Yayati: A Classic Tale of Lust (21 page)

When man can be heartless like a stone, why expect a stone to have a heart? Devayani was out for my blood. If His Majesty had not dared, Sharmishtha’s life would have ended in the cellar. It is true His Majesty saved my life. But how did he reconcile himself to leaving his beloved Sharmishtha to fend for herself? ‘Sharmishtha, I do not prize this kingdom or its splendour. I want only you.’ If only he had said this, I would have been greatly heartened.

I would not have permitted him to come with me. But that life-giving message of love, couched in sweet words, would have remained with me through the thunder of clouds and the crash of lightning. But such good fortune could hardly be Sharmishtha’s.

I do not know how long and how far I walked that night, from where I got the strength to do so, with Puroo in my arms. But Sharmishtha, a princess, who had grown up as a spoilt child, who went about in a palanquin and was used to walking on a carpet of flowers all her life, was now footing her way, hour after hour, through a forest strewn with thorns. She was running away from Hastinapur, her cellar of death. She was no daughter of King Vrishaparva. She was not the beloved of King Yayati. She had only one bond in the world. She was the mother of an infant. That shivering tiny life clutching at her had inspired her. She meant to live to see his greatness before facing death.

Next morning I stopped by a temple in a small village. Where to ... was question that troubled my mind. Shall I go to Father? He will be happy to see his grandchild. But all that will ebb away when he gets to know that I am Devayani’s co-wife and that she is after my life.

I thought to myself, how lonely man is in this world. The whole earth stretched before me, but I had no one on it except my child.

Early in the morning, a kindly woman came there. With solicitude she took me to her house. She treated me like her younger sister. I spent four happy days there. The fear that Puroo might be taken ill after that dreadful night’s discomfort had passed.

It was the fifth night. Puroo was sleeping by me. I was floating in pleasant dreams.

I woke up with a start. Did I feel somebody’s arms round me? No, but I did feel a strange rough hand touching me. I saw the figure of my host with his lustful look. I was startled by the touch and screamed, ‘Sister.’ The lady hastened into my room with a light. She patted me and asked, ‘What is the matter, sister?’ I said that I had felt something like a snake crawling over me. She called out to her husband and they both looked round the room. But how could they so find the snake who was there in the form of a man?

I learnt a lesson. So far I had been sheltered in the palace where my beauty was safe from molestation. Now in the open world it was likely to cause trouble. I had not only to protect Puroo but myself too.

Next morning, I made many excuses and reluctantly took leave of my sister. I was sad at leaving and tears came to my eyes, wondering if I would ever see her again. Is life nothing more than a mixture of meetings and partings?

I passed village after village. I took to unfrequented roads avoiding large towns, to get as far away from Hastinapur as possible, never staying at one place for more than a day, never confiding in anyone and never disclosing my real name. If somebody was persistent, I would say that I had set out in search of my husband who had deserted me and my infant and gone to the Himalayas. This aroused pity in some and suspicion in others.

I had thought that Puroo would tire from the discomfort of the journey. But not at all.

I was well away from Hastinapur. I was tired of walking and was forced to camp for a few days in a village. I was taken in by a rich widow. She harried me with questions about my identity. I had my set answer. She said sympathetically, ‘Your husband left such a beautiful wife to turn an ascetic? How strange destiny can be in some cases!’

All day she kept staring at me. I was restless when I lay down but I could not sleep for a long time. I went over all the happy moments I had spent in the company of His Majesty — the very intimate ones in the hope that I would fall asleep. In the end, sleep herself took mercy on me.

I woke from the disturbed sleep with a start, by a light shed on me. Someone was peering at me. I opened my eyes just a little, to see. The old woman was whispering something to a young man. I listened with my eyes closed. Wicked broken words, Hastinapur, proclamation, a fat reward and so on, distressed my ears, like drops of poison. I was scared.

The young man was saying, ‘No, it is not possible that this is Sharmishtha.’

They went out arguing. My heart was in my mouth. I got up then and left the house at dead of night.

Like a hunted animal without exposing myself, avoiding large towns and taking shelter only for the night, in a temple or
serai,
I went on. Sometimes, I was depressed. I thought it was no use continuing with such hide and seek in which one day I was bound to be discovered.

