by Sivadasa
Listening to these disturbing words, the minister’s son asked the prince: ‘Dearest friend, tell me, did she say anything to you that I might ponder over and find some consolation for you?’
The prince asked rather surprised: ‘And how will you know?’ To which the minister’s son replied:
‘Even animals grasp what is clearly expressed;
spurred on, horses and elephants advance;
but what is unspoken, the scholar infers;
to make sense of hints thrown out by others,
is the advantage the intellect confers.
By looks, by hints, by gait and by gesture,
by words one speaks and the way one speaks them,
by changes of face and eyes: by these
are known the innermost, most secret thoughts.
‘So tell me what she did, whatever it might be.’
And the prince said, ‘Well then, I shall describe to you the way she acted; though I myself do not comprehend any of it. She took a lotus from her head, placed it at her ear, then removing it from there, she gripped it with her teeth and then placed it next to her heart. Finally, talking it from her bosom, she put it under her feet. After acting this way she departed.’
The minister’s son thought for a while and then said to his friend: ‘Listen, this is what she was saying: by removing a lotus from her head to place it by her ear she was saying: “Karnakubja37 is the name of my city”; by gripping it with her teeth she was saying: “I am the daughter of Dantāghāta38 (Bite)”; and by placing the lotus next to her heart she was saying: “You alone are dear to me as life; you live in my heart”; by placing the lotus under her foot, she was saying: “Padmāvatī39 (Lady Lotus) is my name”.’
Having heard what the minister’s son told him, the prince declared: ‘If I obtain her, then I shall live; if not, I die. Get up, my friend, let us go there where she is who is dear as life to me. I shall not eat until I reach that place.’
Leaving the lakeside, the prince and his friend reached Padmāvatī’s city. They stopped at the home of an old woman who lived in seclusion, a wandering female mendicant, for it is said:
A strolling nun, an actress, a wet nurse,
a washerwoman, a neighbour:
protect your wives from these women
for they serve as a go-between.
The prince now asked the old recluse: ‘Listen, old mother, have you always lived in this city?’
And she replied: ‘Yes, I have always lived in this city.’
‘Is there a princess by the name of Padmāvatī in this city?’ asked the prince.
‘O, yes,’ replied the old recluse. ‘The daughter of King Dantāghāta is named Padmāvatī. I visit her daily.’
The minister’s son said at the point: ‘Today you should visit her.’
The recluse agreed. ‘Yes, I shall,’ said she.
The prince now sat down to weave a garland of flowers, while the old recluse was dispatched on some other business. And when she returned after performing her task, she took the flower garland and set out to visit Padmāvatī. Before she left, the prince said to her privately: ‘Look, tell Padmāvatī this: “That young prince, whom you saw at the lake, has arrived and is living here”.’
‘All right, I shall tell her,’ said the recluse.
The recluse now went to the palace and reported everything to Padmāvatī, though the princess had already guessed it all, by the way the flowers had been strung. However, she pretended to be furious. Dipping her hand in pale, liquid sandal, she slapped the old recluse on both cheeks. Further, she spoke severely to the old woman, saying: ‘If you dare speak to me in this manner ever again, I shall kill you; now go.’ The old woman was driven out.
The old woman returned to the prince crestfallen. Seeing her face, the prince became disconsolate. The old woman reported what had happened. And the prince said turning to his friend: ‘O, my friend, what do we make of this?’
But the minister’s son reassured him. ‘Do not be discouraged; there is a reason for her actions. When the princess slapped the woman with a hand smeared with pale sandal paste, she was in fact saying: “Wait for ten days, until the dark half of the month begins.”’
At the end of ten days, the old woman was dispatched once more to the princess, Padmāvatī. Seeing the old woman before her, Padmāvatī dipped her hand in a bowl of moist, red saffron, slapped the old recluse’s cheek with three fingers and pushed her out. When the prince saw the old woman returning, he fell into deep despair. Turning to his friend he remarked: ‘O, my friend, what is to be done now? Today is definitely the day of my death.’
But the minister’s son consoled him, saying: ‘Be of good courage; there is a reason here; for it is said:
‘On the first day of her courses,
a woman is as good as an outcast;
on the second, a hateful murderess;
on the third day, a woman
who washes dirty linen;
on the fourth day she becomes cleansed.40
‘My lord, the princess is at present in her courses; on the fourth day she will have the ritual bath that removes impurity.’
At the end of four days, the old woman was sent again to visit Padmāvatī. When Padmāvatī saw her approaching, she took a strong rope and bound the old woman, seized her by the throat and pushed her out by the western entrance.
The old woman returned in an ugly mood and reported what had happened.
The minister’s son thought over this and then observed: ‘My lord, tonight you should go to the princess, entering by the west gate.’
