Om Namo Bhagavate Vishnudevaya
Tasyai Mohinyai namo namah
Salutations to the great God Vishnu
Salutations, Salutations to Lady Mohini
Some purists believed that a Mahadev and a Vishnu could not exist simultaneously. That at any given time, either the Mahadev exists with the tribe of the previous Vishnu, or the Vishnu exists with the tribe of the previous Mahadev. For how could the need for the destruction of Evil coincide with the propagation of Good? Therefore, some refused to believe that Lady Mohini was a Vishnu. Clearly, the Malayaputras sided with the majority that believed that the great Lady Mohini was a Vishnu.
The chanting continued.
Om Namo Bhagavate Vishnudevaya
Tasmai Parshuramaaya namo namah
Salutations to the great God Vishnu
Salutations, Salutations to Lord Parshu Ram
Sita pulled her horse’s reins and stopped as she approached Maharishi Vishwamitra. Unlike the others, he was wearing his angvastram. All the Malayaputras in Agastyakootam were on top of the monolith now.
Sita dismounted, bent and touched Vishwamitra’s feet with respect. She stood up straight and folded her hands together into a Namaste. Vishwamitra raised his right hand.
The music, the chanting, all movement stopped instantly.
A gentle breeze wafted across the summit. The soft sound it made was all that could be heard. But if one listened with the soul, perhaps the sound of ten thousand hearts beating as one would also have been heard. And, if one possessed the power of the divine, one would have also heard the cry of an overwhelmed woman’s heart, as she silently called out to the beloved mother she had lost.
A Malayaputra pandit walked up to Vishwamitra, holding two bowls in his hands. One contained a thick red viscous liquid; and, the other, an equal amount of thick white liquid. Vishwamitra dipped his index and ring finger into the white liquid and then the middle finger in the red liquid.
Then he placed his wrist on his chest and whispered, ‘By the grace of the Mahadev, Lord Rudra, and the Vishnu, Lord Parshu Ram.’
He placed his three colour-stained fingers together in between Sita’s eyebrows, then slid them up to her hairline, spreading the outer fingers gradually apart as they moved. A trident-shaped tilak emerged on Sita’s forehead. The outer arms of the tilak were white, while the central line was red.
With a flick of his hand, Vishwamitra signalled for the chanting to resume. Ten thousand voices joined together in harmony. This time, though, the chant was different.
Om Namo Bhagavate Vishnudevaya
Tasyai Sitadevyai namo namah
Salutations to the great God Vishnu
Salutations, Salutations to Lady Sita
Chapter 15
Late in the evening, Sita sat quietly in the Lord Parshu Ram temple. She had been left alone. As she had requested.
The grand ParshuRamEshwar temple grounds spread over nearly one hundred and fifty acres on the summit of the granite monolith. At the centre was a man-made square-shaped lake, its bottom lined with the familiar reddish-violet riverweeds. It reminded her of the three apparently ‘blood-filled’ streams she had seen at the hidden lagoon. The riverweeds had been grafted here, so that they could survive in these still waters. The lake served as a store for water for the entire city built into this rock formation. The water was transported into the houses through pipes built parallel to the spiral pathway down the curvilinear cave structure.
The two temples of the ParshuRamEshwar complex were constructed on opposite sides of this lake. One was dedicated to Lord Rudra and the other to Lord Parshu Ram.
The Lord Rudra temple’s granite inner structure had been covered with a single layer of red sandstone, transported in ships from a great distance. It had a solid base, almost ten metres in height, forming the pedestal on which the main temple structure had been built. The exterior face of the base was intricately carved with figures of rishis and rishikas. A broad staircase in the centre led to a massive veranda. The main temple was surrounded by delicate lattice, made from thin strips of a copper alloy; it was brown in colour, rather than the natural reddish-orange of the metal. The lattice comprised tiny square-shaped openings, each of them shaped into a metallic lamp at its base. With thousands of these lamps festively lit, it was as if a star-lit sky screened the main temple.
