Ten thousand years ago:
The world was much as it is now, with gods and demons wielding waxing and waning influence over the souls of humans, animals, and the earth. The gods, known as the Devas, and the demons, called Asuras, are related, and there was a time when, in a quest to gain eternal life, the Devas and the Asuras agreed temporarily to work together as cousins. They would strive together, churning the ocean of milk to produce Amrita, the nectar of immortality. The mighty Mount Mandara would serve as the churning rod. The king of serpents offered himself as the rope that would turn the post. Lord Vishnu, the Sustainer of the Universe, became a giant tortoise sitting at the ocean’s bottom to support the mountain. And the Devas held the serpent’s tail while the Asuras held its head, and all pulled together to churn the ocean.
The violent churning did not at first produce nectar but Halāhala, a terrible poison gas that began to asphyxiate both Devas and Asuras. The gods first pleaded with Brahma, the Creator, for help, but he told them that only Shiva, the Destroyer, had the power to nullify the poison.
The great god Lord Shiva captured the poison and placed it in his mouth, holding it in his throat so he would neither swallow it nor allow any other creature to die by the fumes. His consort, Parvati Devi, grabbed his throat so that Shiva would not accidentally consume the poison. Shiva held the poison in his throat so long that his throat turned blue, giving him the name Neelkanth, the one with the blue throat.
The churning continued, producing various treasures one after the other until eventually, Dhanvantari, physician of the gods, rose out of the waters with the ultimate prize, the Amrita.
The Devas claimed the Amrita as their own, drank the nectar, and became immortal. The Asuras, who had been promised an equal share of the Amrita, would never forget how they had been cheated.
Seven thousand years ago:
In a forest clearing near a large thatched hut, eleven holy men sat cross-legged around the edge of a square firepit. The sages wore orange loincloths, dhotis, and shawls, with long braided hair piled on their heads in shades of black, brown, and grey. A fire blazed in the square as the men chanted sacred mantras and tossed grain mixes into the pit representing the mouth of the divine. One sage, his matted hair and beard completely white, led the rhythmic chant while spooning clarified butter into the flames in the prescribed manner of the Vedic teachings. Each time they repeated a mantra, their voices would ring out in a mighty “Swaha!”
A pair of young disciples went back and forth, bringing more wood, grain, and pots of butter as the day went on.
These holy men, and hundreds of others in forests throughout the land, offered their prayers and practices periodically in this manner—a fire sacrifice to feed the gods.
Birds sang in the trees above as the smoke climbed to the heavens along with the chanting. It was a ritual as old as time, and these mystic elders attained a state of bliss as they performed the practice as communication with the gods. The scent of the fire rose to the sky, and the sound of the breeze through the woods blended harmoniously with all the other sounds.
The birdsong abruptly ceased. Flapping wings replaced the singing as all the forest creatures fled. Something was changing, and it wasn’t good. The cloudless sky darkened, and the holy men looked up, but they saw nothing but the dimming blue sky. They continued chanting, hoping that all would return to normal.
Suddenly, they heard deep raucous laughter all around them, and out of nowhere, an object hurtled from the air directly into the center of the fire pit, crashing into the flames, scattering sparks and chips of burning wood.
“What is that?” one of the younger men exclaimed as the holy men stared at the fire in horror.
“That,” the eldest sage said softly, “is the head of a goat with the eyes removed.”
“But what does it mean?”
“It means the demons are on the move,” the sage replied, “and our ceremony is in ruins.” The laughter grew louder as goat’s blood began to rain from the sky.
That was the first event in an intermittent campaign of devastation by the Asuras. The Asuras were a demonic race who lived to give themselves pleasure and inflict fear on humans. From time to time and without warning, the Asuras, directed by their king, the dreaded Ravana, disrupted a worship ceremony, burned down a forest ashram, or littered a holy place with dead animal flesh, doing whatever they could to deprive the Devas of communion with humans. The sages prayed daily, importuning the Devas for help until those deities approached Lord Brahma.
“Brahmadev,” they implored, “The sages never know when these demons will attack. Please find a way to stop Ravana and his Asuras! Please restore the sages’ ashrams and free them to worship again.”
“I have only the power to create,” replied Brahma, “and Ravana has performed such austerities that even Shiva Mahadev cannot stop him. Your only hope is to awaken Lord Vishnu, whose role is to restore balance to the universe. Go and see Vishnudev!”
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Nice intro!