by Sivadasa
beads of perspiration—the first advances—
‘A woman cold to love and passion—
She turns away her face creased by knitted brows,
indifferent, discontent,
harbouring resentment,
she speaks harsh words, moves away impatient
of her lover’s touch and gaze;
she flaunts the pride born of new-risen youth;
wipes her mouth between kisses;
leaps out of bed—64
‘The young bride remained thus, lying on the bed with her face averted; as it is said:
‘Sleep visits not the man impassioned,
even on a bed of fine silk cotton;
passion-free, he sleeps in comfort,
on bare rock, or even a bed of thorns.
‘And the husband seeing that his wife was averse to his advances went off to sleep. When she was confident that her husband was fast asleep, the girl rose very quietly at midnight, slipped out softly and set out for her tryst. As she walked, she was noticed by a robber who began to wonder: “This young woman decked out in jewels—where is she headed?” And he followed her; as commonly understood:
‘The woman who leaves her husband’s side
and goes out of her house, elsewhere;
who sports constantly with her paramours
such a woman
is pointed out “The Wanton.”
‘Infatuated, she first sends a messenger,
her confidante, day after day;
and impetuous, she expressly fixes
some special spot or other for a tryst.
But alas! By a stroke of fate, she’s denied
union with the man for whom she has pined.
Such a woman sage Bharata65 types,
“The Deserted Lady.”
‘Unable to patiently bide her time
and wait for her messenger’s return;
powerless to withstand love’s feverous pain;
all a-thirst for love’s delights, she sets out
greedy to feed upon her lover’s lips:
Such a woman is typed by that best of seers,66
“The Audacious Lady.”
‘And that young girl’s lover lay at the trysting place, dead, struck down by the royal guards under the mistaken impression that he was a robber.
‘Were we to debate the merits
of lovers’ union and lovers’ parting,
consider the latter
infinitely better, here, in this world;
do not crave union with the beloved;
for, when my love and I are together,
she is but one, simply herself;
but, when we two lovers are parted,
she is the whole universe itself.
‘And that poor girl enduring the pangs of separation keeps embracing her lover’s corpse. She will not accept that he is dead; but offers him perfumed unguents, saffron and sandal and the like, paan and supari and such other gifts of love; again and again, she kisses his lips tenderly. The robber stands at some distance watching all that is going on; and as he watches he thinks to himself.
‘“She on whom my mind ever dwells,
she is indifferent to me;
she deeply yearns for another,
and, that other, is devoted to another;
what we plant yields fruit
enjoyed by someone else or other.
Ah! The pity of it all! He and she,
and Love; and this girl here and me!”
‘As this was happening, a thought came into the mind of the yakṣa,67 the Genius of the Woods, who happened to be sitting on a banyan tree there. “If I were to enter this corpse, I could enjoy sexual intercourse with this girl,” thought the yakṣa.
‘The yakṣa infused his spirit into the body of the dead lover and enjoyed sex with the girl, after which he bit off her nose and went away.
‘The girl with her body drenched in her own blood went to her companion and narrated to her the whole train of events. The companion counselled her thus: “Listen, you had better go to your husband’s bedside before it is daybreak and sit there weeping and sobbing and crying out loudly: ‘Ayo! Ayo! I have been disfigured by this man.’”
‘The girl followed this advice and seated beside her husband began howling loudly. Hearing the sounds of her wailing, her relatives came rushing in to the bedchamber; and what did they see but the young bride without a nose.
‘Outraged they demanded furiously: “Hey! You wicked fellow! You perpetrator of senseless cruelty! What’s this you have done? Why have you cut off our daughter’s nose in this vicious manner when she has done no wrong?68 Why?”
‘Hearing these charges, the unfortunate son-in-law being at a loss for an answer, simply recited these verses:
‘“Better trust a black serpent venomous;
or your bitterest foe brandishing a sword;
or a man whose wits are wandering:
but trust not a woman’s actions.
“Is there anything that poets69 do not see?
Is there anything that crows do not eat?
Is there anything drunks do not babble?
Is there anything young women cannot contrive?
“Who knows, who can understand the reasons
for the wild stampede of horses?
And for springtime’s sudden thunders?
For the failure of rains or their excess?
Or why women act or might act as they do?”
‘The girl’s family went straight to the royal halls of justice and handed over the son-in-law to the presiding magistrates who delivered their judgement: “This man is sentenced to capital punishment.” As the unfortunate man was on the point of being taken to the place of execution, in came the robber and said emphatically to the magistrates: “Listen, honourable sirs, Royal Justices, hear me. This man does not deserve to be punished.” He then explained by retailing before the justices the entire sequence of events of that night.
