Teraiyar Siddhar, a renowned disciple of Agastya Maharshi, is celebrated for his unmatched healing skills, deep knowledge of herbs, and contributions to the siddha tradition.
In an assembly of siddha purushas, one among them rose with urgency and spoke, “Guru Mahadeva! Please listen to this and help us be saved from your shishya — Teraiyar. We fear he has gone mad. His actions, if left unchecked, will bring danger to all our lives.”
With jada tied high upon his head and a long, flowing beard and moustache framing his face, Agastiya Maharishi turned and looked at the siddha purusha who had spoken. His gaze was steady, unmoved by panic, yet sharp enough to pierce through the layers of fear that hung in the air.
The siddha purusha continued, his voice now trembling with a mix of disbelief and distress.
“People must reap the karmaphala of what they themselves have sown. When you, Guru Mahadeva, are still present among us, how can Teraiyar — one among your own shishyas — behave as if he knows everything?
He interferes in the karmas of others. He is stopping people from facing their due sufferings. He is rescuing them from poverty as if karma can be bypassed by will. And not only that — he has even made promises that border on madness.
He has told them that he will turn the mountain into gold. Yes, he said that. He and his shishyas have placed the appropriate herbs all around, set fire to them, and now they’re sitting there — blowing upon the flames to feed them. So the normal mountain becomes a Golden mountain.
Your own shishya, Gurudeva… and yet he shows no fear of you.”
Upon hearing that Teraiyar had taken the Rasavada Vidya into his own hands, without command or sanction, Agastiyar’s expression changed. A fire rose in his eyes — not of anger alone, but of the fierce tapas of ages stirred into motion. He stood up from his seat with a suddenness that made the very winds pause.
The calm of the assembly was broken. The earth beneath seemed to recognize the weight of a rishi’s wrath. Agastiyar, the one whose silence could steady storms, now stood — furious.
Agastiyar had commanded his disciples, “Bring Teraiyar to me—immediately.” His voice, usually calm like the stillness of a deep forest, now carried a sharpness that startled them. Never before had they seen their Guru touched by anger. A quiet dread passed among them, and none dared delay. Without a word, they departed at once, hearts pounding, and soon returned—bringing Teraiyar Siddhar before Agastiyar.
With fiery eyes that blazed like the sun at dissolution, Agastiyar turned to Teraiyar. His voice, though steady, rumbled with a force that shook even the air around them: “Have you gone beyond your Guru in the vidyas?” The silence that followed was heavier than thunder. Before another breath could pass, Agastiyar stepped forward, gripped both legs of Teraiyar, and with an unimaginable force, tore his body into two & threw away.
All the assembled rishis stood frozen, awe-struck by the sheer force of what they had just witnessed. The silence that followed was not empty—it was heavy, reverberating with the power of Agastiyar’s wrath. Among those present were the devoted disciples of Teraiyar, who had accompanied their Guru to the court of Agastiyar. Now, as their eyes fell upon the torn remains of their beloved master—reduced to a bloodied heap—their hearts shattered. A silent sorrow welled up in their eyes, a grief too deep for words. Yet, not one among them moved. They could neither question nor pacify Agastiyar, for they knew they stood before one whose tapas and stature eclipsed them beyond measure. To oppose him was unthinkable. And so, they remained—bound by helplessness, drowned in the anguish of witnessing their Guru’s fate, yet powerless to act.
Just then, as silence gripped the court like a curse, one of Teraiyar’s disciples suddenly remembered the words of their Guru before they had set out: “Dear shishyas, my Guru is none other than Mahāmuni Agastiyar. He holds deep anger toward me. Today, he may very well tear me into two. So, take this herbal preparation with you—it is a sacred elixir, capable of rejoining sundered limbs and bringing one back from the grasp of death.”
In that moment of clarity, the disciple’s sorrow was overtaken by urgency. Without wasting a breath, the shishyas rushed forward, carefully retrieving the two bloodied halves of their Guru. With steady hands and unwavering faith, they applied the herbal essence to the torn body. The revival of Teraiyar had begun.
Life stirred once more within the body of Teraiyar. Flesh that had been torn now rejoined, breath returned, and the Siddhar slowly rose—restored by the very vidya he had passed on to his disciples. But there was no bitterness in his eyes, no trace of vengeance or pride. Instead, with folded hands and a heart full of surrender, Teraiyar turned toward the direction in which Agastiyar had departed. He bowed low, placing his head to the earth, and worshipped that sacred direction—honouring not only his Guru’s wrath, but the boundless compassion hidden within it. For even in destruction, the Guru had upheld dharma; and in his own humility, Teraiyar upheld the dignity of the shishya.
Teraiyar is now remembering the words of Saumini Maharishi speaking with the gravity of timeless wisdom: “Go to Agastiyar, child. He is like a perennial river—ever flowing, ever full. You may drink from his stream for lifetimes, yet he shall never run dry. Surrender yourself, and learn.”
Thus, obeying the words of Saumini Maharishi, Teraiyar had approached the great Agastiyar with folded hands and a heart free of pride. He bowed before the Maharishi and humbly requested, “Please accept me as your shishya. Let me walk the path under your guidance.”
Agastiyar looked upon him with the gaze of one who sees beyond lifetimes. A silence passed—deep, watchful. Then he spoke, his voice both piercing and compassionate:
“Teraiya! This human body is temporary—flesh, bone, and breath are but passing shadows. Yet you seek the permanent Jnana, the undying truth. How can impermanence hold permanence? If your longing is true, then your very body must transform—become free from decay, untouched by disease, untouched by time. Only then will you be able to receive and hold what you seek.”
