- The Crowning of Ritadhvaja and Madalasa
- The Birth of the First Son, Vikranta
- Madalasa's Teachings on the True Self
- The Naming of the Second and Third Sons
- The Birth of the Fourth Son and King Ritadhvaja’s Concern
- Madalasa's Explanation of Names and Identity
- The King's Plea for a Different Path
- Philosophy and Significance
- Relevance in Modern Lives
- Call to Action
The Crowning of Ritadhvaja and Madalasa
After many years upon the throne, King Shatrujit passed away. With Shatrujit gone, and after a period of mourning, Ritadhvaja was then crowned king of the land, by the people. Ritadhvaja was brave, but he was also gentle and noble. He ruled with care, treating his subjects as though they were his own children. With Ritadhvaja as the king, he ruled along with his queen, Madalasa.
The Birth of the First Son, Vikranta
In due time, Madalasa got to know that she was with child. When the time came, Madalasa gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Everyone in the kingdom was pleased with the news. Rejoicing took place. The king said this would grow up to be a strong warrior and named the infant, Vikranta, the courageous one. Celebrations continued. Madalasa smiled when she saw the celebrations. There was something that she knew, something which the others did not.
Madalasa's Teachings on the True Self
One day, Vikranta lay in his mother’s lap, crying, as all babies do. The nurse maidens tried to cheer him, but Madalasa looked at her son and spoke in a way no one expected. She began teaching her son about life itself. “My son,” she said, “you are pure. Your true self has no name. The name Vikranta was given to you a few days ago, but you are something beyond any name. You are not this body of flesh and bone. This body is made from the same five elements as the world around you—earth, water, fire, air, and space. It grows only because of food and water, and one day it will fade. But your real self will remain even when this body is gone. So why do you cry? Do you cry because you have been born here, pushed inside a frame of skin and senses? Birth is a beginning and a binding. Because of deeds of past lives, you have entered this body. Now you must live inside it until it falls away. But remember, my son, this body is only a covering, not who you truly are.”
Madalasa then began rocking the child gently. Her soothing voice and the rocking motion slowed down the cries of the boy. Madalasa continued talking to the boy as if she was talking to a grown-up, albeit softly: “People say, ‘This is my father, my mother, my child, my beloved.’ They form relationships. But these are only bonds of the body. The wise ones know that the real self does not own or possess anyone. When people are confused, they chase pleasures, thinking they will find happiness. But pleasure always fades, and with it comes greater misery. Those who see clearly know this truth: the search for happiness in the outside world only brings more sorrow.”
She stopped, looked at the baby and continued: “Look at the body itself. People decorate it, admire it, and cling to it; but what is it really? There is only bone under the skin. Bright eyes hide the flesh. The body is just a vessel of flesh and bone, nothing more. Yet people live as though the body is their only identity, their only treasure. Think of the earth. It is like a great chariot. The body is a carriage on that chariot. But inside is the rider; the true self. That is who you are. Do not mistake the carriage for the rider.”
“So, give up clinging to ‘this is mine’ and ‘that is not mine.’ Give up pride in the body. Go beyond right and wrong, truth and falsehood, because all these are labels that bind the mind. When you cast aside what ties you down, only then will you be free.”
The baby grew quiet in her lap. To everyone else, these words seemed far too great for an infant. But Madalasa smiled. She knew that even in a cradle, the soul could be reminded about freedom.
Having learnt about the ultimate truth from his mother, Vikranta grew day by day. From his father, he inherited strength and intelligence. From his mother, knowledge about the self which she had planted in him from the very beginning of his life. Unlike other children who grew attached to objects, this boy remained detached. The words of Madalasa had settled within him. He knew that nothing in this world could truly be called “mine.” His mind turned away from the duties and desires of household life. Wealth, power, family, pleasure did not stir him. He lived with a quiet awareness that the self was beyond all these passing things. While his friends played and dreamed of future kingship, he looked inward. His mother’s words had shaped his vision: he saw the body as a covering, the world as a passing show, and the self as something eternal, untouched, and free.
The Naming of the Second and Third Sons
When Madalasa’s second son was born, King Ritadhvaja named him Subahu (“the one with mighty arms.”) The court praised this choice, for what better name for a prince than one that promised strength and valour? Yet Madalasa laughed again. To her, names that glorified the body meant little. Strength of arms might win kingdoms, but true strength was in knowing the self that never perishes. As she rocked the infant in her lap, she soothed him with the same knowledge she had given his brother, whispering that he was pure, beyond body and name.
