Narada's Temptation
Mimi Frazer
One day the great sage, Narada, was wandering through the Himalayas when he came upon a sacred cave of most unusual beauty. In this pure and holy place, Narada vowed to end his wanderings forever that he might worship day and night at the feet of his beloved Rama.
Thus the days passed one upon the other, in a sweet serenity which even the gentle forest seemed to share. But the gods were jealous and Indra, who was their king, was the most jealous of them all, for well he knew the power acquired through such renunciation - power to command the earth and all the seven heavens, should the saint so choose! Was it God alone he wanted, or the countless pleasures of earth prolonged in subtler heavens? Infinitely more desirable to Indra seemed the latter, so day by day his uneasiness grew, lest so great a one as Narada should covet his own enjoyment and claim his place as king.
So, summoning Madan, the god of love, he spoke to him endearingly, as to an old friend, explaining his apprehension and the simple means by which it could be cured.
"Madan," concluded Indra, "it is you who must help me, as you have helped me in the past. Please go at once with your associates to Narada's retreat."
"I know," replied Madan, with sudden mischief in his eyes. "You do not have to tell me more, and time is short. For I shall weave so exquisite an illusion that even I shall find it irresistible!"
Thus it was that Narada, arising early the next morning in his cold and wintry retreat, looked about himself in great astonishment, for, overnight, winter had become spring. Yesterday's fir trees, so stiff and burdened with snow, today sighed softly and swayed in the light warm breeze. Yonder in the meadows the daffodils and daisies danced, while violets pushed up from underfoot. The sweet songs of birds filled the fragrant air, and now and then a flash of sunlight caught a bluebird's wing. Everywhere the sleeping forest had awakened to exuberant new life, teasing the senses.
As the saint stood mutely in wonderment, a sudden hush fell over the forest, as slowly the sound of a lute filled the air. As the sound drew nearer, it was joined by other lutes, until at last the whole forest seemed to vibrate with their rippling, liquid tones. As Narada turned to look around, a merry peal of laughter caught his ears, and from behind the shadows of the trees emerged seven lovely maidens. On catching sight of Narada, they feigned demure surprise but continued with their games more gaily than before. Softly they sang, and sweetly, glancing at Narada, at first with shy delight, and then with increasing ardour. But soon they saw that Narada, as calmly as a king, had seated himself in meditation posture, and they were considerably annoyed to find that he had also closed his eyes. Whispering among themselves, they drew still closer and began to dance, a dance so utterly beguiling that Madan himself, as he had prophesied, was spellbound as he watched.
As the sun sank low, and the fingers of the moon explored the forest, Narada still sat motionless. Long since, the maidens had grown tired of their enticements and lay resting at his feet. "A sight for the gods, indeed!" thought Madan in amazement, as he looked from the maidens to the saint's impassive face. In sudden fear lest he had trespassed much too far on such purity, he threw himself at Narada's feet and begged forgiveness.
Narada emerged from meditation to answer Madan sweetly. "Madan," he said, "Go now in peace, and take these maidens with you. Rest assured that my anger will not follow you, nor has Indra any cause to be disturbed, for, as you have surely seen, the pleasures of heaven have as little effect on me as the threats of hell. By the grace of my beloved Rama, I neither desire the one nor fear the other, for my heart is free." So, with a serene smile, he sent Madan and his associates upon their way.
Indra received Madan's description of the episode with great relief, and praised the saint before the other gods for his purity and clemency, but, as for Narada himself, there grew within his heart, as time went on, a certain self-complacency. He recalled the success of the forest test a great deal more often than memory demanded, and eventually the day arrived when he desired to share the story. Such a tale of Rama's grace would surely interest the great Lord Shiva, he reasoned, unaware that in his reasoning lay the seed of pride. So, at last, calling upon Shiva, he told the age-old story of temptation in its newest guise. Strange indeed was Shiva's reception of the tale of victory. "Oh, Narada," said Shiva gently, as though pleading with a child, "I pray you again and again never to repeat this story to anyone, and least of all to Rama himself. Forget now, both temptation and victory, and surrender yourself to Rama with no thought of past or future."
Narada was puzzled by Shiva's words, puzzled, and not a little disappointed. For surely, in recounting the tale, he had only glorified the Lord! Surely Rama himself - he who had made such victory possible - would be delighted with the story. So, deaf to Shiva's kind advice, Narada called on Rama and described the forest test in greater detail than before.
Rama listened patiently, and said at last with an impassive face: "Wonderful, oh, Narada, are your wisdom and dispassion! Steadfast in your vow of celibacy and resolute in mind - surely so pure a heart could never by deluded by lust!"
Narada, delighted with the answer, concurred in silence, and added, "Of course it is all due to your grace."
But the compassionate Lord was no longer looking at Narada, or listening to his words. He was thinking of the huge tree of pride which had grown in Narada's heart - a tree so recently sprouted, and already grown so large; a tree which must be thoroughly uprooted by the very source from which it sprang. Dear to Rama's heart was his beloved servant, and quickly he determined to pit the power of maya against his swelling pride.
Thus it was that Narada, on taking leave of Rama, found himself in a great unknown city, beautiful beyond description. A gay and festive air hung over all, and Narada inquired what great occasion merited such splendour. The people stared at him in wonderment. Had he not heard? Did he not know that the only daughter of the king was on this very day to choose among her royal suitors? Had he not seen for himself the lovely princess? But as Narada continued to protest his ignorance, the people said to him kindly, "Come then, we will present you to the king, for he is famous for his hospitality to strangers and would feel sad at heart to know you had visited our city without calling at the court."
