Week 2 Storytelling: Bhagiratha's Resolve

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. 

Bibliography:

The Ramayana, a Shortened Modern Version of the Indian Epic, R.K. Narayan, 2006.

Daily Prayers: Mukam Karoti Vaachaalam, online

Prayers to the Sacred Ganga River, from Kalki Purana Chapter 34, online