Listen, O King!

by Sivadasa

  ‘She led him into the house with great affection. All her family members were delighted to see that he was alive and embraced him with great warmth.

  ‘Dhanaksaya enjoyed their hospitality for many days. Udbhata, being a wealthy man, had bought more expensive ornaments for his daughter, as befitted her status as a married woman. One night, however, while she was asleep, the wicked Dhanaksaya stabbed her with a knife. He removed all her jewellery and ran away, back to his own city.

  ‘Your Majesty, I saw all this with my own eyes,’ said the myna. ‘This is why I say, men are evil creatures.’

  When he heard this, the parrot immediately said, ‘Horses and elephants and goats, wood and stone and cloth, we know they are all different. Even water drawn from two sources will be dissimilar. It is the same with men and women.’

  ‘All right, Sir Parrot,’ said the king. ‘Why don’t you tell us about women’s bad qualities?’

  ‘A man named Sagaradatta was the president of the merchants’ guild in the city of Kanchanapuram. His son, Sridatta, got married to the daughter of Samudradatta, who was the president of the merchants’ guild in the city of Sripura. After the wedding was solemnized, the young man brought his bride back to his father’s home. When some time had passed, Sridatta made plans to embark on a journey to distant lands, for the purposes of trade. His wife was escorted back to her father’s house, while Sridatta collected the goods he needed to sell.

  ‘Sridatta was away for a long time, as happens in such journeys. Lonely and restless, his young wife would go up to the terrace of her father’s house and watch the royal highway, longing for her husband’s return.

  ‘One day, a handsome young man happened to pass that way. The two exchanged glances and were attracted to each other. With the help of a garland-maker—a woman who was quite friendly with the young wife—they began to meet in secret.

  ‘Soon after, however, Sridatta returned from his travels and arrived at his father-in-law’s house to take his wife home. But she did not want to go back with her husband now. When he tried to talk to her, she was cold and distant. The moment he fell fast asleep, exhausted from his journey, she crept out of the house to meet her lover. A robber happened to catch sight of her, all decked up and adorned with fine jewels. Intrigued at the sight of a woman out by herself at night, dressed in her best, he began to follow her.

  ‘Now, the royal guards had killed the woman’s lover—when they saw him prowling around in the dead of the night, they took him for a robber.

  ‘When the young wife arrived at their meeting place, she found him stretched out on the ground, lifeless. But she could not bring herself to believe that he was dead. She shook him hard, then offered him paan, supari and other delicacies, attempting to rouse him. The robber watched her, full of wonder.

  ‘A yaksha, a spirit of the woods, happened to be sitting on a tree nearby. On a mischievous impulse, he entered the dead body. The girl was overjoyed, thinking that her lover had woken up. The yaksha kept up the pretence for a while, then he bit off her nose and vanished.

  ‘Soaked in blood, the young wife went to her friend, the garland-maker, and told her what had happened. “It would be best to return home and sit by your husband’s side, crying loudly, ‘Oh, look what this man has done to me!’” advised the garland-maker.

  ‘The young wife thought it a good idea and hurried home. She sat down beside her sleeping husband and began to wail and shriek. All her family members came running to her room and were horrified to see her with her nose bitten off.

  ‘“What have you done, you cruel man?” they shouted. “Why did you mutilate this poor, innocent girl so brutally? What has our daughter done to deserve this?”

  ‘Stunned, the unfortunate son-in-law just did not know what to say. His in-laws dragged him to the royal halls of justice, and the magistrate on duty sentenced him to death for the heinous crime of disfiguring his wife. However, when the ill-fated man was being led to the gallows, the robber who had witnessed everything appeared and cried out, “Honourable sirs, please listen to what I have to say. This man is being punished unjustly.” He narrated the whole incident to them—each and everything he had seen that night.

  ‘The magistrates heard him out. Astonished and troubled, they discussed the case again. Finally, they set the husband free and pardoned the robber. As for the deceitful young woman, she was made to sit on a donkey and was driven out of the city.’

  The parrot ended his story with the remark: ‘Your Majesty, this is what women are like.’

