In an old kingdom long ago there lived a king named Vibhava, who believed
that happiness was a thing you could capture and keep, like a bird in a cage.
The first time he tasted honeyed wine at a feast, his heart leapt. "This,"
he declared, "is joy itself! Bring me more." And so they brought more, and
he drank, and for a while the hall spun pleasantly and he laughed louder
than anyone. But the next morning his head pounded like a war-drum and his
mouth was dry as ash, and the joy had vanished, leaving only a craving for
the next cup.
So it went with everything Vibhava chased. The first bite of a rich sweet
was glorious — but the tenth left him sick. The first jewel he won thrilled
him — but soon he could think of nothing but the bigger jewel his neighbour
owned. The first praise of the court warmed him — but the day no one praised
him, he sank into gloom. Each delight arrived like nectar and departed like
poison.
An old sage came through the kingdom, dusty from the road, and the king
summoned him in frustration. "Holy one," he said, "I have every pleasure a
man could want, and yet I am never content. The sweetness never stays. Why?"
The sage looked at him kindly. "Because you are drinking from a cup that
never fills, great king. The happiness that comes from the senses grabbing at
things they crave is real — but only for a moment. It is sweet at the lip and
bitter in the belly. Chase it, and you will spend your whole life thirsty."
"Then what should I do?" asked Vibhava.
"Do not despise pleasure," said the sage, "but do not lean your whole life
upon it. The joys that begin like nectar and end like poison cannot hold you
up. Seek instead the quieter joy that grows from a settled heart — the one
that is hard at first and sweet ever after."
The king was silent for a long time. Then, for the first time in years, he
set down his golden cup and did not call for more.