Listen, O King!

by Sivadasa

  The little prince Vikramaditya thrived and grew into a well-built boy. In due course, King Gandharvasena had the necessary rituals performed for his son—the hair-cutting ceremony and the investiture of the sacred thread. He found the best teachers to train him in the art of warfare—fencing, archery and wrestling—as well as to teach him the scriptures and tutor him in the sciences and the arts.

  The prince was still very young when his father passed away. He performed all the funeral rites as instructed and, on an auspicious day, ascended the throne. The tilak—the mark of kingship—was placed on his forehead, and the crown, on his head. The citizens paid him homage as the new king, and he began to discharge his duties faithfully.

  Meanwhile, the other two boys had grown up and begun to work with their fathers. One day, the potter’s wife said to her son, ‘My boy, you are becoming a man. It is time you knew that you were born under unusual stars.’ And thus she narrated the incidents of his birth to him. The young man’s eyes opened wide when he heard about the astrologer’s prediction.

  ‘So . . . it is possible that I can become the king and rule over the earth?’ he cried out, excited.

  ‘That’s what was predicted,’ said his mother. ‘That one of you will slay the other two and become all-powerful.’

  The potter’s son jumped to his feet. ‘Why did you take so long to tell me?’

  He ran off without waiting for his mother’s reply. ‘What a destiny!’ he said to himself. ‘I just have to finish off the oil merchant’s son and the king. Then all power will be mine. The astrologer’s prophecy will be fulfilled!’

  After much thought, he came up with a scheme which he felt would work perfectly. It will be easier to deal with the oil merchant’s son first, he thought. He tracked the boy down and became friends with him. He brought him a small gift every day, and when he had gained his trust, he said, ‘Dear friend, we are performing a ritual and I need to gather wood for the sacred fire. Will you come to the forest to keep me company?’

  ‘Of course,’ replied the oil merchant’s son. ‘Nothing will give me more pleasure.’

  The potter’s son lured him to a desolate part of the forest. And when the unsuspecting boy had his back turned, he swiftly slipped a noose over his head and tightened it. Then he hung him from a sinsipa tree. After that, he slipped into the city, careful to use a path different from the one they had taken earlier.

  When the oil merchant’s son did not return, a search party was sent to the forest—they found his corpse hanging from the sinsipa tree. Suspicion naturally fell on the friend who had taken him there.

  The matter was reported to the king, and he sent his guards to arrest the murderer. But the potter’s son had got wind of what was happening, and by the time the guards reached his house, he’d already fled to a far-off land. The king ordered for his possessions to be confiscated, banished his parents for harbouring a murderer and had his house razed to the ground.

  King Vikramaditya was reassured that he had got rid of a dangerous criminal and believed that all was well in his kingdom now.

  The Ascetic’s Visit

  King Vikramsena, also known as Vikramaditya, was ruling over the beautiful and prosperous city of Pratishthanpura. A powerful and respected monarch, he had strong armies under his command. Bards sang his praises, saying:

  Gloriously bright, like a million suns, is the king,

  Blinding as brilliant flashes of lightning,

  He sits on a wondrous lion-throne

  Surrounded by a reverent band of ministers,

  Glowing with beauty like the god of love;

  And beloved by his people like Lord Shiva,

  Unwavering as the ocean, he maintains the bounds of law,

  Protecting the good and punishing the evildoer

  Is always the king’s highest duty and endeavour.

  To serve his subjects unfailingly, the king ensured he was available in his court at all times.

  One morning, a naked, skull-bearing sadhu arrived at the hall. He held a glistening bilva fruit in his hand, which he presented to the king after greeting him with the words, ‘I am called Kshantishila, Your Majesty.’

  Vikramsena bade him welcome and accepted the fruit graciously. He offered the yogi a seat and asked him to have some paan and supari. The yogi took it and sat there for a short while, then he took his leave and went his way.

  The next day, he appeared again with the fruit and presented it to the king. To the king’s surprise, he turned up the day after that as well. This went on for twelve years.

