Samsara is not just the realm of worldly delights. It is also the realm of worldly suffering. Pleasure comes at the risk of pain; prosperity with the threat of poverty; power with a feeling of insecurity. Kama titillates the senses; artha inflates the ego; both ultimately betray the mind.
Worldly delights are like apsaras, the enchanting nymphs who forever grace the beds of the gods. In the arms of man they lie only until human inadequacy or mortality ensures their flight:
Pururava fell in love with the divine damsel Urvashi. She agreed to be with him so long as he took care of her pet goats and never showed her his nakedness. In her arms, in the dark, Pururava discovered the pleasure reserved for gods and thought of himself as a deva. One night the flower-gods, the gandharvas, seeking the return of Urvashi to the celestial realms, stole her goats while Pururava and Urvashi were making love. The goats cried out, and Urvashi demanded that Pururava keep his promise. Pururava rushed after the thieves without bothering to cover himself. As he chased the thieves into the palace courtyard, Indra, king of devas, flashed his thunderbolt across the dark sky. In that light Urvashi saw Pururava’s nakedness. When Pururava returned with the goats, Urvashi bid him farewell. “Can’t I come with you?” begged Pururava. Urvashi shook her head and rose to the land of the immortals. Used to Urvashi’s embrace, Pururava found no pleasure in the arms of mortal queens and concubines. In his unhappiness he misruled his people until they rose in revolt and killed him.
Mahabharata
Both nymphs and material delights provide eternal joy to the devas but slip out of human reach like water through a clenched fist. Both are available to anyone with enough strength to claim them. Neither has a heart. Neither knows what it means to be faithful. Kings come and go, but the kingdom and the concubine bring regal splendor to whoever wears the crown— hence the folk belief, “There have been many Indras in Amravati, but only one Sachi.”
Sachi is the goddess of sovereignty and is identified with Shri, the fickle goddess of fortune whose favors are sought by devas and asuras:
Indra once lost his regal aura to Virochana, the asura. Consequently, he was driven out of Amravati. To find out the reason for the loss, Indra took the form of a poor priest, obtained employment in Virochana’s palace, and began serving the asura-king with devotion. During the course of his service, he learned that Virochana’s virtue had earned him the affection of Shri. Some time later, pleased with his service, Virochana offered Indra a gift. “I want your virtue,” said Indra. Virochana gave it away thoughtlessly and consequently lost the affection of Shri to Indra. With his royal aura restored through guile, Indra returned to Amravati and reclaimed his position as lord of the celestial spheres.
Shatapatha Brahmana
Tired of fickle goddesses and mercurial nymphs, man seeks eternity, permanence, certainty. When he fails to find it on earth, he looks heavenward.
In the Vedic version of Urvashi’s story, Pururava performs a yagna that transforms him into a gandharva and enables him to live with Urvashi in Amravati forever. Amravati is the divine realm of eternal life and endless joy. Vedic seers believed that by the power of yagna man could override his inadequacy and mortality to become a god. However, when he displayed human weaknesses in heaven, he lost all merits earned and was cast down to face once more the vicissitudes of mortal life:
Indra had to perform penance to wash away the sin of killing a priest. While he was away, someone was needed to serve as king of Amravati. The devas selected the mortal king Nahusha because he had earned the merit of performing nearly a thousand yagnas. As temporary ruler of the celestial realms, Nahusha rode Indra’s elephant, wielded his thunderbolt, walked in his pleasure gardens, and drank his wine. He was, however, never invited to enjoy the company of Indra’s queen, Sachi. Nahusha demanded that privilege. To teach him a lesson, Sachi sent him a message: “Come to my bed as Indra did, on a litter carried by the seven cosmic seers.” Nahusha immediately ordered the revered sages to serve as litter carriers. The sages obeyed out of deference to royal authority. On the way, impatient to be in Sachi’s arms, Nahusha kicked one of the sages on his head. “Hurry up,” he cried. The sage Bhrigu, disgusted by this display of unbridled carnality, cursed Nahusha to return to earth in the form of a serpent. Thus the man who dared dream of lying in Sachi’s arms was reduced to crawling on his belly for the rest of his life.
Bhagvata Purana
Transgressors of heavenly codes who were cast down tried their best to make their stay on earth as short as possible. They preferred death to the experience of fear and insecurity that comes with mortal existence:
Mahabhisha’s exemplary life as king, punctuated with numerous yagnas, earned him a place in the celestial city of Amravati beside Indra, king of the devas. One day the river-nymph Ganga paid a visit to Indra’s court. As she entered the hall, her upper garment slipped and her bosom lay bare. The devas, in deference to the water-goddess, lowered their eyes. Mahabhisha, however, stared unashamedly. Disapproving of this behavior, Indra cursed Mahabhisha that he would be reborn on earth as the king Shantanu, fall in love with Ganga, and pay the price for wanting her. Ganga was also ordered to go to earth and return only after she had made the king aware of the pain that awaits one who seeks earthly pleasures. As she was leaving, Ganga was stopped by the eight vasus, gods of the elements, who had also been cursed to be born on earth for trying to steal the milk of the heavenly cow Kamadhenu. “While on earth, please be our mother and kill us as soon as we are born so that we may return quickly to Indra’s paradise,” they begged. So it came to pass. Mahabhisha was reborn as Shantanu and became king of Hastinapur. He met the beautiful Ganga on the banks of a river and was immediately in love. “I will marry you only if you never question my actions,” she said. Shantanu accepted the condition and brought Ganga to his palace as queen. Ganga’s lovemaking overwhelmed Shantanu. But there was a price to pay. Every time Ganga bore him a son, she would drown the newborn in the river. Shantanu, though horrified, did not protest, because he was bound by his word and bewitched by his desire. Ganga succeeded in killing seven sons of Shantanu. When she was about the kill the eighth child, Shantanu stopped her. “Stop, wicked woman, what kind of a mother are you?” he cried. By speaking out, Shantanu broke the marriage pact. As Ganga prepared to leave, she handed over her eighth son, named Devavrata, to her husband with the words, “What have you achieved by saving his life—he will never take a wife and so will never have access to the pleasures of worldly life. He will die childless, incurring the wrath of your ancestors.”
Mahabharata, Devi Purana
The womb introduces the soul to a realm of impermanence and sorrow. Some who did not want to face the wiles of worldly life, like the vasus, died as soon as they left the womb. Others avoided leaving the womb:
The sage Vyasa married Vatika, daughter of sage Jabali. In time she conceived a child. While he was in the womb, he heard his father recite the scriptures and epics. He learned about life on earth, about the fleeting pleasures of samsara, and made the decision not to leave his mother’s womb. Twelve years passed and the fetus showed no signs of emerging. So Vyasa sought the help of Krishna, king of Dwarka, who was Vishnu incarnate. Krishna spoke to the child at length and taught him the means to break free from the cycle of life. Thus enlightened, the child emerged. He became renowned as Suka, “parrot,” because he could rattle out the scriptures like a parrot.
Skanda Purana
When birth was unavoidable, some beings tried bypassing the womb. The a-yoni-ja, or nonwomb-born, was believed to be less susceptible to the tyranny of space and time. He had a greater chance of being unruffled by the vagaries of mortal existence:
Vamadeva acquired great wisdom at the moment of his conception. He invoked the gods and demanded that he be offered an alternate route out of his mother’s body. Alarmed at the request, Indra tried to persuade the child to leave his mother’s womb in the usual manner. But the child was determined to have his way. At the time of birth, he took the form of a kite and gnawed his way through his mother’s flesh to emerge from her left side.
Rig Veda
One girl-child refused to leave her mother’s womb until her father had accumulated enough good merit to ensure a good life for her on earth:
Gandini, princess of Kashi, refused to leave her mother’s womb though the date of delivery had long passed. When her father entreated her to come out, she said, “Only after you give a cow a day for three years to the poor priests of your kingdom will I enter your realm.” After the king of Kashi fulfilled his daughter’s request, she emerged as promised.
Linga Purana
Heavenly spirits knew that the world beyond the womb seduces mortal flesh with the promises of unending orgasms. The resulting search generates so much karma that the soul is forever trapped in the wheel of existence—forgotten by the mind:
Narada once asked Vishnu, “What is the true nature of samsara?” In response Vishnu asked Narada to fetch him some water from a nearby river to quench his thirst. While collecting the water, Narada slipped and fell into the river. When he came out, he had acquired the body of a woman. A passerby looked at him admiringly, and Narada became aware of his feminine charm. The passerby begged Narada to marry him. Narada accepted the proposal, became a wife, and gave birth to sixty children. Together they built a house and established a prosperous farm on the riverbank. Surrounded by a loving husband, happy children, and a prosperous household, Narada experienced great joy. Then one day, after torrential rains, the river broke its banks and washed the farm away. Narada’s husband and children were drowned in the flood. When the waters receded, Narada collected the corpses of her loved ones and carried them to a riverside crematorium. As she was about to the light the funeral pyre, she experienced an extraordinary hunger. She looked around for some food and found a mango on the highest branch of a tree. To get to it, she piled the dead bodies of her husband and children on top of each other and climbed the pyramid of corpses. As she reached for the fruit, she slipped and fell into the river. “Help me, help me,” Narada cried. Instantly, Vishnu pulled Narada out of the water. Narada suddenly found himself in Vishnu’s presence with his male body restored. “Where is the water I sent you for?” asked Vishnu. Narada looked at the empty pot in his hand and realized he had forgotten all about his mission.
