Prologue
Our
story is set more than two millennia ago in the early Classical
period of India's history when the great Mauryan Empire was in
terminal decline. While the invasive Indo-Aryan culture had evolved
and spread across much of the country, there still remained many
isolated pockets which were free of the new influence and beliefs.
One such area was in the mystical Vindhya Range of mountains and
hills in west-central India, which is said to have acted as a natural
barrier to the spread of Āryāvarta1
to the south.
These low mountains, hills and ridges were inhabited by
several indigenous tribes – people who were the original residents
of the country. They included the Pulindas, the Sabaras
(Soras), Bhils, Mutibas,
Kirātas
and
others. Most of these people were skilled hunter-gatherers who also
practised agriculture, much of which was of the shifting
slash-and-burn cultivation type. Blood sacrifices were common
amongst the tribes to propitiate their gods.
[
1Āryāvarta
- Historic name for the present-day northern Indian subcontinent.
This is territory north of the Vindhyas ]
The Beginning
Tintino
had turned for home early today. The three green pigeons that he had
skilfully brought down would be a welcome addition to the dinner pot.
The sun was spreading its last orange glow as it slipped behind the
western hills when he reached the village. Tintino seated himself
near the campfire site and brought out his carving knife to add some
finishing touches to “the arrow”, ~ the one that he had
hand-crafted for days till its balance was perfect. The feathers
which helped to control the arrow's flight were very special. He
regretted that the the mighty eagle had to lose its life to provide
this necessary adornment. Tintino respected that great
hunter-in-the-skies, and admired its skill and strength. Moreover, he
had no interest in the tough meat and had left it for the dogs to
fight over. But he did not mull over the kill. It was not his nature
to worry about the good and evil of the hunt. It was their way of
life, and the only way he knew.
The
knife slipped, and the arrow clattered to the ground. Tintino
grimaced in pain, sucked the finger to control the bleeding, and
casually picked up the arrow wiping it clean as he did so.
He
was unmindful, and there was a good reason for it.
Tonight
his village headman would once again recount the tales from their
past at the campfire. The history and customs of their tribe were
kept alive for generations through the oral tradition of
story-telling, helping the birinda 2 to bond
together and forge their unique identity. Tales of ancestors,
bravery, victories, heroes, heroines, villains, gods, demons and
spirits filled such nights ~ flickering in the amber glow of the warm
fire. And there was no better story-teller anywhere than Matanga.
This was always a momentous night for Tintino because amongst the
many stories was a special tale. One that always made his heart skip
a beat and haunt him in his dreams at night.
[
2Birinda
- Extended family unit descended from a common male ancestor]
Meanwhile,
the crowd was slowly picking up at the campfire and the usual
chattering at such gatherings almost drowned the eerie call of the
resident owl from his high perch on the ancient Pipul tree. The azure
blue night sky had started to cloak the shapes of the distant hills,
and the sparkling stars added just the perfect touch to the
surroundings. Suddenly a hush fell. Even the owl was spooked, and
flew away on his giant wings. The whisper of the feathers only
reaching those who could hear the night.
Matanga The Great
Matanga strode easily to his place at the head of the campfire, his hunting-dog keeping step with him. Born to authority, Matanga had reaffirmed his claim to it all his life. There were few who were brave enough to speak in his presence, such was his aura. Strong, wise, compassionate, controlled, fearless and bold. These adjectives went well with the sobriquet ~ 'Matanga the Great'. The stories of his deeds were like folklore in their parts. Tintino was especially in awe of one of his feats ~ the time their leader stood his ground against the charging leopard and had calmly sank his spear through the gaping mouth of the fearsome beast. But it was his sagacity and cunning that really made him a visionary leader, enabling him to grow his birinda while maintaining order and peace.
As always Matanga's address got under way by remembering the
ancestors and paying tribute to them. The long migration of the tribe
through dense forests and dangerous terrain to reach their present
settlement was narrated in detail. The wars with man and beast catching the breath of the audience.
But
it seemed that everyone tonight was waiting for that one special
story. The story of triumph. The story of the buffalo-slayer!
The Legend
This special story invariably started with a small prayer, with Matanga asking everyone to join in with him. He then began to talk in his deep resonating voice:
“This
is a tale from our tribe told from a time many moons ago. My
ancestors had arrived here through their travels to find a place that
had well-watered and surrounded by densely wooded hills full of
fruits and wildlife. They decided to settle here to till the land and
garner from the forest. But there were many obstacles that had to be
surmounted first, none more difficult than keeping at bay the wild
beasts ~ the original residents of the area.
Many
lives were lost to tigers and other savage animals, and the crops
were constantly raided by deer, pigs, buffalo and elephants. But they
stuck on, slowly clearing the surrounding forest and building an
effective protection system of tall towers to oversee the crops at
night. Life was settling down, and the birinda was growing in
size and strength.
