The Marriage of Satī

Two prayers to the Goddess

Brahmā tells this story to Nārada. Śiva, born from Brahmā's brow as Rudra, was living alone on Kailāsa as a yogī, sunk in samādhi, with no wife and no wish for one. Brahmā was troubled. Śiva had once rebuked him for so much as desiring a woman — how would such a one ever marry? And if he never did, how would creation go on as it should?

So Brahmā praised the Goddess Durgā — Śiva's beloved, the power behind all that moves and is still, beyond the three guṇas and yet their cause. She appeared before him as Yoganidrā, Caṇḍikā: dark as polished collyrium, four-armed, riding a lion, pearls in her hair, the moon on her head, three-eyed, her face like the autumn full moon. Tell me why you have praised me, she said, and it shall be done.

Brahmā laid out his worry. Only you can win Śiva's heart, he said — not Viṣṇu, not Lakṣmī, not Kāma, not I. Be born as the daughter of Dakṣa and become Śiva's wife, as you delight Viṣṇu in the form of Lakṣmī. Even now Dakṣa is doing tapas for you on the northern shore of the Ocean of Milk.

The Goddess was astonished. The Purāṇa gives her private thought: how has the creator himself fallen into such delusion, that he wants to bewitch the changeless Lord, taking him for his own son and an ordinary god? Śiva is beyond guṇas, and I am his servant. Yet if I refuse a boon, the order of the Veda is broken. She remembered Śiva in her mind, received his leave, and answered: what you say is true. No other woman can move him, and even I do not have that power by myself — but I will try with all my heart. I will be born of Dakṣa's wife as Satī, and by my own play I will win him.

Meanwhile Dakṣa, sent by Brahmā, did tapas on the shore of the Ocean of Milk for three thousand years of the gods, living on leaves, then water, then nothing, then air. At last the Goddess stood before him, dark, lion-borne, four-armed, holding boon, fearlessness, a blue lotus and a sword. Dakṣa asked for what Brahmā had asked: be born as my daughter and become Śiva's wife. This is not for me alone, he said, but for all the worlds.

The Goddess smiled and promised. I will be your daughter, she said, and by hard tapas I will win Śiva's boon — for without tapas he cannot be won; he is my lord in every birth. Then she added a condition, and told him to keep it always in mind: if you ever treat me with disrespect, I will give up this body. I am free, and I will take another. With that she vanished, and Dakṣa went home rejoicing.

Dakṣa's household

Dakṣa began to create by thought, but the beings he made did not multiply. At Brahmā's advice he married Asiknī, daughter of Pañcajana — also called Vīriṇī, daughter of Vīraṇa — so that creation could go on through union.

With her he fathered ten thousand sons, the Haryaśvas. Sent by their father to do tapas for creation, they went west to Nārāyaṇasaras, where the Sindhu meets the sea. Nārada came to them and asked: how can you set about creating when you do not even know how far the earth extends? They pondered his words, walked around him in reverence and took the path of renunciation. A thousand more sons, the Śabalāśvas, followed them to the same place and the same end.

Dakṣa, grief-stricken and furious, cursed Nārada: you have led boys astray before they had paid their debts to gods, sages and ancestors — may you never stand still anywhere as you wander the worlds. The Purāṇa notes that Nārada accepted the curse without protest, as a good man bears the wrongs of the world. Brahmā came, calmed Dakṣa, and took Nārada home with him.

After that Dakṣa had sixty daughters. Ten he gave to Dharma, thirteen to Kaśyapa, twenty-seven to the Moon, two each to Aṅgiras and Kṛśāśva, and the rest to Tārkṣya; their offspring fill the world. Some say Satī was the eldest of these daughters, some the middle one, some the youngest — and the Purāṇa says all three are right, in different ages of creation.

Then Dakṣa and his wife meditated on the Goddess with folded hands, and she entered Dakṣa's mind and from there came to dwell in Vīriṇī's womb. Vīriṇī grew radiant and glad. Viṣṇu and the gods came to bow to the Goddess in the womb and praised the fortunate parents.

When the tenth month was complete, at a gentle hour, with moon and planets favourable, Satī was born. Flowers fell from the sky, the clouds rained, the directions grew calm, the gods played music in the air, and the sacred fires that had gone out blazed up again. Dakṣa knew at once who she was and sang a hymn to her. The Goddess answered him so that only he could hear, not even her mother: your wish is fulfilled — now return to your tapas. Then, by her own māyā, she became an infant and began to cry.

The women of the house came running, and the city rang with rejoicing. The gods came with Viṣṇu and bowed to the Goddess in the form of Dakṣa's daughter. At their word Dakṣa named her Umā, because she held every good quality; other auspicious names came to her later.

