Viduratha’s Dream

Rama asked, “Gurudev, can a king who exists only inside a dream truly fight?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, the Viduratha of Lila’s story can be heard in another form as well. Viduratha was a king in his own right, yet he lived inside someone else’s dream. Even so, his war was real, his wound was real, and his death was real too.”

The kingdom

Viduratha was a king. His kingdom was vast, his army was vast, his queen was the second Lila, and his ministers were loyal.

Viduratha was young, perhaps twenty or twenty-one years old. His beard had not yet fully come in; above his lip lay only a thin line of moustache.

He had one habit. Whenever he listened to someone, the fingers of his right hand would tap against the gold band around his wrist. That tapping was the sound of his thinking.

Viduratha did not know that he lived inside someone else’s dream. He believed himself the hero of his own story.

All was well in the kingdom. The people were content, the treasury was full, and the borders were secure. But there was one problem.

The border

Along one border of the kingdom lay another realm, whose king was named Sindhu.

Sindhu was old, his beard gone entirely white, yet his eyes were still as sharp as a young man’s. He commanded a great army, and he wanted Viduratha’s kingdom.

But why did he want it? The story reached far back. Many years earlier, a quarrel had broken out between Sindhu’s father and Viduratha’s father.

The quarrel was over a border river, the river that flowed between the two kingdoms. The question was whose it truly was.

In time, both fathers passed away. Viduratha’s father had told his son that the river was theirs, and Sindhu’s father had told his son exactly the same thing.

Viduratha kept the river, and Sindhu never accepted it. For many years he stayed silent on the matter, but now Sindhu had grown old, and he thought to himself that his time was slipping away, and that he must settle this quarrel within his own lifetime, for his father’s sake.

And with that thought, Sindhu’s army began to gather at the border.

Preparations

Viduratha heard the news.

The moment he heard it, he sent at once for his ministers.

The royal council gathered that night. Many lamps burned. Ministers and generals sat around the hall, and Viduratha sat at the center.

Viduratha turned to a minister and asked, “Why has Sindhu come now, of all times?”

The minister said, “Maharaj, Sindhu has grown very old. The quarrel between his father and yours he has carried his whole life long, and now he wishes to settle it.”

Viduratha’s hand found the band on his wrist and tapped it once. Then he said, “I will meet him myself. First we will send an envoy, carrying an offer of peace.”

The general said, “Maharaj, I do not believe Sindhu will make peace.”

Viduratha said, “Even so, we must speak with him at least once.”

The envoy

The envoy went, and returned a week later.

Viduratha looked at him and said, “Tell me, what happened?”

The envoy said, “Maharaj, Sindhu flatly refuses any peace.”

The envoy went on, “He says this will be decided by victory alone, and that he will accept no treaty. He also said that our army stands on the far bank of the disputed river, and that he wants that bank as well.”

Viduratha was silent for a while, then said, “War, then.”

Hearing this, the minister slowly bowed his head.

Viduratha returned to his chamber, where the queen was waiting for him.

The queen asked, “Maharaj, what was decided?”

Viduratha said, “War.”

The queen asked, “You will go yourself? But why you?”

Viduratha said, “Because this is my war, my father’s quarrel, and its settlement is mine as well. I cannot hide behind my own army.”

The queen said only this: “Come back.”

Viduratha said, “I will come back.”

The night

Viduratha did not sleep at all that night. He oiled his sword, wiped it with a cloth, oiled it again, wiped it again. This was his habit before every battle.

The queen sat beside him and began mixing turmeric into water in a small clay pot.

The queen said, “Maharaj, there is that old wound on your arm. Let me put this turmeric on it.”

The queen applied the turmeric, and as she did, her hands trembled faintly.

Viduratha took her hand in his and said, “My queen, you have never once spoken to me about the war.”

The queen said, “No, Maharaj. I held back on purpose, because I did not want you to quarrel with your queen before you left.”

Viduratha said, “My queen, you are truly wise.”

The queen lowered her head and said, “Maharaj, do just one thing for me.”

Viduratha said, “Tell me.”

The queen said, “Come back.”

Viduratha silently gave his word.

Morning

At dawn the army set out. Viduratha rode his chariot, and his army followed behind.

The queen stood at the gate. She turned to look at Viduratha one last time, then lowered her eyes. Viduratha moved on ahead.

On the road

The chariot rolled on. Viduratha rode at its head, and the army marched behind him.

The army was vast, with elephants, horses, foot soldiers, and archers, all of them together. Viduratha cast a glance behind him and saw nothing but people, stretching far into the distance.

Every soldier was someone’s son, someone’s husband, someone’s father. Viduratha thought to himself that he was leading these men into war, and that many of them would not come back. The thought was hard to carry, and he pressed it down inside himself.

