Yayati: A Classic Tale of Lust (27 page)

I was furious with Devayani. But I was helpless. His refusal was reflected on his face. My hopes had died!

Devayani said looking at Yadu’s companion, ‘Yadu, you have not yet told us the name of your companion. The skeleton in our cupboard should not have been exposed to an outsider!’

The youth said to Devayani in all humility, ‘Mother, I am no stranger.’

‘You have saved the life of Yadu, my son. How can I now look upon you as a stranger?’

‘Mother, I am willing to do what the Prince is frightened to undertake.’

Hope sprang in my heart. I went near the youth and said, ‘Are you prepared to take over my old age?’

‘Gladly.’

‘But, but how could you? It cannot be taken over except by one of my flesh and blood.’

‘I owe every drop of my blood to you, Your Majesty. I am your son.’

Devayani trembled like an ashen leaf at those words. She looked at the youth and said, ‘His Majesty has only one son, who alone is heir to the throne.’

‘I am not laying a claim to the throne. Mother, I wish to abide by my duty as a son. I want to grant Father’s wish. I am His Majesty’s son. None can deny me the right to take over his old age.’

‘You, you are the son of Sharmishtha?’ asked Devayani in agony.

He replied, ‘Yes, my name is Puroo.’

Every atom of my burning body said, ‘Remember, such an opportunity for revenge will never recur. You are getting your youth back. Do not forgo this opportunity for vengeance.’

I looked at Puroo. He stood still. There was not an iota of fear in his face.

I was begging Puroo, now on the threshold of youth, for his youth. I was set on giving him my old age. No, no, can I even bear to see Puroo, whose mop of hair I had fondly caressed, standing before me as a haggard old man with white hair? I was shaky in my intentions.

Devayani was aflame with the strange happenings of the last two hours. In measured steps she walked up to Puroo and said, ‘You are Puroo? Truly Puroo? The son of Sharmishtha? Why are you hesitating then? She is said to have been deeply in love with him. What is there to think of? Give your youth to him! And, and take on his old age.’

All the lurking desires were drumming in my ears: ‘There is that beautiful maiden waiting for you in your room. For the last fifteen days, you had set your heart on her. Are you going to throw away this opportunity without even putting your lips to it? Then why did you not turn an ascetic eighteen years ago? What, after all, does Puroo stand to lose by taking over your old age for three or four years? On the other hand, in exchange, he stands to gain a kingdom. For a few years, enjoy life to your heart’s content; assuage all desire and then return to him his youth.’

Whether it was because of Devayani’s nagging, Puroo immediately stepped forward. He put his head on my feet and said, ‘Father, I am the son of a Princess who agreed to be a maid for the sake of her people. I am willing to take on your old age.’ And all I could say in reply was, ‘So be it!’ Realising the implication of those words, I immediately closed my eyes. A few moments later, I opened them to bless Puroo. The Puroo standing before me was decrepit and old.

Devayani was nonplussed at the miracle. She left the room on the instant with Yadu.

Puroo stood before the mirror and scanned his appearance. For a moment, he covered his face with his hands. I did not know whether he was sorry for his sacrifice. But soon after he calmly went to the couch and sat there. That calmed me a little.

When leaving the town, Sharmishtha had sent a message, ‘Let the hand of His Majesty ever bless Puroo!’ But today, I had crashed a thunderbolt on his head. I wished to go to him, draw him to me and console him, but that was only momentary. I did not have the courage. How timid sin is!

In a couple of hours, the world had turned topsy turvy. Liquor does make one subject to hallucinations. Was this one? In the whirlpool of thought I became numb; I felt choked.

Hard fact stared me in the face in the haggard form of Puroo. I saw myself in the mirror. I was looking even younger. My desire for Alaka — with her golden hair — the unsatisfied longing of twenty years was the one and only desire, that fired my mind now like the great fire at the destruction of the world! I turned to the bedroom.

I went in. The girl was sitting up. She could not fathom how and when she had come into the bedroom. She looked at me and smiled. I felt that my youth had been rewarded. I stepped forward. She showed fright on her face. She got up and retired into a corner. I stepped forward to take her hand when I heard someone sobbing in the outer room. My hand went limp.

First, I thought it might be Puroo sobbing. He must be repenting his thoughtless sacrifice. But the sobs were those of a woman.

The sobbing outside continued. It grew louder. I did not want such distraction at my happiest moment. I came out in anger.

Puroo was sitting on the couch like a statue. Sitting close to him, with her arms round him, was a woman weeping and sobbing. Her whole body was racked with emotion.

