The problem with mythology and folklore is that they resist being tied up in tape, however elegant it may be. Those telling the stories and those listening to them are free to draw their interpretations, but they cannot stop the stories from rolling on and gathering more listeners and interpretations along the way. Neither king nor priest in the past managed to wrap it all up as neatly as many modern-day mythologists and devotees are trying to do - though they must have tried given the power that derives from a tightly woven singular narrative that everyone believes. And therein lies the rub, the need to use the past to project a singular vision of a grand nation leads to gaffes such as the recent one about Vamana Jayanti versus Onam and the equally absurd war of words that subsequently broke out on social media.
The story of the king Bali and Vishnu as Vamana is well known, it slips into the string of tales that make up the Dasavtara (ten avataras of Vishnu). The story is meant to extol the virtues of Vishnu, who, incidentally, is also known as the slayer of demons and is admired for his smarts. But it never gives up on the king, upon whose head Vishnu steps to conquer the world. This is significant because the story appears in the Puranas, which were primarily devotional literature. Each group of devotees had a Purana that extolled the virtues of one god. Interestingly, different Puranas offer up a different number (12, 22) of avataras, but that is a different story.
The Puranas are a treasure trove for story seekers as they open up a world where love and devotion find equal place with treachery and villainy. The gods are superior, undoubtedly, but not free of human foibles. For instance, there are many stories about Vishnu where he crosses the limits of accepted moral and social behaviour. One such story is about Vishnu and Vrinda, wife of the demon Jalandhara whose might has put the gods in a state of limbo (not unlike the case with Bali). To defeat Jalandhara, Vishnu creates two (false) demons. They approach Vrinda menacingly while her husband is away at war. Vishnu, disguised as an ascetic, sits in the vicinity of the palace. When Vrinda runs to him for help, he makes the demons disappear and having won her confidence, asks her about her husband's whereabouts.
A monkey sitting on top of the tree (Vishnu's aide) listens in, rushes off to the spot and comes back with Jalandhara's head. Vrinda is distraught and begs for her husband's life. At this, Vishnu disappears with the head and reappears as the demon king and begins living with Vrinda. But she soon spots the deceit and curses him to be reborn on earth and suffer separation from his wife (the curse gives birth to the story of Rama and Sita). There is no moral judgement associated with any of these tales and it seemed to make little difference to the god's devotees in the past, but bring this up today and the screen will turn red with abuse hurled at those who do.
The point is and (maybe was too) that not all demons are monsters. Bali was a good king, only too powerful and ambitious. Ravana was a good king and devotee of Shiva, but he coveted another man's wife. They suffered for their character flaws and the gods were not threatened by the power these kings wielded after their deaths.
The story of Bali is popular not just in Kerala, indicating the might of the demon king. Mrinal Pande writes (Scroll.in) that where she grew up in the Himalayas, the family priest would come around on Raksha Bandhan and tie a thread around their wrists in the name of Bali. As king and protector Bali gets higher billing than the god that vanquished him.
S A Dange, who has several books on Hindu myths, writes that, in most cases, it is impossible to know the exact meaning of a particular myth because they do not record the story of its origins. He cites as examples the stories about Vishnu's androgynous nature (he seduced Shiva as Mohini), or about the Egyptian god Hapi who is born with breasts and is the lord of the Nile, or about river goddess Saraswati who has a male spirit, Saraswat. Scholars have found traces of beliefs about fertility and evolution in these myths, but they are also quick to point out that there is more to the stories than that understood by such categorisations.
The power of myth is that it defies accepted logic and yet sticks on to the carcass of civilisations long after the people who made them, or the languages that nurtured them, have disappeared. The power emanates from the belief of the people who have held them sacred, not by erasing the conflicted stories they tell.
