230. Katha Sarit Sagara : Chapter 20
Chapter XX. The Weight of Kindness and the Minister's Tale
1. King Vatsa's Concern and Minister's Assurance
The air in the military camp of Lávánaka was thick with the scent of pine smoke, newly turned earth, and the lingering copper tang of recent conflict. Within his pavilion, richly draped in indigo silk, King Vatsa sat, not in triumph, but in thoughtful disquiet. He gestured for his Minister, Yaugandharáyaṇa, to sit closer, dismissing the attendant guards with a sharp glance.
"Yaugandharáyaṇa," the King began, his voice a low, rough murmur of anxiety that surprised the Minister. "Through your genius, my sagacious friend, I have conquered the whole earth. I have defeated these kings, and better yet, I have managed to win them over with such devices of statecraft that they will not openly dare to conspire against me now. They smile, they bow, they send tribute. They are, for now, cowed."
He paused, resting his chin on a fist heavy with royal rings, his brow furrowed. "But there is one. One sole exception to this hard-won peace." He leaned forward, his eyes dark and fixed. "This King of Benares, Brahmadatta. He is an ill-conditioned, bitter man. Even when he submitted, his compliance felt forced, like a snapped bowstring waiting to lash back. I feel it, Yaugandharáyaṇa. He alone, I think, will plot my ruin. Tell me, what faith, what confidence can we truly place in the wicked-minded?"
2. Yaugandharāyaṇa's Argument Against Treachery
Yaugandharáyaṇa, a man whose wisdom was as vast and deep as the Ganga river, listened calmly, allowing the King’s fears to dissipate into the quiet tent air before he spoke.
"My King," the Minister replied, his voice a steady, confident baritone, "your caution is the mark of a great ruler. But I submit that your worry about Brahmadatta is misplaced, and this time, your kindness is your ultimate shield."
"Kindness? To a man who hated me?" Vatsa scoffed gently.
"Yes, my lord. When he was finally conquered and forced to submit, you did not strip him of his lineage or his honor. You showed him great consideration; you restored his titles, you gave him back his most cherished lands, you treated him not as a slave, but as a humbled equal. I ask you, my King: what sensible man, what man possessing even a fraction of human reason, will injure one who has treated him so well?"
The Minister’s eyes were earnest. "Whoever attempts such a monstrous act of treachery—injuring a benefactor—will find that it turns out unfortunate for himself, and for himself alone. The consequence is inescapable, for the universe itself is ordered to reward and punish. On this very point, King, listen to what I am now going to say. I will tell you a tale that illustrates this truth perfectly."
Story of Phalabhūti. (Illustrating the consequences of good and evil deeds)
3. The Brāhman Agnidatta's Sons
Once upon a time, in the fertile land of Padma, there lived an exceptional Brāhman named Agnidatta. He was a man of high renown and respected knowledge, sustained by a generous grant of land given to him by the ruling King—a reward for his wisdom and piety.
Agnidatta had two sons who inherited his name but little else from his nature.
The elder, Somadatta, was strikingly handsome, gifted with a flawless physique that turned heads in any crowd. But his outer perfection masked a deep inner flaw: he was profoundly ignorant, entirely unmotivated to study the sacred texts, and, worse, terribly ill-conducted. He was reckless, loud, and sought low company.
The second son, Vaiśvānaradatta, was outwardly less imposing, but he possessed a mind like a diamond—sagacious, sharp, and shining with knowledge. He was well-conducted, respectful, and devoted to the study of the ancient scriptures.
After Agnidatta died, the two sons and their wives divided the royal grant and the rest of the ancestral possessions, each taking precisely half. Immediately, the difference in their character determined their fortune. The wise and virtuous Vaiśvānaradatta was quickly honored by the King, becoming a respected court scholar. But the elder, Somadatta, being of unsteady and restless character, remained merely a simple husbandman, soon losing any prestige his birth had given him.
4. Somadatta's Disgrace and Violent Act
One oppressive afternoon, as Somadatta stood idly in the village square, he was engaged in coarse, loud conversation with a group of Śūdras—simple laborers, a class beneath his own, who offered him easy flattery.
A white-haired, respectable Brāhman, an old friend of his deceased father, approached. His face was a mask of sorrowful indignation.
"Somadatta!" the old man's voice cracked with disappointment, halting the vulgar laughter. "Are you mad? Have you no sense of your father’s lineage? You are the son of the great Agnidatta! And yet, you stand here, behaving like a common Śūdra, a blockhead who has tossed aside his sacred thread for dirt!"
The rebuke stung Somadatta like fire. But the old man was not done. "And you are not ashamed? Your own brother, Vaiśvānaradatta, is in high favor with the King, garlanded with respect, while you wallow here! Get up! Go to your texts!"
The mention of his brother’s success always fueled Somadatta’s deepest jealousy. The public shame, the old man’s cutting tone—it all exploded within him. Forgetting the respect due to the elder, forgetting his own caste and his father’s memory, a dark fury consumed him.
"You meddling, worthless old fool!" Somadatta roared, his hands clenching. He took two steps and, in a horrifying display of disrespect and rage, ran upon the venerable man and struck him, giving him a powerful, disrespectful kick to his side. The crowd gasped, stunned into silence by the sheer sacrilege of the act.
5. Somadatta's Arrest and Miraculous Escape from Death
The humiliated Brāhman, clutching his side and shaking with justified rage, did not hesitate. He immediately called upon several other Brāhmans to bear witness to the unforgivable assault and, with trembling haste, went directly to the royal palace to complain to the King.
The King, hearing of the atrocious crime—a Brāhman striking and kicking a senior Brāhman—was blinded by wrath. This was an affront to justice, to caste, and to the sanctity of his kingdom. He instantly dispatched a small company of soldiers to apprehend Somadatta.
But Somadatta was not alone. His friends, the rough men he associated with, had taken up arms and were fiercely loyal. When the King's force arrived, a vicious skirmish ensued, and the soldiers, taken by surprise, were tragically slain by Somadatta’s defenders.
Infuriated by this open rebellion, the King sent a second, larger force. They captured Somadatta quickly this time. The King, whose anger had now boiled over into blinding fury, did not even hold a trial. The crime was clear; the violence had escalated to treason.
He ordered Somadatta to be impaled.
The condemned man, shackled and dragged to the execution ground, was pale but defiant. He saw the sharpened wooden stake—the ultimate symbol of a shameful death—and felt the cold dread creep up his spine.
6. Divine Protection and Royal Pardon
As the grim executioners prepared the stake, a crowd gathered, morbid and silent. They seized Somadatta and prepared to lift him onto the spike. It was the point of no return.
But as he was being hoisted, a tremor seemed to pass through the very earth, and Somadatta suddenly fell hard to the ground, as if flung down by an invisible, mighty hand.
The executioners, mystified and unnerved, prepared to lift him again. The moment their hands reached for him, a strange, silent wave passed over them. Their vision blurred, then faded entirely. They became instantly, inexplicably blind. The fates, it seemed, had intervened, protecting a man who, though wicked, was somehow destined for future prosperity. The forces of heaven had prevented the act of final, mortal justice.
When the King heard of the bizarre occurrence—the fall, the instantaneous blindness of his guards—a profound awe and fear settled over him. He was a King, but he knew the gods held the final authority. He was suddenly pleased, realizing the gods had spared the man, and he would not defy a divine mandate.
At that moment, the virtuous Vaiśvānaradatta rushed in. His face was streaked with tears, his voice hoarse with pleading. "My King! My lord! I beg you! My brother has been punished enough by shame and terror. The gods themselves have decreed his life be saved. Grant him mercy! Complete the act of divine pardon!"
The King, already introspective, was moved by the younger brother’s devotion. He finally relented, sparing Somadatta’s life, substituting the punishment of death with immediate exile and the stripping of his privileges.
7. Somadatta's Change of Lifestyle and Search for Land
Somadatta, having escaped death by an inch and a miracle, was utterly broken. The humiliation was total. He had been stripped, arrested, nearly impaled, and saved only by the intervention of heaven and the compassion of the brother he resented.
