Inside the Sacred Journey of Shiva Grants the Boon to Bhasmasura
Why this ancient story still resonates with the soul.
---
You won’t find my name in the scrolls. My story was never sung by the sages. But I was there, hiding behind the pillar of stone, the day Lord Shiva granted the boon to the demon Bhasmasura.
I was a servant of the Ashram then. A boy, barefoot and quiet, assigned to sweep the floor of Mount Kailasha’s outer chambers. That morning, the sky was red as fire, and Bhasmasura arrived.
Bhasmasura—once a mere rakshasa, a demon—had taken to deep penance. For years, he stood on one leg, arms raised, body melting under the sun’s heat. He uttered Shiva’s name, over and over, like the rumble of a broken drum. Until Lord Shiva himself appeared.
Even I, just a boy, had heard of Lord Shiva—Mahadeva, the Great Destroyer. The third in the holy Trinity, alongside Lord Vishnu and Lord Brahma. The one who wore ash on his skin and a crescent moon in his hair. He who sat in stillness, with a blue throat born of poison he had drunk to save the world. Ganesha, the elephant-headed god, was his son. As was Kartikeya, god of war. But Lord Shiva himself—he was beyond family, beyond form.
On the day he appeared, the earth trembled.
Shiva didn’t walk like a king. He stood barefoot in front of Bhasmasura, his body calm, his eyes deep. And he said, “You have pleased me. Ask what you wish.”
And Bhasmasura, shaking with power, asked for exactly this: “Grant me the ability that whatever I touch with my right hand shall turn to ash.”
A pause followed. The birds stopped. Even the wind stopped.
I held my breath. Why would someone ask for such a thing?
But Lord Shiva, the ever-compassionate, known by sages for never turning away sincere tapasya—intense meditation—nodded once. “Let it be so.”
That was it. Four words. And dharma shifted that day.
Bhasmasura laughed, a sharp, cruel sound. He turned quickly—toward Lord Shiva himself. He raised his hand.
He meant to test it.
On Shiva.
I was frozen behind the pillar. But Shiva—he moved. Swiftly, silently, like the wind. And suddenly he was gone.
Gone.
He had granted the boon without pause. Out of faith. Out of boundless grace. But Bhasmasura had used that gift to become destruction itself, blinded by power.
Bhasmasura chased Shiva across the world. Over rivers, mountains, through dense forests and vast skies. The gods watched. None dared interfere. Not even Arjuna, the greatest archer from the Mahabharata, or Hanuman, son of the wind and devotee of Rama, would have faced such a cursed hand.
Then came Lord Vishnu.
The Preserver.
He didn’t come with thunder or swords. He came in disguise, as Mohini—an enchantress with eyes like lotus blooms and words sweet as honey. I heard what happened later. How Bhasmasura, bewitched by her beauty, forgot his mission. How Mohini danced for him. And how she tricked him into copying her every move—hand to head, then hand to hair, then hand over crown.
You already know what happened.
His own hand brushed his head.
And he became ash. Right there. A puff of black soot, gone with the wind.
I never saw Bhasmasura again. But I never forgot Lord Shiva’s face. Not when he appeared. And not when he disappeared.
I thought of this often, even as I grew and left the ashram. I walked through villages where people built temples to Shiva, and some asked why the gods even speak to demons.
But the answer was clear.
Faith, even when flawed, is still faith. Shiva grants boons to all who offer devotion—not just the righteous. He sees beyond good and evil. But he also teaches us, in silence. That power without dharma—that is chaos. That transformation doesn’t come from fire or ash. It comes from awareness. From knowing the purpose behind the prayer.
That day I saw the world change. I saw that divinity is not just about blessings, but the burden of choice.
And me? I never became a sage, or a hero like Ganesha, or a warrior like Arjuna. But I walk with clarity now.
That day on Mount Kailasha, I was just a boy with a broom. But I saw the cost of desire and the mercy of the divine.
And I learned that true transformation begins, not with asking—but with understanding.
---
Keywords: Mahabharata, Arjuna, Hanuman, Shiva, Ganesha, Puranas
Word Count: 598
Inside the Sacred Journey of Shiva Grants the Boon to Bhasmasura
Why this ancient story still resonates with the soul.
