The Heart of Shiva: The Guardians of the Lore, #2

By Dipa Sanatani

Between worlds—beyond the boundaries of life and death—a mysterious chorus of voices whisper. Tara, a priestess awakening to the sacred calling of her soul, hears the prophecies of unwritten futures. She listens intently as the pure voices of her unborn children begin to orchestrate their return to the womb. Within this intricate tapestry of time—where threads from the past, present and future interweave—a chance to heal old wounds arises.

 

Through her acts of veneration, worship and prayer, Priestess Tara expresses her unwavering devotion to Lord Shiva. Her voice, a sacred instrument, vibrates with the power of the Vedas as she recites and unveils select pearls of wisdom from the vast ocean of Hindu myths. Yet, beneath her strong and stoic exterior, a wound lingers. Her trust in love, shattered across countless lifetimes, has left scars that yearn to be healed.

 

This tapestry of tales, poems, litanies and myths explores the hidden mysteries of motherhood, enlightenment, reincarnation and spiritual liberation. As love and loss echo across realms and lifetimes, Tara's unwavering faith in Lord Shiva burns bright, lighting her path towards a foretold destiny in the midst of creation. Join Tara and her future progeny as they embark on a journey to discover the True Self and the immortal nature of the soul.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dipa Sanatani
• Release date: Mar 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9789811889271

Dipa Sanatani

Dipa Sanatani is the CEO at Sanatanco. She is the author of The Little Light and The Merchant of Stories. Dipa runs two online platforms: The Mercantile and The Sanatan Chronicle with her editorial team. Originally from Singapore, she spent 12 years working internationally in: Australia, Israel, Japan and China in the private, government and corporate sectors. She sees herself as a humble traveller who has had the tremendous privilege to travel across the Seven Seas with the greatest weapon of all--the gift of words. A gift that can either harm or heal. "At Sanatanco, we believe that words are a priceless gift. A gift as valuable as the diamond we either receive or give as a gift to that special someone we want to spend the rest of our lives with. Our words can either tear us apart or bind us together. The choice is ours."

Book preview

PART I

MRITYU

Rebirth

Chapter 1

On Namah Shivaya

P117#yIS1

I

am on a journey in the afterlife with the ferryman Pushan. He is taking me on a trip to meet my future mother. My birth brought death. My death will bring rebirth. Into whose womb shall I go next?

You will be her firstborn, he tells me. It is as it was written.

I will be the eldest, then.

There shall soon be a death, Pushan says. "In the family of your soon-to-be mother. The old patriarch of the Owl Clan is destined to perish. The vultures have begun to circle around the old patriarch. They will soon come to claim the body which was once his as theirs.

The human body is but a fleeting and perishable vessel that is not designed to last.

Is my grandfather old? I ask.

Nowhere near as old as you were when you passed on.

I laugh. I was, indeed, an old man when I passed on. I carried an old man’s walking stick. The ferryman Pushan is telling me that I am to be an infant again. My body which was once wrinkled, my hair which had turned grey… Even all that is fleeting and will soon change. I will soon be an infant again.

Your grandfather, Pushan adds, was a hard-hearted patriarch.

I suppose it is no great loss that I will never get the chance to meet him.

Pushan, who is privy to my private musings, chuckles and utters, Meet him, you, indeed, will…

What will my new life be like?

Pushan lets out a soft smirk, muted amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. He must have journeyed with millions of Little Lights, perhaps more.

In childhood, Pushan says, you will desire toys and playmates. In youth, you will be enamoured and ensnared by fleeting desires that you will look back on with disappointment and—in rare instances—even deep regret and shame. In old age, you will feel burdened by your unlived life.

But Pushan… I say in protest. That sounds exactly like my last life.

Pushan laughs once again and says, Indeed, Little Light… And now, you will do it all over again.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆.

The owl that ominously foretold the precise hour of death arrived exactly a year before my grandfather passed away. It stood by silently in the shadows, waiting for the opportune moment to redeem the soul of the man who would soon take his place as an Ancestor of the Owl Clan.

Who knew—who could have even imagined—that I would have the opportunity to meet ‘my new grandfather’ in the afterlife after he passed on? Fate, it seemed, had reserved our encounter for the beyond; for in the world of the living, our paths would never cross.

Teary turquoise-eyed Pirouzeh—the Matron Spirit Animal of the Owl Clan—had personally arrived to foretell, with great precision, the exact hour of my grandfather’s death. The sad sound of her pained hooting inspired an unfathomable depth of sorrow within me. Pirouzeh, O Matron Pirouzeh, was truly distressed by the way in which my grandfather had led his life.

In the end—at the end of his earthly days—the day of death came, as it always inevitably does. I was there to greet my grandfather when his spirit departed from his body. What my soul witnessed horrified me to the very core of my being. What I saw—what I had the chance to see—was not the death of the physical body, but rather, what transpires after a spirit is forced to depart from the body it once inhabited. Most souls do not leave their bodies of their own free will and volition.