"I cannot remain here," he told his wife, his voice hollow. "Every face I see is a reminder of the King's insult, the soldiers’ hands, and the stake. I must go to another land."
His wife, devoted despite his flaws, tearfully agreed. But his wider family came in a body, disapproving of his wild departure. "Stay! You have half the King's grant left!" they begged.
"No," Somadatta stated with unexpected firmness. "I will not touch that cursed inheritance. I resign it. I give up that half of the King’s grant forever."
Finding himself without any means of support—stripped of his land and his father's prestige—he had nowhere to turn but honest labor. He determined to practice husbandry. He needed a fresh start, a new patch of earth that held no memories of his failure.
He consulted the heavens, chose a lucky day, and set out with his wife, trekking toward the great, wild forest to find a piece of ground suitable for cultivation, a place where his hands could redeem his soul.
8. The Auspicious Aśvattha Tree
After days of searching, he stumbled upon it. It was a promising, fertile piece of ground, dark with rich soil, from which it seemed an abundant crop was guaranteed to spring. It felt like a sign, a blessing.
In the very center of this field, he saw a magnificent Aśvattha tree of great size and age. Its canopy was vast, its branches thick and healthy. Desiring only ground fit for cultivation, he looked at that tree and was filled with delight. It was cool, like the height of the rainy season, keeping off the scorching rays of the sun with its auspicious, dense shade. It was a haven.
"I will be a faithful votary," he whispered to his wife, his voice filled with a reverence he had never known before. "Whoever the powerful being is that presides over this colossal tree, I pledge my devotion to him."
With solemnity, he walked around the great tree, keeping it on his right side in the ancient, respectful manner of circumambulation, and bowed before it, offering a silent prayer for his new life. Then, with a new sense of purpose, he yoked a pair of bullocks he had traded for, recited an earnest prayer for success, made a small offering to the tree, and began to plough the field. This place was his temple, and his work was his only worship. He remained under that tree night and day, and his wife, loyal and patient, always brought him his simple meals there.
9. Misfortune and Unwavering Resolve
Time passed. The soil was indeed fertile, and the sun and rains were kind. In course of time, the corn was ripe—a sea of golden, heavy heads ready for harvest. Somadatta’s heart swelled with hard-won satisfaction. This was proof that his honest toil had redeemed him; he had been successful.
But fate, it seemed, was not quite finished testing him.
One ill-fated night, before he could gather the bounty, a sound like distant thunder grew into a terrifying roar. The troops of a hostile, warring kingdom, marauding deep into foreign territory, suddenly swept through the area. They were not interested in battle; they were interested in plunder. They trampled and destroyed everything in their path.
As fate would have it, Somadatta’s promising piece of ground was unexpectedly, brutally plundered and ravaged. The entire crop was utterly destroyed, leaving nothing but trampled stalks and churned mud.
When the hostile force finally departed, the courageous man found his wife weeping uncontrollably amid the devastation. "It's all gone!" she cried, sinking to her knees. "Our labor, our hunger, our hope—everything! Why? Why must the gods torment us so?"
Somadatta, though his heart was heavy, felt a strange, new strength surge through him. He comforted his weeping wife. He gave her the very little grain they had saved for their offering. After making the offering as he had before, he made a decision that was the true measure of his transformation: he remained in the same place, under the same tree.
He spoke to his wife with quiet authority. "We do not run, woman. We replant. This is the character of resolute men—that their perseverance is not broken by misfortune, but increased by it. We stay here, under the protection of this sacred tree. Our resolve is the only thing the King's troops cannot take from us."
10. The Yaksha's Command and Prophetic Name
That night, Somadatta could not sleep. The cold anxiety of utter loss gnawed at him. He lay alone in the deepest darkness, staring up at the vast, rustling canopy of the Aśvattha tree.
As he lay there, a voice, deep, resonant, and not quite human, came clearly out from the dense foliage of the tree. It was the sound of a thousand whispering secrets, yet piercingly clear to his ear.
"O Somadatta," the voice boomed softly. "I am pleased with thee. I am the Yaksha who presides here, and I have witnessed your trials. I watched your fall, your grace, and your unbreakable resolve. You do not move when struck; you stand. Therefore, I will reward you. Go now to the kingdom of a great king named Ádityaprabha, in the land of Śríkaṇṭha."
Somadatta held his breath, paralyzed by awe and fear.
The voice continued, dictating his new destiny: "Continually repeat at the door of that King, after you recite the form of words used at the evening oblation to Agni, the following sentence—‘I am Phalabhúti by name, a Brāhman. Hear what I say: he who does good will obtain good, and he who does evil, will obtain evil.’ By repeating this truth there, thou shalt attain great prosperity. And now, you must learn the oblation. I am a Yaksha, and I will teach you the form of words."
Having said this, and having immediately taught him, with a flash of effortless insight, the complete form of the evening oblation, the powerful voice in the tree suddenly ceased, leaving only the rustling of leaves and the pounding of Somadatta's heart. He was reborn, given a new name—Phalabhūti, the Fruit of Deeds—and a divine command.
11. Phalabhūti's Arrival and Favor at Court
The next morning, the wise Somadatta, now calling himself Phalabhūti, set out with his wife. Their journey was arduous, crossing various forests uneven and labyrinthine, a physical representation of the calamitous path his own life had taken. But now, he had the conviction of the Yaksha’s promise to guide him.
He finally reached the great, glorious land of Śríkaṇṭha, and the magnificent palace of King Ádityaprabha.
Phalabhūti walked to the King's door and, with newfound confidence, first recited the full, beautiful form of words used at the evening oblation to Agni. Then, he announced his name as directed, and uttered the short, enigmatic speech that immediately excited the curiosity of the watching people:
"I am Phalabhúti, a Brāhman. Hear what I say! The doer of good will obtain good, but the doer of evil, evil."
He repeated this simple, profound truth frequently. The King, Ádityaprabha, hearing of this strange man and his curious chant, was naturally intrigued. He caused Phalabhūti to be brought into the palace, and Phalabhūti entered, repeating that same speech over and over again in the presence of the King and his entire court.
The statement, so obvious yet so persistent, made the King and all his courtiers laugh—it was a diversion. But the amusement of great men is rarely without fruit. The King and his chiefs, amused by the Brāhman’s boldness and the simplicity of his truth, generously gave him garments, ornaments, and even villages. Phalabhūti, originally poor and disgraced, instantly obtained great wealth by the favor of the guiding Yaksha. By continually reciting the words, he became a special favorite of the monarch, for the regal mind loves diversion and novelty.
Gradually, he attained a position of immense love and respect in the palace, in the entire kingdom, and even in the Queen's female apartments, as he was trusted and beloved by the King for his consistency and his strange, unmoving philosophy.
12. The Queen's Terrifying Ritual
Life settled into this new, prosperous rhythm for Phalabhūti. But one day, the routine was shattered.
King Ádityaprabha returned from a long, grueling day of hunting in the deep forest. He was tired, dusty, and eager for the immediate peace of his inner sanctum. He quickly entered his harem, but the moment he passed through the outer gate, his suspicions were immediately aroused by the confusion and hurried, whispering panic of the warders. They averted their eyes and stammered their apologies.
Alarmed, the King brushed past them and entered the private chamber.
What he saw froze the blood in his veins.
His Queen, the beautiful Kuvalayávalí, was not waiting for him. She was standing in the middle of a great, intricate circle drawn with various colored powders on the floor. Her body was stark naked, her dark hair was standing on end, and her eyes were half-closed, rolled back in an ecstatic trance. A horrifying, enormous patch of vivid red lead marked her forehead, and her lips trembled constantly as she muttered low, incomprehensible charms.
Worst of all was the offering. She was conducting a terrifying worship, a rite of Śiva in his destructive form. Before her stood a dish holding a gruesome oblation: a mix of blood, spirits, and, undeniably, chunks of human flesh.
