The Brahmarâkshasa: A Tale of Music and Cunning
The Brahmarâkshasa: A Tale of Music and Cunning
Adapted from Tales of India: Folktales from Bengal, Punjab, and Tamil Nadu
The Musician’s Journey
In the region of Śeṅgalinîrppaṭṭu, known as “the land of the blue lily” (now called Chingleput), there once lived a Brahmin named Gâṇapriya, which means “lover of music.” He was well-versed in all the sacred texts, but his true passion and talent lay in music, where he had achieved remarkable proficiency.
Despite his knowledge and skills, Gâṇapriya struggled with poverty. With a large family depending on him, he made the difficult decision to leave home and seek his fortune in distant lands. After traveling for several months, he found himself in a dense forest where a massive pîpal tree stood majestically among the wilderness.
As he passed beneath its sprawling branches, a voice called down to him from above: “Stop, Brahmin, stop! Why such haste? Rest awhile under this tree before continuing your journey.”
Startled, Gâṇapriya looked up to see a Brahmarâkshasa—the ghost of a Brahmin—perched on one of the branches. Though initially frightened, he gathered his courage and responded, “Who are you that addresses me so, and what do you want with me?”
The Ghost’s Dilemma
“I am a Brahmarâkshasa,” the ghost explained. “I have dwelled in this tree for many years. In my previous life, I was a learned Brahmin like yourself, but I was terribly greedy and never shared my knowledge with others. For this sin, after death, I was transformed into a Brahmarâkshasa, condemned to haunt this tree.”
The ghost continued, his voice growing more distressed. “The great god Paramêśvara was so displeased with my selfishness that he punished me with this fate, and his anger seems undiminished even now. About a quarter of a ghaṭikâ’s walk from here stands a ruined temple where worship is conducted in the most careless manner. During the ceremonies, a piper plays the nâgasvara so dreadfully that listening to his awkward music has become unbearable torture! I’ve grown thin from the agony of hearing that incompetent musician day after day.”
The ghost’s voice took on a pleading tone. “My only hope for relief is if a Brahmin helps me escape this tree. You’re the first Brahmin I’ve encountered in this wilderness, and if I remain here much longer, that awful music will surely be the death of me! Please take pity on me—move me to a tree five or six ghaṭikâs away from here, beyond the reach of that horrible piper. In return, ask any boon of me, and I shall grant it.”
A Bargain Struck
Gâṇapriya could hear the weakness in the ghost’s voice and recognized a potential opportunity. “I am an extremely poor Brahmin,” he replied. “If you promise to improve my circumstances and make me wealthy, I will relocate you far enough away that the sound of that cracked nâgasvara will never reach your ears again.”
The Brahmarâkshasa considered this proposal for a few moments before responding: “Holy Brahmin, every person must experience what Brahmâ has inscribed on their forehead in this life. Fate has decreed five more years of poverty for you. After that time passes, I shall possess the Princess of Maisûr, and no incantation from even the most learned magicians will drive me out—until you appear before the king of Maisûr and offer to cure her.”
The ghost outlined his plan: “The king will promise you generous rewards. Begin your treatment, and I will leave her body. The grateful king will grant you many boons that will bring you prosperity. But heed this warning—never afterward visit any place where I may be. I might possess other princesses in the future, but if you come to cure them, I will strike you dead instantly. Remember this!”
Gâṇapriya agreed to these conditions and carried the Brahmarâkshasa to another pîpal tree seven ghaṭikâs away from its former home. The ghost, comfortable in its new dwelling, allowed the Brahmin to continue his journey northward to Bânâras, which he reached after six months of travel.
Years of Waiting
For five years, Gâṇapriya lived at the Hanumanta Ghaṭa in Bânâras, performing daily ablutions to cleanse himself of sins. When this period ended, he remembered the Brahmarâkshasa’s promise and journeyed southward. After five months of travel, he arrived in Maisûr, where he found lodging with an elderly woman and inquired about local news.