That
was when all hell broke loose.
Wild
Water Buffaloes, as we know, are powerful animals with unpredictable
temperament - and even the mighty tiger fears and respects them. They
are usually wary of humans, and we have managed to save our crops
from them through constant vigil and intent. But some amongst them
are particularly ill-willed and fearless of man. These are the ones
that we have to fight against and destroy if we want to save our
crops and cattle.
In the time I am talking about, there was one such animal in this area. An enormous rouge with a hide so thick that arrows bounced off it like they were hitting a stone. It destroyed our cattle, crops and people with impunity and made it impossible for our ancestors to live in peace. Many hunters tried to bring down this fearsome beast, but lost their lives at the tip of those wicked horns. People started thinking that this was not a real animal but actually the Demon in the shape of an animal ~ sent to wage war against humans. Many sacrifices were made to appease this malevolent spirit, but to no avail. Life here became unbearable and the elders started thinking of moving on to less hostile environs.
In the time I am talking about, there was one such animal in this area. An enormous rouge with a hide so thick that arrows bounced off it like they were hitting a stone. It destroyed our cattle, crops and people with impunity and made it impossible for our ancestors to live in peace. Many hunters tried to bring down this fearsome beast, but lost their lives at the tip of those wicked horns. People started thinking that this was not a real animal but actually the Demon in the shape of an animal ~ sent to wage war against humans. Many sacrifices were made to appease this malevolent spirit, but to no avail. Life here became unbearable and the elders started thinking of moving on to less hostile environs.
The Headman of the village was not one to give in so easily. He was of advancing age and was further weakened by disease. But he remained a formidable and fearless hunter. He had many sons. Some were lost in their formative years, and war and the buffalo-demon took away a few more. There was none left who were strong and brave enough to take on such a dangerous foe, so he had to go it alone.
It
was a dark and foreboding day with heavy clouds hiding the sun when
my forefather stepped out to do battle with the buffalo. His eldest
daughter took out her spear and prepared to join him. She was no
ordinary young woman. Her skills as a huntress were acknowledged by
all, and many thought that she possessed special powers. Plus, our
people in her time were much bigger and stronger than us. She would
have towered over me and could easily do battle with large animals.
It is the curse of the times and the malevolence of the unappeased
evil spirits that has made us midgets now.
“You
will not join me on this hunt, he said to her. This is for me to
fight alone”. His word was law, but despite that she pleaded with
him to take her along. “I will just watch your back and stay safe”
she replied but did not get his assent. His mind was made up. The
omens were not favourable, and the foe was crafty and indomitable.
Plus he loved this daughter with all his heart ~ she was everything
that his sons never were and her safety could not be compromised. “I
will be back before mealtime with the head of the enemy, you tend to
the safety and comfort of the others” were his parting words as he
crossed the thorn fence, never turning to give a backward glance.
They
waited under the Pipul tree till sunset for his return. Early next
morning she led a scouting party to look for her father. The found
his mangled remains near a dense bed of tall grass. The terror had
ambushed him in the slush, and he never had a chance to defend
himself or run to safety.
She
quietly picked up the Headman's spear while the others prepared to
carry his remains. Not a tear marked her cheeks, and not a sound
escaped her lips. Only her eyes started to glow a fiery red and no
one could look at them, such was the intensity and other-worldliness
of that glare.
The
next day preparations were in full swing to cremate the departed
leader. A council of the elders was also taking place to decide how
and when to shift the tribe to a place far far away from the buffalo
demon and his illusions. Plus a new leader had to take charge of the
tribe. No one noticed her absence as her opinion did not count.
She
quietly slipped out of the village at the crack of dawn the following
day. Her blood-bordered lotus eyes only intent on following the
tracks of her father's slayer. Her golden skin glowed in the first
light, and her abundant tresses flowed over her arched back like
waves of black pearls as she single-mindedly pursued her evil quarry.
No one would fail to notice the femininity of those broad hips and
thin waist, but they would also not have missed her man-like
shoulders and the enormous strength that flowed through the youthful
body. She was indeed the supreme woman, and she was out to destroy
the Devil and liberate her people.
Her
only companion this morning was her father's spear. Her mortal weapon
against an apparently immortal enemy.
She
finally came across fresh tracks that went past an escarpment. There
were older returning tracks too. She would not face him on his
preferred ground of slippery mud. She climbed over the stones and lay
in wait on firm ground for the buffalo's return. It would be a long
wait.
An
earth-shattering shriek broke the solemn quiet of the grieving
village. It had come from very far away but had echoed across the
hills. The cry had barely lost its intensity when sounds of heavy
commotion and agitated wild animal calls reached them. Some thought
that it was the end of the world, while others were filled with
dread. The more intrepid amongst them started to run towards the
source of the sound. When they finally reached, they found the ground
in turmoil ~ as if a hundred mad elephants had run roughshod over
it.
