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

by Sivadasa

Thus did that maiden appear, blessed

  with all the marks of beauty’s perfection.124

  Having seen such an exquisite form, the connoisseurs of feminine beauty, talked among themselves. ‘If the king marries this beautiful maiden, he will be so lost in love for her that he will take no thought for the administration of the kingdom.’

  With this thought uppermost in their minds, they returned to the palace and apprised the king of their assessment of Ratnadatta’s daughter.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ they said, ‘that maiden lacks all marks of beauty and therefore not fit to be His Majesty’s bride.’

  The king heeded their judgement and summoning the merchant prince told him that he would not marry his daughter.

  The merchant prince having listened to the king’s decision, offered his daughter in marriage to the commander of the Royal Forces, General Baladhara who came to Ratnadatta’s mansion and was duly married to Unmādinī. Unmādinī lived in the general’s mansion deeply resentful, brooding over the insult offered to her. ‘So, the king rejected me saying that I lacked beauty,’ she told herself.

  One day it happened that as the king was on the royal highway he chanced to see Unmādinī standing on the terrace of her mansion. Gazing on her, he was greatly disturbed. As he reflected wondering whether she was a goddess or a mortal woman, he found himself falling madly in love with the unknown lady. With great difficulty he tore himself away from that spot and returned to the palace. After that, around midnight his body began to be racked with intense pain and suffering. The doorkeeper of the royal bedchamber noticed that the king was in great torment and asked: ‘What is it that is troubling you, Your Majesty?’

  And the king explained: ‘My good man, this evening while I was out on the royal highway, I noticed an exquisitely lovely lady on the terrace of one of the mansions there. I wondered whether she was a goddess or an Apsarā or a Vidyādharī or simply a woman. But after setting eyes on her, I have fallen madly in love with this lady.’

  ‘She is no goddess, Your Majesty,’ replied the doorkeeper. ‘She is a mortal woman all right. She is Unmādinī, the daughter of the merchant prince, Ratnadatta. In fact, she is the lady that Your Majesty turned down when she was offered in marriage to you, because you were under the impression that she lacked any beauty whatsoever. She is now married to General Baladhara.’

  The king was taken aback. ‘O, how have I been deceived by those connoisseurs of beauty, those celebrated judges of feminine good looks!’ he exclaimed.

  The king straightaway summoned those same men who were experts in judging the marks of perfect beauty.

  ‘Listen, noble gentlemen,’ he chided, ‘you have all deceived me. That maiden you, who are experts, swore possessed not a single mark of beauty, is in fact a lady of exquisite loveliness in every limb; a goddess she is, descended from Svarga, the Realms of Light that is the abode of the Immortals. Such beauty as she possesses is not found among our mortal women.’

  The judges of ideal beauty heard what the king said and agreed with him. ‘Yes, Your Majesty, what you say is true. But there was a reason for the report that we submitted to Your Majesty stating that the maiden possessed no beauty at all.’

  Now it came to General Baladhara’s ears that the king was hopelessly in love with his wife. He came at once and said to the king: ‘Your Majesty, I am your slave; and she, my wife, is my slave; and it is for her that Your Majesty is burning with passion. Command me, my lord, so that I may bring her to you.’

  Hearing this the king became very angry. ‘Is it the right conduct for men of virtue who follow the Law to approach another man’s wife? Is it not said?

  ‘He, and only he sees rightly, who regards

  the wives of other men as his own mother,

  the wealth of others as simply clods of earth;

  and cares for all living things as for his own self.

  ‘The preceptor chastises all persons,

  the king chastises the wicked,

  and Yama, god of death, son of the Sun,

  judges all hidden acts of wrongdoing.’

  To this the general replied: ‘My lord, I give you my slave; how then can she be another man’s wife?’

  ‘What is against the accepted practices of society ought not to be done,’ retorted the king.

  ‘In that case, let me give her to the temple125 where she will become a courtesan and then bring her to His Majesty’s presence,’ remonstrated the genèral.

  ‘Now, listen to me,’ reprimanded the king. ‘If you dare make your chaste wife into a harlot, I shall punish you.’

  The general now recited these lines:

  ‘She, who is always honoured by the king,

  and is greatly praised by the virtuous,

  becomes desirable and sought after

  and possessed of good fortune126 as well;

  whether she be a queen, or a princess,

  or the daughter of the prime minister,

  she has her husband in her power, even

  if he has a harem of a thousand.’

  Even as the general was making these comments, the king pining for Unmādinī had reached the tenth stage of unfulfilled love; as it has been described:

  These are the ten phases that mark falling in love:

  the delight of the eyes; constant thoughts of the person

  the birth of desire; loss of sleep; wasting away;

  turning away from normal pleasures; loss of shame;

  infatuation and obsession; loss of consciousness;

  and finally death.

