Yayati: A Classic Tale of Lust (17 page)

One dark night, I was toying with the idea. Vaguely, I heard the wheels of a chariot come to a stop on the gravel outside. Who could have come in a chariot to me, a poor maid? Devayani must have sent someone here. How am I concerned? The servants will put up whoever it is in the guest house.

A servant brought an ascetic to me just as I was thinking of all this. It is true that Kacha used to come to these quarters at the back and sit and chat. But he was different! It was not quite right for the servant to bring this sage, whom I did not know, here.

I said to him quite harshly, ‘Why did you bring this sage here?’

‘I was asked to bring him to you by Her Majesty. She will take him to the palace a little later. She wished you to see him ...’

I looked at the sage. I thought I had seen him somewhere before. The sage was a very imposing figure; he had a presence befitting a king. The
rudrakshamala
round his neck shone like jewels. But on the whole, he gave me the impression of being shy and timid. He had condescended to come so that I could pay my respects. But I did not know how to set about it. If our eyes met, he would look away.

I offered him a seat in the centre of the room. But he would not take it. He said in a hoarse voice, ‘We are ascetics! We live in caves. I shall sit in that corner.’

I put the seat in the corner for him. I was puzzled. In that very corner was the picture of His Majesty. I had just placed a garland on it. If the sage saw all this and spoke to Devayani about it, conveying the wrong impression ...

I broke into a sweat because he was staring at it. But he did not say a word about the picture. He sat in contemplation for a while and then started talking. How hoarse his voice was. And how weird! But he did look greatly pleased.

When I made my obeisance, he said with a smile, ‘You have fallen in love with someone. He is very near you, but you feel all the time that he is very far, that he is unattainable. What are you prepared to do for him whom you love?’

Involuntarily I blurted out, ‘I would give even my life!’ Unconsciously, I bit my tongue. But what use was it crying over an arrow which had been shot?

A little later he said, ‘You still have no confidence in me. Close this door and I will show you how great is the power of my penance!’

He got up, seeing me standing there in bewilderment. He came near and putting his hand on my head said, ‘Go and close the door. The golden moment in your life is near. Go.’

That touch of his had in it something to bring me courage, to inspire confidence, to bring peace of mind. I closed the door.

He pointed to the picture of His Majesty and asked, ‘Are you in love with Yayati?’

I stood there with my head hung. He again said, ‘You still have no confidence in me. We know everything by inner knowledge. Wait. I shall demonstrate it to you. Is there an underground passage leading from this room?’

‘No.’

There was a catch in one wall of the room hardly visible. He put his hand to it. A central piece nearly six feet in height moved out, the entrance to an underground passage. But there was none in Ashokavan who knew of
it. How did this sage have knowledge of
it?

He put his hand to the catch again. The gap closed, restoring the wall.

‘I know that you are in love with Yayati. True love is always blessed by us. Sometime Yayati will come to you ... remember. He will come through that underground passage. He will call to you. He will call to you in the affectionate singular your parents did.’

‘Shama.’

‘Yes, he will call you “Shama”. Do not be frightened or
scared. Press this catch to open the door. Make sure that only maids in your confidence sleep outside the room.’

I could hardly believe my ears. I gazed steadily at the sage. He immediately looked away. He got up to open the door of
the room. I thought I recognised the step. I was reminded of
the drama portraying Pururava and Urvashi. Might not Devayani have deputed him to make fun of
me and to ensnare me?

Then he opened the door of
the room. In no time, all the servants had gathered in my room to see the sage. The ascetic was giving all of
them his hearty blessings! Devayani’s chariot also came up.

She called out to me as in our childhood, ‘Well sister Shama, what is the sage like?’

It was many years ago that Devayani had called me ‘Sister Shama.’ I said, ‘He is very nice, I will serve him all my life if
Your Majesty agrees!’

Devayani just laughed. The laughter was drowned in the crack of
the charioteer’s whip!

All through the night — not only that night but every night thereafter, I spent in the shadow of
expectation, fear, curiosity and anxiety.

