The Common Man let out a deep sigh, picked up the corpse of Vetala from atop the polling booth and began to walk back. Vetala secretly appreciated his perseverance but said out loud unto him “O common man, I really cannot gauge the purpose of your untiring efforts. It reminds me of Maharshi Matdaata and of the mouse who would repeatedly visit him to seek his blessing. Let me tell you their story to pass the time along the way”.
The common man cursed him, though quietly. Being a Common Man, he could ill-afford to breach his silence.
And Vetala began his narration.
Maharshi Matdaata was one of the most respected sages in the jungle of democracy. A great many kings and saints of all hues and colours used to bow down before him — and for good reason. The sage would periodically perform the sacred yagna of Metamorphosis. Normally, he used to perform it every five years but compelling circumstances and petty feuds between various factions could also necessitate the yagna more frequently.
No one could tell what the outcome of the yagna would be — not even the presiding priest ‘Electionacharya’. Maharshi Matdaata was truly unpredictable. A faint smile on his lips could turn a dark horse into a king maker while the smallest frown upon his brow could make a big gun lose his deposit. He was a staunch devotee of Lord Shiva and was gullible like him. Often, a king or even a courtier would take undue advantage of his simplicity and gullibility. But in due course of time, he would get even with such pretenders.
Once upon a time, the sage was performing a small scale ceremony when he saw a tiny little mouse falling at his feet. The sage looked at him with some surprise, “What brings you here, Mushaka, my child?”
“O great one. I am but an inconsequential mouse in this big jungle of democracy. I’ve come with great hopes to this yagna of yours. Make my life or mar it.”
“But what is it that you want?” The sage was still puzzled.
“Metamorphosis” replied the mouse politely.
“Metamorphosis?” The sage could not conceal his laughter, “of what sort?”
“I am tired of the tyranny of the Cat. It has let loose a reign of terror. I beseech you with folded tail to transform me into a cat so that I may free my brethren from the tyranny of the feline kind.”
The sage was tickled at the ambition of this tiny creature. Yet he took pity on him. “So be it, O Mushaka. Thou shalt become a cat”
News spread like wild fire among the mice in the forest. They could not at first believe their ears. But Mushaka’s friends were overjoyed. “Our own Mushaka has become a cat! Isn’t it fantastic? We must arrange a grand reception!”
Mushaka’s own happiness knew no bounds. He danced away in excitement in his newly found form. Naturally he felt hungry in due course of time. His feline instincts soon got the better of him and he polished off a few friends who had come to greet him. Satisfied, he fell asleep.
But his sense of achievement did not last long. Soon he began to get disillusioned. No doubt he had graduated into a cat but the dogs were much better off in the power game. He must move up the ladder.
Once again he landed at the abode of Maharshi Matdaata. A bigger ceremony was on the anvil this time.
The sage could make out at once what the problem was. Nevertheless, he asked patiently “What brings you here again, O Mushaka?”
Mushaka was taken aback. How did the sage know? He also felt chagrined at being addressed as Mushaka. But he knew better than to protest out loud. He fell at the feet of the sage and implored “O great one! I’ve been a cat for some time now but it is of little help. Everytime I come across a dog, I have to beat a retreat. They literally hound me and my brethren. Unless I move up, I cannot effectively serve my poor, exploited downtrodden brethren. I cannot hope to free them from their sense of fear.”
The sage was in a good mood that day. Lady luck smiled on Mushaka. He soon became a strong hound. He wagged his tail gratefully and bounded out of the Ashrama.
Now it was the turn of his fellow cats. They had to live in a mortal fear perpetually. Having been a cat once Mushaka knew their methods of survival. They were helpless.
Mushaka’s avarice grew day by day. But he would soon come face to face with higher realities of the power game, when he ran into a wolf. The sight of the ferocious wolf created the same panic in his mind as the sight of a cat would when he was a tiny little mouse. He found himself scurrying away with his tail firmly between his hind legs.
But he did not lose heart. He studied the power equations carefully. The status and position of the wolves stoked his ambition and fanned his avarice further. He headed once again towards the Ashram.
This time he had come well in advance. He was extremely diligent in his efforts to please the sage. He would religiously follow the sage everywhere, guard the Ashrama throughout the night, fetch the newspaper…name the service and he rendered it. The sage was pleased.
His spirit of service was at its best on the day of ceremony. The sage knew that Mushaka was upto some demand. He inquired casually “Anything further O Mushaka…?”
For a moment Mushaka growled with displeasure. Yes he had been a Mushaka once upon a time. Does it mean this blessed sage will go on…? But he was tactful. He could ill-afford to lose his cool. He wagged his tail, flapped his ears and said politely “Please do not call me Mushaka every time, O wise one.”
“Okay,” the sage did not consider this very important. “What is it that you want, tell me’.
“I want to move up further in the hierarchy, O wise one. I’ve studied the wolves from close quarters and I find I’m really living a dog’s life. And believe me, if I someday fall prey to a ferocious wolf, it would be this dog’s death as well.” Tears easily rolled down his cheek.