Once he had heard this, the day dragged on for the prince like a hundred, long years. It was night at last. The prince was dressed to kill and went to the west gate with his friend. There, the attendants of the princess pulled the prince up with strong ropes, while his friend returned home.
This was the prince’s first meeting with Padmāvatī. They began conversing and enquired after each other’s health and well-being. The prince was treated to a perfumed bath; dinner was served; fine clothes and beautiful jewels were put on him; he was rubbed with fragrant creams such as sandal, aloes and others; and after accepting scented paan to chew, the prince sat at ease on a soft, luxurious bed. He then made passionate love to Padmāvatī in four different ways.
When husband and wife, lying side by side,
bodies straight, parallel, pressed tightly together
in close embrace make passionate love,
it is known as union in ‘low-position’.
The girl lying below, the man above her,
a mode well-known, practised the world over,
is favoured by rustic lovers.
When a woman gratifies a lustful man,
riding him, it is known as the ‘inverse mode’,
a mode that pleases all lustful lovers.
Where a woman gratifies a lascivious man,
crouching like a beast on all fours, that mode,
bestial, pleases experts on amatory arts.
Breasts pressed tightly in close embrace,
hair on the limbs upspringing,
passion’s delicious nectar outpouring,
the splendid garment slipping down her loins—
‘No, don’t, O giver of honour!41
don’t do this to me—enough…’
thus she breathes out faint syllables fading away—
What! Is she asleep? Is she dead?
Or, melting into my heart, is she lost?
Oh! For a chewy roll of paan leaf
filled with scented supari,
laced with slaked lime and spices!
Piquant and tart and tangy, sweet-and-hot,
astringent and alkaline,
calming wind, dissolving phlegm, routing germs,
driving away foul odours, cleansing the body;
paan enhances the beauty of lips,
and briskly kindles the flames of passion!
Ha! The thirteen fine virtues that the paan has
are hard to find even in paradise, my friend!
Properly blended aromatic fillers
generate passion’s glow;
nut in excess makes passion wane,
leaf in plenty diffuses a fine fragrance,
and excess of aromatic fillers
takes away the freshness of the breath.
Musk! Its birthplace is not a place of note,
its hue is nothing to write home about;
at a distance appearing to advantage,
smeared on the body it is mistaken for mud.
Even so, it surpasses in fragrance
every other sweet-scented substance.
Who truly knows the fragrant properties,
Ha! Of the real thing, essence of musk!
Having enjoyed passionate love-sport, the prince sat relaxed. Padmāvatī now put a question to him: ‘So, my lord, you understood what my true feelings for you were.’
And the prince’s answer was: ‘Oh! I understood nothing; it was my friend who understood it all, using his intelligence.’
‘Ah! Is that so? How pleased I am with your friend!’ observed Padmāvatī. Then she added: ‘In the morning I shall have a nice spicy dish specially prepared for him.’
Dawn broke and the prince hastened home to his friend and told him everything that had gone on at night, saying:
‘She gives and she receives;
she confides her secrets and asks for mine;
she gets pleasure and she gives me pleasure;
in these six ways she shows her affection.
‘And now listen to this, dear friend, she will be sending you the midday meal, specially prepared for you.’
The minister’s son, having listened attentively remarked: ‘O, she will, will she, my lord? Poisoned laddus42 specially prepared for me will arrive, I have no doubt.’
Even as he made this remark, a maidservant was seen approaching, with a salver of poisoned laddus in her hands. The minister’s son looked at the sweets, picked one up and threw it to a dog that was standing by. It ate the laddu and instantly dropped dead. Seeing the poor creature lying dead, the prince exclaimed angrily: ‘This girl desires the death of my dearest friend! I shall not touch her with a barge-pole. Never.’
And his friend said quietly: ‘Ah! My lord, listen: the lady is head over heels in love with you; it is her love that has prompted her action; for, you must have heard this:
‘Parents and country, kith and kin,
riches and life itself: women
devoted solely to any one special man,
do not care a straw for such things.
And it is also said:
When one has stayed in someone’s house
and shared a meal with him,
it is only right to have good thoughts about him
and do him good by word and deed.
The wise laud that goodwill
that is the equal of milk-and-water;
in it water becomes as milk;
that milk protects in fire.
‘But why talk at such length? What I now say ought to be done at once. My lord, today at midnight, indulge in such raptures of passionate sport that it leads Padmāvatī to a pitch of fevered excitement and leaves her overpowered and languid. Then, make three marks on her left thigh with a sharp point of your nail, relieve her of her fine garments and jewels and come to meet me.’
The prince duly followed the instructions of the minister’s son and taking Padmāvatī’s things went to meet his friend who was sitting in the great burning grounds in the garb of an ascetic. The prince saw him,
Seated in the lotus pose, eyes barely open,
observing total silence; hair matted and twisted,
and piled high in a crescent-shaped coil adorned
by a chaplet of flowers shaped into a half moon.
