Religions of India in Practice

Vrata in Bengali literally means “vow,” but it serves as a shorthand to signify an array of closely related Hindu religious practices carried out primarily by the women of the traditional household. Vratas are undertaken to attain certain specific goals, usually related to generating wealth, protecting and maintaining the health of the family, and ensuring a general prosperity for all. The vratas are timed to the lunar calendar, with an appropriate worship set aside for nearly every day. But no household follows every vrata. In practice we find a wide combination of vows, although a handful of these seem to provide a core around which each household will construct its significant set. Part of this variety is simply the result of local custom, part of it depends on the number and ages of the women in the household, and part of it reflects the economics of each family, although few ritual vows are expensive to undertake. Among the most popular gods and goddesses to receive homage and promises of future fidelity, worship, and respect, are Lakṣmī, the goddess who provides wealth, prosperity, and fertility, and Ṣaṣṭhī, giver and especially protector of children. In this section we will focus on Ṣaṣṭhī, whose name literally means the “sixth” and whose worship occurs on the sixth day of the bright half of each lunar month.

It is virtually impossible to trace the origins of the vrata ritual vow, but suggestive analogs are found in the Brāhmaṇa ritual compilations of the late Veda. Later Purāṇas contain detailed instructions for ritual vows. Most of these require male participation and supervision, generally through the offices of the brahman priest. The modern household vrata ritual, however, is predominately a woman’s affair in preparation and execution, although men often figure prominently in the story explaining the vow. Modern priestly handbooks, which compile puranic and popular religious ritual, tend to articulate two compelling reasons for undertaking a vow: liberation from the rounds of existence (mukti; cf. Sanskrit mokṣa) and enjoyment of the material benefits of this world (bhukti). Although generalizations for the whole of India are difficult, in Bengal, the former type tend to find expression most frequently in the vratas of older women, especially widows, whereas the latter dominate most other exercises of vows. Bhukti, material gain in this world, is primarily the concern of unmarried girls within the household, who undertake vratas for quality marriages and for guarantees of fertility. Married women likewise pursue worldly benefits by invoking the deities to protect their children and to enable them to provide well for their families. The stories of Ṣaṣṭhī, while of interest to the unmarried, receive strongest support among younger married women, for these young mothers are the direct focus—both as recipients and nurturers—of Ṣaṣṭhī’s activities.

The ritual vow in its generic form consists of four basic parts, each of which can be abbreviated or embellished in actual practice. The first part is the preparation (āharaṇa), in which the necessary items to be used in the ritual are gathered. Substitutions are allowed for items that cannot be procured or prove too expensive for the participants, as long as the reasons for these substitutions are honest; penurious preparation will adversely affect the ritual’s outcome. The second part of the vow requires the participants to explain the action of the vrata, the reasons for undertaking the vow, and the procedures for executing it. The participants initiate this action by demarcating a sacred space and decorating it with auspicious designs commonly drawn with rice flour or paste, called ālpanā. These designs are highly stylized and, through a complex geometry and direct representation, they depict the god or goddess who is being invoked and the story associated with that divinity; in the case of Ṣaṣṭhī one occasionally sees her cat drawn in the elaborate pattern. A clay pot is frequently used to represent the goddess herself. Three-dimensional representations can also be used to relive the action or represent the hoped-for result; for example, in the vow of Ṣaṣṭhī of the Rice Cake (Cāpaḍā Ṣaṣṭhī) the action revolves around a tank or pond, which is replicated in miniature, dug in the ground, and filled with water to complete the ritual. The following instruction for preparation of the vow of Ṣaṣṭhī of the Golden Hairclip (Luṇṭhana Ṣaṣṭhī) is translated from Bāramāsera Meyedera Vratakathā, edited by Pavara Gopālacandra Bhaṭṭācārya, revised with notes by Ramā Devi (Calcutta: Nirmmala Buka Ejensi, n.d.), pp. 80, 83. It illustrates this preparatory stage.

This vow is to be performed on the sixth day of the light half of the month of Śrāvaṇa (July-August). It is designated for those women who are pregnant. This vow must never be undertaken by barren or sterile women or by widows. The worship is not performed when the sixth falls on Monday, Tuesday, Friday, or Saturday. This vow will be effective only when the ritual prescriptions are scrupulously followed.

Draw the ālpanā figures with rice powder. Fix into the earth a branch from a banyan tree and place in front of it a fired, unglazed earthen pot [representing Ṣaṣṭhī]. Mix mustard oil, turmeric, and yogurt into a paste. Using only leftover cream, fashion seven pieces of thickened milk fat into the shape of hair clasps and place them next to Ṣaṣṭhī’s pot. At the end of the ritual, make obeisance to Mother Ṣaṣṭhī and listen attentively to her story.

