Yayati: A Classic Tale of Lust (22 page)

Hearing all this, Kacha rose greatly in my estimation. How unfortunate Devayani was! She had been loved by a great man who combined in himself heavenly and earthly qualities. But in the end, she had pronounced a curse even on him. With her own hands, she had felled the tree with the power to grant all one’s wishes.

Yati knew many tribals at the foot of the Himalayas. He said, ‘They are a brave and honest people. They will look after you and Puroo.’

I wished to build a cottage at the foot of the Himalayas where the three of us could stay and I would have the opportunity of looking after my brother-in-law, who had all his life neglected himself. In the end, I took courage to say so. Yati smiled and said, ‘Dear Sister, that just is not possible. Kacha is going to undertake grave penance.

‘He is an exemplary man. He has no trace of jealousy in him or desire for fame. He does not even wish to be the preceptor of the gods. But since he lost the power of Sanjeevani, Maharishi Shukra has taken it upon himself to acquire an even more potent power and to make the demons more powerful than the gods.’

I timidly asked Yati, ‘What is this potent power Maharishi Shukra aspires to?’

‘By the power of Sanjeevani the dead can be brought back to life. Now, Maharishi Shukra is determined to acquire power by which the living can be killed by merely wishing it.’

‘And, is Kacha too after the same?’

‘Kacha is greatly distressed at that. He sincerely believes that an ascetic should not go after destructive power. But the only check to Maharishi Shukra’s destructive power is the possession of an even more potent power. Nothing less will do. So, Kacha is sitting down to penance. God knows how long it will take. But while he is in penance, it is necessary that his co-disciples and friends like me should, in our own way, undergo penance for peace on earth. True asceticism requires it. I propose to do my duty.’

We reached the foot of the Himalayas in a few days. Yati arranged for my comfort and then prepared to set out. Bowing to him, I said, ‘Brother, when shall we meet again?’ He smiled and said, ‘When? The Omniscient alone knows!’

I said, ‘May your blessing be the only hope of unfortunate me!’ He turned to me and said, ‘Sister have no care. Puroo may be in the wilderness today but he is destined to be the King of Hastinapur tomorrow!’

Puroo was growing up. Puroo by now was also taking aim with a tiny bow and arrow. My joy knew no bounds at his infallible aim. Puroo grew a little more and started learning the
Vedas
at the hermitage of a sage some distance away. By the time Puroo was ten or eleven, I was proud of his valour but afraid of his adventurous spirit. It was wonderful that those little fists should clutch a bow and arrow and kill such big animals. Puroo, who as a child was frightened of his own shadow on the wall, was now nonchalantly facing the wild animals of the jungle.

The river is negligibly small at the source. A thin stream no bigger than a finger flows down the hillside and enters the plains. It broadens and meanders. As other streams join in, it grows in volume. Puroo also grew up like that. Even in exile, he made many friends, some ascetics, some tribals. His blossoming mind was engrossed in local festivities, the merriment, the happiness and misery, and generally the course of life there!

I had a strange feeling that one moment Puroo was as close to me as he was when he was in my womb. The next moment I thought that he was going further and further away from me. His contact with me now was no more than that of the bird, who soars all day in the sky singing merrily, and returns to the nest only at night. His was a different world now. I hoped that the unfortunate mother would have a space in the fullness of that world.

Such thoughts were very depressing. Puroo would fondly say, ‘What is the matter, Mother?’ I could say nothing. Is it the rule of Creation that fundamentally man must be lonely at heart?

When I was thus depressed, I would come out of the cottage to look at the snowclad peaks of the Himalayas. These peaks rising high to the heavens gave me much forbearance.

And not only the Himalayas. Everything around me heartened me in its own way. The ultimate essence of life was being revealed to me. I learnt that the easiest way to be happy is to cheerfully live the life given to us, to find pleasure in it, experience the beauty and fragrance of it and to share it with others.

The meandering stream similarly brought cheer to my depressed mind. Seeing its swollen raging waters in the rains and the havoc caused by it, I would feel that after all, youth is not completely a blessing, it also carries a curse. There is no knowing how much a man might lose his head in the flush of youth, what rocks he will crash on in his pursuit of pleasure and how many pure, innocent gentle things he will trample on in his wild chase.

