Ruskin Bond Children's Omnibus Volume 2

by Ruskin Bond

  At the temple the king himself led Bharata to a raised platform. Sword in hand, he was about to cut off Bharata’s head when Kali, seeing Bharata and recognizing him immediately as a man of God—a man without hatred in his heart, and with love for all living creatures—was afraid to receive such a sacrifice.

  The goddess grew angry with the king. She became visible, and so terrifying was her aspect that the king and his followers fell dead on the spot.

  Then Kali turned to Bharata and said, ‘No deity will allow any harm to come to you.’

  She disappeared, and Bharata, who feared neither the sword nor Kali, remained standing, his mind steadfast in God.

  The people who had gathered to watch the sacrifice became greatly afraid. They made way for Bharata, and he returned to watch the fields as before.

  ONG AGO, there reigned in Berar a famous king named Bhima. His chief claim to fame was that he had a beautiful daughter named Damayanti. She was waited upon day and night by a band of handmaids of great beauty, but she shone among them like the moon among the stars, and her hand was sought, we are told, by both gods and mortals.

  Nala, King of Nishada, came to hear of Damayanti’s loveliness and her many accomplishments, and was struck with passion for her. She, in turn, had heard that Nala was brave and handsome, well-read and skilled in arms. They loved each other upon the mere fame of their respective virtues, and Damayanti pined for the presence of her unknown lover.

  One day, while Nala was seated in a grove dreaming of his beloved, he saw a flock of swans, with wings all flecked with gold, come to rest close by him.

  Nala crept up to the leader of the flock and seized him.

  ‘O mighty king,’ said the swan, ‘set me free, and I will do your bidding, whatever it might be.’

  ‘If a bird can do a mortal any service,’ said Nala, ‘fly to my love, Damayanti, and tell her how much I love her!’ He released the bird, and it flew off to Berar, rejoicing in its freedom.

  When the bird arrived in King Bhima’s kingdom, it found Damayanti reclining in her garden, surrounded by her charming handmaids.

  ‘What a lovely bird!’ she cried when she saw the swan. ‘And look at its wings, all edged with gold!’

  The swan came close to her and allowed itself to be made captive.

  ‘Sweet princess,’ said the swan, ‘I come to you as a messenger of love from Nala, King of Nishada. He is as wonderful to look upon as the God of Love, and has no equal amongst mortals. The union of such a youth and maiden would be a union of perfection.’

  Damayanti was struck with wonder at the bird’s story, and she set him free, saying, ‘Sweet bird! Speak to Nala on my behalf in like manner.’ And the swan flew back to Nala with an answering message of love.

  Before long, a swayamvara was held for Damayanti.

  This was an ancient Hindu rite by which a princess might choose her husband from an assembly of suitors come from all parts to take their chance in the selection. The heroes submitted themselves in silent rivalry to inspection as the princess walked along their line to select from the throng the favoured suitor by presenting him with a garland, or a cup of water, or some such token of regard.

  Many were the princes who came to woo Damayanti, attracted by the stories of her beauty. More wonderful still, some of the gods, equally enamoured of her charms, came down to earth to woo her. Most prominent among them were the four great guardians of the world: Indra, God of Heaven; Agni, God of Fire; Varuna, God of the Waters; and Yama, God of Death. What chance did Nala, a mere mortal, have in this assembly?

  Damayanti stepped into the swayamvara hall, bejewelled from head to foot, bearing a garland of flowers to place round the neck of the one she would choose for her husband. She was taken round to each of the assembled princes, until she came to where her lover, Nala, was seated; but great was her dismay when she saw not one but five Nalas, each indistinguishable from the other! The gods had assumed his shape to baffle her.

  But Damayanti, garland in hand, did not pause for long. She had noticed that the gods cast no shadows, because they were spirits; and that their eyes never winked, because they were the ever-wakeful Guardian Gods; and that their garlands were fresher than most, being woven of the unfading blooms of Heaven. By these tokens did Damayanti tell the gods from her lover; and she threw her garland round the neck of her beloved, the real Nala.

