Emerald Spectacles from India, c. 1620-1660 CE: the lenses of these spectacles were cut from a single emerald, and the original, uncut stone weighed more than 300 carats
These eyeglasses are also known by the name Astaneh-e ferdaws, meaning "Gate of Paradise," based on the symbolic associations between the color green and the concept of spiritual salvation or "paradise." Those associations, which are rooted in Islamic tradition, were especially common in Mughal India.
The lenses were crafted from two thin slices of the same emerald. Together, the lenses have a combined weight of about 27 carats, but given the precision, size, and shape of each lens, experts believe that the original emerald likely weighed in excess of 300 carats (more than sixty grams) before it was cleaved down in order to produce the lenses.
The emerald was found at a mine in Muzo, Colombia, and it was then transported across the Atlantic by Spanish or Portuguese merchants.
Each lens is encircled by rose-cut diamonds, which run along an ornate frame made of gold and silver. This diamond-studded frame was installed during the late 1800s, when modern stylistic elements were incorporated into the original pince-nez design.
The "Gate of Paradise" spectacles are often accompanied by a second pair of eyeglasses that were created during the same period, and they were almost certainly commissioned by the same person; these other spectacles are known by the name Halqeh-e nur, meaning "Halo of Light," and they feature lenses that were cleaved from a single diamond.
It's estimated that the original, uncut diamond weighed about 200-300 carats, which would make it one of the largest uncut diamonds ever discovered.
The lenses are so clear and so flat that they sometimes seem almost invisible.
Both sets of spectacles date back to the mid-1600s, and it's believed that they were commissioned by a Mughal emperor or prince. The identity of that person is still a bit of a mystery, but it has been widely speculated that the patron was Shah Jahan -- the Mughal ruler who famously commissioned the Taj Mahal after the death of his wife, Mumtaz Mahal. Shah Jahan ruled as the Mughal emperor from about 1628 to 1658.
The emerald and diamond lenses may have served some symbolic, sentimental, or cultural purpose, or they may have been chosen simply because they're pretty and extravagant. Their original purpose and significance remains unclear, but there is evidence to suggest that the spectacles were actually designed to be worn by someone.
Mystical properties have long been attributed to these spectacles; it's believed that they can promote healing, ward off evil, impart wisdom, and/or bring the wearer closer to enlightenment. Those beliefs mostly stem from Indic and Islamic traditions that associate each of the gemstones with specific spiritual qualities. Emeralds are associated with spiritual salvation, healing, cleansing, and eternal life, while diamonds are associated with enlightenment, wisdom, celestial light, and mysticism.
The "Gate of Paradise" and the "Halo of Light" spectacles were both kept in the collections of a wealthy Indian family until 1980, when they were sold to private collectors, and they were then put up for auction once again in 2021. They were most recently valued at about $2 million to $3.4 million per pair.
Sources & More Info:
Sotheby's: Mughal Spectacles
Architectural Digest of India: At Sotheby's auction, Mughal-era eyeglasses made of diamond and emerald create a stir
Only Natural Diamonds: Auspicious Sight & the Halqeh-e Nur Spectacles
The Royal Society Publishing: Cleaving the Halqeh-Ye Nur Diamonds
Gemological Institution of America: Two Antique Mughal Spectacles with Gemstone Lenses
Manuscript: From Satan's Crown to the Holy Grail: emeralds in myth, magic, and history
CNN: The $3.5 million Spectacles Said to Ward off Evil
BBC: Rare Mughal Era Spectacles to be Auctioned by Sotheby's
A/N: I’m BACK! Its been too long, just... too long. I had thought that the quarantine would give me some time to breathe and get my life together but that has not been the case. School and life almost destroyed all my creativity, but I’m building it slowly, and my itch to write is growing, thankfully. For reference, this fic was supposed to be out MahaShivratri 2018... but its finally done now. I’m tagging all my Mahabharat/Indian Lore peeps: @incurablescribbler @aapagaa @dilkishehnaai @heyifinallyhaveablog @mayavanavihariniharini @allegoriesinmediasres @chaanv @medhasree @avani008 and every other person I’m missing!
