Shakti: The Feminine Divine (11 page)

‘Surely there has to be a more expedient way that does not rely on chance or individual error, the greatest enemy of well-laid plans? You are the king and, as you said, nobody else deserves to sit on the throne of heaven. If you have identified a threat to your august person, then you are well within your rights to eliminate it as you see fit.’

Indra replied, ‘You are right, of course, the simplest course would be for me to kill him as quickly as possible, and good riddance! But he is a Brahmin, and I would incur the dread sin of Brahmahatya. I will probably lose my powers by killing Trishiras. It is also possible that I will be playing right into the hands of my enemies with a drastic move like that, and Twastha and his wife will probably laugh themselves sick at my funeral.

‘It is one thing for me to kill Trishiras if he were to challenge me to a fight and threaten me directly. But it is quite another if I were to take his life when he is reciting prayers in a drunken stupor. My legacy will forever bear the stigma of having killed an unarmed Brahmin and an innocent one at that. The gods and men will spit upon my name. The two of us will be reduced to roaming the three worlds as aimless beggars.’

Sachi wished he would stop including her in his doomsday prophecies, but she merely said, ‘There are times when I am tempted to sew your lips together just to get you to quit the
torrential twaddle that gushes endlessly out of your mouth! Of course I know all about the so-called unforgivable sin of Brahmahatya! The way I see it, Brahma came up with that crock of crap to protect himself from his foes and I doubt his words have power, given that ascetic merit notwithstanding, they were self-serving and thoroughly unworthy. Can’t you see past the flimflammery and the clever chicanery? Brahma cannot hope to be a true warrior like Shiva, Vishnu or you, because he has gone flabby from sitting on his hands too much, and this is how he seeks to insure himself and others like him against their stronger counterparts.

‘Why are you hesitating to act when there is so much at stake, because of an unfounded fear over some nonsense Brahma uttered a long time ago? That’s so foolish! Besides, everybody knows that you are a great friend of the Brahmins. You protect them from the asuras when those godless heathens attempt to desecrate their sacrifices. They are so grateful for your efforts that they worship you, perform sacrifices for your continued well-being and make over a lion’s share of holy offerings to you. It is their wish that you always stay in power and it is doubtful that they’ll hold the death of a half-breed, born to an asura whore, against you.’

‘That is all well and good,’ Indra began doubtfully, ‘but even if you are right about Brahmahatya being nothing more than a ruse of the Creator, there is still the ethics of all this to take into account. As of now, Trishiras has done nothing to threaten or harm me. Mostly, he seems to want to steer clear of the power struggles that can make sinners out of saints. Now, if I were to kill somebody like him without prior provocation, my actions would be strongly condemned and rightly so. Even my staunchest advisors would look askance at my killing
someone simply on a whim. If I were to act upon your advice, my reputation would be in tatters.

‘Take the recent Madhu and Kaitabha slaying for instance… the three worlds are singing the praises of Vishnu and the Goddess Durga for their heroic feats. The latter, especially, has been praised for her adroit manipulating of a situation that had left even Vishnu dumbfounded. She is like a juggler, who successfully balances so many balls in the air for the longest time. My point is that the lustre on the goddess would diminish if she were to begin using her formidable arsenal to kill without any discernible reason. History will never forgive me if, unlike her, I attack and kill at my own discretion.’

Suddenly, the temperature in the room plummeted and Indra realized too late that he had just praised his wife’s pet peeve. How he dreaded that tongue of hers, which was far more lethal than any weapon in his own fabled arsenal! Sure enough, Sachi was glaring at him in cold fury.

When she spoke, her voice was a spiked whip dipped in venom, ‘There is no history, only stories. And the beautiful thing about stories is that they can always be rewritten to suit the need of the hour. As regards the immediate threat facing you, I cannot comprehend why you are being so squeamish when all you have to do is hurl your vajra at Trishiras, so that we can put this nasty business behind us. Twastha and his wife will be so grief-stricken that they will never threaten you again. Or, if we are lucky, they may just pine away and allow an early grave to claim them. In addition to this veritable trifecta of good fortune, your ruthlessness will serve as a deterrent to future offenders and buy us precious years of peace.

