Vikram Betal Stories In English - The Poet And The King Story

[JaneSmith105]

Dark was the night and weird the atmosphere. It rained from time to time: gusts of wind shook the trees. Between thunderclaps and the moaning of jackals could be heard the eerie laughter of spirits. Flashes of lightning revealed fearsome faces.

But King Vikramaditya did not swerve a bit. He climbed the ancient tree once again and brought down the corpse. However, as soon as he began crossing the desolate cremation ground, with the corpse lying on his shoulder, the vampire that possessed the corpse spoke: "O King! You seem to be making untiring efforts and without respite, as if you wish to achieve something. I pity you. Instead of enjoying comfortable sleep on a cozy bed, you’re still coming after me. I wonder whether you’re bent upon doing all this because of senselessness. Sometimes, even people with intelligence behave like fools. There was once a poet, who was the best example of senseless behavior. You must listen to his story."The vampire then narrated the story of Manohar.

Manohar lived in Mahimapur. This villager did not have much knowledge of language or grammar, but he was clever in composing poetry on any topic. His poems had some attraction in them. He was born into a poor family. As he grew up and exhibited his talents, people advised him to go to the capital and meet King Mahendra Varma and try to secure a place in the king’s court.

However, there was a tradition in Mahimapur that whoever wished to gain an entry into the court should have spent a few years in the employment of a zamindar. No artist or writer ever dared to break this tradition. Manohar was in a dilemma. His talents were enough qualification to get into the court. But there was no short-cut. He decided to be with the Zamindar of Vijaypur, so that he would put in a word about him to the king.

He disclosed his desire to his father. "It’s not an easy joke to secure a place in the royal court," remarked the old man. "Writing poems may not be adequate qualification to take you to the court. You must have some luck as well. Here prejudices play a big role. You must be careful till you get the patronage of the zamindar. I shall find out an auspicious date for you to start for Vijaypur."

Accordingly, Manohar started on an auspicious day and time, but when he reached Veersimha’s place, everything appeared topsy-turvy. His daughter, who was married just a month earlier, had become a widow

Manohar thought he must have started the journey at an inauspicious hour. He should not bother the zamindar when he was grieving over his bereavement; moreover he would not be in a mood to meet a stranger. So, Manohar went back home. "I’m not lucky," he told his father. "There was no use finding out an auspicious time and all that. Now, what shall I do?" Manohar was really desperate.

His father, too, was upset over the developments. He had spent hours on making calculations to find an auspicious time for his son. He thought for a long time, and ultimately came up with a way out.

"Maybe the auspicious time I found for you was not effective," he told Manohar. "Next week, you go and meet the zamindar of Danapur, Dayanidhi. I shall get for you another auspicious time from my friend."

Manohar was consoled. He would be lucky next time. He was itching to get into the royal court. A week later, he started on an auspicious day and at an auspicious time for Dayanidhi where he reached a day after Dayanidhi had taken ill. Manohar was unable to meet him. He waited for a day. On inquiry he was told the doctors had been unable to diagnose what was wrong with the zamindar and he was in a serious condition.

Manohar wondered. Why was misfortune dogging him everywhere? It was not as if he had not made an effort. There was no point in not making an effort and still wishing for something to happen. But if nothing would happen even after some effort? Manohar argued the point on his way back home with a heavy heart. He came to a pond from where he quenched his thirst and rested for a while under the shade of a tree.

He had a good view of the surrounding from where he sat, the ripples in the pond made by the slow breeze; birds escaping from the heat of the sun by getting into their tiny nests. Everything that would make good theme for a poem. But Manohar was ruminating over his failure.

"Disappointment a second time!" he mumbled to himself. "Every time, I start at an auspicious time. But what fate! Now, what do I do? "

A little later, he saw a wayfarer getting into the pond and drinking water. He then approached the same shade where Manohar was resting. "Who’re you?" he asked Manohar. "Why are you crestfallen?".

Manohar fumbled for an immediate answer. He was so much dejected. Why should he tell all about himself and his fate to a stranger? "I’m nobody else than a frustrated poet," he said mustering up some courage.

"Poet? Did you say you’re frustrated? " exclaimed the stranger. "Show me your palm. Let me take a look at the lines."

Manohar extended his right hand and showed him the palm. The wayfarer took a good look at his palm and then said. "Don’t stir out for the next three months. The time is not propitious. After three months, on the first Friday, you set out and go eastward. Halt at the place of the first zamindar and earn his patronage. You’ll prosper afterwards."

Manohar was astonished. Who could be this friend and guide? He felt ashamed that he did not show him any courtesy in the beginning. He had a guilty-conscious. Anyway, the stranger did not tarry from Manohar or to give him any more advice. Manohar heaved a great sigh of relief as he trudged along for home.

He remembered that the first zamindar eastward from his home was Narasimhamurthy. But all that he had heard about him was not complimentary to the zamindar. In fact, people used to carry a lot of tales about him and he was not one who many would befriend, for he was infamous for disposing of poets and artists giving them only a betel leaf and one single coin. How then could he expect any patronage from such a person? wondered Manohar.

When he believed his father’s words and instructions, the result was not any satisfying. Now if he were to believe a mere wayfarer and go and work for someone like Narasimhamurthy, what would be his fate? He could almost guess what it would be. At the same time, he did not want to brush aside the advice given by the wayfarer.

