Cañculā and Binduga

The village of Bāṣkala

Śaunaka, delighted by the story of Devarāja, asks Sūta for another that will deepen love for Śiva. Those who drink amṛta, he says, do not gain liberation by it, but the nectar of Śiva's story gives liberation directly. Sūta agrees to tell him something he calls confidential, because Śaunaka is foremost among Śiva's devotees.

Near the sea, he says, there is a village called Bāṣkala. The twice-born who live there have turned away from the Vedic way. Their minds run only on pleasure; they trust neither the gods nor destiny; they are crooked in their dealings, farm the land, keep all kinds of deadly weapons and go after other men's wives. Of knowledge, dispassion and true dharma they know nothing at all.

The people of the other classes there are the same, sunk in pleasure and neglectful of their own duties, and the women of the village too are wilful and unfaithful, without good conduct. That is the kind of place it was.

Binduga and Cañculā

In that village lived a brahmin named Binduga, a low and sinful man. He had a beautiful wife, Cañculā, who kept faithfully to her dharma. Even so he left her and, ruled by desire, took to visiting a courtesan.

Many years went by like this. Cañculā suffered in her loneliness, but for fear of destroying her own dharma she bore it and for a long time did not fall. In the end, though, worn down by her longing and shaped by her husband's conduct, she too went astray. She began to meet another man in secret at night, keeping it from her husband.

One night Binduga found her with him. He rushed at them in a rage; the man fled. Binduga seized his wife, shouted at her and struck her again and again with his fists.

Beaten, Cañculā grew angry and answered him without fear. You left me, she said — a young wife who was devoted to you — and you go every day to a courtesan as you please. Tell me yourself what becomes of a young woman abandoned by her husband. How was I supposed to bear it?

The bargain

Binduga, whom Sūta calls a fool and the lowest of brahmins, admitted that what she said was true. Then he made a proposal. Put away your fear, he said, and listen to what will profit us both. Go with other men freely. Please them and draw money out of them — and give all of it to me, for my heart is with the courtesan. That way both of us get what we want.

Cañculā heard him, was pleased, and agreed. So husband and wife came to an understanding, and both gave themselves to wrongdoing without any fear. A great deal of their lives, says the Purāṇa, was wasted in this way.

In time Binduga died and fell into hell. After suffering there for a very long time, he became a fearsome piśāca on the Vindhya mountain.

Cañculā stayed on in her own house with her sons for many years and went on living as before, while her youth slowly began to fade.

Gokarṇa

One day, as it happened, a holy festival came round and she went with her relatives to the sacred place of Gokarṇa. In the company of the other pilgrims she bathed in the water of a tīrtha, and afterwards she wandered here and there with her family, simply looking about.

In a temple she came upon a learned brahmin telling the pure and auspicious story of Śiva from the Purāṇa. At that moment he was describing what awaits unfaithful women in Yama's world, and the terrible torture that Yama's servants inflict on them there.

Cañculā heard it and began to shake with fear.

Cañculā's confession

When the telling was over and the people had gone out, she went to the brahmin alone.

I did not know my dharma, she said, and I have done great wrong. Hear me, and in your kindness lift me out of it. In my blindness I spent my whole youth in unfaithfulness. Now, hearing your words, I am terrified; I am trembling, and I have lost all taste for this world. Shame on me. For a little pleasure I did, without understanding, terrible things that destroy one's own good.

She spoke of what she saw ahead. What wretched state will I fall into, and who will stand by me there? How will I look at Yama's messengers at the hour of death? How will I keep my courage when they tie the noose round my neck? How will I bear it when my body is cut to pieces in hell? How will I get through a day now, or sleep at night?

I am ruined, she cried; I am burning; my heart is torn. A person pierced by a stake and thrown from a high peak suffers terribly — my pain is ten million times that. I do not think a hundred horse-sacrifices or a hundred years of bathing in the Gaṅgā could wash this away. What shall I do? Where shall I go? Who in this world will protect someone bound for hell?

You are my guru, she said. You are my mother and my father. I am helpless and I have come to you for refuge. Save me. And she fell at his feet.

The brahmin's teaching

The wise brahmin lifted her up with compassion. It is your good fortune, he said, that by Śiva's grace you heard this story and came to your senses in time. Do not be afraid. Take refuge in Śiva; by his grace all sin is destroyed at once.