He paused, then placed his hand gently over Teraiyar’s heart. “Always carry the ever-pervading Paramananda Shiva within. And know this—only the pure intention to serve the world selflessly can cleanse the Atma fully. Through service, surrender, and inner stillness, the eternal shall reveal itself.”
As the memory of Agastiyar’s words faded like a distant echo, Teraiyar sat still—his gaze heavy with the burden of reflection. In the quiet of his heart, a question rose like a whisper that refused to leave.
“What wrong have I done?”
He searched within. “Was it not out of compassion that I began this task? I only sought to transmute a lifeless mountain into a golden one—not for my name, not for power, but to serve. Look at the world now—poverty is everywhere. People struggle without food, their lives drowned in helplessness. If by creating gold, I could ensure they have the means to eat, to live with dignity, then why must I be punished? That is why I turned to the Rasavada vidya.”
There was no arrogance in his thoughts—only a sincere ache. He had walked the razor’s edge of siddhi and service, but now he stood wounded, unsure whether his path had crossed the line between tapas and transgression. The image of Agastiyar tearing him apart was not just a moment of wrath—it was a mirror of cosmic justice that he could not yet understand.
Gold was not the true transformation. What Teraiyar would become next… even the siddhas could not have foreseen.
Teraiyar Siddhar once again began burning the sacred herbs surrounding the mountain. The smoke curled upward, carrying its potent essence through the air. But this act disturbed the rishis who were engaged in deep tapas upon that very mountain. Feeling troubled, they went to Maharshi Agastya and voiced their complaints — which only served to further ignite his anger.
While doing this, Teraiyar thought to himself, “How can I die just because my body is torn into two pieces? I have learned to know the moment of my own death through the breath — a knowledge given to me by my guru, Agastya Maharshi himself. And he did not teach me this without reason; I earned it by passing the test he had set for me.”
He then recalled a past incident — the very moment that convinced Agastya Maharshi to teach him the advanced techniques of the siddha marga.
Once upon a time, there lived a king named Kashivarman. For a long time, he suffered from an unbearable headache, so severe that no remedy, treatment, or medicine could bring him relief. At last, in utter despair, he thought to himself that ending his life was the only way to escape this relentless torment.
Before taking his own life, the king decided to make one last attempt — to visit Agastya Maharshi at his ashrama. Reaching there, he fell at the sage’s feet.
Agastya looked at him and said, “You are a king — you should stand with your chest held high, with the gaurava of protecting and guiding your people. And here you are, kneeling before me. Get up! Do you even know the reason for your headache?”
Kashivarman looked at Agastya Maharshi, completely at a loss.
Agastya continued, “Kashivarman! One night, while you were sleeping, a small toad leapt onto your face. Without you realising it, the creature slipped into your nostril and made its way to your brain. Now, that toad lives inside your head, resting on your brain — and this is the true cause of your chronic headache.”
Hearing these words, Kashivarman felt as if a bolt of lightning had struck him. Stunned and shaken, he could hardly believe what he had just heard.
Kashivarman exclaimed, “Muni-shreshtha! Is this true? How is this possible? Can something like this really happen?”
Agastya replied, “There is nothing in this world that can be said to be impossible — no event lacks a precedent. Do not worry, Kashivarman. Through kapala chikitsa (cranial treatment), I will remove that toad and cure your unending headache.”
Using the root of a medicinal herb, Agastya induced Kashivarman into a state of unconsciousness. Within five minutes, he had opened the king’s skull.
There, upon the fluid-filled surface of the brain, the toad sat — its eyes rolling in all four directions.
Now Agastya silently thought about how to remove the toad.
If he tried to take it out with forceps, the toad might leap around inside the brain, damaging it — a risk he did not want to take.
Sitting nearby was Agastya’s disciple, Teraiyar. Seeing his guru’s concern and hesitation, Teraiyar immediately rose, fetched a small vessel of water, and placed it where the toad could see it. He then stirred the water to create ripples and sound.
At once, the toad leapt straight into the vessel!
Agastya Maharshi swiftly used the herb to close the skull.
A short while later, when King Kashivarman regained consciousness, his headache was completely gone.
From that day, Agastya Maharshi was deeply impressed by Teraiyar’s presence of mind and skill. He understood that this disciple not only had the knowledge of herbs but also the sharpness to act at the right moment without instruction.
It was this incident that convinced Agastya to teach Teraiyar the advanced techniques of the siddha marga — including the rare knowledge of determining one’s death through the breath.
It was after this incident that he came to be known as Teraiyar — the one who skillfully dealt with the terai (toad) that had lodged itself in the king’s head. From then on, his name carried the weight of both respect and recognition in the siddha tradition.
The treatment skills of Teraiyar spread far and wide, reaching every nook and corner of the world. His mastery over herbs, healing, and subtle techniques became renowned among kings, rishis, and common folk alike.
Teraiyar then remembered another incident. A Pandiya king had been suffering from a persistent pain in his hips for a long time. Even the raja vaidya — the royal physician — had failed to cure him. Because of this prolonged affliction, his back had become hunched.
Because he had lost the physical lakshanas of a king, no one respected him anymore. His regal presence had faded, and with it, the honour he once commanded.
Seeking a cure, the Pandiya king came to Agastya’s ashrama. After observing the king’s condition, Agastya Maharshi called for Teraiyar and instructed him to fetch certain herbs.
(to be continued..)
