Indian Tales of The Great Ones/Samyukta, or The Story of the Own-choosing

by Cornelia Sorabji

Samyukta, or
The Story of the Own-choosing.

Samyukta, daughter of the King of Kanauj, was the most beautiful Princess in all India. And Prithi Raja, the King of Delhi, wanted to marry her.

He knew that it would not be easy, because her father was his enemy. However, always and always he liked best to do what was not easy to do. So he meant to try.

First he sought out her old nurse, who lived not far from the palace. Touching her feet with his forehead, as is the way of saluting mother-people, he asked her advice. The old woman loved Prithi Raja very dearly, and found a way of helping him.

"Give me", she said, "that picture which the great painter at Delhi has made of you, on ivory, in green and gold: and the rest I will tell you when I come again from my journey."

And the nurse who loved Prithi Raja, went a long way till she came to the gates of the palace of Kanauj. She asked to see the Queen. Now it happened that at that moment, the Queen wanted a new waiting-woman for the Princess. So she took the nurse, and gave her to the household of the Princess.

Samyukta, the Princess, was indeed beautiful. Good was she also, and of a true heart. And as the old woman brushed her hair, or sat out with her on the roof-balcony on the still, hot nights when the Princess was sleepless, she told her tales of Prithi Raja, King of Delhi, and of his great love for Samyukta.

And she showed Samyukta his picture painted on ivory in green and gold. And as the Princess looked on his face, her heart went out to meet the heart of the King who loved her.

And presently the King of Kanauj said: "It is time for the Swayamvara"—that is the choosing of her husband by a Princess-Lady, And he sent his heralds to all parts of India, to call the princes of India to the great choosing.

But to his enemy, Prithi Raja, the King of Delhi, he sent no message. Nevertheless the King of Delhi came to the choosing, he and his friend, disguised as minstrels.

And the palace courtyard was gay and ready for the choosing. Garlands of roses and jasmine hung from the pillars, and garlands of yellow

Lightly she held the garland

marigolds. The King and Queen sat on golden thrones on a marble balcony: and down below were the thrones of the princes who sought the hand of Samyukta.

Each prince had his men-at-arms and his heralds; and all were dressed in jewels and cloth of gold. And the musicians sat in a watch-tower at the gate: and all who came and went, and all that happened, they saw best of all. And with the musicians sat Prithi Raja, the great prince.

And now the bugles sounded: and Samyukta came from the inner court-yard. She wore a sari that flowed about her like golden water, and the golden anklets on her feet and the golden bracelets on her arms tinkled music. Her eyes were on the ground as she walked, and lightly she held the garland of fresh jasmine flowers, which she would place on the neck of him whom she chose to be her husband.

As she reached the outer courtyard, she raised her eyes, and then she saw a wooden figure of Prithi Raja standing in the place of the King's door-keeper. And she knew that her father had done this thing to hurt Prithi Raja, the true knight of her heart.

From that moment her choice was made. Proudly she walked past one prince after another. Proudly and patiently she heard the long tale of his greatness sounded by the heralds: and silently and proudly she passed on.

There was but one prince left, he who sat near the door-keeper. What would she do? The King and Queen leaned out of their marble balcony, and all the great crowd watched breathless.

But the last prince also did Samyukta reject, and turning to the wooden image of Prithi Raja, who had had no invitation to the Great-Choosing, she placed on its neck the garland, kept for her true knight alone.

Then was there a clash of steel, as the King and all the princes rose in wrath. Surely for this insult Samyukta would now be bound in chains and sent to the deepest dungeon of the palace.

But quicker than wrath was love. Prithi Raja the Minstrel, mounted on Prithi Raja the King's swiftest charger, was at her side, and stooping lifted her to his saddle, and rode away swiftly to the gates of Delhi.

And this was in the days long ago, when men were knights and fought for their ladies, and did with their own hand the thing which was not easy to do.