A King in Trouble and the Maid’s Voice

There was a Raja Sahib who was given to the habit of drinking, although he had enough conscience left in him to do it in secret. He, with the active connivance and co-operation of the chief minister,  had provided a secret back door for his bedroom, through which he could walk unnoticed to the residence of the minister and drink to his heart’s content each night.

            One night he came out of his bed chamber, locked the door securely, put the key in his pocket and went to the minister’s place. He helped himself to a greater extent that day than was usual, and naturally lost his balance totally.

            Late in the night, when he returned, he found his own door bolted and locked against him. He wanted to re-enter his own palace. He knocked at the door. The doors of the palace were thick and extra substantial. Hence he could neither break them open, nor could anybody from within hear him.

            Outside, it was dark and threatening. The cloudy sky was pouring with a steady chorus its torrential contents. The Raja Sahib was getting drenched in the rain. The enveloping darkness was torn up now and then in lightning and echoed with the rocking thunder. The lightning only accentuated the darkness and aggravated the feelings of the loneliness and fear in the drunken head under the royal crown.

            Within the royal chambers, it was a pleasing contrast. Rooms were kept ready and warm, well scented with rich aromatic substances. Dainty dishes were kept ready to be served to the hungry king when  he returned. In fact, all were anxiously waiting for his arrival, so that he could be served with hot and tasty food. There were servant maids in scores, patiently ready to serve his majesty. But see the irony of fate: the royal prince is in exile from his own chambers and is out in the cold – exiled by himself from what is his own!

            This is exactly the position in which we were today. We have had an overdose of our identification with the mortal coils and the sensuous life. We have drunk too much of samsara and have lost our true knowledge and so, suffer terribly.

            A faithful maid at the key-hole listened and knew that his majesty was waiting helplessly outside. She saw him clearly through the key-hole. She, so near, could even hear his ravings :  “What a terrible place? Is there no end to my miseries? Can I not get shelter from this rain, cold and the terrifying darkness? Why, when everybody is in his own bed, why-why-why am I alone in this cold dark night out in the rain? I am shut out. Nobody cares for me. I am alone in this dreary darkness!”

            Then she gradually spoke through the key-hole. Her voice was low, made lower, lest others should see the king in that sad predicament. She, in her sweet voice said, “Your Majesty! Why are you mourning like a poor man? You are the Lord of this palace. You are our master. You are in this predicament because of your drunkenness. Here is happiness waiting for you. Just use your senses. Take out the golden key form your own pocket, where I see it bulging, put it in the key-hole and just turn – the rest will be our job. You can enjoy the carpeted room, the warm bed, the hot food, the comforting beverages – all are ready. We are all waiting for your arrival. Please, Please, again, take the key, put it in and turn but once.”

            The maid’s voice is the voice of the Upanishads, the guiding song of the scriptures. The drunken king in the darkness outside, in the unapproachable backyard of the palace, is man – I and you. The key is Right Knowledge. Discover the key, put it in and turn. The door that shuts us out from our own chambers of joy and comfort, peace and beauty, will be opened of its own accord. But in our drunkenness, we hear her not. When accidentally our ears come to the level of the key-hole, then alone is the soft voice heard by us.

·         ‘Sparks from the Yagnasala’, where interesting stories, anecdotes and even thought-provoking ideas from Pujya Gurudev’s talk in the yajnasala were reproduced. This is one of the story featured in Tapovan Prasad, a CCMT publication. It was compiled by Sri Seshadry of Madurai, a dedicated mission worker, who helped in preparing  the ‘Yajna Prasad’ booklets.

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