Read Online Yayati: A Classic Tale of Lust by V S Khandekar - Free Book Online
Authors: V S Khandekar
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the idols before her. I could not dare to look at her.
Seeing that I was reluctant to look at her, she said, ‘You must have been restless all night, even in the Ashokavan anxiously thinking of your father and me. If the little ones are to waste themselves in anxiety, what are the elders for? See if you cannot find entertainment in song, dance, music and drama?’
Just then the Prime Minister came in and Mother said to him, ‘It looks as if the arrangements in Ashokavan ...’
The Prime Minister intervened, ‘There is a girl Mukulika by name ... She is new but she is very clever. She has been enjoined to cater to all the comforts of the Prince.’
Mother said, ‘Your arrangements there maybe very good, but Yayu must find pleasure and entertain himself with them.’
‘Madhav, the second son of our Poet Laureate, is a great connoisseur of the Arts and a good conversationalist. I shall ask him to keep the Prince company.’
I tried to smile and said, ‘You must ask him to first take me to a philosopher. At the moment, I am baffled by abstruse questions concerning life and death.’
Madhav took me to the house of a great scholar. On the way he related a number of tales commonly in circulation about him.
The scholar attended court only for the more important ceremonies. If a song or dance were in progress, he would lower his eyes and mutter verses to himself. You could never be certain what he would ask of a visitor. Once a hairy ascetic came to him for a discussion on the character of the God Almighty. The discussion was getting deeply interesting when suddenly the scholar asked him when he was going to shave. The ascetic was flustered, being unable to trace any connection between the question and God Almighty. He stared blankly at the scholar when the latter droned, ‘Ascetic, it is very difficult for sunlight to penetrate a deep forest. I am afraid the same is happening to you. Nothing seems to penetrate your head for this mass of tangled hair.’
Another time, a scholar from West Aryavarta who came to this learned man asked him how many children he had. Prompt came the reply, ‘I do not know. You had better ask my wife. I have no time to bother with such trifles.’
Madhav was gifted with a fluent tongue. He related these stories so delectably that it was impossible to stop laughing. The learned are queer in many ways. As their intelligence is uncommon, so is their behaviour out of the ordinary. It is because of this that we vie with each other in relating such coloured stories about them.
I was amused by Madhav’s colourful narration of them. The scholar welcomed us in the library itself. His first few sentences convinced me that the scholar’s whole world was centred in this room. He was in ecstasy when reading to me from a rare archaic volume. His learning naturally evoked respect. Even in meeting one of my simple questions, he quoted profusely from memory and took out numerous references in support of his view.
But he did not have enough erudition to answer to my satisfaction the questions which were worrying me. My saying that I was greatly troubled by the thought of death, he countered with the words: ‘Who has escaped death, Prince? We discard our clothes when they get old. In the same way the soul discards the body.
‘Prince, remember one thing, that life is essentially an illusion. There is only one eternal truth in this world, Brahma, the all pervading power at the root of all creation. Everything else is an illusion.’
My fear of death — unreal! The bliss which I had experienced in Mukulika’s arms was unreal and so was the prick of the conscience at the thought that it was sin. Gods and demons, both illusions! Then why did Maharishi Angiras take so much pains over the sacrifice for peace? Why has Kacha set out on his venture of acquiring the power of Sanjeevani? If the animate and inanimate world before our eyes and all the experiences, pleasurable and painful, are mere illusions and
Seeing that I was reluctant to look at her, she said, ‘You must have been restless all night, even in the Ashokavan anxiously thinking of your father and me. If the little ones are to waste themselves in anxiety, what are the elders for? See if you cannot find entertainment in song, dance, music and drama?’
Just then the Prime Minister came in and Mother said to him, ‘It looks as if the arrangements in Ashokavan ...’
The Prime Minister intervened, ‘There is a girl Mukulika by name ... She is new but she is very clever. She has been enjoined to cater to all the comforts of the Prince.’
Mother said, ‘Your arrangements there maybe very good, but Yayu must find pleasure and entertain himself with them.’
‘Madhav, the second son of our Poet Laureate, is a great connoisseur of the Arts and a good conversationalist. I shall ask him to keep the Prince company.’
I tried to smile and said, ‘You must ask him to first take me to a philosopher. At the moment, I am baffled by abstruse questions concerning life and death.’
Madhav took me to the house of a great scholar. On the way he related a number of tales commonly in circulation about him.
The scholar attended court only for the more important ceremonies. If a song or dance were in progress, he would lower his eyes and mutter verses to himself. You could never be certain what he would ask of a visitor. Once a hairy ascetic came to him for a discussion on the character of the God Almighty. The discussion was getting deeply interesting when suddenly the scholar asked him when he was going to shave. The ascetic was flustered, being unable to trace any connection between the question and God Almighty. He stared blankly at the scholar when the latter droned, ‘Ascetic, it is very difficult for sunlight to penetrate a deep forest. I am afraid the same is happening to you. Nothing seems to penetrate your head for this mass of tangled hair.’
Another time, a scholar from West Aryavarta who came to this learned man asked him how many children he had. Prompt came the reply, ‘I do not know. You had better ask my wife. I have no time to bother with such trifles.’
Madhav was gifted with a fluent tongue. He related these stories so delectably that it was impossible to stop laughing. The learned are queer in many ways. As their intelligence is uncommon, so is their behaviour out of the ordinary. It is because of this that we vie with each other in relating such coloured stories about them.
I was amused by Madhav’s colourful narration of them. The scholar welcomed us in the library itself. His first few sentences convinced me that the scholar’s whole world was centred in this room. He was in ecstasy when reading to me from a rare archaic volume. His learning naturally evoked respect. Even in meeting one of my simple questions, he quoted profusely from memory and took out numerous references in support of his view.
But he did not have enough erudition to answer to my satisfaction the questions which were worrying me. My saying that I was greatly troubled by the thought of death, he countered with the words: ‘Who has escaped death, Prince? We discard our clothes when they get old. In the same way the soul discards the body.
‘Prince, remember one thing, that life is essentially an illusion. There is only one eternal truth in this world, Brahma, the all pervading power at the root of all creation. Everything else is an illusion.’
My fear of death — unreal! The bliss which I had experienced in Mukulika’s arms was unreal and so was the prick of the conscience at the thought that it was sin. Gods and demons, both illusions! Then why did Maharishi Angiras take so much pains over the sacrifice for peace? Why has Kacha set out on his venture of acquiring the power of Sanjeevani? If the animate and inanimate world before our eyes and all the experiences, pleasurable and painful, are mere illusions and
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