13. The Queen's Confession and Claim
The King stood rigid in the doorway, the joy of the hunt instantly replaced by cold, hard horror. His beloved Queen was a devotee of the darkest arts.
Kuvalayávalí, shocked out of her trance by the sudden, massive presence of her husband, immediately seized her garments and covered her body. Her composure was shattered. She fell to her knees, trembling not from the spell, but from terror.
"My Lord!" the King roared, his voice shaking with betrayed fury. "What is the meaning of this abomination? Blood? Flesh? You worship in a manner reserved only for the basest sorcerers and ghouls! Have you gone mad? How dare you bring this filth into my palace!"
Tears streamed down the Queen's face, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. She crawled forward and craved pardon for her actions, her voice trembling but earnest.
"My Lord, my King," she whispered urgently. "I beg you, spare your anger! I have gone through this horrific ceremony not for myself, but for you! It is a rite of ultimate power! I swear I did this only in order that you might obtain ultimate prosperity and unbreakable dominion over all enemies! It is a sacrifice to ensure your reign. Please, my Lord, listen. Let me tell you how I learned these terrible rites, and I will reveal to you the secret of my magic skill."
14. The Suggestion to Worship Gaṇeśa
Kuvalayávalí began her tale, taking King Ádityaprabha back to her youth, when she was merely a princess living in her father's house, untouched by the shadows of power.
"Long ago, my Lord, I was a carefree maiden. It was during the beautiful spring festival, and I was enjoying myself in the royal garden with my friends."
"My companions found me and excitedly led me to a secluded, hidden part of the pleasure-garden. 'Come, Kuvalayávalí!' they said, 'We must show you this!'"
"There is an image here—an image of Gaṇeśa, the very God of Gods, Lord of the Gaṇas, positioned in the middle of a natural arbour made of twining trees. And that image, they swore, grants boons! Its power has been tested by many maidens seeking good fortune. You must approach with devout faith, O Princess! Worship him! Do this, and you may soon obtain, without difficulty, a suitable husband worthy of your royal birth.'"
15. The Proof of Gaṇeśa's Power
The young princess, still innocent and full of ignorance, was immediately skeptical. "But what foolishness is this?" she had asked her friends, confused. "What! Do maidens truly obtain noble husbands simply by worshipping the elephant-headed Gaṇeśa? What does he have to do with marriage?"
Her friends had looked at her with a gentle, shared pity.
"How can you ask such a question, Kuvalayávalí?" one of them replied patiently. "You still do not know the power of the Lord of Obstacles? Without worshipping Gaṇeśa, no one—not a god, not a demon, and certainly no mortal—obtains any success in this world. Every undertaking is doomed to fail at the onset if his blessing is not sought first."
"If you do not believe us, we will give you the ultimate proof of his absolute power. Listen now," another friend had urged. "We will tell you the ancient, terrible tale of the gods themselves, and how even the greatest deities failed until they honored Gaṇeśa."
Saying this, the friends told Kuvalayávalí the story of the birth of the great General, Kártikeya.
Story of the Birth of Kártikeya. (Embedded to prove the need to worship Gaṇeśa)
16. Indra's Need and Śiva's Austerities
The tale began in a time of cosmic despair. Long ago, the heavens reeled under the merciless onslaught of the Asura Tāraka. Tāraka had obtained a terrible boon: he could only be killed by a son of Śiva.
The King of the Gods, Indra, oppressed and humiliated by the demon, was desperate. He desired a son from the great ascetic Śiva to act as the general of the battered divine forces. But Śiva, the Three-Eyed God, was plunged into a very long and terrifying course of self-mortification on Mount Kailash, lost to the universe in deep meditation.
To even approach Śiva, someone had to break his trance. The foolish God of Love, Kāmadeva, had dared to shoot his flowery arrow at Śiva to arouse his desire for Gaurí (Pārvatí), and had been instantly consumed by the dreadful fire of Śiva’s third eye. He was now nothing but ashes.
Gaurí, the Daughter of the Mountain, knew the sacrifice that was required. She, too, performed extraordinary, grueling austerities, offering her own pain and devotion until she finally sought and gained the great Three-Eyed God as her husband. Their union was the gods' last hope.
17. Kāmadeva's Curse and the Son's Creation
After their marriage, Pārvatí felt the longing of a mother and the sorrow of a friend. She desired two things: the obtaining of a son, and the return to life of the kind, playful God of Love.
She spoke to her mighty consort, her voice filled with tenderness and longing. "My Lord, my Husband, your divine essence is now mine. Please grant me my desire for a child. And my heart aches for the God of Love. Please, return his body to him, so the world can again feel joy."
Śiva looked at his beloved Goddess, his eyes radiating cosmic patience. "My dear Goddess," he said, his voice the sound of celestial thunder, "you ask for two great miracles. But there is a history to this. The God of Love was born long, long ago from the mind of Brahmá, the Creator. And no sooner was he born than he said, with staggering arrogance and insolence, 'Whom shall I make mad? (kan darpayámi)'."
"Because of that prideful question, Brahmá named him Kandarpa and warned him sternly: 'My son, since you are so confident in your power, avoid attacking Śiva, and Śiva alone, lest you receive death from him.' But the ill-disposed god, arrogant to the last, came here to trouble my perfect austerities. I could not allow it. Therefore, he was utterly burnt up by the fire of my eye. My love, he cannot be created again with his body."
Śiva took her hand. "But do not despair for a son. I will create a child by my divine power, through you, for I do not require the transient might of love in order to have offspring, as mortal men do. It shall be so."
18. Brahmá and Indra's Plea
As the great God was speaking these comforting words to Párvatí, the air shimmered and split. Brahmá, the four-faced Creator, accompanied by the humbled, anxious Indra, suddenly appeared before them, their forms blazing with divine light.
They immediately praised Śiva with ancient hymns and, after their adoration, they desperately entreated him to quickly bring about the destruction of the terrible Asura Tāraka.
Śiva, touched by their sincere prayers and knowing his cosmic duty, consented to beget on the Goddess a son from his own physical body. But the gods also needed love to return to the universe, and they pleaded for the continuation of Kāmadeva's influence. At their desperate entreaty, Śiva consented to a crucial compromise: that the God of Love should be born without a body, to exist instead in the minds of all animate creatures, so that the cycle of creation and life would not be destroyed.
Śiva magnanimously gave permission for love, in its disembodied form, to even influence his own divine mind. Pleased with this great boon, the Creator and Indra bowed low and went away, and Párvatí was deeply delighted, filled with the promise of a child and the return of love to the cosmos.
19. The Obstacle of Neglect
Hundreds of divine years passed. The stars wheeled overhead, the seasons turned, and the gods waited, but there appeared no hope of Párvatí having any offspring. The union, though complete, remained barren.
The creation of a General was stalled. Brahmá, the all-wise, searched the cosmos for the cause. He realized the fatal omission.
By the order of Brahmá, the gods called to mind the divine Fire God, Agni, to deposit the germ in the fire and then into Párvatí. Agni, the moment they called him, was terrified. He thought of Śiva, the foe of the God of Love, the irresistible power, and was afraid to interfere in the creation of his son. He panicked. To escape the terrifying commission, he fled the gods and plunged into the great waters of the deep earth.
The gods searched everywhere. Finally, the frogs, the strange, loud inhabitants of the water, being burned by Agni's residual heat in the deep, began to croak and tell the gods that the Fire God was concealed in the depths.
20. Agni's Commission and The Goddess's Anger
Agni, enraged at the betrayal by the frogs, immediately cursed them. "Your tongue shall betray you no more! Henceforth, the speech of all frogs shall be utterly inarticulate! You shall speak only in senseless noise!"
The moment he cursed them, Agni disappeared again, fleeing to a new place of refuge. The gods followed.
This time, they found him concealed in the large, hollow trunk of a colossal forest tree, in the humiliating form of a snail. He was betrayed by the trumpeting of elephants and the chattering of parrots, whose keen sight and sharp voices gave away his hiding place.
