by Sivadasa
The minister’s son cheered him up again. ‘Do not despair,’ he said. ‘Padmavati is not in a condition to receive visitors, so we will send our messenger again after four days.’
The prince spent those four days in fretful waiting. Then the old woman was sent off to the palace once more. The moment she greeted Padmavati, the princess seized her and tied a thick rope around her neck. Then she had the old woman shoved out through the west gate of the palace.
The poor woman was quite fed up by now. This rough treatment was the last straw. She narrated her experience to the prince in the surliest manner possible. Buddhisena, however, thought hard over the incident and felt it held promise. ‘My friend,’ he told the prince, ‘you should go to the western gate of the palace tonight. Let’s see what happens.’
Vajramukuta could not wait for the night to come. The few remaining hours of the day felt like a hundred years. When the sun set, he dressed in his finest garments and headed for the western gate of the palace with Buddhisena. As soon as they reached, they found that instead of the princess, her attendants were looking out for Vajramukuta. They beckoned to him, and then hoisted the prince up into her room through a window, while his friend returned to their lodgings.
Vajramukuta and Padmavati were meeting for the first time. They greeted each other politely and inquired formally after each other’s health. Then Padmavati’s maids led the prince to a perfumed bath and laid out magnificent garments and jewels for him to wear. A sumptuous dinner followed. The evening went by in pleasant talk. Finally, the princess asked, ‘How fortunate, My Lord, that you could sense my feelings for you with such ease!’
Vajramukuta replied, ‘No, my beloved, it was my clever friend who interpreted all your messages.’
‘Oh, so it was like that? I am so happy to hear that you have such a devoted friend!’ replied the princess sweetly. ‘I must send a delicious dish for him in the morning.’
The prince went home quite pleased with the way things had gone. Enthusiastically he told his friend all about his visit to his beloved. ‘She says she will send a special delicacy for you in the morning,’ he ended, beaming.
Buddhisena had given careful ear. ‘So she plans to send a special dish for me?’ He smiled. ‘I expect poisoned laddoos will arrive shortly.’
The prince frowned at this. However, very soon, a maid arrived, bearing a beautiful salver full of laddoos. Buddhisena examined the laddoos. Then he picked one up and tossed it to a dog loitering nearby. The dog gobbled it up and, within moments, the poor animal had fallen to the ground, dead.
The prince was horrified. ‘What kind of a woman is she?’ he cried. ‘She wanted to kill you, my dearest friend! I will not have anything to do with her.’
Buddhisena tried to calm him down. ‘She is madly in love with you and cannot bear the fact that we are so close. Don’t forget how lavishly she entertained you,’ he said. ‘There’s another way to tackle this problem. Go to the palace again tonight and spend time with her. When she says it’s time for her to go to sleep, pretend to leave but stay hidden nearby. When she’s fast asleep, quietly take some of her clothes and jewels and make three marks on her left leg with your nails. Come and meet me in the cremation ground after that. I will be there in the guise of an ascetic.’
The prince did as his friend had suggested and, after grabbing the princess’s clothes and jewels, he made his way to the cremation ground. Buddhisena sat there in the lotus pose, eyes shut as if in meditation, his hair matted and coiled on his head. The prince handed over his loot to him. Buddhisena kept everything but handed the princess’s ring to him. ‘Go to the market and try to sell this.’
Vajramukuta went to a goldsmith and told him that he wanted to sell the ring. The moment the goldsmith set eyes on the ring, he frowned. ‘What is this? This ring belongs to our princess Padmavati!’ he cried. Immediately, he took the prince to the keeper of the royal treasury and reported that he was in possession of the princess’s jewellery.
The official took Vajramukuta into custody. ‘You do not look like a thief. You seem to be a warrior and are carrying arms. Where did you get hold of this ring from?’
As his friend had instructed, the prince said, ‘My guru gave it to me.’
‘Take me to your guru at once,’ said the keeper of the royal treasury. He accompanied the prince to the cremation ground and cross-questioned his so-called guru. ‘Tell me, O venerable sage,’ he demanded, ‘from where did you get this piece of jewellery? It bears the royal stamp.’