When the portal—the cave, the cave of death—opened, darkness stretched on, a bottomless pit waiting to consume all. The cave—a womb of obsidian—cradled within itself the presence of a rainbow-coloured darkness. Not even a whisper of light dared to disturb the ancient slumber that was pregnant within it. My sense of sight drowned, but the air thrummed, alive with unseen presences whose echoes could be heard.

It was my short-lived afterlife destiny to be the grim reaper for my grandfather’s soul. I was the one whom he would have to answer to for his very many sins. I would be his descendant and yet we would never have the chance to share a bond of love.

For 16 days, the spirit of the old patriarch held on, refusing to move on and go into the light. For 16 days, the disembodied spirit held on, refusing to accept the death of the ego and the destruction of its old and deluded way of life. For 16 days, the disembodied spirit cried out, for it wanted to go back to its old ways of being and doing.

But what was done could not be undone. Regret lingered, a ghost of yesterdays gone, but the canvas of tomorrow stretched, wild and free. With my grandfather’s untimely departure from the earthly plane, I was, at long last, free to be an infant again.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆.

Do not fear, my child, the Divine Mother whispered gently and soothingly, when she received the departing patriarch. Your old body is now dead. There is no need to weep or lament, my beloved. Everyone who has ever come before you has died. No, my child, you cannot return to your body anymore.

Your breath is now still. Your heart has completely stopped beating. Your eyes now lay half-open. You can no longer stay in this world. You do not belong here anymore.

Soon, your loved ones will find you unconscious. They will wonder if you have truly gone or if you will return. But for you, there will be no return. Your body has already begun to decompose. The doctors will not be able to do anything to bring your body back to life. The time has come, my beloved, to face your final judgment for the life you once led.

If you had led a better life, you would have had more time on earth. But unfortunately, my beloved, your time has run out. Your ancestors have arrived to bring you to Lord Yama’s court for judgment.

The vultures have descended, my child. What was once your body will now be theirs to feast upon. They will tear away the flesh from the bones. Do not fear the perishable nature of your physical body. Do not fear your return to the Source that created us all. Death has been your foretold destiny since the day that you were born. It is the very same fate that awaits all of Mother Nature’s creatures. It is Her cycle: Her grand cycle of life and death.

Leave behind all that you once knew and thought to be yours. Leave behind the life that you once led as unhappily as you did. Leave behind all your pain, all your woe and all your suffering. In surrendering to Mother Nature all that you took from Her, you once again accept the Great Goddess that created us all and to whom we will all inevitably have to return.

My son, you are now at your funeral. The time has come to say goodbye to your family. From this moment on, I am afraid to tell you that they will cease to be your kith and kin. You were given many opportunities to repent for your sins before you passed on, but you chose not to. Now, you have no choice but to bid adieu to the family that is giving you your final departure.

Go to the light, my child. Do not make this more painful than it already is. Your ancestors will now escort you to Lord Yama. It is to Him that you must answer and face your final judgment. You know as well as I do that you have not led a good life.

You have hurt your loved ones and you have callously chosen to remain hard-hearted in spite of all attempts at resolution and reconciliation. You have been the most hard-hearted of all the patriarchs of your lineage and you now have no choice but to answer for your sins.

Do not scream and howl, my child. It is futile to fight for the vultures have already consumed the remaining carcass of what was once your body. You may never again return to this place called ‘Here’. This is no longer your family and this is no longer your home.

Within the span of a day, the vultures that have descended will ascend to the sky, returning the body that was once created to house your soul to the Divine Father. Your soul shall wait and rest with the Divine Father till it is ready for its next incarnation.

Go to the light, my child. Do not linger here any longer. Do not cry, my son. This is no longer your home. Deep sleep has now come.

Rest in peace, my beloved. Rest in peace.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆.

I will never—oh how could I ever forget—the day when I met the wailing woman in the cave of death. She wailed—oh how she wailed—from deep within the well of her being.

The air, thick with the salt of her weeping, crackled with unspoken pain. The ocean of her grief swelled and crashed. The waves of her lament pulled me under, drowning the very essence of my being. Her plea for help was so poignant and so potent that I could hear nothing else.

I knew, somehow, that I was the one who was destined to help her. I would not leave her till I had fulfilled the task that had been assigned to me in the afterlife. No matter the cost, I would never abandon her.

In the cave of death, I slowly made my way to the wailing woman. She was sitting there huddled inside the pitch darkness, trying to hold back the tears which could no longer be held inside. I instinctively knelt down and lay a hand upon her shoulder. The wailing woman could hear my voice even though she was in the realm of the living and ‘I’ was in the realm of the Unborn.

It is human nature to mourn and grieve over the unfinished business of the dearly departed. Perhaps when humanity was in its infancy, we did not see the need to cry at funerals the way that we do now. Perhaps there once existed an age when we did not see the need to deny and defy ‘the inevitable’ in the way that we do now. Perhaps there was once an age where Death was both honoured and celebrated.

But that age is not this age: this Age of Kali, this age of ignorance and darkness. In the cave—in the pitch-black cave—Mrityu, the Goddess of Rebirth, cried. Her tears were a desperate plea for a love she knew she would never find. No painted smile masked the sting of rejection in her voice.

