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Three brothers sat in penance, and the fire of that penance burned so fierce that at the last the Grandsire Brahma himself had to descend. They were the sons of Tarakasura: Tarakaksha, Kamalaksha, and Vidyunmali, whose father had already fallen at the hands of Kartikeya, the commander of the gods’ army. When the hour came to ask for a boon, the same word rose to the lips of all three, the word every asura before them had asked for, immortality.
Brahma shook his head. ‘Asuras, immortality can be granted to no one. Whatever is born can never be free of age and death. Ask instead for some rare boon beyond the reach of gods and asuras alike, and choose for yourselves the manner of your own dying.’
Now watch the cunning of the asuras. Tarakaksha asked for a city of gold that not even the gods could breach; Kamalaksha asked for one of silver; Vidyunmali for one of iron as hard as the thunderbolt. Then came the conditions. The three cities would drift through the sky, one stacked above the other, hidden from sight; they would merge into a single fortress only after a thousand years had passed beneath the rain of the Pushkaravartaka clouds, and only in the hour when the star Pushya stood in conjunction; and their destruction could come only if, in that very moment, Shankara himself mounted some impossible chariot and pierced all three cities with a single extraordinary arrow. The reckoning behind it was quiet and shrewd: Shankara is the one we worship, so how could he ever burn us to ash? Brahma said, so it shall be, and ordered Maya the danava to build the three cities.
Three Cities, One Empire
Patient Maya raised for Tarakaksha a golden fortress in the heavens, for Kamalaksha a silver one in the middle air, and for Vidyunmali an iron one upon the earth. There were kalpavriksha trees that grant every wish, palaces studded with gems, flying craft bright as the disc of the sun, mansions like the peaks of Kailasa. And listen, these cities held far more than pleasure. There were schools for the study of the Veda, halls for the fire-offering, wives devoted to their husbands, brahmanas absorbed in their proper duty. Those blue-haired daityas were learned, fond of battle, and made pure in their valor by the worship of Brahma and Shiva. From these cities they pressed down upon all three worlds and ruled at their pleasure, and a long age passed.
The Shield of Merit
The tormented gods came to Brahma, saying that the sons of Taraka and Maya the asura had thrown the dwellers of heaven into anguish. Brahma answered, it was I who raised them to this height, so it would not be right for them to die by my hand, and even now their store of merit still glows within Tripura; come, let us pray to Shiva. So they all went to the god whose banner bears the bull, and after their praises they said, ‘Mahadeva, the three sons of Taraka have defeated the gods, Indra among them. All three worlds bow to them. They seize for themselves the shares of every sacrifice. Protect us.’
And here lies the strangest knot in the whole story. Shiva did not lift a weapon. He said, ‘The people of Tripura are given to great acts of merit, and one does not strike at a soul rich in merit. I may be harsh in war, yet how could I knowingly betray a friend? Brahma himself has said there is no sin greater than the betrayal of a friend. As long as those daityas are eager in their devotion to me, their killing is impossible. Take your plea to Vishnu.’ So the gods went to Vishnu, and Vishnu set in motion an arrangement by which the asuras turned away from the eternal dharma and fell into misconduct. Worship, rites for the ancestors, sacrifice, vows, pilgrimage, charity, all of it went dark. Delusion and Alakshmi, the bringer of ruin, came and settled in those cities; Lakshmi, the fortune their penance had earned, departed; and the strength of the daitya king with his brothers, and of Maya, drained away.
Now all the gods, Brahma and Vishnu among them, reached Kailasa. Praises were sung; Vishnu chanted the Rudra mantra fifteen million times. Pleased, Shiva appeared upon his bull, embraced Vishnu, and then the matter stalled once more. He asked, ‘Why do Vishnu, or someone else, not simply kill them?’ Even Hari’s face fell. Then Brahma spoke with folded hands, ‘Supreme Lord, it was by your own command that they were cast into delusion. Now they have turned from devotion; no one but you can slay them, and a king who punishes the wicked in accordance with dharma takes on no sin by it. Pull out this thorn. The great sages, the sacrifice, the Veda, we ourselves and Vishnu, all of us are your subjects. You are the sovereign emperor, Hari the crown prince, we the family priests, Indra the minister.’
Shiva was pleased, and then a fresh obstacle arrived, smiling. ‘Brahman, you call me emperor; where then are the trappings worthy of an emperor? There is no such divine chariot, no charioteer, none of those arrows.’ Gods and sages grew anxious. Then Hari explained that no great act of worship is accomplished without labor, and he composed a mantra: ॐ नमः शुभं शुभं कुर कुर शिवाय नमः ॐ. Chanting Shiva, Shiva, the gods settled into ten million repetitions, and Hari chanted with them. Then Shiva appeared before them in person. ‘I am pleased. Ask for a boon.’ The gods asked for one thing only, the destruction of Tripura. Maheshvara said, ‘Consider Tripura already destroyed. Hari, Brahma, prepare for me the chariot, the charioteer, the bow, and the arrows worthy of an emperor. And the mantra you have chanted grants both worldly enjoyment and liberation.’
