Sati Wins Shiva

Shiva was a renunciate. He had not been planning to marry. But Sati had now done years of austerity for him, and the heat of her practice was beginning to disturb the worlds themselves.

He came down from Kailash. He did not announce himself. He walked into the forest where Sati was sitting, in the form of an old, ugly brahmin — bent, with thin hair and a sharp tongue.

“Girl,” he said. “I see you are doing austerity. For what?”

Sati looked up. She did not recognise him. “I am doing it for Shiva,” she said. “I want him as my husband.”

The old man laughed. “Shiva? Shiva? That ash-smeared wanderer? He lives in cremation grounds. He keeps snakes for company. He has no home, no proper clothes, no wealth, no kindness. You — a princess — for him?”

“Yes,” Sati said. “For him.”

“He is bad-tempered,” the old man went on. “He will dance for no reason. His best friend is a bull. His next best friend is a ghost. He has nothing to give you. He has no real family. He spends his time in meditation and barely notices when you walk into the room.”

Sati did not move. “I know all of that,” she said. “I have known it since I could speak his name. I do not want him because he is rich or handsome or polite. I want him because he is Shiva. Find another girl to insult him to. I am not going to argue.”

The old man looked at her, and his form began to change. The bent back straightened. The thin hair became long and matted. The trident appeared in his hand. The ash spread itself over his shoulders. The snake came up around his neck. The third eye opened a small slit on his forehead.

“Sati,” Shiva said. “I came to test you. I will not test you again. I heard every word you said about me. I accept.”

Sati did not weep. She bowed once, very low, and stood up. Her years of austerity ended at that moment.

Shiva did not propose elaborately. He said only, “Will you come?”

She said, “I am already coming.”

He took her back to her father’s palace himself, in his own chariot. He went to Daksha and asked formally for Sati’s hand. Daksha — having publicly told his daughter she could try to win Shiva — could not now refuse. He gave his consent through gritted teeth, ordered the wedding to be arranged, and sat through the ceremony looking as if he were swallowing a stone.

The wedding was performed. The gods all attended. Even Brahma blessed it (though he had his own old grievance with Shiva, he kept it quiet that day). Sati went home with Shiva to Kailash.

She lived there happily — far from her father’s palace, in a snowy mountain cave that she made warm by being there. The gods saw her and were pleased. Daksha did not visit. He was waiting.

The next story is what Daksha did when he had waited long enough.