  As well:

  First come longings, then the yearning to see the beloved;

  next, hot sighs are breathed out, then fever sets in;

  in the fifth stage the limbs all burn,

  followed by loss of relish for eating;

  in the seventh stage, the limbs shake and tremble;

  The onset of disorientation marks the eighth stage;

  in the ninth stage life hangs in the balance;

  finally, in the tenth stage, the lover breathes his last.127

  A little later, the king expired. General Baladhara seeing the king dead went at once to consult his guru. ‘Your Holiness,’ he asked anxiously, ‘at such a fateful pass what ought to be done?’

  ‘Having worshipped the sun with an oblation the person should enter the fire,’ answered the guru.

  General Baladhara acted accordingly. His wife Unmādinī now asked the guru for advice. ‘Your Holiness, instruct me in the duties of a wife,’ she asked. The guru instructed her thus:

  ‘She who follows her husband step by step

  as he is carried to the burning grounds,

  is a chaste and faithful wife; and she gains

  the merit gained by performing the Horse Sacrifice.

  With due rites a wife enters the holy fire

  when her husband dies; than this no higher Dharma128

  is known that virtuous women could practise.’

  Unmādinī listened attentively to these words. She then took the ritual bath that purifies; dispersed charities and gifts and carried out other pious works. Having circled the funeral pyre she approached her husband’s flaming body and uttered these words: ‘Hear me, my lord; time and again in birth after birth I am your slave,’ and she entered the flames.

  Having narrated this tale, the genie said: ‘Tell me, O, king, of these three persons, who is the most virtuous?’

  King Vikramasena answered: The king is the most virtuous.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ queried the genie.

  ‘The king did not accept the lady even though she was offered by her own husband, voluntarily, because it was contrary to Dharma, the Law. A servant sacrifices even his life for his master and this was the dharma of the general. As for the wife she followed her husband in death, and this is the dharma of women. Therefore, for these reasons, I consider the king exceedingly virtuous.’

  Having heard the king’s answer, the genie went back to that same spot and hung f
rom the branches of the śinśipī tree.

  Thus ends the sixteenth tale in the Five-and-Twenty Tales of the Genie as set down by śivadāsa.

  TALE 17:

  Of Guṇākara and the Yogī Who Lost His Magic Powers

  That Power which ordained Brahmā as the potter

  within the cave of the Cosmic Egg;

  that Power which cast headlong Visnu

  into the Forests of Mighty Perils

  of His Ten Incarnations; that Power

  which compelled Rudra to beg for alms

  with the half-skull-bowl that served as hollowed palms

  for food; that Power that perpetually spins

  the Sun’s Wheel in the heavens; to that Power,

  the Cosmic Law, I humbly bow.129

  The king returned once again to that same spot and took the corpse down from the śinśipā tree. As he placed it on his shoulders and began walking, the corpse started its storytelling with the words: ‘Hear, O, king, while I tell you a tale.’

  There is a city named Ujjayini. It was ruled by King Mahāsena. In that city there lived a Brāhmaṇa named Devaśarma who had a son named Gunākara. And he was an inveterate gambler. Whatever he could lay his hands on in his home, he gambled and lost. The family finally got together and threw him out of the house. Guṇâkara set out for another land.

  Having arrived at some land, he saw a deserted shrine and sat inside. There he met with a yogī130 and bowed to him with reverence.

  ‘Who might you be?’ asked the yogī.

  ‘A Brāhmana from another land,’ replied Gunākara.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ asked the yogī.

  ‘I am hungry,’ replied the Brāhmaṇa.

  ‘There is cooked rice in this half-skull-bowl; eat it,’ said the yogī.

  ‘I shall not eat my food in a skull,’ replied the Brāhmana.

  In a state of profound meditation, the yogī reified an invocation. A yaksinī who dwelt in a banyan tree materialized.

  ‘Your Holiness, I am here. Command me,’ said the yaksinī.

  ‘See that this Brāhmana gets the food he desires,’ ordered the yogī.

  No sooner had she received the yogī’s command than the yaksinī created a splendid mansion. She led the Brāhmana, Gunākara into the mansion, set a fine feast before him, offered him a paan quid after he had eaten. Then she presented him with fine clothes and jewellery; next, she rubbed fragrant salves and creams made of blended camphor, musk and liquid sandal paste on his body. She then made love to him to his heart’s content. At daybreak, the yaksinī vanished and the Brāhmana found himself alone.

  He approached the yogī. Seeing him the yogī asked: ‘Ah! Good Brāhmana; you look dejected; why?’ The Brāhmana, Gunākara replied: ‘Without the yaksinī, I shall die.’

  ‘She is a luminous, celestial being; she can be summoned only through an invocation,’ observed the yogī.

  ‘O, great master, then pray instruct me in the esoteric arts; I shall diligently learn and master it,’ pleaded the Brāhmana.

  The yogī taught the Brāhmaṇa a particular spell and instructed him as follows: Listen, Brāhmaṇa, stand in the middle of the waters and single-mindedly meditate on this spell.’

