Yayati: A Classic Tale of Lust (12 page)

That night I cried into a wet pillow. Which young maiden does not dream of a husband and their children? Where is the girl who does not toss restless in her bed, contemplating the shape and form in which those dreams would come true in her case?

I was just such a one. But I had come to Hastinapur with all such dreams turned to ashes. I was a maid to Devayani. She had full authority over me. Perhaps she will never let me marry anybody anytime. Where the prospect of marriage was doubtful the hope of a son and his being heir to a throne — how could a maid like me entertain it? But the palmist today —

As the delicate red shoot of a leaf sticks out from a grave covered with black stone, the prediction stood out in my mind! Sharmishtha, who had not shed a single tear even at parting from her parents, was now shedding copious tears in the frightening solitude of the palace.

With the memory of Father, my mind woke up. I remembered clearly every moment of bidding farewell to him.

I was about to leave the palace where I had grown up from birth. Father stood still and erect like a mountain. There was not even a flutter in my eyes. I went up to him and bent before him with a bow, saying, ‘Goodbye, Father.’ I waited an instant for his blessing. He said nothing but put his head on my feet! I was confused, drew back and somehow, quickly raised him up. As he was getting up, he said, ‘My girl, I am not fit to receive your obeisance. You are not a daughter but a mother. Mother, we your children crave your blessing.’

I melted and asked, ‘Father, how would you have felt if I was your son and you had to send me to war?’

‘I would have been proud!’

‘You should feel the same pride at this moment. Father, your Shama is going into battle and seeks your blessing.’

I had nothing to do unless Devayani gave me some work. Every vacant hour was a bore. In the end, I found an excellent means to occupy myself. I was earlier fond of drawing. Thereafter I spent every spare moment in painting.

Having some hobby is an unfailing palliative for misery. I do not know how good my paintings were! But in painting them, my mind had an occupation. How many sketches I made of a wee little rabbit alone!

And it is not only the wee little rabbit. The deer, the peacock, the swan and for that matter, all animal life.

What a variety of flowers there is on earth with their variegated colour and odour. What numerous genii of trees and creepers. The sunrise and the sunset are different everyday. Moonlight in the spring, a river in the rainy season, the green crops of autumn and the leafless trees of winter — everything is a fit subject for painting.

I thought of life in this vein. Variety is the essence of life, contradiction is its soul. The essence, joy, attraction, indeed the soul of it, lies in variety and conflict.

I did not come much in contact with King Yayati. The extreme care which Devayani took to ensure that this did not happen was evident from the very first day.

One thing anybody would have noticed was that he was very reluctant to order me about as a maid. If I took anything to him and Devayani was not about, he would whisper, ‘Why did you bring it? You should have told a maid.’

I would smile back and say, ‘I am also a maid.’

He would retort, ‘You are Devayani’s maid, not mine.’

His Majesty was very fond of chewing betel leaf. Devayani used to make it for him. One day he was apparently not satisfied with the one she had given him.

Devayani was lying on a bed. I was fanning her. She asked me to make another one for His Majesty which he liked. He then stood before the mirror and called out to Devayani, ‘Look at my mouth.’

‘What kind of a jest is this? I do not like such levity.’

‘This is no joke.’ He opened his mouth. Just like a child he was. It was flaming red. The betel leaf had coloured it really well. He said, ‘It is believed that the betel leaf made by the person who loves more colours the better ...’

‘I see. So Sharmishtha loves you more. Then you should have married her.’

His Majesty should not have indulged in such a joke. Devayani raised Cain in the palace that day. The news soon spread and the maids were whispering! I was dying of shame. Never again did I make any betel leaf for him! But if Devayani was not around, he would ask me if I had any! I had to say no a dozen times. Thereafter I always secretly carried one on my person and I would give it to him quietly when no one was near. Sometimes he would say to Devayani, significantly meaning me, ‘Your betel leaf coloured very well indeed.’

* * *

What do memories resemble? The straying butterfly? Girls playing hide and seek? The colour gradually merging into the background and heightening the beauty of the picture? The lightning flitting unrestrained in the monsoon sky? Who knows!

The one memory which should have been related first, still lingers in the mind.

The wedding of Yayati and Devayani was celebrated with great eclat at Hastinapur. The first night of the honeymoon came to shower happiness on the couple. I had resolved not to look miserable. Fate which had taken her to the throne, had dragged me down from one. There is no truck with Destiny. Why then should Sharmishtha alone rebel against bowing before it?

