path: root/40588-0.txt

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40588 ***

                                  The
                           KATHÁ SARIT SÁGARA
                                   Or
                     Ocean of the Streams of Story

                 Translated from the original Sanskrit
                                   By
                          C. H. TAWNEY, M. A.


                               Calcutta:
         Printed by J. W. Thomas, at the Baptist Mission Press.
                               1880-1884.







CONTENTS


Book I.

                                                                   PAGE
Chapter I.

    Introduction,                                                   1-5
    Curse of Pushpadanta and Mályaván,                              4-5


Chapter II.

    Story of Pushpadanta when living on the earth as
    Vararuchi,                                                     5-10
    How Kánabhúti became a Pisácha,                                 6-7
    Story of Vararuchi's teacher Varsha, and his
    fellow-pupils Vyádi and Indradatta,                            7-10


Chapter III.

    Continuation of the story of Vararuchi,                       11-16
    Story of the founding of the city of Pátaliputra,             11-16
    Story of king Brahmadatta,                                    12-13


Chapter IV.

    Continuation of the story of Vararuchi,                       16-23
    Story of Upakosá and her four lovers,                         17-20


Chapter V.

    Conclusion of the story of Vararuchi,                         23-31
    Story of Sivasarman,                                          27-28


Chapter VI.

    Story of Mályaván when living on the earth as Gunádhya,       32-40
    Story of the Mouse-merchant,                                  33-34
    Story of the chanter of the Sáma Veda,                        34-35
    Story of Sátaváhana,                                          36-37


Chapter VII.

    Continuation of the story of Gunádhya,                        41-47
    How Pushpadanta got his name,                                 43-46
    Story of king Sivi,                                           45-46


Chapter VIII.

    Continuation of the story of Gunádhya,                        47-49
    Siva's tales, originally composed by Gunádhya in the
    Paisácha language, are made known in Sanskrit under the
    title of Vrihat Kathá,                                           49



Book II.


Chapter IX.

    Story of the ancestors and parents of Udayana, king
    of Vatsa,                                                     52-56


Chapter X.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana's parents,               56-67
    Story of Srídatta and Mrigánkavatí,                           56-66
    Udayana succeeds to the kingdom of Vatsa,                        67


Chapter XI.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                         67-71
    Story of king Chandamahásena,                                 69-71


Chapter XII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                         72-82
    Story of Rúpiniká,                                            76-82


Chapter XIII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                         82-93
    Story of Devasmitá,                                           85-92
    Story of the cunning Siddhikarí,                              87-88
    Story of Saktimatí,                                           91-92


Chapter XIV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                         94-98
    Story of the clever deformed child,                              96
    Story of Ruru,                                                97-98



Book III.


Chapter XV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                       101-109
    Story of the clever physician,                              101-102
    Story of the hypocritical ascetic,                          102-104
    Story of Unmádiní,                                          104-105
    Story of the loving couple who died of separation,          105-106
    Story of Punyasena,                                             106
    Story of Sunda and Upasunda,                                    108


Chapter XVI.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                       109-115
    Story of Kuntí,                                             110-111


Chapter XVII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                       115-124
    Story of Urvasí,                                            115-117
    Story of Vihitasena,                                            117
    Story of Somaprabhá,                                        118-122
    Story of Ahalyá,                                            122-123


Chapter XVIII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                       124-145
    Story of Vidúshaka,                                         128-144


Chapter XIX.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                       145-152
    Story of Devadása,                                          146-147


Chapter XX.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                       152-164
    Story of Phalabhúti,                                        152-163
    Story of Kuvalayávalí and the witch Kálarátri,              155-158
    Story of the birth of Kártikeya,                            155-157
    Story of Sundaraka and Kálarátri,                           158-161



Book IV.


Chapter XXI.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                       165-173
    Story of Pándu,                                                 166
    Story of Devadatta,                                         168-170
    Story of Pingaliká,                                         170-171


Chapter XXII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                       173-186
    Story of Jímútaváhana,                                      174-186
    Story of Jímútaváhana's adventures in a former life,        176-181
    Story of Kadrú and Vinatá,                                  182-183


Chapter XXIII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                       186-191
    Story of Sinhaparákrama,                                        188
    Birth of Udayana's son Naraváhanadatta,                         189



Book V.


Chapter XXIV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           193-204
    Story of Saktivega, king of the Vidyádharas,                194-204
    Story of Siva and Mádhava,                                  197-202
    Story of Harasvámin,                                        203-204


Chapter XXV.

    Continuation of the story of Saktivega,                     205-219
    Story of Asokadatta and Vijayadatta,                        208-219


Chapter XXVI.

    Conclusion of the story of Saktivega,                       220-233
    Story of Devadatta,                                         229-231
    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,               233



Book VI.


Chapter XXVII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           235-246
    Story of Kalingadatta, king of Takshasilá,                  235-246
    Story of the merchant's son in Takshasilá,                  236-238
    Story of the Apsaras Surabhidattá,                          238-239
    Story of king Dharmadatta and his wife Nágasrí,             239-240
    Story of the seven Bráhmans who devoured a cow in time
    of famine,                                                      241
    Story of the two ascetics, the one a Bráhman, the other
    a Chandála,                                                 241-242
    Story of king Vikramasinha and the two Bráhmans,            242-246


Chapter XXVIII.

    Continuation of the story of Kalingadatta,                  246-257
    Birth of his daughter Kalingasená,                              246
    Story of the seven princesses,                              247-249
    Story of the prince who tore out his own eye,               247-248
    Story of the ascetic who conquered anger,                   248-249
    Story of Sulochaná and Sushena,                             249-252
    Story of the prince and the merchant's son who saved
    his life,                                                   253-255
    Story of the Bráhman and the Pisácha,                       255-256


Chapter XXIX.

    Continuation of the story of Kalingadatta,                  257-267
    Story of Kírtisená and her cruel mother-in-law,             260-267


Chapter XXX.

    Continuation of the story of Kalingadatta,                  267-274
    Story of Tejasvatí,                                         270-271
    Story of the Bráhman Harisarman,                            272-274


Chapter XXXI.

    Conclusion of the story of Kalingadatta,                    276-278
    Story of Ushá and Aniruddha,                                276-277
    Kalingasená, daughter of Kalingadatta, escapes to Vatsa,        278
    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           278-280


Chapter XXXII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           281-291
    Story of the Bráhman's son Vishnudatta and his seven
    foolish companions,                                         283-285
    Story of Kadalígarbhá,                                      286-290
    Story of the king and the barber's wife,                    288-289


Chapter XXXIII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           291-302
    Story of Srutasena,                                         292-295
    Story of the three Bráhman brothers,                            293
    Story of Devasena and Unmádiní,                                 294
    Story of the ichneumon, the owl, the cat and the mouse,     296-298
    Story of king Prasenajit and the Bráhman who lost his
    treasure,                                                   298-299


Chapter XXXIV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           302-317
    Story of king Indradatta,                                       303
    Story of the Yaksha Virúpáksha,                             306-307
    Story of Satrughna and his wicked wife,                         312
    Story of king Súrasena and his ministers,                   313-314
    Story of king Harisinha,                                        314



Book VII.


Chapter XXXV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           319-327
    Story of Ratnaprabhá,                                       320-326
    Story of Sattvasíla and the two treasures,                  321-322
    Story of the brave king Vikramatunga,                       322-323


Chapter XXXVI.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           328-334
    Story of king Ratnádhipati and the white elephant
    Svetarasmi,                                                 328-334
    Story of Yavanasena,                                        331-332


Chapter XXXVII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           334-346
    Story of Nischayadatta,                                     334-346
    Story of Somasvámin,                                        339-341
    Story of Bhavasarman,                                       342-343


Chapter XXXVIII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           346-354
    Story of king Vikramáditya and the hetæra,                  347-354
    Story of king Vikramáditya and the treacherous mendicant,   349-350


Chapter XXXIX.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           355-367
    Story of Sringabhuja and the daughter of the Rákshasa,      355-367


Chapter XL.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           369-375
    Story of Tapodatta,                                             370
    Story of Virúpasarman,                                          371
    Story of king Vilásasíla and the physician Tarunachandra,   372-375


Chapter XLI.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           376-379
    Story of king Chiráyus and his minister Nágárjuna,          376-378


Chapter XLII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           379-390
    Story of king Parityágasena, his wicked wife, and his
    two sons,                                                   381-389


Chapter XLIII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           390-403
    Story of the two brothers Pránadhara and Rájyadhara,        391-393
    Story of Arthalobha and his beautiful wife,                 393-396
    Story of the princess Karpúriká in her birth as a swan,     397-398



Book VIII.


Chapter XLIV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           405-406
    Story of Súryaprabha,                                       406-414


Chapter XLV.

    Continuation of the story of Súryaprabha,                   414-434
    Story of the Bráhman Kála,                                  418-419


Chapter XLVI.

    Continuation of the story of Súryaprabha,                   434-446
    Story of the generous Dánava Namuchi,                       444-446


Chapter XLVII.

    Continuation of the story of Súryaprabha,                   446-452


Chapter XLVIII.

    Continuation of the story of Súryaprabha,                   452-459
    Adventure of the witch Sarabhánaná,                             458


Chapter XLIX.

    Continuation of the story of Súryaprabha,                   459-471
    Story of king Mahásena and his virtuous minister
    Gunasarman,                                                 459-471


Chapter L.

    Conclusion of the story of Súryaprabha,                     472-481
    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,               481



Book IX.


Chapter LI.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           483-494
    Story of Alankáravatí,                                      484-485
    Story of Ráma and Sítá,                                     486-488
    Story of the handsome king Prithvírúpa,                     489-492


Chapter LII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           494-515
    Story of Asokamálá,                                         496-498
    Story of Sthúlabhuja,                                       497-498
    Story of Anangarati and her four suitors,                   498-514
    Story of Anangarati in a former birth,                      502-503


Chapter LIII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           515-524
    Story of king Lakshadatta and his dependent Labdhadatta,    515-518
    Story of the Bráhman Víravara,                              519-524
    Story of Suprabha,                                          520-521


Chapter LIV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           524-537
    Story of the merchant Samudrasúra,                          529-531
    Story of king Chamarabála,                                  532-536
    Story of Yasovarman and the two fortunes,                   532-535


Chapter LV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           537-549
    Story of Chiradátri,                                        537-538
    Story of king Kanakavarsha and Madanasundarí,               538-549


Chapter LVI.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           549-569
    Story of the Bráhman Chandrasvámin, his son Mahípála,
    and his daughter Chandravatí,                               549-569
    Story of Chakra,                                            554-556
    Story of the hermit and the faithful wife,                  556-557
    Story of Dharmavyádha, the righteous seller of flesh,           557
    Story of the treacherous Pásupata ascetic,                  558-559
    Story of king Tribhuvana,                                   558-559
    Story of Nala and Damayantí,                                559-568



Book X.


Chapter LVII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son               1-10
    Story of the porter who found a bracelet                        1-2
    Story of the inexhaustible pitcher                              2-4
    Story of the merchant's son, the hetæra and the wonderful
    ape Ála                                                        4-10


Chapter LVIII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son              10-17
    Story of king Vikramasinha, the hetæra and the young
    Bráhman                                                       11-13
    Story of the faithless wife who burnt herself with her
    husband's body                                                13-14
    Story of the faithless wife who had her husband murdered         14
    Story of Vajrasára whose wife cut off his nose and ears       14-16
    Story of king Sinhabala and his faithless wife                16-17


Chapter LIX.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son              17-26
    Story of king Sumanas, the Nisháda maiden, and the
    learned parrot                                                18-26
    The parrot's account of his own life as a parrot              19-21
    The hermit's story of Somaprabha, Manorathaprabhá, and
    Makarandiká                                                   21-25
    Episode of Manorathaprabhá and Rasmimat                       22-23


Chapter LX.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son              27-43
    Story of Súravarman who spared his guilty wife                   27
    Story of the ox abandoned in the forest, and the lion,
    and the two jackals                                           27-43
    Story of the monkey that pulled out the wedge                    28
    Story of the jackal and the drum                                 30
    Story of the crane and the Makara                             31-32
    Story of the lion and the hare                                32-33
    Story of the louse and the flea                                  34
    Story of the lion, the panther, the crow and the jackal       35-36
    Story of the pair of titthibhas                               36-38
    Story of the tortoise and the two swans                          37
    Story of the three fish                                       37-38
    Story of the monkeys, the firefly and the bird                   39
    Story of Dharmabuddhi and Dushtabuddhi                        40-41
    Story of the crane, the snake, and the mungoose                  41
    Story of the mice that ate an iron balance                    41-42


Chapter LXI.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son              41-63
    Story of the foolish merchant who made aloes-wood into
    charcoal                                                         44
    Story of the man who sowed roasted seed                          44
    Story of the man who mixed fire and water                        44
    Story of the man who tried to improve his wife's nose            45
    Story of the foolish herdsman                                    45
    Story of the fool and the ornaments                              45
    Story of the fool and the cotton                                 45
    Story of the foolish villagers who cut down the palm-trees       46
    Story of the treasure-finder who was blinded                     46
    Story of the fool and the salt                                46-47
    Story of the fool and his milch-cow                              47
    Story of the foolish bald man and the fool who pelted him        47
    Story of the crow, and the king of the pigeons, the
    tortoise and the deer                                         48-52
    Story of the mouse and the hermit                             49-51
    Story of the Bráhman's wife and the sesame-seeds              50-51
    Story of the greedy jackal                                       50
    Story of the wife who falsely accused her husband of
    murdering a Bhilla                                            53-54
    Story of the snake who told his secret to a woman             54-55
    Story of the bald man and the hair-restorer                      55
    Story of a foolish servant                                       55
    Story of the faithless wife who was present at her own
    Sráddha                                                       55-56
    Story of the ambitious Chandála maiden                           56
    Story of the miserly king                                        57
    Story of Dhavalamukha, his trading friend, and his fighting
    friend                                                        57-58
    Story of the thirsty fool that did not drink                     58
    Story of the fool who killed his son                             58
    Story of the fool and his brother                                58
    Story of the Brahmachárin's son                                  59
    Story of the astrologer who killed his son                       59
    Story of the violent man who justified his character          59-60
    Story of the foolish king who made his daughter grow             60
    Story of the man who recovered half a pana from his servant      60
    Story of the fool who took notes of a certain spot in the
    sea                                                           60-61
    Story of the king who replaced the flesh                         61
    Story of the woman who wanted another son                        61
    Story of the servant who tasted the fruit                        62
    Story of the two brothers Yajnasoma and Kírtisoma             62-63
    Story of the fool who wanted a barber                            63
    Story of the man who asked for nothing at all                    63


Chapter LXII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son              64-79
    Story of the war between the crows and the owls               64-75
    Story of the ass in the panther's skin                           65
    How the crow dissuaded the birds from choosing the
    owl king                                                      65-68
    Story of the elephant and the hares                           66-67
    Story of the bird, the hare, and the cat                      67-68
    Story of the Bráhman, the goat, and the rogues                68-69
    Story of the old merchant and his young wife                  69-70
    Story of the Bráhman, the thief, and the Rákshasa                70
    Story of the carpenter and his wife                           71-72
    Story of the mouse that was turned into a maiden              72-73
    Story of the snake and the frogs                                 74
    Story of the foolish servant                                     75
    Story of the two brothers who divided all that they had          75
    Story of the mendicant who became emaciated from discontent   75-76
    Story of the fool who saw gold in the water                      76
    Story of the servants who kept rain off the trunks            76-77
    Story of the fool and the cakes                                  77
    Story of the servant who looked after the door                   77
    Story of the simpletons who ate the buffalo                   77-78
    Story of the fool who behaved like a Brahmany drake              78
    Story of the physician who tried to cure a hunchback          78-79


Chapter LXIII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son              79-90
    Story of Yasodhara and Lakshmídhara and the two wives
    of the water-genius                                           79-83
    Story of the water-genius in his previous birth                  82
    Story of the Bráhman who became a Yaksha                         83
    Story of the monkey and the porpoise                          84-87
    Story of the sick lion, the jackal, and the ass               85-87
    Story of the fool who gave a verbal reward to the musician       87
    Story of the teacher and his two jealous pupils                  88
    Story of the snake with two heads                             88-89
    Story of the fool who was nearly choked with rice                89
    Story of the boys that milked the donkey                      89-90
    Story of the foolish boy that went to the village for
    nothing                                                          90


Chapter LXIV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son             90-100
    Story of the Bráhman and the mungoose                         90-91
    Story of the fool that was his own doctor                        91
    Story of the fool who mistook hermits for monkeys             91-92
    Story of the fool who found a purse                              92
    Story of the fool who looked for the moon                        92
    Story of the woman who escaped from the monkey and the
    cowherd                                                       92-93
    Story of the two thieves Ghata and Karpara                    93-96
    Story of Devadatta's wife                                        96
    Story of the wife of the Bráhman Rudrasoma                    96-97
    Story of the wife of Susin                                    97-98
    Story of the snake-god and his wife                           98-99


Chapter LXV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            101-115
    Story of the ungrateful wife                                101-103
    Story of the grateful animals and the ungrateful woman      103-108
    The lion's story                                            104-105
    The golden-crested bird's story                             105-106
    The snake's story                                               106
    The woman's story                                               106
    Story of the Buddhist monk who was bitten by a dog          108-109
    Story of the man who submitted to be burnt alive sooner
    than share his food with a guest                            109-110
    Story of the foolish teacher, the foolish pupils, and
    the cat                                                     110-111
    Story of the fools and the bull of Siva                     111-112
    Story of the fool who asked his way to the village              112
    Story of Hiranyáksha and Mrigánkalekhá                      113-115


Chapter LXVI.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            115-124
    Story of the mendicant who travelled from Kasmíra to
    Pátaliputra                                                 115-118
    Story of the wife of king Sinháksha, and the wives of
    his principal courtiers                                     116-118
    Story of the woman who had eleven husbands                      119
    Story of the man who, thanks to Durgá, had always one ox    119-120
    Story of the man who managed to acquire wealth by speaking
    to the king                                                 120-121
    Story of Ratnarekhá and Lakshmísena                         121-124
    Marriage of Naraváhanadatta and Saktiyasas                      124



Book XI.


Chapter LXVII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            125-131
    Story of the race between the elephant and the horses       125-126
    Story of the merchant and his wife Velá                     127-131
    Marriage of Naraváhanadatta and Jayendrasená                    131



Book XII.


Chapter LXVIII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            133-137
    Marriage of Naraváhanadatta and Lalitalochaná                   134
    Story of the jackal that was turned into an elephant            134
    Story of Vámadatta and his wicked wife                      134-137


Chapter LXIX.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            137-138
    Story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí                      138-146
    Story of king Bhadrabáhu and his clever minister            139-141
    Story of Pushkaráksha and Vinayavatí                        141-146
    Story of the birth of Vinayavatí                            141-142
    The adventures of Pushkaráksha and Vinayavatí in a former
    life                                                        143-145
    Story of Lávanyamanjarí                                         145


Chapter LXX.

    Continuation of the Story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí  146-154
    Story of Srutadhi                                               148


Chapter LXXI.

    Continuation of the story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí  154-169
    Story of Kamalákara and Hansávalí                           157-167


Chapter LXXII.

    Continuation of the story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí  170-191
    Story of king Vinítamati who became a holy man              171-191
    Story of the holy boar                                      176-178
    Story of Devabhúti                                          180-181
    Story of the generous Induprabha                            181-182
    Story of the parrot who was taught virtue by the king of
    the parrots                                                 182-183
    Story of the patient hermit Subhanaya                       183-184
    Story of the persevering young Bráhman                          184
    Story of Malayamálin                                        184-186
    Story of the robber who won over Yama's secretary           186-189


Chapter LXXIII.

    Continuation of the story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí  191-214
    Story of Srídarsana                                         192-214
    Story of Saudáminí                                          193-194
    Story of Bhúnandana                                         196-201


Chapter LXXIV.

    Continuation of the story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí  214-231
    Story of Bhímabhata                                         215-230
    Story of Akshakshapanaka                                    222-223


Chapter LXXV.

    Continuation of the story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí  231-232
    Story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire                232-241
    Story of the prince who was helped to a wife by the son
    of his father's minister                                    234-241


Chapter LXXVI.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 242-244
    Story of the three young Bráhmans who restored a dead lady
    to life                                                     242-244


Chapter LXXVII.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 245-250
    Story of the king and the two wise birds                    245-250
    The maina's story                                           246-247
    The parrot's story                                          247-250


Chapter LXXVIII.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 251-257
    Story of Víravara                                           251-256


Chapter LXXIX.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 257-260
    Story of Somaprabhá and her three sisters                   258-260


Chapter LXXX.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 261-264
    Story of the lady who caused her brother and husband to
    change heads                                                261-264


Chapter LXXXI.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 265-271
    Story of the king who married his dependent to the Nereid   265-271


Chapter LXXXII.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 271-274
    Story of the three fastidious men                           271-273


Chapter LXXXIII.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 275-277
    Story of Anangarati and her four suitors                    275-277


Chapter LXXXIV.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 281-283
    Story of Madanasená and her rash promise                    278-280


Chapter LXXXV.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 281-283
    Story of king Dharmadhvaja and his three very sensitive
    wives                                                       281-283


Chapter LXXXVI.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 284-293
    Story of king Yasahketu, his Vidyádharí wife and his
    faithful minister                                           284-292


Chapter LXXXVII.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 293-297
    Story of Harisvámin who first lost his wife and then
    his life                                                    293-296


Chapter LXXXVIII.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 297-300
    Story of the merchant's daughter who fell in love with
    a thief                                                     297-300


Chapter LXXXIX.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 301-307
    Story of the magic globule                                  301-306


Chapter XC.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 307-318
    Story of Jímútaváhana                                       307-317


Chapter XCI.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 318-322
    Story of Unmádiní                                           318-321


Chapter XCII.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 322-327
    Story of the Bráhman's son who failed to acquire the
    magic power                                                 323-327


Chapter XCIII.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 328-334
    Story of the thief's son                                    328-334


Chapter XCIV.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 334-342
    Story of the Bráhman boy who offered himself up to save
    the life of the king                                        335-341


Chapter XCV.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 342-347
    Story of Anangamanjarí, her husband Manivarman, and the
    Bráhman Kamalákara                                          342-347


Chapter XCVI.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 348-350
    Story of the four Bráhman brothers who resuscitated the
    tiger                                                       348-350


Chapter XCVII.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 351-351
    Story of the Hermit who first wept and then danced          351-353


Chapter XCVIII.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 354-358
    Story of the father that married the daughter and the
    son that married the mother                                 354-357


Chapter XCIX.

    Conclusion of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 358-360
    Continuation of the story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí  360-362


Chapter C.

    Continuation of the story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí  362-365


Chapter CI.

    Continuation of the story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí  366-386
    Story of Sundarasena and Mandáravatí                        368-385


Chapter CII.

    Continuation of the story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí  387-396


Chapter CIII.

    Conclusion of the story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí    396-409
    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son                409



Book XIII.


Chapter CIV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            411-423
    Story of the two Bráhman friends                            412-423



Book XIV.

Chapter CV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            425-430
    Story of Sávitrí and Angiras                                426-427


Chapter CVI.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            430-441
    Story of the child that died of a broken heart              435-436


Chapter CVII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            441-448
    Story of Ráma                                                   442


Chapter CVIII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            448-460
    Story of Nágasvámin and the witches                         449-452
    Story of Marubhúti and the mermaids and the gold-producing
    grains                                                      452-454



Book XV.


Chapter CIX.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            461-469
    History of the cave of Trisírsha                            464-465


Chapter CX.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            469-478
    Naraváhanadatta crowned emperor of the Vidyádharas          473-474



Book XVI.


Chapter CXI.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            479-483
    Story of the devoted couple Súrasena and Sushená            480-481
    Death of Chandamahásena and Angáravatí                          482
    Death of Udayana king of Vatsa                                  483
    Continuation of the story of Naraváhanadatta son
    of Udayana                                                  484-485


Chapter CXII.

    Continuation of the story of Naraváhanadatta son
    of Udayana                                                  485-497
    Story of king Chandamahásena and the Asura's daughter       486-488
    Story of prince Avantivardhana and the daughter of
    the Mátanga                                                 488-496
    Story of the young Chandála who married the daughter of
    king Prasenajit                                             490-491
    Story of the young fisherman who married a princess         491-493
    Story of the Merchant's daughter who fell in love with
    a thief                                                     493-495


Chapter CXIII.

    Continuation of the story of Naraváhanadatta son
    of Udayana                                                  497-503
    Story of Tárávaloka                                         498-503



Book XVII.


Chapter CXIV.

    Continuation of the story of Naraváhanadatta son
    of Udayana                                                  505-513
    Story of king Brahmadatta and the swans                     506-513
    How Párvatí condemned her five attendants to be reborn
    on earth                                                    508-510
    Story of the metamorphoses of Pingesvara and Guhesvara      510-513


Chapter CXV.

    Continuation of The story of Brahmadatta and the swans      513-514
    Story of Muktáphalaketu and Padmávatí                       514-522


Chapter CXVI.

    Continuation of the story of Muktáphalaketu and Padmávatí   522-528


Chapter CXVII.

    Continuation of the story of Muktáphalaketu and Padmávatí   528-538


Chapter CXVIII.

    Continuation of the story of Muktáphalaketu and Padmávatí   538-549


Chapter CXIX.

    Conclusion of the story of Muktáphalaketu and Padmávatí     549-561
    Conclusion of the story of Brahmadatta and the swans            561
    Continuation of the story of Naraváhanadatta son of Udayana     561



Book XVIII.


Chapter CXX.

    Continuation of the story of Naraváhanadatta son
    of Udayana                                                      563
    Story of Vikramáditya king of Ujjayiní                      563-570


Chapter CXXI.

    Continuation of the story of Vikramáditya king of Ujjayiní  571-586
    Story of Madanamanjarí                                      571-583
    Story of the gambler Dágineya                               572-574
    Story of Thinthákarála the bold gambler                     574-582
    Story of the gambler who cheated Yama                           581
    Story of Ghanta and Nighanta and the two maidens                583
    Story of the golden deer                                        584


Chapter CXXII.

    Continuation of the story of Vikramáditya king of Ujjayiní  586-593
    Story of Malayavatí the man-hating maiden                   587-593


Chapter CXXIII.

    Continuation of the Story of Vikramáditya king of Ujjayiní      593
    Story of Kalingasená's marriage                             593-611
    How Devasena obtained the magic ointment                        594
    Story of the grateful monkey                                596-597
    Story of the two princesses                                 598-599
    Story of Dhanadatta                                         600-601
    Story of Kesata and Kandarpa                                601-610
    Story of Kusumáyudha and Kamalalochaná                      606-607


Chapter CXXIV.

    Conclusion of the story of Kalingasená's marriage           611-614
    Story of Chandrasvámin                                      611-612
    Conclusion of the story of Vikramáditya king of Ujjayiní    614-624
    Story of Devasvámin                                         616-617
    Story of Agnisarman                                         617-618
    Story of Múladeva                                           618-624
    Conclusion of the story of Naraváhanadatta son of Udayana       624
    Conclusion of the Kathá Sarit Ságara                            625







TRANSLATION OF THE KATHÁ SARIT SÁGARA OR OCEAN OF THE STREAMS OF STORY.


BOOK I.

CALLED KATHÁPÍTHA


CHAPTER I.


May the dark neck of Siva, which the god of love has, so to speak,
surrounded with nooses in the form of the alluring looks of Párvatí
reclining on his bosom, assign to you prosperity.

May that victor of obstacles, [1] who after sweeping away the stars
with his trunk in the delirious joy of the evening dance, seems to
create others with the spray issuing from his hissing [2] mouth,
protect you.

After worshipping the goddess of Speech, the lamp that illuminates
countless objects, [3] I compose this collection which contains the
pith of the Vríhat-Kathá.

The first book in my collection is called Kathápítha, then comes
Kathámukha, then the third book named Lávánaka, then follows
Naraváhanadattajanana, and then the book called Chaturdáriká, and then
Madanamanchuká, then the seventh book named Ratnaprabhá, and then the
eighth book named Súryaprabhá, then Alankáravatí, then Saktiyasas,
and then the eleventh book called Velá, then comes Sasánkavatí,
and then Madirávatí, then comes the book called Pancha followed by
Mahábhisheka, and then Suratamanjarí, then Padmávatí, and then will
follow the eighteenth book Vishamasíla.

This book is precisely on the model of that from which it is taken,
there is not even the slightest deviation, only such language is
selected as tends to abridge the prolixity of the work; the observance
of propriety and natural connexion, and the joining together of the
portions of the poem so as not to interfere with the spirit of the
stories, are as far as possible kept in view: I have not made this
attempt through desire of a reputation for ingenuity, but in order
to facilitate the recollection of a multitude of various tales.

There is a mountain celebrated under the name of Himavat, haunted
by Kinnaras, Gandharvas, and Vidyádharas, a very monarch of mighty
hills, whose glory has attained such an eminence among mountains that
Bhavání the mother of the three worlds deigned to become his daughter;
the northernmost summit thereof is a great peak named Kailása,
which towers many thousand yojanas in the air, [4] and as it were,
laughs forth with its snowy gleams this boast--"Mount Mandara [5] did
not become white as mortar even when the ocean was churned with it,
but I have become such without an effort." There dwells Mahesvara
the beloved of Párvatí, the chief of things animate and inanimate,
attended upon by Ganas, Vidyádharas and Siddhas. In the upstanding
yellow tufts of his matted hair, the new moon enjoys the delight of
touching the eastern mountain yellow in the evening twilight. When he
drove his trident into the heart of Andhaka, the king of the Asuras,
though he was only one, the dart which that monarch had infixed in the
heart of the three worlds was, strange to say, extracted. The image
of his toe-nails being reflected in the crest-jewels of the gods and
Asuras made them seem as if they had been presented with half moons
by his favour. [6] Once on a time that lord, the husband of Párvatí,
was gratified with praises by his wife, having gained confidence as
she sat in secret with him; the moon-crested one attentive to her
praise and delighted, placed her on his lap, and said, "What can I do
to please thee?" Then the daughter of the mountain spake--"My lord,
if thou art satisfied with me, then tell me some delightful story that
is quite new." And Siva said to her, "What can there be in the world,
my beloved, present, past, or future that thou dost not know?" Then
that goddess, beloved of Siva, importuned him eagerly because she
was proud in soul on account of his affection.

Then Siva wishing to flatter her, began by telling her a very short
story, referring to her own divine power.

"Once on a time [7] Brahmá and Náráyana roaming through the world
in order to behold me, came to the foot of Himavat. Then they beheld
there in front of them a great flame-linga; [8] in order to discover
the end of it, one of them went up, and the other down; and when
they could not find the end of it, they proceeded to propitiate
me by means of austerities: and I appeared to them and bade them
ask for some boon: hearing that Brahmá asked me to become his son;
on that account he has ceased to be worthy of worship, disgraced by
his overweening presumption.

"Then that god Náráyana craved a boon of me, saying--Oh revered one,
may I become devoted to thy service! Then he became incarnate, and
was born as mine in thy form; for thou art the same as Náráyana,
the power of me all-powerful.

"Moreover thou wast my wife in a former birth." When Siva had thus
spoken, Párvatí asked, "How can I have been thy wife in a former
birth?" Then Siva answered her. "Long ago to the Prajápati Daksha
were born many daughters, and amongst them thou, O goddess! He gave
thee in marriage to me, and the others to Dharma and the rest of the
gods. Once on a time he invited all his sons-in-law to a sacrifice. But
I alone was not included in the invitation; thereupon thou didst ask
him to tell thee why thy husband was not invited. Then he uttered a
speech which pierced thy ears like a poisoned needle; 'Thy husband
wears a necklace of skulls; how can he be invited to a sacrifice?'

"And then thou, my beloved, didst in anger abandon thy body,
exclaiming,--'This father of mine is a villain; what profit have I
then in this carcase sprung from him?'

"And thereupon in wrath I destroyed that sacrifice of Daksha. Then
thou wast born as the daughter of the mount of snow, as the moon's
digit springs from the sea. Then recall how I came to the Himálaya
in order to perform austerities; and thy father ordered thee to do
me service as his guest: and there the god of love who had been sent
by the gods in order that they might obtain from me a son to oppose
Táraka, was consumed, [9] when endeavouring to pierce me, having
obtained a favourable opportunity. Then I was purchased by thee,
[10] the enduring one, with severe austerities, and I accepted this
proposal of thine, my beloved, in order that I might add this merit
to my stock. [11] Thus it is clear that thou wast my wife in a former
birth. What else shall I tell thee?" Thus Siva spake, and when he had
ceased, the goddess transported with wrath, exclaimed,--"Thou art a
deceiver; thou wilt not tell me a pleasing tale even though I ask thee:
Do I not know that thou worshippest Sandhyá, and bearest Gangá on thy
head?" Hearing that, Siva proceeded to conciliate her and promised to
tell her a wonderful tale: then she dismissed her anger. She herself
gave the order that no one was to enter where they were; Nandin [12]
thereupon kept the door, and Siva began to speak.

"The gods are supremely blessed, men are ever miserable, the actions
of demigods are exceedingly charming, therefore I now proceed to
relate to thee the history of the Vidyádharas." While Siva was thus
speaking to his consort, there arrived a favourite dependant of Siva's,
Pushpadanta, best of Ganas, [13] and his entrance was forbidden by
Nandin who was guarding the door. Curious to know why even he had
been forbidden to enter at that time without any apparent reason,
Pushpadanta immediately entered, making use of his magic power attained
by devotion to prevent his being seen, and when he had thus entered,
he heard all the extraordinary and wonderful adventures of the seven
Vidyádharas being narrated by the trident-bearing god, and having heard
them he in turn went and narrated them to his wife Jayá; for who can
hide wealth or a secret from women? Jayá the doorkeeper being filled
with wonder went and recited it in the presence of Párvatí. How can
women be expected to restrain their speech? And then the daughter of
the mountain flew into a passion, and said to her husband, "Thou didst
not tell me any extraordinary tale, for Jayá knows it also." Then the
lord of Umá, perceiving the truth by profound meditation, thus spake:
"Pushpadanta employing the magic power of devotion entered in where
we were, and thus managed to hear it. He narrated it to Jayá; no one
else knows it, my beloved."

Having heard this, the goddess exceedingly enraged caused Pushpadanta
to be summoned, and cursed him, as he stood trembling before her,
saying, "Become a mortal thou disobedient servant." [14] She cursed
also the Gana Mályaván who presumed to intercede on his behalf. Then
the two fell at her feet together with Jayá and entreated her to say
when the curse would end, and the wife of Siva slowly uttered this
speech--"A Yaksha named Supratíka who has been made a Pisácha by the
curse of Kuvera is residing in the Vindhya forest under the name of
Kánabhúti. When thou shalt see him and, calling to mind thy origin,
tell him this tale, then, Pushpadanta, thou shalt be released from
this curse. And when Mályaván shall hear this tale from Kánabhúti,
then Kánabhúti shall be released, and thou, Mályaván, when thou
hast published it abroad, shalt be free also." Having thus spoken
the daughter of the mountain ceased, and immediately those Ganas
disappeared instantaneously like flashes of lightning. Then it came
to pass in the course of time that Gaurí full of pity asked Siva,
"My lord, where on the earth have those excellent Pramathas [15] whom
I cursed, been born?" And the moon-diademed god answered: "My beloved,
Pushpadanta has been born under the name of Vararuchi in that great
city which is called Kausámbí. [16] Moreover Mályaván also has been
born in the splendid city called Supratishthita under the name of
Gunádhya. This, O goddess, is what has befallen them." Having given
her this information with grief caused by recalling to mind the
degradation of the servants that had always been obedient to him,
that lord continued to dwell with his beloved in pleasure-arbours on
the slopes of mount Kailása, which were made of the branches of the
Kalpa tree. [17]






CHAPTER II.


Then Pushpadanta wandering on the earth in the form of a man,
was known by the name of Vararuchi and Kátyáyana. Having attained
perfection in the sciences, and having served Nanda as minister,
being wearied out he went once on a time to visit the shrine of
Durgá. [18] And that goddess, being pleased with his austerities,
ordered him in a dream to repair to the wilds of the Vindhya to
behold Kánabhúti. And as he wandered about there in a waterless
and savage wood, [19] full of tigers and apes, he beheld a lofty
Nyagrodha tree. [20] And near it he saw, surrounded by hundreds of
Pisáchas, that Pisácha Kánabhúti, in stature like a Sála tree. When
Kánabhúti had seen him and respectfully clasped his feet, Kátyáyana
sitting down immediately spake to him. "Thou art an observer of the
good custom; how hast thou come into this state?" Having heard this
Kánabhúti said to Kátyáyana, who had shewn affection towards him, "I
know not of myself, but listen to what I heard from Siva at Ujjayiní
in the place where corpses are burnt; I proceed to tell it thee." The
adorable god was asked by Durgá--"Whence, my lord, comes thy delight
in skulls and burning-places?" He thereupon gave this answer.

"Long ago when all things had been destroyed at the end of a Kalpa,
the universe became water: I then cleft my thigh and let fall a drop
of blood; that drop falling into the water turned into an egg, from
that sprang the Supreme Soul, [21] the Disposer; from him proceeded
Nature, [22] created by me for the purpose of further creation, and
they created the other lords of created beings, [23] and those in turn
the created beings, for which reason, my beloved, the Supreme Soul is
called in the world the grandfather. Having thus created the world,
animate and inanimate, that Spirit became arrogant: [24] thereupon I
cut off his head: then through regret for what I had done, I undertook
a difficult vow. So thus it comes to pass that I carry skulls in my
hand, and love the places where corpses are burned. Moreover this world
resembling a skull, rests in my hand; for the two skull-shaped halves
of the egg before mentioned are called heaven and earth." When Siva
had thus spoken, I, being full of curiosity, determined to listen;
and Párvatí again said to her husband, "After how long a time will
that Pushpadanta return to us?" Hearing that, Mahesvara spoke to the
goddess, pointing me out to her; "That Pisácha whom thou beholdest
there, was once a Yaksha, a servant of Kuvera, the god of wealth,
and he had for a friend a Rákshasa named Sthúlasiras; and the lord of
wealth perceiving that he associated with that evil one, banished him
to the wilds of the Vindhya mountains. But his brother Dírghajangha
fell at the feet of the god, and humbly asked when the curse would
end. Then the god of wealth said--"After thy brother has heard the
great tale from Pushpadanta, who has been born into this world in
consequence of a curse, and after he has in turn told it to Mályaván,
who owing to a curse has become a human being, he together with those
two Ganas shall be released from the effects of the curse." Such were
the terms on which the god of wealth then ordained that Mályaván
should obtain remission from his curse here below, and thou didst
fix the same in the case of Pushpadanta; recall it to mind, my
beloved." When I heard that speech of Siva, I came here overjoyed,
knowing that the calamity of my curse would be terminated by the
arrival of Pushpadanta. When Kánabhúti ceased after telling this story,
that moment Vararuchi remembered his origin, and exclaimed like one
aroused from sleep, "I am that very Pushpadanta, hear that tale from
me." Thereupon Kátyáyana related to him the seven great tales in seven
hundred thousand verses, and then Kánabhúti said to him--"My lord,
thou art an incarnation of Siva, who else knows this story? Through thy
favour that curse has almost left my body. Therefore tell me thy own
history from thy birth, thou mighty one, sanctify me yet further, if
the narrative may be revealed to such a one as I am." Then Vararuchi,
to gratify Kánabhúti, who remained prostrate before him, told all
his history from his birth at full length, in the following words:



Story of Vararuchi, his teacher Varsha, and his fellow-pupils Vyádi
and Indradatta.

In the city of Kausámbí there lived a Bráhman called Somadatta, who
also had the title of Agnisikha, and his wife was called Vasudattá. She
was the daughter of a hermit, and was born into the world in this
position in consequence of a curse; and I was born by her to this
excellent Bráhman, also in consequence of a curse. Now while I was
still quite a child my father died, but my mother continued to support
me, as I grew up, by severe drudgery; then one day two Bráhmans came
to our house to stop a night, exceedingly dusty with a long journey;
and while they were staying in our house there arose the noise of
a tabor, thereupon my mother said to me, sobbing, as she called to
mind her husband--"there, my son, is your father's friend Bhavananda,
giving a dramatic entertainment." I answered, "I will go and see it,
and will exhibit the whole of it to you, with a recitation of all
the speeches." On hearing that speech of mine, those Bráhmans were
astonished, but my mother said to them--"Come, my children, there is
no doubt about the truth of what he says; this boy will remember by
heart everything that he has heard once." [25] Then they, in order
to test me, recited to me a Prátisákhya [26]; immediately I repeated
the whole in their presence, then I went with the two Bráhmans and
saw that play, and when I came home, I went through the whole of it
in front of my mother: then one of the Bráhmans, named Vyádi, having
ascertained that I was able to recollect a thing on hearing it once,
told with submissive reverence this tale to my mother.

Mother, in the city of Vetasa there were two Bráhman brothers,
Deva-Swámin and Karambaka, who loved one another very dearly;
this Indradatta here is the son of one of them, and I am the son
of the other, and my name is Vyádi. It came to pass that my father
died. Owing to grief for his loss, the father of Indradatta went
on the long journey, [27] and then the hearts of our two mothers
broke with grief; thereupon being orphans though we had wealth,
[28] and, desiring to acquire learning, we went to the southern
region to supplicate the lord Kártikeya. And while we were engaged
in austerities there, the god gave us the following revelation in
a dream. "There is a city called Pátaliputra, the capital of king
Nanda, and in it there is a Bráhman, named Varsha, from him ye
shall learn all knowledge, therefore go there." Then we went to
that city, and when we made enquiries there, people said to us:
"There is a blockhead of a Bráhman in this town, of the name of
Varsha." Immediately we went on with minds in a state of suspense,
and saw the house of Varsha in a miserable condition, made a very
ant-hill by mice, dilapidated by the cracking of the walls, untidy,
[29] deprived of eaves, looking like the very birth-place of misery.

Then, seeing Varsha plunged in meditation within the house, we
approached his wife, who shewed us all proper hospitality; her body
was emaciated and begrimed, her dress tattered and dirty; she looked
like the incarnation of poverty, attracted thither by admiration
for the Bráhman's virtues. Bending humbly before her, we then told
her our circumstances, and the report of her husband's imbecility,
which we heard in the city. She exclaimed--"My children, I am not
ashamed to tell you the truth; listen! I will relate the whole story,"
and then she, chaste lady, proceeded to tell us the tale which follows:

There lived in this city an excellent Bráhman, named Sankara Svámin,
and he had two sons, my husband Varsha, and Upavarsha; my husband
was stupid and poor, and his younger brother was just the opposite:
and Upavarsha appointed his own wife to manage his elder brother's
house. [30] Then in the course of time, the rainy season came on,
and at this time the women are in the habit of making a cake of
flour mixed with molasses, of an unbecoming and disgusting shape,
[31] and giving it to any Bráhman who is thought to be a blockhead,
and if they act thus, this cake is said to remove their discomfort
caused by bathing in the cold season, and their exhaustion [32] caused
by bathing in the hot weather; but when it is given, Bráhmans refuse
to receive it, on the ground that the custom is a disgusting one. This
cake was presented by my sister-in-law to my husband, together with
a sacrificial fee; he received it, and brought it home with him, and
got a severe scolding from me; then he began to be inwardly consumed
with grief at his own stupidity, and went to worship the sole of the
foot of the god Kártikeya: the god, pleased with his austerities,
bestowed on him the knowledge of all the sciences; and gave him
this order--"When thou findest a Bráhman who can recollect what
he has heard only once, then thou mayest reveal these"--thereupon
my husband returned home delighted, and when he had reached home,
told the whole story to me. From that time forth, he has remained
continually muttering prayers and meditating: so find you some one who
can remember anything after hearing it once, and bring him here: if you
do that, you will both of you undoubtedly obtain all that you desire.

Having heard this from the wife of Varsha, and having immediately given
her a hundred gold pieces to relieve her poverty, we went out of that
city; then we wandered through the earth, and could not find anywhere
a person who could remember what he had only heard once: at last we
arrived tired out at your house to-day, and have found here this boy,
your son, who can recollect anything after once hearing it: therefore
give him us and let us go forth to acquire the commodity knowledge.

Having heard this speech of Vyádi, my mother said with respect,
"All this tallies completely; I repose confidence in your tale:
for long ago at the birth of this my only son, a distinct spiritual
[33] voice was heard from heaven. "A boy has been born who shall be
able to remember what he has heard once; he shall acquire knowledge
from Varsha, and shall make the science of grammar famous in the
world, and he shall be called Vararuchi by name, because whatever
is excellent, [34] shall please him." Having uttered this, the
voice ceased. Consequently, ever since this boy has grown big, I
have been thinking, day and night, where that teacher Varsha can be,
and to-day I have been exceedingly gratified at hearing it from your
mouth. Therefore take him with you: what harm can there be in it, he
is your brother?" When they heard this speech of my mother's, those
two, Vyádi and Indradatta, overflowing with joy, thought that night
but a moment in length. Then Vyádi quickly gave his own wealth to my
mother to provide a feast, and desiring that I should be qualified to
read the Vedas, invested me with the Bráhmanical thread. Then Vyádi
and Indradatta took me, who managed by my own fortitude to control
the excessive grief I felt at parting, while my mother in taking
leave of me could with difficulty suppress her tears, and considering
that the favour of Kártikeya towards them had now put forth blossom,
set out rapidly from that city; then in course of time we arrived at
the house of the teacher Varsha: he too considered that I was the
favour of Kártikeya arrived in bodily form. The next day he placed
us in front of him, and sitting down in a consecrated spot, he began
to recite the syllable Om with heavenly voice. Immediately the Vedas
with the six supplementary sciences rushed into his mind, and then he
began to teach them to us; then I retained what the teacher told us
after hearing it once, Vyádi after hearing it twice, and Indradatta
after hearing it three times: then the Bráhmans of the city hearing
of a sudden that divine sound, came at once from all quarters with
wonder stirring in their breasts to see what this new thing might be;
and with their reverend mouths loud in his praises honoured Varsha with
low bows. Then beholding that wonderful miracle, not only Upavarsha,
but all the citizens of Pátaliputra [35] kept high festival. Moreover
the king Nanda of exalted fortune, seeing the power of the boon of
the son of Siva, was delighted, and immediately filled the house of
Varsha with wealth, shewing him every mark of respect. [36]






CHAPTER III.


Having thus spoken while Kánabhúti was listening with intent mind,
Vararuchi went on to tell his tale in the wood.

It came to pass in the course of time, that one day, when the reading
of the Vedas was finished, the teacher Varsha, who had performed his
daily ceremonies, was asked by us, "How comes it that such a city as
this has become the home of Sarasvatí and Lakshmí, [37] tell us that,
O teacher." Hearing this, he bade us listen, for that he was about
to tell the history of the city.



Story of the founding of the city of Pátaliputra.

There is a sanctifying place of pilgrimage, named Kanakhala, at the
point where the Ganges issues from the hills, [38] where the sacred
stream was brought down from the table-land of mount Usínara, by
Kánchanapáta the elephant of the gods, having cleft it asunder. [39]
In that place lived a certain Bráhman from the Deccan, performing
austerities in the company of his wife, and to him were born there
three sons. In the course of time he and his wife went to heaven,
and those sons of his went to a place named Rájagriha, for the sake
of acquiring learning. And having studied the sciences there, the
three, grieved at their unprotected condition, went to the Deccan in
order to visit the shrine of the god Kártikeya. Then they reached a
city named Chinchiní on the shore of the sea, and dwelt in the house
of a Bráhman named Bhojika, and he gave them his three daughters in
marriage, and bestowed on them all his wealth, and having no other
children, went to the Ganges to perform austerities. And while they
were living there in the house of their father-in-law, a terrible
famine arose produced by drought, thereupon the three Bráhmans fled,
abandoning their virtuous wives, (since no care for their families
touches the hearts of cruel men,) then the middle one of the three
sisters was found to be pregnant; and those ladies repaired to the
house of Yajnadatta a friend of their father's: there they remained
in a miserable condition, thinking each on her own husband, (for even
in calamity women of good family do not forget the duties of virtuous
wives). Now in course of time the middle one of the three sisters
gave birth to a son, and they all three vied with one another in love
towards him. So it happened once upon a time that, as Siva was roaming
through the air, the mother of Skanda [40] who was reposing on Siva's
breast, moved with compassion at seeing their love for their child,
said to her husband, "My lord, observe, these three women feel great
affection for this boy, and place hope in him, trusting that he may
some day support them; therefore bring it about that he may be able
to maintain them, even in his infancy." Having been thus entreated by
his beloved, Siva, the giver of boons, thus answered her: I adopt him
as my protégé, for in a previous birth he and his wife propitiated
me, therefore he has been born on the earth to reap the fruit of his
former austerities; and his former wife has been born again as Pátalí
the daughter of the king Mahendravarman, and she shall be his wife in
this birth also. Having said this, that mighty god told those three
virtuous women in a dream,--"This young son of yours shall be called
Putraka; and every day when he awakes from sleep, a hundred thousand
gold pieces shall be found under his pillow, [41] and at last he shall
become a king." Accordingly, when he woke up from sleep, those virtuous
daughters of Yajnadatta found the gold and rejoiced that their vows and
prayers had brought forth fruit. Then by means of that gold Putraka
having in a short time accumulated great treasure, became a king,
for good fortune is the result of austerities. [42] Once upon a time
Yajnadatta said in private to Putraka,--"King, your father and uncles
have gone away into the wide world on account of a famine, therefore
give continually to Bráhmans, in order that they may hear of it and
return: and now listen, I will tell you the story of Brahmadatta."



Story of king Brahmadatta. [43]

"There lived formerly in Benares a king named Brahmadatta. He saw a
pair of swans flying in the air at night. They shone with the lustre
of gleaming gold, and were begirt with hundreds of white swans,
and so looked like a sudden flash of lightning, surrounded by white
clouds. And his desire to behold them again kept increasing so mightily
that he took no pleasure in the delights of royalty. And then having
taken counsel with his ministers he caused a fair tank to be made
according to a design of his own, and gave to all living creatures
security from injury. In a short time he perceived that those two
swans had settled in that lake, and when they had become tame he
asked them the reason of their golden plumage. And then those swans
addressed the king with an articulate voice. 'In a former birth,
O king, we were born as crows; and when we were fighting for the
remains of the daily offering [44] in a holy empty temple of Siva, we
fell down and died within a sacred vessel belonging to that sanctuary,
and consequently we have been born as golden swans with a remembrance
of our former birth';--having heard this the king gazed on them to
his heart's content, and derived great pleasure from watching them.

"Therefore you will gain back your father and uncles by an unparalleled
gift." When Yajnadatta had given him this advice, Putraka did as he
recommended; when they heard the tidings of the distribution those
Bráhmans arrived: and when they were recognized they had great wealth
bestowed on them, and were reunited to their wives. Strange to say,
even after they have gone through calamities, wicked men having their
minds blinded by want of discernment, are unable to put off their
evil nature. After a time they hankered after royal power, and being
desirous of murdering Putraka they enticed him under pretext of a
pilgrimage to the temple of Durgá: and having stationed assassins in
the inner sanctuary of the temple, they said to him, "First go and
visit the goddess alone, step inside." Thereupon he entered boldly,
but when he saw those assassins preparing to slay him, he asked them
why they wished to kill him. They replied, "We were hired for gold to
do it by your father and uncles." Then the discreet Putraka said to
the assassins, whose senses were bewildered by the goddess, "I will
give you this priceless jewelled ornament of mine. Spare me, I will
not reveal your secret; I will go to a distant land." The assassins
said, "So be it," and taking the ornament they departed, and falsely
informed the father and uncles of Putraka that he was slain. Then those
Bráhmans returned and endeavoured to get possession of the throne,
but they were put to death by the ministers as traitors. How can the
ungrateful prosper?

In the meanwhile that king Putraka, faithful to his promise, entered
the impassable wilds of the Vindhya, disgusted with his relations:
as he wandered about he saw two heroes engaged heart and soul in
a wrestling-match, and he asked them who they were. They replied,
"We are the two sons of the Asura Maya, and his wealth belongs to
us, this vessel, and this stick, and these shoes; it is for these
that we are fighting, and whichever of us proves the mightier is to
take them." When he heard this speech of theirs, Putraka said with
a smile--"That is a fine inheritance for a man." Then they said--"By
putting on these shoes one gains the power of flying through the air;
whatever is written with this staff turns out true; and whatever food
a man wishes to have in the vessel is found there immediately." When
he heard this, Putraka said--"What is the use of fighting? Make this
agreement, that whoever proves the best man in running shall possess
this wealth." [45] Those simpletons said--"Agreed"--and set off to run,
while the prince put on the shoes and flew up into the air, taking with
him the staff and the vessel; then he went a great distance in a short
time and saw beneath him a beautiful city named Ákarshiká and descended
into it from the sky. He reflected with himself; "hetæræ are prone
to deceive, Bráhmans are like my father and uncles, and merchants are
greedy of wealth; in whose house shall I dwell?" Just at that moment he
reached a lonely dilapidated house, and saw a single old woman in it;
so he gratified that old woman with a present, and lived unobserved in
that broken down old house, waited upon respectfully by the old woman.

Once upon a time the old woman in an affectionate mood said to
Putraka--"I am grieved, my son, that you have not a wife meet
for you. But here there is a maiden named Pátalí, the daughter of
the king, and she is preserved like a jewel in the upper story of a
seraglio." While he was listening to this speech of hers with open ear,
the god of love found an unguarded point, and entered by that very path
into his heart. He made up his mind that he must see that damsel that
very day, and in the night flew up through the air to where she was,
by the help of his magic shoes. He then entered by a window, which
was as high above the ground as the peak of a mountain, and beheld
that Pátalí, asleep in a secret place in the seraglio, continually
bathed in the moonlight that seemed to cling to her limbs: as it
were the might of love in fleshly form reposing after the conquest of
this world. While he was thinking how he should awake her, suddenly
outside a watchman began to chant: "Young men obtain the fruit of
their birth, when they awake the sleeping fair one, embracing her as
she sweetly scolds, with her eyes languidly opening." On hearing this
encouraging prelude, he embraced that fair one with limbs trembling
with excitement, and then she awoke. When she beheld that prince,
there was a contest between shame and love in her eye, which was
alternately fixed on his face and averted. When they had conversed
together, and gone through the ceremony of the Gándharva marriage,
that couple found their love continually increasing, as the night
waned away. Then Putraka took leave of his sorrowing wife, and with
his mind dwelling only on her went in the last watch of the night to
the old woman's house. So every night the prince kept going backwards
and forwards, and at last the intrigue was discovered by the guards
of the seraglio, accordingly they revealed the matter to the lady's
father, and he appointed a woman to watch secretly in the seraglio
at night. She, finding the prince asleep, made a mark with red lac
upon his garment to facilitate his recognition. In the morning she
informed the king of what she had done, and he sent out spies in all
directions, and Putraka was discovered by the mark and dragged out from
the dilapidated house into the presence of the king. Seeing that the
king was enraged, he flew up into the air with the help of the shoes,
and entered the palace of Pátalí. He said to her,--"We are discovered,
therefore rise up, let us escape with the help of the shoes, and so
taking Pátalí in his arms he flew away from that place through the
air. [46] Then descending from heaven near the bank of the Ganges,
he refreshed his weary beloved with cakes provided by means of the
magic vessel. When Pátalí saw the power of Putraka she made a request
to him, in accordance with which he sketched out with the staff a
city furnished with a force of all four arms. [47] In that city he
established himself as king, and his great power having attained
full development, he subdued that father-in-law of his, and became
ruler of the sea-engirdled earth. This is that same divine city,
produced by magic, together with its citizens; hence it bears the
name of Pátaliputra, and is the home of wealth and learning.

When we heard from the mouth of Varsha the above strange and
extraordinarily marvellous story, our minds, O Kánabhúti, were for
a long time delighted with thrilling wonder.






CHAPTER IV.


Having related this episode to Kánabhúti in the Vindhya forest,
Vararuchi again resumed the main thread of his narrative.

While thus dwelling there with Vyádi and Indradatta, I gradually
attained perfection in all sciences, and emerged from the condition of
childhood. Once on a time when we went out to witness the festival of
Indra, we saw a maiden looking like some weapon of Cupid, not of the
nature of an arrow. Then, Indradatta, on my asking him who that lady
might be, replied,--"She is the daughter of Upavarsha, and her name
is Upakosá," and she found out by means of her handmaids who I was,
and drawing my soul after her with a glance made tender by love, she
with difficulty managed to return to her own house. She had a face
like a full moon, and eyes like a blue lotus, she had arms graceful
like the stalk of a lotus, and a lovely full [48] bosom; she had a neck
marked with three lines like a shell, [49] and magnificent coral lips;
in short she was a second Lakshmí, so to speak, the store-house of the
beauty of king Cupid. Then my heart was cleft by the stroke of love's
arrow, and I could not sleep that night through my desire to kiss her
bimba [50] lip. Having at last with difficulty gone off to sleep,
I saw, at the close of night, a celestial woman in white garments;
she said to me--"Upakosá was thy wife in a former birth; as she
appreciates merit, she desires no one but thee, therefore, my son,
thou oughtest not to feel anxious about this matter. I am Sarasvatí
[51] that dwell continually in thy frame, I cannot bear to behold thy
grief." When she had said this, she disappeared. Then I woke up and
somewhat encouraged I went slowly and stood under a young mango tree
near the house of my beloved; then her confidante came and told me of
the ardent attachment of Upakosá to me, the result of sudden passion:
then I with my pain doubled, said to her, "How can I obtain Upakosá,
unless her natural protectors willingly bestow her upon me? For
death is better than dishonour; so if by any means your friend's
heart became known to her parents, perhaps the end might be prosperous.

"Therefore bring this about, my good woman, save the life of me and
of thy friend." When she heard this, she went and told all to her
friend's mother, she immediately told it to her husband Upavarsha,
he to Varsha his brother, and Varsha approved of the match. Then, my
marriage having been determined upon, Vyádi by the order of my tutor
went and brought my mother from Kausámbí; so Upakosá was bestowed
upon me by her father with all due ceremonies, and I lived happily
in Pátaliputra with my mother and my wife.

Now in course of time Varsha got a great number of pupils, and among
them there was one rather stupid pupil of the name of Pánini; he,
being wearied out with service, was sent away by the preceptor's wife,
and being disgusted at it and longing for learning, he went to the
Himálaya to perform austerities: then he obtained from the god, who
wears the moon as a crest, propitiated by his severe austerities, a new
grammar, the source of all learning. Thereupon he came and challenged
me to a disputation, and seven days passed away in the course of our
disputation; on the eighth day he had been fairly conquered by me,
but immediately afterwards a terrible menacing sound was uttered by
Siva in the firmament; owing to that our Aindra grammar was exploded
in the world, [52] and all of us, being conquered by Pánini, became
accounted fools. Accordingly full of despondency I deposited in the
hand of the merchant Hiranyadatta my wealth for the maintenance of
my house, and after informing Upakosá of it, I went fasting to mount
Himálaya to propitiate Siva with austerities.



Story of Upakosá and her four lovers.

Upakosá on her part anxious for my success, remained in her own house,
bathing every day in the Ganges, strictly observing her vow. One day,
when spring had come, she being still beautiful, though thin and
slightly pale, and charming to the eyes of men, like the streak of
the new moon, was seen by the king's domestic chaplain while going
to bathe in the Ganges, and also by the head magistrate, and by the
prince's minister; and immediately they all of them became a target for
the arrows of love. It happened too somehow or other that she took a
long time bathing that day, and as she was returning in the evening,
the prince's minister laid violent hands on her, but she with great
presence of mind said to him, "Dear Sir, I desire this as much as you,
but I am of respectable family, and my husband is away from home. How
can I act thus? Some one might perhaps see us, and then misfortune
would befall you as well as me. Therefore you must come without fail
to my house in the first watch of the night of the spring-festival
when the citizens are all excited." [53] When she had said this,
and pledged herself, he let her go, but, as chance would have it, she
had not gone many steps further, before she was stopped by the king's
domestic chaplain. She made a similar assignation with him also for
the second watch of the same night; and so he too was, though with
difficulty, induced to let her go; but, after she had gone a little
further, up comes a third person, the head magistrate, and detains the
trembling lady. Then she made a similar assignation with him too for
the third watch of the same night, and having by great good fortune
got him to release her, she went home all trembling, and of her own
accord told her handmaids the arrangements she had made, reflecting,
"Death is better for a woman of good family when her husband is away,
than to meet the eyes of people who lust after beauty." Full of these
thoughts and regretting me, the virtuous lady spent that night in
fasting, lamenting her own beauty. Early the next morning she sent
a maid-servant to the merchant Hiranyagupta to ask for some money
in order that she might honour the Bráhmans: then that merchant also
came and said to her in private, "Shew me love, and then I will give
you what your husband deposited." When she heard that, she reflected
that she had no witness to prove the deposit of her husband's wealth,
and perceived that the merchant was a villain, and so tortured with
sorrow and grief, she made a fourth and last assignation with him for
the last watch of the same night; so he went away. In the meanwhile
she had prepared by her handmaids in a large vat lamp-black mixed
with oil and scented with musk and other perfumes, and she made ready
four pieces of rag anointed with it, and she caused to be made a large
trunk with a fastening outside. So on that day of the spring-festival
the prince's minister came in the first watch of the night in gorgeous
array. When he had entered without being observed Upakosá said to him,
"I will not receive you until you have bathed, so go in and bathe." The
simpleton agreed to that, and was taken by the handmaids into a secret
dark inner apartment. There they took off his under-garments and
his jewels, and gave him by way of an under-garment a single piece
of rag, and they smeared the rascal from head to foot with a thick
coating of that lamp-black and oil, pretending it was an unguent,
without his detecting it. While they continued rubbing it into every
limb, the second watch of the night came and the chaplain arrived,
the handmaids thereupon said to the minister,--"here is the king's
chaplain come, a great friend of Vararuchi's, so creep into this
box"--and they bundled him into the trunk, just as he was, all naked,
with the utmost precipitation: and then they fastened it outside with
a bolt. The priest too was brought inside into the dark room on the
pretence of a bath, and was in the same way stripped of his garments
and ornaments, and made a fool of by the handmaids by being rubbed with
lamp-black and oil, with nothing but the piece of rag on him, until in
the third watch the chief magistrate arrived. The handmaids immediately
terrified the priest with the news of his arrival, and pushed him into
the trunk like his predecessor. After they had bolted him in, they
brought in the magistrate on the pretext of giving him a bath, and
so he, like his fellows, with the piece of rag for his only garment,
was bamboozled by being continually anointed with lamp-black, until in
the last watch of the night the merchant arrived. The handmaids made
use of his arrival to alarm the magistrate and bundled him also into
the trunk, and fastened it on the outside. So those three being shut
up inside the box, as if they were bent on accustoming themselves to
live in the hell of blind darkness, did not dare to speak on account
of fear, though they touched one another. Then Upakosá brought a
lamp into the room, and making the merchant enter it, said to him,
"give me that money which my husband deposited with you." When he
heard that, the rascal said, observing that the room was empty,
"I told you that I would give you the money your husband deposited
with me." Upakosá calling the attention of the people in the trunk,
said--"Hear, O ye gods this speech of Hiranyagupta." When she had
said this, she blew out the light, and the merchant, like the others,
on the pretext of a bath was anointed by the handmaids for a long time
with lamp-black. Then they told him to go, for the darkness was over,
and at the close of the night they took him by the neck and pushed
him out of the door sorely against his will. Then he made the best of
his way home, with only the piece of rag to cover his nakedness, and
smeared with the black dye, with the dogs biting him at every step,
thoroughly ashamed of himself, and at last reached his own house; and
when he got there he did not dare to look his slaves in the face while
they were washing off that black dye. The path of vice is indeed a
painful one. In the early morning Upakosá accompanied by her handmaids
went, without informing her parents, to the palace of king Nanda, and
there she herself stated to the king that the merchant Hiranyagupta
was endeavouring to deprive her of money deposited with him by her
husband. The king in order to enquire into the matter immediately
had the merchant summoned, who said--"I have nothing in my keeping
belonging to this lady." Upakosá then said, "I have witnesses, my lord;
before he went, my husband put the household gods into a box, and this
merchant with his own lips admitted the deposit in their presence. Let
the box be brought here and ask the gods yourself." Having heard this
the king in astonishment ordered the box to be brought.

Thereupon in a moment that trunk was carried in by many men. Then
Upakosá said--"Relate truly, O gods, what that merchant said and then
go to your own houses; if you do not, I will burn you or open the
box in court." Hearing that, the men in the box, beside themselves
with fear, said--"It is true, the merchant admitted the deposit in
our presence." Then the merchant being utterly confounded confessed
all his guilt; but the king, being unable to restrain his curiosity,
after asking permission of Upakosá, opened the chest there in court
by breaking the fastening, and those three men were dragged out,
looking like three lumps of solid darkness, and were with difficulty
recognised by the king and his ministers. The whole assembly then burst
out laughing, and the king in his curiosity asked Upakosá, what was the
meaning of all this; so the virtuous lady told the whole story. All
present in court expressed their approbation of Upakosá's conduct,
observing: "The virtuous behaviour of women of good family who are
protected by their own excellent disposition [54] only, is incredible."

Then all those coveters of their neighbour's wife were deprived
of all their living, and banished from the country. Who prospers
by immorality? Upakosá was dismissed by the king, who shewed his
great regard for her by a present of much wealth, and said to her:
"Henceforth thou art my sister,"--and so she returned home. Varsha
and Upavarsha when they heard it, congratulated that chaste lady,
and there was a smile of admiration on the face of every single person
in that city. [55]

In the meanwhile, by performing a very severe penance on the snowy
mountain, I propitiated the god, the husband of Párvatí, the great
giver of all good things; he revealed to me that same treatise of
Pánini; and in accordance with his wish I completed it: then I returned
home without feeling the fatigue of the journey, full of the nectar
of the favour of that god who wears on his crest a digit of the moon;
then I worshipped the feet of my mother and of my spiritual teachers,
and heard from them the wonderful achievement of Upakosá, thereupon
joy and astonishment swelled to the upmost height in my breast,
together with natural affection and great respect for my wife.

Now Varsha expressed a desire to hear from my lips the new grammar,
and thereupon the god Kártikeya himself revealed it to him. And it
came to pass that Vyádi and Indradatta asked their preceptor Varsha
what fee they should give him? He replied, "Give me ten millions of
gold pieces." So they, consenting to the preceptor's demand, said to
me; "Come with us, friend, to ask the king Nanda to give us the sum
required for our teacher's fee; we cannot obtain so much gold from
any other quarter: for he possesses nine hundred and ninety millions,
and long ago he declared your wife Upakosá, his sister in the faith,
therefore you are his brother-in-law; we shall obtain something for
the sake of your virtues." Having formed this resolution, we three
fellow-students [56] went to the camp of king Nanda in Ayodhyá,
and the very moment we arrived, the king died; accordingly an
outburst of lamentation arose in the kingdom, and we were reduced
to despair. Immediately Indradatta, who was an adept in magic, said,
"I will enter the body of this dead king [57]; let Vararuchi prefer
the petition to me, and I will give him the gold, and let Vyádi guard
my body until I return." Saying this, Indradatta entered into the body
of king Nanda, and when the king came to life again, there was great
rejoicing in the kingdom. While Vyádi remained in an empty temple to
guard the body of Indradatta, I went to the king's palace. I entered,
and after making the usual salutation, I asked the supposed Nanda for
ten million gold pieces as my instructor's fee. Then he ordered a man
named Sakatála, the minister of the real Nanda, to give me ten million
of gold pieces. That minister, when he saw that the dead king had
come to life, and that the petitioner immediately got what he asked,
guessed the real state of the case. What is there that the wise cannot
understand? That minister said--"It shall be given, your Highness," and
reflected with himself; "Nanda's son is but a child, and our realm is
menaced by many enemies, so I will do my best for the present to keep
his body on the throne even in its present state." Having resolved
on this, he immediately took steps to have all dead bodies burnt,
employing spies to discover them, and among them was found the body
of Indradatta, which was burned after Vyádi had been hustled out of
the temple. In the meanwhile the king was pressing for the payment
of the money, but Sakatála, who was still in doubt, said to him,
"All the servants have got their heads turned by the public rejoicing,
let the Bráhman wait a moment until I can give it." Then Vyádi came and
complained aloud in the presence of the supposed Nanda, "Help, help,
a Bráhman engaged in magic, whose life had not yet come to an end in a
natural way, has been burnt by force on the pretext that his body was
untenanted, and this in the very moment of your good fortune." [58]
On hearing this the supposed Nanda was in an indescribable state of
distraction from grief: but as soon as Indradatta was imprisoned in
the body of Nanda, beyond the possibility of escape, by the burning of
his body, the discreet Sakatála went out and gave me that ten millions.

Then the supposed Nanda, [59] full of grief, said in secret to
Vyádi,--"Though a Bráhman by birth I have become a Súdra, what is the
use of my royal fortune to me though it be firmly established?" When he
heard that, Vyádi comforted him, [60] and gave him seasonable advice,
"You have been discovered by Sakatála, so you must henceforth be on
your guard against him, for he is a great minister, and in a short
time he will, when it suits his purpose, destroy you, and will
make Chandragupta, the son of the previous Nanda, king. Therefore
immediately appoint Vararuchi your minister, in order that your rule
may be firmly established by the help of his intellect, which is of
god-like acuteness." When he had said this, Vyádi departed to give
that fee to his preceptor, and immediately Yogananda sent for me and
made me his minister. Then I said to the king, "Though your caste as a
Bráhman has been taken from you, I do not consider your throne secure
as long as Sakatála remains in office, therefore destroy him by some
stratagem." When I had given him this advice, Yogananda threw Sakatála
into a dark dungeon, and his hundred sons with him, [61] proclaiming
as his crime that he had burnt a Bráhman alive. One porringer of
barley-meal and one of water was placed inside the dungeon every day
for Sakatála and his sons, and thereupon he said to them;--"My sons,
even one man alone would with difficulty subsist on this barley-meal,
much less can a number of people do so. Therefore let that one of us,
who is able to take vengeance on Yogananda, consume every day the
barley-meal and the water." His sons answered him, "You alone are
able to punish him, therefore do you consume them." For vengeance is
dearer to the resolute than life itself. So Sakatála alone subsisted
on that meal and water every day. Alas! those whose souls are set
on victory are cruel. Sakatála in the dark dungeon, beholding the
death agonies of his starving sons, thought to himself, "A man who
desires his own welfare should not act in an arbitrary manner towards
the powerful, without fathoming their character and acquiring their
confidence." Accordingly his hundred sons perished before his eyes,
and he alone remained alive surrounded by their skeletons. Then
Yogananda took firm root in his kingdom. And Vyádi approached him after
giving the present to his teacher, and after coming near to him said,
"May thy rule, my friend, last long! I take my leave of thee, I go to
perform austerities somewhere." Hearing that, Yogananda, with his voice
choked with tears, said to him, "Stop thou, and enjoy pleasures in my
kingdom, do not go and desert me." Vyádi answered--"King! Life comes to
an end in a moment. What wise man, I pray you, drowns himself in these
hollow and fleeting enjoyments? Prosperity, a desert mirage, does not
turn the head of the wise man." Saying this he went away that moment
resolved to mortify his flesh with austerities. Then that Yogananda
went to his metropolis Pátaliputra, for the purpose of enjoyment,
accompanied by me, and surrounded with his whole army. So I, having
attained prosperity, lived for a long time in that state, waited upon
by Upakosá, and bearing the burden of the office of prime-minister
to that king, accompanied by my mother and my preceptors. There the
Ganges, propitiated by my austerities, gave me every day much wealth,
and Sarasvatí present in bodily form told me continually what measures
to adopt.






CHAPTER V.


Having said this, Vararuchi continued his tale as follows:--

In course of time Yogananda became enslaved by his passions, and like
a mad elephant he disregarded every restraint. Whom will not a sudden
access of prosperity intoxicate? Then I reflected with myself, "The
king has burst all bonds, and my own religious duties are neglected
being interfered with by my care for his affairs, therefore it is
better for me to draw out that Sakatála from his dungeon and make
him my colleague in the ministry; even if he tries to oppose me,
what harm can he do as long as I am in office?" Having resolved on
this I asked permission of the king, and drew Sakatála out of the
deep dungeon. Bráhmans are always soft-hearted. Now the discreet
Sakatála made up his mind, that it would be difficult to overthrow
Yogananda as long as I was in office, and that he had accordingly
better imitate the cane which bends with the current, and watch a
favourable moment for vengeance, so at my request he resumed the
office of minister and managed the king's affairs.

Once on a time Yogananda went outside the city, and beheld in the
middle of the Ganges a hand, the five fingers of which were closely
pressed together. That moment he summoned me and said, "What does
this mean?" But I displayed two of my fingers in the direction of
the hand. Thereupon that hand disappeared, and the king, exceedingly
astonished, again asked me what this meant, and I answered him,
"That hand meant to say, by shewing its five fingers, 'What cannot
five men united effect in this world?' Then I, king, shewed it these
two fingers, wishing to indicate that nothing is impossible when even
two men are of one mind." When I uttered this solution of the riddle
the king was delighted, and Sakatála was despondent seeing that my
intellect would be difficult to circumvent.

One day Yogananda saw his queen leaning out of the window and asking
questions of a Bráhman guest that was looking up. That trivial
circumstance threw the king into a passion, and he gave orders that
the Bráhman should be put to death; for jealousy interferes with
discernment. Then as that Bráhman was being led off to the place
of execution in order that he might be put to death, a fish in the
market laughed aloud, though it was dead. [62] The king hearing it
immediately prohibited for the present the execution of that Bráhman,
and asked me the reason why the fish laughed. I replied that I would
tell him after I had thought over the matter; and after I had gone out
Sarasvatí came to me secretly on my thinking of her and gave me this
advice; "Take up a position on the top of this palm tree at night so as
not to be observed, and thou shalt without doubt hear the reason why
the fish laughed." Hearing this I went at night to that very place,
and ensconced myself on the top of the palm tree, and saw a terrible
female Rákshasa coming past with her children; when they asked her
for food, she said, "Wait, and I will give you to-morrow morning the
flesh of a Bráhman, he was not killed to-day." [63] They said to their
mother, "Why was he not killed to-day?" Then she replied, "He was not
executed because a fish in the town, though dead, laughed when it saw
him." The sons said, "Why did the fish laugh?" She continued, "The
fish of course said to himself--all the king's wives are dissolute,
for in every part of this harem there are men dressed up as women,
and nevertheless while these escape, an innocent Bráhman is to be put
to death--and this tickled the fish so that he laughed. For demons
assume these disguises, insinuating themselves into everything, and
laughing at the exceeding want of discernment of kings." After I had
heard that speech of the female Rákshasa I went away from thence, and
in the morning I informed the king why the fish laughed. The king after
detecting in the harem those men clothed as women, looked upon me with
great respect, and released that Bráhman from the sentence of death.

I was disgusted by seeing this and other lawless proceedings on the
part of the king, and, while I was in this frame of mind, there
came to court a new painter. He painted on a sheet of canvas the
principal queen and Yogananda, and that picture of his looked as if
it were alive, it only lacked speech and motion. And the king being
delighted loaded that painter with wealth, and had the painting set
up on a wall in his private apartments. Now one day when I entered
into the king's private apartments, it occurred to me that the
painting of the queen did not represent all her auspicious marks;
from the arrangement of the other marks I conjectured by means of
my acuteness that there ought to be a spot where the girdle comes,
and I painted one there. Then I departed after thus giving the queen
all her lucky marks. Then Yogananda entered and saw that spot, and
asked his chamberlains who had painted it. And they indicated me to
him as the person who had painted it. Yogananda thus reflected while
burning with anger; "No one except myself knows of that spot, which
is in a part of the queen's body usually concealed, then how can this
Vararuchi have come thus to know it? [64] No doubt he has secretly
corrupted my harem, and this is how he came to see there those men
disguised as women." Foolish men often find such coincidences. Then of
his own motion he summoned Sakatála, and gave him the following order:
"You must put Vararuchi to death for seducing the queen." Sakatála
said, "Your Majesty's orders shall be executed," and went out of the
palace, reflecting, "I should not have power to put Vararuchi to death,
for he possesses godlike force of intellect; and he delivered me from
calamity; moreover he is a Bráhman, therefore I had better hide him and
win him over to my side." Having formed this resolution, he came and
told me of the king's causeless wrath which had ended in his ordering
my execution, and thus concluded, "I will have some one else put to
death in order that the news may get abroad, and do you remain hidden
in my house to protect me from this passionate king." In accordance
with this proposal of his, I remained concealed in his house, and he
had some one else put to death at night in order that the report of
my death might be spread. [65] When he had in this way displayed his
statecraft, I said to him out of affection, "You have shewn yourself an
unrivalled minister in that you did not attempt to put me to death;
for I cannot be slain, since I have a Rákshasa to friend, and he
will come, on being only thought of, and at my request will devour
the whole world. As for this king he is a friend of mine, being a
Bráhman named Indradatta, and he ought not to be slain." Hearing
this, that minister said--"Shew me the Rákshasa." Then I shewed
him that Rákshasa who came with a thought; and on beholding him,
Sakatála was astonished and terrified. And when the Rákshasa had
disappeared, Sakatála again asked me--"How did the Rákshasa become
your friend?" Then I said--"Long ago the heads of the police as they
went through the city night after night on inspecting duty, perished
one by one. On hearing that, Yogananda made me head of the police,
and as I was on my rounds at night, I saw a Rákshasa roaming about,
and he said to me, "Tell me, who is considered the best-looking woman
in this city?" When I heard that, I burst out laughing and said--"You
fool, any woman is good-looking to the man who admires her." Hearing
my answer, he said--"You are the only man that has beaten me." And
now that I had escaped death by solving his riddle, [66] he again
said to me, "I am pleased with you, henceforth you are my friend,
and I will appear to you when you call me to mind." Thus he spoke and
disappeared, and I returned by the way that I came. Thus the Rákshasa
has become my friend, and my ally in trouble. When I had said this,
Sakatála made a second request to me, and I shewed him the goddess
of the Ganges in human form who came when I thought of her. And that
goddess disappeared when she had been gratified by me with hymns of
praise. But Sakatála became from thenceforth my obedient ally.

Now once on a time that minister said to me when my state of
concealment weighed upon my spirits; "why do you, although you know
all things, abandon yourself to despondency? Do you not know that
the minds of kings are most undiscerning, and in a short time you
will be cleared from all imputations; [67] in proof of which listen
to the following tale:--



The story of Sivavarman.

There reigned here long ago a king named Ádityavarman, and he had a
very wise minister, named Sivavarman. Now it came to pass that one
of that king's queens became pregnant, and when he found it out,
the king said to the guards of the harem, "It is now two years since
I entered this place, then how has this queen become pregnant? Tell
me." Then they said, "No man except your minister Sivavarman is
allowed to enter here, but he enters without any restriction." When
he heard that, the king thought,--"Surely he is guilty of treason
against me, and yet if I put him to death publicly, I shall incur
reproach,"--thus reflecting, that king sent that Sivavarman on some
pretext to Bhogavarman a neighbouring chief, [68] who was an ally of
his, and immediately afterwards the king secretly sent off a messenger
to the same chief, bearing a letter by which he was ordered to put
the minister to death. When a week had elapsed after the minister's
departure, that queen tried to escape out of fear, and was taken by
the guards with a man in woman's attire, then Ádityavarman when he
heard of it was filled with remorse, and asked himself why he had
causelessly brought about the death of so excellent a minister. In
the meanwhile Sivavarman reached the Court of Bhogavarman, and that
messenger came bringing the letter; and fate would have it so that
after Bhogavarman had read the letter he told to Sivavarman in secret
the order he had received to put him to death.

The excellent minister Sivavarman in his turn said to that chief,--"put
me to death; if you do not, I will slay myself with my own hand." When
he heard that, Bhogavarman was filled with wonder, and said to him,
"What does all this mean? Tell me Bráhman, if you do not, you will lie
under my curse." Then the minister said to him, "King, in whatever land
I am slain, on that land God will not send rain for twelve years." When
he heard that, Bhogavarman debated with his minister,--"that wicked
king desires the destruction of our land, for could he not have
employed secret assassins to kill his minister? So we must not put this
minister to death, moreover we must prevent him from laying violent
hands on himself." Having thus deliberated and appointed him guards,
Bhogavarman sent Sivavarman out of his country that moment; so that
minister by means of his wisdom returned alive, and his innocence was
established from another quarter, for righteousness cannot be undone.

In the same way your innocence will be made clear, Kátyáyana; remain
for a while in my house; this king too will repent of what he has
done. When Sakatála said this to me, I spent those days concealed in
his house, waiting my opportunity.

Then it came to pass that one day, O Kánabhúti, a son of that
Yogananda named Hiranyagupta went out hunting, and when he had
somehow or other been carried to a great distance by the speed of
his horse, while he was alone in the wood the day came to an end;
and then he ascended a tree to pass the night. Immediately afterwards
a bear, which had been terrified by a lion, ascended the same tree;
he seeing the prince frightened, said to him with a human voice,
"Fear not, thou art my friend," and thus promised him immunity from
harm. Then the prince confiding in the bear's promise went to sleep,
while the bear remained awake. Then the lion below said to the bear,
"Bear, throw me down this man, and I will go away." Then the bear said,
"Villain, I will not cause the death of a friend." When in course of
time the bear went to sleep while the prince was awake, the lion said
again, "Man, throw me down the bear." When he heard that, the prince,
who through fear for his own safety wished to propitiate the lion,
tried to throw down the bear, but wonderful to say, it did not fall,
since Fate caused it to awake. And then that bear said to the prince,
"become insane, thou betrayer of thy friend," [69] laying upon him
a curse destined not to end until a third person guessed the whole
transaction. Accordingly the prince, when he reached his palace in the
morning went out of his mind, and Yogananda seeing it, was immediately
plunged in despondency; and said, "If Vararuchi were alive at this
moment, all this matter would be known; curse on my readiness to have
him put to death!" Sakatála, when he heard this exclamation of the
king's, thought to himself, "Ha! here is an opportunity obtained for
bringing Kátyáyana out of concealment, and he being a proud man will
not remain here, and the king will repose confidence in me." After
reflecting thus, he implored pardon, and said to the king, "O King,
cease from despondency, Vararuchi remains alive." Then Yogananda said,
"Let him be brought quickly." Then I was suddenly brought by Sakatála
into the presence of Yogananda and beheld the prince in that state;
and by the favour of Sarasvatí I was enabled to reveal the whole
occurrence; and I said, "King, he has proved a traitor to his friend";
then I was praised by that prince who was delivered from his curse;
and the king asked me how I had managed to find out what had taken
place. Then I said, "King, the minds of the wise see everything by
inference from signs, and by acuteness of intellect. So I found out
all this in the same way as I found out that mole." When I had said
this, that king was afflicted with shame. Then without accepting his
munificence, considering myself to have gained all I desired by the
clearing of my reputation, I went home: for to the wise character
is wealth. And the moment I arrived, the servants of my house wept
before me, and when I was distressed at it Upavarsha came to me and
said, "Upakosá, when she heard that the king had put you to death,
committed her body to the flames, and then your mother's heart
broke with grief." Hearing that, senseless with the distraction
produced by recently aroused grief, I suddenly fell on the ground
like a tree broken by the wind: and in a moment I tasted the relief
of loud lamentations; whom will not the fire of grief, produced by
the loss of dear relations, scorch? Varsha came and gave me sound
advice in such words as these, "The only thing that is stable in
this ever-changeful world is instability, then why are you distracted
though you know this delusion of the Creator"? By the help of these
and similar exhortations I at length, though with difficulty, regained
my equanimity; then with heart disgusted with the world, I flung aside
all earthly lords, and choosing self-restraint for my only companion,
I went to a grove where asceticism was practised.

Then, as days went by, once on a time a Bráhman from Ayodhyá came to
that ascetic-grove while I was there: I asked him for tidings about
Yogananda's government, and he recognizing me told me in sorrowful
accents the following story:

"Hear what happened to Nanda after you had left him. Sakatála
after waiting for it a long time, found that he had now obtained
an opportunity of injuring him. While thinking how he might by
some device get Yogananda killed, he happened to see a Bráhman
named Chánakya digging up the earth in his path; he said to him,
"Why are you digging up the earth?" The Bráhman, whom he had asked,
said, I am rooting up a plant of darbha grass here, because it has
pricked my foot. [70] When he heard that, the minister thought that
Bráhman who formed such stern resolves out of anger, would be the best
instrument to destroy Nanda with. After asking his name he said to him,
"Bráhman, I assign to you the duty of presiding at a sráddha on the
thirteenth day of the lunar fortnight, in the house of king Nanda;
you shall have one hundred thousand gold pieces by way of fee, and
you shall sit at the board above all others; in the meanwhile come
to my house." Saying this, Sakatála took that Bráhman to his house,
and on the day of the sráddha he showed the Bráhman to the king,
and he approved of him. Then Chánakya went and sat at the head of
the table during the sráddha, but a Bráhman named Subandhu desired
that post of honour for himself. Then Sakatála went and referred the
matter to king Nanda, who answered, "Let Subandhu sit at the head of
the table, no one else deserves the place." Then Sakatála went, and,
humbly bowing through fear, communicated that order of the king's to
Chánakya, adding, "it is not my fault." Then that Chánakya, being,
as it were, inflamed all over with wrath, undoing the lock of hair on
the crown of his head, made this solemn vow, "Surely this Nanda must be
destroyed by me within seven days, and then my anger being appeased I
will bind up my lock." When he had said this, Yogananda was enraged;
so Chánakya escaped unobserved, and Sakatála gave him refuge in his
house. Then being supplied by Sakatála with the necessary instruments,
that Bráhman Chánakya went somewhere and performed a magic rite;
in consequence of this rite Yogananda caught a burning fever, and
died when the seventh day arrived; and Sakatála, having slain Nanda's
son Hiranyagupta, bestowed the royal dignity upon Chandragupta a son
of the previous Nanda. And after he had requested Chánakya, equal in
ability to Brihaspati, [71] to be Chandragupta's prime-minister, and
established him in the office, that minister, considering that all
his objects had been accomplished, as he had wreaked his vengeance
on Yogananda, despondent through sorrow for the death of his sons,
retired to the forest." [72]

After I had heard this, O Kánabhúti, from the mouth of that Bráhman, I
became exceedingly afflicted, seeing that all things are unstable; and
on account of my affliction I came to visit this shrine of Durgá, and
through her favour having beheld you, O my friend, I have remembered
my former birth.

And having obtained divine discernment I have told you the great tale:
now as my curse has spent its strength, I will strive to leave the
body; and do you remain here for the present, until there comes to you
a Bráhman named Gunádhya, who has forsaken the use of three languages,
[73] surrounded with his pupils, for he like myself was cursed by the
goddess in anger, being an excellent Gana Mályaván by name, who for
taking my part has become a mortal. To him you must tell this tale
originally told by Siva, then you shall be delivered from your curse,
and so shall he.

Having said all this to Kánabhúti, that Vararuchi set forth for the
holy hermitage of Badariká in order to put off his body. As he was
going along he beheld on the banks of the Ganges a vegetable-eating
[74] hermit, and while he was looking on, that hermit's hand was
pricked with kusa grass. Then Vararuchi turned his blood, as it
flowed out, into sap [75] through his magic power, out of curiosity,
in order to test his egotism; on beholding that, the hermit exclaimed,
"Ha! I have attained perfection;" and so he became puffed up with
pride. Then Vararuchi laughed a little and said to him, "I turned
your blood into sap in order to test you, because even now, O hermit,
you have not abandoned egotism. Egotism is in truth an obstacle in the
road to knowledge hard to overcome, and without knowledge liberation
cannot be attained even by a hundred vows. But the perishable joys of
Svarga cannot attract the hearts of those who long for liberation,
therefore, O hermit, endeavour to acquire knowledge by forsaking
egotism." Having thus read that hermit a lesson, and having been
praised by him prostrate in adoration, Vararuchi went to the tranquil
site of the hermitage of Badarí. [76] There he, desirous of putting off
his mortal condition, resorted for protection with intense devotion
to that goddess who only can protect, and she manifesting her real
form to him told him the secret of that meditation which arises from
fire, to help him to put off the body. Then Vararuchi having consumed
his body by that form of meditation, reached his own heavenly home;
and henceforth that Kánabhúti remained in the Vindhya forest eager
for his desired meeting with Gunádhya.






CHAPTER VI.


Then that Mályaván wandering about in the wood in human form, passing
under the name of Gunádhya, having served the king Sátaváhana, and
having, in accordance with a vow, abandoned in his presence the use
of Sanskrit and two other languages, with sorrowful mind came to pay a
visit to Durgá, the dweller in the Vindhya hills; and by her orders he
went and beheld Kánabhúti. Then he remembered his origin and suddenly,
as it were, awoke from sleep; and making use of the Paisácha language,
which was different from the three languages he had sworn to forsake,
he said to Kánabhúti, after telling him his own name; "Quickly tell
me that tale which you heard from Pushpadanta, in order that you
and I together, my friend, may escape from our curse." Hearing that,
Kánabhúti bowed before him, and said to him in joyful mood, "I will
tell you the story, but great curiosity possesses me, my lord, first
tell me all your adventures from your birth, do me this favour." Thus
being entreated by him, Gunádhya proceeded to relate as follows:

In Pratishthána [77] there is a city named Supratishthita; in it there
dwelt once upon a time an excellent Bráhman named Somasarman, and he,
my friend, had two sons Vatsa and Gulmaka, and he had also born to
him a third child, a daughter named Srutárthá. Now in course of time,
that Bráhman and his wife died, and those two sons of his remained
taking care of their sister. And she suddenly became pregnant. Then
Vatsa and Gulma began to suspect one another, because no other man
came in their sister's way: thereupon Srutárthá, who saw what was
in their minds, said to those brothers,--"Do not entertain evil
suspicions, listen, I will tell you the truth; there is a prince of
the name of Kírtisena, brother's son to Vásuki, the king of the Nágas;
[78] he saw me when I was going to bathe, thereupon he was overcome
with love, and after telling me his lineage and his name, made me
his wife by the Gándharva marriage; he belongs to the Bráhman race,
and it is by him that I am pregnant." When they heard this speech of
their sister's, Vatsa and Gulma said, "What confidence can we repose
in all this?" Then she silently called to mind that Nága prince, and
immediately he was thought upon, he came and said to Vatsa and Gulma,
"In truth I have made your sister my wife, she is a glorious heavenly
nymph fallen down to earth in consequence of a curse, and you too have
descended to earth for the same reason, but a son shall without fail
be born to your sister here, and then you and she together shall be
freed from your curse." Having said this he disappeared, and in a few
days from that time, a son was born to Srutárthá; know me my friend as
that son. [79] At that very time a divine voice was heard from heaven,
"This child that is born is an incarnation of virtue, and he shall
be called Gunádhya, [80] and is of the Bráhman caste." Thereupon
my mother and uncles, as their curse had spent its force, died,
and I for my part became inconsolable. Then I flung aside my grief,
and though a child I went in the strength of my self-reliance to
the Deccan to acquire knowledge. Then, having in course of time
learned all sciences, and become famous, I returned to my native
land to exhibit my accomplishments; and when I entered after a long
absence into the city of Supratishthita, surrounded by my disciples,
I saw a wonderfully splendid scene. In one place chanters were
intoning according to prescribed custom the hymns of the Sáma Veda,
in another place Bráhmans were disputing about the interpretation of
the sacred books, in another place gamblers were praising gambling
in these deceitful words, "Whoever knows the art of gambling, has a
treasure in his grasp," and in another place, in the midst of a knot
of merchants, who were talking to one another about their skill in
the art of making money, a certain merchant spoke as follows:



Story of the Mouse-merchant.

It is not very wonderful that a thrifty man should acquire wealth by
wealth; but I long ago achieved prosperity without any wealth to start
with. My father died before I was born, and then my mother was deprived
by wicked relations of all she possessed. Then she fled through fear of
them, watching over the safety of her unborn child, and dwelt in the
house of Kumáradatta a friend of my father's, and there the virtuous
woman gave birth to me, who was destined to be the means of her future
maintenance; and so she reared me up by performing menial drudgery. And
as she was so poor, she persuaded a teacher by way of charity to give
me some instruction in writing and ciphering. Then she said to me,
"You are the son of a merchant, so you must now engage in trade,
and there is a very rich merchant in this country called Visákhila;
he is in the habit of lending capital to poor men of good family,
go and entreat him to give you something to start with." Then I went
to his house, and he at the very moment I entered, said in a rage to
some merchant's son; "you see this dead mouse here upon the floor,
even that is a commodity by which a capable man would acquire wealth,
but I gave you, you good-for-nothing fellow, many dínárs, [81] and
so far from increasing them, you have not even been able to preserve
what you got." When I heard that, I suddenly said to that Visákhila,
"I hereby take from you that mouse as capital advanced;" saying this
I took the mouse up in my hand, and wrote him a receipt for it,
which he put in his strong box, and off I went. The merchant for
his part burst out laughing. Well, I sold that mouse to a certain
merchant as cat's-meat for two handfuls of gram, then I ground up
that gram, and taking a pitcher of water, I went and stood on the
cross-road in a shady place, outside the city; there I offered with
the utmost civility the water and gram to a band of wood-cutters;
[82] every wood-cutter gave me as a token of gratitude two pieces of
wood; and I took those pieces of wood and sold them in the market;
then for a small part of the price which I got for them, I bought a
second supply of gram, and in the same way on a second day I obtained
wood from the wood-cutters. Doing this every day I gradually acquired
capital, and I bought from those wood-cutters all their wood for three
days. Then suddenly there befell a dearth of wood on account of heavy
rains, and I sold that wood for many hundred panas, with that wealth I
set up a shop, and engaging in traffic, I have become a very wealthy
man by my own ability. Then I made a mouse of gold, and gave it to
that Visákhila, then he gave me his daughter; and in consequence of
my history I am known in the world by the name of Mouse. So without a
coin in the world I acquired this prosperity. All the other merchants
then, when they heard this story, were astonished. How can the mind
help being amazed at pictures without walls? [83]



Story of the chanter of the Sáma Veda.

In another place a Bráhman who had got eight gold máshas as a
present, a chanter of the Sáma Veda, received the following piece
of advice from a man who was a bit of a roué, "You get enough to
live upon by your position as a Bráhman, so you ought now to employ
this gold for the purpose of learning the way of the world in order
that you may become a knowing fellow." The fool said "Who will teach
me?" Thereupon the roué said to him, "This lady [84] named Chaturiká,
go to her house." The Bráhman said, "What am I to do there"? The roué
replied--"Give her gold, and in order to please her make use of some
sáma." [85] When he heard this, the chanter went quickly to the house
of Chaturiká; when he entered, the lady advanced to meet him and he
took a seat. Then that Bráhman gave her the gold and faltered out the
request, "Teach me now for this fee the way of the world." Thereupon
the people who were there began to titter, and he, after reflecting
a little, putting his hands together in the shape of a cow's ear,
so that they formed a kind of pipe, began, like a stupid idiot, to
chant with a shrill sound the Sáma Veda, so that all the roués in
the house came together to see the fun; and they said "Whence has
this jackal blundered in here? Come, let us quickly give him the
half-moon [86] on his throat." Thereupon the Bráhman supposing that
the half-moon meant an arrow with a head of that shape, and afraid
of having his head cut off, rushed out of the house, bellowing out,
"I have learnt the way of the world;" then he went to the man who had
sent him, and told him the whole story. He replied "when I told you
to use sáma, I meant coaxing and wheedling; what is the propriety
of introducing the Veda in a matter of this kind? The fact is, I
suppose, that stupidity is engrained in a man who muddles his head
with the Vedas?" So he spoke, bursting with laughter all the while,
and went off to the lady's house, and said to her, "Give back to that
two-legged cow his gold-fodder." So she laughing gave back the money,
and when the Bráhman got it, he went back to his house as happy as
if he had been born again.

Witnessing strange scenes of this kind at every step, I reached
the palace of the king which was like the court of Indra. And then
I entered it, with my pupils going before to herald my arrival,
and saw the king Sátaváhana sitting in his hall of audience upon a
jewelled throne, surrounded by his ministers, Sarvavarman and his
colleagues, as Indra is by the gods. After I had blessed him and had
taken a seat, and had been honoured by the king, Sarvavarman and the
other ministers praised me in the following words, "This man, O king,
is famous upon the earth as skilled in all lore, and therefore his
name Gunádhya [87] is a true index of his nature." Sátaváhana hearing
me praised in this style by his ministers, was pleased with me and
immediately entertained me honourably, and appointed me to the office
of Minister. Then I married a wife, and lived there comfortably,
looking after the king's affairs and instructing my pupils.

Once, as I was roaming about at leisure on the banks of the Godávarí
out of curiosity, I beheld a garden called Devíkriti, and seeing
that it was an exceedingly pleasant garden, like an earthly Nandana,
[88] I asked the gardener how it came there, and he said to me,
"My lord, according to the story which we hear from old people,
long ago there came here a certain Bráhman who observed a vow of
silence and abstained from food, he made this heavenly garden with
a temple; then all the Bráhmans assembled here out of curiosity, and
that Bráhman being persistently asked by them told his history. There
is in this land a province called Vakakachchha on the banks of the
Narmadá, in that district I was born as a Bráhman, and in former
times no one gave me alms, as I was lazy as well as poor; then in
a fit of annoyance I quitted my house being disgusted with life,
and wandering round the holy places, I came to visit the shrine
of Durgá the dweller in the Vindhya hills, and having beheld that
goddess, I reflected, 'People propitiate with animal offerings this
giver of boons, but I will slay myself here, stupid beast that I
am.' Having formed this resolve, I took in hand a sword to cut off
my head. Immediately that goddess being propitious, herself said to
me, 'Son, thou art perfected, do not slay thyself, remain near me;'
thus I obtained a boon from the goddess and attained divine nature;
from that day forth my hunger and thirst disappeared; then once on a
time, as I was remaining there, that goddess herself said to me, 'Go,
my son, and plant in Pratishthána a glorious garden;' thus speaking,
she gave me, with her own hands, heavenly seed; thereupon I came here
and made this beautiful garden by means of her power; and this garden
you must keep in good order. Having said this, he disappeared. In this
way this garden was made by the goddess long ago, my lord." When I
had heard from the gardener this signal manifestation of the favour
of the goddess, I went home penetrated with wonder.



The story of Sátaváhana.

When Gunádhya had said this, Kánabhúti asked, "Why, my lord, was the
king called Sátaváhana?" Then Gunádhya said, Listen, I will tell you
the reason. There was a king of great power named Dvípikarni. He had
a wife named Saktimatí, whom he valued more than life, and once upon a
time a snake bit her as she was sleeping in the garden. Thereupon she
died, and that king thinking only of her, though he had no son, took a
vow of perpetual chastity. Then once upon a time the god of the moony
crest said to him in a dream--"While wandering in the forest thou shalt
behold a boy mounted on a lion, take him and go home, he shall be thy
son." Then the king woke up, and rejoiced remembering that dream, and
one day in his passion for the chase he went to a distant wood; there
in the middle of the day that king beheld on the bank of a lotus-lake
a boy splendid as the sun, riding on a lion; the lion desiring to
drink water set down the boy, and then the king remembering his dream
slew it with one arrow. The creature thereupon abandoned the form of
a lion, and suddenly assumed the shape of a man; the king exclaimed,
"Alas! what means this? tell me!" and then the man answered him--"O
king, I am a Yaksha of the name of Sáta, an attendant upon the god
of wealth; long ago I beheld the daughter of a Rishi bathing in the
Ganges; she too, when she beheld me, felt love arise in her breast,
like myself: then I made her my wife by the Gándharva form of marriage;
and her relatives, finding it out, in their anger cursed me and her,
saying, "You two wicked ones, doing what is right in your own eyes,
shall become lions." The hermit-folk appointed that her curse should
end when she gave birth to offspring, and that mine should continue
longer, until I was slain by thee with an arrow. So we became a pair
of lions; she in course of time became pregnant, and then died after
this boy was born, but I brought him up on the milk of other lionesses,
and lo! to-day I am released from my curse having been smitten by thee
with an arrow. Therefore receive this noble son which I give thee, for
this thing was foretold long ago by those hermit-folk." Having said
this that Guhyaka named Sáta disappeared, [89] and the king taking
the boy went home; and because he had ridden upon Sáta he gave the
boy the name of Sátaváhana, and in course of time he established him
in his kingdom. Then, when that king Dvípikarni went to the forest,
this Sátaváhana became sovereign of the whole earth.

Having said this in the middle of his tale in answer to Kánabhúti's
question, the wise Gunádhya again called to mind and went on with the
main thread of his narrative. Then once upon a time, in the spring
festival that king Sátaváhana went to visit the garden made by the
goddess, of which I spake before. He roamed there for a long time like
Indra in the garden of Nandana, and descended into the water of the
lake to amuse himself in company with his wives. There he sprinkled
his beloved ones sportively with water flung by his hands, and was
sprinkled by them in return like an elephant by its females. His wives
with faces, the eyes of which were slightly reddened by the collyrium
washed into them, and which were streaming with water, and with bodies
the proportions of which were revealed by their clinging garments,
pelted him vigorously; and as the wind strips the creepers in the
forest of leaves and flowers, so he made his fair ones who fled into
the adjoining shrubbery lose the marks on their foreheads [90] and
their ornaments. Then one of his queens tardy with the weight of her
breasts, with body tender as a sirísha flower, became exhausted with
the amusement; she not being able to endure more, said to the king who
was sprinkling her with water,--"do not pelt me with water-drops;"
on hearing that, the king quickly had some sweetmeats [91] brought;
then the queen burst out laughing and said again--"king, what do we
want with sweetmeats in the water? For I said to you, do not sprinkle
me with water-drops. Do you not even understand the coalescence
of the words má and udaka, and do you not know that chapter of the
grammar,--how can you be such a blockhead?" When the queen, who knew
grammatical treatises, said this to him, and the attendants laughed,
the king was at once overpowered with secret shame; he left off romping
in the water and immediately entered his own palace unperceived,
crest-fallen, and full of self-contempt. Then he remained lost in
thought, bewildered, averse to food and other enjoyments, and, like a
picture, even when asked a question, he answered nothing. Thinking that
his only resource was to acquire learning or die, he flung himself down
on a couch, and remained in an agony of grief. Then all the king's
attendants, seeing that he had suddenly fallen into such a state,
were utterly beside themselves to think what it could mean. Then I
and Sarvavarman came at last to hear of the king's condition, and by
that time the day was almost at an end. So perceiving that the king
was still in an unsatisfactory condition, we immediately summoned a
servant of the king named Rájahansa. And he, when asked by us about
the state of the king's health, said this--"I never before in my
life saw the king in such a state of depression: and the other queens
told me with much indignation that he had been humiliated to-day by
that superficial blue-stocking, the daughter of Vishnusakti." When
Sarvavarman and I had heard this from the mouth of the king's servant,
we fell into a state of despondency, and thus reflected in our dilemma;
"If the king were afflicted with bodily disease, we might introduce
the physicians, but if his disease is mental it is impossible to
find the cause of it. For there is no enemy in his country the
thorns of which are destroyed, and these subjects are attached to
him; no dearth of any kind is to be seen; so how can this sudden
melancholy of the king's have arisen?" After we had debated to this
effect, the wise Sarvavarman said as follows--"I know the cause,
this king is distressed by sorrow for his own ignorance, for he is
always expressing a desire for culture, saying 'I am a blockhead;'
I long ago detected this desire of his, and we have heard that the
occasion of the present fit is his having been humiliated by the
queen." Thus we debated with one another and after we had passed
that night, in the morning we went to the private apartments of
the sovereign. There, though strict orders had been given that no
one was to enter, I managed to get in with difficulty, and after me
Sarvavarman slipped in quickly. I then sat down near the king and
asked him this question--"Why, O king, art thou without cause thus
despondent?" Though he heard this, Sátaváhana nevertheless remained
silent, and then Sarvavarman uttered this extraordinary speech, "King,
thou didst long ago say to me, 'Make me a learned man.' Thinking upon
that I employed last night a charm to produce a dream. [92] Then I
saw in my dream a lotus fallen from heaven, and it was opened by some
heavenly youth, and out of it came a divine woman in white garments,
and immediately, O king, she entered thy mouth. When I had seen so
much I woke up, and I think without doubt that the woman who visibly
entered thy mouth was Sarasvatí." As soon as Sarvavarman had in these
terms described his dream, the king broke his silence and said to me
with the utmost earnestness,--"In how short a time can a man, who
is diligently taught, acquire learning? Tell me this. For without
learning all this regal splendour has no charms for me. What is the
use of rank and power to a blockhead? They are like ornaments on a log
of wood." Then I said, "King, it is invariably the case that it takes
men twelve years to learn grammar, the gate to all knowledge. But I,
my sovereign, will teach it you in six years." When he heard that,
Sarvavarman suddenly exclaimed in a fit of jealousy--"How can a man
accustomed to enjoyment endure hardship for so long? So I will teach
you grammar, my prince, in six months." When I heard this promise
which it seemed impossible to make good, I said to him in a rage,
"If you teach the king in six months, I renounce at once and for ever
Sanskrit, Prakrit, and the vernacular dialect, these three languages
which pass current among men;" [93] then Sarvavarman said--"And if I do
not do this, I Sarvavarman, will carry your shoes on my head for twelve
years." Having said this he went out; I too went home; and the king
for his part was comforted, expecting that he would attain his object
by means of one of us two. Now Sarvavarman being in a dilemma, seeing
that his promise was one very difficult to perform, and regretting
what he had done, told the whole story to his wife, and she grieved to
hear it said to him, "My lord, in this difficulty there is no way of
escape for you except the favour of the Lord Kártikeya." [94] "It is
so," said Sarvavarman and determined to implore it. Accordingly in the
last watch of the night, Sarvavarman set out fasting for the shrine of
the god. Now I came to hear of it by means of my secret emissaries,
and in the morning I told the king of it; and he, when he heard it,
wondered what would happen. Then a trusty Rájpút called Sinhagupta
said to him, "When I heard, O king, that thou wast afflicted I was
seized with great despondency. Then I went out of this city, and was
preparing to cut off my own head before the goddess Durgá in order
to ensure thy happiness. Then a voice from heaven forbade me, saying,
'Do not so, the king's wish shall be fulfilled.' Therefore, I believe,
thou art sure of success." When he had said this, that Sinhagupta
took leave of the king, and rapidly despatched two emissaries after
Sarvavarman; who feeding only on air, observing a vow of silence,
steadfast in resolution, reached at last the shrine of the Lord
Kártikeya. There, pleased with his penance that spared not the body,
Kártikeya favoured him according to his desire; then the two spies
sent by Sinhagupta came into the king's presence and reported the
minister's success. On hearing that news the king was delighted and I
was despondent, as the chátaka joys, and the swan grieves, on seeing
the cloud. [95] Then Sarvavarman arrived successful by the favour
of Kártikeya, and communicated to the king all the sciences, which
presented themselves to him on his thinking of them. And immediately
they were revealed to the king Sátaváhana. For what cannot the grace of
the Supreme Lord accomplish? Then the kingdom rejoiced on hearing that
the king had thus obtained all knowledge, and there was high festival
kept throughout it; and that moment banners were flaunted from every
house, and being fanned by the wind, seemed to dance. Then Sarvavarman
was honoured with abundance of jewels fit for a king by the sovereign,
who bowed humbly before him, calling him his spiritual preceptor, and
he was made governor of the territory called Vakakachchha, which lies
along the bank of the Narmadá. The king being highly pleased with that
Rájpút Sinhagupta, who first heard by the mouth of his spies, that the
boon had been obtained from the six-faced god, [96] made him equal to
himself in splendour and power. And that queen too, the daughter of
Vishnusakti, who was the cause of his acquiring learning, he exalted
at one bound above all the queens, through affection anointing [97]
her with his own hand.






CHAPTER VII.


Then, having taken a vow of silence, I came into the presence of the
sovereign, and there a certain Bráhman recited a sloka he had composed,
and the king himself addressed him correctly in the Sanskrit language;
and the people who were present in court were delighted when they
witnessed that. Then the king said deferentially to Sarvavarman--"Tell
me thyself after what fashion the god shewed thee favour." Hearing
that, Sarvavarman proceeded to relate to the king the whole story of
Kártikeya's favourable acceptance of him.

"I went, O king, on that occasion fasting and silent from this
place, so when the journey came to an end, being very despondent,
and emaciated with my severe austerities, worn out I fell senseless
on the ground. Then, I remember, a man with a spear in his hand came
and said to me in distinct accents, 'Rise up, my son, everything
shall turn out favourably for thee.' By that speech I was, as it were,
immediately bedewed with a shower of nectar, and I woke up, and seemed
free from hunger and thirst and in good ease. Then I approached the
neighbourhood of the god's temple, overpowered with the weight of
my devotion, and after bathing I entered the inner shrine of the god
in a state of agitated suspense. Then that Lord Skanda [98] gave me
a sight of himself within, and thereupon Sarasvatí in visible shape
entered my mouth. So that holy god, manifested before me, recited
the sútra beginning 'the traditional doctrine of letters.' On hearing
that, I, with the levity which is so natural to mankind, guessed the
next sútra and uttered it myself. Then that god said to me, 'if thou
hadst not uttered it thyself, this grammatical treatise would have
supplanted that of Pánini. As it is, on account of its conciseness,
it shall be called Kátantra, and Kálápaka, from the tail (kalápa)
of the peacock on which I ride.' Having said this, that god himself
in visible form revealed to me that new and short grammar, [99] and
then added this besides; 'That king of thine in a former birth was
himself a holy sage, a pupil of the hermit Bharadvája, named Krishna,
great in austerity: and he, having beheld a hermit's daughter who
loved him in return, suddenly felt the smart of the wound which the
shaft of the flowery-arrowed god inflicts. So, having been cursed
by the hermits, he has now become incarnate here, and that hermit's
daughter has become incarnate as his queen.

So this king Sátaváhana, being an incarnation of a holy sage, [100]
when he beholds thee, will attain a knowledge of all the sciences
according to thy wish. For the highest matters are easily acquired by
great-souled ones, having been learnt in a former birth, the real truth
of them being recalled by their powerful memories.' [101] When the
god had said this, he disappeared, and I went out, and there grains
of rice were presented me by the god's servants. Then I proceeded to
return, O king, and wonderful to say, though I consumed those grains
on my journey day after day, they remained as numerous as ever." When
he had related his adventure, Sarvavarman ceased speaking, and king
Sátaváhana in cheerful mood rose up and went to bathe.

Then I, being excluded from business by my vow of silence, took leave,
with a low bow only, of that king who was very averse to part with me,
and went out of that town, accompanied by only two disciples, and,
with my mind bent on the performance of austerities, came to visit the
shrine of the dweller in the Vindhya hills, and having been directed
by the goddess in a dream to visit thee, I entered for that purpose
this terrible Vindhya forest. A hint given by a Pulinda enabled me
to find a caravan, and so somehow or other, by the special favour of
destiny, I managed to arrive here, and beheld this host of Pisáchas,
and by hearing from a distance their conversation with one another,
I have contrived to learn this Paisácha language, which has enabled
me to break my vow of silence; I then made use of it to ask after
you, and, hearing that you had gone to Ujjayiní, I waited here until
your return; on beholding you I welcomed you in the fourth language,
(the speech of the Pisáchas), and then I called to mind my origin;
this is the story of my adventures in this birth.

When Gunádhya had said this, Kánabhúti said to him,--"hear, how your
arrival was made known to me last night. I have a friend, a Rákshasa
of the name of Bhútivarman, who possesses heavenly insight; and I went
to a garden in Ujjayiní, where he resides. On my asking him when my
own curse would come to an end, he said, we have no power in the day,
wait, and I will tell you at night. I consented and when night came
on, I asked him earnestly the reason why goblins [102] delighted in
disporting themselves then, as they were doing. Then Bhútivarman said
to me, 'Listen, I will relate what I heard Siva say in a conversation
with Brahmá. Rákshasas, Yakshas, and Pisáchas have no power in the day,
being dazed with the brightness of the sun, therefore they delight in
the night. And where the gods are not worshipped, and the Bráhmans,
in due form, and where men eat contrary to the holy law, there also
they have power. Where there is a man who abstains from flesh, or a
virtuous woman, there they do not go. They never attack chaste men,
heroes, and men awake.' [103] When he said this on that occasion
Bhútivarman continued, 'Go, for Gunádhya has arrived, the destined
means of thy release from the curse.' So hearing this, I have come,
and I have seen thee, my lord; now I will relate to thee that tale
which Pushpadanta told; but I feel curiosity on one point; tell me
why he was called Pushpadanta and thou Mályaván."



Story of Pushpadanta.

Hearing this question from Kánabhúti, Gunádhya said to him. On the bank
of the Ganges there is a district granted to Bráhmans by royal charter,
named Bahusuvarnaka, and there lived there a very learned Bráhman
named Govindadatta, and he had a wife Agnidattá who was devoted to her
husband. In course of time that Bráhman had five sons by her. And they,
being handsome but stupid, grew up insolent fellows. Then a guest came
to the house of Govindadatta, a Bráhman Vaisvánara by name, like a
second god of fire. [104] As Govindadatta was away from home when he
arrived, he came and saluted his sons, and they only responded to his
salute with a laugh; then that Bráhman in a rage prepared to depart
from his house. While he was in this state of wrath Govindadatta came,
and asked the cause, and did his best to appease him, but the excellent
Bráhman nevertheless spoke as follows--"Your sons have become outcasts,
as being blockheads, and you have lost caste by associating with them,
therefore I will not eat in your house; if I did so, I should not be
able to purify myself by any expiatory ceremony." Then Govindadatta
said to him with an oath, "I will never even touch these wicked sons
of mine." His hospitable wife also came and said the same to her
guest; then Vaisvánara was with difficulty induced to accept their
hospitality. One of Govindadatta's sons, named Devadatta, when he saw
that, was grieved at his father's sternness, and thinking a life of
no value which was thus branded by his parents, went in a state of
despondency to the hermitage of Badariká to perform penance; there
he first ate leaves, and afterwards he fed only on smoke, persevering
in a long course of austerities in order to propitiate the husband of
Umá [105]. So Sambhu, won over by his severe austerities, manifested
himself to him, and he craved a boon from the god, that he might
ever attend upon him. Sambhu thus commanded him--"Acquire learning,
and enjoy pleasures on the earth, and after that thou shalt attain
all thy desire." Then he, eager for learning, went to the city of
Pátaliputra, and according to custom waited on an instructor named
Vedakumbha. When he was there, the wife of his preceptor distracted
by passion, which had arisen in her heart, made violent love to him;
alas! the fancies of women are ever inconstant! Accordingly Devadatta
left that place, as his studies had been thus interfered with by the
god of love, and went to Pratishthána with unwearied zeal. There he
repaired to an old preceptor named Mantrasvámin, with an old wife,
and acquired a perfect knowledge of the sciences. And after he had
acquired learning, the daughter of the king Susarman, Srí by name,
cast eyes upon the handsome youth, as the goddess Srí upon Vishnu. He
also beheld that maiden at a window, looking like the presiding goddess
of the moon, roaming through the air in a magic chariot. Those two
were, as it were, fastened together by that look which was the chain
of love, and were unable to separate. The king's daughter made him
a sign to come near with one finger, looking like Love's command in
fleshly form. Then he came near her, and she came out of the women's
apartments, and took with her teeth a flower and threw it down to
him. He, not understanding this mysterious sign made by the princess,
puzzled as to what he ought to do, went home to his preceptor. There he
rolled on the ground unable to utter a word, being consumed within with
burning pain, like one dumb and distracted; his wise preceptor guessing
what was the matter by these love-symptoms, artfully questioned
him, and at last he was with difficulty persuaded to tell the whole
story. Then the clever preceptor guessed the riddle, and said to him,
[106] "By letting drop a flower with her tooth she made a sign to you,
that you were to go to this temple rich in flowers called Pushpadanta,
and wait there: so you had better go now." When he heard this and knew
the meaning of the sign, the youth forgot his grief. Then he went into
that temple and remained there. The princess on her part also went
there, giving as an excuse that it was the eighth day of the month,
and then entered the inner shrine in order to present herself alone
before the god; then she touched her lover who was behind the panel
of the door, and he suddenly springing up threw his arms round her
neck. She exclaimed, "this is strange; how did you guess the meaning
of that sign of mine?" He replied, "it was my preceptor that found
it out, not I." Then the princess flew into a passion and said, "Let
me go, you are a dolt," and immediately rushed out of the temple,
fearing that her secret would be discovered. Devadatta on his part
went away, and thinking in solitude on his beloved, who was no sooner
seen than lost to his eyes, was in such a state that the taper of
his life was well nigh melted away in the fire of bereavement. Siva,
who had been before propitiated by him, commanded an attendant of
his, of the name of Panchasikha, to procure for him the desire of
his heart. That excellent Gana thereupon came, and consoled him,
and caused him to assume the dress of a woman, and he himself wore
the semblance of an aged Bráhman. Then that worthy Gana went with him
to king Susarman the father of that bright-eyed one, and said to him;
"My son has been sent away somewhere, I go to seek him: accordingly
I deposit with thee this daughter-in-law of mine, keep her safely,
O king." Hearing that, king Susarman afraid of a Bráhman's curse,
took the young man and placed him in his daughter's guarded seraglio,
supposing him to be a woman. Then after the departure of Panchasikha,
the Bráhman dwelt in woman's clothes in the seraglio of his beloved,
and became her trusted confidante. Once on a time the princess was
full of regretful longing at night, so he discovered himself to her
and secretly married her by the Gándharva form of marriage. And when
she became pregnant, that excellent Gana came on his thinking of him
only, and carried him away at night without its being perceived. Then
he quickly rent off from the young man his woman's dress, and in the
morning Panchasikha resumed the semblance of a Bráhman; and going
with the young man to the king Susarman he said; "O king, I have
this day found my son: so give me back my daughter-in-law." Then
the king, supposing that she had fled somewhere at night, alarmed
at the prospect of being cursed by the Bráhman, said this to his
ministers. "This is no Bráhman, this is some god come to deceive me,
for such things often happen in this world.



Story of king Sivi.

So in former times there was a king named Sivi, self-denying,
compassionate, generous, resolute, the protector of all creatures;
and in order to beguile him Indra assumed the shape of a hawk,
and swiftly pursued Dharma, [107] who by magic had transformed
himself into a dove. The dove in terror went and took refuge in the
bosom of Sivi. Then the hawk addressed the king with a human voice;
'O king, this is my natural food, surrender the dove to me, for I
am hungry. Know that my death will immediately follow if you refuse
my prayer; in that case where will be your righteousness?' Then Sivi
said to the god,--'this creature has fled to me for protection, and I
cannot abandon it, therefore I will give you an equal weight of some
other kind of flesh.' The hawk said, 'if this be so, then give me your
own flesh.' The king, delighted, consented to do so. But as fast as
he cut off his flesh and threw it on the scale, the dove seemed to
weigh more and more in the balance. Then the king threw his whole
body on to the scale, and thereupon a celestial voice was heard,
'Well done! this is equal in weight to the dove.' Then Indra and
Dharma abandoned the form of hawk and dove, and being highly pleased
restored the body of king Sivi whole as before, and, after bestowing
on him many other blessings, they both disappeared. In the same way
this Bráhman is some god that has come to prove me." [108]

Having said this to his ministers, that king Susarman of his own
motion said to that excellent Gana that had assumed the form of
a Bráhman, prostrating himself before him in fear, "Spare me; that
daughter-in-law of thine was carried off last night. She has been taken
somewhere or other by magic arts, though guarded night and day." Then
the Gana, who had assumed the Bráhman's semblance, pretending to be
with difficulty won over to pity him, said, "If this be so, king,
give thy daughter in marriage to my son." When he heard this, the
king afraid of being cursed, gave his own daughter to Devadatta: then
Panchasikha departed. Then Devadatta having recovered his beloved,
and that in an open manner, flourished in the power and splendour
of his father-in-law who had no son but him. And in course of time
Susarman anointed the son of his daughter by Devadatta, Mahídhara
by name, as successor in his room, and retired to the forest. Then
having seen the prosperity of his son, Devadatta considered that he
had attained all his objects, and he too with the princess retired to
the forest. There he again propitiated Siva, and having laid aside
his mortal body, by the special favour of the god he attained the
position of a Gana. Because he did not understand the sign given by
the flower dropped from the tooth of his beloved, therefore he became
known by the name of Pushpadanta in the assembly of the Ganas. And
his wife became a door-keeper in the house of the goddess, under the
name of Jayá: this is how he came to be called Pushpadanta: now hear
the origin of my name.

Long ago I was a son of that same Bráhman called Govindadatta
the father of Devadatta, and my name was Somadatta. I left my home
indignant for the same reason as Devadatta, and I performed austerities
on the Himálaya continually striving to propitiate Siva with offerings
of many garlands. The god of the moony crest, being pleased, revealed
himself to me in the same way as he did to my brother, and I chose
the privilege of attending upon him as a Gana, not being desirous
of lower pleasures. The husband of the daughter of the mountain,
that mighty god, thus addressed me; "Because I have been worshipped
by thee with garlands of flowers growing in trackless forest-regions,
brought with thy own hand, therefore thou shalt be one of my Ganas,
and shalt bear the name of Mályaván." Then I cast off my mortal frame,
and immediately attained the holy state of an attendant on the god. And
so my name of Mályaván was bestowed upon me by him who wears the burden
of the matted locks, [109] as a mark of his special favour. And I,
that very Mályaván, have once more, O Kánabhúti, been degraded to the
state of a mortal, as thou seest, owing to the curse of the daughter
of the mountain, therefore do thou now tell me the tale told by Siva,
in order that the state of curse of both of us may cease.



NOTE TO CHAPTER VII.

"Rákshasas, Yakshas, and Pisáchas have no power in the day, being dazed
with the brightness of the sun therefore they delight in the night."

Farmer commenting on Hamlet, Act I, Sc. I, 150, quotes the following
lines of Prudentius Ad Gallicinium. Ferunt vagantes dæmonas,
Lætos tenebris noctium, Gallo canente exterritos, Sparsim timere
et cedere. Hoc esse signum præscii Norunt repromissæ spei, Qua nos
soporis liberi Speramus adventum Dei. Douce quotes from another hymn
said to have been composed by Saint Ambrose and formerly used in the
Salisbury service. Præco dici jam sonat, Noctis profundæ pervigil;
Nocturna lux viantibus, A nocte noctem segregans. Hoc excitatus
Lucifer Solvit polum caligine; Hoc omnis errorum cohors Viam nocendi
deserit. Gallo canente spes redit &c.

See also Grössler's Sagen der Grafschaft Mansfeld, pp. 58 and 59;
the Pentamerone of Basile, translated by Liebrecht, Vol. I, p. 251;
Dasent's Norse Tales, p. 347, "The Troll turned round, and, of course,
as soon as he saw the sun, he burst;" Grimm's Irische Märchen,
p. x; Kuhn's Westfälische Märchen, p. 63; Schöppner's Sagenbuch der
Bayerischen Lande, Vol. I, pp. 123, and 228; and Bernhard Schmidt's
Griechische Märchen, p. 138. He quotes the following interesting
passage from the Philopseudes of Lucian,  Synên achri dê alektryonôn
êkousamen adontôn tote dê hê te Selênê aneptato eis ton ouranon kai
hê Hekatê edy kata tês gês, kai ta alla phasmata êphanisthê, &c.






CHAPTER VIII.


In accordance with this request of Gunádhya that heavenly tale
consisting of seven stories was told by Kánabhúti in his own language,
and Gunádhya for his part using the same Paisácha language threw them
into seven hundred thousand couplets in seven years; and that great
poet, for fear that the Vidyádharas should steal his composition,
wrote it with his own blood in the forest, not possessing ink. And
so the Vidyádharas, Siddhas and other demigods came to hear it,
and the heaven above where Kánabhúti was reciting, was, as it were,
continually covered with a canopy. And Kánabhúti, when he had seen that
great tale composed by Gunádhya, was released from his curse and went
to his own place. There were also other Pisáchas that accompanied him
in his wanderings: they too all of them attained heaven, having heard
that heavenly tale. Then that great poet Gunádhya began to reflect,
"I must make this Great Tale [110] of mine current on the earth, for
that is the condition that the goddess mentioned when she revealed
how my curse would end. Then how shall I make it current? To whom
shall I give it?" Then his two disciples that had followed him, one
of whom was called Gunadeva, and the other Nandideva said to him,
"The glorious Sátaváhana alone is a fit person to give this poem to,
for being a man of taste he will diffuse the poem far and wide, as the
wind diffuses the perfume of the flower." "So be it," said Gunádhya,
and gave the book to those two accomplished disciples and sent them
to that king with it; and went himself to that same Pratishthána,
but remained outside the city in the garden planted by the goddess,
where he arranged that they should meet him. And his disciples went
and showed the poem to king Sátaváhana, telling him at the same
time that it was the work of Gunádhya. When he heard that Paisácha
language and saw that they had the appearance of Pisáchas, that
king, led astray by pride of learning, said with a sneer, "The seven
hundred thousand couplets are a weighty authority, but the Paisácha
language is barbarous, and the letters are written in blood; away
with this Paisácha tale." Then the two pupils took the book, and
returned by the way which they came, and told the whole circumstance
to Gunádhya. Gunádhya for his part, when he heard it, was immediately
overcome with sorrow; who indeed is not inly grieved when scorned by
a competent authority? Then he went with his disciples to a craggy
hill at no great distance, in an unfrequented but pleasant spot, and
first prepared a consecrated fire cavity. Then he took the leaves one
by one, and after he had read them aloud to the beasts and birds, he
flung them into the fire while his disciples looked on with tearful
eyes. But he reserved one story, consisting of one hundred thousand
couplets, containing the history of Naraváhanadatta, for the sake
of his two disciples, as they particularly fancied it. And while he
was reading out and burning that heavenly tale, all the deer, boars,
buffaloes and other wild animals, came there, leaving the pasturage,
and formed a circle around him, listening with tears in their eyes,
unable to quit the spot. [111]

In the meanwhile king Sátaváhana fell sick. And the physicians
said that his illness was due to eating meat wanting in nutritive
qualities. And when the cooks were scolded for it, they said--"The
hunters bring in to us flesh of this kind." And when the hunters were
taken to task, they said,--"On a hill not very far from here there is a
Bráhman reading, who throws into the fire every leaf as soon as he has
read it; so all the animals go there and listen without ever grazing,
they never wander anywhere else, consequently this flesh of theirs
is wanting in nutritive properties on account of their going without
food." When he heard this speech of the hunters he made them shew
him the way, and out of curiosity went in person to see Gunádhya,
and he beheld him owing to his forest life overspread with matted
locks, that looked like the smoke of the fire of his curse, that was
almost extinguished.

Then the king recognized him as he stood in the midst of the weeping
animals, and after he had respectfully saluted him, he asked him
for an explanation of all the circumstances. That wise Bráhman then
related to the king in the language of the demons his own history as
Pushpadanta, giving an account of the curse and all the circumstances
which originated the descent of the tale to earth. Then the king,
discovering that he was an incarnation of a Gana, bowed at his feet,
and asked him for that celestial tale that had issued from the mouth
of Siva. Then Gunádhya said to that king Sátaváhana; "O king I have
burnt six tales containing six hundred thousand couplets; but here
is one tale consisting of a hundred thousand couplets, take that:
[112] and these two pupils of mine shall explain it to you." So
spake Gunádhya and took leave of the king, and then by strength of
devotion laid aside his earthly body, and released from the curse
ascended to his own heavenly home. Then the king took that tale which
Gunádhya had given, called Vrihat Kathá, containing the adventures of
Naraváhanadatta, and went to his own city. And there he bestowed on
Gunadeva and Nandideva, the pupils of the poet who composed that tale,
lands, gold, garments, beasts of burden, palaces, and treasures. And
having recovered the sense of that tale with their help, Sátaváhana
composed the book named Kathápítha, in order to shew how the tale
came to be first made known in the Paisácha language. Now that tale
was so full of various interest, that men were so taken up with it
as to forget the tales of the gods, and after producing that effect
in the city it attained uninterrupted renown in the three worlds.







BOOK II.

CALLED KATHÁMUKHA.


This nectarous tale sprang in old time from the mouth of Siva, set in
motion by his love for the daughter of the Himálaya, as the nectar
of immortality sprang from the sea, when churned by the mountain
Mandara. Those who drink eagerly the nectar of this tale, have all
impediments removed and gain prosperity, and by the favour of Siva
attain, while living upon earth, the high rank of gods.






CHAPTER IX.


May the water of Siva's sweat, fresh from the embrace of Gaurí,
[113] which the god of love when afraid of the fire of Siva's eye,
employs as his aqueous weapon, protect you.

Listen to the following tale of the Vidyádharas, which the excellent
Gana Pushpadanta heard on mount Kailása from the god of the matted
locks, and which Kánabhúti heard on the earth from the same Pushpadanta
after he had become Vararuchi, and which Gunádhya heard from Kánabhúti,
and Sátaváhana heard from Gunádhya.



Story of Udayana king of Vatsa.

There is a land famous under the name of Vatsa, that appears as
if it had been made by the Creator as an earthly rival to dash the
pride of heaven. In the centre of it is a great city named Kausámbí,
the favourite dwelling-place of the goddess of prosperity; the
ear-ornament, so to speak, of the earth. In it dwelt a king named
Satáníka, sprung from the Pándava family, he was the son of Janamejaya,
and the grandson of king Paríkshit, who was the great-grandson of
Abhimanyu. The first progenitor of his race was Arjuna, the might
of whose strong arms was tested in a struggle with the mighty arms
of Siva; [114] his wife was the earth, and also Vishnumatí his
queen; the first produced jewels, but the second did not produce a
son. Once on a time, as that king was roaming about in his passion
for the chase, he made acquaintance in the forest with the hermit
Sándilya. That worthy sage finding out that the king desired a son,
came to Kausámbí and administered to his queen an artfully prepared
oblation [115] consecrated with mystic verses. Then he had a son
born to him called Sahasráníka. And his father was adorned by him
as excellence is by modesty. Then in course of time Satáníka made
that son crown-prince and though he still enjoyed kingly pleasures,
ceased to trouble himself about the cares of government. Then a
war arose between the gods and Asuras, and Indra sent Mátali as a
messenger to that king begging for aid. Then he committed his son and
his kingdom to the care of his principal minister, who was called
Yogandhara, and his Commander-in-chief, whose name was Supratíka,
and went to Indra with Mátali to slay the Asuras in fight. That king,
having slain many Asuras, of whom Yamadanshtra was the chief, under
the eyes of Indra, met death in that very battle. The king's body
was brought back by Mátali, and the queen burnt herself with it, and
the royal dignity descended to his son Sahasráníka. Wonderful to say,
when that king ascended his father's throne, the heads of the kings
on every side of his dominions were bent down with the weight. Then
Indra sent Mátali, and brought to heaven that Sahasráníka, as being
the son of his friend, that he might be present at the great feast
which he was holding to celebrate his victory over his foes. There
the king saw the gods, attended by their fair ones, sporting in
the garden of Nandana, and desiring for himself a suitable wife,
fell into low spirits. Then Indra, perceiving this desire of his,
said to him; "King, away with despondency, this desire of thine
shall be accomplished. For there has been born upon the earth one,
who was long ago ordained a suitable match for thee. For listen to
the following history, which I now proceed to relate to thee.

"Long ago I went to the court of Brahmá in order to visit him, and a
certain Vasu named Vidhúma followed me. While we were there, an Apsaras
[116] named Alambushá came to see Brahmá, and her robe was blown
aside by the wind. And the Vasu, when he beheld her, was overpowered
by love, and the Apsaras too had her eyes immediately attracted by his
form. The lotus-sprung god, [117] when he beheld that, looked me full
in the face, and I, knowing his meaning, in wrath cursed those two,
'Be born, you two, shameless creatures, into the world of mortals,
and there become man and wife.' That Vasu has been born as thou,
Sahasráníka, the son of Satáníka, an ornament to the race of the
moon. And that Apsaras too has been born in Ayodhyá as the daughter
of king Kritavarman, Mrigávatí by name, she shall be thy wife." By
these words of Indra the flame of love was fanned in the passionate
[118] heart of the king and burst out into full blaze; as a fire when
fanned by the wind. Indra then dismissed the king from heaven with
all due honour in his own chariot, and he set out with Mátali [119]
for his capital. But as he was starting, the Apsaras Tilottamá said
to him out of affection, "King I have somewhat to say to thee, wait a
moment." But he, thinking on Mrigávatí, went off without hearing what
she said, then Tilottamá in her rage cursed him; "King, thou shalt be
separated for fourteen years from her who has so engrossed thy mind
that thou dost not hear my speech." Now Mátali heard that curse,
but the king, yearning for his beloved, did not. In the chariot he
went to Kausámbí but in spirit he went to Ayodhyá. Then the king told
with longing heart, all that he had heard from Indra with reference
to Mrigávatí, to his ministers, Yogandhara and the others: and not
being able to endure delay, he sent an ambassador to Ayodhyá to ask
her father Kritavarman for the hand of that maiden. And Kritavarman
having heard from the ambassador his commission, told in his joy the
queen Kalávatí, and then she said to him--"King we ought certainly to
give Mrigávatí to Sahasráníka, and, I remember, a certain Bráhman told
me this very thing in a dream"; then in his delight the king showed
to the ambassador Mrigávatí's wonderful skill in dancing, singing,
and other accomplishments, and her matchless beauty; so the king
Kritavarman gave to Sahasráníka that daughter of his who was unequalled
as a mine of graceful arts, and who shone like an incarnation of the
moon; that marriage of Sahasráníka and Mrigávatí was one in which
the good qualities of either party supplemented those of the other,
and might be compared to the union of learning and intelligence.

Not long after sons were born to the king's ministers; Yogandhara had a
son born to him named Yaugandharáyana; and Supratíka had a son born to
him named Rumanvat. And to the king's master of the revels was born a
son named Vasantaka. Then in a few days Mrigávatí became slightly pale
and promised to bear a child to king Sahasráníka. And then she asked
the king, who was never tired of looking at her, to gratify her longing
by filling a tank full of blood for her to bathe in. Accordingly the
king, who was a righteous man, in order to gratify her desire, had a
tank filled with the juice of lac and other red extracts, so that it
seemed to be full of blood. [120] And while she was bathing in that
lake, and covered with red dye, a bird of the race of Garuda [121]
suddenly pounced upon her and carried her off thinking she was raw
flesh. As soon as she was carried away in some unknown direction by
the bird, the king became distracted, and his self-command forsook him
as if in order to go in search of her. His heart was so attached to
his beloved that it was in very truth carried off by that bird, and
thus he fell senseless upon the earth. As soon as he had recovered
his senses, Mátali, who had discovered all by his divine power,
descended through the air and came where the king was. He consoled
the king, and told him the curse of Tilottamá with its destined end,
as he had heard it long ago, and then he took his departure. Then the
king tormented with grief lamented on this wise; "Alas my beloved, that
wicked Tilottamá has accomplished her desire." But having learned the
facts about the curse, and having received advice from his ministers,
he managed, though with difficulty, to retain his life through hope
of a future reunion.

But that bird, which had carried off Mrigávatí, as soon as it found
out that she was alive, abandoned her, and as fate would have it, left
her on the mountain where the sun rises. And when the bird let her drop
and departed, the queen, distracted with grief and fear, saw that she
was left unprotected on the slope of a trackless mountain. While she
was weeping in the forest, alone, with one garment only to cover her,
an enormous serpent rose up and prepared to swallow her. Then she,
for whom prosperity was reserved in the future, was delivered by some
heavenly hero that came down and slew the serpent, and disappeared
almost as soon as he was seen. Thereupon she, longing for death,
flung herself down in front of a wild elephant, but even he spared
her as if out of compassion. Wonderful was it that even a wild beast
did not slay her when she fell in his way! Or rather it was not to
be wondered at. What cannot the will of Siva effect?

Then the girl tardy with the weight of her womb, desiring to hurl
herself down from a precipice, and thinking upon that lord of hers,
wept aloud; and a hermit's son, who had wandered there in search of
roots and fruits, hearing that, came up, and found her looking like
the incarnation of sorrow. And he, after questioning the queen about
her adventures, and comforting her as well as he could, with a heart
melted with compassion led her off to the hermitage of Jamadagni. There
she beheld Jamadagni, looking like the incarnation of comfort, whose
brightness so illumined the eastern mountain that it seemed as if the
rising sun ever rested on it. When she fell at his feet, that hermit
who was kind to all that came to him for help, and possessed heavenly
insight, said to her who was tortured with the pain of separation;
"Here there shall be born to thee, my daughter, a son that shall
uphold the family of his father, and thou shalt be reunited to thy
husband, therefore weep not." When that virtuous woman heard that
speech of the hermit's, she took up her abode in that hermitage,
and entertained hope of a reunion with her beloved. And some days
after, the blameless one gave birth to a charmingly beautiful son,
as association with the good produces good manners. At that moment
a voice was heard from heaven; "an august king of great renown has
been born, Udayana by name, and his son shall be monarch of all
the Vidyádharas." That voice restored to the heart of Mrigávatí
joy which she had long forgotten. Gradually that boy grew up to
size and strength in that grove of asceticism, accompanied by his
own excellent qualities as playmates. And the heroic child had the
sacraments appropriate to a member of the warrior-caste performed for
him by Jamadagni, and was instructed by him in the sciences, and the
practice of archery. And out of love for him Mrigávatí drew off from
her own wrist, and placed on his, a bracelet marked with the name
of Sahasráníka. Then that Udayana roaming about once upon a time in
pursuit of deer, beheld in the forest a snake that had been forcibly
captured by a Savara. [122] And he, feeling pity for the beautiful
snake, said to that Savara, "Let go this snake to please me." Then
that Savara said, "My lord, this is my livelihood, for I am a poor
man, and I always maintain myself by exhibiting dancing snakes. The
snake I previously had having died, I searched through this great
wood, and, finding this one, overpowered him by charms and captured
him." When he heard this, the generous Udayana gave that Savara the
bracelet which his mother had bestowed on him, and persuaded him to
set the snake at liberty. The Savara took the bracelet and departed,
and then the snake being pleased with Udayana bowed before him and
said as follows, "I am the eldest brother of Vásuki, [123] called
Vasunemi: receive from me, whom thou hast preserved, this lute,
sweet in the sounding of its strings, divided according to the
division of the quarter-tones; and betel leaf, together with the art
of weaving unfading garlands, and adorning the forehead with marks
that never become indistinct." Then Udayana furnished with all these,
and dismissed by the snake, returned to the hermitage of Jamadagni,
raining nectar, so to speak, into the eyes of his mother.

In the meanwhile that Savara who had lighted on this forest, and
while roaming about in it had obtained the bracelet from Udayana by
the will of fate, was caught attempting to sell this ornament marked
with the king's name in the market, and was arrested by the police,
and brought up in court before the king. Then king Sahasráníka himself
asked him in sorrow whence he had obtained the bracelet. Then that
Savara told him the whole story of his obtaining possession of the
bracelet, beginning with his capture of the snake upon the eastern
mountain. Hearing that from the Savara, and beholding that bracelet
of his beloved, king Sahasráníka ascended the swing of doubt.

Then a divine voice from heaven delighted the king who was tortured
with the fire of separation, as the rain-drops delight the peacock
when afflicted with the heat, uttering these words--"Thy curse is at
an end, O king, and that wife of thine Mrigávatí is residing in the
hermitage of Jamadagni together with thy son." Then that day at last
came to an end, though made long by anxious expectation, and on the
morrow that king Sahasráníka, making the Savara show him the way,
set out with his army for that hermitage on the eastern mountain,
in order quickly to recover his beloved wife.






CHAPTER X.


After he had gone a long distance the king encamped that day in a
certain forest on the border of a lake. He went to bed weary, and in
the evening he said to Sangataka a story-teller who had come to him
on account of the pleasure he took in his service; "Tell me some tale
that will gladden my heart, for I am longing for the joy of beholding
the lotus-face of Mrigávatí." Then Sangataka said, King why do you
grieve without cause? The union with your queen, which will mark the
termination of your curse, is nigh at hand. Human beings experience
many unions and separations: and I will tell you a story to illustrate
this; listen, my lord!



Story of Srídatta and Mrigánkavatí.

Once on a time there lived in the country of Málava a Bráhman named
Yajnasoma. And that good man had two sons born to him, beloved by
men. One of them was known as Kálanemi and the second was named
Vigatabhaya. Now, when their father had gone to heaven, those two
brothers, having passed through the age of childhood, went to the city
of Pátaliputra to acquire learning. And when they had completed their
studies, their teacher Devasarman gave them his own two daughters,
like another couple of sciences incarnate in bodily form.

Then seeing that the householders around him were rich, Kálanemi
through envy made a vow and propitiated the goddess of Fortune with
burnt-offerings. And the goddess being satisfied appeared in bodily
form and said to him--"Thou shalt obtain great wealth and a son
who shall rule the earth; but at last thou shalt be put to death
like a robber, because thou hast offered flesh in the fire with
impure motives." When she had said this, the goddess disappeared;
and Kálanemi in course of time became very rich; moreover after some
days a son was born to him. So the father, whose desires were now
accomplished, called that son Srídatta, [124] because he had been
obtained by the favour of the goddess of Fortune. In course of time
Srídatta grew up, and though a Bráhman, became matchless upon earth
in the use of weapons, and in boxing and wrestling.

Then Kálanemi's brother Vigatabhaya went to a foreign land, having
become desirous of visiting places of pilgrimage, through sorrow for
his wife, who died of the bite of a snake.

Moreover the king of the land, Vallabhasakti, who appreciated good
qualities, made Srídatta the companion of his son Vikramasakti. So
he had to live with a haughty prince, as the impetuous Bhíma lived
in his youth with Duryodhana. Then two Kshatriyas, natives of Avanti,
Báhusálin and Vajramushti became friends of that Bráhman's. And some
other men from the Deccan, sons of ministers, having been conquered
by him in wrestling, resorted to him out of spontaneous friendship,
as they knew how to value merit. Mahábala and Vyághrabhata and also
Upendrabala and a man named Nishthuraka became his friends. One day,
as years rolled on, Srídatta, being in attendance on the prince,
went with him and those friends to sport on the bank of the Ganges;
then the prince's own servants made him king, and at the same time
Srídatta was chosen king by his friends. This made the prince angry,
and in over-weening confidence he at once challenged that Bráhman
hero to fight. Then being conquered by him in wrestling, and so
disgraced, he made up his mind that this rising hero should be put
to death. But Srídatta found out that intention of the prince's, and
withdrew in alarm with those friends of his from his presence. And as
he was going along, he saw in the middle of the Ganges a woman being
dragged under by the stream, looking like the goddess of Fortune in
the middle of the sea. And then he plunged in to pull her out of the
water, leaving Báhusálin and his five other friends on the bank. Then
that woman, though he seized her by the hair, sank deep in the water;
and he dived as deep in order to follow her. And after he had dived a
long way, he suddenly saw a splendid temple of Siva, but no water and
no woman. [125] After beholding that wonderful sight, being wearied
out he paid his adorations to the god whose emblem is a bull, and
spent that night in a beautiful garden attached to the temple. And in
the morning that lady was seen by him having come to worship the god
Siva, like the incarnate splendour of beauty attended by all womanly
perfections. And after she had worshipped the god, the moon-faced one
departed to her own house, and Srídatta for his part followed her. And
he saw that palace of hers resembling the city of the gods, which
the haughty beauty entered hurriedly in a contemptuous manner. And
without deigning to address him, the graceful lady sat down on a sofa
in the inner part of the house, waited upon by thousands of women. And
Srídatta also took a seat near her; then suddenly that virtuous lady
began to weep. The tear-drops fell in an unceasing shower on her
bosom, and that moment pity entered into the heart of Srídatta. And
then he said to her, "Who art thou, and what is thy sorrow? Tell me,
fair one, for I am able to remove it." Then she said reluctantly,
"We are the thousand granddaughters of Bali [126] the king of the
Daityas, and I am the eldest of all, and my name is Vidyutprabhá. That
grandfather of ours was carried off by Vishnu to long imprisonment,
and the same hero slew our father in a wrestling-match. And after he
had slain him, he excluded us from our own city, and he placed a lion
in it to prevent us from entering. The lion occupies that place, and
grief our hearts. It is a Yaksha that was made a lion by the curse of
Kuvera, and long ago it was predicted that the Yaksha's curse should
end when he was conquered by some mortal; so Vishnu deigned to inform
us on our humbly asking him how we might be enabled to enter our
city. Therefore subdue that lion our enemy; it was for that reason,
O hero, that I enticed you hither. And when you have overcome him you
will obtain from him a sword named Mrigánka, by the virtue of which
you shall conquer the world and become a king." When he heard that,
Srídatta agreed to undertake the adventure, and after that day had
passed, on the morrow he took those Daitya maidens with him as guides,
and went to that city, and there he overcame in wrestling that haughty
lion. [127] He being freed from his curse assumed a human form, and
out of gratitude gave his sword to the man who had put an end to his
curse, and then disappeared together with the burden of the sorrow
of the great Asura's daughter. Then that Srídatta, together with
the Daitya's daughter, who was accompanied by her younger sisters,
entered that splendid city which looked like the serpent Ananta [128]
having emerged from the earth. And that Daitya maiden gave him a ring
that destroyed the effect of poison. Then that young man remaining
there fell in love with her. And she cunningly said to him, "Bathe
in this tank, and when you dive in, take with you this sword [129]
to keep off the danger of crocodiles." He consented, and diving into
the tank, rose upon that very bank of the Ganges from which he first
plunged in. Then he, seeing the ring and the sword, felt astonishment
at having emerged from the lower regions, and despondency at having
been tricked by the Asura maid. Then he went towards his own house
to look for his friends, and as he was going he saw on the way his
friend Nishthuraka. Nishthuraka came up to him and saluted him, and
quickly took him aside into a lonely place, and when asked by him
for news of his relations, gave him this answer; "On that occasion
when you plunged into the Ganges we searched for you many days, and
out of grief we were preparing to cut off our heads, but a voice from
heaven forbade that attempt of ours saying, 'My sons, do no rash act,
your friend shall return alive.' And then we were returning into the
presence of your father, when on the way a man hurriedly advanced
to meet us and said this--'You must not enter this city at present,
for the king of it Vallabhasakti is dead, and the ministers have with
one accord conferred the royal dignity on Vikramasakti;' now the day
after he was made king he went to the house of Kálanemi, and full of
wrath asked him where his son Srídatta was, and he replied--'I do not
know.' Then the king in a rage, supposing he had concealed his son,
had him put to death by impalement as a thief. When his wife saw that,
her heart broke. Men of cruel deeds must always pile one evil action
upon another in long succession; and so Vikramasakti is searching for
Srídatta to slay him, and you are his friends, therefore leave this
place.' When the man had given us this warning, Báhusálin and his
four companions being grieved went by common consent to their own
home in Ujjayiní. And they left me here in concealment, my friend,
for your sake. So come, let us go to that very place to meet our
friends." Having heard this from Nishthuraka, and having bewailed
his parents, Srídatta cast many a look at his sword, as if reposing
in that his hope of vengeance; then the hero, biding his time, set
out accompanied by Nishthuraka for that city of Ujjayiní in order to
meet his friends.

And as he was relating to his friend his adventures from the time
of his plunging into the stream, Srídatta beheld a woman weeping
in the road; when she said, "I am a woman going to Ujjayiní and I
have lost my way," Srídatta out of pity made her journey along with
him. He and Nishthuraka, together with that woman, whom he kept
with him out of compassion, halted that day in a certain deserted
town. There he suddenly woke up in the night and beheld that the
woman had slain Nishthuraka, and was devouring his flesh with the
utmost delight. Then he rose up drawing his sword Mrigánka, and that
woman assumed her own terrible form, that of a Rákshasí, [130] and
he seized that night-wanderer by her hair, to slay her. That moment
she assumed a heavenly shape and said to him, "Slay me not, mighty
hero, let me go, I am not a Rákshasí; the hermit Visvámitra imposed
this condition on me by a curse. For once when he was performing
austerities from a desire to attain the position of the god of wealth,
I was sent by the god to impede him. Then finding that I was not able
to seduce him with my alluring form, being abashed, I assumed in order
to terrify him a formidable shape. When he saw this, that hermit laid
on me a curse suitable to my offence, exclaiming--'Wicked one, become
a Rákshasí and slay men.' And he appointed that my curse should end
when you took hold of my hair; accordingly I assumed this detestable
condition of a Rákshasí, and I have devoured all the inhabitants of
this town: now to-day after a long time you have brought my curse to
an end in the manner foretold; therefore receive now some boon." When
he heard that speech of hers, Srídatta said respectfully, "Mother
grant that my friend may be restored to life. What need have I of
any other boon?" "So be it," said she, and after granting the boon
disappeared. And Nishthuraka rose up again alive without a scratch on
his body. Then Srídatta set out the next morning with him, delighted
and astonished, and at last reached Ujjayiní. There he revived by his
appearance the spirits of his friends, who were anxiously expecting
him, as the arrival of the cloud revives the peacocks. And after he
had told all the wonders of his adventures, Báhusálin went through the
usual formalities of hospitality, taking him to his own home. There
Srídatta was taken care of by the parents of Báhusálin, and lived
with his friends as comfortably as if he were in his own house.

Once on a time, when the great feast of spring-tide [131] had arrived,
he went with his friends to behold some festal rejoicings in a
garden. There he beheld a maiden, the daughter of king Bimbaki, who
had come to see the show, looking like the goddess of the Splendour
of Spring present in bodily form. She, by name Mrigánkavatí, that
moment penetrated into his heart, as if through the openings left
by the expansion of his eye. Her passionate look too, indicative
of the beginning of love, fixed on him, went and returned like a
confidante. When she entered a thicket of trees, Srídatta not beholding
her, suddenly felt his heart so empty that he did not know where he
was. His friend Báhusálin, who thoroughly understood the language of
gestures, said to him, "My friend, I know your heart, do not deny your
passion, therefore, come, let us go to that part of the garden where
the king's daughter is." He consented and went near her accompanied
by his friend. That moment a cry was heard there, which gave great
pain to the heart of Srídatta, "Alas the princess has been bitten by
a snake!" Báhusálin then went and said to the chamberlain--"My friend
here possesses a ring that counteracts the effects of poison, and
also healing spells." Immediately the chamberlain came, and bowing at
his feet, quickly led Srídatta to the princess. He placed the ring on
her finger, and then muttered his spells so that she revived. Then all
the attendants were delighted, and loud in praise of Srídatta, and the
king Bimbaki hearing the circumstances came to the place. Accordingly
Srídatta returned with his friends to the house of Báhusálin without
taking back the ring. And all the gold and other presents, which
the delighted king sent to him there, he handed over to the father
of Báhusálin. Then, thinking upon that fair one, he was so much
afflicted, that his friends became utterly bewildered as to what to
do with him. Then a dear friend of the princess, Bhávaniká, by name,
came to him on pretence of returning the ring; and said to him, "That
friend of mine, illustrious Sir, has made up her mind, that either you
must save her life by becoming her husband, or she will be married to
her grave." When Bhávaniká had said this, Srídatta and Báhusálin and
the others quickly put their heads together and came to the following
resolution, "We will carry off this princess secretly by a stratagem,
and will go unperceived from here to Mathurá and live there." The
plan having been thoroughly talked over, and the conspirators having
agreed with one another what each was to do in order to carry it out,
Bhávaniká then departed. And the next day Báhusálin, accompanied by
three of his friends, went to Mathurá on pretext of trafficking,
and as he went he posted in concealment at intervals swift horses
for the conveyance of the princess. But Srídatta then brought at
eventide a woman with her daughter into the palace of the princess,
after making them both drink spirits, and then Bhávaniká, on pretence
of lighting up the palace, set fire to it, and secretly conveyed
the princess out of it; and that moment Srídatta, who was remaining
outside, received her, and sent her on to Báhusálin, who had started
in the morning, and directed two of his friends to attend on her and
also Bhávaniká. Now that drunken woman and her daughter were burnt in
the palace of the princess, and people supposed that the princess had
been burnt with her friend. But Srídatta took care to show himself
in the morning as before, in the city; then on the second night,
taking with him his sword Mrigánka, he started to follow his beloved,
who had set out before him. And in his eagerness he accomplished
a great distance that night, and when the morning watch [132] had
passed, he reached the Vindhya forest. There he first beheld unlucky
omens, and afterwards he saw all those friends of his together with
Bhávaniká lying in the road gashed with wounds. And when he came
up all distracted, they said to him, "We were robbed to-day by a
large troop of horsemen that set upon us. And after we were reduced
to this state, one of the horsemen threw the terrified princess on
his horse and carried her off. So before she has been carried to
a great distance, go in this direction, do not remain near us, she
is certainly of more importance than we." Being urged on with these
words by his friends, Srídatta rapidly followed after the princess,
but could not help frequently turning round to look at them. And
after he had gone a considerable distance, he caught up that troop
of cavalry, and he saw a young man of the warrior caste in the midst
of it. And he beheld that princess held by him upon his horse. So
he slowly approached that young warrior; and when soft words would
not induce him to let the princess go, he hurled him from his horse
with a blow of his foot, and dashed him to pieces on a rock. And
after he had slain him, he mounted on his horse and slew a great
number of the other horsemen who charged him in anger. And then those
who remained alive, seeing that the might which the hero displayed
was more than human, fled away in terror; and Srídatta mounted on
the horse with the princess Mrigánkavatí and set out to find those
friends of his. And after he had gone a little way, he and his wife
got off the horse which had been severely wounded in the fight, and
soon after it fell down and died. And then his beloved Mrigánkavatí,
exhausted with fear and exertion, became very thirsty. And leaving
her there, he roamed a long distance hither and thither, and while
he was looking for water the sun set. Then he discovered that, though
he had found water, he had lost his way, and he passed that night in
the wood roaming about, moaning aloud like a Chakraváka. [133] And
in the morning he reached that place, which was easy to recognise by
the carcass of the horse. And nowhere there did he behold his beloved
princess. Then in his distraction he placed his sword Mrigánka on the
ground, and climbed to the top of a tree, in order to cast his eye in
all directions for her. That very moment a certain Savara chieftain
passed that way; and he came up and took the sword from the foot of
the tree. Beholding that Savara chieftain, Srídatta came down from
the top of the tree, and in great grief asked him for news of his
beloved. The Savara chieftain said--"Leave this place and come to my
village; I have no doubt she whom you seek has gone there; and I shall
come there and return you this sword." When the Savara chieftain urged
him to go with these words, Srídatta, being himself all eagerness,
went to that village with the chief's men. And there those men said to
him,--"Sleep off your fatigue,"--and when he reached the house of the
chief of the village, being tired he went to sleep in an instant. And
when he woke up he saw his two feet fastened with fetters, like the
two efforts he had made in order to obtain his beloved, which failed
to reach their object. Then he remained there weeping for his darling,
who, like the course of destiny, had for a moment brought him joy,
and the next moment blasted his hopes.

One day a serving maid of the name of Mochaniká came to him and
said,--Illustrious Sir, unwittingly you have come hither to your
death? For the Savara chieftain has gone somewhither to accomplish
certain weighty affairs, and when he returns, he will offer you
to Chandiká. [134] For with that object he decoyed you here by a
stratagem from this slope of the wild Vindhya hill, and immediately
threw you into the chains in which you now are. And it is because
you are intended to be offered as a victim to the goddess, that you
are continually served with garments and food. But I know of only
one expedient for delivering you, if you agree to it. This Savara
chieftain has a daughter named Sundarí, and she having seen you is
becoming exceedingly love-sick; marry her who is my friend, then you
will obtain deliverance. [135] When she said this to him, Srídatta
consented, desiring to be set at liberty, and secretly made that
Sundarí his wife by the Gándharva form of marriage. And every night she
removed his chains and in a short time Sundarí became pregnant. Then
her mother, having heard the whole story from the mouth of Mochaniká,
out of love for her son-in-law Srídatta, went and of her own accord
said to him--"My son, Sríchanda the father of Sundarí is a wrathful
man, and will show thee no mercy. Therefore depart, but thou must not
forget Sundarí." When his mother-in-law had said this, she set him at
liberty, and Srídatta departed after telling Sundarí that the sword,
which was in her father's possession, really belonged to himself.

So he again entered full of anxiety that forest, in which he had before
wandered about, in order again to search for traces of Mrigávatí. And
having seen an auspicious omen he came to that same place, where that
horse of his died before, and whence his wife was carried off. And
there he saw near [136] him a hunter coming towards him, and when
he saw him he asked him for news of that gazelle-eyed lady. Then
the hunter asked him "Are you Srídatta?" and he sighing replied "I
am that unfortunate man." Then that hunter said, "Listen, friend, I
have somewhat to tell you. I saw that wife of yours wandering hither
and thither lamenting your absence, and having asked her her story,
and consoled her, moved with compassion I took her out of this wood
to my own village. But when I saw the young Pulindas [137] there,
I was afraid, and I took her to a village named Nágasthala near
Mathurá. [138] And then I placed her in the house of an old Bráhman
named Visvadatta commending her with all due respect to his care. And
thence I came here having learnt your name from her lips. Therefore
you had better go quickly to Nágasthala to search for her." When the
hunter had told him this, Srídatta quickly set out, and he reached
Nágasthala in the evening of the second day. Then he entered the house
of Visvadatta and when he saw him said, "Give me my wife who was placed
here by the hunter." Visvadatta when he heard that, answered him,
"I have a friend in Mathurá a Bráhman, dear to all virtuous men, the
spiritual preceptor and minister of the king Súrasena. In his care
I placed your wife. For this village is an out-of-the-way place and
would not afford her protection. So go to that city to-morrow morning,
but to-day rest here." When Visvadatta said this, he spent that night
there, and the next morning he set off, and reached Mathurá on the
second day. Being weary and dusty with the long journey, he bathed
outside that city in the pellucid water of a lake. And he drew out
of the middle of the lake a garment placed there by some robbers,
not suspecting any harm. But in one corner of the garment, which was
knotted up, a necklace was concealed. [139] Then Srídatta took that
garment, and in his eagerness to meet his wife did not notice the
necklace, and so entered the city of Mathurá. Then the city police
recognized the garment, and finding the necklace, arrested Srídatta
as a thief, and carried him off, and brought him before the chief
magistrate exactly as he was found, with the garment in his possession;
by him he was handed up to the king, and the king ordered him to be
put to death.

Then, as he was being led off to the place of execution with the
drum being beaten behind him, [140] his wife Mrigánkavatí saw him in
the distance. She went in a state of the utmost distraction and said
to the chief minister, in whose house she was residing, "Yonder is
my husband being led off to execution." Then that minister went and
ordered the executioners to desist, and, by making a representation
to the king, got Srídatta pardoned, and had him brought to his
house. And when Srídatta reached his house, and saw that minister,
he recognised him and fell at his feet, exclaiming, "What! is this my
uncle Vigatabhaya, who long ago went to a foreign country, and do I now
by good luck find him established in the position of a minister?" He
too recognised to his astonishment Srídatta as his brother's son,
and embraced him, and questioned him about all his adventures. Then
Srídatta related to his uncle his whole history beginning with the
execution of his father. And he, after weeping, said to his nephew in
private, "Do not despond, my son, for I once brought a female Yaksha
into subjection by means of magic; and she gave me, though I have
no son, five thousand horses and seventy millions of gold pieces:
and all that wealth is at your disposal." After telling him this,
his uncle brought him his beloved, and he, having obtained wealth,
married her on the spot. And then he remained there in joy, united
with that beloved Mrigánkavatí as a bed of white lotuses [141] with
the night. But even when his happiness was at its full, anxiety for
Báhusálin and his companions clouded his heart, as a spot of darkness
does the full moon. Now one day his uncle said secretly to Srídatta:
"my son, the king Súrasena has a maiden daughter, and in accordance
with his orders I have to take her to the land of Avanti to give her
away in marriage; so I will take her away on that very pretext, and
marry her to you. Then, when you have got possession of the force that
follows her, with mine already at your disposal, you will soon gain
the kingdom that was promised you by the goddess Srí." Having resolved
on this, and having taken that maiden, Srídatta and his uncle set out
with their army and their attendants. But as soon as they had reached
the Vindhya forest, before they were aware of the danger, a large army
of brigands set upon them showering arrows. After routing Srídatta's
force, and seizing all the wealth, they bound Srídatta himself, who
had fainted from his wounds, and carried him off to their village. And
they took him to the awful temple of Durgá, in order to offer him up
in sacrifice, and, as it were, summoned Death with the sound of their
gongs. There Sundarí saw him, one of his wives, the daughter of the
chief of the village, who had come with her young son to visit the
shrine of the goddess. Full of joy she ordered the brigands, who were
between her and her husband, to stand aside, and then Srídatta entered
her palace with her. Immediately Srídatta obtained the sovereignty of
that village, which Sundarí's father, having no son, bequeathed to
her when he went to heaven. So Srídatta recovered his wife and his
sword Mrigánka, and also his uncle and his followers, who had been
overpowered by the robbers. And, while he was in that town, he married
the daughter of Súrasena, and became a great king there. And from
that place he sent ambassadors to his two fathers-in-law, to Bimbaki,
and king Súrasena. And they, being very fond of their daughters,
gladly recognised him as a connection, and came to him accompanied by
the whole of their armies. And his friends Báhusálin and the others,
who had been separated from him, when they heard what had happened,
came to him with their wounds healed and in good health. Then the hero
marched, united with his fathers-in-law, and made that Vikramasakti,
who had put his father to death, a burnt-offering in the flame of his
wrath. And then Srídatta, having gained dominion over the sea-encircled
earth, and deliverance from the sorrow of separation, joyed in the
society of Mrigánkavatí. Even so, my king, do men of firm resolution
cross the calamitous sea of separation and obtain prosperity.

After hearing this tale from Sangataka, the king Sahasráníka, though
longing for the sight of his beloved one, managed to get through
that night on the journey. Then, engrossed with his desire, sending
his thoughts on before, in the morning Sahasráníka set out to meet
his darling. And in a few days he reached that peaceful hermitage of
Jamadagni, in which even the deer laid aside their wantonness. And
there he beheld with reverence that Jamadagni, the sight of whom
was sanctifying, like the incarnate form of penance, who received him
hospitably. And the hermit handed over to him that queen Mrigávatí with
her son, regained by the king after long separation, like tranquillity
accompanied with joy. And that sight which the husband and wife
obtained of one another, now that the curse had ceased, rained,
as it were, nectar into their eyes, which were filled with tears of
joy. And the king embracing that son Udayana, whom he now beheld for
the first time, could with difficulty let him go, as he was, so to
speak, riveted to his body with his own hairs that stood erect from
joy. [142] Then king Sahasráníka took his queen Mrigávatí with Udayana,
and, bidding adieu to Jamadagni, set out from that tranquil hermitage
for his own city, and even the deer followed him as far as the border
of the hermitage with tearful eyes. Beguiling the way by listening to
the adventures of his beloved wife during the period of separation,
and by relating his own, he at length reached the city of Kausámbí,
in which triumphal arches were erected and banners displayed. And
he entered that city in company with his wife and child, being, so
to speak, devoured [143] by the eyes of the citizens, that had the
fringe of their lashes elevated. And immediately the king appointed
his son Udayana crown-prince, being incited to it by his excellent
qualities. And he assigned to him as advisers the sons of his own
ministers, Vasantaka and Rumanvat and Yaugandharáyana. Then a rain
of flowers fell, and a celestial voice was heard--"By the help of
these excellent ministers, the prince shall obtain dominion over the
whole earth." Then the king devolved on his son the cares of empire,
and enjoyed in the society of Mrigávatí the long-desired pleasures of
the world. At last the desire of earthly enjoyment, beholding suddenly
that old age, the harbinger of composure had reached the root of the
king's ear, [144] became enraged and fled far from him. Then that king
Sahasráníka established in his throne his excellent son Udayana, [145]
whom the subjects loved so well, to ensure the world's prosperity,
and accompanied by his ministers, and his beloved wife, ascended the
Himálaya to prepare for the last great journey.






CHAPTER XI.


Then Udayana took the kingdom of Vatsa, which his father had
bequeathed to him, and, establishing himself in Kausámbí, ruled his
subjects well. But gradually he began to devolve the cares of empire
upon his ministers, Yaugandharáyana and others, and gave himself
up entirely to pleasures. He was continually engaged in the chase,
and day and night he played on the melodious lute which Vásuki [146]
gave him long ago; and he subdued evermore infuriated wild elephants,
overpowered by the fascinating spell of its strings' dulcet sound,
and, taming them, brought them home. That king of Vatsa drank wine
adorned by the reflection of the moon-faces of fair women, and at the
same time robbed his minister's faces of their cheerful hue. [147]
Only one anxiety had he to bear, he kept thinking, "Nowhere is a
wife found equal to me in birth and personal appearance, the maiden
named Vásavadattá alone has a liking for me, but how is she to be
obtained?" Chandamahásena also in Ujjayiní thought; "There is no
suitable husband to be found for my daughter in the world, except one
Udayana by name, and he has ever been my enemy. Then how can I make
him my son-in-law and my submissive ally? There is only one device
which can effect it. He wanders about alone in the forest capturing
elephants, for he is a king addicted to the vice of hunting; I will
make use of this failing of his to entrap him and bring him here by
a stratagem: and, as he is acquainted with music, I will make this
daughter of mine his pupil, and then his eye will without doubt
be charmed with her, and he will certainly became my son-in-law,
and my obedient ally. No other artifice seems applicable in this
case for making him submissive to my will." Having thus reflected,
he went to the temple of Durgá, in order that his scheme might
be blessed with success, and, after worship and praise, offered a
prayer to the goddess. And there he heard a bodiless voice saying,
"This desire of thine, O king, shall shortly be accomplished." Then
he returned satisfied, and deliberated over that very matter with
the minister Buddhadatta [148] saying--"That prince is elated with
pride, he is free from avarice, his subjects are attached to him,
and he is of great power, therefore he cannot be reached by any of
the four usual expedients beginning with negotiation, nevertheless
let negotiation be tried first." [149] Having thus deliberated,
the king gave this order to an ambassador, "Go and give the king
of Vatsa this message from me; 'My daughter desires to be thy pupil
in music, if thou love us, come here and teach her.'" When sent off
by the king with this message, the ambassador went and repeated it
to the king of Vatsa in Kausámbí exactly as it was delivered; and
the king of Vatsa, after hearing this uncourteous message from the
ambassador, repeated it in private to the minister Yaugandharáyana,
saying "Why did that monarch send me that insolent message? What can
be the villain's object in making such a proposal?" When the king
asked him this question, the great minister Yaugandharáyana, who was
stern to his master for his good, thus answered him; "Your reputation
for vice [150] has shot up in the earth like a creeper, and this,
O king, is its biting bitter fruit. For that king Chandamahásena,
thinking that you are the slave of your passions, intends to ensnare
you by means of his beautiful daughter, throw you into prison, and so
make you his unresisting instrument. Therefore abandon kingly vices,
for kings that fall into them are easily captured by their enemies,
even as elephants are taken in pits." When his minister had said this
to him, the resolute king of Vatsa sent in return an ambassador to
Chandamahásena with the following reply, "If thy daughter desires to
become my pupil, then send her here." When he had sent this reply,
that king of Vatsa said to his ministers--"I will march and bring
Chandamahásena here in chains." When he heard that, the head minister
Yaugandharáyana said--"That is not a fitting thing to do, my king, nor
is it in thy power to do it. For Chandamahásena is a mighty monarch,
and not to be subdued by thee. And in proof of this, hear his whole
history, which I now proceed to relate to thee."



Story of king Chandamahásena.

There is in this land a city named Ujjayiní, the ornament of the earth,
that, so to speak, laughs to scorn with its palaces of enamelled
whiteness [151] Amarávatí, the city of the gods. In that city dwells
Siva himself, the lord of existence, under the form of Mahákála,
[152] when he desists from the kingly vice of absenting himself
on the heights of mount Kailása. In that city lived a king named
Mahendravarman, best of monarchs, and he had a son like himself,
named Jayasena. Then to that Jayasena was born a son named Mahásena,
matchless in strength of arm, an elephant among monarchs. And that
king, while cherishing his realm, reflected, "I have not a sword worthy
of me, [153] nor a wife of good family." Thus reflecting that monarch
went to the temple of Durgá, and there he remained without food,
propitiating for a long time the goddess. Then he cut off pieces of
his own flesh, and offered a burnt-offering with them, whereupon the
goddess Durgá being pleased appeared in visible shape and said to
him, "I am pleased with thee, receive from me this excellent sword,
by means of its magic power thou shalt be invincible to all thy
enemies. Moreover thou shalt soon obtain as a wife Angáravatí, the
daughter of the Asura Angáraka, the most beautiful maiden in the three
worlds. And since thou didst here perform this very cruel penance,
therefore thy name shall be Chandamahásena." Having said this and
given him the sword, the goddess disappeared. But in the king there
appeared joy at the fulfilment of his desire. He now possessed, O king,
two jewels, his sword and a furious elephant named Nadágiri, which
were to him what the thunderbolt and Airávana are to Indra. Then that
king, delighting in the power of these two, one day went to a great
forest to hunt; and there he beheld an enormous and terrible wild
boar; like the darkness of the night suddenly condensed into a solid
mass in the day time. That boar was not wounded by the king's arrows,
in spite of their sharpness, but after breaking the king's chariot
[154] fled and entered a cavern. The king, leaving that car of his,
in revengeful pursuit of the boar, entered into that cavern with only
his bow to aid him. And after he had gone a long distance, he beheld a
great and splendid capital, and astonished he sat down inside the city
on the bank of a lake. While there, he beheld a maiden moving along,
surrounded by hundreds of women, like the arrow of love that cleaves
the armour of self-restraint. She slowly approached the king, bathing
him, so to speak, again and again in a look, that rained in showers
the nectar of love. [155] She said, "who art thou, illustrious sir, and
for what reason hast thou entered our home on this occasion?" The king,
being thus questioned by her, told her the whole truth; hearing which,
she let fall from her eyes a passionate flood of tears, and from her
heart all self-control. The king said, "Who art thou, and why dost
thou weep?" When he asked her this question, she, being a prisoner
to love at his will, answered him, "The boar that entered here is the
Daitya Angáraka by name. And I am his daughter, O king, and my name is
Angáravatí. And he is of adamantine frame, and has carried off these
hundred princesses from the palaces of kings and appointed them to
attend on me. Moreover this great Asura has become a Rákshasa owing
to a curse, but to-day as he was exhausted with thirst and fatigue,
even when he found you, he spared you. At present he has put off the
form of a boar and is resting in his own proper shape, but when he
wakes up from his sleep, he will without fail do you an injury. It
is for this reason that I see no hope of a happy issue for you, and
so these tear-drops fall from my eyes like my vital spirits boiled
with the fire of grief." When he heard this speech of Angáravatí's the
king said to her,--"If you love me, do this which I ask you. When your
father awakes, go and weep in front of him, and then he will certainly
ask you the cause of your agitation; then you must say--If some one
were to slay thee, what would become of me? [156] This is the cause of
my grief. If you do this, there will be a happy issue both for you and
me." When the king said this to her, she promised him that she would
do what he wished. And that Asura maiden, apprehending misfortune,
placed the king in concealment, and went near her sleeping father. Then
the Daitya woke up, and she began to weep. And then he said to her,
"Why do you weep, my daughter?" She with affected grief said to him,
"If some one were to slay thee, what would become of me?" Then he
burst out laughing and said;--"Who could possibly slay me, my daughter,
for I am cased in adamant all over, only in my left hand is there an
unguarded place, but that is protected by the bow." In these words the
Daitya consoled his daughter, and all this was heard by the king in
his concealment. Immediately afterwards the Dánava rose up and took
his bath, and proceeded in devout silence to worship the god Siva;
at that moment the king appeared with his bow bent, and rushing up
impetuously towards the Daitya, challenged him to fight. He, without
interrupting his devout silence, lifted his left hand towards the king
and made a sign that he must wait for a moment. The king for his part,
being very quick of hand, immediately smote him with an arrow in that
hand which was his vital part. And that great Asura Angáraka, being
pierced in a vital spot, immediately uttered a terrible cry and fell
on the ground, and exclaimed, as his life departed,--"If that man,
who has slain me when thirsty, does not offer water to my manes every
year, then his five ministers shall perish." After he had said this,
that Daitya died, and the king, taking his daughter Angáravatí as a
prize, returned to Ujjayiní. There the king Chandamahásena married that
Daitya maiden, and two sons were born to him, the first named Gopálaka,
and the second Pálaka; and when they were born, he held a feast in
honour of Indra on their account. Then Indra, being pleased, said
to that king in a dream, "By my favour thou shalt obtain a matchless
daughter." Then in course of time a graceful daughter was born to that
king, like a second and more wonderful shape of the moon made by the
Creator. And on that occasion a voice was heard from heaven;--"She
shall give birth to a son, who shall be a very incarnation of the
god of love, and king of the Vidyádharas." Then the king gave that
daughter the name of Vásavadattá, because she was given by Indra being
pleased with him. And that maiden still remains unmarried in the house
of her father, like the goddess of prosperity in the hollow cavity
of the ocean before it was churned. That king Chandamahásena cannot
indeed be conquered by you, O king, in the first place because he is
so powerful, and in the next place because his realm is situated in
a difficult country. Moreover he is ever longing to give you that
daughter of his in marriage, but being a proud monarch, he desires
the triumph of himself and his adherents. But, I think, you must
certainly marry that Vásavadattá. When he heard this, that king of
Vatsa immediately lost his heart to Vásavadattá.






CHAPTER XII.


In the meanwhile the ambassador, sent by the king of Vatsa in
answer to Chandamahásena's embassy, went and told that monarch his
master's reply. Chandamahásena for his part, on hearing it, began to
reflect--"It is certain that that proud king of Vatsa will not come
here. And I cannot send my daughter to his court, such conduct would
be unbecoming; so I must capture him by some stratagem and bring him
here as a prisoner." Having thus reflected and deliberated with his
ministers, the king had made a large artificial elephant like his own,
and, after filling it with concealed warriors, he placed it in the
Vindhya forest. There the scouts kept in his pay by the king of Vatsa,
who was passionately fond of the sport of elephant-catching, discerned
it from a distance; [157] and they came with speed and informed the
king of Vatsa in these words: "O king, we have seen a single elephant
roaming in the Vindhya forest, such that nowhere else in this wide
world is his equal to be found, filling the sky with his stature,
like a moving peak of the Vindhya range."

Then the king rejoiced on hearing this report from the scouts, and
he gave them a hundred thousand gold pieces by way of reward. The
king spent that night in thinking; "If I obtain that mighty elephant,
a fit match for Nadágiri, then that Chandamahásena will certainly be
in my power, and then he will of his own accord give me his daughter
Vásavadattá." So in the morning he started for the Vindhya forest,
making these scouts shew him the way, disregarding, in his ardent
desire to capture the elephant, the advice of his ministers. He did
not pay any attention to the fact, that the astrologers said, that
the position of the heavenly bodies at the moment of his departure
portended the acquisition of a maiden together with imprisonment. When
the king of Vatsa reached the Vindhya forest, he made his troops halt
at a distance through fear of alarming that elephant, and accompanied
by the scouts only, holding in his hand his melodious lute, he entered
that great forest boundless as his own kingly vice. The king saw on
the southern slope of the Vindhya range that elephant looking like a
real one, pointed out to him by his scouts from a distance. He slowly
approached it, alone, playing on his lute, thinking how he should bind
it, and singing in melodious tones. As his mind was fixed on his music,
and the shades of evening were setting in, that king did not perceive
that the supposed wild elephant was an artificial one. The elephant
too for its part, lifting up its ears and flapping them, as if through
delight in the music, kept advancing and then retiring, and so drew
the king to a great distance. And then, suddenly issuing from that
artificial elephant, a body of soldiers in full armour surrounded
that king of Vatsa. When he beheld them, the king in a rage drew his
hunting knife, but while he was fighting with those in front of him,
he was seized by others coming up behind. And those warriors with the
help of others, who appeared at a concerted signal, carried that king
of Vatsa into the presence of Chandamahásena. Chandamahásena for his
part came out to meet him with the utmost respect, and entered with
him the city of Ujjayiní. Then the newly arrived king of Vatsa was
beheld by the citizens, like the moon, pleasing to the eyes, though
spotted with humiliation. Then all the citizens, suspecting that
he was to be put to death, through regard for his virtues assembled
and determined to commit suicide. [158] Then the king Chandamahásena
put a stop to the agitation of the citizens, by informing them that
he did not intend to put the monarch of Vatsa to death, but to win
him over. So the king made over his daughter Vásavadattá on the spot
to the king of Vatsa, to be taught music, and said to him--"Prince,
teach this lady music; in this way you will obtain a happy issue to
your adventure, do not despond." But when he beheld that fair lady,
the mind of the king of Vatsa was so steeped in love that he put out of
sight his anger: and her heart and mind turned towards him together;
her eye was then averted through modesty, but her mind not at all. So
the king of Vatsa dwelt in the concert-room of Chandamahásena's palace,
teaching Vásavadattá to sing, with his eyes ever fixed on her. In
his lap was his lute, in his throat the quarter-tone of vocal music,
and in front of him stood Vásavadattá delighting his heart. And that
princess Vásavadattá was devoted in her attentions to him, resembling
the goddess of Fortune in that she was firmly attached to him, and
did not leave him though he was a captive.

In the meanwhile the men who had accompanied the king returned to
Kausámbí, and the country, hearing of the captivity of the monarch,
was thrown into a state of great excitement. Then the enraged subjects,
out of love for the king of Vatsa, wanted to make a general [159]
assault on Ujjayiní. But Rumanvat checked the impetuous fury of the
subjects by telling them that Chandamahásena was not to be overcome
by force, for he was a mighty monarch, and besides that an assault
was not advisable, for it might endanger the safety of the king of
Vatsa; but their object must be attained by policy. Then the calm
and resolute Yaugandharáyana, seeing that the country was loyal, and
would not swerve from its allegiance, said to Rumanvat and the others;
"All of you must remain here, ever on the alert; you must guard this
country, and when a fit occasion comes you must display your prowess;
but I will go accompanied by Vasantaka only, and will without fail
accomplish by my wisdom the deliverance of the king and bring him
home. For he is a truly firm and resolute man whose wisdom shines
forth in adversity, as the lightning flash is especially brilliant
during pelting rain. I know spells for breaking through walls,
and for rending fetters, and receipts for becoming invisible,
serviceable at need." Having said this, and entrusted to Rumanvat
the care of the subjects, Yaugandharáyana set out from Kausámbí with
Vasantaka. And with him he entered the Vindhya forest, full of life
[160] like his wisdom, intricate and trackless as his policy. Then he
visited the palace of the king of the Pulindas, Pulindaka by name,
who dwelt on a peak of the Vindhya range, and was an ally of the
king of Vatsa. He first placed him, with a large force at his heels,
in readiness to protect the king of Vatsa when he returned that way,
and then he went on accompanied by Vasantaka and at last arrived at the
burning-ground of Mahákála in Ujjayiní, which was densely tenanted by
vampires [161] that smelt of carrion, and hovered hither and thither,
black as night, rivalling the smoke-wreaths of the funeral pyres. And
there a Bráhman-Rákshasa of the name of Yogesvara immediately came up
to him, delighted to see him, and admitted him into his friendship;
then Yaugandharáyana by means of a charm, which he taught him,
suddenly altered his shape. That charm immediately made him deformed,
hunchbacked, and old, and besides gave him the appearance of a madman,
so that he produced loud laughter in those who beheld him. And in
the same way Yaugandharáyana, by means of that very charm, gave
Vasantaka a body full of outstanding veins, with a large stomach,
and an ugly mouth with projecting teeth; [162] then he sent Vasantaka
on in front to the gate of the king's palace, and entered Ujjayiní
with such an appearance as I have described. There he, singing and
dancing, surrounded by Bráhman boys, beheld with curiosity by all,
made his way to the king's palace. And there he excited by that
behaviour the curiosity of the king's wives, and was at last heard
of by Vásavadattá. She quickly sent a maid and had him brought
to the concert-room. For youth is twin-brother to mirth. And when
Yaugandharáyana came there and beheld the king of Vatsa in fetters,
though he had assumed the appearance of a madman, he could not help
shedding tears. And he made a sign to the king of Vatsa, who quickly
recognized him, though he had come in disguise. Then Yaugandharáyana by
means of his magic power made himself invisible to Vásavadattá and her
maids. So the king alone saw him, and they all said with astonishment,
"that maniac has suddenly escaped somewhere or other." Then the king
of Vatsa hearing them say that, and seeing Yaugandharáyana in front
of him, understood that this was due to magic, and cunningly said
to Vásavadattá; "Go my good girl, and bring the requisites for the
worship of Sarasvatí." When she heard that, she said, "So I will,"
and went out with her companions. Then Yaugandharáyana approached the
king and communicated to him, according to the prescribed form, spells
for breaking chains; and at the same time he furnished him with other
charms for winning the heart of Vásavadattá, which were attached to the
strings of the lute; and informed him that Vasantaka had come there and
was standing outside the door in a changed form, and recommended him
to have that Bráhman summoned to him; at the same time he said--"When
this lady Vásavadattá shall come to repose confidence in you, then you
must do what I tell you, at the present remain quiet." Having said
this, Yaugandharáyana quickly went out, and immediately Vásavadattá
entered with the requisites for the worship of Sarasvatí. Then the
king said to her, "There is a Bráhman standing outside the door, let
him be brought in to celebrate this ceremony in honour of Sarasvatí,
in order that he may obtain a sacrificial fee." Vásavadattá consented,
and had Vasantaka, who wore a deformed shape, summoned from the door
into the music-hall. And when he was brought and saw the king of
Vatsa, he wept for sorrow, and then the king said to him, in order
that the secret might not be discovered, "O Bráhman, I will remove
all this deformity of thine produced by sickness; do not weep, remain
here near me." And then Vasantaka said--"It is a great condescension
on thy part, O king." And the king seeing how he was deformed could
not keep his countenance. And when he saw that, Vasantaka guessed
what was in the king's mind, and laughed so that the deformity of his
distorted face was increased; and thereupon Vásavadattá, beholding him
grinning like a doll, burst out laughing also, and was much delighted;
then the young lady asked Vasantaka in fun the following question:
"Bráhman, what science are you familiar with, tell us?" So he said,
"Princess, I am an adept at telling tales." Then she said, "Come,
tell me a tale." Then in order to please that princess, Vasantaka told
the following tale, which was charming by its comic humour and variety.



Story of Rúpiniká.

There is in this country a city named Mathurá, the birthplace of
Krishna, in it there was a hetæra known by the name of Rúpiniká;
she had for a mother an old kuttiní named Makaradanshtrá, who
seemed a lump of poison in the eyes of the young men attracted by
her daughter's charms. One day Rúpiniká went at the time of worship
to the temple to perform her duty, [163] and beheld from a distance
a young man. When she saw that handsome young fellow, he made such an
impression upon her heart, that all her mother's instructions vanished
from it. Then she said to her maid, "Go and tell this man from me,
that he is to come to my house to-day." The maid said, "So I will,"
and immediately went and told him. Then the man thought a little
and said to her; "I am a Bráhman named Lohajangha [164]; I have no
wealth; then what business have I in the house of Rúpiniká which is
only to be entered by the rich." The maid said,--"My mistress does
not desire wealth from you,"--whereupon Lohajangha consented to do
as she wished. When she heard that from the maid, Rúpiniká went home
in a state of excitement, and remained with her eyes fixed on the
path by which he would come. And soon Lohajangha came to her house,
while the kuttiní Makaradanshtrá looked at him, and wondered where he
came from. Rúpiniká, for her part, when she saw him, rose up to meet
him herself with the utmost respect, and clinging to his neck in her
joy, led him to her own private apartments. Then she was captivated
with Lohajangha's wealth of accomplishments, and considered that
she had been only born to love him. So she avoided the society of
other men, and that young fellow lived with her in her house in great
comfort. Rúpiniká's mother, Makaradanshtrá, who had trained up many
hetæræ, was annoyed when she saw this, and said to her in private;
"My daughter, why do you associate with a poor man? Hetæræ of good
taste embrace a corpse in preference to a poor man. What business has a
hetæra like you with affection? How have you come to forget that great
principle? The light of a red [165] sunset lasts but a short time, and
so does the splendour of a hetæra who gives way to affection. A hetæra,
like an actress, should exhibit an assumed affection in order to get
wealth; so forsake this pauper, do not ruin yourself." When she heard
this speech of her mother's, Rúpiniká said in a rage, "Do not talk
in this way, for I love him more than my life. And as for wealth,
I have plenty, what do I want with more? So you must not speak to
me again, mother, in this way." When she heard this, Makaradanshtrá
was in a rage, and she remained thinking over some device for getting
rid of this Lohajangha. Then she saw coming along the road a certain
Rájpút, who had spent all his wealth, surrounded by retainers with
swords in their hands. So she went up to him quickly and taking him
aside, said--"My house is beset by a certain poor lover. So come there
yourself to-day, and take such order with him that he shall depart from
my house, and do you possess my daughter." "Agreed," said the Rájpút,
and entered that house. At that precise moment Rúpiniká was in the
temple, and Lohajangha meanwhile was absent somewhere, and suspecting
nothing, he returned to the house a moment afterwards. Immediately
the retainers of the Rájpút ran upon him, and gave him severe kicks
and blows on all his limbs, and then they threw him into a ditch full
of all kinds of impurities, and Lohajangha with difficulty escaped
from it. Then Rúpiniká returned to the house, and when she heard
what had taken place, she was distracted with grief, so the Rájpút,
seeing that, returned as he came.

Lohajangha, after suffering this brutal outrage by the machinations
of the kuttiní, set out for some holy place of pilgrimage, in order to
leave his life there, now that he was separated from his beloved. As he
was going along in the wild country, [166] with his heart burning with
anger against the kuttiní, and his skin with the heat of the summer,
he longed for shade. Not being able to find a tree, he lighted on
the body of an elephant, which had been stripped of all its flesh
[167] by jackals making their way into it by the hind-quarters;
accordingly Lohajangha being worn out crept into this carcase, which
was a mere shell, as only the skin remained, and went to sleep in
it, as it was kept cool by the breeze which freely entered. Then
suddenly clouds arose from all sides, and began to pour down a
pelting shower of rain; that rain made the elephant's skin contract
so that no aperture was left, and immediately a copious inundation
came that way, and carrying off the elephant's hide swept it into
the Ganges; so eventually the inundation bore it into the sea. And
there a bird of the race of Garuda saw that hide, and supposing it
to be carrion, took it to the other side of the sea; there it tore
open the elephant's hide with its claws, and, seeing that there was
a man inside it, fled away. But Lohajangha was awaked by the bird's
pecking and scratching, and came out through the aperture made by
its beak. And finding that he was on the other side of the sea,
he was astonished, and looked upon the whole thing as a day-dream;
then he saw there to his terror two horrible Rákshasas, and those
two for their part contemplated him from a distance with feelings of
fear. Remembering how they were defeated by Ráma, and seeing that
Lohajangha was also a man who had crossed the sea, they were once
more alarmed in their hearts. So, after they had deliberated together,
one of them went off immediately and told the whole occurrence to king
Vibhíshana; king Vibhíshana too, as he had seen the prowess of Ráma,
being terrified at the arrival of a man, said to that Rákshasa; "Go,
my good friend, and tell that man from me in a friendly manner, that
he is to do me the favour of coming to my palace." The Rákshasa said,
"I will do so," and timidly approached Lohajangha, and told him that
request of his sovereign's. Lohajangha for his part accepted that
invitation with unruffled calm, and went to Lanká with that Rákshasa
and his companion. And when he arrived in Lanká, he was astonished
at beholding numerous splendid edifices of gold, and entering the
king's palace, he saw Vibhíshana. The king welcomed the Bráhman who
blessed him in return, and then Vibhíshana said, "Bráhman, how did
you manage to reach this country?" Then the cunning Lohajangha said
to Vibhíshana--"I am a Bráhman of the name of Lohajangha residing in
Mathurá; and I, Lohajangha being afflicted at my poverty, went to the
temple of the god, and remaining fasting, for a long time performed
austerities in the presence of Náráyana. [168] Then the adorable Hari*
commanded me in a dream, saying, 'Go thou to Vibhíshana, for he is a
faithful worshipper of mine, and he will give thee wealth.' Then, I
said, 'Vibhíshana is where I cannot reach him'--but the lord continued,
'To-day shalt thou see that Vibhíshana.' So the lord spake to me,
and immediately I woke up and found myself upon this side of the
sea. I know no more." When Vibhíshana heard this from Lohajangha,
reflecting that Lanká was a difficult place to reach, he thought
to himself--"Of a truth this man possesses divine power." And he
said to that Bráhman,--"Remain here, I will give you wealth." Then
he committed him to the care of the man-slaying Rákshasas as an
inviolable deposit; and sent some of his subjects to a mountain
in his kingdom called Swarnamúla, and brought from it a young bird
belonging to the race of Garuda; and he gave it to that Lohajangha,
(who had to take a long journey to Mathurá,) to ride upon, in order
that he might in the meanwhile break it in. Lohajangha for his part
mounted on its back, and riding about on it in Lanká, rested there
for some time, being hospitably entertained by Vibhíshana.

One day he asked the king of the Rákshasas, feeling curiosity on
the point, why the whole ground of Lanká was made of wood; and
Vibhíshana when he heard that, explained the circumstance to him,
saying, "Bráhman, if you take any interest in this matter, listen,
I will explain it to you. Long ago Garuda the son of Kasyapa, wishing
to redeem his mother from her slavery to the snakes, to whom she had
been subjected in accordance with an agreement, [169] and preparing
to obtain from the gods the nectar which was the price of her ransom,
wanted to eat something which would increase his strength, and so he
went to his father, who being importuned said to him, "My son, in the
sea there is a huge elephant, and a huge tortoise. They have assumed
their present forms in consequence of a curse: go and eat them." Then
Garuda went and brought them both to eat, and then perched on a bough
of the great wishing-tree of paradise. And when that bough suddenly
broke with his weight, he held it up with his beak, out of regard
to the Bálakhilyas [170] who were engaged in austerities underneath
it. Then Garuda, afraid that the bough would crush mankind, if he let
it fall at random, by the advice of his father brought the bough to
this uninhabited part of the earth, and let it drop. Lanká was built
on the top of that bough, therefore the ground here is of wood." When
he heard this from Vibhíshana, Lohajangha was perfectly satisfied.

Then Vibhíshana gave to Lohajangha many valuable jewels, as he desired
to set out for Mathurá. And out of his devotion to the god Vishnu,
who dwells at Mathurá, he entrusted to the care of Lohajangha a lotus,
a club, a shell, and a discus all of gold, to be offered to the god;
Lohajangha took all these, and mounted the bird given to him by
Vibhíshana, that could accomplish a hundred thousand yojanas, [171]
and rising up into the air in Lanká, he crossed the sea and without
any difficulty arrived at Mathurá. And there he descended from the air
in an empty convent outside the town, and deposited there his abundant
treasure, and tied up that bird. And then he went into the market and
sold one of his jewels, and bought garments and scented unguents, and
also food. And he ate the food in that convent where he was, and gave
some to his bird; and he adorned himself with the garments, unguents,
flowers and other decorations. And when night came, he mounted that
same bird and went to the house of Rúpiniká, bearing in his hand the
shell, discus and mace; then he hovered over it in the air, knowing the
place well, and made a low deep sound, to attract the attention of his
beloved, who was alone. But Rúpiniká, as soon as she heard that sound,
came out, and saw hovering in the air by night a being like Náráyana,
gleaming with jewels. He said to her, "I am Hari come hither for thy
sake;" whereupon she bowed with her face to the earth and said--"May
the god have mercy upon me!" Then Lohajangha descended and tied up
his bird, and entered the private apartments of his beloved hand in
hand with her. And after remaining there a short time, he came out,
and mounting the bird as before, went off through the air. [172]
In the morning Rúpiniká remained observing an obstinate silence,
thinking to herself--"I am the wife of the god Vishnu, I must cease
to converse with mortals." And then her mother Makaradanshtrá said
to her,--"Why do you behave in this way, my daughter?" And after she
had been perseveringly questioned by her mother, she caused to be put
up a curtain between herself and her parent, and told her what had
taken place in the night, which was the cause of her silence. When
the kuttiní heard that, she felt doubt on the subject, but soon after
at night she saw that very Lohajangha mounted on the bird, and in the
morning Makaradanshtrá came secretly to Rúpiniká, who still remained
behind the curtain, and inclining herself humbly, preferred to her
this request; "Through the favour of the god, thou, my daughter, hast
obtained here on earth the rank of a goddess, and I am thy mother in
this world, therefore grant me a reward for giving thee birth; entreat
the god that, old as I am, with this very body I may enter Paradise;
do me this favour." Rúpiniká consented and requested that very boon
from Lohajangha, who came again at night disguised as Vishnu. Then
Lohajangha, who was personating the god, said to that beloved of
his--"Thy mother is a wicked woman, it would not be fitting to take
her openly to Paradise, but on the morning of the eleventh day the
door of heaven is opened, and many of the Ganas, Siva's companions,
enter into it before any one else is admitted. Among them I will
introduce this mother of thine, if she assume their appearance. So,
shave her head with a razor, in such a manner that five locks shall
be left, put a necklace of sculls round her neck, and stripping off
her clothes, paint one side of her body with lamp-black, and the
other with red lead, [173] for when she has in this way been made
to resemble a Gana, I shall find it an easy matter to get her into
heaven." When he had said this, Lohajangha remained a short time,
and then departed. And in the morning Rúpiniká attired her mother as
he had directed; and then she remained with her mind entirely fixed on
Paradise. So, when night came, Lohajangha appeared again, and Rúpiniká
handed over her mother to him. Then he mounted on the bird, and took
the kuttiní with him naked, and transformed as he had directed, and
he flew up rapidly with her into the air. While he was in the air,
he beheld a lofty stone pillar in front of a temple, with a discus on
its summit. So he placed her on the top of the pillar, with the discus
as her only support, [174] and there she hung like a banner to blazon
forth his revenge for his ill-usage. He said to her--"Remain here a
moment while I bless the earth with my approach," and vanished from
her sight. Then beholding a number of people in front of the temple,
who had come there to spend the night in devout vigils before the
festive procession, he called aloud from the air--"Hear, ye people,
this very day there shall fall upon you here the all-destroying
goddess of Pestilence, therefore fly to Hari for protection." When
they heard this voice from the air, all the inhabitants of Mathurá who
were there, being terrified, implored the protection of the god, and
remained devoutly muttering prayers to ward off calamity. Lohajangha,
for his part, descended from the air, and encouraged them to pray,
and after changing that dress of his, came and stood among the people,
without being observed. The kuttiní thought, as she sat upon the top
of the pillar,--"the god has not come as yet, and I have not reached
heaven." At last feeling it impossible to remain up there any longer,
she cried out in her fear, so that the people below heard; "Alas! I
am falling, I am falling." Hearing that, the people in front of the
god's temple were beside themselves, fearing that the destroying
goddess was falling upon them, even as had been foretold, and said,
"O goddess, do not fall, do not fall." So those people of Mathurá,
young and old, spent that night in perpetual dread that the destroying
goddess would fall upon them, but at last it came to an end; and
then beholding that kuttiní upon the pillar in the state described,
[175] the citizens and the king recognized her at once; all the
people thereupon forgot their alarm, and burst out laughing, and
Rúpiniká herself at last arrived having heard of the occurrence. And
when she saw it, she was abashed, and with the help of the people,
who were there, she managed to get that mother of hers down from
the top of the pillar immediately: then that kuttiní was asked by
all the people there, who were filled with curiosity, to tell them
the whole story, and she did so. Thereupon the king, the Bráhmans,
and the merchants, thinking that that laughable incident must have
been brought about by a sorcerer or some person of that description,
made a proclamation, that whoever had made a fool of the kuttiní,
who had deceived innumerable lovers, was to shew himself, and he
would receive a turban of honour on the spot. When he heard that,
Lohajangha made himself known to those present, and being questioned,
he related the whole story from its commencement. And he offered
to the god the discus, shell, club, and lotus of gold, the present
which Vibhíshana had sent, and which aroused the astonishment of the
people. Then all the people of Mathurá, being pleased, immediately
invested him with a turban of honour, and by the command of the king,
made that Rúpiniká a free woman. And then Lohajangha, having wreaked
upon the kuttiní his wrath caused by her ill-usage of him, lived in
great comfort in Mathurá with that beloved of his, being very well
off by means of the large stock of jewels which he brought from Lanká.

Hearing this tale from the mouth of the transformed Vasantaka,
Vásavadattá who was sitting at the side of the fettered king of Vatsa,
felt extreme delight in her heart.






CHAPTER XIII.


As time went on, Vásavadattá began to feel a great affection for the
king of Vatsa, and to take part with him against her father. Then
Yaugandharáyana again came in to see the king of Vatsa, making himself
invisible to all the others, who were there. And he gave him the
following information in private in the presence of Vasantaka only;
"King, you were made captive by king Chandamahásena by means of
an artifice. And he wishes to give you his daughter, and set you
at liberty, treating you with all honour; so let us carry off his
daughter and escape. For in this way we shall have revenged ourselves
upon the haughty monarch, and we shall not be thought lightly of in
the world for want of prowess. Now the king has given that daughter
of his, Vásavadattá, a female elephant called Bhadravatí. And no
other elephant but Nadágiri is swift enough to catch her up, and he
will not fight when he sees her. The driver of this elephant is a man
here called Áshádhaka, and him I have won over to our side by giving
him much wealth. So you must mount that elephant with Vásavadattá,
fully armed, and start from this place secretly by night. And you
must have the superintendent of the royal elephants here made drunk
with wine, in order that he may not perceive what is about to take
place, [176] for he understands every sign that elephants give. I,
for my part, will first repair to your ally Pulindaka in order that
he may be prepared to guard the road by which you escape." When he
had said this, Yaugandharáyana departed. So the king of Vatsa stored
up all his instructions in his heart; and soon Vásavadattá came to
him. Then he made all kinds of confidential speeches to her, and at
last told her what Yaugandharáyana had said to him. She consented to
the proposal, and made up her mind to start, and causing the elephant
driver Áshádhaka to be summoned, she prepared his mind for the attempt,
and on the pretext of worshipping the gods, she gave the superintendent
of the elephants, with all the elephant drivers, a supply of spirits,
and made them drunk. Then in the evening, which was disturbed with
the echoing roar of clouds, [177] Áshádhaka brought that female
elephant ready harnessed, but she, while she was being harnessed,
uttered a cry, which was heard by the superintendent of the elephants,
who was skilled in elephants' language; and he faltered out in a voice
indistinct from excessive intoxication,--"the female elephant says,
she is going sixty-three yojanas to-day." But his mind in his drunken
state was not capable of reasoning, and the elephant-drivers, who were
also intoxicated, did not even hear what he said. Then the king of
Vatsa broke his chains by means of the charms, which Yaugandharáyana
had given him, and took that lute of his, and Vásavadattá of her own
accord brought him his weapons, and then he mounted the female elephant
with Vasantaka. And then Vásavadattá mounted the same elephant with
her friend and confidante Kánchanamálá; then the king of Vatsa went
out from Ujjayiní with five persons in all, including himself and
the elephant-driver, by a path which the infuriated elephant clove
through the rampart.

And the king attacked and slew the two warriors who guarded that point,
the Rájpúts Vírabáhu and Tálabhata. Then the monarch set out rapidly
on his journey in high spirits, mounted on the female elephant,
together with his beloved, Áshádhaka holding the elephant-hook; in
the meanwhile in Ujjayiní the city-patrol beheld those guards of the
rampart lying dead, and in consternation reported the news to the
king at night. Chandamahásena enquired into the matter, and found
out at last that the king of Vatsa had escaped, taking Vásavadattá
with him. Then the alarm spread through the city, and one of his
sons named Pálaka mounted Nadágiri and pursued the king of Vatsa. The
king of Vatsa for his part, combated him with arrows as he advanced,
and Nadágiri, seeing that female elephant, would not attack her. Then
Pálaka, who was ready to listen to reason, was induced to desist from
the pursuit by his brother Gopálaka, who had his father's interests
at heart; then the king of Vatsa boldly continued his journey,
and as he journeyed, the night gradually came to an end. So by the
middle of the day the king had reached the Vindhya forest, and his
elephant having journeyed sixty-three yojanas, was thirsty. So the
king and his wife dismounted, and the female elephant having drunk
water, owing to its being bad, fell dead on the spot. Then the king
of Vatsa and Vásavadattá, in their despair, heard this voice coming
from the air--"I, O king, am a female Vidyádhara named Máyávatí, and
for this long time I have been a female elephant in consequence of
a curse; and to-day, O lord of Vatsa, I have done you a good turn,
and I will do another to your son that is to be: and this queen of
yours Vásavadattá is not a mere mortal; she is a goddess for a certain
cause incarnate on the earth." Then the king regained his spirits,
and sent on Vasantaka to the plateau of the Vindhya hills to announce
his arrival to his ally Pulindaka; and as he was himself journeying
along slowly on foot with his beloved, he was surrounded by brigands,
who sprang out from an ambuscade. And the king, with only his bow
to help him, slew one hundred and five of them before the eyes of
Vásavadattá. And immediately the king's ally Pulindaka came up,
together with Yaugandharáyana, Vasantaka shewing them the way. The
king of the Bheels ordered the surviving brigands [178] to desist,
and after prostrating himself before the king of Vatsa, conducted
him with his beloved to his own village. The king rested there that
night with Vásavadattá, whose foot had been cut with a blade of forest
grass, and early in the morning the general Rumanvat reached him, who
had before been summoned by Yaugandharáyana, who sent a messenger to
him. And the whole army came with him, filling the land as far as the
eye could reach, so that the Vindhya forest appeared to be besieged. So
that king of Vatsa entered into the encampment of his army, and
remained in that wild region to wait for news from Ujjayiní. And,
while he was there, a merchant came from Ujjayiní, a friend of
Yaugandharáyana's, and when he had arrived reported these tidings,
"The king Chandamahásena is pleased to have thee for a son-in-law,
and he has sent his warder to thee. The warder is on the way, but
he has stopped short of this place, however, I came secretly on in
front of him, as fast as I could, to bring your Highness information."

When he heard this, the king of Vatsa rejoiced, and told it all to
Vásavadattá, and she was exceedingly delighted. Then Vásavadattá,
having abandoned her own relations, and being anxious for the
ceremony of marriage, was at the same time bashful and impatient:
then she said, in order to divert her thoughts, to Vasantaka who was
in attendance--"Tell me some story." Then the sagacious Vasantaka
told that fair-eyed one the following tale in order to increase her
affection for her husband.



Story of Devasmitá.

There is a city in the world famous under the name of Támraliptá, and
in that city there was a very rich merchant named Dhanadatta. And he,
being childless, assembled many Bráhmans and said to them with due
respect; "Take such steps as will procure me a son soon." Then those
Bráhmans said to him: "This is not at all difficult, for Bráhmans
can accomplish all things in this world by means of ceremonies in
accordance with the scriptures. To give you an instance there was
in old time a king who had no sons, and he had a hundred and five
wives in his harem. And by means of a sacrifice to procure a son,
there was born to him a son named Jantu, who was like the rising of
the new moon to the eyes of his wives. Once on a time an ant bit the
boy on the thigh as he was crawling about on his knees, so that he
was very unhappy and sobbed loudly. Thereupon the whole harem was
full of confused lamentation, and the king himself shrieked out
'My son! my son!' like a common man. The boy was soon comforted,
the ant having been removed, and the king blamed the misfortune of
his only having one son as the cause of all his grief. And he asked
the Bráhmans in his affliction if there was any expedient by which he
might obtain a large number of children. They answered him,--'O king,
there is one expedient open to you; you must slay this son and offer
up all his flesh in the fire. By smelling the smell of that sacrifice
all thy wives will obtain sons.' When he heard that, the king had
the whole ceremony performed as they directed; and he obtained as
many sons as he had wives. So we can obtain a son for you also by a
burnt-offering." When they had said this to Dhanadatta, the Bráhmans,
after a sacrificial fee had been promised them, performed a sacrifice:
then a son was born to that merchant. That son was called Guhasena,
and he gradually grew up to man's estate. Then his father Dhanadatta
began to look out for a wife for him.

Then his father went with that son of his to another country, on the
pretence of traffic, but really to get a daughter-in-law, there he
asked an excellent merchant of the name of Dharmagupta to give him his
daughter named Devasmitá for his son Guhasena. But Dharmagupta, who was
tenderly attached to his daughter, did not approve of that connexion,
reflecting that the city of Támraliptá was very far off. But when
Devasmitá beheld that Guhasena, her mind was immediately attracted by
his virtues, and she was set on abandoning her relations, and so she
made an assignation with him by means of a confidante, and went away
from that country at night with her beloved and his father. When they
reached Támraliptá they were married, and the minds of the young couple
were firmly knit together by the bond of mutual love. Then Guhasena's
father died, and he himself was urged by his relations to go to the
country of Katáha [179] for the purpose of trafficking; but his wife
Devasmitá was too jealous to approve of that expedition, fearing
exceedingly that he would be attracted by some other lady. Then,
as his wife did not approve of it, and his relations kept inciting
him to it, Guhasena, whose mind was firmly set on doing his duty, was
bewildered. Then he went and performed a vow in the temple of the god,
observing a rigid fast, trusting that the god would shew him some way
out of his difficulty. And his wife Devasmitá also performed a vow
with him; then Siva was pleased to appear to that couple in a dream;
and giving them two red lotuses the god said to them,--"take each,
of you one of these lotuses in your hand. And if either of you shall
be unfaithful during your separation, the lotus in the hand of the
other shall fade, but not otherwise [180]." After hearing this, the
two woke up, and each beheld in the hand of the other a red lotus,
and it seemed as if they had got one another's hearts. Then Guhasena
set out, lotus in hand, but Devasmitá remained in the house with her
eyes fixed upon her flower. Guhasena for his part quickly reached
the country of Katáha, and began to buy and sell jewels there. And
four young merchants in that country, seeing that that unfading
lotus was ever in his hand, were greatly astonished. Accordingly
they got him to their house by an artifice, and made him drink a
great deal of wine, and then asked him the history of the lotus,
and he being intoxicated told them the whole story. Then those four
young merchants, knowing that Guhasena would take a long time to
complete his sales and purchases of jewels and other wares, planned
together, like rascals as they were, the seduction of his wife out of
curiosity, and eager to accomplish it set out quickly for Támraliptá
without their departure being noticed. There they cast about for some
instrument, and at last had recourse to a female ascetic of the name
of Yogakarandiká, who lived in a sanctuary of Buddha; and they said
to her in an affectionate manner, "Reverend madam, if our object is
accomplished by your help, we will give you much wealth." She answered
them; "No doubt, you young men desire some woman in this city, so tell
me all about it, I will procure you the object of your desire, but I
have no wish for money; I have a pupil of distinguished ability named
Siddhikarí; owing to her kindness I have obtained untold wealth." The
young merchants asked--"How have you obtained untold wealth by the
assistance of a pupil?" Being asked this question, the female ascetic
said,--"If you feel any curiosity about the matter, listen, my sons,
I will tell you the whole story."



Story of the cunning Siddhikarí.

Long ago a certain merchant came here from the north; while he was
dwelling here, my pupil went and obtained, with a treacherous object,
the position of a serving-maid in his house, having first altered her
appearance, and after she had gained the confidence of that merchant,
she stole all his hoard of gold from his house, and went off secretly
in the morning twilight. And as she went out from the city moving
rapidly through fear, a certain Domba [181] with his drum in his
hand, saw her, and pursued her at full speed with the intention of
robbing her. When she had reached the foot of a Nyagrodha tree, she
saw that he had come up with her, and so the cunning Siddhikarí said
this to him in a plaintive manner, "I have had a jealous quarrel
with my husband, and I have left his house to die, therefore my
good man, make a noose for me to hang myself with." Then the Domba
thought, "Let her hang herself, why should I be guilty of her death,
especially as she is a woman," and so he fastened a noose for her
to the tree. Then Siddhikarí, feigning ignorance, said to the Domba,
"How is the noose slipped round the neck? shew me, I entreat you." Then
the Domba placed the drum under his feet, and saying,--"This is the
way we do the trick"--he fastened the noose round his own throat;
Siddhikarí for her part smashed the drum to atoms with a kick, and
that Domba hung till he was dead. [182] At that moment the merchant
arrived in search of her, and beheld from a distance Siddhikarí, who
had stolen from him untold treasures, at the foot of the tree. She
too saw him coming, and climbed up the tree without being noticed,
and remained there on a bough, having her body concealed by the dense
foliage. When the merchant came up with his servants, he saw the Domba
hanging by his neck, but Siddhikarí was nowhere to be seen. Immediately
one of his servants said "I wonder whether she has got up this tree,"
and proceeded to ascend it himself. Then Siddhikarí said--"I have
always loved you, and now you have climbed up where I am, so all this
wealth is at your disposal, handsome man, come and embrace me." So
she embraced the merchant's servant, and as she was kissing his mouth,
she bit off the fool's tongue. He, overcome with the pain, fell from
that tree, spitting blood from his mouth, uttering some indistinct
syllables, which sounded like Lalalla. When he saw that, the merchant
was terrified, and supposing that his servant had been seized by a
demon, he fled from that place, and went to his own house with his
attendants. Then Siddhikarí the female ascetic, equally frightened,
descended from the top of the tree, and brought home with her all
that wealth. Such a person is my pupil, distinguished for her great
discernment, and it is in this way, my sons, that I have obtained
wealth by her kindness.

When she had said this to the young merchants, the female ascetic
shewed to them her pupil who happened to come in at that moment; and
said to them, "Now, my sons, tell me the real state of affairs--what
woman do you desire? I will quickly procure her for you." When they
heard that they said, "procure us an interview with the wife of the
merchant Guhasena named Devasmitá." When she heard that, the ascetic
undertook to manage that business for them, and she gave those young
merchants her own house to reside in. Then she gratified the servants
at Guhasena's house with gifts of sweetmeats and other things, and
afterwards entered it with her pupil. Then, as she approached the
private rooms of Devasmitá, a bitch, that was fastened there with a
chain, would not let her come near, but opposed her entrance in the
most determined way. Then Devasmitá seeing her, of her own accord
sent a maid, and had her brought in, thinking to herself, "What can
this person be come for?" After she had entered, the wicked ascetic
gave Devasmitá her blessing, and, treating the virtuous woman with
affected respect, said to her--"I have always had a desire to see you,
but to-day I saw you in a dream, therefore I have come to visit you
with impatient eagerness; and my mind is afflicted at beholding you
separated from your husband, for beauty and youth are wasted when
one is deprived of the society of one's beloved." With this and many
other speeches of the same kind she tried to gain the confidence of
the virtuous woman in a short interview, and then taking leave of
her she returned to her own house. On the second day she took with
her a piece of meat full of pepper dust, and went again to the house
of Devasmitá, and there she gave that piece of meat to the bitch at
the door, and the bitch gobbled it up, pepper and all. Then owing
to the pepper dust, the tears flowed in profusion from the animal's
eyes, and her nose began to run. And the cunning ascetic immediately
went into the apartment of Devasmitá, who received her hospitably,
and began to cry. When Devasmitá asked her why she shed tears, she
said with affected reluctance: "My friend, look at this bitch weeping
outside here. This creature recognized me to-day as having been its
companion in a former birth, and began to weep; for that reason my
tears gushed through pity." When she heard that, and saw that bitch
outside apparently weeping, Devasmitá thought for a moment to herself,
"What can be the meaning of this wonderful sight?" Then the ascetic
said to her, "My daughter, in a former birth, I and that bitch were
the two wives of a certain Bráhman. And our husband frequently went
about to other countries on embassies by order of the king. Now while
he was away from home, I lived with other men at my pleasure, and so
did not cheat the elements, of which I was composed, and my senses,
of their lawful enjoyment. For considerate treatment of the elements
and senses is held to be the highest duty. Therefore I have been born
in this birth with a recollection of my former existence. But she,
in her former life, through ignorance, confined all her attention to
the preservation of her character, therefore she has been degraded and
born again as one of the canine race, however, she too remembers her
former birth." The wise Devasmitá said to herself, "This is a novel
conception of duty; no doubt this woman has laid a treacherous snare
for me"; and so she said to her, "Reverend lady, for this long time
I have been ignorant of this duty, so procure me an interview with
some charming man."--Then the ascetic said--"There are residing here
some young merchants that have come from another country, so I will
bring them to you." When she had said this, the ascetic returned
home delighted, and Devasmitá of her own accord said to her maids:
"No doubt those scoundrelly young merchants, whoever they may be,
have seen that unfading lotus in the hand of my husband, and have
on some occasion or other, when he was drinking wine, asked him out
of curiosity to tell the whole story of it, and have now come here
from that island to seduce me, and this wicked ascetic is employed by
them. So bring quickly some wine mixed with Datura, [183] and when
you have brought it, have a dog's foot of iron made as quickly as
possible." When Devasmitá had given these orders, the maids executed
them faithfully, and one of the maids, by her orders, dressed herself
up to resemble her mistress. The ascetic for her part chose out of the
party of four merchants, (each of whom in his eagerness said--"let me
go first"--) one individual, and brought him with her. And concealing
him in the dress of her pupil, she introduced him in the evening
into the house of Devasmitá, and coming out, disappeared. Then that
maid, who was disguised as Devasmitá, courteously persuaded the young
merchant to drink some of that wine drugged with Datura. That liquor,
[184] like his own immodesty, robbed him of his senses, and then
the maids took away his clothes and other equipments and left him
stark naked; then they branded him on the forehead with the mark of a
dog's foot, and during the night took him and pushed him into a ditch
full of filth. Then he recovered consciousness in the last watch of
the night, and found himself plunged in a ditch, as it were the hell
Avíchi assigned to him by his sins. Then he got up and washed himself
and went to the house of the female ascetic, in a state of nature,
feeling with his fingers the mark on his forehead. And when he got
there, he told his friends that he had been robbed on the way, in
order that he might not be the only person made ridiculous. And the
next morning he sat with a cloth wrapped round his branded forehead,
giving as an excuse that he had a headache from keeping awake so
long, and drinking too much. In the same way the next young merchant
was maltreated, when he got to the house of Devasmitá, and when he
returned home naked, he said, "I put on my ornaments there, and as I
was coming out I was plundered by robbers." In the morning he also, on
the plea of a headache, put a wrapper on to cover his branded forehead.

In the same way all the four young merchants suffered in turns
branding and other humiliating treatment, though they concealed
the fact. And they went away from the place, without revealing to
the female Buddhist ascetic the ill-treatment they had experienced,
hoping that she would suffer in a similar way. On the next day the
ascetic went with her disciple to the house of Devasmitá, much
delighted at having accomplished what she undertook to do. Then
Devasmitá received her courteously, and made her drink wine drugged
with Datura, offered as a sign of gratitude. When she and her disciple
were intoxicated with it, that chaste wife cut off their ears and
noses, and flung them also into a filthy pool. And being distressed by
the thought that perhaps these young merchants might go and slay her
husband, she told the whole circumstance to her mother-in-law. Then
her mother-in-law said to her,--"My daughter, you have acted nobly,
but possibly some misfortune may happen to my son in consequence of
what you have done." Then Devasmitá said--I will deliver him even
as Saktimatí in old time delivered her husband by her wisdom. Her
mother-in-law asked; "How did Saktimatí deliver her husband? tell me,
my daughter." Then Devasmitá related the following story:



Story of Saktimatí.

In our country, within the city, there is the shrine of a powerful
Yaksha named Manibhadra, established by our ancestors. The people
there come and make petitions at this shrine, offering various gifts,
in order to obtain various blessings. Whenever a man is found at night
with another man's wife, he is placed with her within the inner chamber
of the Yaksha's temple. And in the morning he is taken away from thence
with the woman to the king's court, and his behaviour being made known,
he is punished; such is the custom. Once on a time in that city a
merchant, of the name of Samudradatta, was found by a city-guard in
the company of another man's wife. So he took him and placed him with
the woman in that temple of the Yaksha, fastening the door firmly. And
immediately the wise and devoted wife of that merchant, whose name was
Saktimatí, came to hear of the occurrence; then that resolute woman,
disguising herself, went confidently at night to the temple of the
Yaksha, accompanied by her friends, taking with her offerings for
the god. When she arrived there, the priest whose business it was
to eat the offerings, through desire for a fee, opened the door and
let her enter, informing the magistrate of what he had done. And she,
when she got inside, saw her husband looking sheepish, with a woman,
and she made the woman put on her own dress, and told her to go
out. So that woman went out in her dress by night, and got off, but
Saktimatí remained in the temple with her husband. And when the king's
officers came in the morning to examine the merchant, he was seen by
all to be in the company of his own wife. [185] When he heard that,
the king dismissed the merchant from the temple of the Yaksha, as it
were from the mouth of death, and punished the chief magistrate. So
Saktimatí in old time delivered her husband by her wisdom, and in
the same way I will go and save my husband by my discretion.

So the wise Devasmitá said in secret to her mother-in-law, and,
in company with her maids, she put on the dress of a merchant. Then
she embarked on a ship, on the pretence of a mercantile expedition,
and came to the country of Katáha where her husband was. And when
she arrived there, she saw that husband of hers, Guhasena, in
the midst of a circle of merchants, like consolation in external
bodily form. He seeing her afar off in the dress of a man, [186]
as it were, drank her in with his eyes, and thought to himself,
"Who may this merchant be that looks so like my beloved wife"? So
Devasmitá went and represented to the king that she had a petition
to make, and asked him to assemble all his subjects. Then the king
full of curiosity assembled all the citizens, and said to that lady
disguised as a merchant, "What is your petition?" Then Devasmitá
said--There are residing here in your midst four slaves of mine who
have escaped, let the king make them over to me. Then the king said
to her, "All the citizens are present here, so look at every one in
order to recognise him, and take those slaves of yours." Then she
seized upon the four young merchants, whom she had before treated in
such a humiliating way in her house, and who had wrappers bound round
their heads. Then the merchants, who were there, flew in a passion,
and said to her, "These are the sons of distinguished merchants,
how then can they be your slaves?" Then she answered them, "If you do
not believe what I say, examine their foreheads which I marked with a
dog's foot." They consented, and removing the head-wrappers of these
four, they all beheld the dog's foot on their foreheads. Then all the
merchants were abashed, and the king, being astonished, himself asked
Devasmitá what all this meant. She told the whole story, and all the
people burst out laughing, and the king said to the lady,--"They are
your slaves by the best of titles." Then the other merchants paid
a large sum of money to that chaste wife, to redeem those four from
slavery, and a fine to the king's treasury. Devasmitá received that
money, and recovered her husband, and being honoured by all good men,
returned then to her own city Támraliptá, and she was never afterwards
separated from her beloved.

"Thus, O queen, women of good family ever worship their husbands with
chaste and resolute behaviour, [187] and never think of any other
man, for to virtuous wives the husband is the highest deity." When
Vásavadattá on the journey heard this noble story from the mouth of
Vasantaka, she got over the feeling of shame at having recently left
her father's house, and her mind, which was previously attached by
strong affection to her husband, became so fixed upon him as to be
entirely devoted to his service.



NOTE ON CHAPTER XIII.

With regard to the incident of the bitch and the pepper in the story
of Devasmitá see the note in the 1st volume of Wilson's Essays on
Sanskrit Literature. He says: "This incident with a very different and
much less moral dénouement is one of the stories in the Disciplina
Clericalis, a collection of stories professedly derived from the
Arabian fabulists and compiled by Petrus Alfonsus a converted Jew, who
flourished about 1106 and was godson to Alfonso I, king of Arragon. In
the Analysis prepared by Mr. Douce, this story is the 12th, and is
entitled "Stratagem of an old woman in favour of a young gallant." She
persuades his mistress who had rejected his addresses that her little
dog was formerly a woman, and so transformed in consequence of her
cruelty to her lover. (Ellis's Metrical Romances, I, 130.) This story
was introduced into Europe, therefore, much about the time at which
it was enrolled among the contents of the Vrihat Kathá in Cashmir. The
metempsychosis is so much more obvious an explanation of the change of
forms, that it renders it probable the story was originally Hindu. It
was soon copied in Europe, and occurs in Le Grand as La vieille
qui séduisit la jeune fille. III. 148 [ed. III. Vol. IV. 50]. The
parallel is very close and the old woman gives "une chienne à manger
des choses fortement saupoudrèes de senève qui lai picotait le palais
et les narines et l'animal larmoyait beaucoup." She then shows her
to the young woman and tells her the bitch was her daughter. "Son
malheur fut d'avoir le coeur dur; un jeune homme l'aimait, elle
le rebuta. Le malheureux après avoir tout tenté pour l' attendrir,
désespéré de sa dureté en prit tant de chagrin qu'il tomba malade et
mourut. Dieu l'a bien vengè; voyez en quel état pour la punir il a
reduit ma pauvre fille, et comment elle pleure sa faute." The lesson
was not thrown away. The story occurs also in the Gesta Romanorum as
"The Old Woman and her Dog" [in Bohn's edition it is Tale XXVIII],
and it also finds a place where we should little have expected to find
it, in the Promptuarium of John Herolt of Basil, an ample repository
of examples for composing sermons: the compiler a Dominican friar,
professing to imitate his patron saint, who always abundabat exemplis
in his discourses." [In Bohn's edition we are told that it appears
in an English garb amongst a translation of Æsop's Fables published
in 1658.] Dr. Rost refers us to Th. Wright, Latin Stories, London,
1842, p. 218. Loiseleur Deslongchamps Essai sur les Fables Indiennes,
Paris, 1838, p. 106 ff. F. H. Von der Hagen, Gesammtabenteuer, 1850
I, cxii. ff and Grässe, I. 1, 374 ff. In Gonzenbach'a Sicilianische
Märchen, No. 55, Vol. I, p. 359, Epomata plays some young men much the
same trick as Devasmitá, and they try in much the same way to conceal
their disgrace. The story is the second in my copy of the Suka Saptati.






CHAPTER XIV.


Accordingly while the king of Vatsa was remaining in that Vindhya
forest, the warder of king Chandamahásena came to him. And when he
arrived, he did obeisance to the king and spoke as follows: The king
Chandamahásena sends you this message. You did rightly in carrying
off Vásavadattá yourself, for I had brought you to my court with this
very object; and the reason I did not myself give her to you, while
you were a prisoner, was, that I feared, if I did so, you might not
be well disposed towards me. Now, O king, I ask you to wait a little,
in order that the marriage of my daughter may not be performed without
due ceremonies. For my son Gopálaka will soon arrive in your court,
and he will celebrate with appropriate ceremonies the marriage of that
sister of his. This message the warder brought to the king of Vatsa,
and said various things to Vásavadattá. Then the king of Vatsa, being
pleased, determined on going to Kausámbí with Vásavadattá, who was
also in high spirits. He told his ally Pulindaka, and that warder in
the service of his father-in-law to await, where they were, the arrival
of Gopálaka, and then to come with him to Kausámbí. Then the great king
set out early the next day for his own city with the queen Vásavadattá,
followed by huge elephants raining streams of ichor, that seemed like
moving peaks of the Vindhya range accompanying him out of affection;
he was, as it were, praised by the earth, that outdid the compositions
of his minstrels, while it rang with the hoofs of his horses and the
tramplings of his soldiers; and by means of the towering clouds of
dust from his army, that ascended to heaven, he made Indra fear that
the mountains were sporting with unshorn wings. [188] Then the king
reached his country in two or three days, and rested one night in a
palace belonging to Rumanvat; and on the next day, accompanied by his
beloved, he enjoyed after a long absence the great delight of entering
Kausámbí, the people of which were eagerly looking with uplifted faces
for his approach. And then that city was resplendent as a wife, her
lord having returned after a long absence, beginning her adornment
and auspicious bathing vicariously by means of her women; and there
the citizens, their sorrow now at an end, beheld the king of Vatsa
accompanied by his bride, as peacocks behold a cloud accompanied by
lightning; [189] and the wives of the citizens standing on the tops
of the palaces, filled the heaven with their faces, that had the
appearance of golden lotuses blooming in the heavenly Ganges. Then
the king of Vatsa entered his royal palace with Vásavadattá, who
seemed like a second goddess of royal fortune; and that palace then
shone as if it had just awaked from sleep, full of kings who had
come to shew their devotion, festive with songs of minstrels. [190]
Not long after came Gopálaka the brother of Vásavadattá, bringing
with him the warder and Pulindaka; the king went to meet him, and
Vásavadattá received him with her eyes expanded with delight, as if
he were a second spirit of joy. While she was looking at this brother,
a tear dimmed her eyes lest she should be ashamed; and then she, being
encouraged by him with the words of her father's message, considered
that her object in life was attained, now that she was reunited to
her own relations. Then, on the next day, Gopálaka, with the utmost
eagerness, set about the high festival of her marriage with the king of
Vatsa, carefully observing all prescribed ceremonies. Then the king of
Vatsa received the hand of Vásavadattá, like a beautiful shoot lately
budded on the creeper of love. She too, with her eyes closed through
the great joy of touching her beloved's hand, having her limbs bathed
in perspiration accompanied with trembling, covered all over with
extreme horripilation, appeared at that moment as if struck by the god
of the flowery bow with the arrow of bewilderment, the weapon of wind,
and the water weapon in quick succession; [191] when she walked round
the fire keeping it to the right, her eyes being red with the smoke,
she had her first taste, so to speak, of the sweetness of wine and
honey. [192] Then by means of the jewels brought by Gopálaka, and
the gifts of the kings, the monarch of Vatsa became a real king of
kings. [193] That bride and bridegroom, after their marriage had been
celebrated, first exhibited themselves to the eyes of the people,
and then entered their private apartments. Then the king of Vatsa,
on the day so auspicious to himself invested Gopálaka and Pulindaka
with turbans of honour and other distinctions, and he commissioned
Yaugandharáyana and Rumanvat to confer appropriate distinctions
on the kings who had come to visit him, and on the citizens. Then
Yaugandharáyana said to Rumanvat; "The king has given us a difficult
commission, for men's feelings are hard to discover. And even a child
will certainly do mischief if not pleased; to illustrate this point
listen to the tale of the child Vinashtaka, my friend."



Story of the clever deformed child.

Once on a time there was a certain Bráhman named Rudrasarman, and he,
when he became a householder, had two wives, and one of his wives gave
birth to a son and died; and then the Bráhman entrusted that son to
the care of his step-mother; and when he grew to a tolerable stature,
she gave him coarse food; the consequence was, the boy became pale,
and got a swollen stomach. Then Rudrasarman said to that second wife,
"How comes it that you have neglected this child of mine that has lost
its mother?" She said to her husband, "Though I take affectionate
care of him, he is nevertheless the strange object you see; what am
I to do with him?" Whereupon the Bráhman thought, "No doubt it is the
child's nature to be like this." For who sees through the deceitfulness
of the speeches of women uttered with affected simplicity? Then that
child began to go by the name of Bálavinashtaka [194] in his father's
house, because they said this child (bála) is deformed (vinashta.) Then
Bálavinashtaka thought to himself--"This step-mother of mine is always
ill-treating me, therefore I had better be revenged on her in some
way"--for though the boy was only a little more than five years old,
he was clever enough. Then he said secretly to his father when he
returned from the king's court, with half suppressed voice--"Papa, I
have two Papas." So the boy said every day, and his father suspecting
that his wife had a paramour, would not even touch her. She for her
part thought--"Why is my husband angry without my being guilty; I
wonder whether Bálavinashtaka has been at any tricks?" So she washed
Bálavinashtaka with careful kindness, and gave him dainty food, and
taking him on her lap, asked him the following question: "My son why
have you incensed your father Rudrasarman against me?" When he heard
that, the boy said to his step-mother, "I will do more harm to you than
that, if you do not immediately cease ill-treating me. You take good
care of your own children; why do you perpetually torment me?" When
she heard that, she bowed before him, and said with a solemn oath,
"I will not do so any more; so reconcile my husband to me." Then the
child said to her--"Well, when my father comes home, let one of your
maids shew him a mirror, and leave the rest to me." She said, "Very
well," and by her orders a maid shewed a mirror to her husband as soon
as he returned home. Thereupon the child pointing out the reflection
of his father in the mirror, said, "There is my second father." When
he heard that, Rudrasarman dismissed his suspicions and was immediately
reconciled to his wife, whom he had blamed without cause.

"Thus even a child may do mischief if it is annoyed, and therefore
we must carefully conciliate all this retinue." Saying this,
Yaugandharáyana with the help of Rumanvat, carefully honoured all
the people on this the king of Vatsa's great day of rejoicing. [195]
And they gratified all the kings so successfully that each one of
them thought, "These two men are devoted to me alone." And the king
honoured those two ministers and Vasantaka with garments, unguents,
and ornaments bestowed with his own hand, and he also gave them
grants of villages. Then the king of Vatsa, having celebrated the
great festival of his marriage, considered all his wishes gratified,
now that he was linked to Vásavadattá. Their mutual love, having
blossomed after a long time of expectation, was so great, owing to
the strength of their passion, that their hearts continually resembled
those of the sorrowing Chakravákas, when the night, during which they
are separated, comes to an end. And as the familiarity of the couple
increased, their love seemed to be ever renewed. Then Gopálaka, being
ordered by his father to return to get married himself, went away,
after having been entreated by the king of Vatsa to return quickly.

In course of time the king of Vatsa became faithless, and secretly
loved an attendant of the harem named Virachitá, with whom he had
previously had an intrigue. One day he made a mistake and addressed
the queen by her name, thereupon he had to conciliate her by clinging
to her feet, and bathed in her tears he was anointed [196] a fortunate
king. Moreover he married a princess of the name of Bandhumatí, whom
Gopálaka had captured by the might of his arm, and sent as a present
to the queen; and whom she concealed, changing her name to Manjuliká;
who seemed like another Lakshmí issuing from the sea of beauty. Her
the king saw, when he was in the company of Vasantaka, and secretly
married her by the Gándharva ceremony in a summer-house. And that
proceeding of his was beheld by Vásavadattá, who was in concealment,
and she was angry, and had Vasantaka put in fetters. Then the king
had recourse to the good offices of a female ascetic, a friend of the
queen's, who had come with her from her father's court, of the name
of Sánkrityánaní. She appeased the queen's anger, and got Bandhumatí
presented to the king by the obedient queen, for tender is the heart of
virtuous wives. Then the queen released Vasantaka from imprisonment;
he came into the presence of the queen and said to her with a laugh,
"Bandhumatí did you an injury, but what did I do to you? You are
angry with adders [197] and you kill water-snakes." Then the queen,
out of curiosity, asked him to explain that metaphor, and he continued
as follows:



Story of Ruru.

Once on a time a hermit's son of the name of Ruru, wandering
about at will, saw a maiden of wonderful beauty, the daughter of
a heavenly nymph named Menaká by a Vidyádhara, and brought up by a
hermit of the name of Sthúlakesa in his hermitage. That lady, whose
name was Prishadvará, so captivated the mind of that Ruru when he
saw her, that he went and begged the hermit to give her to him in
marriage. Sthúlakesa for his part betrothed the maiden to him, and
when the wedding was nigh at hand, suddenly an adder bit her. Then
the heart of Ruru was full of despair, but he heard this voice in the
heaven--"O Bráhman raise to life with the gift of half thy own life,
[198] this maiden, whose allotted term is at an end." When he heard
that, Ruru gave her the half of his own life, as he had been directed;
by means of that she revived, and Ruru married her. Thenceforward he
was incensed with the whole race of serpents, and whenever he saw a
serpent he killed it, thinking to himself as he killed each one--"This
may have bitten my wife." One day a water snake said to him with human
voice, as he was about to slay it, "You are incensed against adders,
Bráhman, but why do you slay water-snakes? An adder bit your wife,
and adders are a distinct species from water-snakes; all adders
are venomous, water-snakes are not venomous." When he heard that,
he said in answer to the water-snake,--"My friend, who are you?" The
water-snake said, "Bráhman, I am a hermit fallen from my high estate
by a curse, and this curse was appointed to last till I held converse
with you." When he had said this he disappeared, and after that Ruru
did not kill water-snakes. So I said this to you metaphorically,
"My queen, you are angry with adders and you kill water-snakes." When
he had uttered this speech, full of pleasing wit, Vasantaka ceased,
and Vásavadattá sitting at the side of her husband was pleased with
him. Such soft and sweet tales in which Vasantaka displayed various
ingenuity, did the loving Udayana, king of Vatsa, continually make use
of to conciliate his angry wife, while he sat at her feet. That happy
king's tongue was ever exclusively employed in tasting the flavour of
wine, and his ear was ever delighting in the sweet sounds of the lute,
and his eye was ever riveted on the face of his beloved.



NOTE TO CHAPTER XIV.

The practice of walking round an object of reverence with the right
hand towards it, which is one of the ceremonies mentioned in our
author's account of Vásavadattá's marriage, has been exhaustively
discussed by Dr. Samuel Fergusson in his paper--"On the Ceremonial
turn called Desiul," published in the Proceedings of the Royal Irish
Academy for March 1877. (Vol. I. Ser. II. No. 12.) He shews it to
have existed among the ancient Romans as well as the Celts. One of
the most striking of his quotations is from the Curculio of Plautus
(I. 1. 69.) Phædromus says--Quo me vortam nescio. Palinurus jestingly
replies--Si deos salutas dextrovorsum censeo. Cp. also the following
passage of Valerius Flaceus (Argon VIII. 243).


    Inde ubi sacrificas cum conjuge venit ad aras
    Æsonides, unaque adeunt pariterque precari
    Incipiunt. Ignem Pollux undamque jugalem
    Prætulit ut dextrum pariter vertantur in orbem.


The above passage forms a striking comment upon our text. Cp. also
Plutarch in this life of Camillus Tauta eipôn, kathaper esti Rômaiois
ethos, epeuxamenois kai proskynêsasin, epi dexia exelittein, esphalê
peristrephomenos. It is possible that the following passage in
Lucretius alludes to the same practice--


    Nec pietas ulla est velatum sæpe videri
    Vertier ad lapidem atque omnes accedere ad aras.


Dr. Fergusson is of opinion that this movement was a symbol of the
cosmical rotation, an imitation of the apparent course of the sun
in the heavens. Cp. Hyginus Fable CCV. Arge venatrix, cum cervum
sequeretur, cervo dixisse fertur: Tu licet Solis cursum sequaris,
tamen te consequar. Sol, iratus, in cervam eam convertit. He quotes,
to prove that the practice existed among the ancient Celts, Athenæus
IV, p. 142, who adduces from Posidonius the following statement "Tous
theous proskynousin epi dexia strephomenoi." The above quotations are
but a few scraps from the full feast of Dr. Fergusson's paper. See
also the remarks of the Rev. S. Beal in the Indian Antiquary for
March 1880, p. 67.

See also Henderson's Folk-lore of the Northern Counties, p. 45. "The
vicar of Stranton was standing at the churchyard gate, awaiting the
arrival of a funeral party, when to his astonishment the whole group,
who had arrived within a few yards of him, suddenly wheeled and made
the circuit of the churchyard wall, thus traversing its west, north,
and east boundaries, and making the distance some five or six times
greater than was necessary. The vicar, astonished at this proceeding,
asked the sexton the reason of so extraordinary a movement. The reply
was as follows: 'Why, ye wad no hae them carry the dead again the sun;
the dead maun aye go with the sun.' This custom is no doubt an ancient
British or Celtic custom, and corresponds to the Highland usage of
making the deazil or walking three times round a person according to
the course of the sun. Old Highlanders will still make the deazil
around those to whom they wish well. To go round the person in the
opposite direction, or "withershins," is an evil incantation and
brings ill-fortune. Hunt in his Romances and Drolls of the West of
England, p. 418, says, "If an invalid goes out for the first time,
and makes a circuit, the circuit must be with the sun, if against
the sun, there will be a relapse. Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 322,
quotes from the Statistical Account of Scotland, Vol. V. p. 88 the
following statement of a Scottish minister, with reference to a
marriage ceremony: "After leaving the church, the whole company walk
round it, keeping the church walls always on the right hand."

Thiselton Dyer, in his English Folk-lore, p. 171, mentions a similar
custom as existing in the West of England. In Devonshire blackhead
or pinsoles are cured by creeping on one's hands and knees under
or through a bramble three times with the sun; that is from east to
west. See also Ralston's Songs of the Russian people, p. 299.

See also the extract from Sinclair's Statistical Account of Scotland in
Brand's Popular Antiquities, Vol. 1, p. 225; "When a Highlander goes to
bathe or to drink water out of a consecrated fountain, he must always
approach by going round the place from East to West on the South side,
in imitation of the apparent diurnal motion of the sun. This is called
in Gaelic going round the right, or the lucky way. The opposite course
is the wrong, or the unlucky way. And if a person's meat or drink
were to affect the wind-pipe, or come against his breath, they would
instantly cry out, "Desheal," which is an ejaculation praying it may
go by the right way." Cp. the note in Munro's Lucretius on V, 1199, and
Burton's Narratives from Criminal Trials in Scotland, Vol. I, p. 278.







BOOK III.


CHAPTER XV.


Honour to that conqueror of obstacles whose favour, I ween, even the
Creator [199] implored, in order that he might accomplish the creation
of the world without let or hindrance.

That five-arrowed god of love conquers the world, at whose command
even Siva trembles, when he is being embraced by his beloved.



Thus having obtained Vásavadattá, that king of Vatsa gradually became
most exclusively devoted to the pleasure of her society. But his prime
minister Yaugandharáyana, and his general Rumanvat, upheld day and
night the burden of his empire. And once upon a time the minister
Yaugandharáyana, full of anxiety, brought Rumanvat to his house at
night and said to him as follows: "This lord of Vatsa is sprung from
the Pándava race, and the whole earth is his by hereditary descent,
as also the city named of the elephant. [200] All these this king has
abandoned not being desirous of making conquests, and his kingdom
has so become confined to this one small corner of the earth. For
he certainly remains devoted to women, wine and hunting, and he has
delegated to us all the duty of thinking about his kingdom. So we by
our own intelligence must take such steps, as that he shall obtain
the empire of the whole earth, which is his hereditary right. For,
if we do this, we shall have exhibited devotion to his cause, and
performed our duty as ministers; for every thing is accomplished by
intellect, and in proof of this listen to the following tale:"



Story of the clever physician.

Once on a time there was a king named Mahásena, and he was attacked by
another king far superior to him in power. Then the king's ministers
met together, and in order to prevent the ruin of his interests,
Mahásena was persuaded by them to pay tribute to that enemy. And after
he had paid tribute, that haughty king was exceedingly afflicted,
thinking to himself, "Why have I made submission to my enemy?" And
his sorrow on that account caused an abscess to form in his vitals,
and he was so pulled down by the abscess that at last he was at the
point of death. Then a certain wise physician considering that that
case could not be cured by medicine, said falsely to that king; "O
king, your wife is dead." When he heard that, the king suddenly fell
on the ground, and owing to the excessive violence of his grief, the
abscess burst of itself. And so the king recovered from his disease,
and long enjoyed in the society of that queen the pleasures he desired,
and conquered his enemies in his turn. [201]

"So, as that physician did his king a good turn by his wisdom, let us
also do our king a good turn, let us gain for him the empire of the
earth. And in this undertaking our only adversary is Pradyota, the
king of Magadha; for he is a foe in the rear that is always attacking
us behind. So we must ask for our sovereign that pearl of princesses,
his daughter, named Padmávatí. And by our cleverness we will conceal
Vásavadattá somewhere, and setting fire to her house, we will give
out everywhere that the queen is burnt. For in no other case will
the king of Magadha give his daughter to our sovereign, for when I
requested him to do so on a former occasion, he answered--'I will not
give my daughter, whom I love more than myself, to the king of Vatsa,
for he is passionately attached to his wife Vásavadattá.' Moreover,
as long as the queen is alive, the king of Vatsa will not marry any
one else; but if a report is once spread that the queen is burnt,
all will succeed. And when Padmávatí is secured, the king of Magadha
will be our marriage connection, and will not attack us in the rear,
but will become our ally. Then we will march to conquer the eastern
quarter, and the others in due succession, so we shall obtain for
the king of Vatsa all this earth. And if we only exert ourselves,
this king will obtain the dominion of the earth, for long ago a
divine voice predicted this." When Rumanvat heard this speech from
the great minister Yaugandharáyana, he feared that the plan would
cover them with ridicule, and so he said to him--"Deception practised
for the sake of Padmávatí might some day be to the ruin of us both;"
in proof of this, listen to the following tale:



Story of the hypocritical ascetic.

On the bank of the Ganges there is a city named Mákandiká; in that city
long ago there was a certain ascetic who observed a vow of silence,
and he lived on alms, and surrounded by numerous other holy beggars,
dwelt in a monastery within the precincts of a god's temple where he
had taken up his abode. Once, when he entered a certain merchant's
house to beg, he saw a beautiful maiden coming out with alms in her
hand, and the rascal seeing that she was wonderfully beautiful was
smitten with love and exclaimed "Ah! Ah! Alas!" And that merchant
overheard him. Then taking the alms he had received, he departed to
his own house; and then the merchant went there and said to him in
his astonishment,--"Why did you to-day suddenly break your vow of
silence and say what you did?" When he heard that, the ascetic said
to the merchant--"This daughter of yours has inauspicious marks; when
she marries, you will undoubtedly perish, wife, sons, and all. So,
when I saw her, I was afflicted, for you are my devoted adherent;
and thus it was on your account that I broke silence and said what I
did. So place this daughter of yours by night in a basket, on the top
of which there must be a light, and set her adrift on the Ganges." The
merchant said, "So I will," and went away, and at night he did all
he had been directed to do out of pure fear. The timid are ever
unreflecting. The hermit for his part said at that time to his own
pupils, "Go to the Ganges, and when you see a basket floating along
with a light on the top of it, bring it here secretly, but you must not
open it, even if you hear a noise inside." They said, "We will do so,"
and off they went; but before they reached the Ganges, strange to say,
a certain prince went into the river to bathe. He seeing that basket,
which the merchant had thrown in, by the help of the light on it,
got his servants to fetch it for him, and immediately opened it out
of curiosity. And in it he saw that heart-enchanting girl, and he
married her on the spot by the Gándharva ceremony of marriage. And he
set the basket adrift on the Ganges, exactly as it was before, putting
a lamp on the top of it, and placing a fierce monkey inside it. The
prince having departed with that pearl of maidens, the pupils of the
hermit came there in the course of their search, and saw that basket,
and took it up and carried it to the hermit. Then he being delighted,
said to them, "I will take this upstairs and perform incantations with
it alone, but you must lie in silence this night." When he had said
this, the ascetic took the basket to the top of the monastery, and
opened it, eager to behold the merchant's daughter. And then a monkey
of terrible appearance sprang out of it, [202] and rushed upon the
ascetic, like his own immoral conduct incarnate in bodily form. The
monkey in its fury immediately tore off with its teeth the nose of
the wicked ascetic, and his ears with its claws, as if it had been
a skilful executioner; and in that state the ascetic ran downstairs,
and when his pupils beheld him, they could with difficulty suppress
their laughter. And early next morning everybody heard the story,
and laughed heartily, but the merchant was delighted, and his daughter
also, as she had obtained a good husband. And even as the ascetic made
himself ridiculous, so too may we possibly become a laughing-stock,
if we employ deceit, and fail after all. For the separation of the
king from Vásavadattá involves many disadvantages. When Rumanvat had
said this to Yaugandharáyana, the latter answered; "In no other way
can we conduct our enterprise successfully, and if we do not undertake
the enterprise, it is certain that with this self-indulgent king we
shall lose even what territory we have got; and the reputation which
we have acquired for statesmanship will be tarnished, and we shall
cease to be spoken of as men who shew loyalty to their sovereign. For
when a king is one who depends on himself for success, his ministers
are considered merely the instruments of his wisdom; and in the case
of such monarchs you would not have much to do with their success
or failures. But when a king depends on his ministers for success,
it is their wisdom that achieves his ends, and if they are wanting in
enterprise, he must bid a long farewell to all hope of greatness. [203]
But if you fear the queen's father Chandamahásena, I must tell you that
he and his son and the queen also will do whatever I bid them." When
Yaugandharáyana, most resolute among the resolute, had said this,
Rumanvat, whose heart dreaded some fatal blunder, again said to him;
"Even a discerning prince is afflicted by the pain of being separated
from a beloved woman, much more will this king of Vatsa be. In proof
of what I say, listen to the following tale:"



Story of Unmádiní. [204]

Once on a time there was a king named Devasena, best of wise men,
and the city of Srávastí was his capital. And in that city there was a
wealthy merchant, and to him there was born a daughter of unparalleled
beauty. And that daughter became known by the name of Unmádiní,
because every one, who beheld her beauty, became mad. Her father the
merchant thought, "I must not give this daughter of mine to any one
without telling the king, or he may be angry." So he went and said
to the king Devasena, "King, I have a daughter who is a very pearl,
take her if she finds favour in your eyes." When he heard that, the
king sent some Bráhmans, his confidential ministers, saying to them,
"Go and see if that maiden possesses the auspicious marks or not." The
ministers said, "We will do so," and went. But when they beheld that
merchant's daughter, Unmádiní, love was suddenly produced in their
souls, and they became utterly bewildered. When they recovered their
senses, the Bráhmans said to one another: "If the king marries this
maiden, he will think only of her, and will neglect the affairs of
the State, and everything will go to rack and ruin; so what is the
good of her?" Accordingly they went and told the king, what was not
true, that the maiden had inauspicious marks. Then the merchant gave
that Unmádiní, whom the king had refused, and who in her heart felt
a proud resentment at it, to the king's commander-in-chief. When she
was in the house of her husband, she ascended one day to the roof, and
exhibited herself to the king, who she knew would pass that way. And
the moment the king beheld her, resembling a world-bewildering drug
employed by the god of love, distraction seemed to be produced within
him. When he returned to his palace, and discovered that it was the
same lady he had previously rejected, he was full of regret, and fell
violently ill with fever; the commander-in-chief, the husband of the
lady, came to him and earnestly entreated him to take her, saying, "She
is a slave, she is not the lawful wife of another, or if it seem fit,
I will repudiate her in the temple, then my lord can take her for his
own." But the king said to him, "I will not take unto myself another
man's wife, and if you repudiate her, your righteousness will be at
end, and you will deserve punishment at my hands." When they heard
that, the other ministers remained silent, and the king was gradually
consumed by love's burning fever, and so died. So that king perished,
though of firm soul, being deprived of Unmádiní; but what will become
of the lord of Vatsa without Vásavadattá? When Yaugandharáyana heard
this from Rumanvat, he answered; "Affliction is bravely endured by
kings who have their eyes firmly fixed on their duty. Did not Ráma
when commissioned by the gods, who were obliged to resort to that
contrivance, to kill Rávana, endure the pain of separation from queen
Sítá? When he heard this, Rumanvat said in answer--"Such as Ráma are
gods, their souls can endure all things. But the thing is intolerable
to men; in proof whereof listen to the following tale.



Story of the loving couple who died of separation.

There is on this earth a great city rich in jewels, named Mathurá. In
it there lived a certain young merchant, called Illaka. And he had a
dear wife whose mind was devoted to him alone. Once on a time, while he
was dwelling with her, the young merchant determined to go to another
country on account of the exigencies of his affairs. And that wife of
his wished to go with him. For when women are passionately attached to
any one, they cannot endure to be separated from him. And then that
young merchant set out, having offered the usual preliminary prayer
for success in his undertaking, and did not take with him that wife of
his, though she had dressed herself for the journey. She looking after
him, when he had started, with tears in her eyes, stood supporting
herself against the panel of the door of the courtyard. Then, he
being out of sight, she was no longer able to endure her grief; but
she was too timid to follow him. So her breath left her body. And as
soon as the young merchant came to know of that, he returned and to
his horror found that dear wife of his a corpse, with pale though
lovely complexion, set off by her waving locks, like the spirit of
beauty that tenants the moon fallen down to the earth in the day
during her sleep. [205] So he took her in his arms and wept over her,
and immediately the vital spirits left his body, which was on fire
with the flame of grief, as if they were afraid to remain. So that
married couple perished by mutual separation, and therefore we must
take care that the king is not separated from the queen." When he had
said this, Rumanvat ceased, with his mind full of apprehension, but
the wise Yaugandharáyana, that ocean of calm resolution answered him;
"I have arranged the whole plan, and the affairs of kings often require
such steps to be taken, in proof of it, hear the following tale:"



Story of Punyasena.

There lived long ago in Ujjayiní a king named Punyasena, and once on
a time a powerful sovereign came and attacked him. Then his resolute
ministers, seeing that that king was hard to conquer, spread everywhere
a false report that their own sovereign Punyasena was dead; and they
placed him in concealment, and burnt some other man's corpse with
all the ceremonies appropriate to a king, and they proposed to the
hostile king through an ambassador that, as they had now no king,
he should come and be their king. The hostile monarch was pleased and
consented, and then the ministers assembled accompanied by soldiers,
and proceeded to storm his camp. And the enemy's army being destroyed,
Punyasena's ministers brought him out of concealment, and having
recovered their power put that hostile king to death.

"Such necessities will arise in monarch's affairs, therefore let
us resolutely accomplish this business of the king's by spreading
a report of the queen's having been burnt." When he heard this from
Yaugandharáyana, who had made up his mind, Rumanvat said; "If this
is resolved upon, let us send for Gopálaka the queen's respected
brother, and let us take all our measures duly, after consultation
with him." Then Yaugandharáyana said, "So be it," and Rumanvat
allowed himself to be guided, in determining what was to be done,
by the confidence which he placed in his colleague. The next day,
these dexterous ministers sent off a messenger of their own to bring
Gopálaka, on the pretext that his relations longed to see him. And as
he had only departed before on account of urgent business, Gopálaka
came at the request of the messenger, seeming like an incarnate
festival. And the very day he came, Yaugandharáyana took him by night
to his own house together with Rumanvat, and there he told him of that
daring scheme which he wished to undertake, all of which he had before
deliberated about together with that Rumanvat; and Gopálaka desiring
the good of the king of Vatsa consented to the scheme though he knew
it would bring sorrow to his sister, for the mind of good men is ever
fixed upon duty. Then Rumanvat again said,--"All this is well planned,
but when the king of Vatsa hears that his wife is burnt, he will be
inclined to yield up his breath, and how is he to be prevented from
doing so? This is a matter which ought to be considered. For though
all the usual politic expedients may advantageously be employed,
the principal element of sound state-craft is the averting of
misfortune." Then Yaugandharáyana who had reflected on everything
that was to be done, said, "There need be no anxiety about this,
for the queen is a princess, the younger sister of Gopálaka, and
dearer to him than his life, and when the king of Vatsa sees how
little afflicted Gopálaka is, he will think to himself, 'Perhaps the
queen may be alive after all,' and so will be able to control his
feelings. Moreover he is of heroic disposition, and the marriage of
Padmávatí will be quickly got through, and then we can soon bring the
queen out of concealment." Then Yaugandharáyana, and Gopálaka, and
Rumanvat having made up their minds to this, deliberated as follows:
"Let us adopt the artifice of going to Lávánaka with the king and
queen, for that district is a border-district near the kingdom
of Magadha. And because it contains admirable hunting-grounds,
it will tempt the king to absent himself from the palace, so we
can set the women's apartments there on fire and carry out the plan
[206] on which we have determined. And by an artifice we will take
the queen and leave her in the palace of Padmávatí, in order that
Padmávatí herself may be a witness to the queen's virtuous behaviour
in a state of concealment." Having thus deliberated together during
the night, they all, with Yaugandharáyana at their head, entered
the king's palace on the next day. Then Rumanvat made the following
representation to the king, "O king, it is a long time since we have
gone to Lávánaka, and it is a very delightful place, moreover you will
find capital hunting-grounds there, and grass for the horses can easily
be obtained. And the king of Magadha, being so near, afflicts all that
district. So let us go there for the sake of defending it, as well as
for our own enjoyment." And the king, when he heard this, having his
mind always set on enjoyment, determined to go to Lávánaka together
with Vásavadattá. The next day, the journey having been decided on,
and the auspicious hour having been fixed by the astrologers, suddenly
the hermit Nárada came to visit the monarch.

He illuminated the region with his splendour, as he descended from
the midst of heaven, and gave a feast to the eyes of all spectators,
seeming as if he were the moon come down out of affection towards his
own descendants. [207] After accepting the usual hospitable attentions,
the hermit graciously gave to the king, who bowed humbly before him,
a garland from the Párijáta [208] tree. And he congratulated the
queen, by whom he was politely received, promising her that she
should have a son, who should be a portion of Cupid [209] and king
of all the Vidyádharas. And then he said to the king of Vatsa, while
Yaugandharáyana was standing by, "O king, the sight of your wife
Vásavadattá has strangely brought something to my recollection. In
old time you had for ancestors Yudhishthira and his brothers. And
those five had one wife between them, Draupadí by name. And she,
like Vásavadattá, was matchless in beauty. Then, fearing that her
beauty would do mischief, I said to them, you must avoid jealousy,
for that is the seed of calamities; in proof of it, listen to the
following tale, which I will relate to you. [210]



Story of Sunda and Upasunda.

There were two brothers, Asuras by race, Sunda and Upasunda, hard to
overcome, inasmuch as they surpassed the three worlds in valour. And
Brahmá, wishing to destroy them, gave an order to Visvakarman, [211]
and had constructed a heavenly woman named Tilottamá, in order to
behold whose beauty even Siva truly became four-faced, so as to look
four ways at once, while she was devoutly circumambulating him. She, by
the order of Brahmá, went to Sunda and Upasunda, while they were in the
garden of Kailása, in order to seduce them. And both those two Asuras
distracted with love, seized the fair one at the same time by both her
arms, the moment they saw her near them. And as they were dragging her
off in mutual opposition, they soon came to blows, and both of them
were destroyed. To whom is not the attractive object called woman the
cause of misfortune? And you, though many, have one love, Draupadí,
therefore you must without fail avoid quarrelling about her. And by my
advice always observe this rule with respect to her. When she is with
the eldest, she must be considered a mother by the younger, and when
she is with the youngest, she must be considered a daughter-in-law by
the eldest. Your ancestors, O king, accepted that speech of mine with
unanimous consent, having their minds fixed on salutary counsels. And
they were my friends, and it is through love for them that I have come
to visit you here, king of Vatsa, therefore I give you this advice. Do
you follow the counsel of your ministers, as they followed mine,
and in a short time you will gain great success. For some time you
will suffer grief, but you must not be too much distressed about it,
for it will end in happiness." After the hermit Nárada, so clever in
indirectly intimating future prosperity, had said this duly to the
king of Vatsa, he immediately disappeared. And then Yaugandharáyana
and all the other ministers, auguring from the speech of that great
hermit that the scheme they had in view was about to succeed, became
exceedingly zealous about carrying it into effect.






CHAPTER XVI.


Then Yaugandharáyana and the other ministers managed to conduct the
king of Vatsa with his beloved, by the above-mentioned stratagem,
to Lávánaka. The king arrived at that place, which, by the roar of
the host echoing through it, seemed, as it were, to proclaim that
the ministers' object would be successfully attained. And the king
of Magadha, when he heard that the lord of Vatsa had arrived there
with a large following, trembled, anticipating attack. But he being
wise, sent an ambassador to Yaugandharáyana, and that excellent
minister well-versed in his duties, received him gladly. The king
of Vatsa for his part, while staying in that place, ranged every
day the wide-extended forest for the sake of sport. One day, the
king having gone to hunt, the wise Yaugandharáyana accompanied by
Gopálaka, having arranged what was to be done, and taking with him
also Rumanvat and Vasantaka, went secretly to the queen Vásavadattá,
who bowed at their approach. There he used various representations to
persuade her to assist in furthering the king's interests, though she
had been previously informed of the whole affair by her brother. And
she agreed to the proposal, though it inflicted on her the pain of
separation. What indeed is there which women of good family, who are
attached to their husbands, will not endure? Thereupon the skilful
Yaugandharáyana made her assume the appearance of a Bráhman woman,
having given her a charm, which enabled her to change her shape. And
he made Vasantaka one-eyed and like a Bráhman boy, and as for himself,
he in the same way assumed the appearance of an old Bráhman. Then
that mighty-minded one took the queen, after she had assumed that
appearance, and accompanied by Vasantaka, set out leisurely for
the town of Magadha. And so Vásavadattá left her house, and went in
bodily presence along the road, though she wandered in spirit to her
husband. Then Rumanvat burnt her pavilion with fire, and exclaimed
aloud--"Alas! alas! The queen and Vasantaka are burnt." And so in that
place there rose to heaven at the same time flames and lamentation;
the flames gradually subsided, not so the sound of weeping. Then
Yaugandharáyana with Vásavadattá and Vasantaka reached the city
of the king of Magadha, and seeing the princess Padmávatí in the
garden, he went up to her with those two, though the guards tried to
prevent him. And Padmávatí, when she saw the queen Vásavadattá in the
dress of a Bráhman woman, fell in love with her at first sight. The
princess ordered the guards to desist from their opposition, and had
Yaugandharáyana, who was disguised as a Bráhman, conducted into her
presence. And she addressed to him this question, "Great Bráhman,
who is this girl you have with you, and why are you come?" And he
answered her, "Princess, this is my daughter Ávantiká by name, and
her husband, being addicted to vice, [212] has deserted her and fled
somewhere or other. So I will leave her in your care, illustrious lady,
while I go and find her husband, and bring him back, which will be
in a short time. And let this one-eyed boy, her brother, remain here
near her, in order that she may not be grieved at having to remain
alone." He said this to the princess, and she granted his request,
and, taking leave of the queen, the good minister quickly returned to
Lávánaka. Then Padmávatí took with her Vásavadattá, who was passing
under the name of Ávantiká, and Vasantaka who accompanied her in
the form of a one-eyed boy; and shewing her excellent disposition by
her kind reception and affectionate treatment of them, entered her
splendidly-adorned palace; and there Vásavadattá, seeing Sítá in the
history of Ráma represented upon the painted walls, was enabled to
bear her own sorrow. And Padmávatí perceived that Vásavadattá was
a person of very high rank, by her shape, her delicate softness,
the graceful manner in which she sat down, and ate, and also by the
smell of her body, which was fragrant as the blue lotus, and so she
entertained her with luxurious comfort to her heart's content, even
such as she enjoyed herself. And she thought to herself, "Surely she
is some distinguished person remaining here in concealment; did not
Draupadí remain concealed in the palace of the king of Viráta?" Then
Vásavadattá, out of regard for the princess made for her unfading
garlands and forehead-streaks, as the king of Vatsa had previously
taught her; and Padmávatí's mother, seeing her adorned with them,
asked her privately who had made those garlands and streaks. Then
Padmávatí said to her, "There is dwelling here in my house a certain
lady of the name of Ávantiká, she made all these for me." When her
mother heard that, she said to her, then, my daughter, she is not a
woman, she is some goddess, since she possesses such knowledge; gods
and also hermits remain in the houses of good people for the sake of
deluding them, and in proof of this listen to the following anecdote.



Story of Kuntí.

There was once a king named Kuntibhoja; and a hermit of the name
of Durvásas, who was exceedingly fond of deluding people, came and
stayed in his palace. He commissioned his own daughter Kuntí to attend
upon the hermit, and she diligently waited upon him. And one day he,
wishing to prove her, said to her, "Cook boiled rice with milk and
sugar quickly, while I bathe, and then I will come and eat it." The
sage said this, and bathed quickly, and then he came to eat it, and
Kuntí brought him the vessel full of that food; and then the hermit,
knowing that it was almost red-hot with the heated rice, and seeing
that she could not hold it in her hands, [213] cast a look at the back
of Kuntí and she perceiving what was passing in the hermit's mind,
placed the vessel on her back; then he ate to his heart's content while
Kuntí's back was being burnt, and because, though she was terribly
burnt, she stood without being at all discomposed, the hermit was much
pleased with her conduct, and after he had eaten granted her a boon.

"So the hermit remained there, and in the same way this Ávantiká, who
is now staying in your palace, is some distinguished person, therefore
endeavour to conciliate her." When she heard this from the mouth of
her mother, Padmávatí showed the utmost consideration for Vásavadattá,
who was living disguised in her palace. And Vásavadattá for her part,
being separated from her lord, remained there pale with bereavement,
like a lotus in the night. [214] But the various boyish grimaces,
which Vasantaka exhibited, [215] again and again called a smile into
her face.

In the meanwhile the king of Vatsa, who had wandered away into very
distant hunting-grounds, returned late in the evening to Lávánaka. And
there he saw the women's apartments reduced to ashes by fire, and heard
from his ministers that the queen was burnt with Vasantaka. And when
he heard it, he fell on the ground, and he was robbed of his senses by
unconsciousness, that seemed to desire to remove the painful sense of
grief. But in a moment he came to himself and was burnt with sorrow
in his heart, as if penetrated with the fire that strove to consume
[216] the image of the queen imprinted there. Then overpowered
with sorrow he lamented, and thought of nothing but suicide; but
a moment after he began to reflect, calling to mind the following
prediction--"From this queen shall be born a son who shall reign
over all the Vidyádharas. This is what the hermit Nárada told me,
and it cannot be false. Moreover that same hermit warned me that
I should have sorrow for some time. And the affliction of Gopálaka
seems to be but slight. Besides I cannot detect any excessive grief
in Yaugandharáyana and the other ministers, therefore I suspect the
queen may possibly be alive. But the ministers may in this matter
have employed a certain amount of politic artifice, therefore I
may some day be re-united with the queen. So I see an end to this
affliction." Thus reflecting and being exhorted by his ministers,
the king established in his heart self-control. And Gopálaka sent
off a private messenger immediately, without any one's knowing
of it, to his sister, to comfort her, with an exact report of the
state of affairs. Such being the situation in Lávánaka, the spies
of the king of Magadha who were there, went off to him and told him
all. The king who was ever ready to seize the opportune moment, when
he heard this, was once more anxious to give to the king of Vatsa
his daughter Padmávatí, who had before been asked in marriage by
his ministers. Then he communicated his wishes with respect to this
matter to the king of Vatsa, and also to Yaugandharáyana. And by the
advice of Yaugandharáyana, the king of Vatsa accepted that proposal,
thinking to himself that perhaps this was the very reason why the
queen had been concealed. Then Yaugandharáyana quickly ascertained an
auspicious moment, and sent to the sovereign of Magadha an ambassador
with an answer to his proposal which ran as follows: "Thy desire is
approved by us, so on the seventh day from this, the king of Vatsa
will arrive at thy court to marry Padmávatí, in order that he may
quickly forget Vásavadattá." This was the message which the great
minister sent to that king. And that ambassador conveyed it to the
king of Magadha, who received him joyfully. Then the lord of Magadha
made such preparations for the joyful occasion of the marriage, as were
in accordance with his love for his daughter, his own desire, and his
wealth; and Padmávatí was delighted at hearing that she had obtained
the bridegroom she desired, but, when Vásavadattá heard that news,
she was depressed in spirit. That intelligence, when it reached her
ear, changed the colour of her face, and assisted the transformation
effected by her disguise. But Vasantaka said, "In this way an enemy
will be turned into a friend, and your husband will not be alienated
from you." This speech of Vasantaka consoled her like a confidante,
and enabled her to bear up. Then the discreet lady again prepared for
Padmávatí unfading garlands and forehead-streaks, both of heavenly
beauty, as her marriage was now nigh at hand; and when the seventh
day from that arrived, the monarch of Vatsa actually came there with
his troops, accompanied by his ministers, to marry her. How could he
in his state of bereavement have ever thought of undertaking such a
thing, if he had not hoped in that way to recover the queen? And the
king of Magadha immediately came with great delight to meet him, (who
was a feast to the eyes of the king's subjects,) as the sea advances
to meet the rising moon. Then the monarch of Vatsa entered the city of
the king of Magadha, and at the same time great joy entered the minds
of the citizens on every side. There the women beheld him fascinating
[217] the mind, though his frame was attenuated from bereavement,
looking like the god of love, deprived of his wife Rati. Then the king
of Vatsa entered the palace of the lord of Magadha, and proceeded to
the chamber prepared for the marriage ceremony, which was full of women
whose husbands were still alive. In that chamber he beheld Padmávatí
adorned for the wedding, surpassing with the full moon of her face
the circle of the full moon. And seeing that she had garlands and
forehead-streaks such as he himself only could make, the king could
not help wondering where she got them. Then he ascended the raised
platform of the altar, and his taking her hand there was a commencement
of his taking the tribute [218] of the whole earth. The smoke of the
altar dimmed his eyes with tears, as supposing that he could not bear
to witness the ceremony, since he loved Vásavadattá so much. Then the
face of Padmávatí, reddened with circumambulating the fire, appeared
as if full of anger on account of her perceiving what was passing in
her husband's mind. When the ceremony of marriage was completed, the
king of Vatsa let the hand of Padmávatí quit his, but he never even
for a moment allowed the image of Vásavadattá to be absent from his
heart. Then the king of Magadha gave him jewels in such abundance,
that the earth seemed to be deprived of her gems, they all having
been extracted. And Yaugandharáyana, calling the fire to witness on
that occasion, made the king of Magadha undertake never to injure his
master. So that festive scene proceeded, with the distribution of
garments and ornaments, with the songs of excellent minstrels, and
the dancing of dancing-girls. In the meanwhile Vásavadattá remained
unobserved, hoping for the glory of her husband, appearing [219] to
be asleep, like the beauty of the moon in the day. Then the king of
Vatsa went to the women's apartments, and the skilful Yaugandharáyana,
being afraid that he would see the queen, and that so the whole
secret would be divulged, said to the sovereign of Magadha, "Prince,
this very day the king of Vatsa will set forth from thy house." The
king of Magadha consented to it, and then the minister made the very
same announcement to the king of Vatsa, and he also approved of it.

Then the king of Vatsa set out from that place, after his attendants
had eaten and drunk, together with his ministers, escorting his
bride Padmávatí. And Vásavadattá, ascending a comfortable carriage
sent by Padmávatí, with its great horses also put at her disposal by
her, went secretly in the rear of the army, making the transformed
Vasantaka precede her. At last the king of Vatsa reached Lávánaka,
and entered his own house, together with his bride, but thought all
the time only of the queen Vásavadattá. The queen also arrived and
entered the house of Gopálaka at night, making the chamberlains wait
round it. There she saw her brother Gopálaka who shewed her great
attention, and she embraced his neck weeping, while his eyes filled
with tears; and at that moment arrived Yaugandharáyana, true to his
previous agreement, together with Rumanvat, and the queen shewed him
all due courtesy. And while he was engaged in dispelling the queen's
grief caused by the great effort she had made, and her separation
from her husband, those chamberlains repaired to Padmávatí, and said,
"Queen, Ávantiká has arrived, but she has in a strange way dismissed
us, and gone to the house of prince Gopálaka." When Padmávatí heard
that representation from her chamberlains, she was alarmed and in the
presence of the king of Vatsa answered them, "Go and say to Ávantiká,
'The queen says--You are a deposit in my hands, so what business
have you where you are? Come where I am.'" When they heard that, they
departed and the king asked Padmávatí in private who made for her the
unfading garlands and forehead-streaks. Then she said, "It is all the
product of the great artistic skill of the lady named Ávantiká who
was deposited in my house by a certain Bráhman." No sooner did the
king hear that, then he went off to the house of Gopálaka, thinking
that surely Vásavadattá would be there. And he entered the house, at
the door of which eunuchs were standing, [220] and within which were
the queen, Gopálaka, the two ministers, and Vasantaka. There he saw
Vásavadattá returned from banishment, like the orb of the moon freed
from its eclipse. Then he fell on the earth delirious with the poison
of grief, and trembling was produced in the heart of Vásavadattá. Then
she too fell on the earth with limbs pale from separation, and lamented
aloud, blaming her own conduct. And that couple, afflicted with grief,
lamented so that even the face of Yaugandharáyana was washed with
tears. And then Padmávatí too heard that wailing, which seemed so
little suited to the occasion, and came in a state of bewilderment to
the place whence it proceeded. And gradually finding out the truth with
respect to the king and Vásavadattá, she was reduced to the same state,
for good women are affectionate and tender-hearted. And Vásavadattá
frequently exclaimed with tears, "What profit is there in my life that
causes only sorrow to my husband?" Then the calm Yaugandharáyana said
to the king of Vatsa: "King, I have done all this in order to make you
universal emperor, by marrying you to the daughter of the sovereign
of Magadha, and the queen is not in the slightest degree to blame;
moreover this, her rival wife, is witness to her good behaviour during
her absence from you." Thereupon Padmávatí, whose mind was free from
jealousy, said, "I am ready to enter the fire on the spot to prove
her innocence." And the king said, "I am in fault, as it was for my
sake that the queen endured this great affliction." And Vásavadattá
having firmly resolved, said, "I must enter the fire to clear from
suspicion the mind of the king." Then the wise Yaugandharáyana, best
of right-acting men, rinsed his mouth, with his face towards the east,
and spoke a blameless speech; "If I have been a benefactor to this
king, and if the queen is free from stain, speak, ye guardians of
the world; if it is not so, I will part from my body." Thus he spoke
and ceased, and this heavenly utterance was heard: "Happy art thou, O
king, that hast for minister Yaugandharáyana, and for wife Vásavadattá,
who in a former birth was a goddess; not the slightest blame attaches
to her." Having uttered this, the Voice ceased. All who were present,
when they heard that sound, which resounded though all the regions,
delightful as the deep thunder-roar at the first coming of the
rain-clouds, having endured affliction for a long time, lifted up their
hands and plainly imitated peafowl in their joy. Moreover the king
of Vatsa and Gopálaka praised that proceeding of Yaugandharáyana's,
and the former already considered that the whole earth was subject
to him. Then that king possessing those two wives, whose affection
was every day increased by living with him, like joy and tranquillity
come to visit him in bodily form, was in a state of supreme felicity.






CHAPTER XVII.


The next day, the king of Vatsa, sitting in private with Vásavadattá,
and Padmávatí, engaged in a festive banquet, sent for Yaugandharáyana,
Gopálaka, Rumanvat and Vasantaka, and had much confidential
conversation with them. Then the king, in the hearing of them all,
told the following tale with reference to the subject of his separation
from his beloved.



Story of Urvasí. [221]

Once on a time there was a king of the name of Purúravas, who was a
devoted worshipper of Vishnu; he traversed heaven as well as earth
without opposition, and one day, as he was sauntering in Nandana,
the garden of the gods, a certain Apsaras of the name of Urvasí,
who was a second stupefying weapon [222] in the hands of Love, cast
an eye upon him. The moment she beheld him, the sight so completely
robbed her of her senses, that she alarmed the timid minds of Rambhá
and her other friends. The king too, when he saw that torrent
of the nectar of beauty, was quite faint with thirst, because he
could not obtain possession of her. Then Vishnu, who knoweth all,
dwelling in the sea of milk, gave the following command to Nárada,
an excellent hermit, who came to visit him--"O Divine sage, [223]
the king Purúravas, at present abiding in the garden of Nandana,
having had his mind captivated by Urvasí, remains incapable of bearing
the pain of separation from his love. Therefore go, O hermit, and
informing Indra as from me, cause that Urvasí to be quickly given to
the king." Having received this order from Vishnu, Nárada undertook
to execute it, and going to Purúravas who was in the state described,
roused him from his lethargy and said to him;--"Rise up, O king, for
thy sake I am sent here by Vishnu, for that god does not neglect the
sufferings of those who are unfeignedly devoted to him." With these
words, the hermit Nárada cheered up Purúravas, and then went with
him into the presence of the king of the gods.

Then he communicated the order of Vishnu to Indra, who received it
with reverent mind, and so the hermit caused Urvasí to be given to
Purúravas. That gift of Urvasí deprived the inhabitants of heaven
of life, but it was to Urvasí herself an elixir to restore her to
life. Then Purúravas returned with her to the earth, exhibiting
to the eyes of mortals the wonderful spectacle of a heavenly
bride. Thenceforth those two, Urvasí and that king, remained, so to
speak, fastened together by the leash of gazing on one another, so
that they were unable to separate. One day Purúravas went to heaven,
invited by Indra to assist him, as a war had arisen between him and
the Dánavas. In that war the king of the Asuras, named Máyádhara,
was slain, and accordingly Indra held a great feast, at which all
the nymphs of heaven displayed their skill. And on that occasion
Purúravas, when he saw the nymph Rambhá performing a dramatic dance
called chalita, [224] with the teacher Tumburu standing by her,
laughed. Then Rambhá said to him sarcastically--"I suppose, mortal,
you know this heavenly dance, do you not?" Purúravas answered,
"From associating with Urvasí, I knew dances which even your teacher
Tumburu does not know." When Tumburu heard that, he laid this curse
on him in his wrath, "Mayest thou be separated from Urvasí until thou
propitiate Krishna." When he heard that curse, Purúravas went and told
Urvasí what had happened to him, which was terrible as "a thunderbolt
from the blue." Immediately some Gandharvas swooped down, without the
king's seeing them, and carried off Urvasí, whither he knew not. Then
Purúravas, knowing that the calamity was due to that curse, went and
performed penance to appease Vishnu in the hermitage of Badariká.

But Urvasí, remaining in the country of the Gandharvas, afflicted at
her separation, was as void of sense as if she had been dead, asleep,
or a mere picture. She kept herself alive with hoping for the end
of the curse, but it is wonderful that she did not lose her hold on
life, while she remained like the female chakraváka during the night,
the appointed time of her separation from the male bird. And Purúravas
propitiated Vishnu by that penance, and, owing to Vishnu's having been
gratified, the Gandharvas surrendered Urvasí to him. So that king,
re-united to the nymph whom he had recovered at the termination of
the curse, enjoyed heavenly pleasures, though living upon earth.

The king stopped speaking, and Vásavadattá felt an emotion of shame
at having endured separation, when she heard of the attachment of
Urvasí to her husband.

Then Yaugandharáyana, seeing that the queen was abashed at having
been indirectly reproved by her husband, said, in order to make him
feel in his turn,--"King, listen to this tale, if you have not already
heard it.



Story of Vihitasena.

There is on this earth a city of the name of Timirá, the dwelling
of the goddess of Prosperity; in it there was a famous king named
Vihitasena; he had a wife named Tejovatí, a very goddess upon
earth. That king was ever hanging on her neck, devoted to her embraces,
and could not even bear that his body should be for a short time
scratched with the coat of mail. And once there came upon the king a
lingering fever with diminishing intensity; and the physicians forbade
him to continue in the queen's society. But when he was excluded from
the society of the queen, there was engendered in his heart a disease
not to be reached by medicine or treatment. The physicians told the
ministers in private that the disease might relieve itself by fear or
the stroke of some affliction. The ministers reflected--"How can we
produce fear in that brave king, who did not tremble when an enormous
snake once fell on his back, who was not confused when a hostile
army penetrated into his harem? It is useless thinking of devices to
produce fear; what are we ministers, to do with the king?" Thus the
ministers reflected, and after deliberating with the queen, concealed
her, and said to the king, "The queen is dead." While the king was
tortured with that exceeding grief, in his agitation that disease
in his heart relieved itself. [225] When the king had got over the
pain of the illness, the ministers restored to him that great queen,
who seemed like a second gift of ease, and the king valued her highly
as the saviour of his life, and was too wise to bear anger against
her afterwards for concealing herself.

For it is care for a husband's interests that entitles a king's wife
to the name of queen; by mere compliance with a husband's whims the
name of queen is not obtained. And discharging the duty of minister
means undivided attention to the burden of the king's affairs, but
the compliance with a king's passing fancies is the characteristic of
a mere courtier. Accordingly we made this effort in order to come to
terms with your enemy, the king of Magadha, and with a view to your
conquering the whole earth. So it is not the case that the queen, who,
through love for you, endured intolerable separation, has done you a
wrong; on the contrary she has conferred on you a great benefit." When
the king of Vatsa heard this true speech of his prime-minister's,
he thought that he himself was in the wrong, and was quite satisfied.

And he said; "I know this well enough, that the queen, like Policy
incarnate in bodily form, acting under your inspiration, has bestowed
upon me the dominion of the earth. But that unbecoming speech, which
I uttered, was due to excessive affection; how can people whose minds
are blinded with love bring themselves to deliberate calmly? [226]"
With such conversation that king of Vatsa brought the day and the
queen's eclipse of shame to an end. On the next day a messenger sent
by the king of Magadha, who had discovered the real state of the case,
came to the sovereign of Vatsa, and said to him as from his master;
"We have been deceived by thy ministers, therefore take such steps as
that the world may not henceforth be to us a place of misery." When
he heard that, the king shewed all honour to the messenger, and sent
him to Padmávatí to take his answer from her. She, for her part, being
altogether devoted to Vásavadattá, had an interview with the ambassador
in her presence. For humility is an unfailing characteristic of good
women. The ambassador delivered her father's message--"My daughter,
you have been married by an artifice, and your husband is attached to
another, thus it has come to pass that I reap in misery the fruit of
being the father of a daughter." But Padmávatí thus answered him, Say
to my father from me here--"What need of grief? For my husband is very
indulgent to me, and the queen Vásavadattá is my affectionate sister,
so my father must not be angry with my husband, unless he wishes to
break his own plighted faith and my heart at the same time." When this
becoming answer had been given by Padmávatí, the queen Vásavadattá
hospitably entertained the ambassador and then sent him away. When
the ambassador had departed, Padmávatí remained somewhat depressed
with regret, calling to mind her father's house. Then Vásavadattá
ordered Vasantaka to amuse her, and he came near, and with that object
proceeded to tell the following tale:



Story of Somaprabhá.

There is a city, the ornament of the earth, called Pátaliputra,
and in it there was a great merchant named Dharmagupta. He had a
wife named Chandraprabhá, and she once on a time became pregnant,
and brought forth a daughter beautiful in all her limbs. That girl,
the moment she was born, illuminated the chamber with her beauty,
spoke distinctly, [227] and got up and sat down. Then Dharmagupta,
seeing that the women in the lying-in-chamber were astonished and
terrified, went there himself in a state of alarm. And immediately
he asked that girl in secret, bowing before her humbly,--"Adorable
one, who art thou, that art thus become incarnate in my family?" She
answered him, "Thou must not give me in marriage to any one; as
long as I remain in thy house, father, I am a blessing to thee;
what profit is there in enquiring further?" When she said this to
him, Dharmagupta was frightened, and he concealed her in his house
giving out abroad that she was dead. Then that girl, whose name was
Somaprabhá gradually grew up with human body, but celestial splendour
of beauty. And one day a young merchant, of the name of Guhachandra,
beheld her, as she was standing upon the top of her palace, looking on
with delight at the celebration of the spring-festival; she clung like
a creeper of love round his heart, so that he was, as it were, faint,
and with difficulty got home to his house. There he was tortured with
the pain of love, and when his parents persistently importuned him to
tell them the cause of his distress, he informed them by the mouth of
a friend. Then his father, whose name was Guhasena, out of love for his
son, went to the house of Dharmagupta, to ask him to give his daughter
in marriage to Guhachandra. Then Dharmagupta put off Guhasena when he
made the request, desiring to obtain a daughter-in-law, and said to
him, "The fact is, my daughter is out of her mind." Considering that
he meant by that to refuse to give his daughter, Guhasena returned
home, and there he beheld his son prostrated by the fever of love,
and thus reflected, "I will persuade the king to move in this matter,
for I have before this conferred an obligation on him, and he will
cause that maiden to be given to my son, who is at the point of
death." Having thus determined, the merchant went and presented to
the king a splendid jewel, and made known to him his desire. The
king, for his part, being well-disposed towards him, commissioned
the head of the police to assist him, with whom he went to the house
of Dharmagupta; and surrounded it on all sides with policemen, [228]
so that Dharmagupta's throat was choked with tears, as he expected
utter ruin. Then Somaprabhá said to Dharmagupta--"Give me in marriage,
my father, let not calamity befall you on my account, but I must never
be treated as a wife by my husband, and this agreement you must make
in express terms with my future father-in-law." When his daughter had
said this to him. Dharmagupta agreed to give her in marriage, after
stipulating that she should not be treated as a wife; and Guhasena with
inward laughter agreed to the condition, thinking to himself, "Only
let my son be once married." Then Guhachandra, the son of Guhasena,
went to his own house, taking with him his bride Somaprabhá. And in
the evening his father said to him, "My son, treat her as a wife,
for who abstains from the society of his own wife?" When she heard
that, the bride Somaprabhá looked angrily at her father-in-law, and
whirled round her threatening fore-finger, as it were the decree of
death. When he saw that finger of his daughter-in-law, the breath of
that merchant immediately left him, and fear came upon all besides. But
Guhachandra, when his father was dead, thought to himself, "The goddess
of death has entered into my house as a wife." And thenceforth he
avoided the society of that wife, though she remained in his house,
and so observed a vow difficult as that of standing on the edge of a
sword. And being inly consumed by that grief, losing his taste for
all enjoyment, he made a vow and feasted Bráhmans every day. And
that wife of his, of heavenly beauty, observing strict silence,
used always to give a fee to those Bráhmans after they had eaten. One
day an aged Bráhman, who had come to be fed, beheld her exciting the
wonder of the world by her dower of beauty; then the Bráhman full of
curiosity secretly asked Guhachandra; "Tell me who this young wife
of yours is." Then Guhachandra, being importuned by that Bráhman,
told him with afflicted mind her whole story. When he heard it, the
excellent Bráhman, full of compassion, gave him a charm for appeasing
the fire, in order that he might obtain his desire. Accordingly,
while Guhachandra was in secret muttering that charm, there appeared
to him a Bráhman from the midst of the fire. And that god of fire in
the shape of a Bráhman, said to him, as he lay prostrate at his feet,
"To-day I will eat in thy house, and I will remain there during the
night. And after I have shewn thee the truth with respect to thy wife,
I will accomplish thy desire." When he had said this to Guhachandra,
the Bráhman entered his house. There he ate like the other Bráhmans,
and lay down at night near Guhachandra for one watch of the night
only, such was his unwearying zeal. And at this period of the night,
Somaprabhá, the wife of Guhachandra, went out from the house of her
husband, all the inmates of which were asleep. At that moment that
Bráhman woke up Guhachandra, and said to him, "Come, see what thy
wife is doing."

And by magic power he gave Guhachandra and himself the shape of bees,
[229] and going out he shewed him that wife of his, who had issued from
the house. And that fair one went a long distance outside the city,
and the Bráhman with Guhachandra followed her. Thereupon Guhachandra
saw before him a Nyagrodha [230] tree of wide extent, beautiful with
its shady stem, and under it he heard a heavenly sound of singing,
sweet with strains floating on the air, accompanied with the music of
the lyre and the flute. And on the trunk of the tree he saw a heavenly
maiden [231], like his wife in appearance, seated on a splendid throne,
eclipsing by her beauty the moon-beam, fanned with white chowries, like
the goddess presiding over the treasure of all the moon's beauty. And
then Guhachandra saw his wife ascend that very tree and sit down beside
that lady, occupying half of her throne. While he was contemplating
those two heavenly maidens of equal beauty sitting together, it seemed
to him as if that night were lighted by three moons. [232]

Then he, full of curiosity, thought for a moment, "Can this be sleep
or delusion? But away with both these suppositions! This is the
expanding of the blossom from the bud of association with the wise,
which springs on the tree of right conduct, and this blossom gives
promise of the appropriate fruit." While he was thus reflecting at
his leisure, those two celestial maidens, after eating food suited for
such as they were, drank heavenly wine. Then the wife of Guhachandra
said to the second heavenly maiden, "To-day some glorious Bráhman
has arrived in our house, for which reason, my sister, my heart is
alarmed and I must go." In these words she took leave of that other
heavenly maiden and descended from the tree. When Guhachandra and
the Bráhman saw that, they returned in front of her, still preserving
the form of bees, and arrived in the house by night before she did,
and afterwards arrived that heavenly maiden, the wife of Guhachandra,
and she entered the house without being observed. Then that Bráhman
of his own accord said to Guhachandra; "You have had ocular proof
that your wife is divine and not human, and you have to-day seen her
sister who is also divine; and how do you suppose that a heavenly
nymph can desire the society of a man? So I will give you a charm to
be written up over her door, and I will also teach you an artifice
to be employed outside the house, which must increase the force of
the charm. A fire burns even without being fanned, but much more
when a strong current of air is brought to bear on it; in the same
way a charm will produce the desired effect unaided, but much more
readily when assisted by an artifice." When he had said this, the
excellent Bráhman gave a charm to Guhachandra, and instructed him
in the artifice, and then vanished in the dawn. Guhachandra for his
part wrote it up over the door of his wife's apartment, and in the
evening had recourse to the following stratagem calculated to excite
her affection. He dressed himself splendidly and went and conversed
with a certain hetæra before her eyes. When she saw this, the heavenly
maiden being jealous, called to him with voice set free by the charm,
and asked him who that woman was. He answered her falsely; "She is
a hetæra who has taken a fancy to me, and I shall go and pay her a
visit to-day." Then she looked at him askance with wrinkled brows,
and lifting up her veil with her left hand, said to him, "Ah! I see:
this is why you are dressed so grandly, do not go to her, what have you
to do with her? Visit me, for I am your wife." When he had been thus
implored by her, agitated with excitement, as if she were possessed,
though that evil demon which held her had been expelled by the charm,
he was in a state of ecstatic joy, and he immediately entered into her
chamber with her, and enjoyed, though a mortal, celestial happiness
not conceived of in imagination. Having thus obtained her as a loving
wife, conciliated by the magic power of the charm, who abandoned for
him her celestial rank, Guhachandra lived happily ever after.

"Thus heavenly nymphs, who have been cast down by some curse, live as
wives in the houses of righteous men, as a reward for their good deeds,
such as acts of devotion and charity. For the honouring of gods and
Bráhmans is considered the wishing-cow [233] of the good. For what
is not obtained by that? All the other politic expedients, known as
conciliation and so on, are mere adjuncts. [234] But evil actions
are the chief cause of even heavenly beings, born in a very lofty
station, falling from their high estate; as a hurricane is the cause
of the falling of blossoms." When he had said this to the princess,
Vasantaka continued; "Hear moreover what happened to Ahalyá."



Story of Ahalyá.

Once upon a time there was a great hermit named Gautama, who knew the
past, the present, and the future. And he had a wife named Ahalyá,
who in beauty surpassed the nymphs of heaven. One day Indra, in
love with her beauty, tempted her in secret, for the mind of rulers,
blinded with power, runs towards unlawful objects.

And she in her folly encouraged that husband of Sachí, being the slave
of her passions; but the hermit Gautama found out the intrigue by his
superhuman power, and arrived upon the scene. And Indra immediately
assumed, out of fear, the form of a cat. Then Gautama said to Ahalyá;
"Who is here?" She answered her husband ambiguously in the Prákrit
dialect,--"Here forsooth is a cat," so managing to preserve verbal
truth. [235] Then Gautama said, laughing, "It is quite true that your
lover is here,--and he inflicted on her a curse, but ordained that it
should terminate because she had shewed some regard for truth." The
curse ran as follows; "Woman of bad character, take for a long time the
nature of a stone, until thou behold Ráma wandering in the forest." And
Gautama at the same time inflicted on the god Indra the following
curse; "A thousand pictures of that which thou hast desired shall
be upon thy body, but when thou shalt behold Tilottamá, a heavenly
nymph, whom Visvakarman shall make, they shall turn into a thousand
eyes." When he had pronounced this curse, the hermit returned to his
austerities according to his desire, but Ahalyá for her part assumed
the awful condition of a stone. And Indra immediately had his body
covered with repulsive marks; for to whom is not immorality a cause
of humiliation?

"So true is it that every man's evil actions always bear fruit
in himself, for whatever seed a man sows, of that he reaps the
fruit. Therefore persons of noble character never desire that, which
is disagreeable to their neighbours, for this is the invariable
observance of the good, prescribed by divine law. And you two were
sister goddesses in a former birth, but you have been degraded in
consequence of a curse, and accordingly your hearts are free from
strife and bent on doing one another good turns." When they heard
this from Vasantaka, Vásavadattá and Padmávatí dismissed from their
hearts even the smallest remnants of mutual jealousy. But the queen
Vásavadattá made her husband equally the property of both, and acted
as kindly to Padmávatí as if she were herself, desiring her welfare.

When the king of Magadha heard of that so great generosity of hers
from the messengers sent by Padmávatí, he was much pleased. So on the
next day the minister Yaugandharáyana came up to the king of Vatsa
in the presence of the queen, the others also standing by, and said,
"Why do we not go now to Kausámbí, my prince, in order to begin our
enterprise, for we know that there is nothing to be feared from the
king of Magadha, even though he has been deceived? For he has been
completely gained over by means of the negotiation termed 'Giving of a
daughter': and how could he make war and so abandon his daughter whom
he loves more than life? He must keep his word; moreover he has not
been deceived by you; I did it all myself; and it does not displease
him; indeed I have learned from my spies that he will not act in a
hostile way, and it was for this very purpose that we remained here
for these days." While Yaugandharáyana, who had accomplished the task
he had in hand, was speaking thus, a messenger belonging to the king
of Magadha arrived there, and entered into the palace immediately,
being announced by the warder, and after he had done obeisance,
he sat down and said to the king of Vatsa; "The king of Magadha is
delighted with the intelligence sent by the queen Padmávatí, and he
now sends this message to your Highness--'What need is there of many
words? I have heard all, and I am pleased with thee. Therefore do the
thing for the sake of which this beginning has been made; we submit
ourselves.'" The king of Vatsa joyfully received this clear speech of
the messenger's, resembling the blossom of the tree of policy planted
by Yaugandharáyana. Then he brought Padmávatí with the queen, and,
after he had bestowed a present upon the messenger, he dismissed him
with honour. Then a messenger from Chandamahásena also arrived, and,
after entering, he bowed before the king, according to custom, and
said to him, "O king, his majesty Chandamahásena, who understands the
secrets of policy, has learnt the state of thy affairs and delighted
sends this message--'Your majesty's excellence is plainly declared
by this one fact, that you have Yaugandharáyana for your minister,
what need of further speeches? Blessed too is Vásavadattá, who,
through devotion to you, has done a deed which makes us exalt our
head for ever among the good, moreover Padmávatí is not separated
from Vásavadattá in my regard, for they two have one heart; therefore
quickly exert yourself.'"

When the king of Vatsa heard this speech of his father-in-law's
messenger, joy suddenly arose in his heart, and his exceeding warmth
of affection for the queen was increased, and also the great respect
which he felt for his excellent minister. Then the king, together with
the queens, entertained the messenger according to the laws of due
hospitality, in joyful excitement of mind, and sent him away pleased;
and as he was bent on commencing his enterprise, he determined,
after deliberating with his ministers, on returning to Kausámbí.






CHAPTER XVIII.


So on the next day the king of Vatsa set out from Lávánaka for
Kausámbí, accompanied by his wives and his ministers, and as he
advanced, shouts broke forth from his forces, that filled the plains
like the waters of the ocean overflowing out of due time. An image
would be furnished of that king advancing on his mighty elephant,
if the sun were to journey in the heaven accompanied by the eastern
mountain. That king, shaded with his white umbrella, shewed as if
waited upon by the moon, delighted at having outdone the splendour
of the sun. While he towered resplendent above them all, the chiefs
circled around him, like the planets [236] in their orbits around
the polar star. And those queens, mounted on a female elephant that
followed his, shone like the earth-goddess and the goddess of Fortune
accompanying him out of affection in visible shape. The earth, that
lay in his path, dinted with the edges of the hoofs of the troops
of his prancing steeds, seemed to bear the prints of loving nails,
as if it had been enjoyed by the king. In this style progressing,
the king of Vatsa, being continually praised by his minstrels,
reached in a few days the city of Kausámbí, in which the people kept
holiday. The city was resplendent on that occasion, her lord [237]
having returned from sojourning abroad. She was clothed in the red silk
of banners, round windows were her expanded eyes, the full pitchers
in the space in front of the gates were her two swelling breasts, the
joyous shouts of the crowd were her cheerful conversation, and white
palaces her smile. [238] So, accompanied by his two wives, the king
entered the city, and the ladies of the town were much delighted at
beholding him. The heaven was filled with hundreds of faces of fair
ones standing on charming palaces, as if with the soldiers of the
moon [239] that was surpassed in beauty by the faces of the queens,
having come to pay their respects. And other women established at
the windows, looking with unwinking eyes, [240] seemed like heavenly
nymphs in aërial chariots, that had come there out of curiosity. Other
women, with their long-lashed eyes closely applied to the lattice of
the windows, made, so to speak, cages of arrows to confine love. The
eager eye of one woman expanded with desire to behold the king, came,
so to speak, to the side of her ear, [241] that did not perceive
him, in order to inform it. The rapidly heaving breasts of another,
who had run up hastily, seemed to want to leap out of her bodice with
ardour to behold him. The necklace of another lady was broken with her
excitement, and the pearl-beads seemed like tear-drops of joy falling
from her heart. Some women, beholding Vásavadattá and remembering the
former report of her having been burned, said as if with anxiety;
"If the fire were to do her an injury at Lávánaka, then the sun
might as well diffuse over the world darkness which is alien to his
nature." Another lady beholding Padmávatí said to her companion; "I
am glad to see that the queen is not put to shame by her fellow-wife,
who seems like her friend." And others beholding those two queens,
and throwing over them garlands of eyes expanded with joy so as to
resemble blue lotuses, said to one another; "Surely Siva and Vishnu
have not beheld the beauty of these two, otherwise how could they
regard with much respect their consorts Umá and Srí?" In this way
feasting the eyes of the population, the king of Vatsa with the queens
entered his own palace, after performing auspicious ceremonies. Such
as is the splendour of a lotus-pool in windy weather, or of the
sea when the moon is rising, such was at that period the wonderful
splendour of the king's palace. And in a moment it was filled with
the presents, which the feudatories offered to procure good luck,
and which foreshadowed the coming in of offerings from innumerable
kings. And so the king of Vatsa, after honouring the chiefs, entered
with great festivity the inner apartments, at the same time finding
his way to the heart of every one present. And there he remained
between the two queens, like the god of Love between Rati and Príti,
[242] and spent the rest of the day in drinking and other enjoyments.

The next day, when he was sitting in the hall of assembly accompanied
by his ministers, a certain Bráhman came and cried out at the door;
"Protection for the Bráhmans! O king! certain wicked herdsmen have
cut off my son's foot in the forest without any reason." When he
heard that, the king immediately had two or three herdsmen seized and
brought before him, and proceeded to question them. Then they gave the
following answer; "O king, being herdsmen we roam in the wilderness,
and there we have among us a herdsman named Devasena, and he sits in
a certain place in the forest on a stone seat, and says to us 'I am
your king' and gives us orders. And not a man among us disobeys his
orders. Thus, O king, that herdsman rules supreme in the wood. Now
to-day the son of this Bráhman came that way, and did not do obeisance
to the herdsman king, and when we by the order of the king said to
him--'Depart not without doing thy reverence'--the young fellow pushed
us aside, and went off laughing in spite of the admonition. Then the
herdsman king commanded us to punish the contumacious boy by cutting
off his foot. So we, O king, ran after him, and cut off his foot;
what man of our humble degree is able to disobey the command of a
ruler?" When the herdsmen had made this representation to the king, the
wise Yaugandharáyana, after thinking it over, said to him in private;
"Certainly that place must contain treasure, on the strength of which
a mere herdsman has such influence. [243] So let us go there." When
his minister had said this to him, the king made those herdsmen shew
him the way, and went to that place in the forest with his soldiers
and his attendants.

And while, after the ground had been examined, peasants were digging
there, a Yaksha in stature like a mountain rose up from beneath it,
and said, "O king, this treasure, which I have so long guarded,
belongs to thee, as having been buried by thy forefathers, therefore
take possession of it." After he had said this to the king and
accepted his worship, the Yaksha disappeared, and a great treasure
was displayed in the excavation. And from it was extracted a valuable
throne studded with jewels, [244] for in the time of prosperity a long
series of happy and fortunate events takes place. The Lord of Vatsa
took away the whole treasure from the spot in high glee, and after
chastising those herdsmen returned to his own city. There the people
saw that golden throne brought by the king, which seemed with the
streams of rays issuing from its blood-red jewels to foretell [245]
the king's forceful conquest of all the regions, and which with its
pearls fixed on the end of projecting silver spikes seemed to show its
teeth as if laughing again and again when it considered the astonishing
intellect of the king's ministers; [246] and they expressed their joy
in a charming manner, by striking drums of rejoicing so that they sent
forth their glad sounds. The ministers too rejoiced exceedingly, making
certain of the king's triumph; for prosperous events happening at the
very commencement of an enterprise portend its final success. Then
the sky was filled with flags resembling flashes of lightning, and the
king like a cloud rained gold on his dependants. And this day having
been spent in feasting, on the morrow Yaugandharáyana, wishing to know
the mind of the king of Vatsa, said to him; "O king, ascend and adorn
that great throne, which thou hast obtained by inheritance from thy
ancestors." But the king said, "Surely it is only after conquering all
the regions that I can gain glory by ascending that throne, which those
famous ancestors of mine mounted after conquering the earth. Not till
I have subdued this widely-gemmed earth bounded by the main, will I
ascend the great jewelled throne of my ancestors." Saying this, the
king did not mount the throne as yet. For men of high birth possess
genuine loftiness of spirit. Thereupon Yaugandharáyana being delighted
said to him in private; "Bravo! my king! So make first an attempt to
conquer the eastern region." When he heard that, the king eagerly
asked his minister; "When there are other cardinal points, why do
kings first march towards the East?" When Yaugandharáyana heard this,
he said to him again; "The North, O king, though rich, is defiled by
intercourse with barbarians, and the West is not honoured as being
the cause of the setting of the sun and other heavenly bodies; and
the South is seen to be neighboured by Rákshasas and inhabited by
the god of death; but in the eastern quarter the sun rises, over the
East presides Indra, and towards the East flows the Ganges, therefore
the East is preferred. Moreover among the countries situated between
the Vindhya and Himálaya mountains, the country laved by the waters
of the Ganges is considered most excellent. Therefore monarchs who
desire success march first towards the East, and dwell moreover in
the land visited by the river of the gods. [247] For your ancestors
also conquered the regions by beginning with the East, and made their
dwelling in Hastinápura on the banks of the Ganges; but Satáníka
repaired to Kausámbí on account of its delightful situation, seeing
that empire depended upon valour, and situation had nothing to do
with it." When he had said this Yaugandharáyana stopped speaking;
and the king out of his great regard for heroic exploits said; "It
is true that dwelling in any prescribed country is not the cause of
empire in this world, for to men of brave disposition their own valour
is the only cause of success. For a brave man by himself without any
support obtains prosperity; have you never heard à propos of this
the tale of the brave man?" Having said this, the lord of Vatsa on
the entreaty of his ministers again began to speak, and related in
the presence of the queens the following wonderful story.



Story of Vidúshaka.

In the city of Ujjayiní, which is celebrated throughout the
earth, there was in former days a king named Ádityasena. He was a
treasure-house of valour, and on account of his sole supremacy, his war
chariot, like that of the sun, [248] was not impeded anywhere. When his
lofty umbrella, gleaming white like snow, illuminated the firmament,
other kings free from heat depressed theirs. He was the receptacle
of the jewels produced over the surface of the whole earth, as the
sea is the receptacle of waters. Once on a time, he was encamped
with his army on the banks of the Ganges, where he had come for some
reason or other. There a certain rich merchant of the country, named
Gunavartman, came to the king bringing a gem of maidens as a present,
and sent this message by the mouth of the warder. This maiden, though
the gem of the three worlds, has been born in my house, and I cannot
give her to any one else, only your Highness is fit to be the husband
of such a girl. Then Gunavartman entered and shewed his daughter to
the king. The king, when he beheld that maiden, Tejasvatí by name,
illuminating with her brightness the quarters of the heavens, like the
flame of the rays from the jewels in the temple of the god of Love,
was all enveloped with the radiance of her beauty and fell in love with
her, and, as if heated with the fire of passion, began to dissolve in
drops of sweat. So he at once accepted her, who was fit for the rank
of head queen, and being highly delighted made Gunavartman equal to
himself in honour. Then, having married his dear Tejasvatí, the king
thought all his objects in life accomplished, and went with her to
Ujjayiní. There the king fixed his gaze so exclusively on her face,
that he could not see the affairs of his kingdom, though they were
of great importance. And his ear being, so to speak, riveted on her
musical discourse could not be attracted by the cries of his distressed
subjects. The king entered into his harem for a long time and never
left it, but the fever of fear left the hearts of his enemies. And
after some time there was born to the king, by the queen Tejasvatí,
a girl welcomed by all, and there arose in his heart the desire of
conquest, which was equally welcome to his subjects. That girl of
exceeding beauty, who made the three worlds seem worthless as stubble,
excited in him joy, and desire of conquest excited his valour. Then
that king Ádityasena set out one day from Ujjayiní to attack a certain
contumacious chieftain; and he made that queen Tejasvatí go with
him mounted on an elephant, as if she were the protecting goddess
of the host. And he mounted an admirable horse, that in spirit and
fury resembled a torrent, [249] tall like a moving mountain, with a
curl on its breast, and a girth. It seemed to imitate with its feet
raised as high as its mouth, the going of Garuda which it had seen in
the heaven, rivalling its own swiftness, and it lifted up its head
and seemed with fearless eye to measure the earth, as if thinking,
"what shall be the limit of my speed?" And after the king had gone a
little way, he came to a level piece of ground, and put his horse to
its utmost speed to shew it off to Tejasvatí. That horse, on being
struck with his heel, went off rapidly, like an arrow impelled from
a catapult, in some unknown direction, so that it became invisible
to the eyes of men. The soldiers, when they saw that take place,
were bewildered, and horsemen galloped in a thousand directions after
the king, who was run away with by his horse, but could not overtake
him. Thereupon the ministers with the soldiers, fearing some calamity,
in their anxiety took with them the weeping queen and returned to
Ujjayiní; there they remained with gates closed and ramparts guarded,
seeking for news of the king, having cheered up the citizens.

In the meanwhile the king was carried by the horse in an instant
to the impassable forest of the Vindhya hills, haunted by terrible
lions. Then the horse happened to stand still, and the king was
immediately distracted with bewilderment, as the great forest made it
impossible for him to know whereabouts he was. Seeing no other way
out of his difficulties, the king, who knew what the horse had been
in a former birth, got down from his saddle, and prostrating himself
before the excellent horse, said to him [250]: "Thou art a god; a
creature like thee should not commit treason against his lord; so I
look upon thee as my protector, take me by a pleasant path." When the
horse heard that, he was full of regret, remembering his former birth;
and mentally acceded to the king's request, for excellent horses are
divine beings. Then the king mounted again, and the horse set out by
a road bordered with clear cool lakes, that took away the fatigue
of the journey; and by evening the splendid horse had taken the
king another hundred yojanas and brought him near Ujjayiní. As the
sun beholding his horses, though seven in number, excelled by this
courser's speed, had sunk, as it were through shame, into the ravines
of the western mountain, and as the darkness was diffused abroad,
the wise horse seeing that the gates of Ujjayiní were closed, and
that the burning-place outside the gates was terrible at that time,
carried the king for shelter to a concealed monastery of Bráhmans,
that was situated in a lonely place outside the walls. And the king
Ádityasena seeing that that monastery was a fit place to spend the
night in, as his horse was tired, attempted to enter it. But the
Bráhmans, who dwelt there, opposed his entrance, saying that he must
be some keeper of a cemetery [251] or some thief. And out they poured
in quarrelsome mood, with savage gestures, for Bráhmans who live
by chanting the Sáma Veda, are the home of timidity, boorishness,
and ill-temper. While they were clamouring, a virtuous Bráhman named
Vidúshaka, the bravest of the brave, came out from that monastery. He
was a young man distinguished for strength of arm, who had propitiated
the fire by his austerities, and obtained a splendid sword from that
divinity, which he had only to think of, and it came to him. That
resolute youth Vidúshaka seeing that king of distinguished bearing,
who had arrived by night, thought to himself that he was some god
in disguise. And the well-disposed youth pushed away all those other
Bráhmans, and bowing humbly before the king, caused him to enter the
monastery. And when he had rested, and had the dust of the journey
washed off by female slaves, Vidúshaka prepared for him suitable
food. And he took the saddle off that excellent horse of his, and
relieved its fatigue by giving it grass and other fodder. And after
he had made a bed for the wearied king, he said to him,--"My lord, I
will guard your person, so sleep in peace"--and while the king slept,
that Bráhman kept watch the whole night at the door with the sword
of the Fire-god in his hand, that came to him on his thinking of it.

And on the morrow early, Vidúshaka, without receiving any orders, of
his own accord saddled the horse for the king, as soon as he awoke. The
king for his part took leave of him, and mounting his horse entered
the city of Ujjayiní, beheld afar off by the people bewildered with
joy. And the moment he entered, his subjects approached him with a
confused hum of delight at his return. The king accompanied by his
ministers entered the palace, and great anxiety left the breast of the
queen Tejasvatí. Immediately grief seemed to be swept away from the
city by the rows of silken flags displayed out of joy, which waved in
the wind; and the queen made high festival until the end of the day,
until such time as the people of the city and the sun were red as
vermilion. [252] And the next day the king Ádityasena had Vidúshaka
summoned from the monastery with all the other Bráhmans. And as
soon as he had made known what took place in the night, he gave his
benefactor Vidúshaka a thousand villages. And the grateful king also
gave that Bráhman an umbrella and an elephant and appointed him his
domestic chaplain, so that he was beheld with great interest by the
people. So Vidúshaka then became equal to a chieftain, for how can
a benefit conferred on great persons fail of bearing fruit? And the
noble-minded Vidúshaka shared all those villages, which he had received
from the king, with the Bráhmans who lived in the monastery. And he
remained in the court of the king in attendance upon him, enjoying
together with the other Bráhmans the income of those villages. But
as time went on, those other Bráhmans began striving each of them
to be chief, and made no account of Vidúshaka, being intoxicated
with the pride of wealth. Dwelling in separate parties, seven in one
place, with their mutual rivalries they oppressed the villages like
malignant planets. Vidúshaka regarded their excesses with scornful
indifference, for men of firm mind rightly treat with contempt men of
little soul. Once upon a time a Bráhman of the name of Chakradhara,
who was naturally stern, seeing them engaged in wrangling, came up to
them. Chakradhara, though he was one-eyed, was keen-sighted enough in
deciding what was right in other men's affairs, and though a hunchback,
was straightforward enough in speech. He said to them--"While you
were living by begging, you obtained this windfall, you rascals,
then why do you ruin the villages with your mutual intolerance? It is
all the fault of Vidúshaka who has permitted you to act thus; so you
may be certain that in a short time you will again have to roam about
begging. For a situation, in which there is no head, and every one has
to shift for himself by his own wits as chance directs, is better than
one of disunion under many heads, in which all affairs go to rack and
ruin. So take my advice and appoint one firm man as your head, if you
desire unshaken prosperity, which can only be ensured by a capable
governor." On hearing that, every one of them desired the headship
for himself; thereupon Chakradhara after reflection again said to
those fools; "As you are so addicted to mutual rivalry I propose to
you a basis of agreement. In the neighbouring cemetery three robbers
have been executed by impalement; whoever is daring enough to cut off
the noses of those three by night and to bring them here, he shall be
your head, for courage merits command. [253]" When Chakradhara made
this proposal to the Bráhmans, Vidúshaka, who was standing near, said
to them; "Do this, what is there to be afraid of?" Then the Bráhmans
said to him; "We are not bold enough to do it, let whoever is able, do
it, and we will abide by the agreement." Then Vidúshaka said, "Well,
I will do it, I will cut off the noses of those robbers by night and
bring them from the cemetery." Then those fools, thinking the task a
difficult one, said to him; "If you do this you shall be our lord,
we make this agreement." When they had pronounced this agreement,
and night had set in, Vidúshaka took leave of those Bráhmans and went
to the cemetery. So the hero entered the cemetery awful as his own
undertaking, with the sword of the Fire-god, that came with a thought,
as his only companion. And in the middle of that cemetery where the
cries of vultures and jackals were swelled by the screams of witches,
and the flames of the funeral pyres were reinforced by the fires in the
mouths of the fire-breathing demons, he beheld those impaled men with
their faces turned up, as if through fear of having their noses cut
off. And when he approached them, those three being tenanted by demons
struck him with their fists [254]; and he for his part slashed them
in return with his sword, for fear has not learned to bestir herself
in the breast of the resolute. Accordingly the corpses ceased to be
convulsed with demons, and then the successful hero cut off their
noses and brought them away, binding them up in his garment. And as
he was returning, he beheld in that cemetery a religious mendicant
sitting on a corpse muttering charms, and through curiosity to have
the amusement of seeing what he was doing, he stood concealed behind
that mendicant. In a moment the corpse under the mendicant gave
forth a hissing sound, and flames issued from its mouth, and from its
navel mustard-seeds. And then the mendicant took the mustard-seeds,
and rising up struck the corpse with the flat of his hand, and the
corpse, which was tenanted by a mighty demon, stood up, and then that
mendicant mounted on its shoulder, and began to depart at a rapid rate,
[255] and Vidúshaka silently followed him unobserved, and after he had
gone a short distance Vidúshaka saw an empty temple with an image of
Durgá in it. Then the mendicant got down from the shoulder of the
demon, and entered the inner shrine of the temple, while the demon
fell flat on the earth. But Vidúshaka was present also, contriving
to watch the mendicant, unperceived by him. The mendicant worshipped
the goddess there and offered the following prayer; "If thou art
pleased with me, O goddess, grant me the desired boon. If not I will
propitiate thee with the sacrifice of myself." When the mendicant,
intoxicated with the success of his powerful spells, said this,
a voice coming from the inner shrine thus addressed the mendicant;
"Bring here the maiden daughter of king Ádityasena, and offer her as a
sacrifice, then thou shalt obtain thy desire." When the mendicant heard
this, he went out, and striking once more with his hand the demon,
[256] who hissed at the blow, made him stand upright. And mounting
on the shoulder of the demon, from whose mouth issued flames of
fire, he flew away through the air to bring the princess. Vidúshaka
seeing all this from his place of concealment thought to himself;
"What! shall he slay the king's daughter while I am alive? I will
remain here until the scoundrel returns." Having formed this resolve,
Vidúshaka remained there in concealment. But the mendicant entered
the female apartments of the palace through the window, and found the
king's daughter asleep, as it was night. And he returned, all clothed
in darkness, through the air, bringing with him the princess who
illuminated with her beauty the region, as Ráhu carries off a digit
of the moon. And bearing along with him that princess who exclaimed
in her grief--"Alas! my father! Alas! my mother"--he descended from
the sky in that very temple of the goddess. And then, dismissing the
demon, he entered with that pearl of maidens into the inner shrine of
the goddess, and while he was preparing to slay the princess there,
Vidúshaka came in with his sword drawn. He said to the mendicant,
"Villain! do you wish to smite a jasmine flower with a thunder-bolt,
in that you desire to employ a weapon against this tender form?" And
then he seized the trembling mendicant by the hair, and cut off his
head. And he consoled the princess distracted with fear, who clung to
him closely as she began to recognise him. And then the hero thought;
"How can I manage during the night to convey this princess from
this place to the harem?" Then a voice from the air addressed him;
"Hear this O Vidúshaka! the mendicant, whom thou hast slain, had
in his power a great demon and some grains of mustard-seed. Thence
arose his desire to be ruler of the earth and marry the daughters
of kings, and so the fool has this day been baffled. Therefore thou
hero, take those mustard-seeds, in order that for this night only
thou mayest be enabled to travel through the air." Thus the aërial
voice addressed the delighted Vidúshaka; for even the gods often
take such a hero under their protection. Then he took in his hand
those grains of mustard-seed from the corner of the mendicant's robe,
and the princess in his arms. And while he was setting out from that
temple of the goddess, another voice sounded in the air; "Thou must
return to this very temple of the goddess at the end of a month, thou
must not forget this, O hero!" When he heard this, Vidúshaka said "I
will do so,"--and by the favour of the goddess he immediately flew
up into the air bearing with him the princess. And flying through
the air he quickly placed that princess in her private apartments,
and said to her after she had recovered her spirits; "To-morrow
morning I shall not be able to fly through the air, and so all men
will see me going out, so I must depart now." When he said this to
her, the maiden being alarmed, answered him; "When you are gone, this
breath of mine will leave my body overcome with fear. Therefore do
not depart, great-souled hero; once more save my life, for the good
make it their business from their birth to carry out every task they
have undertaken." When the brave Vidúshaka heard that, he reflected,
"If I go, and leave this maiden, she may possibly die of fear; and then
what kind of loyalty to my sovereign shall I have exhibited? Thinking
thus he remained all night in those female apartments, and he gradually
dropped off to sleep wearied with toil and watching. But the princess
in her terror passed that night without sleeping: and even when the
morning came she did not wake up the sleeping Vidúshaka, as her mind
was made tender by love [257], and she said to herself; "Let him rest
a little longer." Then the servants of the harem came in and saw him,
and in a state of consternation they went and told the king. The king
for his part sent the warder to discover the truth, and he entering
beheld Vidúshaka there. And he heard the whole story from the mouth
of the princess, and went and repeated it all to the king. And the
king knowing the excellent character of Vidúshaka, was immediately
bewildered, wondering what it could mean. And he had Vidúshaka brought
from his daughter's apartment, escorted all the way by her soul,
which followed him out of affection. And when he arrived, the king
asked him what had taken place, and Vidúshaka told him the whole
story from the beginning, and shewed him the noses of the robbers
fastened up in the end of his garment, and the mustard-seeds which
had been in the possession of the mendicant, different from those
found on earth. The high-minded monarch suspected that Vidúshaka's
story was true from these circumstances, so he had all the Bráhmans
of the monastery brought before him, together with Chakradhara, and
asked about the original cause of the whole matter. And he went in
person to the cemetery and saw those men with their noses cut off,
and that base mendicant with his neck severed, and then he reposed
complete confidence in, and was much pleased with, the skilful and
successful Vidúshaka, who had saved his daughter's life. And he gave
him his own daughter on the spot; what do generous men withhold when
pleased with their benefactors? Surely the goddess of Prosperity, [258]
out of love for the lotus, dwelt in the hand of the princess, since
Vidúshaka obtained great good fortune after he had received it in the
marriage ceremony. Then Vidúshaka enjoying a distinguished reputation,
and engaged in attending upon the sovereign, lived with that beloved
wife in the palace of king Ádityasena. Then as days went on, once upon
a time the princess impelled by some supernatural power said at night
to Vidúshaka; "My lord, you remember that when you were in the temple
of the goddess a divine voice said to you, 'Come here at the end of a
month.' To-day is the last day of the month, and you have forgotten
it." When his beloved said this to him, Vidúshaka was delighted,
and recalled it to mind, and said to his wife--"Well remembered on
thy part, fair one! But I had forgotten it." And then he embraced
her by way of reward. And then, while she was asleep, he left the
women's apartments by night, and in high spirits he went armed with
his sword to the temple of the goddess; then he exclaimed outside,
"I Vidúshaka am arrived:" and he heard this speech uttered by some
one inside--"Come in, Vidúshaka." Thereupon he entered and beheld
a heavenly palace, and inside it a lady of heavenly beauty with a
heavenly retinue, dispelling with her brightness the darkness, like a
night set on fire, looking as if she were the medicine to restore to
life the god of love consumed with the fire of the wrath of Siva. He
wondering what it could all mean, was joyfully received by her in
person with a welcome full of affection and great respect. And when
he had sat down and had gained confidence from seeing her affection,
he became eager to understand the real nature of the adventure, and she
said to him; "I am a maiden of the Vidyádhara race, of high descent,
and my name is Bhadrá, and as I was roaming about at my will I saw you
here on that occasion. And as my mind was attracted by your virtues,
I uttered at that time that voice which seemed to come from some one
invisible, in order that you might return. And to-day I bewildered
the princess by employing my magic skill, so that under my impulse she
revived your remembrance of this matter, and for your sake I am here,
and so, handsome hero, I surrender myself to you; marry me." The noble
Vidúshaka, when the Vidyádharí Bhadrá addressed him in this style,
agreed that moment, and married her by the Gándharva ceremony. Then
he remained in that very place, having obtained celestial joys,
the fruits of his own valour, living with that beloved wife.

Meanwhile the princess woke up when the night came to an end, and not
seeing her husband, was immediately plunged in despair. So she got
up and went with tottering steps to her mother, all trembling, with
her eyes flooded with gushing tears. And she told her mother that
her husband had gone away somewhere in the night, and was full of
self-reproach, fearing that she had been guilty of some fault. Then
her mother was distracted owing to her love for her daughter, and
so in course of time the king heard of it, and came there, and fell
into a state of the utmost anxiety. When his daughter said to him--"I
know my husband has gone to the temple of the goddess outside the
cemetery"--the king went there in person. But he was not able to find
Vidúshaka there in spite of all his searching, for he was concealed
by virtue of the magic science of the Vidyádharí. Then the king
returned, and his daughter in despair determined to leave the body,
but while she was thus minded, some wise man came to her and said
this to her; "Do not fear any misfortune, for that husband of thine
is living in the enjoyment of heavenly felicity, and will return to
thee shortly." When she heard that, the princess retained her life,
which was kept in her by the hope of her husband's return, that had
taken deep root in her heart.

Then, while Vidúshaka was living there, a certain friend of
his beloved, named Yogesvarí, came to Bhadrá, and said to her in
secret--"My friend, the Vidyádharas are angry with you because you live
with a man, and they seek to do you an injury, therefore leave this
place. There is a city called Kárkotaka on the shore of the eastern
sea, and beyond that there is a sanctifying stream named Sítodá,
and after you cross that, there is a great mountain named Udaya,
[259] the land of the Siddhas, [260] which the Vidyádharas may not
invade; go there immediately, and do not be anxious about the beloved
mortal whom you leave here, for before you start you can tell all this
to him, so that he shall be able afterwards to journey there with
speed." When her friend said this to her, Bhadrá was overcome with
fear, and though attached to Vidúshaka, she consented to do as her
friend advised. So she told her scheme to Vidúshaka, and providently
gave him her ring, and then disappeared at the close of the night. And
Vidúshaka immediately found himself in the empty temple of the goddess,
in which he had been before, and no Bhadrá and no palace. Remembering
the delusion produced by Bhadrá's magic skill, and beholding the ring,
Vidúshaka was overpowered by a paroxysm of despair and wonder. And
remembering her speech as if it were a dream, he reflected,--"Before
she left, she assigned as a place of meeting the mountain of the
sun-rising; so I must quickly go there to find her: but if I am seen
by the people in this state, the king will not let me go: so I will
employ a stratagem in this matter, in order that I may accomplish my
object." So reflecting, the wise man assumed another appearance, and
went out from that temple with tattered clothes, begrimed with dust,
exclaiming, "Ah Bhadrá! Ah Bhadrá!" And immediately the people, who
lived in that place, beholding him, raised a shout; "Here is Vidúshaka
found!" And the king hearing of it came out from his palace in person,
and seeing Vidúshaka in such a state, conducting himself like a madman,
he laid hold on him and took him back to his palace. When he was there,
whatever his servants and connexions, who were full of affection, said
to him, he answered only by exclaiming, "Ah Bhadrá! Ah Bhadrá!" And
when he was anointed with unguents prescribed by the physicians,
he immediately defiled his body with much cinder-dust; and the
food which the princess out of love offered to him with her own
hands, he instantly threw down and trampled under foot. And in this
condition Vidúshaka remained there some days, without taking interest
in anything, tearing his own clothes, and playing the madman. And
Ádityasena thought to himself; "His condition is past cure, so what
is the use of torturing him? He may perhaps die, and then I should
be guilty of the death of a Bráhman, whereas if he roams about at
his will, he may possibly recover in course of time." So he let him
go. Then the hero Vidúshaka, being allowed to roam where he liked, set
out the next day at his leisure to find Bhadrá, taking with him the
ring. And as he journeyed on day by day towards the East, he at last
reached a city named Paundravardhana [261], which lay in his way as
he travelled on; there he entered the house of a certain aged Bráhman
woman, saying to her--"Mother, I wish to stop here one night." And
she gave him a lodging and entertained him, and shortly after, she
approached him, full of inward sorrow, and said to him--"My son, I
hereby give thee all this house, therefore receive it, since I cannot
now live any longer." He, astonished, said to her--"Why do you speak
thus?" Then she said--"Listen, I will tell you the whole story," and
so continued as follows--"My son, in this city there is a king named
Devasena, and to him there was born one daughter, the ornament of the
earth. The affectionate king said--'I have with difficulty obtained
this one daughter',--so he gave her the name of Duhkalabdhiká. [262]

"In course of time when she had grown up, the king gave her in marriage
to the king of Kachchhapa, whom he had brought to his own palace. The
king of Kachchhapa entered at night the private apartments of his
bride, and died the very first time he entered them. Then the king
much distressed, again gave his daughter in marriage to another king;
he also perished in the same way [263]: and when through fear of the
same fate other kings did not wish to marry her, the king gave this
order to his general--'You must bring a man in turn from every single
house in this country, so that one shall be supplied every day, and
he must be a Bráhman or a Kshatriya. And after you have brought the
man, you must cause him to enter by night into the apartment of my
daughter; let us see how many will perish in this way, and how long
it will go on. Whoever escapes shall afterwards become her husband;
for it is impossible to bar the course of fate, whose dispensations
are mysterious.' The general, having received this order from the
king, brings a man every day turn about from every house in this
city, and in this way hundreds of men have met their death in the
apartment of the princess. Now I, whose merits in a former life must
have been deficient, have one son here; his turn has to-day arrived
to go to the palace to meet his death; and I being deprived of him
must to-morrow enter the fire. Therefore, while I am still alive,
I give to you, a worthy object, all my house with my own hand, in
order that my lot may not again be unfortunate in my next birth." When
she had said this, the resolute Vidúshaka answered; "If this is the
whole matter, do not be despondent, mother, I will go there to-day,
let your only son live. And do not feel any commiseration with regard
to me, so as to say to yourself--'Why should I be the cause of this
man's death?'--for owing to the magical power which I possess I run
no risk by going there." When Vidúshaka had said this, that Bráhman
woman said to him, "Then you must be some god come here as a reward
for my virtue, so cause me, my son, to recover life, and yourself to
gain felicity." When she had expressed her approval of his project in
these words, he went in the evening to the apartment of the princess,
together with a servant appointed by the general to conduct him. There
he beheld the princess flushed with the pride of youth, like a creeper
weighed down with the burden of its abundant flowers that had not
yet been gathered. Accordingly, when night came, the princess went
to her bed, and Vidúshaka remained awake in her apartment, holding in
his hand the sword of the Fire-god, which came to him with a thought,
saying to himself, "I will find out who it is that slays men here." And
when people were all asleep, he saw a terrible Rákshasa coming from the
side of the apartment where the entrance was, having first opened the
door; and the Rákshasa standing at the entrance stretched forward into
the room an arm, which had been the swift wand of Death to hundreds
of men. But Vidúshaka in wrath springing forward, cut off suddenly
the arm of the Rákshasa with one stroke of his sword. [264] And the
Rákshasa immediately fled away through fear of his exceeding valour,
with the loss of one arm, never again to return. When the princess
awoke, she saw the severed arm lying there, and she was terrified,
delighted and astonished at the same time. And in the morning the
king Devasena saw the arm of the Rákshasa, which had fallen down
after it was cut off, lying at the door of his daughter's apartments;
in this way Vidúshaka, as if to say "Henceforth no other men must
enter here"--fastened the door as it were with a long bar. [265]
Accordingly the delighted king gave to Vidúshaka, who possessed
this divine power, his daughter and much wealth; and Vidúshaka dwelt
there some days with this fair one, as if with prosperity incarnate
in bodily form. But one day he left the princess while asleep, and
set out at night in haste to find his Bhadrá. And the princess in the
morning was afflicted at not seeing him, but she was comforted by her
father with the hope of his return. Vidúshaka journeying on day by
day, at last reached the city of Támraliptá not far from the eastern
sea. There he joined himself to a certain merchant, named Skandhadása
who desired to cross the sea. In his company, embarking on a ship
laden with much wealth belonging to the merchant, he set out on the
ocean path. Then that ship was stopped suddenly when it had reached the
middle of the ocean, as if it were held by something. And when it did
not move, though the sea was propitiated with jewels, that merchant
Skandhadása being grieved, said this: "Whosoever releases this ship
of mine which is detained, to him I will give half of my own wealth
and my daughter." The resolute-souled Vidúshaka, when he heard that,
said, "I will descend into the water of the sea and search it, and
I will set free in a moment this ship of yours which is stopped: but
you must support me by ropes fastened round my body. And the moment
the ship is set free, you must draw me up out of the midst of the
sea by the supporting ropes." The merchant welcomed his speech with
a promise to do what he asked, and the steersmen bound ropes under
his armpits. Supported in that way Vidúshaka descended in the sea;
a brave man never desponds when the moment for action has arrived. So
taking in his hand the sword of the Fire-god, that came to him with
a thought, the hero descended into the midst of the sea under the
ship. And there he saw a giant asleep, and he saw that the ship was
stopped by his leg. So he immediately cut off his leg with his sword,
and at once the ship moved on freed from its impediment. [266] When
the wicked merchant saw that, he cut the ropes, by which Vidúshaka was
supported, through desire to save the wealth he had promised him; and
went swiftly to the other shore of the ocean vast as his own avarice,
in the ship which had thus been set free. Vidúshaka for his part,
being in the midst of the sea with the supporting ropes cut, rose to
the surface, and seeing how matters stood he calmly reflected for
a moment; "Why did the merchant do this? Surely in this case the
proverb is applicable; 'Ungrateful men blinded by desire of gain
cannot see a benefit.' Well, it is now high time for me to display
intrepidity, for if courage fails, even a small calamity cannot be
overcome." Thus he reflected on that occasion, and then he got astride
on the leg which he had cut off from the giant sleeping in the water,
and by its help he crossed the sea, as if with a boat, paddling with
his hands, for even destiny takes the part of men of distinguished
valour. Then a voice from heaven addressed that mighty hero, who had
come across the ocean, as Hanumán did for the sake of Ráma [267];
"Bravo, Vidúshaka! Bravo! who except thee is a man of valour? I am
pleased with this courage of thine: therefore hear this. Thou hast
reached a desolate coast here, but from this thou shalt arrive in
seven days at the city of Kárkotaka; then thou shalt pluck up fresh
spirits, and journeying quickly from that place, thou shalt obtain
thy desire. But I am the Fire, the consumer of the oblations to
gods and the spirits of deceased ancestors, whom thou didst before
propitiate: and owing to my favour thou shalt feel neither hunger
nor thirst,--therefore go prosperously and confidently;" having thus
spoken, the voice ceased. And Vidúshaka, when he heard that, bowed,
adoring the Fire-god, and set forth in high spirits, and on the
seventh day he reached the city of Kárkotaka. And there he entered a
monastery, inhabited by many noble Bráhmans from various lands, who
were noted for hospitality. It was a wealthy foundation of the king
of that place Áryavarman, and had annexed to it beautiful temples
all made of gold. There all of the Bráhmans welcomed him, and one
Bráhman took the guest to his chamber, and provided him with a bath,
with food and with clothing. And while he was living in the monastery,
he heard this proclamation being made by beat of drum in the evening;
"Whatever Bráhman or Kshatriya wishes to-morrow morning to marry
the king's daughter, let him spend a night in her chamber." When he
heard that, he suspected the real reason, and being always fond of
daring adventures, he desired immediately to go to the apartment
of the princess. Thereupon the Bráhmans of the monastery said to
him,--"Bráhman, do not be guilty of rashness. The apartment of the
princess is not rightly so called, rather is it the open mouth of
death, [268] for whoever enters it at night does not escape alive,
and many daring men have thus met their death there." In spite of
what these Bráhmans told him, Vidúshaka would not take their advice,
[269] but went to the palace of the king with his servants. There
the king Áryavarman, when he saw him, welcomed him in person, and
at night he entered the apartment of the king's daughter, looking
like the sun entering the fire. And he beheld that princess who
seemed by her appearance to be attached to him, for she looked at him
with tearful eye, and a sad look expressive of the grief produced by
utter despair. And he remained awake there all night gazing intently,
holding in his hand the sword of the Fire-god that came to him with
a thought. And suddenly he beheld at the entrance a very terrible
Rákshasa, extending his left hand because his right had been cut
off. And when he saw him, he said to himself; "Here is that very
Rákshasa, whose arm I cut off in the city of Paundravardhana. So
I will not strike at his arm again, lest he should escape me and
depart as before, and for this reason it is better for me to kill
him." Thus reflecting, Vidúshaka ran forward and seized his hair,
and was preparing to cut off his head, when suddenly the Rákshasa in
extreme terror said to him; "Do not slay me, you are brave, therefore
shew mercy." Vidúshaka let him go and said, "Who are you, and what are
you about here?" Then the Rákshasa, being thus questioned by the hero,
continued--"My name is Yamadanshtra, and I had two daughters, this is
one, and she who lives in Paundravardhana is another. And Siva favoured
me by laying on me this command; 'Thou must save the two princesses
from marrying any one who is not a hero.' While thus engaged I first
had an arm cut off at Paundravardhana, and now I have been conquered
by you here, so this duty of mine is accomplished." When Vidúshaka
heard this, he laughed, and said to him in reply; "It was I that
cut off your arm there in Paundravardhana." The Rákshasa answered
"Then you must be a portion of some divinity, not a mere man, I
think it was for your sake that Siva did me the honour of laying
that command upon me. So henceforth I consider you my friend, and
when you call me to mind I will appear to you to ensure your success
even in difficulties." In these words the Rákshasa Yamadanshtra out of
friendship chose him as a sworn brother, and when Vidúshaka accepted
his proposal, disappeared. Vidúshaka, for his part, was commended for
his valour by the princess, and spent the night there in high spirits;
and in the morning the king hearing of the incident and highly pleased,
gave him his daughter as the conspicuous banner of his valour together
with much wealth. Vidúshaka lived there some nights with her, as if
with the goddess of prosperity, bound so firmly by his virtue [270]
that she could not move a step. But one night he went off of his
own accord from that place, longing for his beloved Bhadrá, for who
that has tasted heavenly joys, can take pleasure in any other? And
after he had left the town, he called to mind that Rákshasa, and
said to him, who appeared the moment he called him to mind, and made
him a bow,--"My friend, I must go to the land of the Siddhas on the
Eastern mountain for the sake of the Vidyádharí named Bhadrá, so do
you take me there." The Rákshasa said--"Very good"--so he ascended
his shoulder, and travelled in that night over sixty yojanas of
difficult country; and in the morning he crossed the Sítodá, a river
that cannot be crossed by mortals, and without effort reached the
border of the land of the Siddhas. [271] The Rákshasa said to him;
"Here is the blessed mountain, called the mountain of the rising sun,
in front of you, but I cannot set foot upon it as it is the home
of the Siddhas." Then the Rákshasa being dismissed by him departed,
and there Vidúshaka beheld a delightful lake, and he sat down on the
bank of that lake beautiful with the faces of full-blown lotuses,
which, as it were, uttered a welcome to him with the hum of roaming
bees. And there he saw unmistakeable footsteps as of women, seeming to
say to him, this is the path to the house of your beloved. While he
was thinking to himself--"Mortals cannot set foot on this mountain,
therefore I had better stop here a moment, and see whose footsteps
these are"--there came to the lake to draw water many beautiful
women with golden pitchers in their hands. So he asked the women,
after they had filled their pitchers with water, in a courteous
manner; "For whom are you taking this water?" And those women said to
him--"Excellent Sir, a Vidyádharí of the name of Bhadrá is dwelling
on this mountain, this water is for her to bathe in." Wonderful to
say! Providence seeming to be pleased with resolute men, who attempt
mighty enterprises, makes all things subserve their ends. For one
of these women suddenly said to Vidúshaka; "Noble sir, please lift
this pitcher on to my shoulder." He consented and when he lifted the
pitcher on to her shoulder, the discreet man put into it the jewelled
ring he had before received from Bhadrá, [272] and then he sat down
again on the bank of that lake, while those women went with the water
to the house of Bhadrá. And while they were pouring over Bhadrá the
water of ablution, her ring fell into her lap. When Bhadrá saw it,
she recognized it and asked those friends of hers whether they had
seen any stranger about. And they gave her this answer; "We saw a
young mortal on the banks of the lake, and he lifted this pitcher
for us." Then Bhadrá said "Go and make him bathe and adorn himself,
and quickly bring him here, for he is my husband who has arrived in
this country." When Bhadrá had said this, her companions went and told
Vidúshaka the state of the case, and after he had bathed brought him
into her presence. And when he arrived, he saw after long separation
Bhadrá who was eagerly expecting him, like the ripe blooming fruit
of the tree of his own valour in visible form: she for her part rose
up when she saw him, and offering him the argha, [273] so to speak,
by sprinkling him with her tears of joy, she fastened her twining
arms round his neck like a garland. When they embraced one another,
the long accumulated affection [274] seemed to ooze from their limbs
in the form of sweat, owing to excessive pressure. Then they sat down,
and never satisfied with gazing at one another, they both, as it were,
endured the agony of longing multiplied a hundred-fold. Bhadrá then
said to Vidúshaka; "How did you come to this land?" And he thereupon
gave her this answer; "Supported by affection for thee, I came here
enduring many risks to my life, what else can I say, fair one?" When
she heard that, seeing that his love was excessive, as it caused him
to disregard his own life, Bhadrá said to him who through affection
had endured the utmost, "My husband, I care not for my friends, nor
my magic powers; you are my life, and I am your slave, my lord, bought
by you with your virtues." Then Vidúshaka said, "Then come with me to
live in Ujjayiní, my beloved, leaving all this heavenly joy." Bhadrá
immediately accepted his proposal, and gave up all her magic gifts,
(which departed from her the moment she formed that resolution,)
with no more regret than if they had been straw. Then Vidúshaka
rested with her there during that night, being waited on by her
friend Yogesvarí, and in the morning the successful hero descended
with her from the mountain of the sun-rise, and again called to
mind the Rákshasa Yamadanshtra; the Rákshasa came the moment he was
thought of, and Vidúshaka told him the direction of the journey he
had to take, and then ascended his shoulder, having previously placed
Bhadrá there. She too endured patiently to be placed on the shoulder
of a very loathsome Rákshasa; what will not women do when mastered
by affection? So Vidúshaka, mounted on the Rákshasa, set out with
his beloved, and again reached the city of Kárkotaka; and there men
beheld him with fear inspired by the sight of the Rákshasa; and when
he saw king Áryavarman, he demanded from him his daughter; and after
receiving that princess surrendered by her father, whom he had won
with his arm, he set forth from that city in the same style, mounted
on the Rákshasa. And after he had gone some distance, he found that
wicked merchant on the shore of the sea, who long ago cut the ropes
when he had been thrown into the sea. And he took, together with his
wealth, his daughter, whom he had before won as a reward for setting
free the ship in the sea. And he considered the depriving that villain
of his wealth as equivalent to putting him to death, for grovelling
souls often value their hoards more than their life. Then mounted on
the Rákshasa as on a chariot, taking with him that daughter of the
merchant, he flew up into the heaven with the princess and Bhadrá,
and journeying through the air, he crossed the ocean, which like
his valour was full of boisterous impetuosity, exhibiting it to his
fair ones. [275] And he again reached the city of Paundravardhana,
beheld with astonishment by all as he rode on a Rákshasa. There he
greeted his wife, the daughter of Devasena, who had long desired his
arrival, whom he had won by the defeat of the Rákshasa; and though
her father tried to detain him, yet longing for his native land,
he took her also with him, and set out for Ujjayiní. And owing to
the speed of the Rákshasa, he soon reached that city, which appeared
like his satisfaction at beholding his home, exhibited in visible
form. There Vidúshaka was seen by the people, perched on the top of
that huge Rákshasa, whose vast frame was illuminated by the beauty of
his wives seated on his shoulder, as the moon [276] rising over the
eastern mountain with gleaming herbs on its summit. The people being
astonished and terrified, his father-in-law the king Ádityasena came
to hear of it, and went out from the city. But Vidúshaka, when he
saw him, quickly descended from the Rákshasa, and after prostrating
himself approached the king; the king too welcomed him. Then Vidúshaka
caused all his wives to come down from the shoulder of the Rákshasa,
and released him to wander where he would. And after that Rákshasa
had departed, Vidúshaka accompanied by his wives entered the king's
palace together with the king his father-in-law. There he delighted
by his arrival that first wife of his, the daughter of that king, who
suffered a long regret for his absence. And when the king said to him;
"How did you obtain these wives, and who is that Rákshasa?" he told him
the whole story. Then that king pleased with his son-in-law's valour,
and knowing what it was expedient to do, gave him half his kingdom;
and immediately Vidúshaka, though a Bráhman, became a monarch, with
a lofty white umbrella and chowries waving on both sides of him. And
then the city of Ujjayiní was joyful, full of the sound of festive
drums and music, uttering shouts of delight. Thus he obtained the
mighty rank of a king, and gradually conquered the whole earth, so
that his foot was worshipped by all kings, and with Bhadrá for his
consort he long lived in happiness with those wives of his, who were
content, having abandoned jealousy. Thus resolute men when fortune
favours them, find their own valour a great and successful stupefying
charm that forcibly draws towards them prosperity.

When they heard from the mouth of the king of Vatsa this varied tale
[277] full of marvellous incident, all his ministers sitting by his
side and his two wives experienced excessive delight.






CHAPTER XIX.


Then Yaugandharáyana said to the king of Vatsa; "King, it is known
that you possess the favour of destiny, as well as courage; and I
also have taken some trouble about the right course of policy to
be pursued in this matter: therefore carry out as soon as possible
your plan of conquering the regions." When his chief minister had
said this to him, the king of Vatsa answered,--"Admitting that this
is true, nevertheless the accomplishment of auspicious undertakings
is always attended with difficulties, accordingly I will with this
object propitiate Siva by austerities, for without his favour, how
can I obtain what I desire?" When they heard that, his ministers
approved of his performing austerities, as the chiefs of the monkeys
did in the case of Ráma, when he was intent upon building a bridge
over the ocean. And after the king had fasted for three nights,
engaged in austerities with the queens and the ministers, Siva said
to him in a dream--"I am satisfied with thee, therefore rise up,
thou shalt obtain an unimpeded triumph, and shalt soon have a son
who shall be king of all the Vidyádharas." Then the king woke up,
with all his fatigue removed by the favour of Siva, like the new moon
increased by the rays of the sun. And in the morning he delighted his
ministers by telling them that dream, and the two queens, tender as
flowers, who were worn out by the fasting they had endured to fulfil
the vow. And they were refreshed by the description of his dream,
well worthy of being drunk in with the ears, and its effect was like
that of medicine, [278] for it restored their strength. The king
obtained by his austerities a power equal to that of his ancestors,
and his wives obtained the saintly renown of matrons devoted to their
husband. But on the morrow when the feast at the end of the fast
was celebrated, and the citizens were beside themselves with joy,
Yaugandharáyana thus addressed the king--"You are fortunate, O king,
in that the holy god Siva is so well disposed towards you, so proceed
now to conquer your enemies, and then enjoy the prosperity won by
your arm. For when prosperity is acquired by a king's own virtues,
it remains fixed in his family, for blessings acquired by the virtues
of the owners are never lost. And for this reason it was that that
treasure long buried in the ground, which had been accumulated by
your ancestors and then lost, was recovered by you. Moreover with
reference to this matter hear the following tale:"



Story of Devadása.

Long ago there was in the city of Pátaliputra a certain merchant's son,
sprung from a rich family, and his name was Devadása. And he married
a wife from the city of Paundravardhana, the daughter of some rich
merchant. When his father died, Devadása became in course of time
addicted to vice, and lost all his wealth at play. And then his wife's
father came and took away to his own house in Paundravardhana his
daughter, who was distressed by poverty and the other hardships of her
lot. Gradually the husband began to be afflicted by his misfortunes,
and wishing to be set up in his business, he came to Paundravardhana to
ask his father-in-law to lend him the capital which he required. And
having arrived in the evening at the city of Paundravardhana, seeing
that he was begrimed with dust, and in tattered garments, he thought
to himself, "How can I enter my father-in-law's house in this state? In
truth for a proud man death is preferable to exhibiting poverty before
one's relations." Thus reflecting, he went into the market-place,
and remained outside a certain shop during the night, crouching
with contracted body, like the lotus which is folded at night. And
immediately he saw a certain young merchant open the door of that shop
and enter it. And a moment after he saw a woman come with noiseless
step to that same place, and rapidly enter. And while he fixed his
eyes on the interior of the shop in which a light was burning, he
recognized in that woman his own wife. Then Devadása seeing that wife
of his repairing to another man, and bolting the door, being smitten
with the thunderbolt of grief, thought to himself; "A man deprived of
wealth loses even his own body, how then can he hope to retain the
affections of a woman? For women have fickleness implanted in their
nature by an invariable law, like the flashes of lightning. So here I
have an instance of the misfortunes which befall men who fall into the
sea of vice, and of the behaviour of an independent woman who lives
in her father's house." Thus he reflected as he stood outside, and
he seemed to himself to hear his wife confidentially conversing with
her lover. So he applied his ear to the door, and that wicked woman
was at the moment saying in secret to the merchant, her paramour;
"Listen; as I am so fond of you, I will to-day tell you a secret;
my husband long ago had a great-grandfather named Víravarman; in the
courtyard of his house he secretly buried in the ground four jars of
gold, one jar in each of the four corners. And he then informed one
of his wives of that fact, and his wife at the time of her death
told her daughter-in-law, she told it to her daughter-in-law who
was my mother-in-law, and my mother-in-law told it to me. So this
is an oral tradition in my husband's family, descending through
the mothers-in-law. But I did not tell it to my husband though he
is poor, for he is odious to me as being addicted to gambling, but
you are above all dear to me. So go to my husband's town and buy the
house from him with money, and after you have obtained that gold,
come here and live happily with me." When the merchant, her paramour,
heard this from that treacherous woman, he was much pleased with her,
thinking that he had obtained a treasure without any trouble. Devadása
for his part, who was outside, bore henceforth the hope of wealth,
so to speak, riveted in his heart with those piercing words of his
wicked wife. So he went thence quickly to the city of Pátaliputra,
and after reaching his house, he took that treasure and appropriated
it. Then that merchant, who was in secret the paramour of his wife,
arrived in that country, on pretence of trading, but in reality eager
to obtain the treasure. So he bought that house from Devadása, who made
it over to him for a large sum of money. Then Devadása set up another
home, and cunningly brought back that wife of his from the house of
his father-in-law. When this had been done, that wicked merchant, who
was the lover of his wife, not having obtained the treasure, came and
said to him; "This house of yours is old, and I do not like it. So give
me back my money, and take back your own house." Thus he demanded,
and Devadása refused, and being engaged in a violent altercation,
they both went before the king. In his presence Devadása poured forth
the whole story of his wife, painful to him as venom concealed in his
breast. Then the king had his wife summoned, and after ascertaining
the truth of the case, he punished that adulterous merchant with the
loss of all his property; Devadása for his part cut off the nose of
that wicked wife, and married another, and then lived happily in his
native city on the treasure he had obtained.

"Thus treasure obtained by virtuous methods is continued to a man's
posterity, but treasure of another kind is as easily melted away as
a flake of snow when the rain begins to fall. Therefore a man should
endeavour to obtain wealth by lawful methods, but a king especially,
since wealth is the root of the tree of empire. So honour all your
ministers according to custom in order that you may obtain success,
and then accomplish the conquest of the regions, so as to gain opulence
in addition to virtue. For out of regard to the fact that you are
allied by marriage with your two powerful fathers-in-law, few kings
will oppose you, most will join you. However, this king of Benares
named Brahmadatta is always your enemy, therefore conquer him first;
when he is conquered, conquer the eastern quarter, and gradually all
the quarters, and exalt the glory of the race of Pándu gleaming white
like a lotus." When his chief minister said this to him, the king
of Vatsa consented, eager for conquest, and ordered his subjects to
prepare for the expedition; and he gave the sovereignty of the country
of Videha to his brother-in-law Gopálaka, by way of reward for his
assistance, thereby shewing his knowledge of policy; and he gave
to Sinhavarman the brother of Padmávatí, who came to his assistance
with his forces, the land of Chedi, treating him with great respect;
and the monarch summoned Pulindaka the friendly king of the Bhillas,
[279] who filled the quarters with his hordes, as the rainy season
fills them with clouds; and while the preparation for the expedition
was going on in the great king's territories, a strange anxiety was
produced in the heart of his enemies; but Yaugandharáyana first sent
spies to Benares to find out the proceedings of king Brahmadatta; then
on an auspicious day, being cheered with omens portending victory,
the king of Vatsa first marched against Brahmadatta in the Eastern
quarter, having mounted [280] a tall victorious elephant, with a
lofty umbrella on its back, as a furious lion ascends a mountain
with one tree in full bloom on it. And his expedition was facilitated
[281] by the autumn which arrived as a harbinger of good fortune, and
shewed him an easy path, across rivers flowing with diminished volume,
and he filled the face of the land with his shouting forces, so as to
produce the appearance of a sudden rainy season without clouds; and
then the cardinal points resounding with the echoes of the roaring of
his host, seemed to be telling one another their fears of his coming,
and his horses, collecting the brightness of the sun on their golden
trappings, moved along followed, as it were, by the fire pleased with
the purification of his army. [282]

And his elephants with their ears like white chowries, and with
streams of ichor flowing from their temples reddened by being mixed
with vermilion, appeared, as he marched along, like the sons of the
mountains, streaked with white clouds of autumn, and pouring down
streams of water coloured with red mineral, sent by the parent hills,
in their fear, to join his expedition. And the dust from the earth
concealed the brightness of the sun, as if thinking that the king
could not endure the effulgent splendour of rivals. And the two queens
followed the king step by step on the way, like the goddess of Fame,
and the Fortune of Victory, attracted by his politic virtues. [283]
The silk of his host's banners, tossed to and fro in the wind,
seemed to say to his enemies,--"Bend in submission, or flee." Thus
he marched, beholding the districts full of blown white lotuses,
like the uplifted hoods of the serpent Sesha [284] terrified with
fear of the destruction of the world. In the meanwhile those spies,
commissioned by Yaugandharáyana, assuming the vows of scull-bearing
worshippers of Siva, reached the city of Benares. And one of them,
who was acquainted with the art of juggling, exhibiting his skill,
assumed the part of teacher, and the others passed themselves
off as his pupils. And they celebrated that pretended teacher, who
subsisted on alms, from place to place, saying, "This master of ours
is acquainted with past, present, and future." Whatever that sage
predicted, in the way of fires and so on, to those who came to consult
him about the future, his pupils took care to bring about secretly;
so he became famous. He gained complete ascendancy over the mind of
a certain Rájpút courtier there, a favourite of the king's, who was
won over by this mean skill of the teacher's. And when the war with
the king of Vatsa came on, the king Brahmadatta began to consult
him by the agency of the Rájpút, so that he learnt the secrets of
the government. Then the minister of Brahmadatta, Yogakarandaka,
laid snares in the path of the king of Vatsa as he advanced. He
tainted, by means of poison and other deleterious substances, the
trees, flowering creepers, water and grass all along the line of
march. And he sent poison-damsels [285] as dancing girls among the
enemy's host, and he also despatched nocturnal assassins into their
midst. But that spy, who had assumed the character of a prophet,
found all this out, and then quickly informed Yaugandharáyana of
it by means of his companions. Yaugandharáyana for his part, when
he found it out, purified at every step along the line of march the
poisoned grass, water, and so on, by means of corrective antidotes,
and forbade in the camp the society of strange women, and with the
help of Rumanvat he captured and put to death those assassins. When he
heard of that, Brahmadatta having found all his stratagems fail, came
to the conclusion that the king of Vatsa, who filled with his forces
the whole country, was hard to overcome. After deliberating and sending
an ambassador, he came in person to the king of Vatsa who was encamped
near, placing his clasped hands upon his head in token of submission.

The king of Vatsa for his part, when the king of Benares came to
him, bringing a present, received him with respect and kindness,
for heroes love submission. He being thus subdued, that mighty king
went on pacifying the East, making the yielding bend, but extirpating
the obstinate, as the wind treats the trees, until he reached the
Eastern ocean, rolling with quivering waves, as it were, trembling with
terror on account of the Ganges having been conquered. On its extreme
shore he set up a pillar of victory, [286] looking like the king
of the serpents emerging from the world below to crave immunity for
Pátála. Then the people of Kalinga [287] submitted and paid tribute,
and acted as the king's guides, so that the renown of that renowned
one ascended the mountain of Mahendra. Having conquered a forest
of kings by means of his elephants, which seemed like the peaks
of the Vindhya come to him terrified at the conquest of Mahendra,
he went to the southern quarter. There he made his enemies cease
their threatening murmurs and take to the mountains, strengthless
[288] and pale, treating them as the season of autumn treats the
clouds. The Káverí being crossed by him in his victorious onset,
and the glory of the king of the Chola [289] race being surpassed,
were befouled at the same time. He no longer allowed the Muralas
[290] to exalt their heads, for they were completely beaten down by
tributes imposed on them. Though his elephants drank the waters of
the Godávarí divided into seven streams, they seemed to discharge
them again seven-fold in the form of ichor. Then the king crossed
the Revá and reached Ujjayiní, and entered the city, being made by
king Chandamahásena to precede him. And there he became the target of
the amorous sidelong glances of the ladies of Málava, who shine with
twofold beauty by loosening their braided hair and wearing garlands,
and he remained there in great comfort, hospitably entertained by his
father-in-law, so that he even forgot the long-regretted enjoyments
of his native land. And Vásavadattá was continually at her parents'
side, remembering her childhood, seeming despondent even in her
happiness. The king Chandamahásena was as much delighted at meeting
Padmávatí, as he was at meeting again his own daughter. But after he
had rested some days, the delighted king of Vatsa, reinforced by the
troops of his father-in-law, marched towards the western region; his
curved sword [291] was surely the smoke of the fire of his valour,
since it dimmed with gushing tears the eyes of the women of Láta;
the mountain of Mandara, when its woods were broken through by his
elephants, seemed to tremble lest he should root it up to churn the
sea. [292] Surely he was a splendid luminary excelling the sun and
other orbs, since in his victorious career he enjoyed a glorious rising
even in the western quarter. Then he went to Alaká, distinguished by
the presence of Kuvera, displaying its beauties before him, that is
to say, to the quarter made lovely by the smile of Kailása, and having
subdued the king of Sindh, at the head of his cavalry he destroyed the
Mlechchhas as Ráma destroyed the Rákshasas at the head of the army of
monkeys; the cavalry squadrons of the Turushkas [293] were broken on
the masses of his elephants, as the waves of the agitated sea on the
woods that line the sea-shore. The august hero received the tribute of
his foes, and cut off the head of the wicked king of the Párasíkas
[294] as Vishnu did that of Ráhu. [295] His glory, after he had
inflicted a defeat on the Húnas [296], made the four quarters resound,
and poured down the Himálaya like a second Ganges. When the hosts
of the monarch, whose enemies were still from fear, were shouting,
a hostile answer was heard only in the hollows of the rocks. It is
not strange that then the king of Kámarúpa, [297] bending before
him with head deprived of the umbrella, was without shade and also
without brightness. Then that sovereign returned, followed by elephants
presented by the king of Kámarúpa, resembling moving rocks made over
to him by the mountains by way of tribute. Having thus conquered
the earth, the king of Vatsa with his attendants reached the city of
the king of Magadha the father of Padmávatí. But the king of Magadha,
when he arrived with the queens, was as joyous as the god of love when
the moon illuminates the night. Vásavadattá, who had lived with him
before without being recognised, was now made known to him, and he
considered her deserving of the highest regard.

Then that victorious king of Vatsa, having been honoured by the king
of Magadha with his whole city, followed by the minds of all the people
which pursued him out of affection, having swallowed the surface of the
earth with his mighty army, returned to Lávánaka in his own dominions.






CHAPTER XX.


Then the king of Vatsa, while encamped in Lávánaka to rest his army,
said in secret to Yaugandharáyana, "Through your sagacity I have
conquered all the kings upon the earth, and they being won over
by politic devices will not conspire against me. But this king of
Benares, Brahmadatta, is an ill-conditioned fellow, and he alone,
I think, will plot against me; what confidence can be reposed in the
wicked-minded?" Then Yaugandharáyana, being spoken to in this strain
by the king, answered, "O king, Brahmadatta will not plot against
you again, for when he was conquered and submitted, you shewed him
great consideration; and what sensible man will injure one who treats
him well? Whoever does, will find that it turns out unfortunately
for himself, and on this point, listen to what I am going to say;
I will tell you a tale."



Story of Phalabhúti.

There was once on a time in the land of Padma an excellent Bráhman
of high renown, named Agnidatta, who lived on a grant of land given
by the king. He had born to him two sons, the elder named Somadatta,
and the second Vaisvánaradatta. The elder of them was of fine person,
but ignorant, and ill-conducted, but the second was sagacious,
well-conducted, and fond of study. And those two after they were
married, and their father had died, divided that royal grant and
the rest of his possessions between them, each taking half; and the
younger of the two was honoured by the king, but the elder Somadatta,
who was of unsteady character, remained a husbandman. One day a
Bráhman, who had been a friend of his father's, seeing him engaged
in conversation with some Súdras, thus addressed him, "Though you
are the son of Agnidatta, you behave like a Súdra, you blockhead,
and you are not ashamed, though you see your own brother in favour
with the king." Somadatta, when he heard that, flew into a passion,
and forgetting the respect due to the old man, ran upon him, and
gave him a kick. Then the Bráhman, enraged on account of the kick,
immediately called on some other Bráhmans to bear witness to it,
and went and complained to the king. The king sent out soldiers to
take Somadatta prisoner, but they, when they went out, were slain
by his friends, who had taken up arms. Then the king sent out a
second force, and captured Somadatta, and blinded by wrath ordered
him to be impaled. Then that Bráhman, as he was being lifted on to
the stake, suddenly fell to the ground, as if he were flung down
by somebody. And those executioners, when preparing to lift him on
again, became blind, for the fates protect one who is destined to
be prosperous. The king, as soon as he heard of the occurrence, was
pleased, and being entreated by the younger brother, spared the life
of Somadatta; then Somadatta, having escaped death, desired to go to
another land with his wife on account of the insulting treatment of the
king, and when his relations in a body disapproved of his departure,
he determined to live without the half of the king's grant, which
he resigned; then, finding no other means of support, he desired to
practise husbandry, and went to the forest on a lucky day to find a
piece of ground suitable for it. There he found a promising piece of
ground, from which it seemed likely that an abundant crop could be
produced, and in the middle of it he saw an Asvattha tree of great
size. Desiring ground fit for cultivation, and seeing that tree to
be cool like the rainy season, as it kept off the rays of the sun
with its auspicious thick shade, he was much delighted. He said, "I
am a faithful votary of that being, whoever he may be, that presides
over this tree," and walking round the tree so as to keep it on his
right, he bowed before it. [298] Then he yoked a pair of bullocks,
and recited a prayer for success, and after making an oblation to
that tree, he began to plough there. And he remained under that tree
night and day, and his wife always brought him his meals there. And
in course of time, when the corn was ripe that piece of ground was, as
fate would have it, unexpectedly plundered by the troops of a hostile
kingdom. Then the hostile force having departed, the courageous man,
though his corn was destroyed, comforted his weeping wife, gave her
the little that remained, and after making an offering as before,
remained in the same place, under the same tree. For that is the
character of resolute men, that their perseverance is increased
by misfortune. Then one night, when he was sleepless from anxiety
and alone, a voice came out from that Asvattha tree, "O Somadatta,
I am pleased with thee, therefore go to the kingdom of a king named
Ádityaprabha in the land of Sríkantha; continually repeat at the door
of that king, (after reciting the form of words used at the evening
oblation to Agni,) the following sentence--'I am Phalabhúti by name,
a Bráhman, hear what I say: he who does good will obtain good, and he
who does evil, will obtain evil;'--by repeating this there thou shalt
attain great prosperity; and now learn from me the form of words used
at the evening oblation to Agni; I am a Yaksha." Having said this,
and having immediately taught him by his power the form of words used
in the evening oblation, the voice in the tree ceased. And the next
morning the wise Somadatta set out with his wife, having received the
name of Phalabhúti by imposition of the Yaksha, and after crossing
various forests uneven and labyrinthine as his own calamities, [299]
he reached the land of Sríkantha. There he recited at the king's door
the form of words used at the evening oblation, and then he announced,
as he had been directed, his name as Phalabhúti, and uttered the
following speech which excited the curiosity of the people, "The doer
of good will obtain good, but the doer of evil, evil." And after he had
said this frequently, the king Ádityaprabha, being full of curiosity,
caused Phalabhúti to be brought into the palace, and he entered, and
over and over again repeated that same speech in the presence of the
king. That made the king and all his courtiers laugh. And the king and
his chiefs gave him garments and ornaments, and also villages, for
the amusement of great men is not without fruit; and so Phalabhúti,
having been originally poor, immediately obtained by the favour of
the Guhyaka [300] wealth bestowed by the king; and by continually
reciting the words mentioned above, he became a special favourite
of the monarch for the regal mind loves diversion. And gradually
he attained to a position of love and respect in the palace, in
the kingdom, and in the female apartments, as being beloved by the
king. One day that king Ádityaprabha returned from hunting in the
forest, and quickly entered his harem; his suspicions were aroused by
the confusion of the warders, and when he entered, he saw the queen
named Kuvalayávalí engaged in worshipping the gods, stark naked,
[301] with her hair standing on end, and her eyes half-closed, with
a large patch of red lead upon her forehead, with her lips trembling
in muttering charms, in the midst of a great circle [302] strewed with
various coloured powders, after offering a horrible oblation of blood,
spirits, and human flesh. She for her part, when the king entered,
in her confusion seized her garments, and when questioned by him
immediately answered, after craving pardon for what she had done,
"I have gone through this ceremony in order that you might obtain
prosperity, and now, my lord, listen to the way in which I learnt
these rites, and the secret of my magic skill."



Story of Kuvalayávalí and the witch Kálarátri.

Long ago, when I was living in my father's house, I was thus addressed,
while enjoying myself in the garden during the spring festival, by my
friends who met me there; "There is in this pleasure-garden an image
of Ganesa, the god of gods, in the middle of an arbour made of trees,
and that image grants boons, and its power has been tested. Approach
with devout faith that granter of petitions, and worship him, in order
that you may soon obtain without difficulty a suitable husband." When
I heard that, I asked my friends in my ignorance; "What! do maidens
obtain husbands by worshipping Ganesa?" Then they answered me; "Why
do you ask such a question? Without worshipping him no one obtains
any success in this world; and in proof of it we will give you an
instance of his power, listen." Saying this, my friends told me the
following tale:



Story of the birth of Kártikeya.

Long ago, when Indra oppressed by Táraka was desirous or obtaining a
son from Siva to act as general of the gods, and the god of love had
been consumed, [303] Gaurí by performing austerities sought and gained
as a husband the three-eyed god, who was engaged in a very long and
terrible course of mortification. Then she desired the obtaining of
a son, and the return to life of the god of love, but she did not
remember to worship Ganesa in order to gain her end. So, when his
beloved asked that her desire should be granted, Siva said to her,
"My dear goddess, the god of love was born long ago from the mind of
Brahmá, and no sooner was he born than he said in his insolence, 'Whom
shall I make mad? (kan darpayámi).' So Brahmá called him Kandarpa, and
said to him, 'Since thou art very confident, my son, avoid attacking
Siva only, lest thou receive death from him.' Though the Creator gave
him this warning, the ill-disposed god came to trouble my austerities,
therefore he was burnt up by me, and he cannot be created again
with his body. [304] But I will create by my power a son from you,
for I do not require the might of love in order to have offspring as
mortals do." While the god, whose ensign is a bull, [305] was saying
this to Párvatí, Brahmá accompanied by Indra appeared before him;
and when he had been praised by them, and entreated to bring about
the destruction of the Asura Táraka, Siva consented to beget on the
goddess a son of his body. And, at their entreaty, he consented that
the god of love should be born without body in the minds of animate
creatures, to prevent the destruction of created beings. And he gave
permission to love to influence his own mind; pleased with that,
the Creator went away and Párvatí was delighted. But when, after the
lapse of hundreds of years, there appeared no hope of Párvatí having
any offspring, the god by the order of Brahmá called to mind Agni;
Agni for his part, the moment they called him to mind, thinking that
the foe of the god of love was irresistible, and afraid to interfere,
fled from the gods and entered the water; but the frogs being burned
by his heat told the gods, who were searching for him, that he was
in the water; then Agni by his curse immediately made the speech of
the frogs thenceforth inarticulate, and again disappearing fled to a
place of refuge. There the gods found him, concealed in the trunk of
a tree, in the form of a snail, for he was betrayed by the elephants
and parrots, and he appeared to them. And after making by a curse the
tongues of the parrots and the elephants incapable of clear utterance,
he promised to do what the gods requested, having been praised by
them. So he went to Siva, and after inclining humbly before him,
through fear of being cursed, he informed him of the commission
the gods had given him. Siva thereupon deposited the embryo in the
fire. Then the goddess distracted with anger and grief, said, "I
have not obtained a son from you after all," and Siva said to her;
"An obstacle has arisen in this matter, because you neglected to
worship Ganesa, the lord of obstacles; therefore adore him now in
order that a child may be born to us of the fire." When thus addressed
by Siva, the goddess worshipped Ganesa, and the fire became pregnant
with that germ of Siva. Then, bearing that embryo of Siva, the fire
shone even in the day as if the sun had entered into it. And then
it discharged into the Ganges the germ difficult to bear, and the
Ganges, by the order of Siva, placed it in a sacrificial cavity on
mount Meru. [306] There that germ was watched by the Ganas, Siva's
attendants, and after a thousand years had developed it, it became a
boy with six faces. Then, drinking milk with his six mouths from the
breasts of the six Krittikás [307] appointed by Gaurí to nurse him,
the boy grew big in a few days. In the meanwhile, the king of the
gods, overcome by the Asura Táraka, fled to the difficult peaks of
mount Meru, abandoning the field of battle. And the gods together
with the Rishis went to the six-mouthed Kártikeya for protection,
and he, defending the gods, remained surrounded by them. When Indra
heard that, he was troubled, considering that his kingdom was taken
from him, and being jealous he went and made war upon Kártikeya. But
from the body of Kártikeya, when struck by the thunderbolt of Indra,
there sprang two sons called Sákha and Visákha, both of incomparable
might. Then Siva came to his offspring Kártikeya, who exceeded Indra
in might, and forbade him and his two sons to fight, and rebuked him
in the following words: "Thou wast born in order that thou mightest
slay Táraka and protect the realm of Indra, therefore do thy own
duty." Then Indra was delighted and immediately bowed before him,
and commenced the ceremony of consecrating by ablutions Kártikeya
as general of his forces. But when he himself lifted the pitcher
for that purpose, his arm became stiff, wherefore he was despondent,
but Siva said to him; "Thou didst not worship the elephant-faced god,
when thou desiredst a general; it was for this reason that thou hast
met with this obstacle, therefore adore him now." Indra, when he
heard that, did so, and his arm was set free, and he duly performed
the joyful ceremony of consecrating the general. And not long after,
the general slew the Asura Táraka, and the gods rejoiced at having
accomplished their object, and Gaurí at having obtained a son. So,
princess, you see even the gods are not successful without honouring
Ganesa, therefore adore him when you desire a blessing.