  The Brāhmana followed the yogī’s instructions. He entered the waters and standing right in the middle, meditated on the magic spell. But the yaksinī did not appear; all around him there seemed to be a maze of illusory images. He came out of the waters and standing before the yogī, exclaimed: ‘Nothing, Your Holiness, I gained nothing.’

  The yogī now said: ‘Go, enter the fire.’

  ‘Let me go and visit my family once; then I shall enter the fire,’ said the Brāhmana.

  With these words he returned to his native land and went to see his family; he saw and met all his relatives. They threw their arms round his neck and wept with joy. His father said: ‘Gunākara, my child, where have you been all these days? How is it that you have forgotten your home? And it is said:

  ‘By forsaking a wife faithful and devoted,

  pious and of virtuous conduct, my son,

  a man is guilty of a heinous act,

  the act of destroying a child in the womb.

  ‘No duty is more meritorious

  than the duties of a householder;

  no happiness is greater

  than the joy a wife brings;

  no place of pilgrimage is holier

  than the space where parents dwell;

  no divinity is greater than Keśava.131

  ‘Men who despise their mothers and fathers

  are vile, the lowest of the low;

  theirs is not the way up,

  so the Creator declared.

  The man who sees his wedded wife forlorn,

  consumed by longing for the rites of love

  and will not approach her despite her pleadings,

  though she is most worthy of being loved,

  is a man who sees with a Ćāndālā’s132 eyes.’

  Gunākara responded with these lines:

  ‘Brimful of filth and impurities,

  swarming with webs of worms,

  naturally malodorous

  and devoid of cleanliness;

  a vessel of wine and ordure:

  only fools revel in this body;

  wise men abstain from its pleasures.

  ‘Who is a man’s mother, or his father!

  Who is his wife, or his son!

  As we are born and born again

  a man is linked in relationships

  with many different ‘others’.

  ‘Dead, only to be born again

  born, I have to die again;

  many different wombs have I seen,

  a thousand—Oh! So many times.

  ‘The body is formed, is it not,

  of the mingling of semen and blood,

  and perpetually filled with urine and excrement;

  it is truly an unclean thing.

  ‘As a pot filled with excrement

  can in no way be clean outside,

  so, the body remains unclean

  however diligently it is cleansed.

  ‘The body might be thoroughly cleansed with the five products of the cow133

  and with holy grass and water;

  yet spotless and bright it is not,

  any more than a piece of coal

  however diligently polished.

  ‘To performers of rites and ceremonies,

  the divine is in the Holy Fire;

  to visioning seers it shines in the heavens;

  to shallow minds it is in images:

  rapt in meditation, the yogī

  sees the Supreme One within himself.

  ‘But why expatiate thus on the theme? Listen to me, dear father, I have studied techniques of self-concentration and I shall not enter the life of a householder. I am now a yogī.’

  With these words the Brāhmana left forsaking family and home. He proceeded to the place where his guru, the yogī was; and in his guru’s presence, he entered the blazing fire. As he did so he meditated on the magic spell to summon the yaksinī. But she did not appear. His guru who also meditated on the same magic spell was unable to summon her either.

  Having narrated this tale, the genie said: ‘Now, tell me, O, king, why did the yaksinī fail to appear?’

  King Vikramasena answered: ‘Knowing that the student of magic was meditating with a mind divided, the divine lady would not appear. For it is said:

  ‘Single-mindedness leads to success;

  a mind divided is foiled;

  it is the arrow-maker who sees not

  the army on the move.

  ‘What renown for one wanting in self-denial?

  What honour for one wanting in self-command?

  What happiness for one wanting in right values?

  What success for one lacking profound meditation?’

  The genie retorted: ‘Now, now, how can you call the student of magic a man with a mind divided, when he ente
red the fire at the mere saying of his guru?’

  ‘For this reason that at the time he was instructed in the meditation on the magic spell, he left it halfway to go and visit his family,’ explained the king.

  The genie rejoined: ‘In that case, why did the yaksinī fail to appear when the guru himself meditated on the spell that would summon her?’

  The king’s reply was as follows: ‘Listen, the “Spirit of the Spell” thought to herself: “How could the yogī impart the secret knowledge to such a pupil, a man with a mind divided?” This angered her and she failed to materialize.

  ‘As a rule, in human beings

  the intellect is shaped by action,

  So, constrained by his actions,

  what is the “rational man”134 to do?’

  Hearing this the genie left.

  Thus ends the seventeenth tale in the Five-and-Twenty Tales of the Genie set down by śivadāsa.

  TALE 18:

  Who Is Prince Haridatta’s Real Father?

  I bow to Ganeśa, destroyer of all obstacles,

  who at the beginning of all enterprises

  is worshipped by even the Immortals.

  Once again the king went back to the śinśipā tree and placed the corpse on his shoulders. As he set out on the road to the burning grounds where’ the necromancer, Ksāntiśīla was waiting, the corpse began to tell a story.