Sixth Skandha

Shukadeva began telling Parikshit a story that has proven the most comforting of all for ordinary, fallen human beings: the story of Ajamila. Born into a respected, virtuous brahmin family in the city of Kanyakubja and trained from childhood in Vedic discipline, sacrifice, and purity, Ajamila's life was, in its beginning, entirely righteous.

But his life took a sudden, unforeseen turn when, sent on the simple errand of gathering sacrificial wood and flowers from the forest, he saw along the way a fallen shudra woman engaged, in full public view, in unrestrained laughter and uninhibited love-play with a man. There was something in that carefree, joyful abandon that overturned, in a single instant, every restraint and every Vedic discipline he had practiced his whole life, as though a dam had suddenly broken.

Completely overpowered by lust, he attempted to keep the woman with him by offering her money, and soon abandoned entirely his virtuous, devoted wife of his youth, began living with this woman of low caste, and, giving up his whole brahminical life, his sacred thread, and his recitation of the Vedas, sank ever deeper into a life filled with drinking, gambling, theft, and petty crimes, all to support this woman and her children.

Years passed, and Ajamila became the father of many children by this woman. To the youngest and most beloved of them all he gave the name Narayana — a name he chose, the Purana notes almost in passing, simply because he held this child in the deepest affection, with no conscious religious intent behind it whatsoever, and yet this very name was to transform the whole of his life.

In his old age, worn down by his sinful life, Ajamila's entire affection and concern became centered on this youngest son, Narayana, who was still just a boy and without whom he could not remain settled for even a moment — this deep paternal love becomes the backdrop for the extraordinary event of the next chapter, which was to change his fate forever.

Decades later, now exceedingly old and drawing near to death, Ajamila lay on his bed one day, and in his final, terrified moments, was struck with panic at the sudden sight of three fearsome, hideous messengers of Yama approaching him with ropes and nooses, their eyes red, their teeth bared, advancing to seize him.

In that extreme state of sheer terror and dread, only one thought arose in Ajamila's mind: the image of his most beloved son, the boy Narayana, who was at that moment playing in the courtyard. Helpless, the dying man cried out loudly: "Narayana! Narayana, come here!" — this cry, in that moment, was entirely unknowingly directed at his son, not at the Lord, containing no conscious devotion or repentance whatsoever.

And yet, the Purana emphasizes with great force, the sound itself is of supreme importance: for the name "Narayana," no matter with what intent it is uttered, ultimately refers to none other than the Supreme Lord Vishnu himself, and the power of the word does not depend on the state of mind of the one who speaks it.

The very moment this sacred name left Ajamila's lips, four extraordinary, radiant, four-armed beings suddenly appeared there — the Lord Vishnu's own attendants, clad in yellow garments, gentle yet exceedingly commanding, who sternly stopped Yama's terrifying messengers and declared that this soul, however sinful and corrupt his life may have been, could not now be forcibly taken, for he had, even in a completely unknowing and unconscious manner, uttered the Lord's own sacred name at this final, most decisive moment of death.

When Yama's messengers, frightened though they were, protested that the terrible sins accumulated over an entire lifetime must surely outweigh a fleeting, accidental utterance, the messengers of Vishnu patiently explained a deeper, subtler spiritual law at work in this situation.

They said that sins committed deliberately and consciously can be atoned for through acts of penance, austerity, and conscious repentance, but the power of the Lord's sacred name operates entirely independently of the speaker's awareness, intent, or state of mind — exactly as fire burns equally whether touched deliberately or by accident, or as a powerful medicine can cure a disease even when mistakenly swallowed by an unknowing child.

Disheartened and perplexed, Yama's messengers took this entire dispute directly to their master, Yamaraja, and asked him for an explanation. Yamaraja, who is himself the presiding deity of dharma and had already been aware of this event, explained to his messengers, with the utmost gravity and reverence, that this mystery of the glory of the Lord's name lies far beyond even his own jurisdiction and understanding.

