How the World Was Peopled

“And what happened next?”

Brahmā has just finished telling Nārada how the endless liṅga of light appeared between himself and Viṣṇu. Nārada is delighted. Merely hearing of that wonder, he says, makes sorrow fall away. But he wants more: what happened after that? And how, exactly, did this creation come to be?

A fair question, says Brahmā, and promises to tell it briefly, as he himself once heard it. When Śiva withdrew into his own nature, Brahmā and Viṣṇu were left filled with a great happiness. They put aside the forms they had taken for the search — the swan and the boar — and, one wishing to create and the other to protect, both came again under the sway of Śiva's māyā.

Why a swan, why a boar

Here Nārada stops him. One doubt is troubling me, he says. Of all the forms you could have taken, why those two?

Brahmā remembers Śiva's feet and answers. A swan's steady movement is upward. And a swan, which is said to part milk from water, can also tell the real from the unreal, knowledge from ignorance. So the creator took a swan's form. Yet even the swan could not discern Śiva, who is light itself, and the form had to be dropped. How, Brahmā asks ruefully, could a mind bent on creating ever come to that knowledge?

A boar's steady movement is downward, and Viṣṇu wanted to reach the root of the liṅga. Or, Brahmā adds, Viṣṇu the protector took that form in order to found the Varāha Kalpa — for the age called the Varāha Kalpa began on the very day he took it. Or put it another way: the day Śiva willed that the two quarrelling gods should become swan and boar is the day that kalpa was born.

The egg that would not wake

Then Brahmā turns to creation itself. Once Mahādeva had vanished, he sat in meditation, thinking over what he had been commanded to do. He bowed to Śaṅkara, received knowledge from Viṣṇu, and made up his mind to create. Viṣṇu too bowed to Sadāśiva, gave Brahmā his counsel, and disappeared. He went out beyond the cosmic egg and, by Śiva's grace, made his lasting home in Vaikuṇṭha.

Brahmā called Śiva and Viṣṇu to mind, dipped his cupped hands into the waters that had been made earlier, and tossed the water upward. An egg appeared, made of the twenty-four principles. Before he could even take it in, it had swelled to a vast size.

But there was no life in it. Brahmā was filled with doubt, and he began a very hard tapas. For twelve years he kept his mind on Viṣṇu.

When the time was complete, Viṣṇu came to him, touched his limbs with affection and said: ask for a boon. I am pleased. By Śiva's grace there is nothing I cannot give.

It is only right that you are kind to me, Brahmā replied, for Śaṅkara himself placed me in your hands. This egg of twenty-four principles is huge, but it will not wake. It lies there inert. You have come here by Śiva's grace — bring consciousness into this egg, which is born of Śaṅkara's power.

Viṣṇu, ever intent on Śiva's command, took his form as Ananta and entered the egg — the supreme Person with a thousand heads, a thousand eyes, a thousand feet, pervading it on every side. At once the egg came alive. From Pātāla below to Satyaloka above, it was Viṣṇu himself who shone there as the cosmic form.

As for the five-faced Mahādeva, Brahmā says, he built the lovely city of Kailāsa simply as a place for himself to live, shining above all the worlds. Even when the whole cosmic egg is destroyed, Vaikuṇṭha and Kailāsa are not. Brahmā's own home is Satyaloka.

Creation after creation

The wish to create, Brahmā tells Nārada, arose in him only by Mahādeva's command. But the work did not go well at first.

As he began to think of creation, what came out of him first was a dark creation of tamas, the fivefold ignorance. Then, with a lighter heart, he made the “principal” creation, the immobile things. It had no power to carry creation forward. So, at Śiva's bidding, he meditated again.

Next came the creatures whose current runs sideways, the animals — a creation full of suffering, and no more able than the last to pursue the aims of life. He thought again, and a creation of sattva flowed from him, the one whose current runs upward: the gods, truthful and full of happiness. Even this he judged unfit for the purpose, and he turned his mind to his master Śiva.

Then, by Śaṅkara's command, came a creation of rajas, whose current runs downward: humankind. This one was fit to strive for the aims of life. After it, again by Mahādeva's command, came the creation of the bhūtas and their like. These five Brahmā counts as his own.