Beyond
the mayhem was a sight that seemed like a vision. There she stood
triumphant astride the vanquished Demon, her sweat-glistening body
adorned with a thousand pearls of light. The blade sunk deep in the
neck of the enemy had drained the last life blood out of the beast.
The Achilles' heel of the buffalo had been found, and fully
exploited. She had succeeded where many famed hunters had failed
over numerous attempts. It was not the act of a mere mortal, it had
to be a miracle. A miracle the likes of which had never been seen
before and never will be seen again. She had conquered the terror and
freed her people. The ultimate triumph of good over evil.”
Matanga's own emotions always took over at this point and he stifled it with a silent prayer. He gathered himself and moved on to conclude the story. He said, “While she is long gone from this earth, she continues to deliver us against all difficulties and eliminate our sufferings. We must seek her blessings every time we go out for the hunt because she will look after us.”
Matanga's own emotions always took over at this point and he stifled it with a silent prayer. He gathered himself and moved on to conclude the story. He said, “While she is long gone from this earth, she continues to deliver us against all difficulties and eliminate our sufferings. We must seek her blessings every time we go out for the hunt because she will look after us.”
The
listeners had fallen silent, each lost in his own thought. The
stillness was broken when a soft voice picked up from the fire-side.
“Grandfather, please tell us what the first person who arrived at
the scene saw”. It was Tintino's voice.
The old man suppressed a wry smile. He had been asked this question before by his curious grandchild, but it bore repetition. The original story, which had been moulded over time, did indeed carry a description of the hunt from the first man who reached the spot. The buffalo had still not given up its ghost and was game for the fight, as only severely wounded wild animals can. But it had lost a lot of blood and strength. What he witnessed was supreme power at work, as she held up the buffalo's neck with one hand and choked it to death. Her right leg pressing down on the haunch, and not allowing the massive animal to rise to its feet.
The old man suppressed a wry smile. He had been asked this question before by his curious grandchild, but it bore repetition. The original story, which had been moulded over time, did indeed carry a description of the hunt from the first man who reached the spot. The buffalo had still not given up its ghost and was game for the fight, as only severely wounded wild animals can. But it had lost a lot of blood and strength. What he witnessed was supreme power at work, as she held up the buffalo's neck with one hand and choked it to death. Her right leg pressing down on the haunch, and not allowing the massive animal to rise to its feet.
Tintino
Tintino was an unusual youth. He wasn't like the other young men of his age and shied away from wild merriment and physical games. He was an archer and an artist trapped in the body of an achiever. He would outrun anyone, out-shoot the best, but lose a wrestling match without putting up the semblance of a fight. In his spare time he worked on elaborate wall paintings and carved on stone and wood.
Tintino
had always wanted to do something special. Something that would mark
him out from the others in the birinda. In a society where
stripes were only earned by what you achieved with your weapons or
strength, his small successes with the bow and arrow had not drawn
more than an appreciative nod. He needed to do something more,
something that would benefit his clan and make them recognize his
potential.
A
suitable opportunity to demonstrate his skills had presented itself a
while ago. A huge wild boar had been raiding their crops at night and
everyone who had tried to bring it down had failed. The Gubu 3
had tusks the size of daggers, and despite its enormous bulk was fast
as lightening, and nimble as the gazelle. His depredations were not
restricted to crops only. Over the last few months he had gored a
hunter to death and severely mauled a few more. A clever animal, he
was hard to find during the day and used the cover of the night to
spread havoc.
[
3Gubu
- Wild boar ]
This
was a trophy animal then, one that would bring fame and recognition
to anyone who brought him down. The perfect target for our Tintino.
Having
set his goal, Tintino started tracking Gubu. He was certain that the
animal could not be defeated in the dark. He had to find its daytime
lair. One fruitful day his wanderings brought him to a wallow deep in
the forest. The tracks around the wallow indicated that the boar used
this place for his daily mud bath.
The
next day he came armed and approached the wallow with caution. Deep
satisfying grunts warned him that the bath was occupied. As he came
closer the boar became aware of his presence and charged with great
speed while uttering terrifying squeals. Tintino was adventurous but
not yet very brave. He lost his composure, dropped his bow and arrows
and barely managed to climb up the nearest tree.
The
process repeated itself over the next few days, and the time he had
inched closer he nearly lost his heels to the snapping teeth of the
angry pig.
Clearly,
this strategy was not working, but Tintino was not keen to disclose
the wallow's location to others who would have been more capable of
facing the enemy. This was his trophy, and his alone. And he was not
ready to seek help or share his find with others.
