The Mountain That Sank

Agastya came to one side of the Vindhya and saw how it stood. Listen, Vindhya, you great mountain that reaches into the sky, he said. I am going to dwell on the Potiyil hills. Give me a little road to go by.

The mountain answered him. I have closed the path of the sky so that even the sun cannot pass my wall, it said. I stand as the tall Viṣṇu once stood. Should I make way for a little one like you, out of fear? You do not know what I am. Go back. The mountain was likening itself to Viṣṇu, who once grew so tall that he measured out the worlds in his strides.

Agastya heard it, and his anger rose, and he laughed. He thought of the feet of his lord, and he stretched out the hand in which he had once held the ocean to drink it, reaching up as far as the world of Brahmā. While the gods watched in wonder, the short sage set his palm on the very top of the Vindhya and pressed down hard. At once the mountain sank into the earth. It went down into the underworld until it reached Ādiśeṣa, the serpent who bears the world.

The Vindhya was frightened, and it spoke to him from below. Have mercy and hear me, it said. I did not honour you, I mocked you, and I have lost my greatness. The fault is mine alone. Tell me, when may I rise again?

Agastya, who had held the ocean in his hand, smiled at the mountain's words. If I come back this way, he said, then you may rise. Then he drew his hand back as it had been before. The gods rained flowers on him. With the Vindhya sunk, the wide sky was open again, and the light of the sun and of the gods spread everywhere, freed from its prison, as the waters of the sea spread when they are let go.

The gods came to Agastya and folded their hands and praised him. Who could do for us what you have done? they said. Through you the paths of heaven are flowing again. Now go to Potiyil and stay there, for our sake. Agastya agreed, sent the gods back to the sky, and went on to the south. He has never come back, and the Vindhya has never risen.