Then he told her what remorse is worth. It is hearing Śiva's story that has made your mind repentant and clean and turned it from the pleasures of the senses. Remorse is itself the greatest expiation for those who have done wrong; the good have declared that it purifies every sin, and that everything the prescribed penances are meant to achieve is achieved by it. A person who performs the penances correctly and feels safe, but is not sorry, generally does not reach a good end. One who is sorry from the heart certainly does.

Nothing cleanses the mind like the story of the Śiva Purāṇa, he went on. As a mirror becomes clear when it is wiped, so the mind becomes clear through this story — and in a clear mind Śiva dwells together with Pārvatī, the Mother. That is why Mahādeva himself brought this story out for the good of all beings. Through it meditation on Śiva comes to fruit; from meditation comes the highest knowledge, and from knowledge liberation. Even someone who only listens, without meditating, gains that meditation in the next birth and reaches the supreme state.

Hearing is the seed, he said. Hearing, then turning it over in the heart and dwelling on it, purifies the mind completely. From a pure mind devotion to Maheśvara is born, with her two sons, knowledge and dispassion; and then by Maheśvara's favour comes liberation. So draw your mind back from the senses and listen with devotion to this story. One who thinks of Śiva's feet with a pure mind is freed in a single lifetime. I tell you this truly.

Having said this, the brahmin fell silent, his heart soft with pity, and sank into meditation on Śiva.

She hears the whole Purāṇa

Cañculā's eyes filled with tears of joy. She fell at his feet again and said with folded hands: I am fulfilled. Then she rose and, her voice breaking, asked for one thing more. You are blessed, she told him; you see what truly matters and you live for the good of others. I am falling into an ocean of hell — lift me out. The story that gave me this dispassion is the story I now long to hear in full.

With his consent she stayed there in his service. And there, in the great sacred place of Gokarṇa, that pure-minded brahmin told her the whole Śiva Purāṇa — the telling that increases devotion, knowledge and dispassion and gives liberation.

By her teacher's kindness her mind quickly became clean. By Śiva's grace she began to contemplate his form with attributes, and then, again and again, his nature as being, consciousness and bliss.

Her way of life changed completely. Every day she bathed in the tīrtha. She wore matted hair and bark cloth, smeared her whole body with ash and put on rudrākṣa. She repeated Śiva's name, spoke little, ate little, and served Śiva in the way her guru had taught her. A long time passed like this in meditation on Śambhu.

Śiva's world

When her time was complete, Cañculā, filled with devotion, knowledge and dispassion, left her body without any pain.

At once a divine aerial car arrived, sent by Śiva, the enemy of Tripura, and attended by his own gaṇas. She stepped onto it, and Śiva's attendants carried her straight to his city. Every stain was gone from her. She had a divine form, fair and radiant, adorned with heavenly ornaments, with the crescent moon as a crown on her head.

There she saw Mahādeva, the three-eyed, the eternal. Brahmā, Viṣṇu and the other gods were serving him; Gaṇeśa, Bhṛṅgī, Nandīśa, Vīrabhadra and the other gaṇas waited on him with devotion. He shone like ten million suns. His throat was marked with blue; he had five faces with three eyes in each, and the crescent on his head. He was white as camphor, dressed in white, his body bright with white ash, and at his left sat Gaurī, brilliant as a mass of lightning.

Cañculā was overjoyed. She bowed to him again and again, and then stood with folded hands, humble and content, tears of joy streaming from her eyes and her hair standing on end.

Pārvatī and Śiva called her near with great compassion and looked on her gently. And Pārvatī, with love, made Cañculā her own companion. So she came to live, unshaken, in that eternal abode of light and bliss.

“Where is my husband?”

Śaunaka asks what Cañculā did after that, and what became of her husband.

One day, Sūta says, Cañculā went to Umā, bowed and praised her with folded hands: Daughter of the king of mountains, mother of Skanda, beloved of Śambhu — you are served by Viṣṇu, Brahmā and the gods. You are both with qualities and beyond them; you are the subtle primal Nature, being, consciousness and bliss. You create, sustain and dissolve the world; you are the supreme power in whom Brahmā, Viṣṇu and Maheśvara have their place. Then she stood silent with her head bowed, her eyes wet.

