The Sea Lies Ahead

by Intizar Husain

  That is the other thing about births. The ‘me’ becomes a ‘he’ in such a way that it disappears altogether. Who could remember that ‘I’ was ‘he’ once? If one could remember would one not become Mahatma Budhha?

  ‘O monks, a monkey came dripping wet in the rain and sat down on this branch. A mynah poked her neck out of her nest and spoke in a kindly voice, “O Monkey, if only you had built a home for yourself when the weather was good, you wouldn’t have been getting wet in the rain.” The monkey thought the mynah was taunting him for being homeless. Peeved, he pulled the mynah’s nest down in a fit of pique. The mynah regretted trying to make the senseless monkey see sense. Soon, she and her mate flew away in the rain.’

  Tathagat fell silent. Then he said, ‘O monks, I was that mynah.’

  The monks expressed surprise. ‘You, O Tathagat? It was you who bore anguish at the hands of that unbelieving monkey?’

  ‘Yes, it was me, and at that very instant, I let go of life. Then I was reborn in the form of a parrot. O monks, I shall tell you of those days when I was not this I; I was a parrot. Those days there was a dense jungle beyond Taxila. There, this parrot built its nest in the hollow of a tree trunk. But it so happened that a snake too appeared and began to live in another hollow of the same tree. The parrot saw this and said to his mate, “O my wife, a poisonous snake has come and settled down in our neighbourhood. It has destroyed our peace. Our safety lies in our going away from this tree and making our home on the branch or hollow of some other nice tree somewhere.” The she-parrot heard this and wept and said, “O Master, we had collected one twig after another and made this nest. And now when I was about to lay my eggs and this nest was about to come to life, this wretched snake has come and started living here. Now you are saying that we should leave this tree and go and make our nest somewhere else. O Master, just stop to think how many afflictions I faced while making this nest. How can I leave the nest that I had made with so much care?” The parrot heard this and sighed, “Dear wife, with these round eyes of mine, I have seen so many nests being formed and abandoned. And you are talking of your one nest? Open your eyes and look around at the other nests and homes around you. There is a fire raging around you. All of creation is on fire. Nests, homes, trees, forests, hamlets, towns, neighbourhoods, palaces, mansions – everything is caught in the flames.”’ And the monks were saddened to know that Tathagat did not know happiness even in the life of a parrot and was made homeless yet again. And Buddha-ji said, ‘O monks, there is no peace in any birth and no settlement remains settled forever, and every home that is set up is set up to be abandoned. Centuries ago when I had taken the form of a bull and was yoked in the chariot of the prince of Varanasi….’ And yet another story of another birth started. The Mahatma could tell the story of birth and rebirth with utter simplicity and speed, like good children reciting arithmetic tables. But Queen Nageshwari began to tremble with fright. She went to the King and said, ‘O Master, today is not a good day. I don’t know what happened but, all of a sudden, I remembered my previous birth.’ King Dharamdutt was worried; he said, ‘O Queen, the same thing happened to me. I too suddenly remembered my previous birth.’ Queen Nageshwari heard this and wept; she said, ‘O King, this is an ill omen.’

  ‘Why is it an ill omen?’

  ‘O King, if you remember your previous birth, you must talk about it and if you do, you die. And I cannot stop myself from talking about my previous birth. So you hear what I have to say, but do not speak about your own previous birth.’

  ‘This is a grave situation; what shall we do?’

  ‘Whatever will be, will be! Now we have both remembered our previous birth. We must narrate it to each other and be prepared for the consequences.’

  Queen Nageshwari remained quiet for a long time; then she said, ‘O King, in our previous birth, we were a pair of swans; you were the king of swans and I was your mate.’

  ‘O Queen, but do think awhile … how did we become a pair of swans. We were something else in the previous birth. I was the Minister and you were the Minister’s wife.’

  ‘O Master, have you remembered the birth before the last one? That is very bad.’

  ‘O my Queen, now whatever must happen, will happen. So, yes, you and I were husband and wife even in that birth. When I was fed up with the affairs of the state, I decided to go on a pilgrimage. But we were on our way when we were waylaid by scoundrels. We decided that before they lay their dirty hands on our honour, we must set ourselves on fire. So we collected some wood in the jungle, lit a fire and walked into it. But at that very moment a pair of swans was flying in the skies. How beautiful they were, with wings like sheets of silver, claws like gold, and beaks like coral! We forgot the fire and gazed at the flying swans. We were entranced by them and it so happened that one minute our spirits left our bodies and the very next minute we took the form of the swan and his mate. We flew far and wide; we brought news from distant parts of the skies and flew upon lakes of sweet water. But one day it so happened that we were flying in the skies when a storm came and strong winds blew. Swirls of dust rose from the earth till the skies and we got separated from each other. When the storm passed and the dust settled down, I was surprised to find my mate missing. I searched high and low, among lakes and ponds but I couldn’t find you. Then I undertook a long journey and reached Lake Mansarovar. And you were present there! You were gliding contentedly in the pearly-white waters of the lake.’

