The Slaying of Raktabija, Nishumbha, and Shumbha

The Coming of the Mother Powers

Raktabija heard her out, and his rage took him. He shot dreadful arrows at the Devi’s lion, and Ambika, seeing them come through the air like serpents, cut them apart in a moment with sharp arrows of her own; then she drew other arrows to her ear, arrows whetted on stone, and struck the great asura with them. He fell senseless on his chariot. Dismay went through his army, and his soldiers cried out, “Alas, we are killed!” The cry carried to Shumbha, and he ordered every daitya warrior to arm, the danavas of the Kamboja land and above all the valiant warriors called Kalakeyas, and his whole fourfold army, elephants, horses, chariots and foot, drunk on its own strength, set out for the field where the Devi waited. Chandika saw it come. She rang her bell again and again, a dreadful sound; Jagadamba twanged her bowstring and blew her conch; and at that sound Kali opened her mouth wide and roared. The Bhagavati’s mighty lion roared in answer, and the daityas, beside themselves with anger, hurled their weapons at the Devi.

In that dreadful battle the shaktis of Brahma and the other gods came to Chandika’s side, each wearing the form, the ornaments and the mount of the god from whom she came. Brahmani, Brahma’s own power, came on a swan with a string of akshasutra beads and a water pot. Vaishnavi came on Garuda in yellow silk, carrying Vishnu’s conch, discus, mace and lotus. Maheshvari, the power of Shankara, rode a bull, a fine trident in her hand, the half moon on her head and serpents coiled at her wrists. Kaumari, fair-faced, in the very shape of Kartikeya, came on a peacock with a spear, eager for the fight. Indrani, fair-faced and fierce with anger, came on a shining elephant with the vajra in her fist. Varahi came in the form of a boar, riding a great corpse; Narasimhi in the form of the man-lion; Yamya, fearful as Yama himself, staff in hand and seated on a buffalo, smiling sweetly as she came. Varuni came, Varuna’s power, and Kauberi, the intoxicated power of Kubera, and the shaktis of the other gods, each in her god’s form and each with her host. Ambika was glad to see them. The gods breathed again, and the daityas were afraid.

Shiva Becomes the Goddess’s Messenger

Shiva, who wishes the world well, came to Chandika on the field with those shaktis and told her what he wanted of her. For the gods’ sake she should kill Shumbha and Nishumbha and every danava gathered there; when the asura army was destroyed and the world freed of its fear, these shaktis could all go back to their places, the gods would receive their shares of the sacrifice again, Brahmins would take up yajna, every creature would be content, famine would end, the clouds would rain in season and the farmer’s fields would yield more than before. At his words a shakti came out of Chandika’s body, wondrous and very fierce, dreadful to look at, giving out a sound like hundreds of she-jackals howling together. With a gentle smile on her face she spoke to five-faced Shiva. “Go quickly to the daitya king Shumbha. Be my messenger now. Tell desire-stricken Shumbha and drunken Nishumbha this, in my words: Leave heaven at once and go to Patala, so that the gods may enter heaven in peace, Indra take back his throne, and all the gods have their shares of the sacrifice again. If you wish to live, go quickly to Patala, where the danavas live. Or, if you trust your strength and want battle, come and die, so that my she-jackals may be sated with your raw flesh.” Shiva went at once to Shumbha where he sat in his court. “I am Mahadeva, the slayer of Tripura, and I have come as Ambika’s messenger for your whole good. She says this: leave heaven and earth and go quickly to Patala, where Prahlada and Bali live, the best of the strong. Or if you wish to die, come before me at once, and I will soon kill you all in battle. Queen Ambika has said this for your good.” The trident-bearer delivered that message, nectar for anyone who would take it, and returned. Because the Bhagavati Ambika had sent Shiva himself as her envoy to the danavas, she became famous in the three worlds as Shivaduti. The daityas heard her hard words from Shankara’s mouth, put on their armor, took up their weapons, and went out at once to battle. They rushed onto the field before Chandika shooting sharp arrows drawn to the ear, and the mothers met them. Kalika tore danavas with trident, mace and spear and ate them; Brahmani left mighty danavas lifeless with no more than a sprinkle of water from her pot; Maheshvari struck them down with her trident, Vaishnavi left them dead and headless with mace and discus, Indrani felled with her vajra the great daityas Airavata’s trunk had already hurt, Varahi killed hundreds with her snout and tusks, and Narasimhi tore them with her claws and ate them, roaring. Shivaduti felled daityas with her loud laugh alone, and Chamunda and Kalika ate them as they fell; Kaumari killed with sharp arrows, and Varuni bound them in her noose and dropped them senseless one on another to die. The great danava army broke before the mothers and fled, a wailing went up from that ocean of an army, and the gods rained flowers on the Devi’s ganas.

