Chapter 41
Artabhaga and Videha! What brought Artabhaga to Videha time and again, he did not know. Decades had gone by since Shakalya's death. Artabhaga had come to Videha several times, but never had the heart to see Yajnyawalkya. Artabhaga was not able to erase the memory of Shakalya from his mind, nor could he dissociate Yajnyawalkya from Shakalya.
Ages ago fate had invited him to be a spectator to a mysterious unfolding of Karma at the assembly of sages in Janaka's court. Mighty egos had clashed and locked horns with each other. Shakalya and Gargi! All these years he had thought of Gargi as of no consequence. But today, somehow, the image of Gargi stood behind Shakalya like a shadow whose presence was not perhaps recognized. But now he saw it with clarity that Gargi's image had silently devoured Shakalya. Shakalya was a ghost of himself.
Artabhaga remembered Gargi distinctly now, and was surprised by the clarity and vivacity of the image as he recalled it. Gargi was radiating an energy which stirred everyone to the deepest roots of the being. Artabhaga remembered her as she emitted fire on that day.
Shakalya had returned to his seat, grievously wounded in the heart, utterly mortified by the way Yajnyawalkya had addressed him: “You ghost!”
All the souls in that assembly who had gathered there to show off their vain scholarship had missed a heartbeat in terror of what was to follow. The lewd sniggers and laughter vanished instantly.
As the memories came back to him riding the crest of time, he recalled that he had noticed a secret link between Gargi and Shakalya. He could not sweep aside a feeling that Shakalya was goaded on by a power not his own. The edifice of Shakalya's questions was his own, but as Artabhaga looked back at the whole incident he felt, it was Gargi who had breathed life into it. It was Gargi who was stung most quickly by Yajnyawalkya's judgmental evaluation of Shakalya when Yajnyawalkya pronounced him to be a mindless instrument in the hands of those who dared not confront truth. At that moment then, a dark cloud had gathered around Gargi's visage and hidden its luminosity. She had looked like a pool of turbid water. But she had lost no time in regaining her composure. She had cast a dismayed glance, first at Shakalya and then at Yajnyawalkya. Like a goddess furious to see her protege devastated by enemy, she had hurled a question after a question like poisoned barbs at Yajnyawalkya. Artabhaga could see that her questions were propelled by more of a vengeance than by a desire for knowledge. He remembered having seen a shadow of dismay on Janaka's face as he sat there watching everything dispassionately.
After ages, Artabhaga recollected everything as vividly as if it was all enacted before his eyes only yesterday. On the contrary, he recollected the nuances which he had not caught then.
He remembered how he was driven by some impulse to interrogate Yajnyawalkya as if he was an oracle who had materialized in the assembly with the knowledge of the past, present and the future.
The other brahmins were satisfied with Yajnyawalkya's exposition of the ritual of sacrifice as postulated in the Vedas. But Artabhaga was distressed by this ludicrous waste of the intellect over matters of childish knowledge.
After Yajnyawalkya had answered questions on the significance and efficacy of rituals with a concealed disdain, he looked around aimlessly until his eye caught Artabhaga watching him with puzzled curiosity. For a moment they looked at each other. There was a look of recognition in Yajnyawalkya's eyes like someone who had spotted a fellow-traveler in a crowd. Artabhaga's innate shyness had held him back from coming forward with questions. Yajnyawalkya looked at him with a reassuring and knowing smile, trying to elicit his questios out of him. Artabhaga did not know what was really on his mind. But after asking a few questions of pedantic interest, he suddenly found himself asking:
“Where does our soul go after the body is reduced to elements after death?”
Yajnyawalkya had looked at Artabhaga with a godly compassion. There was nothing of the disdain and contempt he had exhibited towards the learned brahmins all along. He was silent.
Artabhaga felt, they saw the souls of each other in that silence. Yajnyawalkya left his place and came over to Artabhaga. In a tone that was meant only for Artabhaga, as if there was none else there apart from the two of them in that assembly, he spoke:
“Artabhaga, that's your name, isn't it? Well, Artabhaga, hold my hand. Let us walk out of this assembly and speak to each other because no one here is capable of grasping what you and I alone can understand.”
Yajnyawalkya had led Artabhaga out in the open as the learned scholars gaped at them in amazement and envy.
Yajnyawalkya had taken him in the shade of a tree and after they had sat there, feeling the breeze caressing them, Yajnyawalkya had asked him, “Are you afraid of death? You have not to fear death. Neither life nor death will be unkind to you. Trust your true self, your light within. That light will make you do only the right things. You will walk through life with the blessings of all living beings. Fear no more. I can clearly see that light on your path.”
When they had come back to the assembly all eyes were directed at them reproachfully. The animosity in the hearts of the brahmins was palpable. And thereafter everything happened with the tragic certainty of a boulder falling off a precipice.
Artabhaga looked back at the road traversed. It brought him again and again, like a maze, to the same deadlock.
He felt, he could not break free of it all unless he made an effort. Where was the way out of it? Where did it go? At every turn there was Yajnyawalkya. Why could he not confront him?
