ARYANS IN GERMANY – 5005 BCE
‘But that is what the Tribe-Chief ordered’, replied the deputy.
‘Nonsense! I heard the Tribe-Chief Loki myself. He asked for utmost consideration to priest Odin’ said the new commander.
‘I heard him when Tribe-Chief Loki spoke to our commander. He said that Odin should be left neither here, nor in the forest, not in fact anywhere on earth.’
‘Why was I not told?’ asked the new commander. ‘I was to be next in command and you were only third-in command’. ‘It was not for me to report to you what I heard the Tribe-Chief say to the commander. It was for the commander to tell you.’ ‘Why is it that you were with the commander and not I when the Tribe-Chief spoke to him?’ asked the new commander. ‘But you were not expected to join this contingent. You interrupted your leave of absence. In your absence I was to be the next in command but suddenly you arrived from nowhere’.
Yes, from nowhere to nowhere, the new commander thought. Still he asked, ‘But who else was with you when the Tribe-Chief spoke?’
‘None, except the Tribe-Chiefs brother. But in my presence, the commander spoke to his orderly, to convey these instructions to the next in command, if something happened to him on the way.’
‘I have taken over command. But the orderly has said nothing about it to me’, the new commander said.
‘Why should he? The deed has been done. Odin has fallen. But don’t worry; he is bound to speak to you. He will even tell you how our own people who have joined these Aryan robbers are to be taught a terrible lesson.’
The new commander went to the orderly. It was an hour later that the commander spoke to his troops. He said,
‘I have to leave. Do not ask why….my reasons are compelling … personal. .. You will be led by ….an able commander. .. Who knows where he goes … Good bye.’
A commander does not desert in the middle of a campaign! Certainly not, when his own senior has just died and when all honor of victory shall be his. Yet he had asked that none should ask his reasons.
But the drummer-boy, who was not much of a soldier, asked, ‘Lord-commander, bad news from home?’
Kindly, the commander looked at the boy, ‘Yes, son. News from somewhere we all come from’.
‘We all’– he had said. Must be a catastrophic event affecting his entire family -thought some. Others thought differently. They asked no more.
That he left alone, in the night, desiring not even attendance of his orderly, only proved that the news he had received had been heart-rending, but they had seen no messenger arrive or leave. So what was it? – Many wondered.
The new commander spoke to them, ‘Sleep early and well. At dawn, we must begin the attack’ He outlined for them the formation and method of attack and finally asked, ‘Any questions?’
Only one question came, ‘Why did the commander leave?’
I am your commander and I have not left’ he shortly replied. ‘No, we mean the last commander. Why-where did he go?’ ‘It was not the purpose of this meeting to discuss the reasons or the whereabouts of the last commander. As a commander, he exists no more. As a friend, he remains; and it would be unfriendly to pursue a question that he requested must remain unasked’.
They were silent, each with his own thoughts, or perhaps with the same thought. Why did he go? Where? No one takes the awesome step of deserting when battle is a few hours away. Certainly not a commander! Certainly not an officer of his caliber! Why even a miserable soldier would not do that! There was dishonor in defection. A nightmarish feeling stole over some.
The next morning, sixty-two soldiers were missing.
The commander, who left did not join the Aryans. He went home and ‘then to homelessness’ – though it is not clear what exactly the poet here means by ‘homelessness’. Nor is it correct that the sixty-two soldiers who left went to the Black Forest. From all accounts, only six went to the Aryans.
The new commander saw with dismay the absence of sixty-two soldiers. In no way did it really diminish the strength of his formidable force. But why then did he pause? Why did he not attack? No one answers the question. All right, if you don’t attack, why do you allow people to enter the forest? Why not a siege, a show of force, a threat? Again, no answers. Yet the new commander was known as a brave man, not a patient man, a man of action, not of reflection.
He simply decided to send a message to the Tribe-chief while he waited. The message spoke of the fall of Odin, the death of the first commander, the departure of the second, and the desertion by sixty two soldiers, as well as the entry of many – too many – locals from Priest Odin’s village & surrounding areas, going into the forest, and the possibility of bloodshed, not only among the Aryans but the people of the tribe who were congregated in the forest. And yet the message said not a word about what the commander proposed to do, nor did he ask for instructions. The last two words of his message were mysterious too -‘I wait.’
Loki was far away. It took time for the messengers to reach him. He exploded, ‘Wait for what? Wait to attack? Wait for my reply? Wait to be dismissed? For what?’
The messengers could not enlighten him. Loki asked, 1s he attacking or is he not? Is he a fool?’ ‘He is the commander, Lord Tribe-Chief,’ replied the chief messenger with unmistakable reproach in his voice.
Loki glared but the messengers asked, 1s there a reply? Or do we go back without a reply?’
‘There is no reply,’ said Loki grimly. ‘And you do not go back. Consider yourself out of the army.’
It annoyed Loki that the messengers were profuse in their thanks.
With all his bluster, Loki suspected what the new commander wanted. Perhaps, to
To hear openly what the Tribe-Chief wanted to be done to the German locals who had joined the Aryans.
Loki sent his own brother. He was to congratulate and honor the commander if he had attacked and won; or to dismiss him if he had failed to attack. The brother was then to take over command. Two priests and two members of the Council of thirty-nine were sent with the brother, so as to leave no doubt about the transfer of command and to keep up the morale of the attacking troops, just in case the inept commander had dimmed it, somehow. The brother was not as senior as the man he was to replace-and was even junior to many of his deputies with the contingent. But in times of crisis, seniority does not matter! And to be of the family of the Tribe-Chief, surely, conferred something far more precious than mere seniority!
The Priests and Council members had many faults. But their virtue was that they traveled leisurely, taking time to learn and grasp much on the way. It was not their fault if they could not keep up with the brother of the Tribe-Chief; they even failed to appreciate his impatience over their slow pace. ‘We are not going too slowly, Brother; it is you who try to go too fast; better to reach refreshed.’ The fact also is that the two priests were unhappy. Odin’s reported death hurt them personally and deeply. They may have disliked Odin. But like them, he was a priest. And the Tribe-Chief had reacted as if it was a pariah dog that died. And now this Tribe-Chief’s brother was telling them to rush – this man with such a junior rank in the army, and not so high in public standing. Were the priests then at the mercy of every lackey who chose to command them! Oh God Thor! How had the priests fallen so low!
Even the two Council members were angry with the brother. They said to the priests, ‘You go too fast and by this folly you will miss seeing the tribe’s problems on the way.’
‘True, very true,’ said the priests, ‘We also need every opportunity to bless the people’. Correctly translated, this meant that they should give every opportunity to people lining the streets out of respect, to be able to give gifts to the priests.
