Yayati: A Classic Tale of Lust (14 page)

It was dawn. I bowed before Mother and took her blessing. It only remained for Devayani to bid farewell in the traditional way. Sharmishtha brought the salver containing the lamp and other articles of worship. Devayani was about to take it in hand, when a maid came in hurriedly and announced the arrival of a messenger outside.

Devayani started out. The priests muttered something like, ‘Your Majesty ... the auspicious time!’

The priests were troubled lest the auspicious time might pass by. In the end, Sharmishtha was asked by Mother to perform the traditional ritual. She put the red
tilak
on my forehead.

That first touch of Sharmishtha — does the nature of man reveal itself even in a touch? Devayani was undoubtedly prettier than Sharmishtha — but her touch always felt like that of a statue in stone. On the other hand Sharmishtha’s was like that of a delicate flowering creeper.

After taking the light round my face and sprinkling rice on my head, she said in a soft low tone, ‘Pray do take care of yourself.’

Those words were enough to calm down my agitation. I looked at Sharmishtha, tears had welled in her eyes. Sharmishtha was giving me what Devayani had failed to.

Devayani pranced back with her father’s letter like a child. She suddenly turned to Mother and said, ‘Mother, His Majesty will certainly return victorious. Father has sent him his blessings just in time.’

She gave me the letter to read. It said:

I am very lonely in the hermitage since you left. There is nothing wanting,
yet I have the persistent feeling that something is lacking! I do not know if every father, sending his daughter away, has the same experience.

Things being thus, I think it would be better to undertake the penance. I was unable to keep Sanjeevani as I should have. And Lord Shiva must be angry with me for it. I shall probably have to undertake an even more difficult penance. But have no care, my girl. Your father will not rest until he has acquired some unique power like Sanjeevani.

You might feel that I need not subject my body to such hardships, but Devayani this is a world of power politics. I had acquired a unique power. I lost it from being an addict to wine. But it is one thing to live honourably as the Lord and Master of the world, with such power in one’s armoury and quite another to exist as a weakling who is helpless and therefore reduced to an insignificant life. The first can be called life, the second living death!

You will now understand why I am anxious to sit in penance. If you start immediately after getting this letter, you will still be in time to see me before I enter the cave.

I am eagerly looking forward to your visit. If your husband can spare the time from his royal obligations, bring him along. God bless him.

I looked up from the letter. Sharmishtha had perhaps hoped that Maharishi Shukra might have mentioned her in the letter or at least remembered her enough to send his blessings. She was sure that if there was a reference, I would tell her.

With some such thoughts I heaved a sigh at which Devayani said, ‘Your Majesty need not take it to heart. I shall return soon after seeing Father. I shall certainly not stay long! We women leave our hearts behind us in our homes, even on our visits to our parental home.’

The priests were grumbling because the auspicious time for leaving the palace had lapsed. She ignored them and said, ‘I have in mind to perform a sacrifice to wish Father well on my return. By then, Your Majesty will also have returned.’

‘I may not return in time.’

‘That will not do. You must specially return for the sacrifice and then go back.’

I was about to oppose her when Mother came to her rescue. She was glad that great sages and ascetics would be among us for the sacrifice. I quietly agreed to Devayani’s proposal. She said, ‘I shall not leave until after the arrangements for the sacrifice are on the way. At least fifty ascetics should be here. Kacha should also be called ...’

‘Kacha?’ I said in confusion. Why has she so much regard for Kacha? He stayed a long time in Maharishi Shukra’s hermitage. Is it possible that they fell in love? Or were their relations any different?

Devayani had once talked in her sleep somewhat incoherently. It was quite clear in a moment. While in the hermitage, Kacha probably gathered flowers for her; she desired that he should braid them in hair —

That plainly points to love. It was not mere friendship.

No, there would be no point in calling Kacha for the sacrifice.

I looked at Sharmishtha. Her gloom had disappeared at the mention of Kacha. She had told me, ‘Kacha taught me to love.’ What did that mean? Whatever it be! If he came and met Sharmishtha, the unfortunate girl, leading the life of a slave, will get some respite.

I said, ‘Consult the Prime Minister in issuing invitations to the principal sages. But
do include Maharishi Angiras in them.’

