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History of Bengali Language and Literature c7.s6: 4. The Sākta-cult and its development in Bengal

History of Bengali Language and Literature c7.s6

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4. The Sākta-cult and its development in Bengal

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God as mother. The idea of the femininity of God may have been characteristic of primitive Asiatic races—of Mongolians and Dravidians in particular, whose civilization, according to some scholars, preceded that of the Aryans. In the Vedas which represent the pure creed of the Indo-Aryans before it had any admixture of the religion of the primitive races of India,—we do not find any pronounced worship of god as mother. But the whole country was full of such worship and the Aryan settlers had erelong to recognise and adopt it. We find in the Tantras that some forms of the Sākta-cult were imported into the religious system of the Aryans from China.*

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The great war between Chandī and Mahiṣ. The great war between Chandī and Mahiṣāsūr is said to have occurred in the earliest part of the Satya-Yuga. The Hindus thus give it a date anterior to any event related in their own history, though there is no mention of this war in the Vedas. This fact is suggestive of the origin of the worship of the mother in a very primitive age and the non-mention of it in their earliest literature—the Vedas, only leads to the hypothesis, that it did not originally interest the Aryans.

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∗ In the Rudra-Yamala and other Hindu Tantras.

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But the Aryans could not help adopting this creed in their religious worship after they had settled in the country for some time, because it had such a wide-spread influence and also because by its great tenderness, this faith is, religiously extremely attractive. When the Śākta-cult thus came to be recognised by the Indo-Aryans, they raised it into a highly refined and spiritual faith, Sanskritized its vocabulary and Aryanized its modes of worship.

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But this worship took centuries to reach such a state—Delai Chandī, Lakhai Chandī, Vaçuli, Thakurani—are some of the non-sanskritic names of the mother as worshipped in different localities—which still remind us of the primitive faith of the people, before they came in contact with Aryan civilization. The worship of the snake-goddess and of Chandī once prevailed in all parts of the ancient world and recent discoveries made in Crete by Dr. Evans attest that it existed there as early as 3000 B. C.

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But though Çakti-worship was recognised early, —the local divinities in all parts of India could not receive similar recognition and homage from the Indo-Aryan settlers without a great struggle—especially as the worship of these deities had much in it that was crude and unfit for admission by Hindus into their organised cults. The Çaivaism which was the earlier of the two to become an organized creed, had great fight with the creed of the people believing in various forms of the mother worship. Bengali Literature begins, so to speak, with this account of a fight between the Çaivas and the worshippers of those local deities who claimed to be Çakti, but whom the worshippers of Çiva called witches and regarded as quite unworthy of worship. At a later time the Çaiva creed was blended with the Çakti-cult even in its crude local forms, but this could not happen before a hard contested fight on either side.

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This chapter will concern itself with the history of such struggle and the gradual elaboration of these local cults under the shadow of a clearly organised doctrine of the relation between Çiva and Çakti.

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(a) Poems in honour of Manasā Devi.

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In Chaitanya Bhāgavata, a work written in 1536, we find it mentioned that many people at the time took pride in worshipping Manasā Devī, the snake-goddess. The songs in honour of this deity may be traced back, as I have said, to a very early period and they have a wide circulation all over Bengal, especially in the East where the earliest writer of these songs, Hari Datta lived. The great respect, commanded by this deity in the lower Gangetic valley, is not difficult to explain. The plains of Bengal, especially the portions adjoining the sea, are infested with snakes, and deaths from snake-bite during the rainy season become so common as to cause considerable alarm to the people. The cottages of the poor villagers, offer no protection to them from the venomous enemy and when the floods come upon the mud-hovels and thatched roofs, snakes and other venomous reptiles take shelter there, and are not infrequently discovered hidden in beds or coiled up in pitchers and other household utensils. The poor people have no

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The fear of snakes.

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means of cutting down the jungles and keeping the village-paths clear. In their utter helplessness they are driven to take refuge in God. The God of the snakes is also the God of men and by propitiating him they hope to avert the danger with which unaided they cannot cope. A consolation comes to them surely when thus resigned to His mercy.

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The goddess Manasā Devī who represents the divine power as seen in snakes has been a popular deity from very early times, but before her worship was recognised as a form of Çakti-worship, the followers of the Çaiva-religion offered a great resistance to it, as indeed they did to the worship of all other local deities of the later Çakta-cult. The history of the struggle of the Çaivas with the worshippers of Çakti, which was long protracted, is shrouded in the dark past. The flowers offered to Çakti, as Açoka and Javā for instance, are not acceptable to the great Çiva even now when that strife is over. The heroic firmness with which Chānd Sadāgara, Dhanapati Sadāgara and other followers of Çiva adhered to their faith and offered resistance to the spread of the worship of the local deities of the Sākta-cult, found in our old poems, opens a vista through which we have a glimpse of the struggle, which at one time split the whole Hindu community of Bengal.

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There is much that is crude in the poems on Manasā Devī and those on Chandi. This, however, proves that they once formed a part of the popular literature of the country before the people had come in contact with the refined classical taste of the Renaissance. The readers will have patiently to go through the manœuvres and plots formed by the deities that would often appear undignified and unworthy on their part. The propaganda of the Çākta-cult however was to restore faith in a personal divinity in the place of the impersonal Çiva. All through these poems one is sure to find the mother’s heart in the divinities, eager to stretch out protecting hands to those children that cling to them. Into whatever danger a believer may fall, he cries out for the motherly help of the divinity whom he worships in a patient and prayerful spirit, and she is sure to appear to him with anxious solicitude to protect him. Instances of this personal element in the deities are to be found throughout the vast literature of the Sāktas. The characters of Çrimanta and Kālketu in Chandī Kāvya, of Sundara in Vidyā Sundara, of Lāu Sen in Dharma Mangal, as recast by the Hindu preists, and of Behulā in Manasā Mangal, have been all depicted as attaining great success in life by force of their devotion alone. When all resources failed and the great characters were reduced to utmost straits—some of them being doomed to die on the scaffold, they fixed their whole heart on the mother and solicited divine help with tearful eyes, despairing of saving themselves by their own power, and the mother was sure to come to her devotees stretching out the hand of succour.