But man’s real enemy is not Destiny, but himself. Devayani was annoyed at my calm. On her way to his apartment she cooed, ‘Sharmishtha, His Majesty is very fond of your betel leaves. Keep a dozen ready and wait. His Majesty and I will be talking far into the night and His Majesty will need betel leaf now and again. I shall send you away when His Majesty is fast asleep. I do not want any other maid here today.’

Could not Devayani have taken the salver into the apartment? But —

Devayani went in. I got the betel leaves ready quickly and stood far away with the salver. In a little while His Majesty came along and I offered him one. He did not touch it. He did not heed me. All he may have been conscious of was that there was a maid standing there. That was natural! One whom even an Apsara would have envied for her beauty was waiting for him inside. He had no eyes for anyone except her.

The door was closed and I stood there solitary like a ghost with the salver in my hand. The mind was now straying wildly. I had pangs of regret that if only I had not quarrelled with Devayani that day, I would not have been subjected to this degradation; but it was not regret alone. It was tinged with curiosity about love and the fulfilment of love.

Suddenly, angry words vaguely came to my ears. It was Devayani.

The first night of the honeymoon? It should have been steeped in love. Then why such words of anger?

I had heard of the heavenly bliss that crowns the union of lovers. An empty pot reverberates while being filled; but the sound ceases when it is full to the brim. The hearts of lovers are the same; I recalled one poet describing this blessed state with the words — when the hearts are filled with love, there is no room for words.

But angry words could be heard from inside the royal bedroom. It was Devayani talking — by comparison, His Majesty’s tone was lower.

Suddenly, out came Devayani flinging open the door. She was rushing to her apartment. I stepped forward a little, holding out the salver. She blazed at me, flung the salver away from my hand and went away trampling on some of the betel leaves.

YAYATI

T
he first night of our honeymoon. In the life of a husband and wife, the first night is so intoxicating, so poetic and so full of mysterious intimacy, that it is something they have never experienced before. The confluence of two rivers, the kiss of the sky and earth — no. Even a great poet could not adequately portray in words, the eager expectancy contained in the union.

It was evening. Crowds of people lined the royal highway to see the festival of lights. I stood on the terrace of the palace looking at the sight for a long time.

I looked up. Very slowly one star after another came out twinkling, like buds which show up from behind the leaves.

I must have stayed there a long time but it was not quite dark yet. Like one pours wine into a glass drop by drop, the sky seemed to pour darkness into the night by stages. Its tardiness was quite unbearable.

Devayani was so near me. And yet so far. Visions of her, many and varied, haunted me; like her wet figure when she stepped out of the well blushing, Devayani bedecked with jewels and sitting next to me by the sacrificial fire.

Even after drinking in her beauty at will, my eyes were still thirsty. I desired for the Devayani hidden behind the many visible forms.

I went into the apartment. I closed the door and looked round. There was Devayani on the bed, half sitting up, her eyes full of meaning. I impatiently went forward and sat on the bed. She was standing now. I smiled and said, ‘One has to offer one’s hand to help a lady out of the well but is it necessary to offer it for sitting down?’

I thought she would blush and say something lively. But she stood silent. There was a crease on her forehead — I could not make out whether her anger was real or feigned.

To propitiate her I said, ‘My father once defeated Indra. I am going to do it again.’

I thought she would quickly come forward and blushingly say, ‘We have more pleasant and intimate things to talk about than war just now.’ Or perhaps, ‘I shall be your charioteer in the campaign.’ So I thought.

‘I shall conquer Indra with your help, I shall ask him if there is a beauty to match you in heaven,’ was something like what I was going to say. But she never gave me the opportunity. I thought she maybe ruffled due to some disagreement with Mother. However, I decided to stay out of it.

An angry woman makes a pretty picture. Looking at her, I forgot myself and pulled her to me on the bed. I lifted up her face and was bending over to kiss her.

She pushed me away and like an infuriated cobra turned on me and stood in a far corner. I was unable to understand her strange behaviour. Her obstinate and short tempered manner had been apparent in her insistence on making Sharmishtha her maid. I had seen it myself. But that to me — her husband — she should behave like this.

I controlled my rising temper and said, ‘Devayani I do not understand ...’

‘There is nothing to understand. It is terrible. Today, here on this auspicious occasion ... at the happiest moment of my life, that you should be drunk ... the smell of your mouth ...’

I said, ‘I have not been drinking liquor. Only a little wine.’ I added sarcastically, ‘I am fortunate that I am not a Brahmin and am permitted liquor.’ I was furious with her that she should have ruined the exquisite joy of a happy occasion on a slight pretext.

