Listen, O King!

by Sivadasa

She took the king to a pool and, with the help of her powers, they were transported back to his kingdom.

  The minister was happy to see the king, and immediately made arrangements to celebrate Janavallabha’s return with his new bride. There were all kinds of festivities, the auspicious chanting of Vedic hymns, songs of praise performed by bards and musicians, and the beating of five kinds of drums. The people of the city came to greet and present gifts to the newly-weds.

  Several days went by in this way. And finally, Sundari said to her husband, ‘O king, I think it’s time I went and paid my respects to my father.’

  ‘You are welcome to do that,’ replied the king.

  Sundari tried to recall the incantations she was well versed in, which would lead her back to her homeland. To her surprise, she had forgotten them all.

  ‘I can’t seem to remember my spells,’ she said to the king.

  ‘How did that happen?’ he asked.

  ‘I think once I married you and began to live like a human, I lost all my divinity,’ she said unhappily. ‘That’s the reason I’ve lost my powers.’

  The king’s joy knew no bounds. He sent for Prajnakosa and said, ‘My dear minister, I have wonderful news. My celestial spouse will stay with me forever. How fortunate I am that I have an efficient minister like you to take care of the government! Please organize another grand celebration, will you?’

  The words came as a terrible blow to Prajnakosa, and he cursed himself for not foreseeing what might happen when he told the king about the Wishing Tree. However, he congratulated the king politely. ‘That is truly wonderful news,’ he said. ‘Please accept my best wishes. I will prepare for another round of festivities.’ He left with a heavy heart to perform his duties.

  Once the revelries began, he took leave of the king, saying he wasn’t feeling well. He returned home and, the moment he entered his house, he fell on his bed, dead of a broken heart.

  * * *

  ‘Tell me, O king, why did the minister fall down dead as soon as the festivities began?’ asked the vetal.

  The king lost no time in responding. ‘Prajnakosa was a jewel among men. He was learned, honest and dedicated. He possessed patience and self-control, and performed his duties sincerely, without any self-interest. The king should have valued his services. The moment Prajnakosa realized that the king was completely besotted with the queen, with little concern for his kingly duties, his heart broke. He knew that when a ruler stops caring about the welfare of his subjects, their plight becomes like that of unprotected orphans, and the kingdom is headed towards certain destruction.’

  The vetal, however, was already making its way to the sinsipa tree, and the patient King Vikram followed, determined to keep his promise to the yogi.

  Who Is Guilty?

  No sooner had the king placed the corpse on his shoulders and set off, than the vetal began another story.

  * * *

  In the city of Chudapura ruled King Chudamani. His royal priest was a man named Hariswami. A man with extraordinary qualities, he was as handsome as Kamadeva, the god of love; as learned as Brihaspati, the teacher of the gods; and he possessed riches comparable to Kubera, the god of wealth himself. His wife, Lavanyavati, was as lovely as her name implies—the maiden with the beauty of a lustrous pearl. The two were very much in love with each other.

  One summer night, as they lay fast asleep on their terrace, a vidyadhara happened to be flying through the sky in his chariot. His eyes fell on the slumbering Lavanyavati, and he was bewitched by her beauty in an instant. Diving down, he plucked her from her bed and carried her off to his palace.

  Hariswami awoke to find his wife missing. Distraught, he searched every corner of his mansion, wondering, What could have happened to her? Could someone have taken her away?

  He hunted for Lavanyavati throughout the city, but could not find any trace of her. Broken-hearted, he returned home, crying, ‘My beloved wife, where have you gone? You were as devoted to me as I am to you. Oh . . . can you hear me where you are? You know I love you more than life itself!’

  Hariswami fell on his bed, weeping and lamenting, even calling to the breeze that might have touched her, to give him a clue. Overcome with despair, he began to feel that life had no meaning any longer. ‘What use is my existence without my lovely Lavanyavati?’ he wailed. ‘If I don’t have her by my side, what else is there for me to do but cast off my fine garments for a holy man’s tattered clothes and thumb my prayer beads by the Ganga?’