Yamaraja specifically warned his messengers that in the future they must exercise the utmost caution before approaching any devotee of the Lord, or even anyone who has ever, under any circumstance whatsoever, uttered the Lord's name, for the power of the name is far more powerful and supreme than his own code of punishment.

Ajamila, who had lain unconscious throughout this entire dramatic scene, returned to consciousness and deeply absorbed this extraordinary conversation between the messengers of Vishnu and the messengers of Yama, which he himself had heard. He was filled with shame and terror at realizing how great a disaster he had escaped by pure chance, simply because of his son's name.

This experience completely transformed Ajamila's heart. He immediately renounced his entire former, sinful life, his home, his wealth, and his family, and set out for the sacred site of Haridwar on the bank of the Ganga, where he spent the remaining years of his life wholly in sincere, conscious devotion, chanting of the holy name, and austerity.

When the time of his second and final death arrived, this time the messengers of Vishnu themselves came for him, without any struggle or interference from the messengers of Yama, and carried him to the abode of Vaikuntha — thus, in his second death, he attained the complete, conscious liberation of which his first, accidental brush with death had offered only a glimpse.

Shukadeva, having told this entire story, gave Parikshit an important clarification with great care: this story does not in any way mean that a person may sin freely throughout his life and rely at the end on some accidental utterance — such pride and cunning is itself a profound folly that the true, pure power of the name will never indulge, for deliberate deceit remains not devotion but an offense.

But it does mean, Shukadeva stressed, that no soul, however deeply fallen, sinful, and corrupt it may have become, should ever consider itself entirely beyond the reach of the Lord's boundless grace and forgiveness, for the power of the Lord's name is limitless, and it can purify any heart, at any moment.

Having completed the moving story of Ajamila, the Sixth Skandha now turns to a graver, cosmic arena — the story of the great war between Indra and the mighty Vritrasura, which begins against the backdrop of a powerful protective hymn called the Narayana-kavacha, which the sage Vishvarupa taught to the gods before this war.

The origin of this entire conflict lay in an exceedingly tragic act of betrayal. In the course of a long-running struggle with the demons, Indra had appointed Vishvarupa, son of the sage Tvashta, as the priest of the gods. But Vishvarupa, whose mother herself belonged to the asura clan, secretly offered a portion of the sacrifice to the asuras on his mother's side as well, believing that they too were his kin and equally entitled to a share.

When Indra discovered this secret favoritism, he grew exceedingly angry and felt deeply insecure, fearing that his own priest was conspiring against him. In a momentary, uncontrolled fit of anger and impatience, Indra beheaded his own priest Vishvarupa — a grave sin regarded as equivalent to the killing of a brahmin, since Vishvarupa was himself a brahmin and, moreover, his own guru-like priest.

This terrible sin of brahmin-slaying weighed on Indra so heavily, so unbearably, that he was compelled to divide it into four parts among water, trees, women, and the earth itself, each accepting a portion of it in exchange for a particular boon (such as water's power to purify itself), so that Indra himself could be freed from the full burden of this sin.

Vishvarupa's grieving, enraged father, the great sage Tvashta, devastated by this unjust killing of his son, began a terrible sacrifice specifically for Indra's destruction, and from its blazing fire arose a vast, exceedingly powerful demon, Vritra, who becomes the central figure of the story in the chapters that follow.

Vritra, though altogether different from the crude, mindless demon he is commonly imagined to be, was in truth an advanced soul possessing a profound, exceedingly sincere, and deep devotion to Vishnu, even though he had arisen from Tvashta's vengeful sacrifice as the embodiment of cosmic destruction.

The moment he came into being, Vritra terrified the three worlds with his vast body and immense strength, attacking heaven, defeating the gods, and forcing them to flee. Yet his inner nature was so thoroughly steeped in devotion that even on the battlefield, in his own eloquent words, he declared that he feared death far less than he feared falling away from remembrance of the Lord.

The gods, utterly terrified by Vritra's extraordinary and seemingly invincible power, abandoned heaven and took refuge with Lord Vishnu himself, pleading with him for help. The Lord told them that Vritra could be defeated by only one weapon — a thunderbolt fashioned from the bones of some supremely pure, sinless soul.

