High in the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas, where the air is thin and the silence profound, there once lived a Rakshasa named Bhasmasura. He was no ordinary demon; he was a devoted follower of Lord Shiva. For centuries, Bhasmasura sat in deep meditation, unmoved by hunger, thirst, or the biting cold. His mind was fixed solely on Shiva, and his penance was so severe that it eventually caught the attention of the great god himself.
One day, as Bhasmasura meditated, Lord Shiva appeared before him in all his divine splendor. His radiant form was adorned with ashes, his matted locks crowned with the crescent moon, and his neck draped with serpents. In his hand, he held the mighty Trishul, the trident that symbolized his power. Bhasmasura was awestruck, his heart swelling with devotion and pride. Shiva, pleased with the demon’s unwavering penance, spoke gently, “I am pleased with your devotion. Ask of me any boon, and it shall be granted.”
Bhasmasura, though a devotee, still harbored the cunning nature of a Rakshasa. He thought for a moment and then said, “Lord, grant me this: whatever I touch with my right hand shall be reduced to ashes.” Shiva, bound by his word, granted the boon with a solemn “Tathaastu” (so be it). But as soon as the words left his lips, Shiva realized the danger. Bhasmasura, drunk with power, immediately sought to test his boon—on Shiva himself.
Panic surged through Shiva’s heart. If Bhasmasura touched him, he would turn to ash, and the balance of the universe would be shattered. With no other option, Shiva fled, his divine form racing across mountains, valleys, and forests, with Bhasmasura hot on his heels. The chase was relentless, and Shiva grew weary. The Lord of the Universe, who had once drunk the poison of the ocean to save the world, was now running for his life.
Meanwhile, in the celestial realm of Vaikuntha, Lord Vishnu watched the scene unfold. Amused yet concerned, he decided it was time to intervene. Transforming himself into Mohini, a maiden of unparalleled beauty, Vishnu appeared at a bend in the path where Shiva had just passed. Mohini stood there, her dark tresses flowing, her eyes like lotus petals, and her grace captivating all who beheld her.
As Bhasmasura approached, panting and determined, he was stopped in his tracks by the sight of Mohini. She smiled softly and said, “O great one, why do you run so? You seem weary. Come, rest awhile in my father’s ashram. Refresh yourself, and then you may continue your pursuit.”
Bhasmasura, impatient and obsessed with catching Shiva, tried to brush her aside. But as his eyes fell upon her, he was entranced. Her beauty was unlike anything he had ever seen, and desire quickly consumed him. “Who are you, fair maiden?” he asked, his voice trembling with longing.
“I am Mohini,” she replied, her voice like a melody. “But why do you chase Lord Shiva? What has he done to you?”
Bhasmasura, now distracted, boasted of his boon and his plan to become the ruler of the three worlds by destroying Shiva. Mohini listened, her eyes downcast, and then she sighed. “You are powerful indeed, but how can I trust you? The man I marry must be faithful, devoted only to me. Yet, I hear Rakshasas have many wives. How can I believe you would be true to me?”
Bhasmasura, desperate to win her over, declared, “I swear to you, Mohini, if you marry me, I will never look at another woman. You will be my only love.”
Mohini feigned hesitation. “Words are easy, but how can I be sure? If you truly mean what you say, place your hand on your head and swear it.”
Blinded by desire and eager to prove his devotion, Bhasmasura raised his right hand and placed it on his head. The moment he did so, the power of his boon took effect. In an instant, he was reduced to a heap of ashes.
Shiva, who had been watching from a distance, breathed a sigh of relief. He approached the scene and saw Mohini standing gracefully beside the ashes. She bowed to him and explained how she had tricked Bhasmasura into his own destruction. Shiva, realizing it was Vishnu in disguise, smiled warmly. “Once again, you have saved the world from chaos, my friend,” he said.
Mohini’s form shimmered and transformed into the radiant figure of Lord Vishnu, his four arms holding the conch, discus, mace, and lotus. The two gods exchanged knowing smiles, their bond of friendship stronger than ever.
And so, the tale of Mohini and Bhasmasura became a lesson in the dangers of unchecked desire and the triumph of divine wisdom over arrogance. It is said that even the mightiest boon can be undone by one’s own folly, and that the gods, in their infinite wisdom, always find a way to protect the balance of the universe.
