The Third Suiter

  

The Third Suiter

[Tale from Vikram and Betal]

Betal spoke from the corpse’s hold, as Vikram walked the night,

“Another tale of choices bold, of wisdom, love, and might.

In Magadh lived a princess fair, with beauty like the moon,

Who turned away each prince’s prayer, and every splendid groom.

‘What gift have you?’ she asked each one, ‘to win me as your wife?’

The first could read fate’s course begun—the prophecies of life.

The next, a chariot that could soar o’er mountain, stream, and vale,

The third, a sword that rocks would tear—a warrior without fail.

But fate then played a cruel hand—the princess disappeared,

Abducted by a giant’s hand, to all, her loss was feared.

The seer prince divined the place where she was held in dread,

The charioteer flew through the space to where the foe was spread.

The warrior prince, with blade held high, did face the monstrous brute,

And struck the giant so he died—one swift and fatal cut.

The palace vanished with the blow—the princess stood there, free,

But then the princes claimed her hand—each one for all to see.

The seer said, ‘I found the way!’ The charioteer, ‘I flew!’

The warrior cried, ‘I won the day! The giant, I overthrew!’

So tell me, Vikram, wise and true, beneath this starry dome—

Which prince deserved the hand he drew? Speak, king, and bear me home.”

Then Vikram thought and gave a reply, “Though all played their own part,

The one who dared to fight and die—the warrior, strong of heart.

For might makes right when darkness falls—his sword brought freedom’s breath,

Without that blow, the giant’s halls had been the princess’s death.”

“You judge with truth,” Betal declared, “but still, you spoke—you failed!”

And so, the ghost, no longer shared, to the distant treetop sailed.

And Vikram, with a determined sigh, held his sword in the air,

Set out once more to fetch the fly—to conquer and ensnare.