I miss you all so very much <3 Reach out! I’m still around! Just more quiet 😂
Bhagirath stared at the vast expanse of dry desert in front of him. It went on for miles and miles, the sun rising in the distant horizon. The earth was cracked and any drop of water he put into it soaked up like a baby thirsting for milk. Hot wind blew over him and into the land lifting dirt and dust. No, not dust. Ashes. This was the resting place of his entire ancestry. 60,000 people. His great grandfathers and their brothers were in this desert, reduced to ashes. All because of a yagna for power. The grand Suryavanshi line was decimated. Except for him.
“Bring peace to my grandfather and granduncles’ souls,” his father had said as his last breath left him. Bhagirath’s father, King Dilip had given his entire life to try and bring peace, but the task had remained unfinished.
Bhagirath thought back to the rishi who had cursed his grandfathers. Rishi Kapil had been in deep meditation, and the bustling of the sons of Sagara had awoken him and accused him of thievery. The sage’s wrath had been indescribable, and within moments there was only ash. Ashes and dust. The rishi had said, for peace, prosperity and happiness, the sacred Ganga had to come down, but she was precious to Brahma. Dilip’s life had gone into pleasing Brahma, and Bhagirath was left to finish the task. Just Bhagirath and a vast desert of land.
While Bhagirath stared into the expanse, a fire began growing within him. A fire that raged into a determined oath. Addressing the ashes, dust and cracked land, he spoke, his voice thundering with conviction. “I will put you to rest. I will bring Ganga down, not just for my family but for the world. I will do it! On my word as a grandson, and a descendant of the Sun, I swear to you.” He turned away, vowing to not look at the desert until it was filled with water.
After that vow, Bhagirath returned to his city, renounced the throne and went into the Himalayas. Twenty, long, arduous years passed. “Om Brahmaya Namah. Om Brahmaya Namah. Om Brahmaya Namah.” The chant was the only thing to leave Bhagirath’s lips. His penance was grueling, and his body almost withered away. But Bhagirath didn’t care. The only thing on his mind: Brahma. More time passed. To Bhagirath, time became fluid, nebulous. Days, months, years swirled around him, passing in an instance, until a deep voice woke him.
“Open your eyes child. I am here.”
As Bhagirath cracked open his eyes, he was blinded by light. Brahma shone, with an unearthly light, seated on a swan. His eyes, which were just half opened, focused on Bhagirath, a soft smile playing on his lips. Bhagirath’s eyes widened in awe and he bowed at deeply Brahma’s feet, unable to speak.
“My child, your penance pleases me. The steadfastness and determination in you warrant a gift. What can I give you, oh Bhagirath?” Brahma’s voice echoed in Bhagirath’s ears, the question ringing, but he was too awestruck to answer. Brahma merely chuckled, “Ah, my son, I see what you are trying to achieve. Arise and speak.”
At this, Bhagirath finally stood. With his head bowed, and hands folded together, he said, “Oh great one, there is no limit to your glory. You, who in moments can create worlds beyond my wildest imagination, have come to meet me? Who am I to ask anything from you? Being in your presence I have been given the entire world. I merely hope to fulfil my father’s final wish. I would like to bring the river Ganga to my ancestral ashes. Their souls have not had rest in three generations, and with your grace, I would like for them to achieve rest. With your blessing, please give me the strength to achieve this task.”
At Bhagirath’s words, Brahma opened his eyes fully and looked him in the eyes, almost as if testing him one more time. Bhagirath stared back, sincerity shining in his eyes. Finally, Brahma sat back.
“I can fulfil this wish of yours. My daughter can come down to Earth, but the force of her fall is too great. If she falls with no one to catch her, the Earth will split in two.”
Bhagirath’s eyebrows crumpled, eyes filled with worry, “Lord, how can I let that happen? The world needs Ganga, but how can she bless us if she’ll destroy us first?”
Brahma smiled slightly, “I have the solution, but it will require even more resolve by you. Can you do it?”
“For the world, for my ancestors, for my vow, I will do anything.”
“Call upon the Mahadev. Ask for Lord Shiva to come and catch her in his matted locks. If he agrees, Ganga will come down.” Bhagirath bowed his head and closed his eyes, nodding gratefully. When he looked up, Brahma had vanished.
Looking to the sky, Bhagirath carded his hair with his fingers and sighed. Steeling his jaw, he set forth another goal. Shiva would come, he would make that certain.
Bhagirath peered at the Himalayas. On the snowy mountain range, only a few mountains were higher than he was, but to capture the Mahadev’s attention he would need to be in plain sight. He began climbing, and once he reached Dronagiri’s peak, he sat, settling in for another long penance.
