After our darshan, I was moving with the others towards a large banyan tree under which Swamiji was about to begin his sermon of the day: the story of Ganga Sagar. The sun was strong but the tree’s branches provided the ideal cover so everybody was bunching up in the shade. Prahlad, Saroj and their children sat down in the front row beside Sarla Aunty, who was patting the sweat on her forehead dry. And Veeranwali Mataji, adjusting her hearing aid, sat behind them, as did Subhadra Aunty.
The front rows were thus occupied. Which was just as well, because Rashmi Masi said she couldn’t sit on the floor anyway and Mayank had only just found a plastic chair for her. We found a place at the back.
Gracefully crossing his legs, Swamiji sat down on the tree’s circular cement base. It made for the ideal podium. He then licked his lips. “Everybody comfortable?”
“Ji, Swamiji!” Srishti said.
Swamiji smiled at her, clapped his hands. “Sab ready?” And the hubbub of voices went down a decibel.
“There was a King Sagar,” he began, and the chattering now altogether ceased. “… And one day, he summoned his kingdom’s learned saints and astrologers to his court. He asked, ‘What punya karm [good deed] have I done to be king?’ The astrologers analysed his birth chart and said, ‘In your previous life, you were a jackal. In that life, somebody had abandoned a baby girl in the jungle, and you picked her up and reared her as your own child. And this girl, she grew to become very beautiful. So, one day, a king passing through the area decided to grab her. But you and your pack blocked his path.’
“You said: ‘O King, it does not behove you to take our girl like this! We are her parents and will not give her to you unless you first ask for her hand in marriage. And you must assure us you will treat her with respect and love, only then we will agree to this alliance.’”
Rashmi Masi was straining to catch Swamiji’s words. Mummy held out her hand: I’ll explain later. Mayank met my searching gaze and gave a wry smile. He motioned ahead: Listen!
Swamiji said, “The King, surrounded by all these animals, had to agree. He saw that the girl had the entire jungle’s backing. So he begged the jackal for her hand in marriage and the jackal agreed to give his daughter to him.
“The astrologers then told the King that of all the charities in the world, kanya daan” – giving your daughter away to her husband and his family – “was the biggest, and it was because of this deed that the jackal became a king in his next life.”
For some reason, mummy decided to give us an English interpretation at the back: “In our Hindu tradition, marriage is a sacrament,” she said. “Kanya daan is regarded as the greatest charity because a child who you’ve nurtured with your whole heart is given to the groom to raise his family.”
Veeranwali Mataji spoke up: “In our days, when a girl went to her husband’s family, other kinds of daan were also given: household items and utensils to set up the new house. People used to do chakki [flour mill] daan, or give a chulah [stove].” She sat back and gathered her knees together.
“Yes, mataji.” Swamiji smiled and the old lady smiled back.
“King Sagar then had a sudden thought. He said to the pandits, ‘Tell me, what daan can I do to become a king of the devtas?’ And the pandits said that if he did kanya daan of 60,000 girls, then his position as the King of Devtas was assured. And so King Sagar decided to undertake a great yagnya. But now” – Swamiji raised his eyebrows, produced his teasing face – “Indra got worried,” Indra, the King of Gods, whose weapon is the thunderbolt. “His seat was under threat.
“As the King Sagar’s yagnya progressed, the gods became pleased. But when he opened his mouth to state the object of his prayers, that he should beget 60,000 putris…daughters, just then, just at that instant” – Swamiji clapped his hands and looked to Srishti with playful eyes – “Indra struck his thunderbolt into the King’s mouth so that he could not utter the ‘I’ maatra,” the “I” vowel that turns the word putr – son – into putri – daughter. “And so the word which came out of King Sagar’s mouth was ‘putr’. And as a result, 60,000 sons were born to him!”
Srishti giggled and Sarla Aunty clapped her hands and there was the soft wind of murmurings that comes when a story has reached a pleasing denouement.
A small laughter escaped my lips, too. For this story showcased marvellous wordplay, didn’t it? It was mythology, but like all good stories, it sparked the imagination. Just like all those years ago while watching the Ramayana on TV the arrows of good and evil lit up the sky…
Mummy continued: “These 60,000 sons crossed all norms of decorum and even saints were not spared! … Then, one day, these Sagar Putras, sons of Sagar, learnt that there was a wish-fulfilling cow, the Kama Dhenu, with the sage Kapila Muni who lived in an ashram by the Great Sea. And so they reached Ganga Sagar.”
“Kapila Muni is one of the earliest rishis of the Satyug,” Swamiji added.
(As per lore, I should add that there exists an alternate version of this story according to which the prayer that King Sagar wanted to perform was the Ashwamedha Yagnya, the Vedic horse sacrifice, for he believed doing this would give him dominion over the entire planet. But Lord Indra hid the sacrificial horse near Kapila Muni’s ashram by the sea and when the 60,000 Sagar Putras discovered it there they mistook him as the thief!)
As per both versions of the tale, however, the Sagar Putras prepared to attack the meditating Kapila Muni. But before they could, the rishi opened his eyes emitting a terrific fire bolt and reduced the 60,000 of them to ashes.
Kapila Muni cursed the Sagar Putras that they would never be forgiven for attacking him. He said that for this sin even their progeny would suffer. Then, many generations later, one of King Sagar’s descendants, Bhagiratha decided to perform a Bhagirathaprayatnam, a penance of Himalayan proportions, to free his lineage from his, forefathers’ sins. Standing on one leg at Gangotri, he beseeched God to release the Ganga from the Heavens, and Lord Vishnu was so impressed that he sent the Ganga down to the Earth as a river. When the Ganga first descended, she came with such torrential force that the Earth was at risk of being obliterated. And so Lord Shiva stepped in to contain Her in his matted locks.
Watching the yaatris lap up Swamiji’s every word, a maze of thoughts passed through my mind:
Faith began with story-telling, but you had to know when to return to reality, no? At what point did this traditional love for the daughter become an excuse for women’s exploitation? How simple-minded these people were! Did you have to be so simple-minded to have faith?
Excerpted with permission from Tripping Down The Ganga: A Son’s Exploration of Faith, Siddharth Kapila, Speaking Tiger Books.
