Yoginī Ekadasi

The flower-collector and his leprosy

Retold from the Padma Purāṇa, Uttara Khaṇḍa, Chapter 52. The standard English translation, on which this retelling relies, is by N.A. Deshpande (Motilal Banarsidass).

In the city of Alakā lived Kubera, lord of treasures, solely devoted to Śiva. He worshipped Śiva every day in his temple, and for that worship he required fresh lotuses. The job of bringing them fell to a yakṣa called Hemamālin — the gold-garlanded — whose work it was each morning to fly to the Mānasa lake, gather a heap of fresh-bloomed lotuses, and deliver them to Kubera's temple before midday.

Hemamālin had a wife. Her name was Viśālākṣī — the wide-eyed. The Purāṇa describes her in three words: she was beautiful.

One morning Hemamālin gathered the lotuses as he always did. He returned home with them, intending to deliver them to the temple at midday as he always did. But he stopped at his house first. His wife was there. The text is gentle about what happened next. With his mind attached to her and being under the sway of Cupid's noose, he, after having brought a heap of flowers from the Mānasa lake, stayed at home. Being attached to his wife through love, he did not go to Kubera's house.

At midday, in the temple of Śiva, Kubera was waiting for the flowers. The morning's worship could not proceed without them. He sat. He waited. The shadows moved.

Why is the wicked-minded Hemamālin not coming yet? he asked the yakṣas around him. Ascertain his whereabouts. He spoke repeatedly, the text notes — that small detail of a man growing angrier with each unanswered question.

The yakṣas reported back. O king, lustful for his wife, he rejoices in his house as he pleases.

Kubera filled with anger. He called Hemamālin to him.

Hemamālin realized, too late, what time it was. His eyes filled with fear. He did not even pause to bathe. He arrived in front of his master with the flowers still in his hands and stood there.

Kubera's eyes were reddish. His lips trembled.

O sinner, O you of a wicked conduct, you have condemned the god. O meanest among the attendants, you, separated from your wife, and suffering from eighteen kinds of leprosy — disappear from this place. Go.

The curse fell on him before he could speak.

Hemamālin's body broke out in the eighteen kinds of leprosy at once. He fell to the floor. He was hurled out of Alakā. He could not bear sunlight; he could not bear shade. He could not sleep at night. In summer the heat in his diseased flesh was unbearable. In the cold he could not get warm. He was separated, as Kubera had specified, from his wife.

But Kubera, even in his fury, had not been entirely cruel. The Purāṇa explains the one mercy quietly: Due to the efficacy of Śiva's worship, his memory was not lost. He remembered, even in his disgrace, who he had been. He remembered the lake, the lotuses, the temple, the wife. He remembered the man who had once been entrusted with the daily worship of a god.

He wandered for a long time. He did not know where he was going. Eventually his feet — without his guidance — brought him to the Himalaya. There, by some accident of merit, he came upon a hermitage. In the hermitage sat the great sage Mārkaṇḍeya — the ascetic whose age, the Purāṇa notes, was equal to that of Brahmā.

Hemamālin saluted the sage's feet from a distance. He could not come close, because of his disease. He stood trembling.

Mārkaṇḍeya, who had seen everything in his long life, called him over.

Why are you overcome with leprosy? the sage asked. Why are you so much condemned?

Hemamālin told him everything.

I am Kubera's attendant. My name is Hemamālin. Every day I fetched lotuses and offered them to Kubera at the time of his worshipping Śiva. And one day, with my mind attached to the pleasure of my wife and distressed in my grief, I was not conscious of the time. I was cursed by the angry Kubera. I am overcome with leprosy and separated from my wife. By my auspicious deeds I have now come to you, knowing that the heart of the good is naturally capable of obliging others. O best sage, advise me.

He did not lie. He told the truth.

The sage said: Since you told the truth here and did not tell a lie, I am instructing you in an auspicious vow. Observe the Yoginī-vow in the dark half of Āṣāḍha. Due to the religious merit of this vow, your leprosy will certainly disappear.

Hemamālin fell at his feet — flat, like a staff, in daṇḍavat. The sage helped him up.

He observed the vow as Mārkaṇḍeya had taught him.

His eighteen leprosies disappeared completely.

He became, the text says simply, happy.

The vow

Yoginī Ekādaśī falls on the eleventh tithi of the dark fortnight of Āṣāḍha — the lunar month that contains the summer solstice in much of the calendar. The fast is broken on Dvādaśī.

The observance is the standard one. Fast from sunrise of Ekādaśī to sunrise of Dvādaśī. Worship Viṣṇu. Keep awake at night. Break the fast on Dvādaśī after worship.

This Ekādaśī falls just before Devaśayanī (the next Ekādaśī, which begins Vishnu's four-month sleep). It is the last fast before Chaturmāsya. Many observers use it as a preparation — a day of clearing — for the long four-month period of intensified devotion that follows.

The chapter notes that Yoginī Ekādaśī is an ancient boat for those plunged into the ocean of worldly existence. The ocean here is the cycle of attachments — the place where Hemamālin lost himself for one morning. The boat is the day's quiet.

The phalaśruti

The merit of observing Yoginī is, the chapter says, equal to the fruit obtained by feeding eighty-eight thousand brāhmaṇas. The number is specific. Reciting or hearing the account frees the listener from all sins.

The teaching at the heart of Yoginī is the one Mārkaṇḍeya named when he gave the vow. Since you told the truth here and did not tell a lie, I am instructing you in this vow. The vow is given to those who can name what they did. Hemamālin did not blame his wife. He did not blame Kubera. He did not invent some larger circumstance that had made his attachment unavoidable. He said, simply: I forgot the time. I let go of the duty. The vow is given to that kind of honesty.

The body, in the Purāṇa, is the truth-teller of last resort. When the mind refuses to admit what has been done, the body breaks out in eighteen kinds of leprosy and announces it for everyone to see. The vow purifies the body because the body's complaint was correct.

Source: Padma Purāṇa, Uttara Khaṇḍa, Chapter 52, "Yoginī Ekādaśī." Translated by N.A. Deshpande in Ancient Indian Tradition and Mythology series, vols. 39–48 (Motilal Banarsidass, Delhi, ISBN 9788120838291). The full English translation is freely available at wisdomlib.org.