by Sivadasa
‘Welcome to my palace, noble king,’ she said tenderly. ‘I will fulfil any wish of yours, be it right or wrong. Please ask for whatever you want.’
King Gunadhipa answered, ‘If you really mean what you say, dear lady, I earnestly request you to marry this man, my retainer.’
‘How can you expect me to do that?’ the woman exclaimed in dismay. ‘I have already given my heart to you. Is it right that you ask me to marry another man?’
‘Have you forgotten what you said to me?’ replied the king. ‘You said you would do whatever I wanted, whether it was right or wrong. If you are a woman of your word, you will marry this man. I am deeply indebted to him and this is the only way I can repay him.’
She thought for a moment, then said, ‘All right. Just as you wish.’ The Rajput warrior and the beautiful lady got married there, exchanging garlands. He then escorted the king back to his kingdom.
* * *
‘Here’s the question for you, O king,’ said the vetal. ‘Who do you think is the nobler man—the king or the Rajput who served him?’
‘The Rajput warrior,’ was King Vikram’s answer.
‘What makes you say that?’ said the vetal, disagreeing. ‘Didn’t the king show great nobility when he passed up an opportunity to marry the fairy princess? He had no need to surrender her to his retainer.’
‘Didn’t the Rajput rescue the king when he was lost in the forest?’ came King Vikram’s prompt response. ‘He saved his life even though he had reason to be bitter at his lack of employment. King Gunadhipa was simply discharging the debt for the two amla fruits.’
But giving the right answer meant that the vetal had slipped out of the king’s hands. Vikramaditya had to repeat the laborious task of fetching it all over again.
Madanasena’s Promise
No sooner had King Vikramaditya hoisted the corpse on to his back than the vetal began another story.
‘Dear king, you know I cannot keep silent when I have so many interesting tales to tell,’ it said. ‘So listen now!’
* * *
In the prosperous city of Madanapuram, where King Madanavira reigned, lived a rich merchant named Hiranyadatta. He had a daughter called Madanasena. On the day of the spring festival, the madanotsava, this young woman went with her friends to the beautiful woods that were clustered in the heart of the city, to take part in the celebrations and worship the god of love.
Now, a young man named Dharmadatta, the son of another wealthy merchant, Somadatta, had come there, too, with his friends. The lovely Madanasena was enjoying the festivities, when Dharmadatta’s eyes fell on her, and he took an instant fancy to her. This is the girl I want for my wife, he thought. If I can marry her, then I will want for nothing in life.
All night, he kept deliberating over how to approach the maiden’s family with a proposal. These thoughts preoccupied him so much that as soon as he awoke, he headed to the the woods, the place where he had first seen her. When he saw Madanasena there, all alone, gathering flowers, it was like an answer to his prayers.
He hurried towards her, full of hope. ‘Beautiful maiden, please agree to be my wife. If you do not, I promise I will kill myself right here, in front of your eyes.’
‘I am deeply flattered by your proposal, young sir,’ Madanasena replied, with downcast eyes. ‘But I beg you, do not do anything rash. I am promised in marriage to a well-born and wealthy man, the son of the great merchant Amadatta. The ceremony will take place just five days from now.’
‘Is that true? No, I cannot bear it! I cannot let that happen!’ Dharmadatta clutched his head in despair. ‘I will carry you off right away.’
Madanasena turned pale with fear. ‘Please do not even dream of such a thing!’ she pleaded. ‘You seem to be an honourable man, from a good family. And you know our king comes down hard on such offenders. If you even lay a hand on me, you will be punished as a criminal.’
‘That may be so,’ Dharmadatta replied. ‘But what is right or wrong? Even the gods are known to have abducted beautiful young women.’
‘I agree that such things have happened.’ Madanasena tried to placate him. ‘However, I request you to be patient. My father’s honour is very important to me. Once I am married, I will tell my husband about your attachment. Let us wait to see what he has to say. I promise, I will come and see you again.’
