The Thief Who Lit a Lamp

Nārada once asked Brahmā: when did Śiva come to live on Kailāsa, and how did he become the friend of Kubera? This is Brahmā's answer.

Guṇanidhi

In the city of Kāmpilya lived Yajñadatta, a learned priest from a family of soma-sacrificers, honoured by kings. He had one son, Guṇanidhi — “a treasure of virtues”. After his sacred thread the boy studied well enough. But behind his father's back, he took up gambling.

He took money from his mother and handed it to gamblers. He gave up his prayers and his bath, mocked the Vedas, insulted gods and brahmins, and spent his days with players, actors and jesters. When his father asked where he was, his mother always said: he has bathed and done his worship, and gone out to study with two or three friends. Yajñadatta never found out. At sixteen the boy was married.

His mother pleaded with him every day. Your father is quick to anger — if he finds out, he will beat us both. A brahmin's wealth is learning and good company. You are nineteen; your wife is sixteen; love her, honour your father, and give up this life. But no one ruined by gambling listens. Chests, clothes, anything he saw in the house went to the gamblers — and one day, his father's jewelled ring.

The ring

Yajñadatta saw his own ring on a gambler's hand and demanded to know where he had got it. Why shout at me? said the gambler. Your son gave it to me. Before that he gave me his mother's sari. And plenty more to the others: chests of jewels, silk, a golden jug, bronze and copper vessels. We strip him and tie him up every day. There is no bigger gambler in the world. How did you never know?

Yajñadatta covered his head with his cloth for shame and went home. Where is my ring? he asked his wife. Where is the red sari I gave you? The golden jug? The silk shawl? The ivory stool? The lamp-bearing statuette? Every time I asked where my son was, you said he was studying. Then he said: I have no son. Bring water — I will offer it for him as for the dead. And that same day he married again.

Śivarātri

Guṇanidhi heard all this and fled the house. He walked until he could walk no more, and sat under a tree. Where do I go? I have no learning, no money. I cannot beg; no one knows me here. Every morning before sunrise my mother gave me sweet food — who will give me anything now? The sun set.

It was the night of Śivarātri. A devotee of Śiva came out of the city with his family, fasting, carrying every kind of offering, and worshipped Śiva in a temple nearby. Guṇanidhi smelled the cooked food laid before the god. When they fall asleep, he thought, I will take it. He sat by the temple door and watched the whole long worship.

When the devotees had sung and danced and fallen asleep, he crept in. The lamp was low; he could not see the food. So he tore a strip from his upper cloth, twisted it into a wick, and lit it — and the darkness over the head of the liṅga lifted. He grabbed the offerings and ran — and trod on a sleeper, who woke shouting: who's that? Stop him! The guards caught him and beat him, and he died there.

Yama's messengers and Śiva's

Yama's messengers came with their nooses to drag him away. But Śiva's attendants came too, with a shining chariot, belled ornaments and tridents. Let him go, they said. His sins are burnt away.

This man? said Yama's messengers. He broke every rule of his family, disobeyed his parents, gave up truth and purity — and he stole what was offered to Śiva!

Śiva's dharma is subtle, answered Śiva's attendants. Hear what he did. He removed the darkness from the top of the liṅga. He tore his own cloth to make a wick and lit a lamp for Śiva on Śivarātri night. He heard Śiva's names sung, and watched the whole worship with his whole attention, fasting. He comes with us. Yama's messengers went back, and Yama told them: from now on, leave alone anyone who wears ash, or rudrākṣa, or Śiva's marks — whatever the reason.

King Dama

After a time in Śiva's world, Guṇanidhi was born again as Dama, son of King Arindama of Kaliṅga. As a child he played at worshipping Śiva with other children. When he became king he held only one dharma: lamps in Śiva's temples. He summoned every village headman and ordered: every Śiva temple around your village must have its lamps lit, always — or you answer to me. So every temple in Kaliṅga glowed, all his life.

Kubera

In a later age he was born as Kubera, and did tapas at Kāśī for ten thousand years, until he was only skin and bone. Śiva came with Pārvatī: lord of Alakā, ask for a boon. Kubera opened his eyes and could not bear the light. Give me the power to see your feet, he said — I want no other boon. Śiva touched him with his palm and gave him sight.

The first thing he looked at was Pārvatī. Who is this woman beside Śiva? What tapas has she done, greater than mine? Such beauty, such love, such fortune! He stared and stared — and at her glance, his left eye burst. Śiva laughed and told Pārvatī: he is your son; he is not looking at you with ill will, only praising your tapas. Then he made him lord of all treasures, king of the yakṣas and guhyakas, giver of wealth to all — and his friend for ever. I will live near your city of Alakā, Śiva said. And Pārvatī blessed him: may your devotion to Śiva always be pure; you will have one tawny eye, and be called Kubera.

That is why Śiva lives on Kailāsa, beside Alakā — near the friend who, as a starving thief, once lit him a lamp.