The Advent of Suleiman

Conception and After

Thus it was that Saptasuta lived with the king: respected, treated with every courtesy, and always engaged in the fierce battle of love. This carried on, and in due course she conceived a child from Dawood. (1–2)

On seeing this, her mother was filled with fear. She petitioned Sukhada in private, and told her about the babe. Sukhada went to the king after learning of the matter, and suggested that Saptasuta’s husband be informed of her condition. ‘How should I do this?’ the king wondered then. ‘Four months have passed since her husband was sent out to fight in the war. This sudden pregnancy is only three months along. I can call him back from battle prematurely, as if for some other duties, and keep him here till she has delivered the child. Even if he is grateful for this, it could still create a terrible scandal for me, put an end to the present relations, and harm all of us.’ (2–7)

After considerable thought, the king made up his mind and recalled the husband from the war. Upon his return, that warrior met with the ruler and, after due enquiries about the royal health, reported on the war’s progress. Having been honoured by the monarch, he then went home and lodged himself in the outhouse rooms where he also took his meals and did other things. He simply did not enter the inner apartments, nor did he meet his wife. (8–10)

The king heard about this behaviour. Making a special effort, he then sent for the warrior’s friends. ‘For what reason does Urjasvala not speak to his own wife?’ he asked them. ‘Why does he not stay in his own inner apartments?’ Ordered by the king, they went to the house of their colleague. ‘Friend,’ they said to him, ‘tell us why it is that since your return from the war, you have not entered your own inner rooms.’ (11–13)

Urjasvala gave them a full account from the beginning. ‘When I was sent by the king to war,’ he explained, ‘I promised myself that, having entered the heart of the battle, I would not come home again until the adversaries were destroyed. I would not even see the face of my wife till the enemies were exterminated. Though summoned back by the king midway, I am still keeping to that promise, and therefore I will not enter the house. That remains my final decision.’ (14–17)

The friends met with the king and told him what had transpired. The next morning, he sent for Urjasvala. ‘Go back to the war,’ he told him. ‘Destroy the enemy and only then return.’ With this royal command, the officer left his home forthwith and rushed to the battlefield where he was frequently engaged in the hostilities. (17–20)

Meanwhile, the king swiftly sent a letter to Jayavaha, the commander of his army. ‘Without further thought about it,’ he wrote, ‘put Urjasvala and his troops in the forefront of combat, so that he may be quickly killed by the enemy.’ The commander considered the matter and decided to act as instructed. There followed a most inexplicable battle which is well known, and all those who fought in it passed into the thrall of death. (20–22)

Meanwhile Saptasuta’s nine months also came to an end. After all the arrangements for the lying-in, she was safely delivered of a son. Dawood received the news, but was greatly disturbed by it. He did not rejoice or even see the child, but simply wished it dead, and prayed to Providence for this. (23–25)

The Sage’s Discourse

It was at this stage that the seer, who had cursed the king in the past, arrived to meet the monarch. Dawood knew the law and proper conduct. In acknowledgement of the visitor’s advent, he approached and greeted that personage with all ceremony, seating him on his own throne. The sage was relieved. Taking a seat, he said: ‘I ask you, O king, about righteousness. Reflect and give me a definite answer.’ (26–28)

‘In the past,’ the sage continued, ‘there lived in a certain city a wealthy barbarian of the Turkish race. He was intoxicated by his wealth, and lived only to increase it. In the same city was another person: a poor farmer of the lowest class with many children, who led a hard life. This man went into the forest once and, while wandering there, came upon a newborn fawn lying asleep in a bower. He took it home and brought it up lovingly, on soft young shoots of grass, like his own child. Being looked after by him, that little fawn grew day by day, delighting the whole neighbourhood with its ways. It would move about here and there, grazing on twigs and shoots in grassy patches, in local compounds and courtyards. Thus did that deer live till its last day, when it happened to visit the mansion of that affluent Turkish barbarian. (28–35)

‘Ten guests had arrived at the mansion that very day,’ the sage continued, ‘important people deserving of all honour, who had come there at the rich man’s own invitation. On stepping out of his house, the Turk suddenly saw the poor deer, which he captured and then brought inside and killed in order to treat his guests to its flesh, curried with vegetables. It was a repast which that blot on his family also enjoyed to his heart’s content. (36–39)

‘The lowly farmer heard about what had happened. “What have you done, sir?” he asked the rich man. “The theft of my deer was illegal!” But the Turk was wicked as well as foolish, and he just beat up the poor fellow, who went away, hurt and weeping. Thus, O king, was a wrong committed in your realm. What punishment should be given for it? Consider, decide, and tell me.’ (40–42)

‘This is an evil soul,’ that lion among kings told the seer. ‘He deserves death, for he stole the property of another. What punishment other than execution can there be for such a wicked person?’ (42–43)

‘Listen, O king,’ then said that seer of fearless conscience. ‘Your Majesty has also committed such a sin. You took possession of Urjasvala’s wife, and had him killed in battle. Now, you are the sole master of all the people. You are powerful and also fortunate. The general is your servant, and he subdues all your enemies with his men. As for the unlucky Urjasvala, he never looked at others’ wives. His own was virtuous and chaste. You ensnared her by force, with magic, spells and leaf juice potions. By base methods was she brought under your control, and her husband put to death in battle. There is no sin like this on Earth; it is like the murder of a priest. What can be the atonement for such behaviour? Say it yourself.’ (44–49)

