The Five and Twenty Tales of the Genie (Penguin Classics)

by Sivadasa

  Popular belief views the vetāla as a malevolent spirit, waylaying unwary persons walking near certain trees— banyan, peepul, tamarind—and in lonely places, especially if they were women, and ‘possessing’ them. But this is the result of ignorance, prejudice and misunderstanding. In the Vetāla Tales, the vetāla is not evil; he is a saviour of the hero and of the world under threat from the necromancing Kṣāntiśīla who is aiming to possess it by usurping the lordship of the universe.

  The vetāla was believed to be brought within the power of a yogi, a sorcerer like Kṣāntiśīla, and controlled through spells, incantations and the prescribed rites and rituals of worship. He would then become the worshipper/sacrificer’s agent, helper, and general factotum, to serve him and do his bidding in all missions, good or evil, whenever he is summoned by spells, incantations and so on. But, to possess this power, the person has to undergo severe austerities and study the lore of magic deeply under a guru after being initiated properly into the discipline. All this is but a figurative way of saying that man can control the forces of nature by acquiring a body of knowledge within a specified discipline. Whether, having acquired the powers to control the forces of nature, man uses it in a positive manner for the good of all, or negatively for purposes of exploitation and self-aggrandizement is another matter. Our author, Śivadāsa, is aware of the ethical dimensions of power and knowledge and presents the problems involved admirably in his text.

  The relationship between the vetāla and the yogi suggests that something like shamanistic practices existed as part of the rites of worship of divinities like the vetāla. It is present even now in certain communities, where the god’s priest functions as the person in whom the power to invoke the deity or exorcise it from any one held to be ‘possessed’ by the god, is invested.

  Now, to come to the title, I have translated vetāla as genie.

  In previous translations of the Vetāla Tales into English, most of these having been done in the late nineteenth century, the word vetāla has been rendered by a number of words that do not quite fit the bill: vampire, demon, goblin, spectre, sprite. One thing that the vetāla is definitely not is a vampire, a creature that ought to be left to haunt its native country, Transylvania. Our vetāla is not a man who has turned into a bloodsucking incubus with prominent canines and a penchant for young, preferably beautiful females. The vetāla is not a night owl that sleeps in a coffin during the day. Further, it is a power, not a person.

  The vetāla is not a spectre either, a word defined as a ghost, an apparition, a phantom, all words that have the faint odour of mortality still clinging to them. The vetāla, on the other hand, is a force of nature and semi-divine, not a mortal.

  The term sprite conjures up a rather delicate, winsome creature, a trifle mischievous perhaps, like a pixie. And the goblin is plainly a grotesque sort of creature. Vikramāditya could not have addressed a goblin as ‘yakṣa’; as mentioned earlier, a yakṣa is a divinity.

  That the vetāla is not a demon but an ancient divinity worshipped by the earliest peoples of the land has been argued at some length.

  Since I find all these terms inappropriate for one reason or another, I have not used any of them. I have used the word genie instead for a couple of reasons. Readers are familiar with the terms djinn and genie from their reading of the Arabian Nights. Burton, in his translation of this famous work, uses the term jinni, which is employed in Islamic mythology for a spirit, often in a pejorative sense. In the tales from the Arabian Nights, a djinn or genie is summoned by the use of a spell or a special act empowered to control the genie or djinn, by a sorcerer or a person to whom the sorcerer has passed on his knowledge and powers over the genie in one way or other. A vetāla is similarly brought within the power of a sorcerer or yogi and he would appear when invoked by an incantation. But our vetāla is not the kind of abject slave like the genies and djinns of the Arabian Nights.

  The other and more important reason for employing the term genie for the vetāla is its sonic similarity and etymological affinity to the words genius, genii (plural). A genius is a guardian spirit, an attendant spirit. Milton uses the phrase ‘Genius of the shore’ (Lycidas, line 181) in the sense of a guardian spirit who watched over seafarers. The term genius is employed elsewhere too in English poetry, in conjunction with other words such as spirits and daemons derived from the Greek, daimōn, meaning a divinity or attendant spirit, a being filled with divine power. The same word with the altered spelling, ‘demon’ has acquired pejorative meanings in later usage that it did not have earlier.