The children of the woman who observes this ritual will never suffer an untimely or inauspicious death.

Note the brevity of instruction; this is basically an oral tradition for which the text serves merely as a reminder, rather than a detailed guide; the older women see to it that the younger women and girls perform the ritual properly.

The third constituent of the ritual vow is the uttered verse, a mantra, which is in Bengali or, less frequently, Sanskrit. In its most streamlined form this utterance, known as chaḍā, will be a single line of verse, functioning as an incantation to activitate the vow. In their more elaborate forms, these utterances punctuate and precipitate the action; the sounds propel the action of the ritual with their aural power. Other utterances become objects of meditation to help the participant adopt the proper attitude and to ensure that the sincerity of the vow is registered by the goddess. In the story of the Forest or Araṇya Ṣaṣṭhī, the participants are urged to reflect on this image of the goddess, the chaḍā being a multi-line Sanskrit strophe. It is translated from Bāramāsem Meyedera Vratakathā, p. 58.

She whose golden limbs, draped with jewels, glisten like mountain snow,

whose hands proffer boons and dispel fear,
whose visage eclipses yellow harvest moons,

whose swollen milk-engorged breasts strain the shimmering silk of her blouse,

in whose belly rests the male child, the primordial unborn man—

this goddess Ṣaṣṭhī, the Sixth, may you fix clearly in your mind!

Prepared through meditation and ritual action, the participants then come to the heart of the vow, the recitation of the goddess’ story (kathā).

The story attached to a vrata tends to explain the circumstances leading to the creation of that particular vow or to teach and illustrate basic ethical principles. The latter prove vital for the harmony of the household by instilling a strong sense of morality in the participants. The etiology of the vow and its moral frequently intertwine, as we find in the example of Forest Ṣaṣṭhī translated below. The story tends to follow relatively predictable plot lines: the goddess is displeased by the failure of an individual to conduct him- or herself properly, so she inflicts great suffering on that person. The increasing trauma finally brings the protagonist to the point of recognition, where he or she can understand the root cause of the problem, this realization being an act that connects the character to the goddess and places this newly found relationship on a firm moral ground. The prior ill-treatment is then rectified and the protagonist regains his or her former position, often much enhanced. The story generally ends with a paean to the goddess, describing her wondrous traits and the benefits of observing her vow.

Several medieval texts of the maṅgala kāvya genre extol the feats of the goddess Ṣaṣṭhī, but these tales bear only slight resemblance to the modern popular stories of the Ṣaṣṭhī vows. These vows number twelve, one for each month of the year and the stories appear in inexpensive booklets, generally called Meyeder Vratakathā (“The Stories of Women’s Vows”), each containing a wide mix of monthly observances. The language tends to be very colloquial and modern, although one occasionally finds more formal productions, including Sanskrit translations of the stories. Frequently, as is the case here, the booklet shows no author or editor or publisher. As noted in our examples above, the articles required for worship and the requisite chaḍā utterances are generally listed briefly prior to the story. The tale itself can be printed in skeletal outline, to be embellished by the raconteur in the course of the ritual, or in more developed form. The five stories translated and retold here suggest the breadth of this elaborate tradition dedicated to the responsibilities of child bearing and rearing in a perfect family life.

The translations are from an old text that has neither title page nor printing information. The style of printing and formating suggests that the edition I used was issued by a popular press, possibly Tārācānda Dāsa, about thirty or forty years ago.

On vratas, see Sudhir Ranjan Das, Folk Religion in Bengal: A Study of Vrata Rites (Calcutta: S. C. Kar, 1953) On Ṣaṣṭhī, see Edward Dimock, Jr., “Manasa, Goddess of Snakes: The Ṣaṣṭhī Myth,” in Myths and Symbols: Studies in Honor of Mircea Eliade, edited by Joseph M. Kitagawa and Charles H. Long (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1969), pp. 217-26.

Once there was a brahman woman. She had three sons and those three sons had wives. The youngest of the three wives in the extended family was terribly greedy. Whenever she had the chance, she would steal fish and milk and eat it, and then place the blame on a certain black cat. After a time, the youngest wife had a child and it was a boy, beautiful as the moon is brilliant. That first night, taking the child in her lap, she lay down. In the morning she arose and saw the child was missing. The young wife searched here and there, but could not find her child.

The youngest wife had seven more boys and one girl. Yet in exactly the same fashion, the boys and the girl were stolen one by one from her arms. The rumors began to circulate: “The youngest wife is a demon. She herself has eaten her own children!”

Broken-hearted, the youngest wife escaped to the forest and sat down, crying bitterly. When Mother Ṣaṣṭhī saw her weep like this, she took pity. Dressed like an old brahman woman, she came and asked the youngest wife why she was crying. The youngest wife related her long tale of woe.