Meanwhile strange events were occurring outside the Black Forest where the army was camped. And many remarked on how strange it was that the commander allowed men from the forest to come and speak to him and his soldiers! Could there, they asked, be a better (or worse) way of spreading sedition? And Hansa, the old man who had stood resolutely, unarmed, ready to die, in front of the last commander, even brought food for the soldiers from the Aryan kitchen. But then there was very little available in the village beyond. Ordinarily, the village which worshipped Odin, would have refused to serve the army. But Hansa said, ‘They are our brothers’ .
The villagers argued, ‘They came to kill our god.’
Hansa’s reply was, ‘Does a brother cease to be a brother, then! And who can kill a god! Odin lives! He lives!’
This was the first time that they heard the news that Odin was not dead. At first, they disbelieved it – perhaps Hansa meant it in the spiritual sense – which gods do not die. And even the soldiers said, ‘Never did our late commander’s lance fail to kill.’
It was not the failure of your commander. It was the success of your god’, said Hansa.
But then, everyone came to know that Odin lived. He had lost an eye, though. ‘How can a god lose his eye?’ they asked.
‘Gods make sacrifices too. Did not Odin’s son Bal Deva lose his foot to save the Aryans?’
But the greatest surprise was not that Odin lived. The greater surprise was that the soldiers rejoiced that Odin lived. A cloud lifted from their hearts, for their own hands – they had felt – were red with Odin’s blood, even though the lance had been thrown by another.
Even the old man Hansa had said so. But later Hansa had apologized to all the soldiers, ‘Brothers, forgive me, I spoke from want of faith. No, your hands are pure, blameless, and auspicious. How can I even hate the commander! He restored our faith in our god’
Mad, this Hansa was. Mad, he is – they thought. But may God give us this ineffable madness of infinite love! They loved him. They laughed at him. Yet they envied him. They listened to him.
But some soldiers asked; ‘One day, we will have to attack. Will you love us then?’
But his answer perplexed them, 1f you will love me after I die, why I will not love you before I die! I know not how love starts; but I know now that it does not cease. Man dies. Love does not’.
But then this Hansa had intrigued not just his own people. The Aryans were charmed by him, too. Later poets of Bharat Varsha said that Hansa was influenced by the Aryans. They were wrong. Hansa was what he was, before he even understood the language of the Aryans.
When Hansa could converse with the Aryans, the Tungeri brothers asked, ‘Why are you called Hansa?’
‘Why not! My father gave me the name,’ said Hansa.
But then he explained what Hansa meant. It meant a person or a bird that joins many to form a league to do violence to the violent.
The Tungeri brothers laughed. They saw the connection between Hansa and their own word himsa. One of them said, ‘Hansa, no. You should be called Ahansa.’
‘What would that mean?’ Hansa asked. It would mean that you are in league with many to do non-violence to the violent.’
‘Oh, merely, by adding ‘a’, you give my name the opposite meaning?’ .
‘Exactly.’ But Hansa said, ‘No, I cannot change the name that my father gave. But you can call me Hansa that does Ahansa.’ * At last, the brother of the Tribe-Chief and his party reached the army, outside the Black Forest. With contempt, he viewed the commander and his troops. The two priests and two Council members were respectful but the brother was brusque. He did not even wait for the Council members to announce respectfully that the Tribe-Chief wanted him to be the new commander. Such messages were to be conveyed with finesse and not in the presence of the troops and eavesdroppers. They were always accompanied by a plea to the commander who was being removed, to guide the new commander. It had to be ensured that he went neither in anger nor felt insulted. There also has to be a hint of a higher command waiting for him. The transition had to be smooth so that the soldiers knew nothing of the heartburn of those that lead them. . The Priests and Council members had rehearsed in their minds, and even discussed, the delicacy with which they would handle this transition. But the Tribe-Chiefs brother ruined it all with his impatient bluntness in telling the commander, in presence of the troops, that he had been sent to relieve him and to take over the command.
‘It gives me great pleasure to renounce this command,’ said the commander, and then he pointed to the priests and Council members and included them in his insult. ‘Will they be your chief officers and advisers?’ ‘I told you, they are Council members and priests,’ said the brother of the Tribe-Chief. ‘Can you not see their rings?’ ‘Forgive me,’ the dismissed commander said to the priests and Council members. ‘In the glare of the dazzling glory of the Tribe-Chief s brother, all else was blinded. And you are so tongue-tied in his presence! How could I believe you to be respected priests and Council members? Recently though I saw a priest of honor who wore no priestly ring!’
Contemptuously, he turned from them to speak to his soldiers, ‘Men, I have just been relieved of command. I bid you goodbye. Your command now is in the hands of this … this … brother of the Tribe Chief. And he brings the Council members and priests to see that you obey.’
It was an unfair insult to the priests and Council members. But the commander felt unfairly insulted too – not so much by the dismissal but by the manner of dismissal – and the more so, because he was replaced by a blustering, bullying junior. He had expected his own deputy to replace him. As it is, the German army always marched with a hierarchy of officers, so that if one fell, another was ready to take over. The dismissed commander himself was the third such officer. He had nine more in line and at least five of them were senior to the Tribe-Chiefs brother in military service. After this terse address to his men, the dismissed commander moved towards his tent to remove his belongings.
‘Commander!’ shouted someone and the new commander – the Tribe-Chief’s brother-responded, ‘Yes!’
It was the commander’s deputy who had stepped out. Brutally, he told the new commander, ‘I speak not to you; I speak to my commander.’
The deputy now addressed the dismissed commander, ‘I do not wish to serve in the unit.’
The dismissed commander would possibly have said that he was no longer in command, but the new commander was angry and said, ‘Consider yourself dismissed’.
‘What I consider or do not consider is my business,’ replied the deputy. ‘As to my dismissal, that right is not yours unless your brother is dead and you are a priest and have been nominated by the Council of thirty-nine to be Tribe-Chief.’
Carefully now, the new commander spoke, ‘I did not mean dismissal in the sense you choose to understand. I meant that your request to leave is acceptable. Report wherever you must for your new assignment.’
Without a word of thanks, the deputy left.
Four officers came out. Wearily, the new commander asked, ‘You too wish to move away?’
They nodded. Nothing was said.
The commander nodded. Nothing was said. The four officers left.
The priests wanted to speak to the soldiers. A priest began addressing them.
The soldiers moved away in disrespect. If they had been ordered to listen, they would have. But in the absence of an order, they felt that they did not have to listen to those that came as puppets and witnesses to insult their command. And the new commander thought – if they lack respect for me, how can they honor the priests and Council members!
‘All values disappear; Nothing remains of yester-year;
Neither respect nor fear;
Since Black aliens came near.’