  And before the king’s eyes, the two birds—the parrot and the myna, shed their feathers and changed into vidyadharas, celestial beings. In a blaze of light, they flew away and ascended to the abode of the gods.

  * * *

  The vetal now posed its question to King Vikram: ‘Tell me, King, between men and women, who has the greater tendency to perform evil deeds?’

  ‘Women,’ said Vikramaditya, ‘because they are usually not taught to discriminate between good and evil the way men are.’

  The words were barely out of his mouth when, once again, the vetal took off for the sinsipa tree, leaving the king gazing after it.

  The Devoted Servant

  Stoically, the king followed the vetal and took down the corpse from the tree. And once again, it began to speak. ‘Listen, O king, this is a very tedious task you are engaged in. So I will tell you another story to entertain you on your way.’

  * * *

  King Sudraka ruled over the prosperous city of Vardhamana. A righteous ruler, he was ever willing to give ear to his people’s problems. One day, taking his seat in the court, he said to his chamberlain as usual, ‘Please check how many are waiting outside the door.’

  The chamberlain went out and returned to tell the king, ‘Your Majesty, there is a swarm of petitioners at the door. They sit there patiently like oxen, covered with dust, soaked in sweat, weary and worn, waiting for you to give them audience.’

  ‘Send them in, one by one,’ ordered the king.

  The petitioners filed in and made their pleas. Among them was a noble warrior from the southern lands. When it was his turn, he said, ‘My name is Viravara, Your Majesty. I have come to seek employment with you. I promise to serve you faithfully, unto death.’

  ‘What salary are you expecting?’ the king asked him.

  ‘Your Majesty, I expect to be paid a thousand gold coins a day,’ Viravara replied.

  Thinking that the man had a large entourage, King Sudraka inquired, ‘And how many elephants, horses and foot soldiers do you need to support?’

  ‘Your Majesty, there are only four people in my family. My wife, a son, a daughter and I,’ Viravara answered. ‘There is no one else whom I need to provide for.’

  All the people present in court—noble princes, ministers, heroic warriors and other courtiers—laughed loudly when they heard this. The king was mystified too. Why is this man asking for such an enormous amount? he thought. Then it struck him that he might justify his salary one day.

  After he had reflected over the matter sufficiently, the king sent for the royal treasurer and directed him: ‘Kindly pay Viravara a thousand gold coins daily.’

  Each day, when he received his salary, Viravara would first offer some to the gods, some to Brahmins, to bards and musicians, strolling players, dancers, storytellers, jugglers and other entertainers. He would give some to the poor, the blind and lame, to lepers and others in need. Only after that would he buy provisions for his family and sit down to a meal. Every night, he stood guard outside the royal bedchamber, armed with his sword. And whenever the king called out—even in the middle of the night—‘Who stands at the door?’ Viravara would reply, ‘It is I, Viravara.’

  As is quite common, the rich order their servants around—‘Come here!’ ‘Go there!’ ‘Sit down!’ ‘Stand up!’

  It is indeed a fact that a servant cannot eat in peace or speak when he pleases, express his views freely or even sleep without a care. He has to be ca
reful not to offend. Silent though they may be before their masters, such men often indulge in idle gossip and lack the courage to be frank because they cannot displease their masters. Thus, even the wisest of sages cannot gauge their true feelings. But was Viravara such an individual? There was no way the king could be sure. All he knew was that he was dutiful.

  One night, the king heard the sound of a woman weeping pitifully. It seemed to be coming from the cremation ground. He called out, ‘Who is at the door?’

  Viravara replied as usual. ‘It is I, Viravara, Your Majesty!’

  ‘Do you hear a woman weeping?’ asked the king.

  ‘Indeed, I do,’ Viravara replied.

  ‘Then go, find out what troubles her, and come back and tell me at once,’ said the king.

  Viravara headed towards the cremation ground immediately. Little did he know that King Sudraka was following him in disguise, cloaked in the dark.

