One day, the king happened to fall ill. Unfortunately, one of his queens and his minister were conspiring against him. They felt this was an excellent opportunity to get the king out of the way. They bribed the doctor who was treating him and told him to mix poison in the king’s medicine.
The doctor poured out the dose and handed it to the king. He was about to drink it up when he saw Buddhi’s advice engraved on the cup. At once he paused, put the cup down, fixed his eyes on the medicine and began to think deeply. When the doctor saw this he was terrified. He felt that the king had discovered that his medicine was poisoned. Fearing for his life, he thought it best to beg for the king’s mercy, and fell at his feet and confessed everything. At first, the king was astonished at his behaviour, but when he understood what the man was saying, he sent for his guards and had the queen and the minister arrested. He banished the doctor from his kingdom and executed the wicked queen and minister.
Then the king sent for the boy who had wisdom for sale. ‘You saved my life,’ he said. ‘I cannot think of anyone more suitable to advise me. From this day on, you shall be my prime minister.’
Buddhi served the king faithfully and always gave him the best counsel.
King Vikram and the Princess of China
Many centuries ago, a king named Vikram ruled over a kingdom in central India. He cared greatly about the welfare of his subjects. Each night, he would roam his capital city, Ujjain, in disguise to find out if his people had any problems.
Now a yogi, or an ascetic, who spent his time in prayer and penance, came and built a hut on the other side of the river that flowed past the city. He lit a sacred fire there, and as reports of his miraculous powers spread, people thronged to visit him. Among them were some of the king’s courtiers.
Some days later, King Vikram learned that these men were plotting against him. Concerned, he set out in disguise and swam across the river. As he approached the yogi’s hut, a dreadful sight appeared before his eyes. The yogi was sitting cross-legged inside his sacred fire. And a man whom Vikram recognised as a minister he had dismissed sat astride a dead body, repeating a spell. He kept touching the corpse’s mouth with a flower dipped in red colour. And as Vikram watched, horrified, the corpse began to move its lips.
‘Speak!’ said the minister. ‘Speak, my son, and give me the power to take revenge on this unjust king.’
The dead lips moved again, but no sound came forth.
The yogi said, ‘I fear someone is watching our ritual, ruining its effect. May he turn into a dog!’
The king was greatly alarmed to find fur appearing all over his body. Within seconds, he had turned into a dog, forgetting who he actually was.
Now the next day, when King Vikram was found missing, his faithful ministers became very worried. They immediately consulted a learned astrologer named Varahamihira. Varahamihira studied his books and told them what had happened.
‘This yogi is an evil magician who wants to kill the king and usurp his kingdom,’ he said. ‘Luckily, four virs or guardian spirits protect King Vikram. However, their powers will not prevail for long. We have to get the king away from the yogi’s hut.’
‘But how?’ asked the anxious ministers.
The astrologer thought for a while, then said, ‘There is a way. I’ll turn my twin sons into deer and send them there. Since he’s a dog now, the king will chase them. Once he gets out of the yogi’s magic circle, which is halfway through the river, we’ll be able to restore his human shape.’
This plan worked, and King Vikram was saved. But the yogi’s might was growing, and the king’s guardian spirits told him that they would not be able to shield him much longer. So he went to the astrologer again.
‘Please forgive me, Your Majesty,’ the man said, ‘I have mastered only three of the supernatural arts, while this yogi is well versed in 13. Only one person in the world has greater knowledge. It’s the princess of China, who has learnt 14 arts. If you can win her over, you’ll be safe forever.’
King Vikram immediately called his ministers. He asked them to take charge of the kingdom and set off for China on his marvellous horse that could move swiftly over land, air and water.
After riding for several weeks, he reached the capital city of China. Night was falling, so he camped in a garden on the outskirts, tying his horse to a tree.
While he was sleeping, a gang of thieves that was passing by saw the horse. Considering it a good omen, they vowed to share their loot with it. Then they broke into the royal treasury and stole all they could. On their return, true to their promise, they divided their spoils with the horse. A fabulous naulakha necklace, worth nine lakh rupees fell to its share, so they put it around its neck and went away.
When the robbery was discovered, the emperor of China sent his officers to hunt for the thieves. The officers found King Vikram asleep in the garden and the necklace on the horse’s neck. Convinced that he was the culprit, they arrested the king.
For various reasons, Vikram did not wish to reveal his identity right then. He was questioned for a long time. When he could not tell them where the rest of the treasure was hidden, the emperor ordered that his hands and feet be cut off. Then he was thrown into the public square as an example to others. He lay there bleeding and in terrible pain, while passers-by spat on him and cursed him.
But that night, an oil presser came by and heard King Vikram’s groans. He took pity on the handsome young king. He washed and bandaged his wounds and carried him home.
‘Why did you bring this creature?’ his wife protested. ‘The king might punish us.’
The oilman said, ‘I think of him as my son, and you will have to treat him as such.’
When Vikram’s wounds healed, the oil presser placed him on the seat of the oil press to direct the bullocks as they went round and round, working the press. A couple of days later, the man noticed that Vikram was covered with grease and decided to give him a bath.