In a renewed fury, Agni cursed them both. "Let your tongues suffer for this treachery! Henceforth, the tongues of all parrots and all elephants shall be forever incapable of clear, true human utterance!"
Finally, Agni relented, having been praised and entreated by the gods. He promised to do what was requested. He went to Śiva, inclined humbly before him, fear preventing him from being cursed again, and informed him of the gods’ terrifying commission. Śiva, majestic and silent, thereupon deposited his powerful, blazing germ in the body of Agni.
Agni then returned and glowed with unbearable light. Then, unable to bear the embryo of Śiva’s power, he discharged the difficult germ into the Ganges river. The Ganges, dutifully, by the order of Śiva, placed the brilliant germ in a sacred sacrificial cavity on Mount Meru.
Meanwhile, Párvatí, seeing the divine seed being passed from god to god, fire to river, felt a wave of maternal despair and rage. She confronted her husband: "My Lord! After all my penance, all my devotion, I have not obtained a son from you! The seed is gone, passed around! What is this trickery? Was our union a lie?"
21. The Reason for the Delay: Neglect of Gaṇeśa
Śiva looked at her, his face showing the divine truth of the cosmos. He spoke with the quiet, devastating authority of absolute law.
"My beloved Gaurí," he said gently, "I told you I would give you a son. But there is a profound principle you have forgotten, and the entire cosmos is held hostage to this lapse."
He pointed to the chaos that had transpired—Agni’s fear, his flight, the curses, the germ being passed away from her womb. "An obstacle has arisen, Párvatí. A mountain of difficulty was placed in our path. This is because, when you desired a son, when you desired the greatest success in the universe, you neglected to worship Gaṇeśa, the elephant-faced Lord of Obstacles!"
His voice became stern. "He is the Primal Worshipped, the one who must be honored at the beginning of every single undertaking, divine or mortal. It was for this reason that all these disasters transpired. Therefore, stop your anger, Párvatí. Adore him now, adore him instantly, in order that a child may finally be born to us of the fire."
When thus addressed by her husband, the Goddess immediately understood the flaw in her action. Repentant and eager, Párvatí worshipped Gaṇeśa with all her heart and soul.
22. The Birth of the Six-Faced God (Kārtikeya)
The moment Párvatí worshipped Gaṇeśa, the cosmic forces aligned once more. The fire, which had received the germ, now felt its terrible weight increase, and it shone even in the day as if the sun itself had entered into it.
The Ganges, holding the seed by Śiva's order, felt the time was right. There, in the sacred cavity on Mount Meru, the blazing germ was watched carefully by the Gaṇas, the attendants of Śiva. After a thousand years of development, the germ finally transformed.
It became a beautiful, powerful boy with six faces, representing the six directions and the six senses.
The boy was immediately hungry. Párvatí, having achieved her desire, appointed the six Kṛittikás (the Pleiades constellation) to nurse him. Drinking milk simultaneously with his six mouths from the breasts of the six divine nurses, the boy, radiating power, grew big in only a few days. He was the General of the Gods, Kārtikeya (or Skanda), born to vanquish Tāraka.
23. Indra's Jealousy and Kārtikeya's Might
While this divine event unfolded, the King of the Gods, Indra, was struggling. He was utterly overcome and humiliated by the Asura Tāraka, and he had been forced to flee the field of battle, taking refuge in the most difficult, remote peaks of Mount Meru.
But the gods quickly learned of their new champion. The deities, together with the sacred Ṛishis (sages), went immediately to the six-mouthed Kártikeya for protection and leadership. Kártikeya, defending the gods, stood ready, surrounded by their forces.
When Indra, hiding in shame, heard that the newly born Kārtikeya had amassed a divine army and was leading the gods, he was troubled by a very mortal, very human emotion: jealousy.
My kingdom is being taken from me, he thought bitterly. I am the King of the Heavens! This new god, though my savior, is also my rival!
Blinded by this envy, Indra made a rash decision. He went and made war upon the divine child, Kártikeya! He raised his dreadful thunderbolt, the Vajra, and struck the young General.
But Kārtikeya's might was incomparable. The divine bolt did not destroy him; instead, from the very body of Kártikeya, struck by the weapon, there instantly sprang two more sons: Śákha and Viśákha, both of terrible, incomparable might, ready to join the fray.
24. The Second Obstacle: Indra's Arm
The battle between the King and the General threatened to destroy the very heavens. Suddenly, the great Lord Śiva came to the scene, imposing and stern. He approached his offspring Kártikeya, who had so clearly exceeded Indra in power, and forbade him and his two new sons to continue the fight.
"Stop this madness, my son!" Śiva commanded, his voice echoing over the celestial battlefield. "Listen to your purpose! Thou wast born only in order that thou mightest slay Tāraka and protect the realm of Indra! You are not here to usurp or fight your own King! Therefore, do your duty and obey the cosmic order!"
Indra, humbled and ashamed by his own petty jealousy, was instantly delighted by Śiva's judgment. He bowed low before Śiva and Kártikeya, and declared: "My Lord! The time is now! I shall immediately commence the ceremony of consecrating Kártikeya as the General of my divine forces!"
The consecration ceremony began in splendor. Indra, full of pride and authority, himself lifted the great water pitcher to pour the sacred ablutions over the new General.
But the moment he lifted the heavy pitcher, his body betrayed him. A sudden, terrible stiffness seized his right arm, freezing it in place! He could not move it. The pitcher hung suspended, the water unable to flow, the magnificent ceremony stalled, and the King of the Gods was utterly despondent and humiliated.
25. The Final Reminder to Worship Gaṇeśa
Śiva, seeing the King’s second, bizarre failure, simply smiled—a quiet, knowing smile of cosmic authority.
"Indra," Śiva said, his voice quiet but devastating. "You have forgotten the lesson yet again. You desired a General for your forces, a great success to save your realm. And yet, you have not once, on your own accord, worshipped the Elephant-Faced God, Gaṇeśa! It was for this very reason that you met with this second obstacle—the freezing of your arm—at the very climax of your effort."
Śiva pointed to the still-suspended pitcher. "The law is absolute. You failed to honor the Lord of Beginnings. Therefore, King of the Gods, drop your pride. Adore him now, instantly, and then, only then, may you proceed."
Indra, finally, truly understood. This was the universal law. Humbled to his core, he let the pitcher rest, and with an earnest focus, he performed a quick, sincere, and desperate ritual of devotion to the great Gaṇeśa.
The instant he finished his prayer, the terrible stiffness left his arm. His arm was set free, the divine energy flowing through it once more. He immediately seized the pitcher and duly performed the joyful ceremony of consecrating Kártikeya as the General of the Gods.
26. Conclusion of the Embedded Tale
The celestial ceremony was completed in triumph. The purpose of Kártikeya’s birth was now fulfilled.
And not long after, the mighty new General, filled with the blessing of Gaṇeśa, led the divine forces into battle. He slew the terrible Asura Tāraka. The gods rejoiced at having finally accomplished their desperate object, and Párvatí, the Goddess, was eternally fulfilled at having obtained a powerful, glorious son.
Kuvalayávalí's companions had concluded the story and looked at the young princess with profound seriousness.
"So, princess," they had stated, the moral ringing in the air, "you see? Even the greatest gods, the absolute rulers of the heavens, are not successful without honoring the elephant-faced Gaṇeśa. Therefore, whenever you desire a blessing, whenever you begin anything, you must worship him first."
Story of Kuvalayāvalī and the Witch Kālarātri. (Continued)
27. Acquiring Magical Power and Becoming a Witch
Kuvalayávalí, the young princess, was deeply affected. She believed. She went to the lonely part of the garden where the image of Gaṇeśa stood and performed the worship her companions had taught her.
After she had finished the ceremony, she looked up, and gasped. Suddenly, without warning, she saw her companions, who had been standing with her, fly up by their own power! They were instantly soaring and disporting themselves high above her in the fields of the air, tiny figures against the bright sky.
Driven by curiosity and a potent ambition, she called out to them. They descended from the heaven and landed gracefully before her.
