Simhasana Dvatrimsika Read online

  like that of a friend.”

  “‘This is a good man,” the ogre said to himself, “he grieves in the grief of others, setting aside his own wishes for pleasure and enjoyment. It is said:

  The good wish for the happiness of all.

  They grieve deeply in the grief

  of others, abandoning their own

  desires for pleasure and enjoyment.

  “‘Great one,” he said to the king, “in giving it up for others, your life itself is worthy of praise. For,

  Animals too live just to fill their bellies.

  That life alone is praiseworthy,

  which is lived for others.

  “‘Great hero,” the ogre continued, addressing the king. “I am pleased with you. Choose a boon.” The king then replied: “If you are happy with me, ogre, then give up eating humans from today. Furthermore, listen to my advice. Thus,

  Just as life is dear to oneself,

  so it is to all creatures.

  Therefore the wise should protect

  all living beings from the fear of death.

  Similarly,

  In this dread ocean of the worldly round,

  people are forever tormented by the

  sorrow of birth, old age and death;

  for they are afraid of dying.

  “‘Moreover,

  Just as you love your own life,

  so do others love theirs.

  Just as you guard your own life,

  do the same for the lives of others.”

  ‘Instructed by the king, the ogre gave up killing creatures from that time. And, unnoticed by anyone, King Vikramaditya returned to his own Ujjayini.’

  After recounting this story, the statuette told King Bhoja: ‘Majesty, if you have such qualities of magnanimity and doing good to others, then sit upon this throne,’ But the king stayed silent.

  12. The Curse on the Callous Wife

  Once again when Bhoja approached the throne to mount it, a statuette restrained him, saying gently: ‘O King, give me your attention for a moment and listen to my words.

  ‘When Vikramaditya was king, in his capital city there lived a merchant named Bhadra Sena whose wealth was beyond measure. This man, who was no spendthrift, had a son called Purandara.’

  ‘In course of time Bhadra Sena died. Purandara inherited all his father’s properly and, in keeping with his years, began to fritter it away. Once his dear friend Dhanada told him: “O Purandara, even though you are a merchant’s son, you spend money like a scion of the high nobility. This does not become someone born in a trader family. A merchant’s son should accumulate wealth, even if he is single; he should not waste even a cowrie.1 The wealth a man accumulates will be useful in times of calamity. It is said:

  It is only the man of wealth

  whose desires get fulfilled.

  Poverty has nothing.

  A poor man is as good as dead

  even though he may be alive.

  Do not spend money for nothing.

  On this earth the rich are happy,

  even though they may lack

  learning, penance and other virtues.

  For those immersed in the ocean of problems,

  wealth is the means of rescue.

  So give up these childish ways, boy.

  They lead to no good.”

  ‘After hearing this advice, Purandara said: “Dhanada, anyone who says that accumulated money is useful in a calamity is out of his mind. When calamities come, the wealth which has been acquired is also destroyed. The man of discrimination should neither grieve for what is gone nor worry about what is to come, but think only of the present. Similarly, it is said,

  One should neither grieve for the past,

  nor worry about the future.

  The wise work for the present.

  “‘For what will happen will happen even without any effort, and what had to pass will have similarly passed away. It is said,

  What has to be will certainly be,

  like the milk inside the coconut fruit;

  and what had to go has gone,

  like the wood-apple eaten by

  the elephant, as they say.

  The greedy man piles up money

  like a broom which sweeps together

  the grain scattered on the ground;

  better than him are those who

  donate or consume what they have.

  The wise have said that if one’s money

  is neither enjoyed nor given away,

  it then becomes the root of calamities.”

  ‘Dhanada had no answer to these words, and he kept silent. Purandara then expended all his father’s money and became a pauper. His relatives and friends respected him no longer; they would not even speak to him. “Oh, these friends and others attend *** as long as there was money in my hands,” he thought to himself, “Now they do not speak to me. This is the true guideline: only one who has wealth has friends and their like. It is said,

  One who has wealth has friends

  and relatives, is considered learned

  and indeed a man by the people.

  “‘And, similarly,

  Kinsmen do not behave as before

  with a man whose wealth is gone.

  His attendants, who were there

  only because of his position,

  go their own way. His friends

  become fickle. What more can be said?

  For certain, even the wife

  does not have the same respect

  for one whose wealth is gone.

  ‘“Similarly,

  The man who has money is well born.

  He is wise, learned, a connoisseur.

  He alone is eloquent,

  and he is good looking.

  All virtues depend on gold.”

  ‘Thinking thus, and unable to look his kinsmen in the eye, Purandara quit Ujjayini and went wandering to Madhurā. Not far from that city was a forest of bamboos. At night Purandara slept on a bench at a house in an outlying village.

  ‘At midnight there came screams of a woman from the bamboo forest: “Save me! People, save me! This ogre is killing me!” In the morning Purandara asked the villagers: “What is there in this bamboo forest? Who was that woman weeping there?” They said: “Sounds of such weeping are heard every night in the forest here. But, out of fear, no one goes there to find out what it is.”