Pārvatī, tender toward her devotees, said: Cañculā, my friend, I am pleased with your praise. Ask for a boon. There is nothing I would not give you.

Cañculā bowed and asked: I do not know where my husband Binduga is now, or what has become of him. In your kindness, find some way for me to be united with him again. He was attached to a courtesan and sunk in wrongdoing, and he died before me.

Pārvatī answered her lovingly, calling her daughter, and did not soften the truth. Your husband Binduga was a great sinner and his heart was corrupt. After death he fell into hell and suffered there for years beyond counting. Now, to work off what remains, he has become a piśāca on the Vindhya mountain. He is there still, living on air and enduring every kind of misery.

Cañculā was struck with grief for her husband. She steadied herself, bowed once more and asked: Great Goddess, be gracious to me and save him. By what means can that sinful man come to a good end? Tell me quickly.

If your husband hears the holy story of the Śiva Purāṇa, said Pārvatī, he will cross over all his misery and come to a good end.

Cañculā bowed again and again and begged that it be arranged for him to hear it.

Tumburu is sent

Moved by her repeated pleading, Pārvatī sent for Tumburu, king of the gandharvas, who sings Śiva's glory.

Tumburu, she said, you love Śiva and you know my mind. Go quickly with this friend of mine to the Vindhya mountain. A terrible piśāca lives there. Let me tell you his story from the beginning.

In his last birth he was a brahmin named Binduga, the husband of my friend Cañculā. He took up with a courtesan, gave up bathing and his daily rites, and lived impure. Anger clouded his mind until he could not tell right from wrong. He ate what is forbidden, hated good people, accepted tainted gifts, went armed and did violence, oppressed the poor and cruelly set fire to other people's houses. He kept low company, abandoned his wife, destroyed all his merit — and out of greed for money he pushed his own wife into unfaithfulness. He stayed that way until he died. He went to Yama's dreadful city, passed through many hells, and is now a piśāca on the Vindhya, reaping what he sowed.

Recite the Śiva Purāṇa before him with care, she said. Hearing it, his heart will soon be cleansed of all his sins and he will leave that ghostly state. When he is free, put him on an aerial car by my command and bring him to Śiva.

Tumburu was delighted and counted himself fortunate. He mounted the aerial car with Cañculā — whom Sūta here calls the piśāca's good and faithful wife — and Nārada's dear friend sped to the Vindhya mountain.

The recital on the Vindhya

There they saw the piśāca. His body was huge and his jaw enormous; he laughed one moment, wept the next, and leapt about. He was dreadful to look at. Tumburu, who was very strong, seized him by force and bound him with nooses.

Then, having decided to recite the Śiva Purāṇa, Tumburu prepared a festive ground and built a pavilion. Word spread swiftly through all the worlds that, by the Goddess Pārvatī's command, Tumburu had gone to the Vindhya to tell the Śiva Purāṇa in order to save a piśāca. Eager to hear it, many gods and sages hurried there, and a wonderful, auspicious assembly gathered on the mountain.

Tumburu seated the piśāca, still bound, on a seat. He took up his vīṇā and began to sing the story of Gaurī's lord. He told the Śiva Purāṇa clearly from beginning to end — the Māhātmya, and then from the first saṃhitā through the seventh.

Binduga set free

All who listened were fulfilled. And the piśāca, having heard that most holy Purāṇa, washed away all his sins and gave up his ghostly body.

At once his form became divine. He was fair and shining, dressed in white and wearing every ornament — three-eyed, with the moon on his head, in the very likeness of Śiva. In that divine body Binduga himself, together with his wife Cañculā, began to sing the deeds of Pārvatī's lord.

The gods and sages were astonished at the sight, and their hearts were filled with joy. Having heard Maheśvara's wonderful story, they went home to their own worlds singing Śiva's praise.

Binduga took his seat on the aerial car beside his beloved wife, radiant in the sky. Singing of Maheśvara, he soon reached Śiva's abode with her and with Tumburu. Śiva and Pārvatī received him gladly and with honour and made him one of their gaṇas, and Cañculā remained Pārvatī's companion. In that eternal abode of light and bliss, husband and wife lived together in the highest happiness.

This history, Sūta ends, destroys sin, delights Umā and Maheśvara, and increases devotion to them. Whoever hears it with devotion, or reads it with an attentive mind, enjoys many good things in this world and at the end is freed.