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

by Sivadasa

  Having contrived to break the king’s vow of silence, the genie was back on the śinśipā tree hanging on it once again.

  Thus ends tale twenty-one of the Five-and-Twenty Tales of the Genie.

  TALE 22:

  Of How Mūladeva Obtained a Bride for Śaśideva

  Your Majesty, (began the genie), in the city of Kundinapura, there once reigned a supremely virtuous monarch named Śvetaketu. He had a close friend in the merchant Śankaradatta, who was dear to him as life itself. This merchant, owner of great caravans, married Anaṅgasenā, daughter of Maṇidatta, another merchant in the same city. His life with her was one of great happiness.

  Once, this merchant decided to go to far off lands to trade. He entrusted his family to King Śvetaketu and placing at the king’s disposal a thousand armed guards for the protection of Anangasenā whose beauty enchanted the three worlds, he strictly charged them to follow his instructions and set out. Twelve years passed and he did not return. Enduring cruel separation from her husband, Anangasenā wasted away, appearing like the moon’s slender crescent in the dark half of the month.

  Now, the festival of the god of love fell on the fourteenth day of the month. Many men and women gathered there that day for the worship of the god of love. Maṇidatta’s wife took this opportunity to advise her daughter: ‘Dear daughter, you should go and offer worship to the god of love and pray for your husband, Śankaradatta’s speedy home coming.’

  Anangasenā followed her mother’s advice. Waited upon by a hundred serving maids and surrounded by her armed guards, she set out to worship the god of love. Having completed her devotions, she was approaching her father’s mansion, when Śaśideva, that prince of rogues saw her and fell madly in love with her. With the greatest difficulty he managed to get away and then went straight to the city of Padmāvatī to seek his friend Mūladeva’s help. He confided everything to Mūladeva who listened carefully and then said: ‘My dear friend, Śaśideva, do not despair. I shall do everything in my power to obtain the lady for you.’

  And Śaśideva observed: ‘My lord, armed guards protect her. And further, her parents never slacken in their watch over her. Moreover, King Śvetaketu zealously provides protection for her. Therefore, how is it possible to reach her?’

  ‘Why do you worry?’ was Mūladeva’s reply; and he went on to say: ‘In that city lives a bawd named Kāmīkalpalatā.18 She is one who can make even Arundhatī19 stray from the straight and chaste path. Let us go and speak to her.’

  Having come to this decision the two of them went and met the bawd. ‘Ah! Śaśideva and Mūladeva, I too know Anangasenā. But I tell you, the task is very difficult to carry out; however, let me try; I shall go and acquaint Anangasenā of your love. However, the two of you should now leave and remain concealed while I shall engage in the constant worship of Śiva. When my powers become clearly manifest, I shall contrive a stratagem.’

  The bawd then picked a pair of serving maids and began to devote herself to the worship of Śiva. After a while she became possessed of extraordinary powers. People began to say of her, ‘This ascetic is omniscient.’

  When these reports came to Anangasenā’s ears, she told her mother: ‘Pray acquaint this ascetic lady about the matter of your son-in-law.’

  The mother remarked: ‘Daughter, good thinking.’ She set out to see the bawd. She presented the sham ascetic with various offerings, bowed with reverence and laid bare her misgivings: ‘O, Mother All-Knowing, my son-in-law has not come home in twelve years. What is the true import of it all? Pray tell me; I shall reward you with great wealth.’

  ‘Ah! Yes. It is imperative that I should reveal the truth to you; no doubt on that score. Now, you go home. I shall meditate and then let you know the truth of the matter. But, I have to ask you to bring Anangasenā with you when you next come.’

  The next day, Maṇidatta accompanied by his wife visited the fake-ascetic bringing his daughter with him. Offering gifts to the bawd and bowing reverentially, he said: ‘Mother, All-Knowing, here I am with my wife; we have brought Anangasenā to Your Holiness. Pray, tell us the truth about Śankaradatta, Your Reverence.’

  Being pressed by them many times, the bawd said: ‘Manidatta, hear, your son-in-law has met and married over there a girl of enchanting loveliness.’

  The grief-stricken parents now fell at the feet of that bawd who knew all and cried piteously: ‘What can be done to induce Śankaradatta to abandon that girl and come back to us? Advise us, Your Reverence.’

