Notes. I have omitted the story of the huntsman which is inserted into the story when the villagers tell Khullana about the power of Mangal-Chandi; you can read that in the online book. You can read more about the goddess Chandi at Wikipedia.
Summary: This story is about a woman who worships the goddess Mangal-Chandi, and teaches her son to do the same, and how the goddess rewards them.
Read the story below:
THE GODDESS WHO DEVOURED ELEPHANTS
(P. Ghose)
Khullana and the goddess
Ratnakar Sadhu was a rich merchant and had two wives, Lahana and Khullana. Lahana, being the younger, was the better beloved and, naturally enough, looked upon with no loving eye by her rival, the elder wife. Lahana always spoke ill of her to her husband and at last succeeded so far with him as to have the object of her jealousy banished from her home.
After many wanderings and hardships it came about that poor Khullana was forced to earn a scanty living by tending a flock of goats in a far-off country. She was always sad and her only thoughts were of her husband and the home she had been forced to leave behind her.
One day, whilst brooding over her hard lot, her ears caught the sound of cymbals and conch shells in a village hard by. Curiosity led her to the spot, for she wanted to see what pujah it was that the people were performing. She questioned them, and was told it was the goddess Mangal-Chandi (the auspicious Chandi) whom they were worshipping.
"What is this pujah for?" cried she. "What can the goddess do for her worshippers?"
"Anything and everything," replied they; "if you are poor and want wealth, if you are barren and long for a child, if you are down in your luck and seek after happiness, you shall have your wish, provided you worship Mangal-Chandi in due form and in sincerity of heart.
Khullana's son, Sadanand
This filled Khullana with a desire to worship the goddess. But she was so poor that she had not wherewith to perform the pujah. She had but nine grains of rice, a flower, and a few blades of grass. Yet she resolved to carry out the ceremony with these for want of better offerings. This she soon did, and no sooner had she opened her eyes after an interval of calm meditation than she saw her husband before her looking so penitent and asking her with many expressions of love to return home with him. Needless to say that she consented, and thereafter lived as happily as any wife might wish to do.
Years rolled on. Khullana gave birth to a son who was named Sadanand and who grew up a charming lad, the joy of his mother's heart. But his father was not there to share her joy, for it so happened that ere Sadanand first saw the light, Ratnakar had set out on a trading expedition to Sinhal (Ceylon = Sri Lanka) and had never returned.
Sadanand questions his mother
When the boy was old enough to learn, he was sent to the village school. There he made friends, as every boy does, and they used all to sit together and chat in the intervals of lessons.
One day they began to talk about their fathers, but Sadanand kept silent, for he had never known his, not even his name. Some of his ill-natured companions taunted him with being base-born, and as one whose father was, nobody knew who. Sadanand, pained at heart, came home, and shut himself up in his room filled with sorrow. His mother soon knocked at the door anxious to learn the cause of his grief. Admitted after a great deal of knocking, she hugged him to her bosom, kissed him over and over again, and fondled him; but for a long time he would not speak a word.
At length, "Mother," said he, "I have been shamed this day by my school-fellows. I could not tell them who my father is or what his name, and they called me nobody's child. Tell me who my father was, what was his name, and whether he is living or dead. If not, I stop in this room, nor will I taste of food until death puts an end to my misery."
Khullana wept, for grief weighed heavy upon her heart to be thus reminded of her husband who had not been heard of for many a long year. But she wiped her tears away to console her child with the assurance that he was the son of as good a father as could be wished for and referred him to her maid for his name (for wives do not utter the names of their husbands), and also told him—she could scarcely speak for tears—that he had gone to trade in Sinhal and since then had not been heard of.
The lad heard his mother in silence and for a long time did not speak a word; he was evidently deep in thought.
"Mother, where is this Sinhal and how far?" cried he, at last breaking silence.
"A long way off, dear, a very long way off," replied she, "further than I can tell."
"But I will go there, mother, in search of father; you will not prevent me?"
"Will you?" cried the mother in bewilderment, "you—go to Sinhal—impossible! It cannot be while I live." She clasped Sadanand to her bosom, filled with terror at the idea of losing him.
But he was a headstrong boy used to having his own way, so after a weary interchange of ayes and noes and coaxing, threatening, and weeping on one side and a display of obstinacy on the other, it was settled that Sadanand should go in search of his father as soon as Mangal-Chandi had been worshipped with due ceremony. The pujah, accordingly, was duly performed on the first auspicious day, and Sadanand straightway set sail in a fleet of seven vessels filled with merchandise.
