The Hero with a Thousand Faces

The sophistication of the humor of the infantile imagery, when inflected in a skillful mythological rendition of metaphysical doctrine, emerges magnificently in one of the best known of the great myths of the Oriental world: the Hindu account of the primordial battle between the titans and the gods for the liquor of immortality. An ancient earth being, Kaśyapa, “The Turtle Man,” had married thirteen of the daughters of a still more ancient demiurgic patriarch, Dakṣa, “The Lord of Virtue.” Two of these daughters, Diti and Aditī by name, had given birth respectively to the titans and the gods. In an unending series of family battles, however, many of these sons of Kaśyapa were being slain. But now the high priest of the titans, by great austerities and meditations, gained the favor of Śiva, Lord of the Universe. Śiva bestowed on him a charm to revive the dead. This gave to the titans an advantage which the gods, in the next battle, were quick to perceive. They retired in confusion to consult together, and addressed themselves to the high divinities Brahmā and Viṣṇu.

Figure 40. Brahmā, Viṣṇu, and Śiva with Their Consorts (painted miniature, India, early nineteenth century a.d.)

Brahmā, Viṣṇu, and Śiva, respectively Creator, Preserver, and Destroyer, constitute a trinity in Hinduism, as three aspects of the operation of the one creative substance. After the seventh century b.c., Brahmā, declining in importance, became merely the creative agent of Viṣṇu. Thus Hinduism today is divided into two main camps, one devoted primarily to the creator-preserver Viṣṇu, the other to Śiva, the world-destroyer, who unites the soul to the eternal. But these two are ultimately one. In the present myth, it is through their joint operation that the elixir of life is obtained.

They were advised to conclude with their brother-enemies a temporary truce, during which the titans should be induced to help them churn the Milky Ocean of immortal life for its butter — Amṛta (a not, mṛta, mortal), “the nectar of deathlessness.” Flattered by the invitation, which they regarded as an admission of their superiority, the titans were delighted to participate; and so the epochal cooperative adventure at the beginning of the four ages of the world cycle began. Mount Mandara was selected as the churning stick. Vāsuki, the King of Serpents, consented to become the churning rope with which to twirl it. Viṣṇu himself, in the form of a tortoise, dove into the Milky Ocean to support with his back the base of the mountain. The gods laid hold of one end of the serpent, after it had been wrapped around the mountain, the titans the other. And the company then churned for a thousand years.

The first thing to arise from the surface of the sea was a black, poisonous smoke, called Kālakuta, “Black Summit,” namely the highest concentration of the power of death. “Drink me,” said Kālakuta; and the operation could not proceed until someone should be found capable of drinking it up. Śiva, sitting aloof and afar, was approached. Magnificently, he relaxed from his position of deeply indrawn meditation and proceeded to the scene of the churning of the Milky Ocean. Taking the tincture of death in a cup, he swallowed it at a gulp, and by his yoga-power held it in his throat. The throat turned blue. Hence Śiva is addressed as “Blue Neck,” Nīlakantha.

The churning now being resumed, presently there began coming up out of the inexhaustible depths precious forms of concentrated power. Apsarases (nymphs) appeared, Lakṣmī, the goddess of fortune, the milk-white horse named Uccaiḥśravas, “Neighing Aloud,” the pearl of gems, Kaustubha, and other objects to the number of thirteen. Last to appear was the skilled physician of the gods, Dhanvantari, holding in his hand the moon, the cup of the nectar of life.

Now began immediately a great battle for possession of the invaluable drink. One of the titans, Rāhu, managed to steal a sip, but was beheaded before the liquor passed his throat; his body decayed but the head remained immortal. And this head now goes pursuing the moon forever through the skies, trying again to seize it. When it succeeds, the cup passes easily through its mouth and out again at its throat: that is why we have eclipses of the moon.