The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story

On the banks of the Godávarí there is a place named Pratishṭhána. In it there lived of old time a famous king, named Trivikramasena, the son of Vikramasena, equal to Indra in might. Every day, when he was in his hall of audience, a mendicant named Kshántiśíla came to him, to pay him his respects, and presented him with a fruit. And every day, the king as soon as he received the fruit, gave it into the hand of the superintendent of his treasury who was near him. In this way ten years passed, but one day, when the mendicant had left the hall of audience, after giving the fruit to the king, the king gave it to a young pet monkey, that had escaped from the hands of its keepers, and happened to enter there. While the monkey was eating that fruit, it burst open, and there came out of it a splendid priceless jewel. When the king saw that, he took up the jewel, and asked the treasurer the following question, “Where have you put all those fruits which I have been in the habit of handing over to you, after they were given to me by the mendicant?” When the superintendent of the treasury heard that, he was full of fear, and he said to the king, “I used to throw them into the treasury from the window without opening the door; if your Majesty orders me, I will open it and look for them.” When the treasurer said this, the king gave him leave to do so, and he went away, and soon returned, and said to the king, “I see that those fruits have all rotted away in the treasury, and I also see that there is a heap of jewels there resplendent with radiant gleams.”

When the king heard it, he was pleased, and gave those jewels to the treasurer, and the next day he said to the mendicant, who came as before, “Mendicant, why do you court me every day with great expenditure of wealth? I will not take your fruit to-day until you tell me.” When the king said this, the mendicant said to him in private, “I have an incantation to perform which requires the aid of a brave man, I request, hero, that you will assist me in it.” When the king heard that, he consented and promised him that he would do so. Then the mendicant was pleased and he went on to say to that king, “Then I shall be waiting for you at night-fall in the approaching black fortnight, in the great cemetery here, under the shade of a banyan-tree, and you must come to me there. The king said—“Well! I will do so.” And the mendicant Kshántiśíla returned delighted to his own dwelling.

Then the heroic monarch, as soon as he had got into the black fortnight, remembered the request of the mendicant, which he had promised to accomplish for him, and as soon as night came, he enveloped his head in a black cloth, and left the palace unperceived, sword in hand, and went fearlessly to the cemetery. It was obscured by a dense and terrible pall of darkness, and its aspect was rendered awful by the ghastly flames from the burning of the funeral pyres, and it produced horror by the bones, skeletons, and skulls of men that appeared in it. In it were present formidable Bhútas and Vetálas, joyfully engaged in their horrible activity, and it was alive with the loud yells of jackals,2 so that it seemed like a second mysterious tremendous form of Bhairava. And after he had searched about in it, he found that mendicant under a banyan-tree, engaged in making a circle, and he went up to him and said, “Here I am arrived, mendicant; tell me, what can I do for you?”

When the mendicant heard that, and saw the king, he was delighted, and said to him—“King, if I have found favour in your eyes, go alone a long way from here towards the south, and you will find an śinśapá-tree.3 On it there is a dead man hanging up; go and bring him here; assist me in this matter, hero.” As soon as the brave king, who was faithful to his promise, heard this, he said, “I will do so,” and went towards the south. And after he had gone some way in that direction, along a path revealed by the light of the flaming pyres, he reached with difficulty in the darkness that aśoka-tree; the tree was scorched with the smoke of funeral pyres, and smelt of raw flesh, and looked like a Bhúta, and he saw the corpse hanging on its trunk, as it were on the shoulder of a demon. So he climbed up, and cutting the string which held it, flung it to the ground. And the moment it was flung down, it cried out, as if in pain. Then the king, supposing it was alive, came down and rubbed its body out of compassion; that made the corpse utter a loud demoniac laugh. Then the king knew that it was possessed by a Vetála, and said without flinching, “Why do you laugh? Come, let us go off.” And immediately he missed from the ground the corpse possessed by the Vetála, and perceived that it was once more suspended on that very tree. Then he climbed up again and brought it down, for the heart of heroes is a gem more impenetrable than adamant. Then king Trivikramasena threw the corpse possessed by a Vetála over his shoulder, and proceeded to go off with it, in silence.