Ethereal.
Beyond the metallic screen holding thousands of lamps, was the Hall of Hundred Pillars. Each pillar was shaped to a near-perfect circular cross-section using elephant-powered lathes. These imposing pillars held the main temple spire, which itself shot up a massive fifty metres. The towering temple spire was carved on all sides with figures of great men and women of the ancient past. People from many groups such as the Sangamtamils, Dwarkans, Manaskul, Adityas, Daityas, Vasus, Asuras, Devas, Rakshasas, Gandharvas, Yakshas, Suryavanshis, Chandravanshis, Nagas and many more. The forefathers and foremothers of this noble Vedic nation of India.
At the centre of the Hall was the sanctum sanctorum. In it were life-size idols of Lord Rudra and the woman he had loved, Lady Mohini. Unlike their normal representations, these idols did not carry weapons. Their expressions were calm, gentle, and loving. Most fascinatingly, Lord Rudra and Lady Mohini held hands.
On the other side of the square lake, facing the Lord Rudra temple, was the temple dedicated to Lord Parshu Ram. Almost exactly similar to the Lord Rudra temple, there was one conspicuous difference: Lord Parshu Ram temple’s granite inner structure was layered on top with white marble. The sanctum sanctorum in the middle of the Hall of Hundred Pillars had life-sized idols of the great sixth Vishnu and his wife, Dharani. And, these idols were armed. Lord Parshu Ram held his fearsome battle axe and Lady Dharani sat with the long bow in her left hand and a single arrow in the other.
Had Sita paid close attention, she might have recognised the markings on the bow that Lady Dharani held. But she was lost in her own thoughts. Leaning against a pillar. Staring at the idols of Lord Parshu Ram and Lady Dharani.
She recalled the words of Maharishi Vishwamitra as he had welcomed her to Agastyakootam, earlier today. That they would wait for nine years. Till the stars aligned with the calculations of the Malayaputra astrologers. And then, her Vishnuhood would be announced to the world. She had been told that she had time till then to prepare. To train. To understand what she must do. And that the Malayaputras would guide her through it all.
Of course, until that auspicious moment, it was the sworn duty of every single Malayaputra to keep her identity secret. The risks were too high.
She looked back. Towards the entrance. Nobody had entered the temple. She had been left alone.
She looked at the idol of Lord Parshu Ram.
She knew that not every Malayaputra was convinced of her potential as the Vishnu. But none would dare oppose the formidable Vishwamitra.
Why is Guru Vishwamitra so sure about me? What does he know that I don’t?
A month had passed since Sita had arrived in Agastyakootam. Vishwamitra and she had had many extended conversations.
Some of these were purely educational; on science, astronomy and medicine. Others were subtle lessons designed to help her clearly define, question, confront or affirm her views on various topics like masculinity and femininity, equality and hierarchy, justice and freedom, liberalism and order, besides others. The debates were largely enlightening for Sita. But the ones on the caste system were the most animated.
Both teacher and student agreed that the form in which the caste system currently existed, deserved to be completely destroyed. That it corroded the vitals of India. In the past, one’s caste was determined by one’s attributes, qualities and deeds. It had been flexible. But over time, familial love distorted the foundations of this concept. Parents began to ensure that their children remained in the same caste as them. Also, an arbitrary hierarchy was accorded to the castes, based on a group’s financial and political influence. Some castes became ‘higher’, others ‘lower’.
Gradually, the caste system became rigid and birth-based. Even Vishwamitra had faced many obstacles when, born a Kshatriya, he had decided to become a Brahmin; and, in fact, a rishi. This rigidity created divisions within society. Raavan had exploited these divisions to eventually dominate the Sapt Sindhu.
But what could be the solution for this? The Maharishi believed that it was not possible to create a society where all were completely and exactly equal. It may be desirable, but would remain a utopian idea, always. People differed in skills, both in degree and kind. So, their fields of activity and achievements also had to differ. Periodic efforts at imposing exact equality had invariably led to violence and chaos.
