About two hundred years ago, an old king called Rajavarman ruled over a kingdom in the north of Kerala. Rajavarman’s kingdom was not a very large one but it was very prosperous. He had ruled it over for nearly forty years and all the time he had worked very hard for his people. Till old age overtook him, he had gone on regular tours of his kingdom to see for himself how his subjects lived and whether his officers are doing their work properly. His people were hard-working and contented, and had a sense of humour which helped them to bear their troubles cheerfully. Rajavarman did not burden them with heavy taxes because he did not have wasteful habits, nor was he fond of going to war with his neighbours. Every year he set apart large sums of money to dig tanks and wells, to make new roads and to plant shady trees flanking them, to put up rest houses for travellers and pilgrims and to encourage poets and musicians. On his own person and his court, he spent moderately: he did not believe in pomp and empty show.



The kingdom had a stroke of good fortune early in Rajavarman’s reign. It was the coming of merchants from Arabia o daring voyages across the sea to Kozhikode, the capital city. The Arabs brought gold and precious stones with them and wanted timber and spices in exchange. The king saw the advantage of allowing the rich Arab merchants to trade in his kingdom. He offered them special terms and gave them free land to build warehouses. He collected only a fare tax on their profits. All this encourage the Arabs to do more trade and the increased trade brought in more money to the royal treasury.



So, King Rajavarman should have been happy in his old age. He could look back on a long and useful reign. He was leaving his kingdom stronger and richer than it was when he came to the throne.

But the king, who had been ailing for some time in his palace, was deeply troubled in mind. It was not the thought of death that made him sad; he was too much of a soldier to fear death. He was worried about his only son, Ravivarman. The young prince had lost his mother when he was seven. His father had been too busy with the affairs of the kingdom to give him the attention he needed, and the prince had been spoilt by the palace servants. He had grown up into a wilful, easy-going and rather reckless young man. He was not very interested in the difficult task of government. He kept bad company; the crowd of wasters and good-for-nothings that he had gathered round himself only made him go downhill faster. Every day there were whispers in the palace of the dark deeds of the prince. Rajavarman had heard of his son’s misdeeds and had spoken to him about it, but the prince had gone on doing just what he liked.

‘What is going to happen to this country with such a king to govern it? Is my son going to tear down all that I have built up?’ Rajavarman said to himself.

His physicians gave him the best medicines but the king grew weaker every day. He was distressed and anxious, and this brought his end nearer. When he knew that he did not have many more days to live, he sent for his son. He spoke to the prince about the hopes that he and his wife had placed in their only son. How noble the child had looked in his cradle, and how certain they had been that he would add lustre to the royal line!


Ravivarman sank to his knees by the bed. He looked at the wasted body of his father, and his eyes filled with tears. He had realised how ill his father was.

The king laid a feeble hand on the young head and said, ‘My son, you must change your ways. A king should not be selfish and interested in his own pleasures. A good king is a servant of his people. When I die and you are on the throne, you must learn to think of your people first.’

A week later, the king passed away and Ravivarman ascended the throne.

For a few weeks after he became king, Ravivarman remembered his father’s words. But his friends kept tempted him and he soon took to his bad ways again. From morning till night he sought nothing but pleasure. He neglected the affairs of the state and had no thought for his subjects. Old officers of the palace who disapproved of his evil ways were dismissed and his worthless friends were appointed to those posts. He refused to listen to the ministers who had served his father so well. The bad men whom he trusted did unjust and wicked things in his name. They extorted money from the people, and when the latter complained, he did not punish the wrong-doers.

Ravivarman travelled about the country, hunting and gambling. He did not stay more than two or three days at any one place, and a large crowd of servants and flatterers followed him wherever he went. All this cost enormous sums of money, and in less than a year the new king had emptied the treasury. He then forced more taxes on people. Prosperous farmers and traders were made to pay special taxes; those who protested were thrown into prison and their property was seized by the king’s officers.

When his people could no longer meet his demands, the king turned on the rich Arabs. It was their trade that brought in the largest part of the royal income, but Ravivarman did not stop to think of the story of the goose that laid the golden eggs. Through messengers he demanded vast sums of money from the Arabs. When they protested, the king told them that he would not allow them to trade in his kingdom if they did not give him what he demanded.

In the evening, the Arabs held a meeting. A few were in favour of giving the king what he wanted, but most argued that if the king got more money from them now, he would ask for even more as time went on. They thought it was better for them to set up trade in new country.

Three nights later, when darkness came as thick as blankets over the city, the Arabs quietly sailed away to the south in their ships.

The next morning a messenger, who had been waiting from sunrise outside the king’s chambers, was taken in to see the king.

