Ghuśmeśvara: The Mother Who Kept Worshipping

Sudharmā and Sudehā

Last of the twelve, Sūta says, comes the jyotirliṅga called Ghuśmeśa. Hear its glory.

In the south stands a great and splendid mountain called Devagiri, wonderful to look at. Near it lived a brahmin named Sudharmā, of the line of Bhāradvāja, deeply learned in the Veda. His wife Sudehā was devoted to the Śaiva way, always attentive to her husband, and skilled in running a household.

Sudharmā himself honoured the gods and his guests, lived by the Vedic path and kept the sacred fire every day. He performed the sandhyā rites at dawn, noon and dusk, shone like the sun, taught his students, knew the Veda and the śāstras, and was wealthy, generous and gracious — a devotee of Śiva who did Śiva's work daily and loved Śiva's devotees.

A house without a child

Much of his life went by in this way, but no son was born; each season Sudehā's hope came to nothing. Sudharmā, who knew the truth of things, did not grieve at all. A person lifts himself up, he thought; a person purifies himself. But Sudehā grieved bitterly, and day after day she begged her husband to find some way to have a son.

He would scold her. What will a son do for you? he said. Who is anyone's mother, or father? Who is a son, a brother, a friend? In all three worlds, everyone is only pursuing his own interest. Understand that, my dear, and stop worrying. Let go of this sorrow, and do not keep asking me about it. Having silenced her this way, he stayed content in his Śaiva practice, beyond the pull of joy and sorrow.

Then one day Sudehā went to a gathering of women at a neighbour's house, and a quarrel broke out. The neighbour's wife turned on her with bitter words. You childless woman, what are you so proud of? I have a son — my son will enjoy my wealth. But who will enjoy yours? The king will take it, no doubt about it. Shame on you, barren one, shame on your wealth, and shame on your pride!

Sudehā came home humiliated and told her husband everything. Even then the wise man was not troubled. Let them say what they like, my dear, he said. What is to be, will be. Again and again he tried to console her, but her pain would not go, and she pressed him once more. You are dear to me, she said, but by whatever means you can, give me a son — or I will give up my body.

The two flowers

Cornered by her insistence, Sudharmā turned his mind to Śiva. Carefully he took two flowers and set them before the sacred fire, deciding silently that the one on the right would stand for a son. Then he told his wife: Pick up one of these two flowers, for the fruit of a son. Let me have a son, she prayed in her heart; let the flower my husband has chosen come into my hand. She bowed to Śiva and to Agni, prayed to them, and picked up a flower.

But by Śiva's will she was clouded, and she did not pick the flower her husband had in mind. Sudharmā drew a long breath and, remembering Śiva's lotus feet, said to her: My dear, how can what the Lord has ordained turn out otherwise? Give up hope of a son now, and serve Śiva. He himself let go of the wish entirely and gave himself to meditation on Śiva and to his religious duties.

Sudehā brings her sister

Sudehā did not let go. With bowed head and joined hands she said to him lovingly: Lord, if no son will come from me, then, because I ask it, take another wife. From her you will surely have a son.

My dear, said Sudharmā, all sorrow — yours and mine — is already gone. Do not stand in the way of my dharma now.

In spite of his refusal, Sudehā brought her own sister, her mother's daughter, to the house, and said to her husband: Marry her. Now you call her your wife, Sudharmā answered, but once she bears a son you will grow jealous of her. With joined hands Sudehā said: Best of brahmins, I will never be jealous of my sister. Marry her for the sake of a son — I give my consent.

At his beloved's plea, Sudharmā married Ghuśmā with the proper rites. Then he said to his first wife: She is your younger sister, blameless one; you must always look after her. And he went on keeping his dharma as before. Sudehā treated her sister like a friend, set aside all rivalry, and cared for her day and night.

A hundred and one liṅgas a day

The younger wife, Ghuśmā, with her sister's permission, made a hundred and one earthen liṅgas every day. She worshipped them by the full sixteen-fold rite and then released them into the lake nearby. Each day she let the liṅgas go into the water, and the next day she made new ones and did the whole wish-fulfilling worship again, from invocation to farewell.

Worshipping Śiva in this way day after day, she completed the count of one hundred thousand earthen liṅgas — a number that bears the fruit of every wish. And then, by Śiva's grace, a son was born to her: handsome, fortunate, full of every good quality.

Sudharmā rejoiced to see the child, and, devoted to knowledge and dharma and free of attachment, he enjoyed his happiness. But from that time on Sudehā grew fiercely jealous of her sister. The heart that had once been cool became, the Purāṇa says, like a sword.

Jealousy

The elder sister could not bear her younger sister's joy in her son. Everyone praised the woman with the child, and Sudehā could not bear any of it — not even the baby's beauty. Seeing the boy, adored by his parents and full of fine qualities, her heart burned like fire.

In time some brahmins came to offer their daughter in marriage, and Sudharmā married his son to her there with due rites. He was overjoyed with Ghuśmā, and all the relatives honoured her. Watching this, Sudehā smouldered inside. I am ruined! she said to herself, sick with grief.

