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

by Sivadasa

  ‘Certainly, I’ll go with you,’ replied the other.

  And the oil merchant’s son went along to the woods with the potter’s son. Determined to carry out his foul purpose, the potter’s son drew his friend into the most desolate part of the woods and there slipped a noose round the other’s neck and strangled him. He then tied a rope round the neck of the dead body and hung it on the branch of a śinśipā tree. Following a secret trail, he quietly returned to the city.

  However, the citizens got wind of the matter and went straight to the king to report that the potter’s son had murdered the son of the oil merchant. The king listened to the complaint of the citizens and dispatched one of the palace guards to apprehend the criminal. But out of fear of the king the potter’s son fled the city and escaped to another land. The guard returned and reported: ‘Your Majesty, out of fear of Your Majesty, the man has fled.’

  The king, having listened to the report, instantly ordered that the escaped murderer’s house be ransacked, his possessions confiscated and his house and other properties be torn down and razed to the ground.

  After this. King Vikramāditya sighed with relief, confident that now his realm was rid of thorns;18 and he rejoiced in his heart.

  FRAME STORY

  Salutations to Lord Ganeśa19

  I bow my head before Lord Vināyaka,

  the remover of obstacles, the commander

  of Śiva’s impish retinue; and this work

  I compose for the entertainment of the world.

  The base never begin an undertaking

  for fear of encountering obstacles;

  the mediocre leave off where they begin

  faced by obstacles that come closing in;

  undaunted, the highest, men of great merit

  never abandon what they have once begun

  though hemmed in by obstacles a thousandfold.

  A simple and straightforward narrative

  pleases some learned readers;

  some, wiser, delight in the figurative—

  irony, ambiguity, metaphors.

  While others love a tale filled with flavours

  of fine sentiments plentiful and pleasing.

  So there’s something here to suit every palate.

  In the southern lands there flourished the fair city of Pratiṣṭhāna ruled by King Vikramasena, the king who possessed armies of heroic prowess. What kind of king was he? Hear!

  Blazing with the brilliance of a million suns,

  dazzling-bright like flashing lightnings,

  he sat on the splendid lion-throne of fabled wonder,

  and by his side the band of ministers

  who held him in highest esteem.

  In appearance beautiful as Love, the god

  who sets the world on fire; like lord Śiva

  beloved of all people; like the noble ocean

  never o’erstepping the bounds set by the Law,20

  ever honoured by the wise and virtuous;

  he shone with the cool glow of the moon and white jasmine,

  of brightest dew or camphor; stainless as purest crystal

  and the rays of the autumnal moon.

  Ever bounteous, giving gifts manifold,

  ever dedicated to upholding the Law

  in its manifold aspects.

  In anger he was like the fire at the end of time21

  that causes the dissolution of the universe,

  blazing as if lit by million lightning flashes.

  His bearing was a blend of captivating charm

  and abundant heroic ardour; valorous,

  he strove against all odds.

  His person radiated magnificence

  in a stream of scintillating rays of light.

  The gladdener of a great dynasty was he.

  The due care and protection of the good,

  as well as the curbing of the evildoer,

  was the highest duty and happiness

  of this king in this world and the other.

  This monarch, who was invested in full measure with all fine qualities was present at all hours in the great Hall of Audience. One day, a naked mendicant monk22 named Ksāntiśīla came there from somewhere or other. Holding a fruit in his hand he entered the hall and presented the king with that fruit. The king welcomed him, offering a seat and paan.23 He accepted the hospitality and after a few moments took his leave and went on his way. In this manner, the naked mendicant monk came daily, to see the king and present him with a fruit.

  One day, the fruit happened to slip and fall from the king’s hand. It was broken open by a pet monkey and a ruby rolled out of it. Its lustre created a commotion in the hall, for everyone there was greatly astonished.

  The king sat in amazement and asked the mendicant monk: ‘Hey, ascetic! Why would you bring such a priceless gem as a gift to me?’

  And the naked mendicant monk replied: ‘O, great king, hear me! It is said in the learned texts:

  ‘One does not visit a king,

  a physician or preceptor,

  a child or an astrologer,

  or a good friend, empty-handed.

  The gift of fruit yields its own fruit.

  ‘O, great king, for twelve years have I placed as a gift in your hand a priceless gem such as this hidden inside a fruit.’

  The king, greatly surprised by these words, sent for the keeper of the royal store and said to him: ‘Sir, keeper of the store, you remember the fruits that this naked mendicant monk has been gifting to me daily in the past, which I assume you have been keeping in the store-room: pray, bring them all here.’

  The keeper of the store brought all the fruits at the king’s command and when broken, each one was seen to contain a gemstone. The king was transported with joy. He gazed at the heap of flashing gemstones and exclaimed, ‘Hey, naked mendicant monk, wherefore have you brought to me these gemstones of inestimable value, when it is not in my power to pay you the cost of even one of these gems? What is it that you desire in return for such fabulous gifts? Tell me.’

