King Vikramaditya went once more into the dark cremation ground and came to the Shishapa tree. From one of its branches hung the corpse in which Vethala dwelt. The king climbed the tree and brought the corpse down. He placed it upon his shoulder and began his journey in silence.

Seeing his determination, Vethala spoke from the corpse. “O King, you are resolute, and this road is long. I shall tell you a story as we go, but hear the condition between us. When the story is ended, I shall ask you a question. If you know the answer and still remain silent, your head shall split into a hundred pieces; but if you answer, I shall leave you and return to this tree.”

Vikramaditya continued without speaking. Vethala then began his tale.

In the sacred city of Varanasi, on the banks of the Ganga, there ruled a king named Pratapamukuta. His son was Vajramukuta, a handsome and courageous prince. The prince’s closest companion was the son of the king’s minister, a young man of keen intelligence. The two had grown up together and shared a deep friendship.

One day, Vajramukuta went hunting with the minister’s son. They rode deep into the forest until, by midday, they came upon a beautiful lake surrounded by trees. After drinking from its clear water and refreshing themselves, they rested beneath the shade. While they were there, a beautiful young woman came to the lake with her attendants to bathe.

The moment Vajramukuta saw her, his heart was drawn to her. She too saw the prince and was no less affected, and for some time they looked silently at one another. The minister’s son was standing nearby and saw what passed between them. Before leaving, the young woman made several strange signs.

She placed a lotus against her ear and touched her teeth. Then she placed a lotus upon her head and finally rested her hand upon her heart. Vajramukuta watched her but understood nothing of what she meant. The minister’s son, however, had observed each gesture carefully.

Soon afterward, the young woman departed with her attendants, leaving the prince beside the lake with his thoughts fixed upon her. When Vajramukuta returned to Varanasi, he could not forget her. His longing grew until he became pale and restless, and his friend soon saw the change in him. “Why do you grieve so deeply?” the minister’s son asked. “What is it that troubles you?”

“I know nothing about her,” said Vajramukuta. “I do not know her name, her family, or even the land in which she lives. How shall I ever find her again?”

His friend replied, “But she told us all of those things beside the lake. You saw her gestures, though you did not understand them. When she placed the lotus at her ear, she pointed to the kingdom of Karnotpala. By touching her teeth, she showed that she was connected with Dantaghataka. The lotus upon her head gave us her name, Padmavati, and when she placed her hand upon her heart, she showed that her heart was yours.”

The minister’s son knew that King Karnotpala ruled in Kalinga. In that kingdom lived a prosperous ivory-worker named Sangramavardhana, whose daughter Padmavati was renowned for her beauty and dearly loved by her father. Everything agreed with the signs they had seen beside the lake. Vajramukuta’s sorrow vanished when he heard this, and he could think only of reaching her.

Before long, the two friends rode out again on the pretext of hunting. Leaving their attendants behind, they travelled toward Kalinga until they reached the city ruled by Karnotpala. There they found Sangramavardhana’s house and took lodging nearby with an old woman. They arranged secretly for their horses to be cared for and remained unknown in the city.

The minister’s son asked their hostess whether she knew Sangramavardhana. “Know him?” she replied. “I was nurse to his daughter Padmavati when she was a child, and even now I sometimes attend upon her.” The two friends treated the old woman generously. After winning her goodwill, they asked her to carry a message.

“Mother,” said the minister’s son, “go to Padmavati and tell her that the prince whom she saw beside the lake has come to this city and is waiting nearby.”

The old woman agreed and went to Padmavati’s house. When she found an opportunity, she quietly delivered the message. Padmavati gave no answer in words. Instead, she dipped the fingers of both hands in white camphor and struck the old woman upon both cheeks, leaving the marks of all ten fingers upon her face.

The old woman returned in distress and showed them what Padmavati had done. Vajramukuta thought that Padmavati had rejected him, but the minister’s son looked at the marks and understood. “She has not rejected you. Ten fingers whitened with camphor mean that we must wait through ten nights of the bright fortnight.”

So they waited. During those days, the minister’s son secretly sold some of the jewellery they had brought and provided for the prince, the old woman, and himself. When the ten nights had passed, they sent the old woman to Padmavati again.

This time Padmavati stained three fingers with red dye and struck the old woman upon the chest. Once more the woman returned complaining of her treatment. Vajramukuta looked anxiously at his friend, but the minister’s son understood this message as well. “She asks us to wait three nights more.”

The three nights passed, and the old woman went again. Padmavati now received her kindly and gave her food and drink. She kept her there until evening. As the old woman prepared to leave, a great uproar suddenly arose in the streets.

“A mad elephant has broken loose!” people cried. “Run! Save yourselves!”

The streets filled with frightened people fleeing before the animal. Padmavati stopped the old woman from leaving by the ordinary road. “Mother, it is not safe for you to go that way. I shall show you another path.”

Her attendants placed the old woman upon a stool secured with ropes and lowered her from a window into the garden below. Padmavati instructed her to cross the garden and climb an old wall, then pass over the rampart and make her way home by that route. The old woman did exactly as she had been told and returned safely to the two friends.

She told them about the mad elephant and described the way by which Padmavati had sent her from the house. The minister’s son immediately understood why she had been shown that secret path. “Friend, your way to Padmavati is now open. Tonight you must enter by the same route.”

When darkness came, the two friends went quietly to the garden. They found the hanging stool beneath Padmavati’s window, with her attendants waiting above. Vajramukuta seated himself upon it, and they drew him up into Padmavati’s chambers. The minister’s son then returned alone to the old woman’s house.