Raktabija’s Blood and Kali’s Thirst

Raktabija had come back to himself. He heard the danavas’ cries and the gods’ cheering, saw his daityas running, and anger took him; he armed, mounted his chariot, twanged his bowstring and came out onto the field with red eyes to face the Devi himself. He carried a boon with him. Long ago Shankara had granted this danava a most wondrous thing: whenever a drop of blood from his body touched the earth, danavas of his own form and his own valor would be born of it at once, countless and mighty. Proud of that boon and very angry, he rushed in to kill Ambika and Kalika together. He saw Vaishnavi on her Garuda and flung his spear at that lotus-eyed goddess; she turned the blow with her mace and struck him with her discus, and from the wound a great stream of blood ran down, as red ochre runs from a mountain peak split by a thunderbolt. Wherever the drops fell on the ground, thousands of men of his own form stood up. Indrani in her anger struck him with the vajra, and more blood flowed, and more Raktabijas rose from it, his equals in valor and form, all armed and mad for battle. Brahmani beat him with the staff of Brahma; Maheshvari tore him with her trident; Narasimhi pierced him with her claws; Varahi struck him with her snout; Kaumari drove her spear into his chest. Raging, he wounded each of those goddesses in turn, and they pierced him back, and Chandika cut his weapons out of the air and struck him with arrows of her own. Now the blood poured from him, and from it thousands of heroes like him, until the whole world was filled with Raktabijas, armored, armed, fighting wondrously. The gods watched and were afraid. How were these thousands of huge danavas to be destroyed? On the field were only Chandika, Kali and a few of the mothers; for these alone to conquer all the danavas was hard, and if Shumbha or Nishumbha came suddenly with an army as well, it would be a great disaster.

While the gods fretted, Ambika turned to lotus-eyed Kali. “Chamunda, open your mouth fully, quickly, and drink fast the blood that flows when my weapons strike, and roam the field as you please, eating the danavas. I will kill these daityas with sharp arrows, mace, sword and pestle. Drink this daitya’s blood so that not one drop falls to the ground; then no other danavas can arise, and these daityas will surely be destroyed. There is no other way. Then, with the daityas killed and the whole kingdom of heaven given back to Indra, we shall all leave in happiness.” Chamunda of fierce valor did as she was told. She drank all the blood that flowed from Raktabija’s body while Jagadamba struck him with sword and pestle, and ate the severed parts as they fell. Raktabija beat at her with his mace, and she went on drinking his blood and eating him. The other Raktabijas born of his blood Chamunda killed as well; she drank their blood and ate every one of them. When the Bhagavati had eaten all the counterfeit Raktabijas, she killed the true Raktabija too, cut him into many pieces with her sword and dropped him on the ground. The danavas who were left fled trembling to Shumbha, bloody, weaponless, half out of their senses, and told him. Ambika had killed Raktabija, and Chamunda had drunk all the blood of his body; the Devi’s lion had swiftly killed the other danava heroes, and Kali had eaten the rest. Ambika alone had been unbearable; what now that Indrani and the other goddesses stood with her, and a lion of boundless might? Enmity with her was wrong, they said, and a treaty would bring happiness; for them the best course was Patala, or else her service. She was no ordinary woman. She did the gods’ work, and she had appeared as a Devi armed with the power of maya to destroy the daityas. Shumbha heard those true words. Deluded by Kala and ready to die, his lips trembling, he answered. “Go to Patala in your fear, or go to her for refuge. I will kill Ambika and those goddesses today. I have conquered all the gods and enjoyed a great kingdom; why should I go to Patala in fear of a woman? I have let Raktabija and my chief attendants die; shall I ruin my bright fame too, to save my life? Death fixed by Kala cannot be avoided, and the fear of death comes with birth. Nishumbha, I will go to the field on my chariot and return only after I have killed her, or I will not return. You bring the army and be my helper.” Nishumbha would not have it so. “I will go now, kill wicked Kalika, and bring that Ambika to you. Where is this ordinary woman, and where my arm, which subdues the universe? Brother, drop this heavy worry and enjoy the best of pleasures. While I live it is not fit for you to go to battle.” So the younger brother, proud of his strength, put on his armor, mounted a great chariot and set out for the field amid auspicious rites, with bards and charanas singing his praise.

