novelraw Arc 5 - Sambhava - Chapter 10 - Yayāti Cursed
Arc 5 - Sambhava - Chapter 10 - Yayāti Cursed
When a thousand years had gone by, Śarmiṣṭhā, now grown to full youth, came into her own season. Seeing her body stir with longing, she began to reflect, silently and with growing unrest:
“My time has come,
Yet I remain unwed, untouched.
My youth passes like a flower unseen,
While Devayānī holds joy and motherhood.
She has borne a son,
But I—daughter of a mighty king—
Have no one to call my own.
Must I remain thus forgotten?
Shall I not also taste what life has offered her?
I will choose as she has chosen—
Yayāti shall be mine too.
Let him grant me a son.
Surely he is virtuous and will not turn away.
Can I not win from him a secret meeting—
Just once, for the sake of a child?”
Thus resolved, desire stirred in Śarmiṣṭhā's heart—
A quiet defiance shaped by longing and fate.
Vaiśampāyana said:
While Śarmiṣṭhā was lost in her thoughts, longing stirred deep within her heart. Just then, as if drawn by unseen forces, King Yayāti came wandering through the Aśoka grove. He was restless, walking without purpose, and soon found himself before the secluded mansion where Śarmiṣṭhā dwelled.
There she stood, alone.
The king paused, struck by her presence, but said nothing. He simply stood in silence, uncertain.
Śarmiṣṭhā, seeing him and realizing they were unobserved, gathered her courage. With soft eyes and joined palms, she stepped forward and spoke:
“O son of Nahuṣa, lord among men,
No one sees the queens of Soma, Indra,
Vishṇu, Yama, Varuṇa—or of thee.
The privacy of kings is guarded by silence,
And I am before thee now—with none to witness.
Thou knowest I am of noble blood,
And by grace and form not unworthy of thee.
My time hath come—my season blooms.
Shall it wither untouched?
I ask thee, O king,
Do not let this moment pass to waste.
Grant me one joy,
One son—
One trace of spring before youth fades.”
Her voice, though gentle, carried the weight of longing and quiet resolve.
Yayati replied with measured grace:
“Full well I know thy noble line,
A daughter born of Daitya's pride;
Thy beauty shines without a flaw,
No blemish on thy form I find.
Yet bound am I by sacred word,
By Śukra’s vow I must abide—
When once I joined with Devayānī,
He spoke: ‘Let Vṛṣaparvan’s child
Not ever share thy marriage bed.’
So, though no fault in thee I see,
A curse restrains what fate decreed.”
Sarmiṣṭhā spoke, her voice resolute:
“O King, the sages have declared
That falsehood bears no sin when told—
In jest, in wooing women fair,
In marriage rites, when life’s at stake,
Or when one’s wealth may all be lost—
On these five grounds, untruth is spared.
He falls not low who veils the truth
In moments fraught with such great risk.
We both were brought to serve one aim—
To share thy home, thy royal grace.
So when thou saidst, ‘To one alone
Shall I be true’—
That was a lie, O king, thou spoke.”
Yayāti answered with dignity,
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“A king must be a model for his people.
Truth is the foundation of justice.
He who speaks falsehood, even in secret,
draws ruin upon his house.
As for me, I cannot utter untruth—
not even if ruin were to consume me.”
Sarmiṣṭhā then rejoined, her words edged with subtle appeal:
“O monarch, in ancient thought it is held—
That what a friend owns, one too may share.
A friend’s husband is as one’s own.
Since my dear friend Devayānī chose thee,
thou art by that bond also mine.
So too am I, by place and fate,
not far from thee in right or claim.”
Yayāti replied with calm resolve:
“It is my vow—never to refuse
what one asks of me in earnest.
Speak, then, O maiden—what wouldst thou have me do?”
Sarmiṣṭhā bowed her head and said:
“Release me, O king, from sin and blame.
Protect my virtue, and let me rise
To noble motherhood through thee.
It is said that wife, and son, and slave
Earn nothing for their own alone—
All belongs to their lord and master.
Devayānī owns me; and she is thine—
Therefore, by right, I too am thine.
O King! Fulfil the wish I bear—
Let me, through thee, find sacred worth.”
Vaiśampāyana continued in a calm, even tone:
Thus spoken to by Sarmiṣṭhā,
King Yayāti was moved.
