The Yakṣa and the Blade of Grass

After the churning

When the gods and asuras churned the ocean of milk, the first thing that rose from it was poison, like the fire at the end of time. Both sides fled to Śiva, and Śiva drank it and held it in his throat, and became Nīlakaṇṭha. Freed from its burning, they churned again, and treasures came up, and at last the nectar of immortality. By Viṣṇu's grace only the gods drank it — and the nectar that was meant to be shared became the cause of war.

In that war, the Moon, hunted by Rāhu, ran to Śiva crying, protect me, protect me! — and Śiva, who never refuses those who come to him, set the Moon on his head. Rāhu came after him, but bowed to Śiva and praised him; and Śiva, understanding him, took the severed heads that Viṣṇu had cut off before and wore them in his garland.

The asuras were beaten. The gods, strong with the nectar, won the war.

A voice of pride

And then, clouded by Śiva's māyā, Viṣṇu and all the gods began to boast. Each praised his own strength. We are mighty, they said. We are the slayers of demons. How could those petty daityas stand before us?

Then Śiva, the one who breaks pride, took the form of a yakṣa and came to where the gods stood. Why are you all gathered here? he asked. There was a great war, they said; the asuras are dead, and the rest have run away. We are very strong. What chance did they have?

Listen to the truth, said the yakṣa. Do not be proud like this. The one who creates and destroys everything is someone else. You have forgotten Mahādeva, and though you have no strength of your own, you are boasting of it. If you think you are so strong — cut this.

The blade of grass

And he set a single blade of grass down in front of them.

One after another the gods — Viṣṇu among them, each of them sure of his valour — used their full strength and hurled their weapons at it. Every weapon failed. The blade of grass did not move.

Then a voice came from the sky: gods, this yakṣa is Sadāśiva himself, who takes away everyone's pride. He is the maker, the sustainer and the destroyer of all. It is by his strength that every being is strong, and not otherwise. Deluded by his māyā and by your own pride, you did not recognise your own lord.

The pride went out of the gods. They bowed to the yakṣa and said: Lord, your māyā is wonderful. Deluded by it, we thought we were separate from you, and boasted to your face. Now by your grace we know that you alone create, sustain and destroy; you alone set every power in motion and bring it to rest. We count it as your great kindness that you came as a yakṣa to take our pride away.

The yakṣa spoke many gentle words to them, and vanished.

The older telling

Long before the Purāṇas, the Kena Upaniṣad told this story. There, after a victory the gods believe is theirs, a mysterious being — a yakṣa — appears. Agni goes to find out who it is. The yakṣa sets down a blade of grass: burn this. Agni, who boasts he can burn the whole earth, cannot scorch it. Vāyu, who boasts he can carry away everything, cannot move it. When Indra approaches, the yakṣa vanishes, and in its place stands a radiant woman — Umā Haimavatī, the daughter of the Himālaya — who tells him: that was Brahman. It was through Brahman's victory that you were made great.

The Śiva Purāṇa reads the yakṣa as Śiva himself, and the lesson is the same in both: every power in the world, even the gods' power, is borrowed.