That a maid should be so intimate with Puroo? I lost my temper. I stepped forward and said, ‘Puroo, you are now King. And a King must keep his dignity. Who is this lowly maid, with her arms ...’

The remaining words stuck in my throat. At the sound of my voice, the woman had turned her head. I wished that mother earth would open up and swallow me.

She was Sharmishtha. She was weeping bitterly at Puroo’s condition. I could not bear to look at her. Her sobs were unbearable. I hung my head in shame.

Eighteen years ago, while bidding Sharmishtha farewell from the top of the underground stairs, I had said, ‘God knows where and in what circumstances we shall meet again.’ That our meeting had taken place today. And in such a setting. I was numb. I closed my eyes. I was rooted to the spot.

Sharmishtha, my beloved Shama. I was dying to draw her near me, wipe her tears and console her. But how was I to lessen her grief? Can the hunter who has killed her young one console the deer?

By ourselves, I had often said to her, that Sharmishtha and Yayati were not two but one. But today I had turned her enemy. He whom she had worshipped all her life in her heart had today consigned her to the flames.

Sharmishtha’s tears were bathing my feet. But every single tear was branding my heart. I was ashamed that an angel like her should fall at the feet of a devil like me. But I did not have the courage to touch her, even to lift her up.

She looked up once. In her eyes was crowded the pathos of eternal death. With trembling lips she said, ‘Your Majesty, what has happened to us?’

I had wrought it all with my own evil hands. With all consciousness, I had exchanged my old age with Puroo’s youth. Deliberately, for the momentary satisfaction of the desire for sex!

I had trampled underfoot my duty as a father. I had spurned parental sentiment and forgotten common humanity. For momentary selfish pleasure, I had sacrificed the offspring of my flesh and blood. For eighteen years, I had been raising a temple to the demon of desire. What a terrible dome I had set on it today!

Sharmishtha was mine. She had given me unflinching love. It was my duty to lay my life down for a tear of hers. It was not just a duty; in such death lay seas of happiness. I began thinking. To make Sharmishtha happy, I must return to Puroo his youth. And that, without a moment’s delay. But except with my death there was no returning to him his youth.

Death, from constant fear of which I had succumbed to physical pleasure, the unknown, unnamed death. Without a thought, was I to embrace it?

I turned to Sharmishtha. How expectantly she was looking at me? Had she grumbled when she went into exile eighteen years ago? She had gone through that ordeal only to save me from Devayani’s wrath.

The love of Sharmishtha, of Madhav, of Kacha. Should I also not love thus? A corner of my heart, which never in the past had been revealed to me, was now coming into view. There was a gentle light in that corner. Slowly it grew bigger.

The joy of dying for someone else is a hundred times greater than the joy of living for oneself. What a great and noble truth this is! But, for the first time today, it was revealed to me.

Maharishi Shukra had changed my exterior, now Sharmishtha was changing my heart. A Yayati I had never seen before was now standing before me. He placed his hand on the shoulder of death and said, ‘There are only two things real in life, Love and Death. Come my friend. I have come to keep you company in this darkness. Fear not, fear none. Have you seen this lamp in my hand? What did you say? This is the star of Venus? No, my friend, it is Sharmishtha’s love.’

I raised her up and said, ‘Shama, don’t worry. By the grace of God, everything will turn out all right.’

She asked pathetically, ‘Will Puroo be restored to his old self?’

I replied smiling, ‘Yes, here and now.’

She said with tears in her eyes, ‘No, Your Majesty, you are deceiving me. Puroo will not be his old self.’

Wiping her tears I said, ‘Calm yourself Shama, calm yourself. Your Puroo will be restored to his old self. Maharishi Shukra did not curse him. It was pronounced by the wicked man known as Yayati. This licentious, profligate, inhuman Yayati is your culprit. He has sinned against Puroo.’

She looked blankly at me. She did not believe my words. I was touched with her faith in me. Truly, how good man is. He lives on the strength of confidence, faith, attachment, love, devotion and service. He has the courage to face death on the strength of those. But all these sentiments are not attributes of the body. They are attributes of the soul.

During the last eighteen years I had lost my soul. Sharmishtha, on the other hand, had preserved hers. With the strength of her faith, it had blossomed. I must embrace death, with the same ecstasy as of love, and return Puroo’s youth to him.

Knowing that I must accept death for the sake of Puroo, Sharmishtha was bewildered, and she lost her nerve and began sobbing, ‘Your Majesty, as I am a mother, I am also a wife. I want both my eyes ... both of them, Your Majesty.’

She could not say more. I melted seeing her devotion. But this was no time to take love; it was time to return in full measure the love received.

