# Vikram and the Vetala in the Tree

> On a rainy night, Mira and Kannan snuggle under a blanket with popcorn and a library book of old tales. They meet clever King Vikram and a riddle-loving spirit in a tall tree, then try a riddle of their own about a lamp. Content note: eerie night sounds only.

- Show: [Banyan Stories (Ages 4–8)](https://www.banyanstories.com/ages-4-8/), ages 4–8, English
- Page: https://www.banyanstories.com/ages-4-8/episodes/vikram-and-the-vetala/
- Audio: https://media.banyanstories.com/media/ep-121/junior/01b10473104a6111f3aeabf6a376d4cd325a81c9aee2e506690bc488e3c9b149/87497059a4e23105aaf43b303c6e69c03c00171578d36b182233065724a7ac31.mp3 (11 min)
- Published: 2026-10-16
- Scare level: 2 of 5. Eerie night sounds and a riddling spirit in a tree, told with hush and suspense; no injury or threat, and a warm, safe resolution.
- Content note: Spooky night sounds only; skull and crowd of fiends omitted; Reassurance included; Riddle and ending are original creative framing.

## Transcript

Each passage is labelled with the evidence behind it; “Fictional scene” marks the story itself.

The rain tapped on the window, soft and steady, like fingers on a drum. Mira pulled the blanket up over her knees. The living room smelled of warm tea and wet coats drying by the door. Beside her, Kannan had built a fort out of couch cushions, and he was holding a flashlight under his chin so his face looked funny and a little bit spooky. “Tonight,” said Mira, in her best storyteller voice, “we have a mystery. It comes from a very old set of tales about a king, a spirit in a tree, and a riddle that must be answered with care.” Kannan clicked off the flashlight. “Is it scary?” he asked. “It is the kind of spooky that you can hold in your hands,” said Mira. “A little shiver, and then a smile. Ready?” Kannan nodded and tucked his feet under the blanket. Outside, the wind gave one long sigh, as if it wanted to hear the story too. *(Fictional scene)*

Our story begins on a dark and stormy night. Raja Vikram, a king, and his son, Dharma Dhwaj, set out toward the cemetery, the place called the burning ground. Clouds roll across the sky, slow and heavy. A thin young moon peeks out, then slips away again. Big drops of water fall from the trees, and the old branches groan and creak, as if they are complaining about the weather. Only one faint light shows the two travellers the way. Their footsteps are the only steady sound. When they reach the burning ground, King Vikram stops. Just for a moment, he hesitates. The air feels still and strange. Then he looks at his son, who is not frightened at all. So the king takes a breath, pulls the end of his turban across his mouth, and walks boldly forward into the dark. *(Supported)*

“Mira,” whispered Kannan, pulling the blanket up to his nose. “What does it sound like out there?” Mira closed her eyes. “Listen,” she said. “Can you hear it? Let's use our ears the way the king did.” Kannan listened to the rain, and the rain became the storm in the story. “Is that wind?” he asked. “That is wind,” said Mira. “And that creaking sound is the trees. Tell me what else you hear.” Kannan thought hard, because noticing little sounds was one of the things he did best. He held his breath and let the house go quiet around him: the fridge humming, the clock ticking, the rain dripping from the eaves. “An owl,” he whispered at last. “Maybe a very long way off.” Mira smiled with her eyes still closed. “Good ears,” she said. *(Fictional scene)*

And in the old tale, the burning ground is full of sounds, just like that. There are shrill cries that rise and fall. The storm wind whistles through the dark. Owls go hoot, hoot, hoot. A jackal gives a wild, wavering call, and the swollen river gurgles and glugs along its banks, running high and fast. Far away, tigers roar and elephants trumpet. Spirits and goblins leap and dance in the shadows, like shapes made of smoke, and a wise old jogi named Shanta-Shil sits among them, calm and still. It is a night made of noise, so loud that you might think nobody could stay. But notice that the king keeps walking. He listens to every sound, one by one, and he does not turn back. *(Supported)*

