The Pillar of Light

Long ago, before the worlds had taken their settled shape, Brahma and Vishnu — two of the three great gods — met and argued.

“I am the greatest,” said Brahma. “I am the creator. From my mind the worlds and beings come.”

“No,” said Vishnu. “I am the greatest. I sustain the worlds you make. Without me your creation would fall apart in a day.”

The argument grew. Each named what he had done. Each named what he could do. Neither would yield. The other gods stood at a distance, unsure how to settle it.

Then, between them, a pillar of light appeared.

It was not an ordinary light. It was a column of fire, rising from below them into the sky, and going both ways further than the eye could see. The two gods stopped arguing and stared. The pillar had no top, no bottom, no source they could find. It just stood there, blazing, silent.

A voice came out of it. “I am older than both of you,” the voice said. “I have no beginning. The one of you who can find my end will be the greater.”

The two gods agreed at once. Vishnu took the form of a great boar and dug downward into the earth, searching for the bottom of the pillar. Brahma took the form of a swan and flew upward, searching for its top.

Vishnu went deep, deep into the worlds below, for what felt like ages. He went as far as he could go. He found no bottom. The pillar kept going. Honestly defeated, he returned and admitted he had not found the end.

Brahma flew up, up, up, past the heavens, past the worlds of the gods. He too found no end. But on the way back, Brahma saw a single ketaki flower falling from above, and a quick lie came into his head. He took the flower and returned saying he had reached the top and brought the flower from there.

The pillar opened. Out of it stepped Shiva himself. He looked at the two of them.

“Vishnu,” he said, “you told the truth. You did not find my end. There is no end. You are honoured for your honesty, and you and I are brothers.”

He turned to Brahma. “You lied. You did not reach the top. I see your deceit. From this day no one will worship you with a separate temple on earth — you will be in the rites, but no shrine will be raised only for you. And you, ketaki flower, who lied with him, will never again be offered at my altar.”

That curse holds to this day. There are almost no separate Brahma temples in India, and the ketaki flower is not used in Shiva worship.

The pillar itself — the endless column of light that had appeared between the two gods — became Shiva’s symbol forever. It is the linga, the form he is most often worshipped as. Not an idol of a face or a body, but a smooth pillar — the shape of the light that appeared the day the other two gods first met him.

The next story is who Shiva is, told plainly.