Rishi Durvasa was short tempered. He would flare up on the smallest issue. His name (‘Dur’ – difficult and ‘vasa’ – to live with) itself implied he was hard to put up with. A Shiva avatar, he had attained high spiritual merit and yogic powers. Such was Durvasa’s aura that men, devas and asuras alike fought shy of facing him.
But even the harshest of men have their happy moments. It was spring time and his garden was redolent with flowers of different hues and tints. The rishi plucked the choicest flowers to make a garland. Hanging it on a peg on the front wall of his hut, he admired its beauty and fragrance. Then he fell thinking. Such a garland should be presented only to someone who deserved the signal honour. But who could be that? The king of the land?Durvasa dismissed the thought outrightly. The puffed up chieftain was too engrossed in his worldly pursuits to appreciate the gift from a hermit. Why should not the garland go to the king of devas? Durvasa called out for his favourite pupil in the ashram and despatched him post haste to swarga to deliver the garland to Indra.
The pupil was dazzled by the pomp and splendour of Indra’s capital, Amaravati. There were gardens after gardens of celestial flowers. Indra’s palace stood proudly atop a magnificent hill. Its walls were studded with jewels with the cunning of master craftsmanship. In the vast palace compound stood horses of purest breeds, dwarfed by Airavata, Indra’spersonal elephant. Tastefully accoutred Dwarpals guarded the place alertly with their fierce looking weapons; while breathtakingly beautiful Apsaras and kinnarswith their instruments of heavenly music trooped in and out of the grand palace, filling the environs with merriment.
Not wasting a moment on any of the detractions, Rishi Durvasa’s disciple went straight to the throne and after showing due courtesies, handed over the garland to Indra Deva.
Ancients Speak
Suman K Sharma
The king of gods accepted the gift with a sneer. Then he rose from his throne and walking up to Airavat, put the garland round the neck of the elephant. ‘Here in heaven we have flowers far better smelling than you earthlings can even dream of,’ he boasted. As Airavat moodily swung its head, Durvasa’s garland fell to the ground and the beast trampled it under its foot.
Aghast, Durvasa’ pupil hurried back to Earth and reported the insult to his master. The rishi lost his head and placed a curse on Indra that devas would lose their strength; and the swarga, of which he was so proud of, would also fall to depredation. Soon after, Daityas were pursuing Devas and the latter had to leave their cherished swarga to wherever they could hide themselves.
Durvasa rishi thought in his conceit that he could send a token of affection even to the king of devas. Indra, on the other hand, was too arrogant to accept anything from a mere mortal. If Durvasa’s conceit was rooted in his origins and long years of tapasya, so was Indra’s arrogance. ‘Indra’ was not the name of a particular deva, but a title of kingship which was earned after a person on Earth had performed a hundred yagyas. Each of 14 Manvantras had its own Indra. The turmoil in swarga could have been averted if Durvasa would have himself gone to Indra’s court to felicitate him (such visits of rishi-munis to swarga were routine in the Satya Yuga), or being a sage, he should have ignored the rudeness of the haughty king. Indra, on his part, could have appreciated the sage’s courtesy and gracefully thanked him. But that was not to be. Little errors can cast long shadows.
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