Chapter 49
Yajnyawalkya was walking back to his cottage. The path from Janaka’s palace to his own isolated cottage seemed endless. Veil after veil of darkness was gathering all objects into its folds. Past, present and future were rolled into a single tide that crashed continually against the walls of his mind.
Once again the solitude of his dark, unlit hearth waited to embrace him. As he stepped into the gathering dusk, he became aware of somebody already there. Who was waiting for him; Maitreyi? No, it could not be Maitreyi! Who was it then, hiding in the shadows?
The figure in the shadows moved forward with a sign of recognition. Yajnyawalkya stared hard. The person was now in the plain light of the open space. Yajnyawalkya was still unable to connect.
The man emerged from the shadows and confronted Yajnyawalkya full in the face. Yajnyawalkya stared at the man for sometime. The man waited for a sign of recognition from Yajnyawalkya. In a moment, Yajnyawalkya responded with a restrained and weary smile: “You are Artabhaga!”
Artabhaga nodded in acknowledgement and proceeded to greet him. As Yajnyawalkya held his hand, both remembered a moment shared long ago on that fateful day in Janaka’s symposium.
Artabhaga looked deeply into Yajnyawalkya’s eyes to find a memory of those days. Yajnyawalkya resented the probing gaze. It seemed as if Artabhaga was trying to see in him a fossilized residue from the past.
Yajnyawalkya stared back at him. Artabhaga said, “I have come from your hermitage back home.”
Yajnyawalkya’s eyes lit up with anxiety at the word ‘home’. But he remained silent for want of words. He came to himself as he found Artabhaga waiting fro his response. Without a word, he placed his hand on Artabhaga’s shoulder and led him in.
Artabhaga’s eyes scanned Yajnyawalkya’s presence. Somehow, he looked for the existence of Maitreyi somewhere inside this formidable man. He was amused to see how dissimilar both were.
When they reached the inner courtyard, Yajnyawalkya offered him a mat-seat and signaled him to sit down. While Artabhaga made himself comfortable, Yajnyawalkya busied himself with some inconsequential task.
The uneasy silence broke when Artabhaga stood up abruptly and accosted Yajnyawalkya brusquely.
“My revered mentor, I have come to you with questions.”Artabhaga bent and touched Yajnyawalkya’s feet and faced him again. His troubled mind was silent and speechless for a moment as he looked at Yajnyawalkya. This unforeseen moment of closeness was at once comforting and yet alienating. Artabhaga felt, as though he was in the presence of a tongue of fire that sprinkled dew-drops instead of sparks.
“I have been wandering listlessly all these years without a mooring. I came here, finally to quench my thirst. But I do not know the question that will fetch all answers. Please help me and rid me of all doubts that I have been carrying with me all along.”
Yajnyawalkya looked at Artabhaga impatiently: “Ask the question,” he said in precise tones.
“Am I ready yet, to know what you know, my mentor and preceptor?” asked Artabhaga.
Yajnayawalkya knew that an earnest seeker was asking the question. Was he: Yajnyawalkya: ready to the answer the question of a seeker?
Artabhaga was still. The question escaped from his mouth as if from a non-entity.
“Have you realized Brahma?”
The enormity of the question stunned Yajnyawalkya as never before. The question was asked to him time and again in the assemblies of learned scholars. But at this moment it was being asked in the solitariness of the heart. There were no listeners to applaud or to jeer; there was no reward for a satisfactory answer!
Yajnyawalkya studied Artabhaga’s demeanor. He found neither mockery nor a challenge in the man’s tone. And Artabhaga realized that he was facing, not an adversary, but a lost soul!
There was something in Artabhaga that filled Yajnyawalkya with a sense of responsibility towards him; he knew not why and wherefore. Still, he did not miss a trait of subversive accusation in Artabhaga’s eyes.
Yajnyawalkya remembered how, a decade ago, he had escaped the tumult of the debate in Janaka’s assembly, to be in the exclusive presence of Artabhaga, and how they had shared the intimacy of souls as if it was a divine gift.
