by Sivadasa
‘As you suggest, dear friend,’ Mitravasu agreed. He turned and took the path that led to his palace, while Jimutavahana walked on ahead. All of a sudden, he heard a woman wailing, ‘My son, O my poor son!’
Startled, Jimutavahana halted. He looked around. When he could not see anyone, he began to track the sound. It led him to a woman, crouched on the ground and weeping bitterly. ‘What is the matter, mother?’ he asked. ‘Why are you lamenting?’
‘I am weeping for my son Sankhachuda, who is to die today. Soon, Garuda will come and devour him,’ the lady wailed. ‘O my son, my poor son! Why were you chosen to die?’
Moved by her grief, Jimutavahana immediately said, ‘Wipe your tears, mother. Your son will not die. I will offer myself to Garuda in his place.’
‘What are you saying?’ the woman cried. ‘I cannot allow a great person like you, the prince of the vidyadharas, to sacrifice his life! No, not even to save my beloved son.’
That very moment, the doomed son, Sankhachuda, arrived on the scene. He overheard Jimutavahana. ‘How cheerfully you are offering your life to save mine! You are a unique person, O prince,’ he said admiringly. ‘Men like me exist by the thousands, there is hardly anyone as selfless as you. I cannot let you perish for my sake.’
‘I agree that it is natural for all living beings to try and preserve their lives,’ Jimutavahana argued. ‘But I have already sworn to be your substitute in this sacrifice. I cannot break my promise. Go home, Sankhachuda.’
Sankhachuda was forced to agree. But he did not go home. He went to a temple nearby and began to pray.
After throwing away all his weapons, Jimutavahana went and lay down on the sacrificial rock, face down.
Barely had he done so, when the sound of colossal wings shook the air. It was Garuda. An enormous being, his wings spanned the whole universe, while his feet reached the underworld. He reached out and picked up Jimutavahana in his huge beak. Then he clutched him in his claws and began to devour him while he circled the sky.
While he was doing this, the jewel Jimutavahana wore on his head fell to earth, straight into Malayavati’s lap. She recognized it at once. Shocked to see it covered in blood, fearing the worst, she fainted. But after a while, she recovered her senses and immediately rushed to his parents to show it to them.
At the sight of the blood-stained jewel, they began to wail. When he recovered his wits, King Jimutaketu used the magic powers all vidyadharas possessed, to trace his son’s whereabouts. Then he, the queen and Malayavati hurried to the sacrificial rock.
Sankhachuda had reached there too. ‘Let him go, O Garuda!’ he cried, horror struck. ‘You have taken the wrong man. I am your prey, the serpent. Not he!’
His words reached Garuda. The mighty bird paused, filled with an awful sense of apprehension. At once he dropped Jimutavahana to the ground. What sin have I committed?’ he thought. Am I devouring a young Brahmin or a royal prince by mistake?
‘Tell me who you are, young man?’ he asked Jimutavahana. ‘Why were you lying prostrate on the sacrificial rock?’
‘Go ahead and complete your task,’ Jimutavahana replied. ‘How does it matter who I am?’
‘O noble young man,’ Garuda cried, ‘why are you giving up your life to save another’s?’
‘Trees provide shelter for others and brave the sun themselves, they provide fruit which others eat,’ Jimutavahana responded with great difficulty. ‘Rivers exist to slake others’ thirst rather than their own. Only unthinking beasts live for themselves alone. To live for the welfare of others, to die to save another, is the highest reward for any man. It is complete bliss!’
Jimutavahana lay on the ground, pale and lifeless, close to death. His blood had drained from his body through the wounds Garuda had inflicted on him with his sharp beak. Malayavati began to wail pathetically. ‘O my beloved husband! The light of my life, can there be anyone as noble and self-sacrificing as you? But why didn’t you have mercy on me, your wife?’
Hearing her, Garuda was overcome with pity. He immediately flew to the underworld and brought back the elixir of life. He spread it over the prince’s body and soon, Jimutavahana sat up, his wounds healed and not a scar on his body.