  ‘After his wanderings Purandara returned home and met the king who asked about his welfare. Eager to tell his curious story, he recounted it to the best of his knowledge. “Sire,” he said, “my father had lived at Your Majesty’s glorious feet. I gave away all the wealth that he had accumulated to supplicants, and was living in hardship without money. Crushed by the devil of poverty, and wanting to visit places of pilgrimage, I renounced my home and left the city. I wandered at will upto the Himalayas and, coming out of Kedāra, arrived at Madhurā. With its wealth and prosperity it is as lovely as the city of the gods. I roamed about there and slept at night at some woman’s house when I heard these screams far away.” Purandara then related the goings-on in the bamboo forest. On hearing of this marvel, the king went with him to the city of Madhurā.

  ‘At night the king also heard the sound of a woman weeping in the bamboo forest. He went into the wood, and saw a most terrible ogre about to kill a helpless woman who was in tears. “You villain!” he cried, “why are you killing this helpless woman?” “What have you got to do with this?” the ogre retorted. “Go your own way. Otherwise you will die by my hand for nothing.”

  ‘The king rebuked the ogre in heroic words. “Know that I am Vikramaditya,” he said. “What man dare harm a woman while I protect the people? Free this lady. Otherwise, listen, I will split your breast with the edge of my sword today and wash away your demons, vampires and witches in a stream of blood. Such will be your fall today that it will rend the earth and recall the crash of thunderbolts at the end of time.”

  ‘The ogre’s lips trembled with rage at
the king’s wrathful words, and his long fangs lit up the darkness. “Do not brag before me, you little wretch of a petty prince!” he roared. “If you have valour then show it! My name is Narātikabala, and I am descended from Dundubhi.2 You do not know me, you fool. Can I be killed with blows of a club? Look between the fangs in my mouth! The bones of people like you are already stuck there, and have yet to be dislodged.”

  ‘Having proclaimed their prowess loudly to each other, the two champions, Vikramaditya and the ogre, then clashed together like great bellowing bulls or angry tigers. They fought each other like two rutting elephants, and an extraordinary battle ensued with marvellous manoeuvres and a fierce exchange of blows which produced showers of sparks. Their bodies were crimsoned with blood from the wounds they inflicted on each other, so that they looked like two hills of red chalk. The tremendous sound of their combat and the terrible blows of their clubs filled the sky, as if with applause. By his personal strength the mighty king eventually killed the ogre, beheading him swiftly with his scimitar, after piercing him with its point.

  ‘The woman then came up to the king and fell at his feet. “Master”, she said, “my curse has ended by your grace. You have rescued me from a great ocean of misery.” “Who are you?” the king asked. “Listen,” she replied. “There used to be a brahmin of great wealth in this very city. I was his wife. But I was wanton. He loved me deeply, but I had no regard for him. Proud of my beauty, I would refuse whenever he asked me to sleep with him. Tormented by desire all his life, my husband cursed me at the time of his death. ‘No, you wicked and villainous woman! Just as you have tortured me all my life, so will a hideous ogre from the bamboo forest do to you. Every night he will rape and murder you.’ Thus was I cursed, and I beseeched him to limit it. ‘No, my lord, grant me an end to this curse.’ He then said: ‘You will be freed from it when some man of great fortitude, who helps others, comes and kills the ogre.’ So now I have been released by you. My life is ending, and I have nine jars full of gold which will go waste. It is a trifle for you, but please take them.” She then told the king where the gold was kept and breathed her last.

  ‘In a sporting gesture, the king presented the nine jars full of gold to Purandara the merchant, and went back with him to Ujjayini. King Bhoja, if you have such daring, heroism and great magnanimity, then grace this lion throne.’

  13. The Gift of Merit

  On another occasion, when King Bhoja was again about to ascend the throne after making all the arrangements for his coronation, the thirteenth statuette said: ‘O King, one who sits upon this throne must have magnanimity like Vikramaditya.’

  Asked by the king what that magnanimity was like, the statuette said: ‘Listen, Your Majesty, once Vikramaditya placed the burden of government on his ministers and himself set out to travel around the world in the guise of a yogi. He would stop for one night in a village and for five in a town. Travelling thus, he came to a town near a river which had a temple on its banks. All the people there were listening to a preacher read from the purāṇa scriptures. The king bathed in the river and went to the temple where, after saluting the deity, he too sat down near the congregation. At that moment the preacher recited the following from the purāṇa:1

  “This body is not permanent.

  Nor is prosperity perpetual.

  Death is always round the corner.

  Therefore one must accumulate

  a store of dharma.

  Listen, this is the totality of dharma

  as enunciated in the scriptures:

  virtue is doing good to others;

  sin is causing others pain.

  That man is just a beast who,

  even after having obtained birth

  as a human being on this earth,

  does not engage in doing good to others.

  That man is truly a man whose wealth

  is given to the needy, whose strength

  is used to protect the imperilled,

  and whose life is spent

  in reviving the people.