Bhagirath closed his eyes and began concentrating on Shiva, and Shiva alone. Om Namah Shivay. Om Namah Shivay. In the frigid cold, his words cut through the wind, his mind fixed on the great Mahadev. He forgot to eat, forgot to sleep; in his mind only Shiva was fixed. Bhagirath himself was lost, time fluid once again. Soon, much too soon, another voice spoke to him.
“Bhagirath, you had called me? Open your eyes and ask, son.” In his mind, however, Bhagirath refused to budge. Brahma had taken much longer to come; Shiva could not come so quickly. He would not be swayed. Keeping his eyes closed, he furrowed his brow and thought to Shiva once again.
Lord, save me from whoever is distracting me. I only wish to focus on you. The entity in front of him chuckled, his voice throaty, almost as if he had read Bhagirath’s mind.
“My child, you have called on me, how can I distract you from myself?” Hearing this, Bhagirath’s lips turned down into a thoughtful frown. He had never heard Shiva’s voice, but how could the entity in front of him know that he had been thinking of Shiva? Bhagirath’s eyes popped open, lashing words at the tip of his tongue ready to be spoken at the one who had broken his concentration. His mouth was open ready to berate, but as his eyes finally registered who was in front of him, the words died in his throat. Dressed in nothing but a tiger skin and elephant cape stood Lord Shiva himself, a smile ghosting his lips. For a moment Bhagirath gaped, taking in the Mahadev's full glory: his knotted hair tumbling down past his shoulders, the ropes of rudraksha beads wrapped around his arms, and the snake coiled around his throat hissing and spitting. He was tall, taller than even Bhagirath and his hand held a trident, a trishul, made of a metal sharp enough to cut through stone.
Bhagirath’s eyes travelled up and down Shiva’s form, marveling at his glory, until he locked eyes with the god. His eyes widened in shock and he fell to Shiva’s feet in awe that the great god had come so quickly.
Clutching his feet, Bhagirath closed his eyes and began mumbling, “Mahadev, Mahadev you came? You came so soon? How? What had I done to make you come so quickly? I couldn’t believe it was you. I’m so sorry for staring, so, so sorry. It was the height of disrespect; I am so sorry. Shiva, Shiva thank you, thank you for coming. Thank you…” Shiva grasped Bhagirath’s shoulders, lifting him to his feet, cutting off his stream of mumbling. He looked at the ascetic king with his eyes tightly shut, his hands clasped together as though he were waiting for Shiva to release his anger at his insolence.
Instead, Shiva began laughing, loudly and unabashedly. The loud guffaw of the god confused Bhagirath even further and he opened his eyes slowly, still afraid to face Shiva. He kept his eyes lowered in respect as Shiva quieted from his laugh.
“Look at me, son. Do not be afraid. I like some spirit in my devotees.” Shiva’s voice was rough from misuse as he spoke. Bhagirath raised his gaze and locked eyes with the Lord. He saw brown eyes, like his own, twinkling back at him.
“There we go. I know your respect and piety for me, otherwise I would not have come, but you require something from me, and when you ask, I want to see your face.”
Bhagirath smiled, albeit a little thrown; Shiva was baffling. He had heard of the Mahadev’s severe austerities, his immense sacrifice, the vast knowledge he held, but the Shiva in front of him was different. The Lord Shiva he faced commanded great respect, but he was also… friendly. He was the Lord of his devotees. Shiva chuckled again, the lines around his eyes crinkling, and Bhagirath realized that he could hear his thoughts.
“Son, I see and hear things pretty clearly. I don’t need the extra fanfare that comes with worship. So, ask and let us see what I can do for you.”
Bhagirath held his breath and let it out slowly, calming himself and collecting his thoughts. “Lord Shiva, you truly are the Mahadev. I am eternally grateful to you. Thank you for coming at my call. No doubt, you are already aware, I wish to bring the Ganga down to Earth. Not only to help my ancestors but also for the good of the world. Her holy waters will bless us all…” At this Bhagirath hesitated, catching Shiva’s eye once again. At Shiva’s curious gaze, he continued. The Lord wanted him to vocalize his thoughts.
“However, sire, Lord Brahma said her fall is too great. When I had asked him, He said that if she falls without anyone to catch her, she will splinter Mother Earth. I wish to help the Earth, not destroy it. My Lord, please catch her fall. Catch her in your matted locks so she gently flows.” Bhagirath concluded his thoughts, folding his hands into a prayer.