  Then, turning to the gods, she said, ‘Forgive me, O mighty gods, that I have not chosen my husband from among you. I have long since pledged my heart to this prince, and the vow so pledged is sacred. Forgive me, therefore, for choosing an earthly lord and not one of the rulers of Heaven.’

  In this way did Damayanti, the lovely, the peerless, choose Nala for her husband, with the gods themselves as witnesses.

  The happy pair then did homage before the gods, and these great guardians of the earth bestowed upon them divine blessings in reward for their constancy.

  N THE kingdom of Malla, there was once a young prince named Kusa, who was famed for his great kindness and wisdom, but unfortunately, he was very ugly.

  In spite of his ugliness, everyone in the kingdom was extremely fond of the prince, but Kusa himself was sensitive about his appearance, and when his father, King Okkaka, urged him to marry, he said, ‘Don’t ask me to get married. How could a beautiful princess love such an ugly fellow?’

  But the king insisted, and at last Kusa grew so tired of refusing to choose a bride, that he hit upon a scheme by which he hoped to free himself for ever from the problem of his marriage. He was very skilful with his hands, and he fashioned a golden image, and showing the king his handiwork, he said, ‘If a princess as beautiful as this image can be found for me, I will make her my bride. Otherwise I will remain single.’

  Kusa felt sure that there was no princess who could compare with his statue, but the king was determined to find such a beauty, and he sent messengers far and wide.

  The messengers visited many kingdoms, carrying the statue with them. Whenever they arrived at a city or a village, they asked the inhabitants whether they knew of anyone who resembled the golden image. But nowhere was such a beauty to be found until the messengers reached the kingdom of Madda.

  The King of Madda had eight lovely daughters, and the eldest of them, Pabhavati, bore an extraordinary resemblance to the golden image. When the messengers saw her, they went straight to the king and said that they had come to ask the hand of Princess Pabhavati for Prince Kusa, the son of King Okkaka.

  The King of Madda knew that Okkaka was a rich and powerful king, and he was pleased at the idea of being allied to him through marriage.

  ‘If King Okkaka will visit me,’ he said, ‘I will give him the hand of Princess Pabhavati for his son, Prince Kusa.’

  The messengers hurried back to Malla with the good news, and King Okkaka was delighted at the outcome of their mission; but poor Kusa was dismayed.

  ‘But, my dear Father,’ he said to the king, ‘how will such a beautiful princess behave when she sees how ugly I am? She will surely flee from me at once.’

  ‘Do not worry, my son,’ said King Okkaka. ‘I will revive an ancient custom in order to protect you. According to this custom, a bride may not look upon the face of her husband until one year after the marriage. Therefore, for one whole year, you must only meet your bride in a darkened room.’

  ‘But how will that help me in the end?’ asked Kusa doubtfully. ‘My looks will not have improved by the end of the year. She will have to see me some day.’

  ‘True, but during that year your bride will have learned to love you so much that, when she sees you at last, you will not be ugly in her eyes!’

  Prince Kusa still had his doubts, but the king was insistent and wasted no time in visiting the kingdom of Madda and returning with the beautiful Princess Pabhavati. Soon after, the marriage ceremony was performed in a darkened chamber, by order of the king.

  Princess Pabhavati was surprised to discover that she was not to look upon the face of her husba
nd for one year after the marriage had taken place.

  This is a strange custom, she thought, but she accepted the condition without protest, and settled down in a magnificent suite of apartments, one room of which was always to be kept in complete darkness.

  Kusa came daily to this room to visit his bride, and as his voice and manners were kind and gentle, Pabhavati soon grew to love him, although she did not get a glimpse of his face. He spent many hours playing to her upon his sitar, and she would listen to him, enthralled.

  Was there ever a prince like this husband of mine? she thought. How I long for the day when I shall see his face! Surely he must be as handsome as he is kind and wise.