Bhagvata Purana
Narada is a renowned sage in sacred Hindu lore. He is one of Brahma’s mind-born sons, celibate since childhood and untouched by desire. In the above story he is for the first time exposed to the illusory nature of worldly transformations. The experience convinces him to stay out of the cycle of life. He refuses to marry, produce children, and experience emotions that trap him in a meaningless merry-go-round of endless rebirths, oscillating forever between joy and sorrow. But these very emotions are what caused the cosmic spirit to be embodied by material reality in the first place:
In the beginning there was only Brahma. He was Swayambhu, “self-created.” Desiring company, the lonely god created Shatarupa, goddess of material reality. Discomforted by the lust in her father’s eyes, Shatarupa ran away, taking the form of a cow. Brahma followed her in the form of a bull. She then turned into a mare. He kept up the chase as a horse. When she turned into a goose, he became a gander. When she turned into a doe, he became a buck. Every time she transformed herself, he became the corresponding male, determined to possess her. Despite all efforts, he did not succeed. As the fruitless pursuit continued, all animals, from the smallest insect to the largest mammal, came into being.
Brihadaranyaka Upanishad,
Shatapatha Brahmana
Shatarupa transforms spontaneously, for such is the nature of matter. With each passing moment, she turns into something else. Her metamorphosis enchants Brahma, and he seeks to possess her. But she is mercurial—a series of momentary images. Any attempt to freeze her flow is bound to fail. Brahma tries nevertheless. He becomes Shatarupa’s complement, losing his identity in the process. Brahma’s action and the resulting series of reactions set in motion the wheel of existence. He generates the primal karma that fetters the soul to the flesh. He becomes the creator of samsara, unworthy of worship.
A nymph, celebrating the world, and a monk, rejecting the world, flanking the god Vishnu, sustainer of the wheel of existence. Stone carving from the queen’s stepwell of Patan, Gujarat. Eleventh century.
Shiva opposes Brahma’s actions. He tries to stop Brahma from entangling the blissful soul in the throbbing sensuality of the flesh. He seeks to break every fetter, destroy all karmas, and liberate the soul. He becomes the destroyer of samsara, worthy of adoration:
Shatarupa’s beauty so inflamed Brahma’s passion that he sprouted five heads—four facing the cardinal directions, one on top— to look upon her at all times. With his fifth head, he voiced his erotic desires. Disgusted, Shatarupa ran away. Brahma pursued her, shouting obscenities with his fifth head. The commotion disturbed Shiva’s meditation. Enraged by what was happening, he transformed into Bhairava, “fearsome one,” and wrenched out Brahma’s fifth head with his sharp claws. The violence restrained Brahma. Brahma’s cut head seared into Shiva’s hand. To detach the head, to clear his heart of the rage, Shiva went to Kashi and began meditating.
Shiva Purana, Bhavishya Purana
While meditating, Shiva does not respond to the consequences of his action. He thus burns up his karma, gradually unraveling the knots that tie the soul to the flesh. Brahma, as creator, cannot let Shiva do this. He decides to thwart Shiva’s asceticism with the allure of a woman:
Sati was the daughter of Daksha, lord of civilization. She melted Shiva’s austere heart with her undemanding love and became his wife. Shiva, unused to the ways of the world, did not salute his father-in-law. This irritated Daksha, who decided to get back at Shiva by not inviting him to a grand yagna. When Sati learned of her father’s plan to insult her husband, she was furious. Shiva asked her to calm down; he was beyond such pettiness. But Sati did not listen. In her rage, Sati transformed into Kali, frightening Shiva himself. With a horde of cackling goblins, she went to her father’s palace, disrupted the ritual, and leapt to her death in the sacrificial fire, contaminating the sacred precinct with her blood so that the ceremony ground to a halt. Incensed by the news of Sati’s death, Shiva, in the form of the bloodthirsty warrior Virabhardra, beheaded Daksha. Then, clinging to Sati’s charred corpse, he danced in sorrow, threatening to destroy the world with his grief until Vishnu, the sustainer, hurled his discus and cut Sati’s corpse into a thousand pieces. With Sati’s corpse gone, Shiva recovered his senses, entered a cave, and began meditating, determined to regain control over his mind.
Mahabhagvata Purana,
Brihaddharma Purana
Daksha is considered both a son and a manifestation of Brahma. He provides a wife for Shiva. Sati, the goddess of samsara, wins Shiva’s heart with her devotion and breaks it with her stubbornness. Her transformation from Sati into Kali, from the docile consort to the uncontrollable termagant, generates torrents of emotions. Shiva grows so attached to her that he refuses even to part with her corpse. This attachment makes him angry, violent, and unhappy. It clouds his judgment. When the corpse is destroyed, he is liberated from his attachment and becomes aware of his delusion by mortal flesh. He wants no more of it. So he shrinks into a cave, shuts his eyes, restrains his senses, controls his breath, and ultimately regains control over his mind. He becomes the lord of yoga.
The word yoga stems from the root yuja, which means “to harness” or “to yoke.” Yoga aims to yoke the mind so that it is not bewitched by the transformations of samsara. Yoga is essentially a mental discipline that enables one to take the beauty and the brutality of worldly life in stride. Shiva’s yoga is inspired by his consort’s transformation. It turns into a tool by which he detaches himself from material reality.
Shiva refuses to be part of worldly life and expresses this by not distinguishing between what is sacred and what is profane. He wanders in crematoria and dances in the light of funeral pyres. He makes no attempt to make himself presentable—he smears his handsome face with ash, wraps his body with untanned elephant hide, mats his hair with birch juice, and lets serpents slither round his neck. He sits atop Mount Kailas, the central axis of the Hindu cosmos, the nave of the wheel of existence, and—thanks to the power of yoga—remains unmoved while the world transforms around him.
Terrified by the hypnotic power of samsara, one sage turned away from the object of his earthly affection:
Bilvamangala’s wife went to visit her parents, who lived on the other side of the river. Unable to stay apart even for a single night, he decided to visit her secretly before daybreak. He went to the riverbank but found no boat. So he jumped into the river and, clinging to a log of wood, reached the other side. As he was scaling the wall of his wife’s house holding on to a creeper, neighbors mistook him for a thief and raised an alarm. The whole village rushed to catch the “thief.” When they recognized Bilvamangala and realized why he was trying to enter his wife’s house in the middle of the night, they all began laughing. Bilvamangala’s wife was so humiliated by the incident that she refused to let her husband in. “If your desire for the spirit matched your desire for the flesh, you would have attained liberation by now,” she said and shut the door in his face. Shamed by her words, Bilvamangala returned home. On the way he discovered that the “creeper” he held on to while trying to climb the wall was in fact a python, and the “log” he had clung to while crossing the river was in fact a corpse. Lust had blinded him. “I must open my eyes wider and discover the ultimate truth that is eternal, unchanging, and unconditional,” said Bilvamangala. So he renounced all desires and became an ascetic.
Folklore from the state of Bengal
Bilvamangala’s rejection of his wife is essentially the rejection of worldly life. A woman offers pleasure, with pleasure come children, and with children come household responsibilities, the burden of duties, the need for power and property. Power and property inflate the ego, delude the mind, until nothing matters but the gratification of urges that fetter one forever to the cycle of endless rebirths. Death does not remove the craving for pleasure and power, kama and artha—the cry of pitris from the land of the dead is essentially their undead urge to indulge the flesh once more. Or maybe it is an appeal of the forefathers to embody themselves once more so that they can work toward moksha and liberate themselves from the tyranny of the senses that shackles them to the wheel of existence.
The journey away from the merry-go-round of worldly life usually begins with the rejection of a woman after being confronted with the dark side of worldly life:
A marriage was arranged between Nemi, a Yadava youth, and Rajimati, a Yadava maiden. On his marriage day Nemi heard the cries of animals and birds being slaughtered for the wedding banquet. “Can there be a world where such cries are never heard?” he wondered. To find the answer, Nemi walked away from the wedding altar and became an ascetic.
Kalpa Sutra
After walking away from the wedding altar, Nemi found the kind of world he was looking for, a realm where there was no pain, no suffering, only peace and quietude. Before leaving for this special place, he pointed out the path of liberation to all, earning the title of Tirthankara, “pathfinder.” He also came to be revered as the jina, “he who triumphed over samsara.” The path of the jina is known as Jainism.
