King Vasudeva: Beholding the Void

Rama asked, “Gurudev, if I let go of everything, what will remain?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, there was once a king named Vasudeva. He asked this very question, and then, one by one, he set down every identity he held. What remained at the end was the greatest experience of his life.”

The King

Vasudeva was a king, fifty-five years old. On his wrist he wore a thin silver band that his mother had slipped onto him in childhood, and that he never once removed.

He had everything.

A vast kingdom, a vast army, a vast people. A beloved wife, and children of great promise.

His wife was named Sunayana. Their marriage was thirty years old. Sunayana had a round face, and a small mark on her chin from a stone that had struck her as a child. Her laugh was soft, and it came with a slight catch of breath.

Vasudeva had one habit. Every evening, when he returned from his throne, he went first to his wife and laid his wrist against hers for a moment. The two silver bands touched. It was a silent language the two of them shared.

Sunayana had once asked, “My king, when did you begin this habit?”

Vasudeva said, “My love, it was our fifth year of marriage. You were ill in those days, and I was afraid. That night I laid my wrist against yours for the first time, only to know that you were still here.”

Sunayana lowered her eyes. “My king, I never knew this before now.”

Vasudeva said, “Because I never told you.”

They had three children. The eldest son was Satyajit, the elder daughter Padma, and the youngest son Hari.

Satyajit was now twenty-five, calm by nature, and his eyes carried a trace of his father’s. Padma was twenty, and she had inherited her mother’s laugh. Hari was sixteen, and he laughed at everything for no reason at all.

He was a good king. For many years he had dispensed justice, for many years he had served his people, and the people loved him.

But one day a question rose within Vasudeva.

That evening he sat on a high balcony of his palace as the sun went down. A river flowed in the distance, its color like gold, and light clouds drifted across the sky.

A small bird flew up and settled on a tree, then flew, then settled again. Vasudeva kept watching it.

He thought, “How light this bird is. It settles, it flies, and nothing binds it. And I? I have everything, and still there is a heaviness inside me. Why is that?”

He thought further, “I am Vasudeva. I am a king, a husband, a father. All of this is my identity. But if all of it were to end, what would remain?”

The question would not let go of him. That night he could not sleep.

His wife asked, “My king, what is it?”

Vasudeva said, “Nothing, my love.”

“And yet there is something.”

Vasudeva was quiet for a while, then said, “A question has risen in me. If every identity of mine were to leave, what would remain?”

His wife said, “My king, that is a question for the rishis.”

Vasudeva said, “Perhaps. But now it is mine as well.”

His wife did not fully understand, yet she did not hold him back. The next day Vasudeva went to his priest.

The Rishi

He came to an old rishi. The rishi was his royal priest, ancient in years and deep in wisdom.

Vasudeva said, “Revered rishi, there is something I need to understand.”

The rishi said, “Speak, my king.”

Vasudeva placed his question before him. The rishi listened, then said, “My king, this is not a thing to be told. It is a thing to be seen for yourself.”

Vasudeva said, “How do I see it?”

The rishi said, “Within your mind, let go of everything, one thing at a time, and then see what remains.”

Vasudeva said, “But rishi, I do not wish to give up the kingdom. I only let go within my mind?”

The rishi said, “Yes, within your mind. Outside, everything stays as it is. But within, look at each of your identities one by one, and say to each of them, you are not mine.”

“And then?”

“Then see what remains.”

With that, the rishi departed.

More Questions

A few days later Vasudeva asked the rishi more. “Rishi, if I let go of every identity of mine, what will people take me to be?”

The rishi said, “My king, that very question belongs to identity. You are still not letting go of your identity. You are only thinking about letting go.”

Vasudeva said, “But rishi, if I let go, then my wife?”

“She too is your identity.”

“My children?”

“Them too.”

“And my people?”

“Them too.”

Vasudeva stopped short. “Rishi, are all my identities mine?”

“Yes.”

“Then if I let them go…”

The rishi said, “My king, do not let them go on the outside. Let them go only within.”

“What does it mean to let go within?”

The rishi said, “On the outside, you remain as you are. Your wife is yours, your children are yours, your people are yours. But within, you are not bound to them. It means that if they were gone tomorrow, you would not break. That is what it is to let go.”

Vasudeva said, “I understand. But this is hard.”

The rishi said, “Yes, it is hard.” And with that he left.

The First Days

Even after hearing the rishi’s words, Vasudeva could not begin for many days. The days were full of governance, the evenings full of council, the nights full of exhaustion. Every day he thought, “Not today, I will do it tomorrow.” But tomorrow came, and the same thing repeated itself.

One day he said to himself, “Vasudeva, you are putting this off. Why?”

And the answer came from within him, “Because there is fear.”

“Fear of what?”

“Of whatever might appear within.”

