The Dancer at Menā's Door

Pārvatī's request

When Pārvatī's tapas in the forest had pleased Śiva, he came to her, showed her his true form, and told her to ask for a boon. Be my husband, she said. And then she asked for something more: I am going home to my father's house, as you command. Come there too. Come as a beggar, let your glory be seen, ask my father for me, and make his life as a householder complete. Then marry me with all the rites, for the sake of the gods. So be it, said Śiva, and vanished.

Homecoming

Pārvatī walked home with her two friends, the word “Mahādeva” on her lips. Menā and Himavān rode out on a celestial chariot to meet her, weeping with joy, and the whole city came too: priests, friends, her brothers led by Maināka, crying victory. The royal road was hung with fruit and branches, lined with banana stems, pots of good fortune and women holding lamps; brahmins chanted, conches blew, and the gods rained flowers from the sky. Her parents took their daughter on their laps and cried, “my child!” — it is better to have a daughter than a bad son, they said. Then they all sat together in the courtyard, and Himavān went to bathe in the Gaṅgā.

The dancer

At that moment Śiva came into Menā's courtyard as a wandering dancer — dressed in red, a patched quilt on his back, a horn in his left hand and a ḍamaru in his right. He began to dance and sing. He sounded the ḍamaru and the horn so sweetly, and played so many charming games, that the whole city came running to watch — children, old men, women and men — and all of them, Menā too, were enchanted.

Pārvatī looked at the dancer and knew him in her heart. She saw him within: smeared with ash, a garland of bones, three-eyed, a serpent for his sacred thread, pale and radiant, saying: ask for a boon. She fainted. Bowing to him inwardly, she asked: be my husband. He granted it in her heart — and then went back to dancing as a beggar.

The alms

Delighted with the dance, Menā came out with a golden dish heaped with jewels to give him. He would not take them. He asked for Pārvatī as his alms — and went on singing and dancing.

Menā was astonished, then furious. She scolded the beggar and wanted him thrown out. Just then Himavān came back from the Gaṅgā and saw this man standing in his courtyard. When Menā told him what had happened he was angry too, and ordered his servants to throw the beggar out. But no one could touch him. He blazed like the fire at the end of time.

Many forms

Then the beggar showed the mountain king his endless glory. Himavān saw him as Viṣṇu; then as Brahmā; then as the Sun; and then as Rudra, wonderful and blazing, laughing tenderly with Pārvatī. Seeing form after form, Himavān was overwhelmed with wonder and joy.

And still the beggar asked for nothing but Pārvatī. Then, as Pārvatī had wished, he vanished and went home.

Too late

Only then did Menā and Himavān understand: that was Śiva — he has tricked us and gone. We should have given him our daughter, who did such tapas for him. From that moment a burning devotion to Śiva rose in both of them. And after many more of Śiva's games, he married Pārvatī with all the rites, to the joy of his devotees.