‘O virtuous young man!’ Garuda cried. ‘You are brave and large-hearted beyond compare. Your commitment to your principles has pleased me so much that I wish to grant you a boon. Ask what you will!’
‘Mighty Garuda, if you are indeed pleased with me, all I ask is that you give up devouring the serpents and restore life to those whose bones lie here,’ Jimutavahana begged with folded hands.
‘Large-hearted as ever,’ Garuda said. ‘You asked for nothing for yourself. I promise not to prey on the serpents again.’ He brought more of the elixir and sprinkled it on the heap of bones, reviving all the dead serpents.
Then Garuda announced, ‘O noble Jimutavahana, I bestow this blessing upon you! You will rule over the earth as its supreme sovereign!’
Garuda left, winging his way back to his abode, and Sankhachuda headed home along with the other serpents. Jimutavahana, too, returned with his parents and wife to his hermitage.
But how could Garuda’s blessing remain unfulfilled?
When the news spread, the vidyadhara relatives who had usurped Jimutaketu’s kingdom hurried to the Malaya mountains, terrified of Garuda’s fury. They fell at Jimutaketu’s feet and begged him to return and occupy his throne.
* * *
‘Now tell me, O king,’ said the cunning vetal, ‘who had a larger heart? Jimutavahana or Sankhachuda?’
‘Sankhachuda was definitely more magnanimous,’ the king declared.
‘Why do you say that?’ the vetal quizzed him.
‘Sankhachuda did not need to return to the sacrificial rock. He could have gone his way and stayed safe,’ said King Vikram. ‘He risked his life when he called out to Garuda, telling him he had the wrong man.’
‘But what about the noble Jimutavahana? He did not need to give up his life for another, surely?’ the vetal argued.
‘Jimutavahana was born again and again on this earth, and each time, he sacrificed his life to save another’s,’ the king persisted. ‘It was his practice, thus nothing new for him. That is why I say that Sankhachuda was the more magnanimous.’
The king had spoken. The vetal did not wait a minute longer but sped through the air towards the sinsipa tree. King Vikram followed.
Fatal Beauty
The king repeated the same action—took down the corpse, hoisted it on to his shoulder and headed towards the riverbank. He had barely taken a few steps when the vetal began, ‘I have another story to tell you, O king!’
* * *
A wealthy merchant named Ratnadatta lived in the city of Vijayapuram, which was ruled by King Dharmashila. Ratnadatta had a daughter called Unmadini, which means ‘the enchantress’. True to her name, she possessed such extraordinary beauty that anyone who set eyes on her fell immediately under her spell.
Her father was eager to get her married. He first approached the king. ‘Your Majesty, I have a young daughter who is lovely beyond compare. If it pleases you, I would like to offer her hand in marriage to you. If not, I’ll look for another match.’
The king said, ‘I cannot make such a decision in a hurry. Let me consult my advisers first.’
He sent for men who were renowned experts at judging a woman’s beauty, and asked them to go and make sure if Unmadini was truly as lovely as her father had claimed.
These aesthetes visited Ratnadatta’s mansion and, when Unmadini appeared before them, they were all dumbstruck. The girl possessed all the qualities considered the hallmarks of good looks in a woman. She had large, lustrous eyes, her face glowed like the moon, she had a perfectly shaped nose, lips as red as the finest coral, and her abundant hair streamed behind her like a peacock’s train.
The experts agreed that there was no denying that her beauty was flawless, but a cautionary thought entered their minds. One of them voiced it: ‘She is no doubt
a lovely girl, but not right for the king. If he marries her, His Majesty might fall under her spell and neglect his duties. The people of the kingdom will suffer as a result.’
They returned to the palace and made their report. ‘Your Majesty, the girl is not suitable for you. She lacks the qualities considered the hallmark of beauty in a woman.’
The king took their advice and sent for Ratnadatta. ‘Your daughter is not suitable, my advisers say. You are free to look for another match.’
Ratnadatta then decided to approach the commander of the king’s army, General Baladhara, who readily agreed to marry Unmadini. After the wedding, she began to live in his mansion. She had, however, taken the king’s rejection to heart. His Majesty does not consider me beautiful enough, was the thought that constantly weighed her down.