I said to Sharmishtha, ‘It is late in the night now. We can think more clearly tomorrow. In any case, I promise, that your Puroo will be restored to his old self. Go and sit with him. You have given birth to a selfless son. You are truly the mother of a hero. Go and comfort him.’

As soon as Sharmishtha’s back was turned I closed my eyes in meditation of Maharishi Shukra. I kept saying, ‘I wish to return this borrowed youth to its owner. In doing so, I am willing to accept death.’ I repeated it twice. I started saying the words silently to myself, with Sharmishtha’s back turned to me. Suddenly I felt the room going round like a top. Simultaneously, I heard the words, ‘Kacha has come.’

At that, I collapsed on the floor.

I do not know how many days later I came round. It was probably evening. Someone was chanting in a sweet voice. The chanting stopped. I could see a vague form approaching me. It put a mark of sacred ashes on my forehead. I peered at the figure and saw that it was Kacha.

He did not say a word, just smiled. In response, a faint smile must have appeared on my face. He smiled again. Truly, how sweetly communicative a smile can be.

When I woke up again, it was morning. You could see the dawn in the east. I lay quietly with my eyes closed. Someone was chanting hymns. I opened my eyes. Kacha was praying to the ball of fire in the east.

I could hear his prayers distinctly:

Oh Sun God. Welcome to you. You are the epitome of the power of the soul over the senses. You have conquered darkness. As much as you are the soul of the universe; you are also the soul of the spiritual entity of man. Although your charioteer maybe lame, you never fail in your duty. Let your sacred light penetrate our minds as it does the caves and hollows of the world. There also wild beasts live. Oh you, of the thousand rays, welcome to you.

Morning and evening, Kacha would chant hymns like this. Even otherwise, when he visited me, it was his habit to chant hymns. But these hymns would transport me to another world. There, flowers had no thorns to them and the stones oozed fragrance.

Many hymns from Kacha’s recitation have come to be engraved on my mind:

The fragrance of flowers cannot be seen but is felt by the nose. The beauty of the soul is something like that.

All kinds of passion are death. This death is very different from the ordinary one because in them the soul itself perishes.

Oh eagle! Flying in the direction of the high peaks, you know how deep the valley on the other side is. Come and tell man, blindly pursuing transient pleasure, of that valley. Bring him this nectar.

Conscience, feeling and body: the triple confluence of these constitutes life. How can any one of them, attain the sanctity of the three together?

Do you wish to understand the grief of the deer, which in pursuit runs till it bleeds from the heart? Then hunter let the deer be the hunter. Give it your bow and arrows. And you? You be the deer.

Do you wish to know how to love? Then make the river, the tree and the mother your tutors.

The senses are never satisfied by indulgence. As the fire blazes with an offering, so do the senses get incensed the more by indulgence.

I could recall a whole lot of hymns to this effect. They were my friends in my sick bed.

Gradually, the royal physician permitted me to talk a little. In this intervening period, not only was I reborn but apparently Devayani also. She had acquired considerable restraint and love of service.

I tried to piece together the incidents from the time I collapsed to the floor that night. In my mind I tried to weave into a fabric the clues provided by Kacha, Sharmishtha, Devayani, Puroo and Yadu.

That night with Maharishi Shukra in my mind I had said twice the words which would return Puroo’s youth to him. I had started on the third time but did not complete it. It was interrupted by the words, ‘Kacha has come.’ I then collapsed to the floor.

Kacha also had acquired by his penance a power as potent as that of Maharishi Shukra. On the strength of it he restored Puroo’s youth to him.

Only when talking about ascetics, their penance and the powers achieved by them would Kacha be very disturbed. Then he would say, ‘Your Majesty, man is no beast, but at heart, man remains much like the beast pursuing life by the blind instinct of self preservation. Talking ill of the preceptor is a sin, but concealing the truth is an even greater sin. I must, therefore, talk a little about Maharishi Shukra. Seeing him falling a prey to anger at every step, who can guarantee that the superhuman powers achieved by man, after prolonged penance, by a man who has been unable to gain mastery over his passions, will always be used for the well-being of all? What sense is there to a life in which, with the two sides equally matched, strife continues? Is this how the world is to go on? No, if man desires happiness he must first conquer his passions.’

Kacha would talk thus. I would listen. I was distressed by his sincerity. I was convinced of the truth of his words. But I did not know how to comfort him.

On my sick bed, we two came even nearer. Immediately after his penance, on hearing of my degeneration he had set out to come here. He had got Devayani’s invitation on the way. As soon as he entered the town, he heard that I was staying at Ashokavan and came straight to me.