Click here to listen to The King and the Corpse in the season 2 archives on buzzsprout
This Hindu story, “The King and the Corpse,” is one of my favorites, rich in metaphor, humor, riddles, and insight.
A king spends a long night with a talking corpse and realizes a profound truth. No spoilers– so I’ll end on this note: you may also learn something about the power of story to teach, transform, and awaken.
I hope this story provides you with a few sweet moments of respite and reflection. Take good care of yourself in this liminal time of the year (Halloween, Samhain around the corner) and remember that you are not alone.
Transcript of “The King and the Corpse”
Hello, and welcome to Myth Matters, storytelling and conversation about mythology and why myth matters to your life today. I’m your host and personal mythologist Dr. Catherine Svehla. Wherever you may be in this wide, beautiful, crazy world of ours, you are part of this story circle.
I have a marvelous story for you today, one that continues to offer my insight and inspiration although I’ve reflected on it many times. It’s called “The King and the Corpse” and I found in a collection by Heinrich Zimmer (edited by Joseph Campbell), called The King and The Corpse: Tales of the Soul’s Conquest of Evil. the takeaways are contained in the story, so I’m simply going to tell it and leave you to meditate on the story yourself, in your own time. I hope that you find a treasure in it too.
The King and the Corpse
It’s really quite remarkable how the king became involved in this particular adventure. For 10 years he appeared in his audience chamber, and sat hearing the petitions of his citizens. And every day of those 10 years, a holy beggar appeared and offered him a piece of fruit. Every day, he offered the king this gift of fruit and vanished back into the crowd of citizens without saying a word. And the king for his part, took the fruit and passed it to his treasurer, who was standing beside his throne, without giving this trifling gift another thought. The treasurer took the fruit every day and tossed it through a tiny window, down into the treasury house, without ever even bothering to unlock the door.
This went on for 10 years a could have gone on even longer, but it so happened that a tame monkey escaped from the women’s apartments in the palace one day, and come bounding into the state room about the same time that the beggar showed up with his fruit. As the holy man handed the king the fruit, the monkey jumped up onto the arm of the king’s throne. Playfully, the king offered the monkey the piece of fruit, and when the animal bit into it, a valuable jewel dropped out and rolled across the floor.
Now the king’s eyes grew wide.
With great dignity, he turned to the treasurer who was standing beside the throne and said, “Tell me what has happened to the rest of the fruit.” The treasurer, of course, didn’t know since he had been casually throwing the fruit through the window of the treasury. He immediately excused himself and rushed over to the Treasury house. He unlocked the door and went into the room. There beneath the tiny window was a huge pile of fruit, in various states of decay, and a jumble of precious jewels.
The king was very pleased at this turn of events. But because he was a very generous King, and not one who was particularly interested in accumulating additional wealth, he gave the entire heap of gems to his treasurer. He wasn’t really that interested in the jewels, but he was very curious now about this holy beggar.
The next day, when the holy man once again appeared and offered him a piece of fruit, the king said, “No, I’m not going to take your gift unless you and I have a little conversation.” “Well, Your Majesty,” said the holy beggar, if we could speak privately, that would be a good thing.” The king granted his desire. The two men sat across from each other and the king said, “Tell me, what is the meaning of these gifts of fruit?”
“I am in need of help,” said the holy beggar, “and I need the assistance of a hero, a truly intrepid man to assist me in a certain enterprise of magic.” “Oh,” said the King. Now he was very interested. “Go on.”
“It is said,” the holy beggar went on,” that the weapons of true heroes are especially powerful in the face of magic, that they have a sort of exorcising power.” “Yes,” said the King, “go on.” I’m wondering,” said the holy beggar “if you would come on the night of the next new moon, to the great funeral ground on the edge of the city, the place where the dead are cremated and the criminals hanged. Do you think you could meet me there then?”
Despite the rather unsavory location of this meeting, the king was undaunted. “Yes, I will meet you on the next new moon,” he said. And with that, the holy beggar took his leave.
Soon the appointed night arrived, the night of the new moon. The king put on his sword and wrapped himself in a dark cloak, and all alone, he set out on his adventure. When he got to the burial ground, he was very aware of the odd sounds of the restless spirits and the demons that were hovering around the place, feasting on what was left of the dead. There was no light in the place except for that glowing embers of the smoldering funeral pyres, and he could see the ghouls and the demons feasting on the blackened skeletons. It was a pretty grim sight. But the king was brave and not afraid, and walked on to the appointed rendezvous.
At last he found his sorcerer, the holy beggar. The man was drawing a magic circle on the ground. “Here I am,” the king said, “What can I do for you?” The other man hardly lifted up his eyes. He said, “Go to the other end of the burning ground. You will find the corpse of a hanged man dangling from a large tree. Cut down the corpse and bring it here to me.” The King turned around and set off back across this large graveyard.
