by Sivadasa
‘Is that so?’ Kamalakara started up. ‘I, too, have been asking my friend to bring me some poison but he refused. Let us go immediately.’
They hurried to Anangamanjari’s house. To their horror, they found that she had already committed suicide. The shock was too much for Kamalakara. At the sight of her lifeless body, he, too, fell down dead. Soon, the house was filled with sounds of weeping and wailing. Overwhelmed by grief and touched by the devotion the doomed lovers had displayed, their families decided to lay them on the same funeral pyre.
Just as the arrangements were being made, Maninabha, Anangamanjari’s husband, happened to return from his travels. Eager to meet his wife, he hurried to his father-in-law’s mansion, where he encountered the weeping Malayavati, who informed him that Anangamanjari was no more. Maninabha rushed to his wife’s room and was stunned to find that she was indeed dead. He began to lament loudly, crying, ‘O my beloved Anangamanjari! How will I live without you! Let us take this last journey together!’
Not caring that Kamalakara had been laid beside her, he entered the funeral pyre, too, and was consumed by the flames. The inhabitants of Visala were beside themselves with amazement. ‘What an extraordinary occurrence!’ they remarked. ‘Three people so devoted that they died of love together. Such a thing has never been seen before.’
But an argument arose. Who was the most devoted among the three?
* * *
‘So, king, did you listen carefully to my story?’ asked the vetal. ‘Because you have to answer this question. Amongst the three, who was most blinded by love?’
‘Who else but the husband?’ replied the king. ‘He was so blinded that even though his wife committed suicide for another man’s sake, he wasn’t outraged. He did not get angry or blame her for her faithlessness. Instead, he was so grief-stricken to lose her that he ended his own life without another thought.’
The moment Vikramaditya had finished speaking, the vetal sped back to the tree. The king had no choice but to try and fetch it again.
Four Foolish Brahmins
Any other man would have been in a fury by now. But King Vikram patiently went back to the tree and repeated the same actions—he caught the corpse, put it on his shoulder and headed towards his destination.
Sure enough, the vetal began to speak again. ‘Here’s another tale, O king, to regale you with, on this dreary path,’ it said.
* * *
King Viramardana ruled over the city of Jayasthala. Among the inhabitants of the city was a Brahmin named Visnuswami, a man with four useless sons. None of them possessed any good qualities—one was a gambler, the other two lived only to indulge in base pleasures and the youngest mocked at religious belief.
Though he often reached a state of despair, Visnuswami would keep trying to knock some sense into their heads. ‘The game of dice is like poison,’ he would say. ‘It will ruin your life. Do not waste time in these useless diversions; you are risking your future. It is your learning alone that will stand by you throughout your life, and now is the time to gain knowledge that will support you in your old age. Remember, a man who has no education is like a corpse, even though he draws breath.’
Finally, Visnuswami’s words had some effect on his sons and they sat down to discuss what they should do with their lives. ‘We ought to pay heed to our father’s words,’ said the eldest. ‘It would be best if each of us travelled to a different land to gain knowledge.’
‘I agree,’ said the second. ‘That way, we can master different fields of knowledge.’
‘And if we share with each other what we learn,’ said the third son, ‘we will be invincible.’
‘Excellent idea!’ cried the youngest enthusiastically. ‘My brothers, we are already gaining wisdom. Let us meet in the forest outside the city after a year and share the expertise we will have gained.’
‘Agreed!’ chorused the other three.
They set off in different directions to acquire knowledge.
When a year had passed, all four brothers gathered at the spot they had decided upon. Delighted to get together again, they greeted each other joyfully. ‘My dear brothers,’ said the eldest, ‘now let each of us demonstrate the knowledge we have attained.’
They were all longing to display their skills. One of the brothers hurried into the forest and came back with the bones of a lion. ‘See these bones? I can put them together in a minute to form the skeleton of the animal they belonged to,’ he said proudly.
He closed his eyes and chanted a spell, and, within minutes, the complete skeleton stood before them.