  And Queen Nageshwari was lost in thoughts of Mansarovar. She sighed deeply and said, ‘Master, how fine were those days when we glided over Lake Mansarovar. You were the King of swans and I was your mate. How immersed in beauty was that life! O Master, we have endured this human life long enough; come, let us go back to that life. Let us abandon these matters of state and free ourselves from this life of trickery and deceit. Let there be Lake Mansarovar glistening like a pearl, sweet cold water lapping in gentle waves, cool breeze, an earth filled with love, a beautiful sky and us!’ And with these words, her eyes began to close and kept drooping – hers as well as King Dharamdutt’s.… So, this story is from the time when Queen Nageshwari recalled her previous life and death began to hover around her head. And this too is a strange matter that if you remember your previous life, there is no getting away without recounting it and if you do narrate it, there is no escape from death.

  ‘Maimuna, do you remember that sadhu who used to say he remembered his previous life? But where did he go? We never saw him again afterwards.’

  ‘O Master, when did this happen?’

  ‘This happened when I used to live in Dwarka.’

  ‘Dwarka?’

  ‘Yes, Dwarka.’ And Tathagat immediately launched into his story. ‘This was centuries ago, when wealth rained down upon that city. Peace, happiness, joy!’

  But Ganesh was not happy even there. Everyone was happy, except him. Those who cannot forget can never be happy. He was not able to forget the city of Mathura. And when the bad times came to Dwarka, he began to remember the city he had left behind more than ever. But it is of those days I speak when the river of joy was in full spate, men and women were happy and a river of love ran through their settlement. Limitless music echoed from the earth till the skies, yet the sorrow of being separated from his Mathura gnawed away at Ganesh. The alleys and cattle of that city danced before his eyes all the time. Every single day, he had the same thought: As though he was setting out at the crack of dawn from his alley with his cows as well as the cows belonging to others. And now dusk is falling and Mohan’s flute can be heard in the gloam. It makes the Gopis restless; they rush to stand at their doorsteps. The sound of the flute, he remembers, draws them like a magnet. For a long time, the sound of the bells tied around the cows’ necks tinkled in his ears. The white rivulets of milk gushing out of pink udders keep appearing before his eyes. How much milk came out of them! All the pitchers in the house would be full and every day they would make kheer. Sometimes, he would remember all this as though it had happene
d in a previous life, and sometimes as though it had happened yesterday. And, sometimes as though he is in a dream, and sometimes as though he is still roaming around in the streets and alleys of that city. Sometimes the years of separation seemed as though centuries had passed, and sometimes it seemed as though he had only just left Mathura. In the early days, others who had come from Mathura also remembered the city they had left behind. But the joys of Dwarka gradually made them forget the unhappiness of Mathura. It was almost as though gradually they were learning patience, and accepting the fact that they, that is the Yadavs, had to henceforth live in Dwarka. They were reminded of Mathura like one remembers a long-lost dream. But there was such hustle and bustle in the streets and markets of Dwarka and so much happiness all around that even the dream that they occasionally remembered faded away. Soon the dream was entirely lost from memory. All those who had come from Mathura soon became lost in the delights of the new city. Ganesh was the only one who still remembered Mathura.

  But now the times have changed. Now the city of Dwarka is in peril; now its cows have begun to give birth to donkeys. One day Prakash came with a most surprising report, ‘Ganesh Bhaiyya, have you heard?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It is so surprising that a goat has turned into a bitch.’

  ‘Prakash! Have you gone mad? A goat turning into a bitch! That’s a tall tale.’

  ‘I am telling the truth, Bhaiyya. It so happened that a herd of goats were crossing the big bazaar. Suddenly, one goat broke free from the herd and ran away bleeting all the while. And as it was bleating it suddenly began to bark!’

  Ganesh’s eyes widened with disbelief. ‘Prakash, this is most uncanny.’

  ‘Yes, it is uncanny. That is why everyone is in a state of astonishment. And not just astonishment; they are also scared.’

  And strange things kept happening. A large, black, well-built bald man appeared from nowhere. People saw him running; in an instant, he had circled the entire city. The warriors aimed their arrows at him. Some arrows hit him, but none of them wounded him. Then he entered an alley and disappeared and then it so happened that the howls of jackals could be heard from inside the big temple in the city. And the priests saw that a large pig was sitting in the sanctum. Whoever heard it fell in a state of shock. Hey Ram, what was happening here? And then a nymph was spotted who was saying in a loud voice, ‘O People of Dwarka, go on a pilgrimage.’ The people of Dwarka took the nymph’s voice to be a divine message from the skies and immediately set out on a pilgrimage. But that voice became an invitation from Death. Was it a pilgrimage or a journey towards Death? The pilgrims spotted fresh green grass at one place along the way and set up camp. They ate and drank and consumed liquor to their heart’s content. The intoxication came over them in such a strange way that they began to challenge each other. Those brave warriors had fought against each other at Kurukshetra and they were reminded of that war. They took up arms against each other and, in a matter of minutes, they were thirsting for each others’ blood. They fell upon each other with a vengeance. They wanted to cut each other’s throat. The green grass turned red with blood.

