15 November, 2014


Sitting on a cold barren mountain-top, with no trace of cultivation for miles, he is at peace. He’s stayed there since eternity, to a point where time has lost all meaning. Few have summoned up the courage to join him in his struggle. Few have reached him just to admire the monk. Most, have died in the struggle.

He lives at peace, mostly meditating. He has taken a wife, a woman strong enough to not dispose of her elegance but stay by his side. Not that he needs it. Neither does she. But when he opens his eyes, it gives him peace to know she’s by his side. His accomplice. The one who gives him a silent look of understanding. As if she knows everything on his mind. He knows she does. He understands she’s not serving him, unlike his brother’s wife. His wife is a part of his own soul. Not a servant, but his power. An equal. His Shakti.
He’s not a monk mind you. He enjoys his time smoking, singing and dancing. He makes love to his wife. He wrestles with his fellowmen. He adores the sunrise and the sunset. The trait which gives him the aura of a hermit is his hunger. He has outgrown it. He has outgrown all need, desire, hunger, want and expectations. He simply exists with nature, at peace with it. He’s not interested in playing games with the world or running the show. He helps those who seek and deserve his help. But his help is the most difficult to get. He cannot be incentivized. A man who has no needs cannot be offered a bribe. He can only be requested and the discretion to help lies with him.

So how do you get a boon from him? You ask. You plead. You try to show how much he means to you. You stand on one leg for ages hoping he’d notice your effort and appreciate it. But the cold hard mountains have made his heart cold. He is not easy to please. Most prefer to die than to go the full length of pleasing him. Most are simply not able to. But it’s true. Given enough time, he notices the worth of human effort. And then, opens his eyes.

There’s another way to please him. Help him in his purpose. That is the only way to indebt him under you. He has no needs, but he lives with a purpose. He understands the most depraved man is a man without purpose. He wants the world to function with justice. Where the effort of man is not looted and men are allowed to bear the fruits of their actions. Work must be paid for and thievery must be punished. Men must learn to treat others the way they are prepared to be treated. If humanity loses this balance, Shiva stands up.

Shiva dances. The most violent dance the world has seen. The last dance men will ever see. Shiva doesn’t care which innocents are killed in the process. Either they didn’t speak up when they had the chance. Or they have lost their right to voice to the society they were unfortunate to be born in. Anyway, their death does not matter. The world has reached a stage where the only way to purify it is by first destroying and then rebuilding it. Each of Shiva’s steps throw the world off balance. When he turns his face, the world stops turning. He pants, soaking in the air of the world. He jumps, and crashes on the world.

The usually calm and patient Yogi transforms into a formidable force of destruction. The warrior. The unstoppable.

So the choice lies with you. Either treat the world as you would like to be treated. Or participate in your destruction. Because Shiva is not a God of penance. Shiva does not forgive. Shiva does not forget. Shiva is the Yogi. The one with the stone heart. The one who understands that actions cause results. The one who rewards sweat and punishes guilt.

He’s not a God of Love. His duty is destruction. His is the life of pain. So many millennia of destruction have scarred his soul beyond repair. He does not care for trivial lives anymore. He is the most difficult God to please. He is the hermit. The one who has outgrown desire. The destroyer.