The night was very dark and the foul air carried the sound of the demons and the ghosts and the ghouls swirling around. But the king wasn’t afraid. When he got to the far edge of the burning ground he saw a large tree with a body hanging from it, just as the beggar had said.
He climbed up the tree and cut the rope with his sword. The corpse fell down to the ground but oddly enough, it gave a moan as if it had been hurt. This astonished the king of course. When he climbed back down, he went to the body and felt it, thinking that maybe there was still some life in it. As he was doing this, a shrill laugh came from the body. The king realized that it was a corpse and was quite dead, but was inhabited by a ghost.” What are you laughing at?” he demanded. The instant that he spoke the corpse flew back up to the limb of the tree.
The king looked up at the body for a moment. Then, he patiently climbed back up the tree again and cut it down with his sword. This time when he picked up the corpse, he didn’t say a word. He put it on his shoulder and started to walk back to the beggar magician.
He hadn’t gone very far when the ghost in the corpse said, “Oh, King, why don’t you let me shorten the way for you with a little tale.” The King was smart now to the ploy of the corpse, so he didn’t say a word. “I’ll take that as a’ yes’ then,” said the corpse, “and tell you a little story.” So, he began.
“There was,” said the corpse. “once upon a time, a certain Prince, who went out on a hunting party with his friend, who was the son of the chancellor of the prince’s father. The two of them lost track of the rest of their companions, so it was just the two of them strolling rather aimlessly through the forest, when they arrived at a very pleasant lake. They stopped on the banks to rest, and the prince saw a beautiful maiden bathing on the far side, on the other bank. Unobserved by her companions, she made signals to him across the water. The prince didn’t understand what she was signaling, but the Chancellor’s son caught the meaning of her signs very well. This beautiful young maiden communicated to them her name, that of her family, and the name of her kingdom. She also indicated that she was in love with the prince. Then she got up to rejoin her companions and vanished into the trees.”
“The two young men went back home intrigued. The next day, they decided to go out hunting again. As they set off through the jungle, they separated themselves from the rest of their friends and went to the town where the girl lived. There they found lodging with an old woman, whom they bribed to take a message to the young girl. Now all of this required a certain amount of subterfuge, of course, because in this culture at this time, a young man and a young woman were not going to meet without the arrangements being at least approved, if not set up, by the parents. The old woman went as messenger, and the girl to her credit was so cunning, that she managed to send a message back to the prince without the old woman realizing that a rendezvous was being organized.”
“The first time they decided to get together, the visit had to be postponed because the astrological omens were not adequate. But the next night, they decided to go ahead. The prince went to the girl’s house, climbed over the wall, crossed the garden, found her window, and went into her room. The two young lovers found a great deal of delight in each other’s arms. When the girl learned that it was not the prince who understood her signals, but rather his friend, she got a little bit concerned though. Privately she worried that this third party might betray her and reveal her affair to someone. Without saying anything to the prince, she made a plan to poison his friend.”
“Now, the son of the Chancellor was obviously a pretty clever guy and he had foreseen this possibility. He came up with a plan to foil her, and to teach her that he knew how to take care of himself and of his prince. He disguised himself as a beggar monk, and persuaded the prince to pretend that he was one of his pupils. Then the two young men went back to the girl’s kingdom, but this time they went to the king. Now, the king in that kingdom was grief stricken because his infant son had recently died. The chancellor’s son, dressed up in disguise as a beggar monk, convinced the king that this young girl was a witch, and responsible for the death of his son.”
“There was no way for the girl to fight off the accusations and she was condemned to a terrible death. She was left naked and exposed on the outside of town where the wild animals would eventually kill and eat her. She was wailing and crying, and her family left very upset. As soon as she was all alone, the prince and his friend rode up on swift horses, and rescued her. They took her back to the prince’s kingdom, where she could become his wife and future queen. Happy for everybody, right? Not exactly. The girl’s parents were so ashamed and grief stricken over the loss of their daughter, whom they believed to be dead, that they died of broken hearts.”
“That’s the end of my story,” the corpse said to the king. “Now tell me, who was guilty of the death of these two old people? If you know the answer and you do not reply, my king, your head will burst into 100 pieces.”
The king believed that he knew the answer, but he was afraid that if he said anything, the corpse would immediately fly back to the tree. Nevertheless, he did not want his head to explode, so he answered the question. “Neither the maid nor the prince was guilty,” he said, “because they were madly in love. And the son of the Chancellor was not guilty because he was merely fulfilling his responsibility in service to his master, the prince. The only one that is guilty, is the king of that girl’s country, because he let these things come to pass within his realm.”