“Kannan,” said Mira, “remember, this is a story, and we are right here, safe and dry, in our own living room. The sounds in the story are only sounds. Nobody in our story is going to be hurt, and the night will end in a good way. If it gets too spooky, we can squeeze the blanket, take a big breath, or turn on the lamp. We can even stop and have a snack. Okay?” Kannan squeezed the blanket and took a big breath. He let it out slowly, the way Mira had taught him. “Okay,” he said. “Keep going. I like it when the owl is far away.” *(Fictional scene)*

Now King Vikram has come to find something in a tall tree. It is a siras-tree, with a long, strong bough. He climbs up, up, up in the dark, one careful hand after another. Then he taps the bough with his sword, and something comes tumbling down. It is the Vampire, which in the old tales is also called the Baital, and some people say Vetala. They are different names for the same riddling spirit. When it lands, it gnashes its teeth and gives a thin, wailing cry like a baby in pain. Vikram thinks it must be alive, so he slides down the trunk and asks, “Who are you?” And what does the spirit do? Back it goes, laughing with glee, to its place in the siras-tree. This happens again and again, five times in all. Five times the king climbs, and five times the spirit hops home. The king never gives up. *(Supported)*

Kannan sat up so quickly that the cushions wobbled. “Five times? That is a lot of climbing!” Mira laughed. “It is. The king must be very patient.” “My legs would be so tired,” said Kannan. “I would need a nap in the middle.” He tilted his head. “Maybe the spirit is only playing a game. It is a funny game, where it keeps running back to its tree.” Mira smiled at him in the flashlight glow. “That is a good noticing,” she said. “Keep that idea. It might help us later. Now, here comes the part where the spirit explains its rules.” Kannan wriggled closer and pulled the flashlight into his lap, ready. *(Fictional scene)*

The spirit has two rules, and they are about talking and silence. Rule one: if Vikram answers, whether because he was pushed, or tricked, or because he felt a little bit vain and wanted to show how clever he was, then the spirit goes straight back to its favourite siras-tree. Rule two: if Vikram stays silent, or feels puzzled, or simply admits that he does not know, then the spirit will let itself be carried along to the king's employer. It even tells the king to set his pride aside. And then, the spirit begins. “O King Vikram,” it says, “listen to the true story I will tell.” The night grows very quiet. The river gurgles. The tree leaves rustle. And the king begins to walk, carrying the spirit, while the story floats up behind him like smoke from a lamp. *(Supported)*

“So,” said Mira, tapping her chin, “the riddle is the real puzzle. The king must stay quiet, but a riddle is hard to leave alone. It wants to be answered. It tickles your tongue.” “That is tricky,” said Kannan. “If you're quiet, you win. But if you know the answer, you can't say it!” “Exactly,” said Mira. “It is a puzzle about wanting to speak.” Kannan frowned, thinking. “Like when you know a secret and your mouth wants to wiggle?” Mira giggled. “Just like that. Now let's see what happens after one of the spirit's stories.” *(Fictional scene)*

In the old tales, there is a pattern, like a song with a chorus. First the spirit tells a story. Then King Vikram gives a reply. And back flies the spirit to its tree. Then the king walks all the way back, retracing his steps through the dark, past the groaning trees and the gurgling river. He climbs the tree again. He takes the Baital down and packs him up, snug and tight, and sets out once more. Then, soon, a voice behind him starts another story. The spirit even laughs, and says that it laughs at everything, because laughter wakes up the brain! That is a very good reason to laugh. And the spirit says a cheerful good-bye before it goes back to its branch, and the whole round begins again. *(Supported)*