Yajnyawalkya pondered over the question; looked deep into himself, and found no answer. What did he receive at the hands of the power he worshiped all along? He had lost his soul. And at the end of the journey, here was one true seeker, asking the most relevant question!
Yajnyawalkya was facing his own self in the clear light of the sun. He detested his dependency. His heart spoke to him after a long spell of silence:
“Yajnyawalkya, once upon a time, you had worshiped the Sun-God. Look back, and find for yourself the cause of your enfeeblement. Where are you now? Far from the source of your light, cast in the darkness of self –abasement! Why? Why did you let this happen to your Self?”
Artabhaga realized what a momentous question had escaped from his mouth! His question had opened a vast, insurmountable gulf between himself and Yajnyawalkya! He could not breathe. But the memory of his meeting with Maitreyi impelled him to speak. Words came gushing from his mouth.
“Yajnyawalkya, go back to your orphaned hermitage. They need you there. Perhaps I might get the answer to my question there and nowhere else. Maybe, the powers above are not willing to reveal the answer anywhere else except on the soil of your own heart which sustained you. Forgive me my impertinence; but believe me; when you will find your Self again, remember me. I want to share your knowledge. And believe me again when I say that I will know when that moment will have arrived, wherever I may be then!”
Artabhaga was free of the burden he had carried all along. There was no hatred, only peace! Strangely, it did not matter to him what the answer was going to be. He did not know what his mission was, nor did he know if it was going to be fulfilled. He was happy that his soul could reach out and touch another soul.
He paused for breath and found Yajnyawalkya staring at him in amazement. Artabhaga forgot for a moment why and how he had made it to Yajnyawalkya’s abode in here in exile. Once again, he was unable to utter the word ‘Shakalya’ in Yajnyawalkya’s presence.
Artabhaga was as incapable of being driven by rage as Yajnyawalkya was incapable of untruth. Artabhaga did not know if he would ever find the right key to open the heart of Yajnyawalkya. Speech seemed absurd in his presence. Artabhaga felt, he had to burn up all language, thinking, and forms of expression to be able to have access to Yajnyawalkya’s inmost being, and yet Yajnyawalkya was in some way, intelligible and accessible.
In that brooding silence, Artabhaga saw how incompatible the souls of Yajnyawalkya and Shakalya were. Ceaseless struggle had impelled Artabhaga to distinguish compassion, love and beauty from all else in human endeavors. He wanted to strip away everything else from Yajnyawalkya to see through appearances to the hidden core. Artabhaga was intrigued by the constant perseverance with which Yajnyawalkya shielded his isolation and separateness.
What, after all, was the enigmatic Brahma? A concept, a feeling, an experience? Whatever it was, hoe did it matter in this world of human bondage?
Shakalya, Artabhaga thought, needed compassion, not truth! Why did Yajnyawalkya not choose compassion over truth? Why did Yajnyawalkya not see that compassion nurtured, whereas truth could kill a human?
Artabhaga decided that now was the moment of his life to name the unnameable. He forced himself to speak
“Yajnyawalkya, I must speak the truth to you, otherwise I shall never lie peacefully in my bed. A decade ago, you denounced Shakalya in Janaka’s symposium. I hold you responsible, Yajnyawalkya, for whatever followed thereafter. In a way which was difficult to comprehend,you drove him to his death. Had you not spoken the truth so devastatingly, you could have averted the calamity of his awesome end. Perhaps you are not aware, to this day, how that man drove himself to his perdition under the blow of your denunciation. Maitreyi was right, no doubt, that you did not utter a curse; in fact, you cannot! You uttered a prophecy! But is it not the duty of the prophet to save mankind from the doom?”
Artabhaga who was always careful with his words, lest he hurt or destroy, was surprised by the passion his words carried.
Yajnyawalkya looked at Artabhaga without flinching.
