The Yaksha of Bankot – A Legend from the Konkan Coast

Along the rugged Konkan coast, where the Western Ghats meet the Arabian Sea, lies the ancient port town of Bankot. For centuries, fishermen have launched their boats from its shores, braving the monsoon waters to feed their families. The town is known for its crumbling sea fort, built long ago to guard against pirates and invaders. But among the local people, Bankot is known for something else entirely – the guardian Yaksha who has protected the town since time immemorial.

In the days when the great Maratha empire was at its height, there lived in Bankot a fisherman named Narayan. Unlike the other fishermen who respected the old ways and traditions, Narayan was known for his dismissive attitude toward the local beliefs. He scoffed at the offerings others left at the small shrine near the harbor, dedicated to the Yaksha of Bankot.

“Wasting good food and flowers on imaginary spirits,” he would say, “when your children could use the extra nourishment.”

The other fishermen warned him repeatedly. “The Yaksha protects our waters and guides the fish to our nets,” they would explain. “He calms the storms when they threaten our boats. Without his blessing, misfortune will surely follow.”

Narayan would simply laugh. “I’ve sailed these waters for twenty years without leaving a single offering, and my nets are always full. Your Yaksha, if he exists at all, seems not to mind my disbelief.”

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon painting the sky in brilliant oranges and purples, the fishermen noticed storm clouds gathering far out at sea. Most decided to stay ashore that night, but Narayan, seeing the abundant schools of fish near the coast, prepared his boat.

“The storm is far away,” he told the others. “I’ll be back before it reaches shore, with more fish than all of you will catch tomorrow.”

An old fisherman named Govind approached him as he pushed his boat toward the water. “Narayan, at least leave an offering tonight. The seas look treacherous, and the Yaksha’s protection would serve you well.”

“Save your superstitions for someone more gullible,” Narayan replied, shoving his boat into the waves and rowing strongly toward the fishing grounds.

The night grew dark quickly as Narayan cast his nets. True to his prediction, they soon grew heavy with fish. Pleased with his catch, he began to row back toward shore, but noticed the storm had moved with unnatural speed. Wind whipped the waves into a frenzy, and soon his small boat was being tossed about like a leaf.

Lightning split the sky, illuminating the churning waters around him. In one brilliant flash, Narayan saw something that made his blood run cold – a massive figure standing atop the waves, keeping pace with his boat. It appeared to be a man, but impossibly tall, with skin the color of polished bronze and eyes that glowed like embers. On its head sat a crown of shells and coral.

“The Yaksha,” Narayan whispered, his disbelief washing away like sand before the tide.

Another wave crashed over his boat, nearly capsizing it. When Narayan looked up again, the figure was gone. But as he struggled to bail water from his sinking craft, he felt something massive move beneath him. His boat stopped rocking, though the storm continued to rage. Looking down, he realized with astonishment that his vessel now rested on what appeared to be a giant hand, rising from the depths.

A voice like the rumble of distant thunder spoke, seeming to come from the air around him rather than any specific direction.

“For generations, your people have honored me with their offerings and respect. You alone have shown contempt. Why should I not let the sea claim you, as it has claimed so many others who ventured out without my blessing?”

Narayan, trembling with fear and awe, could barely speak. “Great Yaksha, forgive my ignorance and pride. I was wrong to dismiss the wisdom of my ancestors and neighbors.”

“It is easy to beg forgiveness when facing death,” the voice replied. “What assurance do I have that you will remember this lesson when safely back on shore?”

Narayan thought quickly. “I swear by all that I hold dear – by my boat, my nets, and my livelihood – that I will not only make offerings to your shrine but will become its caretaker. I will ensure that your sacred place is maintained with the respect it deserves, and I will share the story of your mercy with all who will listen.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the howling wind and crashing waves. Then, slowly, Narayan felt his boat being lifted higher. In a single smooth motion, it was placed gently back on calm waters. Around his small vessel, the storm still raged, but within a perfect circle of perhaps twenty feet in diameter, the sea remained as still as a temple pool.

“Return to shore,” the voice commanded. “Fulfill your promise, or my protection will never again extend to you or your vessel.”

The circle of calm water began to move, carrying Narayan’s boat with it, cutting through the stormy sea like a knife through cloth. In what seemed like moments, he found himself back at the shores of Bankot, where worried villagers had gathered with torches, certain that anyone caught in such a sudden storm would be lost.

Their astonishment at seeing Narayan return unharmed, with a boat full of fish no less, quickly turned to understanding when he recounted his experience. The very next day, Narayan took all the fish he had caught and prepared the most generous offering the Yaksha’s shrine had ever received.

True to his word, Narayan became the shrine’s devoted caretaker. He expanded the small structure, adding a roof to protect it from the elements and stone benches where fishermen could sit while making their offerings. Each morning before setting out to sea, he would clean the shrine and refresh the flowers and incense.

As the years passed, Narayan taught his children and grandchildren about the Yaksha of Bankot. He became known as a storyteller, recounting not only his own experience but also gathering the tales of other fishermen who had glimpsed the guardian spirit or benefited from its protection.

Under Narayan’s care, the traditions surrounding the Yaksha grew stronger. Fishermen reported more abundant catches, and somehow, the village seemed to suffer less damage during the fierce monsoon storms that battered the coast each year.

On rare occasions, usually during the most violent storms, villagers would report seeing a massive figure standing atop the old sea fort, facing out to sea with arms outstretched, as if holding back the worst of the weather from reaching the town. Some claimed to have seen the same figure walking along the beach on moonlit nights, leaving behind footprints that filled with seawater and teemed with small fish – a blessing for the next day’s catch.

When Narayan grew old and felt his end approaching, he asked to be carried to the shrine one final time. There, it is said, he spoke quietly to the Yaksha as if to an old friend. The next morning, when his family came to check on him, Narayan’s body was gone. In his place, they found only a small pile of seashells and coral pieces, arranged in the shape of a crown.

To this day, the shrine at Bankot remains, now a proper temple attended by Narayan’s descendants. Fishermen still leave offerings before setting out to sea, and travelers along the Konkan coast often stop to pay their respects. The locals will tell you that as long as the Yaksha is honored, Bankot will remain safe from the sea’s fury.

And sometimes, when the monsoon winds howl and massive waves crash against the shore, the people of Bankot sleep peacefully, knowing that their guardian stands between them and the storm, a bronze colossus with eyes like embers and a crown of shells and coral, keeping his ancient watch over the town that remembers him.

Adapted from “The Yaksha of Bankot” in Arthur Travers Crawford’s “Legends of the Konkan” (1909), a rare collection of coastal Maharashtra folklore gathered during Crawford’s service as a British official in the Konkan region between 1859 and 1862.