  And the yogi24 responded reciting a verse:

  ‘Even if it be a trifling matter,

  if to rulers of the earth it relates,

  it should not be uttered, said Brhaspati,25

  in the open assembly.

  Magic spells, medicines, matters of sex,

  good works, cracks and flaws in one’s house and home;

  forbidden foods, slander, vital secrets:

  a shrewd man doesn’t broadcast these to the world.

  Heard by six ears, a secret breaks;

  heard by four ears, it stays secure;

  and not even the Creator himself

  can get to the bottom of a secret

  that is heard by two ears alone.

  Climbing right up to the top of a hill,

  going in secret to an open terrace;

  in deep woods or in some spot desolate:

  in such places is a secret disclosed.

  ‘Your Majesty, I shall disclose my purpose to you in private.’

  The king then dismissed everyone; and the yogī explained: ‘Your Majesty, the coming fourteenth day of the dark half of the month, in the great burning grounds on the banks of the river Godāvarī, I intend to perform certain secret rites. Once the rites are completed, I shall succeed in attaining the eight great Siddhis, supernatural powers:

  To be minute as an atom,

  or enormous as a mountain,

  light as air or heavy as rock,

  to be invisible at will,

  to have all one’s desires fulfilled,

  to subject others to one’s will

  and to have lordship of the world;

  know these to be the eight Siddhis.

  If a brave man and steadfast were, to assist,

  even a weak man possessed of magic powers

  could be a destroyer like Death itself.

  No man appears to me so brave,

  so steadfast as you; therefore I desire

  to have you
for my assistant

  and you alone, O King.

  ‘Therefore, pray be my assistant. Your Honour must come to me alone at night with only your sword.’

  The king promised. ‘Yes, I shall do as you ask,’ he said. Whereupon, the naked mendicant monk left and went about the business of collecting the articles required for the special rites he was planning. On the fourteenth day, as stated, he resorted to the great burning grounds.

  The king too for his part set out at night dressed in dark garments and met the mendicant there.

  Seeing that the king had arrived there true to his promise, the naked ascetic thrilled with intense excitement; he then explained what had to be done. ‘Some four leagues from here, O King, lies a great cremation ground where a corpse hangs from the branch of a śinśipā tree. Go there and bring back that corpse quickly. (If you speak, the corpse will return to that tree).’

  The king listened attentively to the ascetic’s instructions. Then that king who was unsurpassed in daring, set out towards the ŚinŚipā tree.

  Undaunted, the king reached those burning grounds

  that loomed in front, in swirling smoke enveloped,

  complete with a whole array of horrors;

  the most hideous place imaginable on this earth.

  With ramparts rising up of bones bleached white

  smeared with traces of brain;

  with bloody guts and organs, and skulls

  that had served as goblets for liquor

  all strewn around, littering the ground,

  it seemed Death’s very own playground.

  Murky with thick pall of smoke and blinding darkness,

  uproarious with wild yells of spirits demonic,

  thrashed by leaping whips of flames from funeral pyres,

  it seemed the black, diluvial masses of clouds,

  world-dissolving, of Time, the Destroyer,

  who had risen to perform the dance of death,

  whirling around decked in long, pendulous garlands

  of entrails pecked out by vultures, was there before him.

  Shaking with the riotous dance of the Pleiades

  —those six mothers who had nursed the god of war—

  echoing with eerie whistling of wild winds

  whizzing with lightning speed through hollow tubes

  of ancient bones, long-decayed;

  resounding with the jangling anklets of Yoginīs26 moving about,

  it seemed frenzied Time a bacchanalia was staging.

  As space in all directions reverberated

  filled with the swelling roars of defiance

  of ghoulish bandits,

  it seemed as if Time, the Great Ender,

  revealing himself in the form

  of the Primal Sound—OM—had rung

  the knell of dissolution of the triple-world.

  Studded with skulls and lopped-off limbs,

  decked with row upon row of skeletons

  for garlands;

  lit sombrely by blazing firebrands, the burning grounds

  pictured a second Bhairava,27

  the Lord’s destructive power.

  As well a second Bhārata war as well,28

  its killing-fields tumultuous

  with Kama and Śalva’s29 defiant howls;

  and awesome Bhīmas30 strutting, replaying

  Duhśāsanas’31 cruel slaying.

  Unpredictable as fights with the rolling dice,

  hard as women’s hearts of stone;

  like the undiscriminating mind

  that houses hatchets of fears and misgivings

  constantly hammering away at it;

  such was the sight of the burning grounds.