After hearing this from my companions I went, my husband, and
worshipped an image of Ganesa, that stood in a lonely part of the
garden, and after I had finished the worship, I suddenly saw that those
companions of mine had flown up by their own power and were disporting
themselves in the fields of the air; when I saw that, out of curiosity
I called them and made them come down from the heaven, and when I
asked them about the nature of their magic power, they immediately
gave me this answer; "These are the magic powers of witches' spells,
and they are due to the eating of human flesh, and our teacher in this
is a Bráhman woman known by the name of Kálarátri." When my companions
said this to me, I being desirous of acquiring the power of a woman
that can fly in the air, but afraid of eating human flesh, was for
a time in a state of hesitation; then eager to possess that power, I
said to those friends of mine, "Cause me also to be instructed in this
science." And immediately they went and brought, in accordance with
my request, Kálarátri, who was of repulsive appearance. Her eyebrows
met, [308] she had dull eyes, a depressed flat nose, large cheeks,
widely parted lips, projecting teeth, a long neck, pendulous breasts,
a large belly, and broad expanded feet. She appeared as if the creator
had made her as a specimen of his skill in producing ugliness. When
I fell at her feet, after bathing and worshipping Ganesa, she made
me take off my clothes and perform, standing in a circle, a horrible
ceremony in honour of Siva in his terrific form, and after she had
sprinkled me with water, she gave me various spells known to her,
and human flesh to eat that had been offered in sacrifice to the gods;
so, after I had eaten man's flesh and had received the various spells,
I immediately flew up, naked as I was, into the heaven with my friends,
and after I had amused myself, I descended from the heaven by command
of my teacher, and I, the princess, went to my own apartments. Thus
even in my girlhood I became one of the society of witches, and in
our meetings we devoured the bodies of many men.



Story of Sundaraka.

But listen, king, to a story which is a digression from my main
tale. That Kálarátri had for husband a Bráhman of the name of
Vishnusvámin, and he, being an instructor in that country, taught
many pupils who came from different lands, as he was skilful in the
exposition of the Vedas. And among his pupils he had one young man
of the name of Sundaraka, the beauty of whose person was set off by
his excellent character; one day the teacher's wife Kálarátri being
love-sick secretly courted him, her husband having gone away to some
place or other. Truly Love makes great sport with ugly people as his
laughing-stocks, in that she, not considering her own appearance,
fell in love with Sundaraka. But he, though tempted, detested with
his whole soul the crime; however women may misbehave, the mind of the
good is not to be shaken. Then, he having departed, Kálarátri in a rage
tore her own body with bites and scratches, and she remained weeping,
[309] with dress and locks disordered, until the teacher Vishnusvámin
entered the house. And when he had entered, she said to him,--"Look,
my Lord, to this state has Sundaraka reduced me, endeavouring to
gain possession of me by force." As soon as the teacher heard that,
he was inflamed with anger, for confidence in women robs even wise
men of their power of reflection; and when Sundaraka returned home at
night, he ran upon him, and he and his pupils kicked him, and struck
him with fists, and sticks; moreover when he was senseless with the
blows, he ordered his pupils to fling him out in the road by night,
without regard to his safety, and they did so. Then Sundaraka was
gradually restored to consciousness by the cool night breeze, and
seeing himself thus outraged he reflected, "Alas! the instigation of
a woman troubles the minds even of those men whose souls are not under
the dominion of passion, as a storm disturbs the repose of lakes which
are not reached by dust. [310] This is why that teacher of mine in the
excess of his anger, though old and wise, was so inconsiderate as to
treat me so cruelly. But the fact is, lust and wrath are appointed in
the dispensation of fate, from the very birth even of wise Bráhmans,
to be the two bolts on the door of their salvation. [311] For were
not the sages long ago angry with Siva in the devadáru-wood, being
afraid that their wives would go astray? And they did not know that he
was a god, as he had assumed the appearance of a Buddhist mendicant,
with the intention of shewing Umá that even Rishis do not possess
self-restraint. But after they had cursed him, they discovered that
he was the ruling god, that shakes the three worlds, and they fled to
him for protection. So it appears that even hermits injure others, when
beguiled by the six faults that are enemies of man, [312] lust, wrath,
and their crew, much more so Bráhmans learned in the Vedas." Thinking
thus, Sundaraka from fear of robbers during the night, climbed up and
took shelter in a neighbouring cow-house. And while he was crouching
unobserved in a corner of that cow-house, Kálarátri came into it with a
drawn sword in her hand, [313] terrible from the hissing she uttered,
with wind and flames issuing from her mouth and eyes, accompanied by
a crowd of witches. Then the terrified Sundaraka, beholding Kálarátri
arriving in such a guise, called to mind the spells that drive away
Rákshasas, and bewildered by these spells Kálarátri did not see him
crouching secretly in a corner, with his limbs drawn together from
fear. Then Kálarátri with her friends recited the spells that enable
witches to fly, and they flew up into the air, cow-house and all.

And Sundaraka heard the spell and remembered it; [314] but Kálarátri
with the cow-house quickly flew through the air to Ujjayiní: there
she made it descend by a spell in a garden of herbs, and went and
sported in the cemetery among the witches: and immediately Sundaraka
being hungry went down into the garden of herbs, and made a meal
on some roots which he dug up, and after he had allayed the pangs
of hunger, and returned as before to the cow-house, Kálarátri came
back in the middle of the night from her meeting. Then she got up
into the cow-house, and, just as before, she flew through the air
with her pupils by the power of her magic, and returned home in the
night. And after she had replaced the cow-house, which she made use
of as a vehicle, in its original situation, and had dismissed those
followers of hers, she entered her sleeping apartment. And Sundaraka,
having thus passed through that night, astonished at the troubles
he had undergone, in the morning left the cow-house and went to
his friends; there he related what had happened to him, and, though
desirous of going to some other country, he was comforted by those
friends and took up his abode among them, and leaving the dwelling of
his teacher, and taking his meals in the almshouse for Bráhmans, he
lived there enjoying himself at will in the society of his friends. One
day Kálarátri, having gone out to buy some necessaries for her house,
saw Sundaraka in the market. And being once more love-sick, she went
up to him and said to him a second time--"Sundaraka, shew me affection
even now, for my life depends on you." When she said this to him, the
virtuous Sundaraka said to her, "Do not speak thus, it is not right;
you are my mother, as being the wife of my teacher." Then Kálarátri
said; "If you know what is right, then grant me my life, for what
righteousness is greater than the saving of life?" Then Sundaraka
said--"Mother, do not entertain this wish, for what righteousness can
there be in approaching the bed of my preceptor." Thus repulsed by
him, and threatening him in her wrath, she went home, after tearing
her upper garment with her own hand, and shewing the garment to her
husband, she said to him, "Look, Sundaraka ran upon me, and tore this
garment of mine in this fashion;" so her husband went in his anger
and stopped Sundaraka's supply of food at the almshouse, by saying
that he was a felon who deserved death. Then Sundaraka in disgust,
being desirous of leaving that country, and knowing the spell for
flying up into the air which he had learnt in the cow-house, but
being conscious that he had forgotten, after hearing it, the spell for
descending from the sky, which he had been taught there also, again
went in the night to that deserted cow-house, and while he was there,
Kálarátri came as before, and flying up in the cow-house in the same
way as on the former occasion, travelled through the air to Ujjayiní,
and having made the cow-house descend by a spell in the garden of
herbs, went again to the cemetery to perform her nightly ceremonies.

And Sundaraka heard that spell again, but failed again to retain it;
for how can magic practices be thoroughly learnt without explanation
by a teacher? Then he ate some roots there, and put some others in
the cow-house to take away with him, and remained there as before;
then Kálarátri came, and climbing up into the cow-house, flew through
the air by night, and stopping the vehicle, entered her house. In the
morning Sundaraka also left that house, and taking the roots with him
he went to the market in order to procure money with which to purchase
food. And while he was selling them there, some servants of the king's,
who were natives of Málava, took them away without paying for them,
seeing that they were the produce of their own country. Then he began
to remonstrate angrily, so they manacled him, and took him before the
king on a charge of throwing stones at them, and his friends followed
him. Those villains said to the king--"This man, when we asked him
how he managed continually to bring roots from Málava and sell them
in Ujjayiní, would not give us any answer, on the contrary he threw
stones at us."

When the king heard this, he asked him about that marvel, [315] then
his friends said--"If he is placed on the palace with us, he will
explain the whole wonder, but not otherwise." The king consented,
and Sundaraka was placed on the palace, whereupon by the help of
the spell he suddenly flew up into the heaven with the palace. And
travelling on it with his friends, he gradually reached Prayága,
[316] and being now weary he saw a certain king bathing there,
and after stopping the palace there, he plunged from the heaven
into the Ganges, and, beheld with wonder by all, he approached that
king. The king inclining before him, said to him, "Who art thou, and
why hast thou descended from heaven?" Sundaraka answered, "I am an
attendant of the god Siva, named Murajaka, and by his command I have
come to thee desiring human pleasures." When the king heard this,
he supposed it was true, and gave him a city, rich in corn, filled
with jewels, with women and all the insignia of rank. Then Sundaraka
entered that city and flew up into the heaven with his followers,
and for a long time roamed about at will, free from poverty. Lying
on a golden bed, and fanned with chowries by beautiful women, he
enjoyed happiness like that of Indra. Then once on a time a Siddha,
that roamed in the air, with whom he had struck up a friendship,
gave him a spell for descending from the air, and Sundaraka, having
become possessed of this spell enabling him to come down to earth,
descended from the sky-path in his own city of Kányakubja. Then the
king hearing that he had come down from heaven, possessed of full
prosperity, with a city, went in person to meet him out of curiosity,
and Sundaraka, when recognized and questioned, knowing what to say on
all occasions, informed the king of all his own adventures brought
about by Kálarátri. Then the king sent for Kálarátri and questioned
her, and she fearlessly confessed her improper conduct, and the king
was angry and made up his mind to cut off her ears, but she, when
seized, disappeared before the eyes of all the spectators. Then the
king forbade her to live in his kingdom, and Sundaraka having been
honourably treated by him returned to the air.

Having said this to her husband the king Ádityaprabha, the queen
Kuvalayávalí went on to say; "King, such magic powers, produced by the
spells of witches, do exist, and this thing happened in my father's
kingdom, and it is famous in the world, and, as I told you at first,
I am a pupil of Kálarátri's, but because I am devoted to my husband,
I possess greater power even than she did. And to-day you saw me
just at the time when I had performed ceremonies to ensure your
welfare, and was endeavouring to attract by a spell a man to offer
as a victim. So do you enter now into our practice, and set your
foot on the head of all kings, conquering them by magic power. When
he heard this proposal, the king at first rejected it, saying, "What
propriety is there in a king's connecting himself with the eating of
human flesh, the practice of witches?" But when the queen was bent on
committing suicide, he consented, for how can men who are attracted
by the objects of passion remain in the good path? Then she made him
enter into the circle previously consecrated, and said to the king,
after he had taken an oath; "I attempted to draw hither as a victim
that Bráhman named Phalabhúti, who is so intimate with you, but the
drawing him hither is a difficult task, so it is the best way to
initiate some cook in our rites, that he may himself slay him and
cook him. And you must not feel any compunction about it, because
by eating a sacrificial offering of his flesh, after the ceremonies
are complete, the enchantment will be perfect, for he is a Bráhman
of the highest caste." When his beloved said this to him, the king,
though afraid of the sin, a second time consented. Alas! terrible is
compliance with women! Then that royal couple had the cook summoned,
whose name was Sáhasika, and after encouraging him, and initiating him,
they both said to him,--"Whoever comes to you to-morrow morning and
says--'The king and queen will eat together to-day, so get some food
ready quickly,' him you must slay, and make for us secretly a savoury
dish of his flesh." When the cook heard this, he consented, and went
to his own house. And the next morning, when Phalabhúti arrived, the
king said to him, "Go and tell the cook Sáhasika in the kitchen, 'the
king together with the queen will eat to-day a savoury mess, therefore
prepare as soon as possible a splendid dish.'" Phalabhúti said, "I
will do so" and went out. When he was outside, the prince whose name
was Chandraprabha, came to him, and said--"Have made for me this very
day with this gold a pair of earrings, like those you had made before
for my noble father." When the prince said this, Phalabhúti, in order
to please him, went that moment, as he was commissioned, to get the
earrings made, and the prince readily went with the king's message,
which Phalabhúti told him, alone to the kitchen; when he got there and
told the king's message, the cook Sáhasika, true to his agreement,
immediately killed him with a knife, and made a dish of his flesh,
which the king and queen, after performing their ceremonies, ate,
not knowing the truth; [317] and after spending that night in remorse,
the next morning the king saw Phalabhúti arrive with the earrings in
his hand.

So, being bewildered, he questioned him about the earrings immediately;
and when Phalabhúti had told him his story, the king fell on the
earth, and cried out; "Alas my son!" blaming the queen and himself,
and when his ministers questioned him, he told them the whole story,
and repeated what Phalabhúti had said every day--"'The doer of
good will obtain good, and the doer of evil, evil.' Often the harm
that one wishes to do to another, recoils on one's self, as a ball
thrown against a wall rebounding frequently; thus we, wicked ones,
desiring to slay a Bráhman, have brought about our own son's death,
and devoured his flesh." After the king had said this and informed
his ministers, who stood with their faces fixed on the earth, of the
whole transaction, and after he had anointed that very Phalabhúti as
king in his place, he made a distribution of alms and then, having
no son, entered the fire with his wife to purify himself from guilt,
though already consumed by the fire of remorse: and Phalabhúti, having
obtained the royal dignity, ruled the earth; thus good or evil done
by a man is made to return upon himself.

Having related the above tale in the presence of the king of Vatsa,
Yaugandharáyana again said to that king; "If Brahmadatta therefore
were to plot against you, O great king, who, after conquering him,
treated him kindly, he ought to be slain." When the chief minister
had said this to him, the king of Vatsa approved of it, and rising up
went to perform the duties of the day, and the day following he set out
from Lávánaka to go to his own city Kausámbí, having accomplished his
objects in effecting the conquest of the regions; in course of time
the lord of earth accompanied by his retinue reached his own city,
which seemed to be dancing with delight, imitating with banners
uplifted the taper arms [318] of the dancing girl. So he entered
the city, producing, at every step, in the lotus-garden composed
of the eyes of the women of the city, the effect of the rising of a
breeze. And the king entered his palace, sung by minstrels, praised
by bards, and worshipped by kings. Then the monarch of Vatsa laid
his commands on the kings of every land, who bowed before him, and
triumphantly ascended that throne, the heirloom of his race, which
he had found long ago in the deposit of treasure. And the heaven was
filled with the combined high and deep echoes of the sound of the
drums, which accompanied the auspicious ceremonies on that occasion,
like simultaneous shouts of applause uttered by the guardians of the
world, each in his several quarter, being delighted with the prime
minister of the king of Vatsa. Then the monarch, who was free from
avarice, distributed to the Bráhmans all kinds of wealth acquired by
the conquest of the world, and after great festivities, satisfied the
desires of the company of kings and of his own ministers. Then in
that city filled with the noise of drums resembling the thunder of
the clouds, while the king was raining benefits on the fields [319]
according to each man's desert, the people, expecting great fruit
in the form of corn, kept high festival in every house. Having thus
conquered the world, that victorious king devolved on Rumanvat and
Yaugandharáyana the burden of his realm, and lived at ease there with
Vásavadattá and Padmávatí. So he, being praised by excellent bards,
seated between those two queens as if they were the goddesses of Fame
and Fortune, enjoyed the rising of the moon white as his own glory,
and continually drank wine as he had swallowed the might of his foes.







BOOK IV.


CHAPTER XXI.


Victory to the conqueror of obstacles, [320] who marks with a line like
the parting of the hair, the principal mountains [321] by the mighty
fanning of his ear-flaps, pointing out, as it were, a path of success!


Then Udayana, the king of Vatsa, remaining in Kausámbí, enjoyed the
conquered earth which was under one umbrella; and the happy monarch
devolved the care of his empire upon Yaugandharáyana and Rumanvat, and
addicted himself to pleasure only in the society of Vasantaka. Himself
playing on the lute, in the company of the queen Vásavadattá and
Padmávatí, he was engaged in a perpetual concert. While the notes of
his lyre were married to the soft sweet song of the queens, the rapid
movement of his executing finger alone indicated the difference of
the sounds. And while the roof of the palace was white with moonlight
as with his own glory, he drank wine in plenteous streams as he had
swallowed the pride of his enemies [322]; beautiful women brought him,
as he sat retired, in vessels of gold, wine flaming with rosy glow,
[323] as it were the water of his appointment as ruler in the empire
of love; he divided between the two queens the cordial liquor red,
delicious, and pellucid, in which danced the reflection of their faces;
as he did his own heart, impassioned, enraptured and transparent,
in which the same image was found; his eyes were never sated with
resting on the faces of those queens, which had the eyebrows arched,
and blushed with the rosy hue of love, though envy and anger were
far from them; the scene of his banquet, filled with many crystal
goblets of wine, gleamed like a lake of white lotuses tinged red with
the rising sun. And occasionally, accompanied by huntsmen, clad in
a vest dark green as the palása tree, he ranged, bow and arrows in
hand, the forest full of wild beasts, which was of the same colour
as himself. He slew with arrows herds of wild boars besmeared with
mud, as the sun disperses with its dense rays the masses of darkness;
when he ran towards them, the antelopes fleeing in terror, seemed like
the sidelong glances of the quarters previously conquered [324] by him.

And when he slew the buffaloes, the ground, red with blood, looked
like a bed of red lotuses, come to thank him humbly for delivering it
from the goring of their horns. When the lions too were transfixed by
his javelins falling in their open mouths, and their lives issued
from them with a suppressed roar, he was delighted. In that wood
he employed dogs in the ravines, and nets in the glades; this was
the method of his pursuit of the chase in which he relied only
upon his own resources. While he was thus engaged in his pleasant
enjoyments, one day the hermit Nárada came to him as he was in the
hall of audience, diffusing a halo with the radiance of his body,
like the sun, the orb of heaven, descending therefrom out of love
for the Solar dynasty. The king welcomed him, inclining before him
again and again, and the sage stood a moment as if pleased, and said
to that king, "Listen, O king, I will tell you a story in few words;
you had an ancestor once, a king of the name of Pándu; he like you
had two noble wives; one wife of the mighty prince was named Kuntí
and the other Mádrí. That Pándu conquered this sea-engirdled earth,
and was very prosperous, and being addicted to the vice of hunting
he went one day to the forest. There he let fly an arrow and slew
a hermit of the name of Arindama, who was sporting with his wife in
the form of a deer. [325] That hermit abandoned that deer-form, and
with his breath struggling in his throat cursed that Pándu, who in
his despair had flung away his bow; 'Since I have been slain while
sporting at will by thee, inconsiderate one, thou also shalt die in
the embraces of thy wife.' Having been thus cursed, Pándu, through
fear of its effect, abandoned the desire of enjoyment, and accompanied
by his wives lived in a tranquil grove of ascetic quietism. While he
was there, one day impelled by that curse, he suddenly approached his
beloved Mádrí, and died. So you may rest assured that the occupation
called hunting is a madness of kings, for other kings have been done
to death by it, even as the various deer they have slain. For how can
hunting produce benign results, since the genius of hunting is like
a female Rákshasa, roaring horribly, intent on raw flesh, defiled
with dust, with upstanding hair and lances for teeth. Therefore give
up that useless exertion, the sport of hunting; wild elephants and
their slayers are exposed to the same risk of losing their lives. And
you, who are ordained for prosperity, are dear to me on account of my
friendship with your ancestors, so hear how you are to have a son who
is to be a portion of the god of love. Long ago, when Rati worshipped
Siva with praises in order to effect the restoration of Káma's body,
Siva being pleased told her this secret in few words; 'This Gaurí,
[326] desiring a son, shall descend to earth with a part of herself,
and after propitiating me, shall give birth to an incarnation of
Káma.' Accordingly, king, the goddess has been born in the form of
this Vásavadattá, daughter of Chandamahásena, and she has become your
queen. So she, having propitiated Siva, shall give birth to a son who
shall be a portion of Káma, and shall become the emperor of all the
Vidyádharas." By this speech the Rishi Nárada, whose words command
respect, gave back to the king the earth which he had offered him as
a present, and then disappeared. When he had departed, the king of
Vatsa in company with Vásavadattá, in whom had arisen the desire of
obtaining a son, spent the day in thinking about it.

The next day the chief warder called Nityodita, came to the lord
of Vatsa while he was in the hall of assembly, and said to him;
"A certain distressed Bráhman woman, accompanied by two children,
is standing at the door, O king, desiring to see your Highness." When
the king heard this, he permitted her to enter, and so that Bráhman
woman entered, thin, pale, and begrimed, distressed by the tearing
of her clothes and wounding of her self-respect, carrying in her
bosom two children looking like Misery and Poverty. After she had
made the proper obeisance, she said to the king, "I am a Bráhman
woman of good caste, reduced to such poverty; as fate would have it,
I gave birth to these two boys at the same time, and I have no milk
for them, O king, without food. Therefore I have come in my misery
and helplessness for protection to the king, who is kind to all who
fly to him for protection; now, my lord the king must determine what
my lot is to be." When the king heard that, he was filled with pity,
and said to the warder, "Take this woman and commend her to the queen
Vásavadattá." Then that woman was conducted into the presence of the
queen by that warder, as it were by her own good actions marching in
front of her. The queen, when she heard from that warder that the
Bráhman woman who had come had been sent by the king, felt all the
more confidence in her. And when she saw that the woman, though poor,
had two children, she thought, "This is exceedingly unfair dealing on
the part of the Creator! Alas! he grudges a son to me who am rich, and
shews affection to one who is poor! I have not yet one son, but this
woman has these twins." Thus reflecting, the queen, who was herself
desiring a bath, gave orders to her servants to provide the Bráhman
woman with a bath and other restoratives. After she had been provided
with a bath, and had had clothes given her, and had been supplied by
them with agreeable food, that Bráhman woman was refreshed like the
heated earth bedewed with rain. And as soon as she had been refreshed,
the queen Vásavadattá, in order to test her by conversation, artfully
said to her, "O Bráhman lady, tell us some tale," when she heard that,
she agreed and began to tell this story.



Story of Devadatta.

In old time there was a certain petty monarch of the name of
Jayadatta and there was born to him a son, named Devadatta. And
that wise king wishing to marry his son who was grown up, thus
reflected--"The prosperity of kings is very unstable, being like a
hetæra to be enjoyed by force, but the prosperity of merchants is
like a woman of good family, it is steady and does not fly to another
man. Therefore I will take a wife to my son from a merchant's family,
in order that misfortune may not overtake his throne, though it is
surrounded with many relations." Having formed this resolve, that king
sought for his son the daughter of a merchant in Pátaliputra named
Vasudatta. Vasudatta, for his part, eager for such a distinguished
alliance, gave that daughter of his to the prince, though he dwelt
in a remote foreign land.

And he loaded his son-in-law with wealth to such an extent that he
no longer felt much respect for his father's magnificence. Then king
Jayadatta dwelt happily with that son of his who had obtained the
daughter of that rich merchant. Now one day the merchant Vasudatta
came, full of desire to see his daughter, to the palace of his
connexion by marriage, and took away his daughter to his own
home. Shortly after the king Jayadatta suddenly went to heaven,
and that kingdom was seized by his relations who rose in rebellion;
through fear of them his son Devadatta was secretly taken away by his
mother during the night to another country. Then that mother distressed
in soul said to the prince--"Our feudal lord is the emperor who rules
the eastern region, repair to him, my son, he will procure you the
kingdom." When his mother said this to him, the prince answered her;
"Who will respect me if I go there without attendants?" When she
heard that, his mother went on to say, "Go to the house of your
father-in-law, and get money there and so procure followers, and then
repair to the emperor." Being urged in these words by his mother,
the prince, though full of shame, slowly plodded on and reached his
father-in-law's house in the evening, but he could not bear to enter
at such an unseasonable hour, for he was afraid of shedding tears,
being bereaved of his father, and having lost his worldly splendour,
besides shame withheld him. So he remained in the verandah of an alms
house near, and at night he suddenly beheld a woman descending with
a rope from his father-in-law's house, and immediately he recognized
her as his wife, for she was so resplendent with jewels that she
looked like a meteor fallen from the clouds, and he was much grieved
thereat, but she, though she saw him, did not recognise him, as he
was emaciated and begrimed, and asked him who he was; when he heard
that, he answered, "I am a traveller;" then the merchant's daughter
entered the alms-house, and the prince followed her secretly to watch
her. There she advanced towards a certain man, and he towards her,
and asking her why she had come so late, he bestowed several kicks
on her. [327] Then the passion of the wicked woman was doubled,
and she appeased him and remained with him on the most affectionate
terms. When he saw that, the discreet prince reflected; "This is not
the time for me to shew anger, for I have other affairs in hand,
and how could I employ against these two contemptible creatures,
this wife of mine and the man who has done me this wrong, this sword
which is to be used against my foes? Or what quarrel have I with
this adulteress, for this is the work of malignant destiny, that
showers calamities upon me, shewing skill in the game of testing
my firmness? It is my marriage with a woman below me in rank that
is in fault, not the woman herself; how can a female crow leave the
male crow to take pleasure in a cuckoo?" Thus reflecting, he allowed
that wife of his to remain in the society of her paramour; for in the
minds of heroes possessed with an ardent desire of victory, of what
importance is woman, valueless as a straw? But at the moment when
his wife ardently embraced her paramour, there fell from her ear an
ornament thickly studded with valuable jewels. And she did not observe
this, but at the end of her interview taking leave of her paramour,
returned hurriedly to her house as she came. And that unlawful lover
also departed somewhere or other. Then the prince saw that jewelled
ornament and took it up; it flashed with many jewel-gleams, dispelling
the gathering darkness of despondency, and seemed like a hand-lamp
obtained by him to assist him in searching for his lost prosperity. The
prince immediately perceived that it was very valuable, and went off,
having obtained all he required, to Kányakubja; there be pledged that
ornament for a hundred thousand gold pieces, and after buying horses
and elephants went into the presence of the emperor. And with the
troops, which he gave him, he marched and slew his enemies in fight,
and recovered his father's kingdom, and his mother applauded his
success. Then he redeemed from pawn that ornament, and sent it to his
father-in-law to reveal that unsuspected secret; his father-in-law,
when he saw that ear-ring of his daughter's, which had come to him in
such a way, was confounded and shewed it to her: she looked upon it,
lost long ago like her own virtue, and when she heard that it had
been sent by her husband, she was distracted and called to mind the
whole circumstance: "This is the very ornament which I let fall in
the alms-house the night I saw that unknown traveller standing there;
so that must undoubtedly have been my husband come to test my virtue,
but I did not recognize him, and he picked up this ornament." While
the merchant's daughter was going through this train of reflection,
her heart, afflicted by the misfortune of her unchastity having been
discovered, in its agony, broke. Then her father artfully questioned
a maid of hers who knew all her secrets, and found out the truth,
and so ceased to mourn for his daughter; as for the prince, after
he recovered the kingdom, he obtained as wife the daughter of the
emperor won by his virtues, and enjoyed the highest prosperity.

So you see that the hearts of women are hard as adamant in daring
sin, but are soft as a flower when the tremor of fear falls upon
them. But there are some few women born in good families, that,
having hearts virtuous [328] and of transparent purity, become like
pearls the ornaments of the earth. And the fortune of kings is ever
bounding away like a doe, but the wise know how to bind it by the
tether of firmness, as you see in my story; therefore those who
desire good fortune must not abandon their virtue even in calamity,
and of this principle my present circumstances are an illustration,
for I preserved my character, O queen, even in this calamity, and that
has borne me fruit in the shape of the good fortune of beholding you.

Having heard this tale from the mouth of that Bráhman woman, the queen
Vásavadattá, feeling respect for her, immediately thought,--"Surely
this Bráhman woman must be of good family, for the indirect way
in which she alluded to her own virtue and her boldness in speech
prove that she is of gentle birth, and this is the reason why she
shewed such tact in entering the king's court of justice,"--having
gone through these reflections, the queen again said to the Bráhman
woman: "Whose wife are you, or what is the history of your life? Tell
me." When she heard that, the Bráhman woman again began to speak--



Story of Pingaliká.

Queen, there was a certain Bráhman in the country or Málava, named
Agnidatta, the home of Fortune and of Learning, who willingly
impoverished himself to help suppliants, and in course of time
there were born to him two sons like himself; the eldest was called
Sankaradatta and the other Sántikara; of these two, oh glorious one,
Sántikara suddenly left his father's house in quest of learning, while
he was still a boy, and went, I know not whither, and the other son
his elder brother married me, who am the daughter of Yajnadatta who
collected wealth for the sake of sacrifice only. In course of time the
father of my husband, who was named Agnidatta, being old, went to the
next world and his wife followed him, [329] and my husband left me,
when I was pregnant, to go to holy places, and through sorrow for his
loss abandoned the body in fire purified by the goddess Sarasvatí;
and when that fact was told us by those who accompanied him in his
pilgrimage, I was not permitted to follow him by my relations, as
I was pregnant. Then, while my grief was fresh, brigands suddenly
swooped down on us and plundered my house and all the royal grant;
immediately I fled with three Bráhman women from that place, for fear
that I might be outraged, taking with me very few garments. And, as
the whole kingdom was ravaged, I went to a distant land accompanied
by them, and remained there a month only supporting myself by menial
drudgery. And then hearing from people that the king of Vatsa was
the refuge of the helpless, I came here with the three Bráhman women,
with no other travelling provision than my virtue; and as soon as I
arrived I gave birth at the same time to two boys. Thus, though I have
the friendly assistance of these three Bráhman women, I have suffered
bereavement, banishment, poverty, and now comes this birth of twins;
Alas! Providence has opened to me the door of calamity. Accordingly,
reflecting that I had no other means of maintaining these children,
I laid aside shame, the ornament of women, and entering into the king's
court I made a petition to him. Who is able to endure the sight of the
misery of youthful offspring? And in consequence of his order, I have
come into your august presence, and my calamities have turned back,
as if ordered away from your door. This is my history: as for my name,
it is Pingaliká, because from my childhood my eyes have been reddened
by the smoke of the burnt-offerings. And that brother-in-law of mine
Sántikara dwells in a foreign land, but in what land he is now living,
I have not as yet discovered.

When the Bráhman woman had told her history in these words, the
queen came to the conclusion that she was a lady of high birth,
and after reflecting, said this to her with an affectionate manner:
"There is dwelling here a foreign Bráhman of the name of Sántikara,
and he is our domestic chaplain; I am certain he will turn out to be
your brother-in-law." After saying this to the eager Bráhman lady,
the queen allowed that night to pass, and the next morning sent for
Sántikara and asked him about his descent. And when he had told her his
descent, she, ascertaining that the two accounts tallied completely,
shewed him that Bráhman lady, and said to him--"Here is your brother's
wife." And when they recognised one another, and he had heard of
the death of his relations, he took the Bráhman lady the wife of his
brother to his own house. There he mourned exceedingly, as was natural,
for the death of his parents and his brother, and comforted the lady
who was accompanied by her two children; and the queen Vásavadattá
settled that the Bráhman lady's two young sons should be the domestic
chaplains of her future son, and the queen also gave the eldest the
name of Sántisoma, and the next of Vaisvánara, and she bestowed on
them much wealth. The people of this world are like a blind man,
being led to the place of recompense by their own actions, going
before them, [330] and their courage is merely an instrument. Then
those two children, and their mother and Sántikara remained united
there, having obtained wealth.

Then once upon a time, as days went on, the queen Vásavadattá beheld
from her palace a certain woman of the caste of potters coming with
five sons, bringing plates, and she said to the Bráhman lady Pingaliká,
who was at her side; "Observe, my friend: this woman has five sons,
and I have not even one as yet, to such an extent is such a one the
possessor of merit, while such a one as myself is not." [331]

Then Pingaliká said, "Queen, these numerous sons are people who
have committed many sins in a previous existence, and are born to
poor people in order that they may suffer for them, but the son that
shall be born to such a one as you, must have been in a former life
a very virtuous person. Therefore do not be impatient, you will soon
obtain a son such as you deserve." Though Pingaliká said this to her,
Vásavadattá, being eager for the birth of a son, remained with her
mind overpowered by anxiety about it. At that moment the king of
Vatsa came and perceiving what was in her heart said--"Queen, Nárada
said that you should obtain a son by propitiating Siva, therefore we
must continually propitiate Siva, that granter of boons." Upon that,
the queen quickly determined upon performing a vow, and when she had
taken a vow, the king and his ministers and the whole kingdom also
took a vow to propitiate Siva; and after the royal couple had fasted
for three nights, that Lord was so pleased that he himself appeared
to them and commanded them in a dream,--"Rise up; from you shall
spring a son who shall be a portion of the god of love, and owing to
my favour shall be king of all the Vidyádharas." When the god, whose
crest is the moon, had said this and disappeared, that couple woke
up, and immediately felt unfeigned joy at having obtained their boon,
and considered that they had gained their object. And in the morning
the king and queen rose up, and after delighting the subjects with
the taste of the nectarous story of their dream, kept high festival
with their relations and servants, and broke in this manner the fast
of their vow. After some days had past, a certain man with matted
locks came and gave the queen Vásavadattá a fruit in her dream. Then
the king of Vatsa rejoiced with the queen, who informed him of that
clear dream, and he was congratulated by his ministers, and supposing
that the god of the moon-crest had given her a son under the form of
a fruit, he considered the fulfilment of his wish to be not far off.






CHAPTER XXII.


Then, in a short time, Vásavadattá became pregnant with a child,
glorious inasmuch as it was an incarnation of the god of Love,
and it was a feast to the eyes of the king of Vatsa. She shone with
a face, the eyes of which rolled, and which was of palish hue, as
if with the moon come to visit her out of affection for the god of
Love conceived in her. When she was sitting down, the two images of
her form, reflected in the sides of the jewelled couch, seemed like
Rati and Príti come there out of regard for their husband. [332]
Her ladies-in-waiting attended upon her like the Sciences that grant
desires, come in bodily form to shew their respect for the future king
of the Vidyádharas [333] conceived in her. At that time she had breasts
with points dark like a folded bud, resembling pitchers intended for
the inaugural sprinkling [334] of her unborn son. When she lay down
on a comfortable couch in the middle of the palace, which gleamed
with pavement composed of translucent, flashing, lustrous jewels,
she appeared as if she were being propitiated by the waters, that had
come there trembling, through fear of being conquered by her future
son, with heaps of jewels on every side. Her image reflected from the
gems in the middle of the chariot, appeared like the Fortune of the
Vidyáharas coming in the heaven to offer her adoration. And she felt
a longing for stories of great magicians provided with incantations by
means of spells, introduced appropriately in conversation. Vidyádhara
ladies, beginning melodious songs, waited upon her when in her dream
she rose high up in the sky, and when she woke up, she desired to
enjoy in reality the amusement of sporting in the air, which would
give the pleasure of looking down upon the earth. And Yaugandharáyana
gratified that longing of the queen's by employing spells, machines,
juggling, and such like contrivances. So she roamed through the air
by means of those various contrivances, which furnished a wonderful
spectacle to the upturned eyes of the citizens' wives. But once on a
time, when she was in her palace, there arose in her heart a desire to
hear the glorious tales of the Vidyádharas; then Yaugandharáyana, being
entreated by that queen, told her this tale while all were listening.



Story of Jímútaváhana.

There is a great mountain named Himavat, the father of the mother
of the world, [335] who is not only the chief of hills, but the
spiritual preceptor of Siva, and on that great mountain, the home
of the Vidyádharas, dwelt the lord of the Vidyádharas, the king
Jímútaketu. And in his house there was a wishing-tree [336], which had
come down to him from his ancestors, called by a name which expressed
its nature, The Giver of Desires. And one day the king Jímútaketu
approached that wishing-tree in his garden, which was of divine
nature, and supplicated it; "We always obtain from you all we desire,
therefore give me, O god, who am now childless, a virtuous son." Then
the wishing-tree said,--"King, there shall be born to thee a son who
shall remember his past birth, who shall be a hero in giving, and
kind to all creatures." When he heard that, the king was delighted,
and bowed before that tree, and then he went and delighted his queen
with the news: accordingly in a short time a son was born to him,
and his father called the son Jímútaváhana. Then that Jímútaváhana,
who was of great goodness, grew up step by step with the growth of his
innate compassion for all creatures. And in course of time, when he
was made Crown-Prince, he being full of compassion for the world said
in secret to his father, who was pleased by his attentions--"I know,
O father, that in this world all things perish in an instant, but the
pure glory of the great alone endures till the end of a Kalpa. [337]
If it is acquired by benefiting others, what other wealth can be, like
it, valued by high-minded men more than life. And as for prosperity,
if it be not used to benefit others, it is like lightning which for a
moment pains the eye, and flickering disappears somewhere or other. So,
if this wishing-tree, which we possess, and which grants all desires,
is employed for the benefit of others, we shall have reaped from it all
the fruit it can give. So let me take such steps as that by its riches
the whole multitude of men in need may be rescued from poverty." This
petition Jímútaváhana made to his father, and having obtained his
permission, he went and said to that wishing-tree, "O god, thou always
givest us the desired fruit, therefore fulfil to-day this one wish of
ours. O my friend, relieve this whole world from its poverty, success
to thee, thou art bestowed on the world that desires wealth!" The
wishing-tree being addressed in this style by that self-denying one,
showered much gold on the earth, and all the people rejoiced; what
other compassionate incarnation of a Bodhisattva except the glorious
Jímútaváhana would be able to dispose even of a wishing-tree in favour
of the needy? For this reason every region of the earth [338] became
devoted to Jímútaváhana, and his stainless fame was spread on high.

Then the relations of Jímútaketu, seeing that his throne was firmly
established by the glory of his son, were envious, and became hostile
to him. And they thought it would be easy to conquer that place, which
possessed the excellent wishing-tree that was employed for bestowing
gifts, on account of its not being strong: then they assembled and
determined on war, and thereupon the self-denying Jímútaváhana said
to his father,--"As this body of ours is like a bubble in the water,
for the sake of what do we desire prosperity, which flickers like
a candle exposed to the wind? And what wise man desires to attain
prosperity by the slaughter of others? Accordingly, my father, I
ought not to fight with my relations. But I must leave my kingdom
and go to some forest or other; let these miserable wretches be,
let us not slay the members of our own family." When Jímútaváhana had
said this, his father Jímútaketu formed a resolution and said to him;
"I too must go, my son, for what desire for rule can I, who am old,
have, when you, though young, out of compassion abandon your realm
as if it were so much grass?" In these words his father expressed his
acquiescence in the project of Jímútaváhana, who then, with his father
and his father's wife, went to the Malaya mountain. There he remained
in a hermitage, the dwelling of the Siddhas, where the brooks were
hidden by the sandal-wood trees, and devoted himself to taking care
of his father. There he struck up a friendship with the self-denying
son of Visvávasu, the chief prince of the Siddhas, whose name was
Mitrávasu. And once on a time the all-knowing Jímútaváhana beheld in
a lonely place Mitrávasu's maiden sister, who had been his beloved
in a former birth. And the mutual gaze of those two young people was
like the catching in a frail net of the deer of the mind. [339]

Then one day Mitrávasu came up suddenly to Jímútaváhana, who deserved
the respect of the three worlds, with a pleased expression, and said
to him, "I have a younger sister, the maiden called Malayavatí; I
give her to you, do not refuse to gratify my wish." When Jímútaváhana
heard that, he said to him, "O prince, she was my wife in a former
birth, and in that life you became my friend, and were like a second
heart to me. I am one who remembers the former state of existence, I
recollect all that happened in my previous birth." When he said this,
Mitrávasu said to him, "then tell me this story of your former birth,
for I feel curiosity about it." When he heard this from Mitrávasu,
the benevolent Jímútaváhana told him the tale of his former birth
as follows:



Story of Jímútaváhana's adventures in a former birth.

Thus it is; formerly I was a sky-roaming Vidyádhara, and once on
a time I was passing over a peak of the Himálaya. And then Siva,
who was below, sporting with Gaurí, being angry at my passing above
him, cursed me, saying, "Descend into a mortal womb, and after
obtaining a Vidyádharí for your wife, and appointing your son in
your place, you shall remember your former birth, and again be born
as a Vidyádhara." Having pronounced when this curse should end, Siva
ceased and disappeared; and soon after I was born upon earth in a
family of merchants. And I grew up as the son of a rich merchant in a
city named Vallabhí, and my name was Vasudatta. And in course of time,
when I became a young man, I had a retinue given me by my father, and
went by his orders to another land to traffic. As I was going along,
robbers fell upon me in a forest, and after taking all my property,
led me in chains to a temple of Durgá in their village, terrible with a
long waving banner of red silk like the tongue of Death eager to devour
the lives of animals. There they brought me into the presence of their
chief named Pulindaka, who was engaged in worshipping the goddess,
in order that I might serve as a victim. He, though he was a Savara,
[340] the moment he saw me, felt his heart melt with pity for me;
an apparently causeless affectionate movement of the heart is a sign
of friendship in a former birth. Then that Savara king, having saved
me from slaughter, was about to complete the rite by the sacrifice
of himself, when a heavenly voice said to him--"Do not act thus, I am
pleased with thee, crave a boon of me,"--thereupon he was delighted,
and said--"O goddess, thou art pleased; what other blessing can I
need, nevertheless I ask so much--may I have friendship with this
merchant's son in another birth also." The voice said--"So be it,"
and then ceased, and then that Savara gave me much wealth, and sent
me back to my own home. And then, as I had returned from foreign
travel and from the jaws of death, my father, when he heard the whole
occurrence, made a great feast in my honour. And in course of time
I saw there that very same Savara chief, whom the king had ordered
to be brought before him as a prisoner for plundering a caravan. I
told my father of it immediately, and making a petition to the king,
I saved him from capital punishment by the payment of a hundred
thousand gold-pieces. And having in this way repaid the benefit,
which he conferred upon me by saving my life, I brought him to my
house, and entertained him honourably for a long time with all loving
attention. And then, after this hospitable entertainment, I dismissed
him, and he went to his own village fixing upon me a heart tender
with affection. Then, while he thought about a present for me that
might be worthy of my return for his previous kindness, he came to
the conclusion that the pearls and musk and treasures of that kind,
which were at his disposal, were not valuable enough. Thereupon he
took his bow and went off to the Himálaya to shoot elephants, in
order to obtain a surpassingly splendid necklace [341] for me. And
while he was roaming about there, he reached a great lake with a
temple upon its shore, being welcomed by its lotuses, which were as
devoted to their friend [342] as he was to me. And suspecting that
the wild elephants would come there to drink water, he remained in
concealment with his bow, in order to kill them. In the meanwhile
he saw a young lady of wonderful beauty come riding upon a lion to
worship Siva, whose temple stood on the shore of the lake; looking
like a second daughter of the king of the snowy mountains, devoted
to the service of Siva while in her girlhood. And the Savara, when
he saw her, being overpowered with wonder, reflected--"Who can this
be? If she is a mortal woman, why does she ride upon a lion? On the
other hand, if she is divine, how can she be seen by such as me? So
she must certainly be the incarnate development of the merits of my
eyes in a former birth. If I could only marry my friend to her, then I
should have bestowed upon him a new and wonderful recompense. So I had
better first approach her to question her." Thus reflecting, my friend
the Savara advanced to meet her. In the meanwhile she dismounted from
the lion, that lay down in the shade, and advancing began to pick the
lotuses of the lake. And seeing the Savara, who was a stranger, coming
towards her and bowing, out of a hospitable feeling she gratified him
with a welcome. And she said to him--"Who are you, and why have you
come to this inaccessible land?" Thereupon the Savara answered her,
"I am a prince of the Savaras, who regard the feet of Bhavání as my
only refuge, and I am come to this wood to get pearls from the heads
of elephants. But when I beheld you just now, O goddess, I called
to mind my own friend that saved my life, the son of a merchant
prince, the auspicious Vasudatta. For he, O fair one, is, like you,
matchless for beauty and youth, a very fount of nectar to the eyes
of this world. Happy is that maiden in the world, whose braceleted
hand is taken in this life by that treasure-house of friendship,
generosity, compassion, and patience. And if this beautiful form
of yours is not linked to such a man, then I cannot help grieving
that Káma bears the bow in vain." By these words of the king of the
hunters the mind of the maiden was suddenly carried away, as if by
the syllables of the god of Love's bewildering spell. And prompted by
love, she said to that Savara, "Where is that friend of yours? Bring
him here and shew him to me." When he heard that, he said--"I will
do so," and that moment the Savara took leave of her and set out on
his journey in high spirits, considering his object attained. And
after he had reached his village, he took with him pearls and musk,
a weight sufficient for hundreds of heavily-laden porters, and came to
our house. There he was honoured by all the inmates, and entering it,
he offered to my father that present, which was worth much gold. And
after that day and that night had been spent in feasting, he related
to me in private the story of his interview with the maiden from the
very commencement. And he said to me, who was all excitement, "Come,
let us go there," and so the Savara carried me off at night just as
he pleased. And in the morning my father found that I had gone off
somewhere with the Savara prince, but feeling perfect confidence in
his affection, he remained master of his feelings. But I was conducted
in course of time by that Savara, who travelled fast, to the Himálaya,
and he tended me carefully throughout the journey.

And one evening we reached that lake, and bathed, and we remained
that one night in the wood eating sweet fruits. That mountain wood,
in which the creepers strewed the ground with flowers, and which was
charming with the hum of bees, full of balmy gales, and with beautiful
gleaming herbs for lamps, was like the chamber of Rati to repose in
during the night for us two, who drank the water of the lake. Then,
the next day that maiden came there, and at every step my mind, full
of strange longings, flew to meet her, and her arrival was heralded
by this my right eye, throbbing as if through eagerness to behold
her. [343] And that maid with lovely eyebrows was beheld by me, on
the back of a knotty-maned lion, like a digit of the moon resting in
the lap of an autumn cloud; and I cannot describe how my heart felt at
that time while I gazed on her, being full of tumultuous emotions of
astonishment, longing, and fear; then that maiden dismounted from the
lion, and gathered flowers, and after bathing in the lake, worshipped
Siva who dwelt in the temple on its banks. [344] And when the worship
was ended, that Savara, my friend, advanced towards her and announcing
himself, bowed, and said to her who received him courteously; "Goddess,
I have brought that friend of mine as a suitable bridegroom for you:
if you think proper, I will shew him to you this moment." When she
heard that, she said, "Shew him," and that Savara came and took me
near her and shewed me to her. She looked at me askance with an eye
that shed love, and being overcome by Cupid's taking possession of her
soul, said to that chieftain of the Savaras; "This friend of yours
is not a man, surely he is some god come here to deceive me to-day:
how could a mortal have such a handsome shape?" When I heard that,
I said myself to remove all doubt from her mind: "Fair one, I am in
very truth a mortal, what is the use of employing fraud against one
so honest as yourself, lady? For I am the son of a merchant named
Mahádhana that dwells in Vallabhí, and I was gained by my father by
the blessing of Siva. For he, when performing austerities to please
the god of the moony crest, in order that he might obtain a son, was
thus commanded by the god in a dream being pleased with him; 'Rise up,
there shall spring from thee a great-hearted son, and this is a great
secret, what is the use of setting it forth at length?' After hearing
this, he woke up, and in course of time I was born to him as a son,
and I am known by the name of Vasudatta. And long ago, when I went to
a foreign land, I obtained this Savara chieftain for a chosen friend,
who shewed himself a true helper in misfortune. This is a brief
statement of the truth about me." When I had said this I ceased; and
that maiden, with her face cast down from modesty, said--"It is so;
to-day, I know, Siva being propitiated deigned to tell me in a dream,
after I had worshipped him,--'To-morrow morning thou shalt obtain
a husband:'--so you are my husband, and this friend of yours is
my brother." When she had delighted me by this nectar-like speech,
she ceased; and after I had deliberated with her, I determined to
go to my own house with my friend, in order that the marriage might
be solemnized in due form. Then that fair one summoned by a sign
of her own that lion, on which she rode, and said to me, "Mount it,
my husband," then I, by the advice of my friend, mounted the lion,
and taking that beloved one in my arms, I set out thence for my home,
having obtained all my objects, riding on the lion with my beloved,
guided by that friend. And living on the flesh of the deer that he
killed with his arrows, we all reached in course of time the city of
Vallabhí. Then the people, seeing me coming along with my beloved,
riding on a lion, being astonished, ran and told that fact quickly
to my father. He too came to meet me in his joy, and when he saw
me dismount from the lion and fall at his feet, he welcomed me with
astonishment.

And when he saw that incomparable beauty adore his feet, and
perceived that she was a fit wife for me, he could not contain
himself for joy. So he entered the house, and after asking us about
the circumstances, he made a great feast, praising the friendship of
the Savara chieftain. And the next day, by the appointment of the
astrologers, I married that excellent maiden, and all my friends
and relations assembled to witness our wedding. And that lion, on
which my wife had ridden, having witnessed the marriage, suddenly
before the eyes of all, assumed the form of a man. Then all the
by-standers were bewildered thinking--"What can this mean?" But he,
assuming heavenly garments and ornaments, thus addressed me: "I am a
Vidyádhara named Chitrángada, and this maiden is my daughter Manovatí
by name, dearer to me than life. I used to wander continually through
the forest with her in my arms, and one day I reached the Ganges,
on the banks of which are many ascetic groves. And as I was going
along in the middle of the river, for fear of disturbing the ascetics,
my garland by accident fell into its waters. Then the hermit Nárada,
who was under the water, suddenly rose up, and angry because the
garland had fallen upon his back, cursed me in the following words:
'On account of this insolence, depart, wicked one, thou shalt become a
lion, and repairing to the Himálaya, shalt carry this daughter upon thy
back. And when thy daughter shall be taken in marriage by a mortal,
then after witnessing the ceremony, thou shalt be freed from this
curse.' After being cursed in these words by the hermit, I became a
lion, and dwelt on the Himálaya carrying about this daughter of mine,
who is devoted to the worship of Siva. And you know well the sequel of
the story, how by the exertions of the Savara chieftain this highly
auspicious event has been brought about. So I shall now depart;
good luck to you all! I have now reached the termination of that
curse." Having said this, that Vidyádhara immediately flew up into
the sky. Then my father, overwhelmed with astonishment at the marvel,
delighted at the eligible connection, and finding that his friends
and relations were overjoyed, made a great feast. And there was not
a single person who did not say with astonishment, reflecting again
and again on that noble behaviour of the Savara chieftain--"Who can
imagine the actions of sincere friends, who are not even satisfied
when they have bestowed on their sworn brothers the gift of life?" The
king of the land too, hearing of that occurrence, was exceedingly
pleased with the affection which the Savara prince had shown me,
and finding he was pleased, my father gave him a present of jewels,
and so induced him immediately to bestow on the Savara a vast forest
territory. Then I remained there in happiness, considering myself
to have attained all that heart could wish, in having Manovatí for a
wife, and the Savara prince for a friend. And that Savara chieftain
generally lived in my house, finding that he took less pleasure in
dwelling in his own country than he formerly did. And the time of
us two friends, of him and me, was spent in continually conferring
benefits upon one another without our ever being satisfied. And not
long after I had a son born to me by Manovatí, who seemed like the
heart-joy of the whole family in external visible form; and being
called Hiranyadatta he gradually grew up, and after having been duly
instructed, he was married. Then my father having witnessed that,
and considering that the object of his life had been accomplished,
being old, went to the Ganges with his wife to leave the body. Then I
was afflicted by my father's death, but having been at last persuaded
by my relations to control my feelings, I consented to uphold the
burden of the family. And at that time on the one hand the sight of
the beautiful face of Manovatí, and on the other the society of the
Savara prince delighted me. Accordingly those days of mine passed,
joyous from the goodness of my son, charming from the excellence of
my wife, happy from the society of my friend.

Then, in course of time, I became well-stricken in years, and old age
seized me by the chin, as it were out of love giving me this wholesome
reproach--"Why are you remaining in the house so long as this, my
son?" Then disgust with the world was suddenly produced in my breast,
and longing for the forest I appointed my son in my stead. And with my
wife I went to the mountain of Kálinjara, together with the king of
the Savaras, who abandoned his kingdom out of love to me. And when I
arrived there, I at once remembered that I had been a Vidyádhara in a
former state of existence, and that the curse I had received from Siva
had come to an end. And I immediately told my wife Manovatí of that,
and my friend the king of the Savaras, as I was desirous of leaving
this mortal body. I said--"May I have this wife and this friend in a
future birth, and may I remember this birth," and then I meditated
on Siva in my heart, and flung myself from that hill side, and so
suddenly quitted the body together with that wife and friend. And so
I have been now born, as you see, in this Vidyádhara family, under
the name of Jímútaváhana, with a power of recollecting my former
existence. And you, that prince of the Savaras, have been also born
again by the favour of Siva, as Mitrávasu the son of Visvávasu the
king of the Siddhas. And, my friend, that Vidyádhara lady, my wife
Manovatí, has been again born as your sister Malayavatí by name. So
your sister is my former wife, and you were my friend in a former
state of existence, therefore it is quite proper that I should marry
her. But first go and tell this to my parents, for if the matter is
referred to them, your desire will be successfully accomplished.

When Mitrávasu heard this from Jímútaváhana, he was pleased, and
he went and told all that to the parents of Jímútaváhana. And when
they received his proposal gladly, he was pleased, and went and
told that same matter to his own parents. And they were delighted
at the accomplishment of their desire, and so the prince quickly
prepared for the marriage of his sister. Then Jímútaváhana, honoured
by the king of the Siddhas, received according to usage the hand of
Malayavatí. And there was a great festival, in which the heavenly
minstrels bustled about, the dense crowd of the Siddhas assembled,
and which was enlivened by bounding Vidyádharas. Then Jímútaváhana was
married, and remained on that Malaya mountain with his wife in very
great prosperity. And once on a time he went with his brother-in-law
Mitrávasu to behold the woods on the shore of the sea. And there he
saw a young man come in an agitated state, sending away his mother,
who kept exclaiming "Alas! my son!" And another man, who seemed to be
a soldier, following him, conducted him to a broad and high slab of
rock and left him there. Jímútaváhana said to him: "Who are you? What
are you about to do, and why does your mother weep for you?" Then
the man told him his story.

"Long ago Kadrú and Vinatá, the two wives of Kasyapa, had a dispute
in the course of a conversation which they were carrying on. The
former said that the Sun's horses were black, the latter that they
were white, and they made an agreement that the one that was wrong
should become a slave to the other. [345] Then Kadrú, bent on winning,
actually induced her sons, the snakes, to defile the horses of the
Sun by spitting venom over them; and shewing them to Vinatá in that
condition, she conquered her by a trick and made her her slave:
terrible is the spite of women against each other! When Garuda the
son of Vinatá heard of that, he came and tried to induce Kadrú by
fair means to release Vinatá from her slavery; then the snakes, the
sons of Kadrú, reflecting, said this to him; 'O Garuda, the gods have
began to churn the sea of milk, bring the nectar thence and give it
to us as a substitute, and then take your mother away with you, for
you are the chief of heroes.' When Garuda heard that, he went to the
sea of milk, and displayed his great might in order to obtain the
nectar. Then the god Vishnu pleased with his might deigned to say
to him, 'I am pleased with thee, choose some boon.' Then Garuda,
angry because his mother was made a slave, asked as a boon from
Vishnu--'May the snakes become my food.' Vishnu consented, and when
Garuda had obtained the nectar by his own valour, he was thus addressed
by Indra who had heard the whole story: 'King of birds, you must take
steps to prevent the foolish snakes from consuming the nectar, and to
enable me to take it away from them again.' When Garuda heard that,
he agreed to do it, and elated by the boon of Vishnu, he went to the
snakes with the vessel containing the nectar.

And he said from a distance to those foolish snakes, who were terrified
on account of the boon granted to him, "Here is the nectar brought
by me, release my mother and take it; if you are afraid, I will
put it for you on a bed of Darbha grass. When I have procured my
mother's release, I will go; take the nectar thence." The snakes
consented, and then he put the vessel of nectar on a pure bed of
Kusa grass, [346] and they let his mother go. So Garuda departed,
having thus released his mother from slavery; but while the snakes
were unsuspectingly taking the nectar, Indra suddenly swooped down,
and bewildering them by his power, carried off the vessel of nectar
from the bed of Kusa grass. Then the snakes in despair licked that
bed of Darbha grass, thinking there might be a drop of spilt nectar
on it; the effect was that their tongues were split, and they became
double-tongued for nothing. [347] What but ridicule can ever be the
portion of the over-greedy? Then the snakes did not obtain the nectar
of immortality, and their enemy Garuda, on the strength of Vishnu's
boon, began to swoop down and devour them. And this he did again and
again. And while he was thus attacking them, the snakes [348] in Pátála
were dead with fear, the females miscarried, and the whole serpent
race was well-nigh destroyed. And Vásuki the king of the snakes,
seeing him there every day, considered that the serpent world was
ruined at one blow: then, after reflecting, he preferred a petition
to that Garuda of irresistible might, and made this agreement with
him--"I will send you every day one snake to eat, O king of birds,
on the hill that rises out of the sand of the sea. But you must not
act so foolishly as to enter Pátála, for by the destruction of the
serpent world your own object will be baffled." When Vásuki said this
to him, Garuda consented, and began to eat every day in this place
one snake sent by him: and in this way innumerable serpents have met
their death here. But I am a snake called Sankachúda, [349] and it
is my turn to-day: for that reason I have to-day, by the command of
the king of the snakes, in order to furnish a meal to Garuda, come
to this rock of execution, and to be lamented by my mother."

When Jímútaváhana heard this speech of Sankachúda's, he was grieved,
and felt sorrow in his heart and said to him, "Alas! Vásuki exercises
his kingly power in a very cowardly fashion, in that with his own
hand he conducts his subjects to serve as food for his enemy. Why did
he not first offer himself to Garuda? To think of this effeminate
creature choosing to witness the destruction of his race! And how
great a sin does Garuda, though the son of Kasyapa, commit! How great
folly do even great ones commit for the sake of the body only! So
I will to-day deliver you alone from Garuda by surrendering my
body. Do not be despondent, my friend." When Sankachúda heard this,
he out of his firm patience said to him,--"This be far from thee,
O great-hearted one, do not say so again. The destruction of a jewel
for the sake of a piece of glass is never becoming. And I will never
incur the reproach of having disgraced my race." In these words the
good snake Sankachúda tried to dissuade Jímútaváhana, and thinking
that the time of Garuda's arrival would come in a moment, he went to
worship in his last hour an image of Siva under the name of Gokarna,
that stood on the shore of the sea. And when he was gone, Jímútaváhana,
that treasure-house of compassion, considered that he had gained an
opportunity of offering himself up to save the snake's life. Thereupon
he quickly dismissed Mitrávasu to his own house on the pretext of some
business, artfully pretending that he himself had forgotten it. And
immediately the earth near him trembled, being shaken by the wind of
the wings of the approaching Garuda, as if through astonishment at his
valour. That made Jímútaváhana think that the enemy of the snakes was
approaching, and full of compassion for others he ascended the stone of
execution. And in a moment Garuda swooped down, darkening the heaven
with his shadow, and carried off that great-hearted one, striking him
with his beak. He shed drops of blood, and his crest-jewel dropped off
torn out by Garuda, who took him away and began to eat him on the peak
of the mountain. At that moment a rain of flowers fell from heaven,
and Garuda was astonished when he saw it, wondering what it could mean.

In the meanwhile Sankachúda came there, having worshipped Gokarna, and
saw the rock of execution sprinkled with many drops of blood; then he
thought--"Alas! surely that great-hearted one has offered himself for
me, so I wonder where Garuda has taken him in this short time. I must
search for him quickly, perhaps I may find him." Accordingly the good
snake went following up the track of the blood. And in the meanwhile
Garuda, seeing that Jímútaváhana was pleased, left off eating and
thought with wonder: "This must be some one else, other than I ought
to have taken, for though I am eating him, he is not at all miserable,
on the contrary the resolute one rejoices." While Garuda was thinking
this, Jímútaváhana, though in such a state, said to him in order to
attain his object: "O king of birds, in my body also there is flesh
and blood; then why have you suddenly stopped eating, though your
hunger is not appeased?" When he heard that, that king of birds, being
overpowered with astonishment, said to him--"Noble one, you are not
a snake, tell me who you are." Jímútaváhana was just answering him,
"I am a snake, [350] so eat me, complete what you have begun, for men
of resolution never leave unfinished an undertaking they have begun,"
when Sankachúda arrived and cried out from afar, "Stop, stop, Garuda,
he is not a snake, I am the snake meant for you, so let him go,
alas! how have you suddenly come to make this mistake?" On hearing
that, the king of birds was excessively bewildered, and Jímútaváhana
was grieved at not having accomplished his desire. Then Garuda,
learning, in the course of their conversation [351] with one another,
that he had begun to devour by mistake the king of the Vidyádharas,
was much grieved. He began to reflect, "Alas! in my cruelty I have
incurred sin. In truth those who follow evil courses easily contract
guilt. But this great-hearted one who has given his life for another,
and despising [352] the world, which is altogether under the dominion
of illusion, come to face me, deserves praise." Thinking thus,
he was about to enter the fire to purify himself from guilt, when
Jímútaváhana said to him: "King of birds, why do you despond? If you
are really afraid of guilt, then you must determine never again to
eat these snakes: and you must repent of eating all those previously
devoured, for this is the only remedy available in this case, it
was idle for you ever to think of any other." Thus Jímútaváhana,
full of compassion for creatures, said to Garuda, and he was pleased
and accepted the advice of that king, as if he had been his spiritual
preceptor, determining to do what he recommended; and he went to bring
nectar from heaven to restore to life rapidly that wounded prince,
and the other snakes, whose bones only remained. Then the goddess
Gaurí, pleased with Jímútaváhana's wife's devotion to her, came in
person and rained nectar on him: by that his limbs were reproduced
with increased beauty, and the sound of the drums of the rejoicing
gods was heard at the same time. Then, on his rising up safe and
sound, Garuda brought the nectar of immortality [353] from heaven,
and sprinkled it along the whole shore of the sea. That made all the
snakes there rise up alive, and then that forest along the shore of the
sea, crowded with the numerous tribe of snakes, appeared like Pátála
[354] come to behold Jímútaváhana, having lost its previous dread
of Garuda. Then Jímútaváhana's relations congratulated him, having
seen that he was glorious with unwounded body and undying fame. And
his wife rejoiced with her relations, and his parents also. Who
would not joy at pain ending in happiness? And with his permission
Sankachúda departed to Rasátala, [355] and without it his glory, of
its own accord, spread through the three worlds. Then, by virtue of the
favour of the daughter of the Himálaya all his relations, Matanga and
others, who were long hostile to him, came to Garuda, before whom the
troops of gods were inclining out of love, and timidly approaching the
glory of the Vidyádhara race, prostrated themselves at his feet. And
being entreated by them, the benevolent Jímútaváhana went from that
Malaya mountain to his own home, the slope of the Himálaya. There,
accompanied by his parents and Mitrávasu and Malayavatí, the resolute
one long enjoyed the honour of emperor of the Vidyádharas. Thus
a course of fortunate events always of its own accord follows the
footsteps of all those, whose exploits arouse the admiration of the
three worlds. When the queen Vásavadattá heard this story from the
mouth of Yaugandharáyana, she rejoiced, as she was eager to hear of
the splendour of her unborn son. Then, in the society of her husband,
she spent that day in conversation about her son, who was to be the
future king of the Vidyádharas, which was suggested by that story, for
she placed unfailing reliance upon the promise of the favouring gods.






CHAPTER XXIII.


Then Vásavadattá on the next day said to the king of Vatsa in private,
while he was surrounded by his ministers;--"My husband, ever since
I have been pregnant with this child, the difficult duty of taking
care of it afflicts my heart; and last night, after thinking over
it long, I fell asleep with difficulty, and I am persuaded I saw a
certain man come in my dream, glorious with a shape distinguished by
matted auburn locks and a trident-bearing hand; and he approaching me,
said as if moved by compassion,--'My daughter, you need not feel at all
anxious about the child with which you are pregnant, I will protect it,
for I gave it to you. And hear something more, which I will tell you
to make you confide in me; a certain woman waits to make a petition
to you to-morrow, she will come dragging her husband with her as a
prisoner, reviling him, accompanied by five sons, begirt with many
relations: and she is a wicked woman who desires by the help of her
relations to get that husband of hers put to death, and all that
she will say will be false. And you, my daughter, must beforehand
inform the king of Vatsa about this matter, in order that that good
man may be freed from that wicked wife.' This command that august one
gave and vanished, and I immediately woke up, and lo! the morning had
come." When the queen had said that, all spoke of the favour of Siva,
and were astonished, their minds eagerly expecting the fulfilment
of the dream; when lo! at that very moment the chief warder entered,
and suddenly said to the king of Vatsa, who was compassionate to the
afflicted, "O king, a certain woman has come to make a representation,
accompanied by her relations, bringing with her five sons, reviling
her helpless husband." When the king heard that, being astonished at
the way it tallied with the queen's dream, he commanded the warder
to bring her into his presence. And the queen Vásavadattá felt the
greatest delight, having become certain that she would obtain a good
son, on account of the truth of the dream. Then that woman entered by
the command of the warder, accompanied by her husband, looked at with
curiosity by all, who had their faces turned towards the door. Then,
having entered, she assumed an expression of misery, and making a
bow according to rule, she addressed the king in council accompanied
by the queen: "This man, though he is my husband, does not give to
me, helpless woman that I am, food, raiment, and other necessaries,
and yet I am free from blame with respect to him."

When she had said this, her husband pleaded--"King, this woman speaks
falsely, supported by her relations, for she wishes me to be put
to death. For I have given her supplies beforehand to last till the
end of the year, and other relations of hers, who are impartial, are
prepared to witness the truth of this for me." When he had said this
to the king, the king of his own accord answered: "The trident-bearing
god himself has given evidence in this case, appearing to the queen
in a dream. What need have we of more witnesses? This woman with her
relations must be punished." When the king had delivered this judgment,
the discreet Yaugandharáyana said, "Nevertheless, king, we must do
what is right in accordance with the evidence of witnesses, otherwise
the people, not knowing of the dream, would in no wise believe in the
justice of our proceedings." When the king heard that, he consented
and had the witnesses summoned that moment, and they, being asked,
deposed that that woman was speaking falsely. Then the king banished
her, as she was plotting against one well known to be a good husband,
from his territory, with her relations and her sons. And with heart
melting from pity he discharged her good husband, after giving him
much treasure sufficient for another marriage. And in connexion with
the whole affair the king remarked,--"An evil wife, of wildly [356]
cruel nature, tears her still living husband like a she-wolf, when he
has fallen into the pit of calamity; but an affectionate, noble, and
magnanimous wife averts sorrow as the shade [357] of the wayside-tree
averts heat, and is acquired by a man's special merits." Then
Vasantaka, who was a clever story-teller, being at the king's side,
said to him à propos of this: "Moreover, king, hatred and affection
are commonly produced in living beings in this world owing to their
continually recalling the impressions of a past state of existence,
and in proof of this, hear the story which I am about to tell."



Story of Sinhaparákrama.

There was a king in Benares named Vikramachanda, and he had a favourite
follower named Sinhaparákrama; who was wonderfully successful in all
battles and in all gambling contests. And he had a wife very deformed
both in body and mind, called by a name, which expressed her nature,
Kalahakárí. [358] This brave man continually obtained much money
both from the king and from gambling, and, as soon as he got it,
he gave it all to his wife. But the shrewish woman, backed by her
three sons begotten by him, could not in spite of this remain one
moment without a quarrel. She continually worried him by yelling out
these words at him with her sons--"You are always eating and drinking
away from home, and you never give us anything." And though he was
for ever trying to propitiate her with meat, drink, and raiment,
she tortured him day and night like an interminable thirst. Then,
at last, Sinhaparákrama vexed with indignation on that account,
left his house, and went on a pilgrimage to the goddess Durgá that
dwells in the Vindhya hills. While he was fasting, the goddess said
to him in a dream: "Rise up, my son, go to thy own city of Benares;
there is an enormous nyagrodha tree, by digging round its root thou
wilt at once obtain a treasure. And in the treasure thou wilt find
a dish of emerald, bright as a sword-blade, looking like a piece of
the sky fallen down to earth; casting thy eyes on that, thou wilt
see, as it were, reflected inside, the previous existence of every
individual, in whatever case thou mayest wish to know it. By means of
that thou wilt learn the previous birth of thy wife and of thyself,
and having learned the truth wilt dwell there in happiness free from
grief." Having thus been addressed by the goddess, Sinhaparákrama woke
up and broke his fast, and went in the morning to Benares; and after
he had reached the city, he found at the root of the nyagrodha tree a
treasure, and in it he discovered a large emerald dish, and, eager to
learn the truth, he saw in that dish that in a previous birth his wife
had been a terrible she-bear, and himself a lion. And so recognising
that the hatred between himself and his wife was irremediable owing to
the influence of bitter enmity in a previous birth, he abandoned grief
and bewilderment. Then Sinhaparákrama examined many maidens by means
of the dish, and discovering that they had belonged to alien races in
a previous birth, he avoided them, but after he had discovered one,
who had been a lioness in a previous birth and so was a suitable
match for him, he married her as his second wife, and her name was
Sinhasrí. And after assigning to that Kalahakárí one village only as
her portion, he lived, delighted with the acquisition of treasure,
in the society of his new wife. Thus, O king, wives and others are
friendly or hostile to men in this world by virtue of impressions in
a previous state of existence.

When the king of Vatsa had heard this wonderful story from Vasantaka,
he was exceedingly delighted and so was the queen Vásavadattá. And the
king was never weary day or night of contemplating the moon-like face
of the pregnant queen. And as days went on, there were born to all of
his ministers in due course sons with auspicious marks, who heralded
approaching good fortune. First there was born to Yaugandharáyana,
the chief minister, a son Marubhúti by name. Then Rumanvat had a
son called Harisikha, and to Vasantaka there was born a son named
Tapantaka. And to the head-warder called Nityodita, whose other title
was Ityaka, [359] there was born a son named Gomukha. And after they
were born a great feast took place, and during it a bodiless voice
was heard from heaven--"These ministers shall crush the race of the
enemies of the son of the king of Vatsa here, the future universal
emperor. And as days went by, the time drew near for the birth of the
child, with which the queen Vásavadattá was destined to present the
king of Vatsa, and she repaired to the ornamented lying-in-chamber,
which was prepared by matrons having sons, and the windows of which
were covered with arka and samí plants. The room was hung with
various weapons, rendered auspicious by being mixed with the gleam
of jewel-lamps, shedding a blaze [360] able to protect the child;
and secured by conjurers who went through innumerable charms and
spells and other incantations, so that it became a fortress of the
matrons hard for calamity to storm, and there she brought forth in
good time a prince of lovely aspect, as the heaven brings forth the
moon from which stream pure nectarous rays. The child, when born,
not only irradiated that room, but the heart also of that mother
from which the darkness of grief had departed; then, as the delight
of the inmates of the harem was gradually extended, the king heard
of the birth of a son from the people who were admitted to it; the
reason he did not give his kingdom in his delight to the person, who
announced it, was, that he was afraid of committing an impropriety,
not that he was avaricious. And so the king, suddenly coming to the
harem with longing mind, beheld his son, and his hope bore fruit
after a long delay. The child had a long red lower lip like a leaf,
beautiful flowing hair like wool, and his whole face was like the
lotus, which the goddess of the Fortune of empire carries for her
delight. He was marked on his soft feet with umbrellas and chowries,
as if the Fortunes of other kings had beforehand abandoned their
badges in his favour, out of fear. Then, while the king shed with
tearful eye, that swelled with the pressure of the fulness of the
weight of his joy, drops that seemed to be drops of paternal affection,
[361] and the ministers with Yaugandharáyana at their head rejoiced,
a voice was heard from heaven at that time to the following effect:

"King, this son that is born to thee is an incarnation of Káma, [362]
and know that his name is Naraváhanadatta; and he will soon become
emperor of the kings of the Vidyádharas, and maintain that position
unwearied for a kalpa of the gods." [363] When so much had been said,
the voice stopped, and immediately a rain of flowers fell from heaven,
and the sounds of the celestial drums went forth. Then the king,
excessively delighted, made a great feast, which was rendered all the
more solemn from the gods having begun it. The sound of cymbals floated
in the air rising from temples, as if to tell all the Vidyádharas of
the birth of their king: and red banners, flying in the wind on the
tops of the palaces, seemed with their splendour to fling red dye to
one another. On earth beautiful women assembled and danced everywhere,
as if they were the nymphs of heaven glad that the god of love had been
born with a body. [364] And the whole city appeared equally splendid
with new dresses and ornaments bestowed by the rejoicing king. For
while that rich king rained riches upon his dependants, nothing but
the treasury was empty. And the ladies belonging to the families of
the neighbouring chieftains came in from all sides, with auspicious
prayers, versed in the good custom, [365] accompanied by dancing
girls, bringing with them splendid presents, escorted by various
excellent guards, attended with the sound of musical instruments,
like all the cardinal points in bodily form. Every movement there
was of the nature of a dance, every word uttered was attended with
full vessels, [366] every action was of the nature of munificence,
the city resounded with musical instruments, the people were adorned
with red powder, and the earth was covered with bards,--all these
things were so in that city which was all full of festivity. Thus
the great feast was carried on with increasing magnificence for many
days, and did not come to an end before the wishes of the citizens
were fully satisfied. And as days went on, that infant prince grew
like the new moon, and his father bestowed on him with appropriate
formalities the name of Naraváhanadatta, which had been previously
assigned him by the heavenly voice. His father was delighted when
he saw him make his first two or three tottering steps, in which
gleamed the sheen of his smooth fair toe-nails, and when he heard
him utter his first two or three indistinct words, shewing his teeth
which looked like buds. Then the excellent ministers brought to the
infant prince their infant sons, who delighted the heart of the king,
and commended them to him. First Yaugandharáyana brought Marubhúti,
and then Rumanvat Harisikha, and then the head-warder named Ityaka
brought Gomukha, and Vasantaka his son named Tapantaka. And the
domestic chaplain Sántikara presented the two twin sons of Pingaliká,
his nephews Sántisoma and Vaisvánara. And at that moment there fell
from heaven a rain of flowers from the gods, which a shout of joy
made all the more auspicious, and the king rejoiced with the queens,
having bestowed presents on that company of ministers' sons. And that
prince Naraváhanadatta was always surrounded by those six ministers'
sons devoted to him alone, who commanded respect even in their boyhood,
[367] as if with the six political measures that are the cause of great
prosperity. The days of the lord of Vatsa passed in great happiness,
while he gazed affectionately on his son with his smiling lotus-like
face, going from lap to lap of the kings whose minds were lovingly
attached to him, and making in his mirth a charming indistinct
playful prattling.







BOOK V.


CHAPTER XXIV.


May Ganesa, painting the earth with mosaic by means of the particles
of red lead flying from his trunk whirled round in his madness, [368]
and so, as it were, burning up obstacles with the flames of his might,
protect you.



Thus the king of Vatsa and his queen remained engaged in bringing
up their only son Naraváhanadatta, and once on a time the minister
Yaugandharáyana, seeing the king anxious about taking care of him,
said to him as he was alone,--"King, you must never feel any anxiety
now about the prince Naraváhanadatta, for he has been created by
the adorable god Siva in your house as the future emperor over the
kings of the Vidyádharas; and by their divine power the kings of the
Vidyádharas have found this out, and meaning mischief have become
troubled, unable in their hearts to endure it; and knowing this, the
god with the moon-crest has appointed a prince of the Ganas, [369]
Stambhaka by name, to protect him. And he remains here invisible,
protecting this son of yours, and Nárada coming swiftly informed
me of this." While the minister was uttering these words, there
descended from the midst of the air a divine man wearing a diadem
and a bracelet, and armed with a sword. He bowed, and then the king
of Vatsa, after welcoming him, immediately asked him with curiosity:
"Who are you, and what is your errand here?" He said, "I was once
a mortal, but I have now become a king of the Vidyádharas, named
Saktivega and I have many enemies. I have found out by my power that
your son is destined to be our emperor, and I have come to see him, O
king." When Saktivega, over-awed at the sight of his future emperor,
had said this, the king of Vatsa was pleased and again asked him
in his astonishment, "How can the rank of a Vidyádhara be attained,
and of what nature is it, and how did you obtain it? Tell me this,
my friend." When he heard this speech of the king's, that Vidyádhara
Saktivega courteously bowing, answered him thus, "O king, resolute
souls having propitiated Siva either in this or in a former birth,
obtain by his favour the rank of Vidyádhara. And that rank, denoted
by the insignia of supernatural knowledge, of sword, garland and so
on, is of various kinds, but listen! I will tell you how I obtained
it. Having said this, Saktivega told the following story, relating
to himself, in the presence of the queen Vásavadattá.



Story of Saktivega king of the Vidyádharas.

There lived long ago in a city called Vardhamána, [370] the ornament
of the earth, a king the terror of his foes, called Paropakárin. And
this exalted monarch possessed a queen of the name of Kanakaprabhá,
[371] as the cloud holds the lightning, but she had not the fickleness
of the lightning. And in course of time there was born to him by that
queen a daughter, who seemed to have been formed by the Creator to
dash Lakshmí's pride in her beauty. And that moon of the eyes of the
world was gradually reared to womanhood by her father, who gave her the
name of Kanakarekhá suggested by her mother's name Kanakaprabhá. Once
on a time, when she had grown up, the king, her father, said to the
queen Kanakaprabhá, who came to him in secret: "A grown up daughter
cannot be kept in one's house, accordingly Kanakarekhá troubles my
heart with anxiety about a suitable marriage for her. For a maiden of
good family, who does not obtain a proper position, is like a song
out of tune; when heard of by the ears even of one unconnected with
her, she causes distress. But a daughter, who through folly is made
over to one not suitable, is like learning imparted to one not fit to
receive it, and cannot tend to glory or merit but only to regret. So I
am very anxious as to what king I must give this daughter of mine to,
and who will be a fit match for her." When Kanakaprabhá heard this,
she laughed and said,--"You say this, but your daughter does not
wish to be married; for to-day when she was playing with a doll and
making believe it was a child, I said to her in fun, 'My daughter,
when shall I see you married?' When she heard that, she answered
me reproachfully: 'Do not say so, you must not marry me to any one;
and my separation from you is not appointed, I do well enough as a
maiden, but if I am married, know that I shall be a corpse; there is
a certain reason for this.' As she has said this to me I have come
to you, O king, in a state of distress; for, as she has refused to be
married, what use is there in deliberating about a bridegroom?" When
the king heard this from the queen, he was bewildered, and going
to the private apartments of the princess he said to his daughter:
"When the maidens of the gods and Asuras practise austerities in
order to obtain a husband, why, my daughter, do you refuse to take
one?' When the princess Kanakarekhá heard this speech of her father's,
she fixed her eyes on the ground and said, Father, I do not desire to
be married at present, so what object has my father in it, and why does
he insist upon it?" That king Paropakárin, when his daughter addressed
him in that way, being the discreetest of men, thus answered her:
"How can sin be avoided unless a daughter is given in marriage? And
independence is not fit for a maiden who ought to be in dependence on
relations? For a daughter in truth is born for the sake of another
and is kept for him. The house of her father is not a fit place for
her except in childhood. For if a daughter reaches puberty unmarried,
her relations go to hell, and she is an outcast, and her bridegroom is
called the husband of an outcast." When her father said this to her,
the princess Kanakarekhá immediately uttered a speech that was in her
mind, "Father, if this is so, then whatever Bráhman or Kshatriya has
succeeded in seeing the city called the Golden City, to him I must
be given, and he shall be my husband, and if none such is found,
you must not unjustly reproach me." When his daughter said that to
him, that king reflected: "It is a good thing at any rate that she
has agreed to be married on a certain condition, and no doubt she
is some goddess born in my house for a special reason, for else how
comes she to know so much though she is a child?" Such were the king's
reflections at that time: so he said to his daughter, "I will do as you
wish," and then he rose up and did his day's work. And on the next day,
as he was sitting in the hall of audience, he said to his courtiers,
"Has any one among you seen the city called the Golden City? Whoever
has seen it, if he be a Bráhman or a Kshatriya, I will give him
my daughter Kanakarekhá, and make him crown-prince." And they all,
looking at one another's faces, said, "We have not even heard of it,
much less have we seen it." Then the king summoned the warder and
said to him, "Go and cause a proclamation to be circulated in the
whole of this town with the beating of drums, and find out if any
one has really seen that city." When the warder received this order,
he said, "I will do so," and went out; and after he had gone out, he
immediately gave orders to the police, and caused a drum to be beaten
all round the city, thus arousing curiosity to hear the proclamation,
which ran as follows: "Whatever Bráhman or Kshatriya youth has seen the
city called the Golden City, let him speak, and the king will give him
his daughter and the rank of crown-prince." Such was the astounding
announcement proclaimed all about the town after the drum had been
beaten. And the citizens said, after hearing that proclamation:
"What is this Golden City that is to-day proclaimed in our town,
which has never been heard of or seen even by those among us who are
old?" But not a single one among them said, "I have seen it."

And in the meanwhile a Bráhman living in that town, Saktideva by
name, the son of Baladeva, heard that proclamation; that youth,
being addicted to vice, had been rapidly stripped of his wealth at the
gaming-table, and he reflected, being excited by hearing of the giving
in marriage of the king's daughter: "As I have lost all my wealth by
gambling, I cannot now enter the house of my father, nor even the house
of a hetæra, so, as I have no resource, it is better for me to assert
falsely to those who are making the proclamation by beat of drum,
that I have seen that city. Who will discover that I know nothing
about it, for who has ever seen it? And in this way I may perhaps
marry the princess." Thus reflecting Saktideva went to the police, and
said falsely, "I have seen that city." They immediately said to him,
"Bravo! then come with us to the king's warder." So he went with them
to the warder. And in the same way he falsely asserted to him that he
had seen that city, and he welcomed him kindly, and took him to the
king. And without wavering he maintained the very same story in the
presence of the king: what indeed is difficult for a blackleg to do
who is ruined by play? Then the king, in order to ascertain the truth,
sent that Bráhman to his daughter Kanakarekhá, and when she heard of
the matter from the mouth of the warder, and the Bráhman came near,
she asked him: "Have you seen that Golden City?" Then he answered her,
"Yes, that city was seen by me when I was roaming through the earth
in quest of knowledge." [372] She next asked him, "By what road did
you go there, and what is it like?" That Bráhman then went on to say:
"From this place I went to a town called Harapura, and from that I
next came to the city of Benares; and from Benares in a few days to the
city of Paundravardhana, thence I went to that city called the Golden
City, and I saw it, a place of enjoyment for those who act aright,
like the city of Indra, the glory of which is made for the delight
of gods. [373] And having acquired learning there, I returned here
after some time; such is the path by which I went, and such is that
city." After that fraudulent Bráhman Saktideva had made up this story,
the princess said with a laugh;--"Great Bráhman, you have indeed seen
that city, but tell me, tell me again by what path you went." When
Saktideva heard that, he again displayed his effrontery, and then
the princess had him put out by her servants. And immediately after
putting him out, she went to her father, and her father asked her:
"Did that Bráhman speak the truth?"--And then the princess said to
her father: "Though you are a king you act without due consideration;
do you not know that rogues deceive honest people? For that Bráhman
simply wants to impose on me with a falsehood, but the liar has never
seen the golden city. And all kinds of deceptions are practised on the
earth by rogues; for listen to the story of Siva and Mádhava, which I
will tell you." Having said this, the princess told the following tale:



Story of Siva and Mádhava.

There is an excellent city rightly named Ratnapura, [374] and in it
there were two rogues named Siva and Mádhava. Surrounding themselves
with many other rogues, they contrived for a long time to rob, by
making use of trickery, all the rich men in the town. And one day
those two deliberated together and said--"We have managed by this
time to plunder this town thoroughly; so let us now go and live in
the city of Ujjayiní; there we hear that there is a very rich man
named Sankarasvámin, who is chaplain to the king. If we cheat him
out of his money we may thereby enjoy the charms of the ladies of
Málava. He is spoken of by Bráhmans as a miser, because he withholds
[375] half their usual fee with a frowning face, though he possesses
treasure enough to fill seven vessels; and that Bráhman has a pearl
of a daughter spoken of as matchless, we will manage to get her too
out of him along with the money." Having thus determined, and having
arranged beforehand what part each was to play, the two rogues Siva
and Mádhava went out of that town. At last they reached Ujjayiní,
and Mádhava, with his attendants, disguised as a Rájpút, remained
in a certain village outside the town. But Siva, who was expert in
every kind of deception, having assumed perfectly the disguise of a
religious ascetic, first entered that town alone. There he took up
his quarters in a hut on the banks of the Siprá, in which he placed,
so that they could be seen, clay, darbha grass, a vessel for begging,
and a deer-skin. And in the morning he anointed his body with thick
clay, as if testing beforehand his destined smearing with the mud of
the hell Avíchi. And plunging in the water of the river, he remained
a long time with his head downward, as if rehearsing beforehand his
future descent to hell, the result of his evil actions. And when he
rose up from his bath, he remained a long time looking up towards
the sun, as if shewing that he deserved to be impaled. Then he went
into the presence of the god and making rings of Kusa grass, [376]
and muttering prayers, he remained sitting in the posture called
Padmásana, [377] with a hypocritical cunning face, and from time to
time he made an offering to Vishnu, having gathered white flowers,
even as he took captive the simple hearts of the good by his villainy;
and having made his offering he again pretended to betake himself to
muttering his prayers, and prolonged his meditations as if fixing his
attention on wicked ways. And the next day, clothed in the skin of a
black antelope, he wandered about the city in quest of alms, like one
of his own deceitful leers intended to beguile it, and observing a
strict silence he took three handfuls of rice from Bráhmans' houses,
still equipped with stick and deer-skin, and divided the food into
three parts like the three divisions of the day, and part he gave to
the crows, and part to his guest, and with the third part he filled
his maw; and he remained for a long time hypocritically telling his
beads, as if he were counting his sins at the same time, and muttering
prayers; and in the night he remained alone in his hut, thinking over
the weak points of his fellow-men, even the smallest; and by thus
performing every day a difficult pretended penance he gained complete
ascendancy over the minds of the citizens in every quarter. And all
the people became devoted to him, and a report spread among them in
every direction that Siva was an exceedingly self-denying hermit.

And in the meanwhile his accomplice, the other rogue Mádhava, having
heard from his emissaries how he was getting on, entered that city;
and taking up his abode there in a distant temple, he went to the
bank of the Siprá to bathe, disguised as a Rájpút, and after bathing,
as he was returning with his retinue, he saw Siva praying in front
of the god, and with great veneration he fell at his feet, and said
before all the people, "There is no other such ascetic in the world,
for he has been often seen by me going round from one holy place to
another." But Siva, though he saw him, kept his neck immoveable out
of cunning, and remained in the same position as before, and Mádhava
returned to his own lodging. And at night those two met together
and ate and drank, and deliberated over the rest of their programme,
what they must do next. And in the last watch of the night Siva went
back leisurely to his hut. And in the morning Mádhava said to one
of his gang, "Take these two garments and give them as a present to
the domestic chaplain of the king here, who is called Sankarasvámin,
and say to him respectfully: 'There is a Rájpút come from the Deccan
of the name of Mádhava, who has been oppressed by his relations, and
he brings with him much inherited wealth; he is accompanied by some
other Rájpúts like himself, and he wishes to enter into the service of
your king here, and he has sent me to visit you, O treasure-house of
glory.'" The rogue, who was sent off by Mádhava with this message, went
to the house of that chaplain with the present in his hand, and after
approaching him, and giving him the present at a favourable moment, he
delivered to him in private Mádhava's message, as he had been ordered;
he, for his part, out of his greed for presents, believed it all,
anticipating other favours in the future, for a bribe is the sovereign
specific for attracting the covetous. The rogue then came back, and
on the next day Mádhava, having obtained a favourable opportunity,
went in person to visit that chaplain, accompanied by attendants,
who hypocritically assumed the appearance of men desiring service,
[378] passing themselves off as Rájpúts, distinguished by the maces
they carried; he had himself announced by an attendant preceding
him, and thus he approached the family priest, who received him with
welcomes which expressed his delight at his arrival. Then Mádhava
remained engaged in conversation with him for some time, and at last
being dismissed by him, returned to his own house. On the next day he
sent another couple of garments as a present, and again approached
that chaplain and said to him, "I indeed wish to enter into service
to please my retainers, for that reason I have repaired to you,
but I possess wealth." When the chaplain heard that, he hoped to get
something out of him, and he promised Mádhava to procure for him what
he desired, and he immediately went and petitioned the king on this
account, and, out of respect for the chaplain, the king consented to do
what he asked. And on the next day the family priest took Mádhava and
his retinue, and presented them to the king with all due respect. The
king too, when he saw that Mádhava resembled a Rájpút in appearance,
received him graciously and appointed him a salary. Then Mádhava
remained there in attendance upon the king, and every night he met
Siva to deliberate with him. And the chaplain entreated him to live
with him in his house, out of avarice, as he was intent on presents.

Then Mádhava with his followers repaired to the house of the chaplain;
this settlement was the cause of the chaplain's ruin, as that of
the mouse in the trunk of the tree was the cause of its ruin. And he
deposited a safe in the strong room of the chaplain, after filling it
with ornaments made of false gems. And from time to time he opened the
box and by cunningly half-shewing some of the jewels, he captivated
the mind of the chaplain as that of a cow is captivated by grass. And
when he had gained in this way the confidence of the chaplain, he made
his body emaciated by taking little food, and falsely pretended that
he was ill. And after a few days had passed, that prince of rogues
said with weak voice to that chaplain, who was at his bedside;
"My condition is miserable in this body, so bring, good Bráhman,
some distinguished man of your caste, in order that I may bestow my
wealth upon him for my happiness here and hereafter, for, life being
unstable, what care can a wise man have for riches?" That chaplain,
who was devoted to presents, when addressed in this way, said,
"I will do so," and Mádhava fell at his feet. Then whatever Bráhman
the chaplain brought, Mádhava refused to receive, pretending that
he wanted a more distinguished one. One of the rogues in attendance
upon Mádhava, when he saw this, said--"Probably an ordinary Bráhman
does not please him. So it will be better now to find out whether
the strict ascetic on the banks of Siprá named Siva pleases him or
not?" When Mádhava heard that, he said plaintively to that chaplain:
"Yes, be kind, and bring him, for there is no other Bráhman like him."

The chaplain, thus entreated, went near Siva, and beheld him
immoveable, pretending to be engaged in meditation. And then he walked
round him, keeping him on his right hand, and sat down in front of
him: and immediately the rascal slowly opened his eyes. Then the
family priest, bending before him, said with bowed head,--"My Lord,
if it will not make you angry, I will prefer a petition to you. There
is dwelling here a very rich Rájpút from the Deccan, named Mádhava,
and he, being ill, is desirous of giving away his whole property:
if you consent, he will give you that treasure which glitters with
many ornaments made out of priceless gems." When Siva heard that, he
slowly broke silence, and said,--"O Bráhman, since I live on alms, and
observe perpetual chastity, of what use are riches to me?" Then that
chaplain went on to say to him, "Do not say that, great Bráhman, do you
not know the due order of the periods in the life of a Bráhman? [379]
By marrying a wife, and performing in his house offerings to the Manes,
sacrifices to the gods and hospitality to guests, he uses his property
to obtain the three objects of life; [380] the stage of the householder
is the most useful of all." Then Siva said, "How can I take a wife,
for I will not marry a woman from any low family?" When the covetous
chaplain heard that, he thought that he would be able to enjoy his
wealth at will, and, catching at the opportunity, he said to him:
"I have an unmarried daughter named Vinayasváminí, and she is very
beautiful, I will bestow her in marriage on you. And I will keep for
you all the wealth which you receive as a donation from Mádhava, so
enter on the duties of a householder." When Siva heard this, having
got the very thing he wanted, he said, "Bráhman, if your heart is
set on this, [381] I will do what you say. But I am an ascetic who
knows nothing about gold and jewels: I shall act as you advise; do
as you think best." When the chaplain heard that speech of Siva's,
he was delighted, and the fool said, "Agreed"--and conducted Siva
to his house. And when he had introduced there that inauspicious
guest named Siva, [382] he told Mádhava what he had done and was
applauded by him. And immediately he gave Siva his daughter, who
had been carefully brought up, and in giving her he seemed to be
giving away his own prosperity lost by his folly. And on the third
day after his marriage, he took him to Mádhava who was pretending to
be ill, to receive his present. And Mádhava rose up and fell at his
feet and said what was quite true, "I adore thee whose asceticism is
incomprehensible." [383] And in accordance with the prescribed form
he bestowed on Siva that box of ornaments made of many sham jewels,
which was brought from the chaplain's treasury. Siva for his part,
after receiving it, gave it into the hand of the chaplain, saying,
"I know nothing about this, but you do." And that priest immediately
took it, saying, "I undertook to do this long ago, why should you
trouble yourself about it?" Then Siva gave them his blessing, and
went to his wife's private apartments, and the chaplain took the
box and put it in his strong room. Mádhava for his part gradually
desisted from feigning sickness, affecting to feel better the next
day, and said that his disease had been cured by virtue of his great
gift. And he praised the chaplain when he came near, saying to him,
"It was by your aiding me in an act of faith that I tided over this
calamity." And he openly struck up a friendship with Siva, asserting
that it was due to the might of Siva's holiness that his life had
been saved. Siva, for his part, after some days said to the chaplain:
"How long am I to feast in your house in this style? Why do you not
take from me those jewels for some fixed sum of money? If they are
valuable, give me a fair price for them." When the priest heard that,
thinking that the jewels were of incalculable value, he consented,
and gave to Siva as purchase-money his whole living. And he made
Siva sign a receipt for the sum with his own hand, and he himself
too signed a receipt for the jewels, thinking that that treasure
far exceeded his own wealth in value. And they separated, taking one
another's receipts, and the chaplain lived in one place, while Siva
kept house in another. And then Siva and Mádhava dwelt together and
remained there leading a very pleasant life consuming the chaplain's
wealth. And as time went on, that chaplain, being in need of cash,
went to the town to sell one of the ornaments in the bazar.

Then the merchants, who were connoisseurs in jewels, said after
examining it, "Ha! the man who made these sham jewels was a clever
fellow, whoever he was. For this ornament is composed of pieces of
glass and quartz coloured with various colours and fastened together
with brass, and there are no gems or gold in it." When the chaplain
heard that, he went in his agitation and brought all the ornaments from
his house, and showed them to the merchants. When they saw them, they
said that all of them were composed of sham jewels in the same way; but
the chaplain, when he heard that, was, so to speak, thunderstruck. And
immediately the fool went off and said to Siva, "Take back your
ornaments and give me back my own wealth." But Siva answered him,
"How can I possibly have retained your wealth till now? Why it has
all in course of time been consumed in my house." Then the chaplain
and Siva fell into an altercation, and went, both of them, before
the king, at whose side Mádhava was standing. And the chaplain made
this representation to the king: "Siva has consumed all my substance,
taking advantage of my not knowing that a great treasure, which he
deposited in my house, [384] was composed of skilfully coloured pieces
of glass and quartz fastened together with brass." Then Siva said,
"King, from my childhood I have been a hermit, and I was persuaded by
that man's earnest petition to accept a donation, and when I took it,
though inexperienced in the ways of the world, I said to him, 'I am no
connoisseur in jewels and things of that kind, and I rely upon you,'
and he consented saying, 'I will be your warrant in the matter.' And
I accepted all the donation and deposited it in his hand. Then he
bought the whole from me at his own price, and we hold from one another
mutual receipts; and now it is in the king's power to grant me help in
my sorest need." Siva having thus finished his speech, Mádhava said,
"Do not say this, you are honourable, but what fault have I committed
in the matter? I never received anything either from you or from Siva;
I had some wealth inherited from my father, which I had long deposited
elsewhere; then I brought that wealth and presented it to a Bráhman. If
the gold is not real gold, and the jewels are not real jewels, then let
us suppose that I have reaped fruit from giving away brass, quartz,
and glass. But the fact that I was persuaded with sincere heart that
I was giving something, is clear from this, that I recovered from a
very dangerous illness." When Mádhava said this to him without any
alteration in the expression of his face, the king laughed and all
his ministers, and they were highly delighted. And those present in
court said, laughing in their sleeves, "Neither Mádhava nor Siva has
done anything unfair." Thereupon that chaplain departed with downcast
countenance, having lost his wealth. For of what calamities is not the
blinding of the mind with excessive greed the cause? And so those two
rogues Siva and Mádhava long remained there, happy in having obtained
the favour of the delighted king.

"Thus do rogues spread the webs of their tongue with hundreds of
intricate threads, like fishermen upon dry land, living by the net. So
you may be certain, my father, that this Bráhman is a case in point. By
falsely asserting that he has seen the City of Gold, he wishes to
deceive you, and to obtain me for a wife. So do not be in a hurry
to get me married; I shall remain unmarried at present, and we will
see what will happen." When the king Paropakárin heard this from his
daughter Kanakarekhá, he thus answered her: "When a girl is grown up,
it is not expedient that she should remain long unmarried, for wicked
people envious of good qualities, falsely impute sin. And people are
particularly fond of blackening the character of one distinguished;
to illustrate this, listen to the story of Harasvámin which I am
about to tell you."



Story of Harasvámin. [385]

There is a city on the banks of the Ganges named Kusumapura,
[386] and in it there was an ascetic who visited holy places, named
Harasvámin. He was a Bráhman living by begging; and constructing a hut
on the banks of the Ganges, he became, on account of his surprisingly
rigid asceticism, the object of the people's respect. [387] And one day
a wicked man among the inhabitants, who could not tolerate his virtue,
seeing him from a distance going out to beg, said, "Do you know what
a hypocritical ascetic that is? It is he that has eaten up all the
children in this town." When a second there who was like him, heard
this, he said, "It is true, I also have heard people saying this." And
a third confirming it said, "Such is the fact." The chain of villains'
conversation binds reproach on the good. And in this way the report
spread from ear to ear, and gained general credence in the city. And
all the citizens kept their children by force in their houses, saying,
"Harasvámin carries off all the children and eats them." And then the
Bráhmans in that town, afraid that their offspring would be destroyed,
assembled and deliberated about his banishment from the city. And
as they did not dare to tell him face to face, for fear he might
perhaps eat them up in his rage, they sent messengers to him. And
those messengers went and said to him from a distance; "The Bráhmans
command you to depart from this city." Then in his astonishment he
asked them "Why?" And they went on to say; "You eat every child as
soon as you see it." When Harasvámin heard that, he went near those
Bráhmans, in order to reassure them, and the people fled before him
for fear. And the Bráhmans, as soon as they saw him, were terrified
and went up to the top of their monastery. People who are deluded by
reports are not, as a rule, capable of discrimination. Then Harasvámin
standing below called all the Bráhmans who were above, one by one,
by name, and said to them, "What delusion is this, Bráhmans? Why do
you not ascertain with one another how many children I have eaten,
and whose, and how many of each man's children." When they heard that,
the Bráhmans began to compare notes among themselves, and found that
all of them had all their children left alive. And in course of time
other citizens, appointed to investigate the matter, admitted that all
their children were living. And merchants and Bráhmans and all said,
"Alas in our folly we have belied a holy man; the children of all
of us are alive; so whose children can he have eaten?" Harasvámin,
being thus completely exonerated, prepared to leave that city, for his
mind was seized with disgust at the slanderous report got up against
him by wicked men. For what pleasure can a wise man take in a wicked
place, the inhabitants of which are wanting in discrimination? Then
the Bráhmans and merchants, prostrating themselves at his feet,
entreated him to stay there, and he at last, though with reluctance,
consented to do so.

"In this way evil men often impute crime falsely to good men,
allowing their malicious garrulity full play on beholding their
virtuous behaviour. Much more, if they obtain a slight glimpse of
any opportunity for attacking them, do they pour copious showers of
oil on the fire thus kindled. Therefore if you wish, my daughter,
to draw the arrow from my heart, you must not, while this fresh youth
of yours is developing, remain unmarried to please yourself, and so
incur the ready reproach of evil men." Such was the advice which
the princess Kanakarekhá frequently received from her father the
king, but she, being firmly resolved, again and again answered him:
"Therefore quickly search for a Bráhman or Kshatriya who has seen
that City of Gold and give me to him, for this is the condition I
have named." When the king heard that, reflecting that his daughter,
who remembered her former birth, had completely made up her mind,
and seeing no other way of obtaining for her the husband she desired,
he issued another order to the effect that henceforth the proclamation
by beat of drum was to take place every day in the city, in order to
find out whether any of the newcomers had seen the Golden City. And
once more it was proclaimed in every quarter of the city every day,
after the drum had been beaten,--"If any Bráhman or Kshatriya has
seen the Golden City, let him speak; the king will give him his own
daughter, together with the rank of Crown-prince." But no one was
found who had obtained a sight of the Golden City.






CHAPTER XXV.


In the meanwhile the young Bráhman Saktideva, in very low spirits,
having been rejected with contempt by the princess he longed for,
said to himself; "To-day by asserting falsely that I had seen the
Golden City, I certainly incurred contempt, but I did not obtain that
princess. So I must roam through the earth to find it, until I have
either seen that city or lost my life. For of what use is my life,
unless I can return having seen that city, and obtain the princess as
the prize of the achievement?" Having thus taken a vow, that Bráhman
set out from the city of Vardhamána, directing his course toward the
southern quarter, and as he journeyed, he at last reached the great
forest of the Vindhya range, and entered it, which was difficult and
long as his own undertaking. And that forest, so to speak, fanned,
with the soft leaves of its trees shaken by the wind, him, who
was heated by the multitudinous rays of the sun; and through grief
at being overrun with many robbers, it made its cry heard day and
night in the shrill screams of animals which were being slain in it
by lions and other noisome beasts. And it seemed, by the unchecked
rays of heat flashed upward from its wild deserts, to endeavour
to conquer the fierce brightness of the sun: in it, though there
was no accumulation of water, calamity was to be easily purchased:
[388] and its space seemed ever to extend before the traveller as
fast as he crossed it. In the course of many days he accomplished
a long journey through this forest, and beheld in it a great lake
of cold pure water in a lonely spot: which seemed to lord it over
all lakes, with its lotuses like lofty umbrellas, and its swans like
gleaming white chowries. In the water of that lake he performed the
customary ablutions, and on its northern shore he beheld a hermitage
with beautiful fruit-bearing trees: and he saw an old hermit named
Súryatapas sitting at the foot of an Asvattha tree, surrounded by
ascetics, adorned with a rosary, the beads of which by their number
seemed to be the knots that marked the centuries of his life, [389]
and which rested against the extremity of his ear that was white with
age. And he approached that hermit with a bow, and the hermit welcomed
him with hospitable greetings. And the hermit, after entertaining
him with fruits and other delicacies, asked him, "Whence have you
come, and whither are you going? Tell me, good sir." And Saktideva
inclining respectfully, said to that hermit,--"I have come, venerable
sir, from the city of Vardhamána, and I have undertaken to go to the
Golden City in accordance with a vow. But I do not know where that
city lies; tell me venerable sir, if you know." The hermit answered,
"My son, I have lived eight hundred years in this hermitage, and I have
never even heard of that city." Saktideva when he heard this from the
hermit, was cast down, and said again--"Then my wanderings through the
earth will end by my dying here." Then that hermit, having gradually
elicited the whole story said to him, "If you are firmly resolved,
then do what I tell you. Three yojanas from here there is a country
named Kámpilya, and in it is a mountain named Uttara, and on it there
is a hermitage. There dwells my noble elder brother named Dírghatapas;
[390] go to him, he being old may perhaps know of that city." When
Saktideva heard that, hope arose in his breast, and having spent the
night there he quickly set out in the morning from that place. And
wearied with the laborious journey through difficult forest country,
he at last reached that region of Kámpilya and ascended that mountain
Uttara; and there he beheld that hermit Dírghatapas in a hermitage,
and he was delighted and approached him with a bow: and the hermit
received him hospitably: and Saktideva said to him, "I am on my way to
the City of Gold spoken of by the king's daughter: but I do not know,
venerable sir, where that city is. However I am bound to find it,
so I have been sent to you by the sage Súryatapas in order that I may
discover where it lies." When he had said this, the hermit answered
him, "Though I am so old, my son, I have never heard of that city
till to-day; I have made acquaintance with various travellers from
foreign lands, and I have never heard any one speak of it; much less
have I seen it. But I am sure it must be in some distant foreign
island, and I can tell you an expedient to help you in this matter;
there is in the midst of the ocean an island named Utsthala, and in
it there is a rich king of the Nishádas [391] named Satyavrata. He
goes to and fro among all the other islands, and he may have seen or
heard of that city. Therefore first go to the city named Vitankapura
situated on the border of the sea. And from that place go with some
merchant in a ship to the island where that Nisháda dwells, in order
that you may attain your object." When Saktideva heard this from
the hermit, he immediately followed his advice, and taking leave
of him set out from the hermitage. And after accomplishing many
kos and crossing many lands, he reached the city of Vitankapura,
the ornament of the sea-shore. There he sought out a merchant named
Samudradatta, who traded with the island of Utsthala, and struck up
a friendship with him. And he went on board his ship with him, and
having food for the voyage fully supplied by his kindness, he set
out on the ocean-path. Then, when they had but a short distance to
travel, there arose a black cloud with rumbling thunder, resembling a
roaring Rákshasa, with flickering lightning to represent his lolling
tongue. And a furious hurricane began to blow like Destiny herself,
whirling up light objects and hurling down heavy. [392] And from the
sea, lashed by the wind, great waves rose aloft like the mountains
equipped with wings, [393] indignant that their asylum had been
attacked. And that vessel rose on high one moment, and the next moment
plunged below, as if exhibiting how rich men are first elevated and
then cast down. And the next moment that ship, shrilly laden with
the cries of the merchants, burst and split asunder as if with the
weight. And the ship being broken, that merchant its owner fell into
the sea, but floating through it on a plank he at last reached another
vessel. But as Saktideva fell, a large fish, opening its mouth and
neck, swallowed him without injuring any of his limbs. And as that
fish was roaming at will in the midst of the sea, it happened to pass
near the island of Utsthala; and by chance some servants of that
king of the fishermen Satyavrata, who were engaged in the pursuit
of small fish, came there and caught it. And those fishermen, proud
of their prize, immediately dragged it along to shew to their king,
for it was of enormous size. He too, out of curiosity, seeing that it
was of such extraordinary size, ordered his servants to cut it open;
and when it was cut open, Saktideva came out alive from its belly,
having endured a second wonderful imprisonment in the womb. [394]
Then the fisher-king Satyavrata, when he saw that young man come
out and bestow his blessing on him, was astonished, and asked him,
"Who are you, and how did this lot of dwelling in the belly of the
fish befall you? What means this exceedingly strange fate that you
have suffered." When Saktideva heard this, he answered that king of
the fishermen: "I am a Bráhman of the name of Saktideva from the city
of Vardhamána; and I am bound to visit the City of Gold, and because
I do not know where it is, I have for a long time wandered far over
the earth; then I gathered from a speech of Dírghatapas' that it was
probably in an island, so I set out to find Satyavrata the king of
the fishermen, who lives in the island of Utsthala, in order to learn
its whereabouts, but on the way I suffered shipwreck, and so having
been whelmed in the sea and swallowed by a fish, I have been brought
here now." When Saktideva had said this, Satyavrata said to him: "I
am in truth Satyavrata, and this is the very island you were seeking;
but though I have seen many islands, I have never seen the city you
desire to find, but I have heard of it as situated in one of the
distant islands." Having said this, and perceiving that Saktideva was
cast down, Satyavrata out of kindness for his guest went on to say:
"Bráhman, do not be despondent; remain here this night, and to-morrow
morning I will devise some expedient to enable you to attain your
object." The Bráhman was thus consoled by the king, and sent off to a
monastery of Bráhmans, where guests were readily entertained. There
Saktideva was supplied with food by a Bráhman named Vishnudatta, an
inmate of the monastery, and entered into conversation with him. And in
the course of that conversation, being questioned by him, he told him
in a few words his country, his family, and his whole history. When
Vishnudatta heard that, he immediately embraced him, and said in a
voice indistinct from the syllables being choked with tears of joy:
"Bravo! you are the son of my maternal uncle and a fellow-countryman of
mine. But I long ago in my childhood left that country to come here. So
stop here awhile, and soon the stream of merchants and pilots that
come here from other islands will accomplish your wish." Having told
him his descent in these words, Vishnudatta waited upon Saktideva with
all becoming attentions. And Saktideva, forgetting the toil of the
journey, obtained delight, for the meeting a relation in a foreign
land is like a fountain of nectar in the desert. And he considered
that the accomplishment of his object was near at hand, for good luck,
befalling one by the way indicates success in an undertaking. So he
reclined at night sleepless upon his bed, with his mind fixed upon
the attainment of his desire, and Vishnudatta, who was by his side,
in order to encourage and delight him at the same time, related to
him the following tale:



Story of Asokadatta and Vijayadatta. [395]

Formerly there was a great Bráhman named Govindasvámin, living on a
great royal grant of land on the banks of the Yamuná. And in course of
time there were born to that virtuous Bráhman two sons like himself,
Asokadatta and Vijayadatta. While they were living there, there arose a
terrible famine in that land, and so Govindasvámin said to his wife;
"This land is ruined by famine, and I cannot bear to behold the misery
of my friends and relations. For who gives anything to anybody? So
let us at any rate give away to our friends and relations what
little food we possess and leave this country. And let us go with
our family to Benares to live there." When he said this to his wife,
she consented, and he gave away his food, and set out from that place
with his wife, sons, and servants. For men of noble soul cannot bear
to witness the miseries of their relatives. And on the road he beheld
a skull-bearing Saiva ascetic, white with ashes, and with matted hair,
like the god Siva himself with his half-moon. The Bráhman approached
that wise man with a bow, and out of love for his sons, asked him
about their destiny, whether it should be good or bad, and that Yogí
answered him: "The future destiny of your sons is auspicious, but you
shall be separated, Bráhman, from this younger one Vijayadatta, and
finally by the might of the second Asokadatta you shall be reunited
to him." Govindasvámin, when that wise man said this to him, took
leave of him and departed overpowered with joy, grief, and wonder;
and after reaching Benares he spent the day there in a temple of
Durgá outside the town, engaged in worshipping the goddess and
such like occupations. And in the evening he encamped outside that
temple under a tree, with his family, in the company of pilgrims who
had come from other countries. And at night, while all were asleep,
wearied with their long journey, stretched out on strewn leaves, and,
such other beds as travellers have to put up with, his younger son
Vijayadatta, who was awake, was suddenly seized with a cold ague-fit;
that ague quickly made him tremble, and caused his hair to stand on
end, as if it had been the fear of his approaching separation from
his relations. And oppressed with the cold he woke up his father,
and said to him: "A terrible ague afflicts me here now, father, so
bring fuel and light me a fire to keep off the cold, in no other way
can I obtain relief or get through the night." When Govindasvámin
heard him say this, he was distressed at his suffering, and said
to him; "Whence can I procure fire now my son?" Then his son said;
"Why surely we may see a fire burning near us on this side, and it
is very large, so why should I not go there and warm my body? So take
me by the hand, for I have a shivering fit, and lead me there." Thus
entreated by his son the Bráhman went on to say: "This is a cemetery,
[396] and the fire is that of a funeral pyre, so how can you go to a
place terrible from the presence of goblins and other spirits, for you
are only a child?" When the brave Vijayadatta heard that speech of his
affectionate father's, he laughed and said in his confidence, "What can
the wretched goblins and other evil ones do to me? Am I a weakling? So
take me there without fear." When he said this so persistently, his
father led him there, and the boy warming his body approached the pyre,
which seemed to bear on itself the presiding deity of the Rákshasas
in visible form, with the smoke of the flames for dishevelled hair,
devouring the flesh of men. The boy at once encouraged his father
[397] and asked him what the round thing was that he saw inside the
pyre. And his father standing at his side, answered him, "This, my son,
is the skull of a man which is burning in the pyre." Then the boy in
his recklessness struck the skull with a piece of wood lighted at the
top, and clove it. The brains spouted up from it and entered his mouth,
like the initiation into the practices of the Rákshasas, bestowed
upon him by the funeral flame. And by tasting them that boy became
a Rákshasa, with hair standing on end, with sword that he had drawn
from the flame, terrible with projecting tusks: so he seized the skull
and drinking the brains from it, he licked it with tongue restlessly
quivering like the flames of fire that clung to the bone. Then be flung
aside the skull, and lifting his sword he attempted to slay his own
father Govindasvámin. But at that moment a voice came out from the
cemetery, "Kapálasphota, [398] thou god, thou oughtest not to slay
thy father, come here." When the boy heard that, having obtained
the title of Kapálasphota and become a Rákshasa, he let his father
alone, and disappeared; and his father departed exclaiming aloud,
"Alas my son! Alas my virtuous son! Alas Vijayadatta!" And he returned
to the temple of Durgá; and in the morning he told his wife and his
eldest son Asokadatta what had taken place. Then that unfortunate man
together with them suffered an attack of the fire of grief, terrible
like the falling of lightning from a cloud, so that the other people,
who were sojourning in Benares, and had come to visit the shrine of the
goddess, came up to him and sympathised heartily with his sorrow. In
the meanwhile a great merchant, who had come to worship the goddess,
named Samudradatta, beheld Govindasvámin in that state. The good man
approached him and comforted him, and immediately took him and his
family home to his own house. And there he provided him with a bath
and other luxuries, for this is the innate tendency of the great, to
have mercy upon the wretched. Govindasvámin also and his wife recovered
their self-command, having heard [399] the speech of the great Saiva
ascetic, hoping to be re-united to their son. And thenceforth he lived
in that city of Benares, in the house of that rich merchant, having
been asked by him to do so. And there his other son Asokadatta grew
up to be a young man, and after studying the sciences learnt boxing
and wrestling. And gradually he attained such eminence in these arts,
that he was not surpassed by any champion on the earth. And once on a
time there was a great gathering of wrestlers at an idol procession,
and a great and famous wrestler came from the Deccan. He conquered
all the other wrestlers of the king of Benares, who was called
Pratápamukuta, before his eyes. Then the king had Asokadatta quickly
summoned from the house of that excellent merchant, and ordered him to
contend with that wrestler. That wrestler began the combat by catching
the arm of Asokadatta with his hand, but Asokadatta seized his arm,
and hurled him to the ground. Then the field of combat, as it were,
pleased, applauded the victor with the resounding noise produced by the
fall of that champion wrestler. And the king being gratified, loaded
Asokadatta with jewels, and having seen his might, he made him his own
personal attendant. So he became a favourite of the king's, and in time
attained great prosperity, for to one who possesses heroic qualities,
a king who appreciates merit is a perfect treasure-house. Once
on a time, that king went on the fourteenth day of the month away
from his capital, to worship the god Siva in a splendid temple in a
distant town. After he had paid his devotions, he was returning by
night near the cemetery when he heard this utterance issue from it:
"O king, the chief magistrate out of private malice proclaimed that I
deserved death, and it is now the third day since I was impaled, and
even now my life will not leave my body, though I am innocent, so I am
exceedingly thirsty; O king, order water to be given me." When the king
heard it, out of pity he said to his personal attendant Asokadatta,
"Send that man some water." Then Asokadatta said, "Who would go there
at night? So I had better go myself." Accordingly he took the water,
and set off. After the king had proceeded on his way to his capital,
the hero entered that cemetery, the interior of which was difficult to
penetrate, as it was filled with dense darkness within; in it there
were awful evening oblations offered with the human flesh scattered
about by the jackals; in places the cemetery was lighted up by the
flaming beacons of the blazing funeral pyres, and in it the Vetálas
made terrible music with the clapping of their hands, so that it
seemed as if it were the palace of black night. Then he cried aloud,
"Who asked the king for water?" And he heard from one quarter an
answer, "I asked for it." Following the voice he went to a funeral
pyre near, and beheld a man impaled on the top of a stake, and
underneath it he saw a woman that he had never seen before, weeping,
adorned with beautiful ornaments, lovely in every limb; like the night
adorned with the rays of the moon, now that the moon itself had set,
its splendour having waned in the dark fortnight, come to worship
the funeral pyre. He asked the woman: "Who are you, mother, and why
are you standing weeping here?" She answered him, "I am the ill-fated
wife of him who is here impaled, and I am waiting here with the firm
intention of ascending the funeral pyre with him. And I am waiting some
time for his life to leave his body, for though it is the third day
of his impalement, his breath does not depart. And he often asks for
that water which I have brought here, but I cannot reach his mouth,
my friend, as the stake is high." When he heard that speech of hers,
the mighty hero said to her: "But here is water in my hand sent to
him by the king, so place your foot on my back and lift it to his
mouth, for the mere touching of another man in sore need does not
disgrace a woman." When she heard that, she consented, and taking
the water she climbed up so as to plant her two feet on the back
of Asokadatta, who bent down at the foot of the stake. Soon after,
as drops of blood unexpectedly began to fall upon the earth and on
his back, the hero lifted up his face and looked. Then he saw that
woman cutting off slice after slice of that impaled man's flesh with
a knife, and eating it. [400]

Then, perceiving that she was some horrible demon, [401] he dragged
her down in a rage, and took hold of her by her foot with its
tinkling anklets in order to dash her to pieces on the earth. She,
for her part, dragged away from him that foot, and by her deluding
power quickly flew up into the heaven, and became invisible. And
the jewelled anklet, which had fallen from her foot, while she was
dragging it away, remained in one of Asokadatta's hands. Then he,
reflecting that she had disappeared after shewing herself mild at
first, and evil-working in the middle, and at the end horror-striking
by assuming a terrible form, like association with wicked men,--and
seeing that heavenly anklet in his hand, was astonished, grieved and
delighted at the same time; and then he left that cemetery, taking
the anklet with him, and went to his own house, and in the morning,
after bathing, to the palace of the king.

And when the king said--"Did you give the water to the man who was
impaled," he said he had done so, and gave him that anklet; and when
the king of his own accord asked him where it came from, he told
that king his wonderful and terrible night-adventure. And then the
king, perceiving that his courage was superior to that of all men,
though he was before pleased with his other excellent qualities,
was now more exceedingly delighted; and he took that anklet in his
joy and gave it with his own hand to the queen, and described to
her the way in which he had obtained it. And she, hearing the story
and beholding that heavenly jewelled anklet, rejoiced in her heart
and was continually engaged in extolling Asokadatta. Then the king
said to her: "Queen, in birth, in learning, in truthfulness and
beauty Asokadatta is great among the great; and I think it would be
a good thing if he were to become the husband of our lovely daughter
Madanalekhá; in a bridegroom these qualities are to be looked for,
not fortune that vanishes in a moment, so I will give my daughter to
this excellent hero." When she heard that speech of her husband's,
that queen approving the proposal said, "It is quite fitting, for the
youth will be an appropriate match for her, and her heart has been
captivated by him, for she saw him in a spring-garden, and for some
days her mind has been in a state of vacancy and she neither hears
nor sees; I heard of it from her confidante, and, after spending an
anxious night, towards morning I fell asleep, and I remember I was
thus addressed by some heavenly woman in a dream, 'My child, thou must
not give this thy daughter Madanalekhá to any one but Asokadatta,
for she is his wife acquired by him in a former birth.' And when I
heard it, I woke up, and in the morning I went myself on the strength
of the dream and consoled my daughter. And now, my husband has of
his own accord proposed the marriage to me. Let her therefore be
united to him, as a spring-creeper to its stalk." When the king's
beloved wife said this to him, he was pleased, and he made festal
rejoicings, and summoning Asokadatta gave that daughter to him. And
the union of those two, the daughter of the king, and the son of the
great Bráhman, was such that each enhanced the other's glory, like
the union of prosperity and modesty. And once upon a time the queen
said to the king, with reference to the anklet brought by Asokadatta:
"My husband, this anklet by itself does not look well, so let another
be made like it." When the king heard that, he gave an order to the
goldsmiths and other craftsmen of the kind, to make a second anklet
like that. But they, after examining it said;--"It is impossible,
O king, to make another like it, for the work is heavenly, not
human. There are not many jewels of this kind upon the earth, so let
another be sought for where this was obtained." When the king and the
queen heard this, they were despondent, and Asokadatta who was there,
on seeing that, immediately said, "I myself will bring you a fellow
to that anklet." And having made this promise he could not give up
the project on which he was resolved, although the king, terrified
at his temerity, endeavoured to dissuade him out of affection. And
taking the anklet he went again on the fourteenth night of the black
fortnight to the cemetery where he had first obtained it; and after
he had entered that cemetery which was full of Rákshasas as it was
of trees, besmirched with the copious smoke of the funeral pyres, and
with men hanging from their trunks [402] which were weighed down and
surrounded with nooses, he did not at first see that woman that he had
seen before, but he thought of an admirable device for obtaining that
bracelet, which was nothing else than the selling of human flesh. [403]
So he pulled down a corpse from the noose by which it was suspended on
the tree, and he wandered about in the cemetery, crying aloud--"Human
flesh for sale, buy, buy!" And immediately a woman called to him from
a distance, saying, "Courageous man, bring the human flesh and come
along with me." When he heard that, he advanced following that woman,
and beheld at no great distance under a tree a lady of heavenly
appearance, surrounded with women, sitting on a throne, glittering
with jewelled ornaments, whom he would never have expected to find in
such a place, any more than to find a lotus in a desert. And having
been led up by that woman, he approached the lady seated as has been
described, and said, "Here I am, I sell human flesh, buy, buy!" And
then the lady of heavenly appearance said to him, "Courageous hero,
for what price will you sell the flesh?" Then the hero, with the
corpse hanging over his shoulder and back, said to her, shewing her
at the same time that single jewelled anklet which was in his hand,
"I will give this flesh to whoever will give me a second anklet like
this one; if you have got a second like it, take the flesh." When
she heard that, she said to him, "I have a second like it, for this
very single anklet was taken by you from me. I am that very woman
who was seen by you near the impaled man, but you do not recognise
me now, because I have assumed another shape. So what is the use of
flesh? If you do what I tell you, I will give you my second anklet,
which matches the one in your hand." When she said this to the hero,
he consented and said, "I will immediately do whatever you say." Then
she told him her whole desire from the beginning: "There is, good sir,
a city named Trighanta on a peak of the Himálayas. In it there lived
a heroic prince of the Rákshasas named Lambajihva. I am his wife,
Vidyuchchhikhá by name, and I can change my form at will. And as fate
would have it, that husband of mine, after the birth of my daughter,
was slain in battle fighting in front of the king Kapálasphota;
then that king being pleased gave me his own city, and I have lived
with my daughter in great comfort on its proceeds up to the present
time. And that daughter of mine has by this time grown up to fresh
womanhood, and I have great anxiety in my mind as to how to obtain for
her a brave husband. Then being here on the fourteenth night of the
lunar fortnight, and seeing you coming along this way with the king,
I thought--'This good-looking youth is a hero and a fit match for
my daughter. So why should I not devise some stratagem for obtaining
him?' Thus I determined, and imitating the voice of an impaled person,
I asked for water, and brought you into the middle of that cemetery
by a trick. And there I exhibited my delusive power in assuming a
false shape and other characteristics, and saying what was false
I imposed upon you there, though only for a moment. And I artfully
left one of my anklets there to attract you again, like a binding
chain to draw you, and then I came away. And to-day I have obtained
you by that very expedient, so come to my house; marry my daughter
and receive the other anklet." When the Rákshasí said this to him,
the hero consented, and by means of her magic power he went with her
through the air to her city. And he saw that city built of gold on
a peak of the Himálayas, like the orb of the sun fixed in one spot,
being weary with the toil of wandering through the heavens. There
he married that daughter of the prince of the Rákshasas, by name
Vidyutprabhá, like the success of his own daring incarnate in bodily
form. And Asokadatta dwelt with that loved one some time in that city,
enjoying great comfort by means of his mother-in-law's wealth. Then
he said to his mother-in-law, "Give me that anklet, for I must now
go to the city of Benares, for I myself long ago promised the king
that I would bring a second anklet, that would vie with the first one
so distinguished for its unparalleled beauty." The mother-in-law,
having been thus entreated by her son-in-law, gave him that second
anklet of hers, and in addition a golden lotus. [404]

Then he left that city with the anklet and the lotus, after promising
to return, and his mother-in-law by the power of her magic knowledge
carried him once more through the air to the cemetery. And then she
stopped under the tree and said to him, "I always come here on the
fourteenth night of the black fortnight, and whenever you come here on
that [405] night, you will find me here under the banyan-tree." When
Asokadatta heard this, he agreed to come there on that night, and
took leave of that Rákshasí, and went first to his father's house. And
just as he was gladdening by his unexpected arrival his parents, who
were grieved by such an absence of his, which doubled their grief for
their separation from their younger son, the king his father-in-law,
who had heard of his arrival, came in. The king indulged in a long
outburst of joy, embracing him who bent before him, with limbs the
hairs of which stood on end like thorns, as if terrified at touching
one so daring. [406] Then Asokadatta entered with him the palace of
the king, like joy incarnate in bodily form, and he gave to the king
those two anklets matched together, which so to speak praised his
valour with their tinkling, and he bestowed on that king the beautiful
golden lotus, as it were the lotus, with which the presiding Fortune
of the Rákshasas' treasure plays, torn, from her hand; then being
questioned out of curiosity by the king and queen he told the story
of his exploits, which poured nectar into their ears. The king then
exclaimed--"Is glittering glory, which astonishes the mind by the
description of wonderful exploits, ever obtained without a man's
bringing himself to display boldness?" Thus the king spake on that
occasion, and he and the queen, who had obtained the pair of anklets,
considered their object in life attained, now that they had such a
son-in-law. And then that palace, resounding with festal instruments,
appeared as if it were chanting the virtues of Asokadatta. And on
the next day the king dedicated the golden lotus in a temple made
by himself, placing it upon a beautiful silver vessel; and the two
together, the vessel and the lotus, gleamed white and red like the
glory of the king and the might [407] of Asokadatta. And beholding them
thus, the king, a devout worshipper of Siva, with eyes expanded with
joy, spoke inspired with the rapture of adoration, "Ah! this lofty
vessel appears, with this lotus upon it, like Siva white with ashes,
with his auburn matted locks. If I had a second golden lotus like
it, I would place it in this second silver vessel." When Asokadatta
heard this speech of the king's, he said, "I, king, will bring you
a second golden lotus;" when the king heard that, he answered him,
"I have no need of another lotus, a truce to your temerity!" Then as
days went on, Asokadatta being desirous of bringing a golden lotus,
the fourteenth day of the black fortnight returned; and that evening
the sun, the golden lotus of the sky-lake, went to the mountain of
setting, as if out of fear, knowing his desire for a golden lotus;
and when the shades of night, brown as smoke, began immediately to
spread everywhere like Rákshasas, proud of having swallowed the red
clouds of evening as if they were raw flesh, and the mouth of night,
like that of an awful female goblin, began to yawn, shining and
terrible as tamála, full of flickering flames, [408] Asokadatta of
his own accord left the palace where the princess was asleep, and
again went to that cemetery. There he beheld at the foot of that
banyan-tree his mother-in-law the Rákshasí, who had again come,
and who received him with a courteous welcome, and with her the
youth went again to her home, the peak of the Himálayas, where his
wife was anxiously awaiting him. And after he had remained some time
with his wife, he said to his mother-in-law, "Give me a second golden
lotus from somewhere or other." When she heard that, she said to him,
"Whence can I procure another golden lotus? But there is a lake here
belonging to our king Kapálasphota, where golden lotuses of this
kind grow on all sides. From that lake he gave that one lotus to my
husband as a token of affection." When she said this, he answered
her, "Then take me to that lake, in order that I may myself take a
golden lotus from it." She then attempted to dissuade him saying,
"It is impossible; for the lake is guarded by terrible Rákshasas;"
but nevertheless he would not desist from his importunity. Then at last
his mother-in-law was with much difficulty induced to take him there,
and he beheld from afar that heavenly lake on the plateau of a lofty
mountain, covered with dense and tall-stalked lotuses of gleaming gold,
as if from continually facing the sun's rays they had drunk them in,
and so become interpenetrated with them.

So he went there and began to gather the lotuses, and while he was
thus engaged, the terrible Rákshasas, who guarded it, endeavoured to
prevent him from doing so. And being armed he killed some of them,
but the others fled and told their king Kapálasphota, [409] and when
that king of the Rákshasas heard of it, he was enraged and came there
himself, and saw Asokadatta with the lotuses he had carried off. And in
his astonishment he exclaimed as he recognised his brother: "What! is
this my brother Asokadatta come here?" Then he flung away his weapon,
and with his eyes washed with tears of joy, he quickly ran and fell at
his feet, and said to him: "I am Vijayadatta, your younger brother,
we are both the sons of that excellent Bráhman Govindasvámin. And by
the appointment of destiny, I became a Rákshasa such as you see, and
have continued such for this long time, and I am called Kapálasphota
from my cleaving the skull on the funeral pyre.

"But now from seeing you I have remembered my former Bráhman nature,
and that Rákshasa nature of mine, that clouded my mind with delusion,
has left me." When Vijayadatta said this, Asokadatta embraced him,
and so to speak, washed with copious tears of joy his body defiled by
the Rákshasa nature. And while he was thus engaged, there descended
from heaven by divine command the spiritual guide of the Vidyádharas,
named Kausika. And he approaching these two brothers, said, "You
and your family are all Vidyádharas, who have been reduced to this
state by a curse, and now the curse of all of you has terminated. So
receive these sciences, which belong to you, and which you must share
with your relations. And return to your own proper dwelling taking
with you your relations." Having said this, the spiritual guide,
after bestowing the sciences on them, ascended to heaven.

And they, having become Vidyádharas, awoke from their long dream,
and went through the air to that peak of the Himálayas, taking with
them the golden lotuses, and there Asokadatta repaired to his wife
the daughter of the king of the Rákshasas, and then her curse came
to an end, and she became a Vidyádharí. And those two brothers went
in a moment with that fair-eyed one to Benares, travelling through
the air. And there they visited their parents, who were scorched with
the fire of separation, and refreshed them by pouring upon them the
revivifying nectar of their own appearance. And those two, who, without
changing the body, had gone through such wonderful transformations,
produced joy not only in their parents, but in the people at large. And
when Vijayadatta's father, after so long a separation, folded him
in a close embrace, he filled full not only his arms, but also his
desire. Then the king Pratápamukuta, the father-in-law of Asokadatta,
hearing of it, came there in high delight; and Asokadatta, being
kindly received by the king, entered with his relations the king's
palace, in which his beloved was anxiously awaiting him, and which
was in a state of festal rejoicing. And he gave many golden lotuses
to that king, and the king was delighted at getting more than he had
asked for. Then Vijayadatta's father Govindasvámin, full of wonder
and curiosity, said to him in the presence of all: "Tell me, my son,
what sort of adventures you had, after you had become a Rákshasa in the
cemetery during the night." Then Vijayadatta said to him--"My father,
when in my reckless frivolity I had cloven the burning skull on the
funeral pyre, as fate would have it, I immediately, as you saw, became
a Rákshasa by its brains having entered my mouth, being bewildered
with delusion. Then I was summoned by the other Rákshasas, who gave
me the name of Kapálasphota, and I joined them. And then I was led
by them to their sovereign the king of the Rákshasas, and he, when he
saw me, was pleased with me and appointed me commander-in-chief. And
once on a time that king of the Rákshasas went in his infatuation to
attack the Gandharvas, and was there slain in battle by his foes. And
then his subjects accepted my rule, so I dwelt in his city and ruled
those Rákshasas, and while I was there, I suddenly beheld that elder
brother of mine Asokadatta, who had come for golden lotuses, and the
sight of him put a stop to that Rákshasa nature in me. What follows,
how we were released from the power of the curse, and thereby recovered
our sciences, [410] all this my elder brother will relate to you." When
Vijayadatta had told this story, Asokadatta began to tell his from the
beginning: "Long ago we were Vidyádharas, and from the heaven we beheld
the daughters of the hermits bathing in the Ganges near the hermitage
of Gálava, [411] and then we fell suddenly in love with them, and
they returned our affection; all this took place in secret, but their
relations, who possessed heavenly insight, found it out and cursed
us in their anger: 'May you two wicked ones be born both of you to a
mortal woman, and then you shall be separated in a marvellous manner,
but when the second of you shall behold the first arrived in a distant
land, inaccessible to man, and shall recognise him, then you shall
have your magic knowledge restored to you by the spiritual preceptor
of the Vidyádharas, and you shall again become Vidyádharas, released
from the curse and re-united to your friends.' Having been cursed in
this way by those hermits, we were both born here in this land, and
you know the whole story of our separation, and now by going to the
city of the king of the Rákshasas, by virtue of my mother-in-law's
magic power, to fetch the golden lotuses, I have found this younger
brother of mine. And in that very place we obtained the sciences from
our preceptor Prajnaptikausika, and suddenly becoming Vidyádharas
we have quickly arrived here." Thus Asokadatta spoke, and then that
hero of various adventures, delighted at having escaped the darkness
of the curse, bestowed on his parents and his beloved, the daughter
of the king, his own wonderful sciences of many kinds, so that their
minds were suddenly awakened, and they became Vidyádharas. Then the
happy hero took leave of the king, and with his brother, his parents,
and his two wives, flew up, and quickly reached through the air the
palace of his emperor. There he beheld him, and received his orders,
and so did his brother, and he bore henceforth the name of Asokavega,
and his brother of Vijayavega. And both the brothers, having become
noble Vidyádhara youths, went, accompanied by their relations,
to the splendid mountain named Govindakúta, which now became their
home. And Pratápamukuta the king of Benares, overpowered by wonder,
placed one of the golden lotuses in the second vessel in his temple,
and offered to Siva the other golden lotuses presented by Asokadatta,
and delighted with the honour of his connexion, considered his family
highly fortunate.

"Thus divine persons become incarnate for some reason, and are born
in this world of men, and possessing their native virtue and courage,
attain successes which it is hard to win. So I am persuaded that you, O
sea of courage, are some portion of a divinity, and will attain success
as you desire; daring in achievements hard to accomplish even by the
great, generally indicates a surpassingly excellent nature. Moreover
the princess Kanakarekhá, whom you love, must surely be a heavenly
being, otherwise being a mere child how could she desire a husband
that has seen the Golden City?" Having heard in secret this long and
interesting story from Vishnudatta, Saktideva desiring in his heart to
behold the Golden City, and supporting himself with resolute patience,
managed to get through the night.






CHAPTER XXVI.


The next morning, while Saktideva was dwelling in the monastery in
the island of Utsthala, Satyavrata, the king of the fishermen, came to
him, and said to him in accordance with the promise which he had made
before, "Bráhman, I have thought of a device for accomplishing your
wish; there is a fair isle in the middle of the sea named Ratnakúta,
and in it there is a temple of the adorable Vishnu founded by the
Ocean, and on the twelfth day of the white fortnight of Áshádha there
is a festival there with a procession, and people come there diligently
from all the islands to offer worship. It is possible that some one
there might know about the Golden City, so come let us go there,
for that day is near." When Satyavrata made this proposal, Saktideva
consented gladly, and took with him the provisions for the journey
furnished by Vishnudatta. Then he went on board the ship brought by
Satyavrata, and quickly set out with him on the ocean-path, and as
he was going with Satyavrata on the home of marvels [412] in which
the monsters resembled islands, he asked the king, who was steering
the ship, "What is this enormous object which is seen in the sea far
off in this direction, looking like a huge mountain equipped with
wings rising at will out of the sea?" Then Satyavrata said: "Bráhman,
this is a banyan-tree, [413] underneath it they say that there is
a gigantic whirlpool, the mouth of the submarine fire. And we must
take care in passing this way to avoid that spot, for those who once
enter that whirlpool never return again." While Satyavrata was thus
speaking, the ship began to be carried in that very direction by the
force of the wind; [414] when Satyavrata saw this, he again said to
Saktideva: "Bráhman, it is clear that the time of our destruction
has now arrived, for see, this ship suddenly drifts [415] in that
direction. And now I cannot anyhow prevent it, so we are certain
to be cast into that deep whirlpool, as into the mouth of death,
by the sea which draws us on as if it were mighty fate, the result
of our deeds. And it grieves me not for myself, for whose body is
continuing? But it grieves me to think that your desire has not been
accomplished in spite of all your toils, so while I keep back this
ship for a moment, quickly climb on to the boughs of this banyan-tree,
perhaps some expedient may present itself for saving the life of one
of such noble form, for who can calculate the caprices of fate or
the waves of the sea?" While the heroic Satyavrata was saying this,
the ship drew near the tree; at that moment Saktideva made a leap
in his terror, and caught a broad branch of that marine banyan-tree,
[416] but Satyavrata's body and ship, which he offered for another,
were swept down into the whirlpool, and he entered the mouth of the
submarine fire. But Saktideva, though he had escaped to the bough of
that tree, which filled the regions with its branches, was full of
despair and reflected--"I have not beheld that Golden City, and I am
perishing in an uninhabited place, moreover I have also brought about
the death of that king of the fishermen. Or rather who can resist the
awful goddess of Destiny, that ever places her foot upon the heads of
all men?" [417] While the Bráhman youth was thus revolving thoughts
suited to the occasion on the trunk of the tree, the day came to an
end. And in the evening he saw many enormous birds, of the nature of
vultures, coming into that banyan-tree from all quarters, filling the
sides of heaven with their cries, and the waves of the sea, that was
lashed by the wind of their broad wings, appeared as if running to
meet them out of affection produced by long acquaintance.

Then he, concealed by the dense leaves, overheard the conversation of
those birds perched on the branches, which was carried on in human
language. One described some distant island, another a mountain,
another a distant region as the place where he had gone to roam
during the day, but an old bird among them said, "I went to-day to
the Golden City to disport myself, and to-morrow morning I shall go
there again to feed at my ease, for what is the use of my taking a
long and fatiguing journey?" Saktideva's sorrow was removed by that
speech of the bird's, which resembled a sudden shower of nectar, and
he thought to himself, "Bravo! that city does exist, and now I have an
instrument for reaching it, this gigantic bird given me as a means of
conveyance." Thinking thus, Saktideva slowly advanced and hid himself
among the back-feathers of that bird while it was asleep, and next
morning, when the other birds went off in different directions, that
vulture exhibiting a strange partiality to the Bráhman like destiny,
[418] carrying Saktideva unseen on his back where he had climbed up,
went immediately to the Golden City to feed again. [419] Then the bird
alighted in a garden, and Saktideva got down from its back unobserved
and left it, but while he was roaming about there, he saw two women
engaged in gathering flowers; he approached them slowly, who were
astonished at his appearance, and he asked them, "What place is this,
good ladies, and who are you?" And they said to him: "Friend, this
is a city called the Golden City, a seat of the Vidyádharas, and in
it there dwells a Vidyádharí, named Chandraprabhá, and know that we
are the gardeners in her garden, and we are gathering these flowers
for her." Then the Bráhman said; "Obtain for me an interview with
your mistress here." When they heard this, they consented, and the
two women conducted the young man to the palace in their city. When
he reached it, he saw that it was glittering with pillars of precious
stones, and had walls of gold, [420] as it were the very rendezvous of
prosperity. And all the attendants, when they saw him arrived there,
went and told Chandraprabhá the marvellous tidings of the arrival of
a mortal; then she gave a command to the warder, and immediately had
the Bráhman brought into the palace and conducted into her presence;
when he entered, he beheld her there giving a feast to his eyes,
like the Creator's ability to create marvels, represented in bodily
form. And she rose from her jewelled couch, while he was still far off,
and honoured him with a welcome herself, overpowered by beholding
him. And when he had taken a seat, she asked him, "Auspicious sir,
who are you, that have come here in such guise, and how did you
reach this land inaccessible to men?" When Chandraprabhá in her
curiosity asked him this question, Saktideva told her his country
and his birth and his name, and he related to her how he had come in
order to obtain the princess Kanakarekhá as the reward of beholding
the Golden City. When Chandraprabhá heard that, she thought a little
and heaved a deep sigh, and said to Saktideva in private; "Listen,
I am now about to tell you something, fortunate sir. There is in this
land a king of the Vidyádharas named Sasikhanda, and we four daughters
were born to him in due course; I am the eldest Chandraprabhá, and
the next is Chandrarekhá, and the third is Sasirekhá and the fourth
Sasiprabhá. We gradually grew up to womanhood in our father's house,
and once upon a time those three sisters of mine went together to the
shore of the Ganges to bathe, while I was detained at home by illness;
then they began to play in the water, and in the insolence of youth
they sprinkled with water a hermit named Agryatapas, while he was
in the stream. That hermit in his wrath cursed those girls, who had
carried their merriment too far, saying:--"You wicked maidens, be born
all of you in the world of mortals." When our father heard that, he
went and pacified the great hermit, and the hermit told how the curse
of each of them severally should end, and appointed to each of them
in her mortal condition the power of remembering her former existence,
supplemented with divine insight. Then, they having left their bodies
and gone to the world of men, my father bestowed on me this city,
and in his grief went to the forest, but while I was dwelling here,
the goddess Durgá informed me in a dream that a mortal should become my
husband. For this reason, though my father has recommended to me many
Vidyádhara suitors, I have rejected them all and remained unmarried
up to this day. But now I am subdued by your wonderful arrival and
by your handsome form, and I give myself to you; so I will go on
the approaching fourteenth day of the lunar fortnight to the great
mountain called Rishabha to entreat my father for your sake, for
all the most excellent Vidyádharas assemble there from all quarters
on that day to worship the god Siva, and my father comes there too,
and after I have obtained his permission, I will return here quickly;
then marry me. Now rise up."

Having said this, Chandraprabhá supplied Saktideva with various kinds
of luxuries suited to Vidyádharas, and while he remained there,
he was as much refreshed, as one heated by a forest conflagration
would be by bathing in a lake of nectar. And when the fourteenth day
had arrived, Chandraprabhá said to him: "To-day I go to entreat my
father's permission to marry you, and all my attendants will go with
me. But you must not be grieved at being left alone for two days,
moreover, while you remain alone in this palace, you must by no means
ascend the middle terrace." When Chandraprabhá had said this to that
young Bráhman, she set out on her journey leaving her heart with him,
and escorted on her way by his. And Saktideva, remaining there alone,
wandered from one magnificent part of the palace to another, to delight
his mind; and then he felt a curiosity to know why that daughter of the
Vidyádhara had forbidden him to ascend the roof of the palace, and so
he ascended that middle terrace of the palace, for men are generally
inclined to do that which is forbidden: and when he had ascended it, he
saw three concealed pavilions, and he entered one of them, the door of
which was open, and when he had entered it he saw a certain woman lying
on a magnificently jewelled sofa, on which there was a mattress placed,
whose body was hidden by a sheet. But when he lifted up the sheet and
looked, he beheld lying dead in that guise that beautiful maiden, the
daughter of king Paropakárin; and when he saw her there, he thought,
"What is this great wonder? Is she sleeping a sleep from which there
is no awaking, or is it a complete delusion on my part? That woman,
for whose sake I have travelled to this foreign land, is lying here
without breath, though she is alive in my own country, and she still
retains her beauty unimpaired, so I may be certain that this is all
a magic show, which the Creator for some reason or other exhibits
to beguile me." Thinking thus, he proceeded to enter in succession
those other two pavilions, and he beheld within them in the same
way two other maidens; then he went in his astonishment out of the
palace, and sitting down he remained looking at a very beautiful
lake below it, and on its bank he beheld a horse with a jewelled
saddle; so he descended immediately from where he was, and out of
curiosity approached its side; and seeing that it had no rider on it,
he tried to mount it, and that horse struck him with its heel and
flung him into the lake. And after he had sunk beneath the surface
of the lake, he quickly rose up to his astonishment from the middle
of a garden-lake in his own city of Vardhamána; and he saw himself
suddenly standing in the water of a lake in his own native city, like
the kumuda plants, miserable without the light of the moon. [421] He
reflected "How different is this city of Vardhamána from that city
of the Vidyádharas! Alas! what is this great display of marvellous
delusion? Alas! I, ill-fated wretch, am wonderfully deceived by some
strange power; or rather, who on this earth knows what is the nature
of destiny?" Thus reflecting Saktideva rose from the midst of the lake,
and went in a state of wonder to his own father's house. There he made
a false representation, giving as an excuse for his absence that he
had been himself going about with a drum, and being gladly welcomed
by his father he remained with his delighted relations; and on the
second day he went outside his house, and heard again these words
being proclaimed in the city by beat of drum,--"Let whoever, being
a Bráhman or a Kshatriya, has really seen the Golden City, say so:
the king will give him his daughter, and make him crown-prince." Then
Saktideva hearing that, having successfully accomplished the task,
again went and said to those who were proclaiming this by beat of
drum,--"I have seen that city." And they took him before that king, and
the king recognising him, supposed that he was again saying what was
untrue, as he had done before. But he said--"If I say what is false,
and if I have not really seen that city, I desire now to be punished
with death; let the princess herself examine me." When he said this,
the king went and had his daughter summoned by his servants. She,
when she saw that Bráhman, whom she had seen before, again said to
the king; "My father, he will tell us some falsehood again." Then
Saktideva said to her,--"Princess, whether I speak truly or falsely,
be pleased to explain this point which excites my curiosity. How is
it that I saw you lying dead on a sofa in the golden city, and yet
see you here alive?" When the princess Kanakarekhá had been asked
this question by Saktideva, and furnished with this token of his
truth, she said in the presence of her father: "It is true that this
great-hearted one has seen that city, and in a short time he will be
my husband, when I return to dwell there. And there he will marry
my other three sisters; and he will govern as king the Vidyádharas
in that city. But I must to-day enter my own body and that city, for
I have been born here in your house owing to the curse of a hermit,
who moreover appointed that my curse should end in the following way,
'When you shall be wearing a human form, and a man, having beheld your
body in the Golden City, shall reveal the truth, then you shall be
freed from your curse, and that man shall become your husband.' And
though I am in a human body I remember my origin, and I possess
supernatural knowledge, so I will now depart to my own Vidyádhara
home, to a happy fortune." Saying this the princess left her body,
and vanished, and a confused cry arose in the palace. And Saktideva,
who had now lost both the maidens, thinking over the two beloved ones
whom he had gained by various difficult toils, and who yet were not
gained, and not only grieved but blaming himself, with his desires not
accomplished, left the king's palace and in a moment went through the
following train of thought: "Kanakarekhá said that I should attain
my desire; so why do I despond, for success depends upon courage? I
will again go to the Golden City by the same path, and destiny will
without doubt again provide me with a means of getting there." Thus
reflecting Saktideva set out from that city, for resolute men who
have once undertaken a project do not turn back without accomplishing
their object. And journeying on, he again reached after a long time
that city named Vitankapura, situated on the shore of the sea. And
there he saw the merchant coming to meet him, with whom he originally
went to sea, and whose ship was wrecked there. He thought, "Can this
be Samudradatta, and how can he have escaped after falling into the
sea? But how can it be otherwise? I myself am a strange illustration
of its possibility." While he approached the merchant thinking thus,
the merchant recognised him, and embraced him in his delight, and he
took him to his own house and after entertaining him, asked him--"When
the ship foundered, how did you escape from the sea?" Saktideva then
told him his whole history, how, after being swallowed by a fish,
he first reached the island of Utsthala, and then he asked the good
merchant in his turn: "Tell me also how you escaped from the sea." Then
the merchant said, "After I fell into the sea that time, I remained
floating for three days supported on a plank. Then a ship suddenly came
that way, and I, crying out, was descried by those in her, and taken on
board her. And when I got on board, I saw my own father who had gone
to a distant island long before, and was now returning after a long
absence. My father, when he saw me, recognised me, and embracing me
asked my story with tears, and I told it him as follows--'My father,
you had been away for a long time and had not returned, and so I set
about trading myself, thinking it was my proper employment; then on
my way to a distant island my ship was wrecked, and I was plunged
in the sea, and you have found me and rescued me.' When I had said
this to him, my father asked me reproachfully--'Why do you run such
risks? For I possess wealth, my son, and I am engaged in acquiring
it, see, I have brought you back this ship full of gold.' Thus spoke
my father to me, and comforting me took me home in that very ship
to my own dwelling in Vitankapura." When Saktideva had heard this
account from the merchant, and had rested that night, he said to him
on the next day--"Great merchant, I must once more go to the island
of Utsthala, so tell me how I can get there now." The merchant said
to him--"Some agents of mine are preparing to go there to-day, so
go on board the ship, and set out with them." Thereupon the Bráhman
set out with the merchant's agents to go to that island of Utsthala,
and by chance the sons of the king of the fishermen saw him there,
and when they were near him, they recognised him and said,--"Bráhman,
you went with our father to search here and there for the Golden
City, and how is it that you have come back here to-day alone?" Then
Saktideva said, "Your father, when out at sea, fell into the mouth
of the submarine fire, his ship having been dragged down by the
current." When those sons of the fisher-king heard that, they were
angry and said to their servants--"Bind this wicked man, for he has
murdered our father. Otherwise how could it have happened that, when
two men were in the same ship, one should have fallen into the mouth
of the submarine fire, and the other escaped it. So we must to-morrow
morning sacrifice our father's murderer in front of the goddess Durgá,
treating him as a victim." Having said this to their servants, those
sons of the fisher-king bound Saktideva, and took him off to the awful
temple of Durgá, the belly of which was enlarged, as if it continually
swallowed many lives, and which was like the mouth of death devouring
tamála with projecting teeth. There Saktideva remained bound during
the night in fear for his life, and he thus prayed to the goddess
Durgá,--"Adorable one, granter of boons, thou didst deliver the world
with thy form which was like the orb of the rising sun, appearing as
if it had drunk its fill of the blood gushing freely from the throat
of the giant Ruru; [422] therefore deliver me, thy constant votary,
who have come a long distance out of desire to obtain my beloved,
but am now fallen without cause into the power of my enemies." Thus
he prayed to the goddess, and with difficulty went off to sleep,
and in the night he saw a woman come out of the inner cell of the
temple; that woman of heavenly beauty came up to him, and said with a
compassionate manner, "Do not fear, Saktideva, no harm shall happen
to you. The sons of that fisher-king have a sister named Vindumatí,
that maiden shall see you in the morning and claim you for a husband,
and you must agree to that, she will bring about your deliverance:
and she is not of the fisher-caste: for she is a celestial female
degraded in consequence of a curse." When he heard this, he woke up,
and in the morning that fisher-maiden came to the temple, a shower of
nectar to his eyes. And announcing herself, she came up to him and
said in her eagerness, "I will have you released from this prison,
therefore do what I desire. For I have refused all these suitors
approved of by my brothers, but the moment I saw you, love arose in
my soul, therefore marry me." When Vindumatí, the daughter of the
fisher-king, said this to him, Saktideva remembering his dream,
accepted her proposal gladly; she procured his release, and he
married that fair one, whose wish was gratified by her brothers
receiving the command to do so from Durgá in a dream. And he lived
there with that heavenly creature that had assumed a human form,
obtained solely by his merits in a former life, as if with happy
success. And one day, as he was standing upon the roof of his palace,
he saw a Chandála coming along with a load of cow's flesh, and he
said to his beloved--"Look, slender one! how can this evildoer eat
the flesh of cows, those animals that are the object of veneration to
the three worlds?" Then Vindumatí, hearing that, said to her husband;
"The wickedness of this act is inconceivable, what can we say in
palliation of it. I have been born in this race of fishermen for a
very small offence owing to the might of cows, but what can atone for
this man's sin?" When she said this, Saktideva said to her;--"That
is wonderful: tell me, my beloved, who you are, and how you came
to be born in a family of fishermen." When he asked this with much
importunity, she said to him, "I will tell you, though it is a secret,
if you promise to do what I ask you." He affirmed with an oath;
"Yes, I will do what you ask me."

She then told him first what she desired him to do; "In this island you
will soon marry another wife, and she, my husband, will soon became
pregnant, and in the eighth month of her pregnancy you must cut her
open and take out the child, and you must feel no compunction about
it." Thus she said, and he was astonished, exclaiming, "What can this
mean?" and he was full of horror, but that daughter of the fisher-king
went on to say, "This request of mine you must perform for a certain
reason; now hear who I am, and how I came to be born in a family of
fishermen. Long ago in a former birth I was a certain Vidyádharí, and
now I have fallen into the world of men in consequence of a curse. For
when I was a Vidyádharí, I bit asunder some strings with my teeth
and fastened them to lyres, and it is owing to that that I have been
born here in the house of a fisherman. So, if such a degradation is
brought about by touching the mouth with the dry sinew of a cow, much
more terrible must be the result of eating cow's flesh!" While she was
saying this, one of her brothers rushed in in a state of perturbation,
and said to Saktideva, "Rise up, an enormous boar has appeared from
somewhere or other, and after slaying innumerable persons is coming
this way in its pride, towards us." When Saktideva heard that, he
descended from his palace, and mounting a horse, spear in hand,
[423] he galloped to meet the boar, and struck it the moment he
saw it, but when the hero attacked him the boar fled, and managed,
though wounded, to enter a cavern: and Saktideva entered there in
pursuit of him, and immediately beheld a great garden-shrubbery with
a house. And when he was there, he beheld a maiden of very wonderful
beauty, coming in a state of agitation to meet him, as if it were
the goddess of the wood advancing to receive him out of love.

And he asked her,--"Auspicious lady, who are you, and why are you
perturbed?"--Hearing that, the lovely one thus answered him; "There is
a king of the name of Chandavikrama, lord of the southern region. I
am his daughter, auspicious sir, a maiden named Vindurekhá. But a
wicked Daitya, with flaming eyes, carried me off by treachery from my
father's house to-day, and brought me here. And he, desiring flesh,
assumed the form of a boar, and sallied out, but while he was still
hungry, he was pierced with a spear to-day by some hero; and as soon
as he was pierced, he came in here and died. And I rushed out and
escaped without being outraged by him." Then Saktideva said to her,
"Then why all this perturbation? For I slew that boar with a spear,
princess." Then she said, "Tell me who you are," and he answered her
"I am a Bráhman named Saktideva." Then she said to him, "You must
accordingly become my husband," and the hero consenting went out
of the cavern with her. And when he arrived at home, he told it to
his wife Vindumatí, and with her consent he married that princess
Vindurekhá. So, while Saktideva was living there with his two wives,
one of his wives Vindurekhá became pregnant; and in the eighth
month of her pregnancy, the first wife Vindumatí came up to him of
her own accord and said to him, "Hero, remember what you promised
me; this is the eighth month of the pregnancy of your second wife:
so go and cut her open and bring the child here, for you cannot act
contrary to your own word of honour." When she said this to Saktideva,
he was bewildered by affection and compassion; but being bound by
his promise he remained for a short time unable to give an answer;
at last he departed in a state of agitation and went to Vindurekhá;
and she seeing him come with troubled air, said to him, "Husband, why
are you despondent to-day? Surely I know; you have been commissioned
by Vindumatí to take out the child with which I am pregnant; and
that you must certainly do, for there is a certain object in view,
and there is no cruelty in it, so do not feel compunction; in proof
of it, hear the following story of Devadatta."



Story of Devadatta.

Long ago there lived in the city of Kambuka a Bráhman named Haridatta;
and the son of that auspicious man, who was named Devadatta, though
he studied in his boyhood, was, as a young man, exclusively addicted
to the vice of gaming. As he had lost his clothes and everything
by gambling, he was not able to return to his father's house, so he
entered once on a time an empty temple. And there he saw alone a great
ascetic, named Jálapáda, who had attained many objects by magic, and
he was muttering spells in a corner. So he went up to him slowly and
bowed before him, and the ascetic, abandoning his habit of not speaking
to any one, greeted him with a welcome; and after he had remained there
a moment, the ascetic, seeing his trouble, asked him the cause, and he
told him of his affliction produced by the loss of his wealth, which
had been dissipated in gambling. Then the ascetic said to Devadatta;
"My child, there is not wealth enough in the whole world to satisfy
gamblers; but if you desire to escape from your calamity, do what
I tell you, for I have made preparations to attain the rank of a
Vidyádhara; so help me to accomplish this, O man of fortunate destiny,
[424] you have only to obey my orders and then your calamities will
be at an end." When the ascetic said this to him, Devadatta promised
to obey him, and immediately took up his residence with him. And the
next day the ascetic went into a corner of the cemetery and performed
worship by night under a banyan-tree, and offered rice boiled in
milk, and flung portions of the oblation towards the four cardinal
points, after worshipping them, and said to the Bráhman who was in
attendance on him; "You must worship here in this style every day,
and say 'Vidyutprabhá, accept this worship.' And then I am certain
that we shall both attain our ends;" having said this the ascetic went
with him to his own house. Then Devadatta, consenting, went every day
and duly performed worship at the foot of that tree, according to his
instructions. And one day, at the end of his worship, the tree suddenly
clave open, and a heavenly nymph came out of it before his eyes,
and said, "My good sir, my mistress summons you to come to her." And
then she introduced him into the middle of that tree. When he entered
it, he beheld a heavenly palace made of jewels, and a beautiful lady
within it reclining upon a sofa. And he immediately thought--"This
may be the success of our enterprise incarnate in bodily form,"
but while he was thinking thus, that beautiful lady, receiving him
graciously, rose with limbs on which the ornaments rang as if to
welcome him, and seated him on her own sofa. And she said to him,
"Illustrious sir, I am the maiden daughter of a king of the Yakshas,
named Ratnavarsha, and I am known by the name of Vidyutprabhá; and
this great ascetic Jálapáda was endeavouring to gain my favour, to
him I will give the attainment of his ends, but you are the lord of
my life. So, as you see my affection, marry me." When she said this,
Devadatta consented, and did so. And he remained there some time,
but when she became pregnant, he went to the great ascetic with the
intention of returning, and in a state of terror he told him all that
had happened, and the ascetic, desiring his own success, said to him,
"My good sir, you have acted quite rightly, but go and cut open that
Yakshí and taking out the embryo, bring it quickly here." The ascetic
said this to him, and then reminded him of his previous promise,
and being dismissed by him, the Bráhman returned to his beloved, and
while he stood there despondent with reflecting on what he had to do,
the Yakshí Vidyutprabhá of her own accord said to him;--"My husband,
why are you cast down? I know, Jálapáda has ordered you to cut me open,
so cut me open and take out this child, and if you refuse, I will do
it myself, for there is an object in it." Though she said this to him,
the Bráhman could not bring himself to do it, then she cut herself
open and took out the child, and flung it down before him and said,
"Take this, which will enable him who consumes it, to obtain the rank
of a Vidyádhara. But I, though properly a Vidyádharí, have been born as
a Yakshí owing to a curse, and this is the appointed end of my curse,
strange as it is, for I remember my former existence. Now I depart
to my proper home, but we two shall meet again in that place." Saying
this Vidyutprabhá vanished from his eyes. And Devadatta took the child
with sorrowful mind, and went to that ascetic Jálapáda, and gave it
to him, as that which would ensure the success of his incantations,
for good men do not even in calamity give way to selfishness. The great
ascetic divided the child's flesh, and sent Devadatta to the wood to
worship Durgá in her terrific form. And when the Bráhman came back
after presenting an oblation, he saw that the ascetic had made away
with all the flesh. And while he said--"What, have you consumed it
all?" the treacherous Jálapáda, having become a Vidyádhara, ascended
to heaven. When he had flown up, with sword blue as the sky, adorned
with necklace and bracelet, Devadatta reflected, "Alas! how I have
been deceived by this evil-minded one! Or rather on whom does not
excessive compliance entail misfortune? So how can I revenge myself
on him for this ill turn, and how can I reach him who has become
a Vidyádhara? Well! I have no other resource in this matter except
propitiating a Vetála." [425] After he had made up his mind to do this,
he went at night to the cemetery. There he summoned at the foot of
a tree a Vetála into the body of a man, and after worshipping him,
he made an oblation of human flesh to him. And as that Vetála was not
satisfied, and would not wait for him to bring more, he prepared to cut
off his own flesh in order to gratify him. And immediately that Vetála
said to that brave man;--"I am pleased with this courage of yours,
do not act recklessly. So, my good sir, what desire have you for me to
accomplish for you?" When the Vetála said this, the hero answered him;
"Take me to the dwelling-place of the Vidyádharas, where is the ascetic
Jálapáda, who deceives those that repose confidence in him, in order
that I may punish him." The Vetála consented, and placing him on his
shoulder, carried him through the air in a moment to the dwelling of
the Vidyádharas; and there he saw Jálapáda in a palace, seated on
a jewelled throne, elated at being a king among the Vidyádharas,
endeavouring by various speeches to induce that Vidyutprabhá,
[426] who had obtained the rank of a Vidyádharí, to marry him in
spite of her reluctance. And the moment that the young man saw him,
he attacked him with the help of the Vetála, being to the eyes of the
delighted Vidyutprabhá, what the moon, the repository of nectar, is to
the partridges. [427] And Jálapáda beholding him suddenly arrived in
this way, dropped his sword in his fright, and fell from his throne
on the floor. But Devadatta, though he had obtained his sword, did
not slay him, for the great-hearted feel pity even for their enemies
when they are terrified.

And when the Vetála wanted to kill him, he dissuaded him, and said,
"Of what use will it be to us to kill this miserable heretic? So
take him and place him in his own house on earth, it is better that
this wicked skull-bearing ascetic should remain there." At the very
moment that Devadatta was saying this, the goddess Durgá descended
from heaven and appeared to him, and said to him who bent before her,
"My son, I am satisfied with thee now, on account of this incomparable
courage of thine; so I give thee on the spot the rank of king of the
Vidyádharas." Having said this, she bestowed the magic sciences [428]
on him, and immediately disappeared. And the Vetála immediately took
Jálapáda, whose splendour fell from him, and placed him on earth;
(wickedness does not long ensure success;) and Devadatta accompanied
by Vidyutprabhá, having obtained that sovereignty of the Vidyádharas,
flourished in his kingdom.

Having told this story to her husband Saktideva, the softly-speaking
Vindurekhá again said to him with eagerness; "Such necessities
do arise, so cut out this child of mine as Vindumatí told you,
without remorse." When Vindurekhá said this, Saktideva was afraid
of doing wrong, but a voice sounded from heaven at this juncture,
"O Saktideva, take out this child without fear, and seize it by the
neck with your hand, then it will turn into a sword." Having heard this
divine voice, he cut her open; and quickly taking out the child, he
seized it by the throat with his hand; and no sooner did he seize it,
than it became a sword in his hand; like the long hair of Good Fortune
seized by him with an abiding grasp. Then that Bráhman quickly became
a Vidyádhara, and Vindurekhá that moment disappeared. And when he saw
that, he went, as he was, to his second wife Vindumatí, and told her
the whole story. She said to him, "My lord, we are three sisters,
the daughter of a king of the Vidyádharas, who have been banished
from Kanakapurí in consequence of a curse. The first was Kanakarekhá,
the termination of whose curse you beheld in the city of Vardhamána;
and she has gone to that city of hers, her proper home. For such
was the strange end of her curse, according to the dispensation of
fate, and I am the third sister, and now my curse is at an end. And
this very day I must go to that city of mine, my beloved, for there
our Vidyádhara bodies remain. And my elder sister, Chandraprabhá,
is dwelling there; so you also must come there quickly by virtue
of the magic power of your sword. And you shall rule in that city,
after obtaining all four of us as wives, bestowed upon you by our
father who has retired to the forest, and others in addition to us."

Thus Vindumatí declared the truth about herself, and Saktideva
consenting, went again to the City of Gold, this time through the
air, together with that Vindumatí. And when he arrived, he again saw
those three darlings of his bending before him, Kanakarekhá and the
others, after entering with their souls, as was fitting, those heavenly
female bodies, which he saw on a former occasion extended lifeless on
the couches in those three pavilions. And he saw that fourth sister
there, Chandraprabhá, who had performed auspicious ceremonies, and was
drinking in his form with an eye rendered eager by seeing him after
so long an absence. His arrival was joyfully hailed by the servants,
who were occupied in their several duties, as well as by the ladies,
and when he entered the private apartments, that Chandraprabhá said
to him--"Noble sir, here is that princess Kanakarekhá, who was seen
by you in the city of Vardhamána, my sister called Chandrarekhá. And
here is that daughter of the fisher king, Vindumatí, whom you first
married in the island of Utsthala, my sister Sasirekhá. And here
is my youngest sister Sasiprabhá, the princess who after that was
brought there by the Dánava, and then became your wife. So now come,
successful hero, with us into the presence of our father, and quickly
marry us all, when bestowed upon you by him."

When Chandraprabhá had swiftly and boldly uttered this decree of Cupid,
Saktideva went with those four to the recesses of the wood to meet
their father, and their father, the king of the Vidyádharas, having
been informed of the facts by all his daughters who bowed at his feet,
and also moved by a divine voice, with delighted soul gave them all at
once to Saktideva. Immediately after that, he bestowed on Saktideva
his opulent realm in the City of Gold, and all his magic sciences,
and he gave the successful hero his name, by which he was henceforth
known among his Vidyádharas. And he said to him; "No one else shall
conquer thee, but from the mighty lord of Vatsa there shall spring a
universal emperor, who shall reign among you here under the title of
Naraváhanadatta and be thy superior, to him alone wilt thou have to
submit." With these words the mighty lord of the Vidyádharas, named
Sasikhandapada, dismissed his son-in-law from the wood where he was
practising asceticism, after entertaining him kindly, that he might go
with his wives to his own capital. Then that Saktivega, having become
a king, entered the City of Gold, that glory of the Vidyádhara world,
proceeding thither with his wives. Living in that city, the palaces
of which gleamed with fabric of gold, which seemed on account of its
great height to be the condensed rays of the sun falling in brightness,
he enjoyed exceeding happiness with those fair-eyed wives, in charming
gardens, the lakes of which had steps made out of jewels.

Having thus related his wonderful history, the eloquent Saktivega
went on to say to the king of Vatsa, "Know me, O lord of Vatsa,
ornament of the lunar race, to be that very Saktideva come here,
full of desire to behold the two feet of your son who is just born,
and is destined to be our new emperor. Thus I have obtained, though
originally a man, the rank of sovereign among the Vidyádharas by the
favour of Siva: and now, O king, I return to my own home; I have seen
our future lord; may you enjoy unfailing felicity."

After finishing his tale, Saktivega said this with clasped hands,
and receiving permission to depart, immediately flew up into the sky
like the moon in brightness, and then the king of Vatsa in the company
of his wives, surrounded by his ministers, and with his young son,
enjoyed, in his own capital a state of indescribable felicity.







BOOK VI.


CHAPTER XXVII.


May the god with the face of an elephant, [429] who appears, with
his head bowed down and then raised, to be continually threatening
the hosts of obstacles, protect you.

I adore the god of Love, pierced with the showers of whose arrows even
the body of Siva seems to bristle with dense thorns, when embraced
by Umá.

Now hear the heavenly adventures which Naraváhanadatta, speaking of
himself in the third person, told from the very beginning, after
he had obtained the sovereignty of the Vidyádharas, and had been
questioned about the story of his life on some occasion or other by
the seven Rishis and their wives.

Then that Naraváhanadatta being carefully brought up by his father,
passed his eighth year. The prince lived at that time with the sons
of the ministers, being instructed in sciences, and sporting in
gardens. And the queen Vásavadattá and Padmávatí also on account of
their exceeding affection were devoted to him day and night. He was
distinguished by a body which was sprung from a noble stock, and bent
under the weight of his growing virtues, and gradually filled out,
as also by a bow which was made of a good bamboo, which bent as the
string rose, and slowly arched itself into a crescent. [430] And his
father the king of Vatsa spent his time in wishes for his marriage
and other happiness, delightful because so soon to bear fruit. Now
hear what happened at this point of the story.



Story of the merchant's son in Takshasilá.

There was once a city named Takshasilá [431] on the banks of the
Vitastá, the reflection of whose long line of palaces gleamed in
the waters of the river, as if it were the capital of the lower
regions come to gaze at its splendour. In it there dwelt a king named
Kalingadatta, a distinguished Buddhist, all whose subjects were devoted
to the great Buddha the bridegroom of Tárá. [432] His city shone with
splendid Buddhist temples densely crowded together, as if with the
horns of pride elevated because it had no rival upon earth. He not
only cherished his subjects like a father, but also himself taught
them knowledge like a spiritual guide. Moreover there was in that
city a certain rich Buddhist merchant called Vitastadatta, who was
exclusively devoted to the honouring of Buddhist mendicants. And he
had a son, a young man named Ratnadatta. And he was always expressing
his detestation of his father, calling him an impious man. And when
his father said to him, "Son, why do you blame me?"--the merchant's
son answered with bitter scorn, "My father, you abandon the religion
of the three Vedas and cultivate irreligion. For you neglect the
Bráhmans and are always honouring Sramanas. [433] What have you to
do with that Buddhist discipline, which all kinds of low-caste men
resort to, to gratify their desire to have a convent to dwell in,
released from bathing and other strict ordinances, loving to feed
whenever it is convenient, [434] rejecting the Bráhmanical lock and
other prescribed methods of doing the hair, quite at ease with only a
rag round their loins?" When the merchant heard that he said--"Religion
is not confined to one form; a transcendent religion is a different
thing from a religion that embraces the whole world. People say that
Bráhmanism too consists in avoiding passion and other sins, in truth,
and compassion to creatures, not in quarrelling causelessly with
one's relations. [435] Moreover you ought not to blame generally
that school which I follow, which extends security to all creatures,
on account of the fault of an individual. Nobody questions the
propriety of conferring benefits, and my beneficence consists
simply in giving security to creatures. So, if I take exceeding
pleasure in this system, the principal characteristic of which is
abstinence from injuring any creature, and which brings liberation,
wherein am I irreligious in doing so?" When his father said this
to him, that merchant's son obstinately refused to admit it, and
only blamed his father all the more. Then his father, in disgust,
went and reported the whole matter to the king Kalingadatta, who
superintended the religion of his people. The king, for his part,
summoned on some pretext the merchant's son into his judgement-hall,
and feigning an anger he did not feel, said to the executioner,
"I have heard that this merchant's son is wicked and addicted to
horrible crimes, so slay him without mercy as a corrupter of the
realm." When the king had said this, the father interceded, and then
the king appointed that the execution should be put off for two months,
in order that he might learn virtue, and entrusted the merchant's son
to the custody of his father, to be brought again into his presence at
the end of that time. The merchant's son, when he had been taken home
to his father's house, was distracted with fear, and kept thinking,
"What crime can I have committed against the king?" and pondering
over his causeless execution which was to take place at the end of two
months; and so he could get no sleep day or night, and was exhausted
by taking less than his usual food at all times. Then, the reprieve
of two months having expired, that merchant's son was again taken,
thin and pale, into the presence of the king. And the king seeing
him in such a depressed state said to him--"Why have you become so
thin? Did I order you not to eat?" When the merchant's son heard that,
he said to the king--"I forgot myself for fear, much more my food. Ever
since I heard your majesty order my execution, I have been thinking
every day of death slowly advancing." When the merchant's son said
this, the king said to him, "I have by an artifice made you teach
yourself what the fear of death is. [436] Such must be the fear which
every living creature entertains of death, and tell me what higher
piety can there be than the benefit of preserving creatures from
that? So I shewed you this in order that you might acquire religion
and the desire of salvation, [437] for a wise man being afraid of
death strives to attain salvation. Therefore you must not blame your
father who follows this religion." When the merchant's son heard this,
he bowed and said to the king--"Your majesty has made me a blessed man
by teaching me religion, and now a desire for salvation has arisen in
me, teach me that also, my lord." When the king heard that, as it was
a feast in the city, he gave a vessel full of oil into the hand of the
merchant's son and said to him, "Take this vessel in your hand and walk
all round this city, and you must avoid spilling a single drop of it,
my son; if you spill one drop of it, these men will immediately cut
you down." [438] Having said this, the king dismissed the merchant's
son to walk round the city, ordering men with drawn swords to follow
him. The merchant's son, in his fear, took care to avoid spilling a
drop of oil, and having perambulated that city with much difficulty,
returned into the presence of the king. The king, when he saw that
he had brought the oil without spilling it, said to him: "Did you
see any one to-day, as you went along in your perambulation of the
city?" When the merchant's son heard that, he clasped his hands,
and said to the king--"In truth, my lord, I neither saw nor heard
any thing, for at the time when I was perambulating the city I had
my undivided attention fixed on avoiding spilling a drop of oil, lest
the swords should descend upon me." When the merchant's son said this,
the king said to him; "Because your whole soul was intent on looking
at the oil, you saw nothing. So practise religious contemplation with
the same undivided attention. For a man, who with intent concentration
averts his attention from all outward operations, has intuition of the
truth, and after that intuition he is not entangled again in the meshes
of works. Thus I have given you in a compendious form instruction in
the doctrine of salvation." Thus the king spoke and dismissed him,
and the merchant's son fell at his feet and went home rejoicing to his
father's house, having attained all his objects. This Kalingadatta,
who superintended in this way the religion of his subjects, had a wife
named Tárádattá, of equal birth with the king, who being politic and
well-conducted, was such an ornament to the king as language is to
a poet, who delights in numerous illustrations. She was meritorious
for her bright qualities and was inseparable from that beloved king,
being to him what the moonlight is to the moon, the receptacle of
nectar. The king lived happily there with that queen, and passed his
days like Indra with Sachí in heaven.



Story of the Apsaras Surabhidattá.

At this point of my tale Indra, for some cause or other, had a
great feast in heaven. All the Apsarases assembled there to dance,
except one beautiful Apsaras named Surabhidattá, who was not to be
seen there. Then Indra by his divine power of insight perceived her
associating in secret with a certain Vidyádhara in Nandana. When Indra
saw it, wrath arose in his bosom, and he thought--"Ah! these two,
blinded with love, are both wicked: the Apsaras, because forgetting
us she acts in a wilful manner, the Vidyádhara, because he enters the
domain of the gods and commits improprieties. Or rather, what fault
is that miserable Vidyádhara guilty of? For she has enticed him here,
ensnaring him with her beauty. A lovely one will sweep away with the
sea of her beauty, flowing between the lofty banks of her breasts,
even one who can restrain his passions. Was not even Siva disturbed
long ago when he beheld Tilottamá, whom the Creator made by taking an
atom from all the noblest beings? [439] And did not Visvámitra leave
his asceticism when he beheld Menaká? And did not Yayáti come to old
age for love of Sarmishtá? So this young Vidyádhara has committed no
crime in allowing himself to be allured by an Apsaras with her beauty,
which is able to bewilder the three worlds. [440] But this heavenly
nymph is in fault, wicked creature, void of virtue, who has deserted
the gods, and introduced this fellow into Nandana." Thus reflecting,
the lover of Ahalyá [441] spared the Vidyádhara youth, but cursed
that Apsaras in the following words: "Wicked one, take upon thyself
a mortal nature, but after thou hast obtained a daughter not sprung
from the womb, and hast accomplished the object of the gods, thou
shalt return to this heaven."

In the meanwhile Tárádattá, the consort of that king in the city
of Takshasilá, reached the period favourable for procreation. And
Surabhidattá, the Apsaras who had been degraded from heaven by the
curse of Indra, was conceived in her, giving beauty to her whole
body. Then Tárádattá beheld in a dream a flame descending from
heaven and entering into her womb; and in the morning she described
with astonishment her dream to her husband, the king Kalingadatta;
and he being pleased said to her,--"Queen, heavenly beings owing to
a curse fall into human births, so I am persuaded that this is some
divine being conceived in you. For beings, bound by various works,
good and evil, are ever revolving in the state of mundane existence
in these three worlds, to receive fruits blessed and miserable." When
the queen was thus addressed by the king, she took the opportunity of
saying to him; "It is true, actions, good and bad, have a wonderful
power, producing the perception of joy and sorrow, [442] and in proof
of it I will tell you this illustration, listen to me."



Story of king Dharmadatta and his wife Nágasrí.

There once lived a king named Dharmadatta, the lord of Kosala; he had
a queen named Nágasrí, who was devoted to her husband and was called
Arundhatí on the earth, as, like her, she was the chief of virtuous
women. And in course of time, O slayer of your enemies, I was born
as the daughter of that king by that queen; then, while I was a mere
child, that mother of mine suddenly remembered her former birth and
said to her husband; "O king, I have suddenly to-day remembered my
former birth; it is disagreeable to me not to tell it, but if I do
tell it, it will cause my death, because they say that, if a person
suddenly remembers his or her former birth and tells it, it surely
brings death. Therefore, king, I feel excessively despondent." When
his queen said this to him, the king answered her; "My beloved, I, like
you, have suddenly remembered my former birth; therefore tell me yours,
and I will tell you mine, let what will be, be; for who can alter the
decree of fate." When thus urged by her husband, the queen said to him,
"If you press the matter, king, then I will tell you, listen.

"In my former birth I was a well-conducted female slave in this very
land, in the house of a certain Bráhman named Mádhava. And in that
birth I had a husband named Devadása, an excellent hired servant in
the house of a certain merchant. And so we two dwelled there, having
built a house that suited us, living on the cooked rice brought from
the houses of our respective masters. A water vessel and a pitcher,
a broom and a brazier, and I and my husband, formed three couples. We
lived happy and contented in our house into which the demon of
quarrelling never entered, eating the little food that remained over
after we had made offerings to the gods, the manes and guests.

"And any clothes which either of us had over, we gave to some poor
person or other. Then there arose a grievous famine in our country,
and owing to that the allowance of food, which we had to receive every
day, began to come to us in small quantities. Then our bodies became
attenuated by hunger, and we began to despond in mind, when once on a
time at meal-time there arrived a weary Bráhman guest. To him we both
gave all our own food, as much as we had, though we were in danger of
our lives. When the Bráhman had eaten and departed, my husband's breath
left him, as if angry that he respected a guest more than it. And then
I heaped up in honour of my husband a suitable pyre, and ascended it,
and so laid down the load of my own calamity. Then I was born in a
royal family, and I became your queen, for the tree of good deeds
produces to the righteous inconceivably glorious fruit." When his
queen said this to him, the king Dharmadatta said--"Come, my beloved,
I am that husband of thine in a former birth; I was that very Devadása
the merchant's servant, for I have remembered this moment this former
existence of mine." Having said this, and mentioned the tokens of
his own identity, the king, despondent and yet glad, suddenly went
with his queen to heaven.

"In this way my parents went to another world, and my mother's sister
brought me to her own house to rear me, and while I was unmarried,
there came there a certain Bráhman guest, and my mother's sister
ordered me to wait on him. And I diligently strove to please him
as Kuntí to please Durvásas, and owing to a boon conferred by him,
I obtained you, a virtuous husband. Thus good fortune is the result
of virtue, owing to which my parents were both born at the same time
in royal families, and also remembered their former birth." Having
heard this speech of the queen Tárádattá, the king Kalingadatta,
who was exclusively devoted to righteousness, answered her, "It is
true, a trifling act of righteousness duly performed will bring much
fruit, and in proof of this, O queen, hear the ancient tale of the
seven Bráhmans."



Story of the seven Bráhmans who devoured a cow in time of famine. [443]

Long ago, in a city called Kundina, a certain Bráhman teacher
had for pupils seven sons of Bráhmans. Then that teacher, under
pressure of famine, sent those pupils to ask his father-in-law,
who was rich in cows, to give him one. And those pupils of his went,
with their bellies pinched by hunger, to his father-in-law, who dwelt
in another land, and asked him, as their teacher had ordered them,
for a cow. He gave them one cow to support them, but the miserly
fellow did not give them food, though they were hungry. Then they
took the cow, and as they were returning and had accomplished half
the journey, being excessively pained by hunger, they fell exhausted
on the earth. They said--"Our teacher's house is far off, and we
are afflicted by calamity far from home, and food is hard to obtain
everywhere, so it is all over with our lives. And in the same way
this cow is certain to die in this wilderness without water, wood,
or human beings, and our teacher will not derive even the smallest
advantage from it. So let us support our lives with its flesh, and
quickly restore our teacher and his family with what remains over:
for it is a time of sore distress." Having thus deliberated, those
seven students treated that cow as a victim, and sacrificed it on the
spot according to the system prescribed in the sacred treatises. After
sacrificing to the gods and manes, and eating its flesh according to
the prescribed method, they went and took what remained of it to their
teacher. They bowed before him, and told him all that they had done,
to the letter, and he was pleased with them, because they told the
truth, though they had committed a fault. And after seven days they
died of famine, but because they told the truth on that occasion,
they were born again with the power of remembering their former birth.

"Thus even a small germ of merit, watered with the water of holy
aspiration, bears fruit to men in general, as a seed to cultivators,
but the same corrupted by the water of impure aspiration bears fruit in
the form of misfortune, and à propos of this I will tell you another
tale, listen!"



Story of the two ascetics, one a Bráhman the other a Chandála.

Once on a time two men remained for the same length of time fasting
on the banks of the Ganges, one a Bráhman and the other a Chandála. Of
those two, the Bráhman being overpowered with hunger, and seeing some
Nishádas [444] come that way bringing fish and eating them, thus
reflected in his folly--"O happy in the world are these fishermen,
sons of female slaves though they be, for they eat to their fill
of the fresh meat of fish!" But the other, who was a Chandála,
thought, the moment he saw those fishermen, "Out on these destroyers
of life, and devourers of raw flesh! So why should I stand here and
behold their faces?" Saying this to himself, he closed his eyes and
remained buried in his own thoughts. And in course of time those
two, the Bráhman and the Chandála, died of starvation; the Bráhman
was eaten by dogs on the bank, the Chandála rotted in the water
of the Ganges. So that Bráhman, not having disciplined his spirit,
was born in the family of a fisherman, but owing to the virtue of the
holy place, he remembered his former existence. As for that Chandála,
who possessed self-control, and whose mind was not marred by passion,
he was born as a king in a palace on that very bank of the Ganges,
and recollected his former birth. And of those two, who were born
with a remembrance of their former existence, the one suffered misery
being a fisherman, the other being a king enjoyed happiness.

"Such is the root of the tree of virtue; according to the purity
or impurity of a man's heart is without doubt the fruit which he
receives." Having said this to the queen Tárádattá, king Kalingadatta
again said to her in the course of conversation,--"Moreover actions
which are really distinguished by great courage produce fruit, since
prosperity follows on courage; and to illustrate this I will tell
the following wonderful tale. Listen!"



Story of king Vikramasinha and the two Bráhmans.

There is in Avanti a city named Ujjayiní, famous in the world,
which is the dwelling-place of Siva, [445] and which gleams with
its white palaces as if with the peaks of Kailása, come thither in
the ardour of their devotion to the god. This vast city, profound
as the sea, having a splendid emperor for its water, had hundreds of
armies entering it, as hundreds of rivers flow into the sea, and was
the refuge of allied kings, as the sea is of mountains that retain
their wings. [446] In that city there was a king who had the name of
Vikramasinha, [447] a name that thoroughly expressed his character,
for his enemies were like deer and never met him in fight. And he,
because he could never find any enemy to face him, became disgusted
with weapons and the might of his arm, and was inwardly grieved as
he never obtained the joy of battle. Then his minister Amaragupta,
who discovered his longing, said to him incidentally in the course
of conversation--"King, it is not hard for kings to incur guilt,
if through pride in their strong arms, and confidence in their skill
in the use of weapons, they even long for enemies; in this way Bána
in old time, through pride in his thousand arms, propitiated Siva and
asked for an enemy that was a match for him in fight, until at last his
prayer was actually granted, and Vishnu became his enemy, and cut off
his innumerable arms in battle. So you must not shew dissatisfaction
because you do not obtain an opportunity of fighting, and a terrible
enemy must never be desired. If you want to shew here your skill in
weapons and your strength, shew it in the forest an appropriate field
for it, and in hunting. And since kings are not generally exposed to
fatigue, hunting is approved to give them exercise and excitement, but
warlike expeditions are not recommended. Moreover the malignant wild
animals desire that the earth should be depopulated, for this reason
the king should slay them; on this ground too hunting is approved. But
wild animals should not be too unremittingly pursued, for it was
owing to the vice of exclusive devotion to hunting that former kings,
Pándu and others, met destruction." When the wise minister Amaragupta
said this to him, the king Vikramasinha approved the advice saying--"I
will do so." And the next day the king went out of the city to hunt,
to a district beset with horses, footmen and dogs, and where all the
quarters were filled with the pitching of various nets, and he made
the heaven resound with the shouts of joyous huntsmen. And as he was
going out on the back of an elephant, he saw two men sitting together
in private in an empty temple outside the walls. And the king, as
he beheld them from afar, supposed that they were only deliberating
together over something at their leisure, and passed on to the forest
where his hunting was to be. There he was delighted with the drawn
swords, and with the old tigers, and the roaring of lions, and the
scenery, and the elephants. He strewed that ground with pearls fallen
from the nails of elephant-slaying lions whom he killed, resembling the
seeds of his prowess. The deer leaping sideways, being oblique-goers,
[448] went obliquely across his path; his straight-flying arrow easily
transfixing them first, reached afterwards the mark of delight. And
after the king had long enjoyed the sport of hunting, he returned,
as his servants were weary, with slackened bowstring to the city
of Ujjayiní. There he saw those two men, whom he had seen as he was
going out, who had remained the whole time in the temple occupied in
the same way. He thought to himself--"Who are these, and why do they
deliberate so long? Surely they must be spies, having a long talk
over secrets." So he sent his warder, and had those men captured and
brought into his presence, and then thrown into prison. And the next
day he had them brought into his judgement-hall, and asked them--"Who
are you and why did you deliberate together so long?" When the king
in person asked them this, they entreated him to spare their lives,
and one of these young men began to say; "Hear, O king, I will now
tell the whole story as it happened.

"There lived a Bráhman, of the name of Karabhaka, in this very city
of yours. I, whom you see here, am the son of that learned student
of the Vedas, born by his propitiating the god of fire in order to
obtain a heroic son. And, when my father went to heaven, and his wife
followed him, [449] I being a mere boy, though I had learned the
sciences, abandoned the course of life suited to my caste, because
I was friendless. And I set myself to practise gaming and the use
of arms; what boy does not become self-willed if he is not kept in
order by some superior? And, having passed my childhood in this way,
I acquired overweening confidence in my prowess, and went one day
to the forest to practise archery. And while I was thus engaged,
a bride came out of the city in a covered palanquin, surrounded by
many attendants of the bridegroom. And suddenly an elephant, that had
broken its chain, came from some quarter or other at that very moment,
and attacked that bride in its fury. And through fear of that elephant,
all those cowardly attendants and her husband with them deserted the
bride, and fled in all directions. When I saw that, I immediately said
to myself in my excitement,--'What! have these miserable wretches left
this unfortunate woman alone? So I must defend this unprotected lady
from this elephant. For what is the use of life or courage, unless
employed to succour the unfortunate?' Thus reflecting I raised a shout
and ran towards that huge elephant; and the elephant, abandoning the
woman, charged down upon me. Then I, before the eyes of that terrified
woman, shouted and ran, and so drew off that elephant to a distance,
at last I got hold of a bough of a tree thickly covered with leaves,
which had been broken off, and covering myself with it, I went into the
middle of the tree; and placing the bough in front of me, I escaped by
a dexterous oblique movement, while the elephant trampled the bough
to pieces. Then I quickly went to that lady, who remained terrified
there, and asked her whether she had escaped without injury. She,
when she saw me, said with afflicted and yet joyful manner; 'How
can I be said to be uninjured, now that I have been bestowed on this
coward, who has deserted me in such straits, and fled somewhere or
other; but so far at any rate I am uninjured, that I again behold
you unharmed. So my husband is nothing to me; you henceforth are my
husband, by whom regardless of your life, I have been delivered from
the jaws of death. And here I see my husband coming with his servants,
so follow us slowly; for when we get an opportunity, you and I will
elope somewhere together.' When she said this, I consented. I ought to
have thought--'Though this woman is beautiful, and flings herself at my
head, yet she is the wife of another; what have I to do with her?' But
this is the course of calm self-restraint, not of ardent youth. And
in a moment her husband came up and greeted her, and she proceeded
to continue her journey with him and his servants. And I, without
being detected, followed her through her long journey, being secretly
supplied with provisions for the journey by her, though I passed for
some one unconnected with her. And she, throughout the journey, falsely
asserted that she suffered pain in her limbs, from a strain produced
by falling in her terror at the elephant, and so avoided even touching
her husband. A passionate woman, like a female snake, terrible from
the condensed venom she accumulates within, will never, if injured,
neglect to wreak her vengeance. And in course of time we reached the
city of Lohanagara, where was the house of the husband of that woman,
who lived by trading. And we all remained during that day in a temple
outside the walls. And there I met my friend this second Bráhman. And
though we had never met before, we felt a confidence in one another
at first sight; the heart of creatures recognises friendships formed
in a previous birth. Then I told him all my secret. When he heard it,
he said to me of his own accord; 'Keep the matter quiet, I know of a
device by which you can attain the object for which you came here;
I know here the sister of this lady's husband. She is ready to fly
from this place with me, and take her wealth with her. So with her
help I will accomplish your object for you.'

"When the Bráhman had said this to me, he departed, and secretly
informed the merchant's wife's sister-in-law of the whole matter. And
on the next day the sister-in-law, according to arrangement, came
with her brother's wife and introduced her into the temple. And while
we were there, she made my friend at that very time, which was the
middle of the day, put on the dress of her brother's wife. And she
took him so disguised into the city, and went into the house in which
her brother lived, after arranging what we were to do. But I left
the temple, and fleeing with the merchant's wife dressed as a man,
reached at last this city of Ujjayiní. And her sister-in-law at night
fled with my friend from that house, in which there had been a feast,
and so the people were in a drunken sleep.

"And then he came with her by stealthy journeys to this city; so
we met here. In this way we two have obtained our two wives in the
bloom of youth, the sister-in-law and her brother's wife, who bestowed
themselves on us out of affection. Consequently, king, we are afraid
to dwell anywhere; for whose mind is at ease after performing deeds
of reckless temerity? So the king saw us yesterday from a distance,
while we were debating about a place to dwell in, and how we should
subsist. And your majesty, seeing us, had us brought and thrown into
prison on the suspicion of being thieves, and to-day we have been
questioned about our history, and I have just told it; now it is for
your highness to dispose of us at pleasure." When one of them had
said this, the king Vikramasinha said to those two Bráhmans,--"I am
satisfied, do not be afraid, remain in this city, and I will give you
abundance of wealth." When the king had said this, he gave them as
much to live on as they wished, and they lived happily in his court
accompanied by their wives.

"Thus prosperity dwells for men even in questionable deeds, if they
are the outcome of great courage, and thus kings, being satisfied,
take pleasure in giving to discreet men who are rich in daring. And
thus this whole created world with the gods and demons will always
reap various fruits, corresponding exactly to their own stock of deeds
good or bad, performed in this or in a former birth. So rest assured,
queen, that the flame which was seen by you falling from heaven in your
dream, and apparently entering your womb, is some creature of divine
origin, that owing to some influence of its works has been conceived
in you." The pregnant queen Tárádattá, when she heard this from the
mouth of her own husband Kalingadatta, was exceedingly delighted.






CHAPTER XXVIII.


Then the queen Tárádattá, the consort of king Kalingadatta in
Takshasilá, slowly became oppressed with the burden of her unborn
child. And she, now that her delivery was near, being pale of
countenance, with tremulous eyeballs, [450] resembled the East
in which the pale streak of the young moon is about to rise. And
there was soon born from her a daughter excelling all others, like a
specimen of the Creator's power to produce all beauty. The lights kept
burning to protect the child against evil spirits, blazing with oil,
[451] were eclipsed by her beauty, and darkened, as if through grief
that a son of equal beauty had not been born instead. And her father
Kalingadatta, when he saw her born, beautiful though she was, was
filled with despondency at the disappointment of his hope to obtain
a son like her. Though he divined that she was of heavenly origin, he
was grieved because he longed for a son. For a son, being embodied joy,
is far superior to a daughter, that is but a lump of grief. Then in his
affliction, the king went out of his palace to divert his mind, and he
entered a monastery full of many images of Buddha. In a certain part of
the monastery, he heard this speech being uttered by a begging hermit,
who was a religious preacher, as he sat in the midst of his hearers.

"They say that the bestowal of wealth in this world is great
asceticism; a man who gives wealth is said to give life, for life
depends on wealth. And Buddha, with mind full of pity, offered up
himself for another, as if he were worthless straw, much more should
one offer up sordid pelf. And it was by such resolute asceticism,
that Buddha, having got rid of desire, and obtained heavenly insight,
attained the rank of a Buddha. Therefore a wise man should do what
is beneficial to other beings, by abstaining from selfish aspirations
even so far as to sacrifice his own body, in order that he may obtain
perfect insight."



Story of the seven princesses.

Thus, long ago, there were born in succession to a certain king
named Krita seven very beautiful princesses, and even while they
were still youthful they abandoned, in disgust with life, the house
of their father, and went to the cemetery, and when they were asked
why they did it, they said to their retinue--"This world is unreal,
and in it this body, and such delights as union with the beloved
are the baseless fabric of a dream; only the good of others in this
revolving world is pronounced to be real; so let us with these bodies
of ours do good to our fellow creatures, let us fling these bodies,
while they are alive, to the eaters of raw flesh [452] in the cemetery;
what is the use of them, lovely though they be?"



Story of the prince who tore out his own eye.

For there lived in old time a certain prince who was disgusted with
the world, and he, though young and handsome, adopted the life of a
wandering hermit. Once on a time that beggar entered the house of a
certain merchant, and was beheld by his young wife with his eyes long
as the leaf of a lotus. She, with heart captivated by the beauty of his
eyes said to him, "How came such a handsome man as you to undertake
such a severe vow as this? Happy is the woman who is gazed upon with
this eye of yours!" When the begging hermit was thus addressed by the
lady, he tore out one eye, and holding it in his hand, said, "Mother,
behold this eye, such as it is; take the loathsome mass of flesh and
blood, if it pleases you. [453] And the other is like it; say, what is
there attractive in these?" When he said this to the merchant's wife,
and she saw the eye, she was despondent, and said, "Alas! I, unhappy
wretch that I am, have done an evil deed, in that I have become the
cause of the tearing out of your eye!" When the beggar heard that,
he said,--"Mother, do not be grieved, for you have done me a benefit;
hear the following example, to prove the truth of what I say."



Story of the ascetic who conquered anger.

There lived long ago, in a certain beautiful garden on the banks
of the Ganges, a hermit animated by the desire of experiencing all
asceticism. And while he was engaged in mortifying the flesh, it
happened that a certain king came there to amuse himself with the
women of his harem. And after he had amused himself, he fell asleep
under the influence of his potations, and while he was in this state,
his queens left him out of thoughtlessness and roamed about in the
garden. And beholding in a corner of the garden that hermit engaged
in meditation, they stood round him out of curiosity, wondering
what on earth he could be. And as they remained there a long time,
that king woke up, and not seeing his wives at his side, wandered all
round the garden. And then he saw the queens standing all round the
hermit, and being enraged, he slashed the hermit with his sword out
of jealousy. What crime will not sovereign power, jealousy, cruelty,
drunkenness, and indiscretion cause separately, much more deadly are
they when combined, like five fires. [454] Then the king departed,
and though the hermit's limbs were gashed, he remained free from wrath;
whereupon a certain deity appeared and said to him,--"Great-souled one,
if you approve I will slay by my power that wicked man who did this to
you in a passion." When the hermit heard that, he said, "O goddess,
say not so, for he is my helper in virtue, not a harmer of me. For
by his favour I have attained the grace of patience; to whom could
I have shown patience, O goddess, if he had not acted thus towards
me? What anger does the wise man shew for the sake of this perishing
body? To shew patience equally with regard to what is agreeable and
disagreeable is to have attained the rank of Brahmá." When the hermit
said this to the deity, she was pleased, and after healing the wounds
in his limbs, she disappeared.

"In the same way as that king was considered a benefactor by the
hermit, you, my mother, have increased my asceticism by causing
me to tear out my eye." Thus spake the self-subduing hermit to the
merchant's wife, who bowed before him, and being regardless of his
body, lovely though it was, he passed on to perfection.

"Therefore, though our youth be very charming, why should we cling to
this perishable body? But the only thing which, in the eye of the wise
man, it is good for, is to benefit one's fellow-creatures. So we will
lay down our bodies to benefit living creatures in this cemetery, the
natural home of happiness." Having said this to their attendants, those
seven princesses did so, and obtained therefrom the highest beatitude.

"Thus you see that the wise have no selfish affection even for their
own bodies, much less for such worthless things [455] as son, wife,
and servants."

When the king Kalingadatta had heard these and other such things from
the religious teacher in the monastery, having spent the day there, he
returned to his palace. And when he was there, he was again afflicted
with grief on account of the birth of a daughter to him, and a certain
Bráhman, who had grown old in his house, said to him--"King, why do
you despond on account of the birth of a pearl of maidens? Daughters
are better even than sons, and produce happiness in this world and the
next. Why do kings care so much about those sons that hanker after
their kingdom, and eat up their fathers like crabs? But kings like
Kuntibhoja and others, by the virtues of daughters like Kuntí and
others, have escaped harm from sages like the terrible Durvásas. And
how can one obtain from a son the same fruit in the next world, as
one obtains from the marriage of a daughter? Moreover I now proceed
to tell the tale of Sulochaná, listen to it."



Story of Sulochaná and Sushena.

There was a young king named Sushena on the mountain of Chitrakúta,
who was created like another god of love by the Creator to spite
Siva. He made at the foot of that great mountain a heavenly garden,
which was calculated to make the gods averse to dwelling in the garden
of Nandana. And in the middle of it he made a lake with full-blown
lotuses, like a new productive bed for the lotuses with which the
goddess of Fortune plays. This lake had steps leading down into
it made of splendid gems, and the king used to linger on its bank
without a bride, because there were no eligible matches for him. Once
on a time Rambhá, a fair one of heaven, came that way, wandering at
will through the air from the palace of Indra. She beheld the king
roaming in that garden like an incarnation of the Spring in the midst
of a garden of full-blown flowers. She said--"Can this be the moon,
that has swooped down from heaven in pursuit of the goddess of Fortune
fallen into a cluster of lotuses of the lake? But that cannot be, for
this hero's fortune in the shape of beauty never passes away. [456]
Surely this must be the god of the flowery arrows come to the garden
in quest of flowers. But where has Rati, his companion, gone?" Thus
Rambhá described him in her eagerness, and descending from heaven in
human form, she approached that king. And when the king suddenly beheld
her advancing towards him, he was astonished and reflected--"Who can
this be of incredible beauty? She cannot surely be a human being,
since her feet do not touch the dust, and her eye does not wink,
therefore she must be some divine person. But I must not ask her who
she is, for she might fly from me. Divine beings, who visit men for
some cause or other, are generally impatient of having their secrets
revealed." While such thoughts were passing in the monarch's mind,
she began a conversation with him, which led in due course to his
throwing his arms round her neck then and there. And he sported
long there with this Apsaras, so that she forgot heaven; love is
more charming than one's native home. And the land of that king was
filled with heaps of gold, by means of the Yakshinís, friends of
hers, who transformed themselves into trees, as the heaven is filled
with the peaks of Meru. And in course of time that excellent Apsaras
became pregnant, and bore to king Sushena an incomparably beautiful
daughter, and no sooner had she given her birth, than she said to the
king--"O king, such has been my curse, and it is now at an end; for I
am Rambhá, a heavenly nymph that fell in love with you on beholding
you: and as I have given birth to a child, I must immediately leave
you and depart. For such is the law that governs us heavenly beings;
therefore take care of this daughter; when she is married, we shall
again be united in heaven." When the Apsaras Rambhá had said this,
she departed, sorely against her will, and through grief at it, the
king was bent on abandoning life. But his ministers said to him, "Did
Visvámitra, though despondent, abandon life when Menaká had departed
after giving birth to Sakuntalá?" When the king had been plied by
them with such arguments, he took the right view of the matter, and
slowly recovered his self-command, taking to his heart the daughter
who was destined to be the cause of their re-union. And that daughter,
lovely in all her limbs, her father, who was devoted to her, named
Sulochaná, on account of the exceeding beauty of her eyes.

In time she grew up to womanhood, and a young hermit, named Vatsa,
the descendant of Kasyapa, as he was roaming about at will, beheld
her in a garden. He, though he was all compact of asceticism, the
moment he beheld that princess, felt the emotion of love, and he said
to himself then and there; "Oh! exceedingly wonderful is the beauty
of this maiden! If I do not obtain her as a wife, what other fruit of
my asceticism can I obtain?" While thinking thus, the young hermit was
beheld by Sulochaná, and he seemed to her all glorious with brightness,
like fire free from smoke. When she saw him with his rosary and water
vessel, she fell in love also and thought--"Who can this be that looks
so self-restrained and yet so lovely?" And coming towards him as if to
select him for her husband, she threw over his body the garland [457]
of the blue lotuses of her eyes, and bowed before that hermit. And
he, with mind overpowered by the decree of Cupid, hard for gods and
Asuras to evade, pronounced on her the following blessing--"Obtain a
husband." Then the excellent hermit was thus addressed by that lady,
whose modesty was stolen away by love for his exceeding beauty,
and who spoke with downcast face--"If this is your desire, and if
this is not jesting talk, then, Bráhman, ask the king, my father,
who has power to dispose of me." Then the hermit, after hearing of
her descent from her attendants, went and asked the king Sushena, her
father, for her hand. He, for his part, when he saw that the young
hermit was eminent both in beauty and asceticism, entertained him,
and said to him--"Reverend sir, this daughter is mine by the nymph
Rambhá, and by my daughter's marriage I am to be re-united with
her in heaven; so Rambhá told me when she was returning to the sky;
consider, auspicious sir, how that is to be accomplished." When the
hermit heard that, he thought for a moment--"Did not the hermit Ruru,
when Pramadvará the daughter of Menaká was bitten by a snake, give
her the half of his life, and make her his wife? Was not the Chandála
Trisanku carried to heaven by Visvámitra? So why should not I do the
same by expending my asceticism upon it?" Having thus reflected, the
hermit said--"There is no difficulty in it," and exclaimed--"Hearken ye
gods, may this king mount with his body to heaven to obtain possession
of Rambhá by virtue of part of my asceticism." Thus the hermit spoke
in the hearing of the court, and a distinct answer was heard from
heaven--"So be it." Then the king gave his daughter Sulochaná to the
hermit Vatsa, the descendant of Kasyapa, and ascended to heaven. There
he obtained a divine nature, and lived happily with that Rambhá of
god-like dignity, appointed his wife by Indra.

"Thus, O king, Sushena obtained all his ends by means of a
daughter. For such daughters become incarnate in the houses of such as
you. And this daughter is surely some heavenly nymph, fallen from her
high estate owing to a curse, and born in your house, so do not grieve,
monarch, on account of her birth." When king Kalingadatta had heard
this tale from the Bráhman that had grown old in his house, he left
off being distressed, and was comforted. And he gave to his dear young
daughter, who gave pleasure to his eyes, as if she had been a digit
of the moon, the name of Kalingasená. And the princess Kalingasená
grew up in the house of her father amongst her companions. And she
sported in the palaces, and in the palace-gardens, like a wave of
the sea of infancy that is full of the passion [458] for amusement.

Once on a time the daughter of the Asura Maya, named Somaprabhá, as she
was journeying through the sky, saw her on the roof of a palace engaged
in play. And Somaprabhá, while in the sky, beheld her lovely enough
to bewilder with her beauty the mind even of a hermit, and feeling
affection for her, reflected--"Who is this? Can she be the form of the
moon? If so, how is it that she gleams in the day? But if she is Rati,
where is Káma? Therefore I conclude that she is a mortal maiden.

"She must be some celestial nymph that has descended into a king's
palace in consequence of a curse; and I am persuaded I was certainly a
friend of her's in a former life. For my mind's being full of exceeding
affection for her, tells me so. Therefore it is fitting that I should
again select her as my chosen friend." Thus reflecting Somaprabhá
descended invisible from heaven, in order not to frighten that
maiden; and she assumed the appearance of a mortal maiden to inspire
confidence, and slowly approached that Kalingasená. Then Kalingasená,
on beholding her, reflected--"Bravo! here is a princess of wonderful
beauty come to visit me of her own accord! she is a suitable friend for
me." So she rose up politely and embraced that Somaprabhá. And making
her take a seat, she asked her immediately her descent and name. And
Somaprabhá said to her; "Be patient, I will tell you all." Then in the
course of their conversation they swore friendship to each other with
plighted hands. Then Somaprabhá, said--"My friend, you are a king's
daughter, and it is hard to keep up friendship with the children of
kings. For they fly into an immoderate passion on account of a small
fault. Hear, with regard to this point, the story of the prince and
the merchant's son which I am about to tell you."



Story of the prince and the merchant's son who saved his life. [459]

In the city of Pushkarávatí there was a king named Gúdhasena, and to
him there was born one son. That prince was overbearing, and whatever
he did, right or wrong, his father acquiesced in, because he was an
only son. And once upon a time, as he was roaming about in a garden,
he saw the son of a merchant, named Brahmadatta, who resembled himself
in wealth and beauty. And the moment he saw him, he selected him for
his special friend, and those two, the prince and the merchant's son,
immediately became like one another in all things. [460] And soon
they were not able to live without seeing one another, for intimacy
in a former birth quickly knits friendship. The prince never tasted
food that was not first prepared for that merchant's son.

Once on a time the prince set out for Ahichchhatra in order to be
married, having first decided on his friend's marriage. And, as he was
journeying with his troops, in the society of that friend, mounted
on an elephant, he reached the bank of the Ikshuvatí, and encamped
there. There he had a wine-party, when the moon arose; and after he
had gone to bed, he began to tell a story at the solicitation of his
nurse. When he had begun his story, being tired and intoxicated he
was overcome by sleep, and his nurse also, but the merchant's son
kept awake out of love for him. And when the others were asleep, the
merchant's son, who was awake, heard in the air what seemed to be the
voices of women engaged in conversation. The first said--"This wretch
has gone to sleep without telling his tale, therefore I pronounce this
curse on him. To-morrow morning he shall see a necklace, and if he
take hold of it, it shall cling to his neck, and that moment cause
his death." Then the first voice ceased, and the second went on:
"And if he escape that peril, he shall see a mango-tree, and if he
eat the fruit of it, he shall then and there lose his life." Having
uttered this, that voice also ceased, and then the third said--"If
he escape this also, then, if he enter a house to be married, it
shall fall on him and slay him." Having said so much, that voice also
ceased, and the fourth said, "If he escape this also, when he enters
that night into his private apartments, he shall sneeze a hundred
times; and if some one there does not a hundred times say to him,
'God bless you,' he shall fall into the grasp of death. And if the
person, who has heard all this, shall inform him of it in order
to save his life, he also shall die," having said this, the voice
ceased. [461] And the merchant's son having heard all this, terrible
as a thunderstroke, being agitated on account of his affection for
the prince, reflected--"Beshrew this tale that was begun, and not
finished, for divinities have come invisible to hear it, and are
cursing him out of disappointed curiosity. And if this prince dies,
what good will my life do to me? So I must by some artifice deliver
my friend whom I value as my life. And I must not tell him what has
taken place, lest I too should suffer." Having thus reflected, the
merchant's son got through the night with difficulty.

And in the morning the prince set out with him on his journey, and he
saw a necklace in front of him, and wished to lay hold of it. Then
the merchant's son said, "Do not take the necklace, my friend, it
is an illusion, else why do not these soldiers see it?" When the
prince heard that, he let the necklace alone, but going on further
he saw a mango-tree, and he felt a desire to eat its fruit. But he
was dissuaded by the merchant's son, as before. He felt much annoyed
in his heart, and travelling on slowly he reached his father-in-law's
palace. And he was about to enter a building there for the purpose of
being married, but just as his friend had persuaded him not to do so,
the house fell down. So he escaped this danger by a hair's breadth,
and then he felt some confidence in his friend's prescience. Then
the prince and his wife entered at night another building. But the
merchant's son slipped in there unobserved. And the prince, when he
went to bed, sneezed a hundred times, but the merchant's son underneath
it said a hundred times--"God bless you"--and then the merchant's son,
having accomplished his object, of his own accord left the house in
high spirits. But the prince, who was with his wife, saw him going
out, and through jealousy, forgetting his love for him, he flew into
a passion and said to the sentinels at his gate: "This designing
wretch has entered my private apartments when I wished to be alone,
so keep him in durance for the present, and he shall be executed in
the morning." When the guards heard that, they put him under arrest,
and he spent the night in confinement, but as he was being led off
to execution in the morning, he said to them--"First take me into
the presence of the prince, in order that I may tell him a certain
reason, which I had for my conduct; and then put me to death." When
he said this to the guards, they went and informed the prince, and
on their information and the advice of his ministers, the prince
ordered him to be brought before him. When he was brought, he told
the prince the whole story, and he believed it to be true, for the
fall of the house carried conviction to his mind. So the prince was
satisfied, and countermanded the order for his friend's execution,
and he returned with him to his own city, a married man. And there
his friend the merchant's son married, and lived in happiness, his
virtues being praised by all men.

"Thus the children of kings break loose from restraint and slaying
their guides, disregard benefits, like infuriated elephants. And
what friendship can there be with those Vetálas, who take people's
lives by way of a joke. Therefore, my princess, never abandon your
friendship with me."

When Kalingasená heard this story in the palace from the mouth of
Somaprabhá, she answered her affectionate friend,--"Those of whom you
speak are considered Pisáchas, not the children of kings, and I will
tell you a story of the evil importunity of Pisáchas, listen!" [462]



Story of the Bráhman and the Pisácha.

Long ago there was a Bráhman dwelling on a royal grant, which was
called Yajnasthala. He once upon a time, being poor, went to the
forest to bring home wood. There, a piece of wood being cleft with the
axe, fell, as chance would have it, upon his leg, and piercing it,
entered deep into it. And as the blood flowed from him, he fainted,
and he was beheld in that condition by a man who recognised him, and
taking him up carried him home. There his distracted wife washed off
the blood, and consoling him, placed a plaster upon the wound. And
then his wound, though tended day by day, not only did not heal, but
formed an ulcer. Then the man, afflicted with his ulcerated wound,
poverty-stricken, and at the point of death, was thus advised in
secret by a Bráhman friend, who came to him; "A friend of mine, named
Yajnadatta, was long very poor, but he gained the aid of a Pisácha
by a charm, and so, having obtained wealth, lived in happiness. And
he told me that charm, so do you gain, my friend, by means of it, the
aid of a Pisácha; he will heal your wound." Having said this, he told
him the form of words and described to him the ceremony as follows:
"Rise up in the last watch of the night, and with dishevelled hair and
naked, and without rinsing your mouth, take two handfuls of rice as
large as you can grasp with your two hands, and muttering the form
of words go to a place where four roads meet, and there place the
two handfuls of rice, and return in silence without looking behind
you. Do so always until that Pisácha appears, and himself says to you,
'I will put an end to your ailment.' Then receive his aid gladly,
and he will remove your complaint."

When his friend had said this to him, the Bráhman did as he had been
directed. Then the Pisácha, being conciliated, brought heavenly herbs
from a lofty peak of the Himálayas and healed his wound. And then
he became obstinately persistent, and said to the Bráhman, who was
delighted at being healed, "Give me a second wound to cure, but if
you will not, I will do you an injury or destroy your body." When
the Bráhman heard that, he was terrified, and immediately said
to him to get rid of him--"I will give you another wound within
seven days." Whereupon the Pisácha left him, but the Bráhman felt
hopeless about his life. But eventually he baffled the Pisácha by
the help of his daughter, and having got over the disease, he lived
in happiness. [463]

"Such are Pisáchas, and some young princes are just like them,
and, though conciliated, produce misfortune, my friend, but they
can be guarded against by counsel. But princesses of good family
have never been heard to be such. So you must not expect any injury
from associating with me." When Somaprabhá heard from the mouth of
Kalingasená in due course this sweet, entertaining, and amusing tale,
she was delighted. And she said to her--"My house is sixty yojanas
distant hence, and the day is passing away; I have remained long,
so now I must depart, fair one." Then, as the lord of day was slowly
sinking to the eastern mountain, she took leave of her friend who was
eager for a second interview, and in a moment flew up into the air,
exciting the wonder of the spectators, and rapidly returned to her own
house. And, after beholding that wonderful sight, Kalingasená entered
into her house with much perplexity, and reflected, "I do not know,
indeed, whether my friend is a Siddha female, or an Apsaras, or a
Vidyádharí. She is certainly a heavenly female that travels through
the upper air. And heavenly females associate with mortal ones led
by excessive love. Did not Arundhatí live in friendship with the
daughter of king Prithu? Did not Prithu by means of her friendship
bring Surabhi from heaven to earth. And did not he by consuming its
milk return to heaven though he had fallen from it. And were not
thenceforth perfect cows born upon earth? So I am fortunate; it is by
good luck that I have obtained this heavenly creature as a friend;
and when she comes to-morrow I will dexterously as her her descent
and name." Thinking such thoughts in her heart, Kalingasená spent
that night there, and Somaprabhá spent the night in her own house
being eager to behold her again.






CHAPTER XXIX.


Then in the morning Somaprabhá took with her a basket, in which
she had placed many excellent mechanical dolls of wood with magic
properties in order to amuse her friend, and travelling through the
air she came again to Kalingasená. And when Kalingasená saw her,
she was full of tears of joy, and rising up she threw her arms
round her neck, and said to her, as she sat by her side--"The dark
night of three watches has this time seemed to me to be of a hundred
watches without the sight of the full moon of your countenance. So,
if you know, my friend, tell me of what kind may have been my union
with you in a former birth, of which this present friendship is
the result." When Somaprabhá heard this, she said to that princess:
"Such knowledge I do not possess, for I do not remember my former
birth; and hermits are not acquainted with this, but if any know,
they are perfectly acquainted with the highest truth, and they are the
original founders of the science by which it is attained." When she had
spoken thus, Kalingasená, being full of curiosity, again asked her in
private in a voice tender from love and confidence, "Tell me, friend,
of what divine father you have adorned the race by your birth, since
you are completely virtuous like a beautifully-rounded pearl. [464]
And what, auspicious one, is your name, that is nectar to the ears
of the world. What is the object of this basket? And what thing is
there in it?" On hearing this affectionate speech from Kalingasená,
Somaprabhá began to tell the whole story in due course.

"There is a mighty Asura of the name of Maya, famous in the three
worlds. And he, abandoning the condition of an Asura, fled to Siva
as his protector. And Siva having promised him security, he built
the palace of Indra. But the Daityas were angry with him, affirming
that he had become a partizan of the gods. Through fear of them he
made in the Vindhya mountains a very wonderful magic subterranean
palace, which the Asuras could not reach. My sister and I are the two
daughters of that Maya. My elder sister named Svayamprabhá follows a
vow of virginity, and lives as a maiden in my father's house. But I,
the younger daughter, named Somaprabhá, have been bestowed in marriage
on a son of Kuvera named Nadakúvara, and my father has taught me
innumerable magic artifices, and as for this basket, I have brought it
here to please you." Having said this, Somaprabhá opened the basket
and shewed to her some very interesting mechanical dolls constructed
by her magic, made of wood. One of them, on a pin in it being touched,
[465] went through the air at her orders and fetched a garland of
flowers and quickly returned. Another in the same way brought water
at will; [466] another danced, and another then conversed. With such
very wonderful contrivances Somaprabhá amused Kalingasená for some
time, and then she put that magic basket in a place of security,
and taking leave of her regretful friend, she went, being obedient to
her husband, through the air to her own palace. But Kalingasená was
so delighted that the sight of these wonders took away her appetite,
and she remained averse to all food. And when her mother perceived
that, she feared she was ill; however a physician named Ánanda having
examined the child, told her mother that there was nothing the matter
with her. He said, "She has lost her appetite through delight at
something, not from disease; for her countenance, which appears to
be laughing, with eyes wide open, indicates this." When she heard
this report from the physician, the girl's mother asked her the real
cause of her joy; and the girl told her. Then her mother believed
that she was delighted with the society of an eligible friend, and
congratulated her, and made her take her proper food.

Then the next day Somaprabhá arrived, and having found out what had
taken place, she proceeded to say to Kalingasená in secret, "I told
my husband, who possesses supernatural knowledge, that I had formed
a friendship with you, and obtained from him, when he knew the facts,
permission to visit you every day. So you must now obtain permission
from your parents, in order that you may amuse yourself with me at
will without fear." When she had said this, Kalingasená took her by
the hand, and immediately went to her father and mother, and there
introduced her friend to her father, king Kalingadatta, proclaiming
her descent and name, and in the same way she introduced her to her
mother Tárádattá, and they, on beholding her, received her politely
in accordance with their daughter's account of her. And both those
two, pleased with her appearance, hospitably received that beautiful
wife of the distinguished Asura out of love for their daughter, and
said to her--"Dear girl, we entrust this Kalingasená to your care,
so amuse yourselves together as much as you please." And Kalingasená
and Somaprabhá having gladly welcomed this speech of theirs, went
out together. And they went, in order to amuse themselves, to a
temple of Buddha built by the king. And they took there that basket
of magic toys. Then Somaprabhá took a magic Yaksha, and sent it on
a commission from herself to bring the requisites for the worship of
Buddha. That Yaksha went a long distance through the sky, and brought
a multitude of pearls, beautiful gems, and golden lotuses. Having
performed worship with these, Somaprabhá exhibiting all kinds of
wonders, displayed the various Buddhas with their abodes. When the
king Kalingadatta heard of that, he came with the queen and beheld it,
and then asked Somaprabhá about the magic performance. Then Somaprabhá
said, "King, these contrivances of magic machines, and so on, were
created in various ways by my father in old time. And even as this
vast machine, called the world, consists of five elements, so do all
these machines: I will describe them one by one. That machine, in
which earth predominates, shuts doors and things of the kind. Not even
Indra would be able to open what had been shut with it. The shapes
produced by the water-machine appear to be alive. But the machine
in which fire predominates, pours forth flames. And the wind-machine
performs actions, such as going and coming. And the machine produced
from ether utters distinct language. All these I obtained from my
father, but the wheel-machine, which guards the water of immortality,
my father knows and no one else." While she was saying this, there
arose the sound of conchs being blown in the middle of the day, that
seemed to confirm her words. Then she entreated the king to give her
the food that suited her, and taking Kalingasená as a companion, by
permission of the king she set out through the air for her father's
house in a magic chariot, to return to her elder sister. And quickly
reaching that palace, which was situated in the Vindhya mountains,
she conducted her to her sister Svayamprabhá. There Kalingasená saw
that Svayamprabhá with her head encircled with matted locks, with a
long rosary, a nun clothed in a white garment, smiling like Párvatí,
in whom love, the highest joy of earth, had undertaken a severe vow
of mortification. And Svayamprabhá, when the princess, introduced by
Somaprabhá, kneeled before her, received her hospitably and entertained
her with a meal of fruits. And Somaprabhá said to the princess: 'My
friend, by eating these fruits, you will escape old age which otherwise
would destroy this beauty, as the nipping cold does the lotus: and it
was with this object that I brought you here out of affection.' Then
that Kalingasená ate those fruits, and immediately her limbs seemed
to be bathed in the water of life. And roaming about there to amuse
herself, she saw the garden of the city, with tanks filled with golden
lotuses, and trees bearing fruit as sweet as nectar: the garden was
full of birds of golden and variegated plumage, and seemed to have
pillars of bright gems; it conveyed the idea of walls where there
was no partition, and where there were partitions, of unobstructed
space. Where there was water, it presented the appearance of dry land,
and where there was dry land, it bore the semblance of water. It
resembled another and a wonderful world, created by the delusive
power of the Asura Maya. It had been entered formerly by the monkeys
searching for Sítá, which, after a long time, were allowed to come
out by the favour of Svayamprabhá. So Svayamprabhá bade her adieu,
after she had been astonished with a full sight of her wonderful
city, and had obtained immunity from old age; and Somaprabhá making
Kalingasená ascend the chariot again, took her through the air to
her own palace in Takshasilá. There Kalingasená told the whole story
faithfully to her parents, and they were exceedingly pleased.

And while those two friends spent their days in this way, Somaprabhá
once upon a time said to Kalingasená: "As long as you are not married,
I can continue to be your friend, but after your marriage, how could
I enter the house of your husband? For a friend's husband ought never
to be seen or recognised [467]; * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

As for a mother-in-law she eats the flesh of a daughter-in-law as
a she-wolf does of a sheep. And à propos of this, hear the story of
Kírtisená which I am about to tell you."



Story of Kírtisená and her cruel mother-in-law. [468]

Long ago there lived in the city of Pátaliputra a merchant named,
not without cause, Dhanapálita, [469] for he was the richest of
the rich. And there was born to him a daughter, named Kírtisená,
who was incomparably beautiful, and dearer to him than life. And
he took his daughter to Magadha and married her to a rich merchant,
named Devasena. And though Devasena was himself very virtuous, he had a
wicked mother as mistress in his house, for his father was dead. She,
when she saw that her daughter-in-law Kírtisená was beloved by her
husband, being inflamed with anger, ill-treated her in her husband's
absence. But Kírtisená was afraid to let her husband know it, for
the position of a bride in the power of a treacherous mother-in-law
is a difficult one.

Once upon a time her husband Devasena, instigated by his relations,
was preparing to go to the city of Vallabhí for the sake of trade. Then
that Kírtisená said to her husband,--"I have not told you for this long
time what I am now going to say: your mother ill-treats me though you
are here, but I do not know what she will do to me when you are in a
foreign country." When Devasena heard that, he was perplexed, and being
alarmed on account of his affection for his wife, he went and humbly
said to his mother--"Kírtisená is committed to your care, mother, now
that I am going to a foreign land; you must not treat her unkindly, for
she is the daughter of a man of good family." When Devasena's mother
heard that, she summoned Kírtisená, and elevating her eyes, said to
him then and there,--"What have I done? ask her. This is the way in
which she eggs you on, my son, trying to make mischief in the house,
but both of you are the same in my eyes." When the good merchant heard
that, he departed with his mind easy on her account. For who is not
deceived by the hypocritically affectionate speeches of a mother? But
Kírtisená stood there silent, smiling in bewilderment, and the next day
the merchant set out for Vallabhí. Then, when Kírtisená began to suffer
torture at being separated from her husband, the merchant's mother
gradually forbade the female slaves to attend on her. And making an
agreement with a handmaid of her own, that worked in the house, she
took Kírtisená inside and secretly stripped her. And saying to her,
"Wicked woman, you rob me of my son," she pulled her hair, and with the
help of her servant, mangled her with kicks, bites, and scratches. And
she threw her into a cellar that was closed with a trap-door and
strongly fastened, after first taking out all the things that were
in it previously. And the wretch put in it every day half a plate of
rice, in the evening, for the girl who was in such a state. And she
thought, "I will say in a few days 'she died of herself during her
husband's absence in a distant land, take her corpse away.'" [470]
Thus Kírtisená, who deserved all happiness, was thrown into a cellar
by that cruel mother-in-law, and while there she reflected with tears,
"My husband is rich, I was born in a good family, I am fortunately
endowed and virtuous, nevertheless I suffer such calamity, thanks
to my mother-in-law. And this is why relations lament the birth of a
daughter, exposed to the terrors of mother-in-law, and sister-in-law,
marred with inauspiciousness of every kind." While thus lamenting,
Kírtisená suddenly found a small shovel in that cellar, like a
thorn extracted from her heart by the Creator. So she dug a passage
underground with that iron instrument, until by good luck she rose up
in her own private apartment. And she was able to see that room by
the light of a lamp that had been left there before, as if she were
lighted by her own undiminished virtue. And she took out of it her
clothes and her gold, and leaving it secretly at the close of the
night, she went out of the city. She reflected--"It is not fitting
that I should go to my father's house after acting thus; what should I
say there, and how would people believe me? So I must manage to repair
to my husband by means of my own ingenuity; for a husband is the only
refuge of virtuous women in this world and the next." Reflecting thus,
she bathed in the water of a tank, and put on the splendid dress of
a prince. Then she went into the bazar and after exchanging some gold
for money, she sojourned that day in the house of a certain merchant.

The next day she struck up a friendship with a merchant named
Samudrasena who wished to go to Vallabhí. And wearing the splendid
dress of a prince, she set out for Vallabhí with the merchant
and his servants in order to catch up her husband who had set out
beforehand. And she said to that merchant, "I am oppressed by my
clansmen, [471] so I will go with you to my friends in Vallabhí."

Having heard that, the merchant's son waited upon her on the journey,
out of respect, thinking to himself that she was some distinguished
prince or other; and that caravan preferred for its march the forest
road, which was much frequented by travellers, who avoided the other
routes because of the heavy duties they had to pay. In a few days
they reached the entrance of the forest, and while the caravan was
encamped in the evening, a female jackal, like a messenger of death,
uttered a terrific howl. Thereupon the merchants, who understood
what that meant, became apprehensive of an attack by bandits, and
the guards on every side took their arms in hand; and the darkness
began to advance like the vanguard of the bandits; then Kírtisená,
in man's dress, beholding that, reflected, "Alas! the deeds of those
who have sinned in a former life seem to propagate themselves with
a brood of evils! Lo! the calamity which my mother-in-law brought
upon me has borne fruit here also! First I was engulphed by the wrath
of my mother-in-law as if by the mouth of death, then I entered the
cellar like a second prison of the womb. By good fortune, I escaped
thence, being, as it were, born a second time, and having come here,
I have again run a risk of my life. If I am slain here by bandits,
my mother-in-law, who hates me, will surely say to my husband, 'She
ran off somewhere being attached to another man.' But if some one
tears off my clothes and recognises me for a woman, then again I run
a risk of outrage, and death is better than that. So I must deliver
myself, and disregard this merchant my friend. For good women must
regard the duty of virtuous wives, not friends and things of that
kind." Thus she determined, and searching about, found a hollow like
a house in the middle of a tree, as it were, an opening made for her
by the earth out of pity. There she entered and covered her body with
leaves and such like things; and remained supported by the hope of
reunion with her husband. Then, in the dead of night, a large force
of bandits suddenly fell upon the caravan with uplifted weapons,
and surrounded it on all sides. And there followed a storm of fight,
with howling bandits for thunder-clouds, and the gleam of weapons for
long-continued lightning-flashes, and a rain of blood. At last the
bandits, being more powerful, slew the merchant-prince Samudrasena
and his followers, and went off with all his wealth.

In the meanwhile Kírtisená was listening to the tumult, and that
she was not forcibly robbed of breath is to be ascribed to fate
only. Then the night departed, and the keen-rayed sun arose, and she
went out from that hollow in the middle of the tree. Surely the gods
themselves preserve in misfortune good women exclusively devoted to
their husbands, and of unfailing virtue; for not only did a lion
beholding her in the lonely wood spare her, but a hermit that had
come from somewhere or other, when she asked him for information,
comforted her and gave her a drink of water from his vessel, and then
disappeared in some direction or other, after telling her the road to
take. Then satisfied as if with nectar, free from hunger and thirst,
that woman, devoted to her husband, set out by the road indicated
by the hermit. Then she saw the sun mounted on the western mountain,
stretching forth his rays like fingers, as if saying--"Wait patiently
one night"--and so she entered an opening in the root of a forest
tree which looked like a house, and closed its mouth with another
tree. And in the evening she saw through the opening of a chink in
the door of her retreat a terrible Rákshasí approaching, accompanied
by her young sons. She was terrified, thinking to herself--"Lo! I
shall be devoured by this Rákshasí after escaping all my other
misfortunes"--and in the meanwhile the Rákshasí ascended that tree. And
her sons ascended after her, and immediately said to that Rákshasí,
[472]--"Mother, give us something to eat." Then the Rákshasí said to
her children,--"To-day, my children, I went to a great cemetery, but
I did not obtain any food, and though I entreated the congregation of
witches, they gave me no portion; then grieved thereat I appealed to
Siva in his terrific form and asked him for food. And the god asked
me my name and lineage, and then said to me--'Terrible one, thou
art of high birth as belonging to the race of Khara and Dúshana;
[473] so go to the city of Vasudatta, not far from here. In that
city there lives a great king named Vasudatta addicted to virtue;
he defends this whole forest, dwelling on its border, and himself
takes duties and chastises robbers. Now, one day, while the king was
sleeping in the forest, fatigued with hunting, a centipede quickly
entered his ear unobserved. And in course of time it gave birth to
many others inside his head. That produced an illness which now dries
up all his sinews. And the physicians do not know what is the cause
of his disease, but if some one does not find out, he will die in a
few days. When he is dead, eat his flesh; for by eating it, you will,
thanks to your magic power, remain satiated for six months!' In these
words Siva promised me a meal, that is attended with uncertainty,
and cannot be obtained for a long time, so what must I do, my
children?" When the Rákshasí said this to her children, they asked
her, "If the disease is discovered and removed, will that king live,
mother? And tell us how such a disease can be cured in him?" When
the children said this, the Rákshasí solemnly said to them, "If the
disease is discovered and removed, the king will certainly live. And
hear how his great disease may be taken away. First his head must be
anointed by rubbing warm butter on it, and then it must be placed
for a long time in the heat of the sun intensified by noonday. And
a hollow cane-tube must be inserted into the aperture of his ear,
which must communicate with a hole in a plate, and this plate must
be placed above a pitcher of cool water. Accordingly the centipedes
will be annoyed by heat and perspiration, and will come out of his
head, and will enter that cane-tube from the aperture of the ear,
and desiring coolness will fall into the pitcher. In this way the
king may be freed from that great disease." Thus spake the Rákshasí
to her sons on the tree, and then ceased; and Kírtisená, who was in
the trunk of the tree, heard it. And hearing it, she said to herself,
"If ever I get safe away from here, I will go and employ this artifice
to save the life of that king. For he takes but small duties, and
dwells on the outskirts of this forest; and so all the merchants come
this way because it is more convenient. This is what the merchant,
Samudrasena, who is gone to heaven, told me; accordingly that husband
of mine will be sure to return by this very path. So I will go to the
city of Vasudatta, which is on the borders of the forest, and I will
deliver the king from his sickness, and there await the arrival of my
husband." Thus reflecting, she managed, though with difficulty, to get
through the night: in the morning, the Rákshasas having disappeared,
she went out from the trunk of the tree.

Then she travelled along slowly in the dress of a man, and in the
afternoon she saw a good cowherd. He was moved to compassion by seeing
her delicate beauty, and that she had accomplished a long journey,
and then she approached him, and said--"What country is this, please
tell me?" The cowherd said--"This city in front of you is the city of
Vasudatta, belonging to the king Vasudatta: as for the king, he lies
there at the point of death with illness." When Kírtisená heard that,
she said to the cowherd, "If any one will conduct me into the presence
of that king, I know how to remove his disease." When the cowherd
heard that, he said, "I am going to that very city, so come with me,
that I may point it out to you." Kírtisená answered--"So be it," and
immediately that herdsman conducted her to the city of Vasudatta,
wearing her male dress. And telling the circumstances exactly as
they were, he immediately commended that lady with auspicious marks
to the afflicted warder. And the warder, having informed the king,
by his orders introduced the blameless lady into his presence. The
king Vasudatta, though tortured with his disease, was comforted the
moment he beheld that lady of wonderful beauty; the soul is able to
distinguish friends from enemies. And he said to the lady who was
disguised as a man, "Auspicious sir, if you remove this disease,
I will give you half my kingdom; I remember a lady stripped off
from me in my dream a black blanket, so you will certainly remove
this my disease." When Kírtisená heard that, she said--"This day
is at an end, O king; to-morrow I will take away your disease;
do not be impatient." Having said this, she rubbed cow's butter on
the king's head; that made sleep come to him, and the excessive pain
disappeared. And then all there praised Kírtisená, saying--"This is
some god come to us in the disguise of a physician, thanks to our
merits in a previous state of existence." And the queen waited on her
with various attentions, and appointed for her a house in which to
rest at night, with female attendants. Then on the next day, at noon,
before the eyes of the ministers and ladies of the harem, Kírtisená
extracted from the head of that king, through the aperture of the ear,
one hundred and fifty centipedes, by employing the wonderful artifice
previously described by the Rákshasí. And after getting the centipedes
into the pitcher, she comforted the king by fomenting him with milk
and melted butter. The king having gradually recovered, and being
free from disease, everybody there was astonished at beholding those
creatures in the pitcher. And the king, on beholding these harmful
insects that had been extracted from his head, was terrified, puzzled
and delighted, and considered himself born again. And he made high
feast, and honoured Kírtisená, who did not care for half the kingdom,
with villages, elephants, horses, and gold. And the queens and the
ministers loaded her with gold and garments, saying that they ought to
honour the physician who had saved the life of their sovereign. But she
deposited for the present that wealth in the hand of the king, waiting
for her husband, and saying--"I am under a vow for a certain time."

So Kírtisená remained there some days in man's clothes, honoured by
all men, and in the meanwhile she heard from the people that her
own husband, the great merchant Devasena, had come that way from
Vallabhí. Then, as soon as she knew that that caravan had arrived in
the city, she went to it, and saw that husband of hers as a peahen
beholds the new cloud. And she fell at his feet, and her heart,
weeping from the pain of long separation, made her bestow on him
the argha [474] with her tears of joy. Her husband, for his part,
after he had examined her, who was concealed by her disguise, like
the form of the moon invisible in the day on account of the rays of
the sun, recognised her. It was wonderful that the heart of Devasena,
who was handsome as the moon, did not dissolve like the moonstone,
[475] on beholding the moon of her countenance.

Then, Kírtisená having thus revealed herself, and her husband remaining
in a state of wonder, marvelling what it could mean, and the company
of merchants being astonished, the king Vasudatta, hearing of it,
came there full of amazement. And Kírtisená, being questioned by him,
told in the presence of her husband her whole adventure, that was
due to the wickedness of her mother-in-law. And her husband Devasena,
hearing it, conceived an aversion to his mother, and was affected at
the same time by anger, forbearance, astonishment, and joy. And all
the people present there, having heard that wonderful adventure of
Kírtisená, exclaimed joyfully--"Chaste women, mounted on the chariot
of conjugal affection, protected by the armour of modesty, and armed
with the weapon of intellect, are victorious in the struggle." The
king too said--"This lady, who has endured affliction for the sake of
her husband, has surpassed even queen Sítá, who shared the hardships
of Ráma. So she is henceforth my sister in the faith, as well as
the saviour of my life." When the king said that, Kírtisená answered
him--"O king, let your gift of affection which I deposited in your
care, consisting of villages, elephants, and horses, be made over
to my husband." When she said this to the king, he bestowed on her
husband Devasena the villages and other presents, and being pleased
gave him a turban of honour. Then Devasena, having his purse suddenly
filled with stores of wealth, part of which was given by the king,
and part acquired by his own trading, avoiding his mother, and
praising Kírtisená, remained dwelling in that town. And Kírtisená
having found a happy lot, from which her wicked mother-in-law was
removed, and having obtained glory by her unparalleled adventures,
dwelt there in the enjoyment of all luxury and power, like all the
rich fruit of her husband's good deeds incarnate in a body.

"Thus chaste women, enduring the dispensations of hostile fate,
but preserving in misfortunes the treasure of their virtue,
and protected by the great power of their goodness, procure good
fortune for their husbands and themselves. And thus, O daughter of
a king, many misfortunes befall wives, inflicted by mothers-in-law
and sisters-in-law, therefore I desire for you a husband's house
of such a kind, that in it there shall be no mother-in-law and no
cruel sister-in-law."

Hearing this delightful and marvellous story from the mouth of the
Asura princess Somaprabhá, the mortal princess Kalingasená was highly
delighted. Then the sun, seeing that these tales, the matter of which
was so various, had come to an end, proceeded to set, and Somaprabhá,
having embraced the regretful Kalingasená, went to her own palace.






CHAPTER XXX.


Then Kalingasená out of love went to the top of a palace on the high
road, to follow with her eyes the course of Somaprabhá, who had set
out for her own home, and by chance a young king of the Vidyádharas,
named Madanavega, travelling through the air, had a near view of
her. The youth beholding her, bewildering the three worlds with
her beauty, like the bunch of peacock feathers of the conjuror
Cupid, was much troubled. He reflected--"Away with the Vidyádhara
beauties! Not even the Apsarases deserve to be mentioned in presence
of the surpassing loveliness of this mortal lady. So if she will not
consent to become my wife, what is the profit of my life? But how
can I associate with a mortal lady, being a Vidyádhara?" Thereupon
he called to mind the science named Prajnapti, and that science,
appearing in bodily form, thus addressed him, "She is not really
a mortal woman, she is an Apsaras, degraded in consequence of a
curse, and born in the house of the august king Kalingadatta." When
the Vidyádhara had been thus informed by the science, he went off
delighted and distracted with love; and averse from all other things,
reflected in his palace; "It is not fitting for me to carry her off by
force; for the possession of women by force is, according to a curse,
fated to bring me death. So in order to obtain her, I must propitiate
Siva by asceticism, for happiness is procurable by asceticism, and no
other expedient presents itself." Thus he resolved, and the next day
he went to the Rishabha mountain, and standing on one foot, performed
penance without taking food. Then the husband of Ambiká was soon won
over by Madanavega's severe asceticism, and appearing to him, thus
enjoined him, "This maiden, named Kalingasená, is famous for beauty
on the earth, and she cannot find any husband equal to her in the
gift of loveliness. Only the king of Vatsa is a fitting match for
her, and he longs to possess her, but through fear of Vásavadattá,
does not dare to court her openly. And this princess, who is longing
for a handsome husband, will hear of the king of Vatsa from the mouth
of Somaprabhá, and repair to him to choose him as her husband. So,
before her marriage takes place, assume the form of the impatient king
of Vatsa, and go and make her your wife by the Gándharva ceremony. In
this way, fair sir, you will obtain Kalingasená." Having received
this command from Siva, Madanavega prostrated himself before him,
and returned to his home on the slope of the Kálakúta mountain.

Then Kalingasená went on enjoying herself in the city of Takshasilá,
in the society of Somaprabhá, who went every night to her own home, and
came back every morning to her friend, in her chariot that travelled
through the air: and one day she said to Somaprabhá in private;
"My friend, you must not tell any one what I tell you. Listen, and
I will give you a reason that makes me think the time of my marriage
has arrived. Ambassadors have been sent here by many kings to ask me
in marriage. And they, after an interview with my father, have always
hitherto been dismissed by him as they came. But now the king of the
name of Prasenajit, who lives in Srávastí, has sent a messenger, and he
alone has been received with honourable distinction by my father. And
that course has been recommended by my mother, so I conjecture,
the king, my suitor, has been approved of by my father and mother,
as of sufficiently noble lineage. For he is born in that family,
in which were born Ambá and Ambáliká, the paternal grandmothers
of the Kurus and Pándus. So, my friend, it is clear that they have
now determined to bestow me in marriage on this king Prasenajit in
the city of Srávastí." When Somaprabhá heard this from Kalingasená,
she suddenly shed from grief a copious shower of tears, creating,
as it were, a second necklace. And when her friend asked her the
cause of her tears, that daughter of the Asura Maya, who had seen
all the terrestrial world, said to her--"Of the desirable requisites
in a suitor, youth, good looks, noble birth, good disposition, and
wealth, youth is of the greatest importance; high birth, and so on,
are of subordinate importance. But I have seen that king Prasenajit,
and he is an old man; who cares about his high lineage, as he is old,
any more than about the birth of the jasmine-flower? You will be to
be pitied when linked to him who is white as snow, as the lotus-bed,
when linked to the winter, and your face will be a withered lotus. For
this reason despondency has arisen in me, but I should be delighted if
Udayana, the king of Vatsa, were to become your husband, O auspicious
lady. For there is no king upon the earth equal to him in form,
beauty, lineage, daring and riches. If, fair one, you should be
married to that fitting mate, the display which the Creator has made
in your case of his power to create beauty, would have brought forth
fruit." By means of these speeches, artfully framed by Somaprabhá, the
mind of Kalingasená was impelled as if by engines, and flew towards
the king of Vatsa. And then the princess asked the daughter of Maya,
"Friend, how is it that he is called the king of Vatsa? In what
race was he born? And whence was he named Udayana? Tell me." Then
Somaprabhá said--"Listen, friend, I will tell you that. There is a
land, the ornament of the earth, named Vatsa. In it there is a city
named Kausámbí, like a second Amarávatí; and he is called the king of
Vatsa because he rules there. And hear his lineage, my friend, related
by me. Arjuna of the Pándava race had a son named Abhimanyu, and he,
skilled in breaking the close rings of the hostile army, destroyed the
force of the Kauravas. From him there sprang a king named Paríkshit,
the head of the race of Bharata, and from him sprang Janamejaya, who
performed the snake-sacrifice. His son was Satáníka who settled in
Kausámbí, and he was slain in a war between the gods and Asuras after
slaying many giants. His son was king Sahasráníka, an object of praise
to the world, to whom Indra sent his chariot, and he went to heaven and
returned thence. To him was born this Udayana by the queen Mrigávatí,
the ornament of the race of the Moon, a king that is a feast to the
eyes of the world. Hear too the reason of his name. That Mrigávatí,
the mother of this high-born king, being pregnant, felt a desire to
bathe in a lake of blood, and her husband, afraid of committing sin,
had a lake made of liquid lac and other coloured fluids in which she
plunged. Then a bird of the race of Garuda pounced upon her, thinking
she was raw flesh, and carried her off, and, as fate would have it,
left her alive on the mountain of the sunrise. And there the hermit
Jamadagni saw her, and comforted her, promising her reunion with her
husband, and she remained there in his hermitage. For such was the
curse inflicted upon her husband by Tilottamá jealous on account of
his neglecting her, which caused him separation from his wife for a
season. And in some days she brought forth a son in the hermitage of
Jamadagni on that very mountain of the sunrise, as the sky brings forth
the new moon. And because he was born on the mountain of the sunrise,
the gods then and there gave him the name of Udayana, uttering from
heaven this bodiless voice--'This Udayana, who is now born, shall be
sovereign of the whole earth, and there shall be born to him a son,
who shall be emperor of all the Vidyádharas.'

"Sahasráníka, for his part, who had been informed of the real state
of the case by Mátali, and had fixed his hope on the termination
of his curse, with difficulty got through the time without that
Mrigávatí. But when the curse had expired, the king obtained his token
from a Savara who, as fate would have it, had come from the mountain of
the sunrise. And then he was informed of the truth by a voice that came
from heaven, and making that Savara his guide, he went to the mountain
of the sunrise. There he found his wife Mrigávatí like the success
of his wishes, and her son Udayana like the realm of fancy. With them
he returned to Kausámbí, and appointed his son crown-prince, pleased
with the excellence of his qualities; and he gave him the sons of his
ministers, Yaugandharáyana and others. When his son took the burden
of the kingdom off his shoulders, he enjoyed pleasures for a long
time in the society of Mrigávatí. And in time the king established
his son, that very Udayana, on the throne, and being old, went with
his wife and ministers on the long journey. So, Udayana has obtained
that kingdom that belonged to his father, and having conquered all
his enemies, rules the earth with the help of Yaugandharáyana."

Having in these words quickly told her in confidence the story of
Udayana, she again said to her friend Kalingasená--"Thus that king
is called the king of Vatsa, fair one, because he rules in Vatsa,
and since he comes of the Pándava lineage, he is also descended
from the race of the sun. And the gods gave him the name of Udayana,
because he was born on the mountain of the sunrise, and in this world
even the god of love is not a match for him in beauty. He alone is a
husband fit for you, most beautiful lady of the three worlds, and he,
being a lover of beauty, no doubt longs for you, who are famous for
it. But, my friend, his head-wife is Vásavadattá, the daughter of
Chandamahásena. And she selected him herself, deserting her relations
in the ardour of her passion, and so sparing the blushes of Ushá,
Sakuntalá and other maidens. And a son has been born to him by her,
called Naraváhanadatta, who is appointed by the gods as the future
emperor of the Vidyádharas. So it is through fear of her that the king
of Vatsa does not send here to ask for your hand, but she has been
seen by me, and she does not vie with you in the gift of beauty." When
her friend Somaprabhá said this, Kalingasená, being in love with the
king of Vatsa, answered her--"I know all this, but what can I do,
as I am under the power of my parents? But in this, you, who know
all things and possess magic power, are my refuge." Somaprabhá then
said to her--"The whole matter depends on destiny; in proof of it
hear the following tale."



Story of Tejasvatí.

Once on a time there lived in Ujjayiní a king named Vikramasena,
and he had a daughter named Tejasvatí, matchless in beauty. And
she disapproved of every king who sued for her hand. But one day,
while she was on the roof of her palace, she saw a man, and as
fate would have it, she felt a desire to meet him as he was very
handsome, and she sent her confidante to him, to communicate to him
her desire. The confidante went and entreated the man, who shrank from
such an audacious step, and at last with much difficulty she made him
against his will agree to an assignation, saying, "Await, good sir,
the arrival of the princess at night in this retired temple which you
see here." After saying this, she took leave of him, and went and told
the princess Tejasvatí, who for her part remained watching the sun. But
that man, though he had consented, fled somewhere else out of fear;
a frog is not capable of relishing the fibres of a bed of red lotuses.

In the meanwhile a certain prince of high lineage came, as his father
was dead, to visit the king who had been his father's friend. And that
handsome young prince, named Somadatta, whose kingdom and wealth had
been taken by pretenders, arriving at night, entered by accident,
to pass the night there, that very temple in which the confidante
of the princess had arranged a meeting with the man. While he was
there, the princess, blind with passion, approached him, without
distinguishing who he was, and made him her self-chosen husband. The
wise prince gladly received in silence the bride offered him by fate,
who foreshadowed his union with the future Fortune of Royalty. And
the princess soon perceived that he was very charming, and considered
that she had not been deceived by the Creator. Immediately they
conversed together, and the two separated according to agreement;
the princess went to her own palace, while the king spent the rest
of the night there. In the morning the prince went and announced his
name by the mouth of the warder, and being recognised, entered into
the presence of the king. There he told his sorrow on account of
his kingdom having been taken away, and other insults, and the king
agreed to assist him in overthrowing his enemies. And he determined to
give him the daughter he had long desired to give away, and then and
there told his intention to the ministers. Then the queen told the
king his daughter's adventure, having been informed of it before by
herself, through the mouths of trusty confidantes. Then the king was
astonished at finding that calamity had been averted and his desire
attained by mere chance, as in the fable of the crow and the palm,
[476] and thereupon one of the ministers said to the king, "Fate
watches to ensure the objects of auspicious persons, as good servants
of their masters, when the latter are not on the look-out. And to
illustrate this, I will tell you the following tale: listen!"



Story of the Bráhman Harisarman.

There was a certain Bráhman in a certain village, named
Harisarman. [477] He was poor and foolish and in evil ease for want of
employment, and he had very many children, that he might reap the fruit
of his misdeeds in a former life. He wandered about begging with his
family, and at last he reached a certain city, and entered the service
of a rich householder called Sthúladatta. He made his sons keepers of
this householder's cows and other possessions, and his wife a servant
to him, and he himself lived near his house, performing the duty of
an attendant. One day there was a feast on account of the marriage
of the daughter of Sthúladatta, largely attended by many friends of
the bridegroom, and merry-makers. And then Harisarman entertained
a hope that he would be able to fill himself up to the throat with
ghee and flesh and other dainties, together with his family, in the
house of his patron. While he was anxiously expecting that occasion,
no one thought of him. Then he was distressed at getting nothing to
eat, and he said to his wife at night; "It is owing to my poverty
and stupidity that I am treated with such disrespect here: so I will
display by means of an artifice an assumed knowledge, in order that I
may become an object of respect to this Sthúladatta, and when you get
an opportunity, tell him that I possess supernatural knowledge." He
said this to her, and after turning the matter over in his mind,
while people were asleep he took away from the house of Sthúladatta
a horse on which his son-in-law rode. He placed it in concealment at
some distance, and in the morning the friends of the bridegroom could
not find the horse, though they searched in every direction. Then,
while Sthúladatta was distressed at the evil omen, and searching for
the thieves who had carried off the horse, the wife of Harisarman
came and said to him--"My husband is a wise man, skilled in astrology
and sciences of that kind; and he will procure for you the horse;
why do you not ask him?" When Sthúladatta heard that, he called that
Harisarman, who said, "Yesterday I was forgotten, but to-day, now the
horse is stolen, I am called to mind," and Sthúladatta then propitiated
the Bráhman with these words--"I forgot you, forgive me"--and asked him
to tell him who had taken away their horse? Then Harisarman drew all
kinds of pretended diagrams and said,--"The horse has been placed by
thieves on the boundary line south from this place. It is concealed
there, and before it is carried off to a distance, as it will be
at close of day, quickly go and bring it." When they heard that,
many men ran and brought the horse quickly, praising the discernment
of Harisarman. Then Harisarman was honoured by all men as a sage,
and dwelt there in happiness, honoured by Sthúladatta. Then, as days
went on, much wealth consisting of gold and jewels was carried off
by a thief from the palace of the king. As the thief was not known,
the king quickly summoned Harisarman on account of his reputation for
supernatural knowledge. And he, when summoned, tried to gain time, and
said "I will tell you to-morrow," and then he was placed in a chamber
by the king, and carefully guarded. And he was despondent about his
pretended knowledge. [478] Now in that palace there was a maid named
Jihvá, [479] who, with the assistance of her brother had carried off
that wealth from the interior of the palace: she, being alarmed at
Harisarman's knowledge, went at night and applied her ear to the door
of that chamber in order to find out what he was about. And Harisarman,
who was alone inside, was at that very moment blaming his own tongue,
that had made a vain assumption of knowledge. He said--"O Tongue, what
is this that you have done, through desire of enjoyment? Ill-conducted
one, endure now punishment in this place." When Jihvá heard this, she
thought in her terror, that she had been discovered by this wise man,
and by an artifice she managed to get in where he was, and falling
at his feet, she said to that supposed sage;--"Bráhman, here I am,
that Jihvá whom you have discovered to be the thief of the wealth,
and after I took it, I buried it in the earth in a garden behind
the palace, under a pomegranate tree. So spare me, and receive the
small quantity of gold which is in my possession." When Harisarman
heard that, he said to her proudly, "Depart, I know all this; I
know the past, present and future: but I will not denounce you,
being a miserable creature that has implored my protection. But
whatever gold is in your possession you must give back to me." When
he said this to the maid, she consented and departed quickly. But
Harisarman reflected in his astonishment; "Fate, if propitious,
brings about, as if in sport, a thing that cannot be accomplished,
for in this matter when calamity was near, success has unexpectedly
been attained by me. While I was blaming my tongue (jihvá), the thief
Jihvá suddenly flung herself at my feet. Secret crimes I see, manifest
themselves by means of fear." In these reflections he passed the night
happily in the chamber. And in the morning he brought the king by some
skilful parade of pretended knowledge into the garden, and led him up
to the treasure, which was buried there and he said that the thief had
escaped with a part of it. Then the king was pleased and proceeded to
give him villages. But the minister, named Devajnánin, whispered in the
king's ear, "How can a man possess such knowledge unattainable by men,
without having studied treatises; so you may be certain that this is
a specimen of the way he makes a dishonest livelihood, by having a
secret intelligence with thieves. So it will be better to test him
by some new artifice." Then the king of his own accord brought a new
covered pitcher into which he had thrown a frog, and said to that
Harisarman--"Bráhman, if you can guess what there is in this pitcher,
I will do you great honour to-day." When the Bráhman Harisarman heard
that, he thought that his last hour had come, and he called to mind
the pet name of frog which his father had given him in his childhood
in sport, and impelled by the deity he apostrophized himself by it,
lamenting his hard fate, and suddenly exclaimed there--"This is a fine
pitcher for you, frog, since suddenly it has become the swift destroyer
of your helpless self in this place." The people there, when they
heard that, made a tumult of applause, because his speech chimed in
so well with the object presented to him, and murmured,--"Ah! a great
sage, he knows even about the frog!" Then the king, thinking that
this was all due to knowledge of divination, was highly delighted,
and gave Harisarman villages with gold, umbrella, and vehicles of
all kinds. And immediately Harisarman became like a feudal chief.

"Thus good objects are brought about by fate for those whose actions
in a former life have been good. Accordingly fate made that daughter
of yours, Tejasvatí, approach Somadatta a man of equal birth, and kept
away one who was unsuited to her." Hearing this from the mouth of his
minister, the king Vikramasena gave his daughter to that prince as if
she were the goddess of fortune. Then the prince went and overcame his
enemies by the help of his father-in-law's host, and being established
in his own kingdom, lived happily in the company of his wife.

"So true is it that all this happens by the special favour of fate;
who on earth would be able to join you, lovely as you are, with the
king of Vatsa, though a suitable match for you, without the help of
fate? What can I do in this matter, friend Kalingasená?" Kalingasená,
hearing this story in private from the mouth of Somaprabhá,
became eager in her soul for union with the king of Vatsa, and,
in her aspirations after him, began to feel in a less degree the
fear of her relations and the warnings of modesty. Then, the sun,
the great lamp of the three worlds, being about to set, Somaprabhá
the daughter of the Asura Maya, having with difficulty taken leave,
until her morning return, of her friend, whose mind was fixed upon
her proposed attempt, went through the air to her own home.



Note on the story of Harisarman.

The story of Harisarman resembles closely that of Doctor Allwissend
in Grimm's Tales. It is shown by Benfey to exist in various forms
in many countries. It is found in the Siddhikür, the Mongolian form
of the Sanskrit Vetálapanchavinsati. In this form of the story the
incident of the frog in the pot is omitted, and the other incidents
are considerably altered. Instead of the king's treasure we find a
magic gem, on which the prosperity of the country depends; it is not
stolen but lost by the king's daughter. Instead of the horse we have
the cure of a sick Khán who had been driven mad by evil spirits. The
folly of the man who represents the Bráhman consists in his choosing
worthless presents for his reward. (The story is the IVth in Sagas
from the Far East.) Benfey considers the fullest form of the story to
be that in Schleicher's Lithuanian Legends. In this form of the story
we have the stealing of the horse. In other points it resembles the
Mongolian version. The Bráhman is represented by a poor cottager,
who puts up over his door a notice saying that he is a Doctor, who
knows everything and can do everything. The third exploit of the
cottager is the finding of a stolen treasure which is the second in
the Indian story, but his second is a miraculous cure which is in
accordance with the Siddikür. The latter is probably a late work; and
we may presume that the Mongols brought the Indian story to Europe,
in a form resembling that in the Kathá Sarit Ságara more nearly than
the form in the Siddikür does. In the third exploit of the cottager in
the Lithuanian tale, which corresponds to the second in the Indian, the
treasure has been stolen by three servants. They listen outside while
the Doctor is alone in his room. When the clock strikes one,--he says,
"We have one." When it strikes two, he says--"We have two." When it
strikes three, he says,--"We have now three." In their terror they
go to the doctor and beg him not to betray them. He is richly rewarded.

But after all, Grimm's form of the tale is nearest to the Sanskrit. The
dish with crabs in it, the contents of which the Doctor has to guess,
makes him exclaim--"Ach ich armer Krebs." This might almost have been
translated from the Sanskrit; it is so similar in form. The guilty
servants, who stole the gold are detected by the Doctor's saying to
his wife--"Margaret, that is the first"--meaning the first who waited
at table, and so on.

The story is also found in the Facetiæ of Henricus Bebelius, 1506. Here
a poor charcoal-burner represents the Bráhman. He asks three days
to consider. The king gives him a good dinner, and while the first
thief is standing at the window, he exclaims "Jam unus accessit"
meaning "one day is at an end." The next day the second thief comes
to listen. The charcoal-burner exclaims "Secundus accessit" and so
with the third, whereupon they all confess.

Benfey conceives himself to have found the incident of the horse in
Poggii Facetiæ (LXXXVI ed. Cracov. 1592, p. 59). Here a doctor boasts
a wonder-working pill. A man who has lost his ass takes one of these
pills. It conducts him to a bed of reeds where he finds his ass. (The
article from which I have taken these parallels is found in Benfey's
Orient und Occident, Vol. I, p. 371 and ff.)






CHAPTER XXXI.


The next morning Somaprabhá arrived, and Kalingasená said to her
friend in her confidential conversation--"My father certainly wishes
to give me to Prasenajit, I heard this from my mother, and you have
seen that he is an old man. But you have described the king of Vatsa
in such a way in the course of conversation, that my mind has been
captivated by him entering in through the gate of my ear. So first
shew me Prasenajit, and then take me there, where the king of Vatsa
is; what do I care for my father, or my mother?" When the impatient
girl said this, Somaprabhá answered her--"If you must go, then let
us go in the chariot that travels through the air. But you must take
with you all your retinue, for, as soon as you have seen the king of
Vatsa, you will find it impossible to return. And you will never see
or think of your parents, and when you have obtained your beloved, you
will forget even me, as I shall be at a distance from you. For I shall
never enter your husband's house, my friend." When the princess heard
that, she wept and said to her,--"Then bring that king of Vatsa here,
my friend, for I shall not be able to exist there a moment without
you: was not Aniruddha brought to Ushá by Chitralekhá? And though
you know it, hear from my mouth that story."



Story of Ushá and Aniruddha.

The Asura Bána had a daughter, famous under the name of Ushá. And
she propitiated Gaurí, who granted her a boon in order that she might
obtain a husband, saying to her, "He to whom you shall be united in
a dream, shall be your husband." Then she saw in a dream a certain
man looking like a divine prince. She was married by him according
to the Gándharva form of marriage, and after obtaining the joy of
union with him, she woke up at the close of night. When she did not
see the husband she had seen in her dream, but beheld the traces
of his presence, she remembered the boon of Gaurí, and was full of
disquietude, fear, and astonishment. And being miserable without
the husband whom she had seen in her dream, she confessed all to
her friend Chitralekhá, who questioned her. And Chitralekhá, being
acquainted with magic, thus addressed that Ushá, who knew not the
name of her lover nor any sign whereby to recognise him,--"My friend,
this is the result of the boon of the goddess Gaurí, what doubt can
we allege in this matter? But how are you to search for your lover
as he is not to be recognised by any token? I will sketch for you
the whole world, gods, Asuras, and men, in case you may be able to
recognise him; [480] and point him out to me among them, in order
that I may bring him." Thus spoke Chitralekhá, and when Ushá answered
"By all means!" she painted for her with coloured pencils the whole
world in order. Thereupon Ushá exclaimed joyfully, "There he is,"
and pointed out with trembling finger Aniruddha in Dváravatí of the
race of Yadu. Then Chitralekhá said--"My friend, you are fortunate,
in that you have obtained for a husband Aniruddha the grandson of the
adorable Vishnu. But he lives sixty thousand yojanas from here." When
Ushá heard that, she said to her, overpowered by excessive longing,
"Friend, if I cannot to-day repair to his bosom cool as sandal wood,
know that I am already dead, being burnt up with the uncontrollable
fire of love." When Chitralekhá heard this, she consoled her dear
friend, and immediately flew up and went through the air to the city
of Dváravatí; and she beheld it in the middle of the sea, producing
with its vast and lofty palaces an appearance as if the peaks of
the churning mountain [481] had again been flung into the ocean. She
found Aniruddha asleep in that city at night, and woke him up, and
told him that Ushá had fallen in love with him on account of having
seen him in a dream. And she took the prince, who was eager for the
interview, looking exactly as he had before appeared in Ushá's dream,
and returned from Dváravatí in a moment by the might of her magic. And
flying with him through the air, she introduced that lover secretly
into the private apartments of Ushá, who was awaiting him. When Ushá
beheld that Aniruddha arrived in bodily form, resembling the moon,
there was a movement in her limbs resembling the tide of the sea. [482]
Then she remained there with that sweet-heart who had been given
her by her friend, in perfect happiness, as if with Life embodied
in visible form. But her father Bána, when he heard it, was angry;
however Aniruddha conquered him by his own valour and the might of
his grandfather. Then Ushá and Aniruddha returned to Dváravatí and
became inseparable like Siva and Párvatí. [483]

"Thus Chitralekhá united Ushá with her lover in one day, but I consider
you, my friend, far more powerful than her. So bring me the king of
Vatsa here, do not delay." When Somaprabhá heard this from Kalingasená,
she said--"Chitralekhá, a nymph of heaven, might take up a strange
man and bring him, but what can one like myself do in the matter,
who never touch any man but my husband? So I will take you, my friend,
to the place where the king of Vatsa is, having first shewn you your
suitor Prasenajit." When Somaprabhá made this proposal to Kalingasená,
she consented, and immediately ascended with her the magic chariot
prepared by her, and setting out through the air with her treasures
and her retinue, she went off unknown to her parents. For women
impelled by love regard neither height nor depth in front of them,
as a horse urged on by his rider does not fear the keenest sword-edge.

First she came to Srávastí, and beheld from a distance the king
Prasenajit white with age, who had gone out to hunt, distinguished
by a chouri frequently waved, which seemed at a distance to repel
her as if saying--"Leave this old man." And Somaprabhá pointed him
out with a scornful laugh, saying--"Look! this is the man to whom
your father wishes to give you." Then she said to Somaprabhá--"Old
age has chosen him for her own, what other female will choose
him?" "So take me away from here quickly, my friend, to the king of
Vatsa." Immediately Kalingasená went with her to the city of Kausámbí
through the air. Then she beheld from a distance with eagerness that
king of Vatsa, pointed out by her friend in a garden, as the female
partridge beholds the nectar-rayed moon. With dilated eye, and hand
placed on the heart, she seemed to say "He has entered my soul by
this path." Then she exclaimed, "Friend, procure me a meeting here
with the king of Vatsa this very day; for having seen him I am not
able to wait a moment." But when she said this, her friend Somaprabhá
answered her--"I have seen to-day an unfavourable omen, so remain,
my friend, this day quiet and unobserved in this garden, do not,
my friend, send go-betweens backwards and forwards. To-morrow I
will come and devise some expedient for your meeting: at present,
O thou whose home is in my heart, I desire to return to the home
of my husband." Having said this, Somaprabhá departed thence after
leaving her there; and the king of Vatsa, leaving the garden, entered
his palace. Then Kalingasená, remaining there, sent her chamberlain,
giving him her message explicitly, to the king of Vatsa; and this
she did, though previously forbidden by her friend, who understood
omens. Love, when recently enthroned in the breasts of young women,
is impatient of all restraint. And the chamberlain went and announced
himself by the mouth of the warder, and immediately entering, thus
addressed the king of Vatsa--"O king, the daughter of Kalingadatta
the king who rules over Takshasilá, Kalingasená by name, having heard
that you are most handsome, has come here to choose you for a husband,
abandoning her relatives, having accomplished the journey in a magic
car that travels through the air, together with her attendants;
and she has been conducted here by her confidante named Somaprabhá,
who travels invisible, the daughter of the Asura Maya, the wife of
Nadakúvara. I have been sent by her to inform you; do you receive
her; let there be union of you two as of the moonlight and the
moon." When the king heard this from the chamberlain, he welcomed him,
saying--"I consent," and being delighted, he honoured him with gold and
garments. And summoning his chief minister Yaugandharáyana, he said to
him, "The daughter of king Kalingadatta, who is called Kalingasená,
and whose beauty is famed on the earth, has come of her own accord
to choose me as a husband; so tell me quickly, when shall I marry
her, for she is not to be rejected?" The minister Yaugandharáyana,
when the king of Vatsa said this to him, regarding what would be best
for his master in the long run, reflected for a moment as follows:
[484] "Kalingasená is certainly famed for beauty in the three worlds,
there is no other like her; even the gods are in love with her. If
this king of Vatsa obtain her, he will abandon everything else, and
then the queen Vásavadattá will lose her life, and then the prince
Naraváhanadatta will perish, and Padmávatí out of love for him will
find life hard to retain: and then Chandamahásena and Pradyota, the
fathers of the two queens, will lose their lives or become hostile;
and thus utter ruin will follow. On the other hand it will not do to
forbid the match, since the vicious passion of this king will increase
if he is thwarted. So I will put off the time of his marriage in order
to attain a favourable issue." Having thus reflected, Yaugandharáyana
said to the king of Vatsa, "O king, you are fortunate in that this
Kalingasená has of her own accord come to your house, and the king, her
father, has become your servant. So you must consult the astrologers,
and marry her in accordance with good custom at an auspicious time,
for she is the daughter of a great king. To-day give her a suitable
palace to dwell in by herself, and send her male and female slaves,
and robes and ornaments." When his chief minister gave him this
advice, the king of Vatsa approved it, and with glad heart performed
it all with special attention. Then Kalingasená entered the palace
assigned her for residence, and considering her desire attained,
was exceedingly delighted.

The wise Yaugandharáyana, for his part, immediately left the king's
court, went to his own house, and reflected--"Often procrastination
serves to avert an inauspicious measure. For long ago, when Indra
had fled on account of having caused the death of a Bráhman, and
Nahusha obtained the sovereignty over the gods, he fell in love
with Sachí, [485] and she was saved by the preceptor of the gods
[486], to whom she had fled for refuge. For in order to gain time,
he kept saying--'She will come to you to-day or to-morrow,'--until
Nahusha was destroyed by the curse of a Bráhman, uttered with an
angry roar, and Indra regained the sovereignty of the gods. In the
same way I must keep putting off my master." Having thus reflected,
the minister secretly made an arrangement with the astrologers that
they were to fix a distant date.

Then the queen Vásavadattá found out what had taken place, and
summoned the prime-minister to her palace. When he entered and bowed
before her, the queen said to him, weeping--"Noble sir, you said to
me long ago, 'Queen, as long as I remain where I am, you shall have
no other rival but Padmávatí,' and observe now, this Kalingasená is
about to be married here: and she is beautiful, and my husband is
attached to her, so you have proved a prophet of falsehood and I am
now a dead woman." When the minister Yaugandharáyana heard this, he
said to her--"Be composed, for how could this happen, queen, while
I am alive? However, you must not oppose the king in this matter,
but must on the contrary take refuge in self-restraint, and shew him
all complaisance. The sick man is not induced to place himself in the
physician's hands by disagreeable speeches, but he is by agreeable
speeches, if the physician does his work by a conciliatory method. If
a man is dragged against the current, he will never escape from the
stream of a river, or from a vicious tendency, but if he is carried
with the current, he will escape from both. So when the king comes
into your presence, receive him with all attentions, without anger,
concealing your real feelings. Approve at present of his marrying
Kalingasená, saying that his kingdom will be made more powerful by
her father also becoming his ally. And if you do this, the king will
perceive that you possess in a high degree the virtue of magnanimity,
and his love and courtesy towards you will increase, and thinking
that Kalingasená is within his reach, he will not be impatient, for
the desire of a man for any object increases if he is restrained. And
you must teach this lesson to Padmávatí also, O blameless one, and so
that king may submit to our putting him off in this matter. And after
this, I ween, you will behold my skill in stratagem. For the wise are
tested in difficulty, even as heroes are tested in fight. So, queen,
do not be despondent." In these words Yaugandharáyana admonished the
queen, and, as she received his counsels with respect, he departed
thence. [487] But the king of Vatsa, throughout that day, neither in
light nor darkness entered the private apartments of either of the
two queens, for his mind was eager for a new well-matched union with
Kalingasená, who had approached him in such an ardour of spontaneous
choice. And then the queen and the prime-minister and the king and
Kalingasená spent the night in wakefulness like that of a great feast,
apart in their respective houses, the second couple through impatience
for a rare delight, and the first through very profound anxiety.






CHAPTER XXXII.


Then the artful minister Yaugandharáyana came the next morning to
the king of Vatsa, who was expecting him, and made the following
representation--"O king, why do you not immediately enquire about
an auspicious moment for celebrating the happy marriage of your
highness with Kalingasená, the daughter of Kalingadatta, the king
of Takshasilá?" [488] When the king heard that, he said--"The same
desire is fixed in my heart, for my mind cannot endure to remain a
moment without her." Having said this, the simple-hearted monarch
gave orders to a warder, who stood before him, and summoned the
astrologers. When he questioned them, they, having had their cue
previously given them by the prime minister, said, "For the king
there will be a favourable moment in six months from this time."

When Yaugandharáyana heard this, he pretended to be angry, and the
cunning fellow said to the king, "Out on these blockheads! That
astrologer, whom your highness previously honoured on the ground of
his cleverness, has not come to-day, ask him, and then do what is
proper." When he heard this speech of his minister's, the king of
Vatsa immediately summoned that very astrologer with mind in an agony
of suspense. He also stuck to his agreement, and in order to put off
the day of the marriage he named when asked, after some reflection,
a moment six months off. Then Yaugandharáyana pretending to be
distracted, said to the king--"Let your majesty command what is to
be done in this matter!" The king, being impatient and longing for a
favourable moment, said, after reflecting--"You must ask Kalingasená,
and see what she says." When Yaugandharáyana heard this, he took with
him two astrologers and went into the presence of Kalingasená. She
received him politely, and beholding her beauty, he reflected--"If
the king were to obtain her, he would abandon the whole kingdom in
his reckless passion." And he said to her, "I am come with these
astrologers to fix the moment of your marriage; so let these servants
inform me of the particular star in the lunar mansions under which
you were born." When the astrologers heard the lunar mansion stated
by her attendants, they pretended to investigate the matter, and kept
saying in the course of their calculations, "It is not on this side,
it must be after that." At last, in accordance with their agreement
with the minister, they named again that very moment at the end of
six months. When Kalingasená heard that distant date fixed, she was
cast down in spirit, but her chamberlain said, "You must first fix a
favourable moment, so that this couple may be happy all their lives,
what matters it whether it be near or far off?" When they heard this
speech of the chamberlain's, all there immediately exclaimed--"Well
said." And Yaugandharáyana said, "Yes, and if an inauspicious moment is
appointed for us, the king Kalingadatta, our proposed connexion, will
be grieved." Then Kalingasená, being helpless, said to them all--"Let
it be as you appoint in your wisdom"--and remained silent. And at once
accepting that speech of hers, Yaugandharáyana took leave of her, and
went with the astrologers into the presence of the king. Then he told
the proceedings to the king of Vatsa, exactly as they had happened, and
so having settled his mind by an artifice, he went to his own house.

So having attained his object of putting off the marriage, in order
to complete the scheme he had in view, he called to mind his friend,
the Bráhman-Rákshasa, named Yogesvara. He, according to his previous
promise, when thought of, readily came to the minister, and bowed
before him and said--"Why am I called to mind?" Then Yaugandharáyana
told him the whole incident of Kalingasená which was tempting his
master to vice, and again said to him--"I have managed to gain time,
my friend; in that interval, do you, remaining concealed, observe
by your skill the behaviour of Kalingasená. For the Vidyádharas and
other spirits are without doubt secretly in love with her, since there
is no other woman in the three worlds equal to her in beauty. So, if
she were to have an intrigue with some Siddha or Vidyádhara, and you
were to see it, it would be a fortunate thing. And you must observe
the divine lover, though he come disguised, when he is asleep, for
divine beings, when asleep, assume their own form. If in this way
we are able to discover any offence in her by means of your eyes,
the king will be disgusted with her, and will accomplish that object
of ours." When the minister said this to him, the Bráhman-Rákshasa
answered, "Why should I not by some artifice cause her to fall or
slay her?" When the great minister Yaugandharáyana heard that, he
said to him--"This must not be done, for it would be a very wicked
deed. And whoever goes his own way without offending against the god
of justice, finds that that god comes to his assistance to enable
him to attain his objects. So you must discover in her, my friend,
a fault self-caused, in order that through your friendship the king's
objects may be accomplished by me." Having received this order from
the excellent minister, the Bráhman-Rákshasa departed, and disguised
by magic entered the house of Kalingasená.

In the meanwhile Somaprabhá, her friend, the daughter of the Asura
Maya, went again into the presence of Kalingasená. And the daughter
of Maya, after asking her friend what had happened in the night,
said to her who had abandoned her relations, in the hearing of that
Rákshasa--"I came here in the forenoon after searching for you, but
I remained concealed at your side, seeing Yaugandharáyana. However
I heard your conversation, and I understood the whole state of
affairs. So why did you make this attempt yesterday though you were
forbidden to do so by me? For any business which is undertaken,
my friend, without first counteracting the evil omen, will end in
calamity; as a proof of this, hear the following tale:"



Story of the Bráhman's son Vishnudatta and his seven foolish
companions.

Long ago there lived in Antarvedi a Bráhman named Vasudatta, and he had
a son born to him named Vishnudatta. That Vishnudatta, after he reached
the age of sixteen years, set out for the city of Vallabhí in order to
acquire learning. And there joined him seven other young Bráhmans his
fellows, but those seven were fools, while he was wise and sprung from
a good family. After they had taken an oath not to desert one another,
Vishnudatta set out with them at night without the knowledge of his
parents. And after he had set forth, he saw an evil omen presenting
itself in front of him, and he said to those friends of his who were
travelling with him,--"Ha! Here is a bad omen! it is advisable to turn
back now; we will set out again with good hope of success, when we
have auspicious omens with us." When those seven foolish companions
heard that, they said, "Do not entertain groundless fear, for we are
not afraid of the omen. If you are afraid, do not go, but we will
start this moment; to-morrow morning our relations will abandon us,
when they hear of our proceedings." When those ignorant creatures
said that, Vishnudatta set out with them, urged on by his oath, but
he first called to mind Hari, the dispeller of sin. And at the end of
the night he saw another evil omen, and again mentioned it, and he was
rebuked by all those foolish friends of his in the following words;
"This is our evil omen, you coward afraid to travel, that you have been
brought by us, since you shudder at a crow at every step you take;
we require no other evil omen." Having reviled him in these words,
they continued their journey and Vishnudatta went with them, as he
could not help it, but kept silence, reflecting--"One ought not to
give advice to a fool bent on going his own crooked way, for it only
entails ridicule, being like the beautifying of ordure. A single wise
man fallen among many fools, like a lotus in the path of the waves,
is surely overwhelmed. So I must not henceforth give these men either
good or bad advice, but I must go on in silence; destiny will educe
prosperity." Engaged in these reflections, Vishnudatta proceeded
on the way with those fools, and at the end of the day he reached a
Savara village. There he wandered about in the night and reached a
certain house inhabited by a young woman, and asked the woman for a
lodging there. She gave him a room, and he entered it with his friends,
and those seven in a moment went to sleep. He alone remained awake,
as he had entered a house belonging to a savage. For the stupid sleep
resolutely, how can the understanding sleep?

And in the meanwhile a certain young man secretly entered the inner
apartment of the house, and went into the presence of that woman. And
she remained in confidential conversation with him, and as fate
would have it, they both fell asleep. And Vishnudatta, perceiving it
all through the half-open door by the light of a candle, reflected
despondently, "Alas! have we entered the house of a profligate
woman? Surely this is her paramour, and not the husband of her youth,
for otherwise we should not have this timid secret proceeding;
I saw at the first that she was of a flighty disposition; but we
have entered here as mutual witnesses, for lack of others." While he
was thinking he heard outside a noise of men, and he saw entering a
young chief of the Savaras with a sword, looking about him, while
his attendants remained in the sleeping apartment. When the chief
said--"Who are you?" Vishnudatta, supposing him to be the master of
the house, said in his terror--"We are travellers." But the Savara
entered, and seeing his wife in such a position, he cut off with
his sword the head of her sleeping paramour. But he did not punish
or even wake his wife; but placing his sword on the ground he went
to sleep on another couch. Seeing that by the light of the candle,
Vishnudatta reflected--"He did right not to kill his wife, but to
kill the adulterer; but that he should sleep here in confidence,
after performing such a deed, is an act of surprising courage,
characteristic of men of mighty minds." While Vishnudatta was thus
reflecting, that wicked woman awoke and beheld her paramour slain,
and that husband of hers asleep. So she rose up, and took on her
shoulder the body of her lover, and carrying his head in one hand,
she went out. And going outside quickly, she threw into an ash-heap
the trunk with the head, and came secretly back. And Vishnudatta going
out beheld it all from a distance, and again entering remained as he
was, in the midst of his sleeping companions. But the wicked woman
came back, and entering the room, cut off with that very sword the
head of her sleeping husband. And going out she raised a cry so as to
make all the servants hear, "Alas! I am ruined, my husband has been
slain by these travellers." Then the servants, hearing the cry, rushed
forward and beholding their master slain, ran upon Vishnudatta and his
friends with uplifted weapons. And when those others, his companions,
rose up in terror, as they were about to be slain, Vishnudatta said
quickly--"Cease your attempt to slay Bráhmans! We did not do this deed;
this wicked woman herself did it, being in love with another man. But I
saw the whole affair from the very beginning, through a half-open door;
and I went out and observed what she did, and if you will have patience
with me, I will tell you." Vishnudatta with these words restrained the
Savaras, and told them the whole affair from the beginning, and took
them out and showed them the trunk with the head freshly severed and
thrown by the woman on that heap of refuse. Then the woman confessed
the truth by the paleness of her face, and all there reviled the
wanton, and said--"Whom will not a wicked woman kill, when won over
by another man, like a sword in an enemy's hand, since enticed by
love she commits reckless crime without being taught." Having said
this, they thereupon let Vishnudatta and his companions go; and then
the seven companions praised Vishnudatta, saying, "You became to us,
while we were asleep at night, a protecting jewel-lamp, through your
kindness we escaped to-day from death produced by an evil omen." In
these words they praised Vishnudatta, and ceased henceforth their
reviling, and after bowing before him they set out in the morning on
their errand, accompanied by him.

Having told this story to Kalingasená in their mutual conversation,
Somaprabhá again said to that friend of hers in Kausámbí.--"Thus,
my friend, an evil omen presenting itself to people engaged in
any undertaking, if not counteracted by delay and other methods,
produces misfortune. And so people of dull intelligence, neglecting
the advice of the wise, and acting impetuously, are afflicted in
the end. Accordingly you did not act wisely in sending a messenger
to the king of Vatsa, asking him to receive you, when there was an
inauspicious omen. May Fate grant you to be married without any
impediment, but you came from your house in an unlucky moment,
therefore your marriage is far off. And the gods too are in love
with you, so you must be on your guard against this. And you must
think of the minister Yaugandharáyana, who is expert in politic
wiles; he, fearing that the king may become engrossed in pleasure,
may throw impediments in your way in this business; or he may even
bring a charge against you after your marriage is celebrated: but no,
being virtuous, he will not bring a false accusation; nevertheless,
my friend, you must at all events be on your guard against your rival
wife, I will tell you a story illustrative of this, listen."



Story of Kadalígarbhá.

There is in this land a city named Ikshumatí, and by the side of
it there runs a river called by the same name; both were created
by Visvámitra. And near it there is a great forest, and in it a
hermit of the name of Mankanaka had made himself a hermitage and
performed penance with his heels upwards. And while he was performing
austerities, he saw an Apsaras of the name of Menaká coming through
the air, with her clothes floating on the breeze. Then his mind was
bewildered by Cupid, who had found his opportunity, and there was
born to him a daughter named Kadalígarbhá, [489] beautiful in every
limb. And since she was born in the interior of a plantain, her father,
the hermit Mankanaka, gave her the name of Kadalígarbhá. She grew up
in his hermitage like Kripí the wife of Drona, who was born to Gautama
on his beholding Rambhá. And once on a time Dridhavarman, a king born
in Madhyadesa, [490] who in the excitement of the chase was carried
away by his horse, entered that hermitage. He beheld Kadalígarbhá
clothed in garments of bark, having her beauty exceedingly set off
by the dress appropriate to the daughter of an ascetic. And she,
when seen, captivated the heart of that king so completely, that
she left no room in it for the women of his harem. While thinking
to himself--"Shall I be able to obtain as a wife this daughter of
some hermit or other, as Dushyanta obtained Sakuntalá the daughter
of the hermit Kanva?"--the king beheld that hermit Mankanaka coming
with fuel and kusa-grass. And leaving his horse, he approached him and
worshipped at his feet, and when questioned, discovered himself to that
hermit. Then the hermit gave the following order to Kadalígarbhá--"My
dear child, prepare the arghya [491] for this king our guest." She
said--"I will do so"--and bowing, prepared the hospitable offering,
and then the king said to the hermit--"Whence did you obtain this
maiden who is so beautiful?"--Then the hermit told the king the story
of her birth, and her name Kadalígarbhá, which indicated the manner
of it. Then the king, considering the maiden born from the hermit's
thinking on Menaká to be an Apsaras, earnestly craved her hand of
her father. And the sage gave him that daughter named Kadalígarbhá,
for the actions of the sages of old time, guided by divine insight,
were without hesitation. And the nymphs of heaven, discovering the fact
by their divine power, came there out of love for Menaká, and adorned
her for the wedding. And on that very occasion they put mustard-seeds
into her hand and said to her,--"As you are going along the path, sow
them, in order that you may know it again. If, daughter, at any time
your husband should scorn you, and you should wish to return here,
then you will be able, as you come along, to recognise the path by
these, which will have sprung up." When they had said this to her,
and her marriage had been celebrated, the king Dridhavarman placed
Kadalígarbhá on his horse, and departed thence. His army came up and
escorted him, and in company with that bride of his, who sowed the
mustard-seeds all along the path, he reached his own palace. There
he became averse to the society of his other wives, and dwelt with
that Kadalígarbhá, after telling her story to his ministers.

Then his principal wife, being exceedingly afflicted, said to his
minister in secret, after reminding him of the benefits she had
conferred upon him: "The king is now exclusively attached to his new
wife and has deserted me, so take steps to make this rival of mine
depart." When that minister heard that, he said--"Queen, it is not
appropriate for people like me to destroy or banish their masters'
wives. This is the business of the wives of wandering religious
mendicants, addicted to jugglery and such practices, associating
with men like themselves. For those hypocritical female ascetics,
creeping unforbidden into houses, skilled in deception, will stick at
no deed whatever." When he said this to her, the queen, as if abashed,
said to him in affected shame--"Then I will have nothing to do with
this proceeding disapproved of by the virtuous." But she laid up his
speech in her heart, and dismissing that minister, she summoned by
the mouth of her maid a certain wandering female ascetic. And she told
her all that desire of hers from the beginning, and promised to give
her great wealth if the business were successfully accomplished. And
the wicked female ascetic, from desire of gain, said to the afflicted
queen--"Queen, this is an easy matter, I will accomplish it for you,
for I know very many expedients of various kinds." Having thus consoled
the queen, that female ascetic departed; and after reaching her house,
she reflected as one afraid, "Alas! whom will not excessive desire of
gain delude, since I rashly made such a promise before the queen? But
the fact is, I know no device of the kind, and it is not possible to
carry on any deception in the palace, as I do in other places, for the
authorities might perhaps find it out and punish me. There may be one
resource in this difficulty, for I have a friend, a barber, and as he
is skilled in devices of the kind, all may yet go well, if he exert
himself in the matter." After thus reflecting, she went to the barber,
and told him all her plan that was to bring her prosperity. Then
the barber, who was old and cunning, reflected--"This is good luck,
that an opportunity of making something has now presented itself to
me. So we must not kill the king's new wife, but we must preserve
her alive, for her father has divine insight, and would reveal the
whole transaction. But by separating her from the king we will now
batten upon the queen, for great people become servants to a servant
who shares their criminal secrets. And in due time I will re-unite
her to the king, and tell him the whole story, in order that he and
the sage's daughter may become a source of subsistence to me. And
thus I shall not have done anything very wrong, and I shall have a
livelihood for a long time." Having thus reflected, the barber said
to the hypocritical female ascetic--"Mother, I will do all this, but
it would not be proper to slay that new wife of the king's by means
of magic, for the king might some day find it out, and then he would
destroy us all: besides we should incur the sin of woman-murder, and
her father the sage would curse us. Therefore it is far better that
she should be separated from the king by means of our ingenuity,
in order that the queen may be happy, and we may obtain wealth
[punctuation missing in scan] And this is an easy matter to me, for
what can I not accomplish by force of intellect? Hear my ingenuity,
I will relate a story which illustrates it."



Story of the king and the barber's wife

This king Dridhavarman had an immoral father. And I was then his
servant, being engaged in the duties which belong to me. He, one
day, as he was roaming about here, cast eyes on my wife; and as
she was young and beautiful, his mind became attached to her. And
when he asked his attendants who she was, they said--"The barber's
wife." He thought--"What can the barber do?" So the wicked king
entered my house, and after enjoying at will the society of my wife,
departed. But, as it happened, I was away from my house that day,
being absent somewhere or other. And the next day, when I entered,
I saw that my wife's manner had altered, and when I asked her the
reason, she told me the whole story, being full of pride at what
had occurred. And in that way the king went on puffing up my wife
by continual visits, which I was powerless to prevent. A prince
distracted by unholy passion makes no distinction between what is
lawful and what is illicit. The forest is like straw to a sylvan
fire fanned by the wind. So, not being in possession of any other
expedient for restraining my sovereign, I reduced myself with spare
diet, and took refuge in feigned sickness. And in this state I went
into the presence of that king to perform my duties, sighing deeply,
pale and emaciated. Then the king, seeing that I seemed to be ill,
asked me meaningly the following question--"Holla! tell me why you have
become thus?" And after he had questioned me persistently, I answered
the king in private, after imploring immunity from punishment--"King,
my wife is a witch. And when I am asleep she extracts my entrails and
sucks them, and then replaces them as before--This is how I have become
lean. So how can continual refreshment and eating nourish me?" When I
said this to the king, he became anxious and reflected--"Can she really
be a witch? Why was I captivated by her? I wonder whether she will
suck my entrails also, since I am well nourished with food. So I will
myself contrive to test her this very night." Having thus reflected,
the king caused food to be given me on the spot. Then I went home and
shed tears in the presence of my wife, and when she questioned me,
I said to her--"My beloved, you must not reveal to any one what I am
about to tell you. Listen! That king has teeth as sharp as the edge
of a thunderbolt, where teeth are not usually found, and they broke
my razor to-day while I was performing my duties. And in this way I
shall break a razor every time. So how am I to be continually procuring
fresh razors? This is why I weep, for the means of supporting myself
in my home are destroyed." When I had said this to my wife, she made
up her mind to investigate the marvel of the concealed teeth while the
king was asleep, since he was to visit her at night. But she did not
perceive that such a thing had never been seen since the world was,
and could not be true. Even clever women are deceived by the tales
of an impostor.

So the king came at night and visited my wife at will, and as if
fatigued, pretended to go to sleep, remembering what I had said. Then
my wife, thinking he was asleep, slowly stretched out her hand to find
his concealed teeth. And as soon as her hand reached him, the king
exclaimed--"A witch! A witch!" and left the house in terror. Henceforth
my wife, having been abandoned by the king out of fear, became
satisfied with me and devoted to me exclusively. In this way I saved
my wife on a former occasion from the king by my intelligence.

Having told this story to the female ascetic, the barber went on to
say--"So, my good lady, this desire of yours must be accomplished by
wisdom; and I will tell you, mother, how it is to be done, listen to
me. Some old servant of the harem must be won over to say to this king
in secret every day, 'Your wife Kadalígarbhá is a witch.' For she,
being a forest maiden, has no attendants of her own, and what will not
all alien servants do for gain, being easily corrupted? Accordingly,
when the king becomes apprehensive on hearing what the old servant
says, you must contrive to place at night hands and feet and other
limbs in the chamber of Kadalígarbhá. [492] Then the king will
see them in the morning, and concluding that what the old man says
is true, will be afraid of Kadalígarbhá and desert her of his own
accord. So the queen will be delighted at getting rid of a rival
wife, and entertain a favourable opinion of you, and we shall gain
some advantage." When the barber said this to the female ascetic,
she consented and went and told the whole matter to the king's head
queen. And the queen carried out her suggestions, and the king, who had
been warned, saw the hands and feet in the morning with his own eyes,
and abandoned Kadalígarbhá, thinking her to be wicked. So the female
ascetic, together with the barber, enjoyed to the full the presents
which the queen secretly gave to her, being pleased with her aid.

So Kadalígarbhá, being abandoned by Dridhavarman, went out from the
palace, grieved because the king would be cursed. And she returned
to the hermitage of her father by the same path by which she came,
which she was able to recognise by the mustard-seeds she had sown,
which had sprung up. [493] Her father, the hermit Mankanaka, when he
saw her suddenly arrived there, remained for some time suspecting
immorality on her part. And then he perceived the whole occurrence
by the power of contemplation, and after lovingly comforting her,
departed thence with her. And he went and told the king, who bowed
before him, the whole treacherous drama, which the head queen
had got up out of hatred for her rival. At that moment the barber
himself arrived, and related the whole occurrence to the king, and
then proceeded to say this to him; "In this way, my sovereign, I sent
away the lady Kadalígarbhá, and so delivered her from the danger of
the incantations which would have been practised against her, since I
satisfied the head queen by an artifice." When the king heard that,
he saw that the speech of the great hermit was certainly true, and
he took back Kadalígarbhá, recovering his confidence in her. And
after respectfully accompanying the departing hermit, he rewarded
the barber with wealth, thinking that he was attached to his person:
kings are the appointed prey of rogues. Then the king, being averse
to the society of his queen, lived in great comfort with Kadalígarbhá.

"Many false accusations of this kind do rival wives bring, O
Kalingasená of irreproachable beauty. And you are a maiden, the
auspicious moment of whose marriage is fixed at a distant date, and
even the gods, whose goings transcend our thought, are in love with
you. So do you yourself preserve yourself now, as the one jewel of
the world, dedicated to the king of Vatsa only, from all assaults,
for your own excellence brings you enmity. I indeed, my friend, shall
never return to you, since you are now established in the palace of
your husband: good women do not visit the house of a friend's husband,
O fair one! besides I have been forbidden by my own lord. And it is
not possible for me to come here secretly, induced by my affection
for you, inasmuch as my husband possesses divine insight and would
find it out; with difficulty in truth did I obtain his permission to
come here to-day. And since I can be of no use to you now, my friend,
I will return home, but if my husband should give me permission,
I will come here again, disregarding modesty." Thus Somaprabhá,
the daughter of the Asura king, spake weeping to Kalingasená, the
daughter of the mortal king, whose face also was washed with tears,
and after embracing her, departed swiftly to her own palace, as the
day was passing away.






CHAPTER XXXIII.


Then the princess Kalingasená, who had deserted her own country and
relations, remembering her dear friend Somaprabhá who had left her,
and finding the great festival of her marriage with the king of
Vatsa delayed, remained in Kausámbí like a doe that had strayed from
the forest.

And the king of Vatsa, feeling a little bitter against the astrologers,
who were so dexterous in deferring the marriage of Kalingasená,
being despondent with love-longing, went that day to divert his mind,
to the private apartments of Vásavadattá. There the queen, who had
been tutored beforehand by the excellent minister, let fall no sign
of anger, but shewed especial sedulity in honouring her husband with
her usual attentions. And the king, wondering how it was that, even
though she knew the episode of Kalingasená, the queen was not angry,
being desirous of knowing the cause, said to her; "Do you know, queen,
that a princess named Kalingasená has come here to choose me for her
husband?" The moment she heard it, she answered, without changing the
hue of her countenance, "I know it; I am exceedingly delighted, for in
her the goddess of Fortune has come to our house; for by gaining her
you will also get her father Kalingadatta under your influence, and
the earth will be more completely in your power. Now I am delighted
on account of his great power and your pleasure, and long ago did
I know this circumstance with regard to you. So am I not fortunate,
since I have such a husband as you, whom princesses fall in love with,
that are themselves sought by other kings?" When thus addressed by
queen Vásavadattá, who had been previously tutored by Yaugandharáyana,
the king rejoiced in his heart. And after enjoying a drinking-bout
with her, he slept that night in her apartments, and waking up in
the morning he reflected--"What, does the magnanimous queen obey
me so implicitly as even to acquiesce in having Kalingasená for a
rival? But how could this same proud woman endure her, since it was
owing to the special favour of destiny that she did not yield her
breath, even when I married Padmávatí? So, if anything were to happen
to her, it would be utter ruin; upon her hang the lives of my son,
my brother-in-law, my father-in-law, and Padmávatí, and the welfare
of the kingdom; what higher tribute can I pay her? So how can I marry
that Kalingasená?" Thus reflecting the king of Vatsa left her chamber
at the close of night, and the next day went to the palace of queen
Padmávatí. She too, having been taught her lesson by Vásavadattá,
shewed him attentions after the very same fashion, and when questioned
by him, gave a similar answer. The next day the king, thinking over the
sentiments and speeches of the queens, which were completely in unison,
commended them to Yaugandharáyana. And the minister Yaugandharáyana,
who knew how to seize the right moment, seeing that the king was
plunged in doubt, spake slowly to him as follows--"I know well,
the matter does not end where you think, there is a terrible resolve
here. For the queens spoke thus, because they are steadfastly bent
on surrendering their lives. Chaste women, when their beloved is
attached to another, or has gone to heaven, become careless about
all enjoyments, and determined to die, though their intentions are
inscrutable on account of the haughtiness of their character. For
matrons cannot endure the interruption of a deep affection; and in
proof of this hear now, O king, this story of Srutasena."



The story of Srutasena.

There lived long ago in the Dekhan, in a city called Gokarna, a king
named Srutasena, who was the ornament of his race, and possessed of
learning. And this king, though his prosperity was complete, had yet
one source of sorrow, that he had not as yet obtained a wife who was
a suitable match for him. And once on a time the king, while brooding
over that sorrow, began to talk about it, and was thus addressed
by a Bráhman, named Agnisarman: "I have seen two wonders, O king, I
will describe them to you: listen! Having gone on a pilgrimage to all
the sacred bathing-places, I reached that Panchatírthí, in which five
Apsarases were reduced to the condition of crocodiles by the curse of
a holy sage, and were rescued from it by Arjuna, who had come there
while going round the holy spots. There I bathed in the blessed water,
which possesses the power of enabling those men, who bathe in it and
fast for five nights, to become followers of Náráyana. And while I
was departing, I beheld a cultivator in the middle of a field, who
had furrowed the earth with his plough, singing. That cultivator was
asked about the road by a certain wandering hermit, who had come that
way, but did not hear what he said, being wholly occupied with his
song. Then the hermit was angry with that cultivator, and began to
talk in a distracted manner; and the cultivator, stopping his song,
said to him--'Alas! though you are a hermit, you will not learn even
a fraction of virtue; even I, though a fool, have discovered what is
the highest essence of virtue.' When he heard that, the hermit asked
him out of curiosity--'What have you discovered?' And the cultivator
answered him--'Sit here in the shade, and listen while I tell you
a tale.'



Story of the three Bráhman brothers.

In this land there were three Bráhman brothers, Brahmadatta,
Somadatta, and Visvadatta of holy deeds. Of these the two eldest
possessed wives, but the youngest was unmarried; he remained as
their servant without being angry, obeying their orders along with
me; for I was their ploughman. And those elder brothers thought
that he was soft, and devoid of intellect, good, not swerving from
the right path, simple, and unenterprising. Then, once on a time,
the youngest brother Visvadatta was solicited by his two brothers'
wives who fell in love with him, but he rejected their advances as
if each of them had been his mother. Then they both of them went
and said falsely to their own husbands, "This younger brother of
yours makes love to us in secret." This speech made those two
elder brothers cherish anger against him in their hearts, for
men bewildered by the speeches of wicked women, do not know the
difference between truth and falsehood. Then those brothers said
once on a time to Visvadatta--"Go and level that ant-hill in the
middle of the field!" He said--"I will"--and went and proceeded to
dig up the ant-hill with his spade, though I said to him, "Do not do
it, a venomous snake lives there." Though he heard what I said, he
continued to dig at the ant-hill, exclaiming--"Let what will happen,
happen," for he would not disobey the order of his two elder brothers,
though they wished him ill. Then, while he was digging it up, he got
out of it a pitcher filled with gold, and not a venomous snake, for
virtue is an auxiliary to the good. So he took that pitcher and gave
it all to his elder brothers out of his constant affection for them,
though I tried to dissuade him. But they sent assassins, hiring them
with a portion of that gold, and had his hands and feet cut off,
in their desire to seize his wealth. But he was free from anger,
and in spite of that treatment, did not wax wroth with his brothers,
and on account of that virtue of his, his hands and feet grew again.

'After beholding that, I renounced from that time all anger, but
you, though you are a hermit, have not even now renounced anger. The
man who is free from anger has gained heaven, behold now a proof of
this.' After saying this, the husbandman left his body and ascended to
heaven. "This is one wonder which I have seen, hear a second, O king;"

After saying this to king Srutasena, the Bráhman continued, "Then, as
I was roaming about on the shore of the sea to visit sacred places,
I reached the realm of king Vasantasena. There, as I was about to
enter an almshouse where cooked food is distributed by the king,
the Bráhmans said to me,--'Bráhman, advance not in that direction,
for there the king's daughter is present, she is called Vidyuddyotá,
and if even a hermit beholds her, he is pierced by the arrow of love,
and becoming distracted ceases to live.' Then I answered them--'This
is not wonderful to me, for I continually behold king Srutasena, who
is a second god of love. When he leaves his palace on an expedition,
or for some other purpose, women of good family are removed by guards
from any place whence they may possibly see him, for fear they should
infringe chastity.' When I said this, they knew I was a subject of
your Majesty's, and the superintendent of the house of entertainment
and the king's chaplain took me into the presence of the king,
that I might share the feast. There I saw that princess Vidyuddyotá,
looking like the incarnation of the magic art with which the god of
love bewilders the world. After a long time I mastered my confusion
at beholding her, and reflected--'If this lady were to become the
wife of our sovereign, he would forget his kingdom. Nevertheless I
must tell this tale to my master, otherwise there might take place
the incident of Devasena and Unmádiní.'



The story of Devasena and Unmádiní.

Once on a time, in the realm of king Devasena, there was a merchant's
daughter, a maiden that bewildered the world with her beauty. Her
father told the king about her, but the king did not take her in
marriage, for the Bráhmans, who wished to prevent his neglecting his
duties, told him she had inauspicious marks. So she was married to his
prime minister. [494] And once on a time she showed herself to the king
at a window. And the king, struck by her with a poisonous look from a
distance, as if she had been a female snake, [495] fainted again and
again, enjoyed no pleasure, and took no food. And the righteous king,
though entreated over and over again to marry her by the ministers,
with her husband at their head, refused to do so, and devoted to her,
yielded up his breath.

"Accordingly I have come to-day and told you this wonderful tale,
thinking that if a similar distraction were to come upon you, I should
be guilty of conspiring against your life."

When king Srutasena heard from that Bráhman this speech, which was
like the command of the god of love, he became ardently attached to
Vidyuddyotá, so he immediately sent off the Bráhman and took steps to
have her brought quickly and married her. Then the princess Vidyuddyotá
became inseparable from the person of that king, as the daylight from
the orb of the sun.

Then a maiden of the name of Mátridattá, the daughter of a very rich
merchant, intoxicated with the pride of her beauty, came to select that
king for her husband. Through fear of committing unrighteousness, the
king married that merchant's daughter; then Vidyuddyotá, coming to hear
of it, died of a broken heart. And the king came and beheld that dearly
loved wife lying dead, and took her up in his arms, and lamenting,
died on the spot. Thereupon Mátridattá, the merchant's daughter,
entered the fire. And so the whole kingdom perished with the king.

"So you see, king, that the breaking off of long love is
difficult to bear, especially would it be so to the proud queen
Vásavadattá. Accordingly, if you were to marry this Kalingasená, the
queen Vásavadattá would indubitably quit her life, and queen Padmávatí
would do the same, for their life is one. And then how would your son
Naraváhanadatta live? And, I know, the king's heart would not be able
to bear any misfortune happening to him. And so all this happiness
would perish in a moment, O king. But as for the dignified reserve,
which the queens displayed in their speeches, that sufficiently
shews that their hearts are indifferent to all things, being firmly
resolved on suicide. So you must guard your own interests, for even
animals understand self-protection, much more wise men like yourself,
O king." The king of Vatsa, when he heard this at length from the
excellent minister Yaugandharáyana, having now become quite capable
of wise discrimination, said--"It is so; there can be no doubt about
it; all this fabric of my happiness would be overthrown. So what is
the use of my marrying Kalingasená? Accordingly the astrologers did
well in mentioning a distant hour as auspicious for the marriage:
and there cannot after all be much sin in abandoning one who had
come to select me as her husband." When Yaugandharáyana heard this,
he reflected with joy, "Our business has almost turned out according
to our wishes. Will not that same great plant of policy, watered with
the streams of expedient, and nourished with due time and place, truly
bring forth fruit?" Thus reflecting, and meditating upon fitting
time and place, the minister Yaugandharáyana went to his house,
after taking a ceremonious farewell of the king.

The king too went to the queen Vásavadattá, who had assumed to welcome
him a manner which concealed her real feelings, and thus spoke to her
to console her: "Why do I speak? you know well, O gazelle-eyed one,
that your love is my life, even as the water is of the lotus. Could I
bear even to mention the name of another woman? But Kalingasená came
to my house of her own impetuous motion. And this is well known, that
Rambhá, who came to visit Arjuna of her own impetuous will, having
been rejected by him, as he was engaged in austerities, inflicted on
him a curse which made him a eunuch. That curse was endured by him
to the end, living in the house of the king of Viráta in the garb
of a eunuch, though he displayed miraculous valour. So I did not
reject this Kalingasená when she came, but I cannot bring myself to
do anything without your wish." Having comforted her in these words,
and having perceived by the flush of wine which rose to her cheek, as
if it were her glowing passionate heart, that her cruel design was a
reality, the king of Vatsa spent that night with the queen Vásavadattá,
delighted at the transcendent ability of his prime minister.

And in the meanwhile that Bráhman-Rákshasa, named Yogesvara, who was
a friend of Yaugandharáyana, and whom he had commissioned beforehand
to watch day and night the proceedings of Kalingasená, came that very
night of his own accord and said to the prime minister: "I remain
ever at Kalingasená's house, either without it or within it, and I
have never seen man or god come there. But to-day I suddenly heard an
indistinct noise in the air, at the commencement of the night, as I was
lying hid near the roof of the palace. Then my magic science was set
in motion to ascertain the cause of the sound, but prevailed not; so
I pondered over it, and came to this conclusion: 'This must certainly
be the voice of some being of divine power, enamoured of Kalingasená,
who is roaming in the sky. Since my science does not succeed, I must
look for some opening, for clever people who remain vigilant, find
little difficulty in discovering holes in their opponents' armour. And
I know that the prime minister said--"Divine beings are in love with
her"--moreover I overheard her friend Somaprabhá saying the same. After
arriving at this conclusion I came here to make my report to you. This
I have to ask you by the way, so tell me so much I pray you. By my
magic power I heard, without being seen, what you said to the king,
'Even animals understand self-protection.' Now tell me, sagacious
man, if there is any instance of this."--When Yogesvara asked him
this question, Yaugandharáyana answered. "There is, my friend, and
to prove it, I will tell you this tale. Listen!"



The tale of the ichneumon, the owl, the cat, and the mouse.

Once on a time there was a large banyan tree outside the city of
Vidisá. In that vast tree dwelt four creatures, an ichneumon, an owl,
a cat, and a mouse, [496] and their habitations were apart. The
ichneumon and the mouse dwelt in separate holes in the root, the
cat in a great hollow in the middle of the tree: but the owl dwelt
in a bower of creepers on the top of it, which was inaccessible
to the others. Among these the mouse was the natural prey of all
three, three out of the four of the cat. The mouse, the ichneumon,
and the owl ranged for food during the night, the two first through
fear of the cat only, the owl partly because it was his nature to
do so. But the cat fearlessly wandered night and day through the
neighbouring barley-field, in order to catch the mouse, while the
others went there by stealth at a suitable time out of desire for
food. One day a certain hunter of the Chandála caste came there. He
saw the track of the cat entering that field, and having set nooses
all round the field in order to compass its death, departed. So the
cat came there at night to slay the mouse, and entering the field
was caught in one of the hunter's nooses. The mouse, for his part,
came there secretly in search of food, and seeing the cat caught
in the noose, danced for joy. While it was entering the field, the
owl and ichneumon came from afar by the same path, and seeing the
cat fast in the noose, desired to capture the mouse. And the mouse,
beholding them afar off, was terrified and reflected--"If I fly to
the cat, which the owl and the ichneumon are afraid of, that enemy,
though fast in the noose, may slay me with one blow, but if I keep
at a distance from the cat, the owl and the ichneumon will be the
death of me. So being compassed about with enemies, where shall I go,
what shall I do? Ah! I will take refuge with the cat here, for it is
in trouble, and may save me to preserve its own life, as I shall be
of use to gnaw through the noose." Thus reflecting the mouse slowly
approached the cat, and said to it, "I am exceedingly grieved at your
being caught, so I will gnaw through your noose; the upright come to
love even their enemies by dwelling in their neighbourhood. But I do
not feel confidence in you, as I do not know your intentions." When
the cat heard that, he said "Worthy mouse, be at rest, from this day
forth you are my friend as giving me life." The moment he heard this
from the cat, he crept into his bosom; when the owl and ichneumon saw
that, they went away hopeless. Then the cat, galled with the noose,
said to the mouse, "My friend, the night is almost gone, so quickly
gnaw through my bonds." The mouse for its part, waiting for the
arrival of the hunter, slowly nibbled the noose, and protracted the
business, making a continual munching with its teeth, which was all
pretence. Soon the night came to an end, and the hunter came near;
then the mouse, at the request of the cat, quickly gnawed through the
noose which held it. So the cat's noose was severed, and it ran away,
afraid of the hunter; and the mouse, delivered from death, fled into
its hole. But when called again by the cat, it reposed no confidence
in him, but remarked, "The truth is, an enemy is occasionally made
a friend by circumstances, but does not remain such for ever."

"Thus the mouse, though an animal, saved its life from many foes,
much more ought the same thing to take place among men. You heard that
speech which I uttered to the king on that occasion, to the effect
that by wisdom he should guard his own interests by preserving the
life of the queen. And wisdom is in every exigency the best friend, not
valour, Yogesvara; in illustration of this hear the following story."



The story of king Prasenajit and the Bráhman who lost his treasure.

There is a city named Srávastí, and in it there lived in old time a
king of the name of Prasenajit, and one day a strange Bráhman arrived
in that city. A merchant, thinking he was virtuous, because he lived
on rice in the husk, provided him a lodging there in the house of
a Bráhman. There he was loaded by him every day with presents of
unhusked rice and other gifts, and gradually by other great merchants
also, who came to hear his story. In this way the miserly fellow
gradually accumulated a thousand dínárs, and, going to the forest,
he dug a hole and buried it in the ground, [497] and he went every
day and examined the spot. Now one day he saw that the hole, in which
he had hidden his gold, had been re-opened, and that all the gold had
gone. When he saw that hole empty, his soul was smitten, and not only
was there a void in his heart, but the whole universe seemed to him to
be void also. And then he came crying to the Bráhman, in whose house
he lived, and when questioned, he told him his whole story: and he
made up his mind to go to a holy bathing-place, and starve himself to
death. Then the merchant, who supplied him with food, hearing of it,
came there with others, and said to him, "Bráhman, why do you long to
die for the loss of your wealth? Wealth, like an unseasonable cloud,
suddenly comes and goes." Though plied by him with these and similar
arguments, he would not abandon his fixed determination to commit
suicide, for wealth is dearer to the miser than life itself. But when
the Bráhman was going to the holy place to commit suicide, the king
Prasenajit himself, having heard of it, came to him and asked him,
"Bráhman, do you know of any mark by which you can recognize the place
where you buried your dínárs?" When the Bráhman heard that, he said:
"There is a small tree in the wood there, I buried that wealth at its
foot." When the king heard that, he said, "I will find that wealth and
give it back to you, or I will give it you from my own treasury, do
not commit suicide, Bráhman." After saying this, and so diverting the
Bráhman from his intention of committing suicide, the king entrusted
him to the care of the merchant, and retired to his palace. There
he pretended to have a headache, and sending out the door-keeper, he
summoned all the physicians in the city by proclamation with beat of
drum. And he took aside every single one of them and questioned him
privately in the following words: "What patients have you here, and
how many, and what medicine have you prescribed for each?" And they
thereupon, one by one, answered all the king's questions. Then one
among the physicians, when his turn came to be questioned, said this,
"The merchant Mátridatta has been out of sorts, O king, and this is
the second day, that I have prescribed for him nágabalá. [498] When
the king heard that, he sent for the merchant, and said to him--"Tell
me, who fetched you the nágabalá?" The merchant said--"My servant,
your highness." When the king got this answer from the merchant, he
quickly summoned the servant and said to him--"Give up that treasure
belonging to a Bráhman, consisting of a store of dínárs, which you
found when you were digging at the foot of a tree for nágabalá." When
the king said this to him, the servant was frightened and confessed
immediately, and bringing those dínárs left them there. So the king
for his part summoned the Bráhman and gave him, who had been fasting
in the meanwhile, his dínárs, lost and found again, like a second
soul external to his body.

"Thus that king by his wisdom recovered for the Bráhman his wealth,
which had been taken away from the root of the tree, knowing that
that simple grew in such spots. So true is it, that intellect
always obtains the supremacy, triumphing over valour, indeed in
such cases what could courage accomplish? Accordingly, Yogesvara,
you ought to bring it to pass by your wisdom, that some peccadillo be
discovered in Kalingasená. And it is true that the gods and Asuras
are in love with her. This explains your hearing at night the sound
of some being in the air. And if we could only obtain some pretext,
calamity would fall upon her, not on us; the king would not marry
her, and yet we should not have dealt unrighteously with her." When
the Bráhman-Rákshasa Yogesvara heard all this from the sagacious
Yaugandharáyana, he was delighted and said to him--"Who except the
god Vrihaspati can match thee in policy? This counsel of thine waters
with ambrosia the tree of empire. I, even I, will investigate with
wisdom and might the proceedings of Kalingasená." Having said this,
Yogesvara departed thence.

And at this time Kalingasená, while in her palace, was continually
afflicted by beholding the king of Vatsa roaming about in his palace
and its grounds. Thinking on him, she was inflamed with love, and
though she wore a bracelet and necklace of lotus fibres, she never
obtained relief thereby, nor from sandal-ointment, or other remedies.

In the meanwhile the king of the Vidyádharas, named Madanavega, who had
seen her before, remained wounded by the arrow of ardent love. Though
he had performed a vow to obtain her, and had been granted a boon by
Siva, still she was not easy to gain, because she was living in the
land of another, and attached to another, so the Vidyádhara prince
was wandering about at night in the air over her palace, in order to
obtain an opportunity. But, remembering the order of Siva pleased
with his asceticism, he assumed one night by his skill the form of
the king of Vatsa. And in his shape he entered her palace, saluted
with praises by the door-keepers, who said--"Unable to bear delay,
the king has come here without the knowledge of his ministers." And
Kalingasená, on beholding him, rose up bewildered with agitation,
though she was, so to speak, warned by her ornaments which jingled
out the sounds--"This is not the man." Then she by degrees gained
confidence in him, and Madanavega, wearing the form of the king
of Vatsa, made her his wife by the Gándharva rite. At that moment
Yogesvara entered, invisible by his magic, and, beholding the incident,
was cast down, supposing that he saw the king of Vatsa before him. He
went and told Yaugandharáyana, who, on receiving his report, saw by
his skill that the king was in the society of Vásavadattá. So by the
order of the prime minister he returned delighted, to observe the shape
of that secret paramour of Kalingasená, when asleep. And so he went
and beheld that Madanavega asleep in his own form on the bed of the
sleeping Kalingasená, a heavenly being, the dustless lotus of whose
foot was marked with the umbrella and the banner; and who had lost
his power of changing his form, because his science was suspended
during sleep. Then Yogesvara, full of delight, went and told what
he had seen in a joyful mood to Yaugandharáyana. He said--"One like
me knows nothing, you know everything by the eye of policy; by your
counsel this difficult result has been attained for your king. What
is the sky without the sun? What is a tank without water? What is a
realm without counsel? What is speech without truth?" When Yogesvara
said this, Yaugandharáyana took leave of him, much pleased, and went
in the morning to visit the king of Vatsa. He approached him with
the usual reverence, and in course of conversation said to the king,
who asked him what was to be done about Kalingasená--"She is unchaste,
O king, and does not deserve to touch your hand. For she went of her
own accord to visit Prasenajit. When she saw that he was old, she was
disgusted, and came to visit you out of desire for your beauty, and now
she even enjoys at her pleasure the society of another person." When
the king heard this, he said--"How could a lady of birth and rank do
such a deed? Or who has power to enter my harem?" When the king said
this, the wise Yaugandharáyana answered him, "I will prove it to you
by ocular testimony this very night, my sovereign. For the divine
Siddhas and other beings of the kind are in love with her. What can
a man do against them? And who here can interfere with the movements
of gods? So come and see it with your own eyes." When the minister
said this, the king determined to go there with him at night.

Then Yaugandharáyana came to the queen, and said--"To-day, O queen,
I have carried out what I promised, that the king should marry no
other wife except queen Padmávatí, and thereupon he told her the whole
story of Kalingasená. And the queen Vásavadattá congratulated him,
bowing low and saying--"This is the fruit which I have reaped from
following your instructions."

Then, at night, when folk were asleep, the king of Vatsa went with
Yaugandharáyana to the palace of Kalingasená. And entering unperceived,
he beheld Madanavega in his proper form, sleeping by the side of
the sleeping Kalingasená. And when the king was minded to slay that
audacious one, the Vidyádhara prince was roused by his own magic
knowledge, and when awake, he went out, and immediately flew up into
the heaven. And then Kalingasená awoke immediately. And seeing the bed
empty, she said, "How is this, that the king of Vatsa wakes up before
me, and departs, leaving me asleep?" When Yaugandharáyana heard that,
he said to the king of Vatsa--"Listen, she has been beguiled by that
Vidyádhara wearing your form. He was found out by me by means of my
magic power, and now I have exhibited him before your eyes, but you
cannot kill him on account of his heavenly might." After saying this,
he and the king approached her, and Kalingasená, for her part, seeing
them, stood in a respectful attitude. But when she began to say to the
king--"Where, O king, did you go only a moment ago, so as to return
with your minister?"--Yaugandharáyana said to her--"Kalingasená,
you have been married by some being, who beguiled you by assuming
the shape of the king of Vatsa, and not by this lord of mine."

When Kalingasená heard this, she was bewildered, and as if pierced
through the heart by an arrow, she said to the king of Vatsa with
tear-streaming eyes,--"Have you forgotten me, O king, after marrying
me by the Gándharva rite, as Sakuntalá long ago was forgotten by
Dushyanta?" [499] When the king was thus addressed by her, he said
with downcast face, "In truth you were not married by me, for I never
came here till this moment." When the king of Vatsa had said this,
the minister said to him--"Come along"--and conducted him at will to
the palace.

When the king had departed thence with his minister, that lady
Kalingasená, sojourning in a foreign country, like a doe that
had strayed from the herd, having deserted her relations, with
her face robbed of its painting by kissing, as a lotus is robbed
of its leaves by cropping, having her braided tresses disordered,
even as a bed of lotuses trampled by an elephant has its cluster
of black bees dispersed; now that her maidenhood was gone for ever,
not knowing what expedient to adopt or what course to pursue, looked
up to heaven and spake as follows--"Whoever that was that assumed
the shape of the king of Vatsa and married me, let him appear,
for he is the husband of my youth." When invoked in these words,
that king of the Vidyádharas descended from heaven, of divine shape,
adorned with necklace and bracelet. And when she asked him who he
was, he answered her;--"I, fair one, am a prince of the Vidyádharas,
named Madanavega. And long ago I beheld you in your father's house,
and by performing penance obtained a boon from Siva, which conferred
on me the attainment of you. So, as you were in love with the king
of Vatsa, I assumed his form, and quickly married you by stealth,
before your contract with him had been celebrated." By the nectar of
this speech of his, entering her ears, the lotus of her heart was a
little revived. Then Madanavega comforted that fair one, and made her
recover her composure, and bestowed on her a heap of gold, and when
she had conceived in her heart affection for her excellent husband,
as being well suited to her, he flew up into the heaven to return
again. And Kalingasená, after obtaining permission from Madanavega,
consented to dwell patiently where she was, reflecting that the
heavenly home, the abode of her husband, could not be approached by
a mortal, and that through passion she had left her father's house.






CHAPTER XXXIV.


Then the king of Vatsa, thinking on the peerless beauty of
Kalingasená, was one night seized with love, so he rose up and went
sword in hand, and entered her palace alone; and she welcomed him and
received him politely. Then the king asked her to become his wife,
but she rejected his addresses, saying, "You should regard me as the
wife of another." Whereupon he answered--"Since you are unchaste as
having resorted to three men, I shall not by approaching you incur
the guilt of adultery." When the king said this to Kalingasená, she
answered him, "I came to marry you, O king, but I was married by the
Vidyádhara Madanavega at his will, for he assumed your shape. And
he is my only husband, so why am I unchaste? But such are the
misfortunes even of ordinary women who desert their relations,
having their minds bewildered with the love of lawless roaming,
much more of princesses? And this is the fruit of my own folly in
sending a messenger to you, though I had been warned not to do so by
my friend, who had seen an evil omen. So if you touch me by force,
I will abandon life, for what woman of good family will injure her
husband? And to prove this I will tell you a tale--listen O king."



The story of king Indradatta.

There lived in old time in the land of Chedi a great king called
Indradatta, he founded for his glory a great temple at the holy
bathing-place of Pápasodhana, desiring the body of good reputation,
as he saw that our mortal body is perishable. And the king in the
ardour of his devotion was continually going to visit it, and all
kinds of people were continually coming there to bathe in the holy
water. Now, one day the king saw a merchant's wife, whose husband was
travelling in foreign parts, who had come there to bathe in the holy
water; she was steeped in the nectar of pure beauty, and adorned
with various charms, like a splendid moving palace of the god of
Love. She was embraced on both her feet by the radiance of the two
quivers of the five-arrowed god, [500] as if out of love, believing
that with her he would conquer the world. [501] The moment the king
saw her, she captivated his soul so entirely that, unable to restrain
himself, he found out her house and went there at night. And when he
solicited her, she said to him--"You are a protector of the helpless,
you ought not to touch another man's wife. And if you lay violent
hands on me, you will commit a great sin; and I will die immediately,
I will not endure disgrace." Though she said this to him, the king
still endeavoured to use force to her, whereupon her heart broke in a
moment through fear of losing her chastity. When the king saw that,
he was at once abashed, and went back by the way that he came, and
in a few days died out of remorse for that crime.

Having told this tale, Kalingasená bowed in timid modesty, and
again said to the king of Vatsa--"Therefore, king, set not your
heart on wickedness that would rob me of breath; since I have come
here, allow me to dwell here; if not, I will depart to some other
place." Then the king of Vatsa, who knew what was right, hearing
this from Kalingasená, after reflecting, desisted from his intention,
and said to her--"Princess, dwell here at will with this husband of
yours; I will not say anything to you, henceforth fear not." When
the king had said this, he returned of his own accord to his house,
and Madanavega, having heard the conversation, descended from heaven,
and said--"My beloved, you have done well, if you had not acted thus,
O fortunate one, good fortune would not have resulted, for I should
not have tolerated your conduct." When the Vidyádhara had said this,
he comforted her, and passed the night there, and continued going
to her house and returning again. And Kalingasená, having a king of
the Vidyádharas for her husband, remained there, blessed even in
her mortal state with the enjoyment of heavenly pleasures. As for
the king of Vatsa, he ceased to think about her, and remembering the
speech of his minister, he rejoiced, considering that he had saved
his queens and kingdom and also his son. And the queen Vásavadattá
and the minister Yaugandharáyana were at ease, having reaped the
fruit of the wishing-tree of policy.

Then, as days went on, Kalingasená had the lotus of her face a
little pale, and was pregnant, having longing produced in her. Her
lofty breasts, with extremities a little dark, appeared like
the treasure-vessels of Love, marked with his seal of joy. [502]
Then her husband Madanavega came to her and said, "Kalingasená, we
heavenly beings are subject to this law, that, when a mortal child
is conceived we must abandon it, and go afar. Did not Menaká leave
Sakuntalá in the hermitage of Kanva? And though you were formerly an
Apsaras, you have now, goddess, become a mortal by the curse of Siva,
inflicted on account of your disobedience. Thus it has come to pass
that, though chaste, you have incurred the reproach of unchastity;
so guard your offspring, I will go to my own place. And whenever
you think upon me, I will appear to you." Thus the prince of the
Vidyádharas spake to the weeping Kalingasená, and consoled her,
and gave her a heap of valuable jewels, and departed with his mind
fixed on her, drawn away by the law. Kalingasená, for her part,
remained there; supported by the hope of offspring as by a friend,
protected by the shade of the king of Vatsa's arm.

In the meanwhile the husband of Ambiká [503] gave the following
order to Rati, the wife of the god of Love, who had performed
penance in order to get back her husband with his body restored:
"That husband of thine who was formerly consumed, has been born in
the palace of the king of Vatsa, under the name of Naraváhanadatta,
conceived in a mortal womb on account of disrespect shewn to me. But
because thou hast propitiated me, thou shalt also be born in the world
of mortals, without being conceived in a mortal womb; and then thou
shalt be reunited to thy husband, once more possessing a body." Having
said this to Rati, Siva then gave this command to the Creator; [504]
"Kalingasená shall give birth to a son of divine origin. By thy power
of illusion thou shalt remove her son, and substitute in his place
this very Rati, who shall abandon her heavenly body, and be moulded
by thee in the form of a mortal maiden." The Creator, in obedience to
the order of Siva, [505] went down to earth, and when the appointed
time came, Kalingasená gave birth to a son. The Creator abstracted,
by his divine power of illusion, her son, the moment he was born,
and substituted Rati, whom he had turned into a girl, in his place,
without the change being detected. And all present there saw that girl
born, and she seemed like the streak of the new moon suddenly rising
in broad daylight, for she illuminated with her splendour the lying-in
chamber, and eclipsing the long row of flames of the jewel-lamps [506]
robbed them of lustre, and made them, as it were, abashed. Kalingasená,
when she saw that incomparable daughter born, in her delight made
greater rejoicing, than she would have made at the birth of a son.

Then the king of Vatsa, with his queen and his ministers, heard that
such a lovely daughter had been born to Kalingasená. And when the
king heard of it, he suddenly, under the impulsion of the god Siva,
said to the queen Vásavadattá, in the presence of Yaugandharáyana;
"I know, this Kalingasená is a heavenly nymph, who has fallen down to
earth in consequence of a curse, and this daughter born to her will
also be heavenly, and of wonderful beauty. So this girl, being equal
in beauty to my son Naraváhanadatta, ought to be his head-queen." When
the queen Vásavadattá heard that, she said to the king--"Great king,
why do you suddenly say this now? What similarity can there possibly
be between this son of yours, of pure descent by both lines, and the
daughter of Kalingasená, a girl whose mother is unchaste." When the
king heard that, he reflected, and said, "Truly, I do not say this
of myself, but some god seems to have entered into me, and to be
forcing me to speak. And I seem to hear a voice uttering these words
from heaven--'This daughter of Kalingasená is the appointed wife
of Naraváhanadatta.' Moreover, that Kalingasená is a faithful wife,
of good family; and her reproach of unchastity has arisen from the
influence of her actions in a former birth." When the king had said
this, the minister Yaugandharáyana spoke--"We hear, king, that when
the god of Love was consumed, Rati performed asceticism. And Siva
granted to Rati, who wished to recover her husband, the following boon:
'Thou shalt assume the condition of a mortal, and be reunited to thy
husband, who has been born with a body in the world of mortals.' Now,
your son has long ago been declared by a heavenly voice to be an
incarnation of Káma, and Rati by the order of Siva has to become
incarnate in mortal form. And the midwife said to me to-day--'I
inspected previously the fetus when contained in the uterus, and
then I saw one quite different from what has now appeared. Having
beheld this marvel I have come here to tell you.' This is what that
woman told me, and now this inspiration has come to you. So I am
persuaded that the gods have stolen the real child of Kalingasená
and substituted this daughter not born in the ordinary way, who is
no other than Rati, ordained beforehand to be the wife of your son,
who is an incarnation of Káma, O king. To illustrate this, hear the
following story concerning a Yaksha."



Story of the Yaksha Virúpáksha.

The god of wealth had for servant a Yaksha, named Virúpáksha, who
had been appointed chief guardian of lacs of treasure. [507] And he
delegated a certain Yaksha to guard a treasure lying outside the town
of Mathurá, posted there like an immovable pillar of marble. And
once on a time a certain Bráhman, a votary of Pasupati, who made
it his business to exhume treasures, went there in search of hidden
wealth. While he was examining that place, with a candle made of human
fat in his hand, the candle fell from his grasp. By that sign he knew
that treasure was concealed there; and he attempted to dig it up with
the help of some other Bráhmans his friends. Then the Yaksha, who was
told off to guard that treasure, beholding that, came and related
the whole circumstance to Virúpáksha. And Virúpáksha in his wrath
gave the following command to the Yaksha--"Go and slay immediately
those mean treasure-hunters." Then the Yaksha went and slew by his
power those Bráhmans, who were digging for treasure, before they had
attained their object. Then the god of wealth came to hear of it, and
being angry he said to Virúpáksha, "Why did you, evil one, recklessly
order the slaughter of a Bráhman? What will not poor people, who are
struggling for a livelihood, [508] do out of desire for gain? But
they must be prevented by being terrified with various bug-bears,
they must not be slain." When the god of Wealth had said this, he
cursed that Virúpáksha as follows--"Be born as a mortal on account of
your wicked conduct." Then that Virúpáksha, smitten with the curse,
was born on the earth as the son of a certain Bráhman who lived on a
royal grant. Then the Yakshiní his wife implored the lord of wealth,
"O god, send me whither my husband has gone; be merciful to me,
for I cannot live without him." When the virtuous lady addressed
this prayer to him, Vaisravana said--"Thou shalt descend, without
being born, into the house of a female slave of that very Bráhman, in
whose house thy husband is born. There thou shalt be united to that
husband of thine, and by thy power he shall surmount his curse and
return to my service." In accordance with this decree of Vaisravana,
that virtuous wife became a mortal maiden, and fell at the door of
that Bráhman's female slave's house. And the slave suddenly saw that
maiden of marvellous beauty, and took her and exhibited her to her
master the Bráhman. And the Bráhman rejoiced, and said to the female
slave--"This is without doubt some heavenly maiden not born in the
ordinary way; so my soul tells me. Bring here this girl who has entered
your house, for, I think, she deserves to be my son's wife." Then in
course of time that girl and the son of the Bráhman, having grown
up, were smitten with ardent reciprocal affection at the sight of
one another. Then they were married by the Bráhman; and the couple,
though they did not remember their previous births, felt as if a long
separation had been brought to an end. Then at last the Yaksha died,
and as his wife burnt herself with his mortal body, his sins were
wiped away by her sufferings, and he regained his former rank.

"Thus, you see, heavenly beings, on account of certain causes, descend
from heaven to the earth, by the appointment of fate, and, because they
are free from sin, they are not born in the usual way. What does this
girl's family matter to you? So this daughter of Kalingasená is, as I
said, the wife appointed for your son by destiny." When Yaugandharáyana
had said this to the king of Vatsa and the queen Vásavadattá, they
both consented in their hearts that it should be so. Then the prime
minister returned to his house, and the king, in the company of his
wife, spent the day happily, in drinking and other enjoyments.

Then, as time went on, that daughter of Kalingasená, who had lost
her recollection of her former state through illusion, gradually
grew up, and her dower of beauty grew with her; and her mother and
her attendants gave her the name of Madanamanchuká, because she was
the daughter of Madanavega, saying, "Surely the beauty of all other
lovely women has fled to her; else how could they have become ugly
before her?" And the queen Vásavadattá, hearing she was beautiful,
one day had her brought into her presence out of curiosity. Then the
king and Yaugandharáyana and his fellows beheld her clinging to the
face of her nurse, as the candle-flame clings to the wick. And there
was no one present, who did not think that she was an incarnation
of Rati, when they beheld her matchless body, which was like nectar
to their eyes. And then the queen Vásavadattá brought there her son
Naraváhanadatta, who was a feast to the eyes of the world. He beheld,
with the lotus of his face expanded, the gleaming Madanamanchuká, as
the bed of water-lilies beholds the young splendour of the sun. The
girl gazed with dilated countenance upon that gladdener of the eyes,
and could not gaze enough, as the female partridge can never be sated
with gazing on the moon. Henceforth these two children could not
remain apart even for a moment, being, as it were, fastened together
with the nooses of glances.

But, in course of time, the king of Vatsa came to the conclusion
that that marriage was made in heaven, [509] and turned his mind
to the solemnization of the nuptials. When Kalingasená heard that,
she rejoiced, and fixed her affection upon Naraváhanadatta out
of love for her daughter's future husband. And then the king of
Vatsa, after deliberating with his ministers, had made for his son
a separate palace like his own. Then that king, who could discern
times and seasons, collected the necessary utensils, and anointed
his son as crown-prince, since it was apparent that he possessed all
praiseworthy qualities. First there fell on his head the water of his
father's tears, and then the water of holy bathing-places, purified by
Vaidik spells of mickle might. When the lotus of his face was washed
with the water of inauguration, wonderful to say, the faces of the
cardinal points became also clear. When his mothers threw on him the
flowers of the auspicious garlands, the heaven immediately shed a
rain of many celestial wreaths. As if in emulation of the thunder
of the drums of the gods, the echoes of the sound of the cymbals
of rejoicing floated in the air. Every one there bowed before him,
as soon as he was inaugurated as crown-prince; then by that alone he
was exalted, without his own power.

Then the king of Vatsa summoned the good sons of the ministers, who
were the playfellows of his son, and appointed them to their offices
as servants to the crown-prince. He appointed to the office of prime
minister Marubhúti the son of Yaugandharáyana, and then Harisikha the
son of Rumanvat to the office of commander-in-chief, and he appointed
Tapantaka the son of Vasantaka as the companion of his lighter hours,
and Gomukha the son of Ityaka to the duty of chamberlain and warder,
and to the office of domestic chaplains the two sons of Pingaliká,
Vaisvánara and Sántisoma, the nephews of the king's family priest. When
these men had been appointed by the king servants to his son, there
was heard from heaven a voice preceded by a rain of flowers: "These
ministers shall accomplish all things prosperously for the prince,
and Gomukha shall be his inseparable companion." When the heavenly
voice had said this, the delighted king of Vatsa honoured them all
with clothes and ornaments; and while that king was showering wealth
upon his dependents, none of them could claim the title of poor on
account of the accumulation of riches. And the city was filled with
dancing girls and minstrels, who seemed to be invited by the rows of
silken streamers fanned and agitated by the wind.

Then Kalingasená came to the feast of her future son-in-law, looking
like the Fortune of the Vidyádhara race which was to attend him,
present in bodily form. Then Vásavadattá and Padmávatí and she
danced, all three of them, for joy, like the three powers [510] of
a king united together. And all the trees there seemed to dance,
as their creepers waved in the wind, much more did the creatures
possessing sense.

Then the crown-prince Naraváhanadatta, having been inaugurated in
his office, ascended an elephant of victory, and went forth. And
he was sprinkled by the city wives with their upcast eyes, blue,
white and red, resembling offerings of blue lotuses, parched grain
and water-lilies. And after visiting the gods worshipped in that city,
being praised by heralds and minstrels, he entered his palace with his
ministers. Then Kalingasená gave him, to begin with, celestial viands
and drinks far exceeding what his own magnificence could supply, and
she presented to him and his ministers, friends and servants, beautiful
robes and heavenly ornaments, for she was overpowered with love for
her son-in-law. So the day passed in high festivity for all these,
the king of Vatsa and the others, charming as the taste of nectar.

Then the night arrived, and Kalingasená pondering over her daughter's
marriage, called to mind her friend Somaprabhá. No sooner had she
called to mind the daughter of the Asura Maya, than her husband,
the much-knowing Nadakúvara, thus addressed that noble lady, his
wife--"Dear one, Kalingasená is now thinking on thee with longing,
therefore go and make a heavenly garden for her daughter." Having said
this, and revealed the future and the past history of that maiden,
her husband dismissed that instant his wife Somaprabhá. And when she
arrived, her friend Kalingasená threw her arms around her neck, having
missed her so long, and Somaprabhá, after asking after her health,
said to her--"You have been married by a Vidyádhara of great power,
and your daughter is an incarnation of Rati by the favour of Siva, and
she has been brought into the world as the wife, in a previous state
of existence, of an incarnation of Love, that has taken his birth from
the king of Vatsa. He shall be emperor of the Vidyádharas for a kalpa
of the gods; and she shall be honoured above his other wives. But
you have descended into this world, being an Apsaras degraded by the
curse of Indra, and after you have brought your duties to completion,
you shall obtain deliverance from your curse. All this was told me,
my friend, by my wise husband, so you must not be anxious; you will
enjoy every prosperity. And I will now make here for your daughter
a heavenly garden, the like of which does not exist on earth,
in heaven, or in the nether regions." Having said this, Somaprabhá
made a heavenly garden by her magic power, and taking leave of the
regretful Kalingasená, she departed. Then, at the dawn of day, people
beheld that garden, looking like the garden of Nandana suddenly fallen
down from heaven to earth. Then the king of Vatsa heard of it, and
came there with his wives and his ministers, and Naraváhanadatta with
his companions. And they beheld that garden, the trees of which bore
both flowers and fruits all the year round, [511] with many jewelled
pillars, walls, lawns, and tanks; with birds of the colour of gold,
with heavenly perfumed breezes, like a second Svarga descended to
earth from the region of the gods. The lord of Vatsa, when he saw that
wonderful sight, asked Kalingasená, who was intent on hospitality,
what it was. And she thus answered the king in the hearing of all:
"There is a great Asura, Maya by name, an incarnation of Visvakarman,
who made the assembly-hall of Yudhishthira, and the city of Indra:
he has a daughter, Somaprabhá by name, who is a friend of mine. She
came here at night to visit me, and out of love made this heavenly
garden by her magic power, for the sake of my daughter." After saying
this, she told all the past and future fortunes of her daughter,
which Somaprabhá had revealed to her, letting the king know that
she had heard them from her friend. Then all there, perceiving that
the speech of Kalingasená tallied with what they previously knew,
dismissed their doubts and were exceedingly delighted. And the king
of Vatsa, with his wives and his son, spent that day in the garden,
being hospitably entertained by Kalingasená.

The next day, the king went to visit a god in a temple, and he saw
many women well-clothed and with beautiful ornaments. And when he
asked them who they were, they said to him--"We are the sciences,
and these are the accomplishments; and we are come here on account of
your son: we shall now go and enter into him." Having said this they
disappeared, and the king of Vatsa entered his house astonished. There
he told it to the queen Vásavadattá and to the circle of his ministers,
and they rejoiced at that favour of the deity. Then Vásavadattá, by
the direction of the king, took up a lyre as soon as Naraváhanadatta
entered the room. And while his mother was playing, Naraváhanadatta
said modestly to her, "This lyre is out of tune." His father said,
"Take it, and play on it," whereupon he played upon the lyre so as to
astonish even the Gandharvas. When he was thus tested by his father
in all the sciences and the accomplishments, he became endowed with
them all, and of himself knew all knowledge. When the king of Vatsa
beheld his son endowed with all talents, he taught Madanamanchuká,
the daughter of Kalingasená, dancing. As fast as she became perfect
in accomplishments, [512] the heart of the prince Naraváhanadatta was
disturbed. So the sea is disturbed, as fast as the orb of the moon
rounds off its digits. And he delighted in beholding her singing and
dancing, accomplished in all the gestures of the body, so that she
seemed to be reciting the decrees of Love. As for her, if she did not
see for a moment that nectar-like lover, the tears rose to her eyes,
and she was like a bed of white lotuses, wet with dew at the hour
of dawn. [513] And Naraváhanadatta, being unable to live without
continually beholding her face, came to that garden of hers. There
he remained, and Kalingasená out of affection did all she could to
please him, bringing her daughter to him. And Gomukha, who saw into
his master's heart, and wished to bring about his long stay there,
used to tell various tales to Kalingasená. The king was delighted by
his friend's penetrating his intentions, for seeing into one's lord's
soul is the surest way of winning him. And Naraváhanadatta himself
perfected Madanamanchuká in dancing and other accomplishments, giving
her lessons in a concert-hall that stood in the garden, and while his
beloved danced, he played on all instruments so as to put to the blush
the most skilful minstrels. And he conquered also various professors
that came from all quarters, and were skilful in managing elephants,
horses, and chariots, in the use of hand-to-hand and missile weapons,
in painting and modelling. [514] In these amusements passed during
childhood the days of Naraváhanadatta, who was the chosen bridegroom
of Science.

Now, once on a time the prince, with his ministers, and accompanied by
his beloved, went on a pilgrimage to a garden called Nágavana. There a
certain merchant's wife fell in love with Gomukha, and being repulsed,
tried to kill him by offering to him a poisoned drink. But Gomukha
came to hear of it from the lips of her confidante, and did not take
that drink, but broke out into the following denunciation of women:
"Alas! the Creator first created recklessness, and then women in
imitation of it; by nature nothing is too bad for them to do. Surely
this being they call woman, is created of nectar and poison, for,
when she is attached to one, she is nectar, and when estranged she
is indeed poison. Who can see through a woman, with loving face
secretly planning crime? A wicked woman is like a lotus-bed with
its flowers expanded, and an alligator concealed in it. But now and
then there falls from heaven, urging on a host of virtues, a good
woman that brings praise to her husband, like the pure light of the
sun. But another, of evil augury, attached to strangers, not free
from inordinate desires, wicked, bearing the poison of aversion,
[515] slays her husband like a female snake."



Story of Satrughna and his wicked wife.

For instance, in a certain village there was a certain man named
Satrughna, and his wife was unchaste. He once saw in the evening his
wife in the society of her lover, and he slew that lover of hers,
when he was in the house, with the sword. And he remained at the door
waiting for the night, keeping his wife inside, and at night-fall
a traveller came there to ask for a lodging. He gave him refuge,
and artfully carried away with his help the corpse of that adulterer
at night, and went with it to the forest. And there, while he was
throwing that corpse into a well, the mouth of which was overgrown
with plants, his wife came behind him, and pushed him in also.

"What reckless crime of this kind will not a wicked wife commit?" In
these words Gomukha, though still a boy, denounced the conduct
of women.

Then Naraváhanadatta himself worshipped the snakes in that grove of
snakes, [516] and went back to his palace with his retinue.

While he was there, he desired one day to prove his ministers, Gomukha
and the others, so he asked them, though he himself knew it well, for
a summary of the policy of princes. They consulted among themselves,
and said--"You know all things, nevertheless we will tell you this,
now that you ask us," and so they proceeded to relate the cream of
political science.

"A king should first tame and mount the horses of the senses,
and should conquer those internal foes, love, anger, avarice and
delusion, and should subdue himself as a preparation for subduing
other enemies, for how can a man, who has not conquered himself,
being helpless, conquer others? Then he should procure ministers,
who, among other good qualities, possess that of being natives of his
own country, and a skilful family priest, knowing the Atharva Veda,
gifted with asceticism. He should test his ministers with respect to
fear, avarice, virtue and passion, by ingenious artifices, and then he
should appoint them to appropriate duties, discerning their hearts. He
should try their speech, when they are deliberating with one another
on affairs, to see if it is truthful, or inspired by malice, spoken
out of affection, or connected with selfish objects. He should be
pleased with truth, but should punish untruth as it deserves, and
he should continually inquire into the conduct of each of them by
means of spies. Thus he should look at business with unhooded eye,
and by rooting up opponents, [517] and acquiring a treasure, a force,
and the other means of success, should establish himself firmly
on the throne. Then, equipped with the three powers of courage,
kingly authority, and counsel, he should be eager to conquer the
territory of others, considering the difference between the power
of himself and his foe. He should continually take counsel with
advisers, who should be trusty, learned and wise, and should correct
with his own intellect the policy determined on by them, in all its
details. Being versed in the means of success, [518] (conciliation,
bribery and the others,) he should attain for himself security,
and he should then employ the six proper courses, of which alliance
and war are the chief. [519] Thus a king acquires prosperity, and as
long as he carefully considers his own realm and that of his rival,
he is victorious but never vanquished. But an ignorant monarch, blind
with passion and avarice, is plundered by wicked servants, who shew
him the wrong path, and leading him astray, fling him into pits. On
account of these rogues a servant of another kind is never admitted
into the presence of the king, as a husbandman cannot get at a crop of
rice enclosed with a palisade. For he is enslaved by those faithless
servants, who penetrate into his secrets; and consequently Fortune
in disgust flies from him, because he does not know the difference
between man and man. Therefore a king should conquer himself, should
inflict due chastisement, and know the difference of men's characters,
for in this way he will acquire his subjects' love and become thereby
a vessel of prosperity."



Story of king Súrasena and his ministers.

In old time a king named Súrasena, who relied implicitly upon his
servants, was enslaved and plundered by his ministers, who had formed
a coalition. Whoever was a faithful servant to the king, the ministers
would not give even a straw to, though the king wished to bestow a
reward upon him; but if any man was a faithful servant to them, they
themselves gave him presents, and by their representations induced
the king to give to him, though he was undeserving. When the king
saw that, he gradually came to be aware of that coalition of rogues,
and set those ministers at variance with one another by a clever
artifice. When they were estranged, and the clique was broken up,
and they began to inform against one another, the king ruled the
realm successfully, without being deceived by others.



Story of Harisinha.

And there was a king named Harisinha, of ordinary power but versed in
the true science of policy, who had surrounded himself with devoted
and wise ministers, possessed forts, and stores of wealth; he made
his subjects devoted to him and conducted himself in such a way that,
though attacked by an emperor, he was not defeated.

"Thus discernment and reflection are the main things in governing a
kingdom; what is of more importance?" Having said this, each taking
his part, Gomukha and his fellows ceased. Naraváhanadatta, approving
that speech of theirs, though he knew that heroic action is to be
thought upon, [520] still placed his reliance upon destiny whose
power surpasses all thought.

Then he rose up, and his ardour being kindled by delay, he went with
them to visit his beloved Madanamanchuká; when he had reached her
palace and was seated on a throne, Kalingasená, after performing the
usual courtesies, said with astonishment to Gomukha, [521] "Before
the prince Naraváhanadatta arrived, Madanamanchuká, being impatient,
went up to the top of the palace to watch him coming, accompanied by
me, and while we were there, a man descended from heaven upon it,
he was of divine appearance, wore a tiara, and a sword, and said
to me 'I am a king, a lord of the Vidyádharas named Mánasavega,
and you are a heavenly nymph named Surabhidattá who by a curse have
fallen down to earth, and this your daughter is of heavenly origin,
this is known to me well. So give me this daughter of yours in
marriage, for the connexion is a suitable one.' When he said this,
I suddenly burst out laughing, and said to him, 'Naraváhanadatta has
been appointed her husband by the gods, and he is to be the emperor
of all you Vidyádharas.' When I said this to him, the Vidyádhara
flew up into the sky, like a sudden streak of lightning dazzling
the eyes of my daughter." When Gomukha heard that, he said, "The
Vidyádharas found out that the prince was to be their future lord,
from a speech in the air, by which the future birth of the prince
was made known to the king in private, and they immediately desired
to do him a mischief. What self-willed one would desire a mighty
lord as his ruler and restrainer? For which reason Siva has made
arrangements to ensure the safety of this prince, by commissioning
his attendants to wait on him in actual presence. I heard this speech
of Nárada's being related by my father. So it comes to pass that the
Vidyádharas are now hostile to us." When Kalingasená heard this,
she was terrified at the thought of what had happened to herself,
and said, "Why does not the prince marry Madanamanchuká now, before
she is deceived, like me, by delusion?" When Gomukha and the others
heard this from Kalingasená, they said, "Do you stir up the king of
Vatsa to this business." Then Naraváhanadatta, with his heart fixed on
Madanamanchuká only, amused himself by looking at her in the garden
all that day, with her face like a full-blown lotus, with her eyes
like opening blue water-lilies, with lips lovely as the bandhúka,
with breasts like clusters of mandáras, with body delicate as the
sirísha, like a matchless arrow, composed of five flowers, appointed
by the god of love for the conquest of the world.

The next day Kalingasená went in person, and proffered her petition to
the king for the marriage of her daughter. The king of Vatsa dismissed
her, and summoning his ministers, said to them in the presence of
the queen Vásavadattá, "Kalingasená is impatient for the marriage of
her daughter: so how are we to manage it, for the people think that
that excellent woman is unchaste? And we must certainly consider the
people: did not Rámabhadra long ago desert queen Sítá, though she
was chaste, on account of the slander of the multitude? Was not Ambá,
though carried off with great effort by Bhíshma for the sake of his
brother, reluctantly abandoned, because she had previously chosen
another husband? In the same way this Kalingasená, after spontaneously
choosing me, was married by Madanavega; for this reason the people
blame her. Therefore let this Naraváhanadatta himself marry by the
Gándharva ceremony her daughter, who will be a suitable wife for
him." When the king of Vatsa said this, Yaugandharáyana answered,
"My lord, how could Kalingasená consent to this impropriety? For I
have often observed that she, as well as her daughter, is a divine
being, no ordinary woman, and this was told me by my wise friend the
Bráhman-Rákshasa." While they were debating with one another in this
style, the voice of Siva was heard from heaven to the following effect:
"The god of love, after having been consumed by the fire of my eye,
has been created again in the form of Naraváhanadatta, and having been
pleased with the asceticism of Rati I have created her as his wife in
the form of Madanamanchuká. And dwelling with her, as his head-wife,
he shall exercise supreme sovereignty over the Vidyádharas for a kalpa
of the gods, after conquering his enemies by my favour." After saying
this the voice ceased.

When he heard this speech of the adorable Siva, the king of Vatsa,
with his retinue, worshipped him, and joyfully made up his mind to
celebrate the marriage of his son. Then the king congratulated his
prime minister, who had before discerned the truth, and summoned the
astrologers, and asked them what would be a favourable moment, and
they, after being honoured with presents, told him that a favourable
moment would arrive within a few days. Again those astrologers
said to him--"Your son will have to endure some separation for a
short season from this wife of his; this we know, O lord of Vatsa,
by our own scientific foresight." Then the king proceeded to make the
requisite preparations for the marriage of his son, in a style suited
to his own magnificence, so that not only his own city, but the whole
earth was made to tremble with the effort of it. Then, the day of
marriage having arrived, Kalingasená adorned her daughter, to whom
her father had sent his own heavenly ornaments, and Somaprabhá came
in obedience to her husband's order. Then Madanamanchuká, adorned
with a heavenly marriage thread, looked still more lovely; is not
the moon truly beautiful, when accompanied by Kártika? And heavenly
nymphs, by the order of Siva, sang auspicious strains in her honour:
they were eclipsed by her beauty and remained hidden as if ashamed,
but the sound of their songs was heard. They sang the following hymn
in honour of Gaurí, blended with the minstrelsy of the matchless
musicians of heaven, so as to make unequalled harmony--"Victory to
thee, O daughter of the mountain, that hast mercy on thy faithful
votaries, for thou hast thyself come to-day and blessed with success
the asceticism of Rati." Then Naraváhanadatta, resplendent with
excellent marriage-thread, entered the wedding-pavilion full of various
musical instruments. And the bride and bridegroom, after accomplishing
the auspicious ceremony of marriage, with intent care, so that no rite
was left out, ascended the altar-platform where a fire was burning,
as if ascending the pure flame of jewels on the heads of kings. If the
moon and the sun were to revolve at the same time round the mountain
of gold, [522] there would be an exact representation in the world
of the appearance of those two, the bride and the bridegroom, when
circumambulating the fire, keeping it on their right. Not only did
the drums of the gods in the air drown the cymbal-clang in honour of
the marriage festival, but the rain of flowers sent down by the gods
overwhelmed the gilt grain thrown by the women. Then also the generous
Kalingasená honoured her son-in-law with heaps of gold studded with
jewels, so that the lord of Alaká was considered very poor compared
with him, and much more so all miserable earthly monarchs. And then
the bride and bridegroom, now that the delightful ceremony of marriage
was accomplished in accordance with their long-cherished wishes,
entered the inner apartments crowded with women, adorned with pure and
variegated decoration, even as they penetrated the heart of the people
full of pure and various loyalty. Moreover, the city of the king of
Vatsa was quickly filled with kings, surrounded with splendid armies,
who, though their valour was worthy of the world's admiration, had
bent in submission, bringing in their hands valuable jewels by way of
presents, as if with subject seas. [523] On that high day of festival,
the king distributed gold with such magnificence to his dependants,
that the children in their mothers' wombs were at any rate the only
beings in his kingdom not made of gold. [524] Then on account of the
troops of excellent minstrels and dancing girls, that came from all
quarters of the world, with hymns, music, dances and songs on all
sides, the world seemed full of harmony. And at that festival the
city of Kausámbí seemed itself to be dancing, for the pennons agitated
by the wind seemed like twining arms, and it was beautified with the
toilettes of the city matrons, as if with ornaments. And thus waxing
in mirth every day, that great festival continued for a long time,
and all friends, relations and people generally were delighted by it,
and had their wishes marvellously fulfilled. And that crown-prince
Naraváhanadatta, accompanied by Madanamanchuká, enjoyed, though intent
on glory, the long-desired pleasures of this world.







BOOK VII.


CHAPTER XXXV.


May the head of Siva, studded with the nails of Gaurí engaged in
playfully pulling his hair, and so appearing rich in many moons,
[525] procure you prosperity.



May the god of the elephant face, [526] who, stretching forth his
trunk wet with streaming ichor, curved at the extremity, seems to be
bestowing successes, protect you.



Thus the young son of the king of Vatsa, having married in Kausámbí
Madanamanchuká, whom he loved as his life, remained living as he chose,
with his ministers Gomukha and others, having obtained his wish.

And once on a time, when the feast of spring had arrived, adorned
with the gushing notes of love-intoxicated cuckoos, in which the
wind from the Malaya mountain set in motion by force the dance of the
creepers,--the feast of spring delightful with the hum of bees, the
prince went to the garden with his ministers to amuse himself. After
roaming about there, his friend Tapantaka suddenly came with his
eyes expanded with delight, and stepping up to him, said--"Prince,
I have seen not far from here a wonderful maiden, who has descended
from heaven and is standing under an asoka-tree, and that very maiden,
who illumines the regions with her beauty, advancing towards me with
her friends, sent me here to summon you." When Naraváhanadatta heard
that, being eager to see her, he went quickly with his ministers to
the foot of the tree. He beheld there that fair one, with her rolling
eyes like bees, with her lips red like shoots, beautiful with breasts
firm as clusters, having her body yellow with the dust of flowers,
removing fatigue by her loveliness, [527] like the goddess of the
garden appearing in a visible shape suited to her deity. And the prince
approached the heavenly maiden, who bowed before him, and welcomed
her, for his eyes were ravished with her beauty. Then his minister
Gomukha, after all had sat down, asked her, "Who are you, auspicious
one, and for what reason have you come here?" When she heard that,
she laid aside her modesty in obedience to the irresistible decree
of Love, and frequently stealing sidelong glances at the lotus of
Naraváhanadatta's face with an eye that shed matchless affection,
she began thus at length to relate her own history.



Story of Ratnaprabhá.

There is a mountain-chain called Himavat, famous in the three worlds;
it has many peaks, but one of its peaks is the mount of Siva which
is garlanded with the brightness of glittering jewels, and flashes
with gleaming snow, and like the expanse of the heaven, cannot be
measured. Its plateaux are the home of magic powers and of magic
herbs, which dispel old age, death, and fear, and are to be obtained
by the favour of Siva. With its peaks yellow with the brightness of
the bodies of many Vidyádharas, it transcends the glory of the peaks
of Sumeru itself, the mighty hill of the immortals.

On it there is a golden city called Kánchanasringa, which gleams
refulgent with brightness, like the palace of the Sun. It extends
many yojanas, and in it there lives a king of the Vidyádharas named
Hemaprabha, who is a firm votary of the husband of Umá. And though he
has many wives, he has only one queen, whom he loves dearly, named
Alankáraprabhá, as dear to him as Rohiní to the moon. With her the
virtuous king used to rise up in the morning and bathe, and worship
duly Siva and his wife Gaurí, and then he would descend to the world
of men, and give to poor Bráhmans every day a thousand gold-pieces
mixed with jewels. And then he returned from earth and attended
to his kingly duties justly, and then he ate and drank, abiding by
his vow like a hermit. While days elapsed in this way, melancholy
arose once in the bosom of the king, caused by his childlessness, but
suggested by a passing occasion. And his beloved queen Alankáraprabhá,
seeing that he was in very low spirits, asked him the cause of his
sadness. Then the king said to her--"I have all prosperity, but the
one grief of childlessness afflicts me, O queen. And this melancholy
has arisen in my breast on the occasion of calling to mind a tale,
which I heard long ago, of a virtuous man who had no son." Then the
queen said to him, "Of what nature was that tale?" When asked this
question, the king told her the tale briefly in the following words:



Story of Sattvasíla and the two treasures.

In the town of Chitrakúta there was a king named Bráhmanavara, rightly
named, for he was devoted to honouring Bráhmans. He had a victorious
servant named Sattvasíla who devoted himself exclusively to war,
and every month Sattvasíla received a hundred gold-pieces from that
king. But as he was munificent, that gold was not enough for him,
especially as his childlessness made the pleasure of giving the
sole pleasure to which he was addicted. Sattvasíla was continually
reflecting--"The Disposer has not given me a son to gladden me, but he
has given me the vice of generosity, and that too without wealth. It is
better to be produced in the world as an old barren tree or a stone,
than as a poor man altogether abandoned to the vice of giving away
money." But once on a time Sattvasíla, while wandering in a garden,
happened by luck to find a treasure: and with the help of his servants
he quickly brought home that hoard, which gleamed with much gold and
glittered with priceless stones. Out of that he provided himself
with pleasures, and gave wealth to Bráhmans, slaves, and friends,
and thus the virtuous man spent his life. Meanwhile his relations,
beholding this, guessed the secret, and went to the king's palace,
and of their own accord informed the king that Sattvasíla had found
a treasure. Then Sattvasíla was summoned by the king, and by order
of the door-keeper remained standing for a moment in a lonely part
of the king's courtyard. There, as he was scratching the earth with
the hilt of a lílávajra, [528] that was in his hand, he found another
large treasure in a copper vessel. It appeared like his own heart,
displayed openly for him by Destiny pleased with his virtue, in order
that he might propitiate the king with it. So he covered it up again
with earth as it was before, and when summoned by the door-keeper,
entered the king's presence. When he had made his bow there, the king
himself said, "I have come to learn that you have obtained a treasure,
so surrender it to me." And Sattvasíla for his part answered him then
and there, "O king, tell me: shall I give you the first treasure I
found, or the one I found to-day." The king said to him--"Give the
one recently found." And thereupon Sattvasíla went to a corner of
the king's courtyard, and gave him up the treasure. Then the king,
being pleased with the treasure, dismissed Sattvasíla with these
words--"Enjoy the first-found treasure as you please." So Sattvasíla
returned to his house. There he remained increasing the propriety of
his name with gifts and enjoyments, and so managing to dispel somehow
or other the melancholy caused by the affliction of childlessness.

"Such is the story of Sattvasíla, which I heard long ago, and because
I have recalled it to mind, I remain sorrowful through thinking over
the fact that I have no son." When the queen Alankáraprabhá was thus
addressed by her husband Hemaprabha, the king of the Vidyádharas, she
answered him, "It is true: Fortune does assist the brave in this way;
did not Sattvasíla, when in difficulties, obtain a second treasure? So
you too will obtain your desire by the power of your courage, as an
example of the truth of this, hear the story of Vikramatunga."



Story of the brave king Vikramatunga.

There is a city called Pátaliputra, the ornament of the earth, filled
with various beautiful jewels, the colours of which are so disposed as
to form a perfect scale of colour. In that city there dwelt long ago
a brave king, named Vikramatunga, who in giving [529] never turned
his back on a suppliant, nor in fighting on an enemy. That king one
day entered the forest to hunt, and saw there a Bráhman offering a
sacrifice with vilva [530] fruits. When he saw him, he was desirous
to question him, but avoided going near him, and went off to a great
distance with his army in his ardour for the chase. For a long time
he sported with deer and lions, that rose up and fell slain by his
hand, as if with foes, and then he returned and beheld the Bráhman
still intent on his sacrifice as before, and going up to him he
bowed before him, and asked him his name and the advantage he hoped
to derive from offering the vilva fruits. Then the Bráhman blessed
the king and said to him, "I am a Bráhman named Nágasarman, and bear
the fruit I hope from my sacrifice. When the god of Fire is pleased
with this vilva sacrifice, then vilva fruits of gold will come out
of the fire-cavity. Then the god of Fire will appear in bodily form
and grant me a boon; and so I have spent much time in offering vilva
fruits. But so little is my merit that even now the god of Fire is not
propitiated." When he said this, that king of resolute valour answered
him--"Then give me one vilva fruit that I may offer it, and I will
to-day, O Bráhman, render the god of Fire propitious to you." Then
the Bráhman said to the king, "How will you, unchastened and impure,
propitiate that god of Fire, who is not satisfied with me, who remain
thus faithful to my vow, and am chastened?" When the Bráhman said this
to him, the king said to him again, "Never mind, give me a vilva fruit,
and in a moment you shall behold a wonder." Then the Bráhman, full
of curiosity, gave a vilva fruit to the king, and he then and there
meditated with soul of firm valour--"If thou art not satisfied with
this vilva fruit, O god of Fire, then I will offer thee my own head,"
and thereupon offered the fruit. And the seven-rayed god appeared from
the sacrificial cavity, bringing the king a golden vilva fruit as the
fruit of his tree of valour. And the Fire-god, present in visible form,
said to that king--"I am pleased with thy courage, so receive a boon,
O king." When the magnanimous king heard that, he bowed before him and
said--"Grant this Bráhman his wish. What other boon do I require?" On
hearing this speech of the king's, the Fire-god was much pleased and
said to him--"O king, this Bráhman shall become a great lord of wealth,
and thou also by my favour shalt have the prosperity of thy treasury
ever undiminished." When the Fire-god had, in these words, bestowed
the boon, the Bráhman asked him this question; "Thou hast appeared
swiftly to a king that acts according to his own will, but not to me
that am under vows: why is this, O revered one?" Then the Fire-god,
the giver of boons, answered--"If I had not granted him an interview,
this king of fierce courage would have offered his head in sacrifice to
me. In this world successes quickly befall those of fierce spirit, but
they come slowly, O Bráhman, to those of dull spirit like thee." Thus
spake the god of Fire, and vanished, and the Bráhman Nágasarman took
leave of the king and in course of time became very rich. But the
king Vikramatunga, whose courage had been thus seen by his dependents,
returned amid their plaudits to his town of Pátaliputra.

When the king was dwelling there, the warder Satrunjaya entered
suddenly one day, and said secretly to him; "There is standing at
the door, O king, a Bráhman lad, who says his name is Dattasarman,
he wishes to make a representation to you in private." The king gave
the order to introduce him, and the lad was introduced, and after
blessing the king, he bowed before him, and sat down. And he made
this representation--"King, by a certain device of powder I know
how to make always excellent gold out of copper. For that device was
shewn me by my spiritual teacher, and I saw with my own eyes that he
made gold by that device." When the lad said this, the king ordered
copper to be brought, and when it was melted, the lad threw the powder
upon it. But while the powder was being thrown, an invisible Yaksha
carried it off, and the king alone saw him, having propitiated the
god of Fire. And that copper did not turn into gold, as the powder
did not reach it; thrice did the lad make the attempt and thrice his
labour was in vain. Then the king, first of brave men, took the powder
from the desponding lad, and himself threw it on the melted copper;
when he threw the powder, the Yaksha did not intercept it, but went
away smiling. Accordingly the copper became gold by contact with that
powder. Then the boy, astonished, asked the king for an explanation,
and the king told him the incident of the Yaksha, just as he had seen
it. And having learned in this way the device of the powder from that
lad, the king made him marry a wife, and gave him all he wished, and
having his treasury prosperously filled by means of the gold produced
by that device, he himself enjoyed great happiness together with his
wives, and made Bráhmans rich.

"Thus you see that the Lord grants their desires to men of fierce
courage, seeming to be either terrified or pleased by them. And who,
O king, is of more firm valour or more generous than you? So Siva, when
propitiated by you, will certainly give you a son; do not sorrow." The
king Hemaprabha, when he heard this noble speech from the mouth of
queen Alankáraprabhá, believed it and was pleased. And he considered
that his own heart, radiant with cheerfulness, indicated that he would
certainly obtain a son by propitiating Siva. The next day after this,
he and his wife bathed and worshipped Siva, and he gave 90 millions of
gold-pieces to the Bráhmans, and without taking food he went through
ascetic practices in front of Siva, determined that he would either
leave the body or propitiate the god, and continuing in asceticism,
he praised the giver of boons, the husband of the daughter of the
mountain, [531] that lightly gave away the sea of milk to his votary
Upamanyu, saying, "Honour to thee, O husband of Gaurí, who art the
cause of the creation, preservation, and destruction of the world,
who dost assume the eight special forms of ether and the rest. [532]
Honour to thee, who sleepest on the ever-expanded lotus of the heart,
that art Sambhu, the swan dwelling in the pure Mánasa lake. [533]
Honour to thee, the exceeding marvellous Moon, of divine brightness,
pure, of watery substance, to be beheld by those whose sins are
put away; to thee whose beloved is half thy body, [534] and who
nevertheless art supremely chaste. Honour to thee who didst create
the world by a wish, and art thyself the world."

When the king had praised Siva in these words and fasted for three
nights, the god appeared to him in a dream, and spake as follows:
"Rise up, O king, there shall be born to thee a heroic son that
shall uphold thy race. And thou shalt also obtain by the favour of
Gaurí, a glorious daughter who is destined to be the queen of that
treasure-house of glory, Naraváhanadatta, your future emperor." When
Siva had said this, he disappeared, and Hemaprabha woke up, delighted,
at the close of night. And by telling his dream he gladdened his
wife Alankáraprabhá, who had been told the same by Gaurí in a dream,
and dwelt on the agreement of the two visions. And then the king rose
up and bathed and worshipped Siva, and after giving gifts, broke his
fast, and kept high festival.

Then, after some days had passed, the queen Alankáraprabhá became
pregnant by that king, and delighted her beloved by her face redolent
of honey, with wildly rolling eyes, so that it resembled a pale lotus
with bees hovering round it. Then she gave birth in due time to a son,
(whose noble lineage was proclaimed by the elevated longings of her
pregnancy,) as the sky gives birth to the orb of day. As soon as he
was born, the lying-in chamber was illuminated by his might, and
so was made red as vermilion. And his father gave to that infant,
that brought terror to the families of his enemies, the name of
Vajraprabha, that had been appointed for him by a divine voice. Then
the boy grew by degrees, being filled with accomplishments, and causing
the exultation of his family, as the new moon fills out with digits,
[535] and causes the sea to rise.

Then, not long after, the queen of that king Hemaprabha again became
pregnant. And when she was pregnant, she sat upon a golden throne,
and became truly the jewel of the harem, adding special lustre to
her settings. And in a chariot, in the shape of a beautiful lotus,
manufactured by help of magic science, she roamed about in the sky,
since her pregnant longings assumed that form. But when the due
time came, a daughter was born to that queen, whose birth by the
favour of Gaurí was a sufficient guarantee of her loveliness. And
this voice was then heard from heaven--"She shall be the wife of
Naraváhanadatta"--which agreed with the words of Siva's revelation. And
the king was just as much delighted at her birth as he was at that
of his son, and gave her the name of Ratnaprabhá. And Ratnaprabhá,
adorned with her own science, grew up in the house of her father,
producing illumination in all the quarters of the sky. Then the king
made his son Vajraprabha, who had begun to wear armour, take a wife,
and appointed him crown-prince. And he devolved on him the burden of
the kingdom and remained at ease; but still one anxiety lingered in
his heart, anxiety about the marriage of his daughter.

One day the king beheld that daughter, who was fit to be given away
in marriage, sitting near him, and said to the queen Alankáraprabhá,
who was in his presence; "Observe, queen, a daughter is a great misery
in the three worlds, even though she is the ornament of her family,
a misery, alas! even to the great. For this Ratnaprabhá, though
modest, learned, young and beautiful, afflicts me because she has not
obtained a husband." The queen said to him--"She was proclaimed by the
gods as the destined wife of Naraváhanadatta, our future emperor,
why is she not given to him?" When the queen said this to him,
the king answered: "In truth the maiden is fortunate, that shall
obtain him for a bridegroom. For he is an incarnation of Káma upon
earth, but he has not as yet attained his divine nature: therefore
I am now waiting for his attainment of superhuman knowledge." [536]
While he was thus speaking, Ratnaprabhá, by means of those accents of
her father, which entered her ear like the words of the bewildering
spell of the god of love, became as if bewildered, as if possessed,
as if asleep, as if in a picture, and her heart was captivated by
that bridegroom. Then with difficulty she took a respectful leave
of her parents, and went to her own private apartments, and managed
at length to get to sleep at the end of the night. Then the goddess
Gaurí, being full of pity for her, gave her this command in a dream;
"To-morrow, my daughter, is an auspicious day; so thou must go to the
city of Kausámbí and see thy future husband, and thence thy father,
O auspicious one, will himself bring thee and him into this his city,
and celebrate your marriage." So in the morning, when she woke up,
she told that dream to her mother. Then her mother gave her leave to
go, and she, knowing by her superhuman knowledge that her bridegroom
was in the garden, set out from her own city to visit him.