Her words, steeped in reasoning and ancient law,
seemed just and true to his discerning heart.
And so, he honoured her plea—
guarding her virtue, fulfilling her wish.
For a time they dwelt in closeness,
sharing both silence and affection.
When that time had passed,
they took leave of each other with tenderness,
and returned to their respective abodes.
In the days that followed,
Sarmiṣṭhā, of sweet smile and graceful brows,
conceived from her union
with that best among kings.
And in due time, the heavens smiled—
A son was born, of radiant light,
With eyes like blooming lotus petals,
Shining with a splendour not of this earth.
Vaiśampāyana said:
When Devayānī of sweet smiles came to know
of the birth of a child to Sarmiṣṭhā,
jealousy stirred within her heart.
Though no word escaped her lips at first,
her thoughts grew clouded with suspicion,
and Sarmiṣṭhā became the subject of her displeasure.
At last, she went to her and confronted her directly:
“O fair-browed one,
What sin is this that thou hast done?
By lust thou art led—
O Sarmiṣṭhā,
Thou who once served in humble grace,
What folly now compels thy fall?”
But Sarmiṣṭhā stood composed and answered calmly:
“A certain Rishi, virtuous and wise,
Well-versed in the Vedas, bright as fire—
To him I prayed with righteous mind,
And he, O gentle one, did grant
A boon aligned with dharma's path.
No sinful deed I did pursue—
This child was born of sacred grace.
I speak the truth, Devayānī—
This son is his, not born of shame.”
Devayānī’s tone softened, yet suspicion lingered:
“If this be true, O bashful one,
If such a Brahmana gave thee this gift—
Then tell me now, his noble name,
His house, his clan—speak clear his line.”
Sarmiṣṭhā replied, still steady:
“O gentle friend, I did not ask—
His radiance was the Sun’s own light.
In penance and power, he shone like flame.
No mortal name did I require,
So great was his celestial frame.”
Devayānī then spoke, her jealousy cooled:
“If what thou sayest be indeed the truth—
That this child is born of such a sage—
Then, O Sarmiṣṭhā, I cast away
All anger. I have no cause for wrath.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Having exchanged words and laughter, Devayānī and Sarmiṣṭhā parted ways.
Devayānī returned to the palace, carrying the knowledge that Sarmiṣṭhā had shared.
O king, in the days that followed, Yayāti begot upon Devayānī two sons—
Yadu and Turvasu, strong and radiant,
Like Indra in might, like Viṣṇu in grace.
And Sarmiṣṭhā, daughter of Vṛṣaparvan,
also bore Yayāti three sons—
Drahyu, Anu, and Puru—
each destined to found a mighty line.
It so happened that one day,
Devayānī of sweet smiles wandered into a secluded grove within the royal park,
her husband Yayāti walking by her side.
There, in a clearing dappled with sunlight,
she saw three young boys at play—
children of exceptional beauty,
their joy unguarded, their trust complete.
Startled, she turned to the king and asked:
“Whose children are these, O noble king?
So fair, so splendid, they shine like the sons of gods.
In their limbs and in their light, I see thy form—
Are they, perchance, thine?”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Devayānī, not waiting for her husband’s reply, turned swiftly to the children.
She asked, her voice edged with urgency:
“O children, tell me truly—
Who is your father?
Whence do you come?
Speak your lineage,
for I would know all.”
The boys, innocent and unguarded,
raised their fingers and pointed to the king.
Then, without hesitation,
they named Sarmiṣṭhā as their mother.
After speaking, the children rushed forward
to clasp the knees of their father.
But Yayāti, though his heart stirred with affection,
could not bring himself to embrace them—
not before Devayānī’s watchful gaze.
Hurt by this silence, the boys withdrew,
tears streaming down their cheeks,
and made their way back to Sarmiṣṭhā.
Seeing this, the king hung his head,
ashamed by the unfolding truth.
He was caught between love and the burden of concealment.
Devayānī, observing the children’s love for Yayāti,
saw the truth without need of words.
Turning to Sarmiṣṭhā, her voice now bitter, she said:
“How couldst thou do this to me?
Thou, who dwellest here by my grace—
A servant, yet thou dared defy thy bounds?
