The King who was Fried

Once upon a time, in a distant kingdom, there lived a King named Karan, who had made a peculiar vow: he would neither eat bread nor break his fast until he had given away a hundredweight of gold in charity. Each morning, just before breakfast, servants would emerge from the palace, laden with baskets of gold, to distribute to the eager crowds of poor folk who gathered to receive their alms.

Day after day, as the poor scrambled for the gleaming coins, King Karan would sit down to his meal, well-fed and content, as if he had never given a thought to the depletion of his treasury. Curiously, this act of charity continued for years, leading many to wonder where all this gold came from. They feared that one day the King would run out and perish from hunger. Yet, he remained jolly and plump, enjoying his breakfast without a care in the world.

The secret behind King Karan's bounty was a compact he had struck with an extraordinary faqir who resided atop a nearby hill. The agreement was simple: the faqir would provide the King with a hundredweight of pure gold each day, but in return, King Karan would allow himself to be fried and eaten for breakfast. The faqir, being quite remarkable, had a magical ability: after feasting on the King, he would simply piece his bones together and chant a few words, bringing King Karan back to life, just in time for the next morning’s meal.

Initially, being fried alive was quite uncomfortable for King Karan, but as time went on, he grew accustomed to the process. Each morning, he would cheerfully make his way to the faqir's home, step into the bubbling frying pan, and sizzle until perfectly cooked. The faqir would relish the breakfast, pick the bones clean, and shake out gold coins from his ragged coat as a final touch.

Meanwhile, in the great Mansarobar Lake, home to wild swans, a terrible famine struck. In search of food, a pair of swans ventured into the garden of King Bikramajit. The gardener, enchanted by their beauty, offered them grain, but the swans turned their beaks away. King Bikramajit, known for his kindness, approached the swans and conversed with them in their language.

“We eat nothing but fresh, unpierced pearls!” they declared. Moved by their plight, King Bikramajit arranged for a basket of pearls to be brought daily, and he fed the swans by hand.

However, one fateful day, a single pearl was found to be pierced. The swans sensed that their supply was dwindling and decided to leave in search of more pearls. As they took flight, they sang praises of Bikramajit, which caught the attention of King Karan. Hearing their song, he grew envious, wondering why no one sang his praises despite his own sacrifices.

In his jealousy, King Karan had the swans captured and brought to his palace. Despite the finest offerings of bird food, the proud swans would only sing of Bikramajit. When Karan demanded to know why they wouldn’t eat, the swan’s wife replied, “A true King does not imprison the innocent. If Bikramajit were here, he would have freed me!”

Determined to prove his own generosity, Karan released the swan's wife. She swiftly flew to Bikramajit and informed him of her mate's captivity. Without hesitation, the generous King disguised himself as a servant and traveled north to rescue the swan.

Once in King Karan’s kingdom, he took a job helping to distribute the gold. In his time there, he grew suspicious of how Karan managed such wealth. One day, he hid and watched as Karan visited the faqir’s home, witnessing the whole strange process unfold. He saw the King enter the frying pan, sizzle, and emerge crisp and brown, only to be devoured by the faqir.

Bikramajit knew what he had to do. The next morning, he slashed himself with a knife, coated himself in spices and pomegranate seeds, and climbed the hill to the faqir’s house. When the faqir awoke, he was drawn to the delightful aroma and couldn’t resist feasting on the deviled King. The faqir, now quite satisfied, marveled at how wonderfully tasty this new dish was.

After devouring Bikramajit, the faqir asked how he had managed to taste so delicious. Bikramajit shared his secret and, in exchange, requested the faqir's coat, which he could use to easily bring the gold back to the palace, avoiding the discomfort of frying.

The faqir agreed, and Bikramajit left with the coat. Shortly after, King Karan arrived at the faqir’s home, eager for his usual breakfast, only to find the fire out and the faqir content from his feast.

“Where is my breakfast?” Karan demanded.

“I’ve already eaten,” the faqir replied, still drowsy. “And you tasted so delightful!”

Karan insisted he had never been deviled, but the faqir was oblivious, content with his meal. When Karan demanded his gold, the faqir informed him that the other person—the one he had devoured—had taken the coat with the gold inside.

Desperate, Karan returned home, but his treasury had run dry. For the next two days, he managed to scrape together enough gold to maintain appearances, but by the third day, the treasury was empty, and he faced the reality of his vow without breakfast.

As the crowd dispersed, murmuring their disappointment, Karan realized he had been outshone by Bikramajit’s generosity.

Later, Bikramajit returned, offering to give Karan gold in exchange for freeing the captured swans. Grateful, Karan set the birds free, and as they soared back to Mansarobar Lake, they sang, “Glory to Bikramajit, the generous Bikramajit!”

King Karan hung his head in reflection, acknowledging that true generosity lay not in wealth but in the selfless acts of kindness.