But Shiva did not swallow. He held the poison in his neck, trapping it between his will and the infinite void within him. Parvati, with lightning speed, pressed her hand firmly against his throat, sealing the venom there. Her fingers became a dam, preventing the poison from reaching his heart.
Glory to Mahadev. The God of Gods. The Auspicious One. The Blue-Throated Lord.
And that is why, even today, in the quiet whispers of the forests, in the roar of the cremation grounds, and in the silent meditation of a seeker's heart, one name is chanted not just with fear, but with an intimate, knowing love.
The universe held its breath.
