Does nature yearn for pleasure? Is that why Kama, the god of desire, of
kisses, of love and lust, is described in the Atharva Veda as the one
who existed before all? He has nothing to do with fertility. He is all
about irresponsible fun casual sex, with the risk of rejection and
heartbreak.
Shiva sets him aflame. Smears his body with his ash. The Goddess is appalled. She-who-embodies-nature transforms into Kamakhya, and ensures the hermit is initiated in the art of lovemaking.
But Shiva is also Yogeshwara, known to withdraw from the Goddess, and
isolate himself atop Mount Kailas, using his inward gaze to make upward
movement of seed force (urdhva-retas). Thus in celibacy, he separates
himself from nature, and forges the path to the unnatural or shall we
say supernatural, the realm of siddhi, where rules of nature do not
apply, where time and space are slaves, not masters.
Who is the
Shiva we worship? The one who is initiated by the Goddess (Uma-pati) or
the one who withdraws from the Goddess (Yogeshwara). Both are valid.
But the former is part of society in the vibrant city of Kashi, the
other is atop the faraway, lonely, snow-laden Himalayas.
Only
in Kali yuga, do the celibates — much to Shiva’s dismay, I suspect —
venture out of caves into cities and tell the devotees of the Goddess
how they are supposed to behave. The Goddess laughs contemptuously and
sticks out her tongue. She always wins.
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