Now, Mira and Kannan made up a little riddle of their own, to try the rules at home. Mira said it in a spooky, creaky voice, the way the spirit might: “Listen, listen. I get bigger the more you share me, and when I am kept all alone, I shrink. What am I?” Kannan opened his mouth, and then he remembered the rule. He pressed his lips together and thought. He thought about the flashlight. He thought about the cushions. He thought about the soup on the stove and the way the whole house smelled warm when everyone sat down together. He thought about Amma humming while she stirred. His eyes went wide. But he stayed silent, just like the king, and he grinned, because he had a very good guess. *(Fictional scene)*

Then the spirit in their game laughed, and Mira laughed too. “You were so quiet!” she said. “Now you can tell me.” Kannan whispered it. “Kindness? Or happiness? Something warm that grows when you share it, like a story.” “Like a story,” said Mira, and she hugged him. “You could not be wrong. Stories are exactly the thing that grow when we share them.” The rain softened outside, tapping more gently now. The storm in the tale rolled away, the moon grew a little brighter, and the owl hooted far, far away, as if to say good night. And in the story, the king and the spirit walked on together under the quiet stars, safe and sound, with a new tale waiting to begin. *(Fictional scene)*

Here is a question for you to share with someone at home. If you were the king, and a spirit asked you a riddle in the dark, would you answer quickly, or stay quiet and think? And what is something that gets bigger when you share it? Take a moment to think before you speak, just like the king. Then tell a grown-up your answer, and listen to theirs. It is okay if your answers are different. A riddle can have many warm answers. *(Fictional scene)*

Now it is time to switch on the lamp, snuggle into a blanket, and let the night sounds be only sounds. Listen once more: the rain, the wind, a faraway owl. They are all just part of a cozy night. Thank you for listening with Mira and Kannan. May your dreams be gentle, your owls be far away, and your riddles always have kind answers. Good night. *(Fictional scene)*

## Sources

- [Vikram and the Vampire; or, Tales of Hindu Devilry](https://archive.org/details/vikramvampireort00burtuoft), Richard F. Burton. Supported: In Burton's translation, Raja Vikram and his son Dharma Dhwaj head to the cemetery on a dark, stormy night, with clouds, a thin young moon, big drops falling from groaning trees, and a faint guiding light. Vikram hesitates at the burning ground, sees his son undismayed, and walks boldly forward with his turban-end over his mouth.
- [Vikram and the Vampire; or, Tales of Hindu Devilry](https://archive.org/details/vikramvampireort00burtuoft), Richard F. Burton. Supported: Burton's burning-ground scene is full of sounds: roaring tigers, trumpeting elephants, shrill cries, storm wind, hooting owls, a jackal's wild cry and a gurgling swollen river. Spirits, skeletons and goblins leap and dance, and the jogi Shanta-Shil sits playing a human skull with two bones.
- [Vikram and the Vampire; or, Tales of Hindu Devilry](https://archive.org/details/vikramvampireort00burtuoft), Richard F. Burton. Supported: The tales follow a repeating pattern. After a story, Vikram gives a reply and the Vampire returns to its tree. Vikram then retraces his steps, climbs the tree, takes the Baital down, packs him up and sets out again. Soon a voice behind him starts another story.
- [Vikram and the Vampire; or, Tales of Hindu Devilry](https://archive.org/details/vikramvampireort00burtuoft), Richard F. Burton. Supported: The Vampire's terms in Burton's translation: if Vikram answers, whether forced, tricked or vain, the Vampire returns to its favourite siras-tree. If Vikram stays silent or admits he does not know, the Vampire will let itself be carried to Vikram's employer. It then begins a true story.
- [Vikram and the Vampire; or, Tales of Hindu Devilry](https://archive.org/details/vikramvampireort00burtuoft), Richard F. Burton. Supported: In Burton's translation, Vikram climbs the tree and strikes the bough with his sword. The Vampire (Baital) falls, gnashes its teeth and cries like an infant in pain. When Vikram slides down and asks who it is, the Baital goes back to its place in the siras-tree. This repeats five times.