Then I told them my own story from the point where my fortunes became involved with those of Dágineya,[4] and they made friends with me, and said to me, “Alas! What a trick that evil-minded gambler has played you, and us two, and those other gamblers! But what confidence can be placed in gamblers, who profess exclusively the science of cheating, whose minds are proof against friendship, pity, and gratitude for a benefit received? Recklessness and disregard of all ties are ingrained in the nature of gamblers; hear in illustration of this the story of Ṭhiṇṭhákarála.”
Story of Ṭhiṇṭhákarála the bold gambler.
Long ago there lived in this very city of Ujjayiní a ruffianly gambler, who was rightly named Ṭhiṇṭhákarála.[5] He lost perpetually, and the others, who won in the game, used to give him every day a hundred cowries. With those he bought wheat-flour from the market, and in the evening made cakes by kneading them somewhere or other in a pot with water, and then he went and cooked them in the flame of a funeral pyre in the cemetery, and ate them in front of Mahákála, smearing them with the grease from the lamp burning before him: and he always slept at night on the ground in the court of the same god’s temple, pillowing his head on his arm.
Now, one night, he saw the images of all the Mothers and of the Yakshas and other divine beings in the temple of Mahákála trembling from the proximity of spells, and this thought arose in his bosom, “Why should I not employ an artful device here to obtain wealth? If it succeeds, well and good; if it does not succeed, wherein am I the worse?” When he had gone through these reflections, he challenged those deities to play, saying to them, “Come now, I will have a game with you, and I will act as keeper of the gaming-table, and will fling the dice; and mind, you must always pay up what you lose.” When he said this to the deities they remained silent; so Ṭhiṇṭhákarála staked some spotted cowries, and flung the dice. For this is the universally accepted rule among gamblers, that, if a gambler does not object to the dice being thrown, he agrees to play.
Then, having won much gold, he said to the deities, “Pay me the money I have won, as you agreed to do.” But though the gambler said this to the deities over and over again, they made no answer. Then he flew in a passion and said to them, “If you remain silent, I will adopt with you the same course as is usually adopted with a gambler, who will not pay the money he has lost, but makes himself as stiff as a stone.[6] I will simply saw through your limbs with a saw as sharp as the points of Yama’s teeth, for I have no respect for anything.” When he had said this, he ran towards them, saw in hand; and the deities immediately paid him the gold he had won. Next morning he lost it all at play, and in the evening he came back again, and extorted more money from the Mothers in the same way by making them play with him.
He went on doing this every day, and those deities, the Mothers, were in very low spirits about it; then the goddess Chámuṇḍá said to them, “Whoever, when invited to gamble, says ‘I sit out of this game’ cannot be forced to play; this is the universal convention among gamblers, ye Mother deities. So when he invites you, say this to him, and so baffle him.” When Chámuṇḍá had said this to the Mothers, they laid her advice up in their minds. And when the gambler came at night and invited them to play with him, all the goddesses said with one accord “We sit out of this game.”
When Ṭhiṇṭhákarála had been thus repulsed by those goddesses, he invited their sovereign Mahákála himself to play. But that god, thinking that the fellow had taken this opportunity of trying to force him to gamble, said, “I sit out of this game.” Even gods, you see, like feeble persons, are afraid of a thoroughly self-indulgent, ruffianly scoundrel, flushed with impunity.
Then that Ṭhiṇṭhákarála, being depressed at finding his gambler’s artifice baffled by a knowledge of the etiquette of play, was disgusted, and said to himself, “Alas! I am baffled by these deities through their learning the conventions of gamblers; so I must now flee for refuge to this very sovereign of the gods.” Having formed this resolution in his heart, Ṭhiṇṭhákarála embraced the feet of Mahákála, and praising him, addressed to him the following petition; “I adore thee that sittest naked[7] with thy head resting on thy knee; thy moon, thy bull, and thy elephant-skin having been won at play by Deví. When the gods give all powers at thy mere desire, and when thou art free from longings, having for thy only possessions the matted lock, the ashes and the skull, how canst thou suddenly have become avaricious with regard to hapless me, in that thou desirest to disappoint me for so small a gain? Of a truth the wishing-tree no longer gratifies the hope of the poor, as thou dost not support me, lord Bhairava, though thou supportest the world. So, as I have fled to thee as a suppliant, holy Stháṇu, with my mind pierced with grievous woe, thou oughtest even to pardon presumption in me. Thou hast three eyes, I have three dice,[8] so I am like thee in one respect; thou hast ashes on thy body, so have I; thou eatest from a skull, so do I; shew me mercy. When I have conversed with you gods, how can I afterwards bear to converse with gamblers? So deliver me from my calamity.”
With this and similar utterances the gambler praised that Bhairava, until at last the god was pleased, and manifesting himself, said to him, “Ṭhiṇṭhákarála, I am pleased with thee; do not be despondent. Remain here with me; I will provide thee with enjoyments.” In accordance with this command of the god’s that gambler remained there, enjoying all kinds of luxuries provided by the favour of the deity.