"What power is this?" she demanded, eyes wide. "What is the nature of your magic skill? Tell me, teach me!"
They exchanged glances, and one of them immediately gave her the chilling answer. "These are the magic powers of a special, ancient sect. They are the spells of the witches—the Yoginis. And the awful secret of this power, the ultimate key that unlocks the air for us, is the eating of human flesh."
They revealed that their teacher in this terrifying art was a Brāhman woman, known by the dreadful name of Kálarátri—the Black Night.
When her friends said this, Kuvalayávalí felt a wave of icy shock. She was instantly desirous of acquiring the power of a woman that could fly in the air, the ultimate freedom. But she was simultaneously and instinctively afraid of eating human flesh, the ultimate defilement. For a time, she was paralyzed, caught in a state of terrible hesitation between her ambition and her revulsion.
28. The Repulsive Teacher Kálarátri
Her ambition, however, was immense. The thought of soaring above the world like a free bird eclipsed her fear. Eager to possess that terrifying power, she finally made her choice.
"Bring her," she commanded her friends, her voice now steady. "Cause me also to be instructed in this dark, powerful science. I will learn it."
Immediately, her friends, acting as intermediaries, went and brought the teacher, Kálarátri, in accordance with the princess's request.
The appearance of the Brāhman woman was a profound shock. She was not a figure of mystery, but a vision of pure, deliberate horror—so repulsive that she seemed not naturally born, but crafted by a perverse artist.
Her eyebrows met in a single, dark line; she had dull, staring eyes that lacked any light of warmth; a depressed, completely flat nose that looked broken; and massive, large cheeks that hung like sacks. Her lips were widely parted, constantly revealing huge, projecting teeth. She had a long, stringy neck, and breasts that were pendulous and low. Her belly was large and distended, and she walked on broad, expanded feet.
She appeared as if the Creator, having mastered the art of beauty, had deliberately created her as a specimen of his skill in producing absolute ugliness—a living personification of the Night of Destruction.
29. The Horrible Ceremony and the Eating of Human Flesh
Kuvalayávalí was terrified, but she was committed. She fell at the repulsive woman’s feet.
Kálarátri first had the princess prepare. Kuvalayávalí, desperate for success, first bathed and then dutifully worshipped Gaṇeśa for the successful removal of any obstacle to her new path.
Then, the true ceremony began. Kálarátri ordered the princess to take off her clothes. The girl stood, naked and vulnerable, in the center of the dark circle. The teacher then made her perform a horrible, terrifying ceremony in honor of Śiva in his terrific, destructive Bhairava form, far different from the gentle deity of Párvatí.
Kálarátri sprinkled the terrified princess with sacred, chilling water and began the instruction. She gave her various spells, known only to her secret society.
Then came the final, pivotal act of the initiation.
She presented Kuvalayávalí with a bowl containing the gruesome oblation: human flesh that had been offered in sacrifice to the dark gods. There was no escaping it. The price of flight was utter, irrevocable defilement.
The ambitious princess, driven by the desire for power and freedom, swallowed her revulsion. She took the vile offering. She ate the man's flesh.
30. Kuvalayāvalī's New Identity
The effect was instantaneous and profound. The moment the princess had eaten the man's flesh and received the various spells, a surging power—unholy but irresistible—coursed through her veins.
She immediately flew up, naked as she was, into the heaven with her delighted friends. She had done it. She had transcended the world of mortals.
She amused herself high above the palace and the city, drinking in the exhilarating, dizzying freedom of the air. Then, by the cold command of her teacher, she descended from the heaven.
"Thus," the Queen Kuvalayávalí concluded, looking directly into the horrified eyes of King Ádityaprabha, her voice now cold and resolute, "even in my innocent girlhood, I became one of the terrifying society of witches, the women who walk the skies. In our meetings, our freedom is bought with a cost, and we have devoured the bodies of many men. I did this ritual tonight, my King, because I am bound to these arts, and I only use them to ensure your prosperity and power."
She had explained her terrible secret, and the frame story was complete. King Ádityaprabha now understood the true nature of his beloved Queen, and the power of the cosmic law that Phalabhūti's mantra had proclaimed: The doer of good will obtain good, and the doer of evil, evil.
The Tale of Sundaraka and the Witch-Queen's Shadow
The Story of Sundaraka
1. Introduction of Characters and Setting: The Guru's Household
In the ancient, holy city, renowned for its temples and scholarly pursuits, lived the revered Vishnusvamin, a Brahman whose mastery of the four Vedas was peerless. His ashram was a sacred haven, students traveling from far-off kingdoms to sit at his feet. Yet, a creeping darkness permeated the air inside his own home, embodied by his wife, Kalaratri. Her name, meaning 'Night of Time,' was a fitting description of her soul: shadowed, manipulative, and deeply resentful of her husband’s spiritual focus. Her features, though sharp, lacked the softness of grace, leaving her with an air of subtle malevolence.
Among the pupils was Sundaraka, a young man whose beauty was almost ethereal, suggesting a soul recently descended from the heavens. His character was impeccable—modest, devout, and dedicated to the rigorous path of Dharma. He was Vishnusvamin's star student, a source of pride for the teacher and, tragically, a focus of perverse obsession for his wife.
2. Kalaratri’s Vain Attempt to Seduce Sundaraka
One hot, windless afternoon, while Vishnusvamin was away leading a prayer ceremony in a nearby village, Kalaratri decided to act. She found Sundaraka in the garden, his head bowed over a scroll, the sunlight catching the gold in his hair. She approached him, her movements slow and deliberate, her gaze fixed on him like a predator.
"Sundaraka," she murmured, her voice unnaturally low, "always seeking knowledge, yet blind to the beautiful truths of the moment."
Sundaraka looked up, his brow furrowed in courteous surprise. "Revered Mother, I seek only the eternal truth laid out by our Guru."
She moved closer, the scent of jasmine and something acrid filling the air. "And what if I, your Guru's wife, offered you a truth far sweeter, far more tangible than faded scripture? Look at me, Sundaraka. I am a woman of passion. Your teacher is old and consumed by the distant gods. But I am here, vibrant and waiting." She reached out a hand, intending to stroke his cheek.
Sundaraka recoiled with the swiftness of a struck serpent, though his expression remained one of deep sorrow, not anger. "Mother," he stated, his voice ringing with firm conviction, "to me, you are Matru Devo Bhava—'May your mother be a god to you.' The wife of the Guru is one of the three mothers to a Brahman student. The love you speak of is not for me. It is a crime against my soul and my Guru's trust. I will not taint my Dharma."
Kalaratri's face contorted, the brief illusion of tenderness vanishing, replaced by a horrifying, naked lust and fury. She had been publicly, utterly scorned by a boy.
3. False Accusation and Sundaraka’s Expulsion
Consumed by a rage fueled by rejected desire, Kalaratri did not linger. She rushed to her chambers, ripping the fine fabric of her sari and tearing at her own flesh with vicious, ragged nails. She bit her lip until a thread of crimson ran down her chin, mussed her hair into a frightful tangle, and then collapsed onto the carpet, shrieking a mournful, theatrical cry of distress.
When Vishnusvamin returned, his face pale with alarm at the sound of her anguish, he found her huddled, apparently distraught, over her ravaged clothes and wounded body.
"My heart, what is this abomination? Who has dared to lay a hand upon my Queen?" the Guru cried, rushing to her side. His spiritual sight failed him utterly in the face of his worldly attachment.
Kalaratri pointed a trembling, dramatic finger towards the door where Sundaraka had vanished. "Look, my Lord! To this state has Sundaraka reduced me! He is a beast cloaked in beauty! He tried to force himself on me, and when I fought, he struck me and tore my clothes!" Her voice broke into convincing, desperate sobs.
Vishnusvamin, instantly and blindly believing his wife, was seized by a terrifying, righteous wrath. His face, usually serene, became distorted by a mask of fury. When Sundaraka returned late that evening, he was met by his Guru and the other pupils, who had been whipped into a frenzy of loyalty.