Mother Ṣaṣṭhī said, “There is no one in your household as awful as you, stealing all those things, eating them, and then lying and unfairly blaming my black cat. That is why my cat has spirited away your children and brought them all to me. Now that you understand the reason for your plight, you need only perform a single difficult but sincere penance for your wrongdoings and I will return your children.”

Sobbing, the youngest wife said, “Whatever harsh penances you prescribe, I shall readily consent to do.”

Testing her, Mother Ṣaṣṭhī replied, “Look over by the tree. There lies a dead cat, its body decomposing, liquid with putrefaction. First, you must bring a bowl of curds and smear those curds over that cat’s body. Then you must lap up all of the curds into the bowl and bring that concoction back to me.”

Without hesitation, in her desperation and remorse, the youngest wife did exactly as the old woman directed. As soon as she did, she beheld all of her children—her eight boys and her girl—standing beside her. Then Mother Ṣaṣṭhī lectured her, “Mark their foreheads with these curds. Never be guilty again of stealing food and eating it yourself, and then shifting the blame onto the cat or anything else. Never kick a cat, for that is my companion and vehicle. Likewise, never strike your children with your left hand, nor refer to their mortality lest it become true. Never, never verbally abuse them!” Then Mother Ṣaṣṭhī instructed her to observe ritual vows of Ṣaṣṭhī of the Forest or Araṇya Ṣaṣṭhī on the sixth day of the light half of the moon of the month of Jyeṣṭha [May-June]. After imparting to her these rules and regulations, Mother Ṣaṣṭhī left.

Soon thereafter, the youngest wife gathered her children and took them home. She told everyone her strange and marvelous tale. And from the youngest wife, all of the other wives quickly learned the rules and regulations of this particular Ṣaṣṭhī worship. They began to perform regularly and with devotion the proper Ṣaṣṭhī worship for the month of Jyeṣṭha.

The youngest wife was able to see all her children provided with extravagant weddings. Her daughter and son-in-law returned to the house on the sixth day of Jyeṣṭha. She marked the son-in-law’s forehead with curds and served him dishes of succulent mango and delicious jackfruit. In turn the other wives, too, successfully gave their children in marriage and brought their daughters’ husbands home. For this reason this sixth day of Jyeṣṭha became known as “the son-in-law’s sixth” or the day of offering ritual vows to Ṣaṣṭhī.

There once was a brahman who had six sons, all of whom had wives, and who also had a single daughter. All of his sons had children and his daughter had two children, as well. At the beginning of the month of Śrāvaṇa [July-August] the daughter came to her father’s house with her children. Staying for a few days of Śrāvaṇa, she would then return to her in-laws’ house.

The brahman was happy with his family life. His home resounded with the sounds of his grandsons and granddaughters. Witness to this, all of the neighbors were jealous, while others would say, “Aha! It’s as if Mother Ṣaṣṭhī has borne fruit on every branch!” All of the sons adored their parents like deities, and the wives their in-laws. The sons earned their own living and there was paddy in every field and fish in every pond. [In short, they were prosperous.]

Meanwhile the sixth day of the light half of the moon in the month of Śrāvaṇa came. The brahman’s wife took her six daughters-in-law and her own daughter and sat down to perform the worship of Ṣaṣṭhī. They prepared all kinds of offerings, the appropriate metal trays and ten different fruits. When the brahman woman lifted the lid of the wicker basket in order to take out some golden hairclips, which are special decorative ornaments, she saw that three of the four ornaments which had been kept there were missing. When she saw this, the brahman woman flew into a rage and interrogated everyone. Hearing this outburst, the eldest daughter-in-law was surprised and commented, “What are you saying, Mother? For days on end they have remained in place, but now, suddenly, they are gone.” Then, in an effort to establish her innocence, she placed her hand on the forehead of her son and swore, “If I took the hairclips I will eat the heads of my children.”

The brahman’s daughter said, “I am in my parents’ house only for a few days. I do not know where things are kept. So, how could I have known where they were? In two days I will go back to my in-laws’ house. My eldest sister-in-law is the only one who knows what goes on in your home.”

The brahman woman fashioned some new ornaments out of dried milk to replace the missing ones and then she performed the worship. The eldest daughter-in-law revealed everything within her heart to Mother Ṣaṣṭhī and pleaded, “Mother Ṣaṣṭhī, my dear Mother, you heard everything. My sister-in-law has slandered me. Please adjudicate this matter!”

When all the brahman woman’s sons returned to the house and heard what had transpired, they got exceedingly angry. Without stopping to think, the eldest blurted out the first things that came to mind, compounding the problem immensely. When she listened to all of the ravings, the eldest daughter-in-law—because of her embarrassment and shame—refused to eat anything at all that night. Gathering her children, she shut the door to their room and lay down in her own.

