MAHABHARATA SERIES BOOK#2: The Seeds of War (Mba)

by Ashok K. Banker

  Shukra turned to Yayati with a face like stone. ‘What do you have to say to this?’

  Yayati hung his head with shame, unable to summon up any words. Anything he might say would only compound his guilt further and he could not deny the truth to the great preceptor of the asuras.

  Shukracharya took his silence and shamefaced aspect as proof of his guilt. ‘I see. You will recall that I once forbade you this very thing, knowing the distress it would cause my daughter. Had you copulated with any other woman, it might have been forgivable. But to have violated my sole request to you, made in trust and in good faith of your sense of dharma, this is an insult to me as well. You have succumbed to lust and indulged yourself without care for the consequences. By slaking your lust on two women you have lived two lives at once. Therefore, let your own lifespan be shortened to half. Even though you are yet young, let old age come upon you at once and may your youth be ended at this moment.’

  No sooner had the guru pronounced the curse than a shadow passed across the sun shining through the palace windows, even though no cloud or bird was visible in the clear blue sky. When the shadow passed, Yayati’s handsome young face was lined and wrinkled, her body bent over with age and infirmity, his joints stiff, his back curved, his hair whitened, his eyes rheumy.

  Staring down at himself, he cried out pitifully. ‘Do not punish me so harshly, great one. I did nothing on my own. Sharmishtha commanded me to make love to her and said that she had vowed to bear children, therefore as her mistress’s husband she was within her rights to demand that I sire children upon her. Countless men do so in the exact same way, will you punish them as well? You yourself agreed at your daughter’s request that I was no less than a brahmin and therefore had to concede to your daughter’s request to wed her and sire children upon her. If I did no wrong then, how could I have done wrong by fathering children upon Sharmishtha? Is it not said by the learned that he who refuses to sire a child upon a woman who desires one is no less than a murderer of an embryo? What wrong have I committed in the eyes of dharma? How can you punish me thus unfairly?’

  Kavya Ushanas rose to his feet, pointing a bony outstretched finger at the king. ‘Even if this were the case, you should have consulted me. Having been forbidden by me specifically to avoid bedding Sharmishtha, you had no business doing just that! You have no right to ask me for mercy now. It was my specific instruction that you disobeyed. By doing so, dharma itself has blinded her eyes to you!’

  Yayati joined his wizened palms together, weeping pitiful tears, but the guru would not be moved.

  Finally Yayati struck upon an argument that even Shukra could not ignore. ‘By punishing me thus, you punish your own daughter as well, gurudev! For if I am old and decrepit now, then your wife has lost her young virile husband. What will she do with this ancient feeble body as her companion? You have cursed her as well.’

  Shukra looked at his daughter’s face and realized that Yayati spoke truly. By cutting down Yayati’s youth, he had deprived his own daughter of her husband. But now that the curse had been uttered and taken effect, it could not be taken back. He thought quickly, arriving at a compromise.

  ‘You may exchange your condition for any other youth if you desire,’ he said gruffly. ‘The only condition is that he must accept this state of old age willingly and without protest. You cannot force it on anyone.’

  Yayati saw a ray of hope in his desperate state. He decided to press his advantage. ‘Then let me offer this willing person in exchange for his youth, the kingship of my own land. For I must give him something to compensate for the loss of his prime years!’

  Shukracharya nodded. ‘So be it. But make this arrangement only with one of your own sons. In exchange for his youth, he shall rule your kingdom in your stead. As I have already promised to protect your heirs and see that no harm ever befalls them, I shall add to that the promise that whichever of your sons agrees to exchange his youth for your old age and infirmity shall enjoy long life, great success and fame, and produce numerous offspring of his own. These are my final words.’