She retorted, ‘You may not be a Brahmin but I am the daughter of Maharishi Shukra. I cannot bear the smell of liquor even at a distance.’

‘As you are a daughter, you are also a wife. I am a Kshatriya and drink is not prohibited to a Kshatriya.’

‘But Father has given it up. And “he” abhors liquor.’ He? Who was this he? Angry that I was, I was now suspicious.

I shouted, ‘Who is he?’

She was biting her lips in exasperation when she replied, ‘I am not afraid of anyone to name him. Kacha also was averse to liquor.’

A tinge of jealousy sparked in me. I said harshly, ‘This is the palace of Hastinapur. This is neither the hermitage of Maharishi Shukra nor the cottage of Kacha. I am nobody’s slave. I am the King of Hastinapur ... Yayati. I am Lord and Master here. Kacha has no place here. And Maharishi Shukra has no business to interfere here. You are my wife and it is your duty to tend to my happiness ...’

‘You can tend to your happiness yourself ...’ said Devayani fiercely, her eyes sparking with barbs of fire. She banged the door open and walked out.

I collapsed on the bed. That terrible curse on Father. ‘The children of King Nahusha will never be happy.’

This was to have been the night of the consummation of our love. I did not even dream that the curse would prove itself in this strange way on this our first night of love. The craving body and the agitated mind tore at me all night.

I had come to the apartment with great expectation. I desired Devayani. I desired all of her. I was now very eager to experience a love much nobler and more intense than the vulgar momentary pleasure such as that which I had shared with Mukulika. But —

This brought back to my mind Alaka’s death, which was soon followed by the coronation. Mother gave me her hearty blessings. She had her fill of Yayati’s appearance in regal clothes and royal splendour. But at the same time, Kalika was wiping her tears away in a corner at the memory of her daughter.

Mother saw those tears and she chastised her with harsh words! ‘Leave the palace this instant and go to your sister’s. Don’t cry here in ill omen.’ My hair stood on end at Mother’s words.

I was very angry with Mother. I resolved in the instant that somehow or other Alaka’s death must be avenged.

As a first step in that revenge I stopped talking to Mother. I indulged myself at will in wine and hunting. Deliberately, I rejected individually everyone of the pretty princesses enthusiastically chosen by Mother. This satisfied my thirst for revenge a little, in respect of Alaka, but I was dissatisfied with life and thirsty for something undefined.

It was in this state of mind that I reached the foot of
the Himalayas while hunting. While in chase of deer I entered the demon kingdom and returned with Devayani as my bride to Hastinapur.

That day I accepted Devayani instantly. What a strangely mysterious occurrence! I looked upon it as very romantic.

That I was taken with her because of her sheer beauty is true. But I also thought I would wreak sweet vengeance on
Mother by marrying her. Mother was keen on a Kshatriya princess for a daughter-in-law! My marrying the daughter of a Brahmin sage would be a permanent thorn in her side. She would learn that fate avenges the murder of an innocent girl.

That I accepted Devayani’s hand in marriage was not for these two reasons only. The shadow of a deadly curse from a great sage hung on our family. It would need the blessing of an equally great sage to ward off that curse. He would undertake grave penance to counter the curse.

Without a thought for the past or future and without consulting anyone, Devayani was eager to be my bride; I was equally eager to take her hand in marriage.

However, my personal experience of Devayani’s father, Maharishi Shukra, proved quite different. He was very fond of his daughter. But he did not seem to value much the fact that she was the wife of a great king. Maharishi Shukra had no thought for the fact that it was necessary to identify himself with my well being and to earn my goodwill.

Sharmishtha readily agreed to be Devayani’s maid! She had willingly sacrificed herself to the burning anger of Devayani, so that Maharishi Shukra might not leave them in a huff, so that she might not imperil the safety of her people. That was great of her; but as an ascetic, an elderly wise man or at least as the friend and preceptor of King Vrishaparva, should he not have consoled Sharmishtha?

I was in the demon kingdom for only a short while. But even in that space of time, it was borne in on me that father and daughter lived in a world of their own.

When sending the daughter away to her new house, tears rise in every father’s eyes. Maharishi Shukra was no exception. But he immediately took me aside and said, ‘King, Devayani is my only daughter. Remember, her happiness is my happiness. Remember always, that my blessing is in itself a great power on earth. You have yourself witnessed how King Vrishaparva has had to give in, how Sharmishtha has had to humiliate herself by having to be Devayani’s maid. So beware, never do anything at anytime to hurt Devayani. Do not forget that her unhappiness is my unhappiness.’

