Face like Hari

An excerpt from the Shiv Purana

Narada, the Wandering Sage, once sat in deep meditation atop a barren mountain. As was often the case when someone performed such penance, Indra, the king of the devas, got worried. Unsure of the sage's intent, he feared that it might be aimed at claiming his throne. Therefore, Indra sent forth the Kamadeva or Manmadhan, the god of desire, to distract Narada with his charms.

As he was called for his part, Kama enthusiastically attempted to entice Narada. He transformed the snow and scrubs around Narada into floral vines and musical fountains, accompanied by warm, fragrant air. It took an ascetic with great determination to resist him. When the sage did not so much as flutter, Kama resorted to his best bet - his potent floral arrows shot from his sugarcane bow - which had momentarily seduced even Shiva!

The arrow struck Narada's chest squarely, where the sage's heart housed.

Lo behold, nothing happened.

Defeated, Kama fell at his feet and begged for forgiveness. Narada, at last, opened his eyes and was amused to find Kama prostrated before him. Upon hearing the recount, the sage's heart swelled with pride.

Narada muni, brimming with excitement, soon headed straight for Kailasa, Shiva's abode. "You have humbled me, for I am no longer the lone tamer of Kama!" said Shiva. He continued with a faint smirk, "But do not speak about this to Vishnu."

Why would Shiva ask him not to share his triumph with Vishnu, of all people, the very god to whom he was a sworn lifelong devotee? This made no sense to the bemused and slightly miffed Narada, who disregarded it entirely and excitedly made haste towards Vaikuntha.

There, Vishnu, curling his lips in an all-knowing smile, asked, "What brings you to me?" Narada eagerly narrated the incident to him (with a fair bit of exaggeration), oblivious to the fact that Vishnu was pulling his leg, for he already knew all that went on in the worlds.

Vishnu nodded nonchalantly. Narada, however, felt disappointed at the lack of a heartier response. This was not something he had expected. Shiva, feeling envious, was understandable. But Vishnu?! He concluded that he might be superior in some aspect to even Vishnu, or why else would someone not openly laud his achievement? Narada bid farewell with his customary parting "Narayana! Narayana!" tinged with mockery.

Hari Leela

Still yearning for recognition, Narada descended to Prithviloka, the mortal realm, and arrived at the court of King Sheelanidhi. The king welcomed him warmly and invited him to bless the upcoming swayamvara, the ceremony for selecting a groom for his daughter, Srimati.

Narada was captivated by the extraordinary beauty of Srimati. It took him every ounce of concentration to maintain his composure. After careful deliberation, the sage decided to participate in the swayamvara himself, hoping to win her hand.

Desperate to appear worthy of Srimati, Narada fervently prayed to Vishnu and asked, in the grandest Sanskrit verses he could muster, for a face resembling Hari's. Vishnu granted his wish with a simple "Tathāstu" (So be it).

Srimati's Swayamvara was attended by kings and princes from far and wide. Finally, Srimati entered the hall - every pair of eyes upon her, scores of breaths drawn but never released. Narada, carrying his signature veena, stood last in the queue, certain that no mere mortal could match his divine qualities or the face of Shyam Sundara Hari that he now wore.

As Srimati moved down the row, rejecting each suitor in turn, his heart swelled with anticipation. What chance did they stand against him?

At last, she reached him. Narada could see her lowered eyes glance up at him, catching his reflection. For a brief moment, her expression lit up with a mischievous smile before she stepped past him.

As she stepped past him toward the next person, his world collapsed. It didn’t even register that no one was behind him; he was the last in line. Nor did it matter that she had rejected him. What mattered was the face he had glimpsed in her eyes: not the radiant face of Vishnu, nor even his own, but the face of a monkey.

Furious and humiliated, Narada realised he did not need to look to know who stood behind him. Srimati’s garland now hung around the neck of none other than Hari himself. Rage gathered in Narada’s chest and rose toward his lips as a curse. Before he could utter the words, a voice cut through, calm and familiar,

“Narada.”

It seemed to come from everywhere, behind him, in front of him, within him.

He closed his eyes and ears, trying to lose his senses and shut out the world.

“Narada,” the voice echoed again.

He opened his eyes.

The mortal court was gone. Before him stood Vishnu in Vaikuntha, the garland still around his neck. Besides him was Srimati, but she looked somewhat different; it was the familiar radiant Lakshmi Devi. Ananta Shesha lay coiled across the Ksheera Sagara, and a shimmering light suffused everything. Everything—the kingdom, Sheelanidhi, Srimati—reality as the sage perceived had been Yogmaya, an illusion crafted by Vishnu.

Vishnu smiled, “Narada, I accept your curse. One day, I will indeed need the help of monkeys, akin to what you saw yourself in.” Narada lowered his gaze in shame, for this was precisely the curse he had intended to pronounce.

Then, with a twinkle in his eye, Vishnu asked, “But tell me, dear sage—how did it feel to cast aside your Brahmacharya and fall prey to desire?”

Narada was left too embarrassed to speak, his ego humbled. His supposed triumph over kama was meaningless in the face of his vanity and pride. The truth behind his downfall lay in his own words. When he asked for a face like Hari's, he assumed it would be the divine face of Vishnu. Yet, Hari in Sanskrit can also mean “monkey.” Vishnu chose to interpret the alternate meaning, setting in motion the other course of events.

Narada bowed before Vishnu with a heart full of remorse and newfound clarity. He left Vaikuntha chanting “Narayana, Narayana,” this time with genuine reverence and devotion.

Straying from one’s path, no matter how briefly, invites karmic consequences. This playful leela is a reminder to remain ever-vigilant, free from snares of ego and attachment.