  Sure enough, at the burning ghat, he came upon a woman lamenting piteously. She was decked up in rich garments and dazzling jewellery, but her long hair flowed over her back unbound. She was running back and forth in a frenzy, crying loudly, but without any tears visible on her face. ‘What a terrible thing!’ she moaned. ‘What sins have I committed? What misery is in store! My whole body trembles when I think of it!’

  Astonished at the sight, Viravara asked, ‘Who are you? And why are you mourning in this pathetic manner?’

  ‘I am Rajyashree,’ replied the woman. ‘The king’s glory.’

  ‘What is the reason for your sorrow, Rajyashree?’ Viravara questioned her.

  ‘The goddess is offended. This means that three days from now, our beloved King Sudraka will draw his last breath and join his ancestors. I will lose my lord and become a widow. How can I not be overwhelmed with sorrow?’

  ‘This is terrible news indeed,’ Viravara said, stunned. ‘I am a loyal servant of King Sudraka. I beg you to tell me, since you have knowledge of this looming disaster, do you also know of a way to save His Royal Majesty and grant him a hundred years of life?’

  ‘There is a way, my good man,’ replied Rajyashree. ‘If you cut off the head of your own son and sacrifice it to your guardian goddess, the king can enjoy a hundred years of existence.’

  Viravara did not waste a moment and hurried home at once. He woke up his wife and told her about his strange experience. ‘My beloved,’ he said affectionately, ‘you are a wise and virtuous woman and very dear to me. You can well understand what is required of me as a loyal servant to King Sudraka. You know how highly he rewards my services, how he has provided for us so generously. As a benevolent and just ruler, his life must be saved for the good of his subjects, no matter how enormous the cost to us. To do that, I have to sacrifice our son, the boy we adore. But how can I continue to live after putting my own child to death? I beg you, please leave for your father’s house and seek shelter there, before I perform this terrible act.’

  ‘Father and mother, brother and son, they’re all very dear to me,’ replied his wife. ‘They have given me much. But no one can compare with you, my husband. You are my only refuge. I will not leave you, even in death.’

  Their son had woken up and overheard his parents’ conversation. ‘If my death will guarantee our noble king a life of a hundred years, please do not delay, dear father,’ he said. ‘I will have no regrets. What is my petty existence worth compared to that of a just ruler like King Sudraka?’

  The sound of their voices travelled to Viravara’s daughter as well. She, too, offered to give up her life with the rest of her family. When they had discussed the matter fully, they set off for the temple of their guardian deity.

  King Sudraka followed them secretly, marvelling at how the whole family had supported each other in their devotion to him.

  Viravara prayed to the goddess and then took up his sword, saying, ‘O great goddess! Accept this sacrifice of my son by my own hands and grant our king a hundred years of health!’

  He struck off his son’s head and placed it at the feet of the goddess. Overcome with sorrow, his daughter stabbed herself with a dagger. Her mother followed suit. Seeing his entire family dead, Viravara said, ‘What use is it to serve the king for a thousand gold pieces now? Those for whom I was earning are no more in this world.’

  He, too, cut off his head with his sword.

  King Sudraka had stood by and watched it all. Overwhelmed by the tragic sight, he thought, How could I allow this terrible thing to happen? Everyone in this family has given up their lives for my sake. But is my kingdom worth this sacrifice? Why didn’t I stop Viravara in time? I need to atone for this crime.

  He drew his sword too and was about to sever his head from his body when he heard a voice. ‘Sudraka, my son! Your courage and compassion have pleased me greatly. I grant you a boon. Ask for whatever you wish.’

  Sudraka fell to his knees before the idol of the goddess. ‘Great goddess! If my actions have pleased you, I beg you to bring Viravara and his family back to life.’

  ‘So it shall be!’ the goddess’s voice rang out again. She sent the elixir of life from the underworld, and when it was administered to the four corpses, they rose, one by one, as if waking from a deep sleep.

  The king stole away to his palace and Viravara took his family home.

  According to his usual practice, King Sudraka appeared in his court at sunrise. Viravara presented himself there as usual.

  ‘Viravara,’ asked the king, ‘did you find out why that woman was weeping last night?’

