Parvati's Promise

Shiva didn't notice her. She didn't give up. She meditated for years. She earned it on her own terms.

You already know Parvati. She is the one who made Ganesha out of sandalwood paste. But long before she became a mother, she had to do something really hard. She had to win the heart of Shiva, the most distant god in the universe. She did it not by changing herself, but by becoming so completely herself that even a meditating mountain god could not look away.

You Already Know Her

You already know Parvati.

She is the one from Chapter One. The mother who shaped a little boy out of sandalwood paste, gave him life, and posted him at the door of her bath. The mother of Ganesha.

But long before she was a mother, she was a young princess of the mountains. And before she was a princess, she was someone who had to do something incredibly hard. She had to earn her place beside the most difficult god in the whole universe.

This is the story of how she did it.

A Princess of the Himalayas

Her name then was Parvati, which simply means 'the daughter of the mountain.'

Her father was Himavan, the king of the Himalayas themselves. Her mother was Mena, a kind, no-nonsense queen who liked her daughters to wear jewellery and learn music and not run off into snowstorms. Parvati had two older sisters. One of them, Ganga, eventually became a river. The Himalayas were a strange family.

Parvati was the youngest. She was small, dark-haired, and quiet. She liked to climb the mountain higher than anyone else dared. She liked to sit on rocks. She liked to watch the snow melt and decide what the water would become next.

She also had a secret. From the time she was a small girl, she had decided one thing. I am going to marry Shiva.

The Most Difficult God

Now, Shiva was not an easy choice.

Shiva was the great yogi of the universe. He sat on Mount Kailasa, far above all the other mountains. He had ash smeared on his body. He wore a tiger skin. Snakes coiled around his arms. His matted hair was piled on top of his head, and from somewhere inside it, a small river called Ganga ran in a very thin stream.

He meditated. That was mostly what he did. For years at a time. With his eyes shut. Not eating. Not speaking. Not even noticing whether the sun was shining or the snow was falling.

He was the kind of god who had been alone for so long that even the wind was scared to disturb him.

Parvati's mother almost fainted when she heard.

"Daughter," said Mena, "choose anyone else. There is a sweet prince in the south. There is a clever prince in the east. There is even a perfectly nice yaksha king who comes for tea sometimes. Why this one? He has snakes for jewellery. He has not changed his clothes in a thousand years. He may not even notice you exist."

Parvati just smiled.

"He is the one," she said. "I will not change my mind."

And she did not.

Bringing Flowers to a Stone

For many years, Parvati went up to Mount Kailasa every morning. Every single morning.

She took baskets of fresh flowers. She arranged them around Shiva's feet. She swept the ground in front of his cave. She poured cool water on the rocks where he sat. She brought him fruit from the lower valleys. She did not speak. She just served.

Shiva did not move. He did not open his eyes. He did not nod. He did not say thank you.

It was like bringing flowers to a stone.

Months passed. Years passed. Other princesses gave up on their crushes and got married to other princes. Parvati kept going up the mountain.

The gods up in the heavens started to worry. The whole universe was waiting. There was a terrible demon called Tarakasura who had a special boon. He could only be defeated by Shiva's son. But Shiva had no son. Shiva had no wife. Shiva would not even open his eyes.

The gods sent a messenger.

They sent Kamadeva, the god of love himself, with a bow made of sugarcane and arrows made of flowers. Kamadeva crept up to Shiva, took aim, and let one of his flower-arrows fly.

It struck Shiva right between the eyes.

Shiva's eyes opened. But not in love. In anger.

From his third eye, the one in the middle of his forehead, a beam of fire shot out. Kamadeva, sweet little god of love, was burnt to ash on the spot. Just like that. Gone.

Shiva closed his eyes again.

Parvati watched the whole thing from down the slope, with a basket of fresh marigolds in her hand. Her heart broke for Kamadeva. But she did not run home. She did not give up.

She just thought, all right, then. Trying to make him love me by sending tricks does not work. Maybe I have to do something different.

She set the basket down. She walked higher up the mountain than she had ever been. She found a clear spot near the top. And she sat down to do tapas.

A Princess Becomes a Yogini

Tapas is the word for what a yogi does when they are completely serious.

It means heat. The kind of heat you build up inside yourself by meditating, fasting, and choosing hard things on purpose. The world's first sportsmen, the rishis, treated tapas the way Olympic athletes treat training. You start small. You add. You add more. Year after year.

Parvati started.