"Thou knowest, O my husband, that I am that Ratnaprabhá, arrived to-day
in a moment, full of impatience, and you all know the sequel." When
he heard this speech of hers, that in sweetness exceeded nectar,
and beheld the body of the Vidyádharí that was ambrosia to the
eyes, Naraváhanadatta in his heart blamed the Creator, saying to
himself--"Why did he not make me all eye and ear?" And he said to
her--"Fortunate am I; my birth and life has obtained its fruit,
in that I, O beautiful one, have been thus visited by thee out of
affection!" When they had thus exchanged the protestations of new
love, suddenly the army of the Vidyádharas was beheld there in the
heaven. Ratnaprabhá said immediately, "Here is my father come," and
the king Hemaprabha descended from heaven with his son. And with his
son Vajraprabha he approached that Naraváhanadatta, who gave him a
courteous welcome. And while they stood for a moment paying one another
the customary compliments, the king of Vatsa, who had heard of it,
came with his ministers. And then that Hemaprabha told the king,
after he had performed towards him the rites of hospitality, the
whole story exactly as it had been related by Ratnaprabhá, and said,
"I knew by the power of my supernatural knowledge that my daughter had
come here, and I am aware of all that has happened in this place. [537]



For he will afterwards possess such an imperial chariot. Pray consent,
and then thou shalt behold in a short time thy son, the prince,
returned here, united to his wife Ratnaprabhá." After he had addressed
this prayer to the king of Vatsa, and he had consented to his wish,
that Hemaprabha, with his son, prepared that chariot by his own magic
skill, and made Naraváhanadatta ascend it, together with Ratnaprabhá,
whose face was cast down from modesty, followed by Gomukha and the
others, and Yaugandharáyana, who was also deputed to accompany him
by his father, and thus Hemaprabha took him to his own capital,
Kánchanasringaka.

And Naraváhanadatta, when he reached that city of his father-in-law,
saw that it was all of gold, gleaming with golden ramparts, embraced,
as it were, on all sides with rays issuing out like shoots, and
so stretching forth innumerable arms in eagerness of love for
that son-in-law. There the king Hemaprabha, of high emprise, gave
Ratnaprabhá with due ceremonies to him, as the sea gave Lakshmí to
Vishnu. And he gave him glittering heaps of jewels, gleaming like
innumerable wedding fires lighted. [538] And in the city of that
festive prince, who was showering wealth, even the houses, being draped
with flags, appeared as if they had received changes of raiment. And
Naraváhanadatta, having performed the auspicious ceremony of marriage,
remained there enjoying heavenly pleasures with Ratnaprabhá. And he
amused himself by looking in her company at beautiful temples of the
gods in gardens and lakes, having ascended with her the heaven by
the might of her science.

So, after he had lived some days with his wife in the city of the
king of the Vidyádharas, the son of the king of Vatsa determined,
in accordance with the advice of Yaugandharáyana, to return to his
own city. Then his mother-in-law performed for him the auspicious
ceremonies previous to starting, and his father-in-law again honoured
him and his minister, and then he set out with Hemaprabha and his son,
accompanied by his beloved, having again ascended that chariot. He soon
arrived, like a stream of nectar to the eyes of his mother, and entered
his city with Hemaprabha and his son and his own followers, bringing
with him his wife, who made the king of Vatsa rejoice exceedingly
with delight at beholding her. The king of Vatsa of exalted fortune,
with Vásavadattá, welcomed that son, who bowed at his feet with his
wife, and honoured Hemaprabha his new connexion, as well as his son,
in a manner conformable to his own dignity. Then, after that king of
the Vidyádharas, Hemaprabha, had taken leave of the lord of Vatsa and
his family, and had flown up into the heaven and gone to his own city,
that Naraváhanadatta, together with Ratnaprabhá and Madanamanchuká,
spent that day in happiness surrounded by his friends.






CHAPTER XXXVI.


When that Naraváhanadatta had thus obtained a new and lovely bride
of the Vidyádhara race, and was the next day with her in her house,
there came in the morning to the door, to visit him, his ministers
Gomukha and others. They were stopped for a moment at the door by
the female warder, and announced within; then they entered and were
courteously received, and Ratnaprabhá said to the warder, "The door
must not again be closed against the entrance of my husband's friends,
for they are as dear to me as my own body. And I do not think that
this is the way to guard female apartments." After she had addressed
the female warder in these words, she said in turn to her husband,
"My husband, I am going to say something which occurs to me, so
listen. I consider that the strict seclusion of women is a mere
social custom, or rather folly produced by jealousy. It is of no use
whatever. Women of good family are guarded by their own virtue, as
their only chamberlain. But even God himself can scarcely guard the
unchaste. Who can restrain a furious river and a passionate woman? And
now listen, I will tell you a story."



Story of king Ratnádhipati and the white elephant Svetarasmi.

There is here a great island in the midst of the sea, named
Ratnakúta. In it there lived in old times a king of great courage,
a devoted worshipper of Vishnu, rightly named Ratnádhipati. [539]
That king, in order to obtain the conquest of the earth, and all
kings' daughters as his wives, went through a severe penance,
to propitiate Vishnu. The adorable one, pleased with his penance,
appeared in bodily form, and thus commanded him--"Rise up, king,
I am pleased with thee, so I tell thee this--listen! There is in
the land of Kalinga a Gandharva, who has become a white elephant by
the curse of a hermit, and is known by the name of Svetarasmi. On
account of the asceticism he performed in a former life, and on
account of his devotion to me, that elephant is supernaturally wise,
and possesses the power of flying through the sky, and of remembering
his former birth. And I have given an order to that great elephant,
in accordance with which he will come of himself through the air,
and become thy beast of burden. That white elephant thou must mount,
as the wielder of the thunderbolt mounts the elephant of the gods,
[540] and whatever king thou shalt travel through the air to visit,
in fear shall bestow on thee, who art of god-like presence, tribute in
the form of a daughter, for I will myself command him to do so in a
dream. Thus thou shalt conquer the whole earth, and all zenanas, and
thou shalt obtain eighty thousand princesses." When Vishnu had said
this, he disappeared, and the king broke his fast, and the next day
he beheld that elephant, which had come to him through the air. And
when the elephant had thus placed himself at the king's disposal,
he mounted him, as he had been bidden to do by Vishnu, and in this
manner he conquered the earth, and carried off the daughters of
kings. And then the king dwelt there in Ratnakúta with those wives,
eighty thousand in number, amusing himself as he pleased. And in order
to propitiate Svetarasmi, that celestial elephant, he fed every day
five hundred Bráhmans.

Now once on a time the king Ratnádhipati mounted that elephant,
and, after roaming through the other islands, returned to his own
island. And as he was descending from the sky, it came to pass that
a bird of the race of Garuda struck that excellent elephant with
his beak. And the bird fled, when the king struck him with the
sharp elephant-hook, but the elephant fell on the ground stunned
by the blow of the bird's beak. The king got off his back, but the
elephant, though he recovered his senses, was not able to rise up in
spite of the efforts made to raise him, and ceased eating. For five
days the elephant remained in the same place, where it had fallen,
and the king was grieved and took no food, and prayed as follows:
"Oh guardians of the world, teach me some remedy in this difficulty;
otherwise I will cut off my own head and offer it to you." When he had
said this, he drew his sword and was preparing to cut off his head,
when immediately a bodiless voice thus addressed him from the sky--"O
king do nothing rash; if some chaste woman touches this elephant with
her hand, it will rise up, but not otherwise." When the king heard
that, he was glad, and summoned his own carefully guarded chief queen,
Amritalatá. When the elephant did not rise up, though she touched it
with her hand, the king had all his other wives summoned. But though
they all touched the elephant in succession, he did not rise up; the
fact was, not one among them was chaste. Then the king, having beheld
all those eighty thousand wives openly humiliated in the presence of
men, being himself abashed, summoned all the women of his capital,
and made them touch the elephant one after another. And when in
spite of it the elephant did not rise up, the king was ashamed,
because there was not a single chaste woman in his city.

And in the meanwhile a merchant named Harshagupta, who had arrived
from Támraliptí, [541] having heard of that event, came there full
of curiosity. And in his train there came a servant of the name of
Sílavatí, who was devoted to her husband; when she saw what had taken
place, she said to him--"I will touch this elephant with my hand:
and if I have not even thought in my mind of any other man than
my husband, may it rise up." No sooner had she said this, than she
came up and touched the elephant with her hand, whereupon it rose up
in sound health and began to eat. [542] But when the people saw the
elephant Svetarasmi rise up, they raised a shout and praised Sílavatí,
saying--"Such are these chaste women, few and far between, who, like
Siva, are able to create, preserve and destroy this world." The king
Ratnádhipati also was pleased, and congratulated the chaste Sílavatí,
and loaded her with innumerable jewels, and he also honoured her
master, the merchant Harshagupta, and gave him a house near his own
palace. And he determined to avoid all communication with his own
wives, and ordered that henceforth they should have nothing but food
and raiment.

Then the king, after he had taken his food, sent for the chaste
Sílavatí, and said to her at a private interview in the presence
of Harshagupta, "Sílavatí, if you have any maiden of your father's
family, give her to me, for I know she will certainly be like
you." When the king said this to her, Sílavatí answered--"I have a
sister in Támraliptí named Rájadattá; marry her, O king, if you wish,
for she is of distinguished beauty." When she said this to the king,
he consented and said, "So be it," and having determined on taking
this step, he mounted, with Sílavatí and Harshagupta, the elephant
Svetarasmi, that could fly though the air, and going in person to
Támraliptí, entered the house of that merchant Harshagupta. There
he asked the astrologers that very day, what would be a favourable
time for him to be married to Rájadattá, the sister of Sílavatí. And
the astrologers, having enquired under what stars both of them were
born, said, "A favourable conjuncture will come for you, O king,
in three months from this time. But if you marry Rájadattá in the
present position of the constellations, she will without fail prove
unchaste." Though the astrologers gave him this response, the king,
being eager for a charming wife, and impatient of dwelling long alone,
thus reflected--"Away with scruples! I will marry Rájadattá here
this very day. For she is the sister of the blameless Sílavatí and
will never prove unchaste. And I will place her in that uninhabited
island in the middle of the sea, where there is one empty palace, and
in that inaccessible spot I will surround her with a guard of women;
so how can she become unchaste, as she can never see men?" Having
formed this determination, the king that very day rashly married that
Rájadattá, whom Sílavatí bestowed upon him. And after he had married
her, and had been received with the customary rites by Harshagupta,
he took that wife, and with her and Sílavatí, he mounted Svetarasmi,
and then in a moment went through the air to the land of Ratnakúta,
where the people were anxiously expecting him. And he rewarded
Sílavatí again so munificently, that she attained all her wishes,
having reaped the fruit of her vow of chastity. Then he mounted his
new wife Rájadattá on that same air-travelling elephant Svetarasmi,
and conveyed her carefully, and placed her in the empty palace in the
island in the midst of the sea, inaccessible to man, with a retinue
of women only. And whatever article she required, he conveyed there
through the air on that elephant, so great was his distrust. And being
devotedly attached to her, he always spent the night there, but came
to Ratnakúta in the day to transact his regal duties. Now one morning
the king, in order to counteract an inauspicious dream, indulged with
that Rájadattá in a drinking-bout for good luck. And though his wife,
being intoxicated with that banquet, did not wish to let him go, he
left her, and departed to Ratnakúta to transact his business, for the
royal dignity is an ever-exacting wife. There he remained performing
his duties with anxious mind, which seemed ever to ask him, why he
left his wife there in a state of intoxication? And in the meanwhile
Rájadattá, remaining alone in that inaccessible place, the female
servants being occupied in culinary and other duties, saw a certain man
come in at the door, like Fate determined to baffle all expedients for
guarding her, and his arrival filled her with astonishment. And that
intoxicated woman asked him when he approached her, "Who are you,
and how have you come to this inaccessible place?" Then that man,
who had endured many hardships, answered her--



Story of Yavanasena.

Fair one, I am a merchant's son of Mathurá named Yavanasena. And when
my father died, I was left helpless, and my relations took from me my
property, so I went to a foreign country, and resorted to the miserable
condition of being servant to another man. Then I with difficulty
scraped together a little wealth by trading, and as I was going to
another land, I was plundered by robbers who met me on the way. Then
I wandered about as a beggar, and, with some other men like myself,
I went to a mine of jewels called Kanakakshetra. There I engaged to
pay the king his share, and after digging up the earth in a trench for
a whole year, I did not find a single jewel. So, while the other men
my fellows were rejoicing over the jewels they had found, smitten with
grief I retired to the shore of the sea, and began to collect fuel.

And while I was constructing with the fuel a funeral pyre, in
order that I might enter the flame, a certain merchant named
Jívadatta happened to come there; that merciful man dissuaded me
from suicide, and gave me food, and as he was preparing to go in a
ship to Svarnadvípa he took me on board with him. Then, as we were
sailing along in the midst of the ocean, after five days had passed,
we suddenly beheld a cloud. The cloud discharged its rain in large
drops, and that vessel was whirled round by the wind like the head of
a mast elephant. Immediately the ship sank, but as fate would have it,
I caught hold of a plank, just as I was sinking. I mounted on it,
and thereupon the thunder-cloud relaxed its fury, and, conducted
by destiny, I reached this country; and have just landed in the
forest. And seeing this palace, I entered, and I beheld here thee,
O auspicious one, a rain of nectar to my eyes, dispelling pain.

When he had said this, Rájadattá maddened with love and wine, placed
him on a couch and embraced him. Where there are these five fires,
feminine nature, intoxication, privacy, the obtaining of a man, and
absence of restraint, what chance for the stubble of character? So
true is it, that a woman maddened by the god of Love is incapable of
discrimination; since this queen became enamoured of that loathsome
castaway. In the meanwhile the king Ratnádhipati, being anxious,
came swiftly from Ratnakúta, borne along on the sky-going elephant;
and entering his palace he beheld his wife Rájadattá in the arms of
that creature. When the king saw the man, though he felt tempted to
slay him, he slew him not, because he fell at his feet, and uttered
piteous supplications. And beholding his wife terrified, and at
the same time intoxicated, he reflected, "How can a woman that is
addicted to wine, the chief ally of lust, be chaste? A lascivious
woman cannot be restrained even by being guarded. Can one fetter a
whirlwind with one's arms? This is the fruit of my not heeding the
prediction of the astrologers. To whom is not the scorning of wise
words bitter in its after-taste? When I thought that she was the
sister of Sílavatí, I forgot that the Kálakúta poison was twin-born
with the amrita. [543] Or rather who is able, even by doing the utmost
of a man, to overcome the incalculable freaks of marvellously working
Destiny." Thus reflecting, the king was not wroth with any one, and
spared the merchant's son, her paramour, after asking him the story
of his life. The merchant's son, when dismissed thence, seeing no
other expedient, went out and beheld a ship coming, far off in the
sea. Then he again mounted that plank, and drifting about in the sea,
cried out, puffing and blowing, "Save me! Save me!" So a merchant, of
the name of Krodhavarman, who was on that ship, drew that merchant's
son out of the water, and made him his companion. Whatever deed is
appointed by the Disposer to be the destruction of any man, dogs
his steps whithersoever he runneth. For this fool, when on the ship,
was discovered by his deliverer secretly associating with his wife,
and thereupon was cast by him into the sea and perished.

In the meanwhile the king Ratnádhipati caused the queen Rájadattá
with her retinue to mount Svetarasmi, without allowing himself to
be angry, and he carried her to Ratnakúta, and delivered her to
Sílavatí, and related that occurrence to her and his ministers. And
he exclaimed, "Alas! How much pain have I endured, whose mind has
been devoted to these unsubstantial insipid enjoyments. Therefore I
will go to the forest, and take Hari as my refuge, in order that I
may never again be a vessel of such woes." Thus he spake, and though
his sorrowing ministers and Sílavatí endeavoured to prevent him, he,
being disgusted with the world, would not abandon his intention. Then,
being indifferent to enjoyments, he first gave half of his treasure to
the virtuous Sílavatí, and the other half to the Bráhmans, and then
that king made over in the prescribed form his kingdom to a Bráhman
of great excellence, named Pápabhanjana. And after he had given away
his kingdom, he ordered Svetarasmi to be brought, with the object
of retiring to a grove of asceticism, his subjects looking on with
tearful eyes. No sooner was the elephant brought, than it left the
body, and became a man of god-like appearance, adorned with necklace
and bracelet. When the king asked him who he was, and what was the
meaning of all this, he answered:

"We were two Gandharva brothers, living on the Malaya mountain: I was
called Somaprabha, and the eldest was Devaprabha. And my brother had
but one wife, but she was very dear to him. Her name was Rájavatí. One
day he was wandering about with her in his arms, and happened to
arrive, with me in his company, at a place called the dwelling of the
Siddhas. There we both worshipped Vishnu in his temple, and began all
of us to sing before the adorable one. In the meanwhile a Siddha came
there, and stood regarding with fixed gaze Rájavatí, who was singing
songs well worth hearing. And my brother, who was jealous, said in
his wrath to that Siddha; 'Why dost thou, although a Siddha, cast a
longing look at another's wife?' Then the Siddha was moved with anger,
and said to him by way of a curse--'Fool, I was looking at her out of
interest in her song, not out of desire. So fall thou, jealous one,
into a mortal womb together with her; and then behold with thy own eyes
thy wife in the embraces of another.' When he had said this, I, being
enraged at the curse, struck him, out of childish recklessness, with a
white toy elephant of clay, that I had in my hand. Then he cursed me
in the following words--"Be born again on the earth as an elephant,
like that with which you have just struck me." Then being merciful,
that Siddha allowed himself to be propitiated by that brother of mine
Devaprabha, and appointed for us both the following termination of the
curse; "Though a mortal thou shalt become, by the favour of Vishnu,
the lord of an island, and shalt obtain as thy servant this thy younger
brother, who will have become an elephant, a beast of burden fit for
gods. Thou shalt obtain eighty thousand wives, and thou shalt come
to learn the unchastity of them all in the presence of men. Then thou
shalt marry this thy present wife, who will have become a woman, and
shalt see her with thy own eyes embracing another. Then, thou shalt
become sick in thy heart of the world, and shalt bestow thy realm on
a Bráhman, but when after doing this thou shalt set out to go to a
forest of ascetics, thy younger brother shall first be released from
his elephant nature, and thou also with thy wife shalt be delivered
from thy curse.' This was the termination of the curse appointed for
us by the Siddha, and we were accordingly born with different lots,
on account of the difference of our actions in that previous state,
and lo! the end of our curse has now arrived." When Somaprabha
had said this, that king Ratnádhipati remembered his former birth,
and said--"True! I am that very Devaprabha; and this Rájadattá is
my former wife Rájavatí." Having said this, he, together with his
wife, abandoned the body. In a moment they all became Gandharvas,
and, in the sight of men, flew up into the air, and went to their own
home, the Malaya mountain. Sílavatí too, through the nobleness of her
character, obtained prosperity, and going to the city of Támraliptí,
remained in the practice of virtue.

"So true is it, that in no case can any one guard a woman by force in
this world, but the young woman of good family is ever protected by the
pure restraint of her own chastity. And thus the passion of jealousy is
merely a purposeless cause of suffering, annoying others, and so far
from being a protection to women, it rather excites in them excessive
longing." When Naraváhanadatta had heard this tale full of good sense
related by his wife, he and his ministers were highly pleased.






CHAPTER XXXVII.


Then Naraváhanadatta's minister Gomukha said to him, by way of capping
the tale, which had been told by Ratnaprabhá: "It is true that chaste
women are few and far between, but unchaste women are never to be
trusted; in illustration of this, hear the following story."



Story of Nischayadatta.

There is in this land a town of the name of Ujjayiní, famous throughout
the world: in it there lived of old time a merchant's son, named
Nischayadatta. He was a gambler and had acquired money by gambling,
and every day the generous man used to bathe in the water of the Siprá,
and worship Mahákála: [544] his custom was first to give money to the
Bráhmans, the poor, and the helpless, and then to anoint himself and
indulge in food and betel.

Every day, when he had finished his bathing and his worship, he used
to go and anoint himself in a cemetery near the temple of Mahákála,
with sandalwood and other things. And the young man placed the
unguent on a stone pillar that stood there, and so anointed himself
every day alone, rubbing his back against it. In that way the pillar
eventually became very smooth and polished. Then there came that way
a draughtsman with a sculptor; the first, seeing that the pillar
was very smooth, drew on it a figure of Gaurí, and the sculptor
with his chisel in pure sport carved it on the stone. Then, after
they had departed, a certain daughter of the Vidyádharas came there
to worship Mahákála, and saw that image of Gaurí on the stone. From
the clearness of the image she inferred the proximity of the goddess,
and, after worshipping, she entered that stone pillar to rest. In the
meanwhile Nischayadatta, the merchant's son, came there, and to his
astonishment beheld that figure of Umá carved on the stone. He first
anointed his limbs, and then placing the unguent on another part of the
stone, began to anoint his back by rubbing it against the stone. When
the rolling-eyed Vidyádhara maiden inside the pillar saw that, her
heart being captivated by his beauty, she reflected--"What! has this
handsome man no one to anoint his back? Then I will now rub his back
for him." Thus the Vidyádharí reflected, and, stretching forth her
hand from inside the pillar, she anointed his back then and there
out of affection. Immediately the merchant's son felt the touch, and
heard the jingling of the bracelet, and caught hold of her hand with
his. And the Vidyádharí, invisible as she was, said to him from the
pillar--"Noble sir, what harm have I done you? let go my hand." Then
Nischayadatta answered her--"Appear before me, and say who you are,
then I will let go your hand." Then the Vidyádharí affirmed with an
oath--"I will appear before your eyes, and tell you all." So he let
go her hand. Then she came out visibly from the pillar, beautiful
in every limb, and sitting down, with her eyes fixed on his face,
said to him, "There is a city called Pushkarávatí [545] on a peak of
the Himálayas, in it there lives a king named Vindhyapara. I am his
maiden daughter, named Anurágapará. I came to worship Mahákála, and
rested here to-day. And thereupon you came here, and were beheld by me
anointing your back on this pillar, resembling the stupefying weapon
of the god of love. Then first my heart was charmed with affection
for you, and afterwards my hand was smeared with your unguent, as I
rubbed your back. [546] The sequel you know. So I will now go to my
father's house."

When she said this to the merchant's son, he answered--"Fair one,
I have not recovered my soul which you have taken captive; how can
you thus depart, without letting go the soul which you have taken
possession of?" When he said this to her, she was immediately overcome
with love, and said--"I will marry you, if you come to my city. It is
not hard for you to reach; your endeavour will be sure to succeed. For
nothing in this world is difficult to the enterprising." Having said
this, Anurágapará flew up into the air and departed; and Nischayadatta
returned home with mind fixed upon her. Recollecting the hand that
was protruded from the pillar, like a shoot from the trunk of a tree,
he thought--"Alas! though I seized her hand I did not win it for my
own. Therefore I will go to the city of Pushkarávatí to visit her, and
either I shall lose my life, or Fate will come to my aid." So musing,
he passed that day there in an agony of love, and he set out from that
place early the next morning, making for the north. As he journeyed,
three other merchants' sons, who were travelling towards the north,
associated themselves with him as companions. In company with them
he travelled through cities, villages, forests, and rivers, and at
last reached the northern region abounding in barbarians.

There he and his companions were found on the way by some Tájikas, who
took them and sold them to another Tájika. He sent them in the care of
his servants as a present to a Turushka, named Muravára. Then those
servants took him and the other three, and hearing that Muravára
was dead, they delivered them to his son. The son of Muravára
thought--"These men have been sent me as a present by my father's
friend, so I must send them to him to-morrow by throwing them into
his grave." [547] Accordingly the Turushka fettered Nischayadatta and
his three friends with strong chains, that they might be kept till
the morning. Then, while they were remaining in chains at night,
Nischayadatta said to his three friends, the merchant's sons,
who were afflicted with dread of death--"What will you gain by
despondency? Maintain steadfast resolution. For calamities depart
far away from the resolute, as if terrified at them. Think on the
peerless adorable Durgá, that deliverer from calamity."

Thus encouraging them, he devoutly worshipped that goddess Durgá:
"Hail to thee, O goddess! I worship thy feet that are stained with
a red dye, as if it were the clotted gore of the trampled Asura
clinging to them. Thou, as the all-ruling power of Siva, dost govern
the three worlds, and inspired by thee they live and move. Thou didst
deliver the worlds, O slayer of the Asura Mahisha. Deliver me that
crave thy protection, O thou cherisher of thy votaries." In these
and similar words he and his companions duly worshipped the goddess,
and then they all fell asleep, being weary. And the goddess Durgá
in a dream commanded Nischayadatta and his companions--"Rise up,
my children, depart, for your fetters are loosed." Then they woke up
at night, and saw that their fetters had fallen off of themselves,
and after relating to one another their dream, they departed thence
delighted. And after they had gone a long journey, the night came
to an end, and then those merchant's sons, who had gone through such
terrors, said to Nischayadatta; "Enough of this quarter of the world
infested with barbarians! We will go to the Deccan, friend, but do
you do as you desire."--When they said this to him, he dismissed
them to go where they would, and set out alone vigorously on his
journey, making towards that very northern quarter, drawn by the
noose of love for Anurágapará, flinging aside fear. As he went
along, he fell in, in course of time, with four Pásupata ascetics,
and reached and crossed the river Vitastá. And after crossing it,
he took food, and as the sun was kissing the western mountain,
he entered with them a forest that lay in their path. And there
some woodmen, that met them, said to them: "Whither are you going,
now that the day is over. There is no village in front of you: but
there is an empty temple of Siva in this wood. Whoever remains there
during the night inside or outside, falls a prey to a Yakshiní, who
bewilders him, making horns grow on his forehead, and then treats him
as a victim, and devours him." Those four Pásupata ascetics, who were
travelling together, though they heard this, said to Nischayadatta,
"Come along! what can that miserable Yakshiní do to us? For we have
remained many nights in various cemeteries." When they said this,
he went with them, and finding an empty temple of Siva, he entered
it with them to pass the night there. In the court of that temple
the bold Nischayadatta and the Pásupata ascetics quickly made a great
circle with ashes, and entering into it, they lighted a fire with fuel,
and all remained there, muttering a charm to protect themselves.

Then at night there came there dancing the Yakshiní Sringotpádiní,
[548] playing from afar on her lute of bones, and when she came near,
she fixed her eye on one of the four Pásupata ascetics, and recited
a charm, as she danced outside the circle. That charm produced horns
on him, [549] and bewildered he rose up, and danced till he fell
into the blazing fire. And when he had fallen, the Yakshiní dragged
him half-burnt out of the fire, and devoured him with delight. Then
she fixed her eye on the second Pásupata ascetic, and in the same
way recited the horn-producing charm and danced. The second one also
had horns produced by that charm, and was made to dance, and falling
into the fire, was dragged out and devoured before the eyes of the
others. In this way the Yakshiní maddened one after another at night
the four ascetics, and after horns had been produced on them, devoured
them. But while she was devouring the fourth, it came to pass that,
being intoxicated with flesh and blood, she laid her lute down on the
ground. Thereupon the bold Nischayadatta rose up quickly, and seized
the lute, and began to play on it, and dancing round with a laugh, to
recite that horn-producing charm, which he had learnt from hearing it
often, fixing at the same time his eye on the face of the Yakshiní. By
the operation of the charm she was confused, and dreading death, as
horns were just about to sprout on her forehead, she flung herself
prostrate, and thus entreated him; "Valiant man, do not slay me,
a helpless woman. I now implore your protection, stop the recital of
the charm, and the accompanying movements. Spare me! I know all your
story, and will bring about your wish; I will carry you to the place,
where Anurágapará is." The bold Nischayadatta, when thus confidingly
addressed by her, consented, and stopped the recital of the charm,
and the accompanying movements. Then, at the request of the Yakshiní,
he mounted on her back, and being carried by her through the air,
he went to find his beloved. [550]

And when the night came to an end, they had reached a mountain wood;
there the Guhyakí bowing thus addressed Nischayadatta; "Now that the
sun has risen, I have no power to go upwards, [551] so spend this
day in this charming wood, my lord; eat sweet fruits and drink the
clear water of the brooks. I go to my own place, and I will return
at the approach of night; and then I will take you to the city of
Pushkarávatí, the crown of the Himálayas, and into the presence of
Anurágapará." Having said this, the Yakshiní with his permission set
him down from her shoulder, and departed to return again according
to her promise.

When she had gone, Nischayadatta beheld a deep lake, transparent and
cool, but tainted with poison, lit up by the sun, that stretching
forth the fingers of its rays, revealed it as an example illustrative
of the nature of the heart of a passionate woman. He knew by the
smell that it was tainted with poison, and left it, after necessary
ablutions, and being afflicted with thirst he roamed all over that
heavenly mountain in search of water. And as he was wandering about,
he saw on a lofty place what seemed to be two rubies glittering,
and he dug up the ground there.

And after he had removed the earth, he saw there the head of a living
monkey, and his eyes like two rubies. While he was indulging his
wonder, thinking what this could be, that monkey thus addressed him
with human voice; "I am a man, a Bráhman transformed into a monkey;
release me, and then I will tell you all my story, excellent sir." As
soon as he heard this, he removed the earth, marvelling, and drew the
ape out of the ground. When Nischayadatta had drawn out the ape, it
fell at his feet, and continued--"You have given me life by rescuing
me from calamity. So come, since you are weary, take fruit and water,
and by your favour I also will break my long fast. Having said this,
the liberated monkey took him to the bank of a mountain-torrent
some distance off, where there were delicious fruits, and shady
trees. There he bathed and took fruit and water, and coming back,
he said to the monkey who had broken his fast--"Tell me how you have
become a monkey, being really a man." Then that monkey said, "Listen,
I will tell you now."



Story of Somasvámin.

In the city of Váránasí there is an excellent Bráhman named
Chandrasvámin, I am his son by his virtuous wife, my friend. And my
father gave me the name of Somasvámin. In course of time it came to
pass that I mounted the fierce elephant of love, which infatuation
makes uncontrollable. When I was at this stage of my life, the youthful
Bandhudattá, the daughter of the merchant Srígarbha, an inhabitant of
that city, and the wife of the great merchant of Mathurá Varáhadatta,
who was dwelling in her father's house, beheld me one day, as she was
looking out of the window. She was enamoured of me on beholding me,
and after enquiring my name, she sent a confidential female friend
to me, desiring an interview. Her friend came up secretly to me
who was blind with love, and, after telling her friend's desire,
took me to her house. There she placed me, and then went and brought
secretly Bandhudattá, whose eagerness made her disregard shame. And
no sooner was she brought, than she threw her arms round my neck,
for excessive love in women is your only hero for daring. Thus every
day Bandhudattá came at will from her father's house, and sported
with me in the house of her female friend.

Now one day the great merchant, her husband, came from Mathurá to
take her back to his own house, as she had been long absent. Then
Bandhudattá, as her father ordered her to go, and her husband was eager
to take her away, secretly made a second request to her friend. She
said "I am certainly going to be taken by my husband to the city of
Mathurá, and I cannot live there separated from Somasvámin. So tell
me what resource there is left to me in this matter." When she said
this, her friend Sukhasayá, who was a witch, answered her, "I know two
spells; [552] by reciting one of them a man can be in a moment made
an ape, if a string is fastened round his neck, and by the second,
if the string is loosed, he will immediately become a man again;
and while he is an ape his intelligence is not diminished. So if you
like, fair one, you can keep your lover Somasvámin; for I will turn
him into an ape on the spot, then take him with you to Mathurá as a
pet animal. And I will shew you how to use the two spells, so that
you can turn him, when near you, into the shape of a monkey, and when
you are in a secret place, make him once more a beloved man." When
her friend had told her this, Bandhudattá consented, and sending
for me in secret, told me that matter in the most loving tone. I
consented, and immediately Sukhasayá fastened a thread on my neck
and recited the spell, and made me a young monkey. And in that shape
Bandhudattá brought and shewed me to her husband, and she said--"A
friend of mine gave me this animal to play with." And he was delighted
when he saw me in her arms as a plaything, and I, though a monkey,
retained my intelligence, and the power of articulate speech. And I
remained there, saying to myself with inward laughter--"Wonderful are
the actions of women." For whom does not love beguile? The next day
Bandhudattá, having been taught that spell by her friend, set out from
her father's house to go to Mathurá with her husband. And the husband
of Bandhudattá, wishing to please her, had me carried on the back of
one of his servants during the journey. So the servant and I and the
rest went along, and in two or three days reached a wood, that lay
in our way, which was perilous from abounding in monkeys. Then the
monkeys, beholding me, attacked me in troops on all sides, quickly
calling to one another with shrill cries. And the irrepressible apes
came and began to bite that merchant's servant, on whose back I was
sitting. He was terrified at that, and flung me off his back on to
the ground, and fled for fear, so the monkeys got hold of me then
and there. And Bandhudattá, out of love for me, and her husband and
his servants, attacked the apes with stones and sticks, but were not
able to get the better of them. Then those monkeys, as if enraged
with my evil actions, pulled off with their teeth and nails every
hair from every one of my limbs, as I lay there bewildered. At last,
by the virtue of the string on my neck, and by thinking on Siva, I
managed to recover my strength, and getting loose from them, I ran
away. And entering into the depths of the wood, I got out of their
sight, and gradually, roaming from forest to forest, I reached this
wood. And while I was wandering about here in the rainy season, blind
with the darkness of grief, saying to myself, "How is it that even in
this life adultery has produced for thee the fruit of transformation
into the shape of a monkey, and thou hast lost Bandhudattá?" Destiny,
not yet sated with tormenting me, inflicted on me another woe, for a
female elephant suddenly came upon me, and seizing me with her trunk
flung me into the mud of an ant-hill that had been saturated with
rain. I know it must have been some divinity instigated by Destiny,
for, though I exerted myself to the utmost, I could not get out of
that mud. And while it was drying up, [553] not only did I not die,
but knowledge was produced in me, while I thought continually upon
Siva. And all the while I never felt hunger nor thirst, my friend,
until to-day you drew me out of this trap of dry mud. And though I have
gained knowledge, I do not even now possess power sufficient to set
myself free from this monkey nature. But when some witch unties the
thread on my neck, reciting at the same time the appropriate spell,
then I shall once more become a man.

"This is my story, but tell me now, my friend, how you came to this
inaccessible wood, and why." When Nischayadatta was thus requested
by the Bráhman Somasvámin, he told him his story, how he came from
Ujjayiní on account of a Vidyádharí, and how he was conveyed at night
by a Yakshiní, whom he had subdued by his presence of mind. Then the
wise Somasvámin, who wore the form of a monkey, having heard that
wonderful story, went on to say; "You, like myself, have suffered
great woe for the sake of a female. But females, like prosperous
circumstances, are never faithful to any one in this world. Like the
evening, they display a short-lived glow of passion, their hearts
are crooked like the channels of rivers, like snakes they are not to
be relied on, like lightning they are fickle. So, that Anurágapará,
though she may be enamoured of you for a time, when she finds a
paramour of her own race, will be disgusted with you, who are only
a mortal. So desist now from this effort for the sake of a female,
which you will find like the fruit of the Colocynth, bitter in its
after-taste. Do not go, my friend, to Pushkarávatí, the city of the
Vidyádharas, but ascend the back of the Yakshiní and return to your
own Ujjayiní. Do what I tell you, my friend; formerly in my passion I
did not heed the voice of a friend, and I am suffering for it at this
very moment. For when I was in love with Bandhudattá, a Bráhman named
Bhavasarman, who was a very dear friend of mine, said this to me in
order to dissuade me;--'Do not put yourself in the power of a female,
the heart of a female is a tangled maze; in proof of it I will tell
you what happened to me--listen!'"



Story of Bhavasarman.

In this very country, in the city of Váránasí, there lived a young and
beautiful Bráhman woman named Somadá, who was unchaste and secretly a
witch. And as destiny would have it, I had secret interviews with her,
and in the course of our intimacy my love for her increased. One day
I wilfully struck her in the fury of jealousy, and the cruel woman
bore it patiently, concealing her anger for the time. The next day
she fastened a string round my neck, as if in loving sport, and I was
immediately turned into a domesticated ox. Then I, thus transformed
into an ox, was sold by her, on receiving the required price, to a
man who lived by keeping domesticated camels. When he placed a load
upon me, a witch there, named Bandhamochaniká, beholding me sore
burdened, was filled with pity. [554] She knew by her supernatural
knowledge that I had been made an animal by Somadá, and when my
proprietor was not looking, she loosed the string from my neck. So I
returned to the form of a man, and that master of mine immediately
looked round, and thinking that I had escaped, wandered all about
the country in search of me. And as I was going away from that place
with Bandhamochiní, it happened that Somadá came that way and beheld
me at a distance. She, burning with rage, said to Bandhamochiní, who
possessed supernatural knowledge,--"Why did you deliver this villain
from his bestial transformation? Curses on you! wicked woman, you shall
reap the fruit of this evil deed. To-morrow morning I will slay you,
together with this villain." When she had gone after saying this,
that skilful sorceress Bandhamochiní, in order to repel her assault,
gave me the following instructions--"She will come to-morrow morning
in the form of a black mare to slay me, and I shall then assume the
form of a bay mare. And when we have begun to fight, you must come
behind this Somadá, sword in hand, and resolutely strike her. In this
way we will slay her; so come to-morrow morning to my house." After
saying this, she pointed out to me her house. When she had entered
it, I went home, having endured more than one birth in this very
life. And in the morning I went to the house of Bandhamochiní, sword
in hand. Then Somadá came there, in the form of a black mare. [555]
And Bandhamochiní, for her part, assumed the form of a bay mare; and
then they fought with their teeth and heels, biting and kicking. Then I
struck that vile witch Somadá a blow with my sword, and she was slain
by Bandhamochiní. Then I was freed from fear, and having escaped the
calamity of bestial transformation, I never again allowed my mind to
entertain the idea of associating with wicked women. Women generally
have these three faults, terrible to the three worlds, flightiness,
recklessness, and a love for the congregation of witches. [556] So why
do you run after Bandhudattá, who is a friend of witches? Since she
does not love her husband, how is it possible that she can love you?

"Though my friend Bhavasarman gave me this advice, I did not do what he
told me; and so I am reduced to this state. So I give you this counsel;
do not suffer hardship to win Anurágapará, for when she obtains a lover
of her own race, she will of a surety desert you. A woman ever desires
fresh men, as a female humble bee wanders from flower to flower; so
you will suffer regret some day, like me, my friend." This speech of
Somasvámin, who had been transformed into a monkey, did not penetrate
the heart of Nischayadatta, for it was full of passion. And he said
to that monkey; "She will not be unfaithful to me, for she is born of
the pure race of the Vidyádharas." Whilst they were thus conversing,
the sun, red with the hues of evening, went to the mountain of setting,
as if wishing to please Nischayadatta. Then the night arrived, as the
harbinger of the Yakshiní Sringotpádiní, and she herself came soon
afterwards. And Nischayadatta mounted on her back, and went off to
go to his beloved, taking leave of the ape, who begged that he might
ever be remembered by him. And at midnight he reached that city of
Pushkarávatí, which was situated on the Himálayas, and belonged to
the king of the Vidyádharas, the father of Anurágapará. At that very
moment Anurágapará, having known by her power of his arrival, came out
from that city to meet him. Then the Yakshiní put down Nischayadatta
from her shoulder, and pointing out to him Anurágapará, said--"Here
comes your beloved, like a second moon giving a feast to your eyes in
the night, so now I will depart," and bowing before him, she went her
way. Then Anurágapará, full of the excitement produced by expectation,
went up to her beloved, and welcomed him with embraces and other signs
of love. He too embraced her, and now that he had obtained the joy of
meeting her after enduring many hardships, he could not be contained
in his own body, and as it were entered hers. So Anurágapará was made
his wife by the Gándharva ceremony of marriage, and she immediately
by her magic skill created a city. In that city, which was outside
the metropolis, he dwelt with her, without her parents suspecting it,
as their eyes were blinded by her skill. And when, on her questioning
him, he told her those strange and painful adventures of his journey,
she respected him much, and bestowed on him all the enjoyments that
heart could wish.

Then Nischayadatta told that Vidyádharí the strange story of
Somasvámin, who had been transformed into a monkey, and said to her,
"If this friend of mine could by any endeavour on your part be freed
from his monkey condition, then my beloved, you would have done a good
deed." When he told her this, Anurágapará said to him--"This is in
the way of witches' spells, but it is not our province. Nevertheless
I will accomplish this desire of yours, by asking a friend of mine,
a skilful witch named Bhadrarúpá. When the merchant's son heard that,
he was delighted, and said to that beloved of his--"So come and see
my friend, let us go to visit him." She consented, and the next day,
carried in her lap, Nischayadatta went through the air to the wood,
which was the residence of his friend. When he saw his friend there
in monkey form, he went up to him with his wife, who bowed before
him, and asked after his welfare. And the monkey Somasvámin welcomed
him, saying--"It is well with me to-day, in that I have beheld you
united to Anurágapará," and he gave his blessing to Nischayadatta's
wife. Then all three sat down on a charming slab of rock there, and
held a conversation [557] about his story, the various adventures of
that ape, previously discussed by Nischayadatta with his beloved. Then
Nischayadatta took leave of that monkey, and went to the house of
his beloved, flying up into the air, carried by her in her arms.

And the next day he again said to that Anurágapará, "Come, let us go
for a moment to visit that ape our friend;" then she said to him--"Go
to-day yourself, receive from me the science of flying up, and also
that of descending." When she had said this to him, he took those two
sciences, and flew through the air to his friend the ape. And as he
remained long conversing with him, Anurágapará went out of the house
into the garden. While she was seated there, a certain Vidyádhara
youth, who was wandering at will through the air, came there. The
Vidyádhara, knowing by his art that she was a Vidyádharí who had
a mortal husband, the moment he beheld her, was overpowered with a
paroxysm of love, and approached her. And she, with face bent on the
ground, beheld that he was handsome and attractive, and slowly asked
him out of curiosity, who he was and whence he came. Then he answered
her, "Know, fair one, that I am a Vidyádhara, by name Rágabhanjana,
distinguished for my knowledge of the sciences of the Vidyádharas. The
moment I beheld you, O gazelle-eyed one, I was suddenly overpowered
by love, and made your slave, so cease to honour, O goddess, a mortal,
whose abode is the earth, and favour me, your equal, before your father
finds out your intrigue." When he said this, the fickle-hearted one,
looking timidly at him with a sidelong glance, thought--"Here is a fit
match for me." When he had thus ascertained her wishes, he made her
his wife: when two are of one mind, what more does secret love require?

Then Nischayadatta arrived from the presence of Somasvámin, after that
Vidyádhara had departed. And when he came, Anurágapará, having lost
her love for him, did not embrace him, giving as an excuse that she had
a headache. But the simple-minded man, bewildered by love, not seeing
through her excuse, thought that her pain was due to illness and spent
the day in that belief. But the next day, he again went in low spirits
to see his friend the ape, flying through the air by the force of the
two sciences he possessed. When he had gone, Anurágapará's Vidyádhara
lover returned to her, having spent a sleepless night without her. And
embracing round the neck her, who was eager for his arrival owing to
having been separated during the night, he was at length overcome
by sleep. She by the power of her science concealed her lover, who
lay asleep in her lap, and weary with having kept awake all night,
went to sleep herself. In the meanwhile Nischayadatta came to the
ape, and his friend, welcoming him, asked him--"Why do I seem to see
you in low spirits to-day? Tell me." Then Nischayadatta said to that
ape, "Anurágapará is exceedingly ill, my friend; for that reason I
am grieved, for she is dearer to me than life." Then that ape, who
possessed supernatural knowledge, said to him--"Go, take her in your
arms asleep as she is, and flying through the air by the help of the
science she bestowed, bring her to me, in order that I may this very
day shew you a great marvel." When Nischayadatta heard this, he went
through the air and lightly took up that sleeping fair, but he did not
see that Vidyádhara, who was asleep in her lap, and had been previously
made invisible by the power of her science. And flying up into the air,
he quickly brought Anurágapará to that ape. That ape, who possessed
divine insight, immediately shewed him a charm, by which he was able
to behold the Vidyádhara clinging to her neck. When he saw this, he
exclaimed--"Alas! what does this mean?" And the ape, who was able to
discern the truth, told him the whole story. Then Nischayadatta fell
into a passion, and the Vidyádhara, who was the lover of his wife,
woke up, and flying up into the air, disappeared. Then Anurágapará
woke up, and seeing that her secret was revealed, stood with face cast
down through shame. Then Nischayadatta said to her with eyes gushing
with tears--"Wicked female, how could you thus deceive me who reposed
confidence in you? Although a device is known in this world for fixing
that exceedingly fickle metal quicksilver, no expedient is known for
fixing the heart of a woman." While he was saying this, Anurágapará,
at a loss for an answer, and weeping, slowly soared up into the air,
and went to her own home.

Then Nischayadatta's friend, the ape, said to him--"That you are
grieved is the fruit of the fierce fire of passion, in that you ran
after this fair one, though I tried to dissuade you. For what reliance
can be placed on fickle fortunes and fickle women? So cease your
regret. Be patient now. For even the Disposer himself cannot o'erstep
destiny." When Nischayadatta heard this speech from the ape, he flung
aside that delusion of grief, and abandoning passion, fled to Siva as
his refuge. Then, as he was remaining in that wood with his friend the
ape, it happened that a female hermit of the name of Mokshadá came near
him. She seeing him bowing before her, proceeded to ask him--"How comes
this strange thing to pass that, though a man, you have struck up a
friendship with this ape?" Then he related to her his own melancholy
story and afterwards the sad tale of his friend, and thereupon thus
said to her; "If you, reverend lady, know any incantation or spell
by which it can be done, immediately release this excellent Bráhman,
my friend, from his ape-transformation." When she heard that, she
consented, and employing a spell, she loosed the string from his
neck, and Somasvámin abandoned that monkey form and became a man as
before. Then she disappeared like lightning, clothed with celestial
brightness, and in time Nischayadatta and the Bráhman Somasvámin,
having performed many austerities, attained final beatitude.

"Thus fair ones, naturally fickle, bring about a series of evil actions
which produce true discernment, and aversion to the world. But here and
there you will find a virtuous one among them, who adorns a glorious
family, as the streak of the moon the broad sky."

When Naraváhanadatta, accompanied by Ratnaprabhá, heard this wonderful
tale from the mouth of Gomukha, he was highly pleased.






CHAPTER XXXVIII.


Then Marubhúti, perceiving that Naraváhanadatta was pleased with the
tale of Gomukha, in order to rival him, said, "Women are generally
fickle, but not always, for even hetæræ are seen to be rich in
good qualities, much more others; in proof of this, king, hear this
famous tale."



Story of king Vikramáditya and the hetæra.

There was in Pátaliputra a king named Vikramáditya; he had two
cherished friends the king Hayapati, [558] and the king Gajapati, [559]
who had large armies of horse and elephants. And that proud sovereign
had a mighty enemy named Narasinha [560] the lord of Pratishthána, a
king who had a large force of infantry. Being angry with that enemy,
and puffed up on account of the power of his allies, Vikramáditya
rashly made this vow--"I will so completely conquer that king, the lord
of men, that the heralds and bards shall proclaim him at the door as my
slave." Having made this vow, he summoned those allies, Hayapati and
Gajapati, and accompanied with a large force, shaking the earth with
elephants and horses, marched with them to make a fierce attack on the
lord of men, Narasinha. When he arrived near Pratishthána, Narasinha,
the lord of men, put on his armour and went out to meet him. Then
there took place between the two kings a battle that excited wonder,
in which footmen fought with elephants and horses. And at last the
army of Vikramáditya was routed by the forces of Narasinha, the lord
of men, which contained many crores of footmen. And Vikramáditya,
being routed, fled to his city Pátaliputra, and his two allies fled
to their own countries. And Narasinha, the lord of men, entered his
own city Pratishthána, accompanied by heralds who praised his might.

Then Vikramáditya, not having gained his end, thought--"Well! as
that enemy is not to be conquered by arms, I will conquer him by
policy; let some blame me if they like, but let not my oath be made
void." Thus reflecting, he entrusted his kingdom to suitable ministers,
and secretly went out of the city with one chief minister, named
Buddhivara, and with five hundred well-born and brave Rájpúts and in
the disguise of a candidate for service, [561] went to Pratishthána,
the city of his enemy. There he entered the splendid mansion of a
beautiful hetæra named Madanamálá, that resembled the palace of a
king. It seemed to invite him with the silk of its banners, hoisted
on the pinnacles of high ramparts, the points of which waved to and
fro in the soft breeze. It was guarded at the principal entrance, the
east door, day and night, by twenty thousand footmen, equipped with all
kinds of weapons. At each of the other three doors, looking towards
the other cardinal points, it was defended by ten thousand warriors
ever on the qui vive. In such guise the king entered, proclaimed by
the warders, the enclosure of the palace, which was divided into seven
zones. In one zone it was adorned with many long lines of horses. In
another the path was impeded by dense troops of elephants. In another
it was surrounded with an imposing array of dense weapons. In another
it was resplendent with many treasure-houses, that gleamed with the
flash of jewels. In another a circle was always formed by a dense
crowd of attendants. In another it was full of the noise of many
bards reciting aloud, and in another resounding with the sound of
drums beaten in concert. Beholding all these sights the king at last
reached, with his retinue, the splendid edifice in which Madanamálá
dwelt. She having heard with great interest from her attendants that,
as he passed through the zones, the horses and other creatures were
cured of their wounds, [562] thought that he must be some great one
in disguise, and so she went to meet him, and bowed before him with
love and curiosity, and bringing him in, seated him on a throne fit
for a king. The king's heart was ravished by her beauty, gracefulness
and courtesy, and he saluted her without revealing who he was. Then
Madanamálá honoured that king with costly baths, flowers, perfumes,
garments and ornaments. And she gave daily subsistence to those
followers of his, and feasted him and his minister with all kinds
of viands. And she spent the day with him in drinking, and other
diversions, and surrendered herself to him, having fallen in love
with him at first sight. Vikramáditya, being thus entertained by her,
day by day, continued, though in disguise, to live in a style suited
to an emperor. And whatever and howmuchsoever wealth he was in the
habit of giving to suppliants, Madanamálá gladly furnished him with
from her own store. And she thought her body and wealth well employed,
while enjoyed by him, and she remained averse to gain and to other
men. For out of love to him she even kept off by stratagems Narasinha,
the king of that land, who came there being enamoured of her.

While the king was being waited on in this fashion by Madanamálá, he
one day said in secret to his minister Buddhivara, who accompanied him,
"A hetæra desires wealth, and not even if she feels love, does she
become attached without it, for when Providence framed suitors, he
bestowed greed on these women. But this Madanamálá, though her wealth
is being consumed by me, through her great love is not estranged
from me, on the contrary she delights in me. So how can I now make
her a recompense, in order that my vow may in course of time be fully
accomplished?" When the minister Buddhivara heard this, he said to the
king; "If this be so, give her some of those priceless jewels which
the mendicant Prapanchabuddhi gave you." When the king heard that, he
answered him, "If I were to give them all to her, I should not have
made her a recompense worth speaking of; but I can free myself from
obligation in another way, which is connected also with the story of
that mendicant." When the minister heard this, he said--"King, why
did that mendicant court you? Tell me his story." When his minister
Buddhivara proffered this request, the king said, "Listen: I will
tell you his story."



Story of king Vikramáditya and the treacherous mendicant.

Long ago a mendicant named Prapanchabuddhi used to enter my hall of
audience in Pátaliputra every day and give me a box. For a whole year
I gave these boxes, just as they were, unopened into the hand of my
treasurer. One day, one of those boxes presented by the mendicant
by chance fell from my hand on to the ground, and burst open. And a
great jewel fell out of it, glittering like fire, and it appeared as
if it were the mendicant's heart which I had not discerned before,
revealed by him. When I saw that, I took it, and I had those other
boxes brought which he had presented to me, and opened them, and
took a jewel out of every one of them. Then in astonishment I asked
Prapanchabuddhi--"Why do you court me with such splendid jewels?" Then
that mendicant took me aside, and said to me--"On the fourteenth day
of the black fortnight now approaching I have to perform a certain
incantation at night-fall, in a cemetery outside this town. I desire
you, my hero, to come and take part in that enterprise, for success is
easily obtained, when the obstacles to it are swept away by the aid
of a hero." When the mendicant said this to me, I agreed. So he went
off delighted, and in a few days the fourteenth night of the black
fortnight came, and I remembered the speech of that ascetic. [563]
Then I performed my daily observances, and waited for the night, and
after I had recited the evening prayer, it happened that I rapidly fell
asleep. Then the adorable Hari, who is compassionate to his votaries,
appeared to me in a dream, mounted on Garuda, with his breast marked
with a lotus, and thus commanded me--"My son, this Prapanchabuddhi
[564] is rightly named, for he will inveigle you into the cemetery to
take part in the incantation of the circle, [565] and will offer you
up as a victim. So do not do what he tells you to do with the object
of slaying you, but say to him--'You do it first, and when I have
learned the way, I will do it.' Then, as he is shewing you the way,
take advantage of the opportunity, and slay him immediately, and
you will acquire the power that he desires to obtain." When Vishnu
had said this, he disappeared, and I woke up and thought--"By the
favour of Hari I have detected that magician, and this day I must
slay him." Having thus reflected, when the first watch of the night
was gone, I went, sword in hand, alone to that cemetery. There I
beheld that mendicant, who had performed the ceremony of the circle
incantation, and when the treacherous fellow saw me, he welcomed me,
and said, "King, close your eyes, and fall at full length on the ground
with your face downwards, and in this way both of us will attain our
ends." Then I answered him--"Do it yourself first. Shew me how to do
it, and, after I have learned, I will do precisely as you do." When
the mendicant heard that, like a fool, he fell on the earth, and I
cut off his head with a stroke of my sword. [566] Then a voice was
heard from the air--"Bravo, king! By offering up to-day this rascally
mendicant thou hast obtained the power of going through the air, which
he wished to obtain. I, the god of wealth, that move about at will,
am pleased with thy courage. So, ask me for another boon, whatever
thou mayest desire." After saying this, he manifested himself, and I,
bowing before him, said,--"When I shall supplicate thee, adorable one,
thou shalt appear on my thinking of thee, and grant me a suitable
boon." The god of wealth said--"So be it"--and disappeared. And having
obtained magic power, I went back quickly to my own palace. Thus I
have told you my adventure, so by means of that boon of Kuvera I must
now recompense Madanamálá. And you must now go back to Pátaliputra,
taking with you my disguised Rájpút retinue, and I, as soon as I have
in a novel way recompensed my beloved, will immediately go there,
with the intention of returning here." Having said this, and having
performed his daily duties, the king dismissed his minister with his
retinue. He said, "So be it" and departed, and the king spent that
night with Madanamálá, anxious about his approaching separation. She
too, embracing him frequently, because her heart seemed to tell her
that he was going to a distance, did not sleep all that night.

In the morning the king, having performed all his necessary duties,
entered a chapel for the daily worship of the gods, on the pretence
of repeating prayers. And there the god of wealth appeared before
him on his thinking of him, and bowing before him the king craved
that boon formerly promised, in the following words--"O god, give me
here to-day in accordance with that boon, which you promised me, five
great indestructible golden figures of men, such that, though their
limbs may be continually cut off for any desired use, those very limbs
will grow again, exactly as before." The god of wealth said, "Even so;
be there unto thee five such figures as thou desirest!" Having said
this, he immediately disappeared. And the king immediately beheld
those five great golden figures of men suddenly standing in the
chapel; then he went out delighted, and not forgetting his promise,
he flew up into the air and went to his city of Pátaliputra. There
he was welcomed by his ministers, and the citizens and his wives,
and he remained engaged in his kingly duties, while his heart was far
away in Pratishthána. In the meanwhile, in Pratishthána, that beloved
of his entered that chapel to see her love, who had entered it long
before. And when she entered, she did not perceive that beloved king
anywhere, but she beheld five gigantic golden figures of men. When she
saw them, and did not find him, she reflected in her grief--"Surely
that love of mine was some Vidyádhara or Gandharva, who bestowed upon
me these men and flew away up to heaven.

"So what am I to do with these figures, which are all a mere
burden, now that I am deprived of him?" Thus reflecting she asked
her servants over and over again for news of him, and went out and
roamed all about her domain. And she found no satisfaction anywhere,
either in the palaces, the gardens, the chambers or other places,
but she kept lamenting, grieved at being separated from her lover,
ready to abandon the body.

Her attendants tried to comfort her, saying, "Do not despair, mistress,
for he is some god roaming about at will, and when he pleases, he will
return to you, fair one." With such hope-inspiring words did they at
length so far console her that she made this vow--"If in six months he
does not grant me to behold him, I will give away all my property and
enter the fire." With this promise she fortified herself, and remained
every day giving alms, thinking on that beloved of hers. And one day,
she cut off both the arms of one of those golden men, and gave them
to the Bráhmans, being intent on charity only. And the next day she
perceived with astonishment that both arms had grown again, exactly
as they were before. Then she proceeded to cut off the arms of the
others, to give them away, and the arms of all of them grew again
as they were before. Then she saw that they were indestructible,
and every day she cut off the arms of the figures and gave them to
studious Bráhmans, according to the number of the Vedas they had read.

And in a few days a Bráhman, named Sangrámadatta, having heard
the fame of her bounty, which was spread abroad in every direction,
came from Pátaliputra. He being poor, but acquainted with four Vedas,
and endowed with virtues, entered into her presence desiring a gift,
being announced by the door-keepers. She gave him as many arms of the
golden figures as he knew Vedas, after bowing before him with limbs
emaciated with her vow and pale with separation from her beloved. Then
the Bráhman, having heard from her sorrow-stricken attendants the
whole of her story, ending in that very terrible vow, was delighted,
but at the same time despondent, and loading two camels with those
golden arms went to his native city, Pátaliputra. Then that Bráhman,
thinking that his gold would not be safe there, unless guarded by
the king, entered the king's presence and said to him, while he was
sitting in the hall of judgment; "Here I am, O great king, a Bráhman
who am an inhabitant of thy town. I, being poor, and desiring wealth,
went to the southern clime, and arrived at a city named Pratishthána,
belonging to king Narasinha. There, being desirous of a donation, I
went to the house of Madanamálá, a hetæra of distinguished fame. For
with her there lived long some divine being, who departed somewhere
or other, after giving her five indestructible figures of men. Then
the high-spirited woman became afflicted at his departure, and
considering life to be poison-agony, and the body, that fruitless
accumulation of delusion, to be merely a punishment for thieving, lost
her patience, and being with difficulty consoled by her attendants
made this vow--"If in the space of six months he does not visit me,
I must enter the fire, my soul being smitten by adversity." Having
made this vow she, being resolved on death, and desiring to perform
good actions, gives away every day very large gifts. And I beheld her,
king, with tottering feet, conspicuous for the beauty of her person,
though it was thin from fasting; with hand moistened with the water of
giving, surrounded with maids like clustering bees, sorely afflicted,
looking like the incarnation of the mast condition of the elephant
of love. [567] And I think that lover who deserts her, and causes by
his absence that fair one to abandon the body, deserves blame, indeed
deserves death. She to-day gave to me, who know the four Vedas, four
golden arms of human figures, according to right usage, proportioning
her gift to the number of my Vedas. So I wish to purify my house with
sacrifice, and to follow a life of religion here; therefore let the
king grant me protection."

The king Vikramáditya, hearing these tidings of his beloved from the
mouth of the Bráhman, had his mind suddenly turned towards her. And
he commanded his door-keeper to do what the Bráhman wished, and
thinking how constant was the affection of his mistress, who valued
her life as stubble, and in his impatience supposing that she would
be able to assist him in accomplishing his vow, and remembering that
the time fixed for her abandoning the body had almost arrived, he
quickly committed his kingdom to the care of his ministers, and flying
through the air reached Pratishthána, and entered the house of his
beloved. There he beheld his beloved, with raiment pellucid like the
moonlight, having given her wealth away to Pandits, [568] attenuated
like a digit of the moon at the time of its change. Madanamálá, for
her part, on beholding him arrived unexpectedly, the quintessence
of nectar to her eyes, was for a moment like one amazed. Then she
embraced him, and threw round his neck the noose of her arms, as
if fearing that he would escape again. And she said to him with a
voice, the accents of which were choked with tears, "Cruel one, why
did you depart and forsake my innocent self?" The king said, "Come,
I will tell you in private," and went inside with her, welcomed by
her attendants. There he revealed to her who he was, and described
his circumstances, how he came there to conquer king Narasinha by
an artifice, and how, after slaying Prapanchabuddhi, he acquired the
power of flying in the air, and how he was enabled to reward her by
a boon that he obtained from the lord of wealth, and how, hearing
tidings of her from a Bráhman, he had returned there. Having told the
whole story beginning with the subject of his vow, he again said to
her--"So my beloved, that king Narasinha, being very mighty, is not
to be conquered by armies, and he contended with me in single combat,
but I did not slay him, for I possess the power of flying in the air,
and he can only go on the earth, for who, that is a true Kshatriya,
would desire to conquer in an unfair combat? The object of my vow is,
that that king may be announced by the heralds as waiting at the door;
do you assist me in that?"

When the hetæra heard this, she said, "I am honoured by your
request," and summoning her heralds she said to them--"When the king
Narasinha shall come to my house, you must stand near the door with
attentive eyes, and while he is entering, you must say again and
again--"King, prince Narasinha is loyal and devoted to thee." And
when he looks up and asks--"Who is here?"--you must immediately say
to him--"Vikramáditya is here." After giving them these orders, she
dismissed them, and then she said to the female warder--"You must
not prevent king Narasinha from entering here." After issuing these
orders, Madanamálá remained in a state of supreme felicity, having
regained the lord of her life, and gave away her wealth fearlessly.

Then king Narasinha, having heard of that profuse liberality of hers,
which was due to her possession of the golden figures, though he
had given her up, came to visit her house. And while he entered, not
being forbidden by the warder, all the heralds shouted in a loud voice,
beginning at the outer door, "King, prince Narasinha is submissive and
devoted." When that sovereign heard that, he was angry and alarmed, and
when he asked who was there, and found out that king Vikramáditya was
there, he waited a moment and went through the following reflections;
"So this king has forced his way into my kingdom, and carried out the
vow he made long ago, that I should be announced at his door. In truth
this king is a man of might, since he has thus beaten me to-day. And
I must not slay him by force, since he has come alone to a house in
my dominions. So I had better enter now." Having thus reflected, king
Narasinha entered, announced by all the heralds. And king Vikramáditya,
on beholding him enter with a smile on his face, rose up also with
smiling countenance and embraced him. Then those two kings sat down
and enquired after one another's welfare, while Madanamálá stood by
their side.

And in the course of conversation Narasinha asked Vikramáditya where he
had obtained those golden figures. Then Vikramáditya told him the whole
of that strange adventure of his, how he had slain the base ascetic,
and acquired the power of flying through the air, and how, by virtue
of the boon of the god of wealth, he had obtained five indestructible
gigantic golden figures. Then king Narasinha chose that king for his
friend, discovering that he was of great might, that he possessed the
power of flying, and that he had a good heart. And having made him
his friend, he welcomed him with the prescribed rites of hospitality,
and taking him to his own palace, he entertained him with all the
attentions paid to himself. And king Vikramáditya, after having been
thus honoured, was dismissed by him, and returned to the house of
Madanamálá. Then Vikramáditya, having accomplished his difficult vow
by his courage and intelligence, determined to go to his own city. And
Madanamálá, being unable to remain separated from him, was eager to
accompany him, and with the intention of abandoning her native land,
she bestowed her dwelling upon the Bráhmans. Then Vikramáditya,
the moon of kings, went with her, whose mind was exclusively fixed
on him, to his own city of Pátaliputra, followed by her elephants,
horses, and footmen. There he remained in happiness, (accompanied by
Madanamálá, who had abandoned her own country for his love,) having
formed an alliance with king Narasinha.

"Thus, king, even hetæræ are occasionally of noble character and
as faithful to kings as their own wives, much more then matrons of
high birth." On hearing this noble tale from the mouth of Marubhúti,
the king Naraváhanadatta, and his new wife Ratnaprabhá sprung from
the glorious race of the Vidyádharas, were much delighted.






CHAPTER XXXIX.


When Marubhúti had told this story there, the commander-in-chief
Harisikha said in the presence of Naraváhanadatta--"It is true, good
women value nothing more than their husbands, and in proof of it,
listen now to this still more wonderful tale."



Story of Sringabhuja and the daughter of the Rákshasa.

There is a city on the earth named Vardhamána, and in it there dwelt
a king named Vírabhuja, chief of righteous men. And though he had a
hundred wives, one queen of the name of Gunavará was dearer to him than
his life. And in spite of his hundred wives, it happened, as Fate would
have it, that not one of them bore him a son. So he asked a physician
named Srutavardhana--"Is there any medicine able to bring about
the birth of a son?" When the physician heard that, he said--"King,
I can prepare such a medicine, [569] but the king must procure for
me a wild goat." When he heard this speech of the physician's, the
king gave an order to the warder, and had a goat brought for him from
the forest. The physician handed over the goat to the king's cooks,
and with its flesh prepared a sovereign elixir for the queens. The
king went off to worship his god, after ordering the queens to
assemble in one place. And ninety-nine of those queens did assemble
in one place, but the queen Gunavará alone was not present there,
for she was at that time near the king, who was engaged in praying
to his god. And when they had assembled, the physician gave them the
whole of the elixir to drink mixed with powder, not perceiving the
absence of Gunavará. Immediately the king returned with his beloved,
having performed his devotions, and perceiving that that drug was
completely finished, he said to the physician--"What! did you not keep
any for Gunavará? You have forgotten the principal object with which
this was undertaken." After saying this to the abashed physician,
the king said to the cooks--"Is there any of the flesh of that goat
left?" The cooks said, "The horns only remain." Then the physician
said, "Bravo! I can make an admirable elixir out of the centre of the
horns." After saying this, the physician had an elixir prepared from
the fleshy part of the horns, and gave it to queen Gunavará mixed with
powder. Then the ninety-nine wives of the king became pregnant, and
all in time brought forth sons. But the head queen Gunavará conceived
last of all, and afterwards gave birth to a son with more auspicious
marks than the sons of all the others. And as he was sprung from the
juice of the fleshy part of the horns, his father, the king, gave him
the name of Sringabhuja, and rejoiced greatly at his birth. He grew up
with those other brothers, and though in age he was the youngest of
all, he was superior to all in good qualities. And in course of time
that prince became like the god of Love in beauty, and like Arjuna
in his skill in archery, and like Bhíma in strength. Accordingly the
other queens, seeing that queen Gunavará, now that she had this son,
was more than ever dear to king Vírabhuja, became jealous of her.

Then an evil-minded queen among them, named Ayasolekhá, deliberated
with all the others and entered into a conspiracy; and when the
king came home one day, she exhibited an assumed sadness in her
face. The king asked her the reason, and she said with apparent
reluctance--"My husband, why do you endure patiently the disgrace
of your house? you avert disgrace from others, why do you not avert
it from yourself? You know the young superintendent of the women's
apartments named Surakshita; your queen Gunavará is secretly devoted
to him. Since no man but he can penetrate into the women's apartments,
which are strictly watched by guards, she associates with him. And this
is a well-known subject of gossip in the whole harem." When she said
this to the king, he pondered and reflected; and went and asked the
other queens one after another in private, and they were faithful to
their treacherous plot, and told him the same story. Then that wise
king conquered his anger, and reflected--"This accusation against
these two is improbable, and yet such is the gossip. So I must not
without reflecting reveal the matter to any one; but they must by an
artifice be separated now, to enable me to see the termination of
the whole matter." Having determined on this, next day he summoned
Surakshita, the superintendent of the womens' apartments, into his
judgment-hall, and with assumed anger, said to him--"I have learned,
villain, that you have slain a Bráhman, so I cannot endure to see
your face until you have made a pilgrimage to holy places." When he
heard that, he was amazed and began to murmur--"How can I have slain a
Bráhman, my sovereign?" But the king went on to say; "Do not attempt
to brazen it out, but go to Kásmír to wash away your sin, (where are
those holy fields, Vijayakshetra, and Nandikshetra the purifying,
and the kshetra [570] of the Boar), the land which was hallowed by
Vishnu the bow-handed god, where the stream of the Ganges bears the
name of Vitastá, where is the famous Mandapakshetra, and where is
Uttaramánasa; when your sin has been washed away by a pilgrimage to
these holy places, you shall behold my face again, but not till then."

With this speech the king Vírabhuja dismissed the helpless Surakshita,
sending him to a distance on the pretence of a pilgrimage to holy
places. Then the king went into the presence of that queen Gunavará,
full of love and anger and sober reflection. Then she, seeing that
his mind was troubled, asked him anxiously, "My husband, why are
you seized to-day with a sudden fit of despondency?" When the king
heard that, he gave her this feigned answer--"To-day, queen, a great
astrologer came to me and said--'King, you must place the queen
Gunavará for some time in a dungeon, and you must yourself live a
life of chastity, otherwise your kingdom will certainly be overthrown,
and she will surely die.' Having said this, the astrologer departed;
hence my present despondency." When the king said this, the queen
Gunavará, who was devoted to her husband, distracted with fear
and love, said to him--"Why do you not cast me this very day into
a dungeon, my husband? I am highly favoured, if I can benefit you
even at the sacrifice of my life. Let me die, but let not my lord
have misfortune. For a husband is the chief refuge of wives in this
world and in the next." Having heard this speech of hers, the king
said to himself with tears in his eyes; "I think there is no guilt
in her, nor in that Surakshita, for I saw that the colour of his
face did not change, and he seemed without fear. Alas! nevertheless
I must ascertain the truth of that rumour." After reflecting thus,
the king in his grief said to the queen--"Then it is best that a
dungeon should be made here, queen!" She replied--"Very good"--so the
king had a dungeon easy of access made in the women's apartments,
and placed the queen in it. And he comforted her son Sringabhuja,
(who was in despair and asked the reason,) by telling him exactly what
he told the queen. And she, for her part, thought the dungeon heaven,
because it was all for the king's good. For good women have no pleasure
of their own; to them their husbands' pleasure is pleasure. [571]

When this had been done, that other wife of the king's, named
Ayasolekhá, said of her own accord to her son, who was named
Nirvásabhuja,--"So, our enemy Gunavará has been thrown into a dungeon,
and it would be a good thing if her son were banished from this
country. So, my boy, devise a scheme with the help of your other
brothers by which Sringabhuja may be quickly banished from the
country." Having been addressed in this language by his mother,
the jealous Nirvásabhuja told his other brothers, and continued to
ponder over a scheme.

And one day, as the king's sons were practising with their weapons
of war, they all saw an enormous crane in front of the palace. And
while they were looking with astonishment at that misshapen bird,
a Buddhist mendicant, who possessed supernatural knowledge, came
that way and said to them--"Princes, this is not a crane, it is
a Rákshasa named Agnisikha, who wanders about in an assumed shape
destroying towns. So pierce him with an arrow, that being smitten he
may depart hence." When they heard this speech of the mendicant's,
the ninety-nine elder brothers shot their arrows, but not one struck
the crane. Then that naked mendicant again said to them--"This younger
brother of yours, named Sringabhuja, is able to strike this crane,
so let him take a bow suitable for the purpose." When Nirvásabhuja
heard that, the treacherous one remembered the injunction of his
mother, an opportunity for carrying out which had now arrived, and
reflected--"This will be a means of getting Sringabhuja out of the
country. [572] So let us give him the bow and arrow belonging to
our father. If the crane is pierced and goes off with our father's
golden arrow sticking in it, Sringabhuja will follow it, while we
are searching for the arrow. And when he does not find, in spite of
his search, that Rákshasa transformed into a crane, he will continue
to roam about hither and thither, he will not come back without the
arrow." Thus reflecting, the treacherous one gave to Sringabhuja
his father's bow with the arrow, in order that he might smite the
crane. The mighty prince took it and drew it, and pierced that crane
with the golden arrow, the notch of which was made of a jewel. The
crane, as soon as it was pierced, went off with the arrow sticking in
its body, and flying away departed with drops of blood falling from
the wound. Then the treacherous Nirvásabhuja and the other brothers,
instigated by his hints, said to the brave Sringabhuja--"Give us
back the golden arrow that belongs to our father, otherwise we will
abandon our bodies before your eyes. For unless we produce it, our
father will banish us from this country, and its fellow is not to be
made or obtained." When Sringabhuja heard that, he said to those crafty
ones--"Be of good cheer! Do not be afraid--Abandon your terror! I will
go and slay that miserable Rákshasa and bring back the arrow." Having
said this, Sringabhuja took his own bow and arrows, and went in the
same direction in which the Rákshasa had gone, quickly following up
the track of the drops of blood, that had fallen on the ground. The
other sons returned delighted to their mothers, and Sringabhuja, as he
went on step by step, at last reached a distant forest. Seeking about
in it, he found in the wood a great city, like the fruit of his own
tree of merit fallen to him in due time for enjoyment. There he sat
down at the root of a tree to rest, and as if in a moment beheld a
maiden of wonderful beauty coming there, appearing to have been made
by the Creator in some strange way of ambrosia and poison; since by
her absence she deprived of life, and by her presence she bestowed
it. And when the maiden slowly approached him, and looked at him
with an eye raining love, the prince fell in love with her and said
to her--"Gazelle-eyed one, what is the name of this city, and to whom
does it belong? Who are you, and why have you come here? tell me." Then
the pearly-toothed maid turned her face sideways, and fixed her eye
on the ground, and spake to him with sweet and loving voice--"This
city is Dhúmapura, the home of all felicity; in it lives a mighty
Rákshasa by name Agnisikha; know that I am his matchless daughter,
Rúpasikhá by name, who have come here with mind captivated by your
unparalleled beauty. Now you must tell me who you are, and why you
have come here." When she said this, he told her who he was, and
of what king he was the son, and how he had come to Dhúmapura for
the sake of an arrow. Then Rúpasikhá, having heard the whole story,
said--"There is no archer like you in the three worlds, since you
pierced even my father with a great arrow, when he was in the form
of a crane. And I took that golden arrow for my own, by way of a
plaything. But my father's wound was at once healed by the minister
Mahádanshtra, who excels all men in knowledge of potent drugs for
curing wounds. So I will go to my father, and after I have explained
the whole matter, I will quickly introduce you into his presence,
my husband; so I call you, for my heart is now fully set upon you."

Having said this, Rúpasikhá left Sringabhuja there, and immediately
went into the presence of her father Agnisikha, and said--"Father,
there has come here a wonderful prince named Sringabhuja, matchless
for gifts of beauty, birth, character and age. I feel certain that
he is not a man, he is some portion of a god incarnate here below,
so, if he does not become my husband, I will certainly abandon my
life." When she said this to him, her father the Rákshasa said to
her--"My daughter, men are our appropriate food, nevertheless, if
your heart is set upon it, let it be so; bring your prince here, and
shew him to me." When Rúpasikhá heard that, she went to Sringabhuja,
and after telling him what she had done, she took him into the presence
of her father. He prostrated himself, and Agnisikha, the father of the
maiden, after saluting him courteously, said to him--"Prince, I will
give you my daughter Rúpasikhá, if you never disobey my orders." When
he said this, Sringabhuja, bending low, answered him--"Good! I will
never disobey your orders." When Sringabhuja said this to him,
Agnisikha was pleased and answered--"Rise up! Go and bathe, and
return here from the bath-room." After saying this to him, he said
to his daughter--"Go and bring all your sisters here quickly." When
Agnisikha had given these orders to Sringabhuja and Rúpasikhá, they
both of them went out, after promising to obey them.

Then the wise Rúpasikhá said to Sringabhuja--"My husband, I have a
hundred sisters, who are princesses, and we are all exactly alike,
with similar ornaments and dresses, and all of us have similar
necklaces upon our necks. So our father will assemble us in one
place, and in order to bewilder you, will say 'Choose your own love
out of the midst of these.' For I know that such is his treacherous
intention, otherwise why is he assembling all of us here. So when we
are assembled, I will put my necklace on my head instead of my neck,
by that sign you will recognise me; then throw over my neck the garland
of forest flowers. And this father of mine is somewhat silly, he has
not a discerning intellect; besides what is the use against me of
those powers which he possesses by being a Rákshasa? So, whatever he
says to entrap you, you must agree to, and must tell it to me, and I
shall know well enough what further steps to take." Having said this,
Rúpasikhá went to her sisters, and Sringabhuja, having agreed to do
what she said, went to bathe. Then Rúpasikhá came with her sisters into
the presence of her father, and Sringabhuja returned, after he had been
washed by a female servant. Then Agnisikha gave a garland of forest
flowers to Sringabhuja, saying, "Give this to that one of these ladies,
who is your own love." He took the garland and threw it round the neck
of Rúpasikhá, [573] who had previously placed the necklace on her head
by way of token. Then Agnisikha said to Rúpasikhá and Sringabhuja,--"I
will celebrate your marriage ceremony to-morrow morning."

Having said this, he dismissed those two lovers and his other
daughters to their apartments, and in a short time he summoned
Sringabhuja and said this to him; "Take this yoke of oxen, and go
outside this town, and sow in the earth the hundred khárís [574]
of sesame-seed which are piled there in a heap." When Sringabhuja
heard that, he was troubled, and he went and told it to Rúpasikhá,
and she answered him as follows--"My husband, you need not be in the
least despondent about this, go there at once; I will easily perform
this by my magic power." When he heard this, the prince went there,
and, seeing the sesame-seeds in a heap, despondently began to plough
the land and sow them, but while he was beginning, he saw the land
ploughed and all the seeds sown in due course by the might of his
lady-love's magic power, and he was much astonished.

So he went to Agnisikha, and told him that this task was accomplished;
then that treacherous Rákshasa again said to him--"I do not want
the seeds sown, go and pile them up again in a heap." When he heard
that, he again went and told Rúpasikhá. She sent him to that field,
and created innumerable ants, [575] and by her magic power made them
gather together the sesame-seeds. When Sringabhuja saw that, he went
and told Agnisikha that the seeds had been piled up again in a heap.

Then the cunning but stupid Agnisikha said to him--"Only two yojanas
from this place, in a southerly direction, there is an empty temple
of Siva in a wood. In it lives my dear brother Dhúmasikha--go there
at once, and say this in front of the temple, 'Dhúmasikha, I am
sent by Agnisikha as a messenger to invite you and your retinue:
come quickly, for to-morrow the ceremony of Rúpasikhá's marriage is
to take place.' Having said this, come back here to-day with speed,
and to-morrow marry my daughter Rúpasikhá." When Sringabhuja was thus
addressed by the rascal, he said--"So be it"--and went and recounted
the whole to Rúpasikhá. The good girl gave him some earth, some
water, some thorns, and some fire, and her own fleet horse, and said
to him--"Mount this horse and go to that temple, and quickly repeat
that invitation to Dhúmasikha as it was told to you, and then you must
at once return on this horse at full gallop, and you must often turn
your head and look round; and if you see Dhúmasikha coming after you,
you must throw this earth behind you in his way; if in spite of that,
Dhúmasikha pursues you, you must in the same manner fling the water
behind you in his path; if in spite of that he comes on, you must in
like manner throw these thorns in his way. If in spite of them he
pursues, throw this fire in his way; and if you do this, you will
return here without the Daitya; so do not hesitate--go, you shall
to-day behold the power of my magic."--When she said this to him,
Sringabhuja took the earth and the other things and said, "I will
do so," and mounting her horse went to the temple in the wood. There
he saw an image of Siva, with one of Párvatí on his left and one of
Ganesa on his right, and, after bowing before the Lord of the Universe,
[576] he quickly addressed to Dhúmasikha the form of invitation told
him by Agnisikha, and fled from the place at full speed, urging on his
horse. And he soon turned his head and looked round, and he beheld
Dhúmasikha coming after him. And he quickly threw that earth behind
him in his way, and the earth, so flung, immediately produced a great
mountain. When he saw that the Rákshasa had, though with difficulty,
climbed over that mountain, and was coming on, the prince in the same
way threw the water behind him. That produced a great river in his
path with rolling waves: the Rákshasa with difficulty got across it
and was coming on, when Sringabhuja quickly strewed those thorns behind
him. They produced a dense thorny wood in Dhúmasikha's path. When the
Rákshasa emerged from it, the prince threw the fire behind him, which
set on fire the path with the herbs and the trees. When Dhúmasikha
saw that the fire was hard to cross, like Khándava, [577] he returned
home, tired and terrified. For on that occasion the Rákshasa was so
bewildered by the magic of Rúpasikhá that he went and returned on
his feet, he did not think of flying through the air.

Then Sringabhuja returned to Dhúmapura, free from fear, commending in
his heart that display of his love's magic power. He gave up the horse
to the delighted Rúpasikhá, and related his adventure, and then went
in to the presence of Agnisikha. He said, "I went and invited your
brother Dhúmasikha." When he said this, Agnisikha being perplexed,
said to him--"If you really went there, mention some peculiarity of
the place." When the crafty Rákshasa said this to Sringabhuja, he
answered him--"Listen, I will tell you a token: in that temple there
is a figure of Párvatí on the left side of Siva, and of Ganesa on his
right." When Agnisikha heard that, he was astonished and thought for a
moment--"What! did he go there, and was my brother not able to devour
him? Then he cannot be a mere man, he must be a god, so let him marry
my daughter, as he is a fitting match for her." After thus reflecting,
he sent Sringabhuja as a successful suitor to Rúpasikhá, but he never
suspected that there was a traitor in his own family. So Sringabhuja
went, eager for his marriage, and after eating and drinking with
her, managed somehow to get through the night. And the next morning
Agnisikha gave to him Rúpasikhá with all the magnificence appropriate
to his magic power, according to due form, in the presence of the
fire. Little in common have Rákshasas' daughters and princes, and
strange the union of such! Wonderful indeed are the results of our
deeds in a previous state of existence! The prince, after he had
obtained that beloved daughter of the Rákshasa, seemed like a swan
who had got hold of a soft lotus, sprung from mud. And he remained
there with her, who was devoted to him alone, enjoying various dainty
delights provided by the magic power of the Rákshasa.

When some days had passed there, he said in secret to the
Rákshasa's daughter, "Come, my beloved, let us return to the city of
Vardhamána. For that is my capital city, and I cannot endure to be
banished from my capital city by my enemies, for people like myself
hold honour dear as life. So leave for my sake the land of your birth,
though it is hard to leave; inform your father, and bring that golden
arrow in your hand." When Sringabhuja said this to Rúpasikhá, she
answered--"I must immediately obey your command. I care not for the
land of my birth, nor for my relatives, you are all those to me. [578]
Good women have no other refuge than their husbands. But it will
never do to communicate our intention to my father, for he would not
let us go. So we must depart without that hot-tempered father of mine
knowing of it. And if he hears from the attendants and comes after us,
I will bewilder him by my knowledge, for he is senseless and like an
idiot." When he heard this speech of hers, he set out delighted on the
next day, with her who gave him the half of her kingdom, and filled
a casket with priceless jewels, and brought that golden arrow; and
they both mounted her splendid horse Saravega, [579] having deceived
the attendants by representing that they were going for a pleasure
excursion in the park, and journeyed towards Vardhamána.

When the couple had gone a long distance, the Rákshasa Agnisikha
found it out, and in wrath pursued after them through the air. And
hearing afar off the noise produced by the speed of his flight,
Rúpasikhá said to Sringabhuja on the road, "My husband, my father
has come to make us turn back, so remain here without fear: see how I
will deceive him. For he shall neither see you nor the horse, since I
shall conceal both by my deluding power." After saying this, she got
down from the horse and assumed by her deluding power the form of a
man. [580] And she said to a woodcutter, who had come to the forest
to cut wood--"A great Rákshasa is coming here, so remain quiet for a
moment." Then she continued to cut wood with his axe. And Sringabhuja
looked on with a smile on his face. In the meanwhile that foolish
Rákshasa arrived there, and lighted down from the air, on beholding
his daughter in the shape of a woodcutter, and asked her whether she
had seen a man and woman pass that way. [581] Then his daughter, who
had assumed the form of a man, said with great effort as if tired,
"We two have not seen any couple, as our eyes are fatigued with
toil, for we two woodcutters have been occupied here in cutting a
great quantity of wood to burn Agnisikha the king of the Rákshasas,
who is dead." When that silly Rákshasa heard that, he thought,
"What! am I dead? What then does that daughter matter to me? I will
go and ask my own attendants at home whether I am dead or not." [582]
Thus reflecting, Agnisikha went quickly home, and his daughter set
out with her husband as before, laughing as she went.

And soon the Rákshasa returned in high spirits, for he had asked his
attendants, who could not help laughing in their sleeves, whether he
was alive, and had learned that he was. Then Rúpasikhá, knowing from
the terrible noise that he was coming again, though as yet far off,
got down from the horse and concealed her husband as before by her
deluding power, and taking letters from the hand of a letter-carrier,
who was coming along the road, she again assumed the form of a man.

And so the Rákshasa arrived as before, and asked his daughter, who was
disguised as a man--"Did you see a man and a woman on the road?" Then
she, disguised as a man, answered him with a sigh,--"I beheld no such
person, for my mind was absorbed with my haste, for Agnisikha, who was
to-day mortally wounded in battle, and has only a little breath left
in his body, and is in his capital desiring to make over his kingdom,
has despatched me as a messenger to summon to his presence his brother
Dhúmasikha, who is living an independent life." When Agnisikha heard
that, he said, "What! am I mortally wounded by my enemies?" And
in his perplexity he returned again home to get information on
the point. But it never occurred to him to say to himself--"Who is
mortally wounded? Here I am safe and sound." Strange are the fools
that the Creator produces, and wonderfully obscured with the quality
of darkness! And when he arrived at home and found that the tale
was false, he would not expose himself again to the laughter of the
people, tired of being imposed upon, and forgetting his daughter. And
Rúpasikhá, after deluding him, returned to her husband as before,
for virtuous women know of no other good than the good of their
husbands. Then Sringabhuja, mounted on the wonderful horse, again
proceeded rapidly with his wife towards the city of Vardhamána. Then
his father Vírabhuja, having heard that he was returning in company
with her, went out much pleased to meet him. The king, when he saw
him adorned with that wife, like Krishna with Bhámá, considered that
he had gained afresh the bliss of sovereign sway. And when his son
got down from his horse, and clung to his feet with his beloved,
he raised him up and embraced him, and with his eye, in which stood
the water of joyful tears, performed in noble wise the auspicious
ceremony that put an end to his own despondency, and then conducted
him into his palace, making high festival. And when he asked his son
where he had been, Sringabhuja told him his whole history from the
beginning. And after summoning his brothers, Nirvásabhuja and all,
into his father's presence, he gave them the golden arrow. Then the
king Vírabhuja, after what he had heard and seen, was displeased with
those other sons, and considered Sringabhuja his only true son.

Then that wise king drew this true conclusion--"I suspect that, as
this son of mine out of spite was banished by these enemies, brothers
only in name, though he was all the while innocent, so his mother
Gunavará, whom I love so well, was falsely accused by their mothers,
and was all the while innocent. So what is the use of delay? I will
find out the truth of it immediately." [583] After these reflections,
the king spent that day in performing his duties, and went at night
to sift his other wife Ayasolekhá. She was delighted to see him,
and he made her drink a great quantity of wine, and she in her
sleep murmured out, while the king was awake--"If we had not falsely
slandered Gunavará, would the king ever have visited me here?" [584]
When the king heard this speech of the wicked queen uttered in her
sleep, he felt he had attained certainty, and rose up in wrath and
went out; and going to his own chamber, he had the eunuchs summoned,
and said to them; "Take that Gunavará out of the dungeon, and after
she has bathed bring her quickly; for the present moment was appointed
by the astrologer as the limit of her stay in the dungeon for the
purpose of averting the evil omens." When they heard that, they said,
"So be it," and they went and quickly brought the queen Gunavará into
the presence of the king, bathed and adorned. Then that wedded pair,
happy in having crossed the sea of separation, spent that night unsated
with mutual embraces. Then the king related to the queen with delight
that adventure of Sringabhuja's, and told his son the circumstances
of his mother's imprisonment and release. In the meanwhile Ayasolekhá,
waking up, found out that the king was gone, and guessing that he had
entrapped her with his conversation, fell into deep despondency. And
in the morning the king Vírabhuja conducted his son Sringabhuja, with
his wife Rúpasikhá, into the presence of Gunavará. He came, and was
delighted to behold his mother emerged from the dungeon, and with his
new wife he worshipped the feet of his parents. Gunavará, embracing
her son, who had returned from his journey, and her daughter-in-law,
obtained in the way above related, went from joy to joy. Then by the
order of his father, Sringabhuja related to her at length his own
adventure, and what Rúpasikhá did. Then queen Gunavará delighted,
said to him, "My son, what has not that Rúpasikhá done for you? For
she, a heroine of wonderful exploits, has given up and sacrificed for
you her life, her family, her native land, these three. She must be
some goddess, become incarnate for your sake by the appointment of
Destiny. For she has placed her foot on the head of all women that
are devoted to their husbands." When the queen had said this, the
king applauded her speech, and so did Rúpasikhá with head modestly
bent. Just at that moment the superintendent of the womens' apartments,
Surakshita, who had been long ago slandered by that Ayasolekhá,
returned from visiting all the holy bathing places. He was announced
by the door-keeper, and bowed delighted at the king's foot, and then
the king, who now knew the facts, honoured him exceedingly. And by
his mouth he summoned the other queens who were wicked, and said to
him--"Go! fling all these into the dungeon." When the queen Gunavará
heard that, and the terrified women were thrown into the dungeon,
she said out of compassion to the king, clinging to his feet, "King,
do not keep them for a long time in the dungeon! Have mercy, for I
cannot bear to see them terrified." By thus entreating the king she
prevented their imprisonment, for the only vengeance that the great
make use of against their enemies is compassion. Then those queens,
dismissed by the king, went ashamed to their houses, and would even
have preferred to have been in the embrace of death. And the king
thought highly of the great-hearted Gunavará, and considered, because
he possessed that wife, that he must have accomplished virtuous acts
in a former state of existence. Then the king, determining to banish
his other sons by an artifice, had them summoned, and spake to them
this feigned speech--"I have heard that you villains have slain a
Bráhman traveller, so go and visit all the holy bathing-places in
succession, do not remain here." When the sons heard that, they were
not able to persuade the king of the truth, for when a ruler is bent
on violence, who can convince him? Then Sringabhuja, beholding those
brothers departing, with his eyes full of tears produced by pity,
thus addressed his father. "Father, pity their one fault, have mercy
upon them." Having said this, he fell at the feet of that king. And
the king, thinking that that son was able to bear the burden of
sovereignty, being even in his youth like an incarnation of Vishnu,
full of glory and compassion, hiding his real sentiments and cherishing
his anger against them, nevertheless did what Sringabhuja asked. And
all those brothers considered their younger brother as the saviour
of their lives. And all the subjects, beholding the exceeding virtue
of Sringabhuja, became attached to him.

Then the next day, his father, king Vírabhuja, anointed as crown-prince
Sringabhuja, who was the oldest in virtue of them all, though he had
elder brothers. And then Sringabhuja, having been anointed and having
obtained the leave of his father, went with all his forces to conquer
the world. And having brought back the wealth of numerous kings, whom
he overcame by the might of his arm, he returned, having diffused
the splendour of his glory through all the earth. Then bearing the
weight of the realm with his submissive brothers, the successful
prince Sringabhuja, giving pleasure to his parents, who remained in
the enjoyment of comfort free from anxiety, and bestowing gifts on
Bráhmans, dwelt at ease with Rúpasikhá as if with incarnate success.

"Thus virtuous women serve their husbands in every way, devoted
to them alone, like Gunavará, and Rúpasikhá, the mother-in-law and
daughter-in-law."

When Naraváhanadatta, in the society of Ratnaprabhá, heard this story
from the lips of Harisikha, he was much delighted and exclaimed,
"Bravo!" Then he rose up, and quickly performed the religious ceremony
for the day, and went with his wife into the presence of his father,
the king of Vatsa, and after eating, and whiling away the afternoon
with singing and playing, he spent the night with his beloved in his
own private apartments.



NOTE ON CHAPTER XXXIX.

In a Norwegian tale, called "The Widow's Son," page 295 of Thorpe's
Yule-Tide Stories, will be found an incident closely resembling
the pursuit of Sringabhuja by Dhúmasikha. The widow's son has,
contrary to the orders of a Troll, in whose house he found himself,
entered several chambers, in one of which he found a thorn-whip,
in another a huge stone, and a water-bottle. In the third he found
a boiling copper kettle, with which he scalded his finger, but the
Troll cured it with a pot of ointment. In the fourth room he found a
black horse in a stall, with a trough of burning embers at its head,
and a basket of hay at its tail. The youth thought this cruel, so he
changed their position. The horse, to reward him, informed him that
the Troll on his return would certainly kill him, and then continued,
"Lay the saddle on me, put on the armour, and take the whip of thorn,
the stone, and the water-flask and the pot of ointment, and then we
will set out." When the youth mounted the horse, it set off at a rapid
rate. After riding some time, the horse said--"I think I hear a noise;
look round, can you see anything?" "A great many are coming after us,
certainly a score at least," answered the youth. "Ah! that is the
Troll," said the horse, "he is coming with all his companions." They
travelled for a time until their pursuers were gaining on them. "Throw
now the thorn whip over your shoulder," said the horse,--"but throw
it far away from me." The youth did so, and at the same moment there
sprang up a large thick wood of briars. The youth now rode on a long
way, while the Troll had to go home to fetch something wherewith to
hew a road through the wood. After some time the horse again said,
"Look back, can you see anything now?" "Yes, a whole multitude of
people" said the youth, "like a church congregation." "That is the
Troll, now he has got more with him, throw out now the large stone,
but throw it far from me." When the youth had done what the horse
desired, there arose a large stone mountain behind them. So the Troll
was obliged to go home after something with which to bore through
the mountain; and while he was thus employed, the youth rode on a
considerable way. But now the horse bade him again look back; he then
saw a multitude like a whole army, they were so bright, that they
glittered in the sun. "Well that is the Troll with all his friends,"
said the horse. "Now throw the water-bottle behind you, but take good
care to spill none on me." The youth did so, but notwithstanding his
caution he happened to spill a drop on the horse's loins. Immediately
there arose a vast lake, and the spilling of a few drops caused the
horse to stand far out in the water; nevertheless he at last swam to
the shore. When the Trolls came to the water, they lay down to drink it
all up, and they gulped and gulped it down till they burst. (Folk-lore
demons experience great difficulty in crossing water.) "Now we are
quit of them," said the horse.

In Laura von Gonzenbach's Sicilianische Märchen, Vol. II, p. 57,
we find a similar incident. In the story of Fata Morgana, a prince,
who carries off a bottle filled with her perspiration, but imprudently
wakes her by kissing her, is pursued by her with two lions. He throws
three pomegranates behind him: the first produces a river of blood,
the second a thorny mountain, the third a volcano. This he does
by the advice of his horse, who is really Fata Morgana's brother
transformed by magic: see also Vol. I, p. 343; cp. also the 79th tale
in Grimm's Kinder- und Hausmärchen (sixteenth edition in one volume)
Die Wassernixe.

In Orient und Occident, Vol. II, p. 113, Dr. Reinhold Köhler, in his
remarks on the West Highland Stories collected by J. F. Campbell,
compares the story of Agnisikha with the second story in Campbell's
collection, entitled: "The Battle of the Birds." In this a king's son
wishes to marry the youngest daughter of a giant. The giant sets him
three tasks to do; to clean out a stable, to thatch it with feathers,
and to fetch eggs from a magpie's nest in the top of a tree more than
five hundred feet high. All these tasks he accomplishes by the help
of the young lady herself. In the last task she makes a ladder of her
fingers for him to ascend the tree by, but in so doing she loses her
little finger. The giant requires the prince to choose his wife from
among three sisters similarly dressed. He recognizes her by the loss
of the little finger. When bed-time came, the giant's daughter told the
prince that they must fly, or the giant would kill him. They mounted on
the gray filly in the stable. But before starting the daughter cut an
apple into nine shares; she put two at the head of the bed, two at the
foot, two at the door of the kitchen, two at the house-door, and one
outside the house. The giant awoke and called "Are you asleep?" several
times, and the shares answered "No." At last he went and found the bed
empty and cold, and pursued the fugitive couple. At the break of day
the giant's daughter felt her father's breath burning her back. She
told the prince to put his hand in the horse's ear, and fling what
he found behind him. He found a sprig of sloe, flung it behind him,
and produced a wood twenty miles long. The giant had to go back for
his axe and wood-knife. In the middle of the day the prince finds
in the ear of the filly a piece of gray stone. This produces twenty
miles of gray rock behind them. The giant has to go back for his lever
and mattock. The next thing, that the prince finds and flings behind
him, is a bladder of water. This produces a fresh-water loch twenty
miles broad. In it the giant is happily drowned. The rest of the
story has no bearing upon the tale of Sringabhuja. Köhler compares
a story in William Carleton's stories of the Irish peasantry. Here
there is a sprig, a pebble and a drop of water producing a wood,
a rock and a lake. He compares also a Norwegian story, Ashbjörnsen,
No. 46, and some Swedish stories collected by Hylten Cavallius and
G. Stephens. The three tasks are very different in the different forms
of the tale. The ladder of fingers is only found in the Celtic form.

It is only in the Gaelic and Irish forms that the objects thrown
behind to check pursuit are found in the ear of the horse.

In the latter form of the story of the Mermaid, Thorpe's Yule-Tide
Stories, p. 205, we have the pursuit with much the same incidents as
in our text. See also Ralston's remarks on the story in our text at
pp. 132 and 143 of his Russian Folk-Tales. Cp. also Veckenstedt's
Wendische Sagen, p. 216. An Indian parallel will be found in Miss
Frere's Old Deccan Days, pp. 62 and 63. A Modern Greek one in Bernhard
Schmidt's Griechische Märchen, pp. 76-79.


Cp. also for the tasks the story of Bisara in Kaden's Unter den
Olivenbäumen, and that of Die schöne Fiorita. Herr Kaden aptly compares
the story of Jason and Medea. Another excellent parallel is furnished
by the story of Schneeweiss-Feuerroth in the same collection, where
we have the pursuit much as in our text.


The pursuit and the tasks are found in the tale called La Montagne
Noire, on p. 448 of Melusine, a periodical which appeared in the
year 1878, and in Branca-flor, No. XIV in Coelho's Contos Populares
Portuguezes, and in Gaal's Märchen der Magyaren, p. 60. The tasks are
found in the Pentamerone of Basile, Vol. I, p. 226, and in Vol. II,
p. 186; in Gaal, Märchen der Magyaren, p. 182, (the title of the tale
is Die dankbaren Thiere; some grateful ants are found at page 339;)
in Grössler's Sagen aus der Grafschaft Mansfeld, pp. 60 and 61; in
Waldau's Böhmische Märchen, pp. 18, 142, 262; in Kuhn's Westfälische
Märchen, Vol. II. p. 249, frogs, ants, and wasps help the hero. Cp. for
the pursuit Liebrecht's translation of the Pentamerone of Basile,
Vol. I, pp. 74-76 and 160.






CHAPTER XL.


Then, the next morning, when Naraváhanadatta was in Ratnaprabhá's
house, Gomukha and the others came to him. But Marubhúti, being a
little sluggish with intoxication produced by drinking spirits,
approached slowly, decorated with flowers, and anointed with
unguents. Then Gomukha, with face amused at his novel conception
of statesman-like behaviour, out of fun ridiculed him by imitating
his stammering utterance and staggering gait, and said to him, "How
comes it that you, though the son of Yaugandharáyana, do not know
policy, that you drink spirits in the morning, and come drunk into
the presence of the prince?" When the intoxicated Marubhúti heard
this, he said to him in his anger, "This should be said to me by the
prince or some superior. But, tell me, who are you that you take upon
you to instruct me, you son of Ityaka?" When he said this, Gomukha
replied to him smiling, "Do princes reprove with their own mouths
an ill-behaved servant? Undoubtedly their attendants must remind
him of what is proper. And it is true that I am the son of Ityaka,
but you are an ox of ministers, [585] your sluggishness alone would
show it; the only fault is that you have no horns." When Gomukha said
this to him Marubhúti answered, "You too, Gomukha, have much of the
ox-nature about you; but you are clearly of mixed breed, for you are
not properly domesticated." When all laughed at hearing this, Gomukha
said, "This Marubhúti is literally a jewel, for who can introduce the
thread of virtue [586] into that which cannot be pierced even by a
thousand efforts? But a jewel of a man is a different kind of thing,
for that is easily penetrated; as an illustration listen to the story
of the bridge of sand."



Story of Tapodatta.

There lived in Pratishthána a Bráhman of the name of Tapodatta. He,
though his father kept worrying him, would not learn the sciences
in his boyhood. Subsequently he found himself censured by all, and
being filled with regret, he went to the bank of the Ganges, in order
to perform asceticism for the acquisition of knowledge. [587] There
he betook himself to severe mortification of the flesh, and while he
was thus engaged, Indra, who had beheld him with astonishment, came
to him to prevent him, disguised as a Bráhman. And when he had come
near him, he kept taking grains of sand from the bank, and throwing
them into the billowy water of the Ganges. When Tapodatta saw that,
he broke his silence, and asked him out of curiosity--"Bráhman, why do
you do this unceasingly?" And Indra, disguised as a Bráhman, when he
had been persistently questioned by him, said, "I am making a bridge
over the Ganges for man and beast to cross by." Then Tapodatta said,
"You fool, is it possible to make a bridge over the Ganges with sand,
which will be carried away at some future time by the current?" When
Indra, disguised as a Bráhman, heard that, he said to him--"If you
know this truth, why do you attempt to acquire knowledge by vows and
fasting, without reading or hearing lectures? The horn of a hare
[588] may really exist, and the sky may be adorned with painting,
and writing may be performed without letters, if learning may be
acquired without study. If it could be so acquired, no one in this
world would study at all." When Indra, disguised as a Bráhman, had
said this to Tapodatta, Tapodatta reflected, and thinking that he
had spoken truth, put a stop to his self-mortification, and went home.

"So, you see, a wise man is easily made to listen to reason, but the
foolish Marubhúti cannot be induced to listen to reason, but when
you admonish him, he flies into a passion." When Gomukha said this,
Harisikha said before the company--"It is true, O king, that the wise
are easily induced to listen to reason."



Story of Virúpasarman.

For instance, there lived of old time in Benares a certain excellent
Bráhman, named Virúpasarman, who was deformed and poor. And he, being
despondent about his misshapen form and his poverty, went to the
grove of ascetics there, and began to practise severe mortification
of the flesh, through desire for beauty and wealth. Then the king
of the gods [589] assumed the vile shape of a deformed jackal with
a diseased body, and went and stood in front of him. When he saw
that unfortunate [590] creature with its body covered with flies,
Virúpasarman slowly reflected in his mind,--"Such creatures are born
into the world on account of actions done in a former life, so is it
a small thing for me that I was not made thus by the Creator? Who can
overstep the lot prescribed by destiny?" When Virúpasarman perceived
this, he brought his self-mortification to an end and went home.

"So true is it, O king, that a wise man is instructed with little
effort, but one, whose mind is void of discernment, is not instructed
even with great exertion." Thus spoke Harisikha, and Gomukha assented,
but Marubhúti, who was drunk and did not understand a joke, said
in great anger, "There is power in the speech of Gomukha, but there
is no might in the arms of men like you. A garrulous, quarrelsome,
effeminate person makes heroes blush." When Marubhúti said this, being
eager for a fight, king Naraváhanadatta, with a smile on his face,
himself tried to appease him, and after dismissing him to his house,
the king, who loved the friends of his youth, performed the duties of
the day, and so spent it in great comfort. And the next day, when all
these ministers came, and among them Marubhúti bowed down with shame,
his beloved Ratnaprabhá spake thus to the prince: "You, my husband,
are very fortunate in that you have these pure-hearted ministers bound
to you by the fetters of a love dating from early childhood, and they
are happy in possessing such an affectionate master; you have been
gained by one another through actions in a former state of existence;
of that there can be no doubt." When the queen said this, Tapantaka
the son of Vasantaka, the companion in amusements of Naraváhanadatta,
remarked--"It is true; our master has been gained by our actions in
a former life. For every thing depends upon the power of actions in
a former life--Hear in illustration of it the following tale."



Story of king Vilásasíla and the physician Tarunachandra.

There dwelt in a city named Vilásapura, the home of Siva, a king
rightly named Vilásasíla. [591] He had a queen named Kamalaprabhá,
whom he valued as his life, and he long remained with her addicted
to pleasure only. Then in course of time there came upon the king
old age, the thief of beauty, and when he beheld it, he was sorely
grieved. He thought to himself--"How can I shew to the queen my face
marred with grey hairs like a snow-smitten lotus? Alas! it is better
that I should die." Busied with reflections like these, the king
summoned into his hall of audience a physician named Tarunachandra
[592] and thus spake to him respectfully--"My good man, because
you are clever and devoted to me, I ask you whether there is any
artifice by which this old age can be averted." When Tarunachandra,
who was rightly named as being only of the magnitude of one digit,
and desiring to become a full moon, heard that, the cunning fellow
reflected--"I must make my profit out of this blockhead of a king, and
I shall soon discover the means of doing it." Having thus reflected,
the physician said to the king: "If you will remain in an underground
chamber alone, O king, for eight months, and take this medicine,
I engage to remove your old age." [593] When the king heard this,
he had such an underground chamber prepared, for fools intent on
objects of sense cannot endure reflection. But the ministers used
arguments like the following with him--"O king, by the goodness and
asceticism and self-denial of men of old time, and by the virtue
of the age, elixirs were produced. But these forest remedies, [594]
which we hear of now, O king, owing to the want of proper materials,
produce the opposite effect to that which is intended, and this is
quite in accordance with the treatises; for rogues do in this way make
sport with fools. Does time past ever return, O king?"--Still these
arguments did not penetrate into his soul, for it was encased in the
thick armour of violent sensual desire. And in accordance with the
advice of that physician, he entered that underground chamber alone,
excluding the numerous retinue that usually waits upon a king. And
alone with one servant belonging to that physician, he made himself
a slave to the taking of drugs and the rest of the treatment. And
the king remained there in that dark subterranean den, which seemed
as if it were the overflowing, through abundance, of the ignorance of
his heart. And after the king had spent six months in that underground
chamber, that wicked physician, seeing that his senility had increased,
brought a certain young man who resembled him in appearance, with whom
he had agreed that he would make him king. Then he dug a tunnel into
that underground chamber from a distance, and after killing the king
in his sleep, he brought his corpse out by the underground passage,
and threw it into a dark well. All this was done at night. And by
the same tunnel he introduced that young man into the underground
chamber, and closed that tunnel. What audacious wickedness will not
a low fellow, who is held in check by no restraints, commit, when he
gets a favourable chance of practising upon fools? Then, the next day,
the physician said to all the subjects,--"This king has been made young
again by me in six months, and in two months his form will be changed
again--So show yourselves to him now at a little distance." Thus he
spake, and brought them all to the door of the underground chamber,
and shewed them to the young man, telling him at the same time their
names and occupations. By this artifice he kept instructing that young
man in the underground chamber in the names of all the subjects every
day for two months, not excepting even the inhabitants of the harem.

And when a fitting time came, he brought the young man, after he
had been well fed, [595] out of the subterranean chamber, saying,
"This king has become young again." And then the young man was
surrounded by the delighted subjects, who exclaimed "This is our own
king restored by drugs." Then the young man, having thus obtained
the kingdom, bathed, and performed with much pleasure by the help of
his ministers the kingly duties. And from that time forth he lived
in much felicity, transacting regal business, and sporting with the
ladies of the harem, having obtained the name of Ajara. [596] And all
the subjects considered that he was their former king transformed by
drugs, not guessing the truth, and not suspecting the proceedings
of the physician. And king Ajara, having gained over the subjects
and the queen Kamalaprabhá by kind treatment, enjoyed the royal
fortune together with his friends. Then he summoned a friend called
Bheshajachandra and another called Padmadarsana, and made both of
them like himself, satisfying them with gifts of elephants, horses,
and villages. And he honoured the physician Tarunachandra on account
of the advancement he had conferred on him, but he did not repose
confidence in him because his soul had fallen from truth and virtue.

And once on a time the physician of his own motion said to the king,
"Why do you make me of no account and act independently? Have you
forgotten the occasion on which I made you king?" When king Ajara heard
that, he said to the physician, "Ha! you are a fool: what man does
anything for any one, or gives anything to any one? My friend, it is
our deeds in a former state of existence that give and do. Therefore
do not boast yourself, for this elevation I attained by asceticism:
and I will soon shew you this by ocular proof." When he said this to
the physician, the latter reflected as one terrified--"This man is
not to be intimidated and speaks like a resolute sage. It is better
to overawe that master, the secret of whose character is instability,
but that cannot be done with this man, so I must submit to him. In the
meanwhile let me wait and see what he will shew me so manifestly." Thus
reflecting, the physician said, "It is true," and held his peace.

And the next day king Ajara went out to roam about and amuse himself
with his friends, waited on by Tarunachandra and others. And as
he was strolling, he reached the bank of a river, and in it he saw
five golden lotuses come floating down the current. And he made his
servants bring them, and taking them and looking at them, he said to
the physician Tarunachandra, who was standing near him, "Go up along
the bank of this river, and look for the place where these lotuses
are produced: and when you have seen it, return, for I feel great
curiosity about these wonderful lotuses, and you are my skilful
friend." When he was thus commissioned by the king, the physician,
not being able to help himself, said, "So be it," and went the way he
was ordered. And the king returned to his capital, but the physician
travelled on, and in course of time reached a temple of Siva that
stood on the bank of that river. And in front of it, on the shore of
a holy bathing-place in that stream, he beheld a great banyan-tree,
and a man's skeleton suspended on it. And while, fatigued with his
journey, he was resting after bathing and worshipping the god, a cloud
came there and rained. And from that human skeleton, hanging on the
branches of the banyan-tree, when rained upon by the cloud, there
fell drops of water. [597] And when they fell into the water of the
bathing-place in that river, the physician observed that those golden
lotuses were immediately produced from them. The physician said to
himself, "Ha! what is this wonder? Whom can I ask in the uninhabited
wood? Or rather who knows the creation of Destiny that is full of so
many marvels? I have beheld this mine of golden lotuses; so I will
throw this human skeleton into the sacred water. Let right be done,
and let golden lotuses grow from its back." After these reflections, he
flung the skeleton down from the top of that tree: and after spending
the day there, the physician set out the next day for his own country,
having accomplished the object for which he was sent. And in a few
days he reached Vilásapura, and went, emaciated and soiled with his
journey, to the court of king Ajara. The door-keeper announced him,
and he went in and prostrated himself at the feet of the king; the
king asked him how he was, and while he was relating his adventure,
the king put every one else out of the hall, and himself said; "So you
have seen, my friend, the place where the golden lotuses are produced,
that most holy sanctuary of Siva; and you saw there a skeleton on a
banyan-tree; know that that is my former body. I hung there in old
time by my feet; and in that way performed asceticism, until I dried
up my body and abandoned it. And owing to the nobility of my penance,
from the drops of rain-water, that fall from that skeleton of mine,
are produced golden lotuses. And in that you threw my skeleton into
the water of that holy bathing-place, you did what was right, for
you were my friend in a former birth. And this Bheshajachandra and
this Padmadarsana, they also were friends, who associated with me
in a former birth. So it is owing to the might of that asceticism,
my friend, that recollection of my former birth, and knowledge and
empire have been bestowed on me. By an artifice I have given you
ocular proof of this, and you have described it with a token, telling
how you flung down the skeleton; so you must not boast to me, saying,
that you gave me the kingdom, and you must not allow your mind to be
discontented, for no one gives anything to any one without the help
of actions in a former life. From his birth a man eats the fruit
of the tree of his former actions." When the king said this to the
physician, he saw that it was true, and he remained satisfied with
the king's service, and was never afterwards discontented. And that
noble-minded king Ajara, who remembered his former birth, honoured the
physician becomingly with gifts of wealth, and lived comfortably with
his wives and friends, enjoying the earth conquered by his policy,
and originally obtained by his good actions, without an opponent.

"Thus in this world all the good and bad fortune, that befalls all
men at all times, is earned by actions in a former life. For this
reason I think we must have earned you for our lord in a former birth,
otherwise how could you be so kind to us, while there are other men
in existence?" Then Naraváhanadatta, having heard in the company of
his beloved from the mouth of Tapantaka this strangely pleasing and
entertaining tale, rose up to bathe. And after he had bathed, he
went into the presence of his father the king of Vatsa, frequently
raining nectar into the eyes of his mother, and after taking food,
he spent that day and that night in drinking and other pleasures with
his parents, and his wife, and his ministers.






CHAPTER XLI.


And the next day, as Naraváhanadatta was in the apartments of
Ratnaprabhá, talking over various subjects with his ministers,
he suddenly heard a sound, which appeared to be like that of a
man weeping outside in the court-yard of the palace. And when some
one asked--"What is that?"--the female attendants came and said,
"My lord, the chamberlain Dharmagiri is weeping here. For a foolish
friend of his came here just now, and said that his brother, who
went on a pilgrimage to holy places, was dead in a foreign land. He,
bewildered with grief, forgot that he was in the court and began
to lament, but he has been just now taken outside by the servants
and conducted to his own house." When the prince heard this, he
was grieved, and Ratnaprabhá moved with pity said in a despondent
tone--"Alas! the grief which is produced by the loss of dear relatives
is hard to bear! Why did not the Creator make men exempt from old age
and death?" When Marubhúti heard this speech of the queen's, he said;
"Queen, how can mortals ever attain this good fortune? For listen to
the following story, which I will tell you, bearing on this question."



Story of king Chiráyus and his minister Nágárjuna.

In the city of Chiráyus there was in old time a king, named Chiráyus,
[598] who was indeed long-lived, and the home of all good fortune. He
had a compassionate, generous and gifted minister, named Nágárjuna,
who was sprung from a portion of a Bodhisattva, who knew the use of all
drugs, and by making an elixir he rendered himself and that king free
from old age, and long-lived. One day an infant son of that minister
Nágárjuna, whom he loved more than any of his other children, died. He
felt grief on that account, and by the force of his asceticism and
knowledge proceeded to prepare out of certain ingredients the Water
of Immortality, [599] in order to prevent mortals from dying. But
while he was waiting for the auspicious moment in which to infuse
a particular drug, Indra found out what was going on. And Indra,
having consulted with the gods, said to the two Asvins--"Go and give
this message to Nágárjuna on the earth from me--'Why have you, though
a minister, begun this revolutionary proceeding of making the Water
of Life? Are you determined now to conquer the Creator, who indeed
created men subject to the law of death, since you propose to make
men immortal by preparing the Water of Life? If this takes place, what
difference will there be between gods and men? And the constitution of
the universe will be broken up, because there will be no sacrificer
and no recipient of sacrifice. So by my advice discontinue this
preparation of the Water of Life, otherwise the gods will be angry,
and will certainly curse you. And your son, through grief for whom you
are engaged in this attempt, is now in Svarga.'" With this message
Indra despatched the two Asvins. And they arrived at the house of
Nágárjuna and, after receiving the argha, [600] told Nágárjuna,
who was pleased with their visit, the message of Indra, and informed
him that his son was with the gods in heaven. Then Nágárjuna, being
despondent, thought; "Never mind the gods, but if I do not obey the
command of Indra, these Asvins will inflict a curse on me. So let this
Water of Life go, I have not accomplished my desire; however my son,
on account of my good deeds in a former life, has gone to the abode
of bliss." Having thus reflected, Nágárjuna said to these two gods,
the Asvins, "I obey the command of Indra, I will desist from making
the Water of Life. If you two had not come, I should have completed
the preparation of the Water of Life in five days, and freed this
whole earth from old age and death." When Nágárjuna had said this, he
buried by their advice the Water of Life, which was almost completed,
in the earth before their eyes. Then the Asvins took leave of him,
and went and told Indra in heaven that their errand was accomplished,
and the king of gods rejoiced.

And in the meanwhile Nágárjuna's master, the king Chiráyus, anointed
his son Jívahara crown-prince. And when he was anointed, his mother,
the queen Dhanapará, on his coming in great delight to salute her, said
to him, as soon as she saw him, "Why do you rejoice without cause,
my son, at having obtained this dignity of crown-prince, for this
is not a step to the attainment of the kingly dignity, not even by
the help of asceticism? For many crown-princes, sons of your father,
have died, and not one of them has obtained the throne, they have
all inherited disappointment. For Nágárjuna has given this king an
elixir, by the help of which he is now in the eighth century of his
age. And who knows how many more centuries will pass over the head of
this king, who makes his short-lived sons crown-princes." When her
son heard that, he was despondent, and she went on to say to him,
"If you desire the throne, adopt this expedient. This minister
Nágárjuna every day, after he has performed the day's devotions,
gives gifts at the time of taking food, and makes this proclamation;
'Who is a suppliant? Who wants anything? To whom can I give anything,
and what?' At that moment go to him and say, 'Give me your head,'--Then
he, being a truthful man, will have his head cut off, and out of sorrow
for his death this king will die, or retire to the forest; then you
will obtain the crown; there is no other expedient available in this
matter." When he heard this speech from his mother, the prince was
delighted, and he consented, and determined to carry her advice into
effect, for the lust of sovereign sway is cruel, and overcomes one's
affection for one's friends. Then that prince went, the next day,
of his own accord to the house of that Nágárjuna, at the time when
he took his food. And when the minister cried out, "Who requires
anything, and what does he require?" he entered and asked him for
his head. The minister said, "This is strange, my son; what can you
do with this head of mine? For it is only an agglomeration of flesh,
bone and hair. To what use can you put it? Nevertheless, if it is of
any use to you, cut it off, and take it." With these words he offered
his neck to him. But it had been so hardened by the elixir that, though
he struck at it for a long time, he could not cut it, but broke many
swords over it. In the meanwhile the king, hearing of it, arrived, and
asked him not to give away his head, but Nágárjuna said to him: "I can
remember my former births, and I have given away my head ninety-nine
times in my various births. This, my lord, will be the hundredth time
of my giving away my head. So do not say anything against it, for no
suppliant ever leaves my presence disappointed. So I will now present
your son with my head; for this delay was made by me only in order to
behold your face." Thus he spoke, and embraced that king, and brought
a powder out of his closet, with which he smeared the sword of that
prince. Then the prince cut off the head of the minister Nágárjuna
with a blow of that sword, as a man cuts a lotus from its stalk. Then
a great cry of wailing was raised, and the king was on the point of
giving up his own life, when a bodiless voice sounded from the heaven
in these words--"Do not do what you ought not, king. You should not
lament your friend Nágárjuna, for he will not be born again, but has
attained the condition of a Buddha." When king Chiráyus heard this,
he gave up the idea of suicide, but bestowed great gifts, and out
of grief left his throne, and went to the forest. There in time he
obtained by asceticism eternal bliss. Then his son Jívahara obtained
his kingdom, and soon after his accession he allowed dissension to
arise in his realm, and was slain by the sons of Nágárjuna remembering
their father's murder. Then through sorrow for him his mother's heart
broke. How can prosperity befall those who walk in the path trodden by
the ignoble? And a son of that king Chiráyus, born to him by another
wife, named Satáyus, was placed on his throne by his chief ministers.

"Thus, as the gods would not permit Nágárjuna to carry out the task
of destroying death, which he had undertaken, he became subject to
death. Therefore it is true that this world of living beings was
appointed by the Creator unstable, and full of grief hard to ward
off, and even with hundreds of efforts it is impossible for any one
to do anything here, which the Creator does not wish him to do." When
Marubhúti had told this story, he ceased speaking, and Naraváhanadatta
rose up with his ministers and performed his daily duties.






CHAPTER XLII.


Then, early the next day, Naraváhanadatta went off to the forest for
the purpose of hunting, surrounded with elephants, in the company
of his father and his friends; but before going he comforted his
beloved Ratnaprabhá, who was anxious about him, by saying that he
would quickly return.

Then the scene of the chase became like a garden adorned with lovely
creepers for his delight, for in it the pearls that dropped from the
claws of the lions, that had cleft the foreheads of elephants, and now
fell asleep in death, were sown like seeds; and the teeth of the tigers
that were cut out by the crescent-headed arrows were like buds, and
the flowing blood of the deer seemed like shoots, and the wild boars,
in which stuck the arrows adorned with heron feathers, seemed like
clusters, and the fallen bodies of Sarabhas [601] shewed like fruit,
and the arrows falling with deep hum appeared like bees. Gradually
the prince became wearied, and desisted from the chase, and went on
horseback to another wood with Gomukha, who was also riding. There
he began to play at ball, and while he was thus engaged, a certain
female ascetic came that way. Then the ball slipped from his hand
and fell on her head; whereupon the female ascetic laughed a little,
and said to him--"If your insolence is so great now, what will it be
if you ever obtain Karpúriká for a wife." [602] When Naraváhanadatta
heard this, he dismounted from his horse, and prostrating himself
at the feet of that female ascetic, said to her--"I did not see you,
and my ball fell on your head by chance--Reverend one, be propitiated,
and pardon that fault of mine." When the female ascetic heard that,
she said, "My son, I am not angry with you," and being victorious over
her wrath she comforted him with blessings. And then, thinking that
the wise truthful ascetic was well disposed to him, Naraváhanadatta
respectfully asked her--"Who, reverend lady, is this Karpúriká spoken
of by you? Condescend to inform me, if you are pleased with me, for
I am curious on this head." When he said this, bending before her,
the female ascetic said to him: "There is on the other side of the
sea a city named Karpúrasambhava; [603] in it there is a king rightly
named Karpúraka, he has a daughter, a lovely maiden, named Karpúriká,
who appears like a second Lakshmí, deposited in security there by
the ocean, having seen that the first Lakshmí had been carried
away by the gods after the churning. And she, as she hates men,
does not desire to be married, but she will desire it, if at all,
when she sees you. So go there, my son, and you shall win that fair
one; nevertheless, while you are going there, you will suffer great
hardship in the forest. But you must not be perplexed at that, for all
shall end well." When the ascetic had said this, she flew up into the
air and disappeared. Then Naraváhanadatta, drawn on by the command
of Love uttered through her voice, said to his attendant Gomukha,
"Come, let us go to Karpúriká in the city of Karpúrasambhava, for I
cannot remain a moment without beholding her." When Gomukha heard that,
he said--"King, desist from your rashness. Consider how far off you
are from the sea and from that city, and whether the journey is worth
taking for the sake of that maiden? Why, on merely hearing her name,
do you abandon celestial wives, and alone run after a mere woman who
is enveloped in doubt, owing to your not knowing what her intention
is." When Gomukha said this to him, the son of the king of Vatsa said,
"The speech of that holy ascetic cannot be false. So I must certainly
go to find that princess." Having said this, he set out thence on
horseback that very moment. And Gomukha followed him silently, though
it was against his wish: when a lord does not act on the advice of
his servants, their only course is to follow him.

In the meanwhile the king of Vatsa, having finished his hunting,
returned to his city, thinking that that son of his was returning
among his own armed followers. And the prince's followers returned
with Marubhúti and the others to the city, supposing that the prince
was with the armed followers of his father. When they arrived, the
king of Vatsa and the others searched for him, and finding that he had
not returned, they all went to the house of Ratnaprabhá. She at first
was grieved at that news, but she called up a supernatural science
and was told by it tidings of her husband, and said to her distressed
father-in-law; "My husband heard the princess Karpúriká mentioned by
a female ascetic in the forest, and in order to obtain her he has gone
to the city of Karpúrasambhava. And he will soon have accomplished his
object, and will return here with Gomukha. So dismiss anxiety, for this
I have learned from a science." By these words she comforted the king
of Vatsa and his retinue. And she despatched another science to wait
on her husband during his journey, and dispel his fatigue; for good
women who desire their husband's happiness do not account of jealousy.

In the meanwhile Naraváhanadatta performed a long journey on
horseback in that forest, accompanied by Gomukha. Then a maiden
suddenly came up to him in his path and said to him, "I am a science
sent by Ratnaprabhá, named Máyávatí, I will guard you on the path
without being seen, so proceed now without fear." Having said this,
the incarnate science disappeared, as he gazed at it. By virtue of
it, Naraváhanadatta continued his journey with his thirst and hunger
appeased, praising his beloved Ratnaprabhá. And in the evening he
reached a wood with a pure lake in it, and with Gomukha he bathed, and
took a meal of delicious fruit and water. And at night he tied up the
two horses underneath a large tree, after supplying them with grass,
and he and his minister climbed up into it to sleep. While reposing
on a broad bough of the tree, he was woke up by the neighings of the
terrified horses, and saw a lion that had come close underneath. When
he saw it, he wished [604] to get down for the sake of the horses,
but Gomukha said to him--"Alas! you are neglecting the safety of
your person, and acting without counsel; for kings the first duty
is the preservation of their persons, and counsel is the foundation
of rule. How can you desire to contend with wild beasts armed with
teeth and claws. For it was to avoid these that we just now got up
into this tree." When the king had been restrained from descending
by these words of Gomukha's, seeing the lion killing the horse,
he immediately threw his sword at it from the tree, and succeeded
in wounding it with the weapon which was buried in its body. The
mighty lion, though pierced with the sword, after killing that
horse, slew the other also. Then the son of the king of Vatsa took
Gomukha's sword from him, and throwing it, cut the lion in half in
the middle. And descending he recovered his sword from the body of
the lion, and ascending again to his sleeping place, he passed the
night there in the tree. In the morning Naraváhanadatta got down,
and set out to find Karpúriká, accompanied by Gomukha. Then Gomukha,
beholding him travelling on foot, as the lion had slain his horse, in
order to amuse him on the way said; "Listen, king, I will relate you
this story, which is particularly appropriate on the present occasion."



Story of king Parityágasena, his wicked wife and his two sons.

There is in this world a city named Irávatí, which surpasses Alaká;
[605] in it there dwelt a king named Parityágasena. And he had two
beloved queens, whom he valued as his life. One was the daughter of
his own minister and her name was Adhikasangamá, and the other was of
royal race, and was called Kávyálankárá. And with those two the king
propitiated Durgá to obtain a son, and performed penance without food,
sleeping on darbha grass. Then Bhavání, who is kind to her votaries,
pleased with his penance, appeared to him in a dream and gave him
two heavenly fruits, and thus commanded him: "Rise up and give your
two wives these two fruits to eat, and then, king, you will have
born to you two heroic sons." Having said this, Gaurí disappeared,
and the king woke up in the morning and rose delighted at beholding
those fruits in his hand. And by describing that dream of his he
delighted his wives, and bathed and worshipped the consort of Siva,
and broke his fast. And at night he first visited that wife of his
Adhikasangamá, and gave her one of the fruits, and she immediately ate
it. Then the king spent the night in her pavilion, out of respect for
her father, who was his own prime minister. And he placed near the
head of his bed the second fruit, which was intended for the other
queen. While the king was asleep, the queen Adhikasangamá rose up,
and desiring for herself two similar sons, she took from his head and
ate that second fruit also. For women are naturally envious of their
rivals. And in the morning, when the king rose up and was looking for
that fruit, she said--"I ate that second fruit also." Then the king
went away despondent, and after spending the day, he went at night
to the apartments of the second queen. And when she asked for that
other fruit, he said to her--"While I was asleep, your fellow-wife
treacherously devoured it." Then the queen Kávyálankárá, not having
obtained that fruit, which was to enable her to give birth to a son,
remained silently grieved.

In the course of some days that queen Adhikasangamá became pregnant,
and in due time gave birth to twin sons. And the king Parityágasena
rejoiced and made a great feast, since his desire was fulfilled
by their birth. And the king gave the name of Indívarasena to the
elder of the two, who was of wonderful beauty and had eyes like a
blue lotus. And he gave to the younger the name of Anichchhasena,
because his mother ate the second fruit against his wish. Then
Kávyálankárá, the second wife of that king, on beholding this, was
angry, and reflected--"Alas! I have been cheated by this rival wife
out of having children; so I must without fail revenge myself on
her; I must destroy these sons of hers by my cunning." Having thus
reflected, she remained thinking over a means of doing this. And as
fast as those two princes grew, the tree of enmity grew in her heart.

And in course of time those two princes, having attained manhood,
and being mighty of arm, and desirous of conquest, said to their
father--"We have attained manhood and we have been trained in the
use of weapons, so how can we remain here endowed to no profit with
these mighty arms? Out on the arms and the youth of a Kshatriya
that longs not for victory! So let us go now, father, and conquer
the regions." When the king Parityágasena heard this request of his
sons, he was pleased and consented, and made arrangements for their
expedition. And he said to them, "If ever you are in difficulties,
you must think upon the goddess Durgá the remover of sorrows, for
she gave you to me." Then the king sent forth those two sons on
their expedition, accompanied by his troops and feudal chiefs, after
their mother had performed the auspicious ceremonies to ensure them
success. And he sent after them his own sagacious prime minister,
their maternal grandfather, whose name was Prathamasangama. Then
those two mighty princely brothers, with their army, first marched
in due order to the eastern quarter, and subdued it. Then these two
irresistible heroes of approved might, to whom many kings had joined
themselves, went to the southern quarter to conquer it. And their
parents rejoiced on hearing these tidings of them, but their second
mother was consumed with the fire of concealed hate. The treacherous
queen then got the following false despatch written in the king's
name to the chiefs in the princes' camp, by means of the secretary
for foreign affairs, whom she had bribed with heaps of treasure--"My
two sons, having subdued the earth by the might of their arms, have
formed the intention of killing me and seizing my kingdom; so if
you are loyal to me, you must without hesitation put to death both
those sons of mine."--This letter Kávyálankárá sent off secretly by
a courier. And the courier went secretly to the camp of those two
princes, and gave that letter to the chiefs. And they all, after
reading it, reflecting that the policy of kings is very cruel, and
considering that that command of their master must not be disobeyed,
met and deliberated in the night, and as they saw no way out of the
difficulty, determined to kill those two princes, though they had
been fascinated by their virtues. But their maternal grandfather,
the minister, who was with them, heard of it from a friend that he
had among the chiefs, and after informing the princes of the state
of affairs, he thereupon mounted them on swift horses, and conveyed
them away safely out of the camp.

The two princes, when conveyed away by the minister at night,
travelled along with him, and entered the Vindhya forest out of
ignorance of the true road. Then, after the night had passed, as they
slowly proceeded on their way, about noon their horses died, overcome
with excessive thirst. And that aged maternal grandfather of theirs,
whose palate was dry with hunger and thirst, died exhausted with the
heat before the eyes of those two, who were also weary. Then those
afflicted brothers exclaimed in their sorrow--"Why has our father
reduced to this state us who are innocent, and fulfilled the desire of
that wicked second mother of ours?"--In the midst of their lamentation
they thought upon the goddess Ambiká, [606] whom their father had long
ago pointed out to them as their natural protectress. That moment,
by force of thinking on that kind protectress, their hunger, thirst
and fatigue left them, and they were strong. Then they were comforted
by faith in her, and without feeling the fatigue of the journey, they
went to visit that goddess who dwells in the Vindhya forest. And when
those two brothers had arrived there, they began a course of fasting
and asceticism to propitiate her. In the meanwhile those chiefs in
the camp assembled together in a band, and went with the intention of
doing the princes a mischief; but they could not find them, though they
searched everywhere. They said--"The princes have escaped somewhere
with their maternal grandfather," and fearing that the whole thing
would come out, they went in a fright to the king Parityágasena. And
shewing him the letters, they told him the whole story. He, when
he heard it, was agitated and said to them in his anger; "I did not
send this letter, this is some deception. And how comes it that you
did not know, you foolish creatures, that I should not be likely
to put to death two sons obtained by severe austerities? They have
been put to death as far as you are concerned, but they were saved
by their own merits, and their maternal grandfather has exhibited
a specimen of his statesmanship." He said this to the chiefs, and
though the secretary who wrote the treacherous letter fled, the king
quickly had him brought back by his royal power, and after thoroughly
investigating the whole matter, punished him as he deserved. And he
threw into a dungeon his wicked wife Kávyálankárá, who was guilty of
such a crime as trying to slay his sons. For how can an evil deed
audaciously done, the end of which is not considered through the
mind being blinded with excessive hate, help bringing ruin? And as
for those chiefs, who had set out with his two sons and returned,
the king dismissed them, and appointed others in their place. And
with their mother he continued to seek for tidings of those sons,
plunged in grief, devoted to righteousness, thinking upon Durgá.

In the meanwhile that goddess, who has her shrine in the Vindhya
mountains, was pleased with the asceticism of the prince Indívarasena
and his younger brother. And she gave Indívarasena a sword in a dream,
and appearing to him, thus addressed him--"By the power of this sword
thou shalt conquer enemies hard to overcome, and whatever thou shalt
think of thou shalt obtain, and by means of it you shall both gain the
success you desire." When the goddess had said that, she disappeared,
and Indívarasena, waking up, beheld that sword in his hand. Then
he comforted his younger brother by shewing him that sword, and
describing to him his dream, and in the morning he and his brother
broke their fast on wild fruits. Then he worshipped that goddess,
and having his fatigue removed by her favour, he departed rejoicing,
with the sword in his hand, in the company of his brother. And after
he had travelled a long distance, he found a great and splendid city,
looking like the peak of Meru on account of its golden houses. There
he beheld a terrible Rákshasa standing at the gate of the high street,
and the hero asked him what was the name of the town, and who was its
king. That Rákshasa said--"This city is called Sailapura, and it is
possessed by our lord Yamadanshtra, the slayer of his foes, king of
the Rákshasas." When the Rákshasa said this, Indívarasena attempted
to enter, in order to slay Yamadanshtra, but the Rákshasa at the door
tried to prevent him, upon which the mighty Indívarasena killed him,
cutting off his head with one stroke of his sword. After slaying him,
the hero entered the royal palace, and beheld inside it the Rákshasa
Yamadanshtra sitting on his throne, having a mouth terrible with tusks,
with a lovely woman at his left hand, and a virgin of heavenly beauty
on his right hand. And when Indívarasena saw him, he went with the
sword given him by Durgá in his hand, and challenged him to fight,
and the Rákshasa drew his sword and stood up to resist him. And in the
course of the fight Indívarasena frequently cut off the Rákshasa's
head, but it grew again. [607] Seeing that magic power of his,
and having had a sign made to him by the virgin at the Rákshasa's
side, who had fallen in love with him at first sight, the prince,
after cutting off the head of the Rákshasa, being quick of hand,
again cut it in two with a stroke of his sword. Then the Rákshasa's
magic was baffled by contrary magic, and his head did not grow again,
and the Rákshasa died of the wound.

When he was slain, the lovely woman and the princess were delighted,
and the prince with his younger brother sat down, and asked them the
following questions: "Why did this Rákshasa live in such a city as
this, guarded by one warder only, and who are you two, and why do
you rejoice at his being slain?" When they heard this, the virgin
was the one that answered, and she spoke as follows: "In this city
of Sailapura there lived a king of the name of Vírabhuja, and this
is his wife Madanadanshtrá, and this Rákshasa came and devoured him
by the help of his magic power. And he ate up his attendants, but he
did not eat this Madanadanshtrá, whom alone he spared because she
was beautiful, but he made her his wife. Then he became disgusted
with this city though beautiful, and building in it houses of gold,
he remained here sporting with Madanadanshtrá, having dismissed his
retinue. And I am the younger sister of this Rákshasa, and unmarried,
but the moment I saw you, I fell in love with you. Accordingly she is
glad at his having been slain, and so also am I; so marry me here now,
my husband, since love makes me offer myself to you."

When Khadgadanshtrá said this, Indívarasena married her then and
there by the Gándharva form of marriage. And he remained in that
very city, having everything brought to him, on his thinking of it,
by the virtue of the sword of Durgá, married and accompanied by his
younger brother. And once on a time he made a chariot that would fly
through the air, produced by thought through the virtue of his sword,
that resembled in its powers the philosopher's stone, and placed in
it his heroic younger brother Anichchhasena, and sent him off from his
retreat to bear tidings of him to his parents. Anichchhasena, for his
part, travelled quickly through the air in that chariot, and reached
Irávatí that city of his father. There he refreshed his grief-worn
parents with the sight of him, as the moon refreshes the partridges
when exhausted with severe heat. And he approached them, and fell at
their feet, and was embraced by them, and when they questioned him,
he dispelled their apprehensions with good news of his brother. And he
told in their presence the whole adventure of himself and his brother,
which in the beginning was sad, but in the end was happy. And there he
heard the treacherous device, which his wicked second mother had out
of enmity contrived for his destruction. Then Anichchhasena remained
there in tranquillity, in the company of his delighted father and
his mother, honoured by the subjects. But after some days had passed,
his fears were aroused by a threatening dream, and he yearned to see
his brother again, and said to his father; "I will depart, and by
telling my brother Indívarasena that you are anxiously awaiting him,
I will bring him back; give me leave to depart, my father." When his
father heard that, being anxious for the sight of his son, he and his
wife gave Anichchhasena leave to depart, and he immediately mounted
his chariot, and reached through the air that city of Sailapura. And
when he arrived there, he entered the palace of that brother of
his. He saw there his elder brother lying senseless in the presence of
Khadgadanshtrá and Madanadanshtrá, who were weeping. In his perplexity
he asked, "What does this mean?" And then Khadgadanshtrá said with
her eyes fixed on the ground, though the other blamed her for it;
"When you were away, your brother one day, on my going to bathe,
had a secret intrigue with this Madanadanshtrá. And I, on returning
from bathing, found him with her, and I abused him. Then he tried
to propitiate me, but I, being exceedingly bewildered by unforgiving
jealousy, that seemed to have possessed me, thought thus with myself,
'Ah! without taking me into account, he favours another; I believe
he shews this insolence confiding in the magic properties of his
sword, so I will hide this weapon of his.' After thus reflecting,
in my folly I thrust his sword into the fire at night, while he
was asleep. The consequence was that his sword was dimmed and he
was reduced to this state. And I am grieved for this myself and
upbraided by Madanadanshtrá. So you have come here now when both
our minds are blinded with grief, and we have resolved on death. So
take this sword and kill me with it, since I have proved true to the
customs of my race and acted cruelly." When Anichchhasena was thus
entreated by his brother's wife, he thought that he ought not to
slay her on account of her repentance, but prepared to cut off his
own head. But at that moment, he heard the following voice come from
the air--"Do not act thus, prince, your brother is not dead, but he
has been struck senseless by Durgá, who is angry at his not having
taken sufficient care of the sword, and you must not impute guilt to
Khadgadanshtrá, for this circumstance is the consequence of your all
having been born into this world on account of a curse. And they were
both of them your brother's wives in a former life. So propitiate
Durgá in order to gain your object." Accordingly Anichchhasena gave
up his intention of slaying himself. But he mounted that chariot,
and took that fire-dimmed sword, and went to propitiate the soles of
the feet of Durgá, the dweller in the Vindhya range. There he fasted,
and was about to propitiate the goddess with the offering of his head,
when he heard this voice from heaven--"Do not be rash, my son, go;
thy elder brother shall live, and the sword shall become pure from
stain, for I am pleased with thy devotion." When Anichchhasena heard
this speech of the goddess, he immediately saw that the sword in his
hand had recovered its brightness, and he walked round the goddess,
keeping his right hand towards her; and ascending his swift magic
car, as if it were his own desire, [608] he returned in a state of
anxious expectation to that Sailapura. There he saw that his elder
brother had just risen up, having suddenly regained consciousness,
and weeping he seized his feet, and his elder brother threw his arms
round his neck. And both the wives of Indívarasena fell at the feet of
Anichchhasena and said--"You have saved the life of our husband." Then
he told the whole story to his brother Indívarasena who questioned
him, and he, when he heard it, was not angry with Khadgadanshtrá,
but was pleased with his brother. [609]

And he heard from the lips of his brother that his parents were
eager to see him, and of the fraud of his second mother, that had
brought about his separation from them; then he took the sword which
his brother handed to him, and mounted a large chariot, which came
to him the moment he thought of it, owing to the virtue of the sword,
and with his golden palaces, and his two wives, and his younger brother
Indívarasena, returned to his own city Irávatí. There he alighted from
the air, beheld with wonder by the subjects, and entered the palace,
and went with his attendants into the presence of the king. And
in that condition he beheld his father and his mother, and fell at
their feet with his eyes bathed in streaming tears. And they, the
moment they beheld their son, embraced him and his younger brother,
and having their bodies, as it were, bathed in nectar, they were
relieved from their sorrow. And when their daughters-in-law, those
two wives of Indívarasena, of heavenly beauty, fell at their feet,
they looked on them with delight and welcomed them. And the parents,
learning in course of conversation, that they were said by a divine
voice to have been appointed in a previous life as his wives, were
exceedingly delighted. And they rejoiced with astonishment at the power
of their son, which enabled him to travel through the air, and bring
golden palaces and do other things of this kind. Then Indívarasena
remained, with those two wives and his attendants, in the society of
his parents, causing delight to the subjects. And once on a time he
took leave of his father, king Parityágasena, and went forth again
to conquer the four quarters, accompanied by his younger brother. And
the mighty-armed hero conquered the whole earth by the virtue of his
sword, and came back bringing with him the gold, elephants, horses
and jewels of conquered kings. And he reached his capital, followed
out of fear by the conquered earth in the form of the army of dust,
that his forces raised. And he entered the palace, where his father
advanced to meet him, and he and his brother delighted their mother
Adhikasangamá by their return. And after he had honoured the kings,
Indívarasena spent that day in pleasure, accompanied by his wives
and his followers. And on the next day the prince made over the
earth to his father by way of tribute from the kings, and suddenly
recollected his former birth. Then, like one waking up from sleep,
he said to his father--"Father, I remember my former birth; listen,
I will tell you all about it. There is a city on the plateau of the
Himálayas named Muktápura; in it there lives a king named Muktásena,
a king of the Vidyádharas. And by a queen named Kambuvatí he had
born to him in course of time two virtuous sons, Padmasena and
Rúpasena. Then a maiden, named Ádityaprabhá, the daughter of a chief
of the Vidyádharas, of her own accord, out of love, chose Padmasena
for her husband. Hearing of that, a Vidyádhara maiden, of the name
of Chandravatí, became love-sick also, and came and chose him for her
husband. Then Padmasena, having two wives, was continually worried by
that wife Ádityaprabhá, who was jealous of her rival. And so Padmasena
over and over again importuned his father Muktásena to the following
effect: 'I cannot endure every day the ill-temper of my wife, who
is blind with jealousy, let me retire to a wood of ascetics to put
an end to this misery. Therefore, father, give me permission.' His
father, annoyed at his persistence, cursed him and his wives, saying;
'What need is there of your going to a wood of ascetics? Fall into the
world of mortals. There this quarrelsome wife of yours, Ádityaprabhá,
shall be born in the race of Rákshasas, and become your wife again. And
this second, Chandravatí, who is virtuous and attached to you, her
husband, shall be the wife of a king, and the paramour of a Rákshasa,
and shall obtain you as her beloved. And since this Rúpasena has been
observed by me to follow you his elder brother with affection, he
shall be your brother also in that world. There too you shall endure
some affliction caused by your wives.' Thus he spoke and ceased, and
appointed this as the termination of the curse; 'When you, being a
prince, shall conquer the earth and give it to your father, then you
and they shall remember your former birth, and be freed from your
curse.' When Padmasena had been thus addressed by his own father,
he went with those others to the world of mortals. I am that very
Padmasena, born here as your son, Indívarasena by name, and I have
done what I was appointed to do. And the other Vidyádhara prince,
Rúpasena, has been born as Anichchhasena my younger brother. And as for
my wives Ádityaprabhá [610] and Chandravatí, know that they have been
born here as these two, Khadgadanshtrá and Madanadanshtrá. And now we
have reached that appointed end of our curse. So let us go, father,
to our own Vidyádhara home." Having said this, he together with his
brother and his wives, who remembered their former existence, abandoned
the human and assumed the Vidyádhara form. And having worshipped the
feet of his father, and taken his two wives in his arms, he went with
his younger brother through the air to his own city Muktápura. There
the wise prince, gladly welcomed by his father Muktásena, a joy to
the eyes of his mother, accompanied by his brother Rúpasena, lived
with his Ádityaprabhá, who did not again display jealousy, and with
Chandravatí in happiness.

The minister Gomukha, having told this delightful tale on the road,
again said to Naraváhanadatta; "Thus the great must endure great pains
and gain great glory, but others have little pain and little glory. But
you, protected by the might of the science of queen Ratnaprabhá,
shall without difficulty gain that princess Karpúriká."

When Naraváhanadatta heard this from the lips of the eloquent Gomukha,
he set out on the path with him, insensible to fatigue. And as he
travelled, he came in the evening to a pellucid lake, the lotuses
on which were in full bloom, and which was full of an abundant
supply of cold water, delicious as nectar. Its banks were adorned
with pomegranate trees, bread-fruit trees, and rows of mango-trees,
and on it the swans sang sweetly. They bathed in it, and devoutly
worshipped the beloved [611] of the daughter of Himálaya and refreshed
themselves with various fragrant, sweet-tasting, delightful fruits,
and then the son of the king of Vatsa and his friend spent the night on
the bank of the lake, sleeping on a bed strewn with soft young shoots.






CHAPTER XLIII.


The next morning, Naraváhanadatta rose up from the bank of that lake,
[612] and setting out on his journey, said to his minister Gomukha;
"My friend, I remember, a certain princess of heavenly beauty,
dressed in white garments, came to me towards the end of last night
in a dream, and said this to me--'Lay aside your anxiety, dear one,
for you will quickly reach a large and wonderful town situated in a
forest, on the shore of the sea. And after resting there, you shall
with ease find that town Karpúrasambhava, and then win that princess
Karpúriká.' Having said this, she disappeared, and I immediately woke
up." When he said that, Gomukha was delighted and said to him--"King,
you are favoured by the gods; what is difficult to you? So your
enterprise will certainly succeed without difficulty." When Gomukha
had said this, Naraváhanadatta hastened along the path with him. And
in course of time he reached a city of vast extent on the shore of the
sea, furnished with lofty mansions resembling the peaks of mountains,
with streets, and arches, adorned with a palace all golden like
mount Meru, looking like a second Earth. He entered that city by the
market-street, and beheld that all the population, merchants, women,
and citizens were wooden automata, that moved as if they were alive,
but were recognised as lifeless by their want of speech. This aroused
astonishment in his mind. And in due course he arrived with Gomukha
near the king's palace, and saw that all the horses and elephants there
were of the same material; and with his minister he entered, full of
wonder, that palace, which was resplendent with seven ranges of golden
buildings. There he saw a majestic man sitting on a jewelled throne,
surrounded by warders and women, who were also wooden automata, the
only living being there, who produced motion in those dull material
things, like the soul presiding over the senses. He, for his part,
seeing that that hero Naraváhanadatta was of noble form, rose up
and welcomed him, and made him sit down on his own seat, and sitting
in front of him, he thus questioned him, "Who are you; how and why
have you come to this uninhabited land with one companion?" Then
Naraváhanadatta told his own story from the beginning, and asked that
hero, who was prostrating himself before him,--"Who are you, my good
sir, and what is this wonderful city of yours? Tell me." That man,
when he heard that, began to tell his own story.



Story of the two brothers Pránadhara and Rájyadhara.

There is a city named Kánchí possessed of great excellences, [613]
which, like a girdle, well adorns the earth-bride. In it there was a
famous king of the name of Báhubala, who won fortune by the might of
his arm, and imprisoned her in his treasury, though she is a gadding
dame. We were two brothers in his kingdom, carpenters by trade, skilful
in making ingenious automata of wood and other materials, such as
Maya [614] first invented. My elder brother was by name Pránadhara,
and he was infatuated with love for a fickle dame, and I, my lord,
am named Rájyadhara, and I was ever devoted to him. That brother of
mine consumed all my father's property and his own, and some portion
of what I had acquired, which melted by affection I made over to
him. Then he, being much infatuated about the lady, out of desire
to steal wealth for her sake, made a couple of swans of wood with
mechanism and strings attached to them. That pair of swans was sent
out at night by pulling the strings, and entering by means of the
mechanical contrivance into the king's treasury through a window, they
took from it with their beaks jewels placed in a basket, and returned
to the house of my brother. And my elder brother sold the jewels and
spent the money so acquired with his paramour, and in that way he
robbed the king's treasury every night, and though I tried to prevent
him, he would not give up that improper proceeding, for who, when
blinded by passion, distinguishes between right and wrong? And then
the keeper of the treasury, as the king's treasure-house was plundered
night after night without the bolt being moved, though there were no
mice in it, for several days in succession enquired into the matter,
without saying anything, out of fear, and then being exceedingly
vexed, went and told the whole matter plainly to the king. Then the
king posted him and some other guards in the treasure-house at night,
with orders to keep awake in order to find out the truth of it. Those
guards went into the treasure-house at midnight, and while there,
saw my brother's two swans entering there by the window, impelled
by strings. The swans moved round by means of their mechanism and
took the jewels, then the guards cut the strings, and took the swans
to shew the king in the morning. And then my elder brother said in a
state of bewilderment--"Brother, my two swans have been seized by the
guards of the treasury, for the strings have become slack, and the
pin of the mechanism has dropped. So we must both of us leave this
place immediately, for the king, when he hears of it in the morning,
will punish us as thieves. For we are both known to be skilled in
mechanical contrivances. And I have here a chariot with a pneumatic
contrivance, which quickly goes eight hundred yojanas, if you press
a spring. Let us go by means of it to-day to a distant foreign land,
though exile may be disagreeable; for how can an evil deed, that is
done in despite of good advice, bring pleasure to any one? This is
the mature fruit of my wickedness in not obeying your advice, which
has extended to innocent you, as well as to me." After saying this, my
brother Pránadhara immediately mounted with his family that chariot,
that flew through the air. But though he urged me, I would not mount
it, as it was laden with many people, so he flew up in it to the sky
and went off to some distant place.

When that Pránadhara, [615] who was rightly named, had gone
off somewhere, I, expecting that in the morning I singly should
he exposed to danger at the hands of the king, mounted another
chariot with a pneumatic mechanism, which I had myself made, and
quickly travelled two hundred yojanas from that place. Then I again
started that air-travelling chariot, and went another two hundred
yojanas. Then I left my chariot, terrified at finding that I was near
the sea, and travelling on my feet, reached in course of time this
city which was empty. And out of curiosity I entered this palace,
which was filled with garments, ornaments, and couches and all the
other conveniences fit for a king. And in the evening I bathed in the
water of the garden-lake, and ate fruits, and going to the royal bed
reflected alone at night--"What am I to do in this uninhabited spot? So
to-morrow I will go hence to some place or other, for I no longer need
fear danger from king Báhubala." When I had thus reflected, I went
to sleep, and towards the end of night a hero of divine appearance,
mounted on a peacock, thus addressed me in a dream; "You must live
here, good sir, you must not depart elsewhere, and at the time of meals
you must go up to the middle court of the palace, and wait there." Thus
he spoke, and disappeared, and I woke up and reflected--"Undoubtedly
this heavenly place has been made by Kártikeya, and he has favoured
me with this dream on account of my merits in a former life. I have
turned up here because I am to be happy dwelling in this town." I
conceived this hope and rose up, and said the prayer for the day,
and at the time of eating I went up to the middle court, and while
I was waiting there, golden dishes were placed in front of me, and
there fell into them from heaven food consisting of ghee, milk, rice,
boiled rice and other things; [616] and any other kinds of food that I
thought of, came to me as fast as I thought of them. After eating all
this, I felt comforted by the favour of the god. So, my lord, I took
up my abode in this city, with kingly luxuries coming to me every day
as fast as I wished for them. But I do not obtain wives and retinue
by thinking of them, so I made all these people of wood. Though I am
a carpenter, since I have come here I enjoy alone all the pleasures
of a king by the power of Destiny, and my name is Rájyadhara. [617]

"So repose, now, a day in this god-built town, and I will attend upon
you to the best of my ability." After saying this, Rájyadhara led off
with him Naraváhanadatta and Gomukha to the city garden, there the
prince bathed in the water of the lake and offered lotuses to Siva,
and was conducted to the feasting-place in the middle court, and there
he and his minister enjoyed viands which were placed before them by
Rájyadhara, who stood in front of them, to whom they came as soon as
he thought of them. Then the eating-ground was swept by some unseen
hand, and after they had taken betel, they drank wine and remained
in great felicity. And after Rájyadhara had eaten, the prince retired
to a gorgeous couch, astonished at the wonderful nature of the town,
which resembled the philosopher's stone. And when he could not sleep,
on account of his recently conceived longing for Karpúriká, Rájyadhara,
who was also in bed, asked her story, and then said to him--"Why do
you not sleep, auspicious sir? You will obtain your desired love. For
a fair woman, like Fortune, of her own accord chooses a man of high
courage. I have had ocular proof of this, so hear the story; I will
relate it to you."



Story of Arthalobha and his beautiful wife.

That king of Kánchí, Báhubala, whom I mentioned to you, had a rich
door-keeper, rightly named Arthalobha. [618] He had a beautiful wife
named Mánapará. That Arthalobha, being by profession a merchant, and on
account of his avarice distrusting his servants, appointed that wife of
his to look after his business in preference to them. She, though she
did not like it, being obedient to him, made bargains with merchants
and captivated all men by her sweet form and speech. And Arthalobha,
seeing that all the sales of elephants, horses, jewels, and garments
that she made, brought in a profit, rejoiced exceedingly. And once on
a time there came there from a distant foreign land a merchant, named
Sukhadhana, having a large stock of horses and other commodities. The
moment Arthalobha heard that he had come, he said to his wife--"My
dear, a merchant named Sukhadhana has arrived from a foreign land,
he has brought twenty thousand horses, and innumerable pairs of
excellent garments made in China, so please, go and purchase from
him five thousand horses and ten thousand pairs of garments, in order
that with the thousands of horses I already possess and those other
five, I may pay a visit to the king, and carry on my commerce. When
commissioned in these words by that villain Arthalobha, Mánapará
went to Sukhadhana; whose eyes were captivated by her beauty, and who
welcomed her gladly. And she demanded from him for a price those horses
and garments. The merchant, overpowered with love, took her aside
and said to her--"I will not give you one horse or garment for money,
but if you will remain one night with me, I will give you five hundred
horses and five thousand garments." After saying this, he solicited
that fair one with even a larger amount; who does not fall in love with
women, who are allowed to go about without restraint? Then she answered
him--"I will ask my husband about this, for I know he will send me here
out of excessive cupidity. [619]" After saying this, she went home,
and told her husband what the merchant Sukhadhana had said to her
secretly. And that wicked covetous husband Arthalobha said to her;
"My dear, if you obtain five hundred horses and five thousand pairs
of garments for one night, what is the harm in it. So go to him now;
you shall return quickly in the morning." When Mánapará heard this
speech of her mean-spirited husband's, she began to debate in her
heart, and thus reflected--"Out on this base spiritless husband
of mine that sells his honour! By continually meditating on gain
he has become all made up of the desire of gain. It is better that
the generous man, who buys me for one night with hundreds of horses
and thousands of pieces of China silk, should be my husband." Thus
reflecting, she took leave of her base husband, saying; "It is not
my fault," and went to the house of that Sukhadhana. And he, when he
saw that she had come, after questioning her and hearing the whole
story from her, was astonished, and considered himself fortunate in
obtaining her. And he sent off immediately to her husband Arthalobha
the horses and garments that were to purchase her, as agreed upon. And
he remained that night with her, having all his wishes attained, for
she seemed like the fortune which was the fruit of his own wealth,
incarnate in bodily form, at last obtained by him. And in the morning
the base Arthalobha sent, in his shamelessness, servants to summon
her, whereupon Mánapará said to them, "How can I again return to be
the wife of that man who sold me to another? I am not as shameless as
he is. Tell me yourselves if this would be becoming now. So depart,
the man that bought me is my husband." When the servants were thus
addressed by her, they went and repeated her words to Arthalobha with
downcast faces. The mean fellow, when he heard it, wanted to recover
her by force; then a friend of the name of Harabala said to him;
"You cannot recover her from that Sukhadhana, for he is a hero, and I
do not behold in you manliness corresponding to his. For he is moved
to heroism by a woman that loves him on account of his generosity,
and he is mighty, and surrounded with other mighty men that have come
with him. But you have been deserted by your wife, who separated from
you because you sold her out of meanness, and scorn makes you timid,
and being reproached you have become effeminate. Moreover you are not
mighty, and you are not surrounded by mighty friends, so how can you
possibly be capable of vanquishing that rival? And the king will be
angry with you, when he hears of your crime of selling your wife; so
keep quiet, and do not make a ridiculous blunder." Though his friend
tried to dissuade him with these words, Arthalobha went and beset,
in his anger, the house of Sukhadhana with his retainers. While he was
thus engaged, Sukhadhana sallied out with his friends and retainers,
and in a moment easily defeated the whole of Arthalobha's force.

Then Arthalobha fled, and went into the presence of the king. And
concealing his own wicked conduct, he said to the king,--"O king, the
merchant Sukhadhana has carried off my wife by force." And the king,
in his rage, wished to arrest that Sukhadhana. Then a minister of the
name of Sandhána said to the king--"In any case, my lord, you cannot
arrest him, for when his force is increased by that of the eleven
friends who have come with him, he will be found to have more than
a hundred thousand excellent horses. And you have not discovered
the truth about the matter, for his conduct will turn out to be
not altogether without cause. So you had better send a messenger,
and ask what it is that this fellow here is chattering about." When
king Báhubala heard this, he sent a messenger to Sukhadhana to
ask about the matter. The messenger went, and asked about the
matter by the king's order, and thereupon Mánapará told him her
story. When Báhubala heard that wonderful tale, he came to the house
of Sukhadhana to behold the beauty of Mánapará, being filled with
excessive curiosity. There he beheld, while Sukhadhana bent before
him, Mánapará, who with the wealth of her beauty would astonish even
the Creator. She prostrated herself at his feet, and he questioned
her, and heard from her own mouth how the whole thing happened,
Arthalobha being present and listening. When he heard it, he thought
it was true, because Arthalobha was speechless, and he asked that
fair one what was to be done now. Then she said decidedly, "How can I
return to that spiritless avaricious man, who sold me to another man
without the excuse of distress?" When the king heard this, he said,
"Well said," and then Arthalobha bewildered with desire, wrath, and
shame, exclaimed,--"King, let him and me fight with our own retainers,
without any auxiliary forces; then let it be seen who is spirited and
who is spiritless." When Sukhadhana heard this, he said--"Then let
us fight in single combat, what need is there of retainers? Mánapará
shall be the prize of the victor." When the king heard this, he said,
"Good! so let it be!" Then, before the eyes of Mánapará and the king,
they both entered the lists mounted. And in the course of the combat,
Sukhadhana laid Arthalobha on the plain, by his horse's rearing on
account of a lance-wound. Then Arthalobha fell three times more on the
earth, on account of his horse being killed, but Sukhadhana, who was a
fair fighter, restrained himself and would not slay him. But the fifth
time Arthalobha's horse fell upon him, and bruised him, and he was
carried off by his servants motionless. Then Sukhadhana was cheered
by all the spectators with shouts of applause, and the king Báhubala
honoured him as he deserved. And he immediately bestowed a gift of
honour upon the lady, and he confiscated the property of Arthalobha,
which had been acquired by unlawful means; and appointing another to
his office, he departed pleased to his palace. For good men derive
satisfaction from breaking off their connection with the bad. And
Sukhadhana, having maintained his claim by force, remained enjoying
himself in the society of Mánapará his loving wife.

"Thus wives and wealth leave the mean-spirited man, and of their own
accord come to the high-spirited man from every quarter. So dismiss
anxiety! Go to sleep! in a short time, my lord, you will obtain that
princess Karpúriká." When Naraváhanadatta heard that sound advice of
Rájyadhara's, he and Gomukha went off to sleep.

And in the morning, while the prince was waiting awhile after his
meal, the wise Gomukha addressed Rájyadhara as follows: "Make such
an ingenious chariot for my master, as that he shall be able by
means of it to reach the city of Karpúrasambhava, and obtain his
beloved." When thus supplicated, that carpenter offered Naraváhanadatta
the chariot with a pneumatic contrivance, that he had made before. He
ascended that sky-travelling chariot, swift as thought, together with
Gomukha, and crossed the deep, the home of monsters, that agitated
its waves as if exulting to behold his valour, and reached the city
of Karpúrasambhava on its shore. There the chariot descended from the
sky, and he and Gomukha left it, and out of curiosity wandered about
inside the town. And by questioning the people he found out that he
had indeed without doubt reached the desired city, and delighted he
went to the neighbourhood of the palace. There he found a splendid
house occupied by an old woman, and he entered it to stay there,
and she received him with respect. And eager to hit upon an artifice,
he immediately asked that woman, "Noble lady, what is the name of the
king here, and what children has he? And tell us of their appearance,
for we are foreigners." When he said this to the old woman, she, seeing
that he was of excessively noble form, answered--"Listen, illustrious
sir, I will tell you all. In this city of Karpúrasambhava there is a
king named Karpúraka. And he, having no children, performed penance,
with his wife Buddhikárí, fasting, in honour of Siva, in order to
obtain offspring. After he had fasted for three nights, the god Siva
commanded him in a dream--'Rise up, a daughter shall be born to you,
who shall be superior to a son, and whose husband shall obtain the
sovereignty of the Vidyádharas.' After receiving this order from
Siva, the king woke up in the morning; and, after communicating this
dream to his wife Buddhikárí, he rose up and went off delighted,
and with his queen broke his fast. And then in a short time that
queen conceived by the king, and when the period was completed, she
brought forth a daughter beautiful in all her limbs. She surpassed
in splendour the lights in the lying-in chamber, [620] and they,
as it were, heaved sighs by discharging lamp-black. And her father
made great rejoicings, and gave her the name of Karpúriká, which
is his own name made feminine. And gradually that moonlight of the
eyes of the people, the princess Karpúriká, has grown up, and is now
in the full bloom of youth. And her father, the king here, desires
to have her married, but the haughty girl detests men, and will not
consent. And when my daughter, who is her friend, put this question
to her 'My dear, why do you not desire marriage, the only fruit of a
daughter's birth?' she answered, 'My dear, I remember my former birth,
and the cause is something which happened then; hear it."



Story of the princess Karpúriká in her birth as a swan.

On the shore of the ocean there is a great sandal-wood tree. Near it
there is a lake adorned with full-blown lotuses. I was a female swan
on that lake on account of my actions in a previous birth. Once on a
time, out of fear of the sea, I made a nest in that sandal-wood tree
with my husband, who was a male swan. When I was dwelling in that nest,
I had male offspring born to me, and suddenly a great wave of the sea
came and carried them off. When the flood carried away my children,
out of grief I wept and took no food; and remained in front of a linga
of Siva on the shore of the sea. Then that male swan, my husband,
came to me and said--"Rise up, why do you lament your children that
are dead, we shall get other ones. [621] As long as life is preserved,
everything can be obtained." His speech pierced my heart like an arrow,
and I reflected--"Alas! males are thus wickedly regardless of their
youthful offspring, and show no affection to, or compassion for their
females, though they are attached to them. So of what comfort is this
husband to me? Of what use is this body that brings only pain?" Thus
reflecting, I prostrated myself before Siva, and devoutly placed him
in my heart, and then in front of his symbol, before the eyes of the
swan, my husband, I uttered this prayer; "May I become in the next
birth a princess remembering my former state,"--and thereupon I flung
myself into the sea. Consequently, I have been born in this life such
as you see. And because I remember the cruelty of that husband in a
former birth, my mind does not feel inclined to any suitor. So I do
not desire to be married; the rest is in the hands of Destiny. "This
is what the princess said then in private to my daughter, and that
daughter of mine came and told it to me."

"So, my son, I have told you what you asked me. And that princess
is undoubtedly destined to be your wife. For she was long ago
designated by the god Siva as the wife of the future emperor
of the Vidyádharas. And I see that you are marked with all the
distinguishing signs of an emperor, such as the peculiar freckle, and
other marks. Perhaps you are some distinguished person brought here by
Providence for that very purpose. Rise up, for the present we will see
what there is in my house in the way of provision." After the old lady
had told him this, she brought him food, and he and Gomukha spent the
night there. And in the morning, the prince deliberated in private with
Gomukha as to the steps to be taken, and then he assumed the dress of
a Pásupata ascetic, and accompanied by Gomukha, he went to the king's
gate, and roamed about in front of it, crying out again and again--"Ah
my female swan! Ah my female swan!" And the people gazed at him. And
when the maids beheld him thus employed, they went in astonishment
and said to the princess Karpúriká; "Your Highness! we have seen at
the royal gate a Pásupata ascetic who, though he has a fellow, is
unfellowed in beauty, [622] and he continually utters these words,
'Ah my female swan! Ah my female swan!' which bewilders the minds of
the women." When the princess heard this, she, as having been a swan
in a former birth, was filled with curiosity, and had him, just as
he was, conducted by her maids into her presence. And she saw that
he was adorned with infinite beauty, like a new god of Love that had
taken a vow to propitiate Siva. And she said to him, when he looked
at her with an eye expanded by curiosity, "What is this that you are
continually saying, 'Ah! my female swan! Ah! my female swan?'" Though
she said this to him, he went on to say--"Ah! my female swan!" Then his
companion Gomukha answered her; "I will explain this in a few words,
listen, Your Highness.

"In a former birth he was a swan on account of his actions in an
anterior state of existence. Then he built himself a nest in a
sandal-wood tree, on the bank of a great lake near the shore of
the sea, and lived there with his female. And as it happened, their
offspring in that nest were swept away by a wave, and his female,
distracted with grief, threw herself into the sea. Then he, being
grieved at separation from her, and disgusted with his bird-nature,
desirous of leaving that body, made a pious wish in his heart--'May
I be in a future life a prince remembering my former state, and may
this virtuous female swan be my wife, remembering her former existence
also.' Then he thought on Siva, and scorched with the fire of grief,
flung that body into the water of the sea. So he has been now born,
my fair lady, as Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa in
Kausámbí, with the power of recollecting his former existence. When he
was born, a voice said distinctly from heaven; 'This prince shall be
the emperor of all the kings of the Vidyádharas.' In course of time,
when he had become crown-prince, he was married by his father to the
goddess Madanamanchuká of heavenly appearance, who had been born for
a certain reason as a woman. And then the daughter of a king of the
Vidyádharas named Hemaprabha, the maiden Ratnaprabhá, came of her own
accord, and chose him for a husband. Nevertheless, thinking on that
female swan, he does not enjoy tranquillity; and he told this to me,
who have been his servant from my childhood. Then, while he was out
hunting, it happened that he and I had a meeting in the forest with a
holy female hermit. And in the course of conversation she said to him
with favouring condescension--'Owing to the effect of his actions the
god of Love, my son, became a swan. And a heavenly female, that had
fallen through a curse, became his dear wife, when he was dwelling,
as a swan, in a sandal-wood tree on the bank of the sea. But she
threw herself into the sea, through grief at her offspring having been
carried away by the tide, and then the male swan flung himself into the
sea also. He has now by the favour of Siva been born as yourself, the
son of the king of Vatsa, and you know of that former birth of yours,
my son, for you remember your former existence. And that female swan
has been now born in Karpúrasambhava, a city on the shore of the sea,
as a princess, Karpúriká by name. Therefore, go there, my son, and
win her to wife.' When the holy female hermit had said this, she flew
up into the sky and disappeared. And this lord of mine, having heard
this information, immediately set out with me to come here. And being
attracted by love for you, he risked his life, and after traversing
a hundred difficulties, he reached the shore of the sea. There we
had an interview with the carpenter, named Rájyadhara, who dwells in
Hemapura, and who gave us an ingenious chariot. We have mounted on this
terrible machine, as if it were our courage having taken shape, [623]
and have crossed the perilous gulf of the sea, and arrived at this
town. For this reason, queen, my master wandered about, exclaiming,
'Ah my female swan!' until he came into your presence. Now, from
the pleasing sight of the noble moon of your countenance, he enjoys
the removal of the darkness caused by the presence of innumerable
woes. Now, honour your noble guest with the blue lotus garland of
your look." When Karpúriká heard this feigned speech of Gomukha's,
she thought it was true, relying on the fact that it harmonized with
her own recollections. And she melted in her soul with love, and she
thought, "After all this husband of mine was attached to me, and my
despondency was causeless." And she said--"I am in truth that very
female swan, and I am fortunate in that my husband has for my sake
endured suffering in two births. So now I am your slave, overcome
by love;" and saying this, she honoured Naraváhanadatta with baths
and other hospitalities. Then she informed her father of all this
by the mouth of her attendants, and he, the moment he heard it,
came to her. Then the king thought himself fortunate, having seen
that his daughter had conceived a desire to be married, and that an
appropriate suitor for her had at length arrived in Naraváhanadatta,
who was marked with all the signs of a great emperor. And he gave, with
all due honour, his daughter Karpúriká to Naraváhanadatta according
to the prescribed form. And he gave to that son-in-law of his, at
every circumambulation from left to right of the sacred fire, thirty
millions of gold-pieces, and as many lumps of camphor, the heaps of
which appeared like the peaks of Meru and Kailása that had witnessed
the marriage of Párvatí, come to behold his magnificence. Moreover
the king Karpúraka, who had attained his wish, gave Naraváhanadatta a
hundred millions of excellent garments and three hundred female slaves
well adorned. And Naraváhanadatta, after his marriage, remained with
that Karpúriká, as if with affection incarnate in bodily form. Whose
mind was not delighted at the union of that couple, which resembled
the marriage of the spring-creeper and the spring-festival?

And on the next day Naraváhanadatta, who had attained his object,
said to his beloved Karpúriká, "Come, let us go to Kausámbí." Then
she answered him--"If it is to be so, why should we not go there
immediately in this chariot of yours that flies through the air? If
it is too small, I will furnish another large one, for there is
living here a mechanic who makes ingenious chariots, who has come
from a foreign land, Pránadhara by name; I will cause him quickly to
make such a chariot." After saying this, she called the warder that
kept the door, and said to him--"Go and order that chariot-maker
Pránadhara to prepare a large chariot, that will travel through the
air, for us to start in." Then the queen Karpúriká, having dismissed
the warder, informed her father by the mouth of a slave of her desire
to depart. And while the king, on hearing it, was coming thither,
Naraváhanadatta thus reflected; "This Pránadhara is certainly the
brother of Rájyadhara, whom he described as having run away from his
native land through fear of his king." While he was thus thinking,
the king quickly arrived, and that mechanic Pránadhara came with the
warder, and said--"I have ready-made a very large chariot, which will
easily carry at this instant thousands of men." When the mechanic
said this, Naraváhanadatta said "Bravo!" and asked him courteously;
"Are you the elder brother of Rájyadhara, skilled in various very great
mechanical contrivances?" And Pránadhara answered him, bowing before
him--"I am that very brother of his, but how does Your Highness know
about us?" Then Naraváhanadatta told him what Rájyadhara had told him,
and how he had seen him. Then Pránadhara joyfully brought him the
chariot, and he mounted it with Gomukha, after having been politely
dismissed by his father-in-law the king, and after bidding farewell
to him; but first he placed in it the slaves, camphor and gold. And
he took with him Pránadhara, whom the king permitted to depart, and
that head-warder, and his recently married wife Karpúriká; and his
mother-in-law uttered a solemn prayer for a blessing on his journey,
and from those stores of splendid garments he bestowed gifts on the
Bráhmans; and he said to Pránadhara--"First let us go to Rájyadhara on
the shore of the sea, and then home." Then the chariot was driven on
by Pránadhara, and the king and his wife flew up into the air quickly
by means of it, as if by his accomplished wish. [624] In a moment
he crossed the sea, and reached again that city of Hemapura on its
shore, the abode of that Rájyadhara. There Rájyadhara bowed before
him, delighted at beholding his brother, and as he had no female
slaves, the prince honoured him with the gift of some, at which he
greatly rejoiced. And after taking leave of Rájyadhara, whose tears
flowed fast, as he could hardly bear to part from his elder brother,
the prince reached Kausámbí in that same chariot. Then the people,
on beholding the prince unexpectedly descend from heaven, riding in
that splendid chariot, followed by his retainers, and accompanied by
his new bride, were much astonished. And his father, the king of Vatsa,
having gathered from the exultations of the citizens that his son had
arrived, was delighted, and went out to meet him, accompanied by the
queen, the ministers, his daughter-in-law, and other persons. And
the king, beholding that son prostrate at his feet with his wife,
received him gladly, and thought that the fact, that he was to be
the future emperor of the aerial spirits, was clearly revealed by his
coming in a flying chariot. His mother Vásavadattá, with Padmávatí,
embraced him, and she shed a tear, which dropped like the knot of pain
loosened by seeing him. And his wife Ratnaprabhá was delighted, and
Madanamanchuká also, and their jealousy being overcome by love for him,
they embraced his feet, and won his heart at the same time. And the
prince delighted his father's ministers, headed by Yaugandharáyana,
and his own, headed by Marubhúti, when they bowed before him, by
rewarding them as they severally deserved. And they all, with the
king of Vatsa at their head, welcomed that new wife Karpúriká, who
bowed becomingly before them, like the goddess of Fortune arrived
surrounded by a hundred immortal nymphs, even the sister-shape of
Amrita, [625] openly brought by her husband, having crossed the sea
adorned with its shore as a garment with a beautiful fringe. And the
king of Vatsa honoured that warder of her father's, giving him many
crores of gold-pieces, garments and lumps of camphor, which had been
brought in the chariot. And the king then honoured Pránadhara as the
benefactor of his son Naraváhanadatta, who had pointed him out as the
maker of the chariot. And then the king honoured Gomukha, and asked
him joyfully, "How did you obtain this princess? And how did you start
from this place?" And then Gomukha deftly told the king of Vatsa,
with his wives and ministers, in private, the whole adventure, as it
took place, beginning with their going to the forest to hunt,----how
they met the female hermit, and how they crossed the sea by means of
the chariot provided by Rájyadhara, and how Karpúriká was obtained
with her female attendants, though she was averse to marriage, and how
they returned by the way by which they went, in a chariot which they
obtained by finding Pránadhara. Then all of them, shaking their heads
in astonishment and joy, said--"To think of the concurrence of all
these circumstances, the chase, and the female ascetic, the carpenter
Rájyadhara skilled in mechanical contrivances found on the shore of
the sea, the crossing the ocean in the chariot that he made, and that
another maker of these chariots should have previously reached the
other side of the ocean! The truth is, Destiny takes trouble to provide
the fortunate with the means of obtaining prosperous success." Then
all respectfully commended Gomukha for his devotion to his lord. And
they praised queen Ratnaprabhá, who by her knowledge protected her
lord on his journey, for she produced general satisfaction by acting
like a woman devoted to her husband. Then Naraváhanadatta, having made
his party of air-travellers forget the fatigues of their journey,
entered his palace with his father, and mother, his wives and other
relations. Then his treasury was filled with heaps of gold by the
friends and relations who came to see him, and whom he honoured, and
he loaded Pránadhara and his father-in-law's warder with wealth. And
Pránadhara, immediately after he had taken food, respectfully addressed
this petition to him--"Prince, king Karpúriká gave us the following
order--'You must come back quickly as soon as my daughter has reached
her husband's palace, in order that I may have early news of her
arrival.' So we must certainly go there quickly this very moment; give
us a letter from Karpúriká to the king written with her own hand. For
otherwise the heart of the king, which is attached to his daughter,
will not take comfort. For he, never having mounted an air-chariot,
fears that we may have fallen from it. So give me the letter, and
permit this head-warder, who is desirous of ascending the chariot,
to depart with me. But I will return here, crown-prince, and will
bring my family, for I cannot abandon the two ambrosial lotuses of
your feet." When Pránadhara said this firmly, the son of the king of
Vatsa immediately made Karpúriká sit down to write that letter. It
ran as follows, "My father, you must not feel anxious about me,
since I share the happiness and possess the love of a good husband;
was the goddess Lakshmí an object of anxiety to the ocean after she
had betaken herself to the Supreme Bridegroom?" When she had written
the above letter with her own hand, and given it, the son of the king
of Vatsa dismissed the warder and Pránadhara with honour. And they
ascended the chariot, and produced astonishment in the minds of all,
as they were seen going through the air, and crossing the sea they
went to the city of Karpúrasambhava. There they delighted the king
Karpúraka by reading out his daughter's letter, which told that she had
reached her husband's palace. The next day Pránadhara took leave of the
king, and after visiting Rájyadhara, repaired with his family into the
presence of Naraváhanadatta. Naraváhanadatta, when he had returned thus
quickly after accomplishing his mission, gave him a dwelling near his
palace and an ample allowance. And he amused himself, and his wives,
by going about in the flying chariots made by him, as if rehearsing
future journeyings in the skies as emperor of the Vidyádharas.

Thus, having delighted his friends, followers and wives, and obtained
a third wife Karpúriká in addition to Ratnaprabhá and Madanamanchuká,
the son of the king of Vatsa spent those days in happiness.







BOOK VIII.


CHAPTER XLIV.


Victory to the elephant-headed god, [626] who, reddening the sky
with the vermilion dye shaken off by the wind of his flapping ears,
seems to create sunset, even when it is not due.

Thus Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, dwelt happily in
his father's house, after he had won those wives. And one day, when he
was in his father's assembly-hall, he saw a man of heavenly appearance
come there, descending from heaven. And after he and his father had
welcomed the man, who bowed before him, he immediately asked him,
"Who are you and why have you come?" Then he answered--"There is a
city in this earth on the ridge of Himavat, called Vajrakúta, [627]
and rightly so called, as being all made of diamond. There I dwelt,
as a king of the Vidyádharas named Vajraprabha, and my name too was
rightly given me, because my body is framed of diamond. And I received
this command from Siva, (who was pleased with my austerities,) "If thou
remainest loyal at the appointed time to the emperor created by me,
thou shalt become by my favour invincible to thy enemies." Accordingly
I have come here without delay to pay my respects to my sovereign:
for I have already perceived by means of my science that the son of
the king of Vatsa, (who is born of a portion of the god of Love, and
appointed by the god who wears a digit of the moon,) though a mortal,
shall be sole emperor over both divisions of our territory. [628]
And though, by the favour of Siva, a prince of the name of Súryaprabha
was ruler over us for a kalpa of the gods, still he was only lord in
the southern division, but in the northern division a prince called
Srutasarman was emperor; but your majesty, being destined for great
good fortune, shall be sole emperor here over the wanderers of the air,
and your dominion shall endure for a kalpa."

When the Vidyádhara said this, Naraváhanadatta, in the presence
of the king of Vatsa, said to him again out of curiosity: "How did
Súryaprabha, being a man, obtain of old time the sovereignty over
the Vidyádharas? Tell us." Then in private, that is to say, in the
presence of the queens and ministers, the king Vajraprabha began to
tell that tale.



Story of Súryaprabha, and how he attained sovereignty over the
Vidyádharas.

Of old there was in the country of the people of Madra a town named
Sákala; [629] Chandraprabha, the son of Angáraprabha, was king of it,
whose name expressed his nature, as he delighted the whole world,
but he was like fire in that he scorched his enemies. By his wife,
named Kírtimatí, there was born to that king a son, whose future glory
was indicated by his exceedingly auspicious marks. And when he was
born, a clear voice sounded from heaven, which rained nectar into the
ears of king Chandraprabha, "This king, now born, named Súryaprabha,
is appointed by Siva as the future emperor over the kings of the
Vidyádharas. Then that prince Súryaprabha grew up in the house of
his father, who was distinguished by the delightful favour of the
enemy of Pura, [630] and he being very clever, gradually acquired,
while still a child, all knowledge and all the accomplishments by
sitting at the feet of a teacher; and then, when he was sixteen
years old, and captivated the subjects by his virtues, his father
Chandraprabha appointed him crown-prince, and he gave him the sons
of his own ministers, many in number, Bhása, Prabhása, Siddhártha,
Prahasta and others. And while he was bearing with them the burden of
a crown-prince's duty, one day a great Asura of the name of Maya came
there, and Maya went up in the assembly-hall to king Chandraprabha,
who welcomed him, and said to him in the presence of Súryaprabha,
"King, this son of yours, Súryaprabha, has been appointed as the
future emperor of the kings of the Vidyádharas by Siva; so why does
he not acquire the magic sciences that will put him in possession of
the dignity? For this reason I am sent here by the god Siva. Permit
me to take him, and teach him the right method of employing the
sciences, which will be the cause of his obtaining the sovereignty
of the Vidyádharas. For he has a rival in this business, a lord
of the sky-goers named Srutasarman; he too has been appointed by
Siva. But this prince, after acquiring the power of the sciences,
shall conquer him with our help, and become emperor over the lords of
the Vidyádharas." When Maya said this, king Chandraprabha said--"We
are fortunate; let this auspicious one be taken by you wherever you
wish." Then Maya took leave of the king, and quickly carried off
to Pátála Súryaprabha and his ministers, whom the king permitted to
depart. There he taught the prince ascetic practices of such a kind,
that by means of them the prince and his ministers quickly acquired
the sciences. And he taught him also the art of providing himself with
magic chariots, so that he acquired a chariot named Bhútásana. Then
Maya brought Súryaprabha, mounted on that chariot, with his ministers,
having acquired the sciences, back to his own city from Pátála. And
after he had led him into the presence of his parents, he said to
him, "Now I depart, enjoy here all the enjoyments given by your magic
knowledge until I return." After saying this, the Asura Maya departed,
after having been duly honoured, and king Chandraprabha rejoiced in
his son's having acquired the sciences.

Then Súryaprabha, by virtue of the sciences, was continually roaming
through many countries in his chariot, with his ministers, to amuse
himself. And wherever any princess beheld him, she was immediately
bewildered by love, and chose him for her husband. The first was the
virgin daughter of the king of Támraliptí, who was called Vírabhata;
her name was Madanasená, and she was the first beauty of the world. The
second was Chandrikávatí the daughter of Subhata, the emperor of
the western border, who had been carried off by the Siddhas and left
somewhere else. And the third was the famous daughter of Kumbhíra,
the king of the city of Kánchí, Varunasená by name, remarkable
for her beauty. And the fourth was the daughter of king Paurava,
sovereign of Lávánaka, Sulochaná by name, with lovely eyes. And
the fifth was the daughter of king Suroha, the lord of the land of
China, Vidyunmálá with charming limbs, yellow as gold. And the sixth
was the daughter of king Kántisena, ruler in the land of Sríkantha,
surpassing in beauty the Apsarases. And the seventh was Parapushtá,
the daughter of king Janamejaya, the lord of the city of Kausámbí,
a sweet-voiced maid. And though the relations of these maidens,
who were carried off by a surprise, found out what had happened,
still, as the prince was confident in the might of his supernatural
science, they were pliant as canes. These wives also acquired the
sciences, and Súryaprabha associated with them all at the same time,
taking many bodies by his magic skill. Then he amused himself,
in the company of these wives, and of the ministers Prahasta and
others, with roaming in the air, with concerts, drinking-parties and
other amusements. Possessing heavenly skill in painting, he drew the
Vidyádhara females, and in that way, and by making sportive sarcastic
speeches, he enraged those charmers, and he was amused at their faces,
furrowed with frowns, and with reddened eyes, and at their speeches,
the syllables of which faltered on their trembling lips. And that
prince went with his wives to Támraliptí, and roaming through the
air sported in the gardens with Madanasená. And having left his
wives there, he went in the chariot Bhútásana, and accompanied by
Prahasta only, visited the city called Vajrarátra. There he carried
off the daughter of king Rambha before his eyes, Tárávalí by name,
who was enamoured of him, and burning with the fire of love. And he
came back to Támraliptí, and there carried off again another maiden
princess, by name Vilásiní. And when her haughty brother Sahasráyudha
was annoyed at it, he paralyzed him by his supernatural power. And he
also stupefied Sahasráyudha's mother's brother, who came with him,
and all his retainers, and made his head shorn of hair, because
he wished to carry off his beloved ones. But though he was angry,
he spared to slay them both, because they were his wife's relatives,
but he taunted them, who were downcast on account of the overthrow of
their pride, and let them go. Then Súryaprabha, surrounded by nine
wives, having been summoned by his father, returned in his chariot
to his city Sákala.

And then king Vírabhata sent from Támraliptí an ambassador to
Súryaprabha's father, king Chandraprabha, and gave him the following
message to deliver--"Your son has carried off my two daughters,
but let that be, for he is a desirable husband for them, as he
is a master of supernatural sciences, but, if you love us, come
here now, in order that we may make a friendship based upon the
due performance of marriage rites and hospitality." Thereupon king
Chandraprabha rewarded the messenger, and determined that he would
quickly start for that place on the morrow. But he sent Prahasta, as
an ambassador to Vírabhata, in order to make sure of his sincerity,
and gave him Bhútásana to travel in. Prahasta went quickly and had an
interview with king Vírabhata, and questioned him about the business,
and was informed and highly honoured by him, [631] and promised him,
who smiled graciously, that his masters would come early next morning,
and then he returned in a moment to Chandraprabha through the air. And
he told that king that Vírabhata was ready to receive him. The king,
for his part, being pleased, shewed honour to that minister of his
son's. Then king Chandraprabha with queen Kírtimatí, and Súryaprabha
with Vilásiní and Madanasená, mounted that chariot Bhútásana, and
went off early next day with retinue and ministers. In one watch only
of the day they reached Támraliptí, being beheld, as they passed
through the air, by the people with eyes the lashes of which were
upraised through wonder. And descending from the sky, they entered
the city side by side with king Vírabhata, who came out to meet them;
the beautiful streets of the town were irrigated at every step with
sandal-wood water, and seemed to be strewed with blue lotuses by
means of the sidelong glances of the city ladies. There Vírabhata
honoured his connexion and his son-in-law, and duly performed the
marriage ceremony of his daughters. And king Vírabhata gave at the
marriage-altar of those daughters, a thousand loads of pure gold,
and a hundred camels laden with burdens of ornaments made of jewels;
and five hundred camels laden with loads of various garments, and
fifty thousand horses, and five thousand elephants, and a thousand
lovely women adorned with beauty and jewels. And moreover he gratified
his son-in-law Súryaprabha and his parents with valuable jewels and
territories. And he duly honoured his ministers, Prahasta and others,
and he made a feast at which all the people of the city rejoiced. And
Súryaprabha remained there in the company of his parents, and his
beloved wives, enjoying delights, consisting of various dainties,
wines, and music.

In the meanwhile an ambassador arrived from Rambha in Vajrarátra,
and in the hall of assembly delivered this message from his master:
"The crown-prince Súryaprabha, confiding in the might of his sciences,
has insulted us by carrying off our daughter. But to-day we have come
to know, that he has undertaken to be reconciled to king Vírabhata,
whose misfortune is the same as ours. If in the same way you agree
to be reconciled to us, come here also quickly, if not, we will in
this matter salve our honour by death." When king Chandraprabha
heard that, he honoured the ambassador, and said to him, "Go to
that Rambha and give him this message from me: 'Why do you afflict
yourself without cause? For Súryaprabha is now appointed by Siva the
future emperor of the Vidyádharas; and inspired sages have declared
that your daughter and others are to be his wives. So your daughter
has attained her proper place, but you being stern were not asked for
her. So be appeased, you are our friend, we will come to your residence
also.'" When Prahasta received this message from the king, he went
through the air, and in a single watch he reached Vajrarátra. There he
told his message to Rambha, and having been gladly received by him,
he returned as he came, and reported it to king Chandraprabha. Then
Chandraprabha sent his minister Prabhása, and had king Rambha's
daughter Tárávalí conducted to him from Sákala. Then he departed in
the air-chariot with Súryaprabha, being dismissed with great honour
by king Vírabhata and all others. And he reached Vajrarátra, which
was full of people awaiting his arrival, and was met by Rambha, and
entered his palace. There Rambha, having performed the great feast of
the marriage ceremony, gave his daughter countless stores of gold,
elephants, horses, jewels, and other valuables. And he gratified
so lavishly his son-in-law Súryaprabha, that he forgot all his own
luxuries. And while they were remaining there delighted with feasts,
an ambassador came from the city of Kánchí to Rambha. Rambha having
heard his message, said to king Chandraprabha--"King, the lord of
Kánchí, named Kumbhíra, is my elder brother; he has to-day sent me a
trustworthy messenger to speak this speech; 'Súryaprabha first carried
off my daughter, then yours. And now you have made friendship with
him and his father, as I hear, so bring about my friendship also with
them. Let them come to my house, that I may with my own hand give
my daughter Varunasená to Súryaprabha.' So grant this request of my
brother's." When Rambha made this request, Chandraprabha granted it,
and sent Prahasta and had Varunasená brought quickly from the city of
Sákala to her father Kumbhíra. And the next day, he and Súryaprabha
and Rambha, and Vírabhata and all, with their attendants, went to the
city of Kánchí. And after they had been met by Kumbhíra, they entered
the city of Kánchí, as it were the girdle of the earth, full of many
jewels and adorned with excellences. [632] There Kumbhíra bestowed
his daughter on Súryaprabha with the usual ceremonies, and gave much
wealth to the young couple.

And when the marriage had taken place, Prahasta, after taking food,
said to Chandraprabha, who was all joyfulness, in the presence of all,
"King, in the country of Sríkantha I had an interview with the king
of that land; there king Kántisena whom I thus happened to see, said
to me--'Let Súryaprabha come to my house with that daughter of mine,
whom he has carried off, I will perform the ceremony for him according
to rule. If he refuses, I will abandon the body, distracted by love
for my daughter.' This is what he then said to me, and I have now
mentioned it on the proper occasion." When Prahasta said this, king
Chandraprabha answered, "Go then, take Kántimatí to him, we will go
there also." When the king said this to him, Prahasta went off that
moment through the air, and did as he had commanded. And next morning
Chandraprabha and all, with Kumbhíra, went to the land of Sríkantha in
the air-travelling chariot. There king Kántisena came to meet them,
and making them enter his palace, performed the auspicious ceremony
of his daughter's marriage. Then he gave to Kántimatí and Súryaprabha
an endless quantity of jewels, which excited the wonder of the kings.

While they were all remaining there, enjoying all kinds of pleasures,
a messenger came from Kausámbí and said--"King Janamejaya sends this
message to your honours, 'My daughter, of the name of Parapushtá,
has been carried off by some one lately. And I have found out to-day,
that she has come into the power of Súryaprabha, so let him come with
her to my house without fear. I will perform the marriage ceremony
according to rule, and so dismiss him with his wife, otherwise you
will be my enemies, and I shall be yours.'" Having thus delivered
his master's message, the ambassador remained silent: then king
Chandraprabha said to them apart--"How can we go to the house of that
king who sends such haughty messages?" When the king's minister named
Siddhártha heard that, he said, "Do not entertain wrong notions,
king, for he is justified in using such language. For that king is
very generous, learned and sprung of a noble race, a hero, one who
has offered the Asvamedha sacrifice, ever unconquered by others. How
can he have spoken anything unbecoming in speaking according to
facts? And as for the enmity which he threatens, he does that now
on account of Indra. So you must go to his house, for he is a king
faithful to his engagements. Nevertheless send some one to find out
his intentions." When they heard this speech of Siddhártha's, they all
approved it. Then king Chandraprabha sent Prahasta to sound Janamejaya,
and honoured his messenger. And Prahasta went, and after making an
agreement with the king of Kausámbí, brought a letter from him, and
satisfied Chandraprabha. The king quickly sent that Prahasta, and had
Parapushtá conducted from Sákala to Janamejaya. Then Chandraprabha and
the other kings, preceded by Súryaprabha, [633] with Kántisena, went to
Kausámbí in the chariot. There the king Janamejaya courteously honoured
his son-in-law, and his connexion and all the others, by advancing
to meet them, and other ceremonies. And after he had performed the
ceremony of the marriage-rite, he gave five thousand elephants and
one hundred thousand excellent horses, and also five thousand camels
laden with full burdens of jewels, gold, precious apparel, camphor
and aloes-wood. And he made such a feast, that even the realm of
Pluto was exclusively engaged in dancing and music, a feast in which
excellent Bráhmans were honoured, and all kings gratified.

And in the meanwhile the heaven there suddenly became red, as if
indicating that it would soon be dyed crimson with blood. And the sky
suddenly became full of confused hurtling noises, as if terrified
at beholding a hostile army coming in the air. And a mighty wind
immediately began to blow, as if exciting the inhabitants of earth
to war against the wanderers of the air. And immediately a great
Vidyádhara army was seen in the air, illuminating with brightness
the circle of the horizon, loud-shouting, impetuous. And in the
midst of it Súryaprabha and the others beheld with astonishment a
very handsome heavenly youth. And at that moment the herald of the
Vidyádharas proclaimed with a loud voice in front of that youth,
whose name was Dámodara: "Victory to the crown-prince Dámodara son
of king Áshádha! O mortal, dweller on the earth, Súryaprabha, fall
at his feet. And do homage, O Janamejaya; why have you given your
daughter to an undeserver? Propitiate, both of you, this god at once,
otherwise he will not be appeased." When Súryaprabha heard this,
and saw that army, he was wroth, and seizing his sword and shield,
he flew up into the heaven by his science. And all his ministers
flew up after him, with their weapons in their hands, Prahasta, and
Prabhása, and Bhása, and Siddhártha, and Prajnádhya, and Sarvadamana,
and Vítabhíti and Subhankara. And the Vidyádharas fought a great fight
with them. And on one side Súryaprabha, and on the other Dámodara
advanced, not slaying their enemies with their swords, but receiving
their weapons on their shields. Those men, few in number, and those
air-roamers, a hundred thousand in number, found equality in battle,
fighting with one another. And all sword-blades there flashed red
with blood, falling on the heads of heroes, like the glances of
the god of death. And the Vidyádharas fell on the earth with their
heads and their bodies, in front of Chandraprabha, as if imploring
protection out of fear. Súryaprabha shone in the world with the glory
of the Vidyádharas which he had seen. The sky was red with blood,
as if with vermilion shed abroad. And Súryaprabha at last reached,
and fought face to face with Dámodara, who was armed with a sword and
a shield. And as he fought, he broke through his enemy's guard by a
skilful management of his weapons, and laid him on the earth, having
cleft his shield with his sword. And while he was preparing to cut off
the head of his struggling foe, Vishnu came and made a threatening
sound in the sky. Then Súryaprabha, having heard that sound, and
having beheld Hari, prostrated himself, and out of respect for the god
spared to slay Dámodara. Hari carried him off somewhere as his votary,
and saved him from death, for the adorable one delivers in this world
and the next his faithful followers. And the troops of Dámodara fled
in different directions. Súryaprabha, for his part, descended from
heaven to his father's side. And his father Chandraprabha welcomed
him, on his returning unwounded with his ministers, and the other
kings praised him, now that his valour had been seen.

And while they were all engaged in joyfully talking over the combat,
another ambassador, belonging to Subhata, arrived there. And he
came and delivered a letter in the presence of Chandraprabha; and
Siddhártha, opening it, read it out in the assembly: It ran as follows,
"The august king Chandraprabha, the pearl-jewel of a noble race,
is thus respectfully solicited by king Subhata in the Concan. We
have learnt that our daughter, who was carried off by some being
in the night, has come into the hands of thy son, and we rejoice
thereat. Make an effort, thou and thy son Súryaprabha, to come with
her to our house, without raising any objection, in order that we
may behold our daughter, returned as it were from the other world,
and perform for her at once the ceremony required for marriage." When
this letter was read by Siddhártha, the king Chandraprabha, consenting,
welcomed the messenger and rejoiced. And he quickly sent Prahasta to
the western border, and had Subhata's daughter Chandrikávatí conducted
into her father's presence. And the next morning they all went, with
Súryaprabha in front, and in company with Janamejaya, in the chariot
to the western border. There king Subhata, pleased at recovering
his daughter, shewed them much honour, and celebrated his daughter's
marriage festival. And he bestowed on Chandrikávatí jewels and other
gifts in such liberal profusion, that Vírabhata and the others were
ashamed at what they had given. Then, while Súryaprabha was remaining
there in the house of his father-in-law, there came from Lávánaka also
an ambassador belonging to king Paurava. He delivered to Chandraprabha
this message from his master, "My daughter Sulochaná has been carried
off by the fortunate prince Súryaprabha: that does not grieve me; but
why should he not be brought with her to my house, in order that we may
perform the marriage ceremony?" When king Chandraprabha heard that,
he honoured the messenger in his joy, and had Sulochaná escorted by
Prahasta into the presence of her father. Then they, Subhata and all,
in the company of Súryaprabha, went to Lávánaka in the chariot, that
came as soon as it was thought of. There Paurava performed the joyful
marriage ceremony, and bestowed jewels liberally on Súryaprabha and
Sulochaná, and honoured the kings also. And while they were remaining
there in delight, entertained by the king, Suroha, the king of China,
also sent an ambassador. That king, like the others, requested by the
mouth of the ambassador that, as his daughter had been carried off,
they would come with her to his palace.

Then king Chandraprabha was delighted, and he had the king of China's
daughter, Vidyunmálá, also conducted by Prahasta to her father's
house. And on the next day Chandraprabha and all went, including
Paurava, together with Súryaprabha and his retinue, to the land of
China. There the king came out to meet them, and led them into his
own treasure-chamber, and there performed the marriage ceremony of
his daughter. And he gave to Vidyunmálá and Súryaprabha an immense
quantity of gold, elephants, horses, jewels and silk garments. And
being invited by Suroha, Chandraprabha and the others continued there
for some days in various enjoyments. And Súryaprabha, who was in the
prime of youth, was adorned by that Vidyunmálá, [634] as the rainy
season, when the clouds abound, is adorned by the lightning-garland.

Thus Súryaprabha and his relatives, accompanied by his various
charmers, enjoyed delights here and there in the houses of his
fathers-in-law. Then he took counsel with Siddhártha and his other
ministers, and dismissed one by one to their own lands Vírabhata and
the other kings, with numbers of horses, and then took leave of that
king Suroha, and accompanied by his daughter, with his own parents
and followers ascended that chariot Bhútásana, and went triumphant
to his own city of Sákala. In that city great rejoicing took place
on account of his arrival; in one place there was the occupation of
dancing, in another the delight of music; in one place the amusement of
drinking, in another the toilet-rites of fair-eyed ladies; in another
the voice of bards loud in the praise of him who had obtained what
he desired. Then he had brought his other wives, who had remained in
their fathers' houses, and with the stores of elephants and horses
bestowed by their fathers, that were brought with them, and with the
innumerable camels bowed down with burdens full of various jewels, he
displayed in sport the wealth obtained by the conquest of the world,
and aroused the wonder of his subjects.

Then Sákala, inhabited by that fortunate one, appeared glorious,
as if the chiefs of the gods, of the followers of Kuvera, and of the
snakes, had made in it many deposits of much wealth. Then Súryaprabha
dwelt there with Madanasená, enjoying the pleasures he desired, happy
in that all blessings were fully bestowed upon him, in the society
of his parents, with his ministers, accompanied by his other wives,
expecting every day Maya, who had made a promise to return.






CHAPTER XLV.


Then, one day, when king Chandraprabha was in the hall of assembly,
and Súryaprabha was there accompanied by all his ministers, they
called to mind Maya à propos of a remark made by Siddhártha, and
suddenly the earth cleft open in the middle of the assembly. Then
first a loud-sounding fragrant breeze ascended from the aperture in
the earth, and afterwards the Asura Maya rose up from it, looking
like a mountain in the night, for his hair gleamed upon his black
lofty head like the potent herbs upon the mountain peaks, and his
crimson robe resembled the flowing streams of cinnabar. And the king
of the Dánavas, after having been duly honoured by king Chandraprabha,
spake from his seat on a jewelled throne--"You have enjoyed these
delights of earth, and now it is time for you to enjoy others; set
yourselves now to prepare for acquiring them. Send out ambassadors,
and collect your subordinate kings, and your friends and connexions;
then we will unite with Sumeru, prince of the Vidyádharas, and we will
conquer Srutasarman, and win the sovereignty of the sky-goers. And
Sumeru is our ally, considering us as friends, for he received at the
outset a command from Siva, to support Súryaprabha and give him his
own daughter. When the Asura Maya said this, Chandraprabha sent, as
ambassadors to all the kings, Prahasta and the other ministers that
travelled through the air; and, by the advice of Maya, Súryaprabha
communicated the magic sciences to all his wives and ministers,
on whom they had not been bestowed already.

And while they were thus engaged, the hermit Nárada arrived, descending
from the sky, illuminating the whole horizon with brightness. And after
he had received the argha, he sat down and said to Chandraprabha, "I
am sent here by Indra, and he sends this message to your Highness--'I
have learned that, by the instigation of Siva, you purpose, with the
assistance of the Asura Maya, being all of you deluded by ignorance,
to obtain for this Súryaprabha, of mortal frame, the great dignity of
emperor of all the chiefs of the Vidyádharas: that is improper, for
I have conferred it on Srutasarman, and besides it is the hereditary
right of that moon of the sea of the Vidyádhara race. And as for what
you are doing in a spirit of opposition to me, and contrary to what
is right, it will certainly result in your destruction. Moreover,
before, when your Highness was offering a sacrifice to Rudra, I told
you first to offer an Asvamedha sacrifice, but you did not do it. So
the haughty enterprise you are engaged in, without regard to the gods,
relying upon Siva alone, will not turn out to your happiness.'" When
Nárada had delivered in these words the message of Indra, Maya
laughed and said to him; "Great hermit, the king of gods has not
spoken well. For what he says about the fact of Súryaprabha being
a mortal is beside the point; for who was not aware of that fact,
when he met Dámodara in fight? For mortals who possess courage can
obtain all powers. Did not Nahusha and others of old time obtain the
dignity of Indra? And as for his saying that he bestowed the empire on
Srutasarman, and that it is his hereditary right, that also is absurd,
for where Siva is the giver, who has any authority? Besides, did not
he himself take away the sovereignty of the gods from Hiranyáksha,
though it descended to him as the elder? And as for his other remark
about opposition, and our acting contrary to what is right, that is
false, for he violently puts himself in opposition to us out of selfish
motives, and wherein, pray, are we acting contrary to what is right,
for we are only striving to conquer our rival, we are not carrying off
a hermit's wife, we are not killing Bráhmans? And what he says about
the necessity of first performing an Asvamedha sacrifice, and about
contempt of the gods, is untrue, for when sacrifice to Siva has been
performed, what need is there of other sacrifices? [635] And when Siva
the god of gods is worshipped, what god is not worshipped? And as for
his remark that exclusive attention to Rudra [636] is not becoming,
I answer--Of what importance are the hosts of the other gods, where
Siva is in arms? When the sun has risen, do the other luminaries give
light? So you must tell all this to the king of the gods, O hermit,
and we shall continue to carry out what we are engaged in, let him
do what he can." When the rishi Nárada had been thus addressed by the
Asura Maya, he said "I will do so," and took back to the king of the
gods that answer to his message. When that hermit had departed, the
Asura Maya thus spake to king Chandraprabha, who was apprehensive on
account of the message of Indra, "You must not be afraid of Indra;
even if he is on the side of Srutasarman in fight, with the hosts
of the gods, out of hostility to us, still we Daityas and Dánavas
are countless in number, and under the leadership of Prahláda we are
ranged together on your side. And if the destroyer of Tripura [637]
favours us and is active on our side, what other miserable creature
in the three worlds has any power? So set about this expedition,
heroes." When Maya said this, all those there were pleased, and
considered that it was as he said.

Then in accordance with the messages carried by the ambassadors,
in course of time all the kings, Vírabhata and the others, assembled
there, and all the other friends and relatives of Chandraprabha. When
these kings with their armies had been duly honoured, the Asura
Maya again said to Chandraprabha, "Perform to-night, O king, a
great sacrifice in honour of Siva; afterwards you shall do all as
I direct." When he heard this speech of Maya's, king Chandraprabha
immediately had preparations made for a sacrifice to Siva. Then he went
to the forest at night, and under the instructions of Maya, himself
performed devoutly a sacrifice to Rudra. And while the king was engaged
in the fire-offering, there suddenly appeared there Nandin the prince
of the host of Bhútas. He was honoured duly by the delighted king,
and said--"The god Siva himself sends this command by me, 'Through
my favour thou needst not fear even a hundred Indras; Súryaprabha
shall become emperor of the sky-goers.'" After he had delivered this
message, Nandin received a portion of the offering and disappeared
with the hosts of Bhútas. Then Chandraprabha became confident in
the future elevation of his son, and after completing the sacrifice,
at the end of the fire-offering, re-entered the city with Maya.

And the next morning, when king Chandraprabha was sitting in secret
conclave together with the queen, his son, the kings and his ministers,
the Asura Maya said to him--"Listen, king, I will to-day tell you a
secret long guarded; you are a Dánava, Sunítha by name, my mighty son,
and Súryaprabha is your younger brother, named Sumundíka; after you
were slain in the war of the gods, you were born here as father and
son. That Dánava body of yours has been preserved by me skilfully
embalmed with heavenly drugs and ghee. Therefore you must enter a
cavern and visit Pátála, and then return to your own body by a charm
which I will teach you. And when you have entered that body, you will
be so much superior in spirit and strength, that you will conquer in
fight the wanderers of the air. But Súryaprabha, who is an incarnation
of Sumundíka, with this same beautiful body which he now possesses,
shall soon become lord of the sky-goers. When king Chandraprabha heard
this from Maya, he was delighted and agreed to it, but Siddhártha
said this--"O excellent Dánava, what ground of confidence have we,
if this doubt should arise, 'Why has the king entered another body,
has he then died?' And moreover will he forget us when he enters
another body, like a man gone to the other world? Who is he, and
who are we?" When the Asura Maya heard this speech of Siddhártha's,
he answered--"You yourselves must come and see him with your own
eyes entering another body, of his own free will, by the employment
of a charm. And hear the reason why he will not forget you. A man,
who does not die of his own free will, and is born in another womb,
does not remember anything, as his memory is destroyed by old age and
other afflictions, but whoever of his own free will enters another
body, penetrating by the employment of magic the internal organ and
the senses, without his mind and intellect being impaired, and passes,
as it were, from one house to another, that prince among Yogins has
supernatural knowledge and remembers all. So do not feel doubtful;
so far from there being any reason for it, this king will obtain a
great divine body free from old age and sickness. Moreover you are all
Dánavas, and by merely entering Rasátala, [638] and drinking nectar,
you will obtain divine bodies free from sickness." When the ministers
heard this speech of Maya's, they all said, "So be it," and consented
to his proposal, abandoning their apprehensions out of the confidence
they reposed in him. And by his advice, Chandraprabha, with all the
kings, went on the next day to the confluence of the Chandrabhágá
and the Airávatí. [639] There Chandraprabha left the kings outside,
and committed to their care the wives of Súryaprabha, and then he
entered in company with Súryaprabha, the queen, and the ministers
with Siddhártha at their head, an opening in the water pointed out
by Maya, and after entering he travelled a long distance, and beheld
a heavenly temple, and entered it with all of them.

And in the meanwhile the Vidyádharas descended with troops on those
kings, who were remaining there outside the opening; and paralyzing the
kings by supernatural arts, they carried off the wives of Súryaprabha,
and immediately a voice was heard from the sky--"Wicked Srutasarman,
if you touch these wives of the emperor, you shall immediately perish
with your host. So guard them respectfully, treating them like your
mother; there is a reason for my not immediately slaying you and
setting them free; so let them remain as they are at present." And
when the kings, Vírabhata and the others, saw them carried off, they
prepared to die by fighting with one another. But a voice from heaven
forbade their attempt, saying, "No harm will befall these daughters
of yours, you shall obtain them again, so you must not act rashly,
prosperity befall you!" So the kings remained waiting there. In the
meantime Chandraprabha was in the temple in Pátála surrounded by all
his companions, and there Maya said to him, "King, listen attentively
to this wonderful thing; I will shew you the supernatural art of
entering another body." He said this, and recited the Sánkhya and
the Yoga doctrine with its secrets, and taught him the magic art of
entering another body; and that chief of Yogins said--"This is the
famous supernatural power, and the independence of knowledge, the
dominion over matter that is characterized by lightness and the other
mystic properties. The chief of the gods, possessing this power, do
not long for liberation; in order to obtain this power others endure
the hardship of muttering prayers and performing asceticism. Men of
lofty soul do not love the pleasures of heaven even when attained. And
listen, I will tell you a story in illustration of this."



Story of the Bráhman Kála.

In a former Kalpa [640] there was a certain Bráhman, of the name of
Kála. He went to the holy bathing-place Pushkara and muttered prayers
day and night. While he was muttering, two myriads of years of the
gods passed away. Then there appeared a great light inseparable from
his head, which, streaming forth in the firmament like ten thousand
suns, [641] impeded the movement of the Siddhas and others there, and
set the three worlds on fire. Then Brahmá, Indra and the other gods
came to him and said--"Bráhman, these worlds are on fire with your
brightness. Receive whatever boon you desire." He answered them--"Let
me have no other pleasure than muttering prayers, this is my boon,
I choose nothing else." When they importuned him, that mutterer of
prayers went far off and remained on the north side of the Himálayas,
muttering prayers. When this extraordinary brightness of his gradually
became intolerable even there, Indra sent heavenly nymphs to tempt
him. That self-restrained man did not care a straw about them,
when they endeavoured to seduce him. Then the gods sent him Death as
plenipotentiary. He came to him and said--"Bráhman, mortals do not live
so long, so abandon your life; do not break the law of nature." When
the Bráhman heard this, he said--"If the limit of my life is attained,
why do you not take me? What are you waiting for? But I will not of
myself abandon my life, O thou god with the noose in hand; indeed, if
I were wilfully to abandon my life, I should be a self-murderer." When
he said this, and Death found that he could not take him on account
of his power, he turned away from him and returned as he came. Then
Indra repenting seized that Kála, [642] who had conquered Time the
destroyer, in his arms, and took him up to heaven by force. There
he remained averse to the sensual enjoyments of the place, and he
did not cease from muttering prayers, so the gods made him descend
again, and he returned to the Himálayas. And while all the gods were
trying to induce him there to take a boon, the king Ikshváku came
that way. When he heard how affairs stood, he said to that mutterer
of prayers, "If you will not receive a boon from the gods, receive
one from me." When the mutterer of prayers heard that, he laughed,
and said to the king--"Are you able to grant me a boon, when I will
not receive one even from the gods?" Thus he spoke, and Ikshváku
answered the Bráhman--"If I am not able to grant you a boon, you can
grant me one; so grant me a boon." Then the mutterer said--"Choose
whatever you desire, and I will grant it." When the king heard this,
he reflected in his mind: "The appointed order is that I should give,
and that he should receive; this is an inversion of the due order,
that I should receive what he gives." Whilst the king was delaying, as
he pondered over this difficulty, two Bráhmans came there disputing;
when they saw the king they appealed to him for a decision. The
first said, "This Bráhman gave me a cow with a sacrificial fee:
why will he not receive it from my hand, when I offer to give it
back to him?" Then the other said, "I did not receive it first, and
I did not ask for it, then why does he wish to make me receive it by
force?" When the king heard this, he said--"This complainant is not
in the right; why, after receiving the cow, do you try to compel the
man, who gave it, to take it back from you?" When the king said this,
Indra, having found his opportunity, said to him--"King, if you hold
this view of what is right, then, after you have asked the Bráhman,
who mutters prayers, for a boon, why do you not take it from him when
it is granted?" Then the king, being at a loss for an answer, said
to that muttering Bráhman--"Revered sir, give me the fruit of half
your muttering as a boon." Then the muttering Bráhman said--"Very
well, receive the fruit of half my muttering," and so he gave the
king a boon. By means of that boon the king obtained access to all
the worlds, and that muttering Bráhman obtained the world of the
gods called Sivas. [643] There he remained for many kalpas, and then
returned to earth, and by mystic contemplation obtained independence,
and gained everlasting supernatural power.

"Thus this supernatural power is desired by wise men, who are averse
to heaven and such low enjoyments; and you have obtained it, O king,
so, being independent, enter your own body." When Maya said this to
king Chandraprabha, after communicating to him the doctrine of mystic
contemplation giving supernatural power, [644] he and his wife and
his son and his ministers rejoiced exceedingly.

Then the king, with his son and companions, was led by Maya to a second
under-world, and made to enter a splendid city. And there they saw a
gigantic hero, reclining at full length upon a beautiful couch, as if
asleep, anointed with potent herbs and ghee, awful from the ghastly
transformation of his features, surrounded by the daughters of the
kings of the Daityas, with their lotus-faces full of melancholy. Then
Maya said to Chandraprabha:--"This is your body, surrounded by
your former brides, enter it."--The king had recourse to the magic
contemplation taught by Maya, and entered the body of that hero,
abandoning his own frame. [645] Then the hero yawned slowly, opened
his eyes, and rose up from the bed, as if awaking out of sleep. Then
a shout arose from the delighted Asura brides, "Happy are we, that our
husband, the god Sunítha, is to-day restored to life." But Súryaprabha
and the others were immediately despondent, beholding the body of
Chandraprabha lying lifeless. But Chandraprabha-Sunítha, appearing as
if risen from a refreshing sleep, saw Maya, and falling at his feet
honoured his father. That father too embraced him and asked him in the
presence of all,--"Do you remember both your lives, my son?" He said;
"I do remember them," and related what had happened to him in his life
as Chandraprabha, and also what had happened to him in his life as
Sunítha, and he comforted one by one Súryaprabha and the others, and
also his queens, mentioning each by name, and also the Dánava ladies,
his wives in his first life. And he preserved the body, which he had
as Chandraprabha, carefully laid by, embalmed by means of drugs and
ghee, saying, "It may possibly be useful to me." Then Súryaprabha
and the others, tranquil now that they had gained confidence, bowed
before him, and joyfully congratulated him.

Then Maya, having conducted all of them in high delight out of that
city, led them to another city adorned with gold and jewels. When
they entered it, they beheld a lake of the appearance of beryl, filled
with nectar, and they all sat down on the bank of it. And they drank
that nectarous draught there, more excellent than the water of life,
in curiously ornamented cups formed of jewels, which were brought to
them by the wives of Sunítha. And by that draught they all rose up,
as from a sleep of intoxication, and became possessed of divine bodies,
and of great strength and courage.

Then the Asura Maya said to Chandraprabha-Sunítha, "Come, my son, let
us go, and see your mother after so long a separation." And Sunítha
said "So be it," and prepared to go conducted by Maya, and so proceeded
to the fourth under-world with Súryaprabha and the others. There they
beheld curious cities made of various metals, and at last they all
reached a city built entirely of gold. There, on a pillar composed
of jewels adorned with every luxury, they beheld that mother of
Sunítha, the wife of Maya, by name Lílávatí, surpassing in beauty the
nymphs of heaven, surrounded with Asura maidens, and adorned with all
ornaments. The moment she beheld that Sunítha, she rose up in a state
of excitement, and Sunítha, after saluting her, fell at her feet. Then
she embraced with gushing tears the son, whom she once more held in
her arms after so long an interval, and again praised her husband
Maya, who was the cause of her regaining him. Then Maya said--"Queen,
your other son Sumundíka has been born again as the son of your son,
and here he is, Súryaprabha by name. He has been appointed by the
god Siva the future emperor of the Vidyádharas, and is destined to
rule over them in the body which he now possesses." When Súryaprabha
heard this, and saw her look at him with an eye of longing affection,
he and his ministers fell at her feet. And Lílávatí gave him her
blessing, and said to him--"My darling, you do not require the body
of Sumundíka, in this you are sufficiently glorious." When his sons
were thus triumphant, Maya called to mind his daughter Mandodarí,
and Vibhíshana, and when called to mind, they came. And Vibhíshana,
welcomed with triumphant rejoicings, said to him--"O prince of the
Dánavas, if you will listen to my advice, I will give it you. You
are among the Dánavas singularly virtuous and prosperous, so you
ought not to take up a causeless enmity against the gods. For you
will gain nothing but death from your hostility to them. For Asuras
have been slain in battle by the gods, but not gods by Asuras." When
Maya heard this, he said--"We are not forcing on war, but if Indra
violently makes war on us, tell me, how can we remain passive? And
as for those Asuras who were slain by the gods, they were reckless,
but did the gods slay Bali and others who were not infatuated?" That
king of the Rákshasas having, with his wife Mandodarí, been addressed
with these and similar speeches by Maya, took leave of him, and went
to his own dwelling.

Then Sunítha, with Súryaprabha and the others, was conducted to the
third under-world to visit king Bali. In that world, which surpassed
even heaven, they all beheld Bali, adorned with chain and tiara,
surrounded with Daityas and Dánavas. Sunítha and his companions fell
at his feet in due order, and he honoured them with appropriate
welcome. And Bali was delighted with the tidings related by Maya,
and he quickly had summoned Prahláda and the other Dánavas. Sunítha
and the others honoured them also by falling at their feet, and
they, being full of joy, congratulated them, as they bent before
them. Then Bali said, "Sunítha became Chandraprabha on the earth,
and now is restored to life for us by regaining his body. And we have
also gained Súryaprabha, who is an incarnation of Sumundíka. And he
has been appointed by Siva the future emperor of the Vidyádharas: and
by the power of the sacrifice offered by Chandraprabha my bonds have
been relaxed. So without doubt we have gained prosperity by recovering
these." When Sukra, the spiritual adviser of the Dánavas, heard this
speech of Bali's, he said, "In truth those who act according to right
never fail of prosperity in any matter; so act according to right,
and do on this occasion also what I bid you." When the Dánavas,
the princes of the seven under-worlds, who were assembled there,
heard that, they agreed to it and bound themselves so to act. And
Bali made a feast there, out of joy at the recovery of Sunítha.

In the meanwhile the hermit Nárada arrived there again, and after
taking the argha, he sat down, and said to those Dánavas, "I have been
sent here by Indra, and he in truth says this to you, 'I am exceedingly
delighted at the fact that Sunítha has come back to life; so you must
not take up a causeless enmity against me, and you must not fight
against my ally Srutasarman.'" When the hermit had thus delivered
Indra's message, Prahláda said to him, "Of course Indra is pleased
that Sunítha has come back to life, how could it be otherwise? But we
at any rate are not taking up causeless hostility. This very day we
all took an engagement that we would not do so, in the presence of
our spiritual adviser. But if Indra makes himself a partizan [646]
of Srutasarman, and violently opposes us, how are we to be blamed
for it? For Súryaprabha's ally, Siva, the god of gods, has long ago
appointed him, because he propitiated him first. So what have we to do
with this matter which has been settled by the lord Siva? It is clear
that this, which Indra says, is without cause, and not right." When
Prahláda, the king of the Dánavas said this to Nárada, he blamed Indra
by expressing his agreement with it, and disappeared. When he had gone,
Usanas [647] said to the kings of the Dánavas--"Indra is evidently
determined to oppose us in this matter. But, as Siva has decidedly
girded up his loins to shew us favour, what is his power, or what
will his reliance upon Vishnu do?" The Dánavas heard and approved
this speech of Sukra's, and taking leave of Bali and Prahláda, went
to their own homes. Then Prahláda went to the fourth under-world,
his habitation, and king Bali, rising up from the assembly, retired
within. And Maya and Sunítha and the others, Súryaprabha and all,
bowed before Bali, and went to their own habitations. After they had
eaten and drunk there sufficiently, Lílávatí, the mother of Sunítha,
came to him and said, "My son, you know that these wives of yours
are the daughters of mighty ones, Tejasvatí being the daughter of
the god of wealth, Mangalávatí of Tumburu; and as for Kírtimatí,
that wife that you married in your existence as Chandraprabha, her
you know to be the daughter of the Vasu Prabháva, so you must look
upon these three with an equal eye, my son." After saying this,
she commended to him his three principal wives. Then, that night,
Sunítha entered his sleeping apartment with the eldest, Tejasvatí.

But Súryaprabha, in another chamber, with his ministers, reclined
on a couch without any of his wives that night. And the goddess of
sleep did not come to him, who remained continually alone, saying to
herself, "What is the use of this unloving man, who leaves his wives
outside?" And she would not approach Prahasta out of jealousy, as he
was so exclusively in love with the cares of his official duties, but
the other ministers around Súryaprabha went to sleep comfortably. In
the meanwhile Súryaprabha and Prahasta beheld an incomparable maiden
entering, accompanied by a female friend. She was so beautiful that
Providence seemed, after creating her, to have placed her in the
lower regions in order that the nymphs of heaven, also his creation,
might not be eclipsed by her. And while Súryaprabha was debating
who she might be, she approached each of his friends, one by one,
and looked at them; and as they did not possess the distinguishing
marks of emperors, she left them, and seeing that Súryaprabha possessed
them, she approached him, who was lying in the midst of them; and she
said to her friend--"Here he is, my friend; so touch him on the feet,
wake him up with those hands of yours cool as water." When her friend
heard that, she did so, and Súryaprabha ceased to feign sleep, and
opened his eyes, and beholding those maidens, he said--"Who are you,
and why do you come here?" When the friend of the lady heard that,
she said to him--"Listen, king, in the second under-world there is
a victorious king named Amíla, a chieftain of the Daityas, the son
of Hiranyáksha; this is his daughter Kalávatí whom he loves more
than life. Her father came back to-day from the court of Bali, and
said--'I am fortunate in that I have to-day beheld Sunítha once more
restored to life; and I have also seen the young man Súryaprabha,
an incarnation of Sumundíka, who has been brought into the world by
Siva as the future emperor of the Vidyádharas. So I will now offer a
congratulatory tribute to Sunítha,----I will give my daughter Kalávatí
to Súryaprabha, for she cannot be given to Sunítha because she belongs
to the same family; but Súryaprabha is his son in his birth as a king,
not in his birth as an Asura, and any honour paid to his son will
be paid to him.' When my friend heard this speech of her father's,
her mind being attracted by your virtues, she came here out of a
curiosity to see you." When that friend of the lady's said this,
Súryaprabha pretended to be asleep in order to discover the real
object of her wish. The maiden slowly approached the sleepless
Prahasta, and after telling him all by the mouth of her friend,
went out. And Prahasta advanced towards Súryaprabha and said--"King,
are you awake or not?" And he, opening his eyes, said to him, "My
friend, I am awake, for how could I sleep to-day being alone? But I
will tell you a strange fact; listen, for what can I hide from you? I
saw a moment ago a maiden enter here with her friend; her equal is not
beheld in these three worlds. And she departed in a moment, taking my
heart with her. So look for her at once, for she must be somewhere
hereabout." When Súryaprabha said this to him, Prahasta went out,
and seeing the maiden there with her friend, he said to her--"I, to
please you, have again woke up my master here, so you, to please me,
must once more grant him an interview. Behold once more his form that
gives satisfaction to your eyes, [648] and let him, who was overpowered
by you as soon as he saw you, behold you again. For when he woke up,
he said to me speaking of you, 'Bring her from some place or other,
and shew her to me, otherwise I cannot survive.' Then I came to you,
so come and behold him yourself." When she was thus addressed by
Prahasta, she hesitated to go in boldly, owing to the modesty natural
to a maiden, and reflected, and then Prahasta, seizing her hand,
led her into the presence of Súryaprabha. And Súryaprabha, when he
saw that Kalávatí had come near him, said--"Fair one, was this right
of you to come in to-day and steal away my heart, as you did, when I
was asleep? So, thief, I will not leave you unpunished to-day." When
her sly friend heard this, she said to him; "Since her father knew of
it before, and determined to assign this thief to you for punishment,
who can forbid you to punish her. Why do you not inflict on her to your
heart's content the punishment due for thieving?" When Súryaprabha
heard that, he wanted to embrace her, but Kalávatí being modest,
said, "Do not, my husband, I am a maiden." Then Prahasta said to her;
"Do not hesitate, my queen, for the Gándharva marriage is the best of
all marriages in the world." When Prahasta had said this, he went out
with all the rest, and Súryaprabha that very moment made Kalávatí,
the maiden of the under-world, his wife.

And when the night came to an end, Kalávatí went to her own dwelling,
and Súryaprabha went to Sunítha and Maya. They all assembled and went
into the presence of Prahláda, and he, seated in the hall of audience,
after honouring them appropriately, said to Maya: "We must do something
to please Sunítha on this day of rejoicing, so let us all feast
together." Maya said--"Let us do so, what harm is there in this?" And
then Prahláda invited by means of messengers the chiefs of the Asuras,
and they came there in order from all the under-worlds. First came
king Bali accompanied by innumerable great Asuras. Close behind him
came Amíla and the brave Durároha and Sumáya, and Tantukachchha, and
Vikatáksha and Prakampana, and Dhúmaketu and Mahámáya, and the other
lords of the Asuras; each of these came accompanied by a thousand
feudal chiefs. The hall of audience was filled with the heroes who
saluted one another, and after they had sat down in order of rank,
Prahláda honoured them all. And when the time of eating arrived,
they all, with Maya and the others, after bathing in the Ganges,
went to a great hall to dine. It was a hundred yojanas wide, and
had a pavement of gold and jewels, and was adorned with jewelled
pillars, and full of curiously wrought jewelled vessels. There the
Asuras, in the company of Prahláda, and with Sunítha and Maya, and
with Súryaprabha accompanied by his ministers, ate heavenly food of
various kinds, containing all the six flavours, solid, liquid, and
sweetmeats, and then drank the best of wine. And after they had eaten
and drunk, they all went to another hall, which was made of jewels,
and beheld the skilful dance of the Daitya and Dánava maidens. On
that occasion Súryaprabha beheld the daughter of Prahláda, named
Mahalliká, who came forward to dance by order of her father. She
illuminated the world with her beauty, rained nectar into his eyes,
and seemed like the moon-goddess [649] come to the under-world out of
curiosity. She had her forehead ornamented with a patch, beautiful
anklets on her feet, and a smiling face, and seemed as if all made
of dancing by the Creator. With her curling hair, her pointed teeth,
and her breasts that filled up the whole of her chest, she seemed
as it were to be creating a new style of dance. And that fair one,
the moment she was beheld by Súryaprabha, forcibly robbed him of his
heart, though it was claimed by others. Then she also beheld him from a
distance, sitting among the Asura princes, like a second god of Love
made by the Creator, when the first god of love had been burnt up by
Siva. And when she saw him, her mind was so absorbed in him, that her
skill in the expression of sentiments by gesture forsook her, as if
in anger at beholding her want of modesty. And the spectators beheld
the emotion of those two, and brought the spectacle to an end, saying,
"The princess is tired." Then Mahalliká was dismissed by her father,
looking askance at Súryaprabha, and after she had bowed before the
princes of the Daityas, she went home. And the princes of the Daityas
went to their respective houses, and Súryaprabha too went to his
dwelling at the close of day.

And when the night came, Kalávatí again came to visit him, and
he slept secretly within with her, with all his followers sleeping
outside. In the meanwhile Mahalliká also came there, eager to see him,
accompanied by two confidantes. Then a minister of Súryaprabha's,
named Prajnádhya, who happened at that moment to have his eyes
forsaken by sleep, saw her attempting to enter. And he, recognising
her, rose up and said--"Princess, remain here a moment until I enter
and come out again." She alarmed, said--"Why are we stopped, and why
are you outside?" Prajnádhya again said to her--"Why do you enter
in this sudden way when a man is sleeping at his ease? Besides, my
lord sleeps alone to-night on account of a vow." Then the daughter
of Prahláda, being ashamed, said, "So be it, enter," and Prajnádhya
went inside. Seeing that Kalávatí was asleep, he woke up Súryaprabha
and himself told him that Mahalliká had arrived. And Súryaprabha,
hearing of it, gently rose up, and went out, and beholding Mahalliká
with two others, he said--"This person has been supremely blessed
by your arrival, let this place be blessed also, take a seat." When
Mahalliká heard this, she sat down with her friends, and Súryaprabha
also sat down, with Prajnádhya by his side. And when he sat down,
he said--"Fair one, although you shewed contempt for me by seeming
to look on others in the assembly with respect, nevertheless, O
rolling-eyed one, my eyes were blessed as soon as they beheld your
dancing as well as your beauty." When Súryaprabha said this, the
daughter of Prahláda answered him--"This is not my fault, noble sir,
[650] he is in fault, who made me ashamed in the hall of assembly
by putting me beside my part in the pantomime." When Súryaprabha
heard this, he laughed and said--"I am conquered." And then that
prince seized her hand with his, and it perspired and trembled, as
if afraid of the rough seizure. And she said--"Let me go, noble sir,
I am a maiden under my father's control,"--then Prajnádhya said to
that daughter of the chief of the Asuras, "Is not there not such
a thing as the Gándharva marriage of maidens? And your father,
who has seen your heart, will not give you to another, moreover
he will certainly do some honour to this prince here; so away with
timidity! Let not such a meeting be thrown away!" While Prajnádhya
was saying this to Mahalliká, Kalávatí woke up within. And not seeing
Súryaprabha on the bed, after waiting a long time, she was terrified
and apprehensive and went out. And seeing her lover in the company
of Mahalliká, she was angry and ashamed and terrified. Mahalliká
too, when she saw her, was terrified and angry and ashamed, and
Súryaprabha stood motionless like a painted picture. Kalávatí came
to his side, thinking--"Now that I have been seen, how can I escape,
shall I display shame or jealousy?" And she said with a spiteful
intonation to Mahalliká--"How are you, my friend, how comes it that
you have come here at night?" Then Mahalliká said--"This is my house;
as you have arrived here from another mansion of the under-world, you
are to-day my guest here." When Kalávatí heard that, she laughed and
said--"Yes, it is clearly the case that you entertain with appropriate
hospitality every guest, as soon as he arrives here." When Kalávatí
said this, Mahalliká answered--"When I spoke to you kindly, why do
you answer in such an unkind and spiteful way, shameless girl? Am I
like you? Did I, without being bestowed in marriage by my parents,
come from a distance, and in a strange place sleep in the bed of a
strange man alone at night? I came to see my father's guest, as he
was going away, in accordance with the duty of hospitality, a moment
ago, accompanied by two female friends. When this minister entered,
after first reproaching me, I guessed the real state of the case; you
have now of yourself revealed it." When thus addressed by Mahalliká,
Kalávatí departed, looking askance at her beloved with an eye red
with anger. Then Mahalliká too said to Súryaprabha in wrath, "Now I
will depart, man of many favourites," and went away. And Súryaprabha
remained in heartless despondency, as was reasonable, for his heart,
devoted to his loved ones, went with them.

Then he woke up his minister Prabhása, and sent him to discover
what Kalávatí had done, after she had separated from him in anger;
and in the meanwhile he sent Prahasta to find out about Mahalliká,
and he remained with Prajnádhya awaiting their report. Then Prabhása
returned from investigating the proceedings of Kalávatí, and being
questioned, he said as follows: "From this place I went to the private
apartment of Kalávatí in the second under-world, concealing myself by
my science. And outside it I heard the conversation of two maids. The
one said, 'My friend, why is Kalávatí distressed to-day?' Then the
second said--'My friend, hear the reason. There is at present in the
fourth under-world an incarnation of Sumundíka, named Súryaprabha,
who in beauty surpasses the god of Love; she went secretly and gave
herself to him. And when she had repaired to him to-day of her own
accord at night-fall, Mahalliká, the daughter of Prahláda, chose to
come there too. Our mistress had a jealous quarrel with her, and was in
consequence preparing to slay herself, when, she was seen by her sister
Sukhávatí and saved. And then she went inside, and flinging herself
down on a bed, she remained with that sister, who was despondent
when she had learnt by enquiry what had taken place.' When I had
heard this conversation of the two maids, I entered the apartment,
and beheld Kalávatí and Sukhávatí, who resembled one another exactly."

While Prabhása was saying this to Súryaprabha in private, Prahasta
also came there, and being questioned, he said as follows--"When I
arrived from this place at the private apartment of Mahalliká, she
entered despondent with her two intimate friends. And I entered also
invisible by the employment of magic science, and I saw there twelve
friends like her; and they sat round Mahalliká, who reclined on a sofa
ornamented with splendid jewels; and then one said to her, 'My friend,
why do you seem to be suddenly cast down to-day? What is the meaning
of this despondency when your marriage is about to come off?' When the
daughter of Prahláda heard that, she answered her friend pensively,
'What marriage for me? To whom am I betrothed? Who told you?' When she
said that, they all exclaimed, 'Surely your marriage will take place
to-morrow, and you are betrothed, my friend, to Súryaprabha. And
your mother, the queen, told us to-day when you were not present,
and ordered us to decorate you for the marriage ceremony. So you are
fortunate, in that you will have Súryaprabha for a husband, through
admiration for whose beauty the ladies of this place cannot sleep at
night. But this is a source of despondency to us--What a gulf there
will now be between you and us! When you have obtained him for a
husband, you will forget us.' When Mahalliká heard this from their
mouth, she said, 'Has he been seen by you, and is your heart attached
to him?' When they heard that, they said to her--'We saw him from the
top of the palace, and what woman is there that a sight of him would
not captivate?' Then she said, 'Then I will persuade my father to
cause all of you to be given to him. [651] So we shall live together,
and not be separated.' When she said this, the maidens were shocked,
and said to her, 'Kind friend, do not do so. It would not be proper,
and would make us ashamed.' When they said this, the daughter of the
king of the Asuras answered them, 'Why is it not proper? I am not to
be his only wife: all the Daityas and Dánavas will give him their
daughters, and there are other princesses on the earth whom he has
married, and he will also marry many Vidyádhara maidens. What harm can
it do to me that you should be married among these? So far from it,
we shall live happily in mutual friendship; but what intercourse can
I hold with those others who will be my enemies? And why should you
have any shame about the matter? I will arrange it all.' While these
ladies were thus conversing, with hearts devoted to you, I came out at
my leisure and repaired to your presence." When Súryaprabha had heard
this from the mouth of Prahasta, he passed that night in happiness,
though he remained sleepless in his bed.

In the morning he went to the court of Prahláda, the king of the
Asuras, with Sunítha and Maya and his ministers, to visit him. Then
Prahláda said to Sunítha after showing him respect--"I will give to
this Súryaprabha my daughter Mahalliká, for I must shew him some
hospitable entertainment which will be agreeable to you." Sunítha
received with joy this speech of Prahláda's. Then Prahláda made
Súryaprabha ascend an altar-platform, in the middle of which a fire was
burning, and which was adorned with lofty jewelled pillars illuminated
by the brightness of the flame, and there gave him his daughter,
with splendour worthy of the imperial throne of the Asuras. And he
gave to his daughter and her bridegroom heaps of valuable jewels,
obtained by his triumph over the gods, resembling the summit of mount
Meru. And then Mahalliká boldly said to Prahláda--"Father, give me also
those twelve companions whom I love." But he answered her--"Daughter,
they belong to my brother, for they were taken captive by him, and I
have no right to give them away." And Súryaprabha, after the marriage
feast was ended, entered at night the bridal chamber with Mahalliká.

And the next morning, when Prahláda had gone to the hall of assembly
with his followers, Amíla, the king of the Dánavas, said to Prahláda
and the others--"To-day you must all come to my house, for I intend
to entertain there this Súryaprabha, and I will give him my daughter
Kalávatí, if you approve." This speech of his they all approved,
saying, "So be it." Then they all went in a moment to the second
under-world, where he dwelt, with Súryaprabha, Maya and others. There
Amíla gave by the usual ceremony to Súryaprabha his daughter, who
had previously given herself. Súryaprabha went through the marriage
ceremony in the house of Prahláda, and surrounded by the Asuras who had
feasted, spent the day in tasting the enjoyments which they provided
for him.

On the next day, Durároha, a prince of the Asuras, invited and
conducted them all to his own under-world, the fifth. There, by way
of hospitality, he gave to Súryaprabha his own daughter Kumudávatí, as
the others had done, in the prescribed manner. There Súryaprabha spent
the day in enjoyment with all these united. And at night he entered
the apartment of Kumudávatí. There he spent that night in the society
of that lovely and loving woman, the beauty of the three worlds.

And the next morning, Tantukachchha invited and conducted him,
surrounded with his companions, headed by Prahláda, to his palace in
the seventh under-world. There that king of the Asuras gave him his
daughter Manovatí, adorned with splendid jewels, bright as molten
gold. There Súryaprabha spent a highly agreeable day, and passed the
night in the society of Manovatí.

And the next day, Sumáya, a prince of the Asuras, after presenting
an invitation, conducted him with all his friends to his under-world,
the sixth; there he too gave him his daughter by name Subhadrá, with
body black as a stalk of durbá grass, like a female incarnation of the
god of Love; and Súryaprabha spent that day with that black maiden,
whose face was like a full moon.

And the next day, king Bali, followed by the Asuras, in the same
way led that Súryaprabha to his own under-world, the third. There he
gave him his own daughter named Sundarí, with complexion lovely as a
young shoot, and resembling a cluster of mádhaví flowers. Súryaprabha
then spent that day with that pearl of women in heavenly enjoyment
and splendour.

The next day, Maya also in the same way re-conducted the prince,
who was in the fourth under-world, to his own palace, which possessed
curiously adorned jewelled terraces, was constructed by his own magic
power, and on account of its refulgent splendour seemed to be new every
moment. There he gave him his own daughter, named Sumáyá, whose beauty
was the wonder of the world, who seemed to be his own power incarnate,
and he did not think that she ought to be withheld from him on account
of his being a mere mortal. The fortunate Súryaprabha remained there
with her. Then the prince divided his body by his magic science,
and lived at the same time with all those Asura ladies, but with
his real body he lived principally with his best beloved Mahalliká,
the daughter of the Asura Prahláda.

And one night, when he was happy in her presence, he asked the noble
Mahalliká in the course of conversation--"My dear, those two female
friends, who came with you, where are they? I never see them. Who are
they, and where have they gone?" Then Mahalliká said--"You have done
well to remind me. My female friends are not two only, but twelve
in number, and my father's brother carried them off from Indra's
heaven. The first is named Amritaprabhá, the second Kesiní, these
are the auspiciously marked daughters of the hermit Parvata. And the
third is Kálindí, and the fourth Bhadraká, and the fifth is the noble
Kamalá with beautiful eyes. These three are the daughters of the great
hermit Devala. The sixth is named Saudáminí and the seventh Ujjvalá,
these are both of them daughters of the Gandharva Háhá. The eighth is
by name Pívará, the daughter of the Gandharva Húhú. And the ninth is
by name Anjaniká, the daughter of the mighty Kála. And the tenth is
Kesarávalí, sprung from the Gana Pingala. And the eleventh is Máliní
by name, the daughter of Kambala, and the twelfth is Mandáramálá the
daughter of a Vasu. They are all heavenly nymphs, born from Apsarases,
and, when I was married, they were taken to the first under-world, and
I must bestow them on you, in order that I may be always with them. And
this I promised them, for I love them. I spoke too to my father, but he
refused to give them, out of regard for his brother." When Súryaprabha
heard this, he said to her with a downcast expression--"My beloved,
you are very magnanimous, but how can I do this?" When Súryaprabha said
this to her, Mahalliká said in anger--"In my presence you marry others,
but my friends you do not desire, separated from whom I shall not be
happy even for one moment." When she said this to him, Súryaprabha
was pleased and consented to do it. Then that daughter of Prahláda
immediately took him to the first under-world and gave him those twelve
maidens. Then Súryaprabha married those heavenly nymphs in order,
commencing with Amritaprabhá. And after asking Mahalliká's leave, he
had them taken by Prabhása to the fourth under-world and concealed
there. And Súryaprabha himself went there secretly with Mahalliká,
but he went to the hall of Prahláda, as before, to take his meals.

There the king of the Asuras said to Sunítha and Maya--"Go all of
you to visit the two goddesses Diti and Danu." They said "So be it,"
and immediately Maya, Sunítha and Súryaprabha left the lower world,
accompanied by the Asuras in order of precedence, and ascended
the chariot Bhútásana, which came to them on being thought of, and
repaired to the hermitage of Kasyapa situated on a ridge of mount
Sumeru. There they were announced by hermits who shewed them all
courtesy, and after entering they beheld in due order Diti and Danu
together, and bowed their heads at their feet. And those two mothers
of the Asuras cast a favourable look upon them and their followers,
and after shedding tears and kissing them joyfully upon their heads,
[652] and bestowing their blessing upon them, said to Maya: "Our eyes
are to-day blessed, having seen this thy son Sunítha restored to
life, and we consider thee one whose merits have procured him good
fortune. And beholding with heart-felt satisfaction this prosperous
Sumundíka, born again in the character of Súryaprabha, possessed of
heavenly beauty and of extraordinary virtue, destined to be successful
and glorious, abounding in unmistakeable marks of future greatness,
we openly adore him here with our bodies. Therefore rise up quickly,
darlings, and visit Prajápati here, our husband; from beholding him you
shall obtain success in your objects, and his advice will be helpful
to you in your affairs." When Maya and the others received this order
from the goddesses, they went as they were commanded, and beheld the
hermit Kasyapa in a heavenly hermitage. He was like pure molten gold
in appearance, full of brightness, the refuge of the gods, wearing
matted locks yellow as flame, irresistible as fire. And approaching,
they fell at his feet with their followers, in order; then the hermit
gave them the customary blessing, and after making them sit down,
out of delight at their arrival said to them--"I am exceedingly glad
that I have beheld all you my sons; thou art to be praised, Maya,
who, without diverging from the good path, art a treasure-house of
all sciences; and thou art fortunate, Sunítha, who hast recovered thy
life though lost, and thou, O Súryaprabha, art fortunate, who art
destined to be the king of the sky-goers. So you must all continue
now in the path of righteousness, and hearken to my word, by means
of which you will obtain the highest fortune, and taste perpetual
joys, and by which you will not again be conquered by your enemies;
for it was those Asuras, that transgressed law, that became a prey
for the discus of the vanquisher of Mura. And those Asuras, Sunítha,
that were slain by the gods, are incarnate again as human heroes. He
who was thy younger brother Sumundíka, has been born indeed now as
Súryaprabha. And the other Asuras, who were your companions, have been
born as his friends; for instance, the great Asura, named Sambara,
has been born as his minister Prahasta. And the Asura, named Trisiras,
has been born as his minister named Siddhártha. And the Dánava, named
Vátápi, is now his minister Prajnádhya. And the Dánava, named Ulúka,
is now his companion named Subhankara, and his present friend Vítabhíti
was in a former birth a foe of the gods, named Kála. And this Bhása,
his minister, is an incarnation of a Daitya by name Vishaparvan, and
his minister Prabhása is an incarnation of a Daitya named Prabala. He
was a great-hearted Daitya with a frame composed of jewels, who, when
asked by the gods, though they were his enemies, hewed his body to
pieces, and so passed into another state of existence, and from that
body of his all the jewels in the world have originated. The goddess
Durgá was so pleased at that, that she granted him a boon accompanied
by another body, by virtue of which he has now been born as Prabhása,
mighty, and hard to be overcome by his enemies. And those Dánavas,
who formerly existed under the names of Sunda and Upasunda, have been
born as his ministers Sarvadamana and Bhayankara. And the two Asuras,
who used to be called Vikatáksha and Hayagríva, have been born as
his two ministers here, Sthirabuddhi and Mahábuddhi. And the others
connected with him, these fathers-in-law, ministers and friends of his,
are also incarnations of Asuras, who have often vanquished Indra and
his crew. So your party has again gradually acquired strength. Be of
good courage; if you do not depart from the right, you shall obtain
the highest prosperity." While the rishi Kasyapa was saying this,
all his wives, the daughters of Daksha, headed by Aditi, arrived at
the time of the mid-day sacrifice. When they had given their blessing
to Maya and the others, who bowed before them, and had performed their
husband's orders for the day, Indra also came there with the Lokapálas
[653] to visit the sage. And Indra, after saluting the feet of Kasyapa
and his wives and after having been saluted by Maya and the others,
looking angrily at Súryaprabha, said to Maya,--"This is the boy,
I suppose, that is desirous of becoming emperor of the Vidyádharas;
how is he satisfied with so very little, and why does he not desire the
throne of heaven?" When Maya heard this, he said, "The throne of heaven
was decreed to you by Siva, and to him was appointed the sovereignty
of the sky-goers." [654] When Indra heard this, he said with an angry
laugh--"This would be but a small matter for this comely shape of a
youth who is furnished with such auspicious marks." Then Maya answered
him--"If Srutasarman deserves the sovereignty of the Vidyádharas, then
surely this shape of his deserves the throne of heaven." When Maya said
this, Indra was angry, and rose and uplifted his thunderbolt, and then
the hermit Kasyapa made a threatening noise of anger. And Diti and
the other wives became enraged, and their faces were red with anger,
and they loudly cried, "Shame!" Then Indra, afraid of being cursed,
withdrew his weapon, and sat down with bowed head. Then Indra fell
at the feet of that hermit Kasyapa, the sire of gods and Asuras,
who was surrounded by his wives, and after striving to appease him,
made the following representation with hands folded in supplication:
"O reverend one, this Súryaprabha is attempting to take away from
Srutasarman the sovereignty of the Vidyádharas, which I bestowed
on him. And Maya is exerting himself in every way to procure it for
Súryaprabha." When Prajápati heard that, he said, seated with Diti and
Danu,--"Thou lovest Srutasarman, O Indra, but Siva loves Súryaprabha,
and his love cannot be fruitless, and he long ago ordered Maya to do
what he has done. So, what is all this outcry that thou art making
against Maya, what offence has he committed herein? For he is one
who abides in the path of right, wise, discreet, submissive to his
spiritual superior. The fire of my wrath would have reduced thee
to ashes, if thou hadst committed that sin, and thou hast no power
against him; dost thou not recognise his might?" When that hermit
with his wives said that, Indra was abashed with shame and fear,
and Aditi said--"What is that Srutasarman like? Let him be brought
here and shown to us." When Indra heard this, he sent Mátali, [655]
and had brought there immediately that Srutasarman, the prince of the
sky-goers. The wives of Kasyapa, when they had seen that Srutasarman,
who prostrated himself, looked at Súryaprabha and said to the hermit
Kasyapa--"Which of these two is the richer in beauty and in auspicious
marks?" Then that chief of hermits said, "Srutasarman is not even equal
to his minister Prabhása, much less is he equal to that incomparable
one. For this Súryaprabha is furnished with various heavenly marks
of such excellence, that, if he were to make the attempt, he would
find even the throne of Indra easy to obtain." When they heard that
speech of Kasyapa's, all there approved it, and said--"So it is." Then
the hermit gave Maya a boon in the hearing of great Indra--"Because,
my son, thou didst remain undaunted, even when Indra lifted up his
weapon to strike, therefore thou shalt remain unharmed by the plagues
of sickness and old age, which are strong as the thunderbolt. Moreover
these two magnanimous sons of thine, who resemble thee, shall always
be invincible by all their enemies. And this son of mine Suvásakumára,
resembling in splendour the autumn moon, shall come when thou thinkest
of him, and assist thee in the night of calamity. When the hermit had
thus spoken, his wives and the rishis and the Lokapálas in the same way
gave boons to them, to Maya and the rest, in the assembly. Then Aditi
said to Indra--"Desist, Indra, from thy improper conduct, conciliate
Maya, for thou hast seen to-day the fruit of discreet conduct, in
that he has obtained boons from me." When Indra heard that, he seized
Maya by the hand and propitiated him, and Srutasarman, eclipsed by
Súryaprabha, was like the moon in the day. Then the king of the gods
immediately prostrated himself before Kasyapa his spiritual guide,
and returned as he came, accompanied by all the Lokapálas; and Maya
and the others, by the order of that excellent hermit, departed from
his hermitage to meet success in their proposed undertaking.






CHAPTER XLVI.


Then Maya and Sunítha and Súryaprabha, all of them, left that hermitage
of Kasyapa, and reached the junction of the Chandrabhágá and Airávatí,
where the kings, the friends and connexions of Súryaprabha, were
awaiting him. And the kings who were there, when they saw Súryaprabha
arrived, rose up weeping in despair, eager to die. Súryaprabha,
thinking that their grief arose from not seeing Chandraprabha, told
them the whole occurrence as it happened. Then, as they still remained
despondent, he questioned them, and they reluctantly related how his
wives had been carried off by Srutasarman. And they also told him how
they were preparing to commit suicide through grief at that outrage,
when they were forbidden by a heavenly voice. Then Súryaprabha in
wrath made this vow--"Even if Brahmá and all the other gods protect
Srutasarman, I will certainly overthrow him, a villain who carries off
the wives of others, addicted to treacherous insolence." And having
made this vow, he appointed a moment fixed by the astrologers on the
seventh day, for marching to his overthrow. Then Maya, perceiving
that he was determined, and had made up his mind to conquer his enemy,
again confirmed him with his speech, and said to him--"If you really
have made up your mind, then I will tell you this; it was I that on
that occasion carried off your wives by magic, and I placed them
in the under-world, thinking that thus you would set about your
victorious expedition in an impetuous manner, for a fire does not
of itself burn so fiercely, as it does when fanned by a breeze. So
come, let us go to the under-world; I will shew you those wives of
yours." When they heard that speech of Maya's, they all rejoiced,
and they entered again by the same opening as before, and went to
the fourth under-world, Maya leading the way. There Maya brought
those wives of Súryaprabha's out of a dwelling-house, and delivered
them over to him. Then Súryaprabha, after receiving those wives, and
the others, the daughters of the Asuras, went by the advice of Maya
to visit Prahláda. He, having heard from Maya that Súryaprabha had
obtained boons, and being desirous of proving him, took up his weapon,
and said with feigned anger as he bowed before him,--"I have heard,
wicked one, that you have carried off the twelve maidens captured
by my brother, so, I will slay you now; behold me." When Súryaprabha
heard that, he said to him, without changing countenance,--"My body
is at your disposal; punish me, for I have acted improperly." When
he said this, Prahláda laughed and said to him--"As far as I have
tested you, you have not a drop of pride in you. Choose a boon,
I am pleased with you." When Súryaprabha heard this, he consented,
and chose as his boon devotion to his superiors and to Siva. Then,
all being satisfied, Prahláda gave to Súryaprabha a second daughter
of his, named Yáminí, and that prince of the Asuras gave him two of
his sons as allies. Then Súryaprabha went with all the rest into the
presence of Amíla. He too was pleased on hearing that he had obtained
the boons, and gave him Sukhávatí his second daughter, and two of
his sons to help him. Then Súryaprabha remained there during those
days, accompanied by his wives, inducing other kings of the Asuras
to make common cause with him. And he heard, in the company of Maya
and the others, that the three wives of Sunítha and his own wives,
the daughters of the kings, had all become pregnant, and when asked
what they longed for, they all said, to see that great battle, and
the Asura Maya rejoiced at it, perceiving that the Asuras, who were
slain in old time, had been conceived again in them--"This," said he,
"is the cause of their desire."

So six days passed, but on the seventh Súryaprabha and the others,
with their wives and all, set out from the under-world. Delusive
portents, which their rivals displayed to impede them, were
dissipated by Suvásakumára, who came when thought of. Then they
anointed Ratnaprabha, the son of Chandraprabha, king of the earth,
and ascended the chariot Bhútásana, [656] and went all of them, by
the advice of Maya, to a wood of ascetics on the bank of the eastern
Ganges, the dwelling of Sumeru the king of the Vidyádharas. There
Sumeru received them with all honour, as they had come on a friendly
visit, having been told the whole story by Maya, and remembering the
previous command of Siva. And while Chandraprabha and the others were
in that place, they summoned each of them all their own forces, and
also their relations and friends. First came those princes, the sons
of the fathers-in-law of Súryaprabha, who had acquired from Maya the
required sciences, eager for the fray. They were sixteen in number,
headed by Haribhata, and each was followed by a force consisting of
a myriad of chariots, and two myriads of footmen. After them came
the Daityas and Dánavas true to their agreement, brothers-in-law,
fathers-in-law, friends and other connexions of Súryaprabha.

Hrishtaroman, and Mahámáya, and Sinhadanshtra and Prakampana,
and Tantukachehha and Durároha, and Sumáya, and Vajrapanjara,
and Dhúmaketu, and Pramathana, and the Dánava Vikatáksha, and many
others came from as low down as the seventh under-world. One came
with seven myriads of chariots, another with eight, another with
six, and another with three, and the least powerful of all with one
myriad. One brought three hundred thousand footmen, another two hundred
thousand, another one hundred thousand, and the pettiest potentate
of all fifty thousand. And each brought a corresponding number of
horses and elephants. And another innumerable host came belonging to
Maya and Sunítha. And Súryaprabha's own countless army also arrived,
and those of Vasudatta and the other kings, and that of Sumeru.

Then the Asura Maya addressed this question to the hermit Suvásakumára,
who came to him when thought of, in the presence of Súryaprabha and
the others--"Reverend sir, we cannot review this army here because
it is scattered; so tell me where we could get a view of the whole
army at once extended in long array." The hermit answered--"Not
more than a yojana from here there is a place called Kalápagráma;
go there and behold it drawn up in line." When the hermit said that,
all the princes went with him and Sumeru to Kalápagráma. There they
made the armies of the Asuras and the kings take up their positions,
and going to an elevated spot they reviewed them separately. Then
Sumeru said--"Srutasarman has the larger force, for he has under him
a hundred and one chiefs of the Vidyádharas. And every single one
of those chiefs is lord of two and thirty kings. Never mind! I will
draw away some and make them join you. So let us go in the morning
to the place named Valmíka. For to-morrow is the eighth lunar day of
the black fortnight of Phálguna, which is a high day. And on that day
there is produced there a sign to show the future emperor, and for that
reason the Vidyádharas are going there in a great hurry on that day.

When Sumeru gave that opinion with regard to the army, they spent that
day in accordance with the law, and went on the morrow to Valmíka in
chariots with their army. There they encamped with shouting forces
on the southern plateau of the Himálayas, and beheld many Vidyádhara
kings that had arrived. And those Vidyádharas had lighted fires
there in fire-cavities, and were engaged in sacrificing, and some
were occupied with muttering prayers. Then, where Súryaprabha made
a fire-cavity, the fire burst forth of itself, owing to the power
of his magic science. When Sumeru saw it, he was pleased, but envy
arose in the breasts of the Vidyádharas at the sight; then one said to
him--"For shame, Sumeru! why do you abandon your rank as a Vidyádhara,
and follow this inhabitant of earth named Súryaprabha?" When Sumeru
heard this, he angrily rebuked him. And when Súryaprabha asked his
name, he said--"There is a Vidyádhara of the name of Bhíma, and Brahmá
loved his wife at will; from this connexion he sprang. Since be sprang
from Brahmá in a secret way, he is called Brahmagupta. Hence he speaks
in a style characteristic of his birth."

After saying this, Sumeru also made a fire-cavity. And in it
Súryaprabha sacrificed with him to the god of Fire. And in a moment
there suddenly rose from the hole in the ground an enormous and
terrible serpent. In his arrogance, that chief of the Vidyádharas,
named Brahmagupta, by whom Sumeru was blamed, ran to seize it. That
serpent thereupon sent forth a hissing wind from its mouth, which
carried Brahmagupta a hundred feet, and flung him down with such
violence that he fell like a withered leaf. Then a chief of the
Vidyádharas, named Tejahprabha, ran to seize it; he was flung away
by it in the same manner. Then a lord of the Vidyádharas, named
Dushtadamana, approached it; he was hurled back like the others by
that blast from its mouth. Then a prince of the sky-goers, named
Virúpasakti, approached it; he too was flung away as easily as a
blade of grass by that breath. Then two kings, named Angáraka and
Vijrimbhaka, ran towards it together; and it flung them to a distance
with its breath. Thus all the princes of the Vidyádharas were flung
away one after another, and rose up with difficulty, with their limbs
bruised with stones. Then Srutasarman, in his pride, went forward
to seize the serpent; but it hurled him back with the blast of its
breath like the others. He fell at a short distance, and rose up again,
and ran again towards it; when it carried him a greater distance with
its breath, and flung him to earth. Then Srutasarman rose up abashed,
with bruised limbs, and Sumeru sent Súryaprabha to lay hold of the
serpent. And then the Vidyádharas ridiculed him, saying, "Look! he too
is trying to catch the snake! O! these men, thoughtless as monkeys,
imitate whatever they see another doing." Even while they were mocking
him, Súryaprabha went and seized the serpent, whose mouth was quiet,
and dragged it out of the hole. But at that moment the serpent became
a priceless quiver, and a rain of flowers fell from the sky on his
head. And a heavenly voice sounded aloud--"Súryaprabha, thine is
this imperishable quiver equal to a magic power, so take it." Then
the Vidyádharas were cast down, Súryaprabha seized the quiver, and
Maya and Sunítha and Sumeru were delighted.

Then Srutasarman departed, accompanied by the host of the Vidyádharas,
and his ambassador came to Súryaprabha and said; "The august lord
Srutasarman thus commands--'Give me that quiver, if you value
your life.'" Then Súryaprabha said; "Ambassador, go and tell him
this--'Your own body shall become a quiver, bristling all over with
my arrows.'" When the ambassador heard this speech, he turned and
went away, and all laughed at that furious message of Srutasarman's
[657], and Sumeru, joyfully embracing Súryaprabha, said to him--"I
am delighted that that speech of Siva's has without doubt been
fulfilled, for now that you have acquired this excellent quiver,
you have practically acquired sovereign empire; so come and obtain
now a splendid bow with calm intrepidity."

When they heard Sumeru say this, and he himself led the way, they all,
Súryaprabha and the others, went to the mountain Hemakúta. And on the
north side of it they reached a beautiful lake named Mánasa, which
seemed to have been the first assay of the Creator's skill when making
the sea, which eclipsed with its full-blown golden lotuses shaken by
the wind, the faces of the heavenly nymphs sporting in the water. And
while they were contemplating the beauty of the lake, Srutasarman and
all the others came there. And then Súryaprabha made a sacrifice with
lotuses and ghee, and immediately a terrible cloud rose up from that
lake. That cloud filled the heaven, and poured down a great rain,
and among the rain-drops fell from the cloud a black serpent. By the
order of Sumeru, Súryaprabha rose up, and seized that serpent with a
firm grasp, though it resisted, thereupon it became a bow. When it
became a bow, a second snake fell from the cloud, through fear of
the fiery poison of which all the sky-goers fled. That serpent too,
when seized by Súryaprabha, like the first, became a bowstring,
and the cloud quickly disappeared. And after a rain of flowers,
a voice was heard from heaven,--"Súryaprabha, you have won this
bow Amitabala and this string which cannot be cut, so take these
priceless treasures." And Súryaprabha took that excellent bow with
the string. Srutasarman, for his part, went despondent to his wood
of ascetics, and Súryaprabha, and Maya and the others were delighted.

Then they asked Sumeru about the origin of the bow, and he said--"Here
there is a great and marvellous wood of bamboo canes; whatever
bamboos are cut from it and thrown into this lake, become great and
wonderful bows; and these bows have been acquired by several of the
gods before yourself, and by Asuras and Gandharvas, and distinguished
Vidyádharas. They have various names, but the bows appropriated to
emperors are all called Amitabala, and were in old time deposited
in the lake by the gods. And they are obtained, through the favour
of Siva, with these exertions, by certain men of virtuous conduct
destined to be emperors. Hence it comes that Súryaprabha has to-day
procured this great bow, and these companions of his shall procure
bows suited to them. For they, being heroes who have acquired the
sciences, are appropriate recipients for them, for they are still
procured by worthy men, as is right."

When the companions of Súryaprabha, Prabhása and the others, heard this
speech of Sumeru's, they went to the bamboo-grove, and after defeating
the king Chandradatta, who guarded it, they brought the bamboos, and
threw them into the lake. And these heroic men, by fasting on the
bank of the lake, and muttering prayers, and sacrificing, obtained
bows in seven days. When they returned and told their adventure,
Súryaprabha returned with them and Maya and the others to that
wood of ascetics, in which Sumeru dwelt. Then Sumeru said to him:
"It is strange that your friends have conquered Chandradatta, the
king of the bamboo-wood, though he is invincible. He possesses a
science called the bewildering science, for that reason he is hard to
conquer. Surely he must have been keeping it to use against a more
important enemy. For this reason he did not employ it against these
companions of yours on the present occasion, for it only can succeed
once in his hands, not repeatedly. For he employed it once against
his spiritual preceptor to try its force, thereupon he laid upon him
this curse. So this matter should be thought upon, for the might of
sciences is hard to overcome, and for that reason you should consult
the revered Maya. What can I say in his presence? Of what avail
is a candle in the face of the sun?" When Sumeru had said this to
Súryaprabha, Maya said; "Sumeru has told you the truth in few words,
listen to this which I now say--From undeveloped matter there spring
in this world various powers, and subordinate powers. Among them
the sound expressed by Anusvára arises from the power of breathing,
and becomes a spell of force in magic sciences, when accompanied
with the doctrine of the highest truth. And of those sciences which
deal with spells, and which are acquired by supernatural knowledge,
or austerity, or the holy command of holy men, the power is hard to
resist. So, my son, you have obtained all the sciences, except two,
in which you are deficient, namely, the science of bewildering,
and that of counteracting. But Yájnavalkya knows them, therefore
go and ask him to bestow them on you." When thus advised by Maya,
Súryaprabha went into the presence of that rishi.

That hermit made him dwell for seven days in the serpent-lake, and
ordered him to perform austerities for three days in the midst of
the fire. And he gave him the bewildering power when he had endured
for seven days the bite of the snakes, and the counteracting power
when he had resisted for three days the force of the fire. [658]
And when he had obtained these sciences, that hermit ordered him
again to enter the fire-cavity, and he consented and did it. And
immediately there was bestowed on Súryaprabha a chariot in the
form of a white lotus, that moved at the will of the possessor, and
travelled through the air, which was furnished with a hundred and
eight wings, and the same number of dwellings, and constructed of
precious jewels of various kinds. And a voice from heaven addressed
that resolute one,--"You have obtained this chariot suitable for an
emperor, and you must place your wives in all these dwellings, in
order that they may be safe from your enemies." Then he, bending low,
addressed this petition to his preceptor Yájnavalkya--"Tell me what
fee I am to pay." The hermit answered him--"Remember me at the time
when you are anointed emperor, this in itself will be sufficient fee;
in the meanwhile go to your army." Then he bowed before that hermit,
and ascended that chariot, and went to his army, that was encamped
in the place where Sumeru dwelt. There he told his story, and Maya
and the others, with Sunítha and Sumeru, congratulated him, now that
he had obtained a magic chariot.

Then Sunítha called to mind that Suvásakumára, and he came and said
to Maya and the others, with the kings; "Súryaprabha has obtained a
chariot and all the magic sciences; so why do you even now remain
indifferent about conquering your enemies?" When Maya heard that,
he said, "Reverend sir, you have spoken rightly, but first let an
ambassador be sent, and let policy be employed." When Maya said
this, the hermit's son said--"So be it! What harm can this do? Let
this Prahasta be sent. He is discerning, eloquent, and understands
the nature of business and occasions, and he is stern and enduring,
he possesses all the qualities of an ambassador." All approved this
speech of his, and after giving Prahasta instructions, they sent him
off as ambassador to Srutasarman.

When he had gone, Súryaprabha said to all his followers,--"Hear the
strange wonderful vision that I have had--I remember, I saw toward the
end of last night, that we were all carried away by a great stream of
water, and while we were swept away, we kept dancing, we did not sink
at all. Then that stream was turned back by a contrary breeze. Then
a certain man of fiery brightness drew us out, and threw us into the
fire, and we were not burned by the fire. Then a cloud rained a stream
of blood, and that blood filled the whole sky, then my sleep came to
an end with the night." When he said this, Suvásakumára said to him,
"This dream indicates success preceded by a struggle. The stream of
water is battle, it is due to valour that you did not sink but danced,
and were carried along by the water; the wind, that turned back the
water for you, is some saviour to whom men resort for protection;
and the man of fiery brightness, who drew you out of it, is Siva
in bodily form. And that he threw you into the fire, means that you
are cast into a great war; and that the clouds arose, that means the
returning again of fear; and the rain of a stream of blood, that means
the destroying of fear, and the filling of all the quarters with blood,
that means great success for you. Now dreams are of many kinds, [659]
the rich-sensed, the true-sensed, and the senseless. A dream which
quickly reveals its meaning, is called rich-sensed, a dream in which a
propitious god gives a command, is called true-sensed, and one which is
brought about by deep meditation and anxiety, they call senseless. For
a man under the influence of sleep, with mind bewildered by the quality
of passion and withdrawn from outward objects, sees a dream on account
of various causes. And it depends upon the time, when it is seen,
whether it is fulfilled soon or late, but this kind of dream which
is seen at the end of the night is quickly fulfilled. [660]" When
Súryaprabha and his companions heard this from the hermit's son, they
were much pleased, and rising up they performed the duties of the day.

In the meanwhile Prahasta returned from the court of Srutasarman, and,
when asked by Maya and the others, he described his adventures. "I
went rapidly hence to the city named Trikútapatáká, situated on
the mountain Trikúta, built of gold. And being introduced by the
door-keeper, I entered, and beheld Srutasarman surrounded by various
Vidyádhara kings, by his father Trikútasena, and also by Vikramasakti
and Dhurandhara and other heroes, Dámodara among them. And sitting
down, I said to Srutasarman, 'I am sent to visit you by the august
Súryaprabha: and he commissioned me to give you this command. By
the favour of Siva I have obtained precious sciences, and wives and
allies. So come and join my army, together with those chiefs of the
sky-goers; I am the slayer of those that oppose, but the saviour of
those that bend. And as for your carrying off from her relations the
maiden Kámachúdámani, the daughter of Sunítha, who ought not to be
approached, set her at liberty, for that is a deed of shame.' When
I said this they all exclaimed in wrath,--'Who is he that sends us
this haughty command? Let him give commands to mortals, but who is
he compared with Vidyádharas? Since he assumes such airs, though he
is a miserable mortal, he should be destroyed.'

"When I heard that, I said, 'What, what? Who is he? Listen, he has
been created by Siva as your future emperor. If he is a mortal,
then mortals have attained divinity, and the Vidyádharas have seen
the valour of that mortal; moreover, if he comes here, we shall
soon see which party will be destroyed.' When I said this in wrath,
that assembly was disturbed. And Srutasarman and Dhurandhara rushed
forward to slay me. And I said to them--'Come now, let me see your
valour!' Then Dámodara rose up, and restrained them, exclaiming
'Peace! an ambassador and a Bráhman must not be slain.' Then
Vikramasakti said to me--'Depart, ambassador, for we, like your
master, are all created by Siva. So let him come, and we will see
whether we are able to entertain him or not.' When he said this in a
haughty manner, I laughed and said, 'The swans utter their cries in
the lotus-bower and enjoy themselves much, until they see the cloud
that comes darkening the heaven.' After saying this I rose up in a
contemptuous manner, left the court, and came here." When Maya and
others heard this from Prahasta, they were pleased. And they all,
Súryaprabha and the rest, determined on preparing for battle, and
made Prabhása, the impetuous in war, their general. And receiving
the command from Suvásakumára, they all prepared that day with strict
vows to consecrate themselves for the combat. [661]

And at night, Súryaprabha, as he was lying sleepless, saw a wonderful
and beautiful maiden enter the chamber, in which he was occupying a
solitary couch in accordance with his vow. She came boldly up to him,
who pretended to be asleep, with his ministers sleeping round him,
and said to her confidante, who was with her; "If he possesses such
glorious beauty, when he is asleep, and all the graceful motion of
his body is still, what must it be, my friend, when he is awake? So
let be! we must not wake him up. I have gratified the curiosity of my
eyes. Why should I fix my heart too fondly on him? For he will have
a battle with Srutasarman, and who can say what will befall either
party in it? For the feast of battle is for consuming the lives of
heroes. And should he not be fortunate, we shall have to take some
other resolve. [662] And how could one like me captivate the soul of a
man who, when roaming in the air, beheld Kámachúdámani?" When she said
this, her confidante answered, "Why do you say this? Why, fair one,
is it your duty not to allow your heart to attach itself to him? Why
should not he, the sight of whom captivated the heart of Kámachúdámani,
captivate the heart of any other lady, were she even Arundhatí in
bodily presence? And do you not know that he will prosper in fight by
the force of science? And when he is emperor, you, and Kámachúdámani,
and Suprabhá of the same family, are to be his wives, so say the holy
sages, and in these very days he has married Suprabhá. So, how can
he be unsuccessful in fight? For the predictions of the sages are
never falsified. And will you not captivate the heart of the man,
whose heart was captivated by Suprabhá? For you, blameless one,
exceed her in beauty. And if you hesitate through regard for your
relations, that is not right, for good women have no relations but
their husband." That excellent maiden, when she heard this speech of
her confidante's, said--"You have spoken truth, my friend, I need no
other relations. And I know my husband will conquer in fight by his
science. He has obtained jewels and sciences, but my mind is grieved
because up to the present time he has not obtained the virtuous
herbs. Now they are all in a cave of the mountain Chandrapáda. But
they are to be obtained by an emperor possessing virtue. So, if he
were to go there and procure those mighty drugs, it would be well, for
his great struggle is nigh at hand, even to-morrow." When Súryaprabha
heard this, he flung off all his feigned sleep, and rising up, said
respectfully to that maiden--"Lovely-eyed one, you have shewn great
favour to me, so I will go there, tell me who you are." When the maiden
heard that, she was abashed with shame, and silent, thinking that he
had heard all, but her friend said--"This is a maiden named Vilásiní,
the daughter of Sumeru, the prince of the Vidyádharas, who was desirous
of beholding you." When her friend said this, Vilásiní said to her,
"Come, let us go now," and went out of the room.

Then Súryaprabha woke up his ministers, Prabhása and the rest, and
told them of that method of procuring the drugs, which the lady spoke
of. And he sent Prabhása, a fit person to accomplish that, to tell it
to Sunítha and Sumeru and Maya. And when they came and approved of it,
Súryaprabha, accompanied by his ministers, went with them in the night
to the mountain Chandrapáda. And as they were gradually advancing,
the Yakshas, Guhyakas, and Kumbhándas, being alarmed, rose up to bar
their way, armed with numerous weapons. Some of them Súryaprabha
and his friends bewildered with weapons, some they paralysed by
science, and at last they reached that mountain Chandrapáda. When
they reached the mouth of the cavern in that mountain, the Ganas
of Siva prevented them from entering, assuming strange deformed
countenances. Then Suvásakumára said to Súryaprabha and the others,
"We must not fight with these, for the revered god Siva might be
angry. Let us praise that giver of boons by his eight thousand names,
and that will make the Ganas [663] favourably disposed to us." Then
they all agreed, and praised Siva; and the Ganas, pleased at hearing
their master praised, said to them; "We abandon this cave to you,
take its potent simples. But Súryaprabha must not enter it himself;
let Prabhása enter it, for it will be easy for him to enter." They
all said "So be it," and acceded to the advice of the Ganas. Then
that cave, as soon as Prabhása entered it, though before enveloped
in darkness, became irradiated with light. And four very terrible
Rákshasas, who were servants there, rose up, and bending before him,
said to him "Enter." Then Prabhása entered, and collected those seven
divine herbs, and coming out, gave them all to Súryaprabha. And that
moment a voice was heard from heaven, saying, "Súryaprabha, of great
power are these seven drugs which you have obtained to-day." When
Súryaprabha and the others heard that, they were delighted, and
quickly returned to the dwelling of Sumeru to greet their army. Then
Sunítha asked that Suvásakumára; "Hermit, why was Prabhása allowed
by the Ganas to enter the cave, and not Súryaprabha, and why was he
also welcomed by the servants?" When the hermit heard that, he said
in the hearing of all, "Listen, I will explain this--Prabhása is a
great benefactor to Súryaprabha, being a second self to him, there is
no difference between them. Moreover, no one is equal in might and
courage to Prabhása, and this cave belongs to him on account of his
good deeds in a former life, and listen, I will tell you what sort
of a person he was in a former existence."



Story of the generous Dánava Namuchi.

In old times there was an excellent Dánava named Namuchi, who
was devoted to charity and very brave, and did not refuse to give
anything to anybody that asked, even if he were his enemy. He practised
asceticism as a drinker of smoke for ten thousand years, and obtained
as a favour from Brahmá, that he should be proof against iron, stone,
and wood. Then he frequently conquered Indra and made him flee,
so the rishi Kasyapa entreated him, and made him make peace with
the gods. Then the gods and Asuras, as their enmity was at an end,
deliberated together, and went to the ocean of milk, and churned it
with the mountain Mandara. And as Vishnu and the other gods received
Lakshmí and other things as their shares, so Namuchi gained the horse
Uchchhaihsravas; and the other gods and Asuras received other various
shares, appointed by Brahmá, of the things that rose from the sea, when
churned. And the amrita at last came up at the end of the churning,
and the gods stole it, so a quarrel again took place between them
and the Asuras. Then, as fast as the gods killed an Asura in their
light with them, the horse Uchchhaihsravas immediately restored him
to life by smelling him. The consequence was that the gods found it
impossible to conquer the Daityas and Dánavas. Then Vrihaspati said
in secret to Indra, who was in despair: "There is only one expedient
left, adopt it without delay; go to Namuchi yourself, and ask him for
that excellent horse, for he will certainly give it to you, though
you are his enemy, sooner than mar the glory of open-handedness,
which he has been accumulating since his birth." When the preceptor
of the gods said that to him, great Indra went with the gods and
craved as a boon that horse Uchchhaihsravas from Namuchi. Then the
great-hearted Namuchi reflected, "I never turn back a suppliant, so
I will not turn back Indra; and how can I, as long as I am Namuchi,
refuse to give him the horse? If the glory of generosity, which I
have long been acquiring in the worlds, were to wither, what would
be the use to me of prosperity, or life?" Accordingly he gave the
horse to Indra, although Sukra warned him not to do it. Then Indra,
after he had given the horse, lulled him to security, and as he could
not be slain by any other weapon, killed him with foam of the Ganges,
in which he had placed a thunderbolt. Alas! terrible in the world
is the thirst for enjoyment, carried away by which even gods do not
shrink from unbecoming and infamous conduct. When Danu, the mother of
Namuchi, heard this, being afflicted with grief, she made by virtue
of her asceticism a solemn resolve for the allaying of her sorrow,
"May that mighty Namuchi be again born in my womb, and may he again
become invincible by the gods in battle." Then he was again conceived
in her womb, and born as an Asura composed all of jewels, named
Prabala on account of his strength. Then he performed asceticism,
and satisfying supplicants even with his life, became successful,
and as prince of the Dánavas conquered Indra a hundred times. Then
the gods took counsel together, and came to him, and said to him:
"By all means give us your body for a human sacrifice." [664] When he
heard that, he gave them his own body, although they were his enemies;
noble men do not turn their backs on a suppliant, but bestow on him
even their lives. Then that Dánava Prabala was cut to pieces by the
gods, and he has been again born in the world of men with the body
of Prabhása.

"So Prabhása was first Namuchi, and then he was Prabala, and then
he became Prabhása, therefore on account of his merit he is hard
for his enemies to conquer. And that cave of herbs, which belonged
to that Prabala, is for that reason the property of Prabhása,
and is at his command with its servants. And below it there is in
Pátála [665] the mansion of Prabala, and in it there are his twelve
head-wives beautifully adorned, and various jewels, and many kinds
of weapons, and a wishing-stone, and a hundred thousand warriors,
and also horses. This all belongs to Prabhása, and was acquired by
him in a former life. Such a hero is Prabhása; in him nothing is
wonderful." When they heard this from the hermit's son, Súryaprabha
and his followers, with Maya and Prabhása, went immediately to that
cavern belonging to Prabhása, that led down to Pátála, for the purpose
of securing the jewels. Prabhása alone went in by that entrance,
and secured his former wives, and the wishing-stone, and the horses,
and the Asura warriors, and coming out again with all his wealth,
he gave great satisfaction to Súryaprabha. Then that Súryaprabha,
having quickly obtained what he wished, returned to his own camp with
Maya and Sunítha and Prabhása, followed by Sumeru and the other kings
and the ministers. There, after the Asuras and kings and others had
gone to their own quarters, he again was consecrated for the fight,
restraining his passions, and spent the rest of the night on a bed
of kusa grass.






CHAPTER XLVII.


Early the next morning, Súryaprabha set out from the hermitage of
Sumeru with his forces to conquer Srutasarman. And arriving near
the mountain of Trikúta his dwelling place, he encamped, driving
away the enemies' army with his own force, which was established
there. And while he was encamped there with Sumeru, Maya, and others,
and was in the hall of council, an ambassador came from the lord of
Trikúta. And when he came, he said to Sumeru the Vidyádhara prince;
"The king, the father of Srutasarman, sends you this message. 'We
have never entertained you, as you were far off; now you have arrived
in our territory with guests, so now we will shew you appropriate
hospitality.'" When Sumeru heard this scoffingly ambiguous message,
he said in answer: "Bravo! you will not get another guest such a fit
object of hospitality as we are. Hospitality will not bear its fruit
in the next world, its fruit is in this. So here we are, entertain
us." When Sumeru said this, the ambassador returned to his master as
he came.

Then Súryaprabha and the others, established upon an elevated place,
surveyed their armies encamped separately. Then Sunítha said to his
father-in-law the Asura Maya: "Explain to me the arrangement of the
warriors in our army." Then that all-knowing prince of the Dánavas
said, "I will do so, listen;" and pointing them out with his finger,
he began to say--"These kings Subáhu, Nirgháta, Mushtika, and Gohara,
and Pralamba, and Pramátha, and Kankata, and Pingala, and Vasudatta
and others, are considered half-power warriors. [666] And Ankurin,
and Suvisála, and Dandin, and Bhúshana, and Somila, and Unmattaka,
and Devasarman, and Pitrisarman, and Kumáraka, and Haridatta and
others are all full-power warriors. And Prakampana, and Darpita,
and Kumbhíra, and Mátripálita, and Mahábhata, and Vírasvámin,
and Surádhara, and Bhándíra, and Sinhadatta and Gunavarman, with
Kítaka and Bhíma and Bhayankara, these are all warriors of double
power. And Virochana, and Vírasena, and Yajnasena, and Khujjara,
and Indravarman, and Sevaraka, and Krúrakarman, and Nirásaka, these
princes are of triple power, my son. And Susarman, and Báhusálin,
and Visákha, and Krodhana, and Prachanda,--these princes are warriors
of fourfold power. And Junjarin, and Vírasarman, and Pravíravara, and
Supratijna and Maráráma, and Chandadanta, and Jálika, and the three,
Sinhabhata, Vyághrabhata, and Satrubhata, these kings and princes are
warriors of fivefold power. But this prince Ugravarman is a warrior
of sixfold power. And the prince Visoka, and Sutantu, and Sugama, and
Narendrasarman are considered warriors of sevenfold power. And this
king Sahasráyu is a great warrior. But this Satáníka is lord of a host
of great warriors. And Subhása, Harsha, and Vimala, the companions of
Súryaprabha, Mahábuddhi and Achalabuddhi, Priyankara and Subhankara are
great warriors, as also Yajnaruchi and Dharmaruchi. But Visvaruchi,
and Bhása, and Siddhártha, these three ministers of Súryaprabha,
are chiefs of hosts of great warriors. And his ministers Prahasta and
Mahártha are leaders of hosts of transcendent warriors. And Prajnádhya
and Sthirabuddhi are leaders of hosts of hosts of warriors; and the
Dánava Sarvadamana, and Pramathana here, and Dhúmaketu, and Pravahana,
and Vajrapanjara, and Kálachakra, and Marudvega are leaders of warriors
and transcendent warriors. Prakampana and Sinhanáda are leaders of
hosts of leaders of hosts of warriors. And Mahámáya, and Kámbalika,
and Kálakampana here, and Prahrishtaroman, these four lords of the
Asuras, are kings over chiefs of hosts of transcendent warriors. And
this Prabhása, the general of the army, who is equal to Súryaprabha,
and this son of Sumeru, Kunjarakumára, these two are leaders of hosts
of chiefs of hosts of great warriors. Such heroes are there in our
army, and others besides, girt with their followers. There are more
in the hostile army, but Siva being well disposed towards us, they
will not be able to resist our host.

While the Asura Maya was saying this to Sunítha, another ambassador
came from the father of Srutasarman, and said thus to him; "The king
of Trikúta sends this message to you; 'This is a great feast for
heroes--the feast, which goes by the name of battle. This ground
is narrow for it, therefore let us leave it, and go to a place
named Kalápagráma, where there is a wide space.'" When Sunítha and
the other chiefs with their soldiers heard this, they agreed, and
all of them went with Súryaprabha to Kalápagráma. And Srutasarman
and his partizans also, eager for battle, went to that same place,
surrounded with the hosts of the Vidyádharas. When Súryaprabha and his
chiefs saw elephants in the army of Srutasarman, they summoned their
contingent of elephants, which was conveyed in the chariot that flew
through the air. Then Dámodara, that excellent Vidyádhara, drew up his
army in the form of a large needle; Srutasarman himself took up his
position on the flank with his ministers, and Dámodara was in front,
and other great warriors in other places. And Prabhása, the leader of
Súryaprabha's army, arranged it in the form of a crescent; he himself
was in the centre, and Kunjarakumára and Prahasta at the two horns;
and Súryaprabha, and Sunítha and the other chiefs, all remained in
the rear. And Sumeru with Suvásakumára stood near him. Thereupon the
war-drums were beaten in both armies.

And in the meanwhile the heaven was filled with the gods, come
to see the battle, together with Indra, and the Lokapálas, and
the Apsarases. And Siva, the lord of all, came there with Párvatí,
followed by deities, and the Ganas, and demons, and the mothers. [667]
And holy Brahmá came accompanied by the Vedas incarnate in bodily
form, beginning with the Gáyatrí, and the Sástras and all the
great Rishis. And the god Vishnu came, riding on the king of birds,
bearing his weapon the discus, accompanied by goddesses, of whom the
goddesses of Fortune, Glory, and Victory were the chief. And Kasyapa
came with his wives, and the Ádityas and the Vasus, and the chiefs of
the Yakshas, Rákshasas and snakes, and also the Asuras with Prahláda
at their head. The sky was obscured with them, and the battle of those
two armies began, terrible with the clashing of weapons, accompanied
with loud shouts. The whole heaven was darkened by the dense cloud of
arrows, through which the flashes, made by the arrows striking against
one another, played like lightning, and rivers of blood flowed, swollen
with the gore of many elephants and horses wounded with weapons, in
which the bodies of heroes moved like alligators. That battle gave
great delight to heroes, jackals, and goblins, that danced, waded,
and shouted in blood.

When the confused mêlée, in which countless soldiers fell, had abated,
Súryaprabha, and the other chiefs, gradually began to perceive the
distinction between their own army and that of the enemy, and heard in
order from Sumeru the names and lineage of the chiefs fighting in front
of the enemies' host. Then first took place a single combat between
king Subáhu and a chief of the Vidyádharas, named Attahása. Subáhu
fought a long time, until Attahása, after riddling him with arrows,
cut off his head with a crescent-headed shaft. When Mushtika saw that
Subáhu was slain, he rushed forward in wrath; he too fell smitten
by Attahása with an arrow in the heart. When Mushtika was slain,
a king named Pralamba in wrath rushed on, and attacked Attahása with
showers of arrows, but Attahása slew his retainers, and striking the
hero Pralamba with an arrow in a mortal place, laid him low on the
seat of his chariot. A king named Mohana, when he saw Pralamba dead,
engaged with Attahása and smote him with arrows. Then Attahása cut his
bow and slew his charioteer, and laid him low, slain with a terrific
blow. When the host of Srutasarman saw that the dexterous Attahása
had slain those four warriors, expecting the victory, they shouted
for joy. When Harsha, the companion of Súryaprabha, saw that, he was
wroth, and with his followers attacked Attahása and his followers;
and with shafts he repelled his shafts, and he slew his followers,
and killed his charioteer, and two or three times cut his bow and
his banner, and at last he cleft asunder his head with his arrows,
so that he fell from his chariot on the earth, pouring forth a stream
of blood. When Attahása was slain, there was such a panic in the
battle, that in a moment only half the two armies remained. Horses,
elephants and footmen fell down there slain, and only the trunks of
slaughtered men remained standing in the van of battle.

Then a chief of the Vidyádharas, named Vikritadanshtra, angry at
the slaughter of Attahása, showered arrows upon Harsha. But Harsha
repelled his arrows, struck down his chariot-horses, and his banner and
his charioteer, and cut off his head with its trembling earrings. But
when Vikritadanshtra was killed, a Vidyádhara king, named Chakravála,
in wrath attacked Harsha; he slew Harsha still fighting on, though
fatigued with combat, after his bow had been frequently cut asunder,
and his other weapons damaged. Angry at that, king Pramátha attacked
him, and he too was slain by that Chakravála in fight. In the same
way four other distinguished kings, who attacked him one by one,
were slain one after another by that Chakravála, namely, Kankata,
and Visála, and Prachanda and Ankurin. When king Nirgháta saw that,
he was wroth, and attacked Chakravála, and those two, Chakravála
and Nirgháta, fought for a long time, and at last they broke one
another's chariots to pieces, and so became infantry soldiers, and
the two, rushing furiously together, armed with sword and discus,
cleft with sword-strokes one another's heads, and fell dead on
the earth. Then the two armies were dispirited, seeing those two
warriors dead, but nevertheless a king of the Vidyádharas, named
Kálakampana, stepped forward to the front of the fight. And a prince,
named Prakampana, attacked him, but he was in a moment struck down
by that Kálakampana. When he was struck down, five other warriors
attacked Kálakampana, namely Jálika, and Chandadatta, and Gopaka,
and Somila, and Pitrisarman; all these let fly arrows at him at the
same time. But Kálakampana deprived all five of their chariots, and
slew them at the same time, piercing the five with five arrows in
the heart. That made the Vidyádharas shout for joy, and the men and
Asuras despond. Then four other warriors rushed upon him at the same
time, Unmattaka and Prasasta, Vilambaka and Dhurandhara; Kálakampana
slew them all easily, in the same way he killed six other warriors
that ran towards him, Tejika, and Geyika, and Vegila, and Sákhila,
and Bhadrankara and Dandin, great warriors with many followers. And
again he slew five others that met him in fight, Bhíma, Bhíshana,
Kumbhíra, Vikata, and Vilochana. And a king, named Sugana, when he
saw the havoc that Kálakampana had made in the battle, ran to meet
him. Kálakampana fought with him until both had their horses and
charioteers killed, and were compelled to abandon their chariots;
then Kálakampana, reduced to fight on foot, laid Sugana, who was
also fighting on foot, low on the earth with a sword-cut. Then the
sun, having beheld that surprising struggle of Vidyádharas with men,
went grieved to rest. [668] Not only did the field of battle become
red, filled with streaming blood, but the heaven also became red,
when evening set her foot-prints there. Then the corpses and demons
began their evening dance, and both armies, stopping the battle,
went to their camps. In the army of Srutasarman were slain that day
three heroes, but thirty-three distinguished heroes were slain in
the army of Súryaprabha.

Then Súryaprabha, grieved at the slaughter of his kinsmen and friends,
spent that night apart from his wives. And eager for the fight, he
passed that night in various military discussions with his ministers,
without going to sleep. And his wives, grieved on account of the
slaughter of their relations, met together in one place that night,
having come for the sake of mutual condolence. But even on that
melancholy occasion they indulged in miscellaneous conversation;
there is no occasion on which women are not irrelevant in their
talk. In the course of this conversation, one princess said--"It is
wonderful! How comes it that to-night our husband has gone to sleep
without any of his wives?" Hearing that, another said--"Our husband
is to-day grieved on account of the slaughter of his followers in
battle, so how can he take any pleasure in the society of women?" Then
another said, "If he were to obtain a new beauty, he would that instant
forget his grief." Then another said--"Do not say so; although he is
devoted to the fair sex, he would not behave in this way on such a
sad occasion." While they were thus speaking, one said with wonder;
"Tell me why our husband is so devoted to women, that, though he has
carried off many wives, he is perpetually marrying new princesses
and is never satisfied." One of the wives, a clever woman of the
name of Manovatí, said when she heard this,--"Hear why kings have
many loves. The good qualities of lovely women are different, varying
with their native land, their beauty, their age, their gestures, and
their accomplishments, no one woman possesses all good qualities. The
women of Karnáta, of Láta, of Sauráshtra and Madhyadesa, please by
the peculiar behaviour of their various countries. Some fair ones
captivate by their faces like an autumn moon, others by their breasts
full and firm like golden ewers, and others by their limbs, charming
from their beauty. One has limbs yellow as gold, another is dark like
a priyangu, another, being red and white, captivates the eyes as soon
as seen. One is of budding beauty, another of full-developed youth,
another is agreeable on account of her maturity, and distinguished by
increasing coquetry. One looks lovely when smiling, another is charming
even in anger, another charms with gait resembling that of an elephant,
another with swan-like motion. One, when she prattles, irrigates the
ears with nectar; another is naturally beautiful, when she looks at
one with graceful contraction of the eyebrows. One charms by dancing,
another pleases by singing, and another fair one attracts by being
able to play on the lyre and other instruments. One is distinguished
for good temper, another is remarkable for artfulness; another enjoys
good fortune from being able to understand her husband's mind. But,
to sum up, others possess other particular merits; so every lovely
woman has some peculiar good point, but of all the women in the
three worlds none possesses all possible virtues. So kings, having
made up their minds to experience all kinds of fascinations, though
they have captured many wives for themselves, are for ever seizing
new ones. [669] But the truly noble never, under any circumstances,
desire the wives of others. So this is not our husband's fault, and we
cannot be jealous." When the head-wives of Súryaprabha, beginning with
Madanasená, had been addressed in this style by Manovatí, they made
one after another remarks to the same effect. Then, in their merriment,
they laid aside all the ties of reserve, and began to tell one another
all kinds of secrets. For unfortunately there is nothing which women
will not let out, when they are met together in social intercourse,
and their minds are interested in the course of the conversation. At
last that long conversation of theirs was somehow or other brought
to an end, and in course of time the night passed away, during which
Súryaprabha was longing to conquer the host of his enemies, for he
was alone, intently waiting for the time when the darkness should
depart. [670]






CHAPTER XLVIII.


The next morning, Súryaprabha and his party, and Srutasarman and
his supporters, again went to the field of battle armed, with their
forces. And again the gods and Asuras, with Indra, Brahmá, Vishnu,
and Rudra, and with the Yakshas, snakes, and Gandharvas, came to see
the fight. Dámodara drew up the troops of Srutasarman in the form of a
discus, and Prabhása drew up the troops of Súryaprabha in the form of a
thunderbolt. Then the battle of those two armies went on, deafening the
horizon with drums and the shouts of champions, and the sun hid himself
in flights of arrows, as if out of fear that the warriors smitten with
weapons would certainly pierce his disk. Then Prabhása, by command of
Súryaprabha, broke the discus-arrangement of the enemy's host, hard
for another to break, and entered alone. And Dámodara himself came
and defended that opening in the line, and Prabhása fought against
him unaided. And Súryaprabha, seeing that he had entered alone, sent
fifteen great warriors to follow him, Prakampana, and Dhúmraketu,
and Kálakampana, and Mahámáya, and Marudvega, and Prahasta, and
Vajrapanjara, and Kálachakra, and Pramathana, and Sinhanáda, and
Kambala, and Vikatáksha, and Pravahana, and Kunjarakumáraka, and
Prahrishtaroman the heroic Asura prince: all those great warriors
rushed forward to the opening in the line; then Dámodara exhibited
his wonderful heroism, in that alone he fought with those fifteen.

When Indra saw that, he said to the hermit Nárada, who was at his side,
"Súryaprabha and the others of his party are incarnations of Asuras,
but Srutasarman is a portion of me, and all these Vidyádharas are
portions of the gods, so observe, hermit, this is a disguised fight
between the gods and Asuras. And observe, in it Vishnu is, as ever,
the ally of the gods, for Dámodara, who is a portion of him, is
fighting here."

While Indra was saying this, fourteen great warriors came to assist
the general Dámodara,--Brahmagupta and Váyubala, and Yamadanshtra,
and Suroshana, and Roshávaroha, and Atibala, and Tejahprabha, and
Dhurandhara, and Kuveradatta, and Varunasarman, and Kámbalika, and
the hero Dushtadamana, and Dohana and Árohana. And those fifteen
heroes, joined with Dámodara, fighting in front of the line, kept
off the followers of Súryaprabha. Then single combats took place
between them; Prakampana carried on a missile fight with Dámodara, and
Dhúmraketu fought with Brahmagupta, and Mahámáya fought with Atibala,
the Dánava Kálakampana fought with Tejahprabha, and the great Asura
Marudvega with Váyubala, and Vajrapanjara fought with Yamadanshtra,
and the heroic Asura Kálachakra with Suroshana; Pramathana fought
with Kuveradatta, and the king of the Daityas, named Sinhanáda, with
Varunasarman. Pravahana fought with Dushtadamana, and the Dánava
Prahrishtaroman fought with Roshávaroha; and Vikatáksha fought with
Dhurandhara, Kambala fought with Kámbalika, and Kunjarakumáraka with
Árohana, and Prahasta with Dohana, who was also called Mahotpáta.

When these pairs of warriors were thus fighting in the front of the
line, Sunítha said to Maya, "Alas! observe, our heroic warriors,
though skilled in the use of many weapons, have been prevented by
these antagonists from entering the enemies' line; but Prabhása
entered before recklessly alone, so we do not know what will become
of him there." When Suvásakumára heard this, he said, "All the gods,
Asuras, and men in the three worlds are not a match for this Prabhása
unaided, much less then are these Vidyádharas. So why do you fear
without reason, though you know this well enough?"

While the hermit's son was saying this, the Vidyádhara Kálakampana came
to meet Prabhása in fight. Then Prabhása said to him, "Ha! Ha! you
have rendered me a great service, so let me now see your valour
here." Saying this, Prabhása let fly at him a succession of arrows,
and Kálakampana in return showered sharp arrows upon him. Then that
Vidyádhara and that man fought together with arrows and answering
arrows, making the worlds astonished. Then Prabhása with a sharp
arrow struck down the banner of Kálakampana, with a second he killed
his charioteer, with four more his four horses, and with one more
he cut his bow in half, with two more he cut off his hands, with
two more his arms, and with two more his two ears, and with one
sharp-edged arrow he cut off the head of his foe, and thus displayed
wonderful dexterity. Thus Prabhása, as it were, chastised Kálakampana,
being angry with him because he had slain so many heroes in his own
army. And the men and Asuras, when they saw that Vidyádhara chief
slain, raised a shout, and the Vidyádharas immediately proclaimed
their despondency. [671]

Then a king of the Vidyádharas, named Vidyutprabhá, lord of the hill
of Kálanjara, in wrath attacked Prabhása. When he was fighting with
Prabhása, Prabhása first cut asunder his banner, and then kept cutting
his bows in two, as fast as he took them up. Then the Vidyádhara,
being ashamed, by his delusive power flew up invisible into the sky,
and rained swords, clubs, and other weapons upon Prabhása. Prabhása,
for his part, swept away his succession of missiles with others,
and by the illuminating weapon made that Asura manifest, and then
employing the weapon of fire, he burned up Vidyutprabhá with its blaze,
and bringing him down from the heaven, laid him dead on the earth.

When Srutasarman saw this, he said to his warriors, "Observe, this
man has slain two chiefs of hosts of great warriors. Now why do you
put up with it? Join together and slay him." When they heard that,
eight warriors in anger surrounded Prabhása. One was a king of the
Vidyádharas named Úrdhvaroman, a lord of hosts of warriors, dwelling
in the great mountain named Vankataka. And the second warrior was
a chief of the Vidyádharas named Vikrosana, the king of the rock
Dharanídhara. And the third was the hero Indramálin, a prince of the
Vidyádharas, lord of a host of distinguished warriors, and his home
was the mountain Lílá. And the fourth was an excellent Vidyádhara
named king Kákandaka, a chief of a host of warriors, and his dwelling
was in the mountain Malaya. And the fifth was Darpaváha by name, lord
of the hill Niketa, and the sixth was Dhúrtavyayana the lord of the
mountain Anjana, and both these Vidyádharas were chiefs of excellent
warriors. And the seventh one, whose chariot was drawn by asses,
was named Varáhasvámin, king of the mount Kumuda, and he was chief
of a host of great warriors. And the eighth warrior was like him,
Medhávara king of Dundhubhi. Prabhása repelled the numerous arrows,
which these eight came and discharged, and he pierced them all at
the same time with arrows. And he slew the horse of one, and of one
the charioteer, and he cut in half the banner of one, and he cleft
the bow of another. But Medhávara he struck at the same time with
four arrows in the heart, and at once laid him dead on the earth. And
then he fought with the others, and cut off with an anjalika [672] the
head of Úrdhvaroman with its curled and plaited hair, and of the other
six he killed the horses and charioteers, and at last laid themselves
low, cutting off their heads with crescent-headed arrows. And then a
rain of flowers fell on his head from heaven, encouraging the kings
of the Asuras, and discouraging the Vidyádharas. Then four more
great warriors, armed with bows, sent by Srutasarman, surrounded
Prabhása; one was named Kácharaka, the lord of the mountain Kuranda;
the second Dindimálin, whose home was the hill of Panchaka, and the
third was Vibhávasu, king of the mountain Jayapura, the fourth was
named Dhavala, the ruler of Bhúmitundika. Those excellent Vidyádharas,
chiefs of hosts of great warriors, let fly five hundred arrows at the
same time at Prabhása. But Prabhása easily disposed of all, one by
one, each with eight arrows; with one arrow he cut down the banner,
with one cleft the bow, with one he killed the charioteer, with four
the horses, and with one more he cut off the head of the warrior,
and then shouted triumphantly.

Then another four Vidyádharas, by the order of Srutasarman, assembled
in fight against Prabhása. The first was named Bhadrankara, dark as the
blue water-lily, sprung from Mercury in the house [673] of Visvávasu,
but the second was Niyantraka like the fire in brightness, sprung
from Mars in the house of Jambaka, and the third was called Kálakopa,
very black in hue, with tawny hair, sprung from Saturn in the house of
Dámodara. And the fourth was Vikramasakti, like gold in brightness,
sprung from the planet Jupiter in the house of the Moon. The three
first were lords of hosts of lords of hosts of transcendent warriors,
but the fourth was a great hero surpassing the rest in valour. And
those haughty chiefs attacked Prabhása with heavenly weapons. Prabhása
repelled their weapons with the weapon of Náráyana, and easily cut
asunder the bow of each eight times; then he repelled the arrows and
clubs which they hurled, and slaying their horses and charioteers,
deprived them all of their chariots. When Srutasarman saw that,
he quickly sent other ten lords of the Vidyádharas, chiefs of lord
of hosts of lords of hosts of warriors, two called Dama and Niyama,
who exactly resembled one another in appearance, two sons born to
the Asvins in the house of the lord of Ketumálá, and Vikrama and
Sankrama, and Parákrama and Ákrama, and Sammardana and Mardana,
and Pramardana and Vimardana, the eight similar sons of the Vasus
born in the house of Makaranda. And when they came, the previous
assailants mounted other chariots. Wonderful to say, though all those
fourteen joined together, and showered arrows on Prabhása, he alone
fought with them fearlessly. Then, by the order of Súryaprabha,
Kunjarakumára and Prahasta left the mêlée and flying up from the
front of the line, weapons in hand, white and black in hue, came to
the aid of Prabhása, like Ráma and Krishna over again. They, though
fighting on foot, harassed Dama and Niyama, by cutting asunder their
bows and killing their charioteers. When they, in their fear, soared
up to heaven, Kunjarakumára and Prahasta soared up also, weapons in
hand. When Súryaprabha saw that, he quickly sent them his ministers
Mahábuddhi and Achalabuddhi to act as charioteers. Then Prahasta and
Kunjarakumára discovered, by employing magic collyrium, those two sons
of the Vidyádharas, Dama and Niyama, though they had made themselves
invisible by magic power, and riddled them so with showers of arrows
that they fled. And Prabhása, fighting with the other twelve, cleft
all their bows asunder, though they kept continually taking fresh
ones. And Prahasta came and killed at the same time the charioteers of
all, and Kunjarakumára slew their horses. Then those twelve together,
being deprived of their chariots, and finding themselves smitten by
three heroes, fled out of the battle.

Then Srutasarman, beside himself with grief, anger and shame, sent
two more Vidyádharas, captains of hosts of warriors and distinguished
warriors; one was called Chandragupta born in the house of the lord
of the great mountain Chandrakula, beautiful as a second moon, and
the second was his own minister named Narangama, of great splendour,
born in the house of the lord of the mountain Dhurandhara. They also,
after discharging a shower of arrows, were in a moment deprived of
their chariots by Prabhása and his comrades, and disappeared.

Then the men and Asuras shouted for joy; but thereupon Srutasarman
came himself, with four great warriors of mighty force, named Mahaugha,
Árohana, Utpáta and Vetravat, the sons respectively of Tvashtri, [674]
Bhaga, Aryaman and Púshan, born in the houses of the four Vidyádhara
kings, Chitrapada and others, that ruled over mount Malaya. And
Srutasarman himself, blinded with furious anger, was the fifth, and
they all fought against Prabhása and his two companions. Then the host
of arrows, which they shot at one another, seemed like a canopy spread
in the sky by the Fortune of war in the full blaze of the sun. Then
those other Vidyádharas, who had been deprived of their chariots,
and had fled from the battle, came back into the fight.

Then Súryaprabha, seeing many of them assembled in fight, under the
leadership of Srutasarman, sent other great warriors of his own to
support Prabhása and his comrades, his own friends with Prajnádhya
at their head, and the princes of whom Satáníka and Vírasena were
the chief. They flew through the air, and Súryaprabha sent the other
warriors also through the air in the chariot Bhutásána. When all those
archers had gone chariot-borne, the other Vidyádhara kings, who were on
the side of Srutasarman, also came up. Then a fight took place between
those Vidyádhara princes on the one side, and Prabhása and his comrades
on the other, in which there was a great slaughter of soldiers. And in
the single combats between the two hosts, many warriors were slain on
both sides, men, Asuras, and Vidyádharas. Vírasena slew Dhúmralochana
and his followers; but having been deprived of his chariot, he was in
his turn killed by Harisarman. Then the Vidyádhara hero Hiranyáksha
was killed by Abhimanyu, but Abhimanyu and Haribhata were slain
by Sunetra. And Sunetra was killed by Prabhása, who cut off his
head. And Jválámálin and Maháyu killed one another. But Kumbhíraka
and Nirásaka fought with their teeth, after their arms were cut
off, and so did Kharva and the mighty Susarman. And the three,
Satrubhata, Vyághrabhata, and Sinhabhata were slain by Pravahana,
the Vidyádhara king. Pravahana was killed by the two warriors Suroha
and Viroha, and those two were slain by Sinhabala, the dweller in
the cemetery. That very Sinhabala, whose chariot was drawn by ghosts,
and Kapilaka, and Chitrápída the Vidyádhara king, and Jagajjvara, and
the hero Kántápati, and the mighty Suvarna, and the two Vidyádhara
kings Kámaghana and Krodhapati, and king Baladeva and Vichitrápída,
these ten were slain by the prince Satáníka. When these heroes had
been slain, Srutasarman, beholding the slaughter of the Vidyádharas,
himself attacked Satáníka in his anger. Then a terrible fight took
place between those two, lasting to the close of the day, and causing
a great slaughter of soldiers, exciting the wonder even of the gods,
and it continued until hundreds of corpses, rising up all round, laid
hold of the demons as their partners, when the time arrived for the
joyous evening dance. At the close of day the Vidyádharas, depressed
at the great slaughter of their army, and grieved at the death of
their friends, and the men and Asuras having won the victory by sheer
force stopped the combat, and went each of them to their own camps.

At that time two Vidyádharas, chiefs of captains of bands of warriors,
who had deserted the cause of Srutasarman, came, introduced by
Sumeru, and said to Súryaprabha, after bowing before him: "We are
named Maháyána and Sumáya, and this Sinhabala was the third of us;
we had obtained magic power by having the rule of a great cemetery,
and were unassailable by the other Vidyádharas. While we, such as
you have heard, were once taking our ease in a corner of the great
cemetery, there came to us a good witch named Sarabhánaná, of great
and godlike power, who is always well disposed towards us. We bowed
before her and asked her, 'Where have you been, honoured lady, and what
have you seen there strange?' She thereupon related this adventure."



Adventure of the witch Sarabhánaná.

'I went with the witches to visit my master, the god Mahákála, [675]
and while I was there, a king of the Vetálas came and reported:
"See, O master, the chiefs of the Vidyádharas have killed our
commander-in-chief named Agnika, and one named Tejahprabha is swiftly
carrying off his lovely daughter. But the holy sages have foretold that
she shall be the wife of the emperor of the Vidyádharas, so grant us
a boon, and have her released before he forcibly carries her off to
a distance." When the god heard this speech of the afflicted Vetála,
he said to me--"Go and set her free," then I went through the air
and came up with the maiden. Tejahprabha said, "I am carrying off
the girl for our rightful emperor Srutasarman," but I paralyzed
him by my magic power, and bringing back the maiden, gave her to
my master. And he made her over to her own family. I in truth went
through this strange adventure. Then I remained there some days,
and after taking a reverent farewell of the god I came here.'

"When that witch Sarabhánaná had said this, we said to her--'Tell us,
who is to be the future emperor of the Vidyádharas? You in truth know
all.' She said--'Súryaprabha will certainly be.' Whereupon Sinhabala
said to us--'This is untrue, for have not the gods and Indra girded up
their loins to support the cause of Srutasarman?' When the noble woman
heard that, she said to us--'If you do not believe this, listen; I tell
you that soon there will be war between Súryaprabha and Srutasarman,
and when this Sinhabala shall be slain before your eyes by a man
in battle, you will recognise this token, and will know that this
speech of mine is true.' When that witch had said this, she departed,
and those days passed away, and now we have seen with our own eyes,
that in truth this Sinhabala has been slain. Relying upon that, we
think that you are indeed appointed emperor of all the Vidyádharas,
and submitting ourselves to your rule, we have repaired to your two
lotus-like feet." When the Vidyádharas Maháyána and Sumáyaka said
this, Súryaprabha, in concert with Maya and the rest, received them
into confidence and honoured them, and they rejoiced. When Srutasarman
heard that, he was in great consternation, but Indra comforted him by
a message, sending to him Visvávasu, and commissioning him to say--"Be
of good cheer! To-morrow I will aid thee with all the gods in the
van of battle." This he said to him out of love, to comfort him. And
Súryaprabha, having been encouraged by beholding the breaking of his
enemies' line, and having seen in the front of battle the slaughter
of his rival's partisans, again forwent the society of his charmers,
and entered his dwelling at night surrounded by his ministers.






CHAPTER XLIX.


Then Súryaprabha, lying on his couch at night, eager for battle,
apart from his wives, said to his minister Vítabhíti--"I cannot sleep,
so tell me, my friend, some strange story of courage and endurance,
to amuse me during the night." When Vítabhíti heard this request of
Súryaprabha's, he answered--"I will obey your order," and he told
this story.



Story of king Mahásena and his virtuous minister Gunasarman.

There is a city Ujjayiní, the ornament of this earth, full of
numberless jewels of pellucid water. In that city there lived a king
named Mahásena, beloved by the virtuous, an unequalled treasury of
accomplishments, having the beauty both of the sun and moon. He had a
wife named Asokavatí, whom he loved as his life, there was not another
woman in the three worlds equal to her in beauty. The king ruled his
realm with her for consort, and he had besides a friend, a Bráhman
named Gunasarman, whom he respected and loved. And that Bráhman was
brave and very handsome, and, though young, had thoroughly mastered
the lore of the Vedas, and knew the accomplishments, the Sástras,
and the use of weapons, and was always in attendance on the king.

And one day, as he was within the palace, a conversation arose
about dancing, and the king and queen said to Gunasarman, who was
in attendance,--"You know everything, there is no doubt about that;
so we have a curiosity to see you dancing; if you know how to dance,
kindly exhibit your skill." When Gunasarman heard this, he said with
a smile on his face; "I know how to dance, but dancing is a thing not
becoming in the king's court; foolish dancing is generally ridiculous
and is censured in the Sástras. And far from me be shame here in the
presence of the king and queen." When Gunasarman said that, the king
answered him, being urged on to it by the queen out of curiosity--"This
will not be like a dance on the stage, or in such places, which would
make a man feel ashamed, but merely a private display of skill in
the society of friends. And at present I am not your king, I am your
friend without ceremony, so rest assured that I will not eat to-day,
until I have seen your skill in dancing." When the king pressed him
in this style, the Bráhman consented to do it. For how can servants
refuse the request of an importunate lord? Then that Gunasarman danced
so skilfully with his body, that the hearts of both the king and queen
danced for joy. And, at the end of it, the king gave him a lyre to
play upon, and the moment he tested its tones, he said to the king,
"This lyre is not in good order, so give me another one, there is a
puppy inside this, your Majesty,--I know that by the indications of
the twanging of the strings." Saying this, Gunasarman let go the lyre
from under his arm. Then the king sprinkled it, and unscrewed and
examined it, and a puppy came out of it. Then king Mahásena praised
Gunasarman's omniscience, and was much astonished, and had another
lyre brought. He played on that lyre which, like the Ganges that flows
in three worlds, [676] was charming from its swift stream of music,
[677] and purged the ear by its sound. Then in presence of the king,
who with his wife looked on astonished, he exhibited in turn his skill
in the nobler studies. Then the king said to him, "If you are skilled
in fighting, then shew me a specimen of the art of binding the enemy's
limbs with your own hands unarmed." The Bráhman answered him--"King,
take your weapons and strike at me, that I may shew you a specimen of
my skill." Then, as fast as the king took a sword or other weapon and
struck at him, Gunasarman, by that artifice of fettering the limbs
immediately disarmed him with ease, and frequently fettered his hand
and body, without receiving a wound. Then the king, seeing that he
was capable of aiding him in his political affairs, praised that
excellent Bráhman of transcendent ability, and honoured him highly.

But queen Asokavatí, having beheld again and again the beauty and
abilities of that Bráhman, suddenly fell in love with him. She
thought to herself, "If I cannot obtain him, of what use is my life
to me." Then she artfully said to the king--"Do me a kindness,
my husband, and order this Gunasarman to teach me to play on the
lyre. For when I beheld to-day his skill in playing on the lyre,
I took a desperate fancy to the instrument." When the king heard
this, he said to Gunasarman--"By all means teach the queen to play
on the lyre." Then Gunasarman said, "I will do so, my sovereign, we
will begin the practising on an auspicious day." Then he took leave
of the king and went home. But he put off for many days beginning to
teach the queen the lyre, seeing the changed expression of the queen,
and afraid of some mischief.

One day he was standing near the king when he was eating, and when
the cook was giving him some condiment, he prevented him, saying,
"Stop! stop!" The king asked what this meant, then the discreet
man said, "This sauce is poisoned, and I detected it by certain
indications. For when the cook was giving you the sauce, he looked
at my face, trembling with fear, and with an eye that rolled
apprehensively. And we can at once find out whether I am right;
let this sauce be given to some one to eat, and I will counteract
the effect of the poison." When he said this, the king made the
cook eat the sauce, and immediately after he had eaten it, he became
senseless. Then Gunasarman counteracted the effect of the poison on
the cook by a spell, and when the king asked the cook the truth of
the whole matter, he said this--"King, your enemy king Vikramasakti,
sovereign of Gauda, sent me here to give you poison. I introduced
myself to your majesty as a foreigner skilful in the culinary art, and
entered your kitchen. So to-day I have been discovered by that shrewd
man in the act of giving you poison in sauce; your majesty knows what
to do now." When the cook said this, the king punished him, and being
much pleased, gave Gunasarman a thousand villages for saving his life.

And the next day, as the queen kept vigorously pressing him, the
king made Gunasarman begin to teach her the lyre. Then, while he was
teaching her the lyre, the queen Asokavatí indulged in perpetual
coquetry, laughter, and mirth. One day, wounded with the arrow
of love, she scratched him with her nails frequently in secret,
and said to the chaste Gunasarman, who entreated her to desist,
"It was yourself that I asked for, handsome man, under the pretext
of learning to play the lute, for I am desperately in love with you,
so consent to my wishes." When she said this, Gunasarman answered
her, "Do not talk so, for you are my master's wife, and such a one
as I am should not commit such treason, desist from this reckless
conduct." When Gunasarman said this, the queen continued, "Why do
you possess in vain this beauty and skill in accomplishments? How
can you look with a passionless eye on me who love you so much?" When
Gunasarman heard this, he answered sarcastically, "You are right. What
is the use of that beauty and skill, which is not tarnished with infamy
by seducing the wife of another, and which does not in this world and
the next cause one to fall into the ocean of hell?" When he said this,
the queen said to him, pretending to be angry, "I am determined to
die, if you do not do what I say, so being despised by you, I will
slay you before I die." Then Gunasarman said, "By all means, let it
be so. For it is better to live for one moment, bound by the bonds
of righteousness, than to live unrighteously for hundreds of crores
of kalpas. And it is far preferable for me to die without reproach,
having done no wrong, than for me to have done wrong, and to be put
to death by the king, with reproach attaching to my name." When the
queen heard that, she went on to say to him--"Do not commit treason
against yourself and me; listen, I will tell you something. The king
does not neglect to do what I tell him, even if it is impossible;
so I will ask him and get territories given to you, and I will have
all your servants made barons, so you will become a king, for you
are distinguished for good qualities. So what have you to fear? Who
can overpower you and how? So grant my wishes fearlessly, otherwise
you will not live." When the king's wife said this, seeing that she
was determined, Gunasarman said to her artfully, in order to put her
off for a moment,--"If you are persistently set on this, then I will
obey your command, but it will not be advisable to do so immediately,
for fear it should get abroad; wait for some days; believe that what
I say is true; what object have I in incurring your enmity which would
ensure my destruction?" Thus Gunasarman comforted her with that hope,
and agreed to her request, and then departed with heart lightened.

Then, in the course of some days, king Mahásena went and surrounded
king Somaka in his treasure-city. And when the king of Gauda,
Vikramasakti, knew that he had arrived there, he went and surrounded
king Mahásena; then king Mahásena said to Gunasarman--"While we are
occupied in besieging one enemy we are besieged by another, so now
how are we to fight with two enemies, as we are unequal in force? And
how long, being brave men, can we remain without fighting a battle? So
what are we to do in this difficulty?" When Gunasarman, who was at the
side of the king, was asked this question, he answered--"Be of good
courage, my sovereign; I will devise a stratagem that will enable us
to get out of this situation, difficult as it is." He comforted the
king with these words, and put on his eyes an ointment that rendered
him invisible, and at night went, without any one seeing him, to the
camp of Vikramasakti. And he entered into his presence, and woke him
up while asleep, and said, "Know, O king, that I am come a messenger
from the gods. Make peace with king Mahásena and depart quickly,
otherwise you will certainly be destroyed here with your army. And
if you send an ambassador, he will agree to your proposals of peace;
I have been sent by the holy Vishnu to tell you this. For you are a
votary of his, and he watches over the safety of his votaries." When
king Vikramasakti heard this, he thought, "Certainly this is true, if
he were any other, how could he enter this carefully guarded tent? This
is not what a mere mortal could accomplish." When the king had gone
through these reflections, he said--"I am fortunate in receiving such
a command from the god, I will do what he bids me." When the king said
that, Gunasarman disappeared by the help of his magic collyrium, thus
confirming the king's confidence in him, and went away. And he came
and told king Mahásena what he had done; he threw his arms round his
neck, and hailed him as the preserver of his life and throne. And the
next morning Vikramasakti sent an ambassador to Mahásena, and after
making peace with him, returned home with his army. But Mahásena
conquered Somaka, and having obtained elephants and horses, returned
to Ujjayiní a victor, thanks to Gunasarman. And while he was there,
Gunasarman saved him from a crocodile while bathing in the river,
and from the poison of a snake-bite while in his garden.

Then, after some days had passed, king Mahásena, having got together
an army, went to attack his enemy Vikramasakti. And that king, as
soon as he heard of his approach, marched out to meet him in fight,
and a great battle took place between the two. And in the course of
it, the two kings met in single combat, and disabled one another's
chariots. Then, in their fury, they rushed forward sword in hand,
and king Mahásena through carelessness stumbled and fell on the
earth. Then the king Vikramasakti tried to strike him on the ground,
but Gunasarman cut off his arm with a discus, sword and all, and
striking him again in the heart with an iron mace laid him low. And
king Mahásena rose up, and was pleased when he saw his enemy dead,
and said repeatedly to Gunasarman--"What am I to say? This is the
fifth time that you have saved my life, heroic Bráhman." Then Mahásena
conquered the army and kingdom of Vikramasakti, who had been slain by
Gunasarman, and after overcoming other kings by the aid of Gunasarman,
he returned to Ujjayiní and dwelt there in happiness.

But queen Asokavatí did not cease from importunately soliciting
Gunasarman day and night. But he would never consent to that crime;
good men prefer death to immodest conduct. Then Asokavatí, finding
out that he was resolved, one day out of enmity to him affected to
be unhappy, and remained with tearful countenance. Then Mahásena,
coming in, and seeing her in that condition, said--"What is this, my
beloved? Who has offended you? Tell me the name of the man whose life
and property I am to take by way of punishment?" Then the unforgiving
queen said with affected reluctance to the king, who had thus addressed
her, "You have no power to punish the man who has injured me; he is not
a man you can chastise, so what is the good of revealing the injury to
no purpose?" When she said this, the king pressed her, and she said
deceitfully--"My husband, if you are very anxious to know, listen,
I will tell you. Gunasarman, who pretends to be a loyal servant,
[678] made an agreement with the King of Gauda, and in order to get
money from him, undertook to do you an injury. The wicked Bráhman
secretly sent his confidential messenger to Gauda, to make the king
hand over treasure and so on. Then a confidential servant, seeing
the king despondent, said to him--'I will manage this affair for you,
do not waste your wealth.' When the king of Gauda heard this, he had
that messenger of Gunasarman's cast into prison, [679]----



and the cook who was to administer the poison came here, carefully
keeping the secret. In the meanwhile Gunasarman's messenger escaped
from prison, and came here to him. And he, knowing the whole story,
revealed it all, and pointed out to Gunasarman [680] that cook, who
had entered into our kitchen. Then that scoundrelly Bráhman detected
the cook in the act of administering the poison, and denounced him to
you, and so had him put to death. Then the mother and the wife and the
younger brother of that cook came here to find out what had become of
him, and the sagacious Gunasarman, finding it out, put to death his
wife and mother, but his brother escaped somehow or other and entered
my palace. While he was imploring my protection and telling me the
whole story, Gunasarman entered my apartment. When the brother of that
cook saw Gunasarman and heard his name, he went out and fled from my
presence, whither I know not. Gunasarman, for his part, when he saw him
who had been previously pointed out to him by his servants, was abashed
and seemed to be thinking over something. And I, wanting to know what
it was, said to him in private, 'Gunasarman, why do you seem to be
altered to-day?' And he, being anxious to win me over to his side,
as he was afraid of the matter being revealed, said to me--'Queen,
I am consumed with passion for you, so consent to my wishes, otherwise
I cannot live; bestow on me life as a Bráhman's fee.' When he had said
this, as the room was empty, he fell at my feet. Then I drew away my
foot and rose up in bewilderment, and he, rising up, embraced me,
a weak woman, by force. And my maid Pallaviká came in at that very
moment. The instant he saw her, he fled out alarmed. If Pallaviká
had not come in, the villain would certainly have outraged me. [681]
This is the injury he has done me to-day." When the queen had told
this false tale, she stopped and wept. For in the beginning wicked
women sprang from Lying Speech. And the moment the king heard it,
he was all on fire with anger, for reliance upon the words of women
destroys the discrimination even of the great. And he said to his dear
wife, "Be comforted, fair one, I will certainly punish that traitor
with death. But he must be slain by artifice, otherwise we might
be disgraced, for it is well known that five times he has saved my
life. And we must not proclaim abroad his crime of offering violence
to you." When the king said this to the queen, she answered--"If that
crime may not be published, may that other one of his be published,
that out of friendship for the king of Gauda he attempted treason
against his master?" When she said this, he answered--"You are quite
right"--and so king Mahásena went to his hall of audience.

Then all the kings, and princes, and barons came to visit the king. And
in the meanwhile Gunasarman left his house to go to court, and on
the way he saw many unfavourable omens. There was a crow on his left
hand, a dog ran from the left to the right, a snake appeared on his
right, and his left arm and shoulder throbbed. [682] He thought to
himself, "These evil omens indicate calamity to me without doubt,
so whatever happens to me, I hope no misfortune may befall the king
my master." With these thoughts he entered the hall of audience, and
prayed loyally that nothing untoward might befall the palace. But when
he bowed and took his seat, the king did not salute him as before,
but looked askance at him with an eye glowing with anger. And when
Gunasarman was alarmed as to what it might mean, the king rose up from
the seat of justice, and sat at his side, and said to the astonished
courtiers, "Hear what Gunasarman has done to me; [683] then Gunasarman
said--"I am a servant, you are my master, so how can our suit be
equal, ascend your seat of judgment, and afterwards give what order
you like." When the resolute man said this, the king, by the advice of
the other ministers, ascended the seat of judgment, and said again to
his courtiers--"You know, that I made this Gunasarman equal to myself,
preferring him to my hereditary ministers. Now hear what treason he
attempted to commit against me, after making an agreement with the
king of Gauda by sending messengers to and fro." After saying this,
the king related to them all the fictitious account of the matter which
Asokavatí had given him. And the king also told to his confidential
ministers, after dismissing the crowd, the lying tale of an attempt to
outrage her, which she had told against Gunasarman. Then Gunasarman
said--"King, who told you such a falsehood, who painted this aerial
picture?" When the king heard that, he said, "Villain, if it is not
true, how did you know that the poison was in the dish of rice?" When
Gunasarman said--"Everything is known by wisdom," the other ministers,
out of hatred to him, said, "That is impossible." Then Gunasarman said,
"King, you have no right to speak thus without enquiring into the truth
of the matter, and a king devoid of discrimination is not approved
of by those who understand policy." When he repeated this over and
over again, the king exclaimed that he was an insolent wretch, and
aimed a sword-cut at him. But he avoided that blow by employing his
trick of fence, and then the other followers of the king struck at
him. And he eluded their swords by his artifices of fence, and baffled
the exertions of them all. And he fettered them, binding them with
one another's hair, shewing wonderful skill in the employment of his
trick of disarming. And he made his way out by force from that hall
of assembly of the king, and he killed about a hundred warriors,
who pursued him. Then he put on his eyes that ointment serving to
render him invisible, which he had in the corner of his garment, and
immediately left that country without being seen. And he made towards
the Dekhan, and as he was going along, he thus reflected on the way:
"Surely that foolish king was set on by that Asokavatí. Alas! women
whose love is slighted are worse than poison! Alas! kings who do not
investigate the truth are not to be served by the good!" While engaged
in such reflections, Gunasarman came at last to a village, there
he saw a worthy Bráhman under a banyan-tree teaching his pupils. He
went up to him and hailed him. And the Bráhman, after welcoming him,
immediately asked him, "O Bráhman, what recension of the Vedas do you
recite, tell me." Then Gunasarman answered that Bráhman,--"Bráhman,
I recite twelve recensions, two of the Sámaveda, two of the Rigveda,
seven of the Yajurveda, and one of the Atharvaveda." Then the Bráhman
said--"You must be a god," and he went on to say to Gunasarman, whose
shape revealed his excellence; "Tell me, what country and what family
did you adorn by being born in them? What is your name and how did
you learn so much?" When Gunasarman heard this, he said to him:



Story of Ádityasarman the father of Gunasarman.

In the city of Ujjayiní there was a Bráhman's son named Ádityasarman,
and when he was a child, his father died, and his mother entered
the fire with her husband. Then Ádityasarman grew up in that city,
in his uncle's house, reading the Vedas, and the books of knowledge,
and also the treatises on accomplishments. And after he had acquired
knowledge, and was engaged in a vow of muttering prayers, he struck up
a friendship with a certain wandering hermit. That wandering hermit
went with his friend Ádityasarman, and performed a sacrifice in a
cemetery to get a Yakshiní into his power. Then a heavenly maiden,
beautifully adorned, appeared to him in a chariot of gold, surrounded
with beautiful maidens. She said to him in a sweet voice, "Mendicant,
I am a Yakshí named Vidyunmálá, and these others are Yakshinís. Take
a suitable wife from my following according to your pleasure. So much
have you obtained by your employment of spells; you have not discovered
the perfect spell for obtaining me; so, as I am obtained by that
only, do not take any further trouble to no purpose." When the Yakshí
said this to him, the mendicant consented, and chose one Yakshiní
from her retinue. Then Vidyunmálá disappeared, and Ádityasarman
asked that Yakshiní, whom the hermit had obtained, "Is there any
Yakshiní superior to Vidyunmálá?" When the Yakshiní heard that, she
answered, "Yes, handsome man, there is. Vidyunmálá, Chandralekhá,
and Sulochaná the third, are the best among the Yakshinís, and among
these Sulochaná." After saying that, the Yakshiní departed, to return
at the appointed time; and the mendicant went with Ádityasarman to
his house. There the loving Yakshiní every day visited the hermit
at the appointed time, and granted him all that he desired. One day
Ádityasarman asked her this question by the mouth of that mendicant:
"Who knows the proper spell for attracting Sulochaná?" And the Yakshiní
sent him this message by the mouth of the mendicant--"There is a
place called Jambuvana in the south. There is a mendicant there,
named Vishnugupta, who has made his dwelling on the banks of the
Vení; he is the best of Buddhist mendicants, and knows the spell
at full length." When Ádityasarman learned this from the Yakshiní,
he went in all eagerness to that country, followed by the mendicant
out of love. There he duly searched for the Buddhist mendicant, and
after he had approached him, he served him devotedly for three years,
and waited upon him continually. And by the help of that Yakshiní,
who was at the beck and call of the first mendicant, his friend,
he provided him with heavenly luxuries, ministered seasonably. Then
that Buddhist mendicant, being pleased, gave to that Ádityasarman the
spell for obtaining Sulochaná, which he desired, together with the
prescribed rites to accompany it. Then Ádityasarman, having obtained
that spell, and having duly employed it, went into a solitary place and
performed there the final sacrifice according to the prescribed ritual,
leaving no ceremony out. Then the Yakshiní Sulochaná appeared to
him in an air-chariot, with world-enchanting beauty, and said to him,
"Come! come! I have been won by you, but you must not make me your wife
for six months, great hero, if you wish to have by me a son, who will
be a favourite of fortune, marked with auspicious marks, all-knowing
and invincible." When she said this, Ádityasarman consented, and
she took him off in her chariot to Alaká. And Ádityasarman remained
there, looking at her ever near him, with his suspense and doubts at
an end, and performed for six months a vow as difficult as standing
on the edge of a sword. Then the god of wealth, being pleased, himself
gave that Sulochaná to Ádityasarman according to a heavenly ritual. I
was born as that Bráhman's son by her, and I was named Gunasarman by
my father on account of my good qualities. Then in that very place I
learned in succession the Vedas, the sciences, and the accomplishments,
from a prince of the Yakshas named Manidara.

Then, once upon a time, it happened that Indra came to the god of
wealth, and all who sat there rose up when they saw him. But as Fate
would have it, Ádityasarman my father was at that time thinking of
something else, and did not rise up in a hurry. Then Indra, being
angry, cursed him, and said--"Out, fool! go to your own world of
mortals, you are out of place here." Then Sulochaná fell at his feet,
and propitiated him, and Indra answered, "Then let him not go to
the world of mortals himself, but let this son of his go, for one's
son is said to be a second self. Let not my word have been spoken
in vain." When Indra had said so much, he was satisfied. Then my
father took me and deposited me in my uncle's house in Ujjayiní. For
what is ordained to be a man's lot must be. There, as it happened,
I struck up a friendship with the king of that place. And listen,
I will tell you what happened to me there afterwards.

After saying this, he described to him what happened from the very
beginning, and what Asokavatí did, and what the king did, ending
up with his fight. And he went on to say to him--"Bráhman, thus
I have fled away to go to a foreign land, and on my way, as I was
journeying along, I have seen you." When the Bráhman heard that, he
said to Gunasarman--"And thus I have become fortunate by your visit,
my lord. So now come to my house, and know that I am Agnidatta by name,
and this village is my grant from the king; be at ease here." After
saying this, Agnidatta made Gunasarman enter his splendid mansion,
in which were many cows, buffaloes, and horses. There he honoured that
guest with bath and unguents, and robes and ornaments, and with various
kinds of food. And he shewed him his daughter, Sundarí by name, whose
beauty was to be desired even by the gods, on the pretence of getting
him to inspect her marks. And Gunasarman, for his part, seeing that
she was unsurpassed in beauty, said "She will have rival wives. She
has a mole on her nose, and consequently I assert that she must have
a second one on her breast; and men say that such is the result of
spots in these two localities." When he said this, her brother, by
command of her father, uncovered her breast, and beheld there a mole.

Then Agnidatta said in astonishment to Gunasarman, "You are
all-knowing, but these moles of hers portend good fortune to us. For
wives generally have many rivals when the husband is fortunate, a poor
[684] man would find it difficult to support one, much more to support
many." When Gunasarman heard this, he answered him--"It is as you say;
how could ill fortune befall a shape with such auspicious marks?" When
he had said this, Agnidatta took occasion to ask him concerning the
meaning of moles and other marks; and he told him what moles and other
marks portended on every single limb, both in men and women. [685]

Then Sundarí, the moment she beheld Gunasarman, longed eagerly to
drink him in with her eyes, as the female partridge longs to drink
the moon. Then Agnidatta said in private to Gunasarman, "Illustrious
one, I give you this my daughter Sundarí. Do not go to a foreign land,
remain at ease in my house." When Gunasarman heard this speech of his,
he said to him--"True, I should be happy enough to do so, but as I have
been on a false charge scorched with the fire of the king's contempt,
it does not please me. A lovely woman, the rising of the moon, and
the fifth note of a lute, these delight the happy but afflict the
miserable. And a wife, who falls in love of her own accord with a man,
is sure to be chaste, but if she is given away by her father against
her will, she will be like Asokavatí. Moreover, the city of Ujjayiní is
near to this place, so the king may perhaps hear of my whereabouts and
oppress me. So I will wander round to holy places, and will wash off
the stains of sin contracted ever since my birth, and will abandon this
body, then I shall be at rest." When he said this, Agnidatta answered
him, smiling, "If even you show so much infatuation, what are we to
expect from others? What annoyance can you, a man of pure character,
derive from the contempt of a fool? Mud thrown at the heaven falls
upon the head of the thrower. The king will soon reap the fruit of
his want of discrimination, for Fortune does not long wait upon a
man blind with infatuation and wanting in discrimination. Besides,
if you are disgusted with women from your experience of Asokavatí,
do you not feel respect for them on beholding a good woman, for you
know signs? And even though Ujjayiní be near to this place where
you now are, I will take steps to prevent any one's knowing that you
are here. But if you desire to make a pilgrimage to sacred places,
then I say--that is approved by the wise only for a man, who cannot,
according to the scriptures, attain happiness by performing the actions
enjoined by the Vedas; but he who can acquire merit by offerings to
the gods, to the manes of deceased ancestors, and to the fire, by
vows, and muttering prayers, what is the use of his wandering about
on pilgrimages? A pilgrim whose pillow is his arm, who sleeps upon
the ground, and lives on alms, and drinks only water, is not free
from cares, even though he has attained equality with hermits. And as
for your desiring to abandon the body, [686] in this also you are led
astray, for in the next world suicides suffer more severe pains than
here. An unbecoming fault and folly is not to be committed by one
so young and wise: decide for yourself: you must certainly do what
I tell you. I will have made for you here a spacious and beautiful
subterranean dwelling; marry Sundarí and live at ease in it." When he
was thus diligently schooled by Agnidatta, Gunasarman agreed to his
proposal, and said to him, "I accept your offer, for who would abandon
a wife like Sundarí? [687] But I will not marry this your daughter till
I have accomplished my ends. In the meanwhile I will propitiate some
god with strict asceticism, in order that I may be revenged on that
ungrateful monarch." When he said this, Agnidatta gladly consented,
and Gunasarman rested there in comfort during the night. And the
next day Agnidatta had a secret subterranean dwelling constructed
for his comfort, called Pátálavasati. [688] And while he was there,
Gunasarman said in secret to Agnidatta: "Tell me, what god, granting
boons to his worshippers, shall I propitiate here by performing vows,
and what spell shall I use?" When the brave man said that, Agnidatta
answered him, "I have a spell for propitiating the god Svámikumára,
which was told me by a teacher; so with that propitiate the general of
the gods, the foe of Táraka, desiring whose birth the gods, oppressed
by their enemies, sent Káma to Siva, (and he, after burning him up,
decreed that henceforth he should be born in the mind;) whose origin
they say was various, from Siva, from the fire-cavity, from fire,
from the thicket of reeds and from the Krittikás; and who, as soon as
he was born, made the whole world bend by his irresistible might, and
slew the unconquered Asura Táraka." Then Gunasarman said, "Tell me that
spell." And Agnidatta gave Gunasarman that spell. With it Gunasarman
propitiated Skanda in the subterranean dwelling, unremitting in his
vow, waited upon by Sundarí. Then the six-faced god appeared to him in
visible form, and said, "I am pleased with you, choose a boon,-- [689]



You shall possess an inexhaustible treasury and, after conquering
Mahásena, you shall, my son, advance irresistibly and rule the
earth." After giving him this great boon, Skanda disappeared, and
Gunasarman obtained inexhaustible treasure. Then the successful hero
married, according to the prescribed rites, with splendour suited to
his greatness, the daughter of the Bráhman Agnidatta, who fell more in
love with him every day, like his future good fortune in affairs come
to him in bodily form. And then having collected, by virtue of his
surpassing accumulation of inexhaustible treasure, an army consisting
of many horses, elephants and foot-soldiers, he marched to Ujjayiní,
overrunning the earth with the forces of all the kings that crowded
to his banner out of gratitude for his gifts. And after proclaiming
there to the subjects that immodest conduct of Asokavatí, and after
conquering the king Mahásena in battle, and deposing him from the
throne, he obtained the dominion of the earth. And king Gunasarman
married many daughters of kings, besides Sundarí, and his orders were
obeyed even on the shores of the sea, and with Sundarí as his consort
he long enjoyed pleasures to his heart's content.

"Thus king Mahásena, in old time, suddenly incurred calamity through
being unable to discriminate the characters of men, being a man of
dull intellect, but the clear-headed Gunasarman, with the help of
his own resolute character alone, obtained the highest prosperity."

After Súryaprabha had heard this chivalrous tale at night from the
mouth of his minister Vítabhíti, the royal hero, who was longing
to traverse the great sea of battle, gained great confidence, and
gradually dropped off to sleep.






CHAPTER L.


Then Súryaprabha and his ministers rose up early in the morning,
and accompanied by all the troops of the Dánavas and their allies,
went to the field of battle. And Srutasarman came surrounded by all
the forces of the Vidyádharas; and all the gods, Asuras, and others
again came to look on. Both armies adopted the crescent formation, then
there took place a battle between those two armies. The swift arrows,
[690] winged with feathers, clashing against one another and cutting
one another in pieces, also fought. The long sword-blades issued from
the mouths of the scabbards, and drinking blood, and waving to and fro,
appeared like the tongues of Death. The field of battle seemed like
a lake, the full-blown lotuses of which were the faces of heroes; on
these the shower of discuses descended like a flight of Brahmany ducks,
and so ruined the kingly swans. The combat appeared, with the severed
heads of heroes flying up and down, like a game of ball, with which
Death was amusing himself. When the arena of combat was cleared from
the obscuring dust by the sprinkling of bloody drops, there took place
on it the single combats of furious champions. There Súryaprabha fought
with Srutasarman, and Prabhása fought with Dámodara, and Siddhártha
fought with Mahotpáta, and Prahasta with Brahmagupta, and Vítabhí with
Sangama, and Prajnádhya with Chandragupta, and Priyankara with Ákrama,
and Sarvadamana fought with Atibala, and Kunjarakumáraka fought with
Dhurandhara, and other great champions fought with others respectively.

Then first Mahotpáta silenced the arrows of Siddhártha with his arrows,
and after cleaving his bow, slew his horses and charioteer. Siddhártha,
though deprived of his chariot, charged him angrily, and with a large
iron mace broke in pieces his chariot and horses. Then Siddhártha
fought on foot with Mahotpáta also on foot, and in a wrestling-bout
hurled him to the ground. But while he was trying to crush him, that
Vidyádhara was delivered by his father Bhaga, and flying up into the
air left the battle-field. And Prahasta and Brahmagupta destroyed
one another's chariots, and then fought with swords, shewing various
arts of fence; and Prahasta cleft his foe's shield in the course of
their sword-play, and with a dexterous sleight laid him low on the
earth; but when he was about to cut off his head, as he lay on the
ground, he was forbidden by his father Brahmá himself by a sign from
a distance; then all the Dánavas laughed the gods to scorn, saying,
"You gods have come to save your sons, not to behold the fray." In
the meanwhile Vítabhaya, after cutting in two the bow of Sankrama,
and slaying his charioteer, slew him by piercing his heart with the
weapon of Káma. And Prajnádhya, fighting on foot with Chandragupta,
sword to sword, after both their chariots had been destroyed, killed
him by cutting off his head. Then the Moon, angry at the death of his
son, himself came and fought with Prajnádhya, and the two combatants
were evenly matched. And Priyankara, who had lost his chariot, fighting
with Ákrama, who had also had his chariot destroyed, cut him in two
with one blow of his sword. And Sarvadamana easily killed Atibala
in fight, for when his bow was cleft, he threw his elephant-hook and
smote him in the heart.

Then Kunjarakumára in a contest, in which missiles were opposed by
answering missiles, frequently deprived Dhurandhara of his chariot,
and as frequently Vikramasakti brought him a chariot, and defended him
in sore straits, repelling weapons with weapons; then Kunjarakumára
in wrath rushed forward, and swiftly hurled a great rock on to the
chariot of Vikramasakti, and, when Vikramasakti retired with broken
chariot, he crushed Dhurandhara with that very stone. [691]



Then Súryaprabha, while fighting with Srutasarman, being angry
on account of the slaughter of Virochana, killed Dama with one
arrow. Enraged at that, the two Asvins descended to the combat,
but Sunítha received them with showers of arrows, and a great fight
took place between him and them. And Sthirabuddhi slew Parákrama in
fight with a javelin, and then fought with the eight Vasus enraged
on account of his death. And Prabhása, seeing Bhása deprived of his
chariot, though himself engaged in fighting with Dámodara, killed
Mardana with one arrow. The Dánava Prakampana killed Tejahprabha in
a missile combat, and then fought with the god of Fire enraged on
account of his death. And when Dhúmraketu had slain Yamadanshtra
in fight, he had a terrible combat with the enraged Yama. [692]
And Sinhadanshtra, having crushed Suroshana with a stone, fought
with Nirriti, [693] enraged on account of his death. Kálachakra
also cut Váyubala in two with a discus, and then fought with Váyu
[694] inflamed with rage thereat. And Mahámáya slew Kuveradatta,
who deluded his foes by assuming the forms of a snake, a mountain,
and a tree, assuming himself the forms of Garuda, of the thunderbolt,
and of fire. Then Kuvera [695] himself fought with him in wrath. In
the same way all the gods fought, angry on account of the slaughter
of their sons. And then various other princes of the Vidyádharas were
slain by various men and Dánavas, darting forward from time to time.

And in the meanwhile a conflict went on between Prabhása and Dámodara,
terrible from its unceasing exchange of missiles. Then Dámodara,
though his bow was cleft asunder, and his charioteer slain, took
another bow and fought on, holding the reins in his own hands. And
when Brahmá applauded him, Indra said to him, "Revered one, why are
you pleased with one who is getting the worst of it?" Then Brahmá
answered him,--"How can I help being pleased with one, who fights for
so long with this Prabhása? Who but Dámodara, who is a portion of Hari,
would do this? For all the gods would be a scant match for Prabhása in
fight. For that Asura Namuchi, who was so hard for the gods to subdue,
and who was then born again as Prabala, one entire and perfect jewel,
has now been born as the invincible Prabhása son of Bhása, and Bhása
too was in a former birth the great Asura Kálanemi, who afterwards
became Hiranyakasipu and then Kapinjala. And Súryaprabha is the
Asura who was called Sumundíka. And the Asura who was before called
Hiranyáksha is now this Sunítha. And as for Prahasta and others, they
are all Daityas and Dánavas; and since the Asuras slain by you have
been born again in these forms, the other Asuras, Maya and others,
have espoused their cause. And see, Bali has come here to look on, for
his bonds have been broken by virtue of the great sacrifice to Siva,
duly performed by Súryaprabha and the others, but keeping his promise
faithfully, he remains content with the realm of Pátála until your
allotted period of rule is at an end, and then he will be Indra. These
are now favoured by Siva, so it is not now a time of victory for you,
make peace with your foes." While Brahmá was saying this to the king
of the gods, Prabhása sent forth the great weapon of Siva. When Vishnu
saw that terrible all-destroying weapon let loose, he also sent forth,
out of regard for his son, his discus called Sudarsana. Then there took
place between those divine weapons, which had assumed visible shapes,
a struggle which made the three worlds dread a sudden destruction of
all creatures. Then Hari said to Prabhása--"Recall your weapon and I
will recall mine," and Prabhása answered him,--"My weapon cannot be
launched in vain, so let Dámodara turn his back, and retire from the
fight, and then I will recall my weapon." When Prabhása said that,
Vishnu answered--"Then do you also honour my discus, let not either
of these weapons be fruitless." When Vishnu said this, Prabhása who
possessed tact, said "So be it, let this discus of thine destroy my
chariot." Vishnu agreed, and made Dámodara retire from the fight, and
Prabhása withdrew his weapon, and the discus fell on his chariot. Then
he mounted another chariot and went to Súryaprabha, and then Dámodara,
for his part, repaired to Srutasarman.

And then the single combat between Srutasarman, who was puffed
up by being a son of Indra, and Súryaprabha, became exceedingly
fierce. Whatever weapon Srutasarman vigorously employed, Súryaprabha
immediately repelled with opposing weapons. And whatever delusion
Srutasarman employed, was overmastered by Súryaprabha with
opposing delusion. Then Srutasarman in fierce wrath sent forth
the weapon of Brahmá, and the mighty Súryaprabha let loose the
weapon of Siva. That mighty weapon of Siva repelled the weapon of
Brahmá, and being irresistible, was overpowering Srutasarman, when
Indra and the other Lokapálas, being indignant, sent forth their
tremendous weapons beginning with thunderbolts. But the weapon of
Siva conquered all those weapons, and blazed exceedingly, eager to
slay Srutasarman. Then Súryaprabha praised that great weapon, and
entreated it not to kill Srutasarman, but to take him prisoner and
hand him over to himself. Then all the gods speedily prepared for
fight, and the other Asuras also, who had come to look on, did the
same, being eager to conquer the gods. Then a Gana named Vírabhadra,
sent by Siva, came and delivered this order of his to Indra and the
other gods: "You came to look on, so what right have you to fight
here? Moreover, your overstepping the bounds of propriety will produce
other bad results." When the gods heard that, they said--"All of us
have sons here that have been slain, or are being slain, so how can
we help fighting? [696] Love for one's offspring is a feeling hard
to lay aside, so we must certainly revenge ourselves on their slayers
to the utmost of our power; what impropriety is there in this?" When
the gods said this, Vírabhadra departed, and a great fight took place
between the gods and the Asuras: Sunítha fought with the two Asvins,
and Prajnádhya fought with the Moon, and Sthirabuddhi with the Vasus,
and Kálachakra with Váyu, and Prakampana with Agni, and Sinhadanshtra
with Nirriti, and Pramathana with Varuna, and Dhúmraketu with Yama,
and then Mahámáya fought with the god of wealth, and other Asuras
[697] at the same time fought with other gods, with missiles and
opposing missiles. And finally, whatever mighty weapon any god sent
forth, Siva immediately destroyed with an angry roar. But the god
of wealth, when his club was uplifted, was restrained by Siva in a
conciliatory manner, while various other gods, their weapons having
been broken, fled from the field of battle. Then Indra himself, in
wrath, attacked Súryaprabha, and let fly a storm of arrows at him and
various other weapons. And Súryaprabha repelled those weapons with
ease, and kept striking Indra with hundreds of arrows drawn back to
the ear. Then the king of the gods, enraged, seized his thunderbolt,
and Siva made an angry noise and destroyed that thunderbolt. Then
Indra turned his back and fled, and Náráyana himself, in wrath,
attacked Prabhása with sharp-edged [698] arrows. And he fearlessly
fought with him, opposing those and other missiles with his own
missiles, and when his horses were slain, and he was deprived of his
chariot, he ascended another, and still fought with that enemy of the
Daityas on equal terms. Then the god enraged sent forth his flaming
discus. And Prabhása sent forth a heavenly sword, after consecrating
it with magic formulas. While those two weapons were contending,
Siva, seeing that the sword was gradually being overpowered by the
discus, made an angry roar. That caused the discus and sword to be
both destroyed. Then the Asuras rejoiced, and the gods were cast
down, as Súryaprabha had obtained the victory, and Srutasarman was
taken prisoner. Then the gods praised and propitiated Siva, and the
husband of Ambiká, being pleased, gave this command to the gods--"Ask
any boon but that promised to Súryaprabha; who can set aside what
has been once promised at a burnt-sacrifice?" The gods said--"But,
Lord, let that also which we promised to Srutasarman be fulfilled,
and let not our sons perish." Then they ceased, and the Holy Lord
thus commanded them, "When peace is made, let that be so, and this
is the condition of peace;----let Srutasarman with all his retinue do
homage to Súryaprabha. Then we will issue a decree which shall be for
the weal of both." The gods acquiesced in this decision of Siva's,
and made Srutasarman do homage to Súryaprabha. Then they renounced
their enmity and embraced one another, and the gods and Asuras
also laid aside their enmity and made peace with one another. Then,
in the hearing of the gods and Asuras, the holy Siva said this to
Súryaprabha: "You must rule yourself in the southern half-vedi, but
the northern half-vedi give to Srutasarman. For you are destined, my
son, soon to receive the fourfold sovereignty of all the sky-goers,
Kinnaras and all. And when you receive this, as you will be in a
distinguished position, you must also give the southern half-vedi
to Sríkunjarakumára." And as for the heroes slain on both sides in
the battle, let them all rise up alive with unwounded limbs. After
saying this, Siva disappeared, and all those heroes, who were slain
in that battle, rose up unwounded, as if they had awaked from sleep.

Then Súryaprabha, the tamer of his foes, intent on observing the
command of Siva, went to a remote extensive plain, and sitting in
full court, himself made Srutasarman, who came to him, sit down
on half of his throne. And his companions, headed by Prabhása, and
Srutasarman's companions, headed by Dámodara, sat at the side of the
two princes. And Sunítha and Maya, and the other Dánavas, and the kings
of the Vidyádharas too sat on seats in order of precedence. Then the
Daityas, who were kings of the seven Pátálas, headed by Prahláda,
and the kings of the Dánavas came there out of joy. And Indra came
with the Lokapálas, preceded by Vrihaspati, and the Vidyádhara Sumeru
with Suvásakumára. And all the wives of Kasyapa came, headed by Danu,
and the wives of Súryaprabha in the chariot Bhútásana. When they had
all sat down, after shewing one another affection, and going through
the prescribed courtesies, a friend of Danu's, named Siddhi, spoke
to them as from her: "O gods and Asuras, the goddess Danu says this
to you--'Say, if you have ever felt before the joy and satisfaction
which we all feel in this friendly meeting! so you ought not to wage
against one another war, which is terrible on account of the sorrow
it produces. Hiranyáksha and those other elder Asuras, who waged it
to obtain the empire of heaven, have passed away, and Indra is now
the eldest, so what cause is there for enmity?

"'So let your mutual antagonism drop, and be happy, in order that I
may be pleased, and the prosperity of the worlds may be ensured.'" When
they had heard this address of the revered Danu, uttered by the mouth
of Siddhi, Vrihaspati, Indra having looked him in the face, said to
her--"The gods entertain no design against the Asuras, and are willing
to be friends with them, unless they display a treacherous animosity
against the gods." When the preceptor of the gods said this, Maya the
king of the Dánavas said--"If the Asuras entertained any animosity,
how could Namuchi have given to Indra the horse Uchchhaihsravas that
resuscitates the dead? And how could Prabala have given his own body
to the gods? And how could Bali have given the three worlds to Vishnu,
and himself have gone to prison? Or how could Ayodeha have given his
own body to Visvakarman? What more shall I say? The Asuras are ever
generous, and if they are not treacherously injured, they cherish
no animosity." When the Asura Maya had said this, Siddhi made a
speech, which induced the gods and Asuras to make peace and embrace
one another.

In the meanwhile a female warder, named Jayá, sent by Bhavání,
came there and was honoured by all, and she said to Sumeru, "I am
sent by the goddess Durgá to you, and she gives you this order--'You
have an unmarried daughter named Kámachúdámani; give her quickly to
Súryaprabha, for she is a votary of mine.'" When Jayá said this to
Sumeru, he bowed, and answered her--"I will do as the goddess Durgá
commands me, for this is a great favour to me, and this very thing was
long ago enjoined on me by the god Siva." When Sumeru answered Jayá on
this wise, she said to Súryaprabha--"You must set Kámachúdámani above
all your wives, and she must be respected by you more than all the
others; this is the order given to you to-day by the goddess Gaurí,
being propitious to you." When Jayá had said this, she disappeared,
after having been honoured by Súryaprabha. And Sumeru quickly fixed
upon an auspicious moment in that same day for the marriage, and
he had an altar made there, with pillars and pavement of refulgent
jewels, furnished with fire that seemed, as it were, eclipsed by
their rays. And he summoned there his daughter Kámachúdámani, whose
beauty was greedily drunk in by the eager eyes of gods and Asuras. Her
loveliness was like that of Umá, and no wonder, for if Párvatí was the
daughter of Himálaya, she was the daughter of Sumeru. Then he made
her ascend the altar, fully adorned, resplendent from the ceremony
of the marriage-thread, and then Súryaprabha took the lotus-hand
of Kámachúdámani, on which bracelets had been fastened by Danu,
and the other ladies. And when the first handful of parched grain
[699] was thrown into the fire, Jayá immediately came and gave her
an imperishable celestial garland sent by Bhavání, and then Sumeru
bestowed priceless jewels, and an excellent elephant of heavenly breed,
descended from Airávata. And at the second throwing of parched grain,
Jayá, bestowed a necklace, of such a kind that, as long as it is upon
a person's neck, hunger, thirst and death cannot harm them; and Sumeru
gave twice as many jewels as before, and a matchless horse descended
from Uchchhaihsravas. And at the third throwing of grain, Jayá gave
a single string of jewels, such that, as long as it is on the neck,
youth does not wither, and Sumeru gave a heap of jewels three times
as large as the first, and gave a heavenly pearl that bestowed all
kinds of magic powers upon its possessor.

Then the wedding being over, Sumeru said to all present; "Gods,
Asuras, Vidyádharas, mothers of the gods, and all. To-day all of you
must eat in my house, you must do me this honour, I entreat you with
palms folded above my head." They all were inclined to refuse Sumeru's
invitation, but in the meanwhile Nandin arrived; he said to them, who
bowed humbly before him, "Siva commands you to feast in the house of
Sumeru, for he is the god's servant, and if you eat his food, you will
be satisfied for ever." All of them, when they heard this from Nandin,
agreed to it. Then there came there innumerable Ganas sent by Siva,
under the leadership of Vináyaka, Mahákála, Vírabhadra and others. They
prepared a place fit for dining, and caused the guests to sit down in
order, gods, Vidyádharas and men. And the divine beings Vírabhadra,
Mahákála, Bhringin and others, ministered to them viands produced by
Sumeru by magic, and others supplied by the cow Kámadhenu ordered to
do so by Siva, and they waited upon every single guest according to
his rank, and then there was a concert, charming on account of the
dancing of heavenly nymphs, and in which the bards of the Vidyádharas
kept continually joining out of delight. And at the end of the feast,
Nandin and the others gave them all celestial garlands, robes, and
ornaments. After they had thus honoured the gods and others, all the
chiefs of the Ganas, Nandin and the others, departed with all the Ganas
as they had come. Then all the gods and Asuras, and those mothers of
theirs, and Srutasarman and his followers took leave of Sumeru, and
went each to his own place. But Súryaprabha and his wife, accompanied
by all his former wives, went in the chariot first to that ascetic
grove of Sumeru. And he sent his companion Harsha to announce his
success to the kings and to his brother Ratnaprabha. And at the close
of day he entered the private apartments of his wife Kámachúdámani,
in which were splendid jewelled couches, and which were admirably
built. There he flattered her by saying to her, "Now other women
dwell outside of me, but you alone live in my heart." Then the night
and his sleep gradually came to an end.

And in the morning Súryaprabha got up, and went and paid compliments
to his head-wives, who were all together. And while they were rejecting
him, as being in love with a new wife, with playfully sarcastic, sweet,
affectionate, and bashful turns of speech, a Vidyádhara named Sushena
came, announced by the warder, and after doing homage, said to that
triumphant king--"Your highness, I have been sent here by all the
princes of the Vidyádharas, the lord of Trikúta and others, and they
make this representation to your highness--'It is auspicious that your
coronation should take place on the third day at the mountain Rishabha,
let this be announced to all, and let the necessary preparations be
made.'" When Súryaprabha heard that, he answered the ambassador--"Go,
and say to the king of Trikúta and the other Vidyádharas from me--'Let
your honours begin the preparations, and say yourselves what further
is to be done; I for my part am ready. But I will announce the day
to all, as is fitting.'" Then Sushena departed, taking with him this
answer. But Súryaprabha sent off his friends Prabhása and the others,
one by one, to invite all the gods, and the hermits, Yájnavalkya and
others, and the kings, and the Vidyádharas, and the Asuras to the
great festival of his coronation.

He himself went alone to Kailása the monarch of mountains, in order
to invite Siva and Ambiká. And as he was ascending that mountain,
he saw that it gleamed white as ashes, looking like a second Siva
to be adored by the Siddhas, Rishis, and gods. After he had got
more than half-way up it, and had seen that further on it was
hard to climb, he beheld on one side a coral door. When he found
that, though gifted with supernatural power, he could not enter,
he praised Siva with intent mind. Then a man with an elephant's
face opened the door, and said--"Come! enter! the holy Ganesa is
satisfied with you." Then Súryaprabha entered, inly wondering, and
beheld the god seated on a broad slab of jyotírasa, [700] with one
tusk, and an elephant's proboscis, in brightness like twelve suns,
with pendent stomach, with three eyes, with flaming axe and club,
surrounded by many Ganas with the faces of animals, and falling
at his feet, he adored him. The vanquisher of obstacles, being
pleased, asked him the cause of his coming, and said to him with
an affectionate voice--"Ascend by this path." Súryaprabha ascended
by that path another five yojanas, and saw another great door of
ruby. And not being able to enter there either, he praised the god
Siva by his thousand names with intent mind. Then the son of Skanda,
called Visákha, himself opened the door, proclaiming who he was,
and introduced the prince into the interior. And Súryaprabha,
having entered, beheld Skanda of the brightness of burning fire,
accompanied by his five sons like himself, Sákha, Visákha and their
brothers, surrounded by inauspicious planets, and infant planets,
[701] that submitted to him as soon as he was born, and by ten
millions of Ganesas, prostrate at his feet. That god Kártikeya also,
being pleased, asked the cause of his coming, and shewed him the
path by which to ascend the mountain. In the same manner he passed
five other jewel-doors in succession, kept by Bhairava, Mahákála,
Vírabhadra, Nandin, and Bhringin severally, each with his attendants,
and at last he reached on the top of the mountain an eighth door of
crystal. Then he praised Siva, and he was introduced courteously by
one of the Rudras, and beheld that abode of Siva that excelled Svarga,
in which blew winds of heavenly fragrance, in which the trees ever
bore fruit and flowers, [702] in which the Gandharvas had begun their
concert, which was all joyous with the dancing of Apsarases. Then,
in one part of it, Súryaprabha beheld with joy the great god Siva,
seated on a throne of crystal, three-eyed, trident in hand, in hue
like unto pure crystal, with yellow matted locks, with a lovely
half-moon for crest, adored by the holy daughter of the mountain,
who was seated at his side. And he advanced, and fell at the feet of
him and the goddess Durgá. Then the adorable Hara placed his hand on
his back, and made him rise up, and sit down, and asked him why he had
come. And Súryaprabha answered the god, "My coronation is nigh at hand,
therefore I desire the Lord's presence at it." Then Siva said to him,
"Why have you gone through so much toil and hardship? Why did you not
think of me where you were, in order that I might appear there. Be it
so, I will be present." The god, who is kind to his votaries, said
this, and calling a certain Gana who stood near him, gave him the
following command: "Go and take this man to the Rishabha mountain, in
order that he may be crowned emperor, for that is the place appointed
for the grand coronation of emperors such as he is." When the Gana
had received this command from the holy god, he took in his lap with
all respect Súryaprabha, who had circumambulated Siva. And he carried
him and placed him on the Rishabha mountain by his magic power that
very moment, and then disappeared. And when Súryaprabha arrived there,
his companions came to him, and his wives with Kámachúdámani at their
head, and the kings of the Vidyádharas, and the gods with Indra,
and the Asuras with Maya at their head, and Srutasarman, and Sumeru
with Suvásakumára. And Súryaprabha honoured them all in becoming
fashion, and when he told the story of his interview with Siva, they
congratulated him. Then Prabhása and the others brought the water
of consecration with their own hands, mixed with various herbs, in
pitchers of jewels and gold, taking it from male and female rivers,
seas and holy bathing places. In the meanwhile the holy Siva came
there, accompanied by Durgá; and the gods, and Asuras and Vidyádharas,
and kings, and great rishis adored his foot. And while all the gods,
and Dánavas, and Vidyádharas uttered loud cries of "Blessed be this
day," the rishis made Súryaprabha sit on the throne, and pouring all
the waters over him, declared him emperor of the Vidyádharas. And the
discreet Asura Maya joyfully fastened on his turban and diadem. And
the drum of the gods, preceded by the dancing of lovely Apsarases,
sounded joyfully in heaven, in unison with the cymbals of earth. And
that assembly of great rishis poured the water of consecration over
Kámachúdámani also, and made her the appropriate queen consort of
Súryaprabha. Then, the gods and Asuras having departed, Súryaprabha,
the emperor of the Vidyádharas, protracted his great coronation feast
with his relations, friends, and companions. And in a few days he
gave to Srutasarman that northern half vedi mentioned by Siva, and
having obtained his other beloved ones, he enjoyed for a long time,
together with his companions, the fortune of king of the Vidyádharas.

"Thus by virtue of the favour of Siva, Súryaprabha, though a man,
obtained of yore the empire of the Vidyádharas."

Having told this story in the presence of the king of Vatsa, and
having bowed before Naraváhanadatta, Vajraprabha, the king of the
Vidyádharas, ascended to heaven. And after he had gone, that hero,
king Naraváhanadatta, together with his queen Madanamanchuká, remained
in the house of his father the king of Vatsa, waiting to obtain the
rank of emperor of the Vidyádharas.







BOOK IX.


CHAPTER LI.


We bow before that Ganesa before whom, when dancing, even the mountains
seem to bow, for they are made to stoop, owing to the earth being
bent by the weight of Nisumbha.

Thus Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, dwelt in Kausámbí
in the palace of his father, having heard with astonishment of the
reign of the king of the Vidyádharas. And once on a time, having gone
out hunting, he dismissed his army, and entered a great forest, with
Gomukha as his only companion. There the throbbing of his right eye
indicated the approach of good fortune, and he soon heard the sound of
singing mixed with the notes of a heavenly lyre. After going a short
distance to find whence the sound proceeded, he beheld a Svayambhú
[703] temple of Siva, and after tying up his horse, he entered it. And
there he beheld a heavenly maiden, surrounded by many other lovely
maidens, praising Siva with the harp. As soon as he saw her, with the
effluent streams of her loveliness she disturbed his heart, as the orb
of the moon disturbs the heart of the sea. She too looked on him with
impassioned, loving, and bashful eye, and had her mind solely fixed on
him, and forgot to pour forth her notes. Then Gomukha, who read his
master's soul, began to ask her attendants--"Who is she, and whose
daughter is she?" But in the meanwhile a Vidyádharí of mature age,
resembling her in feature, descended from heaven, preceded by a gleam
red as gold. And she came down, and sat by the side of that maiden,
and then the maiden rose up, and fell at her feet. And that mature
dame blessed that girl, saying, "Obtain without impediment a husband,
who shall be king of all the Vidyádharas." Then Naraváhanadatta came
to that gentle-looking Vidyádharí, and bowed before her, and after
she had given him her blessing, he slowly said to her: "Who is this
maiden of thine, mother, tell me?" then that Vidyádharí said to him
"Listen, I will tell you."



Story of Alankáravatí.

There is on the mountain-heights of the father of Gaurí, [704]
a city named Srísundarapura, and in it there dwells a king of the
Vidyádharas, named Alankárasíla. That lofty-souled king had a wife
named Kánchanaprabhá, and in course of time a son was born to the
king by her. And, when Umá announced to his father in a dream that he
should be devoted to religion, he named him Dharmasíla. And in course
of time that son Dharmasíla grew up to be a young man, and the king,
having had him taught the sciences, appointed him Crown-prince. Then
Dharmasíla, when appointed Crown-prince, being exclusively devoted to
virtue, and self-controlled, delighted the subjects even more than
did his father. Then the queen Kánchanaprabhá, the consort of king
Alankárasíla, became pregnant again, and gave birth to a daughter. Then
a heavenly voice proclaimed, "This daughter shall be the wife of
the emperor Naraváhanadatta." Then her father gave her the name of
Alankáravatí, and the girl gradually grew like a digit of the moon. And
in course of time she attained mature youth, and learned the sciences
from her own father, and through devotion to the god Siva, began to
roam from temple to temple of his. In the meanwhile that brother of
hers, Dharmasíla, who was saintly, though in the bloom of youth, said
in secret to his father Alankárasíla--"My father, these enjoyments,
that vanish in a moment, do not please me; for what is there in this
world which is not distasteful at the last? Have you not heard on
this point the saying of the hermit Vyása? 'All aggregations end in
dissolution, all erections end in a fall, all unions end in separation,
and life ends in death.' So what pleasure can wise men take in these
perishable objects? Moreover, neither enjoyments nor heaps of wealth
accompany one into the other world, but virtue is the only friend that
never moves a step from one's side. Therefore I will go to the forest,
and perform a severe penance, in order by it to attain everlasting
supreme felicity." When the king's son Dharmasíla said this, his father
Alankárasíla was perturbed, and answered him with tears in his eyes;
"My son, what is this sudden delusion that has overtaken you while
still a boy? For good men desire a life of retirement after they
have enjoyed their youth. This is the time for you to marry a wife,
and rule your kingdom justly, and enjoy pleasures, not to abandon the
world." When Dharmasíla heard this speech of his father's, he answered:
"There is no period for self-control or absence of self-control fixed
by age; any one, even when a child, attains self-control, if favoured
by the Lord, but no bad man attains self-control even when old. And I
take no pleasure in reigning, nor in marrying a wife; the object of my
life is to propitiate Siva by austerities." When the prince said this,
his father Alankárasíla, seeing that he could not be turned from his
purpose even by the greatest efforts, shed tears, and said; "If you,
who are young, my son, display such freedom from passion, why should
not I, who am an old man? I too will go to the forest." He said this,
and went to the world of men, and bestowed on Bráhmans and the poor a
myriad loads of gold and jewels. And returning to his city, he said to
his wife Kánchanaprabhá: "You must, if you wish to obey my commands,
remain here in your own city, and take care of this daughter of ours,
Alankáravatí, and when a year has past, there will be on this very
day an auspicious moment for her marriage. And then I will give her in
marriage to Naraváhanadatta, and that son-in-law of mine shall be an
emperor, and shall come to this city of ours." Having said this to his
wife, the king made her take an oath, and then made her return weeping
with her daughter, and himself went with his son to the forest. But
his wife Kánchanaprabhá lived in her own city with her daughter;
what virtuous wife would disobey her husband's commands? Then her
daughter Alankáravatí wandered about to many temples together with
her mother, who accompanied her out of affection. And one day the
science named Prajnapti said to her, "Go to the holy places in Kasmíra
named Svayambhú, and there offer worship, for then you will obtain
without difficulty for a husband, Naraváhanadatta, the sole emperor
of all the Vidyádhara kings." After hearing this from the science,
she went with her mother to Kasmíra and worshipped Siva in all the
holy places, in Nandikshetra, in Mahádevagiri, in Amaraparvata, in
the mountains of Suresvarí, and in Vijaya, and Kapatesvara. After
worshipping the husband of Párvatí in these and other holy places,
that princess of the Vidyádharas and her mother returned home.