But Vikram said, ‘Father, if you can, please bathe me in the tank in the princess’s summer garden.’
The oilman’s wife immediately flew into a rage, crying, ‘The princess’s garden, indeed! This no-good cripple will be the death of us.’
But the oilman could not refuse him, so that night, he crept into the princess’s garden along with Vikram.
‘Please leave me alone here till midnight, Father,’ Vikram said. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be quite safe.’
When the oilman went away, Vikram hobbled into the tank to bathe. After that he prayed and meditated for three hours. Then he began to chant a melody he had composed himself. Known as the Deepak raga, this raga had such amazing power that on hearing it, the spirits of the air and fire turned into Vikram’s willing slaves. As his deep, melodious voice resounded through the city, all the lamps that had been turned out for the night lit up miraculously. People sat up in surprise. The moment he stopped singing, the lamps went out again.
The princess woke up too when the lamps lit up that night. She knew that only King Vikram of India could have performed this feat. The truth was, she had learnt much about the king and secretly longed to marry him. Her magic had helped her discover that he was there in the city, living with an oil presser. But she had not been able to learn anything beyond that.
At midnight, the oil presser arrived. Relieved that the king was safe, he carried him home.
The next morning, however, he awoke to find the emperor’s men hammering on his door. ‘The princess has sent for you,’ they said. ‘You must come right away!’
Trembling, the oil presser followed them. To his relief, he discovered that all the oil pressers of the city had been summoned.
‘Now listen,’ said the princess. ‘By six o’clock tomorrow morning, each of you must bring me a hundred measures of oil. If you do not, you will be crushed to death in your own oil presses along with your families.’
The men did not dare protest, though they knew it was an impossible task. They left, wailing and wringing their hands he
lplessly.
When the oil presser reached home looking downcast, his wife asked what had happened. The moment he told her, she began to scold him, crying, ‘I told you this no-good fellow would bring us bad luck. Now we’ll be put to death for no fault of ours.’
She spent the day crying and lamenting and refused to cook any food. Vikram waited on his seat on the mill, getting hungrier and hungrier. Finally, he asked the oilman what was wrong. With a heavy heart the man told him about the princess’s demand.
‘Father, if we have to die, we will,’ the king said. ‘But why should we lose heart beforehand? And why starve?’
His words made sense to the oilman, so he and his wife got up and cooked some food. Together they ate what they feared might be their last meal.
When the anxious couple fell asleep, Vikram began to croon another melody, the Bhairavi raga, in a low voice. Immediately, the four virs—his guardian spirits—appeared. ‘Your Majesty,’ they said, ‘why did you accept this miserable form? Just tell us what you wish, and we will fulfil it.’
Vikram replied, ‘It’s just a matter of time, my friends, before I reveal myself. But right now, you must bring me a hundred measures of the finest oil.’
‘As you command,’ said the spirits.
Within seconds, a hundred black jars of oil were lined up outside the oilman’s hut. The poor fellow saw them when he awoke suddenly from a dreadful nightmare. He imagined that the soldiers had come for him and screamed in terror. Then he noticed that the jars were not moving, so he went and touched one. When he realised it was a jar full of oil, he was overjoyed.
The moment dawn broke, he rushed to the palace and told the princess that he had brought the oil. She knew that he must have received help from supernatural forces. So she sent all the other oilmen away, saying she had forgiven them. Then she asked him, ‘Tell me honestly, who is staying with you?’
‘N-no one,’ said the oilman. ‘N-no one but an unfortunate creature without arms and legs, whom I picked up from the public square and adopted as my son.’
The princess smiled again. She was sure it was King Vikram. ‘Two months from now on a full moon night,’ she said, ‘my father will organise an important ceremony – my swayamvara. I’ll choose my husband that day. Mighty kings and nobles will come from all over the world. You must attend too along with your adopted son. This is an order, remember!’
The oilman left, even more puzzled at this new demand. Preparations for the swayamvara had already begun and the whole city was being spruced up and decorated lavishly.
As the day approached, a magnificent pavilion was built for the ceremony. A host of kings and princes arrived to woo the princess. They made an impressive sight, dressed in dazzling garments of brocade and gold. Their jewels gleamed and their weapons flashed as they bragged about their riches and the vastness of their kingdoms and the battles they had won. The oilman, who had carried Vikram there, listened wonderstruck as he cowered in a corner.
Suddenly, strains of music were heard and the princess appeared. She was dressed in a red satin gown with golden embroidery and a diamond tiara gleamed in her coal black hair. All eyes turned towards her and a murmur of admiration spread though the gathering. She held a garland of flowers in her hands and all the suitors sat up expectantly. But her eyes passed over them as she glanced here and there, as if searching for someone. Finally she discovered the king in the corner, sitting with the oilman. The princess headed straight for him, and as everyone watched aghast, she put the garland around the neck of the armless and legless man.
The emperor was extremely upset but since she had the freedom to choose her own husband, he could not object.
Preparations for the wedding began. The night before the wedding, the king asked his adopted father to carry him to the princess’s garden once more. When the oilman had left, Vikram began to sing the Deepak raga again. And again all over the city, lamps came alight. The princess rose at once. She guessed that the king needed her help, and assuming the shape of an apsara, a celestial dancer, she went to the garden.
