The Seduction of Shiva: Tales of Life and Love

by Haskar

  The merchant too was then smeared with the sooty mixture by the servant girls on the pretext of being prepared for a bath. ‘Go!’ they told him thereafter, ‘the night is over!’ Taking him by the scruff of the neck, they threw the protesting man out. Painted black as ink, covered with just a strip of cloth, bitten by dogs at every step, he made his way home in shame. There he could not even look his own servants in the face as they washed the soot off him. The outcome of impropriety is painful indeed.

  The next morning Upakosha went to King Nanda’s1 palace without her elders but with her servant girls in tow. ‘The merchant Hiranya Gupta wants to steal the money deposited with him by my husband,’ she personally informed the king who promptly had the man brought there to clear up the matter.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ said Hiranya Gupta, ‘there is nothing at all with me that is hers.’

  At this Upakosha spoke up. ‘I have witnesses, Your Majesty,’ she told the king. ‘Before he left, my husband had placed the household gods in a chest. This man acknowledged the deposit in his own words in front of them. Let the chest be brought here so that you may ask the gods yourself.’

  Amazed at what he had been told, the king ordered the chest be fetched forthwith, and it was brought in by a host of people.

  ‘O gods,’ asked Upakosha, ‘what did this merchant say? Tell the truth. Then go home. Otherwise I will set you on fire or expose you in this assembly.’

  The men inside were terrified on hearing her words. ‘It is true!’ they said. ‘The deposit was acknowledged in our presence.’ Left without any explanation, the merchant admitted to everything.

  The king was filled with curiosity. With Upakosha’s permission, he had the chest unbolted and opened. Out of it emerged the three men, looking like black blots. It was with some difficulty that they were recognized by the monarch and his ministers.

  ‘What is this?’ the wonderstruck king asked Upakosha, as everyone laughed.

  The good woman recounted the whole story and was lauded by the members of the assembly. ‘Concealed within their noble nature,’ they observed, ‘the conduct of respectable women is quite beyond imagination.’

  From Kathāsaritsāgara, 1.4.26–83

  The Barber’s Tale

  A barber told this story.

  ‘There was an evil-minded king,’ he said, ‘and I was his servant, performing my prescribed duties. One day, while going about his domain, the king spotted my wife whose good looks and youth entranced his mind. On enquiring about her from his retinue, and learning that she was the royal barber’s spouse, this wicked monarch went straight into my house, thinking, “What can the barber do?” And then he enjoyed my wife to his heart’s content before he left.

  ‘I was, by chance, out of the house that day. Returning on the next and noticing that my wife did not look her usual self, I questioned her and she told me quite proudly about all that had happened. Thereafter, the king, who seemed always to be in heat, kept pleasuring himself with my wife in the very same way, while I was powerless to prevent it.

  ‘Well, how can a depraved, characterless master know the difference between what is permissible and what is not? Can a wildfire fanned by the wind distinguish the grass from the forest?

  ‘As there was no way for me to stop him, I made myself thin by eating very little and pretended to be ill. In that condition I went to the king’s chamber to carry out my duties. Seeing me so unwell, he asked me earnestly, “How have you become like this? Tell me!” Questioned incessantly, I sought his assurance and spoke to him when we were alone. “Your Majesty,” I said, “my wife is a witch. When I am asleep she pulls out my entrails through my anus and sucks them before putting them back. That is why I have become so thin. How can I be nourished by just a good and regular diet?”

  ‘On hearing this, the king was filled with misgivings. “Is she truly a witch?” he wondered. “Why has she seduced me? I am stout and well fed; will she suck my entrails too? I must test her myself in some manner tonight.” Thinking thus, he gave me a nice meal in the palace.

  ‘Then I went home to my wife pretending to be in tears. On being quizzed by her, I shed more tears and replied, “Darling, you must not tell anyone at all about what I say to you. Listen. Teeth have grown in the king’s bottom. They are like hard adamantine spikes. Because of them my razor broke when I was doing my work today. Now it will break like this every time. How will I get a new razor for each occasion? That is why I weep, for my livelihood in this abode is truly at an end.”