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Chautiça. One of the familiar ways adopted by the old Bengali poets in describing such mystic situations was to put in the mouth of a devotee a hymn addressed to her by names beginning with each of the thirty-four letters of the Bengali alphabet. The gods and goddesses in our mythology are often known to their worshippers by hundreds of names and these hymns addressed with 34 names, of which there is quite a legion in our literature, are called Chautiça (lit 34).

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This idea of a personal divinity as contrasted with that of the impersonal Çiva is the predominant feature in the literature of the Çākta cult.

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—: O :—

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In the month of Çrāvaṇa (July-August) the villages of Lower Bengal present a unique scene. This is the time when Manasā Devī is worshipped. Hundreds of men in Sylhet, Backergunge and other districts throng to the river side or to the temples to recite the songs of Behulā. The vigorous boat-races attending the festivity and the enthusiasm that characterises the recitation of these songs cannot but strike an observer with an idea of their vast influence over the masses. There are sometimes a hundred oars in each of the long narrow boats, the rowers singing in loud chorus as they pull them with all their might. The boats move with the speed of an arrow, even flying past the river-steamers. These festivities of Manasā Pujā sometimes occupy a whole month, during which men keep vigil and recite the songs before the goddess, and are generally known as Bhāsān Yātrā. The wonderful devotion of Behulā to her husband is the theme of these songs; and a vast poetic literature has sprung up in Bengal during the last thousand years in commemoration of the events of her life and that of Chānd-sadāgara

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The Bhāsān Yātrā.

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who offered defiance to Manasā Devī for long years, yet ultimately was driven by strange circumstances to worship her. How wide-spread is the popularity of these songs in Bengal may be imagined from the fact that the birth-place of Chānd-Sadāgara is claimed by no less than nine districts, all equally proud of the hero of the Manasā Mangal. It reminds us of the seven cities which disputed the honour of Homer's birth. I may name here some of the places that claim a connection in one shape or another with the chief characters of Manasā-Mangala.

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(1) Champaka Nagara—said to have been the capital of Chānd Sadāgara, in the district of Burdwan and close to Champaka Nagara is a small river which is called Behulā, after the reputed heroine of Manasā Mangala.

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(2) Champaka Nagara in Tippera.

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(3) Dhubri in Assam. People here believe that Chānd was a resident of the place

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(4) Mahasthāna in the district of Bogra.

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(5) The people of Darjeeling believe that the scene of the Manasā Mangal was laid on the banks of the river Ranit close by.

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(6) Sanakā Grām near Kaṇṭa Nagar in the district of Dinājpur; Sanakā was the queen of Chānd Sadāgara and Sanakā Nagar is believed to have been named after her.

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(7) Champai Nagar in the District of Māldah.

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(8) The Melā (exhibition) held in honour of Behulā in the District of Birbhum is said to have originated during Behulā's life-time.

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(9) In Chittagong, there is a spot pointed out as the site of the house of Kālukāmār—the builder of a steel house for Lakṣmindara, and there is besides a tank in the place which bears the name of Chānd Sadāgara.

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We give here the story of Manasā Devi :—

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It was ordained by the great god Çivā that unless and until Chānd Sadāgar, the merchant-king of Champaka Nagar, worshipped Manasā Devi, her claims to obtain *puja* amongst mortals would not be recognised.

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At first she tried by gentle persuasion to prevail upon Chānd Sadāgar to worship her, but the hero of the poems lent a deaf ear to her words. He carried in his hand a huge stick made of *hintal* wood and with it he tried, several times, to assault the goddess. The god whom Chānd worshipped was the great Çiva. Could he brook the idea of offering flowers at the feet of the deity who merely presided over snakes? He hated her from the bottom of his heart and called her ill names.

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The wrath of the goddess of snakes knew no bounds at this defiant attitude. She determined to revenge herself by some means, fair or foul.

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Chānd had made a beautiful garden outside the city, which was called “Guābāri.” He had spent many lakhs of rupees in making it an earthly paradise. Now Manasā Devi commanded her retinue of serpents to destroy this fair garden by their venomous bites. They did so; and lo! this elysium of Chānd, so rich in fruit and flowers, was reduced to smoke. The guards in great consternation went to Chānd and acquainted him with the fate of his far-famed Guābāri. Chānd came to the spot and smiled.

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The garden revived.

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To the wonder of all, there present, he uttered some mantras and the garden revived, wearing the fresh hues of its original verdure.

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Mahā Jñān.

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Manasā Devi’s plot was thus foiled by Chānd, who possessed *Maha Jnan*—a power bestowed by Çiva, by which he could give life to the dead and revive all that was destroyed.

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It was useless for the goddess to try other experiments. She felt that so long as Chānd possessed this power he was practically invincible.

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The loss of Mahā-jñān.

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She now appeared before the merchant in the guise of a youthful maiden. The poets who composed the songs have vied with one another in describing the beauty of this celestial maiden. Earthly beauty was as nothing compared to hers; even the moon sank behind the clouds in shame, being smitten by the superior light that emanated from the face of this exquisite creature. Chānd fell in love with her at first sight, but the fair maiden would not listen to any proposals from him unless he dispensed with his *Maha Jnan* and bestowed that power on her. The infatuated merchant, not suspecting that she was Manasā Devi in disguise, agreed to her condition; when lo! like a shooting star she vanished from the place, and appearing in the sky in her own form, related the story of her triumph.