Whatever the hardship I must live for Puroo. Whatever the odds, I must till he grows up. I must be prepared to cross the mountain of unhappiness.

A few days later, I came to a village temple. It was evening, so I decided to spend the night in the adjoining
serai
. I washed Puroo at a well nearby and left him in the front of the temple to play. Everyone who came into the temple first rang the bell. Puroo also wanted to ring it himself. He was dragging me to the bells. I put him off for sometime but a mother has to yield to the wilfulness of the child! I lifted his hands to the bell with glee, when before the temple an announcement was being made promising a big reward to anyone who would present me and my child to Devayani.

I shuddered at the first few words of it and my legs began to shake. I was holding Puroo high and thought I would drop him. I was terrified and collapsed to the floor.

How happy is a child’s world. How blissful his ignorance! Puroo did not understand a word of the announcement. He was absorbed in reaching up and ringing the bell. He was annoyed because he had not been able to do so. He started crying when I pulled him away. The announcement was still ringing in my ears. My heart was beating fast. A middle-aged man, seeing Puroo crying, walked up to me saying, ‘The child is crying. Take him and soothe him. See what he wants.’ The next moment, he was peering at me.

The announcement upset me greatly. I was convinced that I must never again be seen in public places like a bazaar, a temple or a
serai
. I must disguise myself. I knew that it would be easier to effect a disguise if I left Puroo somewhere. But the thought was heartbreaking. Separate from Puroo? No, that was quite impossible. Puroo’s eyes were like the sun and moon to me. All the treasures of Kuber could not equal the joy of a kiss of his. I had to live for his sake alone.

I set out with Puroo inspite of the darkness. I decided that I must not stop with anyone. For rest I must look for a place somewhere outside the village, maybe even out in the open. That must be an inflexible rule even at the risk of life.

The next four or five days were without incident. Kacha’s memory was heartening. So far, I had put away the red sari given by Kacha. For the first time one day I wore it.

That day, I stayed at a deserted temple away from a village. Outside and about was a dense forest. For a moment I was frightened. I was putting Puroo to sleep on my lap when an ascetic walked in. He went straight to the idol. Puroo must have noticed him! He got up and started prattling ‘da, da.’

The ascetic turned quickly and walked away past me. Puroo was crying, saying ‘da-da.’

In the hope, that Puroo might sleep in the cool breeze, I took him outside. It was moonlight. The whole world looked like a white lotus with a thousand petals open. The forest in front and around was bathed in moonlight. What was otherwise a dense forest, now looked gently inviting, like the flowering shrubs in a garden. The world was sleeping soundly in the lap of mother earth, to the tune of the lullaby sung by the moon.

By now the moonlight was going to my head. What beautiful patterns it made under the trees! I was not in a mood to hum a tune to myself since leaving Hastinapur. But now gladdened at heart to overflowing, I broke into song. I was in a trance. They say, that moon is a friend of the God of Love. That realisation dawned on me now. The fascination of the moonlight was akin to that of love.

I had covered some distance. Suddenly, the forest seemed to end. Before me, a huge black rock was spread out like a tortoise. Beyond it was a sheer chasm.

I was drawn to it. I wanted to walk right up to its end and peep into the chasm. After all did we not play at the same game as children?

I said to myself, today the moonlight is really wonderful. This beautiful view is unique. I wanted to drink in all that beauty. The rock was jutting out a little too far, but what did it matter? What was there to be afraid of? Does not man find pleasure in living surrounded on all sides by death? Who has time to reflect on other things, while enjoying silvery moments such as these?

I walked courageously ahead. I was getting near the narrower end of the rock. Someone shouted, ‘Stop, stop.’ I was taken aback.

I saw him heading towards me. He was coming nearer every moment. He was probably an ascetic. The thought that somewhere at hand there must be the hermitage of a sage heartened me. I could see him distinctly in the clear moonlight. From hope I had again fallen into despair.

The ascetic was Yati!

Yati was peering at me. I was in a cold sweat remembering his weird behaviour at court, the terrifying experience of Ashokavan and his hatred for women. I felt helpless. Yati was looking closely at me and at Puroo sleeping on my shoulder. I bravely met his gaze.