  All might have been well if Pabhavati had been content to wait for a year; but, after she had been married for only a month, she grew impatient and found herself constantly wondering about Prince Kusa’s appearance. During the second month she could conceal her curiosity no longer. One day, when Kusa was with her in the darkened room, she said: ‘Dear husband, it makes me sad that I must wait so long before I can look upon your face. I beg you to meet me in the light of day.’

  ‘No, Pabhavati, that is impossible,’ said the prince. ‘I cannot disobey my father, the king. Be patient a little longer. The months will pass quickly.’

  But the quality of patience was absent in the princess, and soon she began to question the maidservants and others about her husband’s appearance. As she never received a clear answer, she became even more curious. Finally, she bribed one of her attendants to help her obtain a glimpse of Kusa.

  One day, when the prince was due to ride through the city at the head of a procession, the waiting woman concealed the princess in a corner room of the palace, a window of which looked out upon the highway.

  When the procession came by, Pabhavati hurried to the window. She heard the sound of music and shouting, and saw gay banners and garlands thrown at the feet of the elephant upon which Prince Kusa was riding in state.

  ‘Long live Kusa, our noble prince!’ cried the people on the streets.

  As the elephant passed beneath the window, Pabhavati caught a glimpse of the prince’s face. She shrank back in horror.

  ‘Oh, no!’ she cried. ‘Can that hideous creature be my husband? No, that is not Kusa!’

  Her attendant assured her that it was indeed the prince, whereupon Pabhavati decided that she would flee instantly from such an ugly husband. She demanded that an escort be provided for her return to the kingdom of Madda, declaring that she would not be bound by marriage to a husband who was so different from the man she had imagined!

  King Okkaka could have forced the princess to remain in the palace, but Kusa shook his head sadly and said, ‘No, let her do as she wishes.’

  Then, forgetful of all the love and tenderness that she had received from Kusa, and thinking only of his ugly face, Pabhavati left the palace and returned to her father’s kingdom.

  Prince Kusa was terribly unhappy; but one day, the thought occurred to him that if he were to visit Pabhavati in her own land, he might find that her attitude had changed. He changed his princely robes for simple clothes, and, taking his sitar, he set out on foot for the kingdom of Madda.

  After a journey of several days, Kusa arrived one evening at the chief city of Madda.

  It was midnight when he reached the royal palace. He crept beneath the walls, then began playing softly upon his sitar. He played so sweetly that the sleepers in the palace stirred and smiled in their dreams. But Pabhavati wakened with a start and tensed as she listened to the familiar music.

  That is Kusa below, she thought, afraid and angry at the same time. If my father knows that he is here, I will be forced to return to that hideous husband.

  But Kusa had no intention of appealing to the king. He would rather lose Pabhavati for ever than have her return against her will. He was determined to keep his presence in the city a secret from everyone except the princess.

  When morning came he went to the chief potter in the city and asked to become his apprentice.

  ‘If I do good work for you, will you display my wares in the palace?’ asked Kusa.

  ‘Certainly,’ said the potter. ‘But show me what you can do.’

  Kusa set to work at the potter’s wheel, and the bowls he produced were so beautifully formed that the potter was delighted.

  ‘I am sure the king will purchase such dainty bowls for his daughters,’ he said, and taking some of the bowls made by Kusa, he went straight to the palace.

  The King took a great fancy to the potter’s new wares. When he learned that they had been made by a new apprentice, he said, ‘Give the young man a thousand gold pieces, and tell him that from now on he must work only for my daughters. Now take eight of these beautiful bowls to the princesses as my gifts to them.’

  The potter did as he was told, and the king’s daughters were thrilled with their presents; but Pabhavati knew in her heart that they had been fashioned by Kusa. She returned her bowl to the potter and said, ‘Take this bowl back to your apprentice and tell him that it is as ugly as he is.’

  When the potter passed on these remarks to Kusa, the prince sighed and thought, how can I touch her hard heart? If I could speak to her, it might make a difference. Tomorrow I will seek service in the palace.

  He gave the potter the king’s gold pieces and said goodbye; then, hearing that the palace cook needed an assistant, he presented himself at the royal kitchens.

