Gṛhapati, the Boy Who Became Fire

A wish too large

On the banks of the Narmadā, in the town of Narmapura, lived a sage called Viśvānara — a devotee of Śiva, pure, learned, master of his senses. He married a noble woman named Śuciṣmatī, and for many years they kept the household fire, the five daily offerings, and honoured gods, ancestors and guests.

One day Śuciṣmatī said to him: by your grace I have known every joy a wife can know. Only one wish has lived in my heart for a long time. Viśvānara said: by Śiva's grace nothing is beyond me. Ask. And she folded her hands and said: give me a son like Śiva. I want nothing else.

Viśvānara closed his eyes for a moment. What has she asked for — something beyond the reach of wishing! And then he thought: or perhaps it was Śiva himself who spoke those words through her mouth. If this is Śiva's will, who can undo it?

Twelve months at Vīreśvara

He went to Kāśī. He bathed at Maṇikarṇikā, saw Viśveśvara and every liṅga of the city, bowed to the Vināyakas, to Gaurī, to Kālarāja Bhairava, offered piṇḍas at every tīrtha — and wondered which liṅga would grant his wish soonest. He chose Vīreśvara, famous for giving sons and long life.

For a year he worshipped Vīreśvara three times a day, and every month his fast grew harder: one meal by day, one by night, only what came unasked, nothing at all; milk, then greens and fruit, a fistful of sesame, water; the five products of the cow, the moon-fast, water from the tip of a blade of kuśa grass — and at last only air.

In the thirteenth month, coming up from his dawn bath in the Gaṅgā, he saw inside the liṅga a child of about eight — naked and laughing, smeared with ash from the cremation ground, with reddish matted hair, eyes stretching to his ears, reciting the Vedic hymns as if it were a game.

Viśvānara's hair stood on end. He praised the child with eight verses — the Abhilāṣāṣṭaka: all this is the one Brahman; you are it; as the snake appears in the rope and silver in the shell, so the world appears in you; you hear without ears and walk without feet; the Vedas do not know you, nor Viṣṇu, nor Brahmā — only the devotee knows you. Before he could fall to the ground in prostration, the child had become the Ancient One, older than the oldest, smiling.

Ask for a boon, said Śiva. You know everything, said Viśvānara. What do you want me to beg for? Do what you wish. Śiva smiled: what you and Śuciṣmatī long for will soon be yours. I will be born as your son, and I will be called Gṛhapati, “lord of the household”.

The birth

The child was born at an auspicious hour, his face like the moon, his radiance making the lamp in the birth-room look dim. The sky rained flowers and the rivers ran clear. A great crowd of sages came to Viśvānara's hermitage — Vasiṣṭha, Atri, Bhṛgu, Vyāsa, Nārada, Mṛkaṇḍu with his son Mārkaṇḍeya, and many more — and Brahmā, Viṣṇu, and Śiva with Pārvatī, Nandī and Bhṛṅgī came too. Brahmā himself performed the birth rites, and on the eleventh day named the boy Gṛhapati. As the gods left they said to each other: how fortunate Śuciṣmatī is — Śiva himself has come from her womb.

At five the boy received the sacred thread; within three years he knew all the Vedas. He served his mother and father with love.

Nārada's reading

In his ninth year, Nārada came visiting. He took the boy on his lap, looked at his right hand, his palate, his tongue — and said: every sign on this child's body is perfect. May the Creator protect him. Guard him in every way you can, because when fate turns, even virtues become faults. I fear that in his twelfth year there is danger to him from lightning or fire. And Nārada went back to the heavens.

Viśvānara felt it as a thunderbolt. He beat his chest and fainted; Śuciṣmatī wailed. But Gṛhapati smiled. Mother, father, why are you crying? Death itself cannot touch a body protected by the dust of your feet — what can a little lightning do? Hear my vow: I will worship Mṛtyuñjaya, the conqueror of death, and conquer even Mahākāla.

Say it again! his parents cried, as if a rain of nectar had fallen out of season. Have you not heard, they said, how Śiva freed Śvetaketu from the noose of Time, how he saved Nandī, the son of Śilāda, who was only eight? Go to him, son.

The thunderbolt

Gṛhapati went to Kāśī, bathed at Maṇikarṇikā, saw Viśveśvara, and on an auspicious day set up a liṅga of his own. Every day he bathed it with a hundred and eight pots of Gaṅgā water strained through cloth, and offered a garland of one thousand and eight blue lotuses. He lived on fruit and roots, then on dry leaves, then on air, then on a single drop of water. Two years went by.

Then, in his twelfth year — as if to make Nārada's words come true — Indra came to him. I am pleased with your tapas, he said. Ask for a boon. I know you, said the boy — the one with the thunderbolt. I do not ask boons of you. Śiva is the one who gives me boons. There is no Śiva but me, said Indra. I am the god of gods. Stop being childish. And the boy said: go away. I ask boons of no god but Śiva.

Indra's eyes went red. He raised his terrible thunderbolt, blazing like lightning. The boy remembered Nārada's words — and fainted with fear.

Agnīśvara

Then Śiva appeared, and touched him with his hand: get up, get up, all will be well. Gṛhapati opened his eyes as if waking from sleep, and saw before him, brighter than a hundred suns, the three-eyed one with the dark throat, on his bull, Pārvatī at his left, the crescent in his matted hair, trident and bow in his hands, pale as camphor, wrapped in the elephant hide. The boy could neither praise nor bow nor speak; he stood like a figure in a painting.

Śiva smiled. You were frightened of Indra with his thunderbolt. Don't be. It was I who tested you — I took Indra's form. Neither Indra, nor the thunderbolt, nor Time itself can frighten my devotee.

Now receive my boon. Take the place of Agni. You will be the giver of boons to all the gods. Move within every living being as the fire of life, and rule the south-east as its guardian. The liṅga you set up will bear your name — Agnīśvara. Those who worship it will not fear lightning or fire or a failing digestive fire, and will not die before their time.

Śiva called Gṛhapati's parents and family, and in front of them consecrated their son as the guardian of the south-eastern quarter. Then he entered the liṅga. The boy who was to die by fire had become Fire.