The image of a jina is usually that of a naked man with a flaccid penis seated on a mountain with a serene smile on his face, unflustered by the brutality of the world around him, unimpressed by the beauty. He is almost like Shiva meditating atop Mount Kailas.
The Jains share the Hindu belief in samsara. However, they do not believe that there is a divine being out there responsible for it all. The Jain cycle of life is an impersonal entity. Within it, man has the choice of remaining either fettered or free. Freedom comes with austerities—such as yoga—that involve restraining the senses and controlling the mind. Freedom involves the liberation of blissful soul from the painful grip of matter.
The Buddhists, like the Jains, believe in an impersonal samsara. However, they do not believe in souls. They believe there is nothing permanent in this world. To them, the elixir of immortality is merely a figment of the imagination born of a mind terrified of death. The story of the founder of Buddhism, like that of Bilvamangala and Nemi, involves the rejection of a woman:
Prince Siddhartha Gautama of the Sakya clan was raised in a beautiful palace surrounded by beautiful people and beautiful things. When he came of age, he was given a beautiful wife called Yashodhara who in time bore him a beautiful son. But one day he went out of the city and discovered that life was not all beautiful. Out there, there was old age, sickness, and death. The idea that one day everyone—including Yashodhara—would age, become ill, and die made Siddhartha very unhappy. “Is there a remedy for this suffering?” he wondered. To find the answer, he slipped out of the palace, leaving behind his wife and child, became an ascetic, and eventually attained enlightenment.
Buddhist lore
To Hindus, Jains, and Buddhists, the female form embodied desire for all things material. She was the fetter who could even bewitch the gods:
Image of a Jain Tirthankara. Marble statue. Twentieth century.
Vishnu once descended from his heavenly abode in the form of a boar to raise the earth-goddess from the bottom of the sea. As they rose toward the surface, the earth-goddess assumed the form of a female boar. They made love, and the earth-goddess brought forth three sons. Vishnu’s sons played together and spread havoc wherever they went. Paternal love prevented Vishnu from restraining his sons. His passion for his wife grew greater and he showed no signs of returning to heaven. Finally, Shiva took the form of a bull and gored Vishnu’s sons to death. He then attacked Vishnu and released the god from the body of the boar.
Shiva Purana
Mortal flesh binds Vishnu to his wife. His enchanted mind prevents him from letting go, until Shiva, the great ascetic, destroys the mind-body sheath and liberates the spirit within.
The quest for liberation has its share of obstacles. Samsara does not let go easily. Just before Siddhartha discovered the cause of suffering and became the Buddha, he had to triumph over the daughters of Mara, the demon of desire. These women were at times as beautiful as nymphs and at times as ugly as ogresses. Their transformations reflected the allure and terror of samsara. They sought to seduce or frighten Siddhartha into submission. They failed.
Hindus know the daughters of Mara as apsaras, water-nymphs, daughters of the primal mage Kashyapa. With their transformations they, too, can arouse extreme emotions that make man part of worldly life:
King Durjaya was making love to Urvashi, the celestial courtesan, when he remembered his wife. He left Urvashi, promising to return as soon as he had fulfilled his husbandly duties. On his way back Durjaya met a gandharva who had an exquisite garland around his neck. Durjaya fought the gandharva and grabbed the garland. When Durjaya finally came to Urvashi with the stolen garland around his neck, he found Urvashi distant. She did not respond to his amorous advances. When he persisted, she transformed into a dark and hairy hag and scared him away.
Kurma Purana
When a sage seeks liberation from worldly life, he has to overpower the nymph, the personification of worldly pleasures:
The rishi Dadhichi performed austerities, bridling his senses and controlling his mind. The power of the asceticism unnerved Indra, king of the devas, who sent the apsara Alambusha to destroy Dadhichi’s concentration. The nymph sported naked in the River Sarasvati just when the sage was performing his morning ablutions. The sight of the voluptuous nymph so captivated the sage that he lost control over his senses and spurted semen in the river. The river-goddess became pregnant with Dadhichi’s child and in due course gave birth to the sage Sarasvata.
Mahabharata
Sexual desire does not always come in the form of a woman. When forcefully suppressed rather than smoothly sublimated, it can manifest itself in the most perverted forms:
The sage Vibhandaka controlled his senses, restrained his mind, and retained his seed in the hope of transcending the material world. His tapas disturbed Indra, so he sent the beautiful nymph to enchant the sage. Looking upon her, the sage was so overwhelmed by desire that he spilled his seed. The seed fell on grass that was eaten by a doe. In time the doe gave birth to Vibhandaka’s son. He had a horn in the middle of his forehead and hence, he came to be known as the horned sage, Rishyashringa.
Mahabharata
Sometimes, a gentler temptation ensnares the sage within samsara:
King Bharata renounced the world, bridled his senses, and disciplined his mind. Just as he was about to attain moksha, he saw a tiger attack a pregnant doe. The doe escaped but eventually succumbed to her injuries. Just as she breathed her last, a fawn slipped out of her womb unnoticed. The sight of the helpless fawn aroused maternal instincts in Bharata’s heart. He gave up meditating and began to look after the fawn. When he finally died, the last thought in his mind was of his pet fawn. As a result, he who was on the verge of liberation was reborn in samsara as a deer.
Bhagvata Purana
Such was the power of pleasure that fathers were willing the crush the joys of their children to hold on to it:
Yayati betrayed his wife Devayani and took her maid Sarmishtha as his concubine. When Devayani discovered this, she complained to her father, the sage Shukra, who cursed Yayati to become old and impotent. Yayati begged that his youthful vigor be restored, for he still lusted for worldly pleasures. “You can get your youth back if one of your young sons willingly accepts your old and withered body.” Yayati went to his sons. None but the youngest, Puru, agreed to become old for their father’s sake. As the years passed, Yayati realized that the thirst for worldly pleasures was unquenchable. Realizing the impermanence of earthly desires, he decided to renounce the world. He let Puru have his youth back and retired to the forest to live the life of a hermit and seek spiritual bliss.
Mahabharata
A true sage knows that worldly pleasure and worldly power, kama and artha, are ephemeral. They do not seduce him. He ends up seducing the seducer:
The sages Nara and Narayana isolated themselves in a cave to perform tapas. Indra sent all his apsaras to seduce them. The nymphs danced and sang, but the sages remained unmoved. They simply slapped their thighs. Out came a woman more ravishing than all the other nymphs put together. Her name was Urvashi. Overwhelmed by her beauty, Indra carried her off to Amravati and left the two sages alone.
Bhagvata Purana
Monastic orders reject the delights of the worldly life and, by extension, women. They are dominated by the Vedantic belief that material reality is a delusion, or maya, that tricks the senses and bewitches the mind.
A monk seeks the truth beyond appearances. He disciplines the mind so that it is not swept away by the allure of Nature. He understands cosmic mysteries and gains insights into the workings of the world. He can use the knowledge gained to practice samadhi and liberate himself from the cycle of life. He can also use it to acquire siddhi and manipulate the workings of the world around him.
The agenda of the nymph when she appears before the sage is twofold—to test his resolve for liberation and to obstruct his quest for occult power:
King Kaushika tried to steal the sage Vasistha’s cow Nandini by force of arms. The sage fought back with the power of siddhi. He conjured up an army from thin air and defeated the king. Realizing that material might was no match for spiritual prowess, Kaushika decided to become a rishi and more powerful than Vasistha. He renounced his kingdom, left for the forest, and began practicing austerities. To distract him, Indra sent the apsara Menaka, who danced naked before him and succeeded in seducing him. When Kaushika realized how he had been tricked, he turned away from Menaka and resumed his austerities. Indra then sent the apsara Rambha. Kaushika had acquired enough control over his senses to resist Rambha’s charms but not adequate restraint over his rage. With whatever spiritual prowess he had gathered, he cursed Rambha to turn into a stone. Undaunted by his failure to control his mind, Kaushika resumed his austerities. Indra dispatched another set of nymphs, but this time Kaushika was beyond temptation or irritation. He had truly conquered his mind to become the great rishi Vishvamitra, renowned for his spiritual prowess.
Mahabharata
Menaka tempts the rishi sexually. Rambha goads him to violence. Either way, the apsaras succeed in making him speak the language of Nature and thus remain within the cycle of life. Sex and violence maintain the integrity of samsara. An organism indulges in sex for self-propagation and gives in to violence for self-preservation. Sex and violence fetter all creatures in the space-time continuum. Those who seek freedom from Nature do not speak this language; those who seek profit from Nature do. Hence celibacy and nonviolence form the cornerstone of monasticism, while sex and blood sacrifices are integrated in fertility rites.