“My son,” the woman told him, “the princess of this country, the king’s only daughter, has been possessed by a terrible spirit for the past five months. All the exorcists from across Jambûdvîpa have attempted to cure her, but none have succeeded. Whoever manages to heal her will receive a vast fortune.”
Gâṇapriya secretly rejoiced at this news, pleased that the Brahmarâkshasa had kept its promise. After bathing and taking a hasty meal, he presented himself at the royal court that very day. The king promised him several villages and elephant-loads of gold coins if he could cure the princess.
With these assurances, Gâṇapriya began his pretended exorcisms. On the third day, he requested that everyone leave the room where the possessed princess sat. Alone with her, he explained to the Brahmarâkshasa that he was the same Brahmin who had helped it in the forest five years earlier.
The ghost, delighted to encounter its old friend, wished him prosperity and reminded him never to interfere with any of its future possessions. Then it departed from the princess, who immediately returned to her normal self. True to his word, the king rewarded Gâṇapriya with wealth and lands, allowing him to settle comfortably in Maisûr.
The Master Magician
Having earned a reputation as an exorcist, Gâṇapriya secretly studied the art of magic until he mastered it. His fame spread throughout the country as a skilled magician, and he became a favorite of the Maisûr king. He married a beautiful Brahmin woman who bore him three children, and ten years passed in contentment and prosperity.
Meanwhile, the Brahmarâkshasa, after wandering to various places, eventually traveled to Tiruvanandapuram (Trivandrum) and possessed the Princess of Travancore. Many renowned magicians attempted to drive it out, but all failed. Eventually, rumors about the master-magician of Maisûr reached the ears of the Travancore king, who immediately wrote to the Mahârâja of Maisûr. The Mahârâja showed the letter to Gâṇapriya.
A Deadly Dilemma
The invitation struck Gâṇapriya like a death sentence. If he refused to go, he would lose both his reputation and the king’s favor; if he went, the Brahmarâkshasa would surely take his life. After careful consideration, he chose the latter option. He wrote his will, leaving his estate to his children and entrusting them to reliable guardians. Then he departed from Maisûr for Tiruvanandapuram, a journey that took a month.
Though the king had arranged for his comfort during the journey, Gâṇapriya’s heart pounded with anxiety. Upon reaching Tiruvanandapuram, he tried to postpone the exorcism with various excuses, but the king was determined to test his abilities. With no hope remaining, Gâṇapriya resigned himself to his fate and undertook the princess’s cure.
For several days, he went through the motions of performing incantations, thinking, “What’s the use of prolonging my suffering when death is inevitable? Better to face it quickly.” With this resolve, he entered the chamber where the possessed princess sat.
A Clever Solution
Just as he crossed the threshold, a brilliant idea flashed in his mind. With newfound confidence, he boldly announced: “Will you abandon her now, Brahmarâkshasa, or shall I immediately bring in the piper from the ruined temple near the wood, who is waiting outside?”
The mere mention of the incompetent musician sent the Brahmarâkshasa into a panic. It dropped the long pole it had intended to use to strike Gâṇapriya dead and fell at his feet, pleading: “Brother Brahmin, I will leave at once and never look back if you promise never to bring that dreadful piper near me again!”
“Agreed,” said Gâṇapriya, and the Brahmarâkshasa vanished instantly.
The princess was restored to health, and Gâṇapriya received magnificent rewards for his success. His reputation doubled, and he became renowned throughout the world as a master-magician—all because he remembered the ghost’s one weakness and used it to his advantage when his life hung in the balance.
This tale reminds us that knowledge is power, and that even the most fearsome adversaries have vulnerabilities that can be exploited by the clever and observant. It also teaches that sharing knowledge freely brings blessings, while hoarding it leads to suffering—a lesson embodied in the fate of the selfish Brahmin who became the Brahmarâkshasa.
Notes:
1. Śeṅgalinîrppaṭṭu means “the land of the blue lily,” now known as Chingleput.
2. Gâṇapriya means “lover of music.”
3. In Hindu tradition, especially among Brahmins, it is believed that those who do not freely share their knowledge with others may be reborn in the next life as a type of demon called a Brahmarâkshasa.