Dharmadatta was mollified, and Madanasena returned to her house safely. Five days later, she was wed. And when she was alone with her husband, she said, ‘Dear husband, there is something I need to tell you.’ Then she went on to narrate the incident that had taken place in the woods.
Her husband listened carefully and thought it over. ‘You swore to that young man that you would go and see him again,’ he said. ‘I don’t think you should break your promise.’
Madanasena set off in the dead of night to fulfil her promise to Dharmadatta. It so happened that a robber was prowling the streets that night. The sight of Madanasena, still decked in her wedding finery, made his eyes gleam with excitement. Am I dreaming or is there actually a woman adorned in fine jewellery passing by? What a stroke of luck! I won’t need to work for a month after this.
He crept up to her immediately. ‘O lovely lady, where are you going at this hour, all alone?’ he asked. ‘Don’t you have any good sense? Are you totally without fear?’
‘I am going to meet the man who loves me so much that he is ready to give up his life,’ Madanasena replied. ‘I’m not afraid because the god of love, Madana himself, walks beside me to protect me.’ Then she told the robber of all that had transpired.
Upon hearing her story, the robber underwent a change of heart. How lovely she looks! he thought. I would be the lowest of creatures if I robbed her of her jewels while she is on her way to meet the man who loves her so devotedly.
Instead, for her safety, he decided to escort her to Dharmadatta’s house.
When Madanasena appeared before Dharmadatta, dressed in her wedding finery, he started in surprise. ‘Is this divine beauty I see before me? An apsara from Indra’s court, or a yakshini, a wood spirit? Perhaps you are a nymph who flies by night or a vidyadhari—a fairy. Who are you, wondrous damsel? Where have you come from?’
‘I am Madanasena,’ the girl replied, taken aback at his reaction. ‘The daughter of the merchant-prince Hiranyadatta, the same girl you met in the city woods and wanted to carry off. I am the same girl who promised to come and meet you again.’
Dharmadatta stared at her for a while, dumbstruck. ‘What did you tell your newly-wed husband?’ he asked.
‘I told him everything,’ Madanasena replied.
‘I cannot profess love for another man’s wife,’ Dharmadatta replied, shaking his head. ‘It is not morally right. Your husband seems to be a righteous man. Please go back and be a good wife to him.’
Madanasena turned and left without a word. The curious robber was waiting outside, keen to know how the story would end. Madanasena told him what had just happened. Impressed, he showered praise on her for keeping her promise. Then he gallantly escorted her back to her husband’s home.
All this while, her husband had been waiting anxiously. He was overjoyed to see her return unharmed. When she told him about her meeting with Dharmadatta, he could not find enough words to extol her courage and fidelity. He commended Dharmadatta, too, for behaving like an honourable man.
* * *
‘Now tell me, O king,’ asked the vetal. ‘All three men treated Madanasena decently. But who is the most honourable among them? The husband, Dharmadatta or the robber?’
‘The robber, without a doubt,’ replied the king.
‘Why do you say that?’ the vetal questioned him.
‘The husband was decent because he let her go, thinking she was in love with another man. Dharmadatta let her go because he was afraid of violating the law of the land. The robber had no reason to spare her other than his innate kindness. That is why I say that he is the noblest of them all.’
The momen
t he’d received his answer, the vetal flew away—back to the sinsipa tree.
Three Delicate Queens
The king followed the vetal, wondering when this would end and when he would be able to fulfil his promise to Kshantishila. Stoically, he lifted the corpse from the tree and slung it over his shoulder. But how could the vetal remain silent? It began to narrate another story, and a very strange one it was.
* * *
A king named Dharmadhvaja ruled over the city of Punyavardhana, which was located in the Gauda lands.
When the spring festival arrived, the king celebrated it according to custom. He ventured out to the woods with his three queens, to enjoy the pleasures of nature. Soon they reached a large, beautiful lake resplendent with blooming lotuses. The queens were enchanted by the sight.