The ascetic replied, ‘This happened on the fourteenth night of the dark half of the month. I came across a group of yoginis here. They were making a circle of red flowers on the ground and performing some rituals. They placed a man inside the circle and, before my eyes, they tore him apart. I rushed towards them, brandishing my trident. Unnerved by my fury, they fled, but not before I managed to pierce one of them on her left leg with my trishul. In her terror, she dropped some of her clothes and jewels on the ground. I gathered them up.’
The keeper of the royal treasury immediately went and reported the matter to King Dantaghata. When he heard this, the king sent for the woman who was in charge of the ladies’ apartments. ‘Go and check the princess’s body for marks of any kind,’ he commanded.
The woman went and discovered three scratches on Padmavati’s leg. She came back and said, ‘Your Majesty, what the keeper of the treasury reported to you seems to be true.’ Then she added, ‘But please think carefully before you take any action. Such matters are best kept secret from the public.’
The agitated king turned to the keeper. ‘Go to that ascetic and ask him what kind of punishment such a deed deserves.’
The keeper went to the cremation ground and asked Buddhisena for guidance, who replied in solemn tones, ‘According to the laws of dharma, cows and Brahmins cannot be put to death, nor one’s own relatives, nor those we have broken bread with, nor those who have come to us for refuge. Where women are concerned, no matter how serious the crime, they cannot be executed. Exile is the only proper punishment.’
King Dantaghata immediately banished Padmavati from his kingdom without even bothering to question her and listen to her side of the story. Vajramukuta and Buddhisena appeared at the city gates and offered their help to the distraught princess. They took her back to Vajramukuta’s kingdom where the prince married her with much pomp and show.
In Karnakubja, however, everyone was sunk in grief. Padmavati’s father was so cast down with sorrow at this turn of events that he eventually died, mourning the loss of his daughter. Padmavati’s mother burned herself on his funeral pyre and followed him to the kingdom of Yama, the god of death.
* * *
After it had ended the story, the vetal asked, ‘O king, who do you think was at fault here? Let me warn you, if you know the answer and do not respond, your head will shatter into pieces!’
King Vikramsena recalled Kshantishila’s advice. But the vetal’s threat hung over his head. ‘There’s no question that it was King Dantaghata who was at fault,’ he replied. ‘He took such a serious decision without trying to investigate the facts of the case properly.’
Barely had he spoken, than the vetal flew off his shoulder to hang itself on the sinsipa tree again. The king had no choice but to follow it back, in order to fulfil his promise.
The Most Deserving Suitor
King Vikramsena trudged back to the sinsipa tree, hauled down the corpse, slung it on his shoulder and headed for the riverbank where Kshantishila was waiting.
Once again, the vetal began to speak. ‘Let me tell you another story, O king,’ it said.
* * *
There was a city called Dharmasthala, ruled by a King Gunadhipa. A Brahmin named Kesava lived in the city with his daughter, Mandaravati. She was of marriageable age, and so lovely that news of her beauty had travelled far and wide. No wonder then, that three young Brahmins, handsome and learned, worthy in every way, appeared at the same time to ask for her hand in marriage.
Kesava was in a quandary. How was he to choose between the three young men? ‘One daughter,’ he said to himself, ‘and three suitors. Each as deserving as the other. How can I choose one and reject the other two?’
While he was racking his brains, by chance, a black snake came slithering into his house and bit Mandaravati. Desperate to save his daughter, the horrified Kesava instantly sent for men expert at curing snake bites. However, each one of them proclaimed, ‘She cannot be saved. This species of black snake is highly poisonous. There is no cure for its bite.’
Before long, Mandaravati was tossing with fever, sweating and vomiting. After some time, her limbs became paralysed and her neck contorted. She lost the ability to speak, and very soon she stopped breathing altogether.