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But though deprived of his great power, Chānd was not a whit daunted.

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Not a whit daunted.

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The next step of Manasā Devi was again to destroy the beautiful garden upon which her curse had already fallen so ineffectually.

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Chānd Sadāgar had an intimate friend in the city of Saṅkoor. He was called Saṅkoor Gaḍuḍia. He also possessed *Maha Jnan* and Chānd sent a messenger forthwith to fetch him to his palace. The great physician, for such was his calling, came to Champaka Nagar and in a moment restored the garden to its original form.

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His friend comes to the rescue.

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Manasā Devi's attempts were thus frustrated a second time, but her resources were inexhaustible. By a contrivance which for ingenuity and diplomacy may be called a great intellectual feat, she succeeded in killing Saṅkoor Gaḍuḍia, the physician and friend of Chānd.

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Sankur Gaḍuḍia is killed.

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The latter was now friendless and helpless. Manasā Devi not only did again destroy the Guābari, but the serpents appointed by her also killed one by one all his six sons.

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The terrible retaliation.

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Sanakā, the queen of the merchant-king, fell on her knees and implored her husband to put an end to this unequal quarrel ; for after all Manasā Devi was a goddess and he was a man!

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The grief of Sanakā

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The six wives of the deceased sons of Chānd wore the widow's white *sari*, wiped away the beautiful marks of vermilion from their foreheads, broke their shell-bracelets and filled the house with wild lamentations. But with a firmness which was more than human, he was the more confirmed in his

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Chānd undertakes a sea-voyage.

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resolution not to worship Manasā Devi. He was, however, greatly troubled by the constant wailings of the women of his house, and also by the unsolicited advice of his friends, who came from distant countries to offer him consolation in his distress. He resolved to undertake a sea-voyage with the intention of escaping for some time from his uncongenial surroundings. Seven great ships, headed by "Madhukar," the royal vessel, started one fine morning for the great sea, and Chānd had a very successful voyage; he went as far as Ceylon, and, loading his ships with valuable treasures and feeling once more fresh and lively for the change, was on his way home, when upon the dark waters of the lake Kālidaha, a great storm overtook his ships. This storm was raised by Manasā Devi. The ship "Sea-foam" sank first, next the "King's Darling" and then the "Royal Fish" and so on, till the six ships were all wrecked in the bosom of the lake Kālidaha. But the stately "Madhukar," on board which Chānd was, defied all storms and as often as the winds inspired by Manasā Devi tried to overthrow it, it struggled and rose to the surface of the waters like a playful fish.

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The ships are wrecked.

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Manasā Devi sought the aid of Hanumān, the great monkey, immortal through all ages, and with his aid at last succeeded in upsetting this ship also. Chānd fell into the great lake and was about to be drowned. Manasā Devi would not, however, allow the victim of her wrath to perish; because unless she was worshipped by him, she could not be recognised amongst men. She threw the great lotus which formed her own seat down into the lake, and it floated near Chānd. He was struggling to save himself and at the sight of the *padma* flower, stretched out his arms to catch hold of it as a support; but one of the names of Manasā Devi was Padmā and the flower also bore the same name, so he contemptuously turned back, preferring death to her aid. But Manasā Devi now appeared and begged Chānd to submit to her. She would in that case pardon him and reward him with all that he had lost, including the lives of his six sons. But Chānd said, he could not defile his hand, reserved for the worship of Mahādeva, by offering flowers to the one-eyed goddess of snakes.

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Somehow or other the merchant king escaped death, and after three days of severe struggle reached the shore. It was the beautiful city of his old friend Chandraketu where he touched land. Completely stripped of clothes, as he found himself, he picked up some rags from the cremation-ground, which he warpped round his waist, and straightway went to his friend's palace. Chandraketu gave him a warm reception, and as the merchant had not tasted any food for three days, he at once ordered a rich repast to be served to him; he also presented him with a valuable attire becoming his rank. When the hungry merchant sat down to dinner, Chandraketu incidentally remarked that it was not well for him to quarrel with Manasā Devi, and in the course of an animated discussion on the point, Chānd came to learn that Manasā Devi was the household deity of Chandraketu, and that there was a temple adjoining the palace dedicated to her. On this he would not touch any of the food. In a fit of rage he threw away the clothes presented to him by his friend; and, wearing the former rags

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Prefers death to Manasā Devi's aid.

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He is warmly received by Chandraketu.

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again, left Chandraketu's palace, remarking that it was a pity he had entered that cursed abode, but he did not wish longer to disturb a fool in his paradise. He then begged alms from door to door, and when a sufficient quantity of rice and vegetables was collected, went to the river to bathe after carefully placing his little store in a secure place. But Manasā Devi in the meantime sent a large mouse which ate up the grain and vegetables, and Chānd on returning had to appease his hunger by swallowing raw plantain-skins which some children had left by the river-side. He next got admittance to a Brahmin's house in the capacity of a servant, and his master appointed him to reap the harvest in his fields, and pile up the grain. But Manasā Devi created a bewilderment in his brain so that he could not distinguish the grain from the chaff, and threw away the former and piled up the latter. When the Brahmin, his master, saw this, he was very angry and dismissed him at once. He next went with the woodmen to gather wood from the neighbouring hills. He knew the quality of wood better than the woodmen. So he collected a large quantity of valuable Sandal wood, and was on his way to the market with it. At Manasā Devi's order, however, Hanumān touched with his toe the load which was being carried by Chānd. It immediately became so heavy that Chānd had to throw it down and go empty-handed. In this plight, when he was moving about the forest like a disconsolate mad man, he could not help cursing Manasā Devi. Now, at this moment some birds had come near the traps placed there by the fowlers to catch them. Being startled by the

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Begs from door to door.

