WARRIOR SAINT

Story From Indian Mythology – WARRIOR SAINT

It is the Yuga of Treta…and eons have passed since I first walked this path. The pain still burns just as fiercely as it had all those years ago. It has to…else there would be nothing left to drive me. They think it is rage, anger…fury. How little do they know…! Rage, no matter how intense serves nothing but consumes you from within. It cannot sustain itself, leave alone you. Nay, the purpose that drives me…my mission…is etched in pain. For only pain can keep the fire burning in your heart, and the blood flowing through your axe.

Aye, the axe…the Parashu…without which I am nothing…the axe that has become me…and I have, in return become it. The Parashu hums softly, a sound more familiar now than the beats of my heart, and I feel the fire burn through my veins. The muscles of my arm bunch as I pick up the heavy axe, that none else living can wield. The gift of Shiva glows red as blood, its light flowing within my veins as liquid fire.

The Parashu is my mission…as much as it is my name…Parashuram.

It wasn’t always a journey of pain…and my name wasn’t always joined with a weapon of blood. There was a time when life meant more than the blood of tyrants…and the assuagement of the Earth Mother’s burden. There was a time when life was about laughter in the forest, and in the hermitage of my father Jamadhagni.

I was born to a family of Brahmins…keepers of the sacred texts of the Gods…the teachers of humankind. I was born Ram, the youngest of the seven sons of Renuka and Jamadhagni. Born to the most respected of saints, it should have been the perfect life. Should have been…

But my blood had traces of war in it…mixed as it was with the blood of kings. My grandmother was a Kshatriya princess, and the song of war in her veins would come to haunt me forever.

There was always a fire within me, a fire that the Vedas could not douse, and one that burned hotter than the Yagnas of my father. And while the songs of the Gods brought joy to my heart, they could never fill the void in my soul. And though I was happy, I was not complete…and what good is half a man?

Perhaps he knew…my father…he knew of the curse that festered within me, but how could he sacrifice his own son to it? How could they prepare me for a destiny that I was yet unaware of?

That day in the forest, my destiny came for me. Cutting down the trees for firewood, my arms moved rhythmically, tirelessly as blade cut into bark. It felt good, wielding a weapon of strength…shamed as I was to admit it.

And then came that scream…an animal in grave injury. I turned and ran towards the sound, without thinking. I burst through the clearing to see a group of hunters laughing over the dying body of a deer. She lay on the ground, bleating to death, even as her calf cried in terror. The men around it laughed, drawing their bows and arrows.

I saw the pitiful look in the young one’s eyes, and stepped into the role that was meant for me.

“Hold,” I said, startled at the authority in my own voice, “Leave the calf…it holds no value for you.”

The hunters turned, “Go your way, young sage,” one scoffed, “lest we add your flesh to our venison.” And they all laughed again. And before my eyes, the man shot an arrow into the calf’s neck. It fell without a sound, its eyes fixed on me till they turned sightless.

There was a strange burning within me, one that seemed to color the world in red.

“That was unwise,” I growled, stepping forward. And perhaps I meant to say that. I don’t think anything human came out of my throat.

The men were amused, “The forest boy is angry,” they laughed, “come, let us give him the vengeance he demands.”

I do not know what happened after that. There were screams, I know…and laughter…which I fear was mine…and nothing else but the dreadfully divine spray of scarlet.

They lay on the forest floor, all four of them, their blood coloring the soil, mixing with the innocent blood they had spilled. A lot of it was my own blood, as I saw the lines of red carved on my flesh. My arms were heavy with the effort, and my ears rang with the loss of blood. But it was worth it all…worth my life, and more.

I panted, trying to hold back the hysterical laughter that bubbled inside me. I felt a strange light headedness, and the bursting of a dam that held me back all my life. The innocents were avenged. And I knew finally who I was. But it would take the world a little more time.

My father said nothing, as I came back to the hut that night. Neither did my mother, and her beautiful eyes simply saw in me the fulfillment of a destiny they both knew of.

“I leave for Kailas tomorrow father,” I said, not asking for his permission. Nobody said anything. The blood on my bark-skin said it all.

Kailas…the abode of Lord Shiva! The destroyer God…and the annihilator of all evil…! Shiva would know my soul, for was it not a shard of his own self? And only with his blessings could I give fuel to the fires inside me.

The journey to the Lord’s abode was treacherous, the ice and snow as vicious a killer as the beasts that roamed these lands. Every step was agony, pincers of ice drawing blood from my frozen flesh…and my body ate its own self for nourishment.

