Simhasana Dvatrimsika Read online

  “‘In this world there is no greater adornment for man than learning. As it is said,

  Knowledge is in fact man’s greatest beauty;

  it is wealth, secret and secure; it provides

  enjoyment, fame and happiness; it is a friend

  in foreign lands, a guru of gurus,

  a veritable god. Knowledge, not wealth,

  is honoured by kings; without it

  man is but a beast.

  “‘And similarly,

  What does it matter if a person is from

  a great family, if he has no learning?

  It is the learned man who is honoured

  in all the three worlds, even though

  he has no family at all.

  “‘My son, you should acquire knowledge while I am still alive. Learning will help you like your own family, once you have it. It is said,

  Learning protects one like a mother;

  secures benefits for one like a father;

  delights one and dispels sorrows like a wife.

  It spreads fame and augments wealth.

  It does indeed everything

  which one’s family should do.”

  ‘Kamalākara was filled with remorse on hearing his parent’s words. “I will not look my father in the face until I have learnt everything,” the boy declared, and he went away to the land of Kashmir, the ornament of this earth.

  ‘In Kashmir, Kamalākara went to the teacher Chandra Mauli Bhatta and saluted him with a prostration. “Master,” he said, “I am but a fool. Having heard of Your Honour I have come here to study and to acquire knowledge. Have pity and instruct me, noble sir, so that I may become learned.” Then he performed another prostration and, having been accepted by the teacher, commenced attending on him day and night. As it is said,

  Knowledge can be acquired

  by attending on the teacher,

  or by expending much money,

  or by building on other knowledge.

  There is no fourth way.

  ‘Kamalākara spent a long time studying. Eventually the teacher condescended to teach him the incantation for propitiating the goddess of knowledge, which made him learned in everything. Taking the teacher’s permission, he then commenced his journey back.

  ‘On the way, Kamalākara came to the city of Kānchī, which was ruled by king Anangasena. In this city was a courtesan of incomparable beauty named Naramohini. Whoever saw her would be stricken mad with the fever of love, but whoever sought to sleep with her and enjoy her would die, as an ogre from the Vindhya mountain would drink up his blood.

  ‘Having learnt all about these happenings, Kamalākara returned to the city of Ujjayini and went home to the embrace of his father, who trembled with emotion to see his son back, now versed in all the sciences, and piously saluting him. The parents and others held a great celebration, and on the following day Kamalākara went with his father to the royal palace and saw King Vikramaditya.

  ‘The king was pleased with the mature talk of the young man who had travelled abroad, and enquired about his experiences. “I had gone abroad at my father’s direction,” Kamalākara said. “There I studied in particular the various sciences, the four Vedas with their ancillaries, the secret learning illuminated in the three books,2 and all the arts which constitute good learning. When I was coming back with my guru’s permission, on the way I said to myself: ‘Even though I have obtained all this impeccable knowledge, it is of no use as I have no fame. What should I do?’ Then, Great Emperor, in order to see the rulers under Your Majesty’s sway I went from king to king, displaying my knowledge and receiving praise and honours from them. Eventually I came to the city Kānchī, which is ruled by king Anangasena. He treated me with respect and I stayed for a month in the city. There I saw this marvellous spectacle—’’And then the young scholar truthfully narrated to the king what he had gathered.

  “‘Come, Kamalākara,” said Vikrama, “we both will go there.” And the king went with him to Kānchī, where he saw Naramohini and was wonderstruck by her beauty. Collecting himself somehow, he then told the clever brahmin who stood close by: “Friend, what a great marvel! I have never seen such good looks anywhere. This is beauty personified. It gives man pleasure in one moment, and pain in the next, like the vine which shimmers with a golden glow but has poison inside. Now you and I should investigate her inner inclinations. Go ahead, therefore, and inform her that I will come: to visit her.”

  ‘The brahmin carried out the king’s instruction and soon returned. “On my enquiry,” he reported, “that charming girl said: ‘This is all right, but I have a problem. I am in effect under the control of an ogre. So do what you think proper under these circumstances.’”

  ‘On hearing this reply, the king went boldly with the young man to Naramohini’s pleasure-house. She washed his feet and welcomed him with unguents, perfumes and flowers. “O King, I am blessed today,” she said, “my house is honoured. The dust from Your Majesty’s feet has graced my courtyard.

  After a long time my house

  is favoured and honoured today

  with the touch of your noble feet.

  “‘Master, you must eat in my house,” Naramohini added. “I have just eaten,” replied the king. Then she offered him a betel leaf and they spent the night in conversation appropriate for the time. When only two watches remained Naramohini retired to rest, but the king remained within the house with the brahmin, and kept awake, fearlessly awaiting the ogre’s arrival.

  ‘The ogre came to Naramohini’s house at midnight. A fierce maneater of terrifying aspect, he looked about and, having observed that the nubile beauty was stretched out at ease on her bed, sleeping quite alone, he went out of the house with a roar. The terrible sound shook up Naramohini, who followed him at once, wide-eyed with fear. Then the king called out loudly to the departing ogre. “I am here,” he shouted, and the ogre turned back. The king grappled with him bare-handed. For a little while it was an equal fight, with blows and counter-blows. But King Vikramaditya had great strength. He felled the ogre to the ground and cut off his head with a saw for a weapon. Kamalākara rejoiced as he beheld the blessed king rise, piercing as it were the darkness which was the ogre. For the ogre was dark indeed, and only his fangs lit up the sky. He had now been put to sleep for ever by the king, and the young woman had been rescued.

