Harischandra (2)

2. The Hunt

Have you seen heaven, O postmodern man,

you who waste your time in wise fooleries

deconstructing texts on nature's glory

expressed in breathlong phrases without rhyme?

A centreless self-centred world that moves

around the sun's gravitational force

forms your social paradise of grief,

while your greed pollutes rivers, cuts trees down,

poisons consumer's daily nourishment

and deadens the conscience of even those

who would otherwise not have gone astray.

If this is the only world you have known,

there's more reason to take this flight with me

to the wonderful past of tretayug

when unmolested nature, food enough

for body and soul, catered to man's needs.

He had only to take what he needed,

he needed not to hoard and boast of wealth.

The poor were provided for by the state,

the talented by the social system,

the educated by the mindful king;

none lacked, nor were they lazy, but disposed

to useful toil with which they built their dreams.

Ethics and etiquette were so observed

that—fie upon modern social ways

that traffic girls and wed the infant child—

there was no erring from sweet nature's course.

In such a time and place Harishchandra

ruled over a happy populace.

His palace gates were open to the poor,

to brahmins, to sages, in fact to all

who sought his help, kindness and charity

each early morning when prayers were said

and worship made to the great Lord. He then

would give alms and charity to seekers

and only thereafter sit in judgment

upon his kingly throne. When all was done,

he was a lover of the wooded wild

where he gamed fleet stags and fleeter deer

for sport that strengthened brawn and relaxed brain.

'Twas on a heaven connived occasion

that, mounted on a silver stallion, he

the king, with his selected able men,

excitement written on horse and rider

both stimulated by mere thought of chase,

rode through the forest seeking quarry

far and deep inside the dense sylvan womb

rich in life of various sorts on land

in water and in the green canopy.

Deep into the forest they rode, found tracks

of tigers, wild boars, elephants and deer,

but animal saw none, not even by

the pool where they were wont to quench their thirst.

The sun was past his zenith and the chase

had thus far proved futile; the leafy warmth

added to the exhaustion of the ride

produced only clammy moisture that stuck

clothes to skin and felt heavy in the breath.

Horses neighed pleadingly to return home

for even they thought luck was dry today.

But the determined king with royal blood

in his veins, a fighter he, loathe to quit,

leaving therefore the main body of men

behind, advancing with just a couple

of bodyguards who would not desert him,

arrived upon a higher ground from where

he espied a rich and luscious stretch of land

where grazed a herd of deer and antelopes.

Motioning with upraised palms a caution

lest the grazing herd sense a present death,

he advanced unobserved, unsensed, unheard

till he was within shaft-shot distance near.

From out his quiver he took a pointed shaft

and laid it gently on the string and bow

and pulled at shoulder level sighting well,

but before he could let fly the arrow

the herd was fleet in motion and he missed

his mark. Yet, failure is to a king

powerful prompting to action once again.

They raced, he raced; they fled through thickets dense,

he shot behind with whirling speed immense;

they thundered, he galloped; they rushed for life,

he rushed for victory; they foamed, he panted;

they scattered and he followed a special one.

How far the stallion's hoofs had drummed their way

there's none to tell; but, when he thought he won,

for he had a deer within his shaft's range

and was about to plunder life, he heard

another life seeking help with loud cries:

"O help! Help! Someone help me please! O help!"

His fingers froze, the arrow fell, hands dropped

with bow still clutched, the prey was lost to sight.

For just a moment the king was confused

for he did not know from which direction

the distress signal came. He looked around.

His stallion sensing something amiss

slowed to a trot, but Harishchandra took

the rein in hands as he now rightly judged

and followed the direction of the cry,

aroused to indignation, crying thus:

"Who dares victimize a weakling in this

my virtuous kingdom? Stop! Stop at once!

Dare you invoke my righteous ire so?

Beware! the flame of justice will so singe

the soul of female victimizer, he

will for ever suffer the racks of hell!"

The unseen female voice still shrilled through leaves

and thickets of the fearful wilderness

as, with best intentions of succoring

the needy, the chivalrous king rushed forth

in keeping with the duty of a king.

He turned around the thicket densely leaved

and to his utter surprise found no girl

or ravished female old or young, no one,

not even the ravisher, but, alas,

a holy hermit seated at the foot

of century-old trunk of pipal tree

newly aroused from soul-deep meditation

so that life and passion stirred the agèd limbs

to rude awakening from godful dream.

