The Jewelled Arrow
# The Jewelled Arrow
*Adapted from Hindu Tales from the Sanskrit, translated by S. M. Mitra (1919)*
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In the ancient Indian city of Vardhamana lived a powerful king named Vira-Bhuja. Like many rulers of his time, he had several wives, each with sons of their own. Among all his queens, the king loved Guna-Vara most dearly, and of all his sons, her youngest child Sringa-Bhuja was his favorite.
Guna-Vara was not only beautiful but possessed rare virtues. Her patience was boundless—nothing could provoke her to anger. Her selflessness was complete—she always placed others’ needs before her own. Her wisdom was profound—she understood the feelings of others, however different they might be from herself.
Sringa-Bhuja inherited his mother’s beauty and selflessness. He was also remarkably strong and intelligent, unlike his half-brothers who were jealous of their father’s love for him. Though these brothers often quarreled among themselves, they would readily unite against Sringa-Bhuja, constantly plotting to harm him.
The situation was similar among the king’s wives. They resented Guna-Vara because their husband loved her more than them, and they frequently approached the king with fabricated stories about her misdeeds. The most vindictive was Queen Ayasolekha, who was cunning enough to know what kind of tales would seem plausible to the king.
Ironically, Vira-Bhuja’s deep love for Guna-Vara made him vulnerable to doubts about her affection. He began to wonder if perhaps she didn’t return his love as fully as he gave it, and he longed to discover the truth. To test her loyalty, he devised a plan.
One day, he visited Guna-Vara’s private chambers and dismissed all her attendants. With a grave expression, he told her he had received troubling news from his chief astrologer. In those days, astrologers were believed to read the secrets of the stars and reveal hidden truths, so Guna-Vara had no reason to doubt what her husband was about to say. She listened anxiously, her heart racing with fear that some misfortune might befall those she loved.
To her shock and dismay, Vira-Bhuja claimed the astrologer had warned that a terrible calamity threatened both him and his kingdom. The only way to prevent this disaster, he said, was to imprison Guna-Vara for the rest of her life.
The queen could hardly believe what she was hearing. She knew she had done no wrong and couldn’t understand how her imprisonment could possibly help anyone. She was certain of her husband’s love, and the thought of being separated from him and her beloved son caused her immense pain. Yet she offered no resistance, not even asking to see Sringa-Bhuja one last time.
She simply bowed her head and said, “Be it unto me as my Lord wills. If he wishes my death, I am ready to lay down my life.”
Her quiet submission only deepened the king’s inner conflict. He longed to embrace her and confess his deception. Perhaps if she had looked at him then, he might have seen the love in her eyes and abandoned his cruel test. But she remained still with bowed head, awaiting her fate. And in that moment of doubt, the king thought to himself, “She is afraid to look at me. What Ayasolekha said must be true.”
So Vira-Bhuja summoned his guards and ordered them to take his wife to a secure prison. She went without resistance, turning only once to cast a loving glance at her husband as she was led away.
After returning to his palace, the king soon received a message from Ayasolekha requesting an urgent meeting, claiming she had information of great importance. He agreed immediately, hoping perhaps she had discovered her previous accusations against Guna-Vara were false.
Instead, the wicked queen told him she had uncovered a plot against his life. She claimed that Sringa-Bhuja and some nobles had conspired to kill him so that the young prince could take the throne. She and other wives had supposedly overheard conversations about this plot and feared for the king’s safety.
Vira-Bhuja could not believe this story, for he trusted his son as much as he loved him. He dismissed Ayasolekha, forbidding her to enter his presence again. Yet the accusation troubled him, and he ordered Sringa-Bhuja to be watched carefully.
When nothing suspicious was discovered, the king began to feel more at ease. He even considered visiting Guna-Vara in prison to ask for her confidence. But then something happened that rekindled his suspicions about his beloved son.
The king possessed a remarkable arrow, set with precious jewels, given to him by a magician. This arrow had the power to hit any target without fail, no matter the distance. On the very day he had planned to visit his imprisoned wife, he discovered this arrow missing from its hiding place.
