‘A beautiful maya, then!’
‘For the Buddhist, the cause of suffering,’ remarks Santanu.
Kunala’s eyes assume a thoughtful expression.
‘That is to say: the trishna, the craving, which is maya.’
‘Let us go further, O, Yuvaraja: that trishna is the deeper source of sin and sorrow but also the very life-force.’
Kunala looks at him: ‘The Buddha taught that man must strive to transcend, to annihilate that life-force. Then sin and suffering will be removed.’
‘That is what the bhikshu wants, he who strives towards Nirvana.’
‘Just as Mahindra, Agnibrahma, Tissya and my sister Sanghamitra, do.’
‘Yes, they all regard annihilation of suffering as more paramount than the power to watch over people. And you, noble Yuvaraja?’
‘I feel respect and paying obeisance to my parents to be my noblest duty. My father wants me to take over his governance, his watchfulness and love for the peoples one day. I do not wish otherwise.’
Kanchanamala looks at him with admiration. Her brothers follow the laws of Manu that apply to all Aryans. That includes obedience to the father, but goes far beyond all the earthly duties. Putting one’s own personal and spiritual concerns aside for the peoples! Sacrificing one’s own salvation for that of the peoples’ including the non-Aryans? She cannot understand but it evokes in her a rare emotion. For a short moment she smiles. Two are struck by that smile: the Prince, in whom it also evokes a strange sensation, and the eldest of the brahmacharins, Katcha, whom it strikes like a sharp arrow into the chest.
Katcha has developed an unseemly love for Kanchanamala. Improper, because a brahmacharin has to learn the Vedas and renounce all that is not connected to it. He must gather wood for the holy fire, and graze the cows on behalf of the guru. He has to awaken the Brahman within, in the form of the Veda, and become one with it. He has to observe and practise renunciation by chastity, by obeying and serving the guru. ‘Brahmacharin’ means ‘walking in Brahman’ and that should exclude all temptations of the senses. That is why his love for Kanchanamala is sinful. He really does want to suppress it; until his tutelage is over. Then he will ask his father to acquire Kanchanamala for him as his wife! And now the Yuvaraja appears! Does he, Katcha, not notice her sparkling eyes, her shyness, when the Prince looks at her or speaks to her? After his tutelage he will become a grihaprastha2 and establish his family, and then he wants Kanchanamala to be his wife. What does that Yuvaraja want here! He is not even a Brahmin! Not even a brahmacharin! He, Katcha, is a Brahmin!
‘Do you behave as you do because you are a Buddhist or out of respect for your father?’ asks Santanu.
‘Because I love and revere my father.’
‘Is your love more important than the call of your own eternal soul?’
Kunala looks at him, surprised. ‘How can I know if my love for him has come from this incarnation or from the eternity, holy Santanu? I feel the love for my father as the divine within myself.’
‘Did your father feel the love for his father in the same way?’
‘His father is not my father.’
‘Or, did he follow his own path even when it was not the same as Bindusara’s?’
‘That does not apply to me. Our opinions may often be different but our will is the same, the happiness of the peoples. One day, I wish to follow his footsteps: My will, will be like his will.’
‘You will be blessed and holy as your father, noble Yuvaraja. But it can only be: the direction of his will!’
‘Why, holy Santanu?’
‘You will need to find the answer to that yourself, high Prince.’
Kunala keeps silent. And all around keep silent, lost in their own thoughts. Kanchanamala looks at the Prince, and Katcha at her. In the deep silence of the moonlit night the crickets chirp their monotonic song amidst the mysterious sounds of the woods.
‘Another day fades into eternity and a new day awaits; gather your strength to spend the next fruitfully.’
Amba and Kanchanamala immediately stand up and respectfully bid farewell. Kancha cast one more look at the fairy-tale Prince. Santanu takes the Prince to his lodgings. When the brahmacharins have finished their task of taking care of Santanu they light the small lamps by the door to welcome the gods into the house. Then they also retire. Katcha is the last. His mind is troubled by intense, forbidden thoughts of which he is unable to rid himself. He must control them because he is a brahmacharin; but he cannot subdue them because Kanchanamala permeates his whole being.