  The king was too courteous to ask him why he came every day with the bilva fruit, and the yogi never requested the king for any favours either. Then one day, as the king was accepting the fruit, it slipped from his hands and fell to the ground. Vikramsena’s pet monkey pounced on it and broke it open. To the surprise of the whole court, a brilliant ruby rolled out. It was so dazzling that everyone rushed forward to take a look and comment on it.

  As for the king, he sat there for a few moments, thunderstruck. Then he addressed the yogi. ‘You are an ascetic, sir. Why are you gifting me such a valuable jewel?’

  The naked mendicant replied, ‘Listen to me, O king, it is written in the great books:

  When you visit a king,

  A physician or a teacher,

  A child or an astrologer,

  You must not go empty handed;

  A gift of fruit bears its own fruit.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ he continued, ‘I have been coming here for twelve years, and every day I’ve placed a fruit in your hands that contained a gem as valuable as this one.’

  Astounded at hearing this, the king sent for the royal storekeeper. ‘My good man,’ he said, ‘you know that this ascetic has been offering me a bilva fruit every day for the past several years. What have you done with them?’

  ‘I’ve been putting the fruits away in the storeroom, Your Majesty, along with all your other gifts,’ replied the storekeeper.

  ‘Bring them all here,’ the king ordered.

  Obeying the king’s commands, the storekeeper immediately went and brought all the fruits, which had mostly rotted. A gleaming gem clattered to the floor as each was broken open. The king was overcome at the sight, as were all the courtiers.

  Vikramaditya’s eyes widened in disbelief as he gazed at the heap of jewels in front of him. ‘O yogi,’ he cried, ‘you have given me priceless treasure. These jewels are brilliant beyond imagination. I am a king, and yet it is not in my power to repay the value of even one of these. What can I do for you in return for this magnificent present?’

  The mendicant replied, ‘Your Majesty, as the wise Brihaspati said, any matter that relates to a ruler, even a petty one, should not be discussed in public. A wise man never broadcasts his secrets to the whole world. For this reason, I would prefer to talk to you in private.’

  The king asked everyone to leave, and the yogi then disclosed his wish. ‘Your Majesty,’ he said, ‘on the fourteenth day of the Krishna paksha, the period of the waning moon, I wish to perform certain rites at the cremation ground situated on the banks of the river Godavari. Once I complete those rites, I will attain the eight siddhis. This means I will gain the ability to become:

  minute as an atom,

  huge as a mountain,

  light as air,

  heavy as a rock,

  invisible when I wish.

  ‘I will be able to:

  fulfil all my desires,

  bend anyone I wish to my will,

  become lord of the whole world.

  ‘If a man, who is the bravest of the brave, assists in these rites, even a weak and ordinary person can vanquish death itself. I have journeyed through many lands but not found anyone as courageous and sincere as you. Therefore, I pray that you agree to assist me in these powerful rituals. You will have to come all alone, dressed in dark clothes, and armed only with your sword, on the fourteenth night of the waning moon.’

  ‘I have already given you my wor
d,’ said the king. ‘I promise to be there on the fourteenth night.’

  The ascetic left satisfied, saying he had to prepare for the rites he intended to perform.

  On the fourteenth night of the Krishna paksha—the amavasya, believed in lore to be one of the most dreadful, eerie nights—King Vikramsena donned dark-coloured garments and set off for the burning ground, carrying only his sword.

  He found the yogi waiting there. The man sprang to his feet the moment he saw the king approaching. He seemed to be in a state of uncontrollable excitement. ‘You have kept your word, O valiant king!’ he exclaimed. ‘I cannot tell you how important this is for me. Now please listen carefully to what I have to say. About eight miles from here, there is a vast cremation ground. When you reach it, you will see a corpse hanging from the branch of a sinsipa tree. You must carry it back here. But beware, do not reply if it speaks to you, because the moment you do, it will return to the tree.’

