The Delicate Queens

King Vikramaditya trudged through the dark, spooky forest with the Vetal on his back. The Vetal, as always, was in a mood to talk. “O King,” whispered the Vetal, “you walk so silently. Are you tired? Let me tell you a story about three Queens who were so delicate, they make a flower petal seem like a rock.”

Vikram sighed but kept walking, and the Vetal began his tale.

“In the kingdom of Anga, there lived a King who had three wives. They were sisters, and each one claimed to be more delicate and sensitive than the other. The King loved them all, but he often wondered who was truly the most fragile.

One beautiful spring evening, the First Queen was strolling in the royal garden. She was admiring the moon when a single, soft blue lotus flower slipped from her hair and landed on her foot. ‘Oh!’ she cried, and fell to the ground in a faint. Her maids rushed to her. When she woke up, she had a bruise on her foot where the flower had touched her. ‘She is so delicate,’ whispered the courtiers, ‘that a flower bruises her.’

A few nights later, the Second Queen was sleeping peacefully on her bed of silk and feathers. Suddenly, she woke up screaming in pain. ‘What happened?’ asked the King, rushing to her side. ‘Someone… someone is pounding rice in a mortar miles away!’ she sobbed. ‘The sound struck my head like a hammer!’ The King checked near the palace walls. Indeed, far away in the village, a farmer was pounding grain. The Second Queen had a terrible headache just from the faint sound. ‘She is so delicate,’ whispered the courtiers, ‘that a noise gives her pain.’

The Third Queen heard about her sisters. She sat in her room, listening to the stories. ‘Did you hear?’ asked a maid. ‘The First Queen was bruised by a flower. The Second Queen was hurt by a sound.’ As the Third Queen listened to the description of the pounding mortar, she suddenly looked at her own hands. ‘Ouch!’ she cried. Her hands were red and blistered. ‘What is it?’ asked the maid. ‘Just hearing about the hard wooden pestle and the mortar has given me blisters!’ she cried.

The King was amazed. He didn’t know who was truly the most delicate.”

The Vetal paused. He tickled the King’s ear. “Now, brave Vikram, tell me. Who is the most delicate? The one bruised by a flower? The one hurt by a sound? Or the one blistered by a story? If you know the answer and stay silent, your head will shatter!”

King Vikramaditya replied instantly. “The answer is simple. The Third Queen is the most delicate. The first two suffered from something physical—a touch and a sound wave. But the Third Queen’s body reacted to nothing but a thought. Her sensitivity was so high that mere imagination caused her physical pain. Therefore, she is the most delicate.”

“Correct!” cackled the Vetal. “But you broke your silence!” And with a whoosh, the spirit flew back to his tree, leaving the King to start his journey all over again.

Moral of the Story: The mind is more powerful than the body; what we think can affect how we feel.

Moral of the Story: Sensitivity can be a burden if not managed well.