“Artabhaga,” he said, “Sit down. You have every right to be indignant. Because you think, I could have saved Shakalya, but I did not. I know your soul. But I must tell you, your love for humanity is a delusion. Your love for Shakalya is also a delusion. Do not grieve for Shakalya. Do you think, I had no knowledge of how and when Shakalya died? I knew. Listen, at this moment, I can see, feel, and hear only Artabhaga. Artabhaga is grieving at this moment for himself, not for Shakalya. Artabhaga is indignant, not at Yajnyawalkya, but at himself. Because Artabhaga is in Shakalya; Artabhaga is in Yajnyawalkya.”
“Who is Artabhaga then?” Artabhaga whispered for Yajnyawalkya’s ears.
“Artabhaga is One, and Artabhaga is Many,” said Yajnyawalkya.
“And ultimately Artabhaga is ‘Nothing’. Artabhaga is a void that has a place for everyone save for himself”, said Artabhaga.
“No, Artabhaga is beyond all of them. And that Artabhaga who can see and feel everyone, is not afflicted by the sorrow of Shakalya. He is serene. But the Artabhaga who is sitting in my presence, does not trust that serenity.
Artabhaga remained silent. He felt, he had aged too soon. An ancient voice proclaimed its existence inside him. It had no sound of its own. It was there in the surging tides of the oceans, in the deep recesses of mountains; it was everywhere. It seemed to erase Shakalya out of his memory, saying to Artabhaga:
‘Listen to me. Shakalya is with me. His agitated soul is slumbering on the bosom of Time. He has moved away from you. Find your own peace. Release yourself from Shakalya”.
Artabhaga heaved a deep sigh and looked at Yajnyawalkya. Yajnyawalkya was looking at him with unseeing eyes. They remained enveloped in silence. No words were exchanged between them further. Artabhaga had no desire to understand anything. He was neither satisfied nor dissatisfied. It was as if a very vital part of his body had separated itself and moved into another orbit.
Then a deep anguish set in. he closed his eyes to feel himself. It was difficult and overwhelming to accept the peace that was thus descending upon him. And yet he could do nothing but surrender, because it was the voice of love. It was love, untouched by sorrow and tribulations, silent, yet preserving everything in its own womb.
Yajnyawalkya watched Artabhaga from a distance. He let Artabhaga be alone for some time. Then he went over and placed his hand firmly on Artabhaga’s head. The touch of his hand was .meant to say, “This is Truth. Let it prevail. Accept it and set yourself free”
Once again the solitude of his dark, unlit hearth waited to embrace him. As he stepped into the gathering dusk, he became aware of somebody already there. Who was waiting for him; Maitreyi? No, it could not be Maitreyi! Who was it then, hiding in the shadows?
The figure in the shadows moved forward with a sign of recognition. Yajnyawalkya stared hard. The person was now in the plain light of the open space. Yajnyawalkya was still unable to connect.
The man emerged from the shadows and confronted Yajnyawalkya full in the face. Yajnyawalkya stared at the man for sometime. The man waited for a sign of recognition from Yajnyawalkya. In a moment, Yajnyawalkya responded with a restrained and weary smile: “You are Artabhaga!”
Artabhaga nodded in acknowledgement and proceeded to greet him. As Yajnyawalkya held his hand, both remembered a moment shared long ago on that fateful day in Janaka’s symposium.
Artabhaga looked deeply into Yajnyawalkya’s eyes to find a memory of those days. Yajnyawalkya resented the probing gaze. It seemed as if Artabhaga was trying to see in him a fossilized residue from the past.
Yajnyawalkya stared back at him. Artabhaga said, “I have come from your hermitage back home.”
Yajnyawalkya’s eyes lit up with anxiety at the word ‘home’. But he remained silent for want of words. He came to himself as he found Artabhaga waiting fro his response. Without a word, he placed his hand on Artabhaga’s shoulder and led him in.
Artabhaga’s eyes scanned Yajnyawalkya’s presence. Somehow, he looked for the existence of Maitreyi somewhere inside this formidable man. He was amused to see how dissimilar both were.
When they reached the inner courtyard, Yajnyawalkya offered him a mat-seat and signaled him to sit down. While Artabhaga made himself comfortable, Yajnyawalkya busied himself with some inconsequential task.
The uneasy silence broke when Artabhaga stood up abruptly and accosted Yajnyawalkya brusquely.