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Eats plantain-skins.

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Is dismissed from the Brahmin's house.

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Throws down the load of valuable sandal-wood.

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careless steps of the merchant, they flew away. The fowlers, in great disappointment, came up to Chānd, and, taking him for a mischievous knave, assaulted him.

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Is assaulted by the fowlers.

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After suffering all imaginable ills at the hands of the infuriated Manasā Devi, Chānd was able to return to Champaka Nagar, to his own great relief and to the delight of his queen Sanakā.

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Returns home.

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Soon afterwards another son was born to him. It was a remarkably handsome child, and they called hin Lakṣmindara or favourite of the goddess of wealth. Chānd consulted astrologers and they were unanimous in declaring to him privately that the boy was destined to die on the night of his marriage-day, by snake-bite.

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Another son born to him.

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Doomed to die in early youth.

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Chānd had how given up all hopes of worldly happiness. Night and day, he worshipped the great Mahādeva and prayed for strength to keep up his determination. Now Lakṣmindara, who grew to be a most handsome and accomplished prince, came of that age when youths of his caste generally married, and the queen Sanakā sought for a suitable bride for her son. The family priest, Janārdan, brought information that in the whole world there was not another creature in womanly form so lovely and beautiful as Behulā—the accomplished daughter of Sāha, the merchant of Nichhani Nagar. Behulā's face was like a full-blown lotus, her eyes were soft and playful as those of a wild gazelle, her hair wore the tints of summer clouds and when dishevelled, fell down her back and reached the ankles. She sang like a cuckoo and danced better than any dancing-girl in the whole city of Champaka Nagar.

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Behulā, the accomplished daughter of Sāha, the merchant.

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The steel house on mount Sāntāli.

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Chānd knew that he would lose his dear son on the marriage-day yet could not resist the wishes of his poor queen. He built a house of steel on mount Sāntāli, taking precautions that there was no crevice left in it for even a pin to pass through. The steel-house was guarded by armed sentinels; weasels and peacocks were let loose all around it to kill snakes, should they come into its neighbourhood. All kinds of medicinal herbs which were known to be antidotes to snake-poison and the strong scent of which would make snakes and reptiles shudder and shrink into a corner, were strewn round the house, and snake-charmers and physicians were assembled there from all parts of the world, to guard the place against all species of creeping animals.

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The builder makes an opening.

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Manasā Devi paid a visit to the man who had made the steel-house, and asked him to keep an opening in it through which a hair might pass. The builder said that the house was now complete and that he had received wages and rewards from the merchant king; how could he again go there and make an opening? The goddess threatened to kill him and all the members of his family on the spot. So he obeyed. He went back to mount Sāntāli on the pretext of inspecting the building more thoroughly and with a few strokes of his chisel made a small opening, which he filled up with powdered coal.

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The first ominous sign.

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When Lakṣmindara was about to set out with the nuptial party for marriage, the bridegroom's crown that he wore, bedecked with jewels and flowers, fell from his head; and this was the first ominous sign.

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When the marriage ceremony was being celebrated in the great pavilion which had been built for the occasion, the golden umbrella over the bridegroom's head gave way—the silver rod which supported it, having suddenly broken from some mysterious cause; and this was the second inauspicious sign.

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The second one.

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When Behulā, the bride, was being carried round Lakṣmindara, she carelessly wiped from her forehead with her own hand the sacred vermilion-mark, the sign of the married woman whose husband is living. This was the third inauspicious sign.

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The third one.

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As soon as the marriage was over, Chānd took Lakṣmindara and Behulā to the steel-house on mount Sāntāli.

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The pair taken to the steel-house.

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This was the terrible night, when the question of life and death for Lakṣmindara would be solved; the astrologers had said, if his life could be saved that night, he would live a hundred years.

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There Behulā and Lakṣmindara were left to themselves. The coy maiden beheld her husband: the garland of *rangan* flowers, which he wore, hung loosely round his neck touching his right arm and breast,—his silken attire of deep scarlet half covered his handsome person, and Behulā looked upon her husband with that feeling of adoration which a Brāhmin feels when he approaches his household-god. Lakṣmindara's eyes also drank deep of the beauty of the maiden, and he asked her to come closer to him so that he might embrace her. The bashful maiden would not listen to any such thing—she hid her face with her tender hands and turned away. Fatigued by the labours and fasting

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The couple left to themselves.

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required for the marriage ceremony, Lakṣmindara fell asleep. But Behulā, though equally fatigued, sat near him on the bed and watched him—for he appeared to her as a priceless treasure and she must not trust too much to her good fortune. After a while, Lakṣmindara awoke and said to Behulā, “ My darling, I am very hungry; can you prepare some rice for me?” Saying this he again fell asleep. Behulā did not know what to do. How could she prepare rice there? But her resources never failed her. The plate required for the sacred ceremony contained some cocoanuts; there were also rice and some coloured earthen cups there. She took three cocoanuts and made a hearth with them. One earthen cup was filled with the sweet milk of a cocoanut and rice was placed in it. She took a silken robe and with that kindled a fire to prepare the rice. There she sat, like Annapūrṇā, cooking rice for her husband.

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Behulā cooks rice.

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At this moment Manasā Devī called to her all her snakes,—great reptiles and venomous adders,—and asked who would undertake to bite Lakṣmindara. The difficulties were great, and many hesitated; but the snake Bankarāj, whose poison was as drops of liquid fire, came forward, and obeying the command of the goddess, glided towards mount Sāntāli.

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All of a sudden Behulā saw that a mysterious opening was being made in the steel wall, and a snake entering the room. She took a cup of milk, with a ripe plantain in it, and offered it to the venomous intruder. The snake stooped low to drink the milk, and Behulā, with a golden hook, caught it fast and made it a prisoner. While again watching

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A mysterious opening and a snake.