Know, auspicious youth, that this is that very maiden Alankáravatí,
and that I am her mother Kánchanaprabhá. And to-day she came to
this temple of Siva without telling me. Then I, perceiving it by the
Prajnapti science, came here, and I was told by the same science that
you had come here also. So marry this daughter of mine who has been
ordained your wife by the god. And to-morrow arrives the day of her
marriage appointed by her father, so return for this day, my son,
to Kausámbí your own city. And we will go hence, but to-morrow the
king Alankárasíla will come from the grove of asceticism, and himself
give you this daughter of his.

When she said this, Alankáravatí and Naraváhanadatta were thrown into
a strange state of distraction, for their eyes were full of tears,
since their hearts could not bear that they should be separated from
one another even for a night, and they were like chakravákas when the
end of the day is near. When Kánchanaprabhá saw them in such a state,
she said: "Why do you show such a want of self-restraint because
you are to be separated for one night. People, who possess firmness,
endure for a long time mutual separation to which no termination is
assigned; hear in proof of this the tale of Rámabhadra and Sítá."



Story of Ráma and Sítá.

Long ago king Dasaratha, the sovereign of Ayodhyá, had a son, named
Ráma, the elder brother of Bharata, Satrughna and Lakshmana. He was a
partial incarnation of Vishnu for the overthrow of Rávana, and he had
a wife named Sítá, the daughter of Janaka, the lady of his life. As
fate would have it, his father handed over the kingdom to Bharata, and
sent Ráma to the forest with Sítá and Lakshmana. There Rávana carried
off his beloved Sítá by magic, and took her to the city of Lanká,
having slain Jatáyus on the way. Then Ráma, in his bereaved state,
made Sugríva his friend by killing Bálin, and by sending Hanumán to
Lanká, obtained news of his wife. And he crossed the sea by building
a bridge over it, and slew Rávana, and gave the sovereignty of Lanká
to Vibhíshana and recovered Sítá. Then he returned from the forest,
and while he was ruling his kingdom, that Bharata had made over to
him, Sítá became pregnant in Ayodhyá. And while the king was roaming
through the city at leisure, with a small retinue, to observe the
actions of his subjects, he beheld a certain man turning his wife,
whom he held by the hand, out of his house, and giving out that her
fault was going to the house of another man. [705] And king Ráma heard
the wife saying to her husband,--"King Ráma did not desert his wife,
though she dwelt in the house of the Rákshasa; this fellow is superior
to him, for he abandons me for going to the house of a relation." So
he went home afflicted; and afraid of the slander of the people,
he abandoned Sítá in the forest; a man of reputation prefers the
sorrow of separation to ill-repute. And Sítá, languid with pregnancy,
happened to reach the hermitage of Válmíki, and that rishi comforted
her, and made her take up her abode there. And the other hermits there
debated among themselves; "Surely this Sítá is guilty, otherwise how
could her husband have deserted her? So, by beholding her, everlasting
pollution will attach to us; but Válmíki does not expel her from the
hermitage out of pity, and he neutralizes by means of his asceticism
the pollution produced by beholding her, so come, let us go to some
other hermitage." When Válmíki perceived that, he said; "Bráhmans,
you need not have any misgivings about the matter, I have perceived
her by my meditation to be chaste. When even then they exhibited
incredulity, Sítá said to them; "Reverend sirs, test my purity by any
means that you know of, and if I turn out to be unchaste, let me be
punished by having my head cut off." When the hermits heard that,
they experienced an emotion of pity, and they said to her, "There
is a famous bathing-place in this forest, called Títhibhasaras, for
a certain chaste woman named Títhibhí, being falsely accused by her
husband, who suspected her of familiarity with another man, in her
helplessness invoked the goddess Earth and the Lokapálas, and they
produced it for her justification. There let the wife of Ráma clear
herself for our satisfaction." When they said that, Sítá went with
them to that lake. And the chaste woman said--"Mother Earth, if my
mind was never fixed even in a dream on any one besides my husband,
may I reach the other side of the lake,"--and after saying this,
she entered the lake, and the goddess Earth appeared, and, taking
her in her lap, carried her to the other side. Then all the hermits
adored that chaste woman, and enraged at Ráma's having abandoned her,
they desired to curse him. But Sítá, who was devoted to her husband,
dissuaded them, saying,--"Do not entertain an inauspicious thought
against my husband, I beg you to curse my wicked self." The hermits,
pleased with that conduct of hers, gave her a blessing which enabled
her to give birth to a son, and she, while dwelling there, in good
time did give birth to a son, and the hermit Válmíki gave him the
name of Lava. [706] One day she took the child and went to bathe, and
the hermit, seeing that it was not in the hut, thought--"She is in
the habit, when she goes to bathe, of leaving her child behind her,
so what has become of the child? Surely it has been carried off by a
wild beast. I will create another, otherwise Sítá, on returning from
bathing, will die of grief." Under this impression, the hermit made
a pure babe of kusa grass, resembling Lava, and placed him there,
and Sítá came, and seeing it, said to the hermit, "I have my own boy,
so whence came this one, hermit?" When the hermit Válmíki heard this,
he told her exactly what had taken place, and said, "Blameless one,
receive this second son named Kusa, because I by my power created him
out of kusa grass." When he said this to her, Sítá brought up those
two sons Kusa and Lava, for whom Válmíki performed the sacraments. And
those two young princes of the Kshatriya race, even when children,
learned the use of all heavenly weapons, and all sciences from the
hermit Válmíki.

And one day they killed a deer belonging to the hermitage, and ate
its flesh, and made use of a linga, which Válmíki worshipped, as a
plaything. The hermit was offended thereby, but at Sítá's intercession
he appointed for those youths the following expiatory penance:
"Let this Lava go quickly and bring from the lake of Kuvera golden
lotuses, and mandára [707] flowers from his garden, then worship,
both of you brothers, this linga with those flowers; in this way
this crime of those two will be atoned for." When Lava heard this,
he went, though a boy, to Kailása, and invaded that lake and garden
of Kuvera, and after killing the Yakshas, brought back the lotuses
and the flowers, and as he was returning, being tired, he rested in
the way under a tree. And in the meanwhile Lakshmana came that way,
seeking a man with auspicious marks for Ráma's human sacrifice. [708]
He, according to the custom of Kshatriyas, challenged Lava to fight,
and paralyzed him by the stupefying weapon, and taking him prisoner,
led him to the city of Ayodhyá. And in the meanwhile Válmíki comforted
Sítá, who was anxious about the return of Lava, and said to Kusa
in his hermitage, "Lakshmana has taken prisoner the child Lava and
has carried him off to Ayodhyá; go and deliver him from Lakshmana,
after conquering him with these weapons." When the sage said this,
and gave to Kusa a heavenly weapon, he went and with it attacked
and besieged the sacrificial enclosure in Ayodhyá, and he conquered
in fight Lakshmana, who advanced to repel him, by the help of those
heavenly weapons; then Ráma advanced to meet him; and when he could
not, though exerting himself to the utmost, conquer with weapons that
Kusa, owing to the might of Válmíki, he asked him who he was, and why
he came. Then Kusa said, "Lakshmana has taken my elder brother prisoner
and brought him here; I have come here to set him at liberty. We
two are Kusa and Lava the sons of Ráma, this is what our mother,
the daughter of Janaka, says." Thereupon he told her story. Then
Ráma burst into tears, and summoned Lava and embraced both, saying,
"I am that same wicked Ráma." Then the citizens assembled and praised
Sítá, beholding those two heroic youths, and Ráma recognised them as
his sons. And then he summoned the queen Sítá from the hermitage of
Válmíki, and dwelt with her in happiness, transferring to his sons
the burden of the empire.

"Thus heroic souls endure separation for so long a time, and how
can you find it difficult to endure it for only one night?" When
Kánchanaprabhá had said this to her daughter Alankáravatí, who was
eager to be married, and to Naraváhanadatta, she departed through
the air with the intention of returning again, and took her daughter
with her: and Naraváhanadatta, for his part, returned despondent to
Kausámbí.

Then, as he could not sleep at night, Gomukha said to him to amuse
him--"Prince, hear this story of Prithvírúpa, which I will relate
to you."



Story of the handsome king Prithvírúpa.

There is in the Dekhan a city named Pratishthána, in it lived a very
handsome king, named Prithvírúpa. Once on a time two discerning
Buddhist hermits came to him, and seeing that that king was very
handsome, they said to him, "King, we have travelled through the
world, and we have nowhere seen a man or woman equal to you in beauty,
except the daughter of king Rúpadhara and queen Hemalatá, in the isle
of Muktipura, Rúpalatá by name, and that maiden alone is a match for
you, and you alone are a match for her; if you were to be united in
marriage, it would be well." With these words of the hermit, which
entered by his ears, the arrows of Love entered also and stuck in
his heart. Then king Prithvírúpa, being full of longing, gave this
order to his admirable painter, Kumáridatta by name; "Take with you my
portrait, accurately painted on canvas, and with these two mendicants
go to the isle of Muktipura, and there shew it by some artifice to
the king Rúpadhara and his daughter Rúpalatá. Find out if that king
will give me his daughter or not, and take a likeness of Rúpalatá,
and bring it back." When the king had said this, he made the painter
take his likeness on canvas, and sent him with the mendicants to that
island. And so the painter and the mendicants set out, and in course
of time reached a city named Putrapura on the shore of the sea. There
they embarked on a ship, and going across the sea, they reached in
five days that island of Muktipura. There the painter went and held
up at the gate of the palace a notice, to the effect that there was
no painter like him in the world. When the king Rúpadhara heard of
that, he summoned him, and the painter entered the palace, and bowing,
he said: "O king, though I have travelled all over the earth, I have
never seen my match as a painter, so tell me, whom I am to paint of
gods, mortals, and Asuras." When the king heard that, he summoned his
daughter Rúpalatá into his presence, and gave him the following order:
"Make a portrait of this daughter of mine, and shew it me." Then the
painter Kumáridatta made a portrait of the princess on canvas and
shewed it, and it was exactly like the original. Then king Rúpadhara
was pleased, and thinking him clever, he asked that painter, in his
desire to obtain a son-in-law, "My good fellow, you have travelled
over the earth: so tell me if you have anywhere seen a woman or a
man equal to my daughter in beauty." When the king said this, the
painter answered him, "I have nowhere in the world seen a woman or a
man equal to her, except a king in Pratishthána, named Prithvírúpa,
who is a match for her; if she were married to him, it would be
well. Since he has not found a princess equal in beauty, he remains,
though in his fresh youth, without a wife. And I, your majesty, having
beheld that king, dear to the eyes, took a faithful likeness of him,
out of admiration of his beauty." When the king heard that, he said:
"Have you that portrait with you?" And the painter said, "I have,"
and showed the portrait. Thereupon the king Rúpadhara, beholding
the beauty of that king Prithvírúpa, found his head whirl round
with astonishment. And he said, "Fortunate are we to have beheld
that king even in a picture; I felicitate those who behold him in
the flesh. When Rúpalatá heard this speech of her father's, and saw
the king in the picture, she was full of longing, and could neither
hear nor see anything else. Then the king Rúpadhara, seeing that his
daughter was distracted with love, said to that painter Kumáridatta,
"Your pictures exactly correspond to the original, so that king
Prithvírúpa must be an appropriate husband for my daughter. So take
this portrait of my daughter, and set off immediately, and shew
my daughter to king Prithvírúpa; and tell the whole incident as it
took place, and if he pleases, let him come here quickly, to marry
her." Thus the king spake, and honoured the painter with gifts,
and sent him off with his ambassador, in the company of the mendicants.

The painter, the ambassador, and the mendicants crossed the sea,
and all reached the court of Prithvírúpa in Pratishthána. There they
gave the present to that king, and told him the whole transaction,
as it took place, and the message of Rúpadhara. And then that painter
Kumáridatta shewed to that king his beloved Rúpalatá in a painting. As
the king gazed, [709] his eye was drowned in that sea of beauty
her person, so that he could not draw it out again. For the king,
whose longing was excessive, could not be satisfied with devouring
her form, which poured forth a stream of the nectar of beauty, as
the partridge cannot be satisfied with devouring the moonlight. And
he said to the painter, "My friend, worthy of praise is the Creator
who made this beauty, and yourself who copied it. So I accept the
proposal of king Rúpadhara; I will go to the island of Muktipura and
marry his daughter." After saying this, the king honoured the painter,
the ambassador, and the hermits, and remained looking at the picture.

And afflicted with the sorrow of absence, the king spent that day in
gardens and other places, and set out the next day on his expedition,
after ascertaining a favourable moment. And the king mounted the
great elephant Mangalaghata, and proceeded on his way with many horses
and elephants, with chiefs and Rájpúts, and with the painter and the
hermits, together with the ambassador of Rúpadhara, and in a few days
he reached the entrance of the Vindhya forest, and encamped there in
the evening. The next day, the king Prithvírúpa mounted an elephant
named Satrumardana, and going on entered that forest. And as he was
slowly proceeding, he beheld his army, which was marching in front
of him, suddenly fleeing. And while he was perplexed as to what it
could mean, a Rájpút named Nirbhaya, mounted on an elephant, came up
and said to him, "King, a very large army of Bhillas attacked us in
front there; in the fight that ensued those Bhillas slew with their
arrows just fifty of our elephants, and a thousand of our footmen, and
three hundred horses; but our troops laid low two thousand Bhillas,
so that for every single corpse seen in our host two were seen in
theirs. Then our forces were routed, galled with their arrows, which
resemble thunderbolts." When the king heard that, he was angry, and
advancing he slew the army of the Bhillas, as Arjuna slew that of
the Kauravas. Then the other bandits were slain by Nirbhaya and his
comrades, [710] and the king cut off with one crescent-headed arrow the
head of the commander of the Bhillas. The king's elephant Satrumardana,
with the blood flowing from arrow-wounds, resembled a mountain of
collyrium pouring forth streams coloured with cinnabar. Then his
whole army, that had been dispersed, returned, finding themselves
victorious, and those Bhillas, that had escaped slaughter, fled in
all directions. And the king Prithvírúpa, having brought the fight
to an end, had his might extolled by the ambassador of Rúpadhara,
and being victorious, encamped in that very forest district, on the
bank of a lake, to recruit the strength of his wounded troops.

And in the morning the king set out thence, and slowly advancing
he reached that city of Putrapura on the shore of the sea. There he
rested for a day, being entertained in becoming fashion by the king
of that place, named Udáracharita. And he crossed the sea in ships
supplied by him, and in eight days reached the isle of Muktipura.

And the king Rúpadhara, hearing of it, came to meet him delighted, and
the two kings met and embraced one another. Then the king Prithvírúpa
entered his city with him, being, so to speak, drunk in by the eyes of
the ladies of the city. Then the queen Hemalatá and the king Rúpadhara,
seeing that he was a suitable husband for their daughter, rejoiced. And
that king Prithvírúpa remained there, and Rúpadhara honoured him with
entertainment in accordance with his own magnificence.

And the next day, the long-desiring Rúpalatá ascended the altar in
an auspicious moment, and he with exultation received her hand in
marriage. And when they beheld one another's beauty, the expanded
eye of each was extended to the ear, as if to inform that organ that
the report it had heard before was true. When the parched grain was
thrown, Rúpadhara gave jewels in such abundance to the happy couple,
that men thought he was a perfect mine of jewels. And after his
daughter's marriage had taken place, he honoured the painter and
the two mendicants with dresses and ornaments, and bestowed gifts
on all the others. Then that king Prithvírúpa, remaining in that
city with his attendants, enjoyed the best meat and drink the isle
could produce. The day was spent in singing and dancing, and at night
the eager king entered the private apartments of Rúpalatá, in which
jewelled couches were spread, which was adorned with jewelled pavement,
the circuit of which was propped on jewelled pillars, and which was lit
up with jewel-lamps. And in the morning he was woke up by the bards and
heralds reciting, and he rose up and remained as the moon in heaven.

Thus king Prithvírúpa remained ten days in that island, amusing
himself with ever-fresh enjoyments furnished by his father-in-law. On
the eleventh day, the king, with the consent of the astrologers, set
out with Rúpalatá, after the auspicious ceremony had been performed
for him. And he was escorted by his father-in-law as far as the
shore of the sea, and accompanied by his retainers, he embarked
on the ships with his wife. He crossed the sea in eight days, and
his army, that was encamped on the shore, joined him, and the king
Udáracharita came to meet him, and then he went to Putrapura. There
king Prithvírúpa rested some days, and was entertained by that king,
and then he set out from that place. And he mounted his beloved
Rúpalatá on the elephant Jayamangala, and he himself mounted an
elephant named Kalyánagiri. And the king, proceeding by continual
stages, in due course reached his good city of Pratishthána, where
flags and banners were waving. Then, after beholding Rúpalatá, the
ladies of the city lost at once all pride in their own beauty, and
gazed on her with eyes unwinking from wonder. Then king Prithvírúpa
entered his palace, making high festival, and he gave to that painter
villages and wealth, and he honoured those two hermits with wealth
as they deserved, and gave complimentary presents to the chiefs,
ministers and Rájpúts. Then that king, having attained his object,
enjoyed there this world's happiness in the society of Rúpalatá.

After the minister Gomukha had told Naraváhanadatta this tale
with the object of amusing him, he went on to say to the impatient
prince,--"Thus the resolute endure painful separation for a long
time, but how is it that you cannot endure it even for one night,
O king? For to-morrow your Highness shall marry Alankáravatí." When
Gomukha had said this, Marubhúti the son of Yaugandharáyana came up at
that instant, and said, "What stuff will you not prate, being ungalled,
and never having felt the agony of love? A man possesses firmness and
discernment and morality, only so long as he does not come within
the range of the arrows of Love. Happy in the world are Sarasvatí,
Skanda, and Buddha, these three, who have brushed off and flung away
love, like a blade of grass clinging to the skirt of the robe." When
Marubhúti said this, Naraváhanadatta, perceiving that Gomukha was
distressed, said in order to comfort him,--"What Gomukha said to me
was appropriate, and it was said to amuse me, for what loving friend
exults over one in the agony of separation? One afflicted by the
pain of separation should be comforted by his friends to the best
of their ability, and the sequel should be left to the disposal of
the five-arrowed god." Talking in this style, and hearing various
tales from his attendants, Naraváhanadatta somehow managed to get
through that night. And when morning came, he rose up and performed
his necessary duties, and saw Kánchanaprabhá descending from heaven,
accompanied by her husband Alankárasíla, and her son Dharmasíla,
and that Alankáravatí her daughter; and they all descended from
the chariot and came near him, and he welcomed them as was fitting,
and they saluted him in like manner. And in the meanwhile thousands
of other Vidyádharas descended from heaven, carrying loads of gold,
jewels, and other valuables; and after hearing of this occurrence,
the king of Vatsa came there with his ministers and his queens,
delighted at the advancement of his son. After the king of Vatsa had
performed the rites of hospitality duly, the king Alankárasíla said
to him, bowing graciously,--"King, this is my daughter Alankáravatí,
and when she was born, she was declared by a voice, that came from
heaven, to be destined to be the wife of this thy son Naraváhanadatta,
the future emperor of all the Vidyádhara kings. So I will give her to
him, for this is a favourable moment for them; for this reason I have
come here with all these." The king of Vatsa welcomed that speech of
the Vidyádhara sovereign's, saying, "It is a great favour that you do
me." Then the ruler of the Vidyádharas sprinkled with water, produced
in the hollow of his hand by virtue of his science, the ground of
the courtyard. Immediately there was produced there an altar of gold,
covered with a heavenly cloth, and a pavilion, not made with hands,
for the preliminary ceremony, composed of various jewels. Then the
successful king Alankárasíla said to Naraváhanadatta--"Rise up, the
favourable moment has arrived--bathe." After he had bathed, and had
the marriage-thread put on, the king Alankárasíla, being delighted,
gave him with all his heart his daughter, after bringing her to
the altar in her bridal dress. And when the grain was thrown into
the fire, he and his son gave to his daughter thousands of loads of
jewels, gold, garments and ornaments, and heavenly nymphs. And after
the marriage was over, he honoured them all, and then took his leave
of them, and with his wife and son departed, as he came, through the
air. Then the king of Vatsa, seeing his son destined to advancement,
being honoured by the bending kings of the Vidyádharas, was delighted,
and prolonged that feast to a great length. And Naraváhanadatta, having
obtained Alankáravatí, charming on account of her good conduct, and of
noble virtues, like a skilful poet who has obtained a style, charming
on account of its excellent metre, and of splendid merits, remained
delighted with her. [711]






CHAPTER LII.


Then Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, being united
to Alankáravatí his new wife, remained in the house of his father,
pleased with the heavenly dancing and singing of her maids, and
enjoying banquets with his ministers.

And one day his mother-in-law Kánchanaprabhá, the mother of
Alankáravatí, came to him and said, after he had hospitably
entertained her--"Come to our palace, behold that city of Sundarapura,
and take your delight in its gardens with Alankáravatí." When
he heard this, he consented, and he informed his father, and by his
advice took Vasantaka with him, and with his wife and his minister,
he ascended a splendid chariot created by his mother-in-law by her
science, and set out through the air, and while in the chariot,
he looked down from heaven, and beheld the earth of the size of a
mound, and the seas small as ditches, and in due course he reached
the Himálayas with his mother-in-law, wife, and attendants, and it
resounded with the songs of the Kinnarís, and was adorned with the
companies of heavenly nymphs. There he saw a great many wonderful
sights, and then he reached the city of Sundarapura. It was adorned
with many palaces of gold and jewels, and, thus, though it was on
the Himálayas, it made the beholder suppose that he was looking on
the peaks of mount Meru. [712] And he descended from the heaven, and
getting out of the carriage entered that city, which, as it were,
danced with the waving silk of its banners, in its joy at having
once more a king. And he entered that palace, with the auspicious
ceremony performed for him by his mother-in-law, accompanied by
Alankáravatí, and with his favourites and Vasantaka. There the
fortunate prince spent the day in his father-in-law's palace,
in enjoyments which were provided for him by the power of his
mother-in-law. And on the next day his mother-in-law Kánchanaprabhá
said to him; "There is in this city an image of the holy self-existent
husband of Umá. [713] He, if visited and worshipped, gives enjoyment
and even salvation. Around it the father of Alankáravatí made
a great garden, and brought down to it a holy water, rightly named
the Ganges-pool: go there to-day to worship the god and to amuse
yourselves." When his mother-in-law said this to him, Naraváhanadatta,
accompanied by his wife Alankáravatí, and followed by his attendants,
went to that garden of Siva. It looked lovely with its golden-trunked
trees, which were charming with their branches of jewels, the clear
white flowers of which were clusters of pearls, and the shoots of
which were coral. [714] There he bathed in the Ganges-pool and
worshipped Siva, and wandered round the tanks that were adorned
with ladders of jewels and lotuses of gold. And, accompanied
by his attendants, he amused himself with Alankáravatí on their
charming banks, and in bowers of the wish-granting creeper. And in
those he delighted his soul with heavenly banquets and concerts,
and amusing jokes caused by the simplicity of Marubhúti. And so
Naraváhanadatta dwelt a month there, amusing himself in gardens,
thanks to the resources of his mother-in-law. Then that Kánchanaprabhá
bestowed on him, his wife, and his ministers, garments and ornaments
fit for gods, and with his mother-in-law and his attendants, he
returned in that same chariot to Kausámbí, accompanied by his wife,
and he gladdened the eyes of his parents.

There Alankáravatí was thus addressed by her mother in the presence
of the king of Vatsa; "You must never by jealous anger make your
husband unhappy, for the fruit of that fault, my daughter, is
separation that causes great affliction. Because I was jealous in
old time and afflicted my husband, I am now consumed with remorse,
as he has gone to the forest." After saying this, she embraced her
daughter with eyes blinded with tears, and flying up into the air
went to her own city.

Then, that day having come to an end, the next morning Naraváhanadatta,
having performed the appropriate duties, was sitting with his
ministers, when a woman rushed into the presence of Alankáravatí
and said--"Queen, I am a woman in the utmost terror, protect me,
protect me! For there is a Bráhman come to slay me, and he is standing
outside; through fear of him I have fled and come in here to implore
protection." The queen said, "Do not fear. Tell your tale. Who is
he? Why does he wish to slay you?" When thus questioned, the woman
began to say:--



Story of Asokamálá.

My sovereign, I am the daughter of a Kshatriya in this city,
named Balasena, and my name is Asokamálá. When I was a virgin,
I was demanded from my father by a rich Bráhman named Hathasarman,
who was captivated by my beauty. And I said to my father; "I do not
like this ugly grim-visaged man for a husband; if you give me to him,
I will not remain in his house." Though Hathasarman heard that, he
sat in dharna at the door of my father's house, until he gave me to
him, being afraid of causing the death of a Bráhman. Then the Bráhman
married me and carried me off reluctant, and I deserted him, and fled
to another man, the son of a Kshatriya. But that Hathasarman managed
to crush him by the power of his wealth, and then I went to another
Kshatriya, who was well off. Then this Bráhman went at night and
set his house on fire. Then he abandoned me, and I went to a third
Kshatriya, and this Bráhman burnt his house also at night. Then
I was abandoned by him also, and I became a fugitive, flying in
terror, as the sheep flies from the jackal, from that Hathasarman,
who wishes to slay me, and follows me step by step. In this very city
I entered the service of the mighty Vírasarman your servant, a Rájpút
who protects the helpless. When the wicked Hathasarman found that
out, he was miserable at having no hope of recovering me, and being
afflicted with separation, he was reduced to skin and bone. But the
Rájpút Vírasarman, when disposed to imprison him for my protection,
was prevented by me, O queen. To-day it chanced that I went outside
the house, and Hathasarman, seeing me, drew his sword and rushed on
me to kill me, but I thereupon fled here, and the female warder,
melted with compassion, opened the door and let me enter, but he,
I know, is waiting for me outside.

When she said this, the king had the Bráhman Hathasarman summoned
into his presence; he looked at Asokamálá with an eye inflamed with
anger, his form was distorted, he held a sword in his hand, and
the joints of his limbs trembled with rage. The king said to him,
"Wicked Bráhman, do you try to kill a woman, and for her sake set
on fire your neighbours' houses? Why are you so wicked?" When the
Bráhman heard that, he said, "She is my lawful wife. She has left
my protection and gone elsewhere, how could I endure that?" When he
said this, Asokamálá, in distress, exclaimed, "O guardians of the
world, tell me this; did he not in your presence marry me and carry
me off by force against my own will? And did I not say at the time,
'I will not dwell in his house?'" When she said this, a heavenly voice
said, "The statement of Asokamálá is true. But she is not a woman;
hear the truth about her. There is a heroic king of the Vidyádharas
named Asokakara. He had no sons, and once on a time it happened that a
daughter was born to him, and she grew up in the house of her father,
under the name of Asokamálá. And when she arrived at an adult age,
and he, desiring to perpetuate his race, offered her in marriage,
she would not take any husband, through exceeding pride in her own
beauty. For that reason her father, vexed with her obstinacy, denounced
this curse on her; 'Become a mortal, and in that state thou shalt
have the same name. And an ugly Bráhman shall marry thee by force;
thou shalt abandon him, and in thy fear resort to three husbands in
succession. Even then he shall persecute thee, and thou shalt take
refuge with a mighty Kshatriya as his slave, but even then the Bráhman
shall not desist from persecuting thee. And he shall see thee, and run
after thee, with the object of killing thee, but thou shalt escape,
and entering the king's palace, shalt be delivered from this curse.'

Accordingly that very Vidyádharí, Asokamálá, who was in old time cursed
by her father, has now been born as a woman under the same name. And
this appointed end of her curse has now arrived. She shall now repair
to her Vidyádhara home, and enter her own body which is there. There
she, remembering her curse, shall live happily with a Vidyádhara
prince, named Abhiruchita, who shall become her husband." When the
heavenly voice had said this, it ceased, and immediately that Asokamálá
fell dead on the ground. But the king and Alankáravatí, when they
saw that, had their eyes suffused with tears, and so had their
courtiers. But in Hathasarman grief overpowered anger, and he wept,
blinded with passion. Then his eyes suddenly became expanded with
joy. All of them thereupon said to him,--"What does this mean?" Then
that Bráhman said, "I remember my former birth, and I will give an
account of it, listen."



Story of Sthúlabhuja.

On the Himálayas there is a splendid city, named Madanapura; in it
dwelt a Vidyádhara prince, named Pralambabhuja. He had born to him,
my lord, a son named Sthúlabhuja, and he in course of time became a
handsome prince in the flower of youth. Then a king of the Vidyádharas,
named Surabhivatsa, came with his daughter to the palace of that
king Pralambabhuja, and said to him: "I give this daughter of mine,
called Surabhidattá, to your son Sthúlabhuja; let the accomplished
youth marry her now." When Pralambabhuja heard this, he approved it,
and summoning his son, he communicated the matter to him. Then his
son Sthúlabhuja, out of pride in his beauty, said to him, "I will
not marry her, my father, for she is not a first-class beauty." His
father thereupon said to him, "What does her plainness matter? For
she is of high lineage and must be honoured on that account, and
her father offered her to me for you, and I have accepted her, so do
not refuse." Although Sthúlabhuja was thus entreated a second time
by his father, he would not consent to marry her. Then his father,
in his anger, denounced against him the following curse--"On account
of this your pride in your good looks, be born as a man, and in that
state you shall be ugly and with a large mouth. And you shall acquire
by force a wife named Asokamálá, also fallen by a curse, and she,
not liking you, shall leave you, and you shall experience the grief of
separation. And as she shall be attached to another, you shall commit
for her sake arson and other crimes, being maddened with passion and
emaciated with grief." When Pralambabhuja had uttered this curse, that
virtuous Surabhidattá clung to his feet, weeping, and entreated him,
"Pronounce a curse on me also, let our lot be the same, let not my
husband alone suffer calamity owing to my fault." When she said this,
Pralambabhuja was pleased, and, in order to comfort that virtuous
woman, he appointed for her this end to his son's curse: "Whenever
Asokamálá shall be released from her curse, then he shall remember
his birth and be released from this curse, and he shall regain his
own body, and remembering his curse, he shall be free from pride,
and soon marry you; then he shall live with you in happiness." When
the virtuous woman was thus addressed by him, she managed to recover
her self-composure.

"Know that I am that very Sthúlabhuja, fallen here by a curse, and
I have experienced this great grief owing to the fault of pride. How
can proud men have happiness in a previous or in a present state of
existence? And that curse of mine is now at an end." After saying this,
Hathasarman abandoned that body, and became a Vidyádhara youth. And
he took by the might of his science the body of Asokamálá, and flung
it, without its being seen, into the Ganges, out of compassion. And
he sprinkled immediately the chamber of Alankáravatí all round with
water of the Ganges, brought by the might of his science, and after
bending before Naraváhanadatta, his future lord, he flew up into the
heaven to his destined prosperity.

All being astonished, Gomukha told this story of Anangarati, which
was appropriate to the incident--



Story of Anangarati and her four suitors.

There is on the earth a city, rightly named Súrapura, [715] and
in it there lived a king named Mahávaráha, the destroyer of his
foes. That king had a daughter named Anangarati, born to him by his
wife Padmarati, owing to his having propitiated Gaurí, and he had no
other children. And in course of time she attained womanhood, and proud
of her beauty, she did not wish to have any husband, though kings asked
her in marriage. But she said decidedly; "I must be given to a man
who is brave and handsome, and knows some one splendid accomplishment.

Then there came from the Dekhan four heroes, who, having heard
tidings of her, were eager to obtain her, and they were furnished
with the qualities which she desired. They were announced by the
warder and introduced, and then king Mahávaráha asked them in the
presence of Anangarati; "What are your names? what is your descent,
and what do you know?" When they heard this speech of the king's,
one of them said--"I am Panchaphuttika by name, a Súdra; I possess a
peculiar talent; I weave every day five pairs of garments, one of them
I give to a Bráhman, and the second I offer to Siva, and the third I
wear myself, and as for the fourth, if I had a wife, I would give it
to her, and the fifth I sell, and live upon the proceeds." Then the
second said, "I am a Vaisya named Bháshájna; I know the language of
all beasts and birds." [716]

Then the third said, "I am a Kshatriya named Khadgadhara, and no
one surpasses me in fighting with the sword." And the fourth said,
"I am an excellent Bráhman named Jívadatta; by means of the sciences
which I possess by the favour of Gaurí, I can raise to life a dead
woman." [717] When they had thus spoken, the Súdra, the Vaisya, and
the Kshatriya one after another praised their own beauty, courage
and might, but the Bráhman praised his might and valour, and said
nothing about his beauty.

Then king Mahávaráha said to his door-keeper--"Take all these
now and make them rest in your house." The door-keeper, when he
heard the order, took them to his house. Then the king said to his
daughter Anangarati, "My daughter, which of these four heroes do you
prefer?" When Anangarati heard that, she said to her father; "Father,
I do not like any one of the four; the first is a Súdra and a weaver,
what is the use of his good qualities? The second is a Vaisya, and what
is the use of his knowing the language of cattle, and so on? How can
I give myself to them, when I am a Kshatriya woman? The third indeed
is a meritorious Kshatriya, equal to me in birth, but be is a poor
man and lives by service, selling his life. As I am the daughter of a
king, how can I become his wife? The fourth, the Bráhman Jívadatta,
I do not like; he is ugly and is addicted to unlawful arts, and, as
he has deserted the Vedas, he has fallen from his high position. You
ought to punish him, why do you offer to give me to him? For you, my
father, being a king, are the upholder of the castes and the various
stages of life. And a king, who is a hero in upholding religion,
is preferred to a king, who is only a hero with the sword. A hero in
religion will be the lord of a thousand heroes with the sword." When
his daughter had said this, the king dismissed her to her own private
apartments, and rose up to bathe and perform his other duties.

And the next day, the four heroes went out from the house of the
door-keeper, and roamed about in the town out of curiosity. And at that
very time a vicious elephant, named Padmakabala, broke his fastening,
and in his fury rushed out from the elephant-stable, trampling down the
citizens. And that great elephant, when he saw the four heroes, rushed
towards them to slay them, and they too advanced towards him with
uplifted weapons. Then the one Kshatriya among them, named Khadgadhara,
putting aside the other three, alone attacked that elephant. And he
cut off with one blow the protended trunk of that roaring elephant,
with as much ease as if it had been a lotus-stalk. And after showing
his agility by escaping between his feet, he delivered a second blow
on the back of that elephant. And with the third he cut off both his
feet. Then that elephant gave a groan and fell down and died. All the
people were astonished when they beheld that valour of his, and king
Mahávaráha was also amazed when he heard of it.

The next day, the king went out to hunt, mounted on an elephant,
and the four heroes, with Khadgadhara at their head, accompanied
him. There the king with his army slew tigers, deer, and boars,
and the lions rushed out upon him in anger, hearing the trumpeting
of the elephants. Then that Khadgadhara cleft in twain, with one
blow of his sharp sword, the first lion that attacked them, and
the second he seized with his left hand by the foot, and dashing it
on the earth, deprived it of life. And in the same way Bháshájna,
and Jívadatta, and Panchaphuttika, each dashed a lion to pieces on
the earth. Thus in turn those heroes killed on foot many tigers, and
lions, and other animals, with ease, before the eyes of the king. Then
that king, being pleased and astonished, after he had finished his
hunting, entered his city, and those heroes went to the house of the
door-keeper. And the king entered the harem, and though tired, had
his daughter Anangarati quickly summoned. And after describing the
valour of those heroes, one by one, as he had seen it in the chase,
he said to her who was much astonished--"Even if Panchaphuttika and
Bháshájna are of inferior caste, and Jívadatta, though a Bráhman,
is ugly and addicted to forbidden practices, what fault is there in
the Kshatriya Khadgadhara, who is handsome, and of noble stature, and
is distinguished for strength and valour; who slew such an elephant,
and who takes lions by the foot and crushes them on the ground, and
slays others with the sword? And if it is made a ground of reproach
against him that he is poor and a servant, I will immediately make
him a lord to be served by others: so choose him for a husband,
if you please, my daughter." When Anangarati heard this from her
father, she said to him--"Well then, bring all those men here, and
ask the astrologer, and let us see what he says." When she said this
to him, the king summoned those heroes, and in their presence he,
accompanied by his wives, said to the astrologer with his own mouth:
"Find out with which of these Anangarati has conformity of horoscope,
and when a favourable moment will arrive for her marriage." When the
skilful astrologer heard that, he asked the stars under which they were
born, and after long considering the time, he said to that king--"If
you will not be angry with me, king, I will tell you plainly. Your
daughter has no conformity of lot with any one of them. And she will
not be married on earth, for she is a Vidyádharí fallen by a curse;
that curse of hers will be at an end in three months. So let these
wait here three months, and if she is not gone to her own world then,
the marriage shall take place." All those heroes accepted the advice
of that astrologer, and remained there for three months.

When three months had passed, the king summoned into his presence
those heroes, and that astrologer, and Anangarati. And the king, when
he saw that his daughter had suddenly become exceedingly beautiful,
rejoiced, but the astrologer thought that the hour of her death
had arrived. And while the king was saying to the astrologer--"Now
tell me what it is proper to do, for those three months are gone,"
Anangarati called to mind her former birth, and covering her face with
her garment, she abandoned that human body. The king thought--"Why
has she put herself in this position?" But when he himself uncovered
her face, he saw that she was dead, like a frost-smitten lotus-plant,
for her eyes like bees had ceased to revolve, the lotus-flower of her
face was pale, and the sweet sound of her voice had ceased, even as
the sound of the swans departs. Then the king suddenly fell to earth
motionless, smitten by the thunderbolt of grief for her, crushed by the
extinction of his race. [718] And the queen Padmarati also fell down
to the earth in a swoon, and with her ornaments fallen from her like
flowers, appeared like a cluster of blossoms broken by an elephant.

The attendants raised cries of lamentation, and those heroes were
full of grief, but the king, immediately recovering consciousness,
said to that Jívadatta, "In this matter those others have no power,
but now it is your opportunity; you boasted that you could raise to
life a dead woman; if you possess power by means of science, then
recall my daughter to life; I will give her, when restored to life,
to you as being a Bráhman." When Jívadatta heard this speech of the
king's, he sprinkled that princess with water, over which charms had
been said, and chanted this Áryá verse: "O thou of the loud laugh,
adorned with a garland of skulls, not to be gazed on, Chámundá, the
terrible goddess, assist me quickly." When, in spite of this effort of
Jívadatta's, that maiden was not restored to life, he was despondent,
and said--"My science, though bestowed by the goddess that dwells in
the Vindhya range, has proved fruitless, so what is the use to me of
my life that has become an object of scorn?" When he had said this, he
was preparing to cut off his head with a great sword, when a voice came
from the sky--"O Jívadatta, do not act rashly, listen now. This noble
Vidyádhara maiden, named Anangaprabhá, has been for so long a time
a mortal owing to the curse of her parents. She has now quitted this
human body, and has gone to her own world, and taken her own body. So
go and propitiate again the goddess that dwells in the Vindhya hills,
and by her favour you shall recover this noble Vidyádhara maiden. But
as she is enjoying heavenly bliss, neither you nor the king ought to
mourn for her." When the heavenly voice had told this true tale, it
ceased. Then the king performed his daughter's rites, and he and his
wife ceased to mourn for her, and those other three heroes returned
as they had come.

But hope was kindled in the breast of Jívadatta, and he went and
propitiated with austerities the dweller in the Vindhya hills, and
she said to him in a dream:

"I am satisfied with thee, so rise up and listen to this that I am
about to tell thee."



Story of Anangarati in a former birth when she was a Vidyádharí
named Anangaprabhá.

There is a city on the Himálayas named Vírapura; and in it there
dwells a sovereign of Vidyádharas named Samara. He had a daughter,
named Anangaprabhá, born to him by his queen Anangavatí. When, in
the pride of her youth and beauty, she refused to have any husband,
her parents, enraged at her persistence, cursed her--

"Become a human being, and even in that state you shall not enjoy the
happiness of married life. When you are a maiden of sixteen years,
you shall abandon the body and come here. But an ugly mortal, who
has become such by a curse, on account of his falling in love with
the daughter of a hermit, and who possesses a magic sword, shall then
become your husband, and he shall carry you off against your will to
the world of mortals. There you, being unchaste, shall be separated
from your husband. Because that husband in a former life carried
off the wives of eight other men, he shall endure sorrow enough for
eight births. And you, having become a mortal by the loss of your
supernatural science, shall endure in that one birth the sufferings
of eight births. [719] For to every one the association with the evil
gives an evil lot, but to women the union with an evil husband is
equivalent to evil. And having lost your memory of the past, you shall
there take many mortal husbands, because you obstinately persisted in
detesting the husband fitted for you. That Vidyádhara Madanaprabha,
who, being equal in birth, demanded you in marriage, shall become
a mortal king and at last become your husband. Then you shall be
freed from your curse, and return to your own world, and you shall
obtain that suitable match, who shall have returned to his Vidyádhara
state." So that maiden Anangaprabhá has become Anangarati on the earth,
and returning to her parents, has once more become Anangaprabhá.

"So go to Vírapura and conquer in fight her father, though he is
possessed of knowledge and protected by his high birth, and obtain that
maiden. Now take this sword, and as long as you hold it in your hand,
you will be able to travel through the air, and moreover you will be
invincible." Having said this, and having given the sword to him, the
goddess vanished, and he woke up, and beheld in his hand a heavenly
sword. Then Jívadatta rose up delighted and praised Durgá, and all
the exhaustion produced by his penance was removed by the refreshment
caused by the nectar of her favour. And he flew up into the air with
his sword in his hand, and after roaming all round the Himálayas, he
found that prince of the Vidyádharas Samara in Vírapura. He conquered
him in fight, and then the king gave him his daughter Anangaprabhá,
and he married her, and lived in heavenly felicity. And after he had
remained there some time, he said to his father-in-law Samara and to
his beloved Anangaprabhá, "Let us two go to the world of men, for
I feel a longing for it, for one's native land is exceedingly dear
to living beings, even though it may be an inferior place." [720]
When the father-in-law heard that, he consented, but the far-seeing
Anangaprabhá was with difficulty induced to consent; then Jívadatta
descended from heaven to the world of mortals, taking that Anangaprabhá
in his arms. And Anangaprabhá, beholding there a pleasant mountain,
being wearied, said to him--"Let us immediately rest here." Then he
consented, and descending there with her, he produced food and drink
by the power of the various sciences. Then Jívadatta, being impelled
by fate, said to Anangaprabhá--"Dear one, sing some sweet song." When
she heard that, she began to sing devoutly the praise of Siva, and
with that sound of her singing the Bráhman was sent to sleep.

In the meanwhile a king, named Harivara, wearied out with hunting, came
that way in search of spring-water; he was attracted by hearing the
sound of that singing, as deer are attracted, and, leaving his chariot,
he went there alone. The king first had happiness announced by omens,
and then he beheld that Anangaprabhá like the real brightness of the
god of love. Then, as his heart was distracted with her song and her
beauty, the god of love cleft it at will with his arrows. Anangaprabhá
too, seeing that he was handsome, came within the range of the god
of the flowery bow, and said to herself--"Who is this? is he the
god of love, without his flowery bow? Is he the incarnation of the
favour of Siva towards me, he being pleased with my song?" Then
maddened with love, she asked him--"Who are you, and how have you
come to this forest, tell me." Then the king told her who he was,
and why he had come; then he said to her, "Tell me, who are you,
fair one? And who is this, O lotus-faced one, who is sleeping
here?" When he asked these questions, she answered him briefly:
"I am a Vidyádharí, and this is my husband, who possesses a magic
sword, and now I have fallen in love with you at first sight. So
come, let us quickly go to your city, before he awakes; then I will
tell my story at length." When the king heard that, he agreed, and
felt as much delighted as if he had obtained the sovereignty of the
three worlds. And Anangaprabhá hurriedly thought in her heart, "I will
take this king in my arms, and quickly fly up to the heaven," but in
the meanwhile her knowledge was stripped from her by her treachery
to her husband; and remembering her father's curse, she became at
once despondent. When the king saw that, he asked the cause, and then
said to her--"This is not the time for despondency; your husband here
may awake. And you ought not to lament, my beloved, over this matter
which depends on destiny. For who can escape from the shadow of his
own head, or the course of destiny? So come, let us depart." When
the king Harivara said this, she consented to his proposal, and he
took her quickly up in his arms. Then he went off quickly thence, as
delighted as if he had obtained a treasure, and ascended his chariot,
welcomed with joy by his servants. And he reached his city in that
chariot, which travelled swift as thought, accompanied by his beloved,
and he aroused curiosity in his subjects. Then king Harivara remained
in heavenly enjoyments in that city, which was named after him, in
the society of that Anangaprabhá. And Anangaprabhá remained there
devotedly attached to him, forgetting all her supernatural power,
bewildered by the curse.

In the meanwhile Jívadatta woke up on the mountain, and saw that not
only Anangaprabhá was gone, but his sword also. He thought "Where is
that Anangaprabhá? Alas! Where is that sword? Has she gone off with
it? Or were they both carried off by some being?" In his perplexity,
he made many surmises of this sort, and he searched that mountain
for three days, being consumed with the fire of love. Then he came
down, and wandered through the forests for ten days, but did not
find a trace of her anywhere. He kept crying out--"Alas spiteful
fortune, how did you carry off, together with the magic power of
the sword, my beloved Anangaprabhá, both which you granted with
difficulty?" Thus employed he wandered about without food, and at
last reached a village, and there he entered the opulent mansion of
a Bráhman. There the handsome and well-dressed mistress of the house,
Priyadattá by name, made him sit down on a seat, and immediately gave
this order to her maids--"Wash quickly the feet of this Jívadatta, for
to-day is the thirteenth day that he has gone without food on account
of his separation." When Jívadatta heard that, he was astonished,
and reflected in his own mind--"Can Anangaprabhá have come here, or is
this woman a witch?" Thus he reflected, and after his feet were washed,
and he had eaten the food that she gave, he humbly asked Priyadattá
in his great grief--"Tell me one thing: how do you know my history,
blameless one? And tell me another thing, where are my sword and
my beloved gone?" When the devoted wife Priyadattá heard that, she
said--"No one but my husband has any place in my heart even in a dream,
my son, and I look on all other men as brothers, and no guest leaves
my house without entertainment; by virtue of that I know the past,
the present and the future. And that Anangaprabhá of yours has been
carried off by a king named Harivara, living in a town named after him,
who, as destiny would have it, came that way, while you were asleep,
attracted by her song. And you cannot recover her, for that king is
very powerful; moreover that unchaste woman will in turn leave him
and go to another man. And the goddess Durgá gave you that sword only
that you might obtain that lady; having accomplished that, the weapon,
in virtue of its divine nature, has returned to the goddess, as the
lady has been carried off. Moreover, how have you forgotten what the
goddess was pleased to tell you, when she told the story of the curse
of Anangaprabhá? So why are you so distracted about an event, which was
destined to take place? Abandon this chain of sins, which again and
again produces extreme sorrow. And of what profit can be to you now,
my brother, that wicked female, who is attached to another, and who
has become a mortal, having lost her science by her treachery against
you?" When that virtuous woman said this to Jívadatta, he abandoned
all passion for Anangaprabhá, being disgusted with her fickleness, and
thus answered the Bráhman lady--"Mother, my delusion has been brought
to an end by this true speech of thine; whom does not association with
persons of virtuous conduct benefit? This misfortune has befallen
me in consequence of my former crimes, so I will abandon jealousy,
and go to holy places to wash them out. What can I gain by taking up
an enmity with others on account of Anangaprabhá? For one, who has
conquered anger, conquers this whole world." While he was saying this,
the righteous husband of Priyadattá, who was hospitable to guests,
returned to the house. The husband also welcomed him, and made him
forget his grief, and then he rested, and taking leave of them both,
started on his pilgrimage to holy places.

Then, in course of time, he roamed round to all the holy bathing-places
on the earth, enduring many toils in difficult ways, living on roots
and fruits. And after visiting holy bathing-places, he went to the
shrine of the dweller in the Vindhya hills; there he went through
a severe penance, without food, on a bed of kusa grass. And Ambiká,
satisfied with his asceticism, said to him, appearing to him in bodily
form--"Rise up, my son, for you four are four ganas of mine. Three
are Panchamúla, Chaturvaktra, and Mahodaramukha, and thou art the
fourth, last in order, and thy name is Vikatavadana. You four once
went to the sand of the Ganges to amuse yourselves, and saw there a
hermit's daughter bathing. She was called Chápalekhá, the daughter
of Kapilajata. And she was solicited by all of you, distracted
with love. When she said 'I am a maiden, go away all of you,' the
three others remained quiet, but thou didst forcibly seize her by
the arm. And she cried out--'Father, Father, deliver me.' Then the
hermit, who was near, came up in wrath. Then thou didst let go her
arm; then he immediately cursed you, saying--'Wicked ones, be born,
all of you, as human beings.' Then you asked the hermit that the
curse might end, and he said--'When the princess Anangarati shall be
demanded in marriage by you, and shall go to the Vidyádhara world,
then three of you shall be released from your curse. But when she
has become a Vidyádharí, then thou, Vikatavadana, shalt gain her,
and lose her again, and then thou shalt suffer great sorrow. But
after propitiating the goddess Durgá for a long time, thou shalt be
released from this curse. This will happen to thee, because thou didst
touch the hand of this Chápalekhá, and also because thou hast much
guilt attaching to thee, on account of having carried off the wives
of others.' You four ganas of mine, whom that hermit thus cursed,
became four heroes in the Dekhan, Panchaphuttika, and Bháshájna, and
Khadgadhara, these three friends, and you the fourth Jívadatta. Now the
first three, when Anangarati returned to her own place, came here, and
by my favour were freed from their curse. And thou hast propitiated me
now, therefore thy curse is at an end. So take this fiery meditation,
and abandon this body; and consume at once the guilt, which it would
take eight births to exhaust." When the goddess Durgá had said this,
she gave him the meditation, and disappeared. And with that meditation
he burned up his wicked mortal body, and at last was freed from the
curse, and became once more an excellent gana. When even gods have
to endure so much suffering by associating with the wives of others,
what must be the result of it to inferior beings?

In the meanwhile Anangaprabhá became head-queen in Harivara, the city
of the king Harivara. And the king remained day and night with his
mind fixed on her, and entrusted the great burden of his kingdom
to his minister named Sumantra. And once on a time there came to
that king from Madhyadesa, [721] a fresh teacher of dancing, named
Labdhavara. The king, having seen his skill in music and dancing,
honoured him, and made him the instructor in dancing of the ladies
of the harem. He brought Anangaprabhá to such excellence in dancing,
that she was an object of admiration even to her rival wives. And from
associating with the professor of dancing, and from the delight she
took in his teaching, she fell in love with him. And the professor
of dancing, attracted by her youth and beauty, gradually learnt a
new strange [722] dance, thanks to the god of Love. And once she
approached the professor of dancing secretly in the dancing-hall,
and being desperately in love with him, said to him--"I shall not be
able to live for a moment without you, and the king Harivara, when he
hears of it, will not tolerate it, so come, let us depart elsewhere,
where the king will not find us out. You have wealth in the form of
gold, horses, and camels, given by the king, pleased with your dancing,
and I have ornaments. So let us quickly go and dwell where we shall be
secure." The professor of dancing was pleased with her proposal, and
consented to this. Then she put on the dress of a man, and went to the
house of the professor of dancing, accompanied by one female servant,
who was exceedingly devoted to her. Thence she started on horseback,
with that teacher of dancing, who placed his wealth on the back of a
camel. First she abandoned the splendour of the Vidyádharas, then of a
throne, and now she put herself under the shelter of a bard's fortune;
alas! fickle is the mind of women! And so Anangaprabhá went with the
teacher of dancing, and reached a distant city named Viyogapura. There
she dwelt in happiness with him, and the distinguished dancer thought
that by obtaining her his name of Labdhavara [723] had been justified.

And in the meanwhile king Harivara, finding out that his beloved
Anangaprabhá had gone somewhere or other, was ready to abandon the
body out of grief. Then the minister Sumantra said to the king to
comfort him, "Why do you appear as if you do not understand the
matter? Consider it yourself? How, my sovereign, could you expect
that a woman, who deserted a husband, that had by means of his sword
obtained the power of a Vidyádhara, and repaired to you as soon as
she saw you, would be faithful even to you? She has gone off with
something that she has managed to get, having no desire for anything
good, as one to whom a blade of grass is a sprout of jewels, falling in
love at sight with a blade of grass. Certainly the teacher of dancing
has gone off with her, for he is nowhere to be seen. And I hear that
they both were in the concert-hall in the morning. So tell me, king;
why are you so persistent about her, though you know all this? The
truth is, a fickle dame is like a sunset, momentarily aglow for every
one." When the minister said this to him, the king fell into a musing,
and thought--"Yes, that wise man has told me the truth. For a fickle
dame is like human life; connexion with her is unstable, she changes
every moment, and is terrible, bringing disgust at the end. The
wise man never falls into the power of deep rivers or of women,
both which drown him who falls into their power, while they exhibit
wanton sportfulness. Those men are truly masters of themselves,
who are free from excitement about pleasures, who are not puffed
up in prosperity, and who are unshrinking in dangers; such men have
conquered the world." After saying this, king Harivara abandoned his
grief by the advice of his minister, and remained satisfied with the
society of his own wives.

And after Anangaprabhá had dwelt some time with the teacher of dancing,
in the city named Viyogapura, he, as fate would have it, struck up an
acquaintance with a young gambler named Sudarsana; then the gambler,
before the eyes of Anangaprabhá, soon stripped the teacher of dancing
of all his wealth. Then Anangaprabhá deserted her husband, who was
stripped of all his fortune, as if in anger on that account, and threw
herself into the arms of Sudarsana. Then the teacher of dancing,
having lost his wife and his wealth, having no refuge, in disgust
with the world, matted his hair in a knot, and went to the banks of
the Ganges to practise mortification of the flesh. But Anangaprabhá,
who was ever taking new paramours, remained with that gambler. But
one night, her lord Sudarsana was robbed of all that he had by some
robbers, who entered his house in the darkness. Then Sudarsana, seeing
that Anangaprabhá was uncomfortable and unhappy on account of their
poverty, said to her: "Come and let us borrow something from a rich
friend of mine, named Hiranyagupta, a distinguished merchant." After
saying this, he, being deprived of his senses by destiny, went with
his wife, and asked that great merchant Hiranyagupta to lend him some
money. And the merchant, when he saw her, immediately fell in love
with her, and she also with him, the moment that she beheld him. And
the merchant said politely to Sudarsana--"To-morrow I will give you
gold, but dine here to-day." When Sudarsana heard this, beholding the
altered bearing of those two, he said--"I did not come here to-day to
dine." Then the great merchant said--"If this be the case, at any rate
let your wife dine here, my friend, for this is the first time that
she has visited my house." When Sudarsana was thus addressed by him,
he remained silent in spite of his cunning, and that merchant went
into his house with Anangaprabhá. There he indulged in drinking and
other pastimes with that fair one, unexpectedly thrown in his way,
who was merry with all the wantonness of wine. But Sudarsana, who
was standing outside, waiting for her to come out, had the following
message brought to him by the merchant's servants, in accordance
with their master's orders: "Your wife has dined and gone home; you
must have failed to see her going out. So what are you doing here so
long? Go home." He answered--"She is within the house, she has not
come out, and I will not depart." Thereupon the merchant's servants
drove him away from the house with kicks. Then Sudarsana went off,
and sorrowfully reflected with himself: "What! has this merchant,
though my friend, robbed me of my wife? Or rather, in this very birth
the fruit of my sin has in such a form fallen to my lot. For what I
did to one, another has done to me. Why should I then be angry with
another, when my own deeds merit anger? So I will sever the chain of
works, so that I may not be again humiliated." Thus reflecting, the
gambler abandoned his anger, and going to the hermitage of Badariká,
[724] he proceeded to perform such austerities as would cut the bonds
of mundane existence.

And Anangaprabhá, having obtained that exceedingly handsome merchant
for a dear husband, was as pleased as a bee that has lighted on a
flower. And in course of time she attained undisputed control over
the wealth, as well as over the heart of that opulent merchant,
who was deeply in love with her. But the king Vírabáhu, though he
heard of the matchless beauty residing there, did not carry her off,
but remained strictly within the limits of virtue. And in course of
time, the wealth of the merchant began to diminish, on account of
the expenditure of Anangaprabhá; for, in a house presided over by
an unchaste woman, Fortune pines as well as virtuous women. Then the
merchant Hiranyagupta got together wares, and went off to an island
named Suvarnabhúmi to trade, and he took that Anangaprabhá with him,
out of fear of being separated from her, and journeying on his way,
he at last reached the city of Ságarapura. There he fell in with
a chief of fishermen, a native of that place, Ságaravíra by name,
whom he found in that city near the sea. He went with that sea-faring
man to the shore of the sea, and with his beloved embarked on a ship
which he provided. And after the merchant had travelled in anxiety
for some days over the sea, in that ship, accompanied by Ságaravíra,
one day a terrible black cloud of doom appeared, with flashing eyes
of lightning, filling them with fear of destruction. Then that ship,
smitten by a mighty wind, with a violent shower of rain, began to
sink in the waves. That merchant Hiranyagupta, when the crew raised
a cry of lamentation, and the ship began to break up like his own
hopes, fastened his cloak round his loins, and looking at the face of
Anangaprabhá, exclaimed "Ah! my beloved, where art thou," and threw
himself into the sea. And he oared himself along with his arms, and,
as luck would have it, he reached a merchant-ship, and he caught hold
of it, and climbed up into it.

But that Ságaravíra tied together some planks with a cord, and quickly
placed Anangaprabhá upon them. And he himself climbed up upon them,
and comforted that terrified woman, and went paddling along in the sea,
throwing aside the water with his arms. And as soon as the ship had
been broken to pieces, the clouds disappeared from the heaven, and the
sea was calm, like a good man whose wrath is appeased. But the merchant
Hiranyagupta, after climbing up into the ship, which was impelled by
the wind, as fate would have it, reached in five days the shore of
the sea. Then he went on shore, grieved at the loss of his beloved,
but he reflected that the dispensations of Destiny were irremediable;
and he went slowly home to his own city, and being of resolute soul,
he recovered his self-command, and again acquired wealth, and lived
in great comfort.

But Anangaprabhá, seated on the plank, was piloted to the shore
of the sea in one day by Ságaravíra. And there that chief of the
fishermen, consoling her, took her to his own palace in the city of
Ságarapura. There Anangaprabhá, reflecting that that chief of the
fishermen was a hero who had saved her life, and was equal to a king
in opulence, and in the prime of youth and good looks, and obedient
to her orders, made him her husband: a woman who has lost her virtue
does not distinguish between high and low. Then she dwelt with that
chief of fishermen, enjoying in his house his wealth that he put at
her disposal.

One day she saw from the roof of the palace a handsome Kshatriya youth,
named Vijayavarman, going along the high street of the town. Falling
in love with his good looks, she went up to him, and said--"Receive
me, who am in love with you, for my mind has been fascinated by
the sight of you." And he gladly welcomed that fairest woman of the
three worlds, who had fallen to him, as it were, from the sky, and
took her home to his house. But Ságaravíra, finding that his beloved
had gone somewhere or other, abandoned all, and went to the river
Ganges, intending to leave the body by means of ascetic practices;
and no wonder that his grief was great, for how could a man of servile
caste ever have expected to obtain such a Vidyádharí? But Anangaprabhá
lived at ease in that very town with Vijayavarman, free from restraint.

Then, one day the king of that place, named Ságaravarman, mounted a
female elephant and went out to roam round his city. And while the king
was looking at that well-built city named after him, he came along
the street where the house of Vijayavarman was. And Anangaprabhá,
finding out that the king was coming that way, went up to the top of
the house, out of curiosity to behold him. And, the moment she saw the
king, she fell so desperately in love with him, that she insolently
exclaimed to the elephant-driver--"Mahout, I never in my life have
ridden on an elephant, so give me a ride on yours, and let me see how
pleasant it is." When the elephant-driver heard this, he looked at
the face of the king, and in the meanwhile the king beheld her, like
the splendour of the moon fallen from heaven. And the king, drinking
her in with insatiate eye like a partridge, having conceived the hope
of gaining her, said to his elephant-driver--"Take the elephant near
and comply with her wish, and without delay seat this moon-faced dame
on the elephant." When the king said this, the elephant-driver at
once brought that elephant close under the house. When Anangaprabhá
saw that the elephant had come near, she immediately flung herself
into the lap of the king Ságaravarman. How came it that, though at
first she was averse to a husband, she now showed such an insatiable
appetite for husbands? Surely her father's curse made her exhibit a
great change of character. And she clasped the king round the neck,
as if afraid of falling, and he, when his limbs were irrigated with
the nectar of her touch, was much delighted. And the king quickly
carried off to his own palace her, who had surrendered herself by
an artifice, being desirous of being kissed. There he made that
Vidyádharí enter his harem, and after she had told him her story, he
made her his principal wife. And then that young Kshatriya, finding
out that she had been carried off by the king, came and attacked the
king's servants outside the palace, and there he left his corpse,
not turning his back in fight, for brave men do not submit to insult
on account of a woman. And it seemed as if he was carried off to the
abode of the gods by the nymphs of heaven, saying--"What have you to
do with this contemptible woman? Come to Nandana and court us."

As for that Anangaprabhá, when she had come into the possession of
the king Ságaravarman, she roamed no more, but remained faithful to
him, as rivers are at rest in the bosom of the sea. And owing to the
force of destiny, she thought herself fortunate in having obtained
that husband, and he thought that his life was complete by his having
obtained her for a wife.

And in some days Anangaprabhá, the queen of that king Ságaravarman,
became pregnant, and in due time gave birth to a son. And the king
made a great feast on account of the birth of a noble son, and
gave the boy the name of Samudravarman. And when that son attained
his full stature, and became a young man distinguished for might,
the king appointed him crown-prince. Then he brought to his court
Kamalavatí the daughter of a certain king named Samaravarman, to be
married to him. And when that son Samudravarman was married, the king,
being impressed by his virtues, gave him his own kingdom. That brave
son Samudravarman, being thoroughly acquainted with the duties of
Kshatriyas, when he had obtained the kingdom, said to his father,
bowing before him: "Father, give me leave to depart; I am setting
out to conquer the regions. A lord of earth, that is not intent on
conquest, is to be blamed as much as the effeminate husband of a
woman. And in this world, only that fortune of kings is righteous and
glorious, which is acquired by one's own strength after conquering the
kingdoms. What is the use, father, of the sovereignty of those kings,
who hold it merely for the sake of oppressing the poor? They devour
their own subjects, ravenous like cats." [725] When he had said this,
his father Ságaravarman replied, "Your rule, my boy, is young; so
for the present secure that; no demerit or disgrace attaches to one
who rules his subjects justly. And war is not meet for kings without
considering their power; though, you my child, are a hero, and your
army is numerous, still you ought not to rely upon the fortune of
victory, which is fickle in fight." Though his father used these
and similar arguments with him, the brave Samudravarman at last,
with great difficulty, induced him to consent, and marched out to
conquer the regions. And having conquered the regions in due course,
and reduced the kings under his sway, he returned to his own city
in possession of elephants, horses, gold, and other tributes. And
there he humbly honoured the feet of his delighted parents with great
jewels produced in various regions. And the glorious prince gave, by
their orders, to the Bráhmans great gifts of elephants, horses, gold
and jewels. Then he showered gold in such profusion upon suppliants
and servants, that the only thing in the country devoid of wealth
was the word poor, which had become without meaning. [726] The king
Ságaravarman, dwelling with Anangaprabhá, when he beheld the glory
of his son, considered that his objects in life had been accomplished.

And the king, after spending those days in feasting, said to his son
Samudravarman in the presence of the ministers--"I have accomplished,
my son, what I had to accomplish in this birth; I have enjoyed the
pleasures of rule, I have not experienced defeat from my enemies, and
I have seen you in possession of sovereignty, what else does there
remain for me to obtain? So I will retire to a holy bathing-place,
while my body retains strength. For see, old age whispers at the root
of my ear--'Since this body is perishable, why do you still remain
in your house?'" Having said this, the king Ságaravarman, all whose
ends were attained, went, though his son was opposed to it, to Prayága
with his beloved. And Samudravarman escorted his father there, and,
after returning to his own city, ruled it in accordance with the law.

And the king Ságaravarman, accompanied by his wife Anangaprabhá,
propitiated the god Siva in Prayága with asceticism. And at the end
of the night, the god said to him in a dream--"I am pleased with this
penance of yourself and your wife, so hear this--This Anangaprabhá and
you, my son, are both of the Vidyádhara race, and to-morrow the curse
will expire, and you will go to your own world." When the king heard
that, he woke up, and Anangaprabhá too, who had seen a similar dream,
and they told their dreams to one another. And then Anangaprabhá,
delighted, said to the king--"My husband, I have now remembered all
the history of my former birth; I am the daughter of Samara, a prince
of the Vidyádharas, in the city of Vírapura, and my name has always
been Anangaprabhá. And I came here owing to the curse of my father,
having become a human being by the loss of my science, and I forgot my
Vidyádharí nature. But now I have recovered consciousness of it." While
she was saying this, her father Samara descended from heaven; and
after he had been respectfully welcomed by the king Ságaravarman,
he said to that daughter Anangaprabhá, who fell at his feet, "Come,
daughter, receive these sciences, your curse is at an end. For you
have endured in one birth the sorrows of eight births." [727] Saying
this, he took her on his lap, and gave her back the sciences; then he
said to the king Ságaravarman--"You are a prince of the Vidyádharas,
named Madanaprabha, and I am by name Samara, and Anangaprabhá is my
daughter. And long ago, when she ought to have been given in marriage,
her hand was demanded by several suitors, but being intoxicated by
her beauty, she did not desire any husband. Then she was asked in
marriage by you, who were equal in merit, and very eager to marry her,
but as fate would have it, she would not then accept even you. For that
reason I cursed her, that she might go to the world of mortals. And
you, being passionately in love with her, fixed your heart on Siva
the giver of boons, and wished intently that she might be your wife
in the world of mortals, and then you abandoned your Vidyádhara body
by magic art. Then you became a man and she became your wife. Now
return to your own world linked together." When Samara said this to
Ságaravarman, he, remembering his birth, abandoned his body in the
water of Prayága, [728] and immediately became Madanaprabha. And
Anangaprabhá was rekindled with the brightness  of her recovered
science, and immediately becoming a Vidyádharí, gleamed with that very
body, which underwent a heavenly change. And then Madanaprabha, being
delighted, and Anangaprabhá also, feeling great passion stir in both
their hearts at the sight of one another's heavenly bodies, and the
auspicious Samara, king of the sky-goers, all flew up into the air,
and went together to that city of the Vidyádharas, Vírapura. And there
Samara immediately gave, with due rites, his daughter Anangaprabhá to
the Vidyádhara king, Madanaprabha. And Madanaprabha went with that
beloved, whose curse had been cancelled, to his own city, and there
he dwelt at ease.

"Thus divine beings fall by virtue of a curse, and owing to the
consequences of their own wickedness, are incarnate in the world of
men, and after reaping the fruit appropriate to their bad conduct, they
again go to their own home on account of previously acquired merit."

When Naraváhandadatta heard this tale from his minister Gomukha, he
and Alankáravatí were delighted, and then he performed the duties of
the day.






CHAPTER LIII.


Then, on the next day, Naraváhanadatta's friend Marubhúti said to him,
when he was in the company of Alankáravatí--"See, king, this miserable
dependent [729] of yours remains clothed with one garment of leather,
with matted hair, thin and dirty, and never leaves the royal gate,
day or night, in cold or heat; so why do you not shew him favour at
last? For it is better that a little should be given in time, than
much when it is too late; so have mercy on him before he dies." When
Gomukha heard this, he said--"Marubhúti speaks well, but you, king,
are not the least in fault in this matter; for until a suitor's guilt,
which stands in his way, is removed, a king, even though disposed to
give, cannot give; but when a man's guilt is effaced, a king gives,
though strenuously dissuaded from doing so; this depends upon works
in a previous state of existence. And à propos of this, I will tell
you, O king, the story of Lakshadatta the king, and Labdhadatta the
dependent; listen."



Story of king Lakshadatta and his dependent Labdhadatta. [730]

There was on the earth a city named Lakshapura. In it there lived a
king named Lakshadatta, chief of generous men. He never knew how to
give a petitioner less than a lac of coins, but he gave five lacs
to any one with whom he conversed. As for the man with whom he was
pleased, he lifted him out of poverty, for this reason his name was
called Lakshadatta. A certain dependent named Labdhadatta stood day and
night at his gate, with a piece of leather for his only loin-rag. He
had matted hair, and he never left the king's gate for a second, day
or night, in cold, rain, or heat, and the king saw him there. And,
though he remained there long in misery, the king did not give him
anything, though he was generous and compassionate.

Then, one day the king went to a forest to hunt, and his dependent
followed him with a staff in his hand. There, while the king seated
on an elephant, armed with a bow, and followed by his army, slew
tigers, bears, and deer, with showers of arrows, his dependent, going
in front of him, alone on foot, slew with his staff many boars and
deer. When the king saw his bravery, he thought in his heart--"It
is wonderful that this man should be such a hero," but he did not
give him anything. And the king, when he had finished his hunting,
returned home to his city, to enjoy himself, but that dependent stood
at his palace-gate as before. Once on a time, Lakshadatta went out to
conquer a neighbouring king of the same family, and he had a terrible
battle. And in the battle the dependent struck down in front of him
many enemies, with blows from the end of his strong staff of acacia
wood. And the king, after conquering his enemies, returned to his own
city, and though he had seen the valour of his dependent, he gave him
nothing. In this condition the dependent Labdhadatta remained, and many
years passed over his head, while he supported himself with difficulty.

And when the sixth year had come, king Lakshadatta happened to see
him one day, and feeling pity for him, reflected--"Though he has been
long afflicted, I have not as yet given him anything, so why should
I not give him something in a disguised form, and so find out whether
the guilt of this poor man has been effaced, or not, and whether even
now Fortune will grant him a sight of her, or not." Thus reflecting,
the king deliberately entered his treasury, and filled a citron with
jewels, as if it were a casket. And he held an assembly of all his
subjects, having appointed a meeting outside his palace, and there
entered the assembly all his citizens, chiefs, and ministers. And
when the dependent entered among them, the king said to him with an
affectionate voice, "Come here;" then the dependent, on hearing this,
was delighted, and coming near, he sat in front of the king. Then
the king said to him--"Utter some composition of your own." Then the
dependent recited the following Áryá verse--"Fortune ever replenishes
the full man, as all the streams replenish the sea, but she never
even comes within the range of the eyes of the poor." When the king
had heard this, and had made him recite it again, he was pleased,
and gave him the citron full of valuable jewels. And the people said,
"This king puts a stop to the poverty of every one with whom he is
pleased; so this dependent is to be pitied, since this very king,
though pleased with him, after summoning him politely, has given him
nothing but this citron; a wishing-tree, in the case of ill-starred
men, often becomes a palása-tree." [731] These were the words which
all in the assembly said to one another in their despondency, when
they saw that, for they did not know the truth.

But the dependent went out, with the citron in his hand, and when he
was in a state of despondency, a mendicant came before him. And that
mendicant, named Rájavandin, seeing that the citron was a fine one,
obtained it from that dependent by giving him a garment. And then
the mendicant entered the assembly, and gave that fruit to the king,
and the king, recognizing it, said to that hermit, [732] "Where,
reverend sir, did you procure this citron." Then he told the king
that the dependent had given it to him. Then the king was grieved and
astonished, reflecting that his guilt was not expiated even now. The
king Lakshadatta took the citron, rose up from the assembly, and
performed the duties of the day. And the dependent sold the garment,
and after he had eaten and drunk, remained at his usual post at the
king's gate.

And on the second day the king held a general assembly, and everybody
appeared at it again, citizens and all. And the king, seeing that the
dependent had entered the assembly, called him as before, and made him
sit near him. And after making him again recite that very same Áryá
verse, being pleased, he gave him that very same citron with jewels
concealed in it. And all there thought with astonishment--"Ah! this
is the second time that our master is pleased with him without his
gaining by it. And the dependent, in despondency, took the citron in
his hand, and thinking that the king's good will had again been barren
of results, went out. At that very moment a certain official met him,
who was about to enter that assembly, wishing to see the king. He,
when he saw that citron, took a fancy to it, and regarding the omen,
procured it from the dependent by giving him a pair of garments. And
entering the king's court, he fell at the feet of the sovereign, and
first gave him the citron, and then another present of his own. And
when the king recognised the fruit, he asked the official where he got
it, and he replied--"From the dependent." And the king, thinking in
his heart that Fortune would not even now give the dependent a sight
of her, was exceedingly sad. [733] And he rose up from the assembly
with that citron, and the dependent went to the market with the pair
of garments he had got. And by selling one garment he procured meat
and drink, and tearing the other in half he made two of it. Then
on the third day also the king held a general assembly, and all
the subjects entered, as before, and when the dependent entered,
the king gave him the same citron again, after calling him and
making him recite the Áryá verse. Then all were astonished, and the
dependent went out, and gave that citron to the king's mistress. And
she, like a moving creeper of the tree of the king's regard, gave
him gold, which was, so to speak, the flower, the harbinger of the
fruit. The dependent sold it, and enjoyed himself that day, and the
king's mistress went into his presence. And she gave him that citron,
which was large and fine, and he, recognising it, asked her whence she
procured it. Then she said--"The dependent gave it me." Hearing that,
the king thought, "Fortune has not yet looked favourably upon him;
his merit in a former life must have been slight, since he does not
know that my favour is never barren of results. And so these splendid
jewels come back to me again and again." Thus the king reflected,
and he took that citron, and put it away safely, and rose up and
performed the duties of the day. And on the fourth day the king held
an assembly in the same way, and it was filled with all his subjects,
feudatories, ministers and all. And the dependent came there again,
and again the king made him sit in front of him, and when he bowed
before him, the king made him recite the Áryá verse: and gave him the
citron, and when the dependent had half got hold of it, he suddenly
let it go, and the citron fell on the ground and broke in half. And
as the joining of the citron, which kept it together, was broken,
there rolled out of it many valuable jewels, illuminating that place
of assembly. All the people, when they saw it, said, "Ah! we were
deluded and mistaken, as we did not know the real state of the case,
but such is the nature of the king's favour." When the king heard
that, he said--"By this artifice I endeavoured to ascertain, whether
Fortune would now look on him or not. But for three days his guilt
was not effaced; now it is effaced, and for that reason Fortune has
now granted him a sight of herself." After the king had said this,
he gave the dependent those jewels, and also villages, elephants,
horses and gold, and made him a feudal chief. And he rose up from
that assembly, in which the people applauded, and went to bathe; and
that dependent too, having obtained his ends, went to his own dwelling.

So true is it that, until a servant's guilt is effaced, he cannot
obtain the favour of his master; even by going through hundreds
of hardships.

When Gomukha the prime-minister had told this tale, he again said to
his master Naraváhanadatta; "So, king, I know that even now the guilt
of that dependent of yours is not expiated, since even now you are
not pleased with him." When the son of the king of Vatsa heard this
speech of Gomukha's, he said, "Ha! good!" and he immediately gave
to his own dependent, who was named Kárpatika, a number of villages,
elephants and horses, a crore of gold pieces, and excellent garments,
and ornaments. Then that dependent, who had attained prosperity,
became like a king; how can the attendance on a grateful king, who
has excellent courtiers, be void of fruit.

When Naraváhanadatta was thus employed, there came one day,
to take service with him, a young Bráhman from the Dekhan, named
Pralambabáhu. That hero said to the prince: "I have come to your feet,
my sovereign, attracted by your renown; and I on foot will never
leave your company for a step, as long as you travel on the earth
with elephants, horses, and chariots; but in the air I cannot go; I
say this because it is rumoured that my lord will one day be emperor
of the Vidyádharas. A hundred gold pieces should be given to me every
day as salary." When that Bráhman, who was really of incomparable
might, said this, Naraváhanadatta gave him this salary. And thereupon
Gomukha said--"My lord, kings have such servants: à propos of this,
hear this story."



Story of the Bráhman Víravara. [734]

There is in this country a great and splendid city of the name of
Vikramapura. In it there lived long ago a king named Vikramatunga. He
was distinguished for statesmanship, and though his sword was
sharp, his rod of justice was not so; and he was always intent on
righteousness, but not on women, hunting, and so forth. And while he
was king, the only atoms of wickedness were the atoms of earth in the
dust, the only departure from virtue was the loosing of arrows from
the string, the only straying from justice was the wandering of sheep
in the folds of the keepers of cattle. [735] Once on a time a heroic
and handsome Bráhman, from the country of Málava, named Víravara, came
there to take service under that king; he had a wife named Dharmavatí,
a daughter named Víravatí, and a son named Sattvavara; these three
constituted his family; and his attendants consisted of another three:
at his hip a dagger, in one hand a sword, and in the other a polished
shield. Though he had such a small following, he demanded from that
king five hundred dínárs every day by way of salary. And the king
gave him that salary, perceiving his courage, and thinking to himself,
"I will make trial of his excellence." And the king set spies on him,
to find out what this man, with only two arms, would do with so many
dínárs. And Víravara, every day, gave his wife a hundred of those
dínárs for food and other purposes; and with another hundred he bought
clothes, and garlands, and so on; and he appointed a third hundred,
after bathing, for the worship of Vishnu and Siva; and the remaining
two hundred he gave to Bráhmans, the poor and so on; and so he expended
every day the whole five hundred. And he stood at the palace-gate of
the king for the first half of the day, and after he had performed
his daily prayers and other duties, he came back and remained there
at night also. The spies reported to the king continually that daily
practice of his, and then the king, being satisfied, ordered those
spies to desist from observing him. And Víravara remained day and
night at the gate of the king's palace, sword in hand, excepting only
the time set apart for bathing and matters of that kind. Then there
came a collection of clouds, bellowing terribly, as if determined
to conquer that Víravara, being impatient of his valour. And then,
though the cloud rained a terrible arrow-shower of drops, Víravara
stood like a column and did not leave the palace-gate. And the king
Vikramatunga, having beheld him from the palace in this position,
went up to the roof of the palace at night to try him again. And he
called out from above--"Who waits at the palace-gate?" And Víravara,
when he heard that, answered--"I am here." The king hearing this,
thought--"Surely this brave man deserves high rank, for he does not
leave the palace-gate, though such a cloud is raining." While engaged
in these reflections, the king heard a woman weeping bitterly in
the distance; and he thought--"There is not an afflicted person in my
dominions, so why does she weep?" Thereupon he said to Víravara, "Hark,
Víravara, there is some woman weeping at some distance from this place,
so go, and find out who she is, and what is her sorrow." When Víravara
heard that, he set out, brandishing his sword, with his dagger at his
side. Then the king, seeing that he had set out when such a cloud was
blazing with lightning, and when the interval between heaven and earth
[736] was full of descending drops of rain, being moved with curiosity
and pity, came down from the roof of his palace, and set out behind
him, sword in hand, unobserved.

And Víravara, going in the direction of the wailing, [737] followed
unperceived by the king, reached a lake outside the city. And he saw
a woman lamenting in the midst of it; "Ah lord! Ah merciful one! Ah
hero! How shall I exist abandoned by thee?" He asked her; "Who are you,
and what lord do you lament?" Then she said; "My son, know that I am
this earth. At present Vikramatunga is my righteous lord, and his death
will certainly take place on the third day from now. And how shall I
obtain such a lord again? For with divine foresight I behold the good
and evil to come, as Suprabha, the son of a god, did, when in heaven."



Story of Suprabha.

For he, possessing divine foresight, foresaw that in seven days he
would fall from heaven on account of the exhaustion of his merits,
and be conceived in the body of a sow. Then that son of a god,
reflecting on the misery of dwelling in the body of a sow, regretted
with himself those heavenly enjoyments: "Alas for heaven! Alas for
the Apsarases! Alas for the arbours of Nandana! Alas! how shall I
live in the body of a sow, and after that in the mire?" When the
king of the gods heard him indulging in these lamentations, he came
to him, and questioned him, and that son of a god told him the cause
of his grief. Then Indra said to him, "Listen, there is a way out of
this difficulty open to you. Have recourse to Siva as a protector,
exclaiming 'Om! Honour to Siva!' If you resort to him as a protector,
you shall escape from your guilt and obtain merit, so that you shall
not be born in the body of a pig nor fall from heaven." When the
king of the gods said this to Suprabha, he followed his advice, and
exclaiming "Om! Honour to Siva!" he fled to Siva as an asylum. After
remaining wholly intent on him for six days, he not only by his favour
escaped being sent into the body of a pig, but went to an abode of
bliss higher than Svarga. And on the seventh day, when Indra, not
seeing him in heaven, looked about, he found he had gone to another
and a superior world.

"As Suprabha lamented, beholding pollution impending, so I lament,
beholding the impending death of the king." When Earth said this,
Víravara answered her:--"If there is any expedient for rescuing this
king, as there was an expedient for rescuing Suprabha in accordance
with the advice of Indra, pray tell it me." When Earth was thus
addressed by Víravara, she answered him: "There is an expedient in
this case, and it is in your hands." When the Bráhman Víravara heard
this, he said joyfully-- [738]

"Then tell me, goddess, quickly; if my lord can be benefited by
the sacrifice of my life, or of my son or wife, my birth is not
wasted." When Víravara said this, Earth answered him--"There is
here an image of Durgá near the palace; if you offer to that image
your son Sattvavara, then the king will live, but there is no other
expedient for saving his life." When the resolute Víravara heard
this speech of the goddess Earth, he said--"I will go, lady, and do
it immediately." And Earth said "What other man is so devoted to his
lord? Go, and prosper." And the king, who followed him, heard all.

Then Víravara went quickly to his house that night, and the king
followed him unobserved. There he woke up his wife Dharmavatí and told
her, that, by the counsel of the goddess Earth, he must offer up his
son for the sake of the king. She, when she heard it, said--"We must
certainly do what is for the advantage of the king; so wake up our son
and tell him." Then Víravara woke up his son, and told him all that
the goddess Earth had told him, as being for the interest of the king,
down to the necessity of his own sacrifice. When the child Sattvavara
heard this, he, being rightly named, said to his father, [739] "Am I
not fortunate, my father, in that my life can profit the king? I must
requite him for his food which I have eaten; so take me and sacrifice
me to the goddess for his sake." When the boy Sattvavara said this,
Víravara answered him undismayed, "In truth you are my own son." When
king Vikramatunga, who was standing outside, heard this, he said to
himself--"Ah! the members of this family are all equally brave."

Then Víravara took that son Sattvavara on his shoulder, and his wife
Dharmavatí took his daughter Víravatí on her back, and the two went
to the temple of Durgá by night.

And the king Vikramatunga followed them, carefully concealing
himself. When they reached the temple, Sattvavara was put down by
his father from his shoulder, and, though he was a boy, being a
store-house of courage, he bowed before the goddess, and addressed
this petition to her: "Goddess, may our lord's life be saved by the
offering of my head! And may the king Vikramatunga rule the earth
without an enemy to oppose him!" When the boy said this, Víravara
exclaimed, "Bravo! my son!" And drawing his sword, he cut off his
son's head, and offered it to the goddess Durgá, saying, "May the
king be prosperous!" Those who are devoted to their master grudge
them neither their sons' lives nor their own. Then a voice was heard
from heaven, saying, "Bravo, Víravara! you have bestowed life on your
master by sacrificing even the life of your son." Then, while the
king was seeing and hearing with great astonishment all that went
on, the daughter of Víravara, named Víravatí, who was a mere girl,
came up to the head of her slain brother, and embraced it, and kissed
it, and crying out "Alas! my brother!" died of a broken heart. When
Víravara's wife, Dharmavatí, saw that her daughter also was dead,
in her grief she clasped her hands together, and said to Víravara;
"We have now ensured the prosperity of the king, so permit me to
enter the fire with my two dead children. Since my infant daughter,
though too young to understand anything, has died out of grief for her
brother, what is the use of my life, my two children being dead?" When
she spoke with this settled purpose, Víravara said to her; "Do so, what
can I say against it? For, blameless one, there remains no happiness
for you in a world, which will be all filled for you with grief
for your two children; so wait a moment while I prepare the funeral
pyre." Having said this, he constructed a pyre with some wood, that
was lying there to make the fence of the enclosure of the goddess's
temple, and put the corpses of his children upon it, and lit a fire
under it, so that it was enveloped in flames. Then his virtuous wife,
Dharmavatí, fell at his feet, and exclaiming, "May you, my husband,
be my lord in my next birth, and may prosperity befall the king!" she
leapt into that burning pyre, with its hair of flame, as gladly as into
a cool lake. And king Vikramatunga, who was standing by unperceived,
remained fixed in thought as to how he could possibly recompense them.

Then Víravara, of resolute soul, reflected--"I have accomplished
my duty to my master, for a divine voice was heard audibly, and so
I have requited him for the food which I have eaten, but now that I
have lost all the dear family I had to support, [740] it is not meet
that I should live alone, supporting myself only, so why should I not
propitiate this goddess Durgá by offering up myself?" Víravara, firm
in virtue, having formed this determination, first approached with
a hymn of praise that goddess Durgá, the granter of boons. "Honour
to thee, O great goddess, that givest security to thy votaries,
rescue me plunged in the mire of the world, that appeal to thee
for protection. Thou art the principle of life in creatures, by
thee this world moves. In the beginning of creation Siva beheld thee
self-produced, blazing and illuminating the world with brightness hard
to behold, like ten million orbs of fiery suddenly-produced infant
suns rising at once, filling the whole horizon with the circle of
thy arms, bearing a sword, a club, a bow, arrows and a spear. And
thou wast praised by that god Siva in the following words--'Hail
to thee Chandí, Chámundá, Mangalá, Tripurá, Jayá, Ekánansá, Sivá,
Durgá, Náráyaní, Sarasvatí, Bhadrakálí, Mahálakshmí, Siddhá, slayer
of Ruru. Thou art Gáyatrí, Mahárájní, Revatí, and the dweller in the
Vindhya hills; thou art Umá and Kátyáyaní, and the dweller in Kailása,
the mountain of Siva.' When Skandha, and Vasishta, and Brahmá, and the
others heard thee praised, under these and other titles, by Siva well
skilled in praising, they also praised thee. And by praising thee, O
adorable one, immortals, rishis, and men obtained, and do now obtain,
boons above their desire. So be favourable to me, O bestower of boons
and do thou also receive this tribute of the sacrifice of my body,
and may prosperity befall my lord the king!" After saying this, he
was preparing to cut off his own head, [741] but a bodiless voice
was heard at that moment from the air, "Do not act rashly, my son,
for I am well-pleased with this courage of thine, so crave from me
the boon that thou dost desire." When Víravara heard that, he said,
"If thou art pleased, goddess, then may king Vikramatunga live another
hundred years. And may my wife and children return to life." When
he craved this boon, there again sounded from the air the words
"So be it!" And immediately the three, Dharmavatí, Sattvavara, and
Víravatí rose up with unwounded bodies. Then Víravara was delighted,
and took home to his house all those who had been thus restored to
life by the favour of the goddess, and returned to the king's gate.

But the king, having beheld all this with joy and astonishment, went
and again ascended the roof of his palace unobserved. And he cried
out from above--"Who is on guard at the palace-gate?" When Víravara,
who was below, heard that, he answered--"I am here, and I went to
discover that woman, but she vanished somewhere as soon as I saw her,
like a goddess." When king Vikramatunga heard this, as he had seen
the whole transaction, which was exceedingly wonderful, he reflected
with himself alone in the night: "Oh! surely this man is an unheard of
marvel of heroism, to perform such an exceedingly meritorious action,
and not to give any account of it. The sea, though deep, and broad, and
full of great monsters, [742] does not vie with this man, who is firm
even in the shock of a mighty tempest. What return can I make to him,
who secretly redeemed my life this night by the sacrifice of his son
and wife?" Thus reflecting, the king descended from the roof of the
palace, and went into his private apartments, and passed that night
in smiling. And in the morning, when Víravara was present in the great
assembly, he related his wonderful exploit that night. Then all praised
that Víravara, and the king conferred on him and his son a turban of
honour. And he gave him many domains, horses, jewels, and elephants,
and ten crores of gold pieces, and a salary sixty times as great as
before. And immediately the Bráhman Víravara became equal to a king,
with a lofty umbrella, being prosperous, himself and his family.

When the minister Gomukha had told this tale, he again said to
Naraváhanadatta, summing up the subject--"Thus, king, do sovereigns,
by their merit in a previous life, sometimes fall in with exceptionally
heroic servants, who, in their nobility of soul, abandoning regard
for their lives and all other possessions for the sake of their
master, conquer completely the two worlds. And Pralambabáhu, this
lately arrived heroic Bráhman servant of yours, my king, is seen to
be such, of settled virtue and character, a man in whom the quality
of goodness is ever on the increase." When the noble-minded prince
Naraváhanadatta heard this from his minister, the mighty-minded
Gomukha, he felt unsurpassed satisfaction in his heart.






CHAPTER LIV.


Thus Naraváhanadatta dwelt in the house of his father the king of
Vatsa, being attended by his affectionate ministers, Gomukha and the
others, and amusing himself with his loving queen Alankáravatí, whose
jealousy was removed by her great love, that refused to be hampered by
female pride. Then, once on a time, he went to a forest of wild beasts,
mounted on a chariot, with Gomukha seated behind him. And, with that
heroic Bráhman Pralambabáhu going in front of him, he indulged in
silvan sports, accompanied by his attendants. And though the horses
of his chariot galloped at the utmost of their speed, Pralambabáhu
outstripped their swiftness, and still kept in front of them. The
prince from his position on the chariot killed lions, and tigers,
and other wild beasts with arrows, but Pralambabáhu, going on foot,
slew them with his sword. And Naraváhanadatta, as often as he beheld
that Bráhman, said in astonishment--"What courage, and what fleetness
of foot he possesses!"

And the prince, being wearied at the end of his hunting, and overcome
with thirst, went in search of water, mounted on his chariot, with
Gomukha and his charioteer, and preceded by that champion Pralambabáhu,
and in the course of his search he reached another great forest far
distant. There he came to a great and charming lake with full-blown
golden lotuses, looking like a second sky on earth, studded with
many solar orbs. There he bathed and drank water, and, after he and
his companions had performed their ablutions and other duties, he
beheld at one end of the lake, at a distance, four men of heavenly
appearance, dressed in heavenly garments, adorned with heavenly
ornaments, engaged in culling golden lotuses from that lake. And out
of curiosity he approached them, and when they asked him who he was,
he told them his descent, his name and his history.

And they, pleased at seeing him, told him their story when he asked
them; "There is in the midst of the great sea a great, prosperous
and splendid island, which is called the island of Nárikela, and is
renowned in the world for its beauty. [743] And in it there are four
mountains with splendid expanses of land, named Maináka, Vrishabha,
Chakra, and Baláhaka, in those four we four live. One of us is named
Rúpasiddhi, and he possesses the power of assuming various forms;
another is by name Pramánasiddhi, who can measure the most minute as
well as the largest things; and the third is Jnánasiddhi, who knows the
past, the present, and the future; and the fourth is Devasiddhi, who
possesses the power of calling down to his aid all the deities. We have
now gathered these golden lotuses, and are going to offer them to the
god, the husband of Srí, in Svetadvípa. For we are all of us devoted to
him, and it is by his favour that we possess rule over those mountains
of ours, and prosperity accompanied with supernatural power. So come,
we will shew you the lord Hari in Svetadvípa; we will carry you through
the air, friend, if you approve." When those sons of gods said this,
Naraváhanadatta consented, and leaving Gomukha and the others in that
place, where they could obtain water, fruits and so on, he went with
them to Svetadvípa through the air, for Devasiddhi, one of the four
brothers, carried him in his lap. There he descended from heaven,
and beheld Vishnu, and approached him from a distance, introduced by
those four sons of gods. The god was reclining upon the snake Sesha,
in front of him sat Garuda, at his side was the daughter of the sea,
[744] at his feet was the Earth, he was waited upon by the discus,
the conch, the club, and the lotus, incarnate in bodily form, and the
Gandharvas, with Nárada at their head, were piously chanting hymns in
his honour, and the gods, Siddhas, and Vidyádharas were bowing before
him. To whom is not association with the good a cause of exaltation?

Then, after that Lord had been honoured by those sons of gods, and
praised by Kasyapa and others, Naraváhanadatta thus praised him with
folded hands, "All hail to thee, venerable one, the wishing-tree
of thy worshippers, whose body is encircled with the wish-granting
creeper of Lakshmí, who art the granter of all desires; hail to thee,
the divine swan, dwelling in the Mánasa-lake of the minds of the good,
[745] ever soaring and singing in the highest ether. Hail to thee, who
dost transcend all, and dwell within all, who hast a form transcending
qualities, and whose shape is the full aggregate of the six kingly
measures; [746] Brahmá is the bee on the lotus of thy navel, O Lord,
humming with the soft sound of Veda-murmur, though from him spring
many verses; [747] thy foot is the earth, the heaven is thy head,
the cardinal points are thy ears, the sun and moon are thy eyes; thy
belly is the egg of Brahmá, the globe of the world; thou art hymned
by the wise as the infinite soul. From thee, the home of brightness,
spring all these creatures, O Lord, as the host of sparks from the
blazing fire, and when the time of destruction comes, they again enter
thy essence, as at the end of the day a flock of birds enters the
great tree in which they dwell. Thou flashest forth, and createst
these lords of the world, who are parts of thee, as the ocean,
disturbed with a continual flow, creates waves. Though the world
is thy form, thou art formless; though the world is thy handiwork,
thou art free from the bondage of works; though thou art the support
of the world, thou art thyself without support; who is he that knows
thy real nature? The gods have obtained various stages of prosperity
by being looked upon by thee with a favourable eye; so be propitious,
and look upon me, thy suppliant, with an eye melting with love."

When Naraváhanadatta had in these words praised Vishnu, the god
looked upon him with a favourable eye, and said to Nárada: "Go and
demand back from Indra in my name those lovely Apsarases of mine,
who long ago sprang from the sea of milk, and whom I deposited in his
hand, and make them mount the chariot of Indra, and quickly bring them
here." When Nárada received this command from Hari, he said "So be it,"
and with Mátali he brought the Apsarases from Indra in his chariot,
and then bowing he presented the Apsarases to Vishnu, and the Holy
one spake thus to the son of the king of Vatsa--"Naraváhanadatta,
I give these Apsarases to thee, the future emperor of the kings
of the Vidyádharas. Thou art a fitting husband for them, and they
are fitting wives for thee, for thou hast been created by Siva as
an incarnation of the god of Love." When Vishnu said that, the son
of the king of Vatsa fell at his feet, delighted at having obtained
favour, and Vishnu thus commanded Mátali,--"Let this Naraváhanadatta,
together with the Apsarases, be taken back by thee to his palace,
by whatever path he desires."

When the Holy one gave this command, Naraváhanadatta, with the
Apsarases and those sons of gods who invited him, mounted the chariot
which was driven by Mátali, and went to the island of Nárikela, being
envied even by gods. There the successful hero, honoured by those four
sons of gods, Rúpasiddhi and his brethren, and accompanied by Indra's
chariot, sported in succession on those four mountains on which they
dwelt, Maináka, Vrishabha, and the others, that vied with heaven,
in the company of those Apsarases. And he roamed, full of joy, in
the thickets of their pleasure-grounds, the various splendid trees
of which were in blossom on account of the arrival of the month of
spring. And those sons of gods said to him: "See! these clusters on
the trees seem to be regarding with the expanded eyes of their open
flowers their beloved spring that has arrived. See! the full-blown
lotuses shield the lake, as if to prevent their place of birth from
being afflicted by the warmth of the sun's rays. See! the bees,
after resorting to a Karnikára splendid with blossoms, leave it
again, finding it destitute of perfume, as good men leave a rich man
of mean character. See! a concert is being held in honour of spring,
the king of the seasons, with the songs of the Kinnarís, the notes of
the cuckoos, and the humming of bees." With such words those sons of
gods shewed Naraváhanadatta the range of their pleasure-grounds. And
the son of the king of Vatsa amused himself also in their cities,
beholding the merry-makings of the citizens, who danced without
restraint in honour of the spring-festival. And he enjoyed with the
Apsarases delights fitted for gods; wherever the virtuous go, their
good fortunes precede them.

After remaining there for four days thus occupied, Naraváhanadatta said
to those sons of gods his friends; "I now wish to go to my own city,
being anxious to behold my father; [748] so come you also to that
city and bless it with a visit." When they heard that, they said:
"We have seen you, the choicest jewel in that town; what more do we
require? But when you have obtained the sciences of the Vidyádharas,
you must not forget us." With these words they dismissed him, and
Naraváhanadatta said to Mátali, who brought him the splendid chariot
of Indra; "Take me to the city of Kausámbí by a course leading
past that lovely lake, on the bank of which I left Gomukha and the
others." Mátali consented, and the prince ascended the chariot with
the Apsarases, and reached that lake, and saw Gomukha and the others,
and said to them, "Come quickly by your own way, I will tell you
all when I get home." Having said this, he went to Kausámbí in the
chariot of Indra. There he descended from heaven, and dismissed Mátali
after honouring him, and entered his own palace accompanied by those
Apsarases. And leaving them there, he went and prostrated himself
before the feet of his father, who was delighted at his arrival,
and also of Vásavadattá and Padmávatí, and they welcomed him,
and their eyes were never satisfied with gazing on him. And in the
meanwhile Gomukha came, riding on the chariot, with the charioteer,
and that Bráhman Pralambabáhu. Then, being questioned by his father,
Naraváhanadatta related in the presence of all his ministers his very
wonderful adventures. And all said--"God grants to that virtuous man,
whom he wishes to favour, association with good friends." When all
said this, the king was pleased, and ordered a festival for his son on
account of the favour which Vishnu had shewed towards him. And he and
his wives saw those Apsarases his daughters-in-law, obtained by the
favour of Vishnu, whom Gomukha brought to fall at his feet, Devarupá,
and Devarati, and Devamálá, and the fourth Devapriyá, whose names
he enquired by the mouth of their maids. And the city of Kausámbí,
making festival, appeared as if scattering red paint with its waving
scarlet banners, as much as to say: "What am I that Apsarases should
dwell in me? Blessed am I that the prince Naraváhanadatta has made me a
heavenly city upon earth." And Naraváhanadatta, after he had rejoiced
the eyes of his father, visited his other wives, who were anxiously
awaiting him, and they, who had been emaciated by those four days,
as if they were four years, exulted, relating the various woes of
their separation. And Gomukha described the valour of Pralambabáhu,
while he was protecting the horses during their sojourn in the forest,
in killing lions and other noxious beasts. Thus listening to pleasing
unrestrained conversation, and contemplating the beauty of his beloved
ones, that was as nectar to his eyes, and making flattering speeches,
and drinking wine in the company of his ministers, Naraváhanadatta
passed that time there in happiness.

Once on a time, as he was in the apartments of Alankáravatí with his
ministers, he heard a loud sound of drums outside. Then he said to his
general Harisikha: "What may be the cause of this sudden great noise of
drums outside?" When Harisikha heard this, he went out, and entering
again immediately said to the prince, the son of the king of Vatsa;
"There is in this town a merchant of the name of Rudra, and he went
to the island of Suvarnadvípa on a mercantile expedition. As he was
returning, the hoard of wealth, that he had managed to acquire, was
lost, being sunk in the sea by his ship foundering. And he himself
happened to escape from the sea alive. And to-day is the sixth day
since he arrived in misery at his own house. After he had been living
here for some days in distress, it happened that he found a great
treasure in his garden. And the king of Vatsa heard of it from his
relations, so the merchant came to-day and represented the matter to
the king; saying--'I have obtained four crores of gold pieces with
a multitude of valuable jewels, so, if the king commands me, I will
hand them over.' The king of Vatsa thereupon gave this command to the
merchant--'Who that had any sense, [749] after seeing you in distress,
plundered by the sea, would plunder you again, now that you have been
supplied with wealth by the mercy of Providence. Go and enjoy at will
the wealth obtained from your own ground.' The merchant fell at the
king's feet full of joy, and it is this very man that is now returning
to his house, with his attendants beating drums." When Harisikha said
this, Naraváhanadatta praised the justice of his father, and said in
astonishment to his ministers--"If Destiny sometimes takes away wealth,
does she not sometimes afterwards give it. She sports in a strange
way with the raising and depressing of men." When Gomukha heard that,
he said--"Such is the course of Destiny! And in proof of this, hear
the story of Samudrasúra."



Story of the merchant Samudrasúra.

In old times there was a splendid city, belonging to the king
Harshavarman, called Harshapura, the citizens of which were made
happy by good government. In this city there was a great merchant,
named Samudrasúra; he was of good family, just, of resolute courage,
a lord of much wealth. He was once compelled by his business to go
to Suvarnadvípa, and reaching the shore of the sea, he embarked on
a ship. As he was travelling over the sea, when his journey was very
nearly at an end, a terrible cloud arose and a wind that agitated the
deep. The wind tossed the ship about with the violence of the waves,
and it was struck by a sea-monster and split asunder; and then the
merchant, girding up his loins, plunged into the sea. And after the
brave man had made some way by swimming, he found the corpse of a man
long dead, driven hither and thither by the wind. And he climbed up
on the corpse, and skilfully paddling himself along with his arms,
he was carried to Suvarnadvípa by a favourable wind. There he got
off that corpse on to the sand, and he perceived that it had a cloth
tied round its loins, with a knot in it. When he unfastened the cloth
from its loins, and examined it, he found inside it a necklace richly
studded with jewels. He saw that it was of inestimable value, and he
bathed and remained in a state of great felicity, thinking that the
wealth he had lost in the sea was but straw in comparison with it. Then
he went on to a city called Kalasapura, and with the bracelet in his
hand, entered the enclosure of a great temple. There he sat in the
shade, and being exceedingly tired with his exertions in the water,
he slowly dropped off to sleep, bewildered by Destiny. And while
he was asleep, the policemen came and saw that necklace in his hand
exposed to view. They said--"Here is the necklace stolen from the neck
of the princess Chakrasená; without doubt this is the thief." And so
they woke the merchant up and took him to the palace. There the king
himself questioned him, and he told him what had taken place. The king
held out the necklace, and said to the people present in court,--"This
man is speaking falsely; he is a thief, look at this necklace." And
at that very moment a kite saw it glittering, and quickly swooping
down from heaven, carried off the necklace, and disappeared where he
could not be traced. Then the king, in his anger, commanded that the
merchant should be put to death, and he, in great grief, invoked the
protection of Siva. Then a voice was heard from heaven--"Do not put
this man to death: he is a respectable merchant named Samudrasúra
from the city of Harshapura, that has landed on your territory. The
thief, who stole the necklace, fled, beside himself with fear of the
police, and falling into the sea at night, perished. But this merchant
here, when his ship foundered, came upon the body of that thief,
and climbing up on it, he crossed the sea and came here. And then he
found the necklace in the knot of the cloth fastened round his loins;
he did not take it from your house. So let go, king, this virtuous
merchant, who is not a thief; dismiss him with honour." Having said
this, the voice ceased. When the king heard this, he was satisfied,
and revoking the capital sentence passed on the merchant, he honoured
him with wealth, and let him go. And the merchant, having obtained
wealth, bought wares, and again crossed the terrible ocean in a ship,
in order to return to his own native land.

And after he had crossed the sea, he travelled with a caravan, and one
day, at evening time, he reached a wood. The caravan encamped in the
wood for the night, and while Samudrasúra was awake, a powerful host
of bandits attacked it. While the bandits were massacring the members
of the caravan, Samudrasúra left his wares and fled, and climbed up a
banyan-tree without being discovered. The host of bandits departed,
after they had carried off all the wealth, and the merchant spent
that night there, perplexed with fear, and distracted with grief. In
the morning he cast his eye towards the top of the tree, and saw, as
fate would have it, what looked like the light of a lamp, trembling
among the leaves. And in his astonishment he climbed up the tree, and
saw a kite's nest, in which there was a heap of glittering priceless
jewelled ornaments. He took them all out of it, and found among the
ornaments that necklace, which he had found in Svarnadvípa and the
kite had carried off. He obtained from that nest unlimited wealth,
and, descending from the tree, he went off delighted, and reached
in course of time his own city of Harshapura. There the merchant
Samudrasúra remained, enjoying himself to his heart's content with
his family, free from the desire of any other wealth.

"So you have that merchant's whelming in the sea, and that loss of
his wealth, and the finding of the necklace, and again the losing of
it, and his undeserved degradation to the position of a malefactor,
and his immediate obtaining of wealth from the satisfied king, and
his return-voyage over the sea, and his being stripped of all his
wealth by falling in with bandits on the journey, and at last his
acquisition of wealth from the top of a tree. So you see, prince, such
is the various working of destiny, but a virtuous man, though he may
have endured sorrow, obtains joy at the last." When Naraváhanadatta
heard this from Gomukha, he approved it, and rising up, he performed
his daily duties, such as bathing and the like.

And the next day, when he was in the hall of assembly, the heroic
prince Samaratunga, who had been his servant ever since he was a
boy, came and said to him--"Prince, my relation Sangrámarvarsha
has ravaged my territory, with the help of his four sons, Vírajita
and the others. So I will go myself, and bring them all five here as
prisoners. Let my lord know this." After saying this he departed. And
the son of the king of Vatsa, knowing that he had but a small force,
and that those others had large forces, ordered his own army to follow
him. But that proud man refused to receive this accession to his force,
and went and conquered those five enemies in fight by the help of his
own two arms only, and brought them back prisoners. Naraváhanadatta
honoured and praised his follower, when he came back victorious,
and said--"How wonderful! This man has conquered his five enemies,
though with their forces they had overrun his territory, and has
done the deed of a hero, as a man conquers the senses, when they have
laid hold upon outward objects, and are powerful, and so accomplishes
emancipation, the work of the soul." [750] When Gomukha heard that,
he said--"If, prince, you have not heard the tale of king Chamarabála,
which is similar, listen, I will tell it."



Story of king Chamarabála.

There is a city named Hastinápura, and in it there lived a king named
Chamarabála, who possessed treasure, a fort, and an army. And he had,
as neighbours to his territory, several kings of the same family as
himself, the chief of whom was Samarabála, and they put their heads
together and reflected: "This king Chamarabála defeats us all, one by
one; so we will join together and accomplish his overthrow." After thus
deliberating, those five kings' being anxious to march out against him
to conquer him, secretly asked an astrologer when a favourable moment
would come. The astrologer, not seeing a favourable moment, and not
seeing good omens, said--"There is no favourable moment for you this
year. Under whatever circumstances you set out on your expedition, you
will not be victorious. And why are you so eager for the undertaking,
beholding his prosperity? Enjoyment is after all the fruit [751]
of prosperity, and you have enjoyments in abundance. And now hear,
if you have not heard it before, the story of the two merchants."



Story of Yasovarman and the two fortunes.

There was in old time in this country a city, named Kautukapura. In it
there lived a king, called Bahusuvarnaka, [752] rightly named. And he
had a young Kshatriya servant named Yasovarman. To that man the king
never gave anything, though he was generous by nature. Whenever in his
distress he asked the king, the king said to him, pointing to the sun,
"I wish to give to you, but this holy god will not permit me to give
to you. Tell me what I am to do." While he remained distressed,
watching for an opportunity, the time for an eclipse of the sun
arrived. Then Yasovarman, who had constantly served the king, went
and said to him, when he was engaged in giving many valuable presents:
"Give me something, my sovereign, while this sun, who will not permit
you to give, is in the grasp of his enemy." When the king, who had
given many presents, heard that, he laughed, and gave garments, gold,
and other things to him.

In course of time that wealth was consumed, and he, being afflicted,
as the king gave him nothing, and having lost his wife, went to
the shrine of the goddess that dwells in the Vindhya hills. [753]
He said--"What is the use of this profitless body that is dead even
while alive? I will abandon it before the shrine of the goddess,
or gain the desired boon." Resolved on this course, he lay down on
a bed of darbha grass in front of the goddess, with his mind intent
on her, and fasting he performed a severe penance. And the goddess
said to him in a dream, "I am pleased with thee, my son; tell me,
shall I give thee the good fortune of wealth, or the good fortune
of enjoyment?" When Yasovarman heard this, he answered the goddess,
"I do not precisely know the difference between these two good
fortunes." Then the goddess said to him: "Return to thy own country,
and there go and examine into the good fortunes of the two merchants,
Arthavarman and Bhogavarman, and find out which of the two pleases
thee, and then come here and ask a like fortune for thyself." When
Yasovarman heard this, he woke up, and next morning he broke his fast,
and went to his own country of Kautukapura.

There he first went to the house of Arthavarman, [754] who had
acquired much wealth, in the form of gold, jewels, and other precious
things, by his business transactions. Seeing that prosperity of his,
he approached him with due politeness, and was welcomed by him,
and invited to dinner. Then he sat by the side of that Arthavarman,
and ate food appropriate to a guest, with meat-curry and ghee. But
Arthavarman ate barley-meal, with half a pal of ghee and a little rice,
and a small quantity of meat-curry. Yasovarman said to the merchant out
of curiosity--"Great merchant, why do you eat so little?" Thereupon
the merchant gave him this answer: "To-day out of regard for you I
have eaten a little rice with meat-curry and half a pal of ghee;
I have also eaten some barley-meal. But as a general rule, I eat
only a karsha of ghee and some barley-meal, I have a weak digestion,
and cannot digest more in my stomach." When Yasovarman heard that, he
turned the matter over in his mind, and formed an unfavourable opinion
of that prosperity of Arthavarman's, as being without fruit. Then, at
nightfall, that merchant Arthavarman again brought rice and milk for
Yasovarman to eat. And Yasovarman again ate of it to his fill, and then
Arthavarman drank one pala of milk. And in that same place Yasovarman
and Arthavarman both made their beds, and gradually fell asleep.

And at midnight Yasovarman suddenly saw in his sleep some men of
terrible appearance with clubs in their hands, entering the room. And
they exclaimed angrily--"Fie! why have you taken to-day one karsha more
of ghee than the small amount allowed to you, and eaten meat-curry,
and drunk a pala of milk?" Then they dragged Arthavarman by his foot
and beat him with clubs. And they extracted from his stomach the karsha
of ghee, and the milk, flesh, and rice, which he had consumed above his
allowance. When Yasovarman had seen that, he woke up and looked about
him, and lo! Arthavarman had woke up, and was seized with colic. Then
Arthavarman, crying out, and having his stomach rubbed by his servants,
vomited up all the food he had eaten above the proper allowance. After
the merchant's colic was allayed, Yasovarman said to himself: "Away
with this good fortune of wealth, which involves enjoyment of such an
equivocal kind! This would be altogether neutralized by such misery
of ill health." In such internal reflections he passed that night.

And in the morning he took leave of Arthavarman, and went to the house
of that merchant Bhogavarman. There he approached him in due form,
and he received him with politeness, and invited him to dine with him
on that day. Now he did not perceive any wealth in the possession of
that merchant, but he saw that he had a nice house, and dresses, and
ornaments. While Yasovarman was waiting there, the merchant Bhogavarman
proceeded to do his own special business. He took merchandise from
one man, and immediately handed it over to another, and without
any capital of his own, gained dínárs by the transaction. And he
quickly sent those dínárs by the hand of his servant to his wife,
in order that she might procure all kinds of food and drink. And
immediately one of that merchant's friends, named Ichchhábharana,
rushed in and said to him: "Our dinner is ready, rise up and come
to us, and let us eat, for all our other friends have assembled and
are waiting for you." He answered, "I shall not come to-day, for
I have a guest here." Thereupon his friend went on to say to him,
"Then let this guest come with you; is he not our friend also? Rise
up quickly." Bhogavarman, being thus earnestly invited by that friend,
went with him, accompanied by Yasovarman, and ate excellent food. And,
after drinking wine, he returned, and again enjoyed all kinds of
viands and wines at his own house in the evening. And when night
came on, he asked his servants--"Have we enough wine left for the
latter part of the night or not?" When they replied, "No, master,"
the merchant went to bed, exclaiming, "How are we to drink water in
the latter part of the night?"

Then Yasovarman, sleeping at his side, saw in a dream two or three
men enter, and some others behind them. And those who entered last,
having sticks in their hands, exclaimed angrily to those who entered
first--"You rascals! Why did you not provide wine for Bhogavarman
to drink in the latter half of the night? Where have you been all
this time?" Then they beat them with strokes of their sticks. The
men who were beaten with sticks, said, "Pardon this single fault on
our part." And then they and the others went out of the room.

Then Yasovarman, having seen that sight, woke up and reflected,
"The good fortune of enjoyment of Bhogavarman, in which blessings
arrive unthought of, is preferable to the good fortune of wealth
of Arthavarman, which, though attended with opulence, is devoid
of enjoyment."

In these reflections he spent the rest of the night.

And early the next morning Yasovarman took leave of that excellent
merchant, and again repaired to the feet of Durgá, the goddess that
dwells in the Vindhya range. And he chose out of those two good
fortunes mentioned by the goddess, when she appeared to him on a
former occasion, [755] while he was engaged in austerities, the
good fortune of enjoyment, and the goddess granted it to him. Then
Yasovarman returned home and lived in happiness, thanks to the good
fortune of enjoyment, which, owing to the favour of the goddess,
continually presented itself to him unthought of.

"So a smaller fortune, accompanied with enjoyment, is to be preferred
to a great fortune, which, though great, is devoid of enjoyment and
therefore useless. So why are you annoyed at the good fortune of king
Chamarabála, which is combined with meanness, and do not consider your
own fortune, which is rich in the power of giving and in enjoyment?

"So an attack on him by you is not advisable, and there is no
auspicious moment for commencing the expedition, and I do not foresee
victory to you." Though those five kings were thus warned by the
astrologer, they marched in their impatience against king Chamarabála.

And when king Chamarabála heard that they had reached the border,
he bathed in the morning, and worshipped Siva duly by his auspicious
names referring to sixty-eight excellent parts of the body, [756]--his
names that destroy sin and grant all desires. And then he heard
a voice coming from heaven, "King, fight without fear, thou shalt
conquer thy enemies in battle." Then king Chamarabála was delighted,
and girded on his armour, and accompanied by his army, marched out to
fight with those foes. In the army of his enemies there were thirty
thousand elephants, and three hundred thousand horses, and ten million
foot-soldiers. And in his own army there were twenty hundred thousand
foot-soldiers, and ten thousand elephants, and a hundred thousand
horses. Then a great battle took place between those two armies,
and king Chamarabála, preceded by his warder Víra, [757] who was
rightly so named, entered that field of battle, as the holy Vishnu,
in the form of the great boar, entered the great ocean. And though he
had but a small army, he so grievously smote that great army of his
foes, that slain horses, elephants, and footmen lay in heaps. And when
king Samarabála came across him in the battle, he rushed upon him,
and smote him with an iron spear, and drawing him towards him with a
lasso, made him prisoner. And then in the same way he smote the second
king Samarasúra in the heart with an arrow, and drawing him towards
him with a noose, made him also prisoner. And his warder, named Víra,
captured the third king, named Samarajita, and brought him to him. And
his general, named Devabala, brought and presented to him the fourth
king, named Pratápachandra, wounded with an arrow. Then the fifth king
Pratápasena, beholding that, fell furiously upon king Chamarabála in
the fight. But he repelled his arrows with the multitude of his own,
and pierced him with three arrows in the forehead. And when he was
bewildered with the blows of the arrows, Chamarabála, like a second
Destiny, flung a noose round his neck, and dragging him along made him
a captive. When those five kings had in this way been taken prisoners
in succession, as many of their soldiers, as had escaped slaughter,
fled, dispersing themselves in every direction. And king Chamarabála
captured an infinite mass of gold and jewels, and many wives belonging
to those kings. And among them, the head queen of king Pratápasena,
called Yasolekhá, a lovely woman, fell into his hands.

Then he entered his city, and gave turbans of honour to the warder Víra
and the general Devabala, and loaded them with jewels. And the king
made Yasolekhá an inmate of his own harem, on the ground that she,
being the wife of Pratápasena, was captured according to the custom
of the Kshatriyas. And she, though flighty, submitted to him because
he had won her by the might of his arm; in those abandoned to the
intoxication of love the impressions of virtue are evanescent. And
after some days, king Chamarabála, being solicited by the queen
Yasolekhá, let go those five captive kings, Pratápasena and the others,
after they had learnt submission and done homage, and after honouring
them, dismissed them to their own kingdoms. And then king Chamarabála
long ruled his own wealthy kingdom, in which there were no opponents,
and the enemies of which had been conquered, and he sported with that
Yasolekhá, who surpassed in form and loveliness beautiful Apsarases,
being, as it were, the banner that announced his victory over his foes.

"Thus a brave man, though unsupported, conquers in the front of battle
even many enemies coming against him in fight, distracted with hate,
and not considering the resources of themselves and their foe, and
by his surpassing bravery puts a stop to the fever of their conceit
and pride."

When Naraváhanadatta had heard this instructive tale told by Gomukha,
he praised it, and set about his daily duties of bathing and so on. And
he spent that night, which was devoted to the amusement of a concert,
in singing with his wives in such a ravishing way, that Sarasvatí from
her seat in heaven gave him and his beloved ones high commendation.






CHAPTER LV.


Then, the next day, as Naraváhanadatta was sitting in the apartments
of Alankáravatí, a servant of Marubhúti's, the brother of Sauvidalla
the guard of the prince's harem, came and said to him in the presence
of all his ministers--"King, I have attended on Marubhúti for two
years; he has given food and clothing to me and my wife: but he
will not give me the fifty dínárs a year, which he promised me in
addition. And when I asked him for it, he gave me a kick. So I am
sitting in dharna against him at your Highness's door. If your Highness
does not give judgment in this case, I shall enter the fire. What
more can I say? For you are my sovereign." When he had said this,
he stopped, and Marubhúti said--"I must give him the dínárs, but
I have not got the money at present." When he said this, all the
ministers laughed at him, and Naraváhanadatta said to the minister
Marubhúti: "What are you thinking about, you fool? Your intentions
are not over-creditable. Rise up, give him the hundred dínárs without
delay." When Marubhúti heard this speech of his sovereign's, he was
ashamed, and immediately brought that hundred dínárs and gave it to
him. Then Gomukha said--"Marubhúti is not to be blamed, because the
works of the Creator's hand have varying moods of mind. Have you not
heard the story of king Chiradátri, and his servant named Prasanga?"



Story of Chiradátri.

In old time there was a king named Chiradátri, sovereign or
Chirapura. Though he was an excellent man, his followers were extremely
wicked. And that king had a servant, named Prasanga, who had come
from another country, and was accompanied by two friends. And five
years passed, while he was performing his duties, but the king gave
him nothing, not even when an occasion was presented by a feast or
something of the kind. And owing to the wickedness of the courtiers,
he never obtained an opportunity of representing his case to the king,
though his friends were continually instigating him to do so.

Now one day the king's infant son died, and when he was grieved at
it, all his servants came and crowded round him. And among them the
servant, named Prasanga, out of pure sorrow, said to the king as
follows, though his two friends tried to prevent him, "We have been
your servants, your Highness, for a long time, and you have never
given us anything, nevertheless we have remained here because we had
hopes from your son; for we thought that, although you have never
given us anything, your son would certainly give us something. If
Fate has carried him off, what is the use of remaining here now? We
will immediately take our departure." Thus he exclaimed, and fell
at the feet of the king, and went out with his two friends. The
king reflected--"Ah! though these men had fixed their hopes on my
son, they have been faithful servants to me, so I must not abandon
them." Thereupon he immediately had Prasanga and his companions
summoned, and loaded them so with wealth that poverty did not again
lay hold on them.

"So you see, men have various dispositions, for that king did not
give at the proper season, but did give in the unseasonable hour of
calamity." When Gomukha, skilful in story-telling, had said this,
he went on, at the instigation of the son of the sovereign of Vatsa,
to tell the following tale:



Story of king Kanakavarsha and Madanasundarí.

There was in old time on the banks of the Ganges an excellent city,
named Kanakapura, the people of which were purified in the water
of the river; and which was a delightful place on account of its
good government. In this city the only imprisonment seen was the
committing to paper of the words of poets, the only kind of defeat
was the curling in the locks of the women, the only contest was the
struggle of getting the corn into the granary. [758]

In that city there dwelt in old time a glorious king, named
Kanakavarsha, who was born to Priyadarsana, the son of Vásuki,
king of the snakes, by the princess Yasodhará. Though he bore the
weight of the whole earth, he was adorned with innumerable virtues,
he longed for glory, not for wealth, he feared sin, not his enemy. He
was dull in slandering his neighbour, but not in the holy treatises;
there was restraint in the high-souled hero's wrath, not in his favour;
he was resolute-minded; he was niggardly in curses, not in gifts; he
ruled the whole world; and such was his extraordinary beauty that all
women, the moment they saw him, were distracted with the pain of love.

Once on a time, in an autumn, that was characterized by heat, that
maddened elephants, that was attended by flocks of swans, and delighted
the subjects with rejoicings, [759] he entered a picture-palace which
was cooled by winds that blew laden with the scent of lotuses. There
he observed and praised the display of pictures, and in the meanwhile
there entered the warder, who said to the king--

"Your majesty, an unequalled painter has arrived here from Ujjayiní,
boasting himself to be matchless in the art of painting. His name
is Roladeva, and he has to-day set up a notice at the palace gate to
the above effect." When the king heard that, he felt respect for him,
and ordered him to be introduced, and the warder immediately went and
brought him in. The painter entered, and beheld the king Kanakavarsha
amusing himself in private with looking at pictures, reclining his
body on the lap of beautiful women, and taking in carelessly crooked
fingers the prepared betel. And the painter Roladeva made obeisance
to the king, who received him politely, and sitting down said slowly
to him--"O king, I put up a notice principally through the desire of
beholding your feet, not out of pride in my skill, so you must excuse
this deed of mine. And you must tell me what form I am to represent
on canvas, let not the trouble I took in learning this accomplishment
be thrown away, O king." When the painter said this to the king,
he replied, "Teacher, paint anything you will, let us give our eyes
a treat: what doubt can there be about your skill?"

When the king said this, his courtiers exclaimed--"Paint the king:
what is the use of painting others, ugly in comparison with him?" When
the painter heard this, he was pleased, and painted the king, with
aquiline nose, with almond-shaped fiery eye, with broad forehead, with
curly black hair, with ample breast, glorious with the scars of wounds
inflicted by arrows and other weapons, with handsome arms resembling
the trunks of the elephants that support the quarters, with waist
capable of being spanned with the hand, as if it had been a present
from the lion-whelps conquered by his might, and with thighs like the
post for fastening the elephant of youth, and with beautiful feet,
like the shoots of the asoka. And all, when they beheld that life-like
likeness of the king, applauded that painter, and said to him; "We
do not like to see the king alone on the picture-panel, so paint on
it one of these queens by his side, carefully choosing one, that will
be a worthy pendant to him; let the feast of our eyes be complete."

When they said this, the painter looked at the picture and said,
"Though there are many of these queens, there is none among them like
the king, and I believe there is no woman on the earth a match for
him in beauty, except one princess--listen, I will tell you about her.

"In Vidarbha there is a prosperous town named Kundina, and in it
there is a king of the name of Devasakti. And he has a queen named
Anantavatí, dearer to him than life, and by her there was born to him a
daughter named Madanasundarí. How could one like me presume to describe
her beauty with this one single tongue, but so much will I say. When
the Creator had made her, through delight in her he conceived a desire
to make another like her, but he will not be able to do it even in the
course of yugas. That princess, alone on the earth, is a match for
this king in shape, beauty and refinement, in age and birth. For I,
when I was there, was once summoned by her by the mouth of a maid,
and I went to her private apartments. There I beheld her, freshly
anointed with sandal unguent, having a necklace of lotus-fibres,
tossing on a bed of lotuses, being fanned by her ladies-in-waiting
with the wind of plantain leaves, pale and emaciated, exhibiting
the signs of love's fever. And in these words was she dissuading
her ladies occupied in fanning her,--'O my friends, away with this
sandal unguent and these breezes wafted by plantain leaves; for these,
though cool, scorch up unhappy me.' And when I saw her in this state,
I was troubled to divine the reason, and after doing obeisance, I
sat down in front of her. And she said, 'Teacher, paint such a form
as this on canvas and give it me.'

"And then she made me paint a certain very handsome youth, slowly
tracing out the form on the ground with trembling, nectar-distilling
hand, to guide me. And when I had so painted that handsome youth, I
said to myself--'She has made me paint the god of Love in visible form;
but, as I see that the flowery bow is not represented in his hand, I
know that it cannot be the god of Love, it must be some extraordinarily
handsome young man like him. And her outburst of love-sickness has
to do with him. So I must depart hence, for this king, her father
Devasakti, is severe in his justice, and if he heard of this proceeding
of mine, he would not overlook it.' Thus reflecting, I did obeisance
to that princess Madanasundarí, and departed, honoured by her.

"But when I was there, O king, I heard from her attendants, as they
talked freely together, that she had fallen in love with you from
hearing of you only. So I have secretly taken a picture of that
princess on a sheet of canvas, and have come here quickly to your
feet. And when I beheld your majesty's appearance, my doubt was at
an end, for it was clearly your majesty that the princess caused to
be painted by my hand. And as it is not possible to paint her twice,
such as she is, I will not represent her in the picture as standing
at your side, though she is equal to you in beauty."

When Roladeva said this, the king said to him--"Then shew her as
she is represented on the canvas you have brought with you." Then the
painter looked out a piece of canvas which was in a bag, and shewed the
king Madanasundarí in a painting. And the king Kanakavarsha, seeing
that even in a painting she was wonderfully beautiful, immediately
became enamoured of her. And he loaded that painter with much gold,
and taking the picture of his beloved, retired into his private
apartments. There he remained with his mind fixed on her alone,
abandoning all occupations, and his eyes were never satisfied with
gazing on her beauty. It seemed as if the god of love was jealous
of his good looks, for now that he had obtained an opportunity, he
tormented him, smiting him with his arrows and robbing him of his
self-control. And the love-pain, which he had inflicted on women
enamoured of his handsome shape, was now visited on that king a
hundredfold.

And in the course of some days, being pale and emaciated, he told
to his confidential ministers, who questioned him, the thought of
his heart. And after deliberating with them, he sent to the king
Devasakti, as ambassador, to ask for the hand of his daughter,
a trustworthy Bráhman of good birth, named Sangamasvámin, who was
skilled in affairs, knew times and seasons, and could speak in a sweet
and lofty style. That Sangamasvámin went to Vidarbha with a great
retinue, and entered the city of Kundina. And there he had a formal
interview with the king Devasakti, and on behalf of his master asked
for the hand of his daughter. And Devasakti reflected--"I must give
away this daughter of mine to some one, and this king Kanakavarsha
has been described as my equal, and he asks for her; so I will give
her to him." Accordingly he granted the prayer of Sangamasvámin,
and the king displayed to the ambassador the astonishing elegance in
the dance of his daughter Madanasundarí. Then the king sent away,
after honouring him, and promising to give his daughter, that
Sangamasvámin, who was charmed with his sight of her. And he sent
with him a counter-ambassador to say, "Fix an auspicious moment and
come here for the marriage. And Sangamasvámin returned, accompanied
by the counter-ambassador, and told the king Kanakavarsha that his
object was effected. Then the king ascertained a favourable moment,
and honoured that ambassador, and heard from him over and over again
how Madanasundarí was in love with him. And then the king Kanakavarsha
set out for the city of Kundina, in order to marry her, with mind
at ease on account of his own irresistible valour, mounted on the
horse Asíkala, [760] and he smote the Savaras that inhabited the
border-forests, and took the lives of living creatures, like lions
and other wild beasts. And he reached Vidarbha, and entered that city
of Kundina, with king Devasakti, who came out to meet him. Then he
entered the king's palace, in which preparations had been made for
the marriage, robbing the ladies of the city of the feast which he
had given to their eyes. And there he rested a day with his retinue,
pleased at the noble reception which king Devasakti gave him. And on
the next day Devasakti gave him his daughter Madanasundarí, together
with all his wealth, retaining only his kingdom.

And king Kanakavarsha, after he had remained there seven days,
returned to his own city with his recently-married bride. And when
he arrived with his beloved, giving joy to the world, like the moon
with the moonlight, that city was full of rejoicing. Then that queen
Madanasundarí was dearer than life to that king, though he had many
wives, as Rukminí is to Vishnu. And the wedded couple remained fastened
together by their eyes with lovely eyelashes, which were fixed on one
another's faces, resembling the arrows of love. And in the meanwhile
arrived the lion of spring, with a train of expanding filaments for
mane, tearing to pieces the elephant of female coyness. And the garden
made ready blossoming mango-plants, by way of bows for the god of Love,
with rows of bees clinging to them by way of bowstring. And the wind
from the Malaya mountain blew, swaying the love-kindled hearts of the
wives of men travelling in foreign lands, as it swayed the suburban
groves. And the sweetly-speaking cuckoos seemed to say to men,
"The brimming of the streams, the flowers of the trees, the digits
of the moon wane and return again, but not the youth of men. [761]
Fling aside coyness and quarrelling, and sport with your beloved ones."

And at that time king Kanakavarsha went with all his wives to a
spring-garden, to amuse himself. And he eclipsed the beauty of the
asokas with the red robes of his attendants, and with the songs of
his lovely ladies the song of the cuckoos and bees. There the king,
though all his wives were with him, amused himself with Madanasundarí
in picking flowers and other diversions. And after roaming there a
long time, the king entered the Godávarí with his wives to bathe,
and began the water-game. His ladies surpassed the lotuses with their
faces, with their eyes the blue water-lilies, with their breasts the
couples of Brahmany ducks, with their hips the sandbanks, and when
they troubled the bosom of the stream, it showed frowns of anger
in the form of curling waves. Then the mind of Kanakavarsha took
pleasure in them, while they displayed the contours of their limbs
in the splashing-game. And in the ardour of the game, he splashed
one queen with water from his palms on her breast.

When Madanasundarí saw it, she was jealous, and got angry with him,
and in an outburst of indignation said to him, "How long are you
going to trouble the river?" And going out of the water, she took her
other clothes and rushed off in a passion to her own palace, telling
her ladies of that fault of her lover's. Then king Kanakavarsha,
seeing her state of mind, stopped his water-game, and went off to her
apartments. Even the parrots in the cages warned him off in wrath,
when he approached, and entering he saw within the queen afflicted with
wrath: with her downcast lotus-like face supported on the palm of her
left hand, with tear-drops falling like transparent pearls. And she
was repeating, with accents charming on account of her broken speech,
in a voice interrupted with sobs, shewing her gleaming teeth, this
fragment of a Prákrit song: "If you cannot endure separation, you must
cheerfully abandon anger. If you can in your heart endure separation,
then you must increase your wrath. Perceiving this clearly, remain
pledged to one or the other; if you take your stand on both, you will
fall between two stools." And when the king saw her in this state,
lovely even in tears, he approached her bashfully and timidly. And
embracing her, though she kept her face averted, he set himself to
propitiate her with respectful words tender with love. And when her
retinue signified her scorn with ambiguous hints, he fell at her feet,
blaming himself as an offender. Then she clung to the neck of the king,
and was reconciled to him, bedewing him with the tears that flowed on
account of that very annoyance. And he, delighted, spent the day with
his beloved, whose anger had been exchanged for good-will, and slept
there at night.

But in the night he saw in a dream his necklace suddenly taken from
his neck, and his crest-jewel snatched from his head, by a deformed
woman. Then he saw a Vetála, with a body made up of the limbs of
many animals, and when the Vetála wrestled with him, he hurled him
to earth. And when the king sat on the Vetála's back, the demon flew
up with him through the air, like a bird, and threw him into the
sea. Then, after he had with difficulty struggled to the shore, he
saw that the necklace was replaced on his neck, and the crest-jewel
on his head. When the king had seen this, he woke up, and in the
morning he asked a Buddhist mendicant, who had come to visit him as
an old friend, the meaning of the dream. And the mendicant answered
clearly--"I do not wish to say what is unpleasant, but how can I help
telling you when I am asked? The fact that you saw your necklace and
crest-jewel taken away, means that you will be separated from your
wife and from your son. And the fact that, after you had escaped
from the sea, you found them again, means that you will be reunited
with them, when your calamity comes to an end." Then the king said,
"I have not a son as yet, let him be born first." Then the king
heard from a reciter of the Rámáyana, who visited his palace, how
king Dasaratha endured hardship to obtain a son; and so there arose
in his mind anxiety about obtaining a son, and the mendicant having
departed, the king Kanakavarsha spent that day in despondency.

And at night, as he was lying alone and sleepless upon his bed,
he saw a woman enter without opening the door. She was modest and
gentle of appearance, and, when the king bowed before her, she gave
him her blessing and said to him: "Son, know that I am the daughter
of Vásuki the king of the snakes, and the elder sister of thy father,
Ratnaprabhá by name. I always dwell near thee, invisible, to protect
thee, but to-day, seeing thee despondent, I have displayed to thee
my real form. I cannot bear to behold thy sorrow, so tell me the
cause." When the king had been thus addressed by his father's sister,
he said to her: "I am fortunate, mother, in that you shew me such
condescension. But know that my anxiety is caused by the fact that no
son is born to me. How can people like myself help desiring that, which
even heroic saints of old days, like Dasaratha and others, desired for
the sake of obtaining svarga." When the Nágí [762] Ratnaprabhá heard
this speech of that king, she said to her brother's son; "My son, I
will tell thee an admirable expedient, carry it out. Go and propitiate
Kártikeya with a view to obtain a son. I will enter thy body, and by
my power thou shalt support the rain of Kártikeya falling on thy head
to impede thee, difficult to endure. And after thou hast overcome a
host of other impediments, thou shalt obtain thy wish." When the Nágí
had said this, she disappeared, and the king spent the night in bliss.

The next morning he committed his realm to the care of his ministers,
and went, desiring a son, to visit the sole of Kártikeya's foot. There
he performed a severe penance to propitiate that lord, having power
given him by the Nágí that entered his body. Then the rain of Kumára
[763] fell on his head like thunderbolts, and continued without
ceasing. But he endured it by means of the Nágí that had entered his
body. Then Kártikeya sent Ganesa to impede him still further. And
Ganesa created in that rain a very poisonous and exceedingly terrible
serpent, but the king did not fear it. Then Ganesa, invincible [764]
even by gods, came in visible form, and began to give him bites on
the breast. Then king Kanakavarsha, thinking that he was a foe hard
to subdue, proceeded, after he had endured that ordeal, to propitiate
Ganesa with praises.

"Honour to thee, O god of the projecting belly, adorned with the
elephant's ornament, whose body is like a swelling pitcher containing
success in all affairs! Victory to thee, O elephant-faced one, that
makest even Brahmá afraid, shaking the lotus, which is his throne,
with thy trunk flung up in sport! Even the gods, the Asuras, and
the chief hermits do not succeed, unless thou art pleased, the only
refuge of the world, O thou beloved of Siva! The chief of the gods
praise thee by thy sixty-eight sin-destroying names, calling thee the
pitcher-bellied, the basket-eared one, [765] the chief of the Ganas,
the furious mast elephant, Yama the noose-handed, the Sun, Vishnu, and
Siva. With these names to the number of sixty-eight, corresponding to
so many parts of the body, do they praise thee. And when one remembers
thee, and praises thee, O Lord, fear produced by the battle-field, by
the king's court, by gambling, by thieves, by fire, by wild beasts,
and other harms, departs." With these laudatory verses, and with
many others of the same kind, king Kanakavarsha honoured that king
of impediments. And the conqueror of impediments said, "I will not
throw an impediment in thy way, obtain a son," and disappeared then
and there from the eyes of that king.

Then Kártikeya said to that king, who had endured the rain;
"Resolute man, I am pleased with thee, so crave thy boon." Then the
king, delighted, said to the god, "Let a son be born to me by thy
favour." Then the god said, "Thou shalt have a son, the incarnation of
one of my Ganas, and his name shall be Hiranyavarsha on the earth." And
then the rider on the peacock summoned him to enter his inmost shrine,
in order to shew him special favour. [766] Thereupon the Nágí left his
body invisibly, for females do not enter the house of Kártikeya through
dread of a curse. Then king Kanakavarsha entered the sanctifying
temple of that god, armed only with his human excellence. When the
god saw that he was deprived of the excellence he formerly had,
because he was no longer inhabited by the Nágí, he reflected--"What
can this mean?" And Kártikeya, perceiving by his divine meditation,
that that king had performed a very difficult vow by the secret
help of the Nágí, thus cursed him in his wrath: "Since thou didst
make use of deceit, intractable man, thou shalt be separated from
thy son, as soon as he is born, and from thy queen. When the king
heard this curse, terrible as a thunderstroke, he was not amazed,
but being a mighty poet, praised that god with hymns. Then the
six-faced god, pleased with his well turned language, said to him;
"King, I am pleased with thy hymns; I appoint thee this end of thy
curse; thou shalt be separated from thy wife and son for one year,
but after thou hast been saved from three great dangers, thou shalt
come to an end of the separation." When the six-faced god had said
this, he ceased to speak, and the king, satisfied with the nectar of
his favour, bowed before him, and went to his own city.

Then, in course of time, he had a son born to him by queen
Madanasundarí, as the nectar-stream is born of the light of the
cold-rayed moon. When the king and queen saw the face of that son,
being filled with great delight, they were not able to contain
themselves. [767] And at that time the king made a feast, and showered
riches, and made his name of Kanakavarsha [768] a literal fact on
the earth.

When five nights had passed, while guard was being kept in the
lying-in-house, on the sixth night a cloud suddenly came there. It
swelled, and gradually covered the whole sky, as a neglected enemy
overruns the kingdom of a careless king. Then the mast elephant
of the wind began to rush, showering drops of rain like drops
of ichor, and rooting up trees. At that moment a terrible woman,
sword in hand, opened the door, though it was bolted, and entered
that lying-in-chamber. She took that babe from the queen as she
was nursing it, and ran out, having bewildered the attendants. And
then the queen, distracted, and exclaiming, "Alas! a Rákshasí has
carried off my child," pursued that woman, though it was dark. And
the woman rushed on and plunged into a tank with the child, and
the queen, pursuing her, plunged in also, eager to recover her
offspring. Immediately the cloud disappeared, and the night came
to an end, and the lamentation of the attendants was heard in the
lying-in-chamber. Then the king Kanakavarsha, hearing it, came to
the lying-in-chamber, and seeing it empty of his son and wife, was
distracted. After he had recovered consciousness, he began to lament,
"Alas, my queen! Alas, my infant son!" and then he called to mind
that the curse was to end in a year. And he exclaimed, "Holy Skanda,
how could you give to ill-starred me a boon joined with a curse,
like nectar mixed with poison? Alas! how shall I be able to pass
a year, long as a thousand years, without the queen Madanasundarí,
whom I value more than my life?" And the king, though exhorted by the
ministers, who knew the circumstances, did not recover his composure,
which had departed with his queen.

And in course of time he left his city, distracted with a paroxysm
of love, and wandered through the Vindhya forest in a state of
bewilderment. There, as he gazed on the eyes of the young does,
he remembered the beauty of the eyes of his beloved, and the bushy
tails of the chamarís reminded him of the loveliness of her luxuriant
hair, and when he marked the gait of the female elephant, he called
to mind the languid grace of her gait, so that the fire of his love
broke out into a fiercer flame. And wandering about exhausted with
thirst and heat, he reached the foot of the Vindhya mountains, and,
after drinking the water of a stream, he sat down at the foot of a
tree. In the meanwhile a long-maned lion came out of a cavern of the
Vindhya hills, uttering a roar which resembled a loud demoniac laugh,
and rushed towards him to slay him. At that very moment a certain
Vidyádhara descended rapidly from heaven, and cleft that lion in two
with a sword-stroke. And that sky-goer, coming near, said to the king,
"King Kanakavarsha, how have you come to this region?" When the king
heard it, he recovered his memory, and said to him, "How do you know
me, who am tossed with the wind of separation?" Then the Vidyádhara
said, "I, when in old time I was a religious mendicant, of the name
of Bandhumitra, dwelt in your city. Then you helped me in my rites,
when I respectfully asked you to do so, and so I obtained the rank of
a Vidyádhara, by making a goblin my servant. Thus I recognized you,
and being desirous to confer on you a benefit by way of recompense,
I have slain this lion which I saw on the point of killing you.

"And my name has now become Bandhuprabha." When the Vidyádhara said
this, the king conceived an affection for him, and said, "Ah! I
remember, and this friendship has been nobly acted up to by you,
so tell me when I shall be reunited with my wife and son." When the
Vidyádhara Bandhuprabha heard that, he perceived it by his divine
knowledge, and said to the king--"By a pilgrimage to the shrine of
Durgá, in the Vindhya hills, you will recover your wife and son,
so go you to prosperity, and I will return to my own world." When he
had said this, he departed, and king Kanakavarsha, having recovered
his self-command, went to visit that shrine of Durgá.

As he was going along, a great and furious wild elephant, stretching
out its trunk, and shaking its head, charged him in the path. When the
king saw that, he fled by a way full of holes, so that the elephant,
pursuing him, fell into a chasm and was killed. Then the king, fatigued
with toil and exertion, slowly going along, reached a great lake full
of lotuses with straight upstanding stalks. There the king bathed,
drank the water of the lake, and ate the fibres of the lotuses, and
lying tired at the foot of a tree, was for a moment overpowered by
sleep. And some Savaras, returning that way from hunting, saw that king
with auspicious marks lying asleep. And they immediately bound him,
and took him to their king Muktáphala, in order that he might serve
as a victim. The king of the Savaras, for his part, seeing that the
king was a suitable victim, took him to the temple of Durgá to offer
him up. And when the king saw the goddess, he bowed before her, and by
her mercy and the favour of Skanda his bonds fell off. When the king
of the Savaras saw that miracle, he knew that it was a mark of the
goddess's favour towards him, and he spared his life. So Kanakavarsha
escaped the third danger, and accomplished the year of his curse.

And in the meanwhile the Nágí, the aunt of the king, came there,
bringing the queen Madanasundarí with her son, and said to the king--"O
king, when I heard the curse of Kártikeya, I took these away by an
artifice to my own dwelling, and preserved them there. Therefore,
Kanakavarsha, receive here your wife and son, enjoy this empire of
the earth, for now your curse is at an end." When the Nágí had said
this to the king, who bowed before her, she disappeared, and the king
looked upon the arrival of his wife and child as a dream. Then the
grief of separation of the king and queen, who had so long been forced
to live apart, trickled away in their tears of joy. Then Muktáphala,
the king of the Savaras, fell at the feet of the king Kanakavarsha,
on finding that he was his master, the lord of the whole earth. And
after he had propitiated him, and persuaded him to visit his town,
he furnished his wife and child with all kinds of luxuries, such
as it was in his power to give. Then the king, remaining there,
summoned by messengers his father-in-law Devasakti and his army
[769] from his own city. Then he sent on in front of him his beloved
wife Madanasundarí, mounted on a female elephant, and his son, who
Kártikeya said was to be called Hiranyavarsha, and went with his
father-in-law towards his father-in-law's house. [770] And in a few
days he reached the residence of his father-in-law, a hermitage in the
country of Vidarbha, and after that his wealthy city of Kundina, and
there he remained some time with his wife and son, and his army, being
entertained by his father-in-law. And setting out thence, he at last
reached his own town of Kanakapura, where he was, as it were, drunk in
by the eyes of the wives of the citizens, long desirous of beholding
him again. And with his son and Madanasundarí he entered the palace,
like an embodied feast, accompanied with joy and splendour. And there
he gave Madanasundarí a turban of honour, and made her his head wife,
and he honoured his subjects with gifts on this day of triumph. [771]
And then king Kanakavarsha ruled this circle of the earth, four-limited
by the sea, without opponents, in perpetual happiness, with his wife
and son, without experiencing again the grief of separation.

When the prince Naraváhanadatta heard this magnificent tale from
his head minister Gomukha, in the company of the fair Alankáravatí,
he was exceedingly delighted.






CHAPTER LVI.


Then the prince Naraváhanadatta, with his beloved by his side,
being much pleased at the tale of Gomukha, but seeing that Marubhúti
was quite put out, in order to pay him a compliment, said to him,
attempting to conciliate him; "Marubhúti, why do you not tell a tale
also?" Then he said, "Well, I will tell one," and with pleased soul
began to relate the following story.



Story of the Bráhman Chandrasvámin, his son Mahípála, and his daughter
Chandravatí.

There once lived in a town called Devakamalapura, belonging to the
king Kamalavarman, an excellent Bráhman, named Chandrasvámin. And
that wise man had a wife like himself, distinguished for modesty,
and she was a worthy match for Sarasvatí and Lakshmí. And to that
Bráhman was born a son with auspicious marks, and when he was born,
this voice was heard from heaven:

"Chandrasvámin, you must call your son Mahípála, [772] because he
shall be a king and long protect the earth." When Chandrasvámin heard
this, he made a feast and called that son Mahípála. And in course
of time Mahípála grew up, and was taught the science of missile and
hand to hand weapons, and was at the same time instructed in all
knowledge. And in the meanwhile his wife Devamati brought forth
to Chandrasvámin another child, a daughter, beautiful in all her
limbs. And the brother and sister, Mahípála and Chandravatí, grew up
together in their father's house.

Then a famine, caused by want of rain, sprang up in that country,
the corn having been scorched up by the rays of the sun. And owing
to that, the king began to play the bandit, leaving the right path,
and taking wealth from his subjects unlawfully. Then, as that land
was going rapidly to ruin, Chandrasvámin's wife said to her husband:
"Come to my father's house, let us leave this city, for our children
will perish here some day or other." When Chandrasvámin heard this,
he said to his wife--"By no means, for flight from one's own country
in time of famine is a great sin. So I will take these children
and deposit them in your father's house, and do you remain here;
I will return soon. She agreed, and then Chandrasvámin left her in
his house, and taking those two children, the boy Mahípála and the
girl Chandravatí, set out from that city for his father-in-law's
house. And in course of time, as he roamed on, he reached a great
wilderness, with sands heated by the rays of the sun, and with but
a few parched up trees in it. And there he left his two children,
who were exhausted with thirst, and went to a great distance to look
for water for them. Then there met him a chief of the Savaras, named
Sinhadanshtra, with his followers, going somewhere or other for his
own ends. The Bhilla saw him and questioned him, and finding out that
he was in search of water, said to his followers, "Take him to some
water," at the same time making a sign to them. When they heard it,
two or three of the Savara king's followers, perceiving his intention,
took the innocent Chandrasvámin to the village, and fettered him. And
he, learning from them that he was fettered in order to be offered as
a victim, lamented for his two children that he had left in the wild:

"Ah Mahípála! Ah dear Chandravatí! why did I foolishly abandon you in
the wilderness and make you the prey of lions and tigers? And I have
brought myself also into a position where I am sure to be slain by
bandits, and there is no escape for me." While he was thus lamenting
in his terror, he saw to his delight the sun. And exclaiming, "Ah! I
will fling aside bewilderment and fly for refuge to my own lord,"
the Bráhman began to praise the sun in the following verses--"Hail to
thee, O Lord, the brightness residing in the near and in the remote
ether, that dispersest the internal and external darkness. Thou art
Vishnu pervading the three worlds, thou art Siva the treasure-house
of blessings, thou art the supreme lord of creatures, calling into
activity the sleeping Universe. Thou deposest thy brightness in fire
and in the moon, out of pity, as it were, saying, 'Let these two dull
things shine,' and so thou dispellest the night. When thou risest,
the Rákshasas disperse, the Dasyus have no power, and the virtuous
rejoice. [773] So, thou matchless illuminator of the three worlds,
deliver me, who take refuge with thee. Disperse this darkness of my
grief, have mercy upon me." When the Bráhman had devoutly praised
the sun with these and other similar hymns, a voice was heard from
heaven--"Chandrasvámin, I am pleased with thee, thou shalt not be
put to death, and by my favour thou shalt be reunited with thy wife
and children." When the divine voice had said this to Chandrasvámin,
he recovered his spirits, and remained in a state of tranquillity,
being supplied with bathing requisites and food by the Savaras.

And in the meanwhile the boy Mahípála, left in the wilderness with his
sister, as his father did not return, remained lamenting bitterly,
supposing that some calamity had befallen him. And in this state
he was beheld by a great merchant, of the name of Sárthadhara,
who came that way, and the merchant asked him what had happened
to him. And feeling compassion, he consoled the boy, and observing
that he had auspicious marks, he took him and his sister to his own
country. There that Mahípála lived in the house of that merchant,
who looked upon him with all the affection of a father for his son;
and though a boy, he was occupied in the rites of the sacred fire.

But one day the minister of the king Tárávarman, who lived in the
city of Tárápura, the excellent Bráhman Anantasvámin, came that way on
business, with his elephants, horses and foot-soldiers, and entered the
house of that merchant, being a friend of his. After he had rested,
he saw the handsome boy Mahípála, engaged in muttering prayers and
in sacrificing to the fire, and asked his story; then the Bráhman
minister, finding that the boy was of his own caste, as he had no
children, begged the boy and his sister from the merchant. Then the
merchant, who was a Vaisya, gave him the children, and Anantasvámin
went with them to Tárápura. There Mahípála remained in the house of
that minister, which abounded in wealth on account of its master's
knowledge, and was treated by him as a son.

And in the meanwhile Sinhadanshtra, the king of the Bhillas, came
to Chandrasvámin, who was in captivity in that village, and said to
him; "Bráhman, I have been ordered in a dream by the Sun-god not to
slay you but to set you free, after doing you honour. So rise up,
and go where you please." After saying this, he let him go, giving
him pearls and musk, and supplying him with an escort through the
forest. And Chandrasvámin, being thus set at liberty, not finding his
son and his younger sister in the wood, wandered in search of them,
and as he wandered he found a city named Jalapura on the shore of the
sea, and entered as a guest the house of a certain Bráhman. There,
after he had taken refreshment, and then told his story, the Bráhman,
the master of the house, said to him; "A merchant named Kanakavarman
came here some days ago; he found in the forest a Bráhman boy with
his sister, and he has gone off with those two very handsome children
to the great island of Nárikela, but he did not tell his name." When
Chandrasvámin heard that, he made up his mind that those children
were his, and he determined to go to that beautiful island. And after
he had spent the night, and looked about him, he made acquaintance
with a merchant, named Vishnuvarman, who was about to go to the
isle of Nárikela. And with him he embarked in a ship, and went
across the sea to the island, out of love for his children. When he
began to enquire there, the merchants, who lived there, said to him;
"It is true that a merchant named Kanakavarman did come here, with
two beautiful Bráhman children, whom he found in a wood. But he has
now gone with them to the island of Katáha. When the Bráhman heard
that, he went in a ship with the merchant Dánavarman to the island of
Katáha. There he heard that the merchant Kanakavarman had gone from
that island to an island named Karpúra. In the same way he visited
in turn the islands of Karpúra, Suvarna, and Sinhala with merchants,
but he did not find the merchant whom he was in search of. But from
the people of Sinhala he heard that that merchant Kanakavarman had
gone to his own city, named Chitrakúta. Then Chandrasvámin went with
a merchant, named Kotísvara, to Chitrakúta, crossing the sea in his
ship. And in that city he found the merchant Kanakavarman, and longing
for his children, he told him the whole story. Then Kanakavarman,
when he knew the cause of his grief, showed him the children, whom
he had found in the forest and brought away. But when Chandrasvámin
looked at those two children, he saw that they were not his, but
some other children. Then he, being afflicted with tears and grief,
lamented in desperate mood--"Alas! though I have wandered so far,
I have not found my son or my daughter. Malignant Providence, like a
wicked master, has held out hopes to me but has not fulfilled them,
and has made me wander far and wide on a false surmise." While he
was indulging in such lamentations, he was at last, though with
difficulty, consoled by Kanakavarman, and exclaimed in his grief,
"If I do not find those children in a year, by wandering over the
earth, I will abandon the body by austerities on the bank of the
river Ganges. When he said this, a certain seer there said to him,
"Go, you will recover your children by the favour of Náráyaní. When
he heard that, he was delighted, remembering the compassion shown him
by the sun, and he departed from that city, honoured by the merchants.

Then, searching the lands which were royal grants to Bráhmans,
and the villages and the towns, he reached one evening a wood with
many tall trees in it. There he made a meal on fruits and water,
and climbed up into a tree to spend the night there, dreading the
lions, and tigers, and other noisome beasts. And being sleepless,
he saw in the night at the foot of the tree a great body of divine
Mothers assembled, with Náráyaní at their head; waiting for the
arrival of the god Bhairava, having brought with them all kinds of
presents suited to their resources. And thereupon the Mothers asked
Náráyaní why the god delayed, but she laughed and gave no reason. And
being persistently questioned by them, she answered--"He has stopped
to curse a Guhyaka who has incurred his displeasure." [774] And on
account of that business some delay has taken place about his arrival,
but know that he will be here soon. While Náráyaní was saying this to
the Mothers, there came there Bhairava [775] the lord of the company
of Mothers. And he, having been honoured with gifts by all the Mothers,
spent some time in dancing, and sported with the witches.

And while Chandrasvámin was surveying that from the summit of a
tree, he saw a slave belonging to Náráyaní, and she saw him. And
as chance would have it, they fell in love with one another, and
the goddess Náráyaní perceived their feelings. And when Bhairava had
departed, accompanied by the witches, she, lingering behind, summoned
Chandrasvámin who was on the tree. And when he came down, she said
to him and her slave: "Are you in love with one another?" And they
confessed the truth, and said they were, and thereupon she dismissed
her anger and said to Chandrasvámin, "I am pleased with thee for
confessing the truth, so I will not curse thee, but I will give
thee this slave, live in happiness." When the Bráhman heard this, he
said--"Goddess, though my mind is fickle, I hold it in check, I do not
touch a strange woman. For this is the nature of the mind, but bodily
sin should be avoided." When that firm-souled Bráhman said this, the
goddess said to him--"I am pleased with thee and I give thee this boon:
thou shalt quickly find thy children. And receive from me this unfading
lotus that destroys poison." When the goddess had said this, she gave
the Bráhman Chandrasvámin a lotus, and disappeared from his eyes.

And he, having received the lotus, set out, at the end of the night,
and roaming along reached the city of Tárápura, where his son Mahípála
and his daughter were living in the house of that Bráhman minister
Anantasvámin. There he went and recited at the door of that minister,
in order to obtain food, having heard that he was hospitable. And
the minister, having been informed by the door-keepers, had him
introduced by them, and when he saw that he was learned, invited
him to dinner. And when he was invited, having heard that there
was a lake there, named Anantahrada, that washed away sin, he went
to bathe there. While he was returning after bathing, the Bráhman
heard all round him in the city a cry of grief. And when he asked
the cause, the people said to him--"There is in this city a Bráhman
boy, of the name of Mahípála, who was found in the forest by the
merchant Sárthadhara. The minister Anantasvámin, observing that he
had auspicious marks, with some difficulty begged him and his sister
from the merchant, and brought them both here. And being without a
son, he has adopted the boy, whose excellent qualities have endeared
him to king Tárávarman and his people. To-day he has been bitten
by a poisonous snake; hence the cry of grief in the city." When
Chandrasvámin heard that, he said to himself, "This must be my son,"
and reflecting thus, he went to the house of that minister as fast as
he could. There he saw his son surrounded by all, and recognized him,
and rejoiced, having in his hand the lotus that was an antidote to
snake-poison. And he put that lotus to the nose of that Mahípála, and
the moment he smelt it, he was free from the effects of poison. And
Mahípála rose up, and was as one who had just awoke from sleep,
[776] and all the people in the city, and the king rejoiced. And
Chandrasvámin was honoured with wealth by Anantasvámin, the king, and
the citizens, who said "This is some incarnation of the divinity." And
he remained in the house of the minister in great comfort, honoured
by him, and he saw his son Mahípála and his daughter Chandravatí. And
the three, though they mutually recognized one another, said nothing,
for the wise have regard to what is expedient, and do not discover
themselves out of season.

Then the king Tárávarman, being highly pleased with the virtues of
Mahípála, gave him his daughter Bandhumatí. Then that king, after
giving him the half of the kingdom, being pleased with him, laid the
whole burden of the kingdom upon him, as he had no other son. And
Mahípála, after he had obtained the kingdom, acknowledged his father,
and gave him a position next to his, and so lived in happiness.

One day his father Chandrasvámin said to him, "Come, let us go to our
own country to bring your mother. For if she hears that you are the
occupant of a throne, having been long afflicted, she might think,
'How comes it that my son has forgotten me,' and might curse you
in her anger. But one who is cursed by his father and mother does
not long enjoy prosperity. In proof of this hear this tale of what
happened long ago to the merchant's son."



Story of Chakra. [777]

In the city of Dhavala there was a merchant's son, named Chakra. He
went on a trading voyage to Svarnadvípa against the will of his
parents. There he gained great wealth in five years, and in order
to return embarked on the sea in a ship laden with jewels. And when
his voyage was very nearly at an end, the sea rose up against him,
troubled with a great wind, and with clouds and rain. And the huge
billows broke his vessel, as if angry because he had come against the
wish of his parents. Some of the passengers were whelmed in the waves,
others were eaten by sea-monsters. But Chakra, as his allotted term of
life had not run out, was carried to the shore and flung up there by
the waves. While he was lying there in a state of exhaustion, he saw
as if in a dream, a man of black and terrible appearance come to him,
with a noose in his hand. Chakra was caught in the noose by that man,
who took him up and dragged him a long distance to a court presided
over by a man on a throne. By the order of the occupant of the throne,
the merchant's son was carried off by that noose-bearer, and flung
into a cell of iron.

In that cell Chakra saw a man being tortured by means of an iron
wheel [778] on his head, that revolved incessantly. And Chakra
asked him,--"Who are you, by what crime did you incur this, and
how do you manage to continue alive?" And the man answered--"I am a
merchant's son named Khadga, and because I did not obey the commands
of my parents, they were angry and in wrath laid this curse upon me:
[779] 'Because, wicked son, you torture us like a hot wheel placed
on the head, therefore such shall be your punishment.' When they had
said this they ceased, and as I wept, they said to me, 'Weep not,
your punishment shall only last for one month.' When I heard that,
I spent the day in grief, and at night when I was in bed, I saw,
as if in a dream, a terrible man come. He took me off and thrust me
by force into this iron cell, and he placed on my head this burning
and ever-revolving wheel. This was my parents' curse, hence I do not
die. And the month is at an end to-day; still I am not set free." When
Khadga said that, Chakra in pity answered him--"I too did not obey my
parents, for I went abroad to get wealth against their will, and they
pronounced against me the curse that my wealth, when acquired, should
perish. So I lost in the sea my whole wealth, that I had acquired
in a foreign island. My case is the same as yours. So what is the
use of my life? Place this wheel on my head. Let your curse, Khadga,
depart." When Chakra said this, a voice was heard in the air "Khadga,
thou art released, so place this wheel on the head of Chakra." When
Khadga heard this, he placed the wheel on the head of Chakra, and
was conveyed by some invisible being to his parents' house.

There he remained without disobeying again the orders of his parents:
but Chakra put that wheel upon his head, and then spake thus--"May
other sinners also on the earth be released from the result of their
sins; until all sins are cancelled, may this wheel revolve on my
head." When the resolute Chakra said this, the gods in heaven, being
pleased, rained flowers and thus addressed him: "Bravo! Bravo! man of
noble spirit, this compassion has cancelled thy sin, go; thou shalt
possess inexhaustible wealth." When the gods said this, that iron
wheel fell from the head of Chakra, and disappeared somewhere. Then
a Vidyádhara youth descended from heaven, and gave him a valuable
treasure of jewels, sent by Indra pleased with his self-abnegation,
and taking Chakra in his arms, carried him to his city named Dhavala,
and departed as he had come. Then Chakra delighted his relations
by his arrival at the house of his parents, and, after telling his
adventures, remained there without falling away from virtue.

When Chandrasvámin had told this story, he said again to Mahípála,
"Such evil fruits does opposition to one's parents produce, my son,
but devotion to them is a wishing-cow of plenty: in illustration of
this hear the following tale."



Story of the hermit and the faithful wife.

There was in old time a hermit of great austerity, who roamed in the
forest. And one day a hen-crow, as he was sitting under the shade of
a tree, dropped dirt upon him, so he looked at the crow with angry
eyes. And the crow, as soon as he looked at it, was reduced to ashes;
and so the hermit conceived a vain-glorious confidence in the might
of his austerities.

Once on a time, in a certain city, the hermit entered the house of a
Bráhman, and asked his wife for alms. And that wife, who was devoted
to her husband, answered him, "Wait a little, I am attending upon my
husband." Then he looked at her with an angry look, and she laughed
at him and said, "Remember, [780] I am not a crow." When the hermit
heard that, he sat down in a state of astonishment, and remained
wondering how she could possibly have come to know of the fate of the
crow. Then, after she had attended upon her husband in the oblation
to the fire and in other rites, the virtuous woman brought alms,
and approached that hermit. Then the hermit joined his hands in the
attitude of supplication, and said to that virtuous woman: "How did
you come to know of my adventure with the crow in the forest; tell
me first, and then I will receive your alms?" When the hermit said
this, that wife, who adored her husband, said, "I know of no virtue
other than devotion to my husband, accordingly by his favour I have
such power of discernment. But go and visit a man here who lives by
selling flesh, whose name is Dharmavyádha, from him thou shalt learn
the secret of blessedness free from the consciousness of self." The
hermit, thus addressed by the all-knowing faithful wife, took the
portion of a guest, and after bowing before her, departed.



Story of Dharmavyádha the righteous seller of flesh. [781]

The next day he went in search of that Dharmavyádha, and approached
him, as he was selling flesh in his shop. And as soon as Dharmavyádha
saw the hermit, he said, "Have you been sent here, Bráhman, by that
faithful wife?" When the hermit heard that, he said to Dharmavyádha
in his astonishment,--"How come you to have such knowledge, being a
seller of flesh?" When the hermit said this, Dharmavyádha answered
him--"I am devoted to my father and mother, that is my only object
in life. I bathe after I have provided them with the requisites for
bathing, I eat after I have fed them, I lie down after I have seen
them to bed; thus it comes to pass that I have such knowledge. And
being engaged in the duties of my profession, I sell only for my
subsistence the flesh of deer and other animals slain by others, not
from desire of wealth. And I and that faithful wife do not indulge
self-consciousness, the impediment of knowledge, so the knowledge
of both of us is free from hindrance. Therefore do you, observing
the vow of a hermit, perform your own duties, without giving way to
self-consciousness, with a view to acquiring purity, in order that
you may quickly attain the supreme brightness." When he had been thus
instructed by Dharmavyádha, he went to his house and observed his
practice, and afterwards he returned satisfied to the forest. And by
his advice he became perfected, and the faithful wife and Dharmavyádha
also attained perfection by such performance of their duties.

"Such is the power of those who are devoted to husband or father and
mother. So come, visit that mother who longs for a sight of you." When
thus addressed by his father Chandrasvámin, Mahípála promised to go
to his native land to please his mother. And he disclosed that of
his own accord to Anantasvámin his spiritual father, and when he took
upon him the burden of his kingdom, the king set out with his natural
father by night. And at last he reached his own country, and refreshed
his mother Devamati with a sight of him, as the spring refreshes the
female cuckoo. And Mahípála stayed there some time with his mother,
being welcomed by his relations, together with his father who related
their adventures.

In the meanwhile in Tárápura the princess, his wife Bandhumatí, who
was sleeping within the house, woke up at the close of night. And
discovering that her husband had gone somewhere, she was distressed at
her lonely state, and could not find solace in the palace, the garden,
or any other place. But she remained weeping, shedding tears that
seemed to double her necklace, intent on lamentation only, desiring
relief by death. But the minister Anantasvámin came and comforted her
with hope-inspiring words, saying, "Before your husband went, he said
to me, 'I am going away on some business and I will quickly return,'
so do not weep, my daughter." Then she recovered self-control,
though with difficulty. Then she remained continually honouring
with gifts excellent Bráhmans, that came from a foreign country, in
order to obtain news of her husband. And she asked a poor Bráhman,
named Sangamadatta, who came for a gift, for tidings of her husband,
having told him his name and the signs by which to recognize him. Then
the Bráhman said, "I have never beheld a man of that kind; but, queen,
you must not give way to excessive anxiety on this account. Doers of
righteous actions eventually obtain reunion with loved ones, and in
proof of that I will tell you a wonder which I saw, listen."



Story of the treacherous Pásupata ascetic.

As I was wandering round all the holy places, I came to the Mánasa
lake on the Himálayas, and in it I saw, as in a mirror, [782] a house
composed of jewels, and from that building there came out suddenly a
man with a sword in his hand, and he ascended the bank of the lake,
accompanied by a troop of celestial females. There he amused himself
with the females in a garden in the recreation of drinking, and I
was looking on from a distance unobserved, full of interest in the
spectacle. In the meanwhile a man of prepossessing appearance came
there from somewhere or other. And when he met me, I told him what I
had seen. And with much interest I pointed out to him that man from
a distance, and when he beheld him he told me his own story in the
following words:



Story of the king Tribhuvana.

I am a king named Tribhuvana in the city of Tribhuvana. There a certain
Pásupata ascetic for a long time paid me court. And being asked the
reason by me, he at once asked me to be his ally in obtaining a sword
concealed in a cavern, and I agreed to that. Then the Pásupata ascetic
went with me at night, and having by means of a burnt-offering and
other rites discovered an opening in the earth, the ascetic said to
me, "Hero! enter thou first, and after thou hast obtained the sword,
come out, and cause me also to enter; make a compact with me to do
this." When he said this, I made that compact with him, and quickly
entered the opening, and found a palace of jewels. And the chief
of the Asura maidens who dwelt there came out from the palace,
and out of love led me in, and there gave me a sword. She said,
"Keep this sword which confers the power of flying in the air, and
bestows all magical faculties." Then I remained there with her. But
I remembered my compact, and going out with the sword in my hand,
I introduced that ascetic into the palace of the Asuras by that
opening. There I dwelt with the first Asura lady who was surrounded
by her attendants, and he dwelt with the second. One day when I was
stupefied with drinking, the ascetic treacherously took away from
my side the sword, and grasped it in his own hand. When he had it in
his grasp, he possessed great power, and with his hand he seized me
and flung me out of the cavern. Then I searched for him for twelve
years at the mouths of caverns, hoping that some time I might find
him outside. And this very day the scoundrel has presented himself
to my eyes, sporting with that very Asura lady who belongs to me.

While the king Tribhuvana was relating this to me, O queen, that
ascetic, stupefied with drink, went to sleep. And while he was asleep,
the king went and took the sword from his side, and by its operation
he recovered celestial might. Then the hero woke up that ascetic with
a kick, and reproached the unfortunate man, but did not kill him. And
then he entered the palace with the Asura lady and her attendants,
recovered again like his own magic power. But the ascetic was much
grieved at having lost his magic power. For the ungrateful, though
long successful, are sure to fail at last.

"Having seen this with my own eyes, I have now arrived here in
the course of my wanderings; so be assured, queen, that you shall
eventually be reunited to your beloved, like Tribhuvana, for the
righteous does not sink." When Bandhumatí heard that from the Bráhman,
she was highly delighted, and made him successful by giving him
much wealth.

And the next day a distinguished Bráhman came there from a distant
land, and Bandhumatí eagerly asked him for tidings of her husband,
telling his name and the tokens by which he might be recognized. Then
that Bráhman said to her: "Queen, I have not seen your husband
anywhere, but I, who have to-day come to your house, am named not
without reason, the Bráhman Sumanas, [783] so you will quickly have
your wishes satisfied, thus my heart tells me. And reunions do take
place, even of the long separated. In proof of thus I will tell you
the following tale; listen, queen."



Story of Nala and Damayantí.

Of old time there lived a king named Nala, whose beauty, I fancy, so
surpassed that of the god of Love, that in disgust he offered his body
as a burnt-offering in the fire of the eye of the enraged Siva. He
had no wife, and when he made enquiries, he heard that Damayantí,
the daughter of Bhíma the king of Vidarbha, would make him a suitable
wife. And Bhíma, searching through the world, found that there was
no king except Nala fit to marry his daughter.

In the meanwhile Damayantí went down into a tank in her own city,
to amuse herself in the water. There the girl saw a swan that had
fed on blue and white lotuses, and by a trick she threw over it
her robe and made it a prisoner in sport. But the celestial swan,
when captured, said to her in accents that she could understand:
"Princess, I will do you a good turn, let me go. There is a king of
the name of Nala, whom even the nymphs of heaven bear on their hearts,
like a necklace strung with threads of merit. [784] You are a wife
fitted for him and he is a husband suited for you, so I will be an
ambassador of Love to bring like to like." When she heard that, she
thought that the celestial swan was a polished speaker, and so she
let him go, saying--"So be it."--And she said, "I will not choose
any husband but Nala," having her mind captivated by that prince,
who had entered by the channel of her ear.

And the swan departed thence, and quickly repaired to a tank resorted
to by Nala, when bent on sporting in the water. And Nala, seeing that
the swan was beautiful, took it captive out of curiosity by throwing
his robe over it in sport. Then the swan said--"Set me free, O king,
for I have come to benefit you; listen, I will tell you. There is
in Vidarbha one Damayantí, the daughter of king Bhíma, the Tilottamá
of the earth, to be desired even by gods. And she has chosen you as
her future husband, having fallen in love with you on account of my
description of your virtues; and I have come here to tell you. Nala
was at the same time pierced with the words of that excellent swan,
that were brightened by the splendid object they had in view, [785]
and with the sharp arrows of the god of the flowery shafts. And
he said to that swan, "I am fortunate, best of birds, in that I
have been selected by her, as if by the incarnate fulfilment of my
wishes." When the swan had been thus addressed by him and let go, it
went and related the whole occurrence to Damayantí, as it took place,
and then went whither it would.

Now Damayantí was longing for Nala; so, by way of a device to obtain
him, she sent her mother to ask her father to appoint for her the
ceremony of the Svayamvara. And her father Bhíma consented, and
sent messengers to all the kings on the earth, to invite them to the
Svayamvara. And all the kings, when they had received the summons, set
out for Vidarbha, and Nala went also eagerly, mounted on his chariot.

And in the meanwhile, Indra and the other Lokapálas heard from the
hermit Nárada of the Svayamvara of Damayantí, and of her love for
Nala. And of them Indra, the Wind, the god of Fire, Yama and Varuna,
longing for Damayantí, deliberated together, and went to Nala, and
they found Nala setting off on the journey, and when he prostrated
himself before them, they said to him "Go, Nala, and tell Damayantí
this from us--'Choose one of us five; what is the use of choosing
Nala who is a mortal? Mortals are subject to death, but the gods
are undying.' And by our favour, thou shalt enter where she is,
unperceived by the others." Nala said "So be it," and consented to do
the errand of the gods. And he entered the apartments of Damayantí
without being seen, and delivered that command of the gods, exactly
as it was given. But when the virtuous woman heard that, she said
"Suppose the gods are such, nevertheless Nala shall be my husband,
I have no need of gods." When Nala had heard her utter this noble
sentiment, and had revealed himself, he went and told it, exactly
as it was said, to Indra and the others; and they, pleased with him,
gave him a boon, saying, "We are thy servants from this time forth,
and will repair to thee as soon as thought of, truthful man."

Then Nala went delighted to Vidarbha, and Indra and the other gods
assumed the form of Nala, with intent to deceive Damayantí. And they
went to the court of Bhíma, assuming the attributes of mortals, and,
when the Svayamvara began, they sat near Nala. Then Damayantí came,
and leaving the kings who were being proclaimed one by one by her
brother, gradually reached Nala. And when she saw six Nalas, all
possessing shadows and the power of winking, [786] she thought in
her perplexity, while her brother stood amazed, "Surely these five
guardians of the world have produced this illusion to deceive me, but
I think that Nala is the sixth here, and so I cannot go in any other
direction." When the virtuous one had thus reflected, she stood facing
the sun, with mind fixed on Nala alone, and spoke thus--"O guardians
of the world, if even in sleep I have never fixed my heart on any
but Nala, on account of that loyal conduct of mine shew me your real
forms. And to a maiden any other men than her lover previously chosen
are strangers, and she is to them the wife of another, so how comes
this delusion upon you?" When the five, with Indra at their head,
heard that, they assumed their own forms, and the sixth, the true
Nala, preserved his true form. The princess in her delight cast upon
the king her eye, beautiful as a blown blue lotus, and the garland
of election. And a rain of flowers fell from heaven. Then king Bhíma
performed the marriage ceremony of her and Nala. And the kings and
the gods, Indra and the others, returned by the way that they came,
after due honour had been done to them by the king of Vidarbha.

But Indra and his companions saw on the way Kali and Dvápara, [787]
and knowing that they had come for Damayantí, they said to them,
"It is of no use your going to Vidarbha; we come thence; and the
Svayamvara has taken place; Damayantí has chosen king Nala. When
the wicked Kali and Dvápara heard that, they exclaimed in wrath,
"Since she has chosen that mortal in preference to gods like thyself,
we will certainly separate that couple." After making this vow they
turned round and departed thence. And Nala remained seven days in
the house of his father-in-law, and then departed, a successful man,
for Nishada, with his wife Damayantí. There their love was greater
than that of Siva and Párvatí. Párvatí truly is half of Siva, but
Damayantí was Nala's self. And in due time Damayantí brought forth to
Nala a son named Indrasena, and after that a daughter named Indrasená.

And in the meanwhile Kali, who was resolved on effecting what he had
promised, was seeking an occasion against Nala, who lived according
to the Sástras. Then, one day, Nala lost his senses from drunkenness,
and went to sleep without saying the evening prayer and without washing
his feet. After Kali had obtained this opportunity, for which he had
been watching day and night, he entered into the body of Nala. When
Kali had entered his body, king Nala abandoned righteous practices and
acted as he pleased. The king played dice, he loved female slaves,
he spoke untruths, he slept in the day, he kept awake at night, he
became angry without cause, he took wealth unjustly, he despised the
good, and he honoured the bad.

Moreover Dvápara entered into his brother Pushkara, having obtained
an opportunity, and made him depart from the true path. And one day
Nala saw, in the house of his younger brother Pushkara, a fine white
bull, named Dánta. And Pushkara would not give the bull to his elder
brother, though he wanted it and asked for it, because his respect
for him had been taken away by Dvápara. And he said to him, "If you
desire this bull, then win it from me at once at play." When Nala heard
that challenge, in his infatuation he accepted it, and then those two
brothers began to play against each other. Pushkara staked the bull,
Nala staked elephants and other things, and Pushkara continually won,
Nala as continually lost. In two or three days Nala had lost his
army and his treasure, but he still refused to desist from gambling,
though entreated to desist, for he was distracted by Kali. Damayantí,
thinking that the kingdom was lost, put her children in a splendid
chariot, and sent them to the house of her father. In the mean-while
Nala lost his whole kingdom; then the hypocritical Pushkara said,
"Since you have lost everything else, now stake Damayantí on the game
against that bull of mine."

This windy speech of Pushkara's, like a strong blast, made Nala blaze
like fire; but he did not say anything unbecoming, nor did he stake
his wife. Then Pushkara said to him, "If you will not stake your wife,
then leave this country of mine with her." When Nala heard this,
he left that country with Damayantí, and the king's officers saw him
as far as the frontier. Alas! when Kali reduced Nala to such a state,
say, what will be the lot of other mortals, who are like worms compared
with him? Curse on this gambling, the livelihood of Kali and Dvápara,
without law, without natural affection, such a cause of misfortunes
even to royal sages.

So Nala, having been deprived of his sovereignty by his brother,
started to go to another land with Damayantí, and as he was journeying
along, he reached the centre of a forest, exhausted with hunger. There,
as he was resting with his wife, whose soft feet were pierced with
darbha grass, on the bank of a river, he saw two swans arrive. And
he threw his upper garment over them, to capture them for food,
and those two swans flew away with it. And Nala heard a voice from
heaven,--"These are those two dice in the form of swans, they have
descended and flown off with your garment also." Then the king sat
down despondent, with only one garment on, and providently shewed to
Damayantí the way to her father's house; saying, "This is the way to
Vidarbha, my beloved, to your father's house, this is the way to the
country of the Angas, and this is the way to Kosala." When Damayantí
heard this, she was terrified, thinking to herself--"Why does my
husband tell me the way, as if he meant to abandon me?" Then the couple
fed on roots and fruits, and when night came on, lay down both of them,
wearied, in the wood, on a bed of kusa grass. And Damayantí, worn out
with the journey, gradually dropt off to sleep, but Nala, desiring to
depart, kept awake, deluded by Kali. So he rose up with one garment,
deserting that Damayantí, and departed thence, after cutting off half
her upper garment and putting it on. But Damayantí woke up at the end
of the night, and when she did not see in the forest her husband, who
had deserted her and gone, she thought for some time, and then lamented
as follows: "Alas, my husband, great of heart, merciful even to your
enemy! You that used to love me so well, what has made you cruel to
me? And how will you be able to go alone on foot through the forests,
and who will attend on you to remove your weariness? How will the
dust defile on the journey your feet, that used to be stained with the
pollen of the flowers in the garlands worn on the heads of kings! How
will your body, that could not endure to be anointed with the powder
of yellow sandal-wood, endure the heat of the sun in the middle of
the day? What do I care for my young son? What for my daughter? What
for myself? May the gods, if I am chaste, procure good fortune for
you alone!" Thus Damayantí lamented, in her loneliness, and then
set out by the path, which her husband had shewn her beforehand. And
with difficulty she crossed the woods, forests, rivers, and rocks,
and never did she depart from her devotion to her husband in, any
point. And the might of her chastity preserved her on the way, [788]
so that the hunter, who, after delivering her from the serpent, fell
in love with her for a moment, was reduced to ashes. Then she joined
a caravan of merchants, which she met on the way, and with them she
reached the city of a king named Subáhu. There the daughter of the
king saw her from her palace, and pleased with her beauty, had her
brought and gave her as a present to her mother. Then she remained
in attendance on the queen, respected by her, and when questioned,
she answered only--"My husband has abandoned me."

And in the meanwhile her father Bhíma, having heard the tidings of
Nala's misfortune, sent trustworthy men in every direction, to make
search for the royal couple. And one of them, his minister named
Suvena, as he was wandering about disguised as a Bráhman, reached that
palace of Subáhu. There he saw Damayantí, who always examined guests,
and she saw with sorrow her father's minister. And having recognized
one another, they wept together so violently, that Subáhu's queen
heard it. And the queen had them summoned, and asked them the truth
of the matter, and then she found out that the lady was Damayantí,
the daughter of her sister. Then she informed her husband, and after
shewing her honour, she sent her to the house of her father with Suvena
and an army. There Damayantí remained, reunited with her two children,
enquiring under her father's guidance for news of her husband. And her
father sent out spies to look for her husband, who was distinguished by
preternatural skill in cooking and driving. And king Bhíma commanded
the spies to say; "Moon, where have you hid yourself so cruelly,
deserting your young bride asleep in the forest, dear as a cluster
of white lotuses, having taken a piece of her robe?" [789] This he
told them to utter wherever they suspected the presence of Nala.

And in the meanwhile king Nala travelled a long way at night in
that forest, clothed with the half-garment, and at last he saw a
jungle-fire. And he heard some one exclaim--"Great-hearted one,
take me away from the neighbourhood of this fire, in order that I,
being helpless, may not be burned up by it." [790] When Nala heard
this, he looked round, and beheld a snake coiled up near the fire,
having his head encircled with the rays of the jewels of his crest,
[791] as if seized on the head by the jungle-fire, with terrible
flaming weapons in its hand. He went up to it, and in compassion put
it on his shoulder, and carried it a long distance, and when he wished
to put it down, the snake said to him--"Carry me ten steps further,
counting them as you go." Then Nala advanced, counting the steps, one,
two, three, four, five, six, seven--listen, snake--eight, nine, ten,
and when he said ten (dasa), [792] the snake took him at his word, and
bit him in the front of the forehead, as he lay on his shoulder. That
made the king small in the arms, deformed and black. Then the king
took down the snake from his shoulder, and said to him--"Who art
thou, and what kind of a return for my kindness is this which thou
hast made?" When the snake heard this speech of Nala's, he answered
him,--"King, know that I am a king of the snakes named Kárkotaka,
and I gave you the bite for your good; that you will come to learn;
when great ones wish to live concealed, a deformed appearance of body
furthers their plans. Receive also from me this pair of garments,
named the 'fire-bleached,' [793] you need only put them on and you
will recover your true form." When Kárkotaka had said this, and had
departed after giving those garments, Nala left that wood, and in
course of time reached the city of Kosala.

And going by the name of Hrasvabáhu, he took service as a cook in the
family of king Rituparna, the sovereign of Kosala. And he acquired
renown by making dishes of exquisite flavour, and by his skill in
chariot-driving. And while Nala was living there, under the name of
Hrasvabáhu, it happened that once upon a time one of the spies of the
king of Vidarbha came there. And the spy heard men there saying,--"In
this place there is a new cook, of the name of Hrasvabáhu, equal to
Nala in his own special art and also in the art of driving." The spy
suspected that the cook was Nala himself, and hearing that he was
in the judgment-hall of the king, he went there and repeated the
following Áryá verse, taught him by his master, "Moon, where have
you hid yourself so cruelly, deserting your young bride asleep in the
forest, dear as a cluster of white lotuses, having taken a piece of
her robe?" The people present in the judgment-hall, when they heard
that, thought that his words were those of a madman, but Nala, who
stood there disguised as a cook, answered him, "What cruelty was
there in the moon's becoming invisible to the lotus-cluster, when
it reached and entered another region, after one part of the heaven
[794] had become exhausted?"

When the spy heard this, he surmised that the supposed cook was really
Nala transformed by misfortune, and he departed thence, and when he
reached Vidarbha, he told king Bhíma and his queen and Damayantí all
that he had heard and seen.

Then Damayantí, of her own accord, said to her father, "Without
doubt that man is my husband disguised as a cook. So let this amusing
artifice be employed to bring him here. Let a messenger be sent to
king Rituparna, and the moment he arrives let him say to that king,
'Nala has gone off somewhere or other, no tidings are heard of him;
accordingly to-morrow morning Damayantí will again make her Svayamvara;
so come quickly to Vidarbha this very day;' and the moment the king
hears his speech, he will certainly come here in one day, together
with that husband of mine who is skilled in chariot-driving." Having
thus debated with her father, Damayantí sent off that very moment
a messenger to the city of Kosala with exactly this message. He
went and told it, as it was given him to Rituparna, and the king
thereupon, being excited, said affectionately to his attendant Nala,
who was disguised as a cook: "Hrasvabáhu, you said--'I possess skill
in chariot-driving.' So take me this very day to Vidarbha if you have
sufficient endurance." When Nala heard that, he said, "Good! I will
take you there," and thereupon he yoked swift horses, and made ready
the splendid chariot. He said to himself; "Damayantí has spread this
report of a Svayamvara in order to recover me, otherwise, I know,
she would not have behaved in this way even in her dreams. So I will
go there and see what happens." With such reflections he brought to
Rituparna the chariot ready. And as soon as the king had mounted it,
Nala proceeded to drive on that chariot with a speed exceeding even
that of Garuda. Then Rituparna dropped his garment, and wished to stop
the chariot in order to recover it, but Nala said to him,--"King, where
is that garment of yours? Why the chariot has in this moment left it
many yojanas behind." When Rituparna heard this, he said:--"Well, give
me this skill in chariot-driving, and I will give you my skill in dice,
so that the dice shall obey your command and you shall acquire skill
in numbers. And now look; I will give you a proof of the truth of what
I say. You see this tree in front of us; I will tell you the number
of its leaves and fruits, and then do you count them for yourself and
see." When he had said this, he told him the number of the leaves and
fruits on that tree, and Nala counted them and found them exactly as
many as he had said. Then Nala gave to Rituparna his skill in driving,
and Rituparna gave to Nala his skill in dice and numbers.

And Nala tested that skill on another tree, and found the number of
leaves and fruits to be exactly what he had guessed. And while he was
rejoicing, a black man issued from his body, and he asked him who he
was. Then he said, "I am Kali; when you were chosen by Damayantí,
I entered your body out of jealousy, so you lost your fortune at
play. And when Kárkotaka bit you in the forest, you were not consumed,
but I was burnt, as you see, being in your body. For to whom is a
treacherous injury done to another likely to be beneficial? So I
depart, my friend, for I have opportunities against others." After
saying this, Kali vanished from his sight, and Nala at once became
well-disposed as before, and recovered his former splendour. And he
returned and remounted the chariot; and in the course of the same
day he drove king Rituparna into Vidarbha, so rapidly did he get
over the ground, and there the king was ridiculed by the people,
who asked the cause of his coming; and he put up near the palace.

And when he arrived, Damayantí knew of it, having heard the wonderful
noise of the chariot, and she inly rejoiced, as she suspected that
Nala had come too. And she sent her own maid to find out the truth,
and she enquired into it, and came back and said to her mistress,
who was longing for her beloved lord; "Queen, I have enquired into the
matter; this king of Kosala heard a false report of your Svayamvara and
has come here, and he has been driven here in one day by Hrasvabáhu
his charioteer and cook, who is famous for his skill in managing
chariots. And I went into the kitchen and saw that cook. And he is
black and deformed, but possesses wonderful powers. It is miraculous
that water gushed up in his pots and pans, without being put in, and
wood burst into flames of its own accord, without having been lighted,
[795] and various cates were produced in a moment. After I had seen
this great miracle, I came back here." When Damayantí heard this from
the maid, she reflected--"This cook, whom the fire and the water obey,
and who knows the secret of chariot-driving, can be no other than my
husband, and I suspect he has become changed and deformed on account
of separation from me, but I will test him." When she had formed
this resolve, she sent, by way of stratagem, her two children with
that same maid, to shew them to him. And Nala, when he had seen his
children and taken them on his knees after a long separation, wept
silently with a flood of tears. And he said to the maid--"I have two
children like these in the house of their maternal grandfather, I have
been moved to sorrow by recollecting them." The maid returned with the
children and told all to Damayantí, and then she conceived much hope.

And early the next day she gave her maid this order; "Go and tell that
cook of Rituparna's from me; 'I hear that there is no cook like you
in the world, so come and prepare curry for me to-day.'" When the maid
communicated to Nala this politic request, he got leave from Rituparna
and came to Damayantí. And she said, "Tell me the truth; are you
the king Nala disguised as a cook? I am drowned in a sea of anxiety,
and you must to-day bring me safe to shore." When Nala heard that,
he was full of joy, love, grief and shame, and with downcast face,
he spoke, in a voice faltering from tears, this speech suited to the
occasion,--"I am in truth that wicked Nala, hard as adamant, who in
his madness behaved like fire in afflicting you." When he said this,
Damayantí asked him--"If it is so, how did you become deformed?" Then
Nala told her the whole of his adventures, from his making friends
with Kárkotaka to the departure of Kali from him. And immediately he
put on the pair of garments called the "fire-bleached," given him by
Kárkotaka, and recovered on the spot his own original shape.

When Damayantí saw that Nala had resumed his own charming form, the
lotus of her face quickly expanded, and she quenched, as it were,
with the waters of her eyes the forest-fire of her grief, and attained
indescribable unequalled happiness. And Bhíma, the king of Vidarbha,
quickly heard that intelligence from his joyful attendants, and coming
there he welcomed Nala, who showed him becoming respect, and he made
his city full of rejoicing. Then king Rituparna was welcomed with the
observance of all outward courtesy and every hospitable rite [796] by
king Bhíma, who in his heart could not help laughing, and after he had
in return honoured Nala, he returned to Kosala. Then Nala lived there
happily with his wife, describing to his father-in-law his outburst of
wickedness due to the influence of Kali. And in a few days he returned
to Nishada with the troops of his father-in-law, and he humbled his
younger brother Pushkara, beating him by his knowledge of dice, but,
righteous as he was, he gave him a share of the kingdom again, after
Dvápara had left his body, and glad at having recovered Damayantí,
he enjoyed his kingdom lawfully.

When the Bráhman Sumanas had told this story to the princess
Bandhumatí in Tárápura, whose husband was away, he went on to say to
her--"Even thus, queen, do great ones, after enduring separation,
enjoy prosperity, and following the example of the sun, after
suffering a decline, they rise again. So you also, blameless
one, shall soon recover your husband returning from his absence;
use patient self-control, banish grief, and console yourself with
the approaching gratification of your wishes in the return of your
husband." When the virtuous Bráhman had spoken these appropriate words,
she honoured him with much wealth, and taking refuge in patience,
she remained there awaiting her beloved. And in a few days her husband
Mahípála returned, with his father, bringing that mother of his from
a distant land. And when he returned, furnishing a feast to all eyes,
he gladdened Bandhumatí, as the full moon gladdens the lovely water of
the ocean. Then Mahípála, on whom her father had already devolved the
burden of the kingdom, enjoyed as a king desired pleasures with her.

When prince Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, had heard
in the company of his wife, from the mouth of his minister Marubhúti,
this matchless romantic story, pleasing on account of its picture of
affection, he was exceedingly pleased.







BOOK X.


CHAPTER LVII.


We worship the elephantine proboseis of Ganesa, not to be resisted
by his enemies, reddened with vermilion, a sword dispelling great
arrogance. [1] May the third eye of Siva, which, when all three were
equally wildly-rolling, blazed forth beyond the others, as he made
ready his arrow upon the string, for the burning of Pura, protect
you. May the row of nails of the Man-lion, [2] curved and red with
blood, when he slew his enemy, and his fiery look askance, destroy
your calamities.



Story of the porter who found a bracelet.

Thus Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, remained in
Kausámbí in happiness, with his wives, and his ministers. And
one day, when he was present, a merchant living in the city, came
to make a representation to his father, as he was sitting on his
throne. That merchant, of the name of Ratnadatta, entered, announced
by the warder, and bowing before the king, said as follows: "O king,
there is a poor porter here, of the name of Vasundhara; and suddenly
he is found of late to be eating, drinking, and bestowing alms. So,
out of curiosity, I took him to my house, and gave him food and drink
to his heart's content, and when I had made him drunk. I questioned
him, and he gave me this answer, 'I obtained from the door of the
king's palace a bracelet with splendid jewels, and I picked out one
jewel and sold it. And I sold it for a lakh of dínárs to a merchant
named Hiranyagupta; this is how I come to be living in comfort at
present." When he had said this, he shewed me that bracelet, which
was marked with the king's name, and therefore I have come to inform
your majesty of the circumstance." When the king of Vatsa heard that,
he had the porter and the merchant of precious jewels summoned with
all courtesy, and when he saw the bracelet, he said of himself;
"Ah! I remember, this bracelet slipped from my arm when I was going
round the city." And the courtiers asked the porter, "Why did you,
when you had got hold of a bracelet marked with the king's name,
conceal it?" He replied, "I am one who gets his living by carrying
burdens, and how am I to know the letters of the king's name? When I
got hold of it, I appropriated it, being burnt up with the misery of
poverty." When he said this, the jewel-merchant, being reproached for
keeping the jewel, said--"I bought it in the market, without putting
any pressure on the man, and there was no royal mark upon it, though
now it is said that it belongs to the king. And he has taken five
thousand of the price, the rest is with me." When Yaugandharáyana, who
was present, heard this speech of Hiranyagupta's, he said--"No one is
in fault in this matter. What can we say against the porter who does
not know his letters? Poverty makes men steal, and who ever gave up
what he had found? And the merchant who bought it from him cannot be
blamed." The king when he heard this decision of his prime minister's,
approved it. And he took back his jewel from the merchant, paying
him the five thousand dínárs, which had been spent by the porter,
and he set the porter at liberty, after taking back his bracelet,
and he, having consumed his five thousand, went free from anxiety
to his own house. And the king, though in the bottom of his heart he
hated that merchant Ratnadatta, as being a man who ruined those that
reposed confidence in him, honoured him for his service. When they
had all departed, Vasantaka came before the king, and said, "Ah! when
men are cursed by destiny, even the wealth they obtain departs, for
the incident of the inexhaustible pitcher has happened to this porter."



Story of the inexhaustible pitcher. [3]

For you must know that there lived long ago, in the city of
Pátaliputra, a man of the name of Subhadatta, and he every day carried
in a load of wood from the forest, and sold it, and so maintained
his household. Now one day he went to a distant forest, and, as
it happened, he saw there four Yakshas with heavenly ornaments
and dresses. The Yakshas, seeing he was terrified, kindly asked
him of his circumstances, and finding out that he was poor, they
conceived pity for him, and said--"Remain here as a servant in our
house, we will support your family for you without trouble on your
part." When Subhadatta heard that, he agreed, and remained with them,
and he supplied them with requisites for bathing and performed other
menial offices for them. When the time for eating came, those Yakshas
said to him--"Give us food from this inexhaustible pitcher." But he
hesitated, seeing that it was empty, and then the Yakshas again said
to him, smiling--"Subhadatta, do you not understand? Put your hand
in the pitcher, and you will obtain whatever you want, for this is
a pitcher that supplies whatever is required." When he heard that,
he put his hand in the pitcher, and immediately he beheld all the
food and drink that could be required. And Subhadatta out of that
store supplied them and ate himself.

Thus waiting on the Yakshas every day with devotion and awe, Subhadatta
remained in their presence anxious about his family. But his sorrowing
family was comforted by them in a dream, and this kindness on their
part made him happy. At the termination of one month the Yakshas said
to him, "We are pleased with this devotion of yours, we will grant you
a boon, say what it shall be." When he heard that, he said to them,
"Then give me this inexhaustible pitcher." Then the Yakshas said to
him, "You will not be able to keep it, for, if broken, it departs at
once, so choose some other boon." Though they warned him in these
words, Subhadatta would not choose any other boon, so they gave
him that inexhaustible pitcher. Then Subhadatta bowed before them
delighted, and, taking that pitcher, quickly returned to his house,
to the joy of his relations. Then he took out of that pitcher food and
drink, and in order to conceal the secret, he placed them in other
vessels, and consumed them with his relations. And as he gave up
carrying burdens, and enjoyed all kinds of delights, his kinsmen one
day said to him, when he was drunk; "How did you manage to acquire
the means of all this enjoyment?" He was too much puffed up with
pride to tell them plainly, but taking the wish-granting pitcher
on his shoulder, he began to dance. [4] And as he was dancing, the
inexhaustible pitcher slipped from his shoulder, as his feet tripped
with over-abundance of intoxication, and falling on the ground, was
broken in pieces. And immediately it was mended again, and reverted
to its original possessors, but Subhadatta was reduced to his former
condition, and filled with despondency.

"So you see that these unfortunate persons, whose intellects are
destroyed with the vice of drinking, and other vices, and with
infatuation, cannot keep wealth, even when they have obtained
it." When the king of Vatsa had heard this amusing story of the
inexhaustible pitcher, he rose up, and bathed, and set about the
other duties of the day. And Naraváhanadatta also bathed, and took
food with his father, and at the end of the day went with his friends
to his own house. There he went to bed at night, but could not sleep,
and Marubhúti said to him in the hearing of the ministers: "I know,
it is love of a slave-girl that prevents your summoning your wives,
and you have not summoned the slave-girl, so you cannot sleep. But
why in spite of your better knowledge do you still fall in love with
hetæræ? For they have no goodness of character; in proof that they
have not, hear the following tale:"



Story of the merchant's son, the hetæra, and the wonderful ape Ála.

There is in this country a great and opulent city named Chitrakúta. In
it there lived a merchant named Ratnavarman, a prince among the
wealthy. He had one son born to him by propitiating Siva, and he
gave that son the name of Ísvaravarman. After he had studied the
sciences, his father the rich merchant, who had no other son but
him, seeing that he was on the verge of manhood, said to himself:
"Providence has created in this world that fair and frail type
of woman, the hetæra, to steal the wealth and life of rich young
men blinded with the intoxication of youth. So I will entrust my
son to some kuttiní, in order that he may learn the tricks of the
hetæræ and not be deceived by them." Having thus reflected, he
went with his son Ísvaravarman to the house of a certain kuttiní,
whose name was Yamajihvá. There he saw that kuttiní, with massive
jaw, and long teeth, and snub nose, instructing her daughter in the
following words--"Every one is valued on account of wealth, a hetæra
especially; and hetæræ who fall in love do not obtain wealth, therefore
a hetæra should abandon passion. For rosy red, love's proper hue,
is the harbinger of eclipse to the hetæra as to the evening twilight;
a properly trained hetæra should exhibit love without sincerity, like
a well-trained actress. With that she should gain a man's affections,
then she should extract from him all his wealth, when he is ruined,
she should finally abandon him, but if he should recover his wealth,
she should take him back into favour. A hetæra, like a hermit, is
the same towards a young man, a child, an old man, a handsome man,
and a deformed man, and so she always attains the principal object of
existence." [5] While the kuttiní was delivering this lesson to her
daughter, Ratnavarman approached her, and after she had welcomed him,
he took a seat by her side. And he said to her--"Reverend mother, teach
my son this skill of the hetæra, in order that he may become clever in
it. And I will give you a thousand dínárs by way of recompense." When
the kuttiní heard his desire, she consented, and he paid the dínárs,
and made over his son Ísvaravarman to her, and then returned home.

Then Ísvaravarman, in the course of one year, learned in the house
of Yamajihvá all the graceful accomplishments, and then returned to
his father's house. And after he had attained sixteen years, he said
to his father--"Wealth gives us religion and love, wealth gives us
consideration and renown." When his father heard this, he exclaimed in
approval, "It is even so," and being delighted, he gave him five crores
by way of capital. The son took it, and set out on an auspicious day
with a caravan, with the object of journeying to Svarnadvípa. And on
the way he reached a town named Kánchanapura, and there he encamped
in a garden, at a short distance outside the town. And after bathing
and anointing himself, the young man entered the town, and went to a
temple to see a spectacle. And there he saw a dancing-girl, of the name
of Sundarí, dancing, like a wave of the sea of beauty [6] tossed up
by the wind of youth. And the moment he saw her, he became so devoted
to her, that the instructions of the kuttiní fled far from him, as if
in anger. At the end of the dance, he sent a friend to solicit her,
and she bowed and said--"I am highly favoured." And Ísvaravarman left
vigilant guards in his camp, to watch over his treasure, and went
himself to the house of that Sundarí. And when he came, her mother,
named Makarakatí, honoured him with the various rites of hospitality
which became the occasion. And at nightfall she introduced him into
a chamber with a canopy of flashing jewels and a bed. There he passed
the night with Sundarí, [7] whose name expressed her nature, and who
was skilled in all movements of the dance. And the next day he could
not bring himself to part from her, as she shewed great affection
for him, and never left his side. And the young merchant gave her
twenty-five lakhs of gold and jewels in those two days. But Sundarí,
with a false affectation of disinterestedness, refused to take them,
saying--"I have obtained much wealth, but I never found a man like
you; since I have obtained you, what should I do with wealth?" But her
mother Makarakatí, whose only child she was, said to her, "Henceforth,
whatever wealth belongs to us, is as much his as his own property,
so take it, my daughter, as a contribution to our common stock,
what harm is there in that?" When Sundarí's mother said this to her,
she took it with affected unwillingness, and the foolish Ísvaravarman
thought she was really in love with him. While the merchant remained
in her house, charmed by her beauty, her dancing, and singing, two
months passed, and in course of time he bestowed upon her two crores.

Then his friend, named Arthadatta, of his own accord came to him
and said--"Friend, has all that training of yours, though painfully
acquired from the kuttiní, proved useless, now that the occasion has
presented itself, as skill in the use of weapons does to a coward, in
that you believe that there is sincerity in this love of a hetæra? Is
water ever really found in desert-mirages? So let us go before all
your wealth is consumed, for, if your father were to hear of it, he
would be very angry." When his friend said this to him, the merchant's
son said, "It is true that no reliance can be placed upon hetæræ as
a rule, but Sundarí is not like the rest of her class, for, if she
were to lose sight of me for a moment, my friend, she would die. So
do you break it to her, if we must in any case go."

When he said this to Arthadatta, Arthadatta said to Sundarí, in the
presence of Ísvaravarman and her mother Makarakatí, "You entertain
extraordinary affection for Ísvaravarman, but he must certainly
go on a trading expedition to Svarnadvípa immediately. There he
will obtain so much wealth, that he will come and live with you
in happiness all his life, consent to it, my friend." When Sundarí
heard this, she gazed on the face of Ísvaravarman with tears in her
eyes and assumed despondency, and said to Arthadatta, "What am I to
say? you gentlemen know best. Who can rely on any one before seeing
the end? Never mind! Let fate deal with me as it will!" When she said
this, her mother said to her, "Do not be grieved, control yourself;
your lover will certainly return when he has made his fortune; he will
not abandon you." In these words her mother consoled her, but made
an agreement with her, and had a net secretly prepared in a well,
that lay in the road they must take. And then Ísvaravarman's mind
was in a state of tremulous agitation about parting, and Sundarí,
as if out of grief, took but little food and drink. And she shewed
no inclination for singing, music, or dancing, but she was consoled
by Ísvaravarman with various affectionate attentions.

Then, on the day named by his friend, Ísvaravarman set out from
the house of Sundarí, after the kuttiní had offered a prayer for his
success. And Sundarí followed him weeping, with her mother, outside the
city, as far as the well in which the net had been stretched. There he
made Sundarí turn back, and he was proceeding on his journey, when she
flung herself into the well on the top of the net. Then a loud cry was
heard from her mother, from the female slaves, and all the attendants,
"Ah! my daughter! Ah! mistress!" That made the merchant's son and
his friend turn round, and when he heard that his beloved had thrown
herself into a well, he was for a moment stupefied with grief. And
Makarakatí, lamenting with loud cries, made her servants, who were
attached to her, and in the secret, go down into the well. They let
themselves down by means of ropes, and exclaiming, "Thank heaven, she
is alive, she is alive," they brought up Sundarí from the well. When
she was brought up, she assumed the appearance of one nearly dead,
and after she had mentioned the name of the merchant's son, who had
returned, she slowly began to cry. But he, being comforted, took
her to her house in great delight, accompanied by his attendants,
returning there himself. And having made up his mind that the love
of Sundarí was to be relied on, and considering that, by obtaining
her, he had obtained the real end of his birth, he once more gave
up the idea of continuing his journey. And when he had taken up his
abode there, determined to remain, his friend said to him once more,
"My friend, why have you ruined yourself by infatuation? Do not rely
on the love of Sundarí simply because she flung herself into a well,
for the treacherous schemes of a kuttiní are not to be fathomed even
by Providence. And what what will you say to your father, when you
have spent all your property, or where will you go? So leave this
place even at this eleventh hour, if your mind is sound." When the
merchant's son heard this speech of his friend's, he paid no attention
to it, and in another month he spent those other three crores. Then
he was stripped of his all; and the kuttiní Makarakatí had him seized
by the back of the neck and turned out of Sundarí's house.

But Arthadatta and the others quickly returned to their own city,
and told the whole story, as it happened, to his father. His father
Ratnavarman, that prince of merchants, was much grieved when he heard
it, and in great distress went to the kuttiní Yamajihvá, and said to
her, "Though you received a large salary, you taught my son so badly,
that Makarakatí has with ease stripped him of all his wealth." When
he had said this, he told her all the story of his son. Then the
old kuttiní Yamajihvá said: "Have your son brought back here; I will
enable him to strip Makarakatí of all her wealth." When the kuttiní
Yamajihvá made this promise, Ratnavarman quickly sent off that moment
his son's well-meaning friend Arthadatta with a message, to bring him,
and to take at the same time means for his subsistence.

So Arthadatta went back to that city of Kánchanapura, and told the
whole message to Ísvaravarman. And he went on to say to him--"Friend,
you would not do what I advised you, so you have now had personal
experience of the untrustworthy dispositions of hetæræ. After you had
given that five crores, you were ejected neck and crop. What wise
man looks for love in hetæræ or for oil in sand? Or why do you put
out of sight this unalterable nature of things? [8] A man is wise,
self-restrained, and possesses happiness, only so long as he does not
fall within the range of woman's cajoleries. So return to your father
and appease his wrath." With these words Arthadatta quickly induced
him to return, and encouraging him, led him into the presence of his
father. And his father, out of love for his only son, spoke kindly
to him, and again took him to the house of Yamajihvá. And when she
questioned him, he told his whole story by the mouth of Arthadatta,
down to the circumstance of Sundarí's flinging herself into the
well, and how he lost his wealth. Then Yamajihvá said--"I indeed am
to blame, because I forgot to teach him this trick. For Makarakatí
stretched a net in the well, and Sundarí flung herself upon that,
so she was not killed. Still there is a remedy in this case." Having
said this, the kuttiní made her female slaves bring her monkey named
Ála. And in their presence she gave the monkey her thousand dínárs,
and said--"Swallow these," and the monkey, being trained to swallow
money, did so. Then she said, "Now, my son give twenty to him,
twenty-five to him, and sixty to him, and a hundred to him." And the
monkey, as often as Yamajihvá told him to pay a sum, brought up the
exact number of dínárs, and gave them as commanded. [9] And after
Yamajihvá had shewn this device of Ála, she said to Ísvaravarman,
"Now take with you this young monkey. And repair again to the house
of Sundarí, and keep asking him day by day for sums of money, which
you have secretly made him swallow. And Sundarí, when she sees Ála,
resembling in his powers the wishing-stone, will beg for him, and
will give you all she has so as to obtain possession of the ape,
and clasp him to her bosom. And after you have got her wealth, make
him swallow enough money for two days, and give him to her, and then
depart to a distance without delay."

After Yamajihvá had said this, she gave that ape to Ísvaravarman,
and his father gave him two crores by way of capital. And with the
ape and the money he went once more to Kánchanapura, and despatching
a messenger on in front, he entered the house of Sundarí. Sundarí
welcomed him as if he were an incarnation of perseverance,
which includes in itself all means for attaining an end, and his
friend with him, embracing him round the neck, and making other
demonstrations. Then Ísvaravarman, having gained her confidence,
said to Arthadatta in her presence in the house: "Go, and bring
Ála." He said, "I will," and went and brought the monkey. And as
the monkey had before swallowed a thousand dínárs, he said to him,
"Ála, my son, give us to-day three hundred dínárs for our eating and
drinking, and a hundred for betel and other expenses, and give one
hundred to our mother Makarakatí, and a hundred to the Bráhmans,
and give the rest of the thousand to Sundarí." When Ísvaravarman
said this, the monkey brought up the dínárs he had before swallowed,
to the amounts ordered, and gave them for the various objects required.

So by this artifice Ála was made to supply every day the necessary
expenses, for the period of a fortnight, and in the meanwhile
Makarakatí [10] and Sundarí began to think; "Why this is a very
wishing-stone which he has got hold of in the form of an ape, which
gives every day a hundred dínárs; if he would only give it us, all our
desires would be accomplished." Having thus debated in private with
her mother, Sundarí said to that Ísvaravarman, when he was sitting
at his ease after dinner,--"If you really are well pleased with me,
give me Ála." But when Ísvaravarman heard that, he answered laughingly,
"He is my father's all in the world, and it is not proper to give him
away." When he said this, Sundarí said to him again, "Give him me and
I will give you five crores." Thereupon Ísvaravarman said with an air
of decision, "If you were to give me all your property, or indeed this
city, it would not do to give him you, much less for your crores." When
Sundarí heard this, she said, "I will give you all I possess; but give
me this ape, otherwise my mother will be angry with me." And thereupon
she clung to Ísvaravarman's feet. Then Arthadatta and the others said,
"Give it her, happen what will." Then Ísvaravarman promised to give
it her, and he spent the day with the delighted Sundarí. And the
next day he gave to Sundarí, at her earnest entreaties, that ape,
which had in secret been made to swallow two thousand dínárs, and
he immediately took by way of payment all the wealth in her house,
and went off quickly to Svarnadvípa to trade.

And to Sundarí's delight, the monkey Ála, when asked, gave her
regularly a thousand dínárs for two days. But on the third day he did
not give her anything, though coaxed to do it, then Sundarí struck the
ape with her fist. And the monkey, being beaten, sprang up in a rage,
and bit and scratched the faces of Sundarí and her mother, who were
thrashing him. Then the mother, whose face was streaming with blood,
flew in a passion and beat the ape with sticks, till he died on the
spot. When Sundarí saw that he was dead, and reflected that all her
wealth was gone, she was ready to commit suicide for grief, and so
was her mother. And when the people of the town heard the story,
they laughed and said, "Because Makarakatí took away this man's
wealth by means of a net, he in his turn has stripped her of all
her property, like a clever fellow that he is, by means of a pet;
she was sharp enough to net him, but did not detect the net laid for
herself. Then Sundarí, with her scratched face and vanished wealth, was
with difficulty restrained by her relations from destroying herself,
and so was her mother. And Ísvaravarman soon returned from Svarnadvípa
to the house of his father in Chitrakúta. And when his father saw him
returned, having acquired enormous wealth, he rewarded the kuttiní
Yamajihvá with treasure, and made a great feast. And Ísvaravarman,
seeing the matchless deceitfulness of hetæræ, became disgusted with
their society, and taking a wife remained in his own house. [11]

"So you see, king, that there never dwells in the minds of hetæræ
even an atom of truth, unalloyed with treachery, so a man who desires
prosperity should not take pleasure in them, as their society is only
to be gained by the wealthy, any more than in uninhabited woods to
be crossed only with a caravan. [12]"

"When Naraváhanadatta heard, from the mouth of Marubhúti, the above
story, word for word, of Ála and the net, he and Gomukha approved it,
and laughed heartily.






CHAPTER LVIII.


When Marubhúti had thus illustrated the untrustworthy character of
hetæræ, the wise Gomukha told this tale of Kumudiká, the lesson of
which was the same.



Story of king Vikramasinha, the hetæra, and the young Bráhman.

There was in Pratishthána a king named Vikramasinha, who was made
by Providence a lion in courage, so that his name expressed his
nature. He had a queen of lofty lineage, beautiful and beloved, whose
lovely form was her only ornament, and she was called Sasilekhá. Once
on a time, when he was in his city, five or six of his relations
combined together, and going to his palace, surrounded him. Their
names were Mahábhata, Vírabáhu, Subáhu, Subhata and Pratápáditya, all
powerful kings. The king's minister was proceeding to try the effect
of conciliation on them, but the king set him aside, and went out to
fight with them. And when the two armies had begun to exchange showers
of arrows, the king himself entered the fray, mounted on an elephant,
confiding in his might. And when the five kings, Mahábhata and the
others, saw him, seconded only by his bow, dispersing the army of his
enemies, they all attacked him together. And as the numerous force
of the five kings made an united charge, the force of Vikramasinha,
being inferior in number, was broken. Then his minister Anantaguna,
who was at his side, said, "Our force is routed for the present, there
is no chance of victory to-day, and you would engage in this conflict
with an overwhelming force in spite of my advice, so now at the last
moment do what I recommend you, in order that the affair may turn out
prosperously; come now, descend from your elephant, and mount a horse,
and let us go to another country; if you live, you will conquer your
enemies on some future occasion." When the minister said this, the
king readily got down from his elephant, and mounted on a horse, and
left his army in company with him. And in course of time, the king,
in disguise, reached with his minister the city of Ujjayiní. There
he entered with his minister the house of a hetæra, named Kumudiká,
renowned for her wealth; and she, seeing him suddenly entering the
house, thought, "This is a distinguished hero that has come to my
house: and his majesty and the marks on his body shew him to be a
great king, so my desire is sure to be attained if I can make him my
instrument." Having thus reflected, Kumudiká rose up and welcomed him,
and entertained him hospitably, and immediately she said to the king,
who was wearied,--"I am fortunate, to-day the good deeds of my former
life have borne fruit, in that Your Majesty has hallowed my house
by coming to it in person. So by this favour Your Majesty has made
me your slave. The hundred elephants, and two myriads of horses,
and house full of jewels, which belong to me, are entirely at your
majesty's disposal." Having said this, she provided the king and his
minister with baths and other luxuries, all in magnificent style.

Then the wearied king lived in her palace, at his ease, with her,
who put her wealth at his disposal. He consumed her substance and
gave it away to petitioners, and she did not show any anger against
him on that account, but was rather pleased at it. Thereupon the king
was delighted, thinking that she was really attached to him, but his
minister Anantaguna, who was with him, said to him in secret: "Your
majesty, hetæræ are not to be depended upon, though, I must confess,
I cannot guess the reason why Kumudiká shews you love." When the
king heard this speech of his, he answered him: "Do not speak thus;
Kumudiká would even lay down her life for my sake. If you do not
believe it, I will give you a convincing proof." After the king had
said this to his minister, he adopted this artifice; he took little
to eat and little to drink, and so gradually attenuated his body,
and at last he made himself as dead, without movement, prostrate on
the ground. Then his attendants put him on a bier, and carried him
to the burning-ghat with lamentations, while Anantaguna affected a
grief which he did not feel. And Kumudiká, out of grief, came and
ascended the funeral pyre with him, though her relations tried to
prevent her. But before the fire was lighted, the king, perceiving
that Kumudiká had followed him, rose up with a yawn. And all his
attendants took him home with Kumudiká to his lodging, exclaiming,
"Fortunate is it that our king has been restored to life."

Then a feast was made, and the king recovered his normal condition,
and said in private to his minister,--"Did you observe the devotion of
Kumudiká?" Then the minister said,--"I do not believe even now. You may
be sure that there is some reason for her conduct, so we must wait to
get to the bottom of the matter. But let us reveal to her who we are,
in order that we may obtain a force granted by her, and another force
supplied by your ally, and so smite our enemies in battle." While he
was saying this, the spy, that had been secretly sent out, returned,
and when questioned, answered as follows; "Your enemies have overrun
the country, and queen Sasilekhá, having heard from the people a
false report of your majesty's death, has entered the fire." When
the king heard this, he was smitten by the thunderbolt of grief,
and lamented--"Alas! my queen! Alas, chaste lady!"

Then Kumudiká at last came to know the truth, and after consoling
the king Vikramasinha, she said to him; "Why did not the king give
me the order long ago? Now punish your enemies with my wealth and my
forces." When she said this, the king augmented the force by means
of her wealth, and repaired to a powerful king who was an ally of
his. And he marched with his forces and those forces of his own,
and after killing those five enemies in battle, he got possession
of their kingdoms into the bargain. Then he was delighted, and said
to Kumudiká who accompanied him; "I am pleased with you, so tell me
what I can do to gratify you." Then Kumudiká said--"If you are really
pleased, my lord, then extract from my heart this one thorn that has
long remained there. I have an affection for a Bráhman's son, of the
name of Srídhara, in Ujjayiní, whom the king has thrown into prison
for a very small fault, so deliver him out of the king's hand. Because
I saw by your royal marks, that your majesty was a glorious hero, and
destined to be successful, and able to effect this object of mine,
I waited on you with devoted attentions. Moreover, I ascended that
pyre out of despair of attaining my object, considering that life
was useless without that Bráhman's son. When the hetæra said this,
the king answered her; "I will accomplish it for you, fair one, do not
despair." After saying this, he called to mind his minister's speech,
and thought--"Anantaguna was right, when he said that hetæræ were not
to be depended upon. But I must gratify the wish of this miserable
creature." Thus resolved, he went with his troops to Ujjayiní, and
after getting Srídhara set at liberty, and giving him much wealth, he
made Kumudiká happy by uniting her with her beloved there. And after
returning to his city, he never disobeyed the advice of his minister,
and so in time he came to enjoy the whole earth.

"So you see, the hearts of hetæræ are fathomless and hard to
understand."

Then Gomukha stopped, after he had told this story. But then Tapantaka
said in the presence of Naraváhanadatta--"Prince, you must never
repose any confidence at all in women, for they are all light, even
those that, being married or unmarried, dwell in their father's house,
as well as those that are hetæræ by profession. I will tell you a
wonder which happened in this very place, hear it.



Story of the faithless wife who burnt herself with her husband's body.

There was a merchant in this very city named Balavarman, and he
had a wife named Chandrasrí, and she beheld from a window a handsome
merchant's son, of the name of Sílahara, and she sent her female friend
to invite him to her house, and there she used to have assignations
with him in secret. And while she was in the habit of meeting him
there every day, her attachment to him was discovered by all her
friends and relations. But her husband Balavarman was the only one
who did not discover that she was unchaste; very often men blinded
by affection do not discover the wickedness of their wives.

Then a burning fever seized Balavarman, and the merchant consequently
was soon reduced to a very low state. But, though he was in this
state, his wife went every day to her friend's house, to meet her
paramour. And the next day, while she was there, her husband died. And
on hearing of it she returned, quickly taking leave of her lover. And
out of grief for her husband, she ascended the pyre with his body,
being firmly resolved, though her attendants, who knew her character,
tried to dissuade her. [13]

"Thus is the way of a woman's heart truly hard to understand. They
fall in love with strange men, and die when separated from their
husbands." When Tapantaka said this, Harisikha said in his turn,
"Have you not heard what happened in this way to Devadása?"



Story of the faithless wife who had her husband murdered.

Of old time there lived in a village a householder, named Devadása, and
he had a wife named with good cause Duhsílá. [14] And the neighbours
knew that she was in love with another man. Now, once on a time,
Devadása went to the king's court on some business. And his wife, who
wished to have him murdered, took advantage of the occasion to bring
her paramour, whom she concealed on the roof of the house. And in the
dead of night she had her husband Devadása killed by that paramour,
when he was asleep. And she dismissed her paramour, and remained quiet
until the morning, when she went out, and exclaimed, "My husband has
been killed by robbers." Then his relations came there, and after
they had seen his body, they said, "If he was killed by thieves,
why did they not carry off anything?" After they had said this, they
asked her young son, who was there, "Who killed your father?" Then he
said plainly; "A man had gone up on the roof here in the day, he came
down in the night, and killed my father before my eyes; but first my
mother took me and rose up from my father's side." When the boy said
this, the dead man's relations knew that Devadása had been killed by
his wife's paramour, and they searched him out, and put him to death
then and there, and they adopted that boy and banished Duhsílá.

"So you see, a woman, whose heart is fixed on another man, infallibly
kills like the snake." When Harisikha said this, Gomukha said
again--"Why should we tell any out-of-the-way story? Listen to the
ridiculous fate that befell Vajrasára here, the servant of the king
of Vatsa."



Story of Vajrasára whose wife cut off his nose and ears.

He, being brave and handsome, had a beautiful wife that came from
Málava, whom he loved more than his own body. Once on a time his wife's
father, longing to see her, came in person, accompanied by his son,
from Málava, to invite him and her. Then Vajrasára entertained him,
and informed the king, and went, as he had been invited to do, to
Málava with his wife and his father-in-law. And after he had rested a
month only in his father-in-law's house, he came back here to attend
upon the king, but that wife of his remained there. Then, after some
days had passed, suddenly a friend of the name of Krodhana came to him,
and said:--"Why have you ruined your family by leaving your wife in her
father's house? For the abandoned woman has there formed a connexion
with another man. This was told me to-day by a trustworthy person
who came from that place. Do not suppose that it is untrue; punish
her, and marry another." When Krodhana had said this, he went away,
and Vajrasára stood bewildered for a moment, and then reflected--"I
suspect this may be true; otherwise, why did she not come back,
though I sent a man to summon her? So I will go myself to bring her,
and see what the state of the case is."

Having formed this resolution, he went to Málava, and after taking
leave of his father-in-law and his mother-in-law, he set out with
his wife. And after he had gone a long distance, he eluded his
followers by a trick, and going by the wrong path, entered with his
wife a dense wood. He sat down in the middle of it, and said to her,
out of hearing of any one: "I have heard from a trustworthy friend,
that you are in love with another, and when I, remaining at home,
sent for you, you did not come; so tell me the truth; if you do not,
I will punish you." When she heard this, she said: "If this is your
intention, why do you ask me? Do what you like." When Vajrasára heard
this contemptuous speech of hers, he was angry and tied her up, and
began to beat her with creepers. But while he was stripping off her
clothes, he felt his passion renewed, and asked her to forgive him,
whereupon she said; "I will, if I may tie you up and beat you with
creepers, in the same way as you tied me up and beat me, but not
otherwise." Vajrasára, whose heart was made like stubble by love,
consented, for he was blinded by passion. Then she bound him firmly,
hand and foot, to a tree, and, when he was bound, she cut off his ears
and nose with his own sword, and the wicked woman took his sword and
clothes, and disguising herself as a man, departed whither she would.

But Vajrasára, with his nose and ears cut off, remained there,
depressed by great loss of blood, and loss of self-respect. Then a
certain benevolent physician, who was wandering through the wood in
search of healing herbs, saw him, and out of compassion unbound him,
and brought him home to his house. And Vajrasára, having been brought
round by him, slowly returned to his own house, but he did not find
that wicked wife, though he sought for her. And he described the
whole occurrence to Krodhana, and he related it in the presence of
the king of Vatsa; and all the people in the king's court mocked
him, saying, that his wife had justly taken away his man's dress
and suitably punished him, because he had lost all manly spirit and
faculty of just resentment, and so become a woman. But in spite of
their ridicule he remains there with heart of adamant, proof against
shame. So what confidence, your Royal Highness, can be placed in women?

When Gomukha had said this, Marubhúti went on to say, "The mind of
woman is unstable, hear a tale in illustration of this truth."



Story of king Sinhabala and his fickle wife.

Formerly there dwelt in the Deccan a king, of the name of
Sinhabala. And his wife named Kalyánavatí, the daughter of a prince
of Málava, was dear to him above all the women of his harem. And
the king ruled the realm with her as consort, but once on a time he
was expelled from his kingdom by his powerful relations, who banded
together against him. And then the king, accompanied by the queen,
with his weapons and but few attendants, set out for the house of
his father-in-law in Málava.

And as he was going along through a forest, which lay in his road,
a lion charged him, and the hero easily cut it in two with a stroke of
his sword. And when a wild elephant came at him trumpeting, he circled
round it and cut off with his sword its trunk and feet, and stripped
it of its jewel, and killed it. And alone he dispersed the hosts of
bandits like lotuses, and trampled them, as the elephant, lord of the
forest, tramples the beds of white water-lilies. Thus he accomplished
the journey, and his wonderful courage was seen, and so he reached
Málava, and then this sea of valour said to his wife: "You must not
tell in your father's house this that happened to me on the journey,
it will bring shame to me, my queen, for what is there laudable in
courage displayed by a man of the military caste?" After he had given
her this injunction, he entered his father-in-law's house with her,
and when eagerly questioned by him, told his story. His father-in-law
honoured him, and gave him elephants and horses, and then he repaired
to a very powerful king named Gajáníka. But being intent on conquering
his enemies, he left his wife Kalyánavatí there in her father's house.

Some days after he had gone, his wife, while standing at the window,
saw a certain man. The moment she saw him, he captivated her heart by
his good looks; and being drawn on by love, she immediately thought,
"I know, no one is more handsome or more brave than my husband, but
alas! my mind is attracted towards this man. So let what must be, be. I
will have an interview with him." So she determined in her own mind,
and told her desire to a female attendant, who was her confidante. And
she made her bring him at night, and introduce him into the women's
apartments by the window, pulling him up with a rope. When the man
was introduced, he had not courage to sit boldly on the sofa on which
she was, but sat apart on a chair. The queen, when she saw that,
was despondent, thinking he was a mean man, and at that very moment a
snake, which was roaming about, came down from the roof. When the man
saw the snake, he sprang up quickly in fear, and taking his bow, he
killed the snake with an arrow. And when it fell dead, he threw it out
of the window, and in his delight at having escaped that danger, the
coward danced for joy. When Kalyánavatí saw him dancing, she was cast
down, and thought to herself over and over again: "Alas! alas! What
have I to do with this mean-spirited coward?" And her friend, who
was a discerning person, saw that she was disgusted, and so she went
out, and quickly returned with assumed trepidation, and said, "Queen,
your father has come, so let this young man quickly return to his own
house by the way by which he came." When she said this, he went out
of the window by means of the rope, and being overpowered by fear,
he fell, but as luck would have it, he was not killed.

When he had gone, Kalyánavatí said to her confidante,--"My friend,
you have acted rightly in turning out this low fellow. [15] You
penetrated my feelings, for my heart is vexed. My husband, after
slaying tigers and lions, conceals it through modesty, and this
cowardly man, after killing a snake, dances for joy. So why should I
desert such a husband and fall in love with a common fellow? Curse
on my unstable mind, or rather curse on women, who are like flies
that leave camphor and haste to impurity!" The queen spent the
night in these self-reproaches, and afterwards remained waiting in
her father's house for the return of her husband. In the meanwhile
Sinhabala, having been supplied with another army by king Gajáníka,
slew those five wicked relations. Then he recovered his kingdom,
and at the same time brought back his wife from her father's house,
and after loading his father-in-law with abundance of wealth, he
ruled the earth for a long time without opposition.

"So you see, king, that the mind of even discerning women is fickle,
and, though they have brave and handsome husbands, wanders hither
and thither, but women of pure character are scarce."

When Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, had heard this
story related by Marubhúti, he sank off into a sound sleep and so
passed the night.






CHAPTER LIX.


Early the next day, Naraváhanadatta, after he had performed his
necessary duties, went to his garden by way of amusement. And while
he was there, he saw first a blaze of splendour descend from heaven,
and after it a company of many Vidyádhara females. And in the middle
of those glittering ones, he saw a maiden charming to the eye like
a digit of the moon in the middle of the stars, with face like an
opening lotus, with rolling eyes like circling bees, with the swimming
gait of a swan, diffusing the perfume of a blue lotus, with dimples
charming like waves, with waist adorned with a string of pearls, like
the presiding goddess of the lovely lake in Cupid's garden, appearing
in bodily form. And the prince, when he saw that charming enamoured
creature, a medicine potent to revive the god of love, was disturbed
like the sea, when it beholds the orb of the moon. And he approached
her, saying to his ministers--"Ah! extraordinary is the variety in
producing fair ones that is characteristic of Providence!" And when
she looked at him with a sidelong look tender with passion, he asked
her--"Who are you, auspicious one, and why have you come here?" When
the maiden heard that, she said, "Listen, I will tell you."

"There is a town of gold on the Himálayas, named Kánchanasringa. In
it there lives a king of the Vidyádharas, named Sphatikayasas, who is
just, and kind to the wretched, the unprotected, and those who seek his
aid. Know that I am his daughter, born to him by the queen Hemaprabhá,
in consequence of a boon granted by Gaurí. And I, being the youngest
child, and having five brothers, and being dear to my father as his
life, kept by his advice propitiating Gaurí with vows and hymns. She,
being pleased, bestowed on me all the magic sciences, and deigned to
address me thus--'Thy might in science shall be tenfold that of thy
father, and thy husband shall be Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king
of Vatsa, the future emperor of the Vidyádharas. After the consort of
Siva had said this, she disappeared, and by her favour I obtained the
sciences and gradually grew up. And last night the goddess appeared to
me and commanded me--'To-morrow, my daughter, thou must go and visit
thy husband, and thou must return here the same day, for in a month
thy father, who has long entertained this intention, will give thee in
marriage.' The goddess, after giving me this command, disappeared, and
the night came to an end; so here I am come, your Highness, to pay you
a visit. So now I will depart." Having said this, Saktiyasas flew up
into the heaven with her attendants, and returned to her father's city.

But Naraváhanadatta, being eager to marry her, went in disappointed,
considering the month as long as a yuga. And Gomukha, seeing that
he was despondent, said to him, "Listen, prince, I will tell you a
delightful story."



Story of king Sumanas, the Nisháda maiden and the learned parrot. [16]

In old time there was a city named Kánchanapurí, and in it there
lived a great king named Sumanas. He was of extraordinary splendour,
and crossing difficult and inaccessible regions, he conquered the
fortresses and fastnesses of his foes. Once, as he was sitting in
the hall of assembly, the warder said to him--"King, the daughter of
the king of the Nishádas, named Muktálatá, is standing outside the
door with a parrot in a cage, accompanied by her brother Víraprabha,
and wishes to see your Majesty." The king said "Let her enter," and,
introduced by the warder, the Bhilla maiden entered the enclosure of
the king's hall of assembly. And all there, when they saw her beauty,
thought--"This is not a mortal maiden, surely this is some heavenly
nymph." And she bowed before the king and spoke as follows--"King,
here is a parrot that knows the four Vedas, called Sástraganja,
a poet skilled in all the sciences and in the graceful arts, and I
have brought him here to-day by the order of king Maya, so receive
him." With these words she handed over the parrot, and it was brought
by the warder near the king, as he had a curiosity to see it, and it
recited the following sloka:

"King, this is natural, that the black-faced smoke of thy valour
should be continually increased by the windy sighs of the widows
of thy enemies, but this is strange, that the strong flame of thy
valour blazes in the ten cardinal points all the more fiercely on
account of the overflowing of the copious tears wrung from them by
the humiliation of defeat."

When the parrot had recited this sloka, it began to reflect, and
said again, "What do you wish to know? tell me from what sástra I
shall recite."

Then the king was much astonished, but his minister said--"I suspect,
my lord, this is some rishi of ancient days become a parrot on account
of a curse, but owing to his piety he remembers his former birth,
and so recollects what he formerly read." When the ministers said this
to the king, the king said to the parrot--"I feel curiosity, my good
parrot, tell me your story, where is your place of birth? How comes it
that in your parrot condition you know the sástras? Who are you?" Then
the parrot shed tears and slowly spoke: "The story is sad to tell,
O king, but listen, I will tell it in obedience to thy command."



The parrot's account of his own life as a parrot.

Near the Himálayas, O king, there is a rohiní tree, which resembles
the Vedas, in that many birds take refuge in its branches that extend
through the heaven, as Bráhmans in the various branches of the sacred
tradition. [17] There a cock-parrot used to dwell with his hen, and to
that pair I was born, by the influence of my evil works in a former
life. And as soon as I was born, the hen-parrot, my mother, died,
but my old father put me under his wing, and fostered me tenderly. And
he continued to live there, eating what remained over from the fruits
brought by the other parrots, and giving some to me.

Once on a time, there came there to hunt a terrible army of Bhillas,
making a noise with cows' horns strongly blown; and the whole of
that great wood was like an army fleeing in rout, with terrified
antelopes for dust-stained banners, and the bushy tails of the
chamarí deer, agitated in fear, resembling chowries, as the host of
Pulindas rushed upon it to slay various living creatures. And after
the army of Savaras had spent the day in the hunting-grounds, in the
sport of death, they returned with the loads of flesh which they had
obtained. But a certain aged Savara, who had not obtained any flesh,
saw the tree in the evening, and being hungry, approached it, and
he quickly climbed up it, and kept dragging parrots and other birds
from their nests, killing them, and flinging them on the ground. And
when I saw him coming near, like the minister of Yama, I slowly crept
in fear underneath the wing of my father. And in the meanwhile the
ruffian came near our nest, and dragged out my father, and wringing
his neck, flung him down on the ground at the foot of the tree. And
I fell with my father, and slipping out from underneath his wing, I
slowly crept in my fear into the grass and leaves. Then the rascally
Bhilla came down, and roasted some of the parrots and ate them,
and others he carried off to his own village.

Then my fear was at an end, but I spent a night long from grief, and in
the morning, when the flaming eye [18] of the world had mounted high
in the heaven, I, being thirsty, went to the bank of a neighbouring
lake full of lotuses, tumbling frequently, clinging to the earth
with my wings, and there I saw on the sand of the lake a hermit,
named Maríchi, who had just bathed, as it were my good works in a
former state of existence. He, when he saw me, refreshed me with
drops of water flung in my face, and, putting me in the hollow of
a leaf, out of pity, carried me to his hermitage. There Pulastya,
the head of the hermitage, laughed when he saw me, and being asked
by the other hermits, why he laughed, having supernatural insight,
he said--"When I beheld this parrot, who is a parrot in consequence
of a curse, I laughed out of sorrow, but after I have said my daily
prayers, I will tell a story connected with him, which shall cause
him to remember his former birth, and the occurrences of his former
lives." After saying this, the hermit Pulastya rose up for his daily
prayer, and, after he had performed his daily prayer, being again
solicited by the hermits, the great sage told this story concerning me.



The hermit's story of Somaprabha, Manorathaprabhá, and Makarandiká,
wherein it appears who the parrot was in a former birth.

There lived in the city of Ratnákara a king named Jyotishprabha,
who ruled the earth with supreme authority, as far as the sea, the
mine of jewels. There was born to him, by his queen named Harshavatí,
a son, whose birth was due to the favour of Siva propitiated by severe
asceticism. Because the queen saw in a dream the moon entering her
mouth, the king gave his son the name of Somaprabha. And the prince
gradually grew up with ambrosial qualities, furnishing a feast to
the eyes of the subjects.

And his father Jyotishprabha, seeing that he was brave, young, beloved
by the subjects, and able to bear the weight of empire, gladly anointed
him crown-prince. And he gave him as minister the virtuous Priyankara,
the son of his own minister named Prabhákara. On that occasion Mátali
descended from the heaven with a celestial horse, and coming up to
Somaprabha, said to him: "You are a Vidyádhara, a friend of Indra's,
born on earth, and he has sent you an excellent horse named Ásusravas,
the son of Uchchhaihsravas, in memory of his former friendship;
if you mount it, you will be invincible by your foes." After the
charioteer of Indra had said this, he gave Somaprabha that splendid
horse, and after receiving due honour, he flew up to heaven again.

Then Somaprabha spent that day pleasantly in feasting, and the next
day said to his father the king; "My father, the duty of a Kshatriya
is not complete without a desire for conquest, so permit me to march
out to the conquest of the regions." When his father Jyotishprabha
heard that, he was pleased, and consented, and made arrangements for
his expedition. Then Somaprabha bowed before his father, and marched
out on an auspicious day, with his forces, for the conquest of the
regions, mounted on the horse given by Indra. And by the help of his
splendid horse, he conquered the kings of every part of the world,
and being irresistible in might, he stripped them of their jewels. He
bent his bow and the necks of his enemies at the same time; the bow was
unbent again, but the heads of his enemies were never again uplifted.

Then, as he was returning in triumph, on a path which led him near the
Himálayas, he made his army encamp, and went hunting in a wood. And
as chance would have it, he saw there a Kinnara, made of a splendid
jewel, and he pursued him on his horse given by Indra, with the object
of capturing him. The Kinnara entered a cavern in the mountain, and
was lost to view, but the prince was carried far away by that horse.

And when the sun, after diffusing illumination over the quarters of
the world, had reached the western peak, where he meets the evening
twilight, the prince, being tired, managed, though with difficulty,
to return, and he beheld a great lake, and wishing to pass the night
on its shores, he dismounted from his horse. And after he had given
grass and water to the horse, and had taken fruits and water himself,
and felt rested, he suddenly heard from a certain quarter the sound
of a song. Out of curiosity he went in the direction of the sound,
and saw at no great distance a heavenly nymph, singing in front of
a linga of Siva. He said to himself in astonishment, "Who may this
lovely one be?" And she, seeing that he was of noble appearance, said
to him bashfully--"Tell me, who are you? How did you reach alone this
inaccessible place?" When he heard this, he told his story, and asked
her in turn, "Tell me, who are you and what is your business in this
wood?" When he asked this question, the heavenly maiden said--"If you
have any desire, noble sir, to hear my tale, listen, I will tell it;"
after this preface she began to speak with a gushing flood of tears.



Episode of Manorathaprabhá and Rasmimat.

There is here, on the table-land of the Himálayas, a city named
Kánchanábha, and in it there dwells a king of the Vidyádharas named
Padmakúta. Know that I am the daughter of that king by his queen
Hemaprabhá, and that my name is Manorathaprabhá, and my father loves
me more than his life. I, by the power of my science, used to visit,
with my female companions, the isles, and the principal mountains,
and the woods, and the gardens, and after amusing myself, I made a
point of returning every day at my father's meal-time, at the third
watch of the day, to my palace. Once on a time I arrived here as I
was roaming about, and I saw on the shore of the lake a hermit's son
with his companion. And being summoned by the splendour of his beauty,
as if by a female messenger, I approached him, and he welcomed me with
a wistful look. And then I sat down, and my friend, perceiving the
feelings of both, put this question to him through his companion,
"Who are you, noble sir, tell me?" And his companion said; "Not
far from here, my friend, there lives in a hermitage a hermit named
Dídhitimat. He, being subject to a strict vow of chastity, was seen
once, when he came to bathe in this lake, by the goddess Srí, who came
there at the same time. As she could not obtain him in the flesh, as he
was a strict ascetic, and yet longed for him earnestly with her mind,
she conceived a mind-born son. And she took that son to Dídhitimat,
saying to him, 'I have obtained this son by looking at you; receive
it.' And after giving the son to the hermit, Srí disappeared. And the
hermit gladly received the son, so easily obtained, and gave him the
name of Rasmimat, and gradually reared him, and after investing him
with the sacred thread, taught him out of love all the sciences. Know
that you see before you in this young hermit that very Rasmimat the
son of Srí, come here with me on a pleasure journey." When my friend
had heard this from the youth's friend, she, being questioned by him
in turn, told my name and descent as I have now told it to you.

Then I and the hermit's son became still more in love with one another
from hearing one another's descent, and while we were lingering there,
a second attendant came and said to me, "Rise up, your father, fair
one, is waiting for you in the dining-room of the palace." When I heard
that, I said--"I will return quickly," and leaving the youth there, I
went into the presence of my father out of fear. And when I came out,
having taken a very little food, the first attendant came to me and
said of her own accord: "The friend of that hermit's son came here,
my friend, and standing at the door of the court said to me in a state
of hurried excitement--'Rasmimat has sent me here now, bestowing on me
the power of travelling in the air, which he inherits from his father,
to see Manorathaprabhá: he is reduced to a terrible state by love and
cannot retain his breath a moment longer, without that mistress of
his life.'" The moment I heard this, I left my father's palace, and,
accompanied by that friend of the hermit's son, who showed me the way,
and my attendant, I came here, and when I arrived here, I saw that
that hermit's son, separated from me, had resigned, at the rising of
the moon, the nectar of his life. So I, grieved by separation from
him, was blaming my vital frame, and longing to enter the fire with
his body. But at that very moment a man, with a body like a mass of
flame, descended from the sky, and flew up to heaven with his body.

Then I was desirous to hurl myself into the fire alone, but at that
moment a voice issued from the air here; "Manorathaprabhá, do not
do this thing, for at the appointed time thou shalt be re-united
to this thy hermit's son." On hearing this, I gave up the idea of
suicide, and here I remain full of hope, waiting for him, engaged
in the worship of Siva. And as for the friend of the hermit's son,
he has disappeared somewhere.

When the Vidyádhara maiden had said this, Somaprabha said to her,
"Then, why do you remain alone, where is that female attendant of
yours?" When the Vidyádhara maiden heard this, she answered: "There is
a king of the Vidyádharas, named Sinhavikrama, and he has a matchless
daughter named Makarandiká; she is a friend of mine, dear as my life,
who sympathizes with my grief, and she to-day sent her attendant to
learn tidings of me. So I sent back my own attendant to her, with her
attendant; it is for that reason that I am at present alone." As she
was saying this, she pointed out to Somaprabha her attendant descending
from heaven. And she made the attendant, after she had told her news,
strew a bed of leaves for Somaprabha, and also give grass to his horse.

Then, after passing the night, they rose up in the morning, and
saw approaching a Vidyádhara, who had descended from heaven. And
that Vidyádhara, whose name was Devajaya, after sitting down, spoke
thus to Manorathaprabhá--"Manorathaprabhá, king Sinhavikrama informs
you that your friend, his daughter Makarandiká, out of love for you,
refuses to marry until you have obtained a bridegroom. So he wishes you
to go there and admonish her, that she may be ready to marry." When
the Vidyádhara maiden heard this, she prepared to go, out of regard
for her friend, and then Somaprabha said to her:--"Virtuous one, I
have a curiosity to see the Vidyádhara world: so take me there, and
let my horse remain here supplied with grass." When she heard that,
she consented, and taking her attendant with her, she flew through
the air, with Somaprabha, who was carried in the arms of Devajaya.

When she arrived there, Makarandiká welcomed her, and seeing
Somaprabha, asked, "Who is this?" And when Manorathaprabhá told
his story, the heart of Makarandiká was immediately captivated by
him. He, for his part, thought in his mind, deeming he had come upon
Good Fortune in bodily form--"Who is the fortunate man destined to
be her bridegroom?"

Then, in confidential conversation, Manorathaprabhá put the
following question to Makarandiká; "Fair one, why do you not wish
to be married?" And she, when she heard this, answered:--"How could
I desire marriage until you have accepted a bridegroom, for you are
dearer to me than life?" When Makarandiká said this in an affectionate
manner, Manorathaprabhá said--"I have chosen a bridegroom, fair one;
I am waiting here in hopes of union with him." When she said this,
Makarandiká said--"I will do as you direct." [19]

Then Manorathaprabhá, seeing the real state of her feelings, said
to her, "My friend, Somaprabha has come here as your guest, after
wandering through the world, so you must entertain him as a guest
with becoming hospitality." When Makarandiká heard this, she said:--"I
have already bestowed on him, by way of hospitality, every thing but
myself, but let him accept me, if he is willing." When she said this,
Manorathaprabhá told their love to her father, and arranged a marriage
between them. Then Somaprabha recovered his spirits, and delighted
said to her:--"I must go now to your hermitage, for possibly my army,
commanded by my minister, may come there tracking my course, and if
they do not find me, they may return, suspecting something untoward. So
I will depart, and after I have learned the tidings of the host,
I will return, and certainly marry Makarandiká on an auspicious
day." When Manorathaprabhá heard that, she consented, and took him
back to her own hermitage, making Devajaya carry him in his arms.

In the meanwhile his minister Priyankara came there with the
army, tracking his footsteps. And while Somaprabha, in delight,
was recounting his adventures to his minister, whom he met there,
a messenger came from his father, with a written message that he was
to return quickly. Then, by the advice of his minister, he went with
his army back to his own city, in order not to disobey his father's
command, and as he started, he said to Manorathaprabhá and Devajaya,
"I will return as soon as I have seen my father."

Then Devajaya went and informed Makarandiká of that, and in consequence
she became afflicted with the sorrow of separation. She took no
pleasure in the garden, nor in singing, nor in the society of her
ladies-in-waiting, nor did she listen to the amusing voices of the
parrots; she did not take food; much less did she care about adorning
herself. And though her parents earnestly admonished her, she did not
recover her spirits. And she soon left her couch of lotus-fibres,
and wandered about like an insane woman, causing distress to her
parents. And when she would not listen to their words, though they
tried to console her, her parents in their anger pronounced this
curse on her, "You shall fall for some time among the unfortunate
race of the Nishádas, with this very body of yours, without the power
of remembering your former birth." When thus cursed by her parents,
Makarandiká entered the house of a Nisháda, and became that very
moment a Nisháda maiden. And her father Sinhavikrama, the king of the
Vidyádharas, repented, and through grief for her died, and so did his
wife. Now that king of the Vidyádharas was in a former birth a rishi
who knew all the sástras, but now on account of some remnant of former
sin he has become this parrot, and his wife also has been born as a
wild sow, and this parrot, owing to the power of former austerities,
remembers what it learned in a former life.

"So I laughed, considering the marvellous results of his works. But
he shall be released, as soon as he has told this tale in the court
of a king. And Somaprabha shall obtain the parrot's daughter in his
Vidyádhara birth, Makarandiká, who has now become a Nisháda female. And
Manorathaprabhá also shall obtain the hermit's son Rasmimat, who has
now become a king; but Somaprabha, as soon as he had seen his father,
returned to her hermitage, and remains there propitiating Siva in
order to recover his beloved."

When the hermit Pulastya had said thus much, he ceased, and I
remembered my birth, and was plunged in grief and joy. Then the hermit
Maríchi, who carried me out of pity to the hermitage, took me and
reared me. And when my wings grew, I flew about hither and thither
with the flightiness natural to a bird, [20] displaying the miracle
of my learning. And falling into the hands of a Nisháda, I have in
course of time reached your court. And now my evil works have spent
their force, having been brought with me into the body of a bird.

When the learned and eloquent parrot had finished this tale in the
presence of the court, king Sumanas suddenly felt his soul filled with
astonishment, and disturbed with love. In the meanwhile Siva, being
pleased, said to Somaprabha in a dream--"Rise up, king, and go into the
presence of king Sumanas, there thou wilt find thy beloved. For the
maiden, named Makarandiká, has become, by the curse of her father,
a Nisháda maiden, named Muktálatá, and she has gone with her own
father, who has become a parrot, to the court of the king. And when
she sees thee, her curse will come to an end, and she will remember
her existence as a Vidyádhara maiden, and then a union will take place
between you, the joy of which will be increased by your recognizing
one another." Having said this to that king, Siva, who is merciful to
all his worshippers, said to Manorathaprabhá, who also was living in
his hermitage, "The hermit's son Rasmimat, whom thou didst accept as
thy bridegroom, has been born again under the name of Sumanas, so go
to him and obtain him, fair one; he will at once remember his former
birth, when he beholds thee." So Somaprabha and the Vidyádhara maiden,
being separately commanded in a dream by Siva, went immediately to the
court of that Sumanas. And there Makarandiká, on beholding Somaprabha,
immediately remembered her former birth, and being released from her
long curse, and recovering her heavenly body, she embraced him. And
Somaprabha, having, by the favour of Siva, obtained that daughter
of the Vidyádhara prince, as if she were the incarnate fortune of
heavenly enjoyment, embraced her, and considered himself to have
attained his object. And king Sumanas, having beheld Manorathaprabhá,
remembered his former birth, and entered his former body, that fell
from heaven, and became Rasmimat the son of the chief of hermits. And
once more united with his beloved, for whom he had long yearned,
he entered his own hermitage, and king Somaprabha departed with his
beloved to his own city. And the parrot too left the body of a bird,
and went to the home earned by his asceticism.

"Thus you see that the appointed union of human beings certainly
takes place in this world, though vast spaces intervene." When
Naraváhanadatta heard this wonderful, romantic, and agreeable story
from his own minister Gomukha, as he was longing for Saktiyasas,
he was much pleased.






CHAPTER LX.


Then the chief minister Gomukha, having told the story of the two
Vidyádhara maidens, said to Naraváhanadatta, "Some ordinary men even,
being kindly disposed towards the three worlds, resist with firm
resolution the disturbance of love and other passions.



Story of Súravarman who spared his guilty wife.

For the king Kuladhara once had a servant of distinguished valour,
a young man of good family, named Súravarman. And one day, as he was
returning from war, he entered his house suddenly, and found his wife
alone with his friend. And when he saw it, he restrained his wrath,
and in his self-control reflected, "What is the use of slaying this
animal who has betrayed his friend? Or of punishing this wicked
woman? Why too should I saddle my soul with a load of guilt?" After
he had thus reflected, he left them both unharmed and said to them,
"I will kill whichever of you two I see again. You must neither of
you come in my sight again. When he said this and let them depart,
they went away to some distant place, but Súravarman married another
wife, and lived there in comfort.

"Thus, prince, a man who conquers wrath will not be subject to grief;
and a man, who displays prudence, is never harmed. Even in the case
of animals prudence produces success, not valour. In proof of it,
hear this story about the lion, and the bull, and other animals."



Story of the Ox abandoned in the Forest. [21]

There was in a certain city a rich merchant's son. Once on a time, as
he was going to the city of Mathurá to trade, a draught-bull belonging
to him, named Sanjívaka, as it was dragging the yoke vigorously,
broke it, and so slipped in the path, which had become muddy by a
mountain torrent flowing into it, and fell and bruised its limbs. The
merchant's son, seeing that the bull was unable to move on account of
its bruises, and not succeeding in his attempts to raise it up from the
ground, at last in despair went off and left it there. And, as fate
would have it, the bull slowly revived, and rose up, and by eating
tender grass recovered its former condition. And it went to the bank
of the Yamuná, and by eating green grass and wandering about at will,
it became fat and strong. And it roamed about there, with full hump,
wantoning, like the bull of Siva, tearing up ant-hills with its horns,
and bellowing frequently.

Now at that time there lived in a neighbouring wood a lion named
Pingalaka, who had subdued the forest by his might; and that king
of beasts had two jackals for ministers; the name of the one was
Damanaka, and the name of the other was Karataka. That lion, going
one day to the bank of the Yamuná to drink water, heard close to
him the roar of that bull Sanjívaka. And when the lion heard the
roar of that bull, never heard before, resounding through the air,
he thought, "What animal makes this sound? Surely some great creature
dwells here, so I will depart, for if it saw me, it might slay me,
or expel me from the forest." Thereupon the lion quickly returned to
the forest without drinking water, and continued in a state of fear,
hiding his feelings from his followers.

Then the wise jackal [22] Damanaka, the minister of that king,
said secretly to Karataka the second minister, "Our master went to
drink water; so how comes it that he has so quickly returned without
drinking? We must ask him the reason." Then Karataka said--"What
business is this of ours? Have you not heard the story of the ape
that drew out the wedge?"



Story of the monkey that pulled out the wedge. [23]

In a certain town, a merchant had begun to build a temple to a
divinity, and had accumulated much timber. The workmen there, after
sawing through the upper half of a plank, placed a wedge in it, and
leaving it thus suspended, went home. In the meanwhile a monkey came
there and bounded up out of mischief, and sat on the plank, the parts
of which were separated by the wedge. And he sat in the gap between
the two parts, as if in the mouth of death, and in purposeless mischief
pulled out the wedge. Then he fell with the plank, the wedge of which
had been pulled out, and was killed, having his limbs crushed by the
flying together of the separated parts.

"Thus a person is ruined by meddling with what is not his own
business. So what is the use of our penetrating the mind of the
king of beasts?" When the grave Damanaka heard Karataka say this,
he answered--"Certainly wise ministers must penetrate and observe
the peculiarities of their master's character. For who would confine
his attention to filling his belly?" When Damanaka said this, the
good Karataka said--"Prying for one's own gratification is not the
duty of a servant." Damanaka, being thus addressed, replied--"Do not
speak thus, every one desires a recompense suited to his character;
the dog is satisfied with a bone only, the lion attacks an elephant."

When Karataka heard this, he said, "And supposing under these
circumstances the master is angry, instead of being pleased, where
is your special advantage? Lords, like mountains, are exceedingly
rough, firm, uneven, difficult of access, and surrounded with noxious
creatures." Then Damanaka said, "This is true, but he who is wise,
gradually gets influence over his master by penetrating his character."

Then Karataka said--"Well, do so," and Damanaka went into the
presence of his master the lion. The lion received him kindly:
so he bowed, and sat down, and immediately said to him; "King, I
am a hereditary useful servant of yours. One useful is to be sought
after, though a stranger, but a mischievous one is to be abandoned;
a cat, being useful, is bought with money, brought from a distance,
and cherished; but a mouse, being harmful, is carefully destroyed,
though it has been nourished up in one's house. And a king, who desires
prosperity, must listen to servants who wish him well, and they must
give their lord at the right time useful counsel, even without being
asked. So, king, if you feel confidence in me, if you are not angry,
and if you do not wish to conceal your feelings from me, and if you
are not disturbed in mind by my boldness, I would ask you a certain
question." When Damanaka said this, the lion Pingalaka answered;
"You are trustworthy, you are attached to me, so speak without fear."

When Pingalaka said this, Damanaka said: "King, being thirsty, you
went to drink water; so why did you return without drinking, like one
despondent?" When the lion heard this speech of his, he reflected--"I
have been discovered by him, so why should I try to hide the truth
from this devoted servant?" Having thus reflected, he said to him,
"Listen, I must not hide anything from you. When I went to drink water,
I heard here a noise which I never heard before, and I think, it is
the terrible roar of some animal superior to myself in strength. For,
as a general rule, the might of creatures is proportionate to the
sound they utter, and it is well known that the infinitely various
animal creation has been made by God in regular gradations. And now
that he has entered here, I cannot call my body nor my wood my own;
so I must depart hence to some other forest." When the lion said this,
Damanaka answered him; "Being valiant, O king, why do you wish to
leave the wood for so slight a reason? Water breaks a bridge, secret
whispering friendship, counsel is ruined by garrulity, cowards only
are routed by a mere noise. There are many noises, such as those of
machines, which are terrible till one knows the real cause. So your
Highness must not fear this. Hear by way of illustration the story
of the jackal and the drum.



Story of the Jackal and the Drum. [24]

Long ago there lived a jackal in a certain forest district. He was
roaming about in search of food, and came upon a plot of ground
where a battle had taken place, and hearing from a certain quarter a
booming sound, he looked in that direction. There he saw a drum lying
on the ground, a thing with which he was not familiar. He thought,
"What kind of animal is this, that makes such a sound?" Then he saw
that it was motionless, and coming up and looking at it, he came to
the conclusion that it was not an animal. And he perceived that the
noise was produced by the parchment being struck by the shaft of an
arrow, which was moved by the wind. So the jackal laid aside his fear,
and he tore open the drum, and went inside, to see if he could get
anything to eat in it, but lo! it was nothing but wood and parchment.

So, king, why do creatures like you fear a mere sound? If you approve,
I will go there to investigate the matter." When Damanaka said this,
the lion answered, "Go there, by all means, if you dare;" so Damanaka
went to the bank of the Yamuná. While he was roaming slowly about
there, guided by the sound, he discovered that bull eating grass. So
he went near him, and made acquaintance with him, and came back,
and told the lion the real state of the ease. The lion Pingalaka was
delighted and said, "If you have really seen that great ox, and made
friends with him, bring him here by some artifice, that I may see what
he is like." So he sent Damanaka back to that bull. Damanaka went to
the bull and said--"Come! our master, the king of beasts is pleased
to summon you," but the bull would not consent to come, for he was
afraid. Then the jackal again returned to the forest, and induced
his master the lion to grant the bull assurance of protection. And
he went and encouraged Sanjívaka with this promise of protection,
and so brought him into the presence of the lion. And when the lion
saw him come and bow before him, he treated him with politeness, and
said--"Remain here now about my person, and entertain no fear." And the
bull consented, and gradually gained such an influence over the lion,
that he turned his back on his other dependents, and was entirely
governed by the bull.

Then Damanaka, being annoyed, said to Karataka in secret: "See! our
master has been taken possession of by Sanjívaka, and does not
trouble his head about us. He eats his flesh alone, and never gives
us a share. And the fool is now taught his duty by this bull. [25] It
was I that caused all this mischief by bringing this bull. So I will
now take steps to have him killed, and to reclaim our master from his
unbecoming infatuation." When Karataka heard this from Damanaka, he
said--"Friend, even you will not be able to do this now." Then Damanaka
said--"I shall certainly be able to accomplish it by prudence. What
can he not do whose prudence does not fail in calamity? As a proof,
hear the story of the makara [26] that killed the crane."



Story of the crane and the Makara. [27]

Of old time there dwelt a crane in a certain tank rich in fish; and
the fish in terror used to flee out of his sight. Then the crane,
not being able to catch the fish, told them a lying tale: "There has
come here a man with a net who kills fish. He will soon catch you with
a net and kill you. So act on my advice, if you repose any confidence
in me. There is in a lonely place a translucent lake, it is unknown to
the fishermen of these parts; I will take you there one by one, and
drop you into it, that you may live there." When those foolish fish
heard that, they said in their fear--"Do so, we all repose confidence
in you." Then the treacherous crane took the fish away one by one,
and, putting them down on a rock, devoured in this way many of them.

Then a certain makara dwelling in that lake, seeing him carrying
off fish, said:--"Whither are you taking the fish?" Then that crane
said to him exactly what he had said to the fish. The makara, [28]
being terrified, said--"Take me there too." The crane's intellect was
blinded with the smell of his flesh, so he took him up, and soaring
aloft carried him towards the slab of rock. But when the makara got
near the rock, he saw the fragments of the bones of the fish that the
crane had eaten, and he perceived that the crane was in the habit of
devouring those who reposed confidence in him. So no sooner was the
sagacious makara put down on the rock, than with complete presence
of mind he cut off the head of the crane. And he returned and told
the occurrence, exactly as it happened, to the other fish, and they
were delighted, and hailed him as their deliverer from death.

"Prudence indeed is power, so what has a man, devoid of prudence,
to do with power? Hear this other story of the lion and the hare."



Story of the lion and the hare. [29]

There was in a certain forest a lion, who was invincible, and sole
champion of it, and whatever creature he saw in it, he killed. Then
all the animals, deer and all, met and deliberated together, and they
made the following petition to that king of beasts--"Why by killing us
all at once do you ruin your own interests? We will send you one animal
every day for your dinner." When the lion heard this, he consented to
their proposal, and as he was in the habit of eating one animal every
day, it happened that it was one day the lot of a hare to present
himself to be eaten. The hare was sent off by the united animals, but
on the way the wise creature reflected--"He is truly brave who does
not become bewildered even in the time of calamity, so, now that Death
stares me in the face, I will devise an expedient." Thus reflecting,
the hare presented himself before the lion late. And when he arrived
after his time, the lion said to him: "Hola! how is this that you
have neglected to arrive at my dinner hour, or what worse penalty than
death can I inflict on you, scoundrel?" When the lion said this, the
hare bowed before him, and said: "It is not my fault, your Highness,
I have not been my own master to-day, for another lion detained me on
the road, and only let me go after a long interval." When the lion
heard that, he lashed his tail, and his eyes became red with anger,
and he said: "Who is that second lion? Shew him me." The hare said:
"Let your Majesty come and see him." The lion consented and followed
him. Thereupon the hare took him away to a distant well. "Here he
lives, behold him," said the hare, and when thus addressed by the hare,
the lion looked into the well, roaring all the while with anger. And
seeing his own reflexion in the clear water, and hearing the echo
of his own roar, thinking that there was a rival lion there roaring
louder than himself, [30] he threw himself in a rage into the well,
in order to kill him, and there the fool was drowned. And the hare,
having himself escaped death by his wisdom, and having delivered all
the animals from it, went and delighted them by telling his adventure.

"So you see that wisdom is the supreme power, not strength, since by
virtue of it even a hare killed a lion. So I will effect my object
by wisdom." When Damanaka said this, Karataka remained silent.

Then Damanaka went and remained in the presence of the king Pingalaka,
in a state of assumed depression. And when Pingalaka asked him the
reason, he said to him in a confidential aside: "I will tell you,
king, for if one knows anything, one ought not to conceal it. And one
should speak too without being commanded to do so, if one desires
the welfare of one's master. So hear this representation of mine,
and do not suspect me. This bull Sanjívaka intends to kill you and
gain possession of the kingdom, for in his position of minister he has
come to the conclusion that you are timid; and longing to slay you,
he is brandishing his two horns, his natural weapons, and he talks
over the animals in the forest, encouraging them with speeches of this
kind--'We will kill by some artifice this flesh-eating king of beasts,
and then you can live in security under me, who am an eater of herbs
only.' So think about this bull; as long as he is alive, there is
no security for you." When Damanaka said this, Pingalaka answered,
"What can that miserable herb-eating bull do against me? But how
can I kill a creature that has sought my protection, and to whom I
have promised immunity from injury." When Damanaka heard this, he
said--"Do not speak so. When a king makes another equal to himself,
Fortune does not proceed as favourably as before. [31] The fickle
goddess, if she places her feet at the same time upon two exalted
persons, cannot keep her footing long, she will certainly abandon
one of the two. And a king, who hates a good servant and honours a
bad servant, is to be avoided by the wise, as a wicked patient by
physicians. Where there is a speaker and a hearer of that advice,
which in the beginning is disagreeable, but in the end is useful,
there Fortune sets her foot. He, who does not hear the advice of the
good, but listens to the advice of the bad, in a short time falls
into calamity, and is afflicted. So what is the meaning of this love
of yours for the bull, O king? And what does it matter that you gave
him protection, or that he came as a suppliant, if he plots against
your life? Moreover, if this bull remains always about your person,
you will have worms produced in you by his excretions. And they will
enter your body, which is covered with the scars of wounds from the
tusks of infuriated elephants. Why should he not have chosen to kill
you by craft? If a wicked person is wise enough not to do an injury
[32] himself, it will happen by association with him, hear a story
in proof of it."



Story of the Louse and the Flea. [33]

In the bed of a certain king there long lived undiscovered a louse,
that had crept in from somewhere or other, by name Mandavisarpiní. And
suddenly a flea, named Tittibha, entered that bed, wafted there by the
wind from some place or other. And when Mandavisarpiní saw him, she
said, "Why have you invaded my home? go elsewhere." Tittibha answered,
"I wish to drink the blood of a king, a luxury which I have never
tasted before, so permit me to dwell here." Then, to please him,
the louse said to him, "If this is the case, remain. But you must
not bite the king, my friend, at unseasonable times, you must bite
him gently when he is asleep." When Tittibha heard that, he consented
and remained. But at night he bit the king hard when he was in bed,
and then the king rose up, exclaiming, "I am bitten," then the wicked
flea fled quickly, and the king's servants made a search in the bed,
and finding the louse there, killed it.

"So Mandavisarpiní perished by associating with Tittibha. Accordingly
your association with Sanjívaka will not be for your advantage;
if you do not believe in what I say, you will soon yourself see him
approach, brandishing his head, confiding in his horns, which are
sharp as lances."

By these words the feelings of Pingalaka were changed towards the bull,
and so Damanaka induced him to form in his heart the determination
that the bull must be killed. And Damanaka, having ascertained the
state of the lion's feelings, immediately went off of his own accord
to Sanjívaka, and sat in his presence with a despondent air. The
bull said to him, "Friend, why are you in this state? Are you in good
health?" The jackal answered, "What can be healthy with a servant? Who
is permanently dear to a king? What petitioner is not despised? Who
is not subject to time?" When the jackal said this, the bull again
said to him--"Why do you seem so despondent to-day, my friend, tell
me?" Then Damanaka said--"Listen, I speak out of friendship. The
lion Pingalaka has to-day become hostile to you. So unstable is
his affection that, without regard for his friendship, he wishes to
kill you and eat you, and I see that his evilly-disposed courtiers
have instigated him to do it." The simple-minded bull, supposing, on
account of the confidence he had previously reposed in the jackal,
that this speech was true, and feeling despondent, said to him:
"Alas a mean master, with mean retainers, though he be won over by
faithful service, becomes estranged; in proof of it hear this story."



Story of the Lion, the Panther, the Crow and the Jackal. [34]

There lived once in a certain forest a lion, named Madotkata,
and he had three followers, a panther, a crow, and a jackal. That
lion once saw a camel, that had escaped from a caravan, entering
his wood, a creature he was not familiar with before, of ridiculous
appearance. That king of beasts said in astonishment, "What is this
creature?" And the crow, who knew when it behoved him to speak,
[35] said, "It is a camel." Then the lion, out of curiosity, had the
camel summoned, and giving him a promise of protection, he made him
his courtier, and placed him about his person.

One day the lion was wounded in a fight with an elephant, and
being out of health, made many fasts, though surrounded by those
attendants who were in good health. Then the lion, being exhausted,
roamed about in search of food, but not finding any, secretly asked
all his courtiers, except the camel, what was to be done. They said
to him:--"Your Highness, we must give advice which is seasonable in
our present calamity. What friendship can you have with a camel, and
why do you not eat him? He is a grass-eating animal, and therefore
meant to be devoured by us flesh-eaters. And why should not one be
sacrificed to supply food to many? If your Highness should object,
on the ground that you cannot slay one to whom you have granted
protection, we will contrive a plot by which we shall induce the
camel himself to offer you his own body." When they had said this,
the crow, by the permission of the lion, after arranging the plot,
went and said to that camel: "This master of ours is overpowered with
hunger, and says nothing to us, so we intend to make him well-disposed
to us by offering him our bodies, and you had better do the same, in
order that he may be well-disposed towards you." When the crow said
this to the camel, the simple-minded camel agreed to it, and came
to the lion with the crow. Then the crow said, "King, eat me, for
I am my own master." Then the lion said, "What is the use of eating
such a small creature as you?" Thereupon the jackal said--"Eat me,"
and the lion rejected him in the same way. Then the panther said "Eat
me," and yet the lion would not eat him; and at last the camel said
"Eat me." So the lion, and the crow, and his fellows entrapped him
by these deceitful offers, and taking him at his word, killed him,
divided him into portions, and ate him.

"In the same way some treacherous person has instigated Pingalaka
against me without cause. So now destiny must decide. For it is
better to be the servant of a vulture-king with swans for courtiers,
than to serve a swan as king, if his courtiers be vultures,
much less a king of a worse character, with such courtiers. [36]
"When the dishonest Damanaka heard Sanjívaka say that, he replied,
"Everything is accomplished by resolution, listen--I will tell you
a tale to prove this."



Story of the pair of Tittibhas.

There lived a certain cock tittibha on the shore of the sea with his
hen. And the hen, being about to lay eggs, said to the cock: "Come,
let us go away from this place, for if I lay eggs here, the sea may
carry them off with its waves." When the cock-bird heard this speech
of the hen's, he said to her--"The sea cannot contend with me." On
hearing that, the hen said--"Do not talk so; what comparison is there
between you and the sea? People must follow good advice, otherwise
they will be ruined."



Story of the Tortoise and the two Swans. [37]

For there was in a certain lake a tortoise, named Kambugríva, and
he had two swans for friends, Vikata and Sankata. Once on a time
the lake was dried up by drought, and they wanted to go to another
lake; so the tortoise said to them, "Take me also to the lake you
are desirous of going to." When the two swans heard this, they said
to their friend the tortoise--"The lake to which we wish to go is a
tremendous distance off; but, if you wish to go there too, you must
do what we tell you. You must take in your teeth a stick held by us,
and while travelling through the air, you must remain perfectly silent,
otherwise you will fall and be killed." The tortoise agreed, and took
the stick in his teeth, and the two swans flew up into the air, holding
the two ends of it. And gradually the two swans, carrying the tortoise,
drew near that lake, and were seen by some men living in a town below;
and the thoughtless tortoise heard them making a chattering, while
they were discussing with one another, what the strange thing could
be that the swans were carrying. So the tortoise asked the swans what
the chattering below was about, and in so doing let go the stick from
its mouth, and falling down to the earth, was there killed by the men.

"Thus you see that a person who lets go common sense will be ruined,
like the tortoise that let go the stick." When the hen-bird said this,
the cock-bird answered her, "This is true, my dear, but hear this
story also."



Story of the three Fish.

Of old time there were three fish in a lake near a river, one was
called Anágatavidhátri, a second Pratyutpannamati and the third
Yadbhavishya, [38] and they were companions. One day they heard some
fishermen, who passed that way, saying to one another, "Surely there
must be fish in this lake. Thereupon the prudent Anágatavidhátri,
fearing to be killed by the fishermen, entered the current of the
river and went to another place. But Pratyutpannamati remained where
he was, without fear, saying to himself, "I will take the expedient
course if any danger should arise." And Yadbhavishya remained there,
saying to himself, "What must be, must be." Then those fishermen came
and threw a net into that lake. But the cunning Pratyutpannamati,
the moment he felt himself hauled up in the net, made himself rigid,
and remained as if he were dead. The fishermen, who were killing the
fish, did not kill him, thinking that he had died of himself, so he
jumped into the current of the river, and went off somewhere else, as
fast as he could. But Yadbhavishya, like a foolish fish, bounded and
wriggled in the net, so the fishermen laid hold of him and killed him.

"So I too will adopt an expedient when the time arrives; I will not
go away through fear of the sea." Having said this to his wife, the
tittibha remained where he was, in his nest; and there the sea heard
his boastful speech. Now, after some days, the hen-bird laid eggs,
and the sea carried off the eggs with his waves, out of curiosity,
saying to himself; "I should like to know what this tittibha will do
to me." And the hen-bird, weeping, said to her husband; "The very
calamity which I prophesied to you, has come upon us." Then that
resolute tittibha said to his wife, "See, what I will do to that
wicked sea!" So he called together all the birds, and mentioned the
insult he had received, and went with them and called on the lord
Garuda for protection. And the birds said to him: "Though thou art our
protector, we have been insulted by the sea as if we were unprotected,
in that it has carried away some of our eggs." Then Garuda was angry,
and appealed to Vishnu, who dried up the sea with the weapon of fire,
and made it restore the eggs. [39]

"So you must be wise in calamity and not let go resolution. But now
a battle with Pingalaka is at hand for you. When he shall erect his
tail, and arise with his four feet together, then you may know that he
is about to strike you. And you must have your head ready tossed up,
and must gore him in the stomach, and lay your enemy low, with all
his entrails torn out."

After Damanaka had said this to the bull Sanjívaka, he went to
Karataka, and told him that he had succeeded in setting the two
at variance.

Then Sanjívaka slowly approached Pingalaka, being desirous of finding
out the mind of that king of beasts by his face and gestures. And
he saw that the lion was prepared to fight, being evenly balanced
on all four legs, and having erected his tail, and the lion saw that
the bull had tossed up his head in fear. Then the lion sprang on the
bull and struck him with his claws, the bull replied with his horns,
and so their fight went on. And the virtuous Karataka, seeing it,
said to Damanaka--"Why have you brought calamity on our master to gain
your own ends? Wealth obtained by oppression of subjects, friendship
obtained by deceit, and a lady-love gained by violence, will not
remain long. But enough; whoever says much to a person who despises
good advice, incurs thereby misfortune, as Súchímukha from the ape."



Story of the Monkeys, the Firefly, and the Bird. [40]

Once on a time, there were some monkeys wandering in a troop in
a wood. In the cold weather they saw a firefly and thought it was
real fire. So they placed grass and leaves upon it, and tried to
warm themselves at it, and one of them fanned the firefly with his
breath. A bird named Súchímukha, when he saw it, said to him, "This
is not fire, this is a firefly, do not fatigue yourself." Though the
monkey heard, he did not desist, and thereupon the bird came down from
the tree, and earnestly dissuaded him, at which the ape was annoyed,
and throwing a stone at Súchímukha, crushed him.

"So one ought not to admonish him, who will not act on good advice. Why
then should I speak? you well know that you brought about this quarrel
with a mischievous object, and that which is done with evil intentions
cannot turn out well."



Story of Dharmabuddhi and Dushtabuddhi. [41]

For instance, there were long ago in a certain village two brothers,
the sons of a merchant, Dharmabuddhi and Dushtabuddhi by name. They
left their father's house and went to another country to get wealth,
and with great difficulty acquired two thousand gold dínárs. And
with them they returned to their own city. And they buried those
dínárs at the foot of a tree, with the exception of one hundred,
which they divided between them in equal parts, and so they lived in
their father's house.

But one day Dushtabuddhi went by himself and dug up of his own accord
those dínárs, which were buried at the foot of the tree, for he was
vicious and extravagant. [42] And after one month only had passed,
he said to Dharmabuddhi: "Come, my elder brother, let us divide those
dínárs; I have expenses." When Dharmabuddhi heard that, he consented,
and went and dug with him, where he had deposited the dínárs. And when
they did not find any dínárs in the place where they had buried them,
the treacherous Dushtabuddhi said to Dharmabuddhi: "You have taken
away the dínárs, so give me my half." But Dharmabuddhi answered: "I
have not taken them, you must have taken them." So a quarrel arose,
and Dushtabuddhi hit Dharmabuddhi on the head with a stone, and
dragged him into the king's court. There they both stated their case,
and as the king's officers could not decide it, they were proceeding
to detain them both for the trial by ordeal. Then Dushtabuddhi said
to the king's officers; "The tree, at the foot of which these dínárs
were placed, will depose, as a witness, that they were taken away by
this Dharmabuddhi. And they were exceedingly astonished, but said,
"Well, we will ask it to-morrow." Then they let both Dharmabuddhi and
Dushtabuddhi go, after they had given bail, and they went separately
to their house.

But Dushtabuddhi told the whole matter to his father, and secretly
giving him money, said; "Hide in the trunk of the tree and be my
witness." His father consented, so he took him and placed him at night
in the capacious trunk of the tree, and returned home. And in the
morning those two brothers went with the king's officers, and asked
the tree, who took away those dínárs. And their father, who was hidden
in the trunk of the tree, replied in a loud clear voice: "Dharmabuddhi
took away the dínárs." When the king's officers heard this surprising
utterance, they said; "Surely Dushtabuddhi must have hidden some one
in the trunk." So they introduced smoke into the trunk of the tree,
which fumigated the father of Dushtabuddhi so, that he fell out of the
trunk on to the ground, and died. When the king's officers saw this,
they understood the whole matter, and they compelled Dushtabuddhi to
give up the dínárs to Dharmabuddhi. And so they cut off the hands
and cut out the tongue of Dushtabuddhi, and banished him, and they
honoured Dharmabuddhi as a man who deserved his name. [43]

"So you see that a deed done with an unrighteous mind is sure to
bring calamity, therefore one should do it with a righteous mind,
as the crane did to the snake."



Story of the Crane, the Snake and the Mungoose. [44]

Once on a time a snake came and ate the nestlings of a certain crane,
as fast as they were born; that grieved the crane. So, by the advice
of a crab, he went and strewed pieces of fish from the dwelling of a
mungoose as far as the hole of the snake, and the mungoose came out,
and following up the pieces of fish, eating as it went on, was led
to the hole of the snake, which it saw and entered, and killed him
and his offspring.

"So by a device one can succeed; now hear another story."



Story of the mice that ate an iron balance. [45]

Once on a time there was a merchant's son, who had spent all his
father's wealth, and had only an iron balance left to him. Now the
balance was made of a thousand palas of iron; and depositing it in
the care of a certain merchant, he went to another land. And when,
on his return, he came to that merchant to demand back his balance,
the merchant said to him: "It has been eaten by mice." He repeated,
"It is quite true, the iron, of which it was composed, was particularly
sweet, and so the mice ate it." This he said with an outward show of
sorrow, laughing in his heart. Then the merchant's son asked him to
give him some food, and he, being in a good temper, consented to give
him some. Then the merchant's son went to bathe, taking with him the
son of that merchant, who was a mere child, and whom he persuaded
to come with him by giving him a dish of ámalakas. And after he
had bathed, the wise merchant's son deposited the boy in the house
of a friend, and returned alone to the house of that merchant. And
the merchant said to him, "Where is that son of mine?" He replied,
"A kite swooped down from the air and carried him off." The merchant
in a rage said, "You have concealed my son," and so he took him
into the king's judgment-hall; and there the merchant's son made the
same statement. The officers of the court said, "This is impossible,
how could a kite carry off a boy?" But the merchant's son answered;
"In a country where a large balance of iron was eaten by mice, a
kite might carry off an elephant, much more a boy." [46] When the
officers heard that, they asked about it, out of curiosity, and made
the merchant restore the balance to the owner, and he, for his part,
restored the merchant's child.

"Thus, you see, persons of eminent ability attain their ends by
an artifice. But you, by your reckless impetuosity, have brought
our master into danger." When Damanaka heard this from Karataka,
he laughed and said--"Do not talk like this! What chance is there
of a lion's not being victorious in a fight with a bull? There is a
considerable difference between a lion, whose body is adorned with
numerous scars of wounds from the tusks of infuriated elephants,
and a tame ox, whose body has been pricked by the goad." While the
jackals were carrying on this discussion, the lion killed the bull
Sanjívaka. When he was slain, Damanaka recovered his position of
minister without a rival, and remained for a long time about the
person of the king of beasts in perfect happiness.

Naraváhanadatta much enjoyed hearing from his prime minister Gomukha
this wonderful story, which was full of statecraft, and characterized
by consummate ability.



NOTE TO CHAPTER 60. THE FABLES OF PILPAY.

Wilson in his collected works, (Vol. IV, p. 139) remarks that we
have in the Kathá Sarit Ságara an earlier representative of the
original collection of Indian fables, than even the Panchatantra, as
it agrees better with the Kalilah and Dimnah than the Panchatantra
does. The earliest Indian form of the Panchatantra appears to have
been translated into Pehlevi in the time of the king of Persia,
Khushru Naushírváns (between 531 and 572 A. D.); upon this the Arabic
translation was based. It was edited by Silvestre de Sacy under the
title, "Calila et Dimna ou Fables de Bidpai," and has been translated
into German by Wolff, and into English by Knatchbull. There are many
recensions of the Arabic translation as of the Panchatantra. (Benfey
is of opinion that originally the latter work consisted of more than
five sections.) The oldest translation of the Arabic version is the
Greek one by Symeon Seth, which was made about 1080, A. D. (Benfey,
Einleitung, p. 8, with note). The Latin translation of Possinus was
made from this. Perhaps the most important translation of all is the
Hebrew translation of Rabbi Joel. It must have been made about 1250. It
has never been edited, with the exception of a small fragment, and is
practically represented by the Latin translation of John of Capua,
made between 1263 and 1278. Benfey considers that the first German
translation was made from a MS. of this. The oldest German translation
has no date. The second appeared at Ulm in 1483. Another version,
probably not based upon any of these, is a poetical paraphrase, the
Alter Aesopus of Baldo, edited by Edéléstand du Méril in his Poésies
inédites du Moyen Age. There is a Spanish translation from the Arabic,
perhaps through an unknown Latin version, which appeared about 1251. A
portion has been published by Rodriguez De Castro. Possibly Raimond's
Latin translation was based partly on this, and partly on the Latin
translation of the Hebrew by John of Capua.

The Arabic version was translated into Persian by Nasr Allah in the
12th century. Upon it is based the Anvár-i-Suhaili of Husain Vaiz,
which was written three centuries later. It has been translated into
English by Eastwick. (Hertford 1854). (The above note is summarized
from Benfey's Einleitung). See also Rhys Davids' Buddhist Birth
Stories, Introduction, pp. xciii and xciv. He says that the Arabic
version was made from the Syriac.






CHAPTER LXI.


Then the minister Gomukha again said to Naraváhanadatta, in order
to solace him while pining for Saktiyasas; "Prince, you have heard
a tale of a wise person, now hear a tale about a fool."



Story of the foolish merchant who made aloes-wood into charcoal. [47]

A certain rich merchant had a blockhead of a son. He, once on a time,
went to the island of Katáha to trade, and among his wares there was
a great quantity of fragrant aloes-wood. And after he had sold the
rest of his wares, he could not find any one to take the aloes-wood
off his hands, for the people who live there are not acquainted with
that article of commerce. Then, seeing people buying charcoal from
the woodmen, the fool burnt his stock of aloes-wood and reduced it
to charcoal. Then he sold it for the price which charcoal usually
fetched, and returning home, boasted of his cleverness, and became
a laughing-stock to everybody.

"I have told you of the man who burnt aloes-wood, now hear the tale
of the cultivator of sesame."



Story of the man who sowed roasted seed. [48]

There was a certain villager who was a cultivator, and very nearly
an idiot. He one day roasted some sesame-seeds, and, finding them
nice to eat, he sowed a large number of roasted seeds, hoping that
similar ones would come up. When they did not come up, on account of
their having been roasted, he found that he had lost his substance,
and people laughed at him.

"I have spoken of the sesame-cultivator, now hear about the man who
threw fire into water."



Story of the fool who mixed fire and water. [49]

There was a silly man, who, one night, having to perform a sacrifice
next day, thus reflected:--"I require water and fire, for bathing,
burning incense, and other purposes; so I will put them together,
that I may quickly obtain them when I want them." Thus reflecting, he
threw the fire into the pitcher of water, and then went to bed. And
in the morning, when he came to look, the fire was extinct, and the
water was spoiled. And when he saw the water blackened with charcoal,
his face was blackened also, and the faces of the amused people were
wreathed in smiles.

"You have heard the story of the man who was famous on account of
the pitcher of fire, now hear the story of the nose-engrafter."



Story of the man who tried to improve his wife's nose.

There lived in some place or other a foolish man of bewildered
intellect. He, seeing that his wife was flat-nosed, and that his
spiritual instructor was high-nosed, [50] cut off the nose of the
latter when he was asleep: and then he went and cut off his wife's
nose, and stuck the nose of his spiritual instructor on her face,
but it would not grow there. Thus he deprived both his wife and his
spiritual guide of their noses.

"Now hear the story of the herdsman who lived in a forest."



Story of the foolish herdsman.

There lived in a forest a rich but silly herdsman. Many rogues
conspired together and made friends with him. They said to him,
"We have asked the daughter of a rich inhabitant of the town in
marriage for you, and her father has promised to give her. When he
heard that, he was pleased and gave them wealth, and after a few days
they came again and said, "Your marriage has taken place." He was very
much pleased at that, and gave them abundance of wealth. And after
some more days they said to him: "A son has been born to you." He
was in ecstasies at that, and he gave them all his wealth, like
the fool that he was, and the next day he began to lament, saying,
"I am longing to see my son." And when the herdsman began to cry,
he incurred the ridicule of the people on account of his having been
cheated by the rogues, as if he had acquired the stupidity of cattle
from having so much to do with them.

"You have heard of the herdsman; now hear the story of the
ornament-hanger."



Story of the fool and the ornaments. [51]

A certain villager, while digging up the ground, found a splendid
set of ornaments, which thieves had taken from the palace and placed
there. He immediately took them and decorated his wife with them;
he put the girdle on her head, and the necklace round her waist,
and the anklets on her wrists, and the bracelets on her ears.

When the people heard of it, they laughed, and bruited it about. So the
king came to hear of it, and took away from the villager the ornaments,
which belonged to himself, but let the villager go unharmed, because
he was as stupid as an animal.



Story of the Fool and the Cotton. [52]

I have told you, prince, of the ornament-finder, now hear the story
of the cotton-grower. A certain blockhead went to the market to
sell cotton, but no one would buy it from him on the ground that
it was not properly cleaned. In the meanwhile he saw in the bazar
a goldsmith selling gold, which he had purified by heating it, and
he saw it taken by a customer. When the stupid creature saw that,
he threw the cotton into the fire in order to purify it, and when it
was burnt up, the people laughed at him.

"You have heard, prince, this story of the cotton-grower, now hear
the story of the men who cut down the palm-trees."



Story of the Foolish Villagers who cut down the palm-trees.

Some foolish villagers were summoned by the king's officers, and
set to work to gather some dates in accordance with an order from
the king's court. [53] They, perceiving that it was very easy to
gather the dates of one date-palm that had tumbled down of itself,
cut down all the date-palms in their village. And after they had
laid them low, they gathered from them their whole crop of dates,
and then they raised them up and planted them again, but they did not
succeed in making them grow. And then, when they brought the dates,
they were not rewarded, but on the contrary punished with a fine by
the king, who had heard of the cutting down of the trees. [54]

"I have told you this joke about the dates, now I am going to tell
you about the looking for treasure."



Story of the Treasure-finder who was blinded.

A certain king took to himself a treasure-finder. And the wicked
minister of that king had both the eyes of the man, who was able to
find the places where treasure was deposited, torn out, in order that
he might not run away anywhere. The consequence was that, being blind,
he was incapacitated from seeing the indications of treasure in the
earth, whether he ran away or remained; and people, seeing that,
[55] laughed at the silly minister.

"You have heard of the searching for treasure, now hear about the
eating of salt."



Story of the Fool and the Salt.

There was once on a time an impenetrably stupid man living in
a village. [56] He was once taken home by a friend who lived in
the city, and was regaled on curry and other food, made savoury by
salt. And that blockhead asked, "What makes this food so savoury?" His
friend told him that its relish was principally due to salt. He came
to the conclusion that salt was the proper thing to eat, so he took
a handful of crushed salt and threw it into his mouth, and ate it;
the powdered salt whitened the lips and beard of the foolish fellow,
and so the people laughed at him till his face became white also.

"You have heard, prince, the story of the devourer of salt, now hear
the story of the man who had a milch-cow."



Story of the Fool and his Milch-cow. [57]

There was once on a time a certain foolish villager, and he had one
cow. And that cow gave him every day a hundred palas of milk. And once
on a time it happened that a feast was approaching. So he thought;
"I will take all the cow's milk at once on the feast-day, and so get
very much." Accordingly the fool did not milk his cow for a whole
month. And when the feast came, and he did begin to milk it, he found
its milk had failed, but to the people this was an unfailing source
of amusement.

"You have heard of the fool who had a milch-cow, now hear the story
of these other two fools."



Story of the Foolish Bald Man and the Fool who pelted him.

There was a certain bald man with a head like a copper pot. Once on
a time a young man, who, being hungry, had gathered wood-apples,
as he was coming along his path, saw him sitting at the foot of a
tree. In fun he hit him on the head with a wood-apple; the bald man
took it patiently and said nothing to him. Then he hit his head with
all the rest of the wood-apples that he had, throwing them at him one
after another, and the bald man remained silent, even though the blood
flowed. So the foolish young fellow had to go home hungry without his
wood-apples, which he had broken to pieces in his useless and childish
pastime of pelting the bald man; and the foolish bald man went home
with his head streaming with blood, saying to himself; "Why should
I not submit to being pelted with such delicious wood-apples?" And
everybody there laughed, when they saw him with his head covered with
blood, looking like the diadem with which he had been crowned king
of fools.

"Thus you see, prince, that foolish persons become the objects of
ridicule in the world, and do not succeed in their objects; but wise
persons are honoured."

When Naraváhanadatta had heard from Gomukha these elegant and amusing
anecdotes, he rose up and performed his day's duties. And when night
came on, the prince was anxious to hear some more stories, and at
his request, Gomukha told this story about wise creatures.



Story of the Crow and the King of the Pigeons, the Tortoise and the
Deer. [58]

There was in a certain forest region a great Salmali tree; and in
it there lived a crow, named Laghupátin, who had made his dwelling
there. One day, as he was in his nest, he saw below the tree a
terrible-looking man arrive with a stick, net in hand. And while the
crow looked down from the tree, he saw that the man spread out the
net on the ground, and strewed there some rice, and then hid himself.

In the meanwhile the king of the pigeons, named Chitragríva, as he was
roaming through the air, attended by hundreds of pigeons, came there,
and seeing the grains of rice scattered on the ground, he alighted
on the net out of desire for food, and got caught in the meshes with
all his attendants. When Chitragríva saw that, he said to all his
followers; "Take the net in your beaks, and fly up into the air as
fast as you can." All the terrified pigeons said,--"So be it"--and
taking the net, they flew up swiftly, and began to travel through
the air. The fowler too rose up, and with eye fixed upwards, returned
despondent. Then Chitragríva, being relieved from his fear, said to his
followers; "Let us quickly go to my friend the mouse Hiranya, he will
gnaw these meshes asunder and set us at liberty." With these words he
went on with those pigeons, who were dragging the net along with them,
and descended from the air at the entrance of a mouse's hole. And
there the king of the pigeons called the mouse, saying,--"Hiranya,
come out, I, Chitragríva, have arrived." And when the mouse heard
through the entrance, and saw that his friend had come, he came out
from that hole with a hundred openings. The mouse went up to him,
and when he had heard what had taken place, proceeded with the utmost
eagerness to gnaw asunder the meshes, that kept the pigeon-king and
his retinue prisoners. And when he had gnawed the meshes asunder,
Chitragríva took leave of him with kind words, and flew up into the
air with his companions.

And when the crow, who had followed the pigeons, saw that, he came to
the entrance of the hole, and said to the mouse who had re-entered it;
"I am Laghupátin, a crow; seeing that you tender your friends dearly,
I choose you for my friend, as you are a creature capable of delivering
from such calamities." When the mouse saw that crow from the inside
of his hole, he said, "Depart! what friendship can there be between
the eater and his prey?" Then the crow said,--"God forbid! If I were
to eat you, my hunger might be satisfied for a moment, but if I make
you my friend, my life will be always preserved by you." When the
crow had said this, and more, and had taken an oath, and so inspired
confidence in the mouse, the mouse came out, and the crow made friends
with him. The mouse brought out pieces of flesh and grains of rice,
and there they both remained eating together in great happiness.

And one day the crow said to his friend the mouse: "At a considerable
distance from this place there is a river in the middle of a forest,
and in it there lives a tortoise named Mantharaka, who is a friend of
mine; for his sake I will go to that place where flesh and other food
is easily obtained; it is difficult for me to obtain sustenance here,
and I am in continual dread of the fowler." When the crow said this
to him, the mouse answered,--"Then we will live together, take me
there also; for I too have an annoyance here, and when we get there,
I will explain the whole matter to you." When Hiranya said this,
Laghupátin took him in his beak, and flew to the bank of that forest
stream. And there he found his friend, the tortoise Mantharaka,
who welcomed him, and he and the mouse sat with him. And after they
had conversed a little, that crow told the tortoise the cause of his
coming, together with the circumstance of his having made friends
with Hiranya. Then the tortoise adopted the mouse, as his friend on
an equal footing with the crow, and asked the cause of the annoyance
which drove him from his native place. Then Hiranya gave this account
of his experiences in the hearing of the crow and the tortoise.



Story of the Mouse and the Hermit. [59]

I lived in a great hole near the city, and one night I stole a
necklace from the palace, and laid it up in my hole. And by looking
at that necklace I acquired strength, [60] and a number of mice
attached themselves to me, as being able to steal food for them. In
the meanwhile a hermit had made a cell near my hole, and he lived on
a large stock of food, which he obtained by begging. Every evening he
used to put the food, which remained over after he had eaten, in his
beggar's porringer on an inaccessible peg, meaning to eat it the next
day. [61] And, every night, when he was asleep, I entered by a hole,
and jumping up, carried it off.

Once on a time, another hermit, a friend of his, came there, and
after eating, conversed with him during the night. And I was at that
time attempting to carry off the food, so the first hermit, who was
listening, made the pot resound frequently by striking it with a
piece of split cane. And the hermit, who was his guest, said, "Why
do you interrupt our conversation to do this?" Whereupon the hermit
to whom the cell belonged, answered him, "I have got an enemy here
in the form of this mouse, who is always jumping up and carrying off
this food of mine, though it is high up. I am trying to frighten him
by moving the pot of food with a piece of cane." When he said this,
the other hermit said to him, "In truth this covetousness is the bane
of creatures, hear a story illustrative of this."



Story of the Bráhman's wife and the sesame-seeds. [62]

Once on a time, as I was wandering from one sacred bathing-place to
another, I reached a town, and there I entered the house of a certain
Bráhman to stay. And while I was there, the Bráhman said to his wife,
"Cook to-day, as it is the change of the moon, a dish composed of
milk, sesame, and rice, for the Bráhmans." She answered him, "How
can a pauper, like you, afford this?" Then the Bráhman said to her,
"My dear, though we should hoard, we should not direct our thoughts
to excessive hoarding--hear this tale."



Story of the greedy Jackal. [63]

In a certain forest a hunter, after he had been hunting, fixed an arrow
in a self-acting bow, [64] and after placing flesh on it, pursued
a wild boar. He pierced the wild boar with a dart, but was mortally
wounded by his tusks, and died; and a jackal beheld all this from a
distance. So he came, but though he was hungry, he would not eat any
of the abundant flesh of the hunter and the boar, wishing to hoard it
up. But he went first to eat what had been placed on the bow, and that
moment the arrow fixed in it flew up, and pierced him so that he died.

"So you must not indulge in excessive hoarding." When the Bráhman said
this, his wife consented, and placed some sesame-seeds in the sun. And
while she went into the house, a dog tasted them and defiled them,
so nobody would buy that dish of sesame-seeds and rice. [65]

"So, you see, covetousness does not give pleasure, it only causes
annoyance to those who cherish it." When the hermit, who was a visitor,
had said this, he went on to say; "If you have a spade, give it me,
in order that I may take steps to put a stop to this annoyance caused
by the mouse." Thereupon the hermit, to whom the cell belonged,
gave the visitor a spade, and I, who saw it all from my place of
concealment, entered my hole. Then the cunning hermit, who had come
to visit the other, discovering the hole by which I entered, began to
dig. And while I retired further and further in, he went on digging,
until at last he reached the necklace and the rest of my stores. And
he said to the hermit, who resided there, in my hearing, "It was by
the power of this necklace that the mouse had such strength." So they
took away all my wealth and placed the necklace on their necks, and
then the master of the cell and the visitor went to sleep with light
hearts. But when they were asleep, I came again to steal, and the
resident hermit woke up and hit me with a stick on the head. That
wounded me, but, as it chanced, did not kill me, and I returned
to my hole. But after that, I had never strength to make the bound
necessary for stealing the food. For wealth is youth to creatures,
and the want of it produces old age; owing to the want of it, spirit,
might, beauty, and enterprise fail. So all my retinue of mice, seeing
that I had become intent on feeding myself only, left me. Servants
leave a master who does not support them, bees a tree without flowers,
swans a tank without water, in spite of long association.

"So I have been long in a state of despondency, but now, having
obtained this Laghupátin for a friend, I have come here to visit you,
noble tortoise." When Hiranya had said this, the tortoise Manthara
answered--"This is a home to you; so do not be despondent, my
friend. To a virtuous man no country is foreign; a man who is content
cannot be unhappy; for the man of endurance calamity does not exist;
there is nothing impossible to the enterprising." While the tortoise
was saying this, a deer, named Chitránga, came to that wood from a
great distance, having been terrified by the hunters. When they saw
him, and observed that no hunter was pursuing him, the tortoise and
his companions made friends with him, and he recovered his strength
and spirits. And those four, the crow, the tortoise, the mouse, and
the deer, long lived there happily as friends, engaged in reciprocal
courtesies.

One day Chitránga was behind time, and Laghupátin flew to the top
of a tree to look for him, and surveyed the whole wood. And he saw
Chitránga on the bank of the river, entangled in the fatal noose, and
then he came down and told this to the mouse and the tortoise. Then
they deliberated together, and Laghupátin took up the mouse in his
beak, and carried him to Chitránga. And the mouse Hiranya comforted
the deer, who was distressed at being caught, and in a moment set
him at liberty by gnawing his bonds asunder. [66] In the meanwhile
the tortoise Manthara, who was devoted to his friends, came up the
bank near them, having travelled along the bed of the river. At that
very moment the hunter, who had set the noose, arrived from somewhere
or other, and when the deer and the others escaped, caught and made
prize of the tortoise. And he put it in a net, and went off, grieved
at having lost the deer. In the meanwhile the friends saw what had
taken place, and by the advice of the far-seeing mouse, the deer went
a considerable distance off, and fell down as if he were dead. [67]
And the crow stood upon his head, and pretended to peck his eyes. When
the hunter saw that, he imagined that he had captured the deer, as
it was dead, and he began to make for it, after putting down the
tortoise on the bank of the river. When the mouse saw him making
towards the deer, he came up, and gnawed a hole in the net which held
the tortoise, so the tortoise was set at liberty, and he plunged into
the river. And when the deer saw the hunter coming near, without the
tortoise, he got up, and ran off, and the crow, for his part, flew up
a tree. Then the hunter came back, and finding that the tortoise had
escaped by the net's having been gnawed asunder, he returned home,
lamenting that the tortoise had fled and could not be recovered.

Then the four friends came together again in high spirits, and the
gratified deer addressed the three others as follows; "I am fortunate
in having obtained you for friends, for you have to-day delivered me
from death at the risk of your lives." In such words the deer praised
the crow and the tortoise and the mouse, and they all lived together
delighting in their mutual friendship.

Thus, you see, even animals attain their ends by wisdom, and they
risk their lives sooner than abandon their friends in calamity. So
full of love is the attachment that subsists among friends; but
attachment to women is not approved because it is open to jealousy;
hear a story in proof of this.



Story of the wife who falsely accused her husband of murdering a
Bhilla. [68]

There lived once on a time in a certain town a jealous husband, who
had for wife a beautiful woman, whom he loved exceedingly. But being
suspicious he never left her alone, for he feared that she might be
seduced even by men in pictures. However, one day he had to go to
another country on unavoidable business, and he took his wife with
him. And seeing that a forest inhabited by Bhillas lay in his way, he
left his wife in the house of an old Bráhman villager, and proceeded
on his journey. But, while she was there, she saw some Bhillas, who had
come that way, and she eloped with a young Bhilla whom she saw. And she
went with him to his village, [69] following her inclinations, having
escaped from her jealous husband, as a river that has broken a dam.

In the meanwhile her husband finished his business, and returned, and
asked the Bráhman villager for his wife, and the Bráhman answered him,
"I do not know where she has gone; so much only I know, that some
Bhillas came here: she must have been carried off by them. And their
village is near here, go there quickly, you will find your wife there,
without doubt." When the Bráhman told him this, he wept, and blamed his
own folly, and went to that village of Bhillas, and there he saw his
wife. When the wicked woman saw him, she approached him in fear and
said, "It is not my fault, the Bhilla brought me here by force." Her
husband, blind with love, said, "Come along, let us return home,
before any one discovers us." But she said to him, "Now is the time
when the Bhilla returns from hunting; when he returns he will certainly
pursue you and me, and kill us both. So enter this cavern at present,
and remain concealed. But at night we will kill him when he is asleep,
and leave this place in perfect safety." When the wicked woman said
this to him, he entered the cave; what room is there for discernment
in the heart of one blinded with love?

The Bhilla returned at the close of the day, and that wicked woman
shewed him her husband in the cave, whom his passion had enabled
her to decoy there. And the Bhilla, who was a strong man, and cruel,
dragged out the husband, and tied him firmly to a tree, in order that
he might next day offer him to Bhavání.

And he ate his dinner, and at night lay down to sleep by the side of
the faithless wife, before the eyes of the husband. Then that jealous
husband, who was tied to the tree, seeing him asleep, implored Bhavání
to help him in his need, praising her with hymns. She appeared and
granted him a boon, so that he escaped from his bonds, and cut off
the head of the Bhilla with his own sword. Then he woke up his wife,
and said to her: "Come, I have killed this villain," and she rose
up much grieved. And the faithless woman set out at night with her
husband, but she secretly took with her the head of the Bhilla. And
the next morning, when they reached a town, she shewed the head,
and laying hands upon her husband, cried out, "This man has killed
my husband." Then the city police took her with her husband before
the king. And the jealous husband, being questioned, told the whole
story. Then the king enquired into it, and finding that it was true,
he ordered the ears and nose of that faithless wife to be cut off,
and set her husband at liberty. And he went home freed from the demon
of love for a wicked woman.

"This, prince, is how a woman behaves when over-jealously watched,
for the jealousy of the husband teaches the wife to run after other
men. So a wise man should guard his wife without shewing jealousy. And
a man must by no means reveal a secret to a woman, if he desires
prosperity. Hear a story shewing this."



Story of the snake who told his secret to a woman.

A certain snake, [70] out of fear of Garuda, fled to earth, and taking
the form of a man, concealed himself in the house of a hetæra. And
that hetæra used to take as payment five hundred elephants; [71]
and the snake by his power gave her five hundred every day. And the
lady importuned him to tell her how he acquired so many elephants
every day, and who he was. And he, blinded with love, replied--"I am
a snake hiding here from fear of Garuda, do not tell any one." But
the hetæra privately told all this to the kuttiní.

Now Garuda, searching through the world for the snake, came there in
the form of a man, and he came to the kuttiní and said; "I wish to
remain to-day in your daughter's house, take my payment." And the
kuttiní said to him, "There is a snake living here, who gives us
five hundred elephants every day. What do we care about one day's
pay?" Then Garuda, finding out that the snake was living there,
entered as a guest that hetæra's house. And there he saw the snake
on the flat roof, and revealing himself in his real form, he swooped
down, and killed him, and ate him.

"So a wise man should not recklessly tell secrets to women." Having
said this, Gomukha told him another story of a simpleton.



Story of the bald man and the hair-restorer.

There was a bald man, with a head like a copper pot. And he,
being a fool, was ashamed because, though a rich man in the world,
he had no hair on his head. Then a rogue, who lived upon others,
came to him and said, "There is a physician who knows a drug that
will produce hair." When he heard it, he said;--"If you bring him
to me, I will give wealth to you and to that physician also." When
he said this, the rogue for a long time devoured his substance, and
brought to that simpleton a doctor who was a rogue also. And after
the doctor too had long lived at his expense, he one day removed
his head-dress designedly, and shewed him his bald head. In spite of
that, the blockhead, without considering, asked him for a drug which
would produce hair, then the physician said to him,--"Since I am bald
myself, how can I produce hair in others? It was in order to explain
this to you, that I showed you my bald head. But out on you! you do
not understand even now." With these words the physician went away.

"So you see, prince, rogues perpetually make sport of fools. You have
heard the story of the simpleton and his hair, now hear that of the
simpleton and the oil."



Story of a foolish servant.

A certain gentleman had a simpleton for a servant. His master sent
him once to fetch oil from a merchant, and he received from him the
oil in a vessel. And as he was returning, with the vessel in his hand,
a friend of his said to him,--"Take care of this oil-vessel, it leaks
at the bottom." When the blockhead heard this, he turned the vessel
upside down to look at the bottom of it, and that made all the oil
fall on the ground. When his master heard that, he turned out of his
house that fool, who was the laughing-stock of the place.

"So it is better for a simpleton to rely upon his own sense, and
not to take advice. You have heard about the simpleton and the oil,
now hear the story of the simpleton and the bones."



Story of the faithless wife who was present at her own Sráddha. [72]

There was once a foolish man, and he had an unchaste wife. Once on
a time, when her husband had gone away for some business to another
country, she placed in charge of the house a confidential servant of
hers, a truly unique maid, after giving her instructions as to what
she was to do, and went away alone to the house of her paramour,
intent on enjoying herself without being interfered with. When
the lady's husband returned, the maid, who had been well schooled
beforehand, said with a voice choked with tears: "Your wife is dead
and burnt." She then took him to the burning-ghaut, and shewed him
the bones belonging to the pyre of some other person; the fool brought
them home with tears, and after bathing at the sacred bathing-places,
and strewing her bones there, he proceeded to perform her sráddha. And
he made his wife's paramour the officiating Bráhman at the ceremony,
as the maid brought him, saying that he was an excellent Bráhman. And
every month his wife came with that Bráhman, splendidly dressed, and
ate the sweetmeats. And then the maid said to him, "See, master, by
virtue of her chastity your wife is enabled to return from the other
world, and eat with the Bráhman." And the matchless fool believed
most implicitly what she said.

"In this way people of simple dispositions are easily imposed upon
by wicked women. You have heard about the simpleton and the bones;
now hear the story of the Chandála maiden."



Story of the ambitious Chandála maiden.

There was once a simple but good-looking Chandála maiden. And she
formed in her heart the determination to win for her bridegroom a
universal monarch. Once on a time, she saw the supreme sovereign go
out to make a progress round his city, and she proceeded to follow
him, with the intention of making him her husband. At that moment a
hermit came that way; and the king, though mounted on an elephant,
bowed at his feet, and returned to his own palace. When she saw that,
she thought that the hermit was a greater man even than the king,
and abandoning him, she proceeded to follow the hermit. The hermit,
as he was going along, beheld in front of him an empty temple
of Siva, and kneeling on the ground, he worshipped Siva, and then
departed. Then the Chandála maiden thought that Siva was greater even
than the hermit, and she left the hermit, and attached herself to the
god, with the intention of marrying him. Immediately a dog entered,
and going up on to the pedestal of the idol, lifted up his leg, and
behaved after the manner of the dog tribe. Then the Chandála maiden
thought that the dog was superior even to Siva, and leaving the god,
followed the departing dog, desiring to marry him. And the dog entered
the house of a Chandála, and out of affection rolled at the feet of
a young Chandála whom it knew. When she saw that, she concluded that
the young Chandála was superior to the dog, and satisfied with her
own caste, she chose him as her husband.

"So fools, after aspiring high, fall into their proper place. And
now hear in a few words the tale of the foolish king."



Story of the miserly king.

There was a certain foolish king, who was niggardly, though he
possessed an abundant treasure, and once on a time his ministers,
who desired his prosperity, said to him: "King, charity here averts
misery in the next life. So bestow wealth in charity; life and riches
are perishable." When the king heard this, he said, "Then I will bestow
wealth, when I am dead, and see myself reduced to a state of misery
here." Then the ministers remained silent, laughing in their sleeves.

"So, you see, a fool never takes leave of his wealth, until his wealth
takes leave of him. You have heard, prince, of the foolish king,
now hear the story of the two friends, by way of an episode in these
tales of fools."



Story of Dhavalamukha, his trading friend, and his fighting
friend. [73]

There was a king in Kányakubja, named Chandrapída. And he had a servant
named Dhavalamukha. And he, whenever he came to his house, had eaten
and drunk abroad. And one day his wife asked him,--"Where do you always
eat and drink before you come home?" And Dhavalamukha answered her,
"I always eat and drink with my friends before I come home, for
I have two friends in the world. The one is called Kalyánavarman,
who obliges me with food and other gifts, and the other is Vírabáhu,
who would oblige me with the gift of his life." When his wife heard
this, she said to Dhavalamukha, "Then shew me your two friends."

Then he went with her to the house of Kalyánavarman, and Kalyánavarman
honoured him with a splendid entertainment. The next day he went
with his wife to Vírabáhu, and he was gambling at the time, so he
welcomed him and dismissed him. Then Dhavalamukha's wife, being full
of curiosity, said to him: "Kalyánavarman entertained you splendidly,
but Vírabáhu only gave you a welcome. So why do you think more
highly of Vírabáhu than of the other?" When he heard that, he said,
"Go and tell them both in succession this fabrication, that the king
has suddenly become displeased with us, and you will find out for
yourself." She agreed, and went to Kalyánavarman and told him that
falsehood, and he answered: "Lady, I am a merchant's son, what can
I do against the king?" When he gave her this answer, she went to
Vírabáhu, and told him also that the king was angry with her husband;
and the moment he heard it, he came running with his shield and his
sword. But Dhavalamukha induced him to return home, saying that the
king's ministers had pacified his resentment. And he said to his
wife: "This, my dear, is the difference between those two friends of
mine." And she was quite satisfied.

"So you see that a friend, that shews his friendship by ceremonious
entertainment only, is a different thing from a real friend; though
oil and ghee both possess the property of oiliness, [74] oil is oil,
and ghee is ghee." When Gomukha had told this story, he continued
his tales of fools for the benefit of Naraváhanadatta.



Story of the thirsty fool that did not drink.

A certain foolish traveller, tormented by thirst, having with
difficulty got through a wood, reached a river; however, he did not
drink of it, but kept looking at the water. Some one said to him:
"Why do you not drink water, though you are thirsty?" But the blockhead
answered, "How could I drink so much water as this?" The other person
ridiculed him, saying, "What! will the king punish you, if you drink
it all up?" But still the foolish man did not drink the water.

"So you see that in this world fools will not even do a part of a
task to the best of their power, if they are not able to complete
it altogether. Now you have heard about the fool and the water,
hear the story of the son-slayer."



Story of the fool who killed his son.

There was once a foolish man, who was poor and had many sons. When one
of his sons died, he killed another, saying, How could this child go
such a long journey alone? So he was banished by the people, as being
a fool and a criminal.

"Thus a fool is as void of sense and discernment as an animal. You
have heard of the son-killer, now hear the story of the fool and
his brother."



Story of the fool and his brother.

A certain stupid fellow was talking in a crowd of men. Seeing a
respectable man some way off, he said: "That man there is brother
to me, so I shall inherit his property, but I am no relation to him,
so I am not liable for his debts." When the fool said this, even the
stones laughed at him.

Thus fools shew folly, and people blinded by the thought of their
own advantage behave in a very wonderful way. So you have heard the
story of the fool and his brother, now hear the story of the man
whose father followed a strict vow of chastity."



Story of the Brahmachárin's son.

A certain fool was engaged in relating his father's good qualities
in the midst of his friends. And describing his father's superior
excellence, he said: "My father has followed a strict vow of chastity
from his youth, there is no man who can be compared with him." When his
friends heard that, they said, "How did you come into the world?" He
answered "Oh! I am a mind-born son of his;" whereupon the matchless
fool was well laughed at by the people. [75]

"Thus foolish people make self-contradictory statements with regard
to others. You have heard the story of the son of the man who observed
a strict vow of chastity. Hear now the story of the astrologer."



Story of the astrologer who killed his son.

There was a certain astrologer wanting in discernment. He left his own
country with his wife and son, because he could not earn a subsistence,
and went to another country. There he made a deceitful display of
his skill, in order to gain complimentary presents by a factitious
reputation for ability. He embraced his son before the public and shed
tears. When the people asked him why he did this, the wicked man said:
"I know the past, the present, and the future, and that enables me to
foresee that this child of mine will die in seven days from this time:
this is why I am weeping." By these words he excited the wonder of
the people, and when the seventh day arrived, he killed his son in the
morning, as he lay asleep. When the people saw that his son was dead,
they felt confidence in his skill, and honoured him with presents,
and so he acquired wealth and returned leisurely to his own country.

"Thus foolish men, through desire of wealth, go so far as to kill
their sons, in order to make a false display of prescience; the wise
should not make friends with such. Now hear the story of the foolish
man who was addicted to anger."



Story of the violent man who justified his character.

One day a man was relating to his friends, inside a house, the good
qualities of a man, who was listening outside. Then a person present
said: "It is true, my friend, that he possesses many good qualities,
but he has two faults; he is violent and irascible." While he was
saying this, the man, who was outside, overhearing him, entered
hastily, and twisted his garment round his throat, and said: "You fool,
what violence have I done, what anger have I been guilty of?" This
he said in an abusive way, inflamed with the fire of anger. Then
the others who were there laughed, and said to him, "Why should he
speak? You have been good enough to give us ocular demonstration of
your anger and your violence."

"So you see that fools do not know their own faults, though they
are patent to all men. Now hear about the foolish king who made his
daughter grow."



Story of the foolish king who made his daughter grow. [76]

A certain king had a handsome daughter born to him. On account of his
great affection for her, he wished to make her grow, so he quickly
summoned physicians, and said politely to them: "Make some preparation
of salutary drugs, in order that my daughter may grow up quickly,
and be married to a good husband." When the physicians heard this,
they said, in order to get a living out of the silly king: "There
is a medicine which will do this, but it can only be procured in a
distant country, and while we are sending for it, we must shut up
your daughter in concealment, for this is the treatment laid down
for such cases." When they had said this, they placed his daughter
in concealment there for many years, saying that they were engaged in
bringing that medicine. And when she grew up to be a young woman, they
shewed her to that king, telling him that she had been made to grow by
the medicine; and he was pleased, and loaded them with heaps of wealth.

"In this way rogues by means of imposture live on foolish
sovereigns. Now hear the story of a man who shewed his cleverness by
recovering half a pana."



Story of the man who recovered half a pana from his servant. [77]

There was once on a time a man living in a town, who was vain of
his wisdom. And a certain villager, who had served him for a year,
being dissatisfied with his salary, left him and went home. And when
he had gone, the town-bred gentleman said to his wife,--"My dear,
I hope you did not give him anything before he went?" She answered,
"Half a pana." Then he spent ten panas in provisions for the journey,
and overtook that servant on the bank of a river, and recovered from
him that half pana. And when he related it as a proof of his skill
in saving money, he became a public laughing-stock.

"Thus men, whose minds are blinded with wealth, fling away much to
gain little. Now hear the story of the man who took notes of the spot."



Story of the fool who took notes of a certain spot in the sea. [78]

A certain foolish person, while travelling by sea, let a silver vessel
fall from his hand into the water. The fool took notes of the spot,
observing the eddies and other signs in the water, and said to himself:
"I will bring it up from the bottom, when I return." He reached the
other side of the sea, and as he was re-crossing, he saw the eddies
and other signs, and thinking he recognized the spot, he plunged
into the water again and again to recover his silver vessel. When
the others asked him what his object was, he told them, and got well
laughed at and abused for his pains.

"Now hear the story of the king who wished to substitute other flesh
for what he had taken away."



Story of the king who replaced the flesh. [79]

A foolish king saw from his palace two men below. And seeing that
one of them had taken flesh from the kitchen, he had five palas
of flesh cut from his body. When the flesh had been cut away, the
man groaned and fell on the earth, and the king, seeing him, was
moved with compassion, and said to the warder: "His grief cannot be
assuaged because five palas of flesh were cut from him, so give him
more than five palas of flesh by way of compensation." The warder
said: "When a man's head is cut off, does he live even if you give
him a hundred heads?" Then he went outside and had his laugh out,
and comforted the man from whom the flesh had been cut, and handed
him over to the physicians.

"So you see, a silly king knows how to punish, but not how to shew
favour. Hear this story of the silly woman who wanted another son."



Story of the woman who wanted another son. [80]

One day a woman with only one son, desiring another, applied to a
wicked female ascetic belonging to a heretical sect. The ascetic told
her that, if she killed her young son and offered him to the divinity,
another son would certainly be born to her. When she was preparing
to carry out this advice, another and a good old woman said to her in
private: "Wicked woman, you are going to kill the son you have already,
and wish to get another. Supposing a second is not born to you,
what will you do?" So that good old woman dissuaded her from crime.

"So women, who associate with witches, fall into evil courses, but
they are restrained and saved by the advice of the old. Now, prince,
hear the story of the man who brought the ámalaka fruit."



Story of the servant who tasted the fruit. [81]

A certain householder had a stupid servant. As the householder was
fond of ámalakas, he said to his servant, "Go, and bring me some
perfectly sweet ámalakas from the garden." The foolish fellow bit
every one, to taste if it was sweet, and then brought them, and said;
"Look, master, I tasted these and found them sweet, before bringing
them." And his master, seeing that they were half eaten, sent them
away in disgust and his stupid servant too.

"Thus a foolish person ruins his master's interests and then his own,
and here by way of episode hear the story of the two brothers."



Story of the two brothers Yajnasoma and Kírtisoma.

There were two Bráhmans, brothers, in the city of Pátaliputra; the
elder was called Yajnasoma and the younger Kírtisoma. And those two
young Bráhmans had much wealth derived from their father. Kírtisoma
increased his share by business, but Yajnasoma exhausted his by
enjoying and giving. Then, being reduced to poverty, he said to his
wife; "My dear, how can I, who am reduced from riches to poverty, live
among my relations? Let us go to some foreign country." She said,--"How
can we go without money for the journey." Still her husband insisted,
so she said to him: "If you really must go, then first go and ask
your younger brother Kírtisoma for some money for the journey." So
he went and asked his younger brother for his travelling expenses,
but his younger brother's wife said to him: "How can we give even the
smallest sum to this man who has wasted his substance. For every one
who falls into poverty will sponge on us." When Kírtisoma heard this,
he no longer felt inclined to give anything to his elder brother,
though he loved him. Subjection to bad women is pernicious!

Then Yajnasoma went away silent, and told that to his wife, and set
out with her, relying upon the help of Heaven only. When they reached
the wood, it happened that, as he was going along, he was swallowed by
a monstrous serpent. And when his wife saw it, she fell on the ground
and lamented. And the serpent said with a human voice to the lady:
"Why do you lament, my good woman?" The Bráhman lady answered the
snake: "How can I help lamenting, mighty sir, when you have deprived
me in this remote spot of my only means of obtaining alms?" When the
serpent heard that, he brought out of his mouth a great vessel of gold
and gave it her, saying, "Take this as a vessel in which to receive
alms." [82] The good Bráhman lady said, "Who will give me alms in this
vessel, for I am a woman?" The serpent said: "If any one refuses to
give you alms in it, his head shall that moment burst into a hundred
pieces. What I say is true." When the virtuous Bráhman lady heard that,
she said to the serpent, "If this is so, then give me my husband in
it by way of alms." The moment the good lady said this, the serpent
brought her husband out of his mouth alive and unharmed. As soon as
the serpent had done this, he became a man of heavenly appearance,
and being pleased, he said to the joyful couple: "I am a king of the
Vidyádharas, named Kánchanavega, and by the curse of Gautama I was
reduced to the condition of a serpent. And it was appointed that my
curse should end when I conversed with a good woman." When the king of
the Vidyádharas had said this, he immediately filled the vessel with
jewels, and delighted flew up into the sky. And the couple returned
home with abundance of jewels. And there Yajnasoma lived in happiness
having obtained inexhaustible wealth.

"Providence gives to every one in accordance with his or her
character. Hear the story of the foolish man who asked for the barber."



Story of the fool who wanted a barber.

A certain inhabitant of Karnáta pleased his king by his daring
behaviour in battle. His sovereign was pleased, and promised to
give him whatever he asked for, but the spiritless warrior chose the
king's barber.

"Every man chooses what is good or bad according to the measure of
his own intellect: now hear the story of the foolish man who asked
for nothing at all."



Story of the man who asked for nothing at all.

A certain foolish man, as he was going along the road, was asked by
a carter to do something to make his cart balance evenly. He said,
"If I make it right, what will you give me?" The carter answered;
"I will give you nothing at all." Then the fool put the cart even, and
said, "Give me the nothing-at-all you promised." But the carter laughed
at him. "So you see, king, fools are for ever becoming the object of
the scorn and contempt and reproach of men, and fall into misfortune,
while the good on the other hand are thought worthy of honour."

When the prince surrounded by his ministers, had heard at night
these amusing stories from Gomukha, he was enabled to enjoy sleep,
which refreshes the whole of the three worlds.






CHAPTER LXII.


The next morning Naraváhanadatta got up, and went into the presence
of the king of Vatsa his loving father. There he found Sinhavarman,
the brother of the queen Padmávatí and the son of the king of Magadha,
who had come there from his own house. The day passed in expressions
of welcome, and friendly conversation, and after Naraváhanadatta had
had dinner, he returned home. There the wise Gomukha told this story
at night, in order to console him who was longing for the society
of Saktiyasas.



Story of the war between the crows and the owls. [83]

There was in a certain place a great and shady banyan-tree, which
seemed, with the voices of its birds, to summon travellers to
repose. There a king of the crows, named Meghavarna, had established
his home, and he had an enemy named Avamarda, king of the owls. The
king of the owls surprised the king of the crows there at night, and
after inflicting a defeat on him and killing many crows, departed. The
next morning the king of the crows, after the usual compliments,
said to his ministers Uddívin, Ádívin, Sandívin, Pradívin, [84] and
Chirajívin: "That powerful enemy, who has thus defeated us, may get
together a hundred thousand soldiers, and make another descent on
us. So let some preventive measure be devised for this case." When
Uddívin heard this, he said; "King, with a powerful enemy, one must
either retire to another country, or adopt conciliation." When Ádívin
heard this, he said, "The danger is not immediate; let us consider
the intentions of the adversary and our own power, and do the best we
can." Then Sandívin said, "King, death is preferable to submission to
the foe, or retiring to another country. We must go and fight with that
feeble enemy; a brave and enterprising king, who possesses allies,
conquers his foes." Then Pradívin said, "He is too powerful to be
conquered in battle, but we must make a truce with him, and kill him
when we get an opportunity." Then Chirajívin said, "What truce? Who
will be ambassador? There is war between the crows and the owls from
time immemorial; who will go to them? This must be accomplished by
policy; policy is said to be the very foundation of empires." When the
king of the crows heard that, he said to Chirajívin,--"You are old;
tell me if you know, what was originally the cause of the war between
the crows and the owls. You shall state your policy afterwards." When
Chirajívin heard this, he answered, "It is all due to an inconsiderate
utterance. Have you never heard the story of the donkey?"



Story of the ass in the panther's skin. [85]

A certain washerman had a thin donkey; so, in order to make it fat,
he used to cover it with the skin of a panther and let it loose to
feed in his neighbour's corn. While it was eating the corn, people
were afraid to drive it away, thinking that it was a panther. One
day a cultivator, who had a bow in his hand, saw it. He thought it
was a panther, and through fear bending down, and making himself
humpbacked, he proceeded to creep away, with his body covered with a
rug. When the donkey saw him going away in this style, he thought he
was another donkey, and being primed with corn, he uttered aloud his
own asinine bray. Then the cultivator came to the conclusion that it
was a donkey, and returning, killed with an arrow the foolish animal,
which had made an enemy with its own voice. "In the same way our feud
with the crows is due to an inconsiderate utterance."



How the crow dissuaded the birds from choosing the owl king. [86]

For once upon a time the birds were without a king. They all assembled
together, and bringing an umbrella and a chowrie, were proceeding
to anoint the owl king of the birds. In the meanwhile a crow,
flying in the air above, saw it, and said; "You fools, are there not
other birds, cuckoos and so on, that you must make this cruel-eyed
unpleasant-looking wicked bird king? Out on the inauspicious owl! You
must elect a heroic king whose name will ensure prosperity. Listen now,
I will tell you a tale.



Story of the elephants and the hares. [87]

There is a great lake abounding in water, called Chandrasaras. And on
its bank there lived a king of the hares, named Silímukha. Now, once on
a time, a leader of a herd of elephants, named Chaturdanta, came there
to drink water, because all the other reservoirs of water were dried
up in the drought that prevailed. Then many of the hares, who were the
subjects of that king, were trampled to death by Chaturdanta's herd,
while entering the lake. When that monarch of the herd had departed,
the hare-king Silímukha, being grieved, said to a hare named Vijaya
in the presence of the others; "Now that that lord of elephants has
tasted the water of this lake, he will come here again and again,
and utterly destroy us all, so think of some expedient in this
case. Go to him, and see if you have any artifice which will suit
the purpose or not. For you know business and expedients, and are an
ingenious orator. And in all cases in which you have been engaged
the result has been fortunate." When despatched with these words,
the hare was pleased, and went slowly on his way. And following up
the track of the herd, he overtook that elephant-king and saw him,
and being determined somehow or other to have an interview with
the mighty beast, the wise hare climbed up to the top of a rock,
and said to the elephant; "I am the ambassador of the moon, and
this is what the god says to you by my mouth; 'I dwell in a cool
lake named Chandrasaras; [88] there dwell hares whose king I am,
and I love them well, and thence I am known to men as the cool-rayed
and the hare-marked; [89] now thou hast defiled that lake and slain
those hares of mine. If thou do that again, thou shalt receive thy due
recompense from me.'" When the king of elephants heard this speech of
the crafty hare's, he said in his terror; "I will never do so again:
I must shew respect to the awful moon-god." The hare said,--"So come,
my friend, I pray, and we will shew him to you." After saying this,
the hare led the king of elephants to the lake, and shewed him the
reflection of the moon in the water. When the lord of the herd saw
that, he bowed before it timidly at a distance, oppressed with awe,
and never came there again. And Silímukha, the king of the hares,
was present, and witnessed the whole transaction, and after honouring
that hare, who went as an ambassador, he lived there in security.

When the crow had told this story, he went on to say to the birds,
"This is the right sort of king, whose name alone ensures none of his
subjects being injured. So why does this base owl, who cannot see in
the day, deserve a throne? And a base creature is never to be trusted,
hear this tale in proof of it."



Story of the bird, the hare, and the cat. [90]

Once on a time I lived in a certain tree, and below me in the same
tree a bird, named Kapinjala, had made a nest and lived. One day he
went away somewhere, and he did not return for many days. In the
meanwhile a hare came and took possession of his nest. After some
days Kapinjala returned, and an altercation arose between him and the
hare, as both laid claim to the nest, exclaiming; "It is mine, not
yours." Then they both set out in search of a qualified arbitrator. And
I, out of curiosity, followed them unobserved, to see what would turn
up. After they had gone a little way they saw on the bank of a lake
a cat, who pretended to have taken a vow of abstinence from injury
to all creatures, with his eyes half-closed in meditation. They said
to one another; "Why should we not ask this holy cat here to declare
what is just?"--Then they approached the cat and said; "Reverend sir,
hear our cause, for you are a holy ascetic." When the cat heard that,
he said to them in a low voice,--"I am weak from self-mortification,
so I cannot hear at a distance, pray, come near me. For a case wrongly
decided brings temporal and eternal death." With these words the
cat encouraged them to come just in front of him, and then the base
creature killed at one spring both the hare and Kapinjala.

"So, you see, one cannot confide in villains whose actions are
base. Accordingly you must not make this owl king, for he is a great
villain." When the crow said this to the birds, they admitted the force
of it, and gave up the idea of anointing the owl king, and dispersed
in all directions. And the owl said to the crow; "Remember; from this
day forth you and I are enemies. Now I take my leave of you." And
he went away in a rage. But the crow, though he thought that he had
spoken what was right, was for a moment despondent. Who is not grieved
when he has involved himself in a dangerous quarrel by a mere speech?

"So you see that our feud with the owls arose from an inconsiderate
utterance." Having said this to the king, Chirajívin continued, "The
owls are numerous and strong, and you cannot conquer them. Numbers
prevail in this world, hear an instance."



Story of the Bráhman, the goat, and the rogues. [91]

A Bráhman had bought a goat, and was returning from a village with
it on his shoulder, when he was seen on the way by many rogues, who
wished to deprive him of the goat. And one of them came up to him,
and pretending to be in a great state of excitement, said; "Bráhman,
how come you to have this dog on your shoulder? Put it down." When
the Bráhman heard that, he paid no attention to it, but went on his
way. Then two more came up and said the very same thing to him. Then
he began to doubt, and went along examining the goat carefully,
when three other rascals came up to him and said: "How comes it that
you carry a dog and a sacrificial thread at the same time? Surely
you must be a hunter, not a Bráhman, and this is the dog with the
help of which you kill game." When the Bráhman heard that, he said:
"Surely some demon has smitten my sight and bewildered me. Can all
these men be under the influence of an optical delusion?" Thereupon
the Bráhman flung down the goat, and after bathing, returned home,
and the rogues took the goat and made a satisfactory meal off it.

After Chirajívin had told this tale, he said to the king of the crows:
"So you see, king, numerous and powerful foes are hard to conquer. So
you had better adopt, in this war with powerful foes, the following
expedient, which I suggest. Pluck out some of my feathers, [92] and
leave me under this tree, and go to that hill there, until I return,
having accomplished my object. The king of the crows agreed, and
plucked out some of his feathers, as if in anger, and placed him
under the tree, and went off to the mountain with his followers:
and Chirajívin remained lying flat under the tree which was his home.

Then the king of the owls, Avamarda, came there at night with
his followers, and he did not see a single crow on the tree. At
that moment Chirajívin uttered a feeble caw below, and the king
of the owls, hearing it, came down, and saw him lying there. In his
astonishment he asked him who he was, and why he was in that state. And
Chirajívin answered, pretending that his voice was weak from pain;
"I am Chirajívin, the minister of that king of the crows. And he
wished to make an attack on you in accordance with the advice of his
ministers. Then I rebuked those other ministers, and said to him,
'If you ask me for advice, and if I am valued by you, in that case
you will not make war with the powerful king of the owls. But you will
endeavour to propitiate him, if you have any regard for policy.' When
the foolish king of the crows heard that, he exclaimed, 'This fellow
is a partisan of my enemies,' and in his wrath, he and his followers
pecked me, and reduced me to this state. And he flung me down under
the tree, and went off somewhere or other with his followers." When
Chirajívin had said this, he sighed, and turned his face to the
ground. And then the king of the owls asked his ministers what they
ought to do with Chirajívin. When his minister Díptanayana heard this,
he said, "Good people spare even a thief, though ordinarily he ought
not to be spared, if they find that he is a benefactor."



Story of the old merchant and his young wife. [93]

For once on a time there was a certain merchant in a certain town, who,
though old, managed to marry by the help of his wealth a young girl
of the merchant caste. And she was always averse to him on account of
his old age, as the bee turns away from the forest-tree when the time
of flowers is past. [94] And one night a thief got into his house,
while the husband and wife were in bed; and, when the wife saw him,
she was afraid, and turned round and embraced her husband. The merchant
thought that a wonderful piece of good fortune, and while looking in
all directions for the explanation, he saw the thief in a corner. The
merchant said; "You have done me a benefit, so I will not have you
killed by my servants." And so he spared his life and sent him away.

"So we ought to spare the life of this Chirajívin, as he is
our benefactor." When the minister Díptanayana had said this, he
remained silent. Then the king of the owls said to another minister,
named Vakranása, "What ought we to do? Give me proper advice." Then
Vakranása said, "He should be spared, for he knows the secrets of
our foes. This quarrel between the enemies' king and his minister
is for our advantage. Listen, and I will tell you a story which will
illustrate it."



Story of the Bráhman, the thief, and the Rákshasa. [95]

A certain excellent Bráhman received two cows as a donation. A thief
happened to see them, and began plotting how to carry them off. At
that very time a Rákshasa was longing to eat that Bráhman. It happened
that the thief and the Rákshasa, as they were going to his house at
night to accomplish their objects, met, and telling one another their
errands, went together. When the thief and the Rákshasa entered the
Bráhman's dwelling, they began to wrangle. The thief said; "I will
carry off the oxen first, for if you lay hold of the Bráhman first,
and he wakes up, how can I get the yoke of oxen?" The Rákshasa said;
"By no means! I will first carry off the Bráhman, otherwise he will
wake up with the noise of the feet of the oxen, and my labour will
all be in vain." While this was going on, the Bráhman woke up. Then he
took his sword, and began to recite a charm for destroying Rákshasas,
and the thief and the Rákshasa both fled.

"So the quarrel between those two, Chirajívin and the king of the
crows, will be to our advantage, as the quarrel between the thief
and the Rákshasa was to the advantage of the Bráhman." When Vakranása
said this, the king of the owls asked his minister Prákárakarna for
his opinion, and he answered him; "This Chirajívin should be treated
with compassion, as he is in distress, and has applied to us for
protection: in old time Sivi offered his flesh for the sake of one
who sought his protection. [96] When the king of the owls heard this
from Prákárakarna, he asked the advice of his minister Krúralochana,
and he gave him the same answer.

Then the king of the owls asked a minister named Raktáksha, and he,
being a discreet minister, said to him; "King, these ministers have
done their best to ruin you by impolitic advice. Those, who know
policy, place no confidence in the acts of a hereditary enemy. It
is only a fool that, though he sees the fault, is satisfied with
insincere flattery."



Story of the carpenter and his wife. [97]

For once on a time there was a carpenter, who had a wife whom he loved
dearly; and the carpenter heard from his neighbours that she was in
love with another man; so, wishing to test the fidelity of his wife,
he said to her one day: "My dear, I am by command of the king going a
long journey to-day, in order to do a job, so give me barley-meal and
other things as provision for the journey." She obeyed and gave him
provisions, and he went out of the house; and then secretly came back
into it, and with a pupil of his hid himself under the bed. As for the
wife, she summoned her paramour. And while she was sitting with him on
the bed, the wicked woman happened to touch her husband with her foot,
and found out that he was there. And a moment after, her paramour,
being puzzled, asked her which she loved the best, himself or her
husband. When she heard this, the artful and treacherous woman said
to that lover of hers; "I love my husband best, for his sake I would
surrender my life. As for this unfaithfulness of mine, it is natural
to women; they would even eat dirt, if they had no noses."

When the carpenter heard this hypocritical speech of the adulteress,
he came out from under the bed, and said to his pupil; "You have seen,
you are my witness to this; though my wife has betaken herself to
this lover, she is still so devoted to me; so I will carry her on my
head." When the silly fellow had said this, he immediately took them
both up, as they sat on the bed, upon his head, with the help of his
pupil, and carried them about.

"So an undiscerning blockhead, though he sees a crime committed before
his eyes, is satisfied with hypocritical flattery, and makes himself
ridiculous. So you must not spare Chirajívin, who is a follower of your
enemy, for, if not carefully watched, he might slay your Majesty in
a moment, like a disease." When the king of the owls heard Raktáksha
say this, he answered; "It was in trying to benefit us that the worthy
creature was reduced to this state. So how can we do otherwise than
spare his life? Besides, what harm can he do us unaided?" So the king
of the owls rejected the advice of Raktáksha, and comforted that crow
Chirajívin. Then Chirajívin said to the king of the owls, "What is
the use to me of life, now that I am in this state? So have logs of
wood brought me, in order that I may enter the fire. And I will ask
the fire as a boon, that I may be born again as an owl, in order that
I may wreak my vengeance upon this king of the crows." When he said
this, Raktáksha laughed and said to him; "By the favour of our master
you will be well enough off: what need is there of fire? Moreover
you will never become an owl, as long as you have the nature of a
crow. Every creature is such as he is made by the Creator."



Story of the mouse that was turned into a maiden. [98]

For once on a time a hermit found a young mouse, which had escaped
from the claws of a kite, and pitying it, made it by the might of his
asceticism into a young maiden. And he brought her up in his hermitage;
and, when he saw that she had grown up, wishing to give her to a
powerful husband, he summoned the sun. And he said to the sun; "Marry
this maiden, whom I wish to give in marriage to some mighty one." Then
the sun answered, "The cloud is more powerful than I, he obscures me
in a moment." When the hermit heard that, he dismissed the sun, and
summoned the cloud, and made the same proposal to him. He replied,
"The wind is more powerful than I: he drives me into any quarter of
the heaven he pleases." When the hermit got this answer, he summoned
the wind and made the same proposal to him. And the wind replied,
"The mountains are stronger than I, for I cannot move them." When the
great hermit heard this, he summoned the Himálaya, and made the same
proposal to him. That mountain answered him; "The mice are stronger
than I am, for they dig holes in me."

Having thus got these answers in succession from those wise divinities,
the great rishi summoned a forest mouse, and said to him, "Marry this
maiden." Thereupon the mouse said, "Shew me how she is to be got
into my hole." Then the hermit said, "It is better that she should
return to her condition as a mouse." So he made her a mouse again,
and gave her to that male mouse.

"So a creature returns to what it was, at the end of a long
peregrination, accordingly you, Chirajívin, will never become an
owl." When Raktáksha said this to Chirajívin, the latter reflected;
"This king has not acted on the advice of this minister, who is skilled
in policy. All these others are fools, so my object is gained." While
he was thus reflecting, the king of the owls took Chirajívin with
him to his own fortress, confiding in his own strength, disregarding
the advice of Raktáksha. And Chirajívin, being about his person, and
fed with pieces of meat and other delicacies by him, soon acquired
as splendid a plumage as a peacock. [99] One day, Chirajívin said
to the king of the owls; "King, I will go and encourage that king
of the crows and bring him back to his dwelling, in order that you
may attack him this night and slay him, and that I may make [100]
some return for this favour of yours. But do you all fortify your
door with grass and other things, and remain in the cave where your
nests are, that they may not attack you by day." When, by saying this,
Chirajívin had made the owls retire into their cave, and barricade
the door and the approaches to the cave, with grass and leaves,
he went back to his own king. And with him he returned, carrying
a brand from a pyre, all ablaze, in his beak, and every one of the
crows that followed him had a piece of wood hanging down from his
beak. And the moment he arrived, he set on fire the door of the cave,
in which were those owls, creatures that are blind by day, which had
been barricaded with dry grass and other stuff.

And every crow, in the same way, threw down at the same time his piece
of wood, and so kindled a fire and burnt the owls, king and all. [101]
And the king of the crows, having destroyed his enemies with the help
of Chirajívin, was highly delighted, and returned with his tribe
of crows to his own banyan-tree. Then Chirajívin told the story of
how he lived among his enemies, to king Meghavarna, the king of the
crows, and said to him; "Your enemy, king, had one good minister
named Raktáksha; it is because he was infatuated by confidence,
and did not act on that minister's advice, that I was allowed to
remain uninjured. Because the villain did not act on his advice,
thinking it was groundless, I was able to gain the confidence of the
impolitic fool, and to deceive him. It was by a feigned semblance of
submission that the snake entrapped and killed the frogs."



Story of the snake and the frogs. [102]

A certain old snake, being unable to catch frogs easily on the bank of
a lake, which was frequented by men, remained there motionless. And
when he was there, the frogs asked him, keeping at a safe distance;
"Tell us, worthy sir, why do you no longer eat frogs as of old?" When
the snake was asked this question by the frogs, he answered, "While
I was pursuing a frog, I one day bit a Bráhman's son in the finger
by mistake, and he died. And his father by a curse made me a bearer
of frogs. So how can I eat you now? On the contrary I will carry you
on my back."

When the king of the frogs heard that, he was desirous of being
carried, and putting aside fear, he came out of the water, and
joyfully mounted on the back of the snake. Then the snake, having
gained his good-will by carrying him about with his ministers,
represented himself as exhausted, and said cunningly; "I cannot go
a step further without food, so give me something to eat. How can
a servant exist without subsistence?" When the frog-king, who was
fond of being carried about, heard this, he said to him; "Eat a few
of my followers then." So the snake ate all the frogs in succession,
as he pleased, and the king of the frogs put up with it, being blinded
with pride at being carried about by the snake.

"Thus a fool is deceived by a wise man who worms himself into his
confidence. And in the same way I ingratiated myself with your enemies
and brought about their ruin. So a king must be skilled in policy
and self-restrained; a fool is plundered by his servants and slain
by his foes at will. And this goddess of prosperity, O king, is ever
treacherous as gambling, fickle as a wave, intoxicating as wine. But
she remains as persistently constant to a king, who is self-contained,
well-advised, free from vice, and knows differences of character,
as if she were tied with a rope. So you must now remain attentive
to the words of the wise, and glad at the slaughter of your enemies,
rule a realm free from opponents." When the minister Chirajívin said
this to the crow-king Meghavarna, the latter loaded him with honours,
and ruled as he recommended.

When Gomukha had said this, he went on to say to the son of the
king of Vatsa; "So you see, king, that even animals are able to rule
prosperously by means of discretion, but the indiscreet are always
ruined and become the laughing-stock of the public."



Story of the foolish servant.

For instance a certain rich man had a foolish servant. He, while
shampooing him, in his extreme folly gave him a slap on his body,
(for he fancied in his conceit that he thoroughly understood the
business while he really knew nothing about it,) and so broke his
skin. Then he was dismissed by that master and sank into utter despair.

"The fact is a man who, while ignorant, thinks himself wise, and
rushes impetuously at any business, is ruined; hear another story in
proof of it."



Story of the two brothers who divided all that they had. [103]

In Málava there were two Bráhman brothers, and the wealth they
inherited from their father was left jointly between them. And while
dividing that wealth, they quarrelled about one having too little
and the other having too much, and they made a teacher learned in the
Vedas arbitrator, and he said to them; "You must divide every single
thing into two halves, in order that you may not quarrel about the
inequality of the division." When the two fools heard this, they
divided every single thing into two equal parts, house, beds, et
cetera; in fact all their wealth, even the cattle. They had only one
female slave; her also they cut in two. When the king heard of that,
he punished them with the confiscation of all their property.

"So fools, following the advice of other fools, lose this world and
the next. Accordingly a wise man should not serve fools: he should
serve wise men. Discontent also does harm, for listen to this tale."



The story of the mendicants who became emaciated from discontent.

There were some wandering mendicants, who became fat by being satisfied
with what they got by way of alms. Some friends saw this and began
to remark to one another; "Well! these mendicants are fat enough,
though they do live on what they get by begging." Then one of them
said,--"I will shew you a strange sight. I will make these men thin,
though they eat the same things as before." When he had said this,
he proceeded to invite the mendicants for one day to his house,
and gave them to eat the best possible food, containing all the
six flavours. [104] And those foolish men, remembering the taste
of it, no longer felt any appetite for the food they got as alms;
so they became thin. So that man who had entertained them, when he
saw these mendicants near, pointed them out to his friends, and said;
"Formerly these men were sleek and fat, because they were satisfied
with the food which they got as alms, now they have become thin, owing
to disgust, being dissatisfied with their alms. Therefore a wise man,
who desires happiness, should establish his mind in contentment; for
dissatisfaction produces in both worlds intolerable and unceasing
grief." When he had given his friends this lesson, they abandoned
discontent, the source of crime; to whom is not association with the
good improving? "Now king, hear of the fool and the gold."



Story of the fool who saw gold in the water. [105]

A certain young man went to a tank to drink water. There the fool saw
in the water the reflection of a golden-crested bird, that was sitting
on a tree. [106] This reflection was of a golden hue, and, thinking it
was real gold, he entered the tank to get it, but he could not lay hold
of it, as it kept appearing and disappearing in the moving water. But
as often as he ascended the bank, he again saw it in the water, and
again and again he entered the tank to lay hold of it, and still he
got nothing. Then his father saw him and questioned him, and drove away
the bird, and then, when he no longer saw the reflection in the water,
explained to him the whole thing, and took the foolish fellow home.

"Thus foolish people, who do not reflect, are deceived by false
suppositions, and become the source of laughter to their enemies, and
of sorrow to their friends. Now hear another tale of some great fools."



Story of the servants who kept rain off the trunks. [107]

The camel of a certain merchant gave way under its load on a
journey. He said to his servants, "I will go and buy another camel
to carry the half of this camel's load. And you must remain here,
and take particular care that, if it clouds over, the rain does not
wet the leather of these trunks, which are full of clothes." With
these words the merchant left the servants by the side of the camel,
and went off, and suddenly a cloud came up and began to discharge
rain. Then the fools said; "Our master told us to take care that the
rain did not touch the leather of the trunks;" and after they had made
this sage reflection, they dragged the clothes out of the trunks and
wrapped them round the leather. The consequence was, that the rain
spoiled the clothes. Then the merchant returned, and in a rage said
to his servants; "You rascals! Talk of water! Why the whole stock of
clothes is spoiled by the rain." And they answered him; "You told us
to keep the rain off the leather of the trunks. What fault have we
committed?" He answered; "I told you that, if the leather got wet,
the clothes would be spoiled: I told it you in order to save the
clothes, not the leather." Then he placed the load on another camel,
and when he returned home, imposed a fine on his servants amounting
to the whole of their wealth.

"Thus fools, with undiscerning hearts, turn things upside down, and
ruin their own interests and those of other people, and give such
absurd answers. Now hear in a few words the story of the fool and
the cakes."



Story of the fool and the cakes. [108]

A certain traveller bought eight cakes for a pana; and he ate six of
them without being satisfied, but his hunger was satisfied by eating
the seventh. Then the blockhead exclaimed; "I have been cheated;
why did I not eat this cake, which has allayed the pangs of hunger,
first of all? Why did I waste those others, why did I not store them
up?" In these words he bewailed the fact that his hunger was only
gradually satisfied, and the people laughed at him for his ignorance.



Story of the servant who looked after the door. [109]

A certain merchant said to his foolish servant; "Take care of the
door of my shop, I am going home for a moment. After the merchant had
said this, he went away, and the servant took the shop-door on his
shoulder and went off to see an actor perform. And as he was returning,
his master met him and gave him a scolding. And he answered, "I have
taken care of this door as you told me."

"So a fool, who attends only to the words of an order and does not
understand the meaning, causes detriment. Now hear the wonderful
story of the buffalo and the simpletons."



Story of the simpletons who ate the buffalo.

Some villagers took a buffalo belonging to a certain man, and killed
it in an enclosure outside the village, under a banyan-tree, and,
dividing it, ate it up. The proprietor of the buffalo went and
complained to the king, and he had the villagers, who had eaten
the buffalo, brought before him. And the proprietor of the buffalo
said before the king, in their presence; "These foolish men took
my buffalo under a banyan-tree near the tank, and killed it and ate
it before my eyes." Whereupon an old fool among the villagers said,
"There is no tank or banyan-tree in our village. He says what is not
true: where did we kill his buffalo or eat it?"

When the proprietor of the buffalo heard this, he said; "What! is there
not a banyan-tree and a tank on the east side of the village? Moreover,
you ate my buffalo on the eighth day of the lunar month." When
the proprietor of the buffalo said this, the old fool replied,
"There is no east side or eighth day in our village." When the king
heard this, he laughed, and said, to encourage the fool; "You are a
truthful person, you never say anything false, so tell me the truth,
did you eat that buffalo or did you not?" When the fool heard that,
he said, "I was born three years after my father died, and he taught
me skill in speaking. So I never say what is untrue, my sovereign;
it is true that we ate his buffalo, but all the rest that he alleges
is false." When the king heard this, he and his courtiers could not
restrain their laughter; so the king restored the price of the buffalo
to the plaintiff, and fined those villagers.

"So, fools, in the conceit of their folly, while they deny what need
not be denied, reveal what it is their interest to suppress, in order
to get themselves believed."



Story of the fool who behaved like a Brahmany drake.

A certain foolish man had an angry wife, who said to him; "To-morrow
I shall go to my father's house, I am invited to a feast. So if
you do not bring me a garland of blue lotuses from somewhere or
other, you will cease to be my husband, and I shall cease to be
your wife." Accordingly he went at night to the king's tank to fetch
them. And when he entered it, the guards saw him, and cried out; "Who
are you?" He said, "I am a Brahmany drake," but they took him prisoner;
and in the morning he was brought before the king, and when questioned,
he uttered in his presence the cry of that bird. Then the king himself
summoned him and questioned him persistently, and when he told his
story, being a merciful monarch, he let the wretched man go unpunished.



Story of the physician who tried to cure a hunchback.

And a certain Bráhman said to a foolish physician; "Drive in the hump
on the back of my son who is deformed." When the physician heard that,
he said; "Give me ten panas, I will give you ten times as many, if I
do not succeed in this." Having thus made a bet, and having taken the
ten panas from the Bráhman, the physician only tortured the hunchback
with sweating and other remedies. But he was not able to remove the
hump; so he paid down the hundred panas; for who in this world would
be able to make straight a hunchbacked man?

"So the boastful fashion of promising to accomplish impossibilities
only makes a man ridiculous. Therefore a discreet person should not
walk in these ways of fools." When the wise prince Naraváhanadatta
had heard, at night, these tales of fools from his auspicious-mouthed
minister, named Gomukha, he was exceedingly pleased with him.

And though he was pining for Saktiyasas, yet, owing to the pleasure
he derived from the stories that Gomukha told him, he was enabled
to get to sleep, when he went to bed, and slept surrounded by his
ministers who had grown up with him.






CHAPTER LXIII.


The next morning Naraváhanadatta woke up, and thinking on his beloved
Saktiyasas, became distracted. And thinking that the rest of the month,
until he married her, was as long as an age, he could not find pleasure
in anything, as his mind was longing for a new wife. When the king,
his father, heard that from the mouth of Gomukha, out of love for
him, he sent him his ministers, and Vasantaka was among them. Then,
out of respect for them, the prince of Vatsa managed to recover
his composure. And the discreet minister Gomukha said to Vasantaka;
"Noble Vasantaka, tell some new and romantic tale to delight the mind
of the crown-prince. Then the wise Vasantaka began to tell this tale.



Story of Yasodhara and Lakshmídhara and the two wives of the
water-genius.

There was a famous Bráhman in Málava, named Srídhara. And twin sons,
of like feature, were born to him. The eldest was named Yasodhara,
and his younger brother was Lakshmídhara. And when they grew up,
the two brothers set out together for a foreign country to study,
with the approval of their father. And as they were travelling along,
they reached a great wilderness, without water, without the shade of
trees, full of burning sand; and being fatigued with passing through
it, and exhausted with heat and thirst, they reached in the evening
a shady tree laden with fruit. And they saw, at a little distance
from its foot, a lake with cold and clear water, perfumed with the
fragrance of lotuses. They bathed in it, and refreshed themselves
with drinking the cold water, and sitting down on a slab of rock,
rested for a time. And when the sun set, they said their evening
prayers, and through fear of wild beasts they climbed up the tree,
to spend the night there. And in the beginning of the night, many men
rose out of the water of that tank below them, before their eyes. And
one of them swept the ground, another painted it, and another strewed
on it flowers of five colours. And another brought a golden couch
and placed it there, and another spread on it a mattress with a
coverlet. Another brought, and placed in a certain spot, under the
tree, delicious food and drink, flowers and unguents. Then there arose
from the surface of that lake a man wearing a sword, and adorned with
heavenly ornaments, surpassing in beauty the god of Love. [110] When
he had sat down on the couch, his attendants threw garlands round his
neck, and anointed him with unguents, and then they all plunged again
into the lake. Then he brought out of his mouth a lady of noble form
and modest appearance, wearing auspicious garlands and ornaments,
and a second, rich in celestial beauty, resplendent with magnificent
robes and ornaments. [111] These were both his wives, but the second
was the favourite. Then the first and good wife placed jewelled plates
on the table, and handed food in two plates to her husband and her
rival. When they had eaten, she also ate; and then her husband reclined
on the couch with the rival wife, and went to sleep. And the first
wife shampooed his feet, and the second remained awake on the couch.

When the Bráhman's sons who were in the tree, saw this, they said
to one another, "Who can this be? Let us go down and ask the lady
who is shampooing his feet, for all these are immortal beings." Then
they got down and approached the first wife, and then the second saw
Yasodhara: then she rose up from the couch in her inordinate passion,
while her husband was asleep, and approaching that handsome youth,
said, "Be my lover." He answered, "Wicked woman, you are to me the
wife of another, and I am to you a strange man. Then why do you
speak thus?" She answered, "I have had a hundred lovers. Why are you
afraid? If you do not believe it, look at these hundred rings, [112]
for I have taken one ring from each of them." With these words she
took the rings out of the corner of her garment, and shewed them to
him. Then Yasodhara said, "I do not care whether you have a hundred
or a hundred thousand lovers, to me you are as a mother; I am not
a person of that sort." When the wicked woman was repelled by him
in this way, she woke up her husband in her wrath, and, pointing to
Yasodhara, said with tears, "This scoundrel, while you were asleep,
used violence to me." When her husband heard this, he rose up and
drew his sword. Then the first and virtuous wife embraced his feet,
and said, "Do not commit a crime on false evidence. Hear what I have
to say. This wicked woman, when she saw him, rose up from your side,
and eagerly importuned him, and the virtuous man did not consent to her
proposal." When he repelled her, saying, 'You are to me as a mother,'
being unable to endure that, in her anger she woke you up, to make
you kill him. And she has already before my eyes had a hundred lovers
here on various nights, travellers who were reposing in this tree, and
taken their rings from them. But I never told you, not wishing to give
rise to unpleasantness. However, to-day I am necessarily compelled to
reveal this secret, lest you should be guilty of a crime. Just look at
the rings in the corner of her garment, if you do not believe it. And
my wifely virtue is of such a kind that I cannot tell my husband what
is untrue. In order that you may be convinced of my faithfulness,
see this proof of my power." After saying this, she reduced that tree
to ashes with an angry look, and restored it more magnificent than
it was before with a look of kindness. When her husband saw that,
he was at last satisfied and embraced her. And he sent that second
wife, the adulteress, about her business, after cutting off her nose,
and taking the rings from the corner of her garment.

He restrained his anger, when he beheld that student of the scripture,
Yasodhara, with his brother, and he said to him despondingly; "Out
of jealousy I always keep these wives of mine in my heart. But still
I have not been able to keep safe this wicked woman. Who can arrest
the lightning? Who can guard a disloyal woman? As for a chaste woman,
she is guarded by her own modesty alone, and being guarded by it,
she guards [113] her husband in both worlds, as I have to-day been
guarded by this woman, whose patience is more admirable even than her
power of cursing. By her kindness I have got rid of an unfaithful wife,
and avoided the awful crime of killing a virtuous Bráhman." When he
had said this, he made Yasodhara sit down, and said to him, "Tell
me whence you come and whither you are going." Then Yasodhara told
him his history, and having gained his confidence, said to him out of
curiosity, "Noble sir, if it is not a secret, tell me now, who you are,
and why, though you possess such luxury, you dwell in the water." When
the man who lived in the water heard this, he said, "Hear! I will
tell you." And he began to tell his history in the following words.



Story of the water-genius in his previous birth.

There is a region in the south of the Himálaya, called Kasmíra;
which Providence seems to have created in order to prevent mortals
from hankering after Heaven; where Siva and Vishnu, as self-existent
deities, inhabit a hundred shrines, forgetting their happy homes in
Kailása and Svetadvípa; which is laved by the waters of the Vitastá,
and full of heroes and sages, and proof against treacherous crimes
and enemies, though powerful. There I was born in my former life,
as an ordinary villager of the Bráhman caste, with two wives, and my
name was Bhavasarman. There I once struck up a friendship with some
Buddhist mendicants, and undertook the vow, called the fast Uposhana,
prescribed in their scriptures. And when this vow was almost completed,
one of my wives wickedly came and slept in my bed. And in the fourth
watch of the night, bewildered with sleep, I broke my vow. But as
it fell only a little short of completion, I have been born as a
water-genius, and these two wives of mine have been born as my present
wives here. That wicked woman was born as that unfaithful wife,
the second as this faithful one. So great was the power of my vow,
though it was rendered imperfect, that I remember my former birth,
and enjoy such luxuries every night. If I had not rendered my vow
imperfect, I should never have been born as what I am.

When he had told his story in these words, he honoured those two
brothers as guests, with delicious food and heavenly garments. Then
his faithful wife, having heard of her former life, knelt on the
ground, and looking at the moon, uttered this prayer, "O guardians
of the world, if I am in truth virtuous and devoted to my husband,
may this husband of mine be at once delivered from the necessity of
dwelling in the water and go to heaven." The moment she had said this,
a chariot descended from heaven, and the husband and wife ascended it
and went to heaven. Nothing in the three worlds is unattainable by
really chaste women. And the two Bráhmans, when they saw that, were
greatly astonished. And Yasodhara and Lakshmídhara, after spending the
rest of the night there, set out in the morning. And in the evening
they reached the foot of a tree in a lonely wilderness. And while
they were longing to get water, they heard this voice from the tree,
"Wait a little, Bráhmans! I will entertain you to-day with a bath
and food, for you are come to my house." Then the voice ceased,
and there sprang up there a tank of water, and meats and drinks of
every kind were provided on its bank. The two Bráhman youths said
with astonishment to one another,--"What does this mean?" And after
bathing in the tank, they ate and drank. Then they said the evening
prayer and remained under the tree, and in the meanwhile a handsome
man appeared from it. They saluted him, and he welcomed them, and he
sat down. Thereupon the two Bráhman youths asked him who he was. Then
the man said--



Story of the Bráhman who became a Yaksha.

Long ago I was a Bráhman in distress, and when I was in this condition,
I happened to make friends with some Buddhist ascetics. But while
I was performing the vow called Uposhana, which they had taught me,
a wicked man made me take food in the evening by force. That made my
vow incomplete, so I was born as a Guhyaka; if I had only completed
it, I should have been born as a god in heaven.

"So I have told you my story, but now do you two tell me, who you are,
and why you have come to this desert." When Yasodhara heard this, he
told him their story. Thereupon the Yaksha went on to say; "If this
is the case, I will by my own power bestow on you the sciences. Go
home with a knowledge of them. What is the use of roaming about in
foreign countries?" When he had said this, he bestowed on them the
sciences, and by his power they immediately possessed them. Then
the Yaksha said to them, "Now I entreat you to give me a fee as your
instructor. You must perform, on my behalf, this Uposhana vow, which
involves the speaking of the truth, the observing of strict chastity,
the circumambulating the images of the gods with the right side turned
towards them, the eating only at the time when Buddhist mendicants do,
restraint of the mind, and patience. You must perform this for one
night, and bestow the fruit of it on me, in order that I may obtain
that divinity, which is the proper fruit of my vow, when completely
performed." When the Yaksha said this, they bowed before him and
granted his request, and he disappeared in that very same tree.

And the two brothers, delighted at having accomplished their object
without any toil, after they had passed the night, returned to
their own home. There they told their adventures and delighted their
parents, and performed that vow of fasting for the benefit of the
Yaksha. Then that Yaksha, who taught them, appeared in a sky-chariot,
and said to them; "Through your kindness I have ceased to be a Yaksha
and have become a god. So now you must perform this vow for your own
advantage, in order that at your death you may attain divinity. And in
the meanwhile I give you a boon, by which you will have inexhaustible
wealth." When the deity, who roamed about at will, had said this, he
went to heaven in his chariot. Then the two brothers, Yasodhara and
Lakshmídhara, lived happily, having performed that vow, and having
obtained wealth and knowledge.

"So you see that, if men are addicted to righteousness, and do not,
even in emergencies, desert their principles, even the gods protect
them and cause them to attain their objects." Naraváhanadatta,
while longing for his beloved Saktiyasas, was much delighted with
this marvellous story told by Vasantaka; but having been summoned
by his father at the dinner hour, he went to his palace with his
ministers. There he took the requisite refreshment, and returned
to his palace, with Gomukha and his other ministers. Then Gomukha,
in order to amuse him, again said,--"Listen, prince, I will tell you
another string of tales."



Story of the monkey and the porpoise. [114]

There lived in a forest of udumbaras, on the shore of the sea, a king
of monkeys, named Valímukha, who had strayed from his troop. While he
was eating an udumbara fruit, it fell from his hand and was devoured
by a porpoise that lived in the water of the sea. The porpoise,
delighted at the taste of the fruit, uttered a melodious sound, which
pleased the monkey so much, that he threw him many more fruits. And
so the monkey went on throwing fruits, [115] and the porpoise went
on making a melodious sound, until a friendship sprang up between
them. So every day the porpoise spent the day in the water near the
monkey, who remained on the bank, and in the evening he went home.

Then the wife of the porpoise came to learn the facts, and as she did
not approve of the friendship between the monkey and her husband, which
caused the latter to be absent all day, she pretended to be ill. Then
the porpoise was afflicted, and asked his wife again and again what
was the nature of her sickness, and what would cure it. Though he
importuned her persistently, she would give no answer, but at last a
female confidante of hers said to him: "Although you will not do it,
and she does not wish you to do it, still I must speak. How can a
wise person conceal sorrow from friends? A violent disease has seized
your wife, of such a kind that it cannot be cured without soup made
of the lotus-like heart of a monkey." [116] When the porpoise heard
this from his wife's confidante, he reflected;--"Alas! how shall I
obtain the lotus-like heart of a monkey? Is it right for me to plot
treachery against the monkey, who is my friend? On the other hand
how else can I cure my wife, whom I love more than my life?" When the
porpoise had thus reflected, he said to his wife; "I will bring you
a whole monkey, my dear, do not be unhappy." When he had said this,
he went to his friend the monkey, and said to him, after he had got
into conversation; "Up to this day you have never seen my home and
my wife; so come, let us go and rest there one day. Friendship is
but hollow, when friends do not go without ceremony and eat at one
another's houses, and introduce their wives to one another." With
these words the porpoise beguiled the monkey, and induced him to come
down into the water, and took him on his back and set out. And as he
was going along, the monkey saw that he was troubled and confused,
and said, "My friend, you seem to be altered to-day." And when he
went on persistently enquiring the reason, the stupid porpoise,
thinking that the ape was in his power, said to him; "The fact is,
my wife is ill, and she has been asking me for the heart of a monkey
to be used as a remedy; that is why I am in low spirits to-day." When
the wise monkey heard this speech of his, he reflected, "Ah! This is
why the villain has brought me here! Alas! this fellow is overpowered
by infatuation for a female, and is ready to plot treachery against
his friend. Will not a person possessed by a demon eat his own flesh
with his teeth?" After the monkey had thus reflected, he said to the
porpoise; "If this is the case, why did you not inform me of this
before, my friend? I will go and get my heart for your wife. For I
have at present left it on the udumbara-tree on which I live. [117]
When the silly porpoise heard this, he was sorry and he said; "Then
bring it, my friend, from the udumbara-tree." And thereupon the
porpoise took him back to the shore of the sea. When he got there,
he bounded up the bank, as if he had just escaped from the grasp of
death, and climbing up to the top of the tree, said to that porpoise,
"Off with you, you fool! Does any animal keep his heart outside his
body? However, by this artifice I have saved my life, and I will not
return to you. Have you not heard, my friend, the story of the ass?"



Story of the sick lion, the jackal, and the ass. [118]

There lived in a certain forest a lion, who had a jackal for a
minister. A certain king, who had gone to hunt, once found him, and
wounded him so sorely with his weapons, that he with difficulty escaped
to his den alive. When the king was gone, the lion still remained in
the den, and his minister, the jackal, who lived on his leavings, being
exhausted for want of food, said to him; "My lord, why do you not go
out and seek for food to the best of your ability, for your own body
is being famished as well as your attendants?" When the jackal said
this to the lion, he answered; "My friend, I am exhausted with wounds,
and I cannot roam about outside my den. If I could get the heart and
ears of a donkey to eat, my wounds would heal, and I should recover my
former health. So go and bring me a donkey quickly from somewhere or
other." The jackal agreed to do so and sallied out. As he was wandering
about, he found a washerman's ass in a solitary place, and he went up
to him, and said in a friendly way; "Why are you so exhausted?" The
donkey answered, "I am reduced by perpetually carrying this washerman's
load." The jackal said, "Why do you endure all this toil? Come with
me and I will take you to a forest as delightful as Heaven, where you
may grow fat in the society of she-asses." When the donkey, who was
longing for enjoyment, heard this, he went to the forest, in which
that lion ranged, in the company of that jackal. And when the lion
saw him, being weak from impaired vitality, he only gave him a blow
with his paw behind, and the donkey, being wounded by the blow, was
terrified and fled immediately, and did not come near the lion again,
and the lion fell down confused and bewildered. And then the lion,
not having accomplished his object, hastily returned to his den. Then
the jackal, his minister, said to him reproachfully; "My lord, if you
could not kill this miserable donkey, what chance is there of your
killing deer and other animals?" Then the lion said to him, "If you
know how, bring that donkey again. I will be ready and kill him."

When the lion had despatched the jackal with these words, he went
to the donkey and said; "Why did you run away, sir? And the donkey
answered, "I received a blow from some creature." Then the jackal
laughed and said, "You must have experienced a delusion. There is no
such creature there, for I, weak as I am, dwell there, in safety. So
come along with me to that forest, where pleasure is without
restraint." [119] When he said this, the donkey was deluded, and
returned to the forest. And as soon as the lion saw him, he came out
of his den, and springing on him from behind, tore him with his claws
and killed him. And the lion, after he had divided the donkey, placed
the jackal to guard it, and being fatigued, went away to bathe. And
in the meanwhile the deceitful jackal devoured the heart and ears of
that donkey, to gratify his appetite. The lion, after bathing, came
back, and perceiving the donkey in this condition, asked the jackal
where its ears and heart were. The jackal answered him; "The creature
never possessed ears or a heart,--otherwise how could he have returned
when he had once escaped?" When the lion heard that, he believed it,
and ate his flesh, and the jackal devoured what remained over.

When the ape had told this tale, he said again to the porpoise; "I
will not come again, why should I behave like the jackass." When the
porpoise heard this from the monkey, he returned home, grieving that he
had through his folly failed to execute his wife's commission, while
he had lost a friend. But his wife recovered her former tranquillity,
on account of the termination of her husband's friendship with the
ape. And the ape lived happily on the shore of the sea.

"So a wise person should place no confidence in a wicked person. How
can he, who confides in a wicked person or a black cobra, enjoy
prosperity?" When Gomukha had told this story, he again said to
Naraváhanadatta, to amuse him; "Now hear in succession about the
following ridiculous fools. Hear first about the fool who rewarded
the minstrel."



Story of the fool who gave a verbal reward to the musician. [120]

A certain musician once gave great pleasure to a rich man, by
singing and playing before him. He thereupon called his treasurer,
and said in the hearing of the musician, "Give this man two thousand
panas." The treasurer said, "I will do so," and went out. Then the
minstrel went and asked him for those panas. But the treasurer,
who had an understanding with his master, refused to give them.

Then the musician came and asked the rich man for the panas, but he
said; "What did you give me, that I should make you a return? You gave
a short-lived pleasure to my ears by playing on the lyre, and I gave
a short-lived pleasure to your ears by promising you money." When
the musician heard that, he despaired of his payment, laughed, and
went home.

"Would not that speech of the miser's make even a stone laugh? And now,
prince, hear the story of the two foolish pupils."



Story of the teacher and his two jealous pupils. [121]

A certain teacher had two pupils who were jealous of one another. And
one of those pupils washed and anointed every day the right foot of
his instructor, and the other did the same to the left foot. Now it
happened that one day the pupil, whose business it was to anoint the
right foot, had been sent to the village, so the teacher said to the
second pupil, whose business it was to anoint the left foot,--"To-day
you must wash and anoint my right foot also." When the foolish pupil
received this order, he coolly said to his teacher; "I cannot anoint
this foot that belongs to my rival." When he said this, the teacher
insisted. Then that pupil, who was the very opposite of a good pupil,
took hold of his teacher's foot in a passion, and exerting great force,
broke it. Then the teacher uttered a cry of pain, and the other pupils
came in and beat that wicked pupil, but he was rescued from them by
that teacher, who felt sorry for him.

The next day, the other pupil came back from the village, and when he
saw the injury that had been done to his teacher's foot, he asked the
history of it, and then he was inflamed with rage, and he said, "Why
should I not break the foot that belongs to that enemy of mine?" So he
laid hold of the teacher's second leg, and broke it. Then the others
began to beat that wicked pupil, but the teacher, both of whose legs
were broken, in compassion begged him off too. Then those two pupils
departed, laughed to scorn by the whole country, but their teacher,
who deserved so much credit for his patient temper, gradually got well.

Thus foolish attendants, by quarrelling with one another, ruin their
master's interests, and do not reap any advantage for themselves. Hear
the story of the two-headed serpent.