The poet’s lament related to the astounding events taking place. Commanders deserting the army; officers openly insulting lawfully appointed commanders; and the horrendous disrespect being displayed to priests and Council members. But more was yet to come.
The dismissed commander left. The four officers, who chose transfer, left. But Hansa came, as usual, with food from the Aryan kitchen.
‘Why are we having food from the Aryans?’ the new commander asked. ‘There is no other place to get food for so many of us.’ ‘Good. Soon their kitchen will be ours’, the commander said, and then he asked, pointing to Hansa and his companions, ‘who are they?’
‘They are Odin’s men’ they said. A priest intervened to say, ‘but Odin is dead’ The priest was taken aback as a chorus replied, ‘Odin lives! Odin lives! Odin Lives!’ Many more joined in – as if it was a chant. ‘He lives?’ the new commander asked, astounded.
‘He lives! He lives’ was the reply.
‘Then he must die! We were told a falsehood!’ The brutal words sped out of the new commander’s lips. He just did not have the finesses of his brother, the Tribe-Chief.
‘What falsehood?’ an officer asked. ‘The falsehood that Odin was dead!’ replied the new commander’.
‘That was no falsehood! He died. He now lives. He sacrificed his eye to save the Aryans’, the officer replied. Others nodded.
The commander stood aghast. I have an army of deserters and demented lunatics, he thought. Still he asked, ‘But the Tribe-Chief was not informed that Odin lives.’
‘Priest Odin came to life after the last message was sent’.
Yes, they were mad, the new commander was convinced. ‘Well, he will have to die Again’ he said.
‘Who will kill him?’ some asked. ‘You will. I will. We will. He must die’
The answer was clear. The mist disappeared. They knew now that their earlier commander did not throw a lance at Odin out of a temper-tantrum. The mission, obviously, right from the beginning, was to kill Odin. Still an officer asked, ‘Lord-Commander, why is it necessary to kill Odin?’
‘Because he violated Thor’s law. He hid his son who was born with a birth defect and took shelter with the Aryans.’
‘That is a lie,’ a Council-member intervened to shout.
I speak the words of the Tribe-Chief,’ the new commander frostily said.
‘A lie, be it spoken by anyone, still remains a lie,’ the Council member said. I do not say that the Tribe-Chief invented the lie. But he believed the lie of others.’
‘You do not know all the facts,’ the commander said.
‘It is my business to know facts – and lies,’ the Council member replied.
A priest accompanying the commander said, ‘I would like to go and see Odin’.
The commander was quick to reply, “‘We will move into the forest tomorrow. You will see him, dead or alive’ .
Immediately, the commander went with the officers for a tour of the area. Having arrived only that morning, he was tired, physically and emotionally. Yet he had to demonstrate that he took his duties seriously.
The priest asked the drummer-boy, ‘what can you do with that drum?’
‘Everything, Lord-Priest. I can call on soldiers to attack, to retreat, to ….’
‘Can you call all the soldiers to assemble here, instantly?’
‘Of course, if the commander orders,’ the boy said.
‘But, of course, I ask you in the commander’s name.’
The boy beat the drum – an Emergency Call. Everyone turned up. The priest spoke to them all, ‘You did not wish to hear me earlier. But give me only a moment. I speak to you of Priest Odin.’
He had their attention. He continued, ‘It is not for me to judge. I do not know who threw the lance in Odin’s face and who wanted him to die – and why. But this I know. He is a priest, – honor him or not. But a priest he is – and he among you, who seeks to harm him, commits a sin against God and a crime against Man.’
The commander was away with the officers, inspecting the area. He heard the drum. He rushed back and was told what the priest had said. ‘What idiots, my brother has sent with me!’- He said to himself, but he did not quarrel with the priest and later only said, to make the priest feel small, ‘You did not tell the truth to the drummer-boy!’
‘There are truths and there are higher truths’, the priest said. The other priest nodded and so did the Council members.
The commander had no wish to argue, any more. Let none kill Odin, he said to himself. Odin shall die by my hand. Tomorrow at dawn, I attack!
But the priest understood his unspoken thought. He spoke in a voice that many could hear and said in measured tones, “If any harm comes to Odin or his family, through any act or omission on your part, I shall see to it that you are held personally responsible.” “I am in command here”, shouted the commander and left without waiting for a reply
At dawn, the army had evaporated! The officers remained. There were, however, no more than 600 soldiers left, out of the formidable army that had proudly marched to the Black Forest.
None of the twelve sentries had deserted. And the sentry-chief said, ‘The task given to us was to watch for attack; no one asked that we guard against our men leaving; or hold them prisoners.’
“They were not our men,’ the commander exploded.’They were deserters!’
The sentry-chief seemed unimpressed and said, ‘Lord-Commander, none of our sentries left. They knew it was their duty to guard.’
The words were soft yet ominous. Did he mean that the sentries would have deserted too, if the duty to guard had not been imposed on them?
There was rage and hate in commander’s heart. He felt like strangling the two priests. He was convinced that they, with their words of sedition, had caused this mass-desertion.
But he quietly asked, ‘Which way did the deserters go? To the forest?’
But the sentry-chief replied, ‘No, Lord-Commander, it was mostly in the opposite direction that our soldiers went.’
Our soldiers! The commander looked murderously at the sentry chief. At this moment, the commander had room in his heart to hate everyone. But he looked at the drummer-boy and quietly said, ‘Summon everyone.’
The remaining soldiers lined up before him. They knew why so many had left. Fear of God! Curse of god! Blessing of Odin! Love of Hansa! Villainy of Tribe-Chief! Cry of child Bal Deva! Tears of mother Frigga!. .. Oh a hundred reasons! ‘Soldiers we are, killers not!’
But the 600 soldiers also knew why they had remained. It was the soldier’s code of honor – and that code overrode all fear, tears, curses and cries. It maybe that some remained too, hoping that with the desertion of so many, the commander himself would desert the field of battle; and there would be no need then to violate their code of honor as soldiers. But those were very few and they were wrong. The commander had no intention of deserting the battlefield. He had enough rage in his heart to war with all the gods in the firmament. Yet his words were quiet as he addressed his soldiers.
‘Many have deserted us,’ he said. ‘Perhaps that is good. Those with the evil of desertion in their hearts, those that violate the soldier’s sacred code of honor, those that seek to put this gallant tribe to shame – what could they have achieved for us, except to weaken our resolve and halt our advance! We now move and let the Aryans learn what it is to face the soldiers of this great tribe. I know they shall not remember it for long, for they shall be dead and gone. Move!’
Brave words! And the commander died bravely too. With him, died his 160 soldiers and the drummer-boy. Over 400 locals died.
