Common and Special

A king was passing through a village on horseback, leading a caravan of horses. As they rode along a narrow dirt path, they passed a group of Gujari women carrying earthen pots filled with milk and curd on their heads. The horses hooves thundered against the ground, the clatter of the hooves and the winds force caused the fragile clay pots to fall and shatter, spilling their contents into the dust. The young women collapsed to the ground, crying over their loss.

The king dismounted, placed a comforting hand on their heads, apologized, and offered them silver coins in compensation. But then he noticed an elderly Gujari woman standing apart, laughing instead of crying. Curious, the king extended a handful of coins toward her, but she only laughed louder and said:

What does it matter if a few liters of milk were lost I wont take your money. Is this really such a great loss

The king, puzzled, asked, Why are you the only one laughing

She responded, Special matters are not discussed with ordinary people.

The king declared, I am no ordinary man. I am a king

The old woman calmly replied, In my eyes, you are not special.

But why are you laughing the king pressed.

Do you really need to know

Yes

Then listen, O ordinary man. The kingdom where I was once a young woman was ruled by a vile king. Any newlywed bride had to spend her first night with him. But my husband, knowing this, ensured that our wedding remained a secret.

We had a child, and later, my husband left to earn a livelihood. Eventually, news of my beauty reached the king, and his men forcefully took me away. I, a simple woman, was turned into a concubine of the king. Years passed.

One day, my husband returned after many years, only to find that his home was ruined. He managed to secretly contact me and asked, Did you come here by choice, or were you taken by force If you were taken against your will, tell me, and I will find a way to rescue you.

I pleaded, For Gods sake, take me away from here. I cannot stay another day. I told him that every Tuesday night, the king spent time alone in a secluded jungle hill, and I accompanied him.

That night, my husband hid in the jungle. When the king fell into deep sleep and his guards dozed off, my husband emerged and swiftly beheaded him with a sharp weapon.

We knew the consequences of killing the king, so we fled into the thick of the jungle. But fate was unkind. As we ran, a venomous cobra blocked our path, hissing fiercely. My husband urged me to go ahead while he dealt with the snake. I saw the serpent bite him not once, but multiple times. I watched as he closed his eyes forever.

Now I was alone in the wilderness. As dawn broke, a gang of bandits captured me. Seeing my beauty, they argued over who would claim me.

One said, I will take her.

Another objected, She will be mine.

A third intervened, No one will take her. We are robbers. We sell people, not keep them.

And so, they sold me to a brothel for a high price.

Thus, I became a courtesan. Lustful men devoured the beauty that was once as delicate as a flower.

But the worst horror awaited me. One night, a customer came to fulfill his desires. When he left, my world shattered—I had recognized him. He was my own son, the child I had left behind when he was only four years old.

I recognized him instantly by his features and his hands, but how could I tell him that I was his mother How could I reveal who had turned me into this

The pain of keeping this secret burned inside me like a neverhealing wound.

Finally, I decided to end my suffering. I ran away to the seashore, gathered dry wood, and built a pyre. Before setting it ablaze, I prayed to the heavens, pleading, If you truly exist, never let me be born into this world again.

But just as I was about to ignite the fire, a storm struck with such force that I was swept into the sea.

I thought my misery had finally ended. But fate was cruel. Some washermen working at the shore saw me struggling in the water. They jumped in, pulled me out, and revived me.

They debated among themselves:

One said, She looks like a Gujari woman.

Another remarked, She seems to have fled from the heavens themselves

A third guessed, Maybe she threw herself into the sea to escape some terrible fate.

Then, one of them came up with an idea: A Gujjar in our village just lost his wife. Lets give her to him hell take care of her, and well get free milk all year

I had no choice. I did not reveal my past. I became a Gujari. Last year, the Gujjar also passed away.

So tell me, o king what does it matter if some milk was spilled What do I have left to lose And do you still think you are special Because to me, I am the truly special one.