Good Will Grow Out of Good

There was once a king named Patnipriya, and every morning a poor old Brahmin named Papabhiru came to his court. Each day he handed the king a yellow lime and spoke a blessing in Tamil, which means:

“If good is sown, then good will grow;
If bad is sown, then bad will grow;
And in the end the harvest shows.”

The king honoured the old man’s noble blessing as much as he honoured his grey hairs. Day after day the Brahmin brought his lime, though he never asked the king for anything at all; he simply wished to pay his respects. When the king saw that the old man wanted nothing and came only out of duty to his ruler, he admired him all the more.

After giving the lime, Papabhiru would stay with the king until the king’s morning worship was finished. Then he went home, where his wife had everything ready for his own worship, and afterwards he ate whatever meal she had cooked. Sometimes, though, a Brahmin neighbour would invite him to eat, and he always said yes at once. This was because, before his father died, he had called his son to his bedside, blessed him and given him this advice:

“Never turn down a morning meal;
What your eyes see, do not reveal;
And serve your king with faithful zeal.”

That was why Papabhiru visited the king every day, and why he never refused an invitation to a meal, even when it came at a very awkward time.

One morning, on a fasting day called ekadasi, Papabhiru went to the palace with his lime and his blessing as usual, but found that the king had already gone to his worship, so he followed him there. The king’s face lit up when he saw him.

“My most honoured friend,” said the king, “when I did not see you in the council hall this morning, I feared that something had happened to you. But thank heaven you have come, even if a little late. I never begin my worship without laying my sword beside the image of the god, but last night I left it in the queen’s rooms, under the pillow of the couch where I usually sleep. Until you arrived, I could think of nobody suitable to fetch it, so I waited for you. Would you be so kind as to bring it to me?”

The poor Brahmin was delighted to have a chance to serve his king. He hurried to the women’s quarters and the room where the king slept. The queen was secretly involved with one of the king’s ministers. As Papabhiru passed through the garden, he came upon the queen walking there with that minister. He went on to the king’s room, felt under the pillow for the sword and left. Remembering his father’s words, “What your eyes see, do not reveal,” he said nothing, but his heart was heavy.

The queen and the minister were badly frightened. “That old rogue of a Brahmin has seen us,” stammered the minister. “He may tell the king at the first chance he gets.”

But the queen was as bold in her words as she was in her wickedness. “I will have him killed before the sun rises,” she said. “Wait here. I will tell the king what must be done, and when I have arranged it, you can go home.”

She went and stood before the king while he was at his worship. He got up and asked her why she had come so suddenly.

“Your Majesty thinks everybody in the world is as innocent as you are,” she said. “That wretched old Brahmin may have hair as white as milk, but he has not forgotten his younger days. He asked me to run away with him! If you do not order his death before tomorrow morning, I will take my own life.”

The king was greatly upset, and all his respect for the Brahmin vanished at once. He called two executioners and, with his wife listening, gave them their orders. “Take a big iron cauldron to the east gate of the town and keep it filled to the brim with boiling sesame oil. In the morning someone will come and ask you, ‘Is it all done?’ Do not stop to see who he is. Tie him up and throw him into the cauldron. When it is over, put out the fire and empty the oil.”

The executioners went off to carry out their dreadful task. The queen, delighted that she had arranged the Brahmin’s death so neatly, told the minister about it, but she did not mention the special question the victim would ask. The minister went home very pleased and waited to hear the news.

When his worship was over, the king sent for Papabhiru. The poor Brahmin had never been called at such an hour, and he came with a pounding heart. So as not to make him suspicious, the king spoke gently. “My dear Brahmin,” he said, “tomorrow morning, when you go to bathe, pass by the east gate. You will see two men sitting beside a big cauldron. Ask them, ‘Is it all done?’ Whatever they answer, come and tell me.”

The king was quite sure that Papabhiru would never come back. The Brahmin, though, was happy to be able to serve his king a second time, and he went home and slept soundly. Next morning he got up even earlier than usual, put a bag of dry clothes on his head and set out for his morning bath in the river. He took the road to the east gate as he had been told, but he had not gone far when a friend called him in to share the breakfast that ends the fast.