Distressed by its disappearance, he summoned all palace servants and asked if anyone knew of its whereabouts. He promised forgiveness to whoever helped recover it, even if that person was the thief. However, he also threatened that if the arrow wasn’t found within three days, all servants would be beaten until the culprit confessed.
Unknown to the king, it was Ayasolekha who had stolen the arrow. She had taken it to her private chambers and summoned all the princes—her own sons and those of the other wives—who shared their hatred of Sringa-Bhuja.
“You know,” she told them, “how much your father loves Sringa-Bhuja more than any of you, and that when he dies, he will leave the kingdom and all his wealth to him. I will help you prevent this by getting rid of your brother.
“You must organize a grand archery contest, which Sringa-Bhuja will eagerly join, as he takes great pride in his skill with bow and arrow. On the day of the competition, I will summon him and give him your father’s jeweled arrow, claiming the king said I could lend it to him. Your father will then believe he stole it and order his execution.”
The brothers, delighted with this scheme, followed Ayasolekha’s instructions exactly. When the day arrived, large crowds gathered to watch the competition, with the king and his court observing from the palace walls.
The brothers, beginning with the eldest, all pretended to aim at the target, though none truly wished to succeed. They believed that when Sringa-Bhuja’s turn came, as the youngest son, he would win using the jeweled arrow. Then the king would summon him and condemn him to death or life imprisonment.
But as often happens, something unexpected disrupted their carefully laid plan. Just as Sringa-Bhuja prepared to shoot, a large crane flew between him and the target, making it impossible to aim properly. The brothers, seeing the bird and eager to shoot it themselves, demanded another chance. No one objected, and Sringa-Bhuja stepped aside with the jeweled arrow nocked in his bow, waiting to see what would happen but confident he would be the one to bring down the bird.
After each brother failed to hit the crane, a traveling mendicant stepped forward and called out, “That is no bird, but an evil magician who has taken that form to deceive you all. If he is not killed before resuming his true form, he will bring misery and ruin upon this town and the surrounding country.”
In India, mendicants or beggars were often considered holy men whose advice even kings respected. When everyone heard the beggar’s warning, panic spread through the crowd, for many stories told of the disasters that evil magicians had brought upon other cities.
The brothers all wanted another attempt, but the beggar stopped them, saying, “No, no. Where is your youngest brother Sringa-Bhuja? He alone can save your homes, your wives, and your children from destruction.”
Sringa-Bhuja stepped forward, and as sunlight flashed upon the jewels in the stolen arrow—revealing to the watching king that it was his beloved son who had taken it—the young prince released the arrow. It struck but did not kill the crane, which flew away with the arrow lodged in its breast, blood dripping from the wound as its flight grew gradually slower.
Seeing the bird escaping with his precious jeweled arrow, the king was filled with rage. He sent orders for Sringa-Bhuja to be brought before him immediately. But before the messengers could reach him, the prince had already set off in pursuit of the bird, following the trail of blood droplets on the ground.
As Sringa-Bhuja raced after the crane, the beggar made strange signs in the air with his staff, causing such clouds of dust to rise that no one could see which direction the young prince had taken.
The brothers and Ayasolekha were dismayed by this turn of events, fearing the king’s anger would now fall upon them since Sringa-Bhuja had disappeared. Vira-Bhuja did summon them and questioned them extensively, but they kept secret how Sringa-Bhuja had obtained the arrow, promising only to help recover it.
Again the king considered visiting the mother of his beloved youngest son, but something held him back, and poor Guna-Vara remained alone, with only the jailer who brought her daily food ever coming near her. After exhausting all efforts to find Sringa-Bhuja, the king began showing special favor to another son. As months passed, it seemed both the young prince and the jeweled arrow had been forgotten.
Meanwhile, Sringa-Bhuja followed the blood trail until he reached the edge of a magnificent forest. Several well-worn paths led through the trees toward an impressive city with towers and spires reaching skyward. He sat down to rest beneath a spreading tree, gazing at the distant city, when he sensed he was no longer alone.