  8

  Yayati’s change of condition made even the journey back home seem like an epic undertaking. Every jolt of the chariot, every hour of sunshine or of damp cold nightfall, every minor deprivation and physical discomfort felt like torture. In moments he had gone from a robust young man in his prime, filled with strength and virility, proud of his body’s abilities and his youth, to a decrepit sagging bent-over old man, barely able to walk straight, plagued by a dozen aches and weaknesses, beset by failing eyesight, hearing, impaired bodily functions. The full weight of old age had descended upon him like a boulder fallen from above. He struggled to merely cope one moment at a time. He knew that if he remained in this condition, a quick death was assured. He would not be able to live for long in the state he was in. All men grow old in their time, over time, with years and decades to gradually adjust to failing senses and impaired organs. Yayati had not even had a moment to register the full impact of Shukracharya’s curse before he was struck down by his condition. Even now, he was still struggling to accept the reality.

  Somehow, he made it home, shivering with chills and fever, wracked by pains and sprains, struggling to breathe, see, think, speak. It was all the royal vaids could do to keep him sane and functional. He was prone to ranting and raving, to berating the world for his condition, to self-pity and remorse.

  But he was inherently a strong, determined man. Gradually, he overcame the mountainous weight of his afflictions and summoned his eldest son, Yadu, child of Devayani and dearest to his heart. He sought to soften the blow of his condition by having his servants draw the drapes and dim the lamps in his chamber, covering his body with a blanket. But the overall effect was worse: the dim lighting, subdued atmosphere and attendants with faces that revealed their own sorrow at their king’s condition only served to heighten the impact of the revelation. Yadu reacted at the sight of his father very badly. He reared back as if struck by a snake, gaping with wide open eyes and mouth, nostrils flaring. He stared at his father as if confronted by an imposter, unable to accept the radical change. He could barely believe that this was in fact his own father. It took several moments for him to accept the fact of the curse and its terrible outcome.

  When Yayati spoke, in a wheezing voice wholly unlike his robust baritone, Yadu was even more dismayed.

  ‘Son, my first-born, my best-born. Do not fear me. All this you see, the old age, the wrinkles, the grey hair, are the result of a curse imposed on my by my father-in-law, Kavya Ushanas.’

  ‘Grandfather did this?’ Yadu said, astonished.

  Yayati nodded, breaking into a coughing fit that alarmed the young Yadu even more. Barely grown to manhood, he was of that age where all old people appear to be of a different race or species, barely human. To see his own father thus, the same father whose powerful physique and commanding personality had provided a model to which he himself aspired, altered overnight, was the worst shock of his young life. He wondered if Yayati was going to die as a result of the intense coughing. He looked dead already.

  ‘Yes,’ Yayati said at last, clearing his throat with difficulty. Unnoticed by him but observed by Yadu with great disgust, he had spots of blood on his chest and chin from the intense coughing. An attendant wiped it away but Yadu thought he could still see the places where the spots stained his father’s garment. ‘Grandfather did this to me. It is a long story and I shall explain it all later. But first I have something to ask of you.’

  ‘What is it?’ Yadu asked doubtfully. He was still wrestling with the realization that this was now his father, this old broken-bodied feeble being who seemed barely able to survive a coughing fit.

  Yayati was taken aback by his son’s abrupt tone. He had envisioned his son as his savior, imagining that Yadu would throw himself upon his chest, weeping out of sorrow for his father’s plight, and offer to do anything in order to restore his father to his former state. Instead, Yadu was staring at him with horr
or, keeping a safe distance and acting as if he were possessed of a disease that was contagious. ‘There is only one condition under which the curse may be rescinded. If my son agrees to exchange places with me. I wish you to do this for me, my son. Take this condition upon yourself willingly for a thousand years. Let me be young again. When the thousand years are over, I shall again return your youth to you and accept my fate as an old man.’

  Yadu stared at his father silently for a long moment. ‘Why not accept it now? You are already made old.’

  Yayati was irritated by the question. He had expected unconditional support and acquiescence, not this suspicious hostility. ‘Because I am in my prime! I still wish to enjoy life, to live fully. You know what I looked like yesterday, son. Now look at me! White hair, white beard, flabby flesh, wrinkled skin, ugly, thin, weak, worthless as a man or a warrior, incapacitated by ailments and infirmities, beset by failing organs and countless aches and pains…I do not deserve to be like this!’

  ‘And I do?’ Yadu asked.