Three more arose from Brahmā together with Prakṛti: the creation of mahat, the creation of the subtle elements, and the creation called vaikārika. That makes eight. The ninth is the Kaumāra creation, which belongs to both kinds. Each has sub-divisions, Brahmā says, but he will not go into them; they are of little use.

The sons who said no

The Kaumāra creation was the birth of Sanaka, Sanandana and the other Kumāras, Brahmā's mind-born sons and his equals. (The Gita Press edition notes five: Sanaka, Sanandana, Sanātana, Sanatkumāra and Sanatsujāta.) They were full of dispassion and firm in their vows. Their minds rested always on Śiva. They had turned away from the world, and they were wise.

So when Brahmā ordered them to create, they would not put their hearts into it. They said no.

Brahmā tells Nārada plainly what followed. A terrible anger rose in him — and then confusion. Shaken by anger and bewilderment, the creator wept; tears fell from his eyes.

In that state he thought of Viṣṇu, who came at once and steadied him with a single piece of advice: do tapas to please Śiva. And Brahmā began a tapas greater and harder than before.

Rudra from the brow

As he did tapas for the sake of creation, something appeared from the place where his two eyebrows meet the top of the nose — the spot, Brahmā says, that is Śiva's own, called Avimukta. From there Śiva came forth in the form of Ardhanārīśvara: one of Maheśvara's three forms, yet his full portion, lord of all and an ocean of compassion.

Unborn, a mass of light, all-knowing, the maker of everything — this was Nīlalohita, Umā's beloved, standing before him. Brahmā bowed his head in devotion, praised him, and was glad. Then he asked: Lord, create the many kinds of living beings.

Rudra heard him and created — but what he created was a multitude of Rudra-gaṇas, every one of them like himself.

This was not what Brahmā had in mind. He spoke again: Lord, create beings who are subject to the fear of birth and death.

Mahādeva, the ocean of compassion, laughed. No, Brahmā, he said. I will not create such unhappy creatures. Bound to their own karma, they would stay sunk in a sea of sorrow.

What I will do is this, he went on. I will take the form of the guru, give them the highest knowledge, and lift them out of that sea. I will carry them across. You, lord of creatures, create all those beings who are sunk in sorrow. And because you take up this work at my command, māyā will not be able to bind you.

Having said this, Nīlalohita vanished with his attendants while Brahmā was still looking at him.

The mind-born sages and Dharma

So Brahmā went back to work. He combined the subtle elements, sound and the rest, and from them made the gross ones: space, wind, fire, water and earth. He made mountains, oceans and trees, and the measures of time from the smallest instant up to the yuga. He made many other things that arise and pass away. And still he was not satisfied.

Then he meditated on Śiva together with the Goddess, and created beings devoted to spiritual striving. From his two eyes came Marīci; from his heart, Bhṛgu; from his head, Aṅgirā. From the breath called vyāna came Pulaha, from udāna Pulastya, from samāna Vasiṣṭha, from apāna Kratu. From his two ears came Atri, and from prāṇa, Dakṣa. From his lap — he tells Nārada — came you. From his shadow came the sage Kardama.

And from his resolve came Dharma, the means behind all other means. At Brahmā's command Dharma took a human form, and these great seekers carried him forward into the world. Having made them by Mahādeva's grace, Brahmā at last felt that he had accomplished something.

After this he produced countless sons from his various limbs — gods, asuras and others — and gave each a body of its own kind.

Man and woman

Then, moved by Śaṅkara who dwells within, Brahmā divided his own body in two. With one half he became a woman, with the other a man. And from that woman the man fathered a pair, able in every kind of striving.

The man of that pair became known as Svāyambhuva Manu, a seeker of the highest order. The woman was called Śatarūpā, a yoginī and an ascetic. Manu took the lovely Śatarūpā's hand in the rite of marriage, and with her began the creation that comes through the union of man and woman.