What
he needed was divine help. Help that would give him courage, and
protect him from his adversary. He knew where to get it ~ from the
buffalo-slayer!
Seeking Divine Intervention
It was not that Tintino had not been seeking her help. He had promised himself that every night before he went to sleep he would think of her and seek her blessings. But he was always too tired and his mind would not focus on her, and he would eventually drift off to sleep. He needed something more permanent as a reminder of her to prevent his mind from straying.For the next few days Tintino spent the daylight hours away from the village. He stopped hunting, and his family had to survive on gruel and what was shared by others in the birinda. His widowed mother started staying out in the forest longer than usual hunting for ant eggs and grubs to supplement their meals. Tintino would not give a straight answer to those who asked him about why he was behaving strangely. Things came to such a head that engaging the services of the village shaman seemed imperative to rid Tintino from the clutches of the malicious spirits.
[
4Shaman
- A person regarded as having access to, and influence in, the world
of benevolent and malevolent spirits ]
Ever
since that night under the Pipul tree where Tintino again heard the
legend of the buffalo-slayer, he had only one thing in mind. To
recreate a likeness of the supreme woman in stone while her memory
was still fresh in her mind. Creating a human icon was alien to the
nature or culture of his tribe. So he needed to do his work far away
from preying eyes. He found the perfect spot at the top of the hill
and the boulder to work on. His artistic skills came into play and in
the days that followed he shaped out her likeness from the heart of
the stone, unmindful of everything else. For him the lasting image of
her was what the first witness saw – the power or 'shakti'
which could squeeze the life-breath away from such an adversary. And
finally, after days, he saw her in front of him just as he had
imagined her.
The Hunt
The next day Tintino woke up early and went down to the water to take a bath. A single lotus had started to open its petals as the first rays of light touched them. The lotus-eyed one only deserved this offering. He plucked the flower out, and with a new found spring in his step quickly reached the little temple on top of the hill.
He
prayed the whole morning with a single mindedness that he had never
seemed capable of before. As he prayed, his courage and conviction
grew. She was with him and would help him succeed. When the clouds
parted and a shaft of light came and lit up the tip of “the
arrow” he knew that his prayers had been answered. Today would be
his day.
Once
again Tintino reached the brute's wallow at midday. From afar he knew
that the mud-bath was occupied. He stepped closer, gingerly, but
without fear this time and found that he had managed to make more
ground than before. The boar was almost within range of his bow. A
couple of steps and then Gubu charged. Was there a smell of
fear in the charge, a hint of uncertainty? You couldn't tell for
sure, but what you could was there was no uncertainty with Tintino.
Instead of turning and running for dear life, he held his ground and
let fly his arrow – straight and true till the point it entered and
pierced through the very heart of the pig.
Gubu's
last charge ended at the feet of the hunter. The victory against the
scrounge of the area was decisively complete and Tintino had finally
become a man. He stopped to pull out the arrow and took out his knife
to cut off pig's tail not forgetting to add a silent prayer of thanks
to his protector above. The tail would serve as a proof of his
success when he reached his village.
Epilogue
In time Tintino went on to become the Headman of the tribe. He knew that someone else had made that happen and never failed to climb up the slopes to thank her for her protection and love.
Others
soon started to follow his footsteps, and people from far and beyond
started to come and seek the blessings of the Mother to relieve them
of their miseries and allow them to enjoy their life. Her fame
quickly spread across the country, and her cult inevitably became
established in all parts of the land, her iconography changing with
the fresh influences and over time.
Tintino's
tribe called her Durgasum – we just happen to know this
Vindhyavasini5 as “Mahishamardini Durga”.
[
5Vindhyavasini
- She who resides in the Vindhyas. Also a name of a benevolent aspect
of Durga ]
--------------------------------------------------
Author's note (please read):
- This story is not based on facts. It is my own interpretation of common myths, much of which is sourced from unverified material freely available on the internet. It does not claim to have any religious or quasi-religious connotations. Any spiritual reference is incidental and germane to the story.
- Goddess Durga's historical origin appears to be among indigenous cultures of India. Her earliest references are from Central India which was populated by adivasi tribes such as the Sabaras (Soras), Pulindas and Mutibas during 1BE and CE1 – the time when the oldest icons of Mahishamardini Durga can be traced.
- The bulk of evidence suggests that the Sabaras may have been the most closely linked tribe to Mahishamardini. I have based my background around this tribe.
- The earliest sculptures of Durga depict the goddess with two or four hands, in hand-to-hand combat with a water buffalo.
- Her iconography evolved in the Gupta period and we can find examples of the goddess with 10 to 16 hands. By this time she was fully established as an independent deity in Hinduism having been assimilated in the Vedic pantheon.
- Durga's lion started to appear from the 6th Century CE.
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