  The cook took Kusa into his service, and the prince proved to be as good a cook as he was a potter—so much so, that a dish specially prepared by him was sent straight to the king.

  The king thoroughly enjoyed the dish, and when he heard that it had been prepared by the cook’s new assistant, he said, ‘Give him a thousand pieces of gold, and from now on let him prepare and serve all the food for myself and my daughters.’

  Kusa was happy to give the king’s gold pieces to the chief cook, then set to work to prepare a delicious meal.

  At dinner, Pabhavati was horrified to see her husband, disguised as a cook, stagger into the banquet hall with a heavy load of dishes. He gave no sign of recognition, but the princess was angry and, staring at him with contempt, said, ‘I do not care for these dishes. Bring me food that someone else has prepared.’

  Her sisters protested, crying out that they had never tasted such delicious cooking. But although Kusa came day after day, serving a variety of tasty dishes, Pabhavati would not touch any of them.

  At last, the prince decided that there was no way in which he could touch the heart of the princess.

  Nothing that I do pleases her, he thought. Now I must leave her for ever.

  While he was preparing to leave the palace, he heard that the King of Madda was greatly troubled. The king had received news that seven kings were riding towards the city with seven armies, and that each of these kings, having heard of the beauty of Pabhavati, was anxious to make her his wife.

  The king was in a quandary, because he felt sure that if he chose one of these kings as the husband of Pabhavati, the other six would attack his kingdom in revenge.

  If only Pabhavati had not left her rightful husband, thought the king, these troubles would not have arisen.

  Realizing that it was useless to spend his time in regrets, the king summoned his advisers and asked them which king he should choose for the princess.

  ‘Not one of them alone,’ declared the wise men. ‘The princess has endangered the kingdom. Therefore she must suffer the consequences. She must be executed, her body divided into seven pieces, and one portion presented to each of the seven kings. Only in this way can a terrible war be avoided.’

  The king was horrified by this advice from his men of wisdom; but while he was sitting alone, deep in thought, Kusa, still in the guise of a cook, came to him and said, ‘Your Majesty, let me deal with these kings. Give me your army, and I will crush them or die in the attempt.’

  ‘What!’ cried the astonished king. ‘Shall a cook do battle with ki
ngs?’

  ‘If a cook knows how to fight, why not? But I must confess that I am not really a servant, but Prince Kusa, to whom you once entrusted your daughter. Although she has rejected me, I still love her, and it is only right that I should deal with these suitors.’

  The king could hardly believe that it was Kusa who stood before him. He had Pabhavati brought to him, and when she admitted that the cook’s apprentice was her royal husband, he cried, ‘You should be ashamed, daughter, for allowing your husband to be treated as a servant in the palace.’

  He dismissed Pabhavati from his presence, and begged Kusa’s pardon for the way in which he had been insulted.

  Kusa replied that all he wanted was freedom to deal with the seven invading kings, and the king immediately placed him at the head of an army. The fate of the kingdom lay in Kusa’s hands.

  The seven kings were taken by surprise when they saw Kusa and his forces advancing towards them, for they had not expected any resistance. In spite of their superior numbers, they were soon routed by an inspired force under Kusa’s command. They laid down their arms and surrendered, and the Prince led them as captives to the king.

  ‘Deal with these prisoners as you will,’ said Kusa.

  ‘They are your captives,’ said the king. ‘It is for you to decide their fate.’

  ‘Then,’ said the prince, ‘since each of these kings wishes to marry a beautiful princess, why do you not marry them all to the sisters of Pabhavati?’

  The king was delighted with this solution to his problem; it would guarantee the safety of his kingdom for ever. The seven kings were bowled over by the beauty and grace of Pabhavati’s sisters. And the seven sisters thought their prospective husbands looked very handsome indeed.

  But Pabhavati sat alone, weeping bitter tears. She now realized how heartlessly she had treated Kusa, and what a noble man and lover she had scorned.

  He will never forgive me, she thought sadly.

  She went to him, and threw herself at his feet, crying, ‘Forgive me, my husband, and take me back, even if you decide to treat me as a slave.’