Story of the snake with two heads. [122]

A certain snake had two heads, one in the usual place and one in his
tail. But the head, that he had in his tail, was blind, the head,
that was in the usual place, was furnished with eyes. And there was a
quarrel between them, each saying that it was the principal head. Now
the serpent usually roamed about with his real head foremost. But
once on a time the head in the tail caught hold of a piece of wood,
and fastening firmly round it, prevented that snake from going on. The
consequence was that the snake considered this head very powerful,
as it had vanquished the head in front. And so the snake roamed about
with his blind head foremost, and in a hole he fell into fire, owing
to his not being able to see the way, and so he was burnt. [123]



Story of the fool who was nearly choked with rice.

"So those foolish people, many in number, who are quite at home in
a small accomplishment, through their attachment to this unimportant
accomplishment, are brought to ruin."

"Hear now about the fool who ate the grains of rice."

A certain foolish person came for the first time to his father-in-law's
house, and there he saw some white grains of rice, which his
mother-in-law had put down to be cooked, and he put a handful of
them into his mouth, meaning to eat them. And his mother-in-law
came in that very moment. Then the foolish man was so ashamed, that
he could not swallow the grains of rice, nor bring them up. And his
mother-in law, seeing that his throat was swollen and distended, and
that he was speechless, was afraid that he was ill, and summoned her
husband. And he, when he saw his state, quickly brought the physician,
and the physician, fearing that there was an internal tumour, seized
the head of that fool and opened his jaw. [124] Then the grains of
rice came out, and all those present laughed.

"Thus a fool does an unseemly act, and does not know how to conceal
it."



Story of the boys that milked the donkey. [125]

Certain foolish boys, having observed the process of milking in the
case of cows, got a donkey, and having surrounded it, proceeded to
milk it vigorously. One milked and another held the milk-pail, and
there was great emulation among them, as to who should first drink
the milk. And yet they did not obtain milk, though they laboured hard.

"The fact is, prince, a fool, who spends his labour on a chimera,
makes himself ridiculous."



Story of the foolish boy that went to the village for nothing.

There was a certain foolish son of a Bráhman, and his father said
to him one evening, "My son, you must go to the village early
to-morrow." Having heard this, he set out in the morning, without
asking his father what he was to do, and went to the village without
any object, and came back in the evening fatigued. He said to his
father, "I have been to the village." "Yes, but you have not done
any good by it," answered his father.

"So a fool, who acts without an object, becomes the laughing-stock
of people generally; he suffers fatigue, but does not do any
good." When the son of the king of Vatsa had heard from Gomukha,
his chief minister, this series of tales, rich in instruction,
and had declared that he was longing to obtain Saktiyasas, and had
perceived that the night was far spent, he closed his eyes in sleep,
and reposed surrounded by his ministers.






CHAPTER LXIV.


Then, the next evening, as Naraváhanadatta was again in his private
apartment, longing for union with his beloved, at his request Gomukha
told the following series of tales to amuse him.



Story of the Bráhman and the mungoose. [126]

There was in a certain village a Bráhman, named Devasarman; and he
had a wife of equally high birth, named Yajnadattá. And she became
pregnant, and in time gave birth to a son, and the Bráhman, though
poor, thought he had obtained a treasure in him. And when she had given
birth to the child, the Bráhman's wife went to the river to bathe, but
Devasarman remained in the house, taking care of his infant son. In
the meanwhile a maid came from the womens' apartments of the palace
to summon that Bráhman, who lived on presents received for performing
inauguratory ceremonies. Then he, eager for a fee, went off to the
palace, leaving a mungoose, which he had brought up from its birth,
to guard his child. After he had gone, a snake suddenly came near the
child, and the mungoose, seeing it, killed it out of love for his
master. Then the mungoose saw Devasarman returning at a distance,
and delighted, ran out to meet him, all stained with the blood of
the snake. And Devasarman, when he saw its appearance, felt certain
that it had killed his young child, and, in his agitation killed it
with a stone. But when he went into the house, and saw the snake
killed by the mungoose, and his boy alive, he repented of what he
had done. And when his wife returned and heard what had happened,
she reproached him, saying, "Why did you inconsiderately kill the
mungoose, which had done you a good turn?"

"Therefore a wise man, prince, should never do anything rashly. For a
person who acts rashly is destroyed in both worlds. And one who does
anything contrary to the prescribed method, obtains a result which
is the opposite of that desired."



Story of the fool that was his own doctor.

For instance, there was a man suffering from flatulence. And once
on a time the doctor gave him a medicine, to be used as a clyster,
and said to him, "Go to your house, and bruise this, and wait till
I come." The physician, after giving this order, delayed a little,
and in the meanwhile the fool, having reduced the drug to powder,
mixed it with water and drank it. That made him very ill, and when
the doctor came, he had to give him an emetic, and with difficulty
brought him round, when he was at the point of death. And he scolded
his patient, saying to him, "A clyster is not meant to be drunk, but
must be administered in the proper way. Why did you not wait for me?"

"So an action, useful in itself, if done contrary to rule, has bad
effects. Therefore a wise man should do nothing contrary to rule. And
the man, who acts without consideration, does what is wrong, and
immediately incurs reproach."



Story of the fool who mistook hermits for monkeys.

For instance, there was in a certain place a foolish man. He was
once going to a foreign country, accompanied by his son, and when
the caravan encamped in the forest, the boy entered the wood to amuse
himself. There he was scratched by monkeys, and with difficulty escaped
with life, and when his father asked him what had happened, the silly
boy, not knowing what monkeys were, said; "I was scratched in this
wood by some hairy creatures that live on fruits." When the father
heard it, he drew his sword in a rage, and went to that wood. And
seeing some ascetics with long matted hair, picking fruits there,
he ran towards them, saying to himself, "Those hairy rascals injured
my son." But a certain traveller there prevented him from killing
them, by saying; "I saw some monkeys scratch your son; do not kill
the hermits." So by good luck he was saved from committing a crime,
and returned to the caravan.

"So a wise man should never act without reflection. What is ever
likely to go wrong with a man who reflects? But the thoughtless are
always ruined and made the objects of public ridicule."



Story of the fool who found a purse.

For instance, a certain poor man, going on a journey, found a bag of
gold, that had been dropped by the head of a caravan. The fool, the
moment he found it, instead of going away, stood still where he was,
and began to count the gold. In the meanwhile the merchant, who was on
horseback, discovered his loss, and galloping back, he saw the bag of
gold in the poor man's possession, and took it away from him. So he
lost his wealth as soon as he got it, and went on his way sorrowful,
with his face fixed on the ground.

"Fools lose wealth as soon as they get it."



Story of the fool who looked for the moon.

A certain foolish man, who wished to see the new moon, was told by a
man who saw it, to look in the direction of his finger. He averted
his eyes from the sky, and stood staring at his friend's finger,
and so did not see the new moon, but saw the people laughing at him.

"Wisdom accomplishes the impossible, hear a story in proof of it."



Story of the woman who escaped from the monkey and the cowherd.

A certain woman set out alone to go to another village. And on the way
a monkey suddenly came and tried to lay hold of her, but she avoided
it by going to a tree and dodging round it. The foolish monkey threw
its arms round the tree, and she laid hold of its arms with her hands,
and pressed them against the tree.

The monkey, which was held tight, became furious, but at that moment
the woman saw a cowherd coming that way, and said to him; "Sir, hold
this ape by the arms a moment, until I can arrange my dress and hair,
which are disordered." He said, "I will do so, if you promise to
grant me your love," and she consented. And he held the monkey. Then
she drew his dagger and killed the monkey, and said to the cowherd,
"Come to a lonely spot," and so took him a long distance. At last they
fell in with some travellers, so she left him and went with them to the
village that she wished to reach, having avoided outrage by her wisdom.

"So you see that wisdom is in this world the principal support of
men; the man who is poor in wealth lives, but the man who is poor in
intellect does not live. Now hear, prince, this romantic wonderful
tale."



Story of the two thieves, Ghata and Karpara. [127]

There were in a certain city two thieves, named Ghata and Karpara. One
night Karpara left Ghata outside the palace, and breaking through the
wall, entered the bedchamber of the princess. And the princess, who
could not sleep, saw him there in a corner, and suddenly falling in
love with him, called him to her. And she gave him wealth, and said
to him; "I will give you much more if you come again." Then Karpara
went out, and told Ghata what had happened, and gave him the wealth,
and having thus got hold of the king's property, sent him home. But
he himself again entered the women's apartments of the palace; who,
that is attracted by love and covetousness, thinks of death? There he
remained with the princess, and bewildered with love and wine, he fell
asleep, and did not observe that the night was at an end. And in the
morning the guards of the women's apartments entered, and made him
prisoner, and informed the king, and he in his anger ordered him to
be put to death. "While he was being led to the place of execution,
his friend Ghata came to look for him, as he had not returned in
the course of the night. Then Karpara saw Ghata, and made a sign to
him that he was to carry off and take care of the princess. And he
answered by a sign that he would do so. Then Karpara was led away
by the executioners, and being at their mercy, was quickly hanged up
upon a tree, and so executed.

Then Ghata went home, sorrowing for his friend, and as soon as
night arrived, he dug a mine and entered the apartment of the
princess. Seeing her in fetters there alone, he went up to her and
said; "I am the friend of Karpara, who was to-day put to death on
account of you. And out of love for him I am come here to carry you
off, so come along, before your father does you an injury." Thereupon
she consented joyfully, and he removed her bonds. Then he went out
with her, who at once committed herself to his care, by the underground
passage he had made, and returned to his own house.

And next morning the king heard that his own daughter had been carried
off by some one, who had dug a secret mine, and that king thought
to himself, "Undoubtedly that wicked man whom I punished has some
audacious friend, who has carried off my daughter in this way." So he
set his servants to watch the body of Karpara, and he said to them,
"You must arrest any one who may come here lamenting, to burn the
corpse and perform the other rites, and so I shall recover that wicked
girl who has disgraced her family." When those guards had received
this order from the king, they said, "We will do so," and remained
continually watching the corpse of Karpara.

Then Ghata made enquiries, and found out what was going on, and said to
the princess; "My dear, my comrade Karpara was a very dear friend to
me, and by means of him I gained you and all these valuable jewels;
so until I have paid to him the debt of friendship, I cannot rest
in peace. So I will go and see his corpse, and by a device of mine
manage to lament over it, and I will in due course burn the body,
and scatter the bones in a holy place. And do not be afraid, I am not
reckless like Karpara." After he had said this to her, he immediately
assumed the appearance of a Pásupata ascetic, and taking boiled rice
and milk in a pot, he went near the corpse of Karpara, as if he were a
person passing that way casually, and when he got near it, he slipped,
and let fall from his hand and broke that pot of milk and rice, and
began lamenting, "O Karpara full of sweetness," [128] and so on. And
the guards thought that he was grieving for his pot full of food,
that he had got by begging. And immediately he went home and told
that to the princess. And the next day he made a servant, dressed as
a bride, go in front of him, and he had another behind him, carrying a
vessel full of sweetmeats, in which the juice of the Dhattúra had been
infused. And he himself assumed the appearance of a drunken villager,
and so in the evening he came reeling along past those guards, who were
watching the body of Karpara. They said to him, "Who are you, friend,
and who is this lady, and where are you going?" Then the cunning fellow
answered them with stuttering accents, "I am a villager; this is my
wife; I am going to the house of my father-in-law; and I am taking
for him this complimentary present of sweetmeats. But you have now
become my friends by speaking to me, so I will take only half of the
sweetmeats there; take the other half for yourselves." Saying this,
he gave a sweetmeat to each of the guards. And they received them,
laughing, and all of them partook of them. Accordingly Ghata, having
stupefied the guards with Dhattúra, at night brought fuel [129]
and burnt the body of Karpara.

The next morning, after he had departed, the king hearing of it,
removed those guards who had been stupefied, and placed others there,
and said; "You must guard these bones, and you must arrest whoever
attempts to take them away, and you must not accept food from any
outsider." When the guards were thus instructed by the king, they
remained on the lookout day and night, and Ghata heard of it. Then he,
being acquainted with the operation of a bewildering charm granted
him by Durgá, made a wandering mendicant his friend, in order to make
them repose confidence in him. And he went there with that wandering
mendicant, who was muttering spells, and bewildered those guards,
and recovered the bones of Karpara. And after throwing them into the
Ganges, he came and related what he had done, and lived happily with
the princess, accompanied by the mendicant. But the king, hearing that
the bones had been carried off, and the men guarding them stupefied,
thought that the whole exploit, beginning with the carrying off of
his daughter, was the doing of a magician. And he had the following
proclamation made in his city; "If that magician, who carried off my
daughter, and performed the other exploits connected with that feat,
will reveal himself, I will give him half my kingdom." When Ghata heard
this, he wished to reveal himself, but the princess dissuaded him,
saying, "Do not do so, you cannot repose any confidence in this king,
who treacherously puts people to death." [130] Then, for fear that,
if he remained there, the truth might come out, he set out for another
country with the princess and the mendicant.

And on the way the princess said secretly to the mendicant, "The
other one of these thieves seduced me, and this one made me fall
from my high rank. The other thief is dead, as for this, Ghata, I do
not love him, you are my darling." When she had said this, she united
herself to the mendicant, and killed Ghata in the dead of night. Then,
as she was journeying along with that mendicant, the wicked woman
fell in with a merchant on the way, whose name was Dhanadeva. So
she said, "Who is this skull-bearer? You are my darling," and she
left that mendicant, while he was asleep, and went off with that
merchant. And in the morning the mendicant woke up, and reflected,
"There is no love in women, and no courtesy free from fickleness,
for, after lulling me into security, the wicked woman has gone off,
and robbed me too. However, I ought perhaps to consider myself lucky,
that I have not been killed like Ghata." After these reflections,
the mendicant returned to his own country.



Story of Dhanadeva's wife.

And the princess, travelling on with the merchant, reached his
country. And when Dhanadeva arrived there, he said to himself; "Why
should I rashly introduce this unchaste woman into my house? So,
as it was evening, he went into the house of an old woman in that
place, with the princess. And at night he asked that old woman,
who did not recognize him, "Mother, do you know any tidings about
the family of Dhanadeva?" When the old woman heard that, she said,
"What tidings is there except that his wife is always ready to take
a new lover. For a basket, covered with leather, is let down every
night from the window here, and whoever enters it, is drawn up into the
house, and is dismissed in the same way at the end of the night. And
the woman is always stupefied with drink, so that she is absolutely
void of discernment. And this state of hers has become well-known
in the whole city. And though her husband has been long away, he has
not yet returned."

When Dhanadeva heard this speech of the old woman's, he went out that
moment on some pretext, and repaired to his own house, being full
of inward grief and uncertainty. And seeing a basket let down by the
female servants with ropes, he entered it, and they pulled up him into
the house. And his wife, who was stupefied with drink, embraced him
most affectionately, without knowing who he was. But he was quite cast
down at seeing her degradation. And thereupon she fell into a drunken
sleep. And at the end of the night, the female servants let him down
again quickly from the window, in the basket suspended with ropes. And
the merchant reflected in his grief, "Enough of the folly of being a
family man, for women in a house are a snare! It is always this story
with them, so a life in the forest is much to be preferred." Having
formed this resolve, Dhanadeva abandoned the princess into the bargain,
and set out for a distant forest. And on the way he met, and struck up
a friendship with, a young Bráhman, named Rudrasoma, who had lately
returned from a long absence abroad. When he told him his story,
the Bráhman became anxious about his own wife; and so he arrived in
the company of that merchant at his own village in the evening.



Story of the wife of the Bráhman Rudrasoma.

And when he arrived there, he saw a cowherd, on the bank of the river,
near his house, singing with joy, like one beside himself. So he said
to him in joke, "Cowherd, is any young woman in love with you, that you
sing thus in your rapture, counting the world as stubble?" "When the
cowherd heard that, he laughed and said, "I have a great secret. [131]
The head of this village, a Bráhman, named Rudrasoma, has been long
away, and I visit his wife every night; her maid introduces me into
the house dressed as a woman." When Rudrasoma heard this, he restrained
his anger, and wishing to find out the truth, he said to the cowherd;
"If such kindness is shewn to guests here, give me this dress of yours,
and let me go there to-night: I feel great curiosity about it." The
cowherd said, "Do so, take this black rug of mine, and this stick,
and remain here until her maid comes. And she will take you for me,
and will give you a female dress, and invite you to come, so go there
boldly at night, and I will take repose this night." When the cowherd
said this, the Bráhman Rudrasoma took from him the stick and the rug,
and stood there, personating him. And the cowherd stood at a little
distance, with that merchant Dhanadeva, and then the maid came. She
walked silently up to him in the darkness, and wrapped him up in a
woman's dress, and said to him, "Come along," and so took him off
to his wife, thinking that he was the cowherd. When his wife saw
Rudrasoma, she sprang up and embraced him, supposing that he was
the cowherd, and then Rudrasoma thought to himself; "Alas! wicked
women fall in love with a base man, if only he is near them, for this
vicious wife of mine has fallen in love with a cowherd, merely because
be is near at hand." Then he made some excuse with faltering voice,
and went, disgusted in mind, to Dhanadeva. And after he had told his
adventure in his own house, he said to that merchant; "I too will
go with you to the forest; perish my family!" So Rudrasoma and the
merchant Dhanadeva set out together for the forest.



Story of the wife of Sasin.

And on the way a friend of Dhanadeva's, named Sasin, joined them. And
in the course of conversation they told him their circumstances. And
when Sasin heard that, being a jealous man, and having just returned
from a long absence in a foreign land, he became anxious about his
wife, though he had locked her up in a cellar. And Sasin, travelling
along with them, came near his own house in the evening, and was
desirous of entertaining them. But he saw there a man singing in an
amorous mood, who had an evil smell, and whose hands and feet were
eaten away with leprosy. And in his astonishment, he asked him; "Who
are you, sir, that you are so cheerful?" And the leper said to him,
"I am the god of love." Sasin answered, "There can be no mistake
about that. The splendour of your beauty is sufficient evidence for
your being the god of love." Thereupon the leper continued, "Listen,
I will tell you something. A rogue here, named Sasin, being jealous
of his wife, locked her up in a cellar with one servant to attend on
her, and went to a foreign land. But that wife of his happened to see
me here, and immediately surrendered herself to me, her heart being
drawn towards me by love. And I spend every night with her, for the
maid takes me on her back and carries me in. So tell me if I am not
the god of love. Who, that was the favoured lover of the beautiful
wife of Sasin, could care for other women?" When Sasin heard this
speech of the leper's, he suppressed his grief, intolerable as a
hurricane, and wishing to discover the truth, he said to the leper,
"In truth you are the god of love, so I have a boon to crave of your
godship. I feel great curiosity about this lady from your description
of her, so I will go there this very night disguised as yourself. Be
propitious to your suppliant: you will lose but little, as you can
attain this object every day." When Sasin made this request, the
leper said to him; "So be it! take this dress of mine and give me
yours, and remain covering up your hands and feet with your clothes,
as you see me do, until her maid comes, which will be as soon as it
becomes dark. And she will mistake you for me, and put you on her
back, and you must submit to go there in that fashion, for I always
have to go in that way, having lost the use of my hands and feet from
leprosy." Thereupon Sasin put on the leper's dress and remained there,
but the leper and Sasin's two companions remained a little way off.

Then Sasin's wife's maid came, and supposing that he was the leper,
as he had his dress on, said, "Come along," and took him up on her
back. And so she took him at night into that cellar to his wife, who
was expecting her paramour the leper. Then Sasin made out for certain
that it was his wife, who was lamenting there in the darkness, by
feeling her limbs, and he became an ascetic on the spot. And when she
was asleep, he went out unobserved, and made his way to Dhanadeva and
Rudrasoma. And he told them his experiences, and said in his grief,
"Alas! women are like torrents that flow in a ravine, they are ever
tending downwards, capricious, beautiful at a distance, prone to
turbidness, and so they are as difficult to guard as such rivers are
to drink, and thus my wife, though kept in a cellar, has run after
a leper. So for me also the forest is the best thing. Out on family
life!" And so he spent the night in the company of the merchant and
the Bráhman, whose affliction was the same as his. And next morning
they all set out together for the forest, and at evening they reached
a tree by the roadside, with a tank at its foot. And after they had
eaten and drunk, they ascended the tree to sleep, and while they were
there, they saw a traveller come and lie down underneath the tree.



Story of the snake-god and his wife.

And soon they saw another man arise from the tank, and he brought
out of his mouth a couch and a lady. Then he lay down on the couch
beside that wife of his, and went to sleep, and the moment she saw it,
she went and embraced the traveller. And he asked her who they were,
and she answered; "This is a snake-god, and I am his wife, a daughter
of the snake race. Do not fear, I have had ninety-nine lovers among
travellers, and you make the hundredth." But, while she was saying
this, it happened that the snake-god woke up, and saw them. And he
discharged fire from his mouth, and reduced them both to ashes.

When the snake-god had gone, the three friends said to one another,
"If it is impossible to guard one's wife by enclosing her in one's
own body, what chance is there of keeping her safe in a house? Out on
them all!" So they spent the night in contentment, and next morning
went on to the forest. There they became completely chastened in
mind, with hearts quieted by practising the four meditations, [132]
which were not interfered with by their friendship, and they became
gentle to all creatures, and attained perfection in contemplation,
which produces unequalled absolute beatification; and all three in
due course destroyed the inborn darkness of their souls, and became
liberated from the necessity of future births. But their wicked
wives fell into a miserable state by the ripening of their own sin,
and were soon ruined, losing both this and the next world.

"So attachment to women, the result of infatuation, produces misery
to all men. But indifference to them produces in the discerning
emancipation from the bonds of existence."

When the prince, who was longing for union with Saktiyasas, had
patiently listened to this diverting tale, told by his minister
Gomukha, he again went to sleep.



NOTE ON THE STORY OF GHATA AND KARPARA.

The portion of the story of "the Shifty lad," which so nearly resembles
the story of Ghata and Karpara, runs as follows: The shifty lad
remarks to his master the wright, that he might get plenty from the
king's store-house which was near at hand, if only he would break into
it. The two eventually rob it together. "But the king's people missed
the butter and cheese and the other things that had been taken out
of the store-house, and they told the king how it had happened. The
king took the advice of the Seanagal about the best way of catching
the thieves, and the counsel that he gave them was, that they should
set a hogshead of soft pitch under the hole where they were coming
in. That was done, and the next day the shifty lad and his master
went to break into the king's store-house."

The consequence was that the wright was caught in the pitch. Thereupon
the shifty lad cut off his head, which he carried home and buried
in the garden. When the king's people came into the store-house,
they found a body, without a head and they could not make out whose
it was. By the advice of the Seanagal the king had the trunk carried
about from town to town by the soldiers on the points of spears. They
were directed to observe if any one cried out on seeing it. When they
were going past the house of the wright, the wright's wife made a
tortured scream, and swift the shifty lad cut himself with an adze,
and he kept saying to the wright's wife, "It is not as bad as thou
thinkest." He then tells the soldier that she is afraid of blood,
and therefore the soldier supposed that he was the wright and she his
wife. The king had the body hung up in an open place, and set soldiers
to watch if any should attempt to take it away, or show pity or grief
for it. The shifty lad drives a horse past with a keg of whisky on
each side, and pretends to be hiding it from the soldiers. They pursue
him, capture the whisky, get dead drunk, and the shifty lad carries
off and buries the wright's body. The king now lets loose a pig to
dig up the body. The soldiers follow the pig, but the wright's widow
entertains them. Meanwhile the shifty lad kills the pig and buries
it. The soldiers are then ordered to live at free quarters among the
people, and wherever they get pig's flesh, unless the people could
explain how they came by it, to make a report to the king. But the
shifty lad kills the soldiers who visit the widow, and persuades
the people to kill all the others in their sleep. The Seanagal next
advises the king to give a feast to all the people. Whoever dared
to dance with the king's daughter would be the culprit. The shifty
lad asks her to dance, she makes a black mark on him, but he puts
a similar black mark on twenty others. The king now proclaims that,
if the author of these clever tricks will reveal himself, he shall
marry his daughter. All the men with marks on them contend for
the honour. It is agreed that to whomsoever a child shall give an
apple, the king is to give his daughter. The shifty lad goes into
the room where they are all assembled, with a shaving and a drone,
and the child gives him the apple. He marries the princess, but is
killed by accident. Köhler (Orient und Occident, Vol. II, p. 303 and
ff.) compares the story of Dolopathos quoted in Loiseleur II, 123,
ed. Brunet, p. 183, a story of the Florentine Ser Giovanni, (Pecorone,
IX, 1,) an old Netherland story in Haupt's Zeitschrift für Deutsches
Alterthum 5, 385-404, called "The thief of Bruges," and a Tyrolese
story in Zingerle, Kinder- und Hausmärchen aus Süd-Deutschland, p. 300;
also a French Romance of chivalry entitled, "The knight Berinus and
his son Aigres of the Magnet mountain." There is also a story in the
Seven Wise Masters (Ellis, specimens of early English metrical romances
new ed. by Halliwell, London, 1848, p. 423) of a father and his son
breaking into the treasure-house of the emperor Octavianus. Köhler also
compares the story of Trophonius and his brother or father Agamedes
(Scholiast to Aristophanes, Nubes, 508; Pausanias, IX, 37, 3.) This
story will also be found in Simrock's Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. XII,
p. 148. The story appears in Melusine, 1878 p. 17 under the title of
"Le Voleur Avisé, Conte Breton." See also Ralston's Tibetan Tales,
Introduction, pp. xlvii and ff.






CHAPTER LXV.


The next evening Gomukha told Naraváhanadatta this story to amuse
him as before.



Story of the ungrateful Wife. [133]

In a certain city there lived the son of a rich merchant, who was an
incarnation of a portion of a Bodhisattva. His mother died, and his
father became attached to another wife, so he sent him away; and the
son went forth from his father's house with his wife to live in the
forest. His younger brother also was banished by his father, and went
with him, but as he was not of a chastened disposition, the elder
brother parted company with him, and went in another direction. And
as he was going along, he at last came to a great desert wilderness,
without water, grass, or tree, scorched by the fierce rays of the sun,
and his supplies were exhausted. And he travelled through it for seven
days, and kept his wife, who was exhausted with hunger and thirst,
alive, by giving her his own flesh and blood, and she drank the blood
and ate the flesh. And on the eighth day he reached a mountain forest,
resounding with the surging waters of a torrent, abounding in shady
trees laden with fruit, and in delightful turf. There he refreshed
his wife with water and fruits, and went down into the mountain-stream
that was wreathed with waves, to take a bath. And there he saw a man
with his two feet and his two hands cut off, being carried along by
the current, in need of assistance. Though exhausted with his long
fast, the brave man entered the river, and rescued this mutilated
person. And the compassionate man landed him on the bank, and said;
"Who did this to you, my brother?" Then the maimed man answered,
"My enemies cut off my hands and feet, and threw me into the river,
desiring to inflict on me a painful death. But you have saved me
from the water." When the maimed man told him this, he bandaged his
wounds, and gave him food, and then the noble fellow bathed and took
food himself. Then this merchant's son, who was an incarnation of
a Bodhisattva, remained in that wood with his wife, living on roots
and fruits, and engaged in austerities.

One day, when he was away in search of fruits and roots, his wife fell
in love with that maimed man, whose wounds were healed. And determining
to kill her husband, the wicked woman devised a plot for doing so in
concert with that mutilated man, and she pretended to be ill. And she
pointed out a plant growing in the ravine, where it was difficult
to descend, and the river hard to cross, and said to her husband;
"I may live if you bring me that sovereign plant, for I am sure that
the god indicated to me its position in a dream." He consented, and
descended into the ravine to get the plant, by the help of a rope
plaited of grass and fastened to a tree. But when he had got down,
she unfastened the rope; so he fell into the river, and was swept
away by it, as its current was strong. And he was carried an enormous
distance by the river, and flung up on the bank near a certain city,
for his merits preserved his life. Then he climbed up on to the firm
ground, and rested under a tree, as he was fatigued by his immersion
in the water, and thought over the wicked behaviour of his wife. Now
it happened that at that time the king of that city had just died,
and in that country there was an immemorial custom, that an auspicious
elephant was driven about by the citizens, and any man, that he took
up with his trunk and placed on his back, was anointed king. [134]
The elephant, wandering about, came near the merchant's son, and, as
if he were Providence pleased with his self-control, took him up, and
put him on his back. Then the merchant's son, who was an incarnation
of a portion of a Bodhisattva, was immediately taken to the city and
anointed king by the people. When he had obtained the crown, he did
not associate with charming women of coquettish behaviour, but held
converse with the virtues of compassion, cheerfulness and patience.

And his wife wandered about hither and thither, carrying that
maimed man, who was her paramour, on her back, [135] without fear
of her husband, whom she supposed to have been swept away by the
river. And she begged from village to village, and city to city,
saying, "This husband of mine has had his hands and feet cut off by
his enemies; I am a devoted wife and support him by begging, so give
me alms. At last she reached the town in which that husband of hers
was king. She begged there in the same way, and, as she was honoured
by the citizens as a devoted wife the fame of her virtue reached
the ears of the king. And the king had her summoned, with the maimed
man on her back, and, when she came near, he recognized her and said;
"Are you that devoted wife?" And the wicked woman, not recognizing her
husband, when surrounded by the splendour of the kingly office, said,
"I am that devoted wife, your Majesty." Then that incarnation of a
Bodhisattva laughed, and said; "I too have had practical experience of
your wifely devotion. How comes it that, though I your own husband,
who possess hands and feet, could not tame you, even by giving you
my own flesh and blood, which you kept feeding on like an ogress in
human form, this maimed fellow, though defective in his limbs, has
been able to tame you and make you his beast of burden? Did you carry
on your back your innocent husband, whom you threw into the river? It
is owing to that deed that you have to carry and support this maimed
man." When her husband in these words revealed her past conduct, she
recognized him, and fainting from fear, became like a painted or dead
woman. The ministers in their curiosity said, "Tell us, king, what this
means." Then the king told them the whole story. And the ministers,
when they heard that she had conspired against her husband's life,
cut off her nose and ears, and branded her, and banished her from
the country with the maimed man. And in this matter Fate shewed a
becoming combination, for it united a woman without nose and ears
with a man without hands and feet, and a man who was an incarnation
of a portion of a Bodhisattva, with the splendour of royalty.

"Thus the way of woman's heart, which is a thing full of hate,
indiscriminating, prone to the base, is difficult to fathom. And
thus good fortune comes spontaneous and unexpected, as if pleased
with them, to those of noble soul, who do not swerve from virtue and
who conquer anger." When the minister Gomukha had told this tale,
he proceeded to relate the following story.



Story of the grateful animals and the ungrateful woman. [136]

There was a certain man of noble soul, who was an incarnation of
a portion of a Bodhisattva, whose heart was melted by compassion
only, who had built a hut in a forest and lived there, performing
austerities. He, while living there, by his power rescued living
beings in distress and Pisáehas, and others he gratified by presents
of water and jewels. One day, as he was roaming about in the wood to
assist others, he saw a great well and looked into it. And a woman,
who was in it, said to him in a loud voice; "Noble sir, here are
four of us; myself a woman, a lion, and a golden-crested bird, and a
snake, fallen into this well in the night; so take us out; have mercy
upon us." When he heard this, he said, "Granted that you three fell
in because the darkness made it impossible for you to see your way,
but how did the bird fall in?" The woman answered him, "It fell in by
being caught in a fowler's net." Then the ascetic tried to lift them
out by the supernatural power of his asceticism, but he could not; on
the contrary, his power was gone. He reflected, "Surely this woman is
a sinner, and owing to my having conversed with her, my power is gone
from me. So I will use other means in this case." Then he plaited a
rope of grass, and so drew them all four up out of the well, and they
praised him. And in his astonishment he said to the lion, the bird,
and the snake; "Tell me, how come you to have articulate voice, and
what is your history?" Then the lion said, "We have articulate speech
and we remember our former births, and we are mutual enemies; hear our
stories in turns." So the lion began to tell his own story as follows:



The lion's story.

There is a splendid city on the Himálayas, called Vaidúryasringa; and
in it there is a prince of the Vidyádharas named Padmavesa, and to him
a son was born named Vajravega. That Vajravega, while he dwelt in the
world of the Vidyádharas, being a vain-glorious person, quarrelled
with any body and every body, confiding in his courage. His father
ordered him to desist, but he paid no attention to his command. Then
his father cursed him, saying, "Fall into the world of mortals." Then
his arrogance was extinguished, and his knowledge left him, and
smitten with the curse he wept, and asked his father to name a time
when it should end. Then his father Padmavega thought a little, and
said immediately; "You shall become a Bráhman's son on the earth,
and display this arrogance once more, and by your father's curse you
shall become a lion and fall into a well. And a man of noble character,
out of compassion, shall draw you out, and when you have recompensed
him in his calamity, you shall be delivered from this curse." This
was the termination of the curse which his father appointed for him.

Then Vajravega was born in Málava as Devaghosha, the son of Harighosha
a Bráhman. And in that birth also he fought with many, confiding
in his heroism, and his father said to him, "Do not go on in this
way quarrelling with every body." But he would not obey his father's
orders, so his father cursed him--"Become immediately a foolish lion,
over-confident in its strength." In consequence of this speech of
his father's, Devaghosha, that incarnation of a Vidyádhara, was again
born as a lion in this forest.

"Know that I am that lion. I was wandering about here at night, and as
chance would have it, I fell into this well; and you, noble sir, have
drawn me up out of it. So now I will depart, and, if you should fall
into any difficulty, remember me; I will do you a good turn and so get
released from my curse." After the lion had said this be went away,
and the golden-crested bird, being questioned by that Bodhisattva,
told his tale.



The golden-crested bird's story.

There is on the Himálayas a king of the Vidyádharas, named
Vajradanshtra. His queen gave birth to five daughters in
succession. And then the king propitiated Siva with austerities
and obtained a son, named Rajatadanshtra, whom he valued more than
life. His father, out of affection, bestowed the knowledge of the
sciences upon him when he was still a child, and he grew up, a feast
to the eyes of his relations.

One day he saw his eldest sister, by name Somaprabhá, playing upon
a pinjara. In his childishness he kept begging for the pinjara,
saying, "Give it me, I too want to play on it." And when she would
not give it him, in his flightiness he seized the pinjara, and
flew up to heaven with it in the form of a bird. Then his sister
cursed him, saying;--"Since you have taken my pinjara from me by
force, and flown away with it, you shall become a bird with a golden
crest." When Rajatadanshtra heard this, he fell at his sister's feet,
and entreated her to fix a time for his curse to end, and she said,
"When, foolish boy, you fall, in your bird-form, into a blind well,
and a certain merciful person draws you out, and you do him a service
in return, then you shall be released from this curse." When she had
said this to her brother, he was born as a bird with a golden crest.

"I am that same golden-crested bird, that fell into this pit
in the night, and have now been drawn out by you, so now I will
depart. Remember me when you fall into calamity, for by doing you a
service in return I shall be released from my curse." When the bird
had said this, he departed. Then the snake, being questioned by that
Bodhisattva, told his story to that great-souled one.



The snake's story.

Formerly I was the son of a hermit in the hermitage of Kasyapa. And
I had a companion there who was also the son of a hermit. And one
day my friend went down into the lake to bathe, and I remained on
the bank. And while I was there, I saw a serpent come with three
heads. And, in order to terrify that friend of mine in fun, I fixed
the serpent immoveable on the bank, opposite to where he was, by the
power of a spell. My friend got through his bathing in a moment, and
came to the bank, and unexpectedly seeing that great serpent there,
he was terrified and fainted. After some time I brought my friend
round again, but he, finding out by meditation that I had terrified
him in this way, became angry, and cursed me, saying, "Go and become
a similar great snake with three crests." Then I entreated him to fix
an end to my curse, and he said,--"When, in your serpent condition,
you fall into a well, and at a critical moment do a service to the
man who pulls you out, then you shall be freed from your curse."

"After he had said this, he departed, and I became a serpent, and now
you have drawn me out of the well; so now I will depart. And when
you think of me I will come; and by doing you a service I shall be
released from my curse."

When the snake had said this, he departed, and the woman told her
story.



The woman's story.

I am the wife of a young Kshatriya in the king's employ,
a man in the bloom of youth, brave, generous, handsome, and
high-minded. Nevertheless I was wicked enough to enter into an intrigue
with another man. When my husband found it out, he determined to
punish me. And I heard of this from my confidante, and that moment
I fled, and entered this wood at night, and fell into this well,
and was dragged out by you.

"And thanks to your kindness I will now go and maintain myself
somewhere. May a day come when I shall be able to requite your
goodness."

When the sinful woman had said this to the Bodhisattva, she went to
the town of a king named Gotravardhana. She obtained an interview,
with him, and remained among his attendants, in the capacity of maid
to the king's principal queen. But because that Bodhisattva talked
with that woman, he lost his power, and could not procure fruits and
roots and things of that kind. Then, being exhausted with hunger and
thirst, he first thought of the lion. And, when he thought of him,
he came and fed him with the flesh of deer, [137] and in a short time
he restored him to his former health with their flesh; and then the
lion said, "My curse is at an end, I will depart." When he had said
this, the Bodhisattva gave him leave to depart, and the lion became
a Vidyádhara and went to his own place.

Then that incarnation of a portion of a Bodhisattva, being again
exhausted by want of food, thought upon that golden-crested bird,
and he came, when thought of by him. And when he told the bird of
his sufferings, the bird went and brought a casket full of jewels
[138] and gave it him, and said, "This wealth will support you for
ever, and so my curse has come to an end, now I depart; may you enjoy
happiness!" When he had said this, he became a young Vidyádhara prince,
and went through the air to his own world, and received the kingdom
from his father. And the Bodhisattva, as he was wandering about to
sell the jewels, reached that city, where the woman was living whom
he had rescued from the well. And he deposited those jewels in an
out-of-the-way house belonging to an old Bráhman woman, and went to the
market, and on the way he saw coming towards him the very woman whom
he had saved from the well, and the woman saw him. And the two fell
into a conversation, and in the course of it the woman told him of her
position about the person of the queen. And she asked him about his own
adventures: so the confiding man told her how the golden-crested bird
had given him the jewels. And he took her and shewed her the jewels
in the house of the old woman, and the wicked woman went and told her
mistress the queen of it. Now it happened that the golden-crested bird
had managed artfully to steal this casket of jewels from the interior
of the queen's palace, before her eyes. And when the queen heard
from the mouth of that woman, who knew the facts, that the casket
had arrived in the city, she informed the king. And the king had
the Bodhisattva pointed out by that wicked woman, and brought by his
servants as a prisoner from that house with the ornaments. And after
he had asked him the circumstances, though he believed his account,
he not only took the ornaments from him, but he put him in prison.

Then the Bodhisattva, terrified at being put in prison, thought upon
the snake, who was an incarnation of the hermit's son, and the snake
came to him. And when the snake had seen him, and enquired what his
need was, he said to the good man, "I will go and coil round the king
from his head to his feet. [139] And I will not let him go until
I am told to do so by you. And you must say here, in the prison,
'I will deliver the king from the serpent.' And when you come and
give me the order, I will let the king go. And when I let him go, he
will give you half his kingdom." After he had said this, the snake
went and coiled round the king, and placed his three hoods on his
head. And the people began to cry out, "Alas! the king is bitten by
a snake." Then the Bodhisattva said, "I will deliver the king from
this snake." And the king's servants, having heard this, informed
him. Thereupon the king, who was in the grasp of the snake, had the
Bodhisattva summoned, and said to him, "If you deliver me from this
snake, I will give you half my kingdom, and these my ministers are your
guarantees that I will keep my promise." When his ministers heard this,
they said,--"Certainly," and then the Bodhisattva said to that snake,
"Let the king go at once." Then the snake let the king go, and the
king gave half his kingdom to that Bodhisattva, and thus he became
prosperous in a moment. And the serpent, as its curse was at an end,
became a young hermit, and he told his story in the presence of the
court and went back to his hermitage.

"Thus you see that good fortune certainly befalls those of good
dispositions. And transgression brings suffering even upon the
great. And the mind of women cannot be relied upon, it is not touched
even by such a service as rescue from death; so what other benefit
can move them?" When Gomukha had told this tale, he said to the king
of Vatsa, "Listen, I will tell you some more stories of fools."



Story of the Buddhist monk who was bitten by a dog.

There was in a certain Buddhist monastery a Buddhist monk of dull
intellect. One day, as he was walking in the high road, he was bitten
by a dog on the knee. And when he had been thus bitten, he returned to
his monastery, and thus reflected,--"Every body, one after another,
will ask me, 'What has happened to your knee?' And what a time it
will take me to inform them all one by one! So I will make use of
an artifice to let them all know at once." Having thus reflected, he
quickly went to the top of the monastery, and taking the stick with
which the gong was struck, he sounded the gong. And the mendicant
monks, hearing it, came together in astonishment, and said to him,
"Why do you without cause sound the gong at the wrong time?" He
answered the mendicants, at the same time shewing them his knee,
"The fact is, a dog has bitten my knee, so I called you together,
thinking that it would take a long time for me to tell each of you
separately such a long story: so hear it all of you now, and look
at my knee." Then all the mendicants laughed till their sides ached,
and said, "What a great fuss he has made about a very small matter!"

"You have heard of the foolish Buddhist monk, now hear of the foolish
Takka."



Story of the man who submitted to be burnt alive sooner than share
his food with a guest.

There lived somewhere a rich but foolish Takka, [140] who was a
miser. And he and his wife were always eating barley-meal without
salt. And he never learned to know the taste of any other food. Once
Providence instigated him to say to his wife, "I have conceived
a desire for a milk-pudding: cook me one to-day." His wife said,
"I will," and set about cooking the pudding, and the Takka remained
in doors concealed, taking to his bed, for fear some one should see
him and drop in on him as a guest.

In the meanwhile a friend of his, a Takka who was fond of mischief,
came there, and asked his wife where her husband was. And she,
without giving an answer, went in to her husband, and told him of
the arrival of his friend. And he, lying on the bed, said to her;
"Sit down here, and remain weeping and clinging to my feet, and say
to my friend, 'My husband is dead.' [141] When he is gone, we will
eat this pudding happily together." When he gave her this order, she
began to weep, and the friend came in, and said to her, "What is the
matter?" She said to him "Look, my husband is dead." But he reflected,
"I saw her a moment ago happy enough cooking a pudding. How comes it
that her husband is now dead, though he has had no illness? The two
things are incompatible. No doubt the two have invented this fiction
because they saw I had come as a guest. So I will not go." Thereupon
the mischievous fellow sat down, and began crying out, "Alas my
friend! Alas, my friend!" Then his relations, hearing the lamentation,
came in and prepared to take that silly Takka to the burning-place,
for he still continued to counterfeit death. But his wife came to him
and whispered in his ear, "Jump up, before these relations take you
off to the pyre and burn you." But the foolish man answered his wife
in a whisper, "No! that will never do, for this cunning Takka wishes
to eat my pudding. I cannot get up, for it was on his arrival that I
died. For to people like me the contemplation of one's possessions is
dearer than life." Then that wicked friend and his relations carried
him out, but he remained immoveable, even while he was being burned,
and kept silence till he died. So the foolish man sacrificed his life
but saved his pudding, and others enjoyed at ease the wealth he had
acquired with much toil.

"You have heard the story of the miser, now hear the story of the
foolish pupils and the cat."



Story of the foolish teacher, the foolish pupils, and the cat.

In Ujjayiní there lived in a convent a foolish teacher. And he could
not sleep, because mice troubled him at night. And wearied with
this infliction, he told the whole story to a friend. The friend,
who was a Bráhman, said to that teacher, "You must set up a cat,
it will eat the mice." The teacher said, "What sort of creature is
a cat? Where can one be found? I never came across one." When the
teacher said this, the friend replied, "Its eyes are like glass,
its colour is a brownish grey, it has a hairy skin on its back, and
it wanders about in roads. So, my friend, you must quickly discover a
cat by these signs and have one brought." After his friend had said
this, he went home. Then that foolish teacher said to his pupils,
"You have been present and heard all the distinguishing marks of
a cat. So look about for a cat, such as you have heard described,
in the roads here." Accordingly the pupils went and searched hither
and thither, but they did not find a cat anywhere.

Then at last they saw a Bráhman boy coming from the opening of a road,
his eyes were like glass, his colour brownish grey, and he wore on his
back a hairy antelope-skin. And when they saw him they said, "Here we
have got the cat according to the description." So they seized him,
and took him to their teacher. Their teacher also observed that he
had got the characteristics mentioned by his friend; so he placed
him in the convent at night. And the silly boy himself believed that
he was a cat, when he heard the description that those fools gave of
the animal. Now it happened that the silly boy was a pupil of that
Bráhman, who out of friendship gave that teacher the description of
the cat. And that Bráhman came in the morning, and, seeing the boy in
the convent, said to those fools, "Who brought this fellow here?" The
teacher and his foolish pupils answered, "We brought him here as a
cat, according to the description which we heard from you." Then the
Bráhman laughed and said, "There is considerable difference between
a stupid human being, and a cat, which is an animal with four feet
and a tail." When the foolish fellows heard this, they let the boy
go and said, "So let us go and search again for a cat such as has
been now described to us." And the people laughed at those fools.

"Ignorance makes every one ridiculous. You have heard of the fools
and their cat, now hear the story of another set of fools."



Story of the fools and the bull of Siva.

There was in a certain convent, full of fools, a man who was the
greatest fool of the lot. He once heard in a treatise on law, which
was being read out, that a man, who has a tank made, gains a great
reward in the next world. Then, as he had a large fortune, he had
made a large tank full of water, at no great distance from his own
convent. One day this prince of fools went to take a look at that tank
of his, and perceived that the sand had been scratched up by some
creature. The next day too he came, and saw that the bank had been
torn up in another part of that tank, and being quite astonished,
he said to himself, "I will watch here to-morrow the whole day,
beginning in the early morning, and I will find out what creature
it is that does this." After he had formed this resolution, he came
there early next morning, and watched, until at last he saw a bull
descend from heaven and plough up the bank with its horns. He thought,
"This is a heavenly bull, so why should I not go to heaven with
it?" And he went up to the bull, and with both his hands laid hold of
the tail behind. Then the holy bull lifted up with the utmost force
the foolish man, who was clinging to its tail, and carried him in a
moment to its home in Kailása. There the foolish man lived for some
time in great comfort, feasting on heavenly dainties, sweetmeats, and
other things which he obtained. And seeing that the bull kept going
and returning, that king of fools, bewildered by destiny, thought,
"I will go down clinging to the tail of the bull and see my friends,
and after I have told them this wonderful tale, I will return in the
same way." Having formed this resolution, the fool went and clung to
the tail of the bull one day when it was setting out, and so returned
to the surface of the earth.

When he returned to the convent, the other blockheads, who were there,
embraced him, and asked him where he had been, and he told them. Then
all those foolish men, having heard the tale of his adventures,
made this petition to him; "Be kind and take us also there, enable
us also to feast on sweetmeats." He consented, and told them his plan
for doing it, and the next day he led them to the border of the tank
and the bull came there. And the principal fool seized the tail of
the bull with his two hands, and another took hold of his feet, and
a third in turn took hold of his. So, when they had formed a chain by
clinging on to one another's feet, the bull flew rapidly up into the
air. And while the bull was going along, with all the fools clinging
to his tail, it happened that one of the fools said to the principal
fool; "Tell us now, to satisfy our curiosity; how large were those
sweetmeats which you ate, of which a never-failing supply can be
obtained in heaven?" Then the leader had his attention diverted from
the business in hand, and quickly joined his hands together like the
cup of a lotus, and exclaimed in answer, "So big." But in so doing he
let go the tail of the bull. And accordingly he and all those others
fell from heaven, and were killed, and the bull returned to Kailása;
but the people, who saw it, were much amused. [142]

"Fools do themselves an injury by asking questions and giving answers
without reflection. You have heard about the fools who flew through
the air; hear about this other fool."



Story of the fool who asked his way to the village.

A certain fool, while going to another village, forgot the way. And
when he asked his way, the people said to him; "Take the path that
goes up by the tree on the bank of the river."

Then the fool went and got on the trunk of that tree, and said
to himself, "The men told me that my way lay up the trunk of this
tree." And as he went on climbing up it, the bough at the end bent
with his weight, and it was all he could do to avoid falling by
clinging to it.

While he was clinging to it, there came that way an elephant, that had
been drinking water, with his driver on his back. When the fool, who
was clinging to the tree, saw him, he said with humble voice to that
elephant-driver, "Great Sir, take me down." And the elephant-driver
let go the elephant-hook, and laid hold of the man by the feet with
both his hands, to take him down from the tree. In the meanwhile the
elephant went on, and the elephant-driver found himself clinging to the
feet of that fool, who was clinging to the end of the tree. Then the
fool said urgently to the elephant-driver, "Sing something quickly,
if you know anything, in order that the people may hear, and come
here at once to take us down. Otherwise we shall fall, and the river
will carry us away." When the elephant-driver had been thus appealed
to by him, he sang so sweetly that the fool was much pleased. And in
his desire to applaud him properly, he forgot what he was about, and
let go his hold of the tree, and prepared to clap him with both his
hands. Immediately he and the elephant-driver fell into the river and
were drowned, for association with fools brings prosperity to no man.

After Gomukha had told this story, he went on to tell that of
Hiranyáksha.



Story of Hiranyáksha and Mrigánkalekhá.

There is in the lap of the Himálayas a country called Kasmíra,
which is the very crest-jewel of the earth, the home of sciences and
virtue. In it there was a town, named Hiranyapura, and there reigned
in it a king, named Kanakáksha. And there was born to that king,
owing to his having propitiated Siva, a son, named Hiranyáksha,
by his wife Ratnaprabhá. The prince was one day playing at ball,
and he purposely managed to strike with the ball a female ascetic
who came that way. That female ascetic possessing supernatural
powers, who had overcome the passion of anger, laughed and said
to Hiranyáksha, without altering the expression of her face, [143]
"If your youth and other qualities make you so insolent, what will
you become if you obtain Mrigánkalekhá for a wife." [144] When the
prince heard that, he propitiated the female ascetic and said to her;
"Who is this Mrigánkalekhá? tell me, reverend madam." Then she said to
him, "There is a glorious king of the Vidyádharas on the Himálayas,
named Sasitejas. He has a beautiful daughter, named Mrigánkalekhá,
whose loveliness keeps the princes of the Vidyádharas awake at
night. And she will be a fitting wife for you, and you will be a
suitable husband for her." When the female ascetic, who possessed
supernatural power, said this to Hiranyáksha, he replied, "Tell me,
reverend mother, how she is to be obtained." Thereupon she said,
"I will go and find out how she is affected towards you, by talking
about you. And then I will come and take you there. And you will find
me to-morrow in the temple of the god here, named Amaresa, for I come
here every day to worship him." After the female ascetic had said this,
she went through the air by her supernatural power to the Himálayas,
to visit that Mrigánkalekhá. Then she praised to her so artfully
the good qualities of Hiranyáksha, that the celestial maiden became
very much in love with him, and said to her, "If, reverend mother,
I cannot manage to obtain a husband of this kind, of what use to me
is this my purposeless life?" So the emotion of love was produced in
Mrigánkalekhá, and she spent the day in talking about him, and passed
the night with that female ascetic. In the meanwhile Hiranyáksha spent
the day in thinking of her, and with difficulty slept at night, but
towards the end of the night Párvatí said to him in a dream, "Thou
art a Vidyádhara, become a mortal by the curse of a hermit, and thou
shalt be delivered from it by the touch of the hand of this female
ascetic, and then thou shalt quickly marry this Mrigánkalekhá. Do not
be anxious about it, for she was thy wife in a former state." Having
said this, the goddess disappeared from his sight. And in the morning
the prince woke and rose up, and performed the auspicious ceremonies
of bathing and so on. Then he went and adored Amaresa and stood in
his presence, since it was there that the female ascetic had appointed
him a rendezvous.

In the meanwhile Mrigánkalekhá fell asleep with difficulty in her
own palace, and Párvatí said to her in a dream, "Do not grieve,
the curse of Hiranyáksha is at an end, and he will again become a
Vidyádhara by the touch of the hand of the female ascetic, and thou
shalt have him once more for a husband." When the goddess had said
this, she disappeared, and in the morning Mrigánkalekhá woke up and
told the female ascetic her dream. And the holy ascetic returned
to the earth, and said to Hiranyáksha, who was in the temenos of
Amaresa, "Come to the world of Vidyádharas." When she said this,
he bent before her, and she took him up in her arms, and flew up
with him to heaven. Then Hiranyáksha's curse came to an end, and
he became a prince of the Vidyádharas, and he remembered his former
birth, and said to the female ascetic, "Know that I was a king of the
Vidyádharas named Amritatejas in a city named Vajrakúta. And long ago I
was cursed by a hermit, angry because I had treated him with neglect,
and I was doomed to live in the world of mortals until touched by
your hand. And my wife, who then abandoned the body because I had
been cursed, has now been born again as Mrigánkalekhá, and so has
before been loved by me. And now I will go with you and obtain her
once more, for I have been purified by the touch of your hand, and
my curse is at an end." So said Amritatejas, the Vidyádhara prince,
as he travelled through the air with that female ascetic to the
Himálayas. There he saw Mrigánkalekhá in a garden, and she saw him
coming, as he had been described by the female ascetic. Wonderful to
say, these lovers first entered one another's minds by the ears, and
now they entered them by the eyes, without ever having gone out again.

Then that outspoken female ascetic said to Mrigánkalekhá, "Tell this
to your father with a view to your marriage." She instantly went,
with a face downcast from modesty, and informed her father of all
through her confidante. And it happened that her father also had been
told how to act by Párvatí in a dream, so he received Amritatejas
into his palace with all due honour. And he bestowed Mrigánkalekhá
on him with the prescribed ceremonies, and after he was married, he
went to the city of Vajrakúta. There he got back his kingdom as well
as his wife, and he had his father Kanakáksha brought there, by means
of the holy female ascetic, as he was a mortal, and he gratified him
with heavenly enjoyments and sent him back again to earth, and long
enjoyed his prosperity with Mrigánkalekhá.

"So you see that the destiny fixed for any creature in this world,
by works in a former birth, falls as it were before his feet,
and he attains it with ease, though apparently unattainable." When
Naraváhanadatta heard this tale of Gomukha's, he was enabled to sleep
that night, though pining for Saktiyasas.






CHAPTER LXVI.


The next night Gomukha told the following story to Naraváhanadatta
to amuse him.

In the holy place of Siva, called Dhanesvara, there lived long ago
a great hermit, who was waited upon by many pupils. He once said
to his pupils, "If any one of you has seen or heard in his life a
strange occurrence of any kind, let him relate it." When the hermit
said this, a pupil said to him, "Listen, I will tell a strange story
which I once heard."



Story of the mendicant who travelled from Kasmíra to Pátaliputra.

There is in Kasmíra a famous holy place, sacred to Siva, called
Vijaya. In it there lived a certain mendicant, who was proud of his
knowledge. He worshipped Siva, and prayed--"May I be always victorious
in controversy,"--and thereupon he set out for Pátaliputra to exhibit
his skill in dispute. And on the way he passed forests, rivers,
and mountains, and having reached a certain forest, he became tired,
and rested under a tree. And immediately he saw, as he was refreshing
himself in the cool breeze of the tank, a student of religion, who had
come there dusty with a long journey, with his staff and water-pot
in his hand. When he sat down, the wandering mendicant asked him
whence he came and whither he was going. The student of religion
answered, "I come from that seat of learning Pátaliputra, and I am
going to Kasmíra to conquer the Pandits there in discussion. When the
mendicant heard this speech of the religious student's, he thought,
"If I cannot conquer this one man who has left Pátaliputra, how shall
I manage to go and overcome the many who remain there?"

So reflecting, he began to reproach that religious student, "Tell me,
religious student, what is the meaning of this inconsistent conduct
on your part? How comes it that you are at the same time a religious
student, eager for liberation, and a man afflicted with the madness of
disputatiousness? Do you seek to be delivered from the world by binding
yourself with the conceit of controversy? You are quenching heat with
fire, and removing the feeling of cold with snow; you are trying to
cross the sea on a boat of stone; you are striving to put out a fire
by fanning it. The virtue of Bráhmans is patience, that of Kshatriyas
is the rescue of the distressed; the characteristic quality of one who
desires liberation is quietism; disputatiousness is said to be the
characteristic of Rákshasas. Therefore a man who desires liberation
must be of a quiet temperament, putting away the pain arising from
alternations of opposites, fearing the hindrances of the world. So
cut down with the axe of quietism this tree of mundane existence,
and do not water it with the water of controversial conceit." When he
said this to the religious student, he was pleased, and bowed humbly
before him, and saying, "Be you my spiritual guide,"--he departed by
the way that he came. And the mendicant remained, laughing, where
he was, at the foot of the tree, and then he heard from within it
the conversation of a Yaksha, who was joking with his wife. [145]
And while the mendicant was listening, the Yaksha in sport struck
his wife with a garland of flowers, and she, like a cunning female,
pretended that she was dead, and immediately her attendants raised a
cry of grief. And after a long time she opened her eyes, as if her
life had returned to her. Then the Yaksha her husband said to her;
"What have you seen?" Then she told the following invented story;
"When you struck me with the garland, I saw a black man come, with
a noose in his hand, with flaming eyes, tall, with upstanding hair,
terrible, darkening the whole horizon with his shadow. The ruffian took
me to the abode of Yama, but his officers there turned him back, and
made him let me go." When the Yakshiní said this, the Yaksha laughed,
and said to her, "O dear! women cannot be free from deception in any
thing that they do. Who ever died from being struck with flowers? Who
ever returned from the house of Yama? You silly woman, you have
imitated the tricks of the women of Pátaliputra."



Story of the wife of king Sinháksha, and the wives of his principal
courtiers.

For in that city there is a king named Sinháksha: and his wife, taking
with her the wives of his minister, commander-in-chief, chaplain,
and physician, went once on the thirteenth day of the white fortnight
to make a pilgrimage to the shrine of Sarasvatí, the protecting deity
of that land. There they, queen and all, met on the way sick persons,
humpbacked, blind, and lame, and were thus implored by them, "Give
medicine to us wretched diseased men, in order that we may be delivered
from our infirmity; have mercy upon the distressed. For this world
is wavering as a wave of the sea, transient as a flash of lightning,
and its beauty is short-lived like that of a religious festival. So
in this unreal world the only real thing is mercy to the wretched,
and charity to the poor; it is only the virtuous person that can
be said truly to live. What is the use of giving to the rich or the
comfortable? [146] What does the cold moon profit a shivering man,
or what is the use of a cloud when winter has arrived? So rescue us
miserable creatures from the affliction of sickness."

When the queen and the other ladies had been thus supplicated by these
diseased persons, they said to one another; "These poor afflicted men
say what is true, and to the point, so we must endeavour to restore
them to health even at the cost of all our substance." Then they
worshipped the goddess, and each took one of those sick people to
her own house, and, urging on their husbands, they had them treated
with the potent drugs of Mahádeví, and they never left off watching
them. And from being always with them, they fell in love with them,
and became so attached to them that they thought of nothing else in
the world. And their minds, bewildered with love, never reflected what
a difference there was between these wretched sick men and their own
husbands, the king and his chief courtiers.

Then their husbands remarked that they had on them the marks of
scratches and bites, due to their surprising intimacy with these
invalids. And the king, the commander-in-chief, the minister, the
chaplain, and the physician talked of this to one another without
reserve, but not without anxiety. Then the king said to the others,
"You keep quiet at present; I will question my wife dexterously." So
he dismissed them, and went to his private apartments, and assuming an
expression of affectionate anxiety, he said to his wife, "Who bit you
on the lower lip? Who scratched you on the breast? If you tell me the
truth, it will be well with you, but not otherwise." When the queen was
thus questioned by the king, she told him a fictitious tale, saying,
"Ill-fated that I am, I must tell this wonder, though it ought not to
be revealed. Every night a man, with a discus and club, comes out of
the painted wall, and does this to me, and disappears into it in the
morning. And though you, my husband, are alive, he reduces to this
state my body, which not even the sun or moon has ever beheld." When
the foolish king heard this story of hers, told with much semblance
of grief, he believed it, and thought that it was all a trick played
by Vishnu. And he told it to the minister and his other servants,
and they, like blockheads, also believed that their wives had been
visited by Vishnu, and held their tongues.

"In this way wicked and cunning females, of bad character, by
concurring in one impossible story, deceive silly people, but I am
not such a fool as to be taken in." The Yaksha by saying this covered
his wife with confusion. And the mendicant at the foot of the tree
heard it all. Then the mendicant folded his hands, and said to that
Yaksha, "Reverend sir, I have arrived at your hermitage, and now
I throw myself on your protection. So pardon my sin in overhearing
what you have been saying." By thus speaking the truth he gained the
good will of the Yaksha. And the Yaksha said to him, "I am a Yaksha,
Sarvasthánagaváta by name, and I am pleased with you. So choose a
boon." Then the mendicant said to the Yaksha; "Let this be my boon that
you will not be angry with this wife of yours." Then the Yaksha said,
"I am exceedingly pleased with you. This boon is already granted,
so choose another." Then the mendicant said, "Then this is my second
petition, that from this day forward you and your wife will look
upon me as a son." When the Yaksha heard this, he immediately became
visible to him with his wife, and said, "I consent, my son, we regard
you as our own child. And owing to our favour you shall never suffer
calamity. And you shall be invincible in disputation, altercation,
and gambling." When the Yaksha had said this, he disappeared, and the
mendicant worshipped him, and after spending the night there, he went
on to Pátaliputra. Then he announced to king Sinháksha, by the mouth
of the doorkeeper, that he was a disputant come from Kasmíra. And
the king permitted him to enter the hall of assembly, and there he
tauntingly challenged the learned men to dispute with him. And after he
had conquered them all by virtue of the boon of the Yaksha, he again
taunted them in the presence of the king in these words: "I ask you
to explain this. What is the meaning of this statement, 'A man with a
discus and mace comes out of the painted wall, and bites my lower lip,
and scratches my chest, and then disappears in the wall again.' Give
me an answer." [147] When the learned men heard his riddle, as they
did not know the real reference, they gave no answer, but looked at
one another's faces. Then the king Sinháksha himself said to him,
"Explain to us yourself the meaning of what you said." Thereupon
the mendicant told the king of the deceitful behaviour of his wife,
which he had heard about from the Yaksha. And he said to the king,
"So a man should never become attached to women, which will only
result in his knowing wickedness." The king was delighted with the
mendicant, and wished to give him his kingdom. But the mendicant,
who was ardently attached to his own native land, would not take
it. Then the king honoured him with a rich present of jewels. The
mendicant took the jewels and returned to his native land of Kasmíra,
and there by the favour of the Yaksha he lived in great comfort.

When Gomukha had said this, he remarked, "So strange are these actions
of bad women, and the dispensations of Providence, and the conduct of
mankind. Now hear this story of another woman who killed eleven. [148]



Story of the woman who had eleven husbands.

There was in Málava a certain householder, who lived in a village. He
had born to him a daughter, who had two or three elder brothers. Now,
as soon as she was born her mother died, and a few days after one of
the man's sons died. And then his brother was gored by an ox and died
of it. So the householder named his daughter, "Three-slayer," because
owing to the birth of this ill-omened girl three had met their death.

In course of time she grew up, and then the son of a rich man, who
lived in that village, asked her in marriage, and her father gave
her to him with the usual rejoicings. She lived for some time with
that husband, but he soon died. In a few days the fickle woman took
another husband. And the second husband met his death in a short
time. Then, led astray by her youthful feelings, she took a third
husband. And the third husband of this husband-slayer died like the
others. In this way she lost ten husbands in succession. So she got
affixed to her by way of ridicule the name of "Ten-slayer." Then
her father was ashamed and would not let her take another husband,
and she remained in her father's house avoided by people. But one day
a handsome young traveller entered it, and was allowed by her father
to stop as his guest for a night. When Ten-slayer saw him, she fell
in love with him, and when he looked at that charming young woman,
he too was captivated. Then Love robbed her of her modesty, and she
said to her father, "I choose this traveller as one husband more;
if he dies I will then take a vow." She said this in the hearing of
the traveller, but her father answered her, "Do not think of such a
thing, it is too disgraceful; you have lost ten husbands, and if this
one dies too, people will laugh consumedly. When the traveller heard
this, he abandoned all reserve, and said, "No chance of my dying,
I have lost ten wives one after another. So we are on a par; I swear
that it is so by the touch of the feet of Siva." When the traveller
said this, every body was astonished. And the villagers assembled, and
with one consent gave permission to Ten-slayer to marry the traveller,
and she took him for her husband. And she lived some time with him,
but at last he was seized with an ague and died. Then she was called
"Eleven-slayer," and even the stones could not help laughing at her:
so she betook herself in despondency to the bank of the Ganges and
lived the life of an ascetic.



The story of the man, who, thanks to Durgá, had always one ox.

When Gomukha had told this amusing story, he went on to say--"Hear
also the story of the man who subsisted on one ox."

There was a certain poor householder in a certain village; and the
only wealth he had in his house was one ox. He was so mean-spirited
that, though his family was on the point of perishing for want of food,
and he himself had to fast, he could not make up his mind to part with
that ox. But he went to the shrine of Durgá in the Vindhya hills, and
throwing himself down on a bed of darbha-grass, he performed asceticism
without taking food, in order that he might obtain wealth. The goddess
said to him in a dream, "Rise up; your wealth shall always consist of
one ox, and by selling it you shall live in perpetual comfort." So
the next morning he woke, and got up, took some food, and returned
to his house. But even then he had not strength of mind to sell that
ox, for he thought that, if he sold it, he would have nothing left
in the world, and be unable to live. Then, as, thin with fasting,
he told his dream with reference to the command of the goddess, a
certain intelligent friend said to him, "The goddess told you that
you should always have one ox, and that you should live by selling it,
so why did you not, foolish man, obey the command of the goddess? So,
sell this ox, and support your family. When you have sold this one,
you will get another, and then another." The villager, on receiving
this suggestion from his friend, did so. And he received ox after ox,
and lived in perpetual comfort by selling them.

"So you see, Destiny produces fruit for every man according to his
resolution. So a man should be resolute; good fortune does not select
for favour a man wanting in resolution. Hear now this story of the
cunning rogue who passed himself off as a minister."



Story of the rogue who managed to acquire wealth by speaking to the
king. [149]

There was a certain king in a city in the Dekkan. In that city there
was a rogue who lived by imposing upon others. And one day he said
to himself, being too ambitious to be satisfied with small gains;
"Of what use to me is this petty rascality, which only provides me
with subsistence? Why should I not do a stroke of business which would
bring me great prosperity?" Having thus reflected, he dressed himself
splendidly as a merchant, and went to the palace-gate and accosted
the warder. And he introduced him into the king's presence, and he
offered a complimentary gift, and said to the king, "I wish to speak
with your Majesty in private." The king was imposed upon by his dress,
and much influenced in his favour by the present, so he granted him a
private interview, and then the rogue said to him, "Will your Majesty
have the goodness every day, in the hall of assembly, to take me aside
for a moment in the sight of all, and speak to me in private? And as
an acknowledgment of that favour I will give your Majesty every day
five hundred dínárs, and I do not ask for any gift in return." When
the king heard that, he thought to himself, "What harm can it do? What
does he take away from me? On the contrary he is to give me dínárs
every day. What disgrace is there in carrying on a conversation with
a great merchant?" So the king consented, and did as he requested,
and the rogue gave the king the dínárs as he had promised, and the
people thought that he had obtained the position of a Cabinet Minister.

Now one day the rogue, while he was talking with the king, kept
looking again and again at the face of one official with a significant
expression. And after he came out, that official asked him why he
had looked at his face so, and the rogue was ready with this fiction;
"The king is angry because he supposes that you have been plundering
his realm. This is why I looked at your face, but I will appease
his anger." When the sham minister said this, the official went home
in a state of anxiety, and sent him a thousand gold pieces. And the
next day the rogue talked in the same way with the king, and then he
came out and said to the official, who came towards him; "I appeased
the king's anger against you with some judicious words. Cheer up;
I will now stand by you in all emergencies." Thus he artfully made
him his friend, and then dismissed him, and then the official waited
upon him with all kinds of presents.

Thus gradually this dexterous rogue, by means of his continual
conversations with the king, and by many artifices, extracted from the
officials, the subordinate monarchs, the Rájpúts, and the servants,
so much wealth, that he amassed altogether fifty millions of gold
pieces. Then the scoundrelly sham minister said in secret to the king,
"Though I have given you every day five hundred dínárs, nevertheless,
by the favour of your Highness, I have amassed fifty millions of
gold pieces. So have the goodness to accept of this gold. What have
I to do with it?" Then he told the king his whole stratagem. But it
was with difficulty that the king could be induced to take half the
money. Then he gave him the post of a Cabinet Minister, and the rogue,
having obtained riches and position, kept complimenting the people
with entertainments.

"Thus a wise man obtains great wealth without committing a very great
crime, and when he has gained the advantage, he atones for his fault
in the same way as a man who digs a well." Then Gomukha went on to
say to the prince; "Listen now to this one story, though you are
excited about your approaching marriage."



Story of Ratnarekhá and Lakshmísena.

There lived in a city, named Ratnákara, a king, named Buddhiprabha,
who was a very lion to the infuriated elephant-herd of his enemies, and
there was born to him by his queen, named Ratnarekhá, a daughter, named
Hemaprabhá, the most beautiful woman in the whole world. And since she
was a Vidyádharí, that had fallen to earth by a curse, she was fond
of amusing herself by swinging, on account of the pleasure that she
felt in recalling the impressions of her roaming through the air in
her former existence. Her father forbade her, being afraid that she
would fall, but she did not desist, so her father was angry and gave
her a slap. The princess was angry at receiving so great an indignity,
and wishing to retire to the forest, she went to a garden outside
the city, on the pretence of amusing herself. She made her servants
drunk with wine, and roaming on, she entered a dense tree-jungle,
and got out of their sight. And she went alone to a distant forest,
and there she built herself a hut, and remained feeding on roots and
fruits, engaged in the adoration of Siva. As for her father, he found
out that she had fled to some place or other, and made search for
her, but did not find her. Then he fell into great grief. And after
some time the king's grief abated a little, so he went out hunting to
distract his mind. And, as it happened, that king Buddhiprabha went
to that distant forest, in which his daughter Hemaprabhá was engaged
in ascetic practices. There the king saw her hut, and he went into it,
and unexpectedly beheld there his own daughter emaciated with ascetic
practices. And she, when she saw him, rose up at once and embraced
his feet, and her father embraced her with tears and seated her on
his lap. And seeing one another again after so long a separation,
they wept so that even the eyes of the deer in the forest gushed with
tears. Then the king at last comforted his daughter, and said to her,
"Why did you abandon, my daughter, the happiness of a palace, and act
thus? So come back to your mother, and give up this forest." When
her father said this to her, Hemaprabhá answered him, "I have been
commanded by the god to act thus. What choice have I in the matter? So
I will not return to the palace to indulge in pleasure, and I will
not abandon the joys of asceticism." When the king discovered from
this speech of hers that she would not abandon her intention, he had
a palace made for her in that very forest. And when he returned to
his capital, he sent her every day cooked food and wealth, for the
entertainment of her guests. And Hemaprabhá remained in the forest,
honouring her guests with wealth and jewels, while she lived herself
on roots and fruits.

Now one day there came to the hermitage of that princess a female
mendicant, who was roaming about, having observed a vow of chastity
from her earliest youth. This lady, who had been a mendicant from
her childhood, was honoured by Hemaprabhá, and when asked by her the
reason why she took the vow, she answered, "Once, when I was a girl,
I was shampooing my father's feet, and my eyes closed in sleep,
and I let my hands drop. Then my father gave me a kick, and said,
'Why do you go to sleep?' And I was so angry at that that I left his
house and became a mendicant." Then Hemaprabhá was so delighted with
the female mendicant, on account of the resemblance of her character
to her own, that she made her share her forest life. And one morning
she said to that friend; "My friend, I remember that I crossed in my
dreams a broad river, then I mounted a white elephant, after that
I ascended a mountain, and there I saw in a hermitage the holy god
Siva. And having obtained a lyre, I sang and played on it before him,
and then I saw a man of celestial appearance approach. When I saw
him, I flew up into the sky with you, and when I had seen so much,
I awoke, and lo! the night was at an end." When the friend heard
this, she said to Hemaprabhá, "Undoubtedly, auspicious girl, you
must be some heavenly being born on earth in consequence of a curse;
and this dream means that your curse is nearly at an end." When the
princess heard this speech of her friend's, she received it with joy.

And when the sun, the lamp of the world, had mounted high in
the heaven, there came there a certain prince on horseback. When
he saw Hemaprabhá dressed as an ascetic, he dismounted from his
horse, and conceiving admiration for her, he went and saluted her
respectfully. She, for her part, entertained him, and made him take a
seat, and feeling love for him, said, "Who are you, noble sir?" Then
the prince said, "Noble lady, there is a king of auspicious name,
called Pratápasena. He was once going through a course of asceticism
to propitiate Siva, with the view of obtaining a son. And that merciful
god appeared to him, and said, 'Thou shalt obtain one son, who shall be
an incarnation of a Vidyádhara, and he, when his curse is at an end,
shall return to his own world. And thou shalt have a second son, who
shall continue thy race and uphold thy realm.' When Siva said this
to him, he rose up in high spirits, and took food. Then he had one
son born to him, named Lakshmísena, and in course of time a second,
named Súrasena. Know, lovely one, that I am that same Lakshmísena,
and that to-day when I went out to hunt, my horse, swift as the wind,
ran away with me and brought me here." Then he asked her history,
and she told it him, and thereupon she remembered her former birth,
and was very much elated, and said to him, "Now that I have seen you, I
have remembered my birth and the sciences which I knew as a Vidyádharí,
[150] for I and this friend of mine here are both Vidyádharís, that
have been sent down to earth by a curse. And you were my husband,
and your minister was the husband of this friend of mine. And now
that curse of me and of my friend has lost its power. We shall all
meet again in the world of Vidyádharas." Then she and her friend
assumed divine forms and flew up to heaven, and went to their own
world. But Lakshmísena stood for a moment lost in wonder, and then
his minister arrived tracking his course. While the prince was
telling the whole story to him, king Buddhiprabha arrived, anxious
to see his daughter. When he could not see his daughter, but found
Lakshmísena there, he asked for news of her, and Lakshmísena told him
what had happened. Then Buddhiprabha was cast down, but Lakshmísena
and his minister remembered their former existence, their curse
having spent its force, and they went to their own world through
the air. He recovered his wife Hemaprabhá and returned with her,
and then taking leave of Buddhiprabha, he went to his own town. And
he went with his minister, who had recovered his wife, and told their
adventures to his father Pratápasena, who bestowed on him his kingdom
as his successor by right of birth. But he gave it to his younger
brother Súrasena, and returned to his own city in the country of the
Vidyádharas. There Lakshmísena, united with his consort Hemaprabhá,
and assisted by his minister, long enjoyed the delights of sovereignty
over the Vidyádharas.

By hearing these stories told one after another by Gomukha,
Naraváhanadatta, though he was excited about his approaching marriage
with his new wife Saktiyasas, spent that night as if it were a
moment. In this way the prince whiled away the days, until the day of
his marriage arrived, when, as he was in the presence of his father
the king of Vatsa, he suddenly saw the army of the Vidyádharas descend
from heaven, gleaming like gold. And he saw, in the midst of them,
Sphatikayasas the king of the Vidyádharas, who had come out of love,
holding the hand of his dear daughter, whom he wished to bestow on
the prince, and he joyfully went towards him, and saluted him by
the title of father-in-law, after his father had first entertained
him with the arghya and other usual ceremonies. And the king of the
Vidyádharas stated the object of his coming, and immediately created
a display of heavenly magnificence becoming his high position, and
by the might of his supernatural power loaded the prince with jewels,
and then bestowed on him in due form his daughter previously promised
to him. And Naraváhanadatta, having obtained that Saktiyasas, the
daughter of the king of the Vidyádharas, was resplendent as the lotus
after collecting the rays of the sun. Then Sphatikayasas departed,
and the son of the king of Vatsa remained in the city of Kausámbí,
with his eyes fixed on the face of Saktiyasas, as the bee clings to
the lotus.







BOOK XI.


CHAPTER LXVII.


Honour to the elephant-headed god who averts all hindrances, who is the
cause of every success, who ferries us over the sea of difficulties.

Thus Naraváhanadatta obtained Saktiyasas, and besides he had those
wives he married before, Ratnaprabhá and others, and his consort
the head wife Madanamanchuká, and with them and his friends he led
a happy life at the court of his father in Kausámbí.



Story of the race between the elephant and the horses.

And one day, when he was in the garden, two brothers, who were princes,
and who had come from a foreign land, suddenly paid him a visit. He
received them cordially, and they bowed before him, and one of them
said to him; "We are the sons by different mothers of a king in the
city of Vaisákha. My name is Ruchiradeva and the name of this brother
of mine is Potraka. I have a swift female elephant, and he has two
horses. And a dispute has arisen between us about them; I say that
the elephant is the fleetest, he maintains that his horses are both
fleeter. I have agreed that if I lose the race, I am to surrender the
elephant, but if he loses, he is to give me both his horses. Now no
one but you is fit to be a judge of their relative speed, so come
to my house, my lord, and preside over this trial. Accede to our
request. For you are the wishing-tree that grants all petitions,
and we have come from afar to petition you about this matter."

When the prince received this invitation from Ruchiradeva, he
consented out of good nature, and out of the interest he took in the
elephant and the horses. He set out in a chariot drawn by swift horses,
which the brothers had brought, and he reached with them that city of
Vaisákha. When he entered that splendid city, the ladies, bewildered
and excited, beheld him with eyes the lashes of which were turned up,
and made these comments on him; "Who can this be! Can it be the god of
Love new-created from his ashes without Rati? Or a second moon roaming
through the heaven without a spot on its surface? Or an arrow of desire
made by the Creator, in the form of a man, for the sudden complete
overthrow of the female heart." Then the king beheld the all-lovely
temple of the god of Love, whose worship had been established there
by men of old time. He entered and worshipped that god, the source of
supreme felicity, and rested for a moment, and shook off the fatigue
of the journey. Then he entered as a friend the house of Ruchiradeva,
which was near that temple, and was honoured by being made to walk
in front of him. He was delighted at the sight of that magnificent
palace, full of splendid horses and elephants, which was in a state
of rejoicing on account of his visit. There he was entertained with
various hospitalities by Ruchiradeva, and there he beheld his sister
of splendid beauty. His mind and his eyes were so captivated by her
glorious beauty, that he forgot all about his absence from home and
his separation from his family. She too threw lovingly upon him her
expanded eye, which resembled a garland of full blown blue lotuses,
and so chose him as her husband. [151] Her name was Jayendrasená,
and he thought so much upon her that the goddess of sleep did not
take possession of him at night, much less did other females. [152]

The next day Potraka brought that pair of horses equal to the wind
in swiftness; but Ruchiradeva, who was skilled in all the secrets of
the art of driving, himself mounted the female elephant, and partly
by the animal's natural speed, partly by his dexterity in urging it
on, beat them in the race. When Ruchiradeva had beaten those two
splendid horses, the son of the king of Vatsa entered the palace,
and at that very moment arrived a messenger from his father. The
messenger, when he saw the prince, fell at his feet, and said; "The
king, hearing from your retinue that you have come here, has sent me
to you with this message. 'How comes it that you have gone so far from
the garden without letting me know? I am impatient for your return,
so abandon the diversion that occupies your attention, and return
quickly.'" When he heard this message from his father's messenger,
Naraváhanadatta, who was also intent on obtaining the object of his
flame, was in a state of perplexity.

And at that very moment a merchant, in a great state of delight, came,
bowing at a distance, and praised that prince, saying, "Victory to
thee, O thou god of love without the flowery bow! Victory to thee,
O Lord, the future emperor of the Vidyádharas! Wast thou not seen to
be charming as a boy, and when growing up, the terror of thy foes? So
surely the gods shall behold thee like Vishnu, striding victorious
over the heaven, conquering Bali." With these and other praises the
great merchant magnified the prince; then having been honoured by him,
he proceeded at his request to tell the story of his life.



Story of the merchant and his wife Velá.

There is a city called Lampá, the crown of the earth; in it there
was a rich merchant named Kusumasára. I, prince of Vatsa, am the son
of that merchant, who lives and moves in religion, and I was gained
by the propitiation of Siva. Once on a time I went with my friends
to witness a procession of idols, and I saw other rich men giving
to beggars. Then I formed the design of acquiring wealth to give
away, as I was not satisfied with the vast fortune accumulated by my
father. So I embarked in a ship, laden with many jewels, to go across
the sea to another country. And my ship, impelled by a favorable
wind, as if by fate, reached that island in a few days. There the
king found out that I was an unknown man dealing in valuable jewels,
and out of avarice he threw me into prison. While I was remaining
in that prison, which resembled hell, on account of its being full
of howling criminals, suffering from hunger and thirst, like wicked
ghosts, a merchant, named Mahídhara, a resident in that town, who knew
my family, went and interceded with the king on my behalf, and said;
"King, this is the son of a great merchant, who lives in the city of
Lampá, and, as he is innocent, it is not creditable to your majesty
to keep him in prison." On his making representations of this kind,
the king ordered me to be released from prison, and summoned me into
his presence, and honoured me with a courteous reception. So, by the
favour of the king and the support of that merchant, I remained there
doing a splendid business.

One day I saw, at a spring festival in a garden, a handsome girl,
the daughter of a merchant named Sikhara. I was quite carried off
my feet by her, who was like a wave of the sea of Love's insolence,
and when I found out who she was, I demanded her in marriage from her
father. Her father reflected for a moment, and at last said to me;
"I cannot give her to you myself, there is a reason for my not doing
so. But I will send her to her grandfather by the mother's side,
in the island of Ceylon; go there and ask for her again, and marry
her. And I will send her there with such instructions that your suit
will certainly be accepted." When Sikhara had said this, and had
paid me the usual courtesies, he dismissed me to my own house. And
the next day he put the maiden on board ship, with her attendants,
and sent her to the island of Ceylon, across the sea.

I was preparing with the utmost eagerness to go there, when this
rumour, which was terrible as a lightning-stroke, was spread abroad
where I was; "The ship, in which the daughter of Sikhara started,
has gone to pieces in the open sea, and not a soul has been saved
out of it." That report altogether broke down my self-command, and
being anxious about the ship, I suddenly fell into a hopeless sea of
despondency. So I, though comforted by my elders, made up my mind to
throw away my property and prospects, and I determined to go to that
island to ascertain the truth. Then, though patronized by the king
and loaded with all manner of wealth, I embarked in a ship on the sea
and set out. Then a terrible pirate, in the form of a cloud, suddenly
arose against me as I was pursuing my course, and discharged at me
pattering drops of rain, like showers of arrows. The contrary wind,
which it brought with it, tossed my ship to and fro like powerful
destiny, and at last broke it up. My attendants and my wealth were
whelmed in the sea, but I myself, when I fell into the water, laid
hold of a large spar. [153] By the help of this, which seemed like
an arm suddenly extended to me by the Creator, I managed to reach
the shore of the sea, being slowly drifted there by the wind. I
climbed up upon it in great affliction, exclaiming against destiny,
and suddenly I found a little gold which had been left by accident
in an out-of-the-way part of the shore. I sold it in a neighbouring
village, and bought with it food and other necessaries, and after
purchasing a couple of garments, I gradually began to get over to a
certain extent the fatigue produced by my immersion in the sea.

Then I wandered about, not knowing my way, separated from my beloved,
and I saw the ground full of lingas of Siva formed of sand. And
daughters of hermits were wandering about among them. And in one place
I saw a maiden engaged in worshipping a linga, who was beautiful,
although dressed in the garb of a dweller in the forest. I began
to think, "This girl is wonderfully like my beloved. Can she be my
beloved herself? But how comes it, that I am so lucky as to find her
here?" And while these thoughts were passing in my mind, my right eye
throbbed frequently, as if with joy, [154] and told me that it was no
other than she. And I said to her, "Fair one, you are fitted to dwell
in a palace, how comes it that you are here in the forest?" But she
gave me no answer. Then, through fear of being cursed by a hermit,
I stood concealed by a bower of creepers, looking at her with an eye
that could not have enough. And after she had performed her worship,
she went slowly away from the spot, as if thinking over something,
and frequently turned round to look at me with loving eye. When
she had gone out of sight, the whole horizon seemed to be obscured
with darkness as I looked at it, and I was in a strange state of
perturbation like the Brahmany drake at night.

And immediately I beheld the daughter of the hermit Mátanga,
who appeared unexpectedly. She was in brightness like the sun,
subject to a vow of chastity from her earliest youth, with body
emaciated by penance, she possessed divine insight, and was of
auspicious countenance like Resignation incarnate. She said to me,
"Chandrasára, call up all your patience and listen. There is a great
merchant in another island named Sikhara. When a lovely girl was
born to him, he was told by a mendicant, his friend, who possessed
supernatural insight, and whose name was Jinarakshita, [155]
'You must not give away this maiden yourself, for she has another
mother. You would commit a crime in giving her away yourself, such
is the righteous prescription of the law.' Since the mendicant had
told him this, the merchant wished to give his daughter, when she was
of marriageable age, and you asked her hand, to you, by the agency
of her maternal grandfather. Then she was sent off on a voyage to
her maternal grandfather in the island of Ceylon, but the vessel was
wrecked, and she fell into the sea. And as she was fated not to die,
a great wave brought her here like destiny, and flung her up upon
the shore. Just at that time my father, the hermit Mátanga, came to
the sea to bathe with his disciples, and saw her almost dead. He,
being of compassionate nature, brought her round, and took her to his
hermitage, and entrusted her to me saying--'Yamuná, you must cherish
this girl.' And because he found her on the shore (velá) of the sea,
he called the girl, who was beloved by all the hermits, Velá. And
though I have renounced the world by a vow of perpetual chastity,
it still impedes my soul, on account of my affection for her, in the
form of love and tenderness for offspring. And my mind is grieved,
Chandrasára, as often as I look upon her, unmarried, though in the
bloom of youth and beauty. Moreover she was your wife in a former
life. So knowing, my son, by the power of my meditation that you had
come here, I have come to meet you. Now follow me and marry that Velá,
whom I will bestow on you. Let the sufferings, which you have both
endured, produce fruits of happiness."

Speaking thus, the saintly woman refreshed me with her voice as with
cloudless rain, and then she took me to the hermitage of her father,
the great hermit Mátanga. And at her request the hermit bestowed on
me that Velá, like the happiness of the kingdom of the imagination
incarnate in bodily form. But one day, as I was living happily
with Velá, I commenced a splashing match with her in the water of a
tank. And I and Velá, not seeing the hermit Mátanga, who had come there
to bathe, sprinkled him inopportunely with some of the water which we
threw. That annoyed him, and he denounced a curse on me and my wife,
saying, "You shall be separated, you wicked couple." Then Velá clung
to his knees, and asked him with plaintive voice to appoint a period
for the duration of our curse, and he, after thinking, fixed its end
as follows, "When thou shalt behold at a distance Naraváhanadatta
the future mighty emperor of the Vidyádharas, who shall beat with
a swift elephant a pair of fleet horses, then thy curse shall be at
an end, and thou shalt be re-united with thy wife." When the rishi
Mátanga had said this, he performed the ceremony of bathing and other
ceremonies, and went to Svetadvípa through the air, to visit the
shrine of Vishnu. And Yamuná said to me and my wife--"I give you now
that shoe covered with valuable jewels, which a Vidyádhara long ago
obtained, when it had slipped off from Siva's foot, and which I seized
in childish sport." Thereupon Yamuná also went to Svetadvípa. Then
I having obtained my beloved, and being disgusted with dwelling in
the forest, through fear of being separated from my wife, felt a
desire to return to my own country. And setting out for my native
land, I reached the shore of the sea; and finding a trading vessel,
I put my wife on board, and was preparing to go on board myself,
when the wind, conspiring with the hermit's curse, carried off that
ship to a distance. When the ship carried off my wife before my eyes,
my whole nature was stunned by the shock, and distraction seemed
to have found an opening in me, and broke into me and robbed me of
consciousness. Then an ascetic came that way, and seeing me insensible,
he compassionately brought me round and took me to his hermitage. There
he asked me the whole story, and when he found out that it was the
consequence of a curse, and that the curse was to end, he animated
me with resolution to bear up. Then I found an excellent friend, a
merchant, who had escaped from his ship that had foundered in the sea,
and I set out with him in search of my beloved. And supported by the
hope of the termination of the curse, I wandered through many lands and
lasted out many days, until I finally reached this city of Vaisákha,
and heard that you, the jewel of the noble family of the king of Vatsa,
had come here. Then I saw you from a distance beat that pair of swift
horses with the female elephant, and the weight of the curse fell from
me, and I felt my heart lightened. [156] And immediately I saw that
dear Velá coming to meet me, whom the good merchants had brought in
their ship. Then I was re-united with my wife, who had with her the
jewels bestowed by Yamuná, and having by your favour crossed the ocean
of separation, I came here, prince of Vatsa, to pay you my respects,
and I will now set out cheerfully for my native land with my wife.

When that excellent merchant Chandrasára, who had accomplished his
object, had gone, after prostrating himself before the prince, and
telling his story, Ruchiradeva, pleased at beholding the greatness of
his guest, was still more obsequious to him. And in addition to the
elephant and the pair of horses, he gave his sister, making the duty of
hospitality an excuse for doing so, to the prince who was captivated
by her beauty. She was a good match for the prince, and her brother
had long desired to bestow her upon him in marriage. Naraváhanadatta
then took leave of Ruchiradeva, and with his new wife, the elephant,
and the two horses, returned to the city of Kausámbí. And he remained
there, gladdening his father with his presence, living happily with
her and his other wives, of whom Madanamanchuká was the chief.







BOOK XII.


CHAPTER LXVIII.


May Ganesa protect you, who, when he sports, throws up his trunk,
round which plays a continual swarm of bees, like a triumphal pillar
covered with letters, erected on account of the overthrow of obstacles!

We worship Siva, who, though free from the hue of passion, abounds in
colours, the skilful painter who is ever producing new and wonderful
creations. Victorious are the arrows of the god of love, for, when
they descend, though they are made of flowers, the thunderbolt and
other weapons are blunted in the hands of those who bear them.

So the son of the king of Vatsa remained in Kausámbí, having obtained
wife after wife. But though he had so many wives, he ever cherished the
head queen Madanamanchuká more than his own life, as Krishna cherishes
Rukminí. But one night he saw in a dream that a heavenly maiden came
and carried him off. And when he awoke, he found himself on a slab
of the tárkshya gem, on the plateau of a great hill, a place full of
shady trees. And he saw that maiden near him, illuminating the wood,
though it was night, [157] like a herb used by the god of love for
bewildering the world. He thought that she had brought him there,
and he perceived that modesty made her conceal her real feelings;
so the cunning prince pretended to be asleep, and in order to test
her, he said, as if talking in his sleep, "Where are you, my dear
Madanamanchuká? Come and embrace me." When she heard it, she profited
by his suggestion, and assumed the form of his wife, and embraced
him without the restraint of modesty. Then he opened his eyes, and
beholding her in the form of his wife, he said, "O how intelligent you
are!" and smiling threw his arms round her neck. Then she dismissed all
shame, and exhibiting herself in her real shape, she said--"Receive,
my husband, this maiden, who chooses you for her own." And when she
said that, he married her by the Gándharva form of marriage.

But next morning he said to her, by way of an artifice to discover
her lineage, about which he felt curious; "Listen, my dear, I will
tell you a wonderful story."



Story of the jackal that was turned into an elephant.

There lived in a certain wood of ascetics a hermit, named Brahmasiddhi,
who possessed by meditation supernatural power, and near his hermitage
there was an old female jackal dwelling in a cave. One day it was
going out to find food, having been unable to find any for some time
on account of bad weather, when a male elephant, furious on account of
its separation from its female, rushed towards it to kill it. When the
hermit saw that, being compassionate as well as endowed with magical
power, he turned the female jackal into a female elephant, by way of a
kindness, to please both. Then the male elephant, beholding a female,
ceased to be furious, and became attached to her, and so she escaped
death. Then, as he was roaming about with the jackal transformed into
a female elephant, he entered a tank full of the mud produced by the
autumn rains, to crop a lotus. He sank in the mud there, and could not
move, but remained motionless, like a mountain that has fallen owing
to its wings having been cut off by the thunderbolt. When the female
elephant, that was before a jackal, saw the male in this distress,
she went off that moment and followed another male elephant. Then
it happened that the elephant's own mate, that he had lost, came
that way in search of her spouse. The noble creature, seeing her
husband sinking in the mud, entered the mud of the tank in order to
join him. At that moment the hermit Brahmasiddhi came that way with
his disciples, and was moved with pity when he saw that pair. And
he bestowed by his power great strength on his disciples, and made
them extricate the male and female from the mud. Then the hermit went
away, and that couple of elephants, having been delivered both from
separation and death, roamed where they would.

"So you see, my dear, that even animals, if they are of a noble strain,
do not desert a lord or friend in calamity, but rescue him from it. But
as for those which are of low origin, they are of fickle nature, and
their hearts are never moved by noble feelings or affection." When
the prince of Vatsa said this, the heavenly maiden said to him--"It
is so, there can be no doubt about this. But I know what your real
object is in telling me this tale; so in return, my husband, hear
this tale from me."



Story of Vámadatta and his wicked wife.

There was an excellent Bráhman in Kányakubja, named Súradatta,
possessor of a hundred villages, respected by the king Báhusakti. And
he had a devoted wife, named Vasumatí, and by her he begot a
handsome son, named Vámadatta. Vámadatta, the darling of his father,
was instructed in all the sciences, and soon married a wife, of the
name of Sasiprabhá. In course of time his father went to heaven,
and his wife followed him, [158] and the son undertook with his wife
the duties of a householder. But without his knowledge his wife was
addicted to following her lusts, and by some chance or other she
became a witch possessed of magical powers. [159]

One day, when the Bráhman was in the king's camp, engaged in his
service, his paternal uncle came and said to him in secret, "Nephew,
our family is disgraced, for I have seen your wife in the company of
your cowherd." When Vámadatta heard this, he left his uncle in the
camp in his stead, and went, with his sword for his only companion,
back to his own house. He went into the flower-garden and remained
there in concealment, and in the night the cowherd came there. And
immediately his wife came eagerly to meet her paramour, with all kinds
of food in her hand. After he had eaten, she went off to bed with him,
and then Vámadatta rushed upon them with uplifted sword, exclaiming,
"Wretches, where are you going?" When he said that, his wife rose up
and said, "Away fool," and threw some dust in his face. Then Vámadatta
was immediately changed from a man into a buffalo, but in his new
condition he still retained his memory. Then his wicked wife put him
among the buffaloes, and made the herdsman beat him with sticks. [160]

And the cruel woman immediately sold him in his helpless bestial
condition to a trader, who required a buffalo. The trader put a load
upon the man, who found his transformation to a buffalo a sore trial,
and took him to a village near the Ganges. He reflected, "A wife of
very bad character that enters unsuspected the house of a confiding
man, is never likely to bring him prosperity, any more than a snake
which gets into the female apartments." While full of these thoughts,
he was sorrowful, with tears gushing from his eyes, moreover he
was reduced to skin and bone by the fatigue of carrying burdens,
and in this state he was beheld by a certain white witch. She knew
by her magic power the whole transaction, and sprinkling him with
some charmed water, she released him from his buffalo condition. And
when he had returned to human form, she took him to her own house,
and gave him her virgin daughter named Kántimatí. And she gave him
some charmed mustard-seeds, and said to him; "Sprinkle your wicked
former wife with these, and turn her into a mare." Then Vámadatta,
taking with him his new wife, went with the charmed mustard-seeds to
his own house. Then he killed the herdsman, and with the mustard-seeds
he turned [161] his former wife into a mare, and tied her up in the
stable. And in order to revenge himself, he made it a rule to give
her every day seven blows with a stick, before he took any food. [162]

One day, while he was living there in this way with Kántimatí, a
guest came to his house. The guest had just sat down to his meal, when
suddenly Vámadatta got up and rushed quickly out of the room without
eating anything, because he recollected that he had not beaten his
wicked wife with a stick that day. And after he had given his wife,
in the form of a mare, the appointed number of blows, he came in with
his mind easy, and took his food. Then the guest, being astonished,
asked him, out of curiosity, where he had gone in such a hurry,
leaving his food. Thereupon Vámadatta told him his whole story from
the beginning, and his guest said to him, "What is the use of this
persistent revenge? Petition that mother-in-law of yours, who first
released you from your animal condition, and gain some advantage for
yourself." When the guest gave this advice to Vámadatta, he approved
it, and the next morning dismissed him with the usual attentions.

Then that witch, his mother-in-law, suddenly paid him a visit, and
he supplicated her persistently to grant him a boon. The powerful
witch instructed him and his wife in the method of gaining the
life-prolonging charm, with the proper initiatory rites. [163] So he
went to the mountain of Srí and set about obtaining that charm, and
the charm, when obtained, appeared to him in visible shape, and gave
him a splendid sword. And when the successful Vámadatta had obtained
the sword, he and his wife Kántimatí became glorious Vidyádharas. Then
he built by his magic power a splendid city on a peak of the Malaya
mountain, named Rajatakúta. There, in time, that prince among the
Vidyádharas had born to him by his queen an auspicious daughter,
named Lalitalochaná. And the moment she was born, she was declared
by a voice, that came from heaven, to be destined to be the wife of
the future emperor of the Vidyádharas.

"Know, my husband, that I am that very Lalitalochaná, and that knowing
the facts by my science and being in love with you, I have brought
you to this very Malaya mountain, which is my own home." When she had
in these words told him her story, Naraváhanadatta was much pleased,
and entertained great respect for his new wife. And he remained there
with her, and immediately the king of Vatsa and his entourage learnt
the truth, by means of the supernatural knowledge of Ratnaprabhá,
and the other wives of Naraváhanadatta that possessed the same powers.






CHAPTER LXIX.


Then Naraváhanadatta, having obtained that new bride Lalitalochaná,
sported with her on that very Malaya mountain, delightful on account
of the first burst of spring, in various forest purlieus adorned with
flowering trees.

And in one grove his beloved, in the course of gathering flowers,
disappeared out of his sight into a dense thicket, and while he was
wandering on, he saw a great tank with clear water, that, on account
of the flowers fallen from the trees on its bank, resembled the heaven
studded with stars. [164]

And he thought--"I will wait until my beloved, who is gathering
flowers, returns to me; and in the meanwhile I will bathe in this lake
and rest for a little upon its bank." So he bathed and worshipped
the gods, and then he sat down on a slab of rock in the shade of
a sandal-wood tree. While sitting there he thought of his beloved
Madanamanchuká, who was so far off, beholding the gait of the female
swans that rivalled hers, and hearing the singing of the female cuckoos
in the mango-creepers that equalled hers, and seeing the eyes of the
does that recalled hers to his mind. And as soon as he recollected
her, the fire of love sprang up in his breast, and tortured him so
that he fainted; and at that moment a glorious hermit came there to
bathe, whose name was Pisangajata. He, seeing the prince in such a
state, sprinkled him with sandal-water, refreshing as the touch of
his beloved. Then he recovered consciousness and bowed before the
hermit. But the hermit said to him, "My son, in order that you may
obtain your wish, acquire endurance. For by means of that quality every
thing is acquired, and in order that you may understand this, come
to my hermitage and hear the story of Mrigánkadatta, if you have not
already heard it. When the hermit had said this, he bathed and took the
prince to his hermitage, and quickly performed his daily prayers. And
Pisangajata entertained him there with fruits, and ate fruits himself,
and then he began to tell him this tale of Mrigánkadatta.



Story of Mrigánkadatta. [165]

There is a city of the name of Ayodhyá famous in the three worlds. In
it there lived in old time a king named Amaradatta. He was of
resplendent brightness, and he had a wife named Surataprabhá, who
was as closely knit to him as the oblation to the fire. [166] By her
there was born to him a son named Mrigánkadatta, who was adored for
his ten million virtues, as his bow was bent by the string reaching
the notches. [167]

And that young prince had ten ministers of his own, Prachandasakti
and Sthúlabáhu, and Vikramakesarin, Dridhamushti, and Meghabala and
Bhímaparákrama, and Vimalabuddhi, and Vyághrasena and Gunákara, and
the tenth Vichitrakatha. They were all of good birth, young, brave,
and wise, and devoted to their master's interests. And Mrigánkadatta
led a happy life with them in his father's house, but he did not
obtain a suitable wife.

And one day his minister Bhímaparákrama said to him in secret,--"Hear,
prince, what happened to me in the night. I went to sleep last night
on the roof of the palace, and I saw in a dream a lion, with claws
terrible as the thunderbolt, rushing upon me. I rose up, sword in
hand, and then the lion began to flee, and I pursued him at my utmost
speed. He crossed a river, and stuck out his long tongue [168] at me,
and I cut it off with my sword. And I made use of it to cross that
river, for it was as broad as a bridge. And thereupon the lion became
a deformed giant. I asked him who he was and the giant said, 'I am a
Vetála, and I am delighted with your courage, my brave fellow.' Then
I said to him, 'If this is the case, then tell me who is to be the
wife of my master Mrigánkadatta.' When I said this to the Vetála,
he answered,--'There is in Ujjayiní a king named Karmasena. He has a
daughter, who in beauty surpasses the Apsarases, being, as it were, the
receptacle of the Creator's handiwork in the form of loveliness. Her
name is Sasánkavatí, and she shall be his wife, and by gaining her,
he shall become king of the whole earth.' When the Vetála had said
this, he disappeared, and I came home; this is what happened to me
in the night, my sovereign."

When Mrigánkadatta heard this from Bhímaparákrama, he summoned all his
ministers, and had it told to them, and then he said, "Hear, what I
too saw in a dream; I thought we all entered a certain wood; and in it,
being thirsty with travelling, we reached with difficulty some water;
and when we wished to drink it, five armed men rose up and tried to
prevent us. We killed them, and then in the torments of our thirst we
again turned to drink the water, but lo! neither the men nor the water
were to be seen. Then we were in a miserable state; but on a sudden
we saw the god Siva come there, mounted on his bull, resplendent
with the moon on his forehead; we bent before him in prayer and he
dropped from his right eye a tear-drop on the ground. That became
a sea, and I drew from it a splendid pearl-necklace and fastened it
round my neck. And I drank up that sea in a human skull stained with
blood. And immediately I awoke, and lo! the night was at an end."

When Mrigánkadatta had described this wonderful sight that he had
seen in his dream, the other ministers rejoiced, but Vimalabuddhi
said; "You are fortunate, prince, in that Siva has shewn you this
favour. As you obtained the necklace and drank up the sea, you shall
without fail obtain Sasánkavatí and rule the whole earth. But the
rest of the dream indicates some slight amount of misfortune." When
Vimalabuddhi had said this, Mrigánkadatta again said to his ministers,
"Although the fulfilment of my dream will no doubt come to pass in
the way which my friend Bhímaparákrama heard predicted by the Vetála,
still I must win from that Karmasena, who confides in his army and
his forts, his daughter Sasánkavatí by force of policy. And the force
of policy is the best instrument in all undertakings. Now listen,
I will tell you a story to prove this."



Story of king Bhadrabáhu and his clever minister.

There was a king in Magadha, named Bhadrabáhu. He had a minister named
Mantragupta, most sagacious of men. That king once said of his own
accord to that minister; "The king of Váránasí, named Dharmagopa, has
a daughter named Anangalílá, the chief beauty of the three worlds. I
have often asked for her in marriage, but out of hostility that king
will not give her to me. And he is a formidable foe, on account of
his possessing an elephant named Bhadradanta. Still I cannot bear to
live any longer without that daughter of his. So I have no measure
which I can adopt in this business. Tell me, my friend, what I am to
do." When the king said this, his minister answered him; "Why, king,
do you suppose that courage and not policy ensures success? Dismiss
your anxiety; I will manage the matter for you by my own ingenuity."

So, the next day, the minister set out for Váránasí, disguised as a
Pásupata ascetic, and he took six or seven companions with him, who
were disguised as his pupils, and they told all the people, who came
together from all quarters to adore him, that he possessed supernatural
powers. Then, as he was roaming about one night to find out some
means of accomplishing his object, he saw in the distance the wife
of the keeper of the elephants leave her house, going along quickly
through fear, escorted in some direction or other by three or four
armed men. He at once said to himself, "Surely this lady is eloping
somewhere, so I will see where she is going." So he followed her with
his attendants. And he observed from a distance the house into which
she went, and then he returned to his own lodging. And the next day,
as the elephant-keeper was wandering about in search of his wife, who
had gone off with his wealth, the minister contrived to send his own
followers to meet him. They found that he had just swallowed poison
because he could not find his wife, and they counteracted by their
knowledge the effect of the poison, pretending that they did it out
of pure compassion. And they said to him; "Come to our teacher, for
he is a seer and knows every thing:" and so they brought him to the
minister. And the elephant-keeper fell at the feet of the minister,
who was rendered more majestic by the insignia of his vow, and asked
him for news of his wife. The minister pretended to meditate, and
after a time told him the place where she was taken by the strange
men at night, with all the signs by which he might recognise it. Then
the elephant-keeper bowed again before him, and went with a host of
policemen and surrounded that place. And he killed those wicked men
who had carried off his wife, and recovered her, together with her
ornaments and his wealth.

And the next day he went and bowed before, and praised that supposed
seer, and invited him to an entertainment. And as the minister did not
wish to enter a house, and said that he must eat at night, he made an
entertainment for him at nightfall in the elephant-stables. So the
minister went there and feasted with his followers, taking with him
a concealed serpent, that he had by means of a charm got to enter the
hollow of a bamboo. Then the elephant-keeper went away, and while the
others were asleep, the minister introduced, by means of the bamboo,
the serpent into the ear of the elephant Bhadradanta, while it was
asleep, and he spent the night there, and in the morning went back
to Magadha his native land; but the elephant died from the bite of
the snake.

When the clever minister returned, having smitten down the elephant as
if it were the pride of that king Dharmagopa, the king Bhadrabáhu was
in ecstasies. Then he sent off an ambassador to Váránasí to ask for
the hand of Anangalílá. The king, who was helpless from the loss of
his elephant, gave her to him; for kings, who know times and seasons,
bend like canes, if it is expedient to do so.

"So, by the sagacity of that minister Mantragupta, the king Bhadrabáhu
obtained Anangalílá. And in the same way I must obtain that wife by
wisdom." When Mrigánkadatta said this, his minister Vichitrakatha
said to him--"You will succeed in all by the favour of Siva which was
promised you in a dream. What will not the effective favour of the
gods accomplish? Hear in proof of it the story I am now going to tell."



Story of Pushkaráksha and Vinayavatí.

There was in the city of Takshasilá a king of the name of
Bhadráksha. He, desiring a son, was worshipping Lakshmí every day
with one hundred and eight white lotuses upon a sword. One day, as
the king was worshipping her without breaking silence, he happened to
count the lotuses mentally, and found that there was one missing. He
then gave the goddess the lotus of his heart spitted on the sword, and
she was pleased and granted him a boon that would ensure his having
a son that would rule the whole earth. And she healed the wound of
the king and disappeared. Then there was born a son to the king by
his queen, and he possessed all the auspicious marks. And the king
called him Pushkaráksha, because he obtained him by the gift of the
lotus of his heart. And when the son, in course of time, grew up to
manhood, Bhadráksha anointed him king, as he possessed great virtues,
and himself repaired to the forest.

Pushkaráksha, for his part, having obtained the kingdom, kept
worshipping Siva every day, and one day at the end of his worship,
he asked him to bestow on him a wife. Then he heard a voice come from
heaven, saying, "My son, thou shalt obtain all thy desire." Then he
remained in a happy state, as he had now a good hope of success. And
it happened that one day he went to a wood inhabited by wild beasts,
to amuse himself with hunting. There he saw a camel about to eat two
snakes entwined together, and in his grief he killed the camel. The
camel immediately became a Vidyádhara, abandoning its camel body,
and being pleased said to Pushkaráksha "You have done me a benefit. So
hear what I have to tell you."



Story of the birth of Vinayavatí.

There is, king, a mighty Vidyádhara named Rankumálin. And a beautiful
maiden of the Vidyádhara race, named Tárávalí, who admired good looks,
saw him and fell in love with him, and chose him for her husband. And
then her father, angry because they had married without consulting
anything but their own inclination, laid on them a curse that would
separate them for some time. Then the couple, Tárávalí and Rankumálin,
sported, with ever-growing love, in various regions belonging to them.

But one day, in consequence of that curse, they lost sight of one
another in a wood, and were separated. Then Tárávalí, in her search
for her husband, at last reached a forest on the other side of the
western sea, inhabited by a hermit of supernatural powers. There
she saw a large jambu-tree in flower, which seemed compassionately
to console her with the sweet buzzing of its bees. And she took the
form of a bee, and sat down on it to rest, and began to drink the
honey of a flower. And immediately she saw her husband, from whom she
had been so long separated, come there, and she bedewed that flower
with a tear of joy. And she abandoned the body of a bee, and went
and united herself to her husband Rankumálin, who had come there in
search of her, as the moonlight is united to the moon.

Then she went with him to his home: but from the jambu-flower bedewed
with her tear a fruit was produced. [169] And in course of time a
maiden was produced inside the fruit. Now once on a time the hermit,
who was named Vijitásu, was wandering about in search of fruits
and roots, and came there, and that fruit, being ripe, fell from
the jambu-tree and broke, and a heavenly maiden came out of it, and
respectfully bowing, saluted the feet of that hermit. That hermit,
who possessed divine insight, when he beheld her, at once knew her
true history, and being astonished, took her to his hermitage, and
gave her the name of Vinayavatí. Then in course of time she grew up
to womanhood in his hermitage, and I, as I was roaming in the air,
saw her, and being infatuated by pride in my own good looks and by
love, I went to her, and tried to carry her off by force against
her will. At that moment the hermit Vijitásu, who heard her cries,
came in, and denounced this curse upon me, "O thou whose whole body
is full of pride in thy beauty, become an ugly camel. But when thou
shalt be slain by king Pushkaráksha, thou shalt be released from thy
curse. And he shall be the husband of this Vinayavatí."

"When cursed in these words by the hermit I became a camel on this
earth, and now, thanks to you, my curse is at an end; so go to that
forest on the other side of the western sea, named Surabhimáruta, and
obtain for a wife that heavenly creature, who would make Srí herself
lose all pride in her own beauty." When the heavenly Vidyádhara had
said this to Pushkaráksha, he flew up to the sky. Then Pushkaráksha
returned to his city, and entrusted his kingdom to his ministers, and
mounting his horse, went off alone at night. And at last he reached
the shore of the western sea, and there he reflected, "How shall I
cross over this sea?" Then he saw there an empty temple of Durgá,
and he entered it, and bathed, and worshipped the goddess. And he
found there a lyre, which had been deposited there by some one, and
he devoutly sang to it in honour of the goddess songs composed by
himself. And then he lay down to sleep there. And the goddess was so
pleased with his lyric worship, that in the night she had him conveyed
across the sea by her attendant demons, while he was asleep.

Then he woke up in the morning on the other side of the sea, and saw
himself no longer in the temple of Durgá, but in a wood. And he rose
up in astonishment, and wandered about, and beheld a hermitage, which
seemed to bow before him hospitably by means of its trees weighed down
with fruit, and to utter a welcome with the music of its birds. So
he entered it, and saw a hermit surrounded by his pupils. And the
king approached the hermit, and bowed at his feet. The hermit, who
possessed supernatural insight, received him hospitably and said to
him; "King Pushkaráksha, Vinayavatí, for whom you have come, has gone
out for a moment to fetch firewood, so wait a little: you shall to-day
marry her who was your wife in a former life." Then Pushkaráksha said
to himself--"Bravo! this is that very hermit Vijitásu, and this is
that very wood, no doubt the goddess has had me carried across the
ocean. But this that the hermit tells me is strange, that she was my
wife in a previous state of existence." Then he asked the hermit in
his joy the following question, "Tell me, reverend sir, how was she
my wife before?" Then the hermit said, "Listen, if you feel curious
on the point."



The adventures of Pushkaráksha and Vinayavatí in a former life.

There was in old time a merchant in Támraliptí, named Dharmasena,
and he had a beautiful wife named Vidyullekhá. As it happened, he
was robbed by bandits and wounded with weapons by them, and longing
for death, he went out with his wife to enter the fire. And the two
saw suddenly a beautiful couple of swans coming through the air. Then
they entered the fire, and died with their minds fixed on those swans,
and so the husband and wife were born in the next birth as swans.

Now, one day in the rains, as they were in their nest in a
date-palm-tree, a storm uprooted the tree and separated them. The next
day the storm was at an end, and the male swan went to look for his
female, but he could not find her in the lakes or in any quarter of
the sky. At last he went, distracted with love, to the Mánasa lake,
the proper place for swans at that season of the year, and another
female swan, that he met on the way, gave him hopes that he would
find her there. There he found his female, and he spent the rainy
season there, and then he went to a mountain-peak to enjoy himself
with her. There his female was shot by a fowler; when he saw that,
he flew away distracted with fear and grief. The fowler went off,
taking with him the dead female swan, and on the way he saw many armed
men at a distance, coming towards him, and he thought that they would
perhaps take the bird from him, so he cut some grass with his knife,
and covering up the bird with that, left her on the ground. After
the men had gone, the fowler returned to take the female swan. But
it happened that among the grass which he had cut was a herb, which
possessed the power of raising the dead to life. By means of the
juice of this herb the female swan was restored to life, [170] and
before his eyes she flung off the grass, and flew up into the sky,
and disappeared.

But in the meanwhile the male swan went and settled on the shore of
a lake among a flock of swans, distracted with grief at seeing his
mate in this state. [171] Immediately a certain fisherman threw a
net, and caught all those birds, and thereupon sat down to take his
food. Then the female swan came there in search of her husband, and
found him caught in the net, and in her grief she cast her eyes in
every direction. Then she saw on the bank of the lake a necklace of
gems, which a certain person, who had gone into the water to bathe,
had laid on top of his clothes. She went and carried off the necklace
without that person seeing her do it, and she flew gently through
the air past the fisherman, to shew him the necklace. The fisherman,
when he saw the female swan with the necklace in her beak, left the
net full of birds, and ran after her, stick in hand. But the female
swan deposited the necklace upon the top of a distant rock, and the
fisherman proceeded to climb up the rock to get the necklace. When the
female swan saw that, she went and struck in the eye with her beak a
monkey that was asleep on a tree, near where her husband lay caught
in the net. The monkey, being terrified by the blow, fell on the net
and tore it, and so all the swans escaped from it. Then the couple
of swans were re-united, and they told one another their adventures,
and in their joy amused themselves as they would. The fisherman,
after getting the necklace, came back to fetch the birds, and the man
whose necklace had been taken away, met him as he was looking for it,
and as the fact of the fisherman's being in possession of the necklace
was revealed by his fear, he recovered it from him and cut off his
right hand with his sword. And the two swans, sheltering themselves
under one lotus by way of umbrella, rose up in the middle of the day
from the lake and roamed in the sky.

And soon the two birds reached the bank of a river haunted by a
certain hermit, who was employed in worshipping Siva. Then the couple
of swans were shot through with one arrow by a fowler, as they were
flying along, and fell together to the earth. And the lotus, which
they had used as an umbrella, fell on the top of a linga of Siva,
while the hermit was engaged in worship. Then the fowler, seeing them,
took the male swan for himself, and gave the female swan to the hermit,
who offered it to Siva. [172]

"Now you, Pushkaráksha, were that very male swan; and by the virtue of
that lotus, which fell on the top of the linga, you have been now born
in a royal family. And that female swan has been born in a family of
Vidyádharas as Vinayavatí, for Siva was abundantly worshipped with
her flesh. Thus Vinayavatí was your wife in a former birth." When
the hermit Vijitásu said this to Pushkaráksha, the king asked him
another question; How comes it, hermit, that the entering the fire,
which atones for a multitude of sins, produced in our case the fruit
of birth in the nature of a bird? Thereupon the hermit replied,
"A creature receives the form of that which it was contemplating at
the moment of death."



Story of Lávanyamanjarí.

For there was in the city of Ujjayiní a holy Bráhman virgin of the
name of Lávanyamanjarí, who observed a vow of perpetual chastity;
she once saw a Bráhman youth of the name of Kamalodaya, and her mind
was suddenly attracted to him, and she was consumed with the fire of
love but she did not abandon her vow. She went to the shore of the
Gandhavatí, and abandoned her life in a holy place, with her thoughts
intently fixed on his love.

But on account of that intent meditation she was born in the
next birth as a hetæra, of the name of Rúpavatí, in a town named
Ekalavyá. However, owing to the virtue of her vow and of the holy
bathing-place, she remembered her former birth, and in conversation she
related that secret of her former birth to a Bráhman named Chodakarna,
who was always engaged in muttering prayers, in order to cure him of
his exclusive devotion to muttering, and at last, though she was a
hetæra, as her will was purified she attained blessedness.

"So, king, you see that a person attains similarity to that which he
thinks of. Having said this to the king, the hermit dismissed him to
bathe, and he himself performed his midday ablutions."

But the king Pushkaráksha went to the bank of the river, that flowed
through the forest, and saw Vinayavatí there gathering flowers. Her
body gleamed as if she were the light of the sun, come to visit the
wood out of curiosity, as it had never been able to penetrate its
thickets. He thought to himself, "Who can this be?" And she, as she
was sitting in conversation with her maid, said to her; "My friend,
the Vidyádhara, who wished long ago to carry me off, came here to-day
released from his curse, and announced the arrival of my husband." When
the friend heard that, she answered the hermit-maiden; "It is true,
for this morning the hermit Vijitásu said to his pupil Munjakesa;
'Go and bring here quickly Tárávalí and Rankumálin, for to-day will
certainly take place the marriage of their daughter Vinayavatí to king
Pushkaráksha.' When Munjakesa received this order from his teacher,
he said, 'I obey,' and started on his journey. So come, my friend,
let us now go to the hermitage."

When she said this, Vinayavatí departed, and Pushkaráksha heard the
whole conversation from a distance without being seen. And the king
returned quickly to the hermitage of Vijitásu, after he had plunged
in the river, as if to cool the burning heat of love. There Tárávalí
and Rankumálin, who had arrived, honoured him when he bent before
them, and the hermits gathered round him. Then, on an altar-platform
illuminated by the great hermit Vijitásu with his austerities, as if
by a second fire in human form, Rankumálin gave that Vinayavatí to the
king, and he bestowed on him at the same time a heavenly chariot, that
would travel in the sky. And the great hermit Vijitásu conferred on
him this boon; "Rule, together with her, the earth with its four seas."

Then, with the permission of the hermit, the king Pushkaráksha took
his new wife with him, and mounted that heavenly chariot that travelled
through the air, and, crossing the sea, went quickly to his own city,
being like the rising of the moon to the eyes of his subjects.

And then he conquered the earth and became emperor of it by virtue
of his chariot, and lived a long time in enjoyment with Vinayavatí
in his own capital.

"So a task, which is very difficult in itself, succeeds in this world,
if the gods are propitious, and so, king, you may be certain that
your enterprise also will succeed soon by the favour of the god Siva,
promised you in a dream."

When Mrigánkadatta had heard this romantic story from his minister,
being very eager to obtain Sasánkavatí, he made up his mind to go to
Ujjayiní with his ministers.






CHAPTER LXX.


Accordingly Mrigánkadatta, being desirous to obtain Sasánkavatí the
daughter of king Karmasena, who had been described by the Vetála,
planned with his ministers to leave his city secretly, disguised as
a Pásupata ascetic, in order to travel to Ujjayiní. And the prince
himself directed his minister Bhímaparákrama to bring the necessary
staves like bed-posts, the skulls, and so on. And the head minister of
the king his father found out, by means of a spy, that Bhímaparákrama
had collected all these things in his house. And at that time it
happened that Mrigánkadatta, while walking about on the top of his
palace, spit down some betel-juice. And as ill-luck would have it,
it fell on the head of his father's minister, who happened to be
walking below, unseen by the prince. [173] But the minister, knowing
that Mrigánkadatta had spit down that betel-juice, bathed, and laid up
in his heart a grudge against Mrigánkadatta on account of the insult.

Now it happened that the next day king Amaradatta, the father of
Mrigánkadatta, had an attack of cholera, and then the minister saw
his chance, and, after imploring an assurance of safety, he said
in secret to the king, who was tortured with his sudden attack of
disease, "The fact is, my sovereign, your son Mrigánkadatta has begun
incantations against you in the house of Bhímaparákrama, that is why
you are suffering. I found it out by means of a spy, and the thing is
obvious for all to see, so banish your son from your realm and your
disease from your body at the same time." When the king heard that, he
was terrified, and sent his own general to the house of Bhímaparákrama,
to investigate the matter. And he found the hair, and the skulls, and
other articles, [174] and immediately brought those very things and
shewed them to the king. And the king in his anger said to the general,
"That son of mine is conspiring against me, because he wishes to reign
himself, so expel him from the kingdom this very moment without delay,
together with his ministers." For a confiding [175] king never sees
through the wicked practices of his ministers. So the general went
and communicated that order of the king's, and expelled Mrigánkadatta
from the city, together with his ministers. [176]

Then Mrigánkadatta was delighted at having obtained his object,
and he worshipped Ganesa, and mentally took a humble leave of his
parents, and started off. And after they had gone a great distance
from the town of Ayodhyá, the prince said to Prachandasakti and the
other nine ministers who were travelling with him, "There is here a
great king of the Kirátas, named Saktirakshita; he is a student in
the sciences, observing a vow of chastity, and he is a friend of mine
from childhood. For, when his father was long ago captured in battle,
he sent him here to be imprisoned as a substitute for himself, in order
to obtain his own release. And when his father died, his relations by
the father's side rose against him, and at my instigation my father
established him on the throne of his father with a military force. So
let us go to him, my friends, and then we will travel on to Ujjayiní,
to find that Sasánkavatí."

When he said this, all the ministers exclaimed, "So be it," and he
set out with them and reached in the evening a great wilderness. It
was devoid of trees and water, and it was with difficulty that
at last he found a tank, with one withered tree growing upon its
banks. There he performed the evening ceremonies, and drank water,
and being fatigued, he went to sleep with his ministers under that dry
tree. And in the night, which was illuminated by the moon, he woke
up, and saw that the tree first put forth abundance of leaves, then
of flowers, then of fruit. And when he saw its ripe fruit falling,
he immediately woke up his ministers, and pointed out that marvel
to them. Then they were astonished, and as they were hungry, he
and they ate the delicious fruits of that tree together, and after
they had eaten them, the dry tree suddenly became a young Bráhman,
before the eyes of them all. And when Mrigánkadatta questioned him,
he told his tale in the following words.



Story of Srutadhi.

There was an excellent Bráhman in Ayodhyá named Dámadhi. I am his son,
and my name is Srutadhi. And once in a time of famine he was wandering
about with me, and he reached this place almost dead. Here he got
five fruits which some one gave him, and though he was exhausted with
hunger, he gave three to me, and set aside two for himself. Then he
went into the water of the lake to bathe, and in the meanwhile I ate
all the five fruits, and pretended to be asleep. He returned after
bathing, and beholding me cunningly lying here as motionless as a
log, he cursed me, saving, "Become a dry tree here on the bank of the
lake. And on moonlight nights flowers and fruit shall spring from you,
and when once on a time you shall have refreshed guests with fruits,
you shall be delivered from your curse." [177] As soon as my father
had pronounced this curse on me, I became a dry tree, but now that
you have tasted my fruit, I have been delivered from the curse,
after enduring it for a long time.

After Srutadhi had related his own history, he asked Mrigánkadatta
for his, and he told it him. Then Srutadhi, who had no relations,
and was well-read in policy, asked Mrigánkadatta to permit him, as
a favour, to attach himself to his service. So, after he had spent
the night in this way, Mrigánkadatta set out next morning with his
ministers. And in the course of his journey he came to a forest named
Karimandita. There he saw five wild looking men with long hair, who
aroused his wonder. Then the five men came and respectfully addressed
him as follows:

"We were born in the city of Kásí as Bráhmans who lived by keeping
cows. And during a famine we came from that country, where the grass
was scorched by drought, with our cows, to this wood which abounds
in grass. And here we found an elixir in the form of the water of
a tank, continually flavoured with the three kinds of fruits [178]
that drop from the trees growing on its bank. And five hundred years
have passed over our heads in this uninhabited wood, while we have
been drinking this water and the milk of cows. It is thus, prince,
that we have become such as you see, and now destiny has sent you to
us as guests, so come to our hermitage."

When thus invited by them, Mrigánkadatta went with them to their
hermitage, taking his companions with him, and spent the day there
living on milk. And he set out from it in the morning, and in course
of time he reached the country of the Kirátas, seeing other wonderful
sights on the way. And he sent on Srutadhi to inform his friend
Saktirakshita, the king of the Kirátas, of his arrival. When the
sovereign of the Kirátas heard of it, he went to meet Mrigánkadatta
with great courtesy, and conducted him with his ministers into his
city. Mrigánkadatta told him the cause of his arrival, and remained
there for some days, being entertained by him. And the prince arranged
that Saktirakshita should be ready to assist him in his undertaking
when the proper time came, and then he set out, on an auspicious day,
for Ujjayiní, with his eleven companions, having been captivated
by Sasánkavatí.

And as he went along, he reached an uninhabited forest and saw standing
under a tree an ascetic, with ashes on his body, a deer-skin, and
matted hair. So he went up to him, with his followers, and said
to him; "Reverend sir, why do you live alone in this forest in
which there is no hermitage?" Then the hermit answered him, "I am
a pupil of the great sage named Suddhakírti and I know innumerable
spells. Once on a time I got hold of a certain Kshatriya boy with
auspicious marks, and I exerted all my diligence to cause him to be
possessed, while alive, by a spirit, and, when the boy was possessed,
I questioned him, and he told me of many places for potent drugs and
liquors, and then said this; 'There is in this Vindhya forest in the
northern quarter a solitary asoka-tree, and under it there is a great
palace of a snake-king. [179] In the middle of the day its water
is concealed with moistened dust, but it can be discovered by the
couples of swans sporting there together with the water-cranes. [180]
There dwells a mighty chief of the snakes, named Párávatáksha, and
he obtained a matchless sword from the war of the gods and Asuras,
named Vaidúryakánti; whatever man obtains that sword will become a
chief of the Siddhas and roam about unconquered, and that sword can
only be obtained by the aid of heroes.' When the possessed boy had
said this, I dismissed him. So I have wandered about over the earth
desirous to obtain that sword, and caring for nothing else, but,
as I have not been able to find men to help me, in disgust I have
come here to die." When Mrigánkadatta heard the ascetic say this, he
said to him, "I and my ministers will help you." The ascetic gladly
accepted his offer, and went with him and his followers, by the help
of an ointment rubbed on the feet, to the dwelling-place of that
snake. There he found the sign by which it could be recognised, and he
placed there at night Mrigánkadatta and his companions, duly initiated,
fixed with spells; and throwing enchanted mustard-seed he cleared the
water from dust, and began to offer an oblation with snake-subduing
spells. And he conquered by the power of his spells the impediments,
such as earthquakes, clouds, and so on. Then there came out from that
asoka-tree a heavenly nymph, as it were, murmuring spells with the
tinkling of her jewelled ornaments, and approaching the ascetic she
pierced his soul with a sidelong glance of love. And then the ascetic
lost his self-command and forgot his spells; and the shapely fair one,
embracing him, flung from his hand the vessel of oblation. And then
the snake Párávatáksha had gained his opportunity, and he came out
from that palace like the dense cloud of the day of doom. Then the
heavenly nymph vanished, and the ascetic beholding the snake terrible
with flaming eyes, roaring horribly, died of a broken heart.

When he was destroyed, the snake laid aside his awful form, and
cursed Mrigánkadatta and his followers, for helping the ascetic,
in the following words, "Since you did what was quite unnecessary
after all coming here with this man, you shall be for a certain time
separated from one another." Then the snake disappeared, and all of
them at the same time had their eyes dimmed with darkness, and were
deprived of the power of hearing sounds. And they immediately went
in different directions, separated from one another by the power
of the curse, though they kept looking for one another and calling
to one another. And when the delusion of the night was at an end,
Mrigánkadatta found himself roaming about in the wood without his
ministers.

And, after two or three months had passed, the Bráhman Srutadhi,
who was looking for him, suddenly fell in with him. Mrigánkadatta
received him kindly, and asked for news of his ministers, whereupon
Srutadhi fell at his feet weeping, and consoled him, and said to him,
"I have not seen them, prince, but I know they will go to Ujjayiní,
for that is the place we all have to go to." With these and similar
speeches he urged the prince to go there, so Mrigánkadatta set out
with him slowly for Ujjayiní.

And after he had journeyed a few days, he found his own minister
Vimalabuddhi who suddenly came that way. When the minister saw him,
he bowed before him with eyes filled with tears at seeing him, and
the prince embraced him, and making him sit down, he asked him for
tidings of the other ministers. Then Vimalabuddhi said to that prince,
who was so beloved by his servants, "I do not know, king, where each
of them has gone in consequence of the curse of the snake. But hear
how I know that you will find them again."



The adventures of Vimalabuddhi after he was separated from the prince.

When the snake cursed me, I was carried far away by the curse, and
wandered in the eastern part of the forest. And being fatigued, I was
taken by a certain kind person to the hermitage of a certain hermit,
named Brahmadandin. There my fatigue was removed by the fruits and
water which the sage gave me, and, roaming away far from the hermitage,
I saw a vast cave. I entered it out of curiosity, and I saw inside it a
palace made of jewels, and I began to look into the palace through the
lattice-windows. And lo! there was in it a woman causing to revolve
a wheel with bees, and those bees made some of them for a bull, and
others for a donkey, both which creatures were standing there. And
some drank the foam of milk sent forth by the bull, and others the
foam of blood sent forth by the donkey, and became white and black,
according to the colour of the two objects on which they settled;
and then they all turned into spiders. And the spiders, which were
of two different colours, made two different-coloured webs with their
excrements. And one set of webs was hung on wholesome flowers, and the
other on poisonous flowers. And the spiders, that were clinging to
those webs as they pleased, were bitten by a great snake which came
there, having two mouths, one white, and the other black. Then the
woman put them in various pitchers, but they got out again, and began
to occupy the same webs again respectively. Then those, that were on
the webs attached to the poisonous flowers, began to cry out, owing
to the violence of the poison. And thereupon the others, that were
on the other webs, began to cry out also. But the noise interrupted
the meditation of a certain merciful ascetic who was there, who
discharged fire at the webs. Then the webs, in which the spiders were
entangled, were burnt up, and the spiders entered a hollow coral rod,
and disappeared in a gleaming light at the top of it. In the meanwhile
the woman disappeared with her wheel, her bull, and her donkey.

When I had seen this, I continued to roam about there in a state of
astonishment; and then I saw a charming lake, which seemed by means
of its lotuses, round which bees hummed, to summon me thither to
look at it. And while I sat on the bank and looked at it, I beheld a
great wood inside the water, and in the wood was a hunter, and the
hunter had got hold of a lion's cub with ten arms which he brought
up, and then banished from the wood in anger, on the ground that it
was disobedient. [181] The lion then heard the voice of a lioness in
a neighbouring wood, and was going in the direction of the sound,
when his ten arms were scattered by a whirlwind. Then a man with a
protuberant belly came and restored his arms as they were before,
and he went to that forest in search of the lioness. He endured for
her sake much hardship in that other forest, and at last obtained her
whom he had had for a wife in a former state, and with her returned
to his own forest. And when the hunter saw that lion return with his
mate to the forest, which was his hereditary abode, [182] he resigned
it to him and departed.

When I had seen this, I returned to the hermitage and described both
those very wonderful spectacles to Brahmadandin. And that hermit,
who knows the past, present, and future, kindly said to me, "You
are fortunate; Siva has shewn you all this by way of favour. That
woman, whom you saw, is Illusion, and the wheel which she caused to
revolve, is the wheel of mundane existence, and the bees are living
creatures. And the bull and the donkey are respectively symbols of
Righteousness and Unrighteousness, and the foam of milk and the foam
of blood discharged by them, to which the bees repaired, are typical
of good and evil actions. And they acquired properties arising from
the things on which they respectively settled, and became spiders of
two kinds, white and foul respectively; and then with their energy,
which was symbolized by excrement, they produced entangling nets of two
kinds, such as offspring and so on, which were attached to wholesome
and poisonous flowers, which signify happiness and misery. And while
clinging each to its own web, they were bitten by a snake, typical
of Death, with its two mouths, the white set with the white mouth
symbolical of good fortune, the other with the black mouth symbolical
of evil fortune.

Then that female, typifying Illusion [183] plunged them into various
wombs typified by the jars, and they again emerged from them, and
assuming forms white and black, corresponding to what they had before,
they fell into entangling webs, which are symbolical of sons and
other worldly connexions, resulting in happiness and misery. Then
the black spiders, entangled in their webs, being tortured by the
poison, symbolical of pain, began in their affliction to invoke the
supreme lord as their help. When the white spiders, who were in their
own webs, perceived that, they also became averse to their state,
and began to invoke that same lord. Then the god, who was present
in the form of an ascetic, awoke from his trance, and consumed all
their entangling webs with the fire of knowledge. Accordingly they
ascended into the bright coral tube, typical of the orb of the sun,
and reached the highest home, which lies above it. And then Illusion
vanished, with the revolving wheel of births, and with her ox, and
her ass, typical of Righteousness and Unrighteousness.

Even thus in the circle of existence revolve creatures, fair and foul
according to their actions, and they are liberated by propitiating
Siva; and this spectacle has been shown to you by Siva to teach you
this lesson, and to put an end to your delusion. As for that sight
which you saw in the water of the tank, this is the explanation of
it. The holy god produced this apparent reflection in the water,
in order to teach you what was destined to befall Mrigánkadatta. For
he may be compared to a young lion-whelp, and he was brought up with
ten ministers round him resembling ten arms, and he was banished in
anger by his father, (typified by the hunter) from his native land,
typified by the forest: and on hearing the report of Sasánkavatí,
(who may be compared to a lioness,) coming from the land of Avanti,
(symbolized by the other wood, [184]) he made towards her, and the
wind which stripped him of his arms is the curse of the snake, which
separated him from his ministers. Then Vináyaka [185] appeared as a
man with a pendulous belly, and restored to him his arms, (that is to
say, his ministers,) and so he recovered his former condition. Then
he went and after enduring great hardship, obtained from another place
the lioness, (that is Sasánkavatí,) and returned. And when the hunter,
(that is his father,) saw him coming near with his wife, having swept
away the obstacles which his foes put in his way, [186] he resigned
to him the whole of his forest, (that is his kingdom,) and retired
to a grove of ascetics. Thus has Siva shewn you the future as if it
had already taken place. So you may be sure, your master will recover
you, his ministers, and obtain his wife and his kingdom." When the
excellent hermit had thus instructed me, I recovered hope and left
that hermitage, and travelling along slowly I have met you here,
prince, to-day. So you may rest assured, prince, that you will recover
Prachandasakti, and your other ministers, and gain your object; you
certainly gained the favour of Ganesa by worshipping him before you
set out.

When Mrigánkadatta had listened for a while to this strange story of
Vimalabuddhi's, he was much pleased, and after he had again deliberated
with him, he set out for the city of Avanti, with the double object
of accomplishing his enterprise and recovering his other ministers.






CHAPTER LXXI.


Then, as Mrigánkadatta was journeying to Ujjayiní, with Srutadhi
and Vimalabuddhi, to find Sasánkavatí, he reached the Narmadá which
lay in his path. The fickle stream, when she beheld him, shook her
waves like twining arms, and gleamed white with laughing foam, as
if she were dancing and smiling because he had so fortunately been
reunited with his ministers. And when he had gone down into the bed
of the river to bathe, it happened that a king of the Savaras, named
Máyávatu, came there for the same purpose. When he had bathed, three
water-genii [187] rose up at the same time and seized the Bhilla,
whose retinue fled in terror. When Mrigánkadatta saw that, he went
into the water with his sword drawn, and killed those water-genii,
and delivered that king of the Bhillas. When the king of the Bhillas
was delivered from the danger of those monsters, he came up out of the
water and fell at the feet of the prince, and said to him,--"Who are
you, that Providence has brought here to save my life on the present
occasion? Of what virtuous father do you adorn the family? And what is
that country favoured by fortune to which you are going?" When he said
this, Srutadhi told him the prince's whole story from the beginning,
and then the Savara king shewed him exceeding respect, and said to him;
"Then I will be your ally in this undertaking which you have in view,
as you were directed by the god, and with me will come my friend
Durgapisácha the king of Mátangas. So do me the favour, my lord,
of coming to my palace, since I am your slave."

Thus he entreated Mrigánkadatta with various humble speeches, and
then took him to his own village. And there he entertained the prince
fittingly with all the luxuries he could command, and all the people
of the village shewed him respect. And the king of the Mátangas came
and honoured him as the saviour of his friend's life, and placed his
head on the ground to shew that he was his slave. Then Mrigánkadatta
remained there some days, to please that Máyávatu, the king of the
Bhillas.

And one day, while he was staying there, that king of the Savaras began
to gamble with Chandaketu his own warder. And while he was playing, the
clouds began to roar, and the domestic peacocks lifted up their heads
and began to dance, and king Máyávatu rose up to look at them. Then
the warder, who was an enthusiastic gambler, said to his sovereign,
"What is the use, my master, of looking at these peacocks which are
not skilled in dancing? I have a peacock in my house, to which you
would not find an equal in the world. I will show it you to-morrow,
if you take pleasure in such things." When the king heard that, he
said to the warder, "You must certainly shew it to me," and then he
set about the duties of the day. And Mrigánkadatta, when he heard all
that, rose up with his companions, and performed his duties such as
bathing and eating.



The adventures of Mrigánkadatta and the warder.

And when the night came, and thick darkness was diffused over the face
of things, the prince went out alone and self-impelled from the chamber
in which his companions were sleeping, in search of adventures, with
his body smeared with musk, wearing dark-blue garments and with his
sword in his hand. And as he was roaming about, a certain man, who was
coming along the road and did not see him on account of the darkness,
jostled against him, and struck his shoulder against his. Then he
rushed at him angrily and challenged him to fight. But the person
challenged, being a man not easily abashed, made an appropriate reply,
"Why are you perplexed by want of reflection? If you reflect, you will
see that you ought to blame the moon for not lighting up this night,
or the Governor of the world for not appointing that it should rule
with full sway here, [188] since in such darkness causeless quarrels
take place."

Mrigánkadatta was pleased with this clever answer and he said
to him, "You are right. Who are you?" The man answered, "I am a
thief." Whereupon the prince said falsely, "Give me your hand,
you are of the same profession as myself." And the prince made
an alliance with him, and went along with him out of curiosity,
and at last reached an old well covered with grass. And there the
man entered a tunnel, and Mrigánkadatta went along it with him,
and reached the harem of that king Máyávatu. And when he got there,
he recognized the man by the light of the lamp, and lo! it was the
warder Chandaketu, and not a robber. But the warder, who was the
secret paramour of the king's wife, did not recognize the prince,
because he had other garments on than those he usually wore, [189]
and kept in a corner where there was not much light.

But the moment the warder arrived, the king's wife, who was named
Manjumatí, and was desperately in love with him, rose up and threw her
arms round his neck. And she made him sit down on a sofa, and said to
him, "Who is this man that you have brought here to-day?" Then he said
to her, "Make your mind easy, it is a friend of mine." But Manjumatí
said excitedly, "How can I, ill-starred woman that I am, feel at ease,
now that this king has been saved by Mrigánkadatta, after entering the
very jaws of death?" When the warder heard her say that, he answered,
"Do not grieve, my dear! I will soon kill the king and Mrigánkadatta
too." When he said this, she answered, as fate would have it, "Why
do you boast? When the king was seized that day by monsters in the
water of the Narmadá, Mrigánkadatta alone was ready to rescue him;
why did you not kill him then? The fact is, you fled in fear. So be
silent, lest some one hear this speech of yours, and then you would
certainly meet with calamity at the hands of Mrigánkadatta, who is
a brave man." When she said this, her paramour the warder lost his
temper with her. He said, "Wretched woman, you are certainly in love
with Mrigánkadatta, so receive now from me the just recompense of that
taunt." And he rose up to kill her, dagger in hand. Then a maid, who
was her confidante, ran and laid hold of the dagger with her hand and
held it. In the meanwhile Manjumatí escaped into another room. And
the warder dragged the dagger out of the maid's hand, cutting her
fingers in the process; and returned home by the way which he came,
somewhat confused, with Mrigánkadatta, who was much astonished.

Then Mrigánkadatta, who could not be recognized in the darkness,
said to the warder, "You have reached your own house, so I will
leave you." But the warder said to the prince, "Sleep here to-night,
without going further, for you are very tired." Then the prince
consented, as he wished to learn something of his goings on; and
the warder called one of his servants and said to him, "Take this
man to the room where the peacock is, and let him rest there and
give him a bed." The servant said--"I will do as you command," and
took the prince to the room and placed a light in it, and gave him
a bed. He then departed, fastening the outer door with a chain, and
Mrigánkadatta saw the peacock there in a cage. He said to himself,
"This is the very peacock, that the warder was speaking of," and out
of curiosity he opened its cage. And the peacock came out and, after
looking intently at Mrigánkadatta, it fell down and rolled at his
feet again and again. And as it was rolling, the prince saw a string
tied round its neck and at once untied it, thinking that it gave the
bird pain. The peacock, the moment that the thread was loosed from
its neck, became before his eyes his minister Bhímaparákrama. Then
Mrigánkadatta embraced the affectionate minister, who bowed before
him, and in his astonishment said to him, "Tell me, friend, what is
the meaning of this?" Then Bhímaparákrama said to him in his delight,
"Listen, prince, I will tell you my story from the beginning."



The adventures of Bhímaparákrama after his separation from the prince.

When I was separated from you by the curse of the Nága, I wandered
about in the wood until I reached a salmali tree. [190] And I saw an
image representing Ganesa carved in the tree, which I worshipped,
and then I sat down at the foot of the tree being tired, and I
said to myself, "All this mischief has been brought about by me,
by telling my master that time the incident of the Vetála which took
place at night. So I will abandon here this my sinful body." In this
frame of mind I remained there, fasting, in front of the god. And
after some days an old traveller came that way, and sat in the shade
of that tree. And the good man, seeing me, questioned me with much
persistence, saying, "Why do you remain in this solitary place, my son,
with such a downcast face?" Then I told him my story, exactly as it
took place, and the old traveller kindly said to me, to encourage me;
"Why, being a man, are you killing yourself like a woman? Moreover,
even women do not lose their courage in calamity; hear the following
tale in proof of it."



Story of Kamalákara and Hansávalí.

In the city of Kosala there was a king, named Vimalákara, and he
had a son named Kamalákara, who was made by the Creator admirable in
respect of the qualities of courage, beauty and generosity, as if to
outdo Skanda, Kandarpa, and the wishing-tree of heaven. Then one day
a bard, whom he had known before, came and recited a certain stanza
in the presence of that prince, who deserved to be praised by bards in
all the regions of the world. "Where can the row of swans [191] obtain
satisfaction, until it reaches the lotus-bed, [192] round which sings a
host of many noisy birds [193] delighted at obtaining the lotus-flower
[194]?" When the bard, named Manorathasiddhi, had frequently recited
this stanza, prince Kamalákara questioned him, and he said to him:
"Prince, as I was roaming about, I reached the city of king Meghamálin,
named Vidisá, the pleasure-ground of the goddess of prosperity. There
I was staying in the house of a professor of singing, named Dardura,
and one day he happened to say to me, 'To-morrow the daughter of
the king, named Hansávalí, will exhibit in his presence her skill
in dancing, which she has lately been taught.' When I heard that,
I was filled with curiosity, and managed to enter the king's palace
with him the following day, and went into the dancing-hall. There I
saw the slender-waisted princess Hansávalí dancing before her father,
to the music of a great tabor, looking like a creeper of the tree of
Love agitated by the wind of youth, shaking her ornaments like flowers,
curving her hand like a shoot. Then I thought, 'There is no one fitted
to be the husband of this fawn-eyed one, except the prince Kamalákara;
so, if she, being such, is not joined to him, why has the god of love
taken the trouble of stringing his bow of flowers thus fruitlessly? So
I will adopt some expedient in this matter.' Thus minded I went, after
I had seen the spectacle, to the door of the king's court, and I put up
a notice with this inscription on it; 'If there is any painter here,
who is a match for me, let him paint a picture.' When no one else
dared to tear it down, the king coming to hear of it, appointed me
to paint his daughter's bower. Then I painted you and your servants,
prince Kamalákara, on the wall of the bower of that Hansávalí.

"I thought to myself, 'If I declare the matter openly, she will know
that I am scheming, so I will let the princess know it by means of
an artifice.' So I persuaded a handsome fellow, who was an intimate
friend of mine, to come near the palace, and pretend to be mad, and
I arranged with him beforehand how he was to behave. Now he was seen
a long way off by the princes, as he was roaming about singing and
dancing, and they had him brought into their presence to make game of
him. Then Hansávalí saw him, and had him brought by way of a joke into
her bower, and, when he saw the picture of you, which I had painted
there, he began to praise you, saying, 'I am fortunate in beholding
this Kamalákara, who is, like Vishnu, an endless store of virtues,
with his hand marked with the lotus and conch, the object of the favour
of the goddess of Fortune.' When the princess heard him singing such
songs, as he danced, she said to me, 'What does this fellow mean? Who
is it that you have painted here?' When she asked me this persistently,
I said, 'This mad fellow must have previously seen this prince, whom I
have painted here out of regard for his beauty.' And then I told her
your name, and described to her your good qualities. Then the young
tree of passion grew up in the heart of Hansávalí, which was irrigated
by the overflowing streams of gushing love for you. Then the king her
father came and saw what was going on, and in wrath had the pretended
madman, who was dancing, and myself, both turned out of doors. After
that she pined away day by day with longing, and was reduced to such
a state that, like a streak of the moon during the wane, she had only
her beauty left. And on the pretence of illness she went to a temple
of Vishnu that dispels calamity, and so managed to live a solitary
life by the permission of her father. And being unable to sleep,
owing to thinking on you, she could not endure the cruel moonlight,
and remained there ignorant of the changes of day and night. Then she
saw me one day from a window, as I was entering there, and she summoned
me, and honoured me respectfully with dresses and ornaments. [195]
And then I went out, and saw this stanza which I have repeated to
you written on the border of a garment that she had given me: hear
it again; 'Where can the row of swans obtain satisfaction, until it
reaches the lotus-bed, round which sings a host of many noisy birds
delighted at obtaining the lotus-flower.' And when I read it, I knew
for certain how she felt towards you, and I came here to inform you
and recited the stanza in your presence, and here is the garment on
which she wrote the stanza." When Kamalákara heard the speech of the
bard, and saw the stanza, he joyed exceedingly, thinking on Hansávalí,
who had entered his heart, he knew not whether by eye or ear.

Now it happened that, while he was thinking with eager longing about
the best means of obtaining this princess, his father summoned him
and said to him; "My son, unenterprising kings perish like snakes
arrested by a charm, and how can kings rise up again when they have
once perished? But you have been addicted to pleasures, and up to the
present time you have not been visited by any longing for conquest;
so arouse yourself, and fling off sloth; advance and conquer that
enemy of mine the king of Anga, who has left his own country on an
enterprise against me, and I will remain at home. When the brave
Kamalákara heard this, he agreed to undertake the enterprise, being
desirous of marching towards the country of his beloved. Then he
set out with the forces which his father assigned him, making the
earth and the hearts of his enemies tremble. And he reached in a few
marches the army of the king of Anga, and when that prince turned
round to make a counter-attack, he fought with him. And the brave
hero drank up his army, as Agastya did the water of the sea, and being
victorious, captured the king alive. And he sent that enemy in chains
to his father, committing him to the care of the principal warder in
accordance with a letter, which he sent with him. But he commissioned
the warder to give the following message by word of mouth to the king,
"I now leave this place, my father, to conquer other enemies." So
he went on conquering other enemies, and with his army augmented by
their forces, he at last arrived in the vicinity of the city of Vidisá.

And encamping there he sent an ambassador to Meghamálin the father
of Hansávalí, to ask for her in marriage. When that king learnt from
the ambassador that he had come, not as an enemy, but for the sake of
his daughter, he paid a friendly visit to him in person. The prince
welcomed him; and Meghamálin, after he had complimented the prince,
said to him, "Why did you take the trouble of coming in person about
a business which might have been negotiated by an ambassador? For
I desire this marriage; hear the reason. Seeing that this Hansávalí
was even in her childhood devoted to the worship of Vishnu, and that
she had a frame delicate as a sirísha, I became anxious about her,
and kept saying to myself, 'Who will be a fitting husband for this
girl.' And, as I could not think of a suitable husband for her, I was
deprived of sleep by my anxiety about the matter, and contracted a
violent fever. And in order to allay it, I worshipped and petitioned
Vishnu, and one night, when I was only able to sleep a little on
account of pain, Vishnu said to me in a dream, 'Let that Hansávalí,
on account of whom you have contracted this fever, touch you with
her hand, my son, then your fever will be allayed. For her hand is so
holy from worshipping me, that whenever she touches any one with it,
his fever, even though incurable, will certainly pass away. And you
need have no more anxiety about her marriage, since prince Kamalákara
is destined to be her husband. But she will endure some misery for
a short time.' When I had been thus instructed by Vishnu in a dream,
I woke up at the end of the night. Then my fever was removed by the
touch of Hansávalí's hand. And so the union of you two is appointed
by the god. Accordingly I bestow on you Hansávalí." When he had said
this, he had an auspicious moment fixed for the marriage and returned
to his capital.

There he told all that he had done, and when Hansávalí had heard it,
she said in secret to her confidante, named Kanakamanjarí, "Go and
see with your own eyes whether that prince, to whom I am to be given,
is the same as he, who, when painted here by the artist, captivated my
heart. For it is just possible that my father may wish, out of fear,
to bestow me as a gift on some prince of the same name, that has
come here with an army." With these words she sent off Kanakamanjarí,
acting in accordance with her own will only.

And the confidante, having assumed the complete disguise of an ascetic,
with rosary of Aksha beads, deer-skin, and matted hair, went to
the camp of that prince, and entered introduced by his attendants,
and beheld him looking like the god that presides over the weapon
with which the god of love conquers the world. And her heart was
fascinated by his beauty, and she remained a moment looking as if she
were in profound meditation. And full of longing she said to herself,
"If I am not united with this charming prince, I shall have been born
in vain. So I will take the necessary steps to ensure that, whatever
comes of it." Then she went up to him, and gave him her blessing,
and bestowed on him a jewel, and he received the gem politely and sat
down; then she said to him, "This is an excellent jewel of which I
have often seen the properties tested. By holding it in your hand you
can render ineffectual the best weapon of your enemy. And I give it
you out of regard for your excellence, for it is not of so much use
to me, prince, as it is to you." When she said this, the prince began
to speak to her, but she forbade him, on the ground that she had vowed
an exclusive devotion to the life of a beggar, and departed thence.

Then she laid aside the dress of a female ascetic, and assumed a
downcast expression of face, and went into the presence of Hansávalí,
and when questioned by her, made the following false statement;
"I must out of love for you reveal the king's secret, although it is
a matter which ought to be concealed. When I went from here to the
camp of the prince dressed as a female ascetic, a man came up to me
of his own accord and said in a low voice, 'Reverend madam, do you
know the rites for exorcising demons?' When I heard that, I said to
him, looking upon him as the warder, 'I know them very well. This is
a trifling matter for me.' Then I was immediately introduced into
the presence of that prince Kamalákara. And I saw him crouching,
possessed by a demon, having horns on his head, and his attendants
were trying to restrain him; besides he had herbs and a talismanic
jewel on him. I performed certain pretended ceremonies to avert evil,
and went out immediately, saying, 'To-morrow I will come and take
away his affliction.' Accordingly, being exceedingly grieved with the
sight of such an unexpected calamity, I have come here to tell you;
it is for you to decide what you will do next."

When the unsuspecting Hansávalí heard this trumped-up tale of
her maid's, terrible as a thunderstroke, she was distracted and
said to her, "Out on the spite of destiny! she brings trouble on
her handiwork, even when full of excellences; indeed the spot on
the moon is a disgrace to him who created it. As for this prince,
I chose him as my husband, but I cannot see him, so it is best for me
to die or to retire into some forest. So tell me what I had better do
in this matter." When the guileless lady said this, the treacherous
Kanakamanjarí answered, "Have some maid of yours, dressed in your
clothes, married to him, and we will escape to some place of refuge;
for the people of the palace will be all in a state of excitement
at that time." When the princess heard that, she said to her wicked
confidante, "Then do you put on my clothes, and marry that prince; who
else is as faithful to me as you?" The wicked Kanakamanjarí answered,
"Cheer up, I will manage to effect this by a stratagem, happen to me
what may. But when the time comes, you must do as I direct you." When
she had consoled her with these words, she went and told an intimate
friend of hers, named Asokakarí, her secret object. And with her she
waited during three days on the desponding Hansávalí, who agreed with
them on the measures to he taken.

And when the wedding-day came, the bridegroom Kamalákara arrived
at night, with a train of elephants, horses, and footmen. While
all the people of the palace were occupied with festal rejoicing,
Kanakamanjarí, keeping by an artifice the other maids out of the way,
quickly took Hansávalí into her chamber, ostensibly for the purpose
of decking her, and put the princess's dress on herself, and clothed
her in the dress of Asokakarí, and put her own dress on her accomplice
Asokakarí, and when night came, said to Hansávalí, "If you go out only
the distance of a cos from the western gate of this city, you will
find an old hollow Salmali-tree. Go and hide inside it, and await my
arrival. And after the business is accomplished, I will certainly come
there to you." When Hansávalí heard these words of her treacherous
friend, she agreed, and went out from the female apartments at night
clad in her garments, and she passed out unperceived by the western
gate of the city, which was crowded with the bridegroom's attendants,
and reached the foot of that Salmali-tree. But when she saw that the
hollow of it was black with thick darkness, she was afraid to go into
it, so she climbed up a banyan-tree near it. There she remained hidden
by the leaves, watching for the arrival of her treacherous friend,
for she did not see through her villainy, being herself of a guileless
nature. [196]

In the palace meanwhile, the auspicious moment having arrived, the
king brought Kanakamanjarí, who was dressed as Hansávalí, and placed
her on the sacrificial platform, and Kamalákara married that fair-hued
maid, and on account of its being night nobody detected her. And the
moment the marriage was over, the prince set out for his own camp
at full speed by that same western gate of the city, in order to
gain the benefit of propitious constellations, and he took with him
the supposed Hansávalí, together with Asokakarí, who was personating
Kanakamanjarí. And as he went along, he came near that Salmali-tree,
in the banyan-tree near which was concealed Hansávalí, who had been so
cruelly deceived. And when he arrived there, the supposed Hansávalí,
who was on the back of the elephant, which the king had mounted,
embraced him, as if she were terrified. And he asked her eagerly the
reason of that terror, whereupon she artfully replied with gushing
tears; "My husband, I remember that, last night, in a dream, a woman
like a Rákshasí rushed out from this tree, and seized me to eat
me. Then a certain Bráhman ran forward and delivered me, and after
he had consoled me, he said, 'My daughter, you should have this tree
burnt, and if this woman should come out of it, she must be thrown
back into it. So all will turn out well.' When the Bráhman had said
this, he disappeared. And I woke up. Now that I have seen this tree
I remember it. That is why I am frightened." When she said this,
Kamalákara immediately ordered his servants to burn the tree and
the woman too. So they burned the tree; and the pretended Hansávalí
thought that her mistress was burned in it, as she did not come out
of it. Then she was satisfied, and Kamalákara returned with her to
the camp, thinking that he had got the real Hansávalí. And the next
morning he returned rapidly from that place to his city of Kosala,
and he was anointed king by his father, who was pleased at his
success. And after his father had gone to the forest, he ruled the
earth, having for his wife Kanakamanjarí the pretended Hansávalí. But
the bard Manorathasiddhi kept at a distance from the palace, because
he feared for his own safety in case she were to find out who he was.

But when Hansávalí, who remained that night in the banyan-tree,
heard and saw all that, she perceived that she had been tricked. And
she said to herself, as soon as Kamalákara had departed; "Alas! my
wicked confidante has robbed me of my lover by treachery. Alas! she
even desires to have me burned in order to ensure her own peace of
mind. But to whom is reliance upon treacherous people not a source
of calamity? So I will throw my unlucky self into the glowing
ashes of the Salmali-tree, that was burnt for me, and so pay my
debt to the tree." After these reflections she descended from the
tree, determined to destroy herself, but as fate would have it,
she returned to her sober reason, and thought thus within herself;
"Why should I destroy myself without reason? If I live, I shall soon be
revenged on that betrayer of her friend. For when my father was seized
with that fever, Vishnu appeared to him in a dream, and after saying
that he was to be healed by the touch of my hand, said this to him,
'Hansávalí shall obtain Kamalákara, who will be a suitable husband
for her, but she shall endure calamity for a short time.' So I will
go somewhere and wait a little." When she had formed this resolution,
she set out for an uninhabited forest.

And after she had gone a long distance, and was weary, and her
steps began to falter, the night disappeared, as if out of pity,
in order to let her see her way. And the heaven being, as it were,
moved with compassion at beholding her, let fall a flood of tears in
the form of drops of dew. And the sun, the friend of the virtuous,
rose up so as to comfort her, by revealing to her both hopes and the
face of the country, and stretched out the fingers of his rays to
wipe away her tears. Then the princess, being a little consoled, went
on slowly by by-paths, avoiding the sight of men; and wounded by the
spikes of kusa grass, she at last reached with difficulty a certain
forest, full of birds which seemed to be singing, "Come here, come
here!" She entered the wood fatigued, and was, as it were, courteously
fanned by the trees with their creepers waving in the wind. So she,
full of longing for her beloved, beheld that wood in all the pomp of
spring, where the cuckoos cooed sweetly on fragrant mango-trees in
full blossom. And in her despondency she said to herself; "Although
this breeze from the Malaya mountain, red with the pollen of flowers,
scorches me like a fire, and these showers of flowers falling from
the trees, while the bees hum, strike me like showers of the arrows
of Love, still I will remain here worshipping with these flowers the
husband of Ramá, [197] and by so doing purge away my sin." Having
formed this resolution, she remained bathing in tanks and living on
fruit, devoted to the worship of Vishnu, in order to gain Kamalákara.

In the meanwhile it happened that Kamalákara was seized with a chronic
quartan fever. Then the wicked Kanakamanjarí, who personated Hansávalí,
was terrified, and thought thus in her heart, "I have always one
fear in my heart, lest Asokakarí should reveal my secret, and now a
second has come on the top of it. For the father of Hansávalí said
to my husband, in the presence of a large number of persons, that
the touch of his daughter's hand removed fever; and as soon as in his
present attack he shall call that to mind, I shall be exposed, as not
having that power, and ruined. So I will perform on his behalf with
all due rites an incantation for obtaining control over an imp of the
fever-demon, who has the power of removing fever, and who was mentioned
to me long ago by a certain witch. And I will by a stratagem kill this
Asokakarí, in front of the imp, in order that the offering to him may
be made with human flesh, and so he may be enlisted in my service and
bring about the desired result. So the king's fever will be cured and
Asokakarí removed at the same time, and both my fears will be ended;
I do not see any chance of a prosperous issue in any other way."

Having formed this resolution, she told Asokakarí all the harmless
points of her plan, taking care to omit the necessity of slaying
a human being. Then Asokakarí consented, and brought the necessary
utensils, and Kanakamanjarí by an artifice dismissed her attendants,
and, accompanied by Asokakarí only, went out from the women's
apartments secretly at night by a postern-door, and sword in hand,
[198] made for a deserted temple of Siva in which there was one
linga. There she killed with the sword a goat, and anointed the
linga with its blood, and made an offering to it of its flesh,
and threw the animal's entrails round it by way of a garland, and
honoured it by placing on its summit the goat's lotus-like heart,
and fumigated it with the smoke of its eyes, and lastly presented to
it the animal's head by way of oblation. Then she smeared the front
of the sacrificial platform with blood and sandalwood, and painted on
it with yellow paint a lotus, having eight leaves, and on its pericarp
she traced with crushed mango a representation of the demon of fever,
with three feet and three mouths, and with a handful of ashes by way of
weapon; and she represented on the leaves the fever's attendant imps in
proper form, and summoned them with a spell which she knew. [199] And
then she wished to make an offering to them, preparatory to bathing,
with human flesh, as I said before, so she said to Asokakarí, "Now,
my friend, prostrate yourself flat on the earth before the god, for
thus you will obtain prosperous fortune." Then she consented, and
flung herself flat on the earth, and the wicked Kanakamanjarí gave
her a cut with the sword. As it happened, the sword only wounded her
slightly on the shoulder, and she rose up terrified, and ran away,
and seeing Kanakamanjarí pursuing her, she exclaimed again and again,
"Help, help!" And thereupon some policemen, who happened to be near,
ran to her assistance. When they saw Kanakamanjarí pursuing her, sword
in hand, with a ferocious expression of countenance, they thought she
was a Rákshasí, and slashed her with their swords till she was almost
dead. But when they heard from the lips of Asokakarí the real state
of the case, they took both the women to the king's court, with the
governor of the town at their head. When king Kamalákara heard their
story, he had that wicked wife and her confidante brought into his
presence. And when they were brought, what with fear and the severe
pain of her wounds, Kanakamanjarí died on the spot.

Then the king, in great despondency, said to Asokakarí, who was
wounded, "What is the meaning of this? Tell me without fear." Then
Asokakarí related from the very beginning the history of the daring
treachery accomplished by Kanakamanjarí. Then king Kamalákara,
having found out the truth, thus bewailed his lot on that occasion,
"Alas! I have been deceived by this supposed Hansávalí into burning
the real Hansávalí with my own hand, fool that I was! Well! this
wicked woman has met the just reward of her actions, in that, after
becoming the wife of a king, she has been thus put to death. But
how came I to permit cruel Destiny to deceive me with mere outward
appearances, like a child, and so to rob me by taking away my jewel
and giving me glass instead. Moreover, I did not remember that touch
of the hand of Hansávalí, of which Vishnu spoke to her father, which
has given evidence of its power to remove fever." While Kamalákara
was thus lamenting, he suddenly recollected the words of Vishnu and
said to himself, "Her father Meghamálin told me that Vishnu said that
she should obtain a husband, but that she should suffer some little
affliction, and that word of the god, made known to men, will not
have been spoken in vain. So it is quite possible that she may have
gone somewhere else, and be still alive, for who knows the mysterious
ways of a woman's heart, any more than those of destiny? So in this
matter the bard Manorathasiddhi must once more be my refuge."

Thus reflecting, the king sent for that excellent bard, and said
to him, "How is it, my good friend, that you are never seen in the
palace?" But how can those obtain their wishes, who are deceived by
rogues? When the bard heard that, he said, "My excuse is that this
Asokakarí was well nigh slain, out of fear that she would reveal the
secret. But you must not be despondent about Hansávalí, for Vishnu
revealed that she would suffer calamity for a short time. And he
certainly protects her, because she is ever intent on worshipping him;
for virtue prevails; has it not been seen in the present instance? So
I will go, king, to obtain tidings of her." When the bard said this
to the king, he answered him, "I myself will go in search of her with
you. For otherwise my mind cannot be at rest even for a moment."

When the king had said this, he resolved on the course to be taken,
and next day he entrusted his kingdom to the care of his minister
Prajnádhya. And though the minister did all he could to dissuade
him, the king left the town unobserved with Manorathasiddhi. And he
went round to many holy places, hermitages, and forests in search of
her, disregarding physical suffering, for weighty is the command of
Love. And it happened that he and Manorathasiddhi at last reached the
wood, where Hansávalí was performing austerities. There he saw her
at the foot of a red Asoka-tree, thin and pale, but yet charming,
like the last digit of the gleaming moon. And he said to the bard;
"Who is this silent and motionless, engaged in meditation? Can she
be a goddess, for her beauty is more than human?" When the bard
heard that, he looked and said, "You are fortunate, my sovereign, in
finding Hansávalí; for it is she herself that is standing there." When
Hansávalí heard that, she looked at them, and recognising that bard,
she cried out with renewed grief; "Alas! my father, I am ruined! alas
my husband, Kamalákara! alas Manorathasiddhi! alas, Destiny, source
of untoward events!" Thus lamenting, she fell on the ground in a
faint, and when Kamalákara heard and saw her, he too fell on the
earth overpowered with grief. Then they were both brought round by
Manorathasiddhi; and when they had recognised one another for certain,
they were much delighted, and, having crossed the ocean of separation,
they experienced indescribable joy, and they told one another in due
course all their adventures. Then Kamalákara returned with Hansávalí
and that bard to the city of Kosala. There he received in marriage her
hand that had the power of removing disease, after summoning her father
the famous Meghamálin. Then Kamalákara shone exceedingly bright, being
united with Hansávalí, both whose wings were pure. [200] And having
attained his object in life, he lived happily with her whose endurance
had borne fruit, ruling the earth, inseparable from Manorathasiddhi.

"So you see those who do not lose heart, even in calamity, obtain
all they desire, and on the same principle you should abstain from
suicide, for, if you live, you will be reunited to that lord." With
these words the old traveller closed his tale, and after dissuading
me from death, departed whither he would.

After Bhímaparákrama had told all this to Mrigánkadatta at night in
the house of Chandaketu, he went on to say:



Continuation of the adventures of Bhímaparákrama.

So, having received useful admonition, I left that forest and went
to the city of Ujjayiní, for which I knew you were making, to find
you. When I did not find you there, I entered the house of a certain
woman to lodge, as I was worn out, and gave her money for food. She
gave me a bed, and being tired I slept for some time, but then I
woke up, and out of curiosity I remained quiet, and watched her, and
while I was watching, the woman took a handful of barley, and sowed
it all about inside the house, her lip trembling all the time with
muttering spells. Those grains of barley immediately sprang up, and
produced ears, and ripened, and she cut them down, and parched them,
and ground them, and made them into barley-meal. And she sprinkled
the barley-meal with water, and put it in a brass pot, and, after
arranging her house as it was before, she went out quickly to bathe.

Then, as I saw that she was a witch, I took the liberty of rising up
quickly; and taking that meal out of the brass pot, I transferred it
to the meal-bin, and I took as much barley-meal out of the meal-bin,
and placed it in the brass vessel, taking care not to mix the two
kinds. Then I went back again to bed, and the woman came in, and roused
me up, and gave me that meal from the brass pot to eat, and she ate
some herself, taking what she ate from the meal-bin, and so she ate
the charmed meal, not knowing that I had exchanged the two kinds. The
moment she had eaten that barley-meal, she became a she-goat; then
I took her and sold her by way of revenge to a butcher. [201]

Then the butcher's wife came up to me and said angrily, "You have
deceived this friend of mine--you shall reap the fruit of this." When
I had been thus threatened by her, I went secretly out of the town,
and being weary I lay down under a banyan-tree, and went to sleep. And
while I was in that state, that wicked witch, the butcher's wife, came
and fastened a thread on my neck. Then the wicked woman departed, and
immediately I woke up, and when I began to examine myself, lo! I had
turned into a peacock, though I still retained my intelligence. [202]

Then I wandered about for some days much distressed, and one day
I was caught alive by a certain fowler. He brought me here and
gave me to this Chandaketu, the principal warder of the king of the
Bhillas, by way of a complimentary present. The warder, for his part,
immediately made me over to his wife, and she put me in this house as
a pet bird. And to-day, my prince, you have been guided here by fate,
and have loosened the thread round my neck, and so I have recovered
my human shape.

"So let us leave this place quickly, for this warder always murders
next morning [203] the companions of his midnight rambles, for fear
his secrets should be disclosed. And to-day he has brought you here,
after you have been a witness of his nightly adventures, so fasten,
my prince, on your neck this thread prepared by the witch, and turn
yourself into a peacock, and go out by this small window; then I
will stretch out my hand and loosen the thread from your neck, which
you must put up to me, and I will fasten it on my own neck and go
out quickly in the same way. Then you must loosen the thread round
my neck, and we shall both recover our former condition. But it is
impossible to go out by the door which is fastened from outside."

When the sagacious Bhímaparákrama had said this, Mrigánkadatta
agreed to his proposal and so escaped from the house with him; and
he returned to his lodging where his other two friends were; there
he and his friends all spent the night pleasantly in describing to
one another all their adventures.

And in the morning Máyávatu, the Bhilla king, the head of that town,
came to Mrigánkadatta, and after asking him whether he had spent the
night pleasantly, he said to amuse him, "Come, let us play dice." Then
Mrigánkadatta's friend Srutadhi, observing that the Bhilla had come
with his warder, said to him, "Why should you play dice? Have you
forgotten? To-day we are to see the dance of the warder's peacock,
which was talked about yesterday." When the Savara king heard that,
he remembered, and out of curiosity sent the warder to fetch the
peacock. And the warder remembered the wounds he had inflicted,
and thought to himself, "Why did I in my carelessness forget to put
to death that thief, who witnessed my secret nightly expedition,
though I placed him in the peacock's house? So I will go quickly,
and do both the businesses." And thereupon he went quickly home.

But when he reached his own palace and looked into the house
where the peacock was, he could not find either the thief or the
peacock. Then terrified and despondent he returned and said to his
sovereign; "My lord, that peacock has been taken away in the night
by a thief." Then Srutadhi said smiling, "The man who took away your
peacock is renowned as a clever thief." And when Máyávatu saw them
all smiling, and looking at one another, he asked with the utmost
eagerness what it all meant. Then Mrigánkadatta told the Savara king
all his adventures with the warder; how he met him in the night,
and how the warder entered the queen's apartment as a paramour, and
how he drew his knife in a quarrel; how he himself went to the house
of the warder, and how he set Bhímaparákrama free from his peacock
transformation, and how he escaped thence.

Then Máyávatu, after hearing that, and seeing that the maid in
the harem had a knife-wound in the hand, and that when that thread
was replaced for a moment on the neck of Bhímaparákrama, he again
became a peacock, put his warder to death at once as a violator of
his harem. But he spared the life of that unchaste queen, on the
intercession of Mrigánkadatta, and renouncing her society, banished
her to a distance from his court. And Mrigánkadatta, though eager
to win Sasánkavatí, remained some more days in the Pulinda's town,
treated with great consideration by him, looking for the arrival of
the rest of his friends and his re-union with them.






CHAPTER LXXII.


While Mrigánkadatta was thus residing in the palace of Máyávatu, the
king of the Bhillas, accompanied by Vimalabuddhi and his other friends,
one day the general of the Bhilla sovereign came to him in a state of
great excitement, and said to him in the presence of Mrigánkadatta;
"As by your Majesty's orders I was searching for a man to offer as a
victim to Durgá, I found one so valiant that he destroyed five hundred
of your best warriors, and I have brought him here disabled by many
wounds." When the Pulinda chief heard that, he said to the general,
"Bring him quickly in here, and shew him to me." Then he was brought
in, and all beheld him smeared with the blood that flowed from his
wounds, begrimed with the dust of battle, bound with cords, and
reeling, like a mad elephant tied up that is stained with the fluid
that flows from his temples mixed with the vermilion painting on his
cheek. Then Mrigánkadatta recognised him as his minister Gunákara, and
ran and threw his arms round his neck, weeping. Then the king of the
Bhillas, hearing from Mrigánkadatta's friends that it was Gunákara,
bowed before him, and comforted him as he was clinging to the feet
of his master, and brought him into his palace, and gave him a bath,
and bandaged his wounds, and supplied him attentively with wholesome
food and drink, such as was recommended by the physicians. Then
Mrigánkadatta, after his minister had been somewhat restored, said to
him; "Tell me, my friend, what adventures have you had?" Then Gunákara
said in the hearing of all, "Hear, prince, I will tell you my story."



The adventures of Gunákara after his separation from the prince.

At that time when I was separated from you by the curse of the Nága,
I was so bewildered that I was conscious of nothing, but went on
roaming through that far-extending wilderness. At last I recovered
consciousness and thought in my grief, "Alas! this is a terrible
dispensation of unruly destiny. How will Mrigánkadatta, who would
suffer even in a palace, exist in this desert of burning sand? And how
will his companions exist? Thus reflecting frequently in my mind, I
happened, as I was roaming about, to come upon the abode of Durgá. And
I entered her temple, in which were offered day and night many and
various living creatures, and which therefore resembled the palace of
the god of Death. After I had worshipped the goddess there, I saw the
corpse of a man who had offered himself, and who held in his hand a
sword that had pierced his throat. When I saw that, I also, on account
of my grief at being separated from you, determined to propitiate the
goddess by the sacrifice of myself. So I ran and seized his sword. But
at that moment some compassionate female ascetic, after forbidding
me from a distance by a prohibitive shake of the head, came up to me,
and dissuaded me from death, and after asking me my story said to me;
"Do not act so, the re-union even of the dead has been seen in this
world, much more of the living. Hear this story in illustration of it."



Story of king Vinítamati who became a holy man.

There is a celebrated city on the earth, of the name of Ahichchhatrá,
[204] in it there dwelt of old time a mighty king, of the name of
Udayatunga. And he had a noble warder named Kamalamati. This warder had
a matchless son named Vinítamati. The lotus, in spite of its threads,
and the bow, in spite of its string, could not be compared to that
youth who possessed a string of good qualities, for the first was
hollow and the second crooked. One day, as he was on a platform on
the top of a palace white with plaster, he saw the moon rising in the
beginning of the night, like a splendid ear-ornament on the darkness of
the eastern quarter, made of a shoot from the wishing-tree of love. And
Vinítamati, seeing the world gradually illuminated with its numerous
rays, felt his heart leap within him, and said to himself, "Ha! the
ways are seen to be lighted up by the moonlight, as if whitened with
plaster, so why should I not go there and roam about? Accordingly
he went out with his bow and arrows, and roamed about, and after he
had gone only a cos, he suddenly heard a noise of weeping. He went
in the direction of the sound and saw a certain maiden of heavenly
appearance weeping, as she reclined at the foot of a tree. And he said
to her, "Fair one, who are you? And why do you make the moon of your
countenance like the moon when flecked with spots, by staining it
with tears?" When he said this to her, she answered, "Great-souled
one, I am the daughter of a king of the snakes named Gandhamálin,
and my name is Vijayavatí. Once on a time my father fled from battle,
and was thus cursed by Vásuki--'Wicked one, you shall be conquered
and become the slave of your enemy.' In consequence of that curse, my
father was conquered by his enemy, a Yaksha named Kálajihva, and made
his servant, and forced to carry a load of flowers for him. Grieved
thereat, I tried for his sake to propitiate Gaurí with asceticism,
and the holy goddess appeared to me in visible form, and said this
to me, 'Listen, my child; there is in the Mánasa lake a great and
heavenly lotus of crystal expanded into a thousand leaves. Its rays
are scattered abroad when it is touched by the sun-beams, and it
gleams like the many-crested head of Sesha, yellow with the rays of
jewels. Once on a time Kuvera beheld it, and conceived a desire for
that lotus, and after he had bathed in the Mánasa lake, he began to
worship Vishnu in order to obtain it. And at that time the Yakshas,
his followers, were playing in the water, in the shapes of Brahmany
ducks and geese, and other aquatic creatures. And it happened that
the elder brother of your enemy Kálajihva, a Yaksha named Vidyujjíva,
was playing with his beloved in the form of a Brahmany drake, and
while flapping his wings, he struck and upset the argha vessel held in
the extremity of Kuvera's hand. Then the god of wealth was enraged,
and by a curse made Vidyujjíva and his wife Brahmany ducks [205]
on this very Mánasa lake. And Kálajihva, now that his elder brother
is so transformed and is unhappy at night on account of the absence
of his beloved, assumes out of affection her form every night to
console him, and remains there in the day in his own natural form,
accompanied by your father Gandhamálin, whom he has made a slave. So
send there, my daughter, the brave and enterprising Vinítamati, of the
town of Ahichchhatrá, the son of the warder, and take this sword [206]
and this horse, for with these that hero will conquer that Yaksha, and
will set your father at liberty. And whatever man becomes the possessor
of this excellent sword, will conquer all his enemies and become a
king on the earth.' After saying this, the goddess gave me the sword
and horse, and disappeared. So I have come here to-day in due course
to excite you to the enterprise, and seeing you going out at night
with the favour of the goddess, I brought you here by an artifice,
having caused you to hear a sound of weeping. So accomplish for me
that desire of mine, noble sir!" When Vinítamati was thus entreated
by her, he immediately consented.

Then the snake-maiden went at once and brought that swift white
horse, that looked like the concentrated rays of the moon, rushing
forth into the extreme points of the earth to slay the darkness,
and that splendid sword, equal in brightness to the starlight sky,
appearing like a glance of the goddess of Fortune in search of
a hero, and gave them both to Vinítamati. And he set out with the
sword, after mounting that horse with the maiden, and thanks to its
speed he reached that very lake Mánasa. The lotus-clumps of the lake
were shaken by the wind, and it seemed by the plaintive cries of its
Brahmany ducks to forbid his approach out of pity for Kálajihva. And
seeing Gandhamálin there in the custody of some Yakshas, he wounded
those miserable creatures with his sword and dispersed them, in order
to set him at liberty. When Kálajihva saw that, he abandoned the form
of a Brahmany duck and rose from the middle of the lake, roaring like a
cloud of the rainy season. In the course of the fight Kálajihva soared
up into the air, and Vinítamati, with his horse, soared up after him,
and seized him by the hair. And when he was on the point of cutting off
his head with his sword, the Yaksha, speaking in a plaintive voice,
implored his protection. And being spared, he gave him his own ring,
that possessed the power of averting all the calamities called íti,
[207] and with all marks of deference he released Gandhamálin from
slavery, and Gandhamálin, in his delight, gave Vinítamati his daughter
Vijayavatí, and returned home. Then Vinítamati, being the possessor
of a splendid sword, ring, horse, and maiden, returned home as soon
as the day broke. There his father welcomed him and questioned him,
and was delighted at the account of his exploits, and so was his
sovereign, and then he married that Nága maiden. [208]

And one day his father Kamalamati said in secret to the youth,
who was happy in the possession of these four priceless things,
and of many accomplishments; "The king Udayatunga here has a
daughter named Udayavatí, well taught in all the sciences, and he
has publicly announced that he will give her to the first Bráhman or
Kshatriya who conquers her in argument. And by her wonderful skill
in argument she has silenced all other disputants, as by her beauty,
which is the theme of the world's wonder, she has put to shame the
nymphs of heaven. You are a distinguished hero, you are a disputant
of the Kshatriya caste; why do you remain silent? Conquer her in
argument, and marry her." [209] When Vinítamati's father said this
to him, he answered,--"My father, how can men like me contend with
weak women? Nevertheless, I will obey this order of yours." When
the bold youth said this, his father went to the king, and said to
him,--"Vinítamati will dispute with the princess to-morrow." And the
king approved the proposal, and Kamalamati returned home, and informed
his son Vinítamati of his consent.

The next morning the king, like a swan, took up his position in
the midst of the lotus-bed of the assembly of learned men, and the
disputant Vinítamati entered the hall, resplendent like the sun,
and being gazed on by the eyes of all the accomplished men who
were assembled there, that were turned towards him, he, as it were,
animated the lotus-bed with circling bees. And soon after the princess
Udayavatí came there slowly, like the bow of the god of love bent
with the string of excellence; adorned with splendid sweetly-tinkling
ornaments, that seemed, as it were, to intimate her first objection
before it was uttered. [210] A pure streak of the moon in a clear
heaven would give some idea of her appearance when she was seated on
her emerald throne. Then she made her first objection, stringing on
the threads of her glittering teeth a chain of elegant words like
jewels. But Vinítamati proved that her objection was based upon
premisses logically untenable, and he soon silenced the fair one,
refuting her point by point. Then the learned audience commended him,
and the princess, though beaten in argument, considered that she had
triumphed, as she had gained an excellent husband. And Udayatunga
bestowed on Vinítamati his daughter, whom he had won in the arguing
match. And the king loaded Vinítamati with jewels, and he lived united
to the daughter of a snake and the daughter of a king.

Once on a time, when he was engaged in gambling, and was being beaten
by other gamblers, and much distressed in mind thereat, a Bráhman
came and asked him for food with great importunity.

He was annoyed at that, and whispered in the ear of his servant, and
caused to be presented to the Bráhman a vessel full of sand wrapped
up in a cloth. The simple-minded Bráhman thought, on account of its
weight, that it must be full of gold, and went to a solitary place and
opened [211] it. And seeing that it was full of sand, he flung it down
on the earth, and saying to himself, "The man has deceived me," he went
home despondent. But Vinítamati thought no more of the matter, and left
the gambling, and remained at home with his wives in great comfort.

And in course of time, the king Udayatunga became unable to bear
the burden of the empire, as his vigour in negotiations and military
operations was relaxed by old age. [212] Then, as he had no son, he
appointed his son-in-law Vinítamati his successor, and went to the
Ganges to lay down his body. And as soon as Vinítamati obtained the
government, he conquered the ten cardinal points by the virtue of his
horse and his sword. And, by the might of his calamity-averting ring,
his kingdom was free from sickness and famine, like that of Ráma.

Now, once on a time, there came to that king from a foreign country
a mendicant, named Ratnachandrámati, who was among other disputants
like the lion among elephants. The king, who was fond of accomplished
men, entertained him, and the mendicant challenged him to dispute
on the following terms, which he uttered in the form of a verse;
"If thou art vanquished, O king, thou must adopt the law of Buddha;
if I am vanquished, I will abandon the rags of a Buddhist mendicant,
and listen to the teaching of the Bráhmans." The king accepted this
challenge, and argued with the mendicant for seven days, and on the
eighth day the mendicant conquered that king, who in the dispute with
Udayavatí had conquered the "Hammer of Shavelings." Then faith arose
in the breast of the king, and he adopted the Bauddha law taught by
that mendicant, which is rich in the merit of benefiting all creatures;
and becoming devoted to the worship of Jina, he built monasteries and
alms-houses for Buddhist mendicants, Bráhmans, and other sectaries,
and all men generally.

And being subdued in spirit by the practice of that law, he asked
that mendicant to teach him the rule for the discipline leading to the
rank of a Bodhisattva, a rule which involves benefits to all. And the
mendicant said to him; "King, the great discipline of a Bodhisattva is
to be performed by those who are free from sin, and by no others. Now
you are not tainted with any sin which is palpable, and therefore
visible to men like myself, but find out by the following method,
if you have any minute sin, and so destroy it." With these words
the mendicant taught him a charm [213] for producing dreams, and the
king, after having had a dream, said to the mendicant in the morning,
"Teacher, I fancied in my dream last night that I went to the other
world, and being hungry I asked for some food. And then some men with
maces in their hands said to me, 'Eat, O king, these numerous grains of
hot sand earned by you, which you gave long ago to the hungry Bráhman,
when he came to beg of you. If you give away ten crores of gold,
you will be liberated from this guilt.' When the men with maces had
said this to me, I woke up, and lo! the night had come to an end."

When the king had related his dream, he gave away, by order of the
mendicant, ten crores of gold as an atonement for his sin, and again
employed the charm for producing dreams. And again he had that dream,
and in the morning when he got up, he related it, and said; "Last night
also those mace-bearers in the other world gave me sand to eat, when
I was hungry, and then I said to them,--'Why should I eat this sand,
though I have bestowed alms?' Then they said to me--'Your gift was of
no avail, for among the gold coins was one belonging to a Bráhman;'
when I heard this I woke up." Having told his dream in these words,
the king gave away another ten crores of gold to beggars.

And again, when the night came, he used that charm for producing
dreams, and again he had a dream, and next morning when he got up, he
related it in the following words; "Last night too those men in the
other world gave me sand to eat in my dream, and when I questioned
them, they said this to me, 'King, that gift of yours also is of no
avail, for to-day a Bráhman has been robbed and murdered in a forest
in your country by bandits, and you did not protect him, so your gift
is of no avail on account of your not protecting your subjects; so
give to-day double the gift of yesterday.' When I heard this I woke
up." After the king had related his dream to his spiritual guide in
these words, he gave double his former gift.

Then he said to the mendicant, "Teacher, how can men like myself obey
in this world a law which admits of so many infractions."

When the mendicant heard that, he said, "Wise men should not allow
such a little thing to damp their ardour in the keeping of the law
of righteousness. The gods themselves protect firm men, endowed with
perseverance, that swerve not from their duty, and they bring their
wishes to fulfilment. Have you not heard the story of the adorable
Bodhisattva in his former birth as a boar? Listen, I will tell it you."



Story of the Holy Boar.

Long ago there dwelt in a cavern in the Vindhya mountains a wise
boar, who was an incarnation of a portion of a Buddha, together
with his friend a monkey. He was a benefactor of all creatures, and
he remained always in the society of that friend, honouring guests,
and so he spent the time in occupations suited to him. But once on a
time there came on a storm lasting for five days, which was terrible,
in that it hindered with its unintermitting rainfall the movements of
all living creatures. On the fifth day, as the boar was lying asleep
with the monkey at night, there came to the door of the cave a lion
with his mate and his cub. Then the lion said to his mate, "During
this long period of bad weather we shall certainly die of hunger from
not obtaining any animal to eat." The lioness answered, "It is clear
that hunger will prevent all of us from surviving, so you two had
better eat me and so save your lives. For you are my lord and master,
and this son of ours is our very life; you will easily get another
mate like me, so ensure the welfare of you two by devouring me."

Now, as chance would have it, that noble boar woke up and heard
the conversation of the lion and his mate. And he was delighted,
and thought to himself, "The idea of my receiving such guests on
such a night in such a storm! Ah! to-day my merit in a former state
of existence has brought forth fruit. So let me satiate these guests
with this body that perishes in a moment, while I have a chance of
doing so." Having thus reflected, the boar rose up, and went out,
and said to the lion with an affectionate voice; "My good friend,
do not despond. For here I am ready to be eaten by you and your
mate and your cub: so eat me." When the boar said this, the lion
was delighted and said to his mate, "Let this cub eat first, then
I will eat, and you shall eat after me." She agreed, and first the
cub ate some of the flesh of the boar, and then the lion himself
began to eat. And while he was eating, the noble boar said to him,
"Drink my blood quickly, before it sinks into the ground, and satisfy
your hunger with my flesh, and let your mate eat the rest." While
the boar was saying this, the lion gradually devoured his flesh until
nothing but bones was left, but still the virtuous boar did not die,
for his life remained in him, as if to see what would be the end of his
endurance. And in the meanwhile the lioness, exhausted with hunger,
died in the cave, and the lion went off somewhere or other with his
cub, and the night came to an end. At this juncture his friend the
monkey woke up, and went out, and seeing the boar reduced to such a
condition, said to him in the utmost excitement, "Who reduced you to
such a state? Tell me, my friend, if you can." Thereupon the heroic
boar told him the whole story. Then the monkey prostrated himself at
his feet, and said to him with tears,--"You must be a portion of some
divinity, since you have thus rescued yourself from this animal nature:
so tell me any wish that you may have, and I will endeavour to fulfil
it for you." When the monkey said this to the boar, the boar answered;
"Friend, the only wish that I have is one difficult for even Destiny
to fulfil. For my heart longs that I may recover my body as before,
and that this unfortunate lioness that died of hunger before my eyes,
may return to life, and satiate her hunger by devouring me."

While the boar was saying this, the god of Justice appeared in
bodily form, and stroking him with his hand, turned him into a
chief of sages possessing a celestial body. And he said to him;
"It was I that assumed the form of this lion, and lioness, and cub,
and produced this whole illusion, because I wished to conquer thee
who art exclusively intent on benefiting thy fellow-creatures; but
thou, possessing perfect goodness, gavest thy life for others, and
so hast triumphed over me the god of Justice, and gained this rank
of a chief of sages." The sage, hearing this, and seeing the god of
Justice standing in front of him, said, "Holy lord, this rank of chief
of sages, even though attained, gives me no pleasure, since my friend
this monkey has not as yet thrown off his animal nature." When the
god of Justice heard this, he turned the monkey also into a sage. Of
a truth association with the great produces great benefit. Then the
god of Justice and the dead lioness disappeared.

"So you see, king, that it is easy for those, who in the strength of
goodness do not relax their efforts after virtue, and are aided by
gods, to attain the ends which they desire." When the generous king
Vinítamati had heard this tale from the Buddhist mendicant, he again
used, when the night came, that charm for obtaining a dream. And after
he had had a dream, he told it the next morning to the mendicant:
"I remember, a certain divine hermit said to me in my dream 'Son,
you are now free from sin, enter on the discipline for obtaining the
rank of a Bodhisattva.' And having heard that speech I woke up this
morning with a mind at ease." When the king had said this to the
mendicant, who was his spiritual guide, he took upon himself, with
his permission, that difficult vow on an auspicious day; and then he
remained continually showering favours on suitors, and yet his wealth
proved inexhaustible, for prosperity is the result of virtue.

One day a Bráhman suitor came and said to him: "King, I am a Bráhman,
an inhabitant of the city of Pátaliputra. There a Bráhman-Rákshasa
has occupied my sacrificial fire-chamber and seized my son, and no
expedient, which I can make use of, is of any avail against him. So I
have come here to petition you, who are the wishing-tree of suppliants;
give me that ring of yours that removes all noxious things, in order
that I may have success." When the Bráhman made this request to the
king, he gave him without reluctance the ring he had obtained from
Kálajihva. And when the Bráhman departed with it, the fame of the
king's Bodhisattva-vow was spread abroad throughout the world.

Afterwards there came to him one day another guest, a prince named
Indukalasa, from the northern region. The self-denying king, who knew
that the prince was of high lineage, shewed him respect, and asked him
what he desired. The prince answered, "You are celebrated on earth as
the wishing-stone of all suitors, you would not send away disappointed
a man who even asked you for your life. Now I have come to you as a
suppliant, because I have been conquered and turned out of my father's
kingdom by my brother, whose name is Kanakakalasa. So give me, hero,
your excellent sword and horse, in order that by their virtue I may
conquer the pretender and obtain my kingdom." When king Vinítamati
heard that, be gave that prince his horse, and his sword, though
they were the two talismanic jewels that protected his kingdom, and
so unshaken was his self-denial that he never hesitated for a moment,
though his ministers heaved sighs with downcast faces. So the prince,
having obtained the horse and sword, went and conquered his brother
by their aid, and got possession of his kingdom.

But his brother Kanakakalasa, who was deprived of the kingdom he had
seized, came to the capital of that king Vinítamati; and there he was
preparing in his grief to enter the fire, but Vinítamati, hearing of
it, said to his ministers; "This good man has been reduced to this
state by my fault, so I will do him the justice, which I owe him,
by giving him my kingdom. Of what use is this kingdom to me, unless
it is employed to benefit my fellow-creatures? As I have no children,
let this man be my son and inherit my kingdom." After saying this,
the king summoned Kanakakalasa, and in spite of the opposition of
his ministers gave him the kingdom.

And after he had given away the kingdom, he immediately left the
city with unwavering mind, accompanied by his two wives. And his
subjects, when they saw it, followed him distracted, bedewing the
ground with their tears, and uttering such laments as these, "Alas! the
nectar-rayed moon had become full so as to refresh the world, and now
a cloud has suddenly descended and hid it from our eyes. Our king,
the wishing-tree of his subjects, had begun to satisfy the desires
of all living creatures, when lo! he is removed somewhere or other by
fate." Then Vinítamati at last prevailed on them to return, and with
unshaken resolution went on his way, with his wives, to the forest,
without a carriage.

And in course of time he reached a desert without water or tree, with
sands heated by the sun, which appeared as if created by Destiny to
test his firmness. Being thirsty and exhausted with the fatigue of
the long journey, he reclined for a moment in a spot in this desert,
and both he and his two wives were overtaken by sleep. When he woke
up and looked about him, he beheld there a great and wonderful garden
produced by the surpassing excellence of his own virtue. It had in
it tanks full of cool pure water adorned with blooming lotuses, it
was carpeted with dark green grass, its trees bent with the weight
of their fruit, it had broad, high, smooth slabs of rock in shady
places, in fact it seemed like Nandana drawn down from heaven by
the power of the king's generosity. The king looked again and again,
and was wondering whether it could be a dream, or a delusion, or a
favour bestowed on him by the gods, when suddenly he heard a speech
uttered in the air by two Siddhas, who were roaming through the sky
in the shape of a pair of swans, "King, why should you wonder thus
at the efficacy of your own virtue? So dwell at your ease in this
garden of perennial fruits and flowers." When king Vinítamati heard
this speech of the Siddhas, he remained in that garden with mind at
ease, practising austerities, together with his wives.

And one day, when he was on a slab of rock, he beheld near him a
certain man about to commit suicide by hanging himself. He went to him
immediately, and with kindly words talked him over, and prevailed on
him not to destroy himself, and asked him the reason of his wishing to
do so. Then the man said, "Listen, I will tell you the whole story from
the beginning. I am the son of Nágasúra, Somasúra by name, of the race
of Soma. It was said by those versed in the study of astrology, that
my nativity prognosticated that I should be a thief, so my father,
afraid that that would come to pass, instructed me diligently in
the law. Though I studied the law, I was led by association with bad
companions to take to a career of thieving. For who is able to alter
the actions of a man in his previous births?

"Then I was one day caught among some thieves by the police, and taken
to the place of impalement, in order to be put to death. At that
moment a great elephant belonging to the king, which had gone mad,
and broken its fastening, and was killing people in all directions,
came to that very place. The executioners, alarmed at the elephant,
left me and fled somewhere or other, and I escaped in that confusion
and made off. But I heard from people that my father had died on
hearing that I was being led off to execution, and that my mother
had followed him. Then I was distracted with sorrow, and as I was
wandering about despondent, intent on self-destruction, I happened to
reach in course of time this great uninhabited wood. No sooner had I
entered it, than a celestial nymph suddenly revealed herself to me,
and approached me, and consoling me said to me; 'My son, this retreat,
which you have come to, belongs to the royal sage Vinítamati, so your
sin is destroyed, and from him you shall learn wisdom.' After saying
this, she disappeared; and I wandered about in search of that royal
sage, but not being able to find him, I was on the point of abandoning
the body, out of disappointment, when I was seen by you."

When Somasúra had said this, that royal sage took him to his own hut,
and made himself known to him, and honoured him as a guest; and after
he had taken food, the kingly hermit, among many pious discourses,
told him, as he listened submissively, the following tale, with the
object of dissuading him from ignorance.



Story of Devabhúti.

Ignorance, my son, is to be avoided, for it brings harm in both
worlds upon men of bewildered intellects: listen to this legend of
sacred story. There lived in Panchála, of old time, a Bráhman named
Devabhúti, and that Bráhman, who was learned in the Vedas, had a
chaste wife named Bhogadattá. One day when he had gone to bathe,
his wife went into the kitchen-garden to get vegetables, and saw a
donkey belonging to a washerman eating them. So she took up a stick
and ran after the donkey, and the animal fell into a pit, as it was
trying to escape, and broke its hoof. When its master heard of that,
he came in a passion, and beat with a stick, and kicked the Bráhman
woman. Accordingly she, being pregnant, had a miscarriage; but the
washerman returned home with his donkey.

Then her husband, hearing of it, came home after bathing, and
after seeing his wife, went, in his distress, and complained to
the chief magistrate of the town. The foolish man immediately had
the washerman, whose name was Balásura, brought before him, and,
after hearing the pleadings of both parties, delivered this judgment,
"Since the donkey's hoof is broken, let the Bráhman carry the donkey's
load for the washerman, until the donkey is again fit for work. And
let the washerman make the Bráhman's wife pregnant again, since he
made her miscarry. Let this be the punishment of the two parties
respectively." When the Bráhman heard this, he and his wife, in their
despair, took poison and died. And when the king heard of it, he put to
death that inconsiderate judge, who had caused the death of a Bráhman,
and he had to be born for a long time in the bodies of animals.

"So people, who are obscured by the darkness of ignorance, stray
into the evil paths of their vices, and not setting in front of them
the lamp of sound treatises, of a surety stumble. When the royal
sage had said this, Somasúra begged him to instruct him further,
and Vinítamati, in order to train him aright, said, "Listen, my son,
I will teach you in due order the doctrine of perfections."



Story of the generous Induprabha.

There lived a long time ago in Kurukshetra a king of the name
of Malayaprabha. One day the king was about to give money to his
subjects in a time of famine. But his ministers dissuaded him from
doing so, out of avarice; thereupon his son Induprabha said to him;
"Father, why do you neglect your subjects at the bidding of wicked
ministers? For you are their wishing-tree, and they are your cows
of plenty." When his son persisted in saying this, the king, who
was under the influence of his ministers, got annoyed, and said to
him--"What, my son, do I possess inexhaustible wealth? If, without
inexhaustible wealth, I am to be a wishing-tree to my subjects,
why do you not take upon yourself that office." When the son heard
that speech of his father's, he made a vow that he would attain by
austerities the condition of a wishing-tree, or die in the attempt.

Having formed this determination, the heroic prince went off to a
forest where austerities were practised, and as soon as he entered
it, the famine ceased. And when Indra was pleased with his severe
austerities, he craved a boon from him, and became a wishing-tree
in his own city. And he seemed to attract the distant, and to summon
suitors with his boughs stretched out in all directions, and with the
songs of his birds. And every day he granted the most difficult boons
to his petitioners. And he made his father's subjects as happy as if
they were in Paradise, since they had nothing left to wish for. One day
Indra came to him and said to him, tempting him; "You have fulfilled
the duty of benefiting others; come to Paradise." Then that prince,
who had become a wishing-tree, answered him, "When these other
trees with their pleasing flowers and fruits are for ever engaged in
benefiting others, regardless of their own interests, how can I, who
am a wishing-tree, disappoint so many men, by going to heaven for the
sake of my own happiness?" When Indra heard this noble answer of his,
he said, "Then let all these subjects come to heaven also." Then the
prince, who had become a wishing-tree, replied, "If you are pleased
with me, take all these subjects to heaven; I do not care for it:
I will perform a great penance for the sole object of benefiting
others." When Indra heard this, he praised him as an incarnation
of Buddha, and being pleased, granted his petition, and returned to
heaven, taking those subjects with him. And Induprabha left the shape
of a tree, and living in the forest, obtained by austerities the rank
of a Bodhisattva.

"So those, who are devoted to charity, attain success, and now I have
told you the doctrine of the perfection of charity; hear that of the
perfection of chastity."



Story of the parrot, who was taught virtue by the king of the parrots.

A long time ago there lived on the Vindhya mountain a continent king
of parrots, named Hemaprabha, who was an incarnation of a portion of a
Buddha, and was rich in chastity that he had practised during a former
birth. He remembered his former state and was a teacher of virtue. He
had for warder a parrot named Chárumati, who was a fool enslaved to
his passions. Once on a time, a female parrot, his mate, was killed by
a fowler, who was laying snares, and he was so much grieved at being
separated from her, that he was reduced to a miserable condition. Then
Hemaprabha, the wise king of the parrots, in order by an artifice
to rescue him from his grief, told him this false tale for his good;
"Your wife is not dead, she has escaped from the snare of the fowler,
for I saw her alive a moment ago. Come, I will shew her to you." Having
said this, the king took Chárumati through the air to a lake. There
he shewed him his own reflection in the water, and said to him;
"Look! here is your wife!" When the foolish parrot heard that, and saw
his own reflection in the water, he went into it joyfully, and tried
to embrace and kiss his wife. But not being embraced in return by his
beloved, and not hearing her voice, he said to himself: "Why does not
my beloved embrace me and speak to me." Supposing therefore that she
was angry with him, he went and brought an ámalaka fruit, and dropped
it on his own reflection, thinking that it was his beloved, in order
to coax her. The ámalaka fruit sank into the water, and rose again to
the surface, and the parrot, supposing that his gift had been rejected
by his beloved, went full of grief to king Hemaprabha and said to him,
"King, that wife of mine will not touch me or speak to me. Moreover
she rejected the ámalaka fruit which I gave her." When the king heard
that, he said to him slowly, as if he were reluctant to tell it,
"I ought not to tell you this, but nevertheless I will tell you,
because I love you so much. Your wife is at present in love with
another, so how can she shew you affection? And I will furnish you
with ocular proof of it in this very tank." After saying this, he
took him there, and shewed him their two reflections close together
in the tank. When the foolish parrot saw it, he thought his wife was
in the embrace of another male parrot, and turning round disgusted,
he said to the king, "Your Majesty, this is the result of my folly
in not listening to your advice: So tell me, now, what I ought to
do." When the warder said this, king Hemaprabha, thinking that he
had now an opportunity of instructing him, thus addressed him; "It
is better to take Háláhala poison, it is better to wreathe a serpent
round one's neck, than to repose confidence in females, a calamity
against which neither charms nor talismanic jewels avail. Females,
being, like the winds, very changeful, and enveloped with a thick
cloud of passion, [214] defile those who are walking in the right
path, and disgrace them altogether. So wise men, of firm nature,
should not cleave to them, but should practise chastity, in order to
obtain the rank of sages who have subdued their passions." Chárumati,
having been thus instructed by the king, renounced the society of
females, and gradually became continent like Buddha.

"So you see, those that are rich in chastity deliver others; and,
now that I have instructed you in the perfection of chastity, listen
to the perfection of patience."



Story of the patient hermit Subhanaya.

There lived on the Kedára mountain a great hermit, named Subhanaya,
who was for ever bathing in the waters of the Mandákiní, and was
gentle and emaciated with penance. One night, some robbers came there
to look for some gold, which they had previously buried there, but
they could not find it anywhere. Accordingly, thinking that in that
uninhabited place it could only have been carried off by the hermit,
they entered his cell and said to him: "Ah! you hypocritical hermit,
give up our gold, which you have taken from the earth, for you have
succeeded in robbing us, who are robbers by profession." When the
hermit, who had not taken the treasure, was falsely reproached in
these words by the robbers, he said, "I did not take away your gold,
and I have never seen any gold." Then the good hermit was beaten
with sticks by those robbers, and yet the truthful man continued to
tell the same story; and then the robbers cut off, one after another,
his hands and his feet, thinking that he was obstinate, and finally
gouged out his eyes. But when they found that, in spite of all this,
he continued to tell the same tale without flinching, they came to
the conclusion that some one else had stolen their gold, and they
returned by the way that they came.

The next morning a king, named Sekharajyoti, a pupil of that
hermit's, who had come to have an interview with him, saw him in
that state. Then, being tortured with sorrow for his spiritual guide,
[215] he questioned him, and found out the state of the case, and had
a search made for those robbers, and had them brought to that very
spot. And he was about to have them put to death, when the hermit
said to him; "King, if you put them to death, I will kill myself. If
the sword did this work on me, how are they in fault? And if they
put the sword in motion, anger put them in motion, and their anger
was excited by the loss of their gold, and that was due to my sins
in a previous state of existence, and that was due to my ignorance,
so my ignorance is the only thing that has injured me. So my ignorance
should be slain by me. Moreover, even if these men deserved to be put
to death for doing me an injury, ought not their lives to be saved
on account of their having done me a benefit? For if they had not
done to me what they have done, there would have been no one with
regard to whom I could have practised patience, of which the fruit
is emancipation? So they have done me a thorough benefit." With many
speeches of this kind did the patient hermit instruct the king, and
so he delivered the robbers from punishment. And on account of the
excellence of his asceticism his body immediately became unmutilated
as before, and that moment he attained emancipation.

"Thus patient men escape from the world of births. I have now
explained to you the perfection of patience; listen to the perfection
of perseverance."



Story of the persevering young Bráhman.

Once on a time there was a young Bráhman of the name of Máládhara:
he beheld one day a prince of the Siddhas flying through the
air. Wishing to rival him, he fastened to his sides wings of grass,
and continually leaping up, he tried to learn the art of flying in
the air. And as he continued to make this useless attempt every day,
he was at last seen by the prince while he was roaming though the
air. And the prince thought, "I ought to take pity on this boy who
shews spirit in struggling earnestly to attain an impossible object,
for it is my business to patronize such." Thereupon, being pleased,
he took the Bráhman boy, by his magic power, upon his shoulder,
and made him one of his followers. "Thus you see that even gods are
pleased with perseverance; I have now set before you the perfection
of perseverance; hear the perfection of meditation."



Story of Malayamálin.

Of old time there dwelt in the Carnatic a rich merchant, named
Vijayamálin, and he had a son named Malayamálin. One day Malayamálin,
when he was grown up, went with his father to the king's court,
and there he saw the daughter of the king Indukesarin, Induyasas by
name. That maiden, like a bewildering creeper of love, [216] entered
the heart of the young merchant, as soon as he saw her. Then he
returned home, and remained in a state of pallor, sleepless at night,
and during the day cowering with contracted limbs, having taken upon
himself the kumuda-vow. [217] And thinking continually of her, he
was averse to food and all other things of the kind, and even when
questioned by his relations, he gave no more answer than if he had
been dumb.

Then, one day, the king's painter, whose name was Mantharaka, an
intimate friend of his, said to him in private, when in this state
owing to the sorrow of separation: "Friend, why do you remain leaning
against the wall like a man in a picture? Like a lifeless image, you
neither eat, nor hear, nor see." When his friend the painter asked
him this question persistently, the merchant's son at last told him
his desire. The painter said to him; "It is not fitting that you,
a merchant's son, should fall in love with a princess. Let the swan
desire the beautiful face of the lotuses of all ordinary lakes, but
what has he to do with the delight of enjoying the lotus of that
lake, which is the navel of Vishnu?" Still the painter could not
prevent him from nursing his passion; so he painted the princess on a
piece of canvas, and gave her picture to him to solace his longing,
and to enable him to while away the time. And the young merchant
spent his time in gazing on, coaxing, and touching, and adorning
her picture, and he fancied that it was the real princess Induyasas,
and gradually became absorbed in her, and did all that he did under
that belief. [218] And in course of time he was so engrossed by
that fancy, that he seemed to see her, though she was only a painted
figure, talking to him and kissing him. Then he was happy, because
he had obtained in imagination union with his beloved, and he was
contented, because the whole world was for him contained in that
piece of painted canvas.

One night, when the moon was rising, he took the picture and went
out of his house with it to a garden, to amuse himself with his
beloved. And there he put down the picture at the foot of a tree, and
went to a distance, to pick flowers for his darling. At that moment he
was seen by a hermit, named Vinayajyoti, who came down from heaven out
of compassion, to rescue him from his delusion. He by his supernatural
power painted in one part of the picture a live black cobra, and
stood near invisible. In the meanwhile Malayamálin returned there,
after gathering those flowers, and seeing the black serpent on the
canvas, he reflected, "Where does this serpent come from now? Has it
been created by fate to protect this fair one, the treasure-house of
beauty." Thus reflecting, he adorned with flowers the fair one on the
canvas, and fancying that she surrendered herself to him, he embraced
her, and asked her the above question, and at that very moment the
hermit threw an illusion over him, which made him see her bitten
by the black snake and unconscious. Then he forgot that it was only
canvas, and exclaiming, alas! alas! he fell distracted on the earth,
like a Vidyádhara brought down by the canvas acting as a talisman. But
soon he recovered consciousness, and rose up weeping and determined
on suicide, and climbed up a lofty tree, and threw himself from its
top. But, as he was falling, the great hermit appeared to him, and bore
him up in his hands, and consoled him, and said to him, "Foolish boy,
do you not know that the real princess is in her palace, and that this
princess on the canvas is a painted figure devoid of life? So who is
it that you embrace, or who has been bitten by the serpent? Or what
is this delusion of attributing reality to the creation of your own
desire, that has taken possession of your passionate heart? Why do
you not investigate the truth with equal intensity of contemplation,
in order that you may not again become the victim of such sorrows?"

When the hermit had said this to the young merchant, the night of
his delusion was dispersed, and he recovered his senses, and, bowing
before the hermit, he said to him; "Holy one, by your favour I have
been rescued from this calamity; do me the favour of rescuing me also
from this changeful world." When Malayamálin made this request to the
hermit, who was a Bodhisattva, he instructed him in his own knowledge
and disappeared. Then Malayamálin went to the forest, and by the power
of his asceticism he came to know the real truth about that which is
to be rejected and that which is to be chosen, with the reasons, and
attained the rank of an Arhat. And the compassionate man returned,
and by teaching them knowledge, he made king Indukesarin and his
citizens obtain salvation.

"So even untruth, in the ease of those mighty in contemplation,
becomes true. I have now explained the perfection of contemplation;
listen to the perfection of wisdom."



Story of the robber who won over Yama's secretary.

Long ago there lived in Sinhaladvípa a robber, of the name of
Sinhavikrama, who since his birth had nourished his body with other
men's wealth stolen from every quarter. In time he grew old, and
desisting from his occupation, he reflected; "What resources have I in
the other world? Whom shall I betake myself to for protection there? If
I betake myself to Siva or Vishnu, what value will they attach to me,
when they have gods, hermits, and others to worship them? So I will
worship Chitragupta [219] who alone records the good and evil deeds
of men. He may deliver me by his power. For he, being a secretary,
does alone the work of Brahmá and Siva: he writes down or erases in a
moment the whole world, which is in his hand." Having thus reflected,
he began to devote himself to Chitragupta; he honoured him specially,
and in order to please him, kept continually feeding Bráhmans.

While he was carrying on this system of conduct, one day Chitragupta
came to the house of that robber, in the form of a guest, to
examine into his real feelings. The robber received him courteously,
entertained him, and gave him a present, and then said to him, "Say
this, 'May Chitragupta be propitious to you'." Then Chitragupta,
who was disguised as a Bráhman, said, "Why do you neglect Siva, and
Vishnu, and the other gods, and devote yourself to Chitragupta?" When
the robber Sinhavikrama heard that, he said to him, "What business is
that of yours. I do not need any other gods but him." Then Chitragupta,
wearing the form of a Bráhman, went on to say to him, "Well, if you
will give me your wife, I will say it." When Sinhavikrama heard that,
he was pleased, and said to him: "I hereby give you my wife, in order
to please the god whom I have specially chosen for my own." When
Chitragupta heard that, he revealed himself to him and said, "I am
Chitragupta himself, and I am pleased with you, so tell me what I am
to do for you."

Then Sinhavikrama was exceedingly pleased and said to him, "Holy one,
take such order as that I shall not die." Then Chitragupta said,
"Death is one from whom it is impossible to guard people; but still
I will devise a plan to save you: listen to it. Ever since Death was
consumed by Siva, being angry on account of Sveta, and was created
again in this world because he was required, [220] wherever Sveta
lives, he abstains from injuring other people, as well as Sveta
himself, for he is restrained by the command of the god. And at
present the hermit Sveta is on the other side of the eastern ocean,
in a grove of ascetics beyond the river Taranginí. That grove cannot
be invaded by Death, so I will take you and place you there. But
you must not return to this side of the Taranginí. However, if you
do return out of carelessness, and Death seizes you, I will devise
some way of escape for you, when you have come to the other world."

When Chitragupta had said this, he took the delighted Sinhavikrama,
and placed him in that grove of asceticism belonging to Sveta, and
then disappeared. And after some time Death went to the hither bank
of the river Taranginí, to carry off Sinhavikrama. While there, he
created by his delusive power a heavenly nymph, and sent her to him,
as he saw no other means of getting hold of him. The fair one went and
approached Sinhavikrama, and artfully enslaved him, fascinating him
with her wealth of beauty. After some days had passed, she entered
the Taranginí, which was disturbed with waves, giving out that she
wished to see her relations. And while Sinhavikrama, who had followed
her, was looking at her from the bank, she slipped in the middle of
the river. And there she uttered a piercing cry, as if she was being
carried away by the stream, exclaiming, "My husband, can you see me
carried away by the stream without saving me? Are you a jackal in
courage, and not a lion as your name denotes?" When Sinhavikrama
heard that, he rushed into the river, and the nymph pretended to
be swept away by the current, and when he followed her to save her,
she soon led him to the other bank. When he reached it, Death threw
his noose over his neck, and captured him; for destruction is ever
impending over those whose minds are captivated by objects of sense.

Then the careless Sinhavikrama was led off by Death to the hall of
Yama, and there Chitragupta, whose favour he had long ago won, saw him,
and said to him in private; [221] "If you are asked here, whether you
will stay in hell first or in heaven, ask to be allowed to take your
period in heaven first. And while you live in heaven, acquire merit,
in order to ensure the permanence of your stay there. And then perform
severe asceticism, in order to expiate your sin." When Chitragupta
said this to Sinhavikrama, who was standing there abashed, with face
fixed on the ground, he readily consented to do it.

And a moment afterwards Yama said to Chitragupta, "Has this robber
any amount of merit to his credit or not?" Then Chitragupta said,
"Indeed he is hospitable, and he bestowed his own wife on a suitor,
in order to please his favourite deity; so he has to go to heaven for a
day of the gods." When Yama heard this, he said to Sinhavikrama; "Tell
me, which will you take first, your happiness or your misery?" Then
Sinhavikrama entreated that he might have his happiness first. So
Yama ordered his chariot to be brought, and Sinhavikrama mounted it,
and went off to heaven, remembering the words of Chitragupta.

There he rigidly observed a vow of bathing in the Ganges of heaven,
and of muttering prayers, and remained indifferent to the enjoyments
of the place, and so he obtained the privilege of dwelling there
for another year of the gods. Thus in course of time he obtained
a right to perpetual residence in heaven, by virtue of his severe
asceticism, and by propitiating Siva his sin was burnt up, and he
obtained knowledge. Then the messengers of hell were not able to look
him in the face, and Chitragupta blotted out the record of his sin
on his birch-bark register, and Yama was silent.

"Thus Sinhavikrama, though a robber, obtained emancipation by virtue
of true discernment; and now I have explained to you the perfection
of discernment. And thus, my son, the wise embark on these six
perfections taught by Buddha, as on a ship, and so cross the ocean
of temporal existence."

While Somasúra was being thus instructed in the forest by king
Vinítamati, who had attained the rank of a Bodhisattva, the sun
heard these religious lessons, and became subdued, and assuming the
hue of sunset as the red robe of a Buddhist, entered the cavern of
the western mountain. Then king Vinítamati and Somasúra performed
their evening rites, according to pious usage, and spent the night
there. And the next day, Vinítamati went on to teach Somasúra the law
of Buddha with all its secrets. [222] Then Somasúra built a hut at the
foot of a tree, and remained there in the wood, sitting at the feet
of that instructor, absorbed in contemplation. And in course of time
those two, the teacher and the pupil, attained supernatural powers,
the result of abstraction, and gained the highest illumination.

And in the meanwhile, Indukalasa came, out of jealousy, and by
the might of his sword and horse ejected his brother Kanakakalasa
from the kingdom of Ahichchhatra also, which Vinítamati gave him,
when he was afflicted at losing his first kingdom. He, having been
deposed from his throne, wandered about with two or three of his
ministers, and, as chance would have it, reached the grove, which
was the retreat of Vinítamati. And while he was looking for fruits
and water, as he suffered from severe hunger and thirst, Indra
burnt up the wood by his magic power, and made it as it was before,
wishing to entrap Vinítamati by making it impossible for him to shew
such hospitality to every wayfarer. [223] And Vinítamati, beholding
the grove, which was his retreat, suddenly turned into a desert,
roamed about hither and thither for a short time, in a state of
bewilderment. And then he saw Kanakalasa, who in the course of his
wanderings had come there with his followers, and was now his guest,
and he and his train were all on the point of death from hunger. And
the hospitable Bodhisattva approached the king, when he was in this
state, and asked him his story, and then he exerted his discernment,
and said to him, "Though this wood has become a desert, and affords
no hospitable entertainment, still I can tell you an expedient for
saving your lives in your present state of hunger. Only half a kos
from here there is a deer, which has been killed by falling into a
hole, go and save your lives by eating its flesh." His guest, who was
suffering from hunger, took his advice, and set out for that place
with his followers, but the Bodhisattva Vinítamati got there before
him. He reached that hole, and by his supernatural power assumed the
form of a deer, and then he threw himself into it, and sacrificed
his life for the sake of his petitioner. Then Kanakakalasa and his
followers slowly reached that hole, and found the deer lying dead in
it. So they pulled it out, and made a fire with grass and thorns,
and roasted its flesh, and devoured it all. In the meanwhile the
Bodhisattva's two wives, the daughter of the Nága and the princess,
seeing that the wood of their retreat had been destroyed, and not
seeing their husband, were much distressed, and went and told what
had happened, to Somasúra, whom they roused from deep meditation. He
soon discerned by contemplation what his spiritual teacher had done,
and he told the news to his wives, distressing as it was to them. And
he quickly went with them to that hole, in which his spiritual guide
had sacrificed himself for his guests. There the princess and the
Nága's daughter, seeing that only the bones and horns of the deer,
into which their husband had turned himself, remained, mourned for
him. And the two ladies, who were devoted to their husband, took his
horns and bones, and brought a heap of wood from their hermitage, and
entered the fire. And then Kanakakalasa and his companions, who were
there, being grieved when they heard the story, entered the fire also."

When all this had taken place, Somasúra, unable to endure the grief,
which he felt for the loss of his spiritual teacher, took to a bed of
darbha-grass with the intention of yielding up his breath. And then
Indra appeared to him in person and said to him, "Do not do so, for I
did all this to try your spiritual teacher. And I have now sprinkled
with amrita the ashes and bones, which were all that remained of him,
and his wives, and his guests, and restored them all to life." [224]
When Somasúra heard Indra say this, he worshipped him, and rose up
delighted, and went and looked, and lo! his spiritual guide the
Bodhisattva Vinítamati had risen up again alive, with his wives,
and Kanakakalasa, and his attendants. Then he honoured with an
inclination of the head, and worshipped with gifts of flowers and
respectful speeches, his spiritual father, who had returned from
the other world with his wives, and feasted his eyes upon him. And
while Kanakakalasa and his followers were respectfully testifying
their devotion to him, all the gods came there, headed by Brahmá and
Vishnu. And pleased with the goodness of Vinítamati, they all gave him
by their divine power boons earned by his disinterestedness, and then
disappeared. And Somasúra and the others told their history, and then
Vinítamati went with them to another and a heavenly wood of ascetics.

"So you see that in this world even those who are reduced to ashes meet
again, much more men who are alive and can go where they will. So,
my son, no more of abandoning the body! Go, for you are a brave man,
and you shall certainly be re-united with Mrigánkadatta." When I
had heard this tale from the old female ascetic, I bowed before her,
and set out, sword in hand, with renewed hope, and in course of time
I reached this forest, and was, as fate would have it, captured by
these Savaras, who were seeking a victim for Durgá. And after wounding
me in fight, they bound me, and brought me as a prisoner to this
king of the Savaras Máyávatu. Here I have found you, my sovereign,
accompanied by two or three of your ministers, and by your favour I
am as happy as if I were in my own house.

When Mrigánkadatta, who was in the palace of the Savara prince, had
heard this history of the adventures of his friend Gunákara told
by himself, he was much pleased, and after he had seen the proper
remedies applied to the body of that minister who had been wounded in
fight, as the day was advancing, he rose up with his other friends,
and performed the duties of the day.

And he remained there for some days engaged in restoring Gunákara to
health, though eager to go to Ujjayiní, in order to be re-united with
his other friends and to obtain Sasánkavatí. [225]






CHAPTER LXXIII.


Then Gunákara's wounds healed, and he recovered his health, so
Mrigánkadatta took leave of his friend the king of the Savaras, and
set out from his town on a lucky day for Ujjayiní, to find Sasánkavatí.

But his friend followed him a long way with his retinue, accompanied
by his ally Durgapisácha king of the Mátangas, and made a promise to
come to his assistance. And as he was going along with his friends
Srutadhi, and Vimalabuddhi, and Gunákara, and Bhímaparákrama, and
searching for his other friends in that Vindhya forest, it happened
that he slept one day on the road with his ministers at the foot of a
certain tree. And he suddenly awoke, and got up, and looked about him,
and beheld there another man asleep. And when he uncovered his face,
he recognised him as his own minister Vichitrakatha, who had arrived
there. And Vichitrakatha too woke up, and saw his master Mrigánkadatta,
and joyfully embraced his feet. And the prince embraced him, with
eyes wide open with delight at seeing him so unexpectedly, and all
his ministers woke up and welcomed him. Then all in turn told him
their adventures, and asked him to tell his, and Vichitrakatha began
to relate his story as follows:



Story of Vichitrakatha's adventures after his separation from the
prince.

At that time, when you were dispersed in all directions by the curse
of Párávatáksha, I too in my bewilderment wandered about alone for a
long time. And after I had roamed far, still unconscious, I suddenly
reached in the course of the next day, when I was tired out, a great
and heavenly town on the outskirts of the forest. There a godlike
being, accompanied by two consorts, beheld me, and had me bathed with
cool water, and restored my strength. And he made me enter his city,
and carefully fed me with heavenly food, then he ate himself, and
those two wives of his ate after him. And after the meal, [226] being
refreshed, I said to him, "Who are you, sir, and why have you thus
saved the life of me who am resolved on death? For I must certainly
abandon the body, as I have lost my master." When I had said this,
I told him my whole story. Then that noble and kind being said to me,
"I am a Yaksha, these are my wives, and you have come here to-day
as my guest, and you know that it is the duty of householders to
honour guests to the utmost of their power. I have accordingly
welcomed you. But why do you wish to abandon the body? For this
separation of yours is due to the curse of a Nága, and will last
only a short time. And you will certainly be all re-united, when the
curse pronounced on you has spent its force. And reflect, my good man;
who is born free from sorrow in this world? Hear what sorrow I have
gone through, though I am a Yaksha."



Story of Srídarsana.

There is a city named Trigartá, the garland that adorns the head of
this bride the earth, strung with virtues as with flowers. [227] In
it there lived a young Bráhman named Pavitradhara, who was himself
poor in worldly wealth, but rich in relations, high birth, and other
advantages. That high-spirited Bráhman, living in the midst of rich
people, reflected,--"Though I live up to the rules of my caste, I
do not cut a good figure in the midst of these rich people, like a
word without meaning [228] among the words of some splendid poem;
and being a man of honour, I cannot have recourse to service or
donations. So I will go into some out-of-the-way place and get into
my power a Yakshiní, [229] for my spiritual teacher taught me a charm
for accomplishing this." Having formed this resolution, the Bráhman
Pavitradhara went to the forest, and according to the prescribed method
he won for himself a Yakshiní, named Saudáminí. And when he had won
her, he lived united with her, like a banyan-tree, that has tided
through a severe winter, united to the glory of spring. One day the
Yakshiní, seeing her husband Pavitradhara in a state of despondency,
because no son had been born to him, thus addressed him, "Do not be
despondent, my husband, for a son shall be born to us. And now hear
this story which I am about to tell you."



Story of Saudáminí.

There is on the confines of the southern region a range of tamála
forests, dark with clouds that obscure the sun, looking like the home
of the monsoon. In it dwells a famous Yaksha of the name of Prithúdara,
and I am his only daughter, Saudáminí by name. My loving father led
me from one mighty mountain to another, and I was for ever amusing
myself in heavenly gardens.

And one day, as I was sporting on mount Kailása with my friend
Kapisabhrú, I saw a young Yaksha named Attahása. He too, as he
stood among his companions, beheld me; and immediately our eyes were
mutually attracted by one another's beauty. When my father saw that,
and ascertained that the match would be no mésalliance, he summoned
Attahása, and arranged our marriage. And after he had fixed an
auspicious day, he took me home, but Attahása returned to his home
with his friends in high spirits. But the next day my friend Kapisabhrú
came to me with a downcast air, and when I questioned her, she was at
length induced to say this; "Friend, I must tell you this bad news,
though it is a thing which should not be told. As I was coming to-day,
I saw your betrothed Attahása in a garden named Chitrasthala, on a
plateau of the Himálayas, full of longing for you. And his friends,
in order to amuse him, made him in sport king of the Yakshas, and
they made his brother Díptasikha personate Nadakúvara his son, and
they themselves became his ministers. While your beloved was being
solaced in this way by his friends, Nadakúvara, who was roaming at
will through the air, saw him. And the son of the king of wealth,
being enraged at what he saw, summoned him, and cursed him in the
following words; 'Since, though a servant, you desire to pose as a
lord, become a mortal, you villain! As you wish to mount, fall!' When
he laid this curse on Attahása, he answered despondingly, 'Prince,
I foolishly did this to dispel my longing, not through aspiring to
any lofty rank, so have mercy upon me.' When Nadakúvara heard this
sorrowful speech of his, he ascertained by meditation that the case was
so, and said to him by way of fixing an end for the curse, 'You shall
become a man, and beget on that Yakshiní, with whom you are in love,
your younger brother Díptasikha by way of son, [230] and so you shall
be delivered from your curse, and obtain your own rank once more,
together with your wife, and this brother of yours shall be born as
your son, and after he has reigned on earth, he shall be released
from his curse.' When the son of the god of wealth had said this,
Attahása disappeared somewhere or other by virtue of the curse. And
when I saw that, my friend, I came here to you grieved." When my
friend said this to me, I was reduced to a terrible state by grief,
and after I had bewailed my lot, I went and told it to my parents,
and I spent that time in hope of a re-union with my beloved.

"You are Attahása born again as a Bráhman, and I am that Yakshiní,
and we have been thus united here, so we shall soon have a son born
to us. When the Bráhman Pavitradhara's wise wife Saudáminí said
this to him, he conceived the hope that he would have a son, and
was much delighted. And in course of time a son was born to him by
that Yakshiní, whose birth cheered up their house and his mind. And
when Pavitradhara saw the face of that son, he immediately assumed
a celestial shape and became again the Yaksha Attahása. And he said
to that Yakshiní, "My dear, our curse is at an end. I have become
Attahása as before, come let us return to our own place."

When he said this, his wife said to him, "Think what is to become
of the child your brother, who through a curse has been born as
your son." When Attahása heard that, he saw what was to be done by
means of his powers of contemplation, and said to her; "My dear,
there is in this town a Bráhman of the name of Devadarsana. He is
poor in children and in wealth, and, though he keeps up five fires,
hunger makes two others burn more fiercely, namely, the fire of
digestion in his own stomach and in that of his wife. And one day,
as he was engaged in asceticism to obtain wealth and a son, the
holy god of fire, whom he was propitiating, said to him in a dream,
'You have not a son of your own, but you shall have an adopted son,
and by means of him, Bráhman, your poverty shall come to an end.' On
account of this revelation of the god of fire, the Bráhman is at the
present moment expecting that son, so we must give him this child of
ours, for this is the decree of fate." After Attahása had said this
to his beloved, he placed the child on the top of a pitcher full
of gold, and fastened round its neck a garland of heavenly jewels,
and deposited it in the house of that Bráhman at night when he and
his wife were asleep, and then went with his beloved to his own place.

Then the Bráhman Devadarsana and his wife woke up, and beheld that
young moon of a child glittering with resplendent jewels, and the
Bráhman thought in his astonishment, "What can be the meaning of
this?" but when he saw the pot of gold, he remembered what the god of
fire had told him in his dream, and rejoiced. And he took that young
son given him by fate, and that wealth, and in the morning he made a
great feast. And on the eleventh day he gave the child the appropriate
name of Srídarsana. [231] Then the Bráhman Devadarsana, having become
very rich, remained performing his sacrificial and other ceremonies,
and enjoying the good things of this world at the same time.

The brave Srídarsana grew up in his father's house, and acquired great
skill in the Vedas and other branches of learning, and in the use
of weapons. But in course of time, when he had grown up, his father
Devadarsana, who had gone on a pilgrimage to sacred bathing-places,
died at Prayága. His mother, hearing of that, entered the fire, and
then Srídarsana mourned for them, and performed on their behalf the
ceremonies enjoined in the sacred treatises. But in course of time his
grief diminished, and as he was not married, and had no relations, he
became, though well educated, devoted to gambling. And in a short time
his wealth was consumed by means of that vice, and he had difficulty
in obtaining even food.

One day, after he had remained in the gambling-hall without food for
three days, being unable to go out for shame, as he had not got a
decent garment to wear, and refusing to eat the food which others
gave him, a certain gambler, named Mukharaka, who was a friend of
his, said to him, "Why are you so utterly overwhelmed? Do you not
know that such is the nature of the sinful vice of gambling? Do you
not know that the dice are the sidelong loving looks of the goddess
of Ill Luck? Has not Providence ordained for you the usual lot of
the gambler? His arms are his only clothing, the dust is his bed,
the cross-roads are his house, ruin is his wife. [232] So why do you
refuse to take food? Why do you neglect your health, though you are
a wise man? For what object of desire is there that a resolute man
cannot obtain, as long as he continues alive? Hear in illustration
of this truth the following wonderful story of Bhúnandana."



Story of Bhúnandana.

There is here a region named Kasmíra, the ornament of the earth, which
the Creator made as a second heaven, after creating the first heaven,
for men who have done righteous deeds. The difference between the two
is that in heaven delights can only be seen, in Kasmíra they can be
actually enjoyed. The two glorious goddesses Srí and Sarasvatí both
frequent it, as if they vied with one another, saying--"I have the
preëminence here"--"No, it is I."--The Himálaya encircles it with
its embrace, as if to prevent Kali, the adversary of virtue, from
entering it. The Vitastá adorns it, and repels sin with its waves,
as if they were hands, and seems to say, "Depart far from this land
which is full of waters sacred to the gods." In it the long lines of
lofty palaces, whitened with silvery plaster, imitate the cliffs at
the foot of the neighbouring Himálaya. In this land there lived a
king, named Bhúnandana, who upheld as a spiritual guide the system
of the castes and the prescribed stages of life, learned in science
and traditional lore, the moon that delighted his subjects. His
valour was displayed in the kingdoms of his foes, on which he left
the impress of his nails. He was a politic governor, and his people
were ever free from calamity; he was exclusively devoted to Krishna,
and the minds of his people took no pleasure in vicious deeds. [233]

Once on a time, on the twelfth day of the month, the king, after
duly worshipping Vishnu, saw in a dream a Daitya maiden approach
him. When he woke up, he could not see her, and in his astonishment
he said to himself, "This is no mere dream; I suspect she is some
celestial nymph by whom I have been cajoled." Under this impression
he remained thinking of her, and so grieved at being deprived of her
society, that gradually he neglected all his duties as a king. Then
that king, not seeing any way of recovering her, said to himself;
"My brief union with her was due to the favour of Vishnu, so I will go
into a solitary place and propitiate Vishnu with a view to recovering
her, and I will abandon this clog of a kingdom, which without her
is distasteful." After saying this, king Bhúnandana informed his
subjects of his resolution, and gave the kingdom to his younger
brother named Sunandana.

But after he had resigned the kingdom, he went to a holy bathing-place
named Kramasaras; which arose from the footfall of Vishnu, for it
was made by him long ago in his Dwarf incarnation. It is attended by
the three gods Brahmá, Vishnu, and Siva, who have settled on the top
of the neighbouring mountains in the form of peaks. And the foot of
Vishnu created here in Kasmíra another Ganges, named Ikshuvatí, as
if in emulation of the Vitastá. There the king remained, performing
austerities, and pining, without desire for any other enjoyment,
like the chátaka in the hot season longing for fresh rainwater.

And after twelve years had passed over his head, while he remained
engaged in ascetic practices, a certain ascetic came that way who was
a chief of sages: he had yellow matted hair, wore tattered garments,
and was surrounded by a band of pupils; and he appeared like Siva
himself come down from the top of the hills that overhang that
holy bathing-place. As soon as he saw the king, he was filled with
love for him, and went up to him, and bowing before him, asked him
his history, and then reflected for a moment and said; "King, that
Daitya maiden that you love lives in Pátála, so be of good cheer,
I will take you to her. For I am a Bráhman named Bhúrivasu, the son
of a sacrificing Bráhman of the Dekkan, named Yajuh, and I am a chief
among magicians. My father communicated his knowledge to me, and I
learnt from a treatise on Pátála the proper charms and ceremonies for
propitiating Hátakesána. [234] And I went to Sríparvata and performed
a course of asceticism there for propitiating Siva, and Siva, being
pleased with it, appeared to me and said to me,

'Go; after you have married a Daitya maiden and enjoyed pleasures
in the regions below the earth, you shall return to me; and listen;
I will tell you an expedient for obtaining those delights. There
are on this earth many openings leading to the lower regions; but
there is one great and famous one in Kasmíra made by Maya, by which
Ushá the daughter of Bána introduced her lover Aniruddha into the
secret pleasure-grounds of the Dánavas, and made him happy there. And
Pradyumna, in order to deliver his son, laid it open, making a door
in one place with the peak of a mountain, and he placed Durgá there,
under the name of Sáriká, to guard that door, after propitiating her
with hundreds of praises. Consequently even now the place is called
by the two names of Peak of Pradyumna and Hill of Sáriká. So go and
enter Pátála with your followers by that famous opening, and by my
favour you shall succeed there.'

"When the god had said this, he disappeared, and by his favour I
acquired all knowledge at once, and now I have come to this land of
Kasmíra. So come with us, king, to that seat of Sáriká, in order that
I may conduct you to Pátála, to the maid that you love." When the
ascetic had said this to king Bhúnandana, the latter consented and
went with him to that seat of Sáriká. There he bathed in the Vitastá,
and worshipped Ganesa, and honoured the goddess Sáriká, and performed
the ceremony of averting evil spirits from all quarters by waving
the hand round the head, [235] and other ceremonies. And then the
great ascetic, triumphing by the favour of the boon of Siva, revealed
the opening by scattering mustard-seeds in the prescribed manner,
and the king entered with him and his pupils, and marched along the
road to Pátála for five days and five nights. [236] And on the sixth
day they all crossed the Ganges of the lower regions, and they beheld
a heavenly grove on a silver plain. It had splendid coral, camphor,
sandal, and aloes trees, and was perfumed with the fragrance of large
full-blown golden lotuses. And in the middle of it they saw a lofty
temple of Siva. It was of vast extent, adorned with stairs of jewels;
its walls were of gold, it glittered with many pillars of precious
stone; and the spacious translucent body of the edifice was built of
blocks of the moon-gem.

Then king Bhúnandana and the pupils of that ascetic, who possessed
supernatural insight, were cheered, and he said to them, "This is the
dwelling of the god Siva, who inhabits the lower regions in the form of
Hátakesvara, and whose praises are sung in the three worlds, so worship
him." Then they all bathed in the Ganges of the lower regions, and
worshipped Siva with various flowers, the growth of Pátála. And after
the brief refreshment of worshipping Siva, they went on and reached a
splendid lofty jambu-tree, the fruits of which were ripe and falling
on the ground. And when the ascetic saw it, he said to them; "You
must not eat the fruits of this tree, for, if eaten, they will impede
the success of what you have in hand." In spite of his prohibition
one of his pupils, impelled by hunger, ate a fruit of the tree, and,
as soon as he had eaten it, he became rigid and motionless. [237]

Then the other pupils, seeing that, were terrified, and no longer felt
any desire to eat the fruit; and that ascetic, accompanied by them
and king Bhúnandana, went on only a cos further, and beheld a lofty
golden wall rising before them, with a gate composed of a precious
gem. On the two sides of the gate they saw two rams with bodies of
iron, ready to strike with their horns, put there to prevent any one
from entering. But the ascetic suddenly struck them a blow on their
heads with a charmed wand, and drove them off somewhere, as if they
had been struck by a thunderbolt. Then he and his pupils and that
king entered by that gate, and beheld splendid palaces of gold and
gems. And at the door of every one they beheld warders terrible with
many teeth and tusks, [238] with iron maces in their hands. And then
they all sat down there under a tree, while the ascetic entered into a
mystic contemplation to avert evil. And by means of that contemplation
all those terrible warders were compelled to flee from all the doors,
and disappeared.

And immediately there issued from those doors lovely women with
heavenly ornaments and dresses, who were the attendants of those
Daitya maidens. They approached separately all there present, the
ascetic among them, and invited them in the name of their mistresses
into their respective palaces. And the ascetic, having now succeeded
in his enterprise, said to all the others,--"You must none of you
disobey the command of your beloved after entering her palace." Then
he entered with a few of those attendants a splendid palace, and
obtained a lovely Daitya maiden and the happiness he desired. And
the others singly were introduced into magnificent palaces by other
of the attendants, and were blessed with the love of Daitya maidens.

And the king Bhúnandana was then conducted by one of the attendants,
who bowed respectfully to him, to a palace built of gems outside the
wall. Its walls of precious stone were, so to speak, adorned all round
with living pictures, on account of the reflections on them of the
lovely waiting-women. It was built on a platform of smooth sapphire,
and so it appeared as if it had ascended to the vault of heaven, in
order to outdo a sky-going chariot. [239] It seemed like the house
of the Vrishnis, [240] made rich by means of the power of Vishnu. In
it sported fair ones wild with intoxication, and it was full of the
charming grace of Cupid. Even a flower, that cannot bear the wind and
the heat, would in vain attempt to rival the delicacy of the bodies
of the ladies in that palace. It resounded with heavenly music,
and when the king entered it, he beheld once more that beautiful
Asura maiden, whom he had seen in a dream. Her beauty illuminated
the lower world which has not the light of the sun or the stars,
and made the creation of sparkling jewels and other lustrous things,
an unnecessary proceeding on the part of the Creator. [241]

The king gazed with tears of joy on that indescribably beautiful
lady, and, so to speak, washed off from his eyes the pollution,
which they had contracted by looking at others. And that girl, named
Kumudiní, who was being praised by the songs of female attendants,
[242] felt indescribable joy when she saw the prince. She rose up,
and took him by the hand and said to him, "I have caused you much
suffering," and then with all politeness she conducted him to a
seat. And after he had rested a little while, he bathed, and the
Asura maiden had him adorned with robes and jewels, and led him out
to the garden to drink. Then she sat down with him on the brink of a
tank filled with wine, and with the blood and fat of corpses, that
hung from trees on its banks, and she offered that king a goblet,
full of that fat and wine, to drink, but he would not accept the
loathsome compound. And she kept earnestly saying to the king:
"You will not prosper if you reject my beverage." But he answered,
"I certainly will not drink that undrinkable compound, whatever may
happen." Then she emptied the goblet on his head and departed; and
the king's eyes and mouth were suddenly closed, and her maids took
him and flung him into the water of another tank.

And the moment he was thrown into the water, he found himself once more
in the grove of ascetics, near the holy bathing-place of Kramasaras,
where he was before. [243] And when he saw the mountain there, as it
were, laughing at him with its snows, [244] the disappointed king,
despondent, astonished, and bewildered, reflected as follows: "What
a difference there is between the garden of the Daitya maiden and
this mountain of Kramasaras. Ah! what is this strange event? Is it an
illusion or a wandering of the mind? But what other explanation can
there be than this, that undoubtedly this has befallen me, because,
though I heard the warning of the ascetic, I disobeyed the injunction
of that fair one. And after all the beverage was not loathsome; she
was only making trial of me; for the liquor, which fell upon my head,
has bestowed on it heavenly fragrance. So it is indubitable that,
in the case of the unfortunate, even great hardships endured bring
no reward, for Destiny is opposed to them." While king Bhúnandana
was engaged in these reflections, bees came and surrounded him on
account of the fragrant perfume of his body, that had been sprinkled
with the liquor offered by the Asura maiden. When those bees stung
the king, he thought to himself, "Alas! so far from my toils having
produced the desired fruit, they have produced disagreeable results,
as the raising of a Vetála does to a man of little courage." [245]
Then he became so distracted that he resolved on suicide.

And it happened that, at that very time, there came a young hermit
that way, who, finding the king in this state, and being of a merciful
disposition, went up to him and quickly drove away the bees, and
after asking him his story, said to him--"King, as long as we retain
this body, how can woes come to an end? So the wise should always
pursue without distraction the great object of human existence. And
until you perceive that Vishnu, Siva, and Brahmá are really one,
you will always find the successes, that are gained by worshipping
them separately, short-lived and uncertain. So meditate on Brahmá,
Vishnu, and Siva, in the light of their unity, and patiently perform
asceticism here for another twelve years. Then you shall obtain that
beloved, and eventually everlasting salvation; and observe, you have
already attained a body possessing heavenly fragrance. Now receive
from me this skin of a black antelope, to which a charm is attached,
and if you wrap yourself up in it, you will not be annoyed here by
bees." When the hermit had said this, he gave him the deer-skin and
the charm, and departed; and the king accepted his advice, and taking
to himself patience, so lived in that place. And after the king had
lived there twelve years, and propitiated Siva by penance, that Daitya
maiden, named Kumudiní, came to him of her own accord. And the king
went with that beloved to Pátála, and after he had lived with her a
long time in happiness, he attained salvation.

"So those fortunate ones, whose characters are free from perturbation,
and who betake themselves to patient endurance, obtain again their
own rank, though they may have fallen far from it. [246] And since
you, Srídarsana, are a man fated to be prosperous, being covered with
auspicious marks, why do you, out of perturbation, allow yourself to
go without food?" When Srídarsana, who was fasting, was thus addressed
in the gambling-hall by his friend Mukharaka, he said to him, "What
you say, is true, but being a man of good family, I cannot for shame
go out into this town, as I am reduced so low by gambling. So if
you will permit me, my friend, to go to some other country this very
night, I will take food." When Mukharaka heard that, he consented, and
brought food and gave it to him, and he ate it. And after Srídarsana
had eaten it, he set out for another country with that friend of his,
who followed him out of affection.

And as he was going along the road at night, it happened that the
two Yakshas, Attahása and Saudáminí, his father and mother, who had
deposited him, as soon as he was born, in the house of the Bráhman,
saw him while they were roaming through the air. When they saw him
in distress, impoverished by the vice of gambling, and on his way
to a foreign country, affection made them say to him, while still
remaining invisible, the following words; "Srídarsana, your mother,
the wife of Devadarsana, buried in her house some jewels. Take those,
and do not omit to go with them to Málava, for there is a magnificent
prince there of the name of Srísena. And since he was much afflicted
in his youth by miseries arising from gambling, he has made a large
and glorious asylum for gamblers. There gamblers live, and are fed
with whatever food they desire. So go there, darling, and you shall
be prosperous."

When Srídarsana heard this speech from heaven, he went back to his
house with his friend, and found those ornaments in it, in a hole in
the ground. Then he set out delighted for Málava, with his friend,
thinking that the gods had shewn him favour. So in that night and
the succeeding day he went a long distance, and the next evening he
reached with his friend a village named Bahusasya. And being weary,
he sat down with his friend on the bank of a translucent lake, not
far from that village. While he remained for a brief period on the
bank of that lake, after washing his feet and drinking water, there
came there a certain maiden, matchless in beauty, to fetch water. Her
body resembled a blue lotus in colour, and she seemed like Rati left
alone, and blackened by the smoke from the body of the god of Love,
when he had just been consumed by Siva. Srídarsana was delighted
to behold her, and she went up to him, and looked at him with an
eye full of love, and said to him and his friend, "Worthy sirs,
why have you come hither to your death? Why, through ignorance,
have you fallen like moths into burning fire?" When Mukharaka heard
this, he said to the maiden, without the least trepidation, "Who are
you? And what is the meaning of what you say? Tell us." Then she said,
"Listen both of you! I will tell you the whole story in few words.

"There is a large and famous royal grant to Bráhmans, named
Sughosha. In it there dwelt a Bráhman named Padmagarbha, who possessed
a thorough knowledge of the Vedas. He had a wife of very good family,
named Sasikalá. And the Bráhman had two children by that wife, a
son of the name of Mukharakha, and myself a daughter of the name of
Padmishthá. My brother Mukharaka was ruined by the vice of gambling in
early youth, and left his home and went off to some other country. My
mother died of grief on that account, and my father, afflicted with
two sorrows, abandoned the state of a householder. And he roamed about
from place to place, with no other companion than myself, to look for
that son, and, as it happened, he reached this village. Now in this
village there lives a great bandit, the chief of a gang of robbers,
called Vasubhúti, a Bráhman only by name. When my father arrived here,
that ruffian, with the help of his servants, killed him, and took away
the gold that he had about his person. And he made me a prisoner and
carried me off to his house, and he has made arrangements to give me
in marriage to his son Subhúti. But his son has gone off somewhere
to plunder a caravan, and, owing to my good fortune, the result of
good deeds in a former birth, he has not yet returned; now it remains
for Destiny to dispose of me. But, if this bandit were to see you,
he would certainly do you some violence: so think of some artifice
by which you may escape him."

When the maiden said this, Mukharaka recognized her, and at
once clasping her round the neck, said to her, "Alas, my sister
Padmishthá! I am that very brother of yours Mukharaka, the murderer of
his relations. Alas! wretched that I am, I am ruined." When Padmishthá
heard this, and saw her elder brother, pity caused her to be, as it
were, suddenly encircled with all sorrows. Then Srídarsana comforted
the brother and sister, who were lamenting their parents, and addressed
a timely admonition and encouragement to them. He said, "This is not
the time for lamentation, we must now save our lives even at the cost
of our wealth, and by means of it we must protect ourselves against
this bandit." When Srídarsana said this, they checked their grief
with self-control, and all three agreed together what each was to do.

Then Srídarsana, being thin by reason of his former fasts, flung
himself down on the bank of that tank, and pretended to be ill. And
Mukharaka remained holding his feet and weeping: but Padmishthá
immediately repaired to that bandit chief, and said, "A traveller
has arrived, and is lying ill on the border of the tank, and there is
another there who is his servant." When the bandit chief heard that,
he sent some of his followers there. They went, and seeing the two men
as had been described, asked Mukharaka why he wept so much for his
companion. When Mukharaka heard this, he said with affected sorrow,
"This Bráhman, who is my elder brother, left his native land to visit
holy bathing-places, but was attacked by disease, and slowly travelling
along he has arrived here, accompanied by me. And the moment he got
here, he became incapable of movement, and he said to me, 'Rise up, my
dear brother, and quickly prepare for me a bed of darbha-grass. And
fetch me some virtuous Bráhman from this village. On him I will
bestow all my wealth, for I cannot live through this night.' When
he said this to me in this foreign country after sunset, I felt
quite puzzled as to what I ought to do, and, being afflicted, I had
recourse to weeping. So bring here some Bráhman while he is alive,
in order that he may bestow on him with his own hand whatever wealth
we possess. For he will certainly not live through the night, and I
shall not be able to survive the sorrow of his loss, so to-morrow I
shall enter the fire. So do for us this which we ask, since we have
met with you here as compassionate men and friends without any cause."

When the bandits heard that, pity arose in their minds, and they
went and told the story, exactly as they had heard it, to their
master Vasubhúti, and went on to say, "So come and receive, as a
pious gift, from this Bráhman, who is eager to bestow it on you,
the wealth which ordinarily is to be obtained only by killing its
possessor." When they said this to Vasubhúti, he said, "What course is
this which you suggest? It is highly impolitic for us to take wealth
without killing its possessor, for, if he is deprived of his wealth,
without being killed, he will certainly do us an injury." When the
villain said this, those servants answered him, "What is there to
fear in this? There is some difference between taking wealth by
force, and receiving it as a pious gift from a dying man. Besides,
to-morrow morning we will kill those two Bráhmans, if they are still
alive. Otherwise, what is the use of incurring needlessly the guilt
of killing a Bráhman?" When Vasubhúti heard this, he consented,
and in the night he came to Srídarsana to receive his pious gift,
and Srídarsana concealed a part of his mother's ornaments, and gave
him the rest, assuming a faltering voice. Then the bandit, having
got what he wanted, returned home with his followers.

Then Padmishthá came at night to Srídarsana and Mukharaka, while
the bandits were asleep. Then they quickly deliberated together, and
set off at once from that place for Málava by a path not frequented
by the robbers. And during that night they went a long distance, and
reached a wood that seemed to be afraid of the roaring lions, tigers,
and other wild beasts within it. It seemed by its thorns to be in a
state of perpetual horripilation, and by its roaming black antelopes
to be rolling its eyes. The dry creepers shewed that its body was
dried up from fear, and the shrill whistling of the loose bark was
its screams of terror. And while they were journeying through that
forest, the sun, that had observed their sufferings all day, withdrew
its light, as if in compassion, and set. Then they sat down weary
and hungry at the foot of a tree, and in the early part of the night
they saw in the distance a light, as of fire. And Srídarsana said,
"Can there possibly be a village here? I will go and look." So he went
in the direction of the light. And when he reached it, and looked
at it, lo! it was a great palace built of jewels, and its splendour
produced that light as of fire. [247] And he saw inside it a Yakshiní
of heavenly beauty, surrounded by many Yakshas, with feet turned the
wrong way and squinting eyes. And the brave man, seeing that they had
brought there all kinds of meat and drink, went up to the Yakshiní,
and asked her to give him his share as a guest. And she was pleased
with his courage and gave him what he asked for, enough food and
water to satisfy himself and his two companions. The refreshment was
placed on the back of a Yaksha ordered off by her for that duty, and
Srídarsana returned with it to his friend and Padmishthá. And then he
dismissed the Yaksha, and partook there with them of all that splendid
food of various kinds, and drank pure cold water. Then Mukharaka was
pleased, perceiving that he must be an incarnation of a divinity, as
he was so rich in courage and might, and, desiring his own prosperity,
he said to him, "You are some incarnation of a divinity, and this
sister of mine Padmishthá is the greatest beauty in the world, so I
now give her to you as a wife meet for you." When Srídarsana heard
that, he was delighted, and said to his friend, "I accept with joy
this offer of yours which I have long desired. But when I reach my
goal I will marry her in proper form." This he said to those two,
and then passed the night in a joyful state of mind. And the next
morning they all set out from that place, and reached in due course
the city of that king Srísena, the sovereign of Málava. And arriving
tired, they immediately entered the house of an old Bráhman woman to
rest. And in the course of conversation they told her their story and
their names, and then they saw that the old woman was much disturbed,
and when they questioned her, she said to them:

"I am the well-born wife of a Bráhman here, named Satyavrata, who
was a servant of the king's, and my name is Yasasvatí. And after my
husband died, the compassionate king gave me the fourth part of his
salary to live upon, as I had not a son to support me. But now this
moon of kings, though his virtues are great, and though he is generous
enough to give away the whole world, has been seized by a consumption
[248] which the physicians cannot cure. And the drugs and charms of
those skilled in such things do not prevail against it; but a certain
enchanter made this promise in his presence, 'If I could only get a
hero, equal to the task, to help me, I would certainly put an end to
this illness by getting a Vetála into my power.' Then proclamation
was made by beat of drum, but no such hero was found. Then the king
gave the following order to his ministers; 'You must look out for
some daring gambler, who comes to reside in the great and well-known
asylum, which I built for such. For gamblers are reckless, abandoning
wife and relations, fearless, sleeping at the foot of trees and in
other exposed places, like ascetics.' When the king gave this order
to his ministers, they instructed to this effect the superintendent
of the asylum, and he is now on the lookout for some brave man who
may come there to reside awhile. Now you are gamblers, and if you,
Srídarsana, feel able to accomplish the undertaking, I will take
you to-day to that asylum. And you will be well treated by the king,
and you will confer a benefit on me, for grief is killing me."

When the old lady said this, Srídarsana answered her, "Agreed! I am
able to accomplish this, so lead me quickly to that asylum." When
she heard this, she took him, and Padmishthá, and Mukharaka,
to that asylum, and there said to the superintendent, "Here is a
Bráhman gambler arrived from a foreign land, a hero who is able to
assist that enchanter in performing incantations for the good of the
king." When the superintendent heard this, he questioned Srídarsana,
and when he confirmed the words of the old lady, he treated him with
great respect, and led him quickly into the presence of the king.

And Srídarsana, being introduced by him, beheld the king, who was
thin and pale as the new moon. And the king Srísena observed that
Srídarsana, who bowed before him and sat down, was of a taking
appearance, and pleased with his look, he felt comforted, and said
to him, "I know that your exertions will certainly put an end to
my disease; my body tells me this, for the mere sight of you has
quieted its sufferings. So aid the enchanter in this matter." When
the king said this, Srídarsana said to him "The enterprise is a mere
trifle." Then the king summoned the enchanter and said to him, "This
hero will aid you; do what you said." When that enchanter heard that,
he said to Srídarsana,

"My good sir, if you are able to assist me in raising a Vetála, come
to me in the cemetery at night-fall this very day, the fourteenth
of the black fortnight." When the ascetic, who practised magic, had
said this, he went away, and Srídarsana took leave of the king and
returned to that asylum.

There he took food with Padmishthá and Mukharaka, and at night he went
alone, sword in hand, to the cemetery. It was full of many ghosts,
empty of men, inauspicious, full of roaring jackals, covered with
impenetrable darkness, but shewed in some places a faint gleam where
the funeral pyres were. [249] The hero Srídarsana wandered about in
that place of horrors and saw the enchanter in the middle of it. His
whole body was smeared with ashes, he had a Bráhmanical thread of
hair, he wore a turban made of the clothes of the dead, and he was
clad in a black garment. Srídarsana approached him, and made himself
known to him, and then girding up his loins, he said, "Tell me,
what shall I do for you?" The enchanter answered in high spirits,
"Half a cos only to the west of this place there is an Asoka tree,
the leaves of which are burnt with the hot flame of funeral pyres. At
the foot of it there is a corpse, go and bring it here unharmed."

Then Srídarsana said, "I will," and going quickly to the place he
saw some one else taking away the corpse. So he ran and tried to
drag it from the shoulder of that person, who would not let it go,
and said to him,--"Let go this corpse: where are you taking my friend
whom I have to burn?" Then that second person said to Srídarsana,
"I will not let the dead man go; I am his friend; what have you to
do with him?" While they were dragging the corpse from one another's
shoulders, and making these mutual recriminations, the corpse itself,
which was animated by a Vetála, uttered a terrible shriek. That
terrified the second person so that his heart broke, and he fell down
dead, and then Srídarsana went off with that corpse in his arms. Then
the second man, though dead, rose up, being possessed by a Vetála,
and tried to stop Srídarsana, and said to him, "Halt! do not go off
with my friend on your shoulder." Then Srídarsana, knowing that his
rival was possessed by a Vetála, said to him, "What proof is there
that you are his friend? He is my friend." The rival then said,
"The corpse itself shall decide between us." Then Srídarsana, said,
"Well! let him declare who is his friend." Then the corpse, that
was on his back, being possessed by a Vetála, said, "I am hungry,
so I decide that whoever gives me food is my friend; let him take me
where he likes." When the second corpse, that was also possessed by
a Vetála, heard this, he answered,--"I have no food; if he has any,
let him give you some." Srídarsana, hearing this, said, "I will give
him food," and proceeded to strike with his sword at the second corpse,
in order to procure food for the Vetála that was on his shoulder. [250]
But that second corpse, which was also possessed by a Vetála, the
moment he began to strike it, disappeared by its supernatural power.

Then the Vetála, that was on Srídarsana's shoulder, said to him, "Now
give me the food that you promised me." So Srídarsana, not being able
to obtain any other flesh to give him to eat, cut off with his sword
some of his own flesh, and gave it to him. This pleased the Vetála,
and he said to him, "I am satisfied with you, brave man, let your
body be restored whole as before. Now take me off; this enterprise of
yours shall succeed, but that ascetic enchanter shall be destroyed,
for he is a great coward." When Srídarsana was thus addressed by
the Vetála, he immediately became whole as before, and taking the
corpse he handed it to that magician. And he received it joyfully,
and honoured it with unguents and garlands of blood, and he placed
the corpse, possessed by the Vetála, on its back in a great circle
marked out with powdered human bones, in the corners of which were
placed pitchers of blood, and which was lighted up with lamps fed
by oil from the human body. And he sat on the breast of the corpse,
and holding in his hand a ladle and spoon of human bone, he began to
make an oblation of clarified butter in its mouth. Immediately such a
flame issued from the mouth of that corpse possessed by the Vetála,
that the sorcerer rose up in terror and fled. When he thus lost his
presence of mind, and dropped his spoon and ladle; the Vetála pursued
him, and opening his mouth swallowed him whole. [251]

When Srídarsana saw that, he lifted up his sword and attacked
the Vetála, but the Vetála said to him, "Srídarsana, I am pleased
with this courage of yours, so take these mustard-seeds produced in
my mouth. If you place these on the head and hands of the king, the
malady of consumption will immediately leave him, and you in a short
time will become the king of the whole earth." When Srídarsana heard
this, he said, "How can I leave this place without that sorcerer? The
king is sure to say that I killed him out of a selfish regard to my
own interests." When Srídarsana said this to the Vetála, he answered,
"I will tell you a convincing proof, which will clear you. Cut open
the body of this corpse, and shew inside it this sorcerer dead, whom
I have swallowed." When the Vetála had said this, he gave him the
mustard-seeds, and went off somewhere or other, leaving that corpse,
and the corpse fell on the ground.

Then Srídarsana went off, taking with him the mustard-seeds, and
he spent that night in the asylum in which his friend was. And the
next morning he went to the king, and told him what had happened
in the night, and took and shewed to the ministers that sorcerer in
the stomach of the corpse. Then he placed the mustard-seeds on the
head and the hand of the king, and that made the king quite well,
as all his sickness at once left him. Then the king was pleased, and,
as he had no son, he adopted as his son Srídarsana, who had saved his
life. And he immediately anointed that hero crown-prince; for the
seed of benefits, sown in good soil, produces abundant fruit. Then
the fortunate Srídarsana married there that Padmishthá, who seemed
like the goddess of Fortune that had come to him in reward for his
former courting of her, and the hero remained there in the company
of her brother Mukharaka, enjoying pleasures and ruling the earth.

One day a great merchant, named Upendrasakti, found an image of Ganesa,
carved out of a jewel, on the border of a tank, and brought it and gave
it to that prince. The prince, seeing that it was of priceless value,
out of his fervent piety, set it up in a very splendid manner in a
temple. And he appointed a thousand villages there for the permanent
support of the temple, and he ordained in honour of the idol a festive
procession, at which all Málava assembled. And Ganesa, being pleased
with the numerous dances, songs, and instrumental performances in
his honour, said to the Ganas at night, "By my favour this Srídarsana
shall be a universal emperor on the earth. Now there is an island named
Hansadvípa in the western sea; and in it is a king named Anangodaya,
and he has a lovely daughter named Anangamanjarí. And that daughter
of his, being devoted to me, always offers to me this petition after
she has worshipped me, "Holy one, give me a husband who shall be the
lord of the whole earth." So I will marry her to this Srídarsana,
and thus I shall have bestowed on both the meet reward of their
devotion to me. So you must take Srídarsana there, and after you have
contrived that they should see one another, bring him back quickly;
and in course of time they shall be united in due form; but it cannot
be done immediately, for such is the will of destiny. Moreover I have
determined by these means to recompense Upendrasakti, the merchant,
who brought my image to the prince."

The Ganas, having received this order from Ganesa, took Srídarsana
that very night, while he was asleep, and carried him to Hansadvípa
by their supernatural power. And there they introduced him into the
chamber of Anangamanjarí, and placed him on the bed on which that
princess was lying asleep. Srídarsana immediately woke up, and saw
Anangamanjarí. She was reclining on a bed covered with a coverlet
of pure white woven silk, in a splendid chamber in which flashed
jewel-lamps, and which was illuminated by the numerous priceless
gems of the canopy and other furniture, and the floor of which was
dark with the rájávarta stone. As she lay there pouring forth rays
of beauty like the lovely effluence of a stream of nectar, she seemed
like the orb of the autumn moon lapped in a fragment of a white cloud,
in a sky adorned with a host of bright twinkling stars, gladdening
the eyes. Immediately he was delighted, astonished, and bewildered,
and he said to himself, "I went to sleep at home and I have woke
up in a very different place. What does all this mean? Who is this
woman? Surely it is a dream! Very well, let it be so. But I will
wake up this lady and find out." After these reflections he gently
nudged Anangamanjarí on the shoulder with his hand. And the touch
of his hand made her immediately awake and roll her eyes, as the
kumudvatí opens under the rays of the moon, and the bees begin to
circle in its cup. When she saw him, she reflected for a moment,
"Who can this being of celestial appearance be? Surely he must
be some god that has penetrated into this well-guarded room?" So
she rose up, and asked him earnestly and respectfully who he was,
and how and why he had entered there. Then he told his story, and
the fair one, when questioned by him, told him in turn her country,
name, and descent. Then they both fell in love with one another, and
each ceased to believe that the other was an object seen in a dream,
and in order to make certain, they exchanged ornaments.

Then they both became eager for the Gándharva form of marriage, but
the Ganas stupefied them, and laid them to sleep. And, as soon as
Srídarsana fell asleep, they took him and carried him back to his own
palace, cheated by Destiny of his desire. Then Srídarsana woke up in
his own palace, and seeing himself decked with the ornaments of a lady,
he thought, "What does this mean? At one moment I am in that heavenly
palace with the daughter of the king of Hansadvípa, at another moment
I am here. It cannot be a dream, for here are these ornaments of hers
on my wrist, so it must be some strange freak of Destiny." While he
was engaged in these speculations, his wife Padmishthá woke up, and
questioned him, and the kind woman comforted him, and so he passed
the night. And the next morning he told the whole story to Srísena,
before whom he appeared wearing the ornaments marked with the name of
Anangamanjarí. And the king, wishing to please him, had a proclamation
made by beat of drum, to find out where Hansadvípa was, but could
not find out from any one the road to that country. Then Srídarsana,
separated from Anangamanjarí, remained overpowered by the fever of
love, averse to all enjoyment. He could not like his food while he
gazed on her ornaments, necklace and all, and he abandoned sleep,
having ceased to behold within reach the lotus of her face. [252]

In the meanwhile the princess Anangamanjarí, in Hansadvípa, was
awakened in the morning by the sound of music. When she remembered
what had taken place in the night, and saw her body adorned with
Srídarsana's ornaments, longing love made her melancholy. And she
reflected, "Alas I am brought into a state, in which my life is in
danger, by these ornaments, which prove that I cannot have been deluded
by a dream, and fill me with love for an unattainable object." While
she was engaged in these reflections, her father Anangodaya suddenly
entered, and saw her wearing the ornaments of a man. The king,
who was very fond of her, when he saw her covering her body with her
clothes, and downcast with shame, took her on his lap and said to her,
"My daughter, what is the meaning of these masculine decorations, and
why this shame? Tell me. Do not shew a want of confidence in me, for
my life hangs on you." These and other kind speeches of her father's
allayed her feeling of shame, and she told him at last the whole story.

Then her father, thinking that it was a piece of supernatural
enchantment, felt great doubt as to what steps he ought to take. So
he went and asked an ascetic of the name of Brahmasoma, who possessed
superhuman powers, and observed the rule of the Pásupatas, and who
was a great friend of his, for his advice. The ascetic by his powers
of contemplation penetrated the mystery, and said to the king; "The
truth is that the Ganas brought here prince Srídarsana from Málava,
for Ganesa is favourably disposed both to him and your daughter,
and by his favour he shall become a universal monarch. So he is a
capital match for your daughter." When that gifted seer said this,
the king bowed and said to him,--"Holy seer, Málava is far away from
this great land of Hansadvípa. The road is a difficult one, and this
matter does not admit of delay. So in this matter your ever propitious
self is my only stay."

When the ascetic, who was so kind to his admirers, had been thus
entreated by the king, he said, "I myself will accomplish this,"
and he immediately disappeared. And he reached in a moment the city
of king Srísena in Málava. There he entered the very temple built by
Srídarsana, and after bowing before Ganesa, he sat down and began
to praise him, saying "Hail to thee of auspicious form, whose head
is crowned with a garland of stars, so that thou art like the peak
of mount Meru! I adore thy trunk flung up straight in the joy of
the dance, so as to sweep the clouds, like a column supporting the
edifice of the three worlds. Destroyer of obstacles, I worship thy
snake-adorned body, swelling out into a broad pitcher-like belly,
the treasure-house of all success." While the ascetic was engaged
in offering these praises to Ganesa in the temple, it happened that
the son of the merchant-prince Upendrasakti, who brought his image,
entered the temple as he was roaming about. His name was Mahendrasakti,
and he had been rendered uncontrollable by long and violent madness,
so he rushed forward to seize the ascetic. Then the ascetic struck
him with his hand. The merchant's son, as soon as he was struck by
the charm-bearing hand of that ascetic, was freed from madness and
recovered his reason. And, as he was naked, he felt shame, and left
the temple immediately, and covering himself with his hand, he made
for his home. Immediately his father Upendrasakti, hearing of it from
the people, met him full of joy and led him to his house. There he had
him bathed, and properly clothed and adorned, and then he went with
him to the ascetic Brahmasoma. And he offered him much wealth as the
restorer of his son, but the ascetic, as he possessed godlike power,
would not receive it.

In the meanwhile king Srísena himself, having heard what had
taken place, reverently approached the ascetic, accompanied by
Srídarsana. And the king bowed before him, and praised him, and said,
"Owing to your coming, this merchant has received a benefit, by having
his son restored to health, so do me a benefit also by ensuring
the welfare of this son of mine Srídarsana." When the king craved
this boon of the ascetic, he smiled and said, "King, why should I do
anything to please this thief, who stole at night the heart and the
ornaments of the princess Anangamanjarí in Hansadvípa, and returned
here with them? Nevertheless I must obey your orders." With these words
the ascetic seized Srídarsana by the fore-arm, and disappeared with
him. He took him to Hansadvípa, and introduced him into the palace of
king Anangodaya, with his daughter's ornaments on him. When Srídarsana
arrived, the king welcomed him gladly, but first he threw himself
at the feet of the ascetic and blessed him. And on an auspicious
day he gave Srídarsana his daughter Anangamanjarí, as if she were
the earth garlanded with countless jewels. And then by the power of
that ascetic he sent his son-in-law, with his wife, to Málava. And
when Srídarsana arrived there, the king welcomed him gladly, and he
lived there in happiness with his two wives.

In course of time king Srísena went to the next world, and that
hero took his kingdom and conquered the whole earth. And when he
had attained universal dominion, he had two sons by his two wives
Padmishthá and Anangamanjarí. And to one of them the king gave the
name of Padmasena, and to the other of Anangasena, and he reared them
up to manhood.

And in course of time king Srídarsana, as he was sitting inside the
palace with his two queens, heard a Bráhman lamenting outside. So he
had the Bráhman brought inside, and asked him why he lamented. Then
the Bráhman shewed great perturbation and said to him; "The fire
that had points of burning flame (Díptasikhu) has been now destroyed
by a dark cloud of calamity, discharging a loud laugh (Attahása),
together with its line of brightness and line of smoke (Jyotirlekhá
and Dhúmalekhá)." [253] The moment the Bráhman had said this, he
disappeared. And while the king was saying in his astonishment,
"What did he say, and where has he gone," the two queens, weeping
copiously, suddenly fell dead.

When the king saw that sudden calamity, terrible as the stroke
of a thunderbolt, he exclaimed in his grief, "Alas! Alas! what
means this?" and fell on the ground wailing. And when he fell,
his attendants picked him up, and carried him to another place,
and Mukharaka took the bodies of the queens, and performed the
ceremony of burning them. At last the king came to his senses, and
after mourning long for the queens, he completed out of affection
their funeral ceremonies. And after he had spent a day darkened by a
storm of tears, he divided the empire of the earth between his two
sons. Then, having conceived the design of renouncing the world,
he left his city, and turning back his subjects who followed him,
he went to the forest to perform austerities.

There he lived on roots and fruits, and one day, as he was wandering
about at will, he came near a banyan-tree. As soon as he came near it,
two women of celestial appearance suddenly issued from it with roots
and fruits in their hands, and they said to him, "King, take these
roots and fruits which we offer." When he heard that, he said, "Tell me
now who you are." Then those women of heavenly appearance said to him,
"Well come into our house and we will tell you the truth." When he
heard that, he consented, and entering with them, he saw inside the
tree a splendid golden city. There he rested and ate heavenly fruits,
and then those women said to him, "Now, king, hear."

"Long ago there dwelt in Pratishthána a Bráhman, of the name of
Kamalagarbha, and he had two wives, the name of the one was Pathyá,
and the name of the other Abalá. Now in course of time all three,
the husband and the wives, were worn out with old age, and at last
they entered the fire together, being attached to one another. And
at that time they put up a petition to Siva from the fire, 'May we be
connected together as husband and wives in all our future lives!' Then
Kamalagarbha, owing to the power of his severe penances, was born in
the Yaksha race as Díptasikha, the son of the Yaksha Pradíptáksha,
and the younger brother of Attahása. His wives too, Pathyá and Abalá,
were born as Yaksha maidens, that is to say, as the two daughters of
the king of the Yakshas named Dhúmaketu, and the name of the one was
Jyotirlekhá, and the name of the other Dhúmalekhá.

"Now in course of time those two sisters grew up, and they went to
the forest to perform asceticism, and they propitiated Siva with
the view of obtaining husbands. The god was pleased and he appeared
to them and said to them, 'That man with whom you entered the fire
in a former birth, and who you asked might be your husband in all
subsequent births, was born again as a Yaksha named Díptasikha, the
brother of Attahása, but he has become a mortal owing to the curse of
his master, and has been born as a man named Srídarsana, so you too
must go to the world of men and be his wives there, but as soon as
the curse terminates, you shall all become Yakshas, husband and wives
together.' When Siva said this, those two Yaksha maidens were born
on the earth as Padmishthá and Anangamanjarí. They became the wives
of Srídarsana, and after they had been his wives for some time, that
Attahása, as fate would have it, came there in the form of a Bráhman,
and by the device of employing an ambiguous speech, he managed to
utter their names and remind them of their former existence, and this
made them abandon that body and become Yakshinís. "Know that we are
those wives of yours, and you are that Díptasikha." When Srídarsana
had been thus addressed by them, he remembered his former birth, and
immediately became the Yaksha Díptasikha, and was again duly united
to those two wives of his.

"Know therefore, Vichitrakatha, that I am that Yaksha, and that these
wives of mine are Jyotirlekhá and Dhúmalekhá. So, if creatures of
godlike descent, like myself, have to endure such alternations of joy
and sorrow, much more then must mortals. But do not be despondent,
my son, for in a short time you shall be reunited to your master
Mrigánkadatta. And I remained here to entertain you, for this is my
earthly dwelling, so stay here, I will accomplish your desire. Then
I will go to my own home in Kailása." When the Yaksha had in these
words told me his story, he entertained me for some time. And the
kind being, knowing that you had arrived here at night, brought me
and laid me asleep in the midst of you who were asleep. So I was seen
by you, and you have been found by me. This, king, is the history of
my adventures during my separation from you."

When prince Mrigánkadatta had heard at night this tale from his
minister Vichitrakatha, who was rightly named, [254] he was much
delighted, and so were his other ministers.

So, after he had spent that night on the turf of the forest, he
went on with those companions of his towards Ujjayiní, having his
mind fixed on obtaining Sasánkavatí, and he kept searching for those
other companions of his, who were separated by the curse of the Nága,
and whom he had not yet found.






CHAPTER LXXIV.


Then Mrigánkadatta, as he gradually travelled along in the Vindhya
forest, accompanied by those ministers, Srutadhi and the four others,
reached a wood, which was refreshing with the shade of its goodly
fruit-laden trees, and in which there was a tank of very pure sweet
cold water. He bathed in it with his ministers and ate many fruits,
and lo! he suddenly thought that he heard conversation in a place shut
in with creepers. So he went and looked into that bower of creepers,
and he saw inside it a great elephant, which was refreshing a blind
way-worn man by throwing over him showers of water from his trunk,
by giving him fruits, and fanning him with his ears. And like a kind
man, the elephant said to him lovingly, over and over again, with
articulate voice, "Do you feel at all better?" When the prince saw
that, he was astonished, and he said to his companions, "Look! how
comes it that a wild elephant conducts itself like a man? So you may
be sure that this is some higher being translated into this form for
some reason. And this man is very like my friend Prachandasakti. But
he is blind. So let us keep a sharp lookout." When Mrigánkadatta had
said this to his friends, he remained there concealed, and listened
attentively. In the meanwhile the blind man recovered a little, and the
elephant said to him, "Tell me; who are you, and how did you come here,
being blind?" Then the blind man said to that mighty elephant, "There
is in this land a king of the name of Amaradatta, lord of the city
of Ayodhyá, he has a son of excellent qualities, named Mrigánkadatta,
of auspicious birth, and I am that prince's servant. For some reason
or other his father banished him from his native land, with us his
ten companions. We had set out for Ujjayiní to obtain Sasánkavatí,
when we were separated in the forest by the curse of a Nága. And I
was blinded by his curse, and wandering about I have arrived here,
living on the fruits, and roots, and water I could get on the way. And
to me death by falling into a chasm, or in some other way, would be
most desirable, but alas! Providence has not bestowed it on me, but
makes me endure calamity. However I feel convinced that, as my pangs
of hunger have been to-day assuaged by your favour, so my blindness
also will be somewhat alleviated, for you are a divinity." When he said
this, Mrigánkadatta felt certain who he was, and with a mind wavering
between joy and grief he said to those ministers, "It is our friend
Prachandasakti that is reduced to this melancholy state, but it will
not do for us to be in a hurry to greet him immediately. Perhaps
this elephant will cure his blindness. But if he were to see us,
he would flee away; so we must stop here and look at him." When the
prince had said this, he remained listening with his followers. Then
Prachandasakti said to that elephant, "Now great-souled one, tell
me your history; who are you? How comes it that, though you are an
elephant, and are subject to the fury of elephants, you speak in
this gentle way?" When the great elephant heard this, he sighed,
and said to him, "Listen! I will tell you my story from the beginning."



Story of Bhímabhata.

Long ago, in the city of Ekalavyá, there was a king named Srutadhara,
and he had two sons by two wives. When the king went to heaven,
his younger son, named Satyadhara, expelled the elder son, named
Síladhara, from the throne. Síladhara was angry on that account, so
he went and propitiated Siva, and craved the following boon from the
god, who was pleased with his asceticism, "May I become a Gandharva,
in order that I may be able to move through the air, and so slay
with ease that kinsman of mine, Satyadhara!" When the holy god Siva
heard this, he said to him, "This boon shall be granted to thee, but
that enemy of thine has to-day died a natural death. And he shall be
again born in the city of Rádhá, as Samarabhata, the favourite son
of king Ugrabhata. But thou shalt be born as Bhímabhata, his elder
brother, by a different mother, and thou shalt kill him and rule the
kingdom. But because thou didst perform these ascetic penances under
the influence of anger, thou shalt be hurled from thy rank by the curse
of a hermit, and become a wild elephant, that remembers its birth and
possesses articulate speech, and when thou shalt comfort a guest in
distress and tell him thy history, then thou shalt be freed from thy
elephant-nature and become a Gandharva, and at the same time a great
benefit will be conferred upon that guest." When Siva had said this,
he disappeared, and Síladhara, seeing that his body was emaciated by
long penance, flung himself into the Ganges.

At this point of my tale it happened that, while that king named
Ugrabhata, whom I have before mentioned, was living happily in the city
of Rádhá with his wife Manoramá who was equal to him in birth, there
came to his court from a foreign country an actor named Lásaka. And
he exhibited before the king that dramatic piece in which Vishnu, in
the form of a woman, carries off the amrita from the Daityas. And in
that piece the king saw the actor's daughter Lásavatí dancing in the
character of Amritiká. When he saw her beauty, that was like that of
the real Amritá, with which Vishnu bewildered the Dánavas, he fell
in love with her. And at the end of the dance he gave her father
much wealth, and immediately introduced her into his harem. And
then he married that dancer Lásavatí, and lived with her, having
his eyes riveted upon her face. One day he said to his chaplain named
Yajuhsvámin, "I have no son, so perform a sacrifice in order to procure
me a son." The chaplain obeyed, and performed duly, with the help of
learned Bráhmans, a sacrifice for that king's benefit. And, as he had
been previously gained over by Manoramá, he gave her to eat, as being
the eldest queen, the first half of the oblation purified with holy
texts. [255] And he gave the rest to the second queen Lásavatí. Then
those two, Síladhara and Satyadhara, whom I have before mentioned, were
conceived in those two queens. And when the time came, Manoramá, the
consort of that king, brought forth a son with auspicious marks. And
at that moment a distinct utterance was heard from heaven, "This child
who is born shall be a famous king under the name of Bhímabhata." On
the next day Lásavatí also brought forth a son, and the king his
father gave him the name of Samarabhata. And the usual sacraments
were performed for them, and the two boys gradually grew up. But
the eldest Bhímabhata surpassed the youngest in all accomplishments,
and rivalry in these increased the natural ill-feeling between them.

One day, as they were engaged in wrestling, Samarabhata, being jealous,
struck Bhímabhata with his arm with great force on the neck. Then
Bhímabhata was enraged, and immediately throwing his arms round
Samarabhata, he lifted him up and flung him on the ground. The fall
gave him a severe shock, and his servants took him up and carried
him to his mother, discharging blood from all the apertures in his
body. When she saw him, and found out what had taken place, she was
alarmed on account of her love for him, and she placed her face close
to his and wept bitterly. At that moment the king entered, and when he
saw this sight, he was much troubled in mind, and asked Lásavatí what
it meant, and she gave the following answer: "This son of mine has been
reduced to this state by Bhímabhata. And he is always ill-treating him,
but I have never told you, king; however now, that I have seen this,
I must say, I cannot [256] understand how your majesty can be safe
with such a son as this, but let your majesty decide." When king
Ugrabhata was thus appealed to by his favourite wife, he was angry,
and banished Bhímabhata from his court. And he took away from him
his allowance, and appointed a hundred Rájpúts with their retainers
to guard that Samarabhata. And he put his treasury at the disposal
of the younger son, but he drove the elder son from his presence,
and took away all that he possessed.

Then his mother Manoramá sent for him and said, "Your father has
thrown you over, because he is in love with a dancer. So go to
the palace of my father in Pátaliputra, and when you arrive there,
your grandfather will give you his kingdom, for he has no son. But,
if you remain here, your enemy, this Samarabhata, will kill you, for
he is powerful." When Bhímabhata heard this speech of his mother's,
he said, "I am a Kshatriya, and I will not sneak away from my native
land, like a coward. Be of good cheer, mother! what wretch is able to
injure me?" When he said this, his mother answered him, "Then procure a
numerous body of companions to guard you, by means of my wealth." When
Bhímabhata heard this proposal, he said, "Mother, this is not becoming;
for if I did this, I should be really opposing my father. You may
be quite at your ease, for your blessing alone will procure me good
fortune." When Bhímabhata had encouraged her with these words, he
left her. In the meanwhile all the citizens came to hear of it, and
they thought, "Alas! a great injustice has been done to Bhímabhata by
the king. Surely Samarabhata does not think he is going to rob him of
the kingdom. Well it is an opportunity for us to do him a service,
before he comes to the throne." Having formed this resolution, the
citizens secretly supplied Bhímabhata with such abundance of wealth,
that he lived in great comfort with his servants. But the younger
brother was ever on the look out to kill his elder brother, supposing
that this was his father's object in furnishing him with a guard.

In the meanwhile a heroic and wealthy young Bráhman, of the name
of Sankhadatta, who was a friend of both brothers, came and said
to Samarabhata, "You ought not to carry on hostility with your
elder brother; it is not right, and you cannot do him an injury;
on the contrary the result of a quarrel would be disgraceful to
you." When he said this, Samarabhata abused and threatened him; good
advice given to a fool does not calm but rather enrages him. Then the
resolute Sankhadatta went away indignant at this treatment, and made
a strict friendship with Bhímabhata, in order to have the opportunity
of conquering Samarabhata.

Then a merchant, of the name of Manidatta, came there from a foreign
country, bringing with him an excellent horse; it was as white as the
moon; the sound of its neighing was as musical as that of a clear conch
or other sweet-sounding instrument; it looked like the waves of the
sea of milk surging on high; it was marked with curls on the neck;
and adorned with the crest-jewel, the bracelet, and other signs,
which it seemed as if it had acquired by being born in the race
of the Gandharvas. When Bhímabhata heard of that splendid horse,
which was mentioned to him by Sankhadatta, he went and bought it for
a high price from that merchant-prince. At that moment Samarabhata,
hearing of it, came and tried to buy the horse from the merchant for
double the price. But he refused to give it him, as it had already been
sold to another; then Samarabhata, out of envy, proceeded to carry it
off by force. Then there took place a fierce combat between those two
princes, as the adherents of both came running up with weapons in their
hands. Then the mighty arm of Bhímabhata laid low the attendants of
Samarabhata, and he himself abandoned the horse, and began to retire
through fear of his brother. But as he was retiring, Sankhadatta,
full of overpowering anger, pursued him, and laying hold of his hair
behind, was on the point of killing him, when Bhímabhata rushed up and
prevented him, saying, "Let be for the present, it would be a grief to
my father." Then Sankhadatta let Samarabhata go, and he fled in fear,
discharging blood from his wounds, and repaired to his father.

Then the brave Bhímabhata took possession of the horse, and immediately
a Bráhman came up to him, and taking him aside, said to him, "Your
mother the queen Manoramá, and the chaplain Yajuhsvámin, and Sumati,
the minister of your father, send you the following advice at this
juncture. "You know, [257] dear boy, how the king is always affected
towards you, and he is especially angry with you at present, now that
this misfortune has happened. So if you feel disposed to save your
own life, and to preserve glory, and justice inviolate, if you have
any regard for the future, if you consider us well disposed towards
you; leave this place unobserved this very evening, as soon as the
sun has set, and make for the palace of your maternal grandfather,
and may good fortune attend you. This is the message they gave me for
you, and they sent you this casket full of precious jewels and gold;
receive it from my hand." When the wise Bhímabhata heard this message,
he accepted it, saying, "I consent to act thus," and he took that
casket of gold and valuable jewels. And he gave him an appropriate
message to take back, and then dismissed him, and mounted that
horse, sword in hand. And Sankhadatta took some gold and jewels,
and mounted another horse. And then prince Bhímabhata set out with
him, and after he had gone a long distance, he reached at dead of
night a great thicket of reeds that lay in his way. As he and his
companion pursued their course through it without stopping, a couple
of lions, roused by the noise, which the reeds made when trampled by
the horses' hoofs, rushed out roaring, with their cubs, and began to
rip up the bellies of the horses with their claws. And immediately
the hero and his companion cut off the limbs of the lions with their
swords, and killed them. Then he got down with his friend to look at
the state of the two horses, but as their entrails were torn out,
they immediately fell down dead. When Bhímabhata saw that, he felt
despondent, and he said to Sankhadatta, "Friend, by a great effort
we have escaped from our hostile relatives. Tell me, where, even by
a hundred efforts, shall we find an escape from Fate, who has now
smitten us even here, not allowing us even to retain our horses. The
very horse, for which I abandoned my native land, is dead; so how can
we travel on foot through this forest at night?" When he said this,
his friend Sankhadatta answered him, "It is no new thing for hostile
Fate to conquer courage. This is its nature, but it is conquered by
firm endurance. What can Fate do against a firm unshaken man, any
more than the wind against a mountain? So come, let us mount upon the
horse of endurance and so plod on here." When Sankhadatta said this,
Bhímabhata set out with him. Then they slowly crossed that thicket,
wounding their feet with the canes, and at last the night came
to an end. And the sun, the lamp of the world, arose, dispelling
the darkness of night, and the lotus-flowers in the lotus-clumps,
by the side of their path, with their expanding cups and the sweet
murmur of their bees, seemed to be looking at one another and saying,
"It is a happy thing that this Bhímabhata has crossed this thicket
full of lions and other dangerous animals." So travelling on, he at
last reached with his friend the sandy shore of the Ganges, dotted
with the huts of hermits. There he drank its sweet waters, which
seemed to be impregnated with the nectar of the moon, from dwelling
on the head of Siva, and he bathed in them, and felt refreshed. And he
ate, by way of sustenance, some venison, which they had bought from a
hunter whom they happened to meet, and which Sankhadatta brought to him
roasted. And seeing that the Ganges was full and difficult to cross,
for with its waves uplifted like hands it seemed again and again to
warn him back, he proceeded to roam along the bank of the river. And
there he saw a young Bráhman in the court of an out-of-the-way hut,
engaged in the study of the Vedas. So he went up to him and said,
"Who are you, and what are you doing in this solitary place?" Then
the young Bráhman answered him:

"I am Nílakantha, the son of a Bráhman named Sríkantha, who lived
at Váránasí, and after all the ceremonies had been performed for me,
and I had learnt knowledge in the family of my spiritual preceptor,
I returned home and found all my relations dead. That left me helpless
and poor, and as I was not in a position to carry on the duties of
a householder, I became despondent, and repaired to this place, and
had recourse to severe asceticism. Then the goddess Gangá gave me some
fruits in a dream, and said to me, 'Remain here living on these fruits,
until you obtain your desire.' Then I woke up and went and bathed,
and when the morning came, I found in the water some fruits, that had
been washed here by the stream of the Ganges. I brought those fruits,
delicious as nectar, into my hut, and ate them there, and so I remain
here engaged in asceticism, receiving these fruits day by day."

When he said this, Bhímabhata said to Sankhadatta, "I will give
this virtuous youth enough wealth to enable him to enter the
householder-state." Sankhadatta approved his speech; whereupon the
prince gave the Bráhman the wealth that his mother gave him. For
what is the use of the greatness of great ones, who have abundant
courage and wealth, if they do not put a stop to the sufferings of
their neighbour as soon as they hear of them?

And after he had made the fortune of the Bráhman, Bhímabhata searched
in every direction for some means of crossing the Ganges, but could
not find any. Then he tied his ornaments and sword on his head,
and plunged in with Sankhadatta to swim across it.

And in the middle of the river the current carried his friend to a
distance from him, and he himself was swept away by the waves, and
reached the bank with difficulty. When he reached the other side,
he could not see his friend Sankhadatta, and while he was looking
for him along the bank, the sun set. Then he began to despair,
and he exclaimed in bitter grief, "Alas my friend!" and it being
now the beginning of the night, he prepared to drown himself in
the waters of the Ganges. He said, "Goddess Jáhnaví, you have taken
from me my life in the form of my friend, so now receive also this
empty vessel of my body," and he was on the point of plunging in,
when Gangá appeared to him from the middle of the flood. And pleased
with his violent agitation she said to him then and there, "Do not
act rashly, my son! your friend is alive, and in a short time you
shall be reunited with him. Now receive from me this charm called,
'Forwards and Backwards.' If a man repeats it forwards, he will
become invisible to his neighbour, but if he repeats it backwards,
he will assume whatever shape he desires. [258] Such is the force
of this charm only seven syllables long, and by its help you shall
become a king on this earth." When the goddess Gangá had said this,
and given him the charm, she disappeared from his eyes, and he gave
up the idea of suicide, now that he had got a hope of regaining
his friend and of other successes. And being anxious to regain his
friend, he passed the night in impatience, like the lotus-flower,
and the next morning he set out in search of him.

Then, as he was travelling about in search of Sankhadatta, he one
day reached alone the district of Láta, where, though the colours of
the castes are not mixed, the people lead a diversified and richly
coloured life, which though a seat of fine arts, is not reputed a home
of crimes. [259] In this city he wandered about, looking at the temples
and the dwelling-houses, and at last he reached a hall of gamblers. He
entered it and saw a number of fraudulent dice-players, who though
they were clothed in a loin-rag only, shewed by their handsome,
well-shaped, stout limbs, which indicated good living and plenty
of exercise, that they were men of rank though they concealed it,
and that they had resorted to that occupation for the sake of making
money. They began to talk to him, so he sat down to play with them,
and they fancied that they would make a fine thing out of him and
his ornaments. Then he beat them at the dice-play, and won from the
rogues all the wealth which they had acquired by cheating others.

Then those gamblers, having lost their wealth, were preparing to go
home, when Bhímabhata set his arms against the door and stopped them,
and said to them, "Where are you going? Take back this wealth; I do
not want it. I must give it away to my friends, and are not you my
friends? Where can I find [260] such dear friends as you?" When he
said this, and they declined to take the money out of shame, a gambler
there, of the name of Akshakshapanaka, said, "Undoubtedly it is the
definition of gambling that what is won is not returned, but if this
gentleman becomes our friend, and gives us of his own accord wealth
which he has fairly won, why should we not take it?" The others,
when they heard this, exclaimed, "It is fitting, if he makes such
an eternal friendship with us." When they said this, he came to the
conclusion that they were men of spirit, and he at once consented to
swear eternal friendship to them, and gave them back their wealth. And
at their request he went into a garden with them and their families,
and refreshed himself with food, and wine, and other luxuries,
supplied by them. Then, at the request of Akshakshapanaka and the
others, he told his name, race, and history, and asked them also for
theirs. Then Akshakshapanaka told him the story of his life.



Story of Akshakshapanaka.

There lived in Hastinápura a Bráhman named Sivadatta, a very rich man,
and I am his son, and my real name is Vasudatta. And in my youth I
learnt skill in arms as well as in the Vedas. Then my father made me
marry a wife from a family equal in rank to my own. But my mother was a
great scold, implacable, and very passionate. And she worried my father
so intolerably, that as soon as he saw me married, he left his home,
and went away somewhere where he could not be traced. When I saw that,
I was afraid, and I earnestly enjoined on my wife to study carefully
my mother's disposition, and she, being terrified, did so. But my
mother was bent on quarrelling, and it was impossible for my wife to
please her in any way. The ill-natured woman interpreted her silence as
contempt, her plaintive lamentation as hypocrisy, and her attempts at
explanation as wrangling. For who can deprive the fire of its tendency
to burn? Then her disagreeable behaviour in a short time worried my
wife also so much, that she left the house and fled I know not where.

Then I was so despondent that I made up my mind to abandon family
life, but my wretched relations assembled together and forced me to
take another wife. That second wife of mine also was so worried by
my mother, that she committed suicide by hanging herself. Then I was
exceedingly vexed, and I determined to go to a foreign country. And
when my relations tried to prevent me, I told them of the wickedness
of my mother. They assigned another reason for my father's leaving the
country, and would not believe my story; so I adopted the following
artifice. I had a wooden doll made, and pretended to marry it privately
as a third wife, and I brought it and placed it in another secluded
house which I locked up. And I made another female puppet to guard her,
dressed like a servant. And I said to my mother, "I have put this wife
of mine in a separate house. So you and I must for the present remain
apart from her in our own house; you must not go there and she must
not come here. For she is timid as yet, and does not know how to win
your affection." To this arrangement my mother gave her consent.

After some days had elapsed, my mother, finding that she could not
manage anyhow to get at that supposed daughter-in-law of hers,
who was in a private house kept always locked, took a stone one
day and struck herself on the head, and remained in the courtyard
in front of her own house, streaming with blood, and lamenting with
loud cries. Then I and all my relations came in, hearing the cries,
and when we saw her, we said, "Tell us, what is the matter?" When
we asked her this question, she said spitefully, "My daughter-in-law
came without any reason and reduced me to this state; so now my only
remedy is death." When my relations heard this, they were furious, and
they took her and me with them to the house where I kept the wooden
doll. They removed the fastening, and opened the door, and went in,
and lo! they saw nothing there but a wooden doll. Then they laughed
at my mother, who was covered with shame, having imposed on no one
but herself, and they began to repose confidence in what I had said,
and so they went away again.

And I left that country, and travelled about till I came to this
region, and here I happened to enter a gambling-hall. And there I
saw these five men playing, this man named Chandabhujanga, and that
Pásupata, and this Smasánavetála, and that Kálavarátaka, and this
Sáriprastara, heroes equal in valour. And I gambled with them on this
mutual understanding, that whoever was conquered should be the slave
of the conqueror. Then they became my slaves by being beaten by me
in gambling, but I have become their slave by being won over by their
good qualities. And dwelling with them I have forgotten my woes.

So know that here I bear the name of Akshakshapana, [261] a name
suited to my condition. Here I have lived with these excellent men of
good family, who conceal their real position, and now you have joined
us. So now you are our chief, and it was with this view that we took
that money of yours originally, being charmed with your virtues.

When Akshakshapana had told his story in these words, all the others in
succession also told their adventures. And prince Bhímabhata perceived
that his friends were heroes, who had disguised their real character
by taking up gambling practices for the sake of gaining wealth, so he
had much more pleasant chat with them, and spent the day in amusement,
and then seeing that the eastern quarter had adorned its face with the
rising moon, as with an ornamental patch, he went from that garden
with Akshakshapanaka and the other six to their dwelling. And while
he was there with them, the rainy season arrived, seeming to announce
with the roarings of its joyous clouds his recovery of his friend. And
then the impetuous river there, named Vipásá, that flowed into the sea,
was filled with an influx of sea-water and began to flow backwards,
and it deluged that shore with a great inundation, and then owing
to the cessation of that influx, [262] it seemed to flow on again to
the sea. Now at that time the sudden influx of sea-water brought in
a great fish, and on account of its unwieldy size it was stranded
on the bank of the river. And the inhabitants, when they saw the
fish stranded, ran forward with all kinds of weapons to kill it,
and ripped open its stomach. And when its stomach was cut open, there
came out of it alive a young Bráhman; and the people, astonished at
that strange sight, raised a shout. [263] When Bhímabhata heard that,
he went there with his friends, and saw his friend Sankhadatta, who
had just issued from the inside of the fish. So he ran and embraced
him, and bedewed him with copious tears, as if he wished to wash off
the evil smell he had contracted by living in the gulf of the fish's
maw. [264] Sankhadatta, for his part, having escaped that calamity,
and having found and embraced his friend, went from joy to joy. Then
being questioned out of curiosity by Bhímabhata, he gave this brief
account of his adventures.

"On that occasion, when I was swept out of your sight by the force
of the waves of the Ganges, I was suddenly swallowed by a very large
fish. Then I remained for a long time inside the capacious habitation
of his stomach, eating in my hunger his flesh, which I cut off with
a knife. To-day Providence somehow or other brought this fish here,
and threw it up upon the bank, so that it was killed by these men and
I was taken out of its stomach. I have seen again you and the light
of the sun, the horizon has been once more illuminated for me. This,
my friend, is the story of my adventures, I know no more than this."

When Sankhadatta said this, Bhímabhata and all that were present
exclaimed in astonishment, "To think that he should have been swallowed
in the Ganges by a fish, and that that fish should have got into the
sea, and then that from the sea it should have been brought into the
Vipásá, and that it should have been killed, and then that Sankhadatta
should have come out of it alive. Ah! the way of fate is inscrutable,
and wonderful are its works!" While uttering such remarks with
Akshakshapanaka and the others, Bhímabhata took Sankhadatta to his
own dwelling. And there in high delight he entertained with a bath,
clothes, and other needful things, his friend, who had, as it were,
been born a second time with the same body from the belly of a fish.

And while Bhímabhata was living with him in that country, there
came on there a festive procession in honour of Vásuki the king of
the snakes. In order to see it, the prince went, surrounded with his
friends, to the temple of that chief of the snakes, where great crowds
were assembling. He worshipped there in the temple, where his idol was,
which was full of long wreaths [265] of flowers in form like serpents,
and which therefore resembled the abyss of Pátála, and then going
in a southerly direction, he beheld a great lake sacred to Vásuki,
studded with red lotuses, resembling the concentrated gleams of
the brilliance of the jewels on snakes' crests; [266] and encircled
with blue lotuses, which seemed like clouds of smoke from the fire
of snake-poison; overhung with trees, that seemed to be worshipping
with their flowers blown down by the wind. When he saw it, he said to
himself in astonishment, "Compared with this expanded lake, that sea
from which Vishnu carried off the goddess of Fortune, seems to me to
be only worthy of neglect, for its fortune of beauty is not to be taken
from it by anything else." [267] In the meanwhile he saw a maiden, who
had come there to bathe, by name Hansávalí, the beautiful daughter of
Chandráditya, king of Láta, by Kuvalayavatí; her mortal nature, which
was concealed by all her other members moulded like those of gods,
was revealed by the winking of her rolling eye. She had ten million
perfections darting forth from her flower-soft body, she was with her
waist, that might be spanned with the hand, a very bow of Cupid, and
the moment she looked at Bhímabhata, she pierced him in the heart with
the sidelong arrows of her eyes, and bewildered him. [268] He too,
who was a thief of the world's beauty, entered by the oblique path
of her eyes the treasure-chamber of her heart, and robbed her of her
self-control. Then she sent secretly a trustworthy and discreet maid,
and enquired from his friends his name and residence. And after she had
bathed, she was taken back to her palace by her attendants, frequently
turning round her face to fix her eyes on him. And then Bhímabhata,
accompanied by his friends, went to his dwelling, with faltering steps,
for he was entangled with the net which his beloved had cast over him.

And immediately the princess Hansávalí sent that maid to him as an
ambassadress of love, with the message for which he longed. The maid
came up to him and said to him in secret, "Prince, the princess
Hansávalí solicits you thus, 'When you see me, who love you,
being carried away by the stream of love, you should rescue me
quickly, you should not remain indifferent upon the bank [269]'"
When Bhímabhata heard from the messenger the nectar of his beloved's
message, he was delighted at having his life saved, and said to her,
"I am in the current, I am not upon the bank; does not my beloved
know that? But now, that I have obtained some hope to cling to,
[270] I will gladly do her bidding. I will this night come and wait
upon her in her private apartments, and no one shall see me, for I
will enter concealed by a charm." When he said this to the maid,
she was pleased, and went and told it to Hansávalí, and then she
remained anxiously expecting an interview with him.

And he, in the early part of the night, went adorned with heavenly
ornaments, and making himself invisible by repeating forwards the charm
bestowed on him by Gangá, entered her splendid chamber which she had
previously cleared of attendants. In that chamber, which suggested
thoughts of love, which was perfumed with aloes, and adorned with
nose-gays of flowers of five hues [271] arranged there, and which
therefore resembled the garden of the god of love, he beheld that
lovely one exhaling heavenly fragrance, like a blossom put forth by
the creeper of the wonderful charm bestowed by Gangá. And then the
handsome prince recited the charm backwards, and immediately became
visible to that princess. When he beheld her timidly trembling with
a joyful agitation that made her hair stand on end, his ornaments
immediately tinkled like musical instruments, and he seemed to be
dancing with joy to their music. And the maiden hid her face with the
shame of love, and seemed to be asking her heart, that caused all that
display of emotion, what she was to do now. Then Bhímabhata said to
her, "Fair one, why do you allow your heart to exhibit shame, though
its feelings have been already revealed? It does not deny the state of
affairs; besides how is it possible to conceal this trembling of the
limbs and this bursting boddice?" Then Bhímabhata with such words,
and other loving persuasions, made the fair one forget her modesty,
and married her by the Gándharva form of marriage. And after he had
spent that night with her, in sporting like a bee round the lotus
of her mouth, he at last tore himself away, and saying, "I will come
again at night," returned to his house.

And when the chamberlains belonging to Hansávalí entered her chamber
the next morning, they saw that her lover had been with her. The
ends of her curls were disordered, she had marks of moist teeth and
nails, and she seemed as if the god of Love had appeared in person and
afflicted her with the wounds of all his arrows. They immediately went
and reported the matter to the king, and he secretly appointed spies to
watch at night. And Bhímabhata spent the day with his friends in their
usual employments, and in the beginning of the night again repaired
to the bower of his beloved. When the spies saw that he had entered
without being seen, by virtue of his charm, and discovered that he
possessed supernatural powers, they went out, and told the king, and
he gave them this order, "The being, who has entered a well-guarded
room without being seen, cannot be a mere man; so bring him here
that I may see what this means. And say to him politely from me,
'Why did you not openly ask me for my daughter? Why did you make
a secret of it? For it is difficult to obtain a bridegroom for my
daughter as accomplished as yourself.'" When the king had sent off
the spies with this message, they went as he commanded, and stood at
the door and delivered this message to Bhímabhata. And the resolute
prince, perceiving that the king had discovered him, answered them
boldly from inside; "Tell the king from me, that to-morrow I will
enter his hall of audience, and tell him the truth, for now it is
the dead of night." They then went and gave this message to the king
and he remained silent. And in the morning Bhímabhata went to rejoin
his friends. And putting on a magnificent costume, he went with those
seven heroes to the hall of king Chandráditya. When the king saw his
splendour, his resolute bearing and handsome appearance, he received
him kindly, and made him sit on a throne equal to his own, and then
his friend, the Bráhman Sankhadatta, said to the king, "King, this
is the son of Ugrabhata the king of Rádhá, Bhímabhata by name; his
might is irresistible on account of the wonderful power of the charm
which he possesses. And he has come here to sue for the hand of your
daughter." When the king heard that, he remembered the occurrence of
the night, and seeing that he was a suitable match for his daughter,
he exclaimed, "I am fortunate indeed," and accepted the proposal. And
after he had made splendid preparations for the marriage, he bestowed
his daughter Hansávalí on Bhímabhata with much wealth. Then Bhímabhata,
having obtained many elephants, horses, and villages, remained there in
great comfort, possessed of Hansávalí and the goddess of Fortune. And
in a few days his father-in-law gave him that kingdom of Láta, and,
being childless and old, retired to the forest. Then the successful
Bhímabhata, having obtained that kingdom, ruled it admirably with
the help of those seven heroes, Sankhadatta and the others.

Then, in the course of some days, he heard from his spies, that
his father king Ugrabhata had gone to Prayága and died there; and
that, when he was intent on death, he had anointed his youngest
son Samarabhata, the son of the dancing-girl, king of Rádhá. Then
he mourned for his father, and performed his funeral ceremonies, and
sent a messenger to that Samarabhata with a letter. And in the letter,
he sent the following message to the pretender who was treating him
unjustly, "Foolish son of a dancing-girl, what business have you to
sit on my father's throne, for it belongs to me, though I have this
kingdom of Láta; so you must not ascend it." And the messenger went,
and after announcing himself, delivered the letter to that Samarabhata,
when he was in the hall of assembly. And when Samarabhata read this
letter of such an import, under his brother's sign manual, he was
angry, and answered, "This baseless presumption is becoming in this
ill-conducted man, who was long ago banished by my father from the
country, because he was not fit to remain in it. Even the jackal apes
the lion, when he is comfortably ensconced in his native cavern,
but when he comes within view of the lion, he is discovered to be
only a jackal." Such was the answer he roared forth, and he wrote to
the same effect in a letter, and sent his return-messenger to carry
it to Bhímabhata.

So the return-messenger went, and gave, when introduced by the warder,
that letter to the king of Láta. And when Bhímabhata had read that
letter, he laughed loudly, and said to the return-messenger of his
brother--"Go, messenger, and tell that dancing-girl's son from me,
'On that former occasion when you tried to seize the horse, I saved
you from Sankhadatta, because you were a child and dear to my father,
but I will no longer endure your insolence. I will certainly send
you to my father who is so fond of you. Make ready, and know that
in a few days I shall have arrived.'" With these words he dismissed
the messenger, and then he began his expedition. When that moon of
kings, glorious in his magnificence, [272] mounted his elephant which
resembled a hill, the great sea of his army was agitated and surged up
with a roar, and the horizon was filled with innumerable feudal chiefs
and princes arrived for war, [273] and setting out with their forces;
and the earth, swiftly trampled by the elephants and horses trooping
along in great numbers, groaned and trembled under the weight, as if
afraid of being cleft open. In this fashion Bhímabhata marched and
came near Rádhá, eclipsing the light of the sun in the heavens with
the clouds of dust raised by his army.

In the meanwhile king Samarabhata heard of it, and became indignant;
and armed himself, and went out with his army to meet him in
battle. And those two armies met, like the eastern and western seas,
and a great battle took place between the heroes on both sides,
awful as the destruction of the world. Then the fire, produced by the
loud clashing of swords, which seemed as if it had been kindled by
the gnashing of the teeth of the angry god of Death, hid the sky;
and javelins flew with their long points resembling eyelashes,
and seemed like the glances of the nymphs of heaven, as they gazed
on the warriors. Then the field of battle appeared like a stage;
its canopy was dust, its music was the shouting of the army, and
its dancers palpitating trunks. And a furious [274] torrent of blood,
sweeping along heads, and garlanded with trunks, carried off all living
creatures, like the night of destruction at the end of the world.

But the archer Bhímabhata soon routed the army of his enemies,
by means of a combined attack of the mighty warriors Sankhadatta,
and Akshakshapanaka, and Chandabhujanga and his fellows, skilled
in wrestling, resembling impetuous elephants. And Samarabhata was
furious, when his army was routed, and he dashed forward on his
chariot, and began to churn the sea of battle, as Mount Mandara
churned the ocean. [275] Then Bhímabhata, who was mounted on an
elephant, attacked him, and cut his bow in two with his arrows, and
also killed all the four horses of his chariot. Then Samarabhata,
being prevented from using his chariot, ran and struck with a javelin
on the forehead the splendid elephant of Bhímabhata, and the elephant,
as soon as it was struck, fell dead on the ground. Then both of them,
being deprived of their means of conveyance, had to fight on foot. And
the two angry kings, armed with sword and shield, engaged in single
combat. But Bhímabhata, though he might have made himself invisible
by means of his charm, and so have killed him, out of a regard for
fairness, would not kill his enemy in that way. But being a skilful
swordsman, he contended against him in open fight, and cut off with
his sword the head of that son of the dancing-girl.

And when that Samarabhata was slain with his soldiers, and the
bands of the Siddhas had applauded from the heavens, and the fight
had come to an end, Bhímabhata with his friends entered the city of
Rádhá, being praised by heralds and minstrels. Then, returning from
a long absence, after slaying his enemy, he delighted his mother,
who was eager to behold him, as Ráma did Kausalyá. And the citizens
welcomed him, and then he adorned the throne of his father, and took
his seat on it, honoured by his father's ministers, who loved his
good qualities. And then he honoured all his subjects, who made high
festival; and on a lucky day he gave to Sankhadatta the kingdom of
Láta. And he sent him to the territory of Láta, escorted by a force
composed of natives of that country; and he gave villages and wealth to
Akshakshapanaka and his fellows, and he remained surrounded by them,
ruling his ancestral realm, with that queen Hansávalí, the daughter
of the king of Láta. And, in course of time, he conquered the earth,
and carried off the daughters of kings, and became exclusively addicted
to the enjoyment of their society. And he devolved his duties on his
ministers, and amused himself with the women of his harem, and never
left its precincts, being engrossed with drinking and other vices.

Then, one day, the hermit Uttanka came of his own accord to visit him,
as if he were the time of accomplishment of the previous decree of
Siva. And when the hermit came to the door, the king, being blinded
with passion, intoxication, and the pride of sovereignty, would not
listen, though the warders announced his arrival. Then the hermit
was angry, and denounced this curse on the king, "O man blinded with
intoxication, you shall fall from your throne, and become a wild
elephant." When the king heard that, fear dispelled his intoxication,
and he went out, and prostrating himself at the foot of the hermit,
began to appease him with humble words. Then the anger of the
great sage was calmed, and he said to him, "King, you must become
an elephant, that decree cannot be altered; but when you shall have
relieved a minister of Mrigánkadatta's, named Prachandasakti, afflicted
with the curse of a Nága and blinded, who shall become your guest,
and shall tell him your story, you shall be delivered from this curse;
and you shall return to the state of a Gandharva, as Siva foretold
to you, and then that guest of yours shall recover the use of his
eyes." When the hermit Uttanka had said this, he returned as he came,
and Bhímabhata was hurled from his throne, and became an elephant.

"So know, my friend, that I am that very Bhímabhata, become an
elephant, and you are Prachandasakti; I know that my curse is now
at an end." When Bhímabhata had said this, he abandoned the form of
an elephant, and at once became a Gandharva of heavenly might. And
immediately Prachandasakti recovered, to his intense delight, the use
of his eyes, and looked upon that Gandharva there. And in the meanwhile
the discreet Mrigánkadatta, who had heard their conversation from
the bower of creepers, with his other ministers, having discovered
that it was indeed his friend, rushed quickly and impetuously forth,
and threw his arms round the neck of his minister Prachandasakti. And
Prachandasakti looked at him, and feeling as if his body had been
irrigated with a sudden flood of nectar, immediately embraced the
feet of his lord.

Then the Gandharva Bhímabhata comforted those two, who were weeping,
both deeply moved at being reunited after so long a separation. And
Mrigánkadatta, bowing, said to that Gandharva, "That I have recovered
this friend of mine, and that he has recovered his eyesight, is
all due to your wondrous might. Honour to you!" When the Gandharva
heard that, he said to that prince, "You shall soon recover all your
other ministers, and obtain Sasánkavatí as a wife, and become king
of the whole earth. So you must not lose heart. Now, auspicious one,
I depart, but I will appear to you when you think of me."

When the matchless chief of the Gandharvas had said this to the prince,
and so testified his friendship for him, as his curse was at an end,
and he had obtained prosperous felicity, he flew up swiftly into the
sky, making the whole air resound with the tinkling of his beautiful
bracelet and necklace.

And Mrigánkadatta, having recovered Prachandasakti, and so regained
his spirits, spent that day in the wood, accompanied by his ministers.






CHAPTER LXXV.


Victory to Ganesa, who, when dancing, makes a shower of stars,
resembling a rain of flowers, fall from the sky, by a blow of his
trunk!

Then Mrigánkadatta, having passed that night, set out in the morning
from that wood, together with Prachandasakti and his other affectionate
ministers, making for Ujjayiní in order to gain Sasánkavatí, and
looking out for the rest of his ministers.

And as he was going along on his way, he saw his minister
Vikramakesarin being carried through the air by a hideously deformed
man. And while he was eagerly pointing him out to his other ministers,
that minister alighted from the air near him. And quickly dismounting
from the shoulder of that man, he came up and embraced the feet
of Mrigánkadatta, with his eyes full of tears. And the delighted
Mrigánkadatta embraced him in return, and so did his ministers, one
after another, and then Vikramakesarin dismissed that man, saying,
"Come to me, when I think of you." Then Mrigánkadatta out of curiosity
asked Vikramakesarin for the story of his adventures, and he sat down
in the forest and related them.



The adventures of Vikramakesarin.

When I had been separated from you on that occasion by the curse of the
Nága, and had wandered about for many days in search of you, I said to
myself, "I will make for Ujjayiní, for they will go there quickly,"
and having formed this intention, I set out for that city. And in
course of time I reached a village near it, named Brahmasthala, and
there I sat down on the bank of a lake at the foot of a tree. There
an old Bráhman, afflicted with the bite of a serpent, came up to
me and said, "Rise up from this place, my son, lest you incur my
fate. For there is a great serpent here, and I am so tortured by the
bite which he has given me, that I am now about to drown myself in
this lake." When he said this, I dissuaded him, out of compassion,
from committing suicide, and I then and there counteracted the effect
of the poison by my knowledge of antidotes.

Then the Bráhman eagerly, but with due politeness, asked me the whole
story of my life, and when he knew the facts, said to me kindly, "You
have to-day saved my life, so receive, hero, this charm for mastering
Vetálas, which I inherited from my father. For it is suitable to you
who possess all powers, but what, I pray, could a feeble creature,
like me, do with it?" When I heard that, I answered that noble
Bráhman, "What use can I make of Vetálas, now that I am separated from
Mrigánkadatta?" When the Bráhman heard that, he laughed, and went on
to say to me, "Do you not know that you can obtain from a Vetála all
that you desire? Did not king Trivikramasena obtain of old time the
sovereignty of the Vidyádharas by the favour of a Vetála? Listen now,
I will tell you his story in proof of it."



Here begins the 1st of the 25 tales of a Demon. [276]
(Vetála-Panchavinsatiká.)

On the banks of the Godávarí there is a place named Pratishthána. In
it there lived of old time a famous king, named Trivikramasena, the
son of Vikramasena, equal to Indra in might. Every day, when he was in
his hall of audience, a mendicant named Kshántisíla came to him, to
pay him his respects, and presented him with a fruit. And every day,
the king as soon as he received the fruit, gave it into the hand of
the superintendent of his treasury who was near him. In this way ten
years passed, but one day, when the mendicant had left the hall of
audience, after giving the fruit to the king, the king gave it to a
young pet monkey, that had escaped from the hands of its keepers, and
happened to enter there. While the monkey was eating that fruit, it
burst open, and there came out of it a splendid priceless jewel. When
the king saw that, he took up the jewel, and asked the treasurer the
following question, "Where have you put all those fruits which I have
been in the habit of handing over to you, after they were given to
me by the mendicant?" When the superintendent of the treasury heard
that, he was full of fear, and he said to the king, "I used to throw
them into the treasury from the window without opening the door; if
your Majesty orders me, I will open it and look for them." When the
treasurer said this, the king gave him leave to do so, and he went
away, and soon returned, and said to the king, "I see that those
fruits have all rotted away in the treasury, and I also see that
there is a heap of jewels there resplendent with radiant gleams."

When the king heard it, he was pleased, and gave those jewels
to the treasurer, and the next day he said to the mendicant, who
came as before, "Mendicant, why do you court me every day with great
expenditure of wealth? I will not take your fruit to-day until you tell
me." When the king said this, the mendicant said to him in private,
"I have an incantation to perform which requires the aid of a brave
man, I request, hero, that you will assist me in it." When the king
heard that, he consented and promised him that he would do so. Then the
mendicant was pleased and he went on to say to that king, "Then I shall
be waiting for you at night-fall in the approaching black fortnight,
in the great cemetery here, under the shade of a banyan-tree, and
you must come to me there. The king said--"Well! I will do so." And
the mendicant Kshántisíla returned delighted to his own dwelling.

Then the heroic monarch, as soon as he had got into the black
fortnight, remembered the request of the mendicant, which he
had promised to accomplish for him, and as soon as night came, he
enveloped his head in a black cloth, and left the palace unperceived,
sword in hand, and went fearlessly to the cemetery. It was obscured
by a dense and terrible pall of darkness, and its aspect was rendered
awful by the ghastly flames from the burning of the funeral pyres,
and it produced horror by the bones, skeletons, and skulls of men that
appeared in it. In it were present formidable Bhútas and Vetálas,
joyfully engaged in their horrible activity, and it was alive with
the loud yells of jackals, [277] so that it seemed like a second
mysterious tremendous form of Bhairava. And after he had searched
about in it, he found that mendicant under a banyan-tree, engaged in
making a circle, and he went up to him and said, "Here I am arrived,
mendicant; tell me, what can I do for you?"

When the mendicant heard that, and saw the king, he was delighted,
and said to him--"King, if I have found favour in your eyes, go
alone a long way from here towards the south, and you will find an
sinsapá-tree. [278] On it there is a dead man hanging up; go and bring
him here; assist me in this matter, hero." As soon as the brave king,
who was faithful to his promise, heard this, he said, "I will do so,"
and went towards the south. And after he had gone some way in that
direction, along a path revealed by the light of the flaming pyres,
he reached with difficulty in the darkness that asoka-tree; the tree
was scorched with the smoke of funeral pyres, and smelt of raw flesh,
and looked like a Bhúta, and he saw the corpse hanging on its trunk,
as it were on the shoulder of a demon. So he climbed up, and cutting
the string which held it, flung it to the ground. And the moment it
was flung down, it cried out, as if in pain. Then the king, supposing
it was alive, came down and rubbed its body out of compassion;
that made the corpse utter a loud demoniac laugh. Then the king
knew that it was possessed by a Vetála, and said without flinching,
"Why do you laugh? Come, let us go off." And immediately he missed
from the ground the corpse possessed by the Vetála, and perceived
that it was once more suspended on that very tree. Then he climbed
up again and brought it down, for the heart of heroes is a gem more
impenetrable than adamant. Then king Trivikramasena threw the corpse
possessed by a Vetála over his shoulder, and proceeded to go off with
it, in silence. And as he was going along, the Vetála in the corpse
that was on his shoulder said to him, "King, I will tell you a story
to beguile the way, listen."



Story of the prince, who was helped to a wife by the son of his
father's minister. [279]

There is a city named Váránasí, which is the dwelling-place of
Siva, inhabited by holy beings, and thus resembles the plateau of
mount Kailása. The river Ganges, ever full of water, flows near it,
and appears as if it were the necklace ever resting on its neck;
in that city there lived of old time a king named Pratápamukuta,
who consumed the families of his enemies with his valour, as the
fire consumes the forest. He had a son named Vajramukuta, who dashed
the god of love's pride in his beauty, and his enemies' confidence
in their valour. And that prince had a friend, named Buddhisaríra,
whom he valued more than his life, the sagacious son of a minister.

Once on a time that prince was amusing himself with that friend, and
his excessive devotion to the chase made him travel a long distance. As
he was cutting off the long-maned [280] heads of lions with his arrows,
as it were the chowries that represented the glory of their valour,
he entered a great forest. It seemed like the chosen home of love,
with singing cuckoos for bards, fanned by trees with their clusters of
blossoms, waving like chowries. In it he and the minister's son saw
a great lake, looking like a second sea, the birthplace of lotuses
[281] of various colours; and in that pool of gods there was seen
by him a maiden of heavenly appearance, who had come there with her
attendants to bathe. She seemed to fill the splendid tank with the
flood of her beauty, and with her glances to create in it a new forest
of blue lotuses. With her face, that surpassed the moon in beauty, she
seemed to put to shame the white lotuses, and she at once captivated
with it the heart of that prince. The youth too, in the same way, took
with a glance such complete possession of her eyes, that she did not
regard her own modesty or even her ornaments. And as he was looking
at her with his attendants, and wondering who she was, she made,
under pretence of pastime, a sign to tell him her country and other
particulars about her. She took a lotus from her garland of flowers,
and put it in her ear, and she remained for a long time twisting it
into the form of an ornament called dantapatra or tooth-leaf, and then
she took another lotus and placed it on her head, and she laid her
hand significantly upon her heart. The prince did not at that time
understand those signs, but his sagacious friend the minister's son
did understand them. The maiden soon departed, being led away from
that place by her attendants, and when she had reached her own house,
she flung herself down on a sofa, but her heart remained with that
prince, to justify the sign she had made.

The prince, for his part, when without her, was like a Vidyádhara
who has lost his magic knowledge, and, returning to his own city,
he fell into a miserable condition. And one day the minister's son
questioned him in private, speaking of that beauty as easy to obtain,
whereupon he lost his self-command and exclaimed, "How is she to be
obtained, when neither her name, nor her village, nor her origin is
known? So why do you offer me false comfort?" When the prince said
this to the minister's son, he answered, "What! did you not see,
what she told you by her signs? By placing the lotus in her ear,
she meant to say this, 'I live in the realm of king Karnotpala.' By
making it into the tooth-leaf ornament she meant to say, 'Know that
I am the daughter of a dentist [282] there.' By lifting up the lotus
she let you know her name was Padmávatí; and by placing her hand on
her heart she told you that it was yours. Now there is a king named
Karnotpala in the country of Kalinga; he has a favourite courtier,
a great dentist named Sangrámavardhana, and he has a daughter named
Padmávatí, the pearl of the three worlds, whom he values more than
his life. All this I knew from the talk of the people, and so I
understood her signs, which were meant to tell her country and the
other particulars about her. [283]

When that prince had been told all this by the minister's son, he was
pleased with that intelligent man, and rejoiced, as he had now got an
opportunity of attaining his object, and, after he had deliberated
with him, he set out with him from his palace on the pretence of
hunting, but really in search of his beloved, and went again in that
direction. And on the way he managed to give his retinue the slip by
the speed of his swift horse, and he went to the country of Kalinga
accompanied by the minister's son only. There they reached the city
of king Karnotpala, and searched for and found the palace of that
dentist, and the prince and the minister's son entered the house of
an old woman, who lived near there, to lodge. The minister's son gave
their horses water and fodder, and placed them there in concealment,
and then said to that old woman in the presence of the prince,
"Do you know, mother, a dentist named Sangrámavardhana?" When the
old woman heard that, she said to him courteously, "I know him well;
I was his nurse, and he has now made me attend upon his daughter as
a duenna; but I never go there at present, as I have been deprived
of my clothes, for my wicked son, who is a gambler, takes away my
clothes as soon as he sees them." When the minister's son heard this,
he was delighted, and he gratified the old woman with the gift of
his upper garment and other presents, and went on to say to her,
"You are a mother to us, so do what we request you to do in secret;
go to that Padmávatí, the daughter of the dentist, and say to her,
'The prince, whom you saw at the lake, has come here, and out of
love he has sent me to tell you.'" When the old woman heard this,
she consented, being won over by the presents, and went to Padmávatí,
and came back in a moment. And when the prince and the minister's
son questioned her, she said to them, "I went and told her secretly
that you had come. When she heard that, she scolded me, and struck
me on both cheeks with her two hands smeared with camphor. So I have
come back weeping, distressed at the insult. See here, my children,
these marks of her fingers on my face."

When she said this, the prince was despondent, as he despaired of
attaining his object, but the sagacious minister's son said to him in
private, "Do not despond, for by keeping her own counsel and scolding
the old woman, and striking her on the face with her ten fingers
white with camphor, she meant to say, 'Wait for these remaining ten
moonlight nights of the white fortnight, for they are unfavourable
to an interview.'"

After the minister's son had comforted the prince with these words,
he went and sold secretly in the market some gold, which he had about
him, and made that old woman prepare a splendid meal, and then those
two ate it with that old woman. After the minister's son had spent
ten days in this fashion, he again sent the old woman to Padmávatí, to
see how matters stood. And she, being fond of delicious food, liquor,
and other enjoyments of the kind, went again to the dwelling-house
of Padmávatí, to please her guests, and returned and said to them,
"I went there to-day and remained silent, but she of her own accord
taunted me with that crime of having brought your message, and again
struck me here on the breast with three fingers dipped in red dye, so I
have returned here thus marked by her." When the minister's son heard
this, he said, of his own accord, to the prince, "Do not entertain
any despondent notions, for by placing the impression of her three
fingers marked with red dye on this woman's heart, she meant to say;
'I cannot receive you for three nights.'"

When the minister's son had said this to the prince, he waited till
three days had passed, and again sent the old woman to Padmávatí. She
went to her palace, and Padmávatí honoured her and gave her food, and
lovingly entertained her that day with wine and other enjoyments. And
in the evening, when the old woman wished to go back to her house,
there arose outside a terrible tumult. Then the people were heard
exclaiming, "Alas! Alas! a mad elephant has escaped from the post to
which he was tied, and is rushing about, trampling men to death." Then
Padmávatí said to that old woman, "You must not go by the public road,
which is rendered unsafe by the elephant, so we will put you on a seat,
with a rope fastened to it to support it, and let you down by this
broad window here into the garden of the house, there you must get up
a tree and cross this wall, and then let yourself down by another tree
and go to your own house." After she had said this, she had the old
woman let down from the window by her maid into the garden, by means
of that seat with a rope fastened to it. She went by the way pointed
out to her, and related the whole story, exactly as it happened, to
the prince and the minister's son. Then the minister's son said to
the prince, "Your desire is accomplished, for she has shewn you by an
artifice the way you should take; so go there this very day, as soon
as evening sets in, and by this way enter the palace of your beloved."

When the minister's son said this, the prince went with him into the
garden, by the way over the wall pointed out by the old woman. There
he saw that rope hanging down with the seat, and at the top of it
were some maids, who seemed to be looking out for his arrival. So
he got on to the seat, and the moment those female servants saw him,
they pulled him up with the rope, and he entered the presence of his
beloved through the window. When he had entered, the minister's son
returned to his lodging. And when the prince entered, he beheld that
Padmávatí with a face like a full moon, shedding forth beauty like
beams, like the night of the full moon remaining concealed through fear
of the black fortnight. As soon as she saw him, she rose up boldly,
and welcomed him with affectionate embraces and other endearments
natural in one who had waited for him so long. Then the prince married
that fair one by the Gándharva form of marriage, and all his wishes
being now fulfilled, remained with her in concealment.

And after he had lived with her some days, he said to her one night,
"My friend the minister's son came with me and is staying here, and he
is now left alone in the house of your duenna; I must go and pay him
a visit, fair one, and then I will return to you." When the cunning
Padmávatí heard that, she said to her lover, "Come now, my husband,
I have a question to ask you; did you guess the meaning of those
signs which I made, or was it that friend of yours the minister's
son?" When she said this, the prince said to her, "I did not guess
anything at all, but that friend of mine, the minister's son, who is
distinguished for superhuman insight, guessed it all, and told it to
me." When the fair one heard this, she reflected, and said to him,
"Then you have acted wrongly in not telling me about him before. Since
he is your friend, he is my brother, and I must always honour him
before all others with gifts of betel and other luxuries." When she
had dismissed him with these words, the prince left the palace at
night by the way by which he came, and returned to his friend. And
in the course of conversation he told him, that he had told his
beloved how he guessed the meaning of the signs which she made. But
the minister's son did not approve of this proceeding on his part,
considering it imprudent. And so the day dawned on them conversing.

Then, as they were again talking together after the termination of
the morning prayer, the confidante of Padmávatí came in with betel and
cooked food in her hand. She asked after the health of the minister's
son, and after giving him the dainties, in order by an artifice to
prevent the prince from eating any of them, she said, in the course of
conversation, that her mistress was awaiting his arrival to feast and
spend the day with her, and immediately she departed unobserved. Then
the minister's son said to the prince; "Now observe, prince, I will
shew you something wonderful." Thereupon he gave that cooked food to
a dog to eat, and the dog, as soon as he had eaten it, fell dead upon
the spot. When the prince saw that, he said to the minister's son,
"What is the meaning of this marvel?" And he answered him, "The truth
is that the lady has found out that I am intelligent, by the fact
that I guessed the meaning of her signs, and so she has sent me this
poisoned food in order to kill me, for she is deeply in love with you,
and thinks that you, prince, will never be exclusively devoted to her
while I am alive, but being under my influence, will perhaps leave her,
and go to your own city. So give up the idea of being angry with her,
persuade the high-spirited woman to leave her relations, and I will
invent and tell you an artifice for carrying her off."

When the minister's son had said this, the prince said to him, "You
are rightly named Buddhisaríra as being an incarnation of wisdom;"
and at the very moment that he was thus praising him, there was
suddenly heard outside a general cry from the sorrowing multitude,
"Alas! Alas! the king's infant son is dead." The minister's son was
much delighted at hearing this, and he said to the prince, "Repair now
to Padmávatí's palace at night, and there make her drink so much, that
she shall be senseless and motionless with intoxication, and apparently
dead. And when she is asleep, make a mark on her hip with a red hot
iron spike, and take away all her ornaments, and return by letting
yourself down from the window by a rope; and after that I will take
steps to make everything turn out prosperously." When the minister's
son had said this, he had a three-pronged spike made, with points like
the bristles of a boar, and gave it to the prince. And the prince took
in his hand that weapon which resembled the crooked hard hearts of his
beloved and of his friend, which were firm as black iron; and saying,
"I will do as you direct," went at night to the palace of Padmávatí
as before, for princes should never hesitate about following the
advice of an excellent minister. There he made his beloved helpless
with drink, and marked her on the hip with the spike, and took away
her ornaments, and then he returned to that friend of his. And he
shewed him the ornaments, and told him what he had done. Then the
minister's son considered his design as good as accomplished.

And the next morning the minister's son went to the cemetery, and
promptly disguised himself as an ascetic, and he made the prince assume
the guise of a disciple. And he said to him, "Go and take the pearl
necklace which is part of this set of ornaments, and pretend to try
to sell it in the market, but put a high price on it, that no one may
be willing to buy it, and that every one may see it being carried
about, and if the police here should arrest you, say intrepidly,
'My spiritual preceptor gave it me to sell.'"

When the minister's son had sent off the prince on this errand, he
went and wandered about in the market-place, publicly showing the
necklace. And while he was thus engaged, he was seen and arrested
by the police, who were on the lookout for thieves, as information
had been given about the robbery of the dentist's daughter. And they
immediately took him to the chief magistrate of the town; and he,
seeing that he was dressed as an ascetic, said to him courteously,
"Reverend sir, where did you get this necklace of pearls which was
lost in this city, for the ornaments of the dentist's daughter were
stolen during the night?" When the prince, who was disguised as an
ascetic, heard this, he said, "My spiritual preceptor gave it me;
come and question him." Then the magistrate of the city came to the
minister's son, and bowed, and said to him, "Reverend sir, where
did you get this pearl necklace that is in the possession of your
pupil?" When the cunning fellow heard that, he took him aside and said,
"I am an ascetic, in the habit of wandering perpetually backwards and
forwards in the forests. As chance would have it, I arrived here, and
as I was in the cemetery at night, I saw a band of witches collected
from different quarters. And one of them brought the prince, with the
lotus of his heart laid bare, and offered him to Bhairava. And the
witch, who possessed great powers of delusion, being drunk, tried to
take away my rosary, while I was reciting my prayers, making horrible
contortions with her face. And as she carried the attempt too far, I
got angry, and heating with a charm the prongs of my trident, I marked
her on the loins. And then I took this necklace from her neck. And
now I must sell this necklace, as it does not suit an ascetic."

When the magistrate heard this, he went and informed the king. When the
king heard it, he concluded that that was the pearl necklace which had
been lost, and he sent a trustworthy old woman to see if the dentist's
daughter was really marked with a trident on the loins. The old woman
came back and said that the mark could be clearly seen. Then the king
made up his mind that she was a witch, and had really destroyed his
child. So he went in person to that minister's son, who was personating
an ascetic, and asked him how he ought to punish Padmávatí; and by
his advice he ordered her to be banished from the city, though her
parents lamented over her. And when she was banished, and was left
in the forest, though naked, she did not abandon the body, supposing
that it was all an artifice devised by the minister's son. And in
the evening the minister's son and the prince, who had abandoned the
dress of ascetics, and were mounted on their horses, came upon her
lamenting. And they consoled her, and mounted her upon a horse, and
took her to their own kingdom. There the prince lived happily with
her. But the dentist, supposing that his daughter had been devoured
by wild beasts in the forest, died of grief, and his wife followed him.

When the Vetála had said this, he went on to say to the king, "Now I
have a doubt about this story, resolve it for me; Was the minister's
son guilty of the death of this married couple, or the prince, or
Padmávatí? Tell me, for you are the chief of sages. And if, king,
you do not tell me the truth, though you know it, this head of yours
shall certainly split in a hundred pieces."

When the Vetála said this, the king, who discerned the truth, out
of fear of being cursed, gave him this answer--"O thou skilled in
magic arts, what difficulty is there about it? Why, none of the
three was in fault, but the whole of the guilt attaches to king
Karnotpala." The Vetála then said, "Why, what did the king do? Those
three were instrumental in the matter. Are the crows in fault when
the swans eat the rice?" Then the king said, "Indeed no one of
the three was in fault, for the minister's son committed no crime,
as he was forwarding his master's interests, and Padmávatí and the
prince, being burnt with the fire of the arrows of the god of Love,
and being therefore undiscerning and ignorant, were not to blame,
as they were intent on their own object. But the king Karnotpala, as
being untaught in treatises of policy, and not investigating by means
of spies the true state of affairs even among his own subjects, and not
comprehending the tricks of rogues, and inexperienced in interpreting
gestures and other external indications, is to be considered guilty,
on account of the indiscreet step which he took."

When the Vetála, who was in the corpse, heard this, as the king by
giving this correct answer had broken his silence, he immediately
left his shoulder, and went somewhere unobserved by the force of his
magic power, in order to test his persistence; and the intrepid king
at once determined to recover him.



NOTE.

An account of the various forms of the introduction to the XXV Tales
of a Demon will be found in Oesterley's German translation of the
Baitál Pachísí. The Hindi version contains the well-known story of
Theodosius the younger and his wife Athenais or Eudokia. The Mongolian
form differs widely from that in our text. Seven brothers, sorcerers,
live in India; a mile from them live two Khan's sons; the elder
of these studies magic under the seven enchanters for seven years,
but learns nothing; the younger acquires their art in a moment, and
both return to their palace. The younger turns himself into a horse,
which the elder by his order sells to the seven enchanters. These
try to kill the horse, but the Khan's son then turns himself into a
fish, which the enchanters pursue in the form of seven sea-gulls,
then into a dove, which they pursue as seven hawks, then he takes
refuge with Nágárjuna, becoming the chief bead in his rosary, and
asks him to put this bead in his mouth and to strew the rest on
the ground. The beads then become worms which the sorcerers pick
up in the form of hens. The Khan's son changes himself into a man,
and kills the hens with a stick, when lo! seven human corpses are
seen lying on the ground. As a penance for this crime the Khan's
son is sent to fetch the Siddhi-kür, which he fastens up in a bag,
and which behaves in much the same way as the Vetála does in our text.

It is remarkable that there are no questions addressed by the
Siddhi-kür to his captor. At the end of every story the Khan's son
utters an involuntary, often meaningless exclamation, of which the
Siddhi-kür takes advantage. (Oesterley's Baitál Pachísí, pp. 174
and 175.)

Oesterley refers to an Arabian form of the 1st story in Scott's Tales,
Anecdotes and Letters, 1800, p. 108. A painter falls in love with the
picture of a beauty, and finds that the original is in the possession
of a certain minister. He penetrates in disguise into the minister's
harem, wounds his beloved in the hand and takes away her veil. He then
goes in the disguise of a pilgrim to the king, and says that he has
seen six witches, and that he has wounded one of them, who left her
veil behind her. The veil is recognized, the owner produced, convicted
by her veil, and as a witch flung into a chasm. There the painter
finds her, rescues her and carries her off. See also the 1001 Nights,
Breslau, 1, p. 245 (Oesterley's Baitál Pachísí, pp. 182 and 183).






CHAPTER LXXVI.

(Vetála 2.)


Then king Trivikramasena again went to the asoka-tree to fetch the
Vetála. And when he arrived there, and looked about in the darkness by
the help of the light of the funeral pyres, he saw the corpse lying on
the ground groaning. Then the king took the corpse, with the Vetála in
it, on his shoulder, and set out quickly and in silence to carry it to
the appointed place. Then the Vetála again said to the king from his
shoulder, "King, this trouble, into which you have fallen, is great
and unsuitable to you; so I will tell you a tale to amuse you, listen."



Story of the three young Bráhmans who restored a dead lady to life.

There is, on the banks of the river Yamuná, a district assigned to
Bráhmans, named Brahmasthala. In it there lived a Bráhman, named
Agnisvámin, who had completely mastered the Vedas. To him there
was born a very beautiful daughter named Mandáravatí. Indeed,
when Providence had created this maiden of novel and priceless
beauty, he was disgusted with the nymphs of Heaven, his own previous
handiwork. And when she grew up, there came there from Kányakubja three
young Bráhmans, equally matched in all accomplishments. And each one
of these demanded the maiden from her father for himself, and would
sooner sacrifice his life than allow her to be given to another. But
her father would not give her to any one of them, being afraid that,
if he did so, he would cause the death of the others; so the damsel
remained unmarried. And those three remained there day and night,
with their eyes exclusively fixed on the moon of her countenance, as
if they had taken upon themselves a vow to imitate the partridge. [284]

Then the maiden Mandáravatí suddenly contracted a burning fever,
which ended in her death. Then the young Bráhmans, distracted with
grief, carried her when dead, after she had been duly adorned, to the
cemetery, and burnt her. And one of them built a hut there and made
her ashes his bed, and remained there living on the alms he could get
by begging. And the second took her bones and went with them to the
Ganges, and the third became an ascetic and went travelling through
foreign lands.

As the ascetic was roaming about, he reached a village named
Vajraloka. And there he entered as a guest the house of a certain
Bráhman. And the Bráhman received him courteously. So he sat down
to eat; and in the meanwhile a child there began to cry. When, in
spite of all efforts to quiet it, it would not stop, the mistress
of the house fell into a passion, and taking it up in her arms,
threw it into the blazing fire. The moment the child was thrown in,
as its body was soft, it was reduced to ashes. When the ascetic,
who was a guest, saw this, his hair stood on end, and he exclaimed,
"Alas! Alas! I have entered the house of a Bráhman-demon. So I will
not eat food here now, for such food would be sin in a visible
material shape." When he said this, the householder said to him,
"See the power of raising the dead to life inherent in a charm of
mine, which is effectual as soon as recited." When he had said this,
he took the book containing the charm and read it, and threw on to the
ashes some dust, over which the charm had been recited. [285] That
made the boy rise up alive, exactly as he was before. Then the mind
of the Bráhman ascetic was quieted, and he was able to take his meal
there. And the master of the house put the book up on a bracket, and
after taking food, went to bed at night, and so did the ascetic. But
when the master of the house was asleep, the ascetic got up timidly,
and took the book, with the desire of restoring his beloved to life.

And he left the house with the book, and travelling day and night
at last reached the cemetery, where that beloved of his had been
burnt. And at that moment he saw the second Bráhman arrive there,
who had gone to throw her bones into the river Ganges. And having
also found the one who remained in the cemetery sleeping on her ashes,
having built a hut over them, he said to the two, "Remove this hut, in
order that by the power of a certain charm I may raise up my beloved
alive from her ashes." Having earnestly solicited them to do this,
and having overturned that hut, the Bráhman ascetic opened the book,
and read the charm. And after thus charming some dust, he threw it
on the ashes, and that made Mandáravatí rise up alive. And as she
had entered the fire, she possessed, when resuscitated, a body that
had come out of it more splendid than before, as if made of gold. [286]

When the three Bráhmans saw her resuscitated in this form, they
immediately became love-sick, and quarrelled with one another,
each desiring her for himself. And the first said, "She is my wife,
for she was won by the power of my charm." And the second said,
"She belongs to me, for she was produced by the efficacy of sacred
bathing-places." And the third said, "She is mine, for I preserved
her ashes, and resuscitated her by asceticism."

"Now king, give judgment to decide their dispute; whose wife ought
the maiden to be? If you know and do not say, your head shall fly
in pieces."

When the king heard this from the Vetála, he said to him, "The one
who restored her to life by a charm, though he endured hardship, must
be considered her father, because he performed that office for her,
and not her husband; and he who carried her bones to the Ganges is
considered her son; but he, who out of love lay on her ashes, and so
remained in the cemetery embracing her and practising asceticism,
he is to be called her husband, for he acted like one in his deep
affection." [287]

When the Vetála heard this from king Trivikramasena, who had broken
silence by uttering it, he left his shoulder, and went back invisible
to his own place. But the king, who was bent on forwarding the object
of the mendicant, made up his mind to fetch him again, for men of
firm resolution do not desist from accomplishing a task they have
promised to perform, even though they lose their lives in the attempt.



NOTE.

Oesterley, in the notes to his German translation of the Baitál
Pachísí, refers to the Turkish Tútínámah in which the lady dies of
despair at the difficulty of the choice, as in the Tamul version. [In
the Hindi version she dies of snake-bite.] She is brought back to
life by a good beating. The first suitor opens the grave, the second
advises the use of the cudgel, the third carries it out.

This method of restoring people, who die suddenly, to life by a good
beating, is found in a Persian story, professing to be derived from
a book "Post nubila Phoebus," in which the physician bears the name
of Kati, and asserts that he learnt the method from an old Arab. The
story is found in Epistolæ Turcicæ et Narrationes Persicæ editæ et
Latine conversæ a Joh. Ury. Oxonii, 1771, 4o, pp. 26 and 27. This
collection, which contains not the least hint of its origin, is
particularly interesting as it contains the VIIIth story of the
Siddhikür; "The Painter and the Wood-carver." [See Sagas from the Far
East, p. 97.] The Episode of the stealing of the magic book is found,
quite separated from the context, in many MS. versions of the Gesta
Romanorum: see Appendix to Oesterley's edition. (Oesterley's Baitál
Pachísí, pp. 183-185.)






CHAPTER LXXVII.

(Vetála 3.)


Then the heroic king Trivikramasena again went to the asoka-tree,
to fetch the Vetála. And he found him there in the corpse, and
again took him up on his shoulder, and began to return with him in
silence. And as he was going along, the Vetála, who was on his back,
said to him, "It is wonderful, king, that you are not cowed with this
going backwards and forwards at night. So I will tell you another
story to solace you, listen."



Story of the king, and the two wise birds.

There is on the earth a famous city named Pátaliputra. In it there
lived of old time a king named Vikramakesarin, whom Providence made
a storehouse of virtues as well as of jewels. And he possessed a
parrot of godlike intellect, knowing all the sástras, that had
been born in that condition owing to a curse, and its name was
Vidagdhachúdámani. And the prince married as a wife, by the advice of
the parrot, a princess of equal birth, of the royal family of Magadha,
named Chandraprabhá. That princess also possessed a similar hen-maina,
of the name of Somiká, remarkable for knowledge and discernment. And
the two, the parrot and the maina, remained there in the same cage,
assisting with their discernment their master and mistress.

One day the parrot became enamoured of the maina, and said to
her, "Marry me, fair one, as we sleep, perch, and feed in the same
cage." But the maina answered him, "I do not desire intimate union with
a male, for all males are wicked and ungrateful." The parrot retorted,
"It is not true that males are wicked, but females are wicked and
cruel-hearted." And so a dispute arose between them. The two birds then
made a bargain that, if the parrot won, he should have the maina for
wife, and if the maina won, the parrot should be her slave, and they
came before the prince to get a true judgment. The prince, who was
in his father's judgment-hall, heard the point at issue between them,
and then said to the maina, "Tell me, how are males ungrateful?" Then
the maina said, "Listen," and in order to establish her contention,
proceeded to relate this story illustrating the faults of males.



The maina's story. [288]

There is on the earth a famous city, of the name of Kámandakí. In
it there was a rich merchant, of the name of Arthadatta. And he had
a son born to him, of the name of Dhanadatta. When his father died,
the young man became dissipated. And rogues got round him, and plunged
him in the love of gambling and other vices. In truth the society
of the wicked is the root of the tree of vice. In a short time his
wealth was exhausted by dissipation, and being ashamed of his poverty,
he left his own country, to wander about in foreign lands.

And in the course of his travels, he reached a place named
Chandanapura, and desiring food, he entered the house of a certain
merchant. As fate would have it, the merchant, seeing that he was a
handsome youth, asked him his descent and other things, and finding
out that he was of good birth, entertained him, and adopted him as
a protégé. And he gave him his daughter Ratnávalí, with a dower,
and thenceforth Dhanadatta lived in his father-in-law's house.

And in the course of some days, he forgot in his present happiness
his former misery, and having acquired wealth, and longing for fresh
dissipation, he wished to go back to his own land. Then the rascal
with difficulty wrung a permission from his unwilling father-in-law,
whose daughter was his only child, and taking with him his wife,
covered with ornaments, accompanied by an old woman, set out from that
place, with a party of three in all. And in course of time he reached
a distant wood, and on the plea that there was danger of robbers,
he took those ornaments from his wife and got them into his own
possession. Alas! Observe that the heart of ungrateful males, addicted
to the hateful vices of dicing and drabbing, is as hard as a sword.

Then the villain, being determined to kill his wife, though she was
virtuous, for the sake of her wealth, threw her and the old woman into
a ravine. And after he had thrown them there, he went away. The old
woman was killed, but his wife was caught in a mass of creepers and did
not die. And she slowly climbed up out of the chasm, weeping bitterly,
supporting herself by clinging to grass and creepers, for the appointed
end of her life had not yet come. And asking her way, step by step,
she arrived, by the road by which she came, at the house of her father,
with difficulty, for her limbs were sorely bruised. When she arrived
there suddenly, in this state, her mother and father questioned her
eagerly. And the virtuous lady weeping told this tale, "We were robbed
on the way by bandits, and my husband was dragged away bound; the old
woman died, but I survived, though I fell into a ravine. Then I was
dragged out of the ravine by a certain benevolent traveller, who came
that way, and by the favour of destiny I have arrived here." When
the good Ratnávalí said this, her father and mother comforted her,
and she remained there, thinking only of her husband.

And in course of time her husband Dhanadatta, who had gone back to his
own country, and wasted that wealth in gambling, said to himself, "I
will go and fetch more wealth, begging it from my father-in-law, and I
will tell him that I have left his daughter in my house here." Thinking
thus in his heart, he set out for that house of his father-in-law,
and when he drew near, his wife beheld him from a distance, and she
ran and fell at his feet, though he was a villain. For, though a
husband is wicked, a good wife does not alter her feelings towards
him. And when he was frightened, she told him all the fictitious
story she had previously told her parents about the robbery, her
fall, and so on. Then he entered fearlessly with her the house of his
father-in-law; and his father-in-law and mother-in-law, when they saw
him, welcomed him joyfully. And his father-in-law called his friends
together, and made a great feast on the occasion, exclaiming, "It is
indeed a happy thing, that my son-in-law has been let go with life
by the robbers." Then Dhanadatta lived happily with that wife of his
Ratnávalí, enjoying the wealth of his father-in-law. But, fie! what
the cruel man did one night, though it should not be told for shame,
must still for the story's sake be related. He killed his wife when
asleep in his bosom, and took away all her ornaments, and then went
away unobserved to his own country.

"So wicked are males!" When the maina had said this, the king said
to the parrot--"Now say your say."--Then the parrot said--"King,
females are of intolerable audacity, immoral and wicked; hear a tale
in proof of it."



The parrot's story. [289]

There is a city of the name of Harshavatí, and in it there was a
leading merchant named Dharmadatta, possessed of many crores. And
that merchant had a daughter named Vasudattá, matchless in beauty,
whom he loved more than his life. And she was given to an excellent
young merchant named Samudradatta, equal to her in rank, distinguished
for wealth and youth, who was an object that the eyes of lovely women
loved to feast on, as the partridges on the rays of the moon, and
who dwelt in the city of Támraliptí which is inhabited by honourable
men. Once on a time, the merchant's daughter, while she was living
in her father's house, and her husband was in his own country,
saw at a distance a certain young and good-looking man. The fickle
woman, deluded by Mára, [290] invited him by means of a confidante,
and made him her secret paramour. And from that time forth she spent
every night with him, and her affections were fixed upon him only.

But one day the husband of her youth returned from his own land,
appearing to her parents like delight in bodily form. And on that day
of rejoicing she was adorned, but she would have nothing to say to her
husband in spite of her mother's injunctions, but when he spoke to her,
she pretended to be asleep, as her heart was fixed on another. And then
her husband, being drowsy with wine, and tired with his journey, was
overpowered by sleep. In the meanwhile, as all the people of the house,
having eaten and drunk, were fast asleep, a thief made a hole in the
wall and entered their apartment. At that very moment the merchant's
daughter rose up, without seeing the thief, and went out secretly,
having made an assignation with her lover. When the thief saw that,
his object being frustrated, he said to himself, "She has gone out in
the dead of night adorned with those very ornaments which I came here
to steal; so I will watch where she goes." When the thief had formed
this intention, he went out, and followed that merchant's daughter
Vasudattá, keeping an eye on her, but himself unobserved.

But she, with flowers and other things of the kind in her hands,
went out, accompanied by a single confidante, who was in the secret,
and entered a garden at no great distance outside the city.

And in it she saw her lover, who had come there to meet her, hanging
dead on a tree, with a halter round his neck, for the city-guards
had caught him there at night and hanged him, on the supposition
that he was a thief. Then she was distracted and beside herself, and
exclaiming, "I am ruined," she fell on the ground and lamented with
plaintive cries. Then she took down her dead paramour from the tree,
and placing him in a sitting position, she adorned him with unguents
and flowers, and though he was senseless, embraced him, with mind
blinded by passion and grief. And when in her sorrow she raised up his
mouth and kissed it, her dead paramour, being animated by a Vetála,
suddenly bit off her nose. Then she left him in confusion and agony,
but still the unfortunate woman came back once more, and looked at
him to see if he was still alive. And when she saw that the Vetála
had left his body, and that he was dead and motionless, she departed
slowly, weeping with fear and humiliation.

In the meanwhile the thief, who was hidden there, saw all, and said
to himself, "What is this that this wicked woman has done? Alas! the
mind of females is terrible and black like a dark well, unfathomable,
exceedingly deep for a fall. [291] So I wonder what she will do
now." After these reflections, the thief again followed her at a
distance, out of curiosity.

She went on and entered her own chamber, where her husband was asleep,
and cried out weeping, "Help! Help! This wicked enemy, calling himself
a husband, has cut off my nose, though I have done nothing wrong." Then
her husband, and her father, and the servants, hearing her repeated
cries, woke up, and arose in a state of excitement. Then her father,
seeing that her nose had been recently taken off, was angry, and
had her husband bound as having injured his wife. But even while he
was being bound, he remained speechless, like a dumb man, and said
nothing, for all the listeners, his father-in-law and the others,
had altogether turned against him. [292]

When the thief had seen all this, he slipped away nimbly, and
the night, which was spent in tumult, gradually passed away, and
then the merchant's son was taken by his father-in-law to the king,
together with his wife who had been deprived of her nose. And the king,
after he had been informed by them of the circumstances, ordered the
execution of the young merchant, on the ground that he had maimed his
own wife, rejecting with contempt his version of the story. Then,
as he was being led to the place of execution, with drums beating,
the thief came up to the king's officers and said to them, "You ought
not to put this man to death without cause; I know the circumstances,
take me to the king, that I may tell him the whole story." When the
thief said this, they took him to the king, and after he had received
a promise of pardon, he told him the whole history of the night from
the beginning. And he said, "If your Majesty does not believe my
words, look at once at the woman's nose, which is in the mouth of
that corpse." When the king heard that, he sent servants to look,
and finding that the statement was true, he gave orders that the
young merchant should not suffer capital punishment. But he banished
his wicked wife from the country, after cutting off her ears also,
and punished his father-in-law by confiscating all his wealth, and
being pleased with the thief, he made him chief magistrate of the city.

"So you see that females are naturally wicked and treacherous." When
the parrot had told this tale, the curse imposed on him by Indra
lost its force, and he became once more the Gandharva Chitraratha,
and assuming a celestial form, he went to heaven. And at the same
moment the maina's curse came to an end, and she became the heavenly
nymph Tilottamá, and went at once to heaven. And so their dispute
remained undecided in the judgment-hall.

When the Vetála had told this tale, he again said to the king, "So
let your Majesty decide, which are the worst, males or females. But
if you know and do not say, your head shall split in pieces."

When the king was asked this question by the Vetála, that was on
his shoulder, he said to him, "Chief of magicians, women are the
worst. For it is possible that once in a way a man may be so wicked,
but females are, as a rule, always such everywhere." When the king
said this, the Vetála disappeared, as before, from his shoulder,
and the king once more resumed the task of fetching him.



NOTE.

Oesterley tells us that in the Vetála Cadai the two stories are told
by two parrots, and the same is the case in the Turkish Tútínámah,
Rosen, 2, p. 92.

The 1st story is found in the Turkish Tútínámah. The principal
difference is that the parents of the extravagant man die after his
first crime; after he has spent his property, he begs in a cemetery,
and is there recognized by his wife; they live some time together, and
then set out to return to his house. On the way they pass the old well,
and there he murders her. There are some similar points in the 11th
story of the Siddhikür. [See Sagas from the Far East, pp. 120-125.]

The second story is found in Babington's Vetála Cadai, p. 44. The
lover receives a mortal wound, being taken for a thief, and in the
agony of death bites off the nose of the adulteress. She smears
her husband's betel-knife with the blood, and accuses him of the
murder. The city-guards clear the matter up.

The 2nd story is found in a very different form in the
Siddhikür, No. 10; in Jülg, p. 100. [See Sagas from The Far East,
pp. 115-119.] Here a younger brother is not invited to supper by an
elder, so he determines to rob him out of revenge. He observes his
brother's wife go to a cemetery to see her dead lover, who, when she
tries to feed him by force, bites off her nose and the tip of her
tongue. Of course when she accuses her husband, the younger brother
reveals the secret.

The story in the Turkish Tútínámah, Rosen, 2, p. 96, Wickerhauser,
p. 212, closely resembles Somadeva's. The lovers are surprised by the
city-guards, who crucify the man, and let the woman go. The man in
the agony of death bites her nose off, and she accuses her husband
of the deed; he is then condemned to lose his nose. But a thief,
who has crept into the house, and has then followed the adulteress,
reveals the secret, and the woman is thereupon drowned. The story
in the Panchatantra, Benfey, II, p. 40, only resembles this in its
conclusion. [See Johnson's Hitopadesa, p. 85.] It is no doubt a clever
adaptation of the end of this story. The tale has been traced through
all its migrations by Benfey, Vol. I, p. 140. (Oesterley's Baitál
Pachísí, pp. 187-191.)






CHAPTER LXXVIII.

(Vetála 4.)


Then king Trivikramasena again went at night to that asoka-tree in the
cemetery: and he fearlessly took that Vetála that was in the corpse,
though it uttered a horrible laugh, and placed it on his shoulder,
and set out in silence. And as he was going along, the Vetála, that
was on his shoulder, said to him again, "King, why do you take all
this trouble for the sake of this wicked mendicant? In truth you show
no discrimination in taking all this fruitless labour. So hear from
me this story to amuse you on the way."



Story of Víravara.

There is a city on the earth rightly named Sobhávatí. In it there lived
a king of great valour, called Súdraka. The fire of that victorious
king's might was perpetually fanned by the wind of the chowries waved
by the captured wives of his enemies. I ween that the earth was so
glorious during the reign of that king, owing to the uninterrupted
practice of righteousness that prevailed, that she forgot all her
other sovereigns, even Ráma.

Once on a time a Bráhman, of the name of Víravara, came from
Málava to take service under that king who loved heroes. His wife's
name was Dharmavatí, his son was Sattvavara, and his daughter was
Víravatí. These three composed his family; and his attendants were
another three, at his side a dagger, a sword in one hand, and a
splendid shield in the other. Although he had so small a retinue, he
demanded from the king five hundred dínárs a day by way of salary. And
king Súdraka, perceiving that his appearance indicated great courage,
gave him the salary he desired. But he felt curious to know whether,
as his retinue was so small, he employed so many gold coins to feed his
vices, or lavished them on some worthy object. So he had him secretly
dogged by spies, in order to discover his mode of life. And it turned
out that every day Víravara had an interview with the king in the
morning, and stood at his palace-gate in the middle of the day,
sword in hand; and then he went home and put into the hand of his
wife a hundred dínárs of his salary for food, and with a hundred he
bought clothes, unguents and betel; and after bathing, he set apart
a hundred for the worship of Vishnu and Siva; and he gave two hundred
by way of charity to poor Bráhmans. This was the distribution which he
made of the five hundred every day. Then he fed the sacrificial fire
with clarified butter and performed other ceremonies, and took food,
and then he again went and kept guard at the gate of the palace alone
at night, sword in hand. When the king Súdraka heard from his spies,
that Víravara always followed this righteous custom, he rejoiced
in his heart; and he ordered those spies, who had dogged his path,
to desist; and he considered him worthy of especial honour as a
distinguished hero.

Then in course of time, after Víravara had easily tided through the
hot weather, when the rays of the sun were exceedingly powerful, the
monsoon came roaring, bearing a brandished sword of lightning, as if
out of envy against Víravara, and smiting [293] with rain-drops. And
though at that time a terrible bank of clouds poured down rain day
and night, Víravara remained motionless, as before, at the gate of
the palace. And king Súdraka, having beheld him in the day from
the top of his palace, again went up to it at night, to find out
whether he was there or not; and he cried out from it,--"Who waits
there at the palace-gate?" When Víravara heard that, he answered,
"I am here, your Majesty." Then king Súdraka thought to himself,
"Ah! Víravara is a man of intrepid courage and devotedly attached
to me. So I must certainly promote him to an important post." After
the king had said this to himself, he came down from the roof of his
palace, and entering his private apartments, went to bed.

And the next evening, when a cloud was violently raining with a heavy
downfall, and black darkness was spread abroad, obscuring the heaven,
[294] the king once more ascended the roof of the palace to satisfy
his curiosity, and being alone, he cried out in a clear voice,
"Who waits there at the palace-gate?" Again Víravara said, "I am
here." And while the king was lost in admiration at seeing his courage,
he suddenly heard a woman weeping in the distance, distracted with
despair, uttering only the piteous sound of wailing. When the king
heard that, pity arose in his mind, and he said to himself, "There
is no oppressed person in my kingdom, no poor or afflicted person;
so who is this woman, that is thus weeping alone at night?" Then he
gave this order to Víravara, who was alone below, "Listen, Víravara;
there is some woman weeping in the distance; go and find out who she
is and why she is weeping."

When Víravara heard that, he said, "I will do so," and set out thence
with his dagger in his belt, and his sword in his hand. He looked
upon the world as a Rákshasa black with fresh clouds, having the
lightning flashing from them by way of an eye, raining large drops of
rain instead of stones. And king Súdraka, seeing him starting alone
on such a night, and being penetrated with pity and curiosity, came
down from the top of the palace, and taking his sword, set out close
behind him, alone and unobserved. And Víravara went on persistently in
the direction of the weeping, and reached a tank outside the city, and
saw there that woman in the middle of the water uttering this lament,
"Hero! merciful man! Generous man! How can I live without you?" And
Víravara, who was followed by the king, said with astonishment,
"Who are you, and why do you thus weep?"--Then she answered him,
"Dear Víravara, know that I am this earth, and king Súdraka is now
my righteous lord, but on the third day from this his death will take
place, and whence shall I obtain such another lord? So I am grieved,
and bewail both him and myself." [295] When Víravara heard this,
he said, like one alarmed, "Is there then, goddess, any expedient
to prevent the death of this king, who is the protecting amulet of
the world?"

When the earth heard this, she answered, "There is one expedient
for averting it, and one which you alone can employ." Then Víravara
said,--"Then, goddess, tell it me at once, in order that I may quickly
put it in operation: otherwise what is the use of my life?" When the
earth heard this, she said,--"Who is as brave as you, and as devoted
to his master? So hear this method of bringing about his welfare. If
you offer up your child Sattvavara to this glorious goddess Chandí,
famous for her exceeding readiness to manifest herself to her votaries,
to whom the king has built a temple [296] in the immediate vicinity of
his palace, the king will not die, but live another hundred years. And
if you do it at once, his safety will be ensured, but if not, he will
assuredly have ceased to live on the third day from this time."

When the goddess Earth said this to Víravara, he said, "Goddess, I
will go, and do it this very instant." Then Earth said, "May success
attend you!" and disappeared; and the king, who was secretly following
Víravara, heard all this.

Then Víravara went quickly in the darkness to his own house, and king
Súdraka, out of curiosity, followed him unobserved. There he woke up
his wife Dharmavatí, and told her how the goddess Earth had directed
him to offer up his son for the sake of the king. When she heard
it, she said, "My lord, we must ensure the prosperity of the king;
so wake up this young boy of ours and tell it him yourself." Then
Víravara woke up his young son Sattvavara, who was asleep, and told
him what had occurred, and said to him, "So, my son, the king will
live if you are offered up to the goddess Chandí, but if not, he
will die on the third day." When Sattvavara heard it, though he was
a mere child, he shewed a heroic soul, and justified his name. [297]
He said "I shall have obtained all I desire, if the sacrifice of my
life saves that of the king, for so I shall have repaid him for his
food which I have eaten. So why should there be any delay? Take me
and offer me up immediately before the adorable goddess. Let me be
the means of bringing about the happiness of my lord."

When Sattvavara said this, Víravara answered, "Bravo! you are in truth
my own son." And the king, who had followed them, and heard all this
conversation from outside, said to himself, "Ah! they are all equal
in courage."

Then Víravara took his son Sattvavara on his shoulder, and his wife
Dharmavatí took their daughter Víravatí, and they both went that
very night to the temple of Chandí, and king Súdraka followed them
unobserved. Then Sattvavara was taken down by his father from his
shoulder, and placed in front of the idol, and the boy, who was full of
courage, bowed before the goddess, and said, "May the sacrifice of my
head ensure the life of king Súdraka! May he rule unopposed, goddess,
for another hundred years!" When the boy Sattvavara said this, Víravara
exclaimed, "Bravo!" and drew his sword and cut off his son's head,
and offered it to the goddess, saying, "May the sacrifice of my son
save the king's life!"--Immediately a voice was heard from the air,
"Bravo! Víravara! What man is as devoted to his sovereign as thou,
who, by the sacrifice of thy noble only son, hast bestowed on this
king Súdraka life and a kingdom?" Then that young girl Víravatí,
the daughter of Víravara, came up, and embraced the head of her slain
brother, and weeping, blinded with excessive grief, she broke her heart
and so died. And the king saw and heard all this from his concealment.

Then Víravara's wife Dharmavatí said to him, "We have ensured the
prosperity of the king, so now I have something to say to you. Since
my daughter, though a child and knowing nothing, has died out of grief
for her brother, and I have lost these two children of mine, what is
the use of life to me? Since I have been so foolish as not to offer
my own head long ago to the goddess for the welfare of the king, give
me leave to enter the fire with my children's bodies." When she urged
this request, Víravara said to her, "Do so, and may prosperity attend
you, for what pleasure could you find, noble woman, in continuing
a life, that would for you be full of nothing but grief for your
children. But do not be afflicted, because you did not sacrifice
yourself. Would not I have sacrificed myself, if the object could
have been attained by the sacrifice of any victim but our son? So
wait until I have made a pyre for you with these pieces of timber,
collected to build the fence round the sanctuary of the goddess."

When Víravara had said this, he made a funeral pyre with the timber,
and placed on it the bodies of his two children, and lighted it with
the flame of a lamp. Then his virtuous wife Dharmavatí fell at his
feet, and, after worshipping the goddess Chandí, she addressed to
her this prayer, "May my present husband be my husband also in a
future birth! And may the sacrifice of my life procure prosperity
for the king his master!" When the virtuous woman had said this,
she threw herself fearlessly into the burning pyre, from which the
flames streamed up like hair.

Then the hero Víravara said to himself, "I have done what the king's
interests required, as the celestial voice testified, and I have
paid my debt to my master for his food which I have eaten: so, as I
am now left alone, why should I thus cling to life? It does not look
well for a man like me to nurse his own life only, after sacrificing
all his dear family, which it is his duty to maintain. So why should
I not gratify Durgá by sacrificing myself?" Having thus reflected,
he first approached the goddess with this hymn of praise:

"Hail to thee, thou slayer of the Asura Mahisha, destroyer of the
Dánava Ruru, trident-bearing goddess! Hail to thee, best of mothers,
that causest rejoicing among the gods, and upholdest the three
worlds! Hail thou whose feet are worshipped by the whole earth,
the refuge of those that are intent on final beatitude! Hail thou
that wearest the rays of the sun, and dispellest the accumulated
darkness of calamity! Hail to thee, Kálí, skull-bearing goddess,
wearer of skeletons! Hail, Sivá! Honour to thee! Be propitious now to
king Súdraka on account of the sacrifice of my head!" After Víravara
had praised the goddess in these words, he cut off his head with a
sudden stroke of his sword.

King Súdraka, who was a witness of all this from his place of
concealment, was full of bewilderment, sorrow, and astonishment,
and said to himself, "This worthy man and his family have performed
for my sake a wonderful and difficult exploit never seen or heard
of anywhere else. Though the world is wide and various, where could
there be found a man so resolute as secretly to sacrifice his life
for his master, without proclaiming the fact abroad? And if I do not
requite this benefit, what is the use of my sovereignty, and of my
protracting my life, which would only be like that of an animal?"

When the heroic king had thus reflected, he drew his sword from the
sheath, and approaching the goddess, prayed thus to her, "Be propitious
to me now, goddess, on account of this sacrifice of my head, and confer
a boon on me, thy constant votary. Let this Bráhman Víravara, whose
acts are in accordance with his name, and who sacrificed his life for
my sake, be resuscitated with his family!" After uttering this prayer,
king Súdraka was preparing to cut off his head with his sword, but
at that moment a voice was heard from the air, "Do not act rashly;
I am pleased with this courage of thine; let the Bráhman Víravara be
restored to life, together with his wife and his children!"--Having
uttered so much, the voice ceased, and Víravara rose up alive and
unwounded, with his son, his daughter, and his wife. When the king,
who quickly concealed himself again, saw that marvel, he was never
tired of looking at them with an eye full of tears of joy.

And Víravara quickly awoke as if from sleep, and, beholding his
children and wife alive, and also himself, he was confused in mind. And
he asked his wife and children, addressing them severally by name,
"How have you returned to life after having been reduced to ashes? I
too cut off my head: what is the meaning of my being now alive? Is
this a delusion, or the manifest favour of the goddess?" When he
said this, his wife and children answered him, "Our being alive is
due to a merciful interposition of the goddess, of which we were not
conscious." Then Víravara came to the conclusion that it was so,
and after worshipping the goddess, he returned home with his wife
and children, having accomplished his object.

