Author's Note:
Phew, I typed 997 words out of the 1000 word limit!
This story is a retelling of the parable of Bhagiratha, who, through his indefatigable effort (the meaning of his name) created the river Ganges and brought peace to the troubled souls of his ancestors. This story really stuck a chord with me from the readings this week, and I was dying to tell the story of a man who could meditate for thirty thousand years.
I have always been drawn to subject of mediation, so I thought I might be able to impart some of my own experiences into the writing. I really tried to capture the internal realm that meditation brings us to the brink of.
I am also very proud of the pacing of this piece. I wanted to impart a sense of progress into Bhagiratha's journey, and really focus on the depths of his discipline during his path towards mastery. In the original source material, these steps were mentioned only in passing. I wanted the steps to take center stage in my story--surviving only on air or fallen leaves, these are the things that caught my eye, that gave me a sense of wonder while reading about Bhagiratha's meditations. I wanted to impart this sense of wonder in the reader. All of this, as well as my descriptions, with which I tried to paint a fantastical mental image in the reader's mind's eye, really pushed the word count. But I felt this was necessary in order to tell the story I wanted to tell.
Bhagiratha's Resolve:
The island was no more than six feet around. The ground was
sandy, yet soft. A single tree sprouted from the island, alone in the middle of
a vast lake. The lake spanned the summit of the mountain like a watery halo.
Bhagiratha had spent decades searching for just such a spot.
He
needed absolute seclusion to begin the meditation. If he proved too distracted
or his attention wavered even a millimeter, the gods would never bring his
ancestors to peace. That, above all, was his utmost goal.
Bhagiratha
sat in the lotus position, leaning against the ancient tree, and began to
recite his mantras. Over and over, he said the prayer to Shiva in his head.
Mukam Karoti Vaachaalam
Pngum Langhayate Girim
Yat Krupa Tamaham Vande
Paramanandam Madhavam
The
words soon lost all meaning, taken over by the rhythm of their sound. Soon, even
that became lost to him. His attention was honed sharper than the blade of any
knife, his focus all encapsulating. He felt the words etch themselves into the
back of his skull. He became the words themselves, and was lost to the world.
But his
stomach growled, and his eyes snapped open like two oyster shells. It had been
three days, he guessed by the position of the stars. Yet still, Shiva had not
answered him, and now his body grew restless. Even sages get empty bellies.
Resolved
that he should not leave his island until his ancestors were freed, Bhagiratha
scooped up a handful of fallen leaves from the ground and ate them. They were
bitter and did not go down easy, but he had complete control over his
body, and the leaves nourished him enough that he was able to continue his
prayers.
This
time, Bhagiratha meditated with his mouth wide open, and survived by eating the
leaves as they fell down into his mouth. He meditated, non-stop, for the next
ten thousand years in this manner. By the time Shiva finally appeared to him,
he had lost all sense of self and his beard grew down to the base of the
mountain.
“You
have been most pious, Bhagiratha,” Shiva said, his voice like liquid thunder. “I
have heard your prayers. But alas, I am not powerful enough to bring your
ancestors salvation . . . alone, that is. You must pray to Ganga, for only if
she descends here to this lake may your ancestors be saved.”
Undeterred,
Bhagiratha began chanting his new-found mantra, a prayer to Ganga, begging her
to come to earth and save his ancestors.
Sarvapapaharam Pumsam
Balam Ayur Vivarddhanam
Pratar Madhyahna Sayahne
Gangasannidhyata Bhavet
Soon, to his amazement, Bhagiratha
found that he no longer needed to eat the fallen leaves to sustain himself. His
meditations had become so second-nature to him that his body no longer used any
energy at all. His stomach was in just as much peace as his mind. He could
survive solely by breathing the air.
He continued in this way for
another ten thousand years, until a little girl appeared to him, standing
delicately upon the surface of the water, giggling. Her hair was a flowing
waterfall, which fed into the lake and made the waters swell, drowning his
little island and covering Bhagiratha up to his neck.
“Oh, Bhagiratha,” she said. “I have
heard your prayers, and I wish to help, truly. But alas, were I to come to
earth, there is nothing which could withstand it. My waters are too vast, my
rains too heavy. I am sorry.”
But Bhagiratha was not swayed. With
stoic determination, he continued to recite the mantras, praying to any god who
would listen. He attained such stillness of mind and body that his lungs were
content to rest, and he no longer needed to breathe. Without such distraction,
he attained still deeper levels of focus and was able to survive solely off the sunlight. The feeling of warmth upon his skin was enough to sustain
him for another ten thousand years.
Shiva returned to him. The god
appeared angry and resolute, his third eye staring at Bhagiratha with the
intensity of a thousand suns. Undaunted by his appearance, Bhagiratha pleaded
with Shiva to help him.
“I will do this thing,” Shiva
pontificated. “However, you must be the one to force Ganga’s hand. You must
hone your meditations further still.”
Bhagiratha had been meditating for thirty
thousand years. He was so old that his form was unrecognizable, almost wholly
submerged in the lake. Yet, so close to attaining his goal, he knew that he had
to continue.
He took up his mantra yet again, and this time
he became so enraptured by his prayers that they alone
sustained him. His body withered and became as dust. His mind lost all sharpness
and faded away. All that was left was his indefatigable purpose. He meditated for an immeasurable
amount of time, for time held no more power over Bhagiratha.
Ganga, unable to withstand the
might of his pious resolve, fell from the heavens. With her came a torrential
downpour so powerful it threatened to pulverize the entire earth with its
deluge, like a tsunami against a sand castle.
 |
| Bhagiratha's prayers answered: source |
But Bhagiratha had no fear. He
called to Shiva, and in an instant the god was before him. Shiva assumed a
perfect stance, his feet planted firmly on the surface of the lake, his
thousand arms clasped together in prayer.
The Pure One took the full force of
the planetary tidal wave upon his head. His third eye opened, and the tsunami
could not withstand the indomitable force of his gaze. The waters soaked
harmlessly into Shiva’s hair and flowed into the lake with no more than a trickle.
Overflowing, the lake spilled over the edge of the mountain, flowing
across all of India as the mighty river, Ganges. The holy waters snaked across
the land and purified the graves of Bhagiratha’s ancestors, giving them eternal
peace and salvation.
His task finally complete,
Bhagiratha relinquished his all-encompassing focus, and his soul melted into
the surrounding waters, following the course of the Ganges into heaven.
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