For this purpose, on the Lord's instruction, the gods went to the great sage Dadhichi, renowned for his extraordinary purity and austerity. Without a moment's hesitation, Dadhichi willingly gave up his life for the welfare of the gods and all of creation, offering his own body so that his bones could be used to fashion that invincible thunderbolt weapon.

Vishvakarma forged that divine thunderbolt from Dadhichi's sacred bones, which Indra received with the utmost reverence and gratitude — the very thunderbolt that would ultimately decide the great, decisive war between Indra and Vritra, described in the next chapter.

This great war between Indra and Vritra is described in the Bhagavata Purana with tremendous detail, drama, and poetic beauty. Both mighty warriors, each with their own immense strength, fought a fierce battle for a long time, and both sky and earth trembled.

In one exceedingly dramatic moment of the battle, Vritra swallowed Indra whole with his vast mouth, leaving all the gods stunned and despairing. But Indra, through his yogic power and remembrance of the Lord, cut his own way out from inside Vritra's very belly, tearing through his body, and emerged unharmed — a sight that astonished even Vritra himself, yet he continued the battle without wavering.

The two warriors kept exchanging continuous, tireless blows until, at last, Indra's divine thunderbolt, fashioned from the sacred bones of the sage Dadhichi himself, struck Vritra's vast chest and felled him to the ground — a blow that no power could withstand.

Yet even in this great victory, the Purana does not pause for even a moment on Indra's triumph or pride, but instead dwells especially on Vritra's final, deeply moving prayer, uttered as death drew very near — in this prayer the demon expresses no fear or grief for his own death whatsoever, but only the profound wish that, birth after birth, in whatever form he may take, he might always remain the humble servant of the Lord, rather than merge impersonally into the featureless Brahman.

This prayer, in its extraordinary purity and depth, deeply astonishes and moves even the gods who had fought against him, and it becomes eternal proof that true devotion can dwell equally in god and demon, victor and vanquished alike, entirely independent of outward form and circumstance.

This chapter presents in full the sacred and exceedingly powerful Narayana-kavacha hymn, which the sage Vishvarupa taught to the gods themselves for their protection before the fearsome hour of battle. This hymn invokes, in careful sequence, the Lord's various forms, weapons (such as the Sudarshana chakra, the Kaumodaki mace, and the Sharnga bow), and limbs, constructing a complete, impenetrable armor of protection that shields the devotee from head to foot, in every direction, from all fear, enemies, poison, weapons, and inauspicious powers.

Shukadeva explained to Parikshit that this hymn is not confined to use in ancient warfare alone, but can be recited regularly by any true devotee in daily life, after the morning bath, to obtain protection, fearlessness, and spiritual strength, for the Lord's sacred name and divine form are themselves the strongest and most supreme armor accessible against any worldly or spiritual crisis.

He also explained that whoever recites this armor daily with faith and devotion remains protected even from ghosts, poison, fire, water, the weapons of enemies, and the punishment of kings; this very hymn became the foundation of the victory over Vritrasura, showing that the armor of the Lord's name and praise is more powerful than even material weapons.

Even after achieving this great victory over Vritrasura, Indra faced, in place of peace and joy, a profound spiritual crisis, for Vritra, despite his demonic origin, was in truth a soul of exceedingly high spiritual standing and deep devotion, equal to a brahmin (as Chitraketu, as will become clear in the chapters that follow), and so his slaying too was regarded as a grave sin, equivalent to the killing of a brahmin.

Indra suffered so greatly under the invisible yet heavy weight of this sin that he found himself pursued by "Kritya" — the personified power of sin itself, transformed into a woman — and was forced to live for a long time hidden within a lotus stalk near Lake Manasarovar, having assumed an exceedingly small form, in secret, until this sin, just as with the killing of Vishvarupa, was gradually diminished by being divided among various elements, this time fire, water, air, and so on.