The Chariot of All the Gods
Then, at Shiva’s command, Vishvakarma built a chariot the like of which was never built again. The six seasons were the rims of its wheels, the twenty-seven lunar mansions its ornament, the middle air its front, Mount Mandara its seat, the mountains of sunrise and sunset its two axles, the great Meru its base. Shesha the serpent was the rope that bound it, the four directions its footboards, the holy sites led by Pushkara its jeweled banners, the four oceans the cloth that draped it. The rivers led by Ganga became beautiful women and waved the fly-whisks; the seven winds were its golden steps. Brahma himself held the reins as charioteer, and the sacred syllable Om was his whip. The Himalaya was the bow, Shesha the serpent-king its string, and Sarasvati in the form of sacred sound the bell upon the bow. And the arrow? The arrow was Vishnu himself, fire its point, the four Vedas the horses yoked to draw it. Whatever thing existed in the whole universe, all of it was in that chariot.
Brahma offered the chariot to Shiva, and Shambhu climbed aboard. The moment he mounted, the horses that were the Vedas pitched forward onto their heads, the earth shuddered, the mountains swayed, and Shesha groaned beneath the weight. The bearer of the earth took the form of Nandi and lifted the chariot from below, yet even he could not endure the blazing power of Mahesha and sank to his knees. Then Brahma steadied the horses and urged those Veda-formed steeds, swift as the wind, toward the three cities.
On the way Rudra spoke. ‘Only if you accept that every living being carries the nature of a bound beast, and hand over to me the lordship of those beasts, will I destroy the asuras.’ The thought of becoming beasts made the hearts of the gods tremble. Reading their fear, the god of gods laughed. ‘This condition of the beast will not bring you low. Whoever performs the divine Pashupata vow, or serves me with steady faith for twelve years or for three, will be freed from the state of the beast.’ The gods said, so be it. The greatest of the gods became the beasts of Mahadeva, and Rudra, who releases them from that bond, was called Pashupati, lord of beasts, from that day on. Then amid cries of victory the march went forward; gods mounted on elephants, horses, lions, and bulls rode alongside with plows, spears, and pestles in hand, siddhas and charanas rained down flowers, and countless ganas thronged around Maheshvara.
The Arrow of the Abhijit Muhurta
Standing at the crest of the chariot, Shambhu strung the bowstring, fixed the arrow, and, licking his lips in fury with his gaze locked on the target, went utterly still. But what was this? The three cities would not come into his aim at all; Ganesha, seated upon the tip of his thumb, was sending a steady ache through it. At that moment a voice spoke from the sky. ‘Lord of the universe, until you have honored this Ganesha, you will not be able to destroy these cities.’ The bearer of the trident summoned Bhadrakali and worshipped Gajanana with full ceremony, and when Vinayaka was pleased the three cities showed clear against the sky. The Purana itself asks how the one whom all others worship can himself have someone to worship; and it answers that in the deeds of that giver of boons everything happens in play.
Away in the sky the thousand years came to their end, the star Pushya moved into conjunction, and the three cities became one. Vishnu called out, ‘Maheshvara, the hour to slay the daityas has come; before these cities drift apart again, burn them to ash.’ The Abhijit muhurta was passing. Shiva fixed the venerated Pashupata weapon to his bow, announced his name with the twang of the string and a lion’s roar impossible to bear, challenged the great asuras, and loosed that terrible arrow, blazing like ten million suns.
Fire at its point, Vishnu within it, that flaming arrow scorched the daityas who dwelt in Tripura. The three cities burned to ash and fell to the earth together, and a great cry of grief went up. And out of that same fire rose the gentlest note in the whole story. Burning, Tarakaksha remembered Shankara, who loves his devotees, and said, ‘Bhava, now I know that you were pleased with us all along. The gain that even gods and asuras cannot reach has come to us, death at your own hand. In whatever womb we are born, may our minds stay fixed in devotion to you.’ At Shiva’s command the fire reduced them to a heap of ash. Woman, man, child, elder, none survived, the way the world is burned to ash at the end of a kalpa. One alone was spared, Maya, who had never opposed the gods, a true devotee guarded by the radiance of Shambhu. And those daityas who had stayed, with all their kin, in the worship of Shiva to the very end, by the power of that worship became lords of the ganas in their next birth.
After the Ashes
Tripura had burned, yet the fierce form of Shankara still blazed, and all ten directions were scorching. The gods, afraid, turned their eyes toward Parvati; even Brahma and Vishnu shrank back. With their praises they all asked for a single boon, ‘Whenever the shadow of sorrow falls upon the gods, may you appear and destroy it, again and again.’ Growing calm, Shiva said, ‘So it shall always be.’ At that very moment Maya the danava came and threw himself at Shiva’s feet; his throat filled with love. Shiva said, ‘Best of the danavas, I am pleased. Ask for a boon.’ Maya asked for no kingdom and no revenge; only this, that he remain forever absorbed in singing Shiva’s praise and free of fear. Maheshvara said, ‘You are my devotee, and you are blessed. Go with your family to the realm of Vitala, more delightful than heaven itself; there, without fear, sing my praise, and the nature of the asura will never again enter you.’ Maya bowed his head and went down to Vitala.
Then Mahadeva vanished, along with Parvati, his sons, and his ganas, and the moment he disappeared the bow, the arrow, and the chariot made of all the gods vanished too. Brahma, Vishnu, the gods, the sages, the gandharvas, all of them returned to their own realms singing the glory of Shankara. From that day the world has called him the enemy of the three cities, Tripurari. One arrow, three cities, and that voice of devotion rising out of the ashes, this is the treasure the story leaves in your hands.
Source: the Shiva Purana (Gita Press, Sankshipta Shivapurankank), Rudra Samhita (Yuddha Khanda)