  It seemed as if it were Janasthāna32 itself

  haunted by the mighty Khara

  and Śūrpanakhā, the terrible,

  lurking at its fringes;

  Like Dandaka forests33 in whose dark depths

  Mārīća stood skulking, trembling with fear:

  And Dhūmrāksa, Meghanāda, Vibhīsana,

  Lankā’s great barons, reeling astounded;

  Lankā burning, Rāvana himself, her demon-king,34

  born as her tragic fate, still living:

  such was the scene the burning grounds presented.

  A lair for a host of sorrows it was,

  invaded by mobs of ravening ghouls,

  and embraced by numerous dreadful dangers;

  a place of gathering for ghosts; and seen there

  was a variety of ghouls, genies, ogres,

  their mouths gorged with flesh,

  their faces flushed with drink.

  Walking up to the śinśipā tree, the king climbed it, cut the rope by which the corpse was hanging and let the body fall to the ground. What was this corpse like?

  Dark blue as a rain cloud,

  the hair on its head standing erect,

  goggle-eyed, no trace of flesh on its frame,

  marked with the signs of a ghost,

  it was a horrid sight.

  No sooner had the king climbed down than the corpse was up again hanging on a branch. Again the king climbed the tree, placed the corpse on his shoulders and set out on his journey back. The corpse was possessed of a genie and as the king walked along, the genie spoke: ‘Listen, O king!’ it began.

  ‘Time passes for the intelligent

  in the enjoyment of poetry and martial sports;

  but for the foolish and ignorant,

  in sleep, mischief or vicious pursuits.

  What good is good fortune35 without discipline?

  What good is night without the moon?

  Without true wisdom, what good is skill with words?

  ‘So, listen, O king, while I regale you with a tale,’ said the genie.

  TALE 1:

  Of Vajramukuta and the Beautiful Padmāvatī

  There is a great city named Vārānasī where King Pratāmukuta reigned. His son was Vajramukuta. One day the prince rode far into the dark woods with the minister’s son Buddhisena, to hunt. There the two enjoyed their passion for the chase to the fullest and at noon they chanced upon a lake. A charming lake indeed it was:

  Teeming with wild geese and mallards; studded

  prettily with bright-plumaged sheldrakes; overspread

  with lotus-filaments and round green lotus-leaves;

  covered with white lilies and red and white lotuses;

  dotted with water-dwellers: turtles and fishes.

  Pretty awnings of trees with thick foliage,

  edgings of clumps of screw-pines embellished the lake.

  Overflowing with the murmurous hum of greedy bees

  drawn by the fragrance of Kadali-blossoms

  and with a confused blend of bird calls,

  gallinules, loons and peacocks

  and partridges that feed on moonbeams;

  enchanting with varied melodious sounds,

  resonant with the cooing of sweet-throated koels;

  thronged by waterfowls; laced by scallops of sarus cranes;

  the lake presented a charming picture.

  When the prince and his friend had dismounted from their horses and washed their hands and feet and faces, they noticed a little shrine. Entering it they bowed and worshipped the god. For it is said:

  In travel or in battle,

  with a friend or a powerful foe,

  with a sage or a lump of earth,

  on a bed of flowers or of rock,

  on a straw mat or with a woman,

  the days of my life pass alike,

  prating— ‘Śiva, Śiva, Śiva—

  in some sacred woods or other.

  In the abyss or the firmament,

  in the ten directions of space,

  in the skies, in the seas,

  on all mountains;

  in ashes, in wood,

  or in clods of earth,

  on land and water and air,

  in the still and the moving worlds,

  in the seed
s of all herbs,

  in the path of demon or god,

  in the petal of a blossom,

  on the tip of a blade of grass,

  this Śiva, the great lord, All-Pervading,

  abides. There is no other god.

  As the prince sat worshipping the divinity, a certain lady,36 surrounded by her companions arrived at that lake to bathe. Having finished her bath and completing the rites of worship to the goddess Gauri and other customary rituals, she was on the point of leaving when she noticed the prince. Their eyes met and they gazed intently at each other. She was stricken to the heart by Cupid’s arrows, the five arrows that make a person languorous, infatuated, inflamed, passion-driven and obsessed. So was he.

  The lady conveyed her feelings through mime, by means of a series of gestures. She removed a lotus from her hair and placed it at her ear; then she took it from her ear and placed it between her teeth; removing it from her teeth she put it against her heart; and then placed it under her foot. Having done this she departed. The prince sat as if dazed. Thinking of her, his whole body appeared to have become all crumpled and worn down.

  The minister’s son noticed him in this appalling state and asked: ‘Look here, my dear friend, why do you appear so dazed? Tell me the reason.’

  The young prince, reeling under love’s onslaught, confided his pain to his friend. ‘Ah! My dear friend, I saw a lady exceedingly beautiful by the lake; but I know nothing of her whereabouts. All I know is that only if she becomes my bride will I live; otherwise I shall surely die. This is my firm resolve.’