Every day is God’s day in India, it’s one of the things I love about that country. There is no separation between man and God; the presence of the Divine is accepted and acknowledged in every minute of the day.
Then there are festivals and birthdays and anniversaries of special events in the days of the life of the gods celebrated by us ordinary mortals here on earth. This month on the 14th night of the new moon during the dark half of the month is the MahaShivratri festival or the Big Night of Shiva. Shiva is my personal god, the image I hold in my mind as a personification of the Divine. He came to me via my late husband Ajay and our brother Gopal who is a worshipper of this God. I liked the sound of Shiva immediately, he seemed to me to be the James Dean of Gods. He is the God of choice for the misfits, the witches, the goblins, the youth and the holy men of India.
Here, in an excerpt of my book Chasing Shiva is the story of the wedding of Shiva and Parvatti as told to me many years ago by another friend and the people around at the time.
“Shiva is the God of the times, a god more personal than the surge of the tide or the lofty forests at home. Here was a god who howled and loved like tomorrow didn’t exist, who had his heart broken a hundred times when Sati burst into flames. A God who danced at funerals got stoned and forgave even the most hideous self-serving sinful lifetime for one act of perfect devotion. He felt a lot closer to my heart than Hosanna on high.
Fixing Shiva as ‘the thing which was not to be found’, I began to pester the locals in the chai shop for stories about Shiva. I wanted to build up a profile.
“Dhyana ji, why you want to look for Shiva?” Tikum pouts. “Every tourist girl comes here looking for Krishna. Krishna had sixteen thousand wives and never any complaint.” He puffs his chest out as if he has cast himself in the role of the lover of milkmaids. “But Shiva is also the great lover isn’t he? What about Parvatti?”
“I will tell you a Shiva story because Shiva is also my god.” He touches his heart with his hand.
“Tell me how he married Parvatti.”
“Aha!” he laughs, “This is a very good story of Bholenath!”
So, with Tikum beginning the tale, and the locals in the chai shop interrupting to stress a certain point or to participate, the story of Shiva and Parvatti and the wedding of eternity, unfolds. As each person picks up the tale they effortlessly slip into the role of the hero and become Bholenath for as long as they hold the stage.
Parvatti was born from the great chain of mountains, Himalaya and his wife Meena the heavenly being. Since she was the reincarnation of Sati, Parvatti was born with her heart set on Shiva. At first she swam the mighty Ganga every day to bring flowers to her beloved where he sat in a cave in Kailash in deep meditation. Shiva just puffed on his chillum and ignored her.
Then Parvatti left the palace in the mountain kingdom and dressed herself in the bark of a tree. She meditated for years in the forest, performing many heat generating austerities to win Shiva’s attention.
After a thousand years and some heavy intervention by the gods of love and desire, including Indra himself, Shiva’s heart melted. He fell in love with the most devoted of his devotees and the marriage was arranged.
When the day of the wedding arrived, there were great celebrations in the mountain kingdom. All the gods in heaven were present in their many aspects. They made a glittering sight as they marched across the celestial world to the wedding venue which had been especially constructed by the same architect who had built heaven.
Parvatti, as beautiful as the dew on a mountain range and anointed in oils, stood at her window with her mother, Meena, and watched the wedding guests arrive.
“How gorgeous!” said Meena when she saw a golden figure arrive, as handsome as the day, riding a white elephant and accompanied by a chorus of heavenly dancers and musicians.
“That is Indra, king of the heavens,” said Parvatti.
“Shiva must be even more beautiful then,” said Meena.
“He is to those who love him,” said Parvatti with a secret smile.
Mena waited a long time for a glimpse of her son in law. Eventually just as evening was about to set in, a roar arose from the outskirts of the kingdom. Shiva had arrived!
A savage swarm of goblins and witches, trolls and demons, lunatics with heads swivelling three hundred and sixty degrees all of them wildly intoxicated and behaving outrageously surrounded a beggar riding on a white bull. He was dressed in a tiger skin, smeared with ashes, his hair matted into filthy locks and he was obviously just as intoxicated as his hideous attendants. Mena could hardly believe her eyes. She motioned to the guards to remove this clown before the groom arrived in all his divine glory.
“Shiva!” cried Parvatti, her face luminous with love.
Meena felt as if she had been slapped. Promptly renaming her daughter Uma (Oh No!), she ordered the palace gates slammed shut in Shiva’s face and declared the marriage “Off.” Parvatti prayed to Shiva to appear as the groom everyone wanted to see and the next day he appeared as a golden skinned youth dripping words of honey to his mother in law.
“So Parvatti won Shiva and they went to live in Kailash.” Tikum concludes. “Did they live happily ever after?” I ask. “Shiva is Shiva and Parvatti is Shakti. It is necessary that they fight and make love in equal balance.” My first clue, Shiva is the Shamanic god of the heart that is wild and free. But to find him, one must endure fire.