Yayati: A Classic Tale of Lust (Library of South Asian Literature)

by Vishnu Sakharam Khandekar

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.

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!’

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.

True love is selfless.

The spring dance had embodied budding love. Intense love had now to be shown which, Devayani did to perfection. I was troubled again with the same question. Where does all this intensity disappear in privacy with me? Like a live stream freezing, why does she turn cold in my arms?

The sun set and night was on its way. It was not stormy like yesterday. Night had given up the role of a raging fury and was entering her palace in the sky, like a coy maiden blushing with love. On her way, she was lighting starry lamps one by one.

I told him of my unhappiness. I begged him to forgive me for having come to his sacred place drunk. He smiled and said, ‘Your Majesty, you have already gone half the way to achieve peace of mind. Life here is beset with much unhappiness. There are only two remedies to counter it on earth’. I eagerly asked: ‘Which are they?’ ‘Wine and women!’ I was stunned. I took courage to ask, ‘Drinking wine is a great sin ...’ The sage intervened. ‘Good and evil are imaginary concepts put out by clever men and fools. In this world, only happiness and misery are real. Everything else is delusion. Good and bad are appearances ... the play of the mind. To my disciples I always give wine as sacrament.’

When man can be heartless like a stone, why expect a stone to have a heart?

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?

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.

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.

I had a strange feeling that one moment Puroo was as close to me as he was when he was in my womb. The next moment I thought that he was going further and further away from me. His contact with me now was no more than that of the bird, who soars all day in the sky singing merrily, and returns to the nest only at night. His was a different world now. I hoped that the unfortunate mother would have a space in the fullness of that world.

Everything around me heartened me in its own way. The ultimate essence of life was being revealed to me. I learnt that the easiest way to be happy is to cheerfully live the life given to us, to find pleasure in it, experience the beauty and fragrance of it and to share it with others.

I understood from my exile why sages and ascetics take to the jungle for their penance. Nature and man are inseparably linked together from the beginning to the end. In fact, they are twins. That is why life reveals itself in its true form only in the presence of Nature. Man then begins to understand the content and limitations of life. When he drifts away from Nature, his life becomes one-sided. In that artificial one-sided existence, his thoughts, feelings and desires assume unreal and distorted forms. My misfortune had in one way turned out to be good luck. That is why I came here. I was able to see clearly the truth underlying life.

As they grow up, children drift from their parents. Love and achievement are the inspirations of the young mind. These draw young boys and girls from the sheltered existence of their childhood. The parents, however, continue to dwell in their old world, anxious for their children’s well-being.

I thought all poets are slaves of portents. They have set ideas on beautiful evenings such as this. This intriguing pink of eventide in the west — is this the hue of eventide? The sun took a sip of wine and put the same cup to the lips of the evening. She demurred and was coy but while protesting mildly, that she did not want any, she suddenly put her hand out for it. With that the cup fell down and this is the wine that was spilt.

In life there are only three abiding realities — wine, women and hunting. Man forgets his unhappiness in their pursuit. Wine stimulates the imagination and frees the inhibiting shackles. All thought of morality, duty and good and evil melt in the tempting warmth of wine. In this life, one who does not want to be a quarry oneself must prey on the others. There is nothing like hunting to bring home to one this ultimate truth of life. The truth jars and smacks of cruelty. But that is the most important, all pervading hymn in the lyric of life. Purity, beauty and innocence are mere words conjured up by the upright and weak. The holy sacrificial fire is nothing more than the funeral pyre of the sacrificial goat. A beautiful woman is no more than a living doll catering to the transient impulse of passion. The carefree harmless deer is just food, provided by creation for the hunter. And in the company of a woman are combined the pleasures of wine and the hunt.

Smiling cynically, Mandar said, ‘The Almighty also is a potter.’ I asked, ‘In what sense?’ ‘He also makes similar earthen vessels ... like you and me. When earthen vessels break, they return to earth, as does man one day. If the potter’s earthenware were imbued with life, I would say to them, “Listen Ye! Do not be content with drinking water only for your life. Drink wine. Drink nectar. Drink today whatever you can get. On the morrow, when you are in pieces, not a drop of any drink can you have.” ’

Pleasure is a butterfly. It flits from flower to flower, tasting honey. But can the butterfly aspire to be an eagle? If you wish to bring a jug of nectar from heaven, a butterfly is unequal to the task. Only the eagle can attempt it. The butterfly and the eagle. Momentary pleasure and lasting happiness are things apart. I pursued pleasure but getting it did not bring me happiness.

It said, ‘Yayati, you fool, where are you going? This is the way to hell.’ I would sip a little wine and say, ‘Is it not true that Heaven and Hell are near each other?’ It would say, ‘Yes ... they border one another.’ I would reply with a smile, ‘Then why are you so afraid for me? Tomorrow, in a moment I shall quit the way to Hell and go on the way to Heaven.’

The sun was setting. The full moon was coming up. The sky appeared to be thrilled with happiness, drinking from the cup of the moon. The cup in its hand tilted a little and the wine overflowed as moonlight on the earth.

I had wrought it all with my own evil hands. With all consciousness, I had exchanged my old age with Puroo’s youth. Deliberately, for the momentary satisfaction of the desire for sex!

The love of Sharmishtha, of Madhav, of Kacha. Should I also not love thus? A corner of my heart, which never in the past had been revealed to me, was now coming into view. There was a gentle light in that corner. Slowly it grew bigger. The joy of dying for someone else is a hundred times greater than the joy of living for oneself. What a great and noble truth this is! But, for the first time today, it was revealed to me.

She looked blankly at me. She did not believe my words. I was touched with her faith in me. Truly, how good man is. He lives on the strength of confidence, faith, attachment, love, devotion and service. He has the courage to face death on the strength of those. But all these sentiments are not attributes of the body. They are attributes of the soul.

The senses are never satisfied by indulgence. As the fire blazes with an offering, so do the senses get incensed the more by indulgence.

‘When Puroo took over your old age, you gave him the kingdom in return. But as soon as he got back his youth, he ran to Devayani. He fell at her feet and said, “Mother, Yadu is my elder brother. Father has given me the kingdom. But I will not take it. I shall not take the throne insulting Yadu. Let Yadu be king. I will take his orders. I swear by you mother. I swear by my mother Sharmishtha, I want you as mother, I want Yadu as brother. I do not want a kingdom. I want a mother and a brother.” ’ Devayani who had never before yielded to anyone or anything melted at this love, affection and sacrifice of Puroo. She hugged him and bathing him with tears said, ‘Puroo, as to who is to take the throne, that is for the king and his subjects to decide. But you have today given me something which is beyond all kingdoms. A selfless warrior like you has made me his mother. Puroo, who taught you so much love? It would have been far better if I had been taught that in my childhood. I am now going to learn it from you. You gladly took over your father’s old age. From love for your brother, you were prepared to relinquish your kingdom. Puroo, I want nothing more than the strength to love like you.’

Like your valour, may your spirit of sacrifice grow.’ ‘What else Your Majesty?’ ‘I am no Majesty!’ ‘What else Father?’ ‘I have no household now.’ ‘What else ...’ ‘In happiness and misery, remember one thing. Sex and wealth are the great symbols of manhood. They are inspiring symbols. They sustain life. But they are unbridled. There is no knowing when they will run amuck. Their reins must at all times be in the hands of duty.’ Oh man, desire is never satisfied by indulgence. Like the sacrificial fire, it ever grows with every offering.