Divya, page 25
Lines of anxiety deepened on the forehead of the Principal. ‘But, for the safety of the Monastic Order and of religion, we have a different duty at this time,’ he said. ‘A fast, normally desirable, may be disregarded when a person is ill.’
‘Do I have your permission, honoured sir, to say something?’ Cheebuk said, joining his hands and looking at the Principal of the order.
The Principal nodded assent, at which Cheebuk said, ‘Honoured sir, just as water serves a special purpose when a person is thirsty, the observance of religious practices too, assumes a special significance in times of crisis.’
‘But the safety of the Monastic Order is more important than the safety of an individual,’ the Principal said, looking into Cheebuk’s eyes.
‘Honoured sir, Bodhisattva offered the flesh of his own body to save a poor homeless bird that had come seeking shelter. The proper use of his body, his wisdom, his religion lay in offering his own body to the shelterless bird. Honoured sir, my mind tells me that the safety of religion, the safety of the monastic order, has its importance insofar as it gives shelter to the shelterless. In this, even though the institutional structure of the Monastic Order may suffer, it will enhance religion. But refusal of shelter to a fugitive, even though it may save the institutional structure, will do grave harm to religion.’
After remaining silent for a long time, Dharma Rakshit said, ‘It is laid down in our code of conduct that if there is difference of opinion among the monks, then the course of action is decided by an assembly of the monastic community. But on account of the prevailing conditions, it may be disastrous for the Monastic Order if this secret is revealed to the assembly. Out of regard for your religious zeal, however, I have said all that I had to say, in respect of my views and my recommendations.’
Cheebuk sat for a while with his head bowed, and then, offering his humble salutations to the Principal of the monastic order, took leave and returned to the monastery.
Monk Cheebuk’s face, ever beaming with compassion and fellow feeling, for once became clouded. His mind, always free from uncertainty, was now torn by conflict. He could not flout the instructions of the Principal, and thereby violate the code of Buddhist discipline, but neither could he act against the moral instructions of the Bodhisattva. To steady his mind so as to be able to decide on his course of action, he sat meditating till late in the night in front of the image of the Buddha.
By putting himself in the place of the Buddha, and trying to see how the Buddha would have acted under similar circumstances, he was able to resolve his mental conflict. Gazing with rapt attention at the lustrous face of the Buddha, illuminated by the light of the lamps, the monk’s face once again became free from anxiety, and lit up with joy. Before the image of the Buddha, he touched the floor with his head in a token of reverence.
Before sunrise, Cheebuk was standing before Prithusen’s cell. Prithusen was lost in thought. Seeing the smiling face of the monk in front of him, he respectfully rose and offered his salutations.
‘Do you have any doubts weighing on your mind, my son?’ the monk asked, raising his hand in blessing.
‘None, honoured sir, your teachings have freed this devotee of all doubts,’ Prithusen replied with bowed head.
‘Is there any fear left?’
‘None, honoured sir.’
‘Do you have any enemy?’
‘With your blessing, I have no enemy left, honoured sir.’
‘Will you go with me to the door of Rudradhir for alms?’
‘Honoured sir, to the door of Rudradhir or to any other place that your worship may command.’
‘Do you then apply to take the vows in order that you may enter the fold of the Buddha, of the Holy Word, of the Monastic Order?’
‘Honoured sir, I submit myself for ordination into the Monastic Order.’
‘Your wish shall be granted. Prepare yourself to receive it.’
Monk Cheebuk gave instructions to the monastery to make arrangements for the reception into the fold of a new bhikshu.
Before midday, Prithusen, his head shaven, dressed in russet robes, and holding a begging bowl in his hand, emerged from the door of the monastery in the company of the physician monk Cheebuk.
Monk Cheebuk, accompanied by another bhikshu, stood outside the heavily guarded gate of the palace of the lawgiver of the caste system, the Chairman of the Council, Acharya Rudradhir.
‘Revered sirs, wait till the alms arrive from the kitchen,’ the doorkeeper said to them respectfully.
‘Today we desire to receive alms from the Acharya’s own hand,’ the monk replied, smiling, to the doorkeeper.
‘Sir, the Acharya’s instructions are that no one can enter the palace without his explicit permission. Please excuse me.’