Shiva listened carefully to Bhagirath’s prayer, and stroked his chin, humming under his breath, “Bring Ganga you said? Hmmm, you want me to catch her? I can do that.”
Clearing his throat, he caught Bhagirath’s gaze again, “Vishnu was right about you. Your innocence and virtuous character are worthy of this great task. I will do this. But be warned, great Bhagirath, Ganga flows wildly, she is unpredictable. It would do you well to stay on guard, my devotee.”
Hearing this Bhagirath’s face lit up. He once again touched the feet of the Mahadev. “Thank you, my lord. Thank you. I will stay on my guard.”
Lord Shiva smiled and touched Bhagirath’s head, blessing him. “May you be victorious in your task.” Bhagirath stood, and next to Shiva, Brahma winked into existence.
“Lord Shiva, Bhagirath, my daughter Ganga stands ready to fall. Are you both ready?”
“Stand back, oh king. Lord Brahma, let her come.”
Brahma winked out of existence as Bhagirath scrambled back, away from Shiva as he stood, his arms akimbo. He looked up as water began hurtling down from the heavens in a steady fall, appearing out of nothing, from nowhere. As Bhagirath peered closer, he saw the form of a young woman in the water, her hair streaming behind her, her eyes piercingly dark. This was the river Ganga. She had a serene look on her face, but as she approached Shiva’s locks, her smile turned playfully impish, as if she were about to play a nasty prank on the Lord. Shiva looked up at the falling water and narrowed his eyes, arching an eyebrow, almost daring Ganga to continue, reading her thoughts.
Bhagirath watched on, his face furrowing in more confusion as Ganga gushed into Shiva’s hair but never came out. More water flowed and flowed, falling out of the sky, straight into the Mahadev, but why wasn’t she leaving? Why wasn’t she hitting the earth? Bhagirath watched brows creased as Shiva began cackling again. He studied Shiva’s hair, looking for Ganga’s form, and found her struggling against the hair, trying to push her way out. She wiggled this way and that, trying to tear apart her hairy prison to touch the floor. Bhagirath watched as Shiva laughed and Ganga struggled back and forth. His eyes widened in alarm as he caught on. At this rate, the river would never reach the Earth!
Bhagirath clambered over to Shiva and prostrated at his feet. “Lord, why have you caught the Ganga?”
“Bhagirath, this is what you asked of me. I have caught her,” Shiva smiled knowingly.
“Yes sire, but…” Bhagirath’s eyes turned pleading as he stood up and looked at his lord. He knew that Shiva knew what his goal was. Then why this delay?
“Bhagirath, Ganga is very mischievous. She is not used to flowing with boundaries. As she fell, she believed that she would be able to sweep me away with her to the underworld. She must learn humility and docility.” Bhagirath looked up into Shiva’s hair to see a quieted Ganga. She had stopped struggling and was listening quietly to the conversation of Bhagirath and Shiva. She softly smiled, and Bhagirath’s heart melted. He looked back into Shiva’s eyes and pleaded, “Lord, in your locks you carry an important treasure for the world. Just by your touch, she has been twice blessed and will remain so as long as she flows. Please let her go, but control her flow, I will watch over her like a big brother would. On Earth, she will not flow anywhere without my permission. I promise it.”
Shiva inhaled deeply through his nose and pulled apart a lock of his hair. Through this sluice, Ganga streamed out and stood next to Bhagirath. Shiva scrutinized her intensely and her cheeks turned red as she faced his silent but judging gaze. She folded her hands into a prayer and meekly whispered, “Lord Shiva, I will follow the King Bhagirath. I will not be disruptive.” At her soft voice, Shiva smiled and reached out, patting her cheek. Nodding to Bhagirath, he blessed them and pointed their path. Bhagirath bowed and turned away leading Ganga to where his ancestors waited.
For a while they walked, or rather flowed, silently, the only sound was Ganga’s waters, tumbling and gurgling faintly, following Bhagirath and her footsteps. As they walked, Bhagirath thought back to his ancestors and the rest they would finally have. Ganga would help so many people, her sacred waters would provide a sense of sanctity in the coming eons. This era was the Satya Yug, the holiest era, the first era, but by Kal Yug, the darkest era, Ganga would be a beacon of hope in an otherwise obsolete land. Lost in his thoughts, Bhagirath exhaled heavily, his brow low set as his train of thought ran on and on.