The confrontation of the rishi and the apsara is not just the confrontation of this-worldly desires and otherworldly aspirations, it is also the confrontation of the fertility cults and monastic orders.
Fertility cults support materialistic aspirations—more crops, more cows, more children. Sex plays a vital role in it. Indra, god of rain, is renowned for his unrestrained libido because as lord of fertility his virility prevents famine and poverty. He strikes dark clouds with his thunderbolt, makes love to the earth-goddess with rain, and causes her to bring forth vegetation. Any attempt to oppose Nature’s way threatens Indra. The lord of fertility cannot tolerate asceticism. His use of apsaras to weaken the resolve of rishis reflects the importance given to women in fertility cults.
A courtesan, earthly representative of the celestial asparas, conversing with a sage. Wall carving; Khajuraho temple, Madhya Pradesh. Twelfth century.
As vessels of creative energy, the role of women is vital in all rites seeking to enhance Nature’s life-giving capacity. These ceremonies are strongly influenced by the Tantrik belief that the feminine principle of life is shakti or the source of all power. Charms known as yantras, chants known as mantras, as well as ritual sex, or maithuna, are used to harness Nature’s creative power so that the soil may be more productive and animals more fecund. In Hindu households the unwidowed matriarch is expected to wear bright clothes, color her hands, feet, and head with vermilion paint or powder, and adorn herself with jewelry and flowers. She is also expected to decorate the house with auspicious symbols and draw sacred diagrams called rangolis on thresholds to usher in good fortune. She observes fasts and performs rituals known as vratas to ensure the health and happiness of the household. She is called a suhagan, the unwidowed matriarch who harnesses the best things samsara has to offer. She plays out the traditional role of a priestess in a fertility rite:
Right from birth, Rishyashringa had been prevented by his father from looking upon a woman. He lived an ascetic’s life in the forest, devoid of all sexual desire. In time he acquired siddhi. One day, when he was carrying a pitcher of water, rain fell in such torrents that his pitcher broke. Enraged, he used his spiritual powers to prevent Indra from releasing water from the clouds for twelve years. The famine caused havoc on earth. The only way to overturn Rishyashringa’s curse was to make him lose his spiritual prowess. A local king, advised by the devas, sent his daughter Shanta to seduce the sage. Rishyashringa, who had never seen a woman, wondered who or what she was. Her strange body with gentle curves and alluring protrusions aroused his curiosity. Curiosity turned into attraction, then attachment. While his father was away, Rishyashringa expressed his desire to touch Shanta. She let him. Soon he was overwhelmed by desire. He made love to Shanta, spilled his semen, lost his control over the forces of Nature, and it began to rain.
Jatakas, Mahabharata
The shedding of semen—like the sowing of seed or the transmission of pollen to flowers by bees—enhances the fertility of Nature. Withholding semen goes against the cycle of life and generates energy that propels the ascetic out of samsara. This energy is tapas.
According to traditional Hindu physiology, semen is a magical substance, each drop of which is produced by a hundred drops of blood. The rasa in food transforms into plasma, then blood, then flesh, then fat, then bone, then marrow, then nerve, and finally semen. Semen is thus concentrated rasa, powerful enough to hold the spirit and pass it into the womb. When semen is retained, it turns into a wonderful substance called ojas.
Ojas seeps through the flesh and enlivens the body. It helps man think and feel. It can be used up by indulging the senses and reacting to worldly stimuli. Or it can be retained by reducing one’s interaction with the world around. The aspiring yogi, rishi, or siddha shuts his eye, controls his breath, bridles his senses, disciplines his mind, and retains ojas, transforming it into spiritual fire, or tapas.
Tapas is the product of perfect mental and physical control. It generates an aura around the ascetic and makes him powerful. He can use this fire for samadhi, burn his karmas, shatter his ego, and break free from the cycle of life. Alternatively, he can use this power to attain siddhi and to manipulate the forces of the cosmos. Siddhi gives the adept the power to change the size or shape of his body, levitate and fly, acquire anything by will, control space and time, be blissful, and attain godlike status.
Only ungodly mortals shed semen:
The demon Jalandhara created nymphs to distract Shiva. While Shiva was thus distracted, the demon took the form of Shiva, entered Shiva’s abode, and invited Parvati to make love with him. That Shiva had himself requested her company made Parvati suspicious. She asked her handmaiden Jaya to take her form and go to Jalandhara. Disguised as Parvati, Jaya made love to Jalandhara. He passion was spent and seed spilled in no time. “You who cannot hold your semen cannot be a god, let alone Shiva,” said Jaya, “Begone and die.”
Padma Purana
He who seeks samadhi or siddhi avoids contact with women. When he does embrace one, he does not shed his seed; instead he draws out female creative energy, the very essence of a woman’s being:
In the hope of killing Shiva, the demon Adi took the form of Parvati, placed teeth sharp as thunderbolts in her vagina, and requested Shiva to make love to her. But Shiva recognized the imposter and made love to him without shedding his seed. Finally, unable to withstand the intensity of Shiva’s lovemaking as Parvati could, Adi died.
Matsya Purana
Man’s immortal soul comes from the father’s seed and mortal flesh from the mother’s menstrual fluid. Female creative energy is also destructive energy that fetters man to the cycle of endless rebirths. A man born without being tainted by menstrual fluid is therefore a superman possessing an ever youthful body and an all-powerful mind that is unaffected by the transformations of samsara. Such a man is called a vira.
A vira is both an ascetic and a warrior. As ascetic, he rejects women and the delights of worldly life. His mental control generates tapas, which gives him enormous physical strength. Thus, the asceticism of the vira is responsible for making him a warrior.
A vira is considered the embodiment of virility because he has no contact with women in his entire life. He is not even born of a woman:
The god Vishnu once took the form of the damsel Mohini. Enchanted by her looks, Shiva spurted semen. Vishnu collected the semen and transformed it into a child called Aiyanar.
Sabarimala Sthala Purana
from the state of Kerala
Also known as Ayyappa or Sastha, Aiyanar is the son of two male gods Shiva and Vishnu, hence a-yoni-ja, or nonwomb-born, untainted by menstrual blood. He is adopted by a childless king and raised as prince until the queen gives birth to a son and ambition rears its ugly head:
To secure the throne for her son, the queen feigned illness and claimed that only the milk of a leopard fetched by a virgin warrior would cure her. Sastha immediately set out for the forest. While milking the leopard, tamed by his divine aura, he came upon a wild forest spirit, an ogress called Mahishi, who attacked him in the form of a female buffalo. Ayyappa killed her with ease and returned to the city seated on a tigress, covered with battle scars and bearing a pot of leopard’s milk. The people cheered him and wanted him to be king. But Sastha refused the crown and returned to the forest. Accompanied by the warrior called Vavara, he had many adventures before he finally settled down atop the hill of Sabarimala.
Sabarimala Sthala Purana
from the state of Kerala
Sastha’s image depicts him seated in a characteristic position of a yogi with a strip of cloth known as yoga-patta tied around his thighs to symbolize his firm grip over his mind and body. He has no interest in worldly life. He has no consort. Women are not even allowed to enter his shrine. His eternal companion is a male. His enemies—the ambitious queen and the wild ogress—are female. He thus triumphs over all things material, serenely transcends worldly emotions, and lives a life untouched by femininity, free from the cycle of life.
In Shiva Purana the semen spurted by Shiva aroused by Mohini’s beauty is collected by the wind-god Vayu and poured into the ear of Anjani who eventually gives birth to the monkey-god Hanuman, not through her womb but through her side. Like Aiyanar, Hanuman is a celibate vira. Women avoid worshipping Hanuman because they respect his celibacy and do not wish even inadvertently to be a source of temptation. Hanuman is a patron of wrestlers, who are also advised to remain celibate if they wish to acquire superhuman strength.
Interestingly, in Balinese Hinduism the monkey-god Hanuman is not quite the chaste warrior-god of India. He is quite a ladies’ man who uses his sexual prowess to subjugate women and his physical strength to defeat men.
The natha-jogis of India worship Hanuman as the greatest of siddhas. Greatest because he has no ego and, despite his powers, finds validation in selflessly serving Rama, the noble prince of Ayodhya, the most august incarnation of Vishnu. Natha-jogis are monk-magicians who possess siddhi. They crave no worldly fortune, yet have the capacity to control the workings of samsara. They wander around the countryside telling tales of Hanuman’s legendary celibacy, which gives him the power to father children without having sex:
Hanuman once had to go the netherworlds to rescue Rama from the clutches of the demon-king Mahiravana. An extremely powerful doorkeeper named Makaradhvaja blocked his path. Baffled at not being able to defeat Makaradhvaja, Hanuman used his siddhi to invoke the mother-goddess. The goddess appeared before the two warriors and revealed that Makaradhvaja was the son of Hanuman. “How can that be?” asked Hanuman. “I have never been with a woman.” The goddess explained that long ago, when Hanuman was flying across the sea, a drop of his sweat fell from the skies right into the mouth of a sea elephant, or makara. His sweat was so potent that the makara became pregnant and in due course gave birth to Makaradhvaja. “Born of your powerful bodily fluid, Makaradhvaja is as powerful as you, hence you are unable to defeat him,” revealed the goddess. After hearing the secret of his birth, Makaradhvaja sought expiation from the sin of raising his hand against his own father. He helped Hanuman kill Mahiravana and liberate Rama.