  It was a disgusting task for a king—to carry a corpse on his shoulder. But Vikramaditya was bound by his word. He set off stoically, undaunted by the horrors of the cremation ground. The huge burning ghat was shrouded in smoke, and bones bleached white lay in heaps. Bloody organs were strewn everywhere, as were skulls, used as goblets by ascetics who haunted such sites to participate in various gruesome rituals.

  It could well be described as death’s playground. In some places, the darkness was so deep that Vikramaditya could barely see where he was going. The wild shrieking of spirits filled the air and the flames that flared up from the pyres coiled like whips thrashing evil demons. It seemed as if Time, the great destroyer, was performing the dance of death, decked in garlands of entrails that the vultures had plucked from the corpses. The wind howled eerily, like it was whistling through hollow bones, and there was a horrific jangling sound, as if formidable yoginis were tramping up and down. Ghouls and ogres thronged the place, their mouths red with blood and their faces flushed with drink. Indeed, the sight of lopped-off limbs and rows of skeletons was enough to turn the bravest man’s stomach. At another spot, it seemed as though the battle of Kurukshetra was being fought all over again. Worse still, spectres of demons like Khara and Surpanakha lurked in the shadows, along with Ravana and his cohorts. An ominous roaring added to the sense that the world was coming to an end.

  The intrepid king walked through these terrible scenes without flinching, till he reached the sinsipa tree and saw the corpse hanging. It was a hideous sight—its skin dark blue, with its hair standing up on its head, eyes staring, and the flesh shrivelled on its frame.

  Vikramaditya calmly climbed the tree and cut away the rope from which the body hung. But the moment he touched it, the corpse let out a blood-curdling shriek and leapt on to a higher branch. Startled, the king clenched his teeth and followed it up the tree. The corpse, however, led him a merry chase—flitting from branch to branch—until finally, with superhuman effort, the king managed to grab it firmly with both his hands. He quickly pulled it down, placed it on his shoulders and set off, retracing his steps towards the riverbank.

  A being known as a vetal had taken possession of the corpse and it began to speak.

  ‘Hear me, O king,’ it said. ‘You have worked hard to capture me, and your journey back is a long one. As you know, there are many ways to pass time. The knowledgeable devote it to the delights of poetry or the physical challenges of the martial arts. The unwise and ignorant, on the other hand, waste it in sleep, making mischief or indulging in evil deeds. But what use is good fortune without self-control? It’s as pointless as possessing the gift of winning speech without real intelligence. So, listen to this story with which I’ll entertain you on the way.’

  The Mysterious Messages

  The mighty king Pratapmukuta ruled over the great city of Varanasi. He had a son named Vajramukuta.

  One day, the prince decided to go hunting. Along with his friend Buddhisena—the minister’s son—he rode deep into a dense forest. They had a wonderful time pursuing their favourite sport. And as they raced their horses through the forest, at midday, they suddenly came upon a clearing with a lake. It was a mesmerizing sight.

  Wild geese and mallards flocked on its surface, along with bright-feathered sheldrakes. White lilies and red lotuses added their colours, while the round leaves and stems of the lotus spread a green mesh across the water. Creatures like fish and turtles thronged it. And trees stretched a charming canopy of leaves over it. Screw pines clustered at its edge like an ornamental border. Bees buzzed incessantly, drawn by the scent of the kadali blossoms. The chirping of the gallinules, loons and peacocks set up an enchanting clamour, mingling with the call of partridges that feed on moonbeams. The sweet cooing of koels added its melody, which, along with the sight of sarus cranes and various water fowl, created a most delightful scene.

  The prince and his friend dismounted with cries of delight and washed their hands and feet in the lake. Soon they noticed a small shrine dedicated to Lord Shiva. Immediately, they entered and paid homage to the god.

  While the prince sat there, engrossed in worship, a young woman happened to come to the lake with her companions. After bathing, she entered the shrine to perform rituals in honour of the goddess Gauri. Just as she was leaving, her eyes fell on Vajramukuta, who looked up to meet her gaze. In that instant, they fell passionately in love with each other.