They had two sons, Priyavrata and Uttānapāda, and three daughters: Ākūti, Devahūti and Prasūti. Manu gave Ākūti to the Prajāpati Ruci. The middle daughter, Devahūti, he married to Kardama. The youngest, Prasūti, he gave to the Prajāpati Dakṣa — and it is Prasūti's descendants, Brahmā says, who fill the whole moving and unmoving world.

To Ruci and Ākūti was born a pair, Yajña and Dakṣiṇā, and Yajña had twelve sons by Dakṣiṇā. Kardama and Devahūti had many daughters. And Dakṣa had twenty-four.

Dakṣa's daughters

Thirteen of the twenty-four Dakṣa gave in marriage to Dharma. Brahmā names them: Śraddhā, Lakṣmī, Dhṛti, Tuṣṭi, Puṣṭi, Medhā, Kriyā, Buddhi, Lajjā, Vasu, Śānti, Siddhi and Kīrti.

The eleven younger ones were Khyāti, Satpathā, Sambhūti, Smṛti, Prīti, Kṣamā, Sannati, Anasūyā, Ūrjā, Svāhā and Svadhā. In that order they were married to Bhṛgu, Bhava, Marīci, Aṅgirā, Pulastya, Pulaha, Kratu, Atri, Vasiṣṭha, Vahni — Fire — and the Pitṛs, the ancestors. The children of these sages fill the three worlds. So, by the command of Mahādeva, Ambikā's lord, countless beings were born, each according to its own earlier deeds.

In another kalpa, Brahmā adds, Dakṣa is said to have had sixty daughters. Ten he gave to Dharma, twenty-seven to the Moon, and thirteen to Kaśyapa. Four he married to Tārkṣya, and two each to Bhṛgu, Aṅgirā and Kṛśāśva. From all these couples came a great creation of moving and unmoving things.

Above all it was the thirteen wives of Kaśyapa whose offspring spread everywhere. Gods, sages, daityas, trees, birds, mountains, grasses and creepers — all were born of them. Nothing that stands still or moves is without their line. From Pātāla to Satyaloka the cosmic egg is always full of the children of Dakṣa's daughters, and never empty. In this way, by Śaṅkara's command, Brahmā's creation was accomplished.

Satī, and the One beyond the three

Brahmā closes by turning to the Goddess. She whom the all-pervading Śambhu had once brought forth for tapas, and whom as Rudra he always kept safe on the tip of his trident — she it was who was born from Dakṣa as Satī, for the good of the world, and who performed many deeds to save her devotees.

Śiva, he says, is spoken of as threefold: Viṣṇu is his left side, Brahmā his right, and Rudra is born from his heart. The three are described by the three guṇas — Viṣṇu by sattva, Brahmā by rajas, Rudra by tamas — but that is only the world's way of naming things, and the truth is otherwise. Viṣṇu is tamas within and sattva without; Rudra is sattva within and tamas without; Brahmā is rajas through and through. Śiva himself, the changeless supreme Brahman, is always beyond the guṇas.

The supreme Mother, too, is known in three forms, one for each guṇa, with Satī as the form of sattva. That same Śivā became Satī and was married to Śaṅkara. When her husband was dishonoured at her father's sacrifice, she gave up her body and did not take it again, and went to her own highest state. Later, at the prayer of the gods, she appeared as Pārvatī and won Śiva once more by great tapas.

She is known by many names, given for her qualities and her deeds and granting both enjoyment and liberation: Kālikā, Caṇḍikā, Bhadrā, Cāmuṇḍā, Vijayā, Jayā, Jayantī, Bhadrakālī, Durgā, Bhagavatī, Kāmākhyā, Kāmadā, Ambā, Mṛḍānī, Sarvamaṅgalā. Among them all, the Purāṇa says, the name Pārvatī is foremost.

So the three goddesses and the three gods together carried out the work of creation. All of this, Brahmā tells Nārada, I made at Śiva's command. Śiva is the supreme Brahman; Viṣṇu, Rudra and I are his forms, differing only by guṇa. With and without qualities, wholly free, he delights with Śivā in his own world. Rudra, his full descent, is Śiva himself — the five-faced Lord who has made his home on Kailāsa, which does not perish even when the universe does.