Adbhuta Ramayana,
folklore from Uttarakhand
In another story the sound of Hanuman’s voice could impregnate the women in the land of amazons:
Mainakini, princess of Sinhala, once saw a celestial spirit named Vasu flying across the sky. The wind pulled at his clothes and from down below Mainakini could see his manhood. She commented on its size and began to laugh. Enraged, the Vasu carried Mainakini to the land of amazons and left her there surrounded by women with no access to men. The land of amazons was a cursed site that no man could enter and no woman could leave. Sexually frustrated, the lonely women of amazon-land invoked the mother-goddess. The mother-goddess ordered Hanuman to help the women of amazon-land become mothers. “But how can I, a celibate warrior, make them pregnant?” wondered Hanuman. Rama came up with a solution. “Someone whose voice is as potent as yours does not need to have physical relations to make a woman pregnant.” Ac-cordingly, Hanuman went to the frontier of amazon-land and began to sing songs in praise of Rama. All the women who heard him sing became pregnant. They praised Hanuman’s vocal virility.
Nava-natha-charitra
Though Hanuman succeeded in giving Mainakini a child, she desired physical pleasure with a man. For her satisfaction, Hanuman sent his disciple, the leader of natha-jogis, Matsyendra-natha to her queendom. Only Matsyendra-natha possessed enough spiritual prowess to survive in the land where no man was allowed to tread:
An embryo within a pregnant fish overheard Shiva revealing secret siddha techniques to his consort Parvati. With this information, the fish embryo transformed into a man. Shiva blessed this man and named him Matsyendra-natha, who went on to become first of natha-jogis. Hanuman ordered Matsyrendra-natha to go to the land of the amazons and sexually satisfy Mainakini and all the women there. Matsyendra-natha did as ordered. As time passed, the carnal pleasures made him forget all about his life outside the amazon-land. Years later Matsyendra-natha’s student Gorakshanatha entered the amazon-land and admonished his guru for losing control over his senses. Shaken out of his enchantment with worldly things, Matsyendra-natha bid farewell to Mainakini, put on his monk robes, and renounced the amazon-land forever.
Nava-natha-charitra
Matsyendra-natha’s celibacy enables him to enter the land of women, but his carnality entraps him there. This folk tradition reiterates the classical belief that maya binds a person to samsara; tapas liberates him. Tapas is the spiritual fire that water-nymphs, the apsaras, seek to douse.
Semen energized by tapas, it is said, moves in the retrograde direction up the spine, pierces psychic nodes, and reveals to the mind the mysteries of the universe unfathomed by human minds. This knowledge makes man a kevalin, an omniscient being. The Jain Tirthankaras are all kevalins who have knowledge of the past, present, and future of all living beings. This knowledge helps them realize the ephemeral nature of all things. They break free from the clutches of samsara and rise to their heaven—abode of perfection—that stands beyond svarga, the celestial sphere of devas.
The Jain cosmos is multilayered. At the bottom is the realm of matter, the chthonian world, the world of flux, where everything is bound by the rules of space and time, where every idea is relative, every truth conditional, every event illusory, every mood transitory. On top is the spiritual realm—the paradise of eternal bliss, the abode of absolute reality, where everything is still and serene. According to Jain belief, he who sheds his attachment to material life floats to succeedingly higher planes of existence and ultimately reaches heaven. Those who are free from all attachments break free from samsara altogether and go to the heaven of the eternally blissful and all-aware Tirthankaras.
While Buddhists of old Hinayana school believe that their leader was a man who at the end of his existence on earth attained nirvana and ceased to be, Buddhists of the later Mahayana school came up with a multilayered cosmology, similar to the Jains, according to which the buddhas were not just enlightened mortals but godlike beings who lived in the highest heaven. The Buddhist heaven is a place of pure bliss; below are layers of increasing sensuality and sorrow.
In Hindu cosmology lokas are radiant, joyful realms located above man’s head while talas are murky, morose regions located below the feet. Karma weighs down the soul with matter and binds man to earth. Destruction of karma provides man with the possibility of being reborn in a higher realm as a god and enjoying an eternity of endless joy. Accumulation of karma, on the other hand, dooms man to be reborn as an earthbound reptile or, lower still, in the nether regions, as a demon, eternally tormented by hatred, envy, desire, and death— the Hindu hell:
For the triple crime of having adulterous relations with a woman, killing a cow, and eating it, the king Satyvrata was cursed by his preceptor Vasistha to turn into an outcast named Trishanku. Being an outcast, Trishanku could never enter heaven. He decided to perform a yagna and override the fate thrust by Vasistha’s curse. Only the sage Vishvamitra condescended to perform the ritual on behalf of an outcast. By the power of yagna, Trishanku rose to Amravati, but the devas kicked him out. As he tumbled down, Vishvamitra used the power of tapas and arrested his descent. Neither the devas nor Vishvamitra were willing to relent, so Trishanku remained suspended head-downward between heaven and earth.
Mahabharata, Harivamsa,
Devi Bhagvatam
In this story sex and violence—both involving females—prevent Trishanku from entering heaven. The use of yagna to earn merit and enter the city of the gods is a Vedic belief. In the post-Vedic period, as ritualism gave way to monasticism and mysticism, more and more Hindus came to believe that by the power of yoga—especially bhakti yoga, or the yoga of devotion—one could rise still higher and reach Brahma-loka, a realm where there is nothing but absolute truth, pure consciousness, and perfect bliss, sad-chit-ananda.
Each layer of the Jain, Buddhist, and Hindu cosmos could be seen as a metaphor for a state of consciousness. When the mind gets more and more attached to worldly things, one sinks deeper and deeper into the abyss of suffering. As the mind gets increasingly detached, one attains the state of unconditional joy that is heaven.
Heaven is for men only. The devas who live in the Hindu paradise Amravati are all male. The only female residents of the Hindu paradise are apsaras, celestial courtesans, objects of divine pleasure.
In the Nepalese Mahayana text Svayambhu Purana adi-buddha, the primal being who resides in the highest heaven, is male, as are the dhyani-buddhas who surround him. Even the five boddhisattvas, mentally created by the dhyani-buddhas, who cast compassionate looks upon suffering beings, are male.
Twenty-three out of the twenty-three Tirthankaras of the Jain canon are male. Only one, the nineteenth Tirthankara— Mallinatha—is a woman. But her female body is a manifestation of imperfection:
After completing worldly duties, King Mahabala and seven of his friends renounced the world and became Jain mendicants. They made a pact to take up identical numbers of fasts as part of their austerities. However, because of ill health, Mahabala could not eat all his meals. Thus he inadvertently fasted more than his friends and acquired more merit, enough to make him a Tirthankara in his next life. Because these merits were acquired by breaking a pact, he was reborn with the body of a woman and named Malli, “jasmine flower.” Her beauty won her many suitors, who went to war over her. Malli was so disgusted by the carnage resulting from lust for her body that she turned her back on worldly life and became a monk. Eventually she became a kevalin and ascended to the paradise of Tirthankaras.
Jnatri-dharma-katha-sutra
The story of how Malli acquired a female body comes from scriptures of the Shvetambara, or white-robed Jains. The more austere Digambara, or sky-clad Jains, reject the very idea of Malli’s womanhood. To them, Mallinatha was a man. They believe that a woman can never become an enlightened kevalin. The female physiology does not permit it.
Digambaras believe that a Tirthankara triumphs over all bodily needs and mental urges through wisdom and willpower. He rises above the mundane requirements of survival and hence acquires the capacity to transcend the chthonian cycles of birth and death. If Malli had a woman’s body, he would not be able to do the same. As a woman, Malli may have been able to attain wisdom, overcome desire, rein in hunger, control breath, like any male ascetic, but she would not have been able to will her way out of menstrual tides. Escape from the wheel of the existence would therefore have been impossible. Menstruation anchors women to the earth, traps them in the chthonian realm. Possession of a male body is therefore a prerequisite for crossing the bridge to paradise. Besides, as a woman, Malli would not have access to the magical substance that catalyzes escape from worldly bonds—semen.
For a woman to attain salvation, Digambaras believe that she must first acquire a male body by living a chaste and exemplary existence as a woman. Thus, she is one step lower than man is in the spiritual hierarchy. Although Hindu scriptures do not express similar ideas so explicitly, the idea that a woman is more earthbound than a man is implicit in the Hindu worldview.
