The Five and Twenty Tales of the Genie (Penguin Classics)
Page 10
‘Listen, O king, to this tale I tell,’ and the genie began:
There is a city named Dharmasthala; there ruled the king, Gunādhipa. A Brāhmana named Keśava lived in that city. His daughter Mandāravatī, celebrated far and wide for her wondrous beauty, was ready for marriage. Three fine young Brāhmanas came to Keśava and asked for her hand in marriage. All three were equally qualified to be her bridegroom. Keśava became perplexed. In a dilemma, he said to himself: ‘My only daughter and three suitors! To whom should I marry her? Whom should I reject?’
As he kept pondering the matter, it happened that Keśava’s daughter was bitten by a venomous black serpent. Experts who could treat snakebites with spells and incantations were called in to cure the girl. But they examined her and declared: ‘This maiden, bitten by a most poisonous black serpent will not live.’ For as the texts state:
The fifth and ninth, the sixth and fourteenth days
of the half-month, and the eighth day as well,
are days set aside as fatal
for anyone bitten by venomous things.
For anyone bitten by a serpent,
Mars and Saturn are named unfavourable,
and eclipses as well are baleful, as pointed out
by astromancers well-versed in the texts.
Rohinī and Māgha and Āślesa,
Viśākha-Mūla-Krttikā and Ārdrā:
these seven stars55 are inauspicious
for those suffering bodily hurt.
Sense-organs, lips, temples and frontal bone,
chin, throat, forehead and head and the twin thighs,
heart-navel-shoulder-belly, armpits and joints,
and the hands and soles of the feet as well:
those stung in these spots will not live.
An old, neglected garden,
or a cremation ground,
a lime-plastered building,
or a burial-mound:
persons bitten in such places,
go straight to Yama’s abode.
Burning fever and sweating,
vomiting and giddiness,
hiccups, paralysis of limbs,
colic and loss of brightness:
these are the symptoms
caused by a black serpent’s venom.
Neck contorted, voice faltering,
wind in the belly backing up
upward-pressing—
the patient dies, that is certain; why say more?
The Brāhmana, Keśava, listened to the words of the healer and after his daughter died, carried her body to the banks of the river to perform the last rites. The three suitors came there to attend the cremation rites. One of them entered the funeral fire and perished; the second built a little hut for himself on that very spot and lived there; while the third suitor turned ascetic and went travelling to other lands.
One day, this ascetic arrived at a certain city and stopped in front of a certain Brāhmana’s house and asked for his midday meal.56 The Brāhmana householder said to him: ‘Listen, ascetic, you have your food right here.’57 The Brahmāni, mistress of the house, placed a seat for the ascetic and set food before him. As he was about to sit down to eat, the couple’s little child started crying loudly inside the house. The lady of the house, the Brahmāni, lost her temper and picking up the child threw him into the blazing hearth.
At the sight of this devilish act, the ascetic refrained from eating. The host asked him: ‘Look here, ascetic, why are you not eating?’
To this the ascetic replied: ‘How can one possibly eat in a house where such monstrous acts are committed?’
The householder now went inside the house and brought forth a book. Opening the book, he recited some sacred words and restored to life that child who had been burnt to ashes. The ascetic, while watching this miraculous act of his host, the Brāhmana householder, thought to himself: ‘If only this book comes into my hands, I shall restore my beloved to life.’ With this idea in mind, the ascetic stayed around out of sight. At midnight he quietly slipped inside the house and stole the book. Then he returned to the spot where Mandāravatī had been cremated.
The Brāhmana suitor who had made that spot his habitation saw him and asked: ‘Listen, friend, in your sojourn in other lands did you by any chance acquire any new knowledge?’
‘Yes, I did. I acquired the knowledge of restoring the dead to life,’ answered the ascetic.
‘Well then, why don’t you restore our beloved to life?’ asked the other.
In reply, the ascetic opened his book and having recited the specific sacred words, sprinkled the dead girl’s ashes with some water; and she was restored to life. The suitor who had immolated himself on the girl’s funeral pyre, also stood up now, alive and well.
Now, all three suitors vying with one another for the girl’s hand began arguing vehemently with their eyes blinded by rage.
Having related this tale, the genie said to the king: ‘Listen, O king, tell me, whose wife should the girl rightfully be?’
King Vikramāditya replied: ‘Well, listen, and I’ll tell you:
He by whom the girl was restored to life,
is a father because he gave her life.
He who died with her, is a brother,
for he was born again with her.
But he who kept a place close to her
and lived there,58 is rightfully her husband.’
The genie heard the answer and was gone, back to that same place, to hang from a branch of the śinśipā tree.
Thus ends the second tale in the Five-and-Twenty tales of the Genie written down by Śivadāsa.