Vishwamitra laid emphasis on freedom. A person must be enabled to understand himself and pursue his dreams. In his scheme of things, if a child was born to Shudra parents, but with the skills of a Brahmin, he should be allowed to become a Brahmin. If the son of a Kshatriya father had trading skills, then he should train to become a Vaishya.
He believed that rather than trying to force-fit an artificial equality, one must remove the curse of birth determining one’s life prospects. Societies would always have hierarchies. They existed even in nature. But they could be fluid. There would be times when Kshatriya soldiers comprised the elite, and then, there would be times when skilful Shudra creators would be the elite. The differences in society should be determined by merit. That’s all. Not birth.
To achieve this, Vishwamitra proposed that families needed to be restructured. For it was inheritance that worked most strongly against merit and free movement in society.
He suggested that children must compulsorily be adopted by the state at the time of birth. The birth-parents would have to surrender their children to the kingdom. The state would feed, educate and nurture the in-born talents of these children. Then, at the age of fifteen, they would appear for an examination to test them on their physical, psychological and mental abilities. Based on the result, appropriate castes would be allocated to them. Subsequent training would further polish their natural skills. Eventually, they would be adopted by citizens of the same caste as the one assigned to the adolescents through the examination process. The children would not know their birth-parents, only their adoptive caste-parents. The birth-parents, too, would not know the fate of their birth-children.
Sita agreed that this would be a fair system. But she also felt that it was harsh and unrealistic. It was unimaginable to her that parents would willingly hand over their birth-children to the kingdom. Permanently. Or that they would ever stop trying to learn what happened to them. It was unnatural. In fact, times were such that it was impossible to make Indians follow even basic laws for the greater good. It was completely far-fetched to think that they would ever make such a big sacrifice in the larger interest of society.
Vishwamitra retorted that it was the Vishnu’s task to radically transform society. To convince society. Sita responded that perhaps the Vishnu would need to be convinced, first. The guru assured her that he would. He laid a wager that over time, Sita would be so convinced that she would herself champion this ‘breathtakingly fair and just organisation of society’.
As they ended another of their discussions on the caste system, Sita got up and walked towards the end of the garden, thinking further about it. The garden was at the edge of the monolith summit. She took a deep breath, trying to think of some more arguments that would challenge her guru’s proposed system. She looked down at the valley, eight hundred and fifty metres below. Something about the Thamiravaruni startled her. She stopped thinking. And stared.
Why have I not noticed this before?
The river did not appear to flow out of the valley at all. At the eastern end of the egg-shaped valley, the Thamiravaruni disappeared underground.
What in Lord Rudra’s name …
‘The river flows into a cave, Sita.’ Vishwamitra had quietly walked up to his student.
Vishwamitra and Sita stood at the mouth of the natural cave, carved vertically into the rock face.
Intrigued by the flow of the Thamiravaruni, Sita had wished to see the place where it magically disappeared, at the eastern end of the valley. From a distance, it had seemed as if the river dropped into a hole in the ground. But, as she drew near, she had seen the narrow opening of the cave. A vertical cave. It was incredible that an entire river entered the small aperture. The thunderous roar of the river within the cave suggested that the shaft expanded underground.
‘But where does all this water go?’ asked Sita.
A company of Malayaputra soldiers stood behind Sita and Vishwamitra. Out of earshot. But close enough to move in quickly if needed.
‘The river continues to flow east,’ said Vishwamitra. ‘It drains into the Gulf of Mannar which separates India from Lanka.’
‘But how does it emerge from the hole it has dug itself into?’
‘It bursts out of this underground cavern some ten kilometres downstream.’
Sita’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Is this cave that long?’
Vishwamitra smiled. ‘Come. I’ll show you.’
Vishwamitra led Sita to the edge of the mouth of the cave. She hesitated. It was only around twenty-five metres across at the entry point. This forced constriction dramatically increased the speed of the river. It tore into the underground causeway with unreal ferocity.