“My revered mentor, I have come to you with questions.”Artabhaga bent and touched Yajnyawalkya’s feet and faced him again. His troubled mind was silent and speechless for a moment as he looked at Yajnyawalkya. This unforeseen moment of closeness was at once comforting and yet alienating. Artabhaga felt, as though he was in the presence of a tongue of fire that sprinkled dew-drops instead of sparks.
“I have been wandering listlessly all these years without a mooring. I came here, finally to quench my thirst. But I do not know the question that will fetch all answers. Please help me and rid me of all doubts that I have been carrying with me all along.”
Yajnyawalkya looked at Artabhaga impatiently: “Ask the question,” he said in precise tones.
“Am I ready yet, to know what you know, my mentor and preceptor?” asked Artabhaga.
Yajnayawalkya knew that an earnest seeker was asking the question. Was he: Yajnyawalkya: ready to the answer the question of a seeker?
Artabhaga was still. The question escaped from his mouth as if from a non-entity.
“Have you realized Brahma?”
The enormity of the question stunned Yajnyawalkya as never before. The question was asked to him time and again in the assemblies of learned scholars. But at this moment it was being asked in the solitariness of the heart. There were no listeners to applaud or to jeer; there was no reward for a satisfactory answer!
Yajnyawalkya studied Artabhaga’s demeanor. He found neither mockery nor a challenge in the man’s tone. And Artabhaga realized that he was facing, not an adversary, but a lost soul!
There was something in Artabhaga that filled Yajnyawalkya with a sense of responsibility towards him; he knew not why and wherefore. Still, he did not miss a trait of subversive accusation in Artabhaga’s eyes.
Yajnyawalkya remembered how, a decade ago, he had escaped the tumult of the debate in Janaka’s assembly, to be in the exclusive presence of Artabhaga, and how they had shared the intimacy of souls as if it was a divine gift.
Yajnyawalkya pondered over the question; looked deep into himself, and found no answer. What did he receive at the hands of the power he worshiped all along? He had lost his soul. And at the end of the journey, here was one true seeker, asking the most relevant question!
Yajnyawalkya was facing his own self in the clear light of the sun. He detested his dependency. His heart spoke to him after a long spell of silence:
“Yajnyawalkya, once upon a time, you had worshiped the Sun-God. Look back, and find for yourself the cause of your enfeeblement. Where are you now? Far from the source of your light, cast in the darkness of self –abasement! Why? Why did you let this happen to your Self?”
Artabhaga realized what a momentous question had escaped from his mouth! His question had opened a vast, insurmountable gulf between himself and Yajnyawalkya! He could not breathe. But the memory of his meeting with Maitreyi impelled him to speak. Words came gushing from his mouth.
“Yajnyawalkya, go back to your orphaned hermitage. They need you there. Perhaps I might get the answer to my question there and nowhere else. Maybe, the powers above are not willing to reveal the answer anywhere else except on the soil of your own heart which sustained you. Forgive me my impertinence; but believe me; when you will find your Self again, remember me. I want to share your knowledge. And believe me again when I say that I will know when that moment will have arrived, wherever I may be then!”
Artabhaga was free of the burden he had carried all along. There was no hatred, only peace! Strangely, it did not matter to him what the answer was going to be. He did not know what his mission was, nor did he know if it was going to be fulfilled. He was happy that his soul could reach out and touch another soul.
He paused for breath and found Yajnyawalkya staring at him in amazement. Artabhaga forgot for a moment why and how he had made it to Yajnyawalkya’s abode in here in exile. Once again, he was unable to utter the word ‘Shakalya’ in Yajnyawalkya’s presence.
Artabhaga was as incapable of being driven by rage as Yajnyawalkya was incapable of untruth. Artabhaga did not know if he would ever find the right key to open the heart of Yajnyawalkya. Speech seemed absurd in his presence. Artabhaga felt, he had to burn up all language, thinking, and forms of expression to be able to have access to Yajnyawalkya’s inmost being, and yet Yajnyawalkya was in some way, intelligible and accessible.