I thought his earlier insane look had changed to a softer one. He paused for a few moment and asked, ‘Sharmishtha, how do you happen to be here?’ His tone was affectionate and kindly. I sobbed. I did not know how or what to tell him.

He was bewildered at my sobbing. But I pulled myself up and, trying to smile, said, ‘I came away from Hastinapur on purpose for Puroo to see his uncle. I knew you would not come to Hastinapur to see him, so I decided to bring this jewel of your family to show you.’

The words helped to relieve the mounting tension between us. Yati came nearer and said, ‘Is he my nephew? Yayati’s son? I was wondering if the nephew would give his uncle a kiss. But Prince is asleep. It will be the first kiss in my life and I must find an auspicious moment for it.’

I looked at him stunned. Was it Yati or had Kacha disguised himself as Yati? How did this miracle happen? How did a beautiful lake take the place of a barren desert?

I followed Yati to the hermitage which was run by one of the disciples of Maharishi Angiras.

Is life a chain of coincidences? At least at that
moment I thought so. I had put on the beautiful sari given to Devayani by Kacha only because of the mistake of a maid. A princess had been reduced to a maid. Later, the king came into her life by the passing whim of Devayani and brought her a lifetime of love. Still again, the maid was turned into a refugee. But she soon found someone to lean on. And of all the people, an ascetic who had been dubbed by the world a lunatic.

I told him my tale. I mentioned how Kacha had given me heart by adopting me as his sister, and how he had earnestly pleaded with Devayani to release me from bondage. I broke down during the narration. But these were tears of joy at the thought of my good fortune in having found such selfless and noble love. I paused to wipe my eyes.

Yati must have been prompted to open his heart after hearing me. He spoke quite calmly, as if he was talking about someone else’s life. He was almost off his mind when he left Ashokavan. Kacha had directed the hermitages on the way to bring him to Bhrigu Mountain if anyone should find him. One of the disciples persuaded him to accompany him to Kacha’s cottage. Kacha tended him like his own brother.

Yati had taken a mistaken view of life and started to detest everything sweet, ranging from sweet fruit to woman’s love. He formed a firm idea to which he stuck that pure bliss and self-knowledge could be reached only through such hatred. He had set out to find God but was caught in the snare of black magic, hypnotism and occult powers. He had no friend or disciple. He had never come across selfless love. Yati’s life had become like that of a leaf which drops from a tree and is carried up swirling through the air in a whirlwind.

I heard of the whirlwind and the leaf for the first time when Yati was speaking. He talked at length. I cannot recall today all that he said. I wish I had carefully made a note of every word of his in the diary of my mind. What he said was born of bitter experience. Like the fragrance wafted on the breeze, like the silver streak of lightning, I have now only the memory of his words. But even the mere memory is inspiring.

The Queen Mother was on the Bhrigu Mountain. Under her loving care Yati recovered his balance a little. Kacha himself strove to guide him. They had debates for hours. The outcome of it all was that Yati found the golden mean of his life. He told me on that moonlit night of the philosophical maxims contained in their debates. I remember very few of them today and those also in odd bits.

Yati said the body and the soul are not enemies of each other; they are the two wheels of a chariot; if one of the two breaks down, the strain has to be taken by the other and it is borne down! To torture the body for the uplift of the soul or to deaden the soul for physical pleasures are both wrong. The varied beauty broadcast by the Almighty in this world cannot be impure or tainted. The relation of man and woman is just like that of the body and soul. Not by hating each other but rather by intense love for each other, love so great that each one forgets self, man and woman attain heavenly bliss in workaday life. That is why keeping the household is regarded as sacred as making a sacrifice. To the common man, that alone is religion. Sages like Shukra and Kacha bear the cares of the world’s well-being; Lord Indra, Vrishaparva and Yayati, the great kings must tend to the happiness of their subjects and the common householder must carry the burden of property and well-being of his family, friends and relations. They must at all times beware that their happiness does not impinge on others to make them unhappy. Individual duty, social obligation, royal duty and the duty of an ascetic are all on par. None bound by any of these duties may deprecate life or transgress the fundamental restrictions laid on it. It is a sin to violate one’s religion or duty. But everyone must determine for himself which duty to take upon himself. In its pursuit, everyone from the ascetic to the husband must remember that selfless love is the king of all religions and the highest form of duty.