In the morning, when the eldest daughter-in-law awoke she opened the door and saw that all seven children were still—they were dead! She burst into tears. Hearing her weep, the brahman woman, the other daughters-in-law, and the daughter came running. All were stunned at the sight before them. Immediately the daughter screamed, “Now you have seen! My eldest sister-in-law herself stole the hairclips. She played the pious part, trying to hoodwink Mother Ṣaṣṭhī! She took an oath with her hand on the heads of her seven children and the fruit of that heinous act has quickly ripened!”

At her sister-in-law’s condemnation, the eldest daughter-in-law, crying openly, touched the feet of her mother-in-law, the brahman’s wife, and took another oath. The daughter of that brahman woman pulled away the hands of the eldest daughter-in-law and pressed further her accusations, “And now do you want to eat me, too?” At this remark the eldest daughter-in-law’s heart ached with shame and misery. She ran into her room and bolted the door, sobbing. Then she started praying for Mother Ṣaṣṭhī, summoning the goddess to her aid. The goddess appeared to her in the form of an old brahman woman.

The eldest daughter-in-law cried bitterly. Because of the sharp words of the brahman’s daughter, she found herself crying out, “Oh Mother, my sister-in-law has accused me falsely! No one believed what I said, but I did not steal the hair ornaments!”

Hearing her plea, the old woman replied, “Dear, you are the mother of several children, yet don’t you understand that if you take an oath with your hand on the head of your child you shorten its life? Whether your statement be true or false, never swear with your hand on your child’s head! Calm down and have no fear. Go to the place of worship, and you will find some bamboo leaves lying there. Take those leaves, dip them in the waters of the landing ghat, and, while chanting the name of Mother Ṣaṣṭhī, sprinkle that water from the leaves over the bodies of your seven children. Then each will be brought back to life.”

As soon as the old brahman woman finished talking, she vanished; the eldest daughter-in-law could not see her anywhere. Without hesitating, she quickly came out from her room, took the leaves designated for worship, dipped them in the water and, while repeating the name of Mother Ṣaṣṭhī, poured the water over the bodies of her seven dead children. The instant she did, the children came back to life and cried out, “Ma! Ma!” The brahman woman witnessed this and she and all her sons and their wives were dumbfounded. In the meantime as these events unfolded, the two children of the brahman woman’s own daughter had died.

When the daughter saw her dead children, she beat her chest and began to weep bitterly. Suddenly, a disembodied voice seemed to ring from the sky, “Who else but you deserves this? You yourself stole the hairclips and then blamed the elder daughter-in-law! It is your children who should die and no one else’s! If you beg forgiveness and clasp the feet of the eldest daughter-in-law in humble supplication, she can bring your children back to life!” Everyone searched all around but could not see who was speaking. At the same time a great many neighborhood children and their mothers were drawn to the house by the excitement.

The sister-in-law grabbed the feet of the eldest daughter-in-law and begged forgiveness. The brahman’s wife, the eldest daughter-in-law’s husband, his younger brothers, and the neighborhood wives all together entreated the eldest daughter-in-law, but she adamantly refused to help. After numerous requests, she eventually relented, “All right, with everyone as witness, let her produce the golden hairclips and then pull her sari around her neck in expiation and swear, ‘Mother Ṣaṣṭhī, never again will I steal anything belonging to a god or goddess.’ ”

Hearing this, the daughter opened her bag and brought out the ornaments. She placed them in her mother’s hand and then, banging her own head on the floor, begged forgiveness from Mother Ṣaṣṭhī. Then the eldest daughter-in-law sprinkled the water from the bamboo leaves on the bodies of the two children and they sprang back to life. Witnessing this amazing feat, all of the local wives and daughters praised the eldest daughter-in-law for her act of compassion. Then the eldest daughter-in-law shared the entire tale of her devotion to Mother Ṣaṣṭhī.

The brahman woman and her sons saw it all, and there was no stopping the spread of the tale of the daughter’s misdeed and the glory of Ṣaṣṭhī worship. Afterwards, day by day, the fortunes of the family of the brahman woman increased.

There was one brahman and his wife, who were well-to-do. They had seven sons and those sons all had wives. None of them had any children except the youngest daughter-in-law, who had two sons. The two children were beloved of everyone. And the youngest child was the very favorite of the brahman; he was always to be found in that brahman’s lap, day or night.

One day the brahman’s wife said to him, “Listen, it would be good if you would have a pond or a bathing tank dug for us. If you do, I would no longer have to perform Ṣaṣṭhī worship in someone else’s pond or be ashamed to take my sons’ wives to the river to bathe.”

