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The dust of the battlefield had not yet settled when Shankhachud, king of the danavas, bowed his head, jeweled ornaments glinting on him, offered his salutation to Lord Shankara, and climbed into his chariot with his ministers. In the shade of a banyan tree Lord Shankara sat with the goddess Kali and his son Kartikeya; in that same moment he gave his army and the gods the order to fight, and within moments the sky filled with the flash of weapons.
And then a war broke loose like the ending of all things. Mahendra closed with Vrishaparva, the sun god with Viprachitti, the moon with Dambha, and Yama with a danava named Sanhara; the eleven Rudras grappled with eleven fearsome danavas, and Nandishvara and the other ganas with the hosts of the danavas. The young Kartikeya cut through the danava army with such fury that whole akshauhinis were ground into the dust. Yet the center of that battle became the goddess Bhadrakali. She loosed the Brahmastra with its mantra, and Shankhachud stilled it with his own Brahmastra; she released a divine weapon, and the king destroyed that too in the net of his own arms; she hurled a shakti a full yojana long, and it broke into hundreds of pieces. Then, her anger rising, the goddess took up the mantra-charged Pashupata weapon.
At that very instant a voice spoke from the sky. “This king, whose soul is great, will not die by the Pashupata weapon. As long as he wears at his throat the armor of Lord Sri Hari’s mantra, and as long as the chastity of his devoted wife remains unbroken, neither age nor death can touch him.” Hearing this, Bhadrakali did not launch the weapon. Ravenous with hunger, she began to swallow danavas by the tens of millions as though at play, and when she surged forward to swallow Shankhachud, the danava held her off with his sharp divine weapon. With one blow of her fist the goddess smashed his chariot to powder, struck down his charioteer, and hurled her trident, bright as the fire of dissolution; but Shankhachud caught it in his left hand with the ease of play.
A hundred years of war, and one old brahmin
Now Lord Shankara himself stepped down onto the field of war. The moment Shankhachud saw him, he came down from his flying car, pressed his head to the earth in a full prostration of deep devotion, then climbed his chariot, fastened his armor, and took up his mighty bow. That war between Shiva and Shankhachud went on for a full hundred years; neither of them could win, and neither could be beaten. Sometimes Shiva would set his weapons aside and rest upon his bull, and sometimes the danava would rest upon his chariot.
Meanwhile an old brahmin, worn and parched with thirst, arrived on the battlefield and addressed the lord of the danavas. “King of kings, give this brahmin his alms. At this hour you are the giver of every treasure; first make a true promise that you will grant a gift to this helpless, aged, thirsty brahmin, and then I will name my wish.” His face bright with pleasure, Shankhachud said, “Yes, so be it.” Then Sri Hari, wearing the form of the brahmin, spoke with the deepest guile. “It is your armor that I want.”
The armor, the illusion, and the trident
Bound by his word, the king did not think for even a moment; he took off his armor and gave it away, and Sri Hari accepted it. Then, taking on the very form of Shankhachud, he went to the king’s wife Tulsi and by his illusion broke the chastity of that faithful woman. At that exact hour Shankara took into his hand the trident that Sri Hari had given him, blazing like the noon sun of summer and the crest of the fire of dissolution, a weapon no one could turn aside, and he hurled it at Shankhachud.
Now the whole secret became clear to the king. He gave up his bow, calmly settled into a yogic posture, and with devotion began to meditate on the lotus feet of Sri Krishna. The trident circled a while, then came down upon him and burned him to ash along with his chariot. In that instant Shankhachud took on the form of a divine gopa in the flush of youth, a flute in his hand, and on a jeweled vimana that had come from Goloka, ringed by tens of millions of gopas, he departed for Goloka. There, in the rasa circle of Vrindavan, he bowed his head at the lotus feet of Sri Krishna and Radha; at the sight of the gopa Sudama the faces of both lit up, and with great love they drew him onto their lap. From the bones of Shankhachud the race of conches arose, whose water is held as pure as the water of a sacred ford, and wherever the sound of the conch rings out, there Lakshmi settles and makes her home. Having slain the danava, Shiva returned with his ganas to Shivaloka, the gods recovered their kingdom, and from the sky a rain of flowers fell upon them.
