In the Dakshinadesa 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."
Having said this Brahma went away, leaving Subrahmanya extremely pained to hear that the son of a great sage was to have a hard life. He could not even open his lips on the subject, for if he did his head would be split. In sorrow he pa.s.sed some days, when Jnananidhi returned from his pilgrimage and was delighted to see his wife and the child doing well, and in the learned company of the old sage our young disciple forgot all his sorrow.
Three more years pa.s.sed away in deep study, and again the old sage wanted to go on a pilgrimage to the sacred source of the Tungabhadra. Again was his wife expecting her confinement, and he had to leave her and his disciple behind with the usual temporary female a.s.sistance. Again, too, did Brahma come at the moment of birth, but found easy admittance as Subrahmanya had now become acquainted with him owing to the previous event. Again did Brahma take an oath from him not to communicate the fortunes of the second child, with the curse that if he broke his oath, his head would split into a thousand pieces. This child was a female, and the nail had written that her fate was to be that of a frivolous woman. Extremely vexed was our young philosopher. The thought vexed him to such a degree, that language has no words to express it. After worrying a great deal he consoled himself with the soothing philosophies of the fatalists, that fate alone governs the world.
The old sage in due course returned, and our young disciple spent two more happy years with him. After a little more than ten years had been thus spent the boy reached to five years and the girl to two. The more they advanced in years the more did the recollection of their future pain Subrahmanya. So one morning he humbly requested the old sage to permit him to go on a long journey to the Himalayas and other mountains, and Jnananidhi, knowing that all that he knew had been grasped by the young disciple, permitted him with a glad heart to satisfy his curiosity.
Our hero started, and after several years, during which he visited several towns and learned men, reached the Himalayas. There he saw many sages, and lived with them for some time. He did not remain in one place, for his object was more to examine the world. So he went from place to place, and after a long and interesting journey of twenty years he again returned to the banks of the Tungabhadra, at the very place where he lived for ten years and imbibed philosophical knowledge from Jnananidhi. But he saw there neither Jnananidhi nor his old wife. They had long since fallen a prey to the lord of death. Much afflicted at heart at seeing his master and mistress no more, he went to the nearest town, and there after a deal of search he found a coolie with a single buffalo. The fate which Brahma"s nail had written on his master"s son rushed into the mind of Subrahmanya. He approached the coolie, and, on closely examining him from a distance, our hero found distinct indications of his master"s face in the labourer. His grief knew no bounds at seeing the son of a great sage thus earning his livelihood by minding a buffalo. He followed him to his home, and found that he had a wife and two children. One sack of corn he had in his house and no more, from which he took out a portion every day and gave it to his wife to be sh.e.l.led. The rice was cooked, and with the petty earnings of a coolie, he and his family kept body and soul together. Each time the corn in the sack became exhausted he used to be able to save enough to replenish it again with corn. Thus did he (according to the writing of Brahma"s nail) pa.s.s his days. Kapali was the name of this coolie, the sage"s son.
"Do you know me, Kapali?" said our hero, as he remembered his name.
The coolie was astonished to hear his name so readily p.r.o.nounced by one who was apparently a stranger to him, but he said:--
"I am sorry that I do not know you, Sir."
Subrahmanya then explained to him who he was, and requested him to follow his advice.
"My dear son," said he, "do as I bid you. Early morning to-morrow leave your bed and take to the market your buffalo and the corn sack. Dispose of them for whatever amount they will fetch. Do not think twice about the matter. Buy all that is necessary for a sumptuous meal from the sale proceeds and eat it all up at once without reserving a morsel for the morrow. You will get a great deal more than you can eat in a day; but do not reserve any, even the smallest portion of it. Feed several other Brahmins with it. Do not think that I advise you for your ruin. You will see in the end that what your father"s disciple tells you is for your own prosperity."
However, whatever the sage might say, Kapali could not bring himself to believe him.
"What shall I do to feed my wife and children to-morrow if I sell everything belonging to me to-day?"
Thus thought Kapali, and consulted his wife.
Now she was a very virtuous and intelligent woman. Said she:--
"My dear lord, we have heard that your father was a great mahatma. This disciple must equally be a mahatma. His holiness would not advise us to our ruin. Let us follow the sage"s advice."
When Kapali"s wife thus supported the sage, he resolved to dispose of his beast and sack the next morning, and he did so accordingly. The provisions he bought were enough to feed fifty Brahmins morning and evening, as well as his own family. So that day he fed Brahmins for the first time in his life. Night came on, and after an adventurous day Kapali retired to sleep, but sleep he could not. Meanwhile Subrahmanya was sleeping on the bare verandah outside the house, and he came to the sage and said:--
"Holy sage, nearly half the night is spent, and there are only fifteen ghatikas more for the dawn. What shall I do for the morrow for my hungry children? All that I had I have spent. I have not even a morsel of cold rice for the morning."
Subrahmanya showed him some money that he had in his hand, enough to buy a buffalo and a sack of corn in case the great G.o.d did not help him, and asked him to spend that night, at least the remainder of it, in calm sleep. So Kapali, with his heart at ease, retired to rest.
He had not slept more than ten ghatikas when he dreamt that all his family--his wife and children--were screaming for a mouthful of rice. Suddenly he awoke and cursed his poverty which always made such thoughts dwell uppermost in his mind. There were only five ghatikas for the lord of the day to make his appearance in the eastern horizon, and before this could happen he wanted to finish his morning bath and ablutions, and so he went to his garden to bathe at the well. The shed for the buffalo was erected in the garden, and it had been his habit daily before bathing to give fresh straw to his beast. That morning he thought he would be spared that duty. But, wonder of wonders! He saw another buffalo standing there. He cursed his poverty again which made him imagine impossibilities. How could it be possible that his beast should be standing there when he had sold it the previous morning? So he went into the shed and found a real buffalo standing there. He could not believe his eyes, and hastily brought a lamp from his house. It was, however, a real buffalo, and beside it was a sack of corn! His heart leapt with joy, and he ran out to tell his patron, Subrahmanya. But when the latter heard it he said with a disgusted air:--
"My dear Kapali, why do you care so much? Why do you feel so overjoyed? Take the beast at once with the corn-sack and sell them as you did yesterday."
Kapali at once obeyed the orders and changed the money into provisions. Again fifty Brahmins were fed the next day too, and nothing was reserved for the third day"s use. Thus it went on in Kapali"s house. Every morning he found a buffalo and a sack of corn, which he sold and fed Brahmins with the proceeds. In this way a month pa.s.sed. Said Subrahmanya one day:--
"My dear Kapali, I am your holy father"s disciple, and I would never advise you to do a thing prejudicial to your welfare. When I came to know that you were the son of the great sage, Jnananidhi, and were leading so wretched a life, I came to see you in order to alleviate your miseries. I have now done so, having pointed out the way to you to live comfortably. Daily must you continue thus. Do as you have been doing for the past month, and never store away anything, for if you reserve a portion all this happiness may fail, and you will have to revert to your former wretched life. I have done my duty towards you. If you become ambitious of h.o.a.rding up money this good fortune may desert you."
Kapali agreed to follow the advice of the sage to the uttermost detail and requested him to remain in his house. Again said Subrahmanya:--
"My son! I have better work before me than living in your house. So please excuse me. But before leaving you, I request you to inform me as to where your sister is. She was a child of two years of age when I saw her twenty years ago. She must be about twenty-two or twenty-three now. Where is she?"