To divert ourselves with an Indic story that has an unusual moral point, let me retell a Thai favourite. It is found in the Suthon Jataka that comes from a bigger collection called the Pannasa Jataka. Its heroine, Manohra (meaning ‘heart-conqueror’ in Sanskrit) was a kinnari or demi-god princess. She looked exquisitely human in form but owned light, detachable wings with which she and her similarly-equipped kinnari friends flew about their celestial home.
Manohra, like all celestial maidens, was irresistibly drawn to the beautiful lakes and lotus ponds of earth. Their clear, cool waters were a physical joy that no celestial being could resist.
One sun-dappled morning, Manohra longed for a refreshing dip and flew off to Earth alone. But when she stepped out humming from a pond and put on her wings again, a rug of tiger skin was suddenly thrown over her, a rope quickly tied around it, and she felt herself seized and borne off at great speed through the air.
On and on they flew, and after a long time, descended to earth. Manohra heard a muffled exchange of talk before she was unwrapped. She found herself standing on the terrace of a great palace. A lithe, handsome young man looked at her in wonder and so did an older man and woman, all evidently noble. Manohra was not the kind to weep and wail nor beg for mercy. Instead, she cast one scornful look at her burly kidnapper, who wore the ochre robes of a hermit, and saluted the nobles with a mannerly namaste. “I’m sure you’ll tell me what this is about, good people,” she said in her low, musical voice.
The older man and woman exchanged a fleeting glance and the man stepped forward with a charming, rueful smile. “Welcome to my kingdom, Princess Manohra. I am King Adityavan and this is Queen Shanta Devi. This young man is our son, Prince Suthon. We asked our friend, the honourable hermit here, to seek and find an ideal bride for our son and he chose you, taking you away the moment he had the opportunity, which, as you know, is permitted as a bride-seeking practice. He observed you secretly for many days before that and praises you highly. We trust his opinion. Will you not honour my son with your hand in marriage, now that you have been brought to us?”
The queen smiled welcomingly and looked faintly anxious. The young man stared dumbstruck at Manohra and had to be gently touched on the shoulder by his mother to recollect himself. Manohra was a realist. She thought sorrowfully of her parents and their grief when they found her missing but knew that she was incapable just then of finding her way home. She surveyed the prince through her eyelashes. ‘Suthon’ meant ‘good arrow’ and he looked properly princely and warrior-like. She inclined her head.
Manohra and Suthon were married that very day and many months of perfect happiness followed, although not everyone was pleased by it. The old court-counsellor brooded darkly on the slight to his own daughter, whom he had indirectly advocated for months as the ideal bride for the prince, contriving to put her in the prince’s way through many galas and picnics. That, in fact, was why he had not succeeded. The prince had had suitable girls thrown at his head like cabbages and cauliflowers since he was barely in his teens. But the old court-counsellor lacked a clinical eye in the matter and only saw his ambition frustrated. “We’ll see, my fine lady,” he muttered as he smiled and bowed to the wedded pair.
One day, news arrived of a band of marauders attacking the border and Prince Suthon had to go to deal with it. He told his best friend, a junior minister at court, to keep a watchful eye on Manohra and promised to make him court-counsellor when he returned. But the old court-counsellor, who had the knack of eavesdropping, overheard him and began to plot doom. His chance arrived when King Adityavan, worrying about his son, had a bad dream one night and wanted it explained the next morning in court. The old counsellor pretended to hem and haw and told him with feigned reluctance that it portended terrible things for the country because of the stranger in their midst. However, sacrificing the bird-woman would avert all that. A fearful whisper promptly rustled through the court.
The king shot the counsellor a sharp look and said he would consider it. Back in the royal chambers, the king consulted the queen. The queen sent at once for Manohra and explained that it was best that she disappeared for a while. Sending her away to safety would free the king to checkmate the counsellor who had made it look fearsome in the public eye as a national crisis.
Flying in the face of all known classical tenets and traditions, King Adityavan and Queen Shanta Devi drew their daughter-in-law a little map, helped her fasten her wings, and got her to fly off from the royal terrace, back to her father, promising to send the prince after her when he came back.
Sure enough, the prince came back and took himself off to Himavan and sent a message to his lost lady through a maid. Manohra did not want Prince Suthon to appear before her parents travel-stained, and smuggled out nice clothes for him to meet her father in. After passing a triple-test of strength and skill to make the marriage legal from Manohra’s father’s point of view, Prince Suthon took Manohra back home and lived happily ever after. King Adityavan and Queen Shanta Devi attained immortality across the East for choosing to save their daughter-in-law instead of sacrificing her as they could have done so easily, had they succumbed to superstitious instinct. No one can tell precisely what became of the conniving court-counsellor but it’s agreed that he was most probably fed to a tiger.
(shebaba09@gmail.com)
Renuka Narayanan