  ‘Your Majesty,’ said Viravara, ‘a man can find a generous and kind master through his good deeds, a master who can recognize merit when he sees it. But it is not so easy to find a servant who is not only honest and able but will defend his king no matter how high the cost.’

  When he heard this, King Sudraka rewarded Viravara for his devotion with half his kingdom.

  * * *

  The story completed, the vetal posed its usual question to the king: ‘Who is the most noble among all these characters, O king?’

  ‘The king, without doubt,’ replied Vikramaditya.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ questioned the vetal.

  ‘Viravara was doing his duty as a servant,’ the king answered immediately. ‘A king, however, is not obliged to sacrifice his life for his servant. Sudraka showed true nobility when he valued Viravara’s sacrifice more than his kingdom.’

  Having received his response, the vetal flew off King Vikram’s shoulder to return to its tree.

  Who Should Marry Mahadevi?

  The tenacious King Vikramaditya made his way back to the sinsipa tree. He lifted the dead body from the tree and placed it on his shoulder. As he started towards his destination, the vetal said, once again, ‘O persevering king, I’ll tell you another story to lighten the burden of your journey.’

  * * *

  King Mahabala ruled over the famous city of Ujjaini. A man named Haridasa was his minister of war and peace. Haridasa had a beautiful daughter, Mahadevi. She was old enough for marriage, which meant that Haridasa was preoccupied with the task of finding her a suitable husband. In fact, his daughter had requested him: ‘Please wed me to a man who possesses the most sterling qualities, dear father.’

  In the course of his work, Haridasa went on a mission to the court of a monarch who ruled a country that lay in the south.

  While he was in the capital city of that land, a young Brahmin approached the minister. ‘Greetings, noble sir,’ he said, ‘I have heard you have a beautiful daughter and are looking for a match for her. Please be kind enough to consider me a suitor.’

  ‘I am very honoured by your proposal,’ Haridasa replied politely. ‘But I have decided to marry my daughter to a man who possesses exceptional talents.’

  ‘Well then, I am the man for you,’ said the young man confidently. ‘I am indeed endowed with extraordinary abilities.’

  ‘I am a stranger in this city and have no way to verify your claim,’ was Haridasa’s response
. ‘You will have to provide some evidence to support this assertion.’

  ‘That is easily done,’ boasted the Brahmin. He showed Haridasa an unusual chariot which he had built. ‘This is no ordinary chariot,’ he said. ‘It can fly and take you to any place you wish to travel to.’

  ‘All right,’ Haridasa said. ‘Come tomorrow to my lodgings with this chariot and we will see what it can do.’

  The suitor arrived with the chariot, as he had promised, and Haridasa asked him to carry him back to Ujjaini. He was highly impressed, when, after the two of them had taken their seats, the chariot rose into the air and transported them to Ujjaini.

  In the meantime, however, another young Brahmin had approached Haridasa’s son in Ujjaini, saying, ‘I hear you have a sister of marriageable age. I am very keen to make her my wife.’

  The girl’s brother put forth the conditions. ‘Good sir, seeing that my sister is considered a great beauty, we will only marry her to a man who possesses outstanding and unusual qualities.’

  The suitor immediately replied, ‘I am one such. I possess great skill in the magical arts.’

  ‘If that is true,’ said the brother, ‘then you are the right man. I accept your proposal.’

  And as if this wasn’t enough, another young Brahmin came to Mahadevi’s mother and put forward his suit. ‘I beg you to give me your daughter’s hand in marriage,’ he said with utmost courtesy. ‘I will make her an excellent husband.’

  ‘You are aware, though, that we have some conditions?’ replied the mother. ‘We will not wed our lovely daughter to just any man. Only a man who can demonstrate some exceptional skills will be considered worthy of her.’

  ‘Well, I am blessed with a unique ability,’ said the young man. ‘No archer can claim to be my equal. I can shoot and hit my target just from its sound, without needing to see it.’

  ‘That is indeed a remarkable talent,’ Mahadevi’s mother replied with a smile. ‘You are the right man for my dear daughter.’