The child who made little Śivas

She grew like the waxing moon, and every good quality came into her by itself, as the digits come to the moon. Playing with her friends she would make images of Śiva again and again. When she sang children's songs, she was singing of Hara, Rudra and Sthāṇu, the master of Kāma. Young as she was, she loved and served her parents and did the work of the house with skill.

One day Brahmā came to Dakṣa's house with Nārada. Satī bowed to them both, and Brahmā blessed her: may you win as husband the all-knowing Lord who desires you and whom you desire — who has taken no other wife, takes none now, and never will, and who has no equal. Hearing this, Dakṣa was freed of worry and began to honour his daughter as the Supreme Goddess.

So she passed through girlhood into youth. Dakṣa began to wonder how he could give her to Śiva. Satī, knowing her father's mind and longing for Śiva herself, went to her mother Vīriṇī and asked leave to do tapas. With her mother's blessing she began a vow at home to win Maheśvara as her husband.

The Nandā vow

The Purāṇa sets out her vow month by month. In Āśvina, on each of the Nandā days — the first, sixth and eleventh of the fortnight — she worshipped Hara with jaggery, rice and salt. In Kārttika, on the fourteenth, with sweet rice and cakes. In Mārgaśīrṣa, on the eighth of the dark fortnight, with barley, sesame and rice. In Pauṣa, on the bright seventh, she kept vigil all night and worshipped with khichṛī at dawn. On the full moon of Māgha she kept vigil and worshipped at dawn on a riverbank in wet clothes.

On the dark fourteenth of Phālguna she kept vigil all night and worshipped Śiva in every watch with bilva leaves and bilva fruit. On the bright fourteenth of Caitra, with palāśa and damanaka flowers. On the bright third of Vaiśākha, with the gifts of the cow, sesame, barley and rice. On the full moon of Jyeṣṭha she fasted and worshipped at night with cloth and wild nightshade flowers; on the bright fourteenth of Āṣāḍha, with black cloth and the same flowers. In Śrāvaṇa, on the bright eighth and fourteenth, with a sacred thread and garments. In Bhādrapada, on the dark fourteenth, with many flowers and fruits — and on the fourteenth days she took only water.

Through every month she ate sparingly, repeated his name, and offered him the flowers, fruits and grains of each season. When the Nandā vow was complete she sat in meditation on Śiva alone, unmoving.

The gods and sages came with Viṣṇu and Brahmā at their head to see her tapas. She looked, the Purāṇa says, like Siddhi — perfection itself — in bodily form. They bowed to her with folded hands, marvelled at her tapas, and went straight on to Kailāsa, Viṣṇu with Lakṣmī and Brahmā with Sāvitrī. There they praised Śiva at length: the witness of all, beyond nature and spirit, neither god nor demon, man nor woman, what remains when the Veda has said “not this” of everything else.

Śiva's conditions

Śiva laughed with pleasure at their hymn and asked why they had come. Brahmā, at Viṣṇu's bidding, spoke. We three work together, he said, and must help one another or the world will not stand. Demons will arise — some to die by my hand, some by Viṣṇu's, some by yours, some by a son born of you, some by your māyā. But you are free of passion and full of mercy; you may not wish to kill them. We are really one, divided into three only by our work. Viṣṇu and I have taken wives for the sake of that work. You too should take a consort, as Lakṣmī is Viṣṇu's and Sāvitrī mine.

And remember, Brahmā went on, what you yourself once told us: that a form of yours called Rudra would come forth from my body, and that this Rudra would marry and do the world's good work. Keep your own word.

Śiva answered with a smile. You two are dear to me, and your words carry weight. But I am a yogī, turned away from the world, delighting in my own Self, an avadhūta clothed in what the world calls inauspicious. What would I do with a wife? Marriage is a great bondage. Still, I am always subject to my devotees, and to keep my word I will marry.

Then he named the kind of wife he could accept. She must be able to take on a share of my fiery energy. When I am in yoga she must be a yoginī; when I am in love she must be a loving wife. I am always contemplating the eternal Śiva-principle; a woman who hinders that cannot be my wife. And one more condition: if she ever doubts me or my words, I will leave her.

Brahmā and Viṣṇu smiled at each other. Such a woman already exists, Brahmā said. The Goddess Umā has taken form again and again for the world's work — as Lakṣmī for Viṣṇu, as Sarasvatī for me — and now she has come in a third form, as Satī, daughter of Dakṣa. She is doing tapas this very moment to win you. Go and give her your boon, and marry her. Viṣṇu added: take Brahmā's words as mine. Śiva laughed and said: so be it.

