Cravings - Madalasa

 

I’ve been grappling with lust for a few years now. To me, it brings nothing but suffering, so I’ve long wanted to kill it. But no matter how hard I try, it refuses to die.

In my current life, there are three women who have stirred this desire in different ways.

• The first is someone I work with. I try to keep my distance, but somehow, I often find myself helping her. I don’t fantasize about her sexually, but there’s a deeper craving — to be seen, to matter in her eyes. That desire quietly humiliates me, unless I deliberately say no to her requests.

• The second is a married woman. We had a physical relationship before her marriage. While I don’t crave her sexually anymore, the embers remain. The real struggle comes when she reaches out — when she’s upset that I ignore her, or when she asks for favors. I often can’t say no.

• The third woman… I don’t want to talk about. That relationship was my greatest mistake — drenched in delusion and shame. I’ve cut all ties with her. I assume that means lust, at least in her case, is finally dead.

Because I no longer actively lust after anyone in my life, I often fool myself into thinking I’ve conquered it. And it’s partly true — the intensity I felt in my youth is gone. But put me in an intimate or fantasy scenario, and it resurfaces. That’s how I know it’s still alive.

My only hope lies in neuroplasticity — in not indulging these desires, trusting that over time, my mind will stop responding the way it does.

Since Queen Madalasa, in my previous reflection, embodied both wisdom and compassion, I want to share what I’ve learned about desire in the form of a story — a way to understand it, and maybe, eventually, let it go. 

Note : the story below is purely from my imagination, imagining and wondering how Queen Madalasa would have help me. This is not a re-write of the Hindu mythology.

Queen Madalasa -  Desires

As Prince Alarka grew older, he began to feel things he couldn’t quite name — a quiet hunger, a pull toward certain women around him. But none stirred his heart like Mohini, the court dancer. She was more beautiful than any woman he had ever seen. Her lehenga hugged her form like poetry, and when she smiled, something trembled deep inside him. Her age — twice his — didn’t matter. She was radiant. She was magic.

He began drifting away from his mother, Queen Madalasa, and instead followed Mohini like a shadow. He watched her practice, offered his thoughts when asked, laughed with her, played games. Just being near her was enough.

Until one night, he saw her slipping through the courtyard alone. Curious, he followed — quietly, cautiously.

And there she was: in the arms of another man. Older than her. Far older. And she looked content. Maybe even happy.

Alarka felt something break inside him.

“What are you doing?” he blurted out. The couple parted quickly.

“Nothing, Alarka,” Mohini said, startled. “We were just talking.”

He knew she was lying. And worse — she wasn’t thinking about him at all. Tears welled in his eyes.

Mohini stepped toward him, puzzled. “Why are you angry, my prince? Why are you crying?”

He couldn’t answer. How could he explain what he himself didn’t fully understand? 

As she looked at him longer, she suddenly realized his reluctance.

“You’re like a baby brother to me,” she said gently. “You know that, don’t you?”

It hit harder than a slap. Alarka stood frozen, then turned and ran. He buried his face in his pillow and wept till sleep took him.

—

The next morning, Queen Madalasa noticed the change immediately. Her son, once playful and curious, now moved like someone in mourning.

She asked softly, “What troubles you, my son?”

Alarka told her everything. The moment in the courtyard. The sense of betrayal. The ache of unfulfilled love.

Madalasa listened, then held him close. “Do you remember what I taught you?” she whispered. “You are not your body. These desires are not you. Why do you grieve over them?”

Alarka pulled back. “Because my love matters,” he said, his voice firm.

Madalasa smiled. “Do you love her?”

“I do. With all my heart.”

“Then why are you sad that she is happy with someone else? If your love is true, shouldn’t her happiness bring you joy?”

Her words struck him. He hadn’t thought of it that way.

“When you first saw her,” she continued, “did you think of possessing her? Or did you simply admire her beauty?”

Alarka lowered his eyes and said nothing.

“You wanted to be near her. And you were. You laughed together, shared moments. Wasn’t that enough?”

He nodded slowly.

“Then why crave more? That’s the nature of desire, its simply a construct of your mind. The world is an illusion and nothing you desire can never be found.

But desire grows the more you feed it. 

If she were yours, you would still want more.
Even if she fulfills your every fantasy, still your hunger would remain.

A fool chases desire endlessly, always reaching, never fulfilled. The wise learn to step off that path.

Let your desires come and go, Alarka. They are not you.
Just passing clouds in your sky. They come and go, never truly yours.

Do not be attached to your desires, Alarka.
They are just constructs of your mind.
It is like boiling water that you consider precious.
The tighter you hold on to them, the more you will grieve when it slips out of your fist.

Sight, sound, smell, taste, touch, imagination — these are the sparks.
But the fire is created by your mind.
Think of how often you craved food, only to be disappointed once you had it.
Yet because you indulged in it, the craving returns stronger everytime.

So let them rise. Let them fall. But do not follow.
Desire is a beautiful illusion, but an illusion still.
Let it go, my son.
Only then will you be free of sufferings.”

End