Shiva! Madhava! Whatever happened to fact-checking?!

Sans the Sacred

Breaking news this new year: It turns out professional fact-checkers are not immune to scams themselves! If you read the news at all, or have a social media account anywhere, you’ll know what I mean. Maybe a story about some ingenious rogues from the world of the Kathasaritsagara would teach us a thing or two about things that seem too good to be true.

There once lived two rogues called Shiva and Madhava, who had already scammed everyone in their little town and now wanted to find bigger fish to fry. They identified a minister in Ujjayini, Shankarasvami by name. He was very wealthy, but an absolute miser. First, Shiva went to the outskirts of Ujjayini and disguised himself as a hermit there. He did all the predictable things: counting beads, begging for alms, and pretending to be generally devout. Soon, news spread far and wide that a very accomplished hermit was camping on the outskirts of the city.

Meanwhile, Madhava met the minister, pretending to be a wealthy Rajput prince who had fallen out of favour with his family. He gave the minister a few gifts and bribes and led him to believe that more were on the way. Madhava became fast friends with the minister, often giving Shankarasvami a glimpse of his (fake) treasure chest of jewels and telling him stories of family heirlooms.

Then, Madhava pretended to have fallen very ill. He starved himself and pretended to the minister that he would soon pass away. He expressed his desire to donate wealth to a distinguished brahmin, for how else would he secure his place in the world to come? The minister brought many worthy candidates for donation, all of whom Madhva dismissed as unfit. Until someone suggested Shiva, the ascetic on the outskirts of Ujjayini. Now, Shiva accepted graciously all the fake jewels from Madhava, and Madhava gradually pretended to get better.

Meanwhile, Shiva, after staying with the minister and Madhava for a few days, claimed that he had no desire to impinge on the hospitality of the city anymore. He offered to exchange the jewels he had received in donation for some money. He said, “I am an ascetic and completely ignorant about jewels and ornaments. You may keep all of them; just give me a fair price for the jewellery, so that I can go my way.”

Shankarasvami, who had glimpsed the fake jewels often enough, was certain they were priceless royal heirlooms, and parted with all his money in exchange for them, thinking himself much richer in the bargain, congratulating himself on his business sense.

Some time passed, and Shankarasvami needed some money. He took his jewels to the jeweller to exchange them, only to be told that it was all fake —just glass pieces set in brass. He rushed to Shiva to get back his money. Shiva reminded him, “You set the price of the jewels yourself, and I had told you I was totally ignorant of their value. Now your money is all spent.”

Shankarasvami didn’t give up yet, though. He went to Madhava and told him that his “precious family heirlooms” were fake and demanded to be compensated. Madhava said gravely, “Well, I donated my family jewels out of the goodness of my heart. I had no monetary transactions with anyone at all. If it turns out that they are made of glass and brass instead of gold, I am certain I have reaped the merits of donating glass and brass. Not as good as gold, but it’ll do. After all, I was cured of a serious illness simply by donating my wealth—what further proof could you want of my good intentions?”

The poor minister lost his case in the king’s court. If you’re incredulously thinking, “Well, this is impossible. Surely, Shankarasvami would have checked the jewels with a jeweller before setting a price on them,” one could well retort, “Surely a professional journalist would check that a department exists in a university before accepting a job offer from it!”