Simhasana Dvatrimsika Read online

  There may be differing opinions on the literary merit of the Simhāsana Dvātriṃśikā, but its popularity over the centuries is demonstrated by the large number of old manuscripts of various recensions in which it exists. Edgerton’s own work utilized thirty-three manuscripts originating in different parts of India over a period of nearly four hundred years, if not longer. Another fourteen manuscripts sent from Bombay were lost in the shipwreck of the Titanic. That Indians valued ethical exhortation in their literature is evident from the regard in which the great epics, the jātaka tales and the subhāshita verses have been held over the ages. One function of good literature was to provide knowledge of right conduct, as expressed in the dictum vyavahāra vide of the celebrated eleventh-century Kashmiri critic Mammata. The Simhāsana tales too, in the words of the modern scholar Saroja Bhate,20 are ‘a good illustration of the use of the story for moral instruction’. Narrative didacticism is however balanced by stylistic lucidity and arresting backgrounds.

  ✣

  The Simhāsana Dvātriṃśikā is known to have been translated into Persian by order of the emperor Akbar in about 1574 AD. The Persian version was rendered into French in 1817, bringing the work to the West for the first time. It also exists in Siamese, Newari and Tibetan or Mongolian versions, as well as in adaptations in various Indian languages such as Bengali, Gujarati, Hindi, Tamil and Telugu.21 The only translation so far from the original Sanskrit into English has been Edgerton’s literal rendering over eighty years ago, to which reference has already been made.22

  The present translation is intended to bring this venerable classic before today’s general readership in modern English. I have prepared it from the Sanskrit texts edited by Edgerton, and also profited from his critical apparatus and explanations of obscure terms. His layout of the four recensions in horizontally parallel sections, which facilitated the selection and arrangement of the text for this translation, has been of particular utility.

  Edgerton had also attempted a reconstruction of the original form of the Simhāsana Dvātriṃśikā from its various recensions. Later scholarship considered23 that attempt unconvincing, and suggested that the archetype of the existing recensions can be established only on the basis of an ur-text which is yet to be discovered. In assembling material for the present translation, I have made no effort to repeat the earlier exercise. I have also refrained from presenting separate translations of the four recensions, as these already exist and the exercise would involve considerable narrative repetition, which may be tedious for the general reader. Instead, I have endeavoured to bring within a single framework a combination of the different recensions, which would together present the story of Vikramaditya and his throne in its fullest colour and detail.

  The present translation draws mainly from the texts of SR, MR and JR, apart from some details taken from BR. Some stories are taken entirely from single recensions. For example, tales III and 29 occur only in JR from where they are taken; the first provides an account of the king’s accession not given elsewhere, and the second gives a complete story unlike its counterparts in other recensions, which contain mainly panegyrics. Tale 2 and the emboxed story in tale 3 are taken from MR, where they occur in greater detail. Tale 28 about the human sacrifice is drawn from SR for the same reason. The famous tale about the fruit of immortality in II is also from SR, except for one line from JR which provides the interesting information that Vikramaditya had been exiled during the reign of his predecessor Bhartrihari—some later works say at the instigation of the latter’s lustful wife.

  Some other portions are drawn largely from one recension. Two-thirds of the Prologue is from SR, while its last paragraph is taken from JR. The tale of the Image of Poverty in tale 32, which Winternitz24 considered the wittiest of all, only occurs in JR, but its first two introductory paragraphs are from MR. The introductory portions of all but six25 of the thirty-two tales of the throne are taken from MR where their language is more diverse as compared to the other recensions. In the remaining sections of the present translation, the Sanskrit text has been drawn from different recensions and combined to produce a cohesive whole. The Appendix contains the story of the birth of Vikramaditya. This is found in some manuscripts of JR, but is generally considered a later addition in less refined language.

  The four recensions vary in their linguistic style. SR is the simplest, but expansive and sometimes prolix. It also has the largest number of interspersed hymnal, gnomic and descriptive stanzas. The language of JR is more crisp and embellished, while BR is a summary which nevertheless gives some interesting details, like the king staying naked to protect the cow with his own clothes (tale 26). MR is composed mainly in the śloka metre, and contains some elaborate descriptions in the kāvya manner. No attempt has been made in the present work to replicate these stylistic variations, or to reflect the double meanings and other figures of speech popular in literary Sanskrit, which occur chiefly in MR and JR. Nor have the interspersed stanzas been treated differently apart from presenting them in a distinctive form for separate identification; some have been excluded to avoid repetition. My endeavour has been to produce a prose translation of the whole in contemporary language which may convey some of the colour and the flavour of the original, as well as its smooth flow, while maintaining fidelity to its text.

  The king has the names Vikramaditya, Vikramārka or Vikrama in the original. The first two are synonyms, and the second name has therefore been excluded from this translation. The other two have been used as they occur in the original. Another epithet for the king excluded here is Sāhasānka, which means ‘marked by courage’. Intrepidity is perhaps the basic feature of Vikramaditya’s personality projected in these stories, underlying his innate dignity and magnanimity. It is summed up best in tale 32, the final tale of the throne.

