“Thus, my lord,” continued the aged minister, Manuniti, “it behoves us not to act precipitately in this affair of Bodhaditya, which we must carefully sift before expressing our opinion as to the punishment he may deserve at your majesty’s hands.”
When Manuniti had concluded his story of the wonderful mango fruit, King Alakésa ordered his four ministers to approach the throne, and then, with an angry countenance, he thus addressed Bodhaditya: “What excuse have you for entering my bedchamber without permission, and thus violating the rules of decency?” The First Minister humbly begged leave to relate to his majesty a story of how a Bráhman fed a hungry traveller, and had afterwards to endure the infamy of having caused that traveller’s death, and on King Alakésa signifying his consent, thus began:
The Story of the Poisoned Food.
There was a city called Vijayanagara, to the north of which flowed a small river with topes[102] on both banks. One day a young Bráhman pilgrim came and sat down to rest by the side of the stream, and, finding the place very cool and shady, he resolved to bathe, perform his religious ablutions, and make his dinner off the rice which he carried tied up in a bundle. Three days before there had come to the same spot an old Bráhman, whose years numbered more than threescore and ten; he had quarrelled with his family, and fled from his house to die. Since he reached that place he had tasted no food, and the young pilgrim found him lying in a pitiable state, and placed near him a portion of his rice. The old man arose, and proceeded to the rivulet in order to wash his feet and hands, and pronounce a holy incantation or two before tasting the food. While thus engaged, a kite, carrying in its beak a huge serpent, alighted upon the tree at the foot of which was the rice given by the pilgrim to the old man, and while the bird was feasting on the serpent, some of its poison dropped on the rice; and the old Bráhman, in his hunger, did not observe it on his return; he greedily devoured some of the rice, and instantly fell down dead. The young pilgrim, seeing him prone on the ground, ran to help him, but found that life was gone; and, concluding that the old man’s hasty eating after his three days’ fast must have caused his death, and being unwilling to leave his corpse to be devoured by kites and jackals, he determined to cremate it before resuming his journey. With this object he ran to the neighbouring village, and reporting to the people what had occurred on the tope, requested their assistance in the cremating of the old man’s body. The villagers, however, suspected that the young pilgrim had killed and robbed the old Bráhman; so they laid hold of him, and, after giving him a severe flogging, imprisoned him in the village temple of Kálí. Alas, what a reward was this for his kind hospitality! and how was he repaid for his beneficence! The unhappy pilgrim gave vent to his sorrows in the form of verses in praise of the goddess in whose temple he was a prisoner; for he was a great pandit, versed in the four Vedas,[103] and the six Sastras,[104] and the sixty-four varieties of knowledge. On hearing the pilgrim’s verses, the rage of the goddess descended on the villagers who had so rashly accused and punished him for a crime of which he was innocent. Suddenly the whole village was destroyed by fire, and the people lost all their property and were houseless. In their extremity they went to the temple of Kálí, and humbly requested the goddess to inform them of the cause of the calamity which had thus unexpectedly come upon them. The goddess infused herself into the person of one of the villagers, and thus responded: “Know ye, unkind villagers, that ye have most unjustly scourged and imprisoned in our presence an innocent, charitable, and pious Bráhman. The old man died from the effects of poison, which dropped from a serpent’s mouth on some rice at the foot of a tree when it was being devoured by a kite. Ye did not know of this; nevertheless, ye have maltreated a good man without first making due inquiry as to his guilt or innocence. For this reason we visited your village with this calamity. Beware, and henceforward avoid such sins.” So saying, Kálí departed from the person through whom she had manifested herself.[105] Then the villagers perceived the grievous error into which they had fallen. They released the good pilgrim and implored his forgiveness, which he readily granted. And thus was an innocent man charged with murder in return for his benevolent actions.
“Even so,” continued Bodhaditya, “my most noble sovereign, I have this day had to endure the infamy of having violated the zanána for saving your valuable life.” He then sent for a thief who was undergoing imprisonment, and gave him the handful of rice which he had the preceding day snatched from the king at dinner, and the thief having eaten it instantly died.[106] He next caused a servant to go to the royal bedchamber, and fetch from the canopy of the couch the pieces of the serpent and his little finger-tip, which he laid before the wonder-struck king and the counsellors, and then addressed his majesty as follows: “My most noble king and ye wise counsellors, it is known to you all that we four ministers keep watch over the town during the four quarters of the night, and mine is the first watch. Well, while I was on duty the day before yesterday, I heard a weeping voice in the direction of the temple. I proceeded to the spot, and discovered the goddess sobbing bitterly. She related to me how three calamities were awaiting the king on the morrow. The first of them was the arrows despatched by the king of Vijayanajara as sweetmeats to our sovereign; the second was the poisoned rice, and the third the serpent. In trying to avert these calamities I have committed the offence of entering the zanána.” And he thereupon explained the affair from first to last.
King Alakésa and the whole assembly were highly delighted at the fidelity and devotion of Bodhaditya; for it was now very evident that he had done nothing amiss, but had saved the life of the king on three occasions, and indeed also the life of the queen by wiping off the serpent’s poison which had fallen on her bosom. Then Alakésa, in explanation of the saying, “eating the protector,” related the
Story of the Bráhman and the Rescued Snake.
In the country of Uttara there lived a Bráhman named Kusalanadan, who had a wife and six sons. All were in a state of prosperity for some time, but the entrance of Saturn into the Bráhman’s horoscope turned everything upside down. The once prosperous Bráhman became poor, and was reduced to go to the neighbouring woods to gather bambú-rice with which to feed his hungry family.[107] One day, while plucking the bambú ears, he saw a bush close by in flames, in the midst of which was a serpent struggling for its life. The Bráhman at once ran to its rescue, and stretching towards it a long green stick the reptile crept on to it and escaped from the flames, and then spread its hood and with a hissing sound approached to sting its rescuer. The Bráhman began to weep and bewail his folly in having saved the ungrateful creature, which being observed by the serpent it asked him: “O Bráhman, why do you weep?” Said the old man: “You now purpose to kill me; is this the reward for my having saved your life?” “True, you have rescued me from a terrible death, but how am I to appease my hunger?” replied the serpent. The Bráhman said: “You speak of your hunger, but who is to feed my old wife and six hungry children at my house?” The serpent, seeing the anxiety of the Bráhman, emitted a precious gem from its hood,[108] and bade him take it home and give it to his wife for household expenses, after which to return to the wood to be devoured. The old man agreed, and, solemnly promising to return without fail, went home. Having given the gem to his family, and told them of his pact with the serpent, the Bráhman went back to the wood. The serpent had meanwhile reflected upon his own base ingratitude. “Is it right,” thought he, “to kill him who saved me from the flames? No! I shall rather perish of hunger, if I cannot find a prey to-day, than slay my protector.” So, when the old Bráhman returned, true to his word, the serpent presented him with another valuable gem, and after expressing a wish that he should live long and happily with his wife and children, went its own way, while the Bráhman returned joyously to his home.
“Even as the serpent purposed acting towards its benefactor,” continued the king, “so did I, in my rage, intend putting to death my faithful minister and the protector of my life, Bodhaditya; and to free myself from this grievous sin there is no penance I should not undergo.”
Then King Alakésa ordered a thousand Bráhmans to be fed every day during his life, and many rich gifts to be distributed in temples as atonement for his great error. And from that day Bodhaditya and his three colleagues enjoyed still more of the royal favour. With those four faithful ministers King Alakésa lived a most happy life and had a most prosperous reign.