A faint smile came to Vasudeva’s lips. “Fear too is an identity. Fear too is not mine.” That night he decided that he would begin this very day.

Alone

That night Vasudeva was alone in his chamber. He closed his eyes.

The first thing that rose within him was wealth. His treasury, diamonds, gold, the taxes of the realm. Vasudeva looked at it and said, “Wealth, you are not mine.” Wealth lingered in his mind for a moment, then grew light.

The second thing was the kingdom. His realm, his borders, his people. Vasudeva looked at it and said, “Kingdom, you are not mine.” The kingdom too grew light.

The third was his wife, Sunayana.

Vasudeva’s eyes were closed to the world, yet Sunayana’s face rose up clearly. Her laugh, with that slight catch of breath, the mark on her chin, and the silver band on her wrist that touched his own every evening.

Here Vasudeva paused. He thought, “Sunayana has been my wife for thirty years. She made me a king, she stood by me in every joy and sorrow, she nursed me through my illness, and she is the mother of my children. How can I let her go?”

A heaviness settled within him. A faint wetness came to Vasudeva’s eyes, and still he did not weep.

Just then he remembered the rishi’s words, “Let go within, and outside everything will stay as it is.” Vasudeva drew a long breath, then looked within toward Sunayana’s face.

Deep within, his mind said, “My love, you are not mine. You are your own.”

For a moment Vasudeva felt as though something had slipped away, something of many years, and along with it a lightness settled in as well. The two came together.

Within himself Vasudeva said to Sunayana, “My love, this keeps us as close as we have always been, and it hands you back your own belonging to yourself. For many years I thought of you as mine, and perhaps that was incomplete. Now you are your own. My companionship stays, and you belong to yourself.”

A faint smile floated up within, his own or Sunayana’s, he could not tell. The band on Vasudeva’s wrist was still there, and now its weight was a little less.

The fourth was his children, Satyajit, Padma, and Hari.

All three rose within him together, from childhood through their growing up and to the present. Satyajit’s first fall from a horse, Padma’s illness at the age of six, Hari’s first laugh, all of it turned before his eyes.

A heaviness welled up behind Vasudeva’s eyes.

He said only this, “My children…” and this time he could not finish the sentence. Letting go of the children was the hardest, because it is with his children that a father is most tightly bound, and Vasudeva was only now understanding this.

After pausing for a while, he steadied himself and, deep within, said to his children, “My children, you are not mine, you are your own. I gave you birth, and still I cannot force you to be mine. You have your own story, your own path. Forgive me that for so many years I thought of you as mine.”

In that very moment Vasudeva felt that far away, in Satyajit’s room, his son smiled faintly in his sleep.

The fifth was the body, Vasudeva’s own body, his hands, his feet, his eyes. He said, “Body, you are not mine.”

The sixth was the mind. He said, “Mind, you are not mine.”

The seventh was identity. He said, “Identity, you are not mine.”

The eighth was thought. He said, “Thought, you are not mine.”

And who knows how many more things kept rising up within him.

One by one, Vasudeva let them all go. Outside, everything was as it had been, and within, everything was growing lighter.

The Void

At the end, Vasudeva arrived at a place where there was nothing.

Every identity of his had gone, and every attachment had fallen away.

Only an emptiness remained.

Vasudeva looked at that emptiness, and at first a fear came over him about what it was, whether there was truly nothing at all.

But a moment later he understood that there was nothing, and yet there was someone who was seeing that there was nothing.

That seer was Vasudeva himself, and now he belonged to no one.

That Vasudeva simply was, without identity, without any grip, without any boundary.

A faint laugh rose within Vasudeva. “This is it.”

The Return

Vasudeva opened his eyes. Outside it was night, the lamp was burning, and his wife slept close beside him.

Vasudeva looked at his wife, and now she seemed a little changed from before. Before, she had been his wife, only his, and now she was his wife, and her own as well. The difference was small to the eye, and within it was very large.

Thinking this, Vasudeva fell asleep.

The next day he carried out the affairs of state as always, and within, something was different.

A minister noticed this and said, “My king, you seem somewhat changed.”

Vasudeva said, “Minister, I am not changed. It is only that now I simply am. Before, there was my identity.” The minister could not grasp this.

The Test

The first test came only a few days later.

An old friend of his, a companion from childhood, died. The news came, and Vasudeva heard it.

First a shock struck within him, then a faint understanding settled in.

Within himself he said, “Friend, you were not mine, you were your own. Now you are on your own journey.”

He mourned fully, performed the shraddha rites, and gave in charity. Yet within, that grief was of a different kind. There was sorrow in it, though the sorrow of bondage was absent. The ministers noticed this, and said nothing.

The second test came some months later. A flood struck one part of the kingdom, many of the people drowned, and many fields were destroyed. The news came, and Vasudeva heard it.

First a sorrow rose within him, then a faint understanding came.

