Yayati: A Classic Tale of Lust (8 page)

His hoarse voice said, ‘Where?’

‘I met him when I was escorting the victory horse.’ He was trembling all over. He said, ‘And you kept it from me so long? You feared he would succeed to the throne after me and you ...’

He could not speak anymore and he looked so queer that I screamed, ‘Mother!’

Mother rushed in, followed by the physician, the minister and the maids. The physician put a few drops of syrup into his mouth, which seemed to revive him. He whispered to the minister, ‘My life is now uncertain. Show me once the signet of my victory over Indra. Let me die looking at it. One should die in the halo of victory!’

Mother was upset at his words and was wiping her eyes. I did not know how to console her. The Prime Minister brought the signet.

Father said, ‘Give it to me.’ He turned it over and round and round and asked, ‘Where is the symbol of my prowess on this ... the bow and the arrow ... my bow ... my arrow ...?’

Father stared at it, and called to me. He asked, ‘Yayu, is there any engraving on it?’

‘Yes.’

‘What does it say?’

‘Victory, Victory be to King Nahusha!’

‘Why can’t I alone see the engraving? Has it also conspired against me?’

Tears were streaming down his eyes and he sobbed, ‘No, I cannot see! Victory to Nahusha! No, all that is not true. He has been defeated today. Death has vanquished him. Death? I cannot see anything ... I ... I!’

He fell back lifeless. Mother was trying to control herself, but she broke down! The physician with the help of a maid was putting drops of syrup into his mouth.

Stealthily death had entered. None saw it but its oppressive shadow was evident in all faces.

I could stand it no longer and came out, covering the face with my hands. I wanted to cry but could not.

A little later, the physician and the Prince Minister came out. The physician put his hand on my shoulder and said, ‘Prince, at the moment he is feeling a little better and there is no cause for anxiety. But there is no certainty now and we must depend on God. You should go and rest in Ashokavan for a little while. If there is a change for the worse, the Prime Minister will immediately send word.’

I was going down the main road. Crowds were gathered everywhere — some cheerful, others humming tunes to themselves and yet others sauntering as on a picnic in cool moonlight. Their gaiety only added to my misery.

Mukulika was standing at the door all dressed up when I returned to Ashokavan. I went in without a word to her. She came forward to help me to change. I stopped her with a sign. She was afraid and looked away.

Mukulika asked with hesitation, when I would like dinner. She had got something made specially for me. I said brusquely, ‘Not now. Tomorrow morning please go away to the palace. Remember, you may not come here, unless I ask for you.’

I was annoyed. I was angry with myself, the world, death and Mukulika. I did not realise what I was saying.

I lay on the bed without taking my clothes off. Suddenly, I was reminded of Father. The signet and his longing to see the inscription on it. A little while ago, he had lost his sight — now perhaps his other movements have also stopped. Father had a worldwide reputation for having brought Indra to his knees. Now, he could not even move his hand without an effort. In a while his body will be lifeless like a piece of wood.

The uncanny fear of death was haunting me again. I lay still with my eyes closed like a frightened child. By and by, I fell asleep. I do not know how long I slept. But I woke up with a frightening dream. In it, Yayati was lying on his deathbed instead of his father.

I had heard for a long time that body and soul are two distinct entities, but without the body, what worldly pleasures can the soul enjoy?

I was sorry that I had been cross with Mukulika earlier and called to her. I wonder if she was listening in at the door. She opened it, closed it behind her and slowly came forward. When she was near the bed, she stood with her head hung low.

I said, ‘Why are you standing like this? Is it because as I said earlier that I did not want to see you again?’

She looked up and gave me a delightful smile. She must have been crying outside. That is why like the earth after a shower she looked even more beautiful.

I was about to get up and put my hand on her shoulder, when I heard someone calling, ‘Prince.’

I asked her if she had called me but she said no. Yet she must have also heard it. She quickly moved away from the bed and was looking at the door, frightened.

Again the same call: ‘Prince ...’

Someone was calling across the wall. I was reminded of the tunnel leading from the palace to the Ashokavan. I scanned the wall carefully. It sounded hollow in the middle and nearby, barely perceptible, was a catch. On pressing it, a doorway slid open. At the top of the stairs of the tunnel, Mandar, the trusted servant of the Prime Minister was standing. He said in a broken voice, ‘Prince, please hurry. We do not know if the King ...’

Without even turning to Mukulika, I descended into the underground passage, closed the secret door and followed Mandar like a puppet.