Up rose the irate sage; his eye-balls red

with anger sought the trespasser; his hand

reached for the kamandalu, water-pot

with which to cast a curse upon the king,

sad intruder into the sage's realm.

"How dare you, foolish man, disturb my peace

and rouse me from holy meditation

of the Lord? And now my anger has caused

a partial loss of virtue I have earned

over a long, hard period of time.

For this I will punish you with a curse."

So saying he poured some holy water

in the cup of his palm now fisted hard

and raised it like Indra his thunder bolt

that neither pities nor fears counter blow.

"Forgive me sage!" Cried the dismounted king,

now on his knees, his palms thick glued with fear,

but more with sincere remorse for having

with good intentions done an awful deed.

"Forebear a while ! I, Harishchandra, beg

a fair hearing before the sentence falls."

To such a plea for justice the kind sage

could certainly not have turned a deaf ear

even had it come from another man

than Harishchandra; but he spoke with rage:

"Harishchandra? The liar king who once

broke a sacred vow made to god of sea?

You are a wicked man, Harishchandra,

more wicked for disturbing my sweet peace.

Given your wicked past and present crime,

I see no reason why I should allow

you to go free; but, I will hear you out,

in the name of justice. So speak. Be brief."

The humble king explained his conduct thus:

"Sweet sage ! You give me hope no hunted deer

ever received from me as through the wild

I chased it without remorse. I have learnt

the meaning of mercy even as I,

with full knowledge of culpability,

humbly genuflect with deep reverence

before a soul of justice in good ire;

having lost prudence in the heat of chase,

I did not guard myself against the fact

that the wilderness is not just a place

for fun and game of royal hunting troops,

that great hermits and god-seeking souls

seek its silence and solitude and peace

for better things than princes ever do.

Kind sage, nor am I one to brawl in vain

and disturb a soul in meditation;

I heard a damsel's distressed cry for help,

and sought to find the wicked foe of man

who, forsaking virtue, chose to walk

the sure sinful path of destruction dread.

It is the duty of a noble king

to guard his people from all evil harms,

to protect the weak, succor those in need,

and maintain justice in the virtuous land.

Did I do wrong, wise sage? Abiding by

my royal duty? Seeking to punish

the criminal? To save the weak female?

Did I do wrong? O say, Vishwamitra,

sage of great renown ! Friend of mortal man !

Did I do wrong to challenge such a foe?

Had I been prudent, I would not have thus

voiced my anger and roused you from your trance.

Punish me for my imprudence, but not

for intended malice, holy sage."

The angry sage abetted a little,

relaxed his posture, but still frowned and spoke:

"You speak with wisdom. Your humility

and remorse have touched me. Yet your offence

must still be reckoned with. I will not cast

the curse I was about to cast; instead

I'll satisfy myself with recompense

like victims do in royal courts of law.

I too have heard of you, O king, as one

who is generous in alms and charity,

as one who keeps his words and never lies,

and, if only to test the truth of rumor,

I ask you to give me what I want."

"O heaven ! You are kind and just ! O sage,

ask and receive all that a king can give

and you shall have it: wealth, honor or rank.

Name it and 'tis yours as soon as spoken.

For what is there in this impermanence

that I can hold on to with life or love

except the grace of the Everlasting?

For what is there in this clay and matter

that I can hold on to with avid greed?

For what is there in this kingdom I rule

that I can hold on to as if I owned

what I've been assigned to keep for others?

My pleasure lies in giving, not hoarding,

in sharing with the world, not possessing.

When the needy seek, I give to sustain

their lives; but, when a sage seeks, I offer

all I have with great hopes of being blessed."

Harishchandra spoke from within his heart

where truth lay embedded like a jewel

in a snake's forehead, unseen but really there.

Still with folded hands, some distance from

the frothing stallion, awaited he

the pleasure of a sage's wish to know.

Vishwamitra smiled the faintest smile

that ever lips are able to design

and, transforming the fist into a palm,

he blessed the king inwardly, wished him well,

prayed that he succeed in upholding truth

and thereby human worth and dignity;

but spoke the sage, his voice still ringing hard:

"Give me your kingdom, king, no more I want."

"You have it sage !" Replied Harishchandra

without the briefest hesitation

or second thoughts about so rich an alms,

with deepest reverence and folded palms.