Woman is seen as the key to the wonders of samsara. These wonders—food and mineral wealth—come from below the earth. Thus aspiration for woman is aspiration for earthbound and not otherworldly pleasures. The apsara is associated with water, which always flows downhill; the rishi is associated with fire, which always rises skyward. In folk stories, when the mother-goddess appears on earth in the form of a baby, a priest or a king usually ploughs her out of the earth or finds her near a termite hill or in a lotus, that universal symbol of fertility. Virile male gods or viras, on the other hand, appear on hills and mountains, holding phallic spears, their heads touching the skies.
Termite hills are believed to represent the vulva, or yoni, of the earth-goddess. They mark the entrance to Bhogavati, city of lust, the abode of serpents. Serpents that crawl on the ground and regularly shed their skins as women shed menstrual blood know the secrets of the earth—how seeds germinate and where gems are located. Hence, they are powerful fertility symbols. Hindus seeking healthy children and good harvests worship nagas, or serpents, by pouring milk into termite hills. Also under the earth stands Hiranyapura, the city of gold, abode of asuras. These subterranean demons, enemies of the gods, are renowned for their architectural skills. Thus in sacred Hindu lore subterranean ungodly creatures such as nagas and asuras are linked to the delights of samsara—house, gold, gems, food, and yoni. The yogi in his quest for higher heavens renounces these earthbound foundations of worldly life:
Parvati, wife of the ascetic Shiva, wanted a home. But Shiva refused to be trapped within the four walls of a house. Said the wandering mendicant, “In summer, when heat blisters the skin, we will seek the shade of the banyan tree. In winter, when the cold is unbearable, we will seek warmth beside funeral pyres. And when it rains, we shall fly into the sky and live above the clouds.” Thus did Shiva silence his wife’s demand for a house.
Folklore from the state of Rajasthan
The association of women with worldly things does not mean that there are no women with otherworldly aspirations in sacred Hindu lore.
In the Vedic period, when ritualism governed society and man sought to harness rasa through yagna, the maiden Ghosha composed hymns invoking and adoring virile gods such as the Ashwini twins in the hope that they would ensure the potency of her future husband.
In the Upanishadic period that saw the rise of Buddhism and Jainism, when intellectual speculation on the nature of the divine principle reached a climax, one hears of female sages such as Gargi, whose sharp mind and tongue irritated many sages:
Janaka, king of Videha, dissatisfied with esoteric rituals, invited sages from all over the land to his kingdom and offered cows with gold-plated horns to anyone who helped him understand the true nature of the cosmos. Rishis, siddhis, yogis, all men attended the debate. Yagnavalkya dominated the conference with his view that reality is not the absolute truth and that yoga is the real yagna. During the proceedings, a woman walked naked into Janaka‘s court and introduced herself as Gargi. While all men looked at her body, it was with her mind that the woman astounded the assembled scholars. She asked Yagnvalkya on what is the foundation of water, the principle of life. “Wind,” replied Yagnavalaya. And of wind? “Space.” And of space? “Gandharvas?” And of gandharvas? “The moon.” And of the moons? “The sun.” And of the sun? “The stars.” And of the stars? “The gods.” And of the gods? “Indra.” And of Indra? “Prajapati.” And of Prajapati? “Brahman.” And of Brahman? Exasperated by these unending questions, Yagnavalkya asked Gargi not to ask too many questions on that which is unfathomable lest her head fall off. Gargi smiled and declared that Yagnavalkya was the wisest sage in the assembly.
Brihadaranyaka Upanishad
Some women of this time preferred knowledge of the truth to worldly wealth:
Yagnavalkya wished to renounce the world and decided to distribute his wealth between his two wives, Maitreyi and Katyayani. Maitreyi did not want his worldly goods; she wanted him to give knowledge of that which never perishes—the Brahman.
Brihadaranyaka Upanishad
In the Epic age, when the Ramayana and Mahabharata were composed, Gautami accepted the vagaries of samsara with grace:
Gautami’s son died of a snakebite. A hunter caught the snake and brought it to Gautami. “Let it go. Killing it will not get my son back. Serpents bite and people die. Such is the way of samsara,” she said.
Mahabharata
Shandili did not appreciate being treated as a sex object:
Shandili was a pious woman who lived an ascetic’s life atop Mount Rishabha. One day Suparna, the divine falcon-god, saw her and entertained the thought of carrying her away. Instantly, his golden wings dropped off. Suparana came crashing to the ground and begged Shandili to forgive him, because he did not seek to molest her. Shandili forgave him and restored his wings.
Mahabharata
In the Common Era the age of devotion known as the Bhakti age dawned, and many women saints appeared on the spiritual horizon. The steadfast devotion of these women to the divine principle despite all odds earned them the admiration and respect of society. One hears of Mira, the Rajput princess from northern India, who refused to acknowledge her husband as her true lord. When he died, she did not burn herself on his funeral pyre as tradition demanded of her. Instead she danced on the streets of Mathura and Vrindavana, singing praises of her divine lord Krishna. In southern India the daughter of a priest named Andal did not get married because her heart belonged to Krishna, her heavenly beloved. A woman’s spiritual prowess scared off men, for they were used to seeing women as objects of worldly pleasure:
Punidavati lived in the village of Karaikal with her husband, Paramadatta, a seafaring merchant. She was so devoted to Shiva that the lord bestowed upon her magical powers. Her ability to conjure sweet mangos by merely wishing for them scared her husband who, after his next voyage, did not return home. Instead, he went to the city of Madurai, married another woman, and raised a family with her. When Punidavati learned why her husband had left her, she realized she had no more use for her beautiful body. By the grace of Shiva, she transformed herself into a crone with shriveled breasts and gaunt features so that no man could look upon her with eyes of desire. Thus she was free to devote herself to her lord. She became renowned as Karaikal Ammaiyar, the matriarch of Karaikal.
Peria Purana
Karaikal Ammaiyar rejects her body because she does not want to be attractive. Her behavior is quite unlike male saints such as Bilvamangala, who restrains his urges as he begins his spiritual quest. She does not want to be seductive; he does not want to be seduced. Even among saints, man remains the victim and woman, the minefield of temptation.
Karaikal Ammaiyar, the woman who made herself ugly to follow the spiritual path. Bronze sculpture; popular craft from Tamil Nadu. Twentieth century.
Woman attracts. Man is attracted. She is the stimulus that fetters man to samsara. She rouses desires that generate karma. Such beliefs caused the founder of Buddhism to hesitate while indoctrinating women into his monastic order. Then he saw the sorrowful face of his mother after the death of his father and changed his mind. Suddenly, he realized women were also victims of samsara, not instruments of Mara, the demon of desire.
Hindus know Mara as Kama. However, Kama is viewed as a god:
After the death of his first wife, Sati, Shiva refused to be part of worldly life. He isolated himself in an icy cave and immersed himself in meditation. But the gods wanted him to father a son who would be warlord of celestial armies. So they recruited the help of Kama, the god of lust. Kama flew into Shiva’s cave on a parrot. His presence transformed the cold, lifeless cave into a garden for lovers, heady with the scent of spring flowers. Holding his sugarcane bow in one hand and pulling his bowstring made of bees with the other, he shot a flowery dart straight into Shiva’s heart. When Shiva felt the palpitation of desire, he was not amused. With a detached ferocity, he opened his third eye and let loose a fiery missile that burnt Kama alive.
Shiva Purana, Devi Bhagvatam
Shiva destroys desire with the power of yoga in his bid to stay out of samsara. Without Kama, however, there is cosmic chaos. The bull does not mount the cow; the bees turn away from blossoms. There is no joy in pleasure gardens, as spring does not arrive. There is no love, no passion. Nothing rouses the flesh. Nothing inspires the rites of copulation. There is no conception, no rebirth. The wheel of existence grinds to a halt.
This is unacceptable to Vishnu, keeper of cosmic order, who in the Harivamsa is described as Kama’s father. He understands the pain caused by desire but cannot ignore the importance of desire in rotating the cycle of life. He does not appreciate Brahma’s lust, but does not agree with Shiva’s asceticism, either. Vishnu stands between Brahma and Shiva. He neither creates nor destroys—he sustains. And to sustain the universe, the flow of spirit through semen and its embodiment in flesh is vital:
Shiva generated so much tapas that he transformed into a pillar of fire. The gods sought to release this bottled-up energy that could destroy the world. Meanwhile, the demon Taraka drove the gods out of Amravati. Only a six-day-old child could kill him. Such a child could be fathered only by Shiva. So the gods invoked the mother-goddess, who took the form of Parvati, princess of mountains. Because Kama could not make Shiva fall in love with her, Parvati decided to practice asceticism and through devotion earn Shiva’s affection. Her austerities earned Shiva’s admiration, and he embraced Parvati. The union resurrected Kama. Parvati gave Shiva’s seed to Agni, the fire-god. But the radiance of the seed was unbearable. So the fire-god cast it into the icy waters of the River Ganga. The seed caused the river water to bubble. It set afire the reeds on the riverbanks. Amid the flames, the seed transformed into a six-headed child who was nursed by the six Kritika maidens. On the seventh day of its life, the child named Kartikeya let out a shrill war cry, grabbed a lance, and attacked and killed Taraka, thus restoring the reins of the cosmos to the gods. Kartikeya was declared the commander of celestial armies. Everyone saluted Shiva for fathering such a powerful child.