And after he had left his son, wife, and daughter there, he returned
that very night to the palace-gate of the king, and stood there as
before. King Súdraka, for his part, who had beheld all unobserved,
again went up to the roof of his palace. And he cried out from the
roof, "Who is in attendance at the palace-gate?" Then Víravara said,
"I myself am in waiting here, your Majesty. And in accordance with
your orders I went in search of that woman, but she disappeared
somewhere as soon as seen, like a Rákshasí." When the king heard
the speech of that Víravara, he was very much astonished, as he had
himself seen what took place, and he said to himself, "Indeed people
of noble spirit are deep and self-contained of soul as the sea, for
when they have performed an unparalleled exploit, they do not utter
any description of it." Thus reflecting, the king silently descended
from the roof of the palace, and entered his private apartments,
and there spent the rest of the night.

And the next morning, Víravara came to present himself at the time
of audience, and then the delighted king related to the ministers all
that Víravara had gone through during the night, so that they were all,
as it were, thunderstruck with wonder. Then the king gave to Víravara
and his son the sovereignty over the provinces of Láta and Karnáta,
as a token of his regard. Then the two kings, Víravara and Súdraka,
being equal in power, lived happily in the interchange of mutual
good offices.

When the Vetála had told this exceedingly wonderful story, he went
on to say to king Trivikramasena, "So tell me, king, who was the
bravest of all these, and if you know and do not tell, the curse,
which I before mentioned, shall descend upon you."

When the king heard this, he answered the Vetála, "King Súdraka was the
greatest hero of them all." Then the Vetála said, "Was not Víravara
greater, for his equal is not found on this earth? And was not his
wife braver, who, though a mother, endured to witness with her own eyes
the offering up of her son as a victim? And was not his son Sattvavara
braver, who, though a mere child, displayed such preëminent courage? So
why do you say that king Súdraka was more heroic than these?"

When the Vetála said this, the king answered him, "Do not say
so! Víravara was a man of high birth, one in whose family it was a
tradition that life, son, and wife must be sacrificed to protect the
sovereign. And his wife also was of good birth, chaste, worshipping
her husband only, and her chief duty was to follow the path traced
out for her by her husband. And Sattvavara was like them, being their
son; assuredly, such as are the threads, such is the web produced from
them. But Súdraka excelled them all, because he was ready to lay down
his life for those servants, by the sacrifice of whose lives kings
are wont to save their own."

When the Vetála heard that speech from that king, he at once left
his shoulder, and returned invisibly to his former place by his
supernatural power, but the king resolutely set out on his former
path in that cemetery at night to bring him back again.



NOTE.

For the story of Víravara, see Vol. I, pp. 253 and 519. Oesterley
refers us to Benfey's Panchatantra, Vol. I, p. 414, where it is shown
to be based upon the Asadrisa Játaka of Buddha. The story is found in
the Persian Tútínámah, No 21, (in Iken, p. 89,) in a form resembling
that in the Hitopadesa. But there is another form which is No. 2
in the same work of Kaderi and found in the older Tútínámah, (p. 17
in Iken,) which seems to be based on the Vetála Panchavinsati. This
is also found in the Turkish Tútínámah. Jánbáz saves the life of a
king by the mere determination to sacrifice himself and his whole
family. (Oesterley's Baitál Pachísí, pp. 185-187.) Benfey refers us
to No. 39 in Basile's Pentamerone, [Liebrecht's German translation,
Vol. II, pp. 116-134,] and to No. 6 in Grimm's Kinder-Märchen.






CHAPTER LXXIX.

(Vetála 5.)


Then king Trivikramasena went back again to that asoka-tree, and
saw the Vetála in the corpse again hanging on it as before, and took
him down, and after showing much displeasure with him, set out again
rapidly towards his goal. And as he was returning along his way, in
silence as before, through the great cemetery by night, the Vetála
on his shoulder said to him, "King, you have embarked on a toilsome
undertaking, and I liked you from the moment I first saw you, so
listen, I will tell you a tale to divert your mind."



Story of Somaprabhá and her three suitors.

In Ujjayiní there lived an excellent Bráhman, the dear dependent
and minister of king Punyasena, and his name was Harisvámin. That
householder had by his wife, who was his equal in birth, an excellent
son like himself, Devasvámin by name. And he also had born to
him a daughter, famed for her matchless beauty, rightly named
Somaprabhá. [298] When the time came for that girl to be given away
in marriage, as she was proud of her exceeding beauty, she made her
mother give the following message to her father and brother, "I am
to be given in marriage to a man possessed of heroism, or knowledge,
or magic power; [299] you must not give me in marriage to any other,
if you value my life."

When her father Harisvámin heard this, he was full of anxiety,
trying to find for her a husband coming under one of these three
categories. And while so engaged, he was sent as ambassador by king
Punyasena to negotiate a treaty with a king of the Dekkan, who had come
to invade him. And when he had accomplished the object, for which he
was sent, a noble Bráhman, who had heard of the great beauty of his
daughter, came and asked him for her hand. Harisvámin said to the
Bráhman suitor, "My daughter will not have any husband who does not
possess either valour, knowledge, or magic power; so tell me which
of the three you possess." When Harisvámin said this to the Bráhman
suitor, he answered, "I possess magic power." Thereupon Harisvámin
rejoined, "Then shew me your magic power." So that possessor of
supernatural power immediately prepared by his skill a chariot that
would fly through the air. And in a moment he took Harisvámin up in
that magic chariot, and shewed him heaven and all the worlds. And he
brought him back delighted to that very camp of the king of the Dekkan,
to which he had been sent on business. Then Harisvámin promised his
daughter to that man possessed of magic power, and fixed the marriage
for the seventh day from that time.

And in the meanwhile another Bráhman, in Ujjayiní, came and asked
Harisvámin's son Devasvámin for the hand of his sister. Devasvámin
answered, "She does not wish to have a husband who is not possessed of
either knowledge, or magic power, or heroism." Thereupon he declared
himself to be a hero. And when the hero displayed his skill in the use
of missiles and hand-to-hand weapons, Devasvámin promised to give him
his sister, who was younger than himself. And by the advice of the
astrologers he told him, as his father had told the other suitor,
that the marriage should take place on that very same seventh day,
and this decision he came to without the knowledge of his mother.

At that very same time a third person came to his mother, the wife of
Harisvámin, and asked her privately for the hand of her daughter. She
said to him, "Our daughter requires a husband who possesses either
knowledge, or heroism, or magic power;" and he answered, "Mother,
I possess knowledge." And she, after questioning him about the past
and the future, promised to give the hand of her daughter to that
possessor of supernatural knowledge on that same seventh day.

The next day Harisvámin returned home, and told his wife and his son
the agreement he had made to give away his daughter in marriage;
and they told him separately the promises that they had made; and
that made him feel anxious, as three bridegrooms had been invited.

Then, on the wedding-day, three bridegrooms arrived in Harisvámin's
house, the man of knowledge, the man of magic power, and the man of
valour. And at that moment a strange thing took place: the intended
bride, the maiden Somaprabhá, was found to have disappeared in some
inexplicable manner, and though searched for, was not found. Then
Harisvámin said eagerly to the possessor of knowledge; "Man of
knowledge, now tell me quickly where my daughter is gone." When the
possessor of knowledge heard that, he said, "The Rákshasa Dhúmrasikha
has carried her off to his own habitation in the Vindhya forest." When
the man of knowledge said this to Harisvámin, he was terrified and
said, "Alas! Alas! How are we to get her back, and how is she to
be married?" When the possessor of magic power heard that, he said,
"Be of good cheer! I will take you in a moment to the place where the
possessor of knowledge says that she is." After he had said this,
he prepared, as before, a chariot that would fly through the air,
provided with all kinds of weapons, and made Harisvámin, and the
man of knowledge, and the brave man get into it, and in a moment he
carried them to the habitation of the Rákshasa in the Vindhya forest,
which had been described by the man of knowledge. The Rákshasa, when
he saw what had happened, rushed out in a passion, and then the hero,
who was put forward by Harisvámin, challenged him to fight. Then
a wonderful fight took place between that man and that Rákshasa,
who were contending for a woman with various kinds of weapons, like
Ráma and Rávana. And in a short time the hero cut off the head of
that Rákshasa with a crescent-headed arrow, though he was a doughty
champion. When the Rákshasa was slain, they carried off Somaprabhá
whom they found in his house, and they all returned in the chariot
of the suitor who possessed magic power.

When they had reached Harisvámin's house, the marriage did not go
forward, though the auspicious moment had arrived, but a great dispute
arose between the man of knowledge, the man of magic power, and the man
of valour. The man of knowledge said, "If I had not known where this
maiden was, how would she have been discovered when concealed?--So
she ought to be given to me." But the man of magic power said,
"If I had not made this chariot that can fly through the air, how
could you all have gone and returned in a moment like gods? And
how could you, without a chariot, have fought with a Rákshasa,
who possessed a chariot? So you ought to give her to me for I have
secured by my skill this auspicious moment." The brave man said,
"If I had not slain the Rákshasa in fight, who would have brought
this maiden back here in spite of all your exertions? So she must be
given to me." While they went on wrangling in this style, Harisvámin
remained for a moment silent, being perplexed in mind.

"So tell me, king, to whom she ought to have been given, and
if you know and do not say, your head shall split asunder." When
Trivikramasena heard this from the Vetála, he abandoned his silence,
and said to him; "She ought to be given to the brave man; for he won
her by the might of his arms, at the risk of his life, slaying that
Rákshasa in combat. But the man of knowledge and the man of magic power
were appointed by the Creator to serve as his instruments; are not
calculators and artificers always subordinate assistants to others?"

When the Vetála heard this answer of the king's, he left his seat on
the top of his shoulder, and went, as before, to his own place; and
the king again set out to find him, without being in the slightest
degree discomposed.



NOTE.

The above story bears a slight resemblance to No. 71 in Grimm's
Kinder- und Hausmärchen, Sechse kommen durch die ganze Welt; see
the note in the 3rd volume of the third edition, page 120. Cp. also
the 74th story in Laura Gonzenbach's Sicilianische Märchen, Part II,
page 96, and the 45th story in the same book, Part I, p. 305, with
Köhler's notes. The 9th story in Sagas from the Far East, p. 105, is
no doubt the Mongolian form of the tale in our text. It bears a very
strong resemblance to the 47th tale in the Pentamerone of Basile,
(see Liebrecht's translation, Vol. II, p. 212,) and to Das weise
Urtheil in Waldau's Böhmische Märchen. In this tale there are three
rival brothers; one has a magic mirror, another a magic chariot,
a third three magic apples. The first finds out that the lady is
desperately ill, the second takes himself and his rivals to her, the
third raises her to life. An old man decides that the third should
have her, as his apples were consumed as medicine, while the other two
have still their chariot and mirror respectively. Oesterley refers us
to Benfey's articles in Ausland, 1858, pp. 969, 995, 1017, 1038, 1067,
in which this story is treated in a masterly and exhaustive manner. He
compares a story in the Siddhikür, No. 1, p. 55, in Jülg's version,
which seems to be the one above referred to in Sagas from the Far
East. The 22nd story in the Persian Tútínámah (Iken, p. 93,) which
is found with little variation in the Turkish Tútínámah (Rosen, II,
p. 165,) closely resembles the story in our text. The only difference
is that a magic horse does duty for a magic chariot, and the lady is
carried away by fairies. There is a story in the Tútínámah which seems
to be made up of No. 2, No. 5 and No. 21 in this collection. [No. 22,
in Somadeva.] It is No. 4 in the Persian Tútínámah, (Iken, p. 37,)
and is also found in the Turkish version, (Rosen I, p. 151.) The
lady is the work of four companions. A carpenter hews a figure out
of wood, a goldsmith adorns it with gems, a tailor clothes it, and
a monk animates it with life. They quarrel about her, and lay the
matter before a Dervish. He avows that he is her husband. The head of
the police does the same, and the Kazi, to whom it is then referred,
takes the same line. At last the matter is referred to a divinity,
and the lady is again reduced to wood. This form is the exaggeration
of a story in Ardschi Bordschi translated by Benfey in Ausland, 1858,
p. 845, (cp. Göttinger gel. Anz. 1858, p. 1517, Benfey's Panchatantra,
Vol. I, p. 490 and ff.) A shepherd boy hews a female figure out of
wood, a second paints her, a third improves her [by giving her wit and
understanding, according to Sagas from the Far East,] a fourth gives
her life. Naran Dákiní awards her to the last. (Oesterley's Baitál
Pachísí, pp. 192-194). The story in Ardschi Bordschi will be found
in Sagas from the Far East, pp. 298-303.  The story which Oesterley
quotes from the Tútínámah is still found in Bannu, as appears from a
review of Mr. Thorburn's book in Melusine (1878), p. 179. The reviewer,
M. Loys Brueyre, tells us that it is found in the Bohemian tales of
Erben under the title, Wisdom and Fortune.






CHAPTER LXXX.

(Vetála 6.)


Then king Trivikramasena again went to the asoka-tree, and carried
off from it that Vetála on his shoulder, as before, and began to
return with him swiftly in silence. And on the way the Vetála again
said to him, "King, you are wise and brave, therefore I love you,
so I will tell you an amusing tale, and mark well my question."



Story of the lady who caused her brother and husband to change heads.

There was a king famous on the earth by the name of Yasahketu, and
his capital was a city of the name of Sobhávatí. And in that city
there was a splendid temple of Gaurí, [300] and to the south of it
there was a lake, called Gaurítírtha. And every year, during a feast
on the fourteenth day of the white fortnight of the month Áshádha,
large crowds came there to bathe from every part of the world. [301]

And once there came there to bathe, on that day, a young washerman
of the name of Dhavala, from a village called Brahmasthala. He saw
there the virgin daughter of a man named Suddhapata, a girl called
Madanasundarí, who had come to bathe in the sacred water. [302] His
heart was captivated by that girl who eclipsed the beauty of the
moon, and after he had enquired her name and family, he went home
love-smitten. There he remained fasting and restless without her,
but when his mother asked him the cause, he told her the truth about
his desire. [303] She went and told her husband Vimala, and when he
came, and saw his son in that state, he said to him, "Why are you so
despondent, my son, about an object so easily attained? Suddhapata
will give you his daughter, if I ask him. For we are equal to him
in family, wealth, and occupation; I know him and he knows me;
so this is not a difficult matter for me to arrange." With these
words Vimala comforted his son, and induced him to take food, and
other refreshments, and the next day he went with him to the house
of Suddhapata. And there he asked his daughter in marriage for his
son Dhavala, and Suddhapata courteously promised to give her. And
so, after ascertaining the auspicious moment, he gave his daughter
Madanasundarí, who was of equal birth with Dhavala, in marriage to
him the next day. And after Dhavala had been married, he returned
a happy man to his father's house, together with his wife, who had
fallen in love with him at first sight.

And one day, while he was living there in happiness, his
father-in-law's son, the brother of Madanasundarí, came there. All
received him courteously, [304] and his sister embraced him and
welcomed him, and his connections asked him how he was, and at last,
after he had rested, he said to them, "I have been sent here by my
father, to invite Madanasundarí and his son-in-law, since we are
engaged in a festival in honour of the goddess Durgá." And all his
connections and their family approved his speech, and entertained
him that day with appropriate meats and drinks.

Early the next day Dhavala set out for his father-in-law's house,
with Madanasundarí and his brother-in-law. And he reached with his
two companions the city of Sobhávatí, and he saw the great temple
of Durgá, when he arrived near it; and then he said to his wife
and brother-in-law, in a fit of pious devotion, "Come and let us
visit the shrine of this awful goddess." When the brother-in-law
heard this, he said to him, in order to dissuade him, "How can so
many of us approach the goddess empty-handed?" Then Dhavala said,
"Let me go alone, and you can wait outside." When he had said this,
he went off to pay his respects to the goddess.

When he had entered her temple, and had worshipped, and had meditated
upon that goddess, who with her eighteen mighty arms had smitten
terrible Dánavas, and who had flung under the lotus of her foot and
trampled to pieces the Asura Mahisha, a train of pious reflection
was produced in his mind by the impulse of Destiny, and he said to
himself, "People worship this goddess with various sacrifices of
living creatures, so why should not I, to obtain salvation, appease
her with the sacrifice of myself?" After he had said this to himself,
he took from her inner shrine, which was empty of worshippers, a
sword which had been long ago offered to her by some pilgrims, and,
after fastening his own head by his hair to the chain of the bell,
he cut it off with the sword, and when cut off, it fell on the ground.

And his brother-in-law, after waiting a long time, without his having
returned, went into that very temple of the goddess to look for
him. But when he saw his sister's husband lying there decapitated,
he also was bewildered, and he cut off his head in the same way with
that very same sword.

And when he too did not return, Madanasundarí was distracted in mind,
and then she too entered the temple of the goddess. And when she
had gone in, and seen her husband and her brother in such a state,
she fell on the ground, exclaiming, "Alas! what is the meaning of
this? I am ruined." And soon she rose up, and lamented those two
that had been so unexpectedly slain, and said to herself, "Of what
use is this life of mine to me now?" and being eager to abandon the
body, she said to that goddess, "O thou that art the chief divinity
presiding over blessedness, chastity, and holy rule, though occupying
half the body of thy husband Siva, [305] thou that art the fitting
refuge of all women, that takest away grief, why hast thou robbed
me at once of my brother and my husband? This is not fitting on thy
part towards me, for I have ever been a faithful votary of thine. So
hear one piteous appeal from me who fly to thee for protection. I
am now about to abandon this body which is afflicted with calamity,
but grant that in all my future births, whatever they may be, these
two men may be my husband and brother."

In these words she praised and supplicated the goddess, and bowed
before her again, and then she made a noose of a creeper and fastened
it to an asoka-tree. And while she was stretching out her neck, and
putting it into the noose, the following words resounded from the
expanse of air: "Do not act rashly, my daughter! I am pleased with
the exceeding courage which thou hast displayed, though a mere girl;
let this noose be, but join the heads of thy husband and thy brother
to their bodies, and by virtue of my favour they shall both rise up
alive." [306]

When the girl Madanasundarí heard this, she let the noose drop,
and went up to the corpses in great delight, but being confused, and
not seeing in her excessive eagerness what she was doing, she stuck,
as fate would have it, her husband's head on to her brother's trunk,
and her brother's head on to her husband's trunk, and then they both
rose up alive, with limbs free from wound, but from their heads having
been exchanged their bodies had become mixed together. [307]

Then they told one another what had befallen them, and were happy,
and after they had worshipped the goddess Durgá, the three continued
their journey. But Madanasundarí, as she was going along, saw that
she had changed their heads, and she was bewildered and puzzled as
to what course to take.

"So tell me, king, which of the two people, thus mixed together, was
her husband; and if you know and do not tell, the curse previously
denounced shall fall on you!" When king Trivikramasena heard this
tale and this question from the Vetála, he answered him as follows:
"That one of the two, on whom her husband's head was fixed, was her
husband, for the head is the chief of the limbs, and personal identity
depends upon it." When the king had said this, the Vetála again left
his shoulder unperceived, and the king again set out to fetch him.



NOTE.

Oesterley remarks that the Hindi version of this story has been
translated into French by Garcin de Tassy in the Journal des Savants,
1836, p. 415, and by Lancereau in the Journal Asiatique, Ser. 4,
Tom. 19, pp. 390-395. In the Tútínámah, (Persian, No. 24, in Iken,
No. 102; Turkish, Rosen, II, p. 169) the washerman is replaced by
an Indian prince, his friend by a priest, and the rest is the same
as in our text. That Goethe took that part of his Legende, which is
based on this tale, from Iken's translation, has been shewn by Benfey
in Orient und Occident, Vol. I, p. 719. (Oesterley's Baitál Pachísí,
pp. 195, 196.)






CHAPTER LXXXI.


Then king Trivikramasena went back to the asoka-tree, and again found
the Vetála there, and took him on his shoulder. As he was going along
with him, the Vetála said to him on the way, "King, listen to me,
I will tell you a story to make you forget your fatigue."



Story of the king who married his dependent to the Nereid.

There is a city on the shore of the eastern sea, named Támraliptí;
in that city there was a king of the name of Chandasinha; he turned
away his face from the wives of others, but not from battle-fields;
he carried off the fortune of his foes, but not the wealth of his
neighbours.

Once on a time a popular Rájpút of the Dekkan, named Sattvasíla, came
to the palace-gate of that king. And he announced himself, and then,
on account of his poverty, he and some other Rájpúts tore a ragged
garment in the presence of that king. Thus he became a dependent,
[308] and remained there for many years perpetually serving the king,
but he never received any reward from him. And he said to himself, "If
I have been born in a royal race, why am I so poor? And considering my
poverty is so great, why did the Creator make my ambition so vast? For
though I serve the king so diligently, and my followers are sorely
afflicted, and I have long been pining with hunger, he has never,
up to the present time, deigned to notice me."

While such were the reflections of the dependent, the king one day went
out to hunt. And he went, surrounded with horses and footmen, to the
forest of wild beasts, while his dependent ran in front of him bearing
a stick. And after he had hunted for some time, he followed up closely
a boar that had escaped, and soon he reached another distant wood. And
in that vast jungle, where the path was obscured with leaves and grass,
the king lost the boar, and he became exhausted, and was unable to find
his way. And the dependent was the only one that kept up with him,
running on foot, regardless of his own life, tortured with hunger
and thirst, though the king was mounted upon a horse swift as the
wind. And the king, when he saw that the dependent had followed him,
in spite of his being in such a condition, said to him in a kind voice,
"Do you know the way by which we came?" When the dependent heard that,
he put his hands together in an attitude of supplication, and said,
"I do know it, but let my lord rest here for some time. For the sun,
which is the centre-jewel of the girdle of the sky-bride, is now
burning fiercely with all its rays flickering forth." When the king
heard this, he said to him graciously, "Then see if you can find water
anywhere here." The dependent said, "I will," and he climbed up a
high tree, and saw a river, and then he came down again, and led the
king to it. And he took the saddle off his horse, and let him roll,
and gave him water and mouthfuls of grass, and so refreshed him. And
when the king had bathed, he brought out of a corner of his garment
delicious [309] ámalaka fruits, and washed them, and gave them to
him. And when the king asked where he got them, he said to him kneeling
with the ámalakas in his hand, "Ten years have now passed since I,
living continually on these fruits, have been performing, in order
to propitiate my sovereign, the vow of a hermit that does not dwell
in solitude." When the king heard that, he answered him, "It cannot
be denied that you are rightly named Sattvasíla." And being filled
with compassion and shame, he said to himself; "Fie on kings who do
not see who among their servants is comfortable or miserable, and fie
on their courtiers who do not inform them of such matters!" Such were
the king's thoughts, but he was at last induced by the importunity of
the dependent to take two ámalakas from him. And after eating them and
drinking water, he rested for a while in the company of the dependent,
having satiated his hunger and thirst on fruits and water.

Then his dependent got his horse ready, and he mounted it, and the
dependent went in front of him to shew him the way, but however
much the king entreated him, he would not get up on the horse behind
him, and so the king returned to his own city, meeting his army on
the way. There he proclaimed the devotion of the dependent, and he
loaded him with wealth and territories, and did not consider even
then that he had recompensed him as he deserved. Then Sattvasíla
became a prosperous man, and discarding the life of a dependent,
he remained henceforth about the person of king Chandasinha.

And one day the king sent him to the island of Ceylon, to demand
for him the hand of the king's daughter. He had to go there by sea;
so he worshipped his patron divinity, and went on board a ship with
the Bráhmans, whom the king appointed to accompany him. And when the
ship had gone half-way, there suddenly rose from the sea a banner
that excited the wonder of all in the ship. It was so lofty that
its top touched the clouds, it was made of gold, and emblazoned
like a waving flag of various hues. And at that very moment a bank
of clouds suddenly arose, and began to pour down rain, and a mighty
wind blew. And the ship was forced on to that flag by the rain and
the wind, and thus fastened to it, as elephant-drivers force on an
elephant and bind him to a post. And then the flag began to sink with
the ship in the billowy sea.

And then the Bráhmans in the ship, distracted with fear, called on
their king Chandasinha, crying out for help. And when Sattvasíla heard
their cries, so great was his devotion to his master that he could not
restrain himself, but with his sword in his hand, and his upper garment
girded round him, the brave fellow daringly plunged into the billows,
following the flag, in order to counteract the violence of the sea,
not suspecting the real cause. And as soon as he had plunged in,
that ship was carried to a distance by the wind and waves, and all
the people, who were in it, fell into the mouths of the sea-monsters.

And when Sattvasíla, who had fallen into the sea, began to look
about him, he found that he was in a splendid city, [310] but he
could not see the sea anywhere. That city glittered with palaces of
gold supported on pillars of jewels, and was adorned with gardens in
which were tanks with steps of precious gems, and in it he beheld the
temple of Durgá, lofty as mount Meru, with many walls of costly stone,
and with a soaring banner studded with jewels. There he prostrated
himself before the goddess, and praised her with a hymn, and sat down
wondering whether it was all the effect of enchantment.

And in the meanwhile a heavenly maiden suddenly opened a door,
and issued from a bright enclosure in front of the temple of the
goddess. Her eyes were like blue lotuses, her face full-blown,
her smile like a flower, her body was soft like the taper fibre of
a water-lily's root, so that she resembled a moving lotus-lake. And
waited on by a thousand ladies, she entered the inner shrine of the
goddess and the heart of Sattvasíla at the same time. And after she
had worshipped, she left the inner shrine of the goddess, but nothing
would make her leave the heart of Sattvasíla. And she entered once
more into the shining enclosure, and Sattvasíla entered after her.

And when he had entered, he beheld another splendid city, which seemed
like a garden where all the enjoyments of the world had agreed to
meet. In it Sattvasíla saw that maiden sitting on a couch studded
with gems, and he went up to her, and sat down by her side. And he
remained with his eyes fixed on her face, like a man in a painting,
expressing his passion by his trembling limbs, the hairs on which
stood erect. And when she saw that he was enamoured of her, she
looked at the faces of her attendants, and then they, understanding
the expression of her face, said to him, "You have arrived here as
a guest, so enjoy the hospitality provided by our mistress, rise up,
bathe, and then take food." When he heard that, he entertained some
hope, and he rose up, though not without a struggle, and he went to
a tank in the garden which they shewed him. And the moment that he
plunged into it, he rose up, to his astonishment, in the middle of a
tank in the garden of king Chandasinha in Támraliptí. [311] And seeing
himself suddenly arrived there, he said to himself, "Alas! what is the
meaning of this? Now I am in this garden, and a moment ago I was in
that splendid city; I have exchanged in an instant the nectarous vision
of that fair one for the grievous poison of separation from her. But
it was not a dream, for I saw it all clearly in a waking state. It
is clear that I was beguiled like a fool by those maidens of Pátála."

Thus reflecting, he wandered about in that garden like a madman,
being deprived of that maiden, and wept in the anguish of disappointed
passion. And the gardeners, when they beheld him in that state, with
body covered with the yellow pollen of flowers wafted by the wind,
as if with the fires of separation, went and told king Chandasinha,
and he, being bewildered, came himself and saw him; and after calming
him, he said to him, "Tell me, my friend; what is the meaning of all
this? You set out for one place and reached another, your arrows have
not struck the mark at which they were aimed." When Sattvasíla heard
that, he told the king all his adventures, and he, when he heard them,
said to himself, "Strange to say, though this man is a hero, he has,
happily for me, [312] been beguiled by love, and I now have it in my
power to discharge my debt of gratitude to him." So the brave king said
to him, "Abandon now your needless grief, for I will conduct you by
the same course into the presence of that beloved Asura maiden." With
these words the king comforted him, and refreshed him with a bath
and other restoratives.

The next day the king entrusted the kingdom to his ministers,
and embarking on a ship, set out on the sea with Sattvasíla, who
shewed him the way. And when they had got to that half-way spot,
Sattvasíla saw the wonderful flagstaff rising out of the sea with
the banner on it, as before, and he said to the king, "Here is that
great flagstaff with such wonderful properties, towering aloft out of
the sea: I must plunge in here, and then the king must plunge in also
and dive down after the flagstaff." After Sattvasíla had said this,
they got near the flagstaff, and it began to sink. And Sattvasíla
first threw himself in after it, and then the king also dived in
the same direction, and soon after they had plunged in, they reached
that splendid city. And there the king beheld with astonishment and
worshipped that goddess Párvatí, and sat down with Sattvasíla.

And in the meanwhile there issued from that glittering enclosure a
maiden, accompanied by her attendant ladies, looking like the quality
of brightness in concrete form. Sattvasíla said, "This is that fair
one," and the king, beholding her, considered that his attachment to
her was amply justified. She, for her part, when she beheld that king
with all the auspicious bodily marks, said to herself, "Who can this
exceedingly distinguished man be?" And so she went into the temple of
Durgá to pray, and the king contemptuously went off to the garden,
taking Sattvasíla with him. And in a short time the Daitya maiden
came out from the inner shrine of the goddess, having finished her
devotions, and having prayed that she might obtain a good husband;
and after she had come out, she said to one of her attendants,
"My friend, go and see where that distinguished man is whom I saw;
and entreat him to do us the favour of coming and accepting our
hospitality, for he is some great hero deserving special honour." When
the attendant had received this order, she went and looked for him,
and bending low, delivered to him in the garden the message of her
mistress. Then the heroic king answered in a carelessly negligent
tone, "This garden is sufficient entertainment for me: what other
entertainment do I require?" When that attendant came and reported
this answer to the Daitya maiden, she considered that the king was
a man of a noble spirit and deserving of the highest regard.

And then the Asura maiden, (being, as it were, drawn towards himself
with the cord of his self-command by the king, who shewed a lofty
indifference for hospitality far above mortal desert,) went in person
to the garden, thinking that he had been sent her by way of a husband,
as a fruit of her adoration of Durgá. And the trees seemed to honour
her, as she approached, with the songs of various birds, with their
creepers bending in the wind like arms, and showers of blossoms. And
she approached the king and bowing courteously before him, entreated
him to accept of her hospitality. Then the king pointed to Sattvasíla,
and said to her, "I came here to worship the image of the goddess of
which this man told me. I have reached her marvellous temple, guided
to it by the banner, and have seen the goddess, and after that, you;
what other hospitality do I require?" When the maiden heard that, she
said, "Then come, out of curiosity, to see my second city, which is
the wonder of the three worlds." When she said this, the king laughed
and said, "Oh! he told me of this also, the place where there is the
tank to bathe in." Then the maiden said, "King, do not speak thus,
I am not of a deceitful disposition, and who would think of cheating
one so worthy of respect? I have been made the slave of you both by
your surpassing excellence; so you ought not thus to reject my offer."

When the king heard this, he consented, and taking Sattvasíla with
him, he accompanied the maiden to that glittering enclosure. And the
door of it was opened, and she conducted him in, and then he beheld
that other splendid city of hers. The trees in it were ever producing
flowers and fruits, for all seasons were present there at the same
time; [313] and the city was all composed of gold and jewels like the
peak of mount Meru. And the Daitya maiden made the king sit down on
a priceless jewelled throne, and offered him the arghya in due form,
and said to him, "I am the daughter of Kálanemi the high-souled
king of the Asuras, but my father was sent to heaven by Vishnu, the
discus-armed god. And these two cities, which I inherit from my father,
are the work of Visvakarman; they furnish all that heart can wish,
and old age and death never invade them. But now I look upon you as a
father, and I, with my cities, am at your disposal." When she had in
these words placed herself and all that she possessed at the king's
disposal, he said to her, "If this be so, then I give you, excellent
daughter, to another, to the hero Sattvasíla, who is my friend and
relation." When the king, who seemed to be the favour of the goddess
Durgá in bodily form, said this, the maiden, who understood excellence
when she saw it, acquiesced submissively. When Sattvasíla had attained
the wish of his heart by marrying that Asura maiden, and had had the
sovereignty of those cities bestowed on him, the king said to him,
"Now I have repaid you for one of those ámalakas which I ate, but
I am still indebted to you for the second, for which I have never
recompensed you." When the king had said this to Sattvasíla, who
bowed before him, he said to that Daitya maiden, "Now shew me the
way to my own city." Then the Daitya maiden gave him a sword named
"Invincible," and a fruit to eat, which was a remedy against old age
and death, and with these he plunged into the tank which she pointed
out, and the next thing that happened to him was, that he rose up in
his own land with all his wishes gratified. And Sattvasíla ruled as
king over the cities of the Daitya princess.

"Now tell me: which of those two shewed most courage in plunging into
the water?" When the Vetála put this question to the king, the latter,
fearing to be cursed, thus answered him; "I consider Sattvasíla the
braver man of the two, for he plunged into the sea without knowing
the real state of the case, and without any hope, but the king knew
what the circumstances were when he plunged in, and had something to
look forward to, and he did not fall in love with the Asura princess,
because he thought no longing would win her." When the Vetála received
this answer from the king, who thereby broke silence, he left his
shoulder, as before, and fled to his place on the asoka-tree. And
the king, as before, followed him quickly to bring him back again;
for the wise never flag in an enterprise which they have begun,
until it is finished.






CHAPTER LXXXII.

(Vetála 8.)


Then king Trivikramasena returned to the asoka-tree, and again caught
the Vetála, and put him on his shoulder, and set out with him. And as
he was going along, the Vetála again said to him from his shoulder,
"King, in order that you may forget your toil, listen to this question
of mine."



Story of the three fastidious men.

There is a great tract of land assigned to Bráhmans in the country of
Anga, called Vrikshaghata. In it there lived a rich sacrificing Bráhman
named Vishnusvámin. And he had a wife equal to himself in birth. And
by her he had three sons born to him, who were distinguished for
preternatural acuteness. In course of time they grew up to be young
men. One day, when he had begun a sacrifice, he sent those three
brothers to the sea to fetch a turtle. So off they went, and when they
had found a turtle, the eldest said to his two brothers,--"Let one
of you take the turtle for our father's sacrifice, I cannot take it,
as it is all slippery with slime." When the eldest brother said this,
the two younger ones answered him, "If you hesitate about taking it,
why should not we?" When the eldest heard that, he said, "You two must
take the turtle; if you do not, you will have obstructed our father's
sacrifice; and then you and he will certainly sink down to hell." When
he told the younger brothers this, they laughed, and said to him,
"If you see our duty so clearly, why do you not see that your own is
the same?" Then the eldest said, "What, do you not know how fastidious
I am? I am very fastidious about eating, and I cannot be expected
to touch what is repulsive." The middle brother, when he heard this
speech of his, said to his brother,--"Then I am a more fastidious
person than you, for I am a most fastidious connoisseur of the fair
sex." When the middle one said this, the eldest went on to say,
"Then let the younger of you two take the turtle!" Then the youngest
brother frowned, and in his turn said to the two elder, "You fools, I
am very fastidious about beds, so I am the most fastidious of the lot."

So the three brothers fell to quarrelling with one another, and being
completely under the dominion of conceit, they left that turtle and
went off immediately to the court of the king of that country, whose
name was Prasenajit, and who lived in a city named Vitankapura, in
order to have the dispute decided. There they had themselves announced
by the warder, and went in, and gave the king a circumstantial account
of their case. The king said, "Wait here, and I will put you all in
turn to the proof:" so they agreed and remained there. And at the
time that the king took his meal, he had them conducted to a seat of
honour, and given delicious food fit for a king, possessing all the
six flavours. And while all were feasting around him, the Bráhman,
who was fastidious about eating, alone of all the company did not
eat, but sat there with his face puckered up with disgust. The king
himself asked the Bráhman why he did not eat his food, though it was
sweet and fragrant, and he slowly answered him, "I perceive in this
cooked rice an evil smell of the reek from corpses, so I cannot bring
myself to eat it, however delicious it may be." When he said this
before the assembled multitude, they all smelled it by the king's
orders, and said, "This food is prepared from white rice and is good
and fragrant." But the Bráhman, who was so fastidious about eating,
would not touch it, but stopped his nose. Then the king reflected, and
proceeded to enquire into the matter, and found out from his officers
[314], that the food had been made from rice which had been grown in
a field near the burning-ghát of a certain village. Then the king
was much astonished, and being pleased, he said to him, "In truth
you are very particular as to what you eat; so eat of some other dish."

And after they had finished their dinner, the king dismissed the
Bráhmans to their apartments, and sent for the loveliest lady of
his court. And in the evening he sent that fair one, all whose limbs
were of faultless beauty, splendidly adorned, to the second Bráhman,
who was so squeamish about the fair sex. And that matchless kindler
of Cupid's flame, with a face like the full moon of midnight, went,
escorted by the king's servants, to the chamber of the Bráhman. But
when she entered, lighting up the chamber with her brightness, that
gentleman, who was so fastidious about the fair sex, felt quite faint,
and stopping his nose with his left hand, said to the king's servants,
"Take her away; if you do not, I am a dead man, a smell comes from
her like that of a goat." When the king's servants heard this,
they took the bewildered fair one to their sovereign, and told him
what had taken place. And the king immediately had the squeamish
gentleman sent for, and said to him, "How can this lovely woman,
who has perfumed herself with sandal-wood, camphor, black aloes,
and other splendid scents, so that she diffuses exquisite fragrance
through the whole world, smell like a goat?" But though the king used
this argument with the squeamish gentleman, he stuck to his point;
and then the king began to have his doubts on the subject, and at last
by artfully framed questions he elicited from the lady herself, that,
having been separated in her childhood from her mother and nurse,
she had been brought up on goat's milk.

Then the king was much astonished, and praised highly the discernment
of the man who was fastidious about the fair sex, and immediately had
given to the third Bráhman who was fastidious about beds, in accordance
with his taste, a bed composed of seven mattresses placed upon a
bedstead. White smooth sheets and coverlets were laid upon the bed,
and the fastidious man slept on it in a splendid room. But, before
half a watch of the night had passed, he rose up from that bed, with
his hand pressed to his side, screaming in an agony of pain. And the
king's officers, who were there, saw a red crooked mark on his side,
as if a hair had been pressed deep into it. And they went and told
the king, and the king said to them, "Look and see if there is not
something under the mattresses." So they went and examined the bottom
of the mattresses one by one, and they found a hair in the middle of
the bedstead underneath them all. And they took it and shewed it to
the king, and they also brought the man who was fastidious about beds,
and when the king saw the state of his body, he was astonished. And
he spent the whole night in wondering how a hair could have made so
deep an impression on his skin through seven mattresses.

And the next morning the king gave three hundred thousand gold pieces
to those three fastidious men, because they were persons of wonderful
discernment and refinement. And they remained in great comfort in
the king's court, forgetting all about the turtle, and little did
they reck of the fact that they had incurred sin by obstructing their
father's sacrifice.

When the Vetála, seated on the shoulder of the king, had told him
this wonderful tale, he again asked him a question in the following
words, "King, remember the curse I previously denounced, and tell me
which was the most fastidious of these three, who were respectively
fastidious about eating, the fair sex, and beds?" When the wise king
heard this, he gave the Vetála the following answer, "I consider the
man who was fastidious about beds, in whose case imposition was out of
the question, the most fastidious of the three, for the mark produced
by the hair was seen conspicuously manifest on his body, whereas the
other two may have previously acquired their information from some
one else." When the king said this, the Vetála left his shoulder,
as before, and the king again went in quest of him, as before,
without being at all depressed.



NOTE.

The above story resembles No. 2, in the Cento Novelle Antiche, and one
in the Addition to the Arabian tales published by Mr. Scott. (Dunlop's
History of Fiction, Vol. I, p. 415; Liebrecht's translation, p. 212
and note 282.) See also Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 203. In the
Cento Novelle Antiche a prisoner informs the king of Greece, that a
horse has been suckled by a she-ass, that a jewel contains a worm,
and that the king himself is the son of a baker.

The incident of the mattress reminds one of the test applied by the
queen to her son's wife in "The Palace that stood on Golden Pillars,"
(Thorpe's Yuletide Stories, p. 64). In order to find out whether her
daughter-in-law is of high birth, she puts first a bean, then peas,
under her pillow. The prince's wife, who is really the daughter of
a peasant, is apprised of the stratagem by her cat, which resembles
Whittington's. Rohde in his Griechische Novellistik, p. 62, compares
a story told by Aelian about the Sybarite Smindyrides, who slept on a
bed of rose-leaves and got up in the morning covered with blisters. He
also quotes from the Chronicle of Tabari a story of a princess who
was made to bleed by a rose-leaf lying in her bed. Oesterley refers
us to Babington's Vetála Cadai, p. 33, and the Chevalier de Mailly's
version of the three Princes of Serendip. The three are sitting at
table, and eating a leg of lamb, sent with some splendid wine from
the table of the Emperor Behram. The eldest maintains that the wine
was made of grapes that grew in a cemetery, the second that the lamb
was brought up on dog's milk, the third says that the emperor had put
to death the vazir's son, and the latter was bent on vengeance. All
three statements turn out to be well-grounded. There are parallel
stories in the 1001 Nights (Breslau). In Night 458 it is similarly
conjectured that the bread was baked by a sick woman, that the kid was
suckled by a bitch, and that the Sultan is illegitimate. In Night 459
a gem-cutter guesses that a jewel has an internal flaw, a man skilled
in the pedigrees of horses divines that a horse is the offspring of a
female buffalo, and a man skilled in human pedigrees that the mother
of the favourite queen was a rope-dancer. Cp. also the decisions of
Hamlet in Saxo Grammaticus, 1839, p. 138, in Simrock's Quellen des
Shakespeare, 1, 81-85; 5, 170; he lays down that some bread tastes
of blood, (the corn was grown on a battle-field), that some liquor
tastes of iron, (the malt was mixed with water taken from a well,
in which some rusty swords had lain), that some bacon tastes of
corpses, (the pig had eaten a corpse), lastly that the king is a
servant and his wife a serving-maid. Oesterley refers also to the
beginning of Donatus' life of Virgil, and to Heraclius Von Otte,
also to the parallels quoted above from Liebrecht. The brother,
who was so fastidious about beds, may be compared with a princess
in Andersen's Tale of "The Princess on a pea," Gesammelte Märchen,
Part III, 8, 62, (Leipzig, 1847). This is identical with a tale found
in Cavallius' Schwedische Volkssagen und Märchen, German version,
Vienna, 1848, p. 222, which resembles No. 182 in the older editions
of Grimm's Kindermärchen. (Andersen's story is clearly the same as
Thorpe's referred to above.) Nearly akin is Diocletian's test in the
Seven Wise Masters. His masters put an ash-leaf under the bed; and he
remarks, "Either the floor has risen, or the roof sunk." (Oesterley,
p. 215.) In the version in Simrock's Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. XII,
p. 122, it is an ivy-leaf. See also Ellis's Metrical Romances, p. 412.






CHAPTER LXXXIII.

(Vetála 9.)


So king Trivikramasena again went to the asoka-tree, and taking the
Vetála down from it, placed him on his shoulder, and set out. Then
the Vetála said to him; "King, this wandering about in a cemetery at
night is inconsistent with your kingly rank. Do you not see that this
place of the dead [315] is full of ghosts, and terrible at night,
and full of darkness as of the smoke of funeral pyres. Alas! what
tenacity you display in this undertaking you have engaged in, to
please that mendicant! So listen to this question from me which will
render your journey more agreeable."



Story of Anangarati and her four suitors.

There is in Avanti a city built by gods at the beginning of the world,
which is limitless as the body of Siva, and renowned for enjoyment
and prosperity, even as his body is adorned with the snake's hood and
ashes. [316] It was called Padmávatí in the Krita Yuga, Bhogavatí in
the Tretá Yuga, Hiranyavatí in the Dvápara Yuga, and Ujjayiní in the
Kali Yuga. And in it there lived an excellent king, named Víradeva,
and he had a queen named Padmarati. The king went with her to the
bank of the Mandákiní, and propitiated Siva with austerities, in
order to obtain a son. And after he had remained a long time engaged
in austerities, he performed the ceremonies of bathing and praying,
and then he heard this voice from heaven, uttered by Siva, who was
pleased with him, "King, there shall be born to thee a brave son to
be the head of thy family, and a daughter, who with her matchless
beauty shall put to shame the nymphs of heaven." When king Víradeva
had heard this voice from heaven, he returned to his city with his
consort, having gained all he desired.

There he first had a son born to him named Súradeva, and after a
time queen Padmarati gave birth to a daughter. And her father gave
her the name of Anangarati, on the ground that she was beautiful
enough to inspire love in the breast of Cupid. And, when she grew up,
in his desire to procure for her a suitable husband, he had brought
the portraits of all the kings of the earth, painted on canvas. And
as no one of them seemed a match for her, he said to his daughter,
in his tenderness for her; "I cannot find a suitable match for you,
my daughter, so summon all the kings of the earth, and select your
own husband." When the princess heard that, she said to her father,
"My father, I am too modest to select my own husband, but I must
be given in marriage to a good-looking young man, who is a perfect
master of one art; I do not want any other better man."

When the king heard this speech of his daughter Anangarati, he
proceeded to search for a young man, such as she had described, and
while he was thus engaged, there came to him from the Dekkan four
magnificent men, brave and skilful, who had heard from the people
what was going on. Those four suitors for the hand of the princess
were received with respect by the king, and one after another they
told to him in her presence their respective acquirements.

The first said; "I am a Súdra, Panchaphuttika by name; I make every day
five splendid pairs of garments: The first of them I give to my god,
and the second to a Bráhman, the third I retain for my own wearing,
[317] the fourth I should give to my wife, if this maid here were to
become my wife, the fifth I sell, and procure myself meat and drink:
as I possess this art, let Anangarati be given to me."

When he had said this, the second man said, "I am a Vaisya, Bháshájna
by name, I know the speech of all beasts and birds; [318] so let the
princess be given to me."

When the second had said this, the third said, "I am a Kshatriya king,
by name Khadgadhara, renowned for might of arm: my equal in the art
of swordsmanship does not exist upon the earth, so bestow this maiden
on me, O king."

When the third had said this, the fourth said, "I am a Bráhman,
named Jívadatta, and I possess the following art; I can restore to
life dead creatures, and exhibit them alive; [319] so let this maiden
obtain for a husband me, who am renowned for daring exploits."

When they had thus spoken, the king Víradeva, with his daughter
by his side, seeing that they were like gods in shape and dress,
remained lost in doubt.

When the Vetála had told this story, he said to king Trivikramasena,
menacing him with the before-mentioned curse, "So tell me, king,
to which of these four ought the maiden Anangarati to be given?"

When the king heard this, he gave the Vetála the following answer;
"You are thus repeatedly making me break silence simply in order to
waste time; otherwise, master of magic, how could you possibly ask
such an absurd question? How can a woman of Kshatriya caste be given
to a Súdra weaver? Moreover, how can a Kshatriya woman be given to a
Vaisya? And as to the power of understanding the language of beasts
and birds, which he possesses, what is the practical use of it? And
as for the third, the Bráhman, who fancies himself such a hero, of
what worth is he, as he is a sorcerer, and degraded by abandoning the
duties of his caste? Accordingly the maiden should be given to the
fourth suitor, the Kshatriya Khadgadhara, who is of the same caste
and distinguished for his skill and valour."

When the Vetála heard this, he left the king's shoulder, as before,
and quickly returned by the power of his magic to his own place,
and the king again pursued him, as before, to recover him, for
despondency never penetrates into a hero's heart, that is cased in
armour of fortitude.



NOTE.

This story is found on page 498 and ff of Vol. I. It bears a close
resemblance to Tale 5, and many of the parallels there quoted are
applicable to it. In the 47th tale of the Pentamerone of Basile,
the sons boast of their accomplishments in a very similar manner.






CHAPTER LXXXIV.

(Vetála 10.)


Then Trivikramasena went and took the Vetála from the asoka-tree, and
put him on his shoulder once more, and set out; and as he was going
along, the Vetála said from the top of his shoulder, "You are weary,
king, so listen to this tale that is capable of dispelling weariness."



Story of Madanasená and her rash promise.

There was an excellent king of the name of Vírabáhu, who imposed
his orders on the heads of all kings: he had a splendid city named
Anangapura, and in it there lived a rich merchant, named Arthadatta;
that merchant prince had for elder child a son named Dhanadatta,
and his younger child was a pearl of maidens, named Madanasená.

One day, as she was playing with her companions in her own garden,
a young merchant, named Dharmadatta, a friend of her brother's,
saw her. When he saw that maiden, who with the full streams of her
beauty, her breasts like pitchers half-revealed, and three wrinkles
like waves, resembled a lake for the elephant of youth to plunge in
in sport, he was at once robbed of his senses by the arrows of love,
that fell upon him in showers. He thought to himself, "Alas, this
maiden, illuminated with this excessive beauty, has been framed by
Mára, as a keen arrow to cleave asunder my heart." While, engaged in
such reflections, he watched her long, the day passed away for him,
as if he were a chakraváka. Then Madanasená entered her house, and
grief at no longer beholding her entered the breast of Dharmadatta. And
the sun sank red into the western main, as if inflamed with the fire
of grief at seeing her no more. And the moon, that was surpassed by
the lotus of her countenance, knowing that that fair-faced one had
gone in for the night, slowly mounted upward.

In the meanwhile Dharmadatta went home, and thinking upon that
fair one, he remained tossing to and fro on his bed, smitten by
the rays of the moon. And though his friends and relations eagerly
questioned him, he gave them no answer, being bewildered by the demon
of love. And in the course of the night he at length fell asleep,
though with difficulty, and still he seemed to behold and court that
loved one in a dream; to such lengths did his longing carry him. And
in the morning he woke up, and went and saw her once more in that very
garden, alone and in privacy, waiting for her attendant. So he went
up to her, longing to embrace her, and falling at her feet, he tried
to coax her with words tender from affection. But she said to him with
great earnestness, "I am a maiden, betrothed to another, I cannot now
be yours, for my father has bestowed me on the merchant Samudradatta,
and I am to be married in a few days. So depart quietly, let not any
one see you; it might cause mischief." But Dharmadatta said to her,
"Happen what may, I cannot live without you." When the merchant's
daughter heard this, she was afraid that he would use force to her,
so she said to him, "Let my marriage first be celebrated here, let
my father reap the long-desired fruit of bestowing a daughter in
marriage; then I will certainly visit you, for your love has gained
my heart." When he heard this, he said, "I love not a woman that has
been embraced by another man; does the bee delight in a lotus on which
another bee has settled?" When he said this to her, she replied,
"Then I will visit you as soon as I am married, and afterwards I
will go to my husband." But though she made this promise, he would
not let her go without further assurance, so the merchant's daughter
confirmed the truth of her promise with an oath. Then he let her go,
and she entered her house in low spirits.

And when the lucky day had arrived, and the auspicious ceremony of
marriage had taken place, she went to her husband's house and spent
that day in merriment, and then retired with him. But she repelled her
husband's caresses with indifference, and when he began to coax her,
she burst into tears. He thought to himself, "Of a truth she cares
not for me," and said to her, "Fair one, if you do not love me, I do
not want you; go to your darling, whoever he may be." When she heard
this, she said slowly, with downcast face, "I love you more than my
life, but hear what I have to say. Rise up cheerfully, and promise
me immunity from punishment; take an oath to that effect, my husband,
in order that I may tell you."

When she said this, her husband reluctantly consented, and then she
went on to say with shame, despondency, and fear; "A young man of
the name of Dharmadatta, a friend of my brother's, saw me once alone
in our garden, and smitten with love he detained me; and when he was
preparing to use force, I being anxious to secure for my father the
merit of giving a daughter in marriage, and to avoid all scandal, made
this agreement with him; 'When I am married, I will pay you a visit,
before I go to my husband;' so I must now keep my word, permit me,
my husband; I will pay him a visit first, and then return to you,
for I cannot transgress the law of truth which I have observed from my
childhood." When Samudradatta had been thus suddenly smitten by this
speech of hers, as by a down-lighting thunderbolt, being bound by the
necessity of keeping his word, he reflected for a moment as follows;
"Alas! she is in love with another man, she must certainly go; why
should I make her break her word? Let her depart! Why should I be so
eager to have her for a wife?" After he had gone through this train
of thought, he gave her leave to go where she would; and she rose up,
and left her husband's house.

In the meanwhile the cold-rayed moon ascended the great eastern
mountain, as it were the roof of a palace, and the nymph of the
eastern quarter smiled, touched by his finger. Then, though the
darkness was still embracing his beloved herbs in the mountain caves
and the bees were settling on another cluster of kumudas, a certain
thief saw Madanasená, as she was going along alone at night, and
rushing upon her, seized her by the hem of her garment. He said to
her, "Who are you, and where are you going?" When he said this, she,
being afraid, said, "What does that matter to you? Let me go; I have
business here." Then the thief said, "How can I, who am a thief,
let you go?" Hearing that, she replied, "Take my ornaments." The
thief answered her, "What do I care for those gems, fair one? I will
not surrender you, the ornament of the world, with your face like the
moonstone, your hair black like jet, your waist like a diamond, [320]
your limbs like gold, fascinating beholders with your ruby-coloured
feet."

When the thief said this, the helpless merchant's daughter told him
her story, and entreated him as follows, "Excuse me for a moment,
that I may keep my word, and as soon as I have done that, I will
quickly return to you, if you remain here. Believe me, my good man,
I will never break this true promise of mine." When the thief heard
that, he let her go, believing that she was a woman who would keep
her word, and he remained in that very spot, waiting for her return.

She, for her part, went to that merchant Dharmadatta. And when he
saw that she had come to that wood, he asked her how it happened, and
then, though he had longed for her, he said to her, after reflecting
a moment, "I am delighted at your faithfulness to your promise;
what have I to do with you, the wife of another? So go back, as you
came, before any one sees you." When he thus let her go, she said,
"So be it," and leaving that place, she went to the thief, who was
waiting for her in the road. He said to her, "Tell me what befell
you when you arrived at the trysting-place." So she told him how
the merchant let her go. Then the thief said, "Since this is so,
then I also will let you go, being pleased with your truthfulness:
return home with your ornaments!"

So he too let her go, and went with her to guard her, and she returned
to the house of her husband, delighted at having preserved her
honour. There the chaste woman entered secretly, and went delighted
to her husband; and he, when he saw her, questioned her; so she told
him the whole story. And Samudratta, perceiving that his good wife
had kept her word without losing her honour, assumed a bright and
cheerful expression, and welcomed her as a pure-minded woman, who had
not disgraced her family, and lived happily with her ever afterwards.

When the Vetála had told this story in the cemetery to king
Trivikramasena, he went on to say to him; "So tell me, king, which
was the really generous man of those three, the two merchants and
the thief? And if you know and do not tell, your head shall split
into a hundred pieces."

When the Vetála said this, the king broke silence, and said to him,
"Of those three the thief was the only really generous man, and not
either of the two merchants. For of course her husband let her go,
though she was so lovely and he had married her; how could a gentleman
desire to keep a wife that was attached to another? And the other
resigned her because his passion was dulled by time, and he was
afraid that her husband, knowing the facts, would tell the king the
next day. But the thief, a reckless evildoer, working in the dark,
was really generous, to let go a lovely woman, ornaments and all."

When the Vetála heard that, he left the shoulder of the king, and
returned to his own place, as before, and the king, with his great
perseverance no whit dashed, again set out, as before, to bring him.



NOTE.

This story is the same as the 19th of Campbell's West Highland Tales,
The Inheritance, Vol. II, pp. 16-18. Dr. Köhler, (Orient und Occident,
Vol. II, p. 317), compares the Story in the 1,001 Nights of Sultan
Akschid and his three sons. He tells us that it is also found in the
Turkish Tales, called The Forty Vazírs, in the Turkish Tútínámah, and
in Johann Andreæ's Chymische Hochzeit Christiani Rosencreutz. The form
of it best known to the general reader is probably the 5th story in
the Xth day of Boccacio's Decameron. The tale is no doubt originally
Buddhistic, and the king's cynical remarks a later addition. Dunlop
considers that Boccacio's story gave rise to Chaucer's Frankeleyne's
Tale, the 12th Canto of the Orlando Inamorato, and Beaumont and
Fletcher's Triumph of Honour.






CHAPTER LXXXV.

(Vetála 11.)


Then king Trivikramasena again went and took that Vetála from the
asoka-tree and put him on his shoulder, and set out with him; and as
he was going along, the Vetála on his shoulder said to him; "Listen,
king; I will tell you an interesting story."



Story of king Dharmadhvaja and his three very sensitive wives.

There lived of old in Ujjayiní a king of the name of Dharmadhvaja, he
had three wives, who were all daughters of kings, and whom he held very
dear. The first of them was called Indulekhá, the second Tárávalí, and
the third Mrigánkavatí; and they were all possessed of extraordinary
personal charms. And the successful king, who had conquered all his
enemies, lived happily, amusing himself with all those three queens.

Once on a time, when the festival of the spring-season had arrived, he
went with all those three wives to the garden to amuse himself. There
he beheld the creepers weighed down with flowers, looking like
Cupid's bows, with rows of bees for strings, strung for him by the
Spring. And the king, who resembled the mighty Indra, hearing the
notes which the cuckoos uttered on the sprays of the garden-trees,
like the edict of Love, the god of enjoyment, betook himself with his
wives to wine, which is the very life of that intoxication, by which
Cupid lives. And he joyed in drinking the liquor first tasted by them,
perfumed with their sighs, red as their bimba lips.

Then, as Indulekhá was playfully pulling the hair of the king,
a blue lotus leaped from her ear, and fell on her lap. Immediately
a wound was produced on the front of her thigh by the blow, and the
delicate princess exclaimed "Oh! Oh!" and fainted. When the king and
the attendants saw that, they were distracted with grief, but they
gradually brought her round with cold water and fanning. Then the
king took her to the palace, and had a bandage applied to the wound,
and treated her with preparations made by the physicians.

And at night, seeing that she was going on well, the king retired
with the second, Tárávalí, to an apartment on the roof of the palace
exposed to the rays of the moon. There the rays of the moon, entering
through the lattice, fell on the body of the queen, who was sleeping
by the king's side, where it was exposed by her garment blowing
aside. Immediately she woke up, exclaiming, "Alas! I am burnt," and
rose up from the bed rubbing her limbs. The king woke up in a state
of alarm, crying out, "What is the meaning of this?" Then he got
up and saw that blisters had been produced on the queen's body. And
the queen Tárávalí said to him when he questioned her, "The moon's
rays falling on my exposed body have done this to me." When she said
this and burst into tears, the king, being distressed, summoned her
attendants, who ran there in trepidation and alarm. And he had made
for her a bed of lotus-leaves, sprinkled with water, and sandal-wood
lotion applied to her body.

In the meanwhile his third wife Mrigánkavatí heard of it, and left
her palace to come to him. And when she had got into the open air,
she heard distinctly, as the night was still, the sound of a pestle
pounding rice in a distant house. The moment the gazelle-eyed one
heard it, she said, "Alas I am killed," and she sat down on the path,
shaking her hands in an agony of pain. Then the girl turned back, and
was conducted by her attendants to her own chamber, where she fell on
the bed, and groaned. And when her weeping attendants examined her,
they saw that her hands were covered with bruises, and looked like
lotuses upon which black bees had settled. So they went and told the
king. The king Dharmadhvaja arrived in a state of consternation,
and asked his beloved what it all meant. Then the tortured queen
showed him her hands, and said to him, "As soon as I heard the sound
of the pestle, these became covered with bruises." Then the king,
filled with surprise and despondency, had sandal-wood unguent and
other remedies applied to her hands, in order to allay the pain.

He reflected, "One of my queens has been wounded by the fall of a
lotus, the second has had her body burned even by the rays of the
moon, and alas! the third has got such terrible bruises produced on
her hands by the mere sound of a pestle. By a dispensation of fate
the excessive delicacy, which is the distinguishing excellence of
my queens, has now become in them all, at one and the same time,
a defect." Engaged in such reflections the king wandered round the
women's apartments, and the night of three watches passed for him as
tediously as if it had consisted of a hundred watches. But the next
morning, the physician and surgeons took measures, which caused him
soon to be comforted by the recovery of his wives.

When the Vetála had told this very wonderful story, he put this
question to king Trivikramasena from his seat on his shoulder: "Tell
me, king, which was the most delicate of those queens; and the curse
I before mentioned will take effect, if you know and do not say."

When the king heard that, he answered, "The most delicate of all was
the lady upon whose hand bruises were produced by merely hearing the
sound of the pestle, without touching it. But the other two were no
match for her, because the wound of the one and the blisters of the
other were produced by contact with the lotus and the rays of the
moon respectively."

When the king had said this, the Vetála again left his shoulder,
and returned to his own place, and the persevering king again set
out to fetch him.



NOTE.

Rohde in his Griechische Novellistik, p. 62, compares with this a story
told by Timæus of a Sybarite, who saw a husbandman hoeing a field, and
contracted a rupture from it. Another Sybarite, to whom he told his
piteous tale, got ear-ache from hearing it. Oesterley in his German
translation of the Baitál Pachísí, p. 199, refers us to Lancereau,
No. 5, pp. 396-399, and Babington's Vetála Cadai, No. 11, p. 58. He
points out that Grimm, in his Kindermärchen, 3, p. 238, quotes a
similar incident from the travels of the three sons of Giaffar. Out
of four princesses, one faints because a rose-twig is thrown into
her face among some roses, a second shuts her eyes in order not to
see the statue of a man, a third says "Go away, the hairs in your
fur-cloak run into me," and the fourth covers her face, fearing that
some of the fish in a tank may belong to the male sex. He also quotes
a striking parallel from the Élite des contes du Sieur d'Ouville. Four
ladies dispute as to which of them is the most delicate. One has been
lame for three months owing to a rose-leaf having fallen on her foot,
another has had three ribs broken by a sheet in her bed having been
crumpled, a third has held her head on one side for six weeks owing
to one half of her head having three or four more hairs on it than
the other, a fourth has broken a blood-vessel by a slight movement,
and the rupture cannot be healed without breaking the whole limb.






CHAPTER LXXXVI.

(Vetála 12)


Then king Trivikramasena again went to the asoka-tree, and recovered
the Vetála, and placed him on his shoulder, and set out with him again
silently, as before. Then the Vetála again said to him from his seat
on his shoulder; "King, I love you much because you are so indomitable,
so listen, I will tell you this delightful story to amuse you."



Story of king Yasahketu, his Vidyádharí wife, and his faithful
minister.

In the land of Anga there was a young king named Yasahketu, like a
second and unburnt god of love come to earth to conceal his body. [321]
He conquered by his great valour all his enemies; and as Indra has
Vrihaspati for a minister, he had Dírghadarsin. Now, in course of
time, this king, infatuated with his youth and beauty, entrusted to
that minister his realm, from which all enemies had been eradicated,
and became devoted to pleasure only. He remained continually in the
harem instead of the judgment-hall; he listened to delightful songs
in the womens' apartments, instead of hearkening to the voice of
his well-wishers; in his thoughtlessness, he was devoted to latticed
windows and not to the affairs of his kingdom, though the latter also
were full of holes.

But the great minister Dírghadarsin continued unweariedly upholding
the burden of his kingdom's cares, day and night. And a general
rumour spread to the following effect, "Dírghadarsin has plunged in
dissipation the sovereign, who is satisfied with the mere name of king,
and so he manages now to enjoy himself all his master's power." Then
the minister Dírghadarsin said of himself to his wife Medhávatí,
"My dear, as the king is addicted to pleasure, and I do his work,
a calumny has been circulated among the people against me, to the
effect that I have devoured the realm. And a general rumour, though
false, injures even great men in this world; was not Ráma compelled
by a slanderous report to abandon his wife Sítá? So what course must I
adopt in this emergency?" When the minister said this, his firm-souled
wife Medhávatí, [322] who was rightly named, said to him; "Take leave
of the king on the pretext of a pilgrimage to holy bathing-places;
it is expedient, great-minded Sir, that you should go to a foreign
land for a certain time. So you will be seen to be free from ambition,
and the calumny against you will die out; and while you are absent,
the king will bear the burden of the kingdom himself, and then this
vicious tendency of his will gradually diminish, and when you return,
you will be able to discharge your office of minister without blame."

When Dírghadarsin's wife said this to him, he said, "I will do so," and
he went and said to the king Yasahketu in the course of conversation,
"Give me leave to depart, king, I am going on a pilgrimage for some
days, for my heart is set on that religious duty." When the king heard
that, he said, "Do not do so! Cannot you, without going on pilgrimages,
perform in your house noble religious duties, such as charity and so
on, which will procure you heaven?" When the minister heard this, he
said, "King, that purity which comes of wealth is sought by charity
and so on, but holy bathing-places have an everlasting purity. And a
wise man must visit them, while he is young; for otherwise how can he
be sure of reaching them, as this body cannot be relied on?" While
he was saying this, and the king was still trying to dissuade him,
a warder entered, and said to the king, "King, the sun is plunging
into the middle of the lake of heaven, so rise up, this is the hour
appointed for you to bathe in, and it is rapidly passing away." When
the king heard this, he immediately rose up to bathe, and the minister,
whose heart was set on pilgrimage, bowed before him, and went home
to his own house.

There he left his wife, whom he forbade to follow him, and managed
cunningly to set out in secret, without even his servants suspecting
his departure. And alone he wandered from country to country with
resolute perseverance, and visited holy bathing-places, and at last
he reached the land of Paundra. In a certain city in that country
not far from the sea, he entered a temple of Siva, and sat down
in a courtyard attached to it. There a merchant, named Nidhidatta,
who had come to worship the god, saw him exhausted with the heat of
the sun's rays, dusty with his long journey. The merchant, being a
hospitable man, seeing that the traveller, who was in such a state,
wore a Bráhmanical thread, and had auspicious marks, concluded that he
was a distinguished Bráhman, and took him home to his own house. There
he honoured him with a bath, food, and other refreshments in the most
luxurious style, and when his fatigue was removed, he said to him,
"Who are you, whence do you come, and where are you going?" And
the Bráhman gave him this reserved answer; "I am a Bráhman of
the name of Dírghadarsin; I have come here on pilgrimage from the
land of Anga." Then the merchant prince Nidhidatta said to him,
"I am about to go on a trading expedition to the Island of Gold;
so you must live in my house, until I return; and then you will have
recovered from the fatigue which you have incurred by roaming to holy
places, and you can go home." When Dírghadarsin heard that, he said,
"Why should I remain here? I will go with you, great merchant, if
you like." The good man said, "So be it," and then the minister,
who had long discarded the use of beds, spent that night in his house.

The next day he went with that merchant to the sea, and embarked on
a ship laden with his merchandise. He travelled along in that ship,
and beheld the awful and wonderful ocean, and in course of time reached
the Isle of Gold. What had a man holding the office of prime minister
to do with sea-voyages? But what will not men of honour do to prevent
their fame from being sullied? So he remained some time in that island
with that merchant Nidhidatta, who was engaged in buying and selling.

And as he was returning with him on the ship, he suddenly saw a
wave rise up, and then a wishing-tree arise out of the sea; it was
adorned with boughs glittering with gold, which were embellished with
sprays of coral, and bore lovely fruits and flowers of jewels. And
he beheld on its trunk a maiden, alluring on account of her wonderful
beauty, reclining on a gem-bestudded couch. He reflected for a moment,
"Dear me! What can this be?" And thereupon the maiden, who had a lyre
in her hand, began to sing this song, "Whatever seed of works any
man has sown in a former life, of that he, without doubt, eats the
fruit; for even fate cannot alter what has been done in a previous
state of existence." When the heavenly maiden had sung this song,
she immediately plunged into that sea, with the wishing-tree, and
the couch on which she was reclining. Then Dírghadarsin reflected,
"I have to-day seen a wonderful sight; one would never have expected
to find in the sea a tree, with a heavenly maiden singing on it,
appearing and disappearing as soon as beheld. Or rather, this admirable
treasure-house of the sea is ever the same; did not Lakshmí, and
the moon, and the Párijáta tree, and other precious things come out
of it?" But the steersman and the rest of the crew, perceiving that
Dírghadarsin was astonished and puzzled, said to him, "This lovely
woman always appears here in the same way, and sinks down again at
once; but this sight is new to you."

This is what they said to the minister, but he still continued in
a state of wonder, and so he reached in course of time on the ship,
with that Nidhidatta, the coast for which they were making. There the
merchant disembarked his wares, gladdening the hearts of his servants,
and the minister went in high spirits with him to his house, which was
full of mirth at his arrival. And after he had remained there a short
time, he said to Nidhidatta, "Merchant prince, I have long reposed
comfortably in your house, now I wish to return to my own land; I wish
you all happiness." With these words he took leave of the merchant
prince, who was sorely unwilling to let him go, and with his virtue
for his only companion he set out thence, and having in course of time
accomplished the long journey, he reached his own native land of Anga.

There the spies, who had been placed by king Yasahketu to watch for his
return, saw him coming, before he entered the city, and informed the
king; and then the king, who had been much afflicted by his absence,
went out from the city to meet him; and came up to him and welcomed him
with an embrace. Then the king conducted into the palace his minister,
who was emaciated and begrimed with his long journey, and said to him,
"Why did you leave me, bringing your mind to this cruel heartless
step, and your body into this squalid state from its being deprived of
unguents? [323] But who knows the way of the mighty god Fate, in that
you suddenly fixed your mind on pilgrimage to holy waters and other
sacred places? So tell me, what lands have you wandered through,
and what novel sights have you seen?" Then Dírghadarsin described
his journey to the Island of Gold, in all its stages, and so was
led to tell the king of that maiden, the jewel of the three worlds,
whom he had seen rise out of the sea, and sit on the wishing-tree
singing. All this he narrated exactly as it took place.

The moment the king heard all this, he fell so deeply in love with her,
that he considered his kingdom and life valueless without her. And
taking his minister aside, he said to him, "I must certainly see that
maiden, otherwise I cannot live. I will go by the way which you have
described, after worshipping Fate. And you must not dissuade, and
you must by no means follow me, for I will travel alone incognito,
and in the meanwhile you must take care of my kingdom. Do not disobey
my order, otherwise my death will lie at your door." Thus spake the
king, and refused to hear his minister's answer, and then dismissed
him to his own house to see his relations, who had long been wishing
for his return. There, in the midst of great rejoicing Dírghadarsin
remained despondent; how can good ministers be happy, when their
lord's vices are incurable?

And the next night the king Yasahketu set out, disguised as an ascetic,
having entrusted his kingdom to the care of that minister. And on the
way, as he was going along, he saw a hermit, named Kusanábha, and
he bowed before him. The hermit said to the king who was disguised
as an ascetic, "Go on your way boldly; by going to sea in a ship
with the merchant Lakshmídatta you shall obtain that maiden whom you
desire." This speech delighted the king exceedingly, and bowing again
before the hermit, he continued his journey; and after crossing many
countries, rivers, and mountains, he reached the sea, which seemed to
be full of eagerness to entertain him. Its eddies looked like eyes
expanded to gaze at him, eyes of which waves were the curved brows,
and which were white with shrill-sounding conchs for pupils. On the
shore he met the merchant Lakshmídatta spoken of by the hermit, who
was on the point of setting out for the Isle of Gold. The merchant
prostrated himself before him, when he saw the signs of his royal
birth, such as the discus-marked foot-print and so on; and the king
embarked on the ship with him, and set out with him on the sea. And
when the ship had reached the middle of the ocean, that maiden arose
from the water, seated on the trunk of the wishing-tree, and while
the king was gazing at her, as a partridge at the moonlight, she
sang a song which the accompaniment of her lyre made more charming;
"Whatever seed of works any man has sown in a former life, of that he,
without doubt, eats the fruit, for even Fate cannot alter what has
been done in a previous state of existence. So a man is helplessly
borne along to experience precisely that lot which Fate has appointed
for him, in that place and in that manner which Fate has decreed;
of this there can be no doubt." When the king heard her singing this
song, and thus setting forth the thing that must be, he was smitten
with the arrow of love, and remained for some time motionless,
gazing at her. Then he began, with bowed head, to praise the sea
in the following words, "Hail, to thee, store-house of jewels, of
unfathomable heart, since by concealing this lovely nymph thou hast
cheated Vishnu out of Lakshmí. So I throw myself on thy protection,
thou who canst not be sounded even by gods, the refuge of mountains
[324] that retain their wings; grant me to obtain my desire." While he
was uttering this, the maiden disappeared in the sea, with the tree,
and when the king saw that, he flung himself into the sea after her,
as if to cool the flames of love's fire.

When the merchant Lakshmídatta saw that unexpected sight, the good
man thought the king had perished, and was so afflicted that he
was on the point of committing suicide, but he was consoled by the
following utterance, that came from the heavens, "Do not act rashly;
he is not in danger, though he has plunged into the sea; this king,
Yasahketu by name, has come, disguised as an ascetic, to obtain this
very maiden, for she was his wife in a former state of existence, and
as soon as he has won her, he shall return to his realm of Anga." Then
the merchant continued his intended voyage, to accomplish his purposes.

But when king Yasahketu plunged into the sea, he suddenly beheld
to his astonishment a splendid city. It gleamed with palaces that
had bright pillars of precious stone, walls flashing with gold, and
latticed windows of pearl. It was adorned with gardens in which were
tanks with flights of steps composed of slabs of every kind of gem,
and wishing-trees that granted every desire. He entered house after
house in that city, which, though opulent, was uninhabited, but he
could not find his beloved anywhere. Then, as he was looking about,
he beheld a lofty jewelled palace, and going up to it he opened the
door and went in. And when he had entered it, he beheld a solitary
human form stretched out upon a gem-bestudded couch, with its whole
length covered with a shawl. Wondering whether it could be that
very lady, he uncovered its face with eager expectation, and saw his
lady-love. Her beautiful moon-like countenance smiled, when the black
robe fell from it like darkness; and she seemed like a night, illumined
with moonlight, gone to visit Pátála in the day. At sight of her the
king was in a state of ecstasy, like that which a man, travelling
through a desert in the season of heat, experiences on beholding a
river. She, for her part, opened her eyes, and when she saw that hero
of auspicious form and bodily marks thus suddenly arrived, sprang
from her couch in a state of excitement. She welcomed him, and with
downcast countenance, seemed to honour him by flinging on his feet the
full-blown lotuses of her wide-expanded eyes; and then she slowly said
to him, "Who are you, and why have you come to this inaccessible lower
region? And why, though your body is marked with the signs of royalty,
have you undertaken the vow of an ascetic? Condescend to tell me this,
distinguished Sir, if I have found favour in your sight." When the king
had heard this speech of hers, he gave her this answer; "Fair one,
I am the king of Anga, by name Yasahketu, and I heard from a friend
on whom I can rely, that you were to be seen here every day in the
sea. So I assumed this disguise, and abandoned my kingdom for your
sake, and I have come here and followed you down through the sea. So
tell me who you are." When he said this, she answered him with mixed
feelings of shame, affection, and joy; "There is a fortunate king
of the Vidyádharas named Mrigánkasena; know that I am his daughter,
Mrigánkavatí by name. That father of mine, for some reason unknown
to me, has left me alone in this city of his, and has gone somewhere
or other with his subjects. So I, feeling melancholy in my solitary
abode, rise up out of the sea on a moveable [325] wishing-tree, and
sing of the decrees of Fate." When she had said this, the brave king,
remembering the speech of the hermit, courted her so assiduously with
speeches tender with love, that she was overpowered with affection,
and promised to become his wife at once, but insisted on the following
condition; "My husband, for four days in every month, the fourteenth
and eighth of the white and black fortnights, I am not my own mistress;
[326] and whithersoever I may go on those days, you must not question
me on the subject nor forbid me, for there is a reason for it." [327]
When the heavenly maiden had stated in these words the only condition
on which she would consent to marry the king, he agreed to it, and
married her by the Gándharva form of marriage.

And one day, while the king was living happily with Mrigánkavatí, she
said to him, "You must stop here, while I go somewhere for a certain
business, for to-day is the fourteenth day of the black fortnight
of which I spoke to you. And while you are waiting here, my husband,
you must not enter this crystal pavilion, lest you should fall into a
lake there and go to the world of men." When she had said this, she
took leave of him, and went out of that city, and the king took his
sword and followed her secretly, determined to penetrate the mystery.

Then the king saw a terrible Rákshasa approaching, looking like Hades
embodied in a human shape, with his cavernous mouth, black as night,
opened wide. That Rákshasa uttered an appalling roar, and swooping
down on Mrigánkavatí, put her in his mouth and swallowed her. When
the mighty king saw that, he was at once, so to speak, on fire with
excessive anger, and rushing forward with his great sword, black as
a snake that has cast its slough, [328] drawn from the sheath, he cut
off with it the head of the charging Rákshasa, the lips of which were
firmly pressed together. Then the burning fire of the king's anger
was quenched by the stream of blood that poured forth from the trunk
of the Rákshasa, but not the fire of his grief at the loss of his
beloved. Then the king was blinded with the darkness of bewilderment,
and at a loss what to do, when suddenly Mrigánkavatí cleft asunder
the body of that Rákshasa, which was dark as a cloud, and emerged
alive and uninjured, illuminating all the horizon like a spotless
moon. When the king saw his beloved thus delivered from danger, he
rushed eagerly forward and embraced her, exclaiming, "Come! Come!" And
he said to her, "My beloved, what does all this mean? Is it a dream
or a delusion?" When the king asked the Vidyádharí this question,
she remembered the truth, and said: "Listen, my husband! This is no
delusion, nor is it a dream; but such was the curse imposed upon me
by my father, a king of the Vidyádharas. For my father, who formerly
lived in this city, though he had many sons, was so fond of me, that
he would never take food when I was not present. But I, being devoted
to the worship of Siva, used always to come to this uninhabited place
on the fourteenth and eighth days of the two fortnights.

"And one fourteenth day I came here and worshipped Gaurí for a long
time; and, as fate would have it, so ardent was my devotion that the
day came to an end before my worship was finished. That day my father
ate nothing and drank nothing, though he was hungry and thirsty, as
he waited for me, but he was very angry with me. And when I returned
in the evening with downcast countenance, conscious of my fault, his
love for me was so completely overpowered by the force of Destiny,
that he cursed me in the following words; 'As owing to your arrogance
I was devoured to-day by hunger, so on the eighth and fourteenth
days of the two fortnights of every month, and on those days only,
a Rákshasa named Kritántasantrása shall swallow you, when you go to
that place outside the city to worship Siva; and on every occasion
you shall make your way through his heart and come out alive. But
you shall not remember the curse, nor the pain of being swallowed;
and you shall remain alone here.' [329] When my father had uttered
this curse, I managed gradually to propitiate him, and after thinking
a little he appointed this termination to my curse; 'When a king named
Yasahketu, lord of the land of Anga, shall become your husband, and
shall see you swallowed by the Rákshasa, and shall slay him, then you
shall issue from his heart, and shall be delivered from your curse,
and you shall call to mind your curse and the other circumstances,
and all your supernatural sciences.'

"When he had appointed this end of my curse, he left me alone here,
and went with his retinue to the mountain of Nishada in the world of
men. And I remained here, thus engaged, bewildered by the curse. But
that curse has now come to an end, and I remember all. So I will
immediately go to my father on the Nishada mountain; the law, that
governs us celestial beings, is, that when our curse is at an end we
return to our own place. You are perfectly free to remain here or go to
your kingdom, as you like." When she had said this, the king was sorry,
and he made this request to her; "Fair one, do me the favour not to go
for seven days. Let us in the meanwhile cheat the pain of parting by
amusing ourselves here in the garden. After that you shall go to your
father's abode, and I will return to mine." When he made this proposal,
the fair one agreed to it. Then the king diverted himself with her for
six days in the gardens, and in tanks, the lotus-eyes of which were
full of tears, and that seemed to toss aloft their waves like hands,
and in the cries of their swans and cranes to utter this plaintive
appeal, "Do not leave us!" And on the seventh day he artfully decoyed
his darling to that pavilion, where was the tank that served as a
magic gate [330] conducting to the world of men; and throwing his arms
round her neck, he plunged into that tank, and rose up with her from a
tank in the garden of his own city. When the gardeners saw that he had
arrived with his beloved, they were delighted, and they went and told
his minister Dírghadarsin. And the minister came and fell at his feet,
and seeing that he had brought with him the lady of his aspirations,
he and the citizens escorted him into the palace. And he thought to
himself, "Dear me! I wonder how the king has managed to obtain this
celestial nymph, of whom I caught a transient glimpse in the ocean,
as one sees in the heaven a lightning-flash. But the fact is, whatever
lot is written for a man by the Disposer in the inscription on his
forehead, infallibly befalls him, however improbable."

Such were the reflections of the prime minister; while the rest
of his subjects were full of joy at the return of the king,
and of astonishment at his having won the celestial nymph. But
Mrigánkavatí, seeing that the king had returned to his own kingdom,
longed, as the seven days were completed, to return to the home of
the Vidyádharas. But the science of flying up into the air did not
appear to her, though she called it to mind. Then she felt as one
robbed of a treasure, and was in the deepest despondency. And the
king said to her, "Why do you suddenly appear despondent, tell me,
my darling?" Then the Vidyádharí answered him, "Because I remained so
long, after I had been released from my curse, out of love for you,
my science has abandoned me, and I have lost the power of returning
to my heavenly home." When king Yasahketu heard this, he said, "Ha! I
have now won this Vidyádharí," and so his rejoicing was complete.

When the minister Dírghadarsin saw this, he went home, and at night,
when he was in bed, he suddenly died of a broken heart. And Yasahketu,
after he had mourned for him, remained long bearing the burden of
empire himself, with Mrigánkavatí for his consort.

When the Vetála, seated on the shoulder of king Trivikramasena, had
told him this story on the way, he went on to say to him, "So tell
me, king; why did the heart of that great minister suddenly break,
when his master had thus succeeded so completely? Did his heart break
through grief at not having won the nymph himself? Or was it because
he longed for the sovereign power, and thus was disappointed at the
king's return? And if you know this, king, and do not tell me on the
spot, your merit will at once disappear, and your head will fly in
pieces." When king Trivikramasena heard that, he said to the Vetála;
"Neither of these two feelings actuated that excellent and virtuous
minister. But he said to himself; 'This king neglected his kingdom
out of devotion to mere human females, much more will he do so now,
that he is attached to a heavenly nymph. So, though I have gone through
much suffering, the disease has been aggravated by it, instead of being
cured, as I had hoped.' It was under the influence of such reflections
that the minister's heart broke." When the king had said this, that
juggling Vetála returned to his own place, and the resolute king ran
swiftly after him, to bring him back again by force.






CHAPTER LXXXVII.

(Vetála 13.)


Then the king went back to the asoka-tree, [331] and taking the
Vetála from it, placed him on his shoulder, and brought him along,
and as he was going along with him, the Vetála again said to the king,
"Listen, king, I will tell you a short story."



The story of Harisvámin, who first lost his wife, and then his life.

There is a city of the name of Váránasí, the abode of Siva. In it there
lived a Bráhman, named Devasvámin, honoured by the king. And that
rich Bráhman had a son named Harisvámin; and he had an exceedingly
lovely wife, named Lávanyavatí. I think the Disposer must have made
her after he had acquired skill by making Tilottamá and the other
nymphs of heaven, for she was of priceless beauty and loveliness.

Now, one night Harisvámin fell asleep, as he was reposing with her
in a palace cool with the rays of the moon. At that very moment a
Vidyádhara prince, by name Madanavega, roaming about at will, came
that way through the air. He saw that Lávanyavatí sleeping by the side
of her husband, and her robe, that had slipped aside, revealed her
exquisitely moulded limbs. His heart was captivated by her beauty;
and blinded by love, he immediately swooped down, and taking her up
in his arms asleep, flew off with her through the air.

Immediately her husband, the young man Harisvámin, woke up, and not
seeing his beloved, he rose up in a state of distraction. He said
to himself, "What can this mean? Where has she gone? I wonder if
she is angry with me. Or has she hidden herself to find out my real
feelings, and is making fun of me?" Distracted by many surmises of
this kind, he wandered hither and thither that night, looking for
her on the roof, and in the turrets of the palace. He even searched
in the palace-garden, and when he could not find her anywhere, being
scorched with the fire of grief, he sobbed and lamented, "Alas! my
beloved with face like the moon's orb, fair as the moonlight; did
this night grudge your existence, hating your charms that rival
hers [332]? That very moon, that, vanquished by your beauty, seemed
to be in fear, and comforted me with its rays cool as sandalwood,
now that I am bereaved of you, seems to have seen its opportunity,
and smites me with them, as if with burning coals, or arrows dipped
in poison." While Harisvámin was uttering these laments, the night
at last slowly passed away, not so his grief at his bereavement.

The next morning the sun dispelled with his rays the deep darkness
that covered the world, but could not dispel the dense darkness
of despondency that had settled on him. The sound of his bitter
lamentations, that seemed to have been reinforced by wailing power
bestowed on him by the chakravákas, whose period of separation was
at an end with the night, was magnified a hundredfold. The young
Bráhman, though his relations tried to comfort him, could not recover
his self-command, now that he was bereaved of his beloved, but was
all inflamed with the fire of separation. And he went from place
to place, exclaiming with tears, "Here she stood, here she bathed,
here she adorned herself, and here she amused herself."

But his friends and relations said to him, "She is not dead, so why
do you kill yourself? If you remain alive, you will certainly recover
her somewhere or other. So adopt a resolute tone, and go in search
of your beloved; there is nothing in this world that a resolute man,
who exerts himself, cannot obtain." When Harisvámin had been exhorted
in these terms by his friends and relations, he managed at last,
after some days, to recover his spirits by the aid of hope. And he
said to himself, "I will give away all that I have to the Bráhmans,
and visit all the holy waters, and wash away all my sins. For if
I wipe out my sin, I may perhaps, in the course of my wanderings,
find that beloved of mine." After going through these reflections
suitable to the occasion, he got up and bathed, and performed all his
customary avocations, and the next day he bestowed on the Bráhmans
at a solemn sacrifice various meats and drinks, and gave away to them
all his wealth without stint.

Then he left his country, with his Bráhman birth as his only fortune,
and proceeded to go round to all the holy bathing-places in order to
recover his beloved. And as he was roaming about, there came upon him
the terrible lion of the hot season, with the blazing sun for mouth,
and with a mane composed of his fiery rays. And the winds blew with
excessive heat, as if warmed by the breath of sighs furnaced forth
by travellers grieved at being separated from their wives. And the
tanks, with their supply of water diminished by the heat, and their
drying white mud, appeared to be shewing their broken hearts. And
the trees by the roadside seemed to lament [333] on account of the
departure of the glory of spring, making their wailing heard in the
shrill moaning of their bark, [334] with leaves, as it were lips,
parched with heat. At that season Harisvámin, wearied out with the
heat of the sun, with bereavement, hunger and thirst, and continual
travelling, disfigured, [335] emaciated and dirty, and pining for
food, reached in the course of his wanderings, a certain village,
and found in it the house of a Bráhman called Padmanábha, who was
engaged in a sacrifice. And seeing that many Bráhmans were eating
in his house, he stood leaning against the door-post, silent and
motionless. And the good wife of that Bráhman named Padmanábha, seeing
him in this position, felt pity for him, and reflected; "Alas! mighty
is hunger! Whom will it not bring down? For here stands a man at the
door, who appears to be a householder, desiring food, with downcast
countenance; evidently come from a long journey, and with all his
senses impaired by hunger. So is not he a man to whom food ought to
be given?" Having gone through these reflections, the kind woman took
up in her hands a vessel full of rice boiled in milk, with ghee and
sugar, and brought it, and courteously presented it to him, and said;
"Go and eat this somewhere on the bank of the lake, for this place
is unfit to eat in, as it is filled with feasting Bráhmans."

He said, "I will do so," and took the vessel of rice, and placed it
at no great distance under a banyan-tree on the edge of the lake;
and he washed his hands and feet in the lake, and rinsed his mouth,
and then came back in high spirits to eat the rice. But while he was
thus engaged, a kite, holding a black cobra with its beak and claws,
came from some place or other, and sat on that tree. And it so happened
that poisonous saliva issued from the mouth of that dead snake, which
the bird had captured and was carrying along. The saliva fell into
the dish of rice which was placed underneath the tree, and Harisvámin,
without observing it, came and ate up that rice. [336] As soon as in
his hunger he had devoured all that food, he began to suffer terrible
agonies produced by the poison. He exclaimed, "When fate has turned
against a man, everything in this world turns also; accordingly this
rice dressed with milk, ghee and sugar, has become poison to me."

Thus speaking, Harisvámin, tortured with the poison, tottered to
the house of that Bráhman, who was engaged in the sacrifice, and
said to his wife; "The rice, which you gave me, has poisoned me;
so fetch me quickly a charmer who can counteract the operation of
poison; otherwise you will be guilty of the death of a Bráhman." When
Harisvámin had said this to the good woman, who was beside herself
to think what it could all mean, his eyes closed, and he died.

Accordingly the Bráhman, who was engaged in a sacrifice, drove out
of his house his wife, though she was innocent and hospitable, being
enraged with her for the supposed murder of her guest. The good woman,
for her part, having incurred groundless blame from her charitable
deed, and so become branded with infamy, went to a holy bathing-place
to perform penance.

Then there was a discussion before the superintendent of religion,
as to which of the four parties, the kite, the snake, and the couple
who gave the rice, were guilty of the murder of a Bráhman, but the
question was not decided. [337]

"Now you, king Trivikramasena, must tell me, which was guilty of
the murder of a Bráhman; and if you do not, you will incur the
before-mentioned curse."

When the king heard this from the Vetála, he was forced by the curse
to break silence, and he said, "No one of them could be guilty of
the crime; certainly not the serpent, for how could he be guilty
of anything, when he was the helpless prey of his enemy, who was
devouring him? To come to the kite; what offence did he commit in
bringing his natural food which he had happened to find, and eating
it, when he was hungry? And how could either of the couple, that
gave the food, be in fault, since they were both people exclusively
devoted to righteousness, not likely to commit a crime? Therefore
I think the guilt of slaying a Bráhman would attach to any person,
who should be so foolish as, for want of sufficient reflection,
to attribute it to either of them."

When the king had said this, the Vetála again left his shoulder,
and went to his own place, and the resolute king again followed him.






CHAPTER LXXXVIII.

(Vetála 14.)


Then king Trivikramasena went to the asoka-tree, and again got hold of
the Vetála, and took him on his shoulder; and when the king had set
out, the Vetála again said to him, "King, you are tired; so listen,
I will tell you an interesting tale.



Story of the Merchant's daughter who fell in love with a thief.

There is a city of the name of Ayodhyá, which was the capital of
Vishnu, when he was incarnate as Ráma, the destroyer of the Rákshasa
race. In it there lived a mighty king, of the name of Víraketu,
who defended this earth, as a rampart defends a city. During the
reign of that king there lived in that city a great merchant, named
Ratnadatta, who was the head of the mercantile community. And there
was born to him, by his wife Nandayantí, a daughter named Ratnavatí,
who was obtained by propitiating the deities. And that intelligent
girl grew up in her father's house, and as her body grew, her innate
qualities of beauty, gracefulness, and modesty developed also. And
when she attained womanhood, not only great merchants, but even kings
asked her in marriage from her father. But she disliked the male sex so
much that she did not desire even Indra for a husband, and would not
even hear of marriage, being determined to die, sooner than consent
to it. That made her father secretly sorrow much, on account of his
affection for her, and the report of her conduct spread all over the
city of Ayodhyá.

At that time all the citizens were continually being plundered by
thieves, so they assembled together, and made this complaint to king
Víraketu; "Your Majesty, we are continually being robbed by thieves
every night, and we cannot detect them, so let your Highness take the
necessary steps." When the king had received this petition from the
citizens, he stationed watchmen in plain clothes all round the city,
in order to try and discover the thieves.

But they could not find them out, and the city went on being robbed;
so one night the king himself went out to watch; and as he was roaming
about armed, he saw in a certain part of the town a single individual
going along the rampart. He shewed great dexterity in his movements,
as he made his footfall perfectly noiseless, and he often looked
behind him with eyes anxiously rolling. The king said to himself,
"Without doubt this is the thief, who sallies out by himself and
plunders my city;" so he went up to him. Then the thief, seeing the
king, said to him, "Who are you," and the king answered him, "I am a
thief." Then the thief said, "Bravo! you are my friend, as you belong
to the same profession as myself; so come to my house, I will entertain
you." When the king heard that, he consented, and went with him to
his dwelling, which was in an underground cavern in a forest. It was
luxuriously and magnificently furnished, illuminated by blazing lamps,
and looked like a second Pátála, not governed by king Bali.

When the king had entered, and had taken a seat, the robber went
into the inner rooms of his cave-dwelling. At that moment a female
slave came and said to the king, "Great Sir, how came you to enter
this mouth of death? This man is a notable thief; no doubt, when he
comes out from those rooms, he will do you some injury: I assure you,
he is treacherous; so leave this place at once." When the king heard
this, he left the place at once, and went to his own palace and got
ready his forces that very night.

And when his army was ready for battle, he came and blockaded the
entrance of that robber's cave with his troops, who sounded all their
martial instruments. [338] Then the brave robber, as his hold was
blockaded, knew that his secret had been discovered, and he rushed
out to fight, determined to die. And when he came out, he displayed
superhuman prowess in battle; alone, armed with sword and shield, he
cut off the trunks of elephants, he slashed off the legs of horses,
and lopped off the heads of soldiers. When he had made this havoc among
the soldiers, the king himself attacked him. And the king, who was
a skilful swordsman, by a dexterous trick of fence forced his sword
from his hand, and then the dagger which he drew; and as he was now
disarmed, the king threw away his own weapon, and grappling with him,
flung him on the earth, and captured him alive. And he brought him
back as a prisoner to his own capital, with all his wealth. And he
gave orders that he should be put to death by impalement next morning.

Now, when that robber was being conducted with beat of drum to the
place of execution, that merchant's daughter Ratnavatí saw him from her
palace. Though he was wounded, and his body was begrimed with dust, she
was distracted with love as soon as she saw him, so she went and said
to her father Ratnadatta, "I select as my husband this man here, who is
being led off to execution, so ransom him from the king, my father; if
you will not, I shall follow him to the other world." When her father
heard this he said, "My daughter, what is this that you say? Before
you would not accept suitors endowed with all virtues, equal to the
god of love. How comes it that you are now in love with an infamous
brigand chief?" Though her father used this argument, and others of
the same kind with her, she remained fixed in her determination. Then
the merchant went quickly to the king, and offered him all his wealth,
if he would grant the robber his life. But the king would not make
over to him, even for hundreds of crores of gold pieces, that thief
who had robbed on such a gigantic scale, and whom he had captured at
the risk of his own life. Then the father returned disappointed, and
his daughter made up her mind to follow the thief to the other world,
though her relations tried to dissuade her; so she bathed, and got
into a palanquin, and went to the spot where his execution was taking
place, followed by her father and mother and the people, all weeping.

In the meanwhile the robber had been impaled by the executioners, and
as his life was ebbing away on the stake, he saw her coming there with
her kinsfolk. And when he heard the whole story from the people, he
wept for a moment, and then he laughed a little, and then died on the
stake. Then the merchant's virtuous daughter had the thief's body taken
down from the stake, and she ascended the funeral pyre with it. [339]

And at that very moment the holy Siva, who was invisibly present
in the cemetery, spake from the air, "Faithful wife, I am pleased
with thy devotedness to thy self-chosen husband, so crave a boon of
me." When she heard that, she worshipped and prayed the god of gods
to grant her the following boon, "Lord, may my father, who has now
no sons, have a hundred, for otherwise, as he has no children but me,
he would abandon his life." [340] When the good woman had said this,
the god once more spake to her, saving, "Let thy father have a hundred
sons! choose another boon; for such a steadfastly good woman, as thou
art, deserves something more than this."

When she heard this, she said, "If the Lord is pleased with me, then
let this husband of mine rise up alive, and be henceforth a well
conducted man!" Thereupon Siva, invisible in the air, uttered these
words, "Be it so; let thy husband rise up alive, and lead henceforth
a life of virtue, and let king Víraketu be pleased with him!" And
immediately the robber rose up alive with unwounded limbs.

Then the merchant Ratnadatta was delighted, and astonished at the same
time; and with his daughter Ratnavatí and the bandit his son-in-law,
and his delighted relations, he entered his own palace, and as he had
obtained from the god the promise of sons, he held a feast suitable
to his own joy on the occasion. And when king Víraketu heard what had
taken place, he was pleased, and he immediately summoned that heroic
thief, and made him commander of his army. And thereupon the heroic
thief gave up his dishonest life, and married the merchant's daughter,
and led a respectable life, honoured by the king.

When the Vetála, seated on the shoulder of king Trivikramasena,
had told him this tale, he asked him the following question,
menacing him with the before-mentioned curse; "Tell me, king, why
that thief, when impaled, first wept and then laughed, when he saw
the merchant's daughter come with her father." Then the king said;
"He wept for sorrow that he had not been able to repay the merchant for
his gratuitous kindness to him; and he laughed out of astonishment,
as he said to himself, 'What! has this maiden, after rejecting kings
who asked for her hand, fallen in love with me? In truth a woman's
heart is an intricate labyrinth.'" When the king had said this, the
mighty Vetála, by means of the magic power which he possessed, again
left the king's shoulder and returned to his station on the tree,
and the king once more went to fetch him.






CHAPTER LXXXIX.

(Vetála 15.)


Then king Trivikramasena again went back to the asoka-tree and took
the Vetála from it, and set out with him once more; and as the king
was going along, the Vetála, perched on his shoulder, said to him;
"Listen, king, I will tell you another story."



Story of the magic globule.

There was in the kingdom of Nepála a city named Sivapura, and in it
there lived of old time a king rightly named Yasahketu. He devolved
upon his minister, named Prajnáságara, the burden of his kingdom,
and enjoyed himself in the society of his queen Chandraprabhá. And in
course of time that king had born to him, by that queen, a daughter
named Sasiprabhá, bright as the moon, the eye of the world.

Now in course of time she grew up to womanhood, and one day, in the
month of spring, she went to a garden, with her attendants, to witness
a festive procession. And in a certain part of that garden a Bráhman,
of the name of Manahsvámin, the son of a rich man, who had come to
see the procession, beheld her engaged in gathering flowers, raising
her lithe arm, and displaying her graceful shape; and she looked
charming when the grasp of her thumb and forefinger on the stalks of
the flowers relaxed. When the young man Manahsvámin saw her, she at
once robbed him of his heart, and he was bewildered by love and no
longer master of his feelings. [341] He said to himself, "Can this
be Rati come in person to gather the flowers accumulated by spring,
in order to make arrows for the god of love? Or is it the presiding
goddess of the wood, come to worship the spring?" While he was making
these surmises, the princess caught sight of him. And as soon as
she saw him, looking like a second god of love created with a body,
she forgot her flowers, and her limbs, and her own personal identity.

While those two were thus overpowered by the passion of mutual love at
first sight, a loud shout of alarm was raised, and they both looked
with uplifted heads to see what it could mean. Then there came that
way an elephant, rushing along with its elephant-hook hanging down,
that driven furious by perceiving the smell of another elephant,
[342] had broken its fastenings, and rushed out in a state of frenzy,
breaking down the trees in its path, and had thrown its driver. The
princess's attendants dispersed in terror, but Manahsvámin eagerly
rushed forward, and took her up alone in his arms, and while she
clung timidly to him, bewildered with fear, love, and shame, carried
her to a distance, out of reach of the elephant. Then her attendants
came up and praised that noble Bráhman, and conducted her back to her
palace. But as she went, she frequently turned round to look at her
deliverer. There she remained, thinking regretfully of that man who had
saved her life, consumed day and night by the smouldering fire of love.

And Manahsvámin then left that garden, and seeing that the princess
had entered her private apartments, he said to himself, in regretful
longing, "I cannot remain without her, nay I cannot live without her:
so my only resource in this difficulty is the cunning Múladeva, who
is a master of magic arts." Having thus reflected, he managed to get
through that day, and the next morning he went to visit that master of
magic, Múladeva. And he saw that master, who was ever in the company
of his friend Sasin, full of many marvellous magic ways, like the sky
come down to earth in human shape. [343] And he humbly saluted him,
and told him his desire; then the master laughed, and promised to
accomplish it for him. Then that matchless deceiver Múladeva placed a
magic globule [344] in his mouth, and transformed himself into an aged
Bráhman; and he gave the Bráhman Manahsvámin a second globule to put
in his mouth, and so made him assume the appearance of a beautiful
maiden. And that prince of villains took him in this disguise to
the judgment-hall of the king, the father of his lady-love, and said
to him,"O king, I have only one son, and I asked for a maiden to be
given him to wife, and brought her from a long distance; but now he
has gone somewhere or other, and I am going to look for him; so keep
this maiden safe for me until I bring back my son, for you keep safe
under your protection the whole world." [345] When king Yasahketu
heard this petition, he granted it, fearing a curse if he did not,
and summoned his daughter Sasiprabhá, and said to her; "Daughter,
keep this maiden in your palace, and let her sleep and take her meals
with you." The princess agreed, and took Manahsvámin transformed
into a maiden to her own private apartments; and then Múladeva,
who had assumed the form of a Bráhman, went where he pleased, and
Manahsvámin remained in the form of a maiden with his beloved. [346]

And in a few days the princess became quite fond of and intimate
with her new attendant; so, one night when she was pining at being
separated from the object of her affections, and tossing on her couch,
Manahsvámin, who was on a bed near her, concealed under a female shape,
said secretly to her, "My dear Sa[s']iprabhá, why are you pale of hue,
and why do you grow thinner every day, and sorrow as one separated
from the side of her beloved? Tell me, for why should you distrust
loving modest attendants? From this time forth I will take no food
until you tell me."

When the princess heard this, she sighed, and slowly told the following
tale; "Why should I distrust you of all people? Listen, friend, I
will tell you the cause. Once on a time I went to a spring garden to
see a procession, and there I beheld a handsome young Bráhman, who
seemed like the month of spring, having the loveliness of the moon
free from dew, kindling love at sight, adorning the grove with play
of light. And while my eager eyes, drinking in the nectarous rays of
the moon of his countenance, began to emulate the partridge, there
came there a mighty elephant broken loose from its bonds, roaring
and distilling its ichor like rain, looking like a black rain-cloud
appearing out of season. My attendants dispersed terrified at that
elephant, but when I was bewildered with fear, that young Bráhman
caught me up in his arms and carried me to a distance. Then contact
with his body made me feel as if I were anointed with sandal-wood
ointment, and bedewed with ambrosia, and I was in a state which I
cannot describe. And in a moment my attendants re-assembled, and I was
brought back reluctant to this my palace, and seemed to myself to have
been cast down to earth from heaven. From that time forth I have often
interviews in reveries with my beloved, that rescued me from death,
and even when awake I seem to see him at my side. And when asleep I
see him in dreams, coaxing me and dispelling my reserve with kisses
and caresses. But, ill-fated wretch that I am, I cannot obtain him,
for I am baffled by ignorance of his name and other particulars about
him. So I am consumed, as you see, by the fire of separation from
the lord of my life."

When Manahsvámin's ears had been filled with the nectar of this
speech of the princess's, that Bráhman, who was present there in
female form, rejoiced, and considered that his object was attained,
and that the time had come for revealing himself, so he took out
the globule from his mouth, and displayed himself in his true form,
and said; "Rolling-eyed one, I am that very Bráhman, whom you bought
with a look in the garden, and made your slave in the truest sense of
the word. And from the immediate interruption of our acquaintance I
derived that sorrow, of which the final result was my taking, as you
see, the form of a maiden. Therefore, fair one, grant that the sorrow
of separation, which both of us have endured, may not have been borne
in vain, for Cupid cannot endure beyond this point." When the princess
suddenly beheld her beloved in front of her, and heard him utter these
words, she was at once filled with love, astonishment, and shame. So
they eagerly went through the Gándharva ceremony of marriage. Then
Manahsvámin lived happily in the palace, under two shapes; keeping
the globule in his mouth during the day and so wearing a female shape,
but at night taking it out, and assuming the form of a man.

Now, as days went on, the brother-in-law of king Yasahketu, named
Mrigánkadatta, gave his own daughter, named Mrigánkavatí, in marriage
to a young Bráhman, the son of the minister Prajnáságara: and with
her he bestowed much wealth. And the princess Sasiprabhá was invited,
on the occasion of her cousin's marriage, to her uncle's house,
and went there accompanied by her ladies-in-waiting. And among them
went the young Bráhman, Manahsvámin, wearing the attractive form of
a young maiden of exquisite beauty.

Then that minister's son beheld him disguised in female form, and
was deeply pierced with the shafts of the archer Love. And when he
went to his house, accompanied by his bride, it seemed to him to be
empty; for he was robbed of his heart by that seeming maiden. Then
he continued to think of nothing but the beauty of that supposed
maiden's face, and bitten by the great snake of fierce passion, he
suddenly became distracted. The people, who were there, ceased from
their rejoicing, and in their bewilderment asked what it meant, and
his father Prajnáságara, hearing of it, came to him in haste. And
when his father tried to comfort him, he woke up from his stupor
and uttered what was in his mind, babbling deliriously. And that
father of his was very much troubled, as he thought that the matter
was one altogether beyond his power. Then the king heard of it,
and came there in person. And he at once saw that the minister's son
had been in a moment reduced by strong passion to the seventh [347]
stage of love-sickness; so he said to his ministers; "How can I give
him a maiden whom a Bráhman left in my care? And yet, if he does not
obtain her, he will without doubt reach the last stage. If he dies,
his father, who is my minister, will perish; and if he perishes,
my kingdom is ruined, so tell me what I am to do in this matter."

When the king said this, all those ministers said, "They say that
the special virtue of a king is the protection of the virtue of his
subjects. Now the root of this protection is counsel, and counsel
resides in counsellors. If the counsellor perishes, protection
perishes in its root, and virtue is certain to be impaired. [348]
Moreover guilt would be incurred by causing the death of this Bráhman
minister and his son, so you must avoid doing that, otherwise there
is a great chance of your infringing the law of virtue. Accordingly
you must certainly give to the minister's son the maiden committed to
your care by the first Bráhman, and if he returns after the lapse of
some time, and is angry, steps can then be taken to put matters right."

When the ministers said this to the king, he agreed to give that man,
who was palming himself off as a maiden, to the minister's son. And
after fixing an auspicious moment, he brought Manahsvámin, in female
form, from the palace of the princess; and he said to the king; "If,
king, you are determined to give me, whom another committed to your
care, to a person other than him for whom I was intended, I must,
I suppose, acquiesce; you are a king, and justice and injustice
are matters familiar to you. But I consent to the marriage on this
condition only, that I am not to be considered as a wife until my
husband has spent six months in visiting holy bathing-places, and
returns home; if this condition is not agreed to, know that I will
bite my own tongue in two, and so commit suicide."

When the young man, disguised in female form, had prescribed this
condition, the king informed the minister's son of it, and he was
consoled, and accepted the terms; and he quickly went through the
ceremony of marriage, and placed in one house Mrigánkavatí his
first wife, and his second supposed wife, carefully guarded, and,
like a fool, went on a pilgrimage to holy bathing-places, to please
the object of his affections.

And Manahsvámin, in female form, dwelt in the same house with
Mrigánkavatí, as the partner of her bed and board. And one night, while
he was living there in this way, Mrigánkavatí said to him secretly
in the bed-chamber, while their attendants were sleeping outside,
"My friend, I cannot sleep, tell me some tale." When the young man,
disguised in female form, heard this, he told her the story, how in
old time a royal sage, named Ida, of the race of the sun, assumed,
in consequence of the curse of Gaurí, a female form that fascinated
the whole world, and how he and Budha fell in love with one another
at first sight, meeting one another in a shrubbery in the grounds of
a temple, and were there united, and how Purúravas was the fruit of
that union. When the artful creature had told this story, he went on
to say, "So by the fiat of a deity or by charms and drugs, a man may
sometimes become a woman, and vice versâ, and in this way even great
ones do sometimes unite impelled by love."

When the tender fair one, who regretted her husband, who had left her
as soon as the marriage had taken place, heard this, she said to her
supposed rival, in whom she had come to confide by living with her,
"This story makes my body tremble and my heart, as it were, sink;
so tell me friend, what is the meaning of this." When the Bráhman,
disguised in female form, heard this, he went on to say, "My friend,
these are violent symptoms of love; I have felt them myself, I will
not conceal it from you." When she said this, Mrigánkavatí went on
slowly to say, "Friend, I love you as my life, so why should I not
say what I think it is time to reveal? Could any one by any artifice
be introduced into this palace?" When the pupil of that master-rogue
heard this, he took her meaning and said to her, "If this is the state
of affairs, then I have something to tell you. I have a boon from
Vishnu, by which I can at pleasure become a man during the night, so I
will now become one for your sake." So he took the globule out of his
mouth, and displayed himself to her as a handsome man in the prime of
youth. And so the Bráhman lived with the wife of the minister's son,
becoming a woman in the day, and resuming his male form at night. But
hearing in a few days that the son of the minister was on the point
of returning, he took the precaution of eloping with her from that
house during the night.

At this point in the story, it happened that his teacher, Múladeva,
heard all the circumstances; so he again assumed the form of an old
Bráhman, and accompanied by his friend Sasin, who had assumed the form
of a young Bráhman, he went and respectfully said to king Yasahketu,
"I have brought back my son; so give me my daughter-in-law." Then
the king, who was afraid of being cursed, deliberated and said to
him; "Bráhman, I do not know where your daughter-in-law has gone,
so forgive me; as I am in fault, I will give you my own daughter
for your son." When the king had said this to that prince of rogues,
disguised in the form of an old Bráhman, who asserted his false claim
with the sternness of assumed anger, he gave his daughter with all
due ceremonies to his friend Sasin, who pretended to be the supposed
Bráhman's son. Then Múladeva took the bride and bridegroom, who had
been thus united, off to his own home, without showing any desire
for the king's wealth.

And there Manahsvámin met them, and a fierce dispute took place between
him and Sasin in the presence of that Múladeva. Manahsvámin said,
"This Sasiprabhá should be given to me, for long ago, when she was
a maiden, I married her by the favour of the master." Sasin said,
"You fool, what have you to do with her? she is my wife, for her
father bestowed her on me in the presence of the fire." So they
went on wrangling about the princess, whom they had got hold of by
means of magic, and their dispute was never decided. So tell me,
king, to which of the two does that wife belong? Resolve my doubt;
the conditions of non-compliance are those which I mentioned before."

When king Trivikramasena was thus addressed by the Vetála on his
shoulder, he gave him this answer: "I consider that the princess is the
lawful wife of Sasin, since she was openly given to him by her father
in the lawful way. But Manahsvámin married her in an underhand way,
like a thief, by the Gándharva rite; and a thief has no lawful title
to the possessions of another."

When the Vetála heard this answer of the king's, he quickly left
his shoulder, and went back to his own place, and the king hurried
after him.



NOTE.

Oesterley tells us that in the Turkish Tútínámah (Rosen, II, p. 178,)
a sorceress takes the place of Múladeva. She gives the young man a
small seal in place of the pill or globule. He is then married to a
son of the king's. Then the young man escapes with the princess, who in
the day keeps the seal in her mouth and so appears as a man; then the
sorceress goes in the form of a Bráhman to the king, who has to give
her 10,000 gold pieces as he cannot give back her daughter. The story
is No. 23 in the Persian Tútínámah, Iken, p. 97. Oesterley refers also
to the story in the 7th Chapter of the Kathá Sarit Ságara; (Oesterley's
Baitál Pachísí, pages 203-205). The tale in one way resembles the Greek
fable of Cæneus, and also that of Tiresias. The story of Iphis and
Ianthe is perhaps still more apposite. According to Sir Thomas Brown,
(Vulgar Errors, Book III, ch. 17) hares are supposed by some to be both
male and female. He mentions Tiresias and Empedocles as instances of
"transexion." Benfey gives a number of stories of this kind in the
1st Volume of his Panchatantra, pp. 41-52. He traces them all back
to a tendency of the Indo-Germanic race to look upon their deities
as belonging to both sexes at once.






CHAPTER XC.

(Vetála 16.)


Then king Trivikramasena went back to the asoka-tree, and again took
the Vetála from it, and set out with him on his shoulder; and as
he was returning from the tree, the Vetála once more said to him,
"Listen, king, I will tell you a noble story."



Story of Jímútaváhana. [349]

There is in this earth a great mountain named Himavat, where all
jewels are found, which is the origin of both Gaurí and Gangá, the
two goddesses dear to Siva. Even heroes cannot reach its top; [350]
it towers proudly above all other mountains; and as such its praises
are sung in strains of sooth in the three worlds. On the ridge of
that Himavat there is that city rightly named the Golden City, which
gleams like a mass of the sun's rays deposited by him on earth.

Of old there lived in that splendid city a fortunate lord of the
Vidyádharas, named Jímútaketu, who dwelt there like Indra on Meru. In
his palace-garden there was a wishing-tree, which was an heirloom
in his family, which was well known as the Granter of Desires, and
not named so without reason. The king supplicated that divine tree,
and obtained by its favour a son, who remembered his former birth,
and was the incarnation of a portion of a Bodhisattva. He was a hero
in munificence, of great courage, compassionate to all creatures,
attentive to the instructions of his spiritual adviser, and his name
was Jímútaváhana. And when he grew up to manhood, his father, the
king, made him crown-prince, being impelled thereto by his excellent
qualities, and the advice of the ministers.

And when Jímútaváhana was made crown-prince, the ministers of his
father, desiring his welfare, came to him and said, "Prince, you must
continually worship this wishing-tree invincible by all creatures,
[351] which grants all our desires. For, as long as we have this,
not even Indra could injure us, much less any other enemy." When
Jímútaváhana heard this, he inly reflected, "Alas! our predecessors,
though they possessed such a divine tree, never obtained from it
any fruit worthy of it; some of them asked it for wealth and did
nothing more; so the mean creatures made themselves and this noble
tree contemptible. Well, I will make it inserve a design which I have
in my mind."

After the noble prince had formed this resolution, he went to his
father, and gained his goodwill by paying him all kinds of attentions,
and said to him in private, as he was sitting at ease; "Father, you
know that in this sea of mundane existence, all that we behold is
unsubstantial, fleeting as the twinkling of the wave. Especially are
the twilight, the dawn, and Fortune shortlived, disappearing as soon
as revealed; where and when have they been seen to abide? Charity to
one's neighbour is the only thing that is permanent in this cycle of
change; it produces holiness and fame that bear witness for hundreds
of yugas. So with what object, father, do we keep for ourselves such
an unfailing wishing-tree, as all these phenomenal conditions are but
momentary? Where, I ask, are those our predecessors who kept it so
strenuously, exclaiming, 'It is mine, it is mine?' Where is it now
to them? For which of them does it exist, and which of them exists
for it? So, if you permit, father, I will employ this wishing-tree,
that grants all desires, for attaining the matchless fruit of charity
to one's neighbour."

His father gave him leave, saying, "So be it!" And Jímútaváhana went
and said to the wishing-tree, "O god, thou didst fulfil all the
cherished wishes of our predecessors, so fulfil this one solitary
wish of mine! Enable me to behold this whole earth free from poverty;
depart, and good luck attend thee; thou art bestowed by me on the
world that desires wealth." When Jímútaváhana had said this with joined
hands, a voice came forth from the tree, "Since thou hast relinquished
me, I depart." And in a moment the wishing-tree flew up to heaven,
and rained wealth on the earth so plenteously, that there was not
one poor man left on it. Then the glory of that Jímútaváhana spread
through the three worlds, on account of that ardent compassion of
his for all creatures.

That made all his relations impatient with envy; and thinking that
he and his father would be easy to conquer, as they were deprived
of the calamity-averting tree which they had bestowed on the world,
they put their heads together and formed a design, and then girded
on their harness for war, to deprive Jímútaváhana and his father
of their realm. When Jímútaváhana saw that, he said to his father,
"Father, what other has might, when thou hast taken up arms? But what
generous man desires to possess a realm, if he must do so by slaying
his relations for the sake of this wicked perishable body? So of
what use is sovereignty to us? We will depart to some other place,
and practise virtue that brings happiness in both worlds. Let these
miserable relations that covet our kingdom, joy their fill!" When
Jímútaváhana said this, his father Jímútaketu answered him, "My son,
I desire a realm for your sake only; if you, being penetrated with
compassion, give it up, of what value is it to me, who am old?" When
Jímútaváhana's father agreed to his proposal, he went with him and
his mother to the Malaya mountain, abandoning his kingdom. There he
made him a retreat in the valley of a brook, the stream of which
was hidden by sandal-wood trees, and spent his time in waiting on
his parents. And there he made a friend of the name of Mitrávasu,
the son of Visvávasu a king of the Siddhas, who dwelt on that mountain.

Now, one day, as Jímútaváhana was roaming about, he went into a temple
of the goddess Gaurí, that was situated in a garden, in order to
worship in the presence of the image. And there he saw a beautiful
maiden accompanied by her attendants, playing on the lyre, intent
on pleasing the daughter of the mountain. [352] And the deer were
listening to the sweet sound of the lyre in the musical performance,
standing motionless, as if abashed at beholding the beauty of her
eyes. [353] She had a black pupil in her white eye, and it seemed
as if it strove to penetrate to the root of her ear. [354] She was
thin and elegant in her waist, which appeared as if the Creator had
compressed it in his grasp, when making her, and deeply impressed
on it the marks of his fingers in the form of wrinkles. The moment
Jímútaváhana saw that beauty, it seemed as if she entered by his eyes,
and stole away his heart. And when the maiden saw him, adorning the
garden, producing longing and disturbance of soul, looking as if
he were the god of spring retired to the forest through disgust at
the burning up of the body of the god of Love, she was overpowered
with affection, and so bewildered, that her lyre, as if it had been
a friend, became distracted and mute.

Then Jímútaváhana said to an attendant of hers, "What is your friend's
auspicious name, and what family does she adorn?" When the attendant
heard that, she said, "She is the sister of Mitrávasu, and the daughter
of Visvávasu the king of the Siddhas, and her name is Malayavatí." When
she had said this to Jímútaváhana, the discreet woman asked the
son of the hermit, who had come with him, his name and descent, and
then she made this brief remark to Malayavatí, smiling as she spoke,
"My friend, why do you not welcome this prince of the Vidyádharas
who has come here? For he is a guest worthy of being honoured by the
whole world." When she said this, that daughter of the king of the
Siddhas was silent, and her face was cast down through shame. Then
her attendant said to Jímútaváhana, "The princess is bashful, permit
me to shew you the proper courtesy in her place." So she alone gave
him a garland with the arghya. Jímútaváhana, as soon as the garland
was given to him, being full of love, took it, and threw it round the
neck of Malayavatí. And she, looking at him with loving sidelong looks,
placed, as it were, a garland of blue lotuses on him.

Thus they went through a sort of silent ceremony of mutual election,
and then a maid came and said to that Siddha maiden, "Princess, your
mother desires your presence, come at once." When the princess heard
that, she withdrew regretfully and reluctantly from the face of her
beloved her gaze, that seemed to be fastened to it with the arrows of
love, and managed not without a struggle to return to her house. And
Jímútaváhana, with his mind fixed on her, returned to his hermitage.

And when Malayavatí had seen her mother, she went at once and flung
herself down on her bed, sick of separation from her beloved. Then her
eyes were clouded, as it were by the smoke of the fire of love that
burnt in her bosom, she shed floods of tears, and her body was tortured
with heat; and though her attendants anointed her with sandal-wood
unguent, and fanned her with the leaves of lotuses, she could not
obtain any relief on the bed, in the lap of her attendant, or on the
ground. Then the day retired somewhere with the glowing evening, and
the moon ascending kissed the laughing forehead of the east, and though
urged on by love she was too bashful to send a female messenger to her
chosen one, or to adopt any of the measures that lovers usually take,
but she seemed loth to live. And she was contracted in her heart,
and she passed that night, which the moon made disagreeable to her,
like a lotus which closes at night, and bewilderment hung round her,
like a cloud of bees.

And in the meanwhile Jímútaváhana, who was tortured at parting with
her, though lying on his bed, spent the night as one who had fallen
into the hand of Cupid; though his glow of love was of recent birth,
a pallid hue began to shew itself in him; and though shame made him
dumb, he uttered the pain which love produced.

Next morning he returned with excessive longing to that temple of
Gaurí, where he had seen the daughter of the king of the Siddhas. And
while, distracted with the fire of passion, he was being consoled by
the hermit's son, who had followed him there, Malayavatí also came
there; for, as she could not bear separation, she had secretly gone
out alone into a solitary place to abandon the body. And the girl,
not seeing her lover, who was separated from her by a tree, thus
prayed, with eyes full of tears, to the goddess Gaurí, "Goddess,
though my devotion to thee has not made Jímútaváhana my husband in
this life, let him be so in my next life!" As soon as she had said
this, she made a noose with her upper garment, and fastened it to the
branch of the asoka-tree in front of the temple of Gaurí. And she said
"Prince Jímútaváhana, lord renowned over the whole world, how is it,
that, though thou art compassionate, thou hast not delivered me?" When
she had said this, she was proceeding to fasten the noose round her
throat, but at that very moment a voice spoken by the goddess came
from the air, "Daughter, do not act recklessly, for the Vidyádhara
prince Jímútaváhana, the future emperor, shall be thy husband."

When the goddess said this, Jímútaváhana also heard it, and seeing
his beloved, he went up to her, and his friend accompanied him. And
his friend, the hermit's son, said to the young lady, "See, here is
that very bridegroom whom the goddess has in reality bestowed upon
you." And Jímútaváhana, uttering many tender loving speeches, removed
with his own hand the noose from her neck. Then they seemed to have
experienced, as it were, a sudden shower of nectar, and Malayavatí
remained with bashful eye, drawing lines upon the ground. And at that
moment, one of her companions, who was looking for her, suddenly came
up to her, and said in joyful accents, "Friend, you are lucky, and
you are blessed with good fortune in that you have obtained the very
thing which you desired. For, this very day, prince Mitrávasu said to
the great king, your father, in my hearing, 'Father, that Vidyádhara
prince Jímútaváhana, the object of the world's reverence, the bestower
of the wishing-tree, who has come here, should be complimented by us,
as he is our guest; and we cannot find any other match as good as
him; so let us pay him a compliment by bestowing on him this pearl of
maidens Malayavatí.' The king approved, saying 'So be it', and your
brother Mitrávasu has now gone to the hermitage of the illustrious
prince on this very errand. And I know that your marriage will take
place at once, so come back to your palace, and let this illustrious
prince also return to his dwelling." When the princess's companion
said this to her, she departed slowly from that place, rejoicing and
regretful, frequently turning her head.

And Jímútaváhana also returned quickly to his hermitage, and heard
from Mitrávasu, who came there, his commission, which fulfilled
all his wishes, and welcomed it with joy. And as he remembered his
former births, he gave him an account of one in which Mitrávasu was
his friend, and Mitrávasu's sister his wife. [355] Then Mitrávasu
was pleased, and informed the parents of Jímútaváhana, who were also
delighted, and returned, to the joy of his own parents, having executed
his mission successfully. And that very day he took Jímútaváhana to
his own house, and he made preparations for the marriage festival
with a magnificence worthy of his magic power, and on that very
same auspicious day he celebrated the marriage of his sister to that
Vidyádhara prince; and then Jímútaváhana, having obtained the desire of
his heart, lived with his newly married wife Malayavatí. And once on a
time, as he was roaming about out of curiosity with Mitrávasu on that
Malaya mountain, he reached a wood on the shore of the sea. There
he saw a great many heaps of bones, and he said to Mitrávasu,
"What creatures are these whose bones are piled up here?" Then his
brother-in-law Mitrávasu said to that compassionate man, "Listen, I
will tell you the story of this in a few words. Long, long ago, Kadrú
the mother of the snakes conquered Vinatá, the mother of Garuda, in a
treacherous wager, and made her a slave. Through enmity caused thereby,
the mighty Garuda, [356] though he had delivered his mother, began
to eat the snakes the sons of Kadrú. He was thenceforth continually
in the habit of entering Pátála, and some he smote, some he trampled,
and some died of fright.

"When Vásuki, the king of the snakes, saw that, he feared that
his race would be annihilated at one fell swoop, so he supplicated
Garuda, and made a compact with him, saying, 'King of birds, I will
send you one snake every day to this shore of the southern sea for
your meal. But you must by no means enter Pátála, for what advantage
will you gain by destroying the snakes at one blow?' When the king
of the snakes said this, the mighty Garuda saw that the proposal was
to his advantage, and agreed to it. And from that time forth, the
king of birds eats every day, on the shore of the sea, a snake sent
by Vásuki. So these are heaps of bones of snakes devoured by Garuda,
that have gradually accumulated in course of time, and come to look
like the peak of a mountain."

When Jímútaváhana, that treasure-house of courage and compassion,
had heard, inly grieving, this story from the mouth of Mitrávasu,
he thus answered him, "One cannot help grieving for king Vásuki, who,
like a coward, offers up every day his subjects to their enemy with his
own hand. As he has a thousand faces and a thousand mouths, why could
he not say with one mouth to Garuda, 'Eat me first?' And how could he
be so cowardly as to ask Garuda to destroy his race, and so heartless
as to be able to listen continually unmoved to the lamentation of the
Nága women? [357] And to think that Garuda, though the son of Kasyapa
and a hero, and though sanctified by being the bearer of Krishna,
should do such an evil deed! Alas the depths of delusion!" When the
noble-hearted one had said this, he formed this wish in his heart,
"May I obtain the one essential object in this world by the sacrifice
of the unsubstantial body! May I be so fortunate as to save the life
of one friendless terrified Nága by offering myself to Garuda!"

While Jímútaváhana was going through these reflections, a doorkeeper
came from Mitrávasu's father to summon them, and Jímútaváhana sent
Mitrávasu home, saying to him, "Go you on first, I will follow." And
after he had gone, the compassionate man roamed about alone, intent on
effecting the object he had in view, and he heard afar off a piteous
sound of weeping. And he went on, and saw near a lofty rocky slab
a young man of handsome appearance plunged in grief: an officer of
some monarch seemed to have just brought him and left him there,
and the young man was trying to induce by loving persuasions [358]
an old woman, who was weeping there, to return.

And while Jímútaváhana was listening there in secret, melted with pity,
eager to know who he could be, the old woman, overwhelmed with the
weight of her grief, began to look again and again at the young man,
and to lament his hard lot in the following words, "Alas Sankhachúda,
you that were obtained by me by means of a hundred pangs! Alas,
virtuous one! Alas! son, the only scion of our family, where shall I
behold you again? Darling, when this moon of your face is withdrawn,
your father will fall into the darkness of grief, and how will he
live to old age? How will your body, that would suffer even from the
touch of the sun's rays, be able to endure the agony of being devoured
by Garuda? How comes it that Providence and the king of the snakes
were able to find out you, the only son of ill-starred me, though
the world of the snakes is wide?" When she thus lamented, the young
man her son said to her, "I am afflicted enough, as it is, mother;
why do you afflict me more? Return home; this is my last reverence to
you, for I know it will soon be time for Garuda to arrive here." When
the old woman heard that, she cast her sorrowful eyes all round the
horizon, and cried aloud, "I am undone; who will deliver my son?"

In the meanwhile Jímútaváhana, that portion of a Bodhisattva, having
heard and seen that, said to himself, being profoundly touched with
pity, "I see, this is an unhappy snake, of the name of Sankhachúda,
who has now been sent by king Vásuki, to serve as food for Garuda. And
this is his aged mother, whose only son he is, and who has followed
him here out of love, and is lamenting piteously from grief. So,
if I cannot save this wretched Nága by offering up this exceedingly
perishable body, alas! my birth will have been void of fruit."

When Jímútaváhana had gone through these reflections, he went joyfully
up to the old woman, and said to her, "Mother, I will deliver your
son." When the old woman heard that, she was alarmed and terrified,
thinking that Garuda had come, and she cried out, "Eat me, Garuda,
eat me!" Then Sankhachúda said, "Mother, do not be afraid, this is not
Garuda. There is a great difference between this being who cheers one
like the moon, and the terrible Garuda." When Sankhachúda said this,
Jímútaváhana said, "Mother, I am a Vidyádhara, come to deliver your
son; for I will give my body, disguised in clothes, to the hungry
Garuda; and do you return home, taking your son with you."

When the old woman heard that, she said, "By no means, for you are my
son in a still higher sense, because you have shewn such compassion
for us at such a time." When Jímútaváhana heard that, he replied,
"You two ought not to disappoint my wish in this matter." And when
he persistently urged this, Sankhachúda said to him; "Of a truth,
noble-hearted man, you have displayed your compassionate nature,
but I cannot consent to save my body at the cost of yours; for who
ought to save a common stone by the sacrifice of a gem? The world is
full of people like myself, who feel pity only for themselves, but
people like you, who are inclined to feel pity for the whole world,
are few in number; besides, excellent man, I shall never find it in
my heart to defile the pure race of Sankhapála, as a spot defiles
the disk of the moon."

When Sankhachúda had in these words attempted to dissuade him,
he said to his mother, "Mother, go back, and leave this terrible
wilderness. Do you not see here this rock of execution, smeared with
the clotted gore of snakes, awful as the luxurious couch of Death! But
I will go to the shore of the sea, and worship the lord Gokarna,
and quickly return, before Garuda comes here." When Sankhachúda had
said this, he took a respectful leave of his sadly-wailing mother,
and went to pay his devotions to Gokarna.

And Jímútaváhana made up his mind that, if Garuda arrived in the
meantime, he would certainly be able to carry out his proposed
self-sacrifice for the sake of another. And while he was thus
reflecting, he saw the trees swaying with the wind of the wings of the
approaching king of birds, and seeming, as it were, to utter a cry of
dissuasion. So he came to the conclusion that the moment of Garuda's
arrival was at hand, and determined to offer up his life for another,
he ascended the rock of sacrifice. And the sea, churned by the wind,
seemed with the eyes of its bright-flashing jewels to be gazing in
astonishment at his extraordinary courage. Then Garuda came along,
obscuring the heaven, and swooping down, struck the great-hearted
hero with his beak, and carried him off from that slab of rock. And he
quickly went off with him to a peak of the Malaya mountain, to eat him
there; and Jímútaváhana's crest-jewel was torn from his head, and drops
of blood fell from him, as he was carried through the air. And while
Garuda was eating that moon of the Vidyádhara race, he said to himself;
"May my body thus be offered in every birth for the benefit of others,
and let me not enjoy heaven or liberation, if they are dissociated
from the opportunity of benefiting my neighbour." And while he was
saying this to himself, a rain of flowers fell from heaven.

In the meanwhile his crest-jewel, dripping with his blood, had fallen
in front of his wife Malayavatí. When she saw it, she recognized it
with much trepidation as her husband's crest-jewel, and as she was
in the presence of her father-in-law and mother-in-law, she shewed
it them with tears. And they, when they saw their son's crest-jewel,
were at once beside themselves to think what it could mean. Then king
Jímútaketu and queen Kanakavatí found out by their supernatural powers
of meditation the real state of the case, and proceeded to go quickly
with their daughter-in-law to the place where Garuda and Jímútaváhana
were. In the meanwhile Sankhachúda returned from worshipping Gokarna,
and saw, to his dismay, that that stone of sacrifice was wet with
blood. Then the worthy fellow exclaimed with tears, "Alas! I am undone,
guilty creature that I am! Undoubtedly that great-hearted one, in the
fulness of his compassion, has given himself to Garuda in my stead. So
I will find out to what place the enemy has carried him off in this
moment. If I find him alive, I shall escape sinking in the mire of
dishonour." While he said this, he went following up the track of the
drops of blood, that he saw lying close to one another on the ground.

In the meanwhile Garuda, who was engaged in devouring Jímútaváhana, saw
that he was pleased; so he immediately stopped, and said to himself;
"Strange! This must be some matchless hero; for the great-hearted
one rejoices even while I am devouring him, but does not lose his
life. And on so much of his body as is not lacerated, he has all
the hairs erect, as it were a coat of mail; and his look is lovingly
fixed on me, as if I were his benefactor. So he cannot be a snake;
he must be some saint; I will cease from devouring him, and question
him." While Garuda was thus musing, Jímútaváhana said to him; "King
of birds, why do you desist? There is flesh and blood in my body, and
you are not satisfied as yet, so go on eating it." When the king of
birds heard this, he asked him with much astonishment, "Great-souled
one, you are not a snake, so tell me who you are." But Jímútaváhana
answered Garuda, "In truth I am a Nága; what is the meaning of this
question of yours? Do your kind, for who, that is not foolish, would
act [359] contrary to the purpose he had undertaken?"

While he was giving this answer to Garuda, Sankhachúda came near, and
called out to Garuda from a distance, "Do not do a rash and criminal
deed, son of Vinatá. What delusion is this that possesses you? He is
not a snake; lo! I am the snake designed for you." When Sankhachúda
had said this, he came up quickly, and standing between those two, and
seeing Garuda bewildered, he went on to say; "Why are you perplexed; do
you not see that I have hoods and two tongues; and do you not observe
the charming appearance of this Vidyádhara?" While Sankhachúda was
saying this, the wife and parents of Jímútaváhana came there with
speed. And his parents, seeing him mangled, immediately cried out,
"Alas, son! Alas, Jímútaváhana! Alas, compassionate one who have given
your life for others! How could you, son of Vinatá, do this thoughtless
deed?" When Garuda heard this, he was grieved, and he said, "What! Have
I in my delusion eaten an incarnation of a Bodhisattva? This is that
very Jímútaváhana, who sacrifices his life for others, the renown of
whose glory pervades all these three worlds? So, now that he is dead,
the time has arrived for my wicked self to enter the fire. Does the
fruit of the poison-tree of unrighteousness ever ripen sweet?" While
Garuda was distracted with these reflections, Jímútaváhana, having
beheld his family, fell down in the agony of his wounds, and died.

Then his parents, tortured with sorrow, lamented, and Sankhachúda
again and again blamed his own negligence. But Jímútaváhana's wife,
Malayavatí, looked towards the heaven, and in accents choked with
tears thus reproached the goddess Ambiká, who before was pleased
with her, and granted her a boon, "At that time, O goddess Gaurí,
thou didst promise me that I should have for husband one destined to
be paramount sovereign over all the kings of the Vidyádharas, so how
comes it that thou hast now falsified thy promise to me?" When she
said this, Gaurí became visible, and saying "Daughter, my speech was
not false," she quickly sprinkled Jímútaváhana with nectar from her
pitcher. [360] That made the successful hero Jímútaváhana at once
rise up more splendid than before, with all his limbs free from wounds.

He rose up, and prostrated himself before the goddess, and then all
prostrated themselves, and the goddess said to him, "My son, I am
pleased with this sacrifice of thy body, so I now anoint thee with this
hand of mine emperor over the Vidyádharas, and thou shalt hold the
office for a kalpa." With these words Gaurí sprinkled Jímútaváhana
with water from her pitcher, and after she had been worshipped,
disappeared. And thereupon a heavenly rain of flowers fell on that
spot, and the drums of the gods sounded joyously in the sky.

Then Garuda, bending low, said to Jímútaváhana, "Emperor, I am pleased
with thee, as thou art an unparalleled hero, since thou, of soul
matchlessly generous, hast done this wonderful deed, that excites the
astonishment of the three worlds, and is inscribed on the walls of
the egg of Brahmá. So give me an order, and receive from me whatever
boon thou dost desire." When Garuda said this, the great-hearted hero
said to him, "Thou must repent, and never again devour the snakes;
and let these snakes, whom thou didst devour before, whose bones only
remain, return to life." Thereupon Garuda said, "So be it; from this
day forth I will never eat the snakes again; heaven forefend! As for
those that I ate on former occasions, let them return to life."

Then all the snakes, that he had eaten before, whose bones alone
remained, rose up unwounded, restored to life by the nectar of his
boon. Then the gods, the snakes, and the hermit bands assembled there
full of joy, and so the Malaya mountain earned the title of the three
worlds. And then all the kings of the Vidyádharas heard by the favour
of Gaurí the strange story of Jímútaváhana; and they immediately came
and bowed at his feet, and after he had dismissed Garuda, they took him
to the Himálayas, accompanied by his rejoicing relations and friends,
a noble emperor whose great inauguration ceremony had been performed
by Gaurí with her own hands. There Jímútaváhana, in the society of his
mother and father, and of Mitrávasu and Malayavatí, and of Sankhachúda,
who had gone to his own house, and returned again, long enjoyed the
dignity of emperor of the Vidyádharas, rich in jewels, which had been
gained by his marvellous and extraordinarily heroic action.

Having told this very noble and interesting tale, the Vetála proceeded
to put another question to king Trivikramasena, "So tell me, which of
those two was superior in fortitude, Sankhachúda or Jímútaváhana? And
the conditions are those which I mentioned before." When king
Trivikramasena heard this question of the Vetála's, he broke his
silence, through fear of a curse, and said with calm composure, "This
behaviour was nowise astonishing in Jímútaváhana, as he had acquired
this virtue in many births; but Sankhachúda really deserves praise,
for that, after he had escaped death, he ran after his enemy Garuda,
who had found another self-offered victim [361] and had gone a long
distance with him, and importunately offered him his body."

When that excellent Vetála had heard this speech of that king's,
he left his shoulder and again went to his own place, and the king
again pursued him as before.



NOTE.

Oesterley remarks that the substance of this story is told, in the
eleventh chapter of the Vikra macharitam, of king Vikramáditya. A
Rákshasa carried off so many persons from the city of Pala that
the inhabitants agreed to give him one human being every day. The
king takes the place of one of these victims, and the Rákshasa is
so much affected by it, that he promises not to demand any more
victims. A similar contest in generosity is found in the 2nd Tale
of the Siddhi-kür, Jülg, p. 60, but the end of the story is quite
different. (Oesterley's Baitál Pachísí, pp. 205-207.) The story in
the Siddhi-kür is probably the 5th Tale in Sagas from the Far East;
"How the Serpent-gods were propitiated."






CHAPTER XCI.

(Vetála 17.)


Then the brave king Trivikramasena went back once more to the
asoka-tree, and taking the Vetála from it, carried him off on his
shoulder. And when he had set out, the Vetála said to him from his
perch on his shoulder, "Listen, king; to cheer your toil, I will tell
you the following tale."



Story of Unmádiní. [362]

There was a city of the name [363] of Kanakapura situated on the bank
of the Ganges, in which the bounds of virtue were never transgressed,
and which was inaccessible to the demon Kali. In it there was a king
rightly named Yasodhana, who, like a rocky coast, protected the earth
against the sea of calamity. When Destiny framed him, she seemed to
blend together the moon and the sun, for, though he delighted the
world, the heat of his valour was scorching, and the circle of his
territory never waned. This king was unskilled [364] in slandering
his neighbour, but skilled in the meaning of the Sástras, he shewed
poverty in crime, not in treasure and military force. His subjects
sang of him as one afraid only of sin, covetous only of glory, averse
to the wives of others, all compact of valour, generosity, and love.

In that capital of that sovereign there was a great merchant, and he
had an unmarried daughter, named Unmádiní. Whoever there beheld her,
was at once driven mad by the wealth of her beauty, which was enough to
bewilder even the god of love himself. And when she attained womanhood,
her politic father, the merchant, went to king Yasodhana, and said to
him, "King, I have a daughter to give in marriage, who is the pearl of
the three worlds; I dare not give her away to any one else, without
informing your Majesty. For to your Majesty belong all the jewels of
the whole earth, so do me the favour of accepting or rejecting her."

When the king heard this report from the merchant, he sent off, with
due politeness, his own Bráhmans, to see whether she had auspicious
marks or not. The Bráhmans went and saw that matchless beauty of the
three worlds, and were at once troubled and amazed, but when they had
recovered their self-control, they reflected; "If the king gets hold
of this maiden the kingdom is ruined, for his mind will be thrown
off its balance by her, and he will not regard his kingdom, so we
must not tell the king that she possesses auspicious marks." When
they had deliberated to this effect, [365] they went to the king,
and said falsely to him, "She has inauspicious marks." Accordingly
the king declined to take that merchant's daughter as his wife.

Then, by the king's orders, the merchant, the father of the maiden
Unmádiní, gave her in marriage to the commander of the king's forces,
named Baladhara. And she lived happily with her husband in his house,
but she thought that she had been dishonoured by the king's abandoning
her on account of her supposed inauspicious marks.

And as time went on, the lion of spring came to that place, slaying the
elephant of winter, that, with flowering jasmine-creepers for tusks,
had ravaged the thick-clustering lotuses. And it sported in the wood,
with luxuriant clusters of flowers for mane, and with mango-buds for
claws. At that season king Yasodhana, mounted on an elephant, went
out to see the high festival of spring in that city of his. And then
a warning drum was beaten, to give notice to all matrons to retire, as
it was apprehended that the sight of his beauty might prove their ruin.

When Unmádiní heard that drum, she shewed herself to the king on
the roof of her palace, to revenge the insult he had offered her by
refusing her. And when the king saw her, looking like a flame shooting
up from the fire of love, when fanned by spring and the winds from the
Malaya mountain, he was sorely troubled. And gazing on her beauty,
that pierced deep into his heart, like a victorious dart of Cupid,
he immediately swooned. His servants managed to bring him round, and
when he had entered his palace, he found out from them, by questioning
them, that this was the very beauty who had been formerly offered to
him, and whom he had rejected. Then the king banished from his realm
those who reported that she had inauspicious marks, and thought on her
with longing, night after night, saying to himself, "Ah! how dull of
soul and shameless is the moon, that he continues to rise, while her
spotless face is there, a feast to the eyes of the world!" Thinking
thus in his heart, the king, being slowly wasted by the smouldering
fires of love, pined away day by day. But through shame he concealed
the cause of his grief, and with difficulty was he induced to tell
it to his confidential servants, who were led by external signs to
question him. Then they said; "Why fret yourself? Why do you not
take her to yourself, as she is at your command?" But the righteous
sovereign would not consent to follow their advice.

Then Baladhara, the commander-in-chief, heard the tidings, and
being truly devoted to him, he came and flung himself at the feet
of his sovereign, and made the following petition to him, "King,
you should look upon this female slave as your slave-girl, not as
the wife of another; and I bestow her freely upon you, so deign to
accept my wife. Or I will abandon her in the temple here, then, king,
there will be no sin in your taking her to yourself, as there might
be, if she were a matron." When the commander-in-chief persistently
entreated the king to this effect, the king answered him with inward
wrath, "How could I, being a king, do such an unrighteous deed? If I
desert the path of right, who will remain loyal to his duty? And how
can you, though devoted to me, urge me to commit a crime, which will
bring momentary pleasure, [366] but cause great misery in the next
world? And if you desert your lawful wife, I shall not allow your
crime to go unpunished, for who in my position could tolerate such an
outrage on morality? So death is for me the best course." With these
words the king vetoed the proposal of the commander-in-chief, for men
of noble character lose their lives sooner than abandon the path of
virtue. And in the same way the resolute-minded monarch rejected the
petition of his citizens, and of the country-people, who assembled,
and entreated him to the same effect.

Accordingly, the king's body was gradually consumed by the fire of
the grievous fever of love, and only his name and fame remained. [367]
But the commander-in-chief could not bear the thought that the king's
death had been brought about in this way, so he entered the fire;
for the actions of devoted followers are inexplicable. [368]

When the Vetála, sitting on the shoulder of king Trivikramasena, had
told this wonderful tale, he again said to him, "So tell me, king,
which of these two was superior in loyalty, the general or the king;
and remember, the previous condition still holds." When the Vetála
said this, the king broke silence, and answered him, "Of these two the
king was superior in loyalty." When the Vetála heard this, he said
to him reproachfully, "Tell me, king, how can you make out that the
general was not his superior? For, though he knew the charm of his
wife's society by long familiarity, he offered such a fascinating
woman to the king out of love for him; and when the king was dead,
he burnt himself; but the king refused the offer of his wife without
knowing anything about her."

When the Vetála said this to the king, the latter laughed, and said,
"Admitting the truth of this, what is there astonishing in the fact,
that the commander-in-chief, a man of good family, acted thus for
his master's sake, out of regard for him? For servants are bound to
preserve their masters even by the sacrifice of their lives. But
kings are inflated with arrogance, uncontrollable as elephants,
and when bent on enjoyment, they snap asunder the chain of the moral
law. For their minds are overweening, and all discernment is washed
out of them, when the waters of inauguration are poured over them,
and is, as it were, swept away by the flood. And the breeze of the
waving chowries fans away the atoms of the sense of scripture taught
them by old men, as it fans away flies and mosquitoes. And the royal
umbrella keeps off from them the rays of truth, as well as the rays
of the sun; and their eyes, smitten by the gale of prosperity, do not
see the right path. And so even kings, that have conquered the world,
like Nahusha and others, have had their minds bewildered by Mára, and
have been brought into calamity. But this king, though his umbrella
was paramount in the earth, was not fascinated by Unmádiní, fickle
as the goddess of Fortune; indeed, sooner than set his foot on the
wrong path, he renounced life altogether; therefore him I consider
the more self-controlled of the two."

When the Vetála heard this speech of the king's, he again rapidly
quitted his shoulder by the might of his delusive power, and returned
to his own place; and the king followed him swiftly, as before,
to recover him: for how can great men leave off in the middle of an
enterprise, which they have begun, even though it be very difficult?



NOTE.

Oesterley states that this tale is No. 26, in the Persian Tútínámah,
in Iken, p. 109. The deliberations about carrying off the wife of
the commander-in-chief are, in this form of the story, carried on
in the presence of the counsellors only; and the king is the only
one that dies. From the Persian Tútínámah the story has passed in
a very similar form into the Turkish Tútínámah. Compare Malespíní,
1, No. 102, (Oesterley's Baitál Pachísí, pp. 207, 208.) The story,
as told by Sivadása, will be found in Bezzenberger's Beiträge zur
Kunde der Indo-germanischen Sprachen, Vol. IV, p. 360. Dr. Zachariæ,
the author of the paper, gives a reference to the Rajataranginí, IV,
17-37, which Professor Bühler pointed out to him. He tells us that
the story is the 14th in Jambhaladatta's recension. The story is
also found in the parables of Buddhaghosha; in a form based upon the
Ummadantíjátaka. Dr. Zachariæ gives the Pali text of this Játaka in
an Appendix, and the corresponding Sanskrit version of the tale from
the Játakamálá of Aryasúra. He also refers his readers to Upham's
Mahávanso, pp. 212-213; Beal, Texts from the Buddhist canon, commonly
known as Dhammapada, Section XXIII, Advantageous Service; Bigandet, The
life or legend of Gaudama, the Buddha of the Burmese, pp. 220-221; and
Mary Summer, Histoire du Bouddha Sákya-Mouni, (Paris, 1874,) p. 145.

In the Pali version the Bráhmans are so bewildered at the sight of
the girl that they cannot eat, but put their rice on their heads
&c. instead of putting it in their mouths; so she has them driven
out by her servants. Out of revenge they tell the king that she
is a kálakanni, which according to Childers means "a hag." In the
Játakamálá they are too much bewildered to stand, much less to eat;
but the report which they make is much the same as in our text,
and made from the same motives.






CHAPTER XCII.

(Vetála 18.)


Then in that cemetery, full of the flames of funeral pyres, as of
demons, flesh-devouring, with lolling tongues of fire, the undaunted
king Trivikramasena went back that same night to the asoka-tree.

And there he unexpectedly saw many corpses of similar appearance
hanging upon the tree, and they all seemed to be possessed by
Vetálas. The king said to himself, "Ah! what is the meaning of this? Is
this deluding Vetála doing this now in order to waste my time? For
I do not know which of these many corpses here I ought to take. If
this night shall pass away without my accomplishing my object, I will
enter the fire, I will not put up with disgrace." But the Vetála
discovered the king's intention, and pleased with his courage, he
withdrew that delusion. Then the king beheld only one Vetála on the
tree in the corpse of a man, and he took it down, and put it on his
shoulder, and once more started off with it. And as he trudged along,
the Vetála again said to him, "King, your fortitude is wonderful:
so listen to this my tale."



Story of the Bráhman's son who failed to acquire the magic power.

There is a city called Ujjayiní, inferior only to Bhogavatí and
Amarávatí, which Siva, who was won by the toilsome asceticism of Gaurí,
being in love with the matchless pre-eminence of its excellence,
himself selected as his habitation. It is full of various enjoyments,
to be attained only by distinguished well-doing; in that city stiffness
and hardness is seen only in the bosoms of the ladies, curvature only
in their eye-brows, [369] and fickleness only in their rolling eyes;
darkness only in the nights; crookedness only in the ambiguous phrases
of poets; madness only in elephants; and coldness only in pearls,
sandal-wood juice, and the moon.

In that city there was a learned Bráhman, named Devasvámin, who
had offered many sacrifices, and possessed great wealth, and who
was highly honoured by the king, whose name was Chandraprabha. In
time there was born to that Bráhman a son, named Chandrasvámin,
and he, though he had studied the sciences, was, when he grew up,
exclusively devoted to the vice of gambling. [370] Now once on a time
that Bráhman's son, Chandrasvámin, entered a great gambling-hall to
gamble. Calamities seemed to be continually watching that hall with
tumbling dice for rolling eyes, like the black antelope in colour,
and saying to themselves, "Whom shall we seize on here?" And the
hall, full of the noise of the altercations of gamblers, seemed to
utter this cry, "Who is there whose wealth I could not take away? I
could impoverish even Kuvera the lord of Alaká." Then he entered the
hall, and playing dice with gamblers, he lost his clothes and all,
and then he lost borrowed money in addition. And when he was called
upon to pay that impossible sum, he could not do it, so the keeper
of the gambling-hall seized him and beat him with sticks. [371]
And that Bráhman's son, when beaten with sticks all over his body,
made himself motionless as a stone, and to all appearance dead,
and remained in that state.

When he had remained there in that condition for two or three days,
the proprietor of the gambling establishment got angry, and said, in
the gambling-hall, to the gamblers, who frequented it; "This fellow has
begun to try on the petrifaction dodge, so take the spiritless wretch
and throw him into some blind well; but I will give you the money."

When the proprietor said this to the gamblers, they took up
Chandrasvámin, and carried him to a distant wood to look for a
well. There an old gambler said to the others, "This fellow is all
but dead; so what is the good of throwing him into a well now? So let
us leave him here, and say that we left him in a well." All approved
his speech, and agreed to do as he recommended.

Then the gamblers left Chandrasvámin there and went their ways, and he
rose up and entered an empty temple of Siva that stood near. There
he recovered his strength a little, and reflected in his grief,
"Alas! being over-confiding, I have been robbed by these gamblers
by downright cheating, so, where can I go in this condition, naked,
cudgelled, and begrimed with dust? What would my father, my relations,
or my friends say of me, if they saw me? So I will remain here for
the present, and at night I will go out, and see how I can make
shift to get food, to satisfy my hunger." While he was going through
these reflections in hunger and nakedness, the sun abated his heat,
and abandoned his garment the sky, and went to the mountain of setting.

Thereupon there came there a Pásupata ascetic with his body
smeared with ashes, with matted hair and a trident, looking like
a second Siva. When he saw Chandrasvámin, he said to him, "Who are
you?" Thereupon Chandrasvámin told him his story, and bowed before
him, and the hermit when he heard it, said to him; "You have arrived
at my hermitage, as an unexpected guest, exhausted with hunger; so
rise up, bathe, and take a portion of the food I have obtained by
begging." When the hermit said this to Chandrasvámin, he answered,
"Reverend sir, I am a Bráhman; how can I eat a part of your alms?"

When the hospitable hermit who possessed magic powers, heard that,
he entered his hut, and called to mind the science which produces
whatever one desires, and the science appeared to him when he called
it to mind, and said, "What shall I do for you?" And he gave it this
order; "Provide entertainment for this guest." The science answered
"I will;" and then Chandrasvámin beheld a golden city rise up,
with a garden attached to it, and full of female attendants. And
those females came out of that city, and approached the astonished
Chandrasvámin, and said to him; "Rise up, good sir; come, eat, and
forget your fatigue." Then they took him inside, and made him bathe,
and anointed him; and they put splendid garments on him, and took
him to another magnificent dwelling; and there the young man beheld a
young woman who seemed their chief, who was beautiful in all her limbs,
and appeared to have been made by the Creator out of curiosity to see
what he could do. She rose up, eager to welcome him, and made him sit
beside her on her throne, and he partook with her of heavenly food,
and ate with much delight betel-nut, flavoured with five fruits.

And next morning he woke up, and saw only that temple of Siva there,
and neither that city, nor that heavenly lady nor her attendants. Then
the hermit came out of the hut smiling, and asked him how he had
enjoyed himself in the night, and the discreet Chandrasvámin, in
his despondency, said to the hermit, "By your favour, reverend sir,
I spent the night happily enough; but now, without that heavenly lady,
my life will depart." When the hermit heard that, being kind-hearted,
he laughed and said to him, "Remain here, you shall have exactly
the same experiences this night also." When the hermit said this,
Chandrasvámin consented to stay, and by the favour of the hermit,
he was provided by the same means with the same enjoyments every night.

And at last he understood that this was all produced by magic science,
so, one day, impelled by destiny, he coaxed that mighty hermit and
said to him, "If, reverend sir, you really take pity on me, who have
fled to you for protection, bestow on me that science, whose power is
so great." When he urged this request persistently, the hermit said
to him, "You cannot attain this science; for it is attained under the
water, and while the aspirant is muttering spells under the water, the
science creates delusions to bewilder him, so that he does not attain
success. For there he sees himself born again, and a boy, and then a
youth, and then a young man, and married, and then he supposes that he
has a son. And he is falsely deluded, supposing that one person is his
friend and another his enemy, and he does not remember this birth,
nor that he is engaged in a magic rite for acquiring science. But
whoever, when he seems to have reached twenty-four years, is recalled
to consciousness by the science of his instructor, and being firm of
soul, remembers his real life, and knows that all he supposes himself
to experience is the effect of illusion, and though he is under the
influence of it, enters the fire, attains the science, and rising from
the water, sees the real truth. But if the science is not attained
by the pupil on whom it is bestowed, it is lost to the teacher also,
on account of its having been communicated to an unfit person. You
can attain all the results you desire by my possession of the science;
why do you shew this persistence? Take care that my power is not lost,
and that so your enjoyment is not lost also."

Though the hermit said this, Chandrasvámin persisted in saying to him,
"I shall be able to do all that is required [372]; do not be anxious
about that." Then the hermit consented to give him the science. What
will not good men do for the sake of those that implore their aid? Then
the Pásupata ascetic went to the bank of the river, and said to him,
"My son, when, in repeating this charm, you behold that illusion,
I will recall you to consciousness by my magic power, and you must
enter the fire which you will see in your illusion. For I shall
remain here all the time on the bank of the river to help you. When
that prince of ascetics had said this, being himself pure, he duly
communicated that charm to Chandrasvámin, who was purified and had
rinsed his mouth with water. Then Chandrasvámin bowed low before his
teacher, and plunged boldly into the river, while he remained on the
bank. And while he was repeating over that charm in the water, he was
at once bewildered by its deluding power, and cheated into forgetting
the whole of that birth. And he imagined himself to be born in his
own person in another town, as the son of a certain Bráhman, and he
slowly grew up. And in his fancy he was invested with the Bráhmanical
thread, and studied the prescribed sciences, and married a wife, and
was absorbed in the joys and sorrows of married life, and in course of
time had a son born to him, and he remained in that town engaged in
various pursuits, enslaved by love for his son, devoted to his wife,
with his parents and relations.

While he was thus living through in his fancy a life other than his
real one, the hermit his teacher employed the charm, whose office it
was to rouse him at the proper season. He was suddenly awakened from
his reverie by the employment of that charm, and recollected himself
and that hermit, and became aware that all that he was apparently going
through was magic illusion, and he became eager to enter the fire,
in order to gain the fruit, which was to be attained by the charm;
but he was surrounded by his elders, friends, superiors and relations,
who all tried to prevent him. Still, though they used all kinds of
arguments to dissuade him, being desirous of heavenly enjoyment,
he went with his relations to the bank of the river, on which a pyre
was prepared. There he saw his aged parents and his wife ready to die
with grief, and his young children crying; and in his bewilderment
he said to himself; "Alas! my relations will all die, if I enter the
fire, and I do not know if that promise of my teacher's is true or
not. So shall I enter the fire? Or shall I not enter it? After all,
how can that promise of my teacher's be false, as it is so precisely
in accordance with all that has taken place? So, I will gladly enter
the fire." When the Bráhman Chandrasvámin had gone through these
reflections, he entered the fire.

And to his astonishment the fire felt as cool to him as snow. Then
he rose up from the water of the river, the delusion having come to
an end, and went to the bank. There he saw his teacher on the bank,
and he prostrated himself at his feet, and when his teacher questioned
him, he told him all his experiences, ending with the cool feel of
the fire. Then his teacher said to him, "My son, I am afraid you have
made some mistake in this incantation, otherwise how can the fire
have become cool to you? This phenomenon in the process of acquiring
this science is unprecedented." When Chandrasvámin heard this remark
of his teacher's, he answered, "Reverend sir, I am sure that I made
no mistake."

Then the teacher, in order to know for certain, called to mind that
science, and it did not present itself to him or his pupil. So,
as both of them had lost the science, they left that place despondent.

"When the Vetála had told this story, he once more put a question to
king Trivikramasena, after mentioning the same condition as before;
"King, resolve this doubt of mine; tell me, why was the science lost to
both of them, though the incantation was performed in the prescribed
way?" When the brave king heard this speech of the Vetála's, he gave
him this answer; "I know, lord of magic, you are bent on wasting my
time here, still I will answer. A man cannot obtain success even by
performing correctly a difficult ceremony, unless his mind is firm, and
abides in spotless courage, unhesitating and pure from wavering. But
in that business the mind of that spiritless young Bráhman wavered,
even when roused by his teacher, [373] so his charm did not attain
success, and his teacher lost his mastery over the charm, because he
had bestowed it on an undeserving aspirant."

When the king had said this, the mighty Vetála again left his shoulder
and went back invisible to his own place, and the king went back to
fetch him as before.



NOTE.

The above story closely resembles one quoted from the Turkish Tales
in the 94th number of the Spectator.

A sultan of Egypt was directed by a great doctor in the law, who had
the gift of working miracles, to place himself in a huge tub of water,
which he accordingly did; and as he stood by the tub amidst a circle of
his great men, the holy man bid him plunge his head into the water and
draw it up again. The king accordingly thrust his head into the water,
and at the same time found himself at the foot of a mountain on the
sea-shore. The king immediately began to rage against his doctor for
this piece of treachery and witchcraft; but at length, knowing it was
in vain to be angry, he set himself to think on proper methods for
getting a livelihood in this strange country. Accordingly he applied
himself to some people, whom he saw at work in a neighbouring wood:
these people conducted him to a town that stood at a little distance
from the wood, where after some adventures, he married a woman of
great beauty and fortune. He lived with this woman so long that he had
by her seven sons and seven daughters. He was afterwards reduced to
great want, and forced to think of plying in the streets as a porter
for his livelihood. One day, as he was walking alone by the seaside,
being seized with many melancholy reflections upon his former and
his present state of life, which had raised a fit of devotion in him,
he threw off his clothes in the desire to wash himself, according to
the custom of the Muhammadans, before he said his prayers.

After his first plunge into the sea, he no sooner raised his head
above the water, than he found himself standing by the side of the
tub, with the great men of his court about him, and the holy man at
his side. He immediately upbraided his teacher for having sent him
on such a course of adventures, and betrayed him into so long a state
of misery and servitude; but was wonderfully surprised when he heard
that the state he talked of was only a dream and a delusion; that he
had not stirred from the place where he then stood; and that he had
only dipped his head into the water, and taken it out again. Oesterley
compares the story of Devadatta in the 26th Taranga of this work.






CHAPTER XCIII.

(Vetála 19.)


Then king Trivikramasena again went and took the Vetála from the
asoka-tree, and putting him on his shoulder, set out with him; and
as he was returning from the tree, the Vetála once more said to him,
"Listen, king, I will tell you a delightful tale."



Story of the Thief's Son.

There is a city named Vakrolaka, equal to the city of the gods; in it
there dwelt a king named Súryaprabha, equal to Indra. He, like Vishnu,
rescued this earth, and bore it long time on his arm, gladdening
all men by his frame ever ready to bear their burdens. [374] In the
realm of that king tears were produced only by contact with smoke,
there was no talk of death except in the case of the living death
of starved lovers, and the only fines were the fine gold sticks in
the hands of his warders. He was rich in all manner of wealth, and he
had only one source of grief, namely, that, though he had many wives,
no son was born to him.

Now, at this point of the story, there was a merchant, of the name
of Dhanapála, in the great city of Támraliptí, the wealthiest of the
wealthy. And he had born to him one daughter only, and her name was
Dhanavatí, who was shewn by her beauty to be a Vidyádharí fallen by
a curse. When she grew up to womanhood, the merchant died; and his
relations seized his property, as the king did not interfere to protect
it. Then the wife of that merchant, who was named Hiranyavatí, took
her own jewels and ornaments, which she had carefully concealed, and
left her house secretly at the beginning of night, with her daughter
Dhanavatí, and fled, to escape from her husband's relations. And with
difficulty did she get outside the town, leaning upon the hand of her
daughter, for without her was the darkness of night, and within her
the darkness of grief. And as she went along in the thick darkness
outside the town, it chanced, so fate would have it, that she ran
her shoulder against a thief impaled on a stake, whom she did not
see. He was still alive, and his pain being aggravated by the blow
he received from her shoulder, he said, "Alas! who has rubbed salt
into my wounds?" The merchant's wife then and there said to him,
"Who are you?" He answered her, "I am a detected thief impaled here,
[375] and though I am impaled, my breath has not yet left my body,
wicked man that I am. So tell me, lady, who you are and whither you
are going in this manner." When the merchant's wife heard this, she
told him her story; and at that moment the eastern quarter adorned
her face with the outshining moon, as with a beauty-patch.

Then, all the horizon being lighted up, the thief saw the merchant's
daughter, the maiden Dhanavatí, and said to her mother, "Listen to
one request of mine; I will give you a thousand pieces of gold; come,
give me this maiden daughter of yours to wife." She laughed, and said,
"What do you want with her?" Then the thief replied, "I am now as
good as dead, and I have no son; and you know, a sonless man does
not inherit the worlds of bliss. But, if you agree to my proposal,
whatever son she may give birth to by my appointment, whoever may be
his father, will be the issue raised up to me. This is the reason why
I ask for her, but do you accomplish that desire of mine." When the
merchant's widow heard this, she consented to it out of avarice. And
she brought water from somewhere or other, and poured it on the hand of
that thief, and said, "I give you this my maiden daughter in marriage."

He then gave to her daughter the command aforesaid, and then said to
the merchant's widow, "Go and dig at the foot of this banyan-tree,
and take the gold you find there; and when I am dead, have my body
burnt with the usual ceremonies, and throw my bones into some sacred
water, and go with your daughter to the city of Vakrolaka. There
the people are made happy by good government under king Súryaprabha,
and you will be able to live as you like, free from anxiety, as you
will not be persecuted." When the thief had said this, being thirsty,
he drank some water which she brought; and his life came to an end,
spent with the torture of impalement.

Then the merchant's widow went and took the gold from the foot of
the banyan-tree, and went secretly with her daughter to the house
of a friend of her husband's; and while she was there, she managed
to get that thief's body duly burnt, and had his bones thrown into
a sacred water, and all the other rites performed. And the next day
she took that concealed wealth, and went off with her daughter, and
travelling along reached in course of time that city Vakrolaka. There
she bought a house from a great merchant named Vasudatta, and lived
in it with her daughter Dhanavatí.

Now at that time there lived in that city a teacher of the name of
Vishnusvámin. And he had a pupil, a very handsome Bráhman of the name
of Manahsvámin. And he, though he was of high birth and well-educated,
was so enslaved by the passions of youth that he fell in love with
a hetæra of the name of Hansávalí. But she demanded a fee of five
hundred gold dínárs, and he did not possess this sum, so he was in
a state of perpetual despondency.

And one day that merchant's daughter Dhanavatí saw him from the top
of her palace, such as I have described, with attenuated but handsome
frame. Her heart was captivated by his beauty; so she called to mind
the injunction of that thief her husband, and artfully said to her
mother, who was near her; "Mother, behold the beauty and youth of
this young Bráhman, how charming they are, raining nectar into the
eyes of the whole world." When that merchant's widow heard this,
she saw that her daughter was in love with the young Bráhman, and she
thought thus in her mind; "My daughter is bound by the orders of her
husband to choose some man, in order to raise up issue to her husband,
so why should she not invite this one?" When she had gone through
these reflections, she entrusted her wish to a confidential maid,
and sent her to bring the Bráhman for her daughter.

The maid went and took that Bráhman aside, and communicated her
mistress's wish to him, and that young and dissolute Bráhman said to
her; "If they will give me five hundred gold dínárs for Hansávalí,
I will go there for one night." When he said this to the maid, she
went and communicated it to the merchant's widow, and she sent the
money to him by her hand. When Manahsvámin had received the money, he
went with the maid to the private apartments of the widow's daughter,
Dhanavatí, who had been made over to him. Then he saw that expectant
fair one, the ornament of the earth, as the partridge beholds the
moonlight, and rejoiced; and after passing the night there, he went
away secretly next morning.

And Dhanavatí, the merchant's daughter, became pregnant by him,
and in due time she brought forth a son, whose auspicious marks
foreshadowed his lofty destiny. She and her mother were much pleased
at the birth of a son; and then Siva manifested himself to them in
a dream by night, and said to them; "Take this boy, as he lies in
his cradle, and leave him, with a thousand gold pieces, early in the
morning, at the door of king Súryaprabha. In this way all will turn
out well." The merchant's widow and the merchant's daughter, having
received this command from Siva, woke up, and told one another their
dream. And relying upon the god, they took the boy and the gold,
and laid them together at the gate of king Súryaprabha's palace. [376]

In the meanwhile Siva thus commanded in a dream king Súryaprabha,
who was tormented with anxiety to obtain a son; "Rise up, king,
somebody has placed at the gate of your palace a handsome child and
some gold, take him as he lies in his cradle." When Siva had said
this to the king, he woke up in the morning, and at that moment the
warders came in and told him the same, and so he went out himself,
and seeing at the gate of the palace that boy with a heap of gold, and
observing that he was of auspicious appearance, having his hands and
feet marked with the line, the umbrella, the banner and other marks,
he said, "Siva has given me a suitable child," and he himself took
him up in his arms, and went into the palace with him. And he made a
feast, and gave away an incalculable amount of wealth, so that only
the word "poor" was without its proper wealth of signification. And
king Súryaprabha spent twelve days in music, and dancing, and other
amusements, and then he gave that son the name of Chandraprabha.

And gradually prince Chandraprabha increased in stature as well as in
excellent character, delighting his dependants by both. And in course
of time he grew up, and became capable of bearing the weight of the
earth, winning over the subjects by his courage, his generosity, his
learning, and other accomplishments. And his father, king Súryaprabha,
seeing that he possessed these qualities, appointed him his successor
in the kingdom, and being an old man, and having accomplished all
his ends in life, he went to Váránasí. And while that son of his,
distinguished for policy, was ruling the earth, he abandoned his body
at Váránasí, in the performance of severe asceticism.

And that pious king Chandraprabha, hearing of the death of his father,
lamented for him, and performed the usual ceremonies, and then said
to his ministers, "How can I ever pay my debt to my father? However I
will make one recompense to him with my own hand. I will take his bones
and duly fling them into the Ganges, and I will go to Gayá, and offer
an obsequial cake to all the ancestors, and I will diligently perform
a pilgrimage to all sacred waters, as far as the eastern sea." When
the king said this, his ministers said to him, "Your majesty, kings
ought never to do these things, for sovereignty has many weak points,
and cannot subsist a moment without being upheld. So you must pay this
debt to your father by the instrumentality of another. What visiting
of holy waters, other than the doing of your duty, is incumbent
upon you? Kings, who are ever carefully guarded, have nothing to
do with pilgrimage, which is exposed to many dangers." When king
Chandraprabha heard this speech of his ministers', he answered them,
"Away with doubts and hesitations! I must certainly go for my father's
sake; and I must visit the sacred waters, while I am young and strong
enough. Who knows what will take place hereafter, for the body perishes
in a moment? And you must guard my kingdom until my return." When the
ministers heard this resolve of the king's, they remained silent. So
the king got ready all the requisites for the journey. Then, on
an auspicious day, the king bathed, made offerings to the fire,
gave complimentary presents to Bráhmans, and ascended a chariot to
which the horses were yoked, subdued in spirit and wearing the dress
of an ascetic, [377] and started on his pilgrimage. With difficulty
did he induce the feudal chiefs, the Rájpúts, the citizens, and the
country people, who followed him as far as the frontier, to return,
much against their will; and so, throwing the burden of his realm
upon his ministers, king Chandraprabha set out in the company of his
private chaplain, attended by Bráhmans in chariots. He was diverted
by beholding various garbs, and hearing various languages, and by the
other distractions of travel, and so seeing on his way all kinds of
countries, in course of time he reached the Ganges. And he gazed upon
that river, which seemed with the ridges of its waves to be making a
ladder for mortals to ascend into heaven by; and which might be said
to imitate Ambiká, since it sprang from the mountain Himavat, and
playfully pulled in its course the hair of Siva, and was worshipped
by the divine Rishis and the Ganas. So he descended from his chariot,
and bathed in that river, and threw into it in accordance with pious
custom the bones of king Súryaprabha.

And after he had given gifts and performed the sráddha, he ascended
the chariot, and set out, and in course of time reached Prayága [378]
celebrated by rishis, where the meeting streams of the Ganges and
Yamuná gleam for the welfare of men, like the line of flame and the
line of smoke of the sacrificial butter blending together. There king
Chandraprabha fasted, and performed with various pious actions, such
as bathing, distribution of wealth, and so on, the solemn ceremony
of the sráddha, and then he went on to Váránasí, which seemed by the
silken banners of its temples, tossed up and down by gusts of wind,
to cry out from afar, "Come and attain salvation."

In that city he fasted for three days, and then worshipped Siva
with various meat-offerings, as became his own rank, and then set
out for Gayá. As he travelled through the woods, the trees, which
were bent down by the weight of their fruit, and in which the birds
were sweetly singing, seemed at every step to be bowing before him
and praising him at the same time; and the winds, throwing about the
woodland flowers, seemed to honour him with posies. And so he crossed
the forest districts and reached the sacred hill of Gayá. [379]
And there he duly performed a sráddha, in which he bestowed many
gifts on Bráhmans, and then he entered the Holy Wood. And while he
was offering the sacrificial cake to his father in the well of Gayá,
there rose out of it three human hands to take the cake. When the
king saw this, he was bewildered, and said to his own Bráhmans; "What
does this mean? Into which hand am I to put the cake?" They said to
him, "King, this hand in which an iron spike is seen, is certainly
the hand of a thief; and this second hand, which holds a colander,
[380] is the hand of a Bráhman; and this third hand, which has the
ring and the auspicious marks, is the hand of a king. So we do not
know into which hand the sacrificial cake is to be put, or what all
this means." When the Bráhmans said this to the king, he was unable
to arrive at any certain decision.

When the Vetála, on the shoulder of the king, had told this wonderful
tale, he said to king Trivikramasena, "Now into whose hand should the
cake have been put? Let your Highness tell me that; and remember the
previous condition is still binding on you."

When king Trivikramasena, who was well versed in law, heard this from
the Vetála, he broke silence, and answered him; "The sacrificial
cake should have been placed in the hand of the thief, for king
Chandraprabha was his son, raised up to him by his appointment, and
he was not the son of either of the other two. For though the Bráhman
begot him, he cannot be considered his father, as he sold himself for
money for that one night. However he might have been considered the son
of king Súryaprabha, because he had the sacraments performed for him,
and brought him up, if the king had not received his wealth for the
purpose. For the gold, which was placed at the head of the child in
the cradle, was the price paid to king Súryaprabha for bringing him
up, and other services. Accordingly king Chandraprabha was the son,
begotten by another man, of that thief, who received his mother with
the pouring of water over the hands, who gave the order for his being
begotten, and to whom all that wealth belonged; and he ought to have
placed the sacrificial cake in the thief's hand; this is my opinion."

When the king said this, the Vetála left his shoulder, and went to
his own place, and king Trivikramasena again went after him to bring
him back.



NOTE.

It appears from the analysis which Oesterley gives of the Sanskrit
original by Sivadása, that the Hindi version resembles more nearly
the version in the text. In the Sanskrit original there is no touching
of the thief; Dhanavatí of her own accord enters into a conversation
with him. The advice to expose the child at the king's door is given
by the grandmother, after hearing the daughter's dream. The king does
not fetch the boy himself, but has him brought.






CHAPTER XCIV.

(Vetála 20.)


Then king Trivikramasena went and took down that Vetála from the
asoka-tree, and putting him on his shoulder, started off with him
again. And when he had set out in silence, the Vetála spake to him
from his shoulder; "King, what is the meaning of this persistency
of yours? Go, enjoy the good of the night; it is not fitting that
you should carry me to that wicked mendicant. However, if you are
obstinately bent on it, so be it; but listen to this one story."



Story of the Bráhman boy, who offered himself up to save the life of
the king.

There is a city called Chitrakúta, [381] rightly so named, where
the established divisions of the castes never step across the strict
line of demarcation. In it there lived a king, named Chandrávaloka,
the crest-jewel of kings, who rained showers of nectar into the eyes
of those devoted to him. Wise men praised him as the binding-post
of the elephant of valour, the fountain-head of generosity, and the
pleasure-pavilion of beauty. There was one supreme sorrow in the heart
of that young prince, that, though he enjoyed all kinds of prosperity,
he could not obtain a suitable wife.

Now, one day, the king, accompanied by mounted attendants, went out to
a great forest to hunt, in order to dispel that sorrow. There he cleft
with continual shafts the herds of wild swine, as the sun, shining in
the dun sky, [382] disperses the darkness with his rays. Surpassing
Arjuna in strength, he made the lions, impetuous in fight, and
terrible with their yellow manes, repose upon beds of arrows. Like
Indra in might, he stripped of their wings [383] the mountain-like
Sarabhas, and laid them low with the blows of his darts hard as
the thunder-bolt. In the ardour of the chase he felt a longing to
penetrate into the centre of the wood alone, so he urged on his horse
with a smart blow of his heel. The horse, being exceedingly excited
by that blow of his heel, and by a stroke of the whip, cared neither
for rough nor smooth, but darting on with a speed exceeding that of
the wind, in a moment traversed ten yojanas, and carried the king,
the functions of whose senses were quite paralysed, to another forest.

There the horse stopped, and the king, having lost his bearings,
roamed about wearied, until he saw near him a broad lake, which
seemed to make signs to him to approach with its lotuses, that,
bent down towards him and then raised again by the wind, seemed like
beckoning hands. [384] So he went up to it, and relieved his horse
by taking off its saddle and letting it roll, and bathed and watered
it, and then tied it up in the shade of a tree, and gave it a heap
of grass. Then he bathed himself, and drank water, and so dispelled
his fatigue, and then he let his eye wander hither and thither in
the delightful environs of the lake. And in one part he saw, at the
foot of an asoka-tree, a wonderfully beautiful hermit's daughter,
accompanied by her friend. She wore garlands of flowers, and a dress
of bark, which became her well. And she looked exceedingly charming
on account of the elegant way in which her hair was plaited together
after the hermit fashion. And the king, who had now fallen within the
range of the arrows of love, said to himself; "Who can this be? Can
it be Sávitrí come to bathe in the lake? Or can it be Gaurí, who
has slipped away from the arms of Siva, and again betaken herself to
asceticism? Or can it be the beauty of the moon that has taken upon
herself a vow, as the moon has set, now that it is day? So I had
better approach her quietly and find out." Having thus reflected,
the king approached that maiden.

But when she saw him coming, her eyes were bewildered by his beauty,
and her hand relaxed its grasp on the garland of flowers, which she
had before begun to weave, and she said to herself; "Who is this
that has found his way into such a wood as this? Is he a Siddha or a
Vidyádhara? In truth his beauty might satisfy the eyes of the whole
world." When these thoughts had passed through her mind, she rose up,
and modestly looking askance at him she proceeded to go away, though
her legs seemed to want all power of movement.

Then the polite and dexterous monarch approached her and said,
"Fair one, I do not ask you to welcome and entertain a person seen
for the first time, who has come from a distance, and desires no
fruit other than that of beholding you; but how is your running away
from him to be reconciled with the obligations of hermit life?" When
the king said this, the lady's attendant, who was equally dexterous,
sat down there, and entertained the king.

Then the eager king said to her with an affectionate manner, "Worthy
lady, what auspicious family is adorned by this friend of yours? What
are the ear-nectar-distilling syllables of her name? And why does
she torture in this wilderness, with the discipline appropriate to
ascetics, her body, which is soft as a flower?" When her friend heard
this speech of the king's, she answered; "This is the maiden daughter
of the great hermit Kanva, born to him by Menaká; she has been brought
up in the hermitage, and her name is Indívaraprabhá. She has come here
to bathe in this lake by permission of her father, and her father's
hermitage is at no great distance from this place."

When she said this to the king, he was delighted, and he mounted
his horse, and set out for the hermitage of the hermit Kanva,
with the intention of asking him for that daughter of his. He left
his horse outside the hermitage, and then he entered with modest
humility its enclosure, which was full of hermits with matted hair,
and coats of bark, thus resembling in appearance its trees. And in
the middle of it he saw the hermit Kanva surrounded with hermits,
delighting the eye with his brightness, like the moon surrounded
with planets. So he went up to him, and worshipped him, embracing his
feet. The wise hermit entertained him and dispelled his fatigue, and
then lost no time in saying to him; "My son Chandrávaloka, listen to
the good advice which I am about to give you. You know how all living
creatures in the world fear death: so why do you slay without cause
these poor deer? The Disposer appointed the weapon of the warrior for
the protection of the terrified. So rule your subjects righteously,
root up your enemies, and secure fleeting fortune and her gifts by
the warlike training of horse, and elephant, and so on. Enjoy the
delights of rule, give gifts, diffuse your fame throughout the world,
but abandon the vice of hunting, the cruel sport of death. What is
the profit of that mischievous hunting, in which slayer, victim,
and horse [385] are all equally beside themselves? Have you have not
heard what happened to Pándu?"

The intelligent king, Chandrávaloka, heard and accepted cheerfully
this advice of the hermit Kanva, and then answered him, "Reverend
Sir, I have been instructed by you; you have done me a great favour;
I renounce hunting, let living creatures be henceforth free from
alarm." When the hermit heard that, he said, "I am pleased with you
for thus granting security to living creatures; so choose whatever
boon you desire." When the hermit said this, the king, who knew
his time, said to him, "If you are satisfied with me, then give
me your daughter Indívaraprabhá." When the king made this request,
the hermit bestowed on him his daughter, who had just returned from
bathing, born from an Apsaras, a wife meet for him. Then the wives of
the hermits adorned her, and the marriage was solemnized, and king
Chandrávaloka mounted his horse and set out thence quickly, taking
with him his wife, whom the ascetics followed as far as the limits
of the hermitage with gushing tears. And as he went along, the sun,
seeing that the action of that day had been prolonged, [386] sat down,
as if wearied, on the peak of the mountain of setting. And in course
of time appeared the gazelle-eyed nymph of night, overflowing with
love, veiling her shape in a violet robe of darkness.

Just at that moment the king found on the road an asvattha-tree,
on the bank of a lake, the water of which was as transparent as a
good man's heart. And seeing that that spot was overshadowed with
dense boughs and leaves, and was shady and grassy, he made up his
mind that he would pass the night there. Then he dismounted from his
horse, and gave it grass and water, and rested on the sandy bank
of the lake, and drank water, and cooled himself in the breeze;
and then he lay down with that hermit's daughter, under that tree,
on a bed of flowers. And at that time the moon arose, and removing
the mantle of darkness, seized and kissed the glowing face of the
East. And all the quarters of the heaven were free from darkness,
and gleamed, embraced and illuminated by the rays of the moon,
so that there was no room for pride. [387] And so the beams of the
moon entered the interstices in the bower of creepers, and lit up
the space round the foot of the tree like jewel-lamps.

And the next morning the king left his bed, and after the morning
prayer, he made ready to set out with his wife to rejoin his army. And
then the moon, that had in the night robbed the cheeks of the lotuses
of their beauty, lost its brightness, and slunk, as if in fear, to the
hollows of the western mountain; for the sun, fiery-red with anger,
as if desirous to slay it, lifted his curved sword in his outstretched
fingers. [388] At that moment there suddenly came there a Bráhman
demon, black as soot, with hair yellow as the lightning, looking
like a thunder-cloud. He had made himself a wreath of entrails; he
wore a sacrificial cord of hair; he was gnawing the flesh of a man's
head, and drinking blood out of a skull. The monster, terrible with
projecting tusks, uttered a horrible loud laugh, and vomiting fire with
rage, menaced the king in the following words, "Villain! know that
I am a Bráhman demon, Jválámukha by name, and this asvattha-tree my
dwelling is not trespassed upon even by gods, but thou hast presumed
to occupy and enjoy it with thy wife. So receive from me, returned
from my nightly wanderings, the fruit of thy presumption. I, even I,
O wicked one, will tear out and devour the heart of thee, whose mind
love has overpowered, aye, and I will drink thy blood."

When the king heard this dreadful threat, and saw that his wife was
terrified, knowing that the monster was invulnerable, he humbly said to
him in his terror, "Pardon the sin which I have ignorantly committed
against you, for I am a guest come to this your hermitage, imploring
your protection. And I will give you what you desire, by bringing a
human victim, whose flesh will glut your appetite; so be appeased,
and dismiss your anger." When the Bráhman demon heard this speech of
the king's, he was pacified, and said to himself, "So be it! That will
do." Then he said to the king, "I will overlook the insult you have
offered me on the following conditions. You must find a Bráhman boy,
who, though seven years old and intelligent, is of so noble a character
that he is ready to offer himself for your sake. And his mother and
father must place him on the earth, and hold him firmly by the hands
and feet, while he is being sacrificed. And when you have found such
a human victim, you must yourself slay him with a sword-stroke, and
so offer him up to me on the seventh day from this. If you comply
with these conditions, well and good; but, if not, king, I will in
a moment destroy you and all your court." When the king heard this,
in his terror he agreed at once to the conditions proposed, and the
Bráhman demon immediately disappeared.

Then king Chandrávaloka mounted his horse, and set out with
Indívaraprabhá in quest of his army, in a state of the utmost
despondency. He said to himself, "Alas! I, bewildered by hunting and
love, have suddenly incurred destruction like Pándu; [389] fool that
I am! For whence can I obtain for this Rákshasa a victim, such as he
has described? So I will go in the meantime to my own town, and see
what will happen." While thus reflecting, he met his own army, that
had come in search of him, and with that and his wife he entered his
city of Chitrakúta. Then the whole kingdom rejoiced, when they saw
that he had obtained a suitable wife, but the king passed the rest
of the day in suppressed sorrow.

The next day he communicated to his ministers in secret all that
had taken place, and a discreet minister among them said to him,
"Do not be downcast, king, for I will search for and bring you such
a victim, for the earth contains many marvels."

When the minister had consoled the king in these words, he had made
with the utmost rapidity a golden image of a seven-years-old child,
and he adorned its ears with jewels, and placed it on a chariot,
and had it carried about in the towns, villages, and stations of
herdsmen. And while that image of a child was being carried about,
the minister had the following proclamation continually made in
front of it, with beat of drum; "If a Bráhman boy of seven years old
will willingly offer himself to a Bráhman demon for the good of the
community, and if his mother and father will permit the brave boy to
offer himself, and will hold his hands and feet while he is being
slain, the king will give to that boy, who is so eager to benefit
his parents as to comply with these conditions, this image of gold
and gems, together with a hundred villages."

Now it happened that a certain seven-years-old Bráhman boy, living
on a royal grant to Bráhmans, who was of great courage and admirable
character, heard this proclamation. Even in his childhood this boy
had always taken pleasure in benefiting his fellow-men, as he had
practised that virtue in a former life; in fact he seemed like the
ripe result of the merits of the king's subjects incarnate in bodily
form. So he came and said to the men who were making this proclamation,
"I will offer myself up for your good; but first, I will go and inform
my parents; then I will return to you." When he said this to them,
they were delighted, and they let him go. So he went home, and folding
his hands in an attitude of supplication, he said to his parents;
"I wish to offer for the good of the community this perishable body
of mine; so permit me to do so, and put an end to your poverty. For
if I do so, the king will give me this image of myself, made of gold
and gems, together with a hundred villages, and on receiving them,
I will make them over to you. In this way I shall pay my debt to you,
and at the same time benefit my fellow-men; and your poverty will be
at an end, and you will have many sons to replace me."

As soon as he had said this, his parents answered him; "What is
this that you say, son? Are you distracted with wind? Or are you
planet-struck? Unless you are one of these, how could you talk in this
wild way? Who would cause his son's death for the sake of wealth? What
child would sacrifice its body?" When the boy heard this speech of his
parents, he rejoined; "I do not speak from a disordered intellect;
hear my speech, which is full of sense. This body, which is full
of indescribable impurities, which is loathsome by its very birth,
and the abode of pain, will soon perish [390] anyhow. So wise men say
that the only solid and permanent thing in a fleeting universe is that
merit which is acquired by means of this very frail and perishable
body. [391] And what greater merit can there be than the benefiting
of all creatures? So, if I do not show devotion to my parents, what
fruit shall I reap from my body?" By this speech and others of the
same kind the resolute boy induced his weeping parents to consent to
his wish. And he went to the king's servants, and obtained from them
that golden image, together with a grant of a hundred villages, and
gave them to his parents. Then he made the king's servants precede
him, and went quickly, accompanied by his parents, to the king in
Chitrakúta. Then king Chandrávaloka, beholding arrived the boy,
whose courage [392] was so perfect, and who thus resembled a bright
protecting talisman, was exceedingly delighted. So he had him adorned
with garlands, and anointed with unguents, and putting him on the
back of an elephant, he took him with his parents to the abode of
the Bráhman demon.

Then the chaplain drew a circle near the asvattha-tree, and performed
the requisite rites, and made an oblation to the fire. And then
the Bráhman demon Jválámukha appeared, uttering a loud laugh, and
reciting the Vedas. His appearance was very terrible; he was drunk
with a full draught of blood, yawning, and panting frequently; his
eyes blazed, and he darkened the whole horizon with the shadow of
his body. Then king Chandrávaloka, beholding him, bent before him,
and said; "Adorable one, I have brought you this human sacrifice,
and it is now the seventh day, gentle Sir, since I promised it you;
so be propitious, receive this sacrifice, as is due." When the king
made this request, the Bráhman demon looked at the Bráhman boy,
licking the corners of his mouth with his tongue. [393]

At that moment the noble boy, in his joy, said to himself, "Let not
the merit, which I acquire by this sacrifice of my body, gain for
me heaven, or even a salvation which involves no benefits to others,
but may I be privileged to offer up my body for the benefit of others
in birth after birth!" While he was forming this aspiration, the
heaven was suddenly filled with the chariots of the heavenly host,
who rained flowers.

Then the boy was placed in front of the Bráhman demon, and his mother
took hold of his hands and his father of his feet. Then the king
drew his sword, and prepared to slay him; but at that moment the
child laughed so loudly, that all there, the Bráhman demon included,
abandoned the occupation in which they were engaged, and in their
astonishment put their palms together, and bowing, looked at his face.

When the Vetála had told this entertaining and romantic tale, he once
more put a question to king Trivikramasena; "So tell me, king, what
was the reason that the boy laughed in such an awful moment as that
of his own death? I feel great curiosity to know it, so, if you know,
and do not tell me, your head shall split into a hundred pieces."

When the king heard this from the Vetála, he answered him, "Hear
what was the meaning of that child's laugh. It is well known that
a weak creature, when danger comes upon it, calls upon its father
or mother to save its life. And if its father and mother be gone,
it invokes the protection of the king who is appointed to succour the
afflicted, and if it cannot obtain the aid of the king, it calls upon
the deity under whose special protection it is. Now, in the case of
that child, all those were present, and all behaved in exactly the
opposite manner to what might have been expected of them. The child's
parents held its hands and feet out of greed of gain, and the king
was eager to slay it, to save his own life, and the Bráhman demon,
its protecting deity, was ready to devour it. The child said to itself;
'To think that these should be thus deluded, being led so much astray
for the sake of the body, which is perishable, loathsome within, and
full of pain and disease. Why should they have such a strange longing
for the continuance of the body, in a world in which Brahmá, Indra,
Vishnu, Siva, and the other gods must certainly perish.' Accordingly
the Bráhman boy laughed out of joy and wonder, joy at feeling that he
had accomplished his object, and wonder at beholding the marvellous
strangeness of their delusion."

When the king had said this, he ceased, and the Vetála immediately left
his shoulder, and went back to his own place, disappearing by his magic
power. But the king, without hesitating for a moment, rapidly pursued
him; the hearts of great men, as of great seas, are firm and unshaken.



NOTE.

Oesterley (p. 210) tells us that a boy is in the same way sold to
a king as a victim in the 32nd tale of the Turkish collection of
tales, called "The Forty Viziers." When the king is about to rip
up the child's body, the child laughs for the same reason as in our
text. The cause of the sacrifice is however different. The king is
to be healed by placing his feet in the body of a boy.

The promise of a golden image to any one who is willing to
sacrifice his life is also found in the Bengali edition of the
Sinhásana-dvátrinsati. A rich man makes a golden image, with an
inscription on it to the effect that whoever is willing to sacrifice
his life shall have it. Vikramáditya goes to the place disguised, and
cuts off his head, but the goddess heals him, (Benfey's Panchatantra,
Vol. I, p. 109.)






CHAPTER XCV.

(Vetála 21.)


Then king Trivikramasena again went and took the Vetála from the
asoka-tree, and carried him along on his shoulder. And as he was going
along, the Vetála again said to the king, "Listen, king, I will tell
you a story of violent attachment."



Story of Anangamanjarí, her husband Manivarman, and the Bráhman
Kamalákara.

There is a city called Visálá, which is like a second city of Indra,
made by the Creator on earth, for the sake of virtuous people who
have fallen from heaven. In it there lived a fortunate king, named
Padmanábha, who was a source of joy to good men, and excelled king
Bali. In the reign of that king there lived in that city a great
merchant, named Arthadatta, who surpassed in opulence the god of
wealth. And to him there was born a daughter named Anangamanjarí,
who was exhibited on earth by the Creator as a likeness of a heavenly
nymph. And that merchant gave her to the son of a distinguished
merchant, dwelling in Támraliptí, and named Manivarman. But as he
was very fond of his daughter Anangamanjarí, because she was his only
child, he would not let her leave his house, but kept her there with
her husband. But Anangamanjarí's husband Manivarman was as distasteful
to her, as a biting bitter medicine to a sick man. But that lovely
one was dearer than life to her husband, as wealth hardly won and
long hoarded is to a miser.

Now once on a time that Manivarman, longing to see his parents, went
to his home in Támraliptí to visit them. After some days had passed,
the hot season descended upon the land, impeding the journey of men
absent from home with the sharp shafts of the sun's rays. The winds
blew laden with the fragrance of the jasmine and trumpet-flower, and
seemed like the hot [394] sighs of the cardinal points on account of
the departure of spring. Lines of dust raised by the wind flew up to
heaven, like messengers sent by the heated earth to hasten the approach
of the clouds. The days passed slowly, like travellers exhausted by
the severe heat, and longing for the shade of the trees. The nights,
pale-gleaming with moonbeams, became exceedingly [395] reduced owing
to the loss of the spring with all its happy meetings.

One day in that season, that merchant's daughter Anangamanjarí was
sitting with her intimate friend in a lofty window of her house, white
with sandal-wood ointment, and elegantly dressed in a thin garment
of silk. While there, she saw a young Bráhman, named Kamalákara, the
son of the king's chaplain, passing by, and he looked like the god of
Love, risen from his ashes, going to find Rati. And when Kamalákara
saw that lovely one overhead, like the orb of the moon, [396] he was
full of joy, and became like a cluster of kumuda-flowers. The sight
of those two young persons became to one another, by the mighty
command of Cupid, a priceless [397] fascination of the mind. And
the two were overcome by passion, which rooted up their modesty and
carried away by a storm of love-frenzy, which flung their minds to
a distance. And Kamalákara's companion, as soon as he saw that his
friend was love-smitten, dragged him off, though with difficulty,
to his own house.

As for Anangamanjarí, she enquired what his name was, and having no
will of her own, slowly entered the house with that confidante of
hers. There she was grievously afflicted with the fever of love,
and thinking on her beloved, she rolled on the bed, and neither
saw nor heard anything. After two or three days had passed, being
ashamed and afraid, unable to bear the misery of separation, thin
and pale, and despairing of union with her beloved, which seemed a
thing impossible, she determined on suicide. So, one night, when her
attendants were asleep, she went out, drawn as it were, by the moon,
which sent its rays through the window, like fingers, and made for a
tank at the foot of a tree in her own garden. There she approached
an image of the goddess Chandí, her family deity, that had been
set up with much magnificence by her father, and she bowed before
the goddess, and praised her, and said, "Though I have not obtained
Kamalákara for a husband in this life, let him be my husband in a
future birth!" When the impassioned woman had uttered these words
in front of the goddess, she made a noose with her upper garment,
and fastened it to an asoka-tree.

In the meanwhile it happened that her confidante, who was sleeping
in the same room, woke up, and not seeing her there, went to the
garden to look for her. And seeing her there engaged in fastening a
noose round her neck, she cried out, "Stop! stop!" and running up,
she cut that noose which she had made. Anangamanjarí, when she saw
that her confidante had come and cut the noose, fell on the ground in
a state of great affliction. Her confidante comforted her, and asked
her the cause of her grief, and she at once told her, and went on to
say to her, "So you see, friend Málatiká, as I am under the authority
of my parents and so on, and have little chance of being united to
my beloved, death is my highest happiness." While Anangamanjarí was
saying these words, she was exceedingly tortured with the fire of
Love's arrows, and being overpowered with despair, she fainted away.

Her friend Málatiká exclaimed, "Alas! the command of Cupid is hard
to resist, since it has reduced to this state this friend of mine,
who was always laughing at other misguided women, who shewed a want
of self-restraint. [398]" Lamenting in these words, she slowly brought
Anangamanjarí round with cold water, fanning, and so on, and in order
to allay her heat, she made her a bed of lotus-leaves, and placed on
her heart a necklace cool as snow. Then Anangamanjarí, with her eyes
gushing with tears, said to her friend, "Friend, the necklace and the
other applications do not allay my internal heat. But do you by your
cleverness accomplish something which will really allay it. Unite
me to my beloved, if you wish to preserve my life." When she said
this, Málatiká lovingly answered her, "My friend, the night is now
almost at an end, but to-morrow I will make an arrangement with your
beloved, and bring him to this very place. So in the meanwhile control
yourself, and enter your house." When she said this, Anangamanjarí
was pleased, and drawing the necklace from her neck, she gave it
to her as a present. And she said to her, "Now go to your house,
and early to-morrow go thence to the house of my beloved, and may
you prosper!" Having dismissed her confidante in these words, she
entered her own apartments.

And early next morning, her friend Málatiká went, without being seen by
any one, to the house of Kamalákara; and searching about in the garden,
she saw him at the foot of a tree. He was rolling about, burning with
the fire of love, on a bed composed of lotus-leaves moistened with
sandal-wood juice, and a confidential friend of his was trying to give
him relief by fanning him with a plantain-leaf. She said to herself,
"Is it possible that he has been reduced to this stage of love's
malady by separation from her?" So she remained there in concealment,
to find out the truth about it.

In the meanwhile that friend of Kamalákara's said to him, "Cast
your eye, my friend, for a moment round this delightful garden, and
cheer up your heart. Do not give way to despondency." When the young
Bráhman heard this, he answered his friend, "My friend, my heart has
been taken from me by Anangamanjarí the merchant's daughter, and my
breast left empty; so how can I cheer up my heart. Moreover Love,
finding me robbed of my heart, has made me a quiver for his arrows;
so enable me to get hold of that girl, who stole it."

When the young Bráhman said that, Málatiká's doubts were removed,
and she was delighted, and showed herself, and went up to him, and
said, "Happy man, Anangamanjarí has sent me to you, and I hereby
give you her message, the meaning of which is clear, 'What sort of
conduct is this for a virtuous man, to enter a fair one's bosom by
force, and after stealing away her heart, to go off without showing
himself.' It is strange too, that though you have stolen the lady's
heart, she now wishes to surrender to you herself and her life. For
day and night she furnaces forth from her hot sighs, which appear
like smoke rising from the fire of love in her burning heart. And her
tear-drops, black with collyrium, fall frequently, looking like bees
attracted by the fragrance of her lotus-like face. So if you like,
I will say what will be for the good of both of you."

When Málatiká said this, Kamalákara answered her, "My good lady, this
speech of yours, though it comforts me by shewing that my beloved
loves me, terrifies me, as it tells that the fair one is in a state
of unhappiness. So you are our only refuge in this matter; do as you
think best." When Kamalákara said this, Málatiká answered, "I will
to-night bring Anangamanjarí secretly into the garden belonging to
her house, and you must take care to be outside. Then I will manage
by some device of mine to let you in, and so you will be able to
see one another in accordance with your wishes." When Málatiká had
by these words delighted the young Bráhman, she went away, having
accomplished her object, and delighted Anangamanjarí also.

Then the sun, in love with the twilight, departed somewhere or other,
together with the day, and the heaven adorned itself, placing the
moon on its western quarter, like a patch on the forehead. And the
pure white kumuda-cluster laughed joyously with the cheerful faces of
its opened flowers, as if to say, "Fortune has left the lotus-cluster
and come to me." Thereupon the lover Kamalákara also adorned himself,
and full of impatience, slowly approached the outside of the door that
led into the garden of Anangamanjarí's house. Then Málatiká managed
to bring into that garden Anangamanjarí, who had with difficulty got
through the day. And she made her sit in the middle of it, in a bower
of mango-trees, and went out, and brought in Kamalákara also. And when
he entered, he beheld Anangamanjarí in the midst of dense-foliaged
trees, as gladly as the traveller beholds the shade.

While he was advancing towards her, she saw him, and as the violence
of her passion robbed her of shame, she eagerly ran forward, and threw
her arms round his neck. She faltered out, "Where are you going? I
have caught you," and immediately her breath was stopped by the
weight of excessive joy, and she died. And she fell on the ground,
like a creeper broken by the wind. Alas! strange is the course of
love, that is terrible in its consequences. When Kamalákara beheld
that misfortune, which was terrible as a thunder-stroke, he said,
"Alas! what is this?" and fell senseless on the ground. In a moment
he recovered consciousness; and then he took his beloved up in his
arms, and embraced and kissed her, and lamented much. And then he was
so violently oppressed by excessive weight of sorrow, that his heart
burst asunder at once, with a crack. And when Málatiká was lamenting
over their corpses, the night, seeing that both these lovers had
met their end, came to an end, as if out of grief. And the next day,
the relations of both, hearing from the gardeners what had happened,
came there distracted with shame, wonder, grief, and bewilderment. And
they remained for a long time doubtful what to do, with faces downcast
from distress; bad women are a grievous affliction, and a source of
calamity to their family.

At this moment Manivarman, the husband of Anangamanjarí, came, full
of longing to see her, from his father's house in Támraliptí. When
he reached his father-in-law's house, and heard what had taken
place, he came running to that garden, with his eyes blinded with
tears. There, beholding his wife lying dead by the side of another
man, the passionate man at once yielded up his breath, that was heated
with the fire of grief. Then the people there began to cry out, and
to make an uproar, and all the citizens heard what had taken place,
and came there in a state of astonishment.

Then the goddess Chandí, who was close at hand, having been called
down into that garden long ago by the father of Anangamanjarí, was
thus supplicated by her Ganas; "Goddess, this merchant Arthadatta,
who has established an image of thee in his garden, has always been
devoted to thee, so have mercy upon him in this his affliction." When
the beloved of Siva, the refuge of the distressed, heard this prayer
of her Ganas, she gave command that the three should return to life,
free from passion. So they all, by her favour, immediately arose, as if
awaking from sleep, free from the passion of love. Then all the people
were full of joy, beholding that marvel; and Kamalákara went home,
with his face downcast from shame; and Arthadatta, having recovered his
daughter [399] Anangamanjarí, who looked thoroughly ashamed of herself,
together with her husband, returned to his house in high spirits.

When the Vetála had told this story that night on the way, he again put
a question to king Trivikramasena. He said, "King, tell me, which of
those three, who were blinded by passion, was the most infatuated? And
remember, the curse before-mentioned will take effect, if you know
and do not say." When the king heard this question of the Vetála's, he
answered him, "It seems to me that Manivarman was the most infatuated
with passion of the three. For one can understand those two dying,
as they were desperately in love with one another, and their amorous
condition had been fully developed by lapse of time. But Manivarman
was terribly infatuated, for when he saw his wife dead of love for
another man, and the occasion called for indignation, he was so far
from being angry that, in his great love, he died of grief." When the
king had said this, the mighty Vetála again left his shoulder, and
departed to his own place, and the king again went in pursuit of him.



NOTE.

Oesterley, page 217, gives a story which resembles this in its
conclusion. A king finds a girl being carried off by robbers. He
delivers her and places her in a temple, promising to bring her
food. But on his way he meets a kuttiní, who conducts him to another
girl, with whom he falls desperately in love, and so forgets the girl
he rescued. She is found by a merchant. He takes her to his house and
sets food before her. He then kills a rat, and boasts of his valour;
(see page 16 of this volume.) This conduct, contrasted with that
of the king, makes the girl die of disgust. The merchant kills
himself. The king, not finding the first girl where he left her,
commits suicide. The kuttiní considers that she has caused the death
of three persons, and kills herself in a fit of remorse. The Vetála
asks, "Which of these four deaths was the most extraordinary?" The
king answers, "That of the kuttiní, for the others died of excess
of passion."






CHAPTER XCVI.

(Vetála 22.)


Then king Trivikramasena again fetched the Vetála from the top of the
asoka-tree, and put him on his shoulder, and as he was going along,
the Vetála said to him on the way, "King, you are good and brave,
so hear this matchless tale."



Story of the four Bráhman brothers who resuscitated the tiger.

There lived once on the earth a king, named Dharanívaráha, who was
lord of the town of Pátaliputra. [400] In his realm, which abounded
in Bráhmans, there was a royal grant to Bráhmans named Brahmasthala;
and on it there lived a Bráhman of the name of Vishnusvámin. He had a
wife that was as well-suited to him as the oblation to the fire. And
in course of time he had four sons by her. And when they had learnt
the Vedas, and passed their childhood, Vishnusvámin went to heaven,
and his wife followed him.

Then all his sons there, being in a miserable state, as they had no
protectors, and having had all their property taken from them by their
relations, deliberated together, and said, "We have no means of support
here, so why should we not go hence to the house of our maternal
grandfather in the village named Yajnasthala?" Having determined on
this, they set out, living on alms, and after many days they reached
the house of their maternal grandfather. Their grandfather was dead,
but their mother's brothers gave them shelter and food, and they lived
in their house, engaged in reading the Vedas. But after a time, as
they were paupers, their uncles came to despise them, and neglected
to supply them with food, clothes, and other necessaries.

Then their hearts were wounded by the manifest contempt shewn for
them by their relations, and they brooded over it in secret, and then
the eldest brother said to the rest; "Well! brothers, what are we
to do? Destiny performs every thing, no man can do anything in this
world at any place or time. For to-day, as I was wandering about in
a state of distraction, I reached a cemetery; and in it I saw a man
lying dead upon the ground, with all his limbs relaxed. And when I saw
him, I envied his state, and I said to myself; 'Fortunate is this man,
who is thus at rest, having got rid of his burden of grief.' Such was
the reflection that then occurred to me; so I determined to die: and
I tried to hang myself by means of a rope fastened to the branch of a
tree. I became unconscious, but my breath did not leave my body; and
while I was in this state, the rope broke, and I fell to the earth. And
as soon as I recovered consciousness, I saw that some compassionate
man was fanning me with his garment. He said to me, 'Friend, say,
why do you allow yourself to be thus afflicted, though you are
wise? For joy springs from good deeds, and pain from evil deeds,
these are their only sources. If your agitation is due to pain, then
perform good deeds; how can you be so foolish as to desire to incur
the pains of hell by suicide?' With these words that man consoled
me, and then departed somewhere or other, but I have come here,
having abandoned my design of committing suicide. So, you see that,
if Destiny is adverse, it is not even possible to die. Now I intend
to go to some holy water, and there consume my body with austerities,
in order that I may never again endure the misery of poverty."

When the eldest brother said this, his younger brothers said to him,
"Sir, why are you, though wise, afflicted with pain merely because
you are poor? Do you not know that riches pass away like an autumn
cloud. Who can ever count on retaining Fortune or a fickle woman,
though he carry them off and guard them carefully, for both
are insincere in their affection and secretly hostile to their
possessor? So a wise man must acquire by vigorous exertion some eminent
accomplishment, which will enable him frequently to bind [401] and lead
home by force riches which are like bounding deer." When the eldest
brother was addressed in this language by his brothers, he at once
recovered his self-control, and said, "What accomplishment of this kind
should we acquire?" Then they all considered and said to one another,
"We will search through the earth and acquire some magic power." So
having adopted this resolution, and fixed upon a trysting-place at
which to meet, the four separated, going east, west, north and south.

And in course of time they met again at the appointed spot, and asked
one another what each had learned. Then one of them said, "I have
learned this magic secret; if I find a bit of a bone of any animal,
I can immediately produce on it the flesh of that animal." When the
second heard this speech of his brother's, he said, "When the flesh of
any animal has been superinduced upon a piece of bone, I know how to
produce the skin and hair appropriate to that animal." Then the third
said, "And when the hair and flesh and skin have been produced, I am
able to create the limbs of the animal to which the bone belonged." And
the fourth said, "When the animal has its limbs properly developed,
I know how to endow it with life."

When they had said this to one another, the four brothers went
into the forest to find a piece of bone, on which to display their
skill. There it happened that they found a piece of a lion's bone,
and they took it up without knowing to what animal it belonged. Then
the first covered it with the appropriate flesh, and the second in
the same way produced on it all the requisite skin and hair, and the
third completed the animal by giving it all its appropriate limbs,
and it became a lion, and then the fourth endowed it with life. Then
it rose up a very terrible lion, furnished with a dense shaggy mane,
having a mouth formidable with teeth, [402] and with hooked claws
at the end of its paws. And charging the four authors of its being,
it slew them on the spot, and then retired glutted to the forest. So
those Bráhmans perished by making the fatal mistake of creating a lion:
for who can give joy to his own soul by raising up a noisome beast?

So, if Fate be not propitious, an accomplishment, though painfully
acquired, not only does not bring prosperity, but actually brings
destruction. For the tree of valour only bears fruit, as a general
rule, when the root, being uninjured, [403] is watered with the water
of wisdom, and when it is surrounded with the trench of policy.

When the Vetála, sitting on the shoulder of the king, had told this
tale on the way, that night, to king Trivikramasena, he went on to
say to him, "King, which of these four was guilty in respect of
the production of the lion, that slew them all? Tell me quickly,
and remember that the old condition is still binding on you." When
the king heard the Vetála say this, he said to himself, "This demon
wishes me to break silence, and so to escape from me. Never mind,
I will go and fetch him again." Having formed this resolution in his
heart, he answered that Vetála, "That one among them, who gave life
to the lion, is the guilty one. For they produced the flesh, the skin,
the hair, and the limbs, by magic power, without knowing what kind of
animal they were making: and therefore no guilt attaches to them on
account of their ignorance. But the man, who, when he saw that the
animal had a lion's shape, gave life to it, in order to display his
skill, was guilty of the death of those Bráhmans."

When the mighty Vetála heard this speech of the king's, he again
left his shoulder by magic power and went back to his own place,
and the king again went in pursuit of him.





NOTE.

The story, as given in the Panchatantra (Benfey, Vol. II, p. 332), is
somewhat different. Here we have four brothers of whom three possess
all knowledge, but one only possesses common sense. The first brother
joins together the bones of the lion, the second covers them with
skin, flesh, and blood, the third is about to give the animal life,
when the brother, who possesses common sense, says "If you raise him
to life, he will kill us all." Finding that the third brother will not
desist from his intention, he climbs up a tree and so saves his life,
while his three brothers are torn to pieces.

In the Bahar-Danush (Scott) Vol. II, p. 290, the bones of a cow are
joined together by being sprinkled with water. See Benfey, Vol. I,
p. 489. (Oesterley's Baitál Pachísí, pp. 211-212.)






CHAPTER XCVII.

(Vetála 23.)


Then the noble king Trivikramasena went back, and again took down
that Vetála from the asoka-tree, and though the Vetála transformed
himself in all possible ways, he put him on his shoulder and started
off with him in silence, and then the Vetála said to him, "King,
though the business in which you are engaged is not becoming to you,
you exhibit in it undaunted perseverance; so listen, I will tell you
a tale to dispel your fatigue."



Story of the Hermit who first wept and then danced.

There is in the land of Kalinga a city named Sobhávatí, like the
city of Indra in heaven, the abode of those that act aright. It was
ruled by a king named Pradyumna, whose sway was mighty, and who,
like the god Pradyumna, was celebrated for his exceeding power and
valour. The only detraction heard in his realm was that of the string
from the bow, the only pressure that of the fingers on the cymbal,
vice was only known in the name of the age, [404] and keenness only
in the pursuit of knowledge.

In a certain part of that town there was a grant named Yajnasthala,
given by that king, on which many Bráhmans were settled. There lived
on it a very wealthy Bráhman who had mastered the Vedas, whose name
was Yajnasoma. He maintained a sacrificial fire, and honoured guests,
and the gods. After his youth was past, there was born to him by his
wife, who was in every way a suitable match for him, an only son,
the child of a hundred wishes. And that promising boy grew up in his
father's house, and the Bráhmans duly named him Devasoma. And when he
had attained the age of sixteen years, that boy, who captivated all
by his knowledge, modesty, and other good qualities, suddenly died of
a fever. Then Yajnasoma, together with his wife, remained lovingly
embracing that dead boy, and lamenting over him, and refused for a
long time to let him be taken away to be burnt.

Then the old men assembled and reproved that Bráhman in the following
words, "Bráhman, are you not aware, though you know what is near and
far, that the condition of this Fata Morgana of a world is frail
as a bubble on water? Look at those kings who filled the earth
with their armies, and enjoyed themselves in this world, deeming
themselves immortal, lying on jewelled couches on the delightful
summits of palaces, that resounded with the warbling of music, having
their bodies anointed with sandal-wood ointment and other fragrant
unguents, and begirt with beautiful women. Even these no one could
save from being consumed by flesh-devouring flames, lying alone on
the funeral pyre in the cemetery whither the dead are followed by
weeping friends, and when their extremities had been shrivelled,
from being at last devoured by the jackals: much less can any others
escape this fate. So tell us, wise man, what mean you by embracing
that corpse?" Many other speeches of this kind did they address to him.

At last with difficulty his relations got him to stop clinging to his
dead son, and then, after the body had been laid out, they put it on
a bier, and with loud lamentations carried it to the burning-place,
accompanied by many people who shed tears on account of the calamity.

Now at that time there was dwelling in that cemetery an old Pásupata
ascetic possessing supernatural power, who lived in a hut. His name was
Vámasiva. His body was emaciated with age and excessive asceticism,
and bound round with veins, as if for fear that it would break. He
was covered all over with hair white with ashes, his matted locks were
yellow as lightning, and he looked like a second Siva. When that hermit
heard in the distance the lamentation of those people outside his hut,
he said to the pupil that lived with him, "Rise up! go and find out
the meaning of this confused noise outside in the cemetery, such as I
never heard before, and come back quickly, and tell me." Now this pupil
was one who had taken a vow of living on the products of begging; he
was a fool, and a rogue, and an egoist, puffed up with contemplation,
magical powers, and other things of the kind, and at this time he was
annoyed because his teacher had rebuked him. So, when his teacher gave
him this order, he answered him, "I will not go; go yourself, for my
time for begging is fast slipping away." When the teacher heard that,
he said, "Out on you, fool, devoted to your belly! Only half one watch
of the day has passed: how can it be your time for begging now?" When
the wicked pupil heard that, he was angry, and said to his teacher;
"Out on you, you decrepit old creature! I am no longer your pupil,
and you are no longer my teacher. I will go elsewhere, carry this
vessel yourself." When he had said this, he put down in front of him
his stick and water-vessel, and got up and went away.

Then the hermit left his hut, laughing as he went, and came to the
place where the young Bráhman had been brought to be burned. And when
the hermit saw him, with the people lamenting for the flower of his
youth, being afflicted with old age, and possessed of magical powers,
he determined to enter his body. So he quickly went aside, and first
wept aloud, and immediately afterwards he danced with appropriate
gesticulations. [405] Then the ascetic, longing to be young again,
abandoned his own body, and at once entered by magic power that young
Bráhman's body. And immediately the young Bráhman on the pyre, which
was ready prepared, returned to life, and rose up with a yawn. When
his relations and all the people saw that, they raised a loud shout of
"Hurrah! he is alive! he is alive!"

Then that ascetic, who was a mighty sorcerer, and had thus entered the
young Bráhman's body, not intending to abandon his vow, told them all
the following falsehood; "Just now, when I went to the other world,
Siva himself restored my life to me, telling me that I must take upon
me the vow of a Pásupata ascetic. And I must this moment go into
a solitary place and support this vow, otherwise I cannot live, so
depart you, and I also will depart." Saying this to all those present,
the resolute votary, bewildered with mixed feelings of joy and grief,
dismissed them to their own homes. And he himself went, and threw
that former body of his into a ravine; and so that great magician,
who had taken the vow, having become young, went away to another place.

When the Vetála had told this story that night on the way, he again
said to king Trivikramasena, "Tell me, king, why did that mighty
magician, when entering another body, first weep, and then dance? I
have a great desire to know this."

When that king, who was a chief of sages, heard this question of
the Vetála's, fearing the curse, he broke silence, and gave him this
answer, "Hear what the feelings of that ascetic were. He was grieved
because he thought that he was just going to abandon that body, which
had grown up with him through many years, by living in which he had
acquired magic power, and which his parents had fondled, when he
was a child, so he wept violently; for affection for one's body is
a deeply rooted feeling. But he danced for joy, because he thought
that he was about to enter a new body, and that by means of that he
would acquire greater magic power; for to whom is not youth pleasing."

When the Vetála, who was inside that corpse, heard this speech of
the king's, he left his shoulder and went back to that asoka-tree;
but that exceedingly undaunted monarch again ran after him, to recover
him; for the resolution of determined men surpasses in firmness the
mighty mountains, and remains unshaken even at the end of a kalpa.






CHAPTER XCVIII.

(Vetála 24.)


Then the brave king Trivikramasena, disregarding the awful night,
which in that terrible cemetery assumed the appearance of a Rákshasí,
being black with darkness, and having the flames of the funeral pyres
for fiery eyes, again went to the asoka-tree, and took from it the
Vetála, and put him on his shoulder.

And while he was going along with him, as before, the Vetála again
said to that king, "O king, I am tired out with going backwards and
forwards, though you are not: so I will put to you one difficult
question, and mind you listen to me."



Story of the father that married the daughter and the son that married
the mother.

There was in the Dekkan a king of a small province, who was named
Dharma; he was the chief of virtuous men, but he had many relations
who aspired to supplant him. He had a wife named Chandravatí, who
came from the land of Málava; she was of high lineage, and the most
virtuous of women. And that king had born to him by that wife one
daughter, who was not without cause named Lávanyavatí. [406]

And when that daughter had attained a marriageable age, king Dharma
was ejected from his throne by his relations, who banded together and
divided his realm. Then he fled from his kingdom at night with his
wife and that daughter, taking with him a large number of valuable
jewels, and he deliberately set out for Málava the dwelling-place of
his father-in-law. And in the course of that same night he reached the
Vindhya forest with his wife and daughter. And when he entered it, the
night, that had escorted him thus far, took leave of him with drops
of dew by way of tears. And the sun ascended the eastern mountain,
stretching forth its first rays, like a warning hand, to dissuade him
from entering that brigand-haunted wood. Then he travelled on through
it with his wife and daughter, having his feet wounded with sharp
points of kusa-grass, and he reached a village of the Bhillas. It
was full of men that robbed their neighbours of life and property,
and shunned by the virtuous, like the strong city of Death.

Then beholding the king from a distance with his dress and ornaments,
many Savaras, armed with various weapons, ran to plunder him. When king
Dharma saw that, he said to his daughter and wife, "The barbarians will
seize on you first, so enter the wood in this direction." When the king
said this to them, queen Chandravatí and her daughter Lávanyavatí,
in their terror, plunged into the middle of the wood. And the brave
king, armed with sword and shield, killed many of the Savaras, who came
towards him, raining arrows. Then the chief summoned the whole village,
and falling on the king, who stood there alone, they slashed his shield
to pieces and killed him; and then the host of bandits departed with
his ornaments. And queen Chandravatí, concealed in a thicket of the
wood, saw from a distance her husband slain: so in her bewilderment
she fled with her daughter, and they entered another dense forest a
long distance off. There they found that the shadows of the trees,
afflicted by the heat of midday, had laid themselves at their cool
roots, imitating travellers. So, tired and sad, the queen sat down
weeping with her daughter, in a spot on the bank of a lotus-lake,
under the shade of an asoka-tree.

In the meanwhile a chief, who lived near, came to that forest on
horseback, with his son, to hunt. He was named Chandasinha, and
when he saw their footsteps imprinted in the dust, he said to his
son Sinhaparákrama, "We will follow up these lovely and auspicious
tracks, and if we find the ladies to whom they belong, you shall
choose whichever you please of them." When Chandasinha said this, his
son Sinhaparákrama said to him, "I should like to have for a wife the
one that has these small feet, for I know that she will be young and
suited to me. But this one with large feet, being older than the other,
will just suit you. When Chandasinha heard this speech of his son's,
he said to him, "What is this that you say? Your mother has only
recently gone to heaven, and now that I have lost so good a wife,
how can I desire another?" When Chandasinha's son heard that, he
said to him, "Father, do not say so, for the home of a householder
is empty without a wife. Moreover, have you not heard the stanza
composed by Múladeva? 'Who, that is not a fool, enters that house in
which there is no shapely love eagerly awaiting his return, which,
though called a house, is really a prison without chains.' So, father,
my death will lie at your door, if you do not take as your wife that
companion of the lady whom I have chosen."

When Chandasinha heard this speech of his son's, he approved it,
and went on slowly with him, tracking up their footsteps. And he
reached that spot near the lake, and saw that dark queen Chandravatí,
adorned with many strings of pearls, sitting in the shade of a
tree. She looked like the midnight sky in the middle of the day,
and her daughter Lávanyavatí, like the pure white moonlight, seemed
to illumine her. And he and his son eagerly approached her, and she,
when she saw him, rose up terrified, thinking that he was a bandit.

But the queen's daughter said to her, "Mother, do not be afraid,
these are not bandits, these two gentle-looking well-dressed
persons are certainly some nobles come here to hunt." However the
queen still continued to hesitate; and then Chandasinha got down
from his horse and said to the two ladies, "Do not be alarmed; we
have come here to see you out of love; so take confidence [407] and
tell us fearlessly who you are, since you seem like Rati and Príti
fled to this wood in sorrow at Cupid's having been consumed by the
flames of Siva's fiery eye. And how did you two come to enter this
unpeopled wood? For these forms of yours are fitted to dwell in a
gem-adorned palace. And our minds are tortured to think how your feet,
that deserve to be supported by the lap of beautiful women, can have
traversed this ground full of thorns. And, strange to say, the dust
raised by the wind, falling on your faces, makes our faces lose their
brightness from despondency. [408] And the furious heat of the beams
of the fierce-rayed sun, as it plays on your flower-soft bodies,
burns us. So tell us your story; for our hearts are afflicted; we
cannot bear to see you thus abiding in a forest full of wild beasts."

When Chandasinha said this, the queen sighed, and full of shame and
grief, slowly told him her story. Then Chandasinha, seeing that she had
no protector, comforted her and her daughter, and coaxed them with kind
words into becoming members of his family. And he and his son put the
queen and her daughter on their horses, and conducted them to their
rich palace in Vittapapurí. And the queen, being helpless, submitted
to his will, as if she had been born again in a second life. What
is an unprotected woman, fallen into calamity in a foreign land,
to do? Then Sinhaparákrama, the son of Chandasinha, made Chandravatí
his wife, on account of the smallness of her feet. And Chandasinha
made her daughter, the princess Lávanyavatí, his wife, on account of
the largeness of her feet. For they made this agreement originally,
when they saw the two tracks of the small footsteps and the large
footsteps: and who ever swerves from his plighted word?

So, from the mistake about the feet, the daughter became the wife of
the father, and the mother the wife of the son, and so the daughter
became the mother-in-law of her own mother, and the mother became
the daughter-in-law of her own daughter. And in course of time,
both of them had by those husbands sons and daughters, and they
also had sons and daughters in due course of time. So Chandasinha
and Sinhaparákrama lived in their city, having obtained as wives
Lávanyavatí and Chandravatí.

When the Vetála had told this story on the way at night, he again put
a question to king Trivikramasena; "Now, king, about the children who
were in course of time born to the mother and daughter by the son
and the father in those two lines--what relationship did they bear
to one another? Tell me if you know. And the curse before threatened
will descend on you, if you know and do not tell."

When the king heard this question of the Vetála's, he turned the
matter over and over again in his mind, but he could not find out, so
he went on his way in silence. Then the Vetála in the dead man's body,
perched on the top of his shoulder, laughed to himself, and reflected;
"Ha! Ha! The king does not know how to answer this puzzling question,
so he is glad, and silently goes on his way with very nimble feet. Now
I cannot manage to deceive this treasure-house of valour any further;
[409] and this is not enough to make that mendicant stop playing tricks
with me. So I will now deceive that villain, and by an artifice bestow
the success, which he has earned, upon this king, whom a glorious
future awaits."

When the Vetála had gone through these reflections, he said to the
king, "King, though you have been worried with so many journeys to and
fro in this cemetery terrible with black night, you seem quite happy,
and you do not shew the least irresolution. I am pleased with this
wonderful courage that you shew. [410] So now carry off this body,
for I am going out of it; and listen to this advice which I give you
for your welfare, and act on it. That wicked mendicant, for whom you
have fetched this human corpse, will immediately summon me into it,
and honour me. And wishing to offer you up as a victim, the rascal
will say to you, 'King, prostrate yourself on the ground in such a way
that eight limbs will touch it.' Then, great king, you must say to that
ascetic, [411] 'Shew me first how to do it, and then I will do exactly
as you do.' Then he will fling himself on the ground, and shew you
how to perform the prostration, and that moment you must cut off his
head with the sword. Then you will obtain that prize which he desires,
the sovereignty of the Vidyádharas; enjoy this earth by sacrificing
him! But otherwise that mendicant will offer you up as a victim; it
was to prevent this that I threw obstacles in your way for such a long
time here. So depart; may you prosper!" When the Vetála had said this,
he went out of that human corpse, that was on the king's shoulder.

Then the king was led by the speech of the Vetála, who was pleased
with him, to look upon the ascetic Kshántisíla as his enemy, but he
went to him in high spirits, where he sat under that banyan-tree,
and took with him that human corpse.






CHAPTER XCIX.

(Vetála 25.)


Then king Trivikramasena came up to that mendicant Kshántisíla,
carrying that corpse on his shoulder. And he saw that ascetic, alone at
the foot of a tree, in the cemetery that was terrible with a night of
the black fortnight, eagerly awaiting his arrival. He was in a circle
made with the yellow powder of bones, the ground within which was
smeared with blood, and which had pitchers full of blood placed in the
direction of the cardinal points. [412] It was richly illuminated with
candles of human fat, [413] and near it was a fire fed with oblations,
it was full of all the necessary preparations for a sacrifice, and
in it the ascetic was engaged in worshipping his favourite deity.

So the king came up to him, and the mendicant, seeing that he had
brought the corpse, rose up delighted, and said, praising him; "Great
king, you have conferred on me a favour difficult to accomplish. To
think that one like you should undertake this enterprise in such a
place and at such a time! Indeed they say with truth that you are
the best of all noble kings, being a man of unbending courage, [414]
since you forward the interests of another with such utter disregard
of self. And wise men say that the greatness of great ones consists
in this very thing, that they swerve not from what they have engaged
to do, even though their lives are in danger."

With these words the mendicant, thinking he had gained his end, took
the corpse down from the shoulder of that king. And he bathed it, and
anointed it, and threw a garland round it, and placed it within that
circle. And he smeared his limbs with ashes, and put on a sacrificial
thread of hair, and clothed himself in the garments of the dead,
and thus equipped he continued for a time in meditation. Then the
mendicant summoned that mighty Vetála by the power of spells, and made
him enter the corpse; and proceeded to worship him. He offered to him
an argha of white human teeth in a skull by way of an argha-vessel;
and he presented to him flowers and fragrant unguents; and he gratified
him with the savoury reek of human eyes, [415] and made an offering
to him of human flesh. And when he had finished his worship, he said
to the king, who was at his side, "King, fall on the ground, and do
obeisance with all your eight limbs to this high sovereign of spells
who has appeared here, in order that this bestower of boons may grant
you the accomplishment of your heart's desire."

When the king heard that, he called to mind the words of the Vetála,
and said to the mendicant, "I do not know how to do it, reverend sir;
do you shew me first, and then I will do exactly as you." Then the
mendicant threw himself on the ground, to shew the king what he was to
do, and then the king cut off his head with a stroke of his sword. And
he tore and dragged [416] the lotus of his heart out of his inside,
and offered his heart and head as two lotuses to that Vetála.

Then the delighted hosts of goblins uttered shouts of applause on every
side, and the Vetála said to the king from inside the corpse, "King,
the sovereignty of the Vidyádharas, which this mendicant was aiming at,
shall fall to your lot after you have finished the enjoyment of your
earthly sway. Since I have given you much annoyance, choose whatever
boon you desire." When the Vetála said this, the king said to him,
"Since you are pleased with me, every boon that I could desire is
obtained; nevertheless, as your words cannot be uttered in vain, I
crave this boon of you:--may these first twenty-four questions and
answers, charming with their various tales, and this conclusion,
the twenty-fifth of the series, be all famous and honoured on the
earth!" When the king made this request to the Vetála, the latter
replied, "So be it! and now listen, king; I am going to mention a
peculiar excellence which it shall possess. This string of tales,
consisting of the twenty-four first, and this final concluding tale,
shall become, under the title of the Twenty-five Tales of a Vampire,
famous and honoured on the earth, as conducing to prosperity! Whosoever
shall read respectfully even a sloka of it, or whosoever shall hear it
read, even they two shall immediately be freed from their curse. And
Yakshas, and Vetálas, and Kushmándas, and witches, and Rákshasas, and
other creatures of the kind shall have no power where this shall be
recited." When the Vetála had said this, he left that human corpse, and
went by his supernatural deluding power to the habitation he desired.

Then Siva, being pleased, appeared, accompanied by all the gods, to
that king, visibly manifest, and said to him, as he bowed before him;
"Bravo! my son, for that thou hast to-day slain this hypocritical
ascetic, who was so ardently in love with the imperial sovereignty
over the Vidyádharas! I originally created thee out of a portion of
myself, as Vikramáditya, in order that thou mightest destroy the
Asuras, that had become incarnate in the form of Mlechchhas. And
now thou hast again been created by me as a heroic king of the name
of Trivikramasena, in order that thou mightest overcome an audacious
evildoer. So thou shalt bring under thy sway the earth with the islands
and the realms below, and shalt soon become supreme ruler over the
Vidyádharas. And after thou hast long enjoyed heavenly pleasures,
thou shalt become melancholy, and shalt of thy own will abandon them,
and shalt at last without fail be united with me. Now receive from me
this sword named Invincible, by means of which thou shalt duly obtain
all this." When the god Siva had said this to the king, he gave him
that splendid sword, and disappeared after he had been worshipped
by him with devout speeches and flowers. Then king Trivikramasena,
seeing that the whole business was finished, and as the night had come
to an end, entered his own city Pratishthána. There he was honoured
by his rejoicing subjects, who in course of time came to hear of
his exploits during the night, and he spent the whole of that day
in bathing, giving gifts, in worshipping Siva, in dancing, singing,
music, and other enjoyments of the kind. And in a few days that king,
by the power of the sword of Siva, came to enjoy the earth, that
was cleared of all enemies, together with the islands and the lower
regions; and then by the appointment of Siva he obtained the high
imperial sovereignty over the Vidyádharas, and after enjoying it long,
at last became united with the blessed one, so attaining all his ends.


(Here ends the Vetálapanchavinsati.)

When [417] that minister Vikramakesarin, meeting in the way the
successful [418] prince Mrigánkadatta, after he had been long separated
from him by a curse, had told him all this, he went on to say to him,
"So, prince, after that old Bráhman had told me in that village this
story, called the Twenty-five Tales of a Vampire, he went on to say
to me, 'Well, my son, did not that heroic king Trivikramasena obtain
from the favour of a Vetála the thing that he desired? So do you also
receive from me this spell, and laying aside your state of despondency,
win over a chief among the Vetálas, in order that you may obtain
reunion with prince Mrigánkadatta. For nothing is unattainable by
those who possess endurance; who, my son, will not fail, if he allows
his endurance to break down? So do what I recommend you to do out of
affection; for you kindly delivered me from the pain of the bite of
a poisonous serpent.' When the Bráhman said this, I received from
him the spell with the practice to be employed with it, and then,
king, I took leave of him, and went to Ujjayiní. There I got hold
of a corpse in the cemetery at night, and I washed it, and performed
all the other necessary processes with regard to it, and I summoned a
Vetála into it by means of that spell, and duly worshipped him. And to
satisfy his hunger, I gave him human flesh to eat; and being greedy
for the flesh of men, he ate that up quickly, and then said to me;
'I am not satisfied with this; give me some more.' And as he would
not wait any time, I cut off my own flesh, [419] and gave it to him to
please him: and that made that prince of magicians exceedingly pleased
with me. Then he said to me, 'My friend, I am much pleased now with
this intrepid valour of thine, so become whole in thy limbs as thou
wast before, and crave from me whatever boon thou desirest.' When the
Vetála said this to me, I answered him then and there: 'Convey me, god,
to that place where my master Mrigánkadatta is; there is no other boon
which I desire more than this.' Then the mighty Vetála said to me;
'Then quickly get up on my shoulder, that I may carry thee rapidly
to that master of thine.' When the Vetála said this, I consented,
and eagerly climbed up on his shoulder, and then the Vetála, that was
inside that human corpse, rapidly set out through the air, carrying
me with him. And he has brought me here to-day, king, and when that
mighty Vetála saw you on the way, he brought me down from the air,
and thus I have been made to reach the sole of your foot. And I have
to-day been reunited with my master, and the Vetála has departed,
having accomplished what was required of him. This, O bestower of
honour, [420] is my great adventure, since I was separated from you
by the curse of the Nága."

When Mrigánkadatta, as he was going to Ujjayiní to win his beloved,
had heard, on the way, from his minister Vikramakesarin, this account
of his adventures since he had been separated from him, that prince
rejoiced, as he had in course of time found some of his ministers,
who were separated from him by the curse of Párávatáksha, and as he
augured therefrom success in all that he had in hand.



NOTE.

Properly speaking, there are 24 instead of 25 stories in this version
of the Vetála Panchavinsati. The same appears to be the case with the
redaction ascribed to Sivadása, according to Oesterley, and with the
Tamul version. The 24th tale in Oesterley's translation is simply a
repetition of the 22nd.






CHAPTER C.


Honour to the vanquisher of obstacles, [421] round whose knees,
when he is dancing at night, there winds a garland of stars, which
appears as if it had fallen from the globes on his forehead!

Then, the story being ended, the delighted Mrigánkadatta rose up from
the middle of the path, and set out again for Ujjayiní for which he had
long ago started in order to find Sasánkavatí, with a party of eight,
including himself, having recovered Vikramakesarin, accompanied by
Gunákara, and Vimalabuddhi, and Vichitrakatha, and Bhímaparákrama,
and Prachandasakti, and the Bráhman Srutadhi, and he kept looking
out for those of his companions separated from him by the curse of
the Nága, whom he had not yet recovered.

And in course of time, he reached a treeless desert, all the water in
which had been dried up by the heat, and which was full of sand heated
by the fierce blaze of the sun. And as the prince was traversing it,
he said to his ministers, "Observe how long, terrible, and difficult to
cross is this great desert; for it has in it no refuge, it is pathless
and abandoned by men; and the blaze of its fire of grief seems to
ascend in these sandy mirages; its rough and dishevelled locks are
represented by the dry rustling blades of grass; and its thorns make
it appear to have its hair standing on end through fear of the lions,
tigers, and other noisome beasts; and it laments in the cries of its
deer exhausted by the heat and longing for water. So we must cross
this terrible desert as quickly as we can."

When Mrigánkadatta had said this, he quickly crossed that desert
with his ministers, who were afflicted with hunger and thirst. And
he beheld in front of him a great lake filled with pellucid and
cold water, looking like streams that had flowed down from the moon
after it had been melted with the heat of the sun. It was so broad
that it filled the whole horizon, and it looked like a jewel-mirror
made by the Fortune of the three worlds, in order to behold in it
the reflection of herself. That lake resembled the Mahábhárata, for
in it the Dhártaráshtras [422] were making a disturbance, and many
Arjuna trees were reflected; [423] and it was refreshing and sweet
to the taste; it was like the churned sea of doom, for its precious
fluid was drunk by the blue-necked jays that assembled near it, [424]
and Vishnu might have resorted to it to find the goddess of Beauty:
[425] it resembled an earthly Pátála, for its profound cool depths
were never reached by the rays of the sun, and it was an unfailing
receptacle of lotuses. [426]

And on the western shore of that lake the prince and his ministers saw
a great and wonderful tree. Its numerous far-reaching boughs, agitated
by the wind, appeared like arms, and the cloud-stream that clung to its
head was like the Ganges, so that it resembled Siva dancing. With its
lofty top, that pierced the sky, it seemed to be standing erect out
of curiosity to see the beauty of the garden Nandana. It was adorned
with fruit of heavenly flavour, that clung to its branches, and so
it looked like the wishing-tree of heaven, with goblets of nectar
suspended on it by the gods. It waved its shoots like finger-tips,
and seemed with the voices of its birds to say again and again,
"Let no one question me in any way!"

While prince Mrigánkadatta was looking at that tree, his ministers,
worn out with hunger and thirst, ran towards it, and the moment they
saw those fruits on it, they climbed up to eat them, and immediately
they lost their human form, and were all six suddenly turned into
fruits. Then Mrigánkadatta was bewildered at not seeing those friends
of his, and he called on every one of them there by name. But when they
gave no answer, and could not be seen anywhere, the prince exclaimed
in a voice agonized with despair, "Alas! I am undone!" and fell on
the ground in a swoon. And the Bráhman Srutadhi, who had not climbed
up the tree, was the only one left at his side.

So the Bráhman Srutadhi at once said to him by way of consolation,
"Why, my sovereign, do you lose your firmness, and despair, though
you have learned wisdom? For it is the man, who is not distracted in
calamity, that obtains prosperity. Did you not find those ministers,
after they had been separated from you by the curse of the Nága? In
like manner shall you again recover them, and get back the others also,
and moreover you shall soon be united with Sasánkavatí." When Srutadhi
said this to the prince, he answered him; "How can this be? The truth
is that all this train of events was arranged for our ruin by the
Disposer. If it was not so arranged, how came the Vetála to appear
in the night, and Bhímaparákrama to do as he did, and how came it to
pass that I heard about Sasánkavatí through the conversation that took
place between them, and that I set out from Ayodhyá to fetch her? How
came it to pass also that we were all separated from one another
in the Vindhya forest by the curse of the Nága, and that some of us
were in course of time reunited, and that this second separation has
now taken place and with it the ruin of all my plans? It all tallies
together, my friend. The fact is they have been devoured in that tree
by a demon, and without them what is Sasánkavatí to me, or what is
my life worth to me? So away with delusions?" When Mrigánkadatta had
said this, he rose up to throw himself into the lake out of sorrow,
although Srutadhi tried to prevent him.

At that moment a bodiless voice came from the air, "My son, do not
act rashly, for all will end well for thee. The god Ganesa himself
dwells in this tree, and he has been to-day insulted by thy ministers
unwittingly. For they, king, being pinched with hunger, climbed up
into the tree in which he dwells, to pick its fruits, in a state of
impurity, having neither rinsed their mouths nor washed their hands
and feet; so the moment that they touched the fruits, they became
fruits themselves. For Ganesa inflicted on them this curse, 'Let them
become that on which their minds are fixed?' Moreover, thy four other
ministers, who, the moment they arrived here, climbed up the tree in
the same way, were turned into fruits by the god. Therefore do thou
propitiate this Ganesa with ascetic practices, and by his favour thou
shalt attain all thy objects."

When Mrigánkadatta had been thus addressed by the voice from the
air, that seemed to rain nectar into his ears, hope again sprang
up in his bosom, and he gave up all idea of suicide. So he bathed
in the lake, and worshipped Ganesa, who dwelt in that tree, without
taking food, and joining his palms in an attitude of supplication,
praised him in the following words; "Hail thou elephant-faced lord,
who art, as it were, worshipped by the earth, that with its plains,
rocks, and woods, bows under the crushing weight of thy tumultuous
dance! Hail thou that hast the twin lotuses of thy feet worshipped
by the three worlds, with the gods, Asuras, and men, that dwell in
them; thou, whose body is in shape like a pitcher for the abundant
storing of various splendid successes! Hail, thou, the flame of
whose might blazes forth like twelve fierce suns rising at once;
thou that wast a premature day of doom to the race of the Daityas,
whom Siva, Vishnu, and Indra found hard to conquer! Hail, thou that
wardest off calamity from thy votaries! Hail, thou that diffusest a
blaze of flame with thy hand, while it glitters with thy mighty axe,
that seems anxious to illuminate thee in sport! I fly for refuge to
thee, O Ganesa, that wast worshipped even by Gaurí, in order that her
husband might successfully accomplish his undertaking in the conquest
of Tripura; honour to thee!" When Mrigánkadatta had in these words
praised Ganesa, he spent that night fasting, on a bed of kusa-grass
under that tree. In the same way that prince spent eleven nights,
being engaged in propitiating Ganesa, the king of impediments; and
Srutadhi remained in attendance on him.

And on the night of the twelfth day Ganesa said to him in a dream,
"My son, I am pleased with thee; thy ministers shall be released
from their curse, and thou shalt recover them; and with them thou
shalt go and win Sasánkavatí in due course; and thou shalt return
to thy own city, and rule the whole earth." After Mrigánkadatta had
been thus informed in a dream by the god Ganesa, he woke up, when
the night came to an end, and told Srutadhi the vision that he had
seen. Srutadhi congratulated him on it; and then, in the morning,
the prince bathed and worshipped Ganesa, and proceeded to walk round
the tree in which the god dwelt, with his right hand towards it,
[427] and while he was thus engaged, all his ten ministers came down
from the tree, having been released from the form of fruits, and fell
at his feet. Besides the six who were mentioned before, there were
Vyághrasena and Sthúlabáhu, and Meghabala, and the fourth Dridhamushti.

Then the prince, having recovered all those ministers at the same
instant, with eye, with gestures, [428] and with voice agitated by the
workings of joy, looked at his ministers, one by one, again and again,
exceedingly lovingly, and embraced them, and then spoke to them;
having successfully attained his object. And they, beholding with
tears in their eyes their master, who, after the asceticism which he
had gone through, was slender as a new moon, and having been told the
true explanation of the whole by Srutadhi, felicitated themselves on
having truly a protecting lord.

Then Mrigánkadatta, having attained good hope of accomplishing his
enterprise, joyfully broke his fast with those ministers, who had
performed all necessary ablutions in the tank.






CHAPTER CI.


Then Mrigánkadatta, refreshed by breaking his fast, sat down
with those ministers of his on the bank of that lake. Then he
courteously asked those four ministers, whom he had recovered
that day, for an account of their adventures during the time that
he was separated from them. Thereupon that one of them, who was
called Vyághrasena, said to him, "Listen, prince, I now proceed to
relate our adventures. When I was carried to a distance from you by
the curse of the Nága Párávatáksha, I lost my senses, and in that
state I wandered through the forest by night. At last I recovered
consciousness, but the darkness, which enveloped me, prevented me
from seeing where the cardinal points lay, and what path I ought to
take. At last the night, that grief made long, [429] came to an end;
and in course of time the sun arose, that mighty god, and revealed
all the quarters of the heaven. Then I said to myself 'Alas! Where
can that master of mine be gone? And how will he manage to exist
here alone separated from us? And how am I to recover him? Where
shall I look for him? What course shall I adopt? I had better go to
Ujjayiní; for I may perhaps find him there; for he must go there,
to find Sasánkavatí.' With such hopes I set out slowly for Ujjayiní,
threading that difficult forest that resembled calamity, scorched by
the rays of the sun, that resembled showers of fiery powder.

"And at last, somehow or other, I reached a lake, with full-blown
lotuses for expanded eyes, that seemed to hold converse with me
by means of the sweet cries of its swans and other water-birds;
it stretched forth its ripples like hands; its surface was calm and
broad; [430] the very sight of it took away all grief; and so in all
points it resembled a good man. I bathed in it, and ate lotus-fibres,
and drank water; and while I was lingering on its bank, I saw these
three arrive there, Dridhamushti, and Sthúlabáhu, and Meghabala. And
when we met, we asked one another for tidings of you. And as none of
us knew anything about you, and we suspected the worst, we made up our
minds to abandon the body, being unable to endure separation from you.

"And at that moment a hermit-boy came to bathe in that lake; his name
was Mahátapas, and he was the son of Dírghatapas. He had matted hair,
he diffused a brightness of his own, and he seemed like the god of
Fire, blazing with mighty flame, having become incarnate in the body
of a Bráhman, in order to consume once more the Khándava forest; [431]
he was clothed in the skin of a black antelope, he had an ascetic's
water-vessel in his left hand, and on his right wrist he bore a rosary
of Aksha-seeds by way of a bracelet; the perfumed earth that he used
in bathing was stuck on the horns of the deer that came with him, and
he was accompanied by some other hermit-boys like himself. The moment
he saw us about to throw ourselves into the lake, he came towards us;
for the good are easily melted with compassion, and shew causeless
friendship to all. And he said to us, 'You ought not to commit a crime
characteristic of cowards, for poltroons, with their minds blinded with
grief, fall into the gulfs of calamity, but resolute men, having eyes
enlightened by discernment, behold the right path, and do not fall
into the pit, but assuredly attain their goal. And you, being men of
auspicious appearance, will no doubt attain prosperity; so tell me,
what is your grief? For it grieves my heart to see you thus.'

"When the hermit-boy had said this, I at once told him the whole of
our adventure from the beginning; then that boy, who could read the
future, [432] and his companions, exhorted us with various speeches,
and diverted our minds from suicide. Then the hermit-boy, after he
had bathed, took us to his father's hermitage, which was at no great
distance, to entertain us.

"There that hermit's son bestowed on us the arghya, and made us sit
down in a place, in which even the trees seemed to have entered on a
course of penance, for they stood aloft on platforms of earth, and
lifted on high their branches like arms, and drank in the rays of
the sun. And then he went and asked all the trees in the hermitage,
one after another, for alms. And in a moment his alms-vessel was
filled with fruits, that of themselves dropped from the trees; and
he came back with it to us. And he gave us those fruits of heavenly
flavour, and when we had eaten them, we became, as it were, satisfied
with nectar.

"And when the day came to an end, and the sun descended into the sea,
and the sky was filled with stars, as if with spray flung up by his
fall, and the moon, having put on a white bark-robe of moonlight, had
gone to the ascetic grove on the top of the eastern mountain, [433] as
if desiring to withdraw from the world on account of the fall of the
sun, we went to see the hermits, who had finished all their duties,
and were sitting together in a certain part of the hermitage. We
bowed before them, and sat down, and those great sages welcomed us,
and with kindly words at once asked us whence we came. Then that
hermit-boy told them our history until the time of our entering the
hermitage. Then a wise hermit there, of the name of Kanva, said to us,
'Come, why have you allowed yourselves to become so dispirited, being,
as you are, men of valour? For it is the part of a brave man to display
unbroken firmness in calamity, and freedom from arrogance in success,
and never to abandon fortitude. And great men attain the title of great
by struggling through great difficulties by the aid of resolution,
and accomplishing great things. In illustration of this, listen to
this story of Sundarasena, and hear how he endured hardship for the
sake of Mandáravatí?' When the hermit Kanva had said this, he began, in
the hearing of us and of all the hermits, to tell the following tale."



Story of Sundarasena and Mandáravatí.

There is a country named Nishada, that adorns the face of the northern
quarter; in it there was of old a city of the name of Alaká. In this
city the people were always happy in abundance of all things, [434]
and the only things that never enjoyed repose were the jewel-lamps. In
it there lived a king of the name of Mahásena, and not without reason
was he so named, for his enemies were all consumed by the wonderful
and terrible fire of his valour, which resembled that of the god of
war. That king had a prime minister named Gunapálita, who was like
a second Sesha, for he was a mine of valour, and could bear up, like
that serpent, the weight of the earth. The king, having destroyed his
enemies, laid upon him the weight of his kingdom and devoted himself to
pleasure; and then he had a son born to him by his queen Sasiprabhá,
named Sundarasena. Even when he was a child, he was no child in good
qualities, and the goddesses of valour and beauty chose him for their
self-elected husband.

That prince had five heroic ministers, equal in age and
accomplishments, who had grown up with him from their childhood,
Chandaprabha, and Bhímabhuja, and Vyághraparákrama, and the heroic
Vikramasakti, and the fifth was Dridhabuddhi. And they were all
men of great courage, endowed with strength and wisdom, well-born,
and devoted to their master, and they even understood the cries
of birds. [435] And the prince lived with them in his father's
house without a suitable wife, being unmarried, though he was
grown up. And that heroic Sundarasena and his ministers reflected,
"Courage invincible in assault, and wealth won by his own arm, and a
wife equal to him in beauty become a hero on this earth. Otherwise,
what is the use of this beauty?"

And one day the prince went out of the town to hunt, accompanied by
his soldiers, and by those five companions, and as he was going out, a
certain famous female mendicant named Kátyáyaní, bold from the maturity
of her age, who had just returned from a distant foreign country,
saw him, and said to herself, when she beheld his superhuman beauty,
"Is this the Moon without Rohiní or the god of Love without Rati?" But
when she asked his attendants, and found out that it was the prince,
she was astonished, and praised the marvellousness of the creation of
the Disposer. [436] Then she cried out to the prince from a distance
with a shrill and far reaching voice, "Be victorious, O prince," and
so saying she bowed before him. But at that moment the mind of the
prince was wholly occupied by a conversation which he had begun with
his ministers, and he went on without hearing the female ascetic. But
she was angry, and called out to him in such a loud voice that he
could not help hearing her, "Ho! prince! why do you not listen to
the blessing of such a one as I am? What king or prince is there
on the earth that does not honour me? [437] But if your youth and
other advantages render you so proud now, it is certain that, if you
obtain for a wife that ornament of the world, the maiden Mandáravatí,
the daughter of the king of Hansadvípa, you will be too much puffed
up with arrogance to listen to the speech of Siva, [438] the great
Indra, and other gods, much less to the words of wretched men."

When the ascetic had said this, Sundarasena, being full of curiosity,
called her to him, and bent before her and propitiated her. And being
anxious to question her, he sent her under the care of his servants
to rest in the house of his minister Vikramasakti. Then the prince
went off, and after he had enjoyed the sport of hunting, he returned
to his palace, and said his daily prayers, and took his food, and
then he sent for the ascetic, and put the following question to her,
"Reverend mother, who is this maiden named Mandáravatí, that you
spoke of to-day? Tell me, for I feel great curiosity about her."

When the ascetic heard this, she said to him, "Listen, I will tell you
the whole story. I am in the habit of wandering about the whole of this
earth and the islands, for the sake of visiting sacred bathing-places
and other holy spots. And in the course of my travels I happened
to visit Hansadvípa. There I saw the daughter of king Mandáradeva,
a suitable match for the sons of gods, not to be beheld by those
who have done evil works; she bears the name of Mandáravatí, and
has a form as charming as the presiding goddess of the garden of the
gods; the sight of her kindles love, and she seems like another moon
all composed of nectar, created by the Disposer. There is no other
beauty on the earth equal to hers; [439] only you, prince, I think,
emulate her wealth of loveliness. As for those who have not seen her,
their eyes are useless, and they have been born in vain."

When the prince heard this from the mouth of the female ascetic, he
said, "Mother, how are we to get a sight of her beauty, which is so
surpassing?" When the female ascetic heard this speech of his, she
said, "I took such interest in her on that occasion that I painted
a picture of her on canvas; and I have it with me in a bag; if you
feel any curiosity about it, look at it." When she had said this,
she took the picture of the lady out of the bag, and shewed it to
the gratified prince. And Sundarasena, when he beheld that maiden,
who, though she was present there only in a picture, seemed to be of
romantic beauty, and like a flowing forth of joy, immediately felt
his limbs covered all over with hairs erect from horripilation, as if
he had been pierced with the dense arrows of the god of the flowery
bow. [440] He remained motionless, hearing nothing, speaking nothing,
seeing nothing; and with his whole heart fixed on her, was for a long
time as if painted in a picture.

When the prince's ministers saw that, they said to that female ascetic,
"Reverend mother, paint prince Sundarasena on this piece of canvas,
and let us have a specimen of your skill in catching likenesses." The
moment she heard that, she painted the prince on canvas. And when they
saw that it was a striking likeness, all, who were present there, said,
"The reverend lady's likenesses exactly resemble the originals, for
when one looks at this picture, one thinks that one sees the prince
himself; so the beauty of the princess Mandáravatí is sure to be such
as it is represented in the picture."

When the ministers had said this, prince Sundarasena took the two
pictures, and being pleased, honoured that female ascetic. And he
dismissed with appropriate honours that dweller in a lonely spot. And
he entered the inner part of the palace, carrying with him the picture
of his beloved. He flung himself on a bed and said to himself "Can
this be my charmer's face, or a moon that has purged away the spot
that defiles its beauty?" [441] In this way he remained examining
Mandáravatí, limb by limb, though he had only her painted form before
him: and in this state he continued every day, abstaining from meat and
drink; and so in the course of a few days he was completely exhausted
by the pain of love's fever.

When his parents, Sasiprabhá and Mahásena, found that out, they
came of their own accord and asked his friends the cause of his
indisposition. And his companions told them the whole story, as it had
happened, how the daughter of the king of Hansadvípa had come to be the
cause of his complaint. Then Mahásena said to Sundarasena, "My son, why
do you so improperly conceal this attachment of yours? For Mandáravatí
is a pearl of maidens, and she will be a good match for you. Besides,
her father Mandáradeva is a great friend of mine. So why do you torment
yourself about a matter of this kind, which is quite becoming, and
can be easily arranged by an ambassador?" When king Mahásena had said
this, he deliberated, and sent off an ambassador named Surathadeva
to Hansadvípa, to ask for the daughter of king Mandáradeva. And he
put into his hand the portrait of Sundarasena, executed on canvas by
that female ascetic, which shewed how wonderfully handsome he was.

The ambassador travelled quickly, and reached the city of king
Mahendráditya on the shore of the sea, named Sasánkapura. There
he embarked on a ship, and after some days he reached the palace
of king Mandáradeva in Hansadvípa. He was announced by the wardens
and entered the palace, and saw that king, and after he had in due
form delivered to him the present, he said to him, "Great monarch,
king Mahásena sends you this message, 'Give your daughter to my son
Sundarasena; for a female ascetic, of the name of Kátyáyaní, made a
portrait of her, and brought it here, and shewed it to my son, as the
picture of a pearl of maidens. And as Sundarasena's beauty so nearly
resembled hers, I felt a desire to have his form painted on canvas
also, and herewith I send the picture. Look at it. Moreover, my son,
who is of such astonishing beauty, does not wish to be married,
unless he can find a wife that resembles him, and nobody but your
daughter is a match for him in appearance.' This is the message the
king entrusted to me, when he put this portrait into my hand; look
at it, king, let the spring-flower creeper be united to the spring."

When the king heard this speech of the ambassador's, he was delighted,
and he sent for his daughter Mandáravatí and the queen her mother. And
in their company he opened and looked at that portrait, and immediately
he ceased to cherish the proud thought, that there was no fitting match
for his daughter on the earth. And he said, "My daughter's beauty will
not have been created in vain, if she is united to this prince. She
does not look her best without him, nor is he complete without her;
what is the lotus-bed without the swan, and what is the swan without
the lotus-bed?"

When the king said this, and the queen expressed her complete
approbation of it, Mandáravatí suddenly became bewildered with
love. She remained with her wide expanded eyes immoveably fixed on the
picture, as if possessed, as if asleep, (though she was wide awake,)
as if herself a painting. Then Mandáradeva, seeing his daughter in
that state, consented to give her in marriage, and he honoured that
ambassador.

And on the next day the king sent off his counter-ambassador, who was
a Bráhman named Kumáradatta, to king Mahásena. And he said to the two
ambassadors, "Go quickly to that king Mahásena, the lord of Alaká,
and say to him from me, 'I give you my daughter out of friendship;
so tell me, will your son come here, or shall I send my daughter to
you?'" When the two ambassadors had received this message from the
king, they immediately started off together on the sea in a ship;
and they reached Sasánkapura, and thence they travelled by land, and
reached that opulent city of Alaká, which seemed like the original
Alaká. [442] They went to the king's palace, and entered it with
the usual courtesies, and saw king Mahásena who welcomed them. And
they told that king the answer which Mandáradeva entrusted to them;
and when the king heard it, he was pleased, and shewed both of them
great honour.

Then the king found out the star, under which the princess was born,
from her father's ambassador; and he asked his astrologers when a
favourable time would arrive for the marriage of his son. And they
answered that an auspicious time would present itself in three months
for bridegroom and bride, on the fifth day of the white fortnight
of the month Kártika. And so the king of Alaká informed Mandáradeva
that the marriage ought to take place on that day, and that he would
send his son, and this he wrote in a letter, and committed it to the
care of the ambassador Kumáradatta, and another ambassador of his own
named Chandrasvámin. So the ambassadors departed, and gave the letter
as they were directed, and told the king of Hansadvípa all that had
taken place. The king approved, and after honouring Chandrasvámin,
the ambassador of Mahásena, he sent him back to his master. And he
returned to Alaká, and reported that the business was satisfactorily
settled; and then all on both sides remained eagerly expecting the
auspicious day.

And in the meanwhile Mandáravatí in Hansadvípa, who had long ago
fallen in love with the prince from seeing his picture, thought
that the auspicious day for the marriage was a long way off, and
felt unable to endure so much delay; and being affectionate, she
became desperately enamoured, and was grievously tormented with the
fire of love. And in the eager longing of her heart for Sundarasena,
even the anointing with sandal-wood ointment became a shower of hot
coals on her body, and a bed of lotus-leaves was to her a bed of hot
sand, and the rays of the moon seemed like the scorching points of
flame of a forest conflagration. She remained silent, avoiding food,
adopting a vow of loneliness; and when her confidante questioned
her in her anxiety, she was at last, with difficulty, induced to
make the following avowal; "My friend, my marriage is far off, and I
cannot bear to wait for the time, separated from my intended husband,
the son of the king of Alaká. Distant is the time, and the place, and
various is the course of Fate; so who knows what will happen to any one
here in the meantime? So I had better die." Saying this, Mandáravatí,
being sick with separation, passed immediately into a miserable state.

When her father and mother heard that from the mouth of her confidante,
and saw her in such a condition, they deliberated with the ministers,
and came to the following conclusion, "That king Mahásena, the
sovereign of Alaká, is on good terms with us, and the princess
Mandáravatí is unable to endure the delay here, so why should we feel
any delicacy about it? Happen what will, let us send her to Alaká,
for when she is near her beloved, she will be able patiently to endure
the delay." When king Mandáradeva had gone through these deliberations,
he comforted his daughter Mandáravatí, and made her embark on a ship
with wealth and attendants, and after her mother had recited a prayer
for her good fortune, he sent her off from Hansadvípa by sea on an
auspicious day, to travel to Alaká, in order that she might be married
there; and he sent with her a minister of his own, named Vinítamati.

And after the princess, travelling in a ship on the ocean, had left
Hansadvípa some days' sail behind her, there suddenly rose up against
her a roaring cloud, as it were a bandit, showering raindrops like
arrows, that sang terribly in the whistling wind. And the gale, like
mighty fate, in a moment dragged her ship to a distance, and smote it,
and broke it in pieces. And those attendants were drowned, and among
them Vinítamati; and all her treasure was whelmed in the ocean.

But the sea lifted up the princess with a wave, as it were with an arm,
and flung her up alive in a forest on the shore, near the scene of
the shipwreck. To think that she should have fallen into the sea, and
that a towering wave should have landed her in a forest! Behold now,
how nothing is impossible to Destiny! Then she, in such a situation,
terrified and confused, seeing that she was alone in a solitary wood,
was again plunged in a sea, but this time it was the sea of grief. She
exclaimed, "Where have I arrived? Surely it is a very different place
from that for which I set out! Where too are those attendants of
mine? Where is Vinítamati? Why has this suddenly happened to me? Where
shall I go, ill-starred as I am? Alas! I am undone! What shall I
do? Cursed Fate, why did you rescue me from the sea? Ah! father! Ah,
mother! Ah, husband, son of the king of Alaká! Look; I am perishing
before I reach you; why do you not deliver me?" While uttering these
and similar exclamations, Mandáravatí wept copiously with tears that
resembled the pearls of a broken necklace.

And at that very time a hermit, named Matanga, came there from his
hermitage, which was not far off, to bathe in the sea. That sage,
who was accompanied by his daughter, named Yamuná, who had observed a
vow of virginity from her childhood, heard the sound of Mandáravatí's
weeping. And with his daughter he approached her kindly, and he saw
her, looking like a doe separated from a herd of deer, casting her
sorrowing eyes in every direction. And the great sage said to her with
an affectionate voice, "Who are you, and how did you get into this
wood, and why do you weep?" Then Mandáravatí, seeing that he was a
compassionate man, slowly recovered herself, and told him her story,
with face dejected from shame.

Then the hermit Matanga, after meditating, said to her, "Princess,
cease to despair; recover your composure! Though you are delicate
of body as a sirísha-flower, the calamity of sorrow afflicts you;
do misfortunes ever consider whether their victim is tender or
not? But you shall soon obtain the husband you desire; so come to
this hermitage of mine, which is at no great distance from this
place; and remain there with this daughter of mine as in your own
house." When the great hermit had comforted her with these words,
he bathed, and accompanied by his daughter, led Mandáravatí to his
hermitage. There she remained leading an ascetic life, longing to
meet her husband, delighting herself with waiting upon that sage,
accompanied by his daughter.

And in the meanwhile Sundarasena, who was emaciated with long
expectation, remained killing the time in Alaká, continually counting
the days, eager for his marriage with Mandáravatí, and his friend
Chandaprabha and the rest were trying to console him. And in course
of time, as the auspicious day drew nigh, his father, the king, made
preparations for his journey to Hansadvípa. And after prayers had
been offered for a prosperous journey, prince Sundarasena started
from his home on an auspicious day, shaking the earth with his armies.

And as he was marching along with his ministers, he reached in course
of time, to his delight, that city Sasánkapura, which adorned the
shore of the sea. There king Mahendráditya, hearing of his approach,
came to meet him, bowing humbly, and the prince entered the city with
his followers, and mounted on an elephant, he reached the palace
of the king. And as he went along, the splendour of his beauty
fluttered the hearts of the ladies of the city, as the hurricane
flutters the lotus-bed. In the palace, king Mahendráditya shewed him
every attention, and promised to accompany him: and so he rested
there that day. And he spent the night in such thoughts as these,
"Shall I ever get across the sea, and win that blushing bride?"

And next morning he left his army in that very city, and went with king
Mahendráditya to the shore of the sea. There he and his ministers,
together with that king, embarked on a large ship, that was well
supplied with food and water. And the prince made the small retinue,
that he could not help taking, embark on a second ship. Then the ship
was let go, and its flag fluttered in the wind, and those two kings,
who were in it, shaped their course towards the south-western quarter.

And after two or three days had passed, as they were sailing on the
sea, there suddenly arose a great hurricane. And the ranges of forest
on the shores of the sea shook to and fro, as if in astonishment at
the unprecedented character of the gale. And the waters of the sea,
inverted by the wind, were turned upside down, again and again, as
affections are by lapse of time. And an offering of jewels was made to
the sea accompanied by a loud cry of woe; and the pilots let loose the
sail and relaxed their efforts at the same time; and all excitedly
flung out very heavy stones on all sides, fastened by chains, and
flung away their hopes of life at the same time; and the two vessels,
driven to and fro by the waves, as elephants by elephant-drivers,
[443] wandered about in the sea, as if in the mêlée of a battle.

Then Sundarasena, beholding that, was moved from his seat, as if
from his self-command, [444] and said to king Mahendráditya, "It
is through my demerits in former births that this day of doom has
suddenly come upon you. So I cannot endure to witness it; I will fling
myself into the sea." When the prince had said this, he quickly girt
his upper garment round his loins, and flung himself then and there
into the sea. And when his five friends, Chandaprabha and the others,
saw that, they too flung themselves in, and Mahendráditya did the
same. And while, having recovered their presence of mind, they were
swimming across the ocean, they all went in different directions,
being separated by the force of the waves. And immediately the wind
fell, and the sea became hushed and calm, and bore the semblance of
a good man whose wrath is appeased. [445]

And in the meanwhile Sundarasena, with whom was Dridhabuddhi, found
a ship that had been driven from somewhere or other by the wind,
and with that minister of his as his only companion he climbed up on
it, as it were on a second swing of incertitude oscillating between
rescue and destruction. Then, having lost all courage, he drifted,
not knowing his bearings, looking on the whole world as made of water,
confiding in his god: and the ship, which was wafted along by a gentle
and favourable breeze, as if by a deity, carried him to the shore in
three days. There it stuck fast, and he and his companion sprang to
shore and to a hope of life at the same moment.

And when there, he recovered breath, and said to Dridhabuddhi; "I
have escaped even from the sea, from the infernal regions, though I
went below; but since I have not been able to do so without causing
the death of my ministers Vikramasakti, and Vyághraparákrama, and
Chandaprabha and Bhímabhuja, such fine fellows as they were, and also
of king Mahendráditya, who became without cause so good a friend to
me,--of all these,--how can I now live with honour?" When he said
this, his minister Dridhabuddhi said to him, "Prince, recover your
composure; I am persuaded that we shall have good fortune; for they
may perhaps make their way across the sea, as we have done. Who can
discern the mysterious way of Destiny?"

While Dridhabuddhi was saying this and other things of the same
kind, two hermits came there to bathe. The good men, seeing that the
prince was despondent, came up to him, and asked him his story, and
said kindly to him; "Wise sir, even the gods are not able to alter
the mighty influence of actions in a previous state of existence,
that bestow joy and sorrow. So a resolute man, who wishes to take
leave of sorrow, should practise right doing; for right doing is
the true remedy for it, not regrets, nor emaciation of the body. So
abandon despondency, and preserve your body by resolute endurance;
as long as the body is preserved, what object of human endeavour
cannot be attained? Moreover, you possess auspicious marks; you are
certain to enjoy prosperity." Saying this the hermits consoled him,
and took him to their hermitage.

And prince Sundarasena remained waiting there for some days,
accompanied by Dridhabuddhi.

And in the meanwhile his ministers Bhímabhuja and Vikramasakti,
having swum across the sea, reached the shore in a separate place. And
hoping that perhaps the prince might have escaped from the sea like
themselves, they entered that great forest, and searched for him
bewildered with grief. And his other two ministers, Chandaprabha and
Vyághraparákrama, and king Mahendráditya, in the same way escaped
from the sea, and sorrowfully sought for Sundarasena, and when they
did not find him, were afflicted; and at last they found their ship
unharmed and went to Sasánkapura. Then those two ministers, and the
army that had been left in that city, hearing what had happened,
[446] went weeping to their own city Alaká. And when they arrived
without the prince, lamenting their loss, the citizens wept, and
one universal wail was heard in the city. When king Mahásena and
his queen heard that news of their son, they were in such a state
that they would have died, if it were not that their allotted term
of life had not yet expired. And when the king and the queen were
bent on suicide, the ministers dissuaded them with various speeches,
which gave them reasons for entertaining hope. Then the king remained
in a temple of Svayambhú [447] outside the town, engaged in asceticism
with his attendants, enquiring for news of his son.

And in the meanwhile king Mandáradeva, in Hansadvípa, heard the
news of the shipwreck of his daughter, and of that of his proposed
son-in-law. And he also came to know that his son-in-law's two
ministers had arrived in Alaká, and that king Mahásena there
was keeping himself alive by hope, being engaged in practising
austerities. Then that king also, who was afflicted by grief for the
loss of his daughter, and was only prevented by his ministers from
committing suicide, entrusted to them the care of his kingdom, and
with the queen Kandarpasená went to the city of Alaká to visit king
Mahásena, who was his partner in misfortune. And he made up his mind
that he would do whatever that king did, as soon as he had trustworthy
intelligence with regard to the fate of his son. And so he came to
king Mahásena, who was still more grieved when he heard of the fate
of Mandáravatí, and sorrowed in sympathy with him. Then that king of
Hansadvípa remained practising austerities with the king of Alaká,
restraining his senses, eating little, sleeping on darbha-grass.

When they had been all scattered in this way in different directions
by the Disposer, as leaves by a wind, it happened that Sundarasena set
forth from the hermitage in which he was, and reached that hermitage
of Matanga, in which Mandáravatí was staying. There he beheld a lake
of clear water, the bank of which was thickly planted with trees bent
down with the weight of many ripe fruits of various flavours. As he was
weary, he bathed in that lake, and ate sweet fruits, and then walked
on with Dridhabuddhi, and reached a forest stream. And going along
its bank, he saw some hermit maidens engaged in gathering flowers
near a temple containing a Linga. And in the midst of them he beheld
one hermit maiden, who seemed to be the peerless beauty of the world,
illuminating the whole wood with her loveliness, as if with moonlight,
making all the regions full of blown blue lilies with her glance,
and sowing with her foot-falls a thicket of lotuses in the forest.

Then the prince said to Dridhabuddhi, "Who can this be? Can she be a
nymph of heaven worthy of being gazed upon by the hundred-eyed Indra;
or is she the presiding goddess of the forest with her shoot-like
fingers clinging to the flowers? Surely the Creator framed this very
wonderful form of hers after he had perfected his skill by continual
practice in creating many nymphs of heaven. And lo! she exactly
resembles in appearance my beloved Mandáravatí, whose beauty I beheld
in a picture. Why should she not be the lady herself? But how can this
be? She is in Hansadvípa far away from this heart of the forest. So
I cannot [448] conceive who this fair one is, and whence she comes,
and how she comes to be here." And Dridhabuddhi, when he saw that fair
maid, said to the prince, "She must be whom you suppose her to be,
otherwise how could her ornaments, though made of forest flowers,
thus resemble a necklace, a zone, a string of bells, and the other
ornaments usually worn? Moreover, this beauty and delicacy are not
produced in a forest; so you may be certain that she is some heavenly
nymph, or some princess, not the daughter of a hermit. Let us rise
up and stand here [449] a moment to find out." When Dridhabuddhi had
said this, they both of them stood there concealed by a tree.

And in the meanwhile those hermit maidens, having gathered their
flowers, went down into that river with that lovely girl to bathe. And
while they were amusing themselves by splashing about in it, it
happened that an alligator came and seized that lovely girl. When those
maidens saw that, they were bewildered, and they cried out in their
sorrow, "Help, help, ye woodland deities! For here is Mandáravatí,
while bathing in the river, suddenly and unexpectedly seized by an
alligator, and perishing." When Sundarasena heard that, he thought
to himself, "Can this really be that beloved of mine?" and rushing
forward he quickly killed that alligator with his dagger. And when
she fell from the monster's mouth, as it were from the mouth of death,
he carried her up on the bank, and comforted her.

And she, for her part, having got over her fear, and seeing that he was
a charming person, said to herself, "Who is this great-hearted one that
my good fortune has brought here to save my life? Wonderful to say,
he bears a close resemblance to that lover of mine whom I saw in a
picture, the high-born son of the king of Alaká. Can he possibly be
that very man? But out on my evil thought! Heaven forefend! May such
a man never be an exile from his native land! So it is not fitting
for me now to remain in the society of a strange man. Accordingly, I
will leave this place: may prosperity be the lot of this great-souled
one!" After going through these reflections, Mandáravatí said to
those companions of hers, "First take a respectful leave of this
noble gentleman, and then come with me; we will now depart."

When prince Sundarasena, whose doubts were before unsatisfied,
heard this, he conceived great confidence from merely hearing his
own name, and he questioned one of her companions, saying to her,
"Auspicious one, whose daughter and of what condition is this
friend of yours? Tell me, for I feel a great desire to know." When
he questioned the hermit maiden in these words, she said to him,
"This is the princess Mandáravatí, the daughter of king Mandáradeva,
the sovereign of Hansadvípa. She was being conducted to the city of
Alaká to be married to prince Sundarasena, when her ship was wrecked
in the sea, and the waves flung her up upon the shore: and the hermit
Matanga found her there and brought her to his hermitage."

When she said this, Sundarasena's friend Dridhabuddhi, dancing
like one bewildered with joy and despondency, said to the prince,
"I congratulate you on having now been successful in obtaining the
princess Mandáravatí; for is not this that very lady of whom we were
thinking?" When he had said this, her companions the hermit maidens
questioned him, and he told them his story; and they gladdened with it
that friend of theirs. Then Mandáravatí exclaimed, "Ah, my husband,"
and fell weeping at the feet of that Sundarasena. He, for his part,
embraced her and wept, and while they were weeping there, even stocks
and herbs wept, melted with compassion.

Then the hermit Matanga, having been informed of all this by those
hermit maidens, came there quickly, accompanied by Yamuná. He comforted
that Sundarasena, who prostrated himself at his feet, and took him
with Mandáravatí to his own hermitage. And that day he refreshed
him by entertaining him, and made him feel happy; and the next day
the great hermit said to that prince, "My son, I must to-day go for a
certain affair to Svetadvípa, so you must go with Mandáravatí to Alaká;
there you must marry this princess and cherish her; for I have adopted
her as my daughter, and I give her to you. And you shall rule the
earth for a long time with her; and you shall soon recover all those
ministers of yours." When the hermit had said this to the prince and
his betrothed, he took leave of them, and went away through the air
with his daughter Yamuná, who was equal to himself in power.

Then Sundarasena, with Mandáravatí, and accompanied by Dridhabuddhi,
set out from that hermitage. And when he reached the shore of
the sea, he saw coming near him a light ship under the command
of a young merchant. And in order to accomplish his journey more
easily, he asked the young merchant who was the owner of that ship,
through Dridhabuddhi, hailing him from a distance, to give him a
passage in it. The wicked merchant, who beheld Mandáravatí, and was
at once distracted with love, consented, and brought his ship near
the shore. Then Sundarasena first placed his beloved on board the
ship, and was preparing to get on board himself from the bank where
he stood, when the wicked merchant, coveting his neighbour's wife,
made a sign to the steersman, and so set the ship in motion. And the
ship, on board of which the princess was crying piteously, rapidly
disappeared from the view of Sundarasena, who stood gazing at it.

And he fell on the ground crying out, "Alas! I am robbed by thieves,"
and wept for a long time, and then Dridhabuddhi said to him, "Rise
up! Abandon despondency! this is not a course befitting a hero. Come
along! Let us go in that direction to look for that thief: for even in
the most grievous hour of calamity the wise do not take leave of their
fortitude." When Sundarasena had been thus exhorted by Dridhabuddhi, he
was at last induced to rise up from the shore of the sea and set out.

And he went on his way weeping, and crying out, "Alas, queen! Alas,
Mandáravatí!" continually scorched by the fire of separation,
fasting, accompanied only by the weeping Dridhabuddhi; and almost
beside himself with distraction he entered a great wood. And when
in it, he paid no attention to the wise counsels of his friend,
but ran hither and thither, thinking only of his beloved. When he
saw the creepers in full bloom, he said, "Can this be my beloved
come here, adorned with blown flowers, having escaped from that
merchant-robber?" When he saw the beautiful lotuses, he said,
"Can she have dived into a tank in her fear, and is she lifting
up her face with long-lashed eyes and looking at me?" And when he
heard the cuckoos singing concealed by the leafy creepers, he said,
"Is the sweet-voiced fair one here addressing me?" Thus raving at
every step, he wandered about for a long time, scorched by the moon,
as if it were the sun; and so to him the night was the same as the day.

And at last the prince with Dridhabuddhi emerged from that wood,
though with difficulty, and having lost his way, reached a great
wilderness. It was perilous with fierce rhinoceroses, dangerous as
being inhabited by lions, and so was as formidable [450] as an army,
and moreover it was beset by a host of bandits. When the prince entered
this wilderness, which was refugeless, and full of many misfortunes,
like misery, he was set upon with uplifted weapons, by some Pulindas,
who happened to be on the look out for human victims to offer to
Durgá, by order of Vindhyaketu the king of the Pulindas, who lived
in that region. When the prince was tormented with five fires, of
misfortune, exile, the grief of separation, that affront from a base
man, fasting, and the fatigue of the journey; alas! Fate created a
sixth fire in the form of an attack of bandits, as if in order to
exhaust his self-command.

And when many of the bandits rushed towards him to seize him, showering
arrows, he, with only one companion to help him, killed them with his
dagger. When king Vindhyaketu discovered that, he sent forward another
force, and Sundarasena, being skilled in fighting, killed a great many
bandits belonging to that force also. At last he and his companion
fainted from the exhaustion of their wounds; and then those Savaras
bound them, and took them and threw them into prison. The prison was
full of multitudes of vermin, filthy with cobwebs, and it was evident
that snakes frequented it, as they had dropped there the skins that
clung to their throats. The dust in it rose as high as the ancle,
[451] it was honey-combed with the holes and galleries of mice,
and full of many terrified and miserable men that had been thrown
into it. In that place, which seemed the very birthplace of hells,
they saw those two ministers Bhímabhuja and Vikramasakti, who, like
themselves, had entered that wilderness after escaping from the sea,
in order to look for their master, and had been already bound and
thrown into prison. They recognised the prince and fell weeping at
his feet, and he recognised them, and embraced them, bathed in tears.

Then their woes were increased a hundredfold by seeing one another;
but the other prisoners there said to them, in order to console them,
"Enough of grief! Can we avoid the effect of acts done in a previous
state of existence? Do you not see that the death of all of us together
is imminent? For we have been collected here by this king of the
Pulindas, in order that he may offer us up to Durgá on the coming
fourteenth day of the month. So why should you grieve? The way of
Fate, that sports with living beings, is strange; as she has given
you misfortune, she may in the same way give you prosperity." When
the other prisoners had said this to them, they remained there bound
with them; it is terrible to see how little respect calamities shew
even for the great.

And when the fourteenth day arrived, they were all taken thence by the
orders of the king to the temple of Durgá to be sacrificed. It seemed
like the mouth of death, the flame of the lamp being its lolling
tongue, the range of bells being its row of teeth, to which the
heads of men clung. [452] Then Sundarasena, when he saw that goddess,
bowed before her, and praised her with mind humbled by devotion, and
uttered this prayer, "O thou goddess that didst quell the oppression
of the Asuras with thy blood-streaming trident, which mangled haughty
Daityas, thou that givest security to thy votaries, look upon me,
goddess, that am burned up with the forest-fire of grief, with a
favourable nectar-shedding eye, and refresh me. Honour to thee!"

While the prince was saying this, Vindhyaketu, that king of the
Pulindas, came there to worship the goddess Durgá. The moment the
prince saw the king of the Bhillas, he recognised him, and being
bowed down with shame, said of his own accord to his friends,
"Ha! this is that very Vindhyaketu, the chief of the Pulindas, who
comes to my father's court to pay him homage, and is the lord of this
vast wilderness. Whatever may happen, we must not say anything here,
for it is better for a man of honour to die, than to make known who
he is under such circumstances."

While the prince was saying this to his ministers, king Vindhyaketu
said to his servants, "Come now, shew me this heroic human victim,
who killed so many of my warriors when he was being captured." As soon
as his servants heard this, they brought Sundarasena, smeared with
clotted blood, and defiled with wounds, into the presence of that
king. When the king of the Bhillas saw him, he half recognised him,
and being terrified, said to him, "Tell me, who are you, and whence
do you come?" Sundarasena answered the king of the Bhillas, "What does
it matter who I am, or whence I come? Do what you are about to do."

Then Vindhyaketu recognised him completely by his voice, and exclaiming
excitedly, "Alas! Alas!" fell on the ground. Then he embraced the
prince, and said, "Alas, great king Mahásena, see what a fitting
return I, villain that I am, have now made for your numerous benefits,
in that I have here reduced to such a state your son, whom you value
as your life, prince Sundarasena, who has come here from somewhere
or other!" This and many other such laments he uttered in such a way
that all there began to shed tears. But the delighted companions
of Sundarasena comforted the Bhilla king, saying to him, "Is not
this much that you recognised the prince before any misfortune had
happened? What could you have done after the event had taken place? So
why do you despond in the midst of this joy?"

Then the king fell at the feet of Sundarasena, and lovingly honoured
him, and Sundarasena got him to set all the human victims free. And
after he had shown him all due respect, he took him to his village
and his friends with him, and proceeded to bandage his wounds and
administer medicines to him; and he said to him, "Tell me, prince, what
brought you to this place, for I have a great desire to know." Then
Sundarasena related to him all his adventures. And that prince of the
Savaras, being astonished, said to him, "What a wonderful chain of
events! That you should have set out to marry Mandaravatí, and that
you should then have been wrecked [453] in the sea, and that this
should have led to your reaching the hermitage of Matanga, and to
your meeting your beloved there, and that this merchant, in whom you
confided, should have carried her off from you, and that you should
have entered the wilderness, and have been imprisoned for sacrifice,
and recognised by me and delivered from that death--how strangely does
all this hang together! Therefore honour by all means to mysteriously
working Destiny! And you must not feel anxious about your beloved,
for, as Destiny has done all this, she will also do you that other
service soon."

While the king of the Pulindas was saying this, his commander-in-chief
came quickly in a state of high delight, and entering said to him,
"King, a certain merchant entered this wilderness with his followers,
and he had with him much wealth and a very beautiful lady, a very gem
of women; and when I heard of this, I went with an army, and seized
him and his followers, with the wealth and the lady, and I have them
here outside." When Sundarasena and Vindhyaketu heard this, they said
to themselves "Can these be that merchant and Mandáravatí?" And they
said, "Let the merchant and the lady be brought in here at once," and
thereupon the commander-in-chief brought in that merchant and that
lady. When Dridhabuddhi saw them, he exclaimed, "Here is that very
princess Mandáravatí, and here is that villain of a merchant. Alas,
princess! How came you to be reduced to this state, like a creeper
scorched by the heat, with your bud-like lip dried up, and with your
flower-ornaments stripped off?" While Dridhabuddhi was uttering this
exclamation, Sundarasena rushed forward, and eagerly threw his arms
round the neck of his beloved. Then the two lovers wept for a long
time, as if to wash off from one another, by the water of a shower
of tears, the defilement of separation.

Then Vindhyaketu, having consoled them both, said to that merchant,
"How came you to carry off the wife of one who confided in
you?" Then the merchant said, with a voice trembling with fear,
"I have fruitlessly done this to my own destruction, but this holy
saint was preserved by her own unapproachable splendour; I was no
more able to touch her, than if she had been a flame of fire; and I
did intend, villain that I was, to take her to my own country, and
after her anger had been allayed, and she had been reconciled to me,
to marry her." When the merchant had said this, the king ordered him to
be put to death on the spot; but Sundarasena saved him from execution;
however he had his abundant wealth confiscated, a heavier loss than
that of life; for those that have lost their wealth die daily, not
so those that have lost their breath.

So Sundarasena had that merchant set at liberty, and the wretched
creature went where he would, pleased at having escaped with life; and
king Vindhyaketu took Mandáravatí, and went with her and Sundarasena to
the palace of his own queen. There he gave orders to his queen, and had
Mandáravatí honoured with a bath, with clothes and with unguents, and
after Sundarasena had been in the same way bathed and adorned, he made
him sit down on a splendid throne, and honoured him with gifts, pearls,
musk, and so on. And on account of the reunion of that couple, the king
made a great feast, at which all the Savara women danced delighted.

Then, the next day, Sundarasena said to the king, "My wounds are
healed, and my object is attained, so I will now go hence to my own
city; and, please, send off at once to my father a messenger with a
letter, to tell the whole story, and announce my arrival." [454] When
the Savara chief heard this, he sent off a messenger with a letter,
and gave him the message which the prince suggested.

And just as the letter-carrier was reaching the city of Alaká, it
happened that king Mahásena and his queen, afflicted because they
heard no tidings of Sundarasena, were preparing to enter the fire in
front of a temple of Siva, surrounded by all the citizens, who were
lamenting their approaching loss. Then the Savara, who was bearing the
letter, beholding king Mahásena, came running up proclaiming who he
was, stained with dust, bow in hand, with his hair tied up in a knot
behind with a creeper, black himself, and wearing a loin-cincture
of vilva-leaves. That letter-carrier of the king of the Bhillas
said, "King, you are blessed with good fortune to-day, as your son
Sundarasena has come with Mandáravatí, having escaped from the sea; for
he has arrived at the court of my master Vindhyaketu, and is on his way
to this place with him, and has sent me on before." Having said this,
and thus discharged his confidential commission, the letter-carrier
of the Bhilla king laid the letter at the monarch's feet. Then all
the people there, being delighted, raised a shout of joy; and the
letter was read out, and the whole of the wonderful circumstances
became known; and king Mahásena recompensed the letter-carrier, and
abandoned his grief, and made great rejoicings, and entered his palace
with all his retainers. And the next day, being impatient, he set out
to meet his son, whose arrival he expected, accompanied by the king
of Hansadvípa. And his force of four arms marched along with him,
innumerable, so that the earth trembled, dreading insupportable weight.

In the meanwhile Sundarasena set out from that village of the Bhillas
for his own home, with Mandáravatí. And he was accompanied by his
friends Vikramasakti and Bhímabhuja, whom he found in the prison,
and Dridhabuddhi too was with him. He himself rode on a horse swift
as the wind, by the side of Vindhyaketu, and seemed by the hosts of
Pulindas that followed him, to be exhibiting the earth as belonging
to that race. And as he was marching along, in a few days he beheld
on the road his father coming to meet him, with his retinue and his
connections. Then he got down from his horse, and the people beheld him
with joy, and he and his friends went up and fell at the feet of his
father. His father, when he beheld his son looking like the full moon,
felt like the sea which surges up with throbbings of joy, and overflows
its bounds, and could not contain himself for happiness. [455] And
when he saw Mandáravatí, his daughter-in-law, bowing at his feet,
he considered himself and his family prosperous, and rejoiced. And
the king welcomed Dridhabuddhi and the other two ministers of his
son, who bowed at his feet, and he received Vindhyaketu with still
warmer welcome.

Then Sundarasena bowed before his father-in-law Mandáradeva, whom his
father introduced to him, and rejoiced exceedingly; and beholding
his ministers Chandaprabha and Vyághraparákrama, who had arrived
before, clinging to his feet, he considered that all his wishes were
accomplished. And immediately king Mahendráditya, who was delighted
at hearing what had happened, came there from Sasánkapura out of
affection. Then prince Sundarasena, mounted on a splendid horse,
escorting his beloved, as Nadakúvara did Rambhá, went with all those to
his own home, the city of Alaká, the dwelling-place of all felicities,
abounding in virtuous men. And accompanied by his beloved he entered
the palace of his father, being sprinkled, as he passed through the
city, by the wives of the citizens, who were all crowding to the
windows, with the blue lotuses of their eyes. And in the palace he
bowed at the feet of his mother, whose eyes were full of tears of joy,
and then spent that day in rejoicings, in which all his relations
and servants took part.

And the next day, in the long desired hour fixed by the astrologers,
the prince received the hand of Mandáravatí, who was bestowed on him by
her father. And his father-in-law, king Mandáradeva, as he had no son,
bestowed on him many priceless jewels, in his joy, and the reversion
of his kingdom after his own death. And his father, king Mahásena,
without exhausting the earth, made a great feast, in a style suitable
to his desires and means, in which all prisoners were released, and a
rain of gold was seen. [456] And having beheld Sundarasena prosperous
by his union with Mandáravatí, and having taken part in his wedding
festivities, in which all the women danced to song, and having been
honoured by king Mahásena, king Mandáradeva returned to his own
territory, and the king of Sasánkapura returned to that city, and
Vindhyaketu, the lord of the great wilderness, returned to his domain.

And after some days had elapsed, king Mahásena, perceiving that his son
Sundarasena was virtuous and beloved by the subjects, established him
in his throne, and went himself to the forest. And prince Sundarasena,
having thus obtained the kingdom, and having conquered all his enemies
by the might of his arm, ruled with those ministers the whole earth,
and found his joy in the possession of Mandáravatí ever increasing.

When the minister Vyághrasena had told this story on the bank of the
lake to Mrigánkadatta, he went on to say to him, "This wonderful tale,
prince, did the hermit Kanva relate to us in the hermitage, and at
the end of the tale the compassionate man said to us, to comfort
us, 'So, my sons, those who endure with resolute hearts terrible
misfortunes hard to struggle through, attain in this way the objects
they most desire; but those others, whose energies are paralysed by
loss of courage, fail. Therefore abandon this despondency, and go
on your way. Your master also, prince Mrigánkadatta, shall recover
all his ministers, and shall long rule the earth, after having been
united with Sasánkavatí.' When that great hermit had said this to
us, we plucked up courage, and spent the night there, and then set
out from that hermitage, and in course of time reached this wood,
travel-worn. And while here, being tortured with excessive thirst
and hunger, we climbed up this tree sacred to Ganesa, to get fruits,
and we were ourselves turned into fruits, and we have now, prince,
been released from our fruit-transformation by your austerities. Such
have been the adventures of us four, during our separation from you
[457] brought about by the curse of the Nága; and now that our curse
is expired, advance, united with us all, towards the attainment of
your object."

When Mrigánkadatta had heard all this from his minister Vyághrasena,
he conceived hopes of obtaining Sasánkavatí, and so passed that
night there.






CHAPTER CII.


Then, the next morning, Mrigánkadatta rose up from the shore of that
beautiful lake, together with all his ministers, who had rejoined
him; and in company with them, and the Bráhman Srutadhi, set out for
Ujjayiní, to win Sasánkavatí, after he had paid his orisons to that
tree of Ganesa. [458]

Then the heroic prince, accompanied by his ministers, again crossed
various stretches of woodland, which contained many hundreds of lakes,
and were black with tamála-trees [459] throughout their whole expanse,
looking like nights in the rainy season, when the clouds collect;
and others which had their canes broken by terrible infuriated
elephants roaming through them, in which the arjuna-trees formed a
strong contrast to the tamála-trees, [460] and which thus resembled
so many cities of king Viráta; and ravines of mighty mountains,
which were pure, though strewn with flowers, and though frequented
by subdued hermits, were haunted by fierce beasts; and at last came
near the city of Ujjayiní.

Then he reached the river Gandhavatí, and dispelled his fatigue by
bathing in it, and after crossing it, he arrived with his companions
in that cemetery of Mahákála. There he beheld the image of mighty
Bhairava, black with the smoke from neighbouring pyres, surrounded
with many fragments of bones and skulls, terrible with the skeletons
of men which it held in its grasp, worshipped by heroes, frequented
by many troops of demons, dear to sporting witches.

And after crossing the cemetery, he beheld the city of Ujjayiní,
a yuga old, ruled by king Karmasena. Its streets were watched by
guards with various weapons, who were themselves begirt by many brave
high-born Rájpúts; it was surrounded with ramparts resembling the
peaks of mighty mountains; it was crowded with elephants, horses,
and chariots, and hard for strangers to enter.

When Mrigánkadatta beheld that city, which was thus inaccessible
on every side, he turned his face away in despondency, and said to
his ministers, "Alas! ill-starred man that I am! though it has cost
me hundreds of hardships to reach this city, I cannot even enter it;
what chance then have I of obtaining my beloved?" When they heard this,
they said to him, "What! do you suppose, prince, that this great city
could ever be stormed by us, who are so few in number? We must think
of some expedient to serve in this emergency, and an expedient will
certainly be found; how comes it that you have forgotten that this
expedition has frequently been enjoined by the gods?"

When Mrigánkadatta had been thus addressed by his ministers, he
remained for some days roaming about outside the city.

Then his minister Vikramakesarin called to mind that Vetála, which he
had long ago won over, intending to employ him to fetch the prince's
love from her dwelling-house. And the Vetála came, black in hue,
tall, with a neck like a camel, elephant-faced, with legs like a bull,
eyes like an owl, and the ears of an ass. But finding that he could
not enter the city, he departed; the favour of Siva secures that city
against being invaded by such creatures.

Then the Bráhman Srutadhi, who was versed in policy, said to
Mrigánkadatta, as he was sitting in gloom, surrounded by his ministers,
longing in his heart to enter the city; "Why, prince, though you
know the true principles of policy, do you remain bewildered, like
one ignorant of them? Who will ever be victorious in this world by
disregarding the difference between himself and his foe? For at every
one of the four gates of this city, two thousand elephants, twenty-five
thousand horses, ten thousand chariots, and a hundred thousand footmen
remain harnessed and ready, day and night, to guard it; and they are
hard to conquer, being commanded by heroes. So, as for a handful of
men, like ourselves, entering it by force, that is a mere chimerical
fancy, [461] not a measure calculated to ensure success. Moreover,
this city cannot be overthrown by a small force; and a contest with an
overwhelming force is like fighting on foot against an elephant. So
join with your friend Máyávatu the king of the Pulindas, whom you
delivered from the terrible danger of the water-monsters in the
Narmadá, and with his friend Durgapisácha the very powerful king of the
Mátangas, who is attached to you on account of his alliance with him,
[462] and with that king of the Kirátas, named Saktirakshita, who is
famous for his valour and has observed a vow of strict chastity from
his youth upwards, and let them all bring their forces, and then do
you, thus strengthened by allies, fill every quarter with your hosts,
and so accomplish the object you have in view. Moreover, the king
of the Kirátas is awaiting your coming from a distance in accordance
with your agreement; how have you come to forget this? And no doubt,
Máyávatu is ready awaiting your arrival, in the territory of [463]
the king of the Mátangas, for you made this agreement with him. So
let us go to the castle named Karabhagríva, on the southern slope of
the Vindhyas, in which that chief of the Mátangas dwells. And let us
summon there Saktirakshita, the king of the Kirátas, and united with
them all make a fortunate expedition with every chance of success.

When Mrigánkadatta and his ministers heard this speech of Srutadhi's,
which was full of sense and such as the wise would approve, they
eagerly accepted it, saying, "So be it." And the next day the prince
adored that unresting traveller of the sky, the sun, the friend
of the virtuous, that had just arisen, revealing every quarter of
the world, [464] and set out for the abode of Durgapisácha king
of the Mátangas on the southern slope of the Vindhya range. And
his ministers Bhímaparákrama, and Vyághrasena, and Gunákara, and
Meghabala with Vimalabuddhi, and Sthúlabáhu with Vichitrakatha, and
Vikramakesarin, and Prachandasakti, and Srutadhi and Dridhamushti
followed him. With them he successively crossed forests wide-ranging
as his own undertakings, and stretches of woodland profound as his
own schemes, with no better refuge at night than the root of a tree
[465] on the shore of a lake, and reached and ascended the Vindhya
mountain lofty as his own soul.

Then the prince went from the summit of the mountain down its
southern slope, and beholding afar off the villages of the Bhillas
full of elephants' tusks and deer-skins, he said to himself, "How am
I to know where the dwelling of that king of the Mátangas is?" While
engaged in such reflections, he and his ministers saw a hermit boy come
towards them, and after doing obeisance to him, they said, "Fair Sir,
do you know in what part of this region the palace of Durgapisácha,
the king of the Mátangas, is? For we wish to see him."

When that good young ascetic heard this, he said, "Only a kos distant
from this place is a spot called Panchavatí, and not far from it was
the hermitage of the hermit Agastya, who with small effort cast down
from heaven the haughty king Nahusha; where Ráma, who by command of
his father took up his dwelling in a forest, accompanied by Lakshmana
and his wife Sítá, long waited on that hermit; where Kabandha, [466]
who guided Ráma to the slaughter of the Rákshasas, proceeded to attack
Ráma and Lakshmana, as Ráhu does the sun and moon, whose arm a yojana
in length Ráma felled, so that it resembled Nahusha in his serpent
form, come to supplicate Agastya; where even now the Rákshasas hearing
the roaring of the clouds at the beginning of the rainy season, call
to mind the twanging of the bow of Ráma; where the aged deer, that
were fed by Sítá, beholding the regions deserted in every direction,
with eyes filling with tears, reject the mouthful of grass; where
Márícha, who brought about Sítá's separation from her husband,
assumed the form of a golden deer and enticed away Ráma, as if to
save from slaughter those deer, that were still left alive; where,
in many a great lake full of the water of the Káverí, it appears as if
Agastya had vomited up in driblets the sea that he swallowed. Not far
from that hermitage, on a table-land of the Vindhya, is a stronghold
tangled and inaccessible, named Karabhagríva. In it dwells that mighty
Durgapisácha of terrible valour, chief of the Mátangas, whom kings
cannot conquer. And he commands a hundred thousand bowmen of that
tribe, every one of whom is followed by five hundred warriors. With
the aid of those brigands he robs caravans, destroys his enemies, and
enjoys this great forest, caring nought for this or that king. [467]

When Mrigánkadatta had heard this from the young hermit, he took
leave of him, and went quickly, with his companions, in the direction
indicated by him, and in course of time he arrived in the environs of
Karabhagríva that stronghold of the king of the Mátangas, which were
crowded with Bhilla villages. And within them he beheld near at hand
on every side crowds of Savaras, adorned with peacocks' feathers and
elephants' teeth, clothed in tigers' skins, and living on the flesh of
deer. When Mrigánkadatta saw those Bhillas, he said to his ministers,
"See! these men live a wild forest life like animals, and yet, strange
to say, they recognise Durgapisácha as their king. There is no race
in the world without a king; I do believe the gods introduced this
magical name among men in their alarm, fearing that otherwise the
strong would devour the weak, as great fishes eat the little." [468]
And while he was saying this, and trying to find the path that led to
the stronghold Karabhagríva, the scouts of Máyávatu, the king of the
Savaras, who had already arrived there, recognized him, having seen him
before. They immediately went and told that Máyávatu of his arrival;
and he with his army went to meet him. And when that king of the
Pulindas came near, and saw the prince, he alighted from his horse,
and ran forward, and fell at his feet. And he embraced the prince,
who asked after his health, and then mounted him and his ministers
on horses, and brought them to his own camp. And that king of the
Savaras sent his own warder to inform the king of the Mátangas of
the prince's arrival.

And Durgapisácha, the king of the Mátangas, quickly came there from
his own place, and his appearance justified his name. [469] He seemed
like a second Vindhya range, for his body was firm as a rocky peak,
his hue was black as tamála, and Pulindas lay at his foot. His
face was rendered terrible by a natural three-furrowed frown, and
so he appeared as if Durgá, the dweller in the Vindhya range, had
marked him with the trident, to claim him as her own. Though young,
he had seen the death of many "secular birds;" though black, he was
not comely; and he crouched to none, though he hugged the foot of a
mountain. [470] Like a fresh cloud, he displayed the peacock tail and
the gay-coloured bow; like Hiranyáksha, [471] his body was scarred
by the furious boar; like Ghatotkacha, he was mighty and possessed a
haughty and terrible shape; [472] like the Kali age, he allowed those
born under his sway to take pleasure in wickedness and break through
the bonds of rule. And the mass of his host came filling the earth,
like the stream of the Narmadá, when let loose from the embrace of
Arjuna. [473] And so the aggregated army of the Chandálas moved on,
blackening all the horizon with a dark hue, making those who beheld it
say in perplexity to themselves "Can this be a mass of rock that has
rolled down from the Anjana mountain, [474] or is it a premature bank
of the clouds of the day of doom, that has descended upon the earth?"

And their chief Durgapisácha came up to Mrigánkadatta, placing his
head upon the ground even when at a distance, and bowed before him,
and said "To-day the goddess Durgá is pleased with me, in that
your Highness, of such a noble race, has come to my house. On that
account I consider myself fortunate and successful. When the king of
the Mátangas had said this, he gave him a present of pearls, musk,
and other rarities. And the prince kindly accepted it with the usual
courtesies. Then they all encamped there. That great forest was covered
all over with elephants fastened to posts, with horses in stables,
and tented footmen; and was scarcely able to contain itself, being
confused with its good fortune in thus being assimilated to a city,
which was unprecedented in the course of its existence.

Then, in that wood, when Mrigánkadatta had bathed in the river for
good fortune, and had taken food, and was sitting at his ease,
in a secluded spot, surrounded by his ministers, Máyávatu also
being present, Durgapisácha said to Mrigánkadatta, in the course of
conversation, speaking in a tone softened by affection and regard,
"This king Máyávatu came here a long time ago, and has been remaining
here with me, my lord, awaiting your orders. So where, my prince,
have you all remained so long? And what have you done? Tell me, now,
the business that detained you." When the prince heard this speech of
his, he said, "After I had left the palace of our friend here Máyávatu,
with Vimalabuddhi and Gunákara, and Srutadhi, and Bhímaparákrama,
whom I had also recovered, I found on my way this Prachandasakti and
Vichitrakatha, and in course of time also this Vikramakesarin. Then
these men here found on the borders of a beautiful lake a tree sacred
to Ganesa, and climbed up it to pick its fruit, and so were turned
into fruits themselves by the curse of the god. Then I propitiated
Ganesa, and not without difficulty set them free, and at the same
time I delivered these other four ministers of mine, Dridhamushti
and Vyághrasena and Meghabala and Sthúlabáhu, who had previously
suffered the same transformation. With all these, thus recovered, I
went to Ujjayiní; but the gates were guarded, and we could not even
enter the town; much less could we think of any device for carrying
off Sasánkavatí. And as I had no army with me, I had no locus standi
for sending an ambassador. So we deliberated together, and came here
to you. Now, my friend, you and your allies have to decide whether
we shall attain our end or no."

When Mrigánkadatta had related his adventures in these words,
Durgapisácha and Máyávatu said, "Be of good courage; this is but a
little matter for us to accomplish at once; our lives were originally
created for your sake. We will bring here that king Karmasena in
chains, and we will carry off his daughter Sasánkavatí by force."

When the king of the Mátangas and Máyávatu said this, Mrigánkadatta
said lovingly and very respectfully, "What will you not be able
to accomplish, for this resolute courage of yours is a sufficient
guarantee that you will carry out that furtherance of your friend's
interests which you have undertaken. When the Creator made you
here, he infused into your composition qualities borrowed from your
surroundings, the firmness of the Vindhya hills, the courage of
the tigers, and the warm attachment to friends of the forest [475]
lotuses. So deliberate and do what is fitting." While Mrigánkadatta was
saying this, the sun retired to rest on the summit of the mountain
of setting. Then they also rested that night in the royal camp,
as was meet, sleeping in booths made by the workmen.

And the next morning Mrigánkadatta sent off Gunákara to bring
his friend Saktirakshita, the king of the Kirátas. He went and
communicated the state of affairs to that sovereign; and in a very
few days the king of the Kirátas returned with him, bringing a very
large force. Ten hundred thousand footmen, and two hundred thousand
horse, and a myriad of furious elephants on which heroes were mounted,
and eighty-eight thousand chariots followed that king, who darkened
the heaven with his banners and his umbrella. And Mrigánkadatta,
with his friends and ministers, went to meet him in high spirits and
honoured him and conducted him into the camp. And in the meanwhile
other friends and relations of the king of the Mátangas, and all those
of king Máyávatu, having been summoned by messengers, came in. [476]
And the camp swelled like the ocean, giving joy to the heart of
Mrigánkadatta: with shouts rising up like the roar of the waves,
and hundreds of battalions pouring in like rivers. And Durgapisácha
honoured [477] those assembled kings with musk, and garments, and
pieces of flesh, and spirits distilled from fruits. And Máyávatu the
king of the Savaras gave them all splendid baths, unguents, food,
drink, and beds. And Mrigánkadatta sat down to eat with all those
kings who were seated in their proper places. [478] He even went so
far as to make the king of the Mátangas eat in his presence though
at a little distance from him: the fact is, it is necessity and place
and time that take precedence, not one man of another.

And the next day, when the newly arrived force of Kirátas and others
had rested, Mrigánkadatta, sitting on a throne of ivory in the assembly
of the kings, where he had been duly honoured, after he had had the
place cleared of attendants, said to his friends, the king of the
Mátangas, and the others, "Why do we now delay? Why do we not quickly
march towards Ujjayiní with the whole of this force?" When the Bráhman
Srutadhi heard this, he said to that prince, "Listen prince, I now
speak according to the opinion of those who know policy. A king who
wishes to be victorious must first see the distinction between what is
practicable and what is not practicable. What cannot be accomplished by
an expedient, he should reject as impracticable. That is practicable
which can be accomplished by an expedient. Now expedients in this
matter are of four kinds, and are enumerated as conciliation, gifts,
division and force. This order represents their comparative advantages,
the first being better than the second, and so on. So, my prince,
you ought first to make use of conciliation in this business. For, as
king Karmasena is not greedy of gain, gifts are not likely to succeed;
nor is division likely to be of any use, for none of his servants
are angry, or covetous, or indignant with him, on account of having
been treated with neglect. As for force, its employment is risky; as
that king lives in a difficult country, has a very formidable army,
and has never been conquered by any king before. Moreover even mighty
ones cannot always be assured of having the fortune of victory on their
side in battles; besides, it is not becoming in one, who is a suitor
for a maiden's hand, to slaughter her relations. So let us send an
ambassador to that monarch, adopting the method of conciliation. If
that does not succeed, the method of force shall be employed as being
unavoidable." All there, when they heard this speech of Srutadhi's,
approved it, and praised his statesmanship.

Then Mrigánkadatta deliberated with them all, and sent a servant of
the king of the Kirátas, a noble Bráhman, Suvigraha by name, who
possessed all the requisites of a diplomatist, to king Karmasena,
as an ambassador to communicate the result of their deliberations,
and he carried with him a letter, and was also entrusted with a verbal
message. The ambassador went to Ujjayiní, and, being introduced by the
warder, entered the king's palace, the interior of which looked very
magnificent, as its zones were crowded with splendid horses, and with
elephants; and he saw that king Karmasena, sitting on his throne,
surrounded by his ministers. He did obeisance to that sovereign,
who welcomed him; and after he had sat down, and his health had
been enquired after, he proceeded to deliver to him his letter. And
the king's minister, named Prajnákosa, took it, and broke the seal,
and unfolding the letter, proceeded to read it out to the following
effect. "All-Hail! The auspicious Mrigánkadatta, ornament of the
circle of the earth, son of the great king of kings who is lord of
the city of Ayodhyá, the fortunate Amaradatta, from the slope of the
forest at the foot of the castle of Karabhagríva, where he now is,
with kings submissive and obedient to him, sends this plain message
to the great king Karmasena in Ujjayiní, who is the moon of the
sea of his own race, with all due respect; You have a daughter,
and you must without fail give her to another, so give her to me;
for she has been declared by the gods a suitable wife for me. In this
way we shall become allies, and our former enmity will be at an end;
if you do not consent, I will appeal to my own strong arms to give
me this object of my desires." When the letter had been thus read by
the minister Prajnákosa, king Karmasena, inflamed with rage, said to
his ministers, "These people are always hostile to us; and observe,
this man, not knowing his place, has on the present occasion worded
his communication in an objectionable form. He has put himself first
and me last, out of contempt; and at the end the conceited fellow has
bragged of the might of his arm. So, I do not consider that I ought
to send any reply; as for giving him my daughter, that is out of the
question. Depart, ambassador; let your master do what he can." [479]

When king Karmasena said this, that Bráhman ambassador Suvigraha,
being a man of spirit, gave him an answer well-suited to the occasion,
"Fool, you boast now, because you have not seen that prince; make
ready; when be arrives, you will learn the difference between yourself
and your opponent." When the ambassador said this, the whole court
was in a state of excitement; but the king, though in wrath, said,
"Away with you! Your person is inviolable, so what can we do?" Then
some of those present, biting their lips, and wringing their hands
together, said one to another, "Why do we not follow him and kill him
this moment." But others, being masters of themselves, said, "Let the
young fool of a Bráhman go! why do you trouble yourselves about the
speech of this babbler? We will shew what we can do." Others again,
appearing to foreshadow by their frowns the speedy bending of their
bows, remained silent, with faces red with rage.

The whole court being thus incensed, the ambassador Suvigraha went
out, and repaired to Mrigánkadatta in his camp. He told him and his
friends what Karmasena had said; and the prince, when he heard it,
ordered the army to march. Then the sea of soldiers, set in motion
by the order of the commander, as by a violent gust of wind, in which
men, horses, and elephants moved like bounding sea-monsters, exciting
satisfaction in the mind of the allied monarchs, [480] assumed an
agitation terrifying to the minds of timid men. Then Mrigánkadatta,
making the earth miry with the foam of high-mettled horses, and the
frontal ichor of elephants, and deafening the world with the noise
of his drums, moved on slowly to Ujjayiní to victory.






CHAPTER CIII.


Then Mrigánkadatta, accompanied by his friends, crossed the Vindhya
range, and with his army ready for battle, reached the frontier of
Ujjayiní. When the brave king Karmasena heard that, he also made
ready for the fight, and with his army moved out from the city
to meet him. And when those two armies came to close quarters,
and could see one another, a battle took place between them, that
gladdened heroes. The battlefield seemed like the dwelling-place of
Hiranyakasipu, as it was full of timid demons dispersed in terror
by the roar of the Man-lion; [481] the continued dense showers of
arrows flying through the air, and cutting one another, descended
on brave warriors, like locusts on the tender herb. Dense clouds of
pearls gleamed as they sprang from the frontal globes of elephants
struck with swords, resembling the necklace of the Fortune of that
battle broken in her agitation. That place of combat appeared like the
mouth of Death; and the sharp points of spears, that seized on men,
horses, and elephants, were like his fangs. The heads of strong-armed
warriors, cut off with crescent-headed arrows, flew up to heaven,
as if leaping up [482] to kiss the heavenly nymphs; and at every
moment trunks of brave heroes danced, as if in delight at the battle
of their noble leader being gloriously illuminated; and so for five
days that hero-destroying battle went on, with flowing rivers of blood,
rich in mountains of heads.

And in the evening of the fifth day the Bráhman Srutadhi came secretly
to Mrigánkadatta when he was closeted with his ministers, and said to
him, "While you were engaged in fighting, I went away from the camp,
in the disguise of a mendicant, and entered Ujjayiní, the gates of
which were almost deserted; and now listen; I will tell you truly what
I observed, being myself all the while, though near at hand, unseen in
virtue of my knowledge. As soon as king Karmasena went out to battle,
Sasánkavatí with the permission of her mother also left the palace, and
repaired to a temple of Gaurí in that city, to propitiate the goddess,
in order to ensure her father's success in the combat. And while she
was there, she said in secret to a devoted confidante 'My friend, it
is for my sake, that my father has become involved in this war. And if
he is conquered, he will give me to that prince; for kings disregard
love for offspring altogether, when the interests of their kingdoms
are at stake. And I do not know whether that prince is a suitable match
for me in respect of personal appearance, or not. I would sooner meet
my death than marry an ugly husband. I think a good-looking husband,
even though poor, is to be preferred to an ugly one, though he be
emperor over the whole earth. So you must go to the army and see what
he is like, and then return. For, my fortunate friend, Prudence [483]
is your name, and Prudence is your nature.'

"When the princess had given this order to her confidante, that girl
managed to come to our camp, and after seeing you, prince, went and
said to that princess, 'My friend, I can say nothing but this; even
Vásuki [484] himself has not got a tongue able to describe the beauty
of that prince. So far however I can give you an idea of it: as there
is no woman in the world equal to you in good looks, so there is no
man equal to him. But alas! that is but a feeble description of him;
I believe in these three worlds there is no Siddha, or Gandharva,
or god like him.' By this speech of her confidante's Sasánkavatí's
heart was fixed on you, and at the same moment it was nailed to you
by the god of love with his arrows. And from that time forth she has
remained desiring the welfare of you and also of her father, becoming
gradually attenuated by penance and the grief of separation from you."

"So go secretly this very night, and carry off that princess from
that sanctuary of Gaurí, which is now unfrequented, and bring her here
without being observed. Let her be conveyed to the palace of Máyávatu;
and then these kings, after securing your rear against the fury of
the foe, shall come there with me. Let this fighting be put an end
to. Do not allow any further slaughter of soldiers. And ensure the
personal safety of yourself and the king your father-in-law. For war,
that involves a great waste of human life, is an inexpedient expedient,
and sages affirm it to be the worst of all political measures."

When Srutadhi had said this to Mrigánkadatta, that prince and his
ministers mounted their horses and set out secretly at night. And
the prince arrived at the city of Ujjayiní, in which only women, and
children, and sleepy men were left, and entered it easily, as the gates
were kept by only a few drowsy guards. [485] And then he proceeded
to that famous sanctuary of Gaurí, which was easily discovered by the
description which Srutadhi had given of it. It was situated in a great
garden called Pushpakarnda, and was just then illuminated by the rays
of the moon, which at that time adorned the face of the East. [486]

In the meanwhile Sasánkavatí, who remained sleepless, though her
companions, worn out by attendance and other fatigues, were sleeping
around her, was saying to herself; "Alas! for my sake brave kings
and princes and heroes are being slain every day in battle in both
these armies. Moreover, that prince, who has appealed to the ordeal
of battle for my sake, was long ago designated as my husband by the
goddess Durgá in a dream; and the god of love has with unfailing
aim cut out my heart with a continual shower [487] of arrows, and
taken it, and presented it to him. But, ill-starred girl that I am,
my father will not give me to that prince, on account of the previous
enmity between them, and his own pride; so much I gathered from his
letter. So what is the use of a sure revelation by a goddess in a
dream, when Fate is adverse? The fact is, I see no chance of obtaining
my beloved in any way. So, why should I not abandon my hopeless life,
before I hear of some misfortune happening to my father or to my lover
in battle? [488]" With these words she rose up, and in her grief went
in front of the image of Gaurí and made a noose with her outer garment,
fastening it to an asoka-tree.

In the meanwhile Mrigánkadatta, with his companions, entered that
garden and fastened his horse to a tree in front of the temple and
sanctuary of Gaurí. Then Mrigánkadatta's minister Vimalabuddhi,
seeing the princess near, said of his own accord to the prince,
"Look prince, here is some lovely girl trying to hang herself; now,
who can she be?" When the prince heard that, he looked at her and
said, "Dear me! who can this girl be? Is she the goddess Rati? Or
is she happiness incarnate in bodily form? Or is she the beauty of
the moon, having taken shape, [489] or the command of Cupid living
and walking? Or is she a nymph of heaven? No, that cannot be. For
what can make heavenly nymphs desire to hang themselves? So let us
remain here for a time concealed by the trees, until we find out for
certain, somehow or other, who she is." When he had said this, he and
his ministers remained there in concealment; and in the meanwhile
the despondent Sasánkavatí offered this prayer to the goddess,
"O adorable Gaurí that deliverest the afflicted from their pain,
grant that, though, owing to my sins in a former state of existence,
prince Mrigánkadatta has not become my husband in this birth, he
may become such in a future life." When the princess had said this,
she bowed before the goddess, and fastened the noose round her neck
with eyes moist with tears.

At that moment her companions woke up, and distressed at not seeing
her, began to look for her, and quickly came where she was. And they
said, "Alas, friend, what is this that you have undertaken? Out on
your rashness!" With these words they removed the noose from her
neck. So, while the girl was standing there ashamed and despondent,
a voice came from the inner shrine of Gaurí's temple, "Do not despond,
my daughter Sasánkavatí; that word, fair one, that I spake to thee
in a dream, cannot prove false. Here is that husband of thine in a
former life, Mrigánkadatta, come to thy side; go and enjoy with him
the whole earth."

When Sasánkavatí heard this sudden utterance, she slowly looked aside
a little confused, and at that moment Vikramakesarin, the minister
of Mrigánkadatta, came up to her, and pointing out the prince with
his finger, said to her, "Princess, Bhavání has told you the truth,
for here is the prince, your future husband, come to you, drawn by
the cords of love." When the princess heard that, she cast a sidelong
glance, and beheld that noble lover of hers [490] standing in the
midst of his companions, looking like the moon having descended from
heaven begirt by the planets, like the standard by which beauty is
tested in others, raining nectar into the eyes.

Then she remained motionless as a pillar, and every hair stood erect
with joy on all her limbs, so that they appeared to be covered with
the feathers at the end of Cupid's arrows raining upon her; and at
that moment Mrigánkadatta came up to her, and in order to dispel her
shame, he addressed to her, with a voice raining the honey of love,
the following speech appropriate to the occasion, [491] "Fair one,
you have made me leave my own country and kingdom and relations,
and brought me from a distance, enslaving me and binding me with
the chain of your virtues. So now I have gained this fruit of my
dwelling in the forest, and of my sleeping on the ground, and of
my living on wild fruits, and enduring the fierce heat of the sun,
and of my emaciation with asceticism, that I have beheld this form
of yours which rains nectar into my eyes. And if you love me enough
to care to please me, bestow also, gazelle-eyed one, that feast of
the eyes upon the ladies of our city. Let the war cease; let the
welfare of both armies be ensured; let my birth be made a success,
and let my father's blessing be gained for me at the same time!"

When Mrigánkadatta had said this to Sasánkavatí, she slowly answered
with eyes fixed on the ground, "I indeed have been purchased with
your virtues and made your slave, so do, my husband, what you think
will be for our good." When Mrigánkadatta had been refreshed by
this nectar-like speech of hers, and saw that his point was gained,
he praised the goddess Gaurí and bowed before her, and then he made
the princess get up behind him on his horse, and his ten [492] brave
ministers mounted and took her ladies-in-waiting up behind them;
and then the prince, with his sword drawn, set out from that city at
night, accompanied by them sword in hand. And though the city-guards
saw those eleven heroes, they did not dare to stop them, for they
looked as formidable as so many angry Rudras. And leaving Ujjayiní,
they went with Sasánkavatí to the palace of Máyávatu, in accordance
with the advice of Srutadhi.

While the guards were exclaiming in their distraction, "Who are these,
and whither are they gone?" it gradually became known in Ujjayiní that
the princess had been carried off. And the queen-consort hurriedly
despatched the governor of the city to the camp, to tell king Karmasena
what had taken place. But in the meanwhile the head of the scouts
came to king Karmasena in the camp there at night, and and said to
him, "King, Mrigánkadatta and his ministers left the army secretly
in the early part of this night, and went on horseback to Ujjayiní,
to carry off Sasánkavatí, who is in the temple of Gaurí. So much I
have discovered for certain; your Highness knows what step it is now
desirable to take."

When king Karmasena heard this, he sent for his general, and
communicated to him privately the information he had received,
and said to him, "Choose five hundred swift horses, and set picked
men on them, and go with them secretly and rapidly to Ujjayiní, and
wherever you find that villain Mrigánkadatta, kill him, or make him
prisoner: know that I will follow you quickly, leaving my army behind
me." When the general received this order from the king, he said,
"So be it," and set out by night for Ujjayiní with the prescribed
force. And on the way he met the governor of the town, from whom he
heard that the princess had been carried off by some daring men in
another direction. Then he returned with the governor of the town,
and told king Karmasena what had taken place. When the king heard it,
he thought it impossible, and remained quiet during the night, without
making an attack. And in the camp of Mrigánkadatta Máyávatu and the
other kings passed the night under arms, by the advice of Srutadhi.

And next morning the sagacious king Karmasena found out the real state
of the case, and sent off an ambassador to the kings in the camp of
Mrigánkadatta, and he instructed the ambassador to give this message
by word of mouth, "Mrigánkadatta has carried off my daughter by a
stratagem; never mind that; for what other man would be as suitable
a match for her? So now let him come to my palace, and do you come
too, in order that I may celebrate my daughter's marriage with
appropriate ceremonies." [493] And the kings and Srutadhi approved
of this proposal, [494] and said to the ambassador, "Then let your
master retire to his own city, and we will ourselves go and bring
the prince there." When the ambassador heard that proposal, he went
and reported it to his master, and Karmasena agreed to it, and left
for Ujjayiní with his army. When the kings saw that, they went, with
Máyávatu at their head, and accompanied by Srutadhi, to Mrigánkadatta.

And in the meanwhile Mrigánkadatta, with Sasánkavatí, had reached
the palace of Máyávatu in the city of Kánchanapura. There the queens
of Máyávatu welcomed him, and his companions, and his beloved,
with becoming hospitality, and he rested there with them, having
successfully accomplished his object. And the next day the kings came
there with Srutadhi; the heroic king of the Kirátas Saktirakshita with
his army, and the mighty king Máyávatu leader of the Savaras, and the
hero Durgapisácha lord of the host of the Mátangas; and all of them,
when they beheld Mrigánkadatta united to Sasánkavatí like the white
water-lily to the night, rejoiced and congratulated him. And after
they had shewn him the honour he deserved, they told him the message
of Karmasena, and how he had gone to his own palace.

Then Mrigánkadatta, having established there his camp, that was like
a moving city, sat down with them all to take counsel. And he said to
the kings and to his ministers, "Tell me; shall I go to Ujjayiní to be
married, or not?" And they with one accord gave the following answer,
"That king is a villain; so how can a visit to his palace turn out
well? [495] Moreover, there is no need of it, as his daughter has
arrived here." Then Mrigánkadatta said to the Bráhman Srutadhi,
"Why do you remain silent, Bráhman, like one taking no interest in
the proceedings? Tell me, do you approve of this step or not?"

Then Srutadhi said, "If you will listen, I will tell you what I think:
my opinion is that you ought to go to the palace of Karmasena. For
he sent you this message because he saw no other way out of the
difficulty; otherwise, how would a powerful prince like that, when his
daughter had been carried off, give up fighting, and go home? Moreover,
what could he do to you, when you arrived at his court, since you
would take your army with you? On the contrary, if you go there,
he will be well-disposed to you, and he will again be one of your
chief allies out of love for his daughter. The reason he makes this
proposal, which is a perfectly legitimate one, is that he does not
wish his daughter to be married in an irregular manner. So I think it
advisable that you should go to Ujjayiní." When Srutadhi said this,
all, who were present, approved his speech, and said, "Bravo! Bravo!"

Then Mrigánkadatta said to them, "I admit the truth of all this;
but I do not like to marry without my father and mother. So let some
one be sent off from this place to summon my father and mother: and
when I have learnt their wish, I will do what is proper." When the
hero had said this, he took the advice of his friends, and then and
there sent off his minister Bhímaparákrama to his parents.

And in the meanwhile his father, king Amaradatta, in the city of
Ayodhyá, found out in course of time from his subjects that the
charge which Vinítamati brought against the prince, and which caused
his banishment from his native land, was wholly groundless. Then,
in his wrath, he put to death that wicked minister and his family,
and fell into a pitiable state, being terribly afflicted on account
of the banishment of his son. And he left his capital, and remained
in a sanctuary of Siva, outside the city, called Nandigráma; and
there he and his wives gave themselves up to severe asceticism.

After he had remained there some time, Bhímaparákrama, whose approach
was announced by scouts, arrived, thanks to the speed of his swift
horse, at the city of Ayodhyá. He beheld that city plunged in despair,
on account of the absence of the prince, as if it were once more going
through the painful agitation caused by the exile of Ráma. Thence he
went to Nandigráma, surrounded by citizens who asked him for news
of the prince, and hearing from their mouths what had happened to
the king. There he beheld king Amaradatta, with his body emaciated
by asceticism, surrounded by his queens, eager for news of his
beloved son.

Bhímaparákrama went up to him and fell at his feet: and the
king embraced him, and asked for news of his son; and thereupon
Bhímaparákrama said to him with tears; "Your son Mrigánkadatta
has won by his valour the princess Sasánkavatí, the daughter of
king Karmasena. But, as he is devoted to his parents, it does not
seem at all becoming to him to marry her, unless the king and the
queen can be present at the ceremony. So your son, placing his head
upon the ground, has sent me to request you to come to him. And he
awaits your Highness's arrival, in Kánchanapura, in the palace of
king Máyávatu, the monarch of the Savaras. Now hear the story of our
adventures." And thereupon Bhímaparákrama began with the banishment
of his master, and related all his various and wonderful adventures,
involving the long story of the misfortunes of their forest sojourn
and their separation, with the war, and winding up with the prince's
reconciliation with Karmasena.

When king Amaradatta heard that, he made up his mind that it was
well with his son, and in his joy he announced that he would set out
that moment. He mounted an elephant, and accompanied by his queen,
his subject kings, and his ministers, and followed by a force of
elephants and cavalry, he started full of eagerness to join his
son. And travelling uninterruptedly, the king reached in a few days
his son's camp, that was pitched in the territory of the monarch of
the Savaras.

And when Mrigánkadatta, who had long been yearning for his father,
heard of his approach, he went out to meet him with all the kings. And
he saw him from a distance, and dismounted from his horse, and fell
at the feet of his father, who was seated on an elephant, and at the
feet of his mother. And when embraced by his father, he filled with
his body his clasping arms, with satisfaction his heart, and his eyes
with tears. His mother too folded him in a long embrace, and looking
at him again and again, was for some time unable to let him go, as
if fearing a second separation. And Mrigánkadatta introduced to his
father Amaradatta the kings his friends, and they bowed before him and
the queen. And that couple, the king and the queen, received lovingly
those friends who had stood by their only son in his difficulties.

Then Amaradatta entered the palace of Máyávatu, and saw Sasánkavatí,
his future daughter-in-law, who bowed at his feet. And after accepting
a present, he departed with the queen and that daughter-in-law, and
took up his quarters in his own camp. And there he took food with
his son and all the kings, and spent that day agreeably with song,
music, and dancing. And he thought that all his objects in life had
been gained, thanks to his son Mrigánkadatta, the future emperor,
who had attained so much glory.

And in the meanwhile the wise king Karmasena, after deliberating,
sent off an ambassador to Mrigánkadatta with the following message,
which was contained in a letter, and also intended to be delivered
by word of mouth; "I know that you will not come to Ujjayiní; so I
will send to you my own son Sushena; he will bestow on you with due
ceremonies his sister Sasánkavatí; so you ought not, blameless one,
to marry her in an irregular manner, if you value my friendship."

And when the prince had heard this message delivered in the royal
hall of audience, his father the king himself gave this answer to
the ambassador; "Who but king Karmasena would send such a gracious
message? That excellent monarch is truly well-disposed to us; so
let him send here his son Sushena; we will so order matters as that
his daughter's marriage shall give him satisfaction." When the king
had given this answer and dismissed the messenger with due honours,
he said to his son, and Srutadhi, and the kings, "We had better
go now to Ayodhyá; that is the place where the marriage can be
performed with most éclat; and there we can entertain Sushena with
becoming magnificence. And let king Máyávatu wait here for Sushena;
when that prince arrives he can come on after us to Ayodhyá with
him. But we will go on in front to make the necessary preparations
for the marriage." And all present approved this speech of the king's.

Then, the next day, the king with the queen and his soldiers, and
Mrigánkadatta with the kings and his ministers, started off with
Sasánkavatí, exulting in their success, leaving Máyávatu to wait there
for Sushena. Their army moved on like a deep and terrible sea, agitated
with hundreds of waves in the form of troops of bounding horses,
filling all the horizon with a flood of countless marching footmen,
rendering all other sounds inaudible with the confused din that arose
from it. And gradually advancing, father and son reached the palace
of Saktirakshita the king of the Kirátas, that lay in their course.

There they and their attendants were courteously and generously
welcomed with heaps of valuable jewels, gold, and splendid
garments. And they stayed there one day with their army, taking
food and resting, and then they set out and reached in course of
time their city of Ayodhyá. It seemed like a lake in windy weather,
as they entered it: for the ladies of the city that had climbed up
to the windows of the palaces, as they moved to and fro, seemed like
swaying full-blown lotuses, sending forth shoots of beauty; and their
rolling eyes eager to behold the prince, who after a long absence had
returned, bringing a bride with him, were like dancing blue lilies;
it was crowded with assembling kingly swans; and tossing with wavy
banners. And father and son looked grand, as they sat on thrones,
being blessed by the Bráhmans, praised by heralds, and hymned by bards.

And when the people there saw the great beauty of Sasánkavatí,
they exclaimed in their astonishment, "If they were to behold this
daughter of Karmasena, the Ocean would cease to boast of the beauty
of his daughter Lakshmí, and the Himálaya would no longer pride
himself on Gaurí." And then, when the festival came on, the quarters,
re-echoing the sound of the auspicious drums of rejoicing, as it were,
gave notice to the kings. And the whole city was full of exultation,
and the vermilion colours that covered it throughout, seemed like
its red glow of affection overflowing in external form.

The next day the astrologers fixed an auspicious date for the prince's
marriage, and his father king Amaradatta began to make preparations
for it. And the city was filled so full of various jewels, coming
from all quarters, that it put to shame the city of Kuvera.

And soon a servant of king Máyávatu's came to the sovereign in high
spirits, introduced by the warder, and said to him, "King, prince
Sushena and king Máyávatu have arrived, and they are both waiting
on the frontier of this realm of Ayodhyá." When king Amaradatta
heard that, he sent his own general with a body of soldiers to meet
Sushena. And Mrigánkadatta, out of regard for his friend, also went
out with the general from Ayodhyá to meet the prince. And both of
those princes dismounted, while yet a great distance apart, and
met together, embracing one another and asking after one another's
health. And out of love they entered the city in the same chariot,
giving a great feast to the eyes of the ladies of the city.

And there Sushena had an interview with the king, and was received by
him with much respect, and then he went to the private apartments of
his sister Sasánkavatí. There she rose up weeping and embraced him,
and he sat down, and said to the princess who was overwhelmed with
shame, "My father directs me to tell you that you have done nothing
unbecoming, for he has just come to learn that prince Mrigánkadatta
was appointed your husband by the goddess Gaurí in a dream, and it is
the highest duty of women to follow the steps of their husbands." When
he said this to the girl, she dismissed her shame, looking at her
heart with downcast face, as if to tell it that its desire was gained.

Then Sushena brought and gave to Sasánkavatí in the presence of
the king her own accumulated wealth; two thousand bháras [496] of
gold, five camels heavily laden with jewelled ornaments, and another
treasure of gold. And he said, "This is her own private property, but,
as for what her father has sent, I will give it her in due course at
the marriage altar." Then they all ate and drank, and spent the day
there in the king's presence in great comfort, with Mrigánkadatta
and his suite.

The next day dawned, the day fixed as auspicious, and Mrigánkadatta
performed his own daily ceremony, of bathing and so on; in which
the king himself displayed the utmost interest, in his joy at the
occasion. And then Sasánkavatí, though her beauty was sufficient
bridal ornament, was solemnly adorned by the ladies, only out of
regard for the good old custom, not because anything of the kind
was needed. Then the bride and bridegroom left the room in which
the previous ceremony took place, and in which Sushena presided, and
ascended the altar-platform, where a fire was burning. And on it the
prince received the hand of the princess, which was resplendent with
the hues of a lotus that she held, as Vishnu the hand of Lakshmí. And
when they circumambulated the fire, the face of Sasánkavatí was red
and tearful from heat and smoke, though anger was far from her. And
the handfuls of parched grain, thrown into the fire, appeared like
the laughs of the god of Love, pleased with the success of his
scheme. And when the first handful was thrown, Sushena gave five
thousand horses, and a hundred elephants, and two hundred bháras of
gold, and twenty camels laden with loads of splendid raiment, valuable
gems, and pearl-ornaments. And at each subsequent sprinkling of grain,
Sasánkavatí's brother gave her a portion of the wealth gained by the
conquest of the earth, double that given at the preceding.

Then Mrigánkadatta, the auspicious ceremony of his marriage having
been performed, entered his own palace with his newly married bride,
Sasánkavatí, while the sound of festal drums rose in the air. And
the king, his father, gratified his ministers and the citizens of
his capital, with presents of elephants, horses, garments, ornaments,
meat, and drink, suited to the worth of the recipient, beginning with
the circle of dependent monarchs, and ending with the parrots and
pet mainas. And the king displayed on this occasion such exceedingly
lavish generosity that even the trees had garments and gems fastened
to them, and presented the appearance of earthly wishing-trees.

Then the king and Mrigánkadatta feasted with the kings and Sasánkavatí
and Sushena, and spent the rest of the day in a wine-party. Then,
after the inhabitants of the palace had eaten and drunk well, and
enjoyed music and dancing, the sun, having accomplished his journey,
and having drunk up the moisture of the earth, entered the cavern of
the western mountain. And the glory of the day, seeing that he had
departed somewhere or other with the evening that was all ablaze with
a warm glow, ran after him in a fit of jealous anger, and the birds
flying to and fro seemed like her agitated zone. [497] And then in due
course appeared advancing the wanton nymph Night, beautiful with her
waving black robe of darkness, and showing a face in which stars rolled
for eyeballs, and the god of Love waxed mighty. And the moon, own
brother to the curved corner of an angry long-eyed beauty's eye, arose,
and glowing with fresh rosy colour, made itself the driving-hook of the
elephant of the eastern mountain. And the eastern quarter, that was
clear and bright with the departure of the darkness, bore a laughing
face, to which the moon, like a new shoot of the twining plant of
Love, formed an extemporized ear-ornament. And at night Mrigánkadatta,
after performing his evening devotions, retired to his luxuriously
appointed bed-chamber with his bride Sasánkavatí. And during it, that
fair one's moonlike countenance, dispelling the darkness, and lighting
up the pictured panels of the room, seemed to render unnecessary
the lamps hanging there, that were made of precious stones. [498]
And the next morning Mrigánkadatta was aroused by the soft sweet
strains of the following song, "The night has past; leave your bed,
prince, for the breezes of morning are blowing, fanning the perfumed
locks of the gazelle-eyed fair ones. And the dewdrops collected on the
points of the blades of dúrva-grass sparkle brilliantly, looking like
pearls fallen from the necklace of the night quickly following the
moon. And observe, prince, the bees that long sported in the cups of
the white water-lilies opening when touched by the beams of the moon,
and drank the honey, and were joyous at having obtained an entrance,
now that the water-lilies are closed and their glory is departing,
are seeking some other retreat; for to whom are black souls faithful
in calamity? And the god of Love, seeing that the lip of night has
been adorned by the finger of the sun, has stripped it of the moon
which served it for a beauty-patch, and has gradually dissipated
the darkness which was a black powder to set it off." Aroused by
these strains at the hour of dawn, Mrigánkadatta cast off sleep,
and leaving Sasánkavatí, at once started up from his couch. And
he rose and performed the ceremonies of the day, his father having
made all the arrangements that devolved on him; and accompanied by
his beloved he passed many more days in similar rejoicing. Then his
father, Amaradatta, first inaugurated the prince's brother-in-law
Sushena with the holy waters, and placed a turban of honour on his
head; and bestowed on him as a mark of respect a suitable territory
and elephants, horses, quantities of gold, and garments, and a hundred
beautiful women. And then the king complimented the king of the Savaras
and the king of the Kirátas, Máyávatu and Saktirakshita, with their
relations and wives, and that king Durgapisácha the leader of the host
of the Mátangas, and the ministers of Mrigánkadatta with Srutadhi,
by giving them territories, cows, horses, gold and garments. Then king
Amaradatta dismissed the king of the Kirátas and the other monarchs,
with Sushena, to their own dominions: and ruled his realm in happiness,
at ease because his valour was so well known. Mrigánkadatta, for his
part, having conquered his enemies, and attained his ends, remained
in happiness with his wife Sasánkavatí, whom he had gained after a
long struggle, and with Bhímaparákrama and his other ministers.

And in course of time old age, slowly creeping on, approached the root
of the ear of that king Amaradatta, appearing as if it had taken form
in order to say to him, "You have enjoyed the good things of fortune;
your age is fully ripe; surely it is now time to retire from the
world." Then the king's mind became averse to enjoyment, and he said to
his ministers, "Listen, I will now tell you the scheme which I have in
my mind. My life has passed; that grey hue which is the harbinger of
Death has just now twitched my locks; and when old age once arrives,
a vicious clinging to enjoyment on the part of persons like myself,
when all the zest is gone, is mere vanity. And though in some people
a mad passion of avarice and lust goes on increasing with increasing
age, that is without doubt the natural tendency of base souls, and the
good do not acquire it. Now I have this son here Mrigánkadatta, who
has gained glory by conquering the sovereign of Avanti and his allied
kings [499], who abounds in good qualities, is beloved by the subjects,
and has excellent friends. So I propose to make over to him my mighty
kingdom, and to retire to a holy water for mortification of the flesh;
conduct in conformity with the laws laid down for the various periods
of life, that their enemies cannot blame, becomes men of great soul."

When the calm and resolute ministers heard this determined speech
of the king's, they, and in due course the queen and the citizens
all approved it, saying, "So let it be!" Then the king performed
the joyful ceremony of the coronation [500] of his son Mrigánkadatta
at a moment fixed by the astrologers, on a day selected by the chief
Bráhmans assembled together. And on that day the palace of the king was
full of people running hither and thither at the order of the warder,
and all the officials in it had their hands full, and it reeled with
the merriment of famous bards and of lovely women who were dancing
there. And while the water of holy places was being poured in copious
showers upon the head of Mrigánkadatta and his wife, a second flood
seemed to gush from the eyes of his joyful parents. And, when that
new king, of lion-like might, mounted his lion-seat, it seemed as if
his enemies, bowed down by fear of his wrath, crouched on the ground
in a fashion other than lion-like.

Then his father, king Amaradatta, prolonged for seven days the
great feast, in which the king's highway was decorated, and the
subject kings honoured according to their worth. And on the eighth
day he went out of the city with his wife, and after turning back
Mrigánkadatta and the citizens, who followed him with tearful faces,
he went with his ministers to Váránasí. There the king remained with
his body steeped in Ganges water, worshipping Siva three times a day,
performing penance, like a hermit, by living on roots and fruits;
and his wife shared all his devotions and privations.

But Mrigánkadatta, for his part, having obtained that kingdom broad
and pure as the sky, which the sun takes as his domain, and having
overwhelmed the kings with imposition of numerous tributes, as the
sun does the mountains with showers of rays, began to blaze forth
with increasing heat of valour. And associated with his lieutenants
Máyávatu and Karmasena and the others, and with his own ministers
headed by Srutadhi, he conquered this circle of the earth, with all
its continents, as far as the four cardinal points, and ruled it under
one umbrella. And while he was king, such calamities as famine, and the
dread of robbers and of foreign invaders were heard of only in tales;
and the world was ever joyous and happy, and enjoyed unparalleled
felicity, so that it seemed as if the gentle reign of Ráma the good
were renewed. And so the monarch established himself in that city of
Ayodhyá with his ministers, and kings came from various quarters to
worship the lotus of his foot, and he long enjoyed with his beloved
Sasánkavatí pleasures the joy of which no enemy marred. [501]

When the hermit Pisangajata had told this story in the wood on the
Malaya mountain to Naraváhanadatta, who was separated from his beloved,
he went on to say to him, "So, my son, as Mrigánkadatta in old time
gained Sasánkavatí after enduring affliction, you also will regain
your Madanamanchuká." When Naraváhanadatta had heard this nectarous
utterance of the mighty hermit Pisangajata, he conceived in his heart
the hope of regaining Madanamanchuká. And with his mind fixed on her,
he took leave of that good hermit, and roamed about on the Malaya
mountain, looking for Lalitalochaná, whom he had lost, the fair one
that originally brought him there.







BOOK XIII.


CHAPTER CIV.


May that Ganesa, whom, when dancing in the twilight intervals between
the Yugas, all the worlds seem to imitate by rising and falling,
protect you!

May the blaze of the eye in the forehead of Siva, who is smeared with
the beautiful red dye used by Gaurí for adorning her feet, befriend
you for your happiness!

We adore the goddess Sarasvatí, taking form as speech to our heart's
delight, the bee that dwells in the lotus on the lake of the mighty
poet's mind. [502]



Then Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, afflicted with
separation, being without Madanamanchuká, roamed about on those lower
slopes of mount Malaya, and in its bordering forests, which were
in all the beauty of spring, but found joy nowhere. The cluster of
mango-blossoms, though in itself soft, yet seeming, on account of the
bees [503] that settled on it, like the pliant bow of the god of Love,
cleft his heart. And the song of the cuckoo, though sweet in itself,
was hard to bear, and gave pain to his ears, as it seemed to be harsh
with the reproachful utterances of Mára. [504] And the wind of the
Malaya mountain, though in itself cool, yet being yellow with the
pollen of flowers, and so looking like the fire of Cupid, seemed to
burn him, when it fell on his limbs. So he slowly left that region,
being, so to speak, drummed out of it by those groves that were all
resonant with the hum of bees.

And gradually, as he journeyed on, with the deity for his guide, by a
path that led towards the Ganges, he reached the bank of a lake in a
neighbouring wood. And there he beheld two young Bráhmans of handsome
appearance, sitting at the foot of a tree, engaged in unrestrained
conversation. And when they saw him, they thought he was the god of
Love, and they rose up, and bowing before him, said, "All hail to thee,
adorable god of the flowery bow! Tell us why thou wanderest here alone
without that fragrant artillery of thine, and where is that Rati thy
constant companion?" When the son of the king of Vatsa heard that,
he said to those Bráhmans, "I am not the god Káma, I am a mere mortal;
but I have indeed lost my Rati." [505] When the prince had said this,
he told his history, and said to those Bráhmans, "Who are you, and of
what kind is this talk that you two are carrying on here?" Then one
of those young Bráhmans said to him respectfully, "King, how can we
tell our secret in the presence of a man of your worth? Nevertheless,
out of respect for your command, I will tell our history; give ear!"



The first Bráhman's story.

There is in the territory of Kalinga a city of the name of Sobhávatí,
which has never been entered by the demon Kali, nor touched by
evildoers, nor seen by a foreign foe: such has it been made by the
Creator. In it there was a wise and rich Bráhman, of the name of
Yasaskara, who had offered many sacrifices, and he had an excellent
wife named Mekhalá. I was born to them as an only son, when they were
already in middle life, and I was in due course reared up by them,
and invested with the sacrificial thread.

Then, while as a boy I was studying the Vedas, there arose a mighty
famine in that land, owing to drought. So my father and my mother went
off with me to a city named Visálá, taking with them their wealth and
their servants. In that city, in which fortune and learning dwelt
together, having laid aside their long feud, my father established
himself, having had a house given him by a merchant, who was a friend
of his. And I dwelt there in the house of my preceptor, engaged in
the acquisition of learning, in the society of my fellow-students of
equal age.

And among them I had a friend, a promising young man of the military
caste, Vijayasena by name, the son of a very rich Kshatriya. And
one day the unmarried sister of that friend of mine, whose name was
Madirávatí, came with him to my teacher's house. So beautiful was
she that I feel convinced that the Creator made the orb of the moon,
that is like nectar to the eyes of men, out of the overflowing of
the perfect loveliness of her face. I ween, the god of Love, when
he beheld her form, which was to him a sixth weapon, bewildering the
world, valued but little his other five shafts. When I saw her, and
heard from that friend her name and descent, I was at once overpowered
by Love's potent sway, and my mind was altogether fixed upon her. And
she, for her part, looked askance at me with modest loving eye, and
the down standing erect on her cheeks told that love had begun to
sprout. And after she had remained there a long time on the pretext of
play, she at last tore herself away and went home, sending to me from
the reverted corner of her eye a look that was a messenger of love.

Then I went home, grieved at having to part with her, and throwing
myself flat, I tossed up and down convulsively like a fish on dry
land. I said to myself, "Shall I ever again behold her face, which
is the Creator's storehouse of all the nectar of beauty? Happy are
her companions [506] whom she looks at with that laughing eye, and
talks freely to with that mouth." Engaged in such thoughts as these,
I with difficulty got through that day and night, and on the second
day I went to the house of my teacher.

There my friend Vijayasena approached me courteously, and in the course
of a confidential conversation, said to me joyfully, "My mother has
heard from my sister Madirávatí that you are so great a friend of mine,
and being full of love for you, she wishes to behold you; so, if you
have any regard for me, come with me to our house; let it be adorned
for us with the dust of your lotus-like foot." This speech of his was
a sudden refreshment to me, as an unexpected heavy shower of rain is
to a traveller in the desert. So I consented, and went to his house,
and there I had an interview with his mother, and was welcomed by her,
and remained there gladdened by beholding my beloved.

Then Vijayasena, having been summoned by his father, left me, and the
foster-sister of Madirávatí came to me, and said, bowing before me,
"Prince, the princess Madirávatí trained up to maturity in our garden
a jasmine creeper; and it has recently produced a splendid crop of
flowers, which laugh and gleam with joyous exultation at being united
with the spring. To-day the princess herself has gathered its buds, in
defiance of the bees that settled on the flowers; and she has threaded
them, like pearls, into a necklace, and she sends this to you her old
friend as a new present." When that dexterous girl had said this, she
gave me the garland, and with it leaves of the betel, together with
camphor and the five fruits. So I threw round my neck the garland,
which my beloved had made with her own hand, and I enjoyed exceeding
pleasure, surpassing the joy of many embraces. [507] And putting
the betel into my mouth, I said to that dear companion of hers,
"What can I say more than this, my good girl? I have in my heart
such intense love for your companion, that, if I could sacrifice
my life for her, I should consider that it had not been given me in
vain; for she is the sovereign of my being." When I had said this,
I dismissed her, and I went to my teacher's house with Vijayasena,
who had that moment come in.

The next day Vijayasena came with Madirávatí to our house, to the great
delight [508] of my parents. So the love of myself and Madirávatí,
though carefully concealed, increased every day from being in one
another's society.

And one day a servant of Madirávatí's said to me in secret, "Listen,
noble sir, and lay up [509] in your heart what I am going to tell
you. Ever since my darling Madirávatí beheld you there in your
teacher's house, she has no appetite for her food, she does not adorn
herself, she takes no pleasure in music, she does not play with her
parrots and other pets; she finds that fanning with plantain leaves,
and moist anointings with sandal-wood ointment, and the rays of the
moon, though cool as snow, torture her with heat; and every day she
grows perceptibly thinner, like the streak of the moon in the black
fortnight, and the only thing that seems to give her any relief is
conversation about you; this is what my daughter told me, who knows
all that she does, who attends her like a shadow, and never leaves
her side. Moreover, I drew Madirávatí herself into a confidential
conversation, and questioned her, and she confessed to me that her
affections were fixed on you. So now, auspicious sir, if you wish
her life to be saved, take steps to have her wishes fulfilled." This
nectarous speech of hers delighted me, and I said, "That altogether
depends on you, I am completely at your disposal." When she heard
this, she returned delighted, and I, relying on her, conceived hopes,
and went home with my mind at ease.

The next day an influential young Kshatriya came from Ujjayiní and
asked Madirávatí's father for her hand. And her father promised to
give him his daughter; and I heard that news, terrible to my ears,
from her attendants. Then I was for a long time amazed, as if fallen
from heaven, as if struck with a thunderbolt, as if possessed by
a demon. But I recovered, and said to myself, "What is the use of
bewilderment now? I will wait and see the end. It is the self-possessed
man that gains his desire."

Buoyed up by such hopes I passed some days, and my beloved one's
companions came to me and supported me by telling me what she said;
but at last Madirávatí was informed that the auspicious moment had
been fixed, and the day of her marriage arrived celebrated with
great rejoicings. So she was shut up in her father's house, and
prevented from roaming about at will, and the processional entry of
the bridegroom's friends drew nigh, heralded by the sound of drums.

When I saw that, I considered that my miserable life had lost all its
zest, and came to the conclusion that death was to be preferred to
separation; so I went outside the city, and climbed up a banyan-tree,
and fastened a noose to it, and I let myself drop from the tree
suspended by that noose, and let go at the same time my chimerical
hope of obtaining my beloved. And a moment afterwards I found myself,
having recovered the consciousness which I had lost, lying in the
lap of a young man who had cut the noose; and perceiving that he had
without doubt saved my life, I said to him, "Noble sir, you have to-day
shewn your compassionate nature; but I am tortured by separation from
my beloved and I prefer death to life. The moon is like fire to me,
food is poison, songs pierce my ear like needles, a garden is a prison,
a wreath of flowers is a series of envenomed shafts, and anointing
with sandal-wood ointment and other unguents is a rain of burning
coals. Tell me, friend, what pleasure can wretched bereaved ones,
like myself, to whom everything in the world is turned upside down,
find in life?"

When I had said this, that friend in misfortune asked me my history,
and I told him the whole of my love affair with Madirávatí. Then that
good man said to me, "Why, though wise, are you bewildered? What is
the use of surrendering life, for the sake of which we acquire all
other things?" À propos of this, hear my story, which I now proceed
to relate to you.



The second Bráhman's story.

There is in the bosom of the Himálayas a country named Nishada, which
is the only refuge of virtue, banished from the earth by Kali, and the
native land of truth, and the home of the Krita age. The inhabitants
of that land are insatiable of learning, but not of money-getting;
they are satisfied with their own wives, but with benefiting others
never. I am the son of a Bráhman of that country who was rich in
virtue and wealth. I left my home, my friend, out of a curiosity which
impelled me to see other countries, and wandering about, visiting
teachers, I reached in course of time the city of Sankhapura not
far from here, where there is a great purifying lake of clear water,
sacred to Sankhapála king of the Nágas, and called Sankhahrada.

While I was living there in the house of my spiritual preceptor,
I went one holy bathing festival to visit the lake Sankhahrada. Its
banks were crowded, and its waters troubled on every side by people
who had come from all countries, like the sea when the gods and Asuras
churned it. I beheld that great lake, which seemed to make the women
look more lovely, as their garlands of flowers fell from their loosened
braids, while it gently stroked their waists with its waves like hands,
and made itself slightly yellow with the unguents which its embraces
rubbed off from their bodies. I then went to the south of the lake,
and beheld a clump of trees, which looked like the body of Cupid being
consumed by the fire of Siva's eye; its lápinchas did duty for smoke,
its kinsukas for red coals, and it was all aflame with twining masses
of the full-blown scarlet asoka.

There I saw a certain maiden gathering flowers at the entrance of
an arbour composed of the atimukta creeper; she seemed with her
playful sidelong glances to be threatening the lotus in her ear;
she kept raising her twining arm and displaying half her bosom; and
her beautiful loosened hair, hanging down her back, seemed like the
darkness seeking shelter to escape from her moon-like face. And I
said to myself "Surely the Creator must have made this girl, after
he had got his hand in by creating Rambhá and her sister-nymphs,
but one can see that she is mortal by the winking of her eyes."

The moment I saw that gazelle-eyed maid, she pierced my heart, like
a crescent-headed javelin of Mára, bewildering the three worlds. And
the moment she saw me, she was overcome by Cupid, and her hands
were rendered nerveless and listless by love, and she desisted from
her amusement of gathering flowers. She seemed, with the flashings
of the ruby in the midst of her moving flexible chain, [510] to be
displaying the flames of affection that had broken forth from her
heart in which they could not be contained; and turning round, she
looked at me again and again with an eye that seemed to be rendered
more charming by the pupil coming down to rest in its corner.

While we stood for a while looking at one another, there arose there
a great noise of people flying in terror. And there came that way an
infuriated elephant driven mad by the smell of the wild elephants;
it had broken its chain, and thrown its rider, and the elephant-hook
was swinging to and fro at the end of its ear. The moment I saw the
animal, I rushed forward, and taking up in my arms my beloved, who was
terrified, and whose attendants had run away, I carried her into the
middle of the crowd. Then she began to recover her composure, and her
attendants came up; but just at that moment the elephant, attracted by
the noise of the people, charged in our direction. The crowd dispersed
in terror at the monster's approach, and she disappeared among them,
having been carried off by her attendants in one direction, while I
went in another.

At last the alarm caused by the elephant came to an end, and then
I searched in every direction for that slender-waisted maid, but
I could not find her, as I did not know her name, her family, or
her dwelling-place; and so roaming about, with a void in my heart,
like a Vidyádhara that has lost his magic power, I with difficulty
tottered into my teacher's house. There I remained like one in a faint
or asleep, remembering the joy of embracing my beloved, and anxious
lest her love might fail. [511] And in course of time reflection
lulled me in her lap, as if affected with the compassion natural
to noble women, and shewed me a glimpse of hope, and soul-paining
ignorance hugged my heart, and an exceedingly severe headache took
possession of my brain. [512] In the meanwhile the day slipped away
and my self-command with it, and the lotus-thicket folded its cups
and my face was contracted with them, and the couples of Brahmany
ducks were dispersed with my hopes, the sun having gone to rest.

Then the moon, the chief friend of Love, that gladdens the eyes of
the happy, rose up, adorning the face of the east; its rays, though
ambrosial, seemed to me like fiery fingers, and though it lit up
the quarters of the sky, it closed in me all hope of life. Then one
of my fellow-students, seeing that in my misery I had flung my body
into moonlight as into a fire, and was longing for death, said to me,
"Why are you in this evil case? You do not appear to have any disease;
but, if you have mental affliction caused by longing for wealth or
by love, I will tell you the truth about those objects; listen to
me. The wealth, which through over-covetousness men desire to gain by
cheating their neighbours, or by robbing them, does not remain. The
poison-trees [513] of wealth, which are rooted in wickedness and
bring forth an abundant crop of wickedness, are soon broken by the
weight of their own fruit. All that is gained by that wealth in this
world, is the toil of acquiring it and other annoyances, and in the
next world great suffering in hell, a suffering that shall continue
as long as the moon and stars endure. As for love, that love which
fails of attaining its object brings disappointment that puts an end
to life, and unlawful love, though pleasing in the mouth, is simply
the forerunner of the fire of hell, [514] but a man's mind is sound
owing to good actions in a former life, and a hero, who possesses
self-command and energy, obtains wealth, and the object of his desires,
not a spiritless coward like you. So, my good fellow, have recourse
to self-command, and strive for the attainment of your ends."

When that friend said this to me I returned him a careless and random
answer. However, I concealed my real thoughts, spent the night in
a calm and composed manner, and in course of time came here, to
see if by any chance she lived in this town. When I arrived here,
I saw you with your neck in a noose, and after you were cut down,
I heard from you your sorrow, and I have now told you my own.

So I have made efforts to obtain that fair one whose name and
dwelling-place I know not, and have thus exerted myself to gain what
no heroism could procure; but why do you, when Madirávatí is within
your grasp, play the faint-heart, instead of manfully striving to
win her? Have you not heard the legend of old days with regard to
Rukminí? Was she not carried off by Vishnu after she had been given
to the king of Chedi?

While that friend of mine was thus concluding his tale, Madirávatí
came there with her followers, preceded by the usual auspicious band
of music, in order to worship the god of Love in this temple of the
Mothers. And I said to my friend, "I knew all along that maidens on
the day of their marriage come here to worship the god of Love, this is
why I tried to hang myself on the banyan-tree in front of this temple,
in order that when Madirávatí came here, she might see that I had died
for her sake." When that resolute Bráhman friend heard that, he said,
"Then let us quickly slip into this temple and remain hidden behind the
images of the Mothers, and see whether any expedient will then present
itself to us or not." When my friend made this proposal, I consented,
and went with him into that temple, and remained there concealed.

And Madirávatí came there slowly, escorted by the auspicious wedding
music, and entered that temple. And she left at the door all her female
friends and male attendants, saying to them, "I wish in private to
crave from the awful god of Love a certain boon [515] that is in my
mind, so remain all of you outside the building." Then she came in and
addressed the following prayer to Kámadeva after she had worshipped
him, "O god, since thou art named 'the mind-born,' how was it that
thou didst not discern the beloved that was in my mind? Why hast thou
disappointed and slain me? If thou hast not been able to grant me my
boon in this birth, at any rate have mercy upon me in my next birth,
O husband of Rati. Shew me so much favour as to ensure that handsome
young Bráhman's being my husband in my next birth."

When the girl had said this in our hearing and before our eyes, she
made a noose by fastening her upper garment to a peg, and put it round
her neck. And my friend said to me, "Go and shew yourself to her,
and take the noose from her neck;" so I immediately went towards
her. And I said to her with a voice faltering from excess of joy,
"Do not act rashly, my beloved; see, here is your slave in front of
you, bought by you with the risk of your life, in whom affection has
been produced by your utterance in the moment of your grief;" and
with these words I removed the noose from the neck of that fair one.

She immediately looked at me, and remained for a moment divided between
joy and terror, and then my friend said quickly to me, "As this is
a dimly lighted hour owing to the waning of the day, I will go out
dressed in Madirávatí's garments with her attendants. And do you go
out by the second door, taking with you this bride wrapped up in our
upper garments. And make for whatever foreign country you please,
during the night, when you will be able to avoid detection. And do
not be anxious about me. Fate will bestow on me prosperity." When
my friend had said this, he put on Madirávatí's dress, and went out,
and left that temple in the darkness, surrounded by her attendants.

And I slipped out by another door with Madirávatí, who wore a necklace
of priceless jewels, and went three yojanas in the night. In the
morning I took food, and slowly travelling on, I reached in the
course of some days, with my beloved, a city named Achalapura. There
a certain Bráhman shewed himself my friend, and gave me a house,
and there I quickly married Madirávatí.

So I have been living there in happiness, having obtained my desire,
and my only anxiety has been as to what could have become of my
friend. And in course of time I came here to bathe in the Ganges,
on this day which is the festival of the summer solstice, and lo! I
found here this man who without cause shewed himself my friend. And
full of embarrassment I folded him in a long embrace, and at last
made him sit down and asked him to tell me his adventures, and at
that moment your Highness came up. Know, son of the king of Vatsa,
that this other Bráhman at my side is my true friend in calamity,
to whom I owe my life and my wife.

When one Bráhman had told his story in these words, Naraváhanadatta
said to the other Bráhman, "I am much pleased; now tell me, how did you
escape from so great a danger? For men like yourself, who disregard
their lives for the sake of their friends, are hard to find." When
the second Bráhman heard this speech of the son of the king of Vatsa,
he also began to tell his adventures.



Subsequent adventures of the second Bráhman.

When I went out that night from the temple in Madirávatí's dress,
her attendants surrounded me under the impression that I was their
mistress. And being bewildered with dancing, singing and intoxication,
they put me in a palanquin [516] and took me to the house of Somadatta,
which was in festal array. In one part it was full of splendid raiment,
in another of piled up ornaments; here you might see cooked food
provided, there an altar-platform made ready; one corner was full
of singing female slaves, another of professional mimes; and a third
was occupied by Bráhmans waiting for the auspicious moment.

Into one room of this house I was ushered in the darkness, veiled,
by the servants, who were beside themselves with drink and took me
for the bride. And when I sat down there, the females surrounded me,
full of joy at the wedding festival, busied with a thousand affairs.

Immediately the sound of bracelets and anklets was heard near the door,
and a maiden entered the room surrounded by her attendants. Like a
female snake, her head was adorned with flashing jewels, and she had
a white skin-like boddice; like a wave of the sea, she was full of
beauty, [517] and covered with strings of pearls. She had a garland of
beautiful flowers, arms shapely as the stalk of the creeper, and bright
bud-like fingers; and so she looked like the goddess of the garden
moving among men. And she came and sat down by my side, thinking I was
her beloved confidante. When I looked at her, I perceived that that
thief of my heart had come to me, the maiden that I saw at the Sankha
lake whither she had come to bathe; whom I saved from the elephant,
and who, almost as soon as seen, disappeared from my sight among the
crowd. I was overpowered with excess of joy, and I said to myself,
"Can this be mere chance, or is it a dream, or sober waking reality?"

Immediately those attendants of Madirávatí said to the visitor,
"Why do you seem so disturbed in mind, noble lady?" When she heard
that, she said, concealing her real feelings, [518] "What! are you
not aware what a dear friend of mine Madirávatí is. And she, as soon
as she is married, will go off to her father-in-law's house, and I
shall not be able to live without her; this is why I am afflicted. So
leave the room quickly, in order that I may have the pleasure of a
little confidential chat with Madirávatí."

With these words she put them all out, and fastened the door herself,
and then sat down, and under the impression that I was her confidante,
began to speak to me as follows; "Madirávatí, no affliction can be
greater than this affliction of yours, in that you are in love with
one man, and you are given by your father in marriage to another;
still you may possibly have a meeting or be united with your beloved,
whom you know by having been in his society. But for me a hopeless
affliction has arisen, and I will tell you what it is; for you are
the only repository of my secrets, as I am of yours.

"I had gone to bathe on a festival in the lake named the lake of
Sankha, [519] in order to divert my mind which was oppressed with
approaching separation from you. While thus engaged, I saw in the
garden near that lake a beautiful blooming young Bráhman, whose budding
beard seemed like a swarm of bees come to feed on the lotus of his
face; he himself looked like the moon come down from heaven in the
day, like the golden binding-post of the elephant of beauty. I said
to myself, 'Those hermits' daughters who have not seen this youth,
have only endured to no purpose hardship in the woods; what fruit have
they of their asceticism?' And even as I thought this in my heart,
the god of Love pierced it so completely with his shafts, that shame
and fear at once left it together.

"Then, while I looked with sidelong looks at him, whose eyes were fixed
on me, there suddenly came that way a furious elephant that had escaped
from its binding-post. That scared away my attendants and terrified
myself; and the young man, perceiving this, ran, and taking me up in
his arms, carried me along way into the midst of the crowd. While in
his arms, I assure you, my friend, I was rendered dead to all beside
by the joy of his ambrosial touch, and I knew not the elephant, nor
fear, nor who I was, nor where I was. In the meanwhile my attendants
came up, and thereupon the elephant rushed down on us like Separation
incarnate in bodily form, and my servants, alarmed at it, took me up
and carried me home; and in the mêlée my beloved disappeared, whither I
know not. Ever since that time I do nothing but think on him, who saved
my life, but whose name and dwelling I know not, who was snatched from
me as one might snatch away from my grasp a treasure that I had found;
and I weep all night with the female chakravákas, longing for sleep,
that takes away all grief, in order that I may behold him in a dream.

"In this hopeless affliction my only consolation, my friend,
is the sight of yourself, and that is now being far removed from
me. Accordingly, Madirávatí, the hour of my death draws nigh, and
that is why I am now enjoying the pleasure of beholding your face."

When she had uttered this speech, which was like a shower of nectar in
my ears, staining all the while the moon of her face with tear-drops
mixed with the black pigment of her eyes, she lifted up the veil from
my face, and beheld and recognized me, and then she was filled with
joy, wonder, and fear. Then I said, "Fair one, what is your cause of
alarm? Here I am at your service. For Fate, when propitious, brings
about unexpected results. I too have endured for your sake intolerable
sorrow; the fact is, Fate produces a strange variety of effects in
this phenomenal universe. Hereafter I will tell you my story at full
length; this is not the time for conversation; now devise, if you can,
my beloved, some artifice for escaping from this place." When I said
this to the girl, she made the following proposal, which was just
what the occasion demanded; "Let us slip out quietly from this house
by the back-door; the garden belonging to the house of my father, a
noble Kshatriya, is just outside: let us pass through it and go where
chance may take us." When she had said this, she hid her ornaments,
and I left the house with her by the way which she recommended.

So in that night I went a long distance with her, for we feared
detection, and in the morning we reached together a great forest. And
as we were going along through that savage wilderness, with no comfort
but our mutual conversation, noon gradually came on. The sun, like a
wicked king, afflicted with his rays the earth that furnished no asylum
for travellers, and no shelter. [520] By that time my beloved was
exhausted with fatigue and tortured with thirst, so I slowly carried
her into the shade of a tree, which it cost me a great effort to reach.

There I tried to restore her by fanning her with my garment, and
while I was thus engaged, a buffalo that had escaped with a wound,
came towards us. And there followed in eager pursuit of it a man
on horseback armed with a bow, whose very appearance proclaimed him
to be a noble-minded hero. He slew that great buffalo with a second
wound from a crescent-headed arrow; striking him down as Indra strikes
down a mountain with the dint of a thunder-bolt. When he saw us, he
advanced towards us, and said kindly to me, "Who are you, my good sir;
and who is this lady; and why have you come here?"

Then I shewed my Bráhmanical thread, and gave him an answer which
was half truth and half falsehood; "I am a Bráhman, this is my wife:
business led us to a foreign land, and on the way our caravan was
destroyed by bandits, and we, separating from it, lost our way,
and so came to enter this forest; here we have met you, and all our
fears are at an end." When I said this, he was moved by compassion for
my Bráhmanical character, and said "I am a chief of the foresters,
come here to hunt; and you way-worn travellers have arrived here as
my guests; so now come to my house, which is at no great distance,
to rest."

When he had said this, he made my wearied darling got up on his horse,
and himself walked, and so he led us to his dwelling. There he provided
us with food and other requisites, as if he had been a relation. [521]
Even in bad districts some few noble-hearted men spring up here and
there. Then he gave me attendants, who enabled me to get out of that
wood, and I reached a royal grant to Bráhmans, where I married that
lady. Then I wandered about from country to country, and meeting with
a caravan, I have to-day come here with her to bathe in the water of
the Ganges. And here I have found this man whom I selected for myself
as a friend; and I have seen your Highness; this, prince, is my story."

When he had said this, he ceased, and the prince of Vatsa loudly
praised that Bráhman, who had obtained the prize he desired, the
fitting reward of his genuine goodness; and in the meanwhile the
prince's ministers, Gomukha and the others, who had long been roaming
about looking for him, came up and found him. And they fell at the
feet of Naraváhanadatta, and tears of joy poured down their faces;
while he welcomed them all with due and fitting respect. Then the
prince, accompanied by Lalitalochaná, returned with those ministers
to his city, taking with him those two young Bráhmans, whom he valued
on account of the tact and skill they had displayed in attaining
worthy objects.







BOOK XIV.


CHAPTER CV.


May Siva, the granter of boons, who, when pleased, bestowed on Umá
half his own body, grant you your desire!

May the vermilion-stained trunk which Ganesa at night throws up in the
dance, and so seems to furnish the moon-umbrella with a coral handle,
protect you!



Then Naraváhanadatta, son of the king of Vatsa, possessing as his
wives those various ladies, the most beautiful in the three worlds,
and Madanamanchuká as his head-queen, dwelt with Gomukha and his other
ministers in Kausámbí, having his every want supplied by his father's
magnificent resources. His days passed pleasantly in dancing, singing,
and conversation, and were enlivened by the exquisite enjoyment of
the society of the ladies whom he loved.

Then it happened one day that he could not find his principal charmer
Madanamanchuká anywhere in the female apartments, nor could her
attendants find her either. [522] When he could not see his beloved,
he became pale from grief, as the moon loses its beauty in the
morning, by being separated from the night. And he was distracted by
an innumerable host of doubts, saying to himself, "I wonder whether
my beloved has hidden herself somewhere to ascertain my sentiments
towards her; or is she indignant with me for some trifling fault
or other; or is she concealed by magic, or has she been carried off
by some one?" When he had searched for her, and could not find her
anywhere, he was consumed by violent grief for his separation from
her, which raged in his bosom like a forest conflagration. His father,
the king of Vatsa, who came to visit him, as soon as he knew the state
of affairs, and his mothers, ministers, and servants were all beside
themselves. The pearl necklace, sandal-wood ointment, the rays of the
moon, lotus-fibres and lotus-leaves did not alleviate his torture,
but rather increased it. As for Kalingasená, when she was suddenly
deprived of that daughter, she was confounded like a Vidyádharí,
who has lost her magic power.

Then an aged female guardian of the women's apartments said in the
presence of Naraváhanadatta, so that all there heard, "Long ago, that
young Vidyádhara, named Mánasavega, having beheld Madanamanchuká,
when she was a maiden, on the top of the palace, suddenly descended
from heaven, and approaching Kalingasená, told her his name, and asked
her to give him her daughter. When Kalingasená refused, he went as
he came; but why should he not have now come secretly and carried her
off by his magic power? It is of course true that heavenly beings do
not carry off the wives of others; on the other hand, who, that is
blinded by passion, troubles himself about the right or wrong of an
action?" When Naraváhanadatta heard this, his heart was overwhelmed
with anger, impatience, and the sorrow of bereavement, and became
like a lotus in the waves.

Then Rumanvat said, "This palace is guarded all round, and it
is impossible to enter or go out from it, except through the
air. Moreover, by the favour of Siva no misfortune can befall her;
so we may be certain that she has hidden herself somewhere, because
her affection has been wounded. Listen to a story which will make
this clear."