  ‘Hearing this, my wife made up her mind to take a look at the wonderous teeth in the king’s backside while he was asleep that night. She did not consider that such a thing, which had never been seen in the world, could be untrue. Even intelligent women can be tricked by the tales of rogues.

  ‘Well, that night the king came to my wife as usual and enjoyed her unreservedly. Then, remembering what I had said, he pretended to be tired and to go to sleep. As for my wife—believing that he slept, she gradually stretched out her hand to get to the teeth in his bottom. When her fingers reached his nether orifice, the king jumped up suddenly, crying, “A witch! A witch!” and fled in terror. From then onwards the frightened ruler kept away from my wife and she was content in being devoted just to me. Thus did I use my brains to free my spouse from the clutches of that ruler.’

  From Kathāsaritsāgara, 6.6.146–171

  A Stupid Demon

  There was once a brahman who lived in the priestly settlement of Yajnasthala. A poor man, he went one day to the forest to fetch wood. As he was chopping it with an axe, a splinter flew and pierced his leg right through. He fainted, and was found bleeding in this condition by another man who recognized him and brought him home.

  The brahman’s distressed wife revived him, washed off the blood and tied a bandage over the wound on his leg. Though nursed every day, the wound would not heal. It remained open and running, and its flow had weakened the man to the point of death when he was visited by a colleague, another brahman, who spoke to him in private.

  ‘My friend Yajna Datta was very poor for long,’ said the visitor, ‘but he became rich after propitiating a pishacha, a flesh-eating demon, and now lives happily. He told me about the ritual for it, and you too, my friend, should appease such a demon to heal your wound.’

  Thereafter the visitor taught the wounded man the spell. ‘Wake up in the last quarter of the night. Naked, your hair untied and mouth unrinsed, take as much rice as you can in your two fists and go to the crossroads repeating this spell. Place the rice there and come back in silence without looking back. Do this until the demon appears. It will then say, “I alone will take care of your ailment.” You should welcome this for it will heal you.’

  The brahman did as he had been advised and the demon was propitiated. It brought a particular medicinal herb from the Himalayas and healed the sick man’s wound. The brahman was overjoyed, but the demon then became insistent. ‘Give me another wound to heal,’ it demanded, ‘otherwise I will cause you some calamity or destroy your body.’

  The brahman was terror-stricken. ‘I will give you another wound within a week,’ he replied quickly, but lost all hope of life as the demon went away.

  The story now becomes somewhat coarse. The brahman had a shrewd and clever daughter who was a widow. Seeing him desperately worried, she questioned him. On learning of the demon’s threat, she said, ‘I will dupe that demon. Go to it and say “Sir, my daughter has a running wound which you may heal.”’ The brahman was pleased, and saying just that to the demon, brought it to his daughter.

  ‘Heal this wound of mine, good sir,’ she told the creature, and showed to it, in private, a precious part of her body. That fool kept applying ointments and suchlike to it but was quite unable to achieve any cure. Tired out after some days, it then placed the girl’s legs on its shoulders to inspect the secret spot and see why it would not heal. The demon then beheld what seemed a second open wound—actually her anus—beneath it. This threw it into confusion. �
�While one has yet to heal,’ it wondered, ‘another wound has appeared. It is truly said that problems multiply in weak spots and orifices. Besides, who can close an opening that serves as the world’s pathway through which mankind comes and goes?’

  Thinking thus and afraid of being taken captive now that its efforts had been thwarted, the stupid demon fled and disappeared. Thus was the brahman saved by his daughter’s trick on that infernal being, and he lived happily, content and freed of his ailment.

  From Kathāsaritsāgara, 6.2.156–184

  Man or Woman?

  Here is a tale from the final conversations between the Pandava king Yudhishthira and the great family patriarch Bhishma1 while the latter was on his deathbed after the Bharata war.

  ‘In intercourse between a woman and a man,’ asked Yudhishthira, ‘who has the greater sensation? This is a matter of doubt, sir. Would you please explain it as it actually is?’

  ‘Ancient history gives an example of this,’ replied Bhishma. ‘It is drawn from the antagonism which occurred in times bygone between Bhangasvana and Indra, the king of the gods.’