The King’s Reaction

The king was aghast as he pondered over the sage’s words. He could find no answer as the realization of his own guilt dawned in his mind. Seeing him thus stricken, the sage’s heart filled with compassion. ‘Do not be afraid, good king,’ he said to the ruler, ‘I will tell you how to atone for the sin you committed. The son that Saptasuta has borne you, O hero, of that child you must make a sacrifice in expiation of your evil deed.’ (49–52)

The seer then went back to his retreat. As for the king, he carried out that holy one’s fiat, and had the child put to death. This done, he seemed to exude a supreme gladness, and arranged a festival for the citizens in his capital. ‘What is this strange marvel?’ said his ministers. ‘That lovely child, your own natural son, has met with death. It is a time of grief. How can you be so content?’ (53–56)

The king spoke like that famous Bhoja of yore. ‘Who dies here, and who is born?’ he said to the ministers. ‘None can ever know this. The soul has no birth. It is eternal. Neither is it born, nor does it die. It does not stand, nor does it fall. It assumes a body because of the power of past deeds and, giving it up, moves on again. Like a person discarding an old garment, and putting on a new one, it comes into innumerable wombs and leaves them again and again. Its comings and goings are immeasurable, with never a stop. Who is its son, and who its daughter? As father, mother and wife, as brothers and kinsfolk, how many have been its births, and how many lie under the earth? (56–61)

‘From where does the soul itself come?’ he continued. ‘It is unaware of this, for it is in the thrall of ignorance. It is also inebriated: in birth it delights and in death suffers grief. Is this not astonishing, for on this Earth are they both not parts of the same thing—the death of the born and the birth of the dead? This is inevitable for everyone, even for the gods and the demons. Pleasure and pain in life and death are therefore taken by the wise in the same spirit. And that is why, good ministers, I did not grieve in that demise.’ After this exposition, the ministers departed, and the king too was content. (61–65)

Saptasuta and Dawood

Much time having passed, Saptasuta was one day overcome with passion and longed for union with her man. After rubbing her limbs meticulously with scented oil and having a bath, as was her wont, she dressed herself in priceless garments—a crimson bodice over her comely breasts and a pure golden drape around her slim waist. Beneath it glowed her thighs, smooth as plantain and supple like an elephant’s trunk. Her sweet, soft lips were tinted with betel juice, her eyes lined with kohl, and her body bloomed with youth. Her waist was taut like a lion’s, her hips were rounded and a threefold ripple added to the voluptuous charm of her middle with its deep-set navel, further adorned with a girdle strung in a net of little bells. (66–71)

Flowers adorned Saptasuta’s head, a necklace of pearls and a collar of gold shone at her throat and assorted jewels twinkled on her ears. A cluster of pearls ornamented her nose, and a gleaming gilded ruby the parting of her hair. On her upper arms she wore bands of red gold, and on her wrists bracelets inlaid with the finest of the nine precious gems. Her fingers glittered with rings, and anklets tinkled on her feet. Made up with a powder of sandal and camphor mixed in sandalwood essence, she sported a beauty spot of saffron and musk on her face. Thus did she go to Dawood’s palace, her limbs glowing and her heart pierced by the arrows of Kama. She was brimming with desire. (72–78).

She was magnificent, like moonlight in human form. When the king saw her, he gazed at her intently, wondering at the fascinating beauty of her person. ‘What is this, my love?’ he asked. ‘I have never before seen you in such splendour. From where has it appeared, you enchantress? Tell me all, and at length.’(78–81)

‘Listen, my king,’ she replied. ‘I will explain the reason for this display of my beauty. When you first saw me, I had just stepped into my youth. Now I am at its prime, radiant with its fullest flowering. Among the ornaments that adorn women, there is nothing which can compare with youth. Not even a thousand jewels can match it. For women it is like the flower on the vine. The whole plant is lit by its loveliness before it fades. I am at its summit, king of kings, and also caught between desire and decorum. The passage of time now makes me bold. And born especially of this boldness, my love, may be seen my bliss in, and now my predisposition for sex.’ (82–87)

As she spoke, filled with passion, Dawood took her in his arms in a deep embrace. Then he commenced the foreplay, with bites and scratches, with caresses of the five bunched fingers, light strokes and tickles, as she also delighted him with her joining in their unions, intense and varied. (88–89)

Thus making love with the spouse of another, but a woman he dearly loved, Dawood had her conceive from his virility, and she bore in her womb one who would bring comfort to good people. Noting her condition, the great king then married her before all his people, in accordance with the tradition of his line. (90–91)

Soon it was the ninth month. At a glorious time on an auspicious day, when the Sun stood in the zodiac sign of Aries, and Jupiter and the Moon were moving towards its centre, Saptasuta gave birth to a fine son. It was like a moonrise in the lying-in chamber. All went well and the whole world rejoiced at this great advent. The delighted king held a festival, famous till date, at which he distributed money without end to poets and dancers, soldiers and villagers. Full of love, he gave the child a name most tasteful and auspicious, brilliant and imperishable. It was the illustrious name Suleiman. (92–94)

Here ends the third chapter, entitled ‘The Advent of Suleiman’, in the Suleiman Charitra, composed for the eminent Lad Khan, the lord of Ayodhya, who surpasses Karna in generosity. Praised by men of learning, he is the master of all arts and devoted to music and song. The composer is Kalyana Malla, a barb in the heart of lesser poets.