Vishwamitra pointed to a flight of stairs to the left side of the cave mouth. It was obviously man-made. Steps had been carved into the sloping side wall. A railing thoughtfully provided on the right side, preventing a steep fall into the rapids.
Torrents of foam and spray from the rapidly descending river diminished vision. It also made the stairs dangerously slippery.
Vishwamitra pulled his angvastram over his head to shield himself from water droplets that fell from the ceiling. Sita followed suit.
‘Be careful,’ said Vishwamitra, as he approached the staircase. ‘The steps are slippery.’
Sita nodded and followed her guru. The Malayaputra soldiers stayed close behind.
They wended their way in silence. Descending carefully. Deeper and deeper, into the cave. Sita huddled into her angvastram. Daylight filtered through. But she expected pitch darkness as they descended farther. The insistent spray of water made it impossible to light a torch.
Sita had always been afraid of the dark. Added to which was this confined, slippery space. The looming rock structure and the loud roar of the descending river combined altogether into a terrifying experience.
Her mother’s voice called out to her. A memory buried deep in her psyche.
Don’t be afraid of the dark, my child. Light has a source. It can be snuffed out. But darkness has no source. It just exists. This darkness is a path to That, which has no source: God.
Wise words. But words that didn’t really provide much comfort to Sita at this point. Cold fear slowly tightened its grip on her heart. A childhood memory forced itself into her consciousness. Of being confined in a dark basement, the sounds of rats scurrying about, the frantic beat of her heart. Barely able to breathe. She pulled her awareness into the present. An occasional glimpse of Vishwamitra’s white robe disturbed the void they had settled into. Suddenly, she saw him turn left. She followed. Her hand not letting go of the railing.
Disoriented by sudden blinding light, her eyes gradually registered the looming figure of Vishwamitra standing before her. He held aloft a torch. He handed it to her. She saw a Malayaputra soldier hand another torch to Vishwamitra.
Vishwamitra started walking ahead again, continuing to descend. The steps were much broader now. Though the sound of the river reverberated against the wall and echoed all around.
Too loud for such a small cave.
But Sita could not see much since there were only two torches. Soon, all the Malayaputras held a torch each and light flooded into the space.
Sita held her breath.
By the great Lord Rudra!
The small cave had opened into a cavern.
And it was huge. Bigger than any cave Sita had ever seen. Perhaps six hundred metres in width. The steps descended farther and farther while the ceiling remained at roughly the same height. When they reached the bottom of the cavern, the ceiling was a good two hundred metres above. A large palace, fit for a king, could have been built in this subterranean space. And still have room left over. The Thamiravaruni flowed on the right-hand side of this cavern, descending rapidly with great force.
‘As you can see, the river has eroded this cave over the ages,’ explained Vishwamitra. ‘It is huge, isn’t it?’
‘The biggest I have ever seen!’ said Sita in wonder.
There was a massive white hill on the left. The secret behind the well-lit interior. It reflected light from the numerous torches and spread it to all the corners of the cave.
‘I wonder what material that hill is made up of, Guruji,’ said Sita.
Vishwamitra smiled. ‘A lot of bats live here.’
Sita looked up instinctively.
‘They are all asleep now,’ said Vishwamitra. ‘It’s daytime. They will awaken at night. And that hill is made from the droppings of billions of bats over many millennia.’
Sita grimaced. ‘Yuck!’
Vishwamitra’s laughter echoed in the vastness.
It was then that Sita’s eyes fell on something behind Vishwamitra. Many rope ladders hanging from the walls; so many that she gave up the attempt to count them. Hammered into place on top, they fell from the roof, all the way to the floor.
Sita pointed. ‘What’s that, Guruji?’
Vishwamitra turned around. ‘There are some white semicircular bird nests in the nooks and crannies of these walls. Those nests are precious. The material they are made from is precious. These ladders allow us to access them.’
Sita was surprised. ‘What could be so valuable about the material that a nest is made from? These ladders go really high. Falling from that height must mean instant death.’