  The bawd replied: ‘Manidatta, there is a magic spell; but obtained with infinite effort, it is impossible to give to another.’

  Hearing her words, the parents exclaimed: ‘Ascetic lady, listen to us; if Your Holiness does not impart this magic spell, Anangasenā here will definitely die through separation from her husband. Her loss will certainly be our death; we shall surely die. And the blame for all our deaths will be yours then,’ With these words the parents again fell at her feet.

  Finally persuaded, the fake-ascetic said: ‘There is one very great difficulty in the performance of that magic spell. Only if your daughter can perform that will the spell become effective.’

  The parents declared vehemently: ‘Whatever the injunctions are, Your Reverence, our daughter will carry them out; rest assured.’

  Then the bawd took Maṇidatta’s wife aside and exhorted her in secret: ‘Listen to me. When a secluded pavilion is built, Anangasenā will see there a man brought before her and at that moment, she should recite the magic spell. And every day she will enjoy the delights of union with that man. Only when that man takes on the appearance of Śankaradatta will her husband return.’

  Maṇidatta’s wife listened to it all and said guardedly: ‘I have to consult my husband first,’ She asked him; Maṇidatta readily agreed, saying: ‘Beloved wife, do whatever needs to be done to bring our son-in-law back,’

  On being informed of their readiness to follow her suggestion, the sham ascetic hesitated: ‘So many armed guards stand at your gates that it is impossible for any man to enter when it is time for the recitation of the magic spell’, she pointed out.

  Maṇidatta reassured her: ‘Not a single soul will bar your way. I shall instruct all of them to that effect this very day. You will be able to come and go as you please, dear lady, with the greatest ease,’

  Maṇidatta took his leave and had a pavilion built at once. The sham ascetic then went to the pavilion in a horse-drawn covered litter and taught the magic spell to Anangasenā. After that the bawd, Kāmīkalpalatā, went there daily and remained conversing with Anangasenā.

  One day the sham-ascetic asked Anangasenā in tones of concern: ‘Daughter, why have you been reduced to such a state? Looking at you wasting away into incredible thinness through grief, I am deeply grieved. So, tell me why it is so, Your Ladyship,’

  To this Anangasenā replied: ‘Mother, since the day my dear lord left to trade in far off lands, I have not set eyes even on the shadow of a man. Now, while repeating the magic spell, I see a man and fond memories of lovemaking with my husband come to mind,’

  Hearing Anaṅgasenā’s confession, the bawd said with alacrity: ‘If this is so, why don’t you give yourself to this man?’

  ‘If you think I should, O, lady, pray speak to that man’, replied Anangasenā.

  ‘Oh, I give that man to you. Your Ladyship will give and receive pleasure’, she replied.

  ‘But let no one else know of this, respected lady’, warned Anangasenā.

  The bawd was delighted beyond measure. She met Śaśideva and gave him this secret information. When he heard it, Śaśideva became as one who had been restored to life; and from then on he made love to Anangasenā continually in many different ways. And. she too, forgot all about her husband Śankaradatta in the arms of that expert in the amatory arts, Śaśideva. As for the bawd, under the pretext of instructing Anangasenā in the magic spell, she made her daily visits to the secret pavilion, going back and forth in order to enable Śaśideva to carr
y on his love-sports with Anangasenā.

  After some time, Mūladeva had a talk with Śaśideva: ‘My friend, it is pointless to carry on like this living in this city. Therefore, let us take Anangasenā and return to our own land.’

  ‘Well, how do we manage this?’ queried Śaśideva.

  ‘Look’, pointed out Mūladeva, ‘the lady hangs on your every word; is that not so? Whatever you ask her to do, she will do. So, let her come here in the covered litter. I shall think of something after that.’

  Śaśideva went to Anangasenā and conveyed to her what Mūladeva had told him. And she agreed willingly.

  All on a sudden, Mūladeva appeared at the palace gates with a hundred-odd mercenaries. Seeing Anangasenā seated inside the litter, he assumed Śaśideva’s form and grabbing the hem of her garment, cried out: ‘O, my wife, dearer to me than life! Where are you off to, running away like this?’

