novelraw Arc 5 - Sambhava - Chapter 11 - Yayāti’s Sons
Arc 5 - Sambhava - Chapter 11 - Yayāti’s Sons
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Yayāti, son of Nahusha, having incurred the wrath of the sage Uśanas,
was at once stripped of his youth.
Decrepitude overtook him like a sudden storm—
his skin withered, his limbs bent, and his strength failed him.
In this miserable state, he turned to the sage and pleaded:
“O son of Bhrigu!
My thirst for youth is not yet quenched,
Nor have I tasted love to its depths.
Devayānī’s embrace still calls to me—
Let not this cruel old age steal what remains unfulfilled.
Show mercy, O Brāhmaṇa, and spare me this decay.”
Śukra replied with measured firmness:
“I do not speak untruth.
The curse has fallen, and age grips thee already.
Yet—if thou so desirest,
Thy burden may be passed to another.
One who takes on thy decrepitude
May grant thee youth once more.”
Then Yayāti said, hope rekindled in his heart:
“O Brāhmaṇa, let it be declared by you
that whichever son of mine gives me his youth
shall inherit my kingdom,
and win both virtue and fame in this world.”
And Śukra said:
“O son of Nahusha, so let it be.
With my sanction,
You may give this old age to whomever consents.
He who shares his youth with thee
Shall be crowned thy heir,
Shall live long, be widely renowned,
And father many noble sons.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Yayāti, now burdened by sudden old age,
returned to his capital in sorrow and reflection.
Summoning his eldest son Yadu—
noble, accomplished, and foremost among his brothers—
the aged king spoke to him with affection and urgency.
“My dear child,” he said, his voice weary yet firm,
“By the curse of Kavya—known also as Uśanas—
Decrepitude has fallen upon me.
See these wrinkles, this whitened hair,
This body bent before its time.
But my heart has not yet tasted its fill
Of youth’s delight, of love’s embrace.
Grant me thy strength, thy bloom of days—
Take upon thyself this age-worn frame.
For a thousand years let me walk again in youth,
And when that time is done,
I shall return to thee thy prime,
And take back all my weakness and this decay.”
Yadu bowed before his father, but his reply was firm:
“O king, I cannot accept this burden.
Old age brings with it countless miseries—
the body fails, the senses dull, and joy is lost.
In eating and drinking, in motion and pleasure,
everything becomes a struggle.
White hairs spread like winter frost,
wrinkles fold the skin in lines of time,
the limbs grow weak and tremble,
the heart turns weary and joyless.
The once-strong frame bends with shame,
defeated even by friends in sport and speech.
Deformity, incapacity, and despair—
these are the cruel gifts of age.
O father, I am not prepared to accept them.
This is my final word.
Thou hast other sons,
and some, perhaps, are even dearer to thee than I.
You know the law, and the proper way—
Ask one of them to take this burden in my place.”
Yayāti looked upon Yadu with sorrow, his voice tinged with disappointment:
“You are born of my heart, O son—
yet you deny me your youth.
So hear now what must follow:
Thy descendants shall never wear the crown.
Kingship shall not flow through thy line.
This is the fruit of thy refusal.”
Then, turning to another son, Yayāti addressed Turvasu:
“O Turvasu, come now,
take from me this burden of weakness and decay.
Let me borrow thy youth for a time,
to savour once more the sweetness of life.
For a full thousand years shall I reign in youth,
and when that time has passed,
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I shall return thy strength to thee,
and take back this old age that now clings to me.”
Turvasu answered his father, speaking plainly:
“O father, I cannot accept decrepitude.
It strips away every joy—
appetite, strength, beauty, even reason.
What pleasure is there in a life so drained,
where even the will to live is worn thin?”
Yayāti’s eyes grew stern, and he replied with deep disappointment:
“You too are born of my heart, O Turvasu—
yet you withhold your youth from me.
So hear now the fate I pronounce:
Thy race shall fade from the earth,
extinguished from the line of kings.
You shall rule over men
whose ways are impure and unrighteous—
where the low-born lie with noble women,
where meat is their food,
and theft and lust mark their daily life.
These are people of unclean practice—
who live as birds and beasts do,
without restraint, without dharma.
They are Anārya—not because of birth,
but for their rejection of nobility,
of virtue, law, and sacred order.
You shall be king among them—
a ruler of those who scorn the path of the noble Ārya.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
After cursing Turvasu, King Yayāti turned to another of his sons—Drahyu, the child of Sarmiṣṭhā.
In a voice wearied by age, he spoke:
“O Drahyu, my son,
Take from me this burden of decrepitude—
This withering of beauty, this sapping of strength.
Lend me thy youth for a thousand years.
When that time has passed,
I shall return to thee thy prime
And take back this failing body as my own.”
But Drahyu answered his father with reluctance:
“O king, what joy lies in old age?
One so afflicted cannot take pleasure in chariots or horses,
Elephants or women.