This episode became an opportunity for Shukadeva to give Parikshit an exceedingly important, profound teaching — that even killing which appears righteous in the course of power, victory, and war, however justified or necessary it may seem, is still never entirely free of its moral and spiritual consequences, and that even Indra, king of the gods himself, is no exception to this universal, unchangeable law of karma.

This chapter describes the story of Diti's deep, vengeance-driven desire — she who was consumed by grief and rage over the deaths of her sons, Hiranyakashipu and Hiranyaksha, at the hands of Lord Narasimha and Varaha respectively, and who harbored an intense desire to obtain an exceedingly powerful son capable of killing Indra, so that she might avenge her sons' deaths.

She begged her husband, the great sage Kashyapa, to grant her this boon through a special and exceedingly rigorous vow and austerity. Kashyapa, though he knew that Diti's purpose was not auspicious, nevertheless honored the sanctity of a wife's duty and of the vow itself, and taught her the procedure for this observance, while also warning her that if even the subtlest rule of this vow were violated, the outcome might turn out quite differently.

During her pregnancy, on one occasion, Diti forgot to keep her feet in the proper direction while sleeping and failed to maintain proper purity in the evening — a violation of a subtle but important ritual rule. Indra, who through his yogic vision was well aware of the nature of Diti's pregnancy and the danger it posed for the future, seized upon this lapse and, assuming a subtle form, entered Diti's womb.

Within the womb, Indra used his thunderbolt to split the powerful fetus into forty-nine pieces, thinking this would completely destroy his future enemy. But at the crying and wailing of each divided piece, Indra split it again, and this process continued until forty-nine complete, living infants had been formed.

These forty-nine pieces were later born as the Maruts, a powerful group of gods of wind, storm, and speed, to whom Lord Brahma himself, moved by Diti's sorrowful prayer, granted an honored place in heaven and divinity — thus, instead of becoming Indra's enemies, they ultimately became his own trusted allies and friends, showing profoundly how the Lord's plan, sometimes in ways that lie beyond the understanding of even humans and gods, can transform even potential destruction into harmony, beauty, and cooperation.

Diti, hearing again and again from within her womb the sound of an infant crying and then being split into pieces, and believing that her son was being mercilessly killed by some unknown power, sank into deep, unbearable grief and fear, though at the time she had no way of knowing that this was Indra's own doing.

After the birth, when she saw forty-nine separate, living infants, both her grief and her astonishment grew, for she could not understand how this had come to pass. Indra, inwardly suffering remorse and fear over his own act, and knowing that he had struck the womb of his own stepmother (Diti being, as Kashyapa's wife, equivalent to his stepmother), at last appeared before Diti.

Indra, with the utmost humility and sincere repentance, told Diti the entire account of what had happened, acknowledged his mistake, and consoled her with the assurance that her sons had not been destroyed, but were alive as the powerful, radiant Maruts, who would receive an exceedingly honored, divine status in heaven.

Diti, learning that her sons, though now in a different, divided form, were nevertheless alive and honored, gradually recovered from her profound grief, and, seeing Indra's sincere repentance, forgave him completely, embracing Indra herself and giving him her blessing. This episode presents an exceedingly beautiful, moving teaching on compassion, sincere repentance, and reconciliation — that even anger, enmity, and deep vengeance, however justified they may seem, can ultimately find complete resolution through true understanding, humility, and forgiveness.

Shukadeva now began an exceedingly profound and moving story of King Chitraketu, deeply connected to the teachings of the celestial sage Narada and the great sage Angira, and which ultimately also sheds light on the earlier story of Vritrasura.

King Chitraketu of the land of Shurasena, though the master of a vast, prosperous kingdom, immense wealth and splendor, and countless beautiful queens, nevertheless experienced deep, unbearable sorrow and mental unrest at being childless, for not one of his queens had been able to give him even a single son, leaving the continuity of his lineage in jeopardy.

One day, the great sage Angira, during his travels, arrived in Chitraketu's kingdom. The king welcomed him with the utmost reverence, but Angira, noticing the deep sadness upon his face, asked him its cause. Chitraketu openly revealed to him his entire anguish — his childlessness and the mental suffering it had produced.

