreed. Vishwamitra was pleased with the answer.
This boy with long, lithe limbs, broad shoulders, thick, curly hair and eyes the shape of lotus buds renewed his hope. Was he the perfect king?
The Bala-kanda, the first chapter of the Ramayana, often seen as a later addition, speaks not just of Ram’s birth but also his education under Vasishtha and Vishwamitra. Vasishtha focuses on his mental development while Vishwamitra focuses on his martial and social duties.
The story of Dashratha sending Bharata and Shatrughna first to Vishwamitra’s yagna, and not Ram and Lakshman, comes from the Bengali Ramayana of Krittivasa Ojha known as ‘Ram Panchali’ or ‘diary of Ram’. From the twelfth century onwards, much of Bengal was under Muslim rule and Krittivasa refers to being garlanded by Gaudeshwara, lord of Gaud (Bengal), his patron, who in all probability was Sultan Jalal al-Din Muhammad Shah who ruled in the fifteenth century.