It maybe this sudden remembrance of Maharishi Angiras or the sight of the glorious Himalayan peak visible from the northern border ... one could not take one’s eyes off that trident shaped peak among them. In this campaign I was reminded of Yati over and over again. I had practically forgotten about him in the last year. I had omitted to make even casual enquiry if Yati, in search of his objective had come to Maharishi Shukra and if so, what had happened to him? One unconsciously centres on oneself. If it were otherwise, I should at sometime have given a thought to Yati. The remembrance came now, and I even thought for a moment that I should go as far as the foothills of the Himalayas. Learning that King Yayati was himself leading the army, the guerilla Dasyus scattered into the forest and there was no cause for actual battle.

In a way, I was free to search for Yati. But I was restless with thoughts of Devayani. I knew that my love for her was largely physical. But the body ached for her. I renewed the arrangements for protection against the Dasyus and returned to the capital.

Devayani had returned from her visit to Maharishi Shukra before me. Arrangements for the sacrifice were in full swing in the capital. But although everything was going according to her plans, she did not seem pleased to welcome me back.

The cause was the letter from Maharishi Angiras. He wrote:

I cannot come. Unless I am satisfied that the penance of Maharishi Shukra stems from benign motives and that the power achieved will be used only towards the good of the world, I am unable to participate in a sacrifice directed to wish him well.

When, on purpose, I told her that Angiras had been preceptor to Kacha, she was stunned for a moment. Knowing that Sharmishtha would be disappointed if Kacha did not come, I said, ‘I wish Kacha could come. He is a friend of my childhood.’ I had not seen Sharmishtha since my return. I asked Devayani about her when she said, ‘I have sent her to Ashokavan.’

She added, ‘What was her right to perform the ritual for you and put the red mark on your forehead on the day you set out for the campaign?’

‘But Mother asked her to do ...’

‘As a Kshatriya princess, she is very near to her ... almost a blood relation. She must be planning to make her your queen!’

I laughed, ‘Mother may have her plans, but you are hardly likely to let her succeed.’

‘Umm. What is so difficult about it? Do you know that your worthy Mother poisoned one of the maids of the palace? I can tell you all about everything that goes on.’

The conversation had taken on unpleasant turn. I kept quiet so as to stem it.

But a night equally filled with happy dreams had rarely come my way. That night Devayani told me of her secret. The very intimate sweet secret. The mystery of woman’s life. She was expecting.

I was thrilled. Devayani — to have a baby. I was going to be a father. Will it be a boy or girl? If a boy, what would he look like? They say that children with the face of their mothers are happy. Whether a boy or girl, we must both pray everyday that it has the mother’s features.

Devayani was to be a mother. Her little one was going to prattle ma-ma! That night every moment was enlivened with a sweet dream. I was floating like a swan on the waves of dreams.

The sacrifice was performed with due eclat. Some prominent sages like Agastya and Angiras were unable to come. Barring that blemish, the ceremony went well. Devayani kept hoping that some day Kacha would come.

Court was held in honour of the assembled guests. Even Mother was present behind a curtain in rear of the throne.

A pregnant woman carries a peculiar glow, not unlike the earth with the bloom of crops. I realised this when I saw the eyes of the ladies in the gathering glued to
Devayani in admiration. I was greatly flattered.

I was filled with joyful pride when doing obeisance with her, before the saints and sages, and later mounting the throne with her.

Devayani had particularly sent for Sharmishtha from the Ashokavan. Her intentions became apparent at court. She wanted Sharmishtha to be near to fan her.

The sages took grains of rice in their hands to bestow their blessing. Just then the Prime Minister whispered in my ear and said, ‘Kacha is outside.’

Devayani overheard and said, ‘Escort him in with deference and take him to his place of honour among the gathering.’

‘He does not seem to want to come in.’

Devayani was angry. ‘Why? Like Angiras ... has he also gone queer? Does he wish to insult us after coming to the capital? In that case ...’

The Prime Minister folded his hands, ‘No. Your Majesty there is no such thing. He is accompanied by an ascetic who appears to be beside his mind. So Kachadeva prefers ...’

Devayani said, ‘No matter ... bring him in with the mendicant. And look, I am a sister to him. Bring him straight to the throne. I shall bow and take his blessing and then you can lead him to his place.’

The Prime Minister hastened out. In a little while Kacha and his companion came in. The whole gathering turned to them. A faint murmur from the sages, welcoming Kacha, rolled up.

I scanned the mendicant accompanying him, when Kacha came forward. I could not believe my eyes. I did not know if I was dreaming or had gone off my mind.

He was Yati.

The three of them stood before the throne. Devayani got up to bow to Kacha. It would have been contrary to decorum if I had continued sitting. I also got up smiling.