One of the maids ran to the lake and plucked a lovely lotus and presented it to the eldest queen. The flower happened to slip from her hands and fall on the queen’s feet. The moment it touched them, blue streaks began to appear on the queen’s slender, prettily arched feet decorated with jewelled toe-rings and anklets. She let out a little cry, saying, ‘Oh! How it hurts.’ Frightened, the maid immediately brushed away the flower and ran to get a soothing balm. It took some time for the queen to find relief, but she remained upset and expressed a wish to return to the palace and rest.
The king commanded his guards to escort the eldest queen back to the palace. However, he was so captivated by his lovely surroundings that he said he wanted to wait and view the reflection of the moon in the lake, and so the whole company picnicked there till evening. Soon, the moon rose and shone its beams on the water, brushing the waves with silver. While the king exclaimed at the sight, the second queen cried out in pain.
‘What’s wrong, my dear?’ asked the king.
‘Look! Look at these blisters springing up all over my skin!’ she wailed.
The maids were sent running to fetch another balm and escort the second queen back to the palace where she would be safe from the moonbeams.
‘I hope you are all right, my dear,’ said the king to his third queen.
In response, she began to blow on her hands. ‘That sound, that sound!’ she cried. ‘It’s hurting my hands. They’re aching. I can’t bear it!’
‘What sound?’ asked the king, a little irritated that his beautiful evening had been interrupted again.
One of the maids spoke up, sounding hesitant. ‘Your Majesty, someone seems to be pounding a pestle somewhere in the distance.’
The pleasure trip had to be brought to a hurried end as the third queen was rushed back too.
* * *
‘Now what do you think, O king?’ asked the vetal. ‘All three queens were unusually delicate, you’ll agree. Who would you say was the most sensitive?’
‘The third one,’ the king replied without a moment’s hesitation. ‘The flower fell on the eldest queen’s feet. The moonbeams touched the second queen’s body. But the pestle was being pounded at a distance—it was merely the harsh sound that hurt her hands.’
‘You spoke,’ said the vetal. ‘And off I go, back to my tree!’
The king groaned in frustration. But what choice did he have? He hurried after the vetal to bring it back. Again.
The Girl on the Wishing Tree
A lesser man would have lost his temper by now. But King Vikramaditya was the very embodiment of patience. Without a word, he repeated the same actions—catching hold of the corpse, placing it across his shoulders and making his way through the burning grounds, towards the sadhu waiting for him.
‘I have only told you ten stories so far,’ the vetal chuckled. ‘I am sure you are ready for some more. Listen then!’
* * *
In the city of Gunapura ruled a king called Janavallabha, and he had a minister named Prajnakosa.
The king was beginning to get fed up of the responsibility of governing his kingdom. He found it increasingly tiresome to see to the welfare of his subjects, to dispense justice and enforce law and order. What is the point of being a king when I’m always busy with these boring duties and have no time left to enjoy life? he thought. I have an efficient minister. Why don’t I entrust all my responsibilities to him? He’ll do a good job and leave me free to pursue the pleasures of life.
Having made up his mind, he summoned the minister and told him to take over the governance of the realm. Prajnakosa agreed and began to handle all the king’s duties. But the day came when his wife, Lakshmi, said to him, ‘You look so tired and careworn these days. What is troubling you?’
‘Well, there is good reason,’ Prajnakosa replied. ‘His Majesty has placed the burden of administering his kingdom entirely on my shoulders. There is so much to take care of that there’s no time for me to even draw breath, at times.’
‘You will ruin your health if you go on like this,’ Lakshmi said, worried. ‘Why don’t you tell the king that you would like to go on a pilgrimage? He cannot refuse such a request. That way, you will get some respite.’
‘That’s a good idea.’ Prajnakosa’s face brightened immediately.
He went to the king and said, ‘Your Majesty, your service is of the greatest importance to me, but there are some religious duties I cannot neglect any longer. Please grant me leave so I can go on a yatra.’
