King Bhoja radiated majesty like Indra, the lord of heaven. When he wished again to ascend the throne gifted by that god, yet another statuette spoke up: ‘O King! Mount upon this lion throne only if you possess that kind of magnanimity. Otherwise do not be curious.
‘In olden days, when King Vikramaditya ruled the earth, a wandering monk once came to Ujjayini from another land. He was versed in all kinds of learning, including the Vedas, the śāstras, medicine, astronomy, mathematics and dramaturgy. In short, he knew virtually everything and there was none to compare with him.’
‘The king heard of the monk’s reputation by word of mouth, and sent his chaplain to summon him. The priest went to the monk and saluted him. “Master,” he said, “the king has asked for Your Holiness. You should visit him.” The monk replied: “Learned sir, what do we have to do with seeing the king?
We live on alms,
sleep on the ground,
and need no clothes.
What will we do with princes?
‘“Moreover,
Those who want nothing cannot be courtiers,
nor those without desires love honours;
the guileless will not flatter, and
the straightforward will not deceive.”
‘The chaplain repeated before the king what the monk had stated. On hearing it the king said to himself:
“Those who are free of desires
and intent only on the ultimate reality;
who have renounced all attachments
and shed all pride; whose one wish
is to stay content: such people
please themselves, not the world.
But those who long inwardly for
material enjoyments, who are covetous
at heart though outwardly detached:
such disguised and hypocritical rogues
charm the minds of the people.”
‘The king then went himself to see the monk. Saluting him, he took a seat and, in the course of their conversation, the monk explained every doubtful point on which the king questioned him. They discussed the science of the self and the subconscious memory of experiences in previous births; the method of regulating the breath by its systematic inhalation, retention and exhalation; and the sixfold practice of yoga with its eight branches of abstentions, observances, postures and breath control, withdrawal and concentration, meditation and trance. In continual talks with that great soul, the king learnt successively the Hatha Yoga, the Mantra Yoga, the Rāja Yoga, the science of controlling the body, and the Laya Yoga.
‘Deeply satisfied, the king would go every day to discuss a variety of spiritual matters with the monk. “Master, how old are you?” he once enquired. “Why do you ask this, O King?” retorted the monk. “A man who knows the rules of conduct never reveals his age. Nine things should be kept private:
These nine one must keep secret:
age, wealth, domestic weakness,
charms, medicines, sexual relations,
gift, honours and disgrace.
“‘Moreover, a master of yoga can bypass time and live long. I can teach you an incantation if Your Majesty has the strength to perform it.”
“‘What will I gain by learning your incantation?” the king asked. “By performing it you will be freed from old age and death,” replied the monk. “Then teach it to me,” the king said, “I will perform it.”
‘The monk taught the incantation to the king, and said: “Majesty, recite this for one year, during which you must remain celibate and perform the tenfold fire sacrifice with dūrvā grass shoots. At the time of the final oblation, a person will emerge from the fire pit bearing a fruit, and give it to you. Eat it, and you will have an impeccable body free from old age and death.” Then he went away.
‘Having learnt the incantation, and given the monk the fee due to a guru, the king proceeded to a forest as directed by him. There he stayed, subsisting on wild fruit, clothing himself in tree-barks, and letting his hair grow. Every day he would perform the three ritual ablutions, devotedly recite the incantation, and feed the sacrificial fire with dūrvā shoots as well as honey and sesamum seeds. One year passed thus. Then a dark blood-hued being emerged from the fire pit, gave the fruit of immortality to the king, and disappeared.
‘This king took the fruit and returned to the city. As he went on the highway, a brahmin offered him a benediction. The man’s limbs were withered with leprosy. “O King,” he cried, “for brahmins the king is truly charged to be in the place of mother and father. It is said,
The king is the friend of the friendless,
and the eyes of the blind.
He is both father and mother,
and the best reliever of distress.
“‘You give relief to all who suffer. My body is being destroyed by this disease. With its dissolution my religious rituals will also cease. For the body is the sole instrument for the performance of sacred rites.” Saying this the brahmin, whose hands and feet had been wasted by the sickness over time, emitted a sigh and begged the king for some medicine to save his life.
‘The king said to himself: “I do not have any medicine here, and this man will not be able to get to the city. What should be done? In ancient times kings would give even their own dear lives to supplicants and gain lasting glory. This sick brahmin is not asking me for wealth, for my person, or for my life which is so hard to part with: he is asking only for medicine. It will be fitting for me to save him by giving him this fruit. This indeed is the best course for me.” Thinking thus, the king gifted the fruit to the brahmin while explaining its powers, and himself went on his way to Ujjayini. He was indeed the foremost of the great philanthropists. A king who cannot compare with him is unworthy of this throne.’