‘The magistrates heard him and having duly deliberated over the case, set the son-in-law free; they also pardoned the robber. As it is said:
‘The proper fostering of the virtuous,
and clear chastisement of villains,
this is the highest duty of rulers
in the worlds of the here and the hereafter.
‘The proper protection of his subjects
is the ground and aim of Law for a king.
He who fails to protect goes straight to hell:
hence, it is imperative that subjects be protected.
‘The fire that blazes up from the heat
of burning anguish of subjects,
not leaving unburned, the king’s sovereignty,
his glory, noble dynasty,
and even his life, bring them all to an end.
‘As for the young girl, she was mounted on a donkey70 and chased out of the city.’
The parrot Vidagdhachuḍāmaḍi now concluded his tale with this comment: ‘Your Majesty, this is how women are.’
Then those two birds, tellers of tales,
both shed their earthly forms as birds;
transformed into two Vidyādharas,71
shining with light, they straight ascended72
to the abode of the thirty-three gods.73
Having told this tale, the genie now asked: ‘Tell me, O king; who is more prone to commit evil (man or woman)?’
And King Vikramāditya replied at once:
‘Woman, and she alone deserves censure
here in this world of ours; not men, never,
for men are directed to and instructed
in matters of good and evil.
The propensity for evil exists in greater measure in women, whereas men are rarely guilty of serious wrongdoing.’
Hearing the king’s answer, the genie left; it went back to that same śinśipā tree to hang there.
Thus ends the third tale, in the work entitled the Five-and-Twenty Tales of the Genie by Śivadās
a.
TALE 4:
Of Vīravara,74 the Noble Warrior
I bow to Thee, Lord Ganeśa,75
mounted on a mole; great-bodied,
elephant-headed god,
Commander of the Ganas;
and Destroyer of Obstacles.
Once again the king took down the corpse from the śinśipā tree and slung it across his shoulders. As he was on his way to his destination, the corpse began a fresh tale. ‘Listen while I regale you with a tale,’ said the genie.
There is a great city named Vardhamāna where King Śūdraka ruled. Once he was seated in the Great Hall of Audience. Turning to the chamberlain, the king said: ‘Sir Chamberlain, pray go and check if anyone is waiting outside the door to see me.’ The chamberlain replied:
‘Dripping with perspiration, soiled, covered with dust,
sadly lacking support, having no refuge,
here stands a host of supplicants at the door,
resembling patient oxen, O, godlike lord.’
Another day, a princely warrior from the southern land, named Vīravara, arrived at the Hall of Audience seeking employment with the monarch. He gained an audience. The king asked him: ‘O, princely warrior, what order of payment do you expect per day?’
‘Your Majesty, I expect to be paid one thousand gold coins per day,’ replied Vīravara.
‘How many elephants, horses and foot soldiers do you have to maintain?’ asked the king.
‘Your Majesty, we are only four; I, my wife and my son and daughter. There is no fifth body to maintain.’
Hearing Vīravara’s words, all the personages present in the hall, princes, great warriors, heroes and ministers laughed. And the king reflected: ‘I wonder why this man asks for such a large sum of money. On the other hand, this huge largesse might yet yield fruit some day, who knows.’
So, the king summoned the royal treasurer and gave him instructions: ‘Give this man, Viravara, one thousand stamped gold coins from the royal mint each day.’
Every day, after receiving his daily salary, Vīravara first distributed gifts to gods and Brāhmanas, to bards, strolling players, storytellers, dancers and those who put on shows, to the indigent, to the blind, and lame, to lepers and hunchbacks and all other supplicants; and only then did he sit down to eat. At night, sword in hand, he stood guard outside the royal bedchamber. In this manner when each night the king called out at midnight: ‘Ho! Who is there at the door?’ Viravara always answered signifying his presence on duty. There is a well-known saying that runs like this:
Thus do the rich play with their retainers
consumed by hopes of advancement, calling out to them—
‘Come here,’ ‘Go hence,’ ‘Fall down,’ ‘Get up’
‘Speak,’ ‘Be quiet,’ and so on.
He eats, but eats not in comfort,
he speaks, but not as he pleases,
unsleeping, he is not awake:
A servant! Does he truly live?
His own views he has to keep to himself,
he follows the bent of another’s thoughts,
he has himself sold his body; so then,
where is there happiness for a servant?