The brahman registered this request and said nothing more. A few days later he called workmen and employed them to dig an extremely large tank near the rear entrance to the house. Their pond was quickly constructed and a few trees were set on its banks for shade and landscaping, just as it should be—but not a single drop of water appeared.

Everyone in the house was distressed that such a large pond had been dug, yet not a bit of water seeped into it. It was anticipated that during the rains of Āṣāḍha [June-July] and Śrāvaṇa [July-August] the water would fill it up. But the month of Bhādra [August-September] came and though the fields were flooded, no water at all rose into the tank. The brahman could be seen sitting in despair with his face in his hands.

The brahman’s wife, quite miserable, complained to her husband, “What bad luck! Day after tomorrow is the ritual worship of Ṣaṣṭhī. I had hoped that this time I would be able to take my son’s wives and perform the Ṣaṣṭhī rituals in our own tank. By my ill fate it is not to be! Oh, such is our terrible misfortune! All the neighbors are beginning to talk, and they say that those brahmans must be terrible sinners!”

The brahman said nothing. Maintaining his silence, he lay down and for some time remained that way.

That day was the fifth of the month of Bhādra. After he ate that night he went to bed. In the middle of the night he dreamed that Mother Ṣaṣṭhī was standing at the head of his bed and said, “Tomorrow is my ritual worship and there is no water in your pond.” As soon as she said that, the brahman, continuing his dream, told her his dire circumstance and then sang her profuse praises. Hearing his plea, the Mother was filled with compassion. She then said, “Listen carefully! If you chop up your smallest grandson, drain his blood, and then throw it into the pond, water will fill your pond. It will be water that is clear as the limpid eye of a crow.”

Suddenly the brahman awoke. His heart cried out. Bitterly he wept. Then, calming down, he meditated on his clan deity in his heart of hearts. Collected, he arose and peeped in the room of his daughter-in-law. When his grandson spotted the brahman, he ran to him and jumped into his lap. The brahman hugged him with great affection, kissed him, and cried to himself. Disconsolate, he still knew that since Mother Ṣaṣṭhī had commanded him, he must sacrifice the child. If the Mother is truly merciful, then many more children would be had in place of this one lost. Thus resolved, he spoke to no one. He took the child and headed straight to the pond near the back entrance of the house. He dismembered the trusting boy and sprinkled the blood into the gaping maw of that bone dry hole. With a quiet gurgle, the pond gradually filled with water. When he was convinced that it was real, the brahman went back inside the house and told the news to his wife. The brahman woman then summoned the priest, who consecrated the pond. The women then gathered her daughters-in-law and sat them down to perform the ritual worship of Mother Ṣaṣṭhī. At the conclusion of the story of the ritual vow, the youngest daughter-in-law wrapped a banana in the corner of her sari, dipped it in the water, and at the same time immersed a rice cake. The immersion mantra goes like this:

Immersing the rice cake

(Name of child) comes forth laughing.

In precisely this fashion, she immersed the rice cake and called out the names of her children. Just as she pronounced the name of her youngest son, the rice cake, which was totally immersed, suddenly rose up from the water onto the dry land, and before she realized what had happened, she found her youngest son, Ananta by name, emerging from those eternal waters holding fast the knotted end of her sari. The daughter-in-law instinctively took the child on her lap, dried him off, kissed him, and stood him on the bank. She let cry, “Blessings upon you! May you be Ṣaṣṭhī’s servant! How is it that you just rose from out of the water, my child?” But not waiting for a reply, she herself climbed up out of the water onto the landing steps. Her mother-in-law and sisters-in-law were speechless, for they witnessed this miraculous event!

Meanwhile, the brahman had surreptiously followed them. He had concealed himself behind a tree for the whole while. When he saw his grandson, he bolted forward and whisked him onto his lap, weeping. When he regained his composure, he told of his dream, of cutting up the child, and the rest. When she heard this mind-boggling tale, the child’s mother, quite understandably, fainted. The women sprinkled her face with water and eventually she came around. Afterwards she got up, made a profound and sincere obeisance to Mother Ṣaṣṭhī, and took her child in her own room.

The story—the sacrifice of the youngest daughter-in-law’s son, the sprinkling of his blood in the pond, and the upsurge of water—soon spread far and wide. And from that great event, the ritual worship of Mother Ṣaṣṭhī of the Rice Cake, or Cāpaḍā Ṣaṣṭhī, was extended throughout the land.