But I was always particular about sleeping alone with the door closed and two dependable maids, from those who had come with me, outside. I would keep awake till midnight to see if anyone called. Man lives in hope, however unfounded it may be.

I was disturbed when I heard that Devayani was leaving to see her father in three or four days.

The day she left was very sad for me. I was very restless thinking of Father and Mother. I felt better when night came. The restlessness had given place to expectation. I lay down on the bed, looking at His Majesty’s picture in the corner. I did not know when I dozed off. I was half awakened by the words, ‘Shama! Shama!’ For a moment I thought I was dreaming. I was wide awake now. The voice came from across the wall. My legs were shaky. Somehow I got to the wall and pressed the catch; the opening was revealed. On the step below His Majesty was standing. I could not believe my eyes. My joy knew no bounds. I felt faint. His Majesty came forward and supported me as I was falling. The next instant his arms were round me.

In a moment, the river had merged into the sea.

I opened my eyes. Where was I? In the seventh heaven? On a bed of white flowers, brought in on the waves of the river Mandakini? On the swing of a gentle breeze, wafted in cool and fragrant from the Malayagiri mountain?

I did not know. Realisation came only after a long, long time. The mischievous moon was peeping at me through the window and laughing in her sleeve. I blushed. His Majesty lifted my chin up and said, ‘How would it be if at the time of the wedding the bride blushed on seeing the priestess?’ I said, ‘Renowned poets have in the past imagined the moon in different forms, but I am not aware of her having been made a priestess yet !’ His Majesty said, ‘For ages now, love marriages like yours and mine have been celebrated with her alone as witness. She is truly the priestess of lovers!’

I gazed at the moon with my head on His Majesty’s shoulder. The moonlight seeped through every part of my body. No, it was not moonlight. It was the fragrance of the dreams of requited love, experienced by the sleeping world. I was soon absorbed in that fragrance. I was just a woman in love.

Many nights after that first one — the innumerable hours of those many nights — the countless moments in the many hours were each one of them a fountain of pleasure.

That pleasure, that joy, that eternal happiness defies description. A woman does not split hair over a word. She is concerned only with the feeling that lies behind it. Mother Parvati underwent arduous penance in sun and rain, to demonstrate to womanhood the path of love. Following in her footsteps ...

Yes, I truly followed in her footsteps. I loved King Yayati. Knowing that he was the husband of Devayani, I nonetheless loved him. No one except my two trusted maids outside were aware of my love. It was a very sweet secret. It was the secret of the night, eternal friend of lovers. It was a secret known only to the four walls of my room. It was the secret of the underground passage which spent its lonely days in eternal darkness.

Even before I had recovered from the intoxication of the happiness of the previous night, the intoxicating prospect of the next night was upon me. But even in that trance, somebody was trying to shake me awake. A sharp voice said, ‘Sharmishtha, awake; even now take heed! Where are you going? What are you doing? It is a terrible sin.’

As His Majesty’s touch thrilled my body, so did the thought of the sin make me shiver with fright. I kept repeating to myself love is a sacrifice, sacrifice of one’s all. How can there be sin in it?

I tried to console myself, oppressed with the thought of sin thus. But sometimes, the prick of the conscience remained. Then I would fold my hands before the image of Mother Parvati and pray to her: ‘Mother, give me the strength to love His Majesty as you loved Lord Shiva. She alone is a true lover who can sacrifice anything for her love. I shall never forget it myself and, I hope, I shall not then be considered a sinner!’

Sometimes the prick of conscience caused me uneasiness. But when its thorns did not prick, I was on the peak of happiness. Not unlike the butterfly with its tiny wings, flitting from flower to flower I spent the day from morning till night. The day sped away in planning for His Majesty’s entertainment. How quickly followed the night. She appeared like the dancing girl hastening to the appointed place of tryst. But as the night progressed my impatience mounted. I was distressed at the thought that something might crop up to prevent His Majesty’s coming.

I had read many love lyrics. I had myself composed some in utter ignorance of the true nature of love. But the joy of reading and composing them was but a faint shadow of the genuine experience. Like the child imagining the image of the moon in a mirror to be the moon itself and playing with it. It was the play of imagination of the sweet adolescent.