One day, the king was out riding through the streets, while Unmadini was standing on her terrace. He happened to look up, and the moment his eyes fell on her, he was transfixed. Is she a goddess or really just a mortal? he wondered. I have never seen a woman as lovely. Who could she be?
He returned to the palace, lost in these thoughts. The vision of Unmadini on her husband’s terrace robbed him of his sleep too, making him so restless that his personal attendant asked, ‘Is something troubling Your Majesty? Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘My good man,’ said the king, ‘this evening when I was out riding, I rode past a mansion in the city. A lady as enchanting as an apsara was standing on the terrace. I could not help wondering if she was a mortal woman or some divine being. I cannot get her out of my thoughts.’
‘Your Majesty, that lady is not a goddess,’ replied the attendant. ‘She is none other than Unmadini, the daughter of the merchant Ratnadatta. Do you recall that he had offered you her hand in marriage? You rejected her because you were told that she lacked beauty. Later, her father got her married to General Baladhara.’
The king was outraged. ‘My advisers dared to mislead me!’ he cried.
He sent for them immediately. ‘What is the meaning of this, gentlemen?’ he demanded. ‘The same maiden who you said was devoid of beauty is as exquisite as a celestial being. You lied to me!’
The oldest among the experts replied, ‘We admit that we deceived you, Your Majesty. But we had the welfare of your subjects in mind. Such a wife might have distracted you from your kingly duties.’
In no time at all, word spread that the king had fallen in love with General Baladhara’s wife. When Unmadini’s husband heard this, he was in a quandary. He decided to go to the king. ‘Your Majesty,’ he said, bowing to the ground, ‘I am your loyal subject, your slave. My father-in-law came to you with a proposal but your advisers painted a false picture of Unmadini’s looks. By right she should have been your wife. It is not too late to mend matters. You have simply to command me and I will bring her to the palace at once.’
His proposal infuriated the king. ‘What do you think I am?’ he shouted. ‘Would an honourable man, who always follows the laws of right and wrong, agree to marry another man’s wife? This is completely against every code of decency, and you shouldn’t even have dreamt of approaching me with such a suggestion.’
Shamefaced, Baladhara was about to take his leave, but to his horror, at that very moment, the king’s heart broke, and he fell lifeless to the ground.
Baladhara was overwhelmed with guilt. When it became unbearable, he went to his guru for advice. ‘What would be the right thing for me to do now, Your Holiness?’ he asked. ‘How can I atone? I feel I have contributed to the king’s death in some way.’
‘The right way to atone would be first to offer oblations to the sun and then enter a pyre,’ the guru instructed him. ‘It is for you to decide.’
Baladhara decided to follow his guru’s advice and made arrangements for his self-immolation. Perturbed, Unmadini approached the guru too. ‘What should I do, Your Reverence?’ she asked.
‘A good wife follows in her husband’s footsteps,’ he said.
Unmadini immediately made the required preparations too. She took a ritual bath and distributed alms. Then she circled her husband’s flaming funeral pyre and mounted it, praying, ‘Each time I am reborn, I implore the gods to make me your wife, dear husband.’
* * *
‘So, what is your opinion on these three people, O king?’ asked the vetal. ‘Who is the most virtuous?’
‘The king, without any doubt,’ Vikramaditya replied. ‘By refusing to take another man’s wife, he stayed true to the rules of right conduct, even though it killed him. General Baladhara was his servant, and followed his master unto death, as he would have, even in battle. As for Unmadini, like a devoted wife, she wished to remain united with her husband.’
The vetal had already left to hang on the sinsipa tree. King Vikram gritted his teeth and followed it for the sixteenth time.
The Unwise Yogi
Vikramaditya had made a promise and he was honour-bound to fulfil it, whatever the cost. So once again, he patiently went through the exercise of picking up the rotten corpse from the tree and attempting to carry it to the sadhu. But the vetal had another tale to tell.
‘Listen to this new story, O king,’ it said.
