As the wedding ceremony is underway, he is told about cows being stolen in the village
Illustration/Devdutt Pattanaik
The story of Veer Tejaji comes from Rajasthan and is over a thousand years old. While travelling one day, he saw two snakes burning in a fire. He pulled them out. But instead of being grateful, the serpent pair—naga and nagini—were angry. They said they had extinguished their karmic burden, and they were about to attain moksha by self-immolation. By rescuing them, Tejaji had trapped them in the wheel of rebirths once again. Furious, they wish to punish him with a lethal bite. Tejaji accepts responsibility for this mishap, but requests the snakes to wait for a few days. He has duties to complete. He promises to come back—a warrior’s word.
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The duty he has to complete is his marriage. As the wedding ceremony is underway, he is told about cows being stolen in the village. A warrior, he leaves the wedding to go, protect the cows, and bring them back.
While fighting for the cows, he is brutally injured—every patch of skin on his body is wounded and bleeding. Returning to the wedding, giving the cows back to his wife’s clan, he then tells his bride that he must now leave for the naga and nagini, for they must kill him.
When the naga and nagini see him, injured in every part of the body, they ask where they can bite him? He says that where he is holding the sword, he is not wounded, but he will never let go of his sword, because he is a warrior. Instead, he offers his tongue, the only unwounded part of his body. He tells the naga and the nagini to bite him there. Deeply impressed by his valour and values, the snakes give him a boon that whoever comes to his tomb, or retells his story, will be protected from snakebites. Even today, people flock to his shrines in the desert regions, and seek Veer Tejaji’s grace and protection.
Such stories are found along the Aravalli mountains, the land famous for cattle-herders and horse-riders and warriors. Typically the hero—such as Pabuji—leaves his wedding mandap to defend the land or cows. This motif suggests a tension between the hermit and the householder. Should the holy man be celibate or married? By saying he is married but dies before the wedding night, we reach a mythical middle space; he is both and neither.
Hero stones across India, found across India, show men fighting wild animals or thieves, to protect cows. They were the original guardian gods. They are part of India’s diverse and vibrant desi (folk) traditions, related to the warrior traditions, very different from Brahmanical margi (mainstream). There are even stories of warriors fighting on the battlefield, even after their heads are chopped off.
These stories of valour percolate into the later Islamic period—it is just that the character now is Muslim, and his war is to defend the faith, more than cows. Religion thus drapes over the subaltern tradition of warriors. As in Hindu tales, the widows mourn the death now described as martyrdom. Such stories are even part of Sikh folklore, with its strong connections to warrior and cattle-herding communities of Punjab.
Today, nationalism idealises muscular men, bearing weapons, who shun women, who protect cows. This appeals to old-warrior ideals. But the warrior always kept his word. He did not make false promises as politicians often do today.
The author writes and lectures on the relevance of mythology in modern times. Reach him at devdutt.pattanaik@mid-day.com