‘Pray, convey to the Acharya the blessings of the monk Cheebuk and his companion bhikshu,’ Cheebuk said, still smiling.
When the command came back from inside the palace, Cheebuk, taking his companion with him, along with the doorkeeper, went into the audience chamber of Acharya Rudradhir.
The Acharya, with numerous palmyra leaves and birch leaves lying before him, was dictating orders to the scribes. Seeing the monks standing in front of him, the Acharya got up from his seat and, joining his hands, said to Cheebuk, ‘Acharya Rudradhir, son of Acharya Pravardhan, bows before the eminent physician of Madra, the wise monk Cheebuk.’ And bowing before the monk’s companion too, the Acharya said, ‘The unknown Buddhist monk may also kindly accept the salutations of the householder.’
As both the monks took their seats, the Acharya sat down too.
‘Your reverence may kindly command what service I can do.’
‘Arya, all that a bhikshu can ask for is alms,’ the monk said. ‘The Acharya may express his inmost wish.’
‘I seek your blessings, honoured sir. When my body suffers from any ailment I shall seek the help of the honoured physician.’ The Acharya smiled, and again joined his hands.
Cheebuk too smiled, ‘Even when the body has no ailments, the mind may be ailing, Arya.’
‘Honoured sir, what has that man to give who has himself renounced the world?’ the Acharya remarked jokingly.
Cheebuk’s smile did not fade. ‘The Acharya is wise. Nothing can be renounced unless it is first acquired. No one can acquire the world and, therefore, no one can renounce it either. Acquisition and renunciation both are motivated by the same aim—that of contentment.’
‘You are right, revered sir,’ the Acharya admitted. ‘A man of the world, who has to pursue worldly affairs, has always many reasons to be discontented. He has many worries.’
The monk sitting besides Cheebuk said, ‘This bhikshu has come to relieve the Acharya of one of his many worries.’
Hearing the bhikshu’s voice the Acharya raised his head and then gasped for breath in amazement.
The monk continued, ‘I, Prithusen the bhikshu, having achieved the blessedness of universal friendship, shorn of all enmity towards the Acharya, have been freed from fear and anxiety. To relieve the Acharya also of fear and anxiety on my account, I have come to the Acharya in his audience chamber, to put myself in his hands. Receive Prithusen and give to the bhikshu, in charity, the joy of universal friendship.’ The monk spread out both his hands in a gesture of self-surrender.
The Acharya opened his lips to say something, but after heaving a deep sigh, closed them again. He sat silently, with his head bowed. After a while, when the noonday gong was sounded, he raised his head. Addressing the guest monks, he said, ‘Will the bhikshus kindly partake of some food?’
Cheebuk smiled and said, ‘The Acharya, familiar with our code of behaviour, knows that the Buddhist bhikshus do not eat anything after midday.’
The Acharya was struck with remorse at the fact that the monks who had come to his house could not be fed, and begging their pardon, said, ‘Honoured sir, the householder begs to be forgiven for this lapse on his part.’
‘Arya, you need have no anxiety on that score,’ the monk reassured him.
For a long time silence prevailed in the audience chamber. Then Cheebuk got up, took leave of the Acharya, offered his blessing, and made for the main gate, accompanied by Prithusen.
Acharya Rudradhir sat silently, with his head bowed.
Seeing the Acharya torn by anxiety, Vasudhir, his younger brother, said, ‘Acharya, when the enemy eats the dust of the ground, the war ends. This is the law of the caste religion.’
Rudradhir looked up at his younger brother, but there was no peace in his eyes.
Mallika
WITH THE RESTORATION OF THE RULE OF THE CASTE SYSTEM IN Madra, the insolence and insubordination of the lower classes disappeared from the public life of Sagal. Devi Mallika, too, was satisfied with the re-establishment of the Brahminic regime. In her assembly hall she organized regular artistic events in accordance to proper traditional methods. But even then, the spontaneity that used to be so much a feature of the days of her youth, when pupils like Divya and Madulika were there to assist her, could not be revived.
