67. Katha Sarit Sagara : Chapter 3
Chapter III: The Miracle of the Golden Prince
Kanabhuti listened, his eyes wide and bright, as Vararuchi, the great scholar, leaned forward in the cool shadow of the forest canopy. The wind whispered through the leaves, carrying the scent of wild jasmine, as Vararuchi prepared to continue his tale.
The Teacher’s Secret
“It was a time of peace and learning,” Vararuchi began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “We were students at the feet of our revered teacher, Varsha. One brilliant morning, after the deep drone of our Veda readings had settled, we looked out at our glorious city—a bustling, rich place of scholarship and commerce—and one of us dared to ask the question that sat heavy in all our minds.”
Vararuchi mimicked the scene, tilting his head. ‘“O Teacher,’ we implored, ‘How does a city become so blessed? How does this place alone become the favored home of both Saraswati, the Goddess of Wisdom, and Lakshmi, the Goddess of Wealth? Please, tell us its secret history!’”
The wise Teacher Varsha simply smiled, a secret sparkling in his ancient eyes. “Listen, my children,” he commanded, “for I will tell you the destiny of our city, which was woven by the gods themselves.”
The Brahmans' Flight
Varsha began with a sacred, swirling place far to the north, where the mighty River Ganga bursts forth from the mountains at a pilgrimage site called Kanakhala. He painted a vivid picture: “Imagine, Kanabhuti, an elephant of the gods named Kanchanapata, with skin the color of twilight clouds! It was he who, by his immense divine strength, cleaved the mountain range to bring the Ganga down to the plains. In that holiest of places lived a devout Brahman from the Deccan, performing stern austerities with his devoted wife.”
This couple was blessed with three sons. They lived a life of piety until, in the fullness of time, the parents passed into the heavens. Grieving and alone, the three brothers traveled far to the city of Rajagriha to master the great sciences. Their studies completed, they felt the pull of their homeland and journeyed south to the Deccan to seek the blessings of the warrior-god Kartikeya.
Their travels led them to a coastal city called Chinchini, a place where the sea's roar filled the air. There, they found shelter in the home of a wealthy Brahman named Bhojika. Bhojika, seeing their noble characters and having no sons of his own, showered them with affection, eventually giving them his three beautiful daughters in marriage and making them heirs to all his wealth. The old Brahman and his wife then retired to the Ganga to perform austerities, leaving the three couples in their large, comfortable home.
“Life was good, Kanabhuti,” Vararuchi said, his voice turning somber, “but the wheel of fortune always turns. A terrible, agonizing famine struck. The skies were iron, the fields were dust, and the very air was hot and dry.”
And here, the dark side of human nature showed itself. The three Brahman brothers, cruel-hearted and driven only by self-preservation, abandoned their wives. They slipped away in the dead of night, caring nothing for the virtuous women they left behind.
The Vow of the Three Sisters
The wives—three sisters, one of whom was pregnant—were heartbroken but resolute. They remembered their father’s friend, a good man named Yajnadatta, and, in their tattered clothes and sorrow, they sought refuge with him.
“They were miserable, Kanabhuti,” Vararuchi whispered, “but hear this truth: a woman of virtue never forgets her duty, even in calamity. They lived simply, their minds constantly dwelling on their absent husbands—not in anger, but in the sad memory of their marriage vows.”
In the course of time, the middle sister gave birth to a beautiful son. Suddenly, the darkness in their lives was pierced by a tiny, golden light. All three sisters—the new mother, her eldest sister, and her youngest—showered the baby boy with boundless, fierce affection.
“They would argue, but only with love,” Vararuchi chuckled. ‘“He looks at me the most!’ ‘No, sister, his tiny hand grips mine—he knows I am his true hope!’ They saw him as their only savior, their future protector from poverty.”
The Gaze of the Divine
High above the mortal realm, gliding through the silent, star-dusted skies, were Lord Shiva, the Mahadeva, and his beloved wife, Parvati (also known as the Mother of Skanda). They passed over Yajnadatta’s humble home.