Tulsi deceived, and her curse
Elsewhere, still wearing the form of Shankhachud, Sri Hari had the drums sounded at Tulsi’s door and cries of victory raised, letting the beautiful woman know that her husband had come home triumphant. Overjoyed, the faithful Tulsi looked out from her window toward the royal road; she gave gifts to the brahmins, had the rites of blessing performed, and finding her radiant husband before her, she washed his feet, bowed to him, and wept, overcome with feeling. But when he began to lie with her, the chaste woman sensed the whole truth in her heart and demanded, “Who are you? You have destroyed my chastity by deceit; and so I lay a curse on you.”
At the threat of the curse, the Lord let his enchanting Vishnu form appear as though in play. His color the dark of a fresh raincloud, his eyes like autumn lotuses, adorned in yellow silk and jeweled ornaments, the eternal god of gods stood before her, and Tulsi fainted for a moment. When her senses returned, she spoke, filled with grief. “My lord, you are like stone, there is no mercy in you. By deceit you destroyed my dharma and killed my husband. Your heart is stone and empty of pity; and so, O god, become stone this very moment in this world. Those who call you good have fallen into delusion. To secure another’s welfare, why did you kill your own devotee?” Saying this, she broke into wave after wave of lament.
Gandaki, Tulsi, and the Shalagram
Then Sri Hari, an ocean of compassion, saw her condition and reasoned with her in measured words. “Gentle lady, you have lived in Bharata and performed tapas for me over a long span of time, and Shankhachud too had performed tapas for ages to win you; gaining you as his wife, he tasted the fruit of his austerity. Now it is right that you receive the fruit of yours. Leave this body, take on a divine one, and become like Lakshmi and delight with me. This body of yours will be renowned as the river Gandaki, which will grant the finest merit to the people of Bharatavarsha; the tree that springs from your hair will be famed by the name Tulsi, and in the worship of the gods across the three worlds Tulsi will be held first among all leaves and flowers. In heaven, on earth, in the netherworld, and in Goloka, everywhere you will remain close beside me.”
“And I too,” he said, “by your curse will become stone and dwell on the bank of the Gandaki in Bharatavarsha. The tens of millions of insects that live there will gnaw at that rock with their sharp teeth and carve into it the mark of my discus.” A stone bearing one opening, four discuses, and the line of a forest garland will be called Lakshmi-Narayana; in one place Vamana, in another Shridhara, in another Damodara, and in another Raghunatha; by the number of discuses and the difference of the marks, that single stone will come to carry many names. The one tulsi leaf that gives Sri Hari his contentment is rarer than thousands of pitchers of nectar, and at the hour of death, whoever has a single drop of tulsi water reach his mouth is freed from all sins and attains Vishnuloka.
Knowing the grief for her husband Shankhachud in Tulsi’s heart, Sri Hari added, “When two people have once shared even a single spell of solitude together, the parting brings sorrow to them both; you have been Shankhachud’s wife for a whole manvantara, so his loss is bound to pain you.” Having said this much, he fell silent. Then Tulsi left that body of hers, took on a divine form, and shone like Lakshmi upon the breast of Sri Hari, and the lord of Lakshmi took her with him to Vaikuntha. In this way Lakshmi, Sarasvati, Ganga, and Tulsi, these four goddesses became the wives of Lord Sri Hari. In that same moment the river Gandaki appeared from Tulsi’s body, and on its bank Lord Sri Hari became the Shalagram, giver of merit to humankind.
This same story of Tulsi, Shankhachud, and the Shalagram appears in the Brahmavaivarta Purana as well, though here we have told the Srimad Devi Bhagavata’s own account of it.
Source: Srimad Devi Bhagavata Mahapurana (Gita Press, Gorakhpur)