Dumb through silence, yet, he is eloquent,
garrulous perhaps, idle chatter dispensing.
Timid from practising excessive caution,
disagreeable if displeased,
presumptuous when he is close by,
forgetful at a distance;
inaccessible indeed is the nature and practices
of those who serve others,
even to yogis with far-seeing, magical powers.
One day, at midnight. King Śūdraka heard the piteous sounds of a woman weeping in the burning grounds. Curious and concerned, the king called out: ‘Who is there at the door?’
Vīravara answered at once: ‘Your Majesty, I Vīravara, am here.’
‘Hey, Vīravara, do you hear the sounds of some woman weeping?’ asked the king.
‘Yes, I do,’ replied Viravara.
‘Well then, go to her and ask her why she is weeping. And return quickly and inform me,’ ordered the king. As the well-known verse says:
A man is expected to know these well:
the servants he dispatches on missions;
his kinsfolk when there is a dire need of them;
a friend at a time of distress;
the wife when faced with loss of rank and wealth.
Accordingly, Vīravara, following, the direction of the sounds, set out for the burning grounds. And KingŚūdraka, remaining incognito, followed him on that road mantled in darkness. There, in the burning grounds, he saw a woman weeping; her hair was floating loose and she was adorned with brilliant jewels.
There she was, dancing and leaping about,
gliding softly, then darting forwards,
weeping in sorrow immeasurable,
piteously, not shedding a single tear.
‘Woe is me!’ she cried, ‘Oh! What misery!
What sort of sinful being can I be!
How my limbs shake and shiver repeatedly!
My whole frame, every single part of it,
trembles, convulsing uncontrollably!’
Beholding her, Vīravara asked: ‘Who are you lamenting so woefully here?’
‘Royal Glory am I,’ she answered.
‘If you are Royal Glory, why are you weeping like this?’ queried Viravara.
And she answered: ‘On account of the displeasure of the goddess, on the third day, the king will be gathered to his forefathers; and I, I shall be widowed having lost my lord. I weep for this reason.’
‘Is there a way, some means or other, whereby the king might live to be a hundred years?’ asked Viravara.
Royal Glory answered, ‘O, king’s man, if you sever the head of your son with your own hand before your tutelary goddess76 and offer her the sacrifice, the king will live to be a hundred.’
When Viravara heard this he set off immediately for his home. He woke up his sleeping wife and told her everything.
‘And she, the wife with large lustrous eyes*
blessed with all womanly virtues and beauties,
possessing dignity and fortitude;
modest, with a gracious manner
and natural sweetness of speech;
mother of heroes, high-born, most beautiful,
possessing a deep navel winding inwards,77
full, firm breasts closely-set, fine thighs
tapered like an elephant’s trunk—
‘They are sons who are devoted to the father,
he is a father who cherishes his sons;
he is a friend in whom trust is reposed,
she a wife who provides peace and happiness.
‘A disciplined son; learning valued for its own sake,
good health and the company of good friends,
a gentle wife who provides pleasant conversation:
these five pull sorrow out by its roots.
‘Parting from the loved one, family disgrace,78
debts left unpaid, serving the wicked,
friends who turn their backs seeing one needy:
these five don’t need the aid of fire to burn the body.
‘Insolent servants, a miserly king,
knaves for friends, an ungracious wife:
these four are sharp darts that pierce one’s head.
‘Unburdening the heart to friends whose hearts are true,
confiding cares to a faithful servant,
and to tender women; telling one’s troubles
to a master close to one’s heart, a man finds relief.’
Why say more?
‘For the sake of the king, subject am I now
to Death’s dominion; that is most certain;
so, go, gracious lady, seek sanctuary
with father and brothers, O best of women!’
The wife answered thus:
‘The father offers a measure,
mea
sured is what a brother gives,
the son too offers a measure;
but a husband gives beyond all measure.
What woman will not honour her husband?
‘What have I to do with a son?
My family, my kith and kin?
Neither father nor mother, but only you,
O, my lord, you alone are my sanctuary.
‘A faithful wife am I, my lord,
and never shall I leave your side;
a husband is a woman’s sole sanctuary;
this is the Law from time immemorial.
‘A woman is not sanctified
by charitable works;
nor even by the observance
of religious fasts;
a woman becomes sanctified
by unswerving devotion to her husband.
‘She is known as a truly faithful wife
who never forsakes her husband,
be he blind or a hunchback or a leper,
be he diseased or beset by misfortunes.
‘This duty that I have thus spoken of