In the Karnāṭadeśa there reigned a famous king named Chamunda, who was served by a household purohita named Gundappa, well versed in all the rituals at which he officiated.
Chamunda, one day, while chewing betel-leaves, thus addressed Gundappa, who was sitting opposite him:
“My most holy purohita , I am greatly pleased at your faithfulness in the discharge of your sacred duties; and you may ask of me now what you wish and I shall grant your request.”
The purohita in his elation replied: “I had always a desire to become the ’amildār of a district and to exercise power over a number of people; and if Your Majesty should grant me this I have attained my ambition.”
“Agreed,” said the king, and as at that time the ’amildāri of Nanjangūd happened to be vacant, His Majesty at once appointed his purohita to the post, thinking that a purohita who was so intelligent in his duties would do well in the new post. Before he sent him off, however, he gave Gundappa three bits of advice:—
(1) Mukha kappāge irabēku
(2) Ellāra kiviyannu kachchi mātan āḍu
(3) Ellāra juttu kaiyalli irabēku
Meaning:—
(1) You should always keep a black (i.e., frowning) countenance.
(2) When you speak about State affairs you should do it by biting the ear (i.e., secretly—speaking close to the ear).
(3) The locks of all the people must be in your hand (i.e., you must use your influence and make every one subservient to you).
Gundappa attended carefully to the advice so kindly given by the king, and the way in which he listened to it made His Majesty understand that he had taken it to heart. So with a smiling face the king gave the letter of appointment to Gundappa, who returned home with joy.
He told his wife about the change that had come over his prospects, and wished to start at once to take charge of the new post. The king and his officers at once sent messengers to Nanjangūd informing the officers of the ’amildāri that a newly appointed ’amildār would be coming soon. So they all waited near the gate of the town to pay their respects to the new ’amildār and escort him into it.
Gundappa started the very next morning to Nanjangūd with a bundle containing clean clothes, six and twelve cubits long, on his head. Poor purohita ! Wherever he saw the kuśa grass on the road, he was drawn to it by its freshness, and kept on storing it up all the way. The sacred grass had become so dear to him that, though he would have no occasion to use it as ’amildār of Nanjangūd, he could not pass by it without gathering some of it. So with his bundle of clothes on his head and his beloved kuśa grass in his hands Gundappa approached the city of Nanjangūd about the twentieth ghaṭikā of the day.
Now, though it was very late in the day, none of the officers who had come out to receive the ’amildār had returned home to his meal. Every one was waiting at the gate, and when Gundappa turned up, no one took him to be anything more than a purohita . The bundle on his head and the green kuśa grass in his hands proclaimed his vocation. But every one thought that, as a purohita was coming by the very road the ’amildār would take, he might bring news of him—whether he had halted on the road or might be expected before the evening. So the officer next in rank to the ’amildār came to the most reverend purohita and asked him whether he had any news of the coming ’amildār; on which our hero put down his bundle and, taking the cover out of it—containing the order of his appointment together with a handful of kuśa grass (lest his clothes be polluted if he touched them with his bare hands)—informed his subordinate that he was himself the ’amildār!
All those assembled were astonished to find that such a simple purohita was appointed to so responsible a post. But when it was made known that Gundappa was the new ’amildār, the customary music was played, and he was escorted in a manner befitting his position into the town. He had been fasting from the morning, and a grand feast was prepared for him in the house of the next senior official, which Gundappa entered to dine and take rest. There, he informed the officials that he would be at the office at the 25th ghaṭikā of the evening. From the way in which he issued the order, everyone thought that he was really an able man, and that he had come in the guise of a simple purohita in order to find out the real condition of his district. So every officer went home to prepare.
The senior official took the ’amildār to his house and entertained his guest with due dignity. Gundappa, being a purohita , was a very good eater, because never for a day in his life had he spent money out of his own pocket on meals. So he had no reason to enquire about the price of provisions. It was at the expense of others that he had grown so fat! After doing more than full justice to all the items in the meal, much to the secret amusement of his host and assistant, Gundappa rose up from his food and washed his hands. He now wanted betel-leaves but he thought it was impolite to ask for it. But his subordinate interpreted his silence as an order from a master and brought the platter containing the necessary ingredients: nutmeg, mace, nuts, leaves, and chunam (lime).