Even his voice falters—hoarse, dry, and broken.
What is life if all delight is lost?
I do not wish to accept this curse of time.”
Yayāti’s expression darkened, and he said with sorrow and firmness:
“You, too, are born of my heart, O Drahyu—
yet you refuse me your youth.
Therefore, your cherished hopes shall remain forever out of reach.
You shall be a king in name alone,
ruling over a land where no chariot rolls,
Where elephants and horses do not tread,
Where palanquins, bulls, and asses are unknown.
There shall be no smooth roads, no noble steeds—
Only rivers to be crossed by rafts and floats.
Yours shall be a realm of stagnant paths,
where progress crawls and glory fades.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Yayāti, weary but still yearning for the vitality of youth, turned next to his son Anu and said:
“O Anu, my son,
Take from me this burden of old age.
Let thy youth become mine for a thousand years,
So that I may again taste the pleasures of life.”
But Anu replied without hesitation:
“O king,
Those afflicted with age eat like children—
Slow, weak, and joyless.
They are ever impure,
Unable even to offer libations at the proper hour.
Such a life holds no honour.
Therefore, I cannot take thy decrepitude.”
Yayāti, wounded by the rejection, raised his voice in sorrow and curse:
“You are born of my own heart, yet you deny me.
You see only flaws in age, and scorn it aloud.
Then let that very decrepitude consume you!
May your descendants perish in youth—
Let death seize them as they reach their prime.
And may you yourself be denied
the sacred rite of fire,
unable to perform the holy sacrifice!”
Vaiśampāyana said:
At last, Yayāti turned to his youngest son, Puru—
quiet, steadfast, and wise beyond his years.
Looking upon him with hope, the aged king said:
“O Puru, thou art my youngest—
but in truth, thou shalt be the foremost among all thy brothers.
This decrepitude has come upon me
through the curse of Uśanas, the great Kavya.
Wrinkles line my face,
my hair has turned pale as moonlight,
but the hunger of youth still burns within me.
I am not yet satisfied—
not with life, nor with love, nor with the world’s beauty.
Take upon thyself this burden, O noble son.
Lend me thy youth for a time,
that I may live fully for a thousand years.
And when that time has passed,
I shall return to thee thy strength and bloom,
and I shall take back my age and frailty.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus addressed by the king,
Puru bowed his head in reverence.
Without hesitation, he replied with quiet humility:
“O monarch, I shall do as thou commandest.
Take thou my youth, O father, and enjoy the joys of life.
Let thy heart be gladdened and thy body renewed.
As for me, I shall carry thy burden—
thy wrinkles, thy frailty, thy fading strength.
Old age shall be mine, and I shall bear it with honor,
for it is thy will, and thy need.”
Hearing these words, Yayāti was deeply moved.
With affection and gratitude, he declared:
“O Puru, thou hast pleased me beyond measure.
And being pleased, I bless thee:
May thy people be fulfilled in all their desires—
prosperous, content, and virtuous.
May thy kingdom know peace and plenty.”
Having spoken thus, Yayāti—once a great ascetic—
thought upon Kavya, the sage who had cursed him.
Fixing his mind with clarity and will,
he transferred his decrepitude,
his withered form and waning years,
into the body of his high-souled son, Puru.
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus restored to youth through the selfless sacrifice of Puru,
the noble Yayāti, son of Nahusha, became exceedingly gratified.
With vigor renewed and strength returned,
he gave himself once more to the enjoyments of life—
not recklessly, but in harmony with season and measure,
that each pleasure might yield its fullest sweetness.
Though immersed in delight, Yayāti did not stray from dharma.
He walked the path of righteousness,
his actions aligned with the sacred precepts.
He offered sacrifices to the gods,
Śrāddhas to the Pitṛs,
gifts to the poor,
and fulfilled the desires of worthy Brāhmaṇas.
Guests were welcomed with food and drink,
the Vaiśyas were protected,
the Śūdras treated with kindness and dignity.
Those who broke the law were punished with justice.
Like Indra in the heavens,
he ruled the earth—firm, fair, and compassionate,
a lion among kings,
his senses held, his pleasures measured,
yet boundless in his joy.
He delighted in the world
without ever abandoning the duties of a king.
Only one shadow lingered—
the knowledge that even a thousand years
must one day come to an end.
Yet while time still favored him,
the king, master of kalās (hours) and kāṣṭhās (moments),
rejoiced in love and wonder with the celestial maiden Viśvāchī—
sporting beneath Indra’s garden trees,
roaming the jeweled lanes of Alakā,
and resting in rapture upon snow-bright Meru,
the golden mountain of the North.
Vaiśampāyana said:
And when the thousand years of youth had run their course,
the virtuous monarch Yayāti, wise and seasoned,
summoned his noble son Puru.
Looking upon him with gratitude and affection, he spoke:
“O vanquisher of foes,
With the gift of thy youth, I have tasted every joy—
each pleasure according to its season,
each delight to the full extent of my power.