  A man with kindness in his countenance,

  tenderness in his gaze,

  and gentleness in his speech

  stands first amongst good people

  Speak truthfully and kindly,

  without arrogance and abuse,

  baseness and guile,

  harshness and vilification.

  There are many ways for men

  to attain dharma in this world;

  but the greatest is the protection

  of those who come for refuge.”

  ‘While this recitation was taking place, a certain brahmin and his wife were crossing the river and got swept away in its torrent. Shouting and screaming, the brahmin cried out to the people listening to the purāṇa: “Oh! Oh! Good people! Run! Run! I am an old brahmin. My wife and I are being swept away forcibly by the river’s current. Is there any pious hero who will save our lives?”

  ‘All the people heard the cries of the couple being carried away in the water. They watched curiously, but none tried to save the two, nor enter the river to pull them out from the flow. King Vikramaditya, however, assured them, calling out: “Do not be afraid!” He jumped into the river, pulled out the brahmin and his wife from its great flood, and brought them to the shore while the people looked on and shouted in amazement.

  ‘When the brahmin had regained consciousness he spoke to the king: “Great hero, my body here had been engendered by my parents in the past. Now you have given it a second birth. If I do not reciprocate your great kindness in saving our lives, my life itself will have been futile. I spent twelve years telling the rosary of the three holy names2 in the waters of the river Godavari. The merit I accumulated thereby, I give to you. Furthermore, please accept whatever merit I have acquired by the difficult lunar fast and other rites.”

  ‘After the brahmin had spoken thus, his limbs trembling with emotion, the king replied with a respectful bow: “I am born in a kshatriya3 family, and cannot accept reciprocal favours. I did not help you with the expectation of any return. For kshatriyas who follow the righteous path ordained for them, protecting people is their bounden duty. It is for that reason, learned sir, that I acted as I did. Do not think that I considered you will reciprocate my action.”

  ‘Hearing these calm and lofty words transfused with magnanimity, the brahmin realized that this was Vikramaditya. “Sire”, he replied, “now I know that you are Vikramaditya. What other kshatriya would have such a heart? What Your Majesty has said is both proper and true. Nevertheless pay attention to my words. In the beginning Brahmā had created people from his head, arms, thighs, and feet, and ordained that they should all help each other. But only the brahmins and the kshatriyas were in particular called to help and protect one another as has been prescribed. Therefore it will be quite proper for you to accept my request on which I insist.” On his insistent words the king agreed, and the brahmin blessed him and handed over all his accumulated merit before going away with his wife.

  ‘An extremely hideous brahmin demon4 then came up to the king. “Who are you, great one?” the king asked on seeing him. “I was a brahmin in this very town,” the demon replied. “But I lived always by accepting tainted gifts and conducting forbidden sacrifices. I was also arrogant about my learning, and used to slander all the old and senior hermits. Because of these sins I became a brahmin demon and live on this fig tree out in front. I have been living there in great misery for the last ten thousand years. Today, having overheard the conversation between you two, I have come to you, sir, for Your Majesty is like a great tree, a benefactor of the whole world.”

  “‘What do you want?” the king asked. The brahmin demon replied: “Please give me the merit which that brahmin has just given to you. With it I will be able to cross this terrible ocean of my past misdeeds.” And the king gave him the store of merit that very moment. With it the brahmin demon was freed from his karmas and, assuming a divine form, he went to heaven, singing the king’s praises. The kin
g thereafter returned home.’

  Having narrated this story, the statuette said: ‘O King, if you have such magnanimity and ability to do good, then sit upon this throne.’ But the king hung his head on hearing these words.

  14. Fate or Endeavour

  Listen well, Your Majesty,’ a statuette addressed King Bhoja as before when he came forward once again to mount the auspicious seat. ‘Once upon a time King Vikramaditya left his capital city to travel around the world, reflecting in his mind that one who wishes to purify himself should visit all the places of pilgrimage, temples and penance groves that there are.’

  ‘Travelling thus, the king came to a certain city and stopped outside for a short while. There he saw a charming park, with a temple dedicated to the goddess Pārvatī and a river golden with water lilies. Having bathed in the river and paid homage to the goddess, as he was coming out a yogi named Avadhūta Vāsa arrived there. The king greeted him and sat with him in the temple.’

  “‘May you be happy,” said the yogi, “from where are you coming, sir?” “I am just a pilgrim on my way,” replied the king. “Indeed!” said the yogi, “You are King Vikramaditya. I saw you once in Ujjayini, so I know. Why have you come here?”

  “‘O yogi,” the king replied, “I had this idea in my mind, that by travelling around the world one may see some marvels, and also meet some great and good people.” But the yogi said: “O King, how could you be so careless as to thus leave your kingdom and go travelling abroad? What will you do if something untoward happens meanwhile?”

  ‘The king said: “I have come after placing all the burdens of government in the hands of my ministers.” “Even so,” the yogi retorted, “this violates the rules of policy. It is said,

  The rulers who hand over the burdens

  of government to their officials and go