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pleasures end in unhappiness ... be it the pleasure of touch or sight. The body is man’s greatest enemy. It is the prime duty of man to strive persistently for mastery over the body. Look at the fruit I eat.’
    I took the fruit he offered and broke a small piece and ate it as a sacramental offering. It was bitter and the bitterness must have been reflected in my face. He said, ‘Man loves sweet fruit. Indulgence in them leads to a craving. It is this indulgence which makes man the slave of his body. Man’s love of the body deadens his soul. It is only continence that awakens the soul. I eat these bitter fruit with relish to attain that continence.’
    He picked up one and ate it nonchalantly. The small piece in my mouth remained there. If I could have gone out of the cave, I would have spat it out.
    Yati and I were brothers. But there was a deep chasm between us. I could see it clearly now. I was emboldened to ask, ‘How did you turn to asceticism so young?’
    ‘Renunciation dawned on me in the hermitage of the same ascetic by whose blessing I was born. Mother had taken me to him. She was fast asleep but I had dreams. I came out of the hut and stealthily stepped across to another one nearby. The disciples were talking and I heard them saying, “The children of King Nahusha will never be happy.” ’
    I was startled by these words. I was also King Nahusha’s son. ‘Why should it be so?’ I asked.
    ‘There is a curse on him cast by a great rishi. I was warned by the words of those disciples and I decided to be a happy hermit rather than an unhappy prince. I wandered into the Himalayas and found a guru. Now, you had better go. It is past time for meditation. I shall show you the way out and ...’
    I tried to persuade him to let me bring Mother to see him, to no avail. We came out brushing aside the thorny creepers at the mouth of the cave. I had now to take leave of him. I said in a broken voice, ‘Farewell Yati ... remember me.’
    He had not even touched me since I went into the cave. My words must have touched him. With his hand on my shoulder, he said, ‘Yayati, one day you will be king. You will be a sovereign. You will celebrate a hundred sacrifices. But never forget that it is easier to conquer the world than to master the mind ...’
    I returned victorious to Hastinapur with the horse. The capital gave me a rousing welcome. The whole town was bedecked like a bride, immersed in dance and song like a dancing girl and showered me with flowers as if they were the glances of young maidens.
    But my mind was not roused even by such a grand welcome. It was like a beautiful garland of fragrant flowers, in which one’s favourite flower was missing! Alaka was not to be seen among the maids who welcomed me with the sacred lamp.
    The joy of my mother was evident in every move she made. She appeared to have grown younger. But even though I was bathed in the love overflowing from her eyes, one corner of my heart remained dry. In the end I pretended to have casually remembered her and asked, ‘Alaka does not seem to be here?’
    ‘She has gone to her aunt.’
    ‘Where is her aunt’s house?’
    ‘It is very far way, at the foot of the Himalayas. It borders on the Kingdom of the Demons.’
    All that night, I thought of Yati and Alaka. Gradually, in the celebration of Ashwamedha , I forgot all this. Almost before the end of the celebrations, the disciples of the ascetic who had blessed Father with a son, brought a message from him.
    It was the rule in our house not to mention the name of that ascetic. Whether it was from awe or anger nobody knows. But in recounting the story of my life, I keep repeating to myself nothing is to be kept back. His name is Angiras.
    It appeared that a fierce war was likely to break out between the gods and the demons. In order to prevent it, Maharishi Angiras had taken the vow of a sacrifice for peace. Kacha, his favourite disciple was the leading priest. It was feared that the demons