But I have learned a truth:
Desire is never quenched by indulgence—
like fire fed by ghee, it only burns brighter.
He who owns the world entire—
all its barley and gold, its jewels and cattle,
its fair women and vast lands—
would yet find his thirst unending.
Therefore, that thirst must be abandoned.
True joy belongs to those
who cast aside the longing for worldly things—
a craving that clings even as life departs,
a craving that poisons the mind,
hard to resist for the sinful and weak,
yet fatal in its grip.
For a thousand years, my heart was fixed
on the objects of desire.
But the more I indulged,
the more that craving grew.
No more.
I shall turn my heart to Brahman,
and spend my days in the forest among the deer—
peaceful, detached, and free.
Let the wind be my companion,
and the sky my canopy.
No longer shall I live for fleeting joy.”
Then he turned to Puru and said:
“O my son, thou who hast served me best,
who bore my burden without question—
I am gratified beyond measure.
Receive back thy youth—
bright and strong as before.
And take my kingdom as well.
Let fortune dwell in thy house,
and let thy name shine among kings!”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
And so Yayāti, son of Nahusha, gave up his borrowed youth
and received back his own decrepitude—
wrinkled skin, grey hair, and weakened limbs returned to him once more.
Puru, in turn, received back the strength and glow of his own youth,
restored by the grace and promise of his father.
Having fulfilled the long cycle of enjoyment and reflection,
Yayāti now prepared to install Puru—his youngest son—on the throne.
But as word spread through the kingdom,
the four orders of society, with the Brāhmaṇas leading them,
approached the aged monarch and raised their concern.
In respectful but firm voices, they said:
“O king, this act of thine is against the natural order.
How shall the youngest be placed above the eldest?
Yadu is thy firstborn—son of Devayānī,
and through her, grandson to the mighty sage Śukra.
After him came Turvasu.
And from Sarmiṣṭhā, thou hadst Drahyu, Anu, and then Puru.
How then does the youngest deserve the crown,
when all his elder brothers still live?
This path is not aligned with dharma.
We beseech thee, O king,
Do what is just in the eyes of virtue—
and let precedence follow birth.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Hearing the protest of the four orders, Yayāti rose and spoke clearly before them, his voice carrying the weight of a king and a father wronged:
“O noble ones, Brāhmaṇas and elders of the realm—
listen well to the reason behind my decision.
It is not out of whim that I pass over my eldest son.
This is not a denial of blood, but a measure of dharma.”
He continued in measured prose:
“My eldest son, Yadu, disobeyed my command.
He turned away when I was in need.
And the wise declare:
‘He who disregards his father’s word
is no true son—
but he who honors and serves his parents,
who brings them comfort, is the best of sons.’
Not only Yadu, but Turvasu too denied me.
Drahyu and Anu likewise turned away from their father.
It was Puru alone who heeded my plea.
He gave me his youth when I stood stripped of strength.
He bore my age upon his shoulders—willingly, without resentment.
He is my true son, my friend,
who did what pleased me most.
What virtue is greater than this?”
Then he added with gravity:
“Even Śukra, son of Kavi, declared this:
‘He who obeys thee shall be thy heir,
and shall rule the Earth in glory.’
Puru alone fulfilled that law.
I ask you all, in the name of justice and dharma—
Let Puru be crowned king.
Let the Earth prosper beneath his rule.”
The people, having heard the king's words, responded with satisfaction and reason:
“It is true, O king—
That son alone is worthy of prosperity
who serves his parents with devotion and honour,
even if he be the youngest.
Puru has acted righteously.
He placed thy will before his own pleasure,
and that is the true mark of nobility.
Moreover, as Śukra himself decreed it,
we raise no objection.
Let Puru rule.
He deserves the crown.”
Vaiśampāyana continued:
Hearing the consent of the contented people,
Yayāti, son of Nahusha,
formally installed Puru upon the throne—
his youngest, yet most dutiful son.
Having bestowed the kingdom upon him,
the monarch prepared himself for the final stage of life.
He performed the sacred rites of renunciation,
shedding the bonds of kingship and desire.
Then, with serene mind and fading strength,
he left his capital behind—
followed by Brāhmaṇas and forest-dwelling ascetics,
his heart now set upon the eternal.
Vaiśampāyana said:
From Yadu sprang a mighty lineage,
and his descendants came to be known as the Yādavas.
The line of Turvasu gave rise to the Yavanas,
while the sons of Drahyu were known as the Bhojas.
The progeny of Anu came to be called Mlecchas—
peoples whose ways strayed from the Vedic path.
But it is from Puru, the dutiful and obedient,
that the noble line of Pauravas emerged—
a lineage crowned with kings and heroes.
“And among them, O king,” said Vaiśampāyana, addressing Janamejaya,
“thou art born—
to rule the Earth for a thousand years,
with thy passions mastered,
and dharma as thy guide.”