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the cup on which rice was boiling, she saw another snake coming through the same passage. It was the great Udaynāg with fiery eyes. Behulā made him a prisoner also, following the same device; and after a while the snake Kāladanta shared in the same way the fate of its predecessors. Then for some time nothing more was seen; the rice was ready and she called to her husband to rise and partake of the meal. But Lakṣmindara was fast asleep and did not respond.

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Fatigued with labour, fast and vigil, Behulā at this moment felt an irresistible inclination to sleep. She sat beside her husband with her eyes still fixed on the mysterious crevice in the wall. The three serpents lay under a large pot and could not stir. Behulā’s eyes became closed in sleep but at times opened wide, gazing at the small opening. Towards the last watch of the night when everything was still and when even the rustling sound of leaves was not heard in that mountainous region, Behulā yielded to the fatal influence of sleep and reclining on a pillow near the feet of her husband, lay like a flower, innocent and beautiful.

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Now came Kālnāgini, that snake who had destroyed the Guābāri, and killed Chānd’s eldest son, Çridhar, and approached with the speed of lightning the bed of Lakṣmindara. At this very moment the sleeping prince touched the snake with his foot and it at once turned and bit him in the toe. Lakṣmindara cried out. “Ho, daughter of the merchant Sāha, dost thou sleep? I am dying of a snake’s bite!” Behulā rose from the bed and perceived the snake passing out swiftly through the opening in the wall.

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Lakṣmindara died. The next moment the sun rose, shedding its golden hues over the mountain-forests and the birds began to sing blithely on the wild trees. Queen Sanakā with her maids of honour came to the house and saw a most heart-rending sight. Prince Lakṣmindara lay there dead, and the widowed girl was sobbing over him. With dishevelled hair, she was bending over the departed prince. Sanakā swooned, and the maids said—"Oh luckless wretch, it is to thine evil fortune we owe this crushing bereavement. The vermilion-marks on thy brow have not lost their lustre,—they have still a deep scarlet hue, the tint of *alakta* on thy feet is yet unsoiled by dust, thy marriage attire of silk is as fresh as new, and yet thou art already a widow! No snake could have done this, it is thy breath that has extinguished the life's fire in the prince, wretch that thou art." Behulā did not hear these reproaches; for her mind was working on far other themes. The prince had asked her to embrace him, he had asked her to prepare rice for him: the first and the last requests of one who was all in all to her! How unfortunate was she that she had not been able to fulfil these wishes! At this recollection the tears again flowed from her eyes unceasingly.

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The luckless bride.

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Behulā on the raft with the corpse.

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The body of Lakṣmindara was taken to the burning ghāt. But Behulā insisted that it should not be burnt. The custom in the country in cases of snake-bite was to place the corpse on a raft made of plantain stems called a *bhela* and leave it on the river, in the hope that the skill of a physician or a snake-charmer might bring it back to life. Behulā's arguments were appreciated, and a raft of plantain-stems was prepared. The corpse of the prince was placed on it, and it was floated on the river Gāngoor. At this moment, to the wonder of all there assembled, Behulā herself stepped on the raft and sat down beside the corpse, expressing her intention to accompany her husband's body over the waters and not to leave it until it should be restored to life.

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They called her a mad woman who had lost her senses under the great shock received immediately after her marriage, and entreated her to return home. The maidens, who had so bitterly reproached her, were now sorry for her misfortune and tenderly said how very foolish it would be for a woman of her youth to set out for unknown regions with a corpse. Where was it ever heard that a dead body was restored to life! But she sat like a fairy or an angel watching over the dead prince with eyes full of infinite affection and infinite sorrow. The queen maddened with grief lamented bitterly and begged the beautiful girl to desist from her foolish intention. Behulā only said, "Adored mother, you will find the rice I prepared in the golden plate in the steel-house on mount Sāntāli. There the lamp is still burning. Go mother, cease weeping, and close the door of that room. So long as that rice remains fresh and that lamp burns, know that my hopes of restoring my husband to life will not be abandoned." The people of Champaknagar, who had all assembled there, shed tears and cried, "Oh honoured lady, adopt not this mad course!" Behulā only said, "Nay, bless me, sirs, that I may have my husband restored to me once more!"

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The raft passed swifty down the stream and Champaknagar soon vanished out of sight. The news reached her father's house, and her five

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Her unshaken resolve.

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brothers, of whom Hari Sādhu was the eldest, came to the river side, to take her back to their home. The brothers wept bitterly as they saw the forlorn girl sitting beside a corpse, and said, “ We will burn the corpse of the prince with sandal wood, alight on shore. Though you cannot wear shell-bracelets, yet, we will give you golden ones; though sacred vermilion will be refused, yet we can adorn your forehead with red powder; though you may not take fish and meat, we will feed you with all kinds of dainties. You are our only sister. You will be adored in our home, come then to the bank! How heartless were these people of Champaknagar! they felt no compunction at allowing you to accompany a corpse alone on the bosom of deep waters in this condition.” Behulā could not answer for some time, for tears choked her voice, but when she spoke, she was resolute and firm. She asked them to return and give her respects to her poor parents. She could not bear the idea of living in a world without her husband. Even the dead body of the prince had for her an attraction which nothing else possessed in her eyes. She was determined to restore it to life.

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Preserved from harm.

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The brothers went away overwhelmed with grief, and poor Behulā, fasting and sorrowing over her lot, went on over the waters,—she herself knew not whither. Wicked men amongst whom the chief were Godā, Dhanā and Manā became enamoured of the extraordinary beauty of the devoted creature and tried to carry her away by force, but God, who preserves the children, preserved her also who was equally helpless, and resigned. They could not touch her person.