“My poor old mother did not drink so much as a drop of water all through yesterday’s fast,” said his friend. “The rice is cooked and the bath water is hot. Just pour a little water over your head, say one prayer and eat a handful of rice. However urgent your business is, please do this for my poor mother’s sake.”

Papabhiru remembered his father’s command never to turn down a morning meal, so he hurried into his friend’s house to oblige him, though the king’s errand weighed on his mind all the while.

Meanwhile, the minister was desperate to know whether the Brahmin was dead. He did not dare send anyone to ask, in case it made people suspicious. So as soon as the sun was up, he went to the east gate himself and asked the executioners sitting by the cauldron, as if it were a simple question, “Is the business all done?” The executioners had been told not to look at who asked, but to seize him, and that is what they did. The minister met the very end he had planned for the Brahmin, and when it was over the executioners put out the fire and emptied the cauldron.

Papabhiru gulped down his breakfast and ran to the gate, still holding the betel leaf from the meal, to ask the men by the cauldron whether it was all done.

“Yes, sir, it is all done,” they said with a smile. “The minister has been dealt with. We carried out the king’s orders exactly. You can go and tell him.”

The Brahmin had no idea what had happened, but he ran back and gave the king the executioners’ answer. When the king heard that the minister had come to the gate, a suspicion flashed into his mind. He drew his sword in his right hand and with his left hand seized the tuft of hair on the Brahmin’s head. Then he asked him whether he had tried to steal the queen away the previous day, and said that if Papabhiru hid the truth, he would kill him. So the poor Brahmin told him what he had seen in the garden. At that the king threw down his sword and fell on his knees before him.

“Respected Brahmin,” he said, “only now do I understand the words of your blessing. You have sown nothing but good, and you have reaped good, for your life has been saved. The wicked minister, whose guilty conscience made him so eager to hear of your death, sowed evil in his heart and reaped evil, an end he never expected. And there is one more who sowed evil: my queen, whom I loved though she did not deserve it.”

He ordered that the queen be put to death. As for the old Brahmin, the king made him his minister, and he went on reigning for a long time.

About this telling

This tale is taken from Tales of the Sun; or, Folklore of Southern India, put together by Mrs. Howard Kingscote and Pandit Natesa Sastri and published in 1890. The book prints the Brahmin’s blessing and his father’s last advice in Tamil with English verses; the rhymes above are new versions, and the book explains ekadasi as a fasting day.

In the original the queen meets a lover, the minister’s death in the cauldron is described in detail, and she is sent to the gallows. Here the relationship and both deaths are stated briefly. Its torture, threats and executions still require mature readers.

Read the original: Kingscote and Natesa Sastri, Tales of the Sun (Project Gutenberg #37002, Good Will Grow out of Good)

Reading guidance: Older teen and adult readers; includes a threatened suicide, a killing in boiling oil, an execution and intimidation at sword-point. Removed from child age categories.

A closer reading

The breakfast changes the order of arrival, allowing the minister’s impatience to place him in the trap. The Brahmin does not foresee that outcome. His familiar habit and an accidental overlap of words produce the reversal; calling it a guarantee that goodness always prevents harm goes beyond what one plot can establish.

The father’s three rules also pull in different directions. Service to the king sends Papabhiru toward danger, silence leaves the allegation unanswered, and accepting a meal delays him. Even then the king threatens him again before hearing his account. The story’s neat harvest metaphor sits beside a ruler who orders a killing without checking the accusation or identifying the victim.

The false allegation here is one character’s action, not a reason to dismiss allegations generally. The defensible principle is to investigate fairly before punishment. Papabhiru’s promotion is a reversal of fortune, but it does not remove the king’s responsibility for an indiscriminate death trap.

Try this with the story

Build two timelines: the journey the king expects and the journey Papabhiru actually takes. Mark the breakfast delay and the minister’s question. Then underline each point where checking information could have prevented violence.

Think about it

• Which rule delays Papabhiru, and which rules initially expose him to danger?
• What does the minister fail to know about the trap?
• What checks does the king omit before ordering punishment?
• Does the ending establish that good people always escape harm?

You may also like

• Eating Up the Protector — another story from Tales of the Sun
• Chandralekha and the Eight Robbers — another South Indian tale from the same book
• The Brahmin and the Cobra — another Indian tale about a Brahmin rewarded for doing right