Hariom, I have posted three stories — two are adaptations from the Mahabharata and one from the Zen tradition. The key ideas that filter through the stories are: life and death is a play-act of the immortal Self, and hence flow with it; minimise attachment as you roller-coaster along the ups and downs of relational life; spiritual life is more than repeating what others have said or done — it is always a new path, you make it as you walk it. Enjoy. — Swami Bodhananda, 21 August 2007
King Shrutakirti of Avanti had a hundred wives. All of them were from noble families, well trained in philosophy and the arts, well behaved, and they served their husband the king with devotion and respect. The kingdom was prosperous, with no threat to its internal or external security, and the subjects were industrious, law-abiding and happy. But there was one cause of sorrow. The king had no son, and that bothered the king to no end. What will happen to his kingdom after he is gone? King Shrutakirti spent long nights tossing and sighing in bed without a wink of sleep, worrying about the future.
One day the great sage Kashyapa visited the palace. The king received the sage with full honours, washed the sage's feet and sprinkled the holy water on his head as well as on the heads of his devoted wives. After a delicious meal of fruits, cooked vegetables, dry fruits and sweets served with scented drinks, the great sage sat for satsang with the king and his wives. The king fell at Kashyapa's feet sobbing and said that he was in great grief without a progeny to take over the reins after him. Sage Kashyapa told the brooding king that there are two types of suffering regarding progeny — one, not having children, and the other, all of them turning out unruly and disrespectful. Hence why not think of adopting a child, or training a worthy young man for royal duties? The king would have none of it. He wanted his own biological children. Kashyapa did not insist, and initiated the king into the “Ourasa Mantra” for the benefit of having a son. After the satsang and rest, Sage Kashyapa left for his ashram in the woods.
The king religiously chanted the mantra and his favourite queen Bhadravati conceived. The news spread fast and everyone was in a celebratory, festive mood. The king was overjoyed. Queen Bhadravati shone like the full moon. Duly she delivered a beautiful, healthy baby boy on the first full-moon day of the month of Ashadha. The kingdom burst into jubilation. The king and all his lovely wives doted on the baby prince to distraction. They hovered around the baby like bees around a fresh bloom. There was nothing more that the king could ask for.
The boy mastered all the arts and philosophy — the Vedas, dharma sastras, archery, danda neeti, magic and sorcery, grammar, composition and rhetoric, dance and martial arts — in no time. Now he was sixteen. The king was ready to hand over the kingdom to the young prince.
Then all hell broke loose. The stepmothers, ninety-nine of them, became jealous of the good fortune of Queen Bhadravati. She would be the queen mother, and they couldn't take the very thought of it. They secretly plotted and poisoned the prince, who died excruciatingly.
Now the whole world lay in ruins all around the king. When misfortune opens the floodgates it comes in like unstoppable Mongolian hordes. The king became a mental wreck. The wives who plotted the heinous murder were all put in prison, which added fuel to the hapless king's mental torture.
Then appeared Sage Kashyapa, like a welcome shower on sun-parched fields. The king was inconsolable and begged Kashyapa to do some magic to bring the dead prince back to life. Kashyapa's consolations and advice to the king — that dead people never come back, nor was it desirable to call them back — were not convincing to the king. Finally Kashyapa said to the king, “All right, I will establish contact with the boy through my magical powers and you can talk with him, and if he is willing we can bring him back. The disembodied soul is driven purely by the power of thought and is embedded in mind.”
Then Sage Kashyapa drew a deep shaft of air, sat in samadhi, commanded the power of samyama, and pressed the king's forehead with his left thumb, his right toe jabbing the king's navel. The rest of Kashyapa's left fingers spread gently on the king's head. The king felt a powerful current of energy passing over his body and fell into a deep trance. “See with your inner eye,” commanded the sage, “and talk to your son.”
King Shrutakirti saw his son playing with a group of boys and beautiful girls, and the material body that he wore in his human embodiment still hung around him like an odour. So the king could barely recognise his beloved son for whom his parental heart pined. “Abhirama,” for the first time he called his son by name. Otherwise he had called him only by honeyed endearments — rojapoo, thenkudam, kanne, karale… Hearing a vaguely familiar voice the boy looked up and shouted back, “I am busy playing, can't you see? Who are you?”
“I am your father, King Shrutakirti, my lad. Have you forgotten us — me, your father, and your mother? The whole country is waiting for you. Why did you leave, my child? We will not live if you don't come back,” saying this the king cried aloud.
The boy was amused and unconcerned, and the whole thing was embarrassing for him, and so he shouted back, “Who are you? Father! Whose father? I have played those roles of sons and fathers in so many episodic births that I have lost count. Tell me, in which episode did you play my father's role?” Saying that, the boy continued to play.
King Shrutakirti was shocked to hear these cool, heartless words of the boy. His tears burst out uncontrollably and he pleaded, “Son, don't you remember your father? Please call me father at least once and stop talking like that. I implore you, come back and take up your responsibilities, and be beside your father and mother in their old age. Don't be thankless — remember, we gave you birth, educated you and made you what you are today. Don't forget that and don't be ungrateful.”
The boy stopped playing. “This is a real nuisance,” he whispered, and shouted back, “OK, OK, you gave me birth, my physical embodiment, my material garb in one life. Though I don't remember, I take you at your word. But look here, old man, don't bother me further. I cast away that costume when the play ended — didn't I return the body cloak that I borrowed from you when I left the stage? Look carefully around you, you will find it. Thank you for calling, but don't bother me again. Bye.”
[The physical body, which houses the mind — the memory chip — is born of the parents' chromosomes.]
The confused and exasperated king looked around listlessly. Sage Kashyapa had already left, unnoticed.
“Nobody dies, nobody is born, it is all a big joke,” whispered the king unbelievingly as he shuffled out of his seat.
Swami Bodhananda