The next morning he is the first to rise and leave the Brahmin-house to go out into the grounds to gather wood for the holy fire. The night, which only increased his restlessness, had engraved a deeper line onto his gloomy face, not because he won over his senses but because of resistance to his fate. The desire for power which the Yuvaraja seems not to know becomes more rooted in his proud Brahmin-heart. With grim submissiveness he fulfils each prescribed ritual to the gods. When the first rays of the sun shine through the air roots of the young banyans, Kanchanamala opens the door and steps outside. The night-dew is still fresh and cool on the verandah and its simple pillars. She stretches her limbs, radiating pure happiness. As do all in Tirha, she experiences in the depth of her consciousness her dependence on the sun, which sustains life and growth and joy in the heart. Early each morning, she welcomes the blazing eye of MitraVaruna, the soul of all life. Now, especially. She raises her shapely arms, puts her hands together to her forehead and bows:
‘Oh, Sun goddess!
Queen of heaven and earth,
Bestower of light,
Bestower of strength,
Holy art thou!’
Katcha looks at her pure face, now turned towards the rising, as yet invisible, sun-god, and he knows that he is violating his brahmacharya3. How can he, in his proud Brahmin heart, gather the strength that will elevate him above all in his surroundings, above the gods, in order to achieve what he has aimed for so long! Kanchanamala, foremost! Day after day he will have to bend low under the burden of his brahmacharya which he keeps transgressing. Until today there was security for the future that made victory over his emotions easy. Now that security is gone! He must re-win it, in order to walk peacefully in Brahman and to remain an untarnished brahmacharin!
‘Come with me, Kanchanamala, to look for firewood. The night has troubled me.’
Kancha laughs. ‘Troubled you? One who walks in Brahman? Come, Katcha, what troubles the oldest student of my father?’
She walks slowly with him in the direction of the mahavana. Birds warble, ravens—in the highest tops of the banyans—float upon the springy branches and caw their songs of death amongst the awaking life below, while colourful parrots seem to laughingly mock human joy and misery.
‘Kanchana, You!’
‘I!’ She stops, looks at him seriously and surprised.
‘Kancha, I want to ask my father, when he brings the disciple’s offering4 for the holy Santanu, to ask for you as my wife!’
She is alarmed. All brahamcharins pay her respect as the daughter of Santanu. But this is sinning!
‘You lose sight of your duty, Katcha. As a brahmacharin, you are not allowed to speak this way. You are to abstain from such thoughts and become one with the Veda. Father says you must purify your inner being, become Brahman by imbibing the Veda within you, through purity and mastering the senses. Why do you burden yourself with sin, by paying attention to life beyond the sacred life of the brahmacharin! I do not wish to be the cause of your iniquity. Take your duties as brahmacharya seriously and do not make a temptress of me.’
Kanchanamala wants to return home but Katcha, driven by his fierce jealousy, grabs her by the arm.
‘Kancha, I cannot live without you! Restlessness urges me forward; the teachings do not enter my head because I, while knowing you near, am not allowed to approach you.’
‘You are doubly sinning now, Katcha: You are not supposed to look at women, you are not suppo
sed to touch them. How will you release yourself of this two-fold sinning! Let me go. Restore your purity.’
‘Kancha, say only that you will wait for me until I have completed my apprenticeship. Then, in the certainty of your love, I will be able to return to my duties! A thousand times a day I shall repeat the three sacred rites a month long, to be freed of this sinning, just as a snake sheds its skin. Kancha, give me that peace!’
‘I will not offer you that peace! You yourself must earnestly fulfil your duties and restrain your emotions. Free yourself from your unduly temptations, overcome yourself. That is what my father, your Guru, wishes.’
Again Kancha wants to leave, but jealousy now overpowers Katcha’s whole being.
‘You drown in the beautiful eyes of the Prince!’ he cries out angrily.
Kancha turns pale but looks at him calmly. ‘My way should not be of any concern to the brahmacharin of my father!’
‘You want to be the Maharani!’ he hisses at her.
She waits a moment to steady herself. ‘My wishes should not be the worry of my father’s brahmacharin!’