‘If you can put bones together,’ said the second, ‘I possess the knowledge to add the flesh, the muscles, organs and fat.’
He, too, chanted a spell and covered the skeleton with flesh and muscles.
‘I can add the blood and skin!’ cried the third brother excitedly.
He, too, chanted a spell, and a fully formed lion was before them, complete in every way, except that it was like a stuffed animal, lifeless.
‘You three have put together a lion from its mere bones,’ said the last brother. ‘But what use is it, creating an animal that cannot breathe or move? I have the knowledge to infuse life into it. Wait and watch, through the power of my learning, this lion will leap and roar in a jiffy!’ he ended boastfully.
He closed his eyes and muttered a mantra. Within seconds, the lion leapt up with a roar, startling them. And the first thing it did was to pounce on the brothers and eat them up one by one!
* * *
‘They acquired knowledge but remained foolish,’ said the vetal. ‘What is your opinion, O king. Who among them was the biggest fool?’
‘The fourth,’ said King Vikram, without a moment’s pause. ‘He brought the lion back to life without thinking of the consequences. This story clearly shows that common sense and a person’s natural intelligence are far superior to knowledge blindly gained from a book. Those who do not know how to make proper use of their learning will end up like these foolish lion-makers.’
The vetal was already on its way to the tree. Once again, the long-suffering king followed.
The Yogi Who Switched Bodies
The king lifted the corpse from the sinsipa tree again and hoisted it on to his shoulders. He began the trek to the burning ground where Kshantishila awaited him.
This time, again, the corpse began to speak. ‘Let me tell you another story, O king,’ it said.
* * *
In the city of Viswapuram ruled by King Vidagdha, lived a Brahmin named Narayana. He had spent many years trying to perfect the art of making his spirit enter another body, and had grown old in the process. What use is my learning now? he would think glumly sometimes. I have become old and weak, and can barely move about freely.
One day, an idea flashed through his mind. Why not make use of my knowledge and acquire a young body? Then I can indulge in all the delights of youth like I used to!
Not wanting to share his plans, Narayana informed his family that he was setting off on a pilgrimage. Instead, he headed towards the cremation ground to look for a suitable young body to occupy. As chance would have it, a procession of mourners arrived, weeping and bewailing the death of a young Brahmin—a handsome, learned and healthy youth who had an untimely demise. Narayana found the opportunity he had been seeking and prepared to abandon his decrepit old frame. But just as he was leaving it, he wept loudly. The next moment, however, he laughed, as his spirit entered the corpse.
The young man sat up alive, to the astonishment and delight of his family, who little knew what had actually happened.
* * *
‘My question, O king, is this: can you tell me why Narayana first wept and then laughed, just as he was entering the young Brahmin’s body?’ asked the vetal.
‘It is quite obvious,’ said King Vikram. ‘When he was leaving his worn-out old body, he could not help but recall how his mother had tended it so lovingly when he was a baby. As he grew older, his father had taken pride in
nurturing it with good food and exercise. As a young man, his well-built frame had enabled him to enjoy many of life’s pleasures. That is why, at the moment of parting, he could not control his grief and wept. The next instant, however, the thought of possessing a healthy young body again raised his spirits and he laughed with joy.’
The vetal had sped away after receiving its answer. The king determinedly followed it to the sinsipa tree.
The Three Fastidious Brahmins
King Vikram hoisted the corpse down from the tree, on to his shoulders, and set off without a word, towards the cremation ground. But could the vetal remain silent? It had yet another story to narrate.
‘Give attentive ear, O king,’ it said, ‘to this tale that I’m about to tell.’
* * *
Govinda, a Brahmin, lived in the city of Dharmapuram, which was ruled by King Dharmadwaja. He was a learned man, with thorough knowledge of the four Vedas. Govinda had four sons—Haridatta, Somadatta, Yajnadatta and Brahmadatta. He had taught them well, and they, too, had gained mastery over the Vedic texts.
