Vaḍavānala — The Fire Beneath the Sea

Nārada's question

The Purāṇa tells this as a conversation between Nārada and Brahmā. When Brahmā has finished the story of Kāma's burning, Nārada asks the question a careful listener would ask: the flame that leapt from Hara's third eye — where did it go?

A fire with nothing left to burn

Brahmā answers. The fire had turned Kāma to ash in an instant. But its work was done and it was still burning. With no purpose left, it began to spread in every direction.

A great cry of terror went up through the three worlds, from everything that moves and everything that does not. The gods and the sages hurried to Brahmā for refuge. Shaken, with bowed heads and joined palms, they praised him and told him what was happening.

Brahmā listened, remembered Śiva, and thought carefully about the cause. Then, to protect the three worlds, he went to the place himself — humbly, the Purāṇa notes.

Brahmā makes it a mare

He found the fire blazing with garlands of flame, ready to consume the world. Brahmā says plainly that what he did next was not by his own strength: with the power he had received through Śiva's grace, he brought the fire to a standstill at once.

Then he changed its form. The fire of anger that had wanted to burn the three worlds became a horse — a mare, vaḍavā — gentle in shape, with flame in its mouth. And by Śiva's will, for the good of the worlds, Brahmā led this fire in its mare's body to the sea.

The Ocean is asked to carry it

When the Ocean saw Brahmā coming, he took the form of a divine person and came to meet him with joined palms. He praised the grandfather of the worlds and asked gladly: “Lord of all, why have you come? Think of me as your servant and tell me.”

Brahmā, remembering Śaṅkara and keeping the good of the worlds in mind, told him everything. “This is the anger of Maheśvara, standing here as a mighty horse. Having burnt Kāma, it was about to burn the whole universe. The gods, in distress, came to me by Śaṅkara's will. I stilled the fire, it took this form, and I have brought it to you.”

Then he gave the Ocean his charge. “Hold this anger of Maheśvara, which stands as a horse breathing flame from its mouth, until the time of dissolution. When I come to dwell here, lord of rivers, then you may release it. Your own water will be its daily food. Hold it with care, so that it cannot go anywhere else.”

Into the water

The Ocean agreed to bear the vaḍavānala, the mare-fire — something, Brahmā says, that no one else could have done. The fire in its mare's body entered the sea and, wreathed in flames, began to burn away the waters there.

Brahmā went back to his own abode content. The Ocean, still in his divine form, bowed to him and vanished. Freed from the fear of Rudra's fire, the whole world felt well again, and the gods and sages were at ease.

Pārvatī goes home

Nārada then asks what Pārvatī did after all this, and where she went with her two companions.

Brahmā takes the story back to the moment of the burning. When the fire consumed Kāma, a tremendous sound arose that filled the whole sky. At that sound, and at the sight of Kāma burnt, Pārvatī was frightened and shaken, and she went home with her two friends.

Himavān and his household had heard the sound too. He remembered that his daughter had gone to that very place, and he was sick with worry. Then she arrived, weeping at her separation from Śambhu. He went to her quickly, wiped her eyes with his hand and said, “Do not be afraid. Do not cry.” He took her up in his arms and, comforting her, brought her inside.

Grief in her father's house

Mahādeva had vanished after burning Kāma, and Pārvatī could find no peace anywhere. When she reached home and met her mother, the Purāṇa says, she felt as if she had been born a second time.

She began to blame her own beauty. “I am undone,” she said, and nothing her friends said could reach her. Asleep or awake, eating or drinking, bathing, walking, or sitting among her companions, she felt no happiness at all. “Shame on my form, my birth and my deeds,” she would say, and she went over every movement of Mahādeva in her mind.

The name “Śiva, Śiva” was always on her lips. Her body was in her father's house; her mind was with the bearer of the Pināka. Again and again she fainted from grief. Himavān, Menā and her brothers, Maināka and the rest, comforted her constantly. She still could not forget Śaṅkara.

Nārada comes to the mountain

Then one day Nārada, who wanders as he pleases, came to the Himālaya — prompted by Indra, the Purāṇa says. Himavān honoured him and gave him a fine seat, and Nārada asked after his welfare.

Himavān told him his daughter's whole story from the beginning: how she had served Mahādeva, and how Hara had burnt Kāma. Nārada heard it and said only, “Lord of mountains, worship Śiva.” Then he took his leave, remembered Śiva in his mind, and went quickly to find Kālī — the Purāṇa uses this name for Pārvatī here — alone.

“You served him without tapas”

He spoke to her kindly and for her good, and he did not soften it. “Kālī, listen. I say this out of compassion, and it is true. You did serve Mahādeva here. But you served him without tapas, and with pride. Śiva, who is gracious to the humble, has destroyed that pride.”

“Your lord Maheśvara is detached, a great yogī. He is loving to his devotees: he burnt Kāma and let you go unharmed. So devote yourself to tapas and worship him for a long time. When tapas has refined you, Rudra will certainly make you his wife. You will never leave him, and you will never accept anyone else as your husband.”

The five syllables

At these words Pārvatī breathed a little more easily. She joined her palms and answered gladly. “Sage, you know everything and you help the world. Teach me a mantra for worshipping Rudra. I have heard that nothing a person does succeeds without a true guru, and that this is the eternal teaching of the Veda.”

So Nārada duly taught her the five-syllable mantra, “Namaḥ Śivāya”. To give her faith in it, he told her its power: “Śaṅkara is delighted simply to hear it. It is the king of all mantras. It gives what the heart desires, it is very dear to Śaṅkara, and it gives the one who practises it both enjoyment and liberation.”

“Repeat it in the proper way, and Śiva will surely and quickly appear before your eyes. Keep your observances, hold his form in your mind, and repeat the five syllables; he will soon be pleased. Do your tapas in this way. Maheśvara can be won by tapas. By tapas everyone gains the fruit they long for — and in no other way.”

Having said this, Nārada, dear to Śiva and intent on the good of the gods, left for heaven. And Pārvatī was very happy, for she had received the king of mantras. Her long tapas, the next story, begins from here.