‘But they do worry me: ‘And if a woman had ten men who were not Brahmins, and a Brahmin takes her hand5, then she would be his wife alone! The Brahmin does not encounter obstacles in his choice’.6
‘My father will decide my fate, not you or a Veda-saying!’
She then turns away from him. Katcha bows his head and walks to the mahavana, muttering the sacred word ‘ Aum ’, the Vyah-rituals and the Rig Veda verse to Savitri. For one month, he has it to repeat every day, a thousand times … to cleanse himself. He looks for a varuna- tree7, which has miraculous powers in its wood, cut out an amulet that will chase away other suitors and protect him from the cry of the harbinger of ill-luck, the Shakuni-bird. He takes the piece of wood with him for the holy offering fire, wood from the sacred Palashka- tree8 from which the holy offering ladles are made.
When Kanchanamala approaches the house the others too have come outside into the grounds. The Prince greets her warmly.
‘Such a wonderful rest in these beautiful surroundings, Kanchanamala. Since you have just come from the woods, I assume you have already shown Rohita your respect.’
‘The cool morning gives strength for the day, high Yuvaraja. The mahavana rewards those who rise early and breathe the night air. And lucky are they that can absorb its beauty.’
The Prince looks at the svelte girl, in whose gaze he thinks he detects a soft hint of melancholy.
‘From our park we can look down on the holy Ganga. Her eternally surging waters provide a freshness and power and prosperity for Aryavarta.’
As he approaches, Santanu hears what the Prince says.
‘The pupils are waiting for the Veda-lessons; Kanchanamala will accompany you, O, Prince, to the waters that refresh and strengthen us here.’
But she wavers … Katcha! Then she turns to Kunala.
‘May I lead you, high Yuvaraja?’
Silently, they take the path through the woods to the river. The guards follow at some distance. Kanchanamala looks at Kunala, surprised.
‘It is a precaution of my father,’ he explains.
The gurgling of the river becomes stronger as they near the Bhagavati. Kunala walks next to her.
‘Such beautiful stately trees, lovely Kanchanamala!’
‘They are simsapas, high Prince, and vikanbothas, from which the Brahmins use to cut out their druvas9. Those tall trunks there, Father calls palakshas. And you know the king of the forest that allows no other tree next to it.’
‘The Bodhi tree.’
‘Yes, Asvattha10, the leaves are called girls’ tongues,’ she laughs impishly.
‘Because they are pointed and shapely?’
‘No. Because they rustle even without Vayu’s11 breath.’ She laughs, and Kunala looks at the girl whose grace and charming good cheer move him.
‘You love your house and the mahavana dearly, do you not?’
‘And the Bhagavati, and the high Himalayas, which you can see yonder through the dry leaves … But you have not yet seen this valley after the rains in Sharath, as a bride, with the new green as its mantle and the blossoming blooms as its garland!’
‘Is nature more beautiful than you are, Kanchanamala?’ he laughs.
Kancha looks shyly at him and walks on beside him, pondering.
‘You are spoiling my mood, high Yuvaraja. Would you like it if I were to say that your eyes are more beautiful than Videha in spring?’ Again she laughs. Kunala does not know why this allusion now strikes him as pleasant.
‘I tolerate poorly when one talks about my eyes,’ he mocks.
‘Well then, I…’
‘Except when a forthright Kanchanamala flatters me…’
‘I merely supposed so, noble Prince.’ She danced on cheerfully.
‘Is it not dangerous, proceeding here so carefree?’
‘The mahavana is slumbering in the heat of Ashadh12. Snakes search for cover, even if it is the tail of a peacock13’, she laughs. ‘Even snakes and mongooses lose their deadly animosity … Look, there is the Bhagavati!’
Kunala had hardly noticed that they had neared the river. His eyes wander along the fast-flowing current. The fresh air is invigorating.
‘She carries the coolness from the high mountain snows.’
‘You do not know the story of the Bhagavati?’
‘No, by the side of our palace flows the Ganga. Tell me, Kancha.’ She reflects a moment.