Story of Sávitrí and Angiras.

Once on a time a hermit, named Angiras, asked Ashtávakra for the
hand of his daughter Sávitrí. But Ashtávakra would not give him his
daughter Sávitrí, though he was an excellent match, because she was
already betrothed to some one else. Then Angiras married Asrutá his
brother's daughter, and lived a long time with her as his wife in
great happiness; but she was well aware that he had previously been
in love with Sávitrí.

One day that hermit Angiras remained muttering for a long time in
an inaudible voice. Then his wife Asrutá asked him again and again
lovingly, "Tell me, my husband, why do you remain so long fixed
in thought?" He said, "My dear, I am meditating on the Sávitrí;"
and she, thinking that he meant Sávitrí, the hermit's daughter, was
vexed in soul. She said to herself, "He is miserable," so she went
off to the forest determined to abandon the body; and after she had
prayed that good fortune might attend her husband, she fastened a
rope round her neck. And at that moment Gáyatrí appeared with rosary
of aksha-beads and ascetic's pitcher, and said to her, "Daughter,
do not act rashly! Your husband was not thinking of any woman; he was
meditating on me, the holy Sávitrí;" and with these words she freed her
neck from the noose; and the goddess, merciful to her votaries, having
thus consoled her, disappeared. Then her husband Angiras, searching
for her, found her in the wood, and brought her home. So you see that
women in this world cannot endure the wounding of their affections.

"So you may be certain that this wife of the prince is angry on account
of some trifling injury, and is hidden somewhere in this place; for
she is under the protection of Siva; and we must again search for her."

When Rumanvat said this, the sovereign of Vatsa said, "It must be so:
for no misfortune can befall her, inasmuch as a heavenly voice said
'This Madanamanchuká is an incarnation of Rati, appointed by the god to
be the wife of Naraváhanadatta, who is an emanation of the god of Love,
and he shall rule the Vidyádharas with her as his consort for a kalpa
of the gods,' and this utterance cannot be falsified by the event. So
let her be carefully looked for." When the king himself said this,
Naraváhanadatta went out, though he was in such a miserable state.

But, however much he searched for her, he could not find her, so he
wandered about in various parts of the grounds, like one distracted;
when he went to her dwelling, the rooms with closed doors seemed
as if they had shut their eyes in despair at beholding his grief;
and when he went about in the groves asking for her, the trees,
agitating their shoots like hands seemed to say, "We have not seen
your beloved." When he searched in the gardens, the sárasa-birds,
flying up to the sky, seemed to tell him that she had not gone that
way. And his ministers Marubhúti, Harisikha, Gomukha, and Vasantaka
wandered about in every direction to find her.

In the meanwhile an unmarried Vidyádharí, of the name of Vegavatí,
having beheld Madanamanchuká in her splendid and glorious beauty,
deliberately took her shape, and came and stood alone in the garden
under an asoka-tree. Marubhúti saw her, as he was roaming about in
search of the queen, and she seemed at once to extract the dart from
his pierced heart. And in his joy he went to Naraváhanadatta, and said
to him, "Cheer up, I have seen your beloved in the garden." When he
said this, Naraváhanadatta was delighted, and immediately went with
him to that garden.

Then, exhausted with long bereavement, he beheld that semblance
of Madanamanchuká, with feelings like those with which a thirsty
traveller beholds a stream of water. And the moment he beheld her, the
much afflicted prince longed to embrace her, but she, being cunning
and wishing to be married by him, said to him, "Do not touch me now,
first hear what I have to say. Before I married you, I prayed to the
Yakshas to enable me to obtain you, and said, 'On my wedding-day
I will make offerings to you with my own hand.' But, my beloved,
when my wedding-day came, I forgot all about them. That enraged the
Yakshas, and so they carried me off from this place. And they have
just brought me here, and let me go, saying, 'Go and perform over
again that ceremony of marriage, and make oblations to us, and then
repair to your husband; otherwise you will not prosper.' So marry
me quickly, in order that I may offer the Yakshas the worship they
demand; and then fulfil all your desire."

When Naraváhanadatta heard that, he summoned the priest Sántisoma and
at once made the necessary preparations, and immediately married the
supposed Madanamanchuká, who was no other than the Vidyádharí Vegavatí,
having been for a short time quite cast down by his separation from
the real one. Then a great feast took place there, full of the clang
of cymbals, delighting the king of Vatsa, gladdening the queens,
and causing joy to Kahngasená. And the supposed Madanamanchuká,
who was really the Vidyádharí Vegavatí, made with her own hand an
offering of wine, flesh, and other dainties to the Yakshas. Then
Naraváhanadatta, remaining with her in her chamber, drank wine with
her in his exultation, though he was sufficiently intoxicated with
her voice. And then he retired to rest with her, who had thus changed
her shape, as the sun with the shadow. And she said to him in secret,
"My beloved, now that we have retired to rest, you must take care not
to unveil my face suddenly and look at me while asleep [523]." When
the prince heard this, he was filled with curiosity, to think what this
might be, and the next day he uncovered her face while she was asleep,
and looked at it, and lo! it was not Madanamanchuká, but some one else,
who, when asleep, had lost the power of disguising her appearance by
magic. [524] Then she woke up, while he was sitting by her awake. And
he said to her, "Tell me, who are you?" And the discreet Vidyádharí
seeing him sitting up awake, and being conscious that she was in her
own shape and that her secret was discovered, began to tell her tale
saying, "Listen, my beloved, I will now tell you the whole story."

"There is in the city of the Vidyádharas a mountain of the name
of Áshádhapura. There dwells a chief of the Vidyádharas, named
Mánasavega, a prince puffed up with the might of his arm, the son of
king Vegavat. I am his younger sister, and my name is Vegavatí. And
that brother of mine hated me so much that he was not willing
to bestow on me the sciences. Then I obtained them, though with
difficulty, from my father, who had retired to a wood of ascetics,
and, thanks to his favour, I possess them of greater power than any
other of our race. I myself saw the wretched Madanamanchuká, in the
palace of mount Áshádha, in a garden, surrounded by sentinels, I mean
your beloved, whom my brother has carried off by magic, as Rávana
carried off the afflicted Sítá, the wife of Rámabhadra. And as the
virtuous lady repels his caresses, he cannot subdue her to his will,
for a curse has been laid upon him, that will bring about his death,
if he uses violence to any woman.

"So that wicked brother of mine made use of me, to try and talk
her over; and I went to that lady, who could do nothing but talk of
you. And in my conversation with her, that virtuous lady mentioned
your name, [525] which was like a command from the god of Love, and
thus my mind then became fixed upon you alone. And then I remembered
an announcement which Párvatí made to me in a dream, much to the
following effect, 'You shall be married to that man the mere hearing of
whose name overpowers you with love.' When I had called this to mind,
I cheered up Madanamanchuká, and came here in her form, and married
myself to you by an artifice. So come, my beloved, I am filled with
such compassion for your wife Madanamanchuká that I will take you where
she is; for I am the devoted servant of my rival, even as I am of you,
because you love her. For I am so completely enslaved by love for you,
that I am rendered quite unselfish by it."

When Vegavatí had said this, she took Naraváhanadatta, and by
the might of her science flew up with him into the sky during the
night. And next morning, while she was slowly travelling through the
heaven, the attendants of the husband and wife were bewildered by
their disappearance. And when the king of Vatsa came to hear of it,
he was immediately, as it were, struck by a thunderbolt, and so were
Vásavadattá, Padmávatí and the rest. And the citizens, and the king's
ministers Yaugandharáyana and the others, together with their sons
Marubhúti and the rest, were altogether distracted.

Then the hermit Nárada, surrounded with a circle of light, descended
there from heaven, like a second sun. The king of Vatsa offered him the
arghya, and the hermit said to him, "Your son has been carried off by
a Vidyádharí to her country, but he will soon return; and I have been
sent by Siva to cheer you up." And after this prelude he went on to
tell the king of Vegavatí's proceedings, exactly as they took place;
then the king recovered his spirits and the hermit disappeared.

In the meanwhile Vegavatí carried Naraváhanadatta through the air to
the mountain Áshádhapura. And Mánasavega, hearing of it, hastened
there to kill them both. Then Vegavatí engaged with her brother in
a struggle which was remarkable for a great display of magic power;
for a woman values her lover as her life, and much more than her own
relations. Then she assumed by the might of her magic a terrible form
of Bhairava, and at once striking Mánasavega senseless, she placed
him on the mountain of Agni. [526] And she took Naraváhanadatta, whom
at the beginning of the contest she had deposited in the care of one
of her sciences, [527] and placed him in a dry well in the city of
the Gandharvas, to keep him. And when he was there, she said to him,
"Remain here a little while, my husband; good fortune will befall you
here; and do not despond in your heart, O man appointed to a happy
lot, for the sovereignty over all the Vidyádharas is to be yours. But
I must leave this for the present, to appease my sciences, impaired
by my resistance to my elder brother; however, I will return to you
soon." When the Vidhyádharí Vegavatí had said this, she departed
somewhere or other.






CHAPTER CVI.


Then a certain Gandharva, of the name of Vínádatta, saw Naraváhanadatta
in that well. Truly if there were not great souls in this world,
born for the benefit of others, relieving distress as wayside trees
heat, the world would be a withered forest. Thus the good Gandharva,
as soon as he saw Naraváhanadatta, asked him his name and lineage, and
supporting him with his hand, drew him out of that well, and said to
him, [528] "If you are a man and not a god, how did you reach this city
of the Gandharvas inaccessible to man? Tell me!" Then Naraváhanadatta
answered him, "A Vidyádharí brought me here, and threw me into the well
by her power." Then the good Gandharva Vínádatta, seeing that he had
the veritable signs of an emperor, took him to his own dwelling, and
waited upon him with all the luxuries at his command. And the next day,
Naraváhanadatta, perceiving that the inhabitants of the city carried
lyres in their hands, said to his host, "Why have all these people,
even down to the children, got lyres in their hands?" [529]

Then Vínádatta gave him this answer, "Ságaradatta the king of the
Gandharvas, who lives here, has a daughter named Gandharvadattá, who
eclipses the nymphs of heaven; it seems as if the Creator had blended
nectar, the moon, and sandalwood, and other choice things, in order
to compose her body, as a specimen of his skill in making all that is
fair. She is always singing to the lyre the hymn of Vishnu, which the
god himself bestowed on her, and so she has attained supreme skill in
music. [530] And the princess has firmly resolved that whoever is so
well skilled in music, that he can play on the lyre, and sing perfectly
in three scales a song in praise of Vishnu, shall be her husband. The
consequence is, that all here are trying to learn to play the lyre, but
they have not acquired the amount of skill demanded by the princess."

Prince Naraváhanadatta was delighted at hearing this speech from the
mouth of Vínádatta and he said to him, "All the accomplishments have
chosen me for a husband, and I know all the music, that there is in
the three worlds." When he said this, his friend Vínádatta conducted
him into the presence of king Ságaradatta, and said there, "Here is
Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, who has fallen into
your city from the hand of a Vidyádharí. He is an adept in music,
and he knows the song in praise of Vishnu, in which the princess
Gandharvadattá takes so much pleasure." When the king heard this, he
said, "It is true; I heard so much before from the Gandharvas; so I
must to-day receive him with respect here. And he is an emanation of
a divinity; he is not out of place in the abode of gods; otherwise,
if he were a man, how could he have come here by associating with a
Vidyádharí? So summon Gandharvadattá quickly and let us test him." When
the king said this, the chamberlains went to fetch her.

And the fair one came there, all glorious with flower-ornaments,
agitating with her beauty, as if with a wind, the creepers of
spring. She sat down at her father's side, and the servants told her
what had taken place, and immediately, at his command, she sang a
song to the lyre. When she was joining the notes to the quarter-tones,
like Sarasvatí the wife of Brahmá, Naraváhanadatta was astonished at
her singing and her beauty. Then he said to her, "Princess, your lyre
does not seem to me to sound well, I think there must be a hair on
the string." Thereupon the lyre was examined, and they found the hair
where he said, and that astonished even the Gandharvas. Then the king
took the lyre from his daughter's hand, and gave it to him, saying,
"Prince, take this, and pour nectar into our ears." Then he played on
it, and sang the hymn of Vishnu with such skill that the Gandharvas
there became motionless as painted pictures.

Then Gandharvadattá herself threw on him a look tender with affection,
as it were a garland of full-blown blue lotuses, [531] and therewith
chose him as her husband. When the king saw it, and called to
mind his promise of that import, he at once gave him his daughter
Gandharvadattá in marriage. As for the wedding that thereupon took
place, gladdened by the drums of the gods and other festal signs,
to what could we compare it, as it served as the standard by which
to estimate all similar rejoicings? Then Naraváhanadatta lived there
with his new bride Gandharvadattá in heavenly bliss.

And one day he went out to behold the beauty of the city, and after he
had seen all kinds of places, he entered the park attached to it. There
he saw a heavenly female descending from the sky with her daughter,
like the lightning with the rain in a cloudless atmosphere. And she
was saying to her daughter, as she descended, recognising him by
her knowledge, "This, my daughter, is your future husband, the son
of the king of Vatsa." "When he saw her alight and come towards him,
he said to her, "Who are you, and why have you come?" And the heavenly
female said to him, thus introducing the object of her desire:

"Prince, I am Dhanavatí, the wife of a chief of the Vidyádharas, named
Sinha, and this is my unmarried daughter, the sister of Chandasinha,
and her name is Ajinávatí. You were announced as her future husband by
a voice that came from heaven. Then, learning by my magic science, that
you, the future emperor of the Vidyádharas, had been deposited here
by Vegavatí, I came to tell you my desire. You ought not to remain in
such a place as this which is accessible to the Vidyádharas, for they
might slay you out of enmity, as you are alone, and have not obtained
your position of emperor. So come, let us now take you to a land which
is inaccessible to them. Does not the moon delay to shine, when the
circle of the sun is eclipsed? And when the auspicious day arrives you
shall marry this daughter of mine." When she had said this, she took
him and flew up into the air with him, and her daughter accompanied
them. And she took him to the city of Srávastí, and deposited him in
a garden, and then she disappeared with her daughter Ajinávatí.

There king Prasenajit, who had returned from a distant hunting
expedition, saw that prince of noble form and feature. The king
approached him full of curiosity, and asked him his name and lineage,
and then, being much delighted, courteously conducted him to his
palace. It was full of troops of elephants, adorned with lines
of horses, and looked like a pavilion for the Fortune of empire
to rest in, when wearied with her wanderings. Wherever a man born
to prosperity may be, felicities eagerly approach him, as women do
their beloved one. This accounts for the fact that the king, being
an admirer of excellence, gave Naraváhanadatta his own daughter,
named Bhagírathayasas. And the prince lived happily there with her
in great luxury, as if with Good Fortune created by the Disposer in
flesh and blood for his delectation.

One evening, when the lover of the night had arisen, raining joy into
the eyes of men, looking like the full-orbed face [532] of the nymph
of the eastern quarter, or rather the countenance of Bhagírathayasas
charming as nectar, reflected in the pure mirror of the cloudless
heaven, he drank wine with that fair one at her request on the top of
a palace silvered over with the elixir of moonlight. He quaffed the
liquor which was adorned with the reflection of his beloved's face,
and so gave pleasure to his eyes as well as to his palate. And then he
considered the moon as far inferior in beauty to his charmer's face,
for it wanted the intoxicating [533] play of the eyes and eyebrows. And
after his drinking-bout was over he went inside the house, and retired
to his couch with Bhagírathayasas.

Then Naraváhanadatta awoke from sleep, while his beloved was still
sleeping, and suddenly calling to mind his home, exclaimed, "Through
love for Bhagírathayasas I have, so to speak, forgotten my other wives;
how can that have happened? But in this too Fate is all-powerful. Far
away too are my ministers. Of them Marubhúti takes pleasure in nought
but feats of prowess, and Harisikba is exclusively devoted to policy;
of those two I do not now feel the need, but it grieves me that
the dexterous Gomukha, who has been my friend in all emergencies,
is far away from me." While he was thus lamenting, he suddenly heard
the words "Ah! how sad!" uttered in a low soft tone, like that of a
woman, and they at once banished sleep. When he heard them, he got up,
and lighted a candle, and looked about, and he saw in the window a
lovely female face. It seemed as if the Disposer had determined out
of playfulness to show him a second but spotless moon not in the sky,
as he had that night seen the spot-beflecked moon of heaven. And not
being able to discern the rest of her body, but eager to behold it,
his eyes being attracted by her beauty, he immediately said to himself,
"Long ago, when the Daitya Átápin was impeding the creation of Brahmá,
that god employed the artifice of sending him to Nandana, saying to
him, 'Go there and see a very curious sight;' and when he got there,
he saw only the foot of a woman, which was of wonderful beauty; and
so he died from an insane desire to see the rest of her body. [534]
In the same way it may be that the Disposer has produced this lady's
face only to bring about my destruction." While he was making this
momentary surmise, the lady displayed her shoot-like finger at the
window, and beckoned to him to come towards her.

Then he deliberately went out of the chamber in which his beloved was
sleeping, and with eager impatience approached that heavenly lady:
and when he came near, she exclaimed, "Madanamanchuká, they say that
your husband is in love with another woman: alas! you are undone." When
Naraváhanadatta heard this, he called to mind his beloved, and the fire
of separation flamed up in his bosom, and he said to that fair one,
"Who are you? Where did you see my beloved Madanamanchuká? And why have
you come to me? Tell me!" Then the bold lady took the prince away to
a distance in the night, and saying to him, "Hear the whole story,"
she thus began to speak.

"There is in the city of Pushkarávatí a prince of the Vidyádharas
named Pingalagándhára, who has become yellow with continually adoring
the fire. Know that I am his unmarried daughter, named Prabhávatí,
for he obtained me by the special favour of the god of fire, who
was pleased with his adoration. I went to the city of Ashádbapura to
visit my friend Vegavatí, and I did not find her there, as she had
gone somewhere to perform asceticism. But hearing from her mother
Prithivídeví that your beloved Madanamanchuká was there, I went to
her. I beheld her emaciated with fasting, pale and squalid, with
only one lock, weeping, talking only of your virtues, surrounded by
tearful bands of Vidyádhara princesses, who were divided between grief
produced by seeing her, and joy produced by hearing of you. She told
me what you were like, and I comforted her by promising to bring you,
for my mind was overpowered by pity for her, and attracted by your
excellences. And finding out by means of my magic skill that you were
here at present, I came to you, to inserve her interests and my own
also. But when I found that you had forgotten your first love and
were talking here of other persons, I bewailed the lot of that wife
of yours, and exclaimed 'Ah! how sad!'"

When the prince had been thus addressed by her, he became impatient
and said, "Take me where she is, and impose on me whatever command
you think fit." When the Vidyádharí Prabhávatí heard that, she flew up
into the air with him, and proceeded to journey on through the moonlit
night. And as she was going along, she saw a fire burning in a certain
place, so she took Naraváhanadatta's hand, and moved round it, keeping
it on the right. In this way the bold lady managed by an artifice to
go through the ceremony of marriage with Naraváhanadatta, for all the
actions of heavenly beings have some important end in view. [535]
Then she pointed out to her beloved from the sky the earth looking
like a sacrificial platform, the rivers like snakes, the mountains
like ant-hills, and many other wonders did she show him from time to
time, until at last she had gradually accomplished a long distance.

Then Naraváhanadatta became thirsty with his long journey through
the air, and begged for water; so she descended to earth from her
airy path. And she took him to the corner of a forest, and placed
him near a lake, which seemed to be full of molten silver, as its
water was white with the rays of the moon. So his craving for water
was satisfied by the draught which he drank in that beautiful forest,
but there arose in him a fresh craving as he felt a desire to embrace
that lovely lady. [536] But she, when pressed, would hardly consent;
for her thoughts reverted with pity to Madanamanchuká, whom she had
tried to comfort; in truth the noble-minded, when they have undertaken
to forward the interests of others, put out of sight their own. And
she said to him, "Do not think ill, my husband, of my coldness;
I have an object in it; and now hear this story which will explain it."



Story of the child that died of a broken heart because his mother
forgot to bring him a sweetmeat.

Once on a time, there lived in the city of Pátaliputra a certain widow
who had one child; she was young, and beautiful, but poor. And she was
in the habit of making love to a strange man for her gratification, and
at night she used to leave her house and roam where she pleased. But,
before she went, she used invariably to console her infant son
by saying to him, "My boy, I will bring you a sweetmeat to-morrow
morning," and every day she brought him one. And the child used to
remain quiet at home, buoyed up by the hope of that sweetmeat.

But one day she forgot, and did not bring him the sweetmeat. And
when the child asked for the sweetmeat, she said to him, "Sweetmeat
indeed! I know of no sweet, but my sweetheart." Then the child said
to himself, "She has not brought me a sweetmeat, because she loves
another better than me." So he lost all hope, and his heart broke.

"So if I were over-eager to appropriate you whom I have long loved,
and if Madanamanchuká, whom I consoled with the hope of a joyful
reunion with you, were to hear of it, and lose all hope through me,
her heart, which is as soft as a flower, would break. [537] It is
this desire to spare her feelings, which prevents me from being so
eager now for your society, before I have consoled her, though you
are my beloved, dearer to me than life."

When Prabhávatí said this to Naraváhanadatta, he was full of joy and
astonishment, and he said to himself, "Well! Fate seems to take a
pleasure in perpetually creating new marvels, since it has produced
Prabhávatí, whose conduct is so inconceivably noble." With these
thoughts in his mind, the prince lovingly praised her, and said,
"Then take me where that Madanamanchuká is." When Prabhávatí heard
that, she took him up, and in a moment carried him through the air to
the mountain Áshádhapura. There she bestowed him on Madanamanchuká,
whose body had long been drying up with grief, as a shower bestows
fullness on a river.

Then Naraváhanadatta beheld that fair one there, afflicted with
separation, thin and pale, like a digit of the new moon. That reunion
of those two seemed to restore them to life, and gave joy to the world,
like the union of the night and the moon. And the pair embraced,
scorched with the fire of separation, and as they were streaming
with fatigue, they seemed to melt into one. Then they both partook
at their ease of luxuries suddenly provided in the night by the might
of Prabhávatí's science. And thanks to her science, no one there but
Madanamanchuká, saw Naraváhanadatta.

The next morning Naraváhanadatta proceeded to loose Madanamanchuká's
one lock, [538] but she, overpowered with resentment against her enemy,
said to her beloved, "Long ago I made this vow, 'That lock of mine
must be loosed by my husband, when Mánasavega is slain, but not till
then; and if he is not slain, I will wear it till my death, and then
it shall be loosed by the birds, or consumed with fire.' But now you
have loosed it, while this enemy of mine is still alive; that vexes
my soul. For though Vegavatí flung him down on Agniparvata, he did
not die of the fall. And you have now been made invisible here by
Prabhávatí by means of her magic power; otherwise the followers of
that enemy, who are continually moving near you here, would see you,
and would not tolerate your presence."

When Naraváhanadatta had been thus addressed by his wife, he,
recognising the fact that the proper time for accomplishing his object
had not yet arrived, said to her by way of calming her, "This desire
of yours shall be fulfilled; I will soon slay that enemy; but first I
must acquire the sciences; wait a little, my beloved." With speeches
of this kind Naraváhanadatta consoled Madanamanchuká; and remained
there in that city of the Vidyádharas.

Then Prabhávatí disappeared herself, and, by the power of her magic
science, bestowed in some incomprehensible way on Naraváhanadatta
her own shape. And the prince lived happily there in her shape, and
without fear of discovery, enjoying pleasures provided by her magic
science. And all the people there thought, "This friend of Vegavatí's
is attending on Madanamanchuká, partly out of regard for Vegavatí, and
partly on account of the friendly feelings which she herself entertains
for the captive princess;" for they all supposed that Naraváhanadatta
was no other than Prabhávatí, as he was disguised in her shape: and
this was the report that they carried to Mánasavega. Then, one day,
something caused Madanamanchuká to relate to Naraváhanadatta her
adventures in the following words,



Madanamanchuká's account of her treatment while in captivity.

When Mánasavega first brought me here, he tried to win me to his will
by his magic power, endeavouring to alarm me by cruel actions. And
then Siva appeared in a terrible form, with drawn sword and lolling
tongue, and making an appalling roar, said to Mánasavega; "How is it
that, while I still exist, thou dost presume to treat disrespectfully
the wife of him who is destined to be emperor over all the Vidyádhara
kings?" When the villain Mánasavega had been thus addressed by Siva,
he fell on the earth vomiting blood from his mouth. Then the god
disappeared, and that villain immediately recovered, and went to his
own palace, and again began to practise cruelties against me. [539]

Then in my terror, and in the agony of separation, I was thinking of
abandoning my life, but the attendants of the harem came to me, and
said to me by way of consolation, "Long ago this Mánasavega beheld a
certain beautiful hermit maiden and tried to carry her off by force
but was thus cursed by her relations; 'When, villain, you approach
another's wife against her will, your head shall split into a thousand
fragments;' so he will never force himself on the wife of another, do
not be afraid. Moreover you will soon be reunited with your husband,
as the god announced." Soon after the maids had said this to me,
Vegavatí, the sister of that Mánasavega, came to me to talk me over;
but when she saw me, she was filled with compassion, and she comforted
me by promising to bring you; and you already know how she found you.

Then Prithivídeví, the good mother of that wicked Mánasavega,
came to me, looking, with her garments white as moonlight, like
the orb of Luna without a spot, seeming to bathe me with nectar by
her charming appearance; and with a loving manner she said to me,
"Why do you refuse food and so injure your bodily health, though you
are destined to great prosperity? And do not say to yourself, 'How
can I eat an enemy's food?' For my daughter Vegavatí has a share in
this kingdom, bestowed on her by her father, and she is your friend,
for your husband has married her. Accordingly her wealth, as belonging
to your husband, is yours as much as hers. So enjoy it. What I tell
you is true, for I have discovered it by my magic knowledge." This she
said, and confirmed it with an oath, and then, being attached to me,
on account of her daughter's connexion, she fed me with food suited
to my condition. Then Vegavatí came here with you, and conquered her
brother, and saved you; the sequel I do not know.

So I, remembering the magic skill of Vegavatí and the announcement of
the god, did not surrender my life, which was supported by the hope
of regaining you, and, thanks to the power of the noble Prabhávatí,
I have regained you, although I am thus beset by my enemies. But my
only anxiety is as to what would happen to us, if Prabhávatí here
were deprived of her power, and you were so to lose her shape, which
she has bestowed on you by way of disguise.

This and other such things did Madanamanchuká say, while the brave
Naraváhanadatta remained there with her, endeavouring to console
her. But one night Prabhávatí went to her father's palace, and in the
morning Naraváhanadatta, owing to her being at a distance, lost her
shape, which she had bestowed on him. And next day the attendants
beheld him there in male form, and they all ran bewildered and
alarmed to the king's court and said, "Here is an adulterer crept in;"
thrusting aside the terrified Madanamanchuká, who tried to stop them.

Then king Mánasavega came there at full speed, accompanied by his
army, and surrounded him. Then the king's mother Prithivídeví hurried
thither and said to him, "It will not do for you or me either to put
this man to death. For he is no adulterer, but Naraváhanadatta, the
son of the king of Vatsa, who has come here to visit his own wife. I
know this by my magic power; why are you so blinded with wrath that
you cannot see it? Moreover I am bound to honour him, as he is my
son-in-law, and sprung from the race of the moon." When Mánasavega's
mother said this to him, he flew into a passion, and said, "Then
he is my enemy." Then his mother, out of love for her son-in-law,
used another argument with him. She said, "My son, you will not be
allowed to act wrongfully in the world of the Vidyádharas. For here
there exists a court of the Vidyádharas to protect the right. So accuse
him before the president of that court [540]. Whatever steps you take
with regard to your captive in accordance with the court's decision
will be commendable; but if you act otherwise, the Vidyádharas will
be displeased, and the gods will not tolerate it."

Mánasavega, out of respect for his mother, consented to follow
her advice, and attempted to have Naraváhanadatta bound, with the
intention of taking him before the court. But he, unable to endure the
indignity of being bound, tore a pillar from the arched gateway, and
killed with it a great number of his captor's servants. And the hero,
whose valour was godlike, snatched a sword from one of those that he
had killed, and at once slew with it some more of his opponents. Then
Mánasavega fettered him by his superhuman powers, and took him, with
his wife, before the court. Then the Vidyádharas assembled there from
all quarters, summoned by the loud sound of a drum, even as the gods
assemble in Sudharmá.

And the president of the court, king Váyupatha, came there,
and sat down on a jewelled throne surrounded by Vidyádharas, and
fanned by chowries which waved to and fro, as if to winnow away all
injustice. And the wicked Mánasavega stood in front of him, and said
as follows, "This enemy of mine, who though a mortal, has violated my
harem, and seduced my sister, ought immediately to be put to death;
especially as he actually wishes to be our sovereign." When the
president heard this, he called on Naraváhanadatta for an answer, and
the hero said in a confident tone, "That is a court, where there is a
president; he is a president, who says what is just; that is just, in
which there is truth; that is truth in which there is no deceit. Here
I am bound by magic, and on the floor, but my adversary here is on
a seat, and free; what fair controversy can there be between us?"

When Váyupatha heard this, he made Mánasavega also sit upon the floor,
as was just, and had Naraváhanadatta set free from his bonds. Then
before Váyupatha, and in the hearing of all, Naraváhanadatta made the
following reply to the accusations of Mánasavega; "Pray, whose harem
have I violated by coming to visit my own wife, Madanamanchuká here,
who has been carried off by this fellow? And if his sister came and
tricked me into marrying her by assuming my wife's form, what fault
have I committed in this? As for my desiring empire, is there any
one that does not desire all sorts of things?" When king Váyupatha
heard this, he reflected a little, and said, "This noble fellow says
what is quite just; take care, my good Mánasavega, that you do not
act unjustly towards one, whom great exaltation awaits."

Though Váyupatha said this, Mánasavega, blinded with delusion,
refused to turn from his wicked way; and then Váyupatha flew into a
passion. Then, out of regard for justice, he engaged in a contest
with Mánasavega, in which fully equipped armies were employed on
both sides. For resolute men, when they sit on the seat of justice,
keep only the right in view, and look upon the mighty as weak, and
one of their own race as an alien. [541] And then Naraváhanadatta,
looking towards the nymphs of heaven, who were gazing at the scene
with intense interest, said to Mánasavega, "Lay aside your magic
disguises, and fight with me in visible shape, in order that I may
give you a specimen of my prowess by slaying you with one blow."

Accordingly those Vidyádharas there remained quarrelling among
themselves, when suddenly a splendid pillar in the court cleft asunder
in the middle with a loud noise, [542] and Siva issued from it in
his terrific form. He filled the whole sky, in colour like antimony;
he hid the sun; the gleams of his fiery eyes flickered like flashes of
lightning; his shining teeth were like cranes flying in a long row; and
so he was terrible like a roaring cloud of the great day of doom. The
great god exclaimed "Villain, this future emperor of the Vidyádharas
shall not be insulted," and with these words he dismissed Mánasavega
with face cast down, and encouraged Váyupatha. And then the adorable
one took Naraváhanadatta up in his arms, and in order to preserve
his life, carried him in this way to the beautiful and happy mountain
Rishyamúka, and after setting him down there, disappeared. And then
the quarrel among the Vidyádharas in that court came to an end, and
Váyupatha went home again accompanied by the other Vidyádharas his
friends. But Mánasavega, making Madanamanchuká, who was distracted
with joy and grief, precede him, went despondent to Áshádhapura his
own dwelling.






CHAPTER CVII.


I think, a hero's prosperity must be unequal; Fate again and again
severely tests firmness by the ordeals of happiness and misery:
this explains why the fickle goddess kept uniting Naraváhanadatta to
wife after wife, when he was alone in those remote regions, and then
separated him from them.

Then, while he was residing on the mountain Rishyamúka, his beloved
Prabhávatí came up to him, and said, "It was owing to the misfortune of
my not being present that Mánasavega carried you off on that occasion
to the court, with the intention of doing you an injury. When I heard
of it, I at once went there, and by means of my magic power I produced
the delusion of an appearance of the god, and brought you here. For,
though the Vidyádharas are mighty, their influence does not extend
over this mountain, for this is the domain of the Siddhas. [543]
Indeed even my science is of no avail here for that reason, and that
grieves me, for how will you subsist on the products of the forest
as your only food?" When she had said this, Naraváhanadatta remained
with her there, longing for the time of deliverance, thinking on
Madanamanchuká. And on the banks of the sanctifying Pampá-lake near
that mountain, he ate fruits and roots of heavenly flavour, and he
drank the holy water of the lake which was rendered delicious and
fragrant by the fruits dropped from trees on its bank, as a relish
to his meal of deer's flesh. [544] And he lived at the foot of trees
and in the interior of caverns, and so he imitated the conduct of
Ráma who once lived in the forests of that region. And Prabhávatí,
beholding there various hermitages once occupied by Ráma, told him
the story of Ráma for his amusement.




Story of Ráma.

In this forest Ráma once dwelt accompanied by Lakshmana, and waited
on by Sítá, in the society of hermits, making to himself a hut at the
foot of a tree. And Sítá, perfuming the whole forest with the perfume
given her by Anasúyá, remained here in the midst of the hermits'
wives, wearing a robe of bark.

Here the Daitya Dundubhi was slain in a cave by Báli, which was the
original cause of the enmity between Báli and Sugríva. For Sugríva,
wrongly supposing that the Daitya had slain Báli, blocked up the
entrance of the cave with mountains, and went away terrified. But Báli
broke through the obstruction, and came out, and banished Sugríva,
saying, "This fellow imprisoned me in the cave because he wanted to
get my kingdom." But Sugríva fled, and came and established himself
on this plateau of Rishyamúka with the lords of the monkeys, of whom
Hanumán was the chief.

Then Rávana came here, and beguiling the soul of Ráma with the phantom
of a golden deer, he carried off his wife the daughter of Janaka. Then
the descendant of Raghu, who longed for news of Sítá, made an alliance
with Sugríva, who desired the slaughter of Báli. And in order to let
his might be known, he cleft seven palm-trees here with an arrow, while
the mighty Báli with great difficulty cleft one of them. And then the
hero went hence to Kishkindhya, and after slaying Báli with a single
arrow, which he launched as if in sport, gave his kingdom to Sugríva.

Then the followers of Sugríva, headed by Hanumán, went hence in every
direction to gain information about Sítá. And Ráma remained here during
the rainy season with the roaring clouds, which seemed to share his
grief shedding showery tear-drops. At last Hanumán crossed the sea at
the suggestion of Sampáti, and by great exertions obtained for Ráma the
required information; whereupon he marched with the monkeys, and threw
a bridge over the sea, and killed his enemy the lord of Lanká, and
brought back queen Sítá in the flying chariot, passing over this place.

"So, my husband, you also shall attain good fortune: successes come of
their own accord to heroes who remain resolute in misfortunes." This
and other such tales did Prabhávatí tell, while she roamed about here
and there for her pleasure with Naraváhanadatta.

And one day, as he was in the neighbourhood of Pampá, two Vidyádharís,
Dhanavatí and Ajinávatí, descended from heaven and approached
him. These were the two ladies who carried him from the city of
the Gandharvas to the city of Srávastí, where he [545] married
Bhagírathayasas. And while Ajinávatí was conversing with Prabhávatí as
an old friend, Dhanavatí thus addressed Naraváhanadatta, "I long ago
bestowed on you this daughter of mine Ajinávatí, as far as promises
could do it; so marry her; for the day of your exaltation is nigh at
hand." Prabhávatí, out of love for her friend, and Naraváhanadatta
both agreed to this proposal. Then Dhanavatí bestowed that daughter
of hers Ajinávatí on that son of the king of Vatsa, with appropriate
ceremonies. And she celebrated the great feast of her daughter's
wedding in such style that the glorious and heavenly preparations
she had accumulated by means of her magic knowledge made it really
beautiful.

Then the next day she said to Naraváhanadatta, "My son, it will
never do for you to remain long in a nondescript place like this:
for the Vidyádharas are a deceitful race, and you have no business
here. So depart now with your wife for your own city of Kausámbí;
and I will come there with my son Chandasinha and with the Vidyádhara
chiefs that follow me, to ensure your success." [546] When Dhanavatí
had said this, she mounted up into the sky, illuminating it, as it
were, with moonlight, though it was day, by the gleam of her white
body and raiment.

And Prabhávatí and Ajinávatí carried Naraváhanadatta through the air
to his city of Kausámbí. When he reached the garden of the city,
he descended from heaven into his capital, and was seen by his
attendants. And there arose there a cry from the people on all sides,
"We are indeed happy; here is the prince come back." Then the king
of Vatsa, hearing of it, came there quickly in high delight, as
if irrigated with a sudden shower of nectar, with Vásavadattá and
Padmávatí, and the prince's wives, Ratnaprabhá and the rest; and
Yaugandharáyana and the other ministers of the king of Vatsa, and
Kalingasená and the prince's own ministers, Gomukha and his fellows,
approached him in order of precedence as eagerly as travellers make
for a lake in the hot season. And they saw the hero, whose high birth
qualified him for a lofty station, sitting between his two wives,
like Krishna between Rukminí and Satyabhámá. And when they saw him,
they hid their eyes with tears of joy, as if for fear lest they
should leap out of their skins in their delight. And the king of
Vatsa and his queens embraced after a long absence that son of theirs,
and could not let him go, for they were, as it were, riveted to him
by the hairs of their bodies erect from joy.

Then a great feast began by beat of drum, and Vegavatí, the daughter of
Vegavat, and sister of Mánasavega, who was married to Naraváhanadatta,
finding it all out by the might of her recovered science, came down to
Kausámbí through the air, and fell at the feet of her father-in-law
and mother-in-law, and prostrating herself before her husband, said
to him, "Auspicious sir, after I had become weak by my exertions on
your behalf, I recovered my magic powers by self-mortification in a
grove of ascetics and now I have returned into your presence." When
she had said this, she was welcomed by her husband and the others,
and she repaired to her friends Prabhávatí, and Ajinávatí.

They embraced her and made her sit between them; and at that moment
Dhanavatí, the mother of Ajinávatí, also arrived; and various kings
of the Vidyádharas came with her, surrounded by their forces, that
hid the heaven like clouds; her own heroic son, the strong-armed
Chandasinha, and a powerful relation of hers, Amitagati by name,
and Pingalagándhára the mighty father of Prabhávatí, and Váyupatha,
the president of the court, who had previously declared himself on
Naraváhanadatta's side, and the heroic king Hemaprabha, the father
of Ratnaprabhá, accompanied by his son Vajraprabha and followed by
his army. And Ságaradatta the king of the Gandharvas came there,
accompanied by his daughter Gandharvadattá, and by Chitrángada. And
when they arrived, they were becomingly honoured by the king of Vatsa
and his son, and sat in due order on thrones.

And immediately king Pingalagándhára said to his son-in-law
Naraváhanadatta, as he was in the hall of assembly, "King, you have
been appointed by the god [547] emperor over us all, and it is owing
to our great love for you, that we have all come to you. And queen
Dhanavatí here, your mother-in-law, a strict votary, possessing
divine knowledge, wearing the rosary, and the skin of the black
antelope, like an incarnation of Durgá, or Sávitrí having acquired
magic powers, an object of reverence to the noblest Vidyádharas, has
made herself ready to protect you; so you are certain to prosper in
your undertaking; but listen to what I am about to say. There are two
divisions of the Vidyádhara territory [548] on the Himálayas here,
the northern and the southern, both extending over many peaks of
that range; the northern division is on the other side of Kailása,
but the southern is on this side of it. And this Amitagati here has
just performed a difficult penance on mount Kailása, in order to obtain
the sovereignty over the northern division, and propitiated Siva. And
Siva made this revelation to him, 'Naraváhanadatta thy emperor will
accomplish thy desire,' so he has come here to you. In that division
there is a chief monarch, named Mandaradeva, who is evilly disposed,
but though mighty, he will be easy for you to conquer, when you have
obtained the sciences peculiar to the Vidyádharas.

"But the king named Gaurímunda, who rules in the midst of the southern
division, is evil-minded and exceedingly hard to conquer on account
of the might of his magic science. Moreover he is a great friend of
your enemy Mánasavega. Until he is overcome, your undertaking will
not prosper; so acquire as quickly as possible great and transcendent
power of science."

When Pingalagándhára had said this, Dhanavatí spake, "Good, my son,
it is as this king tells thee. Go hence to the land of the Siddhas
[549] and propitiate the god Siva, in order that thou mayest obtain
the magic sciences, for how can there be any excelling without his
favour? And these kings will be assembled there to protect thee." Then
Chitrángada said, "It is even so; but I will advance in front of all;
let us conquer our enemies."

Then Naraváhanadatta determined to do as they had advised, and he
performed the auspicious ceremony before setting out, and bowed at
the feet of his tearful parents, and other superiors, and received
their blessing, and then ascended with his wives and ministers a
splendid palanquin provided by the skill of Amitagati, and started on
his expedition, obscuring the heaven with his forces, that resembled
the water of the sea raised by the wind at the end of a kalpa, as it
were proclaiming by the echoes of his army's roar on the limits of the
horizon, that the emperor of the Vidyádharas had come to visit them.

And he was rapidly conducted by the king of the Gandharvas and the
chiefs of the Vidyádharas and Dhanavatí to that mountain, which was
the domain of the Siddhas. There the Siddhas prescribed for him a
course of self-mortification, and he performed asceticism by sleeping
on the ground, bathing in the early morning, and eating fruits. And
the kings of the Vidyádharas remained surrounding him on every side,
guarding him unweariedly day and night. And the Vidyádhara princesses,
contemplating him eagerly while he was performing his penance, seemed
with the gleams of their eyes to clothe him in the skin of a black
antelope. Others shewed by their eyes turned inwards out of anxiety
for him, and their hands placed on their breasts, that he had at once
entered their hearts.

And five more noble maidens of the Vidyádhara race, beholding him,
were inflamed with the fire of love, and made this agreement together,
"We five friends must select this prince as our common husband,
and we must marry him at the same time, not separately; if one of us
marries him separately, the rest must enter the fire on account of
that violation of friendship."

While the heavenly maidens were thus agitated at the sight of
him, suddenly great portents manifested themselves in the grove
of ascetics. A very terrible wind blew, uprooting splendid trees,
as if to shew that even thus in that place should heroes fall in
fight; and the earth trembled as if anxious as to what all that could
mean, and the hills cleft asunder, as if to give an opening for the
terrified to escape, and the sky, rumbling awfully, though cloudless,
[550] seemed to say, "Ye Vidyádharas, guard, guard to the best of
your power, this emperor of yours." And Naraváhanadatta, in the
midst of the alarm produced by these portents, remained unmoved,
meditating upon the adorable three-eyed god; and the heroic kings of
the Gandharvas and lords of the Vidyádharas remained guarding him,
ready for battle, expecting some calamity; and they uttered war-cries,
and agitated the forest of their lithe swords, as if to scare away
the portents that announced the approach of evil.

And the next day after this the army of the Vidyádharas was suddenly
seen in the sky, dense as a cloud at the end of the kalpa, uttering
a terrible shout. Then Dhanavatí, calling to mind her magic science,
said, "This is Gaurímunda come with Mánasavega." Then those kings of
the Vidyádharas and the Gandharvas raised their weapons, but Gaurímunda
with Mánasavega rushed upon them exclaiming, "What right has a mere
man to rank with beings like us? So I will to-day crush your pride,
you sky-goers that take part with him." When Gaurímunda said this,
Chitrángada rushed upon him angrily, and attacked him.

And king Ságaradatta, the sovereign of the Gandharvas, and Chandasinha,
and Amitagati, and king Váyupatha, and Pingalagándhára, and all
the chiefs of the Vidyádharas, great heroes all, rushed upon the
wicked Mánasavega, roaring like lions, followed by the whole of their
forces. And right terrible was that storm of battle, thick with the
clouds of dust raised by the army, with the gleams of weapons for
flashes of lightning, and a falling rain of blood. And so Chitrángada
and his friends made, as it were, a great sacrifice for the demons,
which was full of blood for wine, and in which the heads of enemies
were strewn as an offering. And streams of gore flowed away, full of
bodies for alligators, and floating weapons for snakes, and in which
marrow intermingled took the place of cuttle-fish bone.

Then Gaurímunda, as his army was slain, and he himself was nigh
to death, called to mind the magic science of Gaurí, which he had
formerly propitiated and made well-disposed to him; and that science
appeared in visible form, with three eyes, armed with the trident,
[551] and paralysed the chief heroes of Naraváhanadatta's army. Then
Gaurímunda, having regained strength, rushed with a loud shout towards
Naraváhanadatta, and fell on him to try his strength in wrestling. And
being beaten by him in wrestling, the cogging Vidyádhara again summoned
up that science, and by its power he seized his antagonist in his
arms and flew up to the sky. However, he was prevented by the might
of Dhanavatí's science from slaying the prince, so he flung him down
on the mountain of fire.

But Mánasavega seized his comrades Gomukha and the rest, and
flew up into the sky with them, and flung them at random in all
directions. But, after they had been flung up, they were preserved
by a science in visible shape employed by Dhanavatí, and placed in
different spots on the earth. And that science comforted those heroes,
one by one, saying to them, "You will soon recover that master of yours
successful and flourishing," and having said this it disappeared. Then
Gaurímunda went back home with Mánasavega, thinking that their side
had been victorious.

But Dhanavatí said, "Naraváhanadatta will return to you after he
has attained his object, no harm will befall him;" and thereupon the
lords of the Gandharvas and princes of the Vidyádharas, Chitrángada
and the others, flung off their paralysing stupor, and went for the
present to their own abodes. And Dhanavatí took her daughter Ajinávatí,
with all her fellow-wives, and went to her own home.

Mánasavega, for his part, went and said to Madanamanchuká, "Your
husband is slain; so you had better marry me;" but she, standing in
front of him, said to him laughing, "He will slay you, no one can
slay him, as he has been appointed by the god."

But when Naraváhanadatta was being hurled down by his enemy on the
mountain of fire, a certain heavenly being came there, and received
him; and after preserving his life, he took him quickly to the cool
bank of the Mandákiní. And when Naraváhanadatta asked him who he
was, he comforted him, and said to him, "I, prince, am a king of the
Vidyádharas named Amritaprabha, and I have been sent by Siva on the
present occasion to save your life. Here is the mountain of Kailása
in front of you, the dwelling-place of that god; if you propitiate
Siva there, you will obtain unimpeded felicity. So, come, I will take
you there." When that noble Vidyádhara had said this, he immediately
conveyed him there, and took leave of him, and departed.

But Naraváhanadatta, when he had reached Kailása, propitiated with
asceticism Ganesa, whom he found there in front of him. And after
obtaining his permission, he entered the hermitage of Siva, emaciated
with self-mortification, and he beheld Nandin at the door. He devoutly
circumambulated him, and then Nandin said to him, "Thou hast well-nigh
attained all thy ends; for all the obstacles that hindered thee have
now been overcome; so remain here, and perform a strict course of
asceticism that will subdue sin, until thou shalt have propitiated
the adorable god; for successes depend on purity." When Nandin had
said this, Naraváhanadatta began a severe course of penance there,
living on air and meditating on the god Siva and the goddess Párvatí.

And the adorable god Siva, pleased with his asceticism, granted him
a vision of himself, and accompanied by the goddess, thus spake to
the prince, as he bent before him, "Become now emperor over all the
Vidyádharas, and let all the most transcendent sciences be immediately
revealed to thee! By my favour thou shalt become invincible by thy
enemies, and, as thou shalt be proof against cut or thrust, thou
shalt slay all thy foes. And when thou appearest, the sciences of
thy enemies shall be of no avail against thee. So go forth: even
the science of Gaurí shall be subject to thee." When Siva and Gaurí
had bestowed these boons on Naraváhanadatta, the god also gave him a
great imperial chariot, in the form of a lotus, made by Brahmá. Then
all the sciences presented themselves to the prince in bodily form,
and expressed their desire to carry out his orders by saying, "What
do you enjoin on us, that we may perform it?"

Accordingly Naraváhanadatta, having obtained many boons, bowed before
the great god, and ascended the heavenly lotus-chariot, after he had
received permission from him to depart, and went first to the city
of Amitagati, named Vakrapura; and as he went, the sciences shewed
him the path, and the bards of the Siddhas sang his praises. And
Amitagati, seeing him from a distance, as he came along through the
air, mounted on a chariot, advanced to meet him and bowed before
him, and made him enter his palace. And when he described how he had
obtained all these magic powers, Amitagati was so delighted that he
gave him as a present his own daughter named Sulochaná. And with her,
thus obtained, like a second imperial fortune of the Vidyádhara race,
the emperor joyfully passed that day as one long festival.






CHAPTER CVIII.


The next day, as the new emperor Naraváhanadatta was sitting in
Vakrapura, in the hall of audience, a certain man descended from
heaven, with a wand in his hand, and came up to him, and bowing
before him, said to him, "Know, O king, that I am Pauraruehideva the
hereditary warder of the emperor of the Vidyádharas, and I am come here
to tender my services to you in that capacity." When Naraváhanadatta
heard this, he looked at the face of Amitagati; and he said, "It is
true, my liege:" so Naraváhanadatta gladly admitted the new-comer to
the office of warder.

Then Dhanavatí, finding out by her power what had occurred, with his
wives Vegavatí and the others, and her son Chandasinha, and king
Pingalagándhára with Váyupatha, and Chitrángada with Ságaradatta,
and Hemaprabha and the others came there, obscuring the sun with
their armies; as if declaring beforehand that they would endure no
fire and heat in their foes. When they arrived, they fell at the feet
of that emperor, and he honoured them with a welcome as their rank
deserved, but, out of great veneration, he himself fell at the feet
of Dhanavatí, and she, being highly pleased, loaded that son-in-law
of her's with blessings. And when he told the story of his obtaining
magic powers, Chandasinha and the others were exceedingly gratified
at their emperor's success.

And the emperor, seeing that his wives had arrived in his presence,
said to Dhanavatí, "Where are my ministers?" And she answered him,
"When they had been flung in all directions by Mánasavega, I saved
them by the help of a mighty science, and placed them in different
spots." Then he had them brought by a science incarnate in bodily form;
and they came and enquired after his welfare and clung to his feet,
and then he said to them, "Why and how and where have you spent so
many days? Tell me one by one your marvellous tale." Then Gomukha
told his story first.



Gomukha's account of his adventures.

When I was flung away by the enemy on that occasion, some goddess
bore me up in her hands, and comforted me, and placed me in a distant
forest, and disappeared. Then I was minded in my affliction to abandon
the body by hurling myself from a precipice; but a certain ascetic
came up to me and dissuaded me saying, "Do not act thus, Gomukha,
you will again behold your master when he has gained his object." Then
I said to him, "Who are you, and how do you know that?" He answered,
"Come to my hermitage, and there I will tell you." Then I went with
that man, who by his knowing my name had proved the greatness of his
knowledge, to his hermitage, which was called Sivakshetra. There he
entertained me and told me his story in the following words:



Story of Nágasvámin and the witches.

I am a Bráhman named Nágasvámin, from a city called Kundina. When
my father went to heaven, I went to Pátaliputra, and repaired to a
teacher named Jayadatta, to acquire learning. But in spite of all the
teaching that I got, I was so stupid that I did not manage to learn
a single syllable; so all the pupils there made game of me. Then,
being the victim of contempt, I set out on a pilgrimage to the shrine
of the goddess Durgá in the Vindhya mountains; and when I had got
halfway I came across a city named Vakrolaka.

I went into that city to beg; and in one house the mistress gave me
with my alms a red lotus. I took it, and went on to another house,
and there the mistress said to me, when she saw me, "Alas! a witch
has secured possession of you. See! she has given you a man's hand,
[552] which she has passed off on you for a red lotus." When I heard
that, I looked myself, and lo! it was no lotus, but a human hand. I
flung it away, and fell at her feet, and said, "Mother, devise some
expedient for me, that I may live." When she heard this she said,
"Go! in a village of the name of Karabha, three yojanas distant from
this place, there is a Bráhman of the name of Devarakshita. He has
in his house a splendid brown cow, an incarnation of Surabhi; she
will protect you during this night, if you repair to her for refuge."

When she said this, I ran full of fear, and reached, at the close of
the day, the house of that Bráhman in the village of Karabha. When I
had entered, I beheld that brown cow, and I worshipped her and said,
"Being terrified, goddess, I have come to you for protection." And just
then, night having set in, that witch came there through the air with
other witches, threatening me, longing for my flesh and blood. When the
brown cow saw that, she placed me between her hoofs, and defended me,
fighting against those witches all the livelong night. In the morning
they went away, and the cow said to me with an articulate voice,
"My son, I shall not be able to protect you the next night. So go
on further; at a distance of five yojanas from this place there is
a mighty Pásupata ascetic named Bhútisiva, dwelling in a temple of
Siva in a forest. He possesses supernatural knowledge, and he will
protect you for this one night, if you take refuge with him."

When I heard that, I bowed before her, and set out from that place;
and I soon reached that Bhútisiva, and took refuge with him. And
at night those very same witches came there also in the very same
way. Then that Bhútisiva made me enter the inner apartment of his
house, [553] and taking up a position at the door, trident in hand,
kept off the witches. Next morning, Bhútisiva, having conquered them,
gave me food, and said to me, "Bráhman, I shall not be able to protect
you any longer; but in a village named Sandhyávása, at a distance
of ten yojanas from this place, there is a Bráhman named Vasumati:
go to him: and if you manage to get through this third night, you
will escape altogether."

When he said this to me, I bowed before him, and set out from that
place. But on account of the length of the journey that I had to make,
the sun set before I had reached my destination. And when night had
set in, the witches pursued after me and caught me. And they seized me
and went off with me through the air much pleased. But thereupon some
other witches of great power flew past them in front. And suddenly
there arose between the two parties a tumultuous fight. And in the
confusion I escaped from the hands of my captors, and fell to the
ground in a very desolate part of the country. [554]

And there I saw a certain great palace, which seemed to say to me with
its open door, "Come in." So I fled into it bewildered with fear,
and I beheld a lady of wonderful beauty, surrounded with a hundred
ladies-in-waiting, gleaming with brightness, like a protecting herb
[555] that shines in the night, made by the Creator out of pity for
me. I immediately recovered my spirits and questioned her, and she
said to me, "I am a Yakshiní named Sumitrá, and I am thus here owing
to a curse. And in order that my curse may come to an end, I have been
directed to marry a mortal: so marry me, as you have unexpectedly
arrived here; fear not." When she had said this, she quickly gave
orders to her servants; and she provided me, to my great delight,
with baths and unguents, food and drink, and garments. Strange was the
contrast between the terror caused by those witches and the happiness
that immediately followed! Even fate itself cannot comprehend the
principle that makes men fall into happiness or misery.

Then I remained there in happiness with that Yakshiní during those
days; but at last one day she said to me of her own accord, "Bráhman,
my curse is at an end; so I must leave this place at once. However,
by my favour you shall have divine insight; and, though an ascetic, you
shall have all enjoyments at your command, and be free from fear. But
as long as you are here, do not visit the middle block of buildings
of this palace of mine." When she had said this, she disappeared;
and thereupon, I, out of curiosity, went up to the middle block of
buildings, and there I saw a horse. I went up to the horse, and he
flung me from him with a kick; and immediately I found myself in this
temple of Siva. [556]

Since that time I have remained here, and I have gradually acquired
supernatural powers. Accordingly, though I am a mortal, I possess
knowledge of the three times. In the same way do all men in this world
find successes beset with difficulties. So do you remain in this place;
Siva will bestow on you the success that you desire.

When that wise being had told me all this, I conceived hopes of
recovering you, and I remained there some days in his hermitage. And
to-day, my lord, Siva in a dream informed me of your success, and
some heavenly nymph seized me up, and brought me here. This is the
history of my adventures.

When Gomukha had said this, he stopped, and then Marubhúti began to
tell his tale in the presence of Naraváhanadatta.



Marubhúti's account of his adventures.

When I was flung away on that occasion by Mánasavega, some divinity
took me up in her hands, and placing me in a distant forest,
disappeared. Then I wandered about afflicted and anxious to obtain
some means of committing suicide, when I saw a certain hermitage
encircled with a river. I entered it, and beheld an ascetic with
matted hair sitting on a slab of rock, and I bowed before him and
went up to him. He said to me, "Who are you, and how did you reach
this uninhabited land?" Thereupon, I told him my whole story. Then
he understood and said to me, "Do not slay yourself now! You shall
learn here the truth about your master, and afterwards you shall do
what is fitting."

In accordance with this advice of his I remained there, eager for
tidings of you, my liege: and while I was there, some heavenly nymphs
came to bathe in the river. Then the hermit said to me, "Go quickly
and carry off the clothes of one of those nymphs bathing there; [557]
and then you will learn tidings of your master." When I heard that,
I did as he advised me, and that nymph, whose garments I had taken,
followed me, with her bathing-dress dripping with moisture, [558]
and with her arms crossed in front of her breasts.

That hermit said to her, "If you tell us tidings of Naraváhanadatta,
you may have back your two garments." Then she said, "Naraváhanadatta
is at present on mount Kailása, engaged in worshipping Siva, and in
a few days he will be the emperor of the Vidyádharas."

After she had said this, that heavenly nymph became, in virtue of a
curse, the wife of that ascetic, having made acquaintance with him by
conversing with him. [559] So the ascetic lived with that Vidyádharí,
and on account of her prophecy I conceived the hope of being reunited
with you and I went on living there. And in a few days the heavenly
nymph became pregnant, and brought forth a child, and she said to the
ascetic, "My curse has been brought to an end by living with you. [560]
If you desire to see any more of me, cook this child of mine with rice
and eat it; then you will be reunited to me." When she had said this,
she went away, and that ascetic cooked her child with rice, and ate
it: and then he flew up into the air and followed her.

At first I was unwilling to eat of that dish, though he urged me to
do so; but seeing that eating of it bestowed supernatural powers, I
took two grains of rice from the cooking-vessel, and ate them. That
produced in me the effect that wherever I spat, gold [561] was
immediately produced. Then I roamed about relieved from my poverty,
and at last I reached a town. There I lived in the house of a hetæra,
and, thanks to the gold I was able to produce, indulged in the most
lavish expenditure; but the kuttaní, eager to discover my secret,
treacherously gave me an emetic. That made me vomit, and in the process
the two grains of rice, that I had previously eaten, came out of my
mouth, looking like two glittering rubies. And no sooner had they
come out, than the kuttaní snapped them up, and swallowed them. So I
lost my power of producing gold, of which the kuttaní thus deprived me.

I thought to myself, "Siva still retains his crescent and Vishnu his
kaustubha jewel; but I know what would be the result, if those two
deities were to fall into the clutches of a kuttaní. [562] But such
is this world, full of marvels, full of frauds; who can fathom it,
or the sea, at any time?" With such sad reflections in my bosom I
went despondent to a temple of Durgá, to propitiate the goddess with
asceticism, in order to recover you. And after I had fasted for three
nights, the goddess gave me this command in a dream, "Thy master has
obtained all he desires: go, and behold him;" upon hearing this I
woke up; and this very morning some goddess carried me to your feet;
this, prince, is the story of my adventures.

When Marubhúti had said this, Naraváhanadatta and his courtiers
laughed at him for having been tricked by a kuttaní.



Harisikha's account of his adventures.

Then Harisikha said;--On that occasion when I was seized by my enemy,
some divinity saved me and deposited me in Ujjayiní. There I was so
unhappy that I conceived the design of abandoning the body; so at
nightfall I went into the cemetery and proceeded to construct a pyre
with the logs there. I lighted it and began to worship the fire, and
while I was thus engaged, a prince of the demons, named Tálajangha,
came up to me, and said to me, "Why do you enter the fire? Your master
is alive, and you shall be united with him, now that he has obtained
the supernatural powers he desired." With these words, the demon,
though naturally cruel, lovingly dissuaded me from death; even some
stones melt when fate is propitious. Then I went and remained for a
long time performing asceticism in front of the god; and some divinity
has to-day brought me to your side, my liege.

Thus Harisikha told his tale, and the others in their turn told theirs,
and then, at the suggestion of Amitagati, king Naraváhanadatta incited
the venerable Dhanavatí, adored by the Vidyádharas, to bestow all the
sciences on those ministers of his also. Then all his ministers also
became Vidyádharas; and Dhanavatí said, "Now conquer your enemies;"
so on a fortunate day the hero gave orders that the imperial troops
should march out towards the city of Gaurímunda, called Govindakúta.

Then the army of the Vidyádharas mounted up into the sky, obscuring
the sun, looking like a rising of Ráhu out of due time chilling to
the foe. And Naraváhanadatta himself ascended the pericarp of the
lotus-chariot, and placed his wives on the filaments, and his friends
on the leaves, and preceded by Chandasinha and the others, set out
through the air to conquer his enemies. And when he had completed
half his journey, he came to the palace of Dhanavatí which was called
Mátangapura, and he stayed there that day, and she did the honours
of the house to him. And while he was there, he sent an ambassador
to challenge to the combat the Vidyádhara princes Gaurímunda and
Mánasavega.

The next day he deposited his wives in Mátangapura, and went with the
Vidyádhara kings to Govindakúta. There Gaurímunda and Mánasavega came
out to fight with them, and Chandasinha and his colleagues met them
face to face. When the battle began, brave warriors fell like trees
marked out for the axe, and torrents of blood flowed on the mountain
Govindakúta. The combat, eager to devour the lives of heroes, yawned
like a demon of destruction, with tongues in the form of flexible
swords greedily licking up blood. [563] That great feast of slaughter,
terrible with the rhythmic clapping of hands on the part of Vetálas
drunk with blood and flesh, and covered with palpitating corpses for
dancers, gave great delight to the demons.

Then Mánasavega met Naraváhanadatta face to face in the conflict,
and the prince himself rushed on him in wrath. And having rushed on
him, that emperor seized the villain by the hair, and at once cut
off his head with his sword. When Gaurímunda saw that, he too sprang
forward in a fury, and Naraváhanadatta dragged him along by the hair,
for the power of his science left him as soon as he saw the prince,
and flung him on the ground, and seizing his legs whirled him round
in the air, and dashed him to pieces on a rock. In this way he slew
Gaurímunda and Mánasavega; and the rest of their army, being terrified,
[564] took to flight. And a rain of flowers fell into the lap of that
emperor, and all the gods in heaven exclaimed, "Bravo! Bravo!" Then
Naraváhanadatta, with all those kings that followed him, entered the
palace of Gaurímunda; and immediately the chiefs of the Vidyádharas,
who were connected with Gaurímunda's party, came and submitted humbly
to his sway.

Then Dhanavatí came up to that sovereign in the midst of the rejoicings
on account of his having taken possession of his kingdom after slaying
all his enemies, and said to him, "My liege, Gaurímunda has left a
daughter named Ihátmatiká, the belle of the three worlds; you should
marry that maiden." When she said this to the king, he immediately
sent for the girl, and married her, and passed the day very happily
in her society.

The next morning he sent Vegavatí and Prabhávatí, and had
Madanamanchuká brought by them from the town of Mánasavega. When
brought, she looked upon that hero in his prosperity, who had
destroyed the darkness of his enemies, with face expanded and wet with
tears of joy; and at the end of her night of separation she enjoyed
indescribable happiness, like a lotus-bed, the open flowers of which
are wet with dew. Then he bestowed on her all the sciences, and having
pined for her long, he exulted in the society of his beloved, who had
thus in a moment attained the rank of a Vidyádharí. And in the garden
of Gaurímunda's city he spent those days with his wives in the joys
of a banquet. And then he sent Prabhávatí, and had Bhagírathayasas
also brought there, and bestowed on her the sciences.

And one day, as the emperor was sitting in his hall of audience, two
Vidyádharas came and said to him with due respect, "Your majesty, we
went hence, by the orders of Dhanavatí, to the northern division of the
land of the Vidyádharas, to find out the movements of Mandaradeva. And
there we, being ourselves invisible, saw that king of the Vidyádharas
in his hall of audience, and he happened to be saying with regard
to your Highness, 'I hear, that Naraváhanadatta has obtained the
sovereignty over the Vidyádharas, and has slain Gaurímunda and the
rest of his opponents; so it will not do for me to overlook that enemy;
on the contrary, I must nip him in the bud.' When we heard that speech
of his, we came here to tell you."

When the assembly of Naraváhanadatta's partizans heard this from the
spies, they were all beside themselves with anger, and appeared like
a lotus-bed smitten by the wind. The arms of Chitrángada, frequently
waved and extended, seemed with the tinkling of their bracelets
to be demanding the signal for combat. The necklace of Amitagati,
rising up on his breast, as he sighed with anger, seemed to say again
and again, "Rouse thyself, rouse thyself, hero." Pingalagándhára,
striking the ground with his hand so that it resounded, seemed to be
going through a prelude introductory to the crushing of his enemies. A
frown took its seat upon the face of Váyupatha, looking like a bow
strung by Fate for the destruction of his foes. Chandasinha, angrily
pressing one hand against the other, seemed to say, "Even thus will
I pulverize my enemies." The arm of Ságaradatta, struck by his hand,
produced a sound that rang through the air, and seemed to challenge
that foe. But Naraváhanadatta, though angry, was no whit disturbed;
for imperturbability is the characteristic sign of the greatness of
great ones.

Then he resolved to march forth to conquer his enemy, after obtaining
the jewels essential to an emperor of the Vidyádharas. So the emperor
mounted a chariot, with his wives and his ministers, and set out
from that Govindakúta. And all his partizans, the kings of the
Gandharvas and the chiefs of the Vidyádharas, accompanied by their
armies, marched along with him, encircling him, as the planets do
the moon. Then Naraváhanadatta reached the Himálayas, preceded by
Dhanavatí, and found there a large lake. With its white lotuses like
lofty umbrellas and its soaring swans like waving chowries, it seemed
to have brought a present fit for a sovereign. With its lofty waves
flung up towards him like beckoning hands at no great distance, it
seemed to summon him again and again to take the bath which should
ensure him supreme sovereignty. Then Váyupatha said to the king,
"My emperor, you must go down and bathe in this lake;" so he went
down to bathe in it. And a heavenly voice said, "None but an emperor
can ever succeed in bathing in this lake, so now you may consider
the imperial dignity secured to you."

When the emperor heard that, he was delighted, and he sported in the
water of that lake with his wives, as Varuna does in the sea. He took
pleasure in watching them with the moist garments clinging to their
bodies, with the fastenings of their hair loosened, and their eyes
reddened by the washing into them of antimony. The rows of birds,
flying up with loud cries from that lake, appeared like the girdles
of its presiding nymphs advancing to meet him. And the lotuses,
eclipsed by the beauty of the lotus-like faces of his wives, plunged
beneath the waves as if ashamed. And after bathing, Naraváhanadatta,
with his attendants, spent that day on the bank of that lake.

There the successful prince, with his wives and ministers, spent his
time in jocose conversation, and next morning he set forth thence in
his chariot with his army. And as he was going along, he reached the
city of Váyupatha, which lay in his way; and he stayed there a day to
please him. There he fell in love with a maiden, that he came across
in a garden, the sister of Váyupatha, by name Váyuvegayasas. She,
while amusing herself in a garden on the bank of the Hemabáluka [565]
river, saw him arrive, and though in love with him, disappeared at
once. Then Naraváhanadatta, supposing that she had turned her back on
him for some reason other than the real one, returned with downcast
face to his quarters. There the queens found out the adventure that
had befallen the king by means of Marubhúti who was with him, (for
Gomukha was too clever for them to try him,) and then they made all
kinds of jokes at the king's expense, while Gomukha stood by ashamed
at the indiscretion of Marubhúti.

Then Gomukha, seeing the king out of countenance, consoled him, and,
in order to ascertain the real sentiments of Váyuvegayasas, went to
her city. There Váyupatha saw him suddenly arrived as if to take a
look at the city, and he lovingly entertained him, and taking him
aside, said to him, "I have an unmarried sister named Váyuvegayasas,
and holy seers have prophesied that she is destined to be the wife of
an emperor. So I am desirous of giving her as a present to the emperor
Naraváhanadatta; pray do your best to bring about the accomplishment of
my wish. And with this very object in view I was preparing to come to
you." When the minister Gomukha had been thus addressed by Váyupatha,
he said to him; "Although this prince of ours set out primarily with
the object of conquering his enemies, still you have only to make the
request, and I will arrange this matter for you." With these words
Gomukha took leave of him, and going back informed Naraváhanadatta
that he had gained his object without any solicitation.

And the next day Váyupatha came in person and requested the favour,
and the sagacious Gomukha said to the king, "My prince, you must not
refuse the request of Váyupatha; he is your faithful ally; your majesty
should do whatever he asks." Then the king consented to do it; and
Váyupatha himself brought his younger sister, and bestowed her on the
emperor against her will. And while the marriage was being performed,
she exclaimed, "Ye guardians of the world, I am being bestowed in
marriage by my brother by force, and against my will, so I have
not committed any sin thereby." When she said this, all the females
belonging to Váyupatha's household made such a noise that no outsiders
heard what she said. But the king was put out of countenance by her
speech, so Gomukha was anxious to find some means of ascertaining
its import, and he roamed hither and thither with that object.

And after he had roamed about awhile, he saw in a certain retired
spot four Vidyádhara maidens preparing to enter the fire at the same
time. And when he asked them the cause, those fair ones told him how
Váyuvegayasas had broken her solemn agreement. Then Gomukha went
and told it to king Naraváhanadatta in the presence of all there,
exactly as he had seen and heard. When the king heard it, he smiled,
but Váyuvegayasas said, "Arise, my husband, let us two quickly go and
save these maidens; afterwards I will tell you the reason of this act
of theirs." When she said this to the king, he went with her and with
all his followers to the spot where the tragedy was to take place.

And he saw those maidens with a blazing fire in front of them; and
Váyuvegayasas, after dragging them away from it, said to the king,
"This first here is Káliká, the daughter of the lord of Kálakúta, and
this second is Vidyutpunjá, the daughter of Vidyutpunja; and this third
is Matanginí, the daughter of Mandara; and this fourth is Padmaprabhá
the daughter of Mahádanshtra; and I am the fifth; all we five, when
we saw you performing asceticism in the domain of the Siddhas, were
bewildered with love, and we made the following mutual agreement,
'We will all five [566] at the same time take this prince as our dear
husband, and no one of us must surrender herself to him alone; if any
one of us marries him separately, the others shall enter the fire to
bring down vengeance on her who has been guilty of such treachery
to friends.' It was out of respect for this agreement that I did
not wish to marry you separately; indeed I did not even to-day give
myself to you; you, my husband, and the guardians of the world can
bear testimony as to whether even now I have broken this agreement
willingly. So now, my husband, marry also those friends of mine;
and you, my friends, must not let any other lot befall you." [567]

When she said this, those maidens, who had escaped from death, rejoiced
and embraced one another; and the king was delighted in his heart. And
the fathers of the ladies, hearing what had taken place, came there
immediately, and bestowed their daughters on Naraváhanadatta. And
those chiefs of the Vidyádharas, headed by the lord of Kálakúta,
[568] agreed to accept the sovereignty of their son-in-law. Thus
Naraváhanadatta obtained at one stroke the daughters of five great
Vidyádharas, and gained great importance thereby.

And the prince remained there some days with those wives, and then
his Commander-in-Chief Harisikha said, "Why, my liege, though you are
versed in the approved treatises on the subject, do you act contrary to
policy? What means this devotion on your part to the pleasures of love,
when it is time to fight? This raising of an expedition to conquer
Mandaradeva, and this your dallying for so many days with your wives,
are things wholly incompatible." When Harisikha said this, the great
king answered him, "Your reproof is just, but I am not acting for my
own pleasure in all this; this allying of myself with wives involves
the acquisition of friends; and is so the most efficacious method
at present of crushing the foe; this is why I have had recourse to
it. So let these my troops now advance to the conquest of the enemy!"

When the king had given this order, his father-in-law Mandara said to
him, "King, that Mandaradeva lives in a distant and difficult country,
and he will be hard for you to overcome until you have achieved all
the distinctive jewels of an emperor. For he is protected by the cave,
called the cave of Trisírsha, [569] which forms the approach to his
kingdom, and the entrance of which is guarded by the great champion
Devamáya. But that cave can be forced by an emperor who has obtained
the jewels. And the sandal-wood tree, which is one of the jewels of
an emperor, is in this country, so quickly gain possession of it,
in order that you may attain the ends you have in view. For no one
who is not an emperor ever gets near that tree."

Having heard this from Mandara, Naraváhanadatta set out at night,
fasting and observing a strict vow, for that sandal-wood tree. As
the hero went along, very terrible portents arose to bewilder him,
but he was not terrified at them, and so he reached the foot of that
mighty tree. And when he saw that sandal-wood tree surrounded with
a lofty platform made of precious jewels, he climbed up to it with
ladders and adored it. The tree then said to him with bodiless voice,
"Emperor, thou hast won me the sandal-wood tree, and when thou thinkest
on me, I will appear to thee, so leave this place at present, and go to
Govindakúta; thus thou wilt win the other jewels also; and then thou
wilt easily conquer Mandaradeva." On hearing this, Naraváhanadatta,
the mighty sovereign of the Vidyádharas, said, "I will do so," and
being now completely successful, he worshipped that heavenly tree,
[570] and went delighted through the air to his own camp.

There he spent that night; and the next morning in the hall of
audience he related at full length, in the presence of all, his
night's adventure by which he had won the sandal-wood tree. And when
they heard it, his wives, and the ministers who had grown up with him
from infancy, and those Vidyádharas who were devoted to him, namely,
Váyupatha and the other chiefs with their forces, and the Gandharvas,
headed by Chitrángada, were delighted at this sudden attainment of
great success, and praised his heroism remarkable for its uninterrupted
flow of courage, enterprise, and firmness. And after deliberating with
them, the king, determined to overthrow the pride of Mandaradeva,
set out in a heavenly chariot for the mountain of Govindakúta, in
order to obtain the other jewels spoken of by the sandal-wood tree.







BOOK XV.


CHAPTER CIX.


May Ganesa, who at night seems with the spray blown forth from his
hissing trunk uplifted in the tumultuous dance, to be feeding the
stars, dispel your darkness!

Then, as the emperor Naraváhanadatta was in his hall of audience on
the mountain Govindakúta, a Vidyádhara named Amritaprabha came to him
through the air, the same who had before saved him, when he was flung
down by his enemy on the Mountain of Fire. That Vidyádhara came and
humbly made himself known, and having been lovingly entertained by
that emperor, said to him, "There is a great mountain named Malaya in
the southern region; and in a hermitage on it lives a great hermit
named Vámadeva. He, my liege, invites you to come to him alone for
the sake of some important affair, and on this account he has sent me
to you to-day. Moreover you are my sovereign, won by previous merits;
and therefore have I come; so come along with me; let us quickly go
to that hermit in order to ensure your success!"

When that Vidyádhara had said this, Naraváhanadatta left his wives and
forces there, and himself flew up into the air with that Vidyádhara,
and in that way quickly reached the Malaya mountain, and approached
the hermit Vámadeva. And he beheld that hermit white with age, tall of
stature, with eye-balls sparkling like bright jewels in the fleshless
sockets of his eyes, the depository of the jewels of the emperor of
the Vidyádharas, with his matted hair waving like creepers, looking
like the Himálaya range accompanying the prince, to assist him in
attaining success. Then the prince worshipped the feet of that sage,
and he entertained him, and said to him, "You are the god of Love
consumed long ago by Siva, and appointed by him emperor of all the
Vidyádhara chiefs, because he was pleased with Rati. [571] Now, I
have in this my hermitage, within the deep recess of an inner cave,
certain jewels, which I will point out to you, and you must seize
them. For you will find Mandaradeva easy enough to conquer, after you
have obtained the jewels; and it was with this object that I invited
you hither by the command of Siva."

When the hermit had said this to him, and had instructed him in the
right method of procedure, Naraváhanadatta joyfully entered that
cave. In it the hero overcame many and various obstacles, and then
he beheld a huge furious elephant charging him with a deep guttural
roar. The king smote it on the forehead with his fist, and placed his
feet on its tusks, and actively mounted that furious elephant. And
a bodiless voice came from the cave, "Bravo, emperor! thou hast won
the jewel of the mighty elephant." Then he saw a sword looking like
a mighty snake, and he fell upon it, and seized it, as if it were
the locks of the Fortune of Empire. Again a bodiless voice sounded
in the cave, "Bravo, conqueror of thy foes! thou hast obtained the
victorious sword-jewel." Then he obtained the moonlight-jewel and the
wife-jewel, and the jewel of charms, named the destroying charm. And
thus having achieved in all seven jewels (useful in time of need, and
bestowers of majesty), taking into account the two first, the lake and
the sandal-wood tree, he went out from that cave and told the hermit
Vámadeva that he had succeeded in accomplishing all his objects. [572]

Then the hermit said lovingly to that emperor, "Go, my son, now
that you have obtained the jewels of a great emperor, and conquer
Mandaradeva on the north side of Kailása, and enjoy the glorious
fortune of the sovereignty of both sides of that mountain." When the
hermit had said this to him, the successful emperor bowed before him,
and went off through the air with Amritaprabha. And in a moment he
reached his camp on Govindakúta guarded by his mighty mother-in-law
Dhanavatí. Then those kings of the Vidyádharas, that had sided
with him, and his wives and his ministers, who were all watching
for him, saw him, and welcomed him with delight. Then he sat down
and they questioned him, and he told them how he had seen the hermit
Vámadeva, and how he had entered the cave, and how he had obtained the
jewels. Then a great festival took place there, in which celestial
drums were joyfully beaten, and the Vidyádharas danced, and people
generally were drunk with wine.

And the next day, in a moment in which a malignant planet stood in
the house of his foe, and one which argued his own success [573] as
a planet benignant to him, predominated over his enemy's house, and
which was fraught with every other kind of prosperity, Naraváhanadatta
performed the ceremonies for good fortune, and ascended that car made
by Brahmá, which Siva had bestowed on him, and set out with his army
through the air, accompanied by his wives, to conquer Mandaradeva. And
various heroes, his followers, marched surrounding him, and kings of
the Gandharvas and chiefs of the Vidyádharas, fearless and faithful,
obedient to the orders of the general Harisikha, and Chandasinha,
with his mother the wise Dhanavatí, and the brave Pingalagándhára,
and Váyupatha the strong, and Vidyutpunja and Amitagati, and the
lord of Kálakúta, and Mandara, and Mahádanshtra and his own friend
Amritaprabha, and the hero Chitrángada with Ságaradatta,--all these,
and others who were there of the party of the slain Gaurímunda,
pressed eagerly after him, with their hosts, as he advanced intent
on victory. Then the sky was obscured by his army, and the sun hid
his face, as if for shame, somewhere or other, his brightness being
eclipsed by the splendour of the monarch.

Then the emperor passed the Mánasa lake haunted by troops of divine
hermits, and left behind him Gandasáila the pleasure-garden of the
nymphs of heaven, and reached the foot of mount Kailása gleaming
white like crystal, resembling a mass of his own glory. [574] There he
encamped on the bank of the Mandákiní, and while he was sitting there,
the wise chief of the Vidyádharas, named Mandara, came up to him, and
addressed to him the following pleasing speech, "Let your army halt
here, king, on the bank of the river of the gods! It is not fitting
that you should advance over this mountain Kailása. For all sciences
are destroyed by crossing this dwelling-place of Siva. So you must
pass to the other side of the mountain by the cave of Trisírsha. And
it is guarded by a king named Devamáya, who is exceedingly haughty;
so how can you advance further without conquering him?" When Mandara
said this, Dhanavatí approved it, and Naraváhanadatta waited there
for a day.

While he was there, he sent an ambassador to Devamáya with
a conciliatory message, but he did not receive the order it
conveyed in a conciliatory spirit. So the next day the emperor
moved out against Devamáya with all the allied kings prepared for
battle. And Devamáya too, when he heard it, marched out towards him
to give battle, accompanied by numerous kings, Varáha, Vajramushti
and others, and followed by his army. Then there took place on
Kailása a battle between those two armies, and while it was going
on, the sky was obscured by the chariots of the gods who came to
look on. Terrible was that thunder-cloud of war, awful with the
dense hailstorm of many severed heads, and loud with the shouting
of heroes. That Chandasinha slew Varáha the general of Devamáya,
as he fought in the front rank, was in truth by no means wonderful;
but it was strange that Naraváhanadatta, without employing any magic
power, took captive Devamáya himself, when exhausted by the wounds he
received from him in the combat. And when he was captured, his army
was broken, and fled, together with the great champions Vajramushti,
Mahábáhu, Tikshnadanshtra and their fellows. Then the gods in their
chariots exclaimed, "Bravo! Bravo!" and all present congratulated
the victorious emperor. Then that mighty monarch consoled Devamáya,
who was brought before him bound, and welcomed him kindly, and set
him at liberty. But he, having been subdued by the emperor's arm,
humbly submitted to him, together with Vajramushti and the others.

Then, the battle having come to an end, that day passed away, and next
morning Devamáya came to the place of audience, and stood by the side
of the emperor, and when questioned by him about the cave of Trisírsha,
which he wished to enter, related the following true history of it.



History of the cave of Trisírsha.

In old time, my liege, the two sides of mount Kailása, the north and
the south side, formed different kingdoms, having been assigned to
distinguished Vidyádharas. Then one, Rishabha by name, propitiated
Siva with austerities, and was appointed by that god emperor over
both of them. But one day he was passing over Kailása to go to the
northern side, and lost his magic science owing to the anger of Siva,
who happened to be below, and so fell from the sky. Rishabha again
propitiated Siva with severe asceticism, and the god again appointed
him Supreme Sovereign of both sides; so he thus humbly addressed the
god, "I am not permitted to pass over Kailása, so by what path am I
to travel in order to be able to exercise my prerogatives on both
sides of the mountain?" When Siva, the trident-bearing god, heard
this, he cleft asunder Kailása, and made this cave-like opening for
Rishabha to pass to the northern side.

Then mount Kailása, having been pierced, was despondent, and addressed
this petition to Siva, "Holy one, this north side of me used to
be inaccessible to mortals, but it has now been made accessible to
them by this cave-passage; so provide that this law of exclusion be
not broken." When Siva had been thus supplicated by the mountain,
he placed in the cave as guards, elephants of the quarters, mighty
basilisks, [575] and Guhyakas; and at its southern opening he placed
Mahámáya the Vidyádhara chief, and at its northern opening Kálarátri
the invincible Chandiká. [576]

When Siva had thus provided for the guarding of the cave, he produced
great jewels, and made this decree with regard to the cave, "This cave
shall be open at both ends to any one who has obtained the jewels, and
is emperor over the Vidyádharas with their wives and their messengers,
[577] and to those who may be appointed by him as sovereigns over the
northern side of the mountain,--by these, I say, it may be passed,
but by no one else in the world." When the three-eyed god had made
this decree, Risbabha went on holding sway over the Vidyádharas,
but in his pride made war on the gods and was slain by Indra. This
is the history, my liege, of the cave, named the cave of Trisírsha;
and the cave cannot be passed by any but persons like yourself.

And in course of time I Devamáya was born in the family of Mahámáya
the keeper of the entrance of the cave. And at my birth a heavenly
voice proclaimed, "There is now born among the Vidyádharas a champion
hard for his foes to conquer in fight; and he, who shall conquer him,
shall be emperor over them; he shall be the master of this child now
born, and shall be followed by him as a lord." I, that Devamáya,
have been now conquered by you, and you have obtained the jewels,
and are the mighty sole emperor of both sides of mount Kailása,--the
lord of us all here. So, now pass the cave of Trisírsha, and conquer
the rest of your enemies.

When Devamáya had told the story of the cave in these words, the
emperor said to him, "We will march now and encamp for the present at
the mouth of the cave, and to-morrow morning, after we have performed
due ceremonies, we will enter it." When Naraváhanadatta had said this,
he went and encamped with all those kings at the mouth of the cave. And
he saw that underground passage with deep rayless cavity, looking like
the birthplace of the sunless and moonless darkness of the day of doom.

And the next day he offered worship, and entered it in his chariot,
with his followers, assisted by the glorious jewels, which presented
themselves to him, when he thought of them. He dispelled the darkness
with the moonlight jewel, the basilisks with the sandal-wood tree,
the elephants of the quarters with the elephant-jewel, the Guhyakas
with the sword-jewel, and other obstacles with other jewels; and
so passed that cave with his army, and emerged at its northern
mouth. And coming out from the bowels of the cave, he saw before
him the northern side of the mountain, looking like another world,
entered without a second birth. And then a voice came from the sky,
"Bravo, emperor! thou hast passed this cave by means of the majesty
conferred by the power of the jewels."

Then Dhanavatí and Devamáya said to the emperor, "Your Majesty,
Kálarátri is always near this opening. She was originally created
by Vishnu, when the sea was churned for the nectar, in order that
she might tear in pieces the chiefs of the Dánavas, who wished to
steal that heavenly drink. And now she has been placed here by Siva
to guard this cave, in order that none may pass it, except those
beings like yourself, of whom we spoke before. You are our emperor,
and you have obtained the jewels, and have passed this cave; so,
in order to gain the victory, you must worship this goddess, who is
a meet object of worship."

In such words did Dhanavatí and Devamáya address Naraváhanadatta,
and so the day waned for him there. And the northern peaks of Kailása
were reddened with the evening light, and seemed thus to foreshadow
the bloodshed of the approaching battle. The darkness, having gained
power, obscured the army of that king, as if recollecting its animosity
against him for his recent victory over it in its home the cave;
an animosity which was still fresh and new. And goblins, vampires,
jackals, and the sisterhood [578] of witches roamed about, as it were
the first shoots of the anger of Kálarátri enraged on account of
Naraváhanadatta having omitted to worship her. And in a moment the
whole army of Naraváhanadatta became insensible, as if with sleep,
but he alone remained in full possession of his faculties. Then the
emperor perceived that this was a display of power on the part of
Kálarátri, angry because she had not been worshipped, and be proceeded
to worship her with flowers of speech.

"Thou art the power of life, animating all creatures, of loving
nature, skilful in directing the discus to the head of thy foes;
thee I adore. Hail! thou, that under the form of Durgá dost console
the world with thy trident and other weapons streaming with the
drops of blood flowing from the throat of the slain Mahisha. Thou
art victorious dancing with a skull full of the blood of Ruru in thy
agitated hand, as if thou wast holding the vessel of security of the
three worlds. Goddess beloved of Siva, with uplifted eyes, though
thy name means the night of doom, still, with skull surmounted by a
burning candle, and with a skull in thy hand, thou dost shine as if
with the sun and moon."

Though he praised Kálarátri in these words, she was not propitiated,
and then he made up his mind to appease her by the sacrifice of
his head; and he drew his sword for that purpose. Then the goddess
said to him, "Do not act rashly my son. Lo! I have been won over by
thee, thou hero. Let this thy army be as it was before, and be thou
victorious!" And immediately his army awoke as it were from sleep. Then
his wives, and his companions, and all the Vidyádharas praised the
might of that emperor. And the hero, having eaten and drunk and
performed the necessary duties, spent that night, which seemed as
long as if it consisted of a hundred watches instead of three.

And the next morning he worshipped Kálarátri, and marched thence to
engage Dhúmasikha, who had barred his further advance with an army
of Vidyádharas. Then the emperor had a fight with that king, who was
the principal champion of Mandaradeva, of such a desperate character,
that the air was full of swords, the earth covered with the heads of
warriors, and the only speech heard was the terrible cry of heroes
shouting, "Slay! slay!" Then the emperor took Dhúmasikha captive
in that battle by force, and afterwards treated him with deference;
and made him submit to his sway. And he quartered his army that night
in his city, and the host seemed like fuel consumed with fire, as it
had seen the extinction of Dhúmasikha's [579] pride.

And the next day, hearing from the scouts that Mandaradeva, having
found out what had taken place, was advancing to meet him in fight,
Naraváhanadatta marched out against him with the chiefs of the
Vidyádharas, determined to conquer him. And after he had gone
some distance, he beheld in front of him the army of Mandaradeva,
accompanied by many kings, attacking in order of battle. Then
Naraváhanadatta, with the allied kings at his side, drew up his forces
in an arrangement fitted to encounter the formation of his enemies,
and fell upon his army.

Then a battle took place between those two armies, which imitated
the disturbed flood of the ocean overflowing its banks at the day of
doom. On one side were fighting Chandasinha and other great champions,
and on the other Kánchanadanshtra and other mighty kings. And
the battle waxed sore, resembling the rising of the wind at the
day of doom, for it made the three worlds tremble, and shook the
mountains. Mount Kailása, red on one side with the blood of heroes,
as with saffron paint, and on the other of ashy whiteness, resembled
the husband of Gaurí. That great battle was truly the day of doom
for heroes, being grimly illuminated by innumerable orbs of the sun
arisen in flashing sword-blades. Such was the battle that even Nárada
and other heavenly beings, who came to gaze at it, were astonished,
though they had witnessed the fights between the gods and the Asuras.

In this fight, which was thus terrible, Kánchanadanshtra rushed on
Chandasinha, and smote him on the head with a formidable mace. When
Dhanavatí saw that her son had fallen under the stroke of the mace,
she cursed and paralysed both armies by means of her magic power. And
Naraváhanadatta on one side, in virtue of his imperial might, [580]
and on the other side, Mandaradeva were the only two that remained
conscious. Then even the gods in the air fled in all directions,
seeing that Dhanavatí, if angry, had power to destroy a world.

But Mandaradeva, seeing that the emperor Naraváhanadatta was left
alone, ran upon him with uplifted weapon. Naraváhanadatta, for his
part, descended from his chariot, and drawing the sword which was one
of his imperial jewels, quickly met him. Then Mandaradeva, wishing
to gain the victory by magic arts, assumed by his science the form
of a furious elephant maddened with passion. When Naraváhanadatta,
who was endowed with pre-eminent skill in magic, saw this, he assumed
by his supernatural power the form of a lion. Then Mandaradeva flung
off the body of an elephant, and Naraváhanadatta abandoned that of a
lion, and fought with him openly in his own shape. [581] Armed with
sabres, and skilled in every elaborate trick and attitude of fence,
they appeared like two actors skilled in gesticulation, engaged
in acting a pantomime. Then Naraváhanadatta by a dexterous sleight
forced from the grasp of Mandaradeva his sword the material symbol of
victory. And Mandaradeva, having been thus deprived of his sword, drew
his dagger, but the emperor quickly made him relinquish that in the
same way. Then Mandaradeva, being disarmed, began to wrestle with the
emperor, but he seized him by the ancles, and laid him on the earth.

And then the sovereign set his foot on his enemy's breast, and laying
hold of his hair, was preparing to cut off his head with his sword,
when the maiden Mandaradeví, the sister of Mandaradeva, rushed up to
him, and in order to prevent him, said, "When I saw you long ago in
the wood of ascetics, I marked you for my future husband, so do not, my
sovereign, kill this brother of mine, who is your brother-in-law." When
the resolute king had been thus addressed by that fair-eyed one,
he let go Mandaradeva, who was ashamed at having been conquered, and
said to him, "I set you at liberty; do not be ashamed on that account,
Vidyádhara chief; victory and defeat in war bestow themselves on heroes
with varying caprice." When the king said this, Mandaradeva answered
him, "Of what profit is my life to me, now that I have been saved in
war by a woman? So I will go to my father in the wood where he is,
and perform asceticism; you have been appointed emperor over both
divisions of our territory here. Indeed this occurrence was foretold
long ago to me by my father as sure to take place." When the proud
hero had said this, he repaired to his father in the grove of ascetics.

Then the gods, that were present in the air on that occasion,
exclaimed, "Bravo! great emperor, you have completely conquered your
enemies, and obtained sovereign sway." When Mandaradeva had gone,
Dhanavatí by her power restored her own son and both armies with him
to consciousness. So Naraváhanadatta's followers, ministers and all,
arose as it were from sleep, and finding out that the foe had been
conquered, congratulated Naraváhanadatta their victorious master. And
the kings of Mandaradeva's party, Kánchanadanshtra, Asokaka, Raktáksha,
Kálajihva and the others, submitted to the sway of Naraváhanadatta. And
Chandasinha, when he saw Kánchanadanshtra, remembered the blow of the
mace, which he received from him in fight, and was wroth with him,
brandishing his good sword firmly grasped in his strong hand. But
Dhanavatí said to him, "Enough of wrath, my beloved son! Who could
conquer you in the van of battle? But I myself produced that momentary
glamour, in order to prevent the destruction of both armies." With
these words she pacified her son and made him cease from wrath, and
she delighted the whole army and the emperor Naraváhanadatta [582]
by her magic skill. And Naraváhanadatta was exceedingly joyful, having
obtained the sovereignty of the north side of Kailása, the mountain of
Siva, a territory now free from the scourge of war, since the heroes,
who opposed him, had been conquered, or had submitted, or fled, and
that too with all his friends unharmed. Then shrill kettle-drums were
beaten for the great festival of his victory over his enemies, [583]
and the triumphant monarch, accompanied by his wives and ministers,
and girt with mighty kings, spent that day, which was honoured by the
splendid dances and songs of the Vidyádhara ladies, in drinking wine,
as it were the fiery valour of his enemies.






CHAPTER CX.


Then, the next day, the emperor Naraváhanadatta, with his army, left
that plateau of Kailása, and by the advice of king Kánchanadanshtra,
who shewed him the way, went to that city of Mandaradeva named
Vimala. And he reached that city, which was adorned with lofty ramparts
of gold, and looked like mount Sumeru come to adore Kailása, and
entering it, found that it resembled the sea in all but the presence
of water, being very deep, characterized by unfailing prosperity,
[584] and an inexhaustible mine of jewels.

And as the emperor was sitting in the hall of audience in that city
surrounded by Vidyádhara kings, an old woman of the royal harem
came and said to him, "Since Mandaradeva has gone to the forest,
having been conquered by you, his wives desire to enter the fire;
your Highness has now been informed and will decide upon the proper
course." When this had been announced, the emperor sent those kings
to them, and dissuaded them from suicide, and bestowed upon them
dwelling-houses and other gifts, treating them like sisters. By that
step he caused the whole race of the Vidyádhara chiefs to be bound
to him with bonds of affection.

And then the grateful monarch anointed Amitagati, who had been
designated beforehand by Siva, king over the realm of Mandaradeva,
since he was loyal and could be trusted not to fall away, and he
placed under him the princes who had followed Mandaradeva, namely,
Kánchanadanshtra and his fellows. And he diverted himself there in
splendid gardens for seven days, being caressed by the fortune of
the northern side of Kailása, as by a newly-married bride.

And then, though he had acquired the imperial authority over the
Vidyádhara kings of both divisions, he began to long for more. He
set out, though his ministers tried to dissuade him, to conquer the
inaccessible fields of Meru situated in the northern region, the
home of the gods. For high-spirited men, though abundantly loaded
with possessions, cannot rest without acquiring something still more
glorious, advancing like blazing forest-fires.

Then the hermit Nárada came and said to the king, "Prince, what
means this striving after things out of your reach, though you know
policy? For one who out of overweening self-confidence attempts
the impossible, is disgraced like Rávana, who, in his pride,
endeavoured to uproot Kailása. For even the sun and moon find Meru
hard to overstep; moreover, Siva has not bestowed on you the sway
over the gods, but the sway over the Vidyádharas. You have already
conquered the Himálayas, the home of the Vidyádharas, so what need
have you of Meru the home of the gods? Dismiss from your mind this
chimerical scheme. Moreover, if you desire good fortune, you must go
and visit the father of Mandaradeva, Akampana by name, in the forest,
where he is residing." When the hermit Nárada had said this, the
emperor consented to do as he directed, and so he took leave of him,
and returned whence he came.

And the politic emperor, having been advised by Nárada to relinquish
his enterprise, [585] and remembering the destruction of Rishabha, of
which he had heard from Devamáya, and having reflected over the matter
in his own mind, gave up the idea, and went to visit the kingly sage
Akampana in the grove of ascetics. And when he reached that ascetic
grove, it was crowded with great sages, engaged in contemplation,
sitting in the posture called padmásana, and so resembled the world
of Brahmá. There he saw that aged Akampana, wearing matted hair and
a deerskin, looking like a great tree resorted to by hermits. So he
went and worshipped the feet of that ascetic, and that royal sage
welcomed him and said to him, "You have done well, king, in coming
to this hermitage, for if you had passed on neglectful of it, these
hermits here would have cursed you."

While the royal sage was saying this to the emperor, Mandaradeva,
who was staying in that grove of ascetics, having taken the vows of a
hermit, came to his father, accompanied by his sister, the princess
Mandaradeví. And Naraváhanadatta, when he saw him, embraced him,
for it is fitting that truly brave men should show kindness to foes
when conquered and pacified.

Then the royal sage Akampana, seeing Mandaradeví come with her brother,
said to that emperor, "Here, king, is my daughter, Mandaradeví by name;
and a heavenly voice said that she should be the consort of an emperor;
so marry her, emperor, for I give her to you."

When the royal sage said this, his daughter said, "I have four
companions here, of like age, noble maidens; one is a maiden called
Kanakavatí, the daughter of Kánchanadanshtra; the second is the
daughter of Kálajihva, Kálavatí by name; the third is the offspring of
Dírghadanshtra named Srutá; the fourth is the daughter of the king of
Paundra, named Ambaraprabhá; and I am the fifth of those Vidyádhara
maidens. We five, when roaming about, saw previously in a grove of
ascetics this my destined husband, and setting our hearts on him,
we made an agreement together that we would all, at one and the same
time, take him for our husband, but that, if any single one married
him alone, the others should enter the fire, and lay the guilt at her
door. So it is not fitting that I should marry without those friends
of mine; for how could persons like myself commit the outrageous
crime of breaking plighted faith?"

When that self-possessed lady had said this, her father Akampana
summoned those four Vidyádhara chiefs, who were the fathers of the
four maidens, and told them exactly what had occurred, and they
immediately thought themselves very fortunate, and brought those
maidens their daughters. Then Naraváhanadatta married the five in
order, beginning with Mandaradeví. And he remained there with them
many days, worshipping the hermits three times a day, at dawn, noon,
and sunset, while his attendants held high festival.

And Akampana said to him, "King, you must now go to the Rishabha
mountain for the great ceremony of your coronation," and thereupon
Devamáya also said to him, "King, you must indeed do so, for the
emperors of old time, Rishabhaka and others, were anointed [586]
on that mountain." When Harisikha heard that, he spoke in favour of
Naraváhanadatta's being anointed emperor on the splendid mountain of
Mandara, which was near; but then a voice came from heaven, "King,
all former emperors went through the ceremony of their coronation
on the Rishabha mountain; do you also go there, for it is a holy
place." [587] When the heavenly voice said this, Naraváhanadatta bowed
before the hermits and Akampana, and set out thence for that mountain
on an auspicious day. And he reached that northern opening of the
cave of Trisírsha, with many great chiefs of the Vidyádharas headed by
Amitagati. There the emperor worshipped that Kálarátri, and entered the
cave by that opening, and came out by the southern opening. And after
he had come out with his forces, he rested, at Devamáya's request,
in his palace for that day, together with his attendants.

And while he was there, he reflected that Siva was near him on that
mountain of Kailása, and he went of his own accord, with Gomukha,
to visit the god. And when he reached his hermitage, he saw and
adored the cow Surabhi and the sacred bull, and approached Nandin
the door-keeper. And Nandin was pleased when the king circumambulated
him, and opened the door to him, and then he entered and beheld Siva
accompanied by Deví. The god diffused gladness afar by the streams
of rays from the moon on his crest, that seemed to dart hither and
thither as if conquered by the splendour of Gaurí's face. He was
playing with his beloved with dice, that, like eyes, were allowed at
will to pursue their objects independently,--that, though under his
command, were ever restlessly rolling. And when Naraváhanadatta saw
that giver of boons, and that goddess the daughter of the Mountain,
he fell at their feet, and circumambulated them three times. The
god said to him, "It is well, my son, that thou hast come hither;
for otherwise thou mightest have suffered loss. But now all thy magic
powers shall ever be unfailing. So go thou to the Rishabha mountain,
that holy place, and obtain there at once in fitting time thy great
inauguration." When the emperor had received this command from
the god, he hastened to obey it, exclaiming "I will do thy will,"
and bowed before him and his wife, and returned to that palace of
Devamáya. The queen Madanamanchuká playfully said to him on his return,
"Where have you been, my husband? You appear to be pleased. Have you
managed to pick up here another set of five maidens?" When she made
use of these playful taunts, the prince gladdened her by telling her
the real state of affairs, and remained with her in happiness.

And the next day, Naraváhanadatta, accompanied by a host of Gandharvas
and Vidyádharas, making, as it were, a second sun in the heavens
by his glorious presence, ascended his splendid car, with his wives
and his ministers, and made for the Rishabha mountain. And when he
reached that heavenly hill, the trees, like hermits, with their
creepers like matted hair waving in the wind, shed their flowers
before him by way of a respectful offering. And there various kings
of the Vidyádharas brought the preparations for the coronation on a
scale suited to the might of their master. And the Vidyádharas came
to his coronation from all quarters, with presents in their hands,
all loyal, terrified, vanquished or respectful.

Then the Vidyádharas said to him, "Tell us, king; who is to occupy
half your throne, and to be anointed as queen consort?" The king
answered, "The queen Madanamanchuká is to be anointed together with
me;" and this at once set the Vidyádharas thinking. Then a bodiless
voice came from the air, "Hearken, Vidyádharas! This Madanamanchuká
is not a mortal; for she is Rati become incarnate, in order to be
the wife of this your master, who is the god of Love. She was not
born to Madanavega by Kalingasená, but, being of superhuman origin,
was immediately substituted by the gods, who employed their deluding
power, for the infant to which Kalingasená gave birth. [588] But the
infant to which she gave birth, was named Ityaka, and remained at the
side of Madanavega, having been assigned to him by the Creator. So
this Madanamanchuká is worthy to share the throne of her husband, for
Siva long ago granted her this honour as a boon, having been pleased
with her asceticism." When the voice had said so much, it ceased,
and the Vidyádharas were pleased, and praised the queen Madanamanchuká.

Then, on an auspicious day, the great hermits sprinkled with water
from many sacred bathing-places, brought in pitchers of gold,
Naraváhanadatta seated on the imperial throne, while Madanamanchuká
occupied the left half of it. And during the ceremony Sántisoma the
domestic chaplain was busily occupied, and the assembled cymbals of
the heavenly nymphs resounded aloud, and the murmur made by Bráhmans
reciting prayers filled the ten points of the sky. Strange to say! when
the water, made more purifying by holy texts, fell on his head, the
secret defilement [589] of enmity was washed out from the minds of his
foes. The goddess of fortune seemed to accompany in visible presence
that water of consecration, under the impression that it came from
the sea, and so was a connexion of her own, and to join with it in
covering the body of that king. A series of flower-garlands flung by
the hands of the nymphs of heaven, falling on him, appeared like the
Ganges spontaneously descending on his body with a full stream. Adorned
with red unguent and valour, he appeared like the sun in the glory
of rising, washed in the water of the sea. [590]

And crowned with a garland of mandára flowers, resplendent with
glorious raiment and ornaments, having donned a heavenly diadem,
he wore the majesty of Indra. And queen Madanamanchuká, having been
also anointed, glittered with heavenly ornaments at his side, like
Sachí at the side of Indra.

And that day, though drums sounded like clouds, and flowers fell
from the sky like rain, and though it was full [591] of heavenly
nymphs like lightning gleams, was, strange to say, a fair one. On that
occasion, in the city of the chief of mountains, not only did beautiful
Vidyádhara ladies dance, but creepers shaken by the wind danced also;
and when cymbals were struck by minstrels at that great festival,
the mountain seemed to send forth responsive strains from its echoing
caves; and covered all over with Vidyádharas moving about intoxicated
with the liquor of heavenly cordials, it seemed to be itself reeling
with wine; and Indra, in his chariot, having beheld the splendour of
the coronation which has now been described, felt his pride in his
own altogether dashed.

Naraváhanadatta, having thus obtained his long-desired inauguration as
emperor, thought with yearning of his father. And having at once taken
counsel with Gomukha and his other ministers, the monarch summoned
Váyupatha and said to him, "Go and say to my father, 'Naraváhanadatta
thinks of you with exceeding longing,' and tell him all that has
happened, and bring him here, and bring his queens and his ministers
too, addressing the same invitation to them." When Váyupatha heard
this, he said "I will do so," and made for Kausámbí through the air.

And he reached that city in a moment, beheld with fear and
astonishment by the citizens, as he was encircled by seventy million
Vidyádharas. And he had an interview with Udayana king of Vatsa, with
his ministers and wives, and the king received him with appropriate
courtesy. And the Vidyádhara prince sat down and asked the king
about his health, and said to him, while all present looked at him
with curiosity, "Your son Naraváhanadatta, having propitiated Siva,
and beheld him face to face, and having obtained from him sciences
difficult for his enemies to conquer, has slain Mánasavega and
Gaurímunda in the southern division of the Vidyádhara territory,
and conquered Mandaradeva who was lord in the northern division, and
has obtained [592] the high dignity of emperor over all the kings of
the Vidyádharas in both divisions, who acknowledge his authority; and
has now gone through his solemn coronation on the Rishabha mountain,
and is thinking, king, with eager yearning of you and your queens and
ministers. And I have been sent by him, so come at once; for fortunate
are those who live to see their offspring elevate their race."

When the king of Vatsa heard Váyupatha say this, being full of
longing for his son, he seemed like a peacock that rejoices when
it hears the roaring of the rain-clouds. So he accepted Váyupatha's
invitation, and immediately mounted a palanquin with him, and by the
might of his sciences travelled through the air, accompanied by his
wives and ministers, and reached that great heavenly mountain called
Rishabha. And there he saw his son on a heavenly throne, in the midst
of the Vidyádhara kings, accompanied by many wives; resembling the
moon reclining on the top of the eastern mountain, surrounded by the
planetary host, and attended by a company of many stars. To the king
the sight of his son in all this splendour was a shower of nectar,
and when he was bedewed with it, his heart swelled with joy, and he
closely resembled the sea when the moon rises.

Naraváhanadatta, for his part, beholding that father of his after a
long separation, rose up hurriedly and eager, and went to meet him
with his train. And then his father embraced him, and folded him to
his bosom, and he went through a second sprinkling, [593] being bathed
in a flood of his father's tears of joy. And the queen Vásavadattá
long embraced her son, and bathed him with the milk that flowed from
her breasts at beholding him, so that he remembered his childhood. And
Padmávatí, and Yaugandharáyana, and the rest of his father's ministers,
and his uncle Gopálaka, beholding him after a long interval, drank in
with thirsty eyes his ambrosial frame, like partridges; while the king
treated them with the honour which they deserved. And Kalingasená,
beholding her son-in-law and also her daughter, felt as if the whole
world was too narrow for her, much less could her own limbs contain her
swelling heart. And Yaugandharáyana and the other ministers, beholding
their sons, Harisikha and the others, on whom celestial powers had been
bestowed by the favour of their sovereign, congratulated them. [594]

And queen Madanamanchuká wearing heavenly ornaments, with Ratnaprabhá,
Alankáravatí, Lalitalochaná, Karpúriká, Saktiyasas and Bhagírathayasas,
and the sister of Ruchiradeva, who bore a heavenly form, and Vegavatí,
and Ajinávatí with Gandharvadattá, and Prabhávatí and Átmaniká and
Váyuvegayasas, and her four beautiful friends, headed by Káliká,
and those five other heavenly nymphs, of whom Mandaradeví was the
chief,--all these wives of the emperor Naraváhanadatta bowed before the
feet of their father-in-law the king of Vatsa, and also of Vásavadattá
and Padmávatí, and they in their delight loaded them with blessings,
as was fitting.

And when the king of Vatsa and his wives had occupied seats suited to
their dignity, Naraváhanadatta ascended his lofty throne. And the queen
Vásavadattá was delighted to see those various new daughters-in-law,
and asked their names and lineage. And the king of Vatsa and his
suite, beholding the godlike splendour of Naraváhanadatta, came to
the conclusion that they had not been born in vain.

And in the midst of this great rejoicing [595] at the reunion
of relations, the brave warder Ruchideva entered and said "The
banqueting-hall is ready, so be pleased to come there." When they
heard it, they all went to that splendid banqueting-hall. It was
full of goblets made of various jewels, which looked like so many
expanded lotuses, and strewn with many flowers, so that it resembled
a lotus-bed in a garden; and it was crowded with ladies with jugs full
of intoxicating liquor, who made it flash like the nectar appearing in
the arms of Garuda. There they drank wine that snaps those fetters of
shame that bind the ladies of the harem; wine, the essence of Love's
life, the ally of merriment. Their faces, expanded and red with wine,
shone like the lotuses in the lakes, expanded and red with the rays
of the rising sun. And the goblets of the rosy hue of the lotus,
finding themselves surpassed by the lips of the queens, and seeming
terrified at touching them, hid with their hue the wine.

Then the queens of Naraváhanadatta began to show signs of intoxication,
with their contracted eye-brows and fiery eyes, and the period of
quarrelling seemed to be setting in; [596] nevertheless they went
thence in order to the hall [597] of feasting, which was attractive
with its various viands provided by the power of magic. It was
strewed with coverlets, abounding in dishes, and hung with curtains
and screens, full of all kinds of delicacies and enjoyments, and it
looked like the dancing-ground of the goddesses of good fortune.

There they took their meal, and the sun having retired to rest
with the twilight on the western mountain, they reposed in sleeping
pavilions. And Naraváhanadatta, dividing himself by his science into
many forms, was present in the pavilions of all the queens. But in his
true personality he enjoyed the society of his beloved Madanamanchuká,
who resembled the night in being moon-faced, having eyes twinkling
like stars, and being full of revelry. And the king of Vatsa too, and
his train, spent that night in heavenly enjoyments, seeming as if they
had been born again without changing their bodies. And in the morning
all woke up, and delighted themselves in the same way with various
enjoyments in splendid gardens and pavilions produced by magic power.

Then, after they had spent many days in various amusements, the king of
Vatsa, wishing to return to his own city, went full of affection to his
son the king of all the Vidyádharas, who bowed humbly before him, and
said to him, "My son, who, that has sense, can help appreciating these
heavenly enjoyments? But the love of dwelling in one's mother-country
naturally draws every man; [598] so I mean to return to my own city;
but do you enjoy this fortune of Vidyádhara royalty, for these regions
suit you as being half god and half man. However, you must summon me
again some time, when a suitable occasion presents itself; for this
is the fruit of this birth of mine, that I behold this beautiful moon
of your countenance, full of nectar worthy of being drunk in with the
eyes, and that I have the delight of seeing your heavenly splendour.

When king Naraváhanadatta heard this sincere speech of his father the
king of Vatsa, he quickly summoned Devamáya the Vidyádhara prince, and
said to him in a voice half-choked with a weight of tears, "My father
is returning to his own capital with my mothers, and his ministers,
and the rest of his train, so send on in front of him a full thousand
bháras [599] of gold and jewels, and employ a thousand Vidyádhara
serfs to carry it." When Devamáya had received this order given in
kind tones by his master, he bowed and said, "Bestower of honour,
I will go in person with my attendants to Kausámbí to perform this
duty." Then the emperor sent Váyupatha and Devamáya to attend on their
journey his father and his followers, whom he honoured with presents
of raiment and ornaments. Then the king of Vatsa and his suite mounted
a heavenly chariot, and he went to his own city, after making his
son, who followed him a long way, turn back. And queen Vásavadattá,
whose longing regret rose at that moment with hundred-fold force,
turned back her dutiful son with tears, and looking back at him, with
difficulty tore herself away. And Naraváhanadatta, who, accompanied by
his ministers, had followed his parents and elders, returned to that
mountain of Rishabha with his eyes blinded with tears. There that
emperor remained with his ministers, Gomukha and the rest, who had
grown up with him from his youth, and with hosts of Vidyádhara kings,
with his wives, and with Madanamanchuká at his side, in the perpetual
enjoyment of heavenly pleasures, and he was ever free from satiety.







BOOK XVI.


CHAPTER CXI.


May Ganesa protect you, the ornamental streaks of vermilion on whose
cheeks fly up in the dance, and look like the fiery might of obstacles
swallowed and disgorged by him.



While Naraváhanadatta was thus living on that Rishabha mountain with
his wives and his ministers, and was enjoying the splendid fortune
of emperor over the kings of the Vidyádharas, which he had obtained,
once on a time spring came to increase his happiness. After long
intermission the light of the moon was beautifully clear, and the
earth, enfolded by the young fresh grass, shewed its joy by sweating
dewy drops, and the forest trees, closely embraced again and again
by the winds of the Malaya mountain, were all trembling, bristling
with thorns, and full of sap. [600] The warder of Cupid, the cuckoo,
beholding the stalk of the mango-tree, with his note seemed to forbid
the pride of coy damsels; and rows of bees fell with a loud hum from
the flowery creepers, like showers of arrows shot from the bow of
the great warrior Eros. And Naraváhanadatta's ministers, Gomukha and
the others, beholding at that time this activity of Spring, said to
Naraváhanadatta; "See, king, this mountain of Rishabha is altogether
changed, and is now a mountain of flowers, since the dense lines of
forest with which it is covered, have their blossoms full-blown with
spring. Behold, king, the creepers, which, with their flowers striking
against one another, seem to be playing the castanets; and with the
humming of their bees, to be singing, as they are swayed to and fro by
the wind; while the pollen, that covers them, makes them appear to be
crowned with garlands; and the garden made ready by spring, in which
they are, is like the Court of Cupid. Look at this mango shoot with
its garland of bees; it looks like the bow of the god of love with
loosened string, as he reposes after conquering the world. So come,
let us go and enjoy this festival of spring on the bank of the river
Mandákiní where the gardens are so splendid."

When Naraváhanadatta had been thus exhorted by his ministers, he went
with the ladies of his harem to the bank of the Mandákiní. And there
he diverted himself in a garden resounding with the song of many
birds, adorned with cardamom-trees, clove-trees, vakulas, asokas,
and mandáras. And he sat down on a broad slab of moonstone, placing
queen Madanamanchuká at his left hand, accompanied by the rest of
his harem, and attended by various princes of the Vidyádharas, of
whom Chandasinha and Amitagati were the chief; and while drinking
wine and talking on various subjects, the sovereign, having observed
the beauty of the season, said to his ministers, "The southern breeze
is gentle and soft to the feel; the horizon is clear; the gardens in
every corner are full of flowers and fragrant; sweet are the strains
of the cuckoo, and the joys of the banquet of wine; what pleasure
is wanting in the spring? Still, separation from one's beloved is
during that season hard to bear. Even animals [601] find separation
from their mates in the spring a severe affliction. For instance,
behold this hen-cuckoo here distressed with separation! For she has
been long searching for her beloved, that has disappeared from her
gaze, with plaintive cries, and not being able to find him, she is
now cowering on a mango, mute and like one dead."

When the king had said this, his minister Gomukha said to him, "It is
true, all creatures find separation hard to bear at this time; and
now listen, king; I will tell you in illustration of this something
that happened in Srávastí."



Story of the devoted couple, Súrasena and Sushená. [602]

In that town there dwelt a Rájpút, who was in the service of the
monarch, and lived on the proceeds of a village. His name was Súrasena,
and he had a wife named Sushená, who was a native of Málava. She was in
every respect well suited to him, and he loved her more than life. One
day the king summoned him, and he was about to set out for his camp,
when his loving wife said to him, "My husband, you ought not to go off
and leave me alone; for I shall not be able to exist here for a moment
without you." When Súrasena's wife said this to him, he replied, "How
can I help going, when the king summons me? Do you not understand my
position, fair one? You see, I am a Rájpút, and a servant, dependent
on another for my subsistence." When his wife heard this, she said
to him with tears in her eyes, "If you must of necessity go, I shall
manage to endure it somehow, if you return not one day later than the
commencement of spring." Having heard this, he at last said to her,
"Agreed, my dear! I will return on the first day of the month Chaitra,
even if I have to leave my duty."

When he said this, his wife was at last induced to let him go;
and so Súrasena went to attend on the king in his camp. And his
wife remained at home, counting the days in eager expectation,
looking for the joyful day on which spring begins, on which her
husband was to return. At last, in the course of time, that day of
the spring-festival arrived, resonant with the songs of cuckoos,
that seemed like spells to summon the god of love. The humming of
bees drunk with the fragrance of flowers, fell on the ear, like the
twanging of Cupid's bow as he strung it.

On that day Súrasena's wife Sushená said to herself, "Here is that
spring-festival arrived; my beloved will, without fail, return
to-day. So she bathed, and adorned herself, and worshipped the
god of Love, and remained eagerly awaiting his arrival. But the
day came to an end and her husband did not return, and during the
course of that night she was grievously afflicted by despondency,
and said to herself, "The hour of my death has come, but my husband
has not returned; for those whose souls are exclusively devoted to
the service of another do not care for their own families." While she
was making these reflections, with her heart fixed upon her husband,
her breath left her body, as if consumed by the forest-fire of love.

In the meanwhile Súrasena, eager to behold his wife, and true
to the appointed day, got himself, though with great difficulty,
relieved from attendance on the king, and mounting a swift camel,
accomplished a long journey, and arriving in the last watch of the
night, reached his own house. There he beheld that wife of his lying
dead, with all her ornaments on her, looking like a creeper, with
its flowers full blown, rooted up by the wind. When he saw her, he
was beside himself, and he took her up in his arms, and the bereaved
husband's life immediately left his body in an outburst of lamentation.

But when their family goddess Chandí, the bestower of boons, saw
that that couple had met their death in this way, she restored them
to life out of compassion. And after breath had returned to them,
having each had a proof of the other's affection, they continued
inseparable for the rest of their lives.

"Thus, in the season of spring, the fire of separation, fanned by the
wind from the Malaya mountain, is intolerable to all creatures." When
Gomukha had told this tale, Naraváhanadatta, thinking over it,
suddenly became despondent. The fact is, in magnanimous men, the
spirits, by being elevated or depressed, indicate beforehand the
approach of good or evil fortune. [603]

Then the day came to an end, and the sovereign performed his evening
worship, and went to his bedroom, and got into bed, and reposed
there. But in a dream at the end of the night [604] he saw his
father being dragged away by a black female towards the southern
quarter. The moment he had seen this, he woke up, and suspecting
that some calamity might have befallen his father, he thought upon
the science named Prajnapti, who thereupon presented herself, and
he addressed this question to her, "Tell me, how has my father the
king of Vatsa been going on? For I am alarmed about him on account
of a sight which I saw in an evil dream." When he said this to the
science that had manifested herself in bodily form, she said to him,
"Hear what has happened to your father the king of Vatsa.

"When he was in Kausámbí, he suddenly heard from a messenger, who had
come from Ujjayiní, that king Chandamahásena was dead, and the same
person told him that his wife the queen Angáravatí had burnt herself
with his corpse. This so shocked him, that he fell senseless upon the
ground: and when he recovered consciousness, he wept for a long time,
with queen Vásavadattá and his courtiers, for his father-in-law and
mother-in-law who had gone to heaven. But his ministers roused him
by saying to him, 'In this transient world what is there that hath
permanence? Moreover you ought not to weep for that king, who has you
for a son-in-law, and Gopálaka for a son, and whose daughter's son is
Naraváhanadatta.' When he had been thus admonished and roused from
his prostration, he gave the offering of water to his father-in-law
and mother-in-law.

"Then that king of Vatsa said, with throat half-choked with tears, to
his afflicted brother-in-law Gopálaka, who remained at his side out
of affection, [605] 'Rise up, go to Ujjayiní, and take care of your
father's kingdom, for I have heard from a messenger that the people
are expecting you.' When Gopálaka heard this, he said, weeping, to
the king of Vatsa, 'I cannot bear to leave you and my sister, to go
to Ujjayiní. Moreover, I cannot bring myself to endure the sight of
my native city, now that my father is not in it. So let Pálaka, my
younger brother, be king there with my full consent.' When Gopálaka
had by these words shown his unwillingness to accept the kingdom,
the king of Vatsa sent his commander-in-chief Rumanvat to the city of
Ujjayiní, and had his younger brother-in-law, named Pálaka, crowned
king of it, with his elder brother's consent.

"And reflecting on the instability of all things, he became disgusted
with the objects of sense, and said to Yangandharáyana and his other
ministers, 'In this unreal cycle of mundane existence all objects
are at the end insipid; and I have ruled my realm, I have enjoyed
pleasures, I have conquered my enemies; I have seen my son in the
possession of paramount sway over the Vidyádharas; and now my allotted
time has passed away together with my connections; and old age has
seized me by the hair to hand me over to death; and wrinkles have
invaded my body, as the strong invade the kingdom of a weakling; [606]
so I will go to mount Kálinjara, and abandoning this perishable body,
will there obtain the imperishable mansion of which they speak.' When
the ministers had been thus addressed by the king, they thought over
the matter; and then they all and queen Vásavadattá said to him with
calm equanimity, 'Let it be, king, as it has pleased your highness;
by your favour we also will try to obtain a high position in the
next world.'

"When they had said this to the king, being like-minded with himself,
he formed a deliberate resolution, and said to his elder brother-in-law
Gopálaka, who was present, 'I look upon you and Naraváhanadatta
as equally my sons; so take care of this Kausámbí, I give you my
kingdom.' When the king of Vatsa said this to Gopálaka, he replied,
'My destination is the same as yours, I cannot bear to leave you.' This
he asserted in a persistent manner, being ardently attached to his
sister; whereupon the king of Vatsa said to him, assuming [607] an
anger, that he did not feel, 'To-day you have become disobedient,
so as to affect a hypocritical conformity to my will; and no wonder,
for who cares for the command of one who is falling from his place
of power.' When the king spoke thus roughly to him, Gopálaka wept,
with face fixed on the ground, and though he had determined to go to
the forest, he turned back for a moment from his intention.

"Then the king mounted an elephant, and accompanied by the queens
Vásavadattá and Padmávatí, set out with his ministers. And when he
left Kausámbí, the citizens followed him, with their wives, children,
and aged sires, crying aloud and raining a tempest of tears. The king
comforted them by saying to them, 'Gopálaka will take care of you,'
and so at last he induced them to return, and passed on to mount
Kálinjara. And he reached it, and went up it, and worshipped Siva,
and holding in his hand his lyre Ghoshavatí, that he had loved all
his life, and accompanied by his queens that were ever at his side,
and Yangandharáyana and his other ministers, he hurled himself from the
cliff. And even as they fell, a fiery chariot came and caught up the
king and his companions, and they went in a blaze of glory to heaven."

When Naraváhanadatta heard this from the science, he exclaimed,
"Alas! my father!" and fell senseless on the ground. And when he
recovered consciousness, he bewailed his father and mother and his
father's ministers, in company with his own ministers, who had lost
their fathers.

But the chiefs of the Vidyádharas and Dhanavatí admonished him,
saying, "How is it, king, that you are beside yourself, though you
know the nature of this versatile world that perishes in a moment,
and is like the show of a juggler? And how can you lament for your
parents that are not to be lamented for, as they have done all they
had to do on earth; who have seen you their son sole emperor over
all the Vidyádharas?" When he had been thus admonished, he offered
water to his parents, and put another question to that science,
"Where is my uncle Gopálaka now? What did he do?" Then that science
went on to say to the king,

"When the king of Vatsa had gone to the mountain from which he meant
to throw himself, Gopálaka, having lamented for him and his sister,
and considering all things unstable, remained outside the city, and
summoning his brother Pálaka from Ujjayiní, made over to him that
kingdom of Kausámbí also. And then, having seen his younger brother
established in two kingdoms, he went to the hermitage of Kasyapa in
the ascetic-grove on the Black Mountain, [608] bent on abandoning the
world. And there your uncle Gopálaka now is, clothed with a dress of
bark, in the midst of self-mortifying hermits."

When Naraváhanadatta heard that, he went in a chariot to the Black
Mountain, with his suite, eager to visit that uncle. There he
alighted from the sky, surrounded by Vidyádhara princes, and beheld
that hermitage of the hermit Kasyapa. It seemed to gaze on him with
many roaming black antelope like rolling eyes, and to welcome him
with the songs of its birds. With the lines of smoke ascending into
the sky, where pious men were offering the Agnihotra oblations, it
seemed to point the way to heaven to the hermits. It was full of many
mountain-like huge elephants, and resorted to by troops of monkeys
[609]; and so seemed like a strange sort of Pátála, above ground,
and free from darkness.

In the midst of that grove of ascetics, he beheld his uncle surrounded
by hermits, with long matted locks, clothed in the bark of a tree,
looking like an incarnation of patience. And Gopálaka, when he saw his
sister's son approach, rose up and embraced him, and pressed him to his
bosom with tearful eyes. Then they, both of them, lamented their lost
dear ones with renewed grief; whom will not the fire of grief torture,
when fanned by the blast of a meeting with relations? When even the
animals there were pained to see their grief, Kasyapa and the other
hermits came up and consoled those two. Then that day came to an end,
and next morning the emperor entreated Gopálaka to come and dwell in
his kingdom. But Gopálaka said to him, "What, my child, do you not
suppose that I have all the happiness I desire by thus seeing you? If
you love me, remain here in this hermitage, during this rainy season,
which has arrived."

When Naraváhanadatta had been thus entreated by his uncle, he remained
in the hermitage of Kasyapa on the Black Mountain, with his attendants,
for the term mentioned.






CHAPTER CXII.


Now, one day, when Naraváhanadatta was in the hall of audience on
the Black Mountain, his Commander-in-chief came before him, and said,
"Last night, my sovereign, when I was on the top of my house, looking
after my troops, I saw a woman being carried off through the air by
a heavenly being, crying out, 'Alas! my husband!' and it seemed as if
the moon, which is powerful at that season, had taken her and carried
her off, finding that she robbed it of all its beauty. I exclaimed, 'Ah
villain! where will you go, thus carrying off the wife of another? In
the kingdom of king Naraváhanadatta the protector, which is the
territory of the Vidyádharas, extending over sixty thousand yojanas,
even animals do not work wickedness, much less other creatures.' When
I had said this, I hastened with my attendants and arrested that
swift-footed [610] one, and brought him down from the air with the
lady: and when we looked at him, after bringing him down, we found
that it was your brother-in-law, the Vidyádhara Ityaka, the brother of
your principal queen, born to Madanavega by queen Kalingasená. We said
to him, 'Who is this lady, and where are you taking her?' and then he
answered; 'This is Suratamanjarí the daughter of the Vidyádhara chief
Matangadeva by Chútamanjarí. Her mother promised her to me long ago;
and then her father bestowed her on another, a mere man. So, if I
have to-day recovered my own wife, and carried her off, what harm
have I done?' When Ityaka had said so much, he was silent.

"Then I said to Suratamanjarí, 'Lady, by whom were you married,
and how did this person get possession of you?' Then she said,
'There is in Ujjayiní a fortunate king named Pálaka, he has a son,
a prince named [611] Avantivardhana; by him I was married; and this
night, when I was asleep on the top of the palace, and my husband was
asleep also, I was carried off by this villain.' When she said this,
I kept both of them here, the lady and Ityaka, the latter in fetters;
it now remains for your majesty to decide what is to be done."

When the emperor heard this from his Commander-in-chief Harisikha, he
went in some perplexity to Gopálaka, and told him the story. Gopálaka
said, "My dear nephew, I do not know about this; I know so much,
that the lady was lately married to Pálaka's son; so let the prince
be summoned from Ujjayiní, together with the minister Bharataroha;
then we shall get at the truth." When the emperor received this
advice from his uncle, he sent the Vidyádhara Dhúmasikha to Pálaka
his younger uncle, and summoned from Ujjayiní that prince, his son,
and the minister. When they arrived and bowed before the emperor,
he and Gopálaka received them with love and courtesy, and questioned
them about the matter under consideration.

Then, in the presence of Avantivardhana, who looked like the moon
robbed of the night, [612] of Suratamanjarí, her father, and of
Ityaka, of Váyupatha and his peers, and the hermit Kasyapa, and the
men-at-arms, Bharataroha began to speak as follows, "Once on a time
all the citizens of Ujjayiní met together and said to Pálaka the king
of that city 'To-morrow the festival, called the giving of water,
will take place in this city, and if your majesty has not heard the
true account of the origin of this festival, please listen to it now.'"



Story of king Chandamahásena and the Asura's daughter. [613]

Long ago your father Chandamahásena propitiated the goddess Chandí
with asceticism, in order to obtain a splendid sword and a wife. She
gave him her own sword, and about a wife said to him, "Thou shalt soon
slay, my son, the Asura called Angáraka, and obtain his beautiful
daughter Angáravatí for a wife." When the king had been favoured
with this revelation from the goddess, he remained thinking on the
Asura's daughter.

Now, at this time, everybody that was appointed head police officer
in Ujjayiní, was at once carried off by some creature at night and
devoured. And this went on night after night. Then Chandamahásena
roaming leisurely about the city at night, to investigate the matter
for himself, found an adulterer. He cut off with his sword his oiled
and curled head, and no sooner was his neck severed than a certain
Rákshasa came and laid hold of him. The king exclaimed, "This is
the gentleman that comes and eats the heads of the police at night,"
and laying hold of that Rákshasa by the hair, he prepared to slay him.

Then the Rákshasa said "King, do not slay me under a false
impression! There is another creature in this neighbourhood that eats
the heads of the police." The king said, "Tell me! who is it?" and
the Rákshasa continued, "There is in this neighbourhood an Asura of
the name of Angáraka, whose home is in Pátála. He it is that eats your
police-officers at the dead of night, O smiter of your foes. Moreover,
prince, he carries off by force the daughters of kings from every
quarter, and makes them attend on his daughter Angáravatí. If you see
him roaming about in the forest, slay him, and attain your object in
that way."

When the Rákshasa had said this, the king let him go, and returned
to his palace. And one day he went out to hunt. And in the place
where he was hunting he saw a monstrous boar, with eyes red with
fury, looking like a piece of the mountain of Antimony fallen from
heaven. The king said to himself, "Such a creature cannot be a real
boar, I wonder whether it is the Asura Angáraka that has the power
of disguising himself:" so he smote the boar with shafts. But the
boar recked not of his shafts, and overturning his chariot, entered
a wide opening in the earth.

But the heroic king entered after him, and did not see that boar,
but saw in front of him a splendid castle. And he sat down on the bank
of a lake, and saw there a maiden with a hundred others attending on
her, looking like an incarnation of Rati. She came up to him and asked
him the reason of his coming there, and having conceived an affection
for him, said to him, looking at him with tearful eyes; "Alas! What a
place have you entered! That boar that you saw, was really a Daitya,
Angáraka by name, of adamantine frame and vast strength. At present
he has abandoned the form of a boar and is sleeping, as he is tired,
but when the time for taking food comes, he will wake up and do you
a mischief. And I, fair sir, am his daughter, Angáravatí by name;
and fearing that some misfortune may befall you, I feel as if my life
were in my throat."

When she said this to the king, he, remembering the boon that the
goddess Chandí had given him, felt that he had now a good hope of
accomplishing his object, and answered her, "If you have any love for
me, do this which I tell you: when your father awakes, go and weep
at his side, and when he asks you the reason, say, fair one, 'Father,
if any one were to kill you in your reckless daring, what would become
of me?' If you do this, you will ensure the happiness of both of us."

When the king said this to her, she went, bewildered with love,
and sat down and wept at the side of her father who had woke up;
and when he asked her the cause of her weeping, she told him how she
was afraid that some one would slay him. [614] Then the Daitya said
to her, "Why, who can slay me who am of adamantine frame? the only
vulnerable and vital point I have is in my left hand, and that the
bow protects." This speech of his was heard by the king, who was at
the time concealed near.

Then the Daitya bathed and proceeded to worship Siva. At that moment
the king appeared with his bow strung, and challenged to mortal combat
the Daitya, who was observing religious silence. The Daitya lifted
up his left hand, his right hand being engaged, and made a sign to
the king to wait a little. That very moment the king smote him in
that hand, which was his vital point, with a well-aimed arrow, and
the Daitya fell on the earth. And just before he expired, he said,
"If that man who has thus slain me when thirsty, does not every year
offer water to my manes, his five ministers shall perish." The Daitya
being thus slain, the king took his daughter Angáravatí, and returned
to this city of Ujjayiní.

"And after that king, your father, had married that queen, he used
every year to have an offering of water made to the manes of Angáraka;
and all here celebrate the feast called the giving of water; and to-day
it has come round; so do, king, what your father did before you."



Story of prince Avantivardhana and the daughter of the Mátanga who
turned out to be a Vidyádharí.

"When king Pálaka heard this speech of his subjects', he proceeded
to set going in that city the festival of the giving of water. When
the festival had begun, and the people had their attention occupied
by it, and were engaged in shouting, suddenly an infuriated elephant,
that had broken its fastenings, rushed in among them. That elephant,
having got the better of its driving-hook, and shaken off its
driver, roamed about in the city, and killed very many men in a
short time. Though the elephant-keepers ran forward, accompanied by
professional elephant-drivers, and the citizens also, no man among
them was able to control that elephant. At last, in the course of
its wanderings, the elephant reached the quarter of the Chandálas,
and there came out from it a Chandála maiden. She illuminated the
ground with the beauty of the lotus that seemed to cling to her feet,
delighted because she surpassed with the loveliness of her face the
moon its enemy. [615] She looked like the night that gives rest to
the eyes of the world, because its attention is diverted from other
objects, and so it remains motionless at that time. [616]

That maiden struck that mighty elephant, that came towards her,
with her hand, on its trunk; and smote it with those sidelong looks
askance of hers. The elephant was fascinated with the touch of her
hand and penetrated with her glance, and remained with head bent down,
gazing at her, and never moved a step. [617] Then that fair lady made
a swing with her upper garment, which she fastened to its tusks, and
climbed up and got into it, and amused herself with swinging. Then
the elephant, seeing that she felt the heat, went into the shade of a
tree; and the citizens, who were present, seeing this great wonder,
exclaimed, "Ah! This is some glorious heavenly maiden, who charms
even animals by her power, which is as transcendent as her beauty."

And in the meanwhile the prince Avantivardhana, hearing of it,
came out to see the wonderful sight, and beheld that maiden. As he
gazed, the deer of his heart ran into that net of the hunter Love,
and was entangled by it. She too, when she saw him, her heart being
charmed by his beauty, came down from that swing, which she had put
up on the elephant's tusks, and took her upper garment. Then a driver
mounted the elephant, and she went home, looking at the prince with
an expression of shame and affection.

And Avantivardhana, for his part, the disturbance caused by the
elephant having come to an end, went home to his palace with his
bosom empty, his heart having been stolen from it by her. And when
he got home, he was tortured by no longer seeing that lovely maiden,
and forgetting the feast of the giving of water, which had begun, he
said to his companions, "Do you know whose daughter that maiden is,
and what her name is?" When his friends heard that, they said to him,
"There is a certain Mátanga [618] in the quarter of the Chandálas,
named Utpalahasta, and she is his daughter, Suratamanjarí by name. Her
lovely form can give pleasure to the good [619] only by being looked
at, like that of a pictured beauty, but cannot be touched without
pollution." When the prince heard that from his friends, he said
to them, "I do not think she can be the daughter of a Mátanga,
she is certainly some heavenly maiden; for a Chandála maiden would
never possess such a beautiful form. Lovely as she is, if she does
not become my wife, what is the profit of my life?" So the prince
continued to say, and his ministers could not check him, but he was
exceedingly afflicted with the fire of separation from her.

Then queen Avantivatí and king Pálaka, his parents, having heard that,
were for a long time quite bewildered. The queen said, "How comes it
that our son, though born in a royal family, has fallen in love with
a girl of the lowest [620] caste?" Then king Pálaka said, "Since the
heart of our son is thus inclined, it is clear that she is really
a girl of another caste, who for some reason or other has fallen
among the Mátangas. The minds of the good tell them by inclination
or aversion what to do and what to avoid. In illustration of this,
queen, listen to the following tale, if you have not already heard it."



Story of the young Chandála who married the daughter of king
Prasenajit. [621]

Long ago king Prasenajit, in a city named Supratishthita, had a very
beautiful daughter named Kurangí. One day she went out into the garden,
and an elephant, that had broken from its fastenings, charged her,
and flung her up on his tusks litter and all. Her attendants dispersed
shrieking, but a young Chandála snatched up a sword and ran towards
the elephant. The brave fellow cut off the trunk of that great elephant
with a sword-stroke, and killed it, and so delivered the princess. Then
her retinue came together again, and she returned to her palace with
her heart captivated by the great courage and striking good looks
of the young Chandála. And she remained in a state of despondency at
being separated from him, saying to herself, "Either I must have that
man who delivered me from the elephant for a husband, or I must die."

The young Chandála, for his part, went home slowly, and having his
mind captivated by the princess, was tortured by thinking on her. He
said to himself, "What a vast gulf is fixed between me, a man of the
lowest caste, and that princess! How can a crow and a female swan ever
unite? The idea is so ridiculous that I cannot mention it or consider
it, so, in this difficulty, death is my only resource." After the
young man had gone through these reflections, he went at night to
the cemetery, and bathed, and made a pyre, and lighting the flame
thus prayed to it, "O thou purifying fire, Soul of the Universe, may
that princess be my wife hereafter in a future birth, in virtue of
this offering up of myself as a sacrifice to thee!" When he had said
this, he prepared to fling himself into the fire, but the Fire-god,
pleased with him, appeared in visible shape before him, and said to
him, "Do not act rashly, for she shall be thy wife, for thou art not
a Chandála by birth, and what thou art I will tell thee, listen!

"There is in this city a distinguished Bráhman of the name of
Kapilasarman; in his fire-chamber I dwell in visible bodily shape. One
day his maiden daughter came near me, and smitten with her beauty, I
made her my wife, inducing her to forego her objections by promising
her immunity from disgrace. And thou, my son, wert immediately born
to her by virtue of my power, and she thereupon, out of shame, flung
thee away in the open street; there thou wast found by some Chandálas
and reared on goat's milk. [622] So thou art my son, born to me by
a Bráhman lady. Therefore thou canst not be deemed impure, as thou
art my son; and thou shalt obtain that princess Kurangí for a wife."

When the god of fire had said this, he disappeared, and the Mátanga's
adopted child was delighted, and conceived hope, and so went home. Then
king Prasenajit, having been urged by the god in a dream, investigated
the case, and finding out the truth, gave his daughter to the son of
the Fire-god.

"Thus, queen, there are always to be found heavenly beings in disguise
upon the earth, and you may be assured Suratamanjarí is not a woman of
the lowest caste, but a celestial nymph. For such a pearl, as she is,
must belong to some other race than that of the Mátangas, and without
doubt she was the beloved of my son in a former birth, and this is
proved by his falling in love with her at first sight." When king
Pálaka said this in our presence, I proceeded to relate the following
story about a man of the fisher-caste.



Story of the young fisher man who married a princess.

Long ago there lived in Rájagriha a king named Malayasinha, and he had
a daughter named Máyávatí of matchless beauty. One day a young man of
the fisher-caste, named Suprahára, who was in the bloom of youth and
good looks, saw her as she was amusing herself in a spring-garden. The
moment he saw her, he was overpowered by love; for destiny never
considers whether a union is possible or impossible. So he went home,
and abandoning his occupation of catching fish, he took to his bed, and
refused to eat, thinking only on the princess. And when persistently
questioned, he told his wish to his mother named Rakshitiká, and she
said to her son, "My son, abandon your despondency, and take food;
I will certainly compass this your end for you by my ingenuity."

When she said this to him, he was consoled, and cherished hopes,
and took food; and his mother went to the palace of the princess
with fish from the lake. [623] There that fisher-wife was announced
by the maids, and went in, on the pretext of paying her respects,
and gave the princess that present of fish. And in this way she
came regularly day after day, and made the princess a present, and
so gained her goodwill, and made her desirous of speaking. And the
pleased princess said to the fisher-wife, "Tell me what you wish me
to do; I will do it, though it be ever so difficult."

Then the fisher-wife begged that her boldness might be pardoned, and
said in secret to the princess, "Royal lady, my son has seen you in
a garden, and is tortured by the thought that he cannot be near you;
and I can only manage to prevent his committing suicide by holding
out hopes to him; so, if you feel any pity for me, restore my son to
life by touching him." When the princess was thus entreated by the
fisher-wife, hesitating between shame and a desire to oblige, after
reflection, she said to her, "Bring your son to my palace secretly
at night." When the fisher-wife heard this, she went in high spirits
to her son.

And when night came, she deliberately adorned her son as well as she
could, and brought him to the private apartments of the princess. There
the princess took Suprahára, who had pined for her so long, by the
hand, and affectionately welcomed him, and made him lie down on a
sofa, and comforted him whose limbs were withered by the fire of
separation, by shampooing him with her hand, the touch of which was
cool as sandal-wood. And the fisher-boy was thereby, as it were,
bedewed with nectar, and thinking that after long waiting he had
attained his desire, he took his rest, and was suddenly seized by
sleep. And when he was asleep, the princess escaped, and slept in
another room, having thus pleased the fisher-boy, and having avoided
being disgraced through him.

Then that son of the fisher-folk woke up, owing to the cessation of
the touch of her hand, and not seeing his beloved, who had thus come
within his grasp, and again vanished, like a pot of treasure in the
case of a very poor man, who is despondent for its loss, he was reft
of all hope, and his breath at once left his body. When the princess
found that out, she came there, and blamed herself, and made up her
mind to ascend the funeral pyre with him next morning.

Then her father, king Malayasinha, heard of it, and came there, and
finding that she could not be turned from her resolve, he rinsed his
mouth, and spake this speech; "If I am really devoted to the three-eyed
god of gods, tell me, ye guardians of the world, what it is my duty
to do." When the king said this, a heavenly voice answered him, "Thy
daughter was in a former life the wife of this son of the fisher-folk.

"For, long ago, there lived in a village, called Nágasthala, a virtuous
Bráhman of the name of Baladhara, the son of Mahídhara. When his father
had gone to heaven, he was robbed of his wealth by his relations,
and being disgusted with the world, he went with his wife to the
bank of the Ganges. While he was remaining there without food, in
order to abandon the body, he saw some fishermen eating fish, and
his hunger made him long for it in his heart. So he died with his
mind polluted by that desire, but his wife kept her aspirations pure,
and continuing firm in penance, followed him in death. [624]

"That very Bráhman, owing to that pollution of his desires, has
been born in the fisher-caste. But his wife, who remained firm in
her asceticism, has been born as thy daughter, O king. So let this
blameless daughter of thine, by the gift of half her life, [625] raise
up this dead youth, who was her husband in a former life. For, owing
to the might of her asceticism, this youth, who was thus purified by
the splendour of that holy bathing-place, shall become thy son-in-law,
and a king."

When the king had been thus addressed by the divine voice, he gave
his daughter in marriage to that youth Suprahára, who recovered his
life by the gift of half hers. And Suprahára became a king by means
of the land, elephants, horses, and jewels, which his father-in-law
gave him, and, having obtained his daughter as a wife, lived the life
of a successful man.



Story of the Merchant's daughter who fell in love with a thief. [626]

"In this way a connexion in a former birth usually produces affection
in embodied beings; moreover, in illustration of this truth, listen
to the following story about a thief."

In Ayodhyá there lived of old time a king named Vírabáhu, who always
protected his subjects as if they were his own children. And one
day the citizens of his capital came to him and said, "King, some
thieves plunder this city every night, and though we keep awake for
the purpose, we cannot detect them." When the king heard that, he
placed scouts in the city at night to keep watch. But they did not
catch the thieves and the mischief did not abate. Accordingly the
king went out himself at night to investigate the matter.

And as he was wandering about in every direction, alone, sword in hand,
he saw a man going along on the top of the rampart; he seemed to tread
lightly out of fear; his eyes rolled rapidly like those of a crow;
and he looked round like a lion, frequently turning his neck. He was
rendered visible by the steel-gleams that flashed from his naked
sword, which seemed like binding ropes sent forth to steal those
jewels which men call stars. [627] And the king said to himself;
"I am quite certain that this man is a thief; no doubt he sallies
out alone and plunders this my city."

Having come to this conclusion, the wily monarch went up to the
thief; and the thief said to him with some trepidation, "Who are you,
Sir?" Then the king said to him, "I am a desperate robber, whose many
vices make him hard to keep; [628] tell me in turn, who you are." The
thief answered, "I am a robber, that goes out to plunder alone; and
I have great wealth; so come to my house: I will satisfy your longing
for riches." When the thief made him this promise, the king said, "So
be it," and went with him to his dwelling, which was in an underground
excavation. It was inhabited by beautiful women, it gleamed with many
jewels, it was full of ever new delights, and seemed like the city of
the snakes. [629] Then the thief went into the inner chamber of his
dwelling, and the king remained in the outer room; and while he was
there, a female servant, compassionating him, came and said to him,
"What kind of place have you entered? Leave it at once, for this man is
a treacherous assassin, and as he goes on his expeditions alone, will
be sure to murder you, to prevent his secrets being divulged." [630]
When the king heard that, he went out at once, and quickly repaired
to his palace; and summoning his commander-in-chief, returned with
his troops. And he came and surrounded the thief's dwelling, and made
the bravest men enter it, and so brought the thief back a prisoner,
and carried off all his wealth.

When the night had come to an end, the king ordered his execution;
and he was led off to the place of execution through the middle of the
market. And as he was being led along through that part of the town,
a merchant's daughter saw him, and fell in love with him at first
sight, and she immediately said to her father, "Know that if this
man, who is being led off to execution preceded by the drum of death,
does not become my husband, I shall die myself."

Then her father, seeing that she could not be dissuaded from her
resolution, went and tried to induce the king to spare that thief's
life by offering ten millions of coins. But the king, instead of
sparing the thief's life, ordered him to be immediately impaled, [631]
and was very angry with the merchant. Then the merchant's daughter,
whose name was Vámadattá, took the corpse of that robber, and out of
love for him entered the fire with it.

"So, you see, creatures are completely dependent upon connexions in
previous births, and this being the case, who can avoid a destiny
that is fated to him, and who can prevent such a destiny's befalling
anybody? Therefore, king, it is clear that this Suratamanjarí is
some excellent being that was the wife of your son Avantivardhana in
a previous birth, and is therefore destined to be his wife again;
otherwise how could such a high-born prince have formed such an
attachment for her, a woman of the Mátanga caste? So let this Mátanga,
her father Utpalahasta, be asked to give the prince his daughter;
and let us see what he says."

When I had said this to king Pálaka, he at once sent messengers to
Utpalahasta to ask for his daughter. And the Mátanga, when entreated
by those messengers to give her in marriage, answered them, "I approve
of this alliance, but I must give my daughter Suratamanjarí to the
man who makes eighteen thousand of the Bráhmans, that dwell in this
city, eat in my house." When the messengers heard this speech of
the Mátanga's, that contained a solemn promise, they went back and
reported it faithfully to king Pálaka.

Thinking that there was some reason for this, [632] the king called
together all the Bráhmans in the city of Ujjayiní, and telling them
the whole story, said to them, "So you must eat here in the house of
the Mátanga Utpalahasta, eighteen thousand of you; I will not have
it otherwise." When the Bráhmans had been thus commanded by the king,
being at the same time afraid of touching the food of a Chandála, and
therefore at a loss what to do, they went to the shrine of Mahákála
and performed self-torture. Then the god Siva, who was present there
in the form of Mahákála, commanded those Bráhmans in a dream, saying,
"Eat food here in the house of the Mátanga Utpalahasta, for he is
a Vidyádhara; neither he nor his family are Chandálas." Then those
Bráhmans rose up and went to the king, and told him the dream, and
went on to say, "So let this Utpalahasta cook pure food for us in some
place outside the quarter of the Chandálas, and then we will eat it at
his hands." When the king heard this, he had another house made for
Utpalahasta, and being highly delighted, he had food cooked for him
there by pure cooks: and then eighteen thousand Bráhmans ate there,
while Utpalahasta stood in front of them, bathed, and clothed in a
pure garment.

And after they had eaten, Utpalahasta came to king Pálaka, in the
presence of his subjects, and bowing before him, said to him, "There
was an influential prince of the Vidyádharas, named Gaurímunda; I was
a dependent of his, named Matangadeva; and when, king, that daughter
of mine Suratamanjarí had been born, Gaurímunda secretly said to me,
'The gods assert that this son of the king of Vatsa, who is called
Naraváhanadatta, is to be our emperor: so go quickly, and kill that
foe of ours by means of your magic power, before be has attained the
dignity of emperor.'

"When the wicked Gaurímunda had sent me on this errand, I went to
execute it, and while going along through the air, I saw Siva in
front of me. The god, being displeased, made an angry roar, and
immediately pronounced on me this curse, 'How is it, villain, that
thou dost plot evil against a noble-minded man? So go, wicked one,
and fall with this same body of thine into the midst of the Chandálas
in Ujjayiní, together with thy wife and daughter. And when some one
shall make eighteen thousand of the Bráhmans, that dwell in that city,
eat in thy house by way of a gift to purchase thy daughter; then thy
curse shall come to an end, and thou must marry thy daughter to the
man who bestows on thee that gift.'

"When Siva had said this, he disappeared, and I, that very Matangadeva,
assuming the name of Utpalahasta, fell among men of the lowest caste,
but I do not mix with them. However, my curse is now at an end, owing
to the favour of your son, so I give him my daughter Suratamanjarí. And
now I will go to my own dwelling-place among the Vidyádharas, in order
to pay my respects to the emperor Naraváhanadatta." When Matangadeva
had said this, he solemnly gave the prince his daughter, and flying
up into the air with his wife, repaired, king, to thy feet.

"And king Pálaka, having thus ascertained the truth, celebrated with
great delight the marriage of Suratamanjarí and his son. And his
son Avantivardhana, having obtained that Vidyádharí for a wife, felt
himself fortunate in having gained more than he had ever hoped for.

"Now, one day, that prince went to sleep on the top of the palace with
her and at the end of the night he woke up, and suddenly discovered
that his beloved was nowhere to be seen. He looked for her, but could
not find her anywhere, and then he lamented, and was so much afflicted
that his father the king came, and was exceedingly discomposed. We all,
being assembled there at that time, said, 'This city is well-guarded,
no stranger could enter it during the night; no doubt she must have
been carried off by some evilly disposed wanderer of the air;' and
even while we were saying that, your servant the Vidyádhara Dhúmasikha
descended from the sky. He brought here this prince Avantivardhana,
and king Pálaka also was asked to part with me, in order that I
might state the facts of the case. Here too is Suratamanjarí with
her father, and the facts concerning her are such as I have said:
your Majesty is the best judge of what ought to be done now."

When Bharataroha the minister of Pálaka had told this tale, he
stopped speaking; and the assessors put this question to Matangadeva
in the presence of Naraváhanadatta, "Tell us, to whom did you give
this daughter of yours Suratamanjarí?" He answered, "I gave her to
Avantivardhana." Then they put this question to Ityaka, "Now do you
tell us why you carried her off?" He answered, "Her mother promised her
to me originally." The assessors said to Ityaka, "While the father is
alive, what authority has the mother? Moreover, where is your witness
to prove the fact of the mother having promised her to you? So she
is with regard to you the wife of another, villain!" When Ityaka was
thus put to silence by the assessors, the emperor Naraváhanadatta,
being angry with him, ordered his immediate execution on the ground
of his misconduct. But the good hermits, with Kasyapa at their head,
came and entreated him, saying, "Forgive now this one fault of his:
for he is the son of Madanavega, and therefore your brother-in-law." So
the king was at last induced to spare his life, and let him off with
a severe reprimand.

And he reunited that son of his maternal uncle, Avantivardhana, to
his wife, and sent them off with their ministers to their own city,
in the care of Váyupatha.






CHAPTER CXIII.


When Naraváhanadatta on the Black Mountain had thus taken away
the virtuous Suratamanjarí from his brother-in-law Ityaka, who had
carried her off, and had reprimanded him, and had given her back to
her husband, and was sitting in the midst of the hermits, the sage
Kasyapa came and said to him, "There never was, king, and there never
will be an emperor like you, since you do not allow passion and other
feelings of the kind to influence your mind, when you are sitting
on the seat of judgment. Fortunate are they who ever behold such a
righteous lord as you are; for, though your empire is such as it is,
no fault can be found with you.

"There were in former days Rishabha and other emperors; and they,
being seized with various faults, were ruined and fell from their
high estate. Rishabha, and Sarvadamana, and the third Bandhujívaka,
all these, through excessive pride, were punished by Indra. And the
Vidyádhara prince Jímútaváhana, when the sage Nárada came and asked
him the reason of his obtaining the rank of emperor, told him how he
gave away the wishing-tree and his own body, [633] and thus he fell
from his high position by revealing his own virtuous deeds. And the
sovereign named Visvántara, who was emperor here, he too, when his son
Indívaráksha had been slain by Vasantatilaka, the king of Chedi, for
seducing his wife, being wanting in self-control, died on account of
the distracting sorrow which he felt for the death of his wicked son.

"But Tárávaloka alone, who was by birth a mighty human king, and
obtained by his virtuous deeds the imperial sovereignty over the
Vidyádharas, long enjoyed the high fortune of empire without falling
into sin, and at last abandoned it of his own accord, out of distaste
for all worldly pleasures, and went to the forest. Thus in old times
did most of the Vidyádhara emperors, puffed up with the attainment
of their high rank, abandon the right path, and fall, blinded with
passion. So you must always be on your guard against slipping from the
path of virtue, and you must take care that your Vidyádhara subjects
do not swerve from righteousness."

When the hermit Kasyapa said this to Naraváhanadatta, the latter
approved his speech, and said to him with deferential courtesy,
"How did Tárávaloka, being a man, obtain in old time the sway over the
Vidyádharas? Tell me, reverend Sir." When Kasyapa heard this, he said,
"Listen, I will tell you his story."



Story of Tárávaloka.

There lived among the Sivis [634] a king of the name of Chandrávaloka;
that sovereign had a head-wife named Chandralekhá. Her race was as
spotless as the sea of milk, she was pure herself, and in character
like the Ganges. And he had a great elephant that trampled the armies
of his enemies, known on the earth as Kuvalayapída. Owing to the
might of that elephant, the king was never conquered by any enemy in
his realm, in which the real power was in the hands of the subjects.

And when his youth came to an end, that king had a son, with auspicious
marks, born to him by his queen Chandralekhá. He gave the son the
name of Tárávaloka, and he gradually grew up, and his inborn virtues
of liberality, self-control, and discernment grew with him. And
the mighty-minded youth learnt the meaning of all words except one;
but he was so liberal to suppliants that he cannot be said ever to
have learnt the meaning of the word "No." Gradually he became old
in actions, though young in years; and though like the sun in fire
of valour, he was exceedingly pleasing to look at; [635] like the
full moon, he became beautiful by the possession of all noble parts;
like the god of Love, he excited the longing of the whole world;
in obedience to his father he came to surpass Jímútaváhana, and he
was distinctly marked with the signs of a great emperor.

Then his father, the king Chandrávaloka, brought for that son of his
the daughter of the king of the Madras, named Mádrí. And when he was
married, his father, pleased with the supereminence of his virtues,
at once appointed him Crown-prince. And when Tárávaloka had been
appointed Crown-prince, he had made, with his father's permission,
alms-houses for the distribution of food and other necessaries. And
every day, the moment he got up, he mounted the elephant Kuvalayapída,
and went round to inspect those alms-houses. [636] To whosoever
asked anything he was ready to give it, even if it were his own life:
in this way the fame of that Crown-prince spread in every quarter.

Then he had two twin sons born to him by Mádrí, and the father
called them Ráma and Lakshmana. And the boys grew like the love
and joy of their parents, and they were dearer than life to their
grandparents. And Tárávaloka and Mádrí were never tired of looking
at them, as they bent before them, being filled with virtue, like
two bows of the prince, being strung. [637]

Then the enemies of Tárávaloka, seeing his elephant Kuvalayapída, his
two sons, and his reputation for generosity, said to their Bráhmans,
"Go and ask Tárávaloka to give you his elephant Kuvalayapída. If
he gives it you, we shall be able to take from him his kingdom,
as he will be deprived of that bulwark; if he refuses to give it,
his reputation for generosity will be at an end." When the Bráhmans
had been thus entreated, they consented, and asked Tárávaloka, that
hero of generosity, for that elephant. Tárávaloka said to himself,
"What do Bráhmans mean by asking for a mighty elephant? So I know for
certain that they have been put up to asking me by some one. Happen
what will, I must give them my splendid elephant, for how can I let a
suppliant go away without obtaining his desire, while I live?" After
going through these reflections, Tárávaloka gave the elephant to
those Bráhmans with unwavering mind.

Then Chandrávaloka's subjects, seeing that splendid elephant being
led away by those Bráhmans, went in a rage to the king, and said,
"Your son has now abandoned this kingdom, and surrendering all
his rights has taken upon him the vow of a hermit. For observe,
he has given to some suppliants this great elephant Kuvalayapída,
the foundation of the kingdom's prosperity, that scatters with its
mere smell all other elephants. So you must either send your son
to the forest to practise asceticism, or take back the elephant,
or else we will set up another king in your place." [638]

When Chandrávaloka had been thus addressed by the citizens, he sent his
son a message in accordance with their demands through the warder. When
his son Tárávaloka heard that, he said, "As for the elephant, I have
given it away, and it is my principle to refuse nothing to suppliants;
but what do I care for such a throne as this, which is under the thumb
of the subjects, or for a royal dignity which does not benefit others,
[639] and anyhow is transient as the lightning? So it is better for
me to live in the forest, among trees which give the fortune of their
fruits to be enjoyed by all, and not here among such beasts of men as
these subjects are." [640] When Tárávaloka had said this, he assumed
the dress of bark, and after kissing the feet of his parents and
giving away all his wealth to suppliants, he went out from his own
city, accompanied by his wife, who was firm in the same resolution
as himself, and his two children, comforting, as well as he could,
the weeping Bráhmans. Even beasts and birds, when they saw him setting
forth, wept so piteously that the earth was bedewed with their rain
of tears.

Then Tárávaloka went on his way, with no possessions but a chariot and
horses for the conveyance of his children; but some other Bráhmans
asked him for the horses belonging to the chariot; he gave them to
them immediately, and drew the chariot himself, with the assistance
of his wife to convey those tender young sons to the forest. Then,
as he was wearied out in the middle of the forest, another Bráhman
came up to him, and asked him for his horseless chariot. He gave it to
him without the slightest hesitation, and the resolute fellow, going
along on his feet, with his wife and sons, at last with difficulty
reached the grove of mortification. There he took up his abode at
the foot of a tree, and lived with deer for his only retinue, nobly
waited on by his wife Mádrí. And the forest regions ministered to
the heroic prince, while living in this kingdom of devotion; their
clusters of flowers waving in the wind were his beautiful chowries,
broad-shaded trees were his umbrellas, leaves his bed, rocks his
thrones, bees his singing-women, and various fruits his savoury viands.

Now, one day, his wife Mádrí left the hermitage to gather fruits
and flowers for him with her own hands, and a certain old Bráhman
came and asked Tárávaloka, who was in his hut, for his sons Ráma and
Lakshmana. Tárávaloka said to himself, "I shall be better able to
endure letting these sons of mine, though they are quite infants, be
led away, [641] than I could possibly manage to endure the sending a
suppliant away disappointed: the fact is, cunning fate is eager to see
my resolution give way": then he gave those sons to the Bráhman. And
when the Bráhman tried to take them away, they refused to go; then
he tied their hands and beat them with creepers; and as the cruel man
took them away, they kept crying for their mother, and turning round
and looking at their father with tearful eyes. Even when Tárávaloka
saw that, he was unmoved, but the whole world of animate and inanimate
existences was moved at his fortitude.

Then the virtuous Mádrí slowly returned tired from a remote part of the
forest to her husband's hermitage, bringing with her flowers, fruits
and roots. And she saw her husband, who had his face sadly fixed
on the ground, but she could not see anywhere those sons of hers,
though their toys, in the form of horses, chariots, and elephants
of clay, were scattered about. Her heart foreboded calamity, and she
said excitedly to her husband "Alas! I am ruined! Where are my little
sons?" Her husband slowly answered her, "Blameless one, I gave those
two little sons away to a poor Bráhman, who asked for them." When
the good lady heard that, she rose superior to her distraction,
and said to her husband, "Then you did well: how could you allow a
suppliant to go away disappointed?" When she said this, the equally
matched goodness of that married couple made the earth tremble,
and the throne of Indra rock.

Then Indra saw by his profound meditation that the world was
made to tremble by virtue of the heroic generosity of Mádrí and
Tárávaloka. Then he assumed the form of a Bráhman, and went to
Tárávaloka's hermitage, to prove him, and asked him for his only
wife Mádrí. And Tárávaloka was preparing to give without hesitation,
by the ceremony of pouring water over the hands, [642] that lady who
had been his companion in the wild forest, when Indra, thus disguised
as a Bráhman, said to him, "Royal sage, what object do you mean
to attain by giving away a wife like this?" Then Tárávaloka said,
"I have no object in view, Bráhman; so much only do I desire, that I
may ever give away to Bráhmans even my life." When Indra heard this,
he resumed his proper shape, and said to him, "I have made proof of
thee, and I am satisfied with thee; so I say to thee, thou must not
again give away thy wife; and soon thou shalt be made emperor over
all the Vidyádharas." When the god had said this, he disappeared.

In the meanwhile that old Bráhman took with him those sons of
Tárávaloka, whom he had received as a Bráhman's fee, and losing
his way, arrived, as Fate would have it, at the city of that
king Chandrávaloka, and proceeded to sell those princes in the
market. Then the citizens recognised those two boys, and went and
informed king Chandrávaloka, and took them with the Bráhman into his
presence. The king, when he saw his grandsons, shed tears, and after
he had questioned the Bráhman, and had heard the state of the case
from him, he was for a long time divided between joy and grief. Then,
perceiving the exceeding virtue of his son, he at once ceased to
care about a kingdom, though his subjects entreated him to remain,
but with his wealth he bought those two grandsons from the Bráhman,
and taking them with him, went with his retinue to the hermitage of
his son Tárávaloka.

There he saw him with matted hair, wearing a dress of bark, looking
like a great tree, the advantages of which are enjoyed by birds coming
from every quarter, for he in like manner had bestowed all he had
upon expectant Bráhmans. [643] That son ran towards him, while still
a long way off, and fell at his feet, and his father bedewed him with
tears, and took him up on his lap; and thus gave him a foretaste of
his ascent of the throne, as emperor over the Vidyádharas, after the
solemn sprinkling with water.

Then the king gave back to Tárávaloka his sons Ráma and Lakshmana,
saying that he had purchased them, and while they were relating to one
another their adventures, an elephant with four tusks and the goddess
Lakshmí descended from heaven. And when the chiefs of the Vidyádharas
had also descended, Lakshmí, lotus in hand, said to that Tárávaloka,
"Mount this elephant, and come to the country of the Vidyádharas,
and there enjoy the imperial dignity [644] earned by your great
generosity."

When Lakshmí said this, Tárávaloka, after bowing at the feet of his
father, mounted that celestial elephant, with her, and his wife,
and his sons, in the sight of all the inhabitants of the hermitage,
and surrounded by the kings of the Vidyádharas went through the air
to their domain. There the distinctive sciences of the Vidyádharas
repaired to him, and he long enjoyed supreme sway, but at last
becoming disgusted with all worldly pleasures, he retired to a forest
of ascetics.

"Thus Tárávaloka, though a man, acquired in old time by his deeds of
spotless virtue the sovereignty of all the Vidyádharas. But others,
after acquiring it, lost it by their offences: so be on your guard
against unrighteous conduct either on your own part or on that of
another." [645]

When the hermit Kasyapa had told this story, and had thus admonished
Naraváhanadatta, that emperor promised to follow his advice. And
he had a royal proclamation made all round the mountain of Siva, to
the following effect, "Listen, Vidyádharas; whoever of my subjects
after this commits an unrighteous act, will certainly be put to
death by me." The Vidyádharas received his commands with implicit
submission, and his glory was widely diffused on account of his causing
Suratamanjarí to be set at liberty; and so he lived with his retinue
in the hermitage of that excellent sage, on the Black Mountain, [646]
in the society of his maternal uncle, and in this manner spent the
rainy season.







BOOK XVII.


CHAPTER CXIV.


Glory to Siva, who assumes various forms; who, though his beloved
takes up half his body, [647] is an ascetic, free from qualities,
the due object of a world's adoration! We worship Ganesa, who, when
fanning away the cloud of bees, that flies up from his trunk, with
his flapping ears, seems to be dispersing the host of obstacles.



Thus Naraváhanadatta, who had been established in the position of
lord paramount over all the kings of the Vidyádharas, remained on that
Black Mountain in order to get through the rainy season, spending the
time in the hermitage of that sage Kasyapa, and in the society of his
maternal uncle Gopálaka, who was living the life of an ascetic. He
was accompanied by his ministers, and surrounded by twenty-five of
his wives, and attended by various Vidyádhara princes, and he occupied
himself in telling tales. One day, the hermits and his wives said to
him, "Tell us now! When Mánasavega took away queen Madanamanchuká by
his magic power, who amused you impatient of separation, and how did
he do it?"

When Naraváhanadatta had been asked this question by those hermits
and by his wives, he proceeded to speak as follows; "Can I tell now
how great grief I endured, when I found out that that wicked enemy
had carried off my queen? There was no building, and no garden,
or room, into which I did not roam seeking for her in my grief,
and all my ministers with me. Then I sat down, as if beside myself,
in a garden at the foot of a tree, and Gomukha, having obtained
his opportunity, said to me, in order to console me, 'Do not be
despondent, my sovereign; you will soon recover the queen; for the
gods promised that you should rule the Vidyádharas with her as your
consort; that must turn out as the gods predicted, for their promises
are never falsified; and resolute men, after enduring separation,
obtain reunion with those they love. Were not Rámabhadra, king Nala,
and your own grandfather, [648] after enduring separation, reunited
to their beloved wives? And was not Muktáphalaketu, emperor of the
Vidyádharas, reunited to Padmávatí, after he had been separated
from her? And now listen, king; I will tell you the story of that
couple.' When Gomukha had said this, he told me the following tale."



Story of king Brahmadatta and the Swans. [649]

There is in this country a city famous over the earth by the name of
Váránasí, which, like the body of Siva, is adorned with the Ganges, and
bestows emancipation. With the flags on its temples swayed up and down
by the wind, it seems to be ever saying to men "Come hither, and attain
salvation." With the pinnacles of its white palaces it looks like the
plateau of mount Kailása, the habitation of the god with the moon for
a diadem, and it is full of troops of Siva's devoted servants. [650]

In that city there lived of old time a king named Brahmadatta, [651]
exclusively devoted to Siva, a patron of Bráhmans, brave, generous,
and compassionate. His commands passed current through the earth,
they stumbled not in rocky defiles, they were not whelmed in seas,
there were no continents which they did not cross. He had a queen named
Somaprabhá, [652] who was dear and delightful to him as the moonlight
to the chakora, and he was as eager to drink her in with his eyes. And
he had a Bráhman minister named Sivabhúti, equal to Vrihaspati in
intellect, who had fathomed the meaning of all the Sástras.

One night, that king, as he was lying on a bed on the top of a palace
exposed to the rays of the moon, saw a couple of swans crossing
through the air, with bodies of gleaming gold, looking like two
golden lotuses opened in the water of the heavenly Ganges, [653]
and attended by a train of king-geese. When that wonderful pair had
passed from his eyes, the king was for a long time afflicted, and his
mind was full of regret at no longer enjoying that sight. He passed
that night without sleeping, and next morning he told his minister
Sivabhúti what he had seen, and said to him, "So, if I cannot feast
my eyes on those golden swans to my heart's content, of what profit
to me is my kingdom or my life?"

When the king said this to his minister Sivabhúti, he answered him,
"Do not be anxious; there is a means of bringing about what you
desire; listen, king; I will tell you what it is. Owing to the various
influence of actions in a previous birth, various is this infinite
host of sentient beings produced by the Creator in this versatile
world. This world is really fraught with woe, but owing to delusion
there arises in creatures the fancy that happiness is to be found in
it, and they take pleasure in house, and food, and drink, and so become
attached to it. And Providence has appointed that different kinds of
food, drink, and dwellings, should be agreeable to different creatures,
according to the classes to which they respectively belong. So have
made, king, a great lake to be the dwelling-place of these swans,
covered with various kinds of lotuses, and watched by guards, where
they will be free from molestation. And keep always scattering on the
bank food of the kind that birds love, in order that water-birds may
quickly come there from various quarters. Among them these two golden
swans will certainly come; and then you will be able to gaze on them
continually: do not be despondent."

When king Brahmadatta's minister said this to him, he had that
great lake made according to his directions, and it was ready in a
moment. The lake was frequented by swans, sárasas and chakravákas,
[654] and after a time that couple of swans came there, and settled
down on a clump of lotuses in it. Then the guards set to watch the
lake came and informed the king of that fact, and he went down to
the lake in a state of great delight, considering that his object had
been accomplished. And he beheld those golden swans, and worshipped
them from a distance, and ministered to their comfort by scattering
for them grains of rice dipped in milk. And the king took so much
interest in them that he spent his whole time on the bank of that
lake watching those swans with their bodies of pure gold, their eyes
of pearl, their beaks and feet of coral, and the tips of their wings
of emerald, [655] which had come there in perfect confidence.

Now, one day, as the king was roaming along the bank of the lake, he
saw in one place a pious offering made with unfading flowers. And he
said to the guards there, "Who made this offering?" Then the guards
of the lake said to the king, "Every day, at dawn, noon, and sunset,
these golden swans bathe in the lake, and make these offerings,
and stand absorbed in contemplation: so we cannot say, king, what is
the meaning of this great wonder." When the king heard this from the
guards, he said to himself, "Such a proceeding is quite inconsistent
with the nature of swans; surely there must be a reason for this. So,
I will perform asceticism until I find out who these swans are." Then
the king and his wife and his minister gave up food, and remained
performing penance and absorbed in meditation on Siva. And after the
king had fasted for twelve days, the two heavenly swans came to him,
and said to him in a dream with articulate voice, "Rise up, king;
to-morrow we will tell you and your wife and minister, after you have
broken your fast, the whole truth of the matter in private." When the
swans had said this, they disappeared, and next morning the king and
his wife and his minister, as soon as they awoke, rose up, and broke
their fast. And after they had eaten, the two swans came to them,
as they were sitting in a pleasure-pavilion near the water. The
king received them with respect, and said to them, "Tell me who you
are." Then they proceeded to tell him their history.



How Párvatí condemned her five attendants to be reborn on earth.

There is a monarch of mountains famous on the earth under the name
of Mandara, in whose groves of gleaming jewels all the gods roam, on
whose table-lands, watered with nectar from the churned sea of milk,
are to be found flowers, fruits, roots, and water, that are antidotes
to old age and death. Its highest peaks, composed of various precious
stones, form the pleasure-grounds of Siva, and he loves it more than
mount Kailása.

There, one day, that god left Párvatí, after he had been diverting
himself with her, and disappeared, to execute some business for
the gods. Then the goddess, afflicted by his absence, roamed in the
various places where he loved to amuse himself, and the other gods
did their best to console her.

And one day the goddess was much troubled by the advent of spring,
and she was sitting surrounded by the Ganas at the foot of a tree,
thinking about her beloved, when a noble Gana, named Manipushpesvara,
looked lovingly at a young maiden, the daughter of Jayá, called
Chandralekhá, who was waving a chowrie over the goddess. He was a
match for her in youth and beauty, and she met his glance with a
responsive look of love, as he stood by her side. Two other Ganas,
named Pingesvara and Guhesvara, when they saw that, interchanged
glances, and a smile passed over their faces. And when the goddess
saw them smiling, she was angry in her heart, and she cast her eyes
hither and thither, to see what they were laughing at in this unseemly
manner. And then she saw that Chandralekhá and Manipushpesvara were
looking lovingly in one another's faces.

Then the goddess, who was quite distracted with the sorrow of
separation, was angry, and said, "These young people have done well
to look lovingly [656] at one another in the absence of the god,
and these two mirthful people have done well to laugh when they
saw their glances: so let this lover and maiden, who are blinded
with passion, fall into a human birth; and there the disrespectful
pair shall be man and wife; but these unseasonable laughers shall
endure many miseries on the earth; they shall be first poor Bráhmans,
and then [657] Bráhman-Rákshasas, and then Pisáchas, and after that
Chandálas, and then robbers, and then bob-tailed dogs, and then they
shall be various kinds of birds,--shall these Ganas who offended by
laughing; for their minds were unclouded, when they were guilty of
this disrespectful conduct.

When the goddess had uttered this command, a Gana of the name of
Dhúrjata said, "Goddess, this is very unjust; these excellent Ganas
do not deserve so severe a curse, for a very small offence." When the
goddess heard that, she said in her wrath to Dhúrjata also, "Fall thou
also, great sir, that knowest not thy place, into a mortal womb." When
the goddess had inflicted these tremendous curses, the female warder
Jayá, the mother of Chandralekhá, clung to her feet, and addressed
this petition to her, "Withdraw thy anger, goddess; appoint an end to
the curse of this daughter of mine, and of these thy own servants,
that have through ignorance committed sin." When Párvatí had been
thus entreated by her warder Jayá, she said, "When all these, owing to
their having obtained insight, shall in course of time meet together,
they shall, after visiting Siva the lord of magic powers, in the place
[658] where Brahmá and the other gods performed asceticism, return to
our court, having been freed from their curse. And this Chandralekhá,
and her beloved, and that Dhúrjata shall, all three of them, be happy
in their life as mortals, but these two shall be miserable."

When the goddess had said this, she ceased; and at that very moment
the Asura Andhaka came there, having heard of the absence of Siva. The
presumptuous Asura hoped to win the goddess, but having been reproached
by her attendants he departed, but he was slain on that account by the
god, who discovered the reason of his coming, and pursued him. [659]
Then Siva returned home having accomplished his object, and Párvatí
delighted told him of the coming of Andhaka, and the god said to her,
"I have to-day slain a former mind-born son of thine, named Andhaka,
and he shall now be a Bhringin here, as nothing remains of him but
skin and bone." When Siva had said this, he remained there diverting
himself with the goddess, and Manipushpesvara and the other five
descended to earth.

"Now, king, hear the long and strange story of these two, Pingesvara
and Guhesvara."



Story of the metamorphoses of Pingesvara and Guhesvara.

There is on the earth a royal grant to Bráhmans, named Yajnasthala. In
it there lived a rich [660] and virtuous Bráhman named Yajnasoma. In
his middle age he had two sons born to him; the name of the elder
was Harisoma and of the younger Devasoma. They passed through the age
of childhood, and were invested with the sacred thread, and then the
Bráhman their father lost his wealth, and he and his wife died.

Then those two wretched sons, bereaved of their father, and without
subsistence, having had their grant taken from them by their relations,
said to one another, "We are now reduced to living on alms, but we
get no alms here. So we had better go to the house of our maternal
grandfather, though it is far off. Though we have come down in
the world, who on earth would welcome us, if we arrive of our own
accord. Nevertheless let us go. What else indeed are we to do, for
we have no other resource?"

After deliberating to this effect they went, begging their way, by
slow stages, to that royal grant, where the house of their grandfather
was. There the unfortunate young men found out, by questioning people,
that their grandfather, whose name was Somadeva, was dead, and his
wife also.

Then, begrimed with dust, they entered despairing the house of
their maternal uncles named Yajnadeva and Kratudeva. There those
good Bráhmans welcomed them kindly, and gave them food and clothing,
and they remained engaged in study. But in course of time the wealth
of their maternal uncles diminished, and they could keep no servants,
and then they came and said to those nephews in the most affectionate
way, "Dear boys, we can no longer afford to keep a man to look after
our cattle, as we have become poor, so do you look after our cattle
for us." When Harisoma and Devasoma's uncles said this to them, their
throats were full of tears, but they agreed to their proposal. Then
they took the cattle to the forest every day, and looked after them
there, and at evening they returned home with them, wearied out.

Then, as they went on looking after the cattle, owing to their falling
asleep in the day, some animals were stolen, and others were eaten by
tigers. That made their uncles very unhappy: and one day a cow and goat
intended for sacrifice, belonging to their uncles, both disappeared
somewhere or other. Terrified at that, they took the other animals
home before the right time, and running off in search of the two that
were missing, they entered a distant forest. There they saw their goat
half eaten by a tiger, and after lamenting, being quite despondent,
they said, "Our uncles were keeping this goat for a sacrifice, and
now that it is destroyed, their anger will be something tremendous. So
let us dress its flesh with fire, and eat enough of it to put an end
to our hunger, and then let us take the rest, and go off somewhere
and support ourselves by begging."

After these reflections they proceeded to roast the goat, and while
they were so engaged, their two uncles arrived, who had been running
after them, and saw them cooking the goat. When they saw their
uncles in the distance, they were terrified, and they rose up in
great trepidation, and fled from the spot. And those two uncles in
their wrath pronounced [661] on them the following curse, "Since,
in your longing for flesh, you have done a deed worthy of Rákshasas,
you shall become flesh-eating Bráhman-Rakshasas." And immediately
those two young Bráhmans became Brahman-Rákshasas, having mouths
formidable with tusks, flaming hair, and insatiable hunger; and they
wandered about in the forest catching animals and eating them.

But one day they rushed upon an ascetic, who possessed supernatural
power, to slay him, and he in self-defence cursed them, and they became
Pisáchas. And in their condition as Pisáchas, they were carrying off
the cow of a Bráhman, to kill it, but they were overpowered by his
spells, and reduced by his curse to the condition of Chandálas.

One day, as they were roaming about in their condition as Chandálas,
bow in hand, tormented with hunger, they reached, in their search for
food, a village of bandits. The warders of the village, supposing
them to be thieves, arrested them both, as soon as they saw them,
and cut off their ears and noses. And they bound them, and beat
them with sticks, and brought them in this condition before the
chiefs of the bandits. There they were questioned by the chiefs,
and being bewildered with fear, and tormented with hunger and pain,
[662] they related their history to them. Then the chiefs of the gang,
moved by pity, set them at liberty, and said to them, "Remain here
and take food; do not be terrified. You have arrived here on the
eighth day of the month, the day on which we worship Kártikeya, and
so you are our guests; and should have a share in our feast." [663]
"When the bandits had said this, they worshipped the goddess Durgá,
and made the two Chandálas eat in their presence, [664] and having,
as it happened, taken a fancy to them, they would not let them out
of their sight. Then they lived with those bandits by robbing, and
thanks to their courage, became eventually the chiefs of the gang.

And one night those chiefs marched with their followers to plunder a
large town, a favourite abode of Siva, which some of their spies had
selected for attack. Though they saw an evil omen, they did not turn
back, and they reached and plundered the whole city and the temple
of the god. Then the inhabitants cried to the god for protection,
and Siva in his wrath bewildered the bandits by making them blind. And
the citizens suddenly perceiving that, and thinking that it was due to
the favour of Siva, assembled and smote those bandits with sticks and
stones. And Ganas, moving about invisibly, flung some of the bandits
into ravines, and dashed others to pieces against the ground.

And the people, seeing the two leaders, were about to put them to
death, but they immediately turned into bob-tailed dogs. And in this
transformation they suddenly remembered their former birth, and danced
in front of Siva, and fled to him for protection. When the citizens,
Bráhmans, merchants, and all, saw that, they were delighted at being
free from fear of robbers, and went laughing to their houses. And
then the delusion, that had possessed those two beings now turned
into dogs, disappeared, and they awoke to reality, and in order to
put an end to their curse, they fasted, and appealed to Siva by severe
asceticism. And the next morning, the citizens, making high festival
and worshipping Siva, beheld those dogs absorbed in contemplation,
and though they offered them food, the creatures would not touch it.

And the two dogs remained in this state for several days, beheld by
all the world, and then Siva's Ganas preferred this prayer to him,
"O god, these two Ganas, Pingesvara and Guhesvara, who were cursed
by the goddess, have been afflicted for a long time, so take pity on
them." When the holy god heard that, he said, "Let these two Ganas be
delivered from their canine condition and became crows!" Then they
became crows, and broke their fast upon the rice of the offering,
and lived happily, remembering their former state, exclusively devoted
to Siva.

After some time, Siva having been satisfied by their devotion to
him, they became by his command first vultures, and then peacocks;
then those noble Ganas, in course of time, became swans; and in that
condition also they strove with the utmost devotion to propitiate
Siva. And at last they gained the favour of that god by bathing
in sacred waters, by performing vows, by meditations, and acts of
worship, and they became all composed of gold and jewels, and attained
supernatural insight.

"Know that we are those very two, Pingesvara and Guhesvara, who by
the curse of Párvatí endured a succession of woes, and have now become
swans. But the Gana Manipushpesvara, who was in love with the daughter
of Jayá, and was cursed by the goddess, has become a king upon earth,
even yourself, Brahmadatta. And that daughter of Jayá has been born
as this lady, your wife Somaprabhá; and that Dhúrjata has been born
as this your minister Sivabhúti. And therefore we, having attained
insight, and remembering the end of the curse appointed by Párvatí,
appeared to you at night. By means of that artifice we have all
been re-united here to-day; and we will bestow on you the perfection
of insight.

"Come, let us go to that holy place of Siva on the Tridasa mountain,
rightly named Siddhísvara, [665] where the gods performed asceticism in
order to bring about the destruction of the Asura Vidyuddhvaja. And
they slew that Asura in fight, with the help of Muktáphalaketu,
the head of all the Vidyádhara princes, who had been obtained by
the favour of Siva. And that Muktáphalaketu, having passed through
the state of humanity brought upon him by a curse, obtained reunion
with Padmávatí by the favour of the same god. Let us go to that holy
place, which has such splendid associations connected with it, and
there propitiate Siva, and then we will return to our own home, for
such was the end of the curse appointed to all of us by the goddess,
to take place at the same time." When the two heavenly swans said
this to king Brahmadatta, he was at once excited with curiosity to
hear the tale of Muktáphalaketu.






CHAPTER CXV.


Then king Brahmadatta said to those celestial swans, "How did
Muktáphalaketu kill that Vidyuddhvaja? And how did he pass through
the state of humanity inflicted on him by a curse, and regain
Padmávatí? Tell me this first, and afterwards you shall carry out
your intentions." When those [666] birds heard this, they began to
relate the story of Muktáphalaketu as follows.



Story of Muktáphalaketu and Padmávatí.

Once on a time there was a king of the Daityas named Vidyutprabhá,
hard for gods to conquer. He, desiring a son, went to the bank of the
Ganges, and with his wife performed asceticism for a hundred years
to propitiate Brahmá. And by the favour of Brahmá, who was pleased
with his asceticism, that enemy of the gods obtained a son named
Vidyuddhvaja, who was invulnerable at their hands.

That son of the king of the Daityas, even when a child, was of great
valour; and one day seeing that their town was guarded on all sides by
troops, he said to one of his companions, "Tell me, my friend, what
have we to be afraid of, that this town is thus guarded on all sides
by troops?" Then his companion said to him, "We have an adversary in
Indra the king of the gods; and it is on his account that this system
of guarding the town is kept up. Ten hundred thousand elephants,
and fourteen hundred thousand chariots, and thirty hundred thousand
horsemen, and a hundred millions of footmen guard the city in turn
for one watch of the night, and the turn of guarding comes round for
every division in seven years."

When Vidyuddhvaja heard this, he said, "Out on such a throne, that
is guarded by the arms of others, and not by its own might! However,
I will perform such severe asceticism, as will enable me to conquer
my enemy with my own arm, and put an end to all this insolence of
his." When Vidyuddhvaja had said this, he put aside that companion
of his, who tried to prevent him, and without telling his parents,
went to the forest to perform penance.

But his parents heard of it, and in their affection for their child,
they followed him, and said to him, "Do not act rashly, son; severe
asceticism ill befits a child like you. Our throne has been victorious
over its enemies; is there one more powerful in the whole world? What
do you desire to get by withering yourself in vain? Why do you afflict
us?" When Vidyuddhvaja's parents said this to him, he answered them,
"I will acquire, even in my childhood, heavenly arms by the force
of asceticism; as for our empire over the world being unopposed by
enemies, do I not know so much from the fact that our city is guarded
by troops ever ready in their harness?"

When the Asura Vidyuddhvaja, firm in his resolution, had said so much
to his parents, and had sent them away, he performed asceticism to win
over Brahmá. He continued for a period of three hundred years living
on fruits only, and successively for similar periods living on water,
air, and nothing at all. Then Brahmá, seeing that his asceticism was
becoming capable of upsetting the system of the world, came to him,
and at his request gave him the weapons of Brahmá. He said, "This
weapon of Brahmá cannot be repelled by any weapon except the weapon
of Pasupati Rudra, which is unattainable by me. So, if you desire
victory, you must not employ it unseasonably." When Brahmá had said
this, he went away, and that Daitya went home.

Then Vidyuddhvaja marched out to conquer his enemies with his father,
and with all his forces, who came together to that great feast of
war. Indra, the ruler of the gods' world, heard of his coming, and
kept guard in heaven, and when he drew near, marched out to meet
him, eager for battle, accompanied by his friend Chandraketu, the
king of the Vidyádharas, and by the supreme lord of the Gandharvas,
named Padmasekhara. Then Vidyuddhvaja appeared, hiding the heaven
with his forces, and Rudra and others came there to behold that
battle. Then there took place between those two armies a battle,
which was involved in darkness [667] by the sun's being eclipsed with
the clashing together of missiles; and the sea of war swelled high,
lashed by the wind of wrath, with hundreds of chariots for inflowing
streams, and rolling horses and elephants for marine monsters.

Then single combats took place between the gods and Asuras, and
Vidyutprabhá, the father of Vidyuddhvaja, rushed in wrath upon
Indra. Indra found himself being gradually worsted by the Daitya in
the interchange of missiles; so he flung his thunderbolt at him. And
then that Daitya, smitten by the thunderbolt, fell dead. And that
enraged Vidyuddhvaja so that he attacked Indra. And, though his life
was not in danger, he began by discharging at him the weapon of Brahmá;
and other great Asuras struck at him with other weapons. Then Indra
called to mind the weapon of Pasupati, presided over by Siva himself,
which immediately presented itself in front of him; he worshipped
it, and discharged it among his foes. That weapon, which was of the
nature of a destroying fire, consumed the army of the Asuras; but
Vidyuddhvaja, being a child, only fell senseless when smitten by it;
for that weapon does not harm children, old men, or fugitives. Then
all the gods returned home victorious.

And Vidyuddhvaja, for his part, who had fallen senseless, recovered
his senses after a very long time, and fled weeping, and then said to
the rest of his soldiers, who had assembled; "In spite of my having
acquired the weapon of Brahmá, we were not victorious to-day, though
victory was in our grasp; on the contrary we were defeated. So I will
go and attack Indra, and lose my life in battle. Now that my father
is slain, I shall not be able to return to my own city." When he
said this, an old minister of his father's said to him, "The weapon
of Brahmá, discharged unseasonably, is too languid to contend with
other weapons discharged, for that great weapon was to-day overcome
by the weapon of Siva, which will not brook the presence of others. So
you ought not unseasonably to challenge your victorious enemy, for in
this way you will strengthen him and destroy yourself. The calm and
resolute man preserves his own life, and in due time regains might,
and takes revenge on his enemy, and so wins a reputation esteemed by
the whole world."

When that old minister said this to Vidyuddhvaja, he said to him,
"Then go you and take care of my kingdom, but I will go and propitiate
that supreme lord Siva."

When he had said this, he dismissed his followers, though they were
loth to leave him, and he went with five young Daityas, companions
of equal age, and performed asceticism on the bank of the Ganges, at
the foot of mount Kailása. During the summer he stood in the midst
of five fires, and during the winter in the water, meditating on
Siva; and for a thousand years he lived on fruits only. For a second
thousand years he ate only roots, for a third he subsisted on water,
for a fourth on air, and during the fifth he took no food at all.

Brahmá once more came to grant him a boon, but he did not shew him
any respect: on the contrary he said, "Depart, I have tested the
efficiency of thy boon." And he remained fasting for another period
of equal duration, and then a great volume of smoke rose up from
his head; and Siva manifested himself to him, and said to him,
"Choose a boon." When thus addressed, that Daitya said to him,
"May I, Lord, by thy favour slay Indra in fight!" The god answered,
"Rise up! There is no distinction between the slain [668] and the
conquered; so thou shalt conquer Indra and dwell in his heaven."

When the god had said this, he disappeared, and Vidyuddhvaja,
considering that the wish of his heart was attained, broke his fast,
and went to his city. There he was welcomed by the citizens, and
met by that minister of his father's, who had endured suffering
for his sake, and who now made great rejoicing. He then summoned
the armies of the Asuras, and made preparation for battle, and sent
an ambassador to Indra to warn him to hold himself in readiness for
fight. And he marched out, hiding with his banners the sky, which he
clove with the thunderous roar of his host, and so he seemed to be
fulfilling the wish [669] of the inhabitants of heaven. And Indra,
for his part, knowing that he had returned from winning a boon,
was troubled, but after taking counsel with the adviser of the gods,
[670] he summoned his forces.

Then Vidyuddhvaja arrived, and there took place between those two
armies a great battle, in which it was difficult to distinguish
between friend and foe. Those Daityas, who were headed by Subáhu,
fought with the wind-gods, and Pingáksha and his followers with the
gods of wealth, and Mahámáya and his forces with the gods of fire,
and Ayahkáya and his hosts with the sun-gods, and Akampana and
his warriors with the Siddhas; some other Daityas fought with the
Vidyádharas, and the rest with the Gandharvas and their allies. So
a great battle continued between them for twenty days, and on the
twenty-first day the gods were routed in fight by the Asuras.

And when routed, they fled, and entered heaven: and then Indra himself
issued, mounted on Airávana. And the forces of the gods rallied round
him, and marched out again, with the leaders of the Vidyádharas, headed
by Chandraketu. Then a desperate fight took place, and Asuras and gods
[671] were being slain in great numbers, when Vidyuddhvaja attacked
Indra, to revenge the slaughter of his father. The king of the gods
cleft over and over again the bow of that chief of the Asuras, who
kept repelling his shafts with answering shafts. Then Vidyuddhvaja,
elated with the boon of Siva, seized his mace, and rushed furiously
on Indra. He leapt up, planting his feet on the tusks of Airávana,
and climbed up on his forehead, and killed his driver. And he gave the
king of the gods a blow with his mace, and he quickly returned it with
a similar weapon. But when Vidyuddhvaja struck him a second time with
his mace, Indra fell senseless on to the chariot of the Wind-god. And
the Wind-god carried him away in his chariot out of the fight with
the speed of thought; and Vidyuddhvaja, who sprang after him, [672]
fell on the ground.

At that moment a voice came from the air, "This is an evil day, so
carry Indra quickly out of the fight." Then the Wind-god carried off
Indra at the utmost speed of his chariot, and Vidyuddhvaja pursued
them, mounted on his; and in the meanwhile Airávanah, infuriated and
unrestrained by the driver's hook, ran after Indra, trampling and
scattering the forces. And the army of the gods left the field of
battle and followed Indra; and Brihaspati carried off his wife Sachí,
who was much alarmed, to the heaven of Brahmá. Then Vidyuddhvaja,
having gained the victory, and having found Amarávatí empty, entered
it, accompanied by his shouting troops.

And Indra, having recovered consciousness, and seeing that it was an
evil time, entered that heaven of Brahmá with all the gods. And Brahmá
comforted him, saying, "Do not grieve; at present this boon of Siva
is predominant; but you will recover your position." And he gave him,
to dwell in, a place of his own, furnished with all delights, named
Samádhisthala, situated in a region of the world of Brahmá. There the
king of the gods dwelt, accompanied by Sachí and Airávana: and by his
orders the Vidyádhara kings went to the heaven of the Wind-god. And
the lords of the Gandharvas went to the inviolable world of the
moon; and others went to other worlds, abandoning severally their
own dwellings. And Vidyuddhvaja, having taken possession of the
territory of the gods with beat of drum, enjoyed sway over heaven,
[673] as an unlimited monarch.

At this point of the story, Chandraketu the Vidyádhara king, having
remained long in the world of the Wind-god, said to himself, "How long
am I to remain here, fallen from my high rank? The asceticism of my
enemy Vidyuddhvaja has not even now spent its force; but I have heard
that my friend Padmasekhara, the king of the Gandharvas, has gone from
the world of the Moon to the city of Siva to perform asceticism. I
do not know as yet, whether Siva has bestowed a boon on him, or not;
when I have discovered that, I shall know what I myself ought to do."

While he was going through these reflections, his friend, the king of
the Gandharvas, came towards him, having obtained a boon. That king of
the Gandharvas, having been welcomed with an embrace by Chandraketu,
and questioned, [674] told him his story, "I went to the city of
Siva and propitiated Siva with asceticism; and he said to me, 'Go,
thou shalt have a noble son; and thou shalt recover thy kingdom,
and obtain a daughter of transcendent beauty, whose husband shall
be the heroic slayer of Vidyuddhvaja.' [675] Having received this
promise from Siva, I have come here to tell you."

When Chandraketu had heard this from the king of the Gandharvas he
said, "I too must go and propitiate Siva in order to put an end to this
sorrow; without propitiating him we cannot obtain the fulfilment of our
desires. "When Chandraketu had formed this resolution, he went with his
wife Muktávalí to the heavenly abode of Siva, to perform asceticism.

And Padmasekbara told the story of his boon to Indra, and having
conceived a hope of the destruction of his enemy, went to the world
of the moon. Then that king of the gods in Samádhisthala, having also
conceived a hope of the destruction of his enemy, called to mind the
counsellor of the immortals. And he appeared as soon as he was thought
upon, and the god, bowing before him, and honouring him, said to him,
"Siva, pleased with the asceticism of Padmasekhara, has promised
that he shall have a son-in-law who shall slay Vidyuddhvaja. So we
shall eventually see an end put to his crimes; in the meanwhile I am
despondent, dwelling here in misery on account of my having fallen
from my high position. So devise, holy sir, some expedient that will
operate quickly." When the adviser of the gods heard this speech of
Indra's, he said to him; "It is true that that enemy of ours has nearly
exhausted his asceticism by his crimes; so now we have an opportunity
of exerting ourselves against him. Come, then; let us tell Brahmá;
he will point out to us an expedient."

When Brihaspati had said this to Indra, he went with him to Brahmá,
and after worshipping him, he told him what was in his mind. Then
Brahmá said, "Am I not also anxious to bring about the same end? But
Siva alone can remove the calamity that he has caused. And that god
requires a long propitiation: [676] so let us go to Vishnu, who is
like-minded with him; he will devise an expedient."

When Brahmá and Indra and Brihaspati had deliberated together to this
effect, they ascended a chariot of swans, and went to Svetadvípa;
[677] where all the inhabitants carried the conch, discus, lotus, and
club, and had four arms, being assimilated to Vishnu in appearance as
they were devoted to him in heart. There they saw the god in a palace
composed of splendid jewels, reposing on the serpent Sesha, having his
feet adored by Lakshmí. After bowing before him, and having been duly
welcomed by him, and venerated by the divine sages, they took the seats
befitting them. When the holy one asked the gods how they prospered,
they humbly said to him, "What prosperity can be ours, O god, as long
as Vidyuddhvaja is alive? For you know all that he has done to us,
and it is on his account that we have come here now: it now rests
with you to determine what further is to be done in this matter."

When the gods said this to Vishnu, he answered them, "Why, do I not
know that my regulations are broken by that Asura? But what the great
lord, the slayer of Tripura has done, he alone can undo: I cannot. And
from him must proceed the overthrow of that wicked Daitya. You must
make haste, provided I tell you an expedient; and I will tell you one;
listen! There is a heavenly abode of Siva, named Siddhísvara. There the
god Siva is found ever manifest. And long ago that very god manifested
to me and Prajápati [678] his form as the flame-linga, and told me
this secret. So come, let us go there and entreat him with asceticism:
he will put an end to this affliction of the worlds." When the god
Vishnu had uttered this behest, they all went to Siddhísvara by means
of two conveyances, the bird Garuda and the chariot of swans. That
place is untouched by the calamities of old age, death, and sickness,
and it is the home of unalloyed happiness, and in it beasts, birds,
and trees are all of gold. There they worshipped the linga of Siva,
that exhibits in succession all his forms, [679] and is in succession
of various jewels; and then Vishnu, Brahmá, Indra, and Brihaspati,
all four, with their minds devoted to Siva, proceeded to perform a
severe course of asceticism in order to propitiate him.

And in the meanwhile Siva, propitiated by the severe asceticism of
Chandraketu, bestowed a boon on that prince of the Vidyádharas, "Rise
up, king, a son shall be born to thee, who shall be a great hero, and
shall slay in fight thy enemy Vidyuddhvaja; he shall become incarnate
among the human race by a curse, and shall render a service to the
gods, and shall recover his position by virtue of the asceticism
of Padmávatí, the daughter of the king of the Gandharvas: and with
her for a wife he shall be emperor over all the Vidyádharas for ten
kalpas." [680] When the god had granted this boon, he disappeared,
and Chandraketu went back to the world of the Wind-god with his wife.

In the meanwhile Siva was pleased with the severe asceticism of Vishnu
and his companions in Siddhísvara, and he appeared to them in the
linga and delighted them by the following speech, "Rise up, afflict
yourselves no longer; I have been fully propitiated with self-torture
by your partizan Chandraketu, the prince of the Vidyádharas. And he
shall have a heroic son, sprung from a part of me, who shall soon slay
in fight that Daitya Vidyuddhvaja. Then, in order that he may perform
another service to the gods, he shall fall [681] by a curse into the
world of men, and the daughter of the Gandharva Padmasekhara shall
deliver him from that condition. And he shall rule the Vidyádharas
with that lady, who shall be an incarnation of a portion of Gaurí,
and shall be named Padmávatí, for his consort, and at last he shall
come to me. So bear up for a little: this desire of yours is already
as good as accomplished." "When Siva had said this to Vishnu and his
companions, he disappeared; then Vishnu, Brahmá, Indra and Brihaspati
went, in high delight, back to the places from which they came.

Then Muktávalí the wife of that king of the Vidyádharas, named
Chandraketu, became pregnant, and in time she brought forth a son,
illuminating the four quarters with his irresistible splendour,
[682] like the infant sun arisen to remove the oppression under which
those ascetics were groaning. And as soon as he was born this voice
was heard from heaven, "Chandraketu, this son of thine shall slay the
Asura Vidyuddhvaja, and know that he is to be by name Muktáphalaketu,
the terror of his foes."

When the voice had said so much to the delighted Chandraketu, it
ceased; and a rain of flowers fell; and Padmasekhara, and Indra,
hearing what had taken place, came there, and the other gods, who
were lurking concealed. Conversing to one another of the story of
the boon of Siva, and having rejoiced thereat, they went to their own
abodes. And Muktáphalaketu had all the sacraments performed for him,
and gradually grew up; and as he grew, the joy of the gods increased.

Then, some time after the birth of his son, a daughter was born to
Padmasekhara, the supreme lord of the Gandharvas. And when she was
born, a voice came from the air, "Prince of the Gandharvas, this
daughter of thine Padmávatí shall be the wife of that king of the
Vidyádharas who shall be the foe of Vidyuddhvaja." Then that maiden
Padmávatí gradually grew up, adorned with an overflowing effulgence
of beauty, as if with billowy nectar acquired by her being born in
the world of the moon. [683]

And that Muktáphalaketu, even when a child, was high-minded, and
being always devoted to Siva, he performed asceticism, in the form
of vows, fasts, and other penances. And once on a time, when he had
fasted twelve days, and was absorbed in meditation, the adorable
Siva appeared to him, and said, "I am pleased with this devotion of
thine, so by my special favour the weapons, the sciences, and all the
accomplishments shall manifest themselves to thee. And receive from me
this sword named Invincible, [684] by means of which thou shalt hold
sovereign sway, unconquered by thy enemies." When the god had said
this, he gave him the sword and disappeared, and that prince at once
became possessed of powerful weapons and great strength and courage.

Now, one day, about this time, that great Asura Vidyuddhvaja, being
established in heaven, was disporting himself in the water of the
heavenly Ganges. He saw the water of that stream flowing along brown
with the pollen of flowers, and remarked that it was pervaded by
the smell of the ichor of elephants, and troubled with waves. Then,
puffed up with pride of his mighty arm, he said to his attendants,
"Go and see who is disporting himself in the water above me." When the
Asuras heard that, they went up the stream, and saw the bull of Siva
sporting in the water with the elephant of Indra. And they came back
and said to that prince of the Daityas, "King, the bull of Siva has
gone higher up the stream, and is amusing himself in the water with
Airávana: so this water is full of his garlands and of the ichor of
Airávana." When that Asura heard this, he was wroth, in his arrogance
making light of Rudra, and infatuated by the full ripening of his
own evil deeds he said to his followers, "Go and bring that bull and
Airávana here bound." Those Asuras went there, and tried to capture
them, and thereupon the bull and elephant ran upon them in wrath and
slew most of them. And those who escaped from the slaughter went and
told Vidyuddhvaja; and he was angry, and sent a very great force of
Asuras against those two animals. And those two trampled to death
that army, upon which destruction came as the result of matured crime,
and then the bull returned to Siva, and the elephant to Indra.

Then Indra heard about that proceeding of the Daitya's from the guards,
who followed Airávana to take care of him, and he concluded that
the time of his enemy's destruction had arrived, as he had treated
with disrespect even the adorable Siva. He told that to Brahmá,
and then he united himself with the assembled forces of the gods,
and the Vidyádharas, and his other allies; and then he mounted the
chief elephant of the gods, and set out to slay that enemy of his;
and on his departure Sachí performed for him the usual ceremony to
ensure good fortune.






CHAPTER CXVI.


Then Indra reached heaven and surrounded it with his forces, that were
rendered confident by the favour of Siva, and had gained the suitable
opportunity and the requisite strength. When Vidyuddhvaja saw that,
he marched out with his army ready for battle; but as he marched out
evil omens manifested themselves to him; lightning flashes struck his
banners, vultures circled above his head, the state-umbrellas were
broken, and jackals uttered boding howls. [685] Disregarding these
evil omens, nevertheless that Asura sallied forth; and then there
took place a mighty battle between the gods and the Asuras.

And Indra said to Chandraketu the king of the Vidyádharas, "Why has
Muktáphalaketu not yet come?" Then Chandraketu humbly made answer,
"When I was marching out I was in such a hurry that I forgot to
tell him; but he is sure to hear of it, and will certainly follow
me quickly." When the king of the gods heard this, he quickly
sent the dexterous charioteer of the Wind-god to bring the noble
Muktáphalaketu. And his father Chandraketu sent with Indra's messenger
his own warder, with a force and a chariot, to summon him.

But Muktáphalaketu, hearing that his father had gone to battle with the
Daityas, was eager to set out for that fight with his followers. Then
he mounted his elephant of victory, and his mother performed for him
the ceremony to ensure good fortune, and he set out from the world of
the Wind, bearing the sword of Siva. And when he had set out, a rain
of flowers fell on him from heaven, and the gods beat their drums,
and favouring breezes blew. And then the hosts of the gods, that had
fled and hid themselves out of fear of Vidyuddhvaja, assembled and
surrounded him. As he was marching along with that large army, he saw
in his way a great temple of Párvatí named Meghavana. His devotion to
the goddess would not allow him to pass it without worshipping [686];
so he got down from his elephant, and taking in his hand heavenly
flowers, he proceeded to adore the goddess.

Now it happened that, at that very time, Padmávatí the daughter of
Padmasekhara the king of the Gandharvas, who had now grown up, had
taken leave of her mother, who was engaged in austerities to bring
good fortune to her husband who had gone to war, and had come, with
her attendant ladies, in a chariot, from the world of Indra, to that
temple of Gaurí, with the intention of performing asceticism in order
to ensure success to her father in battle, and to the bridegroom on
whom she had set her heart.

On the way one of her ladies said to her, "You have not as yet any
chosen lover, who might have gone to the war, and your mother is
engaged in asceticism for the well-being of your father; for whose
sake, my friend, do you, a maiden, seek to perform asceticism?" When
Padmávatí had been thus addressed by her friend on the way, she
answered, "My friend, a father is to maidens a divinity procuring all
happiness; moreover there has already been chosen for me a bridegroom
of unequalled excellence. That Muktáphalaketu, the son who has been
born to the Vidyádhara king, in order that he may slay Vidyuddhvaja,
has been destined for my husband by Siva. This I heard from the
mouth of my father, when questioned by my mother. And that chosen
bridegroom of mine has either gone, or certainly is going to battle:
so I am about to propitiate with asceticism the holy Gaurí, desiring
victory for my future husband [687] as well as for my father."

When the princess said this, her attendant lady answered her, "Then
this exertion on your part, though directed towards an object still in
the future, is right and proper; may your desire be accomplished!" Just
as her friend was saying this to her, the princess reached a large
and beautiful lake in the neighbourhood of the temple of Gaurí. It
was covered all over with bright full-blown golden lotuses, and they
seemed as if they were suffused with the beauty flowing forth from
the lotus of her face. The Gandharva maiden went down into that lake,
and gathered lotuses with which to worship Ambiká, and was preparing
to bathe, when two Rákshasís came that way, as all the Rákshasas
were rushing to the battle between the gods and Asuras, eager for
flesh. They had up-standing hair, yellow as the flames vomited forth
from their mouths terrible with tusks, gigantic bodies black as smoke,
and pendulous breasts and bellies. The moment that those wanderers
of the night saw that Gandharva princess, they swooped down upon her,
and seized her, and carried her up towards the heaven.

But the deity, that presided over her chariot, impeded the flight
of those Rákshasís, and her grieving retinue cried for help; and
while this was going on, Muktáphalaketu issued from the temple of the
goddess, having performed his worship; and hearing the lamentation, he
came in that direction. When the great hero beheld Padmávatí gleaming
bright in the grasp of that pair of Rákshasís, looking like a flash of
lightning in the midst of a bank of black clouds, he ran forward and
delivered her, hurling the Rákshasís senseless to earth by a blow from
the flat of his hand. And he looked on that torrent river of the elixir
of beauty, adorned with a waist charming with three wave-like wrinkles,
who seemed to have been composed by the Creator of the essence of
all beauty, when he was full of the wonderful skill he had acquired
by forming the nymphs of heaven. And the moment he looked on her, his
senses were benumbed by love's opiate, though he was strong of will;
and he remained for a moment motionless, as if painted in a picture.

And Padmávatí too, now that the alarm caused by the Rákshasís was at
an end, at once recovered her spirits, and looked on the prince, who
possessed a form that was a feast to the eyes of the world, and who
was one fitted to madden womankind, and seemed to have been created
by Fate by a blending together in one body of the moon and the god of
Love. Then, her face being cast down with shame, she said of her own
accord to her friend, "May good luck befall him! I will depart hence,
from the presence of a strange man."

Even while she was saying this, Muktáphalaketu said to her friend,
"What did this young lady say?" And she answered, "This lovely maiden
bestowed a blessing on you, the saver of her life, and said to me,
"Come, let us depart from the presence of a strange man." When
Muktáphalaketu heard this, he said to her with eager excitement,
"Who is she? Whose daughter is she? To what man of great merit in a
former life is she to be given in marriage? [688]"

When he addressed this question to the princess's companion,
she answered him, "Fair sir, this my friend is the maiden named
Padmávatí, the daughter of Padmasekhara the king of the Gandharvas,
and Siva has ordained that her husband is to be Muktáphalaketu,
the son of Chandraketu, the darling of the world, the ally of Indra,
the destined slayer of Vidyuddhvaja. Because she desires the victory
for that future husband of hers and for her father in the battle now
at hand, she has come to this temple of Gaurí to perform asceticism."

When the followers of Chandraketu's son heard this, they delighted
the princess by exclaiming, "Bravo! here is that future husband of
yours." Then the princess and her lover had their hearts filled with
joy at discovering one another, and they both thought, "It is well
that we came here to-day," and they continued casting loving sidelong
timid glances at one another; and while they were thus engaged, the
sound of drums was heard, and then a host appeared, and a chariot
with the wind-god, [689] and the warder of Chandraketu coming quickly.

Then the wind-god and the warder respectfully left the chariot,
and went up to that Muktáphalaketu, and said to him, "The king of
the gods and your father Chandraketu, who are in the field of battle,
desire your presence: so ascend this chariot, and come quickly." Then
the son of the Vidyádhara king, though fettered by love of Padmávatí,
ascended the chariot with them, out of regard for the interests of
his superiors. And putting on a heavenly suit of armour [690] sent
by Indra, he set out quickly, often turning back his head to look
at Padmávatí.

And Padmávatí followed with her eyes, as long as he was in sight,
that hero, who with one blow from the flat of his hand had slain
the two Rákshasís, and with him ever in her thoughts, she bathed and
worshipped Siva and Párvatí, and from that time forth kept performing
asceticism in that very place, to ensure his success.

And Muktáphalaketu, still thinking on his sight of her, which was
auspicious and portended victory, reached the place where the battle
was going on between the gods and Asuras. And when they saw that hero
arrive well-armed and accompanied by a force, all the great Asuras
rushed to attack him. But the hero cut their heads to pieces with
a rain of arrows, and made with them an offering to the gods of the
cardinal points, by way of inaugurating the feast of battle.

But Vidyuddhvaja, seeing his army being slain by that Muktáphalaketu,
himself rushed in wrath to attack him. And when he smote with arrows
that Daitya, as he came on, the whole army of the Asuras rushed upon
him from every quarter. When Indra saw that, he at once attacked
the army of the Daityas, with the Siddhas, Gandharvas, Vidyádharas,
and gods at his back.

Then a confused battle arose, with dint of arrow, javelin, lance,
mace and axe, costing the lives of countless soldiers; rivers of blood
flowed along, with the bodies of elephants and horses for alligators,
with the pearls from the heads of elephants [691] for sands, and
with the heads of heroes for stones. That feast of battle delighted
the flesh-loving demons, who, drunk with blood instead of wine, were
dancing with the palpitating trunks. The fortune of victory of the
gods and Asuras in that sea of battle, swayed hither and thither from
time to time, fluctuating like a tide-wave. And in this way the fight
went on for twenty-four days, watched by Siva, Vishnu, and Brahmá,
who were present in their chariots.

And at the end of the twenty-fifth day a series of single combats was
taking place between the principal warriors of both armies along the
greater part of the line of fight. And then a duel began between the
noble Muktáphalaketu, and Vidyuddhvaja, the former in a chariot, the
latter on an elephant. Muktáphalaketu repelled the weapon of darkness
with the weapon of the sun, the weapon of cold with the weapon of heat,
the rock-weapon with the thunderbolt-weapon, the serpent-weapon with
the weapon of Garuda, and then he slew the elephant-driver of that
Asura with one arrow, and his elephant with another. Then Vidyuddhvaja
mounted a chariot, and Muktáphalaketu killed the charioteer and the
horses. Then Vidyuddhvaja took refuge in magic. He ascended into the
sky invisible with his whole army, and rained stones and weapons on
all sides of the army of the gods. And as for the impenetrable net
of arrows which Muktáphalaketu threw around it, that Daitya consumed
it with showers of fire.

Then Muktáphalaketu sent against that enemy and his followers the
weapon of Brahmá, which was capable of destroying the whole world,
after he had pronounced over it the appropriate spells. That weapon
killed the great Asura Vidyuddhvaja and his army, and they fell down
dead from the sky. And the rest, namely, Vidyuddhvaja's son and his
followers, and Vajradanshtra and his crew fled in fear to the bottom
of Rasátala. [692]

And then the gods from heaven exclaimed, "Bravo! Bravo!" and they
honoured the noble Muktáphalaketu with a rain of flowers. Then Indra,
having recovered his sway, as his enemy was slain, entered heaven,
and there was great rejoicing in the three worlds. And Prajápati
[693] himself came there, making Sachí precede him, and fastened a
splendid crest-jewel on the head of Muktáphalaketu. And Indra took the
chain from his own neck, and placed it on the neck of that victorious
prince, who had restored his kingdom to him. And he made him sit on
a throne equal in all respects to his own; and the gods, full [694]
of joy, bestowed upon him various blessings. And Indra sent on his
warder to the city of the Asura Vidyuddhvaja, and took possession of
it in addition to his own city, with the intention of bestowing it
on Muktáphalaketu, when a fitting time presented itself.

Then the Gandharva Padmasekhara, wishing to bestow Padmávatí on
that prince, looked meaningly at the face of the Disposer. And the
Disposer, knowing what was in his heart, said to that prince of
the Gandharvas, "There is still a service remaining to be done, so
wait a little." Then there took place the triumphal feast of Indra,
with the songs of Háhá and Húhú, and the dances of Rambhá and others,
which they accompanied with their own voices. And when the Disposer
had witnessed the festive rejoicing, he departed, and Indra honoured
the Lokapálas and dismissed them to their several stations. [695]
And after honouring that Gandharva monarch Padmasekhara and his
train, he dismissed them to their own Gandharva city. And Indra,
after treating with the utmost respect the noble Muktáphalaketu
and Chandraketu, sent them to their own Vidyádhara city to enjoy
themselves. And then Muktáphalaketu, having destroyed the plague of
the universe, returned to his palace, accompanied by his father, and
followed by many Vidyádhara kings. And on account of the prince having
returned victorious with his father, after a long absence, that city
displayed its joy, being adorned with splendid jewels, and garlanded
with flags. And his father Chandraketu at once bestowed gifts on all
his servants and relations, and kept high festival in the city for
the triumph of his son, showering wealth on it, as a cloud showers
water. But Muktáphalaketu, though he had gained glory by conquering
Vidyuddhvaja, derived no satisfaction from his enjoyments without
Padmávatí. However, being comforted in soul by a friend named Samyata,
who reminded him of the decree of Siva, and consoling topics of that
kind, he managed, though with difficulty, to get through those days.






CHAPTER CXVII.


In the meanwhile, that king of the Gandharvas, Padmasekhara, re-entered
his city, celebrating a splendid triumph; and hearing from his wife
that his daughter Padmávatí had performed asceticism in the temple
of Gaurí, to procure for him victory, he summoned her. And when his
daughter came, emaciated with asceticism and separation from her lover,
and fell at his feet, he gave her his blessing, and said to her,
"Dear girl, for my sake you have endured great hardship in the form
of penance, so obtain quickly for a husband the noble Muktáphalaketu,
the son of the king of the Vidyádharas, the slayer of Vidyuddhvaja,
the victorious protector of the world, who has been appointed to
marry you by Siva himself."

When her father said this to her, she remained with face fixed on
the ground, and then her mother Kuvalayávali said to him, "How,
my husband, was so terrible an Asura, that filled the three worlds
with consternation, slain by that prince in fight?" When the king
heard that, he described to her the valour of that prince, and
the battle between the gods and Asuras. Then Padmávatí's companion,
whose name was Manoháriká, described the easy manner in which he slew
the two Rákshasís. Then the king and queen, finding out that he and
their daughter had met and fallen in love, were pleased, and said,
"What could those Rákshasís do against one, who swallowed the whole
army of the Asuras, as Agastya swallowed the sea?" Then the fire
of Padmávatí's love blazed up more violently, being fanned by this
description of her lover's surpassing courage, as by a breeze.

Then the princess left her parents' presence, and immediately ascended
in eager longing a jewelled terrace in the women's apartments, which
had pillars of precious stone standing in it, and lattices of pearl
fastened to them, and had placed on its pavement, of costly mosaic,
luxurious couches and splendid thrones, and was rendered still more
delightful by means of the various enjoyments which there presented
themselves as soon as thought of. Even when there, she was exceedingly
tortured with the fire of separation. And she saw from the top of
this terrace a magnificent heavenly garden, planted with trees and
creepers of gold, and full of hundreds of tanks adorned with costly
stone. And when she saw it, she said to herself, "Wonderful! This
splendid city of ours is more beautiful even than the world of the
moon in which I was born. And yet I have not explored this city which
is the very crest-jewel of the Himálayas, in which there is such a
splendid suburban garden excelling Nandana. So I will go into this
lovely shrubbery, cool with the shade of trees, and alleviate a little
the scorching of the fires of separation."

After the young maiden had gone through these reflections, she
dexterously managed to descend slowly from the terrace alone, and
prepared to go to that city garden. And as she could not go on foot,
she was carried there by some birds that were brought to her by her
power, and served as her conveyance. When she reached the garden,
she sat in an arbour formed of plantains growing together, on a carpet
of flowers, with heavenly singing and music sounding in her ears. And
even there she did not obtain relief, and her passion did not abate;
on the contrary, the fire of her love increased still more, as she
was separated from her beloved.

Then in her longing she was eager to behold that loved one, though only
in a picture, so by her magic power she summoned for herself a tablet
for painting and colour-pencils. And she said to herself, "Considering
even the Disposer is unable to create a second like my beloved, how can
I, reed [696] in hand, produce a worthy likeness of him? Nevertheless,
I will paint him as well as I can for my own consolation." After going
through these reflections she proceeded to paint him on a tablet, and
while she was thus engaged, her confidante Manoháriká, who had been
troubled at not seeing her, came to that place to look for her. She
stood behind the princess, and saw her languishing alone in the bower
of creepers, with her painting-tablet in her hand. She said to herself,
"I will just see now what the princess is doing here alone." So the
princess's confidante remained there concealed.

And then Padmávatí, with her lotus-like eyes gushing with tears, began
to address in the following words her beloved in the painting. "When
thou didst slay the formidable Asuras and deliver Indra, how comes it
that thou dost not deliver me from my woe, though near me, by speaking
to me at any rate? To one whose merits in a former life are small, even
a wishing-tree is ungenerous, even Buddha is wanting in compassion,
and even gold becomes a stone. Thou knowest not the fever of love,
and canst not comprehend my pain; what could the poor archer Love,
whose arrows are but flowers, do against one whom the Daityas found
invincible? But what am I saying? Truly Fate is adverse to me, for Fate
stops my eyes with tears, and will not allow me to behold thee for
long together, even in a picture." When the princess had said this,
she began to weep with teardrops that were so large that it appeared
as if her necklace were broken, and great pearls were falling from it.

At that moment her friend Manoháriká advanced towards her, and the
princess concealed the picture and said to her, "My friend, I have not
seen you for ever so long; where have you been?" When Manoháriká heard
this, she laughed and said, "I have been wandering about, my friend,
for a long time to look for you; so, why do you hide the picture? I
saw a moment ago a wonderful picture." [697]

When Padmávatí's friend said this to her, she seized her hand, and
said to her with a face cast down from shame, and a voice choked
with tears, "My friend, you knew it all long ago; why should I try to
conceal it? [698] The fact is, that prince, though on that occasion,
in the sacred enclosure of Gaurí, he delivered me from the terrible
fire of the Rákshasí's wrath, plunged me nevertheless in the fire
of love, with its intolerable flame of separation. So I do not know,
where to go, whom to speak to, what to do, or what expedient I must
have recourse to, since my heart is fixed on one hard to obtain."

When the princess said this, her friend answered her, "My dear,
this attachment of your mind is quite becoming and suitable; your
union would certainly be to the enhancement of one another's beauty,
as the union of the digit of the new moon with the hair of Siva matted
into the form of a diadem. And do not be despondent about this matter:
of a truth he will not be able to live without you; did you not see
that he was affected in the same way as yourself? Even women, who
see you, [699] are so much in love with your beauty that they desire
to become men; so what man would not be a suitor for your hand? Much
more will he be, who is equal to you in beauty. Do you suppose that
Siva, who declared that you should be man and wife, can say what
is false? However, what afflicted one feels quite patient about an
object much desired, even though it is soon to be attained? So cheer
up! He will soon become your husband. It is not hard for you to win
any husband, but all men must feel that you are a prize hard to win."

When the princess's attendant said this to her, she answered her,
"My friend, though I know all this, what am I to do? My heart cannot
endure to remain for a moment without that lord of my life, to whom it
is devoted, and Cupid will not bear to be trifled with any further. For
when I think of him, my mind is immediately refreshed, [700] but my
limbs burn, and my breath seems to leave my body with glowing heat."

Even as the princess was saying this, she, being soft as a flower, fell
fainting with distraction into the arms of that friend of hers. Then
her weeping friend gradually brought her round by sprinkling her with
water and fanning her with plantain-leaves. Her friend employed with
her the usual remedies of a necklace and bracelet of lotus-fibres, a
moist anointing with sandal-wood unguent, and a bed of lotus-leaves;
but these contracted heat by coming in contact with her body,
and seemed by their heating and withering to feel the same pain as
she felt.

Then Padmávatí, in her agitation, said to that friend, "Why do you
weary yourself in vain? My suffering cannot be alleviated in this
way. It would be a happy thing, if you would take the only step
likely to alleviate it." When she said this in her pain, her friend
answered her, "What would not I do for your sake? Tell me, my friend,
what that step is."

When the princess heard this, she said with difficulty, as if ashamed,
"Go, my dear friend, and bring my beloved here quickly; for in no other
way can my suffering be allayed, and my father will not be angry; on
the contrary, as soon as he comes here, he will give me to him." When
her friend heard that, she said to her in a tone of decision, "If it be
so, recover your self-command. This is but a little matter. Here am I,
my friend, setting out for Chandrapura the famous and splendid city of
Chandraketu the king of the Vidyádharas, the father of your beloved,
to bring your beloved to you. Be comforted! What is the use of grief?"

When the princess had been thus comforted by Manoháriká, she said,
"Then rise up, my friend, may your journey be prosperous! Go at
once! And you must say courteously from me to that heroic lord
of my life, who delivered the three worlds, 'When you delivered
me so triumphantly in that temple of Gaurí from the danger of the
Rákshasís, how is that you do not deliver me now, when I am being
slain by the god Cupid, the destroyer of women? Tell me, my lord,
what kind of virtue is this in persons like yourself able to deliver
the worlds--to neglect in calamity one whom you formerly saved,
though she is devoted to you.' [701] This is what you must say,
auspicious one, or something to this effect as your own wisdom may
direct." When Padmávatí had said this, she sent that friend on her
errand. And she mounted a bird which her magic knowledge brought to
her, to carry her, and set out for that city of the Vidyádharas.

And then Padmávatí, having to a certain extent recovered her spirits
by hope, took the painting-tablet, and entered the palace of her
father. There she went into her own apartment surrounded by her
servants, and bathed and worshipped Siva with intense devotion, and
thus prayed to him, "Holy one, without thy favouring consent no wish,
great or small, is fulfilled for any one in these three worlds. So if
thou wilt not give me for a husband that noble son of the emperor of
the Vidyádharas, on whom I have set my heart, I will abandon my body
in front of thy image."

When she addressed this prayer to Siva, her attendants were filled
with grief and astonishment, and said to her, "Why do you speak
thus, princess, regardless of your body's weal? Is there anything in
these three worlds difficult for you to obtain? Even Buddha would
forget his self-restraint, if loved by you. So he must be a man of
exceptional merit, whom you thus love." When the princess heard this,
carried away by the thought of his virtues, she said, "How can I help
loving him, who is the only refuge of Indra and the rest of the gods,
who alone destroyed the army of the Asuras, as the sun destroys the
darkness, and who saved my life?" Saying such things, she remained
there full of longing, engaged in conversation about her beloved with
her confidential attendants.

In the meanwhile her friend Manoháriká, travelling at full speed,
reached Chandrapura, that city of the king of the Vidyádharas; which
Visvakarman made wonderful, and of unparalleled magnificence, as if
dissatisfied with the city of the gods, though of that also he was the
architect. There she searched for Muktáphalaketu, but could not find
him, and then, riding on her bird, she went to the garden belonging
to that city. She derived much pleasure from looking at that garden,
the magic splendour of which was inconceivable; the trees of which
were of glittering jewels, and had this peculiarity that one tree
produced a great many flowers of different kinds; which was rendered
charming by the blending of the notes of various birds with the sound
of heavenly songs; and which was full of many slabs of precious stone.

And then, various gardeners, in the form of birds, saw her, and came
up to her, speaking with articulate voice, and addressing her kindly,
and they invited her to sit down on a slab of emerald at the foot of
a párijáta-tree, and when she was seated, served her with appropriate
luxuries. And she received that attention gratefully, and said to
herself, "Wonderful are the magic splendours of the princes of the
Vidyádharas, since they possess such a garden in which enjoyments
present themselves unlooked for, in which the servants are birds,
and the nymphs of heaven keep up a perpetual concert." When she had
said this to herself, she questioned those attendants, and at last,
searching about, she found a thicket of párijáta and other trees of
the kind, and in it she saw Muktáphalaketu appearing to be ill, [702]
lying on a bed of flowers sprinkled with sandal-wood juice. And she
recognized him, as she had become acquainted with him in the hermitage
of Gaurí, and she said to herself, "Let me see what his illness is,
that he is lying here concealed."

In the meanwhile Muktáphalaketu began to say to his friend Samyataka,
who was attempting to restore him with ice, and sandal-wood, and
fanning, "Surely this god of love has placed hot coals in the ice for
me, and in the sandal-wood juice a flame of chaff, and in the air of
the fan a fire as of a burning forest, since he produces a scorching
glow on every side of me, who am tortured with separation. So why,
my friend, do you weary yourself in vain? In this garden, which
surpasses Nandana, even the delightful songs and dances and other
sports of heavenly nymphs afflict my soul. And without Padmávatí,
the lotus-faced, the daughter of Padmasekhara, this fever produced
by the arrows of love cannot be alleviated. But I do not dare to say
this, and I do not find a refuge in any one; indeed I know only of one
expedient for obtaining her. I will go to the temple of Gaurí, where
I saw my beloved, and where she tore out my heart with the arrows of
her sidelong glances, and carried it away. There Siva, who is united
with the daughter of the king of mountains, will, when propitiated
with penance, shew me how to become united with my beloved."

When the prince had said this, he was preparing to rise up, and then
Manoháriká, being much pleased, shewed herself; and Samyataka,
delighted, said to that prince, "My friend, you are in luck;
your desire is accomplished. Look! here is that beloved's female
attendant come to you. I beheld her at the side of the princess in
the hermitage of the goddess Ambiká." Then the prince, beholding the
friend of his beloved, was in a strange state, a state full of the
bursting forth of joy, astonishment, and longing. And when she came
near him, a rain of nectar to his eyes, he made her sit by his side,
and asked her about the health of his beloved.

Then she gave him this answer, "No doubt my friend will be well enough,
when you become her husband; but at present she is afflicted. For
ever since she saw you, and you robbed her of her heart, she has been
despondent, and neither hears nor sees. The maiden has left off her
necklace, and wears a chain of lotus-fibres; and has abandoned her
couch, and rolls on a bed of lotus-leaves. Best of conquerors, I tell
you, her limbs, now white with the sandal-wood juice which is drying
up with their heat, seem laughingly [703] to say, 'That very maiden,
who formerly was too bashful to endure the mention of a lover [704],
is now reduced to this sad condition by being separated from her dear
one.' And she sends you this message." Having said so much, Manoháriká
recited the two verses which Padmávatí had put into her mouth.

When Muktáphalaketu heard all that, his pain departed, and he joyfully
welcomed Manoháriká, and said to her, "This my mind has been irrigated
by your speech, as by nectar, and is refreshed; and I have recovered
my spirits, and got rid of my languor: my good deeds in a former life
have to-day borne fruit, in that that daughter of the Gandharva king
is so well-disposed towards me. But, though I might possibly be able
to endure the agony of separation, how could that lady, whose body
is as delicate as a sirísha-flower, endure it? So I will go to that
very hermitage of Gaurí; and do you bring your friend there, in order
that we may meet at once. And go quickly, auspicious one, and comfort
your friend, and give her this crest-jewel, which puts a stop to all
grief, which the Self-existent gave me, when pleased with me. And
this necklace, which Indra gave me, is a present for yourself." When
the prince had said this, he gave her the crest-jewel from his head,
and he took the necklace from his neck, and put it on hers.

Then Manoháriká was delighted, and she bowed before him, and set out,
mounted on her bird, to find her friend Padmávatí. And Muktáphalaketu,
his languor having been removed by delight, quickly entered his own
city with Samyataka.

And Manoháriká, when she came into the presence of Padmávatí, told her
of the love-pain of her beloved, as she had witnessed it, and repeated
to her his speech, sweet and tender with affection, as she had heard
it; and told her of the arrangement to meet her in the hermitage of
Gaurí, which he had made, and then gave her the crest-jewel which he
had sent, and shewed her the chain which he had given herself as a
present. Then Padmávatí embraced and honoured that friend of hers who
had been so successful; and forgot that pain of the fire of love which
had tortured her before, and she fastened that crest-jewel on her head,
as if it were joy, and began to prepare to go to the wood of Gaurí.

In the meanwhile it happened that a hermit, of the name of Tapodhana,
came to that grove of Gaurí, with his pupil, named Dridhavrata. And
while there, the hermit said to his pupil Dridhavrata, "I will engage
in contemplation for a time in this heavenly garden. You must remain
at the gate, and not let any one in, and after I have finished my
contemplation, I will worship Párvatí." When the hermit had said this,
he placed that pupil at the gate of the garden, and began to engage
in contemplation under a párijáta-tree. After he rose up from his
contemplation, he went into the temple to worship Ambiká, but he did
not tell his pupil, who was at the gate of the garden.

And in the meanwhile Muktáphalaketu came there adorned, with Samyataka,
mounted on a heavenly camel. And as he was about to enter that
garden, that pupil of the hermit forbade him, saying, "Do not do
so! My spiritual superior is engaged in contemplation within." But
the prince, longing to see his beloved, said to himself, "The area
of this garden is extensive, and it is possible that she may have
arrived and may be somewhere within it, whereas the hermit is only
in one corner of it." So he got out of sight of that hermit's pupil,
and with his friend entered the garden by flying through the air.

And while he was looking about, the hermit's pupil came in to see
if his spiritual superior had completed his meditation. He could not
see his superior there, but he did see the noble Muktáphalaketu with
his friend, who had entered the garden by a way by which it was not
meant to be entered. Then that pupil of the hermit cursed the prince
in his anger, saying to him, "As you have interrupted the meditation
of my spiritual guide, and driven him away, go with your friend to the
world of men on account of this disrespect." After he had pronounced
this curse, he went in search of his superior. But Muktáphalaketu
was thrown into great despondency by this curse having fallen on
him like a thunderbolt, when his desire was on the point of being
fulfilled. And in the meanwhile, Padmávatí, eager to meet her beloved,
came mounted on a bird, with Manoháriká and her other attendants. And
when the prince saw that lady, who had come to meet him of her own
accord, but was now separated from him by a curse, he was reduced to
a painful frame of mind in which sorrow and joy were blended. And at
that very moment Padmávatí's right eye throbbed, boding evil fortune,
and her heart fluttered. Then the princess, seeing that her lover was
despondent, thought that he might be annoyed because she had not come
before he did, and approached him with an affectionate manner. Then
the prince said to her, "My beloved, our desire, though on the point
of fulfilment, has been again baffled by Fate." She said excitedly,
"Alas! how baffled?" And then the prince told her how the curse was
pronounced on him.

Then they all went, in their despondency, to entreat the hermit, who
was the spiritual guide of him who inflicted the curse, and was now
in the temple of the goddess, to fix an end to the curse. When the
great hermit, who possessed supernatural insight, saw them approach
in humble guise, he said with a kind manner to Muktáphalaketu,
"You have been cursed by this fool who acted rashly before he had
reflected; [705] however you have not done me any harm, since I rose
up of myself. And this curse can only be an instrument, not the real
reason of your change; in truth you have in your mortal condition
to do the gods a service. You shall come in the course of destiny
to behold this Padmávatí, and sick with love, you shall abandon your
mortal body, and be quickly released from your curse. And you shall
recover this lady of your life, wearing the same body that she wears
now; for being a deliverer of the universe, you do not deserve to
lie long under a curse. And the cause of all this that has befallen
you is the slight stain of unrighteousness which attaches to you,
on account of your having slain with that weapon of Brahmá, which
you employed, old men and children."

When Padmávatí heard this, she said, with tears in her eyes, to that
sage, "Holy Sir, let me now have the same lot as my future husband! I
shall not be able to live for a moment without him." When Padmávatí
made this request, the hermit said to her, "This cannot be: do you
remain here for the present engaged in asceticism, in order that he
may be quickly delivered from his curse, and may marry you. And then,
as the consort of that Muktáphalaketu, you shall rule the Vidyádharas
and Asuras for ten kalpas. And while you are performing asceticism,
this crest-jewel, which be gave you, shall protect you; for it is of
great efficacy, having sprung from the water-pot of the Disposer."

When the hermit, possessing divine insight, had said this to Padmávatí,
Muktáphalaketu, bending low, addressed this prayer to him, "Holy Sir,
may my faith in Siva be unwavering during my life as a man, and may my
mind never be inclined to any lady but Padmávatí." The hermit replied,
"So let it be!" and then Padmávatí, sorely grieved, pronounced on that
pupil, whose fault had entailed these misfortunes, the following curse,
"Since you cursed in your folly my destined husband, you shall be
a vehicle for him to ride on in his human condition, possessing the
property of going with a wish and changing your shape at will." When
the pupil had been thus cursed, he was despondent, and then the hermit
Tapodhana disappeared with him.

Then Muktáphalaketu said to Padmávatí, "I will now go to my city,
and see what will happen to me there." When Padmávatí heard this,
being terrified at separation, she at once fell on the earth with all
her ornaments, as a creeper, broken by the wind, falls with all its
flowers. And Muktáphalaketu comforted, as well as he could, his crying
love, and departed with his friend, frequently turning round his eyes
to look at her. And after he was gone, Padmávatí was much grieved,
and weeping, said to her friend Manoháriká, who tried to comfort her,
"My friend, I am certain that I saw the goddess Párvatí to-day in
a dream, and she was about to throw a garland of lotuses round my
neck, when she said, 'Never mind! I will give it you on some future
occasion,' and desisted from her intention. So I understand that she
wished in this way to let me know that my union with my beloved would
be hindered." When she was mourning in this way over what had occurred,
her friend said to her, "This dream was no doubt sent to you when you
say, by the goddess, in order to comfort you. And the hermit said
the very same to you, and the gods have clearly thus ordained: so,
be of good cheer, you will soon be reunited with your beloved."

This and other speeches from her friend, and the magic efficacy
of the crest-jewel made Padmávatí recover her self-command, and
she remained there in the hermitage of Gaurí. And she performed
asceticism, worshipping there Siva and Párvatí, three times a day,
and also the picture of her beloved, which she had brought from her
own city, looking upon it as the image of a divinity. Her parents,
hearing what had taken place, came to her in tears, and tried to
prevent her, saying, "Do not uselessly fatigue yourself with penance,
to bring about a desired end, which will anyhow take place." But
she said to them, "How could I live here with any comfort, now that
the husband recently appointed for me by the god has fallen into
misery owing to a curse? For to ladies of good family a husband is
a god. And no doubt, this calamity may soon be brought to an end by
austerities, and Siva may be propitiated, and then I may be reunited
with my beloved, for there is nothing [706] that austerities cannot
accomplish." When Padmávatí had said this with firm resolution,
her mother Kuvalayávalí said to her father the king, "King, let her
perform this severe asceticism! Why trouble her further on false
grounds? This is appointed for her by destiny: there is a reason for
it; listen. Long ago, in the city of Siva, the daughter of the king of
the Siddhas, named Devaprabhá, was performing a very severe penance,
in order to obtain the husband she desired. Now my daughter Padmávatí
had gone there with me to visit the shrine of the god, and she went up
to the Siddha maiden and laughed at her, saying, 'Are you not ashamed
to practise austerities in order to obtain a husband?' Then the Siddha
maiden cursed her in her rage, saying, 'Fool! your laughter proceeds
from childishness: you also shall perform painful austerities to your
heart's content to obtain a husband.' Accordingly she must of necessity
endure the misery which the curse of the Siddha maiden has entailed;
who can alter that? So let her do what she is doing?" When the queen
had said this to the king of the Gandharvas, he took leave at last,
though reluctantly, of his daughter, who bowed at his feet, and went
to his own city. And Padmávatí remained in that hermitage of Párvatí,
intent on religious observances and prayers, and every day she went
through the air and worshipped that Siddhísvara, that was worshipped
by Brahmá and the other gods, of which Siva had told her in a dream.






CHAPTER CXVIII.


While Padmávatí was engaged in asceticism, in order that she might be
reunited to Muktáphalaketu, the son of the emperor of the Vidyádharas,
that prince, feeling that his descent into the world of men was nigh
at hand owing to the curse of the Bráhman, in his fear, fled to Siva
as a refuge.

And while he was worshipping Siva, he heard a voice issue from the
inner cell of his temple, "Fear not, for thou shalt not have to
endure misery while dwelling in the womb, and thou shalt not have
to suffer during thy life as a mortal, nor shalt thou long remain
in that condition. [707] Thou shalt be born as a strong and valorous
prince. Thou shalt obtain from the hermit Tapodhana the control of all
weapons, and my Gana named Kinkara shall be thy younger brother. With
his help thou shalt conquer thy enemies, and accomplish the required
service for the gods, and thou shalt be reunited with Padmávatí and
rule the Vidyádharas." When that prince had heard this voice, he
conceived hope, and remained waiting for the ripening, so to speak,
of the fruit of the curse pronounced upon him.

At this point of my story there was a city in the eastern region
named Devasabha, that surpassed in splendour the court of the
gods. In it there lived a universal monarch named Merudhvaja, the
comrade of Indra when war arose between the gods and Asuras. That
great-hearted prince was greedy of glory, not of the goods of others;
his sword was sharp, but not his punishments; he feared sin, but not
his enemy. His brows were sometimes curved in anger, but there was
no crookedness in his heart. His arm was hard, where it was marked
with the horny thickening produced by the bowstring, but there was
no hardness in his speech. He spared his helpless enemies in battle,
but he did not exhibit any mean parsimony with regard to his treasure;
[708] and he took pleasure in virtuous deeds and not in women.

That king had always two anxieties in his heart, the first was that not
even one son was as yet born to him, the second was that the Asuras,
who escaped from the slaughter in the great fight long ago between
the gods and Asuras, and fled to Pátála, kept continually sallying
out to a distance from it, and treacherously destroying holy places,
temples, and hermitages in his land, and then retiring into Pátála
again; and the king could not catch them, as they could move through
the air as well as through Pátála; that afflicted the brave monarch,
though he had no rivals upon earth.

It happened that once, when he was afflicted with these anxieties,
he went to the assembly of the gods, on the day of the full moon in
the month Chaitra, in Indra's splendid chariot, which he sent to fetch
him; for Indra always held a general assembly in the early part of
that day, and king Merudhvaja always went to it in his chariot. But
on that occasion the king kept sighing, though he was amused with
the dances and songs of the heavenly nymphs, and honoured by Indra.

When the king of the gods saw that, knowing what was in his
heart, he said to him, "King, I know what thy grief is; dismiss it
from thy mind. One son shall be born to thee, who shall be called
Muktáphaladhvaja, and shall be a portion of Siva, and a second named
Malayadhvaja, who shall be an incarnation of a Gana. Muktáphaladhvaja
and his younger brother shall obtain from the hermit Tapodhana
the sciences and all weapons and a creature to ride on, that shall
possess the power of assuming any shape. And that invincible warrior
shall again obtain the great weapon of Pasupati, and shall slay the
Asuras, and get into his power the earth and Pátála. And receive from
me these two air-going elephants Kánchanagiri and Kánchanasekhara,
together with mighty weapons." When Indra had said this to Merudhvaja,
he gave him the arms and the elephants, and dismissed him, and he went
delighted to his own city on the earth. But those Asuras, who had
managed by their treachery to cast discredit upon the king, escaped
being caught by him, even when mounted on the sky-going elephant,
for they took refuge in Pátála.

Then the king, desiring a son, went, on his heavenly elephant, to the
hermitage of that hermit Tapodhana, of whom Indra had told him. There
he approached that hermit, and told him that command of Indra, and said
to him, "Reverend Sir, quickly tell me what course I ought to take to
gain my end." And the hermit recommended that the king and his wife
should immediately take upon them a vow for the propitiation of Siva,
in order that they might attain their end. The king then proceeded
to propitiate Siva with that vow, and then that god, being pleased,
said to the king in a dream, "Rise up, king, thou shalt soon [709]
obtain one after another two invincible sons for the destruction of
the Asuras." When the king had heard this, he told it to the hermit
when he woke up in the morning, and after he and his wife had broken
their fast, he returned to his own city.

Then that august and beautiful lady, the queen of Merudhvaja, became
pregnant within a few days. And Muktáphalaketu was in some mysterious
way conceived in her, having been compelled by the curse to abandon
his Vidyádhara body. And that body of his remained in his own city of
Chandrapura, guarded by his relations, kept by magic from corrupting.

So the queen of king Merudhvaja, in the city of Devasabha, delighted
her husband by becoming pregnant. And the more the queen was oppressed
by her condition, the more sprightly was her husband the king. And
when the time came, she gave birth to a boy resembling the sun, who,
though an infant, was of great might, even as Párvatí gave birth to
the god of war. And then not only did rejoicing take place over the
whole earth, but in the heaven also in which the gods struck their
drums. And the hermit Tapodhana, who possessed heavenly insight,
came there in person, to congratulate that king Merudhvaja. With
the help of that hermit, the rejoicing king gave his son the name
Muktáphaladhvaja mentioned by Indra.

Then the hermit departed; but after the lapse of a year a second
son was born to the king by that queen, and the king, with the help
of that hermit, who, in the same way, came there out of joy, named
him Malayadhvaja.

Then Samyataka was born as the son of the king's minister in accordance
with the curse, and his father gave him the name of Mahábuddhi. Then
those two princes gradually grew up, like lions' whelps, with that
minister's son, and as they grew, their might developed also.

And after eight years only had passed, the hermit Tapodhana came
and invested those princes with the sacred thread. And during
eight more years he instructed them [710] in knowledge, and in the
accomplishments, and in the use of all the mighty weapons. Then king
Merudhvaja, seeing that his sons were young men, able to fight with
all weapons, considered that he had not lived in vain.

Then the hermit was about to return to his hermitage, but the king
said to him, "Reverend Sir, now take whatever present you desire." The
great sage answered, "This is the present I desire from you, king,
that, with your sons, you would slay the Asuras that impede my
sacrifices. The king said to him, "Then, reverend sir, you must now
take your present; so begin a sacrifice; the Asuras will come to impede
it, and then I will come with my sons. For formerly those Daityas,
after they had treacherously wrought you wrong, used to fly up into
the air, and dive into the sea, and go to Pátála. But now I have two
air-going elephants given me by Indra, by means of those two I and
my sons will catch them, even if they do fly through the air."

When the hermit heard that, he was pleased and he said to the king,
"Then do you make in the mean time fit preparation for my sacrifice,
in order that I may go and begin a long sacrificial session that
will be famous in every corner of the earth. And I will send you, as
a messenger, this my pupil Dridhavrata, who has acquired the shape
of an unrestrained mighty bird going with a wish; and on him shall
Muktáphaladhvaja ride."

When the hermit had said this, he returned to his hermitage, and the
king sent after him the preparations for the sacrifice. With those he
began a sacrifice, at which the gods and rishis assembled in a body,
and the Dánavas, dwelling in Pátála, were excited when they heard
of it.

When the hermit knew that, he sent his pupil Dridhavrata, who had
been made by the curse to assume the form of a bird, to the city of
Devasabha. When king Merudhvaja saw him arrive there, he remembered the
words of the hermit, and got ready those two heavenly elephants. And
he himself mounted the chief one, which was named Kánchanagiri,
and the lesser one, which was named Kánchanasekhara, he gave to
the younger of his sons. But Muktáphaladhvaja, taking with him the
heavenly weapons, mounted the great bird Dridhavrata, and the bards
hailed him with songs. Then those three heroes sent their armies on
in front, and set forth, mounted on air-going steeds, and blessed
by holy Bráhmans. And when they reached the hermitage, the hermit,
being pleased with them, granted them this boon, that they should be
invulnerable by all weapons.

In the meanwhile the army of the Asuras came to impede the sacrifice,
and the soldiers of Merudhvaja, when they saw the Asuras, charged
them with a shout. Then a battle took place between the Daityas
and the men, but the Daityas, being in the air, pressed sore the
men who were on the ground. Then Muktáphaladhvaja, mounted on his
winged steed, rushed forward, and cut and crushed the Daityas with a
shower of arrows. And those Daityas who escaped his destroying hand,
seeing him mounted on a bird, and resplendent with brightness, took
to flight, supposing that he was Náráyana. And all of them fled in
fear to Pátála, and told what had happened to Trailokyamálin, who
was at that time king of the Daityas.

When the king of the Asuras heard that, he quickly enquired into the
matter by means of his spies, and found out that Muktáphaladhvaja was a
mortal; and unable to endure the disgrace of having been defeated by a
man, he collected all the Dánavas in Pátála, and though warned by omens
to desist, he went to that hermitage to fight. But Muktáphaladhvaja
and his men, who were on the alert there, rushed to attack the king
of the Dánavas, as soon as they saw him arrive with his army. Then a
second great battle took place between the Asuras and the men; and the
gods, headed by Rudra and Indra, came in their chariots to witness it.

And then Muktáphaladhvaja saw instantly presenting itself before him
there a great weapon of Pasupati, of irresistible might, of huge size,
with a flame of fire streaming up from it, with three eyes, with four
faces, with one leg, and eight arms, looking like the fire which is
to burn up the world at the end of the kalpa. The weapon said, "Know
that I have come by the command of Siva, to ensure your victory." When
the weapon said this, the prince worshipped it and clutched it.

In the meanwhile those Asuras in the air, raining arrows, pressed
hard the fainting army of Merudhvaja that was below them. Then
Muktáphaladhvaja, who fought in various manners, came to deliver that
army and fought with the Asuras, placing a net of arrows between them
and his own men.

And when Trailokyamálin, the king of the Asuras, saw him and his
father and brother, mounted on their air-going steeds, he sent forth
the snake-weapon. Innumerable terrible venomous snakes came out of it,
and these Malayadhvaja slew with Garuda-birds, that came out of the
Garuda-weapon. Then Muktáphalaketu repelled with case every weapon
that the king of the Daityas and his son sent forth.

Then that enemy of the gods, and his son, and the other Dánavas
were enraged, and they all at one time launched at him their fiery
weapons. But those weapons, seeing the weapon of Pasupati blazing in
front of him, were immediately terrified and fled.

Then the Daityas were terrified and tried to escape, but the hero
Muktáphaladhvaja perceived their intention, and immediately constructed
above them, and on all sides of them, an impenetrable net of arrows,
like a cage of adamant. And while the Dánavas were circling within
this, like birds, Muktáphaladhvaja with the help of his father and
brother, smote them with sharp arrows. And the severed hands, feet,
bodies, and heads of those Daityas fell on the ground, and streams of
blood [711] flowed. Then the gods exclaimed "Bravo!" and followed up
their acclamation with a rain of flowers, and Muktáphaladhvaja used
the bewildering weapon against those enemies. That made the Asuras
and their king fall senseless on the earth, and then by means of the
weapon of Varuna the prince bound them all with nooses.

Then the hermit Tapodhana said to king Merudhvaja, "You must by no
means kill those Asura warriors that have escaped the slaughter: but
you must win them over and enter Rasátala with them. As for this king
of the Daityas, and his son, and his ministers, you must take them with
the great Asuras, and the malignant Nágas, and the principal Rákshasas,
and imprison them in the cave of Svetasaila in Devasabha." [712] When
the hermit had said this to Merudhvaja, he said to the Daitya warriors,
"Do not be afraid, we must not slay you, but you must henceforth be
subject to the sway of this Muktáphaladhvaja and his brother." When
the king said this to the Dánavas, they joyfully consented to his
proposal. Then the king had Trailokyamálin, the sovereign of the
Daityas, with his son and the others, conveyed to Svetasaila. And he
placed them in confinement in that cave, and had them guarded by his
principal minister, who was backed by a force of many brave warriors.

Then, the battle having come to an end, and the gods, who were
present in their chariots, having departed, after showering mandára
flowers, an universal rejoicing took place over the whole world,
and the victorious king Merudhvaja said to his two sons, "I will
remain here for the present to guard the sacrifice, and do you march
to Pátála with these soldiers of ours, who have possessed themselves
of many chariots belonging to the Daityas, and with those soldiers of
the Asura army who have escaped destruction. And conciliate and win
over to our allegiance the inhabitants of Pátála, and appoint chief
governors throughout the territory, and having thus taken possession
of it you must return here."

When the heroic Muktáphaladhvaja, who was mounted on his heavenly
steed, that went with a wish, and Malayadhvaja heard this, the two
brothers, with their forces, entered Rasátala, together with that
portion of the army of the Dánavas, that had made submission, which
marched in front of them. And they killed the guards that opposed them
in various places, and proclaimed an amnesty to the others by beat
of drum. And, as the people shewed confidence and were submissive,
they took possession of the seven Rasátalas, adorned with splendid
palaces [713] built of various jewels, and they enjoyed those palaces
which were rendered delightful by gardens that gratified every wish,
and had in them lakes of heavenly wine with many ladders of precious
stone. And there they beheld Dánava ladies of wonderful beauty,
and their daughters, who by means of magic concealed their forms
within trees.

And then Svayamvaraprabhá, the wife of Trailokyamálin, began
austerities in order to bring about the welfare of her imprisoned
husband, and in the same way her daughters, Trailokyaprabhá and
Tribhuvanaprabhá, began austerities for the welfare of their father.

And those princes honoured with various favours all the inhabitants
of Pátála, who were happy now that they had obtained repose; and they
appointed Sangrámasinha and others governors, and went to their father
in the hermitage of Tapodhana.

And in the meanwhile the sacrifice of the hermit there reached
completion, and the gods and the rishis prepared to go to their own
abodes. [714] And as Indra was exceedingly pleased, Merudhvaja said
to him, "Come with me to my city, king of heaven, if thou be pleased
with me." When Indra heard that, he went, in order to please him,
with the king and his son to the city of Devasabha, after taking leave
of the hermit. And there the king, who was sovereign of two worlds,
entertained Indra so sumptuously, that he forgot his happiness in
heaven. Then Indra too, being gratified, took the king and his sons
in his own heavenly chariot to his celestial abode, and in that place
which was charming with the pleasures of a concert in which Nárada,
Rambhá and others performed, he made Merudhvaja, with Muktáphaladhvaja
and Malayadhvaja, forget their toils, and gave them garlands from
the Párijáta-tree, and celestial diadems, and after honouring them,
sent them home.

And they, when they returned, kept going to and fro between the earth
and Pátála, and though kings of men, bare sway in two worlds. Then
Merudhvaja said to Muktáphaladhvaja, "Our enemies are conquered;
you two brothers are young men, and I have various princesses who
are subject to my sway, and I have sent for some of them: the fitting
time has come; so take to yourselves wives."

When Muktáphaladhvaja's father said this to him, he answered,
"Father, my mind is not inclined to marriage at present. I will now
perform a course of austerities to propitiate [715] Siva; but let
this Malayadhvaja my dear younger brother, be married." When his
younger brother Malayadhvaja heard this, he said, "Noble brother,
is it fitting that I should be married, before you have taken a wife,
or that I should hold sway while you are without a kingdom? I follow
in your footsteps."

When Malayadhvaja said this, king Merudhvaja said to his eldest son
Muktáphaladhvaja, "Your younger brother here has spoken rightly, but
what you have just said is not right; it is no time for asceticism
in this fresh youth of yours; the present should be to you a time of
enjoyment; so abandon, my son, this perverse crotchet of yours, which
is most inopportune." Though the king addressed these admonitions
to his eldest son, that prince resolutely refused to take a wife:
so the king remained silent, to wait for a more favourable time.

In the meanwhile, in Pátála, the two daughters of Trailokyamálin's
wife, Svayamprabhá, who were engaged in austerities, said to their
mother, "Mother, when one of us was seven and the other eight years
old, owing to our want of merits, [716] our father was imprisoned,
and we were hurled from the royal rank. It is now the eighth year,
that we have been engaged in austerities, and yet Siva is not
pleased with us, and our father has not, as yet, been released from
his imprisonment. So let us even consume these unlucky bodies in the
fire, before we also are imprisoned, or experience some other insult
at the hands of our enemy."

When Svayamprabhá's daughters said this to her, she answered them,
"Wait a while, my daughters, we shall regain our former glory. For
I know that, while I was engaged in austerities, the god Siva said
to me in a dream, 'My child, be of good courage; thy husband shall
recover his kingdom, and the princes Muktáphaladhvaja and Malayadhvaja
shall be the husbands of thy two daughters. And do not suppose that
they are men; for one of them is a noble Vidyádhara, and the other
is a Gana of mine.' When I had received this revelation from Siva, I
woke up at the close of night; and supported by this hope I have borne
great suffering. So I will inform the king your father of this matter,
and with his consent, I will endeavour to bring about your marriage."

When the queen Svayamprabhá had in these words comforted her daughters,
she said to Indumatí, an old woman of the harem, "Go to my husband in
the cave of Svetasaila, and fall at his feet, and say to him from me,
'My husband, the Creator has formed me of such strange wood, that,
though the fire of separation from you burns fiercely, I have not yet
been consumed by it. But it is because I entertain a hope of seeing
you again that I have not abandoned life.' When you have said this,
tell him the revelation that Siva made to me in a dream, then ask him
about the marriage of our daughters, and come back, and tell me what
he says; I will then act accordingly."

When she had said this, she sent off Indumatí; and she left Pátála and
reached the well-guarded entrance of that mountain-cave. She entreated
the guards and entered, and seeing Trailokyamálin there a prisoner,
she burst into tears, and embraced his feet; and when he asked her
how she was, she slowly told him all his wife's message; then that
king said, "As for what Siva says about my restoration to my kingdom,
may that turn out as the god announced, but the idea of my giving my
daughters to the sons of Merudhvaja is preposterous. I would rather
perish here than give my daughters as a present to enemies and men too,
while myself a prisoner."

When Indumatí had been sent away by the king with this message,
she went and delivered it to his wife Svayamprabhá. And when
Trailokyaprabhá and Tribhuvanaprabhá the daughters of the Daitya
sovereign heard it, they said to their mother Svayamprabhá, "Anxiety
lest our youthful purity should be outraged makes the fire seem our
only place of safety, so we will enter it, mother, on the fourteenth
day, that is now approaching." When they had thus resolved, their
mother and her suite also made up their minds to die. And when the
fourteenth day arrived, they all worshipped Hátakesvara, and made
pyres in a holy bathing-place called Páparipu.

Now it happened that on that very day king Merudhvaja, with his son,
and his wife, was coming there to worship Hátakesvara. And as he
was going to the holy water of Páparipu, with his suite, to bathe,
he saw smoke rising from the midst of a grove on its bank. And when
the king asked, "How comes smoke to be rising here?" those governors
he had set over Pátála, Sangrámasinha and the others, said to him,
"Great king, Svayamprabhá, the wife of Trailokyamálin, is engaged
in austerities here with her daughters the princesses. Without doubt
they are now performing here some sacrificial rite in honour of the
fire, or possibly they are wearied out with excessive asceticism,
and are immolating themselves by entering it."

When the king heard that, he went to see what was going on, with
his sons, and his wife, and those governors of Pátála, ordering the
rest of his suite to remain behind. And concealing himself there,
he beheld those Daitya maidens, with their mother, worshipping the
fire of the pyres, which was burning brightly. [717] They seemed
with the effulgence of the great beauty of their faces which shone
out in all directions, to be creating in the lower world a hundred
discs of the moon: and to be installing the god of love as king after
the conquest of the three worlds, with their swiftly-moving necklaces
that looked like liquid streams poured down from the golden pitchers
of their breasts. Their broad hips, surrounded with the girdles which
they wore, looked like the head of the elephant of love adorned with
a girdle of constellations. The long wavy masses of hair which they
bore, seemed like snakes made by the Creator to guard the treasure of
their beauty. When the king saw them, he was astonished, and he said,
"The creation of the Maker of All is surprising for the novelty that is
ever being manifested in it: [718] for neither Rambhá, nor Urvasí, nor
Tilottamá is equal in beauty to these two daughters of the Asura king."

While the king was making these reflections to himself,
Trailokyaprabhá, the elder of the two Daitya maidens, after worshipping
the god present in the Fire, addressed this prayer to him, "Since, from
the time that my mother told me of the revelation of Siva received by
her in a dream, my mind has been fixed upon prince Muktáphaladhvaja,
that treasure-house of virtue, as my chosen husband, I pray, holy one,
that he may be my husband in a future birth, inasmuch as, though in
this birth my mother wishes to give me to him, my haughty father,
being a captive, will not consent to it." When Tribhuvanaprabhá heard
that, she, in the same way, prayed to the Fire-god that Malayadhvaja
might be her husband in a future life.

Then king Merudhvaja, who was delighted at hearing that, and the
queen his wife said to one another, "If our two sons could obtain
these two maidens for their wives, they would reap fruit from their
conquest of the two worlds. So let us go to them and their mother,
before they have cast themselves into the fire, as they intend to
do in a moment, and dissuade them from doing so." When the king, in
consultation with the queen, had made up his mind to this, he went up
to them, and said, "Do not act rashly: for I will put a stop to your
sorrow." When all the Asura ladies heard this speech of the king's,
that seemed like a rain of nectar to their ears, and afterwards saw
him, they all bowed before him.

And Svayamprabhá said to him, "Before we were concealed by magic, and
you did not see us, though we saw you, but now we have been seen here
by you, the sovereign of the two worlds. And now that we have been seen
by you, our sorrow will soon come to an end; much more since you have
bestowed on us by your own mouth a boon we never craved; so take a seat
and receive the arghya and water for the feet. [719] For you deserve
to be honoured by the three worlds; and this is our hermitage." When
she said this, the king answered laughing, "Give the arghya and water
for the feet to these your sons-in-law." Then Svayamprabhá said, "To
them the god Siva will give the arghya and soon, but do you receive
it to-day." Then Merudhvaja said, "I have already received it all;
but do you, ladies, immediately give up your intention of committing
suicide; and go and dwell in one of your cities where every wish can
be gratified; then I will take steps to ensure your welfare."

When the king said this, Svayamprabhá said to him, "In accordance with
your Majesty's order we have given up our intention of abandoning the
body, but while our lord is in prison, how would it be becoming for us
to live in our palace? So we will remain here, king, for the present,
until your Highness shall perform the promise which you spontaneously
made to us, and shall cause our lord to be set free with his servants
and ministers. And he will hold sway as your Majesty's zealous officer,
and will make over his realm to you if you desire it; indeed he will
make a strict agreement [720] with you to this effect. And for this
we and all the inhabitants of Pátála will be your sureties, so take
our jewels from the regions of Pátála, and make them your own."

When she said this, king Merudhvaja said to her, "I will see about
that, but you must remember your promise." When the king had said
this, he bathed and worshipped Hátakesa. And those Daitya princesses,
having now seen his sons with their own eyes, had their minds entirely
fixed on them. Then all the inhabitants of Rasátala [721] fell at the
feet of the virtuous king Merudhvaja, and asked that Trailokyamálin
should be set at liberty; and then king Merudhvaja, with his wife,
sons, and servants, left the world of the Asuras, and returned to
his own city, covering the regions with his umbrellas white as his
own glory. There his son Malayadhvaja spent the night in thinking on
the younger daughter of the king of the Dánavas, being tortured with
the fever of love, and though he closed his eyes, he never slept. But
that sea of self-control Muktáphaladhvaja, though he thought upon
the elder daughter of the Asura monarch who was deeply in love with
him, and though he was young, and she was fair enough to shake with
love the saintly minds of anchorites, still in virtue of the boon
he had craved from the hermit, was no whit disturbed in mind. But
Merudhvaja, finding that his elder son was determined not to take
a wife, while Malayadhvaja was desperately in love, and that on the
other hand that great Asura was averse to giving him his daughters,
remained with his mind bewildered as to how to devise an expedient.






CHAPTER CXIX.


Then king Merudhvaja, seeing that Malayadhvaja was thus overpowered
with the fever of love, said to his queen, "If those two daughters of
Trailokyamálin, whom I saw in Pátála, do not become the wives of my two
sons, what advantage shall I have gained? And my son Malayadhvaja is
consumed with smouldering flame, because he cannot obtain the younger
of the two, though shame makes him conceal the fire of love. It is for
this very reason that, though I promised Trailokyamálin's queen that I
would set him at liberty, I do not at once make my promise good. For,
if he is set free from his imprisonment, his pride as an Asura will
prevent his ever giving his daughters to my sons as being men. So it is
now advisable to propose this matter to him in a conciliatory manner."

When he had gone through these reflections with the queen, he said
to his warder, "Go to the cave of Svetasaila, and say, as from me,
in a kind manner to Trailokyamálin, the king of the Daityas, who is
imprisoned there, 'King of the Daityas, by the appointment of Destiny
you have been long afflicted here, so now do what I advise, and bring
your affliction to an end. Give to my two sons your two daughters,
who fell in love with them at first sight, and thus procure your
release, and rule your kingdom, after you have given security for
your fidelity.'"

With this message the king sent off his warder, and he went and
delivered it to the Daitya monarch in that cave. The monarch answered,
"I will not give my two daughters to two men;" and the warder returned
and reported his answer to the king.

Then king Merudhvaja began to look about for some other means of
attaining his end, and in the course of some days Svayamprabhá heard
how he had sped, so she again sent Indumatí from Pátála to his palace
with a message.

And Indumatí arrived, and had herself announced by the female
warder, and went into the presence of the great queen, who received
her graciously. And she bowed before her, and said to her, "Queen,
queen Svayamprabhá sends you this message, 'Have you forgotten your
own promise? The seas and the principal mountains will suffer change
at the day of doom, but the promises of people like you will not
change even then. Although my husband has not consented to bestow our
daughters as you wished, reflect, how could he have given them as a
present while himself a prisoner? If you release him in a proper way
as an act of kindness, [722] he will certainly make you a return by
giving you his daughters. Otherwise Svayamprabhá and her daughters
will abandon their lives, and in this way you will fail to obtain
daughters-in-law, and also to keep your promise? So manage, queen,
to make the king set our lord free on the conditions of compact and
security and so on, in order that all may turn out well; and accept
this ornament sent by Svayamprabhá, studded with various gems, that
confer the power of becoming a Vidyádhara, and other advantages.'"

When Indumatí said this, the queen answered her, "How can I take
this from your mistress now that she is in trouble?" But Indumatí
urged her vehemently to take it, saying, "We shall be quite unhappy
if you refuse to accept it, but if you take it, we shall consider
our affliction alleviated." Being thus strongly urged by Indumatí,
the queen took from her that jewelled ornament, to comfort her; and
she made her wait there, saying to her, "Remain here, noble lady,
until the king shall come this way."

In the meanwhile the king came there, and Indumatí rose up,
and having been introduced by the queen, bowed before him, and he
received her graciously. And she gave to that king a crest-jewel sent
by Svayamprabhá, that was a talisman against poison, Rákshasas, old
age, and disease. [723] The king said, "I will accept this jewel when
I have kept my promise; but the ready-witted Indumatí said to him,
"A promise made by the king is as good as kept. But, if your Majesty
will accept this, we shall be very much comforted." When she made this
speech, the queen observed, "Well said," and took that crest-jewel,
and fastened it on the king's head.

Then Indumatí repeated to the king the message of Svayamprabhá, as
she had delivered it to the queen; then the king, being entreated
to the same effect by the queen, went on to say to Indumatí, "Remain
here for to-day; to-morrow morning I will give you an answer."

Having said this, king Merudhvaja allowed a night to pass, and
the next morning he summoned his ministers, and said to Indumatí,
"Noble lady, go with these ministers of mine, and after informing
Trailokyamálin, bring from Pátála those Asura ladies, Svayamprabhá
and the others, and all the principal inhabitants of Pátála, and the
water of ordeal connected with Hátakesvara, in a sealed vessel. And let
Svayamprabhá and the others touch the feet of Svayamprabhá's husband,
in the presence of my ministers, and by solemn oaths make themselves
sureties for this, namely, that Trailokyamálin, with his friends and
servants, shall ever remain firm in his allegiance to me, and that the
Nágas shall not injure the crops. And let all the lords in Pátála be
sureties to the same effect, and let them all, with their king, give
their children as hostages, [724] and let them all, with their king,
put this in writing, and drink the water of ordeal in which the image
of Hátakesvara has been washed: then I will release Trailokyamálin
from prison."

Having said so much, the king sent off Indumatí with his ministers. She
went with them, and informed Trailokyamálin of what was being done, and
as he approved of her proceedings, she went in the same way to Pátála,
and she brought there Svayamprabhá and the others, and the water of
ordeal, [725] and she made them all do in the presence of the king's
ministers all that he had prescribed. And when king Trailokyamálin
had in this way given security, king Merudhvaja set him free from
prison with his suite. And he had brought him to his own palace with
his family and his attendants, and courteously entertained him; and
then he took possession of all the jewels of the Asuras, and sent
Trailokyamálin back to his kingdom. And Trailokyamálin returned to
Rasátala his home, and having recovered his kingdom, rejoiced with his
servants and relations. And Merudhvaja filled the earth with abundant
treasures that came from Pátála, as a rain-cloud showers water.

Then Trailokyamálin, the king of the Daityas, took counsel with his
wife, desiring to bestow his two beautiful daughters on Merudhvaja's
sons, and he invited him to his palace, with his relations, and came
himself to escort him there, remembering the benefit conferred on
him. So he came to king Merudhvaja, who entertained him, and then he
said to him, "On a former occasion, your great joy prevented your
seeing Rasátala properly. But now come and see it, while we give
ourselves up to attending on you; and accept from me my two beautiful
daughters for your sons."

When the Asura king had said this to Merudhvaja, the latter summoned
his wife and his two sons. And he told them the speech of the Asura
king, and how he proposed to give his two daughters; then his eldest
son Muktáphaladhvaja said to him, "I will not marry until I have
propitiated Siva; I said this long ago; you must pardon this fault
in me. When I have gone, let Malayadhvaja marry; for he will never
be happy without that Pátála maiden." When the younger son heard
this, he said to his elder brother, "Noble sir, while you are alive,
I will never perform such a disgraceful and unrighteous act." Then
king Merudhvaja earnestly exhorted Muktáphaladhvaja to marry, but he
would not consent to do so; and therefore Trailokyamálin took leave
of the king, who was in a state of despondency, and went back with
his suite to Pátála as he had come.

There he told what had taken place and said to his wife and son,
"Observe how exclusively bent on humiliating us Fortune is. Those very
men, to whom formerly I refused to give my daughters in marriage when
they asked for them, now refuse to accept them, though I ask them to
do so." When they heard it, they said, "Who can tell how this matter
is in the mind of Destiny? Can Siva's promise be falsified?"

While they were saying these things, those maidens, Trailokyaprabhá
and Tribhuvanaprabhá, heard what had happened, and took upon them the
following vow, "We will remain without food for twelve days, and if
at the end of that time the god does not shew us favour by bringing
about our marriage, we will enter the fire together, and we will not
preserve our bodies for insult, or merely for the sake of continuing in
life." When the daughters of the Daitya sovereign had made this vow,
they remained fasting in front of the god, engaged in meditation and
muttering prayers. And their mother and their father the sovereign of
the Daityas, hearing of it, and being very fond of their daughters,
remained fasting in the same way.

Then Svayamprabhá their mother quickly sent off Indumatí once more to
Merudhvaja's queen consort, to tell her how matters were going. She
went and told that queen the trouble in her master's house, and so
Merudhvaja also came to hear of it. Then that couple abandoned food
out of regard for the other royal couple, and their sons did so as
well, out of regard for their parents.

Thus in two worlds the royal families were in trouble. And
Muktáphaladhvaja remained without eating, and meditated on Siva as
his refuge. And, after six nights had passed, in the morning the
prince woke up, and said to his friend Mahábuddhi, who had formerly
been Samyataka, "My friend, I remember that last night in a dream
I mounted my steed given me by the hermit Tapodhana, that changes
its shape at will, and goes where the mind directs, and had become a
flying chariot, and, in my despondency I went to a heavenly temple of
Siva, very far from here, on the slope of Meru. There I saw a certain
celestial maiden emaciated with austerities; and a certain man with
matted hair, pointing to her, said to me laughing, 'You have come
here in this way to escape from one maiden, and lo! here is another
waiting for you.' When I heard this speech of his, I remained gazing
at the beauty of that maiden, but found it impossible to gaze my fill,
and so at the end of the night I suddenly woke up.

"So I will go there to obtain that heavenly maiden, and if I do not
find her there, I will enter the fire. What can Destiny mean, by
causing my mind to become attached to this maiden seen in a dream,
after rejecting, in the way I did, the Daitya maiden, offered to me
a short time ago? At any rate, I am persuaded that, if I go there,
good fortune will certainly befall me."

Having said this, he called to mind that vehicle given to him by the
hermit, which would carry him to any place conceived in the mind,
and assume any desired form. It turned into an air-going chariot, and
he mounted it, and set out for that heavenly temple of Siva, and when
he reached it, he saw that it was just as it had seemed in his dream,
and he rejoiced. Then he proceeded to perform religious ablution with
all the attendant rites, in the holy water there, named Siddhodaka,
with no one to wait on him but his friend.

Then his father king Merudhvaja, who was in his own city, emaciated
with fasting, accompanied by his wife, son, and suite, heard that
he had gone off somewhere secretly, and became bewildered with
grief. And all this was at once known in Pátála, exactly as it had
taken place. Then Trailokyamálin took with him his two daughters, and
came fasting, with his wife and suite, to visit king Merudhvaja. And
they all resolved on the following course of action; "Surely, as it
is the fourteenth day, the prince has gone somewhere to worship Siva;
so we will wait for him here this day. But to-morrow, if he has not
returned, we will go where he is: then, happen what will."

In the meanwhile Padmávatí, who was in that hermitage of Siva, named
Meghavana, said that very day to her ladies-in-waiting; "My friends,
I remember that last night I went in a dream to Siddhísvara, and a
certain man wearing matted hair came out of the temple of the god, and
said to me, 'My daughter, thy sorrow is at an end, thy reunion with thy
husband is nigh at hand.' When he had said this, he departed, and night
and sleep left me together. So come, let us go there." When Padmávatí
had said this, she went to that temple of Gaurí on the slope of Meru.

There she saw with astonishment that Muktáphaladhvaja at a distance
bathing in Siddhodaka, and she said to her friends, "This man is like
my beloved. Observe how very like he is. Wonderful! Can he be the very
same? It cannot be, for he is a mortal." When her ladies-in-waiting
heard that, and saw him, they said to her, "Princess, not only is this
man very like your beloved, but observe, his companion also bears a
resemblance to your lover's friend Samyataka. So we know for certain
that, in accordance with your last night's dream which you related to
us, Siva has by his power brought those two here, after their becoming
incarnate as men owing to a curse. Otherwise, how, being mortals,
could they have come to this region of the gods?" When Padmávatí had
been thus addressed by her ladies-in-waiting, she worshipped Siva,
and in a state of eager excitement, remained concealed near the god's
symbol to find out who the stranger was.

In the meanwhile Muktáphaladhvaja, having bathed, came into the temple
to worship the god, and after looking all round, said to Mahábuddhi,
"Strange to say, here is that very temple, which I saw in my dream,
made of precious stone, with the form of Siva visible within the
linga. And now I behold here those very localities, which I saw in my
dream, full of jewel-gleaming trees, which are alive with heavenly
birds. But I do not see here that heavenly maiden, whom I then saw;
and if I do not find her, I am determined to abandon the body in
this place."

When he said this, Padmávatí's ladies-in-waiting said to her in a
whisper, "Listen! it is certain that he has come here, because he
saw you here in a dream, and if he does not find you, he intends to
surrender his life; so let us remain here concealed, and see what he
means to do."

And while they remained there in concealment, Muktáphaladhvaja
entered, and worshipped the god, and came out. And when he came out,
he devoutly walked round the temple three times, keeping his right
hand towards it, and then he and his friend remembered their former
birth, and in their joy they were telling to one another the events
of their life as Vidyádharas, when Padmávatí met their view. And
Muktáphaladhvaja, remembering the occurrences of his former life,
as soon as he saw her, was filled with joy, and said to his friend,
"Lo! this very princess Padmávatí, the lady I saw in my dream! and
she has come here by good luck; so I will at once go and speak to her."

When he had said this, he went up to her weeping and said,
"Princess, do not go away anywhere now; for I am your former lover
Muktáphalaketu. I became a man by the curse of the hermit Dridhavrata,
and I have now remembered my former birth." When he had said this,
he tried, in his eagerness, to embrace her. But she was alarmed and
made herself invisible, and remained there with her eyes full of tears:
and the prince, not seeing her, fell on the ground in a swoon.

Then his friend sorrowfully spoke these words into the air, "How
is it, princess Padmávatí, that, now this lover has come, for whom
you suffered such severe austerities, you will not speak to him? I
too am Samyataka the comrade of your beloved: why do you not say
something kind to me, as I was cursed for you?" After saying this,
he restored the prince, and said to him, "This punishment has come
upon you as the result of the crime you committed in not accepting
the Daitya princess, who offered herself to you out of love."

When Padmávatí, who was concealed, heard this, she said to her
ladies-in-waiting, "Listen, he has no inclination for Asura
maidens." Then her ladies said to her, "You see that all tallies
together. Do you not remember that long ago, when your beloved was
cursed, he craved as a boon from the hermit Tapodhana, that while
he was a man, his heart might never be inclined to any one but
Padmávatí. It is in virtue of that boon that he now feels no love
for other women." When the princess heard this, she was bewildered
with doubt.

Then Muktáphaladhvaja, who had no sooner seen his beloved, than she
disappeared from his eyes, cried out, "Ah! my beloved Padmávatí, do you
not see that when I was a Vidyádhara, I incurred a curse in Meghavana
for your sake? And now be assured that I shall meet my death here."

When Padmávatí heard him utter this and other laments, she said
to her ladies-in-waiting, "Though all indications seem to tally,
still these two may possibly have heard these things at some time
or other by communication from mouth to mouth, and therefore my
mind is not convinced. But I cannot bear to listen to his sorrowful
exclamations, so I will go to that temple of Gaurí; moreover it is
the hour of worship for me there." When Padmávatí had said this,
she went with her ladies-in-waiting to that hermitage of Ambiká,
and after worshipping the goddess she offered this prayer, "If the
man I have just seen in Siddhísvara is really my former lover, bring
about for me, goddess, my speedy reunion with him."

And while Padmávatí was there, longing for her beloved,
Muktáphaladhvaja, who had remained behind in Siddhísvara, said to his
friend Mahábuddhi, who had been in a former life his friend Samyataka,
"I am convinced, my friend, that she has gone to her own haunt, that
temple of Gaurí; so come, let us go there." When he had said this,
he ascended that chariot of his, which went wherever the mind desired,
and flew to that hermitage of Ambiká.

When Padmávatí's ladies-in-waiting saw him afar off, coming down in the
chariot from the sky, they said to Padmávatí, "Princess, behold this
marvel. He has come here also, travelling in an air-going chariot;
how can he, a mere man, have such power?" Then Padmávatí said, "My
friends, do you not remember that on Dridhavrata, who cursed him,
I laid the following curse, 'When my beloved is incarnate as a man,
you shall be his vehicle, assuming any desired shape, and moving in
obedience to a wish.' So, no doubt, this is that hermit's pupil,
his vehicle, wearing at present the form of an air-going chariot,
and by means of it he roams everywhere at will."

When she said this, her ladies-in-waiting said to her, "If you know
this to be the case, princess, why do you not speak to him? What are
you waiting for?" When Padmávatí heard this speech of her ladies',
she went on to say, "I think that this probably is the case, but I
am not absolutely certain as yet. But, even supposing he really is my
beloved, how can I approach him, now that he is not in his own body,
but in another body? So, let us for a time watch his proceedings,
being ourselves concealed." When the princess had said this, she
remained there concealed, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting.

Then Muktáphaladhvaja descended from the chariot in that hermitage
of Ambiká, and being full of longing, said to his friend, "Here I
had my first interview with my beloved, when she had been terrified
by the Rákshasís; and I again saw her in the garden here, when she
came having chosen me for her own; and here I received the curse, and
she wished to follow me by dying; but was, though with difficulty,
prevented by that great hermit: and now, see, that very same lady
flies out of reach of my eyes."

When Padmávatí heard him speak thus, she said to her ladies-in-waiting,
"True, my friends, it is really my beloved, but how can I approach him,
before he has entered his former body? In this matter Siddhísvara
is my only hope. He sent me the dream, and he will provide for me
a way out of my difficulties." When she had formed this resolution,
she went back to Siddhísvara. And she worshipped that manifestation
of Siva, and offered this prayer to him, "Unite me with my beloved in
his former body, or bestow death on me. I see no third way of escape
from my woe." And then she remained with her friends in the court of
the god's temple.

In the meanwhile Muktáphaladhvaja searched for the princess in the
temple of Gaurí, and not finding her was despondent, and said to that
friend, "I have not found her here; let us go back to that temple of
Siva; if I cannot find her there, I will enter the fire."

When that friend heard it, he said, "Good luck will befall you! The
word of the hermit and Siva's promise in your dream cannot be
falsified." With those words did Muktáphaladhvaja's friend try to
comfort him; and then Muktáphaladhvaja ascended the chariot, and went
with him to Siddhísvara.

When Padmávatí saw him arrive, she still remained there invisible,
and she said to her ladies-in-waiting, "Look! he has come to this very
place." He too entered, and seeing that offerings had been recently
placed in front of the god, prince Muktáphaladhvaja said to that
companion of his, "Look, my friend, some one has been quite recently
worshipping this symbol of the god; surely, that beloved of mine
must be somewhere here, and she must have done this worship." When
he had said this, he looked for her, but could not find her; and
then in the anguish of separation he cried out again and again,
"Ah! my beloved Padmávatí!"

Then, thinking that the cry of the cuckoo was her voice, and that the
tail of the peacock was her hair, and that the lotus was her face,
the prince ran wildly about, overpowered with an attack of the fever
of love, and with difficulty did his friend console him; and coaxing
him, he said to him, "What is this that you have taken up, being weak
with much fasting? Why do you disregard your own welfare, though you
have conquered the earth and Pátála? Your father Merudhvaja, and king
Trailokyamálin, the king of the Dánavas, your future father-in-law,
and his daughter Trailokyaprabhá, who wishes to marry you, and your
mother Vinayavatí, and your younger brother Malayadhvaja will, if
you do not go to them, suspect that some misfortune has happened,
and fasting as they are, will give up their breath. So come along! Let
us go and save their lives, for the day is at an end."

When Muktáphaladhvaja's friend said this to him, he answered him,
"Then go yourself in my chariot and comfort them." Then his friend
said, "How will that hermit's pupil, who has been made your vehicle by
a curse, submit to me?" When the prince's friend said this, he replied,
"Then wait a little, my friend; let us see what will happen here."

When Padmávatí heard this conversation of theirs, she said to her
ladies-in-waiting, "I know that this is my former lover by all the
notes tallying, but he is degraded by the curse, being enclosed in
a human body, and I too am thus afflicted with a curse, because I
laughed at the Siddha-maiden." While she was saying this, the moon
rose, red in hue, the fire that devours the forest of separated
lovers. And gradually the moonlight filled the world on every side,
and the flame of love's fire filled the heart of Muktáphaladhvaja.

Then the prince began to lament like a chakraváka at the approach of
night; and Padmávatí, who was concealed, being despondent, said to
him, "Prince, though you are my former lover, still, as you are now
in another body, you are to me a strange man, and I am to you as the
wife of another; so why do you lament again and again? Surely some
means will be provided, if that speech of the hermit's was true."

When Muktáphaladhvaja heard this speech of hers, and could not see her,
he fell into a state which was painful from the contending emotions of
joy and despondency; and he said to her, "Princess, my former birth
has returned to my recollection, and so I recognised you, as soon as
I saw you, for you still wear your old body, but as you saw me when I
was dwelling in my Vidyádhara [726] body, how can you recognise me,
now that I am in a mortal body? So I must certainly abandon this
accursed frame." When he had said this, he remained silent, and his
beloved continued in concealment.

Then, the night being almost gone, and his friend Mahábuddhi, who
was formerly Samyataka, having gone to sleep out of weariness, prince
Muktáphaladhvaja, thinking that he could never obtain Padmávatí, as
long as he continued in that body, collected wood, [727] and lighted a
fire; and worshipped Siva embodied in the linga, uttering this prayer,
"Holy one, may I by thy favour return to my former body, and soon
obtain my beloved Padmávatí!" And having said this, he consumed his
body in that blazing fire.

And in the meanwhile Mahábuddhi woke up, and not being able, in spite
of careful search, to find Muktáphaladhvaja, and seeing the fire
blazing up, he came to the conclusion that his friend, distracted
with separation, had burnt himself, and out of regret for his loss,
he flung himself into that same fire.

When Padmávatí saw that, she was tortured with grief, and she said to
her ladies-in-waiting, "Alas! Fie! the female heart is harder than
the thunderbolt, otherwise my breath must have left me beholding
this horror. So, how long am I to retain this wretched life? Even
now, owing to my demerits, there is no end to my woe; moreover, the
promise of that hermit has been falsified; so it is better that I
should die. But it is not fitting that I should enter this fire and be
mixed up with strange men, so in this difficult conjuncture hanging,
which gives no trouble, is my best resource." When the princess had
said this, she went in front of Siva, and proceeded to make a noose
by means of a creeper, which she fastened to an asoka-tree.

And while her ladies-in-waiting were trying to prevent her by
encouraging speeches, that hermit Tapodhana came there. He said,
"My daughter, do not act rashly, that promise of mine will not be
falsified. Be of good courage, you shall see that husband of yours
come here in a moment. His curse has been just now cancelled by virtue
of your penance; so why do you now distrust the power of your own
austerities? And why do you shew this despondency when your marriage
is at hand? I have come here because I learnt all this by my power of
meditation." When Padmávatí saw the hermit approaching uttering these
words, she bowed before him, and was for a moment, as it were, swung
to and fro by perplexity. Then her beloved Muktáphalaketu, having by
the burning of his mortal body entered his own Vidyádhara body, came
there with his friend. And Padmávatí, seeing that son of the king of
the Vidyádharas coming through the air, as a female chátaka beholds
a fresh rain-cloud, or a kumudvatí the full moon newly risen, felt
indescribable joy in her heart. And Muktáphalaketu, when he saw her,
rejoiced, and so to speak, drank her in with his eyes, as a traveller,
wearied with long wandering in a desert, rejoices, when he beholds
a river. And those two, reunited like a couple of chakravákas by the
termination of the night of their curse, took their fill of falling at
the feet of that hermit of glowing brilliancy. [728] Then that great
hermit welcomed them in the following words, "My heart has been fully
gratified to-day by seeing you reunited, happy at having come to the
end of your curse."

And when the night had passed, king Merudhvaja came there in search
of them, mounted on the elephant of Indra, accompanied by his wife
and his youngest son, and also Trailokyamálin the sovereign of the
Daityas, with his daughter Trailokyaprabhá, mounted on a chariot,
attended by his harem and his suite. Then the hermit pointed out
Muktáphalaketu to those two kings and described what had taken place,
how he had become a man by a curse, in order to do a service to the
gods, and how he had been delivered from his human condition. And
when Merudhvaja and the others heard that, though they were before
eager to throw themselves into the fire, they bathed in Siddhodaka and
worshipped Siva, by the hermit's direction, and were at once delivered
from their sorrow. Then that Trailokyaprabhá suddenly called to mind
her birth and said to herself "Truly I am that same Devaprabhá, the
daughter of the king of the Siddhas, who, when undergoing austerities
[729] in order that the emperor of all the Vidyádharas might be my
husband, was ridiculed by Padmávatí, and entered the fire to gain
the fulfilment of my desire. And now I have been born in this Daitya
race, and here is this very prince with whom I was in love, who has
recovered his Vidyádhara body. But it is not fitting that, now that
his body is changed, he should be united to this body of mine, so I
will consume my Asura body also in the fire, in order to obtain him."

Having gone through these reflections in her mind, and having
communicated her intention to her parents, she entered [730] the fire
which had consumed Muktáphaladhvaja; and then the god of fire himself
appeared with her, on whom out of pity he had bestowed her former body,
and said to Muktáphaladhvaja, "Muktáphaladhvaja, this lady Devaprabhá,
the daughter of the king of the Siddhas, for thy sake abandoned her
body in me; so receive her as thy wife." When the god of fire had
said this, he disappeared; and Brahmá came there with Indra and the
rest of the gods, and Padmasekhara the king of the Gandharvas, with
Chandraketu, the sovereign of the Vidyádharas. Then that prosperous
king of the Gandharvas [731] gave his daughter Padmávatí, with due
rites and much activity on the part of his followers, as wife to
Muktáphalaketu, who bowed before him, congratulated by all. And then
that prince of the Vidyádharas, having obtained that beloved, whom
he had so long desired, considered that he had gathered the fruit
of the tree of his birth, and married also that Siddha-maiden. And
prince Malayadhvaja was united to that Daitya princess, his beloved
Tribhuvanaprabhá, whom her father bestowed on him with due rites. Then
Merudhvaja, having, on account of his son Malayadhvaja's complete
success, anointed him to be sole ruler of a kingdom extending over
the earth with all its islands, went with his wife to the forest to
perform austerities. And Trailokyamálin, the king of the Daityas, went
with his wife to his own region, and Indra gave to Muktáphalaketu the
splendid kingdom of Vidyuddhvaja. And this voice came from heaven,
"Let this Muktáphalaketu enjoy the sovereignty over the Vidyádharas
and Asuras, and let the gods go to their own abodes!" When they heard
that voice, Brahmá and Indra and the other gods went away delighted,
and the hermit Tapodhana went with his pupil, who was released from
his curse, and Chandraketu went to his own Vidyádhara home, with his
son Muktáphalaketu who was graced by two wives. And there the king,
together with his son, long enjoyed the dignity of emperor over the
Vidyádharas, but at last he threw on him the burden of his kingdom,
and, disgusted with the world and its pleasures, went with the queen to
an ascetic grove of hermits. And Muktáphalaketu, having before obtained
from Indra the rule over the Asuras, and again from his father the
empire over the Vidyádharas, enjoyed, in the society of Padmávatí,
who seemed like an incarnation of happiness, for ten kalpas, the good
fortune of all the pleasures which the sway of those two wealthy realms
could yield, and thus obtained the highest success. But he saw that
passions are in their end distasteful, and at last he entered a wood
of mighty hermits, and by the eminence of his asceticism obtained
the highest glory, and became a companion of the lord Siva.

Thus king Brahmadatta and his wife and his minister heard this
romantic tale from the couple of swans, and gained knowledge from their
teaching, and obtained the power of flying through the air like gods;
and then they went accompanied by those two birds to Siddhísvara,
[732] and there they all laid aside the bodies they had entered in
consequence of the curse, and were reinstated in their former position
as attendants upon Siva. [733]

Hearing this story from Gomukha in the absence of Madanamanchuká,
for a moment only, hermits, I cheered my heart with hope.

When the emperor Naraváhanadatta had told this story, those hermits
in the hermitage of Kasyapa, accompanied by Gopálaka, rejoiced
exceedingly.







BOOK XVIII.


CHAPTER CXX.


Glory be to that god, half of whose body is the moon-faced Párvatí,
who is smeared with ashes white as the rays of the moon, whose eyes
gleam with a fire like that of the sun and moon, who wears a half-moon
on his head!

May that elephant-faced god protect you, who, with his trunk bent at
the end, uplifted in sport, appears to be bestowing successes!



Then Naraváhanadatta, in the hermitage of the hermit Kasyapa,
on that Black Mountain, said to the assembled hermits, "Moreover,
when, during my separation from the queen, Vegavatí, who was in love
with me, took me and made me over to the protection of a Science,
I longed to abandon the body, being separated from my beloved and
in a foreign land; but while, in this state of mind, I was roaming
about in a remote part of the forest, I beheld the great hermit Kanva.

"That compassionate hermit, seeing me bowing at his feet, and knowing
by the insight of profound meditation that I was miserable, took me
to his hermitage, and said to me, 'Why are you distracted, though you
are a hero sprung from the race of the Moon? As the ordinance of the
god standeth sure, why should you despair of reunion with your wife?

"'The most unexpected meetings do take place for men in this world; I
will tell you, to illustrate this, the story of Vikramáditya; listen.'"



The story of Vikramáditya.

There is in Avanti a famous city, named Ujjayiní, the dwelling-place
of Siva, built by Visvakarman in the commencement or the Yuga; which,
like a virtuous woman, is invincible by strangers; like a lotus-plant
is the resort of the goddess of prosperity; like the heart of the good,
is rich in virtue; like the earth, is full of many wonderful sights.

There dwelt in that city a world-conquering king, named Mahendráditya,
the slayer of his enemies' armies, like Indra in Amarávatí. In regard
of prowess he was a wielder of many weapons; in regard of beauty he
was the flower-weaponed god [734] himself; his hand was ever open in
bounty, but was firmly clenched on the hilt of his sword. That king had
a wife named Saumyadarsaná, who was to him as Sachí to Indra, as Gaurí
to Siva, as Srí to Vishnu. And that king had a great minister named
Sumati, and a warder named Vajráyudha, in whose family the office was
hereditary. With these the king remained ruling his realm, propitiating
Siva, and ever bearing various vows in order to obtain a son.

In the meanwhile, as Siva was with Párvatí on the mighty mountain
Kailása, the glens of which are visited by troops of gods, which is
beautiful with the smile that the Northern quarter smiles joyous at
vanquishing all the others, all the gods with Indra at their head came
to visit him, being afflicted by the oppression of the Mlechchhas;
and the immortals bowed, and then sat down and praised Siva; and when
he asked them the reason of their coming, they addressed to him this
prayer: "O god, those Asuras, who were slain by thee and Vishnu, have
been now again born on the earth in the form of Mlechchhas. They slay
Bráhmans, they interfere with the sacrifices and other ceremonies,
and they carry off the daughters of hermits: indeed, what crime do not
the villains commit? Now, thou knowest, lord, that the world of gods
is ever nourished by the earth, for the oblation offered in the fire by
Bráhmans nourishes the dwellers in heaven. But, as the Mlechchhas have
overrun the earth, the auspicious words are nowhere pronounced over
the burnt-offering, and the world of gods is being exhausted by the
cutting off of their share of the sacrifice and other supplies. [735]
So devise an expedient in this matter; cause some hero to become
incarnate on the earth, mighty enough to destroy those Mlechchhas."

When Siva had been thus entreated by the gods, he said to them,
"Depart; you need not be anxious about this matter; be at your
ease. Rest assured that I will soon devise an expedient which will
meet the difficulty." When Siva had said this, he dismissed the gods
to their abodes. [736]

And when they had gone, the Holy one, with Párvatí at his side,
summoned a Gana, named Mályavat, and gave him this order, "My son,
descend into the condition of a man, and be born in the city of
Ujjayiní as the brave son of king Mahendráditya. That king is a
portion of me, and his wife is sprung from a portion of Ambiká;
be born in their family, and do the heaven-dwellers the service they
require. Slay all those Mlechchhas that obstruct the fulfilment of the
law contained in the three Vedas. And by my favour thou shalt be a king
ruling over the seven divisions of the world; moreover the Rákshasas,
the Yakshas and the Vetálas shall own thy supremacy; [737] and after
thou hast enjoyed human pleasures, thou shalt again return to me."

When the Gana Mályavat received this command from Siva, he said
"The command of you two divine beings cannot be disobeyed by me:
but what enjoyments are there in the life of a man, which involves
separations from relations, friends, and servants, very hard to bear,
and the pain arising from loss of wealth, old age, disease, and the
other ills of humanity?" When the Gana said this to Siva, the god
thus replied, "Go, blameless one! These woes shall not fall to thy
lot; by my favour thou shalt be happy throughout the whole of thy
sojourn on earth." When Siva said this to Mályavat, that virtuous Gana
immediately disappeared. And he went and was conceived in Ujjayiní,
in the proper season, in the womb of the queen of king Mahendráditya.

And at that time the god, whose diadem is fashioned of a digit of the
moon, said to that king in a dream, "I am pleased with thee, king, so
a son shall be born to thee, who by his might shall conquer the earth
with all its divisions; and that hero shall reduce under his sway the
Yakshas, Rákshasas, Pisáchas and others, even those that move in the
air, and dwell in Pátála, and shall slay the hosts of the Mlechchhas;
for this reason he shall be named Vikramáditya; and also Vishamasíla
on account of his stern hostility [738] to his enemies."

When the god had said this, he disappeared; and next morning the
king woke up, and joyfully related his dream to his ministers. And
they also told the king, one after another, with great delight,
that Siva had made a revelation to each of them in a dream that he
was to have a son. And at that moment a handmaid of the harem came
and shewed the king a fruit, saying, "Siva gave this to the queen in
a dream." Then the king rejoiced, saying, again and again, "Truly,
Siva has given me a son," and his ministers congratulated him.

Then his illustrious queen became pregnant, like the eastern quarter
in the morning, when the orb of the sun is about to arise, and she
was conspicuous for the black tint of the nipples of her breasts,
which appeared like a seal to secure the milk for the king with whom
she was pregnant. In her dreams at that time she crossed seven seas,
being worshipped by all the Yakshas, Vetálas, and Rákshasas. And
when the due time was come, she brought forth a glorious son, who
lit up the chamber, as the rising sun does the heaven. And when he
was born, the sky became indeed glorious, laughing with the falling
rain of flowers, and ringing with the noise of the gods' drums. And
on that occasion the city was altogether distracted with festive
joy, and appeared as if intoxicated, as if possessed by a demon,
as if generally wind-struck. And at that time the king rained wealth
there so unceasingly, that, except the Buddhists, no one was without
a god. [739] And king Mahendráditya gave him the name of Vikramáditya,
which Siva had mentioned, and also that of Vishamasíla.

When some more days had passed, there was born to that king's minister,
named Sumati, a son of the name of Mahámati, and the warder Vajráyudha
had a son born to him, named Bhadhráyudha, and the chaplain Mahídhara
had a son of the name of Srídhara. And that prince Vikramáditya
grew up with those three minister's sons, as with spirit, courage,
and might. When he was invested with the sacred thread, and put
under teachers, they were merely the occasions of his learning the
sciences, which revealed themselves to him without effort. And whatever
science or accomplishment he was seen to employ, was known by those,
who understood it, to be possessed by him to the highest degree of
excellence. And when people saw that prince fighting with heavenly
weapons, they even began to pay less attention to the stories about
the great archer Ráma and other heroes of the kind. And his father
brought for him beautiful maidens, given by kings who had submitted
after defeat, like so many goddesses of Fortune.

Then his father, king Mahendráditya, seeing that his son was in the
bloom of early manhood, of great valour, and beloved by the subjects,
duly anointed him heir to his realm, and being himself old, retired
with his wife and ministers to Váránasí, [740] and made the god Siva
his refuge.

And king Vikramáditya, having obtained that kingdom of his father,
began in due course to blaze forth, as the sun, when it has occupied
the sky. Even haughty kings, when they saw the string fitted into
the notch of his bending bow, [741] learnt a lesson from that weapon,
and bent likewise on every side. Of godlike dignity, having subdued
to his sway even Vetálas, Rákshasas and other demons, he chastised
righteously those that followed evil courses. The armies of that
Vikramáditya roamed over the earth like the rays of the sun, shedding
into every quarter the light of order. Though that king was a mighty
hero, he dreaded the other world, though a brave warrior, he was
not hard-handed, [742] though not uxorious, he was beloved by his
wives. He was the father of all the fatherless, the friend of all
the friendless, and the protector of all the unprotected among his
subjects. Surely his glory furnished the Disposer with the material
out of which he built up the White Island, the Sea of Milk, Mount
Kailása, and the Himálayas. [743]

And one day, as the king Vikramáditya was in the hall of assembly, the
warder Bhadráyudha came in and said to him, "Your Majesty despatched
Vikramasakti with an army to conquer the southern region and other
territories, and then sent to him a messenger named Anangadeva;
that messenger has now returned, and is at the gate with another,
and his delighted face announces good tidings, my lord." The king
said, "Let him enter," and then the warder respectfully introduced
Anangadeva, with his companion. The messenger entered and bowed,
and shouted "Victory" [744] and sat down in front of the king; and
then the king said to him, "Is it well with king Vikramasakti, the
general of my forces, and with Vyághrabala and the other kings? And
does good fortune attend on the other chief Rájpúts in his army,
and on the elephants, horses, chariots and footmen?"

When Anangadeva had been thus questioned by the king, he answered, "It
is well with Vikramasakti and the whole of the army. And Your Majesty
has conquered the Dekkan and the western border, and Madhyadesa and
Sauráshtra and all the eastern region of the Ganges; and the northern
region and Kasmíra have been made tributary, and various forts and
islands have been conquered, and the hosts of the Mlechchhas have
been slain, and the rest have been reduced to submission, and various
kings have entered the camp of Vikramasakti, and he himself is coming
here with those kings, and is now, my lord, two or three marches off."

When the messenger had thus told his tale, king Vikramáditya
was pleased and loaded [745] him with garments, ornaments, and
villages. Then the king went on to say to that noble messenger,
"Anangadeva, when you went there, what regions did you see, and
what object of interest did you meet with anywhere? Tell me, my
good fellow!" When Anangadeva had been thus questioned by the king,
he began to recount his adventures, as follows:--



The adventures of Anangadeva.

Having set out hence by Your Majesty's orders, I reached in course
of time that army of yours assembled under Vikramasakti, which
was like a broad sea resorted to by allied kings, adorned by many
princes of the Nágas that had come together with horses and royal
magnificence. [746] And when I arrived there, that Vikramasakti bowed
before me, and treated me with great respect, because I had been
sent by his sovereign; and while I was there considering the nature
of the triumphs he had gained, a messenger from the king of Sinhala
[747] came there.

And that messenger, who had come from Sinhala, told to Vikramasakti
in my presence his master's message as follows, "I have been told
by messengers, who have been sent by me to your sovereign and have
returned, that your sovereign's very heart Anangadeva is with you,
so send him to me quickly, I will reveal to him a certain auspicious
affair, that concerns your king." Then Vikramasakti said to me,
"Go quickly to the king of Sinhala; and see what he wishes to say to
you when he has you before him."

Then I went through the sea in a ship to the island of Sinhala with
that king of Sinhala's ambassador. And in that island I saw a palace
all made of gold, with terraces of various jewels, like the city of
the gods. And in it I saw that king of Sinhala, Vírasena, surrounded
by obedient ministers, as Indra is by the gods. When I approached him,
he received me politely, and asked me about Your Majesty's health,
and then he refreshed me with most sumptuous hospitality.

The next day the king summoned me, when he was in his hall of audience;
and showing his devotion to you, said to me in the presence of his
ministers, "I have a maiden daughter, the peerless beauty of the world
of mortals, Madanalekhá by name, and I offer her to your king. She
is a fitting wife for him, and he is a suitable husband for her;
for this reason I have invited you; so accept her in the name of your
king. [748] And go on in front with my ambassador to tell your master;
I will send my daughter here close after you."

When the king had said this, he summoned into that hall his daughter
whose load of ornaments was adorned by her graceful shape, loveliness,
and youth. And he made her sit on his lap, and shewing her, said to
me, "I offer this girl to your master, receive her." And when I saw
that princess, I was astonished at her beauty, and I said joyfully, "I
accept this maiden on behalf of my sovereign," and I thought to myself,
"Well, the Creator is never tired of producing marvels, since even
after creating Tilottamá, he has produced this far superior beauty."

Then, having been honoured by that king, I set forth from that island,
with this ambassador of his, Dhavalasena. So we embarked on a ship,
and as we were sailing along in it, through the sea, we suddenly
saw a great sandbank in the middle of the ocean. And on it we saw
two maidens of singular beauty; one had a body as dark as priyangu,
the other gleamed white like the moon, and they both looked more
splendid from having put on dresses and ornaments suited to their
respective hues. They made a sound like the clashing of cymbals with
their bracelets adorned with splendid gems, and they were making
a young toy-deer, which, though of gold and studded with jewels
to represent spots, possessed life, dance in front of them. [749]
When we saw this, we were astonished and we said to one another,
"What can this wonder mean? Is it a dream, magic, or delusion? Who
would ever expect to see a sandbank suddenly start up in the middle
of the ocean, or such maidens upon it? And who would ever have thought
of seeing such a thing as this living golden deer studded with jewels,
which they possess? Such things are not usually found together."

While we were saying this to one another, king, in the greatest
astonishment, a wind suddenly began to blow, tossing up the sea. That
wind broke up our ship, which was resting on the surging waves,
and the people in it were whelmed in the sea, and the sea-monsters
began to devour them. But those two maidens came and supported both
of us in their arms, and lifted us up and carried us to the sandbank,
so that we escaped the jaws of the sea-monsters. And then that bank
began to be covered with waves, at which we were terrified, but those
two ladies cheered us, and made us enter what seemed like the interior
of a cave. There we began to look at a heavenly wood of various trees,
and while we were looking at it, the sea disappeared, and the bank,
and the young deer, and the maidens.

We wandered about there for a time, saying to ourselves, "What is this
strange thing? It is assuredly some magic." And then we saw there
a great lake, transparent, deep, and broad, like the heart of great
men, looking like a material representation of Nirvána that allays
the fire of desire. [750]

And we saw a certain beautiful woman, coming to bathe in it,
accompanied by her train, looking like an incarnation of the beauty
of the wood. And that lady alighted from her covered chariot, [751]
and gathered lotuses in that lake, and bathed in it, and meditated on
Siva. And thereupon, to our astonishment, Siva arose from the lake,
a present god, in the form of a linga, composed of splendid jewels,
and came near her; and that fair one worshipped him with various
luxuries suited to her majesty, and then took her lyre. And she played
upon it, singing skilfully to it with rapt devotion, following the
southern style in respect of notes, time, and words. So splendid was
her performance that even the Siddhas and other beings appeared there
in the air, having their hearts attracted by hearing it, and remained
motionless as if painted. And after she had finished her music, [752]
she dismissed the god, and he immediately sank in the lake. Then the
gazelle-eyed lady rose up, and mounted her chariot, and proceeded to
go away slowly with her train.

We followed her, and eagerly asked her train over and over again, who
she was, but none of them gave us any answer. Then, wishing to shew
that ambassador of the king of Sinhala your might, I said to her aloud,
"Auspicious one, I adjure thee by the touch of king Vikramáditya's
feet, that thou depart not hence without revealing to me who thou
art." When the lady heard this, she made her train retire, and alighted
from her chariot, and coming up to me, she said with a gentle voice,
"Is my lord the noble king Vikramáditya well? But why do I ask,
Anangadeva, since I know all about him? For I exerted magic power,
and brought you here for the sake of that king, for I must honour him,
as he delivered me from a great danger. So come to my palace; there
I will tell you all, who I am, and why I ought to honour that king,
and what service he needs to have done him."

When she had said this, having left her chariot out of courtesy, that
fair one went along the path on foot and respectfully conducted me to
her castle, which looked like heaven; it was built of various jewels
and different kinds of gold; its gates were guarded on every side by
brave warriors wearing various forms, and bearing various weapons;
and it was full of noble ladies of remarkable beauty, looking as if
they were charms that drew down endless heavenly enjoyments. There
she honoured us with baths, unguents, splendid dresses and ornaments,
and made us rest for a time.






CHAPTER CXXI.


When Anangadeva had told this to king Vikramáditya in his hall of
audience, he continued as follows:--

Then, after I had taken food, that lady, sitting in the midst of her
attendants, said to me, "Listen, Anangadeva, I will now tell you all."



Story of Madanamanjarí.

I am Madanamanjarí, the daughter of Dundubhi the king of the Yakshas,
and the wife of Manibhadra the brother of Kuvera. I used always to
roam about happily with my husband on the banks of rivers, on hills,
and in charming groves.

And one day I went with my beloved to a garden in Ujjayiní called
Makaranda to amuse myself. There it happened that in the dawn
a low hypocritical scoundrel of a kápálika [753] saw me, when I
had just woke up from a sleep brought on by the fatigue of roaming
about. That rascal, being overcome with love, went into a cemetery,
and proceeded to try and procure me for his wife by means of a spell,
and a burnt-offering. But I by my power found out what he was about,
and informed my husband; and he told his elder brother Kuvera. And
Kuvera went and complained to Brahmá, and the holy Brahmá, after
meditating, said to him, "It is true that kápálika intends to rob
your brother of his wife, for such is the power of those spells for
mastering Yakshas, which he possesses. But when she feels herself
being drawn along by the spell, she must invoke the protection of king
Vikramáditya; he will save her from him." Then Kuvera came and told
this answer of Brahmá's to my husband, and my husband told it to me,
whose mind was troubled by that wicked spell.

And in the meanwhile that hypocritical kápálika, offering a
burnt-offering in the cemetery, began to draw me to him by means of
a spell, duly muttered in a circle. And I, being drawn by that spell,
reached in an agony of terror that awful cemetery, full of bones and
skulls, haunted by demons. And then I saw there that wicked kápálika:
he had made an offering to the fire, and he had in a circle a corpse
lying on its back, which he had been worshipping. And that kápálika,
when he saw that I had arrived, was beside himself with pride, and
with difficulty tore himself away to rinse his mouth in a river,
which happened to be near.

At that moment I called to mind what Brahmá had said, and I thought,
"Why should I not call to the king for aid? He may be roaming about
in the darkness somewhere near." When I had said this to myself,
I called aloud for his help in the following words, "Deliver me,
noble king Vikramáditya! See, protecting talisman of the world, this
kápálika is bent on outraging by force, in your realm, me a chaste
matron, the Yakshí Madanamanjarí by name, the daughter of Dundubhi,
and the wife of Manibhadra the younger brother of Kuvera."

No sooner had I finished this plaintive appeal, than I saw that king
coming towards me, sword in hand; he seemed to be all resplendent with
brightness of valour, and he said to me, "My good lady, do not fear;
be at ease; I will deliver you from that kápálika, fair one. For who
is able to work such unrighteousness in my realm?" When he had said
this, he summoned a Vetála, named Agnisikha. And he, when summoned,
came, tall, with flaming eyes, with upstanding hair; and said to
the king, "Tell me what I am to do." Then the king said, "Kill and
eat this wicked kápálika, who is trying to carry off his neighbour's
wife." Then that Vetála Agnisikha entered the corpse that was in the
circle of adoration, and rose up, and rushed forward, stretching out
his arms and mouth. And when the kápálika, who had come back from
rinsing his mouth, was preparing to fly, he seized him from behind
by the legs; and he whirled him round in the air and then dashed him
down with great force on the earth, and so at one blow crushed his
body and his aspirations.

When the demons saw the kápálika slain, they were all eager for flesh,
and a fierce Vetála, named Yamasikha, came there. As soon as he came,
he seized the body of the kápálika; then the first Vetála Agnisikha
said to him, "Hear, villain! I have killed this kápálika by the
order of king Vikramáditya; pray what have you to do with him?" When
Yamasikha heard that, he said to him, "Then tell me, what kind of
power has that king?" Then Agnisikha said, "If you do not know the
nature of his power, listen, I will tell you."



Story of the gambler Dágineya, who was too cunning for the Vetála
Agnisikha, and of Agnisikha's submission to king Vikramáditya.

There once lived in this city a very resolute gambler of the name
of Dágineya. Once on a time some gamblers, by fraudulent play, won
from him all he possessed, and then bound him in order to obtain from
him the borrowed money which he had lost in addition. And as he had
nothing, they beat him with sticks and other instruments of torture,
[754] but he made himself like a stone, and seemed as rigid as a
corpse. Then all those wicked gamblers took him and threw him into a
large dark well, fearing that, if he lived, he might take vengeance
on them.

But that gambler Dágineya, when flung down into that very deep well,
saw in front of him two great and terrible men. But they, when they
saw him fall down terrified, said to him kindly, "Who are you, and
how have you managed to fall into this deep well? Tell us!" Then the
gambler recovered his spirits, and told them his story, and said to
them "Do you also tell me who you are and whence you come." When
those men, who were in the pit, heard that, they said, "Good Sir,
we were Bráhman demons [755] dwelling in the cemetery belonging
to this city, and we possessed two maidens in this very city; one
was the daughter of the principal minister, the other of the chief
merchant. And no conjurer on the earth, however powerful his spells,
was able to deliver those maidens from us.

"Then king Vikramáditya, who had an affection for their fathers, heard
of it, and came to the place, where those maidens were with a friend
of their fathers'. The moment we saw the king, we left the maidens,
and tried to escape, but we were not able to do so, though we tried
our utmost. We saw the whole horizon on fire with his splendour. Then
that king, seeing us, bound us by his power. And seeing us unhappy,
as we were afraid of being put to death, he gave us this order,
'Ye wicked ones, dwell for a year in a dark pit, and then ye shall
be set at liberty. But when freed, ye must never again commit such
a crime; if ye do, I will punish you with destruction.' After king
Vishamasíla had given us this order, he had us flung into this dark
pit; but out of mercy he did not destroy us.

"And in eight more days the year will be completed, and with it
the period during which we were to dwell in this cave, and we shall
then be released from it. Now, friend, if you engage to supply us
with some food during those days, we will lift you out of this pit,
and set you down outside it; but if you do not, when lifted out,
supply us with food according to your engagement, we will certainly,
when we come out, devour you."

When the Bráhman demons made this proposal to the gambler, he consented
to it, and they put him out of the pit. When he got out of it, he went
to the cemetery at night to deal in human flesh, as he saw no other
chance of getting what he wanted. And I, happening to be there at that
time, saw that gambler, who was crying out, "I have human flesh for
sale; buy it somebody." Then I said, "I will take it off your hands;
what price do you want for it?" And he answered, "Give me your shape
and power." Then I said again to him, "My fine fellow, what will you do
with them?" The gambler then told me his whole story, and said to me,
"By means of your shape and power I will get hold of those enemies of
mine, the gamblers, together with the keeper of the gambling-house,
and will give them to the Bráhman demons to eat." When I heard that,
I was pleased with the resolute spirit of that gambler, and gave him
my shape and my power for a specified period of seven days. And by
means of them he drew those men that had injured him into his power,
one after another, and flung them into the pit, and fed the Bráhman
demons on them during seven days.

Then I took back from him my shape and power, and that gambler
Dágineya, beside himself with fear, said to me, "I have not given
those Bráhman demons any food this day, which is the eighth, so they
will now come out and devour me. Tell me what I must do in this case,
for you are my friend." When he said this, I, having got to like him
from being thrown with him, said to him, "If this is the case, since
you have made those two demons devour the gamblers, I for your sake
will in turn eat the demons. So shew them to me, my friend." When I
made the gambler this offer, he at once jumped at it, and took me to
the pit where the demons were.

I, suspecting nothing, bent my head down to look into the pit,
and while I was thus engaged, the gambler put his hand on the back
of my neck, and pushed me into it. When I fell into it, the demons
took me for some one sent for them to eat, and laid hold of me, and
I had a wrestling-match with them. When they found that they could
not overcome the might of my arms, they desisted from the struggle,
and asked me who I was.

Then I told them my own story from the point where my fortunes became
involved with those of Dágineya, [756] and they made friends with me,
and said to me, "Alas! What a trick that evil-minded gambler has played
you, and us two, and those other gamblers! But what confidence can be
placed in gamblers, who profess exclusively the science of cheating,
whose minds are proof against friendship, pity, and gratitude for a
benefit received? Recklessness and disregard of all ties are ingrained
in the nature of gamblers; hear in illustration of this the story
of Thinthákarála."



Story of Thinthákarála the bold gambler.

Long ago there lived in this very city of Ujjayiní a ruffianly gambler,
who was rightly named Thinthákarála. [757] He lost perpetually,
and the others, who won in the game, used to give him every day a
hundred cowries. With those he bought wheat-flour from the market,
and in the evening made cakes by kneading them somewhere or other in
a pot with water, and then he went and cooked them in the flame of
a funeral pyre in the cemetery, and ate them in front of Mahákála,
smearing them with the grease from the lamp burning before him: and
he always slept at night on the ground in the court of the same god's
temple, pillowing his head on his arm.

Now, one night, he saw the images of all the Mothers and of the Yakshas
and other divine beings in the temple of Mahákála trembling from the
proximity of spells, and this thought arose in his bosom, "Why should
I not employ an artful device here to obtain wealth? If it succeeds,
well and good; if it does not succeed, wherein am I the worse?" When
he had gone through these reflections, he challenged those deities
to play, saying to them, "Come now, I will have a game with you, and
I will act as keeper of the gaming-table, and will fling the dice;
and mind, you must always pay up what you lose." When he said this
to the deities they remained silent; so Thinthákarála staked some
spotted cowries, and flung the dice. For this is the universally
accepted rule among gamblers, that, if a gambler does not object to
the dice being thrown, he agrees to play.

Then, having won much gold, he said to the deities, "Pay me the money
I have won, as you agreed to do." But though the gambler said this to
the deities over and over again, they made no answer. Then he flew in
a passion and said to them, "If you remain silent, I will adopt with
you the same course as is usually adopted with a gambler, who will not
pay the money he has lost, but makes himself as stiff as a stone. [758]
I will simply saw through your limbs with a saw as sharp as the points
of Yama's teeth, for I have no respect for anything." When he had said
this, he ran towards them, saw in hand; and the deities immediately
paid him the gold he had won. Next morning he lost it all at play,
and in the evening he came back again, and extorted more money from
the Mothers in the same way by making them play with him.

He went on doing this every day, and those deities, the Mothers, were
in very low spirits about it; then the goddess Chámundá said to them,
"Whoever, when invited to gamble, says 'I sit out of this game' cannot
be forced to play; this is the universal convention among gamblers,
ye Mother deities. So when he invites you, say this to him, and so
baffle him." When Chámundá had said this to the Mothers, they laid
her advice up in their minds. And when the gambler came at night and
invited them to play with him, all the goddesses said with one accord
"We sit out of this game."

When Thinthákarála had been thus repulsed by those goddesses, he
invited their sovereign Mahákála himself to play. But that god,
thinking that the fellow had taken this opportunity of trying to
force him to gamble, said, "I sit out of this game." Even gods, you
see, like feeble persons, are afraid of a thoroughly self-indulgent,
ruffianly scoundrel, flushed with impunity.

Then that Thinthákarála, being depressed at finding his gambler's
artifice baffled by a knowledge of the etiquette of play, was
disgusted, and said to himself, "Alas! I am baffled by these deities
through their learning the conventions of gamblers; so I must now
flee for refuge to this very sovereign of the gods." Having formed
this resolution in his heart, Thinthákarála embraced the feet of
Mahákála, and praising him, addressed to him the following petition;
"I adore thee that sittest naked [759] with thy head resting on thy
knee; thy moon, thy bull, and thy elephant-skin having been won at
play by Deví. When the gods give all powers at thy mere desire, and
when thou art free from longings, having for thy only possessions the
matted lock, the ashes and the skull, how canst thou suddenly have
become avaricious with regard to hapless me, in that thou desirest
to disappoint me for so small a gain? Of a truth the wishing-tree
no longer gratifies the hope of the poor, as thou dost not support
me, lord Bhairava, though thou supportest the world. So, as I have
fled to thee as a suppliant, holy Sthánu, with my mind pierced with
grievous woe, thou oughtest even to pardon presumption in me. Thou
hast three eyes, I have three dice, [760] so I am like thee in one
respect; thou hast ashes on thy body, so have I; thou eatest from a
skull, so do I; shew me mercy. When I have conversed with you gods,
how can I afterwards bear to converse with gamblers? So deliver me
from my calamity."

With this and similar utterances the gambler praised that
Bhairava, until at last the god was pleased, and manifesting
himself, said to him, "Thinthákarála, I am pleased with thee; do
not be despondent. Remain here with me; I will provide thee with
enjoyments." In accordance with this command of the god's that gambler
remained there, enjoying all kinds of luxuries provided by the favour
of the deity.

Now, one night, the god saw certain Apsarases, that had come to
bathe in that holy pool of Mahákála, and he gave this command to
Thinthákarála, "While all these nymphs of heaven are engaged in
bathing, quickly snatch up the clothes, which they have laid on the
bank, and bring them here; and do not give them back their garments,
until they surrender to you this young nymph, named Kalávatí." [761]

"When Thinthákarála had received this command from Bhairava, he went
and carried off the garments of those heavenly beauties, while they
were bathing; and they said to him, "Give us back our garments, please;
do not leave us naked." But he answered them, confident in the power
which Siva gave, "If you will give me the young nymph Kalávatí, I will
give you back these garments, but not otherwise." When they heard that,
seeing that he was a stubborn fellow to deal with, and remembering
that Indra had pronounced a curse of this kind upon Kalávatí, they
agreed to his demand. And on his giving back the garments, they
bestowed on him, in due form, Kalávatí the daughter of Alambushá.

Then the Apsarases departed, and Thinthákarála remained there with
that Kalávatí in a house built by the wish of Siva. And Kalávatí
went in the day to heaven to attend upon the king of the gods, but at
night she always returned [762] to her husband. And one day she said
to him in the ardour of her affection, "My dear, the curse of Siva,
which enabled me to obtain you for a husband, has really proved a
blessing." Thereupon her husband Thinthákarála asked her the cause
of the curse, and the nymph Kalávatí thus answered him:

"One day, when I had seen the gods in a garden, I praised the
enjoyments of mortals, depreciating the pleasures of the dwellers in
heaven, as giving joys that consist only in seeing. [763] When the
king of the gods heard that, he cursed me, saying, 'Thou shalt go and
be married by a mortal, and enjoy those human pleasures.' In this way
has come about our union that is mutually agreeable. And to-morrow I
shall return to heaven after a long absence; do not be unhappy about
it; for Rambhá is going to dance a new piece before Vishnu, and I
must remain there, my beloved, until the exhibition is at an end."

Then Thinthákarála, whom love had made like a spoiled child, said to
her, "I will go there and look at that dance unperceived, take me
there." When Kalávatí heard that, she said, "How is it fitting for
me to do this? The king of the gods might be angry, if he found it
out." Though she said this to him, he continued to press her; then
out of love she agreed to take him there.

So the next morning Kalávatí by her power concealed Thinthákarála
in a lotus, which she placed as an ornament in her ear, and took
him to the palace of Indra. When Thinthákarála saw that palace,
the doors of which were adorned by the elephant of the gods, which
was set off by the garden of Nandana, he thought himself a god, and
was highly delighted. And in the court of Indra, frequented by gods,
he beheld the strange and delightful spectacle of Rambhá's dance,
accompanied by the singing of all the nymphs of heaven. And he heard
all the musical instruments played by Nárada and the other minstrels;
for what is hard to obtain in this world if the supreme god [764]
is favourable to one?

Then, at the end of the exhibition a mime, in the shape of a divine
goat, rose up, and began to dance with heavenly [765] movements. And
Thinthákarála, when he saw him, recognized him, and said to himself,
"Why, I see this goat in Ujjayiní, figuring as a mere animal, and here
he is dancing as a mime before Indra. Of a truth this must be some
strange incomprehensible heavenly delusion." While Thinthákarála was
going through these reflections in his mind, the dance of the goat-mime
came to an end, and then Indra returned to his own place. And then
Kalávatí, in high spirits, also took back Thinthákarála to his own
home, concealed in the lotus-ornament of her ear.

And the next day Thinthákarála beheld in Ujjayiní that goat-formed mime
of the gods, who had returned there, and he insolently said to him,
"Come, dance before me, as you dance before Indra. If you do not, I
shall be angry with you; show off your dancing powers, you mime." When
the goat heard this, he was astonished, and remained silent, saying
to himself, "How can this mere mortal know so much about me?" But
when, in spite of persistent entreaties, the goat refused to dance,
Thinthákarála beat him on the head with sticks.

Then the goat went with bleeding head to Indra, and told him all that
had taken place. And Indra by his supernatural powers of contemplation
discovered the whole secret, how Kalávatí had brought Thinthákarála to
heaven when Rambhá was dancing, and how that profane fellow had there
seen the goat dancing. Then Indra summoned Kalávatí, and pronounced
on her the following curse, "Since, out of love, thou didst secretly
bring here the man who has reduced the goat to this state, to make
him dance, depart and become an image on a pillar in the temple built
by king Narasinha in the city of Nágapura."

When Indra had said this, Alambushá, the mother of Kalávatí, tried
to appease him, and at last he was with difficulty appeased, and he
thus fixed an end to the curse, "When that temple, which it has taken
many years to complete, shall perish and be levelled with the ground,
then shall her curse come to an end." So Kalávatí came weeping and
told to Thinthákarála the curse Indra had pronounced, together with
the end he had appointed to it, and how he himself was to blame,
and then, after giving him her ornaments, she entered into an image
on the front of a pillar in the temple in Nágapura.

Thinthákarála for his part, smitten with the poison of separation
from her, could neither hear nor see, but rolled swooning on the
ground. And when that gambler came to his senses, he uttered this
lament, "Alas! fool that I was, I revealed the secret, though I knew
better all the time; for how can people like myself, who are by nature
thoughtless, shew self-restraint? So now this intolerable separation
has fallen to my lot." However in a moment he said to himself, "This
is no time for me to despond; why should I not recover firmness and
strive to put an end to her curse?"

After going through these reflections, the cunning fellow thought
carefully over the matter, and assuming the dress of a mendicant
devotee, went with rosary, antelope-skin, and matted hair, to
Nágapura. There he secretly buried in a forest outside the city,
four pitchers containing his wife's ornaments, one towards each of
the cardinal points; and one full of sets of the five precious things
[766] he deliberately buried within the city, in the earth of the
market-place, in front of the god himself.

When he had done this, he built a hut on the bank of the river, and
remained there, affecting a hypocritical asceticism, pretending to
be meditating and muttering. And by bathing three times in the day,
and eating only the food given him as alms, after washing it with
water on a stone, he acquired the character of a very holy man.

In course of time his fame reached the ears of the king, and the king
often invited him, but he never went near him: so the king came to
see him, and remained a long time in conversation with him. And in
the evening, when the king was preparing to depart, a female jackal
suddenly uttered a yell at a distance. When the cunning gambler, who
was passing himself off as an ascetic, heard that, he laughed. And
when the king asked him the meaning of the laugh, he said, "Oh! never
mind." But when the king went on persistently questioning him,
the deceitful fellow said, "In the forest to the east of this city,
under a ratan, there is a pitcher full of jewelled ornaments; so take
it. This, king, is what that female jackal told me, for I understand
the language of animals."

Then the king was full of curiosity: so the ascetic took him to
the spot, and dug up the earth, and took out that pitcher, and gave
it to him. Then the king, having obtained the ornaments, began to
have faith in the ascetic, and considered that he not only possessed
supernatural knowledge but was a truthful and unselfish devotee. So he
conducted him to his cell, and prostrated himself at his feet again
and again, and returned to his palace at night with his ministers,
praising his virtues.

In the same way, when the king again came to him, the ascetic pretended
to understand the cry of an animal, and in this way made over to the
king the other three pitchers, buried towards the other three cardinal
points. Then the king, and the citizens, and the king's wives became
exclusively devoted to the ascetic, and were, so to speak, quite
absorbed in him.

Now, one day, the king took that wicked ascetic to the temple for
a moment; so he contrived to hear in the market-place the cry of a
crow. Then he said to the king, "Did you hear what the crow said? 'In
this very market-place there is a pitcher full of valuable jewels
buried in front of the god: why do you not take it up also?' This was
the meaning of his cry; so come, and take possession of it." When
the deceitful ascetic had said this, he conducted him there, and
took up out of the earth the pitcher full of valuable jewels, and
gave it to the king. Then the king, in his excessive satisfaction,
entered the temple holding that pretended seer by the hand.

There the mendicant brushed against that image on the pillar,
which his beloved Kalávatí had entered, and saw her. And Kalávatí,
wearing the form of the image on the pillar, was afflicted when she
saw her husband, and began to weep then and there. When the king and
his attendants saw this, they were amazed, and cast down, and said to
that pretended seer, "Reverend Sir, what is the meaning of this?" Then
the cunning rascal, pretending to be despondent and bewildered, said
to the king, "Come to your palace: there I will tell you this secret,
though it is almost too terrible to be revealed."

When he had said this, he led the king to the palace, and said to him,
"Since you built this temple on an unlucky spot and in an inauspicious
moment, on the third day from now a misfortune will befall you. It
was for this reason that the image on the pillar wept when she saw
you. So, if you care for your body's weal, my sovereign, take this
into consideration, and this very day quickly level this temple with
the earth; and build another temple somewhere else, on a lucky spot,
and in an auspicious moment. Let the evil omen be averted, and ensure
the prosperity of yourself and your kingdom." When he had said this
to the king, he, in his terror, gave command to his subjects, and in
one day levelled that temple with the earth, and he began to build
another temple in another place. So true is it that rogues with their
tricks gain the confidence of princes, and impose upon them.

Accordingly, the gambler Thinthákarála, having gained his object,
abandoned the disguise of a mendicant, and fled, and went to
Ujjayiní. And Kalávatí, finding it out, went to meet him on the road,
freed from her curse and happy, and she comforted him, and then went to
heaven to visit Indra. And Indra was astonished, but when he heard from
her mouth the artifice of her husband the gambler, he laughed and was
highly delighted. Then Vrihaspati, who was at his side, said to Indra,
"Gamblers are always like this, abounding in every kind of trickery."



Story of the gambler who cheated Yama. [767]

For instance, in a previous kalpa there was in a certain city a
gambler, of the name of Kuttaníkapata, accomplished in dishonest
play. When he went to the other world, Indra said to him, "Gambler,
you will have to live a kalpa in hell on account of your crimes, but
owing to your charity you are to be Indra for one day, for once on a
time you gave a gold coin to a knower of the Supreme Soul. So say,
whether you will take out first your period in hell or your period
as Indra." When the gambler heard that, be said, "I will take out
first my period as Indra."

Then Yama sent the gambler to heaven, and the gods deposed Indra for
a day, and crowned him sovereign in his stead. He, having obtained
sovereign sway, summoned to heaven the gamblers his friends and his
female favourites, and in virtue of his regal authority gave this order
to the gods, "Carry us all in a moment to all the holy bathing-places,
[768] those in heaven, and those on earth, and those in the seven
dvípas: and enter this very day into all the kings on the earth,
and bestow without ceasing, great, gifts for our benefit."

When he gave this order to the gods, they did everything as he had
desired, and by means of those holy observances his sins were washed
[769] away, and he obtained the rank of Indra permanently. And by his
favour his friends and his female favourites, that he had summoned to
heaven, had their sins destroyed and obtained immortality. The next
day Chitragupta informed Yama that the gambler had by his discretion
obtained the rank of Indra permanently. Then Yama, hearing of his
meritorious actions, was astonished, and said, "Dear me! this gambler
has cheated us."

When Vrihaspati had told this story, he said, "Such, O wielder of
the thunderbolt, are gamblers," and then held his peace. And then
Indra sent Kalávatí to summon Thinthákarála to heaven. There the king
of the gods, pleased with his cleverness and resolution, honoured
him, and gave him Kalávatí to wife, and made him an attendant on
himself. Then the brave Thinthákarála lived happily, like a god,
in heaven, with Kalávatí, by the favour of Siva.

"So, you see, such is the style in which gamblers exhibit their
treachery and audacity; accordingly Agnisikha the Vampire, what is
there to be surprised at in your having been treacherously thrown
into this well by Dágineya the gambler? So come out of this pit,
friend, and we will come out also."

When the Bráhman demons said this to me, I came up out of that pit,
and being hungry, I came across a Bráhman traveller that night in the
city. So I rushed forward and seized that Bráhman to eat him, but he
invoked the protection of king Vikramáditya. And the moment the king
heard his cry, he rushed out like flame, and while still at a distance,
checked me by exclaiming "Ah villain! do not kill the Bráhman:"
and then he proceeded to cut off the head of a figure of a man he
had drawn; that did not sever my neck, but made it stream with blood.

Then I left the Bráhman and clung to the king's feet, and he spared
my life.

"Such is the power of that god, king Vikramáditya. And it is by his
orders that I have slain this hypocritical kápálika. So he is my proper
prey, to be devoured by me as being a Vetála; let him go, Yamasikha!"

Though Agnisikha made this appeal to Yamasikha, the latter proceeded
contumaciously to drag with his hand the corpse of that hypocritical
kápálika. Then king Vikramáditya appeared there, and drew the figure
of a man on the earth and then cut off its hand with his sword. That
made the hand of Yamasikha fall severed; so he left the corpse, and
fled in fear. And Agnisikha immediately devoured the corpse of that
kápálika. And I witnessed all this, securely protected by the might
of the king. [770]

"In these words did that wife of the Yaksha, Madanamanjarí by name,
describe your power, O king, and then she went on to say to me."

Then, Anangadeva, the king said to me in a gentle voice, "Yakshí, being
delivered from the kápálika, go to the house of your husband." Then
I bowed before him, and returned to this my own home, thinking how I
might repay to that king the benefit he had conferred on me. In this
way your master gave me life, family and husband; and when you tell
him this story of mine, it will agree with his own recollections.

Moreover, I have to-day found out that the king of Sinhala has sent
to that king his daughter, the greatest beauty in the three worlds,
who has of her own accord elected to marry him. And all the kings,
being jealous, have gathered themselves together and formed the
intention of killing Vikramasakti, and the dependent kings, [771]
and of carrying off that maiden. So, do you go, and make known that
their intention to Vikramasakti, in order that he may be on his guard
and ready to repel their attack. And I will exert myself to enable
king Vikramáditya to conquer those enemies and gain the victory.

"For this reason I brought you here by my own deluding power, in order
that you might tell all this to king Vikramasakti and the dependent
monarchs; and I will send to your sovereign such a present as shall to
a certain small extent be a requital for the benefit that he conferred
on me."

While she was saying this, the two maidens, that we had seen in the
sea, came there with the deer; one had a body white as the moon, the
other was dark as a priyangu; so they seemed like Gangá and Yamuná
returned from worshipping the ocean, the monarch of rivers. When they
had sat down, I put this question to the Yakshí, "Goddess, who are
these maidens, and what is the meaning of this golden deer?" When
the Yakshiní heard this, king, she said to me, "Anangadeva, if you
feel any curiosity about the matter, listen, I will tell you."



Story of Ghanta and Nighanta and the two maidens.

Long ago there came to impede Prajápati, in his creation of creatures,
two terrible Dánavas, named Ghanta and Nighanta, invincible even by
gods. And the Creator, being desirous of destroying them, created
these two maidens, the splendour of whose measureless beauty seemed
capable of maddening the world. And those two mighty Asuras, when they
saw these two exceedingly wonderful maidens, tried to carry them off;
and fighting with one another, they both of them met their death. [772]

Then Brahmá bestowed these maidens on Kuvera, saying, "You must give
these girls to some suitable husband;" and Kuvera made them over to my
husband, who is his younger brother; and in the same way my husband
passed these fair ones [773] on to me; and I have thought of king
Vikramáditya as a husband for them, for, as he is an incarnation of
a god, he is a fit person for them to marry.

"Such are the facts with regard to these maidens, now hear the history
of the deer."



Story of the golden deer.

Indra has a beloved son, named Jayanta. Once on a time, when he,
still an infant, was being carried about in the air by the celestial
nymphs, he saw some princes in a wood on earth playing with some young
deer. Then Jayanta [774] went to heaven, and cried in the presence of
his father because he had not got a deer to play with, as a child would
naturally do. Accordingly Indra had a deer made for him by Visvakarman
of gold and jewels, and life was given to the animal by sprinkling it
with nectar. Then Jayanta played with it, and was delighted with it,
and the young deer was continually roaming about in heaven.

In course of time that son of Rávana, who was rightly named Indrajit,
[775] carried off the young deer from heaven and took it to his
own city Lanká. And after a further period had elapsed, Rávana
and Indrajit having been slain by the heroes Ráma and Lakshmana,
to avenge the carrying off of Sítá, and Vibhíshana having been set
upon the throne of Lanká, as king of the Rákshasas, that wonderful
deer of gold and jewels remained in his palace. And once on a time,
when I was taken by my husband's relations to Vibhíshana's palace on
the occasion of a festival, he gave me the deer as a complimentary
present. And that young heaven-born deer is now in my house, and I
must bestow it on your master.

And while the Yakshiní was telling me this string of tales, the sun,
the friend of the kamaliní, went to rest. Then I and the ambassador
of the king of Sinhala went to sleep, both of us, after the evening
ceremonies, in a palace which the Yakshiní assigned to us.

In the morning we woke up and saw, my sovereign, that the army of
Vikramasakti, your vassal, had arrived. We reflected that that must
be a display of the Yakshiní's power, and quickly went wondering
into the presence of Vikramasakti. And he, as soon as he saw us,
showed us great honour, and asked after our welfare; and was on
the point of asking us what message the king of Sinhala had sent,
when the two heavenly maidens, whose history the Yakshiní had
related to us, and the young deer arrived there, escorted by the
army of the Yakshas. When king Vikramasakti saw this, he suspected
some glamour of malignant demons, and he said to me apprehensively
"What is the meaning of this?" Then I told him in due course the
commission of the king of Sinhala, and the circumstances connected
with the Yakshiní, the two maidens, and the deer. Moreover I informed
him of the hostile scheme of your majesty's enemies, which was to be
carried out by all the kings in combination, and which I had heard
of from the Yakshí. Then Vikramasakti honoured us two ambassadors,
and those two heavenly maidens; and being delighted made his army
ready for battle with the assistance of the other vassal kings.

And immediately, king, there was heard in the army the loud beating of
drums, and immediately there was seen the mighty host of hostile kings,
accompanied by the Mlechchhas. Then our army and the hostile army,
furious at beholding one another, closed with a rush, and the battle
began. Thereupon some of the Yakshas sent by the Yakshí entered our
soldiers, and so smote the army of the enemies, and others smote them
in open fight. [776] And there arose a terrible tempest of battle,
overspread with a cloud formed of the dust raised by the army, in
which sword-blades fell thick as rain, and the shouts of heroes
thundered. And the heads of our enemies flying up, as they were
cut off, and falling again, made it seem as if the Fortune of our
victory were playing at ball. And in a moment those kings that had
escaped the slaughter, their troops having been routed, submitted
and repaired for protection to the camp of your vassal.

Then, lord of earth, as you had conquered the four cardinal points
and the dvípas, and had destroyed all the Mlechchhas, that Yakshiní
appeared, accompanied by her husband, and said to king Vikramasakti
and to me, "You must tell your master that what I have done has been
done merely by way of service to him, and you must also request him,
as from me, to marry these two god-framed maidens, and to look upon
them with favour, and to cherish this deer also, for it is a present
from me." When the Yakshí had said this, she bestowed a heap of jewels,
and disappeared with her husband, and her attendants. The next day,
Madanalekhá, the daughter of the king of Sinhala, came with a great
retinue and much magnificence. And then Vikramasakti went to meet
her, and bending low, joyfully conducted her into his camp. And
on the second day Vikramasakti, having accomplished his object,
set out with the other kings from that place, in order to come here
and behold your Majesty's feet, bringing with him that princess and
the two heavenly maidens, and that deer composed of gold and jewels,
a marvel for the eyes of the three worlds. And now, sovereign, that
vassal prince has arrived near this city, and has sent us two on in
front to inform Your Highness. So let the king, out of regard for
the lord of Sinhala and the Yakshí, go forth to meet those maidens
and the deer, and also the subject kings.

When Anangadeva had said this to king Vikramáditya, though the king
recollected accomplishing that difficult rescue of the Yakshiní, he
did not consider it worth a straw, when he heard of the return she had
made for it; great-souled men, even when they have done much, think it
worth very little. And, being much pleased, he loaded [777] Anangadeva
for the second time, with elephants, horses, villages, and jewels,
and bestowed similar gifts on the ambassador of the king of Sinhala.

And after he had spent that day, the king set out from Ujjayiní, with
his warriors mounted on elephants and horses, to meet that daughter
of the king of Sinhala, and those two maidens created by Brahmá. And
the following speeches of the military officers, assigning elephants
and horses, were heard in the neighbourhood of the city when the
kings started, and within the city itself when the sovereign started;
"Jayavardhana must take the good elephant Anangagiri, and Ranabhata
the furious elephant Kálamegha, and Sinhaparákrama Sangrámasiddhi,
and the hero Vikramanidhi Ripurákshasa, and Jayaketu Pavanajava,
and Vallabhasakti Samudrakallola, and Báhu and Subáhu the two horses
Saravega and Garudavega, and Kírtivarman the black Konkan mare
Kuvalayamálá, and Samarasinha the white mare Gangálaharí of pure
Sindh breed."

When that king, the supreme sovereign of all the dvípas, had started
on his journey, the earth was covered with soldiers, the quarters
were full of nothing but the shouts that they raised, even the heaven
was obscured with the dust that was diffused by the trampling of his
advancing army, and all men's voices were telling of the wonderful
greatness of his might.






CHAPTER CXXII.


Then king Vikramáditya reached that victorious army commanded by that
Vikramasakti his general, and he entered it at the head of his forces,
accompanied by that general, who came to meet him, eager and with
loyal mind, together with the vassal kings.

The kings were thus announced by the warders in the tent of assembly,
"Your Majesty, here is Saktikumára the king of Gauda come to pay
you his respects, here is Jayadhvaja the king of Karnáta, here is
Vijayavarman of Láta, here is Sunandana of Kasmíra, here is Gopála
king of Sindh, here is Vindhyabala the Bhilla, and here is Nirmúka the
king of the Persians." And when they had been thus announced, the king
honoured them, and the feudal chiefs, and also the soldiers. And he
welcomed in appropriate fashion the daughter of the king of Sinhala,
and the heavenly maidens, and the golden deer, and Vikramasakti. And
the next day the successful monarch Vikramáditya set out with them
and his forces, and reached the city of Ujjayiní.

Then, the kings having been dismissed with marks of honour [778]
to their own territories, and the world-gladdening festival of the
spring season having arrived, when the creepers began, so to speak, to
adorn themselves with flowers for jewels, and the female bees to keep
up a concert with their humming, and the ranges of the wood to dance
embraced by the wind, and the cuckoos with melodious notes to utter
auspicious prayers, king Vikramáditya married on a fortunate day that
daughter of the king of Sinhala, and those two heavenly maidens. And
Sinhavarman, the eldest brother of the princess of Sinhala, who had
come with her, bestowed at the marriage-altar a great heap of jewels.

And at that moment the Yakshiní Madanamanjarí appeared, and gave
those two heavenly maidens countless heaps of jewels. The Yakshí said,
"How can I ever, king, recompense you for your benefits? But I have
done this unimportant service to testify my devotion to you. So you
must shew favour to these maidens, and to the deer." When the Yakshí
had said this, she departed honoured by the king.

Then the successful king Vikramáditya, having obtained those wives
and the earth with all its dvípas, ruled a realm void of opponents;
and he enjoyed himself roaming in all the garden grounds; during
the hot season living in the water of tanks and in artificial
fountain-chambers, during the rains in inner apartments charming on
account of the noise of cymbals that arose in them, during the autumn
on the tops of palaces, joyous with banquets under the rising moon,
during the winter in chambers where comfortable couches were spread,
and which were fragrant with black aloes, being ever surrounded by
his wives.



Story of Malayavatí the man-hating maiden.

Now this king, being such as I have described, had a painter named
Nagarasvámin, who enjoyed the revenues of a hundred villages, and
surpassed Visvakarman. That painter used every two or three days
to paint a picture of a girl, and give it as a present to the king,
taking care to exemplify different types of beauty.

Now, once on a time, it happened that that painter had, because a
feast was going on, forgotten to paint the required girl for the
king. And when the day for giving the present arrived, the painter
remembered and was bewildered, saying to himself, "Alas! what can
I give to the king?" And at that moment a traveller come from afar
suddenly approached him and placed a book in his hand, and went off
somewhere quickly. The painter out of curiosity opened the book,
and saw within a picture of a girl on canvas. Inasmuch as the girl
was of wonderful beauty, no sooner did he see her picture then he
took it and gave it to the king, rejoicing that, so far from having
no picture to present that day, he had obtained such an exceedingly
beautiful one. But the king, as soon as he saw it, was astonished,
and said to him, "My good fellow, this is not your painting, this is
the painting of Visvakarman: for how could a mere mortal be skilful
enough to paint such beauty?" When the painter heard this, he told
the king exactly what had taken place.

Then the king kept ever looking at the picture of the girl, and
never took his eyes off it, and one night he saw in a dream a girl
exactly like her, but in another dvípa. But as he eagerly rushed to
embrace her, who was eager to meet him, the night came to an end,
and he was woke up by the watchman. [779] When the king awoke, he was
so angry at the interruption of his delightful interview with that
maiden, that he banished that watchman from the city. And he said to
himself, "To think that a traveller should bring a book, and that in
it there should be the painted figure of a girl, and that I should
in a dream behold this same girl apparently alive! All this elaborate
dispensation of destiny makes me think that she must be a real maiden,
but I do not know in what dvípa she lives; how am I to obtain her?"

Full of such reflections, the king took pleasure in nothing, [780]
and burnt with the fever of love so that his attendants were full
of anxiety. And the warder Bhadráyudha asked the afflicted king in
private the cause of his grief, whereupon he spake as follows:

"Listen, I will tell you, my friend. So much at any rate you know,
that that painter gave me the picture of a girl. And I fell asleep
thinking on her, and I remember that in my dream I crossed the sea,
and reached and entered a very beautiful city. There I saw many
armed maidens in front of me, and they, as soon as they saw me,
raised a tumultuous cry of 'Kill, kill.' [781] Then a certain female
ascetic came and with great precipitation made me enter her house,
and briefly said to me this, 'My son, here is the man-hating princess
Malayavatí come this way, diverting herself as she pleases. And the
moment she sees a man, she makes these maidens of hers kill him:
so I brought you in here to save your life.' [782]

"When the female ascetic had said this, she immediately made me put
on female attire; and I submitted to that, knowing that it was not
lawful to slay those maidens. But, when the princess entered into
the house with her maidens, I looked at her, and lo! she was the
very lady that had been shewn me in a picture. And I said to myself,
'Fortunate am I in that, after first seeing this lady in a picture,
I now behold her again in flesh and blood, dear as my life.'

"In the meanwhile the princess, at the head of her maidens, said to
that female ascetic, 'We saw some male enter here.' The ascetic shewed
me, and answered, 'I know of no male; here is my sister's daughter,
who is with me as a guest.' Then the princess seeing me, although
I was disguised as a woman, forgot her dislike of men, and was at
once overcome by love. She remained for a moment, with every hair
on her body erect, motionless as if in thought, being, so to speak,
nailed to the spot at once with arrows by Love, who had spied his
opportunity. And in a moment the princess said to the ascetic, 'Then,
noble lady, why should not your sister's daughter be my guest also? Let
her come to my palace; I will send her back duly honoured.' Saying
this, she took me by the hand, and led me away to her palace. And I
remember, I discerned her intention, and consented, and went there,
and that sly old female ascetic gave me leave to depart.

"Then I remained there with that princess, who was diverting herself
with the amusement of marrying her maidens to one another, and so
forth. Her eyes were fixed on me, and she would not let me out of her
sight for an instant, and no occupation pleased her in which I did not
take part. Then those maidens, I remember, made the princess a bride,
and me her husband, and married us in sport. And when we had been
married, we entered at night the bridal chamber, and the princess
fearlessly threw her arms round my neck. And then I told her who I
was, and embraced her, and delighted at having attained her object,
she looked at me and then remained a long time with her eyes bashfully
fixed on the ground. And at that moment that villain of a watchman
woke me up. So, Bhadráyudha, the upshot of the whole matter is that
I can no longer live without that Malayavatí, whom I have seen in a
picture and in a dream."

When the king said this, the warder Bhadráyudha perceived that it
was a true dream, and he consoled the monarch, and said to him,
"If the king remembers it all exactly, let him draw that city on a
piece of canvas in order that some expedient may be devised in this
matter." The moment the king heard this suggestion of Bhadráyudha's,
he proceeded to draw that splendid city on a piece of canvas, and
all the scene that took place there. Then the warder at once took
the drawing, and had a new monastery [783] made, and hung it up
there on the wall. And he directed that in relief-houses attached to
the monastery, a quantity of food, with pairs of garments and gold,
should be given to bards coming from distant countries. And he gave
this order to the dwellers in the monastery, "If any one comes here,
who knows the city represented here in a picture, let me be informed
of it."

In the meanwhile the fierce elephant of the rainy season with
irresistible loud deep thunder-roar and long ketaka tusks came down
upon the forest of the heats, a forest the breezes of which were
scented with the perfume of the jasmine, in which travellers sat
down on the ground in the shade, and trumpet-flowers bloomed. At
that time the forest-fire of separation of that king Vikramáditya
began to burn more fiercely, fanned by the eastern breeze. [784]
Then the following cries were heard among the ladies of his court,
"Háralatá, bring ice! Chitrángí, sprinkle him with sandal-wood
juice! Patralekhá, make a bed cool with lotus-leaves! Kandarpasená,
fan him with plantain-leaves!" And in course of time the cloudy season
terrible with lightning passed away for that king, but the fever of
love burning [785] with the sorrow of separation did not pass away.

Then the autumn with her open lotus-face, and smile of unclosed
flowers, came, vocal with the cries of swans, [786] seeming to
utter this command, "Let travellers advance on their journey; let
pleasant tidings be brought about absent dear ones; happy may their
merry meetings be!" On a certain day in that season a bard, who had
come from a distance, of the name of Sanvarasiddhi, having heard
the fame of that monastery, built by the warder, entered it to get
food. After he had been fed, and presented with a pair of garments,
he saw that painting on the wall of the monastery. When the bard
had carefully scanned the city delineated there, he was astonished,
and said, "I wonder who can have drawn this city? For I alone have
seen it, I am certain, and no other; and here it is drawn by some
second person." When the inhabitants of the monastery heard that,
they told Bhadráyudha; then he came in person, and took that bard to
the king. The king said to Sanvarasiddhi, "Have you really seen that
city?" Then Sanvarasiddhi gave him the following answer.

"When I was wandering about the world, I crossed the sea that separates
the dvípas, and beheld that great city Malayapura. In that city there
dwells a king of the name of Malayasinha, and he has a matchless
daughter, named Malayavatí, who used to abhor males. But one night
she somehow or other saw in a dream a great hero in a convent. [787]
The moment she saw him, that evil spirit of detestation of the male
sex fled from her mind, as if terrified. Then she took him to her
palace, and in her dream married him, and entered with him the bridal
chamber. And at that moment the night came to an end, and an attendant
in her room woke her up. Then she banished that servant in her anger,
and thinking upon that dear one, whom she had seen in her dream,
seeing no way of escape owing to the blazing fire of separation,
utterly overpowered by love, she never rose from her couch except
to fall back upon it again with relaxed limbs. She was dumb, as if
possessed by a demon, as if stunned by a blow, [788] for when her
attendants questioned her, she gave them no answer.

"Then her father and mother came to hear of it, and questioned her;
and at last she was, with exceeding difficulty, persuaded to tell them
what happened to her in the dream, by the mouth of a confidential
female friend. Then her father comforted her, but she made a solemn
vow that, if she did not obtain her beloved in six months, she would
enter the fire. And already five months are past; who knows what will
become of her? This is the story that I heard about her in that city."

When Sanvarasiddhi had told this story, which tallied so well with
the king's own dream, the king was pleased at knowing the certainty
of the matter, and Bhadráyudha said to him, "The business is as
good as effected, for that king and his country own your paramount
supremacy. So let us go there before the sixth month has passed
away." When the warder had said this, king Vikramáditya made him inform
Sanvarasiddhi of all the circumstances connected with the matter, and
honoured him with a present of much wealth, and bade him shew him the
way, and then he seemed to bequeath his own burning heat to the rays
of the sun, his paleness to the clouds, and his thinness to the waters
of the rivers, [789] and having become free from sorrow, set out at
once, escorted by a small force, for the dwelling-place of his beloved.

In course of time, as he advanced, he crossed the sea, and reached
that city, and there he saw the people in front of it engaged in loud
lamentation, and when he questioned them, he received this answer,
"The princess Malayavatí here, as the period of six months is at
an end, and she has not obtained her beloved, is preparing to enter
the fire." Then the king went to the place where the pyre had been
made ready.

"When the people saw him, they made way for him, and then the princess
beheld that unexpected nectar-rain to her eyes. And she said to her
ladies-in-waiting, "Here is that beloved come who married me in a
dream, so tell my father quickly." They went and told this to her
father, and then that king, delivered from his grief, and filled
with joy, submissively approached the sovereign. At that moment the
bard Sanvarasiddhi, who knew his time, lifted up his arm, and chanted
aloud this strain, "Hail thou that with the flame of thy valour hast
consumed the forest of the army of demons and Mlechchhas! Hail king,
lord of the seven-sea-girt earth-bride! Hail thou that hast imposed
thy exceedingly heavy yoke on the bowed heads of all kings, conquered
by thee! Hail, Vishamasíla, hail Vikramáditya, ocean of valour!"

When the bard said this, king Malayasinha knew that it was Vikramáditya
himself that had come, and embraced his feet. [790] And after he
had welcomed him, he entered his palace with him, and his daughter
Malayavatí, thus delivered from death. And that king gave that daughter
of his to king Vikramáditya, thinking himself fortunate in having
obtained such a son-in-law. And king Vikramáditya, when he saw in his
arms, in flesh and blood, that Malayavatí, whom he had previously seen
in a picture and in a dream, considered it a wonderful fruit of the
wishing-tree of Siva's favour. Then Vikramáditya took with him his
wife Malayavatí, like an incarnation of bliss, and crossed the sea
resembling his long regretful [791] separation, and being submissively
waited upon at every step by kings, with various presents in their
hands, returned to his own city Ujjayiní. And on beholding there that
might of his, that satisfied [792] freely every kind of curiosity,
what people were not astonished, what people did not rejoice, what
people did not make high festival?






CHAPTER CXXIII.


Then, once on a time, in the course of conversation, one of
Vikramáditya's queens, called Kalingasená, said to her rival queens,
"What the king did for the sake of Malayavatí was not wonderful, for
this king Vishamasíla has ever been famous on the earth for such like
acts. Was not I swooped down on by him and married by force, after he
had seen a carved likeness of me and been overcome by love? On this
account the kárpatika [793] Devasena told me a story: that story I
will proceed to tell you; listen."

"I was very much vexed, and exclaimed 'How can the king be said to
have married me lawfully?' Then the kárpatika said to me, 'Do not
be angry, queen, for the king married you in eager haste out of a
violent passion for you; hear the whole story from the beginning.'"



Story of Kalingasená's marriage

Once on a time, when I was serving your husband as a kárpatika, I saw a
great boar far away in the wood. Its mouth was formidable with tusks,
its colour was black as a Tamála tree, it looked like an incarnation
of the black fortnight devouring the digits of the moon. And I came,
queen, and informed the king of it, describing it to him as I have
done to you. And the king went out to hunt, attracted by his love for
the sport. And when he reached the wood, and was dealing death among
the tigers and deer, he saw in the distance that boar of which I had
informed him. And when he saw that wonderful boar, he came to the
conclusion that some being had assumed that form with an object, and
he ascended his horse called Ratnákara, the progeny of Ucchaihsravas.

For every day at noon, the sun waits a brief space in the sky, and
then his charioteer the dawn lets the horses loose, that they may
bathe and feed: and one day Uchchhaihsravas, having been unyoked from
the chariot of the sun, approached a mare of the king's, that he saw
in the forest, and begot that horse. [794]

So the king mounted that swift horse, and quickly pursued that boar,
that fled to a very remote [795] part of the forest. Then that boar
escaped somewhere from his view, being swifter even than that horse
that had Uchchhaihsravas for a sire. Then the king, not having caught
him, and seeing that I alone had followed him, while he had left
the rest of his suite far behind, asked me this question, "Do you
know how much ground we have traversed to get to this place?" When
I heard that, queen, I made the king this answer, "My lord, we have
come three hundred yojanas." Then the king being astonished said,
"Then how have you managed to come so far on foot?" When he asked me
this question, I answered, "King, I have an ointment for the feet;
hear the way in which I acquired it."



How Devasena obtained the magic ointment.

Long ago, on account of the loss of my wife, I went forth to make
a pilgrimage to all the holy bathing places, and in the course of
my journey I came one evening to a temple with a garden. And I went
in there to pass the night, and I saw inside a woman, and I remained
there hospitably welcomed by her. And during the course of the night
she elevated one lip to heaven, resting the other on the earth, and
with expanded jaws said to me, "Have you seen before anywhere such a
mouth as this?" Then I fearlessly drew my dagger with a frown, and said
to her, "Have you seen such a man as this?" Then she assumed a gentle
appearance without any horrible distortion of shape, and said to me,
"I am a Yakshí, Vandhyá by name, and I am pleased with your courage;
so now tell me what I can do to gratify you."

When the Yakshiní said this, I answered her, "If you are really
pleased with me, then enable me to go round to all the holy waters
without any suffering." When the Yakshí heard this, she gave me an
ointment for my feet; [796] by means of it I travelled to all the
holy bathing-places, and I have been able to run behind you now so
far as this place. And by its aid I come to this wood here every day,
and eat fruits, and then return to Ujjayiní and attend upon you.

When I told that tale to the king, I saw by his pleased face that
he thought in his heart that I was a follower well-suited to him. I
again said to him, "King, I will bring you here some very sweet
fruits, if you will be pleased to eat them." The king said to me,
"I will not eat; I do not require anything; but do you eat something,
as you are exhausted." Then I got hold of a gourd and ate it, and no
sooner had I eaten it, than it turned me into a python.

But king Vishamasíla, when he saw me suddenly turn into a python,
was astonished and despondent. So, being there alone, he called to
mind the Vetála Bhútaketu, whom he had long ago made his servant, by
delivering him with a look from a disease of the eyes. That Vetála
came, as soon as the king called him to mind, and bowing before
him said, "Why did you call me to mind, great king? Give me your
orders." Then the king said, "Good sir, this my kárpatika has been
suddenly turned into a python by eating a gourd; restore him to his
former condition." But the Vetála said, "King, I have not the power
to do this. Powers are strictly limited: can water quench the flame
of lightning?" Then the king said, "Then let us go to this village, my
friend. We may eventually hear of some remedy from the Bhillas there."

When the king had come to this conclusion, he went to that village
with the Vetála. There the bandits surrounded him, seeing that he wore
ornaments. But when they began to rain arrows upon him, the Vetála,
by the order of the king, devoured five hundred of them. The rest
fled and told their chief what had occurred, and he, whose name was
Ekákikesarin, came there in wrath, with his host. But one of his
servants recognised the monarch, and the chief hearing from him
who it was, came and clung to Vikramáditya's feet, and announced
himself. Then the king welcomed kindly the submissive chief, and
asked after his health, and said to him, "My kárpatika has become a
python by eating the fruit of a gourd in the forest; so devise some
plan for releasing him from his transformation."

When that chief heard this speech of the king's, he said to him,
"King, let this follower of yours shew him to my son here." Then that
son of his came with the Vetála, and made me a man as before by means
of a sternutatory made of the extract of a plant. And then we went
joyful into tho presence of the king; and when I bent at the feet of
the king, the king informed the delighted chief who I was.

Then the Bhilla chief Ekákikesarin, after obtaining the king's consent,
conducted him and us to his palace. And we beheld that dwelling of
his, crowded with Savaras, having its high walls covered with the
tusks of elephants, adorned with tiger-skins; in which the women
had for garments the tails of peacocks, for necklaces strings of
gunjá-fruit, and for perfume the ichor that flows from the foreheads of
elephants. There the wife of the chief, having her garments perfumed
with musk, adorned with pearls and such like ornaments, herself waited
on the king.

Then the king, having bathed and taken a meal, observed that the
chief's sons were old, while he was a young man, and put this question
to him, "Chief, explain, I pray you, this that puzzles me. How comes
it, that you are a young man, whereas these children of yours are
old?" When the king had said this to the Savara chief, he answered him,
"This, king, is a strange story; listen if you feel any curiosity
about it."



Story of the grateful Monkey. [797]

I was long ago a Bráhman named Chandrasvámin, and I lived in the city
of Máyápur. One day I went by order of my father to the forest to fetch
wood. There a monkey stood barring my way, but without hurting me,
looking at me with an eye of grief, pointing out to me another path. I
said to myself, "This monkey does not bite me, so I had better go along
the path which he points out, and see what his object is." Thereupon
I set out with him along that path, and the monkey kept going along
in front of me, and turning round to look at me. And after he had
gone some distance, he climbed up jambu-tree, and I looked at the
upper part of the tree, which was covered with a dense network of
creepers: and I saw a female monkey there with her body fettered by
a mass of creepers twisted round her, and I understood that it was
on this account that the monkey had brought me there. Then I climbed
up the tree, and cut with my axe the creepers [798] that had twisted
round and entangled her, and set that female monkey at liberty.

And when I got down from the tree, the male and female monkey came
down also and embraced my feet. And the male monkey left that female
clinging to my feet for a moment, and went and fetched a heavenly
fruit, and gave it to me. I took it and returned home after I had got
my fuel, and there I and my wife ate that splendid fruit together,
and as soon as we had eaten it, we ceased to be liable to old age
and disease. [799]

Then there arose in that country of ours the scourge of famine. And
afflicted by that calamity the people of that land fled in all
directions. And I happened in course of time to reach this country
with my wife. And at that time there was a king of the Savaras here
named Kánchanadanshtra: I entered his service with my sword. And as
Kánchanadanshtra saw that I came to the front in several engagements,
he appointed me general. And as I had won the affections of that
master of mine by my exclusive devotion to him, when he died, having
no son, he bestowed on me his kingdom. And twenty-seven hundred years
have passed over my head, since I have been in this place, and yet,
owing to eating that fruit, I do not suffer from old age.

When Ekákikesarin, the king of the Bhillas, had told in these
words his own history, he went on to ask a favour of the astonished
monarch, saying, "By the fruit given by the monkey I gained a long
life, and by that long life I have again obtained a perfect fruit,
namely, the sight of your august self. So I entreat, king, that the
condescension towards me, which you have shown by coming to my house,
may be developed into gracious approval. I have, king, a daughter
of matchless beauty, born to me by a Kshatriyá wife, and her name is
Madanasundarí. That pearl of maidens ought not to fall to the lot of
any one but your Highness. Therefore I bestow her on you; marry her
with due ceremonies. And I, my sovereign, will follow you as your
slave with twenty thousand archers."

When the Bhilla chief addressed this petition to the king, he granted
it. And in an auspicious hour he married the daughter of that chief,
who gave him a hundred camels laden with pearls and musk. And after
the king had remained there seven days, he set out thence with
Madanasundarí and the army of the Bhillas.

In the meanwhile, after the king had been carried away by his horse,
our army remained despondent in the forest, where the hunting
took place; but the warder Bhadráyudha said to them, "Away with
despondency! Even though our king has been away for a long time,
he is of divine power, and no serious misfortune will happen to
him. Do you not remember how he went to Pátála and married there the
daughter of a Nága, whose name was Surúpá, and came back here alone,
and how the hero went to the world of the Gandharvas, and returned
here with Tárávalí the daughter of the king of the Gandharvas?" With
these words Bhadráyudha consoled them all, and they remained at the
entrance of the forest waiting for the king.

And while that Madanasundarí was advancing leisurely by an open path,
accompanied by the Savara hosts, the king entered that forest on
horseback, with myself and the Vetála, in order to get a sight of the
boar he had before seen: and when he entered it, the boar rushed out
in front of him, and the moment the king saw it, he killed it with five
arrows. When it was slain, the Vetála rushed to it, and tore its belly
open, and suddenly there issued from it a man of pleasing appearance.

The king, astonished, asked him who he was, and then there came there
a wild elephant, resembling a moving mountain. When the king saw that
wild elephant charging down on him, he smote it in a vital place and
slew it with a single arrow. The Vetála tore open its belly also,
and there issued from it a man of heavenly appearance, and a woman
beautiful in all her limbs. And when the king was about to question
the man, who issued from the boar, he said to him, "Listen, king;
I am going to tell you my history.

"We two, king, are two sons of gods: [800] this one's name is Bhadra,
and I am Subha. As we were roaming about we observed the hermit Kanva
engaged in meditation. We assumed in sport the forms of an elephant
and a boar, and having done so, we terrified the great sage in our
reckless folly, and he pronounced on us this curse, 'Become in this
forest an elephant and boar such as you are now; but when you shall be
killed by king Vikramáditya, you shall be released from the curse.' So
we became an elephant and a boar by the curse of the hermit, and we
have to-day been set free by you; as for this woman, let her tell
her own story. But touch this boar on the neck and this elephant on
the back; and they will become for you celestial sword and shield."

When he had said this, he disappeared with his companion, and the boar
and elephant, touched by the hand of the king, became for him a sword
and a shield. Then the woman, being questioned about her history,
spoke as follows:

"I am the wife of a great merchant in Ujjayiní named Dhanadatta. One
night, as I was sleeping on the top of a palace, this elephant came and
swallowed me and brought me here; however this man was not inside the
elephant, but when its belly was torn open, he came out of it with me."

When the woman said this in grief, the king said to her, "Be of good
courage: I will take you to your husband's house: go and journey
along in security with my harem." When he had said this, he made
the Vetála take her and hand her over to the queen Madanasundarí,
who was travelling by a different path.

Then, the Vetála having returned, we suddenly saw there in the wood
two princesses, with a numerous and splendid retinue. And the king
sent me and summoned their chamberlains, and they, when asked whence
the two maidens came, told the following story;



Story of the two princesses.

There is a dvípa named Katáha, the home of all felicities. In it
there is a king rightly named Gunaságara. [801] He had born to him
by his principal queen a daughter named Gunavatí, who by her beauty
produced astonishment even in the Creator who made her. And holy
seers announced that she should have for a husband the lord of the
seven dvípas; whereupon her father the king deliberated with his
counsellors; and came to this conclusion, "King Vikramáditya is a
suitable husband for my daughter; so I will send her to marry him."

Accordingly, the king made his daughter embark in a ship on the sea,
with her retinue and wealth, and sent her off. But it so happened
that when the ship came near Suvarnadvípa, it was swallowed, with
the princess and the people on board, by a large fish. But that
monstrous fish was carried by the current of the sea as if by the
course of Destiny, and thrown up on a coast near that dvípa, and there
stranded. And the people of the neighbourhood, the moment they saw it,
ran with many weapons in their hands, and killed that marvellous fish,
and cut open its belly. [802] And then there came out of it that
great ship full of people; and when the king of that dvípa heard of
it, he came there greatly wondering. And that king, whose name was
Chandrasekhara, and who was the brother-in-law of king Gunaságara,
heard the whole story from the people in the ship. Then the king,
finding that Gunavatí was the daughter of his sister, took her into his
palace, and out of joy celebrated a feast. And the next day that king
put on board a ship in a lucky moment his daughter Chandravatí, whom
he had long intended to give to king Vikramáditya, with that Gunavatí,
and sent her off with much magnificence as a gift to that sovereign.

These two princesses, having crossed the sea, by advancing gradually,
have at length arrived here; and we are their attendants. And when
we reached this place, a very large boar and a very large elephant
rushed upon us; then, king, we uttered this cry, "These maidens have
come to offer themselves for wives to king Vikramáditya: so preserve
them for him, ye Guardians of the World, as is meet." When the boar
and the elephant heard this, they said to us with articulate speech,
"Be of good courage! the mere mention of that king's name ensures your
safety. And you shall see him arrive here in a moment." When the boar
and the elephant, who were, no doubt, some heavenly beings or other,
had said this, they went away.

"This is our story," said the chamberlain, and then, queen, I said to
them, "And this is the king you seek." Then they fell at the king's
feet rejoicing, and made over to him those two princesses Gunavatí
and Chandravatí. And the king gave orders to the Vetála and had those
two fair ones also taken to his queen, saying, "Let all three travel
with Madanasundarí."

The Vetála returned immediately, and then, queen, the king went with
him and myself by an out-of-the-way path. And as we were going along in
the forest, the sun set; and just at that time we heard there the sound
of a drum. The king asked, "Whence comes this sound of a drum?" The
Vetála answered him, "King, there is a temple here. It is a marvel
of heavenly skill, having been built by Visvakarman; and this beating
of the drum is to announce the commencement of the evening spectacle."

