The Story-teller and his Five Maxims

Once, very long ago, four friends set out on a far journey. To beguile the tedium of the hours they took turns at recounting stories. When each of them had finished his tale, they fell in with a stranger. "Tell us a story, comrade," they implored him with one voice.

"You shall have five stories, my friends," the stranger replied, "if you will pay me five hundred pieces of silver."

"You set too high a price on your powers of entertainment," they cried out in protest. "But amongst the four of us, we will each pay a hundred pieces of silver. That's good value, to be sure?"

The stranger nodded agreement, collected four hundred shining coins and cleared his throat. "My stories aren't really stories, you must understand," he began. "They are maxims for you guidance; but, let me assure you, they are worth their weight in gold. Pray, listen:

"Money, my good friend, is meant for travel. That's the first.

"A friend will stand by you even while you are penniless.

"Lean upon no relation in the hour of distress.

"A wife is true and loyal so long as she is by her husband's side.

"And for my last maxim, he alone shall win the hand of Emperor Vikramaditya's daughter who can vanquish sleep.

"That's all, brothers, and may the gods protect you on your wayfaring."

No sooner had the story-teller finished than the four traveler's set up a clamour. Shaking angry fists in his face, they shouted that they had been brazenly cheated. What gross impudence! Stories, forsooth! At last, after they had cried themselves hoarse, they dragged the stranger into the King's presence and laid a complaint against him.

The King listened patiently as the four men, spluttering with rage, told of the impostor's trick. "Here is something intriguing," he said to himself. Then he turned to the victim of so much wrath and addressed him: "Well, my good man, what have you got to say for yourself?"

"Sire," the story-teller made answer with great composure, "I gave them five maxims to cherish and to live by. Four hundred pieces of silver was all they gave me in return for counsel beyond all price. A paltry sum, I reckon. I shall repeat them for your royal ears, Sire, if you will deign to give me five hundred silver pieces."

After a moment's thought, the King summoned his treasurer and ordered the money to be counted out. Thereupon, the story-teller intoned the five maxims in the same unruffled tones, and fell silent.

The King's first impulse was to laugh at this foolishness. Then he reflected on the strange words. Wouldn't it be a good idea to put them to the test? Had he not paid a whole lot of money for the advice?

One fine morning, therefore, the King sent his queen off to her parents and announced that he was setting forth on a secret mission. At dead of night he stole out of his palace attired like a mendicant. But, in deference to the story-teller's precept, he carried hidden on his person seven precious rubies.

After many weary days' journeying, the King appeared before his sister's door, begging for food and shelter. This sister was queen of a neighbouring kingdom. When she saw her brother clothed in tatters and besmeared with the dust and grime of travel, she was struck dumb with amazement. But there was not a shadow of pity in her eyes. He sought to soften her heart with a woeful tale of defeat in battle and utter ruin.

She only recoiled from him in shame. "Do not disgrace me in the eyes of my husband," she screamed. "Away with you and your filthy rags.

"You are hard-hearted, my beloved sister;" said the beggar in a voice that seemed to tremble with self-pity.

"I give you my word I will not darken your door with my presence. But will you not relent just a little and send me food that I may appease my hunger? I am tired and famished as I have never been before in my life;' As he turned to leave, he said over his shoulder, "And as a token of your charity, please set your own seal on the dish."

When the food was brought to the royal mendicant, he repaired to a lonely spot and buried the dish deep under the earth. Then he resumed his wanderings.

Two days later the King, still disguised as a beggar, sought the house of a friend of earlier days, in yet another kingdom. What an overwhelming welcome awaited him here! The good man rushed out and clasped the King in a fond embrace, notwithstanding the signs of poverty and squalor that stood out on his person. He led him indoors with every mark of hospitality, gave him clean garments to wear, rich and delicious food to eat and a soft bed to lie in. If the King was in trouble, why, here was healing for his wounds. All that this honest soul possessed was at his friend's disposal to the uttermost.

Early next morning, the King fought back his tears and swallowed the lump in his throat as he said good-bye to his true friend. No, for all the worthy man's entreaties, he would not tarry. He had a long journey to go, he said, and many big tasks to accomplish.

As he dared forth, the King's thought turned on the story-teller's maxims. How truly he had spoken! In the hour of one's deepest grief one's own kith and kin cast one off, while in the selfsame hour one found one's anchor in a friend.

The King's wanderings now took him to the country where his queen dwelt under her father's roof. Here he found employment with the Master of Horse to the royal household, a person of massive build, with a swaggering, handsome face, and a black, sinful heart.

Going about his errands, one evening, our hero espied a strange woman creeping stealthily into his master's inner chamber. A nameless suspicion crept into his mind. He tiptoed to the door and peeped through the key-hole. O horror of horrors! It was his own queen with the Master of Horse! And as if to rub salt into his raw wound, he then heard lovers' soft murmurings issuing from within. How, indeed; could he bear this agony of soul!

A shout broke in upon his torment. The door had been flung open. It was the Master of Horse painting to a broken chair. "Hey, you, can you mend this for me, quick?"