---
You won’t find my name in the scrolls. My story was never sung by the sages. But I was there, hiding behind the pillar of stone, the day Lord Shiva granted the boon to the demon Bhasmasura.
I was a servant of the Ashram then. A boy, barefoot and quiet, assigned to sweep the floor of Mount Kailasha’s outer chambers. That morning, the sky was red as fire, and Bhasmasura arrived.
Bhasmasura—once a mere rakshasa, a demon—had taken to deep penance. For years, he stood on one leg, arms raised, body melting under the sun’s heat. He uttered Shiva’s name, over and over, like the rumble of a broken drum. Until Lord Shiva himself appeared.
Even I, just a boy, had heard of Lord Shiva—Mahadeva, the Great Destroyer. The third in the holy Trinity, alongside Lord Vishnu and Lord Brahma. The one who wore ash on his skin and a crescent moon in his hair. He who sat in stillness, with a blue throat born of poison he had drunk to save the world. Ganesha, the elephant-headed god, was his son. As was Kartikeya, god of war. But Lord Shiva himself—he was beyond family, beyond form.
On the day he appeared, the earth trembled.
Shiva didn’t walk like a king. He stood barefoot in front of Bhasmasura, his body calm, his eyes deep. And he said, “You have pleased me. Ask what you wish.”
And Bhasmasura, shaking with power, asked for exactly this: “Grant me the ability that whatever I touch with my right hand shall turn to ash.”
A pause followed. The birds stopped. Even the wind stopped.
I held my breath. Why would someone ask for such a thing?
But Lord Shiva, the ever-compassionate, known by sages for never turning away sincere tapasya—intense meditation—nodded once. “Let it be so.”
That was it. Four words. And dharma shifted that day.
Bhasmasura laughed, a sharp, cruel sound. He turned quickly—toward Lord Shiva himself. He raised his hand.
He meant to test it.
On Shiva.
I was frozen behind the pillar. But Shiva—he moved. Swiftly, silently, like the wind. And suddenly he was gone.
Gone.
He had granted the boon without pause. Out of faith. Out of boundless grace. But Bhasmasura had used that gift to become destruction itself, blinded by power.
Bhasmasura chased Shiva across the world. Over rivers, mountains, through dense forests and vast skies. The gods watched. None dared interfere. Not even Arjuna, the greatest archer from the Mahabharata, or Hanuman, son of the wind and devotee of Rama, would have faced such a cursed hand.
Then came Lord Vishnu.
The Preserver.
He didn’t come with thunder or swords. He came in disguise, as Mohini—an enchantress with eyes like lotus blooms and words sweet as honey. I heard what happened later. How Bhasmasura, bewitched by her beauty, forgot his mission. How Mohini danced for him. And how she tricked him into copying her every move—hand to head, then hand to hair, then hand over crown.
You already know what happened.
His own hand brushed his head.
And he became ash. Right there. A puff of black soot, gone with the wind.
I never saw Bhasmasura again. But I never forgot Lord Shiva’s face. Not when he appeared. And not when he disappeared.
I thought of this often, even as I grew and left the ashram. I walked through villages where people built temples to Shiva, and some asked why the gods even speak to demons.
But the answer was clear.
Faith, even when flawed, is still faith. Shiva grants boons to all who offer devotion—not just the righteous. He sees beyond good and evil. But he also teaches us, in silence. That power without dharma—that is chaos. That transformation doesn’t come from fire or ash. It comes from awareness. From knowing the purpose behind the prayer.
That day I saw the world change. I saw that divinity is not just about blessings, but the burden of choice.
And me? I never became a sage, or a hero like Ganesha, or a warrior like Arjuna. But I walk with clarity now.
That day on Mount Kailasha, I was just a boy with a broom. But I saw the cost of desire and the mercy of the divine.
And I learned that true transformation begins, not with asking—but with understanding.
---
Keywords: Mahabharata, Arjuna, Hanuman, Shiva, Ganesha, Puranas
Word Count: 598
