Yayati: A Classic Tale of Lust (23 page)

Yet, we both cried together. It was only then that we calmed down a bit.

We talked and thought together a great deal. News of them would necessarily take time to reach us. So it would be better to go to a village eight or ten miles from Hastinapur. We would thus be able to get news from passing soldiers and messengers. Alaka’s mother reluctantly permitted her to go with me, saying, ‘After all, the daughter belongs to another home. It is a debt which might as well be honoured on time.’

Two brave elderly persons, from among those detailed by Yati to look after me, prepared to go with us. We two set out on our way, imagining a hundred things. Sometimes repressing our tears and sometimes stealthily wiping them, sometimes dreaming of Puroo’s heroism and at other times, waking up with a start, seeing him injured in our dreams.

* * *

I was returning to Hastinapur after eighteen years, the same way I had left. Equally frightened at heart. I was going on dreaming of the future, dreams sometimes golden, sometimes black!

When I had passed this way eighteen years ago, I was worried about protecting little Puroo from harm. The same Puroo had today gone to battle leaving his mother in a sea of anxiety. I was all the time, at every step, distressed whether he was safe. Are anxiety and shadow twins? Is it the will of God that these should be constant companions of man?

At last we reached a village some ten miles from Hastinapur. It was a day of ill-omen. On that very day, bad news had just come through stunning us both. In a skirmish, Yadu and some of his brave soldiers had been captured by the Dasyus. It was their custom to behead the enemy and carry his skull on a spear in procession.

But our misery went much further than that and was more poignant. Puroo must almost certainly have been among the brave soldiers accompanying Yadu. In fact, he might well be a prisoner himself.

In
what condition then were we likely to see Puroo? As a victorious hero? Or at the end of a spear?

What had I done in my previous birth that God was punishing me thus?

DEVAYANI

T
he pitch darkness of the new moon night seems poised to pounce on me. Looking at the sky through the window, the stars are twinkling as if in derision. There are so many retainers in the palace, but they are dumb. I am in a state as if flames are ablaze all around and there is no escape.

This evening the messenger brought the evil tidings. My Yadu is defeated. The Dasyus have taken him. Oh no. I just cannot believe it. How did such a fate overtake him? Queen Devayani’s son vanquished. Maharishi Shukra, acclaimed as the world’s most illustrious ascetic, his grandson defeated? No, the words ring false. They seem like ghosts.

How enthusiastic he was when setting out for battle! I put the red
tilak
on his forehead. How eagerly I waited for news of his victory. But, like the
chatak
bird expectantly looking up to the sky for a drop of rain and getting struck by lightning instead, I am stunned.

Devayani has not had to hang her head down so far. She has not so far submitted to anyone. But today? What can I do now? Whom shall I supplicate? It is nearly time for Father to end his penance. I have not seen him these eighteen years. I never told him about any of my unhappiness. He is short tempered. I bore my unhappiness, repressed it, lest he should thoughtlessly give up his penance halfway. He had, at my insistence on bringing Kacha back to life, lost the invaluable power of Sanjeevani. Now he is again on the point of achieving some such power. In these circumstances, how can I go to him and say, ‘Free my Yadu!’ What right have I to break his penance?

No, I shall not be so thoughtless. Not even for one of my own flesh and blood. Many bitter unhappy recollections are piled up in my mind. I am going to wreak vengeance on everyone of those who have offended me. That Sharmishtha, her brat aspiring to be King Emperor and His Majesty, but not yet. After Father has successfully completed his penance and achieved the new power.

I want my Yadu! I want nothing else. I do not want this kingdom nor father’s new power.

No, this is not Devayani talking. This is the weakling of a mother. But Devayani is Maharishi Shukra’s daughter and the Queen of Hastinapur. She must not weaken thus.

What shall I do? How can I free Yadu? I suddenly thought of His Majesty. Can a brave father sit quiet knowing that his son has been taken captive by the enemy? Yadu is not only mine. He is as much His Majesty’s. Is it possible that he has not yet heard of Yadu’s defeat and capture by the Dasyus? How can that be?

The Prime Minister brought me the evil tidings and said, ‘I shall inform His Majesty about it. Knowing that the entire state is in jeopardy, he will not keep quiet. The situation now is grave. He will himself lead an army to free the Prince. The Queen may rest assured.’

It has been nearly two hours since the Prime Minister left to see His Majesty. My son is in captivity, his life is in danger. It is a blemish on the fair name of Hastinapur. I am a mother. I am the Queen. How can I keep quiet and not act?

Why has His Majesty not come to me yet? ‘I shall free Yadu and bring him back. Be ready to welcome us with lights.’ Words such as these would have dispelled the gloom in my heart. Steeped in wine and women, has he forgotten even his duty as a father?