TALE 3:
Of the Parrot and the Myna
I write, having bowed to Śiva, Supreme Lord,
the Luminous One, Lord of the ganas,
their stay and support; consort of Gaurī,
bright goddess, who bears on his head59
the holy river Gangā who rides
the sacred white bull, Nandi.
The king returned once again to the same place and slung the corpse over his shoulders; and, as he proceeded on his way the genie started to tell a tale. ‘O, king, listen, I shall tell you a tale,’ said the genie.
There is a city named Bhogavatī, ruled over by a king named Rūpasena. In his bright mansion lived a parrot by the name of Vidagdhachudāmani, the crest-jewel of erudition. One day, the king asked the parrot this question : ‘Sir Parrot, what subjects are you well-versed in?’
‘I know all things that can be known, Your Majesty,’ answered the parrot.
‘Well then, tell me, is there a woman born who will be a perfect match for me as my wife?’ asked the king.
‘O, yes, my lord, there is,’ answered the parrot. ‘In the land of the Magadhas,60 King Magadhesvara reigns supreme. His daughter, named Surasundarī will become your wife.’
And in Magadha, the princess sitting in her palace was also talking to her pet myna, Madanamanjarī, love’s flower-spray.
‘Come, dear myna, tell me, is there a man born who will be a perfect match for me as. my husband?’
‘O, yes, Your Majesty,’ said the myna. ‘In the city of Bhogavatī rules King Rūpasena who will become your husband.’
Hearing the myna’s words the princess became lovelorn, thinking only of Rūpasena.
As things turned out, an embassy of distinguished men had already arrived at Magadheśvara’s court from King Rūpasena asking for the hand of the princess in marriage. The minister for war and peace presented them to the monarch on several occasions. The ambassadors requested the hand of the princess in marriage to their king; their request was accepted. Then on an auspicious day, King Rūpasena arrived at Magadha and the marriage was duly celebrated. The princess with her pet myna accompanied her husband back to his own kingdom. The king then placed the myna, Madanamanjarī, in the same cage with his pet parrot, Vidagdhachudāmani.
The parrot saw the beauty of the myna and was smitten with love for her; and he said to her: Ah! My beloved! Let us enjoy love w
hile fleeting youth still lasts. This is the best, the highest happiness for all living creatures in this world. For:
‘Flower and fruit are superior to wood;
melted butter is finer than milk, it’s said;
and oil is superior to the pressed oil-cake;
and further, it is better to choose love
over good works and wealth.61
Once youth has flown, my timid one,
life is vain, unprofitable
for sweet ladies who never know
the joys of love offered by practised lovers.
All beings that live and breathe experience
the carnal act of pleasure;
but it is some rare person who knows the secrets
of the god whose weapons are flowers.
Where the make-up gets spoilt,
adornments disarrayed,
consequent to the outpouring
of profuse perspiration;
where indistinct sounds emerge,
and involuntary murmurs;
where the tinkling of anklets is not heard;
where it is not too long
before all the senses come together
in one single experience concentrated,
that, sweet ladies, I say
marks love’s true enjoyment every time;
and what’s left out is a state of being
that belongs in another world.’
The myna responded coldly: ‘I am not one to love a man. Men are wicked; they are murderers of women.’
And the parrot retorted sharply: ‘Women too are of bad conduct; they are liars who slay men; the reason being this:
‘Women have innate flaws of character;
prone to falsehood, folly and audacity,
as well to deceit and cupidity;
they are unclean62 and ruthless.’
The king heard the two birds hotly arguing and quarreling with each other, and asked: ‘Listen, you two, what is the reason for this argument you are having? Tell me.’
The myna spoke up: ‘Your Majesty, men are wicked; they are murderers of women; and for that reason I shall never love a man. I can tell a good tale to prove my point:
‘There is a city named Elapuram where Mahādhana, the President of the Merchant’s Guild, lived. He had a son named Dhanaksaya who married the daughter of Udbhata, President of the Merchant’s Guild in the city of Punyavardhana. Having married her, he left her in her father’s house and returned to his own city. In due course his father Mahādhana died. After that Dhanaksaya lost all the wealth he had inherited by gambling, and his mansion as well.
‘Then Dhanaksaya decided to go to his father-in-law’s house to bring his wife home. After staying for several days in his father-in-law’s house, he decided to return home. He saw to it that his wife was decked out in all her jewellery, and started on his journey accompanied by her. Halfway, he turned to his wife and said: ‘My beloved, listen, this place is full of dangers. Therefore, you had better remove all your jewels and give them to me.’ She took off all her. jewels and handed them over to her husband. And now Dhanaksaya, with all the jewellery in his possession, also seized her fine outer garment and pushed her into a dry well overgrown with weeds. Then he took off and reached his own city.
