The months of Shrawan and Bhadra are coloured in the vibrant hues of Bol Bam and Haritaalika Teej and Lord Shiva is venerated as the major deity. Hinduism believes in the existence of the Holy Trinity, namely, Brahma (the creator), Vishnu (the nurturer) and Shiva (the destroyer). But that alone is not the identity of Shiva, who, for me, is an exceedingly fascinating god.

According to the history of Shaivism, early Vedic people had a very different understanding of Shiva. He is mentioned in the Rigveda as Rudra, a much feared deity who, if angry, would unleash death, disease and devastation. The Vedic lot were so terrified of him that they even uttered his name only after performing certain rituals. With time, however, they started to follow the Shaivism rituals believing that the only person who could protect them from the wrath of Rudra was Rudra Himself.

But those are the things of past. Today, Shiva has long morphed into being a part of the Hindu Trinity and is worshipped for his paradoxical nature: He who is feared as the riotous Rudra is also revered as the idyllic Shankar. And it is this contradiction that has fascinated many, including myself, over the course of time.

I was first introduced to Shiva in Om Namah Shivaya, which is one of the most popular mythological serials that my generation grew up watching, other than the Ramayana, Mahabharata and Jai Shree Krishna. And the one thing that always struck me about Shiva was his getup: a half-nude Yogi with wild untamed locks flying around him like a halo. He is also a hunter with unmatchable archery skills. The deerskin loincloth and the elephant hide shawl come from his conquests.

To me, he appeared so different from the other gods who were always dressed in fancy jewellery and fine silk. It was only much later that I learnt that the snakes he wears as necklaces are a symbol of metamorphosis, the very idea that Shiva stands for, which is, rebirth following elimination, not unlike a Phoenix.

During those days, when we had no cellphones and the internet, television was the major source of entertainment. But there was this other thing that took up most of our chilly February evenings—the Shree Swasthani Brata Katha. You might call it a child’s thirst for a good story or the prospect of sweets that was attached to it as the prasad, but this hour of the day was a most awaited one for me. Sitting around a bonfire and listening to the story of Swasthani is one of the most unforgettable memories of my childhood. And this story, when I reflect upon it today, would not have been half as interesting if it had not been for Mahadev, another eponym for Shiva.

What really drew me to Shiva’s character was that he was an outcast right from the beginning. Whether it is Sati Devi’s father, Dakshya Prajapati, or Parvati’s father, Himalaya, the two women whom Shiva married in the story, they had both preferred the rich, handsome and erudite Lord Vishnu as the perfect suitor for their beautiful daughters over the dark and mysterious Shiva.

Shiva’s affiliation with the creatures of night like ghosts, spirits and vampires, along with his love for intoxicants like poisons, bhang and dhaturo set him apart from the regular gods like Ram, Brahma and Indra. Shiva, famously known as Aashutosh (the one who is easy to please), apparently would become so delighted with the ardent devoutness from some of the Asuras (demons) that he would have no qualms about blessing them with the coveted gift of immortality.

He is truly a god of passion and fury. I remember this one particularly frightening episode about Shiva opening his Third Eye, the one of knowledge and insight, and annihilating the god of love, Kamadev, an eastern equivalent to Cupid, for hitting him with his arrow. It was this incident that made me wonder if there was a reason behind Shiva’s being high on narcotics that had little to do with the adverse climatic conditions of his residence, Kailash, in the Himalayas, and more with keeping him serene and sedated so that the world is saved from his ire.

Today, when I attempt to analyse Shiva, I find an amazingly interesting figure who truly adds so much to our religion and mythology. Here is a god who is just as much a demon, a hero who is equally a villain, a saint who is as powerful a slayer and a dancer, who raves to the drumroll of demolishment. Where else do you find a deity who is not the least bit reluctant to embrace his anger, weaknesses, promiscuity and wanderlust with such grace?

Shiva is revered despite being the greatest bad boy this part of the world has ever known. Why, he could be labelled the first hippie or hard-core Romantic to be celebrated to this extent. He is a beautiful blend of the bright Apollonian and the shady Dionysian qualities that the Greeks talk so passionately about. Shiva appears more real than most godly figures because of his humanness. He comes across as so tangible because he is so flawed. He is a mixture of sagacity and sinfulness, which makes him a god who not only defies convention, but is also perhaps the most unreligious archetype of sacredness.

Apart from these aspects, there is his relationship with his consorts that makes him all the more entrancing. Unlike Lord Vishnu, who appears to be enjoying a sweet slumber while his wife Goddess Laxmi massages his feet devotedly, Shiva always has his women right by his side.

Moreover, I also find it rather intriguing that beautiful princesses, whether it is Sati or Parvati, are magnetically drawn to Shiva, despite his supposedly questionable reputation. Sati burnt herself in anguish when her own father insulted Shiva, thus turning him into a desolate lunatic bereaved by the loss of his love. Similarly, Parvati ran off to the forest to avoid marrying Lord Vishnu. Today, it might have become the norm for Nepali women to pray for a husband like Shiva because our “culture” demands so. But if we are to examine this trend more closely, we realise that Parvati did not want just any god as her husband but the unconventional Shiva because, despite his eccentricities, he was that one rare man who would genuinely regard her as his equal.

Long gone are those days of my carefree childhood. But fragments of it are still engraved in my memory—only now, I have begun to analyse what those stories mean to me. And Shiva’s presence, like scattered pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, add up to build a picture of an enthralling figure truly unique in his paradoxes and manifestations—he remains an enigma beyond comprehension.