The Slaying of Nishumbha

Nishumbha arrived fully prepared, resolved on death or victory. Shumbha came too, and stayed near his brother, a master of the art of war watching the battle as a spectator, while Indra and all the gods sat hidden in banks of cloud in the sky to see it. On the field Nishumbha took up a bow of horn and rained arrows on Jagadamba to frighten her. Chandika took up her excellent bow, laughed aloud, again and again, and spoke to Kali. “Kali, see the folly of these two. They have seen the slaughter of the daityas and the death of Raktabija, and still, deluded by my maya, they hope for victory. This hope is very strong; it never leaves a being. Even the limbless, the powerless, the nearly ruined, the helpless and the senseless cannot get free of hope’s power. Bound in its noose, these two have come to the field, driven here by their prarabdha, and before all the gods I will kill them both today.” Then she covered Nishumbha with volleys of arrows drawn to the ear, and he cut them with his own, and a most dreadful fight began. The Devi’s lion shook out its mane and churned the daityas’ ocean of an army as a strong elephant churns a pond, tearing the danavas before it with claws and teeth and eating them, as a lion tears the limbs of rutting elephants. Nishumbha ran after the beast with his bow, and other danava chiefs, eyes red, chewing their tongues, fell on the Bhagavati to kill her. Shumbha himself, angry now, came quickly with his army, striking at Kalika, meaning to seize Ambika. There he saw Jagadambika standing before him in battle, supremely beautiful, full of shringara and full of raudra at once, her eyes red by nature and redder with anger, the loveliest in the three worlds. He gave up, from afar, the hope of victory and the desire of marriage, resolved on his own death, and simply stood, bow in hand. The Bhagavati smiled and spoke so that every danava heard. “If you vile danavas wish to live, leave your weapons here and go to Patala or into the ocean; or die by my arrows on this field and enjoy heaven without fear. Cowardice and valor cannot live together. I grant you all freedom from fear. Go in happiness.” Nishumbha, drunk with himself, rushed in with a sharp sword and a shield named Ashtachandra, struck the maddened lion hard on the head, whirled the sword, and struck Jagadamba. She stopped the blow with her mace and struck his shoulder with her axe, and he bore the pain, proud as he was, and struck Chandika again. Then she rang a dreadful bell that frightened every creature, and, showing her will to kill him, she drank wine again and again. Flesh-eating birds, dogs, jackals, vultures and crows danced in delight over a field covered with the bleeding bodies of fallen daityas, elephants and horses. Nishumbha took up a dreadful mace, reached the Bhagavati, struck the lion’s head with it, and then, smiling, struck and hurt the Devi. She looked at him striking before her, and she spoke. “I am wielding my sword. Wait only until this sword reaches your neck; after that you will surely reach Yama’s city.” Chandika fixed her whole mind on the stroke and cut off Nishumbha’s head with her sword. The headless trunk, mace still in hand, wandered here and there, frightening the gods, until the Bhagavati cut off both its hands and feet with sharp arrows, and the mountain-bodied daitya fell lifeless to the ground. A great wailing rose from the trembling danava army; the bloodied soldiers threw away their weapons and ran crying to the palace.