Coming slowly along one of the paths was a beautiful young woman singing softly to herself. Her eyes resembled those of a young doe, and her perfect features reminded Sringa-Bhuja of his mother, whom he feared he might never see again.
When she came near, he startled her by asking, “Can you tell me the name of this city?”
“Of course,” she replied. “I live there. It is called Dhuma-Pura, and it belongs to my father, a powerful magician named Agni-Sikha who has no love for strangers. Now tell me who you are and where you come from.”
Sringa-Bhuja told the maiden, whose name was Rupa-Sikha, his entire story—why he had left home and how he was tracking the wounded bird to recover his father’s jeweled arrow. As he described shooting the crane, Rupa-Sikha began to tremble.
“Alas,” she said, “the bird you shot was my father, who can take any form he chooses. He returned home only yesterday, and I removed the arrow from his wound myself. He gave me the jeweled arrow to keep, and I will never part with it. As for you, you must leave immediately, for my father never forgives, and he is so powerful that you would have no chance of escape if he discovered you here.”
Hearing this, Sringa-Bhuja grew despondent, not from fear of Agni-Sikha, but because he realized he had already fallen in love with the beautiful maiden before him and was determined to make her his wife. She too felt drawn to him and disliked the thought of his departure.
Moreover, she had much to fear from her father, who was as cruel as he was powerful and had already caused the death of many suitors who had sought to marry her. She had never cared for any of them and had been content to live unmarried, spending her days wandering near her home and earning the affection of all who knew her—even the wild creatures of the forest, none of which would ever harm her. Often she had intervened between her father’s wrath and those he wished to hurt, for despite his wickedness, he loved her and wanted her happiness.
Rupa-Sikha quickly decided what to do. “I will return your golden arrow,” she told the prince, “and you must leave our country immediately, before my father discovers you.”
“No, a thousand times no!” cried the prince. “Now that I have seen you, I can never leave you. Can you not learn to love me and become my wife?” He fell at her feet, looking up at her with such love that she could not resist. She bent toward him, and they embraced, momentarily forgetting all dangers that threatened them.
Rupa-Sikha was first to remember her father. Drawing away from her lover, she said, “Listen carefully, and I will tell you what we must do. My father is indeed a magician, but I am his daughter and have inherited some of his powers. If you promise to do exactly as I instruct, I believe I can save you and perhaps even become your wife.
“I am the youngest of a large family and my father’s favorite. I will tell him that a great prince, hearing of his remarkable gifts, has come to our land seeking an audience with him. Then I will say that I have seen you, fallen in love with you, and wish to marry you. He will be flattered that his fame has spread so far and will want to meet you, even if he refuses to let me be your wife. I will lead you to him, and you must pretend you have never seen me before. Whatever happens, show no fear and do exactly as I tell you.”
Sringa-Bhuja promised to follow her instructions precisely. With a final loving glance, Rupa-Sikha hurried away, leaving the prince to wait anxiously for her return.
What followed was a series of trials and challenges set by the magician to test the young prince. Through courage, cleverness, and the secret help of Rupa-Sikha, Sringa-Bhuja overcame each obstacle. Eventually, he won both the magician’s grudging respect and permission to marry Rupa-Sikha.
After their wedding, Sringa-Bhuja and his bride returned to his father’s kingdom, where they revealed the truth about the stolen arrow and the plot against the prince. King Vira-Bhuja, overjoyed at his son’s return, released Guna-Vara from prison and banished the wicked Ayasolekha. The family was reunited, and Sringa-Bhuja eventually succeeded his father as a wise and just ruler, with Rupa-Sikha as his beloved queen.
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*This ancient tale reminds us that love and truth will ultimately prevail over jealousy and deception. Through Sringa-Bhuja’s journey, we see how courage and perseverance in the face of adversity can lead to unexpected rewards. The story also warns against the dangers of doubt and suspicion, showing how even the strongest bonds—like those between King Vira-Bhuja and his wife and son—can be damaged by listening to malicious gossip rather than trusting one’s heart.*
