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A king on a good horse, deep in the forest of the Vindhya, has killed many fine deer already when he sees the boar. It is a beast the verse likens to Rahu hiding in the forest with the moon seized in his mouth. The king is Pratapbhanu of Kaikaya. At that time he was the one king of the whole circle of the earth. In his realm there was no trace of sin. He has come into this forest with all the gear of the hunt made ready. The chase that begins here will leave him quite alone, still on the beast’s track in a forest where elephant and horse cannot pass. And then without a track at all.
Yajnavalkya is telling Bharadvaja another cause of Rama’s birth, going on from the story of Manu. It begins in Kaikaya, with two brothers who love each other without guile. A father gives the kingdom to the elder and goes to the forest. With a conquest of the seven continents and a reign of gifts, yajnas, and dharma offered to Vasudeva with no wish for its fruit. Then come the boar, the cave it vanishes into, the lost road, the thirst, and a hermitage. The man who lives there in a sage’s guise is a king Pratapbhanu once defeated, and he knows his guest at once. The guest, taking him for a great sage, keeps his own name back and calls himself a minister. When he asks his host’s name he is told it is beggar.
The royal house, and an enemy in a sage’s guise
The main figures in this episode
- Pratapbhanu Satyaketu’s elder son and the king of Kaikaya. He rules by the Vedas and conquers the seven continents. He offers every dharma he does to Vasudeva without seeking its fruit. He chases a boar through the Vindhya forest until he is alone and lost. He reaches a hermitage thirsty. There he salutes a man he takes for a great sage, calls himself a minister, and asks the man’s name as a son asks a father.
- Satyaketu the king of Kaikaya, a bearer of dharma’s yoke and a mine of statecraft, father of two sons. He gives the kingdom to the elder and goes to the forest for the Lord’s sake.
- Arimardan the younger son, matchless in the strength of his arms and unmoving in battle. His love for his brother is free of every fault and guile. He is counted with the minister among the king’s strengths before the conquest.
- Dharmaruchi the king’s minister, clever as Shukra, who serves the king’s good, loves the Lord’s feet, and teaches the king statecraft every day.
- The false ascetic a king whose country Pratapbhanu seized and who fled the battle leaving his army. He is now living in the forest in a sage’s guise after killing the anger in his heart, like a pauper. He knows the king at once and shows him a lake. He seats him at sunset and hears him give a false account of himself. He keeps him for the night and names himself a beggar.
The kingdom of Kaikaya, and the love of two brothers
“Hear, sage,” Yajnavalkya says to Bharadvaja, “the holy old story that Shiva told to Parvati.” There is a country called Kaikaya, known to the world, and Satyaketu was its king: a bearer of dharma’s yoke, a mine of statecraft, radiant and glorious, good-natured and strong. Two brave sons were born to him, homes of every virtue and very steadfast in battle. The elder, the heir to the kingdom, was named Pratapbhanu. The other son was named Arimardan. In the strength of his arms he had no equal. In battle he did not move, like a mountain, the commentary adds.
Between the two brothers there was deep accord, a love free of every fault and of guile. The king gave the kingdom to his elder son and himself went to the forest for the Lord’s sake. When Pratapbhanu became king, his proclamation ran through the country. He protected his people very well, by the way the Vedas lay down, and nowhere in his realm was there a trace of sin.
The army of conquest, and the king’s return
The king’s minister was Dharmaruchi, a clever man who served the king’s good, and in wisdom the equal of Shukra. The commentary reads the name as Shukracharya. With a clever minister and a strong, brave brother beside him, the king himself was a mass of glory and steadfast in battle. With him was a boundless army of the four arms, chariots, elephants, horsemen, and foot, with countless warriors in it, every one of them ready to fight to the death. Seeing his army the king rejoiced, and the kettledrums beat loud.