‘In ancient times, along the foot of the Hymavanth, lived a vanaprastha with his wife, both Vaishyas, who had brought up their children with grace. When the sons of their sons were born, the parents sought out the forest, to live there in pious contemplation. One evening a Brahmin, who had practised asceticism in the Himalayas for a thousand years, approached their hermitage. Weary, he turned to them when they were in their twilight ritual in which they were never disturbed and in which they never expected to be disturbed. Hence, they were not aware of the Brahmin approaching, who, with his tapas, was more powerful than the gods, except Prajapati; they did not go to meet him, did not offer foot-cleansing water which they would not have withheld even from the most humble pilgrim. In his anger the proud Brahmin turned back, cursing the hermit before continuing on his way.
That same day the hermit was afflicted with an unbearable headache. His wife fetched cool water from the river, and soaked in it a cloth, which she placed on her husband’s head. The cloth soon became warm again and she once again fetched cool water, for a day, a week, a year, for years on end. A wise pilgrim told them that, as the result of a curse, he would live forever, so that the pain in his head would persist, eternally. The wife then wept bitterly. When she was to die, no one would take care of her beloved husband and he would suffer forever. But Prajapati, the creator of heaven and earth, took pity on the good, elderly couple. He transformed the hermit into a hard boulder and his wife into a river, fed by the eternal snows of the Himalayas, and he guided the cold waters over the rock, so they would, forever, flow to Videha, cooling all that suffer. That is the Bhagavati: the one who brings bliss; she is worshipped just as the Ganga is worshipped.’
‘And the vengeful Brahmin?’
‘Will continue avenging.’
‘And would you care for your unlucky beloved forever, Kancha?’
‘If we were one in love and conviction … certainly!’ she laughed.
6
THAT WHICH MAKES YOU A BRAHMACHARIN
he brahmacharins have gone to the village to beg for food from those homes where the Vedas are known and where the rites are performed faithfully. Katcha walks alone on his path. He daily watches how Kunala and Kancha seek each other out with their eyes and how they walk to the Bhagavati. He spies on them while they sit by the river, talking and laughing, protected by the Maharajah’s guards. He asks Santanu why those warriors are constantly guarding Kunala.
‘Think about it, my son, and hold your tongue about things that do not
concern a brahmacharin.’
Not concern him? His happiness, his life—nay, his very karma—depend on it! Ever since the Prince has been living in the house, he has been neglecting his obligations to Manu. The thought that Kanchanamala is lost to him torments him like a demon. He forgets his rituals, returns home with too little wood, asks food from impure houses and stares at Kanchanamala which the Law forbids him to do. His hate for the Prince consumes his vengeful Brahmin heart; Santanu says this is just as disastrous for the brahmacharin as idle debate, slander, and lies. His frustrated love shows up in everything. He forgets the libations of water to the gods, to the rishis, to the forefathers. But not bathing in the Bhagavati! When the cool water of the cleansing currents washes over his burning body he feels calmed. He wanders in the mahavana along elephant tracks to look for wood for the sacred fires. But he does not look with care, as he used to do, even though the heat under the branches of the trees is not as suffocating as the tension under Santanu’s roof. He jerks back, a cobra lies on the path before him. The bundle of wood falls from his hands. Lazily the reptile slithers away, disappearing under the dry leaves hissing an evil thought into him: Could he but swing the snake at the face of the Prince! Folly! The guards! And a Brahmin never kills!
He approaches the house and flings the firewood over the smoldering embers. He walks cheerlessly towards Tirha1. His own hurrying steps raise dust-clouds about him and the dust hangs suspended between the trees. From a distance, he sees—hidden under the high palms and banyans—the simple Vaishya huts, their roofs covered with leaves hanging far down over the loam walls. The lower portion of the front wall has been built to jut out towards the road and creates a bench upon which one can sit or lie down to rest and enjoy the evening coolness. Everything is quiet now. Katcha walks to the door of Matali’s house. As is the custom, he lowers his eyes; as someone approaches he holds out his wooden bowl. Begging for food is an honour and provides great benefit to the karma of the giver. For a very brief moment he raises his head; it is Diti, the contemptible widow of Yasa, Matali’s son, whose death was untimely. Grief has buffeted her and she patiently endures the indignities from his family. There are no sons who can protect her! For this reason she is reviled and treated as a slave. Kodini, Matali’s wife, approaches with a ladle of rice. She pushes Diti aside.
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