  ‘The tumult had meanwhile awakened Naramohini fully. Relieved to see the ogre lying dead, she praised the king, saying: “I was notorious as Naramohini, the enchantress of men in name, but actually their murderess by what I did. This reputation has now been demolished by Your Majesty. From today, master, I am at your disposal. Put me to whatever use Your Majesty wishes.”

  ‘The king was pleased to hear the courtesan. “If you agree,” he told her, “then do what I say. You have all the signs of a lotus woman,3 the best among the different categories of womankind. This Kamalākara is your equal. Therefore, good lady, accept him as your husband.” With these words he gave away the beauty to the brahmin, and himself went back to Ujjayini, bright as the risen sun.’

  After narrating this story, the statuette told King Bhoja: ‘O King, sit upon this throne if you have such magnanimity, steadfastness, and capacity to help others.’ And the king was speechless.

  10. The Gifting of the Magic Fruit

  King Bhoja radiated majesty like Indra, the lord of heaven. When he wished again to ascend the throne gifted by that god, yet another statuette spoke up: ‘O King! Mount upon this lion throne only if you possess that kind of magnanimity. Otherwise do not be curious.

  ‘In olden days, when King Vikramaditya ruled the earth, a wandering monk once came to Ujjayini from another land. He was versed in all kinds of learning, including the Vedas, the śāstras, medicine, astronomy, mathematics and dramaturgy. In short, he knew virtually everything and there was none to compare with him.’

  ‘The king heard of the monk’s reputation by word of mouth, and sent his chaplain to summon him. The priest went to the mo
nk and saluted him. “Master,” he said, “the king has asked for Your Holiness. You should visit him.” The monk replied: “Learned sir, what do we have to do with seeing the king?

  We live on alms,

  sleep on the ground,

  and need no clothes.

  What will we do with princes?

  ‘“Moreover,

  Those who want nothing cannot be courtiers,

  nor those without desires love honours;

  the guileless will not flatter, and

  the straightforward will not deceive.”

  ‘The chaplain repeated before the king what the monk had stated. On hearing it the king said to himself:

  “Those who are free of desires

  and intent only on the ultimate reality;

  who have renounced all attachments

  and shed all pride; whose one wish

  is to stay content: such people

  please themselves, not the world.

  But those who long inwardly for

  material enjoyments, who are covetous

  at heart though outwardly detached:

  such disguised and hypocritical rogues

  charm the minds of the people.”

  ‘The king then went himself to see the monk. Saluting him, he took a seat and, in the course of their conversation, the monk explained every doubtful point on which the king questioned him. They discussed the science of the self and the subconscious memory of experiences in previous births; the method of regulating the breath by its systematic inhalation, retention and exhalation; and the sixfold practice of yoga with its eight branches of abstentions, observances, postures and breath control, withdrawal and concentration, meditation and trance. In continual talks with that great soul, the king learnt successively the Hatha Yoga, the Mantra Yoga, the Rāja Yoga, the science of controlling the body, and the Laya Yoga.

  ‘Deeply satisfied, the king would go every day to discuss a variety of spiritual matters with the monk. “Master, how old are you?” he once enquired. “Why do you ask this, O King?” retorted the monk. “A man who knows the rules of conduct never reveals his age. Nine things should be kept private:

  These nine one must keep secret:

  age, wealth, domestic weakness,

  charms, medicines, sexual relations,

  gift, honours and disgrace.

  “‘Moreover, a master of yoga can bypass time and live long. I can teach you an incantation if Your Majesty has the strength to perform it.”

  “‘What will I gain by learning your incantation?” the king asked. “By performing it you will be freed from old age and death,” replied the monk. “Then teach it to me,” the king said, “I will perform it.”

  ‘The monk taught the incantation to the king, and said: “Majesty, recite this for one year, during which you must remain celibate and perform the tenfold fire sacrifice with dūrvā grass shoots. At the time of the final oblation, a person will emerge from the fire pit bearing a fruit, and give it to you. Eat it, and you will have an impeccable body free from old age and death.” Then he went away.

  ‘Having learnt the incantation, and given the monk the fee due to a guru, the king proceeded to a forest as directed by him. There he stayed, subsisting on wild fruit, clothing himself in tree-barks, and letting his hair grow. Every day he would perform the three ritual ablutions, devotedly recite the incantation, and feed the sacrificial fire with dūrvā shoots as well as honey and sesamum seeds. One year passed thus. Then a dark blood-hued being emerged from the fire pit, gave the fruit of immortality to the king, and disappeared.

  ‘This king took the fruit and returned to the city. As he went on the highway, a brahmin offered him a benediction. The man’s limbs were withered with leprosy. “O King,” he cried, “for brahmins the king is truly charged to be in the place of mother and father. It is said,

  The king is the friend of the friendless,

  and the eyes of the blind.