Shiva Purana, Skanda Purana
Shiva’s excessive asceticism threatens the integrity of the cosmic cycle. Shakti domesticates Shiva, not with carnality, but through devotion. She makes him release his semen to help gods defeat demons and maintain harmony within the wheel of existence. Later she converses with him and patiently coaxes him to reveal the knowledge he acquired through aeons of meditation. This knowledge inspires the writing of the Vedas and the Tantras, books of mystical and occult wisdom, which greatly benefits humankind. She also inspires him to compose music and choreograph dance. Thus Shiva the ascetic becomes Shiva the artist. He begins participating in worldly life. The transformation helps samsara survive.
While Parvati tempers Shiva’s asceticism, Sarasvati tempers Brahma’s carnality. Sarasvati is the only goddess in the Hindu pantheon who is not associated with sex, violence, or fertility. Draped in a simple white sari, she holds books, musical instruments, and rosaries in her hand. She represents the serene wisdom, knowledge, and inspiration of Nature, beyond the bubbling fertility. She inspires scholars and artists to rejoice in rather than crave for the wonders of existence. She helps liberate man from the labyrinth of desire.
By giving Parvati to Shiva and Sarasvati to Brahma, Vishnu brings harmony between eroticism and asceticism, spirituality and materialism. He creates a middle path that offers liberation from the wheel of existence without disrupting the cycle of life.
A balance between carnality and spirituality is necessary to harmonize this-worldly needs and otherworldly aspirations. So the Dharmashastra texts divided the life of the ideal Hindu man—not woman—into four stages. In the first stage, as brahmachari, he prepared himself to be a fruitful member of human society. In the second stage, as grihastha, he lived as a householder, raising children and fulfilling his obligation to his ancestors. In the third stage, as vanaprasthi, he gradually renounced worldly life and made way for the next generation. Finally, in the fourth stage, as sanyasi, he abandoned his wife, lived like a hermit, and sought the ultimate meaning of life.
Marriage was seen as a tryst with Nature: a time to fulfill biological obligations, a time to realize the ephemeral nature of worldly pleasures before moving on.
Before an ascetic began his spiritual journey, he was advised to fulfill worldly obligations:
Kardama wanted to renounce material reality and discover the spiritual truth. When he disclosed his intention to his wife, Devahuti, she requested him to give her a child before leaving. So he united with her without passion during her fertile period, fathered a son called Kapila, and then left for the forest.
Bhagvata Purana
Jain Tirthankaras also fulfilled worldly duties before renouncing the world:
King Rishabha taught men seventy-two vo-cations and women sixty-four skills. He established human civilization with the four orders of men. Such was his glory that Indra descended from the heavens and visited his court. To honor the king of gods, Rishabha invited the dancer Nilanjana to perform before his divine guest. Right in the middle of her brilliant performance, Nilanjana collapsed and died. Not wanting the performance to stop, Indra caused the corpse to disappear and conjured up an apparition to take the courtesan’s place. The apparition looked and danced just like Nilanjana. No human eyes noticed what had transpired. No human eyes, that is, except those of Rishabha. “What is real—the apparition of Nilanjana that is seen or her corpse that is not?” wondered Rishabha. To find the answer, Rishabha renounced his kingdom and his crown and became an ascetic.
Jain lore
The ascetic who tried leaving the cycle of life without fulfilling his worldly obligations was sent back:
The sage Mandapala had performed tapas for many years. He had conquered his senses and had retained his seed in chastity. When he finally abandoned his body, he reached the land of ancestors and discovered that he had not received any fruit of tapas. On inquiry, he learned that a man who performs tapas but does not father children does not win the fruit of tapas. So Mandapala was reborn as a bird, and as a bird he made love to not one but two female birds and produced many children. Having thus fulfilled his biological obligations, he obtained the fruit of his tapas.
Mahabharata
The ascetic who sought to obstruct the rotation of the wheel of life was penalized:
Prajapati Daksha, lord of civilization, created sons, and Brahma asked them to marry and produce children. When the celibate sage Narada told them about samsara, they refused to reproduce and broke free from the cycle of life. Daksha produced more sons and even they followed Narada’s way of life. Enraged, Daksha said, “Don’t you know, he who seeks release without paying his debts to the ancestors commits sin?” He then cursed Narada to wander aimlessly in the cosmos.
Shiva Purana
As if to make amends, the sage Narada becomes Vishnu’s agent and works toward maintaining the integrity of the cosmic cycle. Lute in hand, he appears in sacred Hindu lore to stir up the plot, rouse the whimsical human mind with gossip, rumor, and suspicion. The resulting actions generate karma, and karma rotates the wheel of life:
It was foretold that Devaki’s eighth child would give birth to Kamsa’s killer. Kamsa would have killed Devaki had her husband Vasudeva not promised to present their eighth child to Kamsa as soon as he was born. When Devaki was pregnant with her first child, Narada paid Kamsa a visit. “Congratulations on the conception of your killer,” he said. Kamsa was puzzled by Narada’s remark. “How do you know that Devaki has not gone through seven miscarriages before giving birth to this child? Do you think a father will willingly sacrifice his child so that you may live?” Narada’s questions fueled Kamsa’s anxiety. He decided to kill all children born to Devaki and Vasudeva. He threw the couple into prison and every time a child was delivered, he dashed the newborn against the stony floor. In this way Kamsa killed six of Devaki’s children. When the seventh child was conceived, the goddess Yogamaya sprang out of Vishnu’s heart. She transferred the fetus from Devaki’s womb into the womb of Rohini, Vasudeva’s other wife, who lived with her brother Nanda in a village on the other side of the river. When Devaki gave birth to her eighth child on a stormy night, Yogamaya cast the spell of sleep across the city of Mathura and unlocked the prison door. Instructed by the goddess, Vasudeva put Kamsa’s nemesis in a basket and carried him across the river to the house of his brother-in-law and friend Nanda. Nanda’s wife Yashoda had given birth to a girl-child that very night. Vasudeva exchanged the two babies and returned to the prison cell with Yashoda’s daughter. The next day, when Kamsa grabbed the little girl, she slipped out of his hand and rose to the sky, taking the form of Yogamaya and shouting, “Kamsa, your nemesis lives far from your murderous gaze.”
Harivamsa, Bhagvata Purana, Padma
Purana, Devi Bhagvatam
Yogamaya is the goddess of worldly illusion. Along with Narada, she successfully uses the power of imagination to terrorize Kamsa and drive him closer to the jaws of death. Instead of living a meaningful existence with the information at hand, Kamsa spends every living moment foolishly thinking of the future and trying to avert the inevitable. Such is the power of samsara on the human mind.
Yogamaya is born of Vishnu, who is the lord of all delusions. Vishnu uses the power of maya to make people participate in worldly activities. Using maya, he transforms himself into a nymph called Mohini, champion of worldly life.
As Mohini, Vishnu pours the nectar of immortality down the throats of the gods while distracting the demons with seductive smiles. Vishnu thus polarizes two sets of celestial beings, transforming devas into jealous guardians of rasa and asuras into eternal seekers of the sap of life. The resulting antagonism creates a force and counterforce that rotates the wheel of life. The triumph of the gods causes the day to dawn, the tides to rise, rains to come, the moon to wax. Their defeat at the hands of demons results in nightfall, the low tides, drought, and the dark half of the lunar cycle.
As Mohini, he also kills demons who try to create cosmic chaos:
Shiva, in his innocence, gave the demon Vrika the power to burn any creature alive by his touch. Vrika decided to test this power on Shiva himself. When he stretched out his hand, Shiva ran for cover. Vrika pursued him. Vishnu rushed to Shiva’s rescue, taking the form of a ravishing damsel called Mohini. Enchanted by Mohini’s beauty, Vrika forgot all about the chase. “Can I hold you in my arms?” he asked Mohini. Mohini smiled seductively and said, “Only if you dance with me.” “But I don’t know how to dance,” said Vrika. “Do what I do,” said Mohini, who began dancing. Vrika followed her movements, moving his hands and hips as Mohini did. At one point Mohini touched her own head. Vrika, too bewitched by Mohini’s charm to suspect a thing, touched his head, too. Instantly, he burst into flames. Thus did Vishnu use the power of maya to save Shiva from the demon Vrika.