What could our hero do but obey? As he set about the task, the guilty woman took one quick look at his face. Next moment, shaking with terror, she was whispering into her paramour's ear, "That's my husband, that creature! May the gods help me! Send for your executioner this instant, let his head be cut off. Else I am lost!"

So the poor, innocent servant was dragged out into the forest to be despatched to his doom. But, happily, the executioner was as covetous as he was cruel. When his victim fetched seven large, blood-red rubies out of his waistband, his eyes grew large with greed. "You shall have three of them for yourself if you will let me go," the King said. "The rest
you shall have for safe-keeping till I call for them." The wretch was not loath to set his prisoner free in return for riches beyond his wildest dreams.

As the King set out once again on his travels he said to himself, "There's more in the story-teller's maxims than appears on the surface. Here's the truth of two more revealed. Had I not carried treasure on my person I should have been a rotting carcass in yonder forest. And woman's fidelity, ugh……… what's it but a broken reed?

"Now for the hand of Emperor Vikramaditya's daughter. What a great prize to strive for! If on impossible, surely!"

After much wandering, the King appeared at the magnificent court of Vikramaditya. He was disguised in a Sanyasi's saffron robe. "O mighty Emperor," he addressed the monarch on the throne," I am here as a suitor for your daughter's hand. The fame of her beauty and her accomplishments has traveled to far-off lands. Gladly would I abjure my vows of celibacy and renounce this monkish garb if I can win her for wife."

The Emperor's lips curled in a smile of mockery. "You little know the perils that beset your quest, holy man," he said. "Scores of stout men have perished in the attempt to win my daughter's hand. Go into her apartment tonight, if you will not be restrained by the awesome tales they tell. And if you are found alive at dawn, why, you may have the princess in marriage with my blessings too!"

No, that wasn't enough to daunt our hero. So an hour or two after nightfall he was conducted into the Princess's apartment. She was as lovely a damsel as one could ever hope to rest one's eyes on, and full of sweet, gentle ways. The hours sped by on magic wings as she kept up an endless and delicious patter. Then, as the gong in the palace courtyard struck the hour after midnight, her eyes grew heavy with sleep. She lay back, stretched her soft limbs, yawned in the most bewitching manner and, in a trice, was fast asleep.

In the loneliness of the night the King now strove with sleep. To win this fair prize he must fight and vanquish the leaden feeling that now crept into every pore of his body. He sensed the approach of a great danger, too. "Beware!" a voice seemed to say. Quick as lightning, he made up his clothes into a bundle, the shape of a man, laid it on the silken mattress beside the Princess, and crept into a dark corner to keep watch. His shaking hands closed on the hilt of his sword. O what a dreadful vigil it was!

Slowly the rosebud lips of the sleeping Princess parted. Then, as the King's blood seemed to freeze with horror, there issued from between those lips a monstrous serpent. It uncoiled its whole vicious length, reached its hood with a loud hiss and plunged its venomous fangs into the dummy beside the Princess.

In an instant, the King had mastered the quaking of his limbs. He slipped out of his corner, raised the sword on high and smote the fearful monster with every ounce of his strength. The serpent lay dead at his feet. He hacked it to pieces, gathered the mess in a heap under the couch, and then stretched his tired, aching limbs to rest.

At the hour of dawn, the Emperor's guards came, as was their wont, to carry yet another hapless suitor's corpse away. But they rubbed their eyes in wonder when the Sanyasi himself, whole of limb and with a cheerful grin, opened the door to their loud knocking.

Vikramaditya himself came breathless to see the miracle. Had the, curse on his fair daughter been lifted at last? When he heard the Sanyasi's grim tale and bent to look under the couch, he knew indeed that deliverance had come. "Now for the wedding!" he shouted as he embraced our hero.

"Not yet, my lord," said the Sanyasi," I have a few grave responsibilities to discharge; only then may I return to claim your daughter's hand." He then exchanged tokens with the Prince, and took leave of the Emperor.

His mission accomplished, the King returned to his own kingdom amidst great popular rejoicings. Then he set forth again at the head of a shining retinue.

He first rode into the city where his sister reigned as queen. O what a splendid welcome he was accorded! But he had fetched the sealed dish of that other day. "Remember the mendicant whom you sent away from your door with this poor gift, sister?" he asked. And the poor queen grew red with shame, flung herself at her brother's feet and besought his forgiveness.

Next, he repaired to the city where his true friend dwelt. The good man wept tears of happiness to see the King restored to his former estate, as he thought. And the King told him the tale of wanderings and showered upon him a thousand marks of his affection and esteem.

Then he entered the city where his faithless consort abode with her father. He laid bare the story of her wickedness and of the sin of the Master of Horse. Poor wretches, what could they say when the executioner bore witness to their crimes. The erring queen's father put the lovers in chains and flung them into a deep dungeon

And then, at last, at the head of a truly resplendent cavalcade, he rode into Vikramaditya's imperial city. The Emperor was transported with delight when he saw that his daughter's suitor was a king, no less. And the Princess rejoiced that her lord and master was no mere mendicant. The wedding was solemnized with a magnificence rarely equalled at the court.'

Thus ends the tale of the story-teller and his maxims. That wise man, you may be certain, was not forgotten. For he was summoned to Vikramaditya's great city, where riches and honours were heaped upon him.