* * *
King Mahasena ruled the city of Ujjaini. A Brahmin named Devasarma lived in the city along with his son, Gunakara, and other family members. Gunakara had a bad habit that he could not shake off—gambling. It possessed him to the extent that he would steal whatever he could from the house and sell it to support his vice. When his family found it impossible to tolerate this any longer, they decided to throw him out of the house.
Gunakara wandered out of the city and thought of trying his luck elsewhere. After walking for a few hours, he came upon a temple in a lonely spot. The only person he could see there was a yogi. Gunakara greeted him with a respectful obeisance.
‘Who are you, son?’ asked the yogi.
‘I am a Brahmin who is a stranger to this place,’ Gunakara replied.
‘You have been travelling, I can see,’ said the yogi. ‘Have you had anything to eat?’
‘No, Your Holiness. I am quite hungry,’ Gunakara confessed.
‘In this half-skull bowl here,’ said the yogi, ‘is some cooked rice. You can have it.’
Gunakara recoiled. ‘I’m sorry, I’m a Brahmin. I cannot eat from a skull,’ he said.
The yogi closed his eyes and, meditating deeply, chanted a mantra. To Gunakara’s surprise, a yakshini, who lived in the banyan tree nearby, suddenly appeared.
‘Provide this Brahmin with the kind of food he can eat,’ the yogi commanded her.
Within minutes, the yakshini conjured up a magnificent mansion. She beckoned to Gunakara to enter, and served up a wonderful feast. After he had eaten to his heart’s content, she served him paan and brought him a set of the finest garments he had ever seen, along with fabulous jewellery and sweet-smelling creams made of musk and sandalwood to apply. Then she entertained him with music and song. Completely relaxed, Gunakara fell fast asleep in the luxurious bed laid out for him. When he awoke in the morning, however, he was surprised to find that he was all alone, lying in the old temple.
After searching for the yakshini for some time, he approached the yogi. ‘What’s the matter?’ asked the yogi. ‘You are looking quite miserable. Didn’t you get everything you wanted?’
‘Where has the yakshini gone?’ Gunakara asked. ‘I have fallen in love with her. I cannot live without her.’
‘She is a semi-divine spirit, unlike you, a mortal,’ the yogi told him. ‘She can only be summoned through magic.’
‘O learned master, I beg you to teach it to me,’ Gunakara implored. ‘I shall apply myself with all my heart and soul to perfect it.’
‘All right,’ said the yogi. ‘Listen carefully now and memorize these words. You must stand in the middle of that stream and concentrate on repeating them. Make sure that no other thought distracts you. And after that, you have to enter your funeral pyre to complet
e the process.’
Gunakara followed these instructions to the letter. But though he kept repeating the mantra, the yakshini did not appear. All he saw was a series of blurred images. Disheartened, he stepped out of the water and went to the yogi.
‘Nothing happened!’ he complained. ‘Respected master, she didn’t come.’
‘Didn’t I tell you that you have to enter the fire as the next step? Get ready to do that,’ the yogi directed him.
Gunakara shook his head. ‘No, not now,’ he replied. ‘Who knows what might happen? Let me go and meet my family members once more. Only then will I enter the fire.’
He set off homeward and received a warm welcome from his family. His mother shed tears of joy and his father enclosed him in a tight embrace. ‘O my son, where have you been all this time?’ he cried. ‘We asked you to leave in a moment of anger, but how could you forget us completely? If you had returned and promised to mend your ways, we would have taken you back with open arms, the way we are now. You abandoned your devoted wife and did not spare a thought for your old parents. For a married man, nothing provides greater merit than attending to his duties towards his family. Pilgrimages to all the holy places in the world are meaningless beside it.’
‘Respected father,’ Gunakara said in response, ‘this mortal body is unclean and perishable. It is only through deep meditation that you receive a vision of the Supreme One and can free yourself from this cycle of birth, death and rebirth. I have renounced the life of a family man and become a yogi. I am mastering the mantras that lead one to a higher plane and came here merely to bid farewell to you all.’
He parted with his family and returned to the yogi. Following his guru’s instructions, he entered a roaring fire and concentrated on repeating the mantra once more. He tried long and hard, but again, the yakshini did not appear.