It was an evil day when I was tempted to be Queen of Hastinapur. It was not my wedding but my sacrifice. I have been scorched by the flames of that nuptial sacrifice for the last eighteen years.

* * *

I am reminded of that stormy night eighteen years ago when renowned artists lost themselves in the beauty of my dances. Spring dance, a piece from the life of Uma, autumn dance; all of them had reached great heights that night, but there was something the artists who greeted me with thundering applause did not know. Each one of those dances was tinged with the blood oozing from my wounded heart. There was a big gash in Devayani’s heart. A wound mercilessly inflicted by her husband. It was in an effort to forget her agony that Devayani had poured all her life into her dances that night.

That night the sky was overcast. It was like my heart in agony from deception. But I had agreed to dance for those artists. I had not forgotten the nuances of my favourite art. I went on the stage for my first dance and in an instant left behind the agony of my mind. The world of art transcends transient things like thought, sensibility and passion. I was engrossed in my dance. As engrossed as I often was in my beauty before a mirror.

Sharmishtha is palpably a liar. The lines in Puroo’s hand pointing to his sovereignty were unmistakable evidence of their love affair. I was still in a trance when His Majesty presented me with the necklace. I went to bed in that trance.

I woke up the next morning as the Queen, but I also as a deceived wife and an affectionate mother dedicated to the well-being of her son.

I sent His Majesty out and went down to the cellar. She was not there. I saw red. Everyone from the old maid to His Majesty denied all knowledge. But truth cannot remain unrevealed.

Under the horsewhip, the old maid soon talked. I went to Ashokavan and I came to know of Sharmishtha having gone away, in a chariot somewhere. I could not find out who the charioteer was, but in a day or two learnt of Madhav’s illness. As a matter of formality, I went to see him. Madhav’s bride-to-be, Madhavi, was standing there. The child was bewildered and tears kept coming to her eyes! I patted her to console her. When she calmed down, we talked and she soon told me how Madhav had been taken so ill. Madhav had returned home that night, drenched to the skin a couple of hours after midnight. I knew how loyal a friend Madhav was. He had gone on His Majesty’s errand. He went to leave Sharmishtha far out of the town. Why, otherwise, should he have got drenched in the pouring rain? In the town, he could have taken shelter anywhere.

With this thread, I started unravelling the mystery of Sharmishtha. I purposely visited Madhav frequently. Madhav was in a delirium talking. A lot of it was irrelevant. But from one or two of his sentences, I was convinced of His Majesty’s conspiracy. Once he said, ‘On with it, driver!’ Another time, ‘Your Majesty must get down here.’ Eventually it dawned on me. He must have been calling Sharmishtha, ‘Your Majesty!’ The whole mystery was revealed to me by that one word. He was bent on making her Queen. He had designs on my life. He must have intended to keep Sharmishtha and Puroo safe somewhere until he could bring them back.

I resolved to nip the poisonous growth in the bud. I immediately made a proclamation throughout the length and breadth of the State, announcing a big reward to anyone apprehending Sharmishtha and her son. I felt that sooner or later someone would present himself with them. But it was not to be.

For the first few days, I had a watch kept on Ashokavan for any surreptitious communication between them.

* * *

I was wondering why even after news of Yadu’s capture His Majesty had not come to me. Why should he come to me? We had drifted so far apart in the last eighteen years. In the eyes of the world, he and I are husband and wife. But at heart we are sworn enemies. I took upon myself the administration of the State, taking the powers away from him. But he has thoroughly avenged himself, by indulging in animal pleasures and making himself quite oblivious of the fact that Devayani was his wife and Yadu his son or that he owed a duty to them.

I have often wondered if this is not the perverse result of my turning him down that night, insulting him and making him swear that he would not touch me again.

One night he came to my rooms. They say that a man excited with liquor desires a woman. I had only heard of it. But that night I myself had that experience. He begged me to give myself to him. Worse than a beast. I was unable to bear the foul smell of his mouth stinking with liquor. I stood far away from him. He ran after me and grappled with me. I asked, ‘Have you remembered me today because Sharmishtha is not there?’ He laughed a ghostly smile and said, ‘I am the son of King Nahusha. I want Sharmishtha. I want Devayani. I want every pretty woman on earth. Everyday a fresh woman.’

I was unable to stand it. He was talking like one who had gone out of his senses. I was reminded of his elder brother coming to court. He had gone off his head because of his hatred of women. Was His Majesty going to be unhinged by his lust for women?

He said, ‘My father could not get Indrani. But I will. I am going to take all the pretty women on earth. Pluck one flower, smell it and throw it away. Again pluck one, taste it and throw it away.’

I closed my ears. He was laughing hysterically and coming nearer. I collected all my strength and shouted, ‘Keep away. Keep away. Don’t you know who I am?’