Sadanand's father in Lanka
But now let us turn back for a while and see how matters had fared with Ratnakar Sadhu and why it was that he had not been heard of for such a time. After leaving home he had a prosperous voyage and reached the territory of the king of Sinhal long before he expected to. At some distance from the capital a very strange sight met his eyes. He there saw in front of him a floating forest of lotuses in a small river that surrounded the city; and there of a morning, in the bright light of the rising sun, there appeared the image of a young woman of transcendent beauty seated upon a large flower and holding a big elephant in each hand which she devoured and threw off alternately. The Sadhu wishing to make capital out of what he had seen hastened to the king as soon as he landed at the ghat of the palace, and told him of this strange phenomenon.
At first the king absolutely refused to believe his story, but on the merchant swearing to the truth of what he had averred and inviting him to come and see it for himself, it was settled that the king, attended by his court, should go down to the river side, but before doing so he threatened the audacious foreigner with severe punishment if his statement should prove false. And false it proved, for when the king and his court came to the spot indicated, nothing was to be seen—no maiden of transcendent beauty seated on a lotus holding a big elephant in each hand which she was devouring and throwing off alternately—not even the floating forest of lotuses itself. Flying into a rage, the king stripped the unfortunate Sadhu of all that he had, both on his person and in his fleet, and threw him into a prison there to atone for his monstrous lie.
Sadanand in Lanka
The story of Sadanand's voyage to Sinhal was his father's re-told. He too found the winds and tides favourable until they brought him to where his father's misfortune had begun, and he too saw the miracle.
Of course, he went to the king and told him of what he had witnessed. But in his case the king pursued a different course. The very mention of the phenomenon threw him into a rage and the fiat went forth to his executioner: "Go, load the Sadhu with fetters and cut him to pieces."
Sadanand in his distress besought the intercession —not of any mortal man but—of his tutelary goddess, Mangal-Chandi, whom his mother had taught him to love and adore. And the goddess in her mercy worked a miracle. The king was by some unseen agency induced to go to the ghat and from thence, as sure as the sun was in the sky, he saw with his eyes the maiden of transcendent beauty seated upon a lotus holding in each hand a big elephant which she was alternately devouring and throwing oft.
This was followed by a waking dream in which the goddess, Mangal-Chandi, appeared to him in person and bade him do no harm to Sadanand and his father. "For," said the deity, "they are my worshippers and beloved of me. If aught of further evil befall them through you, I shall spare neither you, nor your race, nor your kingdom, nor anything pertaining to you. Go and release them both; and give them what you have taken from them, and half your kingdom, and your daughter in marriage to Sadanand, my favourite."
The goddess vanished. It took the king but a few minutes to start to his feet, to compose himself, to run to the state-prison, to release the father and son, and to throw himself at their feet crying, "O, take all that I have, but save me and my race!"
Father and son return home
What followed can easily be guessed. The father and son met for the first time in their lives and their joy was indescribable, their merchandise was restored to them, and the good king gave Sadanand his charming daughter in marriage and half the kingdom for a dowry. What mortal could have pictured such a happy ending to their sorrows!
And then came the voyage homeward bound. Wind and weather were both favourable, and in far less time than they had counted on, they had their fleet moored at the ghat at home. Khullana was then worshipping Mangal-Chandi; and just as she was going to eat a mouthful devoutly and dutifully from the consecrated dish, some one near by cried out, "Khullana, Khullana, Ratnakar Sadhu and Sadanand have returned."
In a delirium of joy she thoughtlessly threw down the mouthful on the ground and hurried off to the ghat, but, alas, only to see the fleet with Ratnakar and Sadanand on board sink beneath the waves. Casting about in her mind as to how she might have transgressed, she remembered how she had thrown down the sacred food and had thus insulted the deity. Khullana was quick to recognise that in some way she had given offence to the goddess and that this was her punishment.
Filled with remorse she ran home, picked up the food, placed it upon her head and her heart, and ate it. Then she again hastened with all speed to the riverbank, and this time was rewarded by finding the fleet riding at anchor with Ratnakar and Sadanand on board, safe and well.
The misfortunes of the family were now at an end. Khullana took her husband and her son with his newly married wife home with all due ceremonies and observances; and by the ever-continuing favour of Mangal-Chandi, they lived happily together for many long years.
So ye all that have listened to this sacred katha, cry victory to Mangal-Chandi — ulu! ulu! ulu!
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.