Underneath the thick veil of darkness, where only shadows crept, her tears had been heard by someone, of this I was sure. Whispers of comfort brushed against her tears, even in the night's cold embrace. Someone—someone other than me—had heard her shrill and deafening cry.

It was Lord Shiva who found Mrityu in that dark cave. It was Lord Shiva who wiped those tears dry. It was Lord Shiva who found it in his heart to love, accept and honour the one who many others despised, resented, feared and hated.

Death—the vulture feasting on mortal fears—circled high above, but its carrion hunger found no hold on Lord Shiva. He wore the world's dread like a discarded garment, his gaze fixed on the horizon where life and death bled into one, an endless ocean without fear.

For many, Death represents a source of profound sadness, fear and even disgust. It is a cosmic role that few would volunteer for, let alone embrace whole-heartedly. But in this Universe, there is someone for everyone.

When Lord Shiva saw Mrityu crying, he embraced her as he had no other. He held her in his loving embrace with his heart wide open. He consoled the Goddess who had consoled every spirit that had unwillingly departed from its physical body and from the earthly plane. It was Lord Shiva whose heart possessed the willingness to embrace Mrityu: The Goddess of Death and Rebirth.

It was the Heart of Shiva that whispered and gently said, "I love you as you are, Mother Mrityu. Do not change. Remain as you are. For without you, the world cannot change. I honour you, Great Goddess. For it is through your Work that souls are granted a rebirth. For what is Life without Death?

O Great Mother Goddess Mrityu, I claim you as mine. I surrender myself—and the entire fabric of my being—at your feet.

Mother Mrityu lifted her foot and gently laid it upon Lord Shiva’s chest; where the cave of his heart resided. With a heart brimming with infinite grace, Lord Shiva, the Destroyer of Illusions, surrendered to Mother Mrityu: The Goddess who freed and liberated souls from the cages of their earthly existence.

In the cave where stars fell mute and shadows spun their silent dance, Lord Shiva, draped in mercy, held steadfastly onto Mother Mrityu's hand. Her song was a cosmic sigh that wove through the void, its melody known only to Lord Shiva’s boundless heart. In her eyes, He saw—not the harbinger of death—but the liberator from needless suffering.

The storm may rage around you, testing your mettle, Lord Shiva said as he gazed into Mrityu’s tear-stained eyes. "But within the sails of your being lies the power to carve a new course through the tempest. I promise to transform the sediments of your destruction into the foundations of new creation.

O Divine Mother, it is your gentle voice that ushers souls into a new cycle of existence. Weep no more, Mother Mrityu, Goddess of Rebirth.

In that space where stillness met sound, Shiva whispered secrets into the void, stories that can only ever be recited by those well-versed only in the sacred language of destruction and re-creation.

In Shiva's embrace, Mother Mrityu was no longer feared, but celebrated as a lover, a Guru and a Goddess of New Beginnings. Together, they were the heartbeat of the cosmos: a duet sung in silence and revealed through the celestial dance that took place in the Cosmic Womb.

I remained transfixed as my soul witnessed the Divine Dance of life and death. As their union took place, I came to realise that death of the physical body is but an illusion.

My fear instantly dissipated. I knew, immediately, that my time would undoubtedly come again. I do not have a name. I do not have a body. I will have none of these things till I am reborn.

Mother Mrityu, you are the Goddess of Rebirth. Kindly grant me a good rebirth.

Mrityave Svaha Mrityave Svaha. Om.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆.

My future mother was the chief priestess at my grandfather’s funeral. In ordinary circumstances, a man—the eldest living male of the family line—is required to perform the rituals that pertain to death. But since these were not ordinary circumstances, the help and assistance of a priestess is required.

My soon-to-be mother had been specifically chosen for this task. Her destiny whispered of mysteries and burdens, a symphony in a key I wouldn't dare hum, but still yearned to understand.

At my grandfather’s funeral, I heard my future mother’s liturgy, uttered and enunciated in hushed words under her breath. While no human being was permitted to hear her liturgy, the spirits of the ancestors—the ones who had come to collect the soul for judgment—could hear her words with an unmistakeable clarity. Her voice was an unusual voice for it was one that could only be heard by the ancestors and those who resided in the beyond.

My mother took a deep breath and near-noiselessly uttered:

O Shakti, Weaver of Fate,

In your Cosmic Womb,

Threads of karma twist and tangle.

My father spined a tangled cocoon

But truth, a sharp needle

Pricks it loose.

In your eyes, a truth I see,

A gentle hand, setting us free.

Let the Owl Clan greet you,

Not with fear,

But with arms wide open

In your breathless grasp,

All debts are ransomed,

Wounded souls find

The rest of deep sleep.

Mother Mrityu

You are the final note

In life's symphony.

Grant my father the grace,

To face the end,

And depart with you

My forever fearless friend.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆.

Remember me? I said to my future mother after my grandfather’s funeral. I was not sure