Once there was a king. One afternoon while he was out hunting, he grew quite thirsty. He began looking for water, and soon spied a hut a short distance away. He galloped up to it. As he approached the hut, he saw it was a sage’s hermitage. The king dismounted, walked to the entrance, and called out for water. A young girl of unsurpassed beauty brought him water from inside the hut. The king went crazy at the very sight of her and completely forgot his thirst. Recovering, the king asked her, “Whose daughter are you?” to which the young maiden answered, “I am the daughter of a sage.” The king then inquired of the sage’s whereabouts, and the daughter replied, “He has gone to practice his austerities.” The king then drank his fill of water and sat down at the foot of an aśoka tree in front of the hermitage—and an appropriate place it was, for aśoka means to be without sorrow or misery, and the king was miserably in love.

A little before evening the sage returned to his hut, chanting the holy Veda. Immediately the king prostrated himself in obeisance and pressing his palms together in respect said, “My Lord, I have seen your daughter and like her immensely. Grant me your favor and present her to me. I will marry her and take her away to live as my queen.” The sage listened to the king’s offer and replied, “Look, I am very partial to my daughter and I love her very much. If you swear three times that when my daughter bears a son you will make him king, then I shall give her to you.” And then the king touched his sword and recited the oath, “I make this oath in your presence, that I will pass on the throne to your daughter’s son.”

Then the sage called out, “May you be without sorrow,” which also happened to be the name of his daughter, Aśoka. With smiling face and radiant beauty, Aśoka came forth immediately and stood obediently near her father. The sage took Aśoka’s hand, placed it in that of the king and said, “Little Mother, from this day forward you are the king’s wife, his queen. But one cannot trust these kings. So, when it comes time to leave, in the corner of your sari tie up some seeds from the aśoka tree, your namesake, and take these seeds with you. Along your journey scatter them in double handfuls on the both sides of the road. Do this all the way to the capital. If ever the king be inattentive or give you pain, these seeds will by that time have grown into trees and you will be able to follow their line straight back to my hermitage.” Saying this, he blessed the newly joined couple. Aśoka folded the seeds in her sari end and accompanied the king to his palace. And, just as her father instructed, during the trip she scattered the seeds with both hands, strewing them along both sides of the road.

The news that the king had married and was bringing his new queen preceded them to the palace. And as soon as the king’s seven other queens heard, they prepared the house for welcoming the newest queen. The king sent ahead to have a new annex constructed especially for her. From that day the king lived day and night in Aśoka’s chambers, much to the dismay of her displaced co-wives.

Some time later Aśoka conceived. All seven queens, who had learned of the news immediately, began to frequent Aśoka’s annex and lavish much affection on her. Gradually through their attentions, Aśoka forgot the discomforts of her pregnancy. In the fifth month they held the preparatory rite of the five nectars and in the ninth month they performed the appropriate rituals for the very pregnant Aśoka and indulged her every culinary whim. On the tenth day of the tenth [lunar] month she experienced pains. The king was informed, and the palace midwife sent for. The midwife hastened forth promptly. The seven queens then took her aside and secretly bribed her with a large sum of money. “Look, if it is a boy, hide him and show the king a wooden doll instead.” The midwife could not turn down such a huge sum, and so consented to the task.

When Aśoka started to suffer the sharp pains that indicated her time was near, the seven queens appeared before her and exclaimed to the innocent Aśoka, “How can you have a baby like this? You must cover your eyes with a cloth folded seven times.” Thus they applied the seven-folded cloth and just as they did, the lying-in room lit up from the glow of the birth of a child who was brilliant as the moon itself. It was, naturally, a boy. The midwife hurriedly thrust him into a silver pot, covered it with a clay lid, and set it afloat on the river. Meanwhile, smearing blood on a wooden doll, the midwife sent word to the king, “Mahārāja! The youngest queen has given birth to a wooden doll!” Hearing this the king’s heart was broken.

Out of grief, the king stayed away from Asoka’s chambers for several days. But soon he began to frequent them again, and once more Aśoka became pregnant. In time, the queens found out and as before began to lavish their attentions on her. At the time of birth, again plotting with the midwife, the seven queens arranged everything—with the help of some money, of course. This time, too, Aśoka bore a son. Just as before, the midwife stuffed the child in a silver pot, covered it with a clay lid, and set it adrift on the river. Afterwards she informed the king that the youngest queen had given birth to a handsome wooden stallion.

Six times, the youngest queen’s sons were set adrift in similar fashion. Meanwhile, one by one, those pots, each of which contained a boy, floated down to the landing of the river where Asoka’s old father, the sage, observed his austere practices. And each time the pot floated right into his lap. Having meditated on this, he discovered that each child belonged to his beloved Aśoka. Lifting the lid, he would extract the child and raise him as he had his own daughter. In this way he began raising all six of Aśoka’s sons, his grandsons.