Halfway along, the army halted at the bank of a river. Night came down, and the soldiers lit fires, cooked their food, and talked among themselves.

Viduratha stepped down from his chariot and walked among the soldiers.

He sat down beside an old soldier and asked, “Brother, what is your name?”

The soldier said, “Datta.”

Viduratha said, “Datta, how many wars have you seen by now?”

The old soldier said, “Maharaj, I have seen three wars. One in your father’s time, one under a cousin king, and one against a neighbor of ours. This will be the fourth.”

Viduratha asked, “Do you feel afraid?”

The old man said, “Maharaj, once I felt it deeply, but no longer. With age, fear fades on its own.”

Viduratha asked, “Why?”

The old man said, “Because many times I came close to dying, and did not die. Many times I was wounded, and healed. Now it feels that whatever happens, I go on being here.”

Viduratha asked, “And your family?”

The old man said, “Maharaj, I have a wife and four children, three sons and one daughter.”

Viduratha asked, “Do they feel afraid?”

The old man said, “Maharaj, very much. Every time I go to war, my wife does not sleep the whole night through.”

Viduratha was silent for a while, then said, “Datta, if I return, I will be sure to visit your family.”

The old man said, “Maharaj?”

Viduratha said, “Yes, if I return.”

The old man bowed his head and said, “Thank you, Maharaj.”

Viduratha rose and returned to his chariot.

That night, too, sleep would not come to him. He lay thinking, over and over, that many soldiers would die, and that this was his responsibility.

The field

The field was vast.

On one side stood Viduratha’s army, on the other, Sindhu’s. Between the two armies lay an empty strip of dry ground.

Viduratha stood on his chariot. Across the field he saw Sindhu, that aged king, mounted on an elephant with the royal staff in his hand.

And the war began.

First the drums sounded high and loud, then the conches boomed, and then the elephants moved forward.

The ground shook under the elephants’ feet.

Viduratha reined in the horses of his chariot and drew his sword.

The elephants of both sides collided, and a heavy roar rose up.

Viduratha’s largest elephant seized the trunk of Sindhu’s, and the feet of both beasts sank deep into the earth. The soldiers riding them hurled their spears, and Viduratha’s man fell first, down, between the elephants’ feet. Seeing it, a line of pain rose across Viduratha’s face.

Then the horsemen charged from both sides. So much dust rose that for a while nothing could be seen at all, and when the dust settled, the field had changed completely.

Viduratha climbed down from his chariot, because now the fight had to be on foot.

The sword

Viduratha swung his sword. The first soldier came and was cut down, the second came and was cut down, the third came and was cut down too.

Just then a wound opened on his arm, right beside that old wound where the queen had put the turmeric. Viduratha paused a moment and saw that blood was flowing from it, though not much. And he pressed forward again.

Sindhu saw this, and said to his most trusted soldiers, “Take Viduratha.”

Sindhu’s soldiers advanced toward Viduratha.

Viduratha saw them coming and raised his sword.

The first soldier came, and Viduratha drove his sword into his chest.

The second came, and the sword fell across his throat.

The third came, and the sword sank into his belly.

But in that same moment, a fourth soldier reached him from behind.

The spear

He was very young, perhaps even younger than Viduratha. A spear was in his hand, and on his face was that fervor found in young soldiers whom the fear of death has not yet even touched.

He raised his spear.

Viduratha had not even seen him, because at that moment his sword was still on the third soldier.

The spear left his hand and flew swift through the air.

And the spear struck Viduratha in the chest.

Viduratha froze, and his sword sank slowly down.

He reached one hand toward the spear, while his other hand was still on the sword.

He looked up at the sky. The sky was clear, and at a great height a single cloud drifted alone.

(And in that very instant, Viduratha felt something strange.)

(It seemed to him that he had seen this sky somewhere before, long ago, perhaps inside someone else’s dream. Perhaps he himself was someone else, watching this Viduratha from far away. The feeling held inside him for only a moment, and then it was gone.)

(But for one moment, the feeling was surely there.)

In that same instant Viduratha remembered his wife, her face, her hands, that turmeric of hers.

And just then, for a moment, even his wife’s face seemed strange to him, as though she were his wife and at the same time carried the shadow of some other wife within her, as though two women lived in a single face.

(Viduratha said within his mind, “What is this?”)

But there was no time now to think.

Then he fell, near the chariot, onto the ground.

As he fell, a faint voice reached him from somewhere very far away.

“Viduratha, all of this is only a picture.”

Viduratha heard it, but there was no time to answer.

And his eyes closed.

Silence

Sindhu watched all of this from a distance. For a moment he went still, then he shook his head and gave the order, “Halt the army.”

The war slowly came to a stop.

Sindhu climbed down from his elephant and came to Viduratha’s body.

