Nectar of Life

Titans of the sky hold the tail,

Titans of the nether world the hood.

Mount Mandara, the churning pin, stands in the middle

Of the Milk Ocean, the origin of the sap of life, the killer of Death.

Vasuki, Mandara’s spiral corsage, is tight and taut.

Churn Churn Churn.

Sink sink sink.

Vishnu morphed: shell first,

Head and feet popped in and out

“What in the hell is that for?” bellowed the denizens of the sky

“What in the heaven is that for?” roared the subterranean scoundrels

Billows rising and falling,

The Tortoise drifts to the ocean floor

Saying, “My back is the platform for the churning pin.

Mandara should not sink any more”

Churn churn churn.

Scratch scratch scratch.

Tight tight tight.

Taut taut taut.

Fire fire fire.

Vasuki belching flames, fumes, and black smoke

Billows of soot roll and swallow the churners.

The demons and gods turn black like nimbus,

Teeth flashing lightning.

Choke choke choke.

Cough cough cough.

Rest rest rest.

Polyonymous Vishnu is all sooted,

While Siva stays snow-white high up in the Himalayas.

Gales and whales thrash and pound.

Suras and Asuras face tsunami’s anger.

Anger deflated, soon all subside.

Gentle waves caress the soot-laden skin;

Vishnu lends his facile hands.

O my, it is Halahala bubbling up;

The essence of Death spreading fast on the ocean surface;

The goo of Death kills sea creatures;

It is hitting the pristine shores.

Vishnu all covered and scorched

Turns black for good.

Heart thumps, muscles twitch, pride droops

Like the weeping willow.

The broken-hearted tippy-toe around the sticky mush.

All assemble near the high rock on the seashore.

“What are we going to do?” purr the faint-hearted.

Soon lightning strikes; an idea is born.

Siva is the charmer, wearer and friend of deadly snake.

They trudge up the mountain to Siva.

“Please drink the poison and save us,” they say.

He scoops up and eats all this deadly mush

Some fall through the cracks between the golden fingers;

Snakes, scorpions and the like gobble up.

Parvati chokes his neck and stops Halahala

Going into his stomach.

Halahala is the blue jewel around his throat.

They call him blue-throated god, Nilakantappa.

Siva lives to show his jeweled throat, his trademark.

Siva saves the earth, the sky, the heaven, the nether world….

Churn churn churn.

Out of Milk Ocean come a white horse, and an elephant

Wish-giving cow and tree, celestial nymphs, Kaustubha gem.

The goddess of wealth brilliant like ten thousand lightning

Bursting upon crystalline mountain ranges

Walks up knowingly to Vishnu with a lotus bud on hand.

All gifts of the ocean come for the most suitable to take.

Vishnu claims Lakshmi and Kaustubha gem.

Dattatreya, the physician of gods, emerges from the frothing sea

Bearing an urn of ambrosial Nectar.

The churning stops; a sigh of relief rises to heavens

Breaking through heat and soot.

Soon the Suras and Asuras fight for their share;

Smooth Suras fall at the sacred feet of Vishnu;

Dasypygal Daityas in arrogance demand the Elixir of life.

“We want our work rewarded,” they say.

Vishnu thinks gift is for the deserving.

He morphs into a florescent seductress with blossoms of smile,

Petal-soft lips, dancing eyebrows, darting lotus eyes,

Seesawing callipygian hemispheres, lightning-slender waists,

Turgid rising breasts, plantain-smooth tapering legs.

Each Daitya drinks the nectar of her looks

Sidelong glances pierce their hearts

Her aroma seduce their olfaction, wanting for more.

Could it be the Pheromone?

The ornaments jingle in perfect harmony as she moves

The girdle dances as the damsel walks among the Daityas.

The white muslin undulates on her loins grazing the Daityas.

They in a mass hysteria go into amorous seizures

“This is divine beauty in motion”, they admit.

She lavishes empty words of praise on the numskulls

Prompting speculation she is in for a groom.

The Asuras plead with her, “Please be our envoy;

We need the Nectar of life” thinking beauty is trustworthy.

Mohini warns them of her prolific wanton past

Daityas break out in peels of laughter.

“Beauty never betrays; you are our negotiator,” they say.

She brings the urn of nectar and let the gods imbibe it in the backroom

While the fools were drinking her beauty in the front.

Seduction heightened and the thin veil over her moon-like

Breasts slipped a tad.

An effluence of smile, everyone thought, was her exclusive gift to him.

Passions rose on the wings of delusion.

Dattatreya’s nectar of immortality soon forgotten

Daityas wobbled and waddled under the Maya of the Lord.

Daitya generals surrendered to her looks throwing their arms.

Ambrosia imbibed, the gods reveled

The smooth gods won over the dasypygal louts.

                   Veeraswamy Krishnaraj