The Ramayana (107 page)

The Devas rained down flowers out of the sky on Vasishta. But the muni was afire. Flames spewed from his body, from his hair, in wrath at the vanquished king before him. He cried at Kaushika, “Vain and foolish Kshatriya, you would have burned up the three worlds for your petty revenge; while the greed and the arrogance were yours in the first place. I have conquered all your weapons. Now let us see you quell my single one.”

Seizing up the brahmadanda, Vasishta strode toward Kaushika. But the rishis of heaven, who sat with the Devas in their vimanas, cried down to their brother, “Stay your hand, Vasishta! Not even the Gods with their armies can match your power. What will you prove by killing a puny kshatriya? You have humbled him. Why consume the earth with your anger?”

Vasishta lowered the arm he had raised to strike Kaushika down. He grew calm in a moment; his body blazed no more. The brahmadanda in his hand, which had swallowed a skyful of astras, was a common branch of wood again, an old man's walking stick. That muni laughed softly at Kaushika, twirled his staff, and went back into his asrama, where the worship had not paused for a moment. The fruit trees and flowering plants had sprung up again, miraculously, and the little golden deer frolicked with Surabhi once more.

Kaushika stood trembling with defeat. His sighs came from him like a serpent's hisses. With a long howl, he flung his bow and arrows down. He screamed at himself, or at anyone who cared to hear, “Fie on the weapons of a kshatriya! They are toys before a brahmana's bala. I shall have the strength of a brahmana and then we will see how Vasishta faces an equal. Then we will test the timbre of his heart. I, too, will become a brahmarishi!”

Sobbing in royal shame, he stalked away toward the Himalaya for the second time. For a thousand years, Kaushika sat in tapasya, naked under the blazing sun in summer, and frozen among ice floes in white mountain streams in winter. He sat unflinching, while even the Gods above marveled. For, after all, here was a kshatriya, a spoiled king of the earth, who sat petitioning Brahma: for brahmatva, the power of the Creator, no less!

At the end of a thousand years, Brahma appeared four-headed and refulgent before Kaushika. Kaushika was sure he had achieved what he wanted, and prostrated himself at the Pitama's feet. Brahma said, “You have accomplished what I was certain a king like you never could. I name you rajarishi, Kaushika.”

And Brahma vanished. Kaushika's roar of disappointment echoed through valleys of ice, between looming peaks, setting avalanches adrift around him. A thousand years just to be called a rajarishi! He had not imagined the path he had chosen would be so severe: he had asked for the world and Brahma had given him a fistful of sand.

*   *   *

In the race of the sun, whose ancestor is the glorious Surya Deva, who gives life to all creatures that live on earth, there was another king of dharma called Trishanku. One day an urgent desire possessed Trishanku: that he must rise up to Devaloka in his human body! Vasishta was his guru, and the king asked him to perform a yagna that would satisfy his strange craving. Vasishta would not hear of it.

He said, “An ungodly lust has seized your heart. I cannot help you; you must overcome this madness.”

But easier said than done: Trishanku had neither sleep nor waking in any peace; his bizarre obsession tormented him by night and day. He relinquished his throne and wandered to the south. Vasishta had a hundred sons, each one a master of tapasya, his store of karma rich with austerity. Together they were a continent, an age, of punya.

Trishanku came to them and, with folded hands, said, “I was your father's sishya, but now I will be yours. Perform a yagna that will take me into heaven in this body of mine.”

But Vasishta's sons said, “Why didn't you ask our father to perform the yagna?” Trishanku hung his head. “I asked him, but he refused. He said what I craved was unholy. But my desire feeds relentlessly on me.”

Vasishta's sons said with some emotion, “Our father, who has always been the kulaguru of the House of Ikshvaku, has refused to pander to your whim. How can his sons transgress his will?”

But Trishanku was a slave to his obsession. He cried, “If your father and you won't help me, I must find another guru who will.”

As he turned to leave, Vasishta's sons cursed him, “Vain Kshatriya, be a chandala from this moment!”

Trishanku headed wearily back to his city, his unnatural desire still torturing him. Day dawned after a long and sleepless night during which, again and again, he saw himself rise sweetly up into Devaloka. He thought that if the Gods had not meant his dream to be realized, they would not have planted it so deeply in his heart. Trishanku found the curse of Vasishta's sons had come to pass. His royal finery had vanished in the night, and he was wearing rags. His skin had turned coarse and black. He had a garland of wildflowers round his neck like any forester, and his golden ornaments had turned to base iron.