True love? What is it? To understand it one must be a true lover. One must fathom the lover’s mind. The soothing moon and the glaring sun, life-giving nectar and life-taking deadly poison are mingled — no — it is impossible to describe the nature of love.

One day His Majesty was in conference with the Prime Minister till midnight. So he could not come early. It was past midnight. I was frantic. Sharmishtha has a place in the heart of His Majesty but she cannot go near him! Fate had given me love; but how miserly it had been.

That night I could not rest. I pressed the catch in the wall and bravely descended the steps. But I could not move a step further. I was not afraid of the dark, I was afraid of something quite different. If I step into His Majesty’s room at the end of the passage would not our secret love be exposed? Fate, at one moment in one’s favour, may turn against one the next moment. I would go to His Majesty’s room by this secret passage only to find that Devayani had just returned. What would happen if Devayani came to know? I could not bear the thought. No, never must she know this secret.

Quietly I returned from the passage. God had denied me the right to love openly. That Sharmishtha, a princess, should be denied the right enjoyed by the meanest maid in Hastinapur!

When His Majesty came, my pillow was wet with tears.

That night I was still awake when he fell asleep. I was blissfully happy in his arms but only for a while. Then all haunting fears came back. Sheltered by love I thought of death. I wished that there might be an earthquake, to engulf Ashokavan and everything else there, while we were in each other’s arms! Centuries later, some archaeologist will dig it all out. But nobody will comprehend that it was the one golden moment snatched by an unfortunate beloved, who dared not be with her lover openly, from the hands of cruel fate without its knowledge.

The next moment I was angry with the thought! How helpless I was. How selfish! Thinking of my own pleasure, His Majesty ...

I shuddered at the idea. Even in his sleep he must have felt me shudder. Drawing me even closer, he murmured, ‘You timid!’ Half asleep he pressed his lips to mine. As darkness vanishes with the rising of the moon, my fears were dissolved in love. They all came back in even more frightening forms with the next morning’s sun. On getting up I felt sick. My two trusted maids were knowledgeable. They looked significantly at each other, while holding my head. Without being told, I also knew. I was going to be a mother. Joy, fear, shame, anxiety, expectation and curiosity were all there strangely mixed up.

Every mother is pleased to know that her newly married daughter is expecting a baby. My mother also would have been overjoyed to know of my secret.

Sharmishtha who as an innocent maiden dreamt of being a queen had to be a maid. Nature is not cruel like man; so even as a maid she was going to be a mother. But even this kindly blessing of Nature now looked like a cruel curse.

I was both glad and confused. I was afraid. If Devayani gets to hear of my secret what will she do? What will my parents say when they hear of it? Will they hate me as a fallen woman? How could I explain to them that I had not sinned?

My two maids were also baffled. Devayani had not yet returned from her visit to Maharishi Shukra. But when she did ...

I was dazed. I suddenly thought of Kacha. He should have been here now. He would have given me courage. If he thought his sister had sinned, he would have staked all his penance to wash that sin off her. But in this word I was alone — all alone and helpless.

No, I was not helpless. How can a beloved of the King of Hastinapur be helpless? How can the favourite wife of King Yayati be helpless? I laughed at my own timidity ...

I resolved every morning to tell His Majesty the secret. Every night the resolve would make me tongue-tied. I just could not bring myself to speak.

Eventually one day I plucked courage and said, ‘I ... I ... I am soon ... going to be a mother.’

I could not complete the sentence. Like a child tired from playing, rushing to her mother’s side, I buried my head in His Majesty’s shoulder.

He lifted my chin and gazing at me said, ‘How beautiful you look, Shama! The ruffled hair; there is greater beauty in it and it is more inviting than the made up. That beauty should be at its best in being natural ...’

I wished to be reassured not flattered. Disappointed I said, ‘I shall not remain thus pretty all my life!’

‘Why not?’

‘I shall soon be a mother. Then ...’

His Majesty’s amorous playfulness vanished. His face was clouded with care. He again drew me close. But the embrace was not that of an impatient love. It was more like that of a frightened child.