None of it meant anything to me, clear as I was in the realization of my goal. I sat at the foot of Kailas, preparing to meditate on the God who dwelled on its peak.

I closed my eyes a saint, and the energies of my Brahmin soul in the realization of Shiva. I would not open them till that realization was complete.

I did not sense the passing of years, or the shifting seasons, or the howling winds that flowed around me. My world was nothing but the name of Shiva, and his name was an endless universe in itself.

Finally, he came to me, the God of Gods who smiled in a manner as enchanting as an infant’s.

“Ram,” he said, “Son of God…ask as an equal.”

I did not fathom the meaning of his words. But my palms folded in supplication.

“Point me towards cruelty and injustice,” I said, “and give me the power to end all that threatens this earth.”

Shiva smiled, “You ask for nothing but the purpose of your birth, and it is my honour to help you realize that.”

Something glowed at my feet, seemingly birthed from the energy of Shiva’s own luminescence. I looked down, fascinatingly drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

I looked at Shiva, who nodded.

The glow subsided, and on the ground lay the largest axe I had ever seen. Its blade glinted in the sun, as bright as the crescent moon on Shiva’s own head.

“That is Parashu,” He said, “a weapon forged of my own being, powerful enough to slice a star in half.”

I held its handle, feeling its energies embrace me, the feeling of unadulterated power flowing through me. And I felt it ignite the blood in my veins.

“It will glow red to signal the presence of evil,” said Shiva, “and it will never lead you awry.”

I lifted the axe, feeling it become part of me. I felt my body expand…the muscles swell gigantically. I was complete.

“No longer are you simply the son of Jamadhagni, no longer are you Ram,” said Shiva, as the heavy weapon glowed white hot in my hands. Incredibly, I felt nothing but the warmth of His voice.

“With the Parashu, you are the avenger of injustice….with the Parashu, you are Parashuram.”

I closed my eyes in obeisance to the Lord.

He smiled, “I give you now the Sharanga, the bow of Vishnu,” he said, “for are you not the all preserver now?” I blinked, unable to understand his words. The bow of Vishnu? A weapon as unequalled as the giant axe in my hands…

I had been blessed by the foremost of Gods.

Shiva’s voice rang in my ears, “Remember Parashuram, the axe can only sense the presence of threat…it is up to you to understand its meaning.”

I kneeled before him, as his form faded from view.

I turned back towards the white world stretched out in front of me. Mother Earth, your saviour had arrived.

I raised the Parashu with a roar and brought it crashing to the earth. And the earth split under its power…shock waves racing across the land for miles. Mighty peaks shuddered at my blow, as tones of snow thundered down the icy cliffs.

I smiled…the axe was already glowing red. I had work to do.

 

I returned home in jubilation to find the hermitage in ruins. The forest of plenty was burned black and only the sounds of crows filled the air. There was nothing left of my home, nothing left of my father’s dreams except for the ashes that now rose to the air as smoke. The wind carried the scent of death, and I knew that death to be my father’s.

In the clearing that was once my home, and now reduced to a smoking crematorium, sat my mother…weeping beside the headless corpse of my father.

Something within me died that moment, the death of all that had been Ram. All that was left was Shiva’s warrior.

My mother beat her breast at the sight of me, her wails of lament scorching my soul.

Karteevya Arjun, the Kshatriya king…the slayer of my father.

News of my realization of the Lord had reached my father, and he had held a feast in celebration. A feast for all…kings and paupers alike. And he had fed them all through the blessings of Kamdhenu, the divine cow of plenty. The king claimed this miracle for his own, and when bribes of wealth did not suffice…the mongrel dog cut off my father’s head.

And my mother kept my father’s corpse thus, waiting for my return, denying him the sacred fire before it had ignited the fire within me.

A king that was supposed to be the protector of Brahmins…a giver of gifts…had snatched from us…and spilled our blood…for his own selfish ambition.

My mother beat her breast twenty one times, wailing to incoherence as she beat her wrists to the ground. Mother…and Earth Mother…I shall avenge you both.

The Parashu seemed to grow in my hands…and its proud blade glowed furiously with the color of blood. Aye, there would be more blood spilled before this day ended.

I ran to the palace, screaming the name of the foul tyrant. My rage found voice in the axe’s hum…as it fed on my wrath…seething with energies previously unseen on this earth.

