The Soothsayer’s Son: A Tale of Fate and Fortune

Adapted from Tales of India: Folktales from Bengal, Punjab, and Tamil Nadu

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The Prophecy

On his deathbed, a renowned Soothsayer wrote out the horoscope of his second son and bequeathed it to him as his only inheritance, leaving all his worldly possessions to his eldest son. The second son, Gaṅgâdhara, carefully studied the horoscope and found himself troubled by what was written there.

“Alas, is this to be my destiny?” he wondered. “My father’s predictions never failed during his lifetime. How could they fail now? And what a fate he has foreseen for me!”

The horoscope contained four predictions:
– Janma prabhṛiti dâridryam: From birth, poverty
– Daśa varshâṇi bandhanam: For ten years, imprisonment
– Samudratîrê maraṇam: Death on the seashore
– Kiñchit bhôga bhavishyati: Some happiness afterward

Gaṅgâdhara pondered the strange sequence of events. “The first three predictions are clear enough, but what could the fourth mean? How can I experience happiness after death? That seems impossible. Perhaps my father added this final prediction merely as consolation, knowing it could never come true.”

After completing his father’s funeral rites, Gaṅgâdhara bid farewell to his elder brother and set out for Bânâras. “I will bathe in the holy Gaṅgâ, cleanse my sins, and prepare for whatever fate awaits me,” he decided. “I must avoid coastal regions, lest death find me there as my father predicted. As for imprisonment, I am prepared to endure it for ten years.”

The Desert Journey

Gaṅgâdhara traveled through central India, carefully avoiding both coasts. After weeks of journeying, he reached the Vindhya mountains. His path led him across a barren desert where no signs of life or vegetation could be seen for days.

Soon his provisions were exhausted, and his water container—which he had always kept filled from streams and ponds—was empty. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, and his throat burned with thirst. Everywhere he looked, he saw only endless sand.

Yet a thought sustained him: “My father’s prophecy stated I would die by the sea. Therefore, I must survive this desert.” This belief gave him strength to continue searching for water.

Finally, he spotted a ruined well. Hoping to collect some water, he lowered his container using the string he carried tied to its neck. The vessel descended some distance, then stopped. To his astonishment, a voice called up from the depths:

“Please help me! I am the king of tigers, and I’ve been trapped here for three days without food. Fortune has sent you to me. If you save me now, I will be your faithful ally for life. Do not fear me—I would never harm my rescuer.”

The Well’s Inhabitants

Gaṅgâdhara hesitated. “Should I help him? What if he devours me the moment he’s free? No, that cannot happen. My father’s prophecy stated I would die by the sea, not in a tiger’s jaws.”

Deciding to trust in fate, he instructed the tiger to hold tightly to the vessel. Slowly, he pulled the great beast up. True to his word, the tiger did Gaṅgâdhara no harm. Instead, he circled his rescuer three times in gratitude and spoke:

“My benefactor, I shall never forget this day when you restored my life. I pledge to stand by you in all difficulties. Whenever you face trouble, simply think of me, and I will come to your aid.”

The tiger then explained how he had chased a goldsmith who had jumped into the well to escape. “The goldsmith remains alive on the fourth and lowest level. I fell only to the first level. On the second level lives a half-starved serpent, and on the third, an equally hungry rat. They may ask for your help, but whatever you do, never assist the goldsmith. Goldsmiths are inherently untrustworthy—you can place more faith in me, a tiger who sometimes eats humans, or in a venomous serpent, or even a destructive rat, than in any goldsmith.”

With this warning, the tiger departed, leaving Gaṅgâdhara still desperately thirsty. He lowered his vessel again, and this time the serpent caught hold of it.

“O my protector!” called the serpent. “Lift me up! I am the king of serpents, son of Âdiśêsha, who suffers greatly from my absence. Save me, and I shall remain forever in your debt, ready to help you throughout your life.”

Remembering his father’s prophecy about dying by the sea, Gaṅgâdhara pulled up the serpent. Like the tiger, the serpent circled him three times in gratitude before speaking:

“My life-giver, as I told you, I am the son of Âdiśêsha and king of serpents. Three days ago, I was basking in the morning sun when I saw a rat. I chased it into this well but fell onto the second level while the rat landed on the third. That same evening, the goldsmith fell to the fourth level, and the tiger to the first. I implore you—release the rat if you wish, but never the goldsmith. Goldsmiths cannot be trusted. Should you disregard my advice and free him, you will suffer greatly.”

The serpent then slithered away, leaving Gaṅgâdhara still parched with thirst. He lowered his vessel a third time, and the rat grabbed hold. Without hesitation, Gaṅgâdhara pulled the small creature up.

The rat, too, expressed its gratitude: “O giver of life, I am the king of rats. Call upon me whenever you face difficulty, and I shall come to your aid. I overheard the tiger and serpent warning you about the goldsmith on the fourth level. They spoke truly—goldsmiths are never to be trusted. Do not help him as you have helped us, or you will regret it.”

A Fateful Decision

After the rat departed, Gaṅgâdhara considered the repeated warnings about the goldsmith. “What harm could there be in helping him? Why shouldn’t I rescue him too?” Despite the warnings, he lowered his vessel once more.

The goldsmith seized it and called for help. Gaṅgâdhara, now desperate with thirst, pulled him up. After finally quenching his own thirst, he listened to the goldsmith’s story.

“My dear friend and savior,” said the goldsmith, “what nonsense those creatures spoke about me! I’m grateful you ignored their advice. I am Mâṇikkâśâri, and I live on East Main Street in Ujjaini, about twenty kôs south of here. When you return from Bânâras, please visit me so I may properly thank you for saving my life.”

