Vaidyanath — the Healer

The ninth Jyotirlinga is Vaidyanath — “lord of physicians” — at Deoghar in Jharkhand. (There are two competing sites historically; the most-followed identification is the Jharkhand temple.) The story behind it is one of the strangest in the Purana, and it involves Ravana — the demon king of Lanka the Ramayana is about — in an early, devout phase of his life.

Long before he abducted Sita, Ravana was a great devotee of Shiva. He composed the Shiva Tandava Stotra (still chanted today) in Shiva’s praise. He did long, hard austerity. The Purana takes the view that Ravana — despite his later catastrophic deeds — was, in his own way, sincere in his devotion to Shiva.

Ravana decided he wanted Shiva himself in Lanka. Not a representation. Not a copy. The actual presence.

He went to Kailash. He did austerity at Kailash itself, in front of Shiva. He cut off his own ten heads, one by one, in his austerity (they would grow back, as part of his boon-system). He chanted without break for years.

At last Shiva came.

“You are devoted,” Shiva said. “Ask.”

“I want you in Lanka,” Ravana said. “Come back with me. Make Lanka your seat.”

Shiva considered. He could not simply leave his ordinary place; the worlds were balanced around it. But he could give Ravana something.

“I will give you my Atma-linga,” Shiva said. “It is my form of light. You may carry it to Lanka and install it there. Once installed, I will reside in that linga. But there is one condition: you must not set it down on the earth at any point during the journey between here and Lanka. If you set it down even once, it will become permanently fixed at that spot. The journey from Kailash to Lanka must be done without rest.”

Ravana agreed. He took the linga. He started south.

The other gods, seeing this, were alarmed. If Shiva himself goes to Lanka, the demon king becomes essentially unassailable. They asked Vishnu and Ganesha for help.

A plan was arranged.

As Ravana flew south carrying the linga, he passed over the Jharkhand region (in some tellings the Deoghar area; in some, Baidyanath in Maharashtra — the traditions vary; the most followed is Jharkhand). At that point, the gods made the natural urge come strongly upon him — Ravana needed to relieve himself. He was many hours into a long flight. He could not hold it.

He looked around for someone to hold the linga while he stepped aside. A small cowherd boy was conveniently passing — actually Ganesha in disguise.

“Boy,” Ravana said. “Hold this for me. Whatever you do, do not put it down. Wait until I return. I will be only a moment.”

The boy took the linga. Ravana stepped behind a rock.

Ganesha — patient, as small boys playing a role can be patient — waited. Then, as if growing tired, he set the linga down on the ground.

By the time Ravana came back, the linga was rooted.

Ravana tried to pull it up. He used all his ten-handed strength. The linga did not move. He pressed his thumb into it (some tellings say he made a deep dent — the linga at Vaidyanath actually has a distinctive impression). He could not lift it.

The boy was gone.

Ravana, realising he had been outmanoeuvred, sat down for a long time. The Purana lets him have a complicated reaction: he was angry at the gods, but he was also a great enough devotee to recognise that Shiva had chosen to remain at that spot, and that he could not override Shiva’s choice. He bowed at the linga. He went home to Lanka empty-handed but having installed, at this spot in the forest, one of the twelve Jyotirlingas.

The name Vaidyanath — “lord of physicians” — comes from this site being especially associated with healing. Pilgrims come here when they or someone they love is ill. Ravana himself, the Purana adds, was given to this site for a kind of healing too: it was here he realised that he had been outsmarted, and the realisation was a kind of medicine.

The next Jyotirlinga is on the western shore — among the snakes.