“Where is the dakṣiṇā?” asked the new ’amildār. His host did not quite understand whether this was meant in earnest or as a joke, but before he could resolve the question in his mind, the ’amildār repeated the question: “Where is the dakṣiṇā?” His assistant, thinking that his new boss was prone to taking bribes, at once brought a bag containing 500 gold pieces (mohurs) and placed it in the platter. A dakṣiṇā to a Brāhmaṇa is not usually more than a couple of rupees; but should an ’amildār ask for one, his assistant would naturally mistake him and think that he was hinting at a bribe!
Greatly pleased with this princely dakṣiṇā, the new ’amildār immediately opened the bag and counted out every gold piece in it and carefully tied them up in his bundle. He then began to chew his betel, and at one gulp swallowed all the nutmeg and mace in the platter! This behaviour made his assistant strongly suspect the real nature of the new ’amildār. However, there was the order of the king, and it had to be obeyed.
Gundappa next asked his assistant to visit his office in advance, saying that he would be there in a ghaṭikā. The assistant accordingly left a messenger to attend on the ’amildār, and being very anxious to see things in good order, left for the office.
Gundappa now remembered the three bits of advice given by the king. The first was that he should always keep a black countenance. So he ordered for a lump of charcoal paste and rubbed it all over his face until it was as black as night. Covering his face with a cloth, he entered the office and took his seat. He would remove the cloth from time to time to check how his officers were doing. Meanwhile, all the clerks and other officials were laughing into their sleeves at the bizarre conduct of their new chief.
The second piece of advice was that when speaking about State affairs he should do so by biting the ear of the listener. The evening was drawing to a close, and there were certain orders to be signed. The assistant took all the orders in his hand and approached Gundappa and stood at a respectful distance. Gundappa signalled to him to come closer. The moment the assistant came close enough, the ’amildār opened his mouth and bit the ear of his assistant and in a muffled voice, asked him whether all his people enjoyed full prosperity. The assistant, now afraid for his life, screamed out that all the people were in the fullest prosperity. But Gundappa would not let go his ear till the poor assistant had screamed the same answer more than twenty times. The assistant’s ear soon began to swell enormously, and leaving the office in disgust, he started to report to the king the insane acts of the new ’amildār.
Two of the three bits of advice from the king had now been duly obeyed.
The third remained: that the locks of all the people must be in his hand. Night had now set in and as the ’amildār still remained in his seat, all his officials were compelled to stay back. As the tenth ghaṭikā of the night approached, the ’amildār simply would not get up from his seat. He sat with his face covered with that cloth watching whether his officers were asleep or awake. He was actually waiting for an opportunity to seize all the locks of his officers in his hands! The moment his officers fell asleep, he intended to cut off all their locks, understanding the words of the king in their literal sense. At about midnight, the unsuspecting officers fell asleep, and Gundappa rose up from his seat and with a pair of scissors, cut off all the locks of his officers. He then tied up the mass of hair in a bundle and returned to his assistant’s house late at night. His servants gave him something to eat.
After this, he set out with his bag of mohurs and the bundle of locks to meet the king to inform him of how well he had obeyed his orders!
Early next morning, he reached the presence of His Majesty only a nimiṣa (minute) after his assistant had arrived. Seeing the ’amildār, the poor assistant was too scared to lodge any complaint, but his swollen ear drew the attention of every eye in the assembly.
Gundappa now stood before the king with the charcoal still on his face and said:
“Most noble king, you ordered me to blacken my face for my new duties. See, I have not even removed the dye on my face! You ordered me next only to speak while biting an ear. Look, please, at my assistant’s ear, who stands before you, and tell me whether I have not obeyed you! And as for having the locks of my officers in my hands—here they are, in this bundle!”
The king was stunned. Never before had he seen an instance of such remarkable stupidity, and the thought that Gundappa had shorn so many respectable heads of their locks, and had actually bitten the ear of a worthy gentleman, brought much shame to his heart. He begged the pardon of the injured man and from that day forward, was ever careful in the choice of his officers.
Poor Gundappa was dismissed even from his traditional purohita profession.
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