He had the granaries opened at once, sent the army, and arranged for relief. And he himself did not break.

A minister asked, “My king, are you not grieved?”

Vasudeva said, “I am grieved, and I am not broken.”

“What is the difference between the two?”

“To grieve belongs to being human, and to break belongs to the ego.” The minister could not grasp this.

The third test came as well. A minister wove a conspiracy against Vasudeva and tried to remove him from the throne. But the conspiracy was caught, and the minister was brought before him.

Vasudeva looked at him for a long while. The minister was trembling.

Vasudeva said, “Minister, why did you want to kill me?”

The minister said, “My king… out of greed.”

Vasudeva said, “Greed. Yes, greed is a very great thing.”

The minister said, “My king, give me my punishment.”

Vasudeva said, “Punishment? Your punishment is already within you. You are afraid, and that is your punishment.”

“But my king…”

Vasudeva said, “And an outer punishment is needed as well. Leave the country and go, for ten years. Then return, and we shall see.”

The minister bowed his head and left.

People said, “My king, this is a very light punishment.”

Vasudeva said, “The real punishment is within him. What more can I give him?” Hearing this, the people fell silent.

Living

After this, many years passed.

Vasudeva ran the kingdom, and now in a different manner.

Before, running the kingdom had exhausted him, and now it did not. Before, he had made every decision from his ego, and now he made them from his own awareness.

Before, he had been glad at every success and grieved at every failure, and now the two were the same to him. Before, praise had pleased him and blame had stung, and now both were like passing air to him.

Before, he had often thought, “What will people say?” Now he thought, “What is true in this?”

Before, he had kept secrets, many things he told no one, and now there were no secrets, because the very ego that hides had gone.

Before, he had been somewhat quick to anger, a habit of many years, and now anger still came, and it did not stay.

Once a messenger botched a task. The old Vasudeva would have scolded him, and the new Vasudeva said, “Messenger, be careful next time.” The messenger kept staring at him in astonishment.

The ministers spoke among themselves. “What has happened to the king?”

One would say, “Perhaps it is the effect of age.” Another would say, “No, it is not age, it is something else.” But no one grasped the real thing.

People noticed that this Vasudeva was now quite different.

The people began to call him the “living-liberated” king.

A Small Episode

One day something happened.

One of Vasudeva’s sons came down with a very high fever, and for several days it did not break. Physicians came, medicines were given, mantras were chanted, and the fever did not break. His wife wept and wept.

Vasudeva sat for a long while beside his son, holding his hand.

The son opened his eyes and said, “Father, am I going to die?”

Vasudeva was quiet for a while, then said, “Son, all of us must die one day, you sooner, I later, your mother later, this is certain. But dying is nothing to fear. Dying is only a change, a passing from one form into another. Do not be afraid.”

The son said, “Father, will you stay with me?”

Vasudeva said, “I will stay.”

Vasudeva sat beside him for a long while.

By night the son’s fever fell a little, and by morning it had fallen a good deal.

On the third day he rose to his feet.

His wife asked Vasudeva, “My king, did you recite some mantra?”

Vasudeva said, “No, my love, I only held his hand.”

“And still he recovered?”

Vasudeva said, “My love, the absence of fear within me carried him through. Had there been fear within me, it would have broken him further.”

His wife treasured these words within her. They had seemed a small thing to her, and still she kept them carefully. Many years later, when she herself began this path, these words came back to her.

The Wife

One day Vasudeva’s wife too sensed this.

At night she asked Vasudeva, “My king, you are somehow different. Why is that?”

Vasudeva was quiet for a while, then said, “My love, one day I let go of everything within my mind, and then I saw what remained. What remained is what I am.”

His wife said, “Can I do this too?”

Vasudeva said, “Yes.”

“But how?”

Vasudeva told her to look at each identity one by one, and to say to each of them, you are not mine. His wife began her attempt that very night.

For several days she kept doing this.

One night she came to a stop at one thing of her own and said, “My king, I am afraid to let go of one thing of mine.”

Vasudeva said, “Which thing?”

“You.”

Vasudeva said, “My love, let go of me within your mind. Outside, I will remain just as I am.”

“But I am afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“If I let go of you within my mind, then perhaps our bond will change.”

Vasudeva thought for a while, then said, “My love, the bond will change, and it will change toward the good. Right now I am yours and you are mine, and this is a binding. If you let go of me within your mind, then we will still belong to each other, only without the binding. That will be the true form of love.”

His wife accepted this, and then for several days she kept trying.

One day she too found the same thing.

Now the two of them lived apart on one level, and even while sharing a single chamber they did not bind each other. And by this their love kept growing deeper.

Onward

In this way many more years passed.

Vasudeva grew old, and so did his wife. The children grew up, and each took charge of their own realm.