  The words genius, genii, come invested with sacrality, signifying beings that possessed divine power. Therefore, the word genie seemed to me to be a better word to use for our vetāla; more appropriate, more meaningful than words such as spectre, sprite, goblin ‘and all that’.

  The Five-and-Twenty Tales of the Genie

  (Vetālapañćavinśati)

  as set down by

  Śivadāsa.

  PREAMBLE

  … *‘By the seeing of him, all sins will be destroyed. Therefore, before returning home, I ought to seek his presence and pay my respects.’ With this thought, he went towards the hermitage.

  In that hermitage lived the hermit Valkalāśana. A thousand years had gone by since the day he made that his abode. Firmly resolved to gain the world of eternal light he sat under a nimba tree1 performing penance, absorbed in deepest meditation. The hermit knew not what physical comfort was. Yoked to penance, his body was as a piece of wood; it did not even perform the excretory functions. At midnight, this hermit absorbed in deepest meditation, ate one single mouthful of the bark of the nimba tree. The next day, at precisely the same hour, he again ate a mouthful of the same. And in this manner, a thousand years had gone by for that hermit living in silence in the hermitage.

  Now that king saw the hermit completely absorbed in deepest meditation. Watching him, the king said to himself: ‘Well, the moment he comes out of his meditation, I shall bow low with reverence at his feet.’

  Still mounted on his horse the king remained silent. Four watches of the day did the king keep his silent vigil. Yet, the hermit remained immersed in meditation. So the king now said to himself: ‘Ah! The arrogance he displays towards me! As if to say: “This is how I am.” So be it; we’ll fix him.’ And the king returned to his capital.

  Seating himself in the Hall of Audience, the king summoned the citizens and made a public declaration: ‘Hey there! Is there one among you who is prepared to interrupt the penance2 of this haughty hermit?’

  The citizens listened in silence and made no reply.3 Noting that not one single person was willing to respond to the king’s call, a courtesan spoke up:

  ‘O, king, I shall interrupt his penance. Is it anything to be wondered at that I have the power to enslave him? I shall surely make that hermit infatuated by my beauty and charm. For, whosoever in this city sets eyes on me becomes infatuated straight away. As we have heard it said:

  ‘A pot of butter is woman,

  and a glowing coal is man;

  closeness makes the pot drip,

  (and the harlot’s paramour4 too)

  and that is just what can happen

  when man meets woman.’

  The king proclaimed: ‘Well, my lady courtesan, listen to me; if you succeed in interrupting this man’s penance, I shall grant you a village.’

  ‘At your bidding, I shall bring him into my power,’ she replied and swore an oath to that effect before the king.

  She went home, made herself beautiful using sixteen different ways of adornment and set out for the hermitage. She took a look at the silent hermit; then she built herself a tiny, little hut5 close by and waited.

  From dawn to dusk, she saw the hermit immersed solely in meditation and she asked herself: ‘How in the world can I bring this man into my power when he doesn’t even notice me! Well, let us see. Since I have watched and waited during the four watches of the day, I may as well do the same during the night.’ An
d she sat there in complete silence.

  At midnight, the hermit who was given to silent meditation ate a mouthful of the tree’s bark. And at that moment, the courtesan got a good look at the silent hermit. Instantly, the thought came into her mind: ‘Aha! Now I know that I can get him into my power.’ She went straight home, prepared a sweet dish of milk boiled down to the consistency of thick cream with melted butter and crystallized sugar, formed little balls of it and returned to the woods. Having placed one of these sweet balls at the base of the nimba tree, she quietly withdrew and stayed still as a mouse inside her little hut.