Padmavati received Vajramukuta with affection. The two were soon united according to the Gandharva rite, and the prince remained secretly with her for several days. He was so happy in her company that for a time he thought of little else.

At length he remembered the friend who had made their meeting possible. “My beloved,” he said, “the minister’s son who came here with me has remained alone all this while. I should go and see him.”

Padmavati looked at him. “Tell me one thing first. When I gave you those signs beside the lake, did you understand them yourself, or did your friend explain them?”

Vajramukuta answered without suspicion. “It was he who understood everything. Without him I would never have known who you were or how to find you.”

“Then you should have told me sooner,” said Padmavati. “A friend so dear to you is like a brother to me. I should have shown him the honour due to him from the beginning.”

Vajramukuta was pleased by her words. When he returned to his friend that night, he repeated everything Padmavati had said. The following morning, one of her attendants arrived carrying prepared food and betel as a gift for the minister’s son.

The minister’s son looked at what she had brought. “Friend, watch,” he said. He took some of the food and gave it to a dog nearby. The dog ate it and died at once.

Vajramukuta stared at the animal in horror. “Why would Padmavati do this?”

“She now knows that I understood the signs by which you found her,” his friend replied. “She fears that while I remain beside you, you may one day leave her and return home. She therefore wishes to remove me and keep you entirely for herself.”

Anger rose in Vajramukuta, but the minister’s son restrained him. “Do nothing in haste. I shall find a way.”

At that very time, cries of mourning arose throughout the city. A child of King Karnotpala had died, and grief had spread through the royal household. Hearing the news, the minister’s son considered what could be done and then gave Vajramukuta his instructions. He also prepared an intoxicating mixture for him.

That night Vajramukuta returned secretly to Padmavati. He gave her the intoxicating drink. When it overcame her and she lost consciousness, he marked her hip with a small trident-shaped wound. He then took her ornaments and escaped by the same secret route through which he had entered.

Returning to his friend, he gave him the ornaments. The next morning, the minister’s son went to the cremation ground and disguised himself as an ascetic. He dressed Vajramukuta as his disciple and gave him Padmavati’s pearl necklace. “Take this into the marketplace and offer it for sale. If anyone asks where you obtained it, say that your teacher gave it to you.”

Vajramukuta obeyed. The necklace was too valuable to pass unnoticed, and the city guards soon recognized it. They seized the supposed disciple and questioned him about the ornament.

“My teacher gave it to me to sell,” Vajramukuta replied. “If you wish to know where it came from, ask him.”

The guards went to the cremation ground and found the minister’s son sitting there in the guise of an ascetic. When they questioned him, he said, “I live here among the dead. Last night I saw a gathering of Yoginis performing their rites in this cremation ground.

“One among them had offered a prince to Bhairava. When she came against me in a terrible form, I drove her back with ashes consecrated by mantra. I marked her with my trident and took this pearl necklace from her neck. An ascetic has no use for ornaments, so I gave it to my disciple to sell.”

The officials carried this account to King Karnotpala. The king recognized the necklace as Padmavati’s. He then sent someone secretly to examine her, and the trident-shaped wound was found upon her hip. The strange tale of the ascetic now seemed confirmed in every detail.

Karnotpala concluded that Padmavati had been among the Yoginis and was responsible for the death of the royal child. Without discovering what had truly happened, he ordered that she be driven from the city. Her head was shaven as part of the punishment, and she was taken beyond the city and abandoned. Padmavati understood whose intelligence had brought this about, but she could do nothing.

After nightfall, Vajramukuta and the minister’s son cast aside their disguises and went in search of her. They found Padmavati outside the city and took her away with them. The three returned to Vajramukuta’s kingdom, where the prince thereafter lived with her.

Padmavati’s parents, however, knew nothing of the deception. Sangramavardhana believed that his daughter had been disgraced, cast out, and fallen into the hands of dreadful beings. Grief for her consumed him until he died. His wife, unable to bear the loss of both her husband and daughter, soon followed him in death.

When Vethala had finished the tale, he said, “O King, Padmavati’s father and mother died of grief. Tell me, then: upon whom does the sin of their deaths fall? Does it belong to Vajramukuta, to the minister’s son, or to Padmavati? If you know the answer and yet remain silent, your head shall split into a hundred pieces. But if you speak, I shall return to the Shishapa tree.”

Vikramaditya considered the matter and replied, “The sin of their deaths belongs to none of those three. It belongs to King Karnotpala.”

Vethala asked, “How can that be? Vajramukuta, Padmavati, and the minister’s son were the ones whose deeds brought all this about. Why should the king bear the guilt?”

“The minister’s son acted for the sake of his friend, while Vajramukuta and Padmavati were governed by their own desires,” said Vikramaditya. “But Karnotpala was king. It was his duty to examine the matter and discover the truth before he punished one of his subjects.

“Instead, he accepted what was placed before him and condemned Padmavati without proper inquiry. Had he fulfilled the duty of a ruler, the deception would have been discovered and she would not have been cast out unjustly. Her parents died from the grief that followed his judgment. Therefore the guilt for their deaths rests upon the king who punished without first knowing the truth.”

As soon as Vikramaditya had spoken, Vethala slipped from his shoulder by his magical power and flew back through the darkness to the Shishapa tree. Vikramaditya did not hesitate or turn aside from his purpose. He retraced his steps through the cremation ground and went once more to bring Vethala down.