  Too bashful to speak, the maiden decided to convey her feelings through gestures. She removed the lotus she wore in her hair and put it behind her ear. After that she placed it between her teeth, then held it against her heart. Finally, she put it under her foot. After performing this mime, she departed. The prince simply sat there, overcome.

  His friend, the minister’s son, noticed his state. ‘What’s the matter, dear friend?’ he asked. ‘Why do you look so stunned?’

  The prince cried out, ‘My dear Buddhisena, didn’t you see that bewitching girl? I have no idea who she is and where she comes from. The only thing I know is that unless I marry her, I’ll die. These are not idle words. I am determined.’

  ‘My good friend,’ replied Buddhisena, ‘did she say or do anything that might provide us a clue? Anything that might help us find out who she is?’

  Vajramukuta looked at his friend wide-eyed with astonishment. ‘She did not utter a single word. How will we find out who she is?’

  ‘Hints and gestures, the expressions on one’s face, all convey a person’s thoughts,’ said Buddhisena. ‘An intelligent man can interpret them easily. So now tell me if she did anything unusual.’

  ‘All right, I’ll describe her actions, though I couldn’t understand them at all. She removed a lotus from her hair and placed it near her ear. Then she held it between her teeth. After that she held it against her heart. Finally, she placed it beneath her foot. And then she left. Now what can you make of this?’ asked the prince.

  Buddhisena remained silent for a while. Then he said, ‘I think when she took the lotus from her hair and placed it next to her ear, she was telling you the name of her city—Karnakubja; “karna” means ear, and “abja” means lotus. When she bit it, she was saying that she is the daughter of Dantaghata, which means “bite”. When she placed it on her heart, she was expressing her feelings for you—saying, “You live in my heart.” And when she put it under her foot, she was telling you her name—Padmavati.’

  The prince sprang up, beside himself with excitement. ‘Let us go there right away!’ he cried. ‘If I can find her, I will have reason to live, otherwise I’ll die of misery. Let’s go. I refuse to swallow a morsel of food till I find her.’

  Immediately, the two headed for the city of Karnakubja. When they reached, the first thing they came across was a hut, just off the road, where a yogini lived.

  Vajramukuta rushed to her. ‘Old mother,’ he asked, ‘have you always lived in this city?’

  ‘Indeed I have,’ the woman replied.

  ‘Does a princess named Padmavati live here?’ the prince questioned her eagerly.


  ‘Indeed she does,’ said the old woman. ‘She is the daughter of King Dantaghata. I know her well and visit her every day.’

  ‘In that case, you must go and meet her today,’ Buddhisena requested. ‘We wish to convey a message to her and would be very grateful if you could deliver it.’

  ‘All right,’ said the old woman. ‘I will help you.’

  Following his friend’s instructions, Vajramukuta quickly braided a garland of flowers, handed it to the old woman and said, ‘Please present this to Padmavati and tell her that the prince she met at the lake is here in the city.’

  The old woman set off for the palace. She gave the garland to Padmavati and relayed the prince’s message. When Padmavati examined the garland, she took note of the way it had been woven, and immediately guessed what the message was. All the same, she acted as if she was very annoyed. She dipped her hand in sandalwood paste and slapped the old woman on both cheeks.

  ‘Don’t you dare come and say such things to me ever again!’ Padmavati yelled. ‘If you do, I’ll have you put to death. Get out now!’

  Shocked, the old woman hurried back to the prince. The moment he saw the look on her face, Vajramukuta paled. When the woman told them about the princess’s strange reaction, he was beside himself with anxiety. ‘What do you think this means, dear friend?’ he asked Buddhisena.

  ‘There is no need to be downcast,’ the minister’s son reassured him. ‘When she slapped the old woman and imprinted her face with light-coloured sandal paste, she meant to say, “Come after ten days, when the Krishna paksha is over.”’

  Ten days passed, and the old woman was sent to the palace again. This time, the princess dipped her hand in a paste of red saffron and slapped the old woman’s cheek with three fingers and threw her out.

  When Vajramukuta set eyes on her, he clutched his head dejectedly. ‘What am I to do, my friend? Is this the day I give up my life?’ he moaned.