28/03/2020
Yesterday, while suffering from corona virus, I attempted an oft-forgotten posture, Bhishmasana.
The story of Bhishma is from the Mahabarata, and thanks to Yoga Journal for summarising what led to this asana:
Bhishma was King Santanu's first son—at least his first surviving son—and the crown prince of the kingdom of Hastinapur. The apparent deaths of the first seven sons had so strained Santanu's marriage that Ganga left him to resume life as a river goddess, and eventually Santanu resolved to marry again. His chosen beloved, Satyavati, said she would be his wife only if he swore to make her sons heirs to the throne. To reassure her and comfort his father, Bhishma (then also known as Dyaus) took a bhishama pratigya, the “terrible, or severe, oath” of lifelong celibacy and service to whomever sat on the throne. As a result of this great feat of renunciation, Bhishma (for this became his nickname) received the boon of ichcha mrityu, control over his own death: He could choose the time of his death.
Bhishma had all the qualities of a king: He was an erudite scholar, a powerful warrior, and a sagacious statesman. He was a preceptor to those who sat on his father's throne, and he tried repeatedly to end the strife between cousins which culminated in the Mahabharata war and the battle of Kurukshetra. His end came on that battlefield. His entire body pierced by arrows shot by his own star archery pupil, Arjuna, Bhishma lay panting, his head hanging down. The war paused; the adversaries gathered together around their spiritual grandfather. Weeping, Arjuna shot three arrows into the ground to make a warrior's pillow for Bhishma's head. Then he shot another, and Ganga herself rose as a stream of water to quench her son's thirst.
Bhishma lay dying with the poise of one relaxing in bed at home, and he watched the sun's slow path. In his mind, he waited for the moment to depart from life. His face shone with love for those gathered around him, the children and grandchildren of his celibate life. He instructed them in dharma, righteousness, and in loving and serving the lord. The seven rishis, the great sages who first received and taught the Vedas to human beings, came in the form of swans to attend him and hear his discourse. When at last the sun turned north—the position he had been waiting for—with one mighty “Om!” he gave up his breath to the wind; the wind made room for him, like the hole in a wheel, and carried him to the moon, to the sun and beyond—to the world where, the Upanishads say, there is no sorrow and no snow. And there, the soul which on earth had been Bhishma, the perfect warrior and perfect teacher, once again knew himself as Dyaus—the sky, unlimited and immortal.