‘Your music has given me great pleasure, oh king,’ she said. ‘Ask whatever you wish.’
Vikram did not recognise her. ‘Oh Heavenly Maiden,’ he said. ‘Please restore my limbs.’
The princess muttered a spell, and the king found himself whole again. When she vanished as suddenly as she had appeared, King Vikram summoned his guardian spirits.
‘My friends,’ he said, ‘you have served me well all these years, and I would like to set you free now. But please perform one last task for me. Kindly fetch my army and all my horses and elephants here and turn my friend’s hut into a magnificent palace. Do all this before the sun rises.’
The oilman, who was both puzzled and curious, had been hiding and watching. When he heard all this, he rushed out crying, ‘Please forgive me, Your Majesty, if we offended you in any way.’
‘Father,’ Vikram said, ‘how can I ever repay your kindness? Please continue to think of me as your son.’
The two returned home, and the oilman was dumbfounded to find a palace where his hut once stood. His wife came out dressed in the grandest of clothes, beaming with happiness.
When news of the mighty army that had appeared outside the city reached the emperor, he went out to check. He was overcome with joy to discover that his future son-in-law was none other than the great King Vikram.
The wedding was a grand affair. The best dancers, musicians and other performers entertained the newly wedded couple and the guests. Finally, a band of jugglers came on. King Vikram went cold when he recognised his enemy the yogi and the wicked minister among them. But the princess whispered, ‘Wait and see. Their spells will not harm you but work against them.’
‘Your Majesty,’ said the minister, ‘we will demonstrate an extraordinary feat before you. ‘
The yogi lit a fire and sat in the middle. Then the minister produced a corpse and perched on its chest. Amidst the sound of tambourines and drum beats, he rose into the air along with it and vanished. After a while, arms and legs and other body parts fell on the ground.
Then the minister reappeared saying, ‘See what happens now!’
He put the body parts together, and the yogi took some ash from the fire and sprinkled it on the body. The dead man sat up, crying, ‘I’m starving, give me some food!’
The minister pointed to the king and said, ‘Go, feast on your enemy!’
To the king’s horror, the man changed into a tiger and leapt at the king. But the princess immediately waved her hand and the tiger turned on the minister, tearing him apart.
The yogi rose and tried to flee. However, the princess raised her hand again and said, ‘Evil one, you used your powers to harm others. See what they do to you now!’
The magician began to tear out his hair and babble senselessly, and the soldiers led him away.
King Vikram and the princess then returned to his kingdom, where they received an overwhelming welcome. They lived there happily and continued to work for the welfare of their people.
The Pots of Plenty
A man named Krishnan lived with his wife in a small village in the southern part of India. He was a good-hearted fellow but not very clever. For this reason, he couldn’t get regular work and barely earned enough to feed his wife and himself.
His wife, whose name was Lalitha, often scolded him, telling him to get a proper job and make some decent money. But Krishnan would just go away for a while and return when he felt that his wife’s temper must have cooled down.
However, the day came when Lalitha’s patience ran out. There was nothing left to eat in the house, just a little stale rice. After yelling at Krishnan once again for being a useless fellow, she scraped the stale rice out from the pot, bundled it in a ragged piece of cloth and said, ‘Here, take this and get out. And don’t you dare come back till you have some money in your hand.’
Poor Krishnan! He didn’t know what to do. He decided it would be best to try his luck
at the town nearby. It was a long way off, and the sun beat down on his head as he trudged along. Soon, he was exhausted. His legs ached terribly, but he kept walking until he couldn’t walk a single step further.
Krishnan found he had reached a place where three roads crossed. There was also a huge banyan tree nearby, full of dense foliage with many knotted roots hanging from its thick branches.
This is a good place to rest, Krishnan thought. I’ll tie my bundle to a branch and catch my breath. Then I’ll have my dinner.
As he lay down under the shady tree, a pleasant breeze sprang up and cooled his sweating body. And before he knew it, he had dozed off.
Now it so happened that some forest spirits, or vanadevata, lived there. They saw a man fast asleep under the tree and noticed the bundle of rice hanging from a branch. They were curious to know what kind of food humans ate, so they opened the bundle and tasted the rice. They found it absolutely delicious. The spirits lived on heavenly dishes, celestial fruit and amrit, or nectar. In contrast, this stale, half-burnt rice tasted unusual and exotic. Soon, they had polished it all off!
When it was gone, they remembered the poor man sleeping underneath the tree and felt that they ought to reward him for providing them with such a treat.
A few minutes later, Krishnan woke up. His stomach was growling, and he noticed that it had grown completely dark. ‘I must have slept longer than I meant to,’ he said to himself. ‘Now where’s my dinner?’
He found the ragged piece of cloth hanging from the branch. But there was no rice inside. Instead, four peculiarly shaped pots were tied up in the cloth.
This was an unpleasant surprise. ‘Who played this dirty trick on me?’ Krishnan cried, flinging the empty pots on the ground in a rage.
Sacked! Folk Tales You Can Carry Around Page 7