I understood from my exile why sages and ascetics take to the jungle for their penance. Nature and man are inseparably linked together from the beginning to the end. In fact, they are twins. That is why life reveals itself in its true form only in the presence of Nature. Man then begins to understand the content and limitations of life. When he drifts away from Nature, his life becomes one-sided. In that artificial one-sided existence, his thoughts, feelings and desires assume unreal and distorted forms. My misfortune had in one way turned out to be good luck. That is why I came here. I was able to see clearly the truth underlying life.

It was not as though I was thus thoughtful and balanced all the time. Sometimes I felt lonely from a sense of separation. At night, on my bed of straw the body ached and the mind hankered for His Majesty.

I strove hard to stop such fancies which were heartrending. I would remind myself of the renunciation of Kacha and Yati. But my mind was like an unbridled horse. It could not be checked. It would fly to Hastinapur and Ashokavan and wait at the door of the underground passage. No, it is not possible for man to dissociate himself from his body all the time.

Such sentiments, repressed with great difficulty, would unexpectedly burst out. It happened once when Puroo was seven or eight. Puroo was sitting with ascetics. A lady sitting by me had a girl of four or five in her lap. Her eyes were very beautiful. But I was attracted more by her hair than her eyes. The abundant hair with occasional streaks of gold was fascinating. They were like fine golden threads drawn through a black mass of cloud. The girl was not only sweet but daring. When I stretched my hands, she came to me and sat in my lap without demur.

I bid farewell to her, hoping that we would meet again and returned to the cottage. But I could not sleep thinking of that sweet little girl. I longed for His Majesty’s company and the memory of that pleasure was disquieting. I wished Puroo had a sister like her.

Even in this peaceful life, I was troubled by much agony. One day Yati came and gave me the news of the death of the Queen Mother. She had been good to me. I wished I had been able to serve her in some way. But I was sorry the opportunity had never come my way.

I once met an ascetic who had come from Hastinapur. According to him His Majesty had ceased to look after the affairs of the state. Devayani was attending to them. Was it possible that there were differences between Devayani and His Majesty? Even if so, a man cannot neglect his duties. Like flowers some persons cannot live except with the dewdrops of love. Without it, they just dry up. If the differences are material and lasting, what will happen to His Majesty?

I was very depressed that day. I felt like going to Hastinapur, even at the risk of my life, to beg of His Majesty to come with me to my humble cottage. But Puroo was still small. I wept bitterly. As usual, I said in my prayers before going to bed the words, ‘Lord, make him happy.’

As a child, Puroo, repeated after me whatever I said in my prayers. But now he had grown up a little. He asked me out of curiosity, ‘Mother, who is him? Tell me the name!’

‘I shall tell you when you are sixteen.’

But before he was sixteen, Nature was beginning to reveal to him who the ‘him’ in my prayer was. Until the age of twelve, he looked like me. But in the next one or two years, he shot up and filled up. He was now looking more and more like His Majesty. To add to it, the occasional visits of the ascetic from Hastinapur would bring news which worried me. His Majesty had dissociated himself completely from the administration of the State. For months on end, he was away from the capital. Even when in town, he did not stir out of Ashokavan. There was now no limit to his indulgence in luxury and excesses.

I did not know what to do. That I should be helpless to save from degradation a dear one for whom I would cheerfully and without hesitation have laid down my life! How frail man is.

In an effort to forget this new turn of unhappiness I turned to drawing again. One day, I felt like making a sketch of Puroo. I thought over it a great deal, and I realised that in his adolescence he was growing up in His Majesty’s likeness.

Puroo was now sixteen. I told him the secret that he was no ordinary youth but a prince of Hastinapur. I consoled him by saying that I had to leave Hastinapur because of Devayani’s jealousy.

It is very difficult to make children understand. The first flush of youth is not only adventurous but blind. It cannot perceive the problems of everyday life. It is constantly surrounded only by the fragrance of the flowers it dreams of. I explained to him over and over again that it would be better to stay where we were until the time His Majesty sent for us. He would not agree. When I made him swear that he would not divulge the secret of his royal birth without my permission, he impudently said, ‘Not even to His Majesty.’