Sudharmā brought his son and new daughter-in-law home and celebrated happily with both his wives. Ghuśmā was glad; Sudehā, unable to bear it, fell to the ground in misery. Ghuśmā told her: This son and this bride are yours, not mine. And the son and his wife did look on Sudehā as their mother and mother-in-law. Sudharmā, too, honoured his elder wife more than the younger. Yet Sudehā kept deceit in her heart.

One day she thought to herself in her misery: How will this fire in me ever be put out? Only by Ghuśmā's tears, and nothing else — that is certain. So today I will kill her sweet-spoken son. That is my firm decision; what happens after will happen. The Purāṇa comments: a deceitful person stops weighing right and wrong, and bitter jealousy between co-wives usually ends by destroying the jealous one herself.

The night and the morning

One night Sudharmā's elder wife took a knife and cut to pieces the son as he slept beside his bride. Proud and strong, she hacked his whole body apart, carried the pieces that same night to the lake — to the very spot where Ghuśmā released her earthen liṅgas each day — threw them in, came back, and slept soundly.

At dawn Ghuśmā began her daily rites, and Sudharmā his own. Sudehā, the fire in her heart cooled at last, went about the housework in high spirits.

The young wife woke to a bed soaked in blood and strewn with pieces of her husband's body. Stricken, she ran to her mother-in-law. Where has your son gone? she cried. The bed is drenched in blood and there are pieces of a body in it! I am ruined — who has done this evil? And she wept and wailed. Sudehā made a show of grief, though inside she was glad. Alas, she cried, I am surely dead!

The worship is not broken

Ghuśmā heard her daughter-in-law's cries, yet she did not break her vow of daily earthen-liṅga worship. Her mind was not shaken even a little, and her husband too stayed as he was until the rite was complete.

After the worship, at midday, she saw that dreadful bed — and still she did not give way to grief. The one who gave me this son will protect him, she thought. He is called the lover of his devotees, the death of Death, the protector of the good. If our only protector is the Lord Sadāśiva, what is there to worry about? Like a gardener, he brings living beings together, and he parts them again. What will my worrying achieve now? Thinking on this truth she did not grieve, but held firm, meditating on Śiva.

The son at the water's edge

Steady in mind, she took up the earthen liṅgas as always and went to the lake, reciting Śiva's names. She released the liṅgas into the water, and as she turned to go back she saw her son standing on the bank.

Come, Mother, he said, let me embrace you. I was dead, but by the power of your merit and by Śaṅkara's grace I am alive again.

Ghuśmā saw her son alive, and she was no more elated now than she had been grieved at his death. She simply went on meditating on Śiva as before.

“Protect my sister”

At that moment Sadāśiva, pleased, appeared there in the form of light. I am pleased with you, fair one, he said. Ask a boon. That wicked woman killed your son. Now I will kill her with my trident.

Ghuśmā bowed humbly to Śiva and asked her boon: Lord, protect this sister of mine, Sudehā.

She has done you harm, said Śiva. Why do you do her good? Sudehā, who has done such an evil thing, deserves to die.

Lord, said Ghuśmā, no sin remains once a person has seen you; so the moment she sees you, all her sins are gone. I have heard a wonderful saying: when someone does good to those who have harmed him, sins flee at the mere sight of him. So, Sadāśiva, let whoever has done a thing answer for it themselves.

At these words Maheśvara, the ocean of compassion who loves his devotees, was more pleased than ever. Ghuśmā, he said, ask for another boon and I will grant it. Your devotion and your unshakeable calm please me deeply, and I want to do you good.

If you wish to give me a boon, she said, then stay right here, in my name, for the protection of the world.

Ghuśmeśvara and the lake called Śivālaya

Maheśvara was delighted. Ghuśmā, he said, I will live here, famous as Ghuśmeśvara, your name joined to mine, and I will give happiness to all. My auspicious jyotirliṅga called Ghuśmeśvara will be renowned here, and this lake will forever be the dwelling of all liṅgas — so it will be known in the three worlds as Śivālaya, the home of Śiva. The mere sight of this lake will always fulfil every wish.

And in your family, faithful one, sons like this one will be born for a hundred and one generations, without doubt — with good wives, great wealth, long lives, sharp minds, learning and generosity, gaining both the joys of the world and liberation. Each of them will have a hundred and one sons, each better than the last. So your line will flourish beautifully.

Having said this, Śiva took his place there as a jyotirliṅga. He became famous as Ghuśmeśvara, and the lake became famous as Śivālaya.

Sudharmā, Sudehā and Ghuśmā came there at once and walked around Śiva a hundred and one times. They worshipped him, embraced one another, and, with the sin cleared from their hearts, knew the highest happiness. Seeing the boy alive, Sudehā was ashamed. She begged forgiveness of both her husband and her sister, and undertook a vow of penance to wash away her sin.

Phala

So the liṅga called Ghuśmeśvara came to be, Sūta tells the sages, and worshipping and seeing it always increases happiness. With this he closes his account of all twelve jyotirliṅgas, which fulfil every wish and give both enjoyment and liberation. Whoever reads or hears the stories of these jyotirliṅgas is freed from every sin and gains both the joys of this world and release.