Art thou not afraid to revive
That old Asura custom of thine,
Where deceit cloaks desire?”
Sarmiṣṭhā answered with quiet firmness:
“O thou of sweet smiles,
All that I told thee before—of the Rishi—was true.
I have done no wrong.
My actions have followed the path of dharma,
and therefore, I do not fear your anger.
When you chose this king to be your husband,
I too chose him as mine.
A friend’s husband, by accepted custom,
May be held as one’s own as well—
This is no hidden sin, but a truth known among women.
Thou art the daughter of a Brahmana,
And for that, I honour thee.
Thou dost deserve my reverence and regard.
But—” she paused, her eyes steady, “—
Know this:
Though I serve thee in station,
This royal sage holds a place
In my heart still higher than thee.”
Sarmiṣṭhā looked calmly at Devayānī and spoke with composed clarity:
“O gentle one, I have not lied to you. What I told you before, about the Rishi, is true in every part. I did not act out of lust or secrecy, but according to dharma. My conscience is clear, and so I do not fear your anger.”
She paused for a moment, and then continued with quiet conviction:
“When thou didst choose the king to be thy husband,
I too, in my heart, chose him as mine.
It is said among women that a friend’s husband
may be regarded as one’s own.
This is not wickedness, but an accepted way.”
Her tone softened.
“You are the daughter of a great Brahmana, born of high lineage and wisdom. In every way, you deserve my respect. I have never forgotten that.”
But her final words carried an undertone of defiance:
“And yet, though I bow before thee as my mistress,
this king—this royal sage—
holds a place in my heart that is even greater.”
Śukra, having heard the full account, spoke with stern authority:
“O king, thou knowest the law,
And yet, thou didst embrace its opposite.
Thou wert not ignorant of dharma,
But still chose vice as thy path.
Therefore, hear now thy curse—
May decrepitude, invincible and swift,
Cling to thee and drain thy strength!
Let thy youth depart, and age consume thy form!”
Yayāti, humbled yet resolute, bowed and replied in earnest prose:
“O reverend one, I did not act from lust or deceit.
The daughter of the Daitya king came to me,
not in secret, but in the fullness of her season.
It was her time, and she asked of me the rite of union.
I did not refuse her. I acted not for pleasure,
but from fear of sin.
Among those learned in the Vedas,
it is said that if a man turns away a woman
in her fertile time, after she asks in earnest,
he is named a slayer of the embryo,
a killer of the seed before it can take root.
I sought not indulgence, but the path of lesser guilt.
I feared the greater sin of refusal.”
Śukra’s voice hardened, unmoved:
“Thou speakest well,
but thy duty was first to me.
Thou art bound to my word, O son of Nahusha.
You acted without sanction,
and in doing so, stole a rite that was not yours to grant.
Though your motive was cloaked in virtue,
your deed is stained with disobedience.
And thus, thy punishment shall remain.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Yayāti, son of Nahusha, thus cursed by the wrathful Uśanas,
was stripped of his youth in a single moment.
Decrepitude, sudden and unrelenting, seized him—
his limbs weakened, his beauty faded, and time weighed upon him like a burden.
Stricken and sorrowful, Yayāti turned to the great sage and said:
“O son of Bhrigu, thy curse is just,
but mercy yet dwells within the wise.
I have not tasted youth to its end,
Nor drunk deep of Devayānī’s love.
Let this grey age pass me by—
Grant me grace, O Brahman, one last gift.”
Śukra replied, his voice calm and unmoving:
“I speak no falsehood, O king.
The curse has taken hold—thy youth is gone.
But thou mayest still find relief:
If there be one willing to bear thy age,
Then may youth return to thee once more.
It is within thy power, if another consents.”
Yayāti’s eyes lit with hope. In reverent prose he said:
“O Brāhmaṇa, let it be so ordained by you
that whichever son of mine offers me his youth
shall inherit my throne and all its glory.
Let him enjoy not only sovereignty,
but earn both virtue and lasting fame.”
And Śukra replied with solemn authority:
“So be it, O son of Nahusha.
Think of me as thou doest this deed.
To whomsoever thou givest thy old age,
thy youth shall return as fresh as spring.
That son who shares his prime with thee
shall be crowned thy heir,
shall live long, win wide renown,
and be the sire of a mighty line.”