Among the locals that died in the forest was Hansa. He too had demanded a sword to face the army as it came marching in. Someone had said to him, ‘But you are not a man of violence!’ His reply was, ‘That I am not. Nor am I a coward, I hope.’
Hansa went with his sword. No one knows if he knew how to wield a sword. No one knows if he hurt anyone. No one knows whose lance struck him in his chest. All they knew was that he died and they wept.
The locals in the Black Forest with the Aryans mourned over 400 lives lost.
The Aryans of Bharat Varsha? Only two died. The Aryan defense line was deep inside the forest. The two who died were the ones carrying the news of how the battle was progressing.
Everyone had a strange question. Bal Deva, son of Odin, lost his foot in the first battle. Odin lost his eye in the second. Would the Gods demand another sacrifice from Odin’s family in this third battle?
The Gods had. Frigga wept, ‘Two brothers I lost! One of blood, one of heart!’
They knew who the brother of heart was. Hansa. But who was the brother of blood? It was the commander, the brother of the Tribe-Chief, her cousin.
‘You weep for him?’ asked some, in surprise. She wept and wept more and asked, ‘Who will then weep for him, if none of you will?’
Frigga’s heart was full. She remembered this cousin who was the playmate of her childhood days. She was afraid of his elder brother, Loki, now the Tribe-Chief. But so was he and they had laughed at him behind his back, even when he became Chief-Priest. They did not know he would become Tribe-Chief but even if they had known, they would have laughed.
She remembered her little cousin now – not the commander that died. How they laughed, played, frolicked and grew up together!
Yes, Frigga and her little cousin were grown up, when she was to marry Odin. The cousin had kissed her on the mouth, passionately, when he heard the news of her marriage. She blushed and stammered, ‘That was not the kiss of a brother!’ ‘It was not meant to be a brotherly kiss’, he had said. and asked, ‘ Why do you marry an old man?’
‘He is a man of honor’ she hotly replied.
‘Honor! What has honor to do with loving, kissing, caressing … ‘
‘My father says I must marry him’ Riga interrupted.
‘Does your father know that I am in love with you?’
‘Maybe; that is why he wants me to marry him.’
He laughed, ‘I thought you loved me, too’.
I shall always love you. You always were and shall be my brother’
and she had kissed him on the cheek.
Now, they told her, it was the commander who came to kill them that died. No, she knew, it was her cousin, her brother, the playmate of her childhood days, who had died. And she wept.
Hansa was right. Love does not die. Not hers, anyway.
Since then, they called Frigga, the Mother, for she wept for every child on earth.
Months later, in a jovial moment, an Aryan child asked, ‘Mother Frigga, you shed tears often and you laugh so little!’
It was Odin who intervened, ‘Please, no. When she laughs, she sheds more tears and they never stop.’
It was true for Frigga laughed at Odin’s reply and with that laughter came the never-ending stream of her tears.
But those tears? – They were of joy. Her son had recovered. Her husband had recovered. And God, she felt, was right in her heart.
The Aryans felt that the hour of peril had passed. It was time, they thought, to build boats to return. They were wrong.
Along the river, Loki’s men waited, ready for the kill.
Attacks on the forest came – more to frighten, harass and keep up the pressure, lest the tribe assume that the war was lost. No one from the villages could go to the forest. The area where Odin had once resided and that had come to be known as Odin’s, became a cluster of ghost villages. Some say that Loki’s man sacked it. Others say that most of the villagers left to join the Aryans. Perhaps the truth lies somewhere in between.
Loki’s men who now attacked the forest on a ‘hit and run’ basis, were of a different kind. They came not to fight as soldiers, but as brutal prowlers, to maim and kill. Villagers, thralls, others seeking to go to the forest were, for them, the easiest prey. Sometimes though they attacked in force from various points in the forest.
In the months that went by, fourteen Aryans from Bharat Varsha died from those attacks. Of the locals, a great many were killed. But figures vary wildly.
Those were difficult times in the forest. It had turned into a teeming city. Fighters were few and those that needed protection, far too many.
The villagers came stealthily, crawling at night, from various routes.
Those that were caught by Loki’s men, met with savagery.
Suddenly, however, all restrictions, it seemed, had been lifted.
Everyone was free to enter the forest, unrestricted.
More villagers, more thralls escaping from all over, came in. Problems arose with so many men, women and children in the forest. But there was a sigh of relief too. No longer were Loki’s men guarding the access.
It was then that the Aryans received more disquieting news. A thrall from another tribe stole into the forest. He told them that word had gone to every tribe from Loki, to participate in the attack against the bands of robbers and thieves congregated in the forest.
Each tribe which so participated in the attack was promised a share of the loot to be grabbed from the Aryans. Their share? It would depend on the number of fighters each tribe sent. For each person from another tribe who lost a limb, his share would be triple. For each that died, the tribe would receive six times the amount.
Food, lodging and other amenities would be provided by Loki’s tribe to other tribes, without affecting their share of the loot.
All the Aryans would be enslaved for distribution to the other tribes in the same proportion as other loot. The locals, too, in the forest, irrespective of what tribe they belonged to, would be· subject to slavery in the same way as the alien Aryans, for distribution to other tribes.
The thrall had even more information. Other tribes wondered why they were being pursued so much, with such generous offers. Their suspicions rose, as Loki kept pressing them. They wanted to know what would happen if the Aryans did not have as much as Loki said they did. No problem, they were told. If less than that was found with the Aryans, his tribe would make up the difference. But would it be Loki’s decision if a dispute arose over the distribution of loot and slaves? Not at all, said Loki. All the tribes should elect a single team of judges whose decision would bind them all. There was another question. Would Loki try to move away the locals hiding in the forest, to reduce their share of the slaves? No, said Loki; as of now, no one would be allowed to leave the forest; whosoever tried would be thrust back forcibly. More, many more, Loki promised – those that tried to enter the forest, would be free to go in, to swell the number of eventual slaves.
A later poet tells us that in that land, in those times, falsehood did not playa part in diplomacy. Negotiations were difficult. But in the end, if a word was given by the Tribe-Chief, it was like a bond, irrevocable and irreversible.
No one doubted Loki’s word. Nor did Loki contemplate breaking it.
The tribes moved. Not only their armies but also their thralls, their ruffians and their cut-throats. The share of each tribe depended on the number of men it brought into the field.
Their weapons varied but each ‘soldier’ carried a rope with which to tie the slaves. The slogan was-‘Kill to cause terror, but kill less, catch more.’
