Vikramarka and the Vetala Stories

Told in English, Telugu.

Long, long ago, in the great city of Ujjayini, there ruled a king named Vikramarka. People said he was as brave as a lion and as fair as the morning sun. Beside him always stood his minister Bhatti, his brother in heart, so wise that the people spoke of the two of them together, Bhatti and Vikramarka, the way you might speak of the moon and its light.

Every day, for many years, a quiet sanyasi with matted hair came to the king's court. He never asked for anything. He simply bowed and placed a single fruit in the king's hands, then walked away. Vikramarka would pass the fruit to his treasurer, and the treasurer would toss it into a storeroom.

One morning, a little pet monkey from the palace snatched the fruit and bit into it. Out tumbled a shining ruby! The king's eyes went wide. He sent for the storeroom to be opened, and there, among the dry old fruits, lay hundreds of rubies, each one hidden inside.

The next time the sanyasi came, Vikramarka stood up from his throne. "Holy one, you have given me a treasure fit for gods. Tell me, what do you want in return?"

The sanyasi smiled a thin smile. "Only a small favour, great king. On the night of the new moon, come alone to the old burning ground outside the city. There is a tall murungi tree there. On its branch hangs a still, silent body wrapped in cloth. Bring it to me, and do not say a single word on the way."

Bhatti did not like this at all. "Anna," he whispered, "a man who hides rubies in fruit is a man who hides other things too. Be careful."

"I gave my word," said Vikramarka. "A king who breaks his word is no king."

So on the darkest night of the month, Vikramarka walked alone into the forest. Owls hooted. Jackals called far away. The wind whistled through dry grass. At last he found the murungi tree, and there it was, the pale bundle hanging from a branch, swaying gently.

The king climbed up, cut the rope with his sword, lifted the bundle onto his shoulder and began to walk. He had taken only a few steps when a voice spoke from right beside his ear.

"Ha! A king carrying me like a sack of rice! You must be very brave, or very foolish."

It was the Vetala, a spirit who lived in that still body, and who loved nothing more than stories and mischief.

"The road is long and I am bored," said the Vetala. "So I will tell you a story. At the end I will ask you a question. If you know the answer and keep quiet, your head will burst into a thousand pieces. But if you speak, even one word, I will fly straight back to my tree. Agreed?"

The king said nothing, and kept walking. The Vetala chuckled and began.

"Once there were four brothers who went away to study. Three became very learned. One could gather scattered bones. One could cover bones with flesh. One could breathe life into anything. The fourth brother had not learned magic, but he had plenty of common sense. On their way home, they found the bones of a lion in the forest. The three learned brothers said, let us test our skills! The fourth brother begged them to stop. When they would not listen, he climbed a tall tree. The first brother joined the bones. The second gave them flesh and a golden mane. The third breathed life into it, and the lion opened its eyes, gave a mighty roar and chased those three brothers deep into the jungle. Only the fourth, safe in his tree, came home calmly. Now tell me, king. Which brother was the most foolish?"

What do you think? Which brother was the most foolish? Think... think...

Vikramarka could not stay silent, for he knew. "The one who gave it life," he said. "The others only made bones and a body that could not move. But he woke a hungry lion without thinking what it would do. Learning without wisdom is the most dangerous thing of all."

"Correct!" cried the Vetala. "And you spoke!" With a whoosh, the spirit flew out of the king's arms and back to the murungi tree.

Vikramarka sighed. Then he turned around, walked back, climbed the tree again and lifted the body onto his shoulder once more. The Vetala laughed with delight. "Such a stubborn king! Very well. Another story."

"There was once a king with three queens, each more delicate than the last. One evening, the first queen was playing in the garden when a single lotus petal fell onto her arm, and it left a red mark, as if she had been hurt. That night, the second queen sat by the window, and the soft moonlight fell on her skin and made it blister. And the third queen, sitting deep inside the palace, heard the far-off sound of a woman pounding rice with a pestle, thud, thud, thud, and her delicate hands broke out in bruises. So tell me, king. Which queen was the most delicate?"

Can you guess this one? Think... think...

"The third queen," said Vikramarka. "The petal touched the first queen, and the moonlight touched the second. But the third was hurt by a sound from far away, something that never touched her at all."

"Right again!" laughed the Vetala, and whoosh, back to the tree he flew.

And so it went, all through that long night. The Vetala told story after story, of clever thieves and kind merchants, of loyal friends and tricky princesses. Every time the king knew the answer, he spoke it honestly, and every time, the spirit flew back to its branch. Every time, Vikramarka walked back without a word of complaint and lifted him again. His feet grew sore. His shoulders ached. But he never once thought of giving up. That is why, to this day, Telugu people call a person who never lets go of a task a true Vikramarka.

At last, as the sky began to turn grey, the Vetala told one more tale.

"A father and his son were walking through a forest when they saw two sets of footprints, one large and one small. They belonged to a mother and her daughter. The father said, I will marry the one with the big feet. The son said, then I will marry the one with the small feet. But when they found the two women, it turned out the daughter had the big feet and the mother had the small ones! So the father married the daughter, and the son married the mother. In time, both couples had children. Now tell me, king. What relation are those children to each other?"

Vikramarka thought and thought. Were they cousins? Uncles? Aunts? Brothers? The more he puzzled, the more tangled it became. He truly did not know. And so, for the first time that night, the great king walked on in silence.

The Vetala went quiet too. Then he spoke softly, without any teasing at all.

"King, you answer when you know, and you stay humble when you don't. You are the most honest man I have ever met. So now I will give you a gift. That sanyasi is not holy. He is cunning and cruel. He wants to use magic to rule the whole world, and for that, he plans to harm a brave king at the end of his ritual. That king is you. When he asks you to bow down before his fire, say you do not know how, and ask him to show you."

Vikramarka carried the body to the sanyasi, who was waiting beside a crackling fire, his eyes gleaming. "Well done, king. Now bow low, and touch your head to the ground."

"I am a king," said Vikramarka calmly. "I have never bowed like that before. Please, show me how it is done."

The sanyasi, impatient, bent down to the ground. In that instant, the king raised his sword and struck first. The wicked man's plans ended there, and his dark magic broke forever, like a pot dropped on stone.

The sky turned gold. The gods themselves, it is said, were pleased, and they blessed Vikramarka with long life and a just rule. The Vetala, now free of the wicked man's power, bowed to the king. "Whenever you need me," he said, "just think of me, and I will come."

When Vikramarka walked back into Ujjayini, Bhatti was waiting at the gate, worried and sleepless. The king put a hand on his shoulder and smiled. "You were right, my brother. But honesty and patience were right too."

And those stories the Vetala told on that long dark night have been passed from grandparents to children ever since, so that every child can sit up and think, just like the king.

So tell me, little one, before you sleep. What do you think those children in the last story were to each other? Sleep on it, and tell me in the morning.