Parvati, whose heart is softer than any rose petal, saw the three women huddled over the precious child, their faces etched with suffering but alight with selfless love. Compassion flooded her divine being.
“My Lord, look down!” Parvati cried, placing her hand gently on Shiva’s chest. “Observe those three selfless women. They have placed all their hope in that child, trusting he will one day support them. You are the giver of all boons—please, bring it about that this boy may be able to sustain them, even while he is still an infant!”
Shiva, the great, ash-covered Lord, looked down and smiled a knowing, powerful smile. “My dearest Parvati,” he replied, his voice echoing with cosmic power, “I shall indeed adopt him as my protégé. In a previous life, this man and his wife pleased me with their profound austerities. It is for the fruit of those great deeds that he has been born on Earth now.”
He paused, a look of profound destiny on his face. “His former wife has been reborn as Patali, the jewel-like daughter of King Mahendravarman. She shall be his wife in this life, too.”
Having declared the boy’s destiny, the mighty God of Boons appeared in a dream to the three sleeping sisters. His majestic form shimmered in the darkness.
“This young son of yours shall be called Putraka,” Shiva’s voice boomed in their sleeping minds. “And every single day, when he wakes from his sleep, one hundred thousand gold pieces shall be found beneath his pillow. In time, he shall surely become a great king.”
The Birth of King Putraka
The three sisters awoke with a gasp, their hearts pounding in their chests. They rushed to the cradle. And there it was. Beneath the baby’s tiny, downy pillow, lay a mountain of glittering, newly minted gold coins! One hundred thousand of them, shining like captive suns!
Tears of joy streamed down their faces. “Our prayers! Our vows! The Gods have answered!” they cried, embracing one another. Their dark days were over.
With this miraculous, daily wealth, the boy, now rightly named Putraka (meaning ‘son’), quickly amassed a staggering great treasure.
“You see, Kanabhuti,” Vararuchi stressed, “good fortune is simply the fruit of past austerities. Putraka’s past piety had made him a king even before he knew how to walk!”
Soon, Putraka grew into a young man of great bearing and kindness, fit to rule. Yajnadatta, their faithful friend, took the youth aside one quiet evening.
“My King,” Yajnadatta said respectfully, “your father and uncles abandoned your mother during the famine and fled into the wide world. But now, you must give continually, openly, and generously to all Brahmans. Let the fame of your unparalleled kindness travel far. They will hear of it and, perhaps, they will return. And to encourage you, I will now tell you the story of King Brahmadatta.”
The King and the Golden Swans
“Long ago, in the ancient city of Benares,” Yajnadatta began, “there ruled a king named Brahmadatta. One night, he saw a sight that captured his heart forever.”
Vararuchi paused for dramatic effect. “Imagine, Kanabhuti: Flying against the dark velvet sky was a pair of swans that shone with the luster of gleaming gold! They were not alone; hundreds of perfectly white swans accompanied them, surrounding the golden pair like shimmering white clouds around a sudden, dazzling flash of lightning.”
The image was so beautiful, so magical, that King Brahmadatta became obsessed. He could not eat, he could not sleep, and the delights of his royal palace became meaningless. His single desire was to see the golden swans again.
Taking counsel with his ministers, the king decided on an elaborate plan. He commanded that a magnificent tank (a man-made lake) be built according to his own meticulous design. When it was finished, he issued a decree to all living creatures: complete security from injury within his kingdom.
It was not long before his patience was rewarded. The two glorious golden swans settled gracefully onto the king’s new, shimmering lake. As they became tame, the King approached them and gently asked the burning question, “Tell me, noble creatures, why are you golden?”
The swans, with an articulate, human voice, answered the astonished king: “O King, in a past life, we were born as humble crows. We were fighting over scraps of an offering in an ancient, empty temple of Lord Shiva when we fell down, dying inside a sacred ritual vessel. Because we died in that consecrated object of Shiva, we have been reborn as golden swans, and we even remember our former lives!”
King Brahmadatta was utterly charmed. He gazed upon them to his heart’s content, finding boundless joy in their presence.
“Therefore, King Putraka,” Yajnadatta concluded, looking the young ruler straight in the eye, “you must make an unparalleled gift—a legendary, magnificent show of generosity—and your father and uncles will surely return.”
