In this brief hour that is no more than a blink in Brahma’s eye, the name Panchajanya may mean many things to many people. But here is the real story of Krishna’s conch, pure and free of other associations, the story that belongs to you and me from way back to forever. As Nammalwar (‘Our Alwar’) the rock of Tamil Vaishnava mysticism says, “Karpar Ramapiranai allal mattrum karparo?” Learning about Lord Vishnu, why would anyone want to learn about anything else?The Bhagvat Puran says that Krishna’s great war conch, Panchajanya, emerged in the churning of the Milk Ocean. Another tradition says that a titan, Shankasura, defeated the devas and plunged with the Vedas to the bottom of the sea. Lord Vishnu had to assume his second avatar, Matsya the Fish, to dive down and rescue the holy books and made a conch out of the asura’s skull. The story I grew up with takes us back to Sri Krishna’s student days in Rishi Sandipani’s ashram, where Sudama was his classmate. They say our Lord was a meek, humble and obedient student who never shirked his chores and who inspired his classmates with great love. He had a wonderful memory and matchless strength. When his studies were completed, it was time to give his teacher gurudakshina. Divining hidden sorrow in Sandipani, he asked him what he would like. Wistfully, the sage asked if Krishna could possibly trace his son, kidnapped long ago by a sea monster called Panchajana. Straightaway, our Lord plumbed the depths of the ocean where he fought and vanquished the beast. Rescuing his guru’s son, he ground the monster’s bones and fashioned a fearful conch, the Paanchajanya—‘derived from Panchajana’— whose sound thereafter struck raw terror in the hearts of evildoers. But the innocent and the repentant feel the magic vibrations of ‘Om’.One of the loveliest depictions of Panchajanya has to be that of Andal, pronounced Aan-daal, the 9th century Vaishnava mystic, whose love poems are still sung devotedly in the Tamil country. In the collection called Nachiyar Thirumozhi (Bhaktan ka Sri Shabad), she yearningly asks Panchajanya how the Lord’s lips smell. “Karpooram naarumo kamala poo naarumo?” Do they smell of camphor or lotuses, she wonders, envying the conch’s closeness to Krishna. This passionate appeal seems to work at two levels. There is Andal’s undoubted physical longing for her splendid Lover. But, as the Chandogya Upanishad says, the Lord is “sarvagandah sarvarasah”, all perfumes and all tastes. So her desperate desire for darshan is also the soul’s yearning to merge with the Source of all love, strength and compassion. It is that sea-born Panchajanya whose magic we conjure with the conch in our puja room.