When the third son was born, the king named him Shatrumardana, meaning “the crusher of enemies.” It was a warrior’s name, full of promise. As soon as she heard it, Madalasa laughed even more. How could the self, which was untouched and eternal, have an enemy to conquer? Enemies and victories belonged to the world of illusion, not to the soul. Cradling her son, she reminded him that in truth he had no rivals, no enemies, nothing to defeat. And so, from her words, the boy grew without desire for worldly triumph, unmoved by the fruits of power and conquest.
The Birth of the Fourth Son and King Ritadhvaja’s Concern
Then a fourth son was born. The palace once again filled with joy. Ritadhvaja was ready to give him a name, just as he had with the other children. But before he could speak, he saw Madalasa smiling and laughing, the same way she had each time before. Ritadhvaja could not control his curiosity. He had observed it before and it was happening again. He said to Madalasa, “Each time I named our sons, you laughed. I gave them fine names—Vikranta (the mighty one), Subahu (the strong-armed), and Shatrumardana (the destroyer of enemies). Such names are fitting for princes who are born to rule and protect. Tell me, why do you laugh at these names? If you think these are not worthy names, then you give our fourth son his name.”
Madalasa, with gentle composure, replied, “O great king, since you command me, I shall name this child. He shall be called Alarka. Your youngest son will be wise one whose name will become famous.” Hearing this, Ritadhvaja laughed aloud. “Alarka? That is a meaningless name! My sons are born of royal blood. How can such a name suit a prince?”
Madalasa's Explanation of Names and Identity
Madalasa answered, “My lord, the names are just a label. They hold nothing, for the true self cannot be bound. The names you have given—are they any less meaningless? Let me explain. You called your first son Vikranta. The word means ‘one who strides with courage, who crosses from one place to another.’ But the atman, the true self within, does not stride from place to place. It is everywhere already—unchanging, all-pervading. So, tell me, what meaning does ‘Vikranta’ really hold for the self? Your second son you named Subahu, ‘the one with mighty arms.’ But the soul has no arms, no form, no limbs. To say it is strong or weak makes no sense. So that name too, in truth, is empty. Your third son you named Shatrumardana, ‘the destroyer of enemies.’ Yet the same soul lives in all beings. Who, then, is the enemy? Who is the friend? Only bodies clash with bodies, elements against elements. The self cannot be crushed, cannot fight, cannot destroy. Differentiation alone breeds anger, rivalry, and hatred. But the atman knows no such divisions. If these names are but empty sounds, then why do you think only Alarka is meaningless? All names are born of custom. The wise know this: the self is beyond names, beyond titles, beyond roles.”
The king listened. In Madalasa’s eyes, every name was like a garment; something to wear for a time, but never the truth of the soul within. After naming their fourth son Alarka, Madalasa cradled him in her arms. Just as she had done with her elder sons, she began to whisper truths into his ears.
The King's Plea for a Different Path
But this time the king could not remain silent. Ritadhvaja frowned and said, “What are you doing? Why do you fill the mind of this child with such beliefs? You have misled our other sons. If you love me, care for me, the do me a favour. Guide this son of ours onto the path of action. Do not push him towards the path of withdrawal. He has been born a prince. Teach him his duties. He will need to perform his duties. As the prince, he will have to offer food and water to the ancestors. Let the ancestors not suffer. Let this boy remain. Do not turn this child away from action. Instruct him in the duties of a prince. Teach him the ways that will bring prosperity here, and benefit in the life to come.”
Philosophy and Significance
Madalasa reminds her sons, even from infancy, that the true self is beyond body, name, and worldly identity. The body is only a garment stitched from the five elements, temporary and perishable, while the self is eternal and untouched. Names, relationships, pride, and worldly achievements belong to the sphere of illusion; they do not touch the essence of being. In her words, liberation begins with detachment from the idea of “I” and “mine.” Madalasa’s songs are significant because they present philosophy as lived truth taught at the very threshold of life. Having died and re-born, Madalasa is a yogi who sees the truth.
Relevance in Modern Lives
Madalasa’s wisdom is strikingly relevant today. In a world that constantly measures worth through names, labels, achievements, possessions, and social roles, her words cut to the core: none of these define who we truly are. In an age of over-attachment to identity and external validation, the reminder that the self is beyond body, beyond possessions, beyond even relationships, can be deeply liberating. Her teaching encourages us to live in society and fulfil responsibilities, but without being enslaved by pride, fear, or attachment.
Call to Action
We may not all be able to renounce kingdoms or titles, but we can begin with awareness. Ask yourself: Who am I beyond my name, my job, my possessions? Can I see my body as a vessel, my relationships as sacred yet impermanent, my successes and failures as passing events? Madalasa’s call is not to reject life, but to see through it—to recognize that freedom lies not in gaining more, but in realizing who you already are.
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