"You viper! You disgrace to the Vedas!" Vishnusvamin roared, his voice trembling with betrayal. He did not ask for an explanation. He and his students set upon Sundaraka, raining down blows with fists, sticks, and feet. The young man, weakened by his piety and unwilling to fight his Guru, offered no resistance.
When Sundaraka lay a senseless, bruised heap, Vishnusvamin commanded, "Take this wretch! Fling him out onto the road! Let him rot! He is no longer human to me!" They dragged his body out of the ashram, out of the light, and into the darkness of the night road.
4. Sundaraka’s Reflection on Lust and Wrath
The night was cold and damp, and the air on the dirt road eventually seeped into Sundaraka's battered body, bringing him back from the merciful depths of unconsciousness. He lay there, his body a symphony of pain, staring at the distant, glittering stars.
"Ah, the cruelty of Fate," he gasped, spitting out a fleck of blood. "A woman's lie can trounce all the learning of a lifetime. The instigation of a woman can make a wise man's soul as turbulent as a lake stirred by a cyclonic wind, no matter how distant from the dust of the world he fancies himself to be."
He reflected bitterly on his revered teacher. "My Guru, so old, so wise, treated me so savagely, his mind clouded by passion and misplaced confidence in his wife. He too, despite his great knowledge, has succumbed to the two terrible bolts that guard the door of salvation: Lust and Wrath."
His mind drifted to the ancient legends of Shiva and the Sages. "Even the great Sages of the Deodar forest were moved by wrath when they cursed Lord Shiva, not recognizing the divine mendicant who came to test their self-control. They sought to punish a god because they feared for their wives' chastity! If hermits, who have renounced the world, can be so easily led into committing injury by the six faults—lust, wrath, greed, attachment, pride, and envy—then how vulnerable is a Brahman like my Guru, who lives amidst the duties and passions of the world!"
"I am betrayed, but I am free of the sin," he concluded, his voice gaining a measure of strength. "My conscience is clear. I must survive."
5. Taking Shelter and Witnessing Kalaratri's Transformation
Desperate to escape the dangers of robbers and scavenging beasts on the dark road, Sundaraka crawled toward a nearby abandoned structure—an old, decaying cow-house. He slipped inside and managed to wedge himself into a shadowed, manure-scented corner, pulling his legs tight against his chest.
He had not found peace. A profound, bone-deep cold began to settle in the structure, accompanied by a faint, crackling sound. He watched, terrified, as a grotesque, shimmering light filled the cow-house.
Then, she entered. It was Kalaratri, but she had shed all remnants of her human disguise. Her eyes were burning orbs of crimson fire, and from her mouth, a high, terrifying hiss escaped, like steam from a cauldron. She was a true Witch-Queen, a Rakshasi of immense power, and in her hand, she held a gleaming, wicked drawn sword. Behind her, a host of hissing, cackling witches gathered, their shapes barely discernible in the magical shadow she cast.
6. The First Magical Flight to Ujjayiní
The sight was paralyzing, more terrifying than any beating. Sundaraka’s intellect, however, had been honed by years of studying the sacred texts, which contained verses of protection. Trapped and unable to move, he silently began to recite the powerful, mental spells that drive away Rakshasas. He visualized the divine energy of the verses as a brilliant shield around him.
The protective energy worked. Kalaratri, her mind entirely focused on her darker purpose and perhaps dulled by her transformation, did not perceive the small, injured youth huddled in the corner. She looked right through him.
She turned to her shadowy followers. "The hour is late! To Ujjayiní!" She then began to chant a low, buzzing, powerful mantra—the spell of flight. A tremendous upward force surged through the structure. Sundaraka clenched his eyes shut as the entire cow-house, with him inside it, lifted violently from the ground and soared into the vast, dark sky. It was an airborne prison, a vehicle of dark magic carrying a prisoner of the light.
7. First Journey Details and Return
As the magical vehicle hurtled through the clouds toward the distant city of Ujjayiní, Sundaraka’s sharp intellect, though still reeling from terror, seized the moment. He focused intently on the strange, rhythmic syllables Kalaratri had chanted. He recognized the pattern, the structure of the spell, and the vibrations of the flight chant became indelibly marked in his memory.
The flight ended abruptly with a bump in a sprawling, fragrant garden of herbs outside Ujjayiní. Kalaratri used a second, softer incantation to ground the cow-house and immediately sped away toward the local cemetery to indulge in her gruesome nocturnal ceremonies with her fellow witches.
Alone and safe for the moment, the pangs of mortal hunger returned fiercely. Sundaraka cautiously slipped out. He dug up several edible roots from the garden and consumed them quickly, the nourishment restoring a measure of physical and mental strength. He then returned to his corner in the cow-house just as silently as he had left it.
In the deepest hour of the night, Kalaratri returned, the air around her thick with the smell of smoke and death. She climbed into the cow-house and, with her retinue, spoke the magic words again. The structure lifted, and she flew through the air back towards her home, setting the cow-house down in its original location before slipping into her sleeping chamber.
8. Life After Expulsion and Second Courtship Attempt
When the blessed light of day broke, Sundaraka emerged, still aching, but alive and astonishingly empowered by his terrifying ordeal. He sought out his friends, his face grave as he recounted the entire, impossible story—the witch's transformation, the magical flight, and his unwilling journey. Though despairing, his friends were deeply loyal and offered him solace. They convinced him to remain in the kingdom, promising protection.
He moved out of the ashram’s orbit and began taking his meals at the almshouse for Brahmans, seeking to live a quiet life, free of his former Guru's tyranny.
But Kalaratri’s obsession was a relentless poison. Weeks later, she spied him in the bustling city market, his handsome figure drawing her attention like a magnet. She stalked him through the stalls, her lust renewing with a venomous intensity.
"Sundaraka," she hissed, seizing his wrist, "you cannot escape me! I offer you life, bliss, and power! Shew me affection now, for my very life depends on having you! I cannot live without you!"
Sundaraka gently freed his arm, his expression a mixture of pity and steel. "Mother, do not soil my mind or yours with this talk. You are my mother, the wife of my teacher. I would be damned to the lowest hell for such a sacrilege."
9. Second False Accusation and Food Supply Cut Off
Kalaratri, her pride wounded a second time, immediately played her ultimate card—a twisted appeal to Dharma. "If you truly hold Dharma so dear, then save my life! What righteousness is greater than the saving of a life, even that of a despised woman?"
"Mother," Sundaraka pleaded, his eyes shut in pain, "I save my soul by refusing you. What righteousness can there be in approaching the bed of my preceptor? I cannot, and I will not."
Repulsed and utterly undone, Kalaratri’s wrath exploded. She stepped back, screaming, "You will regret this! You will suffer for this insult to my power!" With a wild, theatrical motion, she tore her upper garment with her own hand, leaving the cloth ragged and dangling.
She rushed back to the ashram and presented the tattered cloth to her husband. "Look! He ran upon me again, my Lord! He pursued me to the market and tore this garment in his lustful frenzy! He is a public menace and a danger!"
The Guru, his shame compounding his rage, was easily convinced a second time. He immediately went to the almshouse and, by declaring Sundaraka a felon who deserved the gallows, used his influence to have the boy’s food supply cut off.
10. Attempt to Learn the Descent Spell
Now, Sundaraka’s position was untenable. Without food and with death threats hanging over his head, he knew he must flee the kingdom permanently. He recalled the magic of the previous nights.
"I know the spell for flying up into the air," he muttered to himself, "but I still have not mastered the crucial spell for descending. To conquer the sky but be unable to land safely is merely to trade one prison for a greater one."
That night, driven by cold hunger and desperation, he made his way once more to the deserted cow-house. He huddled in the dark, awaiting the inevitable arrival of the Witch-Queen, his mind a steel trap determined to seize the one piece of knowledge he lacked.
11. The Second Magical Flight and Forgetting the Spell
The chilling wind arrived, the stench of sulfur, and Kalaratri's terrifying presence. She climbed into her flying vehicle and, with a quickened chant, performed the flight ritual to Ujjayiní once more. Sundaraka, tense and focused, felt the cow-house lift into the dark void.
