Dasa's life as a fugitive

Dasa’s life as a fugitive is the long aftermath of a personal catastrophe: after discovering Pravati with Nala, the prince who had displaced him as a child, Dasa kills Nala and flees. The killing does not restore his former life. Instead, it leaves him hunted, homeless, and haunted by recurring dreams until his wandering brings him back to the forest hermitage where he had once encountered the yogi. There, practical service and silent proximity offer respite, though his wish to become a yogi remains unfulfilled.

From discovery to flight

Dasa’s revenge follows his recognition of Pravati at Nala’s encampment. He had watched the camp from concealment, carrying the sling he had used as a herdsman; after seeing Pravati welcome Nala, he remained near the place, circling the hut, mill, fields, and hunting tent rather than fleeing to an unknown region. He waited in the trees until Nala came out, then struck him with a stone from the sling. Dasa escaped into the bamboo thickets before the camp’s servants could surround him.

The deed brought a sudden reversal in Dasa’s sense of himself. In the moment of attack, he felt as if he were spending his last vitality and accepting his own death if Nala died first. Yet the silence immediately after the blow gave way to an instinct to survive. Once hidden, Dasa first felt revulsion at having escaped; as his exhaustion eased, that feeling shifted into defiant resolve, accompanied by a savage satisfaction in what he had done. His flight thus begins not as a settled plan but as a struggle between a wish to perish with his enemy and a bodily determination to go on living.

Searchers combed the woods, beating through the thickets. Dasa survived by remaining still in a marsh where fear of tigers kept them from venturing far. He slept briefly, stayed alert, crawled onward, and rested again; by the third day he had crossed beyond the hills and was moving toward the higher mountains. The pursuit ended as an immediate threat, but escape did not restore a home or a direction.

A fugitive life and its returns

Thereafter Dasa lived as a homeless wanderer, moving from place to place and avoiding people even when he was no longer actively pursued. The life hardened him and made him more callous, but also wiser and more resigned. The change did not erase what he had lost: at night he repeatedly dreamed of Pravati and what he had once considered happiness, as well as of the pursuit and his escape.

In one recurring nightmare, he carried a concealed bundle through a perilous flight, pursued with drums and hunting horns. The bundle was precious, but its contents remained unknown until he finally untied it: his own head. Wrapped in cloth patterned like Pravati’s holiday dress, the image binds his lost domestic life to the danger and self-loss of his fugitive existence. The dream makes the pursuit recur inwardly even after Dasa is no longer running from searchers; what he cannot leave behind is not simply the crime, but the life and self that preceded it.

His roaming eventually brought him to the pastureland where, as a boy, he had tended cattle with his companions. The meadow, willow grove, streams, and remembered sounds recalled the comparatively untroubled years before love, jealousy, hatred, and revenge. He felt the landscape as refuge and home, and for the first time in many months was able to surrender to the present without wanting anything. His return to this place does not reverse the past: he recognizes that his former youth lies beyond recovery, even as the familiar surroundings briefly relieve his estrangement.

The hermitage and the wish for instruction

The forest paths led Dasa back to the yogi’s hut. The place seemed unchanged, as if no time had passed there, while Dasa’s own intervening life had been marked by violence and flight. He found only a leaf pallet, a water-filled gourd, and an empty pouch. He gathered food, refilled the gourd, and settled into the sparse routine the hermitage made possible.

Dasa stayed with the silent yogi, renewing the pallet, gathering food for both of them, repairing the hut, and building a second shelter nearby. The yogi seemed to tolerate him without clearly taking notice of him. Dasa’s position was therefore both useful and precarious: he served in close proximity to a man he revered, but had no assurance that the man accepted him or would teach him. The routine nevertheless gave him relief. His sleep ceased to be troubled by the frightening dreams, and for stretches of time he forgot what had happened; the future receded from his thoughts.

He hoped to remain there, be accepted, and learn the hermit’s life. Dasa tried to imitate the yogi’s stillness and meditation, but discomfort repeatedly broke his attempts: his limbs stiffened, his back ached, and itching or other physical distractions made him move. A few times he experienced a fleeting sense of lightness and detachment, which intensified his wish to be initiated into the yogi’s practices. But the moments passed, and he did not know how to ask for instruction from someone who had scarcely acknowledged him.

Confession and unresolved refuge

At last Dasa approached the yogi as he turned toward the hut. He asked forgiveness for interrupting his peace and explained the course of his life: he had been born a prince, cast out to become a herdsman, and later abandoned his companions to marry Pravati. He believed she loved him, until Nala came and took her from him. Dasa described killing Nala, living as a criminal and fugitive, and fearing capture and punishment. He told the yogi that he could no longer endure this life and wanted it to end.

The yogi listened, then studied Dasa and laughed before saying, “Maya! Maya!” The meaning of the response remained uncertain to Dasa. The narrative leaves open whether the laughter was compassionate or mocking, a dismissal or an invitation to follow the yogi’s example. That ambiguity matters to Dasa’s situation: the hermitage has offered shelter from pursuit and temporary relief from memory, but its apparent stillness has not yet become a teaching he can understand. His flight has brought him to a place of refuge, not to a settled resolution of guilt, loss, or longing.