Just as Devayani was about to bow, he noticed Sharmishtha standing there with a fan. He was astounded. He suddenly exclaimed, ‘Princess? You ... here?’

Devayani quickly raised herself up a little and said, ‘Sage Kacha, she is no longer a princess.’

So far Yati was casting wild glances around. Pointing to Sharmishtha, he said to Devayani ‘Will you give me this maid of yours?’

She asked Yati, ‘Why do you want her sire? For a wife?’

Kacha was warning Yati off with his eyes. But Yati’s eyes were fixed on Sharmishtha.

On seeing Yati in this condition I was reminded of the curse ‘The children of King Nahusha will never be happy.’

Yati laughed grotesquely, ‘Wife? No, I am going to change her into a man.’

The gathering burst into laughter, which immediately subsided and was followed by a pall of fright.

From behind the curtain Mother shouted, ‘Prime Minister, take the lunatic away. If he talks such nonsense again, have him flogged!’

The Prime Minister made a sign. The guards came forward to take Yati away.

I did not take in what was happening before me. My mind was whirling with the curse. I could not bear to see Yati’s humiliation. I ordered, ‘Don’t touch him. He is the rightful heir to this throne.’

Devayani wondered wide-eyed if I had lost my senses. I calmly said to the court in words which were distinctly audible: ‘He is my elder brother. His name is Yati.’

From behind the curtain came the wail, ‘Yati’ and immediately Mother rushed out, in defiance of all decorum. She had only to look at Yati. She could not bear to see that terrible apparition. She closed her eyes and collapsed to the ground, with her arms outstretched saying: ‘Yati? My Yati?’

DEVAYANI

I
s Kacha an enemy from my earlier birth? The whole ceremony had gone off well. Kacha had parted from me pronouncing a curse. On the pretext of the sacrifice, I sent him an invitation to make him realise that I was not the least bit worse off for his curse. Now Devayani was a ruling queen.

I felt that he might not relish facing his beloved as queen but I also knew how deeply he had loved Devayani at one time. Man may spurn love but can he ever forget it? Kacha was not there at the start and he had not come till the finish. The queen in me was pleased. But the Devayani in me grieved.

The Prime Minister brought the news of his arrival in the court. My joy knew no bounds. I sat on the throne, thousands of eyes centred on me in admiration of my beauty with Princess Sharmishtha fanning me as a maid. The great sages chanted auspicious hymns, in blessing us. Kacha would see and realise how grievously he had erred in rejecting me.

Kacha denied me fulfilment of my love. I thought I would have the pleasure of wreaking vengeance, but my weapon boomeranged. The satisfaction of revenge was there, but for Kacha.

* * *

Mother is invariably taciturn. Her mind is deep as a well. Nobody can fathom from her appearance what is going on inside. But throwing decorum to the winds, forgetting her place as Queen Mother, she had come forward screaming, ‘Yati! My Yati!’ and collapsed on the ground before the gathering. What a shame! How derogatory to a Queen Mother’s dignity!

There was chaos in the courtroom. The wretch had brought great ill omen to Father’s penance! After all, Yati was off his head. But why could His Majesty not keep his? Nobody at court except he knew that Yati was his brother. Even Kacha who brought him in was unaware of his identity.

Somewhere along the way, villagers were stoning the looney! Kacha saw it and his compassion was roused. He brought him along.

Or is it that this house is cursed with insanity? What a figure that Yati is. His Majesty’s behaviour also — I cannot foresee what calamity might not befall us if the wretch continues to stay here. Mother might even insist that a regency should rule in his name. Her filial love has awakened, and in passing, she could humiliate me. After all, he is the elder brother. His Majesty had himself said in open court, ‘He is the rightful heir to the throne.’

Oh no. His Majesty had acted irrationally at the court.

This house is not cursed with insanity only. There is weakness for women also. Truly hereditary. They say my father-in law defeated Lord Indra! He may have but he was also smitten by Indrani’s beauty. Mother had hidden it from me but the old maid told me everything.

Yati, with a beard and long hair, wearing his saffron coloured gown of renunciation had only to look at Sharmishtha and he asked for her in the presence of the whole gathering.

Why laugh at him? He, poor wretch, ran away as a child and took to the jungle. But look at King Yayati renowned for his heroism. He won laurels when out
with
the victory horse. Now anointed king
,
d
id he also not melt at the sight of a beautiful maiden stepping out of a well? How readily a woman sees through a man. She can read his good and bad points clearly in his eyes. When I stepped out of the well, how avidly His
Majesty
was looking at me.