  At his usual hour, the silent hermit took the sweet ball and ate it. And that day the hermit’s tongue knew the taste of sweetness. The courtesan continued placing the sweet balls at the base of the tree and waited, ever watchful. On the third day, the hermit ate four of those sweet balls. In this way, the hermit’s consumption of sweetmeats gradually increased, until it reached the count of twenty. And in time, the hermit became nice and sleek and plump; then he lost his power of meditation.

  After a while, the hermit’s glance chanced to fall one day on the courtesan. He fell madly in love with her. Burning with passion, he burst into verse:

  ‘Ha! For the enjoyment of a woman!

  What can give greater pleasure in this world!

  No, not even the Elixir of Life!

  All senses, altogether, all at once,

  find in it their perfect fulfilment!’

  So much of the day passed, measured out by wasted hours. Then the hermit went close to the courtesan and asked: ‘Who are you?’

  Covering her face with the end of her upper garment, the courtesan said softly: ‘I am the handmaid of the Lord of the Immortals.6 What would you have?’

  The hermit responded delightedly: ‘I have lost my heart to you. Be my wife. Here in these lonely woods we shall live happily, just the two of us.’

  The courtesan demurred: ‘O, what an improper request, sir! How can I consent to this? When my true home is in the Realm of Light,7 in the presence of the Lord of Immortals, in attendance upon Him? Pray do not speak like this.’

  But that love-tormented hermit repeated his plea, ‘O, lady with beautiful eyebrows! Please listen to my suit.’

  ‘Well then,’ observed the courtesan, ‘I guess I have to stay right here in this very hermitage of my own sweet will.’ Since she had consented, the hermit created a divine mansion for her there; and in that mansion he engaged daily in lovemaking with her.

  Day after day they made love and in time the courtesan conceived. Day by day she rounded out till she reached full term and a boy was born. The hermit clasped the baby to his bosom and played with him in the hermitage. The baby’s urine and faeces dropped on his limbs. Ritual baths and prescribed rites such as libations of water to the gods and ancestors were not performed.

  Then one day, when the child had completed his first year, the courtesan spoke to the hermit: ‘Now, listen, hermit; pay attention to my words. Let us leave these woods and go elsewhere; because according to the law,8 a householder’s proper place of residence is not the woods. And furthermore, lions, tigers and other beasts of prey roam these woods. How can our child be properly protected here? We should therefore make our home in some city or other.’

  The hermit agreed: ‘Wherever your fancy takes you, my dear, there shall we go to make our home,’ he said.

  The courtesan observed: ‘Perhaps you have seen my city, O hermit. So, place the cradle with the little boy in it on your shoulders and go with me to my city.’

  The hermit lifted the little boy in his cradle on to his shoulders and set out with the courtesan; and walking ahead with the hermit keeping behind her, she proceeded towards Pratiṣṭhānapura and arrived at the city.

  She went straight to the Royal Hall of Audience and after presenting the hermit Valkalāśana to the king, stood aside. The king observed that very same hermit now standing holding his son. And the king laughed. Then placing a finger between his teeth, the king addressed the hermit: ‘Well, well, hermit, are the penances completed?’ To which the hermit replied: ‘O, great king, listen to me:

  Lovely face lustrous as the Lord of Stars,9

  loins shapely as those of the Lord of Beasts,10

  a gait majestic as that of lordly tuskers—

  when such a sweetheart dwells enshrined in one’s

  heart:

  What place for prayers intoned!

  What place for penance performed!

  What place for contemplation!’

  The king listened and capped the hermit’s verse with one of his own.

  ‘Saffron paste smoothed lightly o’er lovely limbs;

  garlands of pearls trembling o’er glowing breasts;

  on lotus-feet anklets make music, tinkling

  like bell tones of wild geese calling:

  A woman of such beauty! If she wills,

  lives there a man in this world she cannot enthral?’