He entered his city, and the people in the streets did not know their king any more. They mocked the chandala who had lost his way here. Trishanku cried to them, “I am your king, don't you know me? It is I, Trishanku!”

But not even his ministers knew him, and the people jeered at him, calling him mad that he thought he was the king. They abused him, beat him, and had him flung out of the city gates. Trishanku lay bruised and despairing in a jungle, wondering himself if he was a king who had lost his identity or a chandala who had lost his mind. Then, in his agony, it occurred to him that there was one rishi in the world who might help him. He had heard of Kaushika, the rajarishi, who was Vasishta's sworn enemy.

Trishanku found Kaushika at dhyana. He sat in padmasana, the lotus posture, with his eyes shut, perfectly quiet. Trishanku stood at a respectful distance from the muni, in silence. Kaushika felt a presence near him. Opening his eyes, he saw a black and ugly chandala who was a picture of misery. Kaushika felt sorry for the forester, who was obviously in some agony. He beckoned to the wild man to come closer. When he did, Kaushika gave a start.

He cried, “But you are Trishanku of Ayodhya! Who cursed you, mighty Kshatriya?”

Hearing the concern in Kaushika's voice, Trishanku began to cry. He said, “I begged my guru Vasishta and his sons to help me reach Devaloka with my body, for the desire was upon me as if the Gods had put it in my heart. But they said my ambition was unholy. I performed a hundred yagnas, but in vain. Muni, never in my life have I told a lie and I never will. I have ruled my people with love, and I have never broken kshatriya dharma. I have always honored my elders and been a just king.

“But now I see dharma has no value and blind destiny rules men's lives. Why else, Kaushika, shouldn't I have this small desire of mine fulfilled? I am sure it is well within the power of a rishi like Vasishta to grant what I ask. I have come to you hoping you will help me.”

Trishanku fell silent, and stood before Kaushika with his head bowed. Kaushika was moved by compassion for the king; perhaps since what he wanted was so extraordinary, he reminded the rajarishi of himself. Kaushika grew thoughtful for a moment, then he said gently, “Be welcome here, Trishanku. All the world knows what a noble kshatriya you are, and no foolish curse can change that. I will help you. I will perform a yagna with the rishis of the world and you will gain Devaloka in your body. Why, I will send you up among the stars in this chandala's body to mock Vasishta's bigoted sons.”

Kaushika called his own sons and told them to prepare for a yagna. He called his disciples and sent them out to the other rishis of the earth, asking them to attend. They all came, except Vasishta and his sons.

“A strange and comical sight it must be,” laughed Vasishta's sons. “A yagna with a kshatriya as the ritvik and a chandala the sacrificer! We wonder how the Devas will take havis from the hands of a kshatriya, and the offerings of food from a chandala.”

When Kaushika heard this, his eyes blazed with old enmity. He cursed Vasishta's sons so they became nishadas. The rishis at Kaushika's sacrifice were already frightened of him. They had heard of his fiery kshatriya temper, and now they had seen proof of it. Those brahmanas sat quiet and pliant, while Kaushika addressed them in his reverberant voice.

He brought Trishanku before them and cried, “This is King Trishanku of the Ikshvaku line. Vasishta's idiot sons cursed him to be as you see him now, only because he had a small desire that seemed unnatural to them. Trishanku doubts that even the rishis of the world can send him up into Devaloka. Munis, with your help, I mean to have him achieve what he wants.”

The rishis knew there would be grave consequences if they did not help him. This wild man was no brahmana, but a kshatriya turned a rishi. Of course, they did not for a moment believe he would succeed in sending Trishanku up to Devaloka in his untouchable's body. The Devas would hardly countenance such an insane enterprise; why, they would never take havis from a kshatriya, especially on a chandala's behalf. But those sages felt threatened by Kaushika. They had seen how his eyes burned under his great brows when he cursed Vasishta's sons. They agreed at once to participate in his yagna. After all, how could it harm them?

Kaushika sat at the holy fire, like any brahmana yajaka. The other rishis sat around him, feeling uncomfortable because of who he was. But soon they marveled at how immaculately he conducted himself: enough to make any brahmana proud.