To the king, however, Aśoka was anything but beloved. He was incensed with her inability to produce a son. For a great many days he refused to reenter her chambers. However, after some time he again returned and very quickly Aśoka was with child. This time she had a girl. Because it was a girl, this baby was not disposed of and the news was sent to the king, “Mahārāja! Your youngest queen has given birth to a beautiful daughter!” As soon as he heard, the king flew into a rage! He ordered, “Send Aśoka and her defiling daughter away from my palace!” No sooner had they received the command than the queens sent Aśoka and her daughter packing. They gloated in their success, extremely pleased with themselves.

Sobbing, Aśoka took the child on her hip and moved out onto the road, understandably upset. As she looked around, she caught sight of the line of Aśoka trees and recalled the words of her father. So, following this long line of trees, she came straight to the hermitage and found her father sitting with six stunningly handsome boys playing all around him.

With her child on her hip, Aśoka fell at her father’s feet, weeping, her misery touching. Affectionately, the sage consoled her, “Little Mother, I knew everything that was to transpire all along and for that reason I had given you the Aśoka seeds. I knew you would come back to me. Why such grief? Just look, Mother, all of your boys are playing around me like a constellation of brightly shining moons. Since I knew all these children were yours, I set aside my austere practices and have undertaken to raise them.” Hearing this, Aśoka immediately pulled each one to her lap and kissed him, while the children stood encircling their newly found mother. With all her children at the hermitage, Aśoka was happy, becoming once again true to her name.

Some time later when all of Asoka’s children had grown, the sage bought six wooden stallions and a single wooden mare. He took all of the children to the river landing opposite the one where the king daily came to bathe. Then he issued the six stallions to the boys and the mare to the girl with these instructions, “Go and water your horses at the river! Should the king question you about what you are doing, simply reply, ‘We are watering our horses.’ If the king comes back with the question, ‘Since when do wooden horses drink?’ you should then reply, ‘If your majesty’s queen can give birth to wooden dolls then why cannot wooden horses drink water?’ ” The sage rehearsed with them this dialogue, and then concealed himself nearby.

The brothers, taking their younger sister by the hand, led her to the river landing and made their horses drink. Seeing the king arrive, the children carried out their plan, loudly commanding the horses, “Drink, you wooden stallions and wooden mare, drink! Drink!” The king was, at that moment, bent over washing his face. He asked his manservant to find out what those children—who he noticed were more radiant than the moon itself—were doing on the bank of the river. The manservant did as he was bade, and returned to say, “Mahārāja, they are watering their wooden horses!” Hearing this the king called out to the children, “Humph! Since when do wooden horses drink water?” From the opposite bank the children recited in unison their carefully rehearsed lines, “Mahārāja, if the great queen can give birth to a wooden doll then our wooden horses are most certainly able to drink water.” Upon hearing that, the king’s thoughts raced to Aśoka. Without hesitation, he instructed his servants that wherever those children went, he intended to follow.

Having watered the wooden horses, each child took his horse on his lap and made straight for the hermitage. True to his word, the king followed in hot pursuit. As the children arrived, Aśoka ran to greet them, lifting them to her lap and kissing them affectionately. Witnessing this, the king was somewhat taken aback, but he quickly gathered his senses and proceeded into the hermitage.

When the king entered, the sage quickly and bluntly admonished him, “You, who are a wise man, failed to question how a woman could give birth to a wooden doll. Your queens schemed with the midwife, whom they bribed with large sums of money. They had her set each child adrift and then show you a wooden doll.” Crying out in the agony of his own blindness, the king clasped the feet of the sage and exclaimed sorrowfully, “I confess I made a terrible mistake! Forgive me!”

The sage replied, “Forgiveness is not mine to give. Ask forgiveness of Aśoka. If she is satisfied and wants to return with you to your palace, I have no objection.” The king then begged Aśoka to forgive him, and affectionately kissed and hugged each child in turn. Good wife that she was, Aśoka forgot and forgave everything upon seeing her husband, the king. But she did remember the seven co-wives and their horrible deeds. The king prepared to take his queen and children back to his kingdom. Before Aśoka left, the sage advised her, “Little Mother Aśoka, you must perform worship on this sixth day of the month, placing in your mouth six aśoka buds and six pulses mixed together with curd. After that act, you may eat and drink normally. If you perform this ritual vow, you will experience neither misery nor sorrow henceforth. The sixth will be known as the worship of Ṣaṣṭhī Who Removes Sorrow or Aśoka Ṣaṣṭhī. If you tell everyone about this worship and propagate its practice, your tears will never again grace this earth.” Aśoka heeded her father’s advice, then made obeisance to the king. Taking her children by the hand, she began the journey back in the company of the king to the world she had lost.