The first year, she ate only fruit that fell from trees on its own. She would not pluck anything. Whatever the tree gave, she ate.

The second year, she ate only leaves. Soft, fresh leaves from the bushes around her.

The third year, she ate nothing at all. Not a leaf, not a fruit, not a bite. From this came her name Aparna, which literally means 'the one who does not even eat leaves.'

In winter, she stood in the icy mountain stream up to her neck. The water was so cold it would have stopped any other heart. Parvati just chanted Shiva's name and stood there.

In summer, she sat between four roaring fires, one in each direction, with the sun blazing as the fifth fire above her head. The mountain people called this the panchagni tapasya, the five-fire austerity. The heat was unbearable. Parvati just chanted Shiva's name and sat there.

She did this for years. Twelve years. Some say longer. Her hair turned dusty. Her skin tanned dark from the sun. Her eyes went deep and quiet, the way the eyes of a yogi go.

The princess was gone. A yogini sat in her place.

And around her, the whole forest started to feel different. Wild deer came and rested next to her without fear. Snakes coiled near her feet without biting. Tigers padded by and forgot to hunt. Even the wind moved gently when it passed her.

The heat she was building was so strong that it began to disturb the gods themselves.

The Old Brahmin

One afternoon, an old brahmin appeared at the edge of her clearing. He had a long white beard, a stick to lean on, and tired eyes.

"Daughter," he said. "I have been walking for many days. Why is a young woman like you sitting here in the wilderness, eating nothing, burning yourself to nothing?"

Parvati opened her eyes. Slowly, the way a yogini opens her eyes.

"I am doing tapas to win the love of Shiva," she said. "He is the one I want to marry."

The old man laughed. "Shiva? That smelly hermit? That ash-covered madman who lives with snakes? Daughter, you are wasting your beauty. He is wild. He is rude. He owns nothing. His clothes have not been washed in a thousand years. Choose someone normal."

Parvati's eyes flashed.

"Old man," she said firmly, "you do not understand. Shiva is the most beautiful soul in the universe. The ash he wears is from places where his enemies cannot follow him. The snakes are his children, just as I will be his wife. He is not strange. He is true. Do not speak ill of him in front of me."

The old brahmin smiled. A very small, very tender smile.

And then he changed.

The stick became a trident. The beard fell away. The tired old man straightened up into the tallest, most beautiful figure she had ever seen. Ash on the body. Snakes around the arms. A small crescent moon glowing in matted hair. Three eyes, one of them in the middle of the forehead.

It was Shiva.

He had been listening all along.

"Parvati," he said. His voice was low and warm, like distant thunder. "I have been watching you for years. I let you struggle, not because I did not see you, but because I needed to see if you saw yourself. You have. I have come to tell you that the wait is over. Will you be my wife?"

Parvati did not throw herself at his feet. She did not weep. She just stood up, very straight, and said one word.

"Yes."

On Her Own Terms

This is the part of the story we want you to hold onto.

Parvati did not become someone else to win Shiva.

She did not put on extra jewellery. She did not learn new dances. She did not change the colour of her skin or pretend to be a different kind of person. She did not even soften her opinions to make him more comfortable.

What she did was become more completely herself.

A princess can climb a mountain. A princess can fast. A princess can meditate. A princess can stand in icy water and chant. A princess can defend the man she loves to a stranger's face.

The more deeply Parvati became Parvati, the more impossible it became for even Shiva to ignore her. He did not pick a soft, smiling girl off the lower slopes. He picked the yogini at the top of the mountain, who had earned her place there with her own breath, her own heat, her own quiet stubbornness.

This is why Parvati is the patron goddess of every person who has been told, just be a little less yourself, and they will like you better.

Because that advice is wrong.

What Came Next

Shiva and Parvati were married in a wedding so big that the whole Himalayan range still tells the story to its children. Mountains came as guests. Rivers came as guests. The other gods came riding on their animals, slightly nervous because they had never been to a wedding hosted by a tiger-skin yogi before.

From this marriage, eventually, came two sons. Kartikeya, the warrior, who would defeat the demon Tarakasura and free the heavens. And Ganesha, the round, sweet, wise child you already met in Chapter One. The same Ganesha who guarded his mother's door, who lost his head, who came back with an elephant's, who broke his tusk to write the Mahabharata, and who cursed the laughing moon.

But none of those stories would exist without this one.

Parvati's whole family, the family you have been hearing about for chapters, started here. With one stubborn princess who climbed a mountain to bring flowers to someone who would not open his eyes, and refused to come down.