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When she drew near to a place called Bhāgher Bāk, the corpse began to decompose. Decay set in and the form of the beautiful bridegroom became swollen and rotten; an intolerable stench came out of it and swarms of flies and maggots gathered round the putrid body. Behulā saw before her eyes the workings of the immutable law of nature—the end reserved in the normal course for all human beings, and seeing this, she grew indifferent to bodily pain. She washed and cleansed the corpse, she ate nothing, and when her grief was great, she wept alone in that forlorn condition. She passed the ghāt of Noādā and Srigālghāta. People came to see her from the neighbouring villages and called her a mad woman who had lost her senses from grief.

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decomposed corpse.

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Whence came the strength and hope that sustained her in this distress? She chanted the name of Manasā Devī a hundred thousand times a day and remained absorved in prayer, till her body became inert and motionless. Pale and emaciated with the dear relics of the prince's body by her side, she suffered intensely. In dark nights the winds rose and crocodiles gathered round her raft, eager to devour the decomposed body. Jackals also came to carry it off whenever the raft drew near the banks, but she was preserved by Providence from their attacks.

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The force. of prayer

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Being completely resigned, in her extraordinary devotion to Manasa Devi, and passing through unheard-of sufferings, she felt that a power was growing in her, which she could not define, but could feel nevertheless to be more than human. Sometimes she saw the evil spirits of the air in

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Completely resigned.

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horrid shapes dissuading her with threats and menaces from her extraordinary course, at others angelic faces peeped through the sky trying to win her to a life of ease and luxury, but she sat like a marble statute, unmoved either by fear or by temptation—sounding the very depths of suffering and praying with unfaltering faith for the life of her dear husband.

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Six months passed in this way; the boat touched the ghāt of Netā, the washer-woman of the Gods; and in the fine morning air when she came there, Behulā saw Netā washing clothes on the bank of the river Gāngoor. Behulā felt that she was no human being, for her head was incircled by a halo of light. A beautiful child was teasing her as she washed, and to the wonder of Behulā, she strangled the child and kept it beside her.

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Behulā said nothing, but sat on her raft by the skeleton of her husband, silently watching this mysterious woman.

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When, however, the last rays of the sun faded from the western sky, Netā sprinkled a few drops of water over the face of the child, and lo! it smiled as if just awakened from sleep.

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Netā was just about to ascend to the divine regions with the clothes and the child, when Behulā landed and fell at her feet weeping. She uttered no word, but shed unceasing tears.

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Netā raised her from the ground and assured the unfortunate maid that she would carry her to the heavenly regions where the gods might be moved to grant her prayer.

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There in high heaven Behulā was ordered to dance before the assembled gods, and she did her part so well that the gods were mightily pleased, and Manasā Devī was requested by them to restore Lakṣmindara to life. Manasā Devī complied with this request after having extorted a promise from Behulā that she would induce her father-in-law to worship her. Manasā Devī was pleased with her devotion and wished to know if she had any other boon to ask. With clasped hands and tearful eyes, she said, "The sight of my widowed sisters-in-law will pain me, Divine mother! In your mercy restore my husband's brothers to life." This Manasā Devī did and further rewarded her by giving back the seven ships loaded with treasures, which Chānd had lost in the waters of Kālidaha. The Guābāri of Chānd was also restored to its original condition.

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Manasā Devī grants all that Behulā seeks.

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Behulā embarked with her husband and his brothers on board the ships and started homewards. She related to her husband the story of her sufferings, pointing to the places of their occurrence as they sailed back up the noble river Gāngoor, and her beautiful eyes swam with tears at their recollection. But the heart of Lakṣmindara was like to break for pain as he listened to the story of all she had endured.

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On her way home.

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When the ships came near Nichhaninagar, Behulā besought her husband to allow her to pay a flying visit to her poor parents, striken with grief. To this Lakṣmindara readily consented, saying, "Let us both go there under the guise of a Yogī and Yogini." Behulā agreed gladly and immediately adopted the earings, the ochre-coloured clothes

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Behulā and Laksmindara visit Nichhaninagar in disguise.

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and the knotted hair distinctive of Yoginīs. Lakṣmindara took a *kamandalu* in his hand, and covered his beautiful body with ashes like a Yogī.

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The seeming ascetics passed through Baruipārā and other places, and came to the home of Sāha, the merchant of Nichhaninagar. They entered the house by the back-door, and came directly to the inner apartments. At that moment, Amalā, the mother of Behulā, was coming out of the kitchen with a golden plate full of rice, for the dinner of Hari Sādhu, her eldest son, when the sight of the Yogī and Yoginī made her tremble with grief, the golden plate fell from her hand, and she wailed aloud, "This Yoginī is just like my Behulā!" she could say only this and no more. She ran up to the supposed Yoginī throwing her arms about her and swooned away. Behulā held her mother's head in her arms and tenderly caressed her, weeping profusely. When Amalā came to her senses, Behulā softly said, "We are come back, mother, once more to your arms. Yonder Yogī is your son-in-law restored to life."

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The people of the whole village came to see them, but Behulā would not stop there even for a day. She was eager to go back to Champak Nagar, and in spite of their affectionate remonstrances, embarked once more on board the ship "Madhukar" and started for Champak Nagar that very day.

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When they reached that city, however, she played another trick. She disguised herself as a sweeper-girl. While on her way back from heaven she had employed an artist to prepare a fan bedecked with precious stones in which the pictures of all the members of Chāṇd's family were painted in living colours represented by the natural hues of precious stones.