He arrayed that army for conquest, a conquest of the quarters in the commentary’s phrase, chose a good day, and set out with the drums sounding. Battles broke out here and there, many of them, and he conquered all the kings by force. The seven continents, which the commentary reads as the divisions of the land, came under the strength of his arms. He took tribute from their kings and let them go. At that time the whole circle of the earth had one king, Pratapbhanu. The conquest of the world takes the verse four lines. The chase of one boar, when it comes, will take twice as many. With the world under the strength of his arms he entered his own city. The king enjoyed the pleasures of wealth, dharma, desire, and the rest, each at its time.
Plenty, service, and dharma without a wish for its fruit
With Pratapbhanu’s strength behind it, the earth became a handsome wish-cow, which the commentary glosses as a giver of whatever is wanted. The people were free of every sorrow and happy, and the men and women were beautiful and lived by dharma. The minister Dharmaruchi loved the Lord’s feet, and for the king’s good he taught him statecraft every day. The king served the guru, the gods, the saints, the ancestors, and the brahmins, always. Whatever dharma the Vedas set out for a king, he kept all of it with reverence and counted it a joy. Every day he gave gifts of many kinds, and he heard the best shastras, the Vedas, and the Puranas.
He built step-wells, wells, and tanks in great numbers, flower gardens and beautiful orchards. Houses for brahmins and handsome temples for the gods, wonders of their kind, at every holy place. Every yajna the Puranas and the Vedas name, each and every one, the king performed a thousand times, with love. And in his heart there was no seeking after any fruit of it. The king was discerning and very wise, and whatever dharma he did by deed, mind, and word, he offered to Vasudeva. That is the last thing said of him before the hunt.
That huge boar in the Vindhya
Once the king, mounted on a good horse, with all the gear of the hunt made ready, went into the deep forest of the Vindhya. There he killed many fine deer. Wandering through the forest he saw a boar. It looked as if Rahu had seized the moon and hidden with it in the forest. The moon was so large that it would not fit in his mouth. And he, as if from anger, would not spit it out either. So much, the verse says, for the beauty of the boar’s fearsome tusks. Its body too was huge and heavily fleshed. At the sound of the horse it grunted and looked, startled, with its ears raised.
Seeing the boar, huge as the peak of a blue mountain, the king laid the whip to his horse. He went at it fast and shouted a challenge: there would be no escape for it.
The arrows kept missing, and the forest deepened
Seeing the horse come on with a great noise, the boar fled at the speed of the wind. At once the king fitted an arrow, and at the sight of the arrow the boar went flat to the ground. Then the king took aim, and aim again, and shot. Every time the boar saved its body by a trick, now in sight and now hidden, fleeing as it went. In the grip of anger the king went after it.
The boar went far, into a forest so dense and deep that there was no passage for elephant or horse. The king was quite alone, and the forest was full of hardship, and still he did not leave the beast’s track. Seeing the king so steadfast, the boar fled into a deep cave in the mountain. The king saw that it was impassable. Regretting greatly, he turned back, and in that great forest he lost his way. The beast’s track had been his road, and it ended at the cave.
Worn out with the toil of it, hungry and thirsty, he and his horse searched for a river or a lake, distraught. Without water the king was left senseless.
A defeated king hidden in a hermitage
Wandering, he saw a hermitage. A king lived there in the false guise of a sage, a king whose country Pratapbhanu had seized and who had fled from the battle, leaving his army behind. Knowing that the time was Pratapbhanu’s, his good days in the commentary’s words, he reckoned his own time a very bad one. He had felt a great shame in his mind. He did not go home. In his pride he did not make his peace with the king. Like a pauper he had killed the anger in his heart, and he lived in the forest in an ascetic’s gear. One of Pratapbhanu’s victories was living here.
The king came up to him, and the ascetic knew him at once for Pratapbhanu. The king, thirsty, did not know the ascetic. Seeing the fine guise he took him for a great sage, got down from his horse, and made his salutation. Very quick-witted, he did not tell his own name. The verse sets his thirst in the same line as his mistake, and the commentary makes the thirst its cause. In the next line the verse gives his caution, a name held back from the one man in that forest who already had it.