  He then donned an ascetic’s robes and, abandoning his home, set off on foot wandering without a destination. By noon he had reached another city. He made a bowl for himself out of palasa leaves and began to beg for alms. As he trudged along, he reached the house of a Brahmin, and the lady of the house heard his call: ‘Kind people, give alms to an ascetic!’

  She poured some kheer into his bowl. Hariswami accepted it gratefully. Then he came to a banyan tree, and placing his dish in its shade, he went to wash his hands and feet in a nearby pool.

  A large snake lived in a hollow of the tree and some venom happened to drop from its jaws into the bowl of kheer. The unknowing Hariswami returned and ate the kheer. Within minutes, the poison began to spread through his body. Shivering in reaction to the venom, he tottered to the Brahmin’s house, somehow.

  ‘Lady,’ he said in a choked voice, ‘you have poisoned me!’ The words were barely out of his mouth when he fell down dead at her door.

  The woman’s husband was horrified. Without thinking twice, he pushed his wife out of the house, crying, ‘Get out! You wicked woman, you murdered a Brahmin!’

  His innocent wife fell to the ground in a heap, not knowing why she was being punished.

  * * *

  ‘Now tell me, O king, who is guilty here?’ the vetal asked King Vikram.

  ‘Whom can you blame?’ the king answered. ‘The snake dropped venom into the bowl of kheer, but you can’t say it was guilty, because snakes are, by nature, venomous. The Brahmin lady gave the kheer to Hariswami out of the goodness of her heart. It’s her husband who’s at fault. For charging his wife with murder before examining the matter properly.’

  The king had spoken, and so the vetal returned to its tree once more. King Vikram promptly followed. He had to fulfil his promise, no matter how wearisome the ordeal.

  The Girl Who Wanted to Marry a Robber

  Vikramaditya repeated his old routine—hauling the corpse down from the tree, then making another attempt to carry it to his destination. But the vetal wouldn’t stay silent! It began another story.

  ‘Listen, O king,’ it said. ‘You’ll find this interesting.’

  * * *

  A king named Randhir, which means ‘steadfast in battle’, ruled over the city of Chandradarshanam. Dharmadhvaja, a wealthy merchant, was one of its prominent inhabitants. He had a young daughter called Kshobhini, a maiden of such unparalleled beauty that it dazzled even the sun.

  It so happened that a band of robbers was causing mayhem in the city. Fed up with their pillaging, a group of prominent men got together and approached the king. ‘Your Majesty,’ they said, ‘these robbers have destroyed law and order and are driving the city towards ruin. We humbly beg you to take care of this menace before the worst happens.’

  ‘I have taken note of your appeal,’ said the king. ‘They will not trouble you any longer.’

  Right away, he recruited a large number of guards to patrol the city on their chariots. But the robbers had become so brazen that they continued their looting, undeterred.

  The agitated citizens petitioned the king again. ‘This time, I will personally take charge,’ King Randhir reassured them. ‘I will take rounds of the city all by myself and make sure I am present at the city centre at midnight. Let’s see how these impudent ruffians keep up their nefarious activities.’

  True to his promise, the king left his palace in disguise and headed for the heart of the city. On his watch there, he noticed a man prowling around. ‘Who are you, my good
fellow?’ he asked in a low voice.

  ‘I am a robber,’ the man replied boldly. ‘And who may you be?’

  ‘I, too, am a robber,’ said the king.

  ‘What a stroke of luck!’ exclaimed the criminal. ‘Shall we loot the city together, my friend?’

  The two roamed through the city, holding up people all night. And when it was close to daybreak, the robber led King Randhir out of the gates. ‘Let me put my spoils away safely,’ he said.

  When they were a short distance from the city, they came upon a dry well. The robber entered it and beckoned the king to follow. The well turned out to be the entrance to an underground mansion. The robber, however, did not invite the king inside but asked him to wait at the door.

  While he stood there waiting, a maid appeared. She started at the sight of the king and asked him in a whisper, ‘My Lord, what are you doing in this evil place, this den of thieves? Please leave before you meet your death here.’