  ✣

  I first encountered the Vikramaditya stories in Hindi as a boy, and retain from that time an impression of the king’s wonderful nonchalance, which never seemed to be affected by others repeatedly taking advantage of it. The Sanskrit original now translated came to my notice much later through Parsa Venkateshwar Rao Jr. of Indian Express, whom I would like to thank here for the introduction. I read it with much pleasure at the simple but vivid language and portrayals of the stories and admiration for Edgerton’s scholarly editing. There was also, I must add, a further element of personal interest: my wife and I had meanwhile become parents of a son we named Vikram. Though the name had been selected more for reasons of euphony and meaning than of history, it was still a satisfying experience to learn about the merits of its original bearer through the Simhāsana Dvātriṃśikā. This book is now dedicated to Vikram and his wife Annika with the hope that it will remind them and their progeny of the good deeds it describes.

  I would like to thank David Davidar, Editor and Chief Executive Officer of Penguin Books India for giving me extended time to complete this translation; Udayan Mitra for his overall cooperation; Smriti Vohra and Anjana Ramakrishnan for editing the typescript. I am grateful to H.K. Kaul, Librarian of New Delhi’s India International Centre, for showing me the Vikramaditya panel in the Constitution of India, and to his colleagues, Sushma Zutshi and Vijaya Murthy, for assistance in locating reference material. The one person who has helped me more than anyone else in the preparation of this book is my wife Priti, for whom no words can ever be adequate.

  A.N.D.H.

  Vikrama Samvat 2055

  November 1998

  New Delhi

  Part I

  ✵

  1. Prologue

  Salutation to the great Ganeśa1,

  remover of dark obstacles,

  whose gaze is tender

  with limitless compassion.

  Having done reverence

  to Vishnu the Primal Being,

  Brahmā the Lotus-Born,

  Śiva the Lord of Umā,

  and the blessed Sarasvati,2

  I write of the deeds of Vikramaditya.

  Once Parameśvara, the
Supreme Lord, was seated on the peak of Mount Kailāsa. Jagadambikā, the Mother of the World, bowed to him and said: ‘Behold,

  The wise pass their time in the pleasures

  of literature and the sciences.

  Others, who are fools, spend it

  in sleeping or quarrelling.3

  To pass the time in keeping with this maxim, tell a tale which will fill every mind with wonder.’

  ‘Listen, my beloved,’ Parameśvara replied, ‘I will tell a tale which will entrance every heart.

  ‘Once upon a time thirty-two most marvellous tales were recounted before the estimable King Bhoja, a repository of the most excellent royal glory. Related by the thirty-two statuettes supporting a throne of moonstone gems built by some god, these tales extolled the virtues of the noble Vikramaditya. Now, those who wish to know may ask: “Whose throne was it? By whom and to whom was it given? How did Bhoja obtain it? What are these stories?” So, listen to one who will explain all this.’

  ✵

  II. King Bhartrihari and the Fruit of Immortality

  There is a city called Ujjayini. It lacked nothing: it was better even than Indra’s heaven. In it there reigned a king called Bhartrihari, who was versed in all the arts and skilled in every science. All the nobles and the lords paid him homage: the vermilion from the hair-partings of their wives reddened his feet. His own wife, Anangasenā, was more beautiful and charming than the nymphs of heaven. He also had a younger brother named Vikramaditya whose valour was greater than that of all his enemies. But he had been exiled in disgrace for some reason since the time of the king’s coronation.

  In this city there was a brahmin who was an adept in all the sciences, specially that of incantations. But he was exceedingly poor. He propitiated the goddess Bhuvaneśvari with a ritual of spells and charms, and she asked him to make a wish.

  ‘Goddess,’ the brahmin cried, ‘if you are pleased with me, grant me freedom from old age and death’. The goddess gave him a divine fruit, saying, ‘My son, you will never grow old or die after you eat this fruit.’

  The brahmin took the gift and went home. He bathed and did his devotions. Then, as he sat down to eat the celestial fruit, a thought crossed his mind. ‘What am I doing?’ he asked himself. ‘I am so poor. Whom will I benefit by becoming immortal? Though I live for ever, I will still be a beggar. Even a short life is preferable if one can do some good to others. It is worthwhile only if one acquires learning, wealth and other merits, even though one lives for no more than a moment. As it is said:

  His life is fruitful, say the sages,

  who lives acclaimed for learning,

  valour, wealth and other merits.

  For even a crow can live long,

  eating leftovers.

  The crow lives long, gobbling putrid leftovers.

  One truly lives, who does so

  with righteousness and renown.

  He really lives, by whose living

  many others live too.

  For, does not even a stork

  fill its own belly with its beak?

  There are thousands of petty people,

  engaged in filling their own bellies.

  That person alone stands out in virtue,

  who regards his own interest

  as serving that of others.