Weeping, Kesava took her body to the cremation ground and began performing the funeral rites. The grief-stricken suitors accompanied him. One of them was so overcome that, crying he couldn’t live without her, he threw himself on to her funeral pyre and burned himself to death. The second suitor built a little hut on the spot where she had been cremated and vowed to live there for the rest of his life, mourning her. The third decided to forsake all and became a wandering ascetic.
The ascetic travelled all over the country, begging for alms. In the course of his journeys he arrived at a certain city and stopped in front of a Brahmin’s house. It was time for the midday meal, so the householder said, ‘O holy man, please take a seat and eat with us.’
The Brahmin’s wife put down a mat for the ascetic to sit on, and began to serve him food. At that very moment, her child started crying loudly. Irritated, the woman picked up the child and threw him into the fire in a fit of fury. The ascetic sat there, aghast, unable to swallow a bite.
To his surprise, the Brahmin asked him, ‘Why are you not eating, O ascetic?’
The ascetic immediately replied, ‘How can I eat in a house where such devilish deeds are done?’
Hearing this, the father of the child rose and went inside the house. He brought out a book and read a mantra from it. Within seconds, the child sprang up alive and began playing merrily, as if nothing had happened.
The ascetic was dumbfounded. What amazing knowledge, he began to think. If I could only get hold of this mantra, I could bring my beloved Mandaravati back to life. He decided to hide in the neighbourhood and, at midnight, when everyone was fast asleep, he crept into the house and stole the book.
Straight away, he headed for the cremation ground where Mandaravati had been burnt. The suitor who was living there called out to greet him. ‘Friend,’ he asked, ‘you must have travelled to many places. Did you, by chance, obtain any new knowledge?’
‘Yes, I have learnt how to bring the dead back to life.’
‘Is that so?’ the other suitor jumped up, excited. ‘Why don’t you bring our beloved Mandaravati back to life then? Her ashes are lying there.’
The ascetic immediately opened the book and began to chant the mantra. He then sprinkled some water on Mandaravati’s ashes. Within minutes, she rose from the ground, perfect in form and as lovely as ever. The moment she came back to life, the suitor who had burnt himself with her sprang up, whole too.
No sooner than they had stopped marvelling at the amazing mantra, the three suitors began quarrelling among themselves, each claiming that he was the one who deserved to marry Mandaravati.
The poor girl was quite confused and did not know what to say!
* * *
‘Now tell me, O king,’ questioned the vetal, ‘which suitor has the rightful claim to be Mandaravati’s husband?’
‘The suitor who brought her back to life is like her father,’ replied Vikramsena. ‘The one who was reborn with her is like her brother. But the suitor who stayed at the spot she was cremated, mourning her, has the rightful claim to be her husband.’
To his dismay, the moment he finished speaking, the vetal leapt off his shoulder and flew back to the sinsipa tree to hang from its branch.
The Parrot and the Myna
The patient Vikramsena set off to the sinsipa tree once again and picked up the dead body. And the same routine followed. The vetal began to speak. ‘Listen, O king,’ it said, ‘I will tell you another story to pass the time.’
And it began its narration, without waiting for the king to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’.
* * *
A king named Rupasena ruled over the city of Bhogavati. He owned, among various other objects that added to the splendour of his magnificent palace, a parrot named Vidagdhachudamani. As its name implies, this parrot was a creature that possessed extraordinary knowledge, and the king would often converse with it on various topics.
One day, King Rupasena asked, ‘Sir Parrot, can you tell me which fields of knowledge you have mastered?’
‘Your Majesty,’ replied the parrot with a toss of his head, ‘my knowledge extends to each and every field of learning.’
‘If that is so, surely you can tell me if a woman exists who will be the perfect match for me,’ said the king.
‘Definitely there is one such, Your Majesty,’ replied the parrot without batting an eyelid. ‘There is a king named Magadhesvara, who rules over the land of the Magadhas. He has a daughter, Surasundari. She will be the right wife for you.’
Interestingly, in the land of Magadha, the princess addressed the very same question to her pet myna, Madanmanjari. ‘Can you tell me, dear myna, if a man exists who will make the perfect husband for me?’