  Hearing these words of banter the hermit flew into a rage and holding the little boy by his feet, swung him in the air and dashed him against the floor in front of the king. The child’s head fell inside the palace; the trunk in a potter’s house; the feet in the house of an oil merchant.

  That very day the queen consort conceived and the very same day the wives of the potter and the oil merchant also conceived. At full-term three boys were born: one in the palace and one each in the homes of the potter and the oil merchant. There was great jubilation in the palace. As soon as his son was born, the king feasted Brāhmanas and bards with sumptuous food and presented them with fine garments and other gifts; he ordered five kinds of drums to be beaten; and summoned an astromancer to prepare the natal charts of the little prince. Having calculated the times and positions of the celestial bodies with the ghatika,11 the astromancer drew up the charts and then declared: ‘O, king, your son is born under an exceedingly auspicious zodiacal sign; five of the planets stand at the apex of their orbits. As noted in the texts:

  ‘Sun in the Ram, Moon in the Bull,

  Mercury in the Virgin Venus in the Fishes,

  Jupiter in the crab; in these signs,

  these five planets in elevation dwell.

  ‘Therefore, O king, this little boy is destined for a great future. This little boy and the sons of a potter and an oil merchant in the city have all three been born the same day under the same zodiacal sign. Now hear the prediction, Your Majesty. Of these three, one will slay the other two; one alone shall remain; he will be the mighty lord of the earth. Your Majesty, signs indicate that your newborn son will display extraordinary valour at a very early age. So let him be named Vikramāditya, the Sun of Valour.’

  The king listened to the prediction with great joy and presented the astromancer with cows and gold and other fine gifts. Similarly, the astromancer calculated and drew up the natal charts for the newborn sons of the potter and the oil merchant and made the same prediction: ‘Of the three little boys born this day, one will slay, the other two; one alone will remain; he will be the mighty lord of the earth.’

  After some time, King Gandharvasena celebrated the ceremony of trimming of the locks12 of his little son, and later, in the prince’s sixth year, had the rite of investiture of the sacred13 thread performed….14 And as the little prince was growing up, the king arranged for the education and training of his son in gradual stages in the military sciences, in sacred and secular sciences and arts, and in archery.

  In the course of time, King Gandharvasena passed away. The council of ministers assembled the leading citizens and together they placed the king’s body on a sandalwood pyre and cremated him. They had Prince Vikramāditya perform all the prescribed last rites15 such as offering of oblations of balls of cooked rice and sesame seeds with sanctified water and so on. This was followed by sumptuous feasting of Brāhmanas.

  Then the ministers fixed on a coronation date after carefully examining the day, the zodiacal sign governing that day and the auspicious time of
day. They placed the mark of sovereignty16 on Vikramāditya’s forehead even though he was a young boy at the time. So, the prince was duly crowned king. The citizens paid him homage and from that day he began his rule as protector of the realm.

  One day, the potter’s son, sitting by his mother’s side heard the events of his birth related. This set him thinking: ‘Ah! I see. If the astromancer’s predictions were in fact to come true, then indeed I might really become king one day. Once I manage to get rid of the oil merchant’s son and kill the king, why then, sovereignty should be mine as a matter of course. It is up to me to make determined efforts for this purpose. For it is said:

  ‘To lion-like men richly endowed with enterprise

  comes the goddess17 of prosperity and success;

  “Ah! Fate is all-powerful,” is the coward’s refrain.

  Strike Fate down; exerting your own strength and power

  display manliness; if your efforts fail

  though you give of your very best, what blame?

  And further:

  Apathy, entrenched in the body,

  is indeed the greatest enemy.

  Perseverance is man’s best friend;

  stick to it and you’ll never be ruined.’

  Resolved to act, the potter’s son sought out the son of the oil merchant and made friends with him. Daily he plied him with many gifts. Then one day the potter’s son said to the other, the oil merchant’s son: ‘Listen, my friend, will you go with me to the woods to gather kindling for the sacred fire?’