Part 15 (1/2)
In the Daks.h.i.+nadesa there lived a Brahmin boy who from his childhood was given a very liberal education in Sanskrit. He had read so much in philosophy that before he reached the sixteenth year of his life he began to despise the pleasures of the world. Everything which he saw was an illusion (mithya) to him. So he resolved to renounce the world and to go to a forest, there to meet with some great sage, and pa.s.s his days with him in peace and happiness.
Having thus made up his mind, he left his home one day without the knowledge of his parents and travelled towards the Dandakaranya. After wandering for a long time in that impenetrable forest, and undergoing all the miseries of a wood inhabited only by wild beasts, he reached the banks of the Tungabhadra. His sufferings in his wanderings in a forest untrodden by human feet, his loneliness in the midst of wild beasts, his fears whether after all he had not failed in his search for consolation in a preceptor to teach him the higher branches of philosophy, came up one after another before his mind. Dejected and weary, he cast his glance forward as far as it could reach. Was it a reality or only imagination? He saw before him a lonely cottage of leaves (parnasala). To a lonely traveller even the appearance of shelter is welcome, so he followed up his vision till it became a reality, and an aged h.o.a.ry Brahmin, full fourscore and more in years, welcomed our young philosopher.
”What has brought you here, my child, to this lonely forest thus alone?” spoke in a sweet voice the h.o.a.ry lord of the cottage of leaves.
”A thirst for knowledge, so that I may acquire the mastery over the higher branches of philosophy,” was the reply of our young adventurer, whose name was Subrahmanya.
”Sit down my child,” said the old sage, much pleased that in this Kaliyuga, which is one long epoch of sin, there was at least one young lad who had forsaken his home for philosophy.
Having thus seen our hero safely relieved from falling a prey to the tigers and lions of the Dandakaranya, let us enquire into the story of the old sage. In the good old days even of this Kaliyuga learned people, after fully enjoying the world, retired to the forests, with or without their wives, to pa.s.s the decline of life in solemn solitude and contemplation. When they went with their wives they were said to undergo the vanaprastha stage of family life.
The h.o.a.ry sage of our story was undergoing vanaprastha, for he was in the woods with his wife. His name while living was Jnananidhi. He had built a neat parnasala, or cottage of leaves, on the banks of the commingled waters of the Tunga and Bhadra, and here his days and nights were spent in meditation. Though old in years he retained the full vigour of manhood, the result of a well-spent youth. The life of his later years was most simple and sinless.
”Remote from man, with G.o.d he pa.s.sed his days; Prayer all his business, all his pleasures praise.”
The wood yielded him herbs, fruits, and roots, and the river, proverbial [96] for its sweet waters, supplied him with drink. He lived, in fact, as simply as the bard who sang:--
”But from the mountain's gra.s.sy side A guiltless feast I bring; A bag with herbs and fruits supplied, And water from the spring.”
His faithful wife brought him these, while Jnananidhi himself devoted his whole time to the contemplation of G.o.d.
Such was Jnananidhi--the abode of all wise people--to whom the boy-philosopher, Subrahmanya, resorted. After questioning each other both were mightily pleased at the fortune which had brought them together. Jnananidhi was glad to impart his hard-earned knowledge during his leisure moments to the young student, and Subrahmanya, with that longing which made him renounce the city and take to the woods eagerly swallowed and a.s.similated whatever was administered to him. He relieved his mother--for as such he regarded his master's wife--of all her troubles, and used, himself, to go out to bring the fruits, herbs, and roots necessary for the repasts of the little family. Thus pa.s.sed five years, by which time our young friend had become learned in the many branches of Aryan philosophy.
Jnananidhi had a desire to visit the source of the Tungabhadra, but his wife was eight months advanced in her pregnancy. So he could not take her; and to take care of her he had to leave behind his disciple, Subrahmanya. Thus after commending the lady to Subrahmanya's care, and leaving for female a.s.sistance another sage's wife, whom he had brought from a distant forest, Jnananidhi went his way.
Now, there is a strong belief among Hindus that Brahma, the great creator, writes on everyone's head at the time of his birth his future fortunes in life. He is supposed to do this just at the moment of birth. Of course, the great G.o.d when he enters the room to discharge his onerous duty, is invisible to all human eyes. But the eyes of Subrahmanya were not exactly human. The supreme knowledge which Jnananidhi had imparted to him made it easy for him to discern at once a person entering most impolitely the room in which his master's wife had been confined.
”Let your reverence stop here,” said the disciple angrily though respectfully.
The great G.o.d shuddered, for he had been in the habit of entering hourly innumerable buildings on his eternal rounds of duty, but never till then had a human being perceived him and asked him to stop. His wonder knew no measure, and as he stood bewildered the following reprimand fell on his ears:
”h.o.a.ry Brahmin sage (for so Brahma appeared), it is unbecoming your age thus to enter the hut of my master, unallowed by me, who am watching here. My teacher's wife is ill. Stop!”
Brahma hastily--for the time of inscribing the future fortune on the forehead of the baby to be born was fast approaching--explained to Subrahmanya who he was and what had brought him there. As soon as our young hero came to know the person who stood before him he rose up, and, tying his upper cloth round his hips as a mark of respect, went round the creator thrice, fell down before Brahma's most holy feet and begged his pardon. Brahma had not much time. He wanted to go in at once, but our young friend would not leave the G.o.d until he explained what he meant to write on the head of the child.
”My son!” said Brahma, ”I myself do not know what my iron nail will write on the head of the child. When the child is born I place the nail on its head, and the instrument writes the fate of the baby in proportion to its good or bad acts in its former life. To delay me is merely wrong. Let me go in.”
”Then,” said Subrahmanya, ”your holiness must inform me when your holiness goes out what has been written on the child's head.”
”Agreed,” said Brahma and went in. After a moment he returned, and our young hero at the door asked the G.o.d what his nail had written.
”My child!” said Brahma, ”I will inform you what it wrote; but if you disclose it to anyone your head will split into a thousand pieces. The child is a male child. It has before it a very hard life. A buffalo and a sack of grain will be its livelihood. What is to be done. Perhaps it had not done any good acts in its former life, and as the result of its sin it must undergo miseries now.”
”What! Your supreme holiness, the father of this child is a great sage! And is this the fate reserved to the son of a sage?” wept the true disciple of the sage.
”What have I to do with the matter? The fruits of acts in a former life must be undergone in the present life. But, remember, if you should reveal this news to any one your head will split into a thousand pieces.”