Unfortunately, his eldest son, Haridatta, passed away suddenly. Govinda was so overcome with grief that he decided to take his own life. When this news reached the royal priest, Visnu Sarma, he hurried to Govinda’s house and tried to reason with him. ‘You know that man is born to experience all kinds of sorrows and suffering in this life,’ he began. ‘Death can befall him at any moment. It spares no one—neither the most learned scholar nor the strongest and bravest warrior. The most powerful of kings, the wealthiest merchants and the poorest of the poor—they’re all defenceless against it. Legendary heroes like Abhimanyu and Yudhisthira had to go, as did the powerful Ravana. All of us have to die—mother, father, wife, siblings and children. Remember, this world is but an illusion. So what sense does it make to take your own life?’
Visnu Sarma’s words had a strong effect on Govinda, and he decided to make a sacrifice instead. He required a turtle, to perform this ritual correctly, so he said to his three remaining sons, ‘Dear boys, I need a turtle for my sacrifice. Please go to the ocean shore and bring one back so I can complete all the rites as laid down in the holy books.’
The three sons headed for the shore. When they reached, they found a fisherman at work. ‘Please cast your net in the middle of the ocean, good fisherman, and catch a turtle for us,’ they asked him. ‘We will pay you with a hundred and one coins issued by the royal mint.’
After a few tries, the fisherman snared a turtle and deposited it at their feet. He took his payment and went his way. Now the eldest son turned to his middle brother and said, ‘Yajnadatta, why don’t you pick up the turtle and carry it home?’
Yajnadatta frowned and turned to the youngest saying, ‘You, Brahmadatta, why don’t you pick up the turtle and take it home?’
‘Me?’ Brahmadatta exclaimed. ‘You’re asking me to carry this foul-smelling creature? You know how particular I am about how my food smells. This will make my hands stink so badly that I won’t be able to swallow a morsel for the rest of my life. Do it yourself!’
‘I do it? I’m equally fastidious, you well know!’ Yajnadatta cried. ‘I can’t stand being close to a smelly person. How do you expect me to carry this creature that smells worse than a fish? Let our eldest brother do it.’
‘Not me,’ said Somadatta firmly. ‘I’m far more fastidious than either of you. You well know how particular I am about the bed I sleep on. Come on, pick up the turtle, one of you. Our respected father must be waiting to begin his ritual.’
The three brothers began to argue and quarrel about who should carry the turtle. Unable to resolve the matter, they decided to approach the king to sort out their dispute.
‘Good gentlemen, let me know the reason for your disagreement,’ asked the king.
‘Your Majesty,’ said Yajnadatta, ‘they’re asking me to carry a stinking turtle. The stench will cling to me forever. I’m very fussy about my food, and if I even touch it, I won’t be able to swallow a bite and will probably starve to death.’
‘But Your Majesty,’ said Brahmadatta, ‘I cannot stand being close to a person who smells even a little. How can I touch a malodorous turtle?’
‘Neither can I,’ said the oldest brother. ‘These two well know I am far more finicky than they are. I cannot sleep a wink on a badly made bed.’
The king was quite intrigued by the fastidiousness of the three brothers. ‘Well, there’s only one way to settle this dispute,’ he said. ‘I’ll put you all to the test, and we’ll find out who is the most sensitive.’
First, the king decided to test the brother who claimed to be sensitive about food. The finest dishes prepared in the royal kitchen were sent for and served to him on a platter. Yajnadatta picked up a morsel of rice and brought it to his mouth. Immediately, he made a disgusted face and dropped the rice back on the platter. He rose hurriedly.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked the king. ‘Didn’t you enjoy the food? I ordered the best delicacies from my kitchen.’
‘I beg your pardon, Your Majesty,’ said the young Brahmin. ‘How could I eat anything? The rice had such a foul odour that it completely ruined my appetite.’
‘A foul odour?’ asked the king, shocked. ‘Only rice of a superlative quality is used in my kitchen. If it had an offensive odour, would I touch it?’
‘But it had a whiff of dead bodies being burnt! I definitely smelled the smoke from a funeral pyre,’ objected Yajnadatta.