In that brooding silence, Artabhaga saw how incompatible the souls of Yajnyawalkya and Shakalya were. Ceaseless struggle had impelled Artabhaga to distinguish compassion, love and beauty from all else in human endeavors. He wanted to strip away everything else from Yajnyawalkya to see through appearances to the hidden core. Artabhaga was intrigued by the constant perseverance with which Yajnyawalkya shielded his isolation and separateness.
What, after all, was the enigmatic Brahma? A concept, a feeling, an experience? Whatever it was, hoe did it matter in this world of human bondage?
Shakalya, Artabhaga thought, needed compassion, not truth! Why did Yajnyawalkya not choose compassion over truth? Why did Yajnyawalkya not see that compassion nurtured, whereas truth could kill a human?
Artabhaga decided that now was the moment of his life to name the unnameable. He forced himself to speak
“Yajnyawalkya, I must speak the truth to you, otherwise I shall never lie peacefully in my bed. A decade ago, you denounced Shakalya in Janaka’s symposium. I hold you responsible, Yajnyawalkya, for whatever followed thereafter. In a way which was difficult to comprehend,you drove him to his death. Had you not spoken the truth so devastatingly, you could have averted the calamity of his awesome end. Perhaps you are not aware, to this day, how that man drove himself to his perdition under the blow of your denunciation. Maitreyi was right, no doubt, that you did not utter a curse; in fact, you cannot! You uttered a prophecy! But is it not the duty of the prophet to save mankind from the doom?”
Artabhaga who was always careful with his words, lest he hurt or destroy, was surprised by the passion his words carried.
Yajnyawalkya looked at Artabhaga without flinching.
“Artabhaga,” he said, “Sit down. You have every right to be indignant. Because you think, I could have saved Shakalya, but I did not. I know your soul. But I must tell you, your love for humanity is a delusion. Your love for Shakalya is also a delusion. Do not grieve for Shakalya. Do you think, I had no knowledge of how and when Shakalya died? I knew. Listen, at this moment, I can see, feel, and hear only Artabhaga. Artabhaga is grieving at this moment for himself, not for Shakalya. Artabhaga is indignant, not at Yajnyawalkya, but at himself. Because Artabhaga is in Shakalya; Artabhaga is in Yajnyawalkya.”
“Who is Artabhaga then?” Artabhaga whispered for Yajnyawalkya’s ears.
“Artabhaga is One, and Artabhaga is Many,” said Yajnyawalkya.
“And ultimately Artabhaga is ‘Nothing’. Artabhaga is a void that has a place for everyone save for himself”, said Artabhaga.
“No, Artabhaga is beyond all of them. And that Artabhaga who can see and feel everyone, is not afflicted by the sorrow of Shakalya. He is serene. But the Artabhaga who is sitting in my presence, does not trust that serenity.
Artabhaga remained silent. He felt, he had aged too soon. An ancient voice proclaimed its existence inside him. It had no sound of its own. It was there in the surging tides of the oceans, in the deep recesses of mountains; it was everywhere. It seemed to erase Shakalya out of his memory, saying to Artabhaga:
‘Listen to me. Shakalya is with me. His agitated soul is slumbering on the bosom of Time. He has moved away from you. Find your own peace. Release yourself from Shakalya”.
Artabhaga heaved a deep sigh and looked at Yajnyawalkya. Yajnyawalkya was looking at him with unseeing eyes. They remained enveloped in silence. No words were exchanged between them further. Artabhaga had no desire to understand anything. He was neither satisfied nor dissatisfied. It was as if a very vital part of his body had separated itself and moved into another orbit.
Then a deep anguish set in. he closed his eyes to feel himself. It was difficult and overwhelming to accept the peace that was thus descending upon him. And yet he could do nothing but surrender, because it was the voice of love. It was love, untouched by sorrow and tribulations, silent, yet preserving everything in its own womb.
Yajnyawalkya watched Artabhaga from a distance. He let Artabhaga be alone for some time. Then he went over and placed his hand firmly on Artabhaga’s head. The touch of his hand was .meant to say, “This is Truth. Let it prevail. Accept it and set yourself free”
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