What is in a name? - Madalasa

 

After writing so much about shame, guilt, detachment, and meditation, I kept thinking about Madalasa — a queen from ancient texts whose lullaby offered a kind of peace I haven’t reached, but would like to. The story below is how I imagine her. And maybe, how I want to be one day.

I’m usually not a fan of songs tied to religion. But the song “Madalasa’s Lullaby” by Gaiea Sanskrit hit different. For the first time, I understood what the words meant — thanks to the translated lyrics and how beautifully she sang it.

Since then, I’ve become a fan of both Gaiea and Queen Madalasa. Her words reflect a lot of what I’ve been trying to understand and write about in this blog. I think her way of seeing things has started to influence how I think, too.

The story below is a mix of scripture and fiction. I’ve written it in a format that makes sense to me.

Queen Madalasa

Queen Madalasa sat with her newborn son, exhausted but calm, swaying gently with a smile on her lips. Her whole world was consumed by this creature she had brought into the world.

The king stood before her, fuming. He had once felt joy at the birth of each son. But one by one, they had abandoned him — renounced the throne he had dreamed for them, disappearing into the forests to become monks.

He knew who was to blame.

He pointed at the infant, his face hard.

“You’ll poison this one too, won’t you?” he hissed.

Madalasa didn’t answer. She knew her husband well. This was not rage. This was grief wearing the mask of anger.

“Three sons,” he spat. “You filled their ears with madness and called it wisdom.”

Still, she said nothing.

“They renounced everything!” he roared. “My kingdom. My name. My legacy.”

She looked up at him now, still smiling.

“They only renounced the illusion,” she said softly.

Her calmness and excuses only infuriated him more. He wanted to curse her, strike her. He blamed her for loosing his sons.

He turned to the priest, who stood uneasily at the edge of the chamber.

“Write it down,” the king commanded. “The boy’s name shall be Alarka — the mad dog.”

The priest froze. "B...But..."

“You heard me,” the king growled, tears forming in his eyes. "The name will shame him but it will also ensure he will not fall into his mother's deluded words of peace within.”

Trembling, the priest scribbled the name as the king turned and stormed out.

Madalasa did not flinch. She just smiled down at her son, eyes shining.

“Alarka,” she whispered. “You are amazing.”

Prince Alarka was ten when he first figured out what his name meant.

He had been walking through the temple corridor, chasing butterflies.

That was when he he heard two ministers speaking like they were conspiring. He hid and listened. 

“Who names their child Alarka? Doesnt he know it means mad dog?” one of them asked.

“I feel bad for the prince. I would rather die than be called that.”

"I don't think the king has seen him since the day he was born." 

Alarka stood frozen, from the understanding that had just hit him: Mad dog. That’s what his name meant.

It echoed in his ears like a drumbeat. All the sideways glances. The awkward tones when people addressed him. The heaviness he had always felt all his life but never understood. It was all because of this wretched name.

His lips trembled. Then he turned and ran to the only refuge he had ever known: his mother.

He found her in his bedroom getting it ready for his sleep. He ran to her and hugged her, burying his face on his mother's chest.

“Mother,” he whimpered.

“What is the matter?” she asked in her usual calm self, wiping his tears and looking into his eyes.

“Am I a mad dog?”

She looked at him now with a smile, as if she was expecting it.

“Are you?” she asked with a chuckle.

“No, but then why?” he asked, his voice shaking.
“Why did you let Father name me that? I hate my name. I hate him. I hate you.”

For a second, her face shifter from her usual calm. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she answered.

“Because I wanted you to learn that you are not your name.”

Alarka frowned, his face filled with anger, hatred, shame.

Queen Madalasa smiled. 

"come here," She said hugging him and guiding him to his bed.

“Listen to me carefully” she said.

She started singing a lullaby she had sang multiple times to his older brothers. 

“You are pure consciousness - pure and unstained.
The world is an illusion; you won't be affected by it.

Let go of the delusion of reality that confuses your mind.
Why do you cry, when you are so pure?

Any name given to you is not truly yours.
It is merely a word associated to your body.
But your body is not you and nor are you a mere body.

Why do you cry over mere name, my prince?
Name is an illusion you identify with.

The various qualities of your body are mere imaginations of your mind.
Your body is made of elements of the world.

The elements you consume cause your body to grow.
When you don't consume the elements your body perishes.
But you neither grow nor die.
You reside within this ever-changing body and not this body.
Do not confuse yourself with the body.

Father, son, mother, wife, mine, not mine —
do not give meaning to such words.
They are merely other forms of the same elements.

The deluded believe they can create happiness by removing unhappiness
But the wise knows the very things that bring happiness also bring unhappiness.
Be indifferent to the illusion of the world as it can neither bring true happiness or unhappiness.

The same way, A vehicle that is driven is not the driver.
Your body, which is driven, is not you.
Those who think they are their body are fools.

Remember, my little prince, you are your pure consciousness.
You cannot be stained."

The End

Yesterday, I was the king — angry at myself, self-punishing, grieving, refusing to hear Madalasa’s wisdom.

Today, I am Alarka — consumed by shame and guilt, but slightly calmed by her words, even if I haven’t fully internalized them.

I hope to be Queen Madalasa one day.