The End of Shumbha

Shumbha saw them come and asked where Nishumbha was, and why they had fled wounded from the field. The soldiers answered very humbly. His brother lay dead on the field with every danava hero who followed him, and today was no time for the king to fight the woman who had killed him. Some wondrous Devi had surely appeared to destroy the danava race for the gods’ work: a supreme Shakti in a Devi’s form, beyond even the gods’ knowledge, knowing the root of maya, bearing every weapon, like a second Kalaratri, with all the gods standing in the sky to praise her. If he wished to guard his body, flight was now the highest dharma; with the body saved, a favorable time would come again. Kala made the strong weak and in time made them strong again, made a giver a beggar and the beggar a giver; Vishnu, Brahma, Shiva, Indra and all the gods were under Kala, and Kala was against him now. The proof stood before him: once, when the time favored him, Indra and all the gods had paid him tribute; today the same Kala had turned, and a weak woman had killed mighty asuras. Let him go at once to Patala; if he died, his enemies would roam everywhere without fear, singing songs of joy. Shumbha’s eyes clouded with anger, and he answered at once. “Why do you fools speak such base words? Having let my ministers and my kin be killed, shall I save my life on your advice and wander the world shameless? If mighty Kala alone makes the good and ill of beings, why should I worry at all? Let what happens happen. And even Kala cannot wipe out what must be. The clouds do not always rain in Shravana; sometimes heavy rain falls out of season, in Agahan, Pausha, Magha and Phalguna. Kala is only the instrument; daiva is stronger, and nothing happens against it. Shame on human effort, since Nishumbha, who conquered all the gods, was killed by this woman. When Raktabija too has perished, why should I stain my fame to hope for life? Even Brahma, creator of the world, dies the moment his two parardhas are over. In one of his days a thousand chaturyugas end and fourteen Indras fall from heaven; when twice his span has passed, Vishnu ends, and after twice that, Shankara too. The earth, the mountains, the sun and the moon all perish. Why worry over a death fixed by fate? Death is certain for the born, and birth for the dying; so let a man guard lasting fame with this impermanent body. Ready my chariot. Victory or death, whichever prarabdha brings, let it be today.” He went toward the Himalaya where the Bhagavati sat, his fourfold army with him. On that mountain he saw Jagadambika borne on her lion, supremely beautiful, adorned with every ornament, while gods and yakshas and kinnaras in the sky showered her with mandara flowers and she sounded her lovely conch and her bell. Kama’s arrow struck him where he stood. Such a form, such cleverness, tenderness and steadiness together in one woman; youth newly bloomed in that slender body and no desire in her; lovely as Rati, Kama’s own wife, and surely this was Ambika herself. He had no mantra to subdue a woman made of all mantras; she could not be won by conciliation, by gifts or by sowing division, since all the gods were under her; and he could not leave the field for Patala. To die at a woman’s hands would destroy his fame, for the rishis call that death best which comes fighting warriors of equal strength; yet flight was wrong. Let victory or death come, then, as prarabdha decided. He took courage and spoke to the Bhagavati before him. “Fight, then; your effort is in vain. You are a fool, for fighting is never the dharma of women. A woman’s eyes are her arrows, her brows her bows, her gestures her weapons, and the man of taste her target. Cool sandal is her armor, desire her chariot, slow sweet speech her war drum; if she carries other weapons it is a mockery. Modesty is a woman’s ornament; boldness never becomes her. Kalika and that other woman Chamunda are your counselors, Chandika advises you like a go-between, a harsh-voiced she-jackal waits on you, and a lion dreadful to every creature is your mount. You have left the vina to ring this bell, and it goes wholly against your form and your youth. If you want battle, first become an ugly woman, long-lipped, strange-nailed, cruel, crow-colored, with crooked eyes, long feet, dreadful teeth and the eyes of a cat. Take such a frightful form, stand firm on the field and speak harshly, and then I will fight you. My hand will not rise to kill a lovely-toothed, fawn-eyed Rati like you.” Jagadamba smiled at the desire-stricken daitya. “Why grieve, deluded by Kama’s arrows? First fight Kalika or Chamunda; these two are fully able to fight you. I stand only as a spectator. Strike them as you like. I do not wish to fight you.” And she said sweetly to Kalika, “Kalika, kill in battle this danava who wants to fight an ugly woman.”

Kalika, who is Kala’s own form, moved by Kala, took up her mace and set herself with care on the field, and before all the gods and munis a most dreadful fight began between the two. Shumbha struck Kalika with his mace; Kalika struck him back hard with hers. Then Chandi of the terrible voice brought her mace down on his shining golden chariot and smashed it to pieces, killed the donkeys that drew it, and killed his charioteer Daruka. Shumbha, enraged, came on foot with his huge mace and, laughing, struck Kalika on the chest. She turned the blow, raised her sword in a flash and cut off his left arm, still smeared with sandal and still holding its weapon. One arm gone and his chariot lost, soaked in blood, mace in hand, Shumbha came at Kalika again and struck, and Kali, laughing, cut off his right arm as well, the arm that held the mace and wore the armlet. He rushed in to kick her, and at once she cut off both his legs with her sword. With hands and feet gone he still lunged at Kalika to frighten her, crying “Stop, stop!” and Kalika cut off his lotus-like head. An endless stream of blood poured from his throat, and mountain-like Shumbha fell to the ground, and his life went out of him at once. All the gods with Indra at their head saw the daitya king fallen and praised Bhagavati Chamunda and Kalika. A pleasant wind blew, every quarter of the sky grew clear, and the holy flames on the sacrificial fires rose turning to the right. The danavas left alive bowed to Jagadambika, laid down their weapons, and went to Patala.

Vyasa closed the telling. “I have told you the Devi’s excellent deeds, the slaying of Shumbha and the other daityas, and the protection of the gods. Those on earth who read and hear this whole account with devotion are surely fulfilled: the sonless get sons, the poor great wealth, the sick freedom from disease. A man gains every wish from it and has no fear of enemies, and whoever reads or hears this holy account every day shares in moksha at the end.”