With that, the goldsmith departed, and Gaṅgâdhara continued his journey northward to Bânâras.

Years of Devotion

In Bânâras, Gaṅgâdhara devoted himself to religious life for more than ten years. He spent his days bathing in the sacred river, praying, and performing ceremonies. The tiger, serpent, rat, and goldsmith faded from his memory.

Eventually, thoughts of home and his brother stirred in his mind. “I have earned enough spiritual merit through my devotions,” he thought. “It’s time to return home.”

Remembering his father’s prophecy, he retraced his original route. When he reached the ruined well where he had rescued the four beings, memories flooded back. Curious about the tiger’s loyalty, he thought of him.

In moments, the tiger appeared, carrying a magnificent crown in his mouth. The diamonds adorning it glittered so brilliantly they momentarily outshone the sun. The tiger placed the crown at Gaṅgâdhara’s feet and humbled himself like a house cat.

“My life-giver,” said the tiger, “how could you forget your servant for so long? I still remember the day you saved me. I have brought you this crown, the most valuable of my possessions, as a token of my gratitude. It will serve you well in your homeland.”

Gaṅgâdhara examined the crown, counting and recounting its gems. He realized that by separating the diamonds and gold, he could become immensely wealthy. After the tiger departed, he summoned the serpent and rat kings, who also arrived with gifts and renewed their pledges of loyalty.

The Goldsmith’s Betrayal

As Gaṅgâdhara continued southward, he reflected on his good fortune. “If these animals have been so faithful, surely Mâṇikkâśâri will be even more so. This crown is bulky and might attract thieves. I’ll visit Ujjaini and ask the goldsmith to separate the gold and diamonds for me. Then I can hide them in my clothing for the journey home.”

Upon reaching Ujjaini, he easily found Mâṇikkâśâri’s house. The goldsmith appeared delighted to see the man who had saved him ten years earlier, despite the warnings of the three animals. Gaṅgâdhara showed him the crown from the tiger-king and requested his help in separating the gold and gems.

Mâṇikkâśâri agreed and suggested that Gaṅgâdhara rest, bathe, and eat while he worked. Being devout, Gaṅgâdhara went directly to the river to perform his ablutions.

The crown had come from the tiger in an unusual way. A week earlier, the king of Ujjaini had gone hunting with his retinue. Suddenly, a tiger—the very tiger-king Gaṅgâdhara had rescued—had emerged from the forest, seized the king, and vanished. The hunters, too cowardly to intervene, returned to inform the prince of his father’s fate.

The prince, refusing to believe a tiger had killed his father, suspected the hunters had murdered the king for his valuable ornaments. He offered half his kingdom to anyone who could identify his father’s killer.

The goldsmith, having heard Gaṅgâdhara’s story about the crown, realized it must have belonged to the king. Ambition overcame gratitude, and he decided to betray his benefactor. While Gaṅgâdhara was bathing, Mâṇikkâśâri took the crown to the prince, claiming he had found the king’s murderer.

The prince immediately sent guards with the goldsmith to arrest the supposed killer. When Gaṅgâdhara returned from his bath, he was shocked to find himself bound and dragged before the prince, who, without investigation, ordered him imprisoned for life.

Thus was fulfilled the second part of the prophecy: Daśa varshâṇi bandhanam—ten years of imprisonment.

Justice and Redemption

For a decade, Gaṅgâdhara languished in prison, given meager portions of poor food. He grew thin and weak, yet he clung to hope, remembering the final part of his father’s prophecy: Kiñchit bhôga bhavishyati—some happiness afterward.

After ten years, the prince, now king, visited the prison. Seeing Gaṅgâdhara’s pitiful condition, his heart softened. He ordered the prisoner released and brought before him.

When asked about the crown, Gaṅgâdhara related his entire story—from his father’s prophecy to his rescue of the animals and the goldsmith, and how he received the crown from the grateful tiger-king. The king believed his account and summoned the goldsmith, who confessed his treachery and was sentenced to death.

Recognizing Gaṅgâdhara’s noble character, the king appointed him prime minister and granted him half the kingdom. Thus was fulfilled the prophecy’s promise of eventual happiness.

But what of the third prediction—Samudratîrê maraṇam, death by the seashore? One day, Gaṅgâdhara accompanied the king on a pleasure trip to the coast. As they walked along the beach, a massive wave swept Gaṅgâdhara into the sea. Despite the king’s frantic efforts to save him, he was lost to the depths, fulfilling the prophecy of death by the sea.

The king, grieving deeply for his prime minister, ordered a search for the body. When it was recovered, he commanded a royal funeral pyre be built. As the flames began to consume Gaṅgâdhara’s remains, a remarkable event occurred—a celestial chariot descended from the heavens, and a divine being emerged. The figure entered the burning pyre, causing the flames to subside, and Gaṅgâdhara emerged alive and radiant.

The divine being addressed the astonished king: “This Gaṅgâdhara is a great soul who has endured much suffering. He has now attained salvation and will dwell with me in heaven eternally. Do not mourn him.”

With these words, the divine being took Gaṅgâdhara into the celestial chariot and ascended to the heavens. In this unexpected way, the final part of the prophecy was fulfilled—Gaṅgâdhara indeed found happiness, though in a manner he could never have imagined.

This tale reminds us that destiny works in mysterious ways, and that even the most precise prophecies may be fulfilled in unexpected forms. It also teaches that kindness, even to those who may seem dangerous, often returns to us when we need it most.