I raised my axe and smote the ground…and from my feet formed a chasm, racing through the land….splitting asunder the city of Karteevya Arjun.

The armies of the evil king rode out, intent on destroying me. And he rode in front of it…the king of a thousand arms…the warrior that had once bested even the demon lord Ravana. It was said that there was none on earth that was his equal in strength or valour and perhaps in arrogance as well. To me, all that mattered was his evil…for that too was unmatched on this earth.

“Leave my city, o Brahmin,” he said, “lest I forget the sanctity of your birth.”

I smiled, “Do not hide your fear behind a pretence of Dharma…for we both know you have abandoned it already.”

“What do you seek?” he asked, his face now a dark mask of anger.

I said nothing, but he read the fire in my eyes.

“Very well,” he said, and then to his army, “take him.”

To their credit, they tried. An army that could have conquered the earth rode at me. I do not know how many died that day…but I do know that none remained standing at the end of it. The bow and axe of the Gods sang my song of vengeance, and no mortal could stand in its way.

Then, having spilled the blood of all they lay between the king and me, I turned to him once more.

“Know this o King,” I said to him, “my vengeance will not be over with your death.” I stepped towards him, even as the thousand armed giant leaped from his chariot.

“Twenty one times did my mother beat her breast, and twenty one dynasties of your clan shall fall before my blade.”

He smiled, as he swung his mace, that was larger than any tree of the forest, “Let us see you count to one first.”

It was the same mace that had smote Ravana to earth, and wielded by the giant king, it held more power than the Vajra of Indra. And for a moment I faltered…as I gaze upon his terrible form…his thousand arms like gigantic creepers on his oak like body.

And then I heard the song of blood flow as fire within me….and that moment passed. And we charged at each other…screaming.

Fighting him was like hacking at a gigantic mythical monster…of adamantine frame and arms that attacked me from all around, swarming like mighty serpents. But all I saw was the heart beating inside him…a dark red jewel in a sea of scarlet.

In the end, he fell…and the earth shook under his titanic weight, his mighty form devoid of all his arms…each hacked apart by the blood-ringed axe. They lay strewn on the ground around his body, and I felt the pleasure flow through me, having robbed him of his dignity.

I swung the Parashu in my hand. Count to one, he had said? One down….twenty one generations to go!

 

It has been countless centuries since that day. Twenty one generations of evil have I hacked apart…and yet the Parashu glows even redder….and hot like the heart of a star. My palms are callused, and perhaps my bones grow weary…but the axe drives embers of pain within me…reminding me of my purpose. And I remember my promise to the Lord. It is my burden to carry…as only I can.

In my travels, I reach the sea…and the sight of it soothes me. I see the blood-axe at my side, smouldering red with heat. I wash it in the river, trying to cool it down. The waves rise up alarmed…and the water foam with sudden fury. Only it’s not fury, but fear. Even the sea fears my wrath, and shrinks away from me…revealing a stretch of extended coastline, running as far as the eye can see.

“Why do you fear me?” I ask, almost weeping “My destiny is to protect you…I am your avenger.” My pleas go unheard…and the sea falls away from me.

This then, is my burden. To be feared even by those I love…and all the while the red glow of the axe warns of the rising threat to this earth. It has never glowed this way before, and no matter how many tyrants I slay…how many of the Kshatriyas I destroy…the axe continues to blaze stronger than ever.

I have travelled the earth searching for the demon that scares my axe so…but I have not found him as yet. But the pain keeps me firm on my path.

A millennium has passed. My mind is ancient now…though the strength of my arms has not faltered with time, and nor has the fire in my soul. My search for the evil goes on. The axe is fully red now…a reminder of my righteous wrath. I have to find the reason for this glow, if it’s the last thing I ever do. Perhaps with its end, I can bring an end to this endless cycle.

One more then…to complete the circle begun with Karteevya Arjun…!

 

And then I hear the sky itself being rent apart…and the axe falls from my grip. In my mountainous abode, boulders tumble into the valley below…and the earth quakes as if struck by a fist from the heavens. The Sharanga tremors in my grip…and in that tremor I see it all. The bow cries for its slain twin…the bow of Shiva…the Pinaaka. Each crafted for the supreme Gods…each a reflection of the other. And now the Pinaaka is broken…and the earth shakes in resonance. What manner of creature could break the bow of Shiva? And even as my heart recoils in horror, I see the Parashu smoldering on the ground. I know then who I have to seek. The answer to this ages log wait…shall be the breaker of the Pinaaka.