The boon, and a messenger

Satī fasted on the bright eighth of Āśvina and worshipped Śiva. As the vow came to its end, while part of the ninth day still remained, Śiva appeared before her as she sat in meditation: fair and beautiful, five-faced with three eyes in each face, the moon on his brow, his throat blue, four arms holding the trident, Brahmā's skull, and the gestures of boon and fearlessness, smeared with ash, Gaṅgā on his head, radiant as ten million moons.

Satī bowed at his feet with lowered eyes. Choose a boon, Śiva said — knowing well what she wanted, but wishing to hear it from her. She could not speak; her wish was hidden under her shyness. Choose a boon, choose a boon, he said again and again. At last she managed only: give me the boon I desire, one that will never fail. Seeing she could not finish, Śiva said it himself: Be my wife.

She stood silent and smiling, and love entered both their hearts. Dark as collyrium beside Śiva's crystal whiteness, she looked like a streak of cloud beside the moon. Then she folded her hands and asked one thing more: take me in marriage in the proper way, before my father. So it shall be, said Śiva. Satī went home to her mother, and Śiva returned to his hermitage on a Himālayan peak — where, the Purāṇa says, he could barely keep to his meditation for missing her.

Taking up the ways of the world, Śiva called Brahmā to mind, and Brahmā came with Sarasvatī. Ever since I set my heart on marriage, Śiva confessed, it has become my own concern. Go to Dakṣa and see that he gives me his daughter quickly; end this separation. It is already settled, Brahmā assured him, and set off for Dakṣa's house in his swift chariot.

At home Satī had bowed to her parents and had a friend tell them how Śiva had granted her wish. Dakṣa and Vīriṇī rejoiced and gave gifts to brahmins, the blind and the poor; Vīriṇī held her daughter close and kissed her head. But after a while Dakṣa grew anxious. Śiva came to grant her a boon and went away — how will he come again? If I send someone to him and he refuses, my asking will be wasted. Should I worship him myself, until he comes and takes her?

Just then Brahmā arrived with Sarasvatī. The time for your daughter's boon has come, he told Dakṣa. Śiva has sent me for her. He whom Kāma could never pierce with all his flower-arrows is now pierced, and is restless like an ordinary being. He forgets what he has just heard; before his own gaṇas he asks, where is Satī? As she worshipped him with her vow, he now sits on the Himālaya worshipping her. Give her to him without delay. I will bring him here with Nārada. Dakṣa gladly agreed.

The wedding at Dakṣa's house

Brahmā went back to Kailāsa. Śiva, still playing the part of an anxious bridegroom, asked at once: what did Dakṣa say? This separation is tearing at my heart. Brahmā gave him Dakṣa's message: my daughter was born for him; let him come at an auspicious hour and I will give her into his hands as alms. Then I will come with you and Nārada, said Śiva, and with your mind-born sons Marīci and the rest, and with my gaṇas.

Brahmā called Nārada and his sons to mind, and they came at once. Viṣṇu came on Garuḍa with Lakṣmī and his attendants. On the bright thirteenth of Caitra, a Sunday, under the star Pūrvā Phalgunī, Śiva set out. The elephant, the bull, the tiger, the serpents, his matted hair and the crescent moon all turned into fitting ornaments for him. Riding a swift bull, surrounded by gods, sages and joyful pramathas, he reached Dakṣa's house in a moment.

Dakṣa came out to meet them, his hair standing on end with joy. He honoured all the gods, led Śiva inside, seated him on a fine seat and worshipped him himself, then Viṣṇu, Brahmā, the brahmins, the gods and the gaṇas. After consulting Marīci and the sages he asked Brahmā to conduct the wedding. At an auspicious moment, when the planets were strong, Dakṣa gave Satī to Śiva, and Śiva took her hand. There was music and dancing, and everything was auspicious.

Dakṣa gave Śiva many gifts. Then Viṣṇu stood before Śiva with folded hands. You are the father of the world, he said, and Satī is its mother. You shine with dark Satī as I, dark, shine with fair Lakṣmī. Protect the gods and good people together with her. And I ask one thing: if anyone looks at Satī with desire, or hears of her and desires her, kill him. Śiva laughed and said: so be it. Viṣṇu went back to his place and kept that exchange to himself.

Brahmā's lapse, and the name Rudraśira

Brahmā then performed the fire-rites as the household scriptures prescribe, and Śiva and Satī walked around the fire. Here Brahmā tells Nārada something he calls a wonder, against himself. Śiva's māyā bewilders gods, demons and men alike. I had once wanted to bewilder Śiva by guile, he says — and in his play Śiva bewildered me. Whoever seeks to harm another is harmed first.