As the people had predicted, the king received Narada with the affection of a father, and insisted that he bathe and rest and partake of some refreshment. As soon as these polite amenities were over, he said to Narada: "It is indeed auspicious that you have come at such a time as this! Surely you have heard about by daughter's beauty from the people, but now you must see it for yourself. Perhaps, as her father, I am merely prejudiced. Give me, then, a more unbiased opinion. Tell me what is good or bad about her."
Too eager to wait his guest's polite consent, the king summoned his daughter promptly and bade her come and stand beside the throne. Shyly the princess came forward, but with such delicate grace of movement that her tiny anklet bells rang out a faint sweet rhythm of their own. And the beauty of her smile, as she turned to greet her father's visitor, lighted up the darkened courtroom with the brilliance of the sun.
Narada stood before her silent and transfixed, and in that very moment his dispassion and austerity vanished into nothingness. By all the gods, to cherish and possess such a one as this! "Narada," the king insisted gently, "you have not answered me. Is she not beautiful? And wise? And gentle? Surely, then, you understand that my anxiety for her future matches only her perfection!"
Narada roused himself from reverie long enough to answer as courtesy demanded, for further than that he dared not go. With carefully selected phrases, he praised the princess in what was, indeed, a masterpiece of understatement, but when he mentioned the good fortune of the future bridegroom, the words felt suddenly dry in his mouth, and a twist of pain knotted his heart. It was unbearable to think of some mere mortal possessing so heavenly a creature! Ah, if only he himself... but no, it was impossible.
Yet the power of maya smiles at reason and, as Narada left the court, his restless heart already longed for the impossible. Gone was his zeal for japam and austerities, leaving in their place an unfamiliar emptiness, haunted by a memory. If only by some miracle... and through Narada's sadness flashed sudden inspiration.
"Is anything," mused Narada, "impossible to Rama? Surely he who has been my friend through all eternity, surely he will understand and help me now!" Closing his eyes in fervent prayer, he pleaded, "Oh Rama, thou knowest well that I have given away my heart. Unless she to whom it belongs, belongs also to me, I shall be an empty and wretched thing forever, a man divided against himself, dwelling neither in one body nor another. Therefore, be gracious and bestow on me thine own pure beauty - for in that way only shall I win my heart's desire."
The blessed Lord smiled gently and replied, "Narada, listen to me. Have I not always helped you? And shall I cease to help you now? I shall do that alone which is good for you, and nothing else. Nor shall my words ever prove themselves untrue. If a patient, delirious with his malady, asks for something harmful, the physician will not give it. In like manner, I shall help you as is best for you, and in no other way."
So great was Narada's infatuation that he failed to grasp the full significance of Rama's words. Believing his request granted in the way that he had asked, he was filled with exultation at the thought of coming victory and quickly made his way to the arena.
It was fortunate indeed, for Rama's purpose, that no mirror was available - for Narada's looks had greatly altered. As he calmly took his place among the other suitors, two brahmins standing near winked at one another and said tauntingly, "Ah look! So handsome is this royal visitor that the princess will surely take him for the Lord himself!" But Narada heard only the spoken words, and not the mockery behind them.
Suddenly the crowd fell silent as the princess herself stepped into the arena, holding the wreath of victory in her hands. Thoughtfully she surveyed the royal suitors, judging each one by his own particular merits: this one was surely much too old, old enough to be her father; and that one lacked the marks of manliness. Suddenly she stopped, and a bright flame of anger flashed in her eyes, for here, upon so serious an occasion, among those who dared the right to claim her as their own, stood a creature so hideous that she shrank back trembling, in sudden and outraged fright. Quickly she put her hands over her eyes, struggled for self-possession, and then moved on. Not for a single moment did she glance back again in Narada's direction.
One by one the suitors were rejected, until at last the princess stood before the remaining one. Raising her eyes, she beheld no ordinary prince, but a king, for the Lord himself had chosen to appear, disguised among the suitors, and so radiant was his beauty that the princess cried out joyfully as she placed the wreath of victory around his neck.
Narada stood, incredulous and stunned, as the crowd rose up to laud the victor - for in the bitter moment of defeat he knew, with sudden intuition, that none but Rama could have vanquished him. The expression on his holy face so much amused the brahmins who had taunted him that suddenly they laughed outright. "Fool," they asked, "when did you last see yourself in a mirror?"
Too sick at heart to answer, Narada stumbled out of the arena. Finding a nearby brook, he stared down into the water. The face of a monkey stared back at him, mocking with its very ugliness every vain desire. Quickly the image faded into normality again, but memory remained - memory and shame. From the lonely depths of suffering, Narada cried out: "Oh, Rama! Thou whom I called my friend! Thou whom I trusted and adored, what whim is this to seal my only hope of happiness and ridicule me thus before the world? For thou hast truly stripped me naked of all love, human or divine, and I taste at last the empty dregs of thy sublime indifference."
Rama smiled, for great had been the trials that he had given Narada, and the anger of his words were all of maya's making. As he gently withdrew the great illusion he had woven, Narada awoke as from a dream to find desire and grief had fled together from his newly humbled heart. Weeping, he threw himself at Rama's feet and pleaded, "Oh, Lord! How many abuses have I poured on thee! And yet thou knowest well my whole heart loves thee! How, then, shall my sins be expiated?"
The compassionate Rama said gently, "Chant the holy name with a tranquil heart, and with the eye of the spirit learn to behold me everywhere. Lay down all duties in me, your refuge, and fear no longer. Thus will I save you from sin and bondage, oh, my beloved Narada, and my maya shall haunt you no more." (Reprinted from Vedanta & The West, 1952)


Vedanta Centre UK
Magazine Articles March / April 2005

http://www.vedantauk.com/magazine_articles_March05.htm#Naradas Temptation

Location: Guwahati, Assam, India