The Bull Who Brings the Rain

The land was dry, and the poet stood up to call the rain.

"Sing to the mighty one," he told the people around him. "Welcome him with these songs. Bow, and call Parjanya."

They knew who Parjanya was. He was the Bull. He roared, he was quick with his gifts, and he laid in the plants the seed that makes them grow.

The poet had hardly started when the sky answered.

Far off, there was a sound like a lion roaring. Parjanya was filling the heavens with cloud. The poet watched him come and put what he saw into the hymn.

"He is like a charioteer whipping his horses forward. Look, he is driving his rain messengers out ahead of him."

The first clouds raced overhead. Then the wind burst loose and the lightning came down.

It was frightening. The hymn says so plainly. Parjanya splits the trees. He strikes down demons. Every living thing is afraid of the great weapon he carries, and when he thunders and smites the wicked, even the man who has done nothing wrong runs from him.

"The earth bows low before you," said the poet. "The hoofed cattle scatter in terror."

And yet this was what they had all been praying for. The poet did not ask Parjanya to be gentle. He asked for more.

"Thunder! Roar! Plant the seed. Fly round us in your chariot loaded with water. Open your waterskin, tip it downward and pull it along with you. Let the high ground and the hollows be made level."

He turned to the storm gods who ride with the rain.

"Send down the rain of heaven for us, you Maruts. Let the stallion's flood come pouring."

And to Parjanya again, with a word the hymns do not use lightly:

"Come here with your thunder, pouring down the waters, our heavenly lord and father."

Then the rain fell.

"Lift up the great bucket and pour," the poet called, though he hardly needed to now. "Let the streams run free. Soak the earth and the sky with richness. Let there be plenty for the cows to drink."

The water ran in the dry channels. The hymn tells what it did. The plants shot up, and under Parjanya's rain they took on every colour. Food sprang up for all living creatures, because Parjanya had brought the earth to life with his moisture.

"When you strike down the wrongdoers with thunder and roaring," sang the poet, "this whole world is glad. Everything that is on the earth is glad."

It rained, and it went on raining.

There is a last verse to this hymn, and it is the one that shows the poet was a real farmer talking about real weather. Anyone who has lived through a monsoon will know why he said it.

"You have poured down the flood of rain. Now hold it back."

He was quick to add his thanks, so that the god would not take it badly.

"You have made the desert places fit to travel. You have made the plants grow for us to eat. All living things praise you for it."

That is where the hymn stops. It does not say whether Parjanya listened.

The Atharvaveda is the book of charms and household rites, and it keeps a hymn for the bad years, when the rains are late and the people cannot simply wait.

In this hymn the storm has not yet come. The singer has to gather it.

"Let all the misty quarters fly together," he says. "Let the rain clouds meet, driven by the wind. Let the waters of the great roaring bull, wrapped in mist, satisfy the earth."

He calls the helpers one at a time. He calls the Maruts, the storm gods. "Lift your power up out of the sea. Send the vapour upward. Swell the song, you roaring troops, and let the clouds you drive pour their rain upon the earth."

He calls the lightning to flash on every side and the winds to blow from all the quarters.

Then he speaks to the rain god by name.

"Roar, Parjanya. Thunder. Stir up the sea. Wet the ground with your sweet rain."

He thinks of who is waiting for it.

"Send plenty of showers," he says, "and let the owner of the thin cows go home happy."

Toward the end the charm turns to the creatures of the pond, and the singer speaks to them as helpers too.

"Along the brooks and channels let the frogs with speckled arms send out their voices. Speak a welcome, female frog. Greet the rain. Stretch out your four legs and swim in the middle of the lake."

He finishes with the same picture the Rigveda poet used, the great vessel in the sky.

"Lift up the mighty cask and pour the water down. Let the wind blow and the lightning flash around us. Let the plants be full of joy."