Chapter Three:
By the shores of a vast ocean lay a village called Vashkal,
a place shrouded in darkness, far removed from the light of Vedic
righteousness. The people there had turned their backs on dharma, their hearts
consumed by sin. Their minds were clouded with impure desires, and they had no
faith in gods or fate. These villagers were cunning and cruel, their lives
defined by deceit. They tilled the land but kept an arsenal of weapons, a
testament to their violent nature. Immorality was their way of life. They were ignorant
of the truth that knowledge, detachment, and righteousness are the highest
goals of human existence. Their minds were no better than those of beasts, lost
in the pursuit of fleeting pleasures.
The other communities in Vashkal were no different. They,
too, were steeped in wicked thoughts, estranged from dharma, and engrossed in
sinful deeds. Their days were spent chasing sensual pleasures, their hearts
untouched by virtue. The women of the village were no less depraved—wayward,
sinful, cunning, and immoral, devoid of decency or goodness. Vashkal was a den
of vice, a place where righteousness found no foothold.
In this forsaken village lived a Brahmin named Bindug.
Despite his sacred birth, he was a man of unrighteousness, a vile sinner whose
soul was steeped in darkness. His wife, Chanchula, was a woman of striking
beauty, her countenance radiant like a celestial nymph. In the beginning, she
clung to the path of virtue, her heart pure and devoted to dharma. But Bindug
was a man enslaved by lust, frequenting houses of ill repute, his life a
tapestry of vile deeds.
Years passed in this manner, their lives sinking deeper into
the mire of sin. Chanchula, though tormented by desire, held fast to her dharma
for a long time, enduring her husband’s wickedness with patience. But the
weight of his corruption eventually wore her down. Influenced by his depravity,
she, too, strayed from the path of righteousness, her heart succumbing to the
same darkness that consumed her husband.
Thus, the couple lived, drowning in sin, their lives wasted
in the pursuit of vice. In time, as fate decrees, Bindug met his end. His
wicked deeds dragged his soul to the depths of hell, where he suffered
unspeakable torments. After enduring the agonies of the underworld, his
foolish, sinful soul was reborn as a fearsome pishacha, a ghastly spirit
haunting the Vindhya mountains, his form so terrifying that it struck fear into
the hearts of all who beheld him.
Meanwhile, Chanchula remained in Vashkal with her sons, a
widow in a forsaken land. For a time, she clung to the remnants of her virtue,
but her husband’s death left her vulnerable. Slowly, she, too, fell from grace,
seeking the company of other men, her heart straying from the path of dharma.
True virtuous women, even in the face of hardship, never abandon their
principles. Such is the essence of true penance—difficult but rewarding. But
those enslaved by desire cannot grasp this truth, and so they chase the
poisoned fruit of fleeting pleasures.
One fateful day, by divine chance, a sacred festival brought
Chanchula to the holy land of Gokarna with her kin. There, she bathed in the
sacred waters of the tirtha, and as she wandered with her family, an unseen
force stirred within her restless heart. Her wanderings led her to an ancient
temple, its aura heavy with the presence of Lord Shiva. There, a Brahmin was
recounting the sacred and auspicious tale of Lord Shiva, his voice resonating
with divine power, piercing the hearts of all who listened.
The Brahmin spoke gravely, “Women who stray into immorality
face dire consequences in the afterlife. In the realm of Yama, the god of
death, his messengers inflict unspeakable torments upon them. Their bodies are
seared with red-hot iron rods, forced into union with molten figures. These
punishments are so agonizing that the soul cries out, vowing never to sin
again. But Yama’s messengers are unrelenting. The fruits of one’s deeds must be
borne by all—gods, sages, and mortals alike. None can escape the law of karma.”
These words struck Chanchula like a thunderbolt, filling her
with dread and remorse. Her heart trembled as the weight of her sins crashed
upon her. When the tale concluded and the crowd dispersed, she approached the
Brahmin, her voice quivering with anguish. “O holy Brahmin,” she cried, “in my
ignorance, I have committed grave sins. My soul is lost in darkness. Your words
have awakened in me a deep detachment from this world. I am a foolish sinner,
worthy of condemnation. I strayed from dharma, ensnared by vile desires. Who
would stand by a wretched soul like me? When Yama’s messengers bind me with
their noose and drag me to hell, when my body is torn asunder, how will I
endure such torment? I am utterly ruined, for my life has been steeped in sin.
O revered sage, you are my guru, my father, my mother. I seek refuge at your
feet. Save this helpless soul!”
Suta Ji continued, “Weeping in despair, Chanchula fell at
the Brahmin’s feet, her tears flowing like a river of repentance. The Brahmin,
with boundless compassion, gently lifted her up. In that moment, a profound
mystery was about to unfold—a revelation that would pierce the veil of sin and
illuminate the path to salvation. A divine light stirred in Chanchula’s soul, a
beacon of hope amidst the darkness. This tale is not merely of sin and remorse
but of the infinite mercy of Lord Shiva, whose grace can redeem even the most
fallen. The path to salvation is mysterious and arduous, requiring true
repentance and unwavering resolve. Yet, in the shadow of Shiva’s compassion,
even the darkest soul can find light, leaving an indelible mark on the heart, a
reminder that no sin is too great for divine forgiveness.”
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