Harishchandra (3)

3. Exile

O, what a noble deed it is to give,

to shed the weight of all that drags us down

to the bog of course matter, to allow

the light spirit to rise above the self

that ever seeks itself through attachment

to something—name, fame, pelf, power or words.

It is mortal to seek, human to give;

by giving man ascends to human heights.

The seeking soul can only justify

through reasons queer to saintly sacrifice

the purpose of his material quest;

the giver foregoes all his claims upon

not just the thing he gives, but reason too,

and by devotion to another kind

lives not in the body but in the mind.

And so our reverend forefathers preached

and practiced rites of charity, for which

to be consummated an addition

though of a smaller quantity was thought

an utmost requirement. He who gave

had to accomplish the act of giving

by a second service though nominal.

This was what Vishwamitra asked of him

who now no longer was Ayodhya's king.

"I am pleased with the largeness of your heart,

Harishchandra. I now demand that you

supply the complementary alms to me

or else your charity remains undone."

"Allow me sage," replied the pauper king,

"to call my men and send them home to bring

the required sum from my treasury."

"No, no !" Cried the sage, "That you shall not do,

for what was yours is all mine, everything:

the royal coffer, crown and scepter all !

You may no longer touch these, and the men

no longer serve a man no longer king.

So, be done with your act of charity

and, leaving my kingdom, go somewhere else."

This poignant truth so struck his conscious mind

like hammer a smith's anvil that perplexed

he stood and looked around as if

he did not stand upon solid ground.

Poor charitable soul, he had no means

to accomplish his act of charity

and thus felt suspended like his father

between a heaven of virtue and a fall

to soul-shattering stones and cruel rocks.

He thought and thought but found himself at loss

of solution to his predicament;

speechless he gazed at earth and sky, ashamed,

his soul mortified, heavy heart weighed down.

Addressing this speechless king, spoke the sage:

"Speak up, man! Why do you thus stare at me?

Do you repent your act of charity

and wish you had not spoken so soon?

I am a hermit of the wilderness

who does not need your kingdom or your crown;

take it back, for I do not accept gifts

offered half-heartedly and with remorse,

such greed-stained gifts are better left alone."

Sable clouds on the sage's hoary brow

rich with the charge of anger, dripping too,

threatened to drown the virtue of one

who now came slowly out of self-defeat

through prolonged silence; he then slowly spoke:

"No, sage ! Curse me instead as you then were

about to do so rather than return

that which I have offered with all my heart;

mistake not my silence for selfishness,

my present plight that grips me like a vice

for irresponsible silence. Sweet sage,

since I have given all, I have no more

to give at this time and place. Allow me

a little time in which to earn and give,

for I will work like any citizen

to give you what is now your due. I will."

Condescending to such an earnest plea,

Vishwamitra replied with dignity:

"Six months you shall have, Harishchandra. Go !

When the sun returns with warmer rays,

return with my dues, no later, or else

you are not worth your words. With wife and child

leave this country and find a work elsewhere."

Grateful Harishchandra thanked the sage

and, doffing off his crown, his ornaments

of gold and ruby, topaz, silver, jade,

he placed these at the hermit's feet and left.

The curious stallion looked at him

and wondered why it was abandoned thus,

but the sage had sunk into the silence

of soul-deep meditation once again.

The ex-king hiked his homeward way alone,

but not quite alone for those who had come

to hunt with a king followed a beggar

they loved nevertheless with all their heart;

nor did they ride although each had a horse,

for how could they who felt their ex-king's plight

without any power to change its course?

Some rushed ahead to break the news at home,

not happy though to carry out this task

because they feared the queen might burst with grief

too heavy for the messenger to bear,

because they feared the prince might go insane

with sudden change of fortune untoward,

because they feared the courtiers would weep

to lose a loving king all just and wise,

because they feared the people would collect

into an unruly crowd and create

a hindrance on the path of virtue's march.

Yet on they rushed, the news spread fast and thick,

faster than winds that blow over the sea,

thicker than solid, sable clouds that hang

over a country struck with darkest grief.

'Twas late afternoon when Harishchandra

arrived at the city gate; people there

formed a silent, sullen mass of onlookers

whose eyes were reddening like the softening sun.

There stood his wife and son, attired now

not in regal splendour and ornaments

as befitted them, but, alas, in plain,

meagre length of as course a cotton cloth

as can humbly guard human decency.

Yet Shaibya looked as pure as fine, fresh rays

of primal sunshine on the fresh, wet earth

and Rohitashwa, rosy dew-drop he,

one the other's support. They awaited

Harishchandra's arrival to depart.

He looked at wife and son and knew that they

knew everything that he may have to say,

eyes spoke to eyes, soul to soul, and he then

addressed his wife and son: "I have given

the crown, the sceptre and the kingdom too

to sage Vishwamitra who now commands

that we leave his country. So, let us go."

But as they stept forth from the palace gate

onto the city's major public street,

the large crowd that gathered on both its sides

to witness the royal exile so sad

closed like a door against their forward march.

"Go not, king ! O stay ! Stay with us yet,"

cried one from the crowd, a heart-broken soul;

another cried, "Do not abandon us !

We will be orphaned by your departure.

Where will you go, truthful Harishchandra?

Like Aditya, the sun god, will you too

disappear behind the trees and let night

entomb us in the darkness of your absence?

O do not go ! Noble soul ! Stay with us !"

"I have to go, friends," said Harishchandra,

"for sage Vishwamitra has wished it so.

I have to go. This is my destiny.

Stop me not with sad tears and woeful cries

when painful parting from the ones I love

already weighs tons upon my heavy heart.

Yet joys and sorrows, simple ups and downs

in the topography of life, must not

deter the virtuous march of life itself

to destined goals of duties to fulfill.

I go to Kashi, sacred spot on earth,

where I will work and earn and save the dues

I owe to the sweet sage and must pay him

within these six months. Deter me not, friends,

for that would be indeed unfriendly act;

but give me leave and wish me well so that

even in foreign lands I do not lose

confidence in myself or faith in God."

"Truthful soul," yet another cried, dismayed

at the tragic turn of the king's fortune,

"you do not have to go to Kashi thus

to pay your dues, for we will raise it here."

"Thank you, friend," replied the king, "but, alas,

I cannot accept what you raise for me,

for alms are not given by raising alms;

when I offered the kingdom to the sage,

I offered him its people and their wealth,

I cannot dip my fingers here and then

pretend at charity. So give me leave.

The sun is 'bout to step upon the peak

and wolfish night with hungry jaws draws near,

a long and toilsome journey lies ahead

without a horse or hope to rest in bed."

So saying he stept forth and led the way

to make the best of distance in light of day.