I comforted him by saying, ‘I am not asking you to do that. You are free to tell His Majesty that you are his son. But remember never to tell anyone else who you are. I enjoin you upon my life.’

As they grow up, children drift from their parents. Love and achievement are the inspirations of the young mind. These draw young boys and girls from the sheltered existence of their childhood. The parents, however, continue to dwell in their old world, anxious for their children’s well-being.

As fear left him by one door, love entered by another to find a place. Budding, youthful, blushful, innocent love. Love like the delicate pink tones in the eastern corner of the sky just before dawn!

But he never gave away this secret of his. That sweet girl Alaka with the golden hair. Her mother was now a dear friend of mine. Naturally the children also became friends. But when Puroo was sixteen, there was a subtle change in their behaviour. The two no longer played together with their earlier abandon. There was an imperceptible coyness in their approach. If others were not looking, they looked stealthily at each other. They would blush and look away and Alaka would hang her head and ply the ground with her toenails. When she was very small, and asked to do something for Puroo, she used to say, ‘Why should I do anything for him? He never does anything for me.’ But now whenever she came, she was more concerned about his comfort.

All this dawned on me gradually. There was nothing wrong in it. But sometimes I wondered if it was right, if that first incipience of love should be allowed to grow.

On second thoughts I would reason, ‘You were once a princess. Were not you later reduced to being a maid? Alaka may not have blue blood. But her love is genuine. Is the love of a maid and that of a princess vastly different?’

I was bewildered by the conflict in my mind. But I did not have the heart to speak to Puroo or Alaka about the matter. Like the young, the elders also feel constrained to say anything in such cases.

* * *

Three more years went by. Puroo was nineteen now. One day he returned very perturbed from his hunt. He had heard that the tribals called Dasyus had organised a very big rising in the North. They had set out to march on Hastinapur. There were rumours of Prince Yadu leading a large army to put them down. I could not sleep a wink that night.

It constantly occurred to me that if Yadu was leading the army, where was His Majesty?

Like me, Puroo also was tossing in bed from side to side. I asked him once or twice, ‘What is the matter? Why can’t you sleep tonight?’

He said, ‘Nothing at all, Mother.’ He did not say a word more. I laughed. I thought he was thinking of Alaka. It is a difficult age. Who knows, he may have kissed her for the first time today.

Next afternoon, I knew why Puroo was restless that night. He set out for a hunt in the morning and did not return till nightfall. I enquired about his friends who had accompanied him. None of them had returned. It was a nightmare. I was stricken with terror that night. God forbid such a night falling to the lot of a mother!

Till noon next day I was restless like a fish out of water. Puroo and his friends had gone out on a campaign against the Dasyus. They had left their houses on the pretext of a hunt for fear that the elders might not give them permission. On the way lay Alaka’s village. Puroo had gone on, entrusting Alaka with a letter to be delivered to me the next afternoon. Alaka gave me the letter with trembling hands. I opened it.

It said:

The kingdom of Hastinapur has been attacked. Need I tell you where my duty lies in such an event? I am going away without your permission. Forgive me, Mother, and don’t worry about me. Your Puroo will soon return to you, after meeting the challenge to the Hastinapur kingdom with his prowess and skill in war.

Tears came to my eyes while reading the letter. Who can say that the son of a Kshatriya should not go to war? But mine was the heart of a mother. It could not be calmed. It dripped through the eyes.

Alaka wiped my tears. She embraced me and kept consoling me, ‘Please don’t cry.’ The mild sun lit up the gold in her hair. For a moment, my heart bleeding for Puroo was gladdened that I was going to get her for a daughter-in-law. She who would stand out in a million girls.

It was now Alaka’s turn to cry. ‘Aunt, will he come back safe?’ she asked. The question distressed me. I drew Alaka near and patted her head. I said, ‘Don’t worry dear. Do not others go to war? Fighting is laid on us Kshatriyas as a duty.’