‘It is ridiculous to allow a pestilential conscience to stand in the way of personal well-being. You keep harping that
Trishiras has not injured you in any way, even as he sits lost in meditation, allowing his powers to fully bloom before he can sever your head and have it mounted. In a hunt, it is not advisable to allow the prey to chomp on a body part as a means of demonstrating moral fibre before launching an attack. The good hunter tracks down his quarry and puts an arrow in its heart, regardless of whether it is eating, sleeping or fornicating at the time!

‘All this talk of ethics is most unlike you! Maybe you hope that a hero would emerge from the morass of your need and fight your battles for you. This is what you get for behaving like a vapid princess in a fairy tale and relying so heavily on Vishnu to bail you out, all the time. Your crown jewels have withered away and the precious reputation you care so deeply about is marred by the popular assumption that you are good for nothing, piggybacking your way to glory on Vishnu’s able shoulders.’

Sachi’s words were meant to galvanize Indra into anger and violent action, smashing the lethargy that seemed to have crept up on him. Her husband flushed with repressed fury and his hand clenched the goblet he was holding, as though he meant to smash it over her skull. Sachi met his gaze, coolly daring him to act on his impulse. Indra stared at her for a sullen moment before looking down and lapsing into a morose silence.

Snapping out of her frustration, Sachi sorted out her head. Indra’s ego had already taken a beating and she did not want to leave him too damaged to be of any use to her. After careful consideration, she addressed the ineffectual blob reclining on her couch. If her husband wanted a concrete excuse to kill Trishiras without getting his pristine white hands too dirty, then she would give him one.

‘Perhaps you are right not to kill Trishiras without an excuse, but one could be arranged…’ Sachi began in a conciliatory tone. Her voice grew stronger when she realized that her better half’s interest was piqued. ‘As you know, conventional wisdom has it that it is important to keep one’s enemies close. Therefore, you should approach Trishiras and employ him in the cause of the devas. We can always use a Brahmin for performing the rites and rituals that need to be carried out for our continued prosperity.

‘Brahma has been lecturing you for the longest time to mend your relationship with Twastha, and it is the perfect time for you to oblige. It will be seen as a conciliatory gesture towards your old foe, demonstrating nothing more than your genius for diplomacy. Nobody will suspect that anything is amiss. But of course, if Trishiras were to prove himself to be his mother’s son and were tempted to bite the hand that feeds him by secretly offering worship on behalf of the asuras, nobody would blame you for losing your head over his betrayal and relieving him of his three heads.’

Indra’s eyes flared back to life and a sly smile appeared suddenly on his lips, restoring his face and form to their full splendour. Sachi knew that her arguments had finally gotten through to him. She took a moment to congratulate herself on her sagacity. Of course, Indra had been looking for an incubator all along to breed his evil notions. He knew that she would oblige him to further their mutual cause. This way he could delude himself into thinking that he had the moral high ground and his soul remained unblemished by sin. Having armoured himself against his conscience, Indra was raring to go.

‘I knew there had to be a good reason for me to put up with that evil tongue of yours,’ Indra informed his wife with genuine
affection. ‘You are a genius, dear wife! By employing Trishiras, I can keep an eye on him and ascertain for myself that he has no designs on my throne. And if he does, then it is off to Yama’s abode with him. I don’t know what I would do without you!’

Sachi smiled in acknowledgement and pressed her advantage. ‘Remember how you said that your destiny is linked to Trishiras’s? You could be right. Perhaps he is destined to die at the hands of the mighty wielder of the thunderbolt. By releasing him from this futile existence and possibly from the endless cycles of rebirth, you would be doing him a favour and he’d thank you from Shakti’s bosom or wherever it is that souls go to die.

‘I did believe this new Goddess cult to be the work of charlatans, but that assumption may have stemmed from my own ignorance, since so very little is known about her comings, goings and doings. But if the facts are true and nobody is exempt from her ability to shroud reality in order to drive her herd along the path she has mapped out, then perhaps you are meant to kill Trishiras in keeping with her design. And by fulfilling your duty to her without question and stripping yourself of ulterior motives, no blame can be attached to you.’