  Yayati was struck dumb. What could he say to such a question.

  Yadu took a step forward. ‘Father, I love you, this you know already. But do you mean to say that you deserve your youth and strength, but I do not? Do I deserve to be like this? With white hair, beard, flabby, wrinkled, ugly, thin, weak, worthless…all the rest that you describe?’ He shook his head slowly. ‘No, father. I cannot do this for you. It is too much! I cannot become old in your place!’

  He turned his face away, both disgusted and ashamed. Disgusted by the very thought of becoming like the creature in the bed before him – for Yayati’s abrupt change made him seem less like a man and more like some creature that had suddenly taken Yadu’s father’s place overnight – and ashamed at his own weakness.

  Yayati felt shock, pain, disappointment. He had thought his son capable of giving up his life for him. He knew he would have given his own life to save Yadu, if the circumstances arose. It was another matter that the only scenarios in which he had expected to have to sacrifice his own life were those entailing battle and combat. Not a sacrifice of this magnitude. This was more than mere death, it was living hell. But despite his understanding of his son’s decision, he was overcome by a wave of self-pity and anger.

  ‘If that is so,’ he shouted feebly, his voice cracking and turning hoarse. ‘If you will not aid your father in my time of need, then you deserve no share in this kingdom, Yadu! You and any offspring you have in future shall have no part in my domain. I disinherit you from this moment onward!’

  Yadu cried out in anguish and ran from his father’s chambers. Yayati’s heart broke as well and he knew his judgement was harsh, much too harsh. But he was now overcome with righteous conviction. He felt that it was the duty of his son to do as he asked. And that by refusing to do so, Yadu had failed his dharma as a son and as a prince. He deserved to be disinherited.

  Turvasu, Devayani’s second son, was next to be summoned. He reacted much as Yadu had to his father’s appearance and condition – and to his demand as well. ‘No, father! I cannot do such a thing. Old people feel no desire or pleasure. They have no strength, beauty or intelligence, they are like the dead though they live.’

  This time, the disappointment was even more crushing. Yayati could scarcely believe that even younger Turvasu, who doted on his father’s every word and deed, could refuse him. In his son’s words, he heard his mother’s voice and phrasing, and he felt certain that Devayani had warned both her sons against acceding to their father’s request. The anger he unleashed now against Turvasu was in fact intended for Devayani.

  ‘Everything you possess – your eyes, heart, strength, your senses – were created by me. I am the father of that body! Yet you refuse me! Foolish boy, I disinherit you as well! Even if you become a king, you will rule over subjects who will be inferior and impure. Women of high birth shall cohabit with men of low birth. People in your reign shall eat meat and drink alcohol, mate with their own guru’s wives, or even animals when they cannot find humans to mate with! People will behave like animals or worse, like mlecchas! Only a barbarian would refuse his father, therefore you shall only rule over barbarians. I banish you to the barbarian provinces.’

  After Turavasu had left, weeping copiously, Yayati decided to send for Sharmishtha’s eldest son, Druhyu. Surely she would have no reason to caution her sons against him. If anything, she would have made them sympathetic to his plight and one of them would surely agree to do as he asked.

  With renewed hope, he sent for Druhyu. But when the boy came, it was a repitition of the same scene that had taken place with the previous two boys. Druhyu was more sympathetic but said, ‘Father, I love riding elephants, chariots, horses, I am a warrior and wish to do great things in war and combat. I love women and wish to enjoy their love as well. I am not ready for this sacrifice. Please forgive me.’

  Again, Yayati was enraged at this insubordination. ‘Oh Druhyu, you should not have refused me. Now, I have no choice but to disinherit you and banish you as well. You are hereby sent to the kingdom of Bhoja, where you shall have no elephants, chariots, horses to ride or women to love. Your only means of transport there shall be rafts, boats and swimming. And you are forbidden from entering into liaisions with women. Go now from my sight.’