In the eyes of the world Yayati was now King, the lord of a great kingdom. But in fact Yayati had become an orphan, with no one to look up to.

Sometimes the memory of Father used to make me sad. The royal preceptor would then console me with the words, ‘Your Majesty, the soul of King Nahusha is now free from bondage.’

Poor preceptor! I would listen to his verses from the
Rigveda
and would in irritation say to myself, where does this soul of man reside? What does it look like? What does it do? What is that something different that a body has not? The preceptor says, Father’s soul will now merge in the happiness of self.

When the funeral pyre was lit for the last rites, the priests chanted:

Oh, God of fire! Bring back to life for the service of the forefathers the dead who has been offered to you in sacrifice. Let him again take a body and come to life. May he get a body!

What is the significance of that prayer? I toyed with this central theme of the prayer. It became an obsession with me. What body will Father take in the next birth?

Would he be glad to be born as Yayati’s son? Is it possible? Perhaps rebirth is only a poetic fantasy! Why did I grow up into a youth? Why did I become King? Where is the Yayati who was equally attracted to the blooming flowers in the garden and the sparks flying from the sacrificial fire? Where is that confident, fearless, innocent child?

I shall not today go near a fire to catch the sparks. I now know that fire burns. I shall not confide my secret to any bud. I am conscious that it will open and perish the day after!

Is knowledge a curse or a blessing bestowed on man? Is youth which comes to all living beings a blessing or a curse? Youth is the first step towards old age. And death is the last step. How can it be youth if it lures old age? It is a terrible curse!

When the word ‘curse’ thus somehow came to mind, I remembered Father’s last words, ‘Nahusha and his children will never be happy.’ I felt that someone was ever writing these words in the interstellar space in burning letters.

That curse had partly come true. Father was not happy. There was his last struggle, he was unable to even see the memento of his unique victory.

Father had in his arrogance kicked Rishi Agastya. He in turn had quite rightly pronounced a curse. But what had we children done to offend him? I was not even born then. And even so, is the curse going to haunt me like a ghost all my life?

What has destiny in store for me? Is it possible that I will not be happy even after my enthronement?

I had come to a strangely inert state of mind. I was not inclined to talk to anyone, eat or drink but just lay down quietly. Mother had noticed it and one day asked if I was ailing. She said, ‘Your maid Mukulika came from Ashokavan
yesterday. She is very sweet and clever. I would like to bring her to the palace. She was saying, “The Prince is very uncommunicative. He will not openly ask for anything that he wants.” Shall I send for her today to attend on you?’

‘Mukulika is silly and perhaps you are even more so. Truly, Mother, I have lost interest in everything. I feel like renouncing all this grandeur and ...’

Mother looked petrified. She held me by the hand and said, ‘Yayu, do you remember your promise to me?’

To humour her I said, ‘As a child I made promises to you everyday. So many of them are now crowding my mind that I do not clearly remember any of them.’

‘You have all along been wily. When you are cornered ...’

For a moment, I wished to tell her of Yati and press her to go to him and prevail upon him with her love to come back, adding, ‘He is the elder brother. Let him be king. I am dejected. I do not want the throne ... in fact nothing.’

Even if she went in search of him he was unlikely to return, inspite of her tears. It is easy to tame a lion or a tiger but not an obstinate ascetic like Yati — I wonder how his life is going to end. Will his path lead him to the pinnacle — realisation of God in person? If he gets to his goal, the whole world will be all admiration for him. He will be acclaimed as a great ascetic. But what if his foot slips while on that difficult ascent up the snowbound hills of renunciation. If the snow suddenly thaws he will be drowned in the avalanche.

Mother said, ‘You are very obstinate. You can hardly help it. It runs in your family. Now of course, added to your obstinacy as a child, is the obstinacy of a King. I can also exercise my rights as the King’s mother. Yayu, shall I tell you why you are dejected?’

After all, a mother’s heart bleeds even at the simple prick of a thorn in her child’s foot and it brings tears to her eyes. It was no wonder then, that my mother was concerned about my strange behaviour.

In order to change the topic, I said, ‘Mother, I know you are loving but your penetrating vision ...’

‘This is knowledge which comes with experience and age, son! I was also your age once and haven’t forgotten what it felt like then.’ She obviously felt I needed to marry a princess of my choice to regain my good cheer.

Mother left to fix a date for the coronation. She was smiling. Her last words should have struck a happy note in my mind. I was King of Hastinapur, but I kept thinking of Mother. I had often been greatly troubled by the thought that Father’s death would be too much of a shock to her and that she would soon follow him.

