Pride comes before a fall

There are times when we find some people often throwing their weight around to show how important and indispensable they are in their domestic, social and professional circles. 

Their immediate associates and underlings put up with the tantrums of such spoilt brats mostly because they are endowed with more social graces than their cranky leaders. Yet most times they grin and bear the situations because they understand that the project or the mission that they are collectively working on is worthier than the little setbacks in their moods and the inconveniences they face in the process of completing them. 

The gracious behaviour of the counterparts and team members is often construed as fear or the expression of inferiority complex by the occasional haughty superior. Little do such high handed people realise that pride comes before a fall.

A story from the Mahabharata illustrates this point ever so well. Once, the mortal king Nahusha qualified to occupy the Indra padavi the post of the lord of gods. He had completed the arduous task of performing the Ashwamedha Yagna a hundred times. When Nahusha assumed charge, he wallowed in his newfound riches and power. 

In his blind zeal he coveted Shachi the wife of the former Indra. The former queen’s advice and pleas fell deaf on the arrogant king. She decided to change her stance. Indrani said that she would accept the romantic advances of Nahusha if only he would arrive in a palanquin borne by the Saptarishis. The sovereign who was blinded by lust and conceit bade the great souls to do his bidding. 

Accordingly, the frail, pious men who were completely ignorant of Nahusha’s purpose trudged along bearing the new Indra on the palanquin. 

Sage Agastya, who bore one of the front handles of the palanquin upset the balance and the speed of the journey from time to time because he was way too short to compensate the height or speed. 

Nahusha hastened the sages and in his eager hauteur prodded sage Agastya’s head with his outstretched feet, uttering the words, “Sarpa, Sarpa.” 

The word Sarpa in Sanskrit can be interpreted as either snake or move fast. The enervated sage who was peeved at constantly listening to the word, cursed Nahusha to metamorphose into a serpent and fall from his lofty heights. 

The story is a metaphor of the outcome of supercilious behaviour. At the outset stuck up people always seem to have their cake and eat it too. This phenomenon will be short lived. If people fail to mend their condescending behaviour, life will teach them the lesson, the hard way.