A woman can instinctively read passion in the eyes of a man. She is certain from his avid eyes that he would be an easy prey.

If it was Kacha, I would not have dared even to say, ‘Give me your hand!’ Even if I had, he would not have given it.

I was attracted to Kacha by such traits in his character. I would not have given him a second thought, if from the moment he came into the hermitage he had hovered round me, seeming eager to be near me, or if I found him looking avidly at me. But I never saw desire in his eyes. There was no passion in his bearing. Women like just such men. They turn their backs on men who chase them and they chase men who turn their backs on them. How strange but true!

Kacha used to gather my favourite wild flowers at some risk to his life. Those flowers often told me how deeply he was in love with me. In the dead of night they would whisper into my ear. But Kacha never mentioned it.

Once, a thorn pricked me in the garden. In jest, I told him that I had been bitten by a snake. The tears that came to his eyes then plainly reflected his feelings.

He used to say his prayers to the Almighty in a bower in the corner of the garden before going to bed. It included the words, ‘May Devayani be happy.’ These words reassured me over and over again of his deep love.

I wanted such love.

I did not intend to stay a miserable frustrated lover, telling the rosary of her frustration. Kacha had inflicted a deep wound on my heart, I wanted to forget the pain of that wound. I therefore locked up the lover in me in a dark corner of my heart. For good. I was determined to spend my life in the intoxication of being the mistress of myself. The Devayani who fell in and the Devayani who came out of the well were different persons. With the realisation that the man standing on the edge of the well was the King of Hastinapur .... In that instant I was determined to be his favourite queen. To forget the pangs of unrequited love, I needed the intoxication of splendour, the arrogance of power and a husband who would dance to my tune ... A lusting husband would stay in my control.

All this I gained in a moment. But that wretch of an ascetic accompanying Kacha —

It does not matter whether this mad man stays here or goes away. I am the queen and propose to stay queen.

I insisted that he should not be kept in the palace so that his influence and following might not grow. It is just as well that they have all gone to the Ashokavan. Who knows what foolish things that idiot would have done here?

So that I maybe kept informed of what goes on at Ashokavan I have deputed the old maid, among others, ostensibly to wait on the Queen Mother. She narrates funny stories. He has not yet recognised his mother.

In his pilgrimage, God bestowed a good gift on Kacha. What a jewel he has found! And with great regard he brought him here.

Evil seems to follow Yati everywhere. On that day of the farewell ceremony, we drove to court in a chariot in perfect sunshine. There was not a speck of cloud anywhere in the sky. It looked more like spring than the rainy season. But Yati had only to enter the courtroom and there was chaos here, there and everywhere.

When we returned that evening, the sky was overcast with thick black clouds. It was dark like an underground passage. Soon lightning flashed! Lightning? It looked like snakes in an underground passage.

Then came pouring rain. For four days it simply rained! River Yamuna was in flood. Life in the capital had become disorganised. The Prime Minister was troubled that the Yamuna would rise further, devastating villages on its banks.

It was the midnight of the fourth day! It was still raining, now a downpour and then a drizzle. When the rain stopped, you could hear big drops of water dripping from the higher branches to the ones below. After a while, it poured again. His
Majesty
was asleep
,
b
ut I was awake. My thoughts toyed with the idea of the coming baby, wondering what it would look like. Seeing it, will it remind people of me? Whose eyes and nose will it have? Would it have thick hair? Will it have a small, tiny mouth? Will it run to me stumbling on the way calling me ma, before turning to His
Majesty
saying da
,
da?

Suddenly I heard the sound of hooves on the cobblestones outside. Was I dreaming?

I opened the door and hastened out. I had indeed heard horse’s hooves. Mother had sent a messenger.

Agitated, the messenger asked me, ‘Has the ascetic come here?’

I knew that Kacha was in the habit of w
a
ndering far away into a quiet place to sit in meditation there. As it was past midnight, Mother must have sent the messenger to find out if he had come here.

I replied, ‘No. Kacha has not been here.’

He stuttered, ‘Kacha is there, but that other ascetic ... revered Yati.’

‘What has happened to him?’ ‘Who knows where he has run away?’ ‘When?’

‘He was in Ashokavan till three hours after nightfall. The Queen Mother awoke a little later and found that Prince Yati was not in his bed.’