What in fact happened was quite different. She grieved for a few days but very soon thereafter took her place as the Queen Mother and was looking after the household and the affairs of the state. She was active and seemed to take interest in her new life. That her happiness hung solely by my father was a mistaken idea.

In this world everybody obviously lives for himself. As the roots of the trees and creepers turn to moisture nearby, so do men and women look for support to near relations for their happiness. This is what the world calls love, affection or friendship. In fact, it is only the love of self. If the moisture on one side dries up, the trees and the creepers do not dry up, but their roots look for it elsewhere, be it far or near. They find it, draw it in and so remain fresh.

Mother’s fresh zest for life must have come thus. She paraded as the Queen upto a few days ago, but did not her greatness depend on keeping the King in hand on the strength of her beauty?

The reason why she did not nurse me as a child must have been the difficult role of being the wife of a great man. She had greater need to preserve her beauty than be a mother. For her the husband was all in all. And yet she had no authority over him, but she also had nothing else to turn to.

She was now the Queen Mother. Her influence as a mother over her son was evident in every act of hers.

When Madhav come to see me today he was not alone, Taraka, his niece, accompanied him. I was pleased to see that naughty girl. I called her to me and asked, ‘Well, lady Taraka, did you in the end find a husband for your doll?’

Taraka nodded.

I asked her, ‘Is the husband good?’ She shook her head.

‘Why do you say he is not a good husband?’ She sniffed and said, ‘He has a snub nose and lisps,’ she said. Madhav said, ‘She says she heard him lisp in her dream.’

I laughed heartily. Madhav pointed out, ‘She has specially come to the King today.’

‘What do you want then?’

She looked up at me shyly with her head hung and said, ‘You are now King, and are going to mount the lion? Is it not?’

I said with a laugh, ‘A king has to mount the throne ... a seat made of lions or else who would call him King?’

‘Do the lions bite?’

I said gravely, ‘No.’

‘Then will you make me your Queen?’

So, Taraka had come to be my Queen. This was rather an unusual kind of
swayamvara
[3]
, which amused me.

I said, ‘You are very small yet. I shall make you Queen when you are grown up.’ I sent her away loaded with sweets.

That evening two disciples of Angiras brought his letter. Reading it, I was shaken out of Taraka’s innocent world into a very different one.

The sage had written:

I am writing to you sometime after the demise of King Nahusha.

Soon after you left, Kacha went to Vrishaparva’s kingdom to acquire the power of Sanjeevani. Our prayers had fallen short of being able to prevent a war between gods and demons. It is not part of a man’s duty to sit back with folded hands in the presence of evil occurrences! I therefore left the hermitage resolved to go to the Shivtirth and do penance in solitude. I heard about the demise of King Nahusha, on my way back after the penance. I returned today and am writing to you now.

Yayati, death is as inevitable as it is distasteful to all living beings. That is a part of the routine of all creation, as dramatic and mysterious as birth. As the delicate reddish foliage just appearing on the trees in spring is the play of the power of creation, equally so, is it seen in the faded yellow leaves falling off in autumn. That is just how one must view Death. Sunrise and sunset, summer and winter, light and shade, day and night, woman and man, pleasure and pain, body and soul and life and death are all inseparable pairs. Life manifests itself in such quality. It is with such web and woof, that the Prime Power weaves the fabric of the life and growth of creation.

King Nahusha was a great warrior. May his prowess inspire you. A king is blessed with his subjects which are like the Kamdhenu to him. May you serve them well! I shall ever pray to the Prime Power to this end.

I was going to stop but that bad news never comes singly is unfortunately true.

A young ascetic returning from the borderland of the demons’ kingdom says, Kacha entered their land and preceptor Shukra accepted him as a disciple. Kacha had hoped to be able to please his preceptor with his devotion and service and acquire the Sanjeevani. The demons naturally turned inimical to Kacha. They mercilessly murdered him while he was out as usual tending his preceptor’s cattle, and fed his meat to the wolves.

That is all the ascetic knows. A number of brave young ascetics living on the border are engaged in getting information, at the peril of their life.

There is, however, no purpose in it. Now that Kacha has thus been put an end to ... Yayati, some words in the last four lines have got dimmed. Unconsciously, tears came to my eyes and dropped on the writing. I tried my utmost to control my tears but even an ascetic who has renounced everything is only a man.