Hearing his sigh, Ganga piped up, pushing him out of his musings. “Bhagirath Bhai, is something wrong?”
Startled by her bubbly voice, he jumped, almost like he had forgotten that she was with him. His lips quirked into a sad smile and he attempted to articulate his train of thoughts, “My lady, I am grateful to you. You will help so many people and my ancestors. You have left your home, and your father and your comforts for me. How can I repay this action?” He hung his head in sorrow, for he had pulled a daughter away from her father.
For a moment, Ganga considered him. He didn’t look much older than her current form, but his shoulders drooped, as though the burden of the entire world was on his shoulders to carry. His heart seemed heavy, and this did not seem like the Bhagirath she had watched while he did penance for her. She came to a resolution. Like he was taking care of her, she would take care of him. She laughed, her smile bright and toothy, “Bhai, first of all, to you, I am just Ganga. Consider me your little sister.”
Her eyes sparkled merrily; her voice cheerful. As they walked, she explained her thinking and by some small miracle, Bhagirath’s heart became lighter with every step, “I came because it was my duty, and it’s a new adventure! Plus Bhaiyya, I’m not alone. You and all the citizens of Earth are here. You will take care of me, I know it. There is no repaying between siblings!” She spoke with an air of finality her tone light but full of conviction, and Bhagirath began to grin, her sunny disposition infectious on his own mood.
“Thank you, Ganga.”
“Hush now Bhaiyya and look!” She waved away his gratitude and pointed in the horizon, as a plume of smoke drifted up, kissing the clouds. “Is that a yagna I see?” Bhagirath strained his eyes as the sacrificial flame grew in his line of vision. As they approached the flame, his vision cleared. He saw a wizened old sage sitting in the front of many other sages and disciples, chanting mantras and pious shlokas to the flames. Every now and then, the first sage would dip a small ladle full of ghee into the fire, feeding its flames larger and larger. Bhagirath and Ganga approached carefully, the aura of the sacred fire filling them with happiness and contentment. As the sage chanted further, Bhagirath felt a flash of recognition. He knew this sage.
“That is Sage Jahnu’s ashram and yes, he’s conducting a yagna. Let us turn away and give him space. We should not disturb him.” He whispered to his companion, willing her to stay quiet and turn away, but he should have known better.
“Bhai, please let me look closer!” Ganga surged past him, ignoring his objections, her waters rushing forward closer to the yagna. Her curiosity was too great, and even she wanted to be sanctified by the sage’s penances.
“Ganga, No!” Bhagirath gave chase, trying to stop her before she would submerge the flame, but it was too late. As he reached the ashram, he saw desolation and a very wet, very angry sage. In her haste, Ganga had destroyed everything: the fire, the huts, the entire ashram. She had gone too far, and Bhagirath had not been able to hold her back. As Bhagirath surveyed the damage, Ganga cowered behind him, trembling in fear at the sage’s anger. She had made a grave mistake, but sometimes, even she forgot how powerful her tide was. She had tried to hold back, but was unable to, and in consequence she had wreaked havoc on holy work. She only hoped that Bhagirath would be able to pacify the enraged sage.
“Ganga!” Jahnu thundered, “Come out and face your punishment!” Sage Jahnu was a very sorry sight. His saffron clothes were soaked, and his hair and beard dripped cold water onto the floor. But his eyes, his eyes spit fire. His body shook with rage and Ganga’s heart dropped to her stomach. She was in trouble.
“Careless girl! You have destroyed years of hard work and heavy austerities. Come out and face my fury!” Jahnu surveyed the area, arms akimbo, waiting for Ganga to reveal herself, but she wouldn’t come out from behind Bhagirath. Quickly realizing that she would not give up her location, the sage’s wrath grew. Before Bhagirath or Ganga could protest, he pooled together all his yogic energy and gathered all of her water into his cupped hands. He tipped his head back and in one long gulp swallowed her right out from behind Bhagirath.
Bhagirath could do nothing but watch, jaw dropped, as the sage swallowed Ganga, burped quietly, and went about his day, as if nothing had happened. Bhagirath waited as he turned around, checked up on the many sages and disciples, and set forth to fix his destroyed ashram. For a moment, the sage ignored Bhagirath, working to put his yagnakund back together, until Bhagirath cleared his throat loudly to announce his presence. The sage turned around and found a very distraught Bhagirath staring back at him.
