Twenty-Two Goblins. Translated from the Sanskrit — A Closer Reading

The Goblin’s Voice: Directness and Irony

The goblin speaks with a blunt, almost conversational tone that contrasts with the formal frame. He addresses the king as "O King" and uses imperative verbs: "Listen." His stories are introduced with a single sentence summary, then plunge into action. For example, the thirteenth goblin begins: "There is a city called Ayodhya, which was once the capital of Rama the exterminator of giants." This directness, combined with the ironic situation—a goblin lecturing a king on ethics—creates a dry humor. The goblin never moralizes; he simply presents the facts and demands a verdict.

Repetition and Variation in Story Openings

Each story follows a rigid pattern: the king catches the goblin, the goblin tells a tale, and the king answers a question. Yet within this repetition, Ryder’s translation varies the opening phrases. Some stories begin with a city name and its famous ruler, others with a character’s name and a defining trait. The first goblin story opens: "There is a city called Ayodhya, which was once the capital of Rama." The second: "There is a city called Benares." This formulaic start grounds each tale in a recognizable geography, but the variation in detail—such as "a strong-armed king named Hero-banner"—keeps the reader alert to new elements.

Dialogue as a Tool for Character Revelation

Dialogue in the goblin stories is sparse but pointed. Characters often speak only a few lines, yet those lines reveal their motives. In the thirteenth story, the thief says to the king: "Good! You are my friend. Come to my house." The thief’s immediate trust, based on a shared profession, shows his naivety. Later, the serving-maid warns: "Your Majesty, why have you come into the jaws of death?" Her use of "Your Majesty" reveals she knows the king’s identity, adding tension. Ryder’s translation preserves these brief exchanges, letting the characters’ words drive the plot.

Description: Economy and Sensory Detail

Ryder’s descriptions are economical, focusing on one or two sensory details. The thief’s house is "hidden in a grove and guarded by a wall, full of delightful and beautiful things, and bright with shining gems." The phrase "bright with shining gems" is the only visual cue, but it suffices to convey wealth. In battle scenes, the description becomes kinetic: "He cut off the trunks of elephants, the legs of horses, and the heads of men." The parallel structure and concrete nouns create a rhythmic, almost cinematic violence. This restraint keeps the narrative moving swiftly.

Readers will find that the pleasure of Twenty-Two Goblins lies not in suspense but in the intellectual game of answering the goblin’s questions. Pay attention to how the king justifies his answers—he often cites a principle of justice or logic. The stories reward close reading of small details, as a single line can shift the moral calculus. Ryder’s translation, with its clean prose and careful phrasing, makes this ancient Sanskrit work feel immediate and sharp.

In the goblin’s riddles I always found a trickster’s patience, the kind that waits for a king to think before answering. It reminds me of how that cat, in The Adventures of Puss in Boots Marks's Edition — Reading Notes, also delights in clever turns. Both whisper that wit is a quiet, loyal companion.