‘Your Majesty, the Arabs have gone!’

Ravivarman could not believe his ears. When the first shock passed, he sent for his ministers. They had not been consulted for months, but they came, knowing how serious the situation had become. They were bitter and spoke as harshly as they dared of his unworthy ways and rash deeds. They said it was almost too late to save the country- the king’s misdeeds had all but ruined it. His greed had driven the Arabs to some other country. What hope was there for his country unless he gave up his wicked friends and changed his ways?

Ravivarman sent them away, but their words had been like the lashes of a whip, awakening his conscience from its long sleep. He walked up and down in his chamber, clenching and unclenching his hands. His eye fell on the portrait of his mother on the wall above his bed. Her look seemed full of reproach. He thought of what his father had said before he died. How thoughtless and selfish he had been! He had brought shame to the royal family; he had ruined a great kingdom. Could anything be done now? Or was it too late?

All day Ravivarman walked about restlessly in his chamber, thinking unhappy thoughts and hating himself. When some of his wretched friends tried to cheer him up, he shouted at them and drove them out of the palace.

He could find no peace. In the evening when he could bear it no longer, he though he would go and pray at the palace temple. He had not prayed there for months. The temple was built by his father for Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, and it was believed that the kingdom had greatly prospered after its construction.

The temple stood by the sea near the western wall of the palace. As he walked towards it, he could hear the waves breaking upon the granite steps that led down from the temple to the sea. The waves broke regularly and endlessly, and suddenly Ravivarman felt very cold. The waves reminded him of the forces and laws that no one could escape.

There was no one about the place.Ravivarman thought the priest had gone home after the evening puja. He turned into a corridor to go down the steps to the sea to have a bath before offering his prayers. As he paused at the top step to take off his robes, he became aware of the figure of a woman sitting on a slab of stone to his left. Startled, he asked, ‘Who is that?’

There was no answer. He took a step towards the figure and stopped. How beautiful she was! Never had he seen anyone half as lovely. Could this be a woman? Or was he looking at a goddess?

‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’

‘I’m about to leave on a journey.’ the figure replied. Her voice was like the notes of a flute.

‘And where are you going?’ he asked.

‘Oh, far away.’

Looking at her extraordinary beauty and listening to the music of her voice, the truth began to dawn on Ravivarman.

‘Why are you going away?’

‘I don’t like this city any more.’

‘What’s wrong with it?’

She laughed. Her laughter was like the tinkling of tiny bells. She said that he must not ask so many questions. ‘I’m going away because I don’t like the fool who sits on the throne.’

Ravivarman turned his head away and looked at the dark sea. The sun had set and the western sky had turned a deep red. Words would not come to him. Finally he spoke, so that he may delay her:

‘He’s young, inexperienced-’

‘He’s old enough to ruin a kingdom!’

‘Please don’t go away,’ he said in a low voice.

‘No, I must.’

‘Please stay.’

‘No. I’ve made up my mind to go. I can’t bear this place any longer!’

He stood there, unable to move. How could he make her stay back? And if she didn’t, what would happen to his kingdom? He realised now how deeply he had loved this beautiful kingdom which he had trampled upon his pride. His heart was full of love and pain; he could not bear the thought that he had damaged what he had loved.


No, she must be made to stay. His life was a worthless one; he was a burden on his people. Anybody would be a better king to them than he had been so far. He must do something to stop her. And perhaps when his people came to know what he had done for them, they might forgive him.


He turned to her again and said, ‘I’m going down for a bath. Would you keep this necklace safe for me till I come back?’


He took off the necklace of rubies that his father had given him and held it out to her. She took it and said, ‘It is lovely!’


‘Will you wait till I come back?’

‘Certainly,’ she said with a smile.

Ravivarman went down the steps and into the water. He began swimming with steady strokes out into the sea. The waves seemed to take him in a fond embrace. He turned for a last look at the tower of his palace and the lights of his beloved city. The figure of the goddess he had spoken to was now shining brightly, as if she were wearing a sari of gold. He thought of her with gratitude. He had led a useless life, but he was making amends at last. He smiled through his tears, and swam, on his last journey, out to the sea.

The next morning, the people of Kozhikode were surprised to see the Arab ships sailing back to their port. The traders had an astonishing story to tell. A few hours after sunset the previous evening, a fierce storm had driven their ships back towards the kingdom they had left. They had taken this as a sign from heaven and made for Kozhikode, deciding not to leave it again.

The priest of the temple found the king’s robes at the top of the steps leading down to the sea. Some of the flowers he had offered to the deity were found at the top of the steps.