In the sky, the moon drifted slowly through the clouds.
Far below, the river mingled its murmur with the wind, as it danced along on
its course; and the earth looked bathed in beauty in the half-light of the moon.
All around were forest retreats of the Rishis, each charming enough to put the
Elysian Fields to shame: every hermitage was a perfect picture of sylvan
loveliness with its trees and flowers and foliage.
On this moon-enraptured night, said Brahmarshi [the
seer who has known the Supreme] Vasişţha to his spouse Arundhati Devi,
"Devi [literally, goddess], go and beg some salt of the Rishi Vishvamitra,
and bring it here soon."
Taken aback, she replied, "My lord, what is this
you are asking me to do? I cannot understand you! He who has robbed me of my
hundred sons..." She could say no more, for her voice was choked with sobs
as memories of the past rose up to disturb that sweet home of serenity, her
heart, and to fill it with pain to its depths. After a time she recovered her
composure to continue: "All my hundred sons were learned in the Vedas and
dedicated to the Divine. They would go about in moonlight such as this singing
His praises, but he... he has destroyed them all. And you bid me go and beg at
his door for a little salt! My lord, you bewilder me!"
Slowly the sage's face filled with light; slowly from
the ocean-depths of his heart came the words, "But, Devi, I love
him!"
Arundhati's bewilderment increased, and she said,
"If you love him you might just as well have addressed him as Brahmarshi!
The whole trouble would have ended there, and I should have had my hundred sons
left to me."
The Rishi's face took on a singular beauty as he said,
"It was because I love him that I did not call him Brahmarshi. It was
because I did not call him that, that he still has had a chance of becoming a
Brahmarshi."
Vishvamitra was beside himself with rage. He could not
concentrate on his tapasyā. He had vowed that if Vasişţha did not acknowledge
him as a Brahmarshi that day, he would kill him. To carry out this resolve, he
armed himself with a sword as he left his hermitage. Slowly he came to Vasişţha-deva's
cottage and stood outside, listening. He heard what the great sage was saying
to Devi Arundhati about him. The grip on his sword-hilt relaxed as he thought,
"Heavens, what was I about to do in my ignorance! To think of trying to
hurt one whose soul is so far above all pettiness!" He felt the sting of a
hundred bees in his conscience, and ran forward and fell at Vasişţha's feet.
For a time he could not speak, but in a little while he recovered his speech
and said, "Pardon me, O pardon me! But I am unworthy even of your
mercy!" He could say no more, for his pride still held him fast. But Vasişţha
stretched out both arms to raise him.
"Rise, Brahmarshi," he gently said. But Vishvamitra,
in his shame and mortification, could not believe that Vasişţha meant what he
said.
"Do not deride me, my lord," he cried.
"I never say what is false," replied Vasişţha.
"You have become a Brahmarshi today. You have earned that status because
you have shed your haughty self-conceit."
"Teach me divine lore, then," implored
Vishvamitra.
"Go to Ananta-deva; he will give you what you
desire," said Vasişţha.
Vishvamitra came to where Ananta-deva stood with the
Earth resting on his head. "Yes, I will teach you what you want to learn.
But, first, you must hold up the Earth."
Proud of his tapasyā-won powers, Vishvamitra said,
"Very well, relinquish your burden and let me bear it."
"Hold it then," said Ananta-deva, moving away.
And the Earth began to spin down and down in space.
"Here and now I give up all the fruits of my
tapasyā," shouted Vishvamitra, "only let the Earth not sink downwards."
"You have not done tapasyā enough to hold up the
Earth, O Vishvamitra." Ananta-deva shouted back. "Have you ever
associated with holy men? If you have, offer up the merit you have so
acquired."
"For a moment only, I was with Vasişţha,"
answered Vishvamitra.
"Offer up the fruits of that contact then,"
commanded Ananta-deva.
"I do here offer them up," said Vishvamitra.
Slowly the Earth stopped sinking downwards.
"Give me divine knowledge, now", importuned
Vishvamitra.
"Fool!" exclaimed Ananta-deva, "you come
to me for divine knowledge turning away from him whose momentary touch has
given you virtue enough to hold up the Earth!"
Vishvamitra grew angry at the thought that Vasişţha-deva
had played on him a trick. So he hurried back to him and demanded why he had
deceived him.
Unruffled, Vasişţha answered him in slow and solemn
tones: "If I had given you the knowledge you asked for then, you would not
have accepted it as true. Now you will have faith in me."
And so Vishvamitra came to acquire knowledge of the
Divine from Vasişţha.
Such were the saints and sages of
[Translation from Bengali by Arindam Basu]
In this story, the last two sentences are the most striking;
Sri Aurobindo here really speaks of the glory that
Swami Vivekananda also said something similar, wait
till the day when in every house a Vivekananda will be born.
Srikant Jivarajani
In the Mahabharata story of Savitri, Savitri is telling
Yama that it is by the power of their tapasyā the Rishis up-bear this creation:
“By the Truth the saints lead the Sun; by askesis the saints uphold the earth;
the past, present and future find their refuge in the saints. Noble persons in
the midst of saints have never any grief.”
RY Deshpande