  ‘I do not know how to get out of this place,’ replied the king. The helpful girl showed him the way out and Randhir returned to his palace.

  He lost no time in mustering his forces and led them to the dry well. Once they had surrounded the robbers from all sides, the king called out to them to surrender. Instead, the bold robber-chief emerged with his whole band and attacked the royal army.

  The ferocious and well-armed robbers swarmed around the king’s troops and massacred a large number of foot soldiers, along with those mounted on horses and chariots. Finally, to halt the slaughter, the king challenged the robber-chief to single combat. A fierce wrestling match ensued. Using all his skills, with immense effort, King Randhir succeeded in knocking the robber-chief down to the ground. He immediately called for ropes and bound him, hand and foot.

  The robber-chief was paraded through the streets of the city, to the beat of drums—the custom when a criminal was about to be executed. All the inhabitants turned up to see the man who had struck such terror into their hearts. ‘Look, here’s the villainous robber who plundered our city so mercilessly!’ was the cry, as they pointed to the trussed-up criminal.

  Kshobhini was standing on the terrace of her father’s mansion to watch the spectacle. When the robber passed by, overcome with curiosity, she leaned forward to get a better look. Something about the man touched her heart. All of a sudden, she could not bear the thought that he would be put to death. She rushed to her father and pleaded, ‘Dear father, I beg you to save this man at any cost! I want to marry him. Please, if you love me, go to the king and offer him as much money as you can to let him go free.’

  Dharmadhvaja was shocked. ‘What are you saying?’ he scolded her. ‘Don’t you have any sense? This man has been holding the city to ransom. A number of the king’s soldiers were killed in the attempt to capture him. How can you beg me to ask the king to spare him?’

  ‘Dear father,’ Kshobhini cried, ‘if you do not try to save this man, I will kill myself.’

  Stunned and heartbroken, Dharmadhvaja now had no choice but to plead before the king. He went immediately. ‘Your Majesty,’ he said, ‘I humbly implore you to let the robber-chief go free. I will pay you a hundred thousand gold pieces for his life. My unfortunate young daughter has fallen in love with him and says she will kill herself if he is executed.’

  ‘What kind of request is this?’ the king cried, outraged. ‘This man terrorized the whole city, he finished off the best men in my army, and you ask me to let him go free? I will never do that.’

  Dharmadhvaja had to return home and inform his daughter that there was no way to save the robber. ‘The king will not agree for all the money in the world,’ he said.

  Word of Kshobhini’s strange request spread like wildfire. The guards holding him captive told the robber, too, about the beautiful girl who was making desperate attempts to rescue him from the jaws of death. Upon hearing this, the robber first burst into tears, then he burst into laughter. And then, all of a sudden, he dropped dead.

  The city was already abuzz with talk, and in no time, news of the robber’s death reached Kshobhini. She immediately announced that she would mount the funeral pyre with him and sent for firewood. Then she dressed up in bridal finery. When the robber’s dead body was placed on the pyre, she took his head in her lap and asked that it be lighted.

  At that very moment, a voice rang out from the sky. ‘Daughter, your courage has pleased me immensely. I want to grant you a boon. Ask for whatever you wish!’ It was the mother goddess.

  At once, Kshobhini said, ‘Great mother, if you are indeed pleased with me, I beg you to restore this man to life, unscarred, just as he was. And please let me become his wife.’

  The goddess sent for the elixir of life from the underworld, and as soon as it was administered to the robber, he sat up alive. He married Kshobhini and took her to live with him in his underground mansion, and, touched by her devotion, he abandoned his old ways.

  * * *

  ‘What do you think, O king?’ asked the vetal. ‘When he heard about Kshobhini’s efforts to set him free, why did the robber weep and then laugh, just as he was about to die?’

  The king had an answer ready. ‘When the robber heard that a man was ready to part with all his wealth to save him, a reviled criminal, he wept. And at the thought of the rich merchant’s daughter, determined to snatch him from the jaws of death in order to marry him, he laughed, because women can go to great lengths to save even a man who is not worth their efforts.’