  At once, the guards in charge of Anangasenā’s security ran to Maṇidatta and reported her action. Maṇidatta hastened to the king and made his complaint.

  Thinking that his friend’s wife was being molested, King Śvetaketu had Anangasenā brought to his side and then reprimanded Mūladeva: ‘Oh, you knave! You shameless rogue! This! My friend’s wife! Anangasenā! And you address her as your wife! And lay hands on her! How dare you! Everyone knows Manidatta to be her fattier. How dare you speak like this? Leave! Be gone! Or, I shall kill you. See what I shall do; I swear here by my sacred thread;20 I’ll kill you. I, Śvetaketu, swear that I will.’

  Then the knave, Mūladeva replied: ‘Having been away from home a long time I saw this lady and seized her. I shall go now; but I shall definitely bring my own wife here and present her to the king. Only by that will this infamy of mine be driven out.’ With such words did Mūladeva pacify everyone around and leave that place.

  He then went straight to the bawd Kāmīkalpalatā and said: ‘Mother, if you agree, I suggest that we now take Anangasenā and leave this city.’

  ‘Now, now, how is that possible?’ she asked him.

  Mūladeva observed: ‘Mother, listen, she is so enamoured of Śaśideva that she will go with us if he asks her to. The problem is that she will then stand disgraced in the eyes of the world. It occurs to me that a dead woman has to be brought here by me. You anoint the dead body thoroughly with perfumes, sandal paste, yellow orpiment and such auspicious items, place it in the covered litter, honoured lady, and go with Śaśideva. Adorn the dead body with all of Ananagasena’s jewels and lay it on Anangasenā’s bed, then you come back here. Śaśideva will set fire to the pavilion and return here with Anangasenā. Then everyone who sees the corpse all decked out in Anangasenā’s jewellery will think it was she in fact. So, no one will say: “See, Anangasenā ran away with her lover.”’

  Mūladeva’s plan being carried out meticulously, Śaśideva with Anangasenā accompanying him returned to his own land with Mūladeva.

  The next day, Anangasenā’s parents sat weeping bitterly, mourning her death. The king came there in person and out of his deep affection for his friend had the bones of the dead woman collected and sent for immersion in various sacred waters. As for the sham ascetic, she wept aloud crying: ‘Alas! Alas! I cannot bear to stay here any longer. Now that my beloved pupil Anangasenā is no more, I shall take myself to some other land’, With these words, she left for the city of Padmāvatī.

  After some time Mūladeva, accompanied by Anangasenā and Śaśideva came to King Śvetaketu’s court at Kundinapura and presented Anangasenā to the king; he said: ‘Let Your Majesty look upon my wife who is the very image of Anangasenā. Deceived by the extraordinary likeness, once formerly I laid hands on Anangasenā’ Looking carefully at the lady the king was totally amazed: ‘Amazing! Indeed, it looks as if Anangasenā stands here in person before my eyes.’

  Then bestowing gifts upon them he dismissed them. Anangasenā’s parents also gazed upon the lady, their own daughter in fact, and bestowed all their daughter’s jewels on her. And they wept aloud.

  The genie now addressed King Vikramāditya: ‘Tell me, Your Majesty. Who had the sharper intelligence, the bawd, Kāmīkalpalatā or the rogue, Mūladeva?’

  ‘Well, well, you genie!’ replied the monarch. ‘Mūladeva was the greatest trickster alive; his intelligence displayed itself everywhere, at all times.’

  Thus, having played a trick on the king, the genie was back to hang on the Śinśipā tree.

  Thus ends tale twenty-two of the Five-and-Twenty Tales of the Genie.

  The genie being brought back again and carried along, now began another tale.

  TALE 23:

  Of the Ogre Who Ravaged King Arimaulimaṇi’s Kingdom

  Your Majesty, (began the genie), by the rippling waters of the river Narmadā21 lay the fair city of Ekaćakravartī, where once King Arimaulimaṇi reigned. One day, a huge beast was seen swimming down the river’s current. The citizens in their excitement slew it. Out of its belly came a maiden of enchanting beauty. The citizens all went immediately to the king and informed him of the marvel. The king hastened to the river-bank and greeting the maiden with many marks of friendship, enquired: ‘Sweet maiden! Who may you be? Why have you been reduced to this condition?’

