How Ganesha Got His Head

The sages told the Pandavas how the beloved elephant-headed god Ganesha came to be - the lord of beginnings, the remover of obstacles, who is worshipped first before any undertaking. And the story begins, as so many do, in the home of Shiva and Parvati upon the mountain of Kailasa.

The goddess Parvati wished one day to bathe undisturbed, and she desired a guardian for her door - someone wholly her own, who would be loyal to her alone and would let no one enter while she bathed, not even the attendants of Shiva, who were apt to come and go as they pleased. So the goddess did a wonderful thing. From the fragrant paste and the substance of her own body, she fashioned the figure of a boy, beautiful and strong, and into this figure she breathed life. The boy lived, and stood before her, and she looked upon him with a mother's love, for he was made from her own self and was, in truth, her son.

Parvati was delighted with her son, and she gave him a charge. "Stand here at the door," she told the boy, "and guard it faithfully while I bathe within. You are my own son and my own guardian, loyal to me above all. Let no one enter, whoever they may be, until I give you leave. Hold the door against all comers."

The boy took up his post with the perfect, single-minded loyalty of one made for that very purpose. He stood before the door, strong and resolute, determined to obey his mother's command to the letter and to let absolutely no one pass while she bathed within, whatever happened. He knew only his mother and her command; of the wider world, of who else might come to that door and what their station might be, he knew nothing. He knew only that his mother had told him to let no one in, and he meant to do exactly that.

And so, faithful to his mother's word, the boy stood guard - not knowing that the very lord of the house was about to return.

Presently the great god Shiva returned home to Kailasa. He came to his own door and made to enter, as he always did - but the boy stepped into his path and barred his way.

"You may not enter," said the boy firmly. "My mother is bathing within and has commanded that no one is to be let in. Go back. You shall not pass."

Shiva was astonished. Here was an unknown boy he had never seen before, standing at his own door, forbidding him - the lord of the house, the great god himself - to enter his own home. Shiva told the boy who he was and bid him stand aside, but the boy, who knew nothing of Shiva and cared only for his mother's command, refused absolutely. He did not know this was Shiva, the husband of his mother and the master of the house; he knew only that his mother had said to let no one in, and so he would let no one in, not even this stranger who claimed to be lord there. He held the door fast and would not yield.

Shiva, baffled and then angered that this boy should deny him entry to his own home, called his attendants, the ganas, to remove the obstinate child from the door.

Shiva's attendants, the ganas, rushed upon the boy to drive him from the door - but the boy, made by the goddess and filled with her power, was no ordinary child. He fought them off with astonishing strength, holding the threshold against the whole host of Shiva's followers, scattering and defeating them, refusing to abandon his post or disobey his mother's command for even a moment. The ganas, beaten back by a single boy, retreated in confusion.

The conflict escalated. More and mightier beings were sent against the boy, and still he held the door, fighting them all off with a valor and a power that amazed even the gods who gathered to watch. He would not yield. He had been told to guard the door and let no one in, and he would do it though all the hosts of heaven came against him. His loyalty was absolute, and so was his courage.

At last Shiva himself, his anger now fully roused that this boy should defy him and defeat his followers at his own door, took up his weapons and came against the boy in person to settle the matter.

Then came the tragic moment. Shiva, the great god, in his wrath at being defied and his attendants defeated, struck at the boy with his trident - and severed the boy's head from his body. The faithful young guardian, who had only been obeying his mother's command, fell dead at the threshold he had defended so bravely, slain by the very lord of the house he had unknowingly barred.

The boy lay dead, and the deed was done in anger and in ignorance, for Shiva did not know whose son the boy was, and the boy had not known whom he defied. It was a terrible mistake born of a loyal child's obedience and a great god's wrath - a son slain by his own father, neither knowing the other.

And at that moment Parvati came out from her bath, and saw her son lying dead at the door, his head struck off, killed by Shiva.