  ‘Bhangasvana was a noble king,’ Bhishma continued. ‘Extremely virtuous, he was a veritable royal sage. He had no son, and to obtain one, he performed a fire sacrifice.

  ‘The sacrifice this royal sage arranged is called the agnishtupa. It is done to repent some fault or to acquire a son. But it is disliked by Indra. On hearing about it, the god looked for some weakness in the king in order to thwart him. However, despite much effort, he could not find any vulnerability in Bhangasvana.

  ‘After much time had passed, the king once went out on a hunt. Indra took this as an opportunity for himself, and cast a spell upon the monarch and his horse who then got lost in the wilderness. They wandered here and there, tired out by effort, suffering the pangs of hunger and thirst.

  ‘Eventually the king saw a pleasant lake full of fine water. Getting off his horse, he watered the animal and, tying it to a tree, went into the lake himself. But as he bathed in its water, his gender changed to the feminine. The king was shocked, embarrassed and deeply worried to see that he had become a woman.

  ‘The woman’s mind and senses were also filled with agitation. “How will I mount the horse?” she wondered. “How will I get to the city? I obtained a hundred mighty sons from the agnishtupa sacrifice. What will I say to them, to my own wives, to my people?

  ‘“The sages who know the essence of dharma describe tenderness, delicacy and timidity as feminine qualities,” the woman told herself. “Hardness in effort and prowess are masculine. For some reason manliness has disappeared in me and womanliness appeared instead. How can I dare to mount this horse?”

  ‘With great effort,’ said Bhishma, ‘the king mounted his horse and returned to his capital, but as a woman. His wives and sons, servants and subjects were astonished and wanted to know what had happened. “I had gone out for a hunt,” the now feminine royal sage told them. “I was surrounded by soldiers but, as luck would have it, I got lost and wandered into a terrible wilderness. Suffering from thirst, I was almost out of my mind when I beheld a beautiful lake full of birds. While I was bathing in it, fate turned me into a woman.” Then calling out the names and titles of his wives and ministers, that excellent monarch told the princes, “Rule and enjoy this kingdom lovingly, my sons. I will now retire to some forest.”

  ‘Having spoken thus to his hundred sons, the ruler then proceeded to a wood where she began to live in the cave of a forest hermit. From him she had another hundred sons. She took them to the older hundred and told them, “I had you when I was a man. These hundred I have borne as a woman. Live together as brothers, and enjoy the kingdom.”

  ‘The brothers,’ Bhishma continued, ‘thereafter lived together, ruling that best of kingdoms fraternally. Seeing them thus, the king of the gods was overwhelmed with rage. “I have actually helped that royal sage,” he told himself, “I have not caused him harm.” Then he went to the capital city disguised as a priestly brahman and sowed dissension in the hearts of the princes. “The sons of even one father do not necessarily share fraternal feelings,” he said to them. “Look at the gods and the demons. Both are the progeny of the divine sage Kashyapa, but even though they have the same father they dispute with each other over his realm. You are the sons of King Bhangasvana, the others of some forest hermit. Yet they are enjoying a kingdom which is your patrimony.” Thus he divided them, and they fought and killed each other.

  ‘The hermit woman, their mother, was deeply distressed. She was weeping when Indra came to her, once again in the guise of a brahman. “Fair one,” he asked her, “what sorrow makes you weep thus?”

  ‘Tearfully did she reply, “O priest, I had two hundred sons whom fate has taken away. First I was a king, O best of brahmans, and I had a hundred sons who all looked liked me. I went hunting once, and got lost in a dense forest where I turned into a woman while bathing in a lake. Thence I returned to the city, established my sons in the kingdom, and went back to the forest where I bore a hundred sons to a great-souled hermit. I took these boys to my former capital, but destiny has led the two groups to destroy each other. That is why I weep.”

  ‘Indra gloated over the situation, and spoke harshly to the woman. “Good lady,” he said, “in the past you also gave me pain hard to bear. You held a sacrifice hated by Indra and concluded it without invoking him. I am Indra, you fool, and it is my anger which has brought you down.”

  ‘Thereupon the woman who had been a royal sage bowed down at Indra’s feet. “Best of gods,” she cried, “be gracious. I held that sacrifice only to get a son. Forgive me!”