They landed, and Kalaratri spoke the descent spell. Sundaraka focused every iota of his spiritual and mental strength on retaining the intricate syllables. But the mantra was too fast, too complex, delivered with the casual speed of long practice. He grasped the beginning and the end, but the crucial middle, the hidden key to the landing, failed to lodge in his memory.
"Alas," he despaired silently. "How can magic practices be thoroughly learnt without explanation by a teacher? A mantra is not a verse; it is a current of power."
He satisfied his immediate hunger with roots from the garden and, more wisely this time, gathered a generous supply of them, placing them inside the cow-house. Kalaratri returned, flew them home, and dismissed her vehicle.
12. The King's Servants and the Accusation
In the morning, Sundaraka, resigned to his lack of the descent spell, left the cow-house. His only possession of value was the bundle of roots he had gathered. He made his way to the market, intending to sell them for coin to buy simple food and travel far away.
While he was negotiating a price, he was spotted by some of the King's servants, who were natives of the distant Málava country. They instantly recognized the roots as a specific, rare variety from their homeland.
"Look at this rogue! These are Málava roots!" one shouted. They promptly seized the roots without offering payment.
"Stop!" Sundaraka cried, his voice sharp with justified anger. "Those are mine! I worked for those! Pay me, or return them!"
The villains, affronted by a simple Brahman’s challenge, immediately turned to violence. They manacled him and dragged him away, inventing a lie to cover their theft. They brought him before the King on a trumped-up charge of throwing stones at them. His loyal friends, horrified, followed close behind.
13. The King's Inquiry and Sundaraka's Demand
"Your Majesty," the leader of the villains bowed low, spinning his lie. "We asked this man a simple question: how he managed continually to bring Málava roots and sell them in Ujjayiní. He would not give us any answer, but instead grew furious and assaulted us with stones!"
The King, far from being angry, was instantly intrigued. The marvel of the roots' sudden appearance from a far-off land was a great mystery. He questioned Sundaraka about the extraordinary feat.
It was one of Sundaraka’s friends who bravely intervened. "Your Majesty, this man is not a criminal, but a victim of wicked sorcery. He will reveal the whole truth, but the tale is of the heavens and great magic. It requires a setting of equal eminence. If he is placed on the palace roof with us, he will explain the whole wonder, but not otherwise."
The King, burning with curiosity and sensing a story of immense import, readily consented. Sundaraka and his friends were escorted to the high roof of the royal palace.
14. The Abduction of the Palace and Flight to Prayága
Standing on the roof, feeling the wind of freedom, Sundaraka looked down at the city where he had suffered so much. He closed his eyes, centered his mind, and, with every fiber of his being, he spoke the flight spell—the mantra he had learned from Kalaratri.
A vortex of powerful, shimmering energy enveloped the roof. The King, his ministers, and all present gasped as, with a sound like tearing silk, Sundaraka suddenly flew up into the heaven, carrying the entire royal palace and his friends with him. It was a spectacular, audacious act of escape and conquest.
The massive structure soared across the sky, a magnificent, golden vessel of freedom. Sundaraka, now the master of his own destiny, and his friends traveled onward, heading toward the east.
15. Encounter with the King and Impersonation
After a long aerial journey, Sundaraka began to feel the mental strain of controlling such a vast magical vehicle. He peered down and saw the holy confluence of rivers, the sacred pilgrimage spot of Prayága. He spotted a king bathing in the purifying waters, surrounded by his retinue.
Sundaraka, using his imperfect memory of the descent spell, managed to bring the palace down with a controlled, if slightly rough, landing near the river. He plunged from the celestial vessel into the cool, holy water of the Ganges. The entire scene—a man descending from a flying palace and plunging into the river—was beheld with utter wonder by the bathing king.
The King, filled with awe and reverence, inclined his head. "Who art thou, and why hast thou descended from heaven?"
Sundaraka, quickly gauging the situation, answered with the confidence of a god. "I am an attendant of the great Lord Shiva," he declared, his voice carrying an unearthly echo. "Murajaka is my name. I have come to thee by Shiva's command, desiring to experience human pleasures, for the eternal bliss of Kailash can sometimes be too serene."
16. Sundaraka's Royal Prosperity
The King, a man of simple faith, believed the celestial lie instantly. He bowed deeply, proclaiming, "A messenger of Shiva is a blessing upon my kingdom!" He immediately gave Sundaraka a grand gift: a city rich in corn, overflowing with jewels, complete with beautiful women, and all the insignia of rank—chariots, banners, and elephants.
Sundaraka accepted the gift, entered the city, and then, without hesitation, used his flight spell. To the astonishment of the mortal king, he flew up into the heaven with his entire city and his followers. He had become an aerial monarch, a sky-king. For a long, blissful time, he roamed about at will, free from poverty and earthly troubles. He lived in sheer opulence, lying on a golden bed, fanned by beautiful women with silver whisks, enjoying a life of happiness like that of Indra himself.
17. Obtaining the Descent Spell and Returning Home
During his endless aerial travels, Sundaraka struck up a deep friendship with a Siddha, a perfected being who soared through the cosmos. Sundaraka confided his full tale—the cruelty, the magic, the abduction of the palace, and the one crucial spell he still lacked.
The Siddha, moved by the unique story of virtue rewarded, smiled. "Your mind and character are perfect, my friend. It is time for your freedom to be perfect as well." The Siddha gave him the true, flawless, powerful spell for descending from the air.
Now possessed of all the necessary magic, Sundaraka, having gained full prosperity and having nothing left to fear, decided to return to his place of origin. He steered his magnificent, flying city toward his native land, the city of Kányakubja, and, in a celestial blaze of light, descended from the sky-path.
18. Confession and Kálarátri’s Disappearance
The King of Kányakubja, hearing that an unparalleled lord had descended from heaven with a city of his own, went in person to greet the marvel. He recognized the returned prince as the former pupil, Sundaraka.
Questioned by the King, Sundaraka, knowing that the time for secrecy was over, informed the king of all his own incredible adventures, naming Kálarátri as the root of all his troubles.
The King, a man of justice, sent for the former Guru Vishnusvamin and his wife. Kálarátri, in a fit of dark hubris, perhaps confident in her magical power, fearlessly confessed her improper conduct, detailing her rejected advances and her vengeful schemes.
The King was enraged, his face turning dark with fury. "Such wickedness is an offense to the entire kingdom! I shall have her ears cut off as a permanent mark of her shame!"
But as the guards moved to seize her, Kálarátri let out a wild, cackling scream. She chanted a quick, violent spell, and before the eyes of all the horrified spectators, she disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving only the scent of ozone and sulfur behind.
19. Sundaraka's Triumphant Return to the Air
The King, though frustrated by her escape, forbade her to ever live in his kingdom again. He then turned to Sundaraka, hailing him as a symbol of virtue's ultimate victory. He was honourably treated with the highest respect and given many royal gifts.
Sundaraka, having closed the circle of his journey and proved his truth, simply smiled. With a final bow to the king, he returned to his aerial city. As the people watched, awestruck, the handsome, virtuous man who had overcome the world's greatest injustices, along with his magical domain, returned to the air, a beacon of light in the endless sky.
The Framing Story and King Ádityaprabha’s Downfall
20. Queen Kuvalayávalí’s Confession and Proposal
Queen Kuvalayávalí concluded the story, her eyes fixed on her husband, King Ádityaprabha. "My Lord, the magic of the witches is real, and the tale of Sundaraka proves it. Now, you must know my deepest secret: I am a pupil of Kálarátri herself."
The King’s breath caught in his throat. He stared at his beautiful, beloved wife, seeing her with new, fearful eyes.
"Do not fear me," she insisted, taking his hand, her touch surprisingly cold. "Because I am devoted to my husband, I possess far greater power than she did. And today, when you saw me performing those peculiar ceremonies, it was only to ensure your welfare! I was endeavoring to attract a man to offer as a victim to secure you absolute power!"