  The fourth son to be summoned, and Sharmishtha’s second, was Anu. With him too, it went much the same way. The difference was that Sharmishtha’s sons tried to explain and justify themselves at least, which suggested that the reasons were their own and that they were refusing their father despite their mother’s urging, not because of it. ‘Father, I love to eat and to look smart and dress well,’ Anu said plaintively. ‘If I am old I will barely be able to eat with that toothless mouth, and I would drool and dribble on myself. My garments would be stained and unclean, and I will not be able to stay clean long enough to perform a single yagna. No, I cannot accept your condition. Please understand.’

  Yayati was tired and weary now, exhausted by the emotional disappointment and sense of despair that had overcome him. ‘In that case, I forbid you the wearing of new or clean garments henceforth. You will be given unpalatable foods to eat. And you are forbidden from performing yagnas ever again.’

  Now Yayati feared that even his last and youngest son, Puru, would surely refuse him. All that had transpired pointed to that likelihood. Still, he he clung to the final straw of hope like a dying man clinging to a reed on a riverbank to save himself from drowning.

  When Puru, his youngest, stood before him, Yayati said, ‘Son. You are my youngest and most beloved. A terrible curse has been put upon me by your own grandfather, Kavya Ushanas. I am condemned to this state of old age that you see before you. Yet I still desire to live and enjoy life in a young body. I wish to enjoy many pleasures still. Therefore I entreat you to grant me your body and youth for one thousand years. After the thousand years have passed, I shall take back my condition alongwith the pain and infirmity that accompany it. What do you say to my request?’

  To his astonishment, Puru said, ‘Father, my life is your’s. You sired me and everything I possess is given by you, including this body and its strength. If this is what you desire, then take it. I shall accept your curse and live a thousand years or as long as you wish, in that frail old body. It is my privilege to serve my father in his time of need.’

  Yayati’s ancient eyes could barely see, yet tears sprang from them and rolled down his ancient withered cheeks. Through blurry vision, he reached out to his youngest son, clasping him to his sunken chest, and said, ‘Puru, my son. This is a great sacrifice you have made. You are truly Arya in the best sense of the word, a noble and pure soul. Your sacrifice will be richly rewarded. You and your offspring alone shall inherit this kingdom, achieve great prosperity and achieve all their ambitions and desires. This is part of the condition of the curse and hence it is no less than a decree of destiny.’

  Then Yayati reached out and took his son’s hand and in an instant, both father and son were tran
sformed, Yayati regressing in age until he was once more the virile man he had been before the curse, and the boy Puru aging until he became bent, wrinkled and withered like an old man. Both father and son exchanged places.

  8

  Enjoying the gift of renewed youth gifted to him by his son Puru, Yayati appreciated life more than ever. He relished every kala and kashtha of time that passed, using it to its fullest. He had vowed that if he was given this opportunity he would do nothing that transgressed against dharma and would accomplish all the tasks that he had planned. For a thousand years he worked hard, building and consolidating his kingdom until it became one of the most powerful in the world. He made sure that his people were cared for, that nobody slept hungry or wanted for anything, that law and order were upheld and crime was curbed, that traditions were maintained, arts, crafts and culture patronized. He took special care of the aged and infirm and incapacitated, since he now knew what it meant to be one of them, making sure that they were given all the aid possible. He performed every duty and responsibility diligently. In his spare time he enjoyed himself as well, but never did he act against dharma. His was a golden reign and not only the four varnas of the earth, but even the gods and ancestors were pleased with his efforts and showered blessings upon him.

  Eventually, the time allotted to him drew to a close. He worked harder than ever, seeking to complete as much as possible before he had to go back to his sickbed. When the day finally came, he went to his son’s bedchamber and presented himself before the wasted withered figure that lay outstretched on the bed, wracked by pain and ailments. He clasped the withered bony hand of the ancient Puru and said, ‘My son, my great and wonderful son. Thanks to you, I have lived life more fully than ever before. I have fulfilled my heart’s every desire. Now, as I promised, I have returned to give you back your youth. In recognition of the great sacrifice you made, I shall honour my commitment to you. You shall now rule the kingdom and I shall retire to my sickbed. Before this day is ended I shall crown you king and before the eyes of all, we shall complete the ceremony of succession.’