Shravan Kumar and his Wife

Shravan Kumar was an upright young man.

His wife, however, had traits in her character that were, at best, questionable. She was not completely bad, but she often came close to being so.

She treated Shravan Kumar’s parents very badly. They were old and blind and lived with the young couple. Shravan Kumar’s wife not only resented this, she showed her resentment by doing some rather nasty things.

For example, she kept two cooking pots in the kitchen. In one pot she made delicious sweet puddings for herself and her husband. In the other pot, she made sour puddings for her parents-in-law. The poor parents-in-law went on eating whatever they were given, but one day they said to their son, ‘Son, we hate to complain. The fact is, we are quite tired of eating sour pudding every day. Could we possibly have something else to eat?’

Shravan Kumar could hardly believe what he heard. Whatever was put on his plate was always so delicious. His wife was a good cook.

That day at dinner, he exchanged his plate for his father’s – and got a nasty surprise.

‘Ugh!’ he cried. ‘What foul stuff is this?’

It was then that he discovered that his wife kept two pots in the kitchen, one for them and one for the parents.

‘Wife,’ Shravan Kumar said next morning, ‘what you have been doing is not a good thing. From now on all the food for our family must be cooked in one pot.’

‘Yes, dearest husband,’ his wife replied meekly. She really did want to be good. It was just so very difficult for her, and it was easier to be mean.

Shravan Kumar’s wife went to a potter and said, ‘I have a special order. I need a clay pot with two stomachs, right away.’

‘With two stomachs?’ said the bewildered potter.

‘Yes, yes, two stomachs. It is not so hard. Just put a division in the centre. Start right away.’

‘Whatever you wish, madam,’ said the potter, and he proceeded to make Shravan Kumar’s wife a pot with two stomachs.

That night at dinner, Shravan Kumar smiled benignly at his parents. His food was delicious. As all the food was cooked in the same pot, he was sure his parents’ food was just as good.

The parents said nothing for a few days. Then, they called their son aside and said, ‘Son, we hate to complain. The fact is, we are quite tired of eating sour pudding every day. Could we possibly have something else to eat?’

Shravan Kumar could hardly believe what he had heard. That day at dinner, he again exchanged his plate for his father’s.

‘Ugh!’ he cried. ‘What foul stuff is this?’

It was then that he discovered that his wife had a pot with two stomachs.

‘Wife,’ Shravan Kumar said next morning, ‘what you have been doing is not a good thing. I am upset and disappointed in you.’

‘Dearest husband,’ his wife replied meekly, ‘I am really sorry for what I have done. From now on I will serve the same food to all of us.’

This time Shravan Kumar’s wife was determined to be good.

‘Your fine intentions will have to wait for a while. My parents are very old and I fear they will not live long. They have asked me to take them on a pilgrimage. I intend to start out right away.’

‘May I come too?’ asked the wife.

‘No, it is best if you stay at home. You see, I want my parents to enjoy this trip. If you come with us …’

He did not need to finish his sentence. His wife’s head drooped with shame.

‘I will stay at home, then, just as you wish,’ Shravan Kumar’s wife said. ‘When you return you will see how good I can be. How will you travel? Your parents are too old to walk or ride on horses.’

‘I have made two large baskets and attached them to the two ends of a pole. I will seat one of my parents in each of the baskets. I will sling the pole across my shoulders. That is how I will carry my parents to their place of pilgrimage.’

‘You are such a good son, I will try to be a worthy wife.’

That day, Shravan Kumar set off on a pilgrimage carrying his old blind parents in the two baskets.

It was June and the sun was blistering all it threw its light on.

Shravan Kumar’s parents said, ‘Son, let us stop and rest. Besides we are very thirsty.’

Shravan Kumar put his parents down and left them to rest in a shady grove.

‘The River Saryu is not far from here. I will go and fetch some water for you to drink.’

Shravan Kumar walked to the river and just as he was bending to get water, he was struck by an arrow and mortally wounded.

It was King Dashrat who was out hunting and who mistook Shravan Kumar for a deer.

Shravan Kumar began to cry out in pain. ‘O God, help me.’

When King Dashrat heard these cries, he ran towards his quarry and begged his forgiveness.

‘There is no time to talk,’ Shravan Kumar said, ‘just … ease out the arrow … my parents are thirsty … they are blind … they were going on a pilgrimage … take them some water and tell them what has happened to me. Look after them.’ Shravan Kumar became unconscious and lay dying on the ground.

King Dashrat took the pot of water and went searching for Shravan Kumar’s parents.

The parents had been waiting in the shady grove wondering what had happened to their son. When they heard footsteps, they cried out with joy, ‘We are so glad you are back. Come and rest, son, you must be tired.’

‘I am not your son. I am King Dashrat. I was hunting for deer and my arrow accidentally hit your son. I’m deeply sorry for this. Your son sent this water and has asked me to do whatever you desire. I am your servant.’

Tears began to fall from the blind eyes of both parents.

‘Our son’s accident is more that we can bear. Death is approaching fast and we are ready for it. Make us a funeral pyre and when we are dead, lay our bodies on it. That is all we want from you.’ Then they cursed King Dashrat: ‘We hope you are parted from your beloved son one day and die from the pain of it.’

King Dashrat built a funeral pyre of sandalwood and when the parents had died, he put them on the pyre and cremated them just as a son would have done.

The King then set out to find Shravan Kumar’s wife and tell her the news.

The wife said, ‘Tell me where he is.’

‘You will find him lying on the banks of the River Saryu.’

Shravan Kumar’s wife rushed to the River Saryu where her husband lay unconscious with a deep wound in his back where the arrow had pierced it.

It was another scorching day and there was nothing near the river but sand and scrub. If the wound did not kill her husband, the heat surely would.

Shravan Kumar’s wife scanned all directions. She finally spotted a tamarind tree:

‘Tamarind tree, tamarind tree

Will you give us some shade?’

‘Not I,’ said the tamarind tree. ‘Look elsewhere.’

The wife cursed the tree saying, ‘May your fruit always be sour.’ Then she ran towards the neem tree:

‘Neem tree, neem tree

Will you give us some shade?’

‘Not I,’ said the neem tree. ‘Look elsewhere.’

The wife cursed the neem tree. ‘May your fruit only be good for the treatment of boils and pimples,’ she said, running towards the banyan tree:

‘Banyan tree, banyan tree

Will you give us some shade?’

‘Come,’ said the banyan tree, ‘take refuge in my cool arbours.’

Shravan Kumar’s wife dragged her husband into the shade of the banyan tree. There she sat with his head in her lap, weeping and weeping.

The great old banyan tree finally took pity on the poor woman. ‘You have not been perfect,’ the banyan tree said. ‘You were cruel to your parents-in-law, but as a wife you have done better. And you seem truly remorseful. I will restore your husband to you.’

So saying, the banyan tree dripped healing milk into the wound and Shravan Kumar was cured.

His wife was cured too. She was never mean again.