Devi Mallika herself felt that there was something lacking. Art was still held in great esteem, but the public was not drawn to it. The knowledge of the nuances of art was there, but not the devotion to them. The cage was beautiful, but the songbird within lacked vivacity. Seasoned musicians like Marul, Apit and Lomak, would emit from their aged throats the purest of notes; the older dancer Udumber would, with his skeletal body, display many difficult, complicated postures, portraying different emotions; Pritha, too, would likewise give flawless expositions of her art.
To take delight in such art required knowledge, and an effort of will and taste, just as persistent practice was needed for meditation and reflection. This was pure art, unblemished by secondary considerations such as a sweet voice or a pretty face. But for the ordinary people art had become a lifeless formality. It was as arduous to enjoy it as it was to appreciate abstract discussions on the nature of the soul freed from the bondage of the body. Art lovers held Mallika in great regard, but sought satisfaction in the concert halls of Vasumitra and Kusumsena, which were vibrant with the breath of youth. The dedicated art lovers from far and near, however, still came to Devi Mallika’s assemblies.
After the downfall of Prithusen, Madulika, feeling penitent and remorseful, came to Mallika to beg for forgiveness. Mallika, however, did not take her back. Art loses its purity and dignity in the hands of the unworthy who give precedence to physical pleasures.
After turning her back on Madulika, Devi Mallika began to feel more uneasy in her mind. ‘When the caste system is being given its proper place, should the pursuit of art be denied its rightful appreciation?’ she asked herself. Her lifelong effort and hard work had gone to give art a place of eminence and authority. Did this mean that with her death, her art would perish too? Was it that the throne of the Laureate of Art would be disgraced by some undeserving and unworthy person! That was as painful to her as seeing it all go to ruin before her eyes.
Wealth held no attraction for Devi Mallika. She believed that all the wealth she possessed was merely an offering made to the supremacy of art. She accepted the offerings as a living symbol of art. Mallika had not only accumulated possessions; she had also earned fame and the esteem of the art lovers. Wealth was only the tangible reflection of that eminence and repute.
In her young age, Devi Mallika had borne a child in the hope of leaving a successor. Having been blessed with a beautiful daughter, she dedicated herself to Saraswati, the goddess of art, and took a vow that she would not bear another child lest her interest in dance and music should flag. A cruel fate snatched that child away from her, but Devi Mallika did not break her vow. Fate was unkind to the devotee, but the devotee’s faith remained unshaken.
Devi Mallika bore this unfolding of destiny with equanimity. A successor in the sphere of art, she thought, need not be a child of your own womb; she must be the child of your soul. She took comfort in the knowledge that Gopa in Taxila, Sulekha in Magadh, and Ratnaprabha in Mathurapuri were keeping up her tradition. But what had Sagal, once a place of pilgrimage and a seat of art, to offer now, to travellers who came there, attracted by her fame? The very thought of it made her suffer acutely. She had based her hopes on Madulika, but Madulika had proved unworthy.
Devi Mallika, renewing her faith in the beneficence of Goddess Saraswati, once again decided to seek her replacement. She made up her mind that in search for a successor, she would travel far and wide, to other kingdoms and states of Jambu Dweep. She made enquiries from travellers, pilgrims and traders of the various centres of art in different parts of the country. She learned all that there was to know about Taxila, Malva, Magadh, Mathurapuri and Dakshinapath. The one person who had been most highly praised in her hearing was a certain Anshumala, the pupil of Ratnaprabha of Mathurapuri.
Ratnaprabha had shown both talent and devotion, Devi Mallika remembered, but during the last four years her fame had begun to shine all the brighter. And that was because she had a pupil like Anshumala. Who could be more fortunate than a teacher who had such a pupil, a pupil who could turn the spark of knowledge into a burning flame? Thinking that Acharya Rudradhir must have visited Mathurapuri at the time of his return from Magadh, Mallika asked him about Anshumala. But the Acharya did not show much interest in the subject.
The Acharya’s silence in this regard convinced Mallika that a dry-as-dust man such as the Acharya could not be expected to know much about the finer points of art. ‘Come what may,’ she said to herself, ‘I shall seek out a successor for myself even at my advanced age.’