  Vikramaditya had given a truthful reply, but there was a price to pay. The clever vetal flew away, and the king had to tramp to the sinsipa tree all over again.

  Two Magic Balls

  The patient king hauled the corpse down from the tree and set off. But, as usual, the vetal was in no mood to be quiet. ‘Listen, O king,’ it said. ‘I have yet another interesting story to divert you on your way.’

  * * *

  King Suvichar ruled over the city of Kusumavati. He had a daughter named Chandraprabha, who had just reached marriageable age.

  The spring festival arrived and, as always, she went to the groves for the celebrations. While she was picking sweet-scented flowers with her companions, a young Brahmin named Vamanaswami arrived there too, quite by chance. They looked at each other, and in one glance they’d both decided that they liked what they saw—the two young people fell madly in love. But just then, the princess’s companions called out to her and she had to return to the palace, though she was loath to leave.

  Vamanaswami was overcome with gloom and lay on the grass, thinking about the lovely young woman who had stolen his heart and gone away.

  Muladeva and Sasi, two tricksters, also happened to be passing by the groves. Muladeva’s eyes fell on Vamanaswami lying sprawled on the ground. He nudged his friend and said, ‘Look at the state this fellow is in, Sasi! He doesn’t seem to be in his right senses. I suspect he is enamoured of some young lady.’

  ‘What is the matter, good sir?’ he asked Vamanaswami, winking at Sasi. ‘What has reduced you to this pitiful condition?’

  ‘What is the point of asking?’ replied the Brahmin. ‘Can you put me out of my misery? One should share one’s troubles only with someone who is able to end them. The truth is that I have many reasons to be unhappy. If you really wish to help, you could assist me in gathering firewood for my pyre.’

  ‘My young friend,’ Muladeva said in a kindly voice, ‘I can see you are a Brahmin. Don’t contemplate such actions. Why don’t you share your sorrows with me? I will try to ease them.’

  Muladeva’s sympathetic words encouraged Vamanaswami to confide in him. ‘My situation is hopeless, kind friend,’ he said. ‘I have fallen in love with the princess and can’t dream of marrying another woman. How can there be any relief for me? Tell me, do I have any option but to do away with myself?’

  ‘Why do you think there is no woman other than the princess for you?’ said Muladeva. ‘Forget her. I will give you such a large sum of money that you will be able to find
the most beautiful woman on earth.’

  ‘What use is wealth, without the company of the person you love?’ replied Vamanaswami. ‘Without the princess, my existence is meaningless. I will never be able to marry her, so it’s better to die!’

  ‘If that is the case,’ said Muladeva, ‘I will help you get to the princess.’

  He produced a tiny ball and told Vamanaswami, ‘Open your mouth and place this ball inside it.’

  When he did that, he was transformed into a pretty, young girl. Then Muladeva put another small ball in his own mouth and changed into a dignified-looking Brahmin.

  The two set off for the palace. Muladeva was able to get an audience with the king, and when the king invited him to take a seat, he blessed him benignly, saying, ‘May the mighty Lord Hanuman protect you from any kind of danger.’

  ‘Where do you come from, venerable Brahmin?’ asked the king.

  ‘Your Majesty, I live on the banks of the river Ganga,’ Muladeva replied. ‘I have a young son, and when my wife pressed me to, I arranged for his marriage, travelling to far-off places in order to find a suitable bride. Some time after the wedding, my son sent his wife to her parents’ place, as is the custom. After four months had gone by, my wife said, “Please go and fetch our daughter-in-law back because it is an auspicious time for her to return now.” I was bringing her back to our village, when I found that it was being looted. There was utter pandemonium, people were fleeing left, right and centre, and I couldn’t locate my wife and son. Now that law and order has broken down completely, my village is not safe for this pretty, young girl to accompany me while I search for my wife and son. I request you to let her stay here, in the palace, under your protection, Your Majesty.’

  The king considered the matter and, fearing that the Brahmin might curse him if he did not agree, he replied, ‘Of course, revered sir. Please leave her here. She will be absolutely safe in the palace.’

  Muladeva departed, pleased with his work.