The Wicked Plot
Putraka, a noble soul, immediately followed this excellent advice. He began a reign of giving that made his name legendary across the land. It was exactly as Yajnadatta predicted: The three Brahman brothers, hearing the unbelievable tales of Putraka’s endless feasts and mountainous donations, quickly returned, driven by greed.
They were easily recognized. Putraka, overjoyed at their return, showered them with wealth and happily reunited them with their virtuous wives.
“But, Kanabhuti,” Vararuchi lamented, shaking his head sadly, “even after going through such calamities, men blinded by malice cannot shed their evil nature.”
Despite their newfound wealth, the three wicked brothers soon began to hanker after royal power. The sight of Putraka on the throne was a thorn in their hearts. They secretly devised a wicked plot to murder the young king.
They came to Putraka with seemingly pious faces. “Dear Putraka,” the eldest uncle said, his voice dripping with false concern, “you have been so kind. We must all go on a holy pilgrimage to the great temple of the Goddess Durga to thank her.”
Putraka, unsuspecting, agreed. When they arrived at the dark, powerful temple, the brothers paused at the entrance. “Go in first, nephew,” the middle brother urged, “and visit the Goddess alone. You must offer your thanks first.”
Putraka, courageous and innocent, stepped boldly into the inner sanctuary. But instead of an empty shrine, he saw two ruthless assassins hiding in the shadows, weapons drawn and eyes burning with murderous intent!
“Why?” Putraka demanded, though his mind was racing. “Why do you wish to kill me?”
The assassins, their senses momentarily bewildered by the divine power surrounding the temple, stammered the truth: “We were hired for gold! Your father and your uncles... they hired us!”
The clever Putraka, seeing his chance, spoke to the assassins whose confusion was visible on their faces. “Look! I will give you this priceless jeweled ornament—more than your promised gold! Spare me! I will not reveal your secret, but will go to a distant land right now!”
The assassins, instantly distracted by the dazzling jewel, agreed: “So be it!” They took the ornament and quickly fled, telling the father and uncles the lie that Putraka was slain.
The wicked Brahmans rushed back to the city, gloating, but they were met by the righteous fury of the royal ministers, who, upon hearing the truth, had them instantly put to death as traitors!
“How can the ungrateful prosper, Kanabhuti?” Vararuchi asked, his voice sharp with scorn. “Their ill-gotten desires destroyed them.”
The Three Treasures of Maya
Meanwhile, the faithful King Putraka, true to his promise to the assassins, entered the deep, terrifying wilds of the Vindhya Mountains. He was utterly disgusted with his treacherous family, seeking only solitude.
As he wandered through the dense jungle, he stumbled upon an astonishing sight: Two massive, imposing heroes engaged in a wrestling match so fierce the ground trembled! They were wholly absorbed in their brutal contest.
“Who are you?” Putraka asked, standing cautiously apart.
The two giants paused, chests heaving. “We are the two sons of the Asura Maya,” one growled. “Our father's wealth belongs to us, but we fight for the rights to three items: this vessel, this stick, and these shoes! The mightier one takes them all.”
Putraka smiled, unable to hide his amusement. “That is a fine inheritance for a man!”
The sons of Maya looked bewildered. “A fine inheritance?” they scoffed. “By putting on these shoes, one gains the power of flying through the air! Whatever is written with this stick turns out true! And whatever food a man wishes to have in the vessel is found there immediately!”
Putraka’s eyes widened. He knew immediately he had stumbled upon a divine boon.
“What is the use of fighting and bruising yourselves?” Putraka asked, his tone easy and calm. “I will settle your dispute! Make this agreement: whoever proves the best man in a running race shall possess this wealth.”
The simpletons agreed, eager to prove their speed. “Agreed!” they shouted, and set off running into the woods.
In a flash, Putraka did the clever thing: He slipped on the magic shoes, grasped the staff and the vessel, and flew up, up, up into the air!
He soared for a great distance, looking down upon the world like a traveling god.