As Satī circled the fire her feet showed beneath her garment, and Brahmā, deluded by that māyā, looked at her with desire. Wanting to see her veiled face, he fed wet wood into the fire until thick smoke hid the altar. Śiva covered his smarting eyes with his hands, and Brahmā lifted the veil and gazed at her face, losing his self-control. Then, ashamed and afraid, he fell silent.

Śiva saw it all with his inner sight. Sinner, he said, why have you looked at my wife with desire at my own wedding? Did you think I would not know? I am in every moving and unmoving thing as oil is in every part of the sesame seed. Remembering Viṣṇu's request, he raised his trident to kill Brahmā. Marīci and the sages cried out; the gods praised Śiva in fear; Dakṣa ran forward with both arms raised, crying, do not do it, do not do it!

Śiva would not relent: I promised Viṣṇu, and I will keep my word. Then Viṣṇu stepped in front of him. Do not kill Brahmā, he pleaded. He has come to your shelter. He was born to create; who will do that work if he is gone? And it was he who brought Śivā to birth as Satī to be your wife. Śiva answered: I will create all beings myself, or bring forth another creator from my own light.

Viṣṇu smiled. A vow, Lord, is fulfilled upon another — not upon oneself. We three are your own self, not others. How can Brahmā be my self, Śiva asked, when he sits there in front of me, plainly separate? Then Viṣṇu, at Śiva's own wish, spoke the truth of Śiva for everyone to hear: we three are parts of you, the one light, as head and neck are parts of one body; the brahman — self-luminous, ancient, unmanifest, endless — is you, and everything has come from you. Śiva was pleased, and Brahmā was spared.

Everyone breathed again and praised Śiva. Then Śiva told Brahmā: I am pleased; do not fear. Touch your head with your hand. Brahmā did — and at that moment Śiva's own form was seen seated upon his head. Brahmā stood with lowered face, ashamed, while Indra and the gods looked on, and begged forgiveness and a penance.

In this form, with me presiding over you, Śiva said, do tapas; you will be known on earth as Rudraśira, “Rudra-headed”, and will bring about the works of brahmins. Because your lapse was a human one, wander the earth as a man. Whoever sees you and asks in wonder how Śiva came to be on Brahmā's head, and hears the whole story, will be freed of sin concerning another's wife — and each time people tell of your fault, you will be further cleansed. This penance, Śiva said, is to be laughed at and blamed by men.

The Purāṇa adds that from Brahmā's lapse at the altar four great clouds of dissolution arose in the sky — Saṃvarta, Āvarta, Puṣkara and Droṇa — thundering fearfully and letting fall a little rain. When they had covered the sky, Śiva and Satī grew calm. Brahmā, his fear gone, completed the rest of the wedding at Śiva's command.

The ride to Kailāsa

The gods showered flowers on the heads of Śiva and Śivā, instruments played, brahmins recited the Veda, and Rambhā and the apsarases danced. Then Śiva, folding his hands in the manner of the world, said to Brahmā: you have been the priest of this wedding and done it well. What fee shall I give you? Ask for anything, however rare.

Brahmā asked for the good of all. Remain on this altar in this very form, always, for the cleansing of people's sins, and let me build my hermitage near you and do tapas for my own fault. Whoever sees you here with devotion on the bright thirteenth of Caitra, a Sunday under Pūrvā Phalgunī, let his sins be destroyed, his merit grow and his illnesses vanish; and let any woman who is unfortunate, childless, one-eyed or plain be freed of her defect by the mere sight of you. So be it, said Śiva, and brought forth a partial form of himself, with his wife, and seated it at the centre of the altar.

Then Śiva took leave of Dakṣa. Dakṣa bowed and praised him, and the gods, sages and gaṇas cried victory. Śiva seated Satī on the bull and mounted it himself. Sitting beside him, smiling, she looked like the dark mark on the moon. Viṣṇu, the gods, Marīci and the sages, even Dakṣa, stood spellbound as if painted. Some followed playing music, some singing Śiva's glory.

Halfway along the road Śiva lovingly sent Dakṣa back. He dismissed the gods as well, but out of love they followed him all the way to Kailāsa, where he honoured them and sent them home. And there, on his mountain, following the ways of the world, Śiva lived in joy with Dakṣa's daughter.

This, Brahmā says, is how Śiva was married in the Svāyambhuva age. The Purāṇa promises that whoever worships Śiva and listens calmly to this story at a wedding, a sacrifice or the start of any good work will see it completed without obstacles; and a maiden who hears it with love will be blessed with happiness, good fortune, good character and a faithful, fruitful marriage.