I awoke His Majesty, who promptly rode to Ashokavan. Despite a diligent search, Yati was not to be found.

Next day, there was a strange rumour in the capital. They said, someone had seen Yati walking across the flooded Yamuna!

Where Yati had hidden himself in the darkness, how he got away inspite of the vigil for him, where he went to in pouring rain, whether he walked on the waters of the Yamuna or was drowned in it, no one knew for certain.

I said to myself, ‘It is good riddance.’

I went to Ashokavan to enquire about Mother. I pressed her to return to the palace. She preferred to stay where she was.

I met Kacha there. We talked for a while, but it was very casual. He never visited the palace. His Majesty used to visit Ashokavan everyday to see his mother. Everytime on coming back he said, ‘It was very nice to meet an old friend like Kacha. Time flies in his company.’ Kacha had time to talk to everybody and to undertake insignificant little tasks for all and sundry but not to see Devayani.

I had asked him once when I was there: ‘When will you visit the palace?’ He only said, ‘We shall see.’ His egoism remained. Even now he does not understand Devayani!

Something within me assured me, however, that one day he would come to see me. Every morning the cheerful dawn would whisper, ‘Kacha will come today. He wishes to surprise you by coming without warning.’ I would then merrily set about preparing for his welcome. A seat which from a distance appeared like a throne, delicious fruit artfully laid out in a golden salver, small delicately made garlands of his favourite flowers, everything was kept ready in my apartment. After all, he was an eccentric sage. Who could tell when he would appear?

One, two, three, full seven days passed by. Kacha had time to sit chatting with His Majesty for hours. But he had no time to come and see me. I was so angry with him. He came to Hastinapur on an invitation. And that from me. But he did not have the ordinary courtesy to call at the palace.

Nonetheless, I did want all the time that he should come to see me, that we should talk together freely, that he should enquire about me, that we should recall the happy days we had spent together, that their memory should distress me and tears come to my eyes, for no particular reason, and with them wash away the Devayani who was Queen.

When Kacha had left me with a curse, I had resolved never again to shed tears. At parting from Father I bowed and bid him farewell. He put his hand on my head with a blessing. How he was trembling. I was greatly moved but not a tear came to my eyes. Devayani was never, never again, going to cry.

I did feel, however, that when Kacha came, sweet old memories should come up and I should give way to tears so that I would feel easier in mind. Is there comfort in tears? No, tears are the sign of a weak mind. Queen Devayani cry? And that for some musty old memories? No, that is not possible.

I was now almost certain Kacha was going to leave without seeing me. On the eighth day, I did not prepare for his welcome.

And by chance on that very day he came. What a time I had looking after him. The servants brought in a stately chair but he squatted on his deerskin.

I urged, ‘Kacha, you must sit here.’

He looked at the chair and said, ‘Not that this beautiful chair will hurt me. But I have made a rule. Why needlessly break it?’

‘And what is the rule?’

‘It is really nothing much. If one can sleep on a deerskin, why take the trouble of making a feather bed? If one must eat wild roots and herbs, why should one occasionally indulge in a banquet and pamper the tongue? Devayani, man’s tongue is his worst enemy. I do not mean that only in the sense that it indulges in words which hurt. But if it tastes a crisp delicacy one day, it prompts one to taste it again.’

Tauntingly I retorted, ‘I suppose it is wrong for me, even as a queen, to wear these expensive clothes!’

He smiled and said, ‘Oh no, your case is different. You are a householder. Family life is your creed. I am an ascetic. Renunciation is my creed. Indulgence of various kinds has an acknowledged place in your life. In renunciation, it is unforgivable.’

Looking lingeringly at some flowers in a golden vase on a table nearby, he said, ‘So you still remember what I like. That you have time for such small things, inspite of your great responsibilities as a queen, is ...’

‘It was because I thought of you, that I particularly sent you an invitation.’

‘You remembered me inspite of my curse and sent me an invitation. It is great good fortune to have such a generous sister. It was unworthy of a young ascetic and even more so of a brother.’

With these words, he folded his hands. How grave he looked. He asked, ‘Am I forgiven?’

I hung my head saying, yes. Next moment I wondered if it was not all playacting! If Devayani was so dear to him and he wanted to beg her forgiveness, why had he kept away for so long?

I said with a smile, ‘It is many days since you came to Hastinapur. You never came to see me. So I wondered if the brother had forgotten his sister?’

‘A rich brother might neglect a poor sister but how can a poor brother forget his rich sister?’