‘In the well, the lady kept sobbing and calling out for help. Fortunately, some travellers passing that way heard her cries and went close to the well. Seeing a lady in it who was weeping, they pulled her out and set her safely on the road. Sticking to that road, she turned back and reached her father’s house where the whole family was surprised at seeing her return. They asked: “How is it that you have come back alone?”
‘The lady replied: “On the way my husband was attacked and taken away by some robbers; they also took all my jewels. So I fled from them and came here. Whether my husband got away from them or not, I do not know; he may have been killed.”
‘Hearing her tale, the father grieved much and consoled his daughter.
‘Now Dhanaksaya lost all his wife’s jewels in gambling. When several days had passed, he returned to his father-in-law’s house. Even as he was at the door, he caught sight of his wife. His mind was in a turmoil of fear and doubts. “How on earth has she come here, when I had thrown her into a well?” he asked himself.
‘Seeing him, his wife said: “Ah! My lord, do not be afraid.” With these words, she led him into the house. Her father and the whole family rejoiced to see him and they greeted him.
‘Dhanaksaya spent several days there. Then one night, when his wife was sound asleep, he killed her in her bed and seizing all her jewels fled back to his own city.
‘O, king, I tell you that I witnessed these incidents with my own eyes. Men are simply no good, my lord, look at it any way you like.’
Now the parrot spoke up.
‘Among horses and elephants and goats,
in wood and stone and cloth,
among men and women and in waters,
there is difference—a great difference.’
The king listened to the parrot’s comment and observed: ‘Well, Sir Parrot, now you expatiate on the faults of women.’
‘Yes, Your Majesty, pray listen,’ replied the parrot.
‘There is a city named Kānćanapuram where Sāgaradatta was President of the Merchant’s Guild. His son, Śridatta married the daughter of one Samudradatta, President of the Merchant’s Guild in the city of Śripura. He returned with his bride to his own city. After a space of several days the bride was sent back to her father’s house while Śridatta, having made arrangements to trade overseas, gathered all the merchandise needed and set out on a long journey. He was away for a considerable length of time. In the meantime his young bride was growing up in her father’s home and soon she was in the first flush of youth. As it is well said:
‘Budding youth lends a lovely charm
even to an ill-favoured form;
at the moment of rich ripeness
even the lime boasts of sweetness.
‘The young girl used to go up to the terrace of her mansion and stand watching the royal highway. One day, she noticed a young man; their eyes met. Turning to her companion, she said: “Dear friend, listen; bring that young man here to me.” The companion accordingly went down to the young man and said to him: “Listen, young gentleman, you appear to be the incarnation of the god of love himself! The daughter of Guild-President Sāgaradatta wishes to be with you in private.”
‘The youth agreed. “I shall meet her at your house tonight,” said he. As it is said:
‘The sight of a man freshly-bathed, perfumed,
clean and wholesome, makes women become moist
as an untempered jar filled with water;
woman is a jar of melted butter
and man the flaming energy of fire;
close to the fire the jar begins to drip;
the same happens when man and woman meet.
‘The two young people met at the house of the garland-maker who was the girl’s close companion. Love was born in their hearts. However, on one of the days following, the girl’s wedded husband arrived at his father-in-law’s house to take his wife home. Faced with the fact of her husband’s arrival to take her, the girl became deeply troubled,
‘“What shall I do? Where can I go?
Whom can I lean upon, alas?
No hunger nor no thirst—
no warmth nor no coolness—”
‘She confided her troubled thoughts to her companion.
‘There are, in life, several causes that lead to the downfall of women; they are the following: indulging in unbridled chitchat and idle gossip; possessing complete freedom permitted by the husband; undiscriminating social intercourse with men; travelling; staying at wayside places; and residing in foreign lands; ruin and disgrace of the husband; familiar contact with loose women and obsessive jealousy.
‘The son-in-law had his evening meal and retired to the bedchamber where the girl was forcibly sent to him by her mother. S
he lay on the bed turning her face away from her husband. The more tenderly he addressed her, the unhappier she grew.
‘Gestures speak of the tenderness
the mind-born63 god creates;
Glimpses of navel, arms, breasts and adornments,
fidgeting with one’s apparel,
binding the hair, letting it flow loose again;
arching of eyebrows, casting tremulous side glances:
noisy sputtering, nervous laughter,
rising from one’s seat or the bed,
stretching the limbs, and yawning,
pleading for small favours, for inconsequential trifles;
enfolding the young bride in one’s arms,
on her upturned face kisses raining;
turning the back and throwing covert glances,
singing the praises of feature and form,
gently rubbing the ear: know these to be
gestures of those in love:
making of sweet speeches, offers of wealth,
singing of praises to gloss over defects—
She looks around, impassioned, she sees me—
ever-thoughtful, all disdain banished—
offering of lips and breasts, demure concealment as well,