“Yes? How can I help you?”
Bhagirath bowed his head, pressing his hands together, and began speaking delicately so as to not anger the sage anymore. “Great sage, my name is Bhagirath and I am the descendant of King Sagara. As you must know my ancestors had perished because of the wrath of Rishi Kapil. Their ashes lie in the vast dry ocean in the East. I had hoped to bring the sacred river Ganga to their resting place to release them to heaven. However…” He trailed off, bowing deeply to the sage.
“Yes, my child. I am aware of your penance. I am also aware that the river I just swallowed was the Ganga herself. However, she ruined years of hard work with one fell swoop. Her impulsiveness destroyed my work!” The sage retorted hotly, as he gestured to the ruined ashram.
“Benevolent sage, I understand she caused havoc, but she is just a river. It is in her nature. Please do not let your anger hinder the world from her divine touch. Please let her go.” Bhagirath touched Jahnu’s feet, pleading for Ganga.
The sage exhaled hard, thinking. Bhagirath had worked hard for Ganga, his sacrifice could not be put to waste. “I shall let her go.”
“Thank you, Sage Jahnu. You have indeed made her holy. She shall be known as Jahnvi for you have thrice blessed her.”
The sage nodded and tilted his head to the right. With a loud popping sound, Ganga cascaded from the sage’s ear. Bhagirath waited as she came out, arms crossed across his chest, his face stern. Ganga stood; her eyes cast to the floor in shame as she toed the dirt around her feet.
“Sorry Bhaiyya.”
Bhagirath arched a brow, “It’s not me you need to apologize to.”
Ganga turned, pressing her hands together and bowing deeply to the sage. “Sire, I deeply apologize. I did not mean to destroy your work, your yagna, and your ashram. Forgive me?” At Ganga’s sweet words, even Jahnu could not remain angry. He smiled grudgingly and let the duo pass by, raising his hand in a farewell blessing.
Ganga and Bhagirath moved on, slowly winding around the land, avoiding any more ashrams and disasters. They walked for what seemed like days with Bhagirath leading the way and Ganga, walking beside him, her waters following. They talked quietly as they walked, learning about each other, becoming companions on their path to the ocean. Bhagirath shared fond memories of his childhood, his father, Dilip, and the grave vow he had made before he started penance. Ganga talked about her father, the Lord Brahma, the rivers: her other sisters, and her childhood home in heaven. Together they shared their lives, relating past experiences as they journeyed together. Surprisingly, they found themselves uniting, becoming closer, like the brother and sister that the gods had told them to become. Their conversation was elevated as Bhagirath explained the many plights of the world, Ganga listening empathetically. In her heart she felt a fraternal love grow for her leader and even Bhagirath began looking at Ganga as if she were his younger sister, even though she was eons older than he.
Time began speeding as they trekked through India, and in short time, they reached the vast dry desert where Bhagirath had given his vow. It had been decades and he had not been back since. As he approached it, a knot grew within him, his footsteps slowing to a stop. Ganga stopped beside him, looking out into the desert. For once, she did not rush ahead, but rather waited, prompting him to speak.
Looking into the dusty, cracked horizon, Bhagirath felt a swell of emotions within him. He had finally done it. Ganga was here. But he hesitated to let her surge forward. A lump was stuck in his throat, and he felt himself choking up.
Pushing past the emotions, he spoke, “It has been so long. So long that I had forgotten what it had looked like. This is the desert where my ancestors lie. This is the great ocean that Brahmarishi Agastya had swallowed. I had been but a mere boy when I had left this place, vowing not to return without you, Ganga. And now that we are here, I do not want you to leave my side. I wish we could stay together, siblings united.” He swiped away the stray tears that had gathered at his eyes at the thought of leaving her side. She had been with him for such a short amount of time, but he had become her older brother. He wanted to protect her, but he knew, for the sake of the world, she would have to leave him. The only thought that made their parting less bitter was that she would not be too far away from him.
“You, my sister, are my savior, our savior, the Earth’s savior. I promise that my descendants and I will look after you like our own, but you promise me that you will continue blessing the Earth the same way you were thrice blessed by Brahma, Shiva and Sage Jahnu. Do so, and I will let you fill the ocean with your waters.”
