A story · Yoga Vasishtha · Yoga Vasishtha — Stories of Calm

Gadhi's Vision

Yoga Vasishtha 5.44

The story · English

Vasishtha spoke to Rama. He said that only a steady hold on the restless mind can destroy the delusion that keeps us turning through birth after birth. There is no other way. To show how tangled that delusion can be, he told a story. In the land of Kosala, green with forests and fruit trees, lived a learned Brahman named Gadhi. He knew the Vedas, he was calm from his youth, and he cared little for worldly affairs. His mind was as clear as an open sky. One day he left his friends and went into a forest to practise austerity. He found a lake full of blooming lotuses, with the moon and scattered stars above it. There he stepped into the water.

He stood in the lake up to his neck, his head floating on the surface like another lotus. He wanted one thing, to see Vishnu face to face. Eight months he stayed there, and his face grew thin and pale, like the lotuses of the lake when the sun does not reach them. Then Vishnu came, like a dark rain cloud rolling over parched earth. He said, "Rise out of the water, Brahman, and take the blessing you want. The tree of your vow has come to fruit." Gadhi bowed and praised him. Then he asked for something unusual. "I want to see your illusion, the Maya you have set over this world like a blindfold."

Vishnu answered, "You will see this illusion, and by the strength of your devotion you will be free of it afterwards." Then he vanished, like a castle built in the air. Gadhi climbed out of the water, like the moon rising from a milk-white sea. His heart opened with joy, the way night lotuses open to moonlight. For some days he stayed in the forest, happy, keeping up his Brahmanical duties. One day he was bathing in the lake and thinking over Vishnu's words. He began the cleansing prayer that is said in the water. Somewhere in the middle of it he forgot his sacred words, his mind grew confused, and he seemed to sink into deep water.

Then he saw himself die. His body fell like a tree in the wind, the breath left it, and the limbs lay stiff as sugar cane flattened by a storm. His face went pale as a dead leaf and his eyes lost their light. His friends gathered round and wept. His wife sat at his feet, tears pouring down. His mother cried out, touching the new beard on his chin. The lips had fallen open and the teeth showed, as if the body were laughing at how brief a human life is. They carried him to the burning ground, among bones, vultures and jackals. The fire took the body with a loud crackling, and nothing was left of it.

Gadhi was still standing in the water, and his vision went on. He saw a village near Bhutan, and he saw himself being born again, as the child of a Chandala woman. He spent the months before birth in pain, cramped and pressed in the dark. He was born black as a rain cloud and covered in filth. He grew into a boy, then a young man of sixteen, and he went through the forests with a pack of hounds, hunting deer. He was married to a Chandali wife, dark as a tamala leaf, with white teeth and supple limbs. They lived among flowers and caves, wore blossoms in their ears, and had many children, rough as thorn bushes.

Youth passed, and old age came, dry as desert ground. The couple went back to their native village and lived in a small hut of leaves and straw. Gadhi grew thin as a withered leaf. His family grew large, but he was the oldest of them all. Then death swept them away one by one, as rain carries fallen leaves down a hillside. He wept like a stag that has lost its herd. At last he left his home, as water birds leave a dried-up lake, and wandered through many countries without finding rest. One day he came to the rich city of the Kirs. Roads lined with trees and flowers led him to the royal avenue, crowded with soldiers, citizens and women.

There he saw the royal elephant, dressed in jewels and cloth, like a golden mountain walking. It was wandering the city to choose a new king, because the old king had just died. It was the city's jeweller, picking the best gem for the throne. The Chandala stood and stared at it. The elephant walked up to him, lifted him with its trunk, and set him gently on its head. Trumpets roared like the sea, and the crowd shouted, "Victory to the king." Women anointed him and dressed him in gems and flower garlands. They seated him on the throne, as the gods seat Indra. He was as pleased as a raven finding a dead deer. He ruled through his ministers and took the name Gavala.

He reigned eight years, honoured by courtiers, with the royal umbrella over him and the chowries waving. His subjects were happy and unafraid. The praise of the bards made him forget what he had once been. One day he walked outside without his royal clothes and watched the sun sink below the horizon. There he met a band of dark Chandalas, singing and playing lyres. Their grey-haired leader looked at him and called out, "Kalanjaka, how did you come to be here? Has the king taken you on for your music? I am so glad to see you doing well. A friend's face is the highest joy." The king's wives and servants were standing at a window. They heard every word.

They learned that he was a Chandala by birth, and the whole palace went cold. The king snarled at the old man, then fled indoors, trembling, his face pale. Everyone there sat with bowed heads. No one would touch him, as no one touches a corpse. His servants stopped serving him, and his wives turned away. He called to people and no one answered. The ministers and citizens said that the shame of living beside a Chandala could only be washed away by fire. They built pyres, and the city filled with flames, smoke and wailing. Thieves moved through the streets, robbing the frightened. Gavala watched it all and said, "All this woe is because of me. Death is better than a life like this."

He built a pyre for himself and threw his body into the fire, like a moth, without a sigh. As he pulled at his limbs, burning in the flames, the violent movement and the pain woke Gadhi from his dream. He was still standing in the water of the lake, where he had been all along. Valmiki, who was telling Vasishtha's tale, said that as the sage spoke of these things, the day ended with the setting sun. The assembly broke up with greetings, went to their evening washing and prayers, and came together again at sunrise, once the darkness of night had gone.

कथा · हिन्दी

In this book

• Before: Prahlada's Long Stillness · Yoga Vasishtha 5.39
• Next: Gadhi Finds It Was True · Yoga Vasishtha 5.47
• All of Yoga Vasishtha · Ask Krishna about it

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