Angira, moved by the king's sorrowful plight, gave him a special and powerful mantra and ritual procedure, according to which, if Queen Kritadyuti properly partook of a sacred rice-pudding offering (charu), she would bear an extraordinary, great son — though Angira also subtly hinted that this son would bring the king deep grief along with joy, a prophecy that proves true in the chapter that follows.

Through the effect of Angira's blessing and mantra, Queen Kritadyuti in due time gave birth to an exceedingly radiant and beautiful son, filling King Chitraketu's heart with boundless joy and pride. The entire kingdom celebrated, and the king's whole affection and attention, quite naturally, became centered on this one and only son, entirely neglecting all his other queens.

This unbalanced, excessive affection began to produce deep jealousy and bitterness among the other queens, who were already suffering inwardly from their own childlessness. This jealousy gradually grew so deep and so poisonous that, according to the Purana, some of these queens, driven at last by unbearable resentment, secretly poisoned this innocent child to death.

When King Chitraketu received the news of this sudden, heartbreaking death of his only, beloved son, his grief was so profound, so unbearable, that he fell unconscious to the ground, and even upon regaining consciousness, he completely forgot his kingdom, his duties, and the world around him, clinging only to the cold body of his dead son, calling out his name again and again, weeping uncontrollably — a sight that plunged the entire court into grief.

The celestial sage Narada and the great sage Angira, already aware through their yogic vision of Chitraketu's unbearable grief, arrived themselves at the royal palace and resolved to give him a profound spiritual teaching through an extraordinary, supernatural demonstration.

Narada, by his yogic power, summoned the soul of the dead child, who by that time had, according to his own past deeds, already taken rebirth in an entirely different body, in a different family, retaining no memory whatsoever of his former parents. Narada temporarily caused this soul to enter the very body of the dead child, who immediately came back to life and began to speak.

Before the astonished eyes of the entire assembled court, this revived child declared in a clear, grave voice that he was not Chitraketu's offspring at all, but had come to him only for a temporary, coincidental relationship in accordance with his own past deeds, and that his own cycle of karma had now carried him toward another family, other parents — and therefore Chitraketu had no real cause for grief.

This extraordinary, startling demonstration made Chitraketu understand the profound, undeniable truth that the bond of affection between parent and child is merely a temporary, karma-based arrangement of the material world, not in any way the soul's real, eternal identity — each soul wanders according to its own deeds, never truly becoming anyone's "son" or "father."

Through this extraordinary experience and profound teaching, Chitraketu's grief gradually subsided, and his mind, through this bitter yet valuable lesson about worldly attachment, turned deeply toward the pursuit of spiritual knowledge and truth.

His heart transformed by this profound teaching, King Chitraketu fell at Narada's feet and humbly begged him for still deeper spiritual knowledge and the path to liberation, acknowledging that his former life had been utterly wasted in the darkness of attachment to his son.

Narada, pleased by the king's sincere inquiry and detachment, taught him at great length the path of bhakti-yoga, self-realization, and attainment of the Lord, and also gave him a special mantra and method of meditation, practicing which Chitraketu began a deep spiritual discipline right within his own kingdom, while still living the life of a householder.

Through this practice Chitraketu attained such extraordinary spiritual advancement and perfection that he soon rose to the exalted, honored rank of king of the Vidyadharas, gained the power to roam freely through the sky, and at last, having received the direct vision and blessing of Lord Ananta (Sheshanaga) himself, became renowned as a great perfected, liberated soul.

One day, roaming about with his newly attained perfection and his power to move freely through the sky, Chitraketu, king of the Vidyadharas, passing over Mount Kailasa, saw below an exceedingly extraordinary sight — Lord Shiva himself, with the goddess Parvati seated in his lap, playing affectionately with her, surrounded on all sides by sages and attendants.

Chitraketu, having grown exceedingly fearless and outspoken because of his perfected state and steadfastness in devotion to the Lord, seeing this scene without any ill intent, only in astonishment and innocent curiosity, laughingly made a remark — he said it was surprising to see that even the guru of the entire universe, the great ascetic Shiva, would play so openly with his wife in the midst of an assembly of sages, in a manner that seemed like the conduct of an ordinary householder.

