Week 4 Storytelling: Battle of Wills

Author's Note

I'll be honest, I did not like Viswamithra's character as portrayed in the reading I did this week, Amar Chitra Katha volume Vishwamitra: The King Who Became An Ascetic.

I found him to be overly egotistic, aggressive, and power-hungry. Initially, he seemed very wise and sage-like in the Ramayana, so I was interested in reading more about him. He seemed a little stern, but certainly not as power-obsessed as he was portrayed in the Amar Chitra Katha.

However, there were certainly segments to his story which caught my attention. Namely, his battle with Vashista and when he created a new heaven for a selfish king. I think I could have made sage-on-sage battle pretty cool, with the spells and danger, but ultimately, I did not have enough dramatic conflict to really capture me.

This story, however, has all that. Our hero is not someone who we initially root for. He is doing a morally questionable task for morally questionable reasons. Viswamithra wants to send King Trisanku to heaven solely so that he can prove how powerful he is, while Trisanku wants to go to heaven before he even dies, simply because of his own selfish reasons. Multiple sages and even the Gods have already denied Trisanku entry, citing his moral ineptitude. But that does not stop Viswamithra. Stubborn, aggressive, and ultra-competitive, Viswamithra promises to get Trisanku into heaven no matter what.

Battle of Wills

The yogic circle of candles and incense spiraled in a brilliant mandala. Trisanku, the fallen king, huddled meekly in the middle of the sacred circle. He looked so alone, and so unspeakably ugly squatting there on the dirt. His skin was grimy, covered in ash, his hair unkempt, his cheeks shallow. Viswamithra could see his bony frame beneath a taut layer of sooty skin. He was an untouchable, the lowest caste.

Viswamithra pitied the man. Trisanku had once been a powerful king, before that terrible, no-good sage Vashista and his sons had transformed him into an untouchable. Viswamithra hated Vashista. He'd humiliated him. Twice. That short-sighted fool, he thought bitterly as he recited the ceremonial mantra, calling upon the aid of the Gods. That self-righteous moron. Mark my words, Vashista, I will surpass you. 

He would start with Trisanku. Vashista had ignored the king's plea. Viswamithra was determined to aid the king at any cost. I will do what you cannot, you pious prick. 

He clasped his hands in prayer and channeled his spiritual power into his throat, imbibing his words with divine energy. He could sense his voice carrying out over the heavens. With a final syllable, he raised his hands to the sky and shouted, "Gods! Hear me now! Accept this man, King Trisanku, into your heavenly realms! I command you!"

He waited for a moment in ever more frustrating silence.

"Bah," Viswamithra exclaimed. "The Gods are testing me. Testing you, I mean."

The king looked crestfallen. "I appreciate that, lord sage, but look at me. Vashista and his foul sons have turned me into an untouchable. I am shunned by my family, my kingdom, and now even the Gods have turned their backs to me. I fear that I will never reach heaven in this current body of mine."

Viswamithra slapped the sooty king. "Do not fret, fair Trisanku, for I shall send you to heaven myself if I have to."

Trisanku looked up at him in shock. Then he smiled through his grungy beard. "Oh thank you, thank you, wise Sage Viswamithra!" He began kissing Viswamithra's feet. His grovelling made Viswamithra feel good, like a proper sage.

Viswamithra had cultivated a massive reserve of spiritual power over his many years of intense meditation. He could feel it stirring within his psyche, a vast ocean of holy energy, swirling through his chakras, spreading behind his eyes and the palms of his hands.

With a single flick of his holy finger, Trisanku began to rise. As he rose, the ash and soot sloughed off his body, and steadily his features regained their former regalness. As the king rose higher and higher, Viswamithra felt his energy slowly trickling away, sand through a sieve. But still, he had so much more within him. Who's the superior sage now, Vashista?

With a surge of his sagely power, Viswamithra hurtled the king skyward. He lost sight of him among the clouds, but he could feel the tug of the king's weight on his chakras. Further. He pushed, expending even more power, and finally he felt the weight lighten. Trisanku had reached heaven. All thanks to me. Not the Gods, not Vashista, but me. 

But the clouds above him parted, and there he saw the king's limp body, no more than a speck against the sky, plummeting downward. Infuriated, Viswamithra redirected his energy to his eyes, and instantly the world took on a sparkling, ethereal quality. He could see heaven in the sky above. His spiritual sight allowed him to see the heavenly gates, and all the gods assembled before them. They stood side by side, arms crossed, heads shaking. The answer was a resounding "no."

Viswamithra became enraged. How could the Gods refuse me, the holiest of sages? All the spiritual energy he had amassed, all the prayers he had given them, and still they deny him? This was an outrage.

He caught Trisanku in the air and rocketed the king back upward with the invisible force of his will.

The Gods met him with a will all their own. Their power was formidable, a barrier strong enough to cause great thunderclouds to amass overhead. Viswamithra fought against them, pouring his vast reserves of energy behind his will, propelling the king upward mile after mile, then foot by foot, and finally every inch became a grueling battle.

Viswamithra felt his precious energy draining out of every orifice in his body. He began to feel like a sponge being squeezed beneath an elephant's foot.

Enough! 

He let the king fall, trying to think of a way to fulfill his word. I am a sage. I keep my promises. I help those in need. I am the best. 

He sat down in contemplation, crossing his legs, clearing his mind, and searching for inspiration. He began collecting what was left of his spiritual energy, as King Trisanku continued to fall.

It came to him like a lightning bolt. A Vajra. He gathered up all the energy that remained to him, concentrating it into its purest form. It became so blindingly bright inside him that he had to open his eyes for fear that he would be blinded and never be able to look inward again.

He saw Trisanku falling. A few seconds more, and the king would be no more than a royal puddle on the ground.

Viswamithra called forth his great well of energy. The torrential ball of pure spiritual power engulfed Trisanku, warping the very air around him, bending reality inside itself like a ball turning inside-out.

And then, in the blink of an eye, it dissipated, leaving behind a spherical hole in the world.

"Be at peace, my friend," Viswamithra uttered in prayer, exhausted from the effort. "If the Gods will not accept you into their heaven, I hope that you will find salvation within the heaven that I have created for you. Enjoy your eternal paradise, and know that Viswamithra keeps his promises."

Viswamithra stayed in meditation for three more years before he moved or spoke again. He was too drained to do much else. He had expended the last of spiritual power (and then some) to create a new heaven in the sky above, and to send Trisanku there. It would take many years of intensive austerities to regain all he had lost, but he was determined to grow stronger still.

I will surpass you, Vashista. 


Image: Indra and Viswamithra fighting over Trisanku: source