He waited for three months to pass. The first Friday after that, Manohar stepped out of his house with great expectations. When he reached the zamindar’s mansion, he was received by his dewan(manager). He told Manohar that Narasimhamurthy was observing his father’s death anniversary and he would not meet anybody till evening.

"May I wait here till evening?" asked Manohar. "I’m a poet and I would like to recite some of my poems to him. I would be grateful if you could arrange a meeting for me with him."

The dewan took a good look at Manohar. "I feel like helping you, young man," he said. "I shall try my best." The dewan made arrangements for his stay and his food.

Manohar was still not sure whether a meeting with the zamindar would materialise. Fortune had not, shown her full face to him. However, the dewan’s assurance and the advice given by the wayfarer three months ago remained fresh in his memory. He decided to wait till evening.

 

[JaneSmith105]

Soon evening went by and darkness set in . Still there was no sign of the dewan. After some time he was sent for. "I told the zamindar about you," said the dewan. "It appears his father was a lover of poetry. Just because you arrived on his father’s anniversary, he has decided to take you into his fold. He has asked me to give you one thousand coins, a golden shawl, and a horse-drawn carriage. Every evening you should come here and recite poems. Here’s the money and shawl. The carriage is ready and waiting for you outside."

Manohar could not believe his ears. He stood still for some time. Then he expressed his gratitude to the zamindar and left the place. The next day he went to the zamindar’s house but he was not available. This was repeated on all the days. At the end of one month, he was given one thousand coins. This continued for two years. Manohar thus remained a poet only for namesake. He got no occasion to recite his poems to the zamindar or at gatherings of poets, for he was expected to visit the zamindar every evening. He would wait for him for some time and then return home. What if? His salary came regularly at the end of every month.

One day, the carriage did not come for him in the evening. So Manohar decided to foot the distance. On his way he found a pond where he drank water and rested beneath a tree. He came upon a wayfarer resting like him not far away from where he was himself sitting. He saw a well-bred horse tied to a tree nearby. The wayfarer smiled; Manohar too smiled at him, and went up to him. The man asked him," Who are you?"

What a beautiful question? thought Manohar, recalling his encounter with a strange man some years ago. But unlike then when he was almost curt with him, Manohar replied: "I’m a fortunate man; not one who’s frustrated!"

"What a strange answer!" remarked the stranger.

"Oh! I’m so sorry!" said Manohar, apologetically. "I was thinking of something else. Could I recite a poem of mine to make amends?" He then recited a poem which had several double-meanings. The theme ran like this: It’s full moon. In the moonlight flowers spread scent, which attracts honeybees. They collect honey to their heart’s content. Among the flowers and bushes sit a beautiful woman who has a sad face. The flowers ask her: "We flowers blossom in the morning and fade and fall away in the evening. Still we’re happy. You’ve a face which will never fade away; why then put on a sad face?" The woman replies: "Yes, I too am a flower. But I don’t have honey bees hovering around me. Whenever there is breeze, I sway only to be pricked by thorns."

Manohar explained: "My poetry is like the beautiful woman in the garden but with a sad face. I’m unfortunate in the sense that she has found a place only in my poetry. Though I must say, my poetry gives me enough to take care of my family". He did not remain there to listen to the stranger’s comments about his poem. He hurried away to the zamindar’s place where, like on all other days, he could not meet the zamindar.



A week later, a horse-drawn chariot came and halted in front of Manohar’s residence. A soldier went up and saluted Manohar. "The king has sent me to fetch you and take you to the palace with all courtesies."

Manohar guessed that the stranger he met a week earlier must have been the king himself. He was ushered into his presence. "I invite you to join my court and recite poems for my pleasure every evening."

"Your majesty, I shall do your bidding," said Manohar. "But I’m now in the employment of zamindar Narasimhamurthy and receive a salary from him. I must tell him and take his permission before I join the royal court."

"Ah! What loyalty! What honesty!" said the king. "That’s touchstone of your character. Do as you wish."

The vampire concluded the narration there and turned to king Vikramaditya. "Manohar received the highest praise from the king who promised him peace and prosperity. In the employment of the zamindar, he was agitated: he could not meet the zamindar even for a day or recite his poems to him. He underwent mental agony, like the rose on a thorny bush. However, instead of falling for the king’s promises, he went back to the zamindar to take his permission. That shows his will power and morality. Was the king correct in praising him? He could have easily discarded him. And was Manohar right in going back to the zamindar when he could have easily joined the royal court then and there itself? If you know the answers and still refuse to satisfy me, you know what’ll happen to you? Your head will be blown to pieces!"

Vikram as usual had his answers ready: "Man gives more importance to food than his talents. It was Narasimhamurthy who ensured two square meals a day for Manohar and his family. He did not have an ear for poetry, unlike his father. That’s why he didn’t care to meet Manohar even for a single day and listen to his poems. This pained him much and he made a poem of his agony and recited it for the benefit of the wayfarer. But he never referred to himself or the zamindar in his poem. The king, who was the wayfarer, realised Manohar’s decency and large-heartedness and greatly respected it in his words of praise. The king would have relished flattering words in Manohar’s poetry, but he liked Manohar’s modesty, and he himself showed his lion-heartedness by allowing Manohar to go back to the zamindar to seek his formal permission to leave his employment. Both Manohar and the king seemed to have understood each other well."

The vampire knew that the king had outsmarted him once again. He flew back to the ancient tree, carrying the corpse along with him. Vikramaditya drew his sword and went after the vampire.

 

[callahan]

By hearing the stories its very interesting and know more about his stories? Is he real king? Can we have videos of the stories?