They did not know that Artabhaga had arrived there long back and had listened to almost the whole of the conversation on the Gayatri mantra and was there witness he happy summing up.
Artabhaga remembered the tempestuous , futile and wordy combats among the scholars in Videha over 'Brahma'. He said to himself, "Academies produce scholars, but not a sage like this child and his father."
Artabhaga got up, and before Yajnyawalkya could become aware of his presence, left the sanctum briskly. In the sultry summer noon shadows had shrunk into themlves. Thee wa still an empty space to be filled in. Artabhaga wished he had the power to decide what that empty space was going to hold.
Looking at the summer foliage timidly breaking into shades of pink and green, he was seized by a new surge of life. Nothing belonged to him in this new world where Yajnyawalkya had brought him, and yet he belonged to all of it. This soft longing had begun to hold him down to the soil.
His mission, if it could be called a mission, was fulfilled; and yet he knew, it was only in the outward form. He felt he was like a narrator of a saga that defied narration.
Unlike Videha, there were no questions, no doubts, and therefore no seeking after answers. Everything seemed to flow with the tide of time without complaint. Yet somewhere at the heart of it something had frozen.
Artabhaga remembered the tempestuous , futile and wordy combats among the scholars in Videha over 'Brahma'. He said to himself, "Academies produce scholars, but not a sage like this child and his father."
Artabhaga got up, and before Yajnyawalkya could become aware of his presence, left the sanctum briskly. In the sultry summer noon shadows had shrunk into themlves. Thee wa still an empty space to be filled in. Artabhaga wished he had the power to decide what that empty space was going to hold.
Looking at the summer foliage timidly breaking into shades of pink and green, he was seized by a new surge of life. Nothing belonged to him in this new world where Yajnyawalkya had brought him, and yet he belonged to all of it. This soft longing had begun to hold him down to the soil.
His mission, if it could be called a mission, was fulfilled; and yet he knew, it was only in the outward form. He felt he was like a narrator of a saga that defied narration.
Unlike Videha, there were no questions, no doubts, and therefore no seeking after answers. Everything seemed to flow with the tide of time without complaint. Yet somewhere at the heart of it something had frozen.
No comments:
Post a Comment