The minister’s son gave Padmāvatī’s ring to the prince to take to the bazaar and sell. When the prince showed the ring to the goldsmiths there, they scrutinized it and exclaimed: ‘What! This is one of the jewels belonging to the princess.’ They took the prince straightaway to the Keeper of the Royal Treasury and reported his possession of the princess’ ring.
The Keeper of the Treasury seized the prince and questioned him saying: ‘Hey, you are a warrior, bearing arms. How did you come by this ornament?’
‘My guru gave it to me,’ replied the prince. The Keeper of the Treasury marched the prince along to where his guru was, and now questioned the guru: ‘Say, worshipful ascetic! How did you come by a jewel marked with the royal name?’
The venerable sage answered promptly: ‘On the fourteenth night of the dark half of the month I saw a band of yoginīs43 marking out a magic circle44 with red flowers and worshipping there, after which they tore a male victim limb from limb and started eating him. I picked up my trident and darted towards them. Seeing how outraged I was, they fled in all directions. However, one of them was hit by my trident on her left thigh as she fled. So terrified was she that her clothes and jewels fell off her. I picked them up.’
The Keeper of the Treasury now went to the king and conveyed to him what he had been told. The king heard the report with attention and sent for the portress of the Inner Apartments45 and ordered her thus: ‘Go to Padmāvatī’s chambers, strip her and see if she has any marks on her left thigh.’ The portress went at once in obedience to the king’s command and examining Padmāvatī’s body noticed the aforesaid marks. Returning at once to the king she reported what she had seen. ‘Your Majesty, what the Keeper of the Treasury has conveyed to you is absolutely correct. But such information should not be made public; for it is said:
‘Loss of wealth, rifts and dissension,
questionable conduct in the home,
matters of deceit or disgrace:
the discreet do not broadcast these to the world.’
The king addressed the Keeper of the Treasury: ‘Sir, Keeper of the Treasury, you had better go to that eminent sage and ask him: “What is the proper punishment for an act such as you described?”’
The Keeper of the Treasury went promptly to the venerable fake sage and asked him the question as he had been directed. ‘What is the proper punishment for an act such as you described?’ he asked.
To this, the venerable fake sage gave a solemn reply:
‘Cows and Brāhmanas are not to be slain,
nor women and children, nor one’s kinsfolk;
nor those with whom we have broken bread,
and those who have sought sanctuary with us.
‘In the case of women, despite the enormity of the crime committed, banishment is the only proper punishment.’
So, Padmāvatī was banished from the kingdom by her father, the king, who did so without investigating the facts of the case. The prince and his friend then mounted her upon a horse and returned with her to their own kingdom where her marriage to the prince was duly celebrated. As we have heard:
If an artifice is really well-concealed,
even Brahmā, the Creator,
cannot get to the bottom of it.
The weaver in Visnu’s guise loved the princess.
Without vigilant scrutiny do not act;
act only after full investigation;
lest you reap the fruit of bitter remorse,
like the Brāhmana lady who struck her pet46 mongoose.
Whatever deed Destiny has willed,
that deed will be as it has been willed;
nothing can be changed that has to be,
not even by the three-and-thirty Luminous Powers.47
Rāma could not see through the golden deer48;
to his palanquin Nahusa49 yoked the Seven Sages50,
and Arjuna’s mind was obsessed by the thought
of abducting the Brāhmana’s cow with its calf.51
In a game of dice, the son of Dharma52
staked and lost his four brothers and his queen.
At a time when catastrophe is poised to strike,
&
nbsp; a man’s judgement forsakes him, as a rule,
even if he is virtuous and wise.
Deeply affected by the preceding events, the unfortunate king, Dantāghāta died of grief for the loss of his daughter. The mother mounted her husband’s blazing funeral pyre and went straight to the world where Yama, god of death, holds his court.
Having related this tale the genie said: ‘Now tell me, O, king, who is guilty of wrongdoing in this case? If knowing the answer you refrain from giving it, your heart will burst and you will die.’53
King Vikramāditya answered promptly: ‘The king, of course, for he took a grave decision without due deliberation.’
The genie got his answer and got away, back to the śinśipā tree to hang there once again.
Thus ends the first tale in Śivadāsa’s book, the Five-and-Twenty Tales of the Genie.
TALE 2:
Of Mandāravatī and Her Three Suitors
Having bowed to the Muse, Sarasvatī,
goddess of wisdom and word incarnate,
goddess with large, lustrous lotus-petal eyes,
adorned with brilliant jewels, seated
eternally on the lotus-throne,54
I write.
Once again the king walked back to the śinśipā tree, placed the corpse on his shoulders and set out for his destination. As he was walking along, the corpse began his storytelling.