When the Vetála had said this, he and the king and I went there out
of curiosity, and after we had tied up the horse, we entered. And
we saw worshipped there a great linga of tárkshyaratna [803] and in
front of it a spectacle with blazing lights. And there danced there
for a long time three nymphs of celestial beauty, in four kinds of
measures, accompanied with music and singing. And at the end of the
spectacle we beheld a wonder, for the dancing nymphs disappeared in
the figures carved on the pillars of the temple: and in the same way
the singers and players went into the figures of men painted on the
walls. When the king saw this, he was astonished, but the Vetála said
to him, "Such is this heavenly enchantment produced by Visvakarman,
lasting for ever, for this will always take place at both twilights."

When he had said this, we wandered about in the temple, and saw in
one place a female figure on a pillar, of extraordinary beauty. When
the king saw her, he was bewildered by her beauty, and remained for
a moment absent-minded and motionless, so that he himself was like a
figure cut on a pillar. And he exclaimed, "If I do not see a living
woman like this figure, of what profit to me is my kingdom or my
life?" When the Vetála heard this, he said, "Your wish is not hard to
gratify, for the king of Kalinga has a daughter named Kalingasená, and
a sculptor of Vardhamána seeing her, and being desirous of representing
her beauty, carved this figure in imitation of her. [804] So return
to Ujjayiní, king, and ask that king of Kalinga for his daughter,
or carry her off by force." This speech of the Vetála's the king laid
up in his heart.

Then we spent that night there, and the next morning we set out, and
we saw two handsome men under an asoka-tree, and then they rose up
and bowed before the king. Then the king said to them, "Who are you,
and why are you in the forest?" One of them answered, "Listen, king,
I will tell you the whole story."



Story of Dhanadatta.

I am the son of a merchant in Ujjayiní, and my name is Dhanadatta. Once
on a time I went to sleep with my wife on the top of my palace. In
the morning I woke up and looked about me, and lo! my wife was not
in the palace, nor in the garden attached to it, nor anywhere about
it. I said to myself, "She has not lost her heart to another man; of
that I am convinced by the fact that the garland which she gave me,
telling me that as long as she remained chaste, it would certainly not
fade, is still as fresh as ever. [805] So I cannot think where she
has gone, whether she has been carried off by a demon or some other
evil being, or what has happened to her." With these thoughts in my
mind, I remained looking for her, crying out, lamenting, and weeping;
consumed by the fire of separation from her; taking no food. Then
my relations succeeded at last in consoling me to a certain extent,
and I took food, and I made my abode in a temple, and remained there
plunged in grief, feasting Bráhmans.

Once when I was quite broken down, this Bráhman came to me there,
and I refreshed him with a bath and food, and after he had eaten,
I asked him whence he came, and he said, "I am from a village
near Váránasí." My servants told him my cause of woe, and he said,
"Why have you, like an unenterprising man, allowed your spirits to
sink? The energetic man obtains even that which it is hard to attain;
so rise up my friend, and let us look for your wife; I will help you."

I said, "How are we to look for her, when we do not even know in what
direction she has gone?" When I said this, he answered me kindly,
"Do not say this; did not Kesata long ago recover his wife, when it
seemed hopeless that he should ever be reunited with her? Hear his
story in proof of it."



Story of Kesata and Kandarpa.

There lived in the city of Pátaliputra a wealthy young Bráhman, the son
of a Bráhman; his name was Kesata, and he was in beauty like a second
god of love. He wished to obtain a wife like himself, and so he went
forth secretly [806] from his parents' house, and wandered through
various lands on the pretext of visiting holy bathing-places. And in
the course of his wanderings he came once on a time to the bank of
the Narmadá, and he saw a numerous procession of bridegroom's friends
coming that way. And a distinguished old Bráhman, belonging to that
company, when he saw Kesata in the distance, left his companions,
and coming up to him accosted him, and respectfully said to him in
private, "I have a certain favour to ask of you, and it is one which
you can easily do for me, but the benefit conferred on me will be a
very great one; so, if you will do it, I will proceed to say what it
is." When Kesata heard this, he said, "Noble sir, if what you say is
possible, I must certainly do it: let the benefit be conferred on you."

When the Bráhman heard that, he said, "Listen, my good young
man; I have a son, who is the prince of ugly, as you are of
good-looking, men. He has projecting teeth, a flat nose, a black
colour, squinting eyes, a big belly, crooked feet, and ears like
winnowing baskets. Though he is such, I, out of my love for him,
described him as handsome, and asked a Bráhman, named Ratnadatta,
to give him his daughter, named Rúpavatí, and he has agreed to do
it. The girl is as beautiful as her name expresses, and to-day they
are to be married. For this reason we have come, but I know that,
when that purposed connexion of mine sees my son, he will refuse to
give him his daughter, and this attempt will be fruitless. And while
thinking how I could find some way out of the difficulty, I have met
you here, courteous sir; so quickly perform for me my desire, as you
have pledged your word to do. Come with us, and marry that maiden,
and hand her over to my son to-day, for you are as good-looking as
the bride."

When Kesata heard this, he said, "Agreed," and so the old Bráhman
took Kesata with him, and they crossed the Narmadá in boats and landed
on the opposite bank. And so he reached the city, and rested outside
it with his followers, and at that time the sun also, the traveller
of the sky, went to his rest on the mountain of setting. Then the
darkness began to diffuse itself abroad, and Kesata, having gone
to rinse his mouth, saw a terrible Rákshasa rise up near the water;
and the Rákshasa said, "Where will you go from me, [807] Kesata? I
am about to devour you." Thereupon Kesata said to the Rákshasa,
"Do not devour me now; I will certainly come back to you presently,
when I have done the Bráhman the service I promised." When the Rákshasa
heard this, he made Kesata take an oath to this effect, and then let
him go; and he returned to the company of the bridegroom's friends.

Then the old Bráhman brought Kesata adorned with the ornaments
of a bridegroom, and entered that city with all the bridegroom's
party. And then he made him enter the house of Ratnadatta, in which an
altar-platform was ready prepared, and which was made to resound with
the music of various instruments. And Kesata married there with all
due ceremonies that fair-faced maiden Rúpavatí, to whom her father
gave great wealth. And the women there rejoiced, seeing that the
bride and bridegroom were well-matched; and not only Rúpavatí, when
she saw that such a bridegroom had arrived, but her friends also,
fell in love with him. But Kesata at that time was overpowered with
despondency and astonishment.

And at night Rúpavatí seeing that her husband, as he lay on the bed,
was plunged in thought, and kept his head turned away, pretended to be
asleep. And in the dead of night Kesata, thinking that she was asleep,
went out to that Rákshasa to keep his promise. And that faithful wife
Rúpavatí also gently rose up unobserved, and followed her husband,
full of curiosity. And when Kesata arrived where the Rákshasa was,
the latter said to him, "Bravo! you have kept your promise faithfully,
Kesata; you are a man of noble character. You sanctify your city
of Pátaliputra and your father Desata by your virtue, so approach,
that I may devour you." When Rúpavatí heard that, she came up quickly
and said, "Eat me, for, if my husband is eaten, what will become of
me?" The Rákshasa said, "You can live on alms." She replied, "Who,
noble sir, will give alms to me who am a woman?" The Rákshasa said,
"If any one refuses to give you alms, when asked to do so, his head
shall split in a hundred pieces." [808] Then she said, "This being so,
give me my husband by way of alms." And, as the Rákshasa would not
give him, his head at once split asunder, and he died. Then Rúpavatí
returned to her bridal-chamber, with her husband, who was exceedingly
astonished at her virtue, and at that moment the night came to an end.

And the next morning the bridegroom's friends took food and set out
from that city, and reached the bank of the Narmadá with the newly
married pair. Then the old Bráhman, who was their leader, put the wife
Rúpavatí with her attendants on board one boat, and went on board a
second himself, and cunningly made Kesata embark on a third, having
previously made an agreement with the boatmen; and before he went
on board took from him all the ornaments he had lent him. Then the
Bráhman was ferried across with the wife and the bridegroom's party,
but Kesata was kept out in the middle of the stream by the boatmen,
and carried to a great distance. Then those boatmen pushed the boat
and Kesata into a place where the current ran full and strong, and
swam ashore themselves, having been bribed by the old Bráhman.

But Kesata was carried with the boat, by the river which was lashed
into waves by the wind, into the sea, and at last a wave flung him up
on the coast. There he recovered strength and spirits, as he was not
doomed to die just yet, and he said to himself, "Well, that Bráhman
has made me a fine recompense. But was not the fact that he married
his son by means of a substitute, in itself sufficient proof that he
was a fool and a scoundrel?"

While he remained there, buried in such thoughts, the night came on
him, when the companies of air-flying witches begin to roam about. He
remained sleepless through it, and in the fourth watch he heard a
noise in the sky, and saw a handsome [809] man fall from heaven in
front of him. Kesata was terrified at first, but after some time
he saw that he had nothing uncanny about him, so he said to him,
"Who are you, Sir?" Then the man said, "First tell me who you are;
and then I will tell you who I am." Hearing that, Kesata told him
his history. Then the man said, "My friend, you are exactly in the
same predicament as myself, so I will now tell you my history, listen.

"There is on the bank of the river Vená a city named Ratnapura;
I am a Bráhman householder in that city, the son of a rich man,
and my name is Kandarpa. One evening I went down to the river Vená
to draw water, and I slipped and fell into it, and was carried away
by the current. The current carried me a long way during that night,
and when the morning came, as I was not doomed to die yet, it brought
me to the foot of a tree that grew on the bank. I climbed up the bank
by the help of the tree, and when I had recovered breath, I saw in
front of me a great empty temple dedicated to the Mothers. I entered
it, and when I saw before me the Mothers flashing, as it were, with
brightness and power, my fear was allayed, and I bowed before them,
and praised them and addressed this prayer to them, 'Venerable ones,
deliver me a miserable man; for I have to-day come here as a suppliant
for your protection.' When I had uttered this prayer, being exhausted
with my struggles in the current of the river, I rested, my friend,
till my fatigue gradually disappeared, and the day disappeared
also. And then there appeared the horrible female ascetic called
night, furnished with many stars by way of a bone-necklace, white with
moonlight instead of ashes, and carrying the moon for a gleaming seull.

"And then, I remember, a band of witches came out from the company
of the Mothers, and they said to one another, 'To night we must go
to the general assembly of the witches in Chakrapura, [810] and how
can this Bráhman be kept safe in this place which is full of wild
beasts? So let us take him to some place where he will be happy:
and afterwards we will bring him back again; he has fled to us for
protection.' When they had said this, they adorned me, and carrying
me through the air, placed me in the house of a rich Bráhman in a
certain city, and went away.

"And when I looked about me there, lo! the altar was prepared for
a marriage, and the auspicious hour had arrived, but the procession
of bridegroom's friends was nowhere to be seen. And all the people,
seeing me in front of the door arrayed in bridegroom's garments
of heavenly splendour, said, 'Here is the bridegroom at any rate
arrived.' Then the Bráhman of the house took me to the altar, and
led his daughter there adorned, and gave her to me with the usual
ceremonies. And the women said to one another, 'Fortunate is it that
the beauty of Sumanas has borne fruit by winning her a bridegroom like
herself!' Then, having married Sumanas, I slept with her in a palace,
gratified by having every want supplied in the most magnificent style.

"Then those witches came back from their assembly in this last watch
of the night, and by their supernatural power carried me off, and flew
up into the air with me. And while they were flying through the air,
they had a fight with another set of witches, who came, wishing to
carry me off, and they let me go and I fell down here. And I do not
know the city where I married that Sumanas; and I cannot tell what will
become of her now. This succession of misfortunes, which Destiny has
brought upon me, has now ended in happiness by my meeting with you."

When Kandarpa had given this account of his adventure, Kesata said
to him, "Do not be afraid, my friend; the witches will have no power
over you henceforth; since I possess a certain irresistible charm,
which will keep them at a distance: now let us roam about together:
Destiny will bestow on us good fortune." And while they were engaged
in this conversation, the night came to an end.

In the morning Kesata and Kandarpa set out from that place together,
and crossing the sea, reached in due course a city named Bhímapura
near the river called Ratnanadí. There they heard a great noise on the
bank of that river, and when they went to the place whence it came,
they saw a fish that filled the channel of the stream from bank to
bank. It had been thrown up by the tide of the sea, and got fast in the
river owing to the vastness of its bulk, and men with various weapons
in their hands were cutting it up to procure flesh. And while they
were cutting it open, there came out of its belly a woman, and being
beheld by the people with astonishment, she came terrified to the bank.

Then Kandarpa looked at her, and said exultingly to Kesata, "My friend,
here is that very Sumanas, whom I married. But I do not know how
she came to be living in the belly of a fish. So let us remain here
in silence, until the whole matter is cleared up." Kesata consented,
and they remained there. And the people said to Sumanas, "Who are you,
and what is the meaning of this?" Then she said very reluctantly,

"I am the daughter of a crest-jewel of Bráhmans, named Jayadatta,
who lived in the city of Ratnákara. My name is Sumanas, and one night
I was married to a certain handsome young Bráhman, who was a suitable
match for me. That very night, my husband went away somewhere, while
I was asleep; and though my father made diligent search for him, he
could not find him anywhere. Then I threw myself into the river to
cool the fire of grief at separation from him, and I was swallowed
by this fish; and now Destiny has brought me here."

While she was saying this, a Bráhman named Yajnasvámin rushed out of
the crowd, and embraced her and said this to her, "Come, come with
me, niece; you are the daughter of my sister; for I am Yajnasvámin,
your mother's own brother." When Sumanas heard that, she uncovered her
face and looked at him, and recognising her uncle, she embraced his
feet weeping. But after a moment she ceased weeping, and said to him,
"Do you give me fuel, for, as I am separated from my husband, I have
no other refuge but the fire."

Her uncle did all he could to dissuade her, but she would not abandon
her intention; and then Kandarpa, having thus seen her real feelings
tested, came up to her. When the wise Sumanas saw him near her, she
recognised him, and fell weeping at his feet. And when the discreet
woman was questioned by the people, and by that uncle of hers, she
answered, "He is my husband." Then all were delighted, and Yajnasvámin
took her husband Kandarpa to his house, together with Kesata. There
they told their adventures, and Yajnasvámin and his family lovingly
waited on them with many hospitable attentions.

After some days had passed, Kesata said to Kandarpa, "You have gained
all you want by recovering your longed-for wife; so now go with her
to Ratnapura your own city; but, as I have not attained the object of
my desire, I will not return to my own country: I, my friend, will
make a pilgrimage to all the holy bathing-places and so destroy my
body." When Yajnasvámin, in Bhímapura, heard this, he said to Kesata,
"Why do you utter this despondent speech? As long as people are alive,
there is nothing they cannot get: in proof of this hear the story of
Kusumáyudha, which I am about to tell you."



Story of Kusumáyudha and Kamalalochaná.

There was in a town named Chandrapura a Bráhman named Devasvámin:
he had a very beautiful daughter named Kamalalochaná. And he had a
young Bráhman pupil named Kusumáyudha; and that pupil and his daughter
loved one another well.

One day her father made up his mind to give her to another suitor,
and at once that maiden sent by her confidante the following message
to Kusumáyudha, "Though I have long ago fixed my heart on you for a
husband, my father has promised to give me to another, so devise a
scheme for carrying me off hence." So Kusumáyudha made an arrangement
to carry her off, and he placed outside her house at night a servant
with a mule for that purpose. So she quietly went out and mounted
the mule, but that servant did not take her to his master; he took
her somewhere else, to make her his own.

And during the night he took Kamalalochaná a long distance, and they
reached a certain city by the morning, when that chaste woman said to
the servant, "Where is my husband your master? Why do you not take me
to him?" When the cunning rogue heard this, he said to her who was
alone in a foreign country, "I am going to marry you myself: never
mind about him; how can you get to him now?" When the discreet woman
heard this, she said, "Indeed I love you very much." [811] Then the
rascal left her in the garden of the city, and went to the market to
buy the things required for a wedding. In the meanwhile that maiden
fled, with the mule, and entered the house of a certain old man who
made garlands. She told him her history, and he made her welcome, so
she remained there. And the wicked servant, not finding her in the
garden, went away from it disappointed, and returned to his master
Kusumáyudha. And when his master questioned him, he said, "The fact is,
you are an upright man yourself, and you do not understand the ways
of deceitful women. No sooner did she come out and was seen, than
I was seized there by those other men, and the mule was taken away
from me. By good luck I managed to escape and have come here." When
Kusumáyudha heard this, he remained silent, and plunged in thought.

One day his father sent him to be married, and as he was going
along, he reached the city, where Kamalalochaná was. There he
made the bridegroom's followers encamp in a neighbouring garden,
and while he was roaming about alone, Kamalalochaná saw him, and
told the garland-maker in whose house she was living. He went and
told her intended husband what had taken place, and brought him to
her. Then the garland-maker collected the necessary things, and the
long-desired marriage between the youth and the maiden was immediately
celebrated. Then Kusumáyudha punished that wicked servant, and married
in addition that second maiden, who was the cause of his finding
Kamalalochaná, and in order to marry whom he had started from home,
and he returned rejoicing to his own country with those two wives.

"Thus the fortunate are reunited in the most unexpected manner, and so
you may be certain, Kesata, of regaining your beloved soon in the same
way." When Yajnasvámin had said this, Kandarpa, Sumanas and Kesata,
remained for some days in his house, and then they set out for their
own country. But on the way they reached a great forest, and they
were separated from one another in the confusion produced by a charge
of wild elephants. Of the party Kesata went on alone and grieved,
and in course of time reached the city of Kásí and found his friend
Kandarpa there. And he went with him to his own city Pátaliputra,
and he remained there some time welcomed by his father. And there
he told his parents all his adventures, beginning with his marrying
Rúpavatí, and ending with the story of Kandarpa.

In the meanwhile Sumanas fled, terrified at the elephants, and entered
a thicket, and while she was there, the sun set for her. And when
night came on, she cried out in her woe, "Alas, my husband! Alas,
my father! Alas, my mother!" and resolved to fling herself into a
forest fire. And in the meanwhile that company of witches, that were
so full of pity for Kandarpa, having conquered the other witches,
reached their own temple. There they remembered Kandarpa, and finding
out by their supernatural knowledge that his wife had lost her way in
a wood, they deliberated as follows, "Kandarpa, being a resolute man,
will unaided obtain his desire; but his wife, being a young girl,
and having lost her way in the forest, will assuredly die. So let us
take her and put her down in Ratnapura, in order that she may live
there in the house of Kandarpa's father with his other wife." When
the witches had come to this conclusion, they went to that forest
and comforted Sumanas there, and took her and left her in Ratnapura.

When the night had passed, Sumanas, wandering about in that city,
heard the following cry in the mouths of the people who were running
hither and thither, "Lo! the virtuous Anangavatí, the wife of the
Bráhman Kandarpa, who, after her husband had gone somewhere or other,
lived a long time in hope of reunion with him, not having recovered
him, has now gone out in despair to enter the fire, followed by her
weeping father-in-law and mother-in-law." When Sumanas heard that, she
went quickly to the place where the pyre had been made, and going up to
Anangavatí, said to her, in order to dissuade her, "Noble lady, do not
act rashly, for that husband of yours is alive." Having said this, she
told the whole story from the beginning. And she shewed the jewelled
ring that Kandarpa gave her. Then all welcomed her, perceiving that her
account was true. Then Kandarpa's father honoured that bride Sumanas
and gladly lodged her in his house with the delighted Anangavatí.

Then Kandarpa left Pátaliputra [812] without telling Kesata, as
he knew he would not like it, in order to roam about in search of
Sumanas. And after he had gone, Kesata, feeling unhappy without
Rúpavatí, left his house without his parents' knowledge, and went
to roam about hither and thither. And Kandarpa, in the course of his
wanderings, happened to visit that very city, where Kesata, married
Rúpavatí. And hearing a great noise of people, he asked what it meant,
and a certain man said to him, "Here is Rúpavatí preparing to die, as
she cannot find her husband Kesata,; the tumult is on that account;
listen to the story connected with her." Then that man related the
strange story of Rúpavatí's marriage with Kesata and of her adventure
with the Rákshasa, and then continued as follows:

"Then that old Bráhman, having tricked Kesata, went on his way,
taking with him Rúpavatí for his son: but nobody knew where Kesata
had gone after marrying her. And Rúpavatí, not seeing Kesata on the
journey, said, 'Why do I not see my husband here, though all the rest
of the party are travelling along with me?' When the old Bráhman heard
that, he shewed her that son of his, and said to her, 'My daughter,
this son of mine is your husband; behold him.' Then Rúpavatí said
in a rage to the old man there, 'I will not have this ugly fellow
for a husband; I will certainly die, if I cannot get that husband,
who married me yesterday.'

"Saying this, she at once stopped eating and drinking; and the old
Bráhman, through fear of the king, had her taken back to her father's
house. There she told the trick that the old Bráhman had played her,
and her father, in great grief, said to her, 'How are we to discover,
my daughter, who the man that married you, is?' Then Rúpavatí said,
'My husband's name is Kesata, and he is the son of a Bráhman named
Desata in Pátaliputra; for so much I heard from the mouth of a
Rákshasa.' When she had said this, she told her father the whole
story of her husband and the Rákshasa. Then her father went and saw
the Rákshasa lying dead, and so he believed his daughter's story,
and was pleased with the virtue of that couple.

"He consoled his daughter with hopes of reunion with her husband, and
sent his son to Kesata's father in Pátaliputra, to search for him. And
after some time they came back and said, 'We saw the householder
Desata in Pátaliputra. But when we asked him where his son Kesata was,
he answered us with tears, "My son Kesata is not here; he did return
here, and a friend of his named Kandarpa came with him; but he went
away from here without telling me, pining for Rúpavatí"--When we
heard this speech of his, we came back here in due course.'

"When those sent to search had brought back this report, Rúpavatí said
to her father, 'I shall never recover my husband, so I will enter the
fire; how long, father, can I live here without my husband?' She went
on saying this, and as her father has not been able to dissuade her,
she has come out to-day to perish in the fire. And two maidens,
friends of hers, have come out to die in the same way; one is
called Sringáravatí and the other Anurágavatí. For long ago, at the
marriage of Rúpavatí, they saw Kesata and made up their minds that
they would have him for a husband, as their hearts were captivated
by his beauty. This is the meaning of the noise which the people here
are making."

When Kandarpa heard this from that man, he went to the pyre which had
been heaped up for those ladies. He made a sign to the people from
a distance to cease their tumult, and going up quickly, he said to
Rúpavatí, who was worshipping the fire; "Noble lady; desist from this
rashness; that husband of yours Kesata is alive; he is my friend; know
that I am Kandarpa." When he had said this, he told her all Kesata's
adventures, beginning with the circumstance of the old Bráhman's
treacherously making him embark on the boat. Then Rúpavatí believed
him, as his story tallied so completely with what she knew, and she
joyfully entered her father's house with those two friends. And her
father kindly welcomed Kandarpa and took good care of him; and so he
remained there, to please him.

In the meanwhile it happened that, as Kesata was roaming about, he
reached Ratnapura and found there the house of Kandarpa, in which
his two wives were. And as he was wandering about near the house,
Sumanas, the wife of Kandarpa, saw him from the top of the house
and said delighted to her father-in-law and mother-in-law, and the
other people in the house, "Here now is Kesata my husband's friend
arrived; we may hear news of my husband from him; quickly invite
him in." Then they went and on some pretext or other brought in
Kesata as she advised, and when he saw Sumanas come towards him,
he was delighted. And after he had rested she questioned him, and
he immediately told her his own and Kandarpa's adventures, after the
scare produced by the wild elephants.

He remained there some days, hospitably entertained, and then a
messenger came from Kandarpa with a letter. The messenger said,
"Kandarpa and Rúpavatí are in the town where Kandarpa's friend Kesata
married Rúpavatí;" and the contents of the letter were to the same
effect; and Kesata communicated the tidings with tears to the father
of Kandarpa.

And the next day Kandarpa's father sent in high glee a messenger
to bring his son, and dismissed Kesata, that he might join his
beloved. And Kesata went with that messenger, who brought the letter,
to that country where Rúpavatí was living in her father's house. There,
after a long absence, he greeted and refreshed the delighted Rúpavatí,
as the cloud does the chátakí. He met Kandarpa once more, and he
married at the instance of Rúpavatí her two before-mentioned friends,
Anurágavatí and Sringáravatí. And then Kesata went with Rúpavatí and
them to his own land, after taking leave of Kandarpa. And Kandarpa
returned to Ratnapura with the messenger, and was once more united
to Sumanas and Anangavatí and his relations. So Kandarpa regained
his beloved Sumanas, and Kesata his beloved Rúpavatí, and they lived
enjoying the good things of this life, each in his own country.

Thus men of firm resolution, though separated by adverse destiny, are
reunited with their dear ones, despising even terrible sufferings,
and taking no account of their interminable duration. So rise up
quickly my friend, let us go; you also will find your wife, if you
search for her; who knows the way of Destiny? I myself regained my
wife alive after she had died.

"Telling me this tale my friend encouraged me; and himself accompanied
me; and so roaming about with him, I reached this land, and here I
saw a mighty elephant and a wild boar. And, (wonderful to say!) I saw
that elephant bring my helpless wife out of his mouth, and swallow her
again; and I followed that elephant, which appeared for a moment and
then disappeared for a long time, and in my search for it I have now,
thanks to my merits, beheld your Majesty here."

When the young merchant had said this, Vikramáditya sent for his wife,
whom he had rescued by killing the elephant, and handed her over
to him. And then the couple, delighted at their marvellous reunion,
recounted their adventures to one another, and their mouths were loud
in praise of the glorious king Vishamasíla.






CHAPTER CXXIV.


Then King Vikramáditya put this question to the friend of the young
merchant, who came with him, "You said that you recovered your wife
alive after she was dead; how could that be? Tell us, good sir, the
whole story at length." When the king said this to the friend of the
young merchant, the latter answered, "Listen, king, if you have any
curiosity about it; I proceed to tell the story."



Story of Chandrasvámin who recovered his wife alive after her death.

I am a young Bráhman of the name of Chandrasvámin, living on that
magnificent grant to Bráhmans, called Brahmasthala, and I have a
beautiful wife in my house. One day I had gone to the village for some
object, by my father's orders, and a kápálika, who had come to beg,
cast eyes on that wife of mine. She caught a fever from the moment
he looked at her, and in the evening she died. Then my relations took
her, and put her on the pyre during the night. And when the pyre was
in full blaze, I returned there from the village; and I heard what
had happened from my family who wept before me.

Then I went near the pyre, and the kápálika came there with the
magic staff dancing [813] on his shoulder, and the booming drum in his
hand. He quenched the flume of the pyre, king, by throwing ashes on it,
[814] and then my wife rose up from the midst of it uninjured. The
kápálika took with him my wife who followed him, drawn by his magic
power, and ran off quickly, and I followed him with my bow and arrows.

And when he reached a cave on the bank of the Ganges, he put the
magic staff down on the ground, and said exultingly to two maidens
who were in it, "She, without whom I could not marry you, though I
had obtained you, has come into my possession; and so my vow has been
successfully accomplished," [815] Saying this he shewed them my wife,
and at that moment I flung his magic staff into the Ganges; and when he
had lost his magic power by the loss of the staff, I reproached him,
exclaiming, "Kápálika, as you wish to rob me of my wife, you shall
live no longer." Then the scoundrel, not seeing his magic staff,
tried to run away; but I drew my bow and killed him with a poisoned
arrow. Thus do heretics, who feign the vows of Siva only for the
pleasure of accomplishing nefarious ends, fall, though their sin has
already sunk them deep enough.

Then I took my wife, and those other two maidens, and I returned
home, exciting the astonishment of my relations. Then I asked those
two maidens to tell me their history, and they gave me this answer,
"We are the daughters respectively of a king and a chief merchant in
Benares, and the kápálika carried us off by the same magic process
by which he carried off your wife, and thanks to you we have been
delivered from the villain without suffering insult." This was their
tale; and the next day I took them to Benares, and handed them over
to their relations, after telling what had befallen them. [816]

And as I was returning thence, I saw this young merchant, who had lost
his wife, and I came here with him. Moreover, I anointed my body with
an ointment that I found in the cave of the kápálika; and, observe,
perfume still exhales from it, even though it has been washed.

"In this sense did I recover my wife arisen from the dead." When
the Bráhman had told this story, the king honoured him and the young
merchant, and sent them on their way. And then that king Vikramáditya,
taking with him Gunavatí, Chandravatí, and Madanasundarí, and having
met his own forces, returned to the city of Ujjayiní, and there he
married Gunavatí and Chandravatí.

Then the king called to mind the figure carved on a pillar that he
had seen in the temple built by Visvakarman, and he gave this order to
the warder, "Let an ambassador be sent to Kalingasena to demand from
him that maiden whose likeness I saw carved on the pillar." When the
warder received this command from the king, he brought before him an
ambassador named Suvigraha, and sent him off with a message.

So the ambassador went to the country of Kalinga, and when he had seen
the king Kalingasena, he delivered to him the message with which he had
been entrusted, which was as follows, "King, the glorious sovereign
Vikramáditya sends you this command, 'You know that every jewel on
the earth comes to me as my due; and you have a pearl of a daughter,
so hand her over to me, and then by my favour you shall enjoy in your
own realm an unopposed sway.'" When the king of Kalinga heard this,
he was very angry, and he said, "Who is this king Vikramáditya? Does he
presume to give me orders and ask for my daughter as a tribute? Blinded
with pride he shall be cast down." When the ambassador heard this
from Kalingasena, he said to him, "How can you, being a servant,
dare to set yourself up against your master? You do not know your
place. What, madman, do you wish to be shrivelled like a moth in the
fire of his wrath?"

When the ambassador had said this, he returned and communicated to king
Vikramáditya that speech of Kalingasena's. Then king Vikramáditya,
being angry, marched out with his forces to attack the king of
Kalinga, and the Vetála Bhútaketu went with him. As he marched along,
the quarters, re-echoing the roar of his army, seemed to say to the
king of Kalinga, "Surrender the maiden quickly," and so he reached
that country. When king Vikramáditya saw the king of Kalinga ready
for battle, he surrounded him with his forces; but then he thought
in his mind, "I shall never be happy without this king's daughter;
and yet how can I kill my own father-in-law? Suppose I have recourse
to some stratagem."

When the king had gone through these reflections, he went with
the Vetála, and by his supernatural power entered the bedchamber
of the king of Kalinga at night, when he was asleep, without being
seen. Then the Vetála woke up the king, and when he was terrified,
said to him laughing, "What! do you dare to sleep, when you are at
war with king Vikramáditya?" Then the king of Kalinga rose up, and
seeing the monarch, who had thus shown his daring, standing with a
terrible Vetála at his side, and recognising him, bowed trembling at
his feet, and said, "King, I now acknowledge your supremacy; tell me
what I am to do." And the king answered him, "If you wish to have me
as your overlord, give me your daughter Kalingasená." Then the king
of Kalinga agreed, and promised to give him his daughter, and so the
monarch returned successful to his camp.

And the next day, queen, your father the king of Kalinga bestowed
you on king Vishamasíla with appropriate ceremonies, and a splendid
marriage-gift. Thus, queen, you were lawfully married by the king
out of his deep love for you, and at the risk of his own life, and
not out of any desire to triumph over an enemy.

"When I heard this story, my friends, from the mouth of the kárpatika
Devasena, I dismissed my anger, which was caused by the contempt with
which I supposed myself to have been treated. So, you see, this king
was induced to marry me by seeing a likeness of me carved on a pillar,
and to marry Malayavatí by seeing a painted portrait of her." In these
words Kalingasená, the beloved wife of king Vikramáditya, described
her husband's might, and delighted his other wives. Then Vikramáditya,
accompanied by all of them, and by Malayavatí, remained delighting
in his empire.

Then, one day, a Rájpút named Krishnasakti, who had been oppressed by
the members of his clan, came there from the Dakkan. He went to the
palace-gate surrounded by five hundred Rájpúts, and took on himself the
vow of kárpatika to the king. And though the king tried to dissuade
him, he made this declaration, "I will serve king Vikramáditya for
twelve years." And he remained at the gate of the palace, with his
followers, determined to carry out this vow, and while he was thus
engaged, eleven years passed over his head.

And when the twelfth year came, his wife, who was in another land,
grieved at her long separation from him, sent him a letter; and he
happened to be reading this Áryá verse which she had written in the
letter, at night, by the light of a candle, when the king, who had
gone out in search of adventures, was listening concealed, "Hot, long,
and tremulous, do these sighs issue forth from me, during thy absence,
my lord, but not the breath of life, hard-hearted woman that I am!"

When the king had heard this read over and over again by the kárpatika,
he went to his palace and said to himself, "This kárpatika, whose
wife is in such despondency, has long endured affliction, and if his
objects are not gained, he will, when this twelfth year is at an end,
yield his breath. So I must not let him wait any longer." After going
through these reflections, the king at once sent a female slave,
and summoned that kárpatika. And after he had caused a grant to be
written, he gave him this order, "My good fellow, go towards the
northern quarter through Omkárapítha; there live on the proceeds of a
village of the name of Khandavataka, which I give you by this grant;
you will find it by asking your way as you go along."

When the king had said this, he gave the grant into his hands; and
the kárpatika went off by night without telling his followers. He
was dissatisfied, saying to himself, "How shall I be helped to
conquer my enemies by a single village that will rather disgrace
me? Nevertheless my sovereign's orders must be obeyed." So he slowly
went on, and having passed Omkárapítha, he saw in a distant forest
many maidens playing, and then he asked them this question, "Do you
know where Khandavataka is?" When they heard that, they answered,
"We do not know; go on further; our father lives only ten yojanas
from here; ask him; he may perhaps know of that village."

When the maidens had said this to him, the kárpatika went on, and
beheld their father, a Rákshasa of terrific appearance. He said to him,
"Whereabouts here is Khandavataka? Tell me, my good fellow." And the
Rákshasa, quite taken aback by his courage, said to him, "What have you
got to do there? The city has been long deserted; but if you must go,
listen; this road in front of you divides into two: take the one on the
left hand, and go on until you reach the main entrance of Khandavataka,
the lofty ramparts on each side of which make it attract the eye."

When the Rákshasa had told him this, he went on, and reached that
main street, and entered that city, which, though of heavenly beauty,
was deserted and awe-inspiring. And in it he entered the palace, which
was surrounded with seven zones, and ascended the upper storey of it,
which was made of jewels and gold. There he saw a gem-bestudded throne,
and he sat down on it. Thereupon a Rákshasa came with a wand in his
hand, and said to him, "Mortal, why have you sat down here on the
king's throne?" When the resolute kárpatika Krishnasakti heard this,
he said, "I am lord here; and you are tribute-paying house-holders
whom king Vikramáditya has made over to me by his grant."

When the Rákshasa heard that, he looked at the grant, and bowing before
him, said, "You are king here, and I am your warder; for the decrees
of king Vikramáditya are binding everywhere." When the Rákshasa had
said this, he summoned all the subjects, and the ministers and the
king's retinue presented themselves there; and that city was filled
with an army of four kinds of troops. And every one paid his respects
to the kárpatika; and he was delighted, and performed his bathing
and his other ceremonies with royal luxury.

Then, having become a king, he said to himself with amazement;
"Astonishing truly is the power of king Vikramáditya; and strangely
unexampled is the depth of his dignified reserve, in that he bestows a
kingdom like this and calls it a village!" Full of amazement at this,
he remained there ruling as a king: and Vikramáditya supported his
followers in Ujjayiní.

And after some days this kárpatika become a king went eagerly to pay
his respects to king Vikramáditya, shaking the earth with his army. And
when he arrived and threw himself at the feet of Vikramáditya,
that king said to him, "Go and put a stop to the sighs of your wife
who sent you the letter." When the king despatched him with these
words, Krishnasakti, full of wonder, went with his friends to his
own land. There he drove out his kinsmen, and delighted his wife,
who had been long pining for him; and having gained more even than
he had ever wished for, enjoyed the most glorious royal fortune.

So wonderful were the deeds of king Vikramáditya.

Now one day he saw a Bráhman with every hair on his head and body
standing on end; and he said to him, "What has reduced you, Bráhman,
to this state?" Then the Bráhman told him his story in the following
words:



Story of Devasvámin the permanently horripilant Bráhman.

There lived in Pátaliputra a Bráhman of the name of Agnisvámin,
a great maintainer of the sacrificial fire; and I am his son,
Devasvámin by name. And I married the daughter of a Bráhman who lived
in a distant land, and because she was a child, I left her in her
father's house. One day I mounted a mare, and went with one servant
to my father-in-law's house to fetch her. There my father-in-law
welcomed me; and I set out from his house with my wife, who was
mounted on the mare, and had one maid with her.

And when we had got half way, my wife got off the mare, and went to
the bank of the river, pretending that she wanted to drink water. And
as she remained a long time without coming back, I sent the servant,
who was with me, to the bank of the river to look for her. And as he
also remained a long time without coming back, I went there myself,
leaving the maid to take care of the mare. And when I went and looked,
I found that my wife's mouth was stained with blood, and that she had
devoured my servant, and left nothing of him but the bones. [817] In
my terror I left her, and went back to find the mare, and lo! her maid
had in the same way eaten that. Then I fled from the place, and the
fright I got on that occasion still remains in me, so that even now I
cannot prevent the hair on my head and body from standing on end. [818]

"So you, king, are my only hope." When the Bráhman said this,
Vikramáditya by his sovereign fiat relieved him of all fear. Then the
king said, "Out on it! One cannot repose any confidence in women,
for they are full of daring wickedness." When the king said this,
a minister remarked, "Yes, king! women are fully as wicked as you
say. By the bye, have you not heard what happened to the Bráhman
Agnisarman here?"



Story of Agnisarman. [819]

There lives in this very city a Bráhman named Agnisarman, the son of
Somasarman; whom his parents loved as their life, but who was a fool
and ignorant of every branch of knowledge. He married the daughter of a
Bráhman in the city of Vardhamána; but her father, who was rich, would
not let her leave his house, on the ground that she was a mere child.

And when she grew up, Agnisarman's parents said to him, "Son, why do
you not now go and fetch your wife?" When Agnisarman heard that, the
stupid fellow went off alone to fetch her, without taking leave of his
parents. When he left his house a partridge appeared on his right hand,
and a jackal howled on his left hand, a sure prophet of evil. [820]
And the fool welcomed the omen saying, "Hail! Hail!" and when the
deity presiding over the omen heard it, she laughed at him unseen. And
when he reached his father-in-law's place, and was about to enter it,
a partridge appeared on his right, and a jackal on his left, boding
evil. And again he welcomed the omen, exclaiming "Hail! Hail!" and
again the goddess of the omen, hearing it, laughed at him unseen. And
that goddess presiding over the omen said to herself, "Why, this
fool welcomes bad luck as if it were good! So I must give him the
luck which he welcomes, I must contrive to save his life." While the
goddess was going through these reflections, Agnisarman entered his
father-in-law's house, and was joyfully welcomed. And his father-in-law
and his family asked him, why he had come alone, and he answered them,
"I came without telling any one at home."

Then he bathed and dined in the appropriate manner, and when night
came on, his wife came to his sleeping apartment adorned. But he fell
asleep fatigued with the journey; and then she went out to visit a
paramour of hers, a thief, who had been impaled. But, while she was
embracing his body, the demon that had entered it, bit off her nose;
and she fled thence in fear. And she went and placed an unsheathed
[821] dagger at her sleeping husband's side; and cried out loud
enough for all her relations to hear, "Alas! Alas! I am murdered;
this wicked husband of mine has got up and without any cause actually
cut off my nose." When her relations heard that, they came, and seeing
that her nose was cut off, they beat Agnisarman with sticks and other
weapons. And the next day they reported the matter to the king, and
by his orders they made him over to the executioners, to be put to
death, as having injured his innocent wife.

But when he was being taken to the place of execution, the goddess
presiding over that omen, who had seen the proceedings of his wife
during the night, said to herself, "This man has reaped the fruit of
the evil omens, but as he said, 'Hail! Hail!' I must save him from
execution." Having thus reflected, the goddess exclaimed unseen from
the air, "Executioners, this young Bráhman is innocent; you must not
put him to death: go and see the nose between the teeth of the impaled
thief." When she had said this, she related the proceedings of his
wife during the night. Then the executioners, believing the story,
represented it to the king by the mouth of the warder, and the king,
seeing the nose between the teeth of the thief, remitted the capital
sentence passed on Agnisarman, and sent him home; and punished that
wicked wife, and imposed a penalty on her relations [822] also.

"Such, king, is the character of women." When that minister had
said this, King Vikramáditya approved his saying, exclaiming,
"So it is." Then the cunning Múladeva, who was near the king, said,
"King, are there no good women, though some are bad? Are there no
mango-creepers, as well as poisonous creepers? In proof that there
are good women, hear what happened to me."



Story of Múladeva. [823]

I went once to Pátaliputra with Sasin, thinking that it was the home
of polished wits, and longing to make trial of their cleverness. In a
tank outside that city I saw a woman washing clothes, and I put this
question to her, "Where do travellers stay here?" The old woman gave
me an evasive answer, saying, "Here the Brahmany ducks stay on the
banks, the fish in the water, the bees in the lotuses, but I have
never seen any part where travellers stay." When I got this answer,
I was quite nonplussed, and I entered the city with Sasin.

There Sasin saw a boy crying at the door of a house, with a warm [824]
rice-pudding on a plate in front of him, and he said, "Dear me! this
is a foolish child not to eat the pudding in front of him, but to vex
himself with useless weeping." When the child heard this, he wiped his
eyes, and said laughing, "You fools do not know the advantages I get by
crying. The pudding gradually cools and so becomes nice, and another
good comes out of it; my phlegm is diminished thereby. These are the
advantages I derive from crying; I do not cry out of folly; but you
country bumpkins are fools because you do not see what I do it for."

When the boy said this, Sasin and I were quite abashed at our
stupidity, and we went away astonished to another part of the
town. There we saw a beautiful young lady on the trunk of a mango-tree,
gathering mangoes, while her attendants stood at its foot. We said
to the young lady, "Give us also some mangoes, fair one." And she
answered, "Would you like to eat your mangoes cold or hot?" When
I heard that, I said to her, wishing to penetrate the mystery, "We
should like, lovely one, to eat some warm ones first, and to have
the others afterwards." When she heard this, she flung down some
mango-fruits into the dust on the ground. We blew the dust off them
and then ate them. Then the young lady and her attendants laughed, and
she said to us, "I first gave you these warm mangoes, and you cooled
them by blowing on them, and then ate them; catch these cool ones,
which will not require blowing on, in your clothes." When she had
said this, she threw some more fruits into the flaps of our garments.

We took them, and left that place thoroughly ashamed of ourselves. Then
I said to Sasin and my other companions, "Upon my word I must
marry this clever girl, and pay her out for the way in which she
has made a fool of me; otherwise what becomes of my reputation for
sharpness?" When I said this to them, they found out her father's
house, and on a subsequent day we went there disguised so that we
could not be recognised.

And while we were reading the Veda there, her father the Bráhman
Yajnasvámin came up to us, and said, "Where do you come from?" We
said to that rich and noble Bráhman, "We have come here from the
city of Máyápurí to study;" thereupon he said to us, "Then stay the
next four months in my house; shew me this favour, as you have come
from a distant country." When we heard this, we said, "We will do
what you say, Bráhman, if you will give us, at the end of the four
months, whatever we may ask for." When we said this to Yajnasvámin,
he answered, "If you ask for anything that it is in my power to give,
I will certainly give it." When he made this promise, we remained
in his house. And when the four months were at an end, we said to
that Bráhman, "We are going away, so give us what we ask for, as
you long ago promised to do." He said, "What is that?" Then Sasin
pointed to me and said, "Give your daughter to this man, who is our
chief." Then the Bráhman Yajnasvámin, being bound by his promise,
thought, "These fellows have tricked me; never mind; there can be no
harm in it; he is a deserving youth." So he gave me his daughter with
the usual ceremonies.

And when night came, I said laughing to the bride in the bridal
chamber, "Do you remember those warm and those cool mangoes?" When she
heard this, she recognised me, and said with a smile, "Yes, country
bumpkins are tricked in this way by city wits." Then I said to her,
"Rest you fair, city wit; I vow that I the country bumpkin will desert
you and go far away." When she heard this, she also made a vow, saying,
"I too am resolved, for my part, that a son of mine by you shall bring
you back again." When we had made one another these promises, she went
to sleep with her face turned away, and I put my ring on her finger,
while she was asleep. Then I went out, and joining my companions,
started for my native city of Ujjayiní, wishing to make trial of
her cleverness.

The Bráhman's daughter, not seeing me next morning, when she woke up,
but seeing a ring on her finger marked with my name, said to herself,
"So he has deserted me, and gone off; well, he has been as good as
his word; and I must keep mine too, dismissing all regrets. And I
see by this ring that his name is Múladeva; so no doubt he is that
very Múladeva, who is so renowned for cunning. And people say that
his permanent home is Ujjayiní; so I must go there, and accomplish
my object by an artifice." When she had made up her mind to this,
she went and made this false statement to her father, "My father,
my husband has deserted me immediately after marriage; and how can I
live here happily without him; so I will go on a pilgrimage to holy
waters, and will so mortify this accursed body."

Having said this, and having wrung a permission from her unwilling
father, she started off from her house with her wealth and her
attendants. She procured a splendid dress suitable to a hetæra, and
travelling along she reached Ujjayiní, and entered it as the chief
beauty of the world. And having arranged with her attendants every
detail of her scheme, that young Bráhman lady assumed the name of
Sumangalá. And her servants proclaimed everywhere, "A hetæra named
Sumangalá has come from Kámarúpa, and her goodwill is only to be
procured by the most lavish expenditure."

Then a distinguished hetæra of Ujjayiní, named Devadattá, came to
her, and gave her her own palace worthy of a king, to dwell in by
herself. And when she was established there, my friend Sasin first
sent a message to her by a servant, saying, "Accept a present from me
which is won by your great reputation." But Sumangalá sent back this
message by the servant, "The lover who obeys my commands may enter
here: I do not care for a present, nor for other beast-like men." Sasin
accepted the terms, and repaired at night-fall to her palace.

And when he came to the first door of the palace, and had himself
announced, the door-keeper said to him, "Obey our lady's commands. Even
though you may have bathed, you must bathe again here; otherwise
you cannot be admitted." When Sasin heard this, he agreed to bathe
again as he was bid. Then he was bathed and anointed all over by her
female slaves, in private, and while this was going on, the first
watch of the night passed away. When he arrived, having bathed,
at the second door, the door-keeper said to him, "You have bathed;
now adorn yourself appropriately." He consented, and thereupon the
lady's female slaves adorned him, and meanwhile the second watch of the
night came to an end. Then he reached the door of the third zone, and
there the guards said to him, "Take a meal, and then enter." He said
"Very well," and then the female slaves managed to delay him with
various dishes until the third watch passed away. Then he reached
at last the fourth door, that of the lady's private apartments,
but there the door-keeper reproached him in the following words,
"Away, boorish suitor, lest you draw upon yourself misfortune. Is the
last watch of the night a proper time for paying the first visit to
a lady?" When Sasin had been turned away in this contemptuous style
by the warder, who seemed like an incarnation of untimeliness, he
went away home with countenance sadly fallen.

In the same way that Bráhman's daughter, who had assumed the name
of Sumangalá, disappointed many other visitors. When I heard of
it, I was moved with curiosity, and after sending a messenger to
and fro I went at night splendidly adorned to her house. There I
propitiated the warders at every door with magnificent presents,
and I reached without delay the private apartments of that lady. And
as I had arrived in time I was allowed by the door-keepers to pass
the door, and I entered and saw my wife, whom I did not recognise,
owing to her being disguised as a hetæra. But she knew me again,
and she advanced towards me, and paid me all the usual civilities,
made me sit down on a couch, and treated me with the attentions of a
cunning hetæra. Then I passed the night with that wife of mine, who
was the most beautiful woman of the world, and I became so attached
to her, that I could not leave the house in which she was staying.

She too was devoted to me, and never left my side, until, after some
days, the blackness of the tips of her breasts shewed that she was
pregnant. Then the clever woman forged a letter, and shewed it to me,
saying, "The king my sovereign has sent me a letter: read it." Then
I opened the letter and read as follows, "The august sovereign of the
fortunate Kámarúpa, Mánasinha, sends thence this order to Sumangalá,
'Why do you remain so long absent? Return quickly, dismissing your
desire of seeing foreign countries.'"

When I had read this letter, she said to me with affected grief,
"I must depart; do not be angry with me; I am subject to the will of
others." Having made this false excuse, she returned to her own city
Pátaliputra: but I did not follow her, though deeply in love with her,
as I supposed that she was not her own mistress.

And when she was in Pátaliputra, she gave birth in due time to a
son. And that boy grew up and learned all the accomplishments. And
when he was twelve years old, that boy in a childish freak happened
to strike with a creeper a fisherman's son of the same age. When the
fisherman's son was beaten, he flew in a passion and said, "You beat
me, though nobody knows who your father is; for your mother roamed
about in foreign lands, and you were born to her by some husband or
other." [825]

When this was said to the boy, he was put to shame; so he went and
said to his mother, "Mother, who and where is my father? Tell me!" Then
his mother, the daughter of the Bráhman, reflected a moment, and said
to him, "Your father's name is Múladeva: he deserted me, and went to
Ujjayiní." After she had said this, she told him her whole story from
the beginning. Then the boy said to her, "Mother, then I will go and
bring my father back a captive; I will make your promise good."

Having said this to his mother, and having been told by her how
to recognise me, the boy set out thence, and reached this city of
Ujjayiní. And he came and saw me playing dice in the gambling-hall,
making certain of my identity from the description his mother had given
him, and he conquered in play all who were there. And he astonished
every one there by shewing such remarkable cunning, though he was
a mere child. Then he gave away to the needy all the money he had
won at play. And at night he artfully came and stole my bedstead
from under me, letting me gently down on a heap of cotton, while I
was asleep. So when I woke up, and saw myself on a heap of cotton,
without a bedstead, I was at once filled with mixed feelings of shame,
amusement and astonishment.

Then, king, I went at my leisure to the market-place, and roaming
about, I saw that boy there selling the bedstead. So I went up to him
and said, "For what price will you give me this bedstead?" Then the
boy said to me, "You cannot get the bedstead for money, crest-jewel
of cunning ones; but you may get it by telling some strange and
wonderful story." When I heard that, I said to him, "Then I will tell
you a marvellous tale. And if you understand it and admit that it is
really true, you may keep the bedstead; but if you say that it is not
true and that you do not believe it, [826] you will be illegitimate,
and I shall get back the bedstead. On this condition I agree to tell
you a marvel; and now listen!--Formerly there was a famine in the
kingdom of a certain king; that king himself cultivated the back of
the beloved of the boar with great loads of spray from the chariots
of the snakes. Enriched with the grain thus produced the king put a
stop to the famine among his subjects, and gained the esteem of men."

When I said this, the boy laughed and said, "The chariots of the
snakes are clouds; the beloved of the boar is the earth, for she
is said to have been most dear to Vishnu in his Boar incarnation;
and what is there to be astonished at in the fact that rain from the
clouds made grain to spring on the earth?"

When the cunning boy had said this, he went on to say to me, who was
astonished at his cleverness, "Now I will tell you a strange tale. If
you understand it, and admit that it is really true, I will give you
back this bedstead, otherwise you shall be my slave."

I answered "Agreed;" and then the cunning boy said this, "Prince of
knowing ones, there was born long ago on this earth a wonderful boy,
who, as soon as he was born, made the earth tremble with the weight
of his feet, and when he grew bigger, stepped into another world."

When the boy said this, I, not knowing what he meant, answered him,
"It is false; there is not a word of truth in it." Then the boy said
to me, "Did not Vishnu, as soon as he was born, stride across the
earth, in the form of a dwarf, and make it tremble? And did he not,
on that same occasion, grow bigger, and step into heaven? So you
have been conquered by me, and reduced to slavery. And these people
present in the market are witnesses to our agreement. So, wherever
I go, you must come along with me." When the resolute boy had said
this, he laid hold of my arm with his hand; and all the people there
testified to the justice of his claim.

Then, having made me his prisoner, bound by my own agreement, he,
accompanied by his attendants, took me to his mother in the city
of Pátaliputra. And then his mother looked at him, and said to me,
"My husband, my promise has to-day been made good, I have had you
brought here by a son of mine begotten by you." When she had said this,
she related the whole story in the presence of all.

Then all her relations respectfully congratulated her on having
accomplished her object by her wisdom, and on having had her disgrace
wiped out by her son. And I, having been thus fortunate, lived there
for a long time with that wife, and that son, and then returned to
this city of Ujjayiní.

"So you see, king, honourable matrons are devoted to their husbands,
and it is not the case that all women are always bad." When king
Vikramáditya had heard this speech from the mouth of Múladeva, he
rejoiced with his ministers. Thus hearing, and seeing, and doing
wonders, that king Vikramáditya [827] conquered and enjoyed all the
divisions of the earth.

"When the hermit Kanva had told during the night this story of
Vishamasíla, dealing with separations and reunions, he went on to
say to me who was cut off from the society of Madanamanchuká; 'Thus
do unexpected separations and reunions of beings take place, and so
you, Naraváhanadatta, shall soon be reunited to your beloved. Have
recourse to patience, and you shall enjoy for a long time, son of the
king of Vatsa, surrounded by your wives and ministers, the position of
a beloved emperor of the Vidyádharas.' This admonition of the hermit
Kanva enabled me to recover patience; and so I got through my time of
separation, and I gradually obtained wives, magic, science, and the
sovereignty over the Vidyádharas. And I told you before, great hermits,
how I obtained all these by the favour of Siva, the giver of boons."

By telling this his tale, in the hermitage of Kasyapa, Naraváhanadatta
delighted his mother's brother Gopálaka and all the hermits. And after
he had passed there the days of the rainy season, he took leave of his
uncle and the hermits in the grove of asceticism, and mounting his
chariot, departed thence with his wives and his ministers, filling
the air with the hosts of his Vidyádharas. And in course of time he
reached the mountain of Rishabha his dwelling-place; and he remained
there delighting in the enjoyments of empire, in the midst of the
kings of the Vidyádharas, with queen Madanamanchuká, and Ratnaprabhá
and his other wives; and his life lasted for a kalpa.

This is the story called Vrihatkathá, told long ago, on the summit
of mount Kailása, by the undaunted [828] Siva, at the request of
the daughter of the Himálaya, and then widely diffused in the world
by Pushpadanta and his fellows, who were born on the earth wearing
the forms of Kátyáyana and others, in consequence of a curse. And on
that occasion that god her husband attached the following blessing
to this tale, "Whoever reads this tale that issued from my mouth,
and whoever listens to it with attention, and whoever possesses it,
shall soon be released from his sins, and triumphantly attain the
condition of a splendid Vidyádhara, and enter my everlasting world."



     END OF THE COLLECTION OF TALES CALLED THE KATHÁ SARIT SÁGARA.







NOTES TO VOLUME I


[1] Dr. Brockhaus explains this of Ganesa, he is probably associated
with Siva in the dance. So the poet invokes two gods, Siva and Ganesa,
and one goddess Sarasvatí, the goddess of speech and learning.

[2] Sítkára a sound made by drawing in the breath, expressive of
pleasure.

[3] There is a double meaning: padártha also means words and their
meanings.

[4] Possibly the meaning is that the mountain covers many thousand
yojanas.

[5] This mountain served the gods and Asuras as a churning stick at
the churning of the ocean for the recovery of the Amrita and fourteen
other precious things lost during the deluge.

[6] Siva himself wears a moon's crescent.

[7] The Sanskrit word Asti meaning "thus it is" is a common
introduction to a tale.

[8] The linga or phallus is a favourite emblem of Siva. Flame is one
of his eight tanus or forms.

[9] He was burnt up by the fire of Siva's eye.

[10] Compare Kumára Sambhava Sarga V, line 86.

[11] Reading tatsanchayáya as one word. Dr. Brockhaus omits the
line. Professor E. B. Cowell would read priyam for priye.

[12] One of Siva's favourite attendants.

[13] Attendants of Siva, presided over by Ganesa.

[14] For the ativiníta of Dr. Brockhaus's text I read aviníta.

[15] Pramatha, an attendant on Siva.

[16] Kausámbí succeeded Hastinápur as the capital of the emperors of
India. Its precise site has not been ascertained, but it was probably
somewhere in the Doabá, or at any rate not far from the west bank
of the Yamuná, as it bordered upon Magadha and was not far from the
Vindhya hills. It is said that there are ruins at Karáli or Karári
about 14 miles from Allahábád on the western road, which may indicate
the site of Kausámbí. It is possible also that the mounds of rubbish
about Karrah may conceal some vestiges of the ancient capital--a
circumstance rendered more probable by the inscription found there,
which specifies Kata as comprised within Kausámba mandala or the
district of Kausámbí. [Note in Wilson's Essays, p. 163.] See note on
page 281.

[17] A tree of Indra's Paradise that grants all desires.

[18] More literally, the goddess that dwells in the Vindhya hills. Her
shrine is near Mirzápúr.

[19] Dr. Brockhaus makes parusha a proper name.

[20] Ficus Indica.

[21] Pumán = Purusha, the spirit.

[22] Prakriti, the original source or rather passive power of creating
the material world.

[23] Prajápati.

[24] The spirit was of course Brahmá whose head Siva cut off.

[25] It appears from an article in Mélusine by A Bart, entitled An
Ancient Manual of Sorcery, and consisting mainly of passages translated
from Burnell's Sámavidhána Bráhmana, that this power can be acquired
in the following way, "After a fast of three nights, take a plant of
soma (Asclepias acida;) recite a certain formula and eat of the plant
a thousand times, you will be able to repeat anything after hearing
it once. Or bruise the flowers in water, and drink the mixture for a
year. Or drink soma, that is to say the fermented juice of the plant
for a month. Or do it always." (Mélusine, 1878, p. 107; II, 7, 4-7.)

In the Milinda Pañho, (Pali Miscellany by V. Trenckner, Part. I,
p. 14,) the child Nágasena learns the whole of the three Vedas by
hearing them repeated once.

[26] A grammatical treatise on the rules regulating the euphonic
combination of letters and their pronunciation peculiar to one of
the different Sákhás or branches of the Vedas.--M. W. s. v.

[27] i. e., died.

[28] Here we have a pun which it is impossible to render in
English. Anátha means without natural protectors and also poor.

[29] Taking chháyá in the sense of sobhá. It might mean "affording
no shelter to the inmates."

[30] Dr. Brockhaus translates the line--Von diesem wurde ich meinem
Manne vermählt, um seinem Hauswesen vorzustehen.

[31] Like the Roman fascinum. guhya = phallus.

[32] I read tat for táh according to a conjecture of Professor
E. B. Cowell's. He informs me on the authority of Dr. Rost that the
only variants are sá for táh and yoshitá for yoshitah. Dr. Rost would
take evamkrite as the dative of evamkrit. If táh be retained it may
be taken as a repetition "having thus prepared it, I say, the women
give it." Professor Cowell would translate (if táh be retained)
"the women then do not need to receive anything to relieve their
fatigue during the cold and hot weather."

Professor E. B. Cowell has referred me to an article by Dr. Liebrecht
in the Zeitschrift der Morgenländischen Gesellschaft.

He connects the custom with that of the Jewish women mentioned in
Jeremiah VII. 18, "The women knead their dough to make cakes to
the queen of heaven," and he quotes a curious custom practised on
Palm Sunday in the town of Saintes. Dulaure states that in his time
the festival was called there La fête des Pinnes; the women and
children carried in the procession a phallus made of bread, which
they called a pinne, at the end of their palm branches; those pinnes
were subsequently blessed by the priest, and carefully preserved by
the women during the year. This article has been republished by the
learned author in his "Zur Volkskunde" (Heilbronn, 1879) p. 436 and
f f. under the title of "der aufgegessene Gott." It contains many
interesting parallels to the custom described in the text.

[33] Literally bodiless--she heard the voice, but saw no man.

[34] Vara = excellent ruch = to please.

[35] I. e. Palibothra.

[36] Wilson remarks (Essays on Sanskrit Literature, Vol. I,
p. 165). "The contemporary existence of Nanda with Vararuchi and Vyádi
is a circumstance of considerable interest in the literary history
of the Hindus, as the two latter are writers of note on philological
topics. Vararuchi is also called in this work Kátyáyana, who is one of
the earliest commentators on Pánini. Nanda is the predecessor or one
of the predecessors of Chandragupta or Sandrakottos; and consequently
the chief institutes of Sanskrit grammar are thus dated from the
fourth century before the Christian era. We need not suppose that
Somadeva took the pains to be exact here; but it is satisfactory
to be made acquainted with the general impressions of a writer who
has not been biassed in any of his views by Pauránik legends and
preposterous chronology."

[37] I. e., of learning and material prosperity.

[38] Literally the gate of the Ganges: it is now well known under
the name of Haridvár (Hurdwar).

[39] Dr. Brockhaus renders the passage "wo Siva die Jahnaví im goldenen
Falle von den Gipfeln des Berges Usínara herabsandte."

[40] Skanda is Kártikeya and his mother is of course Durgá or Párvatí
the consort of Siva.

[41] This may be compared with Grimm's No. 60, "Die zwei Brüder." Each
of the brothers finds every day a gold piece under his pillow. In one
of Waldau's Böhmische Märchen, Vogelkopf und Vogelherz (p. 90) a boy
named Fortunat eats the heart of the Glücksvogel and under his pillow
every day are found three ducats. See also Der Vogel Goldschweif,
in Gaal's Märchen der Magyaren, p. 195.

[42] In this case the austerities which he had performed in a former
birth to propitiate Siva.

[43] This story is, according to Dr. Rajendra Lál Mitra, found in a
MS. called the Bodhisattva Avadána. (Account of the Buddhist Literature
of Nepal, p. 53).

[44] I. e., bali, a portion of the daily meal offered to creatures of
every description, especially the household spirits. Practically the
bali generally falls to some crow, hence that bird is called balibhuj.

[45] A similar incident is found in Grimm's Fairy Tales translated by
Mrs. Paull, p. 370. The hero of the tale called the Crystal Ball finds
two giants fighting for a little hat. On his expressing his wonder,
"Ah", they replied, "you call it old, you do not know its value. It
is what is called a wishing-hat, and whoever puts it on can wish
himself where he will, and immediately he is there." "Give me the hat,"
replied the young man, "I will go on a little way and when I call you
must both run a race to overtake me, and whoever reaches me first,
to him the hat shall belong." The giants agreed and the youth taking
the hat put it on and went away; but he was thinking so much of the
princess that he forgot the giants and the hat, and continued to go
further and further without calling them. Presently he sighed deeply
and said, "Ah, if I were only at the Castle of the golden sun."

Wilson (Collected Works, Vol. III, p. 169, note,) observes that
"the story is told almost in the same words in the Bahár Dánish,
a purse being substituted for the rod; Jahándár obtains possession
of it, as well as the cup, and slippers in a similar manner. Weber
[Eastern Romances, Introduction, p. 39] has noticed the analogy which
the slippers bear to the cap of Fortunatus. The inexhaustible purse,
although not mentioned here, is of Hindu origin also, and a fraudulent
representative of it makes a great figure in one of the stories of
the Dasa Kumára Charita" [ch. 2, see also L. Deslongchamps Essai sur
les Fables Indiennes, Paris, 1838, p. 35 f. and Grässe, Sagen des
Mittelalters, Leipzig, 1842, p. 19 f.] The additions between brackets
are due to Dr. Reinholdt Rost the editor of Wilson's Essays.

The Mongolian form of the story may be found in Sagas from the Far
East, p. 24. A similar incident is also found in the Swedish story
in Thorpe's Scandinavian Tales, entitled "the Beautiful Palace East
of the Sun and North of the Earth." A youth acquires boots by means
of which he can go a hundred miles at every step, and a cloak, that
renders him invisible, in a very similar way.

I find that in the notes in Grimm's 3rd Volume, page 168, (edition
of 1856) the passage in Somadeva is referred to, and other parallels
given. The author of these notes compares a Swedish story in Cavallius,
p. 182, and Pröhle, Kindermärchen, No. 22. He also quotes from the
Sidi Kür, the story to which I have referred in Sagas from the Far
East, and compares a Norwegian story in Ashbjörnsen, pp. 53, 171,
a Hungarian story in Mailath and Gaal, N. 7, and an Arabian tale in
the continuation of the 1001 Nights. See also Sicilianische Märchen
by Laura Gonzenbach, Part I, Story 31. Here we have a table-cloth,
a purse, and a pipe. When the table-cloth is spread out one has
only to say--Dear little table-cloth, give macaroni or roast-meat
or whatever may be required, and it is immediately present. The
purse will supply as much money as one asks it for, and the pipe is
something like that of the pied piper of Hamelin,--every one who
hears it must dance. Dr. Köhler in his notes, at the end of Laura
Gonzenbach's collection, compares (besides the story of Fortunatus,
and Grimm III. 202,) Zingerle, Kinder- und Hausmärchen, II. 73 and
193. Curze, Popular Traditions from Waldock, p. 34. Gesta Romanorum,
Chap. 120. Campbell's Highland Tales, No. 10, and many others. The
shoes in our present story may also be compared with the bed in the
IXth Novel of the Xth day of the Decameron.

See also Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, p. 230 and Veckenstedt's
Wendische Sagen, p. 152.

See also the story of "Die Kaiserin Trebisonda" in a collection
of South Italian tales by Woldemar Kaden, entitled "Unter den
Olivenbäumen" and published in 1880. The hero of this story plays
the same trick as Putraka, and gains thereby an inexhaustible purse,
a pair of boots which enable the wearer to run like the wind, and a
mantle of invisibility. See also "Beutel, Mäntelchen und Wunderhorn"
in the same collection, and No. XXII in Miss Stokes's Indian Fairy
Tales. The story is found in the Avadánas translated by Stanislas
Julien: (Lévêque, Mythes et Légendes de L'Inde et de la Perse, p. 570,
Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 117.) M. Lévêque thinks that La Fontaine
was indebted to it for his Fable of L' Huître et les Plaideurs. See
also De Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology, Vol. I, pp. 126-127, and 162.

We find a magic ring, brooch and cloth in No. XLIV of the English
Gesta. See also Syrische Sagen und Märchen, von Eugen Prym und
Albert Socin, p. 79, where there is a flying carpet. There is a magic
table-cloth in the Bohemian Story of Büsmanda, (Waldau, p. 44) and a
magic pot on p. 436 of the same collection; and a food-providing mesa
in the Portuguese story of A Cacheirinha (Coelho, Contos Portuguezes,
p. 58). In the Pentamerone No. 42 there is a magic chest. Kuhn has
some remarks on the "Tischchen deck dich" of German tales in his
Westfälische Märchen, Vol. I, p. 369.

For a similar artifice to Putraka's, see the story entitled
Fischer-Märchen in Gaal, Märchen der Magyaren, p. 168, Waldau,
Böhmische Märchen, pp. 260 and 564, and Dasent's Norse Tales, pp. 213
and 214.

[46] Compare the way in which Zauberer Vergilius carries off the
daughter of the Sultán of Babylon, and founds the town of Naples,
which he makes over to her and her children: (Simrock's Deutsche
Volksbücher, Vol. VI, pp. 354, 355.) Dunlop is of opinion that the
mediæval traditions about Vergil are largely derived from Oriental
sources.

[47] I. e., infantry, cavalry, elephants, and archers.

[48] Literally she was splendid with a full bosom, ... glorious with
coral lips. For uttama in the 1st half of sloka 6 I read upama.

[49] Considered to be indicative of exalted fortune.--Monier Williams.

[50] The bimba being an Indian fruit, this expression may he paralleled
by "currant lip" in the Two Noble Kinsmen I. I. 216 or "cherry lip"
Rich. III. I. I. 94.

[51] Goddess of eloquence and learning.

[52] See Dr. Burnett's "Aindra grammar" for the bearing of this
passage on the history of Sanskrit literature.

[53] And will not observe you.

[54] Instead of the walls of a seraglio.

[55] This story occurs in Scott's Additional Arabian Nights as the
Lady of Cairo and her four Gallants, [and in his Tales and Anecdotes,
Shrewsbury, 1800, p. 136, as the story of the Merchant's wife and
her suitors]. It is also one of the Persian tales of Arouya [day 146
ff.]. It is a story of ancient celebrity in Europe as Constant du Hamel
or la Dame qui attrapa un Prêtre, un Prévôt et un Forestier [Le Grand
d'Aussy, Fabliaux et Contes. Paris, 1829, Vol. IV, pp. 246-56]. It
is curious that the Fabliau alone agrees with the Hindu original in
putting the lovers out of the way and disrobing them by the plea of
the bath. (Note in Wilson's Essays on Sanskrit Literature, edited by
Dr. Rost, Vol. I, p. 173.) See also a story contributed by the late
Mr. Damant to the Indian Antiquary, Vol. IX, pp. 2 and 3, and the
XXVIIIth story in Indian Fairy Tales collected and translated by Miss
Stokes, with the note at the end of the volume. General Cunningham is
of opinion that the dénouement of this story is represented in one of
the Bharhut Sculptures; see his Stúpa of Bharhut, p. 53. A faint echo
of this story is found in Gonzenbach's Sicilianische Märchen, No. 55,
pp. 359-362. Cp. also No. 72(b) in the Novellæ Morlini. (Liebrecht's
Dunlop, p. 497.)

Cp. the 67th Story in Coelho's Contos Populares Portuguezes, and
the 29th in the Pentamerone of Basile. There is a somewhat similar
story in the English Gesta (Herrtage, No. XXV) in which three knights
are killed.

A very similar story is quoted in Mélusine, p. 178, from Thorburn's
Bannu or our Afghan Frontier.

[56] Dr. Brockhaus translates "alle drei mit unsern Schülern."

[57] This forms the leading event of the story of Fadlallah in the
Persian tales. The dervish there avows his having acquired the faculty
of animating a dead body from an aged Bráhman in the Indies. (Wilson.)

[58] Compare the story in the Panchatantra, Benfey's Translation,
p. 124, of the king who lost his body but eventually recovered
it. Benfey in Vol. I, page 128, refers to some European
parallels. Liebrecht in his Zur Volkskunde, p. 206, mentions a story
found in Apollonius (Historia Mirabilium) which forms a striking
parallel to this. According to Apollonius, the soul of Hermotimos
of Klazomenæ left his body frequently, resided in different places,
and uttered all kinds of predictions, returning to his body which
remained in his house. At last some spiteful persons burnt his
body in the absence of his soul. There is a slight resemblance to
this story in Sagas from the Far East, p. 222. By this it may be
connected with a cycle of European tales about princes with ferine
skin &c. Apparently a treatise has been written on this story by Herr
Varnhagen. It is mentioned in the Saturday Review of 22nd July, 1882
as, "Ein Indisches Märchen auf seiner Wanderung durch die Asiatischen
und Europäischen Litteraturen."

[59] Or Yogananda. So called as being Nanda by yoga or magic.

[60] I read ásvásya.

[61] Compare this with the story of Ugolino in Dante's Inferno.

[62] Dr. Liebrecht in Orient und Occident, Vol. I, p. 341 compares
with this story one in the old French romance of Merlin. There
Merlin laughs because the wife of the emperor Julius Cæsar had
twelve young men disguised as ladies-in-waiting. Benfey, in a note
on Dr. Liebrecht's article, compares with the story of Merlin one
by the Countess D'Aulnoy, No. 36 of the Pentamerone of Basile,
Straparola IV. I, and a story in the Suka Saptati. This he quotes
from the translation of Demetrios Galanos. In this some cooked fish
laugh so that the whole town hears them. The reason is the same as
in the story of Merlin and in our text.

[63] Cp. the following passage in a Danish story called Svend's
exploits, in Thorpe's Yuletide Stories, page 341. Just as he was going
to sleep, twelve crows came flying and perched in the elder trees
over Svend's head. They began to converse together, and the one told
the other what had happened to him that day. When they were about to
fly away, one crow said, "I am so hungry; where shall I get something
to eat?" "We shall have food enough to-morrow when father has killed
Svend," answered the crow's brother. "Dost thou think then that such
a miserable fellow dares fight with our father?" said another. "Yes,
it is probable enough that he will, but it will not profit him much as
our father cannot be overcome but with the Man of the Mount's sword,
and that hangs in the mound, within seven locked doors, before each of
which are two fierce dogs that never sleep." Svend thus learned that
he should only be sacrificing his strength and life in attempting a
combat with the dragon, before he had made himself master of the Man of
the Mount's sword. So Sigfrid hears two birds talking above his head
in Hagen's Helden-Sagen, Vol. I, p. 345. In the story of Lalitánga
extracted by Professor Nilmani Mukerjea from a collection of Jaina
tales called the Kathá Kosha, and printed in his Sáhitya Parichaya,
Part II, we have a similar incident.

[64] Compare the "mole cinque-spotted" in Cymbeline.

[65] Compare Measure for Measure.

[66] Cp. the story of OEdipus and the Mahábhárata, Vanaparvan,
C. 312. where Yudhishthira is questioned by a Yaksha. Benfey compares
Mahábhárata XIII (IV, 206) 5883-5918 where a Bráhman seized by a
Rákshasa escaped in the same way. The reader will find similar
questioning demons described in Veckenstedt's Wendische Sagen,
pp. 54-56, and 109.

[67] Reading chuddhis for the chudis of Dr. Brockhaus' text.

[68] Sâmanta seems to mean a feudatory or dependent prince.

[69] Benfey considers that this story was originally Buddhistic. A very
similar story is quoted by him from the Karmasataka. (Panchatantra I,
p. 209) cp. also c. 65 of this work.

[70] Probably his foot bled, and so he contracted defilement.

[71] The preceptor of the gods.

[72] See the Mudrá Rákshasa for another version of this story. (Wilson,
Hindu Theatre, Vol. II.) Wilson remarks that the story is also told
differently in the Puránas.

[73] Sanskrit, Prákrit and his own native dialect.

[74] I change Dr. Brockhaus's Sákásana into Sákásana.

[75] As, according to my reading, he ate vegetables, his blood was
turned into the juice of vegetables. Dr. Brockhaus translates machte
dass das herausströmende Blut zu Krystallen sich bildete.

[76] A celebrated place of pilgrimage near the source of the Ganges,
the Bhadrinath of modern travellers. (Monier Williams, s. v.)

[77] Pratishthána according to Wilson is celebrated as the capital
of Saliváhana. It is identifiable with Peytan on the Godávarí, the
Bathana or Paithana of Ptolemy,--the capital of Siripolemaios. Wilson
identifies this name with Saliváhana, but Dr. Rost remarks that Lassen
more correctly identifies it with that of Srí Pulimán of the Andhra
dynasty who reigned at Pratishthána after the overthrow of the house
of Saliváhana about 130 A. D.

[78] Fabulous serpent-demons having the head of a man with the tail
of a serpent.--(Monier Williams, s. v.)

[79] It seems to me that tvam in Dr. Brockhaus' text must be a misprint
for tam.

[80] I. e., rich in virtues, and good qualities.

[81] From the Greek dênarion = denarius. (Monier Williams s. v.) Dramma
= Gr. drachmê is used in the Panchatantra; see Dr. Bühler's Notes to
Panchatantra, IV and V, Note on p. 40, l. 3.

[82] Literally wood-carriers.

[83] He had made money without capital, so his achievements are
compared to pictures suspended in the air?

[84] hetaira.

[85] The vita or roué meant "conciliation" but the chanter of the
Sáma Veda took it to mean "hymn."

[86] I. e., seize him with curved hand, and fling him out neck and
crop. The Precentor supposed them to mean a crescent-headed arrow.

[87] I.e., rich in accomplishments.

[88] Indra's pleasure-ground or Elysium. For a similar Zaubergarten see
Liebrecht's translation of Dunlop's History of Fiction, p. 251, and
note 325; and Gonzenbach's Sicilianische Märchen, Vol. I, p. 224. To
this latter story there is a very close parallel in Játaka No. 220,
(Fausböll, Vol. II, p. 188) where Sakko makes a garden for the
Bodhisattva, who is threatened with death by the king, if it is
not done.

[89] Guhyaka here synonymous with Yaksha. The Guhyakas like the
Yakshas are attendants upon Kuvera the god of wealth.

[90] The tilaka a mark made upon the forehead or between the eyebrows
with coloured earths, sandal-wood, &c., serving as an ornament or a
sectarial distinction. Monier Williams s. v.

[91] The negative particle má coalesces with udakaih (the plural
instrumental case of udaka) into modakaih, and modakaih (the single
word) means "with sweetmeats." The incident is related in Táránátha's
Geschichte des Buddhismus in Indien, uebersetzt von Schiefner, p. 74.

[92] So explained by Böhtlingk and Roth s. v. cp. Taranga 72 sl. 103.

[93] He afterwards learns to speak in the language of the Pisáchas,
goblins, or ogres.

[94] Called also Kumára. This was no doubt indicated by the Kumára
or boy, who opened the lotus.

[95] The chátaka lives on rain-drops, but the poor swan has to take
a long journey to the Mánasa lake beyond the snowy hills, at the
approach of the rainy season.

[96] Kártikeya.

[97] More literally sprinkling her with water. See also the 60th Tale
in Gonzenbach's Sicilianische Märchen, Vol. II, p. 17.

[98] Skanda is another name of Kártikeya.

[99] This grammar is extensively in use in the eastern parts of
Bengal. The rules are attributed to Sarvavarman, by the inspiration of
Kártikeya, as narrated in the text. The vritti or gloss is the work
of Durgá Singh and that again is commented on by Trilochana Dása and
Kavirája. Vararuchi is the supposed author of an illustration of the
Conjugations and Srípati Varmá of a Supplement. Other Commentaries
are attributed to Gopí Nátha, Kula Chandra and Visvesvara. (Note in
Wilson's Essays, Vol. I. p. 183.)

[100] Rishis.

[101] Sanskára means tendency produced by some past influence, often
works in a former birth. This belief seems to be very general in Wales,
see Wirt Sikes, British Goblins, p. 113. See also Kuhn's Herabkunft des
Feuers, p. 93, De Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology, Vol. II, p. 285.

[102] For the idea cp. Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 1. (towards
the end) and numerous other passages in the same author.

[103] Brockhaus renders it Fromme, Helden und Weise.

[104] Vaisvánara is an epithet of Agni or Fire.

[105] Siva.

[106] Cp. the 1st story in the Vetála Panchavinsati, Chapter 75 of
this work. See also Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, p. 241, where Prince
Ivan by the help of his tutor Katoma propounds to the Princess Anna
the fair, a riddle which enables him to win her as his wife.

[107] The god of justice.

[108] Benfey considers this story as Buddhistic in its origin. In the
"Memoires Sur les Contrées Occidentales traduits du Sanscrit par Hiouen
Thsang et du Chinois par Stanislas Julien" we are expressly told
that Gautama Buddha gave his flesh to the hawk as Sivi in a former
state of existence. It is told of many other persons, see Benfey's
Panchatantra, Vol. I, p. 388, cp. also Campbell's West Highland Tales,
p. 239, Vol. I, Tale XVI. M. Lévêque (Les Mythes et Légendes de L'Inde
p. 327) connects this story with that of Philemon and Baucis. He lays
particular stress upon the following lines of Ovid:


            Unicus anser erat, minimæ custodia villæ
            Quem Dîs hospitibus domini mactare parabant:
            Ille celer penna tardos ætate fatigat,
            Eluditque diu, tandemquo est visus ad ipsos
            Confugisse deos. Superi vetuere necari.


See also Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology, Vol. II, pp. 187, 297
and 414.

[109] I. e., Siva.

[110] Vrihat Kathá.

[111] Compare the story of Orpheus.

[112] It is unnecessary to remind the reader of the story of the Sibyl.

[113] I. e., Durgá.

[114] I believe this refers to Arjuna's combat with the god when he
had assumed the form of a Kiráta or mountaineer. Siva is here called
Tripurári, the enemy or destroyer of Tripura. Dr. Brockhaus renders
it quite differently.

[115] Composed of rice, milk, sugar and spices.

[116] Certain female divinities who reside in the sky and are the
wives of the Gandharvas. Monier Williams, s. v.

[117] Brahmá. He emerges from a lotus growing from the navel of Vishnu.

[118] In the word sasnehe there is probably a pun; sneha meaning love,
and also oil.

[119] The charioteer of Indra.

[120] For illustrations of this bath of blood see Dunlop's Liebrecht,
page 135, and the note at the end of the book. The story of Der arme
Heinrich, to which Liebrecht refers, is to be found in the VIth Volume
of Simrock's Deutsche Volksbücher. Cp. the story of Amys and Amylion,
Ellis's Early English Romances, pp. 597 and 598, the Pentamerone of
Basile, Vol. I, p. 367; Prym and Socin's Syrische Märchen, p. 73;
Grohmann's Sagen aus Böhmen, p. 268; Gonzenbach's Sicilianische
Märchen, p. 354, with Dr. Köhler's notes.

[121] This is the Roc or Rokh of Arabian romance, agreeing in the
multiplicity of individuals as well as their propensity for raw flesh.

(See Sindbad's Voyages ed. Langlès, p. 149.) The latter characteristic,
to the subversion of all poetical fancies, has acquired, it may be
supposed, for the Adjutant (Ardea Argila) the name of Garuda. A
wundervogel is the property of all people, and the Garuda of the
Hindoos is represented by the Eorosh of the Zend, Simoorgh of the
Persians, the Anka of the Arabs, the Kerkes of the Turks, the Kirni
of the Japanese, the sacred dragon of the Chinese, the Griffin of
Chivalry, the Phoenix of classical fable, the wise and ancient bird
that sits upon the ash Yggdrasil of the Edda, and according to Faber
with all the rest is a misrepresentation of the holy cherubim that
guarded the gate of Paradise. Some writers have even traced the
twelve knights of the round table to the twelve Rocs of Persian
story. (Wilson's Essays, Vol. I, pp. 192, 193, note.)

Gigantic birds that feed on raw flesh are mentioned by the
Pseudo-Callisthenes, Book II, ch. 41. Alexander gets on the back of
one of them, and is carried into the air, guiding his bird by holding
a piece of liver in front of it. He is warned by a winged creature in
human shape to proceed no further, and descends again to earth. See
also Liebrecht's Dunlop, p. 143 and note. See also Birlinger, Aus
Schwaben, pp. 5, 6, 7. He compares Pacolet's horse in the story of
Valentine and Orson.

[122] A wild mountaineer. Dr. Bühler observes that the names of these
tribes are used very vaguely in Sanskrit story-books.

[123] Sovereign of the snakes.

[124] I. e., given by Fortune.

[125] Cp. the story of Sattvasíla, which is the seventh tale in
the Vetála Panchavinsati, and will be found in Chapter 81 of this
work. Cp. also the story of Saktideva in Book V. ch. 26, and Ralston's
remarks on it in his Russian Folk-Tales, p. 99.

[126] Vishnu assumed the form of a dwarf and appeared before Bali,
and asked for as much land as he could step over. On Bali's granting
it, Vishnu dilating himself, in two steps deprived him of heaven and
earth, but left the lower regions still in his dominion.

[127] This incident may be compared with one described in Veckenstedt's
Wendische Sagen, p. 82.

[128] Ananta, endless, or infinite, is a name of the thousand-headed
serpent Sesha.

[129] Reading khadgam for the khadge of Dr. Brockhaus's text.

[130] Female demon. The Rákshasas are often called "night-wanderers."

[131] Or more literally of the month Chaitra, i. e., March-April.

[132] At nine o'clock in the morning.

[133] Anas Casarca, commonly called the Brahmany duck. The male has
to pass the night separated from its female: if we are to trust the
unanimous testimony of Hindu poets.

[134] A name of Durgá. Cp. Prescott's account of the human sacrifices
in Mexico, Vol. I pp. 62, 63.

[135] This incident reminds us of the fifth rule in Wright's Gesta
Romanorum.

[136] Or it may mean "from a distance," as Dr. Brockhaus takes it.

[137] Pulinda, name of a savage tribe.

[138] Mr. Growse remarks: "In Hindi the word Nágasthala would assume
the form Nágal; and there is a village of that name to this day in
the Mahában Pargana of the Mathurá District."

[139] A common way of carrying money in India at the present day.

[140] Compare the last Scene of the Toy Cart in the 1st volume of
Wilson's Hindu Theatre.

[141] The esculent white lotus (Sanskrit kumuda) expands its petals
at night, and closes them in the daytime.

[142] In Sanskrit poetry horripilation is often said to be produced
by joy. I have here inserted the words "from joy" in order to make
the meaning clear.

[143] Literally drunk in.

[144] Alluding to his grey hairs. In all eastern stories the appearance
of the first grey hair is a momentous epoch. The point of the whole
passage consists in the fact that jará, old age, is feminine in
form. Cp. the perturbation of King Samson in Hagen's Helden-Sagen,
Vol. I, p. 26, and Spence Hardy's Manual of Buddhism (1860) pp. 129
and 130.

[145] There is a pun between the name of the king Udayana and
prosperity (udaya).

[146] Not Vásuki, but his eldest brother.

[147] Chháyá means "colour;" he drank their colour, i. e., made them
pale. It also means "reflection in the wine."

[148] i. e., given by Buddha.

[149] The four Upáyas or means of success are sáman, negotiation,
which his pride would render futile, dána, giving, which appeals to
avarice, bheda, sowing dissension, which would be useless where a
king is beloved by his subjects, and danda, open force, of no use in
the case of a powerful king like Udayana.

[150] The chief vices of kings denounced by Hindu writers on statecraft
are: Hunting, gambling, sleeping in the day, calumny, addiction to
women, drinking spirits, dancing, singing, and instrumental music,
idle roaming, these proceed from the love of pleasure, others proceed
from anger, viz., tale-bearing, violence, insidious injury, envy,
detraction, unjust seizure of property, abuse, assault. See Monier
Williams s. v. vyasana.

[151] Sudhádhauta may mean "white as plaster," but more probably here
"whitened with plaster" like the houses in the European quarter of the
"City of palaces."

[152] A linga of Siva in Ujjayiní. Siva is here compared to an earthly
monarch subject to the vyasana of roaming. I take it, the poet means,
Ujjayiní is a better place than Kailása.

[153] Cp. the way in which Kandar goes in search of a sword in Prym
and Socin's Syrische Märchen, p. 205.

[154] Dr. Brockhaus translates it--Stürzte den Wagen des Königs
um. Can Syandana mean horses, like magni currus Achilli? If so,
áhatya would mean, having killed.

[155] Rasa means nectar, and indeed any liquid, and also emotion,
passion. The pun is of course most intentional in the original.

[156] Cp. the story of Ohimé in the "Sicilianische Märchen" collected
by Laura von Gonzenbach where Maruzza asks Ohimé how it would be
possible to kill him. So in Indian Fairy Tales, collected by Miss
Stokes, Hiralál Básá persuades Sonahrí Rání to ask his father where
he kept his soul. Some interesting remarks on this subject will be
found in the notes to this tale (Indian Fairy Tales, p. 260.) See
also No. I, in Campbell's Tales of the Western Highlands, and
Dr. Reinhold Köhler's remarks in Orient and Occident, Vol. II,
p. 100. Cp. also Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, pp. 80, 81 and
136. Cp. also Veckenstedt's Wendische Sagen, p. 72. In the Gehörnte
Siegfried (Simrock's Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. III, pp. 368 and 416),
the hero is made invulnerable everywhere but between the shoulders,
by being smeared with the melted fat of a dragon. Cp. also the story
of Achilles. For the transformation of Chandamahásena into a boar
see Bartsch's Sagen, Märchen und Gebräuche aus Meklenburg, Vol. II,
pp. 144, 145, and Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology, Vol. II, p. 14. See
also Schöppner's Geschichte der Bayerischen Lande, Vol. I, p. 258.

[157] They would not go near for fear of disturbing it. Wild elephants
are timid, so there is more probability in this story, than in that
of the Trojan horse. Even now scouts who mark down a wild beast in
India, almost lose their heads with excitement.

[158] I. e., they sat in Dharna outside the door of the palace.

[159] Perhaps we should read samantatah one word.

[160] Sattva, when applied to the forest, means animal, when applied
to wisdom, it means excellence.

[161] Vetála is especially used of a goblin that tenants dead
bodies. See Colonel R. Burton's Tales of Vikramáditya and the
Vampire. They will be found in the 12th book of this work. In the
Vth Chapter of Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales will be found much
interesting information with regard to the Slavonic superstitions
about Vampires. They resemble very closely those of the Hindus. See
especially p. 311. "At cross-roads, or in the neighbourhood of
cemeteries, an animated corpse of this description often lurks,
watching for some unwary traveller whom it may be able to slay
and eat."

[162] Cp. the way in which the Ritter Malegis transmutes Reinold in the
story of Die Heimonskinder (Simrock's Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. II,
p. 86). "He changed him into an old man, a hundred years of age, with
a decrepit and misshapen body, and long hair." See also p. 114. So
Merlin assumes the form of an old man and disguises Uther and Ulfin,
Dunlop's History of Fiction, translated by Liebrecht, p. 66.

[163] Such people dance in temples I believe.

[164] Mr. Growse writes to me with reference to the name
Lohajangha--"This name still exists on the spot, though probably
not to be found elsewhere. The original bearer of the title is said
to have been one of the demons whom Krishna slew, and a village is
called Lohaban after him, where an ancient red sandstone image is
supposed to represent him, and has offerings of iron made to it at
the annual festival.

[165] Ráginí means affectionate and also red.

[166] Ataví is generally translated "forest." I believe the English
word "forest" does not necessarily imply trees, but it is perhaps
better to avoid it here.

[167] For the vritam of the text I read kritam. Cp. this incident with
Joseph's adventure in the 6th story of the Sicilianische Märchen. He
is sewn up in a horse's skin, and carried by ravens to the top of a
high mountain. There he stamps and finds a wooden trap-door under his
feet. In the notes Dr. Köhler refers to this passage, Campbell No. 44,
the Story of Sindbad and other parallels. Cp. also Veckenstedt's
Wendische Sagen, p. 124. See also the story of Heinrich der Löwe,
Simrock's Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. I, p. 8. Dr. Köhler refers to
the story of Herzog Ernst. The incident will be found in Simrock's
version of the story, at page 308 of the IIIrd Volume of his Deutsche
Volksbücher.

[168] Names of Vishnu, who became incarnate in the hero Krishna.

[169] See Chapter 22 sl. 181 and ff. Kasyapa's two wives disputed
about the colour of the sun's horses. They agreed that whichever was
in the wrong should become a slave to the other. Kadrú, the mother
of the snakes, won by getting her children to darken the horses. So
Garuda's mother Vinatá became a slave.

[170] Divine personages of the size of a thumb; sixty thousand were
produced from Brahmá's body and surrounded the chariot of the sun. The
legend of Garuda and the Bálakhilyas is found in the Mahábhárata,
see De Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology, p. 95.

[171] A yojana is probably 9 miles, some say 2-1/2, some 4 or 5. See
Monier Williams s. v.

[172] Compare the 5th story in the first book of the Panchatantra,
in Benfey's translation.

Benfey shows that this story found its way into Mahometan collections,
such as the Thousand and one Nights, and the Thousand and one Days, as
also into the Decamerone of Boccaccio, and other European story-books,
Vol. I, p. 159, and ff.

The story, as given in the Panchatantra, reminds us of the Squire's
Tale in Chaucer, but Josephus in Ant. Jud. XVIII, 3, tells it of a
Roman knight named Mundus, who fell in love with Paulina the wife of
Saturninus, and by corrupting the priestess of Isis was enabled to pass
himself off as Anubis. On the matter coming to the ears of Tiberius, he
had the temple of Isis destroyed, and the priests crucified. (Dunlop's
History of Fiction, Vol. II, p. 27. Liebrecht's German translation,
p. 232). A similar story is told by the Pseudo-Callisthenes of
Nectanebos and Olympias. Cp. Coelho's Contos Populares Portuguezes,
No. LXXI, p. 155.

[173] Thus she represented the Arddhanárísvara, or Siva half male,
and half female, which compound figure is to be painted in this manner.

[174] She held on to it by her hands.

[175] Wilson remarks that this presents some analogy to the story
in the Decamerone (Nov. 7 Gior. 8) of the scholar and the widow
"la quale egli poi,  con un suo consiglio, di mezzo Luglio, ignuda,
tutto un dì fa stare in su una torre." It also bears some resemblance
to the story of the Master Thief in Thorpe's Yule-tide Stories, page
272. The Master thief persuades the priest that he will take him to
heaven. He thus induces him to get into a sack, and then he throws
him into the goose-house, and when the geese peck him, tells him that
he is in purgatory. The story is Norwegian. See also Sir G. W. Cox's
Mythology of the Aryan Nations, Vol. 1. p. 127.

[176] Cp. the way in which Rüdiger carries off the daughter of king
Osantrix, Hagen's Helden-Sagen, Vol. I, p. 227.

[177] têrêsantes nykta cheimerion hydati kai anemô kai ham' aselênon
exêsan. Thucyd. III. 22.

[178] The word dasyu here means savage, barbarian. These wild mountain
tribes called indiscriminately Savaras, Pulindas, Bhillas &c., seem
to have been addicted to cattle-lifting and brigandage. So the word
dasyu comes to mean robber. Even the virtuous Savara prince described
in the story of Jímútaváhana plunders a caravan.

[179] Cathay?

[180] Compare the rose garland in the story of the Wright's Chaste
Wife; edited for the early English Text Society by Frederick
J. Furnivall, especially lines 58 and ff.


                "Wete thou wele withowtyn fable
                "Alle the whyle thy wife is stable
                "The chaplett wolle holde hewe;
                "And yf thy wyfe use putry
                "Or telle eny man to lye her by
                Then welle yt change hewe,
                And by the garland thou may see,
                Fekylle or fals yf that sche be,
                Or elles yf she be true.


See also note in Wilson's Essays on Sanskrit Literature, Vol. I,
p. 218. He tells us that in Perce Forest the lily of the Kathá Sarit
Ságara is represented by a rose. In Amadis de Gaul it is a garland
which blooms on the head of her that is faithful, and fades on the
brow of the inconstant. In Les Contes à rire, it is also a flower. In
Ariosto, the test applied to both male and female is a cup, the wine
of which is spilled by the unfaithful lover. This fiction also occurs
in the romances of Tristan, Perceval and La Morte d'Arthur, and is
well known by La Fontaine's version, La Coupe Enchantée. In La Lai
du Corn, it is a drinking-horn. Spenser has derived his girdle of
Florimel from these sources or more immediately from the Fabliau, Le
Manteau mal taillé or Le Court Mantel, an English version of which is
published in Percy's Reliques, the Boy and the Mantel (Vol. III.) In
the Gesta Romanorum (c. 69) the test is the whimsical one of a shirt,
which will neither require washing nor mending as long as the wearer is
constant. (Not the wearer only but the wearer and his wife). Davenant
has substituted an emerald for a flower.


                                          The bridal stone,
            And much renowned, because it chasteness loves,
            And will, when worn by the neglected wife,
            Shew when her absent lord disloyal proves
            By faintness and a pale decay of life.


I may remark that there is a certain resemblance in this story to
that of Shakespeare's Cymbeline, which is founded on the 9th Story of
the 2nd day in the Decamerone, and to the 7th Story in Gonzenbach's
Sicilianische Märchen.

See also "The king of Spain and his queen" in Thorpe's Yule-tide
Stories, pp. 452-455. Thorpe remarks that the tale agrees in substance
with the ballad of the "Graf Von Rom" in Uhland, II, 784; and with
the Flemish story of "Ritter Alexander aus Metz und Seine Frau
Florentina." In the 21st of Bandello's novels the test is a mirror
(Liebrecht's Dunlop, p. 287). See also pp. 85 and 86 of Liebrecht's
Dunlop, with the notes at the end of the volume.

[181] A man of low caste now called Dom. They officiate as
executioners.

[182] Compare the way in which the widow's son, the shifty lad,
treats Black Rogue in Campbell's Tales of the Western Highlands
(Tale XVII d. Orient und Occident, Vol. II, p. 303.)

[183] Datura is still employed, I believe, to stupefy people whom it
is thought desirable to rob.

[184] I read iva for the eva of Dr. Brockhaus's text.

[185] A precisely similar story occurs in the Bahár Dánish. The turn
of the chief incident, although not the same, is similar to that of
Nov VII, Part 4 of Bandello's Novelle, or the Accorto Avvedimento
di una Fantesca à liberare la padrona e l' innamorato di quella de
la morte. (Wilson's Essays, Vol. I, p. 224.) Cp. also the Mongolian
version of the story in Sagas from the Far East, p. 320. The story
of Saktimatí is the 19th in the Suka Saptati. I have been presented
by Professor Nílmani Mukhopádhyáya with a copy of a MS. of this work
made by Babu Umesa Chandra Gupta.

[186] Cp. the story of the Chest in Campbell's Stories from the Western
Highlands. It is the first story in the 2nd volume and contains one
or two incidents which remind us of this story.

[187] I read mahâkulodgatáh.

[188] Alluding to Indra's having cut the wings of the mountains.

[189] The peafowl are delighted at the approach of the rainy season,
when "their sorrow" comes to an end.

[190] It is often the duty of these minstrels to wake the king with
their songs.

[191] Weapons well known in Hindu mythology. See the 6th act of the
Uttara Ráma Charita.

[192] Sútrapátam akarot she tested, so to speak. Cp. Taranga 21,
sl. 93. The fact is, the smoke made her eyes as red as if she had
been drinking.

[193] Or "like Kuvera." There is a pun here.

[194] Young Deformed.

[195] Cp. the distribution of presents on the occasion of King Etzel's
marriage in the Nibelungen Lied.

[196] It must be remembered that a king among the Hindus was
inaugurated with water, not oil.

[197] The word "adders" must here do duty for all venomous kinds
of serpents.

[198] A similar story is found in the IVth book of the Panchatantra,
Fable 5, where Benfey compares the story of Yayáti and his son
Puru. Benfey Panchatantra I. 436. Bernhard Schmidt in his Griechische
Märchen, page 37, mentions a very similar story, which he connects
with that of Admetos and Alkestis. In a popular ballad of Trebisond,
a young man named Jannis, the only son of his parents, is about to be
married, when Charon comes to fetch him. He supplicates St. George,
who obtains for him the concession, that his life may be spared, in
case his father will give him half the period of life still remaining
to him. His father refuses, and in the same way his mother. At last
his betrothed gives him half her allotted period of life, and the
marriage takes place. The story of Ruru is found in the Ádiparva of
the Mahábhárata, see Lévêque, Mythes et Légendes de l'Inde, pp. 278,
and 374.

[199] I read dhátá for dhátrá.

[200] i. e. Hastinápura.

[201] Here Wilson observes: The circumstances here related are not
without analogies in fact. It is not marvellous therefore that we
may trace them in fiction. The point of the story is the same as
that of the "Deux Anglais à Paris," a Fabliau, and of "Une femme
à l'extremité qui se mit en si grosse colère voyant son mari qui
baisait sa servante qu'elle recouvra la santé" of Margaret of Navarre,
(Heptameron. Nouvelle 71). Cp. Henderson's Folk-lore of the Northern
Counties, p. 131.

Webster, Duchess of Malfi, Act IV, Sc. 2, tells a similar story,


        "A great physician, when the Pope was sick
        Of a deep melancholy, presented him
        With several sorts of madmen, which wild object,
        Being full of change and sport, freed him to laugh,
        And so the imposthume broke."


[202] Cp. Sagas from the far East, Tale XI, pp. 123, 124. Here
the crime contemplated is murder, and the ape is represented by a
tiger. This story bears a certain resemblance to the termination of
Alles aus einer Erbse, Kaden's Unter den Olivenbäumen, p. 22. See
also page 220 of the same collection. In the Pentamerone of Basile,
Tale 22, a princess is set afloat in a box, and found by a king,
whose wife she eventually becomes. There is a similar incident in
Kaden's Unter den Olivenbäumen, p. 220.

[203] Literally a handful of water, such as is offered to the Manes, is
offered to Fortune. It is all over with his chance of attaining glory.

[204] Cp. Sicilianische Märchen, Vol. I, p. 220. Liebrecht, in note
485 to page 413 of his translation of Dunlop's History of Fiction,
compares this story with one in The Thousand and One Days of a princess
of Kashmír, who was so beautiful that every one who saw her went mad,
or pined away. He also mentions an Arabian tradition with respect to
the Thracian sorceress Rhodope. "The Arabs believe that one of the
pyramids is haunted by a guardian spirit in the shape of a beautiful
woman, the mere sight of whom drives men mad." He refers also to
Thomas Moore, the Epicurean, Note 6 to Chapter VI, and the Adventures
of Hatim Tai, translated by Duncan Forbes, p. 18.

[205] In the original it is intended to compare the locks to the
spots in the moon.

[206] Reading yad hi.

[207] The moon was the progenitor of the Pándava race.

[208] One of the five trees of Paradise.

[209] Káma the Hindu Cupid.

[210] There is a certain resemblance in the story of Sunda and Upasunda
to that of Otus and Ephialtes; see Preller's Griechische Mythologie,
Vol. I p. 81. Cp. also Grohmann's Sagen aus Böhmen, p. 35.

[211] The architect or artist of the gods.

[212] This is literally true. The king was addicted to the vyasana
or vice of hunting.

[213] I read hastagraháyogyám for the áhastagraháyogyám of
Dr. Brockhaus.

[214] The flower closes when the sun sets.

[215] To keep up his character as a Bráhman boy.

[216] I read dáhaishiná.

[217] This applies also to the god of love who bewilders the mind.

[218] Kara means hand, and also tribute.

[219] I read iva for eva.

[220] Reading taddvárasthitamahattaram as one word.

[221] For parallels to the story of Urvasí, see Kuhn's Herabkunft
des Feuer's, p. 88.

[222] This, with the water weapon, and that of whirlwind, is mentioned
in the Rámáyana and the Uttara Ráma Charita.

[223] Or Devarshi, belonging to the highest class of Rishis or
patriarchal saints.

[224] This dance is mentioned in the 1st Act of the Málavikágnimitra.

[225] Literally broke. The vyádhi or disease must have been of the
nature of an abscess.

[226] Amare et sapere vix deo conceditur. (Publius Syrus.)

[227] Liebrecht in an essay on some modern Greek songs (Zur
Volkskunde, p. 211) gives numerous stories of children who spoke
shortly after birth. It appears to have been generally considered an
evil omen. Cp. the Romance of Merlin. (Dunlop's History of Fiction,
p. 146.) See Baring Gould's Curious Myths of the Middle Ages (New
Edition, 1869) p. 170. In a startling announcement of the birth of
Antichrist which appeared in 1623, purporting to come from the brothers
of the Order of St. John, the following passage occurs,--"The child
is dusky, has pleasant mouth and eyes, teeth pointed like those of a
cat, ears large, stature by no means exceeding that of other children;
the said child, incontinent on his birth, walked and talked perfectly
well."

[228] More literally; blockaded his house with policemen, and his
throat with tears.

[229] So in the XXIst of Miss Stokes's Indian Fairy Tales the fakir
changes the king's son into a fly. Cp. also Veckenstedt's Wendische
Sagen, p. 127.

[230] Ficus Indica. Such a tree is said to have sheltered an army. Its
branches take root and form a natural cloister. Cp. Milton's Paradise
Lost, Book IX, lines 1000 and ff.

[231] Grimm in his Teutonic Mythology (translation by Stallybrass,
p. 121, note,) connects the description of wonderful maidens sitting
inside hollow trees or perched on the boughs, with tree-worship. See
also Grohmann's Sagen aus Böhmen, p. 41.

[232] For the illuminating power of female beauty, see Note 3 to the
1st Tale in Miss Stokes's Collection, where parallels are cited from
the folk-lore of Europe and Asia.

[233] Kámadhenu means a cow granting all desires; such a cow is said
to have belonged to the sage Vasishta.

[234] Conciliation, bribery, sowing dissension, and war.

[235] The Prákrit word majjáo means "a cat" and also "my lover."

[236] Cp. Schiller's "Der Graf von Habsburg," lines 9-12.

[237] The word pati here means king and husband.

[238] A smile is always white according to the Hindu poetic canons.

[239] The countenance of the fair ones were like moons.

[240] There should be a mark of elision before nimishekshanáh.

[241] The eyes of Hindu ladies are said to reach to their ears. I
read tadákhyátum for tadákhyátim with a MS. in the Sanskrit college,
kindly lent me by the Librarian with the consent of the Principal.

[242] Love and affection, the wives of Kámadeva the Hindu Cupid.

[243] So the mouse in the Panchatantra possesses power by means of a
treasure (Benfey's Panchatantra, Vol. I, p. 320. Vol. II, p. 178.) The
story is found also in the 61st Chapter of this work. Cp. also Sagas
from the Far East, pp. 257 and 263. The same idea is found in the 39th
Játaka, p. 322 of Rhys Davids' translation, and in the 257th Játaka,
Vol. II, p. 297 of Fausböll's edition.

[244] Cp. Sagas from the Far East, p. 263.

[245] I read darsayat.

[246] Sati is a misprint for mati, Böhtlingk and Roth sv.

[247] i. e. the Ganges.

[248] In Sanskrit pratápa the word translated "valour," also means
heat, and chakra may refer to the wheels of the chariot and the orb
of the sun, so that there is a pun all through.

[249] More literally, a torrent of pride and kicking.

[250] Grimm in his Teutonic Mythology (translation by Stallybrass,
p. 392) remarks--"One principal mark to know heroes by is their
possessing intelligent horses, and conversing with them. The touching
conversation of Achilles with his Xanthos and Balios finds a complete
parallel in the beautiful Karling legend of Bayard. (This is most
pathetically told in Simrock's Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. II, Die
Heimonskinder, see especially page 54). Grimm proceeds to cite many
other instances from European literature. See also Note 3 to the
XXth story in Miss Stokes's collection. See also De Gubernatis,
Zoological Mythology, Vol. I, p. 336 and ff. See the remarks in
Bernhard Schmidt's Griechische Märchen, p. 237.

[251] The keeper of a burning or burial-ground would be impure.

[252] Probably the people sprinkled one another with red powder as
at the Holi festival.

[253] So in Grimm's Märchen von einem der auszog das Fürchten zu
lernen the youth is recommended to sit under the gallows where
seven men have been executed. Cp. also the story of "The Shroud"
in Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, p. 307.

The belief that the dead rose from the tomb in the form of Vampires
appears to have existed in Chaldæa and Babylon. Lenormant observes
in his Chaldæan Magic and Sorcery, (English Translation, p. 37) "In
a fragment of the Mythological epopée which is traced upon a tablet
in the British Museum, and relates the descent of Ishtar into Hades,
we are told that the goddess, when she arrived at the doors of the
infernal regions, called to the porter whose duty it was to open
them, saying,


   "Porter, open thy door;
    Open thy door that I may enter.
    If thou dost not open the door, and if I cannot enter,
    I will attack the door, I will break down its bars,
    I will attack the enclosure, I will leap over its fences by force;
    I will cause the dead to rise and devour the living;
    I will give to the dead power over the living."


The same belief appears also to have existed in Egypt. The same author
observes (p. 92). "These formulæ also kept the body from becoming,
during its separation from the soul, the prey of some wicked spirit
which would enter, re-animate, and cause it to rise again in the form
of a vampire. For, according to the Egyptian belief, the possessing
spirits, and the spectres which frightened or tormented the living
were but the souls of the condemned returning to the earth, before
undergoing the annihilation of the 'second death.'"

[254] Cp. Ralston's account of the Vampire as represented in
the Skazkas. "It is as a vitalized corpse that the visitor from
the other world comes to trouble mankind, often subject to human
appetites, constantly endowed with more than human strength and
malignity."--Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, p. 306.

[255] Cp. the way in which the witch treats the corpse of her son
in the VIth book of the Æthiopica of Heliodorus, ch. 14, and Lucan's
Pharsalia, Book VI, 754-757.

[256] I. e., the corpse tenanted by the Vetála or demon.

[257] Cp. Simrock's Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. III, p. 399.

[258] Lakshmí or Srí the goddess of Prosperity appeared after the
churning of the ocean with a lotus in her hand. According to another
story she is said to have appeared at the creation floating on the
expanded leaves of a lotus-flower. The hand of a lady is often compared
to a lotus.

[259] I. e., rising; the eastern mountain behind which the sun is
supposed to rise.

[260] I. e., semi-divine beings supposed to be of great purity and
holiness.

[261] General Cunningham identifies Paundravardhana with the modern
Pubna.

[262] There is a curious parallel to this story in Táránátha's History
of Buddhism, translated into German by Schiefner, p. 203. Here a
Rákshasí assumes the form of a former king's wife, and kills all
the subjects, one after another, as fast as they are elected to the
royal dignity.

[263] Compare the Apocryphal book of Tobit. See also the 30th page
of Lenormant's Chaldæan Magic and Sorcery, English translation.

[264] Ralston in his Russian Folk-Tales, p. 270, compares this incident
with one in a Polish story, and in the Russian story of the Witch
Girl. In both the arm of the destroyer is cut off.

[265] I read iva; the arm was the long bar, and the whole passage is
an instance of the rhetorical figure called utprekshá.

[266] Cp. the freeing of Argo by Hercules cutting off Pallair's arm
in the Togail Troi, ed. Stokes, p. 67.

[267] There is probably a pun here. Rámártham may mean "for the sake
of a fair one."

[268] I read na tad for tatra with a MS. in the Sanskrit College.

[269] Here there is a pun on Ananga, a name of the Hindu Cupid.

[270] Here there is a pun. The word guna also means rope.

[271] For stories of transportation through the air, see Wirt Sikes,
British Goblins, p. 157 and ff.

[272] Cp. the way in which Torello informs his wife of his presence
in Boccacio's Decameron Xth day Nov. IX. The novels of the Xth day
must be derived from Indian, and probably Buddhistic sources. There
is a Buddhistic vein in all of them. A striking parallel to the 5th
Novel of the Xth day will be found further on in this work.

Cp. also, for the incident of the ring, Thorpe's Yuletide Stories,
p. 167. See also the story of Heinrich der Löwe, Simrock's Deutsche
Volksbücher, Vol. I, pp. 21 and 22. Cp. also Waldau's Böhmische
Märchen, pp. 365 and 432, Coelho's Contos Populares Portuguezes,
p. 76; and Prym und Socin's Syrische Märchen, p. 72. See also Ralston's
Tibetan Tales, Introduction pp. xlix and 1.

[273] An oblation to gods, or venerable men of, rice, dúrva grass,
flowers, &c., with water, or of water only in a small boat-shaped
vessel.

[274] Sneha means oil, and also affection.

[275] Sattva when applied to the ocean probably means "monsters." So
the whole compound would mean "in which was conspicuous the fury of
gambling monsters." The pun defies translation.

[276] I read aushadeh. The Rákshasa is compared to the mountain,
Vidúshaka to the moon, his wives to the gleaming herbs.

[277] Thorpe in his Yule-tide Stories remarks that the story of
Vidúshaka somewhat resembles in its ground-plot the tale of the
Beautiful Palace East of the Sun and North of the Earth. With the
latter he also compares the story of Saktivega in the 5th book of the
Kathá Sarit Ságara. (See the table of contents of Thorpe's Yule-tide
Stories, p. xi.) Cp. also Sicilianische Märchen, Vol. II, p. 1,
and for the cutting off of the giant's arm, p. 50.

[278] Perhaps we should read svádvaushadha = sweet medicine.

[279] I. q., Bheels.

[280] I read árúdhah.

[281] A MS. in the Sanskrit College reads sambhavah for the sampadah
of Dr. Brockhaus's text.

[282] Lustratio exercitus; waving lights formed part of the ceremony.

[283] It also means "drawing cords."

[284] He is sometimes represented as bearing the entire world on one
of his heads.

[285] One of these poison-damsels is represented as having been
employed against Chandragupta in the Mudrá Rákshasa. Compare the
XIth tale in the Gesta Romanorum, where an Indian queen sends one to
Alexander the Great. Aristotle frustrates the stratagem.

[286] Jayastambha. Wilson remarks that the erection of these columns is
often alluded to by Hindu writers, and explains the character of the
solitary columns which are sometimes met with, as the Lát at Delhi,
the pillars at Allahábád, Buddal, &c.

[287] Kalinga is usually described as extending from Orissa to Drávida
or below Madras, the coast of the Northern Circars. It appears,
however, to be sometimes the Delta of the Ganges. It was known to
the ancients as Regio Calingarum, and is familiar to the natives of
the Eastern Archipelago by the name of Kling. Wilson.

[288] The clouds are nihsára void of substance, as being no longer
heavy with rain. The thunder ceases in the autumn.

[289] Chola was the sovereignty of the western part of the Peninsula
on the Carnatic, extending southwards to Tanjore where it was bounded
by the Pándyan kingdom. It appears to have been the Regio Soretanum
of Ptolemy and the Chola mandala or district furnishes the modern
appellation of the Coromandel Coast.--Wilson, Essays, p. 241 note.

[290] Murala is another name for Kerala, now Malabar (Hall.) Wilson
identifies it with the Curula of Ptolemy.

[291] Or perhaps more literally "creeper-like sword." Probably the
expression means "flexible, well-tempered sword," as Professor Nílmani
Mukhopádhyáya has suggested to me.

[292] It had been employed for this purpose by the gods and
Asuras. Láta = the Larice of Ptolemy. (Wilson.)

[293] Turks, the Indo-scythæ of the ancients. (Wilson.)

[294] Persians.

[295] A Daitya or demon. His head swallows the sun and moon.

[296] Perhaps the Huns.

[297] The western portion of Assam. (Wilson.)

[298] For the worship of trees and tree-spirits, see Grimm's Teutonic
Mythology, p. 75 and ff., and Tylor's Primitive Culture, Vol. II,
p. 196 and ff.

[299] I here read durdasáh for the durdarsáh of Dr. Brockhaus' text. It
must be a misprint. A MS. in the Sanskrit College reads durdasáh.

[300] The Guhyakas are demi-gods, attendants upon Kuvera and guardians
of his wealth.

[301] Literally--having the cardinal points as her only garment.

[302] For the circle cp. Henry VI. Part II, Act I, Sc. IV, line
25 and Henry V. Act V, Sc. 2, line 420. "If you would conjure,
you must make a circle." See also Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales,
p. 272. Veckenstedt's Wendische Sagen, pp. 292, 302, 303. See also
Wirt Sikes, British Goblins, pp. 200, and 201; Henderson's Northern
Folk-lore, p. 19, Bartsch's Sagen, Märchen, und Gebräuche aus
Meklenburg, Vol. I, pp. 128, 213. Professor Jebb, in his notes on
Theophrastus' Superstitious man, observes "The object of all those
ceremonies, in which the offerings were carried round the person or
place to be purified, was to trace a charmed circle within which the
powers of evil should not come." Cp. also Grössler's Sagen aus der
Grafschaft Mansfeld, p. 217, Brand's Popular Antiquities, Vol. III,
p. 56; Grohmann's Sagen aus Böhmen, p. 226.

[303] i. e. by the fire of Siva's eye.

[304] Perhaps we ought to read sadehasya. I find this rending in a
MS. lent to me by the librarian of the Sanskrit College with the kind
permission of the Principal.

[305] i. e. Siva.

[306] In this wild legend, resembling one in the first book of the
Rámáyana, I have omitted some details for reasons which will be
obvious to those who read it in the original.

[307] i. e. the six Pleiades.

[308] Mr. Tylor (in his Primitive Culture, Vol. II, p. 176) speaking
of Slavonian superstitions, says, "A man whose eyebrows meet as if
his soul were taking flight to enter some other body, may be marked
by this sign either as a were-wolf or a vampire." In Icelandic Sagas
a man with meeting eyebrows is said to be a werewolf. The same idea
holds in Denmark, also in Germany, whilst in Greece it is a sign that
a man is a Brukolak or Vampire. (Note by Baring-Gould in Henderson's
Folk-lore of the Northern Counties). The same idea is found in Bohemia,
see Grohmann's Sagen aus Böhmen, p. 210. Cp. Grimm's Irische Märchen,
p. cviii.

[309] I read ásta for ásu.

[310] rajas in Sanskrit means dust and also passion.

[311] i. e. immunity from future births.

[312] i. e. desire, wrath, covetousness, bewilderment, pride and envy.

[313] Cp. the Æthiopica of Heliodorus, Book VII, ch. 15, where the
witch is armed with a sword during her incantations; and Homer's
Odyssey, XI, 48. See also for the magic virtues of steel Liebrecht,
Zur Volkskunde, pp. 312, 313.

[314] See Veckenstedt's Wendische Sagen, p. 289, where a young man
overhears a spell with similar results. See also Bartsch's Sagen,
Märchen und Gebräuche aus Meklenburg, Vol. I, p. 115.

[315] I read tan tad.

[316] Called more usually by English people Allahabad.

[317] This incident reminds one of Schiller's ballad--Der Gang nach
dem Eisenhammer. (Benfey Panchatantra, Vol. I, p. 320.)

The story of Fridolin in Schiller's ballad is identical with the
story of Fulgentius which is found in the English Gesta Romanorum,
see Bohn's Gesta Romanorum, Introduction, page 1. Douce says that the
story is found in Scott's Tales from the Arabic and Persian, p. 53 and
in the Contes devots or Miracles of the Virgin. (Le Grand, Fabliaux,
v. 74.) Mr. Collier states upon the authority of M. Boettiger that
Schiller founded his ballad upon an Alsatian tradition which he heard
at Mannheim. Cp. also the 80th of the Sicilianische Märchen which
ends with these words, "Wer gutes thut, wird gutes erhalten." There
is a certain resemblance in this story to that of Equitan in Murie's
lays. See Ellis's Early English Metrical Romances, pp. 46 and 47. It
also resembles the story of Lalitánga extracted from the Kathá Kosha
by Professor Nilmani Mukerjea in his Sáhitya Parichaya, Part II, and
the conclusion of the story of Damannaka from the same source found
in his Part I. The story of Fridolin is also found in Schöppner's
Sagenbuch der Bayerischen Lande, Vol. I, p. 204.

[318] Literally creeper-like.

[319] There is a double meaning here; kshetra means fit recipients
as well as field. The king no doubt distributed corn.

[320] i. e. the god Ganesa, who has an elephant's head.

[321] Seven principal mountains are supposed to exist in each Varsha
or division of a continent.

[322] There is a reference here to the mada or ichor which exudes
from an elephant's temples when in rut.

[323] rága also means passion.

[324] The quarters are often conceived of as women.

[325] In the XVIIIth tale of the Gesta Romanorum Julian is led into
trouble by pursuing a deer. The animal turns round and says to him,
"Thou who pursuest me so fiercely shalt be the destruction of thy
parents." See also Bernhard Schmidt's Griechische Märchen, p. 38. "A
popular ballad referring to the story of Digenis gives him a life
of 300 years, and represents his death as due to his killing a hind
that had on its shoulder the image of the Virgin Mary, a legend the
foundation of which is possibly a recollection of the old mythological
story of the hind of Artemis killed by Agamemnon." [Sophoclis Electra,
568.] In the Romance of Doolin of Mayence Guyon kills a hermit by
mistake for a deer. (Liebrecht's translation of Dunlop's History
of Fiction, p. 138) See also De Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology,
pp. 84-86.

[326] I. g. Umá and Párvatí. Káma = the god of love.

[327] Cp. Lane's Arabian Nights, Vol. I, p. 96; also an incident in
Gül and Sanaubar, (Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 144).

[328] Here there is a pun, suvritta meaning also well-rounded.

[329] i. e. burnt herself with his body.

[330] Purogaih means "done in a previous life," and also "going
before."

[331] Cp. Gaal, Märchen der Magyaren, p. 364; Gonzenbach's
Sicilianische Märchen, Vol. I, pp. 285 and 294.

[332] I read with a MS. in the Sanskrit College patisnehád for
pratisnehád. The two wives of the god of Love came out of lovo to
their husband, who was conceived in Vásavadattá.

[333] Vidyádhara--means literally "magical-knowledge-holder."

[334] The ceremony of coronation.

[335] Ambiká, i. q., Párvatí the wife of Siva.

[336] Liebrecht, speaking of the novel of Guerino Meschino, compares
this tree with the sun and moon-trees mentioned in the work of the
Pseudo-Callisthenes, Book III. c. 17. They inform Alexander that
the years of his life are accomplished, and that he will die in
Babylon. See also Ralston's Songs of the Russian people, p. 111.

[337] A period of 432 million years of mortals.

[338] More literally the cardinal and intermediate points.

[339] Reading manomrigi, the deer of the mind.

[340] Member of a savage tribe.

[341] I. e. of the pearls in the heads of the elephants.

[342] I. e. the sun.

[343] Throbbing of the right eye in men portends union with the
beloved.

[344] No doubt by offering the flowers which she had gathered.

[345] Like the two physicians in Gesta Romanorum, LXXVI.

[346] A peculiarly sacred kind of Darbha grass.

[347] M. Lévêque considers that the above story, as told in the
Mahábhárata, forms the basis of the Birds of Aristophanes. He
identifies Garuda with the hoopoe. (Les Mythes et Légendes de l'Inde
et de la Perse, p. 14).

[348] Rájila is a striped snake, said to be the same as the dundubha
a non-venomous species.

[349] The remarks which Ralston makes (Russian Folk-tales, page 65)
with regard to the snake as represented in Russian stories, are
applicable to the Nága of Hindu superstition; "Sometimes he retains
throughout the story an exclusively reptilian character, sometimes
he is of a mixed nature, partly serpent and partly man." The snakes
described in Veckenstedt's Wendische Sagen, (pp. 402-409,) resemble
in some points the snakes which we hear so much of in the present
work. See also Bartsch's Sagen, Märchen, und Gebräuche aus Meklenburg,
Vol. I, p. 277 and ff.

[350] The word nága, which means snake, may also mean, as Dr. Brockhaus
explains it, a mountaineer from naga a mountain.

[351] I conjecture kramád for krandat. If we retain krandat we must
suppose that the king of the Vidyádharas wept because his scheme of
self-sacrifice was frustrated.

[352] I read adhah for adah.

[353] In the Sicilian stories of the Signora von Gonzenbach an ointment
does duty for the amrita, cp. for one instance out of many, page 145
of that work. Ralston remarks that in European stories the raven is
connected with the Water of Life. See his exhaustive account of this
cycle of stories on pages 231 and 232 of his Russian Folk-tales. See
also Veckenstedt's Wendische Sagen, p. 245, and the story which begins
on page 227. In the 33rd of the Syrian stories collected by Prym and
Socin we have a king of snakes and water of life.

[354] The home of the serpent race below the earth.

[355] Here equivalent to Pátála.

[356] Here there is a pun: ákula may also mean "by descent."

[357] Kulíná may mean falling on the earth, referring to the shade of
the tree. Márgasthá means "in the right path" when applied to the wife.

[358] I. e. Madam Contentious. Her husband's name means "of lion-like
might."

[359] I read (after Böhtlingk and Roth) Ityakápara. See Chapter
34. sl. 115.

[360] Tejas = also means might, courage. For the idea see note on
page 305.

[361] Sneha which means love, also means oil. This is a fruitful
source of puns in Sanskrit.

[362] The Hindu Cupid.

[363] Infinitely longer than a mortal kalpa. A mortal kalpa lasts
432 million years.

[364] He is often called Ananga, the bodiless, as his body was consumed
by the fire of Siva's eye.

[365] Or virtuous and generous.

[366] It is still the custom to give presents of vessels filled with
rice and coins. Empty vessels are inauspicious, and even now if a
Bengali on going out of his house meets a person carrying an empty
pitcher, he turns back, and waits a minute or two.

[367] A: Peace, war, march, halt, stratagem and recourse to the
protection of a mightier king.

[368] The elephant-headed god has his trunk painted with red lead
like a tame elephant, and is also liable to become mast.

[369] Followers and attendants upon Siva.

[370] The modern Burdwan.

[371] I. e. Gold-gleam.

[372] For an account of the wanderjahre of young Bráhman students,
see Dr. Bühler's introduction to the Vikramánkadevacharita.

[373] More literally--Those whose eyes do not wink. The epithet also
means "worthy of being regarded with unwinking eyes." No doubt this
ambiguity is intended.

[374] I. e. the city of jewels.

[375] Áskandin is translated "granting" by Monier Williams and the
Petersburg lexicographers.

[376] These are worn on the fingers when offerings are made.

[377] A particular posture in religious meditation, sitting with the
thighs crossed, with one hand resting on the left thigh, the other
held up with the thumb upon the heart, and the eyes directed to the
tip of the nose.

[378] Kárpatika may mean a pilgrim, but it seems to be used in the
K. S. S. to mean a kind of dependant on a king or great man, usually
a foreigner. See chapters 38, 53, and 81 of this work.

[379] First he should be a Brahmachárin or unmarried religious student,
next a Grihastha or householder, than a Vánaprastha or anchoret,
lastly a Bhikshu or beggar.

[380] i. e. virtue, wealth, pleasure; dharma, artha, káma.

[381] Graha, also means planet, i. e. inauspicious planet. Siva tells
the truth here.

[382] i. e. the auspicious or friendly one.

[383] There is probably a double meaning in the word
"incomprehensible."

[384] Perhaps we ought to read dattvá for tatra.

[385] A report similar to that spread against Harasvámin was in
circulation during the French Revolution. Taine in his history of
the Revolution, Vol. I, p. 418 tells the following anecdote: "M. de
Montlosier found himself the object of many unpleasant attentions
when he went to the National Assembly. In particular a woman of about
thirty used to sharpen a large knife when he passed and look at him in
a threatening manner. On enquiry he discovered the cause--Deux enfants
du quartier ont disparu enlevés par de bohémiens, et c'est maintenant
un bruit répandu que M. de Montlosier, le marquis de Mirabeau, et
d'autres députés du côté droit se rassemblent pour faire des orgies
dans lesquelles ils mangent de petits enfants."

[386] The city of flowers, i. g. Pátaliputra.

[387] Perhaps we ought to read yayau for dadau. This I find is the
reading of an excellent MS. in the Sanskrit college, for the loan of
which I am deeply indebted to the Principal and the Librarian.

[388] Probably a poor pun.

[389] Cf. Uttara Ráma Charita (Vidyáságara's edition) Act III,
p. 82, the speech of the river-goddess Tamasá. Lenormant in his
Chaldæan Magic and Sorcery, p. 41, (English Translation), observes:
"We must add to the number of those mysterious rites the use of certain
enchanted drinks, which doubtless really contained medicinal drugs,
as a cure for diseases, and also of magic knots, the efficacy of
which was firmly believed in, even up to the middle ages." See also
Ralston's Songs of the Russian people, p. 288.

[390] In the story of the Beautiful Palace East of the Sun and North
of the Earth, (Thorpe, Yule-tide Stories, p. 158) an old woman sends
the youth, who is in quest of the palace, to her old sister, who again
refers him to an older sister dwelling in a small ruinous cottage on
a mountain. In Signora von Gonzenbach's Sicilianische Märchen, p. 86,
the prince is sent by one "Einsiedler" to his brother, and this brother
sends him to an older brother and he again to an older still, who is
described as "Steinalt" see also p. 162. Compare also the story of
Hasan of El Basra in Lane's Arabian Nights. Cp. also Kaden's Unter den
Olivenbäumen, p. 56. We have a similar incident in Melusine, p. 447,
The story is entitled La Montagne Noire on Les Filles du Diable. See
also the Pentamerone of Basile, Tale 49, Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales,
p. 76; Waldau's Böhmische Märchen, pp. 37 and 255 and ff; and Dasent's
Norse Tales, pp. 31-32, 212-213, and 330-331.

[391] Wild aboriginal tribes not belonging to the Aryan race.

[392] Destiny often elevates the worthless, and hurls down men
of worth.

[393] The usual story is that Indra cut off the wings of all except
Maináka the son of Himavat by Mená. He took refuge in the sea. Here
it is represented that more escaped. So in Bhartrihari Níti Sataka
st. 76 (Bombay edition).

[394] For Saktideva's imprisonment in the belly of the fish cp. Chapter
74 of this work, Indian Fairy Tales by Miss Stokes, No. XIV, and
Lucian's Vera Historia, Book I. In this tale the fish swallows a
ship. The crew discover countries in the monster's inside, establish
a "scientific frontier," and pursue a policy of Annexation. See also
Lane's Arabian Nights, Vol. III, p. 104.

[395] Cf. Grimm's Märchen, No. 60, Sicilianische Märchen, Nos. 39
and 40, with Dr. Köhler's notes.

[396] If such a word can be applied to a place where bodies are burnt.

[397] Samásvasya, the reading of a MS. in the Sanskrit College,
would perhaps give a better sense.

[398] I. e. skull-cleaver.

[399] Perhaps we ought to read smritvá for srutvá, "Remembering,
calling to mind."

[400] So in Signora von Gonzenbach's Sicilian Stories, p. 66, a lovely
woman opens with a knife the veins of the sleeping prince and drinks
his blood. See also Veckenstedt's Wendische Sagen, p. 354. Ralston in
his Russian Folk-Tales, p. 17, compares this part of the story with a
Russian story and that of Sidi Noman in the "Thousand and One Nights,"
he refers also to Lane's Translation, Vol. I, p. 32.

[401] One is tempted to read vikritám for vikritim, but
vikriti is translated by the Petersburg lexicographers as
Gespensterscheinung. Vikritám would mean transformed into a Rákshasí.

[402] Skandha when applied to the Rákshasas means shoulder.

[403] Literally great flesh. "Great" seems to give the idea of
unlawfulness, as in the Greek mega ergon.

[404] Cp. the golden rose in Gaal, Märchen der Magyaren, p. 44.

[405] Reading tasyán for tasmán.

[406] Somadeva no doubt means that the hairs on the king's body stood
on end with joy.

[407] According to the canons of Hindu rhetoric glory is always white.

[408] Night is compared to a female goblin, (Rákshasí). Those creatures
have fiery mouths.

[409] Cp. Sicilianische Märchen collected by Laura von Gonzenbach,
Vol. I, p. 160.

[410] Magical sciences, in virtue of which they were Vidyádharas
or science-holders.

[411] A son or pupil of Visvámitra.

[412] I.e. the Ocean.

[413] Compare the erineos megas phylloisi tethêlôs in the Odyssey,
Book XII., 103.

[414] The metre of this line is incorrect. There is a superfluous
syllable. Perhaps we ought to read ambuvegatah, by the current.

[415] I think we ought to read adhah, downwards.

[416] Cp. Odyssey XII., 432


        autar egô poti makron erineon hypsos' aertheis
        tô prosphys echomên hôs nykteris.


See also Lane's Arabian Nights, Vol. III, p. 7.

[417] all' ara hê ge kat' andrôn kraata bainei. Iliad XIX, v. 93.

[418] Pakshapáta also means flapping of wings. So there is probably
a pun here.

[419] So in the Swedish tale "The Beautiful Palace East of the Sun and
North of the Earth," the Phoenix carries the youth on his back to the
Palace. Dr. Rost compares Arabian Nights, Night 77. See Lane, Vol. III,
p. 17 and compare the Halcyon in Lucian's Vera Historia, Book II. 40,
(Tauchnitz edition,) whose nest is seven miles in circumference,
and whose egg is probably the prototype of that in the Arabian
Nights. Cp. the Glücksvogel in Prym and Socin, Syrische Märchen,
p. 269, and the eagle which carries Chaucer in the House of Fame. In
the story of Lalitánga, extracted by Professor Nilmani Mukerjea from
the Kathá Kosha, a collection of Jaina stories, a Bhárunda carries the
hero to the city of Champá. There he cures the princess by a remedy,
the knowledge of which he had acquired by overhearing a conversation
among the birds.

[420] We should read sauvarnabhitti.

[421] Or Chandraprabhá, whose name means "light of the moon." The
forbidden chamber will at once remind the reader of Perrault's La Barbe
Bleue. The lake incident is exactly similar to one in Chapter 81 of
this work and to that of Kandarpaketu in the Hitopadesa. See Ralston's
Russian Folk-tales page 99. He refers to this story and compares it
with that of the Third Royal Mendicant, Lane I, 160-173, and gives
many European equivalents. See also Veckenstedt's Wendische Sagen,
p. 214. Many parallels will be found in the notes to Grimm's Märchen,
Nos. 3 and 46; to which Ralston refers in his exhaustive note. In
Wirt Sikes's British Goblins, p. 84, a draught from a forbidden well
has the same effect.

[422] The Dánavas are a class of demons or giants. Ruru was a Dánava
slain by Durgá.

[423] In Sloka 172 b. I conjecture Saktihasto for Saktidevo, as we
read in sl. 181 b. that the boar was wounded with a sakti.

[424] Literally, having auspicious marks.

[425] A spirit that enters dead bodies.

[426] I read Vidyutprabhám for Vidyádharím. But perhaps it is
unnecessary.

[427] The Chakora is said to subsist upon moonbeams.

[428] So making him a Vidyádhara or "magic-knowledge-holder."

[429] I. e. Ganesa who is invoked to remove obstacles.

[430] This is an elaborate pun in the original. Guna=string and virtue;
vansa=race and bamboo.

[431] The Taxila of the Greek writers. The Vitastá is the Hydaspes
of the Greeks, now called Jhelum.

[432] Monier Williams says that Tárá was the wife of the Buddha
Amoghasiddha. Benfey (Orient und Occident, Vol. I, p. 373) says
she was a well known Buddhist saint. The passage might perhaps mean
"The Buddha adorned with most brilliant stars."

It has been suggested to me that Tárávara may mean Siva, and that
the passage means that the Saiva and Bauddha religions were both
professed in the city of Takshasilá.

[433] I. e. Buddhist ascetics.

[434] A MS. in the Sanskrit College reads sukála for svakála: the
meaning is much the same.

[435] A MS. in the Sanskrit College reads nigrahah=blaming one's
relations without cause.

[436] Cp. Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, p. 122. See also Bartsch's
Sagen, Märchen, und Gebräuche aus Meklenburg, Vol. I, p. 90.

[437] Moksha is the soul's final release from further transmigrations.

[438] Cp. Gesta Romanorum CXLIII (Bohn's Edition). This idea is found
in the Telapattajátaka, Fausböll, Vol. I, p. 393.

[439] A kind of Pandora.

[440] Compare the argument in the Eunuchus of Terence (III. 5.36 &
ff) which shocked St. Augustine so much (Confessions I. 16).

[441] Et tonantem Jovem et adulterantem.

[442] I separate balavad from bhogadáyi.

[443] This appears to be found in a slightly different form in the
Harivansa. (Lévêque, Mythes et Légendes de l'Inde, p. 220).

[444] The name of certain aboriginal tribes described as hunters,
fishermen, robbers &c.

[445] In the original Mahákála, an epithet of Siva in his character
as the destroying deity.

[446] Generally only one mountain named Maináka is said to have fled
into the sea, and retained its wings when Indra clipped those of the
others. The passage is of course an elaborate pun.

[447] i. e. lion of valour.

[448] i. e. animals, horizontal goers. The pun defies translation,
the word I have translated arrow is literally "the not-sideways-goer."

[449] i. e. by burning herself upon the funeral pyre.

[450] The word táraká means also a star. So here we have one of those
puns in which our author delights.

[451] Also full of affection. This is a common pun.

[452] Beasts of prey, or possibly Rákshasas.

[453] Compare the translation of the life of St. Brigit by Whitley
Stokes, (Three Middle Irish Homilies, p. 65.)

"Shortly after that came a certain nobleman unto Dubthach to ask for
his daughter in marriage. Dubthach and his sons were willing, but
Brigit refused. Said a brother of her brethren named Beccán unto her:
'Idle is the fair eye that is in thy head not to be on a pillow near
a husband.' 'The son of the Virgin knoweth' said Brigit, 'it is not
lively for us if it brings harm upon us.' Then Brigit put her finger
under her eye and drew it out of her head till it was on her cheek;
and she said: 'Lo, here is thy delightful eye, O Beccán.' Then his
eye burst forthwith. When Dubthach and his brethren saw that, they
promised that she should never be told to go to a husband. Then she
put her palm to her eye and it was whole at once. But Beccán's eye
was not whole till his death."

That the biographers of Christian saints were largely indebted to
Buddhist hagiology, has been shewn by Liebrecht in his Essay on
the sources of Barlaam and Josaphat, (Zur Volkskunde, p. 441.) In
Mr. Stokes's book, p. 34, will also be found a reference to the
practice of shewing reverence by walking round persons or things
keeping the right hand towards them. This is pointed out by Mr. Stokes
in his Preface as an interesting link between Ireland and India.

Mr. Whitley Stokes has sent me the following quotation in the Revue
Celtique V, 130 from P. Cahier, Caracteristiques des Saints I, 105;

"A certain virgin Lucia (doubtful whether of Bologna or of Alexandria)
se voyant fréquemment suivie par un jeune homme qui affectait de
l'accompagner partout dès q'elle quittait sa maison, lui demanda enfin
ce qui l'attachait si fort à ses pas. Celui-ci ayant répondu que c'
etait la beauté de ses yeux, la jeune fille se servit de son fuseau
pour faire sortir ses yeux de leur orbite, et dit à son poursuivant
qu'il pouvait les prendre et la laisser dèsormais en repos. On ajoute
que cette generosité effrayante changea si fort le coeur du jeune
homme qu'il embrassa la profession religieuse. The story of the
ascetic who conquered anger, resembles closely the Khantivádijátaka
No. 313 in Fausböll's edition, Vol. III, p. 39. It is also found
in the Bodhisattva Avadána, under the title Kshánti Játaka, and in
the Mahávastu Avadána in a form closely resembling that of the Páli
Játaka book. See Dr. Rajendra Lál Mitra's Nepalese Buddhist Literature,
pp. 55, 159, and 160.

[454] They are compared to the five sacred fires.

[455] Literally the worthless straw-heap of &c.

[456] Here there is a pun on the two meanings of Srí.

[457] In the Svayamvara the maiden threw a garland over the neck of
the favoured suitor.

[458] Rasa also means water.

[459] This story is compared by Benfey (Orient und Occident,
Vol. I, p. 374) with the story of the faithful servant Víravara
in the Hitopadesa, which is also found in the Vetálapanchavinsati,
(see chapter 78 of this work.) Víravara, according to the account in
the Vetálapanchavinsati, hears the weeping of a woman. He finds it is
the king's fortune deserting him. He accordingly offers up his son,
and finally slays himself. The king is about to do the same when
the goddess Durgá restores the dead to life. The story of "Der Treue
Johannes" will at once occur to readers of Grimm's tales. According
to Benfey, it is also found in the Pentamerone of Basile. The form
of the tale in our text is very similar to that in Grimm. (See
Benfey's Panchatantra, Vol. I, p. 416.) The story of the faithful
Víravara occurs twice in this collection, in chapter 53, and also
in chapter 78. Sir G. Cox (in his Aryan Mythology, Vol. I p. 148),
compares the German story with one in Miss Frere's Old Deccan Days,
the 5th in that collection. Other parallels will be found in the notes
in Grimm's third volume. A very striking parallel will be found in
Bernhard Schmidt's Griechische Märchen, Story No. 3, p. 68. In this
story the three Moirai predict evil. The young prince is saved by his
sister, from being burnt, and from falling over a precipice when a
child, and from a snake on his wedding-day. See also De Gubernatis,
Zoological Mythology, Vol. II, pp. 301-302. Cp. also Coelho's Contos
Portuguezes, No. 51, Pedro e Pedrito, p. 118, and Grimm's Irische
Märchen, pp. 106, 107. In the Gagga Játaka, No. 135, Fausböll,
Vol. II, p. 15, the Buddha tells how the custom of saying "Jíva" or
"God bless you" originated. A Yakka was allowed to eat all who did
not say "Jíva" and "Patijíva." Zimmer in his Alt-Indisches Leben,
p. 60, quotes from the Atharva Veda, "vor Unglück-bedeutendem Niesen."

[460] The same idea is found in Midsummer Night's Dream, Act III,
Sc. 2, beginning, "We, Hermia, like two artificial gods &c."

[461] Cp. Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, pp. 69 and 71, for the three
dangers. The custom of saying "God bless you," or equivalent words,
when a man sneezes, is shewn by Tylor (Primitive Culture, Vol. I,
pp. 88-94) to exist in many parts of the world. He quotes many passages
from classical literature relating to it. "Even the emperor Tiberius,
that saddest of men, exacted this observance." See also Sir Thomas
Browne's Vulgar Errors, Book IV ch. 9, "Of saluting upon sneezing."

[462] There is a story illustrating the "pertinacity" of goblins in
Wirt Sikes's British Goblins, p. 191.

[463] I have been obliged to omit some portion of this story. "It was,"
Wilson remarks, "acceptable to the couteurs of Europe, and is precisely
the same as that of 'Le petit diable de Papefigue' of Fontaine."

[464] Suvrittayá means virtuous, and beautifully-rounded.

[465] Cp. Chaucer's Squire's Tale, line 316, "Ye moten trille a pin,
stant in his ere."

[466] This may remind the reader of the story of the pestle in Lucian's
Philopseudes, that was sent to fetch water. When the Ægyptian sorcerer
was away, his pupil tried to perform the trick. But he did not know
the charm for stopping the water-carrying process. Accordingly the
house was flooded. In despair he chopped the pestle in two with an
axe. That made matters worse, for both halves set to work to bring
water. The story has been versified by Goethe, and the author of the
Ingoldsby Legends.

[467] Here Dr. Brockhaus supposes a line to be omitted. The transition
is somewhat abrupt.

[468] Cp. with the story of Kírtisená the substance of two modern
Greek songs given in Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 187.

[469] i. e. Wealth-preserved.

[470] Böhtlingk and Roth in their Dictionary explain the passage as
follows: imam, (i. e., patim) vyutthápya yátá iti, she was unfaithful
to her husband.

[471] Gotraja nearly equivalent to the Gentile of Roman law,
and applied to kindred of the same general family connected by
offerings of food and water; hence opposed to the Bandhu or cognate
kindred. She represented that she was a prince whose clansmen were
trying to disinherit him.

[472] Cp. Thorpe's Yuletide Stories, p. 341, cited before on p. 25,
also Sagas from the Far East, p. 162. The Mongolian version supplies
the connecting link between India and Europe. In the Sagas from the
Far East, the Rákshasas are replaced by crows. Compare also the way
in which the gardener in "Das Rosmarinsträuchlein," Kaden's Unter den
Olivenbäumen, p. 12, acquires some useful information. The story of
Kírtisená from this point to the cure of the king closely resembles
the latter half of Die Zauberkugeln in the same collection. A striking
parallel will be found in Basile's Pentamerone, Vol. I, p. 166. See
also Waldau's Böhmische Märchen, p. 272; Gaal, Die Märchen der
Magyaren, p. 178; Coelho, Contos Populares Portuguezes, p. 47. In
Waldau's Story there is a strange similarity in the behaviour of the
king, on first seeing the young physician, to that of Vasudatta. See
also the Sixth Tale in Ralston's Tibetan Tales and the remarks in
the Introduction, p. li.

[473] Names of Rákshasas mentioned in the Rámáyana.

[474] Water is the principal ingredient of the offering called argha
or arghya.

[475] This gem is formed from the congelation of the rays of the moon,
and dissolves under the influence of its light. There is of course
an elaborate pun in Chandrakánta.

[476] This is well known in India now. A crow alighted on a palm-tree
when just about to fall, and so it appeared that his weight made
it fall. For this and many other hints I am indebted to Pandit
S. C. Mookerjea, of the Hindu School.

[477] Benfey considers that this, as well as "Haripriya," means
"blockhead," Orient und Occident, Vol. I, p. 374.

[478] A MS. in the Sanskrit College reads jnánavijna, i. e., the
knowing one, the astrologer.

[479] This word means tongue.

[480] Cp. Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, p. 240. So Arthur in the
Romance of Artus de la Bretagne (Liebrecht's Dunlop, p. 107) falls
in love with a lady he sees in a dream. Liebrecht in his note at the
end of the book tells us that this is a common occurrence in Romances,
being found in Amadis of Greece, Palmerin of Oliva, the Romans de Sept
Sages, the Fabliau of the Chevalier à la Trappe, the Nibelungen Lied,
&c., and ridiculed by Chaucer in his Rime of Sir Topas. He also refers
to Athenæus, p. 575, and the Hermotimus of Lucian.

[481] The mountain Mandara which served as a churning-stick at the
churning of the ocean of milk.

[482] Velátá is evidently corrupt.

[483] This is to be understood literally of Siva and Párvatí, but
metaphorically of Ushá and Aniruddha.

[484] I read evam for eva.

[485] The wife of Indra.

[486] i. e. Brihaspati.

[487] For san I should prefer sa which is read in a MS. lent me by
the Principal of the Sanskrit College.

[488] Takshasilá has been identified by General Cunningham with the
ruins of an ancient city near Shah-deri one mile to the north-east
of Kála-ka-serai. Mr. Growse has pointed out to me that I made
a mistake in stating (after Wilson) in a note on p. 5 of this
translation, that the precise site of Kausámbí, the capital of the
king of Vatsa, which Kalingasená reached in one day in the magic
chariot, has not been ascertained. He says: "It has been discovered
by General Cunningham. The place is still called Kosam, and is on
the Yamuná, about 30 miles above Allahabad. The ruins consist of
an immense fortress, with earthen ramparts from 30 to 35 feet high,
and bastions considerably higher, forming a circuit of 23,100 feet,
or exactly four miles and 3 furlongs. The parapets were of brick
and stone, some of the bricks measuring 19 in. × 12 1/2 × 2 1/2,
which is a proof of their great antiquity. In the midst of these
ruins is a large stone monolith, similar to those at Allahabad and
Delhi, but without any inscription. The portion of the shaft above
ground is 14 feet in length, and an excavation made at the base for
a depth of 20 feet did not come to the end of it. Its total length
probably exceeds 40 feet. There was, I believe, some talk of removing
it to Allahabad and setting it up there, but it was found to be too
expensive an undertaking." Srávastí, which Kalingasená passed on the
way from Takshasilá, has been identified by General Cunningham with
Sáhet-Mahet on the south bank of the Rapti in Oudh.

[489] Here there is a slight omission in my translation. Cp. the
story of St. Macarius.

[490] The country lying between the Himálayas on the north, the Vindhya
mountains on the south, Vinasana on the west and Prayága (Allahabad)
on the east.

[491] A respectful offering to gods or venerable men of rice,
dúrva-grass, flowers &c. with water.

[492] Cp. for the artifice used to ruin Kadalígarbhá, Dusent's Norse
Tales, pp. 65 and 66.

[493] Cp. the 40th story in Grimm's Kinder- und Hausmärchen, where the
girl finds her way by the peas and lentiles which had sprung up. See
also the 2nd story in Gonzenbach's Sicilianische Märchen, where the
girl scatters bran. The author of the notes to Grimm's Märchen mentions
a story from Hesse in which the heroine scatters ashes. See also the
49th of the Sicilianische Märchen. See also Bartsch's Sagen, Märchen,
und Gebräuche aus Meklenburg, Vol. I, pp. 265, 313, 441-444, and 447,
where peas are used for the same purpose. See also De Gubernatis,
Zoological Mythology, p. 165. See also Perrault's Le petit Poucet;
Basile's Pentamerone, No. 48.

[494] This is a reproduction of the story of Devasena and Unmádiní
in the 3rd book.

[495] Compare the "death-darting eye of cockatrice" in Romeo and
Juliet. See also Schmidt's Shakespeare Dictionary under the word
"basilisk."

[496] Benfey found this story in the Arabic Version of the Panchatantra
and in all the translations and reproductions of it. He finds it also
in the Mahábhárata, XII (III, 589) sl. 4930 and ff. He expresses his
opinion that it formed a portion of the original Panchatantra. See
Benfey's Panchatantra, pp. 544-560, Orient und Occident,
Vol. I. p. 383. The account in the Mahábhárata is very prolix.

[497] For nihatya I conjecture nikhanya.

[498] The plant Uraria Lagopodioides (Monier Williams).

[499] For similar instances of forgetting in European stories, see
Nos. 13, 14, 54, 55 in the Sicilianische Märchen with Köhler's notes,
and his article in Orient und Occident, Vol. II, p. 103.

[500] i. e. Káma the Hindu Cupid.

[501] This probably means in plain English that she wore glittering
anklets.

[502] Cp. the conduct of the Meerweib in Hagen's Helden-Sagen, Vol. I,
p. 55.

[503] i. e. Siva.

[504] Prajápati.

[505] Literally--placing it upon his head.Cp. also the following
passage from Brand's Popular Antiquities, Vol. II, p. 78. "Borlase
quotes from Martin's Western Islands. 'The same lustration by
carrying of fire is performed round about women after child-bearing,
and round about children before they are christened, as an effectual
means to preserve both the mother and the infant from the power
of evil spirits.'" Brand compares the Amphidromia at Athens. See
Kuhn's Westfälische Märchen, Vol. I, pp. 125, and 289: Vol. II,
pp. 17 and 33-34.

[506] The superstitious custom of lighting fires, lamps &c., to protect
children against evil spirits is found in many countries. Liebrecht
(Zur Volkskunde, p. 31,) refers us to Brand's Popular Antiquities,
edited by Hazlitt, Vol. II, p. 144, for the prevalence of the
practice in England. "Gregory mentions 'an ordinary superstition of
the old wives who dare not trust a child in a cradle by itself alone
without a candle.' This he attributes to their fear of the night-hag;"
(cp. Milton, P. L. II, 662-665). He cites authorities to prove that
it exists in Germany, Scotland, and Sweden. In the latter country,
it is considered dangerous to let the fire go out until the child is
baptized, for fear that the Trolls may substitute a changeling in its
place. The custom exists also in the Malay Peninsula, and among the
Tájiks in Bokhara. The Roman custom of lighting a candle in the room
of a lying-in woman, from which the goddess Candelifera derived her
name (Tertullian Adv. nation, 2, 11) is to be accounted for in the
same way. See also Veckenstedt, Wendische Sagen, p. 446. The same
notion will be found in Bartsch's Sagen, Märchen, und Gebräuche aus
Meklenburg, Vol. I, pp. 17, 64, 89, 91; Vol. II, p. 43.

[507] For treasures and their guardians see Veckenstedt's Wendische
Sagen, pp. 356-374 and p. 394. For the candle of human fat see Benfey
in Orient und Occident, Vol. I, p. 383. For treasures and their
guardians see Bartsch's Sagen, Märchen, und Gebräuche aus Meklenburg,
Vol. I, p. 243 and ff., and for the candle of human fat, Vol. II,
pp. 333 and 335 of the same work. Cp. also Birlinger, Aus Schwaben,
pp. 251 and 262-270.

It appears from Henderson's Folk-lore of the Northern Counties, that in
Europe a candle of human fat is used with the Hand of Glory by robbers
for the purpose of preventing the inmates of a house from awaking. He
gives several instances of its use. The following will serve as a
specimen: "On the night of the 3rd of January 1831, some Irish thieves
attempted to commit a robbery on the estate of Mr. Napier of Loughcrew,
county Meath. They entered the house armed with a dead man's hand
with a lighted candle in it, believing in the superstitious notion
that a candle placed in a dead man's hand will not be seen by any but
those by whom it is used, and also that if a candle in a dead hand
be introduced into a house, it will prevent those who may be asleep
from awaking. The inmates however, were alarmed, and the robbers fled,
leaving the hand behind them." The composition of the candle is evident
from the following extract from the Dictionnaire Infernal of Colin de
Planey. "The Hand of Glory is the hand of a man who has been hanged,
and is prepared in the following manner. Wrap the hand in a piece of
winding-sheet, drawing it tight to squeeze out the little blood which
may remain; then place it in an earthen-ware vessel with saltpetre,
salt and long pepper all carefully and thoroughly powdered. Let
it remain a fortnight in this pickle till it is well dried, then
expose it to the sun in the dog-days till it is completely parched,
or if the sun be not powerful enough, dry it in an oven heated with
vervain and fern. Next make a candle with the fat of a hanged man,
virgin wax, and Lapland sesame. The Hand of Glory is used to hold this
candle when it is lighted. Wherever one goes with this contrivance,
those it approaches are rendered as incapable of motion as though they
were dead." Southey in Book V of his Thalaba the Destroyer represents
a hand and taper of this kind as used to lull to sleep Zohak, the
giant keeper of the caves of Babylon. (See the extracts from Grose
and Torquemada in the notes to Southey's poem.) Dousterswivel in
Sir Walter Scott's Antiquary tells us that the monks used the Hand
of Glory to conceal their treasures. (Henderson's Folk-lore of the
Northern Counties of England and the Borders, p. 200 and ff.)

Preller, in his Römische Mythologie, p. 488, has a note on incubones
or treasure-guarding spirits. Treasures can often be acquired
by stealing the caps worn by these incubones as a symbol of their
secret and mysterious character. See also the Pentamerone of Basile,
p. 96; Grohmann, Sagen aus Böhmen, p. 29 and ff; Bernhard Schmidt's
Griechische Märchen, p. 28. The bug-bears were no doubt much of the
kind found in Schöppner's Sagenbuch der Bayerischen Lande, Vol. I,
p. 87. For the "hand of glory" see Baring Gould's Curious Myths of the
Middle Ages, pp. 405-409. Brand in his Popular Antiquities Vol. I,
p. 312, quotes from Bergerac's Satirical Characters and Handsome
descriptions in his Letters translated out of the French by a Person
of Honour, 1658, p. 45, "I cause the thieves to burn candles of dead
men's grease to lay the hosts asleep while they rob their houses." A
light has this property in Waldau's Böhmische Märchen, p. 360; and
in Kuhn's Westfälische Märchen, Vol. I, p. 146.

[508] There is probably a pun too on varti, the wick of a lamp.

[509] Literally "made by the gods."

[510] i. e. prabhutva, the majesty or pre-eminence of the king himself;
mantra, the power of good counsel; utsáha energy.

[511] Cp. Odyssey, VII. 116; Spenser's Faery Queene, III, 6, 42.

[512] The pun here lies in the word kalá, which means "accomplishment,"
and also a sixteenth of the moon's diameter.

[513] This lotus is a friend of the moon's and bewails its absence.

[514] Or perhaps books.

[515] I read virága-vishabhrid.

[516] i. e. Nágavana. For serpent-worship see Tylor's Primitive
Culture, Vol. II, pp. 217-220. The author of Sagas from the Far
East remarks; "Serpent-Cultus was of very ancient observance, and is
practised by both followers of Bráhmanism and Buddhism. The Bráhmans
seem to have desired to show their disapproval of it by placing
the serpent-gods in the lower ranks of their mythology, (Lassen. I,
707 and 544, n. 2). This cultus, however, seems to have received a
fresh development about the time of Asoka circa 250 B. C. (Vol. II,
p. 467). When Madhyantika went into Cashmere and Gandhára to teach
Buddhism after the holding of the third synod, it is mentioned
that he found sacrifices to serpents practised there (II. 234,
235). There is a passage in Plutarch from which it appears to have
been the custom to sacrifice an old woman (previously condemned to
death for some crime) to the serpent-gods by burying her alive on the
banks of the Indus (II. 467, note 4) Ktesias also mentions the serpent
worship (II. 642). In Buddhist legends serpents are often mentioned
as protecting patrons of certain towns. (Sagas from the Far East,
p. 355). See also Mr. F. S. Growse's Mathurá memoir, p. 71.

[517] Literally thorns.

[518] The upáyas which are usually enumerated are four, viz. sowing
dissension, negotiation, bribery and open attack.

[519] The six gunas--peace, war, march, halt, stratagem and recourse
to the protection of a mightier king.

[520] I read abhyagát with a MS. in the Sanskrit College.

[521] I read vismitá with a MS. in the Sanskrit College.

[522] i. e. mount Sumeru. The moon being masculine in Sanskrit, the
words "form of the moon" are used in the original, to satisfy the
requirements of classical Hindu Rhetoric, according to which feminine
things cannot be compared to masculine.

[523] The sea is always spoken of as full of "inestimable stones,
unvalued jewels." There is a double meaning throughout. Sadváhiní,
when applied to the sea, may mean "beautiful rivers."

[524] Játarúpá also means "having assumed a form," so that there is
another pun here. I read abhavan for abhavad, in accordance with a
MS. lent me from the Sanskrit College.

[525] The cedille under the c of candra should be erased in
Dr. Brockhaus's text.

[526] Ganesa, who bestows success or the reverse, and is invoked in
all undertakings. I read karan dánámbhasá.

[527] The word also means "shade."

[528] I have no idea what this word lílávajra means. It is translated
by Böhtlingk and Roth--ein wie ein Donnerkeil aussehendes Werkzeug.

[529] Possibly there is a pun here: dána, giving, also means cutting.

[530] The fruit of the Bel, well-known to Anglo-Indians.

[531] Párvatí or Durgá, the wife of Siva.

[532] The others are the Sun, Fire, Water, Earth, Air, the Moon and
the officiating Bráhman. For the latter is sometimes substituted
pasupati or lord of animals.

[533] Possibly it also means "the swan of the temple of the mind."

[534] An allusion to the Arddhanárísa form of Siva.

[535] Kalá = digit of the moon and also accomplishment.

[536] The vidyá of the Vidyáharas. I read pratíkshyate.

[537] Here Professor Brockhaus supposes a hiatus.

[538] Cp. this with the "jewel-lamps" on pp. 189 and 305, and the
luminous carbuncle in Gesta Romanorum, CVII. Sir Thomas Browne, in
his Vulgar Errors, Book II, chapter 5, says, "Whether a carbuncle
doth flame in the dark, or shine like a coal in the night, though
generally agreed on by common believers, is very much questioned
by many." See also Simrock's Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. I, p. 301;
Vol. III, p. 12; Vol. VI, p. 289. Lucian in his De Deâ Syriâ ch. 32,
speaks of a precious stone of the name of lychnis which was bright
enough to light up a whole temple at night. We read in the history
of the Pseudo-Callisthenes, Book II, ch. 42, that Alexander found
in the belly of a fish a precious stone which he had set in gold and
used at night as a lamp. See also Baring Gould's Curious Myths of the
Middle Ages, p. 42. See Gaal, Märchen der Magyaren, p. 155; Ariosto,
Orlando Furioso, III, 14.

[539] i. e. supreme lord of jewels.

[540] i. e. as Indra mounts Airávata.

[541] The modern Tamluk. The district probably comprised the small but
fertile tract of country lying to the westward of the Húghli river,
from Bardwán and Kalna on the north, to the banks of the Kosai river
on the south. (Cunningham's Ancient Geography of India, p. 504.)

[542] In the 115th tale of the Gesta Romanorum we read that two chaste
virgins were able to lull to sleep and kill an elephant, that no one
else could approach.

[543] Both were produced at the churning of the ocean.

[544] A famous linga of Siva in Ujjayiní.

[545] Perhaps the Pushkalávatí described by General Cunningham in
his Ancient Geography of India, p. 49.

[546] There is a studied ambiguity in all these words, the usual
play on affection and oil being kept up. A marginal correction in a
Sanskrit College MS. lent to me, gives hridayam. The text has ránjitam
stháthaván. The latter is a vox nihili. Brockhaus's text may be
explained--My hand full of my heart was steeped in affection for you.

[547] For "funeral human sacrifice for the service of the dead,"
see Tylor's Primitive Culture, pp. 413-422. Cp. Hagen's Helden-Sagen,
Vol. III, pp. 165 and 166.

[548] i. e. Producer of horns.

[549] Cp. the 31st tale in Signora von Gonzenbach's Sicilianische
Märchen, (p. 209) where the black figs produce horns. There is also
in the same story a pipe that compels all that hear its sound to
dance. See Dr. Reinhold Köhler's notes on the tale: also Grimm's
No. 110 and his notes in his third volume. Cp. also Veckenstedt's
Wendische Sagen, p. 65. See also Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, p. 283:
Bernhard Schmidt's Griechische Märchen, No. 20, and Liebrecht, Zur
Volkskunde, p. 484. The incident in Sicilianische Märchen closely
resembles one in the story of Fortunatus as told in Simrock's Deutsche
Volksbücher, Vol. III, p. 175. There is a pipe that compels all the
hearers to dance in Hug of Bordeaux, Vol. X, p. 263, and a very similar
fairy harp in Wirt Sikes's British Goblins, p. 97; and a magic fiddle
in Das Goldene Schachspiel, a story in Kaden's Unter den Olivenbäumen,
p. 160. A fiddler in Bartsch's Sagen aus Meklenburg, (Vol. I, p. 130)
makes a girl spin round like a top. From that day she was lame. See
also De Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology, Vol. I, pp. 182 and 288,
and Baring Gould, IInd Series, p. 152. Kuhn, in his Westfälische
Märchen, Vol. I, p. 183, mentions a belief that horns grew on the
head of one who looked at the Wild Huntsman. It is just possible that
this notion may be derived from the story of Actæon. A statue found
in the ruins of the villa of Antoninus Pius near Lavinium represents
him with his human form and with the horns just sprouting. (Engravings
from Ancient Marbles in the British Museum, Plate XLV.) Cp. also the
story of Cipus in Ovid's Metamorphoses XV, 552-621. For the magic
pipe see Grimm's Irische Märchen, Einleitung, p. lxxxiii; Rohde,
Der Griechische Roman, p. 264. Remarks on the pipe and horns will be
found in Ralston's Tibetan Tales, Introduction pp. liv-lvi.

[550] Cp. Grimm's Märchen, No. 193. The parallel between Grimm's
story and that of Vidúshaka in Chapter 18 is still more striking.

[551] This idea, which is met with so frequently in this work, is found
in China also. See Giles's Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio,
Vol. I, p. 177, where Miss Li, who is a devil, hears the cock crow
and vanishes.

[552] Cp. Veckenstedt's Wendische Sagen, pp. 256 and 394. See also
No. CXXIX in Giles's Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio, Vol. II,
p. 265, the title of which is "Making of Animals." Cp. with the string
the gold rings in the Volsunga Saga, Hagen's Helden-Sagen, Vol. III,
p. 30. In Ovid's Metamorphoses VIII, 850, and ff. there is an account
of Mestra's transformations. Neptune gave her the power of transforming
herself whenever she was sold by her father. See also the story of
Achelous and Hercules in book IX of the Metamorphoses; Prym and Socin's
Syrische Märchen, p. 229, where we have the incident of the selling;
Waldau, Böhmische Märchen, p. 125; Coelho Contos Portuguezes, p. 32.

[553] Pandit Syámá Charan Mukhopádhyáya conjectures ásoshyamáne. This
I adopt unhesitatingly.

[554] Cp. Sagas from the Far East, p. 35. This story very closely
resembles that of Sidi Noman in the Arabian Nights, and the Golden
Ass of Apuleius.

[555] Compare Lane's Arabian Nights, Vol. I, pp. 156, 157, also
Campbell's Tales from the Western Highlands, Vol. II, p. 422,
and Sagas from the Far East, p. 4. This part of the story comes
under Mr. Baring-Gould's Magical Conflict root. (See his Story
Radicals in the appendix to Henderson's Folklore of the Northern
Counties.) Cp. also Miss Keary's Heroes of Asgard, p. 223, where Loki
and Idúna in the forms of a falcon and a sparrow are pursued by the
giant Thiassi in the shape of an eagle.

[556] The word samvara, which I have translated "congregation,"
probably means "sorcery;" see Böhtlingk and Roth s. v.

[557] I adopt kritam the reading of a MS. lent me from the Sanskrit
College. I should put a comma after álápam, as that word is used in
the masculine.

[558] I. e. lord of horses.

[559] I. e. lord of elephants.

[560] I. e. Man-lion.

[561] Kárpatika; for the use of this word see chapters 24, 63 and 81
of this work.

[562] I follow sákútam the reading of the MS in the Sanskrit
College. So the wounds of Sir Urro of Hungary were healed, as soon
as they were handled by the valiant Sir Launcelot (La Mort d'Arthure,
Vol. III, p. 270).

[563] Here the word Sramana is used, which generally means--"Buddhist
ascetic."

[564] I. e. deceitful-minded.

[565] Cp. the story of Phalabhúti in the 20th Taranga. I may here
mention that Liebrecht points out a striking parallel to the story
of Fulgentius, (with which I have compared that of Phalabhúti,)
in the Nugæ Curialium of Gualterus Mapes: (Zur Volkskunde, p. 38).

[566] Cp. Sicilianische Märchen, Vol. II, p. 46, where the giant
treacherously lets fall his gauntlet, and asks his adversary to pick
it up. His adversary, the hero of the story, tells him to pick it up
himself, and when the giant bends down for the purpose, cuts off his
head with one blow of his sword.

[567] Here there is an elaborate pun--kara means hand and also
proboscis--dána giving and the ichor that exudes from the temples
of a mast elephant. "Surrounded with clustering bees" may also mean,
"surrounded with handmaids whose consolations worried her."

[568] The word vibudha also means gods--and the gods feed on the moon.

[569] Compare the lichi in the XVth of Miss Stokes's Indian Fairy
Tales, and the páyasa in the XVIth Sarga of the Rámáyana. See also
Sicilianische Märchen, page 269, and Bernhard Schmidt's Griechische
Märchen, pp. 104, 117 and 120. The beginning of this tale belongs to
Mr. Baring-Gould's Gold-child root. Another parallel is to be found
in Kaden's Unter den Olivenbäumen, p. 168. See also Sagas from the
Far East, p. 268; Birlinger, Aus Schwaben, p. 105. See Volsunga Saga
in Hagen's Helden-Sagen, Vol. III, pp. 8 and 9.

[570] Kshetra here means "a holy field" or sacred spot.

[571] This part of the story reminds one of the Clerk's Tale in
Chaucer's Canterbury Tales.

[572] See Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, p. 80 where numerous parallels
are adduced. Cp. also Gonzenbach's Sicilianische Märchen, Vol. I,
p. 199.

[573] Compare the story of "The Golden Lion" in Laura von Gonzenbach's
Sicilianische Märchen, Vol. II, p. 76, where the lady places a white
cloth round her waist. See Dr. Köhler's note on the passage. Compare
also the hint which Messeria gives to her lover in the Mermaid,
Thorpe's Yule Tide Stories, p. 198, and the behaviour of Singorra on
page 214. See also "The Hasty Word," Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales,
p. 368, and The "Water King and Vasilissa the Wise", p. 128;
Veckenstedt's Wendische Märchen, pp. 256 and 258, and Liebrecht,
Zur Volkskunde, p. 408 and Wirt Sikes's British Goblins, p. 39. The
washing of the hero by a chetí is quite Homeric, (Odyssey XIX, 386.) In
a Welsh story (Professor Rhys, Welsh Tales, p. 8) a young man discovers
his lady-love by the way in which her sandals are tied. There are
only two to choose from, and he seems to have depended solely upon
his own observation.

[574] A khárí = about 3 bushels.

[575] Compare the way in which Psyche separated the seeds in the Golden
Ass of Apuleius, Lib. VI. cap X, and the tasks in Grimm's Märchen,
Nos. 62, 186, and 193. A similar incident is found in a Danish Tale,
Swend's Exploits, p. 353 of Thorpe's Yule-Tide Stories. Before the king
will allow Swend to marry the princess, he gives him a task exactly
resembling the one in our text. He is told to separate seven barrels
of wheat and seven barrels of rye, which are lying in one heap. The
ants do it for him, because he had on a former occasion crumbled
his bread for them. See also the story of the beautiful Cardia,
Gonzenbach's Sicilianische Märchen, p. 188. The hero has first to eat
a cellar full of beans; this he accomplishes by means of the king
of the ravens, his brother-in-law. He next disposes of a multitude
of corpses by means of another brother-in-law, the king of the wild
beasts; he then stuffs a large number of mattresses with feathers by
the help of a third brother-in-law, the king of the birds. See also
Miss Stokes's Indian Fairy Tales, Tale XXII, and the note at the end
of this chapter. So in No. 83 of the Sicilianische Märchen the ants
help Carnfedda because he once crumbled his bread for them.

[576] i. e. Siva.

[577] A forest in Kurukshetra sacred to Indra and burnt by Agni the
god of fire with the help of Arjuna and Krishna.

[578]   Hektor, atar sy moi essi patêr kai potnia mêtêr
        êde kasignêtos, sy de moi thaleros parakoitês.

[579] I. e., like an arrow in speed.

[580] For this part of the story see Sicilianische Märchen, No 14,
with Dr. Köhler's note.

[581] In Ovid's Metamorphoses VIII, 855, the dominus asks Mestra,
who has been transformed into a fisherman, if she has seen herself
pass that way.

[582] Compare the story of "die kluge Else," the 34th in Grimm's
Kinder- und Hausmärchen, where the heroine has a doubt about her
own identity and goes home to ask her husband, and No. 59 in the same
collection. Cp. also Campbell's Tales from the West Highlands, Vol. II,
p. 375, where one man is persuaded that he is dead, another that he
is not himself, another that he is dressed when he is naked. See also
the numerous parallels given in Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, p. 54.,
Liebrecht (Zur Volkskunde, p. 128) mentions a story in which a woman
persuades her husband, that he is dead. See also Bartsch's Sagen,
Märchen, und Gebräuche aus Meklenburg, Vol. I, p. 508. In Prym and
Socin's Syrische Märchen, No. LXII, page 250, the flea believes
himself to be dead, and tells every one so.

[583] Cp. Hagen's Helden-Sagen, Vol. II, p. 167, where Ake makes his
wife Wolfriana intoxicated with the object of discovering her secret.

[584] Reading avadishyáma. I find that this is the reading of a MS. in
the Sanskrit College.

[585] I. e. a great or distinguished minister. "Bull" is more literal
than "ox," but does not suit the English idiom so well. Gomukha
means Ox-face.

[586] Guna means virtue and also a thread.

[587] This incident is found in the story of Yavakríta in the 135th
chapter of the Mahábhárata.

[588] I read rúpam for rúpyam.

[589] I. e. Indra.

[590] Literally "having no auspicious marks."

[591] I. e. Fond of enjoyment.

[592] I. e. "New moon."

[593] In the Mahávastu Avadána (in Dr. R. L. Mitra's Sanskrit Buddhist
Literature of Nepal, p. 123) a girl named Amitá is cured of leprosy
by being shut up in an underground chamber.

[594] I suppose this must mean "prepared of the flesh of wild goats." A
MS. in the Sanskrit College reads ramyáni "pleasant."

[595] Plushta is a mistake for pushta, see Böhtlingk and Roth s. v.

[596] I. e. free from old age.

[597] This reminds one of Story XII in the Gesta Romanorum.

[598] I. e. long-lived.

[599] See the IVth chapter of Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales,
Veckenstedt's Wendische Märchen, page 221, Bernhard Schmidt's
Griechische Märchen, p. 125.

[600] Water, rice, dúrva grass, &c. offered to guests.

[601] Fabulous animals with eight feet.

[602] Cp. Sicilianische Märchen, Vol. I, p. 74.

[603] I. e. Camphor-produced. In the Arabian Nights the Camphor
islands are mentioned. See Lane's Translation, Vol. I, page 544.

[604] I find that a MS. in the Sanskrit College reads
avatitírshum. This is obviously the right reading.

[605] The city of Kuvera the god of wealth.

[606] The mother, i. e., Durgá.

[607] See Ralston's remarks on this story in his Russian Folk-Tales,
p. 71. In Hagen's Helden-Sagen, Vol. I, p. 44, Hilda reunites, as
fast as she is cut in two, but at last Dietrich, by the advice of
Hildebrand, steps between the two pieces, and interferes with the vis
medicatrix. Baring Gould seems to identify this story of Indívarasena
with that of St. George. In his essay on that hero-saint, (p. 305,
New Edition,) he observes, "In the Kathá Sarit Ságara a hero fights a
demon monster, and releases a beautiful woman from his thraldom. The
story, as told by Soma Deva, has already progressed, and assumed a
form similar to that of Perseus and Andromeda.

[608] The word literally means chariot of the mind. There is a
pun here.

[609] This resembles the German story of the two brothers as given
in Cox's Aryan Mythology, Vol. I, p. 162. See also Gonzenbach's
Sicilianische Märchen, Nos. 39 and 40, with Dr. Köhler's note. He
there refers us to his own remarks on the 4th of Campbell's West
Highland Tales in Orient und Occident, Vol. II, p. 118, and to Grimm,
Nos. 60 and 85, Hahn No. 22, Widter-Wolf, No. 8, Vernaleken, No. 35,
&c. In Grimm's No. 60, we have a magic sword, and the temporary
death of one of the brothers is indicated by the dimming of one side
of a knife. This story resembles Grimm's more closely, than that of
Asokadatta and Vijayadatta in ch. 25. See also Bartsch's Sagen, Märchen
und Gebräuche aus Meklenburg, Vol. I, p. 474. See also De Gubernatis,
Zoological Mythology, Vol. I, p. 328, Vol. II, p. 317. The story of
Amys and Amylion, in Ellis's Metrical Romances, resembles closely
the tale, as given by Grimm and Gonzenbach. So too do the 7th and
9th stories of the 1st day in the Pentamerone of Basile, and the
52nd in Coelho's Contos Populares Portuguezes, p. 120. Perhaps the
oldest mythological pair of brothers are the Asvins, who have their
counterpart in the Dioscuri and in Heracles and Iphiclus.

[610] I. e., brightness of the sun. Chandravatí means moonlike.

[611] I. e. Siva the beloved of Párvatí.

[612] I read sarastírát for sarittírát.

[613] Here there is a pun, as the words may also be construed "woven
of excellent threads."

[614] Maya was the architect of the Daityas. According to some Maya
= Ptolemaios.

[615] I. e. holding life.

[616] Cp. the Metamorphoses (Golden Ass) of Apuleius, Lib. V,
cap. III. Visoquestatim semirotundo suggestu propter instrumentum
coenatorum, rata refectui suo commodum, libens accumbit. Et illico
vini nectarei eduliumque variorum fercula copiosa, nullo serviento,
sed tantum spiritu quodam impulsa, subministrantur. See also the
romance of Parthenopex of Blois in Dunlop's History of Fiction,
(Liebrecht's translation, p. 175). See Liebrecht's translation of
the Pentamerone of Basile, Vol. I, p. 55.

[617] I. e., holding or possessing a kingdom.

[618] I. e., greed of wealth.

[619] Cp. Die Sieben Weisen Meister c. 18, (Simrock's Deutsche
Volksbücher, Vol. XII, p. 185).

[620] See note on page 305.

[621] Cp. Herodotus III. 119; Antigone, vv. 909-912. See also the
Pentamerone of Basile, Vol. II, p. 131, and the Ucchanga Játaka,
No. 67 in Dr. Fausböll's edition.

[622] A mere pun.

[623] I read with a MS. in the Sanskrit College--bhayade há múrta
iva sáhase.

[624] "Wish" is literally "chariot of the mind," so here there is
a pun.

[625] Both Srí and the Amrita came out of the sea when it was
churned. Sudasárha kúlena seems to be corrupt.

[626] i. e., Ganesa.

[627] i. e., Diamond-peak.

[628] For ubhayavedyeka the Petersburg lexicographers read
ubhayavedyardha. I have followed this reading.

[629] Identified by General Cunningham with the Sangala of
Alexander. (Ancient Geography of India, p. 179 & ff.)

[630] i. e., Siva.

[631] I read bodhitah.

[632] Kánchí means girdle, guna excellence and thread. The last clause
might be translated--made of threads.

[633] I read Súryaprabha for Súryachandra.

[634] Vidyunmálá means "garland of lightning."

[635] Alluding to Indra's slaying the demon Vritra, who was regarded
as a Bráhman, and to his conduct with Ahalyá.

[636] I. q. Siva.

[637] i. e., Siva.

[638] One of the seven under-worlds.

[639] I. q. Acesines and Hydraotes.

[640] I. e., a day of Brahmá consisting of 1000 yugas.

[641] Cp. the halo or aureole round the heads of Christian saints,
the circle of rays and nimbus round the head of Greek divinities,
and the beam that came out of Charles the Great's mouth and illumined
his head. (Grimm's Teutonic Mythology, translated by Stallybrass,
p. 323.) Cp. Livy I, 39; and Le Lotus de la Bonne Loi (Burnouf) p. 4.

[642] Kála means Time, Fate, Death.

[643] I divide sa sivákhyánám and take sa to be the demonstrative
pronoun.

[644] I. e. the Yoga system.

[645] This superstition appears to be prevalent in China. See
Giles's Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio, Vol. I, p. 23, and
other passages. It was no doubt carried there by the same wave of
Buddhism that carried there many similar notions connected with the
transmigration of souls, for instance the belief that children are
born able to speak, and that this is very inauspicious. (Cp. Giles's
Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio, Vol. I, p. 184 with the story of
Dharmagupta and Chandraprabhá in the 17th chapter of this work.) The
existence of this latter belief in Europe is probably to be ascribed
to the influence of Buddhism.

[646] Here I read Srutasarma-sapakshatvam.

[647] Usanas here means Sukra, the spiritual guide of the Asuras.

[648] I read pasyásya rúpam. This gives a better sense. It is partly
supported by a MS. in the Sanskrit College. The same MS. in the
next line reads tvám tu pasyati chaiko'pi--I read tvám tu pasyatu
chaisho'pi.

[649] Lit. "the shape of the moon"; put for the moon, because the
author is speaking of a woman. See Böhtlingk and Roth s. v.

[650] I. e. áryaputra, used by a wife in addressing a husband.

[651] A MS. in the Sanskrit College reads asau where Brockhaus
reads amúr.

[652] The Petersburg lexicographers remark that sampadád is "wohl
fehlerhaft." A MS. in the Sanskrit College has sádarád. But this
seems improbable with sádare in the line above. Babu Syámá Charan
Mukhopádhyáya conjectures sammadád which I have adopted.

[653] The eight Lokapálas or guardians of the world.

[654] I. e. the Vidyádharas.

[655] His charioteer.

[656] I read samárúdha-Bhútásana-vimánakáh.

[657] Reading rabhasokti for nabhasokti. Perhaps siddhimitam in sl. 78,
a, should be siddhamidam.

[658] In the MS. lent me from the Sanskrit College I find
sodháhidansasya and visodhavahnes.

[659] Reading aneko dhanyártho.

[660] Cp. Odyssey 4. 841 hôs hoi enarges oneiron epessyto nyktos
amolgô, where some suppose amolgos to mean the four hours before
daybreak.

[661] I read cha ranadíksháyám.

[662] The MS. in the Sanskrit College reads tatrásyástu sivam távat;
let him succeed in the battle.

[663] I. e. attendants of Siva.

[664] The word, which I have translated "human sacrifice," is
purushamedha. For the prevalence of human sacrifices among all nations
of antiquity see Grimm's Teutonic Mythology, translated by Stallybrass,
Vol. I, p. 44 and ff; see also Tylor's Primitive Culture, Vol. II,
p. 246, 353, 361, 365. Dr. Rajendralála Mitra. Rai Bahadúr, in an
essay in the Journal of the Asiatic Society for 1876, entitled "Human
Sacrifices in India," traces the history of the practice in India, and
incidentally among the principal nations of antiquity. The following
is his own summary of his conclusions with respect to the practice
in India. (1) That, looking to the history of human civilization,
and the rituals of the Hindus, there is nothing to justify the belief
that in ancient times the Hindus were incapable of sacrificing human
beings to their gods. (2) That the Sunahsepha hymns of the Rig Veda
Sanhitá most probably refer to a human sacrifice. (3) That the Aitareya
Bráhmana refers to an actual, and not a typical human sacrifice. (4)
That the Purushamedha originally required the actual sacrifice of
men. (5) That the Satapatha Bráhmana sanctions human sacrifice in some
cases, but makes the Purushamedha emblematic. (6) That the Taittiríya
Bráhmana enjoins the sacrifice of a man at the Horse sacrifice. (7)
That the Puránas recognise human sacrifices to Chandiká but prohibit
the Purushamedha rite. (8) That the Tantras enjoin human sacrifices
to Chandiká, and require that, when human victims are not available,
an effigy of a human being should be sacrificed to her. Of the
sacrifices to Chandiká we have enough and to spare in the Kathá
Sarit Ságara. Strange to say, it appears that human sacrifices were
offered in Greece on Mount Lykaion in Arcadia even in the time of
Pausanias. Dim traditions with respect to the custom are still found
among the inhabitants of that region, (Bernhard Schmidt, Griechische
Märchen, p. 27). Cp. the institution of the pharmakoi connected with
the worship of Apollo! Preller, Griechische Mythologie, Vol. I, p. 202;
see also pp. 240 and 257 and Vol. II, pp. 310 and 466; Herodotus VII,
197; Plato, Min. p. 315, C; Preller, Römische Mythologie, p. 104.

[665] Cp. chapter 45. In chapter 73 will be found another instance
of a "rifted rock whose entrance leads to hell." Cp. the Hercules
Furens of Seneca, v. 662 & ff.

[666] For a parallel to the absurdities that follow, see Campbell's
West Highland Tales, p. 202.

[667] The personified energies of the principal deities, closely
connected with the worship of the god Siva. Professor Jacobi compares
them with the Greek goddesses called mêteres, to whom there was a
temple in the Sicilian town of Engyion. (Indian Antiquary, January
1880.)

[668] For ávaham I read áhavam.

[669] Labdhakakshyáh is probably a misprint for baddhakakshyáh.

[670] I read abhikánkshá for abhikánksho which is found in Brockhaus's
text. This is supported by a MS. in the Sanskrit College.

[671] The MS. in the Sanskrit College reads jagme.

[672] Possibly an arrow with a head resembling two hands joined.

[673] There is probably a pun here. Kshetra, besides its astrological
sense, means a wife on whom issue is begotten by some kinsman or duly
appointed person, as in the Jewish law.

[674] Tvashtri is the Vulcan of the Hindus. Bhaga is an Áditya regarded
in the Vedas as bestowing wealth, and presiding over marriage,
his Nakshatra is the Uttara Phálguní. Aryaman is also an Áditya;
Púshan, originally the sun, is in later times an Áditya. The "canopy
of arrows" reminds us of the saying of Dieneces, Herodotus, VII. 227,
and of Milton, P. L., VI. 666.

[675] An epithet of Siva in his character of the destroying deity.

[676] There are three different styles of music called tára, udára,
and mudára. So the word márga contains a pun.

[677] Ogha means current and also quick time in music.

[678] Chhaláhatah is a mistake for chhaládritah. See Böhtlingk
and Roth, (s. v. han with á). The MS. in the Sanskrit College has
chhaládatah.

[679] Here Brockhaus makes a hiatus.

[680] I read Gunasarmanah or Gunasarmane.

[681] The old story of Hippolyte, the wife of Acastus, (the "Magnessa
Hippolyte" of Horace,) and Peleus, of Antea and Bellerophon, of Phædra
and Hippolytus, of Fausta and Crispus. See also the beginning of
the Seven Wise Masters, Simrock's Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. XII,
pp. 128, 129. Cp. also Grössler, Sagen der Grafschaft Mansfeld,
p. 192. See the remarkable statement in Rohde, Der Griechische Roman,
p. 31, quoted from Pausanias I, 22, 1, to the effect that the story
of Phædra was known to "Barbarians."

[682] Cp. the English superstitions with regard to the raven, crow
and magpie (Henderson's Folk-lore of the Northern Counties, pp. 95
and 96, Hunt's Romances and Drolls of the West of England, p. 429,
Thiselton Dyer, English Folk-lore, pp. 80 and 81). See also Horace,
Odes, III, 27. In Europe the throbbing or tingling of the left
ear indicates calamity, (Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 327, Hunt's
Romances and Drolls of the West of England, p. 430, Thiselton Dyer,
English Folk-lore, p. 279). See also Bartsch's Sagen, Märchen und
Gebräuche aus Meklenburg, Vol. II, p. 313, and Birlinger, Aus Schwaben,
pp. 374-378, and 404. For similar superstitions in ancient Greece see
Jebb's Characters of Theophrastus, p. 163, "The superstitious man,
if a weasel run across his path, will not pursue his walk until some
one else has traversed the road, or until he has thrown three stones
across it. When he sees a serpent in his house, if it be the red snake,
he will invoke Sabazius, if the sacred snake, he will straightway place
a shrine on the spot * * * * If an owl is startled by him in his walk,
he will exclaim "Glory be to Athene!" before he proceeds." Jebb refers
us to Ar. Eccl. 792.

[683] The Sanskrit College MS. reads nyáyam for práptam "hear my suit
against Gunasarman." This makes a far better sense.

[684] Daridryo is probably a misprint for daridro.

[685] Cp. Thiselton Dyer's English Folk-lore, p. 280. He remarks: "A
belief was formerly current throughout the country in the significance
of moles on the human body. When one of these appeared on the upper
side of the right temple above the eye, to a woman it signified good
and happy fortune by marriage. This superstition was especially
believed in in Nottinghamshire, as we learn from the following
lines, which, says Mr. Briscoe, (author of 'Nottinghamshire Facts
and Fictions') were often repeated by a poor girl at Bunny:--


        'I have a mole above my right eye,
        And shall be a lady before I die.
        As things may happen, as things may fall
        Who knows but that I may be Lady of Bunny Hall?'


The poor girl's hopes, it is stated, were ultimately realized, and
she became 'Lady of Bunny Hall.' See Brand's Popular Antiquities,
Vol. III, pp. 252-255.

[686] I read dehatyágam and vánchasi.

[687] I. e. "beautiful." There is a pun here.

[688] Pátála = Hades, i. e., the world below, vasati = dwelling.

[689] Here Brockhaus supposes a hiatus.

[690] Savará should probably be saraká.

[691] Here Brockhaus supposes a hiatus.

[692] The god of Death.

[693] i. e. Destruction (a goddess of death and corruption).

[694] i. e. the god of the wind.

[695] The god of wealth.

[696] Cp. Homer's Iliad, Book XV, 113-141.

[697] For anyonyais I read anye' anyais.

[698] Or perhaps--with arrows having ten million points.

[699] Cp. Thiselton Dyer's English Folk-lore, p. 203.

[700] Probably some kind of sparkling gem.

[701] Said to mean, planets or demons unfavourable to children.

[702] Cp. Odyssey VII, 117. The same is asserted by Palladius of
the trees in the island of Taprobane, where the Makrobioi live. The
fragment of Palladius, to which I refer, begins at the 7th Chapter
of the IIIrd book of the History of the Pseudo-Callisthenes edited
by Carolus Mueller.

[703] i. e., connected in some way with Buddha. See Böhtlingk and
Roth s. v.

[704] i. e., the Himálaya.

[705] This seems to agree with the story as told in the Bhágavata
Purána. For various forms of the Ráma legend, see the translation of
the Uttara Ráma Charita by M. Félix Nève.

[706] The story of Genovefa in Simrock's Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. I,
p. 371, bears a striking resemblance to that of Sítá. The way in
which Schmerzensreich and his father retire to the forest at the
end of the story is quite Indian. In the Greek novel of Hysminias
and Hysmine the innocence of the heroine is tested by the fountain
of Diana (Scriptores Erotici, p. 595). For parallels to the story
of Genoveva or Genovefa see Prym und Socin, Syrische Märchen, LII,
and the Introduction, p. xxii.

[707] One of the five trees of Paradise. For the golden lotuses, see
Chapter XXV. In Ch. LII we find trees with trunks of gold and leaves
and fruit of jewels. A similar tree is found in the mediæval romance
of king Alexander. Dunlop compares the golden vine carried away by
Pompey. Liebrecht remarks that there was also a golden vine over the
gate of the temple at Jerusalem, and compares the golden lotus made by
the Chinese emperor Tunghwan. He refers also to Huon of Bordeaux, Ysaie
le Triste, and Grimm's Kindermärchen 130 and 133. (Liebrecht's Dunlop,
p. 184). See also Milton's Paradise Lost, IV. 220 and 256. Cp. Thalaba
the Destroyer, Book I, 30. The passage in the Pseudo-Callisthenes
will be found in III, 28, Karl Mueller's Edition.

[708] See page 445.

[709] Cp. the story of Seyf ul Mulk in the Persian Tales, and
the Bahar-Danush, c. 35 (Dunlop, Vol. II, p. 208, Liebrecht's
translation, p. 335) see also Dunlop's remarks upon the Polexandre of
Gomberville. In this romance Abdelmelec, son of the emperor of Morocco,
falls in love with Alcidiana by seeing her portrait (Vol. II, p. 276,
Liebrecht's translation, p 372.) A similar incident is found in the
romanco of Agesilaus of Colchos, (Liebrecht's Dunlop, p. 157.) See
Prym und Socin, Syrische Märchen, p. 3; Rohde, Der Griechische Roman,
p. 49; Coelho, Contos Populares Portuguezes, p. 109.

[710] For the vidruteshu of Brockhaus's edition I read nihateshu,
which I find in the Sanskrit College MS.

[711] An elaborate pun. Rasika also means "full of (poetical) flavour."

[712] Dim traditions of this mountain seem to have penetrated to Greece
and Rome. Aristophanes (Acharnians v. 82) speaks of the king of Persia
as engaged for 8 months epi chrysôn orôn. Clark tells us that Bergler
quotes Plautus, Stichus 24, Neque ille mereat Persarum sibi montes
qui esse perhibentur aurei. (Philological Journal, VIII. p. 192.) See
also Ter. Phormio I, 2, 18, Pers. III, 65. Naraváhanadatta's journey
through the air may remind the reader of the air-voyage of Alexander
in the Pseudo-Callisthenes, II, 41. He sees a serpent below him,
and a halôs in the middle of it. A divine being, whom he meets,
tells him, that these objects are the earth and the sea.

[713] I. e. Siva.

[714] See note on page 488.

[715] i. e. city of heroes. See Cunningham's Ancient Geography of
India, p. 99.

[716] Cp. the properties of the magic ring given to Canace in the
Squire's tale, and Grimm's story of "Die drei Sprachen," (No. 33,
Kindermärchen). See also Tylor's Primitive Culture, Vol. I, pp. 18,
423. In the Edda, Sigurd learns to understand the language of birds
by tasting the blood of Fafner. For other parallels see Liebrecht's
Dunlop, p. 184, and note 248.

[717] Cp. the 77th chapter of this work, the second in the Vetála
Panchavinsati, and Ralston's exhaustive note, in his Russian
Folk-tales, pp. 231, 232, 233. Cp. also Bernhard Schmidt's Griechische
Märchen, p. 114, and Bartsch's Sagen, Märchen, und Gebräuche aus
Meklenburg, Vol. I, p. 486. The Pseudo-Callisthenes (Book II, c. 40)
mentions a fountain that restored to life a salt fish, and made one of
Alexander's daughters immortal. This is perhaps the passage that was
in Dunlop's mind, when he said (page 129 of Liebrecht's translation)
that such a fountain is described in the Greek romance of Ismenias
and Ismene, for which Liebrecht takes him to task. See the parallels
quoted by Dunlop and Liebrecht. Wheeler, in his Noted Names of Fiction,
tells us that there was a tradition current among the natives of
Puerto Rico, that such a fountain existed in the fabulous island of
Bimini, said to belong to the Bahama group. This was an object of
eager and long-continued quest to the celebrated Spanish navigator,
Juan Ponce de Leon. By Ismenias and Ismene Dunlop probably means
Hysminias and Hysmine. See also Birlinger, Aus Schwaben, p. 185. Kuhn
in his "Herabkunft des Feuers" traces this story back to the Satapatha
Bráhmana.

[718] Here there is an elaborate pun. "King" may also mean "mountain,"
"race" may mean "wings," and the whole passage refers to Indra's
clipping the wings of the mountains.

[719] Compare the remarkable passage which M. Lévêque quotes from
the works of Empedocles (Les Mythes et les Légendes de l'Inde, p. 90).


            Estin anankês chrêma, theôn psêphisma palaion,
            aidion, plateessi katesphrêgismenon horkois,
            eute tis amplakiêsi phonô phila gyia miênê
            haimasin ê epiorkon hamartêsas epomossê
            daimôn, hoi te makraiônos lelachasi bioio,
            tris min myrias hôras apo makarôn alalêsthai,
            phyomenon pantoia dia chronou eidea thnêtôn,
            argaleas biotoio metallassonta keleuthous.


I have adopted the readings of Ritter and Preller, in their Historia
Philosophiæ, in preference to those of M. Lévêque. It is clear that
Empedocles supposed himself to be a Vidyádhara fallen from heaven in
consequence of a curse. As I observed in an article in the Calcutta
Review of 1875, "The Bhagavad Gítá and Christianity," his personality
is decidedly Indian.

[720] Cp. Odyssey IX. 27, 28.

[721] Comprising the modern provinces of Allahabad, Agra, Delhi
and Oude.

[722] For anrityata I should like to read anartyata.

[723] i. e., one who has obtained a prize.

[724] Badarínátha is a place sacred to Vishnu in the Himálayas. The
Badarínátha peaks, in British Gurwhal, form a group of six summits,
from 22,000 to 23,400 feet above the sea. The town of Badarínátha is
55 miles north-east of Srínagar, on the right bank of the Vishnuganga,
a feeder of the Alakananda. The temple is situated in the highest
part of the town, and below it a tank, supplied by a sulphureous
thermal spring, is frequented by thousands of pilgrims. The temple
is 10,294 feet above the sea. (Akbar, an Eastern Romance, by Dr. Van
Limburg-Brouwer, with an introduction by Clements Markham, p. 1, note.)

[725] Prajá means subjects and also offspring.

[726] The word artha means wealth, and also meaning.

[727] The story of Anangaprabhá may be the origin of the seventh
Novel of the IInd day in the Decameron of Boccacio.

[728] Prayága--Allahabad, the place of sacrifice kat' exochên. Here
the Gangá and Yamuná unite with the supposed subterranean Sarasvatí.

[729] The word in the original is kárpatika. Böhtlingk and Roth
explain it in this passage as "ein im Dienste eines Fürsten
stehender Bettler." It appears from Taranga 81, that a poor man
became a kárpatika by tearing a karpata, a ragged garment, in a king's
presence. The business of a kárpatika seems to have been to do service
without getting anything for it.

[730] Cp. the 1st Novel in the 10th Day of the Decameron and Ralston's
Russian Folk Tales, p. 197.

[731] There is a pun here. The word palása also means "cruel,
unmerciful."

[732] The word used shews that he was probably a Buddhist mendicant.

[733] Cp. Miss Frere's Old Deccan days, p. 171, and Giles's Strange
Stories from a Chinese Studio, p. 430, where the young lady says to Ma;
"You have often asked me for money, but on account of your weak luck
I have hitherto refrained from giving you any."

[734] This story is found in the Hitopadesa, p. 89 of Johnson's
translation.

[735] These two lines are an elaborate pun--ku = evil, and also earth,
guna = virtue, and also string, avichára = injustice, also the movement
of sheep.

[736] I follow the MS. in the Sanskrit College which reads rodorandhre.

[737] Here with the Sanskrit College MS. I read ruditam for the
unmetrical kranditam.

[738] I read dhrishyan, i. e., rejoicing, from hrish.

[739] The word sattvavara here means "possessing pre-eminent virtue."

[740] In sl. 163 (a) I read mama for mayá with the Sanskrit College MS.

[741] The story, as told in Chapter 78, is somewhat different from
this.

[742] There is a pun in this word mahásattva. It means noble, good,
virtuous, and also full of great monsters.

[743] This reminds one of the description which Palladius gives of
the happy island of Taprobane. St. Ambrose in his version speaks of
it as governed by four kings or satraps. The fragment begins at the
7th chapter of the 3rd book of the History of the Pseudo-Callisthenes
edited by Carolus Müller. See Rohde, Der Griechische Roman, p. 239.

[744] i. e. Lakshmí or Srí.

[745] Hansa--means swan and also supreme soul, i. e., Vishnu.

[746] War, peace, marching, encamping, dividing one's forces, seeking
the alliance of a more powerful king.

[747] Or sects. The word used for "bee" means literally the
six-footed. The whole passage is full of double meanings, charana
meaning foot, line, i. e., the fourth part of a stanza, and also sect.

[748] Darsana utsukah should probably be read here for the sake of
the metre.

[749] Here there is a pun.

[750] This passage is an elaborate pun throughout.

[751] I read phalam which I find in the Sanskrit College MS. instead
of param.

[752] i. e., possessor of much gold.

[753] i. e., Durgá. For mritajátir I read mritajánir which is the
reading of the MS. in the Sanskrit College. In the next line jívitá
should be jívatá.

[754] Cp. the story of Dhanagupta and Upabhuktadhana, Benfey's
Panchatantra, Vol. II, p. 197. It is part of the fifth story, that
of Somilaka. See Benfey, Vol. I, p. 321, where he traces it to a
Buddhist source.

[755] I read tapahstha-púrva-drishtáyás one word.

[756] Siva is invoked by a different name for each limb which he is
asked to protect. See the quotations in Brand's Popular Antiquities
(Bohn's Edition, Vol. I, pp. 365 and 366) from Moresini Papatus and
Melton's Astrologaster. Brand remarks, "The Romanists, in imitation of
the heathens, have assigned tutelary gods to each member of the body."

[757] Víra means hero.

[758] The puns here defy translation.

[759] Here the Sanskrit text has "and so resembled himself." Each
of the Sanskrit compounds may be taken in another sense. The "heat"
is valour; the "swans" subject kings; the sight of the king delighted
his subjects, and he possessed furious elephants.

[760] The Sanskrit College MS. reads Asíkalahayárúdhah.

[761] Cp. The Lament of Moschos for Bion, 1. 99-104.

[762] I. e. Female snake, somewhat of the nature of the Echidna of
our boyhood;


        hêmisy men nymphên helikôpida kalliparêon
        hêmisy d' aute pelôron ophin, deinon te megan te.

                                                Hesiod. Theog. 298.


[763] Cp. the following passage which Wirt Sikes (British Goblins,
p. 385) quotes from the Mabinogion. "Take the bowl and throw a bowlful
of water on the slab," says the black giant of the wood to Sir Kai,
"and thou wilt hear a mighty peal of thunder, so that thou wilt think
that heaven and earth are trembling with its fury. With the thunder
will come a shower so severe that it will be hardly possible for thee
to endure and live. And the shower will be of hailstones; and after
the shower the weather will become fair, but every leaf that was
upon the tree will have been carried away by the shower." Cp. Prym
und Socin, Syrische Märchen, p. 116, and Gaal, Märchen der Magyaren,
pp. 101 and 102.

[764] I read with the Sanskrit College MS. ajayyah.

[765] Böhtlingk conjectures súrpa for súrya; súrpa is a
winnowing-basket.

[766] This is the sense, but--épsur cannot be right; the Sanskrit
College MS. reads--echchhum. Perhaps--echchhuh will do.

[767] I read tadá for padá, a conjecture of Babu S. C. Mookerjea's. The
Sanskrit College MS. reads atyánandabhrite yuktam návartetám yadátmani.

[768] I. e. showerer of riches.

[769] The MS. in the Sanskrit College reads svasainyam which saves
the metre.

[770] Svasuravesmavartmásritas is the reading of the MS. in the
library of the Sanskrit College.

[771] I read mánitaprakritih, following the MS. in the Sanskrit
College.

[772] I. e. earth-protector, king.

[773] Compare for the idea Richard II. Act III, Sc. 2. line 41 and ff.

[774] Here I have omitted a short story.

[775] He seems to correspond to the Junker Voland or Herr Urian of
the Walpurgisnacht; (see Bayard Taylor's notes to his translation
of Goethe's Faust). See also, for the assembly of witches and their
uncanny president, Birlinger, Aus Schwaben, pp. 323 and 372. In
Bartsch's Sagen &c. aus Meklenburg, pp. 11--44, will be found the
recorded confessions of many witches, who deposed to having danced
with the Teutonic Bhairava on the Blocksberg. The Mothers of the
second part of Faust probably come from Greece.

[776] Mukta for yukta, which is clearly a misprint.

[777] This story is identical with the story of "The merchant who
struck his mother," as given by the Rev. S. Beal in the Antiquary
for September 1880. It is also found in the Avadána Sataka: see
Dr. R. L. Mitra's Buddhist Literature of Nepal, p. 28, where the above
MS. is described. See also Dr. R. Morris's remarks in the Academy of
the 27th of August, 1881.

[778] A similar transferable wheel is found in the Panchatantra,
Vth Book, 3rd Story. Benfey's Panchatantra, Vol. II, p. 331.

[779] Cp. Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, p. 358. "Great stress is laid
in the skazkas and legends upon the terrible power of a parent's
curse. The hasty word of a father or mother will condemn even an
innocent child to slavery among devils and when it is once uttered,
it is irrevocable." Throughout the present work curses appear to
be irrevocable but susceptible of modification and limitation. See
Waldau's Böhmische Märchen, p. 537, and the remarks of Preller in
his Griechische Mythologie, Vol. II, p. 345.

[780] Perhaps we should read mrishyatám, forgive me, be patient.

[781] This character is probably taken from the Mahábhárata (see
Dowson's Classical Dictionary of Hindu Mythology, p. 90).

[782] I have followed the Sanskrit College MS. which gives ádarsa.

[783] I. e. Benevolent, and also satisfied at heart.

[784] Sadguna means good quality, also "good thread."

[785] The epithet refers also to the arrows and means "bright with
excellent heads."

[786] So in Heliodorus, Æthiopica, Lib. III, cap. XIII.

alla tois t' aphthalmois an gnôstheien atenes diolou blepontes kai to
blepharon ou pot' epimyontes.--In the third canto of the Purgatorio
Dante is much troubled at finding that Virgil, being a disembodied
spirit, casts no shadow.

[787] Kali is the side of the die marked with one point. Dvápara
is the side marked with two. They are personified here as demons of
gambling. They are also the present, i. e., the fourth and the third
Yugas or ages of the world.

[788] Cp. Milton's Comus, v. 421 and ff. The word "might" also means
"fire". This "fire" burnt up the hunter.

The pun in the previous sentence cannot be rendered in English.

[789] Here there is a pun. Ambara also means the sky.

[790] Preller in his Griechische Mythologie, Vol. II, p. 475, refers
to a Servian story, in which a shepherd saves the life of a snake in
a forest fire. In return for this service, the snake's father gives
him endless treasures, and teaches him the language of birds.

[791] For the jewels in the heads of reptiles see the long note in
Benfey's Panchatantra, Vol. I, p. 214. The passage in "As you like it"
will occur to every one. Snakes' crowns are mentioned in Grössler,
Sagen der Grafschaft Mansfeld, p. 178, in Veckenstedt's Wendische
Märchen, pp. 403-405, and in Grohmann, Sagen aus Böhmen, pp. 219
and 223.

[792] Dasa means "ten," and also "bite."

[793] In Prester John's letter quoted by Baring Gould, Curious Myths
of the Middle Ages, New Edition, p. 43, we find, "In one of our lands,
hight Zone, are worms called in our tongue Salamanders. These worms
can only live in fire, and they build cocoons like silkworms, which
are unwound by the ladies of our palace, and spun into cloth and
dresses, which are worn by our Exaltedness. These dresses, in order
to be cleansed and washed, are cast into flames."

[794] Or robe. The pun is obvious.

[795] Cp. the 28th story in the 1st Part of Sicilianische Märchen by
Laura Gonzenbach, "Von der Tochter der Sonne." Here Lattughina says
"Fire, be lighted," and immediately a clear fire burned upon the
hearth. Then she said "Come along, pan," and a golden pan came and
placed itself upon the fire. "Come along oil," and the oil came and
poured itself into the pan. In "The story of Shams ul dín and his son,"
Hasan Badr ul dín is discovered by his skill in cooking (Lane's Arabian
Nights, Vol. I, p. 266.) De Gubernatis (Zoological Mythology, Vol. I,
p. 158,) remarks that service in the kitchen is especially dear to
the young hero. Bhíma disguises himself as a cook in the Viráta parvan
of the Mahábhárata. Pausanias tells us, Book I, ch. 16, Seleukô gar,
hos hôrmato ek Makedonias syn Alexandrô, Thyonti en Pellê tô Dii,
ta xyla epi tou bômou keimena proubê te automata pros to agalma,
kai aneu pyros hêphthê.

[796] The Petersburg lexicographers think that samvritti should
be sadvritti.







NOTES TO VOLUME II


[1] I read mada for madya.

[2] Nrisinha, Vishnu assumed this form for the destruction of
Hiranyukasipu.

[3] See the note on page 14 of this work. Parallels will be found also
in the notes to No. 52 of the Sicilian Tales, collected by Laura von
Gonzenbach. I have referred, in the Addenda to the 1st Fasciculus,
to Ralston's Russian Folk-tales, p. 230, and Veckenstedt's Wendische
Sagen, p. 152. The Mongolian form of the story is found in Sagas from
the Far East, p. 148. See also Corrigenda and Addenda to Vol. I,
and Dasent's Norse Tales, pp. 12, 264, and 293-295, and xcv of the
Introduction. The first parallel is very close, as the hero of the
tale lets out his secret, when warmed with wine. For the most ancient
example of this kind of tale, see Rhys Davids, Buddhist Birth Stories,
Introduction, pp. xvi-xxi.  Cp. Prym und Socin Syrische Märchen,
p. 343; Grimm, Irische Märchen, No. 9, "Die Flasche," p. 42. In
the Bhadraghatajátaka, No. 291 Sakko gives a pitcher, which is lost
in the same way. Grimm in his Irische Elfenmärchen, Introduction,
p. xxxvii, remarks that "if a man discloses any supernatural power
which he possesses, it is at once lost."

[4] In Bartsch's Sagen, Märchen und Gebräuche aus Meklenburg, Vol. I,
p. 41, a man possesses himself of an inexhaustible beer-can. But as
soon as he told how he got it, the beer disappeared. Another (page 84)
spoils the charm by looking into the vessel, at the bottom of which
he sees a loathsome toad. This he had been expressly forbidden to do.

[5] Wealth in her case, salvation in that of the hermit.

[6] Cp. Winter's Tale, Act VI, Scene 4, line 140.

[7] i. e., beautiful.

[8] I find in the Sanskrit College MS. kimmuchyate for vimuchyate.

[9] In La Fontaine's Contes et Nouvelles III, 13, there is a little
dog qui secoue de l'argent et des pierreries. The idea probably
comes from the Mahábhárata. In this poem Srinjaya has a son named
Suvarnashtívin. Some robbers treat him as the goose that laid the
golden eggs was treated. There are also birds that spit gold in
the Mahábhárata. (See Lévêque, Les Mythes et Légendes de l'Inde,
pp. 289-294.) There is an ass with the same gift in Sicilianische
Märchen, No. 52. For the wishing-stone see Dasent's Norse Tales,
Introduction, p. xcv. He remarks that the stone in his tale No. LIX,
which tells the prince all the secrets of his brides, "is plainly
the old Okastein or wishing-stone."

[10] The reading should be Makarakatyevam.

[11] There is a certain resemblance between this story and the
Xth Novel of the VIIIth day in Boccacio's Decameron. Dunlop traces
Boccacio's story to the Disciplina Clericalis of Petrus Alphonsus
(c. 16). It is also found in the Arabian Nights (story of Ali Khoja,
the merchant of Baghdad) in the Gesta Romanorum (c. 118), and in the
Cento Novelle Antiche (No. 74), see also Fletcher's Rule a Wife and
have a Wife. (Dunlop's History of Fiction, p. 56, Liebrecht's German
translation, p. 247).

[12] An elaborate pun.

[13] Ralston remarks (Songs of the Russian people, p. 327.) "The fact
that in Slavonic lands, a thousand years ago, widows used to destroy
themselves, in order to accompany their dead husbands to the world
of spirits, seems to rest upon incontestable evidence, and there
can be no doubt that 'a rite of suttee, like that of modern India'
prevailed among the heathen Slavonians, the descendant, perhaps as
Mr. Tylor remarks (Primitive Culture, I, 421) of 'widow-sacrifice'
among many of the European nations, of 'an ancient Aryan rite belonging
originally to a period even earlier then the Veda'". See also Zimmer,
Alt-Indisches Leben, pp. 329-331.

[14] i. e., of bad character.

[15] The Sanskrit College MS. inserts nícho after kritam.

[16] Cp. the falcon in Chaucer's Squire's Tale and the parallels
quoted by Skeat in his Introduction to Chaucer's Prioresses Tale &c.,
p. xlvii.

[17] An elaborate pun on dvija and sákhá.

[18] For the conception of the sun as an eye see Kuhn, Die Herabkunft
des Feuers und des Göttertranks, pp. 52, 53. The idea is common in
English poetry. See for instance Milton, P. L. V. 171, Spenser's
Faery Queene, I, 3, 4. For instances in classical poetry, see Ovid,
Met. IV, 228, Ar. Nub. 286, Soph. Tr. 101.

[19] I read tvadvákyam with the Sanskrit College MS. and ahitásanki
tachcha in sl. 141 with the same MS.

[20] Cp. Aristophanes, Aves, pp. 169, 170.


            anthrôpos ornis astathmêtos, petomenos
            atekmartos, ouden oudepot' en tautô menôn


[21] This is also found in the Panchatantra and the Hitopadesa. See
Benfey's Panchatantra, Vol. I, (Einleitung), p. 100. In fact the
present chapter corresponds to the 2nd book of the Hitopadesa, "The
separation of friends," Johnson's Translation, p. 40, and to the 1st
book of the Panchatantra. In sl. 15, I read, with Dr. Kern, sashpán.

[22] Weber supposes that the Indians borrowed all the fables
representing the jackal as a wise animal, as he is not particularly
cunning. He thinks that they took the Western stories about the fox,
and substituted for that animal the jackal. Benfey argues that this
does not prove that these fables are not of Indian origin. German
stories represent the lion as king of beasts, though it is not a
German animal. (Benfey's Panchatantra, Vol. I, pp. 102, 103). See
also De Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology, p. 122.

[23] This story is found in the Hitopadesa, the Panchatantra,
the Kalilah and Dimnah, Anvár-i-Suhaili, Livre des Lumières,
p. 61, Cabinet des Fées, XVII. 152, and other collections (Benfey's
Panchatantra, Vol. I, p. 105.) For the version of the Panchatantra,
see Benfey, Vol. II, p. 9, for that of the Hitopadesa, Johnson's
Translation, p. 44. For that of the Kalíla and Dimna Benfey refers us
to Knatchbull's translation, p. 88, for that of the Anvár-i-Suhaili
to Eastwick's translation, p. 86. Benfey considers a fable of Æsop,
in which an ape tries to fish and is nearly drowned, an imitation of
this. It reminds one of the trick which the fox played the bear in
Reineke Fuchs, (Simrock's Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. I, p. 148.)

[24] Cp. Panchatantra, Vol. II, p. 21. In the 1st volume Benfey tells
us that in the old Greek version of the fables of Bidpai, the fox,
who represents the jackal, loses through fear his appetite for other
food, and for a hen in the Anvár-i-Suhaili, 99. The fable is also
found in Livre des Lumières, p. 72, Cabinet des Fées, p. XVII, 183,
and other collections. The Arabic version and those derived from
it leave out the point of the drum being found on a battle-field
(Benfey's Panchatantra, Vol. I, p. 132).

Cp. also Campbell's West Highland Tales, p. 268, "A fox being hungry
one day found a bagpipe, and proceeded to eat the bag, which is
generally made of hide. There was still a remnant of breath in the
bag, and when the fox bit it, the drone gave a groan, when the fox,
surprised but not frightened, said--'Here is meat and music.'"

[25] I follow the reading of the Sanskrit College MS. múdhabuddih
prabhur nyáyam ukshnánenádya sikshyate. This satisfies the metre,
which Brockhaus's reading does not.

[26] This word generally means crocodile. But in the Hitopadesa the
creature that kills the crane is a crab.

[27] This fable is the 7th in Benfey's translation of the Panchatantra,
Vol. II, p. 58. It is found in the 4th book of the Hitopadesa,
Johnson's translation, p. 103. It is also found in the Arabic version
(Wolff, I, 41, Knatchbull, 114), Symeon Seth (Athenian edition, p. 16,)
John of Capua, c. 4, b., German translation (Ulm., p. 1483. D.,
V, b.,) Spanish translation, XIII, 6, Firenzuola, 39, Doni, 59,
Anvár-i-Suhaili, 117, Livre des Lumières, 92, Cabinet des Fées, XVII,
221, Thousand and one Nights (Weil, III, 915.) Cp. Lafontaine, X,
4. (Benfey, Vol. I, p. 175). Benfey shews that it may be Buddhistic in
origin, quoting a story from Upham's Sacred and Historical Books of
Ceylon, III, 292. He also shews that it may have come into Buddhist
books from the Greek, as Alcæus appears to have been acquainted
with a similar Greek fable, (Æsopus, Furia 231, Cor., 70). See also
Weber's Indische Studien, III, 343. I may as well mention that in
the notes taken from Benfey's Panchatantra I substitute Johnson's
translation of the Hitopadesa for Max Mueller's. The story is found
in Rhys Davids' translation of the Játakas, (pp. 317-321,) which has
just been published.

[28] Here he is called a jhasha which means "large fish."

[29] Cp. Hitopadesa, Johnson's translation, Fable, IX, p. 61, Arabic,
(Wolff., 46, Knatchbull, 117,) Symeon Seth, 18, John of Capua c., 5,
b., German translation (Ulm edition) 1483, E., II, a, Spanish, XIII,
6, Firenzuola, 43, Doni, 62, Anvár-i-Suhaili, 124, Livre des Lumières,
99, Cabinet des Fées, XVII, 236, Baldo 4th Fable, Livre des Merveilles
(in Edéléstand du Méril, Poésies Inédites, 234), also Sukasaptati,
31. Benfey considers it to be Buddhistic in origin, referring
to Memoires sur les contrées occidentales traduits du Sanscrit
par Hiouen Thsang et du Chinois par Stan. Julien I, 361, Köppen,
Religion des Buddha, p. 94, Note I, (Benfey's Panchatantra, Vol. I,
p. 179 and ff.) This is the 30th story in my copy of the Sukasaptati.

[30] Dr. Kern conjectures abhigarjinam but the Sanskrit College
MS. reads matvá tatrátigarjitam iti sinham, thinking that he was
outroared there, however, the word sinham must be changed if this
reading is to be adopted.

[31] I prefer the reading kas of the Sanskrit College MS., and would
render, "Whom can the king make his equal? Fortune does not proceed
in that way."

[32] I read dosham for dosho with the Sanskrit College MS.

[33] Cp. the ninth in Benfey's translation, Vol. II, p. 71. Cp. also
Kalilah and Dimnah, (Wolff. I, 59, Knatchbull, 126), Symeon Seth,
p. 22, John of Capua d, 1, b, German translation (Ulm, 1483) E., V.,
a, Spanish translation, XVI a, Firenzuola, 49, Doni, 75, (Benfey,
Vol. I, p. 223).

[34] Cp. Johnson's translation of the Hitopadesa, Fable XI,
p. 110. Benfey compares Kalilah and Dimnah (Wolff. 1, 78, Knatchbull
138), John of Capua, d., 3, Symeon Seth, p. 25, German translation
(Ulm 1483) F. 1, 6, Spanish translation, XVII, 6 and ff, Firenzuola,
57, Doni 54, Anvár-i-Suhaili, 153, Livre des Lumières, 118, Cabinet
des Fées, XVII, 294, (Benfey's Panchatantra, Vol. I, p. 230.) Cp. also
Sagas from the Far East, Tale XIX. In sl. 145, I read vairaktyam;
see Böhtlingk and Roth s. v. vairatya.

[35] I adopted this translation of desajna, in deference to the opinion
of a good native scholar, but might not the word mean simply "knowing
countries?" The crow then would be a kind of feathered Ulysses,
cp. Waldau's Böhmische Märchen, p. 255. The fable may remind some
readers of the following lines in Spenser's Mother Hubberd's Tale.


            He shortly met the Tygre and the Bore
            That with the simple Camell raged sore
            In bitter words, seeking to take occasion
            Upon his fleshly corpse to make invasion.


[36] Benfey (Panchatantra, Vol. I, p. 231) quotes the following
passage from John of Capua's version, "Dicitur autem, melior omnium
regum est qui aquilæ similatur in cujus circuitu sunt cadavera,
pejor vero omnium est qui similatur cadaveri in cujus circuitu sunt
aquilæ." It is wanting in De Sacy's edition of the Arabic version,
and in the old Greek translation. This looks as if the Hebrew version,
from which John of Capua translates, was the best representation of
the original Indian work.

[37] This corresponds to the 2nd Fable in the IVth book of the
Hitopadesa, Johnson's translation, page 99. Benfey considers that the
fable of Æsop, which we find in Babrius, 115, is the oldest form of
it. He supposes that it owes its present colouring to the Buddhists. It
appears in the Arabic version (Wolff. I, 91, Knatchbull, 146), Symeon
Seth, p. 28, John of Capua d., 5, b., German translation (Ulm., 1483)
F., VIII, 6, Spanish translation, XIX a, Firenzuola, 65, Doni 93,
Anvár-i-Suhaili, 159, Livre des Lumières, 124, Cabinet des Fées, XVII,
309. (Benfey's Panchatantra, Vol. I, pp. 239, 240). See also Weber,
Indische Studien, III, 339. This story is found in the Avadánas
translated from the Chinese by Stanislas Julien No. XIV, Vol. I,
pp. 71-73, (Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 111.) It is the 3rd in La
Fontaine's tenth book. The original source is probably the Kachchhapa
Játaka; see Rhys Davids' Introduction to his Buddhist Birth stories,
p. viii. In Coelho's Contos Portuguezes, p. 15, the heron, which is
carrying the fox, persuades it to let go, in order that she may spit
on her hand. (A similar incident on page 112 of this volume.) Gosson
in his School of Abuse, Arber's Reprints, p. 43, observes, "Geese
are foolish birds, yet, when they fly over mount Taurus, they shew
great wisdom in their own defence for they stop their pipes full of
gravel to avoid gagling, and so by silence escape the eagles."

[38] i. e., the provider for the future, the fish that possessed
presence of mind, and the fatalist, who believed in kismat. This
story is found in the Hitopadesa, Book IV, Fable 11, Johnson's
translation. Benfey has discovered it in the Mahábhárata, XII, (III,
538) v. 4889, and ff. He compares Wolff., I, 54, Knatchbull, 121,
Symeon Seth, p. 20, John of Capua, c., 6, b., German translation
(Ulm., 1483), E. III, a., Spanish, XV, b, Firenzuola, 47, Doni, 73,
Anvár-i-Suhaili, 130, Livre des Lumières, 105, Cabinet des Fées,
XVII, 250. (Benfey, Vol. I, pp. 241 and 242)

[39] For the story of the pair of tittibha birds, cp. Hitopadesa,
Book II, fable X, Johnson's translation, p. 65. Benfey compares
Wolff, I, 84, Knatchbull 145, Symeon Seth, 28, John of Capua d.,
5, a., German translation (Ulm 1483) F., VII, a., Spanish, XIX, a.,
Firenzuola, 63, Doni, 92, Anvár-i-Suhaili, 158, Livre des Lumières,
123, Cabinet des Fées, XVII, 307, (Benfey's Panchatantra, Vol. I,
p. 235) Benfey adduces evidence in favour of its Buddhistic origin.

[40] The following story is the 17th in the 1st Book of the
Panchatantra, Benfey's translation. He compares the Arabic version
(Wolff, I, 91, Knatchbull, 150,) Symeon Seth, 31, John of Capua e.,
1., German translation (Ulm 1483) G., IV., Spanish translation,
XX, a., Firenzuola, 70, Doni, 98, Anvár-i-Suhaili, 170; Cabinet des
Fées, XVII, 329. Symeon Seth has for the firefly lithon stilbonta:
the Turkish version in the Cabinet des Fées "Un morceau de crystal
qui brillait." (Benfey's Panchatantra, Vol. I, pp. 269, 270).

[41] Benfey compares the Arabic version, (Wolff, I, 93, Knatchbull,
151,) Symeon Seth, 31, John of Capua, o., 2., German translation
(Ulm 1483) G., VI, b., Spanish, XXI, a., Firenzuola, 73, Doni, 104,
Anvár-i-Suhaili, 172, Livre des Lumières, 129, Cabinet des Fées,
XVII, 333, Baldo, Fab. XIX, in Edéléstand du Méril. Benfey points out
that that Somadeva agrees wholly or partly with the Arabic version in
two points. The judges set the tree on fire (or apply smoke to it,)
not Dharmabuddhi, (as in Panchatantra, Benfey, Vol. II, pp. 114 &
ff.) Secondly, in the Panchatantra the father dies and the son is
hanged, in De Sacy's Arabic and the old Greek version both remain
alive, in Somadeva, and John of Capua, and the Anvár-i-Suhaili, the
father dies and the son is punished. Here we have a fresh proof that
the Hebrew version, from which John of Capua translated, is the truest
representative of the oldest Arabic recension. (Benfey's Panchatantra,
Vol. I, p. 275 and ff.) This story has been found in Tibet by the
Head Master of the Bhútia School, Darjiling, Babu Sarat Chandra Dás.

[42] I read with the Sanskrit College MS. asadvyayi.

[43] i. e., "Virtuously-minded." His brother's name
means--"Evil-minded."

[44] Cp. Hitopadesa, Johnson's translation, Fable, VIII, p. 60. Benfey
appears not to be aware that this story is in Somadeva. It corresponds
to the sixth in his 1st Book, Vol. II, p. 67. He thinks that Somadeva
must have rejected it though it was in his copy. Benfey says it
is of Buddhistic origin. It is found in the Arabic version (Wolff,
p. 40, Knatchbull, p. 113), Symeon Seth, (Athenian edition, p. 16),
John of Capua, e., 4, a., German translation, Ulm, 1483 D., IV. b.,
Spanish, XIII, 6, Firenzuola, 38, Doni, 57, Anvár-i-Suhaili, p. 116,
Livre des Lumières, 91, Cabinet des Fées, XVII, 220. It is connected
with the 20th of the 1st book in Benfey's translation, in fact it is
another form of it. (Somadeva's fable seems to be a blending of the
two Panchatantra stories). Cp. also Phædrus, I, 28, Aristophanes,
Aves, 652. (Benfey's Panchatantra, Vol. I. pp. 167-170.)

[45] This corresponds to the 21st of the first book in Benfey's
translation, Vol. II, p. 120. Cp. Arabic version (Wolff, I, 98,
Knatchbull, 156.), Symeon Seth, 33, John of Capua, e., 4, German
translation (Ulm, 1483) H., II, b., Firenzuola, 82, Doni, 113,
Anvár-i-Suhaili, 187, Livre des Lumières, 135, Cabinet des Fées, XVII,
353, Robert, Fables inédites, II, 193-196. (Benfey, I, 283). It is the
1st of the IXth Book of La Fontaine's Fables, Le depositaire infidèle.


This is the 218th Játaka. A gámavásí deposits ploughshares with a
nagaravásí who sells them and buys músikavaccam. "Phálá te músike hi
kháditá ti músikavaccam dassesi." The rest much as in our tale. A
kulalo is said to have carried off the son. (Fausböll, Vol. II,
p 181.) If Plutarch is to be believed, the improbability of the
merchant's son's story is not so very striking, for he tells us,
in his life of Marcellus, that rats and mice gnawed the gold in the
temple of Jupiter Capitolinus.

[46] The argument reminds one of that in "Die kluge Bauerntochter,"
(Grimm's Märchen, 94). The king adjudges a foal to the proprietor of
some oxen, because it was found with his beasts. The real owner fishes
in the road with a net. The king demands an explanation. He says,
"It is just as easy for me to catch fish on dry land, as for two
oxen to produce a foal." See also Das Märchen vom sprechenden Bauche,
Kaden's Unter den Olivenbäumen, pp. 83, 84.

[47] This is No. 84 in Stanislas Julien's translation of the Avadánas.

[48] This is No. 67 in Stanislas Julien's translation of the
Avadánas. This story is found in Coelho's Contos Portuguezes,
p. 112. So Ino persuaded the women of the country to roast the
wheat before it was sown, Preller Griechische Mythologie, Vol. II,
p. 312. To this Ovid refers, Fasti, II, 628, and III, 853-54.

[49] This is No. 70 in Stanislas Julien's translation of the Avadánas.

[50] Cp. The Two Noble Kinsmen, Act IV, Scene 2, 1. 110,


            His nose stands high, a character of honour.


[51] This is No. 57 in Stanislas Julien's translation of the Avadánas.

[52] This is No. 71 in the Avadánas.

[53] The MS. in the Sanskrit College reads
rájakuládishtakharjúránayanam. This is No. 45 in the Avadánas
translated by Stanislas Julien.

[54] The reading of the Sanskrit College MS. is ádritánoparenate, but
probably the reading is ádritá no, panena te they were not honoured
but on the contrary punished with a fine.

[55] I think tad should be tam. The story is No. 58 in the Avadánas.

[56] The Sanskrit College MS. reads gahvaragrámavásí, but below sa
gahvarah. This story is No. 38 in the Avadánas.

[57] This story is No. 98 in the Avadánas.

[58] Benfey shews that this introduction is probably of Buddhistic
origin. He quotes from Upham's Sacred and Historical books of Ceylon
a story about some snipe, which escape in the same way, but owing to
disunion are afterwards caught again. Cp. also Mahábhárata, V (II,
180) v. 2455 and ff., also Baldo Fab. X, in Edéléstand du Méril,
Poésies Inédites, pp. 229, 230, La Fontaine, XII, 15. (Benfey,
Vol. I, p. 304, and ff.) See the first book of the Hitopadesa,
(page 3, Johnson's translation) and the 2nd book of the Panchatantra
(page 176, Benfey's translation). It is to be found in Rhys Davids'
translation of the Játakas, which has just reached India, pp. 296-298.

[59] Cp. Wolff, I, 159, Knatchbull, 201, Symeon Seth, 47, John of
Capua, g., 3, b., German translation (Ulm, 1483) M., IV, b., Spanish
translation, XXXI, b., Doni, 18, Anvár-i-Suhaili, 273, Livre des
Lumières, 211, Cabinet des Fées, XVII, 410, Hitopadesa (Johnson)
Fable V, p. 22. (Benfey, Vol. I, p. 316.)

[60] For jata we must read játa. Cp. for the power given by a treasure
the 18th chapter of this work, see also Benfey, Vol. I, p. 320.

[61] The Sanskrit College MS. has ullambya, having hung it upon a peg.

[62] Cp. Wolff, I, 160, Knatchbull, 202, Symeon Seth, 48, John of
Capua, g., 6, German translation (Ulm) M., IV, b., Anvár-i-Suhaili,
275, Livre des Lumières, 214, Cabinet des Fées, XVII, 412. (Benfey,
Vol. I, p. 318.)

[63] Cp. Hitopadesa, Fable VII, p. 30. Benfey compares Wolff, I,
162, Knatchbull, 203, Symeon Seth, 48, John of Capua, g., 6, German
translation (Ulm, 1483) M., V, Spanish translation, XXXII, a, Doni,
p. 20, Anvár-i-Suhaili, 275, Livre des Lumières, 216, Cabinet des
Fées, XVII, 413, Camerarius, Fab. Æsop., 388, Lafontaine, VIII, 27,
Lancereau, French translation of the Hitopadesa, 222, Robert, Fables
Inédites, II, 191. (Benfey, Vol. I, p. 320). Cp. also Sagas from the
Far East, p. 189.

[64] Perhaps we should read--sáyake.

[65] Here Somadeva departs from the Panchatantra, (Benfey, Vol. I,
p. 318.)

[66] As he does the lion in Babrius, 107.

[67] Benfey compares Grimm R. F. CCLXXXIV, Renart, br. 25, Grimm
Kinder- und Hausmärchen, 58, (III, 100) Keller, Romans des sept Sages,
CLII, Dyocletian, Einleitung, 48, Conde Lucanor, XLIII. (Benfey,
Vol. I, p. 333). See also Lafontaine's Fables, XII, 15. This is
perhaps the story which General Cunningham found represented on a
bas-relief of the Bharhut Stúpa. (See General Cunningham's Stúpa of
Bharhut, p. 67.) The origin of the story is no doubt the Birth-story
of "The Cunning Deer," Rhys Davids' translation of the Játakas,
pp. 221-223. The Kurunga Miga Játaka, No. 206 in Fausböll Vol. II,
p. 152 is a still better parallel. In this the tortoise gnaws through
the bonds, the crane (satapatto) smites the hunter on the mouth as
he is leaving his house; he twice returns to it on account of the
evil omen; and when the tortoise is put in a bag, the deer leads
the hunter far into the forest, returns with the speed of the wind,
upsets the bag, and tears it open.

[68] Benfey compares with this the fifth story in the 4th book of
his Panchatantra, Wie eine Frau liebe belohnt. But the very story is
found in Taranga 65, which was not published when Benfey wrote his
book. For parallel stories see Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 39 and
ff. where he is treating of a tale in the Nugæ Curialium of Gualterus
Mapes. The woman behaves like Erippe in a story related by Parthenius
(VIII). In the heading of the tale we are told that Aristodemus of
Nysa tells the same tale with different names.

[69] The Sanskrit College MS. reads pallím for patním.

[70] Nága in the original--a fabulous serpent demon with a human
face. Cp. Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, p. 65. "He flies as a fiery
snake into his mistress's bower, stamps with his foot on the ground
and becomes a youthful gallant."

[71] Cp. Arrian's Indika, chapter xvii, McCrindle's translation.

[72] This story corresponds to No. XLIII, in the Avadánas.

[73] This to a certain extent resembles the 129th story in the Gesta
Romanorum, "Of Real Friendship." Douce says that the story is in
Alphonsus. A story more closely resembling the story in the Gesta is
current in Bengal, with this difference, that a goat does duty for
the pig of the Gesta. A son tells his father he has three friends,
the father says that he has only half a friend. Of course the half
friend turns out worth all the three put together. The Bengali story
was told me by Pandit Syámá Charan Mukhopádhyáya. See also Liebrecht's
Dunlop, p. 291, and note 371. See also Herrtage's English Gesta,
p. 127, Tale 33.

[74] A perpetually recurring pun! The word can either mean "oiliness"
or "affection."

[75] Cp. what Sganarelle says in Le Mariage Forcé:

"La raison. C'est que je ne me sens point propre pour le mariage,
et que je veux imiter mon père et tous ceux de ma race, qui ne se
sont jamais voulu marier."

[76] This story bears a certain resemblance to the European stories of
grammarians who undertake to educate asses or monkeys. (See Lévêque,
Les Mythes et Légendes de l'Inde et de la Perse, p. 320.) La Fontaine's
Charlatan is perhaps the best known. This story is found in Prym und
Socin's Syrische Märchen, p. 292, where a man undertakes to teach a
camel to read.

[77] This story is No. LI in the Avadánas.

[78] See Felix Liebrecht, Orient und Occident, Vol. I, p. 135 on
the Avadánas translated from the Chinese by Stanislas Julien, Paris,
1859 where this story is found (No. LXIX.) He compares a story of an
Irishman who was hired by a Yarmouth Malster to assist in loading his
ship. As the vessel was about to set sail, the Irishman cried out from
the quay. "Captain, I lost your shovel overboard, but I cut a big notch
on the rail-fence, round stern, just where it went down, so you will
find it when you come back." Vol. II, p. 544, note. Liebrecht thinks
he has read something similar in the Asteia of Hierokles. See also
Bartsch, Sagen, Märchen und Gebräuche aus Meklenburg, Vol. I, p. 349.

[79] See Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, pp. 119 and 120, also Benfey's
Panchatantra. Vol. I, p. 391, Nachträge II, 543. This is No. CIII. in
the Avadánas.

[80] This is No. XLIX in the Avadánas.

[81] This is No. XXXVII in the Avadánas.

[82] In the original the husband is called a "vessel of alms," i. e.,
"receiver of alms," but the pun cannot be retained in the translation
without producing obscurity.

[83] See Benfey's Panchatantra, IIIrd book, page 213, Vol. II. Benfey
points out that in the Mahábhárata, Drona's son, one of the few
Kauravas that had survived the battle, was lying under a sacred
fig-tree, on which crows were sleeping. Then he sees one owl come and
kill many of the crows. This suggests to him the idea of attacking
the camp of the Pándavas. In the Arabic text the hostile birds are
ravens and owls. So in the Greek and the Hebrew translation. John
of Capua has "sturni," misunderstanding the Hebrew. (Benfey, Vol. I,
335). Rhys Davids states in his Buddhist Birth Stories (p. 292 note,)
that the story of the lasting feud between the crows and the owls is
told at length in Játaka, No. 270.

[84] For Pradívin the Petersburg lexicographers would read Prajívin,
as in the Panchatantra.

[85] Benfey remarks that this fable was known to Plato; Cratylus, 411,
A, (but the passage might refer to some story of Bacchus personating
Hercules, as in the Ranæ,) and he concludes that the fable came from
Greece to India. He compares Æsop, (Furia, 141, Coraes, 113,) Lucianus,
Piscator, 32, Erasmus, "Asinus apud Cumanos," Robert, Fables Inédites,
I, 360. (Benfey, Vol. I, p. 463.) I cannot find the fable in Phædrus
or Babrius. The skin is that of a tiger in Benfey's translation, and
also in Johnson's translation of the Hitopadesa, p. 74 in the original
(Johnson's edition). See also Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 119. It
is No. 189 in Fausböll's edition of the Játakas, and will be found
translated in Rhys Davids' Introduction to his Buddhist Birth Stories,
p. v.

[86] Benfey compares Grimm's Märchen, Vol. III, 246, where parallels
to story No. 171 are given; Thousand and one Nights (Weil, III,
923). In a fable of Æsop's the birds choose a peacock king. (Æsop,
Furia, 183, Coraes, 53). (Benfey, Vol. I, p. 347.) See also Liebrecht,
Zur Volkskunde, p. 110, Veckenstedt's Wendische Märchen, p. 424, De
Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology, Vol. II, p. 206. See also p. 246 for
an apologue in which the owl prevents the crow's being made king. See
also Rhys Davids' Buddhist Birth Stories, p. 292. See also Brand's
Popular Antiquities, Vol. III, pp. 196, 197. The story of the crow
dissuading the birds from making the owl king is Játaka, No. 270. In
the Kosiya Játaka, No. 226, an army of crows attacks an owl.

[87] Cp. Hitopadesa, 75, Wolff, I, 192; Knatchbull, 223, Symeon Seth,
58, John of Capua, h., 5, b., German translation (Ulm 1483) O., II,
Spanish translation, XXXVI, a.; Doni, 36, Anvár-i-Suhaili, 315, Livre
des Lumières, 246; Cabinet des Fées, XVII, 437. This fable is evidently
of Indian origin. For the deceiving of the elephant with the reflexion
of the moon, Benfey compares Disciplina Clericalis XXIV. (Benfey,
Vol. I, pp. 348, 349.) See also De Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology,
Vol. II, p. 76.

[88] i. e. moon-lake.

[89] Common epithets of the moon. The Hindus find a hare in the moon
where we find a "man, his dog, and his bush."

[90] This story is found in Wolff, I, 197, Knatchbull, 226, Symeon
Seth, 60, John of Capua, h., 6, b, German translation (Ulm 1483) O.,
IV, 6, Spanish translation, 36, b, Doni, 38, Anvár-i-Suhaili, 322,
Livre des Lumières, 251, Cabinet des Fées, XVII, 442, Baldo Fab. XX,
in Edéléstand du Méril, Poesies Inédites, p. 249. Benfey finds three
"moments" in the Fable; the first is, the "hypocritical cat"; this
conception he considers to be "allgemein menschlich" and compares
Furia, 14, Coraes, 152, Furia, 15, Coraes, 6, Furia, 67, Coraes,
28, Robert, Fables Inédites, I, 216; also Mahábhárata V. (II, 283)
5421 and ff., where the cat manages to get herself taken to the
river, to die, by the rats and mice, and there eats them. The second
moment is the folly of litigiousness: here he compares a passage
in Dubois's Panchatantra. The third is the object of contention,
the nest, for which he compares Phædrus, I, 21. (Benfey, Vol. I,
pp. 350-354). I should compare, for the 1st moment, Phædrus, Lib. II,
Fabula, IV, (recognovit Lucianus Mueller) Aquila, Feles et Aper,
La Fontaine, VII, 16. See also for the "hypocritical cat" Liebrecht,
Zur Volkskunde, p. 121. The cat's tactics are much the same as those
of the fox in Reineke Fuchs (Simrock, Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. I,
p. 138.) See also De Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology, Vol. II,
p. 54. The story is No. CXXV in the Avadánas. From De Gubernatis,
Zoological Mythology, pp. 227-228 it appears that kapinjala means
a heath-cock, or a cuckoo. Here the word appears to be used as a
proper name. There is a very hypocritical cat in Prym und Socin,
Syrische Märchen, p. lx. See especially p. 242, and cp. p. 319.

[91] This is the 3rd story in Benfey's translation of the third book
of the Panchatantra. See Johnson's translation of the Hitopadesa,
p. 110. Wolff, I. 205, Knatchbull, 233. Symeon Seth, 62, John of Capua,
i., 1, b., German translation O., VI, 6, Spanish, XXXVII, a., Doni,
42, Anvár-i-Suhaili, 331, Livre des Lumières, 254, Cabinet des Fées,
XVII, 444. Benfey translates a reference to it in Pánini. He shews
that there is an imitation of this story in the Gesta Romanorum,
132. In Forlini, Novel VIII, a peasant is persuaded that his kids are
capons. Cp. also Straparola, I, 3; Loiseleur Deslongchamps, Essai,
47, 2. Liebrecht's translation of Dunlop, note 356, Lancereau on
the Hitopadesa, 252. (Benfey, Vol. I, pp. 355-357.) See also Till
Eulenspiegel, c. 66, in Simrock's Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. X,
p. 452. In the XXth tale of the English Gesta Romanorum (Ed. Herrtage)
three "lechis" persuade Averoys that he is a "lepre;" and he becomes
one from "drede," but is cured by a bath of goat's blood. The 69th
tale in Coelho's Contos Populares, Os Dois Mentíroses, bears a strong
resemblance to this. One brother confirms the other's lies.

[92] Benfey compares this with the story of Zopyrus. He thinks that the
Indians learned the story from the Greeks. See also Avadánas. No. V,
Vol. I, p. 31.

[93] Benfey compares Wolff, I, 210, Knatchbull, 237, Symeon Seth,
p. 64, John of Capua i., 2, German translation (Ulm., 1483) No. VIII,
6, Spanish translation, XXXVIII, a., Doni, 44, Anvár-i-Suhaili,
336, Livre des Lumières, 259, Cabinet des Fées, XVII, 449. (Benfey's
Panchatantra, Vol. I, p. 366.) See also La Fontaine, IX, p. 15.

[94] Dr. Kern suggests vyatíta-pushpa-kálatvád. The Sanskrit College
MS. has the reading of Dr. Brockhaus's text.

[95] Cp. Wolff, I, 212, Knatchbull, 238, Symeon Seth, p. 64, John of
Capua i., 2, b., German translation (Ulm, 1483) P., I, b., Spanish
translation, XXXVIII, a., Doni, 45, Anvár-i-Suhaili, 338, Livre des
Lumières, 261, Cabinet des Fées, XVII, 451. (Benfey, Vol. I, p. 368.)

[96] See Chapter VII of this work.

[97] Benfey compares the Arabic version, Wolff, I, 214, Knatchbull,
240, Symeon Seth, 65, John of Capua i., 3, b., German translation
(Ulm, 1483), P., II. b., Spanish translation, XXXVIII, b., Doni, 47,
Anvár-i-Suhaili, 340, Livre des Lumières, 264; Cabinet des Fées, XVII,
453, cp. also Hitopadesa, (Johnson's translation, p. 78). (Benfey,
Vol. I, p. 371.)

[98] This story is found in the Arabic version, Wolff, I, 219,
Knatchbull, 243, Symeon Seth, 68, John of Capua, i., 4, b., German
translation (Ulm, 1483) P. IV, b., Spanish translation, XXXIX, a.,
Doni, 50, Anvár-i-Suhaili, 355, Livre des Lumières, 279, Cabinet des
Fées, XVII, 466, La Fontaine, IX, 7, Polier, Mythologie des Indes,
II, 571, Hitopadesa, (similar in some respects) Johnson, p. 108,
Mahábhárata, XII, (III, 515) v. 4254 and ff. Benfey compares also
the story of the cat which was changed into a virgin, Babrius,
32. It is said to be found in Strattis (400 B. C.) (Benfey, Vol. I,
pp. 373 and ff.) See also De Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology, Vol. II,
p. 65. This bears a strong resemblance to A Formiga e a Neve, No. II,
in Coelho's Contos Portuguezes.

[99] This reminds one of Babrius, Fabula LXXII.

[100] I follow the Sanskrit College MS. which reads bhajámi not
bhanjámi.

[101] See Liebrecht's notes on the Avadánas, translated by Stanislas
Julien, on page 110 of his "Zur Volkskunde." He adduces an English
popular superstition. "The country people to their sorrow know the
Cornish chough, called Pyrrhocorax, to be not only a thief, but an
incendiary, and privately to set houses on fire as well as rob them
of what they find profitable. It is very apt to catch up lighted
sticks, so there are instances of houses being set on fire by its
means." So a parrot sets a house on fire in a story by Arnauld of
Carcassès (Liebrecht's translation of Dunlop's History of Fiction,
p. 203.) Benfey thinks that this idea originally came from Greece
(Panchatantra, Vol. I, p. 383.) Cp. also Pliny's account of the
"incendiaria avis in Kuhn's Herabkunft des Feuers, p. 31.

[102] This story is found in Wolff, I, 226, Knatchbull, 250, Symeon
Seth, 70, John of Capua, i., 6, German translation (Ulm, 1483) Q. I,
Spanish translation, XL, b., Anvár-i-Suhaili, 364, Livre des Lumières,
283, Cabinet des Fées, XIII, 467, Hitopadesa, Johnson's translation,
p. 112. Benfey compares the western fable of the sick lion. This
fable is told in the Kathá Sarit Ságara, X, 63, sl. 126, and ff.,
and will be found further on. (Benfey, Vol. I, p. 384.)

[103] This is No. XVII in the Avadánas. Cp. Grohmann, Sagen aus Böhmen,
p. 35.

[104] i. e. sweet, salt, acid, astringent, bitter, and pungent.

[105] This is No. XLVI in the Avadánas.

[106] Naukaha should be no doubt 'anokaha on Dr. Brockhaus's system.

[107] This is No. CIV in the Avadánas.

[108] This is No. LXVI in the Avadánas.

[109] Cp. the 37th story in Sicilianische Märchen, part
I. p. 249. Giufá's mother wished to go to the mass and she said to him
"Giufá, if you go out, draw the door to after you." (Ziehe die Thür
hinter dir zu.) Instead of shutting the door, Giufá took it off its
hinges and carried it to his mother in the church. See Dr. Köhler's
notes on the story.

[110] For the superstition of water-spirits see Tylor's Primitive
Culture, p. 191, and ff.

[111] Does this throw any light upon the expression in Swift's Polite
Conversation, "She is as like her husband as if she were spit out of
his mouth." (Liebrecht, Volkskunde, p. 495.)

[112] The fact of this incident being found in the Arabian Nights is
mentioned by Wilson (Collected Works, Vol. IV, p. 146.) See Lane's
Arabian Nights, Vol. I, p. 9. Lévêque (Les Mythes et les Légendes de
l' Inde et de la Perse, p. 543) shews that Ariosto borrowed from the
Arabian Nights.

[113] I follow the Sanskrit College MS. which reads
rakshatyubhayalokatah.

[114] This is the beginning of the fourth book of the
Panchatantra. Benfey does not seem to have been aware that it was to be
found in Somadeva's work. It is also found, with the substitution of a
boar for the porpoise, in the Sindibad-namah and thence found its way
into the Seven Wise Masters, and other European collections. (Benfey's
Panchatantra, Vol. I, p. 420.) See also Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde,
pp. 122, 123. For the version of the Seven Wise Masters see Simrock's
Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. XII, p. 139. It is also found in the
Mahávastu Avadána, p. 138 of the Buddhist Literature of Nepal by
Dr. Rajendra Lál Mitra, Rai Bahadúr. (I have been favoured with a
sight of this work, while it is passing through the press.) The wife
of the kumbhíla in the Varanindajátaka (57 in Fausböll's edition) has a
longing for a monkey's heart. The original is, no doubt, the Sumsumára
Játaka in Fausböll, Vol. II, p. 158. See also Mélusine, p. 179,
where the story is quoted from Thorburn's Bannu or our Afghan Frontier.

[115] The Sanskrit College MS. reads cákshipan where Brockhaus reads
ca kshipan.

[116] In Bernhard Schmidt's Griechische Märchen, No. 5, the Lamnissa
pretends that she is ill and can only be cured by eating a gold fish
into which a bone of her rival had been turned. Perhaps we ought to
read sádyá for sádhyá in sl. 108.

[117] For stories of external hearts see Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales,
pp. 109-115, and the notes to Miss Stokes's XIth Tale.

[118] Benfey does not seem to have been aware of the existence of this
story in Somadeva's work. It is found in the Sanskrit texts of the
Panchatantra (being the 2nd of the fourth book in Benfey's translation)
in the Arabic version, (Knatchbull, 264, Wolff I, 242,) Symeon Seth,
75, John of Capua, k., 2, b., German translation (Ulm 1483) Q.,
VII, Spanish translation, XLIV, a, Doni, 61, Anvár-i-Suhaili, 393,
Cabinet des Fées, XVIII, 26; Baldo fab. XIII, in Edéléstand du Méril,
p. 333; Benfey considers it to be founded on Babrius, 95. There
the fox only eats the heart. Indeed there is no point in the remark
that if he had ears he would not have come again. The animal is a
stag in Babrius. It is deceived by an appeal to its ambition. In the
Gesta Romanorum the animal is a boar, which returns to the garden of
Trajan, after losing successively its two ears and tail. (Benfey's
Panchatantra, Vol. I, p. 430 and ff.) See also Weber's article in
Indische Studien, Vol. III, p. 338. He considers that the fable came
to India from Greece. Cp. also De Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology,
Vol. I, p. 377.  An ass is deceived in the same way in Prym und Socin,
Syrische Märchen, p. 279. In Waldau's Böhmische Märchen, p. 92, one of
the boys proposes to say that the Glücksvogel had no heart. Rutherford
in the Introduction to his edition of Babrius, p. xxvii, considers
that the fable is alluded to by Solon in the following words:


        hymeôs d' heis men hekastos alôpekos ichnesi bainei
        sympasin d' hymin chouros enesti noos·
        es gar glôssan horate kai eis epos aiolon andros,
        eis ergon d' ouden gignomenon blepete.


But all turns upon the interpretation of the first line, which
Schneidewin renders "Singuli sapitis, cuncti desipitis."

[119] I have followed the Sanskrit College MS. in reading
nirbádhasukham.

[120] For parallels to this story compare Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde,
p. 33, where he treats of the Avadánas, and the Japanese story in
the Nachträge. In this a gentleman who had much enjoyed the smell
of fried eels, pays for them by exhibiting his money to the owner of
the cook-shop. See also p 112 of the same work. M. Lévêque shews that
Rabelais' story of Le Facquin et le Rostisseur exactly resembles this
as told in the Avadánas. He thinks that La Fontaine in his fable of
L'Huître et les Plaideurs is indebted to the story as told in Rabelais:
(Les Mythes et les Légendes de l'Inde, pp. 547, 548.) A similar idea is
found in the Hermotimus of Lucian, chapters 80 and 81. A philosopher
is indignant with his pupil on account of his fees being eleven days
in arrear. The uncle of the young man, who is standing by, being a
rude and uncultured person, says to the philosopher--"My good man,
pray let us hear no more complaints about the great injustice with
which you conceive yourself to have been treated, for all it amounts
to is, that we have bought words from you, and have up to the present
time paid you in the same coin." See also Rohde, Der Griechische
Roman, p. 370 (note). Gosson in his School of Abuse, Arber's Reprint,
pp. 68-69, tells the story of Dionysius.

[121] There is a certain resemblance between this story and a joke in
Philogelos, p. 16. (Ed. Eberhard, Berlin, 1869.) Scholasticus tells
his boots not to creak, or he will break their legs.

[122] This corresponds to the 14th story in the 5th book of the
Panchatantra, Benfey, Vol. II, p. 360. At any rate the leading idea
is the same. See Benfey, Vol. I, p. 537. It has a certain resemblance
to the fable of Menenius. There is a snake in Bengal with a knob at
the end of his tail. Probably this gave rise to the legend of the
double-headed serpent. Sir Thomas Browne devotes to the Amphisbæna
Chapter XV of the third book of his Vulgar Errors, and craves leave to
"doubt of this double-headed serpent," until he has "the advantage
to behold, or iterated ocular testimony." See also Liebrecht, Zur
Volkskunde, p. 120, where he treats of the Avadánas. The story is
identical with that in our text. M. Lévêque shews that this story,
as found in the Avadánas, forms the basis of one of La Fontaine's
fables, VII, 17. La Fontaine took it from Plutarch's life of Agis.

[123] This story is No. LIX in Sir G. Cornewall Lewis's edition of
the Fables of Babrius, Part II. The only difference is that the tail,
when in difficulties, entreats the head to deliver it.

[124] I read hanum, the conjecture of Dr. Kern.

[125] This story appears to have been known to Lucian. In his Demonax
(28) he compares two unskilful disputants to a couple, one of whom is
milking a goat, the other holding a sieve. So Aristophanes speaks of
onou pokai and ornithôn gala. It must be admitted that some critics
doubt Lucian's authorship of the Demonax.  Professor Aufrecht in
his Beiträge zur Kenntniss Indischer Dichter quotes a Strophe of
Amarasinha in which the following line occurs,

Dugdhá seyam achetanena jaratí dugdhásayát súkarí. Professor Aufrecht
proposes to read gardabhí for súkarí.

[126] Benfey does not appear to have been aware that this story was to
be found in Somadeva's work. It is found in his Panchatantra, Vol. II,
p. 326. He refers to Wolff, II, 1; Knatchbull, 268; Symeon Seth, 76;
John of Capua, k., 4; German translation, (Ulm, 1483) R., 2; Spanish
translation, XLV. a; Doni, 66; Anvár-i-Suhaili, 404; Cabinet des Fées,
XVIII, 22; Baldo fab. XVI, (in Edéléstand du Méril p. 240). Hitopadesa,
IV, 13, (Johnson's translation, page 116.) In Sandabar and Syntipas
the animal is a dog. It appears that the word dog was also used in
the Hebrew translation. John of Capua has canis for ichneumon in
another passage, so perhaps he has it here. Benfey traces the story
in Calumnia Novercalis C., 1; Historia Septem Sapientum, Bl. n.;
Romans des Sept Sages, 1139; Dyocletian, Einleitung, 1212; Grässe,
Gesta Romanorum II, 176; Keller, Romans, CLXXVIII; Le Grand d' Aussy,
1779, II, 303; Grimm's Märchen, 48. (Benfey, Vol. I, pp. 479-483.) To
Englishmen the story suggests Llewellyn's faithful hound Gelert, from
which the parish of Bethgelert in North Wales is named. This legend
has been versified by the Hon'ble William Robert Spencer. It is found
in the English Gesta, (see Bohn's Gesta Romanorum, introduction, page
xliii. It is No. XXVI, in Herrtage's Edition.) The story (as found
in the Seven Wise Masters) is admirably told in Simrock's Deutsche
Volksbücher, Vol. XII, p. 135. See also Baring Gould's Curious Myths
of the Middle Ages, 1st Series, p. 126.

[127] Here, as Wilson remarked, (Collected Works, Vol. IV, p. 149) we
have the story of Rhampsinitus, Herodotus, II, 121. Dr. Rost compares
Keller, Dyocletianus Leben, p. 55, Keller Li Romans des Sept Sages,
p. cxciii, Liebrecht's translation of Dunlop's History of Fiction,
pp. 197 and 264. Cp. also Sagas from the Far East, Tale XII; see also
Dr. R. Köhler in Orient und Occident, Vol. II, p. 303. He gives many
parallels to Campbell's Gaelic Story of "the Shifty lad," No. XVIII,
d., Vol. I, p. 331, but is apparently not aware of the striking
resemblance between the Gaelic story and that in the text. Whisky does
in the Highland story the work of Dhattúra. See also Cox's Mythology
of the Aryan Nations, I, p. 111 and ff. and Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde,
p. 34. A similar stratagem is described in Grössler's Sagen aus der
Grafschaft Mansfeld, p. 219.

[128] Of course Karpara is the Sanskrit for pot. In fact the
two friends' names might be represented in English by Pitcher and
Pott. In modern Hindu funerals boiled rice is given to the dead. So
I am informed by my friend Pandit Syámá Charan Mukhopádhyáya, to whom
I am indebted for many kind hints.

[129] I read áhritendhanah. The Sanskrit College MS. seems to me to
give hritendhana.

[130] So Frau Claradis in "Die Heimonskinder" advises her husband not
to trust her father (Simrock's Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. II, p. 131.)

[131] The Sanskrit College MS. has mama for the mayá of Dr. Brockhaus.

[132] Mr. Gough has kindly pointed out to me a passage in the
Sarvadarsana Sangraha which explains this. The following is Mr. Gough's
translation of the passage; "We must consider this teaching as regards
the four points of view. These are that

    (1) Everything is momentary and momentary only:
    (2) Everything is pain and pain only:
    (3) Everything is individual and individual only:
    (4) Everything is baseless and baseless only."

[133] This story is identical with the 5th in the 4th book of the
Panchatantra in Benfey's translation, which he considers Buddhistic,
and with which he compares the story of the Bhilla in chapter 61 of
this work. He compares the story of Dhúminí in the Dasakumára Charita,
page 150, Wilson's edition, which resembles this story more nearly even
than the form in the Panchatantra. Also a story in Ardschi Bordschi,
translated by himself in Ausland 1858, No. 36, pages 845, 846. (It will
be found on page 305 of Sagas from the Far East.) He quotes a saying
of Buddha from Spence Hardy's Eastern Monachism, page 166, cp. Köppen,
Religion des Buddha, p. 374. This story is also found in the Forty
Vazírs, a collection of Persian tales, (Behrnauer's translation,
Leipzig, 1851, page 325.) It is also found in the Gesta Romanorum,
c. 56. (But the resemblance is not very striking.) Cp. also Grimm's
Kinder- und Hausmärchen, No. 16. (Benfey's Panchatantra, Vol. I,
pp. 436 and ff.) This story is simply the Cullapadumajátaka, No. 193
in Fausböll's edition. See also Ralston's Tibetan Tales, Introduction,
pp. lxi-lxiii.

[134] In La Fontaine's Fables X, 14, a man gains a kingdom by carrying
an elephant.

[135] In the story of Satyamanjarí, a tale extracted by Professor
Nilmani Mookerjee from the Kathá Kosa, a collection of Jaina stories,
the heroine carries her leprous husband on her back.

[136] This story is found, with the substitution of a man for a woman,
on p. 128 of Benfey's Panchatantra, Vol. 11; he tells us that it is
also found in the 17th chapter of Silvestre de Sacy's Kalila o Dimna
(Wolff's Translation II, 99; Knatchbull, 346,) in the 11th section
of Symeon Seth's Greek version, 14th chapter of John of Capua; German
translation Ulm, 1483 Y., 5; Anvár-i-Suhaili, p. 596 Cabinet des Fées,
XVIII, 189. It is imitated by Baldo, 18th fable, (Poesics Inédites
du Moyen Age by Edéléstand du Méril, p. 244.) Benfey pronounces it
Buddhistic in origin, though apparently not acquainted with its form
in the Kathá Sarit Ságara. Cp. Rasaváhini, chap. 3. (Spiegel's Anecdota
Paliea). It is also found in the Karma Sataka. Cp. also Matthæus Paris,
Hist. Maj. London, 1571, pp. 240-242, where it is told of Richard
Coeur de Lion; Gesta Romanorum, c. 119; Gower, Confessio Amantis,
Book V; E. Meier Schwäbische Volksmärchen. (Benfey's Panchatantra,
Vol. I, p. 192 and ff.) Cp. also for the gratitude of the animals the
IVth story in Campbell's Tales of the West Highlands. The animals are
a dog, an otter and a falcon, p. 74 and ff. The Mongolian form of the
story is to be found in Sagas from the Far East, Tale XIII. See also
the XIIth and XXIInd of Miss Stokes's Indian Fairy Tales. There is a
striking illustration of the gratitude of animals in Grimm's No. 62,
and in Bartsch's Sagen, Märchen und Gebräuche aus Meklenburg, Vol. I,
p. 483. De Gubernatis in a note to p. 129 of Vol. II, of his Zoological
Mythology, mentions a story of grateful animals in Afanassief. The hero
finds some wolves fighting for a bone, some bees fighting for honey,
and some shrimps fighting for a carcase; he makes a just division,
and the grateful wolves, bees, and shrimps help him in need. See
also p. 157 of the same volume. No. 25 in the Pentamerone of Basile
belongs to the same cycle.

See Die dankbaren Thiere in Gaal's Märchen der Magyaren, p. 175, and
Der Rothe Hund, p. 339. In the Saccamkirajatátaka No. 73, Fausböll,
Vol. I, 323, a hermit saves a prince, a rat, a parrot and a snake. The
rat and snake are willing to give treasures, the parrot rice, but
the prince orders his benefactor's execution, and is then killed by
his own subjects. See Bernhard Schmidt's Griechische Märchen, p. 3,
note. See also Ralston's Tibetan Tales, Introduction, pp. lxiii-lxv.

[137] In Giles's Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio, a tiger, who
has killed the son of an old woman, feeds her henceforth, and appears
as a mourner at her funeral. The story in the text bears a faint
resemblance to that of Androclus, (Aulus Gellius. V, 14). See also
Liebrecht's Dunlop, p. 111, with the note at the end of the Volume.

[138] Cp. Gijjhajátaka, Fausböll, Vol. II, p. 51.

[139] Cp. the 46th story in Sicilianische Märchen gesammelt von Laura
von Gonzenbach, where a snake coils round the throat of a king, and
will not let him go, till he promises to marry a girl, whom he had
violated. See also Benfey's Panchatantra, Vol. I, p. 523.

[140] The Petersburg lexicographers explain takka as Geizhals, Filz;
but say that the word thaka in Marathi means a rogue, cheat. The
word kadarya also means niggardly, miserly. General Cunningham
(Ancient Geography of India, p. 152) says that the Takkas were once
the undisputed lords of the Panjáb, and still subsist as a numerous
agricultural race in the lower hills between the Jhelum and the Rávi.

[141] So in the Russian story of "The Miser," (Ralston's Russian
Folk-tales, p. 47.) Marko the Rich says to his wife, in order to avoid
the payment of a copeck; "Harkye wife! I'll strip myself naked, and
lie down under the holy pictures. Cover me up with a cloth, and sit
down and cry, just as you would over a corpse. When the moujik comes
for his money, tell him I died this morning." Ralston conjectures
that the story came originally from the East.

[142] This resembles the conclusion of the story of the turtle
Kambugríva and the swans Vikata and Sankata, Book X, chap. 60, sl. 169,
see also Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, p. 292. A similar story is
told in Bartsch's Sagen, Märchen und Gebräuche aus Meklenburg, Vol. I,
p. 349, of the people of Teterow. They adopted the same manoeuvre to
get a stone out of a well. The man at the top then let go, in order
to spit on his hands.

[143] I follow Dr. Kern's conjecture avikritânanâ.

[144] In the Sicilianische Märchen, No. 14, a prince throws a stone
at an old woman's pitcher and breaks it. She exclaims in her anger,
"May you wander through the world until you find the beautiful
Nzentola!" Nos. 12 and 13 begin in a similar way. A parallel will be
found in Dr. Köhler's notes to No. 12. He compares the commencement
of the Pentamerone of Basile.

[145] Cp. the Yaksha to whom Phalabhúti prays in Ch. XX. The belief in
tree-spirits is shewn by Tylor in his Primitive Culture to exist in
many parts of the world. (See the Index in his second volume.) Grimm
in his Teutonic Mythology (p. 70 and ff) gives an account of the
tree-worship which prevailed amongst the ancient Germans. See also
an interesting article by Mr. Wallhouse in the Indian Antiquary for
June 1880.

[146] The Sanskrit College reads anena for asanena. Dr. Kern wishes
to read suhitasyápy asanena kim. This would still leave a superfluity
of syllables in the line.

[147] This part of the story may be compared with the story of As
tres Lebres in Coelho's Contos Portuguezes, p. 90, or that of the
Blind Man and the Cripple in Ralston's Russian Folk Tales.

[148] In the notice of the first ten fasciculi of this translation
which appeared in the Saturday Review for May 1882, the following
interesting remark is made on this story:

"And the story of the woman, who had eleven husbands, bears a curious
but no doubt accidental likeness to an anecdote related by St. Jerome
about a contest between a man and his wife as to which would outlive
the other, she having previously conducted to the grave scores of
husbands and he scores of wives."

[149] So in the Novellæ Morlini, No. 4, a merchant, who is deeply
involved, gives a large sum of money to the king for the privilege of
riding by his side through the town. Henceforth his creditors cease
their importunities. (Liebrecht's Dunlop, p. 494.)

[150] I follow the Sanskrit College MS. which reads vidyábhih saha
samsmritá.

[151] An allusion to the custom of choosing a husband in the Svayamvara
ceremony, by throwing a garland on the neck of the favoured suitor.

[152] Dr. Kern would read ásata.

[153] Compare Book III of the novel of Achilles Tatius, c. 5.

[154] Cp. Enmathius' novel of Hysminias and Hysmine, Book IX, ch. 4.

Epi dê toutois pasin ophthalmos hêlato mou ho dexios, kai ên moi to
sêmeion agathon, kai to promanteuma dexiôtaton

See also Theocritus III, 37.


        halletai ophthalmos meu ho dexios· ê rha g' idêsô
        autan?


Where Fritsche quotes Plant. Pseudol. 1.1.105. Brand in his
Popular Antiquities, Vol. III, p. 172, quotes the above passage
from Theocritus, and a very apposite one from Dr. Nathaniel Home's
Demonologie--"If their ears tingle, they say they have some enemies
abroad that doe or are about to speake evill of them: so, if their
right eye itcheth, then it betokens joyful laughter."

Bartsch in his Sagen, Märchen, und Gebraüche aus Mecklenburg, says,
"Throbbing in the right eye betokens joy, in the left, tears." In
Norway throbbing in the right ear is a good sign, in the left a bad
sign (Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 327.) Forcellini s. v. Salisatores
quotes from Isidor. VIII, 9. Salisatores vocati sunt, qui dum eis
membrorum quæcunque partes salierint, aliquid sibi exinde prosperum,
seu triste significare prædicunt.

[155] i. e., under the protection of a Buddha.

[156] So Malegis in Die Heimonskinder represents that his blind brother
will be freed from his affliction when he comes to a place where
the horse Bayard is being ridden. (Simrock's Deutsche Volksbücher,
Vol. II, p. 96.)

[157] See note in Vol. I, p. 121. So Balder is said to be so fair of
countenance and bright that he shines of himself. (Grimm's Teutonic
Mythology, translated by Stallybrass, p. 222.) In Tennyson's Vivien
we find


        "A maid so smooth, so white, so wonderful,
        They said a light came from her when she moved."


[158] This probably means that she was burnt with his corpse.

[159] Böhtlingk and Roth read sákinísiddhisamvará.

[160] We have had many transformations of this kind and shall have many
more. A very amusing story of a transformation is found in Campbell's
Highland Tales, Vol. II, p. 60 which may be compared with this. The
biter is bit as in our text, and in the story of Sidi Noman in the
Arabian Nights, which closely resembles this.

[161] I read kritvá for kírtvá.

[162] Cp. the story of the Porter and the Ladies of Baghdad in the
Arabian Nights. (Lane's translation, Vol. I, page 129.) The bitches
are solemnly beaten in the same way as the mare in our story. They
are the sisters of the lady who beats them.

[163] Professor Cowell informs me that there is a passage in the
Sankara Dig Vijaya which explains this. A seer by means of this
vidyá gains a life equivalent to 11 years of Brahmá. It seems to be
a life-prolonging charm.

[164] So "one who dwelt by the castled Rhine" called the flowers,
"the stars that in earth's firmament do shine."

[165] This story extends to the end of the book.

[166] The word tejas also means "courage."

[167] An elaborate pun, only intelligible in Sanskrit.

[168] Cp. the long black tongue which the horrible black man protrudes
in Wirt Sikes's British Goblins, p. 177. In Birlinger's Aus Schwaben,
Vol. I, p. 341, the fahrende schüler puts out his tongue in a very
uncanny manner.

[169] Cp. Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, p. 15, Giles's Strange
Stories from a Chinese Studio, p. 294, and the classical legend of
the birth of Adonis. A similar story will be found in Liebrecht,
Zur Volkskunde, p. 306. In Bernhard E. Schmidt's Griechische Märchen,
No. 5, three maidens come out of a citron, and one of them again out
of a rosebush. For other parallels see the Notes to No. XXI, in Miss
Stokes's Indian Fairy Tales. Cp. also Das Rosmarinsträuchlein in
Kaden's Unter den Olivenbäumen, (Stories from the South of Italy),
p. 10. In the 49th Story of the Pentamerone of Basile a fairy comes
out of a citron. The word I have translated "tear" is in the original
vírya. See Rohde, Der Griechische Roman, p. 195, and Ralston's Tibetan
Tales, Introduction, p. lii.

[170] See the story of Polyidos, in Preller, Griechische Mythologie,
Vol. II, p. 478. Preller refers to Nonnus, XXV, 451 and ff. The
story terminates psychê d' eis demas êlthe to deuteron. See also
Baring Gould's Curious Myths of the Middle Ages, New Edition, 1869,
pp. 399-402, and Rohde, Der Griechische Roman, pp. 112 and 126.

[171] Dr. Kern conjectures evam.

[172] In Bengal no animal sacrifices are offered to Siva at the
present day.

[173] Cp. "The Story of the First Royal Mendicant," Lane's Arabian
Nights, Vol. I, p. 136.

[174] I follow the Sanskrit College MS. which reads kesakapáládi;
perhaps for kesa we should read vesa. The skulls have been mentioned
before.

[175] For ásvasto I read visvasto. Perhaps we ought to read asvastho,
i. e., sick, ill.

[176] The wanderings of Herzog Ernst are brought about in a very
similar manner. (See Simrock's Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. III, p. 278).

[177] Compare the myths of Attis and Cyparissus. In the story called
"Der rothe Hund," Gaal, Märchen der Magyaren, p. 362, the queen
becomes a dry mulberry tree. See also Grohmann, Sagen aus Böhmen,
p. 116. In Ovid's Metamorphoses, XIV, 517 an abusive pastor is turned
into an oleaster.

[178] Triphalá according to Professor Monier Williams means the three
myrobalans, i. e., the fruits of Terminalia Chebula, T. Bellerica,
and Phyllanthus Emblica; also the three fragrant fruits, nutmeg,
areca-nut, and cloves; also the three sweet fruits, grape, pomegranate
and date. The first interpretation seems to be the one usually accepted
by the Pandits of Bengal.

[179] i. e., Nága a kind of snake demon. See Ralston's Russian
Folk-Tales, page 65, Veckenstedt's Wendische Märchen, pp. 400-409,
Prym und Socin, Syrische Märchen, pp. 100, 101. The sword with a name
may remind the reader of Balmung, Excalibur, Durandal &c.

[180] The Sanskrit College MS. reads sámpusáraih perhaps for
sámbusârasaih i. e., with the water-cranes.

[181] Anáyata is a misprint for anáyatta.

[182] I read kulamandiram with the MS. in the Sanskrit College.

[183] i. e., Máyá.

[184] For vanopamám I conjecture vanopamát.

[185] i. q., Ganesa.

[186] Or "the elephants of his enemies." Here there is probably a pun.

[187] Literally, "water-men." Perhaps they were of the same race as
Grendel the terrible nicor. See also Veckenstedt's Wendische Märchen,
p. 185 and ff., Grimm's Irische Märchen, p. cv, Kuhn's Westfälische
Märchen, Vol. II, p. 35, Waldau's Böhmische Märchen, p. 187 and ff.,
and the 6th and 20th Játakas. See also Grohmann's account of the
"Wassermann," Sagen aus Böhmen, p. 148.

[188] The MS. in the Sanskrit College seems to me to read púrnosya.

[189] I read 'nyuvesustham, which is the reading of the Sanskrit
College MS.

[190] The silk-cotton tree.

[191] Or Hansávalí.

[192] Or Kamalákara.

[193] It may also mean a host of Bráhmans or many birds and bees. It
is an elaborate pun.

[194] Another pun! It may mean "by obtaining good fortune in the form
of wealth."

[195] For vátáyanoddesát the Sanskrit College MS. reads
cháyatanoddesát; perhaps it means "entering to visit the temple."

[196] Cp. Die Gänsemagd, Grimm's Kinder- und Hausmärchen, No. 89. See
also Indian Fairy Tales, by Miss Stokes, No. 1; and Bernhard Schmidt's
Griechische Märchen, p. 100. In the 1st Tale of Basile's Pentamerone,
Liebrecht's translation, a Moorish slave-girl supplants the princess
Zoza. See also the 49th tale of the same collection. In Gonzenbach's
Sicilianische Märchen, Nos. 33 and 34, we have tales of "A substituted
Bride;" see Dr. Köhler's notes.

[197] i. e., Vishnu.

[198] The sword seems to be essential in these rites: compare the
VIth book of the Æthiopica of Heliodorus, where the witch Cybele
raises her son to life, in order that he may prophesy; see also the
story of Kálarátri, Chapter 20 of this work.

[199] The debased form of Buddhism found throughout this work is no
doubt the Tantra system introduced by Asanga in the sixth century
of our era (Rhys Davids' Manual of Buddhism, pp. 207, 208, 209.) To
borrow Dr. Rajendralála Mitra's words, who is speaking of even worse
corruptions, (Introduction to the Lalita Vistara, p. 12) it is a wonder
"that a system of religion so pure and lofty in its aspirations as
Buddhism could be made to ally itself with such pestilent dogmas and
practices." The whole incantation closely resembles similar practices
in the West. See Brand's Popular Antiquities, Vol. III, pp. 56 and
ff. especially the extract from Mason's Anatomie of Sorcerie, 1612,
p. 86--"Inchanters and charmers, they which by using of certaine
conceited words, characters, circles, amulets, and such like wicked
trumpery (by God's permission) doo worke great marvailes: as namely
in causing of sicknesse, as also in curing diseases in men's bodies.

[200] Here there is a pun, as Kamalákara means a bed of lotuses, the
word paksha meaning wing and also "side." She was of good lineage by
her father's and mother's side. Manorathasiddhi means "the attainment
of desire."

[201] Compare the Soldier's Midnight Watch in Ralston's Russian
Folk-Tales, p. 274.

[202] In the Golden Ass of Apuleius, Pamphile turns herself into an
owl; when Apuleius asks to be turned into an owl, in order to follow
her, Fotis turns him by mistake into an ass. See also the Ass of
Lucian. The story of Circe will occur to every one in connection with
these transformations. See also Baring Gould's Myths of the Middle
Ages, 1st Series, p. 143.

[203] I read prátah for práyah.

[204] This city is identified by General Cunningham with Adikot near
Ramnagar in Rohilcund. (Ancient Geography of India, p. 359 and ff.)

[205] The male and female of this bird are represented by Hindu poets
as separated at night.

[206] The sword may be compared with that of Chandamahásena in
the eleventh chapter, and with Morglay, Excalibur, Durandal, Gram,
Balmung, Chrysaor &c. (See Sir G. Cox's Mythology of the Aryan nations,
Vol. I, p. 308.) The same author has some remarks upon Pegasus and
other magic horses in his IInd Vol. p. 287 and ff. See also Ralston's
Russian Folk-Tales, p. 256 and ff.

[207] Excessive rain, drought, rats, locusts, birds, and foreign
invasion.

[208] I have before referred to Ralston's remarks on snakes in
his Russian Folk-Tales, p. 65. Melusina is a clear instance of
a snake-maiden in European Folk-lore. See her story in Simrock's
Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. VI. There is a similar marriage in Prym
und Socin, Syrische Märchen, p. 246.

[209] Compare the commencement of the story of the Blind Man and
the Cripple in Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, and Waldau's Böhmische
Märchen, p. 445. This tale appears to belong to the Atalanta cycle.

[210] The passage is full of puns, which it is impossible to translate:
the "ornaments" may be rhetorical ornaments, there is also a reference
to the gunas of rhetorical writers. "Sweetly-tinkling" might mean
"elegant words." Gunákrishtá in sloka 76 b, may also mean that the
princess was attracted by the good qualities of her opponent.

[211] Dr. Kern conjectures udaghátayat, which is as far as I can make
out, the reading of the Sanskrit College MS.

[212] There is probably a pun here. It may mean that his joints and
body were relaxed by old age.

[213] This seems to be the meaning of mánava here. See Böhtlingk and
Roth s. v.

[214] The word also means "dust."

[215] Or "by great sorrow."

[216] Mára, the god of Love, is the Buddhist devil.

[217] The Kumuda remains with its petals closed during the day.

[218] I follow the Sanskrit College MS. reading dhrityá.

[219] A being recording the vices and virtues of mankind in Yama's
world. Kuhn, in his Westfälische Sagen, p. 71, speaks of "a devil
who records the evil deeds of men." Böhtlingk and Roth say that
utpunsayati in sl. 323 should be utpánsayati.

[220] Compare the story in Waldau's Böhmische Märchen, p. 242, Gut
dass es den Tod auf Erden gibt!

[221] Cp. the speech of Chi, the scribe of the realms below, in
Giles's Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio, p. 366.

[222] I substitute Bauddham for bodhum.

[223] I follow the Sanskrit College MS. which reads lopatah for
lobhatah.

[224] This idea is found in the story of Jímútaváhana in the 21st
Taranga of this work, where see note. Cp. also "Das Wasser des Lebens,"
Grimm. 97, and the notes in his 3rd volume. See also note on page
499 of Vol. I; and Herrtage's edition of the English Gesta, page 344.

[225] I read ullághayan, which is found in the Sanskrit College MS.

[226] I read with the MS. in the Sanskrit College bhuktottaram.

[227] It also means "the virtues of good or learned men."

[228] It also means "without wealth;" vritta also means "metre."

[229] i.e. female Yaksha.

[230] The notion which Lucretius ridicules in his famous lines,
(Book III, 776 and ff,)


        Denique conubia ad Veneris partusque ferarum
        Esse animas præsto deridiculum esse videtur,
        Expectare immortales mortalia membra &c.


would, it is clear, present no difficulty to the mind of a Hindu. Nor
would he be much influenced by the argument in lines 670-674 of the
same book,


        Præterea si immortalis natura animai
        Constat, et in corpus nascentibus insinuetur,
        Cur super anteactam ætatem meminisse nequimus,
        Nec vestigia gestarum rerum ulla tenemus?


[231] i.e. vision of the goddess of Fortune: something like Fortunatus.

[232] I read báhú and vidhvastatá: kim tad in sl. 78 should probably
be tat kim.

[233] In the original there is a most elaborate pun: "free from
calamity" may mean also "impolitic" or "lawless."

[234] A name of Siva.

[235] My native friends tell me that the hand is waved round the head,
and the fingers are snapped four or ten times.

[236] Possibly this story is the same as that of Tannhäuser,
for which see Baring-Gould's Curious Myths of the Middle Ages,
pp. 196-208. He remarks that the story of Tannhäuser is a very ancient
myth christianized.

[237] For the consequences entailed in European Stories by eating
fruit in the under-world, see Kuhn, Westfälische Märchen, Vol. 1,
p. 127; Grimm, Irische Märchen, p. ciii.

[238] The Sanskrit College MS. has dantadríshtádharotkatán. Perhaps
drishta should be dashta. It would then mean terrible because they
were biting their lips.

[239] The Sanskrit College MS. reads vimánavijigíshayá.

[240] Descendants of Vrishni and relatives of Krishna. In Achyuta
there is a pun: the word may mean "Vishnu" and also "permanent":
rámam may also refer to Balaráma, who is represented us a drunkard.

[241] Pátála, like Milton's lower world, "wants not her hidden lustre,
gems and gold."

[242] Kumudiní means an assemblage of white water-lilies: female
attendants may also mean bees, as the Sandhi will admit of ali or áli:
rajendram should probably be rájendum, moon of kings, as the kumudiní
loves the moon.

[243] Cp. the story of Saktideva in Chapter 26.

[244] By the laws of Hindu rhetoric a smile is regarded as white.

[245] We have an instance of this a little further on.

[246] I read dúrabhrashtá. The reading of the Sanskrit College MS. is
dúram bhrashtá.

[247] See Vol. I. pp. 327 and 577, also Prym und Socin, Syrische
Märchen, p. 36, and Southey's Thalaba the Destroyer, Book I, 30,
with the notes.

[248] The moon suffers from consumption in consequence of the curse
of Daksha, who was angry at his exclusive preference for Rohiní.

[249] Here there is a pun: upachitam means also "concentrated."

[250] Cp. a story in the Nugæ Curialium of Gualterus Mapes, in which a
corpse, tenanted by a demon, is prevented from doing further mischief
by a sword-stroke, which cleaves its head to the chin. (Liebrecht's
Zur Volkskunde, p. 34 and ff.) Liebrecht traces the belief in vampires
through many countries and quotes a passage from François Lenormant's
work, La Magie chez les Chaldéens, which shews that the belief in
vampires existed in Chaldæa and Babylonia.--See Vol. I, p. 574.

[251] Cp. the Vampire stories in Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales,
especially that of the soldier and the Vampire, p. 314. It seems to me
that these stories of Vetálas disprove the assertion of Herz quoted
by Ralston, (p. 318) that among races which burn their dead, little
is known of regular corpse-spectres, and of Ralston, that vampirism
has made those lands peculiarly its own which have been tenanted or
greatly influenced by Slavonians. Vetálas seem to be as troublesome in
China as in Russia, see Giles's Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio,
Vol. II, p. 195. In Bernhard Schmidt's Griechische Märchen, p. 139,
there is an interesting story of a Vampire, who begins by swallowing
fowls, goats and sheep, and threatens to swallow men, but his career
is promptly arrested by a man born on a Saturday. A great number of
Vampire stories will be found in the notes to Southey's Thalaba the
Destroyer, Book VIII, 10. See also his poem of Roprecht the Robber,
Part III. For the lamps fed with human oil see Addendum to Fasciculus
IV, and Brand's Popular Antiquities, Vol. I, p. 312, Waldau's Böhmische
Märchen, p. 360, and Kuhn's Westfälische Märchen, p. 146.

[252] A series of elaborate puns.

[253] The significance of those names will appear further on.

[254] The word may mean "man of romantic anecdote."

[255] Cp. Vol. I, pp. 355 and 577.

[256] The Sanskrit College MS. reads na for tu.

[257] I read jánási with the Sanskrit College MS. instead of jánámi
which Dr. Brockhaus gives in his text.

[258] For European methods of attaining invisibility see Brand's
Popular Antiquities, Vol. I, p. 315; Bartsch, Sagen, Märchen, und
Gebräuche aus Meklenburg, Vol. II, pp. 29 and 31; Kuhn, Westfälische
Märchen, Vol. I, p. 276, Vol. II, p. 177. The virtues of the Tarnkappe
are well-known. In Europe great results are expected from reciting
certain sacred formulæ backwards. A somewhat similar belief appears to
exist among the Buddhists. Milton's "backward muttering of dissevering
charms" is perhaps hardly a case in point.

[259] An elaborate pun! varna = caste and also colour: kalá = digit
of the moon and accomplishment, or fine art: doshákara = mine of
crimes and also the moon. Dowson, in his Classical Dictionary of
Hindu Mythology, tells us that Láta is a country comprising Kandesh
and part of Guzerat about the Mhye river. It is now called Lár and
is the Larikê of Ptolemy.

[260] I read prápnomyaham the reading of the Sanskrit College MS.

[261] i. e. Dice-mendicant.

[262] I conjecture oghaprasántyaiva.

[263] Cp. No. LXVI in the English Gesta, page 298 of Herrtage's
edition, and the end of No. XII of Miss Stokes's Fairy Tales. See
also Prym und Socin, Syrische Märchen, pp. 83 and 84.

[264] Cp. Odyssey, Book IV, 441-442.

[265] I read dámabhih for dhámabhih.

[266] Benfey (Panchatantra, Vol. I, p. 214, note,) traces this
superstition through all countries.

[267] This passage is a concatenation of puns.

[268] The whole passage is an elaborate pun. The lady is compared to
a bow, the string of which vibrates in the notches, and the middle
of which is held in the hand.

[269] I read, with the MS. in the Sanskrit College, drutam anuddhritya
for drutam anugatya.

[270] As a life-buoy to prevent him from drowning.

[271] There must be a reference to the five flowery arrows of the
god of Love.

[272] When applied to the moon, it means "glorious in its rising."

[273] Böhtlingk and Roth give upasankhya as überzählig (?).

[274] I adopt pramattá the reading of the Sanskrit College MS.

[275] The gods and Asuras used it as a churning-stick at the churning
of the ocean for the recovery of the Amrita, and other precious things
lost during the deluge.

[276] The Mongolian form of these stories is to be found in Sagas
from the Far East. This work appears to be based upon a translation
made by Jülg from the Calmuck language. Oesterley, in his German
version of these tales, tells us that Jülg's translation appeared
in Leipzig in the year 1866 under the title of "The tales of the
Siddhikür." Oesterley mentions a Sanskrit redaction of the tales,
attributed to Sivadása, and one contained in the Kathárnava. He also
mentions a Tamul version translated into English by Babington under
the title of Vetála Cadai; two Telugu versions, a Mahratta version,
the well-known Hindi version, a Bengali version based upon the Hindi,
and a Canarese version.

[277] Here there is probably a pun. The word translated "jackal"
also means the god Siva. Bhairava is a form of Siva.

[278] See note on page 293.

[279] This story is the 27th in Miss Stokes's collection.

[280] I read satáláni, which I find in the Sanskrit College MS.,
instead of sajáláni. The mistake may have arisen from the blending
of two readings satálani and jatáláni.

[281] In this there is a pun; the word translated "lotus" may also
refer to Lakshmí the wife of Vishnu.

[282] Pandit Syámá Charan Mukhopádhyáya thinks that the word
dantaghátaka must mean "dentist:" the Petersburg lexicographers take it
to mean, "a worker in ivory." His name Sangrámavardhana has a warlike
sound. Pandit Mahesa Chandra Nyáyaratna thinks that dantagháta is a
proper name. If so, sangrámavardhana must mean prime minister.

[283] Cp. the way in which Pushpadanta's preceptor guesses the riddle
in page 44 of Vol. I of this work; so Prince Ivan is assisted by
his tutor Katoma in the story of "The Blind Man and the Cripple,"
Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, p. 240. Compare also the story of
Azeez and Azeezeh in Lane's Arabian Nights, Vol. I, particularly page
484. The rapid manner, in which the hero and heroine fall in love in
these stories, is quite in the style of Greek romances. See Rohde,
Der Griechische Roman, p. 148.

[284] The Chakora is fabled to subsist upon moonbeams.

[285] See the numerous parallels in Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales,
p. 232; and Grimm's Teutonic Mythology, p. 185, note, where he refers
to the story of the Machandel boom (Kinder und Hausmärchen, No. 47),
the myth of Zeus and Tantalus, and other stories. In the 47th tale of
the Pentamerone of Basile, one of the five sons raises the princess
to life and then demands her in marriage. In fact Basile's tale seems
to be compounded of this and the 5th of the Vetála's stories. In
Prym and Socin's Syrische Märchen, No. XVIII, the bones of a man who
had been killed ten years ago, are collected, and the water of life
is poured over them with the same result as in our text. There is a
"Pergamentblatt" with a life-restoring charm written on it, in Waldau's
Böhmische Märchen, p. 353.

[286] Nishkântam is perhaps a misprint for nishkrântam the reading
of the Sanskrit College MS.

[287] Cp. Sagas from the Far East, p. 303.

[288] Cp. the story told by the "faucon peregryn" in Chaucer's
Squire's Tale.

[289] The following story is the Xth in Sagas from the Far East.

[290] The god of love, with Buddhists the Devil. Benfey considers
that the Vetála Panchavinsati was originally Buddhistic.

[291] A pun difficult to render in English.

[292] The Sanskrit College MS. reads vibuddhesvatha, i. e., being
awake.

[293] I conjecture prahárí for the pahárí of Brockhaus' edition. In
dhárá there is a pun as it also means the "edge of a sword."

[294] I read with the Sanskrit College MS. gupta-bhuvane kálatamasi.

[295] Cp. the way in which the Banshi laments in Grimm's Irische
Märchen, pp. 121 and 122.

[296] I read kritapratishthá which I find in the Sanskrit College MS.

[297] Sattvavara means distinguished for courage.

[298] i. e., Moonlight.

[299] Vijnána appears to have this meaning here. In the Pentamerone of
Basile (Liebrecht's translation, Vol. I, p. 266) a princess refuses
to marry, unless a bridegroom can be found for her with a head and
teeth of gold.

[300] The wife of Siva, called also Párvatí and Durgá.

[301] The word sukláyám, which is found in the Sanskrit College MS.,
is omitted by Professor Brockhaus.

[302] So in the Hero and Leander of Musæus the two lovers meet in the
temple of Venus at Sestos, and in the Æthiopica of Heliodorus Theagenes
meets Chariclea at a festival at Delphi. Petrarch met Laura for the
first time in the chapel of St. Clara at Avignon, and Boccacio fell
in love with Maria, the daughter of Robert of Naples, in the Church
of the bare-footed friars in Naples. (Dunlop's History of Fiction,
translated by Liebrecht, p. 9.) Rohde remarks that in Greek romances
the hero and heroine usually meet in this way. Indeed it was scarcely
possible for two young people belonging to the upper classes of Greek
society to meet in any other way, (Der Griechische Roman, p. 146 and
note). See also pp. 385 and 486.

[303] For tayá in sl. 10. b, the Sanskrit College MS. reads tathá.

[304] Prasnayah in Professor Brockhaus's text should be prasvayah.

[305] An allusion to the Ardhanárísa, (i. e. half male half female,)
representation of Siva.

[306] Grimm in his Teutonic Mythology, p. 185, note, seems to refer
to a similar story. He says, "The fastening of heads, that have been
chopped off, to their trunks in Waltharius 1157 seems to imply a
belief in their reanimation;" see also Schmidt's Griechische Märchen,
p. 111. So St. Beino fastened on the head of Winifred after it had
been cut off by Caradoc; (Wirt Sikes, British Goblins, p. 348). A
head is cut off and fastened on again in the Glücksvogel, Waldau's
Böhmische Märchen, p. 108. In Coelho's Portuguese Stories, No. XXVI,
O Colhereiro, the 3rd daughter fastens on, in the Bluebeard chamber,
with blood, found in a vase marked with their names, the heads of
her decapitated sisters.

[307] Cp. Giles's Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio, pp. 98, 99;
Do Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology, Vol. I, pp. 303 and 304.

[308] The word translated "ragged garment" is karpata. The word
translated "dependent" is kárpatika. Cp. the story in the 53rd Chapter.

[309] Hridayáni should of course be hridyáni, as in the Sanskrit
College MS.

[310] Cp. the palace of Morgan la Fay in the Orlando Innamorato, canto
36, (Dunlop's History of Fiction, p. 168, Liebrecht's translation,
p. 76); also the continuation of the romance of Huon de Bourdeaux,
(Dunlop's History of Fiction, p. 262, Liebrecht's translation,
p. 128); and the romance of Ogier le Danois, (Dunlop's History of
Fiction, p. 286, Liebrecht's translation, p. 141); cp. also the 6th
Fable in the IInd book of the Hitopadesa, (Johnson's translation,
p. 57). Stories in which human beings marry dwellers in the water are
common enough in Europe, see Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, p. 116,
and ff, Veckenstedt's Wendische Märchen, p. 192, and La Motto Fouqué's
story of Undine. The present story resembles in many points "Der
rothe Hund" in Gaal's Märchen der Magyaren. There is a similar castle
in the sea in Prym und Socin, Syrische Märchen, p. 125.  Cp. Hagen's
Helden-Sagen, Vol. I, p. 53, where king Wilkinus marries a Meerweib,
and the following extract from a letter of Mr. David Fitzgerald's in
the Academy.

"The Siren's tale--like many other episodes of the Iliad and the
Odyssey--reappears in various forms, one of the most curious of which
is perhaps to be found in Ireland. I borrow it from O'Curry; and I
omit the depreciatory criticism with which it is now the fashion to
season extracts from that scholar's useful works. Ruad, son of Rigdonn,
a king's son, crossing over to North-land with three ships and thirty
men in each found his vessel held fast in mid-sea. [Compare the tale
of Vidúshaka in Vol. I.] At last he leaped over the side to see what
was holding it, and sinking down through the waters, alighted in a
meadow where were nine beautiful women. These gave him nine boatloads
of gold as the price of his embraces, and by their power held the
three vessels immoveable on the water above for nine days. Promising
to visit them on his return, the young Irish prince got away from
the Sirens and their beds of red bronze, and continued his course to
Lochlann, where he stayed with his follow-pupil, son to the king of
that country, for seven years. Coming back, the vessels put about to
avoid the submerged isle, and had nearly gained the Irish shore, when
they heard behind them the song of lamentation of the nine sea-women,
who were in vain pursuit of them in a boat of bronze. One of these
murdered before Ruad's eyes the child she had borne him, and flung
it head foremost after him. O'Curry left a version of this tale from
the Book of Ballymote. I have borrowed a detail or two given in the
Tochmarc Emere (fol. 21b)--e. g., the important Homeric feature of
the watery meadow (machaire). The story given by Gervase of Tilbury
(ed. Liebrecht, pp. 30, 31), of the porpoise-men in the Mediterranean
and the young sailor; the Shetland seal-legend in Grimm's edition of
Croker's tales (Irische Elfen-Märchen, Leipzig, 1826, pp. xlvii et
seqq.); and the story found in Vincentius Bellovacensis and elsewhere,
of the mermaid giantess and her purple cloak, may be named as belonging
or related to the same cycle. These legends are represented in living
Irish traditions and the purple cloak just referred to appears, much
disguised, in the story of Liban in the book of the Dun." Coraes in
his notes on the Æthiopica of Heliodorus, p. 225, has the following
quotation from the life of Apollonius of Tyana written by Philostratus,
IV, 25, referring to Menippus who married a female of the Rákshasí
type and was saved from his fate by Apollonius.

"Hê chrêstê nymphê mia tôn Empousôn estin has Lamias te kai Mormolykias
hoi polloi hêgountai ......... sarkôn de, kai malista anthrôpeiôn,
erôsi, kai palleuousi (is. sphallousi) tois aphrodisiois, hous an
ethelôsi daisasthai."

[311] Cp. the 26th Taranga of this work, and the parallels referred
to there. See also the Losakajátaka, the 41st in Fausböll's
edition. Oesterley refers us to Benfey's Panchatantra, 151 and
following pages. See Waldau, Böhmische Märchen, p. 410.

[312] More literally "through my merits in a former state of
existence."

[313] Cp. Spenser's Fairy Queen, Book III, canto 6. stanza 42.


            There is continual spring, and harvest there
            Continual, both meeting at one tyme.


Cp. also Odyssey VII 117, Milton, P. L., IV. 148.

[314] Niyogajanitas is a misprint for niyogijanatas, as is evident
from the Sanskrit College MS.]

[315] Literally "grove of ancestors," i. e., cemetery.

[316] Here we have one of the puns in which our author delights.

[317] More literally, "for my own two garments." A Hindu wears two
pieces of cloth.

[318] See note on Vol. I. p. 499, Liebrecht's translation of the
Pentamerone of Basile, Vol. II, p. 215, Herrtage's edition of
the English Gesta Romanorum, p. 55, the Greek fable of Teiresias,
Waldau, Böhmische Märchen, p. 1. Cp. also Hagen's Helden-Sagen,
Vol. II, p. 24. We are told that Melampus buried the parents of a
brood of snakes, and they rewarded him by licking his ears so that he
understood the language of birds. (Preller, Griechische Mythologie,
Vol. II, p. 474.)

[319] This idea is common enough in this work, and I have already
traced it in other lands. I wish now to refer to Rohde, der Griechische
Roman, p. 126, note. It will be found specially illustrative of a
passage in Vol. II, p. 144 of this work. Cp. also the Volsunga-Saga, in
Hagen's Helden-Sagen, Vol. III, p. 33, and Murray's Ancient Mythology,
p. 43. So Hanumán, in the Rámáyana, brings medicinal herbs from
the Himálaya.

[320] The word vajra also means thunderbolt.

[321] Or "to protect the realm of Anga;" a shameless pun! The god of
Love was consumed by the fire of Siva's eye.

[322] i. e. wise.

[323] One of our author's puns.

[324] The word that means "mountain" also means "king."

[325] The Sanskrit College MS. reads yantra for Brockhaus's yatra. The
wishing-tree was moved by some magical or mechanical contrivance.

[326] The Sanskrit College MS. reads anáyattá, which Dr. Kern has
conjectured.

[327] This part of the story may remind the reader of the story of
Melusina the European snake-maiden: see Simrock's Deutsche Volksbücher,
Vol. VI. It bears a certain resemblance to that of the Knight of
Stauffenberg (Simrock's Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. III.) Cp. also Ein
Zimmern und die Meerfrauen, in Birlinger, Aus Schwaben, p. 7. Cp. also
De Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology, Vol. II, p. 206. There is a
slight resemblance in this story to the myth of Cupid and Psyche.

[328] For bhujagah the Sanskrit College MS. rends bhujaga, which
seems to give a better sense than the reading in Brockhaus's text.

[329] Oesterley (Baitál Pachísí, 201) compares the 12th chapter of
the Vikramacharitam in which Vikramáditya delivers a woman, who was
afflicted every night by a Rákshasa in consequence of her husband's
curse.

[330] I follow the reading of a MS. in the Sanskrit College
yantradváravápiká.

[331] In the original sinsapá, which Professor Monier Williams renders
thus; "the tree Dalbergia Sisu; the Asoka tree." Dr. King informs me
that these two trees are altogether different. The translation which I
have given of the word sinsapá, throughout these tales of the Vetála,
is, therefore, incorrect. The tree to which the Vetála so persistently
returns, is a Dalbergia Sisu.

[332] Dveshá must be a misprint for dveshát.

[333] For arudanniva the Sanskrit College MS. reads abhavanniva.

[334] Böhtlingk and Roth s. v. say that chíra in Taranga 73, sloka 240,
is perhaps a mistake for chírí, grasshopper; the same may perhaps be
the case in this passage.

[335] For virúpa the Sanskrit College MS. gives virúksha.

[336] Oesterley refers to Benfey's Panchatantra, Vol. I, p. 362,
for stories in which snakes spit venom into food. Benfey gives
at length a fable found in the Latin translation of John of Capua
and compares a story in the Sindibád-námah, Asiatic Journal, 1841,
XXXVI, 17; Syntipas, p. 149; Scott's Tales of the Seven Vizirs, 196;
The 1001 Nights (Breslau) XV, 241; Seven Wise Masters in Grässe,
Gesta Romanorum II, 195; Bahár Dánush 1, second and third stories;
Keller, Romans des Sept Sages, CL; Dyocletian, Einleitung, 49;
Loiseleur-Deslongchamps, Essai, 119, 1.

[337] I.e., Dharmarája, possibly the officer established by Asoka
in his fifth edict; (see Senart, Les Inscriptions de Piyadasi,
p. 125.) The term Dharmarája is applied to Yudhishthira and Yama. It
means literally king of righteousness or religion. There is a Dharm
Raja in Bhútán. Böhtlingk and Roth seem to take it to mean Yama in
this passage.

[338] I prefer the reading of the Sanskrit College MS. túryakulaih.

[339] See note on page 13. Rohde, (Der Griechische Roman, p. 111,)
points out that there are traces of this practice in the mythology
of Ancient Greece. Evadne is said to have burnt herself with the
body of her husband Capaneus. So OEnone, according to one account,
leapt into the pyre on which the body of Paris was burning. See also
Zimmer, Alt-Indisches Leben, pp. 329-331. So Brynhild burns herself
with the body of Sigurd, (Hagen's Helden-Sagen, Vol. III, p. 166).

[340] Cp. Mahábhárata, Vanaparvan, Adhyáya 297, sl. 39.

[341] His name Manahsvámin would imply that he ought to be.

[342] For gaja the Sanskrit College MS. reads mada.

[343] The word siddha also means a class of demigods who travel
through the sky: Sasin means moon.

[344] Cp. the shaving, by the help of which Preziosa, in the
Pentamerone, turns herself into a bear. (Liebrecht's translation of
the Pentamerone of Basile, Vol. I, p. 212.) As soon as she takes it
out of her mouth she resumes her human shape.

[345] Compare Vol. I, p. 45.

[346] This part of the story bears a certain resemblance to the myth
of Achilles.

[347] The 10 stages are thus given by Sivadása: (1) Love of the eyes;
(2) attachment of the mind (manas); (3) the production of desire;
(4) sleeplessness; (5) emaciation; (6) indifference to objects
of sense; (7) loss of shame; (8) distraction; (9) fainting; (10)
death. (Dr. Zachariæ's Sixteenth Tale of the Vetálapanchavinsati,
in Bezzenberger's Beiträge).

[348] Here the MS. in the Sanskrit College has mantrináse múlanásád
rakshyá dharmakshatir dhruvam, which means, "we should certainly try
to prevent virtue from perishing by the destruction of its root in
the destruction of the minister."

[349] See Chapter XXII for another version of this story. It is found
in the Bodhisattvávadána-kalpalatá: see Dr. R. L. Mitra's Buddhist
Literature of Nepal, p. 77.

[350] The MS. in the Sanskrit College reads súrásandrishtaprishthas.

[351] I adopt the reading of the Sanskrit College MS. adhrisya for
adhrishya, invincible, instead of adrisya invisible.

[352] i. e., Párvatí or Durgá.

[353] See Vol. I, p. 48, and Baring Gould's remarks in his Curious
Myths of the Middle Ages, Second Series, "The piper of Hamelin."

[354] Here there is an insipid pun about the army of the Pándavas
penetrating by the help of Arjuna the host of Karna. There seems to
be an allusion to Krishna also. For vivikshatím the Sanskrit College
MS. reads vimathnatím.

[355] See Vol. I, p. 176.

[356] The Sanskrit College MS. has balád for the balí of Brockhaus's
edition. For the "wager" see Vol. I, p. 182.

[357] The Sanskrit College MS. reads Tárkshyan nánákranda nityákarnana
nirghrinam.

[358] The Sanskrit College MS. has sánunayám.

[359] The Sanskrit College MS. reads vidadhyád. This is the reading
which I follow hero in preference to that of Brockhaus.

[360] Cp. Waldau's Böhmische Märchen, p. 594. See Bernhard Schmidt's
Griechische Märchen, p. 106.

[361] The MS. in the Sanskrit College reads anyam vrittátmánam:
anyam at any rate must be right.

[362] See Vol. I, pp. 104, 294, and 574.

[363] The Sanskrit College MS. reads prág for náma.

[364] The Sanskrit College MS. gives mándyam for maurkhyam.

[365] The Sanskrit College MS. gives mankshu for mantram.

[366] Duhkhávahe, the reading of Brockhaus's edition, is obviously
a misprint for sukhávahe, which I find in the Sanskrit College MS.

[367] May we compare this king to Daphnis, who  ton hautô anye pikron
erôta, kai es telos anye moiras?

[368] Cp. the behaviour of the followers of the emperor Otho.

[369] Bhanga also means defeat.

[370] This vice was prevalent even in the Vedic age. See Zimmer,
Alt-Indisches Leben, pp. 283-287; Muir's Sanskrit Texts, Vol. V,
pp. 425-430. It is well-known that the plot of the Mahábhárata
principally turns on this vice.

[371] Compare the conduct of Máthura in the Mrichchhakatika. For the
penniless state of the gambler, see p. 195, and Gaal, Märchen der
Magyaren, p. 3.

[372] I read sakshyámi with the Sanskrit College MS.

[373] Prabodhya should, I think, be prabudhya.

[374] It also means, in the case of Vishnu, "by his incarnation in
the form of a boar."

[375] There is a probably a pun in súchitah.

[376] So in the legend of Pope Gregory the child is exposed with a sum
of gold at its head, and a sum of silver at its feet. (English Gesta,
edited by Herrtage, No. LXI.) The story will also be found in Simrock's
Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. XI; here we have the gold and silver, as
in the Gesta. See also No. 85 in Gonzenbach's Sicilianische Märchen
with Dr. Köhler's notes. Cp. V. and VI in Prym and Socin's Syrische
Märchen for stories of exposed children who attain wealth and power.

[377] I read with the Sanskrit College MS. prayatah for prayátah. The
latter reading however gives a fair sense. In sl. 67 I read tishthaty.

[378] The modern Allahabad.

[379] Literally "head of Gayá." When Gayásura was engaged in devotion
on the hill Koláhal about 30 miles from Gayá, Brahmá and the other gods
came to him, and asked him what object he had in view. He said his
wish was that his body might become the holiest thing in the world,
so that all, who touched it, might at once obtain salvation. The
request was granted. But Yama complained to Brahmá that no one now
came to hell, so that his position had become a sinecure. Thereupon
Brahmá, after taking counsel with the other gods, went to Gayásura,
and asked him to give his body for a place on which to perform a
sacrifice. He consented. Then Brahmá performed his sacrifice on the
body of Gayásura, placed several gods on it, and made it immovable. His
body now lies with its head towards the north and its feet towards the
south. It is therefore called Gayákshetra. The area of Gayákshetra is
ten square miles. The interior part of Gayákshetra, about two square
miles in extent, is called Gayásirah or the head of Gayá. A more
usual form appears to be Gayásirah the head of the Asura Gayá. It
is a little south-west of Bishnu Pad. The pilgrims offer pindas
there. The principal part of Gayásirah is called Gayámukha. Sráddhas
are performed there. Dharmáranya which I have translated "Holy wood"
is a place in the east of Bodh Gayá, where Dharmarája performed
a sacrifice. Gayákúpa or the well of Gayá is in the south-west of
Gayásirah. Here pindas are offered to ancestors who have been great
sinners. The above note is summarized from some remarks by Babu Sheo
Narain Trivedi, Deputy Inspector of Schools, made for my information,
at the request of W. Kemble, Esq. C. S., Magistrate of Gayá. Pandit
Mahesa Chandra Nyáyaratna has pointed out to me, that there is an
account of the glories of Gayá in the Váyu Purána, and another in the
Padma Purána. [These agree pretty nearly with that given above.] See
also Barth's Religions of India, p. 278, note 2.

[380] Used for filtering the soma-juice, see Böhtlingk and Roth, s. v.

[381] i. e., wonderful peak.

[382] Here there is probably a pun. The phrase may mean that the king
delighted in the dark-grey skins of the pigs.

[383] This alludes to Indra's clipping with his bolts the wings of
the mountains. The Sarabha is a fabulous eight-legged animal.

[384] The natives of India beckon in this way.

[385] The Sanskrit College MS. reads váhyasya, which I have followed.

[386] The Sanskrit College MS. gives dúrádhva-gamana-klántam vikshya
tam nripatim tadá, having seen that the king was wearied with his
long journey.

[387] The passage is full of puns; "darkness" means the quality of
darkness in the mind: and illuminated means also "calmed."

[388] There is also an allusion to the circle of the sun's rays.

[389] See Vol. I, p. 166.

[390] Vinásyaiva should be vinásyeva.

[391] I follow the Sanskrit College MS. which reads etenátyasárena.

[392] Tejas means courage and also brightness.

[393] Asrikkanim is probably a misprint for srikkaním.

[394] ushmá should probably be ushná.

[395] In the Sanskrit College MS. ati is inserted before durbalatám.

[396] The moon is the patron of the kumuda; the sun of the kamala or
lotus. Kamalákara means a collection of kamalas.

[397] The Sanskrit College MS. reads achúrnam without powder.

[398] I take anyávinítavanitáhásiní as one word, and read vilapantí
instead of vilapantím.

[399] I insert sutám at the beginning of the line. The su is clear
enough in the Sanskrit College MS. but the rest of the word is
illegible.

[400] I read with the Sanskrit College
MS. Kusumapurákhyanagaresvarah. But Kusumapurákhye nagare svarát,
the reading of Professor Brockhaus's text, would mean "an independent
monarch in the city of Pátaliputra," and would give almost as good
a sense.

[401] I follow the Sanskrit College MS. which reads baddhvá for
buddhyá.

[402] The Sanskrit College MS. gives the reading,
sadanshtrásankatamukhah, which I follow.

[403] I read avikrite with the Sanskrit College MS.

[404] Guna means virtue and also string; kara finger and tribute; the
kaliyuga, or age of vice, is the last and worst. Vaikritam in sl. 2,
may perhaps mean "anger," as in 79. sl. 2.: see B. and R. s. v.

[405] Oesterley (p. 221,) tells us that a similar incident is found
in the Thousand and One Nights, Breslau, Vol. I, p. 62.

[406] i. e., possessed of beauty.

[407] I read visvasya with the Sanskrit College MS. in place of
visramya which means "having rested."

[408] I adopt Dr. Kern's conjecture of hata for ahata.

[409] I read param with the MS. in the Sanskrit College.

[410] This idea is also found in European story-books. See Kuhn's Sagen
aus Westfalen, p. 277; "Diese Unerschrockenheit gefiel dem Teufel
so sehr, dass sich sein Zorn nicht nur legte, sondern &c." See also
Grimm's Irische Elfenmärchen (which is based on Croker's Tales), p. 8.

[411] Sramana.

[412] I read with the MS. in the Sanskrit College lipta for klipta,
and púrna for púrva.

[413] See Addendum to Fasciculus IV, being a note on Vol. I, p. 306.

[414] The Sanskrit College MS. reads nishkampam. But perhaps we
ought to read nishkampa, "O fearless one." Satyam must be used
adverbially. Kulabhúbhritám also means "of great mountains."

[415] I read netraiseha for netre cha with the Sanskrit College MS.

[416] Perhaps pátitát would give a better sense.

[417] The story is here taken up from page 232.

[418] The Sanskrit College MS. reads sa kritártham.

[419] So in Melusine, p. 447, the hero of the tale "La Montagne Noire"
rides on the back of a crow, to whom he has to give flesh, as often
as he says "couac". At last he has to give him flesh from his own
thighs. The wounds are healed instantaneously by means of a "fiole
de graisse" which he carries with him. See No. 61 in Gonzenbach's
Sicilianische Märchen with Dr. Köhler's notes.

[420] The Sanskrit College MS. reads kopita for mánada i. e., "Since
I was separated from you by the curse of the enraged Nága."

[421] Ganesa, who is represented with the head of an elephant. In
sl. 8 I read with the Sanskrit College MS. vibhrashtapathá.

[422] This word means the sons of Dhritaráshtra, and also geese with
black legs and bills.

[423] This also means "in which Arjuna was displaying great activity."

[424] There is also an allusion to Siva's having drunk the poison
that was produced by the churning of the ocean.

[425] There is an allusion to Vishnu's having obtained Lakshmí from
the ocean when churned. The passage may also mean that the beauty of
the lake was permanent.

[426] This expression also means that "it rested on the head of the
serpent Ananta:" which was true of Pátála or Hades.

[427] See Vol. I, pp. 99 and 573, and Brand's Popular Antiquities,
Vol. I, p. 225.

[428] The Petersburg lexicographers read kalanayá for kalatayá. The
three verbs correspond to the three nouns.

[429] The Sanskrit College MS. read dínáyám for dírgháyám.

[430] When applied to the good man, it means "his heart was benevolent
and large."

[431] See Vol. I, p. 362.

[432] I follow the reading of the Sanskrit College MS. áyati-darsiná.

[433] The Sanskrit College MS. gives práchyám saila-sringa-tapovanam.

[434] The Sanskrit College MS. reads sukhite jane. The sense is
the same.

[435] See Vol. I, p. 499, Vol. II, p. 296, and Grohmann, Sagen aus
Böhmen, p. 242.

[436] The Sanskrit College MS. reads dhátuh sdmágryya-(sic)
vaichitryam.

[437] See Vol. I, p. 379.

[438] The Sanskrit College MS. reads manye (I think) for Hara.

[439] The Sanskrit College MS. read sadrisí and anyatra.

[440] For falling in love with a picture see Vol. I, p. 490; Prym
und Socin, Syrische Märchen, p. 3; and Rohde, Der Griechische Roman,
p. 49, note. For the conventional signs of love in the Greek romances,
see Rohde, der Griechische Roman, p. 157 and ff.

[441] Here I omit some part of the inventory of the lady's charms.

[442] The capital of the god of wealth.

[443] Böhtlingk and Roth give nágabandha in this passage as "eine
Schlange als Fessel." I do not quite see how to bring in this
translation, though I fear that my own is not correct.

[444] I read dhairyád for adhairyád.

[445] Storms play an important part in the Greek romances. See Rohde,
Der Griechische Roman, pp. 428 and 468.

[446] The Sanskrit College MS. has jnáta-vrittántá.

[447] The self-existent, a name of Siva, Vishnu, and Buddha.

[448] I read tanna which I find in the Sanskrit College MS. for tatra.

[449] The Sanskrit College MS. has ehi for iha.

[450] I read sudurdharshám; the Sanskrit College MS. reads senaním
(sic) iva durdharshám: the word translated "rhinoceros" can also mean
"sword;" the adjective before it may mean "uplifted," and the word
translated "inhabited by lions" may perhaps mean, "commanded by
a king."

[451] I follow the reading of the Sanskrit College MS. which gives
daghna instead of lagna.

[452] The Sanskrit College MS. reads vyásaktavírasirasam.

[453] I read with the Sanskrit College MS. pátah for práptih.

[454] vrittántam should probably be vrittánta, and should be joined
with the words that follow.

[455] An allusion to the phenomenon of the tides.

[456] The Sanskrit College MS. gives vrishta-hiranya-vastram, in
which gold and garments were showered on the people.

[457] I read sápopaníte with the Sanskrit College MS.

[458] See the Dummedhajátaka, Fausböll's edition of the Játakas,
Vol. I, p. 259; Liebrecht's translation of the Pentamerone of Basile,
Vol. I. p. 83; and Vol. I of this translation, pp. 153 and 575;
also Ralston's Tibetan Tales, Introduction, p. lii.

[459] Or "black as tamála."

[460] Or "which were of opposite appearance, being white." The word
arjuna (white) also refers to the hero Arjuna one of the Pándavas,
who lived disguised as a eunuch in the city of king Viráta. Kíchaka
(cane) was the leader of the host of king Viráta, and was conquered
by Bhíma (terrible). The passage contains another pun which will be
obvious to those acquainted with Hindu customs.

[461] I. e. patatigavritti. The word seems to mean "subsistence of
birds." Compare Macbeth IV, 2, 33. Pandit Ráma Chandra of Alwar points
out that the reference in patangavritti is to the "rushing of a moth
into a candle." In the text therefore "would be a mere reckless rushing
on destruction" should be substituted for "is a mere chimerical fancy."

[462] I find tat-sambandhánuráginá in three India Office MSS. kindly
lent me by Dr. Rost.

[463] I read Mátangarájadeságato; the reading of the India Office
MS. No. 1882 is rájádeságato which would mean "by the invitation
of the king of the Mátangas." For dúrágamana in sl. 31, No. 2166
reads dútágamana, i. e. "the coming of your messenger." This makes
better sense.

[464] A pun! It also means "holding prosperity, and holding out hopes
to the world."

[465] All the three India Office MSS., which Dr. Rost has kindly lent
me, read nisásrayah.

[466] Professor Monier Williams refers us to Rámáyana III, 75.

[467] So, in the 89th chapter of the Wiikina Saga, Heime goes off to
join the robber chief Ingram. (Hagen's Helden-Sagen, Vol. I. p. 242).

[468] The India office MS. No. 2166 reads mátsyanyáyabhayodayát.

[469] His name means "Wild man of the Stronghold" or "Demon of the
Stronghold."

[470] The passage is full of puns: vayas means "age" and "bird";
krishna "black" and also the god of that name; bhúbhrit "king" and also
"mountain."

[471] Killed by Vishnu in the form of a boar.

[472] Another play on words. It may mean "was the son of the Pándava
Bhíma."

[473] I do not understand this allusion. Pandit Ráma Chandra of Alwar
points out that the reference is to one of the exploits of Arjuna
Sahasrabáhu, often called Kártavíryya, which is related in the Uttara
Kánda of the Rámáyana, Sarga 32.

[474] Anjana is a black pigment applied to the eyes.

[475] Vana might mean "water."

[476] Two of the India office MSS. read cha te datta-dútáh, the
other reads cha taddattadútáh. I think these readings give a better
sense. The king of the Mátangas is here Durgapisácha.

[477] I read samamánayat the conjecture of Dr. Kern. I find it in
MS. No. 1882 and in 2166.

[478] Being a man of high caste, he ate with men who had none, or next
to none. Dr. Kern wishes to read kárye, but all the MSS. have káryam.

[479] Compare the way in which king Melias receives the proposals
of Osantrix in the 53rd chapter of the Wilkina Saga, (Hagen's
Helden-Sagen, Vol. I, p. 182.)

[480] Or "of the mountains that retained their wings," i. e., by taking
refuge from Indra in the sea. The pun is, of course, most intentional.

[481] Krishna, in the form of a man-lion, destroyed Hiranyakasipu. The
word man-lion also refers to brave soldiers. For sashpeshu No. 1882
reads sasyeshu.

[482] I read with India Office MS. No. 1882 dividattordhvajhampáni;
the two other MSS. agree in reading jampáni. For bhruvasálinám I read
bhujasálinám which I find in the three India Office MSS.

[483] The lady's name in Sanskrit is Chaturiká.

[484] The king of the snakes. See for his thousand mouths and thousand
tongues p. 313 of this Volume.

[485] No. 1882 has mattairasamvritadvárám.

[486] There is an intentional pun in this passage which may be
translated, "illuminated by the moon with his rays" or "pointed out
by the moon with his fingers."

[487] For parasparám, I read paramparám, following Böhtlingk and
Roth. This is the reading of MS. No. 1882.

[488] I read vá rane the conjecture of Dr. Kern.

[489] Sakárá is a misprint for Sákárá, which I find in MS. No. 1882.

[490] Dr. Kern prefers tejasvinam to tejasvinám--I have adopted this
conjecture, which is supported by two of the India Office MSS.

[491] I read kálochitam the conjecture of Dr. Kern; it is found in
the three MSS. lent me by Dr. Rost.

[492] Dasibhih is a misprint for dasabhih, the reading of the MSS.

[493] So king Nidung in the Wilkina Saga, (ch. 131,) asks king Sigmund
to come to his palace if he wishes to marry his daughter. (Hagen's
Helden-Sagen, Vol. I, p. 322)

[494] Dr. Kern points out that Sraddhatus is a misprint for Sraddadhus.

[495] Here No. 1882 reads griheshu kritavairasya gamane.

[496] A bhára = 20 Tulás.

[497] The words are, by a misprint, wrongly divided in Brockhaus's
text.

[498] Cp. Heliodorus III. 4. pleon apo tôn ophthalmôn selas ê tôn
dadôn apêugazen, quoted by Rohde, Der Griechische Roman, p. 152, note.

[499] For Sarájakávarti I read Sarájakávanti; Mrigánkadatta might be
said by an admiring father to have conquered the king of Ujjayiní.

[500] It corresponds to the European ceremony of coronation, though
performed with water.

[501] This is the conclusion of the story of Mrigánkadatta, which
begins on page 138.

[502] There is of course an allusion to the Mánasa lake.

[503] Here there is a pun; the word translated "bees" can also mean
"arrows."

[504] The god of love, the Buddhist devil.

[505] The word "rati" in Sanskrit means "joy."

[506] No. 1882 has dhanyá sa cha naro, No. 2166 dhanyah sa cha naro,
i. e., Happy is that man.

[507] Two of the India Office MSS. read álinganadhikam.

[508] I read sammadah for sampadah. I find it in MSS. Nos. 1882
and 2166.

[509] MSS. Nos. 1882 and 2166 give cha tat for tathá.

[510] More literally "creeper-like chain."

[511] I have followed Brockhaus's text, which is supported by MS. No
3003. The other two read tatpremabhayasotkampam.

[512] The words denoting "reflection" "headache" and "ignorance" are
feminine in Sanskrit and so the things denoted by them have feminine
qualities attributed to them. Ignorance means perhaps "the having
no news of the beloved." All the India Office MSS. read vriddhayá
for vrittayá.

[513] Here the reading of MS. No. 1882 is Pápamúlá
yatah pápaphalabháram prasúyate Tatkshanenaiva bhajyante
síghramdhanavishadrumáh. No. 3003 reads práptamulá, tadbharenaiva, and
bhujyante. No. 2166 agrees with No. 1882 in the main, but substitutes
tana for dhana.

I have followed No. 1882, adopting tadbharenaiva from No. 3003.

[514] I read yas chádharmyo 'gradútuh. MS. No. 1882 reads yas
chádhamyo; No. 3003 reads yas chádharmo and No. 2166 reads as
I propose.

[515] The word may mean "bridegroom."

[516] I adopt Dr. Kern's conjecture áropya sibikám. It is found in
two out of three India Office MSS. for the loan of which I am indebted
to Dr. Rost.

[517] The word which means "boddice," means also "the skin of a snake;"
and the word translated "beauty" means also "saltness."

[518] Because she really wanted to talk to Madirávatí about her own
love affair.

[519] I omit cha after vinodayitum as it is not found in the three
India Office MSS.

[520] The whole passage is an elaborate pun resting upon the fact
that the same word means "tribute" and "ray" in Sanskrit. Ákranda
sometimes means a protector.

[521] I read bándharavat so. The late Professor Horace Hayman Wilson
observes of this story. "The incidents are curious and diverting, but
they are chiefly remarkable from being the same as the contrivances
by which Mádhava and Makaranda obtain their mistresses in the drama
entitled Málatí and Mádhava or the Stolen Marriage."

[522] I adopt the reading of MSS. Nos. 1882 and 2166, parijanah. This
seems to make better sense.

[523] This bears a slight resemblance to the story of Psyche.

[524] Cp. Vol. I, p. 301.

[525] I read with MSS. Nos. 1882 and 2166 tvadnámnyudirite; No. 3003
reads tvattrásyudírite. This seems to point to the same reading,
which agrees with sl. 74, a. It is also found in a MS. lent me by
the Principal of the Sanskrit College.

[526] The god of fire.

[527] Two of the India Office MSS. read haste. So also the Sanskrit
College MS.

[528] I follow Dr. Kern in deleting the inverted commas, and the
comma after drishtvá.

[529] Bernhard Schmidt in a note on page 12 of his Griechische Märchen
informs us that he considers the connexion between the Vidyádharas and
the Phæacians of Homer to be clearly proved. Here we have two points
wherein the Gandharvas resemble them; (1) the love of music, (2)
the right of ordinary citizens to aspire to the hand of the princess.

[530] I read satalam sá cha gáyantí vínáyám Sauriná svayam Dattam
svagítakam káshtám gándharve paramám gatá. In this all the three
India Office MSS. substantially agree. No. 1882 writes gáyantí with
both short and long i and gandharva, No. 2166 has káshtham with short
a, and all three have a short a in Gandharve. It is curious to see
how nearly this agrees with Dr. Kern's conjecture. I find that the
MS. lent me by the Principal of the Sanskrit College agrees with the
reading I propose, except that it gives gandharva.

[531] In the Swayamvara the election used to be made by throwing a
garland on the neck of the favoured suitor.

[532] MSS. Nos. 1882 and 2166 read mukhamandane i. e., face-ornament.

[533] Perhaps the word also conveys the meaning,
"intoxicated." MSS. Nos. 1882 and 3166, give samadátámranetra, the
other by mistake átáma. This would mean the "play of the eyes a little
red with intoxication and of the eyebrow." The word I have translated
"palate" means the tongue considered as the organ of taste. The
MS. kindly lent me by the Principal of the Sanskrit College reads
samadáttámranetra-bhrúvibhramáh.

[534] The three India Office MSS., which Dr. Rost has kindly lent me,
read tadanyánga. So does the Sanskrit College MSS.

[535] I have altered the division of the words, as there appears to
be a misprint in Brockhaus's text.

[536] The three India Office MSS. give Srántamjalatrishá. In
No. 1882 the line begins with atra, in the other two with tatra:
I have given what I believe to be the sense taking trishá as the
instrumental. Sránta appears to be sometimes used for Sánta. The
Sanskrit College MS. reads tatra sántam jalatrishá tasya pítámbhaso
vane. This exactly fits in with my rendering.

[537] I delete the stop at the end of the 100th sloka. All the India
Office MSS. read kritásvásá, and so does the Sanskrit College MS.,
but kritásá sá makes sense.

[538] A single braid of hair worn by a woman as a mark of mourning
for an absent husband. Monier Williams s. v. ekaveni.

[539] MSS. Nos. 1882 and 2166 read na cha for mayi; "and did not
practise cruelties;" No. 3003 has mayí. The Sanskrit College MS. has
mama krauryánnyavartatá (sic).

[540] I read tatrásya tatpradhánágre dosham sirasi pátaya. The three
India Office MSS. give tatrásya; No. 1882 has prasádágre and dháraya;
No. 3003 pradhánágre and dháraya; No. 2166 pradhánágre and pátaya. The
Sanskrit College MS. agrees with Brockhaus's text.

[541] Dr. Kern would read na cha for vata. Righteous kings and judges
see no difference between a feeble and powerful person, between
a stranger and a kinsman. But the three India Office MSS. read
vata. So does the MS. which the Principal of the Sanskrit College,
Pandit Mahesa Chandra Nyáyaratna, has kindly lent me.

[542] The Petersburg lexicographers are of opinion that risad should
be tasad or tasad. Two of the India Office MSS. seem to read tasad.

[543] See Vol. I, pp. 136 and 142.

[544] Here two of the India Office MSS. read mámsopadamsam, the
third mámsopadesam.

[545] Dr. Kern reads tena for yena. His conjecture is confirmed by
the three India Office MSS. and the Sanskrit College MS.

[546] I have adopted Dr. Kern's conjecture of saha for sahi and
separated with him abhyudayáyate into two words, abhyudayáya te. I
find that his conjecture as to saha is confirmed by the three India
Office MSS.

[547] Probably devanirmitah should be one word.

[548] See Vol. I, p. 405.

[549] In Sanskrit Siddhakshetra.

[550] Perhaps we may compare Vergil Georgics, I, 487, and Horace,
Od. I, 34, 5; and Vergil Aeneid VII, 141, with the passages there
quoted by Forbiger. But MSS. Nos. 1882 and 2166 read udbhúta.

[551] It is clear that the goddess did not herself appear, so trinetrá
is not a proper name, unless we translate the passage "armed with
the trident of Gaurí."

[552] Compare Webster's play, The Duchess of Malfy, where the
Duchess says


        What witchcraft doth he practise, that he hath left
        A dead man's hand here?


[553] I read antargriham as one word.

[554] In the above wild story the hero has to endure the assaults of
the witches on three successive nights. So in the story of the Headless
Princess (Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, p. 271) the priest's son has
to read the psalter over the dead princess three nights running. He is
hardest pressed on the last night; and on each occasion at day-break
the "devilry vanished." In the same way in The Soldier's Midnight Watch
(ib. p. 274) the soldier has three nights of increasing severity. So
in Southey's Old Woman of Berkeley, the assaults continue for three
nights, and on the third are successful.

[555] Kuhn in his Westfälische Sagen, Vol. II, p. 29, gives a long
list of herbs that protect men from witches. The earliest instance
in literature is perhaps that Moly,


            "That Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave."


See also Bartsch, Sagen aus Meklenburg, Vol. II, p. 37.

[556] See Vol. I, pp. 224 and 576, and p. 268 of the present volume. To
the parallels quoted by Ralston may be added, Prym and Socin's Syrische
Sagen, p. 116; Bernhard Schmidt's Griechische Märchen, p. 94; and
Coelho's Contos Portuguezes, p. 63.

[557] Cp. Hagen's Helden-Sagen, Vol. II, pp. 341, 342. Here Hagen
steals the clothes of some Meerweiber, who were bathing in the
Danube; in this way he induces the elder of the two to prophesy the
fate of himself and his companions at the court of Attila. In the
Russian story of Vasilissa the Wise (Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales,
p. 126,) the hero steals Vasilissa's shift. She promises to do him
good service if he gives it back, which he does. She turned into a
spoonbill and flew away after her companions. (See Ralston's remarks
on p. 120.) We find the incident of stealing the robes of bathing
nymphs in Prym and Socin's Syrische Sagen und Märchen, p. 116; in
Waldau's Böhmische Märchen, p. 250; Veckenstedt's Wendische Märchen,
pp. 119-130; Gonzenbach's Sicilianische Märchen, Part I, p. 31,
(with Köhler's notes). In the above tales the dress stolen is what
our great folk-lore authority terms a "plumage-robe."

The Nereids in modern Greek stories are swan-maidens; see Bernhard
Schmidt's Griechische Märchen und Sagen, p. 134. The subject of
Swan Maidens is thoroughly worked out by Baring Gould in his Curious
Myths of the Middle Ages, New edition, pp. 561-578. See also Benfey's
Panchatantra, Vol. I, pp. 263 and ff. He expresses his firm conviction
that tales of this kind will be found in Indian collections.

[558] Or possibly, "clothed in moisture."

[559] The three India Office MSS. read samstavád.

[560] Cp. Vol. I, p. 250; and for what follows p. 230 of the same
volume.

[561] Cp. p. 8 of this volume and the note there. In Sagas from the
Far East there is a story of a gold-spitting prince. In Gonzenbach's
Sicilianische Märchen, Quaddaruni's sister drops pearls and precious
stones from her hair whenever she combs it. Dr. Köhler in his note
on this tale gives many European parallels. In a Swedish story a
gold ring falls from the heroine's mouth whenever she speaks, and
in a Norwegian story gold coins. I may add to the parallels quoted
by Dr. Köhler, No. 36 in Coelho's Contos Portuguezes, in which tale
pearls drop from the heroine's mouth.

[562] All the India Office MSS. read 'dyápi for yo 'pi and two seem
to read ápátane. I find ápatana in the Petersburg lexicon, but not
ápátana. I have translated the passage loosely so as to make a good
sense. The Sanskrit College MS. gives a reading which exactly suits
my translation; Sachandrárdhah Sivo 'dyápi Harir yas cha sakaustubhah
Tattayorvedmi kuttanyá gochar ápatane phalam.

[563] More literally "smeared with blood and relishing it." Böhtlingk
and Roth seem to think rasat refers to some noise made by the swords.

[564] All the India Office MSS. read bhitam for the bhímam of
Brockhaus's text.

[565] The word means "having sands of gold."

[566] The word asmábhir has been omitted in Brockhaus's text. It
follows panchabhir in the three India Office MSS. and in the Sanskrit
College MS.

[567] Two of the India Office MSS. have bháraníyam. In the third the
passage is omitted. But the text of Brockhaus gives a good sense.

[568] I read prashthás which I find in two of the India Office
MSS. No. 1882 has prasthás.

[569] An epithet of Siva.

[570] See Vol. I, pp. 153 and 575. Cf. also the story of Aschenkatze
in the Pentamerone of Basile, Vol. I, p. 83; the Dummedhajátaka,
Ed. Fausböll, Vol. I, p. 259; Preller, Römische Mythologie, p. 96;
Kuhn, Westfälische Sagen, Vol. I, pp. 241, 242, 244, 245; Ovid's
Metamorphoses VIII, 722-724, and 743 and ff; and Ralston's Tibetan
Tales, Introduction, p. lii.

[571] The Sanskrit College MS. has Ratyá.

[572] The seven jewels of the Chakravartin are often mentioned in
Buddhist works. In the Mahávastu, p. 108 (Ed. Senart) they are,
chariot, elephant, horse, wife, householder, general. In a legend
quoted by Burnouf (Introduction a l'Histoire du Buddhisme Indien,
p. 343) the same six are enumerated as "les sept joyaux." In
both cases the sword is omitted. They are also described in the
Mahá-Sudassana-Sutta translated by Rhys Davids in the eleventh volume
of the Sacred Books of the East Series.

[573] For átmasamarddhiná the India Office MS. No. 1882 has
átmasamriddhiná; No. 2166 has samashtiná, and No. 3003 agrees with
Brockhaus's text. So does the Sanskrit College MS.

[574] We have often had occasion to remark that the Hindu poets
conceive of glory as white.

[575] See Sir Thomas Browne's Vulgar Errors, Book III, Chap. 7,
Heliodorus, Æthiopica, III, 8.

[576] One of the Saktis.

[577] Two of the India Office MSS. and the Sanskrit College MS. read
cha cháránám for sadáránám. This would mean, I suppose, that the cave
might be passed by all the scouts and ambassadors of the Vidyádharas.

[578] Or possibly "Ganas (Siva's attendants) and witches."

[579] Dhúmasikha, literally the smoke-crested, means fire.

[580] I read saptvá which I find in MSS. Nos. 1882 and 2196, the other
has sasvá. I also find cakravartibalád in No. 1882, (with a short i,)
and this reading I have adopted. The Sanskrit College MS. seems to have
saptvá. In sl. 119 I think we ought to delete the h in Sangrámah. In
121 the apostrophe before gra-bhásvarah is useless and misleading. In
122 yad should be separated from vismayam.

[581] Cp. Vol. I, p. 313.

[582] All the India Office MSS. and the Sanskrit College MS. read
chakravarti with a short i.

[583] The India Office MSS. Nos. 1882 and 2166 and the Sanskrit
College MS. read táratúryam. It makes the construction clearer,
but no material difference in the sense.

[584] Or adorned with Vishnu's Lakshmí. Here we have a pun, as she
sprang from the sea.

[585] Herein he shewed himself wiser than king Mándhátar the hero
of the first tale in Ralston's Tibetan tales. He connects it with
No. 19 in Grimm's collection, and many other European stories. It
is probable that the story of Naraváhanadatta's conquests is only
another form of the tale of Mándhátar.

[586] Of course in the original the word expresses the idea of
sprinkling with water.

[587] It may possibly mean, "land of the Siddhas". In Chapter 107
the Siddhas are mentioned as directing Naraváhanadatta's devotions
on their holy mountain.

[588] See Vol. I, p 305.

[589] I read vairamalam. The reading in Brockhaus's text is a misprint.

[590] Cp. Holinshed's account of Richard II's coronation. "The
Archbishop, having stripped him, first anointed his hands, after his
head, breast, shoulders, and the joints of his arms, with the sacred
oil, saying certain prayers, and in the meanwhile did the choir sing
the anthem, beginning 'Unxerunt regem Salomonem.' The above quotation
comes from the Clarendon Press Edition of King Richard II, p. 137,
sub calcem.

[591] I read vritam which appears to be the reading of the three
India Office MSS. and of the Sanskrit College MS. It is clear enough
in No. 2166. In sloka 85 I think that the reading of MS. No. 3003
náarityatkevalam yávad vátoddhútalatá api must be something near the
truth, as yával in Brockhaus's text gives no meaning. (The Sanskrit
College MS. gives Anrityannaiva vátena dhutá yával latá api.) Of course
the plural must be substituted for the singular. I have translated
accordingly. Two MSS. have valgad for vallad in sl. 87.

[592] Two of the India Office MSS. and the Sanskrit College MS. read
ásádya; the line appears to be omitted in the third.

[593] An allusion to the sprinkling at his coronation. The king
"put him on his lap."

[594] I read drishtvá prabhuprasádáptadiryatván which I find in two
of the India Office MSS. No 3003 has prata for prabhu.

[595] All the India Office MSS. read sangamahotsave. The Sanskrit
College MS. reads bandhúnám sangamotsave.

[596] Here Brockhaus supposes a lacuna.

[597] Literally "ground." No doubt they squatted on the ground at
the feast as well as at the banquet; which preceded it, instead of
following it, as in the days of Shakespeare.

[598] The king of Vatsa feels like Ulysses in the island of Calypso.

[599] A bhára is 20 tulás.

[600] There is a play on words here. Sanskrit poets suppose that joy
produces in human beings, trembling, horripilation, and perspiration.

[601] For anyonyasya the three India Office MSS. and the Sanskrit
College MS. read anyasyástám, which means, "Not to speak of other
beings, even animals &c."

[602] This is only another form of the story on page 105 of Vol. I.

[603] Cp. Hamlet Act V, Sc. II, 1. 223; Julius Cæsar Act V, Sc. I,
1 71 and ff.

[604] See Vol. I, p. 441. Dante seems to have considered that dreams
immediately before morning were true. See Inferno, XXVI, 7; and
Purgatorio, IX, 13-18. Fraticelli quotes from Horace--


                                            Quirinus
            Post mediam noctem visus cum somnia vera.


[605] I read pársvasthitam for pársvastham. The former is found in
the three India Office MSS. and in the Sanskrit College MS.

[606] The word, which means "wrinkles," also means "strong."

[607] The three India Office MSS. read kritvaiva for kritveva.

[608] Asitagiri.

[609] This passage is full of lurking puns. It may mean "full of
world-upholding kings of the snakes, and of many Kapilas."

[610] For supád No 1182 reads pumán and No. 2166 sumán.

[611] Two of the India Office MSS. have sunámávantivaráhanah in
sl. 13. In the third there is a lacuna.

[612] In Sanskrit the moon is masculine and the night feminine.

[613] This story is found in Vol. I, pp. 69-71; where see notes. Some
additional notes will be found on p. 572 of the same volume. Cp. also
Schöppner, Sagen der Bayerischen Lande, Vol. I, p. 258.

[614] So, in this story of Ohimé, No. 23, in Gonzenbach's Sicilianische
Märchen, Maruzza says to Ohimé, "Tell me, dear master, if by ill luck
any one wished to kill you, how ought he to set about it?" The Indian
story is much less clumsy than the Sicilian, which is, no doubt,
derived from it.

[615] The moon hates the kamala and loves the kumuda.

[616] I read stimitasthiteh which I find in MS. No. 2166, and in the
Sanskrit College MS.

[617] Cp. Vol. I, p. 328 and ff. The story in the Gesta Romanorum
to which reference is there made, bears a close resemblance to the
present story; but in the present case it appears as if beauty had
more to do with fascinating the elephant than modesty.

[618] The Petersburg lexicographers explain this as a Chandála,
a man of the lowest rank, a kind of Kiráta.

[619] The word "good" is used in a sense approximating to that in
which it is used by Theognis, and the patricians in Coriolanus.

[620] I read antyajám which I find in two of the Indian Office MSS. and
the Sanskrit College MS. In No. 3003 there is, apparently, a lacuna.

[621] Cp. the Sigálujátaka, Fausböll, Vol. II, p. 5. A barber's son
dies of love for a Lichchhavi maiden. The Buddha then tells the story
of a jackal whose love for a lioness cost him his life.

[622] Compare the story of the birth of Servius Tullius, as told by
Ovid. The following are Ovid's lines:


            Namque pater Tulli Vulcanus, Ocresia mater
            Præsignis facie Corniculana fuit.
            Hanc secum Tanaquil sacris de more peractis
            Jussit in ornatum fundere vina focum.
            Hic inter cineres obscæni forma virilis
            Aut fuit aut visa est, sed fuit illa magis.
            Jussa loco captiva sedet. Conceptus ab illa
            Servius a cælo semina gentis habet.


[623] All the India Office MSS. and the Sanskrit College MS. read
kridyán "delicious fish."

[624] See Vol. I, p. 241.

[625] See Vol. I, p. 98. In sloka 143 the India Office MSS. Nos. 2166
and 1882 and the Sanskrit College MS give pramayát for prabhayá. I
suppose it means "from dying in that holy place."

[626] This is another version of the story which begins on page 297 of
this volume. I have not omitted it, as my object is to reproduce the
original faithfully, with the exception of a few passages repugnant to
modern European taste. In the same way in Játaka No. 318, beginning
on page 58 of Fausböll's third Volume, a lady falls in love with a
criminal who is being led to execution.

[627] I read iva serana: I suppose serana comes from si. Dr. Kern
would read ahrasva-sana: (the former word hesitatingly). But iva is
required. Prerana would make a kind of sense. See Taranga 48, sl. 26,
a. The sloka is omitted in all the three India Office MSS. and in
the Sanskrit College MS.

[628] The Petersburg lexicographers translate durbharah by Schwer
beladen. I think it means that the supposed thief had many costly
vices, which he could not gratify without stealing. Of course it
applies to the king in a milder sense.

[629] In the realms below the earth.

[630] I read after Dr. Kern visvastaghátakah a slayer of those who
confide in him. I also read kvási for kvápi; as the three India Office
MSS. give kvási.

[631] The three India Office MSS. give tu for tam.

[632] I take sakáranam as one word.

[633] See Vol. I, p. 174, and ff. and Vol. II, p. 307, and ff.

[634] The Petersburg lexicographers spell the word Sibi. This
story is really the same as the XVIth of Ralston's Tibetan Tales
which begins on page 257. Dr. Kern points out that we ought to read
dugdhábdinirmalá. The India Office MSS. give the words correctly. This
story is also found in the Chariyá Pitaka. See Oldenberg's Buddha,
p. 302.

[635] The word saumya means "pleasing" and also "moon-like"; kalá in
the next line means "digit of the moon" and also "accomplishment."

[636] I read satráni or sattráni for pátráni which would mean "fit
recipients." I find sattráni in MS. No. 1882.

[637] A perpetually recurring pun! Guna in Sanskrit means "bowstring"
and also "virtue," and is an unfailing source of temptation to
our author.

[638] This story was evidently composed at a time when the
recollections of the old clan-system were vivid in the minds of
the Hindus. See Rhys David's Buddhism, p. 28. Gautama's relations
"complained in a body to the Rájá Suddhodana that his son, devoted
to home pleasures, neglected those manly exercises necessary for one
who might hereafter have to lead his kinsmen in case of war."

[639] I read anyánupayoginyá which I find in MS. No. 3003. No. 1882
has anyánupabhoginyá. In the other MS. the passage is omitted. Another
syllable is clearly required. The Sanskrit College MS. reads kim
chányánupayoginyatra.

[640] Cp. Richard II, V. 1. 35.

[641] India Office MS. No. 1882 reads nitau; the other two seem to
omit the lines altogether.

[642] As Anáthapindika gives the Jetavana garden to Buddha in the
Bharhut Sculptures; see also p. 329 of this volume.

[643] The pun is intelligible enough: dvija means "Bráhman" and also
"bird": áságata means "coming from every quarter" and "coming in hope
to get something."

[644] tat should not be separated from the next word.

[645] The three India Office MSS. read apacháram tvam. The Sanskrit
College MS. gives apavdram.

[646] The metre shows that 'sta is a misprint for 'sita. All the
three India Office MSS. read 'sita. So does the Sanskrit College MS.

[647] An allusion to the Arddhanárísa form of Siva.

[648] Pitámaháh must be a misprint for pitámahah, as is apparent from
the India Office MSS.

[649] This story is in the original prefaced by "Iti Padmávatí
kathá." It continues to the end of the book, but properly speaking,
the story of Padmávatí does not commence until chapter 115.

[650] There is a reference to the sectaries of Siva in Benares,
and the Ganas of Siva on mount Kailása.

[651] Here we have a longer form of the story of Brahmadatta found
on pp. 12 and 13 of Vol. I. Dr. Rajendralál Mitra informs me that
it is also found in a MS. called the Bodhisattva Avadána, one of the
Hodgson MSS.

[652] i. e., moonlight.

[653] There is probably a double meaning. The clouds are compared to
the Ganges, and it is obvious that geese would cluster round lotuses.

[654] The sárasa is a large crane; the chakraváka the Brahmany duck.

[655] i. e., Tárkshyaratna. I have no idea what the jewel is. B. and
R. give ein bestimmter dunkelfarbiger Edelstein. In Játaka No. 136
there is a golden goose who had been a Bráhman. He gives his feathers
to his daughters to sell, but his wife pulls out all the feathers at
once; they become like the feathers of a baka. Afterwards they all grow
white. See Rhys David's Buddhist Birth Stories, p. ix, note. In Sloka,
4. 1, I read tadrasád for tatra sadá, with MSS. Nos. 1882 and 2166;
No. 3003 has tatrasád.

[656] It may possibly mean "acted a love-drama." I cannot find the
sense I have assigned to it in any Dictionary.

[657] Before anu we should with the India Office MSS. insert
tad. Monier Williams explains Brahma-Rákshasa as a "fiend of the
Bráhmanical class."

[658] It is worth while remarking that all the India Office MSS. here
read kshetram which would make Siddhísvara the name of a place here.

[659] All the India Office MSS. read gatvá for jnátvá. I have adopted
this; and I take tatkóranam adverbially. MS. No. 1882 has gatovijnáta.

[660] It appears from the India Office MSS. that dhanaván should
be inserted after bráhmano. In sloka 82, the India Office MSS. read
chitráyatam which I have adopted.

[661] The three India Office MSS. have viteratuh.

[662] Dr. Kern would read kshudduhkáváptasamklesau. I find that all the
three India Office MSS. confirm his conjecture, so I have adopted it.

[663] Cp. Vergil's Aeneid VIII. 172 and ff.

[664] All the three India Office MSS. and the Sanskrit College MS. read
svágra, which I have endeavoured to translate. Perhaps it may mean,
"before they took any food themselves."

[665] Here the name of a place sacred to Siva. Before we have had it
as the god's title. See B. & R. s. v. It means "lord of magic powers."

[666] It appears from the India Office MSS. that táv should be inserted
after evam.

[667] I have adopted the reading andhakáritam which I find in the
three India Office MSS.

[668] I read nihatasya which I find supported by two of the India
Office MSS. No. 1882 has nihitasya, No. 2166 nihatasya and No. 3003
has anihatasya. The Sanskrit College MS. has tihatasya.

[669] Perhaps there is a pun here. The word ishta may also mean
sacrifice, sacred rite.

[670] I. e., Brihaspati.

[671] The word for god here is amara, literally immortal. This may
remind the classical reader of the passage in the Birds where Iris
says  all' athanatos eim', and Peisthetærus imperturbably replies,
all' homôs an apethanes.

[672] I read dattajhampo which I find in MS. No. 3003. The other two
have dattajampo. The Sanskrit College MS. has dattajhampo.

[673] Cp. Ovid's Metamorphoses, V, 321-331, for the flight of the
inhabitants of the Grecian heaven from the giant Typhoeus.

[674] All the India Office MSS. read prishtas.

[675] All the India Office MSS. read Vidyuddhvajántako.

[676] MS. No. 1882 here reads chiraprápyas: the other two agree
with Brockhaus.

[677] I suspect this island is the same as the Whiteman's land of the
Icelandic chronicles. See Baring Gould's Curious Myths of the Middle
Ages (New Edition) p. 550 and following.

[678] A title of Brahmá. See Muir's Sanskrit Texts, Vol. IV, p. 18.

[679] For anyonya I read anyánya, but all the MSS. confirm Brockhaus's
text.

[680] The three India Office MSS. have dasa kalpán.

[681] I read cyutam for cyutá. See Taranga 117, sl. 152 and ff. But
all the India Office MSS. agree with Brockhaus's text. The tale itself
will justify my correction.

[682] The word tejasá also means valour.

[683] Literally "the nectar-rayed one."

[684] Cp. Vol. I, p. 69 and Vol. II, p. 172. also Prym und Socin
Syrische Märchen, p. 205, and Silius Italicus I, 430, quoted by
Preller, Griechische Mythologie, II, 354.

[685] See the note in Vol. I, p. 465, also p. 578, and Zimmer's
Alt-Indisches Leben p. 60, Preller, Römische Mythologie, pp. 102
and 103; the vultures will remind the English reader of Shakespeare's
Julius Cæsar, V, I, 84 and ff.; for the ominous import of lightning see
Smith's Dictionary of Antiquities, Art. Bidental; and Preller, Römische
Mythologie, p. 172. There is a very similar passage in Achilles Tatius,
Lib. V. C. 3.  Hôs oun proêlthomen tôn thyrôn, oiônos hêmin ginetai
ponêros· chelidona kirkos diôkôn tên Leukippên patassei tô pterô eis
tên kephalên. See also Sir Thomas Browne's Vulgar Errors, Book V,
Chapter 23, Sec. 1; Webster's Duchess of Malfi, Act II, Sc. II.


        How superstitiously we mind our evils!
        The throwing down salt, or crossing of a hare,
        Bleeding at nose, the stumbling of a horse,
        Or singing of a cricket, are of power
        To daunt whole man in us.


[686] I read tadanullanghayan with MSS. Nos. 1882 and 2166 and the
Sanskrit College MS. No. 3003 has anullanghaya.

[687] I read patyus for pitus with the three India Office MSS. and
the Sanskrit College MS.

[688] The India Office MSS. have kasmai dattá vá; but the sense is
much the same.

[689] It appears from the beginning of the chapter that this was the
charioteer of Váyu the chief god of the Wind. In Chapter 115, sl. 57,
the wind-gods are opposed to the Daityas. B. and R. identify these
wind-gods with the Maruts, s.v. Váyu.

[690] Dr. Kern corrects kavachanam to kavacham. The latter word is
found in the three India Office MSS. and the Sanskrit College MS.

[691] I read mauktika for maulika. The three India Office MSS. and
the Sanskrit College MS have mauktika.

[692] One of the seven hells, (not places of torment).

[693] A title of Brahmá.

[694] But the three India Office MSS. read ghúrnad for purna. It
could, I suppose, mean, "reeling with joy." The Sanskrit College
MS. has púruva.

[695] The Lokapálas are the guardians of the four cardinal and four
intermediate points of the compass. They appear to be usually reckoned
as Indra, guardian of the East, Agni of the South-East, Varuna of
the West, Yama of the South, Súrya of the South-West, Pavana or
Váyu of the North-West, Kuvera of the North, Soma or Chandra of the
North-East. Some substitute Nirriti for Súrya and Isání or Prithiví
for Soma.

[696] The reed was no doubt used as a brush or pencil. The Sanskrit
College MS. reads utkanthá-sannapánir aham katham.

[697] The three India Office MSS. read atha srutam, which, I suppose,
means, "and I heard something too."

[698] This line in Brockhaus's text is unmetrical. Nos. 1882 and 3003
read kim nu gáhyate, No. 2166 has na for nu.

[699] I adopt Dr. Kern's conjecture of yám for yá. It is confirmed
by the three India Office MSS. and by the Sanskrit College MS.

[700] This meaning is assigned by Böhtlingk and Roth to the word
nerváti in this passage.

[701] I follow MSS. Nos. 3003 and 2166 which give jano' nuvritto'pi.

[702] Böhtlingk and Roth consider that sákalyaka is the true
rending. One MS. certainly has y and I think probably the others.

[703] By the canons of Hindu rhetoric a smile is white. Hence this
frigid conceit.

[704] I read na for tu. Two out of the three India Office MSS. and
the Sanskrit College MS. give na.

[705] Here MSS. Nos. 3003 and 2166 and the Sanskrit College MS. read
aprekshápúrvakáriná, the nominative case of which word is found in
Taranga 64, slokas 20 and 26. No. 1882 has aprekshyápúrvakáriná.

[706] Two of the India Office MSS. and the Sanskrit College MS. insert
kinchit before tapasám.

[707] MS. No. 1882 reads garbhaváse kleso; and this seems to give a
sense more clearly in accordance with the sequel of the story.

[708] Literally, too careful guarding of his dináras. Dinára is the
Latin denarius.

[709] Of course we must read avilambitam which is found in two out of
the three India Office MSS. and in the Sanskrit College MS. No. 1882
has vilambitam.

[710] Viníyate is a misprint for viniyete.

[711] We should probably read asranimnagáh with two India Office
MSS. No 3003 has asrunimnagáh.

[712] The three India Office MSS. give Devasabhásanne, "near
Devasabha."

[713] The three India Office MSS., read purasatair, "hundreds of
cities?" In any case varais should he varair.

[714] Böhtlingk and Roth would read svadhishnyáni for swádhistháni
in Taranga 120, 25. Here Brockhaus reads svádhisthán rishayas which
I find in MS. No 1882; No 3003 has what, judging from the way shu
is written in this MS., I take to be svadhishnyányashayas. No 2166
has what for similar reasons I take to be svadhishnánrishayas. The
Sanskrit College MS. has svadhishtányrishayas.

[715] For árádhayitum Nos. 1882 and 2166 give árádhayan which satisfies
the metre. The Sanskrit College MS. has árádhitum.

[716] I read akritapunyayoh, not having done meritorious actions. This
is the reading of all the India Office MSS. and the Sanskrit College
MS.

[717] The three India Office MSS. give susamiddham, which is perhaps
preferable to the reading of Brockhaus's text. The Sanskrit College
MS. gives susamitam.

[718] MSS. Nos. 1882 and 2166 and the Sanskrit College MS. give
lasannavanavádbhutá "is ever displaying new marvels." No. 3003 gives
lasannavatavádbhutá. The t is no doubt a mere slip of the pen for n.

[719] I read arghyapádyádi in sl. 180, 6; as in sl. 181, 6. The y is
found in the three India Office MSS. and the Sanskrit College MS. I
also read in sl. 179 svagirá datte devenánarthite vare, which I find
in the three India Office MSS. and the Sanskrit College MS.

[720] Two of the India Office MSS. read samayapratibandham; No. 3003
has samayaprativa; clearly some letters have been omitted. The sense
would remain the same.

[721] Pátála and Rasátala seem to be used indiscriminately to denote
"the nether world" in this passage. Strictly speaking, Rasátala is
one of the seven Pátálas. The words in sl. 189 which I have translated
"regions of Pátála" mean literally "the Pátálas." In sl. 192 the three
India Office MSS. read sudrishtayoh "having had a good look at them."

[722] I read muchyate with the three India Office MSS. and the Sanskrit
College MS.

[723] The kakôn kai gêraos alkar of Empedocles. Sir Thomas Browne
in his Vulgar Errors, Book II. Ch. V, Sec. 11, makes mention of
the supposed magic virtues of gems. He will not deny that bezoar
is antidotal, but will not believe that a "sapphire is preservative
against enchantments."

[724] All the India Office MSS. and the Sanskrit College MS. read
apatyáni for asatyáni. I have adopted it. In sl. 29 two MSS. and
the Sanskrit College MS. have sarvánga the other sarvángam. I do not
understand the passage.

[725] Perhaps we may compare this water with that of the river
Styx. Hátakí appears to be the name of a river in the underworld.

[726] The Sanskrit adjective corresponding to the noun Vidyádhara,
is, of course, Vaidyádhara, but perhaps it is better to retain the
noun in English.

[727] I read áhritya for áhatya. The three India Office MSS. and the
Sanskrit College MS. have áhritya.

[728] Probably the passage also means that they sunned themselves in
his rays.

[729] I read tapasyantí for na pasyantí. See Taranga 117, sl. 177
and ff. The three India Office MSS. and the Sanskrit College MS. have
tapasyantí.

[730] All the India Office MSS. and the Sanskrit College MS. read
anupravishtám.

[731] Gandharvarájáya in Brockhaus's text must be
a misprint. MS. No. 1882 has Gandharvarádvyagraparigrahas which
satisfies the metre and makes sense. This is also the reading of the
Sanskrit College MS. No. 3003 seems to have the same but it is not
quite clear. No. 2166 has vyadra for vyagra.

[732] I read tadbháryásachivau; the three words should be joined
together.

[733] In the original we find inserted here--"Here ends the story
of Padmávatí."

[734] Káma, the god of love.

[735] The central idea of the Birds of Aristophanes.

[736] Here Böhtlingk and Roth would read svadhishnyány. Two of the
three India Office MSS. seem to read this, judging from the way in
which they form the combination shn. No. 1882 is not quite clear.

[737] He is a kind of Hindu Solomon.

[738] I adopt the correction of the Petersburg lexicographers,
vaishamyato for vaisasyato. I find it in No. 1882 and in the Sanskrit
College MS.

[739] The word anísvara, when applied to the Buddhists, refers to
their not believing in a Disposer, but its other meaning is "wanting
in wealth."

[740] I. q. Benares.

[741] As Dr. Kern points out, there is a misprint here, namatyá should
be namaty.

[742] Or "not cruel in exacting tribute."

[743] Glory is white according to the canons of Hindu rhetoric.

[744] It might merely mean, cried "All-Hail," but here I think there
is more in the expression than the usual salutation.

[745] Dr. Kern would read abhyapújayat = honoured. The three India
Office MSS. and the Sanskrit College MS. confirm Brockhaus's text.

[746] A most elaborate pun! There is an allusion to the sea having
proved the refuge of the mountains that wished to preserve their wings,
to the serpent Vásuki's having served as a rope with which to whirl
round mount Mandara, when the sea was churned and produced Srí or
Lakshmí. In this exploit Hari or Vishnu bore a distinguished part.

[747] I. q., Ceylon.

[748] Böhtlingk und Roth explain pratípsa in this passage as werben um.

[749] Cp. Iliad XVIII, 417-420. I read pranartayantyau with Dr. Kern
for the obvious misprint in the text. The y is found in the three
India Office MSS. and in the Sanskrit College MS.

[750] In the original trishná.

[751] All the India Office MSS. give karnírathávatírná.

[752] The word Gandharvá should be Gándharvá; see B. and R. s. v. har
with upa and sam. No. 2166 has Gándháras; the other two MSS. agree
with Brockhaus's text.

[753] B. and R. explain the word khandakápálika as--"ein Stück von
einem Kápálika, ein Quasi-kápálika." A kápálika is, according to
Monier Williams s. v., a worshipper of Siva of the left-hand order,
characterized by carrying skulls of men as ornaments, and by eating
and drinking from them.

[754] For aruntudais MS. No. 1882 has adadanstachcha, No. 2166 has
adadattascha and 3003 adadattuscha. These point I suppose to a reading
adadattachcha; which means "not paying what he owed."

[755] Skrit. Brahma-Rákshasa.

[756] They had heard Dágineya's story up to this point from his
own lips.

[757] This may be loosely translated "Terror of the gambling saloon."

[758] See page 323 of this Vol. s. c.

[759] Two of the India Office MSS. and the Sanskrit College MS. have
indu for Indra; the other has inmu. I have adopted indu. In sloka
100 for dadate No. 1882 and the Sanskrit College MS. read dadhate,
which means that the gods' possession of wealth and power depends on
the will of Siva. In sloka 89 the Sanskrit College MS. reads ekadá
for the unmetrical devatáh.

[760] Tryaksha can probably mean "having three dice," as well as
"having three eyes."

[761] Cp. Vol. II, p. 452.

[762] Upáyau is a misprint for upáyayau as is evident from the MSS.

[763] The three India Office MSS. and the Sanskrit College MS. give
drishti.

[764] i.e., Siva in this instance.

[765] For the second ditya in sl. 132, b, MSS. Nos. 1882 and 2166
give navya, new.

[766] Gold, diamond, sapphire, ruby and pearl. The Buddhists usually
enumerate seven: see Burnouf, Lotus de La Bonne Loi, p. 319.

[767] Cp. the story that begins on page 186 of this volume.

[768] No. 1882 reads snapayata tatkshanát at the end of sl. 194,
a. It seems to remove a tautology but is unmetrical. "Take us and
cause us to bathe." The Sanskrit MS. had snapayata tatshanam.

[769] I read dhúta for dyúta No. 1882 (the Taylor MS.) and the Sanskrit
College MS. have dhúta; No. 3003 has dhuta; the other MS. does not
contain the passage.

[770] I read álikhya purusham bhúmau. This is the reading of the
Taylor MS. the other has átikhya. The Sanskrit College MS. has
álikhya purusham.

[771] Both the India Office MSS. in which this passage is found give
tatsámantam. So Vikramasakti would himself be a "dependent king."

[772] Cp. the story of Sunda and Upasunda, Vol. I, p. 108; and Preller,
Griechische Mythologie, Vol. I, p. 81, note 1.

[773] For ete manorame No. 3003 and the Sanskrit College MS. have
varakáranam; in order that I might find a husband for them. No. 1882
has váranam for kárunam.

[774] For Jayanto MSS. Nos. 1882 and 3003 and the Sanskrit College
MS. give hevákí, i. e., "full of longing".

[775] i. e., conqueror of Indra.

[776] It is just possible that sankhyád ought to be sákshád.

[777] This expression is very similar to that in Tarnanga 120, sl. 80,
b, to which Dr. Kern objects.

[778] Dr. Kern would read sammánitavisrishteshu; and this is the
reading of the Taylor MS. and of the Sanskrit College MS. No. 3003
has sammánitair.

[779] For falling in love with a lady seen in a dream see Vol. I,
pp. 276, and 576, and Rohde, Der Griechische Roman, pp. 45, 46 and
49. For falling in love with a lady seen in a picture see Vol. I,
p. 490, Rohde, Der Griechische Roman, p. 49, and Coelho's Contos
Portuguezes, p. 109.

[780] I read aratimán for ratimán in the Sanskrit College MS. The
Taylor MS. has sarvatránratimán; the other agrees with Brockhaus.

[781] I read pravesyaiva.

[782] Compare Ralston's Russian Folk Tales, p. 97; in Waldau's
Böhmische Märchen p. 444, there is a beautiful Amazon who fights with
the prince on condition that if he is victorious she is to be his
prisoner, but if she is victorious, he is to be put to death. Rohde
in Der Griechische Roman, p. 148, gives a long list of "coy huntress
maids." Spenser's Radigund bears a close resemblance to Malayavatí.

[783] Sanskrit matha.

[784] The Petersburg lexicographers would read paurastya; and I
find this in the Taylor MS. and the Sanskrit College MS. The same
MSS. read ambudasyámo for atha durdarsa. The latter word should be
spelt durdarsha.

[785] I read savirahajválo and sakása in sl. 72.

[786] The two India Office MSS., that contain this passage, and the
Sanskrit College MS. make the compound end in ravaih, so the command
will be given by the cries of the swans. In sl. 71, for grathyantám
No. 1882 and the Sanskrit College MS. give budhyantám. In sl. 73 for
ákhyátim three MSS. give khyátim.

[787] Sanskrit vihára. The tápasí of sl. 39 was therefore
a Buddhist. Cp. Vol. I, p. 87. No. 3003 reads viháranirgatá which
agrees with sl. 40. No. 1882 has viharanirgatam. The Sanskrit College
MS. has viháranirgatam.

[788] For gháta No. 1882 has tamah and No. 3003 váta.

[789] This probably means that he started in the autumn.

[790] No 3003 yathá chitre tathá svapne yathá svapne tathairatám
vilokya sákshád; so too No. 1882. The Sanskrit College MS. agrees
but omits yathá svapne.

[791] The word that means "regret," may also mean "wave."

[792] I follow B. and R., Dr. Kern would read sajjíkrita in the
sense of "prepared": he takes kautukam in the sense of nuptial
ceremonies. No. 1882 (the Taylor MS.) has mantú and No. 2003 has
satyí. The Sanskrit College MS supports Brockhaus's text.

[793] See Vol. I, pp. 199 and 515; and Vol. II, p. 265.

[794] Cp. Iliad V, 265 and ff.; and (still better) Aeneid VII, 280,
and ff.

[795] Devíyasím is a misprint for davíyasím, as Dr. Kern points out.

[796] In European superstition we find the notion that witches
can fly through the air by anointing themselves with the fat of a
toad. Veckenstedt, Wendische Märchen, p. 288. In Bartsch, Sagen und
Gebräuche aus Meklenburg, we read (Vol. II, p. 19) that Margretha
Detloses confesses that she smeared her feet with some black stuff that
Satan brought, and then said, Auf und darvan und nergens an. Anneke
Mettinges (ibid. p. 23) smeared herself with yellow fat; Anneke Swarten
(ibid. p. 27) with black stuff from an unused pot.

[797] See page 104 of this volume. An older form of that story is
perhaps the Saccamkirajátaka, No. 73, Fausböll, Vol. I, p. 323. Tho
present story bears perhaps a closer resemblance to that of Androclus,
Aulus Gellius, N. A. V, 14, the Indian form of which may be found in
Miss Stokes's tale of "The Man who went to seek his fate."

[798] Valí should of course be vallí.

[799] Cp. Oesterley's Baitál Pachísí, p. 14; and the note on p. 176. In
Aelian's Varia Historia, III, 19, there is a tree, the fruit of which
makes an old man become gradually younger and younger until he reaches
the antenatal state of non-existence. The passage is referred to by
Rohde, Der Griechische Roman, p. 207. Baring Gould, in Appendix A to
his Curious Myths of the Middle Ages, gives a very curious passage
from the Bragda Mágus Saga, an Icelandic version of the romance of
Maugis. Here we have a man named Vidförull who was in the habit of
changing his skin and becoming young again. He changed his skin once
when he was 330 years old, a second time at the age of 215, and a
third time in the presence of Charlemagne. It is quite possible that
the story in the text is a form of the fable of the Wandering Jew.

[800] I read devakumárau.

[801] I. e. Sea of virtues.

[802] See Vol. I, p. 207, and Vol. II, p. 224, and Rohde's note on page
196 of Der Griechische Roman. This is probably the incident depicted
on the Bharhat Stúpa. See General Cunningham's work, Plate XXXIV,
Medallion 2.

[803] A certain dark-coloured precious stone. B. and R. s. v.

[804] The Petersburg lexicographers explain it as a statue of
sála-wood. They explain stambhotkirna too as wie aus einem Pfosten
geschnitten, wie eine Statue von Holz. But could not the figures be
cut in stone, as the Bharhut sculptures are?

[805] See Vol. I, pp. 86 and 573. The parallel to the story of the
Wright's Chaste Wife is strikingly close.

[806] Dr. Kern would read avidito. This is confirmed by the Sanskrit
College MS. and by No. 1882; No. 3003 has avadito.

[807] Both the India Office MSS. and the Sanskrit College MS. have
yásyasi for páyasi. The latter would mean, "Where will you drink."

[808] Cp. Vol. II, p. 63.

[809] I insert subhagam before khád, from the Sanskrit College MS.

[810] Both the India Office MSS read Vakrapura. The Sanskrit College
MS. supports Brockhaus's text.

[811] No. 1882 and the Sanskrit College MS. give tarhi for tvam hi
and priyam for priyah. No 3003 agrees with the above MSS. in the
first point and in the second with Brockhaus.

[812] I read Pátaliputrakát.

[813] The khatvánga, a club shaped like the foot of a bedstead,
i. e., a staff with a skull at the top, considered as the weapon
of Siva and carried by ascetics and Yogis. For karah the MSS give
ravah. This would mean that the ascetic was beating his drum. The
word in No. 1882 might be khah but is no doubt meant for ravah.

[814] Cp. Vol. II, p. 243.

[815] I separate pratijná from siddhim.

[816] It is possible that this may be the original of the 4th story
in the 10th day of the Decamerone.

[817] See Vol. I, p. 212, and Lieutenant Temple's article Lamia in the
Antiquary for August, 1882. Terrible man-eating Sirens are described
in the Valáhassajátaka to which Dr. Morris called attention in a
letter in the Academy. Cp. Schmidt's Griechische Märchen, p. 142.

[818] No. 3003 and the Sanskrit College MS. give antahsthena for
sambhramayya. No. 1882 has tva-tahsthena; an insect has devoured the
intermediate letter.

[819] This is substantially the same story as the second in chapter 77.

[820] See Vol. I. pp. 465 and 578.

[821] Vikrosám is a misprint for vikosám. The latter is found in
MS. No. 1882 and the Sanskrit College MS. and, I think, in No. 3003;
but the letter is not very well formed.

[822] The word badhúns is evidently a misprint for bandhúns: as
appears from the MSS.

[823] This story is known in Europe, and may perhaps be the original
source of Shakespeare's "All's Well that Ends Well." At any rate
there is a slight resemblance in the leading idea of the two
stories. It bears a close resemblance to the story of Sorfarina,
No. 36 in Gonzenbach's Sicilianische Märchen, and to that of Sapia
in the Pentamerone of Basile. In the Sicilian and in the Neapolitan
tale a prince is angry with a young lady who, when teaching him,
gave him a box on the ear, and marries her in order to avenge
himself by ill-treating her; but finding that he has, without
suspecting it, had three children by her, he is obliged to seek a
reconciliation. Dr. Köhler in his note on the Sicilian tale gives no
other parallel than Basile's tale, which is the 6th of the Vth day,
Vol. II, p. 204 of Liebrecht's translation.

[824] I think we should read ushne. I believe that Nos. 1882 and
3003 have this, judging from the way in which shn is usually formed
in those MSS.

[825] Cp. Ralston's Tibetan Tales, p. 89.

[826] I read pratyayo na me which I find in the Taylor MS. and which
makes sense. I take the words as part of the boy's speech. "It is
untrue; I do not believe it." But vakshyasyapratyayena me would also
make sense. The Sanskrit College MS. supports Brockhaus's text.

[827] In the original there is the following note, "Here ends the
tale of King Vikramáditya."

[828] Having reached the end of my translation, I am entitled to
presume that this epithet refers to the extraordinary length of the
Kathá Sarit Ságara.






End of Project Gutenberg's The Kathá Sarit Ságara, by Somadeva Bhatta

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