Royalty has been on show all week in the UK, and the ceremonies very visibly upheld the continuity of the British monarchy. It took me back to an amusing Jataka about the education of princes. Teaching good sense and responsibility is a favourite theme in old Indian stories, which probably explains why they are still around.
The tale goes that King Brahmadatta of Kashi was fed up with his four sons, each one of whom seemed more doltish than the other. They were getting on into their teens, almost men by Indian reckoning. But they still fought like babies and paid no attention to their teachers. Nor did they seem aware of their impending duties as princes of the realm—although they were fully acquainted with each and every one of their many rights. Their father wanted to teach them some common sense and jolt them out of their stupidity. To this end, he conspired with the ‘Bodhisattva’, born this time as the king’s trusty charioteer. ‘Bodhisattva’ means the Buddha in his previous births.
The Bodhisattva noticed a tesu tree at some distance from the palace and made his plans accordingly. The tesu is also called dhak and palash (and Butea monosperma, in case of surpassing interest). Its common English name is ‘flame of the forest’. Its brilliant orange flowers are used even today to make a coloured dye to smear on everyone at Holi. The tree also has its uses in traditional medicine, especially the bark, which is said to treat as many as fifteen bodily disorders, from eye trouble and nasal bleeding to stomach upsets and joint pain.
Its Sanskrit name is ‘kimshuka’ and it is mentioned in both the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. In the Ramayana, the bleeding wounds left by Indrajit’s magic arrows are compared to kimshuka flowers. This name is said to be derived from the Sanskrit phrase kimchitshukaiva or ‘somewhat like a parrot’ because the flowers look like the parrot’s red curved beak. It is the state flower of Jharkhand and is a sacred tree in both Hinduism and Buddhism. Moreover, this tree has the most curious link with British rule.
The Battle of Plassey in 1757 established colonial power in India. ‘Plassey’ comes from ‘palashi’ meaning the palash or tesu tree. I happen to have been to the site just a year ago, and it’s such a peaceful, rural stretch that it’s hard to imagine that such a decisive battle took place there. To get back to the Bodhisattva, though, the four foolish princes were first told all kinds of fanciful tales about the tesu. They were then nudged by the king to ask the Bodhisattva to show them one.
The Bodhisattva took the oldest prince to see the tesu when it had just put forth leaves of tender green. He took the second prince to see it when it was beginning to bud. He took the third prince to see it in its full, flowering glory, while the fourth prince got to see it when the flowering was done and only brown pods remained.
The princes were given over so wholly to pleasure and had so little interest or curiosity in anything beyond their daily gratification that they never thought to discuss these little field trips or compare notes.
The king had counted on this, and when all four were done with tesu sightings, he set them up for fine and thorough public disgrace. He commanded their presence at an event in court on the pretext that they were getting to be big boys and needed to take an interest in their public duties. Having dressed up and marched in proudly, the princes were arranged on small golden seats around the king, where all the assembled praja could see them.
There was a good representation of subjects. All the nobility was there, of course, and the nagarseths or big merchants of immense wealth; and by special invitation, so were the heads of every trade, craft and professional guild alongside five guild members each, as were hoi polloi of every kind at the back. Even the most famous and beautiful nagarvadhus or public women had taken their place, determined not to miss whatever was going on, for word had mysteriously spread in Kashi that the four silly princes, a blot on their fair and blessed city, were going to be made a spectacle of by their desperate father.
Looking at the foolish, trusting faces of his stupid sons, King Brahmadatta suffered a tiny fatherly pang for what he was about to do, but knew very well that his duty as king came first. After the customary opening formalities of a court (the oboes blew slightly off-key in excitement, but only the nagarvadhus noticed), the king introduced his sons to the praja and got down to the unpleasant task at hand.
“To assure the public of your worthiness, demonstrate your powers of observation. Tell them, for instance, what a tesu tree looks like,” he said invitingly.
“It has tiny leaves,” said the eldest confidently.
“Oh no, it is covered in small buds,” said the second prince.
“Both of you are mistaken. It is covered in bright orange flowers,” said the third prince.
“What are you talking about? It’s a bare tree with only pods,” said the fourth prince.
They fell to arguing loudly until called to order by the king. The scandalised praja booed them soundly for their unbecoming and utterly dangerous silliness, and the four thoroughly abashed princes were told sternly to always get the whole picture and to see a situation from all angles. We don’t know if they improved after that, but since their story is in a Jataka, we must not only let them have the benefit of the doubt but also ask ourselves if we, too, can benefit from this ancient tale.
I, for one, can never look at a tesu tree again without recalling this Jataka and its denouement.
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