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It was springtime. The branches of the forest hung heavy with blossom, the air was steeped in the scent of flowers, and into that deep wood, one day, a royal party came down. King Bhadrayu had ridden out with his devoted wife Kirtimalini to wander the woods. This was the same Bhadrayu you met before this story, the one on whom Lord Shiva had shown his grace by taking the form of a bull (rishabha). By the power of that very bull he had conquered his enemies on the field of battle and, a mighty prince, risen to the throne; and he had married the chaste and steadfast Kirtimalini, daughter of King Chandrangada and Queen Simantini.
It was Nandishvara who opened this account. As he told Sanatkumara the stories of Shiva’s incarnations, and the telling of the Vaidyanath incarnation came to its close, he said: Listen now, dear one, to how the Lord appeared once more in the form of a dvijeshvara (a lord of the twice-born), that is, in the guise of a brahmin, to test that same king’s dharma.
The matter was this. Queen Kirtimalini gave shelter to all who came to her for refuge, and the king held to the same vow. To see how firmly this royal couple stood in dharma, Lord Shiva, together with Parvati, devised a leela, a play. Shiva and his consort appeared in that forest as a brahmin and his wife, and in sport the two of them fashioned an illusory tiger.
The Tiger, the Scream, and the Empty Arrows
Now picture the scene. Along a forest path a brahmin and his wife come running, weeping and crying out, a little way ahead, and close behind them, the tiger. Overcome with terror, the two reached the king and sought his protection, pleading: Great king, save us, save us. That tiger is coming to devour us both. Before this savage beast, which sends every living creature into the jaws of death, makes us its meal, save the two of us.
Hearing their piteous cries, the king had no sooner lifted his bow than the tiger was upon them, and it seized the brahmin’s wife. The poor woman began to weep and wail, crying, Ah my lord, ah my beloved, ah Shambhu. Bhadrayu struck at the beast’s vital points with sharp arrows, but here is the wonder: those arrows did not so much as scratch the mighty tiger. Dragging the brahmin’s wife away by force, it vanished into the distance.
Seeing his wife carried off into the tiger’s mouth, the brahmin was struck with grief and wept again and again. When he had wept a long while, he said to King Bhadrayu: O king, where are those great weapons of yours? Where is that vast bow of yours that guards the suffering? I had heard that you carry the strength of twelve thousand great elephants. What has become of that strength? What use was your mastery of the conch, the sword, and the mantra-weapons? To rescue others from danger is the highest duty of a kshatriya. A righteous king protects the poor and the suffering who come to him for refuge, giving up even his wealth and his life to do it. For those who cannot save the lives of the afflicted, to die is better than to live.
Hearing the brahmin’s lament, and the scorn he heaped on his valor, the king sank into sorrow. He thought within himself: Alas, today, by some reversal of fate, my valor is destroyed, and my dharma destroyed along with it. Now my wealth, my kingdom, and my very lifespan will surely be lost as well. Thinking this, King Bhadrayu fell at the brahmin’s feet and, steadying him, said: Brahmin, my valor is gone. Great-minded one, be kind, and let go of your grief. I will give you whatever you ask. This kingdom, this queen, and this body of mine, all of it is yours to command. Tell me, what is it you want?
The Brahmin’s Strange Demand
The brahmin said: O king, what use is a mirror to a blind man? What will a man who lives by begging alms do with a house full of rooms? What use is a book to a fool? And what will a man who has no wife do with wealth? My wife is gone, and I have never once tasted the pleasures of love. So, for the sake of that pleasure, give me this chief queen of yours.
The king was stunned. He said: Brahmin, is this your dharma? Is this the teaching you have received? Do you not know that to touch another man’s wife destroys both heaven and honor? The sin earned by taking another’s wife cannot be washed away even by penances.
But the brahmin would not be moved. He said: O king, by my tapas (austerity) I will burn away even terrible sins like the drinking of liquor; beside that, what does union with another’s wife amount to? So you must give me this wife of yours, or you will fall, beyond all doubt, into hell.
Now the scales of dharma began to tremble within the king. He reasoned within himself that to fail to protect the brahmin’s life would be a great sin, and that to escape it, the better course was to give up his wife. By giving this noble brahmin his wife, we will be freed of sin, and then swiftly we will enter the fire. Resolving thus, the king kindled a fire, called the brahmin, and gave him his wife. Then he bathed and made himself pure, bowed to the gods, circled the fire twice, and, with his mind fixed on a single point, began to meditate on Lord Shiva.
Vishvanath at the Edge of the Fire
Seeing the king poised to fall into the fire, Lord Vishvanath, master of the worlds, appeared there all at once. He had five faces. On his head the crescent moon served as an ornament. His matted locks, faintly golden, hung loose. His radiance was as though millions upon millions of suns had risen together. In his hands were the trident, the khatvanga staff, the axe, a shield, a deer, the gesture of fearlessness (abhaya), the gesture of granting boons (varada), and the bow Pinaka. Seated on the back of his bull, the blue-throated Lord Nilakantha stood revealed before the king’s own eyes, and Bhadrayu, lost in the joy of that darshan, folded his hands and began to sing his praise.
Pleased, along with Parvati, by the king’s hymn, Maheshvara said: O king, you have never given your thought to any other, and have worshipped us always, without end. Because of this devotion of yours, and hearing the sacred hymn you have offered, we are greatly pleased. It was to test the depth of your devotion that we came ourselves in the form of a brahmin. She whom the tiger carried off was none other than Uma, the daughter of the mountain king. And the tiger, on whose body your arrows left no wound, was a thing of maya, of illusion. It was only to see your steadfastness that we asked for your wife. We are content with your devotion and with Kirtimalini’s. Ask for some rare boon, and we will grant it.
The king said: Lord, you are the Supreme Being himself. To me, hemmed in by the torments of the world, you have granted your darshan, your presence seen with my own eyes; this is the great boon for me. You are the best of all who grant boons, yet I ask for no other beyond this. My one wish is only this: that you take me, my queen, my mother and father, Padmakar the merchant (vaishya) and his son Sunay, all of us, and make us your attendants at your side.
After this, Queen Kirtimalini bowed and, by her devotion, pleased Lord Shankara, and asked this fine boon: that Mahadeva grant her father Chandrangada and her mother Simantini a dwelling near him as well. Gauripati, who loves his devotees, was pleased and said, So be it; and having granted the husband and wife the boons they desired, in a single moment he vanished.
The king, having received Lord Shankara’s grace, enjoyed the pleasures he loved with Queen Kirtimalini, and after ruling for ten thousand years he handed the kingdom to his son and attained the supreme state of Shiva. Both king and queen, worshipping Mahadeva with devotion, reached the abode of Lord Shiva.
And hear, at the end, the fruit of this story, just as the text itself declares it. Whoever recites this most sacred and secret account of Lord Shiva to the learned, or, with a purified mind, hears it himself, gains enjoyment and lordly fortune in this world, and in the end attains Lord Shiva.
Source: Shiva Purana (Gita Press, Sankshipta Shivapuranank), Shatarudra Samhita