The Aryans boats were getting ready. Odin said to the Tungeri brothers, ‘You could make a dash for it when hostilities break out. We will keep them busy. No one will be watching for you in the excitement of battle’
‘Will you come with us?’ they asked. ‘There was a time when I would have given my life to come with you. But now …’ said Odin, and his hand went to the vast numbers of locals milling around. ‘How can I leave them behind?’
‘Exactly’, smiled one of the Tungeris. ‘And the same question overpowers us too -how can we leave you and them behind?’
‘You owe us nothing’ said Odin. ‘You do not belong to this land. You must leave when the battle begins or it will be too late’
The Tungeri brothers laughed and one of them said, ‘You are right. We owe you nothing, except our life that you saved. We don’t belong to this land. But you belong in our hearts. And strangely, my two brothers and all the Aryans believe these are good enough reasons for us to stay together and, if need be, die together.’
‘It is a mistake for you to remain, a grave error, ‘ Odin pleaded.
‘Our error began when we left our homeland,’ Tungeri smiled.
‘But naturally you must leave; and I am glad you all rushing these last few days and nights to complete your boats?’
‘Boats! But they have a purpose to serve.’
‘What .purpose? To make a gift of them to Loki?’ Odin asked.
‘Frigga has to take the children away,’ Tungeri said.
‘What?’ Both Odin and Frigga shouted.
Tungeri explained. True, they had given up everything, even the thought of defense and used every ounce of strength to complete the work on the boats. The locals had helped too. But the boats were not for their escape. He continued, ‘As soon as the attack begins, all the children – Aryan and local – must rush into the boats. The only adults to go with the children will be the Aryan boats men who must row the boats. But there will be one more – the mother of all these children — Frigga.- From now on, all children will be camped near the boats. So will the boatmen. So will Mother Frigga. At a signal from us, the boats will leave. Our Aryans will run along the river and divert anyone watching with evil design. Hopefully, we will ensure that boats get beyond harm’s reach. And the children, then, will be in charge of God and Mother Frigga. Can we ask for a more powerful, more benevolent combination? Maybe they will all reach Bharat Varsha. If not, some other place of safety, God willing.’
Frigga said, ‘You think I will leave my husband behind!’
Tungeri said, ‘No. You will be with your son Bal Deva. Wherever you are, wherever Bal Deva is, your husband is.’
Strangely, Frigga had no tears. Her eyes were hard. Firmly, she repeated, ‘I shall not leave my husband,’
Calmly, Tungeri responded, ‘That is your decision. It was not easy for us to persuade the boatmen to leave. They wanted to stay back to die alongside us. But we insisted that they had a higher duty. I shall not try to persuade you. I just did not want all these children to go motherless. If you can persuade Odin to go with you, along with the children, I shall welcome it. ‘
Frigga looked at Tungeri’s eyes filled with sadness and resolution. She wept. “I shall go; I shall go. My husband’s place is here …Mine, I know… with children.’
The sense of panic in the forest disappeared and was replaced by a calm strength. They knew they were fated to die. Who could withstand the combined onslaught of all the tribes! But it seemed to matter less and less. Ever since the news had come that there was to be such a concerted attack, the Aryans had desperately been trying to complete building the boats. Clearly, they felt that Aryans were intending to flee – and why not, thought the locals. They had no hope of survival and this was not their land; so why should they not flee? Yet, somehow, the locals had felt forsaken, lonely, lost.
But now they knew! The Aryans were staying back to die with them, if need be.
The Aryans too understood what it was- ‘We are all brothers,’ they said. And with a smile, mingled with sadness, remembered Hansa. Earlier when Hansa’s grasp of the Aryan language had not been very good, he had said, ‘All brothers are men,’ and it had taken the Aryans some time to realize that what he had meant was ‘all men are brothers.’
Loki was able to satisfy some of his own people that this was the beginning of cooperation among the tribes which would eventually lead to unity. They had been a single tribe once, under Thor; should they not be united again? Perhaps some hoped that if indeed that elusive unity was achieved, Loki would be displaced. But then many knew that unity was simply a dream.
Some even remembered Kvasir, grandson of Thor, in whose time, from a single tribe, they broke into two and then into three tribes, and finally, in succeeding generations, there were twelve tribes.
Old Kvasir had been tricked. He had sent his trusted advisers, with full powers, to the negotiations to sort out the differences, in order to avoid a partition of land and tribes; but his own men, greedy for personal power, had contrived to outwit him and whipped up such e frenzy of disunity that a split was unavoidable. Old Kvasir retired in anguish from his position of chief of a tribe that had split into two. His sense of honor prevented him from blaming anyone but himself. Yet his dream remained that the tribes would one day reunite. Even in his retirement, he was loved. But he was assassinated, as some thought that he was trying to be too considerate to the other tribe that had split and did not understand that he was a dreamer who was pursuing a dream. He has, ever since, been held in fond esteem. But that was a long time ago. The dream of unity was no more. It was like an empty murmur in a troubled sleep; and everyone realized that disunity, like all other evils, would only grow; and that it was impossible to undo the divisions and partitions among tribes to bring about the age-old dream of unity of that lone man who died for it. At the core of their hearts, people may want unity, but how do people matter, when the personal ambitions of those that lead them lie in keeping them divided!
Even so, some were touched by Loki’s words of unity. They were among the trusting few who judged their leader mostly by his words and not by his actions; they did not realize that the honored name of the old man who died chasing the dream of unity was often on the lips of the most dishonorable men in the land, who had achieved positions of eminence, prestige and power.
Everyone in the forest waited for the blow to fall as the tribes gathered. Loki’s negotiations had taken a long time. Some tribes were yet to arrive and clearly the decision reached was that all the tribes should strike together.
The Aryans and locals in the Black Forest had one certainty – whatever happened, they would sell their lives dearly. There would be no bravado; no feats of heroism. They would not fight in the open, not even behind the cover of trees, but from pits, ditches, shelters and some of them would even be covered with domes. Only the tallest trees with thick foliage would be utilized, where a single fighter may wait at the tree-top, with a canopy and scaffolding to shelter him and his stones and arrows. Nor would many congregate at a single point, waiting for slaughter. Each fighter would be an ‘army’ unto himself. To reach him, the enemy would have to cross the obstacle of fallen trees, avoid the cross-aiming of arrows and stones, and navigate the sheltering walls.
What then? Extinction? The only silver lining lay in their hope that the children would be safe. Mother Frigga would be with them.
Yes, through our children, our tribe shall live – Odin’s tribe!
Odin’s tribe! Yes, that is what many locals in the forest called themselves, initially. Odin shook his head in disapproval. Then some women said – we shall live through our children and Frigga is the one who leads them to safety. Should we not call ourselves Frigga’s tribe? It was Frigga who then said, ‘No, the Tungeri brothers lead us. They send our children to safety. Maybe we shall be in their Bharat Varsha before they reach. Should we not call ourselves the Tungeri tribe?’