  ‘Indra was satisfied,’ Bhishma said, ‘and he decided to make amends. “Tell me, O king,” he asked, “which of your sons should I restore to life? Those born when you were a man or those when you had become a woman?”

  ‘The hermit woman clasped her hands in entreaty as she replied. “O Indra,” she said, “may the sons born to me as a woman live again!”

  ‘Indra was amazed. “Why are you hostile to the sons born to you when you were a man?” he asked. “Do you love more those you bore as a woman? I would like to know the reasons.”

  ‘“Indra,” she said, “the love that a woman has for her children is something a man cannot have. That is why I asked for the sons born to me as a woman.”

  ‘Indra was very pleased with her answer, “You are indeed a speaker of the truth,” he said. “All your sons will live again. Now ask me for yet another boon. Would you wish to be a man again, or stay a woman?”’

  ‘“I prefer the feminine gender,” was the reply, Bhishma said, “I do not wish for manhood.”

  ‘“My lord,” Indra asked again, “how is it that you discard manhood and choose the feminine gender?”

  ‘To this the great king, now turned woman, said, “Indra, in the intercourse between man and woman, it is always the woman who obtains the greater pleasure. That is the reason why I choose womanhood. I tell you truly, best of gods, I have enjoyed love more as a woman, and that is why I am pleased with femininity. Now you may go!”

  ‘“So be it,” said Indra, and he returned to heaven,’ Bhishma concluded, ‘and thus it is that women are said to have a greater capacity for pleasure than men.’

  From Mahābhārata, Anushasana Parva, Danadharma, 12.11–53

  The History of a Marriage

  There lived in Ujjayini1 a merchant called Sagaradatta, who was both wealthy and wise. Once, when he was sailing leisurely on the sea, he saw another boat signalling to his, its flag aflutter. He instructed his vessel to be taken close to it, and when the two were alongside, spoke to its master. ‘Tell us who you are,’ he asked, ‘and from where?’

  ‘I am Buddhavarma, a merchant from Rajagriha,’ 2 the other responded. ‘Who are you, sir, and from where?’ Sagaradatta introduced himself and they then sailed together, amusing each other with stories and poems, music and songs, drinking and dice games.

  They went to the Golden Island an
d there acquired large quantities of gold before returning to the seaside town from where they had started. Then Sagaradatta had a discussion with Buddhavarma. ‘To consolidate our friendship,’ he said, ‘let us do the following. My wife was pregnant when I left home and would have delivered during this time. If it is a daughter, sir, I betroth her to your son. If it is a boy, you too should betroth your daughter to him.’

  ‘This is most amazing!’ Buddhavarma cried. ‘I had the very same thought! Obviously you and I are one!’

  And with this agreement, the two embraced each other before departing at the head of great buffalo caravans to their respective lands. There they paid homage to their kings, the rulers of Avanti and Magadha, and then went home to spend time being greeted by their families and extending courtesies to brahmans and others.

  As Sagaradatta sat on his couch, a baby girl with a gleaming jasmine garland was put in his lap. ‘Whose is this girl with the garland?’ he asked his wife.

  ‘Who else but yours?’ she whispered shyly.

  ‘Blessed would be the parents of a son like this lovely child,’ he said. ‘But, my dear, do not fret at having borne a girl. One goddess is now the mother of another.’ He then reassured her with an account of his meeting and friendship with Buddhavarma on the sea. As for the child, because the father had asked about the girl in a jasmine garland, she came to be known by that name—Kundamalika.

  Buddhavarma too questioned his wife on return, but she remained silent. ‘Tell us what you delivered,’ he asked again, and she then showed him his son—a dirty dwarf, one-eyed and buck-toothed, with pendulous lips and a hunched back. ‘Why did you carry this ugliness?’ he exclaimed. ‘There was no need for it. Why didn’t you consult soothsayers and have an abortion? This ill-formed imp has ruined my agreement with Sagaradatta. If he informs me that he has had a daughter, how can I tell him that I have a son?’ He then told his wife that if any messenger came from Avanti, no one should mention this ugly creature to him. As the father had used this word for the child, the town people also came to call him Ugly.