The king had no choice but to let him go, and Prajnakosa set off. After visiting several places of worship, he reached the holy city of Rameswaram. He had finished offering his prayers and was sitting on the seashore, watching the waves, when a wondrous sight left him dumbfounded.
A tree began to rise from the ocean. Its roots were made of gold, and its branches sprouted corals. They glittered with enormous rubies too, dazzling the eye. As if that were not astounding enough, there was a beautiful lady seated on a couch on top of the tree. She was reclining against brocaded cushions and plucking the strings of a lute as she sang a melodious tune.
‘As you sow, reap you shall,
It’s your actions, great or small,
Whether god, demon or mortal,
Powerful or weak, fate rules all.
In your previous life you sow the seeds
Good or bad, you pay for your deeds.’
As the minister watched, open-mouthed, the song came to an end and the enchanted tree, along with the lady, sank into the waves and vanished.
Having completed his pilgrimage, Prajnakosa returned home. He went and paid his respects to the king. He narrated all his experiences, and when he told the king about the bewitching damsel on the magic golden tree, Janavallabha was captivated.
‘I must go and see this marvel for myself,’ he cried. ‘Dear Prajnakosa, please take charge of the kingdom again. I want to leave for Rameswaram right away.’
At Rameswaram, having offered prayers, Janavallabha sat on the seashore and waited for the wondrous vision that his minister had told him about. Sure enough, after some time, the Wishing Tree rose from the sea with the beautiful damsel singing in her melodious voice. Without another thought, the king plunged into the water, swam to the tree and climbed it before it could descend. And when it did so, he found himself in patal, the underworld.
The lady stepped down from the tree and asked him, ‘What brings you here, brave warrior?’
The king replied, ‘I saw you rise from the ocean and lost my heart to your beauty. That is why I have followed you here. Will you marry me?’
‘Is that so?’ the lady replied. ‘You seem like a worthy husband for me. I will marry you . . . but on one condition. You must not come near me on the fourteenth day of the waning moon.’
‘Is that all?’ asked the king. ‘I promise not to disturb your privacy on that day.’
The two got married. They were living together happily, when the fourteenth day of the dark-half of the month arrived. ‘Remember your promise,’ the damsel told the king. ‘Do not come anywhere close to me today.’
‘All right,’ said the king, ‘I won’t.’ But his curiosity had been aroused. He hid
in her room with his sword drawn to see what would happen. As he kept careful watch, a frightful ogre suddenly appeared and advanced towards his wife. He swallowed her up whole, before the horrified king could react.
Janavallabha dashed out of his hiding place, yelling, ‘You evil creature! You prey on innocent women! I will not let you get away. Come and face me, I’m not afraid of you!’
He plunged his sword into the monster’s stomach and his wife emerged, whole and unharmed.
‘You saved me from that monster!’ she cried. ‘What a great deed you’ve performed, my brave husband! You are a rare jewel.’
‘I could not bear to see the ogre devour you,’ replied the king. ‘But tell me, does this happen every fourteenth day of the Krishna paksha? And why?’
‘I am the daughter of a vidyadhara,’ replied his wife. ‘My name is Sundari. My father doted on me so much that he wouldn’t eat anything unless I was by his side. One day, I did not notice the time pass, and failed to appear when it was time for his midday meal. My father flew into a rage and cursed me, saying, “Because you were so thoughtless, on every fourteenth day of the waning moon, an ogre shall swallow you whole.”
‘Terror-stricken, I begged him, “Dear father, you have every reason to curse me for this lapse. But I deeply regret my mistake. Will you not soften the curse with your blessings?”
‘My father’s temper had begun to cool, and he proclaimed, “Your curse shall be lifted the day a brave mortal comes and slays the ogre.” You, my bold warrior, have delivered me from that awful curse. I will be eternally grateful to you. I must now go to the land of the vidyadharas and kneel at my father’s feet.’
When he heard this, Janavallabha said, ‘If you truly appreciate what I did for you, I entreat you to come to my capital city and see my kingdom. You can go and visit your father after that.’
‘All right, it is a fair request,’ Sundari replied.