This remark, though there was no intent of insult in Chitraketu's mind, struck the goddess Parvati as exceedingly improper, insulting, and contrary to her own and Shiva's dignity. Shiva himself laughed at the remark and took it lightly, but Parvati's anger did not subside, and in her momentary rage, she immediately cursed Chitraketu, declaring that he would soon give up his present exalted, perfected state and be born in the form of an asura (demon).

Chitraketu, because of his advanced spiritual state, his profound knowledge, and his unwavering steadfastness in devotion to the Lord, accepted this sudden curse with complete peace and equanimity, without any resistance, fear, anger, or complaint whatsoever.

He humbly said that a true devotee who is already fully settled and satisfied in devotion to the Lord has nothing left in this fleeting world that could truly be taken from him by the goddess's anger or by any other power, for his true wealth, love for the Lord, remains with him always, untouched by any curse or boon, no matter what form or body he may take.

He bowed with the utmost reverence, prostrating fully before both the goddess Parvati and Lord Shiva, begged forgiveness for his unwitting error, and, accepting his coming fate with complete acceptance, departed from there without any regret.

Shukadeva explained to Parikshit that this episode beautifully illustrates that highest, rarest state of devotion in which worldly curses and boons, honor and insult, both become entirely equal and unimportant to a perfected devotee who has attained self-realization, for his real, eternal identity has been established completely beyond and untouched by these fleeting, external circumstances — and it is this very Chitraketu who, in due course, takes birth as Vritrasura, whose extraordinary devotion has already been described earlier in this Skandha.

After Chitraketu's departure, Lord Shiva turned to the goddess Parvati and, with great gentleness and love, explained to her that her momentary anger had been improper and unnecessary toward a perfected, advanced devotee, for there had been no real ill will or intent to insult in Chitraketu's remark, but only innocent astonishment.

Shiva particularly praised Chitraketu's extraordinary spiritual greatness, his unbroken equanimity, and his high, perfected state, explaining that such advanced souls are exceedingly rare, and that anger toward them, however momentary, is not wise.

Parvati, hearing her husband's gentle yet clear teaching, and deeply recognizing her own error, expressed heartfelt repentance, though it was also true that a curse once given, however given in anger, could not be withdrawn — this is yet another example of the same principle already seen in the Fourth Skandha in the episode of the curse of the sage Shringi.

This conversation became, for Shukadeva, an occasion to give Parikshit another important, humbling teaching — that even great gods and goddesses, despite their boundless power and knowledge, can at times fall under the sway of momentary anger and human-like emotion, but true divinity and wisdom lie in the capacity to acknowledge such an error, learn from it, and correct it at once, rather than in any pretense of complete infallibility.

In this final chapter of the Sixth Skandha, Shukadeva presented King Parikshit with a brief, essential summary of the profound teachings of this entire, varied Skandha — the moving story of Ajamila, which shows that the Lord's sacred name, even when uttered in a completely unknowing and unconscious manner, can grant complete liberation even at the final, most decisive moment of death.

He also recalled the great story of Vritrasura, which shows profoundly that true devotion can appear equally in god or demon, victor or vanquished, in any outward form and circumstance, and the story of Chitraketu, which shows that a perfected, self-realized soul remains entirely beyond and untouched by all such dualities as worldly curses, boons, honor, and insult.

Shukadeva reminded Parikshit, with the utmost gravity, that all these varied, seemingly unconnected stories carry one single, unbroken message: that the Lord's grace and the boundless power of devotion work in an exceedingly mysterious way, far beyond the limits of ordinary human understanding, reasoning, and moral calculation, and that no soul, however deep its present condition, sinfulness, or fall may be, is ever beyond the reach of this boundless grace.

He promised that in the coming Seventh Skandha he would tell the exceedingly famous, deeply moving story of the devotee Prahlada and the incarnation of Lord Narasimha, which would present an even more renowned and immortal example of the power of devotion and the Lord's commitment to protecting his devotees.