Bhagvata Purana
As Mohini, Vishnu seduced Shiva, the greatest of ascetics, and ensured the flow of vitalizing semen into the cosmos. The sons born—Hanuman and Sastha—displayed Vishnu’s world-affirming warrior traits as well as Shiva’s world-renouncing ascetic qualities.
Vishnu enchants. He also liberates. But Vishnu’s yoga is different from Shiva’s yoga. Shiva’s yoga is based on vairagya, or renunciation. Vishnu’s yoga is based on bhakti, or devotion. While Shiva’s yoga involves bridling the senses and controlling the mind to turn away from worldly pleasures, Vishnu’s yoga demands disciplining the mind not to seek the fruit of labor. Shiva’s yoga suits the ascetic. Vishnu’s yoga is ideal for the worldly man. It allows him to be part of samsara while working toward liberation.
Bhakti redirects desire toward the spirit and takes this self-defeating emotion out of man’s relationship with the material world. Dharma, or duty, not desire, becomes the motivating factor in man’s association with samsara. Man participates in worldly life not to indulge the senses or inflate the ego but out of a sense of obligation to the cycle of life. His actions rotate the wheel of life but do not generate the karma that fetters the soul to the flesh. Thus is worldly order maintained and salvation guaranteed. This path is known as karma yoga.
When Shiva dances on Mount Kailas, he dances alone, detached from the wheel of existence that rotates around him. When Vishnu dances as Krishna, he interacts with the souls of all creatures, playing his flute, beckoning them to dance to the tune of this music. His tune is the tune of dharma:
The willful Krishna desired company. At once fair Radha came into existence from the left half of his being. As they made love, their delight gave rise to the colorful cosmos. As Radha perspired in the arms of her lord, innumerable gopis, or milkmaids, emerged from her pores. Each gopi desired Krishna’s company and vied for his attention. So out of Krishna’s pores emerged innumerable Krishnas. Each Krishna danced with a different gopi. Every gopi thought that the lord belonged to her and her alone. To teach them a lesson, Krishna disappeared. They were distraught and ran through the dark forest, maddened with grief. “Where is my Krishna?” they cried, and when they discovered their plight was similar to those of other gopis, they cried, “Where is our Krishna?” In response the lord reappeared, and the gopis were joyful. They formed a circle and danced round Krishna. Krishna picked up his flute and made music that delighted all.
Brahmavaivarta Purana
Radha comes into being because Krishna wills it so. She is fair; he is dark. She contains all colors; he is beyond the spectrum. Without Radha, Krishna is cheerless. Without Krishna, Radha is directionless. Krishna, the embodiment of spiritual reality, defies the law of space and hence is present at various places at the same time. He also defies the law of time and does not transform. Radha personifies matter. Over time her energy is parceled out into a multitude of individual manifestations—the gopis. Though born of the same Radha, ego makes every milkmaid think she is different from the other gopis. Ego also deludes them into believing that Krishna is theirs alone. As each form claims exclusive attention, there is discord and despair. Krishna disappears. Gopis are lost. Samsara is in disarray. When bhakti, selfless love for Krishna, resurfaces, Krishna reappears, harmony returns, and the drumbeat of desire is heard again.
Krishna’s approach causes rasa to flow. When he departs, rasa ebbs. As rasa rises and falls, the cycle of seasons known as ritu appears in Nature. Ritu transforms Nature into a creature alive with many forms, a cosmic woman with many faces, each warm with passion, yielding her charms to her beloved who is lonely until she writhes in his arms. Krishna is the centripetal force, binding the women with his music. So long as all souls respect dharma, follow the tune, and stay in the circle, worldly delight and otherworldly bliss coexist.
Krishna in the center of the circle is paramatma, the universal soul, while Krishna with each of the milkmaids is jiva-atma, the individual soul. The two become one only when the milkmaids shed their egos and become one with Radha. This dance of Krishna in the circle of milkmaids is described as rasa-leela, the play of life.
Worshippers of Krishna identified themselves as diminutive doubles of Radha and, like her, they seek union with the lord. Longing was seen as a feminine emotion. In some bhakti subcultures, men even took to wearing female attire to get in touch with the feminine principle. They called themselves sakhis, or handmaidens of Radha. They crushed their masculine identities to become one with Radha and thus earn the eternal affection of Krishna.
As Krishna, Vishnu imbibed all the positive qualities of the love-god Kama while shedding the negative ones. Like Kama, Krishna is charming and delightful. The music of his flute, like the darts of Kama, rouses love and longing. Krishna enjoys the passion of moonlit nights and rain-drenched days. But while Kama inspires unrestrained pleasures, Krishna becomes the focus of ecstatic devotion. Carnal urges are elevated to spiritual longings. Affection is tempered with detachment:
As a child, Krishna played pranks on his mother. He raided dairies and stole butter from milkmaids. As a youth, Krishna played the flute, seduced women, and frolicked in the flowery meadows of Madhuvana on the banks of the River Yamuna. Then a time came when Krishna had to leave his rustic surroundings behind and enter the world of urbane politics. Without a moment’s hesitation, he gave up his flute and his beloved Radha, and moved on to the next stage of his life to play the role of a warrior and statesman. He married the princess Rukmini and became mentor of the Pandava princes, guiding them to victory with force and guile in a great war at Kurukshetra.
Mahabharata, Harivamsa,
Bhagvata Purana
Women dancing in circles around Krishna as they perform the rasa-leela. Rajasthani miniature painting. Nineteenth century.
Krishna loves Radha but leaves her when duty calls. He fights, he loves, he wins, he loses without getting enmeshed in the tangle of emotions. Unlike Shiva, who rejects samsara totally, Vishnu participates with detachment. He is neither erotic nor ascetic; he is romantic yet pragmatic, charming yet serene.
To many people there was something cold, insensitive, and aloof about holy men, who transcended worldly life and stood outside samsara. Many Buddhists found the idea of a buddha who abandons his suffering family on earth and rises to heaven for his own peace selfish and unpalatable. The transcendental principle seemed too detached from samsara to be capable of understanding the mundane sorrows of man. How could a man susceptible to worldly pleasures find comfort in the presence of one who had triumphed over the mind? Many sought a more compassionate and emotional alternative, and this manifested itself in feminine form:
Just as he was about to attain nirvana, Avatilokeshvara heard the cries of millions of suffering souls on earth. A tear rolled down his cheek and turned into the goddess Tara, the compassionate hearer of cries. Avatilokeshvara refused to leave samsara until all creatures on earth had attained salvation. He thus chose to stay behind as boddhisattva with Tara at his side.
Buddhist lore
Tara’s heart warmed the cold rationality of Buddhism. She elevated the status of the female principle from nymph to messenger. The worldly man could approach Tara without feeling intimidated. In her arms, he could weep without restraint, confident that she would always comfort him. Her love was unconditional, her concern nonjudgmental. Because she embodied samsara, she understood his difficulties.
In Jainism too, each Tirthankara came to be attended by a goddess who helped man communicate his fears and insecurities to the heavenly seers.
The manifested female principle was more immediate to man than the disembodied male principle. In Nature man became aware of divine delight. Through body and mind, man could realize divinity. Matter was the medium through which the spirit could be reached. Though transcendent, the spirit acquired its divinity from the cycle of life. Hence, ascetic gods were often found embracing carnal goddesses, their shaktis, while expounding directive principles of monasticism:
The gods and demons went to the yogi Dattatreya to learn the secrets of the cosmos and found him embracing Laxmi passionately while she poured wine down his throat. The gods realized that Laxmi was Datta’s source of power, his shakti, and that wine was the divinity she was bestowing upon him. The demons decided to abduct Laxmi and take her to the nether regions. However, without Datta, Laxmi’s beauty and bounty bewitched the demons and made them weak and vulnerable.
Markandeya Purana
On her own Laxmi inflates the ego and deludes the mind with the allure of pleasure and power, kama and artha. But with Datta in the picture, her power is tempered and made benevolent. Around the finger of the divine, the wheel of life became less forbidding to the devotee. The goddess became the god’s complement, not antagonist. She leads the devotee toward the divine.
Devotees of Vishnu saw his consort Laxmi not as the fickle goddess of fortune of the Vedic period, but as the mother of the cosmos who makes peace between the prodigal son and the divine father. To the devotee, wracked with guilt and shame for having succumbed to his ego and his senses, Vishnu, the awesome keeper of cosmic law, seemed too unapproachable and austere. He sought refuge in the more accessible maternal aura of Laxmi. She was heart, she was love, she was compassion. Through her he petitioned the almighty and sought moksha, release from the cycle of life.
Bhakti directs all desires to god. All actions become mere fulfillment of worldly obligations. Passionless fulfillment of dharma does not generate karma. The goddess can no longer seduce the flesh with the delights of samsara. The nymph becomes an expression of divine delight, a beautiful dream through which man finds his way out of the cycle of life.