The grief and the wrath of the goddess Parvati, seeing her beloved son slain, were beyond all bounds. The boy was her own creation, made from her own body, her own child, who had died doing exactly as she had told him - faithfully guarding her door. And now he lay dead at the hand of her own husband.

Her sorrow turned to a terrible anger, and the anger of the Mother of the universe is a fearful thing. She declared that unless her son was restored to life, she would destroy everything - that her wrath would consume the whole of creation. The worlds themselves trembled at the fury of the grieving goddess, and it became clear that the universe itself was in peril, that nothing could stand against the rage of the Mother whose child had been killed, and that the only way to save creation was to restore the boy to life.

Shiva, and all the gods, understood that the boy must be brought back, and quickly, to console the goddess and avert the destruction of the worlds. But the boy's head had been struck off and destroyed, and could not be found or rejoined.

To restore the boy and pacify the grieving Mother, Shiva commanded his attendants to go out at once and bring back the head of the first living creature they found lying with its head pointing toward the north, the sacred direction. The ganas hurried out, and the first such creature they came upon was an elephant, sleeping with its head to the north. They cut off the elephant's head and brought it back to Shiva.

Then Shiva took the great head of the elephant and fixed it upon the headless body of the slain boy, and breathed life back into him - and the boy lived again, restored, but now bearing upon his shoulders the head of an elephant, with its broad brow, its great ears, its trunk, and its wise and gentle face. So the son of Parvati was brought back from death, made whole and living once more, but transformed - no longer a boy with a boy's head, but a being with the head of an elephant, which would become his beloved and unmistakable form forever after.

Parvati's grief turned to joy to see her son alive again, and her wrath was calmed, and the threatened destruction of the worlds was averted. The boy lived, and was embraced once more as the son of Shiva and Parvati both.

To make amends for what had been done, and to honor the boy's courage and his restoration, Shiva did not merely accept the elephant-headed boy as his son - he raised him to a high and beloved place among the gods. He made him the leader of his own hosts, the ganas, and from this the boy took his name: Ganapati, or Ganesha, the lord of the ganas. And Shiva decreed a great honor that has lasted ever since: that this elephant-headed god should be worshipped first, before all other gods, at the beginning of every undertaking, every rite, every journey, every new venture; that no enterprise should prosper unless Ganesha were honored at its start; and that he should be the remover of obstacles, who clears the way for all who invoke him, and also the placer of obstacles in the path of the proud and the unworthy.

And so the boy who was made by a goddess, slain by a god, and restored with an elephant's head became Ganesha, the most beloved and approachable of all the gods - the gentle, wise, elephant-headed lord of beginnings, the remover of obstacles, who is called upon first at the start of every good work, and whose broken tusk, in later days, would write down this very epic at the dictation of Vyasa.

The sages drew the threads of meaning from the tale for the Pandavas.

"There is in it, first, the beauty of perfect loyalty: the boy guarded his mother's door against all comers, even against the great god himself, even unto death, because he had been told to, and would not break his trust for anything - and though it cost him his life, his loyalty was honored in the end, and raised him to godhood. And there is a warning in it about wrath and haste: how a great god, acting in anger and in ignorance, slew an innocent and faithful child, and brought the very worlds to the edge of ruin - a reminder that even the mighty, when they act in unchecked anger and without understanding, do terrible harm that must afterward be painfully undone.

"But above all there is in it the grace of restoration: that what was broken in anger was mended; that the slain boy was brought back to life, and not merely restored but raised higher than before, given a place of honor above the gods and the love of all the worlds. The tale teaches that even our worst mistakes, our deeds done in anger and ignorance, need not be the end - that with humility and love they can be set right, and that what is restored after being broken may become more beloved than it ever was before. The elephant-headed god, born of a tragic error mended by love, is honored first by all, in every undertaking, to this very day."

And the Pandavas, who would honor Ganesha at the start of their own great ventures, took to heart both the loyalty of the boy and the grace of his restoration.