The Birth of Bhauma

Nārada's question

Nārada had heard how the Goddess was born in the Himālaya's house and what her parents dreamed. Now he asked Brahmā about the other side of the story. What did Śiva do while he was parted from Satī? When did he come to the Himālaya for tapas? How did Śiva and Śivā come to argue, how was Kāma destroyed, and how did Pārvatī win Śambhu by her tapas?

Brahmā fixed his mind on Śiva's feet and gladly began. Listen with care, he said, to this pure story, which brings good fortune and makes devotion grow.

Grief, wandering and samādhi

Śiva had come back to his own mountain, and there the pain of separation took hold of him. He remembered Satī, who was dearer to him than life. He called his gaṇas together and mourned her before them, and spoke at length, lovingly, of all the qualities that had made her dear. The Purāṇa says he was showing the way of the world as he did so.

Then he gave up the conduct of a householder. He went naked, and wandered once more through all the worlds. But nowhere did he find Satī. So he, who is the well-being of his devotees, came back to his mountain.

There, with effort, he made his mind one-pointed and entered samādhi, the state that takes sorrow away, and he saw his own undying nature. So Sadāśiva — lord of māyā, beyond the three guṇas, unchanging, the supreme Brahman — stayed absorbed, and did not move, for a very long time.

The drop of sweat

Many years passed. At last Śiva let go of his samādhi, and at that moment something happened. Drops of sweat fell from his forehead onto the ground, and from them, at once, a child was born.

The boy had four arms and a red glow. He was very beautiful, bright with a splendour not of this world, and, the Purāṇa adds, more than his enemies would be able to bear. He went up to Śiva, stood before him, and began to cry, just like any ordinary child.

The Earth was afraid of Śaṅkara. She thought it over, took the form of a lovely woman, and appeared there. Quickly she lifted the boy into her lap and lovingly gave him her own milk. For the Lord's sake she became his mother in all truth; she laughed and kissed his face.

“He will be known by your name”

Śambhu, who knows what is within everyone and loves a little play, watched this. He knew her at once for the Earth, and he laughed.

Dharaṇī, he said, you are blessed. Bring up my son with love. This fine child has come from my own sweat, full of my power, and he was born upon you. He is dear to me. Yet he will be known in the world by your name. He will always be free of the three kinds of suffering. He will be a giver of land, rich in good qualities, and a joy to you and to me. So take him, as your heart wishes.

Having said this, Śiva fell silent. His pain at the loss of Satī, Brahmā says, had eased a little. And he adds: the Lord is in truth untouched by change; he only follows the ways of the world.

The Earth took her leave of Śiva and went quickly home with her son, very happy.

Bhauma

The boy was named Bhauma, “son of the Earth”. He grew to manhood quickly, and for a long time he served Śiva at Kāśī. By the grace of Viśveśvara, the Lord of Kāśī, this son of the Earth gained the rank of a planet, and went to a divine world that lies even beyond the world of Śukra.

That, said Brahmā, is what Śiva did in his separation from Satī. Now hear about his tapas.

Śiva comes to the Himālaya

Pārvatī was growing up in the Himālaya's house, honoured by everyone, and she had reached her eighth year. Śiva, still sad for Satī, came to know that she had been born there, and in his heart he was delighted by this wonderful play of hers.

Following the way of the world, he decided to do tapas to steady his mind. He took with him Nandī and a few other calm and worthy attendants and went to the peak of the Himālaya called Gaṅgāvatāra — the place where, long ago, the Gaṅgā came down from Brahmā's realm to wash away the sins of the world.

There he began. Master of his senses, never slackening, he fixed his mind on the Self: conscious, eternal, made of light, without flaw, without a second, pure awareness and joy. Nandī, Bhṛṅgī and some of the gaṇas sat in meditation too. Others waited on him, and others stood guard at the entrance. None of them spoke a word.

The Himālaya heard that Śaṅkara had come and went to him with his attendants. He bowed, worshipped him, and praised him with folded hands: god of gods, wearer of matted hair, yogī, lord of Kailāsa, bearer of the trident, lord of māyā, who gives tapas its fruit and puts himself in his devotees' hands. It is my good fortune that has brought you here, he said. Today my birth and my life have borne fruit. Think of me as your servant and command me.

Śiva opened his eyes a little, saw the mountain king, and smiled. I have come to your peak to do tapas in solitude, he said. See to it that no one can come near me. You are a great soul, a home of tapas, the refuge of sages, gods and rākṣasas, always made pure by the Gaṅgā, the king of all mountains. Do whatever is needed so that my tapas goes on without hindrance. That is the greatest service you can do me. Go home and arrange it.

What could I ask of you, said the Himālaya, when you, whom the gods cannot reach even by great tapas, have come here yourself? No one is more fortunate than I am; I count myself greater than Indra. Do your tapas freely. I am your servant.

He went home at once and told Menā everything. Then he called his people together and gave his order: from today no one is to go to my peak Gaṅgāvatāra. Whoever goes there, I will punish severely.

The mountain brings his daughter

Then the Himālaya gathered the best fruit and flowers and went back to Śiva, gladly, with his daughter. He bowed to the Lord, who sat deep in meditation, set the offerings before him, put his daughter forward, and in his heart gave her to him.

Lord, he said, my daughter is very eager to serve you, and I have brought her because she wishes to worship you. She will wait on you always, with her two friends. If you are kind to me, give her leave.

Śiva looked at her. She was in the first bloom of youth, her face like the full moon, her colour like the petal of an open blue lotus, her eyes wide — lovely enough, the Purāṇa says, to unsettle the minds of sages shut in the cage of meditation. The great yogī saw her and quickly closed both eyes, and went back to contemplating his own highest nature, beyond the three guṇas.

The mountain bowed to the silent figure with the crescent moon and the matted hair, and was unsure again. Open your eyes, he pleaded, and look at one who has come to you for refuge. Even the Vedas do not fully know you; they can only say “not this, not this”. Only your devotees, by your grace, know you. Hear your servant's request: let me come every day, with this girl, to see you.

Śiva opened his eyes, left his meditation, thought for a moment, and said: come and see me every day — but leave your daughter at home. Otherwise you will not see me.

The Himālaya bowed his head. Why should I not come with her? he asked. Is she unfit to serve you? I do not understand the reason.

Śiva laughed and answered. Do not bring this slender, moon-faced girl near me; I tell you again and again. The learned, who know the Vedas, call woman a form of māyā, and a young woman above all is an obstacle to ascetics. I am an ascetic and a yogī, never touched by māyā. What have I to do with a young woman? Such company quickly gives rise to desire; dispassion is lost, and tapas with it. You are wise and learned in dharma. Do not ask this again.

The mountain was astonished at these hard, desireless words, and stood silent and a little shaken. But Bhavānī had heard what the ascetic said and saw her father at a loss. She bowed to Śiva and answered him herself.

Her answer belongs to the next chapter, and the Purāṇa calls it a debate between Sāṅkhya and Vedānta, just as her father had dreamed. By the power of Prakṛti you do this very tapas, she said; I am that Prakṛti and you are Puruṣa. If you are truly beyond me, why fear to have me near? Śiva laughed, and let her come. From then on she went to him every day with her two friends, washed his feet, worshipped him and swept his hermitage, while he sat in meditation, looking at her and yet not looking. He resolved to accept her only when her own tapas had removed the seed of pride. That is how matters stood when the gods, crushed by Tāraka, sent Kāma to that peak.