Sachi had used words she had cobbled together piecemeal from the Shakta philosophers, who had suddenly sprung up out of nowhere, but her sardonic tone ruined the effect somewhat. Indra had listened, though, and was determined to act before he had a chance to change his mind. Contrarily enough, when Sachi had counselled him to kill Trishiras immediately, he had stubbornly stayed his hand, but when she changed tack and urged him to adopt a fresh strategy, he was chaffing at the bit. Either way, Sachi was pleased that his steely resolve was back and he had given up his hopelessness.

However, there was a catch. Sachi had suggested that they employ Trishiras, conveniently forgetting that it was Brihaspati who made decisions of this nature. Even his king dared not offend him. It could have been a dilemma but, as it turned out, Indra need not have worried, as fate pulled the strings.

One fateful day, Indra was engrossed in a dance recital put up by his apsaras. His glassy gaze was fastened on the terpsichorean beauty of the heavenly nymphs in general and Rambha’s magnificent bosom in particular, as they gyrated with a will of their own. The dancers were flattered by his rapt attention and exerted themselves to please him some more.

Brihaspati walked in just then on a matter of grave importance and tried to capture Indra’s attention. He might as well have tried to pin down one of Surya’s sunbeams, as his king and disciple had eyes only for Rambha. Some among the audience sniggered as the venerable old sage competed in vain against the nymph’s redoubtable gifts of nature for Indra’s time. Flushed with humiliation, Brihaspati walked out of the sabha in high dudgeon and no amount of begging and pleading would induce him to return.

Indra and the devas were completely at a loss and wondered how they had managed to displease their guru enough to make him abandon them to the mercy of their enemies. Utterly demoralized, they appealed to Brahma to show them a way out of their predicament. The Creator pointed them towards Trishiras who, he insisted, would take the devas to new heights of success.

Trishiras graciously acceded to Indra’s request and agreed to take up priestly duties on behalf of the devas. Twastha was thrilled that his son had finally won acceptance from his proud brethren and earned such an exalted position for himself. His
chest puffed up with pride and he was even heard saying that Indra had shown great discernment in reposing his faith in one so young.

Trishiras was a jewel among the gods. Prodigiously talented and considered the greatest mind of the age, he was as humble as he was gifted, an exceedingly rare trait that endeared him further to his new disciples. Small wonder then that he was fortunate enough to receive the love of almost all who knew him.

Indra’s duties required him to always confer with his guru before making any far-reaching decisions. It galled him that Trishiras, despite his tender years, seemed to be an ancient soul suitably steeped in the wisdom of the ages, which many attributed to his noble pedigree, seeing that he was a descendent of Brahma himself. Trishiras had already created ripples by performing yagnas unaided by the army of priests, who were usually needed to officiate at such shindigs. The celestials were mightily impressed with the three-headed wonder and Indra grew increasingly uneasy.

Trishiras had a winsome personality and was a placid soul with a gift for getting along with everyone around him. He seemed to genuinely like everybody and accorded the same respect and fondness for deva and asura, Brahmin and Chandala alike. Not surprisingly, he had even taken to Indra, who had murder in his heart. Sachi believed that Trishiras was too good to be true, and her husband was inclined to agree.

‘How can you be so bloody nice all the damn time?’ Indra enquired of Trishiras once. ‘It is unnatural! Is there nobody you dislike? I cannot for the life of me be that way. On any given kalpa, I encounter hundreds of people I’d like to smite to death with impunity, for they annoy me so… Surely, there must be
someone you do not like all that much. How about someone who wants you dead for his own peace of mind—an individual who approaches you with a smile on his face and a knife hidden away on his person, to be used later to stab you in the heart, when you are unwary?

‘It is impossible to be as uni-dimensionally nice as you…I refuse to believe it. Out with it—confess that you are a closet psychopath who, protected by a spell of invisibility, secretly ravishes women when he is not smearing the walls of his room with his own excrement.’

Trishiras seemed to take the question seriously enough. ‘I am not a serial killer or a madman and I certainly don’t derive pleasure from forcing myself on the fairer sex or taking up scatological pursuits. Even so, I am nowhere close to perfect. There is so much to learn and so little time left to do it. Do you know what I want more than anything else? I want to be the possessor of greater knowledge than anyone before me has had the privilege to own. It is a funny thing to want, especially when the little knowledge I have gleaned insists on pointing out that the more learning you acquire, the more it sheds light on the depths of your ignorance and the futility of attempting to fill that bottomless pit.