‘Your Highness,’ said the bird, ‘there is indeed such a man. King Rupasena, who rules over the city of Bhogavati, would be the perfect husband for you.’
The princess’s interest was immediately aroused and she fell in love with Rupasena without setting eyes on him.
In the meantime, King Rupasena sent some eminent nobles as ambassadors to Magadha to present his proposal to Magadhesvara. They were escorted to the king by his minister of war and peace, and they courteously conveyed the king’s proposal to marry Surasundari.
Magadhesvara was pleased with the idea and immediately agreed. When an auspicious date was fixed, King Rupasena arrived with a magnificent procession, and the ceremony was performed with all the splendour of a royal wedding. When the princess left for her marital home, her pet myna naturally went with her.
Intrigued by the way things had turned out, Rupasena had a large cage built and put Madanmanjari in it along with Vidagdhachudamani. When the parrot set eyes on the lovely myna, he fell in love with her right away. ‘My dear one,’ he said, ‘let us get married and enjoy the days of our youth, which will not last long. You know, it is said that it’s better to choose love over money-making or performing good deeds.’
The myna did not take kindly to his proposal. ‘I cannot think of falling in love with a man,’ she replied in a chilly voice. ‘Men are evil, they kill women.’
‘No, it is women who are worse,’ replied the parrot, stung. ‘They are false, greedy and deceitful, and murder men without pity.’
The argument became more and more heated, and the king overheard them fighting bitterly. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked. ‘Why are the two of you squabbling like this?’
The myna was the first to speak. ‘Your Majesty, I am telling him that I cannot imagine falling in love with a man. Men are full of bad intentions and they kill women. I can tell you a story that’ll prove my point:
‘In the city of Elapuram lived a man named Mahadhana. He was the president of the merchants’ guild and had a son called Dhanaksaya. This young man was married to the daughter of Udbhata, the president of the merchants’ guild in the city of Punyavardhana. After marrying her, he left her in her father’s house and returned to Elapuram.
‘After some years, his father passed away and Dhanaksaya inherited all his wealth. But he was given to bad habits, such as gambling, and soon lost all his money, and even the mansion his father had left for him.
‘Now that he was penniless, he thought of visiting his father-in-law. After enjoying
the hospitality of his in-laws for several days, he told them that he wished to take his wife home. Udbhata agreed readily. Dhanaksaya suggested that his wife adorn herself with all the expensive jewellery she possessed, and the two of them set off.
‘Almost halfway through the journey, when they had reached a lonely spot, he said to her, “Dear one, this place is very dangerous. Please take off your precious ornaments, lest they attract thieves. I will take care of them.” His trusting wife did as he suggested.
‘The wicked Dhanaksaya then pulled off her expensive outer garments as well and pushed her into a dry well. After that, he hurried away to his own city.
‘His poor wife wept bitterly and cried out for help whenever she heard anyone passing that way. Her calls reached the ears of some travellers. They rescued her and guided her back to the road. Once she had recovered from the shock and thought the matter over, she decided it was best to return to her father’s house but not to disclose the truth.
‘Her parents were naturally quite astonished to see her. “What happened?” they asked. “And why have you come back alone?”
‘“Some robbers attacked us,” she said, sobbing. “They took all my jewels and carried my husband away. Somehow, I managed to escape and ran all the way here. I don’t know what happened to my husband. I fear they might have killed him.”
‘Her parents were horrified when they heard this, but did their best to console her.
‘Meanwhile, in Elapuram, the wicked Dhanaksaya soon gambled away his wife’s jewellery. After it was all gone, he decided to go back to his father-in-law’s house to try and wheedle some money out of him. When he arrived, he was stunned to find his wife living there, looking quite hale and hearty. He could not help but wonder how she had managed to escape from the well. And he was gripped by the apprehension of what he would do if she disclosed the truth.
‘As he stood there, pale and trembling, his wife came up to him. “Have no fear, dear husband. I have forgotten all. Come inside!”