Though the commands of royalty pervade
The world, yet sovereigns ever should remember,
The light of justice must direct their path.
Hindú Drama.
There was a city called Alakápuri, famous for all the riches that sea and land can yield, and inhabited by people speaking different languages. In that city reigned a king named Alakésa,[79] who was a storehouse of all excellent qualities. He was so just a king that during his reign the cow and the tiger amicably quenched their thirst side by side in the same pond, and the kite and the parrot laid their eggs in the same nest, as though they were “birds of a feather.”[80] The women never deviated from the path of virtue, and regarded their husbands as gods.[81] Timely rain refreshed the soil, and all Alakésa’s subjects lived in plenty and happiness. In short, Alakésa was the body and his subjects the soul of that body, for he was upright in all things.
Story of the Lost Camel.
Now there was in Alakápuri a rich merchant who lost a camel one day. He searched for it without success in all directions, and at last reached a road which he was informed led to another city, called Mathurapuri, the king of which was named Mathurésa. He had under him four excellent ministers, whose names were Bodhaditya, Bodhachandra, Bodhavyapaka, and Bodhavibhishana. These four ministers being, for some reason, displeased with the king quitted his dominions, and set out for another country. As they journeyed along they observed the track of a camel, and each made a remark on the peculiar condition of the animal, judging from its footsteps and other indications on the road.[82] Presently they met the merchant who was searching for his camel, and, entering into conversation with him, one of the travellers inquired if the animal was not lame in one of the legs; another asked if it was not blind in the right eye; the third asked if its tail was not unusually short; and the fourth inquired if it was not suffering from colic. They were all answered in the affirmative by the merchant, who was convinced that they must have met the animal, and eagerly demanded where they had seen it. They replied that they had seen traces of the camel, but not the camel itself, which being inconsistent with the minute description they had given of it, the merchant accused them of having stolen the beast, and immediately applied to King Alakésa for redress. On hearing the merchant’s story, the king was equally impressed with the belief that the travellers must know what had become of the camel, and sending for them threatened them with his displeasure if they did not confess the truth. How could they know, he demanded, that the camel was lame or blind, or whether the tail was long or short, or that it was suffering from any malady, unless they had it in their possession? In reply, they each explained the reasons which had induced them to express their belief in these particulars. The first traveller said: “I noticed in the footmarks of the animal that one was deficient, and I concluded accordingly that it was lame in one of its legs.” The second said: “I noticed that the leaves of the trees on the left side of the road had been snapped or torn off, whilst those on the right side were untouched, whence I concluded that the animal was blind of his right eye.” The third said: “I saw some drops of blood on the road, which I conjectured had flowed from the bites of gnats or flies, and I thence concluded that the camel’s tail was shorter than usual, in consequence of which he could not brush the insects away.” The fourth said: “I observed that while the forefeet of the animal were planted firmly on the ground the hind ones appeared to have scarcely touched it, whence I guessed that they were contracted by pain in the belly of the animal.” When the king heard their explanations he was much struck by the sagacity of the travellers, and, giving 500 pagodas[83] to the merchant who had lost the camel, he made the four young men his principal ministers, and bestowed on each of them several villages as free gifts.
From that time these four young men became the confidential advisers of King Alakésa in all important affairs of state, and, as night is the house of sins, they in turn kept a regular watch in the city of Alakápuri, each patrolling the streets during three hours of the night. Thus they continued to faithfully serve King Alakésa, till, one night, the First Minister, when his watch was over, proceeded, as usual, to see whether the royal bedchamber was properly guarded; after which he went to the temple of the goddess Kálí, where he heard what seemed to him the voice of a woman, lamenting and sobbing in great distress. Concealing himself behind the vád-tree of the temple, he called out: “Who are you, poor woman? And why do you thus weep?” At once the cries ceased, and a voice from the temple inquired: “Who art thou that thus questionest me?” Then the minister knew that it was Kálí herself who wept; so he threw himself on the ground, and, rising up, exclaimed: “O my mother!—Kálí!—Sambhavi!—Mahámayi![84] Why should you thus bitterly weep?” Quoth Kálí: “What is the use of my revealing it to thee? Canst thou render any assistance?” The minister said that, if he had but her favour, there was nothing he could not do. Then the goddess told him that a calamity was about to come upon the king, and fearing that such a good monarch was soon to disappear from the world she wept. The thought of such a misfortune caused the minister to tremble; he fell down before the goddess, and with tears streaming from his eyes besought her to save him. Kálí was much gratified to observe his devotion to his master, and thus addressed him:
“Know, then, that your king will be in danger of three calamities to-morrow, any one of which were sufficient to cause his death. First of all, early in the morning there will come to the palace several carts containing newly-reaped paddy grains. The king will be delighted at this, and immediately order a measure of the paddy to be husked and cooked for his morning meal. Now, the field in which that paddy grew was the abode of serpents, two of which were fighting together one day, when they emitted poison, which has permeated those grains. Therefore, the morning meal of your king will contain poison, but only in the first handful will it take effect, and he will die. Should he escape, another calamity is in store for him at noon. The king of Vijayanajara[85] will send to-morrow some baskets of sweetmeats. In the first basket he has concealed arrows. King Alakésa, suspecting no treachery, will order the first basket to be opened in his presence, and will meet his death by that device. And, even should he escape this second calamity, a third will put an end to his life to-morrow night. A deadly serpent will descend into his bedroom, by means of the chain of his hanging cot, and bite him. But, should he be saved from this last misfortune, Alakésa will live long and prosperously, till he attains the age of a hundred and twenty years.”