I close my eyes, and let the sound of the skies tell me the story of my foe. The son of the King of Ayodhya…a Kshatriya who dares bear the name of my birth…a vain prince who revels in his power by abusing the weapon of the Lord Himself.

A reckoning shall come, I say to myself…even as the axe burns into my flesh.

 

I stand in the path of the army, as I did so many years before. This time, I see fear in their eyes. They know me as the death of their kind…and with good reason. But they do not dare attack. The king comes forth, his hands folded in fear.

“Lord,” he says, “why do you seek to block our path?” I read the fear in his voice, but also the nobility in it. I feel pity for him, but the die is cast.

“I do not come for you, o King,” I say, “but the devil you have spawned.”

The king shudders, “Devil?” he asks, trembling.

“The one who dared break Shiva’s bow.” I flip the axe to the other hand, making my intentions clear.

“He is a boy, Lord,” pleads the king, “there is no evil in my son.”

I smile, “What does your kind know of recognizing evil? Bring forth the usurper and I shall spare your men my rage.”

I hear the soft voice before I see him, “Lord Parshuram, it is I who you seek.”

I look at him, the blue hued youth bearing a crown of nobility like none I have ever seen. And yet the axe grows hotter. I know this trail ends here…with this boy. A boy who broke the weapon of a God!

“You shattered Shiva’s bow,” I growl, “did you truly think there’d be no consequences?”

He answers calmly, “I am prepared to accept any punishment you see fit.”

“Punishment…?” I sneer, “is your arrogance so great that you refuse to even apologize?”

“There is no wrong that I have done…and if I had to, I would apologize to Shiva…not you.” I hear contempt in his words, and I know my search is done.

I shall hack his head off…but not before I hear him scream for mercy…not before he sees what true power really is.

“This is the Sharanga,” I say as I fling Vishnu’s bow at him, “test your strength on this.” I smile.

He catches the bow with ease…and I watch amazed as his young arms strain not the slightest in wielding a bow that no mortal can.

Have I underestimated my enemy?

His smile does not waver, as he strings an arrow to it. I see the energy seething around it…the Brahmastra…the ultimate weapon. Not even the Parashu can withstand it. And even if it did, the energy of impact would end this world several times over.

And yet I raise my weapon. It glows hotter than the sun, and the blood light on it is blinding. What is it telling me?

“Lord,” he says, “I have strung the weapon as instructed, and once summoned the Brahmastra has to fire. I do not wish to harm anyone, and yet I cannot return this weapon.”

The boy’s voice is sincere…I can feel the truth in his words…and yet the glow of the axe does not fade.

What do I do? Is he truly the threat that brought me here?

He looks at me, and our eyes lock for an instant.

Am I? He says within my mind.

The axe brought me to you…I don’t know why I answer…or how.

And what does that tell you?

I look at the axe, that reeks of blood. It glows as Shiva said it would.

Shiva also said that it would help you find injustice…but you would have to look for it yourself.

I have…all these years.

Truly?

What do you mean?

Who on this earth has spilled more blood than you Parashuram?

I do not answer that…the axe bids me to go on.

The axe warns you of a threat to this earth. Nothing more….

Then what is the threat?

Do you truly not know?

The axe…all these years at my side…glowing to warn me of a rising threat. And I eradicated countless lives to save this earth…to end that threat. And yet the axe just glowed even more.

Because the threat grew even more…the threat that was unstoppable…for it was blessed by the Gods…and its wrath had no equal.

The glow of the Parashu…it warned me of myself.

Shiva’s voice rang in my ears, “Remember Parashuram, the axe can only sense the presence of threat…it is up to you to understand its meaning.”

And in my thirst for blood, I never bothered to understand that meaning. The blood song was my own. I am the evil that will claim this earth, if left unchallenged.

And who can challenge me, but one as me? I know it now…the truth that has eluded me all these years.

My time is done, is it not? I ask him…

It is…but only if you see it as such.

I speak finally to the boy in front of me. “Let the Brahmastra take my power…and consume all the spiritual might within me. Let not an ounce of it leak into the living world. Let it consume as much of me as needed.”

“So be it,” he says, and the Brahamastra pierces my soul…drawing out the violence…and the madness from within me.

“Point me towards cruelty and injustice,” I said, “and give me the power to end all that threatens this earth.” My ancient boon…! As I surrender to the Brahmastra, I see the realization of the boon of Shiva.

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