Rajarshi Yayati stood at the banks of the confluence and gazed across. Towards the right horizon, he could spot the Yamuna veer away from the Ganga, beyond that lay dense forest, and in the far distance- the Vindhyachal mountain range. The confluence of these rivers was a lake unto itself, gaping wide and deep. Numerous boats lined either bank, trading goods up and down the great rivers. To the north-west of the Sarasvati, the Suryavansha held sway under its firm king Suyodhan, the great-grandson of Vikukshi. Their kingdom was large, and had the alliance of the Ashvakas, but was perennially under threat from the Dasas to its west. Still, trade flowed down from there as well- in the form of metals, earthenware and jewellery. In return, the Somavansha’s leather and timber went back to Avisari and Vitabhya.
Rajarshi Yayati had chosen the spiritual path a long time ago, preferring the company of rshis and priests over warriors and administrators. It was why he established the ashrama, wishing to install a centre of spiritual inquiry much like the great maharshis had done in the north and west, so many years ago. Those centers, founded by Kashyapa, Vasishtha and Atri flourished along the banks of the Saptasindhu-Sarasvati. But the banks of Ganga and Yamuna had not benefitted from such developments. The entire corpus of mandalas in Aryavarta had a distinct bent towards the Sindhu and Sarasvati, with hardly any mention of the Ganga and Yamuna. But with his new ashrama, Yayati had faith that he could change that. He intended other changes too- changes of a higher order and nature. There were vital queries the Vedas lacked, questions into the nature of the mind and conscience that Yayati could not ignore as easily as the rshis of the past had.
He turned away from the river, and made way for the central banyan tree where he liked to conduct his lessons. He had only the five pupils, but in time he intended to school more youngsters. For now, his king and brother had commanded him to devote all his time on these special wards. He observed them, chattering among themselves while they waited for the day’s lessons to begin. They were strong, muscular young men, already hardened by years of battle and campaigns in lands far away from Pratisthana.
Yadu was the eldest at twenty five- strong and grim. While he had the nose and jaw of his mother, his eyes and hair were unmistakably Somavanshi, down to the grey irises of maharshi Atri. A year younger to him was his brother, Druhyu- a mirror image of their mother, even in his sallow complexion and curly hair. From his second wife, king Yati had three more sons. The first was Turvasa- shortest of the five brothers, and already given to girth. Then followed Anu- nimble, wily and ever-smiling. But it was in Puru, the youngest, that the full features of Somavansha had bloomed- grey eyes, sharp nose and long, lithe limbs.
Each of the brothers had proven himself worthy of the throne that currently belonged to their father. King Yati put them through harsh battle training as soon as they reached the age of eighteen. And not one of the five sons disappointed their father and dynasty. Yadu extended dominion over the stretch of western Aryavarta, all the way up to the ocean, forcing the Naga cities of Kushasthali and Revasthali into submission. Druhyu wrested territory from the Dasas and established the city of Sivobheda, yojanas downstream from Vinasana. Turvasa led a mountain expedition north of Plaksha to discover the village of Loha, extending Somavanshi territory further north than ever before. Anu constructed the fortress town of Girivraja to the east, and provided a strong, impregnable fortress against the forest Rakshasas. And Puru helped his father regain Ahikshetra from the Gandharvas, building much legend about his battle and leadership skills. King Yati had to choose one of these sons as king, and Yayati did not envy his brother’s position.
Yayati shook himself out of his reverie, and turned his attention to the lesson. He decided to set the day’s lesson on creation, that enigmatic concept. “In the beginning,” he said to his five shishyas, “There was only the Atman- Self-Existent Mind. Nothing else vibrated but Atman, and it thought- Let me now create the worlds.”
The boys sat listening a few steps below his elevated pedestal, but well under the generously outspread branches of the banyan tree. He called these lessons the upanishads- lessons received at the feet of the guru. “These were the worlds that Atman created,” he continued. “Ambhaha, the world of clouds and potency; Marici, the world of sun and energy; Mara, the world of land and life and Apaha, the world of the waters. Ambhaha, Marici, Mara and Apaha, who can tell me a four-fold representation in these names?”
“Ambhaha is the heaven, the world above,” replied Yadu before his brothers could. “Marici is the interspace between heaven and earth. Mara is earth itself, and Apaha is the world underneath.”