He drew a cloth over him and called out, “Maharaj Viduratha.” But the body gave no answer.

Sindhu stayed silent for a while, then said, “Maharaj Viduratha, the quarrel between my father and yours is settled now, but at this price. This quarrel was never worth so high a price.”

In Sindhu’s eyes at that moment was something his army had never seen before, a weariness, and perhaps a regret.

Then Sindhu spoke to his soldiers.

“Send Viduratha’s body back to his kingdom with honor.”

In between

Viduratha’s body lay where it had fallen, but his soul had traveled elsewhere.

Far away there was a room, where a woman sat, and before her lay the body of a dead man.

Viduratha’s soul arrived in that very room.

The woman opened her eyes.

She saw Saraswati, and then felt a new awareness rise within her. Viduratha’s soul was in that room now, though it knew nothing of this yet.

(This was Lila herself. Vasistha had told this story to Rama earlier. This side of Viduratha’s tale was in truth a part of Lila’s story, but for the purposes of this telling, Viduratha’s own story pauses here.)

Rest

Much later, when Lila had understood everything and Saraswati had granted her a boon, Viduratha’s soul returned once more to its body.

On the battlefield, Viduratha’s body woke.

Sindhu was still standing there. He had just had Viduratha’s body prepared for the journey home and laid on a chariot, and the chariot was about to set off.

Just then Viduratha opened his eyes.

The charioteer saw it first, and cried out in a voice sharp with terror, “Maharaj! The body has woken!”

Sindhu heard it and stopped right where he stood, and stayed frozen there a long while.

Then he came to the chariot.

Viduratha was sitting up on the chariot. The wound was still on his arm and the mark of the spear on his chest, but he was alive. His eyes were open and his chest was slowly rising and falling.

Sindhu stared at him without blinking.

He was a very old king, a soldier of many years, victor of three wars, who had seen more deaths than he could count. But such a thing he had never seen before.

Sindhu’s hands began to shake, one side of his face drew tight, and he pressed a hand to the ground behind him, for support.

Sindhu said, “Maharaj Viduratha, I saw you fall. The spear went into your chest. Your body lay here a long while, and I myself drew the cloth over you.”

Viduratha said, “Yes, I know all of it.”

Sindhu was silent for a while, then said, “Then how did this happen?”

Viduratha said with a faint smile, “Maharaj, I do not fully understand it myself. But I had gone somewhere else, and then I came back.”

Sindhu asked, “Where had you gone?”

Viduratha said, “To a woman who sat over me. It was an entirely different world.”

Sindhu narrowed his eyes and said, “Maharaj, this is beyond my understanding.”

Viduratha said, “It is beyond mine as well.”

Sindhu was silent a long while, then he laid a hand on his head, an old man’s old habit.

Sindhu said, “Maharaj Viduratha, I killed you, I watched you die, I drew the cloth over you with my own hands, and now you sit before me alive. I will not understand this for the rest of my life.”

Viduratha said, “Maharaj Sindhu, perhaps we are all inside someone’s dream, and when that someone wakes, all of us change as well.”

Sindhu stayed silent for a while, then said, “Maharaj, my father’s quarrel ends here. Now I want peace.”

Viduratha said, “Yes, so do I.”

The two of them clasped each other’s hands. Sindhu’s hands were still trembling faintly.

Home

Viduratha returned to his kingdom. The second Lila cared for him and put turmeric on the wounds of his arm and his chest. For many years he tended those wounds.

Viduratha ruled for many more years, but now a new understanding had settled inside him.

He knew that he lived inside someone else’s dream, and yet his own dream was real too. His war was real, his wound was real, his death was real, and his waking was real as well.

Viduratha never told his wife any of this. But now, in everything he did, there was a new lightness, as though all of it were real and at the same time none of it was.

The end

Many years went by, and Viduratha grew old.

One night he was sleeping beside his queen, and in his sleep a dream came to him.

In the dream he was in a small hut, very old, and beside him sat a very old woman. Her name… Viduratha thought, Arundhati?

The woman smiled and said, “Husband.”

Viduratha said, “My lady.”

The woman said, “The time has come.”

Viduratha accepted it in silence.

In the dream, Viduratha’s body fell away.

And in that same instant, the body of Viduratha sleeping beside the queen fell away too.

When the queen woke in the morning, Viduratha was gone. She wept for a long while.

But for a moment she heard a faint voice within her: “My queen, I came from somewhere else and I am going somewhere else. Yet we were never apart; we were two forms of one and the same awareness.”

The queen heard it, and quietly let the words settle within her.

After that she ruled the kingdom herself for the rest of her years, for many years.

Then one day she too was gone.

Rama asked, “Gurudev, is my own life also…”

Vasistha said, “Rama, think about it a moment.”