She leaned in, her eyes shining with manic ambition. "Now, King, is your moment. Enter now into our practice! Perform the grandest rite, and you will set your foot on the head of all other kings, conquering them by my magic power!"
21. The King's Consent to Witchcraft
The King, though deeply in love, recoiled instinctively. "My Queen! This is heinous! What propriety is there in a King's connecting himself with the eating of human flesh, the vilest of practices? I am a King; I must uphold Dharma, not violate it so terribly!"
Kuvalayávalí's face crumbled. She drew a small, silver dagger, tears welling in her eyes. "You reject my power? My love? My desire to see you as the supreme monarch? Then I have failed, and I cannot live! I will commit suicide!"
The King, terrified of losing her, his beautiful obsession, watched the dagger’s point press against her pale skin. His judgment, his Dharma, his wisdom—all were swept away by his fierce, irrational passion. "No! Stop! I consent, my love! I will do it! Alas, how can a man so attracted by the objects of passion remain on the good path of Dharma?" He had sealed his fate.
22. The Plan to Sacrifice Phalabhúti
The Queen immediately led him into the hidden chamber, a place where the air was heavy with occult energy, and made him swear an oath to the dark forces.
"The victim I was trying to attract," she confided, "is that Brahman, Phalabhúti, who is so intimate with you. But drawing him hither is a difficult task; his own virtue is a shield."
She laid out her cold, calculating plan. "It is best to initiate a servant, a simple man, a cook. He can slay him and cook him in secret. By performing the ceremonies and eating a sacrificial offering of his flesh, the enchantment will be perfect, and your power absolute. He is a Brahman of the highest caste, making the offering immensely powerful."
23. Initiating the Cook Sáhasika
The King, though frozen with moral terror, could only offer a second, weak consent. He was the puppet of his Queen's evil will.
The royal couple summoned their head cook, a loyal but dull-witted man named Sáhasika. They showered him with false praise and promises, and then, after initiating him into their terrifying rites, they gave the command.
"Sáhasika," the King said, his voice a dry whisper. "Listen to my Queen. Your absolute secrecy is now paramount."
Kuvalayávalí smiled coldly. "Whoever comes to you to-morrow morning with this specific message—'The King and Queen will eat together to-day, so get some food ready quickly'—him you must slay, and make for us a savoury dish of his flesh. Do you understand?"
"I consent, Your Majesty. It shall be done," the simple-minded cook replied, and he went back to his own house to wait for the dawn.
24. The Fatal Message and Prince Chandraprabha's Sacrifice
The next morning, King Ádityaprabha, pale and guilt-ridden, summoned his dear friend, Phalabhúti, the intended victim.
"Phalabhúti, go to the kitchen," the King commanded, forcing the words out. "Tell the cook Sáhasika: 'The King together with the Queen will eat to-day a savoury mess, therefore prepare as soon as possible a splendid dish.'"
"I will do so, my Lord," Phalabhúti replied, leaving the royal presence.
Just outside the door, he encountered the King's only son, Prince Chandraprabha, a bright, handsome youth.
"Phalabhúti! I need your help!" the Prince exclaimed. "Have made for me this very day, with this gold, a pair of earrings, like those you had made before for my noble father."
Phalabhúti, eager to please the heir, realized the errands would conflict. He quickly relayed the King's message to the Prince. "My Prince, I am commissioned to have these earrings made. Could you, in your kindness, go alone to the kitchen and deliver the King's message? It is urgent."
The Prince, trusting and helpful, readily agreed. He went to the kitchen and delivered the King’s message word for word. Sáhasika, true to his dreadful agreement, did not look at the face, only heard the words. He seized the knife and, with brutal efficiency, killed the Prince and began the preparation of the dish.
25. The Cook's Deed and the Royal Couple's Cannibalism
The horrific deed was accomplished under the veil of the royal kitchen. The Prince’s flesh was carefully cut, seasoned with rich spices, and cooked into a fragrant, savoury dish—the ultimate, most powerful sacrificial offering.
That night, the King and Queen performed the final, most terrifying of their ceremonies. They then ate the dish. They consumed the flesh, not knowing the truth that it was the body of their own beloved son. The Queen ate with cold determination; the King ate with a consuming sense of sin and fear.
They spent the night in profound remorse, the King consumed by a terror that had nothing to do with the spirits and everything to do with his own conscience.
26. The King's Discovery, Remorse, and Suicide
The next morning, the King sat on his throne, haggard and lost, when the sound of a familiar voice brought him back to life. Phalabhúti arrived, smiling, with the newly made earrings in his hand.
The sight of the living, well Phalabhúti was a physical blow. "The earrings!" the King screamed, "Tell me your story immediately!"
Phalabhúti recounted how the Prince had kindly delivered the message for him so he could attend to the commission.
The King fell from his throne, crashing to the ground. "Alas my son! My Chandraprabha!" he cried, beating his fists against the stone floor. He told his stunned ministers the whole story, blaming his wife and himself.
He spoke the terrible truth: "The doer of good will obtain good, and the doer of evil, evil... The harm that one wishes to do to another, always recoils on one’s self, like a ball thrown against a wall. We sought to slay a Brahman for power, and instead, we became cannibals and destroyed our own line."
27. Phalabhúti’s Coronation and the King's Atonement
The King's soul was utterly destroyed. His final duty was to mitigate the sin. He anointed that very Phalabhúti as king in his place, acknowledging the Brahman's purity and the cosmic law that had protected him.
The King, having no son left, made a massive distribution of alms to the poor. Then, before the eyes of his stunned kingdom, he and his Queen, who was silent and rigid, entered the funeral pyre together to purify themselves from their devastating guilt, consumed by the fire of remorse even before the flames touched them. Phalabhúti, the simple Brahman, thus obtained the royal dignity and ruled the earth, proving that whether good or evil, a man's actions always return upon himself.
Conclusion of the Main Narrative
28. Yaugandharáyaṇa's Counsel and Vatsa's Approval
Yaugandharáyaṇa, the chief minister, finished his powerful narrative, leaning forward toward his own king, the King of Vatsa.
"My Lord, you conquered the villainous Brahmadatta and then treated him with kindness. Look at King Ádityaprabha! His mercy was a weakness that destroyed his house. If Brahmadatta were to plot against you, O great king, he ought to be slain. Your kindness must not override your sacred duty to the realm."
The King of Vatsa listened, his own eyes having seen the terrible cost of misplaced passion and failed justice. He approved his wise minister’s counsel, choosing the path of stability and Dharma over misplaced sentiment.
29. The Victorious Return to Kauśámbí
The King of Vatsa then rose, the weight of the stories giving him resolve. The time for conquest was over, and the time for consolidation had come. The day following, he set out from Lávánaka to journey to his magnificent capital city, Kauśámbí, having achieved his goal of regional conquest.
The city rejoiced at his approach. The populace came out in droves, and the city itself seemed to be dancing with delight, its uplifted banners moving like the taper arms of a celestial dancing girl welcoming her lord. The King entered his city, his presence causing a delighted stir in the 'lotus-garden' composed of the eyes of the women who watched him pass.
30. Triumph and Peaceful Reign
The victorious King was met by a chorus of singers, praised by bards, and worshipped by the lesser kings who now bowed before him. He triumphantly ascended the throne, the cherished heirloom of his noble race. The sound of the drums, accompanying the auspicious ceremonies, rose high and deep, filling the heaven like the shouts of applause from the Guardians of the World, all delighted with the prudence of the King of Vatsa's prime minister.
Free from avarice, the monarch distributed all the wealth acquired from his conquest to the Brahmans. After great festivities, he satisfied the desires of all the assembled kings and his own ministers.
He then completely entrusted the burden of his realm to Rumaṇvat and Yaugandharáyaṇa, his trusted ministers. Seated between his two beloved queens, Vásavadattá and Padmávatí, as if they were the goddesses of Fame and Fortune, he enjoyed the peace of his kingdom, gazing upon the white moon, and living in perpetual, glorious victory.
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