Seeing the king thirsty, the ascetic showed him a lake. Glad, the king bathed in it and drank, and his horse with him.
A seat at sunset, and a soft voice
All his weariness gone, the king was happy. The ascetic took him to his own hermitage, and knowing that the sun had set, he gave him a seat. Then the ascetic spoke in a soft voice. “Who are you? Why do you wander the forest alone, a beautiful youth, careless of your life? I see on you the marks of an emperor, and great pity comes over me.” He asks who the man is, and he already knows. The man with an emperor’s marks has just got down from his horse and saluted him.
The king answered. “Hear me, sage. There is a king named Pratapbhanu. I am his minister. Wandering on the hunt I lost my way, and by great good fortune I have come and seen your feet. Your sight was hard for us to come by. I know some good is about to happen.” He gives his own name as another man’s and makes himself that man’s minister.
“Dear one,” the ascetic said, “it has grown dark. Your city is seventy yojanas away. The night is dreadful and the forest deep, and there is no road. Hear me, wise one. Knowing this, stay tonight, and go when it is morning.” Then Tulsi speaks in his own voice, as the commentary reads the line: as a man’s destiny is, so is the help he meets. Either it comes to him of itself, or it carries him to where it is.
A father’s honor, and the name of a beggar
“Very well, master,” the king said, and took the order on his head. He tied his horse to a tree and sat down. He praised the ascetic in many ways, bowed at his feet, and praised his own good fortune. Then he spoke again, in a soft and handsome voice. “Taking you as my father, lord, I make bold. Sage, knowing me as a son and a servant, tell me your name, master, and tell it at length.” A guest who has kept his own name back now asks for his host’s, and asks it as a son asks a father.
The king did not know him. He knew the king. The king was pure of heart, and he was clever in deceit. An enemy, and a kshatriya, and a king, he wanted to do his own work by deceit and by force. Remembering the pleasures of kingship, the enemy was in pain. His breast smoldered like the fire in a kiln, a potter’s kiln in the commentary’s reading, burning inside. And hearing the king’s guileless words with his ears, remembering his enmity, he rejoiced in his heart.
Steeping his speech in deceit, he spoke softly and with cunning. “Our name is beggar now, penniless and without a home.” Soft is the verse’s word for his voice at the seat, for the king’s voice when he asked, and for this answer. The name he gives tells what he has become. The country taken and the army left on the field stay behind the word beggar.
A recognition missed in thirst
Before the hunt the story gave Pratapbhanu’s dharma its full room: the statecraft learned every day from his minister, the people protected by the Vedic way. The gifts, every yajna a thousand times, and all of it offered to Vasudeva, its fruit unsought. Those lines stand first, and the mistake in the forest stands after them. The king the verse calls discerning does not know the man in front of him, in a line that calls him thirsty. In the chase anger sent him after the beast. In the hermitage, rested and given water, the same man praises, bows, and calls his host father.
With him is a man who, like a pauper, killed the anger in his heart, and whose heart, at the king’s guileless words, remembered its enmity and rejoiced. Both voices in that hermitage are soft. One man has made himself his own minister. The other has named himself a beggar, and the verse still calls him a king.
You know more than the king does: to whom his host once lost his country, and with what in his breast he is speaking. The bow, the order taken on the head, the name asked for: each plain act of the guest is offered to a man whose breast smolders like a kiln.
The story stops on the answer beggar. The king is seated in the hermitage, the horse is tied to a tree, and night has closed in. In his mind is the good fortune of a rare sight. In his host’s, the pleasures of kingship and an old enmity. The mistake made in thirst has settled, by nightfall, into the honor a son pays a father.
Source: the Gita Press edition of Tulsidas’s Ramcharitmanas, Balkand, doha 153 to 160, read with Hanuman Prasad Poddar’s Hindi commentary.