  During those days, Ganesh’s childhood friend, Narendra, travelled from Mathura and, encountering many difficulties along the way, came to Dwarka. Ganesh hugged him, remembered Mathura and cried.

  ‘Ganesh,’ Narendra said, ‘your hair has turned white since you came here.’

  ‘Friend, don’t you see how much time has passed since I came here,’ Ganesh sighed. The mention of time made the days long past dance before his eyes … The streets and alleys of Mathura, the cows and the dust raised by their hooves at sunset, and the Gopis. ‘Friend, so how is Mathura?’

  ‘Ganesh,’ Narendra spoke in a sorrowful tone, ‘Don’t ask me about Mathura … that city has been widowed. Those who made her special left her and went away. Now there is neither the sound of Mohan’s flute nor the echo of the sounds of love and nor do the hearts of the Gopis race wildly. Dust fills the streets, the Gopis are sad, and the cows have dried up. Those who left, took the city’s beauty with them. That city is now deserted.’

  Ganesh heard this and wept. Narendra too was extremely sad after narrating the city’s woes. Then he said, ‘You didn’t do us a good turn by leaving Mathura. You set up a new city. You live in happiness and comfort in your new city, whereas we are left to wander like fools and endure all manner of hardships out there.’

  ‘Friend,’ Ganesh spoke sadly, ‘Who told you that we live in happiness and comfort here? Yes, we did once, but not anymore. The good days have passed; now we are in danger. Darkness is spreading over Dwarka. All sorts of strange men walk about its streets and bazaars, goats bark, cows crawl and the sounds of howling jackals can be heard from temples and, in the sacred spaces of the sanctums, pigs are found sitting and mice crawling all about.’

  ‘What are you saying, Ganesh? I can’t believe my ears. Sitting far away, we have always believed that piety rains upon Dwarka and there is peace, love, happiness and joy here.’

  ‘It was so once, but not now. Warriors from here went to fight in the war at Kurukshetra. There, they were divided and ended up fighting against each other. When they returned, they were burning in the fires of fury. They were thirsty for blood and eventually had their way. They turned this city of peace and love into Kurukshetra. Narendra, Dwarka is laid waste.’

  ‘But, friend, that is strange indeed. No one appreciated the sacrifice. Mathura was destroyed and so was Dwarka. No one is happy.’ Narendra paused and then spoke hesitantly, ‘Ganesh, can I ask you something?’

  ‘Yes, please do.’

  ‘Shri Krishan Bhagwan is wise and all-knowing. Why did he leave Mathura?’

  ‘Narendra, you have put your finger on my deepest worry. This question has kept me up many nights.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Narendra paused and then said, ‘Perhaps in leaving his birthplace, he … perhaps …’

  ‘Why don’t you say clearly that he didn’t do well?’

  ‘But what does he say now? What does he think?’

  ‘What does he say now?’ Ganesh laughed bitterly. ‘What will he say now? He doesn’t say anything. But I feel he is not happy; he had left his flute behind in Mathura. Since coming here, even the chariot and chakra have been taken away from him.’4

  ‘What did you say?’ Narendra jumped in surprise. ‘The chariot and chakra have been taken from him? What are you saying? Is there such a one born who can take Krishan’s chariot and chakra from him?’

  ‘No brave warrior took it from him; it came from the skies and went back to the skies. Do you know what happened? Bhagwan’s chariot was racing along with all its pomp and majesty when three heavenly nymphs appeared from up above. They took down the flag from the chariot. They were still doing it when the chakra flew off from Maharaj’s hand and disappeared in the skies.’

  Narendra was shocked into silence. He didn’t know what to say. Finally, Ganesh spoke up in a scared voice, ‘These are not good omens, Narendra. It appears that something is about to happen.’

  ‘So much has already happened; what more will happen?’

  ‘It seems that a lot more still has to happen.’

  ‘What will happen?’

  ‘Only a wise man can tell you that. So many times I thought of going to Guru Shambhu Maharaj and asking him about what is happening and what will happen.’

  ‘Guru Shambhu Maharaj!’ Narendra was startled. ‘He is our Guru. He must be quite old now.’

  ‘He is nothing but a string of bones. His hair is white as jute and his eyelashes look as though his eyelids are rimmed with snow.’

  ‘Come, Ganesh, let us go and meet the Guru.’

  Both went to meet the Guru; they touched his feet and Ganesh said, ‘Guru-ji, one of your disciples has come all the way from Mathura.’