One day Vasudeva seated his eldest son on the throne and said, “Son, the kingdom is yours now.”

The son said, “But Father…”

Vasudeva said, “Son, I will be here, and now you will sit on the throne.”

The son bowed his head.

After this, Vasudeva and his wife came to live in a corner of the palace, in a small chamber.

The two of them sat together all day, spoke little, and simply stayed together.

There was very little in the room, a mat, a small lamp, and an earthen pot of water, only that much.

From the window one could see the same river that Vasudeva had watched long ago from his balcony.

Sometimes Vasudeva would sit by the window with his wife behind him, and they would stay that way for a long while.

Sometimes the son would come and say, “Father, Mother, there is a question in the kingdom.”

Vasudeva would say, “Speak, son.”

The son would tell his question. Vasudeva would listen, then offer a small suggestion and say, “But son, this is your decision. I have done my part.” And the son would nod and go.

Sometimes his wife would say, “My king, I feel afraid.”

Vasudeva would ask, “Of what?”

“Of dying.”

Vasudeva would say with a faint laugh, “My love, there is nothing to fear in dying, it is only a change.”

His wife would say, “But what if we are parted?”

Vasudeva would think for a while and say, “My love, we are already apart every single moment. Just now we happen to be sitting together, and this sitting together is itself a form. After death that form will change, and what we truly are will not change.” Hearing this, his wife would grow content.

One day she said, “But there is one thing. I want the two of us to go together.”

Vasudeva said, “My love, we will try.” Hearing this, his wife laughed.

In this way many months passed.

Sometimes his wife would ask, “My king, are we liberated?”

Vasudeva would say, “Yes.”

“Then why are we still here?”

“Because we are liberated, and the liberated can live anywhere.” Hearing this, his wife would laugh again.

One night a very heavy rain came, lightning began to flash in the sky, and water started coming in through the chamber window. Both Vasudeva and his wife were awake.

His wife said, “Look, how it is raining.”

Vasudeva said, “Yes.”

“In the old days I was afraid of the rain.”

“And now?”

“Now I love it.”

Vasudeva said, “My love, this is the very difference. Before, we sheltered ourselves under an umbrella, and now we let the rain be the rain.” His wife smiled.

The rain kept falling for a long while. The two sat by the window, said nothing, and simply watched it.

One night the two of them went to sleep together. In the morning a servant came to wake them. The two lay asleep beside each other, eyes closed, faces at peace, and their breath was not moving.

The servant bowed his head and went to give the son this news. Tears came to the son’s eyes, and there was a faint smile on his lips as well.

He said, “Father and Mother always wanted to be together, and they went together.”

In the kingdom people wept. But some of the old ones, who had known Vasudeva for many years, smiled gently.

They said, “The king is still here, only his body is gone.”

Hearing this, Rama asked, “Gurudev, this closing part about Vasudeva’s wife is very beautiful, the two of them going together. But there is something I need to understand. Is it possible for one to be liberated and the other not, and for the two to still be able to live together?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, it is possible, and it happens often. But then the liberated one needs patience, and the bound one needs trust. The liberated one should not pull the bound one toward himself, and should only show it in his own living. The bound one watches, and then one day he too asks, what is this? Then the liberated one tells him.”

Rama asked again, “And Gurudev, is the void the very thing that remains when all else has gone?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, the void is fullness, and it holds no lack. It is a fullness in which there is no form. When this is understood, the void does not frighten. It opens out.”

Rama looked toward the water of the river and asked, “Gurudev, can I ever do this too?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, you will surely be able to, and not yet. First you must live through much. You must run a kingdom, lose those dear to you, raise sons. Then one day, many years from now, you too will look within yourself, and one by one you will let everything go. And what remains will be you.”

Rama asked again, “Gurudev, one more thing. Vasudeva and his wife going together, was it only a coincidence?”

Vasistha was quiet for a while, then said, “Rama, to call it a coincidence would be wrong, and to call it a law would be wrong as well. It was the longing of the two of them, and when longing is real, the cosmos sometimes listens to it. Vasudeva and his wife had lived together for so many years, at such depth, that even their way of leaving the body had become one. But this is rare, it does not happen with everyone.”

Rama looked toward the river and was silent for a long while.

Then in a soft voice he said, “Gurudev, may I too become like this one day.”

Vasistha said, “Rama, it will be so. Only do not hurry now, your path still has far to go.”

In a soft voice Rama asked one last question, “Gurudev, Vasudeva closed his eyes on the first night, but if he had not found that void on that first night, then what?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, then he would have tried on the second night, and the third, and who knows how many nights. What brings the finding is readiness. Time alone does not bring it. Vasudeva had been ready for many years, only he himself did not know it. When the rishi showed the way, his readiness and the way met each other. But had there been no readiness, the way too would not have been found.”

Hearing this, Rama was silent for a very long while.