It reminded the sage of a crocodile. But a sympathy wave got the better of him and he transformed Mushaka into a wolf.
Mushaka was really thrilled. His fame soon spread in the jungle. His new avatar became the talk of the town. Smaller animals were in awe of him. He outfoxed all the wolves very soon and soon became their leader. “Watch out,” said the wise ones, “He will go places.”
But he soon he met his waterloo before the lion. How can one fight a lion? A lion is after all a lion and a wolf is a wolf. Mushaka realized that it is the lion which occupies the summit in the power pyramid — no one else. He must strive for this ultimate transformation.
The sage was not very happy to see him. The stories about Mushaka’s exploits, tyranny and greed had reached his ears. Initially he ignored them, but more and more instances kept coming to his notice.
Mushaka did anticipate this eventuality. He spun effective yarn. He blamed the media for various distortions and exaggerations. Of course, he must have made a few mistakes here and there. Who is infallible these days? But is he not, after all, governed by his Dharma? As a wolf, he has to follow the wolf’s Dharma. Did he ever trouble the sage? Not in his wildest dreams. All he was asking for was this one last chance. He will remain ever grateful. Just once, he implored, he wanted to become a lion. He would govern the jungle like no one before did.
The sage was taken in by his persuasive abilities. Mushaka underwent the ultimate transformation. He became a lion. He was now free to rule the jungle the way he wanted. And that was precisely what he did. No one was safe in the jungle any longer. Absolute power intoxicated Mushaka absolutely.
A day soon came when he would not spare even the Ashrama of Maharshi Matdaata from his avarice. One day he happened to chase a deer of the Ashrama. The scared deer ran for his life and took shelter in the room where the sage was meditating.
Mushaka hesitated. He could not muster enough courage to enter the room. He let out a mighty roar from near the door.
Maharshi Matdaata opened his eyes. A roaring lion in front of his meditation chamber! But his experienced eyes immediately recognized Mushaka. Patiently, he inquired with a smile, “What is it, O Mushaka?”
“Don’t you address me as Mushaka, O sage. I’m the king of this jungle and I’ve came chasing this deer.”
“Oh!” The sage became serious. “Did you not know that it is a deer from this Ashrama?”
Mushaka growled, “The Ashrama is very much within this jungle of democracy and I’m the king”.
“Indeed you’ve forgotten your past”, the sage remarked. “You are the one who wanted to free your poor downtrodden brethren from the fear, tyranny and misrule of cats, dogs, wolves and so on. Today you are an epitome of tyranny and misrule. Come to your senses. You still have time.”
“I want the deer and not your sermons” Mushaka was impatient.
“What if I refuse to part with it?” the sage asked.
Mushaka was infuriated. “You are inviting your own doom, O sage”, he replied and sprung in the air.
But the open palm of enraged sage had already gone up. A swift curse came from his lips “PUNARMUSHAKO BHAVA (Become a mouse again),” he intoned.
Mushaka could not comprehend what happened. He could neither roar nor bark nor mew. The transformation was swift. His body had changed in to that of a mouse in mid-air and he landed at the sage’s feet with a soft thud. His game was up.
His past flashed back before his eyes. His origin, his metamorphosis and his foolishness. All was lost now.
From the corner of his eye he could see a brown cat leaping at him. All thoughts of pleading his case before the sage, apologizing for his mistake were gone. Survival was the first priority. He tried to run away as fast as he could.
It turned out he had become slightly out of touch with the art of running away. The brown cat was definitely faster. He felt her paw. Death was imminent.
But a great surprise was in store for him. The brown cat turned him over a couple of times, sniffed at him and threw him out with one mighty swing. Mushaka was lucky. He had landed near his old burrow. He quickly entered it and heaved a sigh of relief.
Having narrated the story, Vetala asked the Common Man, “Tell me, O Common Man, why was Mushaka not killed? Why did the brown cat let him go even after catching him? If you know the answer, but still stay silent, may your head split into a thousand pieces and scatter all over the jungle!”
The Common Man sighed again and said, “I knew, O Vetala, that youwould ask me such a simple question. Obviously, the brown cat was actually a mouse herself. She was one of the many who had followed in Mushaka’s footsteps seeing his success. During the last ceremony, the sage had transformed her into a cat. She too nursed the same ambitions of moving up the power ladder.
Indeed she did catch Mushaka. But she changed her mind purely out of fellow feeling. Who knows, she might meet the same fate as Mushaka someday. She too would need the sympathy of some cat. It was appropriate on her part to spare Mushaka. It is thus a combination of selfishness and empathy that saved Mushaka’s life. It is this combination indeed which will continue to save many defeated lions in future.”
“Remarkable” said a happy Vetala. However, since the Common Man’s silence had been breached, he flew back to the top of polling booth. The Common Man cast a wistful glance at him and began to walk back.