Returning to his realm, the king sat in the assembly and summoned all the inhabitants of his kingdom. When they had gathered, he called for his seven elder queens. All seven obediently appeared. At the same time, he sent for the midwife, who was bound and brought forth forcibly. According to their individual treachery was each one judged. Thus, the king sent into exile the seven scheming queens to live the rest of their miserable days in shame in the forest, away from the court and the amenities to which they had become so greedily accustomed. As for the conniving midwife, who endeavored to ruin the kingdom for a few coins—she was fed to the dogs, who never once complained of the bitterness of their treat.

The grateful Aśoka performed the worship of the Ṣaṣṭhī Who Removes Sorrow just as the sage had instructed, and the king ordered all his subjects to do likewise. The worship of Aśoka Ṣaṣṭhī during the month of Phālguna [February-March] quickly spread throughout the kingdom.

After ruling for some time longer, the king arranged for his six sons and only daughter to be married, and then handed over charge of the kingdom to his sons, according to proper custom. At an auspicious moment, a golden chariot descended from heaven. Reminding everyone to perform the ritual worship of Aśoka Ṣaṣṭhī every year at the proper time and in the proper way, the king and his queen Aśoka rode off to their heavenly abode.

There once was a brahman and his wife who had seven boys and a single girl. They used to perform their rites with devotion on the proper days, and their adoration of their chosen deities and celestial beings was without limits. But neither gods nor celestial beings nor any of these pious observances were effective. For each child would live only two years and then suddenly die. Seeing this happen, the pair concluded that whether they referred to rituals, or vows, or whether they spoke of the gods or of the celestial beings, in this Kali age, all were baseless and without truth. With this heretical notion, they abandoned the brahman’s ancestral home and went to Kāśī [Varanasi], Lord Śiva’s holy city, which sits on the banks of the Gaṅgā.

One day after bathing at the famous landing of Maṇikarṇikā in Kāśī, the brahman woman sat on the steps and mulled over her fate. Mother Ṣaṣṭhī espied her and approached, disguising herself as an old brahman woman with a beggar’s sack over her shoulder, leaning on a cane. She inquired, “I say, friend, why are you worrying so this afternoon, sitting there with your chin planted so firmly on your fist?”

The brahman woman responded with a certain despair, “What good will it do if I tell you my sorrows? Not one or two, but seven children I have mothered, yet all have been taken away! So, I have come to realize that whether it be auspicious days or ritual vows, none are effective. They are all a sham! In this Kali, last of the four ages, are there any gods or goddesses left to act in this world?”

Maintaining her brahman guise, Mother Ṣaṣṭhī chided, “What’s this? Since when are deities false or ritual vows and auspicious days fruitless? You have lost your children, yet do you revere Mother Ṣaṣṭhī or ever perform her worship? She is the goddess of children, you know.”

Quickly the brahman woman replied, “What? Me not honor Mother Ṣaṣṭhī? I always have and continue to revere her greatly!”

Still in her brahman disguise Mother Ṣaṣṭhī said, “But have you done all of the ritual vows dedicated to her or have you performed only a few? Have you performed the Blue or Nīla Ṣaṣṭhī vow?”

Surprised, the brahman woman quickly replied, “No Mother, I have never even heard of that one, and so naturally I do not know its rules. Tell me, how is it performed?”

Still not revealing her identity, Mother Ṣaṣṭhī said, “One must perform Śiva worship every day for the entire month of Caitra [March-April]. Then, on the next to last day of the month, you must fast. During that evening burn a lamp of ghi in the temple of Nīlakaṇṭha, the Blue-throated Śiva, and with sincere and abiding devotion pay your respects and make obeisance to Mother Ṣaṣṭhī. Afterwards the fast can be broken with both food and water. For one who observes the Blue or Nīla Ṣaṣṭhī ritual vow, her children never die an untimely death.” And having imparted this instruction, Mother Ṣaṣṭhī vanished into thin air.

Staying on in Kāśī, the brahman woman began to perform Śiva worship every day during the month of Caitra. On the next to last day of the month she offered the lamp of ghi in the Śiva sanctum and afterwards broke her fast with water and food. The woman observed this repeatedly, time and again according to Mother Ṣaṣṭhī’s exact instruction. Eventually, as promised, the brahman woman conceived—this the ninth time! Later, on the tenth day of the tenth [lunar] month, she went into labor and soon gave birth to a boy who was brilliant as a golden moon. After a time, she gave birth to a great many more sons and daughters, and the brahman became famous throughout Kāśī. By their familial prosperity, their home overflowed with wealth—gold and silver coins, pearls, rubies, emeralds, diamonds. The brahman’s wife methodically popularized the Nīla Ṣaṣṭhī ritual far and wide. And soon, having witnessed the results, everyone began to observe Nīla Ṣaṣṭhī worship with deep devotion.