  The submarine fire

  consumes the ocean

  only to satisfy itself;

  the cloud does it in order

  to rain upon a world

  oppressed by summer’s heat.

  A man whose life, actions and qualities

  have no worthwhile meaning

  is like a word formed at random,

  no more than a name.1

  ‘Therefore this fruit should be given to the king. He will then be freed from death and ageing, and be able to protect and nurture all the four castes as it should be rightly done.’

  Taking the fruit, the brahmin then went to Bhartrihari.

  ‘O King, may the gods Hara,

  who sports the serpent garland,

  and Hari, who wears

  the yellow garment, bless you.’

  With this benediction he placed the fruit in the king’s hands and said: ‘Majesty, I obtained this incomparable fruit as a mark of divine grace. Eat it, and you will become immune to old age and death.’

  The king took the fruit, and dismissed the brahmin with many gifts. ‘I will become immortal by eating this fruit,’ he pondered, ‘but I love Anangasenā deeply. She will die while I still live, and I will not be able to bear the pain of that separation. So, I will give this fruit to her instead, for she is dearer to me than life.’

  He then called the queen and gave her the fruit. Now she had taken a stablehand as her lover and, after some thought, she gave the fruit to him. He passed it on to a servant maid who was his sweetheart. She in turn gave it to a cowherd with whom she was in love. The cowherd was deeply in love with a girl who carried the cowdung, and he presented the fruit to her.

  The dung carrier would collect the cattle droppings and take them out of the village. She put the basket of dung on her head, flung the fruit on top of it, and came out thus on the highway. At that time King Bhartrihari was going on a hunt with the princes. He noticed the fruit lying on top of the excrement on the girl’s head. Taking it, he turned back and went home. Then he summoned the brahmin.

  ‘O brahmin,’ he asked, ‘is there another fruit of the kind you presented to me?’ The brahmin replied: ‘My lord, that was a celestial fruit obtained as a gift from a god. There is no other fruit like it on earth. One may not lie to the king who too is a god personified and must be regarded as such.

  The sages declare that the king

  is an embodiment of all the gods.

  A wise man should look upon him

  as such, and speak no lies before him.’

  ‘Well,’ said the king, ‘what if another fruit like that one were to be here?’

  ‘Didn’t you eat it?’ the brahmin asked.

  ‘I did not eat it,’ the king admitted, ‘I gave it to my beloved Anangasenā.’

  ‘Then ask her if she ate it.’

  The king called Anangasenā, put her under oath, and questioned her. She acknowledged that she had given the fruit to the stablehand. The latter was summoned and asked, and he said that he had given it to the servant maid. She said that she gave it to the cowherd, and he that he had presented it to the cowdung carrier.

  When the truth dawned upon him, the king was overcome by a deep depression. He recited a stanza:

  ‘In vain do men delude themselves

  with the youth and beauty of lovely women.

  Kāma2 is king in their hearts,

  and does exactly what he pleases.

  ‘No one, alas, can understand what women think and do. It is said,

  Even the gods cannot anticipate

  the bucking of a horse

  and the thundering of a cloud;

  the hearts of women

  and the fate of man;

  and if it will rain excessively

  or not at all. How then can man?

  Further,

  Men may catch a tiger in the forest,

  a bird in the air, or a fish

  in the middle of the river.

  But they can never gauge

  the fickle minds of women.

  What is more,

  Flowers may rain from the sky,

  and a barren woman’s son

  may reign as king.

  Such things can come to pass,

  but women’s hearts can never

  be straightforward.

  And,

  The wiles of women delude

  even those savants who understand

  joy and sorrow, victory and defeat,

  life and death.

  What is more,

  Even those with no ulterior motive

  say that it is in the nature

  of all women to want another man

  even though they
already have one

  just like Kāma, the god of love.

  Women can hoodwink a man

  in a moment, even one

  with a wealth of wisdom.

  And they do it without spells

  or incantations, religious rites

  or modest manners.

  I believe that the lover

  preferred by women is generally

  one who has been thrown out

  of his family and clan,

  a vile, wicked and base person,

  who should be shunned.

  They may have dignity, and prestige

  and many laudable merits;

  but women fall into wicked ways

  on their own, for no reason at all.

  They laugh and weep

  for the sake of lucre;

  they make men trust them,

  and themselves trust no one.

  Such women should always be avoided

  by men of good family and character,

  just like the rice cakes

  which are left in cemeteries.

  No fortune is greater than renunciation,

  no happiness more than enlightenment,

  no saviour other than Hari, and

  no enemy worse than this worldly round.’

  Reciting this last stanza, Bhartrihari renounced the world and himself retired to a forest.

  ✵

  III. Vikrama wins the Kingdom

  Left without a ruler, the kingdom of Avanti, of which Ujjayini was the capital, came to be dominated by a genie named Agnivetāla. Each time the ministers installed a new king, the genie would kill him the same night. There seemed no way to stop him, and the courtiers were at a loss as to what could be done.