I had thought that he would also address a few words of advice to Devayani. I had heard that on such an occasion, it was usual to counsel a young bride married to a king, how she should tend to the comfort of the household, how it is her duty as a wife to conduct herself to contribute to her husband’s happiness, how she should live in amity even with her co-wives. But after all Shukra is a great sage. It never occurred to him to offer any such advice on mundane matters! In the end, I took my leave thinking that the great are in a world apart.

It was well past midnight. I had heard the hour toll a long time ago. All these memories were crowding my mind and I was tossing in bed and turning over from side to side. I could not sleep.

One moment I thought the whole palace must be astir with the scene which Devayani had created today. No one could have seen elsewhere, a maiden arrogantly running out of the bedroom on the marriage night. The stringency of social obligations increases with the status. But what should never happen even in a hovel had today taken place in the palace.

How much better it would have been if man did not have imagination enough to build castles in the air.

Devayani will come now sometime and with her coming we shall forget everything. I shall say, ‘You have been brought up in very different surroundings. I should have known that. Forgive me for this once. You will not see Yayati with a drink inside him in your bedroom. If that is not enough, I swear by you, never to touch a drop again. Never again will my lips touch any liquor anywhere.’ She will put her hands round me and say, ‘Like me you have also grown up in a very different environment. You are a Kshatriya warrior king, you have to rule and go into battle. The stimulus of liquor is necessary to you. It is not right for me to stand in the way of such trivial indulgences. But what can I do? I just cannot bear the smell of alcohol. All I beg of you is that, hereafter you should not take a drink before coming to me.’

Another hour tolled. I was still tossing about in bed! Without rhyme or reason I was listening for Devayani’s footstep. But none came.

I got up from bed with a tormented mind. The pricking of disgrace and a craving body are indeed strange. Like the poison of a snake, outwardly insignificant but mortally effective within.

I was looking out into the darkness from the window. I had taken Devayani’s hand in marriage to gain a love nobler and greater than what Mukulika or Alaka had given me. But the bed of roses which I had chosen for the bridal night was infested with the young of reptiles.

The man in me woke up! The king in me was roused. I kept repeating to myself that I could find the pleasure I was seeking anywhere at anytime on earth. I am an uncommon man, a warrior and a great king, and if I so will, I can have a new beauty in my bed everyday.

Next morning also, I was still very angry. I thought of going hunting to a far off place, when Sharmishtha came in hurriedly and with folded hands said, ‘Her Majesty is not well since last night. The royal physician was called a little while ago. There is no cause for anxiety. But if Your Majesty would be pleased to call on her, Her Majesty is likely to benefit more than by any medicine.’

While talking, Sharmishtha had a fascinating smile on her face. It seemed like the golden streak of lightning in a cloudless sky. I suddenly remembered — last night there was a maid standing outside with something in a salver. I tried to recall. I did not remember clearly. I asked her, ‘You ... were you standing outside yesterday?’

She hung her head as much as to say yes! How was it I did not notice Sharmishtha last night? Had I been pressed into drinking too much wine?

Seeing that I was thoughtful she said, ‘Your Majesty, I have been Her Majesty’s friend from childhood. She has always been a bit short tempered. Your Majesty must not take it to heart.’

She paused a little and then said, ‘A maid may not indulge in poetry, it is true, but all poets agree that love is tame without strife.’ My heart unconsciously melted looking at her. She was pleading for Devayani who had last night made her stand outside the bedroom and thus trampled on and tried to crush all her tender feelings.

I said in jest, ‘Sharmishtha, who taught you such love?’

Idly looking at her nails, she queried. ‘Must one have a teacher for everything?’

‘Who has attained knowledge in this world except through the words of a preceptor? And love is the greatest knowledge of all. Even greater than Sanjeevani.’

‘In that case, I will give you the name of my tutor!’ She said ‘It is Kacha!’

‘Kacha?’ I interjected in surprise.

Sharmishtha urged, ‘Is not Your Majesty coming to the Queen’s apartment?’

I went to Devayani’s rooms with Sharmishtha following me. My agitated mind had calmed down talking to her. Anger had given place to forgiveness.

Was Devayani really ill? I do not know. But I thought her wan face resembled the gloomy paleness of the moon, showing behind grey clouds. I took her hand in mine. Our hands conveyed what we could not say in words or express in our eyes.