Once again brave King Vikramaditya of Ujjain walked into the midnight cremation ground, for he had given his word to a yogi that he would bring him the corpse that hung from the ancient tree. He climbed the tree, took the body upon his shoulder and strode off in silence. But within the corpse lived the spirit Betaal, who chuckled in the dark: “The road is long, O King. Listen to a tale to lighten it — but remember, if you know the answer to my riddle and still keep silent, your head will shatter into a hundred pieces.”
And Betaal began. “In a great city there ruled King Dharmadhvaja, who had three queens, each said to be more delicate than a flower — and the king could never decide which of them was the most delicate of all. One spring day, in the garden, he playfully tossed a lotus to the first queen. The soft flower barely brushed her arm, yet she cried out in pain, and where the petals had touched her, a dark bruise appeared.
“On a full-moon night the second queen slept on the open palace terrace. Cool moonbeams fell gently upon her — and she woke with a start, her skin blistered as though scorched by the midday sun. Then, one quiet afternoon, the third queen sat at her window when, from a house far across the town, came the faint thump, thump of a pestle pounding rice. She pressed her hands over her ears and fainted, and bruises rose upon her body — though nothing in the world had touched her at all.”
“Now answer me, King Vikram — which of the three was the most delicate? Speak, if you know!” And Vikram could not keep silent, for he knew. “The third queen. The lotus touched the first, and the moonbeams fell upon the second — each was hurt by a touch, however soft. But the third was bruised by a mere sound from far away, which never touched her at all. Where there is hurt with no touch whatever, the delicacy is greatest.” “Rightly judged!” cried Betaal. “But you have spoken, O King!” And with a peal of laughter he flew back to hang from the ancient tree.