The king sent for the keeper of the royal stores. ‘Where do we get our rice from?’ he asked. ‘How is it that this man says it bears the stench of the burning ground?’
‘Your Majesty,’ said the storekeeper, ‘this is the best-quality rice. One of our own tenants grew it in his fields. His village lies just outside the city.’
‘Send for him!’ ordered King Dharmadwaja.
The tenant-farmer was fetched post-haste. ‘My good man, tell me exactly where your rice fields are located,’ demanded the king.
‘Your Majesty,’ said the farmer, ‘my village is just outside the city. My fields are located near the city’s cremation ground.’
The king’s eyes almost popped out in astonishment when he heard this. ‘Young man,’ he said, ‘you have proved that you are more finicky about food than any man I have come across.’
Now it was Brahmadatta’s turn to be tested. The king arranged for a banquet and requested one of the loveliest ladies in the court to sit next to the young Brahmin. She was to be freshly bathed, scented with the most delicate perfume available and dressed in the cleanest, new garments. But when she took her seat beside Brahmadatta, he began to edge away. He wrinkled his nose and seemed to be holding his breath. Finally, he leapt up, as if in great distress.
‘I beg your pardon, Your Majesty,’ he blurted out. ‘I cannot sit here another moment.’
‘What’s wrong?’ asked the king with a frown. ‘What’s bothering you?’
‘The smell, the smell!’ Brahmadatta cried. ‘It’s like embracing a goat!’
‘A goat? This lady bathed in water scented with roses. She is wearing the finest silk garments perfumed with musk. Even her hair is fragrant with the jasmine garlands wound around it!’ exclaimed the king. ‘Where does the smell of a goat come from?’
‘But my nostrils are filled with it, your majesty!’ spluttered the young man.
The king turned to the lady. ‘Lovely lady,’ he said courteously. ‘Please forgive my question. But have you ever been near a goat?’
The lady was silent for a moment, then she said, ‘Your Majesty, the only time I was near a goat was when I was a baby. My mother was very sick and could not nurse me. I have heard that I was raised on goat’s milk.’
The banquet hall rang with the exclamations of the courtiers. ‘What a keen nose!’ ‘There can never be a man as fastidious as this young man!’
‘This will be a difficult judgement,’ observed the king. ‘But let us find out how fastidious the last brother is.’
/> It was Somadatta’s turn now, and the most comfortable bed possible was prepared for him. Seven layers of mattresses made of the softest silk-cotton were laid upon it, and finely woven muslin sheets spread on top.
When morning came, the king asked him, ‘So? Did you sleep well, young man?’
‘Sleep? Not a wink!’ cried Somadatta. His red, bleary eyes and his tousled hair made it obvious that he spoke the truth. ‘I tossed and turned all night. There was a hair in the bed that kept poking my back. Oh, how I suffered! Take a look!’ He turned around to show his back to the king. Sure enough, it was crisscrossed with red marks, fine as strands of hair.
‘What? Where did the hair come from? We took care to make up the softest of beds for you. Check the mattresses,’ the king ordered the attendants.
The mattresses were all ripped open one by one, and when they came to the seventh, an attendant pulled out a hair with a cry of astonishment.
Dharmadwaja shook his head in disbelief. ‘You are indeed extremely sensitive when it comes to beds,’ he said. ‘This is a very tricky judgement to make—all three of you are so fastidious!’
* * *
‘The king was at a loss,’ said the vetal. ‘But whom would you have chosen as the most sensitive among the three brothers, O king?’
‘The last brother,’ replied King Vikramaditya. ‘He had an actual mark on his back from the hair.’
The vetal had tricked him again and taken off. King Vikram followed, wondering when this would end.
A Baffling Relationship
The king took down the corpse from the tree once more and set off for his destination. ‘Indeed, you are the most patient man I have encountered,’ said the vetal. ‘You deserve to hear another story to entertain you on the way!’
* * *
A king named Pradyumna ruled over the city of Prabhavati. He had a daughter, Chandraprabha, married to King Vijayabala, who ruled over the southern part of the country. They had a daughter, whom they called Lavanyavati.