But the Tungeri brothers shook their heads. ‘We are all God’s tribe’
Strange, says a poet, that people waiting to die should concern themselves with matters as trivial as hunting for a name for their tribe!
Even more strange, that Odin should continue to compose poetry and say that he is able to look within himself better, now that he has only one eye!
Strange also, that Frigga weeps no more but only laughs, though tears come to her eyes whether she laughs or weeps!
Strange, too, that the locals still continue to learn the language of the Aryans! – Do they plan to converse in it, after they die?
Strange, moreover, that the Tungeri brothers should continue their sessions with the locals asking questions about life, after-life, karma, moksha, dharma, bhakti and, even more, about the reality, personality and duality of the universal spirit, creation of the universe, evolution of man, conception of time and space and so many other abstract and philosophical concepts! And so many questions about the roots of Sanatan Dharma and Sanathana!
And the poet asked himself – why this senseless urge for more knowledge when it would matter no more and life itself would end! Why seek wisdom when wisdom matters no more! Or was it their intention to confuse God with their superior knowledge when life has ended!
Still more strange, says the poet, is the fact that they spoke, smiled, chatted, joked, laughed and sang as though the certainty of death did not matter any more. They were not like wild women and doomed men under a sentence of death. The women dressed well, cared for their appearance and even took time to part their hair properly, as usual, and apply the red dot on their foreheads, as the locals had learnt from the Aryans.
And the men! They never forgot to admire the women. Thus the poet goes on and finally says – ‘perhaps when we come to terms with the fact that we are soon to die, our perceptions deepen and suddenly we are what we were as children – truly human.’
Another poet criticizes this poet as ‘full of airy nothings on everything but short on facts.’ He says that this poet failed to mention that every bachelor Aryan married a local girl in ‘those that they regarded to be their last days.’ How many marriages? But here this poet too faces us with an ‘airy nothing.’
All he tells us is that thus there were many moments of music and dance, frolic and festivity, laughter and mirth, love and longing in the forest. And the couples said that they would be true to each other all their lives-and never did they even ask themselves how short that life was to be!
But they knew that each day was a boon.
Strange, says a poet. These Aryans and locals in the Black Forest did not even pray that their lives be spared. They prayed only for the safety of the children who were to be rushed out by boats. For themselves, they asked for nothing.
Why? Is it because they thought that it was impossible that they can be saved! Did they then lack faith? Did they believe that there were limits to God’s miracle! Did they believe that God could not perform the impossible!
Yet the impossible became possible. Was it an act of God? No, it was an act of Man.
Thus it was that the Aryans were saved! Suddenly, unexpectedly, out of the blue, without notice or warning, came Atal and his 2,000 horsemen from Lithuania!
Note: Atal along with his brother Atul had led the Aryan contingents from Bharat Varsha, first to Iran, and thereafter, through many adventures and perilous routes they finally, sailed through the Caspian Sea to reach Europe’s largest river, presently known as Volga. It was near the source of Volga that that they finally left their boats and went trudging on foot until they reached the southern part of the country now known as Finland – then known as the Land of Ugera. A new dream had formed there in the minds of the Aryans of Bharat Varsha – to search no more but go back to their homeland. Hundreds of locals, including Priest Ugera’s son, went with the returning Aryans. However Atul along with 26 Aryans, remained behind in Finland (see Chapter ‘On To Finland, Sweden, Norway’ in Bhagwan S. Gidwani’s Return of the Aryans – page 845 to 852). From Finland, Atal’s Aryan contingent left by boats to reach the narrow strip of water known now as the Gulf of Finland. Crossing over to the other side of the Gulf, they started traveling by land, hoping to find eventually the route to Bharat Varsha. They reached Lithuania. There, already another Aryan contingent from Bharat Varsha had reached, commanded by Bala. With a roar of delight, the two contingents met and embraced each other. There Atal taught the two Aryan contingents to capture wild horses and train them to be domesticated for sport and even for battling against hostile local rulers. Meanwhile violence erupted between the ruling family of Lithuania and the Aryan contingents. After bloodshed and battle, Peace was restored to an extent, followed by many adventures and exploits. Atal’s story in the Baltic States and Lithuania ends His contingent, on horse-back, accompanied by many locals, left, hugging the Baltic coast towards the land known now as Poland while Bala and his contingent remained in Lithuania. It would take years for Atal and his contingent to reach Bharat Varsha but enrooted they had reached Germany and rescued the Aryan contingent under Tungeri brothers and the locals including Priest Odin, Frigga and Bal Deva. (For story of Atal in Lithuania, see Chapter ‘Aryans in Lithuania, Baltic States and Elsewhere’ in Bhagwan S. Gidwani’s Return of the Aryans – page 853 to 873). Atal and Atul were grandsons of Dhrupatta, the 20th Karkarta (elected Supreme Chief) of the Hindu clan in 5,071 BCE. Dhrupatta was elected as Karkarta, after Karkarta Bharat retired as a hermit. Dhrupatta was the son of Sadhu Gandhara who became the overlord in Avagana (Afghanistan). For their story, see Chapters ‘To Discover the edge of the Earth’, ‘The Family of Man’ & ‘Death of Karkarta’ in Bhagwan S. Gidwani’s Return of the Aryans -page 223 to 265 ).
What would 2,000 men of Atal’s contingent matter against the combined army of 12 Germanic tribes, trained in warfare? Normally, very little. But 2,000 horses! An animal that Germans had never seen before!
Oh Gods! Gods! They ride on wolves! These black devils!
All coherent accounts are lost for the poets are incoherent when they speak of this miracle.
The terror of the twelve tribes outside the forest was unimaginable.
Their armies vanished but their hatred was intense and single-minded. For none else but Loki !
So Loki knew! They said to themselves. He knew then, that we were to face not human beings but monster- men riding on wolves!
Wolves with four legs below and two legs above! Wolves with a wolf face below and a human face above!
No wonder Loki was offering us so much, they said. Oh fools, we!
To make us believe that Loki was giving away so much for a mere attack on robbers! And he pits us against monsters!
The armies of the twelve tribes collapsed, not with a war-cry but with a shriek of terror.
They fled, rushing back not to their homelands, but deep inside Loki’s lands, for deadly vengeance.
Loki’s body was ripped apart- his head sightless, his legs and arms scattered -maybe these monster-wolves from the Black Forest would halt to eat Loki’s flesh and forget to pursue them!
But mob-terror stops nowhere. On their way to their homelands, soldiers of various tribes vandalized every tribe, everywhere. Promises to them had been violated, they were convinced, and so they violated and crushed everyone and everything in sight.