The Maiden of Akarshika
Putraka soon saw a beautiful city named Akarshika sprawling beneath him. He descended quietly, the magical shoes setting him down softly. He began to think: ‘Hetæræ are prone to deceive, Brahmans are like my father and uncles, and merchants are greedy. In whose house shall I dwell safely?’
He came upon a lonely, crumbling, dilapidated old house. In it lived a single, ancient old woman. He generously gifted her some gold from his magical treasure, and she was instantly devoted. He lived there, unobserved, waited upon with reverence by the kind old woman.
One day, the old woman looked at Putraka with maternal affection. “My son, I am grieved that you have no wife worthy of you. But there is a maiden here, a jewel named Patali, the daughter of the King! She is kept, like a treasure, in a high tower of the royal seraglio.”
Putraka felt a sudden, sharp pang in his heart. The God of Love, Kama, had found his unguarded moment. Patali! The name echoed Shiva’s prophecy! He resolved: I must see that damsel this very day!
That night, wearing his magic flying shoes, Putraka soared high above the city, silently reaching the royal palace. He entered through a window, impossibly high above the ground, and there he saw her.
Patali.
She was asleep in the secret room of the seraglio, her limbs seemingly bathed in the moonlight that clung to her like a fine silver shawl. She was, Vararuchi declared dramatically, “the very might of Love, reposing after the conquest of the world.”
As he wondered how to wake her, a watchman below began to chant a song: “Young men obtain the fruit of their birth, when they awake the sleeping fair one, embracing her as she sweetly scolds, with her eyes languidly opening.”
Inspired by the encouraging prelude, Putraka gently embraced the beautiful Patali, whose limbs trembled at his touch. She awoke, and her eyes, still heavy with sleep, were caught in a contest: Shame and Love fought for dominance, one fixing its gaze on his face, the other averting it shyly.
They spoke. They laughed. They performed the Gandharva marriage, the ancient, secret union based on mutual love. As the night waned, their love grew and deepened, until Putraka, with a sorrowful heart, had to take leave of his newlywed wife, flying back to the old woman’s house with his mind dwelling only on her.
The Founding of Pataliputra
Every single night, the prince flew back and forth, a secret of the skies. But inevitably, the magical secret was discovered by the palace guards. They rushed to inform the King, Patali’s father.
The King, in a rage, appointed a woman to watch the chamber secretly. She found Putraka sound asleep. To ensure his capture, she used red lac (a bright, identifying dye) to make a mark upon his garment.
In the morning, the King sent out spies. They quickly found Putraka by the bright red mark and dragged him from the dilapidated house and into the presence of the furious King.
But as the King prepared to pronounce a death sentence, Putraka smiled. He used his magical shoes and flew straight up into the air, entering Patali’s palace room through the open window!
“We are discovered, my love!” he cried, urgently. “Rise up! We must escape with the shoes!”
He gathered Patali into his strong arms and soared away through the air, a fleeing king with his enchanted queen!
They descended near the great bank of the River Ganga. Patali was weary and hungry, but Putraka, with his magic vessel, commanded it to fill with delicious, sweet cakes, refreshing his beloved.
When Patali saw the full, divine power of her husband—the flying shoes, the endless gold, the magic food—she made a request.
“My Lord, you have all this power! Sketch out a city here—a new, grand, powerful city!”
Putraka smiled, taking the magic staff from his belt. He sketched the outline of a mighty city, complete with the four types of royal forces (infantry, cavalry, chariots, and elephants), and because of the staff's power, it instantly SPRANG INTO BEING!
In that very moment, a city of magic and destiny was born.
Putraka established himself as its king, his great power now fully realized. He peacefully subdued his own astonished father-in-law, and became the ruler of the entire earth, all the way to the sea.
“This, O Kanabhuti,” Vararuchi concluded, his voice ringing with triumph, “is that same divine city! It was produced by magic, complete with all its citizens! Because the city was literally sketched out by Patali’s love and Putraka’s staff, it bears the name of Pataliputra, and is forever the home of both wealth and learning!”
As the astonishing story finished, Kanabhuti sat in silence, his mind reeling.
No comments:
Post a Comment