Read Online Yayati: A Classic Tale of Lust by V S Khandekar - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: V S Khandekar
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the innocent little child for it. But in my presence he could do nothing and was fretting. How unrestrained is a child’s imagination! I pictured to myself the ceremony in progress. On one side, a tiny doll and on the other a tall hefty Yayati, with one of Madhav’s old overclothes for a wedding screen!
After lunch, I proposed to rest there and asked the charioteer to return after sunset so that I could spend the night in the palace.
In the afternoon, Madhav gave me a copy of his brother’s poems. I opened the book casually and glanced through it. One poem dealt with the mood of the ocean. This was a fascinating description of the waves on the ocean at high tide.
Reading his poetry brought back even more vividly the enchanting figure of Mukulika. I felt sorry that I had been abrupt with her in the morning. How was she to blame for what had happened?
I bade goodbye to Madhav and left in a trance steeped in poetry. The chariot was headed for the palace and I stopped the driver. It was then that I remembered my resolve of that afternoon. The poor fellow was not to blame and I said gently, ‘Take me to Ashokavan. I am not feeling well.’
When I stepped inside the room I found that it shone with flowers and decoration just like yesterday. Mukulika followed me into the room with a beautiful jar of wine. She poured some in a glass and gave it to me. I sipped it and asked her, ‘I had told you that I would not return and yet ...’
‘To tell the truth, Prince,’ she said biting her finger mischievously, ‘we women do not heed a man’s word but rather his eyes.’
* * *
I was leading a life of sheer self deception. The first moment of temptation is the first step down the ravine of sin. I have taken that first step. However beautiful it maybe, it is the first step in decadence and fall. Where is it going to take me? Into a frightful chasm or ravine? Or maybe to Hell! Sometimes the clash in my mind assumed terrible proportions, though it was rare.
One evening Madhav and I were returning from a dance, when I got a message from the Prime Minister saying that Father was now conscious and was asking for me. I quickly went to him. He was very pale, like the sun at eclipse. I was taken aback.
Father tried to lift his right hand to draw me beside him. It cost him a great effort doing so and tears came to my eyes. It was that hand that had given me courage in my first illness. That hand was my shield — and now, that hand —
By his bedside, there was also a small jar of wine. He pointed to it with difficulty and asked for a little.
I poured a little. He stared at it and asked for the cup to be filled up.
‘I have a lot to say to you and I must have the strength. Give me plenty, not just a few drops.’
I filled the cup and put it to his lips. He sipped it and closed his eyes for a while. When he opened them again he was looking refreshed.
He took my hand and said, ‘Yayu, my son, I long to live yet. If anyone could give me more life, I would be prepared to give him even my kingdom. But ...’
He had the reputation of being a lion of a man. But his eyes — now they were the eyes of a mortally wounded stag. He said in slow measured words, ‘Yayu, my son, I am leaving behind for you a very prosperous kingdom.’
‘Father, I am well aware of your competence and prowess. To be born to a father like you is a matter of great good fortune. Of that
I ...’
Father intervened with the words, ‘And misfortune too.’
I was shaken and did not know what to say. The curse Father was smarting under! Does he perhaps mean that?
Father spun out each word slowly. ‘Yayu, my son, your father once defeated God Indra. He was then the King of the Heavens, but as to why I had to leave that throne ...’
‘I was never told about it.’
‘Umm ... what was I saying? Oh yes ... I changed at the prospect of taking Indra’s throne. Yayu ... never forget one thing. Pride of one’s prowess and arrogance are two different things. In
After lunch, I proposed to rest there and asked the charioteer to return after sunset so that I could spend the night in the palace.
In the afternoon, Madhav gave me a copy of his brother’s poems. I opened the book casually and glanced through it. One poem dealt with the mood of the ocean. This was a fascinating description of the waves on the ocean at high tide.
Reading his poetry brought back even more vividly the enchanting figure of Mukulika. I felt sorry that I had been abrupt with her in the morning. How was she to blame for what had happened?
I bade goodbye to Madhav and left in a trance steeped in poetry. The chariot was headed for the palace and I stopped the driver. It was then that I remembered my resolve of that afternoon. The poor fellow was not to blame and I said gently, ‘Take me to Ashokavan. I am not feeling well.’
When I stepped inside the room I found that it shone with flowers and decoration just like yesterday. Mukulika followed me into the room with a beautiful jar of wine. She poured some in a glass and gave it to me. I sipped it and asked her, ‘I had told you that I would not return and yet ...’
‘To tell the truth, Prince,’ she said biting her finger mischievously, ‘we women do not heed a man’s word but rather his eyes.’
* * *
I was leading a life of sheer self deception. The first moment of temptation is the first step down the ravine of sin. I have taken that first step. However beautiful it maybe, it is the first step in decadence and fall. Where is it going to take me? Into a frightful chasm or ravine? Or maybe to Hell! Sometimes the clash in my mind assumed terrible proportions, though it was rare.
One evening Madhav and I were returning from a dance, when I got a message from the Prime Minister saying that Father was now conscious and was asking for me. I quickly went to him. He was very pale, like the sun at eclipse. I was taken aback.
Father tried to lift his right hand to draw me beside him. It cost him a great effort doing so and tears came to my eyes. It was that hand that had given me courage in my first illness. That hand was my shield — and now, that hand —
By his bedside, there was also a small jar of wine. He pointed to it with difficulty and asked for a little.
I poured a little. He stared at it and asked for the cup to be filled up.
‘I have a lot to say to you and I must have the strength. Give me plenty, not just a few drops.’
I filled the cup and put it to his lips. He sipped it and closed his eyes for a while. When he opened them again he was looking refreshed.
He took my hand and said, ‘Yayu, my son, I long to live yet. If anyone could give me more life, I would be prepared to give him even my kingdom. But ...’
He had the reputation of being a lion of a man. But his eyes — now they were the eyes of a mortally wounded stag. He said in slow measured words, ‘Yayu, my son, I am leaving behind for you a very prosperous kingdom.’
‘Father, I am well aware of your competence and prowess. To be born to a father like you is a matter of great good fortune. Of that
I ...’
Father intervened with the words, ‘And misfortune too.’
I was shaken and did not know what to say. The curse Father was smarting under! Does he perhaps mean that?
Father spun out each word slowly. ‘Yayu, my son, your father once defeated God Indra. He was then the King of the Heavens, but as to why I had to leave that throne ...’
‘I was never told about it.’
‘Umm ... what was I saying? Oh yes ... I changed at the prospect of taking Indra’s throne. Yayu ... never forget one thing. Pride of one’s prowess and arrogance are two different things. In
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