“Very good,” Yayati said in approval before continuing. “Having created these four worlds, Atman thought, let me now create guardians for this world, our presiding deities. From its mind, Atman drew forth a lump of clay and moulded it into the form of Purush, the First and Supreme Man.” He paused to draw a deep breath, taking the time to frame his words. The Suryavanshi had their own word for this concept- Manushya. Their word stemmed from their great ancestor- Vaivasvat Manu. But Yayati preferred paying tribute to his own forefather- Pururava. He continued, “From the Purush’s mouth came speech, and from speech came Agni. From the nostrils came breath, and from breath came Vayu. Next came the eyes; they lent birth to sight, and from sight came Surya. Then the ears were separated out, from them comes hearing and from hearing comes Akasha. Similarly, from skin comes touch and Mitra; from the heart comes the mind and Soma; from the navel appears exhalation and Yama, and from the genitals come reproduction and Varuna.”
Unlike the Suryavanshi rshis, Yayati did not follow any strict rules to syntax and pronunciation. He encouraged his pupils to absorb the upanishads as they saw fit, allowing them their own meters for memorization. Still, he ensured that the key mnemonic elements were always committed to memory. “Quickly Anu,” he said, “List the Devas I have just named.”
“Agni, Vayu, Surya, Akasha, Mitra, Soma, Yama and Varuna,” Anu replied in the perfect order.
His next words were cut off by the sound of an approaching convoy. The ashrama was a short ride away from the main city of Pratisthana, and a pleasant walk on cool, early mornings. A full convoy likely meant that someone from the royal family was visiting. As the convoy found its way closer to the ashrama, Yayati discerned its fluttering banners- the distinct silver-white flag indicated that the king himself rode in the convoy. The boys recognized the same flag and stood up eagerly, awaiting the arrival of their father. The convoy was some distance away, and Yayati gestured to his pupils. They scattered off to prepare water and refreshments, while Yayati set up some seating arrangements. They were back with the trays of cool water and hot potato mash by the time the convoy parked itself, and the Somavanshi king Yati stepped out.
King Yati, seventy-five years of age and looking far older than his elder brother. Yati’s entire life had been spent in war. The king never lived in his capital for more than half a year at a stretch, and often was away for years at end. It had taken its toll on his body and face. There were bright streaks of grey and white to his hair, and strong wrinkles to his skin. His was the gaunt, hungry and narrow-eyed look that descended to Yadu. He still looked very much a king though, regal and proud in his bearing. He embraced his brother and nodded towards his sons before speaking. There was a deep, haughty tone to his voice. A tone that commanded that everyone pay attention.
“I am not unaware of what the people of Pratisthana are saying,” he said. “They are saying that Yati grows addicted to power, that he is unable to bequeath the throne, when it is time.”
Yayati stood silent, for Yati said that more to his sons than to him. “Perhaps I have delayed the matter by a few years,” the king conceded, “But for good reason. You were born late in my life, for my early years at the throne were spent warring all the tribal clans that broke our alliance right after my father’s death. And it has given each of you time to learn command, time to understand what it means to rule men and their lives. It has given me the great fortune of being able to say that each of my sons is capable of being king.” The brothers glowed with pride, their backs straightening under the unexpected compliment from their father. “And that is exactly what will happen,” Yayati continued.
Yayati frowned, for this was taking an unexpected turn. It was no secret that king Yati favoured his youngest son, ever since a preadolescent Puru innocently declared that he would give his youth to his father, in order to elongate the latter’s life. He waited for Yati to continue.
The king turned to his eldest son and demanded, “Yadu, are you proud to be a Somavanshi?”
“I am,” Yadu replied immediately.
“Good, then you respect its traditions, and do not begrudge them?”
“The Somavanshi traditions are my traditions, father.”
Yati nodded, satisfied. He looked to his other sons, sizing each one. “Druhyu,” he said, “To you I give a kingdom in the west. Take Sivobheda as your capital, and expand as far west as you like. We have no truce with the Gandharvas anymore, and the Dasas are forever the enemy of Aryavarta.”
Druhyu nodded, his face beaming with satisfaction. “Turvasa, my son,” the king continued, “You shall be the Somavansha’s defence in the north. Make your capital in Loha and expand northwards, ensure that no foreigner ever penetrates the Himalayan barrier- or one day they will say that we too came from outside.” Turvasa nodded, accepting his father’s verdict.
“Anu,” said Yati, “There is none better to command the fortress of Girivraja. It is your fortress, and you are its master. Take it, make it your capital, and go as far east as you like.” Then the king turned back to his eldest son. “Yadu, I make you king of the south. The town of Ujjayani sits at the feet of the Vindhyachala. I give you Ekachakra as well, and leave it to you to cross that great range and explore the rivers of Narmada and Tapati.”
Yati glanced towards his brother before turning to his youngest son, but it was already clear who the land between Plaksha and Pratisthana would go to. In Puru, the main Somavansha line would continue, just as everyone always expected. Yayati knew his pupils, he knew the love the brothers shared. There were no grudges among them, no sibling rivalries. But he wondered whether it would remain so among their descendants.