Was it really a miracle that suddenly, out of the blue, Atal arrived to the rescue? The explanation was simple.
Atal had followed the Baltic coastline from Lithuania. Somewhere, he changed direction.
On the way, Atal’s men were learning the shifting, ever-changing language of the people they met. Sometimes, the language varied slightly and at other times, considerably, but always with shades and patterns that were faintly common and recognizable. There came a time when their horses frightened the people they met. But their friendly approach reassured the strangers.
Somewhere along the route, they were advised by a friendly person to watch out, for men and women like them were being hunted for ‘butchery and slavery’, by all the Germanic tribes of the land, in a forest faraway, that was now called the ‘Black Forest’.
Where?’ asked Atal and then he and his men rode on ‘wings of thunder’
How can you then call this rescue, a miracle! ‘Ah’, say the poets,
‘He that guideth the miracle hideth Himself’ .
This should end the story of the Aryans in Germany. But not really.
Atal was among the first to leave along with some men from his contingent. They went by the boats which were intended for the children and Frigga. But then many more boats were also built. Frigga and the children did not need to go by boats as now that there was no imminent danger (and boat travel was regarded as dangerous). Even so, a few Aryan and local children left with Atal. Most of the locals who had come from Finland and Lithuania also went with Atal. Joining him were also the Aryans from Bharat Varsha who had married local girls.
The horses were left behind under the Tungeri brothers’ command. Many of Atal’s men remained to teach horse-riding to Tungeri’s and Odin’s forces. They would leave later with the Tungeri brothers and the rest of the Aryans.
Much remained to be done. There was a desperate cry of agony from all the tribes as the soldiers from the twelve armies went on their mindless rampage. These tribes had seen danger before but never as acutely as this. They were quivering under the heel of ruthless men who were senselessly killing, burning and looting. Villages all over were witnessing a bloodbath and the merciless tearing apart of families. Many were orphaned. Some lost a son, a few all their loved ones. They came swarming out of their shattered villages. But there was no place to run and hide. A cry of pain was wrung from their souls by the measureless torment through which they passed. There was a broken prayer for mercy everywhere.
The looters laughed. Frigga wept. Odin moved with Atal and the Tungeri brothers’ forces. Did Odin move to bind the wounds only in his tribe? No. Every tribe was God’s tribe, he said, as the Tungeri sons had said earlier; and Frigga wept for them all.
Months passed. But, at last, in Germany there was only one tribe, as all the tribes had shed their separate identities and merged under Odin’s leadership as a single tribe. And then it was – as old Kvasir had dreamt and died for – one great tribe. They said it was the ‘sword’ that united them. But others said it was the sword that had divided them but it was Odin’s mercy and the Aryans’ love and Bharat Varsha’s Swastika that united them.
What should they call this united tribe now? Again some said ‘The tribe of Tungeri?’
The Tungeris objected, ‘Call it Odin’s tribe, if a name has to be given -for it is Odin, who united you’.
‘No’ said Odin. ‘Let it be called the “Tribe of Aryans”. Odin had the last word and so it was named the ‘Tribe of Aryans’. Somehow though, Frigga called it the Aryan tribe of Swastika. She could not forget that her son had clutched the Swastika seal in his tiny hand to prevent his father from going out to hang himself.
That indeed ends the story of the Aryans of Bharat Varsha in Germany. The horses were left with Odin since his men were now trained to be accomplished horsemen.
Led by the Tungeri brothers, the Aryans left by river Dana (Danube) and then on to the Black sea, to Turkey, and thence to Hari Hara Aryan (Iran) and finally to Bharat Varsha. With them went many locals from Germany; and many more would follow, year after year.
Of their mishaps, triumphs and adventures, volumes can (and should) be written. But it is enough to say that a Tungeri brother was killed in Turkey in tragic circumstances. The second Tungeri died in a shipwreck, not too far from the Sindhu coast. The third son reached Bharat Varsha. This Tungeri recited the names of all those that died and prayed for them all – but he did not mention his two brothers. They asked him why; he said, ‘So long as I live, they live; so long as they die, I die.’ Some understood him; some did not.
The story of the Aryans of Bharat Varsha in. Germany ends. But not the story of the locals in Germany who called themselves the Aryans.
Fables and Legends of Gods in Germany, Europe and England: In later centuries, Odin would come to be honored as a god in the mythology of Germany, Norway, Sweden, Iceland, Denmark and other European nations, particularly England.
But the honor of godhood in Germany went equally to his weeping wife Frigga and his son Bal Deva.
As a God, Odin is described variously in the later literature of Germany and Europe. He is known as the god of poetry – but also much more. He is known as the god of occult wisdom which he acquired as the result of his hanging. His hanging is presented as a symbolic act of ‘sacrifice to himself'; and a poet quotes him, ‘A moment came when I desired my death, but Mother (Frigga) spoke to me – Oh foolish me, I heard her not! And then my son spoke and I was hearing him not! But then my father (God eternal) thundered in my heart to say, “Deny them not, for both mother and son speak with my voice” – and clearly I heard them, then; and could I deny them any more? But Guardian Spirits had heard my vow that by hanging, I must go. And Loki came to my rescue, as they whispered in his ear and promptly he hanged a likeness of me in straw and wood. And the Guardian Spirits smiled to say, “Your sacrifice by hanging is performed.” Oh God! Multiply such Guardian Spirits in my land and in every land”
But many more fables surrounded Odin, the god. His effigy was said to be hanging for ‘nine endless nights’ on the World Tree. Later, the effigy was pierced with a lance to show how the commander stabbed Odin. But then what did the World Tree do? It turned into a horse, and the tree came to be known as Yggdrassil, i.e., Odin’s horse (this of course commemorates the sudden appearance of horses on the German Scene which enabled Odin to straddle Germany and pacify and unite the Germans into a single tribe known as the ‘Tribe of Aryans’ or the ‘Aryan Tribe of Swastika’).
Thus, Odin, through his symbolic death by the hanging of his effigy, is said to acquire ‘the wisdom that belongs only to the dead’.
As such, Odin was regarded as the god of the hanged. But then another kind of reputation also got attached to him later. He came to be credited with the art of communicating with the dead and it was said that he could make hanged men talk. But this fabled reputation was unjustly earned. The fact is that Odin ordered the hanging of many, from among the ‘soldiers’ of the twelve tribes who continued on their murdering and looting spree. Around their necks, ropes were strung with a threat to hang them, if they did not reveal where they had hidden the loot or the people they had captured as slaves. Fortunately, these ‘hanged’ men talked, faced between life and death, and thus was Odin’s reputation for necromancy earned. The fact is that Odin was never too gentle with those that kept vandalizing – and certainly not with those who still held many unfortunates as slaves.