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With this fan in her hand, Behulā landed on the banks of the river Gāngoor. At that very moment her widowed sisters-in-law were coming to carry water, and were attracted by the fan, no less than by the beauty of the sweeper-girl. While examining the fan closely, they were struck with wonder to see the likenesses of the members of their own family painted upon the fan. They wanted to know who this sweeper-girl was and what she meant to do with the fan. Behulā said that she was called Behulā, the sweeper-girl, her husband's name was Lakṣmindara, the sweeper, and his father's name was Chāṇd, the sweeper, and her own father's name was Sāha, the sweeper. The fan was for sale, and its price was one lakh of rupees.

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At this strange story the widows wept and went speedily home to acquaint queen Sanakā with what they had seen and heard. Sanakā ran to the house of steel and to her surprise found the lamp still burning and the rice still fresh on the golden plate. Then she came to the bank of the river and seeing the pictures on the fan and the face of the sweeper-girl, which reminded her of Behulā, she fell to the earth and began to rend the air with loud lamentations. Behulā then said, "Mother, do not weep. Look at your sons. Manasā Devī has restored them to life. But we cannot enter Champak Nagar until my father-in-law worships Manasā Devī. So I have brought all of you here by a device."

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Once more the seven sons stood near their sorrow-stricken parents, and the tears that were shed were holy, for Behulā’s wonderful devotion more than anything else caused them to flow.

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Chānd could not resist all this. Events had been too much for him. He saw in the sweet and resigned countenance of Behulā that Manasā Devī’s victory was complete, and that it would be impossible for him to resist the appeal silently expressed in the eyes of his beloved daughter-in-law.

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Chānd worshipped Manasā in the month of Srāvan on the 11th day of the waning moon. Some say that he offered flowers to Manasā Devī with his left hand as a mark of contempt, turning his face away from her all the while. But however this be, Manasā Devī was pleased and granted him wealth and prosperity. His friend, Sankoor Garudia was restored to life.

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Behulā and Lakṣmindara, who were Ushā and Aniruddha in Heaven, and had been obliged to take a mortal frame under a curse, went back after a while to their celestial home.

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Manasā Devī’s claims to obtain *puja* among mortals have ever since been an established fact.[*]

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—O—

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About sixty works on Manasā Devī, written by different writers at various times, but all before the 18th century have been brought to light by the researches of scholars within the last 15 years. Vijay Gupta’s work, published by lhe Ādarça press of Backergunge in 1896, contains 232 pages (royal octavo.) printed in double columns. It contains 15,000 lines and exceeds Milton's Paradise lost by half its bulk. Many of the other works referred to above are equally voluminous. Some of them contain graphic accounts of the sea voyage of Chānd Sadāgara and descriptions of the manner in which commercial enterprises were undertaken by the Bengalis in ancient times, with incidental references to the flourishing condition of Bengal and her industry. The geographical notices of places, the names of which are to be found in many of these works, bear witness to the changes constantly brought about in the plains of the Gangetic valley by its ever-shifting river courses.

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∗ Originally written for the Modern Review from which the story is now reprinted.

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The earliest writer on Manasā Devī in Bengal was Hari Datta, who was blind of one eye. We have come across only 20 lines of his composition. They describe the ornaments made of snakes which decorated the person of Manasā Devī. Hari Datta was born in the district of Mymensingh and probably lived in the 12th century. We have come across a description of him in a later poem written by Vijay Gupta in honour of Manasā Devī. Manasā Devī is said to have appeared before Vijay Gupta in a dream and said:—

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"An illiterate man first wrote a poem in my honour; but he had no idea of my power and glory. He was Hari Datta, the one-eyed. His irregular and metreless doggerel became obsolete and were lost in course of time. His words were vulgar, his lines did not rhyme and his songs

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Hari Datta the earliest writer of these songs.

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The defects of his poems.

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had no merit by which to attract the people. The singers tried to please by rude gestures and clownish leaps."*

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Vijay Gupta's work was written in 1484, when Hari Datta's poems, once so popular, had already grown obsolete. The ungracious references made to his deficiencies in metre and rhyme and to a preponderance of rude words in his poems, only prove them to be antiquated specimens of the earliest form of written Bengali. We may, on these grounds, safely declare Hari Datta to have lived a few centuries before Vijay Gupta. We are inclined to place him in the 12th century A.D.

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Vijay Gupta's Manasā Maṅgal is one of the most popular works of its class. In Eastern Bengal, especially in the district of Backergunge, it is esteemed sacred and always read on the occasion of the worship of Manasā Devī. There they call poems about Manasā Devī, Rayanī. This word is a corruption of the word Rajānī or night, and the word Yāgaraṇa which is often used for these

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মূর্খে রচিল গীত না জানে মাহাত্ম্য।
প্রথমে রচিল গীত কাণা হরিদত্ত ॥
হরিদত্তের যত গীত লুপ্ত হৈল কালে।
যোড়াগাঁথা নাহি কিছু ভাবে মোরে ছলে ॥
কথার সঙ্গতি নাই নাহিক সুস্বর।
এক গাইতে আর গায় নাই মিত্রাক্ষর ॥
গীতে মতি না দেয় কিছু মিছা লাফ ফাল।
দেখিয়া শুনিয়া মোর উপজে বেতাল ॥

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Bijay Gupta's Padma Purāṇ.

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∗ মূর্খে রচিল গীত না জানে মাহাত্ম্য। প্রথমে রচিল গীত কাণা হরিদত্ত ॥ হরিদত্তের যত গীত লুপ্ত হৈল কালে। যোড়াগাঁথা নাহি কিছু ভাবে মোরে ছলে ॥ কথার সঙ্গতি নাই নাহিক সুস্বর। এক গাইতে আর গায় নাই মিত্রাক্ষর ॥ গীতে মতি না দেয় কিছু মিছা লাফ ফাল। দেখিয়া শুনিয়া মোর উপজে বেতাল ॥

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songs, means vigil. These facts imply that poems about Manasā Devī used to be recited during the night.

