Yayati: A Classic Tale of Lust Read Online Free PDF

quietly swallowed even poison, where was my mind? And the intellect? And the heart? There was no answer. I was completely in the dark.
    When, in exasperation, I gazed at my limbs, something whispered into my ear, ‘You are wrong. Has your body always been your enemy? What about the pleasure of that night, when you kissed Alaka? Was it not made possible by your body alone?’
    That night was a sweet immortal dream. The thought of it made me forget all pain in my life. Even the bright sun outside was obscured in the memory of that night and it all came vividly back to me, like the indelible impression of a young maiden, setting out for worship with an oil lamp. That maddening fragrance of the jasmine flowers, the softness of Alaka’s tresses, the sweetness of her lips — the memory of it all was thrilling.
    Together with this sweet memory of Alaka, there was another which served to bring me happiness. The tribal who set the bone had travelled widely in Aryavarta. He recounted enchanting tales of the caves, forests and cities, the sea and the hills, the old temples and the men he had come across. From those tales I conjured up a beautiful dream.
    In my dream I was escorting the sacrificial horse let loose in challenge of supreme sovereignty. In the end I returned as the victorious hero, conquering the world and at the head of the maidens waiting to worship me was Alaka with the oil lamp.
    I was well again. I mentioned my dreams to the Prime Minister and my tutors. They all liked the idea and inspite of Mother’s protests Father announced the sending forth of the victory horse.
    I still remember those days!
    * * *
    I was away for nearly eighteen months escorting the horse. Everywhere I saw the grandeur of this ancient sacred land. I was enriching my mind with the countless folk songs sung to her glory to the tune of the elements. I stored in my eyes the ever new folk dances. We first headed north, then west, south and east. How exquisitely pretty was the countryside everywhere. With the changing seasons the land wore a new attractive garb and was bedecked with various ornaments. Sometimes I thought the motherland was standing before me in person. The rivers and streams like jets of milk, flowing from her breasts, the mountains. The thought that it was this milk which sustained her children was thrilling.
    We were challenged in only a few kingdoms. Father had in his time put awe into the whole of Aryavarta by his bravery. It was the victory horse of that very King Nahusha who had defeated Indra. Who dared challenge it? Those who thoughtlessly threw a challenge soon learnt that Yayati was the worthy son of a worthy father.
    I was extremely happy in all such minor conflicts. I was an adept hunter and bagged with ease most kinds of animals. But the joy of vanquishing an army which is as well armoured as your own, is quite different. It is on such occasions that a warrior is really inspired. Victory in war is more heady than hunting. It was that kind of heady victory that I was aspiring to. When I had risked my life during the festivities, it was because I had realised the intoxication of victory, but after all, that was only a victory over an animal.
    I was often unable to sleep during the campaign. Not that I was restless thinking of Mother or something important. It was an undefined worry that dispelled sleep. I was weary. Just as one lively horse of a chariot takes to gallop unmindful of his slow mate ,so did my mind ignore the weary body and indulge in wild fantasies. It used to dwell on things like death, love, religion and God. It was difficult to free myself from the web of that maze. Every atom of my body wanted above all , ‘ t o live.’ At this, the mind would intervene with the question, ‘Why then are you escorting the victory horse? You maybe challenged, when there will be a fierce battle and you may fall on the battlefield. Why should you , who wants to live, go where death is disporting wildly?’
    It was