He replied, ‘Yes, you are my wife.’ Spiritedly I retorted, ‘I am the daughter of Maharishi Shukra. You know what a great ascetic my father is. I am going to him now to report your behaviour. You will not come to your senses except after a terrible curse.’

He stood still on hearing the word ‘curse.’ For a moment, I also melted and felt like pleading with him to mend his ways — for my sake and for Yadu’s sake. After all he was my husband. If friends and relations do not forgive one’s failings who else will? I was a wife. Even if he failed in his duty as a husband, was it not enjoined on me to do my duty as a wife?

Is love something one can buy? Value for value is the rule of trade. But life is not trade. If His Majesty was going astray, I should have pointed it out to him. I should have convinced him of it. I should have stood by him if he lost his balance.

For a moment, maybe only for the moment, I melted at this thought. I was fidgety when His Majesty asked me, ‘Where is Sharmishtha? You devil, you have taken her life.’

He was coming forward. I was afraid that he might strangle me. Soon His Majesty was very near me. His intention to strangle me was quite evident. I shouted from mortal fear, ‘Keep off. Don’t forget I am the daughter of Maharishi Shukra. Step back. Go away. Get out of my room ...’

His Majesty began trembling and went back a step or two. He mumbled, ‘No, I won’t come any further.’

The reference to Sharmishtha had enraged me. I said, ‘First swear to me that you will never touch me again.’ I do not want even to be touched by that defiled body of his. I warned him, ‘Swear to me that you will never touch me. Swear in the name of my father.’

His Majesty swore and left my room. That day the fine silken cord of our relation as husband and wife, the most beautiful tie in life broke. We were thenceforward to go through life turned away from each other.

How am I to blame for the unfortunate incident that day? The daughter of Maharishi Shukra, the mother of Yadu and the Queen of Hastinapur every single one of them has consistently confirmed that what I did was right.

But then who is it that occasionally whispers to me,
‘
You
were wrong. You did not live up to your duty. You failed to realise your responsibility.’

Who is this creature torturing me with her pricks, for the last eighteen years? This woman has no name, no complexion and no form. I first thought, she was the wife of King Yayati. To stop her nagging, I said, ‘Why should a wife love her husband who has trampled upon the sanctity of their marriage and who is known to be a deceitful rascal? My resolve that night was the only right one. Knowing full well, that I would thus be deprived of marital happiness I came to that resolve.’

That foolish woman was never convinced. So many years have gone by but she still protests, ‘You did not truly live up to your duty. You
failed to realise your responsibility. Does love depend on such exterior attributes? The day a person becomes a near and dear one any arithmetical count of his good and bad points ceases. What remains is just selfless love. Love which gropes, stumbles, struggles up only to fall again, a love which aims to rise to the peak of devotion, inspite of the many falls. Do we ever sit down to reckon what God has given us or denied us when we bend in worship to him? Love is the worship of one person by another. You violated that worship, you are a blemish on womanhood. You will never, never be happy.’

Today was the same. I was stunned by the news of Yadu’s capture. Drawing on my distraught condition this woman was dinning into my ears, ‘You did not live up to the duty of a wife, to the responsibility of a woman. This is the fruit of that sin.’

No, it is not true. Yadu’s defeat is the fruit of the sins committed by His Majesty.

Who has not had to taste the bitter fruit of his sins? Poor Madhav, his dear friend, lost his life in taking Sharmishtha out of town. His bride-to-be was in the likeness of Rati, the goddess of love. What beautiful eyes she had. They say her body was found floating on the Yamuna one day.

There were only Madhav’s old mother and niece left in his house. Taraka soon grew up and granny was worried about her marriage. A few days later I learnt that Taraka had gone off her head. I could not bring myself to believe it and went to Madhav’s house. There was Taraka sitting in the doorway making a braid. She carried the lovely bloom of youth, but her eyes were vacant. They were frightening. She stared at me a long time, but did not recognise me.

Just then her granny came out. She said, ‘Taraka don’t you recognise her? She is the Queen. Bow to her.’ Taraka said, ‘What queen?’ Granny said, ‘Don’t you know, you silly? She is the Queen of our King Yayati?’ Suddenly she looked at the braid in her hand and screamed, ‘Lord, what a big snake! Snake! Snake!’

Taraka had nothing to do with His Majesty. She was only his friend’s niece. But even she did not escape misfortune.

Eighteen years ago I had made His Majesty take the oath. Even as Queen, I have lived like an ascetic. For nights on end, I was restless.

Sometimes, my firmness was on the point of giving way. I would go to Ashokavan but even after getting there, I never went in.

His Majesty, however, kept his word. He started a life of indulgence in animal pleasures. First, when I heard of it, I was stung to the quick. I was disgusted with the love affairs of men and women. I felt the world would have been a happier place if God had not created this attraction.