  He is both father and mother,

  and the best reliever of distress.

  “‘You give relief to all who suffer. My body is being destroyed by this disease. With its dissolution my religious rituals will also cease. For the body is the sole instrument for the performance of sacred rites.” Saying this the brahmin, whose hands and feet had been wasted by the sickness over time, emitted a sigh and begged the king for some medicine to save his life.

  ‘The king said to himself: “I do not have any medicine here, and this man will not be able to get to the city. What should be done? In ancient times kings would give even their own dear lives to supplicants and gain lasting glory. This sick brahmin is not asking me for wealth, for my person, or for my life which is so hard to part with: he is asking only for medicine. It will be fitting for me to save him by giving him this fruit. This indeed is the best course for me.” Thinking thus, the king gifted the fruit to the brahmin while explaining its powers, and himself went on his way to Ujjayini. He was indeed the foremost of the great philanthropists. A king who cannot compare with him is unworthy of this throne.’

  11. An Ogre Reformed

  When the king came forward once again to mount the throne, a statuette spoke out as before to restrain him: ‘Pay attention! I will tell you a story.

  ‘King Vikramaditya was a sovereign of impeccable valour and nobility. He had conquered all his foes. Once he placed the burden of government on his ministers and himself set out to travel abroad in the guise of a yogi. For,

  To see various kinds of marvels,

  to gain knowledge of the differences

  between good and wicked people,

  and to understand one self:

  these are the reasons for travel.

  ‘The king would stop for some days wherever it pleased him, and also spend time where there were marvels to see. As he travelled thus, one evening the sun set while he was in a great forest, and he sat down for shelter under a tree.

  ‘At the top of the tree lived an aged king of the birds named Chiranjīvī. His sons and grandsons would go out every day in the morning to feed themselves, and return in the evening, each one bringing a fruit for the old patriarch. It is well said,

  An old father or mother,

  a faithful wife, and an infant son

  must be looked after, says Manu,

  even if they do a hundred things wrong.

  ‘From under the tree, the king listened to Chiranjīvī as, sitting at ease, the latter asked the other birds: “Children, what strange things did you see while wandering in various lands?” One bird replied: “I did not see anything extraordinary, but there is a great sorrow in my heart today.” “Then tell us why you are sad,” said Chiranjīvī. “How will just telling help?” asked the bird, to which the ancient replied: “My son, one who is sad can find relief by talking about his sorrow to a friend. It is said,

  One can find relief by telling one’s sorrow

  to a steadfast friend, a virtuous servant,

  a sympathetic wife, and a congenial master.”

  ‘On hearing these words, the younger bird explained his grief: “Listen, father. There is a mountain called Śaivāla Ghosha in the northern country. Near it is the town of Palāśa. An ogre living on that mountain would come every day to the town, seize any man he chanced upon and take him back to devour him. Eventually the people of the town told the ogre: “O Bakāsura, do not be willful and eat just anyone who comes your way. We will give you one person everyday for your food.” Much time has passed since then, and they surrender to him daily one man from each household in turn. Today a friend of mine is marked to be the ogre’s diet, and this is the reason for the sorrow in my heart. I grieve because I can do nothing to prevent it.”

  ‘To the question “How did you become friends with a human?” the bird answered at length. “Being unable to help, how can I say this without feeling ashamed? Still, since you insist, I will tell you, unlucky though I am. Once a wicked birdcatcher had stretched out a sturdy net across a gully. It was my luck to be caught in
it like a fool while I moved about above the water with my companions in search for food. Shortly afterwards a young brahmin came there to gather firewood and saw me. He felt sorry for me, and stood still for a moment, collecting himself. Then the good man came to me quickly and, full of compassion, cut the net and saved me and my companions. Thanks to him I am now alive. There were about twenty meshes in the net, and on my own I had not cut through more than five. Such a benefactor is like a breath of life for me, and I am a wretch who can only feel sorry that he is to be devoured by the ogre today.”

  ‘After listening to the birds, the king went to the town of Palāśa. There, in the evening, he saw the man who had come according to his turn. He had given his final instructions to his family, and was sitting on the rock in front of the ogre’s abode, his face miserable with the fear of death. “You there!” cried the noble Vikrama, “go away! I am here in your place today.” “Who are you?” the man replied, “why do you want to die?” “What is it to you, who I am?” the king said with compassion. “Just go!” And the man departed, acknowledging the king’s goodness.’

  ‘The king then inspected the killing rock and, having bathed in a nearby lake, came and sat down on the stone. The ogre arrived at the same time. Astonished to see Vikrama sitting there benignly, he said: “From where have you come, great hero? Those who sit daily on this rock are dead with fright even before I arrive. But you seem to have tremendous fortitude. You are smiling. What is more, a man’s faculties droop and decline when he is about to die, but you are radiant and beaming. So tell me who you are, sir?”’

  “‘Ogre,” said the king, “what do you have to do with such considerations? Do your own business. Take your food. For,

  People tremble before death, mostly

  because they have not done their duties.

  Those who have done what they should

  await the arrival of death