Odin is always shown in German fables as fighting against a monstrous wolf. But that again was a reference to the horse that suddenly appeared in Germany, to the terror of many, for they saw it as an incarnation of the wolf. But the fable simply was that Odin destroyed the monstrous self of the wolf but preserved the gentler self. ‘For nothing is wholly evil, not even the monstrous wolf, for in him too lurks the gentleness of Him, the Creator’. Thus it was that Odin, having destroyed the monstrousness of the wolf, brought forth the gentler self of the wolf- the horse-and it was this gentle, lovable horse that helped to heal the wounds of the twelve Germanic tribes and united them into a single tribe.
Odin is also shown as chaining carrion beasts, ravens and wolves as images of those that treacherously betrayed Kvasir to disunite the tribe. When poets praise Odin for his dream of unity, he is obscurely quoted as saying, ‘ … that dream was the soul-blood of Kvasir. Render then to Kvasir the praise that is his; and let none speak of Odin’s theft of that dream …’
But the fables also speak of Odin praising Loki for speaking of the need to unite tribes. Obviously, Odin wanted to avoid divisions in the land. Similarly Odin praised Thor too, as in his time; the tribe remained one and had not splintered into twelve fragments.
Odin had lost his eye when the commander’s lance had ripped through his face. But German fables are clear that this god Odin sacrificed his eye in order to gain inner knowledge. In later centuries, a few Germans would go about with a patch on one of their eyes to gain inner vision and wisdom. By such disuse and atrophy, it is said, some actually lost the vision in their patched eye. It is not known, however, if they gained inner vision and wisdom.
But over the centuries, as the fables multiplied, Odin would also have many questionable worshippers. Lawless men regarded him as their god. His cult spread to renegades and Vikings; and he was regarded as a god who broke the most sacred of oaths, even the oaths on the holy ring, but never his personal word. This was a throw-back to Odin having violated the priestly vow (that he would not divulge Loki’s plans to attack the Aryans). Pirates and lawless men swore by Odin, if they meant to keep their word, but broke every other oath.
But all these fables and fantasies came later. Clearly, Odin led his united tribe with compassion; and he felt for the sorrows of all, trying to move heaven and earth to bring comfort and unity to his people.
He abolished the law of ‘tribe-cleansing’ and a baby could not be harmed for a birth defect. He also abolished human and animal sacrifices.
And Frigga? German and European fables remember her not only as the wife of Odin and mother of Bal Deva, but as a Goddess in her own right. She was the mother of all and one who wept for all God’s children; and ‘her tears cleansed all spirits and washed away all sorrows: and with ‘her tears, the earth rose refreshed.’ She is known also as Terra Mater (earth mother) and when she is with us, ‘there is gladness, rejoicing and peace and weapons disappear.’ She is named as Friia in the second Merseburg Charm. Often, German and European fables equate her with Venus and her name survives in ‘Friday’ (Old English Frigedaeg) from Dies Veneris, Venus’ Day.
Bal Deva was known in Germany and other European countries as the one with the will and power of God even before the German fables conferred godhood on Odin and Frigga.
Bal Deva is always referred to in the German fables as the ‘Spotless’ god. Every fable thus bends backwards to emphasize that he was not born with a birth defect and that it was simply a canard that arose in Loki’s diseased mind.
In German fables, Bal Deva is also shown as the innocent, suffering god. He is supposed to have had dream-forebodings, at the age of two, about his father Odin’s resolve to kill himself, but quickly rose from his sleep to dissolve his father’s resolve. Bal Deva, the fables say, had dream-forebodings about his own death too, but his mother Frigga took an oath of protection from all creatures-living and dead; from all elements like fire and water; all things like stones and tress; and from all witches that brought diseases and illnesses. Somehow, Frigga missed taking a vow from the small, insignificant mistletoe. Loki took the mistletoe and gave it to the blind god Hod who hurled it as a shaft through Bal Deva’s body. All creatures sent messengers to Hel, the goddess of Death. She agreed to spare Bal Deva if all things, creatures, elements and witches would weep for him. They all did, except a giantess who was none other than Loki in disguise. But with the will and power of god that Bal Deva had, Frigga rose high up to the heaven, and there she wept and her tears rained and rained; and Hel, goddess of Death, clearly saw that all were weeping. And while it rained, Bal Deva extended his tiny hand to protect the goddess of fire who shivers with cold whenever it rains; and, in gratitude, the goddess of fire came to cover the birth defect of Bal Deva . o
None of these fables took root in Bharat Varsha. Fables and fiction apart, at the age of about sixteen, Bal Deva suddenly disappeared from the Land of Tungeri and at the age of twenty-six, he reached Bharat Varsha. There, some called him the grandson of Manu of Tungeri, as he was supposed to have been adopted by the last, surviving Tungeri son. But that is not correct. He actually married Nanna, the daughter of the Tungeri sons. From her, he had four sons and four daughters. For most of his life, he lived near the confluence of Sindhu river with the Sindhu sea. In his last years, however, he was at Hari Hara Dwara (Hardwar). He was cremated on the banks of the Ganga River at Varnash (Benaras or Varanasi). o
These Aryan gods – Odin (Woden), Frigga, Bal Deva – were honored in Germany. But in Bharat Varsha nobody knew them as gods. They were simply friends of the Aryans of Bharat Varsha. They had fought against a common enemy and had for many years, lived, loved, laughed and wept together and ultimately triumphed.
Days of the Week named after these Gods: Later, as the civilizing influence of the German Aryans grew in England, Odin, Frigga and Bal Deva began to shine in the eyes and minds of the English.
Odin named as Woden in England would have Wednesday named for him.
Frigga, Odin’s wife, would have Friday named for her.
Even Thor, though not of Odin’s family, but honored by Odin as the founder of the German race, had Thor’s day (Thursday) named for him. In praising Thor, Odin was trying to be politically correct as he recognized the fact that Thor was respected by many of his tribe though both he and Frigga were convinced that Thor had not always been honorable and had introduced the odious practice of ‘race cleansing’ by ordering death of infants born with birth-defect.
Bal Deva, supposed to have the will power of god, had no day named for him, due to a superstition that it might render all other days inauspicious. His influence was thus regarded as all pervasive.
But then the German Aryan gods, though unknown in India as gods, were honored everywhere else in Europe as gods, particularly in Scandinavia, Iceland and Britain. However their godhood is now purely a matter of history.
These gods could not stand the onslaught of Christianity with its pressure of a positive, monotheistic, forceful creed which demanded that all other gods be renounced.
But somehow in Germany, the traditional memory of these gods still remains.