At the end of the yagna, Kaushika invoked the Devas to come down and partake of the havis, their share of the sacrifice. But silence answered his call, and no Deva appeared. The other rishis saw Kaushika begin to quiver with anger.

Raising the sruva, the ladle with which he had poured ghee onto the flames, he cried, “Behold the power of my tapasya! Trishanku, I sacrifice all my punya to raise you into Devaloka.”

A peal of thunder rent the sky. His face twitching with painful effort, Kaushika cried, “Rise, O King, rise into heaven!”

As the congregation of rishis watched breathlessly, his hands folded to Kaushika, a smile of sheer rapture lighting his black face, Trishanku rose straight up from the ground and disappeared into the clouds.

But Indra was not pleased. He cried to the levitating kshatriya, “You are no Deva and your guru has cursed you. Trishanku begone, back to the earth where you belong!”

Trishanku plunged back to the earth, screaming to Kaushika, “Save me, Lord!”

Kaushika raised a hand over his head. Lightning sprang from it, and he cried to Trishanku in a tremendous voice, “Stay where you are!”

Trishanku fell no more, but hung suspended between heaven and earth. Then, like Brahma himself, Kaushika began to create another universe for that king. He made galaxies of suns, swirling nebulae in the southern sky. He created the seven rishis of the firmament, the planets. In the north, he made Dhruva, the fixed star; he made the Milky Way, the river of stars. He made other Devas and worlds of men, time, and every other creature. There was a commotion in heaven. The rishis of the sky and the Devas themselves appeared before Kaushika. With folded hands, they begged him to stop.

Indra cried, “We meant no slur to your greatness, Muni. Only, it is written that no man cursed by his guru may enter Swarga.”

Kaushika roared, “Envious Deva, you lie! He is a righteous king and deserves heaven, not punishment. Hear me well, you Gods. A thousand Indras may come and go in the chasmal ages, but Trishanku will stay where he is. And his universe shall remain around him.”

Indra bowed. “So be it. Let the mandalas of Kaushika and his creatures live forever. Let Trishanku be a king of Devas among them, just as I am. Let his power and his fame be immortal.”

The rishis and Devas went back to their domain, by skyways of light along which subtle travelers fly swifter than time. Kaushika, who had made Trishanku eternally happy, was left alone. Now he was broken in body, drained in spirit; for he had used up all his tapasya for Trishanku's sake.

Kaushika went west and sat beside a holy lake in a place called Pushkarakshetra: to earn once more all the virtue he had spent. He sat in tapasya in that lonely place, far from the presences of men.

*   *   *

Trishanku had a son called Harishchandra. Harishchandra had no sons and worshipped Varuna, Lord of the ocean. In streams of spectral light Varuna appeared before Harishchandra and said in his sea voice, “You shall have a son. But do you swear you will give him to me when he is born?”

Desperate as he was, Harishchandra swore he would. Within the year, with the ocean's blessing, the king's wife bore a son. Harishchandra called the boy Rohita, and he was as dear to him as his life. But he had not enjoyed his Rohita for a day when Varuna came to him and said in his voice full of the soft thunder of waves, “I have come for your son, Kshatriya. He was the offering of your sacrifice.”

Harishchandra said quickly to the Deva of the deeps, “O Varuna, a newborn child is unclean. Come for him in ten days.”

Ten days later, Varuna came to the king again, and said in his voice of moon tides, “I have come for your son.”

Harishchandra said, “Lord of waves, a yagnapasu must have teeth. Let Rohita cut his teeth before I offer him to you in dignity.”

When Varuna came again, Harishchandra said milk teeth were not enough, and let them fall; next, that the child's new teeth should grow; and later, that the Sovereign of the seas should wait until Rohita wore armor, because a kshatriya is pure only when he dons mail. And so on, making great Varuna seem like a collector who came, again, for a bad debt.

Meanwhile, Rohita grew up. One day, in anguish, his father told him about his pledge to Varuna. He said he could not put the Deva off forever. Rohita was terrified. Taking just his bow and arrows, he ran away from his father's palace, into the forest.

When Varuna heard, he cursed Harishchandra. He visited him with mahodara, an imbalance in the bodily fluids, and the king wasted from the terrible disease. Rohita heard about this in the jungle and started back to offer himself to the Sea God. But Indra accosted him on his way, appearing suddenly before the boy, effulgent. The Deva king said to Rohita, “Go on a yatra to all the tirthas, and your father will recover.”