Artabhaga and Videha! What brought Artabhaga to Videha time and again, he did not know. Decades had gone by since Shakalya's death. Artabhaga had come to Videha several times, but never had the heart to see Yajnyawalkya. Artabhaga was not able to erase the memory of Shakalya from his mind, nor could he dissociate Yajnyawalkya from Shakalya.
Ages ago fate had invited him to be a spectator to a mysterious unfolding of Karma at the assembly of sages in Janaka's court. Mighty egos had clashed and locked horns with each other. Shakalya and Gargi! All these years he had thought of Gargi as of no consequence. But today, somehow, the image of Gargi stood behind Shakalya like a shadow whose presence was not perhaps recognized. But now he saw it with clarity that Gargi's image had silently devoured Shakalya. Shakalya was a ghost of himself.
Artabhaga remembered Gargi distinctly now, and was surprised by the clarity and vivacity of the image as he recalled it. Gargi was radiating an energy which stirred everyone to the deepest roots of the being. Artabhaga remembered her as she emitted fire on that day.
Shakalya had returned to his seat, grievously wounded in the heart, utterly mortified by the way Yajnyawalkya had addressed him: “You ghost!”
All the souls in that assembly who had gathered there to show off their vain scholarship had missed a heartbeat in terror of what was to follow. The lewd sniggers and laughter vanished instantly.
As the memories came back to him riding the crest of time, he recalled that he had noticed a secret link between Gargi and Shakalya. He could not sweep aside a feeling that Shakalya was goaded on by a power not his own. The edifice of Shakalya's questions was his own, but as Artabhaga looked back at the whole incident he felt, it was Gargi who had breathed life into it. It was Gargi who was stung most quickly by Yajnyawalkya's judgmental evaluation of Shakalya when Yajnyawalkya pronounced him to be a mindless instrument in the hands of those who dared not confront truth. At that moment then, a dark cloud had gathered around Gargi's visage and hidden its luminosity. She had looked like a pool of turbid water. But she had lost no time in regaining her composure. She had cast a dismayed glance, first at Shakalya and then at Yajnyawalkya. Like a goddess furious to see her protege devastated by enemy, she had hurled a question after a question like poisoned barbs at Yajnyawalkya. Artabhaga could see that her questions were propelled by more of a vengeance than by a desire for knowledge. He remembered having seen a shadow of dismay on Janaka's face as he sat there watching everything dispassionately.
After ages, Artabhaga recollected everything as vividly as if it was all enacted before his eyes only yesterday. On the contrary, he recollected the nuances which he had not caught then.
He remembered how he was driven by some impulse to interrogate Yajnyawalkya as if he was an oracle who had materialized in the assembly with the knowledge of the past, present and the future.
The other brahmins were satisfied with Yajnyawalkya's exposition of the ritual of sacrifice as postulated in the Vedas. But Artabhaga was distressed by this ludicrous waste of the intellect over matters of childish knowledge.
After Yajnyawalkya had answered questions on the significance and efficacy of rituals with a concealed disdain, he looked around aimlessly until his eye caught Artabhaga watching him with puzzled curiosity. For a moment they looked at each other. There was a look of recognition in Yajnyawalkya's eyes like someone who had spotted a fellow-traveler in a crowd. Artabhaga's innate shyness had held him back from coming forward with questions. Yajnyawalkya looked at him with a reassuring and knowing smile, trying to elicit his questios out of him. Artabhaga did not know what was really on his mind. But after asking a few questions of pedantic interest, he suddenly found himself asking:
“Where does our soul go after the body is reduced to elements after death?”
Yajnyawalkya had looked at Artabhaga with a godly compassion. There was nothing of the disdain and contempt he had exhibited towards the learned brahmins all along. He was silent.
Artabhaga felt, they saw the souls of each other in that silence. Yajnyawalkya left his place and came over to Artabhaga. In a tone that was meant only for Artabhaga, as if there was none else there apart from the two of them in that assembly, he spoke:
“Artabhaga, that's your name, isn't it? Well, Artabhaga, hold my hand. Let us walk out of this assembly and speak to each other because no one here is capable of grasping what you and I alone can understand.”
Yajnyawalkya had led Artabhaga out in the open as the learned scholars gaped at them in amazement and envy.
Yajnyawalkya had taken him in the shade of a tree and after they had sat there, feeling the breeze caressing them, Yajnyawalkya had asked him, “Are you afraid of death? You have not to fear death. Neither life nor death will be unkind to you. Trust your true self, your light within. That light will make you do only the right things. You will walk through life with the blessings of all living beings. Fear no more. I can clearly see that light on your path.”
When they had come back to the assembly all eyes were directed at them reproachfully. The animosity in the hearts of the brahmins was palpable. And thereafter everything happened with the tragic certainty of a boulder falling off a precipice.
Artabhaga looked back at the road traversed. It brought him again and again, like a maze, to the same deadlock.
He felt, he could not break free of it all unless he made an effort. Where was the way out of it? Where did it go? At every turn there was Yajnyawalkya. Why could he not confront him?
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