“Bhaiyya, I promise. The same way you looked after me, I will watch over the Earth. I will protect the world and bless its inhabitants. Now, let me do my part and help you fulfil your vow.” Ganga gently touched his arm, asking for permission. Bhagirath nodded and Ganga burst past him, flooding the barren earth. She coursed into the land, soaking the earth, filling the vast basin until it was tumbling and splashing, a full, watery ocean. Bhagirath looked behind him as their path had become a mighty river, ebbing to and fro into a colossal ocean. His ears strained, and beyond the crashing waves, he could just make out a sigh. His ancestors had finally found rest in heaven. Bhagirath bowed to the great ocean as Brahma once again flickered into existence.
He turned to Bhagirath and proclaimed, “Great Bhagirath you have completed your task. You have fulfilled the vow of your ancestors and have become glorious. When your time on Earth is complete, I will welcome you with open arms into heaven. For now, your kingdom awaits you.”
“Thank you, Lord Brahma, for helping me with this task. I shall remain forever grateful.”
Brahma faded and Bhagirath turned to make his way back to his kingdom. However, as he stepped away, a voice stopped him. “Bhaiyya, wait!”
Bhagirath turned back to see Ganga floating above her river, waiting to say one more thing.
“Bhagirath bhaiyya, I want to say one more thing. You have been my companion on my largest adventure so far. For taking care of me so well, I would like one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“I want to be known as Bhagirathi. I want to be known as your younger sister.”
Bhagirath chuckled, “As you wish.” Grinning brightly, Ganga swished down and with a final wave, she became one with her water. For a moment, her water pushed past her banks and washed over Bhagirath’s feet, almost as if asking for a blessing. Raising his hand, Bhagirath blessed his younger sister and headed home, his task finally completed.
A few select pages from The Mystic Warriors from the Plains by Thomas E. Mails. These were some of my favorite books to look through when I was growing up. Always seeking out ancient wisdom to better understand the stories of this land.
The Ghost of Baba Harbhajan Singh that guards India’s border. (Independence day special)🇮🇳🇮🇳
Late Sepoy Harbhajan Singh was enrolled into the Punjab Regiment on 9 February 1966. Born in the village of Browndal in Kapurthala district of Punjab, he enlisted in the army and found himself posted on the misty heights of the Sino-Indian border near Nathula Pass.
The year 1968 saw heavy rainfall and vicious floods in the region. On 4 October 1968, while escorting a mule caravan from his battalion headquarters at Tukla to Deng Chukla, Harbhajan Singh fell into a fast-flowing stream and was washed away. His body was nowhere to be found.
One day, Harbhajan Singh appeared in the dream of one of the sepoys in his unit. In the dream, Harbhajan Singh informs his colleague that he was no longer alive and told him the exact spot where his body would be found. He asked him to construct a samadhi at the spot where his body would be found.
Adding that he would always patrol the area and never give up being a soldier, Harbhajan Singh disappeared from the sepoy’s dream. When the man woke up, he dismissed the dream as a manifestation of his grief for Harbhajan Singh’s loss. It wasn’t until another member of the same unit had the same dream down to the last detail that suspicions got aroused.
Soon, a search party was dispatched to the spot that had been described in the dream, and the late Sepoy Harbhajan Singh’s body was found. He was cremated with full military honours and a samadhi was made at Chhokya Cho as per the wishes that he had expressed in his dream.
Soon, reports of a man seen patrolling the area began filtering in. Soldiers deployed in the area would talk of a lone uniformed man on horse patrolling the region. Forces on the other side of the border confirmed these reports and claimed that they too had seen the ghost rider. Over the years, many soldiers in the area began seeing Harbhajan Singh in their dreams, where he instructed them of loopholes and unprotected areas from where the Chinese could attack and his instructions were accurate.
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DM for pic credit.
Scouts working on the #Indian_Lore_merit_badge learn about the rich cultural history of Native Americans. They learn about the history of the interactions between native people and European settlers and later the US government. They also explore how Native #Americans continue to express their cultural history today.
When Someone Gets Under Your Skin: Stikini & Werewolves
When Someone Gets Under Your Skin: Stikini & Werewolves
Chapter 2: The Origins of Stikini & Werewolves
Skinwalkers or “werewolves” are part of the lore of many Native American tribes. They have become an eccentricity of Hollywood’s imagination and our culture on a whole. Is there truth to this phenomenon? Do humans shift into animal form to feed their carnal desires?
ORIGINS is written and produced by award-winning author Jaimie Engle.