On the pretext of making a pilgrimage, Devi Mallika set out on a journey and visited numerous holy places, towns and cities, visiting the centres of art and culture, and at last turned up in Shursen. As she approached Mathurapuri, reports of Anshumala’s fame reached her. Devi Mallika was convinced that her heart’s desire would certainly be fulfilled in the abode of Nataraj, Lord of Dance and Music.
The news of the arrival of the Court Dancer of Sagal, the Laureate of Art, Devi Mallika, sent a thrill of joy and enthusiasm throughout Mathurapuri. As if vying with the eastbound current of the Yamuna river, the stream of people flowed towards the western gate of the city. The highway from the palace of Ratnaprabha to the western gate was decked with arches of plantain stalks, columns of painted earthenware pots, festoons of mango and jamun leaves and garlands of flowers. The façades of the houses and shops lining the path were covered by banners and pennants of various colours. The surface of the highway was decorated with patterns and pictures made from rice and parched barley. The air was thick with the fragrance of myrrh, frankincense and sandalwood. The terraces and balconies of houses groaned under the weight of the crowds of spectators. The air resounded with the notes of the veena, cymbals, tambourines and kettledrums.
Devi Ratnaprabha, together with Anshumala and other pupils, state officials, feudatory chiefs and business magnates, was present at the city gate to receive her teacher. As Mallika’s chariot, its flag with the emblem of a crocodile flying, appeared in a cloud of dust, the sound of conch shells and other instruments filled the air and shouts of joy rose to the sky.
As Devi Mallika alighted from her chariot, Ratnaprabha welcomed her and performed the arati ceremony by moving a golden tray, laden with one hundred and one lighted lamps, in a circle round her teacher and presented her with a platter filled with jewels.
Smiling, Devi Mallika declined the offer. ‘Daughter, a devotee of art does not desire jewels which shine with borrowed light. To her, only those jewels are precious which emit their own light. Today I have come to ask for such a jewel. Give it to me either as a present or as charity.’
For a moment, Ratnaprabha stood lost in thought. The gentry and the citizens looked on in surprise. Then, with bowed head and joined hands, she replied, ‘Mother, you have only to command. Whatever I am, and whatever I possess, have been bestowed upon me by Goddess Saraswati through your grace.’ Kneeling on the ground, she placed her forehead at Mallika’s feet.
Mallika put her hand on Ratnaprabha’s pearl-decked hair and blessed her, ‘Daughter of the Goddess of Art, may you enjoy forever the blessings of knowledge, renown and wealth. Your teacher has come to ask you, to give her in charity, her pupil’s pupil—Anshumala.’
Hearing Mallika’s words, Ratnaprabha stood up. Taking Anshumala by the hand, she pulled her forward and sat her at the feet of Mallika, and in a voice choked with emotion, said, ‘Mother, she too was bestowed by you. Who but Goddess Saraswati herself is capable of conferring a boon like her?’
A shout of joy rent the air. People cheered on all sides. Conch shells and the triumphal drums began to play. In the midst of that tumult, lifting Anshumala’s head, Mallika looked at the face of the one for whom she had yearned for so long.
For a few moments, she stood transfixed. Her breath came in short gasps. Suddenly, her eyes welled with tears. Holding Anshumala tightly to her breast, Mallika cried out, ‘Divya! Divya! My child, the child of my soul!’
To give up Anshumala was, for Ratnaprabha, like giving up everything. But just as a mother sending away her daughter after marriage lends to the pangs of separation a festive look, in the same way, Ratnaprabha handed over her friend, her sister, her daughter Anshumala to Devi Mallika, in the hope and confidence of a brighter future for her protégée.
With tears streaming down her cheeks, she went as far as the city gate to bid farewell to Anshumala. Huge crowds gathered on all sides. The entire population of Mathurapuri was saddened by its separation from Anshumala, but it had the satisfaction of fulfilling the wish of the foremost Laureate of Art, Devi Mallika. Anshumala’s chariot was filled with jewels and ornaments presented by her admirers and the lovers of her artistry.
With her hand shielding her eyes, Ratnaprabha looked at the receding flag, as though her life depended on it. It became smaller and smaller, then a speck on the horizon. Long after that speck had disappeared from view, she continued to stand motionless, supporting herself on the shoulder of her pupil, Muktavali.