“First of all, he did not see the subtle trick that was played on him, as a result of his grief. He didn’t notice that the men were in disguise. In fact, he’d never even taken cognizance of the activities of these two strangers in his very own capital. He wasn’t even aware they were there. So, he is guilty of failure in his kingly duty, because a king should be the all-seeing eye of his kingdom, the all-knowing protector, and governor of his people.” As soon as the King uttered his last word of judgment, the corpse, moaning in mock agony, vanished from his shoulder. The king knew that it was once again hanging from the tree.
He walked back to the big tree, and sure enough, there was the corpse. He climbed back up, cut the corpse down, went down, threw it over his shoulder, and started off again in silence. “My dear sir,” the corpse addressed him again. “Well, you have encumbered yourself with a very difficult and curious task. You will permit me I imagine, to tell you another story, to pass the time we’ve got here together.” The king said nothing. So, the corpse began to tell another tale.
“This time,” he said, “there were three young Brahmins who all lived in the home of their spiritual teacher. Now, all three of these men were spiritual seekers, and they were all brothers, and they were all in love with their teacher’s daughter. He did not give her to any one of the young men for fear of breaking the hearts of the other two. But then the young girl became seriously ill and died, and all three of the men, equally desperate, committed her body to the funeral pyre. When she had been cremated, the first man decided that he would deal with his grief by wandering the world as a beggar monk. The second young man decided that he would deal with his grief by gathering the bones of his beloved from the ashes and taking them to the holy Ganges River, where they could be washed, ensuring that she would have a safe journey to the next realm. The third young man decided that he would deal with his grief by staying right there, on the spot with her. He constructed a hermit’s hut over the place of the fire, and stayed there and slept in the ashes of the body of his beloved.”
“Now, the one who decided to roam the world experienced an extraordinary event. One day he saw a man read from a book, a magic charm that brought a child back to life. He took the book and hurried back to the cremation scene. It just so happened, that as he arrived with the book, the young man who had gone to the Ganges, came back with the bones. Of course, the third young man was already there, in the ashes. They agreed to reassemble her bones and lay them out in the ashes. Then using the book and the magic spell, the first one managed to bring her back to life. She was even more beautiful than ever.”
“Now,” said the corpse to the King, “to whom does she belong? And don’t forget, if you know the answer and you do not reply, your head will explode.” Of course, the king thought that he knew the answer, so he was forced to reply. “The one who recalled her to life with the magic spell,” he said, “acted as a father to her. The one who did the pious service of taking her bones to the Ganges, performed the duty of a son. But the one who slept on the ashes and would not leave her, he devoted his life to her, and he is the one who acted as her spouse.”
As soon as the King finished answering, the corpse disappeared and was back in the tree. Once again, the king had to walk back to the tree and cut the corpse down. The king and the corpse were once again crossing the funerary ground. “I say King, said the corpse, “you have had an answer to every dilemma that I have posed thus far. How about another story to pass the time? This one poses a very interesting problem. It is a curious story indeed.” The ghost proceeded to tell the king this tale.
“Once there were two young men, lifelong friends, and a girl. The girl married one of the two men and they were not particularly happy together. Shortly after the wedding, the couple and their bachelor friend traveled together to visit the bride’s parents. On the way they came to a temple to the Goddess Kali, the Great Mother Goddess of the Hindus, who is both life and death. Kali is the goddess of blood and milk. The husband decided to stop and pray. He went into the temple alone and there, in a sudden excess of emotion, he was moved to sacrifice himself to the Goddess and cut off his own head with his own sharp sword. Meanwhile, the friend and the wife were waiting, and after a time the friend went into the temple to retrieve his friend. When he finds his friend lying in a pool of blood, he is also inspired him to cut off his own head.”
“Finally, the bride comes in. Overwhelmed at the sight of these two friends lying there headless, she runs out of the temple intending to hang herself. But the Goddess Kali herself, speaks to the girl and tells her to go back in and replace the two heads. This would bring the two young men back to life. The young wife does this, but she’s so distracted, and honestly, who can blame her, that she puts the wrong head on each of the bodies. The friend’s head is now on the husband’s body and the husband’s head is now on the body of the friend.”
“Now,” the corpse said to the king, “tell me King, to which one is she now married? Is she married to the one with the husband’s head? Or the one with the husband’s body?” The king thought that he knew the answer, and because he didn’t want his own head exploding he said, “The head is supreme among all members of the body. She is married to the one with her husband’s head.”
No sooner had the king finish speaking then poof, the corpse vanished. The king walked back to that fateful tree. The king and the corpse passed the better part of the night in this fashion. Twenty-three times the king cut down the corpse and twenty-three times he reluctantly and thoughtfully provided an answer to the ghost’s riddle. The king heard the kind of twisted plots that mirror life, about love lost and found, of misunderstandings and betrayals, and all of the tangles that plague human existence. The threads of these stories always snarled up into knots of right and wrong. The ghost continued asking, “Who is to blame? Who deserves this?” over and over again.