  Asked thus kindly, the maiden replied: ‘Your Majesty, I am Śobhāvatī, the daughter of King Nrpamaṇimukuta. Once, I went down to the waters of the river surrounded by my retinue of a hundred companions to amuse myself in water-sports. This beast pounced on me and swallowed me whole. And I lived inside it as in a dream, not knowing who my father was or what my country was; not even knowing who I was. I knew not one single thing.’

  Having listened to the maiden’s words, the king told her: ‘King Nṛpamaṇimukuṭa had already sent me an emissary sometime back about your marriage.’

  The maiden listened and then said: ‘What is Your Majesty’s name?’

  ‘I am King Arimaulimaṇi,’ replied the king.

  ‘Your Majesty, now my cherished desire is fulfilled.’ The king became eager to marry her. Getting wind of this, an ogre appeared there disguised and shouted: ‘How dare you take this maiden Śobhāvatī with you? My father and I will eat her; and if you wish to preserve your own life, you had better not marry her. Listen to me; my father exists in the shape of a shark and my mother in the shape of a sea-otter; while I myself exist in the shape of a giant lizard.’

  The king flew into a great rage. He thundered: ‘Go, go, you vile ogre. What can your father do to me?’

  The ogre became furious. ‘Go, go, you vilest of kings; we are Brāhmana-ogres. How dare you speak so insultingly of my father? But let it pass. I shall not take notice of one offence.’

  The king retorted loftily: ‘A one-time offence! Enough of that! I shall insult your father one hundred times. Go away, you villain and do your worst.’

  Blazing with anger the ogre rasped out: ‘Vilest of kings! Better protect this kingdom of yours.’

  Having spoken thus vehemently, the ogre informed his father of the matter; then, repairing to the city of Lankā, that ogre, Tālajanṅgha* summoned an assembly of ogres and returned to King Arimaulimani’s capital with his father. Assuming disguises, they began gobbling up whomsoever crossed their paths.

  Next, the ogre Tālajanṅgha went to his mother and said: ‘Mother Kumbodarī!** You assume the form of a harlot; go to that city and eat up all the men until the city becomes empty.’

  Kumbodarī heeded her son’s request and assuming the form of a harlot went to the city and stopped at the house of a bawd. The bawd enquired: ‘Lady, who are you?’

  ‘I am a harlot named Aphrodisia. May I stay in your establishment?’ said Kumbodarī.

  ‘Of course, you may, do stay in my house at your convenience,’ said the bawd.

  From then on, Kumbodarī took the men who visited her desiring intercourse to a secret place under the pretext of dalliance and quietly ate them up.

  Now, it happened that one day, one Vidyādhara, son of the preceptor Vasudatta visited the ha
rlot. Seeing that he was extremely handsome, Aphrodisia made love to him and continued to do so.

  Once, on the insistence of his wife, Vidyādhara did not visit the harlot. The ogress, inflamed with passion, heaved great hot sighs and assuming the shape of Vidyādhara’s mother, went to his house where she saw him engaged in making love to his wife. She became very angry and turning herself into a female honey bee buzzed around as if drawn by the fragrances of flowers in the chamber.

  Vidyādhara noticed the bee and said to his wife: ‘My darling, this bee should be driven away before it puts the lamp out by the incessant flapping of its wings.’

  And his wife remarked: ‘O, let it be, dear lord; she is here drawn by the fragrance and honey of the flowers; let her stay.’

  But fearing that the lamp might be extinguished, Vidyādhara dealt the bee a sharp blow with the flat of his hand. The bee fell down stunned and remained unconscious; with great effort it managed to become all right. Then, Aphrodisia reflected angrily: ‘Ha! Just let this fellow come to visit me again; I shall avenge this injury by drinking his blood and eating his flesh.’

  The next night, Vidyādhara dropped off to sleep after having intercourse with the harlot. She then killed him and while he was being eaten, her husband Kharjūrajangha* came there, picked the body up and took it to his own lair.

  One of the citizens got wind of what the harlot was up to and reported her to the king. ‘Your Majesty,’ he said, There is an ogress living in our city disguised as a harlot; it is she who is eating all the men in our city. Vidyādhara too has been eaten by her.’