Rama looked for a while at the flowing water before him, then said, “Gurudev, Viduratha’s war, his wound, his death, all of it was real.”

Vasistha said, “Yes.”

Rama said, “And yet, at one level, he lived inside someone else’s dream.”

Vasistha said, “Yes.”

Rama asked, “Then how can both of these be true at once?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, for consciousness, ‘real’ and ‘dream’ are not two different things at all; both are its own two forms. When you are inside a dream, it is real to you, and when you wake, that same dream becomes a dream. Before his death Viduratha felt pain, and that pain was real, the sensation of his body was real, his last thought was real too. But when Lila saw him, he was inside a dream. Both are true.

“For Viduratha his life was real, while for Lila it was no more than a world of pictures. Both are correct, and this is the very nature of consciousness.”

Rama let this sink in for a while, then said, “Gurudev, hearing Viduratha’s story, something heavy has settled inside me.”

Vasistha asked, “What is it?”

Rama said, “I feel that my own war will come one day too.”

Vasistha was silent for a while, then said, “Rama, yes.”

Rama asked, “When?”

Vasistha said, “That I do not know, but a great war lies hidden in your story.”

Rama said, “The very thought of it makes me afraid.”

Vasistha said, “Rama, it is natural to feel fear. But remember one thing. Viduratha spoke with that old soldier in his army, do you remember? The old man said that with age, fear grows smaller.”

Rama said, “Yes.”

Vasistha said, “Rama, you do not need to accept this today. But one day you will know for yourself that when you have endured a great deal, fear will fade on its own.”

Rama asked, “Gurudev, I have one more question. Viduratha’s death, that spear, that young soldier, I feel that the scene is still lodged inside me.”

Vasistha said, “Rama, that is how a good story is. You hear it and feel that you yourself were present there.”

Rama was silent for a while, then said, “Gurudev, how will my own end come?”

Vasistha was silent for a while, then said, “Rama, not this question today.”

Rama asked, “Why?”

Vasistha said, “Because if I tell you, your whole life will be bound toward that one point. It is better that you keep your story open. What will be, will be.”

Rama said, “Gurudev, I understand. But tell me at least one thing.”

Vasistha asked, “What?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, your end will come in peace.”

Rama asked, “For certain?”

Vasistha said, “For certain.”

Rama said, “Gurudev, hearing that brings me relief.”

Rama gazed at the flowing water before him for a long while.

Then Rama asked, “Gurudev, Viduratha’s wife, the second Lila, what became of her?”

Vasistha was silent for a while, then said, “Rama, the second Lila lived with Viduratha for many years. Then one day Viduratha departed. But the second Lila did not give up her own life; she remained the queen, raised her children, and ruled the kingdom for many years.”

Rama asked, “And her own end?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, her end too came in peace. One night, as she slept in her chamber, she saw her death approaching, smiled, and then her breath came to rest.”

Rama said, “Gurudev, these stories are teaching me something.”

Vasistha asked, “What?”

Rama said, “That death is not so fearful a thing.”

Vasistha said, “Rama, this lesson settles inside only after many years. But it is good to begin thinking about it now.”

Outside, night had come down, and Rama gave a small yawn.

Rama said, “Gurudev, let me go now.”

Vasistha said, “Go, Rama.”

The two of them rose and set off toward home.

On the way, Rama saw a small child who was drawing something on the ground with a stick.

The child looked at Rama and said, “Young prince.”

Rama said, “Little one.”

The child smiled slightly and went back to his work, and Rama and Vasistha moved on ahead.

Rama asked, “Gurudev, what was that child making?”

Vasistha said, “Perhaps a kingdom, perhaps something else.”

Rama asked, “Out of his own imagination?”

Vasistha said, “Yes.”

Rama said, “Then, Gurudev, every child is a small Viduratha.”

Vasistha said, “Rama, and every grown-up as well.”

Rama nodded.

Far off, near the house, a faint light was flickering. Seeing it, Rama smiled, with just one word in his mind: home.

But a moment later he thought that this home, too, was only a world of pictures.

Vasistha smiled, as though he had heard this thought of Rama’s.

Vasistha said, “Rama, yes, home too.”

But even so, they kept walking toward home, toward that beloved world of pictures.

Toward that same home, where mother Kausalya was waiting for him and where father Dasharatha sat.

Rama quickened his pace a little.

When he reached home, his mother embraced him, and a soft tenderness welled up inside Rama.

His mother said, “Son, you have come home late today.”

Rama said, “Mother, Gurudev told a story.”

His mother asked, “Which one?”

Rama said, “Mother, one about a king who lived inside someone else’s dream.”

His mother said, “Very well, son, the meal is ready, come along.”

And the two of them went inside.