The night is still dark. The graveyard demons still howl. Now the ghost in the corpse begins yet another story. “My dear King,” he said, “I have another tale for you. One that you have not yet heard. In a distant land, in another time, there was once a father and son, a chieftain and son to be exact, neighboring hunters. The father was widowed and still grieving for his dead wife. The son had never been married.”
“One day, the two were out hunting, and they came upon two sets of footprints. Being very skilled hunters, they immediately understood that these were the footprints of two women, probably a mother and daughter of noble birth. They speculated that something had happened to the king, that had forced these women to flee. They contemplated the footprints. The son said to his father, ‘Why don’t we track these two women, find and marry them?’ At first the father didn’t want to, he was still in sorrow. But eventually he was convinced and they swore an oath that they would find the women, and the father would marry the woman with the bigger feet, who was presumably the mother, and the son would accordingly and appropriately marry the woman with the smaller feet because she was younger, the daughter.
They tracked the women and sure enough, they were a queen and a princess fleeing their kingdom because the king had died unexpectedly. Everything is fine except there’s one little hitch. The daughter, the princess, the younger woman, is the one with the bigger feet. But because they’ve sworn an oath, the father and the son proceed as they had planned. The four of them go back to their village, the father marries the daughter, and the son marries the mother. In due time, both of these women have sons.”
“Now,” the ghost says to the king, “how are these two related to each other?” The king thinks about this. He realizes that there is no single answer. “Well,” he says to the corpse “that depends on how you look at it. Why these two are a living paradox because they are simultaneously uncle and nephew. Hmm. And isn’t this always the way with all things. In some secret respect, is not everything in some deep way its own opposite.” A light went on in the mind and heart of our king. He began to ponder his own character, his certainty, and his blindness. He was invigorated by a new awareness.
This time, the corpse did not fly back into the tree. The King walked along with the body over his shoulder, almost jaunty. The specter was impressed. “My king,” he said, “Here, you have labored all night long, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. I’m really impressed by your energy and also by the fact that you are not afraid. So, I’ll tell you a secret. I am about to leave this body, and when I do, you will take it back to the monk. But before I go, I need to tell you something else. This man that you are dealing with is an imposter. He’s not a holy man. In fact, he’s evil. He plans to cast some really nasty spells that will force me to go back into this body, and when he has accomplished this, and made a sort of zombie of me, he will hold me up as a god and ask you, my king, to kneel down and worship me. If you do this, he will then offer you up as a victim. He will order you to fall down on your knees and offer me reverence. And while you are prostate in this slavish attitude, he plans to cut your head off with your own sword. There is only one way for you to escape.”
The corpse told the king what he should do and the ghost left the body. Our king finally makes it back to the magician. Or maybe we should use a more loaded word now and call him a sorcerer. When the king arrives, the sorcerer doesn’t appear at all surprised that it’s taken him a long time. While the king was gone, he’s made some preparations. The sorcerer has laid out a magic circle in the funerary grounds, visible by the ghastly light of candles made of corpse fat. He took the body, laid it out on the ground, and spoke incantations and spells over it. The ghost came back into the body.
“Look” said the magician, ” at what you and I have wrought. We have created a new life, a new form, and this should be our God. You should get down on your knees and worship our creation.” “I see” said the King, “you would have me kneel before this new God. Well, I would like to do as you have ordered, but as a king, I am unused to such postures. Perhaps you could demonstrate to me this form of prostration that you would like me to adopt.” “Alright,” said the sorcerer, and he got down on his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground. The king took out his sword and cut off the evil sorcerer’s head, and then cut out his heart. He offered them to the ghost in the corpse. The whole funerary ground broke out with the sounds of jubilation. The king has saved all of these dead, from a form of spiritual slavery. A great evil has been averted.
“Now,” the corpse said to the king, “how would you like to be compensated for your long night of toil?” “All that I ask,” the king replied, “is that my story and the 24 tales that you have told, be preserved and told over and over again, as a means of liberation for others.” The ghost agreed to this, and then the great god Shiva, the masculine lord of creation and destruction and the Lord of the Universe appeared. He granted the King sovereignty over the world, and enlightened consciousness. Dawn was breaking as the King left the gruesome funerary grounds, and returned to his palace transformed.
And that’s it for me, Catherine Svehla and Myth Matters. Feel free to contact me if you have questions or comments about today’s podcast. If you are new to Myth Matters, I invite you head over to the Mythic Mojo website where you’ll find information about Myth Matters and a variety of ways to subscribe to this podcast and listen from your favorite platform.
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Thank you so much for listening. Take good care of yourself. And until next time, happy mythmaking and keep the mystery in your life alive.