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This happens during the whole of the Bengali month of Çrāvaṇa.

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Vijay Gupta was born in the year 1448 in the village of Fullaçrī in the district of Backergunge. The pot with which he worshipped Manasā Devī is still preserved there in the temple dedicated to the goddess. Fullaçrī is a well-known village, and is the birth place of many scholars whose names are not unfamiliar to the literary world. Kavīndra Trilochana Dās, Jānakī Nāth Kavikaṇṭhāra, Bhavānī Nāth Dās Saraswātī, Raghu Rām Dās Kaṇṭhābharaṇa and Kavikarṇapur were all inhabitants of this particular village and Vijay Gupta with just pride speaks of it as Pandit Nagar or City of scholars. Here are some of his opening lines :—

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"In Çaka 1406 (1484 A.D.) Husen Sāhā is the Emperor of Gauḍa, and Rājā Arjuna as the morning sun of war rules Muluk Fateabād (the modern Faridpur and a part of Backergunge) which extends up to Bangrorā. On the west lies the river Ghāgarā, on the east the river Ghaṇṭeçvara, and between them the village of Fullaçrī, City of scholars. Brāhmins versed in four Vedās, and Vaidyas skilled

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ছায়াশূন্যবেদশশীপরিমিত শক।
সনাতন হুসেন সাহ নৃপতি তিলক॥
উত্তরে অর্জুনরাজা প্রতাপেতে যম।
মুলুক ফতেয়াবাদ বঙ্গরোড়া তক সীম॥
পশ্চিমে ঘাষর নদী পূর্বে ঘণ্টেশ্বর।
মধ্যে ফুলশ্রী গ্রাম পণ্ডিতনগর॥

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in their own Çāstras, and Kāyasthas who are expert-writers all live in this place. Whosoever dwells in this blessed spot has a share in its glory. In such a place is the home of Vijay.” Ghanteçvara and Ghāgrā have both been silted up, though traces of them may yet be discovered and the site of the village Fullaçrī has become changed in course of time. The more important part of the village is now calld Gailā.

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Vijay Gupta belonged to the Vaidya caste, his father’s name being Sanātana and his mother’s, Rukminī. His Manasā Mangal is divided into the following cantos:—

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1. Consultation.
2. Hymns to the gods.
3. Dreams.
4. The garden house of Chānd.
5. Birth of Manasā Devī.
6. An introductory notice of Manasā Devī.
7. The lamentations of Chandī
8. The beginning of the quarrel with Chānd.
9. Quarrel with Chandī.
10. Chandī restored to consciousness.
11. Marriage of Manasā Devī.

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চারিবেদধারী তথা ব্রাহ্মণসকল। বৈদ্য জাতি বৈসে তথা শাস্ত্রেতে কুশল॥ কায়স্থজাতি বৈসে তথা লিখিতে প্রচুর। আর যত জাতি নিজ শাস্ত্রেতে চতুর॥ স্থান গুণে যেই জন্মে সেই গুণময়। হেন ফুলশ্রী গ্রামে নিবসে বিজয়॥ 12. Separation from her husband.
13. Birth of eight snakes.
14. The churning of the sea.
15. Curse of Çiva on Manoharā, the cow.
16. Necter produced by churning.
17. Çiva loses his senses by swallowing poison.
18. Çiva restored to his senses.
19. Manasā Devī exiled to the forest.
20. Manasā Devī worshipped by the shepherds.
21. The story of Hāsan Husen.
22. Chānd's birth under the curse of Padmā.
23. The insult offered to Sanakā.
24. The destruction of Guābāḍi (garden of Chānd).
25. Manasā Devī disguised as a milk-maid.
26. A heated discussion between Manasā Devī and the disciples of Çaṅkar Gāḍuriā.
27. Manasā Devī makes friendship with Kamalā, the wife of Çaṅkara Gāḍuriā.
28. The story of a chaste woman.
29. Death of Çaṅkara Gāḍuriā.
30. The destruction of Chānd's garden.
31. The Mahājñāna or knowledge by which life can be restored, is lost.
32. Manasā Devī kills the six sons of Chānd.
33. Manasā Devī is worshipped in the house of a fisherman.
34. Uṣā abducted by Aniruddha.
35. Manasā Devī's fight with the king of death (Yama).
36. Chānd undertakes a commercial tour.
37. Trade by barter.
38. The distress of Chānd.
39. Fourteen ships of Chānd destroyed.

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40. Caṇḍ introduces himself.
41. Birth of Lakṣmīndara.
42. Manasā Devī disguised as an ant.
43. The building of the house of steel.
44. Manasā Devī's conversation with Tārāvatī.
45. Lakṣmīndara sets out for his marriage.
46. The gods attend the marriage ceremony.
47. The canopy falls.
48. Lakṣmīndara sets out for home.
49. Eight snakes made prisoners.
50. A message sent to the serpent Kālī.
51. Kālī goes to bite Lakṣmīndara.
52. Lakṣmīndara is bitten.
53. His dying words.
54. The dream of Behulā.
55. The lamentations of Behulā and of Sanakā.
56. A white crow bears the message to Ujāni.
57. Hari Sādhu marches to meet his sister Behulā.
58. The interview.
59. Dom ghāt.
60. Dhanā and Manā ghāts.
61. The ghāt of a knave.
62. Netā comes as a tiger and a vulture.
63. The washerwoman's ghāt.
64. Behulā dances before Çiva.
65. Padmā sent to Manasā Devī.
66. Their meeting.
67. Grievances of the past twelve months.
68. Lakṣmīndara and his brothers restored to life and the ships recovered.
69. Caṅkar Gaḍuriā restored to life.
70. Behulā returns home.

First 158 of 474 passages. Read on

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